okay but imagine being a student of Saiki Kusuo's class. how fuckin weird would it be?
there's this guy, Saiki, that you don't know very well, but seems to be completely average in EVERY way. like, concerning average. you genuinely know nothing that he likes or dislikes or is particularly good or bad at. the only thing that sticks out about him is his weird hair clips and his tinted glasses. oh, and all the people that surround him
the weird, big, loud guy that no one really likes is his best friend. he basically follows Saiki around. one time Saiki made a completely to scale statue of him for a class fair.
the kid with a hero complex that is constantly going on about some shadow organisation and fantasy world is also his friend. the one that rips all of his clothes and always wears bright red bandages over his arms. he also follows Saiki around like they've been best friends since childhood. sometimes he talks about the both of them being soldiers in some army.
one day a psychic medium who can see ghosts and guardian spirits transfers to your school. the next day you see him hanging off of Saiki. what is it about this guy that attracts all these people? he doesn't even seem to talk to them. he's apparently the vice president of the medium's occult club.
the perfect dream girl of your class that everyone loves is weirdly obsessed with him. constantly trying to pair up with him in class. they've been seen on multiple dates together and members of the kokomins seem hate him. you're pretty sure they tried to kidnap him one time. he doesn't even seem to like the girl.
the over-enthusiastic class president that everyone respects is also his friend. you're pretty sure Saiki doesn't play any sports, but apparently he joined him on a tennis camp over the holidays. you heard that he hit a tennis ball so hard he sunk a boat.
an ex-delinquent joins the school, and immediately tried to be friends with Saiki. within a week he has joined the large group that follows Saiki around. one of your friends apparently saw the two of them taking motorcycle lessons.
the poor girl in class, the one with a dozen jobs who's constantly searching for food? yeah, she's friends with him too. one time you walk past a cafe she works at and see him inside, talking to the owner. what does he have to do with the cafe? and why was she wearing a maid dress? there's rumours in the school that the both of them took shady clinical trials over the holidays.
also, the girl who has a new crush every week gets weirdly into him for a while. you see her try a bunch of classic cliches to try to win him over. none of it works, but she still hangs around him for some reason.
a super rich guy shows up to your school and demands to date the beloved perfect girl. no idea why, but Saiki seems to some part to play in the weird love triangle. later on, you see Saiki and his friends visit the rich guys house.
a fortune telling gyaru joins your school, insisting that Saiki is her soulmate. the two are polar opposites, yet seem attached at the hip, along with that spiritual medium for some reason.
another new transfer (why does your school get so many transfers?) who never seems to shut up insists on following Saiki around. apparently they're childhood friends? they don't seem very friendly.
that famous actor, the one who is in everything on tv? you see him yelling at Saiki one day. something about a sister? you don't have any idea how they even crossed paths in the first place
on a random school day you overhear some of Saiki's friends talking about their trip to Britain together. did they really travel that far for just a weekend?
one day you see Saiki walking around with a young man with a weird headband. he looks familiar somehow. you could've sworn you've seen him on some science program or something.
you've seen Saiki walking around plenty of times. he walks everywhere it seems, and gets to places at a pace that is logically impossible. doesn't he have a motorcycle license?
his parents seemed perfectly ordinary when you met them, if a little too lovey-dovey. how is their son so different?
the dude never seems to change his clothes. obviously he does, seeing how they never get dirty or damaged. you guess he just wears the same thing on repeat.
you see him out and about with a little boy. probably babysitting. the kid keeps calling him by the name of some superhero.
the school brings in a magician one day. he greets Saiki like an old friend and calls him 'master'. you had no idea they knew each other, or that Saiki liked magic.
you've only known of this guy for a year, yet it seems like so much longer. it feels like too much has happened for the school year to have not ended yet. when did all those people transfer again?
feel free to add to the idea!
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sweet stranger
A/N: request made here by @annekelovesreading
Summary: the war veteran Alfie seeks comfort in a stranger in hopes of returning to his old self
Pairing: Alfie Solomons x F!Reader
Warnings: 18+, smut, reader is a sex worker.
SHARING IS CARING, SO PLEASE REBLOG
"Thanks for the ride, James. I'll see you tomorrow morning."
