#fantasy friday

[solidsmax]

FANTASY FRIDAY [19/?]

[pedropascalito]

Fantasy Friday: working late in the office with Javier Peña

[annakaterinaa]

Deal With It | Walter Marshall

Pairing: Walter Marshall x reader

A/N: New week, new fantasy. Feel free to send me yours.

XxAnnie

You and Walter were sitting in his living room, though he was home he had some work to do. You were reading a book but you couldn’t concentrate at all. You wanted to spend time with him. He didn’t seem to be aware of your presence so you decided to tease him a bit to let him know that you’re still here and you are really horny after a week you almost haven’t seen him. You just put one leg on the sofa and stretched yourself with a quiet humming.

Walter looked you. Great, you got his attention.

“Do you know how beautiful you are? It’s really distracting.” A bit of lust appeared in his ocean blue eyes. Now he can be yours just by one sentence.

“I’m not wearing any underwear. Thought you’d like to know.”

“You what?” He swallowed.

“You heard. It’s only up to you, how you deal with it.” You bit your lip without breaking your eye contact.

Within seconds you had him on you, kissing your lips passionately.

“You’re gonna get what you want, Darling. And I guarantee you, you won’t be able to walk when I’m done with you.” He was whispering to your neck while leaving wet kisses all over. You were stroking his back up and down.

“Let’s see if you were honest with me, Honey pie.” He untied your bathrobe and revealed your body underneath. There was a smirk on his face. He was looking at you with love mixed with hunger and lust. You reached for another kiss, rising your hands to his messy locks.

[archerinventive]

Happy Fantasy Friday!

Recently I went on a mystical adventure to collaborate with the amazingly talented Liv F.H. (liv.ing_lively on IG)  at an enchanted river bank.

With assistance from the one and only Loni D Fairman (wightknightdeviant on IG), I'm happy to say, I believe we managed to captured some of that spaces magic. :)

While we continue to sort through the hoard of captured memories here's a small glimpse into that day, and of things to come. ^^

Wishing you all a wonderful and safe weekend. 💙

[ronearoundblindly]

Autumn Is Healing (Oct 27th)

Flufftober Day Twenty-Seven--Reunion

drabble for steve rogers x deep sea mermaid!reader (original)

Warning for mild language and Steve's atrocious flirting skills. WC 911

“You’re kidding,” Steve barks.

Tony scoffs. “Don’t look at me like that. It was only a matter of time. I just had to get the tech to recognize people…or—“ he waves his hand a bit “—entities in liquid instead of air, and then recalibrate—“

“He doesn’t care,” Bucky grumbles.

“I care,” Steve says softly while Tony crosses his arms in irritation, “but…not so much about that part.”

“Fine.” A dark eyebrow goes up. “You can talk to her is the point. On the hologram. Long distance charges don’t apply,” Tony takes a little bow. “You’re welcome.”

Steve tamps down his excitement, opting for a grateful squeeze to Stark’s shoulder rather than the full-force bear hug he’d like to knock the man over with. This news has made his week.

“When?”

“Hold up, eager beaver. Their society is a smidge weird with the waking hours, as you might imagine.”

Bucky's mouth barely opens.

“Yes, I get it. He doesn’t care,” Tony huffs.

Steve sits up taller than even his usual pristine posture allows. “Just tell me when.”

“Hey, fucker,” Tony blurts, adjusting a dial or two on the tablet. He catches Steve’s extreme side-eye. “Lovingly…” The pale blue streaks of the projection zip over the ghost of your floating body and tail, and Steve feels an accompanying zip across his heart.

He missed you. It’s been impossible to explain, but he misses you.

“Fuh-ker?” Your English is getting better, clearly. “I hard-leee know hhh-er.”

…and so has your sense of humor.

Tony opens his mouth as if to protest and then stops. He’s proud. He’s proud of that joke and it’s written all over his face.

“Whatever, you two—“ he shoves the tablet into Steve’s hand “—have fun deep-sea sexting.”

The grin Steve’s been stifling cracks his face wide open once the door clicks behind him, and he steps forward.

“Hey, how did you know…”

You reciprocate with that signature, three-row smile, and open and close your webbed hand.

“Ton-hy tahlksh uh loht.”

“That he does,” Steve snorts. He doesn’t even want to imagine how many hours you’ve had to listen to Tony troubleshoot this communication device in such an inhospitable environment. Instead, Steve watches how gracefully your hair floats above you and that pulse of muscle through your tail that keeps you in the frame once every five seconds or so.

“You’ve been ok? I mean, you were alright when you went home?”

You blink once over what Steve knows to be wide, lavender eyes, but they only show up as icy blue on-screen. You swivel in the water to glance behind you, wrapping a thick strand of dark hair across your forehead when you look at him again.

“Rah-ther be safe.”

Steve panics. “Are you not safe? What’s happened?” He searches for some sort of tracking data on the tablet. “Is it the Atlantians? We can help with them. We just need to explain to Namor that you—“

“Am home,” you say shortly. “Home not safe. Safe—“ you point to him “—would rah-ther be safe.”

