#visage

[beginagaiin]

It’s him. Mr. N.ew Ve.gas.

[declaawed]

saemaji. \\ hellhills - awkward motion

[dthroned-sameurl]

Endless edits of DTHRONED muses ( Narcissa Black & Giovanna Agosti ) --- mutuals may interact

my angel , my love , my life .

[monamipencil]

— part-time lovers (not really) | j.ww

genre; nsfw, slight angst, fluff, 90s! au, mdni <3 | tw; unprotected sex, blow job, vouyerism, public sex, cunnilingus, almost cuck! mingyu | w.c; 1.5k+ | a/n; if i had a penny for every time i wrote about sex in a convenience store, i would have two. which is not a lot but it is weird that it happened twice. not proof-read

saying that you felt like a slut would be an understatement.

who are you kidding? you are a slut. that's why you let wonwoo have his way with you, every single time.

every time he walks in through the goddamn store that you work in with his headphones on, the black leather jacket and a complementary pair of t-shirt and jeans.

you bite your lip in an attempt to contain the noises that threatened to spill out. and even with that, the sound of skins slapping and the wet squelch of your cunt gives it away. your nails dig into the counter as he holds up his relentless pace. the tip of his cock bruises your insides and the slapping of his balls on your clit feels way too good.

“so fucking wet.” he pronounces each word along with a snap of hips. his nails dig into your skin, leaving moon-shaped marks. the thought of someone walking in on you both makes you wetter. the arousal between your legs grows and you keep your eyes trained on the glass windows.

he pulls out, flipping you over. the cold air of the convenience store hits your sopping cunt, sending shivers through your spine. “eyes on me.” his fingers caress your bare thighs and you sit up to catch his lips in a kiss.

you both moan at the contact, and you card your fingers through his soft, curly locks. his tongue brushes your lips and you give in, easily. your pussy tingles as his tongue prods into every corner of your mouth. you relish the feeling of warm tongue gliding against yours. his cock brushes against your inner thigh and the cold surface of the counter brings you back to reality.

you're fucking wonwoo on the counter of the gas station you work in. just like every other friday night for the past 4 months. and anyone could walk in right now to him splitting you open on his cock. his lips part with yours and he leans back, admiring your figure for a bit.

his calloused fingers toy with your clit, and goosebumps rise on your skin like a conditioned response to his touch. your hips buck up, “wonwoo! please!”

“wanna eat you out so bad,” he kneels, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses on your inner thighs. you watch in anticipation as he draws closer towards your core. your breath shudders when his hot breath fans your cunt, and he looks up at you through his lashes.

lust swirls in his iris and the black eyeshadow accentuates his eyes. he lays his tongue flat on your heat, still maintaining eye-contact. throwing your head, you moan carelessly. fuck it. who cares about this minimum wage job, anyway?

he wraps his lips around your clit, sucking on it and flicking his tongue. you find yourself, unable to look away from his gaze. wait, can he even see you? your eyes wander to the stray glass near the cash register. he pinches your inner thigh, and your eyes snap back to his. a scowl sits on his lips, glossy and shimmering from your arousal.

“you're too distracted, tonight.”

you sigh, unable to meet his eyes. how do you say it? that you like the guy who visits you every friday and gets his dick wet? that you like him? saying it would lead to either him ghosting you or your feelings being brushed off. ouch.

and if he wanted you, wanted an actual relationship with you, he should've taken you on a date, right? or asked anything about you? nothing. it's radio silence from him in terms of feelings. he comes, he hangs around for a bit, fucks you, does some aftercare and comes back a week later.

he holds your chin, and tilts your head up. you meet his worried gaze and sigh, “'s been stressful lately. nothin' else.” you try to smile and he mirrors your visage, smiling that goddamn smile of his.

“i understand.” he takes a step back, “wanna stop?”

before you could reply, you hear some commotion outside and quickly kneel down, hiding yourself. wonwoo pulls his pants, hiding his softening cock. he looks at you, confusedly and you whisper-shout, “i don't know! in the ramen aisle?!”

“shit, sorry—”

“wonwoo? you work here?”

wonwoo's eyes snap to the source of the voice, and he finds his 6' ft tall best friend smiling at him, confusedly. meanwhile your heart twists and turns cause you recognize that voice to be his close friend's. did he never mention you to his friends?

“I—uhm.. no. I don't work here. I'm just looking over the store. the—uh, the cashier had some work? she asked me to look over. yeah..”

mingyu squints at his best friend and roommate of years, not really convinced with his explanation. and why does it even smell like sex here? oh wait—

“do you know where the restroom is?”

he chuckles at the younger, noticing his awkward posture and urgent expression. he points outside and mingyu dashes out the door. the laughter that follows gets stuck in his throat when you grab his dick. wonwoo groans and he immediately hardens under your touch.

maybe you have no shame after all but two could play the game. you stand up, backing him up against the counter before kneeling down again. you swiftly pull down his pants and his cock springs free with pearls of precum oozing out the tip.

you waste no time in swallowing him whole. his length gags you, and your eyes brim with tears but you don't stop bobbing your head up and down his cock. wonwoo groans and bucks his hip into your mouth, forcing you down.

he could cum from just the way your throat constricts around his cock. he grips your hair, guiding your head to work on his length. you trace the vein that runs on the base of his cock with your tongue and swirl it on his tip as well.

your nose brushes against his hip and you gag, making wonwoo sputter a plethora of curses. he's a mess, moaning and bucking his hips like some wild animal with no restraint. you cup his balls in your hand and choke intentionally.

he loses all conscience and starts fucking your face with both his hands holding your head. you savour the heavy weight on your tongue and the taste of his salty precum makes your pussy flutter. wonwoo whimpers when you hum around his cock. his toes curl inside his sneakers, and he's inching closer to his orgasm.

your eyes do the trick when you look up at him through your eyelashes and his hips stutter in your mouth. hot, white ribbons of his semen coat the insides of your mouth and throat. the man above you throws his head back, moaning from his throat.

“wonu—” a scandalized gasp leaves from mingyu's mouth at the sight before him.

wonwoo tries to pull you away but you don't relent, opting to continue warming his cock with your mouth. he curses at the mischievous glint in your eyes, and he can practically feel the smirk, decorating your lips. you suck on his tip, milking him to the brim before pulling his cock out with a 'pop!'

all while mingyu watches everything unfold with a growing boner of his own. you stand up and open your mouth, showing him how you swallowed everything. your eyes wander to mingyu's dumbfounded figure and offer him a wink before moving out the counter to find your pants.

you sway your hips, your butt on display for both the men. “shit, is she the girl you always talk about?”

“mingyu, shut the fuck up!”

you try not to keel over and die as your hear their exchange. so, he talks about you? when your finally out of their sight, you press a hand over your palpitating heart and feel a blush grow on your cheeks. the cold air hits your cunt when you finally find your pants in the ramen aisle, and put it on.

with a much needed self-advice and quiet squealing, you walk back to the counter and face the two guys who go silent at your arrival. you raise a brow at them and mingyu places a box of Oreo O's on the counter and smiles while trying to hide his raging boner.

“how are you not sick of that?” wonwoo grimaces, his own boner poorly his with his awkward hand placement. you chuckle at the light shade of pink dusting his ears, cute.

you give mingyu his cherished diabetic cereal and get the cash, all while making 'fuck-me' eyes at wonwoo. which mingyu picks up on with a pout on his lips, obviously not content with being the third wheel.

wonwoo leaves the store with him but not before pressing a soft kiss to your lips and whispering, “i'll make it up. is tomorrow at 4 ok for you?”

“i don't work on weeken—”

“i know.”

“your dorms or mine?”

wonwoo rolls his eyes with a faux annoyed smile. “at the movie theater with two tickets for Men In Black.”

“Is that your choice of movie for a first date, Mr. Jeon?” you pull him down by his collar and kiss him but it's hard to classify it as a kiss when both of you are smiling so wide.

tags; @seungkwanschicken @aaa-sia @dokyeomkyeom @bangantokchy @jespecially

@asyre @armycarat2612 @bewoyewo @gyuguys @embrace-themagic

@aaniag

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[idesofrevolution]

Cult of Personality

The blistering New Mexico heat bared down on Douglas' '99 Chevrolet Cavalier. The small blue coupe meandered up I-25, enroute from Las Cruces to Santa Fe. The old man quietly sighed to himself, fruitlessly trying to think of a better pitch to sell his Solar Panels to the rich folks up in Albuquerque. Las Cruces ended up being a bust, just as much as Tucson: the damn things were just too expensive up front. Not that the company gave a single damn, quotas are quotas. Thus, still empty handed, he passed the exit sign for Socorro- still an hour until he'd reach his destination.

As he passed the exit, he noticed a bright red glint a bit further up the road. Douglas adjusted his glasses, squinting his eyes to see. He slowed down on the empty highway as the sight became clearer. It was a car. In fact, it was a bright red '67 Mustang; it's owner leaned on the hood as black smoke bellowed from the tailpipe. Douglas looked down at his watch, knowing fully well that he needed to be in Albuquerque before sundown. Though, as he approached the broken down muscle car, the sweltering heat of the Chihuahuan Desert at high noon would be a killer. The young man leaning on the car turned his head, not even sweating a single drop, and stared blankfaced at Douglas as he pulled up.

