#Aurora Writes

[sapphicslvtt]

Sitting at a bar but the only thing I can think about is how badly I want to go home and relentlessly tease a pretty girl. I would start soft, just tracing her folds with the tip of my tongue.

“I want you squirming and begging for more before I even think about doing anything else”

Finding her needy clit, I’d begin flicking my tongue at it relentlessly. Holding her thighs down as she’s tugging on my hair and squirming beneath me. Watching how she covers her gorgeous face all flustered, how her pretty hole is clenching around nothing, so desperate for mommy’s fingers to fill her up. How she’s having to bite back each moan and whimper to hide how needy and worked up she gets by simple teasing.

But Mommy knows that she’s a needy princess, who’s so easily affected by her touches. Knowing she wouldn’t be able to last long with all the teasing, I’d work my way down to her dripping hole. Just slowly sliding my fingers into her, curling up to hit that sweet spot that turns her into a gasping, moaning mess. I’ll keep going like that, slowly increasing my speed until she’s on the verge on cumming. Whines and cries echo through the room as I remove my fingers over and over again as she gets closer and closer. I want tears in her pretty, doe eyes as she’s whining

“M-mommy I can’t a-anymore”

“P-please slow down mommy”

All this pretty begging, only for mommy to tilt her head - forcing her to make eye contact and acknowledge what a submissive, vulnerable position she’s in and hush her with my fingers. I’d push my fingers into her drooling mouth to suck on, as I watch how her pretty tits bounce when I start to thrust my fingers faster. Seeing how her wetness drips everywhere and all over my hand would fuel my everlasting desires to turn her into my brainless mess. So perfect and needy for mommy

[watcheraurora]

Man from the Stars/Cod King

Fully, 100% inspired by This (<-Link) Cod King/Codfather Jimmy design by @goatedgreen (sorry to bother with my sort-of-shipping nonsense but I wanted to give credit) that I was physically incapable about being normal about, apparently. Like I literally dropped everything I was doing to slap this one down and get the brainrot out of my head 2.3k words

—

Tango scrambled through the swamp, barely able to find any purchase on the slick, muddy ground. His heavy boots sunk into the mud. He splashed through some deeper water. Panic and exertion made his breathing heavy. The veritable horde of zombies chasing him groaned, reaching toward him to strike. They didn't seem at all fazed by the environment that Tango was struggling so hard to navigate.

He only managed a quick glimpse behind him to gauge the distance he had between himself and the horde.

Too close. They were too close.

And this damn swamp had fully put his fire out. He couldn't conjure any when he was so soaked. It just fizzled out before it properly sparked to life.

He whipped back around and kept running. His boots were heavy, soaked in mud and waterlogged. He could barely lift his feet. They made disgusting sucking noises as he hauled them out of the mud.

His foot slipped, sending him spilling down into the mud.

"Wah-gak!" he exclaimed.

His hands slid and flailed as he tried to get back to his feet. His boots kicked through mud, gouging it out and flinging it everywhere. But didn't help him get upright again in order to run away.

The zombies groaned and snarled, bearing down. Getting closer. Passing through the water as if there was nothing in their way.

Tango made a noise that he was sure was manly and brave—who was he kidding—and tried again to get out of the mud.

The first zombie reached him, grabbing his ankle.

He shrieked.

"Look out!" a voice shouted. Almost inhumanly loud—and that was in Tango's opinion.

There was a flash of light and what sounded like thunder as a dark shape shot over Tango's head.

Multiple zombies went down in a single bolt of lightning. A trident spun in a pair of strong, tanned hands.

The newcomer destroyed the zombies with the teeth of the trident and more lightning, defeating the last one with a slash that sent him into stillness.

By the light above.

The newcomer was well over six-feet tall and one of the most muscular people Tango had ever seen. Barefoot in the mud wearing brown trousers that ended just below his knees to reveal there were fins on the sides of his calves. He had on a sleeveless, green jerkin of some sort to leave his muscled arms and fins on his forearms all exposed. There was a simple sash of frayed greenish fabric and fishing net around his waist, acting like a belt.

A strange, fish-shaped hat sat on his head, the tail of it dangling down his spine. Tango had eaten plenty enough cod to recognize its fin shape. Green fins for ears and dark gold hair poked out from beneath the hat, just long enough to brush his shoulders. The trident in his hand slowly lowered from its attack position.

The man turned around, spinning the trident into a holster along his back. "You okay?" he asked, reaching out to offer a hand.

Tango reached to take it—but stopped. "I'm covered in mud," he said.

The newcomer laughed, sucking in sharp breaths as he did so. "I live in the swamp. You think that bothers me? C'mon."

Tango took the hand.

The newcomer hauled him to his feet with ease. "You okay?"

"Well, I wasn't when I was being chased, but I am now. Thank you. I would have been cooked if you hadn't come along." Tango's gaze traveled up, up, up—this guy had to be a foot taller than him. At the very least. Tango's eyes barely came up to this guy's sternum. This guy would have to lean down to put his chin on the top of Tango's head.

Yikes he was tall.

"Oh it's no problem. I protect and rule over these swamps. So. Y'know. Gotta keep the mobs down." He had a bright, nice smile below the cod hat. Which fully covered his eyes.

There were also green scales on his shoulders and gills on his neck.

"What's your name?" the newcomer asked.

Tango blinked, straining his neck a little to look up at him. "Tango."

The newcomer's smile widened. He pulled the hat off. "Nice to meet you, Tango. I'm the Cod King. But you can call me Jimmy."

Be still Tango's beating heart. The Cod King was gorgeous under that hat.

Warm hazel-brown eyes glittered off the stars as he smiled. He had a strong jaw, defining nose, and thick hair.

"Let's get you back to my place. Get you cleaned up and safe before anything else spawns." The Cod King pulled his trident back out and looked around before gesturing toward a lit patch of land in the distance.

He kept vigilant watch as Tango stumbled through the swamp, though the Cod King seemed not to notice how difficult the terrain was to navigate. He just marched over it like he wasn't sinking in the mud or slowed by the water.

Tango slipped again—the Cod King caught him around the chest with one powerful arm. "Whoa there! Watch your step!"

"How are you barefoot?" Tango asked.

The Cod King shrugged. "Too much mud for shoes."

