#it’s interesting but man does it need an edit | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sexlapis · 4 months

Note

i know requests are closed and im sorry but i need this so i dont forget 💖 actor!toji looking at edits on live and hes like “so yall see me like this” and the fans go wild

actor!toji on live!

okay i’ll make an exception once.

𝜗𝜚 actor!toji (x implied gn!reader)

sfw, crack, tiktok (bc that’s it’s own warning), suggestive, horny toji fans, toji has reading glasses, petnames (‘kid’) he’s a little rude but when is he not :), old man toji <3

〆(・∀・) : me after not writing abt actor toji for like a month 😊🤗

masterlists

actor toji masterlist

“hey, everybody,” toji said, waving to camera as if he didn’t fumble and struggle in front of his fans for the past ten minutes trying to get his phone to stand up securely. he looks cute, dressed in a navy blue hoodie with nothing underneath and his dark hair was a messy mop atop his head.

now he just sits in his chair at his dining room table, watching the viewer count rise and rise to absolutely ridiculous numbers.

“fourty thousan-fifty thou-sixty thousand?! didn’t know i had so many fans..jesus christ…”

honestly, toji had no idea what he was doing and he was a tiny bit nervous. this was his first ever “live” (something that he did not know even existed until you told him) and he had no idea how to entertain his fans or what they really wanted. but they seem pleased with him just staring at the camera in confusion and admiring his handsome face.

toji proceeds to read some of the comments in the rapid moving chat of chaos. here, starts the beginning of his own demise.

many comments are sweet, kind, praising him for his talent and acting skills, some were just spamming their country flags and names, a rare male fan is asking to see his guns collection, others asking about his upcoming projects but the majority of them are…not exactly PG in the slightest.

toji’s eyes could bulge out of damn skull at some of the explicitly and complete shamelessness of his fans. he knew they found him attractive, but this was a whole other level of depravity.

“what the fuck…” toji whispers in awe, mouth agape as his eyes scan through the chat, his eyes being fed with the most desperate and thirsty comments he has even read, “you guys are sumthin’ else…”

his one sentence just pours fuel on the, already blazing and large, fire, the chat moving so fast that is starts to lag.

“why’d i even speak..”

he actually takes time to read each comment that he can see (and stomach) and one of them catches his eye.

“watch your edits on tiktok? i have edits? what’s an edit?”

the chat blows up even more, commenters begging and begging him to watch these…edits.

“alright, alright, i’ll watch these “edits”,” toji says to the camera, before pulling out another phone, one that is clearly quite old, jagged edges and a cracked camera, a raggedy phone case and just overall not in the best condition it could be in.

“‘what is that ancient ass device’ eh? this is my main phone,” he replies to a comment, showing his phone to the camera to his fans can see, “‘s fine, works perfectly. and it’s not “ancient”. it’s actually a nokia. pft, dumbass kids.”

toji can feel himself being flamed in the chat. even more so when he pulls out his reading glasses.

“yeah, ‘m fuckin’ old. jesus.”

he squints, scrolling on his beaten up phone with his index finger, “y’know, ion even really use tiktok, i only got it so _____ can send me videos of whatever the fuck. i swear, that kid sends me a million videos per day..” toji sighs, smiling at the thought of you, “ahh, they’re just so dumb.”

toji, after a long time of searching through trial and error and directions from his fans, eventually finds the search page of tiktok.

“alright, what’d i type in then? just ‘toji’? ‘toji fushiguro’?” he looks for answers in the chat, but find himself getting frustrated at the lack of actual responses to his question. he tuts, “i’m just gonna search ‘toji fushiguro edits’ and see what happens.”

he does just that and the results are…very interesting.

right in front of his very eyes are miles and miles of edits of himself, created by his fans, their depravity exposed for him to see, some of who were probably watching him at this very moment.

“jeeeeesus christ. ‘dunno what i even expected, honestly,” he scrolls through them, audios changing constantly as he does so, his eyes wide and wondering, “i’m actually impressed…”

toji pressed on one, and he watches it, the edit flashing in the reflection of his glasses as he watches. his open mouth slowly turns into a smirk of amusement and all out disbelief, the audio of the video being something about… ‘needing someone older’?

“so you guys see me like this?” he asked, expression incredulous and he breathes out a small chuckle, “buncha little fuckin’ freaks.”

the chat seems to like that. a lot.

his chat is once again flooded with comments from hell…hell for people driven purely by lust, that is.

toji huffs, “how old is this person anyway?”

he seemingly clicks on the account and reads their username. well, almost.

“‘tojis little cu-woah!” he almost drops his phone out of his hand, jaw on the floor, “how old are you! sixteen?! toji looks to the camera, eyebrows furrowed before slamming his phone on the table and pointing at his fans through the screen, “go do your homework! and be in bed by nine. actually, no scratch that, eight! christ…sixteen years old, oh my god…”

he continues to mutter to himself, completely baffled at how some of his fans are so young and just so…out of their minds. his skin crawls at the thought of a sixteen year old liking him in such a way.

toji shivers, “god, where are your parents?” he questions and continues to search through the edits, before finding one that looks safe, innocent and PG.

he was proven wrong however, when the audio was a woman rapping about being put in full nelsons-

“okay, that’s enough!” he slams his phone down again on the table, “i’ve seen enough,” and then he reaches for the camera, not even caring about his viewers. he mutters a, “crazy fuckin’ kids” before abruptly ending his “live” and going to take a nap.

the next day, you have sent him over ten videos on tiktok, all of them being edits of him from the day of the live, most of them containing the clip of when he called his fans, quote, a “buncha little fuckin’ freaks” unquote.

toji sighs at them, secretly entertained that you must be watching these deviant edits of him too.

〆(・∀・) : no i have not forgotten abt actor toji

#actor!toji #toji x reader #toji x you #toji x y/n #toji x self insert #toji fluff #toji crack #toji fushigro x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro x you #toji fushiguro x self insert #toji fushiguro x y/n #toji fushiguro fluff #toji zenin x reader #toji zenin x you #fushiguro toji x reader #fushiguro toji x you

865 notes · View notes

zhongrin · 2 months

Text

a highly important proposal

✼ characters ┈ al haitham

✼ tags ┈ unspecified pronoun & gender of reader, fluff, crack, more of a brainrot headcanon dump than a scenario

✼ a/n ┈ i just... i love him a lot your honor

ᴏᴜʀ ꜰᴜʟʟ ᴍᴇɴᴜ (ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ) ✼ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱʜɪᴘ (ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ)

thinking about al haitham & confession...

considering his personality and the whole "a parade of providence" event long ago (with him doing such in-depth research of sachin unprompted), personally i think it would be hilarious if he wrote a whole-ass thesis about the pro and cons of you and him being in a relationship together, along with several insights and visions of how of your romantic dynamics and your life plans together could be.

oh it's a proposal, alright.

quite literally.

he also provides you a questionnaire at the very end, which allows you to agree/disagree with him and if you would get into a serious relationship with him from a scale of 1-10. in the scenario that you agreed to his proposal, there would be a whole other folder with forms containing the ranked list of proposed schedule for date nights, suggestions for date spots/ideas, chores that you like/dislike.... all for you to fill in.

hey, the man needs some basic information before he embarks on the hands-on voyage for forming a more intimate relationship with you, okay? naturally, he already did his own research and hypotheses beforehand, but it's always best to hear straight from the source and be prepared for important decisions such as this one; it just shows how much important you are to him.

kindly return the questionnaires to him along with your replies, thank you. oh, and of course, if you wish to have the evaluation verbally, he's up for that too. how does tomorrow 7pm at puspa café sound?

bonus:

he would 100% study your replies like he's reading the most interesting limited-edition book of his favorite author. which, in essence, is somewhat true. if you're into writing of any kind, he would be the boyfriend who read every single one of your works. hell, he'd absolutely love to read your journals if you let him... partly because he wishes to support you doing the things you like, but mostly just because seeing you write down mundane things or witness your thought process step-by-step is just incredibly fascinating to him.

imagine kaveh passing by and promptly double take because he's seen al haitham drafting that thesis for the past month and he's convinced that no sane person would accept such a method of confession, but?? someone actually read the whole thing and filled in all the questionnaires???? that's just. mind baffling. mind boggling. is there another al haitham in teyvat? dear gods. no. please. just one is enough.