Douglas hit the brakes, stopping his car right alongside the young man. He strode up to the old man's car, leaning in and resting his elbows onto window ledge. His stoic expression slowly melted into a wide grin, licking his lips before he spoke.

"You headed toward Albuquerque?" A thick Texan accent flowed from the man's lips, his dark brown eyes nearly black even in the blinding light of the sun. Douglas felt an odd twinge of nervousness as the grinning young man casually smiled; it felt off. Behind that handsome visage, something was brewing within.

"I'm headed to Santa Fe, but I can call you a mechanic from Socorro, he'd be here in a jiffy!" The young man's smile didn't fade, he simply shook his head 'no.'

"Phone's got no service out here, brother. I sure would appreciate a ride. It's just a mile or so up the road." He turned, pointing down the seemingly endless highway. Before Douglas could deny the young man his request, the hitchhiker leaned in closely. It may have been the heat, or it may have been his exhaustion, but for no more than two seconds, he thought he'd heard whispers blowing in the wind. Douglas said nothing, and the young man's grin grew wider. "Thank you, brother. I'll hop in the back."

As he strode back to his car, grabbing a duffel bag from the trunk of his car, Douglas wanted to slam on the gas and blitz out of there. An air of menace surrounded this man, despite his magnetic charisma; yet his foot did not press down on the pedal. The passenger side door opened, as the man hopped into the back seat of his coupe. Too late. The door slammed by itself, evidently thanks to a gust of wind he neither felt nor heard. He pulled the car out of park, and off the duo went. He glanced into his rearview mirror, taking in the sight of his hitchhiker.

He nearly took up the entire backseat. The duffel bag sat next to him, his muscular arms tightly holding it against his side. He was easily above six feet tall, likely even more than six and a half. He threw his arms behind his head, kicking his large feet onto Douglas' armrest. Outwardly, he seemed like just another good looking guy- one he'd likely see on his granddaughter's TikTok. But his guard remained on high alert.

"Just keep driving, brother. I'll tell ya when to turn off." His velvety voice was disarming, a carefree confidence just wafted from him alongside the strange heat which seemed to emanate from his muscular body. For about an hour, the two sat in silence as they rocketed down the highway. Each glance he shot into his mirror, Douglas would see the man smirking- his gaze never meeting the old man's. Thus, as the road veered to the left in the distance, their silence was broken. "Don't turn, just keep going straight." He carried a tone of authority in his voice, a natural command that would be highly unlikely to be ignored.

"There isn't a road straight ahead..." The hitchhiker finally stared into the mirror, his eyes locked on Douglas' reflection.

"Go straight."

As if of their own accord, the old man's hands kept steadfast on their trajectory. As the road began to curve, the Cavalier shot in the commanded direction, straight into the sands of the desert. They swerved, avoiding large rocks and towering Saguaros, before the foothills of the mountains started to come into view. Through the mirage before them, Douglas could see what looked like a campsite ahead, just beyond the thicket of green brambles. A crowd of maybe 50-70 people had gathered in the bowels of the desert. For what purpose, Douglas did not yet know. But as he slowly began his approach, the entire crowd had turned their eyes toward the car. Like the parting of the Red Sea, the crowd split in two; leaving a clear straight shot toward a makeshift platform right at the base of the mountain.

"Thank you for the lift, brother. Do me a favor, will ya? Stick around. I have a feeling you'd love what we have going on today." Again, his timbre was less of a request- and far more of a demand. The tone was never raised, nor was it ever aggressive. However, he felt as if one would be wise to heed his instructions. Douglas simply nodded, turning the car off, and opening the door.

The crowd was filled with a diverse cast of people, all of which were fit, energetic, and young. Not a single soul had seen a day over 30, no less than 21. They stared with vacant expressions in silence until the hitchhiker exited the backseat, at which point they erupted in cheers and applause. Douglas watched with confusion and shock as the young man walked toward the platform, shaking hands, playfully punching shoulders, giving out high fives like condoms at a clinic. Who the hell had he picked up? Where the hell was he? As he hopped atop the wooden structure in one single leap, easily five feet off the ground, he shucked the grey tank top and tossed it into the crowd. A young woman caught it, tenderly holding it against her chest as the onlookers admired his chiseled build. Raising his arms, the crowd went silent.

"Brothers and Sisters, today is the day! Are you ready? Are you rearing? Tell me!" The crowd erupted, Douglas stared around the transfixed athletes, feeling entirely out of place- as if he wasn't meant to be there. "For one full year, you have trusted me to build your bodies into machines: daily training, nightly runs, some of y'all are out there doing some of the hardest workouts we have to offer. Look at you now!" More cheers. "When I told you that your bodies were temples, to treat them as such, each and every one of you took my words seriously. I said that each of you had the potential to become something incredible. You said, but Cameron, I can't ever get to where you're at! But guess what? You followed the regimen, you became part of our family, you became a part of something so much bigger than you even knew. And we are here today, your induction into our movement, the final hoo-rah!" Mimicking the leader, every single one of the parroting people began to chant hoo-rah, once... twice... thrice... like a warcry on the battlefield. Douglas turned, searching through the sea of people to find an escape route. Instead, he only saw five men of the same jacked physique of the leader handing out what looked to be bottles of water. Peering closely, the unlabeled bottles carried a milky white liquid.

"What sort of Jonestown shit is this..." The bottles were disperse quickly amongst the crowd, the cheery if not dim young men had seemingly finished in minutes as the leader droned on. Douglas took the opportunity to make his way back toward the car, only for a moment of dread to wash over him. It was gone. In it's place, a line of tire tracks came to an abrupt end, no vehicle in sight. The old man felt a hand on his shoulder, turning quickly to be face to face once again with 'Cameron' himself.

"I wanted to thank you for helping me, Douglas. I'm more than happy to reimburse you, you've saved the day." Whispers again started to rise around him, incoherently babbling a language far outside of his own knowledge. "Today, my friend, your journey begins." Douglas tried to pry his eyes away from Cameron to no avail. The deep brown eyes seemed to swallow any thought, any desire, any need. Cameron's pupils started to pulse, mimicking the old man's heartbeat, growing larger and larger, until the inky blackness had swallowed his entire iris & sclera. Cameron smirked as he watched the old man's posture fall forward, his shoulders drooping and his jaw hanging loosely. "Mmmmmmm. Good, fall deep, vessel. For your assistance today, your reward is to be one with me, just as all in my inner circle have done."

The black-eyed stud gently guided Douglas away from the crowd, who were busy downing the contents of their respective bottles just as moans and groans started ringing out from the poor fools. The five members of Cameron's inner circle followed suit, their eyes flooding black and mouths curling into devilish grins. The group soon arrived in a clearing of the thicket, circling around a pile of filthy clothes strewn across the dirt. Douglas was slowly guided to them, entirely unwavering in his stonefaced obedience.

"Well, my children. You continue to serve me well. I admit, this body must be hard to say no to. He is a joy to wear." The five goons chuckled menacingly, one or two of them groping at their bulges through their running shorts. "Today, as you all did before him, Douglas aided me in my time of need. On a momentous day as this, such acts must be rewarded. Today, you welcome your new brother." With a swipe of his hand, Douglas' corporate clothing dissolved into thin air, burnt ash flying into the desert wind. He stood there in the nude, the group watching in anticipation as Cameron simply pointed down to the pile of reeking clothes, and Douglas could do nothing but obey.

One by one the articles began to tremble, before sliding across the sand toward their soon-to-be owner. Cameron snickered, snapping his finger. A sweaty jockstrap quickly flew into the air, levitating for a moment before shooting toward the old man's groin. Like a liquid hitting a solid, the grimy fabric collided with Douglas, warping and wrapping around his legs and package until it had settled into it's new home. The brothers grinned, as they watched the old man's admittedly humble bulge swell rapidly. It expanded outward, his balls dropping like ten pound weights as they grew, and his cock elongated and widened until it peeked it's head out from the bottom of the sweat stained pouch. Douglas moaned as his ass swelled thick and bulbous, the formerly wrinkled and smooth skin sprouting dark brown hairs as his bush followed suit. Cameron grinned, strutting over to cup his hand over the musky horsecock and balls that had sprang from his jock.

Another snap of his fingers, and the shorts shot upward, wrapping around Douglas' legs, quickly inflating them with thick mass. His hamstrings widened, his quads becoming hard as iron while his calves tightened. The chicken legs he used to possess now were two massive slabs of hard meat. Cameron continued to grope and massage his prey's bulge, the fabric of the jockstrap growing sticky with his pre as he moaned. The five grunts slowly lowered their own shorts and jockstraps, releasing their sweaty dicks into their waiting palms.