He waved with his trident as they passed through a patch of clearer water, soaking Tango down and rinsing off most of the mud. He began to shiver as steam rose from his head. "Warn a guy next time, maybe?" He screwed his eyes shut and began to stoke his internal fire, trying to warm himself back up. "Some of us can't be spontaneously soaked! We're not all fish, Your Majesty!"

The Cod King gagged. "Please don't call me that. That's horrendous. It's just Jimmy." He cleared his throat. "And I'm sorry."

Tango kept shaking as they continued moving. "It's fine," he muttered.

Eventually, they made it back to a house on stilts in the swamp.

"King, huh?"

"Not all kings want castles. Not all kings know how to build them. Nor live in an environment with a stable enough foundation for a structure like that. You should see my sister's palace," Jimmy remarked, mounting the steps and helping Tango up them. He set his trident against one wall just inside the doorway. "Let's get you warmed up and fed, yeah?"

"P-p-p-p-please," Tango said around his shivering.

Within moments, a fire crackled in the hearth and a pot was put over it to cook something. "Soup?"

"Great."

"So. Tango. How did you come across my lands?"

"I... don't know. I don't remember... anything from before this. I was falling for a long time through darkness. And then I crashed into the mud. I don't remember anything before that. Just my name, my Blaze blood, and my fire. Oh. And redstone. I'd never forget how to do that." He chuckled. "Well. Not the basics. After a warmup."

Jimmy smiled even as his eyes narrowed like he had no idea what Tango meant. "Alright, man from the stars. Well. I'm glad I ran into you. I don't get to host guests often, but better for me to find you than leave you at the mercy of the swamp at night. If those zombies had turned into Drowned, you could have ended up getting skewered if one shifted with a trident." He nodded toward his weapon next to the door as he scooped up a blanket and draped it over Tango's shoulders. "Huddle close to the fire. You said you were Blaze blood, right?"

"Yep."

"Should make you feel better, right? The heat?"

"Should." Tango didn't need to be invited twice. He crouched next to the hearth and plunged his hands directly into the flames.

"Whoa! Hey! Don't—"

"What? Burn myself?" Tango smiled slyly, looking at the Cod King over one shoulder. "I can't burn."

"Oh. Er... right." Jimmy cleared his throat. He waved a hand and the pot suspended over the fire filled with water. He went into a small kitchen and rooted through some barrels on shelves near the ceiling before returning and dumping some vegetables into the water, along with a cooked chicken that chopped itself as it fell in.

"You're very good at magic," Tango said.

Jimmy blushed. "Not really," he said. "It's just instinct for me. Force of will."

"Still good."

He shook his head. "Nah." He went back to the kitchen pulled out bowls. "I, er... I just seem like a natural at magic like that because... never mind."

Tango twisted to watch him as he hung up the cod hat on a hook and started wiping down the counter. "What?" Tango prompted gently. "What were you going to say?"

"Doesn't matter," Jimmy muttered.

"I get it. I'm a stranger. We don't know each other. Keep your secrets." Tango nodded and turned back to the fire. "Y'know, if you used a soul campfire instead of a regular one, you'd cook faster. And keep this place warmer." He shuddered, but he was warming up, with his hands directly in the flames.

"What do you mean?"

"Soul campfires give off less light, but more heat."

"Really?"

Fire finally sparked back to life in Tango's hair, licking up through his messy, gold-blond waves. "I know my way around fire pretty... intimately. Comes with Blaze blood," he replied with an easy shrug.

Jimmy hummed.

He came over with the bowls and some spoons—including a large one to stir the soup in his pot.

Tango fell into silence as he just watched Jimmy stir. For a while at least.

"You're very tall," he said after a bit.

"Six-eight," Jimmy said distractedly, gaze focused on the soup.

Tango whistled. "You got a whole foot on me."

"Have I? Huh."

"Yep. I'm five-eight."

"Huh. Comes with... the rest of it, I guess. Everything else I am. You should see my sister. She's ten-feet tall."

"Wow. Is it... a fish thing?"

"Sure. We can say that."

Tango raised one hand out of the flames, scooping some of the fire up with them. "Let me help." He set his palm on the bottom of the pot.

It grew warm.

"Thanks."

"Only magic I have is fire. Might as well make good use of it to help when I can, right?" Tango smiled.

"S'pose so."

They lapsed back into silence for a bit.

Jimmy cleared his throat. "You're welcome to stay the night here. You're welcome to stay more than one night, if you need to, after that ordeal. Get some rest. I don't have any magic that could restore your memories, but I have a friend I can reach out to. She's a wizard. She might have... something."

"I appreciate it, but one thing at a time, yeah?"

"Right, yeah."

Tango focused on keeping the fire around his hands burning. Barely noticing that Jimmy kept stealing glances at him.

Finally, the soup finished cooking. Jimmy ladled it into the bowls and passed one, with a spoon, to Tango. "Thank you," Tango said, drawing it close to let its warmth seep into him.

Jimmy sat on the floor opposite him. "I, er... I'm technically a god," he admitted quietly. "That's why I'm so tall. That's why magic seems so easy for me. I'm very much a lesser god. But I am still, technically, a god."

Tango looked up at him, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. "... Huh," he said.

"Don't worry! You're not in danger. I was raised... mostly like a mortal. I'm not... I'm not wrathful or anything. I'm not like... that kind of ocean god. I don't even have that kind of power. I'm... basically just the patron of cod, really. That's kind of it."

"Still impressive," Tango said, slurping a bit on his soup. Not bothering to blow on it to cool it off as Jimmy was doing. He couldn't burn.

"You'd... be the first to think that. The others... mostly think I'm pathetic."

"Have the 'others' seen you take out a whole horde of zombies with just a trident?"

Jimmy blinked several times. In the firelight, Tango realized he had slightly oblong pupils. Fish eyes. "Er... well... no," he admitted. "I don't... show off."

"Well, there you have it." Tango slurped more soup.

Jimmy ate his soup fast, not replying and obviously trying to hide a bit of a blush. Once his bowl was empty, he stood. "I'll... grab a spare bed," he said, shuffling off and disappearing through an archway. After a moment, Tango heard chests opening and shutting.

By the time Jimmy returned, Tango had finished his soup and was putting both bowls in the cauldron that seemed to be doubling as the kitchen sink.

Jimmy brought in a bed and set it down near the fire. "This okay?"

"It's perfect, thank you."