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #al haitham x reader #al haitham #rin releases a plot bunny into the wild

637 notes · View notes

nrdmssgs · 8 months

Note

CONGRATS ON 500, you 100% deserve it and more !!! 🥹🌷💐 i just love your art and work so, so much!!

if it's alright, can i request 37 with könig? my husband, i need him !!!! 😮‍💨

Masterlist List of prompts What? An author, who practically inspired me to come here and start writing? An author, who gifted me the biggest brainrot for many sides of König? Sends me a request? Orla, I am such a huge fan!!!!!! I love your style, love your bold, picturesque oneshots, love your eagerness to discover so many themes. I owe you so much, you don't have an idea. I made a text and a picture in case, you don't like the text. Sorry, I'm fangirling and I'm nervous)

Does it make you nervous, when I stare?

Pairing: KonigxReader Warning: this is NSFW. And König here is not the shyest guy on Earth, because this is colonel edition.

Oh, the things, you would let this man do to you. Unspeakable, ungodly things. Things so unhinged, you wouldn't mention them even after a few rounds of shots with your besties.

One sight of his fingers tapping the tabletop during the debriefing, and you can't think about anything other than the salty taste on your lips, left by his thumb. It would take him just one word, or maybe even one glance to make you cover his index and middle finger in saliva, as he would slide them against your tongue. You'd be so good - standing on your knees for him, sucking his fingers so eagerly, fighting your own gag reflex.

One glance thrown at his forearms, tightly hugged by black cloth, and you imagine his massive hands picking you up like you weigh nothing at all. You'd freeze, learn to hold your breath for as long as he wants, until you'd feel only the brush of his mouth against yours and the grumble of his impatience when he pushes in. The intoxicating thickness of his tongue against yours would be a taste that would rocket to your core and melt you from the inside, as he'd hover over you, pushing apart your legs with the brush of his massive thighs between yours. He'd take and take and take. And how obediently will you keep giving him anything, he demands.

Looking at his hips is a serious danger. Slick outlines of his muscles, his fingers brushing up and down his lap, black holster straps spanning his thigh make you go absolutely feral. You'd be standing still, feeling his low growl with your entire body. You'd hold your hands high against the wall and arch your back, so he can have access to every single part of your body. You'd accept him reminding you, with each his hungry thrust, where your place is: wrapped in his arms while he rubs you senseless, his teeth on your neck leaving you on the edge of pain.

All that fantasies you could hide from König, if it wasn't for his eyes: deep cold silver light, sparkling with interest, every time, he caught you staring. You couldn't make yourself look away: his stare was a predatory gaze, luring you closer, easing you into a thought of coming closer, stripping you of any bit of self-preservation instinct. Yes, when he caught your eyes - König took his time, ravishing in a sight of your desperate blush, letting go of you and turning his gaze away only when you were literally choking with shame, trying to drive away the visions that he awakened in your mind. This man was to become the end of you, and every next day it was only harder to fight that feeling off.

So when you hear, he is expanding his team, it feels only natural to surrender and use this ghostly opportunity to get closer to him. You know, your chance to join the team, his inner circle, is almost zero. By no means, you can be considered a poor professional, but the Colonel is a legend here. He doesn't want just 'the best' he wants those outstanding even from the best. And your personnel files scream 'just good' at best. But you have a motivation, the one so strong and specific, that maybe only you here have. Your obsession with König is pushing you to the darkest void, you were too scared to come to earlier - the threshold of his office.

"Come in." His voice at it finest: not too loud, not too harsh, all honey and slumber. When he wants, he can be mesmerizing as a siren.

You clench your hand into a fist behind your back, thus trying to calm the trembling that is rolling up to your knees.

"Just don't look him in the eyes, and it would be ok. Hands, yes, you can bear looking at his hands and not lose it. Afterward you can have whatever you want - your toys, your fingers, your cushions... Just look at his hands, breathe deep, and it all will be alright." Your inner monologue is interrupted only when he is pulling a folder from your hands, obviously tired of waiting for you to finally give it to him.

"What do we have he- oh..." Your breath hitches, you practically hear an uncanny smile spreading across his face.

"Die Kleine will in meinem Spiel?*" König sounds amused. And although you don't entirely understand, what he said - you get the message and nod, not daring to look him in the eyes.

"Very good. I could use such a treasure..." He flips the pages and clicks his tongue when some of your personal indicators impress him. And before you manage to exhale, he adds: "But I'll need to test you. See, if you are... ready."

"Anything, Colonel!" You blurt it out and immediately shut your mouth, realizing that it might sound ambivalent. But that's enough to make König raise from his seat and lead you from offices to firing range.

You blame it upon a rush of blood to your head, but you pass his test with flying colors. Physical tests, advanced weaponry, strategy, even sparing with König leaves you alive and just a little trembling.

The thing, that breaks you, is not even a test or a check. It happens late in the evening, when you two end up in the locker room. You just need to remove one layer of the tactical gear you were using, you'll still have your shirt and jeans on. But you stop, paralyzed, seeing out of the corner of your eye how König leans against the wall, arms folded on his chest. His gaze, you feel his gaze: lingering and hungry.

"What's wrong, treasure? Are you hurt?" You are afraid to answer and reveal your trembling voice, so you just shake your head.

"You don't know, how to loosen those straps? Want me to help you?" Again: you only shake your head, hiding your gaze.

"Is it my eyes, that make you that nervous, Schatzi*?" His accent thickens, voice drops low, as he steps closer.

You instinctively lean back, but hit the wall behind you. He takes one more step towards you and places his hand between the wall and the back of your head, so that you don't hurt yourself occasionally. But very soon, he guides you to finally look up at him. There it is: silver light, that you can never look away from, once you saw it.

"Talk to me. There can be no secrets inside my team." His voice is soft once again, but you know, it is a trap. And you fall for it.

"I just get distracted. Don't worry, Colonel, I'll learn to ignore it or to live quietly with it. Sorry..." Your voice, your entire body, is trembling.

"There's nothing to apologize for." Something sparkles deep inside his eyes. He moves his veil up, so you can see his lips, and leans right to your ear. "In fact, how about you come at the same time to my office tomorrow, treasure? After all, you've proven, you can be so good for me... It's my turn to convince you, I too can be good for you, Schatzi."

Die Kleine will in meinem Spiel? - Little one wants in my game?

Schatzi - little treasure

945 notes · View notes

l4long-winded · 3 months

Text

o.s. fresh, unwilting daisies

summary: carmen gets possessive after your ex boyfriend stops by and leaves you a bouquet of daisies (carmen berzatto x afab!reader)

reflection: wrote this yesterday and edited it today. i have received a few requests in my inbox if anyone is interested in leaving me some more, i'll get to those as soon as i can. let's relish in the collective carmy brain rot together <3 please enjoy and feedback is always appreciated!

warnings: cursing, cynicism, reader has an ex boyfriend, inner monologue, carmen's pov, filth, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, possessive!carmen, jealous!carmen, praise, multiple orgasms, use of "sweet girl," reader doesn't like daisies (they're pretty, let's pretend, sorry to all the daisy lovers), past relationship, donna mention, office setting, p in v sex, dom!carmen (please let me know if there are other warnings i need to add)

word count: 1,750

Stupid.

Stupid, stupid, stupid motherfucker. Who does he think he is? Waltzing into Carmen’s restaurant, the cuffs of his dirt infested denim jeans dragging over Carmen’s pristine floor, said denim jeans hanging low on his hips like an asshole who can’t even present himself to you as an individual who actually gives a fuck. Grant didn’t hold the common courtesy to put on a belt, and Carmen doesn’t believe the man owns one, but if he’s going to saunter in and try and request time with you, Carmen’s girlfriend, then he should at least be decent and dress like he’s attempting to win you back and not as if he just got home after a hard day’s work of laying down brick. Grant doesn’t have a job so that explanation for his asshole outfit and his asshole beanie and his asshole demeanor is not worth excusing him, especially not as he smugly leaned over Carmen’s counter and let his jacket covered elbows smear his Grant-ness all over the surface. Carmen had no choice but to wipe it down with high-grade sanitizer, scrubbing away as if he could scrub away Grant completely out of your and Carmen’s life, since they’re entangled with one another now whether Grant likes it or not.

Carmen shifts his tongue within you utilizing a bit more pressure, undulating the pink muscle in and out until he forms the shape of a well to scoop your slick and curl it into his fervent, perpetual mouth. He gulps you down into the back of his throat, exhaling against your folds at the satisfying, addicting drink equivalent to a desert traveler’s first and desperate swallow of refreshing water. Carmen breathes your scent since it permeates throughout his office space and your wetness coats his cheeks and the tip of his nose, inhaling and exhaling air that causes your thighs to twitch in his hands at the sensation. He ought to be kinder to you, you’re sensitive from the two orgasms he’s endlessly worked out of your cunt, and it’s not your fault Grant continues to be an annoying fixture in your atmosphere having denied his pleas time and time again, but every time Carmen locks eyes with Grant’s lazy, complacent gaze, Carmen feels a surge of jealousy within him compelling him to mark his territory and reinforce the notion of you being his and his alone. Sure, you dated Grant first, but in Carmen’s eyes, you belong to him like you’ve never belonged to anyone.