"You humans are so... simple." *snap* The socks slithered like snakes across the ground, surrounding Douglas' toes and sliding around his heel and fastening around his ankle. "All it takes is slipping into some attractive male, and you'll be worshipping at my feet. As will you." The old man's feet cracked and stretched wide, his soles growing soft and sweaty as the stinking running shoes melted around his gigantic feet. The rubber and fabric contorted and stretched, the funk of a thousand runs in the desert heat wafting from within their confines as they reformed into a perfect fit. The group started to stroke their cocks, small droplets of black sludge seeping from their slits. Cameron grinned, sliding his hand into Douglas' jockstrap and wrapping it around his throbbing member. "You, however, will be a prince among men."

*snap* The pot belly which had plagued Douglas for 30 some odd years slowly receded, fading into obscurity as if it had never been there to begin with. His abs tightened, his pecs became lean, his waist slimmed quickly with powerful obliques and cum gutters pointing toward his hose. Whispers started to echo in the wind as the five cultists stroked their cocks, streams of black, tar-like slime coalescing into pools at their feet.

"You will be a father of my spawn, a carrier of my seed." Cameron continued to pump the massive dick, watching with malicious glee as his arms grew sinewy and lean, his hands large and wide, his fingers long and slender. "Today, our army is founded." The possessed stud placed his hand on the balding head of the former salesman, pushing him to his knees; his mind blank as his master's shorts slid down to his thighs, releasing a grotesque sight. Whatever his host's member used to be was long gone, now corrupted with demonic seed. It stood upright, intricate black symbols wrapping around the foot long shaft all the way to his foreskin. "Receive my blessing, mortal. Be one with me." The ripe rod inched forward, dripping thick globules of the black sludge onto Douglas' thighs as it pressed against his face. His mouth opened, and it was over.

In a single thrust, the monstrous cock pushed past his lips and deep into his throat as Cameron began to face fuck the old man. The pools of black sludge from his minions writhed toward him, engulfing his legs in their glistening form before slinking toward his tight hole. Cameron threw his head back in ecstasy, howling a thunderous and unnatural roar as his underling's seed seeped into Douglas' rear. The sounds of squelching, cracking, suction rang out as the roars began to grow louder. Each slap of his face against Cameron's bush reformed his aged face. New hairs sprouted on his scalp, a thick forest of black spreading across his head. His lips plumped as they slurped on the smelly cock, his skin tanning and all wrinkles disappearing. The last vestiges of the black sludge squeezed into his hole, and with a wicked, fiendish grin the possessed stud cursed out into the open desert air:

"WE... ARE... ONE!" 'Cameron' released his gift down into his new son's throats, a torrent of black seed rushing out of his length and into Douglas' transformed body. His veins started to flush dark, until an inky blackness had sprawled across his lean, taut figure. Whatever remained of Douglas sunk into a void of darkness, only to be encompassed by the viscous corruption. 'Cameron' grinned, his will quickly overwhelming the spirit of the old man before slipping his demonic essence within it. More and more of him flooded into the body, squeezing into the soul, until it was unclear where Douglas began and 'Cameron' ended. Dismounting his new creation, he watched with glee as the convulsions died down, and it's eyes opened, revealing an endless inky black as it grinned.

"Yes, my master, this vessel shall fit our needs quite nicely." As his eyes slowly started to return to their normal hazel, the corruptive sludge within his veins reformed, pushing upward through the capillaries and into the skin, now little more than tattoos to the naked eye. 'Cameron' grinned, another human ensnared into his dark consciousness, little more than a husk to house his essence.

'Dougie' smirked as he pulled up his fetid shorts, quickly masking his cock dripping the black sludge of his master and brothers as he threw his sweaty arms around his new family, walking toward their new army.

---

"Alright, Santa Fe! Are we ready to get fit?" The crowd erupted as Cameron stood before them, his arms raised on the roof of the building, grinning over the 200 new disciples he was prepared to imbue with his gift. Those who had been with him at Socorro stood silently amongst the unsuspecting enthusiasts, ready to 'assist' their 'ascension' should the need arise. Just beside the building, his sons had gathered behind the truck in a circle, chanting words beyond our most vivid imagination as they stroked eachother's musky cocks into the large vat of water. 'Dougie', now a favorite of Cameron, devilishly grinned as he felt the first torrent of his corruption spew into the clear water, the thick black sludge slithering about before dissolving into the liquid as if it were never there. Round after round, they shot their father's seed into water, until there was more of the seed than there was of the water.

"Alright, brothers. I think that should do it." His deep, bellowing voice brought each of his brothers attention on him as they put their cocks back into their shorts. "Hah, and not a minute too soon." The crowd of feckless initiates began to line up, in desperate need of hydration, of which 'Dougie' was more than happy to provide. He hopped up onto the bed of the truck, as his brothers ladled their refreshment into individual bottles. Snatching one, 'Dougie' snickered. "Who's thirsty?"

[momolady]

Art the Orc

If you live in a small town, maybe you'll know this place. It's a little art store run by the same family for ages. It's not changed in all that time either. Picture it, feel it, you know it's the only place that sells that one supply you like. Now, imagine an orc behind the counter. Female Reader x Male Monster

The visage of the old place looked like it had once been a gas station. There was one of those big metal awnings and signs that gas pumps had once been outside. But everything else looked like the art supply store it was. The window was painted, done up with flowers and a flourishing font, but it hadn’t been touched in ages and was chipping and weathering away.

The old place had seen better days, you could tell. But you were excited to tackle such a special project with your own two hands.

Inside the place had a familiar smell of paint thinner, book pages, and coffee. You looked around the front as the bells on the door chimed. The old floor had seen better days and was worn out where you stood, even the welcome mat was hard to read.

“Welcome to Greengold Creative Station,” the deep voice came from behind the front desk where there was an open door. ‘I’ll be out with you in just a moment.”

“Take your time,” you replied. You continued to look around, noting the mismatched shelving and thrown together renovations dotting the place.

A moment later, a large orc came from the back. He was wearing thick glasses and had on a corded cardigan that covered a paint splattered t-shirt.

“Can I help you find anything?” He asked as he adjusted his glasses.

You approached the front desk again, extending your hand to him. “Hi! You must be Mr. Greengold, I’m from Regency Renovations.”

There was a surprised look upon his face as he shook your hand. “You’re the renovator?”

You smiled, half expecting some reservation based on your appearance. “I specialize in business and storefront renovations. That is what you wanted, correct, Mr. Greengold?”

He fumbled with his words for a moment, stuttering, touching his glasses until he spoke. “Call me Art, please.”

You held it in, but he knew where your mind went.

“It’s short for Arthur, but it's also my dad’s name so my mom calls me Art. Yes, I know, ha ha, very fun. A man named Art runs the art store.”

“It’s an easy target.” You tried to squash your giggling but a few came out.

He sighed and shook his head. “So, you’ll be handling the whole store. I want it updated completely. It was fine for my parents, but I need to bring in a new generation of artists and online shopping is destroying us.”

“It’s a common issue, Art,” you didn’t look at him as you said his name. “I already have some ideas brewing and I would be happy to discuss your thoughts for the business with you.”

He sighed heavily, gazing out at a store that was once his family’s legacy. “I would say I would like to keep some of what my parents did to this place, but I don’t think any of it is salvageable.”

“Well recycling is a thing.” You replied. “Like some of these old shelves, the wood can be reused to create a rustic facade for the front desk here.” You patted the worn out formica top. “And the vintage signage out from can be reused and framed, hung just right behind you there.”

Art made a face. “You can do all that.”

You returned his face, adding a smug smile to it. “I can do lots of things, Art. My father was a carpenter and my mother was a viper. Be careful of what you inflict about me.” You patted your chest proudly. You knew you were small and chubby, not many people expected much out of you, but your work spoke for itself. And that was how you told people off.

“Sorry,” he sighed. “I have a lot riding on this so-”

“So you hired the best. That I can promise you. Now I know you said you didn’t have a lot of funds, but I already have my plans made for how to help you with that. I plan on doing most of the work on my own, but for heavy lifting and other things-”

“I don’t mind helping with that,” he said with a shake of his head.

You had planned to bring in your brother for help, he enjoyed the destruction part of your job and he worked for free food. “Well uh…if you’d like Art, I wouldn’t say no.”

“I wouldn’t want you getting hurt on the job. It would be best if I helped out,” he said.

You couldn’t tell if he was being kind or underestimating you again, so you brushed it off and continued. “I would also like to film the process of the renovation. Stuff like that will help reach your new audience.”

He frowned, and his thick brows pinched together. “You must be joking.”

“I am not. You’d be surprised what the kids these days are watching.” You smirked up at him. “I know what I am doing, Art. Have some faith.”

His face read: easier said than done.

Discussion and planning was always the hard bit. You had to convince your employer of what needed to be done. Art was hesitant about some things, after all it was a family business and a place he had grown up in. But for the most part he was willing to go along with some of your ideas.

Art started the clean up process by first putting away his stock and setting most of the mismatched shelves outside. Once that was taken care of you began ripping up the old carpet and ancient linoleum.