Jimmy waved his hand. The lingering mud and dirt melted off Tango's clothes and boots. "Get some rest. I'll see you in the morning."

"Thank you." Tango smiled.

"I'm gonna... go to... bed."

"You do that."

Jimmy retreated.

Tango took off his boots and climbed into the bed, snuggling down next to the fire to try and keep warm.

—

Jimmy flopped onto his bed on his back, staring up at the ceiling with one hand resting on his torso, the other behind his head.

Familiar? Was this Tango, Blaze blood guy... familiar? Had they met before? A brief encounter so long ago that Jimmy couldn't remember where or when, and neither could Tango?

No, whispered the ichor in his veins. Not really.

Jimmy scrunched his brows. Then what is it about him? he thought back at his divine blood.

He will be familiar to you. In the future. He will be as familiar to you as your own name. Bound. To your very soul.

Jimmy's hand moved up to rest over his heart, like he was already searching for the tie that would wrap around his soul.

Before he could figure out where that feeling came from or what it could possibly mean, he dropped into sleep.

[infernafiresword]

Happy December everyone! Here’s a fic @watcheraurora and I have been calling The Silliest One-Shot xD

[aurorarose2112]

Sweet Possession (Anne x Challe short fic)

Sugar Apple Fairy Tale (Episode 18) - cheek kiss scene

So, after watching the new episode that came out, and positively dying, buried under all that fluff that was Challe’s rizz, I decided to do a lil narrating of that cheek kiss scene.

(PS, this is just my imagination; I never read the novel for this scene, so I don’t know how this actually plays out)

･: *₊ ⁎ ⁺˳ ✧ ༚ ♡ ༚ ✧ ˳ ⁺ ⁎ ₊ * :･

Challe let out a sigh — in both relief and annoyance — at Anne’s words, before reopening his eyes and leaning in.

“Challe?” She called in a questioning manner, not realising just how titillating the sound of his name on her lips was to him.

The sweet little thing had absolutely no idea what was about to come next.

He drank in the endearing sight of Anne’s widened eyes and flushed face, as he pressed his pale lips against her rosy cheek in a featherlight kiss.

Gazing adoringly at the lovely young lady before him, his thoughts floated back to the memory of the sight of that Opal fairy caressing her cheek with his fingertips. Challe’s eyes narrowed as the once gentle gleam sharpened into a hard, even possessive glare.

It is known he despised the idea of being oppressed or objectified after years of enslavement under humans, thus the irony of possessing the following thoughts was not lost on him.

‘How dare he try covet her. She is mine; I will never let anyone take her away from me.’

At that, he began to move, trailing his lips down the soft supple skin, mimicking the way he had seen that fairy stroke her cheek. Putting his mark over that insolent fairy’s touch.

Claiming what was rightfully his.

　　 ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

Anne wasn’t sure what to think. How had they gone from talking about what Gladice had asked to… t-to this?!

To say that Challe kissing her cheek in reply being the last thing she had expected, was an understatement.

Her mind had gone blank at the sudden turn of events.

Abashed and flustered as she was, she felt — rather than saw — the silky sensation of his lips (she couldn’t emphasise this enough; CHALLE’S LIPS), moving down her cheek in a trail of open-mouthed butterfly kisses.

As though he were slowly taking his time, tasting her, savouring her, bit by bit with each kiss.

Right before he would devour her.

That train of thought snapped her back to reality.

“C-Challe?!” She exclaimed, managing to somehow will herself into taking a step back, enough to set the slightest of distance between them. Evidently needing that space to calm herself down and clear her mind.

Not that Challe was about to let her.

The hand that remained on her cheek kept her facing his way, while his other arm that had long wound around her waist prevented her from backing away any further.

“You’re too careless.” Challe supplied, his tone even and firm, as though he hadn’t effectively been nipping away at her sweet skin mere moments ago.

However, there was a hint of seriousness Anne detected, which managed to keep her focused on his words.

“Is Gladice dangerous?” She inquired, looking down to avoid his gaze. After all, if she kept staring at his gorgeous face and mesmerising eyes, there’s no way she would have any leeway to think straight, let alone remain standing.

Challe was having none of it.

The hand on her cheek trailed downwards to tip her chin up with his index and thumb, prompting her with no other choice but to gaze deep into his clear sharp eyes. Eyes that held a burning emotion, so raw and passionate, it seemed to pierce right through her heart as though it were molten sugar.

“I don’t know, so don’t let your guard down.”

“Okay…” Hearing her soft reply seemed to finally let him relax, releasing some of the tension that had built up within him. He then cupped her cheek and gently drew her face towards him, till his lips reached her ear.

“Good girl.”

If the rarely-used, smooth husky tone of his voice didn’t surprise her, his lips that found the small spot connecting her cheek and ear certainly did.

Challe couldn’t deny the masculine pride and satisfaction that arose in him, as he felt her jolt in his arms at his final kiss while gasping in what seemed to be both bashfulness and a tinge of pleasure.

Separating his lips from her, he studied her blushing face once more — which was red enough to rival a sugar apple at this point — and decided that it was enough for tonight.

Any further and she would surely combust.

As interesting as that may be, he would give her a reprieve for now. After all, a balance is needed between the candy and the whip *.

“Yesterday you didn’t sleep too well.” He stated softly, slowly pulling himself away from her alluringly lithe form. “Tonight, you may sleep in my room.”

Barely capable of any coherent thought at this point, it was all Anne could do to so much as nod in response. Challe felt a smile spread across his lips before he could stop it.

She was so acquiescent, it was adorable.

“I will look after Noah tonight. Go on ahead.” Giving his gentle reassurance, he smoothly retracted his hands from her cheek and waist, right before she limply slumped onto the bed in a sitting position.

“Okay…” Anne managed to breathe out, her ruby-red eyes never leaving the obsidian-black ones of the breathtaking warrior fairy before her.

* (A/N: Japan’s saying of ame to muchi, the Japanese equivalent of ‘carrot and stick’)

･: *₊ ⁎ ⁺˳ ✧ ༚ ♡ ༚ ✧ ˳ ⁺ ⁎ ₊ * :･

And that’s about it. Hope you enjoyed it; lemme know what you think?

[xauroraxborealisx]

#3 Slip up

Inspired by My Own Worst Enemy by Lit

Enjoy 😊

[dawnarowdite]

Lovely (What They Don’t Understand)

Chapter 2

—————

"Ayo Smii7y welcome back," a voice called out as a teen waltzed into the room.