You climb out of the Bentley and adjust your coat, smoothing out the wrinkles of your dress before strutting towards the hotel, your heels clacking against the pavement and then marble floors of the lobby.
You sense the judgemental eyes already on you, but you've learned how to ignore them. If their judgement paid your rent and bills, then you'd finally be able to retire. But until then, you did what needed to be done.
The service you provide is simple and clear. You meet the client, humor them a bit and fuck them before leaving at first light.
You are lucky enough to work for a powerful and strict madame that actually recognizes the importance of her employees' well-being and ran a high-end business.
Her rules were clear. No marking, no hitting and contraceptive must be used.
Just because her empire dominates the professional area of sexual pleasure does not mean she runs a funhouse. Many would mistake Madame's care for benevolence when it is really just a matter of logistics.
Black eyes don't allow her employees to escort her wealthy clients to prestigious social events. And the only reason her business dominates is because she assures clean employees to her clients. An employee with the clap gets the boot and replacing them is expensive.
After giving your name at the front desk, you take the keys you're headed with a smile and head to room 403.
The name is not unfamiliar. You've heard plenty of Alfie Solomons and part of you is afraid of what he'll be like, judging by what you've heard.
The ring of the lift snaps you our of your thoughts. You flash a smile at the liftman and thank him before stepping into the hallway.
Alfie Solomons is not your first client - nor will he be your last - but knowing he is the first gangster you're about to meet and sleep with has butterflies fluttering in your stomach.
You mentally repeat Madame's rules to yourself to try and ease your nerves. But then again, do rules hold any standing to criminals?
Taking a couple of deep breaths, you manage to relax as best as you possibly can in the situation and simply remind yourself that he is no different than any other client.
You lift your hand to knock on the door. There's movement behind it and the metal of the lock on the side rattles as it slides to open.
Your lips pull into a welcoming smile at the broad, tall man that opens the door. Taking in his features, you quickly notice his wet hair.
The smell of soap emanates from his large frame along with a faint scent of rum and an irresistible natural musk that almost lured you to touch him.
It's obvious that he took the time to wash himself and, to be honest, you're quite thankful for that.
"You must be Mr. Solomons."
"Punctual little thing, ain't you? Come on in, love. Don't mind me."
His tone is rather calm even with his heavy Cockney drawl. His fingers, however, seem to confess his nerves with the way they flick back and forth.
"Punctuality is a necessary characteristic in my line of work, Mr. Solomons."
"Right, right" he nods as you walk past him. He still can't seem to look you in the eye, but you've yet to discover why.
Most of the nervous clients that you've had were first-timers, young men eager to lose their virginity especially before being sent to war.
Alfie is very attractive and pleasing to the eye with his large strong build, but he is no young boy. You find it hard to believe that this would be his first time being as wealthy, cunning and wealthy as you heard he is.
"May I take your coat, love?"
"Yes, please."
You turn to back to him to allow his assistance, taking in the sight of the hotel room. You've been in this hotel before, but despite that, the lavious decoration of the suite never fails to impress.
Alfie can't help but feel intimidated by the simple scent of your perfume as he stands behind you, taking your coat to hang it for you. He doesn't want you to pick up on the fact that he feels so out of his element.
Before the war, Alfie had his fair share of women. He used to be so different. So young and naive and confident - which is the only characteristic he can successfully feign more than well in the wicked world he treads in.
But now, he's in foreign territory. So much has changed for him.
Getting his affairs back in strict order took so much work, sweat and blood from him that he hadn't prioritized his romantic desires.
If age hadn't been enough, the night tremors made it impossible to sleep beside anyone. Red blotches were beginning to spread throughout his body due to the psoriasis. His sciatica only worsened with age and the harsh conditioning the war had forced onto it. And now the fucking cancer, which only added to his list of secret insecurities.
The confident young man he used to be was gone. Alfie was still human, however. And like many other humans, he yearned for companionship. The problem is that a man like Alfie can't confide in just anyone. He can't expose it without the risk of his enemies seeing it as an opportunity to use it against him.
Good thing about Madame's business is that her turf is neutral and independent ground. For now, at least.
Alfie knows he has to overcome this hurdle if he plans to get married one day and start a family and he just thought this would be the best way.