“Mine,” he utters, slipping his tongue out to lick his puffy, swollen lips clean, exposing his line of thinking as he presses a kiss to your clit, growling and slightly smirking to find the little button still pulsing for him with need. His fingernails dig into the meat of your thighs as you attempt to clamp them around his head, and normally he would let you, but he holds them spread and open for him so he can continue to lap you into the whining mess you’re becoming atop his desk. The downside is how each of those adoring and pleasant sounds are muffled due to your palm actively pressing down against your lips, “good girl” muttered because that’s what he told you to do for him when you started and you’ve done an excellent job of quieting yourself while he practically drowns himself in your cunt. He doesn’t miss the whimper you reward him with at the praise, his right hand generously kneading the flesh of your thigh as a sign that he’s almost done, to just hang on a touch longer and allow him his fill.

“One more,” he promises, “just one more for me, sweet girl, one more,” Carmen litters your pussy and inner thighs with kiss after kiss, stamps of pure affection to calm you down and ready you for his next onslaught. He peers up at you, noticing how your body is trembling just as much as your thighs are, half your ass hanging off the edge of his desk, your upper shoulders slumping partially into the wall behind. Poor thing. Close to sobbing, your eyes glassy from the tears of pleasure that never fall from them, your shirt riding up your stomach since he only bothered to take your pants off in his rush to have you when you came in to check up on him. You deserve his fingers, and he plays around with the idea of sliding them inside you, drumming them against your skin as he thinks about stuffing you with them as his mouth closes over your clit. He’s done it in the past, he knows it would drive you to that climax he currently craves in an instant, but from scanning your disheveled features and writhing frame, his crystal blues eventually attach to the vase of daisies at the side of the two of you, taunting him as they have this entire time.

The notecard sticking out flashes Grant’s name. You don’t even like daisies, you’ve told Carmen, but Grant used to get them for you when he fucked up numerous times throughout your relationship. No matter how much you hated to accept them and therefore reinforced the habit, you would always vase them and frown as they started to immediately die the next morning. That’s who Grant is. He didn’t bother to at least buy you fresh and lively daisies, but the ones right on the verge of dying. Today, months and months into your and Carmen’s relationship, Grant stopped by with vased daisies under the intent of getting you back and they’re actually fucking beautiful, Carmen admits, but they’re pissing him the fuck off. Every glance to them sitting there has brought about this carnal desire to part your legs further for him. The flowers are taunting him, milky and lemony, an assorted arrangement plopped into a blaring, golden vase that Carmen’s mother would definitely keep if she had been gifted it herself, muttering something about hidden treasures, son while storing it away in her cabinet’s hoarding of dishes and “fine china” she gathered from the thrift store. They’re nice. Too nice. Carmen should get you some flowers, he decides to himself, flowers that you would actually like without some underlying motive, simply because he cares about you and because he wants to see your smile light up when he personally hand delivers them.

Fucking Grant. His fucking daisies are taking up too much fucking space on Carmen’s desk and he hates it, he hates that he had to move them from the front of the restaurant into his office so they wouldn’t obstruct the customers, he hates the contents of the notecard begging you to be Grant’s again as if you were ever his in the first place.

“Mine,” Carmen grunts again, lapping up your slit with the full flat of his tongue, dragging it to relish in your taste, in the moan you choke out against your hand, his nose catching between your folds. He glances up at the flowers, the line “want you to be mine again” ringing in his ears from when you read the note aloud to him. Well, fuck you, Grant, he thinks, it’s his tongue and mouth on your cunt and it’s his cock that’s going to be plunging in and out of you tonight on his couch, in his bed, in the shower as you brace yourself with your hands planted on his tile walls.

Fucking cry over it, motherfucker. Fuck your flowers. I’m the one fucking her.

And something… miraculous(?) happens. A single petal falls from the flowers as Carmen licks at you. He watches it swish and sway through the air, descending down until it lands right next to his hand, right on top of your thigh, his thigh.

He pushes his head in further, yanking you by your (his) thighs to meet his mouth as he simultaneously swipes away the petal like it burned you. You squeak out in surprise, your opposite hand flying down to grip the curls in his hair as you sputter above him. Carmen seals his mouth over your clit, done with the teasing, done with his thoughts, and all he wants is to send you over that blissful edge he’s pushed you towards already, stroking you with rolls of his tongue and strong suckles of his suctioned lips. You don’t even last a minute, swaddled pleas of something resembling his name being cried out into your hand, your head bumping into the wall behind as you cream around nothing. He glances down, petting your cunt with merciful, languid brushes of his tongue, in awe of the mess you’re soaking out onto his desk. He drops his jaw lower to catch all of it, close to licking your essence right off the surface if it weren’t for how you’re currently teetering on it. Carmen stands up, unbuckling his belt hurriedly as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, your cunt’s release once on his lips and chin now transferred to the digits and knife tattooed over it.

“Wha-… Carmy?” You ask as you sit up, only for him to pull you by your hips back into position for him. You look so dazed, fucked out beyond belief, and as he manhandles you to spreading your thighs all over again, his elbow knocks the vase of daisies with enough force to send them crashing down to the floor. The glass breaks into scattered shards, causing you to jump, but Carmen doesn’t seem to have noticed. He’s just lining himself up and pushing straight through your walls, well lubricated with his spit and your cum, having been loved on long enough for your shared coworkers to begin questioning your and his whereabouts. You actually yelp this time, grasping at his broad shoulders as you adjust and clench around him. He latches his lips to yours to mute your noises, thrusting away, pounding the cunt belonging to him and no one else, growling as he bites at your bottom lip.

As he steps his feet apart from one another to open your knees up for extra access, glass crunches under his shoe, water splashing under the sole of the other, and a few daisies are crushed as he fucks you with a quickening pace. He’s not worried about it. He’ll get you some tulips or maybe some sunflowers, something pretty for you to look at as he has you bent over the kitchen table tomorrow morning.

#l4l.writes #carmen berzatto #fresh unwilting daisies #the bear series #carmen berzatto x reader #jeremy allen white #carmen berzatto imagine #the bear hulu #carmy the bear

476 notes · View notes

aghostshipontheblue · 2 years

Text

#currently watching #love and monsters #edit: if anything happens to Boy I will never forgive anyone involved with this movie #edit: when Boy brings the dress for Joel to put in his bag okay I’m actually going to cry at least 7 times during this movie #literally any time this dog does any thing I will cry #edit: Boy is just trying to keep this man alive and he just keeps nearly dying at every turn #edit 3: Aimee isn’t even going to want him when he finds her right? it’s been 7 years and she was not interested when they were talking 😂#edit 4: I know it’s too early for something to happen to Boy but Joel shooting arrows to save him 😭😭😭😭#the true relationship in this movie is the best friendship between Joel and Boy #edit: I love Mav1s #edit: I need Joel to wind his neck in quick sharp #edit: I knew she wouldn’t want him lmao #edit: Boy lived that’s all I care about

1 note · View note

elyserie · 8 months

Text

Fate's Refusal to Honour (or at least properly research) Depictions of Non-Japanese Figures 2: Electric Bogaloo ft. Wandjina from the Current JP Summer Event

Disclaimer: While I am an Australian, I am NOT of Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander descent. Therefore, I am coming at this issue from an outsider's perspective. If there is an Aboriginal person, or more specifically of the Mowanjum people from the Kimberly regions, please PLEASE correct me if I am wrong on any front.

The culprit behind the events of the current Summer story in the JP servers has recently been revealed to be Wandjina, a creator Dreamtime figure from the Mowanjum people's culture.

In any other context, I would be thrilled to have an Australian figure in FGO, but the problem here is the figure they use.

Wandjina are sacred to the Mowanjum people, and therefore one needs to go through Aboriginal Law to obtain the right to use the Wandjina's image.

In Australia, this resulted in an actual conflict between a non-indigenous artist and aboriginals. You can read more here, but one quote to note is from an Aboriginal man of the Darug people, Chris Tobin: "Aboriginal law is very specific on what you can and can't do with wan[d]jinas." Another quote on this topic is made by the owner of an Aboriginal art gallery, Adrian Newstead: "Only a few Aboriginal artists ever win the right to depict wan[d]jina, and only then after years of initiations and ceremonies..."