"What up Wildcat," Smii7y smiled as he placed a bag on the table. The bag slumped to the side, weighted down by the number of items in the sack. Smii7y had a pretty good run tonight. The Millers are always gone so Smii7y never has to worry about getting caught. It’s an easy in-and-out heist, perfect for a casual day.

"You got anything good," the tall man asked, walking towards the bag Smii7y brought in. Wildcat, also known as Tyler, was Smii7y’s second in command. He has known Wildcat since Smii7y first started his record. They didn't have the best lives, but he was glad that Tyler had stuck by him throughout everything. The taller peered over the table, eyeing the new treasure that the shorter brought into the base.

"Of course, the fucking Millers are so fucking easy to steal from," he responded taking a diamond out of the bag. Smii7y felt Tyler playfully mess his hair around, before pushing his head away to get a better look inside the bag. Smii7y laughed at Tyler’s eagerness.

"Oooooh goodies," a voice cheerfully said as he saw the bag.

"Ah ah ah, Marcel you know you can't have anything I take," Smii7y said. Marcel, also known as Basically, was the newest member of his little gang. He was almost finished with his training, but Smii7y knew he wasn't ready to go out.

"But Smiiiitttty you hardly ever let me go out and steal," Marcel jokingly whined using a different version of his nickname. Smii7y rolled his eyes playfully.

"And the reason for that is that you're still the newest one here and you're not ready," Smii7y casually replied, making Marcel pout.

"Come on Marcel, maybe you'll go on a heist soon," someone added from behind the three. Evan walked closer to the group standing in the middle of the room. Smii7y smiled at the entrance of the familiar Asian man.

"Evan, you know that'll never happen," Marcel dramatically complained, making Evan chuckle. Smii7y knew Evan just as long as he knew Tyler. He's been there from the beginning and was probably his first friend in this business. He would consider Evan to be his best friend, but he wouldn't tell Tyler that.

"Anyways, I've been thinking of trying something bigger, something more grand if you will," Smii7y grinned.

"Oh do tell Smii7y," another person, who went by the name of Scotty, said joining the room. Scotty, also known as 407, was their hacker. He'd find out people's security and disable them as much as he could. He licked him up somewhere along last year.

"I want to steal from the Keyes residence," He revealed. Smii7y expected laughs and cheers however the room went completely silent.

"No," was the first thing that came out of Tyler's mouth.

"Wait what? Why," Smii7y laughed out in shock at his friend’s sudden disagreement.

"Because you know how dangerous their security can be," Tyler argued.

"So what I've dealt with is so much worse than that. I can definitely handle a few security cameras and alarms," He argued back. Smii7y was very confused. Usually, his friends would fully be on board with trying out a new venture. For them to suddenly shut down his plan was extremely out of nowhere.

"He's not ready to see you," Marcel mumbled softly.

"Wait, who's not ready?" Smii7y asked, Smii7y never heard of another person being at the Keyes residence. He thought there were only Mark and Angela Keyes who lived there, but there was another? Smii7y needed to know more about this mysterious boy.

"No one," Evan said, shooting a glare toward Marcel. Marcel avoided his gaze nervously. Smii7y raised an eyebrow at his friends. Smii7y knew his friends were hiding this person from him, something that only fueled his burning curiosity.

"Come on guys you can tell me," Smii7y said, getting excited about the possibility of meeting someone new, he was looking for someone new to mess around with.

"No, because we know what you'll do considering your past," Jay said, making Smii7y smirk.

Smii7y was prone to find someone, either male or female, to lead them on and leave them high and dry. It started when he was 15 and has been doing it for 2 years. He found it so much fun to manipulate them into falling for him, it was his favorite pastime, behind stealing of course. "Whaaaat me never," he denied, still wearing a smirk on his face.

"I'm serious Smii7y if you go to Keyes you'll regret it," Tyler threatened.

"Alright, alright I won't go to Keyes's residence, I promise." Smii7y rolled his eyes annoyed. He smiled sweetly and crossed his fingers behind his back, he was not going to give up that easily. His friends nodded in confirmation before diving into a conversation. Smii7y didn't miss the threatening glare that was thrown his way from Tyler, but he decided to ignore it. Smii7y ran his hand through his rough silver hair, fixing his messed-up hair into something neater. Smii7y smiled, Now he definitely has to meet this person whom his friends are oh so trying to protect.

—-

John hates school, but he hates staying home more than actually learning. Of course, he doesn't really learn anything. He's learned everything since he knew how to talk. It's a bit over-exaggerated but he still knew a lot of things. He wasn't even supposed to go to school either, but he managed to convince his parents that attending school would allow good publicity.

He even got to choose what school he went to, something that he never knew would ever happen. Of course, he chose a public school, much to the dismay of his parents. But he convinced them by reasoning that one day when he took over the business, he could scout out potential people to work for them at his school. They patted him on the back and said how proud they were that he was thinking of the business. But John wanted to make a life of his own, hoping no one would recognize him, but his parents insisted the limo driver take him.

He didn't make many friends, only a couple. His first friend was a guy named Cameron, but he calls himself Fitz. When he first stepped out of his limo Cameron approached him and said: "I am now your new best friend, oh rich person." Being Fitz's "new best friend" caused him to meet his other friends. There was Eric, or Swagger, who he has to admit is a bit crazy all the time. But he was high all the time so John couldn't blame him. If he could be high all the time, he would probably be happy. Then there was Mason, or Zuckles. He was the guy everyone made fun of but still is a cool guy. John then met someone named Tobi. She was very good friends with John’s group of friends, and she sometimes hung out with his friends. However, she was usually gone hanging out with her girlfriend instead, but she was always a blast to be around and was super funny. Lastly, there was Jay or McCreamy. Those are the main guys he hangs out with. Of course, he also has Tyler, Marcel, Scotty, and Evan but they hardly have time for him. He will always consider them close friends, but he likes the group he's with now.

"Hey hey John, watch me make this in Swagger's mouth," Fitz said excitedly as he held a piece of popcorn. Swagger was asleep with his mouth open, and they always took the opportunity to just throw random food in there. "And he shoots... and he misses," Fitz said pouting as the popcorn landed on his cheek.