He's got a beautiful woman in his hotel room; he knows what you came here to do. He's just not sure what to do at this point other than to confess it to you. He doesn't want to say it, but deep down inside, he feels a bit humilited.
It shows in the way he avoids your eyes, the way his head hangs low.
"There's no shame in that, Mr. Solomons. I'm happy to help however I can. We don't have to rush into anything just yet... Do you drink?"
"Not often. Clouds the mind."
"Precisely. What do you drink?" You smile warmly at him.
"Wine is my favorite."
"Let's get you a glass then, Mr. Solomons."
Just as you expect, the wine is successful in loosening him up a bit.
You're careful enough to avoid asking any questions that concerns his business, so you focus on asking him to share things he enjoys like music and books.
After a couple hours and a couple glasses, he's warming up to you as you listen attentively to his childhood stories. Despite the wine, he is cautious enough to leave out certain details that are too personal for you to know that could bring him or his family harm if they ended up in the wrong hands.
You can't take it personal, and can only imagine that trust does not come easy in his line of work which only confirms that pressing him on such information wouldn't be very smart.
No matter how easy the conversation is flowing or how comfortable he may seem to be, you can't forget who he is beyond these four walls.
As he finishes his glass of wine, he sets it down on the table in front of you while raising a hand to his shoulder to rub at the aching knot in his muscle.
"Would you like me to take care of that for you, Mr. Solomons?"
"With what, love? Oh, this?" He asks glancing at his shoulder. "Oh, no. You don't have to do that."
It almost like he's forgotten the reason you're both there.
"Really, I don't mind at all. It's the least I can do for you, sir."
With a sweet smile, you stand as you finish off your glass and set it beside his on the table before walking over to his chair to offer him your hand.
"I promise I won't do anything you don't want me to."
His blue eyes narrow their gaze at you for a moment as if he's trying to read you. You can see him physically tense before accepting your hand.
The talkative Alfie is suddenly replaced by a quiet and insecure version as he watches you, from where he's sat in the bed, take your heels off - your almost bare feet still covered in your black stockings - before climbing onto the bed.
You stand on your knees , which are spread to accommodate him between them, and sit back on your feet after taking the small bottle of rose scented intimate oil from your purse.
"It's like riding a bike. Your body knows that to do, but it needs time, patience and practice, so you have to go slow."
Your breathe on his neck has chills racing up his arms as you reach to his front to unbutton his vest and slide it off his wide shoulders. You do the same with his shirt, but pause before sliding it off as his hand instinctively hold your wrist.
"May I? I'd love to see you, but if you don't want to, I can just slide it down a bit."
He ponders for a moment but replies with a silent nod as he releases your wrist.
You slide it off and much to your impression, he seems even wider and stronger than you'd imagined.
A couple scars and red blotches already here and there on his skin, but they don't stop you from marveling at the rippling muscles.
"My goodness... Mr. Solomons, with all the utmost respect, but you are quite the work of art."
He can't help but smile at your compliment, although he thinks that you're just saying what you think he wants to hear, so it's hard for him to believe.
You let your palms gently wander over his large back and arms, with a gentle squeeze to his biceps.
"Carved from stone, are you?" You joke, bringing a chuckle out of him.
"No, love. Just flesh."
"Fortunately."
Using the pipette, you pinch a couple drops of the oil onto his shoulders before closing the vial to set it aside and letting your fingers get to work.
Alfie groans softly and his eyes instantly close as you start massaging to undo the knot that's been bothering him for weeks now.
"How is that, sir? More pressure?"
"No, love. That's just fine...just perfect," he sighs relieved. "Fucking 'ell, love. That feels fucking great. You've no idea how long that's been bothering me."
"I can imagine. You've got knots like this all round. It can't be easy to live with them.
Slowly but surely, Alfie starts to relax. It's impossible not to. It's been a while since he's been touched by anyone, much less massaged by them.
The tension is his body begins to ease as your fingers work away not only the knots caused by the stress of his days, but the anxiety of being intimate again. It doesn't seem so foreign suddenly.
Building up the courage to place a gentle kiss onto the back of his shoulder, you lower your head and press your lips to his skin.
"Is this alright?" You whisper.
"More than alright."