I am NOT attaching an image of FGO's iteration of Wandjina due to this. Not only is her appearance only Aboriginal on a surface-level with her 'dot art' aesthetic (dot art* is only a recent addition to Aboriginal culture, created back in the 1970s), having no resemblance to an Aboriginal person (note, that while many Aboriginal people are white/pale, FGO continually chooses to depict people of colour as light skinned as possible. And yes, I know she's blue, not white. There is literally no records of her being blue skinned; is this because Wandjina's are associated with rain????) but she is also not very Wandjina looking? These figures do not have mouths, have large eyes meant to resemble the eye of a storm and are typically depicted with elaborate headdresses. That little glowing boomerang on her head is not exactly elaborate. And WHY does she have a boomerang??? Because she's Australian???? By that logic, every Japanese figure needs to have a katana. #GiveMurasakiaKatana2023.

There is also the issue of Cnoc na Riabh. While it is funny to think that she's a foreigner because of an Australian influence, Yaraan-doo is also another Aboriginal figure. And it is slapped onto a white girl for a fan service event. I'd just rather Fate leave Aboriginal culture alone and just do, like, Ned Kelly or something if they're going to continue like this.

More resources and info under the read more!

You'll have noted in the quotes that I've edited an 'n' into wanjinas. This is so I didn't confuse anyone: both can be the correct spelling! I just stuck to what I thought FGO was using for their Wandjina.

Here's an overview of what wandjinas are and their inappropriate use in art: https://www.creativespirits.info/aboriginalculture/arts/what-are-wandjinas

Here's another page about an inappropriate use of Wandjinas (note: it's only a short synopsis about a documentary that covered the incident, I'm uncertain if you would be able to get access to the documentary outside of Australia): https://www.creativespirits.info/resources/movies/who-paintin-dis-wandjina

It should also be noted that the two websites I've linked above are from the website Creative Spirits. While it is run by a non-Indigenous person, the person behind it is currently transitioning it to be an Aboriginal owned and run resource. You can read more about how this site is run in his About page.

*If you want to know about dot art's origin, here and here are some resources on them. However, this article brings up something interesting that I would like to bring back to FGO Wandjina's dot art aesthetic. It notes that "the term 'dot painting' stems from what the Western eye sees when faced with contemporary Aboriginal acrylic paintings" (emphasis mine). All three articles note that dots were used to obfuscate sacred symbols and artifacts so that those who were not initiated into their cultures could not see what these figures were. In that case, what the hell is the dot art seen on Fate's Wandjina supposed to represent? In this article, it talks about the symbolism in Indigenous art. Fate's Wandjina has none.

#fgo #fate grand order #fate #fate wandjina #fgo wandjina #no one tell me if she turns out to be an alien or something because that a whole other can of worms #*sobbing* neither of my parents are even Australian I have very little exposure to Aboriginal cultures #and I take after my father so I am very white I hope making this post I was respectful? aaaaaaaaaaaaa #I got way too into making this post I forgot to take my shower and now its bedtime whoops #anyway when will nasu's sinful hands stop #own ramblings

765 notes · View notes

taeiun · 5 months

Text

this love is small.

synopsis: some of the little things that they do in your relationship

who: zb1 x gn!reader (not including yujin)

categories: fluff, some crack, headcanon styled scenarios

warnings: mentions of food in jiwoong + taerae's parts, light swearing

word count: 1.1k

✧ JIWOONG !

✧ jiwoong gains a newly formed sixth sense when it comes to your needs; he knows your favourite snacks by heart and also picks up if you guys are low on them without even looking at the cabinet. you don’t even need to ask him to grab a snack for you because he’ll just know. probably knows when those foods are on sale before you even open your mouth to tell him. like, he’s probably already picked up three bags of those chips you really enjoyed last time and they’re waiting on the counter for you.

✧ will send you a notes app shopping list so that you don’t get jumped scared by the random appearance of shrimp chips and sour candies constantly and wonder how they got there half the time when you both haven’t even talked about being out of them.

✧ ZHANG HAO !

✧ hao keeps a collection of short, vlog-like recordings of the two of you in a private, for his eyes only folder on his phone. he watches these whenever he misses you or feels down and needs a pick me up. these videos will range from past dates, his commentary as he records you sleeping, to not even a two second moment of you laughing. you might find the angles unflattering, but he treasures each and everyone, watching them with a goofy ahah smile on his face.

✧ the others have 100% definitely, not even up for question, walked in on him in the middle of a watching session. he’ll just be sitting curled up in bed, blanket draped around him, with the lights turned off and earbuds plugged into his phone. this ends two ways. 1) the member leaves before he can notice and all is well or 2) they tease him only to end up with a pillow to the face

✧ HANBIN !

✧ whenever he’s on tour or can’t see you for long periods of time, hanbin will keep a list of things that happen throughout the days he’s gone to share with you. he never wants you to feel left out of his life and wants full communication with things. he can send you all the pictures you want of his travels, but nothing beats the actual stories.

✧ he mainly keeps tabs of things he did but will include the members’ shenanigans if he thinks they’ll make you laugh. starts a new list every time he has to leave and each one is dated, the activities labeled for what day and the time gone written at the top.

✧ MATTHEW !

✧ a big chatterbox when it comes to you, especially when it comes to his family. phone calls, messages, will even in emails to relatives, the conversation will drift to you no matter the topic. the only criteria needed for this to happen is for someone to simply breath in his direction.

✧ matthew pivots the conversation so fast that it gives his family whiplash. they aren’t complaining though; it’s nice to see him so happy and they can tell just how much he cares about your relationship. he wants them to love you as much as he does and by telling them these fond memories, he’s sure they will.

✧ TAERAE !

✧ the silly man he is, taerae will send you selfie updates throughout the day of where he is. you could probably make and sell your own bootleg, limited edition, taerae of zb1 pcs with how many you get from him. from walks to the company building to convenience store runs, he’s always sending you a picture of when he leaves to when he arrives at the destination as a way of assurance he’s safe.

✧ stores all of these in a folder labeled “for yn and yn only” and refuses to post them publicly, no matter how good you tell him some of them are. the background settings of his photos are always interesting. sometimes the members will be there, sometimes it’s while he’s in a storage closet. it’s funny until you wake up to find selfies of him at mcdonalds at 4 am with a handful of chicken nuggets shoved in his mouth.

✧ RICKY !

✧ spoils you so much. he knows that love doesn’t mean the amount of money you spend on someone but he can’t help but buy trinkets that remind him of you. the thought process is basically just: “oh. this kind of looks like yn.” and proceeds to checkout with a ditto keychain. ricky pays close attention to what type of accessories you tend to wear and prefer for this very reason. if your ears are pierced, you’ll find a new pair waiting for you on your desk that look eerily similar to his… like what? nooooo he totally didn’t go and buy subtle matching stuff pfttt nah- ok yes. please wear it; coordinate matching outfits with him.

✧ also, don’t bother asking for the prices of these things. he’ll never tell you because he knows that you’ll pay him back and he doesn’t want that. he doesn’t expect anything back and wants to make sure that you understand that he wants to do these things. you also probably won’t want to know because oof scary.

✧ GYUVIN !

✧ omfg he will abuse voice memo privileges to hell and back in order to let you in on dumb jokes and random thoughts. gyuvin constantly has his phone close within his reach just because of this so that he never misses the chance to blow your mind with… whatever falls from his mouth. even when in bed. the voice memos range from “i love you so much i don’t know what i’d do without you” to “did you know you are always within three meters of a spider?”. you never know if you’ll be swooning or sleeping with one eye open with these.

✧ the worst ones come at night for sure; he’ll wake up suddenly, blindly search for his phone, string together a weird ass sentence that only he’d be able to decipher, send it, then knock himself out again and sleep without remorse for his actions. he should be paying for your icloud with how much storage he clogs with those messages.

✧ GUNWOOK !

✧ he’s classically cheesy in a way and sends you screenshotted song lyrics that describe his feelings or remind him of you. “#LiterallyUs” and it’s paper rings by taylor swift. can be unserious about it though. one time, you couldn’t hang out with him because of exams and he responded with “tell me why / ain’t nothin but a heartache”.

✧ there are times where gunwook will not only send the lyrics, but also a clip of him singing that certain part of the song. he mainly sends these versions at night from the bathroom, and you wonder how none of the others have stormed into the room and told him to shut up.

