#seafoam-cerulean

[natsubane]

i genuinely think it's really funny how sora's like "hey you're coming back with us right?" and instead riku just. starts talking (very seriously) about how he gave in to the darkness or whatever. answer the question stupid (affectionate)

[chasingrainbowsforever]

~ Cerulean ~

[msb-lair]

Clutch #3530 - Thymara/Ararath

Mated On: 2024-03-23 # of eggs: 3 Hatched On: 2024-03-29

Progeny:

Hatchling 9397 (Daichi) - Undertide Male, Seafoam Octopus/Cerulean Rings/Cyan Jellyfish, Common - 15 gems on 2024-03-30

Hatchling 9398 (Ineva) - Undertide Female, Turquoise Tide/Pistachio Rings/Robin Jellyfish, Uncommon - 15,000 on 2024-04-07

Hatchling 9399 - Undertide Female, Teal Tide/Mint Rings/Aqua Jellyfish, Common - 15 gems on 2024-04-06

Comments: 

[seagullcharmer]

i NEED a new icon. i love peach but i'm dying

[petrotasia]

Based on a dream I had last night... it was random and I can actually remember the conversations nearly word by word. SO I made the characters to be SS charas

[pasukiyo]

TAKING OVER ME

anakin skywalker x f!reader word count; 3,801 warnings; unprotected p in v sex, reader is a sex worker summary; you haven't been able to get your mind off of the handsome jedi knight since the first night you laid with him. and now he's back, but something seems off...

 The Jedi Knight was coming again. 

 The other girls grumbled their displeasure and glared her way as she applied her lipstick, rubbing her lips together while she touched up her makeup in the vanity mirror. She paid them no mind however— she knew they were only envious. 

 It’s not like she could blame them. Never before had she ever actually looked forward to working with a client, in fact, if you had told her she’d be this giddy like a young school girl just a month ago, she’d scoff as if it were the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard. No one was just excited to do this kind of work anyways, it was just a way to get by before, a way to keep a roof over her head and food in her belly. 

 It’s not like she still wanted this life for herself. Not at all, actually. If it were her choice, she’d have run away with the handsome Jedi long ago. But she told herself that if this was the only way she could have him, even for a few nights at a time, then it was worth it. 

 And he was coming back today. 

 This was only the third time he’ll have come to her, the third time in the span of a few months but she’d been dreaming of this moment since she saw him last. She’d practically been on a whole other planet since the last time he left her, she couldn’t even bring herself to care when she’d been called for other clients, didn’t even care when the gross Mon Calamari man came in last night. 

 It would all be meaningless come tonight, when she finally saw him again. 

 “How come she gets the actually appealing clients, Lizcar?” Vitta, a Twi’lek asked from the vanity beside her. She rolled her eyes as she touched up the blush on her cheeks, catching a glimpse of their Rodian employer, Lizcar, through her reflection in the mirror. 

 “It is not like I choose the girls for them, ho-tah,” Lizcar scoffed as she approached where she sat, eyeing her features through the mirror. She suppressed the urge to grimace when Lizcar approached, the strong scent of Ryll lingered on the Rodian’s breath and clothes. “The Jedi pays good money,” she said at last after a prolonged moment of silence. “See to it you are on the best of your behavior tonight, yes, kwa-sah tee?” 

 Lizcar reached out with her long, noodle-like fingers to drag them against the underside of her chin and she blinked away her distaste, peering up at her employer through her darkened lashes. “Yes, Lizcar,” she replied simply, silently willing her Jedi Knight to hurry up and rescue her from her awfully smelling boss. 

 Lizcar hummed low as she retracted her fingers, relief washing over her as the Rodian turned and made her way towards the door. “I will come and fetch you when he arrives,” she said before slipping out the door and she watched as it slid closed behind her. 

 The girls in the room continued their gossip, a mixed jumble of Basic, Huttese, and other languages permeating the room. Vitta, however, slid away from her vanity stool and she watched as the Twi’lek approached out of her periphery, her breath hot as she leaned down to face her reflection in the mirror. The Twi’lek’s seafoam green eyes bore into hers and the cerulean skin of her hand soothed down from her bicep down to the crease of her elbow. 

 “I wonder what the Jedi Knight sees in a simple girl like you,” Vitta’s voice said in a soft hiss, each syllable laced with a hint of venom. The Twi’lek’s animosity was palpable in her touch and she found herself grimacing, eyelids narrowing as she gazed at the woman beside her. “You are so plain,” Vitta continued, plucking a strand of hair from behind her back and tossing it before her face, a corner of her purple lips curving in a smirk when she twisted her face in displeasure. “So basic.”

 “And yet, he did not pick you,” she replied in a hiss, turning to glare at the Twi’lek beside her. Vitta’s gaze darkened as she turned to bare her teeth, lip curled in challenge. Just before either could say any more, the door once again slid open for Lizcar to step back inside, calling her name. 

 “The Jedi is here for you, mwa-shashi,” she announced and she gave Vitta one last hard look before she rose from her seat, the Twi’lek, too, straightening her posture. With one last look at the blue girl before her, she spat, “have fun with the Snivvian.”

 And with that, she pushed past Vitta, the thin lace of her long, black cover-up flowing behind her as she followed Lizcar out of the beauty room and into the foyer. The Jedi Knight was not there, however, and she turned to face Lizcar quizzically. 

 “He has already gone up to your room,” she stated as she circled around the front desk, bending down to reach for a bottle she had tucked away out of sight. “Seemed very worked up. Wouldn’t doubt that you have your work cut out for you tonight.”

 She couldn’t help but feel the corners of her lips twitch at this as she made her way to the staircase, practically skipping every other step just to ensure she could reach her room faster. She could feel her heart lurch as it beat in her throat when she approached the door of her bedroom, willing herself to breathe and relax as she pressed the button on the panel beside it, the door sliding open. 

 The room was dimly-lit, illuminated solely by the setla lamp in the corner. A tall, dark figure stood with their back turned to where she stood and her heart skipped a couple of beats as the door slid closed behind her. The Jedi Knight still did not turn and she did her best to keep her composure, although it was proven difficult when she knew how good he could make her feel. 

 “You’re back,” she managed at last, speaking through a lump of saliva that had formed at the base of her throat. The Jedi Knight hummed as she cautiously approached, her fingers wary as they traced the line of his elbow through his thick, dark robes. She circled around until at last, his side of his face came into view, the thin scar that fell in a line down the end of his eyebrow, the plush of his pink lips that pressed themselves together in a firm, thin line. 

 This was hardly the first time she’d ever seen him but still, the sight of him never failed to take her breath away. It was truly devastating how beautiful he was, like a fallen angel who just so happened to stumble into their galaxy. He was simply unreal, for a human especially. 

 “I’ve missed you,” she whispered, finding his gaze beneath the darkness casted on them by his lids. His eyes were like endless pools of deep blue, like the murkiest waters of Kamino. There was something darker in them now, however, something she couldn’t quite place. Something was troubling him, it didn’t take a Jedi to sense it. Lizcar appeared to be right— she did have her work cut out for her. “Something ails you… are you alright?”

 The Jedi Knight— whom she didn’t have a name for, for either of their safety’s sake— let his eyelids fluttered closed, his chest heaving as he drew in a deep breath. Her brow furrowed as she watched him, as the arm she had been gently gripping onto moved, his other hand— his mechanical hand— wrapped around her wrist, dragging it up to his face. She gasped when her knuckles connected with the warm flesh of his cheek, when she flexed her fingers and could feel just how soft his lips were. 

 “I’ve missed you too,” he said at last, turning his lips into the skin of her hand and she shuddered when he placed a kiss there. His fingertips pressed into her wrist and she pressed her lips together as he placed a kiss to her knuckles, another to the tips of her middle and forefinger, trailing his mouth down to her wrist. 

 Goosebumps erupted over the expanse of her skin as he worked his kisses down her arm, using her arm to pull her into him as his lips reached her shoulder, trailing from her collarbone, up her neck, to her chin where he peppered kisses along the expanse of her jaw. He nuzzled his nose against the underside of her jaw just beneath her ear and breathed her in, as if he’d been craving her just as much as she him. 