Steve thinks back to that first time you met, the first time he held you because you couldn’t sleep in the light pressure of the surface. He told you that you were safe.

You think ‘safe’ means with him.

“Whant safe,” you repeat, holding up your hand, palm and fingers splayed wide like his very first greeting to you.

Yes, Steve considers, I want you safe, too.

Your head tilts at his pause and that beautiful, undulating hair of yours wobbles to keep up. The tick in your hip rolls you gracefully through the frame, right at that juncture between mossy-laced skin and the scales of your fin.

“Happy?”

He snaps back to reality. “Sorry, what?”

You point and those once-twinkling eyes droop in worry. “Happy?”

“I’m good, yeah. Yes.” He rushes to find something easy to discuss. Of course, the weather is the only thing that comes to mind. “It’s starting to get cooler here, but I can still run and get some--well, you probably don’t…know what half that means…”

Steve sighs dramatically and puts his hands on his hips. You mimic the pose. Steve notices how the projected dimensions ‘fill in’ what would be just plain shadow beneath your breasts. That is a vast amount of detailed curvature that he did not need to visualize. Now he’s even more frustrated with himself.

“I’m glad they let you go.” No, I’m not. “You should be home.” I hate it. “I’m sure they missed you.” Because I would. Because I do.

“Ss-hooo…nawht happy?”

He kinda wishes you weren’t that perceptive either.

“Happy to see you, doll,” Steve gives with a soft smile.

You shift forward curiously. “What dahl?”

He points to you.

Both your hands spread across your chest in a ‘who me?’ gesture that has Steve chuckling. Tony would find that amusing, but it’s a better designation than the billionaire gave you at the Raft.

‘Grariel’ is not a name, Steve reminded him, nor is ‘the Ariel with Green Hair.’ 

Tony also said the only reason they tossed you back was because you weren’t a redhead, so he would just have to try again.

Yeah, no, Steve isn’t going to attempt explaining any of that.

‘Doll’ is much better. ‘Doll’ will work.

“How ‘bout it, doll? You happy?”

Steve pulls up a chair, getting comfortable for what he hopes is the start of many long conversations.

banner and challenge details @flufftober

[Day Twenty-Six; Day Twenty-Eight]

[Next Part]

[Sun, Salt, and Shield Masterlist]

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[arthistoryanimalia]

#FantasyFriday anyone? Check out this amazing 17th c. Mughal miniature painting!

A floral fantasy of animals & birds (Waq-waq) early 1600s India, Mughal Gum tempera & gold on paper 37.6 x 26.6 cm (14 13/16 x 10 1/2 in.) Cleveland Museum of Art

"Derived ultimately from a conflation of medieval Persian and Qur'anic sources, including descriptions of the mythical island of Waq-waq inhabited by half-plant/half-animal creatures, this extraordinary painting depicts a plant that brings forth animal life in multiple forms. Playfully rendered with animals both real and mythic and birds that seem to effervesce away as they break free of the stems, this brilliant rendition of a life-giving plant maintains its compositional integrity, even as it sprawls across the page. This painting was made to beguile courtly connoisseurs who would gather to admire the wondrous images in an imperial album."

[cryptidcasanova]

Second Time Around (2)

Gaston x Reader

Summary: If the horrible, unkind prince can have his day in the sun maybe others deserve the same chance at happiness.

This is a Gaston story. He is brash and loud and absolutely primeval, but a brush of amnesia should do the trick.

Part 1​

The man fought off a fever for days, tossing and turning against the covers. Hot and cold, you help with compresses and blankets and soups. 

In and out of consciousness you tried to talk to him, but it never went very far. 

This beast of a man could hardly hold his head up. 

His wounds had been healing steadily as the days passed and he tensed against your help at first, like a caged animal, but he never fought against your help, but you wished for something more. You had so many questions. 

The most noise he made was at night, between low grumbling snores and sharp pangs of distress. It looked as though he was dreaming. The sour nightmares must have tortured him.

In the evenings you retired to your chair, learning to live with the neck pain until one morning you woke and the man was gone. 

You looked around, hoping it was a trick of the light but you were wrong.

The beastly man was gone along with his clothes and the pocket knife you kept close to the pantry.  He had stolen away, barely alive and all alone.

And then you heard a vicious yell that tore through the woods.

The man.

Jumping to your feet you followed the noise blindly outside the cottage. You looked around anxiously. He could have gone anywhere. There was another yell, sharper this time, and you almost tripped over tree roots as you ran to the edge of the forest.

He was in pain. The yell was brimming with anguish.

You found the man on his knees. He was half dressed and looked like a wild man, staring up through the tree line like it would give him the answers he needed.  

The man let out another gripping bellow before covering his face with his hands. The man wasn’t injured. He was weeping.

Your heart broke for him. 

So you emerged from the shadows, slowly stepping through the leaves to him. He heard your approach, turning away to hide his face.

He was swelling with a sudden pride, afraid to share in his sorrows. 

You frowned, a pang of guilt coursing through him. You didn’t know him. You were in no position to console him.

“I’m sorry.” You were embarrassed for sneaking up on him. “I’ll let you be.”