^ . _ . ^ !? told myself to take it easy and not post again this week but um... this is a heavily edited fic from my old blog @/luvjiun that ive been meaning to repost. hehe ok junjun out >_<

496 notes · View notes

flower-cage · 1 month

Text

To Serve

by @flower-cage Ao3 | Masterlist Aemond Targaryen x Servant!Reader Summary: That morning, the crown Prince entered the young Queen's chambers and changed your life forever.

Words: 3,768

Warnings: explicit sexual content, dubious consent, power imbalance, humiliation kink, voyeurism.

A/N: Here's that random smut I was talking about (two weeks off-schedule rip). It is not as edited as my other pieces, thus much cruder, and I enjoyed not stressing over every single word on it. I just let the story guide my writing hand and had fun with it! I hope you enjoy it too! Minors, do not interact.

Your new role of serfdom started not unlike that of attending to the needs and whims of the Dragons. Up before dawn, you ensured that dresses were washed and perfumed, jewelry and shoes polished. In the late morrow, you served tea to the Queen and her mother. At luncheon, you would have taken the chance, in their absence, to clean and tidy their chambers, had it not been for your newest promotion.

That morning, while his sister and mother broke their fast, the crown Prince entered the young Queen’s chambers and changed your life forever.

He had always paid you close attention. In truth, only seldom were you ever in the presence of the one-eyed Prince, but whenever chance brought you together, you felt his lingering, insistent gaze on the hairs in the back of your neck. Always.

It did not take long for others to take notice of it, too. Often the maids would tease you for the interest you had awakened in the Prince known to be harsh and cold and cruel like a winter storm.

“You are fortunate he does not take after his brother’s depraved malversations,” you would often hear.

This was what the whole of Westeros knew of him back then, before the Dance.

That morning, you had twisted your hands in your apron, standing outside his door and garnering the strength to raise one of them to the wooden slabs.

“It is unlike my son to show interest in a lady,” the Dowager Queen had told you, clinking a silver teaspoon against fine porcelain, “or anyone at all, for that matter.”

Your guts knotted of their own accord. Your spine shuddered cold.

“I would like you to tend to his needs from now on,” she had announced easily, breaking apart a piece of crusty bread. “All of his needs.”

Now, you often wonder if she would have offered you so unashamedly if she had known he would mature into such an unscrupulous man. Or, you wonder most often, perhaps she had always known. Perhaps she had hoped he would satisfy his dormant savagery, then inhibited by a pretense of duty and propriety, if only she delivered him a feast before it fully wakened.

And feast he would, though his hunger would never be sated.

In the end, he would teach you everything you learned of this world of carnal indulgences.

He had risen leisurely from his seat of leather, strode to you lazily, smiled self-assuredly. You stood stoic, hands fidgeting and sweating behind your back, a half-step away from his chambers’ door after courage and fear had finally coaxed you past it.

He stalked toward you until his nose brushed yours faintly and your back rested against the cold wood. His eye roamed you freely, his masculine scent of leather and cedar crowded your senses, and your body shuddered beneath his desirous stance.

“I shall not take that which is not freely given,” his whisper tickled the shell of your ear, “and I shall not award what is not yet desired.”

His promise stretched on for days on end.

You tended to him much like you had his sister: tending to his chambers, washing his clothing, learning his habits. You served him wine at supper and tea in the morrow. You dressed him before Small Council meetings and bathed him after his daily practices.

Until you didn’t.

“Prince Aemond requests your services,” a familiar knight announces after rapping on the door.

You rise from where you have been sitting at your vanity table, combing your hair to a shine as is your Prince’s preference. You fix the sleeves on your dress, but it does not grant you any decency whatsoever, not when its translucent, iridescent silk ostensibly reveals the shape and shades of your bare body, not when the slit that travels up your right thigh cuts up to your hip bone.

Such are and have always been your Prince’s preferences.

“Where is your uniform?” he asked you sternly when you met him at the training grounds.

He took the cup of fresh water from the tray you carried, gulping down its contents to then wipe his face and short hair with the towel you brought him.

“M-my Prince?” you asked timidly, breathless at the abrupt inquiry and at the sweat that glistened his pale skin.

“The dresses I gifted you,” he pressed, displeased. “I thought I made myself clear - you are to wear them henceforth. You are to solely wear them.”

His sharp gaze was menacing, surely, but the disappointment was there, too, hidden in the glint of his blue eye to chastise and guilt you. Though mortified at the improper implications of his demands, the thought of disobeying him was what truly shook you to the core.

The White Cloak takes you to a set of heavy doors and pushes them open to reveal King Aegon II’s Small Council. He was once the depraved son of King Viserys I, but he is no longer the exclusive bearer of such a title.

Your Prince sits to the left of the King now, across from the Lord Hand, in a great position of power. The Dance had reshaped many things in the Realm, and he had been no exception.

He doesn’t cover his monstrous gash and sapphire stone like he used to when his mother was still alive. He hasn’t held many habits of propriety since. More scars cut across his milky skin, some even crawling from beneath his collar, and the long white mane he used to proudly maintain in honor of his heritage is kept short to enhance all of his additional, menacing features.

His body is that of a man, now; no longer slim and taut but large and burly from battle, and yet his most striking transformations had not been bodily.

You walk toward him surely but quietly, eyes fixed on him whilst he does not award you a single glance. He is engrossed in the scheming that does not halt at your entrance, but you know he wants you when you see his parted knees, when you see leather pulled tight over his stiff shaft.

His jaw is clenched tight and the fingers on his right hand fiddle around thin air, so you know to step silently between his parted legs and descend to your knees underneath the table. The rough fingers that do not worry over it snake around the back of your head to gently thread through your hair. He needn’t say nor command anything else.

You stroke him to full hardness, grazing your teeth against the base, running your nose along the shaft, and then unbuttoning him quietly.

He is as silky and warm as always against your tongue. He drags against your cheeks when you hollow them and his skin, taut around his swollen tip, pulls back and forth when you suck on it. You don’t recall when you first enjoyed his weight in your mouth.

You risk a glance at him. He pays you no mind, and his stoic façade gives away nothing, but his chest moves up and down rapidly and you know it means you’re being good. You suppress a whine at his modest appreciation.

He is impossibly handsome as he towers over you, gaze sharp and jaw tight as he ignores you. You want nothing more than his praise and attention, so you lick and please him slowly, lazily and patiently. He is busy, you remind yourself, and he will reward you when the time comes. He always does.

Between your thighs, your skimpy dress slickens with your arousal as it builds steadily to an insatiable ache. It has become second nature for your body to give in to him in this way, even when he has yet to touch you. He has trained you this way.

“Have you kept it wet for your Prince?” he whispers against your neck each time he comes back to his quarters in the early evening.

The question is often accompanied by a slithering hand, like a snake that seeks warmth, it buries itself in your cunt to confirm it is to his standards. He hums in satisfaction each time.

“When in my presence,” he had told you once, depositing you in an armchair across his desk, “I want to marvel at my cunt freely,” he explained as he hooked your knees over the armrests and bunched your skirts around your waist.

And you awakened breathless, hours later, with his tongue licking inside you and his nose on your pearl of pleasure.

You had stood no chance. To you, he is intrinsically bound to that feeling that crawls under your skin, that under his touch erupts in elation.

Now, you are wide awake, and it is you who tastes him eagerly.

When he begins to drip, hot and salted, your fingers grip his thighs harder as your own quiver in a need you haven't been able to control in a long time. You look at him again. His cheeks are hollowed, jaw locked shut, eyes slitted in fury.

The lords in the Small Council haven’t halted their discussion despite your interruption and it is clear what they discuss displeases your Prince greatly. If not, he might have not summoned you.

This is not the first time the Prince has had you in their presence, it is not the first time he has had you in the presence of others at all. If it had been, perhaps you would have been capable of greater shame.

When he took you in and you proceeded to tend to him exclusively, little of your customary routine changed. But when his demands started to reflect his true intentions, his true desires, it couldn’t be said you were still a palace maid.

That first time, you had been brushing your hair at your vanity, as you often now did, and applying to your skin the feminine oils your Prince preferred. In an immodest lavender dress of his choosing and delicate jewelry he appreciated, you tended to yourself as he demanded.

The doors to his sleeping chambers push open to allow a small entourage of maids to set his breakfast - your breakfast. Your jerk reaction is to look away from them, the people who had once been your colleagues, and hide your healthy, pampered face.

Your eyes land on his lavish, sunny balcony where he leans against the railing directly across from you. He loves to watch his beast terrorize the city below with her sky-bound rounds first thing in the morrow. But he watches her no longer.