"I can go lower if you'd like me to."
He nods, so you glides your fingers down the middle of his back, pressing against ether side of his spine.
"Fuck, love... That is heavenly."
You smile at the praises and take it a sign to continue the gentle teasing, moving your kisses up to the crook of his neck.
You take your time to ease him into his arousal. The lower you go down his back, the more convinced he becomes.
"Would you like me to touch you?"
You ask nuzzling your nose against his ear and he nods.
You reach a hand to his front and rub your palm against his clothed crotch. Although you can't see his cock, you can tell the man's been blessed with girth as it twitches against your touch.
Alfie gives in to the instant pleasure and moans, letting all his worries melt away. He can't remember the last time he's been able to feel so at ease.
As you whisper encouraging praises into his ear from behind, Alfie allows you to unbutton his trousers and slither your hand under the fabric to stroke his cock with a firm grip.
The room seems to spin around him. His head feels heavy from the pleasure as it leans back against your shoulder.
"That's it, sir. Just let me take care of you" you smirk kissing a sensitive spot on his neck that he didn't even know could make him tremble.
He isn't sure how much longer he can last. It's been a while after all.
"L-love, you feel so good."
You chuckle, letting his thick cock spring free from its confines.
"You're fucking beautiful, sir."
"Oh, you think so, yeah?"
You nod as your hand strokes his dick, coating it with his own pre-cum and the essential oil you'd brought.
"Lemme get more comfortable, love. Wanna see more of ya," alfie says holding your wrist to stop your movement for a moment.
He stands to kick off his trousers, standing in all his naked glory before sitting further up the bed with his back against the upholstered headboard.
"C'mere, love. Lemme see you hm?"
His invitation is made with calloused hands guiding you to straddle his lap. You make quick work of unbuttoning the dress and sliding the straps off your shoulders to reveal your chest with a sultry smile.
"May I?"
You can't help but smile at how he's a gentleman in such a moment. Most clients wouldn't even bother to remember asking, but Alfie makes you forget that he is just another client.
His large hands reach to knead your breasts, giving them such attentive appreciation as he licks his pink lips, eager to get them on you.
"It's alright, love" you whisper, seeming to read his mind.
The way his beard scratches your sensitive skin has your back arching into his warmth. His gentle and considerate admiration lures you into a trance; into a heated dream where you are able to finally feel like a woman loved.
You welcome him with fingers lacing into his messy brown locks still damp from his bath earlier. Your hips move mindless as you grind your clothed sex against his exposed cock, reminding him how good he feels and how you want him to feel the same.
Shifting onto your knees between his legs on the bed, you pepper tender kisses down his chest and stomach as your breasts dangle down and rub against his cock.
The anticipation has Alfie balling his fists into the white sheets.
"You are the most beautiful woman in the world, love. Fucking 'ell," he mumbles as your hands run up and down his thigh, giving gentle squeezes to tease him on.
"It's gonna be a long night."
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Friendlocke Violet Gijinkas (Part 4/7)
Hell yeah we're over halfway done! Isn't that crazy? I don't have too much to say here sooooooo onto the usual stuff
I plan on posting them in order by groups of three, so there's gonna be seven parts in total, all of which I'll be linking here when done vvv
(Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three) (Part Five) (Part Six) (Part Seven)
!! These will contain personal headcanons I have for the cast, little fun facts, and also spoilers for Friendlocke Violet (for both the edited vids and the streams) !!
@saltydkart-reblogs
Designs under the cut!
VRISKA:
Vriska has an extra set of arms that they can retract and extract whenever they please. However, they usually keep those arms hidden.
The long needle she's holding is her trusty sword that she's used since her pirate days. She doesn't use it as much as she used too, but it's good to keep it on her for self defense in case of an emergency.
The marks on thier neck and shoulders aren't tattoos, they're birthmarks.
Good at sewing, as she often would have to fix her coat after getting into epic pirate sword fights. Sara and Vriska are sewing buddies!
It is unknown why they're unable to sleep, but while the rest of the team sleeps they often find themselves wandering around and doing whatever they want.