"Alright, alright let a professional handle this," Zuckles said as he took aim.

"And he misses as well will anyone put their popcorn in Swagger's mouth," John said in an announcer voice making them chuckle.

"Clearly it's all up to me," McCreamy said as he took aim. He tossed the popcorn, and they all watched in anticipation to see if it would land or not.

"And it's good!" John cheered as it landed in Swagger's mouth. They watched Swagger blink awake. John found it comedic at Swagger’s delirious state of mind.

"What?" Swagger asked, sleepy as he chewed on the popcorn.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty," Fitz said dreamily.

"What year is it?" Swagger asked. He blinked slowly and turned his head around. John found it comedic, fighting the urge to laugh at the delirious man.

"It's still the same year dude," John laughed.

"Oh wake me up never then," Swagger mumbled, trying to go back to sleep. The boys all laughed at Swagger’s neediness to sleep.

"So, John, how are the rich parents?" Zuckles asked, turning over to the blond.

"You know the same, gotta act super posh and all that," John said, taking out his vape and taking a hit. A sweet watermelon taste filled his senses, and he felt the nicotine calm his nerves. Swagger peeked an eye open and held out his hand to John, asking for a hit. John laughed as he handed the sleepy man his vape. Swagger took a hit and lay down on his back, blowing the vapor into the air.

"It must be nice to have rich parents," Jay sighed and John slightly flinched; however, it went unnoticed. He focused intently on Swagger’s vape cloud floating into the air.

"Oh yeah, I get to do anything I want and have anything I want," John said sarcastically. Of course, John wanted to tell them his life was hell. That he was struggling to just pass by each day trying to be the perfect son his parents wanted him to be. Isn't it why they had personally selected their best genes just to be in him? He was supposedly the perfect son and yet he rather be anything than that. Maybe the doctors messed up and gave him the want for freedom. Swagger returned the borrowed vape back to John, seemingly finished with it. John grabbed it and stared at it in his hands, flipping the cartridge over and over again.

John must have had a distant expression on his face because Fitz noticed something was up with John. "Hey, are you okay dude?" Fitz asked softly. John looked over at him. He noticed Fitz wore a weird expression; it was different from his normal joking and fun personality. This was something out of curiosity, concern, and strangely enough, understanding. John was about to reply when a limo had pulled forward. He quickly stashed his vape and mumbled a small goodbye to his friends. They waved at him as he entered the car.

"You have an appointment with the Thompson's son and then later you have piano lessons. You'll be able to do your homework after the lessons and then you have a free day young sir," his limo driver said as John settled into the luxurious car.

"Alright thank you, Kevin," John replied in a monotone voice.

John noticed from the rearview mirror that his limo driver was frowning at him. He loves his staff; they take care of him. They always seem to worry about him; he considers them his real family, not the parents who quote on quote raise him. But every time he ever showed kindness towards the staff he was reprimanded with the words: "Don't be nice to the help. They get paid for what they do, that's why they're the help."

Overall he hates his family and their beliefs in everyone. They believe that anyone who isn't rich isn't an important person. That is why his parents didn't know his school friends. They only know Tyler, Evan, Scotty, and Marcel but that's because their parents are among the rich. They're pretty much the only friends he could have but he's glad to have this part of his life a secret.

"We'll be arriving in ten minutes young sir," his car driver said but John didn't respond. He might as well merely stare out the window for the rest of the ride. He knows he isn't going anywhere soon.

—————

[theoriginalsapphic]

death's other kingdom

For @flashfictionfridayofficial

Title: death's other kingdom

Word count: 543

She always show up at nine on the clock. She comes in, dressed in white as the rest of the orderly working there, but whereas the color make them look frigid and austere, on her it makes her appear like an angel coming to save him from this place. He doesn’t belong here; he knows that much.

He doesn’t know where he is, locked in a sterile and morose enclosure like a wild animal that was abducted from his habitat in some faraway land. Everyone either looks at him with a murky, tenebrous look in their glassy eyes, with just pure detachment and scientific curiosity, or with a fixed gaze that tints their irises with scarlet that reveal their subdued thirst for blood whenever they see him.

Everyone but her.

She is not like the rest of them, with her sweet, auburn eyes, and her delicate, diligent hands and the tired but determined look settled in her features. Anytime her coarse fingertips touches his knobby hands, he gets her message: trust me.

Every once in a while, the harsh, fluorescent lights overhead provoke greyish smudges in his vision and blur parts of the woman in front of her— her pleasant smile turns into a grimace stretched painfully in horror, and her friendly eyes become wide and lachrymose with dread.

It doesn’t matter because she is beautiful anyway, with the pronounced lines of a permanent frown between her brows and the tinges of white ash on her fingers from her early smoke breaks. Trust me.

The windows are barred as to forbid any natural light from coming in, the artificial lemon smell from the detergent used to wash his clothes burns his nostrils, and the constant squeak of sneakers on tiled-floor functions as the soundtrack of his daily life. He is trapped in here, and she is his only true ally in this inhumanity.

He taps his skeletal, gnarly hands, and he catches his reflection on the glass outside his room, looking pale as time-worn bones but he isn’t scared; he doesn’t feel fear anymore. He is a patient man; he can wait for her to break him out of here and save him.

—

The police sirens blare in the distance. He can only stare at his slender hands painted crimson and the blood-stained cleaver to testify for what he has done. He stares at his wife laying on the hardwood floor, with her mouth wide open in an aborted scream and the accusatory betrayal of her dilated pupils glaring at him.

He didn’t do it— he could never harm the woman he loves.

He didn’t do this. Someone must had walked in when he didn’t notice, murdered her, and then put the knife in his hand. That is the only way to explain it.

He didn’t do this. The Devil must have tricked him, manipulated him, and forced him to take away from him the one woman he ever loved.

He would never do this; he would never hurt anyone, let alone his wife.

He didn’t do this.

He didn’t do—

He didn’t—

He—

As the walls of the living room are casted in shaking hues of blue and red, he stops existing, leaving a hollow carcass to deal with the fallout.

[goddessofthedawn]

guillaume cover

 Hello hello! So Guillaume--my next book--it's coming out March 3rd--I'll let you know when I have a pre-order link I PROMISE--now has a cover! The cover is done! I'll post cover + synopsis below!