“I remember when my dad put that stuff down,” Art said from behind you.

You looked up, eyes covered by goggles and mouth surrounded by one of those thick industrial masks. “Oh really?”

Art gave you a look. “Is all that necessary?”

“You’d be surprised.” You stacked another chunk of the linoleum to the side. “Lots of debris and who-knows-what is under these old floors. Decades of dirty shoes, dust, skin, and life are stored here.”

Art’s grimace deepened. “Skin?”

“Oh yeah, we shed like mad,” you laughed. “If you have dust in your house you can be assured it came from you!”

Art looked perturbed by this revelation but he continued in moving stock to the back and other store property outside.

Once the flooring was removed, you accessed what was underneath. It wasn’t marble or granite, but it was some type of stony tile that had existed when it was a gas station.

“Mom said it was inhospitable.”

You used a dust cloth to clean off a bit of the flooring. “But it’s easy to clean, and it’ll make the whole place appear brighter and bigger.” You turned and looked back at him, taking off the goggles. “It’ll be so much better in the long run. Plus! You won’t have to buy anything new except maybe a rug or two if you wanted.”

Art’s pinched brow was becoming the norm to see, but you could tell it was because the gears behind it were working so hard to process everything going on.

Once the tiles were cleaned and all the old flooring was hauled off to the dump, you started working on the walls, taking down slapdash shelving, and anything else hanging up. The old paint job, or jobs really, were layered on so thick and hadn’t been properly done. They had painted over the trim and electrical outlets, all of which needed to be replaced. The holes in the walls needed fixing too, and there were a few dents and scrapes from the years.

“You’re not hiring a painter?” Art asked one day.

You zipped up your coveralls and turned around to face him. “Not unless you want to shell out twice the money. Besides, I’m a good painter. A great painter even! Maybe not Rembrandt or anything, but I can handle a roller better than most.”

Art looked over your paint supplies. After days of you working on freeing the electric sockets and scraping the excess from the trim you could finally start working. You were painting the wall white, but you had found cheap sticker tiles to create a great accent wall, which could then be used for photo opportunities and special displays. Then another wall would also be painted white and used to display local artists and projects from the art class that Art taught.

“Mom always wanted to put wallpaper up,” Art murmured. “But said it wouldn’t be practical with everything we needed to hang up.”

There was a melancholy to Art’s face and tone as he said this. “What kind?” You asked as you poured your paint into the tray. “We could always find something close to what she had in mind for the office.”

Art glanced over his shoulder then shook his head. “I doubt I could afford it. I tried looking already.”

You put the roller into the paint, sliding it back and forth until it wasn’t too soupy. “Was this place your mom’s idea?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, his gaze going all about the store. “I can’t believe how empty it is now.”

“It’ll be full again in no time.” You gave him a reassuring smile when his amber eyes returned to you. “Do you have any pictures of your mother you would want to hang up?” you asked. “I can plan a special place for it.”

He huffed, seeming put off by this suggestion. “Excuse me. The smell of this paint is giving me a headache.” He walked off, stomping his feet a little as he went.

Art came back by the time you were finished with the first coat of white. You were sitting in front of the checkout desk, leaned back against it so your foot propped the door open. He stepped over your leg and looked at your work.

“The white really makes this place look…different,” he murmured.

“Don’t worry, there will be some color back soon enough,” you sighed. “Is your headache gone?”

Art nodded, leaning against the desk. “Sorry if I’ve been…obstinate.”

You waved it off. “I’m used to you.”

He shook his head. “No. I’ve been questioning and judging everything, all because I never really wanted to do this.”

You tilted your head up to look at him. “Then why are you?”

He let out that heavy, burdened sigh again. “Because it was in her will.”

You clicked your tongue. “Oh.”

“She left me money, but only if I used a portion of it to renovate the old store. She said it was mine after all, it deserved to reflect the new generation. Even in death she was still hinting I get married.” He scoffed at this, but he still had a smile on his face.

“Sounds pretty motherly.” You stood up from the ground, standing beside him. Not feeling much taller than you did sitting beside his great size. You motioned to the front window. “Did she paint that?”

Art laughed. “No. I did. That’s why she kept it so long.”

Your smile beamed. “Really? That’s pretty adorable.”

He shook his head and rolled his eyes. “For years upon years I’ve looked at that painting and wished every day she would wash it off and do something different. But I suppose her sentimentality was far too deep for that.”

“It’s a good painting,” you offered.

“I never thought she’d keep it so I barely tried,” he grunted and crossed his arms against his chest. “Boy, was I wrong.”

“Would you like to paint the new display? I was planning on just hanging a new sign and leaving the window clean.”

“I don’t know,” he muttered.

You patted his arm, and his eyes darted down to your hand, his brows unpinching for that one moment.

“I’ll wait till you decide then.” You stepped away from him, but his eyes still lingered on where you had touched him.

A few days later, as you were working on putting the sticker tile onto the wall, Art came from the back and offered you a ticket.

“A friend of mine has a gallery showing tonight. He gave me two tickets so I thought-” He hesitated and cleared his throat.

“How fancy is the affair?” You asked.

“Nothing too fancy. I mean, dress up, but not like black tie event or anything.” He cleared his throat again. “I was going to get dinner at my favorite restaurant since it was close by if you wanted to come.”

It clicked and you looked up at him. Your cheeks flushed and your mouth started to go dry. “Oh. Sure.” You tucked your hair behind your ear. “If that’s the case, maybe we should go in together. You know? Save the earth and stuff.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Smart idea. How about I pick you up tonight. Say…around six? Since the gallery is at eight?”

You nodded, biting down on your lip. “Yeah. Perfect. That should give me enough time to get ready after work.”

Art turned awkwardly away then back towards you. “Oh I uh, I guess I should get your address.” You traded info and the rest of the day went by in a jerky, tense sort of way.

That evening you waited in your living room until you heard from Art. You were wearing your favorite dress, and had even gotten your next door neighbor to do your makeup. You got his message and went downstairs to meet him at the front door.

Art was dressed nice in a dark purple suit and he had his long hair slicked back and tied into a bun. He didn’t have on his glasses, which surprised you. His eyes lit up when he saw you.

“Wow, you look great!” He said, a touch breathless.

You blushed and smiled. “Thanks. You look pretty great too. I’m not used to seeing you without your glasses.”

“Yeah, contacts tonight,” he said shyly. He then took your hand and led you to his car.

The restaurant was nice, the two of you had a clumsy start to it, but eventually you both started having an in depth conversation about color. From there, you both laughed and joked around, having a good time with great food and even better wine.

From there you walked to the gallery, meeting his friend then roaming through the show. Her artwork was lovely, but you noticed Art’s pinch brow had returned.

“A lot more nudes than I expected,” he whispered.

“I think it’s nice,” you replied. “I can see what her intent with the motif is. How it’s classic, it's natural, but also subversive.” You turned to Art, noticing him fidgeting and adjusting himself.

“Yes. I understand what she is doing,” he muttered. “I must have had just a little too much wine I think.”

You smiled at him, chuckling as your cheeks grew warm.

The car windows were fogged over, and in the dark all you could do was touch. His kisses felt rough but intimate. His tusks brushed against your skin, making your shiver. Every so often the darkness was halted by the motion light of the parking lot turning on. You’d still for a moment, then continue on with your youthful antics.

“We should stop.”

“We should.”

“Why aren’t we?”

“It’s hard.”

“Very hard.”

You kissed Art and breathed, looking into his eyes while you clasped your hands around his face. Maybe it was the wine or the nudes on display, maybe it was weeks of working so close and holding back so long.

“It’s hard.”

“Very hard.”

You smiled at him, kissing him again while his hands moved below. Your panties were pushed aside, his zipper brushed against your thigh. Big. Oh my god it was big!

You gasped softly and he stilled, watching your expression. You eased over him, taking as much of Art as you could stand. You pressed your palms to the roof of the car for balance, his strong hands kneaded into your thick thighs.

“Aren’t we a bit too old for this?” he breathed.

“I guess we’ll find out, won’t we.” Your laughter turned into moaning. Maybe you were both a bit too old for this, but you’d never had so much fun before! He pressed deeply inside you, and his hands couldn’t stop touching your body. He roamed over the soft curves, and plump form, his desire seeming to grow the more he did.

The next morning you came into work, seeing Art standing in the middle of the room. You held your breath, wondering if it was all a wonderful dream. He turned and smiled, his thick glasses back in place.

“Hi” he said breathlessly.

Your smile bloomed. “Hi.”

Art motioned to the desk. “I brought coffee.”

“I see that.” You smiled and took a cup he offered.

He sighed then laughed and you laughed. “So uh…last night.”

“I liked your friend’s gallery. It was very nice. I also liked your favorite restaurant.” You took a sip of the coffee, testing it before you added anything.

Art nodded, his gaze drifted until it fell back onto you. “Is that all?”

You smiled over your coffee cup. “No. Just barely.” You looked into his eyes. “I wasn’t sure if it was an appropriate work topic.”