 “I’ve missed the way you smell,” he said and she gasped when he kissed the lobe of her ear, his teeth gently nibbling on the soft skin there. “I’ve missed your skin. The way it feels. The way you feel.”

 She whimpered when he trailed his kisses back down her jaw until they reached the center of her throat, pressing the most delicate of kisses there. Then, his mouth made its ascent back up her chin until it reached hers, their lips touching but not quite. She was shuddering, her lips quivering against his in anticipation. 

 The Jedi Knight let his eyelids open and she, too, looked at him, his gaze so dark she swore she’d be reduced to a puddle at their feet any moment now. Locks of dark blonde hair fell over his eyes and she resisted the urge to reach up and swipe it away just as his lips parted once more. 

 “The noises you make whenever I so much as touch you.”

 Heat flared from her chest and fell down in a line to her center, warmth swirling and wetness pooling in the thin panties she wore. The Jedi Knight pressed his lips harder into hers, sealing them in a kiss. Her knees began to wobble and she swore she’d be a puddle of magma at their feet had his hands not been there to support her. 

 Her fingers clutched at his shoulders as his tongue swirled inside the expanse of her mouth, and it didn’t take much for him to have full control over hers. She mewled into his mouth, leaning into him for more until he pulled away, either of their chests heaving as they chased air back into their lungs. Cold bit into her skin as he removed himself altogether from her and she fought back a whimper as he removed the outer layer of his robes, dark gaze never once leaving hers. 

 “I’ve been from planet to planet nonstop since the last time I saw you,” he said in a low murmur as she lowered herself on the bed, slowly removing the lacy black cover-up she wore, the thin shoulder straps sliding down her shoulders. The Jedi Knight was down to just his pants, pulling the shirt he wore beneath all of his robes up over his head and letting it drop to the floor. “I’ve been to many beautiful places and met many new people yet, all I could ever think about was you.”

 She flushed at the confession as she unhooked her bra, tossing it aside so that she laid bare for him, save for the black lace panties she wore. The Jedi Knight’s deep blue gaze wandered over the canvas of her body as he approached, hovering over her, his fingers woven through her hair as he shook his head down at her. 

 “I don’t know what you have done to me,” he murmured. “But I cannot get enough of you.”

 He pressed his lips to hers again and she was putty in the palms of his hands, so eager for more of him that she didn’t know what to do with herself. His kisses ventured past her mouth, past her face, past her throat until they reached the valley between her breasts, his breath hot as it fanned over her skin. 

 “What have you done to me?” He whispered before turning to ravage one of her breasts, his tongue swirling over the peaked bud, her lips parting in a gasp as her chest heaved closer into his mouth. He removed his lips from one bud only to venture over to the other, truly not letting a single part of her body untouched. Her fingers wove themselves through the messy locks of his hair and she could just make out the dark gaze he was giving her through hooded lids, tossing her head back into the pillows behind her when he pulled away.

 His kisses traveled down her belly until they reached the hem of her panties, pressing his lips against the lacy material. “I couldn’t stop touching myself at night thinking about how good you feel when you are wrapped around me,” his voice spoke in a low husk and she mewled as his fingers curled around the hem of her underwear, tugging them down her legs agonizingly slow. 

 “Please,” she gasped when he finally ripped her panties away from her body altogether, feeling his breath as it approached her arousal. She squirmed beneath his gaze, wiggling her hips, desperate to have him closer. The Jedi Knight simply watched and she swore she could feel the intensity of his gaze on her pussy, on the slick that was surely dripping down her slit. “I need… please.”

 He glanced up at her through the dark of his eyes, slowly lowering himself closer to her throbbing heat, his lips but a mere whisper away from her sensitive bud. Her hips bucked, or rather, they tried to anyway before an invisible force held them down, away from him. Her eyelids snapped open and she peered down at him, his hands on the mattress beside her body. 

 He was using the Force on her. 

 “Patience,” he tittered and he was so close to her, she could feel the half crescent shape of his lips against her heat. “I plan to take my time with you. To rid you of the memories of the nights between when I last saw you.”

 She was a mess and he hadn’t even touched her yet. She struggled against the Force, desperate for any sort of friction she could gather. It was no use, however. He was too strong and she huffed, deflating in defeat. 

 The Jedi Knight chuckled at her realization that she was defeated, lowering his head until his lips could place the softest of kisses against her clit. She gasped at the abruptness of his kiss, her chest heaving in anticipation as he kissed her again and again and again. The Force pried her legs open and his arms hooked beneath her thighs, tugging her in even closer. 

 His tongue flattened against her entrance and she hissed through her teeth as he licked one, agonizingly slow stripe up her slit, flicking his tongue against the underside of her clit in the process. Sweat already began to bead on her hairline and oh, how she ached for more. She wasn’t sure whether she wanted his tongue or his fingers or his cock inside of her— all she wanted was him as close as possible. 

 “Please!” She mewled as he teased her tongue at her entrance, as if playing with his meal. The Jedi Knight chuckled, “such manners.”

 And then she was done for. 

 He buried his tongue inside of her, so deep that she wasn’t sure it was impossible for a tongue to be able to reach that deep inside of her. She was a shining, writhing mess as he ravished her pussy, practically shoveling her orgasm out of her with his tongue. Her hand reached for his curls again, tugging at his scalp, to which she earned herself a hum of approval, the vibration sending her even further down the tunnel of bliss. 

 The Force was back on her hips the second she began to buck them again, holding her down and ensuring he wouldn’t let a single drop of her release go to waste when she finally let go. Tears stung the outskirts of her eyelids as she came and she swore she could see the entire galaxy when he worked her through her orgasm with his tongue, lapping every last drop she had to offer up. 

 When he pulled away, she cried out, wanting more, needing him on her again. The Jedi Knight’s lips and chin glistened with her slick and he chuckled at how desperate she was as he pulled away to tug his pants down his legs, finally letting his cock spring free of its restraints. Even through the blur of her tears, she could make out just how big he was, could already feel her mouth begin to water at the sight. 

 “Please,” she murmured as he approached like an eclipse, casting a shadow over her. He was so big that all she could see was him, all she even cared to see was him. It was times like this she wished she had a name to put to his face, that she had a name that she could call out to, to moan. He was her beautiful stranger, her beautiful enigma she wished she could know everything about. 

 “You’re so… desperate,” he sighed as he hovered over her, pressing his lips onto hers for a brief kiss. “The most gorgeous thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

 Once again, the Jedi Knight was able to steal the breath from her lungs, to leave her speechless. She sighed as he kissed her again, as his hard length prod against her thigh before against her entrance, gasped when the girthy head broke past the barrier between her folds. 

 She tensed and cried when he pushed just an inch further in and he shushed her, kissing the tears away from her face. “Relax,” he cooed, waiting until she eased before pressing himself further inside of her. Still, he wasn’t all the way in but still, she felt so full. 

 “You’re so… hngh!” She cried when he snapped his hips further to sheathe the rest of himself inside of her, her nails etching crescents into the flesh of his shoulders. The Jedi Knight kissed her just below her eye again, pressing kisses all the way down to the shell of her ear. 

 “Call me by my name,” his whisper curled around her ear and she fluttered her eyes open, just making out the darkness of his stare through her watercolor vision. “But… but I—“

 “Anakin.”

 She gasped when he pulled out almost all the way just to snap his hips back into her again, feeling full to the brim with him yet again. Anakin. He had a name and felt like he trusted her enough to share it with her. Something sacred fell between them, like a thread had been sown between their souls to bridge them together. 

 She now knew his name. 

 “Anakin,” she breathed when he kissed her again, pulling away so that he could grip the headboard of the bed with his mechanical hand, his other grabbing a fistful of her hip. He cursed when she said his name for the first time, using the headboard as leverage to buck his hips into her again, harder each time. 

 “Say it again,” he groaned, fucking into her so hard that the bed was shaking, his grip on the headboard not enough to keep it from etching dents into the wall. 

 “Ana…! Anakin!” She yowled as his tip bruised her cervix over and over and fucking over again. White hot bliss scorched her skin, Anakin had taken over every single one of her senses until all she could think about was him. He was a parasite, infecting every sense of her being until she couldn’t think straight anymore. 

 She wasn’t quite sure she cared. 