(Cover by Larisa Katz, by the way)

SIX YEARS AGO, FORTY-TWO BOYS CRASHED ON AN ISLAND IN THE CARIBBEAN. ONLY FIFTEEN OF THEM MADE IT BACK ALIVE.

            Now in his first year of college, Ashton Collins is trying to keep his life normal. But turning eighteen means that Guillaume Argot, the purported antagonist of the island, has been let out of the psychiatric ward he’s lived in since their rescue. And Guillaume getting set free means that Ashton has to confront some things he’d rather keep inside: for example, the fact that he was Guillaume’s right-hand man.

            When Guillaume shows up as Ashton’s college roommate, Ashton is faced with a decision: does he slip right back into his role at Guillaume’s side? Because Guillaume has a list—and he’s not resting until every boy who made it back from that island alive is dead.

[watcheraurora]

A'right SaYm. The art infected me. Have a **non-canon** (but still fun, hopefully) SkizzPulse one-shot in the King's Tide universe and if it sucks... sorry? never written skizzpulse before so idk i got nothin for ya 2.4k words

CW: blood, underwater violence

—

Impulse's ear fins flicked against the sides of his hair as he and Skizz patrolled in opposite directions. The rest of the glimmer—including Tango for once, while he was visiting for a whole week—was hunting on the reef. Gathering food and supplies now that spring was coming back and the winter's deficit was over. Skizz's powerful whale shark tail carried him easily through the water and Impulse couldn't help but sneak peeks whenever their opposite circles crossed one another.

Skizz knew it too. Of course he knew. Because every time Impulse came back into view, he'd show off just a little bit. Exaggerating the side-to-side motion of his tail and smiling wide. Usually throwing Impulse a cheeky wink. Which usually earned him an eye roll from Impulse that made him cackle.

They had a job to perform, and Impulse was doing his best to not get distracted. He and Skizz, at their cores, were both protectors. It was why they always volunteered to be on watch duty. Tango, Zed, and Pearl would hunt enough for Impulse and Skizz for the week too, to make up for them keeping an eye on the glimmer. They always did—especially when Tango was visiting. He didn't have the raw power Impulse and Skizz did that came from their builds, but he was slim and fast. Apart from Pearl, Tango was probably the fastest merperson in the whole glimmer and he hunted fast and efficiently.

Impulse wasn't particularly concerned about having enough.

He carried on with his watch, ear fins turning and rotating, listening. He could hear sperm whale clicking, but they never came this way, and their clicks could be heard from miles away.

On Skizz's circle, swimming a little deeper, he swished up into Impulse's path and caught Impulse by the shoulders. A quiet, entreating whalesong pitched in his throat.

Impulse rolled his eyes affectionately. "Needy, much?" he signed with a sarcastic brow raised higher than the other one.

Skizz just shrugged and smiled cheekily.

Impulse's ear fins wiggled. "Fine," he signed.

Skizz beamed. He cradled Impulse's head between his hands and pressed their foreheads together, along with the tips of their noses. Lingering there for several long moments. Impulse's gills lifted on his neck as he took a deep breath. Just inhaling the subtle scent of his lover in the seawater. Letting it comfort him.

"You're always tense on watch," Skizz signed when he let go of Impulse's face but didn't remove his forehead. "You need to unwind a little."

Impulse pulled back enough to raise his brow again. "I'll unwind in our grotto later," he retorted.

Skizz waggled his eyebrows. "Say less," he signed playfully.

"Down, lover," Impulse signed. "Later."

Skizz pouted. Impulse rolled his eyes and bumped their foreheads together with a flick of his caudal fin.

A high-pitched trill caught their attention and both their heads snapped to one side. Away from the reef, out toward open water. Impulse pivoted and shot to follow the noise.

He swore on his hands with a single, sharp movement. "Orcas!" he signed to Skizz. "Whole pod."

Skizz repeated the swear and began to sing. A low, thrumming whalesong of warning before chittering to the whole glimmer to take cover and seek shelter on the reef.

Tango was there with Pearl in moments. "How can we help?"

"Keep Pearl safe. Keep an eye on the frys and the elders," Impulse replied.

"No way! We want to help defend," Pearl retorted.

Impulse bared his teeth. "Go. Now! Skizz and I got this."

Pearl's upper lip curled up in a snarl.

Skizz shot out of the darker waters, grabbed both of them by the waists, and hauled them back to the reef before shoving them back, signing fast, and rejoining Impulse at the very edge. "They're not gonna be happy," he signed, using his body to block his hands so Impulse's sister and surrogate brother wouldn't see.

"Too bad. I'd rather them be safe than happy. They'll deal."

Skizz took Impulse's hand for just a moment. "Ready?" he signed with one hand.

"Stay close to me."

That earned him a small smile. "Always... lover."

They turned in sync and rushed away from the reef into deeper, colder waters to intercept the pod before it could get too close to their reef.

Shark gatherings were almost as common as whale or dolphin gatherings, but sharks were nowhere near as dangerous. Orcas were bastards.

But merfolk were even more dangerous. Humans spoke of mammalian intelligence—the reason orcas, whales, and dolphins could beat sharks in conflicts. But merfolk were at the same level of intelligence as humans, and had the limbs and hands necessary to make weapons.

That said, Skizz's claw-like nails were the longest and sharpest of the whole glimmer's and Impulse's teeth could rip through mammalian flesh with ease. They rarely used their spears. They didn't often really need them.

Skizz was big for a merperson. It came with being a whale shark type. Impulse was pretty big too, though nowhere near as long. They were the strongest of the glimmer.

So when they hit the pod of orcas, they hit.

Blood began to cloud the water almost immediately as Skizz's claws tore through the first orca he came into contact with. They didn't want to kill the pod, but they wanted to frighten. Usually that was met with one or two fatalities from the pod. The glimmer would have to clear the reef fast to avoid any sharks that smelled the blood nearby...

But Impulse would worry about that later.

He lifted up above an orca and grabbed it by the blowhole, yanking as though trying to steer it to turn around and clawing with his other hand.

He snarled.

The orcas were screaming.

Another one tried to bite at him, but Skizz grabbed its dorsal fin and pulled, hurling it through the water with the kind of titanic strength that only came from being shark-type. Whale sharks were gentle giants. Skizz was too.

Until he wasn't.

"Hot," Impulse signed quickly.

Skizz shot him a wink and zipped toward another orca.