Artist's note: I based Vriska's design off the fact that I wanted to make her look like a bootleg version of the og Vriska. As in "Hey that's Vriska" but also "That's not VRISKA" if you get what I mean
MALL BINGO:
Trained herself to become resistant to poison (and by "trained" I mean she just ate a bunch of poison until her body became almost immune to it... please don't try this at home.)
Often goes scavenging for items when she's doesn't feel like robbing someone. If she's lucky enough she'll find some good items scattered around because "stupid trainers often leave good shit on the ground for some reason" (due to all the items you can pick up from the ground ingame lmao)
Mal lost her leg in one of her first heists, after she and another pawmi tried stealing from the wrong person at the worst possible time.
The gun she keeps with her wasn't originally hers, it belongs to someone else.
On a more positive note, Mal has plenty of stories and tall tales to share. She learned them from the eldest in her little pawmi group, as they would often tell her stories before going to sleep. Mal will often share those same stories with Peppy Jr and Mykyie Jr.
Can and will bite you. You won't be expecting it. Be warned.
GRUNPILO:
Due to his abundantly long hair, Grunpilo often lets Mal play around with it and style it however she wants.
It is unknown how or why he picked up on puppetry specifically, but it makes him happy so who are we to judge?
Speaking of which, he creates his own puppets by hand, from simple sock puppets to marionettes on strings. The two hand puppets shown are his favorite ones though.
Sometimes he'll be found speaking to them as if they're real.
Not good in social situations or confrontation, so Mal will sometimes have to speak for him. ("EXCUSE ME! He asked for no pickles!" /ref)
EXTREMELY light, very easy to pick up.
And that's all! Only three more batches left woo, hopefully I can finish them by the end of the year lol.
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Hello! Can I ask for gallavich + 47? Thank you :)
Hi!! I too am fueled by spite so this was a very fun prompt to fill.
47. ...out of spite
Mickey only hears the conversation by accident.
It’s early. Way too fucking early to be awake, but he’d reached up to grab at Ian’s big warm arm and his fingers had met nothing but cold empty sheets and the jolt of panic he’d felt had been enough to have him stumbling up and out and down the hall.
The panic is receding a bit now, with Ian’s voice floating up the stairs. There’s other noises, too. The coffee maker burbling, dishes clinking, the fridge rattling as it’s opened and closed, but all Mickey is focused on is ian ian ian.
The panic ebbs out to a low grade hum. It never goes away completely. Probably never will.
Mickey sighs, scrubbing at his eyes with one hand, the other one still clutching the stair railing so hard his knuckles are white.
Slowly, the actual words Ian’s saying start to filter through.
“–is that supposed to mean? Of course he’s good for me. He’s the only reason I came back in the first place!”
There’s the sound of someone slurping obnoxiously. Probably Lip drinking his fucking coffee. He always slurps when he drinks coffee. “He’s also the reason you left, so.”
“Fuck off, Lip.”
“Seriously?” Fiona scoffs, faucet squeaking as she shuts off the water, “That’s why you disappeared out of the fucking blue?”
Oh.
Mickey twists his lips. Debates just turning around and going back to sleep. It’s too fucking early for this shit.
“I left for a lot of reasons, okay?”
“Ian. Sweetcheeks. I’m just worried about you. We’re all worried about you–”
“Well, maybe everyone should be more worried about you.”
“Ian!”
“He’s got a point.”
“Who’s fucking side are you on, Lip?”
“I’m not on anyone’s side. Jesus.” Another obnoxious slurp. “And keep your fucking voices down, you’re gonna wake up the kids.”
“Wouldn’t want that,” Ian snarks, “Liam hasn’t been sleeping very well. Wonder why that is.”
“Ian. Please. I just want what’s best for you.”
“Mickey is what’s best for me.”
“Seriously?” Fiona laughs, and Mickey would probably be more offended if he hadn’t nearly blurted out the same thing.
He swipes at his nose. Shoots a longing glance down the hall behind him, towards his little makeshift nest on the floor made of blankets and pillows that smell like Ian. Shoots a longing glance down the stairs in front of him, towards Ian. He sighs again. Sits on the top step. Tunes back into Fiona’s tirade.
“He’s a thug–”
“–you just got out of jail.”
“He’s a highschool drop-out–”
“–we’re all highschool dropouts.”