 “Anakin!” She screamed again as she pulsed around him, squeezing his cock so tight that he cursed and fell until his lips were against her neck, sucking marks into her skin. She was so close to the edge, so close to succumbing to the bliss that she almost didn’t quite hear him. 

 “Run away with me.”

 She blinked, his pace never once stopping despite her own world coming to a screeching halt. Surely she didn’t hear him right?

 “Wh— what?” She managed to ask through the murky slime of her mind, trying to make sense of what she just heard. Anakin lifted his head from the crook of her neck until their gazes could crash into one another again, much like a supernova. She mewled when his hips slowed but still, the feeling of him inside of her stayed. 

 “You heard me,” Anakin drawled, his mechanical hand woven through her tresses while the other caressed her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “I know you hate it here. So leave with me.”

 She was at a loss for words, her mouth opening and closing but nothing could come out. She wasn’t sure what to say— was this not what she had been daydreaming about only hours before?

 Still, a tiny voice in the back of her mind told her this was just a joke, that he couldn’t have been serious. Yet, when she stared deeper into his dark blue gaze, she wasn’t convinced that he was just jesting. 

 “But where… I…”

 “Don’t worry about that,” he shook his head, cupping her cheek in his palm. “Let me get you out of here. I can’t stand to be without you and… and I know you’re not happy here and I…”

 She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She leaned forward, lifting her head until their lips were connected, stealing his breath away this time. 

 “Yes,” she breathed against his mouth once they had broken their kiss. “Take me away with you.”

 Anakin smiled, white teeth peeking from the cracks of his lips. He bucked his hips into her again and she gasped, clutching the bedsheets as he grabbed either of her hips, fucking into her at such an animalistic pace, she wasn’t quite certain how she would even manage to run away with him if she couldn’t walk. 

 “Gonna be all mine,” he murmured beneath his breath as he pushed her towards that edge once again. In the back of her mind, she could only imagine the rampage Lizcar would go on in the morning when she realized her top girl was gone. She could imagine the look on Vitta and the other girls’ faces when they all realized who she must’ve left with. 

 And she smiled up at Anakin just as either of their orgasms washed over them. 

a/n; so uh happy Easter!! 😭 not sure if this is the most appropriate thing to post on Easter but you know....

anyways, me?? posting two days in a row??? (do not get used to it LMAO)

TAGLIST;

@your-nanas-house

@chaoticevilbakugo

[trashmouth-richie]

♔ 𝖑𝖎𝖑𝖎𝖙𝖍: 𝖜𝖎𝖈𝖐𝖊𝖉 𝖌𝖆𝖒𝖊

♔eddie x female reader (lilith au)

♔ tw: 18+ minors get fucked. as all of the lilith au—can be read as a stand alone fic, nicknames, voyeurism? nude in public, driving while receiving head, driving while fooling around sexually, mentions of hickies.

♔a hot summer day calls for a drive out of hawkins out of indiana, but when your boy toy looks as delicious as Eddie does, you can’t keep your hands (or mouth) to yourself

more lilith here

“What does she say in that movie?” 

  Examining your neck in the mirror of Eddie’s visor, your fingernails poke the purpling marks adorned with deep swelled red pocks from his teeth. Some faded, others fresh and still slicked with your lover’s spit. 

  A joint burning fresh extends across the center console to share with you from ringed hands, nudging your bare shoulder with knuckles that were scuffed and scabbed over. 

  “Shit, not sure princess,” Eddie mouths around a cloud of smoke, “that cheesy musical?” 

  Taking the joint you flip the visor up, cranking the window down a few more notches before putting your painted toes on the dash, one foot on the vent. 

  “Something about looking like a leper, anyway, these….” you say pointing to the string of hickies on your neck, “are the prettiest necklaces I’ve ever owned.” 

  Eddie smiles a wicked grin, barely able to contain control of the steering wheel at you admiring his handiwork. 

  He was covered in marks from you as well, pink scratches down his chest and back, a permanent swell on his bottom lip from the way you sucked and bit on it, teasing him whenever you could. 

  He winks and nearly growls, “it’s a collector’s item, one of a kind, baby.” 

  “count me rich then, how much further?”  

  “Border is coming up I think,” he reaches his arm towards you playing with the steel bar between your bare nipple, “I love seeing you like this, but you might wanna put some clothes on.”

  It was hot in the van, hotter yet after Eddie had enough of your teasing tongue on his earlobe and decided to pull over for a quickie on an abandoned road. Pounding you raw until tears split from your eyes. 

  You were sitting completely naked, pussy bare as you fiddled and finagled with the air conditioning levers. “It’s so hot, and I’m sweaty, clothes are staying off… or is it bothering you?” 

  Eddie was shirtless as well, his skin sparkling with a sheen of sweat, fresh claw drags across his torso. 

  He grabs for your leg making you swivel in your seat as he pulls it towards, ass cheeks sticking and rubbing on the itchy fabric, “nothing you do bothers me little vixen,” his eyes flutter to you and then his crotch, eyeing you again so you can see the bulge growing in his jeans already, “you know that.” 

  Your eyes hood as you look at him through your lashes, a smirk slithers to your lips, “good.” Shifting sideways in your seat your bare toes rest on his lap, dangerously close to his erection. 

  Cranking the window down the entire way you stretch your arms and head out into the lazy breeze. Your body is on full display for him to feast his eyes on. Resembling a Victorian styled painting. 

  He drank in the way your skin stretched over your ribs as you bent out of the window, chin pointed to the cerulean sky, fingers twirling in the wind. The sun sparked hot against your tits, glinting a hue of seafoam blue from the windshield visor. Neck prickled sweetly with his hickies. 

  Your black painted toes circle around his cock, working him gently with the arch in your foot, a silver ring on your second toe. 

  “Baby, baby, baby…” Eddie groans, shifting himself deeper into the driver's seat.

  The wind chilled your fingers enough to cool you down, they felt like ice on your burning skin as they slithered further down to the warmed wet heat between your legs. 

  “Don’t start something you can’t finish,” he groans as your feet stroke him again and again. 

  Middle finger deep inside of yourself you only smile, spreading your knees apart to show him, “don’t I always?” 

  “Fucking Chriiist,” his arm stretches out over your knee, reaching for any part of you he could without killing you both by going off the road, his lips press tight together when you whine out from your own pleasure. And you can feel his dick kick up, “goddamn sweetheart.” 

  Minutes pass of Eddie glancing between the open road and your fingers feverishly rubbing at your clit and slipping in and out of your slick folds— trying to focus on his task at hand. 

  A pretty little pout crosses your brows, frustration painted on your face, “your fingers are bigger than mine, it doesn’t feel the same.” 

  An idea crosses Eddie’s mind, filthy and genius. 

  “Want me to do it for you, angel?” he half mocks, pushing your feet back to you, “sit up straight.. normal.” 

  You do as your told, legs stretched open with a foot out of the window. His middle and ring finger curl towards your mouth and you open with no hesitation, sucking, tongue rubbing softly on the pads, his blood boils at the warmth from your mouth. 

  Popping his fingers out with a little pop, he works on your clit first. Teasing, rubbing, pinching. Your angelic moans fill the van, music to his ears. When his thick fingers push into you, your eyes roll at the pained pleasure, coloring your vision to a dim onyx, seeing spots. 

  “right there, huh?” Eddie grunts when you gasp and pant his name, “sucking me in deep princess holy shit.” 

  Your release hits fast, gushing over his fingers like a faucet, nipples tweezed between your pinched grip. Eddie encourages you through it, his hot breath steaming up the window, sweat on his brow.

  Opening your eyes, the sun seems like a hot iron poker to your retinas, the blissful high coming down as your body heaves deep breaths, lips pursed. 

  Eddie’s fingers pull out and you groans at the way you’ve coated his fingers, “look at you, making a mess.” 

  “Let me fix it,” you purr before grabbing his hand and wrapping your tongue around his fingers, sucking your taste from them, licking them clean. 

  “Fuck,” Eddie pleads inaudibly, and you only bat your eyelashes and smirk. All hope is lost when your cheeks hollow and you look at him with innocent eyes. 

  “That mouth of yours.. I need it on me, now.” 

  You oblige all to giddily, planting your knees on your seat and leaning over to unthread his belt, licking at the claw marks on his skin as his cock flops out from his boxers in all its veiny glory.  