Impulse did the same, his wide, bright yellow caudal fin churning the water around him.

He grabbed an orca that tried to bite at him by the jaws and held it still long enough to beat at its underbelly with his tail before gouging out some skin with his own long nails. Not quite Skizz's claws, but still sharp and useful. He beat his tail against the wounds and moved to attack another orca.

Skizz caught his hand and slung him forward to bite.

If there were fatalities, the glimmer would make use of the entire corpses. Food, yes, and bones for tools and weapons.

Impulse briefly thought of that as blood filled his mouth as he tore.

He lost track, a bit, after that, of what happened. His brain sunk into attack mode and he turned into the apex predator that merfolk were when their glimmers were threatened. His sister, parents, and brother were back there. His friends.

And he always worried about his lover when they defended their glimmer side-by-side. But he also trusted no one more to have his back.

He shot in a loop around three orcas, clawing and biting and tearing. He was pretty sure his own arm was bleeding—based on how it was burning from the sting of saltwater—but he ignored it. The pod was already in the process of fleeing.

He snarled and growled as the last of the orcas began to leave, baring his teeth and lashing his tail.

Skizz came up beside him, carefully taking his hand and beginning to examine where an orca's teeth had, in fact, cut him. Not quite a bite, but still pretty nasty.

"You need help," Skizz signed with one hand.

Impulse shook his head. "No help. Just you," he replied.

"Fine." Skizz gathered Impulse into his arms, pressing the injured arm to his chest to hold it steady and bumped their foreheads together. Then swam Impulse back to the reef, whistling and singing to catch the glimmer's attention.

Tango, Pearl, and Zed were the first to respond, swimming fast to meet up with them. Pearl's big blue eyes widened when she saw the trail of blood clouding the water.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Orcas are bastards," Impulse signed with one hand.

Tango snickered, but nodded agreement.

"I'm gonna take him home," Skizz signed, also with one hand. "Help him."

Tango and Pearl nodded while Zed just stared, looking a little nauseous.

"We'll get everyone back to the grottos," Tango promised. He tugged on one of Zed's pink arm fins. "Come on, Zed. Let's move."

Zed finally tore his eyes away and went to go gather the rest of the glimmer. Tango was barely a fin-length behind him. Pearl stared between her brother and Skizz for a few moments.

"I'm okay, Pearl," Impulse signed. "I promise. Go help."

She blinked a few times before turning tail. The occasional silver and gold scales in her creamy-white tail flashed off the sunbeams and she rushed after Zed and Tango to go fetch the others.

Skizz gently cradled Impulse closer to his chest and turned to head home.

Skizz chittered in inquiry once or twice. "You okay?"

Impulse nodded. He wasn't that hurt. The only reason he was letting Skizz carry him was to staunch the flow of blood by holding the wounds closed against Skizz's chest. He was a little tired from the fight, but he was plenty strong enough to make the swim home on his own.

Back in the grotto they shared—one of the largest grottos the reef could offer for a pair of lovers, rather than a family, considering Skizz's size—Skizz settled Impulse in their sleeping cubby on the bed of seaweed and rifled through a somewhat makeshift storage container for a wound up wrap of seaweed that was long and flat. Which he used to bind up Impulse's arm.

"Thank you," Impulse signed.

"Anything for you, lover. Always," Skizz replied, bumping his forehead into Impulse's shoulder. "I'll go clear the water a little. Get some of the blood out of here. You rest up."

"My fin is better for that." His was broader.

"It's fine. You rest." Skizz bumped his forehead to Impulse's again and went about cycling the water out of the grotto and the water surrounding it as best he could. Impulse, lying on his left, uninjured, side, just watched with a small smile lingering on his face.

If Tango asked, no, he was not "checking Skizz out" but... damn it was hard not to. Over nine feet long and powerful in a way that was entirely unique to him... Skizz was something else. And Impulse was really lucky. He had all that muscle and the biggest heart in the glimmer all to himself.

"What are you looking at?" Skizz asked gently as he returned to their grotto after clearing the blood out of the water a bit.

Impulse left their sleep cubby to hold Skizz in the larger main area, wrapping his tail around his lover's. His right arm was hurting and sore but he mostly ignored it. "I'm looking at you," he signed, movements small and one-handed as the other wrapped around Skizz.

Who raised a brow. "Why?"

"Because you always look your most handsome after you've been in a fight protecting the glimmer." Impulse nuzzled their foreheads together, just holding his lover close. He wrapped his black tail around Skizz's whale shark one. Skizz hummed low in his throat, content and relaxing as his own arms wrapped around Impulse.

Skizz, his range of motion limited by Impulse's tail, maneuvered them both back into the sleeping cubby and snuggled in close.

"You're not a hugger," Skizz pointed out with one hand and a playfully teasing expression on his face. "So what's gotten into you?"

Impulse shrugged with his uninjured shoulder. "Just want to hold you. You're okay. I'm okay. The fight wasn't that bad."

"Were... you scared?"

"I'm always worried when we get in a fight. I trust you to watch my back but that doesn't stop me from worrying about you."

"Why?"

"You're reckless." Impulse bumped their foreheads together. "I don't want you to get hurt."

Skizz's piercing blue eyes dropped to the seaweed wrapped around Impulse's arm. He raised his eyebrows pointedly and then met Impulse's yellow gaze. "I'm not the one bleeding," he pointed out.

Impulse just shrugged.

Skizz held him tighter with one arm. "It drives me crazy, seeing you hurt. You're mine. I wanna protect you too."

"I know." Impulse finally relaxed, snuggling in and resting his head against Skizz's chest. Skizz tucked him under his chin and buried his nose in Impulse's warm brown hair. Closing his own eyes. He could feel Impulse's heartbeat, the vibration of it traveling through the water easily.

Home. Safe. Loved.

Impulse drifted off to sleep, the gills on his neck lifting and lowering with his breaths, cradled in the arms of the merman who he knew loved him more than anyone else in all the vast oceans.

—

Skizz felt Impulse fall asleep and sighed with a stream of bubbles trailing out of his mouth toward the top of the grotto. He never told Impulse how badly it grated against his protector instincts to allow his lover to protect the glimmer and the reef alongside him. Impulse was stubborn and he'd do it anyway, even if he did know. Skizz just wanted the people he cared about—and especially his favorite person, currently wrapped in his arms and tail—to be safe.