He shines brightly and god-like under the sun; his messy short hair glows a halo above him, and the sapphire lodged on the left side of his face glints to highlight the cut of his scar like thunder. Despite the warmth of the morning shine, he is cold, white-cold, with his silver hair and porcelain skin, his milky chemise that reveals his milky chest, and his silky pants that bulk to reveal his salacious musings.

Your breathing quickens as you take him in fully, in all his terrifying, improper glory. Your hand holds your brush halfway through its path and your lips hang parted as he holds your gaze intently, as you watch him with a hunger that escapes your agency.

When he pushes off the stone ledge, you let your brush hit the floor. Such is the effect he has on you, such is the extent of his influence.

He drops to frame you within his arms, leveraging against the cushioned seat of your vanity desk, to take your lips in sloppy teasing, giving you just enough of a taste that something within you quivers wantonly.

Behind you, the porcelains and silvers continue to clink against the wood, chairs scrape across the stone, and heavy cloth slaps in the still air.

“What’s this, then?” he whispers and deprives you of his tongue too quickly. You grasp onto his strong arms to center yourself, breathing heavily against him.

Fingers run up your inner thigh and you shiver violently, desiring him violently.

“Are you ashamed of serving your Prince?” he grins maliciously.

“O-of course not my-” you choke on a gasp when he brings his hot lips to your neck, sucking on the spots that have you dripping under your skimpy gown.

He takes your left knee and hooks it around his hip, pulling you flush against him as he presses you down on the long chaise. A yelp escapes you when you feel his hot girth against your cunt.

“Or are you ashamed of how thoroughly you enjoy it?” he grunts against your lips, thrusting his clothed bulge against you. You bite your lips closed painfully as you are painfully aware of the people behind you.

“I didn’t say you could leave,” he barks, glancing upward to your utmost horror. You hear the servants scurry behind you, imagining their bowed heads and embarrassed looks. Your own embarrassment grows until tears gather in the corners of your eyes.

“Not until she comes,” he adds, looking at you, grinning widely, while he snakes a hand between your legs and burrows his fingers deep inside in a swift stroke.

You burn in shame when your eyes roll to the back of your head and a long whine is forced out of your lips.

“It won’t be long now,” he continues, watching your tears spill, fucking your cunt fast, “she is wet and swollen already.”

Indeed, the noises coming from between your legs are excessively obscene. And he is right, he knows your cunt - his cunt - too well.

When he plugs you with his thick girth, you whine and moan in complete abandon. And when he plows you fast enough to make the chaise scrape against the floors, you scream and beg for him before soaking his cock in unlimited ecstasy.

The first time he’s ever had you in the presence of others was long ago.

Now, you know that when his fingers tighten on your nape you are to release his hard cock quickly. You know to mount it instead.

You make quick, silent work of it not to disturb him and the processes of the court that still unravel behind you. You straddle his thighs, tuck your toes behind his knees, grip his leather vest tightly, and hide your face in the crook of his neck. The hand that had been in your hair now rests on your hip, thumb hooked under the scandalous slit of your dress to bury in the crease where your thigh meets your hip.

You count the time that passes in the drops of sweat that roll down your temple, in shaky breaths you rein against his skin, in the thrums of your blood.

Your cunt, dripping and dripping, quivers weakly around him. Though you refrain from moving and driving yourself to your insanity, it throbs on his shaft as you feel the mere ghost of his touch on your most pleasurable spot.

Your body aches with the effort of keeping composure, keeping quiet, keeping from breaking. And every time your Prince has input on the session that stretches on, his chest rumbles and you must refrain from mewling in satisfaction.

It is not until your mind is hazy with exhaustion and your eyes spill tears of agony that the heavy chairs start to scrape against the stone floors, one by one. Your heartbeats pick up their rhythm from where they had rested in patience.

And when footsteps follow, he pulls your face from hiding by the sweaty hairs on the back of your neck.

A small yet immensely condescending smile plays on his sculpted lips. It makes you aware of your humiliating conditions: a servant, chosen to fulfill the pleasures of her liege Prince, at the brink of insanity from entertaining her own pleasures instead.

You are lost in his mismatched blue eyes, so much so that you are caught off guard when he starts shoving your hips back and forth to grind on his cock. Instantly, it drags a long gasp from you, crosses your eyes, waters your mouth.

“Hm?” he questions patronizingly, looking down with a raised eyebrow that mocks your lustful reaction.

His ministrations are excruciating, his cockhead bullying hard and unforgiving on your most pleasurable spot. In this way, you are violently driven to ecstasy, just shy of peaking with the same intensity, when he halts all movement without warning.

But you are given time to neither cry nor beg for his mercy, for he hugs you tight to his chest, angles your hips away from his cock, and thrusts.

You gasp painfully against his leather-covered pecs when he does, and he soon pulls your head back by your hair to place your chin against it instead.

Through your pleasure-hazed eyes, you see his mirth and his composure. And it is always this way: regardless of how eagerly he takes you, no matter how passionately he desires you, you are always the one debauched and he is always the one untarnished, always viciously becoming of his royal status.

“Go on then,” he murmurs when he watches your tears roll the sides of your face, your lips parted in unbearable pleasure. “Go on and cream on it.”

Because his growl electrifies you from within, because you’ve learned to be promptly obedient, because you cannot help it, you do as he commands.

Your cunt contracts so tightly, for a second his cock gets trapped mid-thrust before he repeatedly shoves himself inside you to forcefully ride the surges of your orgasm. Your loose chin bumps against his chest, leaving sloppy trails behind, and your breasts spill, little by little, from the flimsy restraint of the fabric that skates down between your bodies.

He loves to debase you in this way.

He doesn’t stop, and you are unable to determine when your first orgasm ends and the second starts to mount.

But he can.

He hisses when he feels it - your cunt throbbing again, dripping relentlessly - and bares his sharp teeth in a sneer, watching your glimmering, dopey eyes.

His grip on your hip strengthens, the arm that loops around your back to grasp your hair tenses, and he rises to his feet only to drop you unceremoniously onto the stone surface behind you.

“Gods,” he growls, slows his ministrations, and you savor every excessive inch of his, so evident now your cunt is hot and swollen from the long wait, from the incessant grinding. “I would keep you on my cock from sunrise to nightfall.”

He holds onto your hips, forcing them down against the table so that you don’t slide away from his powerful pushes, and watches his shaft disappear within you attentively.

“I would keep you on it,” he licks his lips, “at tea with my sister,” he meets your eyes again, after appreciating the uncoordinated bouncing of your breasts.

“On my morning flights,” he continues, lowering himself to hover above you, a hand pressed next to your head. “And I would carry you, and display you on my hard cock, all over this castle.”

He picks up his brutish pace again and you gasp and whine unabashedly, and new tears spill from your unfocused eyes, and your bottom lip quivers. Such is the effect of his praise.

“What’s that now, huh?” he coos, forcing a little sob from you, but you are unable to communicate. Instead, you part your lips and plead with big, wet eyes.

He lets go of your hip to support himself fully on his forearms, hovering a bit closer now. You can feel his warmth, now, you can scent his luscious exertion.

His nose brushes lightly against your own, just beyond reach, and you can’t avoid bending your back, tilting your chin, or your tongue poking out between your teeth, desperate for a taste.

His eye darkens significantly and he tuts in feigned disappointment.

“Needy little thing,” he murmurs, only to plunge his soft tongue right where you yearned for it.

His kisses are supple and sloppy and not enough to sate you. When he pulls away and you whine in agony, he lets his drool slide down his tongue and onto yours. And the debauchery of the act drives pathetic moans from your lips and desperate rolls of your hips.

Above you, your Prince moans and hisses, then plunges himself against your sweetest spot with renewed, unstoppable vigor. And yet again you cry pathetically, eyes crossing and mouth hanging open, tits flying and slapping, cunt gushing and thrumming.

“I fucking love it when you get like this,” your Prince grunts viciously behind gritted teeth, shoving his girthy length in and out without mercy for your sanity.

“Wet,” his hand lowers to grope your plump bottom, “hot,” he forces you against his unforgiving plows, “utterly dimwitted for your Prince’s cock.”

He loves to debase you in this way, and the response you manage is a string of blabbering, dimwitted pleas.

“If I didn’t know any better,” he grunts again, panting above you as his crazed movements and your lascivious reactions burn his muscular body, “I’d think you’re falling in love with it.”