  A dribble of spit falls from your tongue like honey, trickling on the head of his cock, “should we pull over?” 

  Eddie’s eyes are nearly shut as he holds your chin, “nah, I got it, just need you… please.” His hand rubs down the bare of your back, cupping the fat of your ass, breaching your pussy lips open with his middle finger and you let out a satisfying moan. 

  “You good, baby?” he asks, “so fucking dirty for me.” 

  Pumping him slow with your hand, you lower your mouth to the soft velvet of his cock, sliding him in and out of your mouth, nodding along to his question, and popping off to mutter a gasped, “mm only for you, Eddie.” 

  He cants his hips up to your open mouth, nearly cumming when you gag and slurp him up, bruising your throat. He works his fingers the way you like, stretching you open and going deeper than your own could reach. Your vibrating moans around his length have him squirming in the drivers seat, swerving over the yellow lines and back into the lane again. 

  You cup his balls, rubbing a thumb between them in circular motions, and Eddie yells out. 

  “fuuuuck, take it baby,” his hand falls from the wheel and holds your head down as he cums hard. Coating your throat in his second orgasm in less than an hour, aching sensitivity pulsing through his throbbing cock. 

  Your name falls from his lips like a chanted prayer in a backwoods church, soft and quick. His warm cum stays in your mouth as you suck the soul from him— hungry for more.

  When you pop off of him and tuck him back into place, he looks wrecked, fringe of his bangs frizzy, dripping from sweat,  navel pooling with perspiration. 

  Opening your mouth to show off his spend on your tongue, he about comes undone. It took him a while to get used to this but now he knows you’d never spit, not his girl. 

  Swallowing, and brandishing off your empty mouth, you lick lips like a cat after a meal, “you taste so fucking good, Eddie. How the hell did your previous girlfriends never do that?” 

  “Fuck princess,” Eddie groans, pulling your lip down and watching as the plump flesh thumps back into splace, sending a shiver down your spine, “I dunno, still trying to wrap my head around how I got lucky enough to find someone who loves doing it… fuckin’ won the lottery with you, my little sex addict.” 

  Relighting the joint from earlier, you press your lips to his, shotgunning smoke from your lungs into his mouth, letting his heady taste go from your tongue to his. 

  He inhales and you sit back on the sticky mess you had made earlier, ashing the joint out the window lazily, “only thing I'm addicted to is you.” 

[dadsbongos]

kanin under maanen

word count - 4.6 k

warnings - p in v sex, reader is described with words like "soft" and "round" and is also fem, rag's status as a widower is an afterthought, i kept losing track of where i put his furs

also - i think oldegaard is funger's norway?? or something... :P oops

“Please- I’ll be quick, I swear! I’ll carry things! I know how to mix herbs, I can heal you! And I’ll be quiet, too. Just, oh, just please... please let me stay with you…!”

Your hands rattle against your chest, which heaves like you’re fresh from a churning dash through the entirety of the dungeons -- just to ask this man, a stranger, a simple question.

“Can I stay with you, please?”

Ragnvaldr stares down at you over the bridge of his nose, seafoam eyes lapping over the weaker stain of your frame in his vision. Such bold, shameless desperation plagues him. He starts to wonder how you’d made it to the courtyard. How many cramped corners you’d jammed yourself into, barely scraping out of the dungeon beasts’ sights. How you’ve held your mind together to form words and continue your slow crawl to freedom.

The reddened, raw stretch of skin over his right ribs stings suddenly to emphasize your point. Ragnvaldr was raised well enough to know which shrubbery to scrub into which wounds and which ones to avoid at all costs, but his knowledge was poultry compared to what these cells demanded.

At the downwards twitch of your knees, Ragnvaldr can feel an uncomfortableness to rival the ache of his seared flesh twinge through his beating chest. He takes you by the shoulder, grip loosening when you flinch under his hold. Ragnvaldr shakes his head, silky cardinal tresses dancing over his skin. His lips, cracked and fading in color, pin themselves back faintly to ease your shivering uncertainty.

“No need to beg on your knees,” Ragnvaldr unlatches from you completely in favor of cradling the slowly leaking slashes in his side, “You said you can heal?”

“Yes!” you eagerly respond, nodding, “Yes, let’s sit you down!”

Ragnvaldr flows under the bristle of your fingertips, fur armor quickly coming off. His uncovered back was against the chilled stone highwall; lower body stretched out against the grass bed. Your hands move in smoother, more assured strides as you single out the most useful of your colored leaves.

“Can I…?”

“Ja, anything you need.”

Ragnvaldr’s eyes, you notice, have softened in how they watch over your work. The flutter of his lashes now matches the tenderness of their color. A near-missed swipe from a serrated weapon -- none like you’ve seen -- decorates the majority of his right side under his arm. Angry red lines string over the pink flesh. You press a careful hand into the surrounding area, testing the firmness of his body for soft spots. For broken bones. He allows it, despite the stark difference in strength and the fact he could probably crush your skull with one palm -- he allows your hands to roam.

The bag you pull from is ratty and he thinks the deep brown hue may be more from staining than original dyes, but he says nothing. You first pull out a thick book with yellowed pages between faded, peeling covers. Then, four blue herb sprigs and two glass vials -- the stretch and twist of your bones and ligaments beneath soft, unbruised skin is hypnotizing to Ragnvaldr. You crush the sprigs with a single vial before hurriedly separating the remains between the two vials and combining two blue vials into one.

“I don’t think it’s infected,” you murmur, clogging the vial with a cork. A lighter shade of blue now shimmers beneath the glass, darker shreds of herb cling inside the abandoned second vial.

Ragnvaldr shakes his head, “Nej. I’d have mentioned it.”

“Ah, right,” you cup a hand over your mouth, eyes wide as if you’re offstruck by your own words, “I didn’t mean- of course, you- I mean… I’m sorry,” you bashfully reopen the cerulean bottle and hold it up towards the man’s face, “I didn’t mean to suggest anything…”

A vicious anxiety continues to course through your chest, no matter how pliant Ragnvaldr has made himself to show his trust for your care. You’re visibly hyper-aware of how simply he could end your life. Something about the nature of this makes him nauseous.

“I’m sure you didn’t,” Ragnvaldr speaks softer than before, his voice a deep, gentle purr through the broad expanse of his chest. Tenderly, he swipes the open vial from your palm, the warmth from his skin washing over the cold nips of your own, “Thank you.”

Silently, you nod, wasting seconds to watch his adam’s apple bob thickly with each swallow before you pull loose the cloth you’ve collected through ransacked rooms. The strips coil around themselves by your kneeling legs.

“Can I start wrapping it?”

“Ja.”

“This might be…” you flounder under his eyes, instead stringing up the cloth in your hands and leaning over Ragnvaldr’s bigger frame. Invasive.

Ragnvaldr contemplates, for the second time, how you’d skipped past guards and tentacled flesh beasts and dogs. Even the impish, frail, winged creatures seem capable of knocking your terrorized self off your steady. Then, he asks himself why he’s taken you in. Oldegaard groomed strong warriors, and he had always taken pride in that. He was raised with scorching blood and willing hands, you were not.

But you remind him of the blacksmith’s girl. A sweet thing -- also unfamiliar with the fighter’s path. He prays she was killed quickly rather than being made to suffer.

Perhaps he can apologize to her and the rest of his gutted homeland by escorting you back out once he’s taken revenge.

“How did you get this?” your voice lulls Ragnvaldr from his own head, he looks up from your binding hands to your soft face, “Can I ask that? How were you injured?”

“A man with the head of a crow,” Ragnvaldr admits this to you with the ease he would his name, “A mace for an arm,” he gestures down the length of his side, “He’s much faster than I am.”

“I’m glad you got out,” you finish tucking the tattered end of your cloth spiral into the rest of the sprawl. You are suddenly afraid of being misconstrued, “I’m glad this dungeon couldn’t claim another soul.”

Ragnvaldr thinks you are as kind as the blacksmith’s girl, but you must have resilience to survive this far. More guts and nerve, and even teeth. They may be loose and accustomed to chewy, lavish fat, but you most certainly have teeth.

He wants to see them.

“I feel the same.”