“Not exactly but uhm…I just wanted to check.” His eyes darted over you. “Were we really too old for that?”

You laughed and cupped your hand over your mouth. “A little. But I’m not too sore. Are you?”

“No. But I would prefer somewhere much comfier next time.” he leaned in close and you closed your eyes, accepting his kiss and the touch of his tusks against your cheeks.

“Yes, it would be nice.” You saw he had paints and brushes set on the front desk. “What’s this for?”

He sucked in a breath through his teeth. “I thought I’d paint the window. I got a bit of inspiration last night.” He grinned your way. “Plus, I think mom would like to see how I’ve improved.”

You grinned. “I’ll be very excited to see how you work. Outside a car at least.”

[celaenaeiln]

Bruce: *sees a motorcade come up on his right* *ignores*

Timmy in the back eying the group suspiciously: ….

*tapping on glass*

Dick: B, there’s someone tapping on my side.

Bruce: Don’t roll the window down they could be-

Dick: *already rolling the window down* *GASP* ROMMEY?! ROMMEY! ROMMEY!!

A 45 yr old grizzled man with a smoker’s voice, nicknamed Rommey by Dick: heya Dickie, how it’s going kiddo.

Dick: ROMMEY IM SO EXCITED TO SEE YOU AGAIN!

Another motorbiker with a full claw scar down his face: what about the rest of us, kid? Forget about us?

Dick: MANES! DERRICKA! IZZY!!

Derrick-I take down mercenaries for fun but let a kid I like call me DERRICKA-Rolan: You little shit, why’d we not hear from you after you fucked off to neverland huh?!

Isabella-what? Someone went missing? I had nothing to do with it, it’s total coincidence that I hated him-Hodges: Maybe he doesn’t like us, Der. That right, Dickie?

Dick: *flabbergasted* No!! It’s a long story! After I left I ran out of gas and then some girl crashed into my bike and sent it flying off the cliff but I dove off it first and then I had to walk to the nearest motel on bare feet because I gave her my shoes and then I met this half bear half man and I’ll be pleased to tell you that it was a beary bearable encounter once he got his bearings hahahahaha- *progressively climbing out of the car as the story goes on*

Bruce: Dick! Get back in the car! *having one hand on the steering wheel and grabbing the back of his shirt with the other to keep his wayward son from falling out*

Dick: Wait- *accidently twisting too far and nearly braining himself on the speeding asphalt*

Rommey: DICK!

Bruce: DICK!

Rommey, Derricka, Izzy, and Manes: *grabbing the front half to prevent Dick from becoming like two-face*

Bruce: *letting go of the wheel to grab Dick’s bottom half for the same reason*

Tim: *high pitched screaming from the back* DICK! Tₕₑ Wₕₑₑₗ! ₜₕₑ Wₕₑₑₗ!!!

Bruce: *struggling to pull his son in while the motorcade struggles to pull him out to sit on a bike thus leading to Dick hanging in limbo out the window of a car going 80mph on a freeway* GRAB THE WHEEL TIM

Tim: *sacrificing a few ribs on the edge of the front car seat* IM TRYING! I CANT REACH THE CRUISE CONTROL AND DONT LEAN BACK AND OH MY GOD SIGN POST! SIGN POST! THE POST! THE POSSSTTTTT!!!

Dick, Bruce, Tim, and motorcade: *furious screaming and shouting and panicking*

*2 hours later*

*Arriving at the manor*

Jason: damn what happened to you lot, you look like you went through hell and back.

Bruce and Tim: *drained, pale-faced, messy, sweating, and heaving*

Dick: *a curl of hair falling elegantly into his shining eyes* I just had the time of my life, Jay!

Jason who is well acquainted with Dick’s “Time of the life”s: ah. My condolences.

Tim: Never again. *flopping on the ground and cater-pilling his way up the stairs*

Damian: Father, this is such disgraceful attire! Fix yourself at once, mother would be embarrassed by such a visage! What in holy reincarnation have you been doing?!

Bruce: Never again, Dick.

Dick: it’s nothing Dami, they were just helping me.

Damian: Father, I am ashamed of you. Why must you devolve to such a state when you assist Grayson, he is perfectly capable of extraordinary feats without your input. I suggest you refrain from interfering with his success again.

Bruce:

Bruce: Damian, you-

Dick: Bruce. *smiling pleasantly*

Jason: *immediately sneaking off*

Bruce’s life momentarily flashing before his eyes: …..nothing. Go finish your homework. *trudging off to whine to Alfred about how no one’s gonna believe him*

Dick: *sincerely* what a great day! 😊

[dollwrites]

Can I request Griffith for the I will ruin you prompt if it isnt already taken?

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!reader, oral sex ( f!receiving ), fingering, mentions of mindbreak, size kink, it might tow the line between consensual and dub con, all characters featured are aged 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ i made a few tweaks to the prompt to fit it into the fic, but the backbone is still there! please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

you had underestimated the task the king had set for you, and you found yourself at a loss for words, a loss for breath, as you squirm against the floor. the fire roars in the hearth, flames licking outward, reaching for you, as you bathe, naked in the orange glow. light catching the glistening diamonds of perspiration on your skin, your back arches.

“Count Griffith!”

it’s a hoarse gasp, a plea for mercy as his head bobs between your clenched thighs. your legs desperately tried to squeeze him out, to keep his supple lips from kissing your core, his mad tongue from swirling around your clit, but you couldn’t. your feet follow the trail of his spine, coasting as far down his toned back as you could, whilst both of your hands gripped silky, silver tresses.

you were so sensitive to his caress, his lips so skilled in the way that they meld against your curvature and his tongue gliding over your swollen bundle, rubbing you silly with his tastebuds, that you could hardly think.

“T—the stories about you… they’re more than goss— uh!” it was hard to finish your sentence, when his middle finger slips in below his working mouth, prodding you open and then pumping deep and slow. “—gossip!!”

“Stories…” Griffith muses, finally granting you a moment as he pulls his mouth from you. his digit curls, knuckle deep, beckoning for your body to to rock to meet the motion, but his icy eyes flicker up to you, before his swollen pout blazes a trail of white, hot kisses up your belly, over your chest, and finally to your jaw. he mutters, in a low and husky tone, meant for you and you alone. “The people of the kingdom gossip about me?” he questions, the muscles in his arm tight as his fingertips stroke your sensitive nerves from the inside. he’s slow and calculated in his movements, guiding your figure to writhe up and down like a winding snake beneath his weight, smothered by his body heat. his breath is warm against your open lips as he hovers there. “What have you heard?” his sapphire gems search your pleasure-twisted face, as if deep in thought, examining every twitch.

your brows knit together as you reach down and hold on to his wrist, your legs hanging helplessly in the air, bent at the knee, on either side of his waist, your hips bucking to the slowness of his pumping. but your eyes, as hazy and lust-heavy they may be, stare up at him, your voice shaky. “That you will break a woman.” you answer through a flustered moan, “Count Griffith, leader of the famed Band of the Hawk, will ruin a wom—woman for all other men..!”

Griffith only stares for a moment, before pulling his finger free from you. you elicit a soft, partially disappointed gas as you squirm, but when he sits back on his knees between your legs, you become entranced by his visage. his naked form, the way his hair cascades over his chest when he tucks his chin downward, watching his own hand wrapping around his thick cock. he’s hardening, quickly as he strokes himself, using the slick on his fingers from your body and a faint, dribble of spit from his lips that rains down on the head, soon worked into the enticing muscle. your stomach seems to knot up at the sight, as if your body can already tell it has plenty of stretching to do to accommodate him.

“Yes,” he answers simply, draping the heaviness of his cock over your lower belly, as if demonstrating just how deep he will go when he’s inside. his icy gaze raises to lock on to yours, but you were too busy staring down at his sex as he teased you, eyes wide. “I will ruin you for any men that follow.” a faint smile etches his soft lips as he guides his cock downward, dragging the squishy tip over your clit for a moment before splitting your netherlips to ease you open. “I will ruin you and you will love it. You will seek me out forever, and you will start to beg me for it. To be ruined relentlessly.”

you hiss through your teeth when the head slips inside, your back arching off the floor, knees tucking inward against him, but he plants a firm hand on your collarbone to keep you from squirming, pushing your chest back down, and a soft moan erupts from his lips, his eyes trained, now, on your sex as he shoves his inches into you. “Be sure to thank your King, little servant girl,” he croons, before his thumb grazes your throat, caressing it as you pant and mewl, “if not for his generosity for sending you to me as a gift of good will, you would never experience such a passionate fucking as the one I will give you tonight.”

[apod]

2024 March 13

The Seagull Nebula Credit & Copyright: Gianni Lacroce

Explanation: A broad expanse of glowing gas and dust presents a bird-like visage to astronomers from planet Earth, suggesting its popular moniker: the Seagull Nebula. This portrait of the cosmic bird covers a 1.6-degree wide swath across the plane of the Milky Way, near the direction of Sirius, the alpha star of the constellation of the Big Dog (Canis Major). Of course, the region includes objects with other catalog designations: notably NGC 2327, a compact, dusty emission and reflection nebula with an embedded massive star that forms the bird's head. Dominated by the reddish glow of atomic hydrogen, the complex of gas and dust clouds with bright young stars spans over 100 light-years at an estimated 3,800 light-year distance.