“Oh, I am!” you yelp, long and loud, mind entirely lost in the bliss he fucks into you. “I love it… I love my Prince’s cock,” you whimper timidly against his lips and he angles his cock to bully that spongy, swollen button of yours.

“Yeeess,” you moan again. “There, there,” you beg with your cries and beseeching eyes.

You come on a scream that reverberates through the tall, stony walls of the Small Council. And though your walls contract viciously, your Prince pushes through them determinedly, driving you to an immediate third peak that absolutely floods your cunt before he even dumps his hot seed inside you.

You come on his cock long and hard, and you come still when he too finishes. And when he drops his weight onto you, finally, and his head thumps against the table next to yours, your cunt still flutters from the sensorial memory of the onslaught it endured.

Your skin is impossibly hot and sweaty, and your body impossibly exhausted.

And yet.

“Tonight,” your Prince starts after long moments of silence, raising his head only to meet your eyes, “we will hold a private audience for the King.”

Your body shivers cold, your eyes bulge out, but your cunt contracts around him meekly.

He watches you closely, with his eye delighted and a wide grin, malicious.

“I want you on your best behavior,” he warns, teasing, “just like this.”

He loves to debase you, and you love to serve him.

#hotd fic #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x you #hotd fanfic #aemond x you #aemond x servant reader #hotd smut #lol not me posting another one at 3am on a sunday #work is going to suck tomorrow i guess

323 notes · View notes

iceinwrt · 13 days

Text

Whb iceberg.

We start from curiosities, data that we can realize at first sight and descend to the murky ones. I clarify that I will also attach non-canon theories.

• In hell, a hundred years have passed since Solomon disappeared, while, on earth, since 931 BC.

• Not only Solomon, but also God and Lilith.

• Satan has a barcode on his arm, and sleep with his eyes open.

• Death does not exist in Paradise Lost, because of Gamigin.

• Beel left Abyssos since Solomon's disappearance.

• Orias will never stop consuming souls. Youth is never eternal, and by obtaining Levi's soul, it would only stop it for a while.

• Satan has confirmed that he has lost his home.

• Angels can also be humanized.

(Theory)

• Ark Academy and whb are connected.

• Solomon also had to drink human semen to stay in hell.

• Demons are infertile. Except for kings, because they have enough power not to use Lilith.

• All six deadly sins are needed to defeat Lucifer.

• Demons and angels can change shape. It influence their emotions.

• Bael tries to be a copy of Beel. He must follow the shape-shifting, from hair dyeing to limb mutilation, because he made a deal.

• Minhyeok is no longer human. Due to Mc's deal with Satan, nothing can kill him while it is in effect.

(Theory)

• Gamigin and Serenade will never see each other again. Since they reside in different realities.

(Theory)

• Beel wants to eat Mc.

(Theory)

• Morax's skill. Absorbs wounds, even if they are fatal.

• Beel has eaten angels.

• Solomon can possess the bodies where his soul resides.

• In hell, crimes of all kinds can be committed, without being punished. This also applies in heaven.

• Bael's comic. He almost died for impersonating Beel. Still can't explain what happened.

• Solomon has all the filias. Even the most questionable ones.

• Angels have orgies.

• Christmas cards. It's sexual abuse.

• Leviathan is the first, and the one who has forced Mc the most to have sex.

• Beel has died thousands of times because of angels.

• Death lines. Canonically they die in battle.

• The Glassyalabolas filia.

• Solomon knows what happened to Lilith and God.

• Fruit of the tree of knowledge.

• God and Lilith are dead.

(Theory)

• The real Gamigin committed suicide.

• Ronove is going to take the fingers from Mc's corpse.

• Leviathan was going to end Solomon's lineage.

• Kamikaze angels.

• Jjok was abandoned in the forest to die.

• Buer, Morax and Marbas have died hundreds of times.

• Satan has anger problems that can kill Mc.

• Mammon and Valefor could kill Mc by accident if they apply the wrong force.

• Angelification is so painful that it breaks a demon's mind.

• Mc has a high probability of dying if ignores where may or not be in Paradise Lost. This implies that Lucifer can kill anyone with just a voice command.

• Demons were the first to experiment with angels.

• The massacres of the angels. This includes the demonic, angelic race and the near extinction of dragons.

• Andre's past. (He carried his twin's head for days.)

• The archangels will never get the punishment they deserve.

• Leviathan and Orias' constant abuse on the farm.

⛧✃✃✃⛧✁✁✁⛧✃✃✃⛧✁✁✁⛧

Does anyone else have any interesting or shady data?

It took me a day to gather information in my head, but that's it! I appreciate knowing that the shape-shifting is different, between angels, and Beel's camp.

Edit: Yeah, as soon as I realize my man is a walking red flag, it's confirmed that Levi baby never tries to have a forceful response from Mc, or tries to get her to ask him first.

#whb #what in hell is bad #prettybusy what in “hell” is bad?#whb beelzebub #whb leviathan #whb satan #whb mammon #whb solomon

272 notes · View notes

kitasgloves · 6 months

Text

— ♬ NSFW

SUNA RINTARO hated himself for being the nosy person that he was. He had a knack for sticking his nose where it shouldn't belong. It began in high school with recording quarrels between the Miya Twins in his volleyball club, and it expanded to his entire social circle and he's now well known for sharing hilarious and horrible pictures of his friends. But Suna also dipped his toes into gossip, not that he shares gossip but he does enjoy listening to it. The absurdity of knowing something controversial or embarrassing served as entertainment for Suna for years to come. Suna had knowledge of the recent dramas trending on the internet or around his friend group. Essentially, Suna Rintarou loves to know everything despite how forbidden it can be.

However, now, Suna is beginning to regret it. He knows it's wrong, he's aware that he shouldn't be investigating, but something sick and twisted bloomed in his chest when he went past his roommate's door and heard a muffled whimper.

His stoic and mysterious roommate, Sakusa Kiyoomi, has been living with him for two and a half years. They got along relatively well with their shared interests in volleyball and music. Suna thinks Sakusa is a clean freak like his former-captain back in Inarizaki but he doesn't think less of him. The man was impressively handsome, intelligent, and famous so it was no surprise that people were fawning for him and worshipped the ground he walked on. Suna did his research on him, a.k.a. some stalking. From his Instagram with a scarce of posts, stumbling across some fan edits of him here and there. To old articles about Sakusa that shared rare and low-quality photographs of him. Though it seemed like no matter how deep he dug, he couldn't find any filth about the man.

"Oh, Kiyoomi is a private person. No matter how close me and him were, I have no idea what's going on in his life"

Suna recalls Komori, Sakusa's cousin, telling him that. He thought if he silently fucked around he would find out something incriminating or embarrassing about the unshakeable Sakusa Kiyoomi. Now, he wished he didn't. Suna was absolutely embarrassed and intrigued when he listened to the moaning on the other side of Sakusa's door. It was unmistakably a girl. Suna already made assumptions that Sakusa was too busy with his volleyball career to hook up or make romantic relationships, but he was wrong and he found it in the worst possible way.

"Omi, please"

Something about that woman's voice hypnotized Suna. As his shaky hand tried to push the ajar door further, he was greeted with a delicious sight. It was you, Sakusa's friend, on the bed, naked with your legs spread out as Sakusa settled between them ramming against you. Your hair was a mess, sweat glistened on your skin, and your eyes kept shutting when Sakusa hit a specific spot. Suna felt his throat go dry as his heart leaped out of his chest. He was stuck in a trance, unable to pull away from the erotic sight of Sakusa Kiyoomi pounding against you.

"You like that pretty girl?"

Sakusa purred. It was so uncharacteristic that Suna had to blink several times if this was the same man he saw every day who was always so put together now sweaty and messy. You were lying down at the edge of the bed, facing away from the door while Sakusa kneeled on the bed fucking into you. Suna had the perfect view of your tits bouncing while Sakusa drills his cock into your pussy. He knows better to pull his fucking eyes away and mind his own goddamn business, but Suna knows he wasn't that kind of guy. He was the type to always want to know more.

He wanted to know what Sakusa does to make you scream deliriously. He needed to know what makes your eyes roll back, how your lips taste, how your pussy felt. Suna knows he has no right to fantasize about you like that but he couldn't help it. He's already palming the bulge in his pants when Sakusa picks up the pace. He listens intently to your mixed moans and pants as you both chase your sweet release. The longer he watched the more he was convinced he was also inside of the room.

"Fuck, Omi!"