You smile, bigger than he had earlier. The thin shadows and dimples highlighted in your face remind him of when he was younger, with the liberty to stare up at full moons. Absorbing and beautiful with radiance to shine over shadowed forests and into black night seas. He wants to return to there. Even in the cruel winters when he was faced with the opened chests and severed limbs of his deceased comrades. Even then, when he had to eat or be eaten, things were simpler compared to now.

“I think you should rest,” you frown immediately after speaking, “To avoid agitating the wound with the cloth… it isn’t very clean and I don’t have enough green herbs to keep infections at bay for long.”

Ragnvaldr tenses, but it’s not as nerve-wracking as it would’ve been mere moments ago. He clenches his fists and gently skims his knuckles down the pseudo-bandages, when it stuns him momentarily, he nods.

“We can’t stay out here, then.”

“There are rooms in the dungeon’s first level.”

“For torture?”

Dread fills you, that he may consider your suggestion foolish and ultimately dump you off to a guard, but then you see the lopsidedness of his grin. He’s messing with you.

“Well, yes,” you huff, coming to a stand and holding out both hands to assist him up, “but our options are limited.”

Ragnvaldr stubbornly stands on his own, pushing off the tower wall behind him and stumbling ahead of you towards the entry hall.

And with just as much defiance, you jam yourself under one of his arms before you can properly think out the action. Your desire to be helpful and needed by the strongman outweighs your politeness; not wanting to be abandoned with your back turned. Ragnvaldr jolts over you, but relents and leans the more unstable part of his weight against you. The trek is difficult, but you both manage. You feel less afraid traversing back through the dank, dark halls than you did leaving them, and you are not ignorant to the fact it's because of Ragnvaldr hanging over you. Injured as he is, he’s still far more competitively capable than you.

Once you’ve properly settled into a room and jammed the door shut, Ragnvaldr slips onto the sole creaky bed. His eyes close, exhaling noisily through his nose.

The bed’s frame is caked in dried, blackening blood and sits opposite a bucket full of murky sludge; a crinkly film drying over the surface. Pressed far into the side of the room is a table with glinting blades scattered across the stained wood. You can’t define what most of the tools are, but you can identify the skinning knife teetering by the closest edge of the table.

Aside from that are the typical smears of carmine blood over cobblestone: people before you and someday people after you. You can only pray now to the old Gods that it won’t be your own blood to join the pool.

For that, for your safe passage through the dungeons, you need to ensure your new party doesn’t fall to infection or blood loss.

“I’ll check you over tomorrow morning,” you tangle your fingers together, switching the weight between your feet, “Maybe tonight if it’s noticeably hurting.”

Ragnvaldr stares over at you again before patting the bed.

You heed the silent command, dragging along the worn bag you pulled from a barrel in the basement.

“What brought you here?” you wonder quietly, looking over at the man. He monopolizes the bedspace, spread wide over the mattress without even intending to.

His eyes drift up to the ceiling before finding your dutiful hands again, he follows the movements as they dig through your items. Taking stock of what you have, mourning the losses, and fretting over what you need. The blacksmith’s girl didn’t have hands as mystifying as you.

“I am here to find a relic that a certain person took from my people. This man is imprisoned somewhere deep down below,” Ragnvaldr is not so foolish as to believe his home’s pillaging is either undeserved or unbefitting for his soul to bear. He’s done the same, and the parasite from Vinland still burns a hole in his pocket. Even so, his human heart persists, “When I found them- I was one of only a few survivors.”

“Oh,” you pause your inventory search to very delicately press a hand to his shoulder and pat sympathetically, “I’m sorry. That’s terrible.”

“I’m going to kill him.”

He wonders what someone with as soft hands and face as you would think of such a declaration. If the teeth you have can chew through the toughness of his words. You pull back, but much slower than he was expecting, and return to sorting through your bag.

Much to Ragnvaldr’s surprise, you smile, “Then I’ll make sure you get there in one piece.”

You swallow his ominous message without pause.

“What are you doing here?”

“Ah, a friend of mine…” you worry your bottom lip between your teeth, fingers caught at the bottom of your bag with a thin slip of paper, “She’s pregnant and the man promising to wed her came for a job to set them up for life. He’s been gone for a while.”

“A friend would send you here? Into this evil?”

“She never said she wanted me to come here,” you shrivel into yourself, settling your bag against the bedpost leg, “I don’t know what compelled me… I really- “ your hands fist the torn, blood-stained sheets, “I was an idiot to think I could’ve done any good here.”

Ragnvaldr sits up, laying his calloused palm over yours, “The man you’re looking for. What’s his name?”

“Cahara. Cahara of the South.”

The man nods, auburn strands hanging with the motion, “And I’ll make sure you find him for your friend.”

“Thank you,” you notice the way he moves further to the side, a new gap on the mattress for your body to slot beside him, “Thank you, Ragnvaldr.”

He doesn’t think he’s heard someone outside the North say his name with such care.

You lay beside Ragnvaldr and revel in how close the two of you are. Safety and comfort buzzing in the lack of space.

He’s big. And warm. Like the sun.

You missed the sun.

…

Upon rising from slumber, you see that Ragnvaldr is still in unguarded rest. His bare chest rises and falls in soothed repetitive swoops, and his soft hair rains over the flat pillow beneath him. Prepared to slide off the mattress, you don’t register the arm fastening you to Ragnvaldr before you’re brushing against it. The arm tightens and you’re rendered useless.

You contemplate waking Ragnvaldr. Of squeezing yourself through the narrow hold. Even forcefully unwinding his muscle from your midsection.

You fall back asleep.

…

By the next time you’re awake, Ragnvaldr is too. You’ve sat him up against the scratched, chipped headboard and are undressing his wound. Green herb sprigs sit at the ready by your right knee in case pus is clinging to the cloth and oozing from open shreds. Thankfully, nothing of the sort awaits.

“Good!” you chirp, and Ragnvaldr remembers a full moon hanging over the spindly, leafless trees in the harsh falls of his youth, “There’s still some scratching, probably scarring later… but no infection! And it’s not inflamed or red.”

“We should continue our way, then.”

“Oh.”

Ragnvaldr laughs suddenly, from the hull of his chest, and only stops when the skin over his ribs pulls uncomfortably, “You want to stay here?”

“It’s been nicer than out there… We could stay in here. Away from the darkness.”

It has been nicer. The dungeons of Fear and Hunger are no place for domesticity, but anything is fair in a locked room. In a strange way, you wish you could stay with the beautiful man from Oldegaard.

His hair brushes past his shoulders and even though he is so much larger than you (you fear that he may even be able to kill a guard on his own), he is nicer than most men you’ve met in your life. Especially where you live in the seedier underbelly of Rondon -- men with spines are not uncommon, but men with spines and hearts are. Cahara was a welcomed gem in the coal mines of home.

And Ragnvaldr, you fear, might be your prettiest diamond.

He gazes upon you fondly. Seafoam you want to drink up. Or drown in. You haven’t decided yet. He cups your round cheeks and smooths back the stray hairs slicked to your face.

“Maanejente,” he coos beneath his breath, the harsh pads of his thumbs glide over the plain of your face and down your neck, working into the knotted meat of your shoulders, “Maanejente… nothing will hurt you. Not with me here,” he wants to see your teeth in that pretty smile from last night, “You have sugar in your heart, has anyone told you that?” you bare your teeth in a grin and he feels more successful than after any battle, “We’ll press on later.”

You nod under his calm massaging, eyes drifting to the fiery lines over his right side, “I don’t have anything to make the wounds close.”

“I don’t expect anything more,” he soothes, studying you kindly. Oldegaard had such a wide, unhindered view of the skies, when he was a boy he would stare into the moon’s craters. He’d compare them from night to night and dream about a day when he would defeat a beast so great, he’d be rewarded. The thick trees of Vinushka Himself would lift Ragnvaldr high into the sky and he’d be able to study the deep caverns up close, “You’ve healed me plenty to keep fighting.”

He became a man and forgot those dreams in favor of providing for himself and his wife and their child.

But he remembers himself in his purest form and finds that he doesn’t want to part with you after taking revenge against the foolhardy Le’Garde. If you asked, he would stop fighting after that, or he could become the God of Ultra-Violence. Whichever way you please, he’ll bend.