As you turned away he stilled, turning to face you once you had looked away. The man pushed the dark hair from his face.

“Wait.” 

The man parted his lips, letting his eyes settle on you.

“Please wait.” He implored. “You saved me from the storm. Why?”

You looked over your shoulder with a small quip of your lip.

“You needed help.” You answered thoughtfully. “And I wasn’t going to leave you to be eaten by the wolves.”

It was a joke. Mostly a joke. 

He must have registered the lightheartedness of your words because he looked up to you with a crooked, almost broken grin of his own. 

“Thank you.”

As he stood you couldn’t help but watch the way he towered over the bushes and the bramble. 

His shoulder must have felt better because he stretched his arms easily. You didn’t notice the sack across his back before, but before you could question it he pulled the sack to his front.

“I was hungry.” He explained, opening the sack. 

Rabbits. Four decent sized hares were stacked inside, and you raised a curious expression. How did he manage that? 

Rabbits were quick and agile. You never had any luck catching them.

Pushing aside your surprise you found his stormy eyes already looking down at your own. You held back a shudder as his stare matched yours.

“What?” You hummed out jovially. “Were you sick of the stew?”

As you walked back toward the cabin you missed the hint of smile against his lips.

It rained again in the evening, and instead of boarding up the doors you enjoyed the melodic noise of rain pattering against the walls.  The man sat inside, stoking the fire. The warmth of the room was a steady contrast from the doorway where the wind and cold were.

He had spoken very little during the day, making himself busy with gutting the hares and chopping firewood outside. You didn’t have the heart to interrupt him.

But now, in the quiet confines of your home you could begin to ask your questions. There were so many, so many that you had thought of.

“Were you in the war?” 

It was a fair question to ask. He was of age and certainly looked healthy enough to be sent to the front lines. Your heart ached at the thought.

The question left him twisted up inside. The man stared into the flames, letting his mind drift.

There are things he remembered, things that did not make sense. If he said them out loud you’d think he’d gone mad. 

Talking teacups. Magic. Beasts he could only imagine in children’s stories. And then there was falling. He was always falling. 

But he wasn’t remembering blood and explosions. He wasn’t seeing images of any war. With a lofty exhale he looked back to the fire. 

“I must have been.”

He knew it. He was of the right age and stature, and the scars littered across his skin told hidden stories of the past. Parts of him could vaguely remember that there were battles, or at least that he had heard of them.

He wanted to remember. He so desperately wanted to remember his life and you could see it. 

Maybe you could help. Setting down your cup you followed his gaze into the flame. 

“My father was in the war.” You sympathized. There was a sad smile lingering on your cheeks. “He was a general.” 

You could see the way he looked at you and the small cottage you lived in. You knew his next question without him having to ask it.

“After the war he couldn’t handle the way that men pillaged whatever they could get their hands on. So many women were left widows. And so many more were left as unwilling mothers.” 

The bitterness on your tongue wasn’t lost on him. 

“So my father sent me away.”

The man grunted.

“He wanted you to be away from the fighting.”

Not entirely. You stepped closer, leaning against the frame of your chair.

“He wanted to keep me away from the aftermath.” You frowned. “But that was years

ago.”

Your father wasn’t wrong. After the war so many women were left destitute with babies on their hips, and the men that did come back were not men at all. They were monsters.

They took what they wanted. They took the women they wanted, and brothels and pubs took over the businesses of the past. It wasn’t safe to be a woman in the city. You had an education, a proper upbringing. 

You had skills and a life of your own. And that is why you were sent away.

While you were wrapped up in images of the past the man looked your way. He was wary, the creases below his eyes were more prominent than before.

He must have had his own experience in the wild.

“It’s dangerous here. To be alone in the woods.”

His words shook you from your stupor. A slow frown was painted on your lips.

“It’s dangerous everywhere.” 

You closed up the cottage for the night and retired to your chair without giving the man another word. 

He wouldn’t understand the struggle you fought against. He wouldn’t understand the heaviness in your chest. You had fought and you had fled, and you were finally safe. As the flames licked up the chimney you dozed off into a dreamless rest.

The man watched you out of the corner of his eye before standing and making his way back over to the bed. 

His gaze was unsteady. He was lost in his own turmoil, and he wouldn’t easily overcome it. Regardless of the daunting tale you told you took him in with no hesitation. You didn’t know him. You didn’t owe him anything. And yet, you were helping him. 

He would find himself, he was sure of it.

And as he wrestled with his own thoughts, the man realized one thing; he was better off with you than alone in the woods with his daunting memories. 

Taglist is open! 

Taglist: @nikkitc0703

Dividers are by the immensely talented @firefly-graphics​.

[georgiapeach30513]

I always had a fantasy about being fuck buddies with Lloyd and keeping it as a secret from steve 😂 because they are rivals

I’m assuming Steve Rogers, but do you mean Steve Kemp 👀

Anyways, imagine that Steve is your love, but it’s after CW, so he’s gone a lot. And you just happen to meet Lloyd. Lloyd isn’t the relationship type, so you know it’s just sex. What Steve doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

Until he finds out….