“He’s a Milkovich–”
“–oh, because being a Gallagher is so much better?”
“He can barely even stand to touch you–”
“–trust me, he touches me plenty.”
“In private,” Fiona presses, pitching her voice louder over the sound of Lip snorting and nearly choking to death on his coffee. “The moment you guys are around other people he acts like you’re radioactive fucking waste.”
“Jesus, Fi, can you blame him for not wanting people to find out–?”
“But we already know! He knows that we know. And he knows damn well that Gallaghers don’t snitch.”
Mickey gnaws on his lower lip, eagerly awaiting Ian’s snarky comeback.
It never comes.
“Ian, sweetie,” Fiona says, voice soft again, “I’m just worried you’re getting too attached.”
Say something.
“I’m– Ian, I’m sorry, but I think you're reading signs you hope are there, instead of the signs that actually are there.”
C’mon, Ian, fucking say something.
“I just… don’t think he’s as into you as you're into him.”
Ian finally says something.
“Yeah,” he says.
Mickey blinks. His mouth drops open. His brows scrunch together.
“I really am sorry, sweetheart–”
“No, it’s.” There’s the sound of Ian taking in a shuddery breath, followed by a deep sigh. “You might be right.”
Jesus fucking christ.
Mickey hauls himself up. Stomps down the stairs. Hears Lip mutter ‘oh shit’ before he’s even in view.
By the time Mickey reaches the base of the stairs they’re all looking at him with wide eyes. Lip sitting at the table, Fiona standing by the sink, Ian leaning against the fridge.
“Mickey!” Ian says, voice painfully faux-cheery, “I– um, good morning, when did you wake u–”
“Shut up,” Mikey bites out. He plants himself right in front of Ian. Jabs a finger hard against his chest. “You must be the stupidest goddamn fucker on the planet.”
Ian’s strained smile drops.
“Hey!” Fiona protests, but Mickey ignores her.
He forcefully reminds himself of what happened the last time he was too much of a fucking coward. Swallows down the nerves dread don’t bubbling up his throat and fizzing through his veins.
His hands are shaking, just a bit.
He brings them up, uses one to shove Ian back against the fridge and the other to fist in Ian’s hair, yanks down his head enough so Mickey doesn’t have to go up on his fucking tippytoes like some bitch.
Ian makes this surprised little sound when their lips collide. Which actually works out great, because it gives Mickey the opportunity to shove his tongue into his mouth.
Mickey can feel the tension seeping out of Ian. That shocked little noise morphs into a deep groan. Ian’s big hands clamp down on Mickey’s hips hard enough to bruise.
“Woah, okay, that is way more than I need to see,” Lip announces, punctuated by the sound of his chair scraping harshly against the floor. “I’m gonna go ahead and finish my coffee somewhere else. Preferably somewhere very far away.”
Mickey grins into the kiss. Relishes in momentary victory. Two down, one to go.
He pulls back, their lips making a positively indecent sound as they part. Mickey huffs when Ian tries to trail after him. Uses the grip on his hair to keep him at bay.
Mickey turns his head just enough to cock a pointed brow at Fiona. “That enough touching for you? Or should I go all out and bend over the kitchen table for him?”
Ian makes a strangled sound. His hands spasm on Mickey’s hips. He yanks Mickey closer, so Mickey can better appreciate the way he’s grown hard as a rock, the way his dick is pressing perfectly up against Mickey’s own.
Fiona rolls her eyes and throws her hands up in the air in defeat. “Okay, alright, you’ve made your point.” She brushes past them. Pauses just before disappearing up the stairs to look back at them with a solemn, serious expression. Locks eyes with Mickey. “I really, genuinely hope I’m wrong about you.”
Mickey swallows hard. Stares after her as she retreats.
He hopes so, too.
His grip on Ian tightens, then loosens. Ian seizes the opportunity to surge forward and latch onto Mickey’s neck like a fucking leech.
“Jesus, firecrotch,” Mickey hisses.
Ian hums. Smears a smile against Mickey’s skin. Nips at Mickey’s ear. “So…” he hedges, grinding their hips together again, “How serous were you about letting me fuck you on the kitchen table?”
Fuck.
Maybe Mickey is a bad influence on Ian afterall.
send me a number~
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