You screamed and reached your orgasm, Sakusa grunted and cums inside of you. At the same time, Suna was reaching inside his pants and pumping his cock. What he wasn't expecting was to lock eyes with Sakusa. His blood went cold but a rush of warmth spread across Suna's face. He was waiting for Sakusa to give him a terrifying glare, release his grip on your thighs, and march over to him to strangle him. No, instead, Sakusa smirks devilishly as he puts his cock back inside of you.

"No! Omi, it's too much!"

"Shhh, I know you can handle one more"

Sakusa begins to earnestly fuck you but his eyes were now on Suna's. He wanted to pack his bags, leave the country, and change his name, but Suna kept watching. Sakusa was looking at him teasingly, undressing his brain and finding all the filthy thoughts he was hiding. Sakusa pounds into you faster making you shut your eyes and fall into the pleasure, blissfully unaware of the voyeur in the doorway, shamelessly watching.

"Oh, just like that Omi!"

Now, Suna is matching his pace with Sakusa as he imagines himself in his place. He imagined you moaning his name. Suna locks himself into an intense state of lust as Sakusa watches both him and you with complete amusement. He was delighted by the fact he's responsible for both of your pleasures. With every pump of Suna's hand on his own dick and his cock kissing your cervix, Sakusa can feel you both getting close. His eyes trailed from Suna to you.

"Kiyoomi!"

You shut your eyes and arched your back as Sakusa feels you clench around his dick, cumming hard. His ears catch the muffled moan from Suna as he cums around his hand. When Suna realizes that Sakusa is still looking at him, he finally has the ability to retreat to his bedroom. He cleans himself up as he tries to process what the fuck he has done. A billion thoughts race his mind. Suna becomes too ashamed and weak to leave his room and face you or Sakusa. Fortunately, he heard you leave a few minutes later he locked himself up. Suna grew nervous the longer he remained alone with Sakusa in their shared apartment. He lasted two hours until he felt himself growing hungry. Suna waited for a moment when Sakusa switched off the television, seemingly now retreating to his room. When Suna opens his door and sneaks to the kitchen, he finds Sakusa leaning against the wall next to the refrigerator with a cunning smirk.

"Took you long enough to show up"

Suna gulped and tried to flee but Sakusa grabbed him by the arm and pulled him close, towering over him. Suna scrambles and tries to make up with an excuse.

"Lo-look if this was about earlier, I didn't mean it I swear"

"No, it's fine. I'm not angry"

"...You're not?"

"If I was, I wouldn't have looked you right in the eye and fucked [Name] again"

"What do you want from me?"

"Would you mind watching another round of me and my girl later? You seem to enjoy it so much"

"What the fuck?"

"Head to my room at eleven"

Sakusa whispered against Suna's ear and released him. Bewildered but excited, Suna returns back to his room. He paces around and waits until he hears the door open and your voice greets Sakusa. He mentally prepares himself for fifteen minutes before he approaches Sakusa's room. He knocks on the door and hears Sakusa saying it was 'open' before entering.

"Holy shit"

Suna said breathless because you were sitting on the edge of the bed completely naked and smiling sweetly at him, tilting your head and waving at him.

"Hi Rintaro"

Fuck, he can feel his cock stirring awake with the way you say his name. Sakusa, still dressed, instructs him to take a seat. Suna could feel his heart racing miles per second when Sakusa stripped off his shirt and started kissing you. He knew Sakusa told you about him watching you two fucking earlier, he was just not expecting you to be on board with it. Sakusa caressed your cheek with a smile.

"Are you ready to give him a show, darling?"

Your eyes meet Suna's and he melts in his seat, it is a mixture of playfulness and desire. Suna forgets about his raging boner as he stares hungrily back at you. You nod towards Sakusa.

"Let's give him the best show of his life"

You say. That alone made Suna think that tonight is going to be one fucking ride. He didn't have his phone to record the moment, only his eyes were going to capture everything. Suna wouldn't mind keeping this one a secret.

#— ♬ ©kitasgloves #haikyuu #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu fic #haikyuu smut #suna rintarou #suna x reader #sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa x reader #suna x you #sakusa x you #sakusa x reader x suna #haikyuu drabbles

457 notes · View notes

cynosfunnyjokes · 1 year

Text

A Heart’s A Heavy Burden

Characters: Howl x Reader

Genre: Angst

Warning: None that I can think of.

Summary: Loving Howl Pendragon isn’t easy.

Word Count: 827

Summary: Not really edited or anything- I’m sure there’s mistakes all throughout but I wrote this while watching Howl’s Moving Castle for the umpteenth time lmao. No pronouns are used for the reader!

Apprenticing under Howl was such a joy- never was there a dull moment. He would brighten up the room with his smile- his laugh. It was so contagious that you and Markl couldn't fight the grins growing on your own faces.

Meeting Howl on its own was nothing but luck- you had found yourself in some trouble with the guards, their stupid remarks making you nothing but uncomfortable- and then poof, a stranger was there, whisking you away.

How strange that the random man was Howl himself- a well-known sorcerer and someone you looked up to. Of course, you nervously asked him to take you on as an apprentice, eagerly telling him about your interest in magic since you were young.

He simply laughed, smiling that bright smile everyone adored, and simply agreed to take you in.

All went well- he was a great teacher after all. Even with him being gone at random times throughout the day, you had Markl to spend time with to practice. And then there was Calcifer and his witty remarks. They never bothered you, simply jokingly throwing one back at him.

It didn't take long for feelings to grow for the mysterious sorcerer- everyone noticed it but Howl himself. Not that it was surprising.

Even Calfcifer noticed but never said about it, unlike Markl who made random remarks during the day in whispers, causing you to hide your face while the blush crept up to your ears.

Although one day, while cleaning up the firepit during the time Howl was away, Calficer clicked his tongue at you.

Raising an eyebrow, you turned your head to the burning ball of fire in front of you, silently asking him “what?”

“You really do love him, don't you?”

It was so sudden, it felt so random-

But that’s all he said. That's all he needed to say.

You were undeniably in love with Howl, and you could only hope the feelings were reciprocated. Maybe, just maybe they were.

All hope went down the drain the moment Sophie showed up. Suddenly, Howl wasn't around as much anymore- and when he was, he was with her.

It was always her. Sophie this, Sophie that.

Slowly, the feelings of sadness crept in, their sharp nails jabbing into your heart.

Is this what heartbreak felt like?

Eventually, you stopped leaving your room- opting to just study the days away instead of focusing on the pain residing in your heart.

Markl would stop by to check on you, dropping off food that would stay nothing but untouched, slowly growing cold as time passed.

Even though you appreciated Markl’s company, it didn't help that he often talked about Sophie- how cool she was. All this, all that.

It was all too much.

Howl never stopped in to talk- to check on you. Not that you expected him to. He was his own person who had his own things to do. He was a busy man after all. But still, you found yourself clinging to that hope- just to have it crushed.

Eventually, even Markl stopped popping in, choosing to set the food down on your table before retreating to Sophie.

It was fine. It was all fine. That's what you always told yourself.

But yet... Why did it hurt so much?

Pressing shaking hands against your tear-filled eyes, the only sound that could be heard was small sobs that you were trying oh so hard to muffle.

It was so unfair.

You wanted him to look at you like he does her. To experience the feeling of being wrapped in his arms, to feel his loving gaze.

But that would never happen.

There wasn't much point in staying there anymore- you refused to leave your room unless it was to quickly run to the bathroom, refused to even leave your bed unless it was necessary.

What was the point of staying there? Where the reminder of your unrequited love stayed?

It was raining outside, the soft pitter-patter of the rain on the window helping drown out any sounds that escaped you.

Bag in hand that was full of a few necessities and a small photo of you and Howl, you stopped to stare at Howl’s bedroom door for a minute.

Loving him hurt- but it wasn't something you regretted. If only things were different, maybe it would've been better. Such a false sense of hope.

Howl seemed happier with Sophie- even Calcifer and Markl were happier.

You weren't needed anymore.

So without a single thought, you turned on your heels and climbed out the hallway window to avoid Calcifer knowing.

Landing on the muddy ground below with a let thump, you looked at what used to be your home one last time, thoughts racing a thousand miles per second. You didn't want to stay and be reminded of how much happier everyone was without you.

So you left, the rain being your only company as you sobbed into the night.

#howl pendragon #howl’s moving castle #fanfiction #fanfic #howl x reader #howl x sophie #unrequited love #angst #cynosfunnyjokes writes #sophie hatter #calcifer #studio ghibli #howl pendragon x reader #non binary reader #fanfiction writer #angst fanfic #sunny needs to stop writing angst-#oneshot #short fiction

2K notes · View notes