∞ Source: apod.nasa.gov/apod/ap240313.html

[declaawed]

yakuza antagonists. \\ onicks, marqui jordan - no problems

[just--space]

Rigel and the Witch Head Nebula : By starlight this eerie visage shines in the dark, a crooked profile evoking its popular name, the Witch Head Nebula. In fact, this entrancing telescopic portrait gives the impression that the witch has fixed her gaze on Orion's bright supergiant star Rigel. More formally known as IC 2118, the Witch Head Nebula spans about 50 light-years and is composed of interstellar dust grains reflecting Rigel's starlight. The blue color of the Witch Head Nebula and of the dust surrounding Rigel is caused not only by Rigel's intense blue starlight but because the dust grains scatter blue light more efficiently than red. The same physical process causes Earth's daytime sky to appear blue, although the scatterers in Earth's atmosphere are molecules of nitrogen and oxygen. Rigel, the Witch Head Nebula, and gas and dust that surrounds them lie about 800 light-years away. via NASA

[halsins-herbal-underpants]

Red - Wyll/Astarion prompt piece (sfw)

This is for @cozykomala who sent me my first prompt ever! After a fight, person A is covered in blood. Person B freaks out "omg are you ok!?" Person A is like "it's not my blood, but it's nice to know you care so much." Person B now has feelings they need to deal with.

AO3 Link

Wyll is used to seeing red. He saw it in the hellish flames of the demons he fought and killed for Mizora. He sees it when he gathers the courage to look in the mirror and his Hells-touched eye stares back. And he sees it with his companions, as they fight their way through goblins and gnolls and githyenki creches into lands touched by shadow.

Red on their enemies, red on his friends, red in his eyes, sometimes. But Wyll can't recall ever seeing this much red on any of them before.

"Astarion!? By the gods, are you all right?"

Wyll runs up the steps of the huge surgical theater towards the vampire, sliding his rapier back into its scabbard. They'd been fighting a mad shadow-claimed doctor and his whispering nurses, Wyll's attempt at parlay failing to convince the dead women to turn on their teacher. It was a tough battle, Gale and Shadowheart both nearly out of spells, but Wyll had lost track of Astarion; the last sight of him he'd caught was the spawn disappearing behind three screeching ghostly figures slashing their rusty surgical tools wildly at his face.

Now he was hobbling out of the shadows almost completely drenched in blood; it covered the leather bands of his drow-styled armor and sank into the crevices. It splashed over his face, his ears, and turned his moon-silver hair to crimson. He was even leaving bloody footprints behind in his wake as he stumbled forward. Wyll felt his heart leap into his throat, nearly choking him as he ran towards the rogue, catching Astarion by the elbow in case he was about to crumple to the ground.

The vampire blinked at him a moment with eyes that matched his bloody visage and then slowly cracked a smile. "Wyll," he said calmly in greeting, as if he didn't look like a slaughterhouse floor.

"Gods man, are you hurt? Where? Shadowheart, I don't think she -- s-she said she was out of--" Wyll's voice cracked and he grabbed at his pack. "I have a superior potion! We can at least stabilize you until we--by Helm's grace, Astarion I had no idea, I'm so sorry, I should have helped!"

"Wyll--" Astarion started, but was interrupted by the Blade shoving a potion at him, his voice laced with acute concern.

"Drink this, please. We have to tend to your wounds...where does it hurt the most? I have to say, with that much blood loss I have no idea how you're standing, it's been so long since you fed."

"Wyll!" Astarion tried to interrupt, his brows raising. The Blade turned, hand up to his mouth as he shouted at the other two while they picked through the dead for loot.

"SHADOWHEART, WE NEED--" Suddenly Astarion's hand was on Wyll's mouth, muffling whatever else he was about to demand. Shadowheart glanced up for a second, but then shrugged and went back to the bodies. Wyll's eyes widened and flicked to Astarion, who had the strangest smile on his face.

"Wyll. I'm fine." His smile widened, showing fangs. "It's not my blood."

Wyll blinked, brows furrowing. Astarion nodded his head towards the balcony, where three bodies were just visible beyond the railing, lying still.

"Mmhph!"

Astarion removed his hand with a soft chuckle. "Mmh, sorry. But yes, darling, I am perfectly all right. Not a scratch on me." He patted himself to prove it and Wyll visibly relaxed.

"Oh. I...I may have been hasty," the warlock admitted, clearing his throat and rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. He paused and then mumbled, embarrassed. "...May I have my potion back, please?"

"Certainly." Astarion handed it back, a wide smirk on his lips that made Wyll's face feel hot. "Save it for the next time you fear for my unlife." He snickered and Wyll had to turn his head, something far too perceptive in that shimmering ruby gaze. Too dangerous to meet with his own.

"But thank you for your concern, sweet Blade," Astarion murred, stepping past him -- but then paused to half-turn back. A hand lifted to lightly grace Wyll's jaw, thumb sliding over his ridged cheek briefly. "I didn't know you cared so much."

He stepped away with a flourish as Wyll's cheeks burned and started walking back to the theater floor. "By the by," he called back airily over his shoulder. "I always love you in red." He gestured at his face and laughed, before turning to head down the stairs, loudly demanding the others had better not take everything for themselves.

Wyll flushed even darker, touching hands to his heated face and felt his heart still beating quickly in his chest. His fingers traced the ridge of his cheek, following the line Astarion's thumb made. His stomach felt fluttery as his mind's eye conjured the image again, over and over. As if wanting to burn it into his memory.

He swallowed hard and looked down at the far pale figure as it argued with their companions, his chest warming almost as much as his face. Those eyes, looking at him so knowingly, flashed in his mind. Red, warm...and waiting.

Shit.

[fresh-orange-whispers]

MINOR INDULGENCE

So, I finally wrote something about an idea that came to my mind, discussed and shared with my lovely friend @dukeoftheblackstar

Plo Koon in his private chamber.

AO3 link here.

---

Amid the unfriendly chilling air of Coruscant’s night, skyscrapers of the most bustling Galactic City shone brightly with vivid lighting. On the top was the endless circulating skylane, and on the bottom, pedestrians walking along the streets where all forms of life gathered, shuttling between bars, theaters, and clubs to embrace the arrival of the night revelry.

Days like this were not unfamiliar to Plo Koon. Day after day, year after year, now the three hundred and eightieth, dying at the hands of the merciless time that has slipped through his fingers. He traveled between his home planet Dorin, Coruscant and other destinations, for whatever reason. Peaceful life and dangerous missions, two seemingly contradictory concepts, coexisted so harmoniously and equally to him.

Another long-winded Jedi Council meeting, and next to him sat the reputed Master Windu – Mace, a stern, conscientious, reliable man, rigid in the observation of dogmas – who did not seem to have even smiled once since he had known him. Plo Koon used to sit upright in the armchair that belonged to him, with his large hands folded over his chest, fingers intertwined, armored talons resting on the knuckles. He was cautious, calm, and knowledgeable, preferring to listen rather than speak.

It was all about Anakin, again.

Padawan braid long but still a child.

The boy has been proven to be remarkable, despite his young age and impulsive nature. Lately he has been acting quite nervously, in an irrepressible eagerness to show off even more. Plo could hear him speaking out loud and defending his position while challenging Mace Windu's firm authority. Plo had witnessed his potential and the boy had spoken with him many times. He had allowed him to complain, and he understood the enthusiasm sparkling in his bright eyes, that adventurous and carefree attitude unique to a young padawan of worth. He was perhaps the only one on the Jedi Council who could understand that, even if he was no longer young – at least compared to Anakin.

The meeting over, Plo Koon stood up and bowed politely to his fellow Jedi. He was tall and lean, dressed in a long brown robe, the fabric of which draped to his ankles where his boots were barely visible. He had the graceful posture of a scholar and walked like a living Baran Do sage.

Plo had a private chamber in the Jedi Temple, his pristine room on Coruscant where he spent countless dawns and nightfalls. He opened the gas valves near the main door. With a loud hiss, the Dorin gas began to gradually fill the entire confined space.

He must repeat the chore every day. Due to the special composition and functioning of his species’ respiratory system, he had no choice but to pay attention to such trivial matters at all times.

Plo unbuttoned his robe and let the fabric slide off his broad shoulders, revealing his solid chest, clad in a well-crafted light brown tunic with a wide belt at the waist. He had his lightsaber strapped to the belt and a small kit carrying the equipment needed to clean his antiox mask.

He didn't need to clean the mask today since he had already done it yesterday. All he needed now was to rest and relax.