“Maanejente, we should go.”

You move swiftly, exhaling sharply with a curt nod, “Right!” you stow away the unused green herbs, “Right, we’ll go.”

“The job your friend had taken, what was his work here?” Ragnvaldr watches you move. Your sureness and determination sway him further.

“He had to find a man,” you bury yourself into the shadow of Ragnvaldr as he unsticks the room lock, “I’m not sure of the name.”

“An important man, though,” Ragnvaldr is embarrassed how his first thought is what you’ll do if he kills the man your friend is meant to rescue, “Must be.”

You realize what he means, eyes widening, “No! It… Well… It could be…”

Ragnvaldr’s warm gaze melts into the floor tiles as he guides you through the dim hallways. Prison guards moan and gurgle in the distance and the sound used to freeze you in your spot -- it now feels like the squeaks of mice with the Northern man in front of you.

“I’m sure if he knew,” you brace, “he wouldn’t get in your way.”

Ragnvaldr pushes through to the courtyard, unveiling rows of hanged men naked and baking in the open air. Despite the fact this is, in fact, open air, the scent of death continues to cling along each blade of grass. A mist clogs your vision.

Bared skin wafting more warmth than the exposed sun, Ragnvaldr looks down at you as you clutch your measly bag. Your expression is pinched like you’ve somehow stabbed him in the back. His red hair burns like gold embers in the bathing light.

“You would let me kill the man, then?”

“He hurt you,” you answer simply. A way so unbridled by dark and evil, Ragnvaldr once again cannot comprehend your survival past the entrance guard dogs.

You discuss a stranger’s death with the comfort you would which color you prefer for robes. You have teeth unsharpened by true terror. Ragnvaldr should get you free of these walls soon.

“Sugar for a heart,” he muses.

The two of you duck under an archway and find a womanly figure in the mist. Two oblong points jut out from her skull, and the closer you get the more defined her shapes become. Firstly, is that she’s naked (Ragnvaldr chuckles when you gasp and clench your eyes shut); second is that her horned points are ears on a mask. Her voice drips like honey from behind the bunny mask,

"Welcome to the meadows, o' travelers,” she shifts closer to the wood post behind her, your eyes slicing sharply away from the sway of her breasts, “Let us ease your suffering…” your stare dawdles up over the contemplative face of Ragnvaldr, then to his injured side, “The first one is free."

“Mending of flesh,” you mutter, creeping further into Ragnvaldr’s coziness, “Sylvian will heal you, if you…”

Ragnvaldr is struck by the opportunity, wringing his hand through yours and stringing you into the scene. The expressions you can make out from under the eggshell masks are highly varied -- from twisted agony to buttery bliss to far-off stares and brainless drooling. Some bodies are limp, unmistakable from corpses aside from occasional jolts and twitches of their hips. Other bodies are more lively, rocking and humping in veracity. A man with dark hair stands in the middle, he waves the both of you over.

"Are you looking for partners?” you clutch Ragnvaldr’s hand tightly and pointedly ignore his exposed groin, and he squeezes back. The man giggles quietly beneath his mask before holding out two more, “Just take off your clothes and put on these masks."

“Come, mannejente,” Ragnvaldr pulls you away from the man, a previously unfamiliar thrumming working hot blood through his entire body. He works off his furs quickly and lifts your bag from your shoulders to lay it down, “Would you be my partner?” he smiles softly, “I’m not sure of these other people.”

His utterance curls inside you like a full meal. The thought alone makes your mouth water. He’s got meat on his bones and you want to sink your teeth into him. If he were to sleep with anyone else in this garden, you can already tell the sight would make you physically sick. You hope that he’d feel the same.

“Right,” but the dungeons are not a place for his affection for you, and even though you know you’re not made for this world -- you don’t want to make him lose sight of his mission, “Everyone else is just strange.”

“Not you,” Ragnvaldr’s hands find your shoulders again -- working slightly under the hem of your lackluster cloth shirt, “Not you.”

Ragnvaldr is big and warm like the sun. More like the sun than what hangs in the sky above. The sun you used to run under as a small girl before the crushing weight of responsibility ran you tired and nerve-sprung. You miss those days. Somehow, even though he’s directly sifting off your clothes, you even miss Ragnvaldr.

Somehow, you need him closer.

And closer you pull Ragnvaldr, right by the furs draped over his shoulder; unsurely brushing your hands under the thick material. Ragnvaldr flows under your call, shrugging off the weight of his furs as he frees you of your own clothing. Little mind is paid to either you or Ragnvaldr by the other erratic bodies, but still, their presence is off-putting. In a terrible nightmare, you could see these people being broken from their overstimulation as soon as Ragnvaldr is tucked inside you. Then their eyes would wander -- would they judge you? A newcomer unwelcomed, perhaps?

Ragnvaldr gently kisses your cheek, sweeping you up between his arms and smoothly lying you on the plush grass. He kneels between your spread legs, angling the surrounding bodies out of your vision the most he could.

“Focus on me,” he simpers, all to your ears, “Sweet girl… snill maanejente...”

You never studied the tongue of the North, figuring that it would never come into play in the West, but you could listen to Ragnvaldr ramble to himself in his mother tongue all day. His hands slide over your sides, molding into the bend of your waist before snatching you up by the hips and perching you over his bent knees.

“I- “ wind catches in your throat, hands balling on the ground, “I’ve never laid with a man before…”

Ragnvaldr nods, leaning over you with his broader form to kiss you again. On the lips this time. He leaves with a soft, chaste peck before pursing his lips and letting spit pool in his mouth and laving your cunt with the saliva. He promises to be patient while slicking a single finger inside you.

The stretch is not entirely unpleasant, a faint pinch.

“Relax for me, sweet girl,” Ragnvaldr stares down at his hand slowly pressing into the apex of your thighs, “Take a deep breath and relax. Let me take care of you, yes?”

Ragnvaldr hikes one of your thighs to his waist, continuing to fingerfuck you until you’re gasping his name. His spit is joined by your natural wetness mixing along his thick middle finger, slippery and messy: he coils a second finger into you, carefully stretching your hole. Your other thigh joins at his waist of your own volition, jerking your leg into him in the throes of bubbling pleasure.

The warmth of Ragnvaldr’s body swaddles you, the meat of his palm grinding against your clit and sending a spiral of heat down your spine. Heating your chilled blood and raging all the way into your face.

Your bottom lip catches between your teeth, both hands squeezing around Ragnvaldr’s wrist as you cant your hips into his hand.

Noticing your earnest efforts to meet his fingering halfway, Ragnvaldr’s spare hand cups the flesh of your ass and pulls you higher over his lap, “Eager, maanejente?”

“Oh, please, Ragnvaldr!” you whimper, jerking onto his fingers. This begging he could get used to, “Please, please, I need you to- !” unfortunately for him, you stop that plea short, “I need you!”

“Beautiful voice for such greed,” he shadows over you, kissing and sucking the column of your throat as he replaces his fingers with the head of his cock. The enveloping heat of your cunt sucks him in as though you’re starved, tightly he grasps your hips and restrains the urge to give in and press your pelvis flush to his. He may leave violet imprints, but he knows he will soothe them later so the concern is quickly pushed aside, “My sweet girl is greedy,” he whines at the squeeze around his dick, “And so lovely when I’m inside her. So pretty, aren’t you?”

Your arms loop around his neck, nails puncturing into the skin of his bare back. Heat waves through your palms and through your arms -- all down your chest and into your churning gut. Most of all, however, the heat is buzzing where the both of you are connected. His hips slotted against yours.

“Pretty when you’re working,” he lifts you from his cock before thrusting in again, building in speed until his hips are pistoning into you in smooth, fluid strokes, “Pretty when you’re fucked,” his thumb finds your soaked clit and circles it, just to pinch out as many of your whines as he can, “Pretty - hah! - pretty maanejente.”

Ragnvaldr is big and broiling hot and you don’t know if you can stand to be apart from him after this. Dungeons be damned, damned as your souls.

His cock spears each sweet spot nestled inside you: thick and full. And messy. So wet you can feel your juices webbing between where his hips meet your thighs on every pull-back.