With a few clickings, Plo unhooked the tubes connecting his head to the mask. Extendable, dark pink-orange tendrils wriggled out of the tubes, quickly retracting into the extremities of the sensory organs on either side of his head. He deftly pulled the metal respirator and the goggles off, revealing his bare face. The airtight device had left deep indentations on his face from the prolonged compression — bruises on his orange-brown skin, observable to the naked eye.

He reached up and massaged the stiff muscles of his face, fingers tracing his broad forehead to his protruding cheekbones, then to his gaunt, emaciated visage. Without the barrier of the antiox mask, his facial expression became more evident and clearer — his eyebrows stretched, his gentle silver irises covered in a layer of watery mist — a blessed relief from the constraints.

Plo let out a sigh of relaxation, his voice soft and hoarse without the mask modulator.

Mask, mask.

It was a shame he had to endure that to survive on a planet that wasn't his own. But he never complained, not even once.

He placed the mask in a designated corner of the room, then walked over to the window walls, hands clasped behind his back. Even though he could no longer bathe in the cool breeze of Coruscant's night, he could still look up and appreciate the hazy scenery of the city's brightness and the endless traffic flow in the sky above.

The light and darkness of the night turned into colorful dots, projecting and shining on his face –

A face completely alien to other species.

A pair of dark eyes with silver irises set in its hollow sockets – the hallmark of a Force-sensitive Kel Dor. His nose formed a beak-like structure in the center of his face, beneath which was a large, long vertical gap extending from the nose to the tapered chin. Two pairs of tendrils on either side of his cheeks, thicker than the ones sticking out from his sensory organs, ended in sharp black tusks. As he relaxed physically and mentally, his motionless tusks began to move slightly around his mouth in an easy and casual manner, which was one of the ways the Kel Dors used to communicate with each other.

This face of his was usually hidden under the metal antiox mask, and very few people have seen it.

Plo Koon didn't care about his appearance – that was far from his concern – but he knew that the Kel Dors were not considered an attractive species.

Plo sat cross-legged in front of the massive glass windows. The moonlight streamed through the window walls, forming beautiful rectangular patterns on the spotless floor — an ambiance calm and peaceful. He didn't usually go to crowded places, unless he had to go on crucial missions, gather sensitive information, or meet with important political figures. Even for those tasks, he had to wrap himself in a long, dark cloak from head to toe, doing his best to ensure that no one would recognize his identity as a Jedi.

Meditation.

Through meditation, he could better sense the presence of the Force around him and the power that surged in his veins and bones. Force sensitivity seemed to be an innate superpower, but acquired training was also essential to forging a Jedi Knight. Plo Koon had been fortunate to be favored by the Maker — for the Kel Dors' hypersensitive senses were the cherry on top, setting him apart from other Jedi. He ignited his lightsaber as little as possible, though his swordsmanship was so mastered and precise, strong enough to rival that of the Grandmaster Yoda. Yet, he relied more on his powerful ability to understand than on violence.

A compassionate and unflappable calm man.

And respected by all.

Silence completely reigned the chamber, the Dorin gas had already filled all the corners of the space and the valves had stopped pumping. Plo Koon kept his back straight, like an exquisite statue under the moonlight.

Unconsciously, minute by minute, time fled away, even the humble Jedi Master eventually succumbed to his most basic need for sustenance.

Plo did not eat much, especially in the evening, he usually contented himself with Zand nuts and fruits of the Kand trees. He prepared them already in the morning and put the roll in a clean bowl, placed on the table not far from the windows.

Keeping his body still, he simply waved his right hand. With that gesture, the bowl floated right in front of his eyes, slowly landing between his open palms that were resting flat on his knees.

His silver eyes were still shut, as a piece of nut roll in the bowl rose slowly and steadily. Fine tendrils extended once again from the extremities of the curled sensory organs on the sides of his head, dancing rapidly in the air as if to gauge the distance between him and the food. Until the food reached at the same height as his mouth, his two pairs of tusks began to work. The tips of the tusks staggered over the lips as they fully extended to clamp the food in the air, bringing it into the gaping space of his face in a strange but elegant manner. He then gently pulled his lips back and stuck out the pharyngeal jaws – the upper and lower palates slowly opening to bite off a mouthful of bread.

Piece by piece, Plo enjoyed his rare free time under the pale moonlight. Only when the bowl was empty did he straighten his back and open his eyes, his expression gentle and relaxed.

For other species, the helium-ridden planet Dorin and its strange denizens would indeed remain a mystery, but Plo could have made an exception.

[ton-618-ton-618]

2024 March 13

A starfield features a large nebula, mostly red, partly blue, which seems to have the shape of a bird.

The Seagull Nebula

Credit & Copyright: Gianni Lacroce

Explanation: A broad expanse of glowing gas and dust presents a bird-like visage to astronomers from planet Earth, suggesting its popular moniker: the Seagull Nebula. This portrait of the cosmic bird covers a 1.6-degree wide swath across the plane of the Milky Way, near the direction of Sirius, the alpha star of the constellation of the Big Dog (Canis Major). Of course, the region includes objects with other catalog designations: notably NGC 2327, a compact, dusty emission and reflection nebula with an embedded massive star that forms the bird's head. Dominated by the reddish glow of atomic hydrogen, the complex of gas and dust clouds with bright young stars spans over 100 light-years at an estimated 3,800 light-year distance.

[pokidot]

MANDELA — eight

wc: 1,724

It's been a day that the presentation came around, and you had no thought in your head about the consequences anymore. You hadn't even seen the circumference of news breaking out, and you checked The Cyptid Dailies a lot.

Even when you know you should be finding some peace before your trip, you didn't find interest in kicking a brick wall with your shoe in hopes that it would be fragile enough to break.

You began collecting the fragments of information you had, and with your close precision, started piecing them together on the huge corkboard you left empty until now.

Photographs and sketches you either found from Google images or drew out of pure memory adorned the board. You'd like to think they were capturing haunting visages and elusive forms, but you knew that artistic vision included more than 10 minutes of drawing scribbles up until it looks kind of like something unordinary.

While drawing your hands away, your lips curved into a smile. The effervescent delight said probably too much stimulus until you blinked and looked over at the small sound of a hissing whisper reverberating into your thoughts, and to the rest of the room.

You watched as mist almost flew dangerously close to your face, thank to the fan blowing in the room.

"Protip: if you're in a sticky situation and you don't have mace?" Venti lifted a can of setting spray high above his head, firm and unwavering. "Use this right here. It's practically mustard gas. I don't know what Shining Idol Barbara was cooking when she made this—she put Chemical X in it!"

Xiao placed the cards in his hands down, previously entertaining a game of 'Go-fish' with Aether. "And you know this because...?"

"You CANNOT inhale this if you want to be sent to the pearly gates." Venti shook it for emphasis. "It is expensive for a reason, it is NOT just setting spray. It is hair spray, bug killer, and floor cleaner. It's a 4-in-one, and she knew what she was doing when she did it too."

"Talk about sugar, spice, and everything nice." Kazuha sighed.

You didn't know if it was the sense of relief knowing that you partially succeeded, but you kind of forgot that you were now being accompanied by...the entirety of Teyvat University's chess club.

You were a little confused at the sudden notions; they all seemed to have their own motives as to why they're there. You weren't complaining at all. “Wait, really? She makes product now?” You blinked, your expression mildly impressed as you took the can from his hands, reading the label. “Huh…thought she was on hiatus.”

“If I was as rich as her, I’d forget I was in the shackles of being a juggling clown for people's entertainment too.” Only silence followed with the rest of Heizou's words, and he looked at the rest of them. "What?"

“You bite your words. Being a juggling clown is hard work.” Aether chimed in with defense, before his shoulders slacked. “Not…saying she is a juggling clown, of course, but even if she was...it would be a very high paying ca—(Y/N) what are you working on?”

“Right. I need to make a list before this actually starts," You rose your voice happily, suddenly bathed in an area of instant intrigue, "Not everything needs to be entirely perfect...but all the information we need is for when we actually tell this thing to fuck off, or I will instantly kill myself."

Venti whistled lowly. "Self destructive too," He smiled. "Just my type...just my type."

"Get help. Now." Xiao murmured in response to him, gritting his teeth. "There's no use making two trips if we're going to be there to investigate. We don't even have a lead on what it is yet."

"Au contraire, mon frère!"

"Don't...call me that." Xiao watched with furrowed eyebrows as you shuffled to your bag to take it out, the sounds of flurrying, crumpling loose pages in your bag as you dug deeper.

"God, they're like a real Benoit Blanc." Venti's practically had heart eyes.

He looked at the rest of the group there, staring keenly at you to add to your discovery and sighed through his nostrils. "This was more fun than going to a chess tournament?"

"I'm sorry, did you want us to say no? I'm tired of being demolished by the Kamisatos. I'm convinced they go to those just to one day see us dissolve into cinder and ashes." Aether asked in this suspended moment, Xiao letting out a small grunt at him.

"That's because you get your tricks off Tiktok." Kazuha chuckled.

"Feast your eyes!" You grasped the newspaper in your hands firmly, lifting it aloft as if hoisting a sacred artifact.