The arm not stimulating your button of nerves rolls under you and up to the back of your neck. He secures you in his hold, pressure on the sides of your throat though not suffocating, so he can push even further inside you. Ragnvaldr kisses up from your collarbones to your jaw and finally the corner of your mouth before he huffs into your mewling lips. Your thighs tighten around him as the steady warmth of ecstasy comes to a boil.

Ragnvaldr’s tongue dips into your mouth, desperate to taste your own tongue. Try as he may to keep quiet in favor of your moans, the throaty, raw groans and grunts from his chest never cease. The sounds make you wail louder into his gaping maw as your cunt cinches around Ragnvaldr.

When he was a boy, he used to dream of being lifted by swirly branches until he could scrape the moon with his fingertips. He imagines the feeling of you cumming with him is the same, inseparable euphorias digging up from his gut and swallowing the rest of his body whole. Your teeth latched into his neck, and he is unwilling to be released.

In darkness, he finds the moon. And for now, he doesn’t need to consider how foolish it is to trap a celestial body beneath him when he’s here for Le’Garde’s bastard head. In darkness, he’s illuminated by the powdery shine he senselessly clings to.

In the same way, you bathe in a sun that feels otherwise unattainable. Large and unburdened, Ragnvaldr warms your chills with ease under a sun less desirable than his company. A muggy, clouded sun -- wholly unappealing compared to the man above you.

This affection will eat you alive down here.

You might let it.

[acronym-chaos]

Sensus Coining Post

[PT: Sensus Coining Post]

[ID: Two rectangular flags that look nearly identical except the second one is a grayscale version of the first one. The flags have six diagonal stripes. The width and colors from leftmost to rightmost stripes of the first flag are: thick dark cerulean, thick teal blue, medium light seafoam green, medium pale mint, thick cambridge blue and thick deep aquamarine. In the center of the flag there is a cambridge blue symbol of a side looking silhouette of a human head with six rays around it. Both the head and rays are outlined twice with dark cerulean and deep aquamarine. As mentioned above the second flag is a grayscale version of the first. End ID].

Sensus: A term describing one's mindset. For when your mindset is or resembles that of [x]. This is not a gender but can be used as a descriptor of one's identity.

[A purple thin line divider shaded at the bottom. End ID].

@radiomogai

[natsubane]

also sitting here wondering why only zexion's is destroyed so badly that it's not visible. i thought it was bc he was the only one whose absent silhouette i had beaten but i went and beat larxene too and hers didn't change...

[davidbowielovesyou]

Don’t You Wish You Were Here?

Happy 3 year bookiversary to the House in the Cerulean Sea!

Arthur and Linus share a kiss on the beach on a warm summer night. I did two versions, the second with a blue filter to make it look more like nighttime. 

[ID: Arthur Parnassus and Linus Baker from T.J. Klune’s The House in the Cerulean Sea are sitting next to one another in the sand. Their backs are to the viewer, and they are facing the calm ocean. It is night time, the sky is dark blue, and the ocean is a lighter blue. Seafoam is approaching their feet. Arthur is leaning into Linus’ space, and Linus has his arm around Arthur’s bare shoulders. Arthur’s right hand rests on the ground behind Linus, and his left hand is caressing Linus’ right cheek. Their eyes are both closed and Arthur is kissing Linus softly. Linus has a tiny smile; his lips are slightly parted and there is a hint of tongue. Linus wears a blue t-shirt and dark blue striped shorts. Arthur is shirtless and is wearing blue and white striped shorts. The second picture is exactly the same as the first one, except it has a blue filter over it, making it look more like nighttime. /end ID]

@dontuwishuwerehere

[msb-lair]

Clutch #3181 - Tilly/Tilley

Mated On: 2023-04-04 # of eggs: 3 Hatched On: 2023-04-09

Progeny:

Hatchling 8409 (SodaPop) - Aberration Female, Aqua Diamond/Robin Flair/Pistachio Frills, Multi-Gaze - 50 gems on 2023-04-11

Hatchling 8410 (Mint) - Aberration Female, Spruce Flaunt/Seafoam Flair/Pistachio Frills, Pastel - 15,000 on 2023-04-14

Hatchling 8411 - Aberration Male, Turquoise Flaunt/Cerulean Flair/Seafoam Glimmer, Unusual - 15 gems on 2023-04-24

Comments:

[justalittleficsideblog]

𝕊𝕙𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝔹𝕝𝕦𝕖

In which you find Gojo's six eyes are more than just his techniques. warnings: none aside from spoilers ifykyk word count: 1.2k

MAJOR manga spoilers from most recent chap 245

You had never known that light could reflect the cerulean that embodied a soul the way his did. The way the azure dips into navy when he’s irritated while the color darts lighter when he’s fairly content with whatever is in front of him. You tended to see the lighter colors reflected at you. Oceans of seafoam with the ever-stubborn piece of onyx in the middle of it. waves of color crashing back towards his dilated pupils whenever he was near you, spotted you in a crowd of people, even thinking about you. “What’re you starin’ at?” his pointed eyebrows raised in question, sliding off the bench to angle his torso facing you. “Nothing much,” you mused, taking a bite out of your sandwich that you both had bought at a nearby deli. “Just thinking about how there are so many shades of blue.” Stunned, he leaned back onto the bench, his back arching slightly. You noticed he took particular interest in the pot next to him on the bench, conveniently turned away from you. Throughout your friendship and gentle flirtations, you began to see more distinct varieties of blue. You understood the notable changes and the flecks of near silver that seemed to dance off of his eyes as he lowered his sunglasses, allowing you a vision partially overwhelming. You stuck your tongue out at him, kicking your feet up onto his desk amidst the empty classroom. “It’s getting pretty dark out,” he drawled, drawing his hair back with his hands. You scoffed, angling you head to glance outside at the ever-setting sun. “Your eyes should be enough to light your way home, Satoru.” “Their blinding in their beauty, I’m well aware” he chuckled, a breathy almost baritone sound that escaped his chest, Distracted, you tried your best to catch a view of the setting sun as it dipped across the horizons edge. “I’m not so sure about blinding…” you trailed off. “More like difficult to look at for too long, like how you see everything the light touches but the source of the light itself tends to make you uncomfortable when you peer at it too long.” He shifted his chair, shoulders now touching yours. These rare moments of seriousness were far and few between, but he could sense a moment when he needed to. “But,” you continued on, looking directly into his eyes. “When that sun is about to leave, when it makes its descent, and you can really get a good look at it; you realize how truly beautiful it was all along.” “Is this meant to be a metaphor about my six eyes?” he joked, tilting his chin down in an attempt to catch you off guard, to break that sentimentalism that had caused your thoughts to drift to places that challenged his identity and façade. Suddenly uncomfortable with your eye contact and how you searched his face, he quickly slid his glasses back up onto his nose. “I think it’s a metaphor about people in general, Satoru.” With the sun now completely gone, darkness filled the room, and you stood up to leave. “Wait,” he jumped up as you did. “I’ll walk you home. My eyes can light the way.” He slipped off his sunglasses again, eyes going comically wide. You had a theory that while he covered up his eyes for the comfort of his audience, he likely did it because of how easily his emotions could be read with a single shift. They were expressive, unhinged, raw and feeling. The strength of those emotions was enough to make anyone look away first. But you were drawn into the unfettering and unwavering colors that were his tells. “Has anyone ever told you that your eyes change colors when your frustrated?” “What—” his brows furrowed together as he registered what you just said. “They most certainly do not. Clearly you need to get your eyes checked.” He shoved your shoulder so that you walked ahead of him, leading him to the shopping center.