The five of them hovered over it to read, "PROJECT MORI IN DEVELOPMENT COMING 2017! MORI GROVE RD CONNECTING TO FREEWAY ON TEYVAT."

"Mori Grove is less than thirty minutes away from us if we use the path that connects the freeway. But! To bring so much equipment with us would mean that it'll take us longer to setup. And...who knows if the alleged 'clone' will show up? It's either we take longer when they're already gone, or we wait with a bunch of cameras for nothing."

"The only thing that I can think of that actually 'shapeshifts' into what you're talking about is a nematode." Xiao said. "I promise you the world's mysteries don't extend that far."

"Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. That's why you've gotta open your miiiind." You said, scrunching your hands up near your head to make exploding sounds while making the motions (to which Venti playfully followed along).

"Stop that." Xiao interrupted abruptly.

You put your hands down to continue, "And—!" As you were about to go on, your voice trailed off. All eyes turned towards the newcomer who entered the clubroom.

You turned your head towards Kuni, your smile instantly became radiant. "You're here! Come, sit, sit!" You rushed towards one of the free chairs, motioning to it's wooden fashion.

Though it wasn't reciprocated, he looked at your blossoming joy expressed through the curvature of your lips. His dull eyes remained devoid to mask his unease, looking away to the rest of his friends.

"What are these idiots doing here?" He seemed at a general discontent that this club was even a thing, but he was nothing but punctual to a meeting.

"It's so nice to see you too, Zu." Heizou pulled his lips together. "So nice."

"You thought we were joking about going?" Kazuha was so delighted you could possibly see chrysanthemums and blossoms around him. "I haven't had this much fun ever since we went fishing."

"Don't even remind me," The teetering stability of Kuni's voice turned from a smooth neutral to a tension. "I'm still pissed Xiao knocked the biggest fish I caught out of my hands before I could take a picture with it."

"You were trying to slap me in the face with it's tail. Don't be mad at me that your ego got in the way of your picture."

"I don't care if my ego was crushing your larynx the way I want to do to you right now. Ya' neva' go against the family, kid. Neva'." Kuni pointed in the direction of him, a small Italian accent laced in his tone.

"...Why are you talking like that?" Venti snickered.

Kuni shook his head to himself, mentally regretting his actions before looking at you, turning his body. "Don't get too gung-ho about your trip. I think you should reconsider it."

"Ohh, here we go again." You crossed your arms against your chest. "What excuse are you going to come up with now?"

"Not so much of an excuse this time, (Y/N)." Kuni held his phone up to your face. "The pathway to Mori Grove is closed, and the town is considering blocking off access to leave at all."

Your face dropped, eyes scanning the article as your face turned slightly grim. "What."

"Oh no...do you have a backup plan, (Y/N)?" Kazuha asked you, but you didn't know how to even process a response to anybody at the moment.

"...No...I don't have a backup plan." Your eyes glazed with a mixture of disbelief and bewilderment, but though you were previously vibrant and bustling, there may as well have been fire in your eyes. "Because this isn't going to happen. Oh HELL no!"

Kuni couldn't help but scoff. "You're going to go against the national guard? I don't think you're going to get far-"

"There could be a nuclear bomb up my ASS RIGHT NOW, I'M CATCHING THIS SHAPESHIFTER IF IT'S THE LAST THING I DO!" You pointed at your best friend to interrupt him, looking at him with unwavering refusal as you grabbed your bag and your laptop. "Meeting over! Get the cars ready at 6AM."

"H-Hey, isn't that a little bit too early for a hunt..?" Aether called out towards you, but before you made a stormy exit, you quickly turned around towards the blond with a squint.

"Six. A. M." And with that, you disappeared from view, and all the six could hear was the faint and tiny footsteps get tinier.

"...Okay, cool. Another sleep paralysis demon to look forward to," Aether thought mildly.

The vacuum left by your absence served as a reminder, the air was so still Heizou broke the silence first, "How does having a nuclear bomb up your ass even correlate to catching..."

"Keep it moving. Don't listen to anything they say." Kuni shook his head, checking the watch on his arm. "It is getting late."

"You heard them! 6AM!" Venti clapped his hands loudly, "They obviously have something they're planning, and we got through a 2 hour dissertation of them hurling out cryptid safety procedures. Bedtime."

Kuni raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry? Who made you co-leader?"

"I did, and if you were as smart as you think you were, you'd be fighting me right now." Venti stuck his tongue out. "No? Thought not."

And naturally, Kuni did want to argue with him, but he kept his mouth shut. He took a sharp breath in, eyes fixated on him until he looked back at the door to see something he swore was peeking from the corner of it. It was now gone.

There was nothing there, and the idea of him being delusional made him slightly annoyed. "Okay. We're leaving, now. Turn the lights off."

prev | masterlist | next

NOTES || filler. don't ask me how long the forum page took me...anyway i'm excited for next chapter ROOOADDD TRIIIIPPPP

TAGLIST: @wisteriarain @akagism2 @murderisokayforme @aeongiies @d4y-dr3am3r @truck-kuns-gf @3lysiaa @ayoitsmarie33 @crucnhice @natsuscrustyscarf @dreamsofminnie @astreaa-express @goj0h @cicibao @xirthia @kylexzz @dollpoetwriting @dreamingkace @strawbxrrytiger

[dr-lizortecho]

come back and haunt me

(a -very crucial- missing 4x12 scene)

The sand gives way, swallowing them whole. It’s almost some metaphor for the desert itself, how the dry heat of it held so many secrets, ate away the meat off bones and saw more than its fair share of disappearances.

Then there was the irony of it.

Max and Isobel had come into this world holding hands walking through an unforgiving desert and now they left the same way.

There’s a burning sensation against his skin, seeming to seep through his thick jacket and scrape away at his very soul. Making Max’s whole body convulse with a sharp pain- not physical, more akin to a wrongness. His lungs burn, sweat starting to bead at his forehead.

Breathe. Isobel’s mind murmurs soft and sweet.

Max fights for it, grasping for oxygen as he pries his eyes open, only to be met with a dark cavern. It’s too close to their origins on Earth to settle easily in his mind.

“Max,” Isobel squeezes his hand. She’s worried, anxiety thick in the space between them, mixing all too readily with his own.

Max sucks in a sharp breath, the air burning his lungs and then soothing them. It’s strange. Makes him feel fuzzy and his fingers tingle. Almost a mirror of the gas from a child’s dentist.

“Iz-“ Max chokes out, voice rough.

She squeezes his hand in turn, moving to stand up and take him with her. Another mirror.

He remembers all too vividly that night they’d come out of the pods. Not so much the days after. But he’d been cold, shivering as he’d laid out on the sand and rocks, clutching at his knees. Michael hadn’t moved far from his own pod. But Isobel, she’d gotten to her feet first and offered him her hand. Led them out of the caves and towards the distant lights.

“Let’s find Michael.” She says it resolutely. If it wasn’t for their bond Max might actually believe she was unaffected by the strange place around them. Seemingly alien, seemingly malevolent. At least Max felt an unsettling feeling in his bones, as if the atmosphere was trying to consume him whole.

“All of us,” Max says simply, squeezing her hand gently before letting go. “We just got to figure out which direction he went.”

Isobel snorts, “shouldn’t be difficult- just follow the existential cowboy angst.”

Max laughs, knowing she would say even worse if it was him lost inside some hidden layer of reality that wanted to eat them alive.

The cavern is dim, but as Isobel takes a step towards the passageway lights seem to flicker- until a hazy blue toned image of her mother stands in her way. Adrenaline strikes through Max, something like pain and relief crashing through the bond from Isobel’s end.

“Mom,” she manages, voice thick.

“My little star,” Louise smiles wistfully. Something sad in her eyes.

Max glances away, feeling something hollow in his stomach as he steps alongside Isobel- supportive.

Louise starts to say something but it’s drowned out by the crash of emotions that goes through Max as Nora’s visage flickers to life in front of him. She’s looking at him with pain and regret, tears pooling in her eyes.

She bites at her lip, something soft and broken expanding out from her. Max recognizes it as their native language, emotion and feeling and pure thought coalescing around him. It’s tortured and longing.

Not perfect. Not whole. But not hollow or nonexistent either.

Max gulps, throat thick, tears threatening to fall down his face as something tightens in his chest. Pain and relief seemed to take over his whole body. An understanding passes through their bond, of Max’s hesitancy, of his acknowledgment of her pain. Of her regret, from days old to the fact she never had the chance to lift him up and give it herself.

Nora lifts her hand, and Max lifts his to greet it. Their fingers brush, cold electricity seeming to dance across his palms as she smiles soft and sad.

Max smiles in return, before she vanishes, leaving him alone with his grief.

Ready? Isobel’s mind asks. Careful not to jar him with real words.

Max takes a steadying breath, the air a little less heavy even as it tries to slowly strangle him. He tries to ignore the tears pricking at his eyes as he nods. “Yeah. Let’s go get our idiot brother.”

Isobel smiles, “this way.” And Max follows her out into the blue light.