You had made it a game over the years, trying to gauge what color would be reflected back when he gazed at you, when you both made eye contact and there seemed to be an ease in his shoulders and his pupils took away some of that brilliant color that you enjoyed so much. There had been many twinges of this and that. You’d seen sorrow and pain; God how you hated those colors the most. Anytime you had seen it you wanted to smother it so it never got to be reflected into his eyes again. Because that’s what it was. His eyes were a window into his soul, his identity, his entire being was wrapped up in his eyes. You rubbed your fingers through his tresses, admiring the pure white that danced across your fingers as you tried to braid small plaits into his hair. A worthy endeavor, you thought. You wished you had kept that memory tighter, memorized the texture, what the breeze felt like as it hit your face. As the soft snores of Satoru were the only things you had heard as your ran your hands through his hair, undoing an hour of your hard work. Because once he had returned from that prison realm, those colors had changed again. They were no longer fluid, smoothly moving between his emotions. No, this time… they were guarded. Striking and sharp, all hard lines and ridges even when his gaze met yours. Oh, it softened, those lighter colors barely reaching the surface as he turned his attention fully to you. But there was a quiet pride there, he no longer had his juvenile charm that he had carried into adulthood. Instead, his colors reflected steel, the colors of stormy seas that crashed against lighthouses, determined to hit and wear down anything it clashed with. He said nothing as he approached you, awaiting what you knew would be his final battle, one that would remake or break the world as you knew it. Instead, he grazed his fingers along your cheek, eager to touch your skin and feel you melt back into his palm as he gazed into your eyes, searching for the same thing you looked for in his. He nodded and turned back, continuing his descent. For as long as you’d known him, you thought you had seen everything about him. Steel, pride, sorrow, content, and even affection. But you were wrong. Seeing his gaze unwavering towards the sky, his body felled and torn in two; you realized how dim the light seemed to be. How those beautiful and emotional irises seemed to be muted. You looked away to choke back a sob, refusing to reach out and disturb him in this state he was in. you didn’t want to remember him like this, no you didn’t want your last memory of him to be like this…. But your gut tugged you forward, forcing you to bear witness to what you knew to be the end of your guessing games and you looked deeply into his six eyes. And you noticed a new color, something brand new. But what was it?

[petrotasia]

I sort of gave up with this last page TTwTT but oh well, I done!

[nerdpokemonheadcanons]

Hello professor, I wanna share something that brightened my day. Recently the train station near Lavender town has adopted a Meowth as the station master, which does match the station mascot being a meowth. Kanto has an extensive railroad system that actually spreads around the region, granted not a lot of trainers use it but a lot of regular folk do. Each station has it's own Pokémon mascots depicted in wall art and plush form in the Pokèmart in the station, alongside other pieces of merchandise centered around them.

The stations and their mascots

Pallet Town- The Kanto starters

Viridian city- Nidoking and Nidoqueen

Pewter City- Clafable (originally a steelix but it was changed in the late nineties because it was too scary for young kids)

Cerulean City- Poliwhirl

Vermillion City- The Pikachu line

Lavender town- Meowth

Celadon City- Bellsprout

Fuchsia city- Venonat

Saffron city- Alakazam

Ok so Cinnabar island technically doesn't have a train station because of the whole being an island thing but there is a ferry station at the docks, the town's managed to rebuild very nicely after the volcano erupted several years back, Blaine actually still has his gym in the seafoam islands to give trainers a challenge, the ferry station has an Arcanine as the mascot and right outside to access the rest of the island is a shrine dedicated to the Pokémon Ninetales

The sevi islands also have the ferry system and they have mascots too

One island- Flareon

Two island- Vaporeon (it was temporarily changed to a Psyduck due to something going around online but due to community outrage it was changed back)

Three island- Jolteon

Four island- Espeon

Five island- Umbreon

Six island- Leafeon (was changed from Eevee)

Seven island- Glaceon (was changed from Eevee)

Eight island- Sylveon (this was changed from Eevee about a year ago and so far no one's made a fuss about it)

Nine island- Eevee

Cute!

[tieronecrush]

🛍️ Frankie Morales & "This is new." (Bonus points if you wanna throw in a 🍭 song that reminds you of him/them!) Congratulations, sweetheart!! 💜💜💜

AHH thank you so much lucy!!!

the lil lollipop bonus for you: the most recent song that has given me frankie vibes is dogtooth by tyler the creator but rap (& tyler) are not everyone’s fave, so another one that has been reminding me of frankie is one of these nights by the eagles!

frankie morales x f!reader

18+ ONLY, MDNI - no other warnings on my drabbles

The view outside your hotel windows is a bright, cerulean sky with fluffy white clouds interspersed in its expanse. The sunlight skips across the waves of the Caribbean Sea that crash turquoise water trimmed with seafoam against bleached sand. It’s your first full day on vacation with Frankie, and you’ve been waiting for this blissful seaside break with your boyfriend for months. It’d taken a bit of convincing to get him even close to the entire continent of South America, the events from whatever happened there two years prior still not fully revealed to you, if they ever will be. But eventually, the two of you found somewhere that was warm, sunny, and by the sea (your requests) and was somewhere that he was going to be comfortable and be able to relax (also your request). Frankie kept saying how he didn’t care, but you saw him tense up at nearly every other destination you’d suggested besides Puerto Rico.

The morning was spent in a slow rise until Frankie needed you naked and under him, the shock of bliss waking up your entire nervous system and making it an easier transition from bed to shower to rinse off, and now to your suitcase spread out. Frankie is taking a quick shower before you two head down to the beach for the afternoon; you’re rummaging through your packing cubes to find the new suit you’d bought specifically for the trip weeks ago.

After slipping the suit on, securing the top in a bow at the nape of your neck, you found your sunscreen in your toiletries and started applying it all over in front of the vanity dresser. The shower shuts off on the other side of the bathroom door, and a minute later, Frankie emerges with a plush white hotel towel slung across his waist and held up by one of his hands at his side. His curls spring up as water drips off each spiral, shaking his head like a dog when he gets close to you and smirking at your grumbles of annoyance as his free hand slicks his hair back out of his face.

His stare burns into your skin, nearly as much as the sun is going to outside, and you watch him through the reflection as he changes into his swim trunks, eyes never leaving your figure. His bare feet pad on the floor as he closes the small space between you both, solid torso pressing up against your back. One of his hands slips his thick fingers into the waistband of your bottoms, the other hand slips under your arm to toy at the cups covering your chest.

“This is new…” you hum in acknowledgment as you continue to apply your sunscreen, buffing the lotion in, “Te ves tan deliciosa. Podría darte un mordisco, mi bombón. (You look so delicious. I could take a bite of you, my beauty).”

The sound of his gruff voice vibrates as his lips brush against the shell of your ear, teething tugging on your lobe before releasing it to press a kiss on your neck. His hands paw at you for a second longer before one leaves a chill prickling at your skin, pulling back and dropping down to smack your ass playfully.

You gasp surprised, actions pausing and eyes meeting Frankie’s face in the mirror. He winks with a smug smirk before he’s right back at you, this time his fingers hook into the material of your swimsuit and stretch the fabric away from your body.

“You can take a bite if you wanna, gordito,” you smirk back at him, biting back a laugh as his eyebrows raise at the nickname.

“Gordito? Oh, eres un bromista, pequeña descarada (Oh, you are a tease, little minx).” Frankie shakes his head and tsks behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle and pulling you flush against him. He turns you both around, walking you to the edge of the bed.

His lips are at your ear again, deep timbre whispering, “Te voy a devorar (I’m going to devour you).”

A shaky breath squeezes itself from your lungs as Frankie makes quick work to strip you of your swimsuit bottoms, bending you forward to lay your torso on the mattress while he sank to his knees behind you.

Sharp pain needles at the swell of your ass, his teeth sinking in to leave a faint mark before he soothes it with a kiss. A whimper leaves your lips, muffled into the comforter, and your hips jerk back toward his face. A satisfactory chuckle sounds from behind you, your mouth opening to make a quick wit at him but the words are blown from your mind when his tongue swipes up your folds, his saliva supplementing your arousal. The strong muscle flexes against your entrance before dropping to your clit, the tip of his nose nestling in its place.

His mouth expertly works you up, whines and moans slipping constantly and only growing louder when he fills you with two of his thick fingers, petting at the spot on your walls that he’s memorized. Your noises are backed by the sloppy sounds of his lips sucking and fingers prodding in your wetness, the lewd combination of those melodies with his whispered dirty talk, Spanish rolling off his tongue that your brain can’t bother to translate properly, bring you over the edge and smooth pleasure across your whole body.

You relax your weight fully onto the bed, Frankie kisses your clit once more before he stands and dresses you again. Another handful of ass is grabbed at, your boyfriend leaning over you to press a tender pressure to your lips, the taste of you all over his mouth.

“Definitivamente vas a ser lo mejor que como en toda la semana, mi dulzura. (You are definitely going to be the best thing that I eat all week, my sweetness).”