He also knew Impulse was right. The two of them were the biggest and strongest in the whole glimmer. They were the best at protecting it and they worked together well. They always had each other's back.

That didn't mean Skizz enjoyed watching his lover get hurt.

He bumped his forehead to the top of Impulse's head.

Even in sleep, Impulse bumped his own forehead to Skizz's chest.

Smiling, Skizz closed his eyes and let himself finally relax. Not quite sleeping—he had to keep an ear open toward the glimmer's waters in case anyone else needed help—but beginning to doze in and out with his lover held close.

you know, im not sure ive ever drawn art for a fic, featuring a ship thats not even in said fic. However i was posessed by the skizzpulse demons and i just loved drawing @watcheraurora's kings tide designs so much i couldn't help myself 🤭

close up under the cut vv

[sapphicslvtt]

Hi i’m Aurora & welcome to my blog my loves

This is just an outlet for me to say my sapphic & horny thoughts

About me:

❣︎ 24 year old switch (leaning domme)

❣︎ femme lesbian

❣︎ (she/her)

Kinks ❣︎: bondage, overstim, edging, humping, biting, cnc, mommy kink (title), guided masturbation, spanking, degradation, dumbification, humiliation, corruption, marking, praise, strap & many more

Hard Nos ❣︎: gore, piss, scat, vomit, incest, ageplay, abdl, feet, feedie, hard impact (anything that leaves more than scratches or red marks)

Dni: Men, MINORS, racists, homophobes, terfs, (i block instantly)

Be respectful, or get the fuck out

My lovely anons: 🫧, 💫, 🧚, 🐇, 🐈‍⬛, 🌱, 💜, 👒, 🦊, 🎲, 🦘, 🦉, 🌻, 🤍, ❤️‍🔥, 🌀, 🎡, 🌵, 🐻‍❄️, 🦝, 🐝, 🦆, ✨, 🍓, Lav, 🦑, 😽, 🍄, 🍬, 💙, 🩰, ♠️, 👑, 🐨, 🍑, 🍒, 🪷, 🦋, ☁️, 🧸, 🌷

My asks and dms are always open - feel free to message me my loves <3

[watcheraurora]

I know there probably won't be an Empires S3 and that's genuinely fine

But imagine with me for a minute

It's 1,000 years since the end of Empires S2, and the souls of the rulers are reincarnated yet again, fresh and new as before

And one of them in particular—a blond, brown-eyed young man—wanders the land with a pair of yellow-gold wings folded against his spine

Those wings bear him through the sky, soaring high above anything else. Sometimes he wonders if he could even fly so high that he would reach Stratos, the long-forgotten, mythical land of the gods. Or, according to myths and legends, the last god

With those yellow wings in the sun and his warm blond hair, he's given the name Canary King by his people

He builds his empire from scratch. He plants orchards in a plain biome—a canary's natural habitat. He trades honey and apples with the other kingdoms

He builds homes for his people with his bare hands. He builds his seat of power nearby. A palace for an Avian nestled in the branches of the tallest tree in the world. He made the tree himself, in a way. With the help of a little magic, he grew a sapling into a true marvel. A grand treehouse, high in the air, is where he builds his throne. The perfect fit for a wingéd king, born for the high blue skies

Sometimes he dreams of a homey swamp full of cod and slime. He dreams of gills in his neck and webbed hands. He dreams of a woman with blue skin and pink hair like Lizzie's in a light, flowy dress. He calls that woman sister, in his dreams. He dreams of an elf from the cold, high mountains—an ally. Sometimes he wonders if there was something more there. He dreams of the demon. The corruption.

Other times he dreams of a mesa—badlands. Exact opposite of that homey swamp. Instead of perpetual damp, the mesa is bone dry and blisteringly hot. He dreams of a brass badge on his chest. Tall boots to keep the sand out of his socks. He dreams of a hat to keep the sun off his face. The mesa is empty and lonely. He dreams of enclosed walls meant to emulate the blue sky and clouds the badlands are too hot to form. He dreams of mocking laughter. Shouts of "Toy!" He dreams of strangers appearing in the world, smaller than most everyone else. He dreams of the world the strangers—Hermits?—came from. A Rift in reality. He dreams of a funny old man with a grey beard teaching him to be "better" in his role

He dreams of a man with blue fire for hair, blue eyes with darker blue sclera, and a long black coat rarest of all, but they are always the sweetest dreams. The Canary King wears the brass badge and boots in those dreams, and the blue-fire-hair man isn't like the others—he treats him kindly. Even sweetly. In stark contrast to the mocking teasing of the others

The Canary King dreams he builds the two of them a ranch in the badlands, and then sees the fortress in the frozen norths of the Hermits' world that the blue fire hair man built himself

The Canary King always wakes up from these dreams feeling nostalgia. Like he misses something he never had, or lost something he no longer remembers

He serves his people and enjoys the company of the other rulers, his friends. He pretends he's not haunted by these dreams and the lives that seemed to be contained within them. No one else speaks of reoccurring dreams. No one else seems to notice the thousand-yard stare that he has when he thinks about them

Sometimes Scott smiles at him a little too fondly. Sometimes Joel's teasing needles him a little too deeply and he feels much smaller than he is. Sometimes Lizzie scolds him in a tone that sounds like the older sister the Canary King doesn't have—

And he remembers those dreams all over again

And his wings pull closer to his body, trying to protect him. He seeks comfort in the feeling of his feathers against his hands. He ignores the flashes of red-yellow-and-blue macaw wings on one of the Hermits in his dreams

So he flies. He flies and flies and flies. He sees the world whiz past below him. He flies so far and so fast, he tries to let the wind steal his thoughts and dreams from his mind. The skies are his home even more than the treehouse he poured blood, sweat, and tears into. The skies bring relief. And quiet. And solace. He still hasn't flown high enough to reach Stratos. He doesn't think he ever will

He doesn't want to anymore, with those dreams following him

The Canary King flies for days, barely sleeping, barely eating

He doesn't stop until he sees a mesa below him

It pulls him up short. He circles as he descends, eyes sweeping the land

He lands and kicks at the red sand here and there, thinking himself ridiculous for hoping to see—to find—anything

Until he slams his foot into something

He digs with a shovel and a pickaxe for what feels like hours. He exposes the ruins of an old town. He knows exactly where he's going to find the next building, somehow. As familiar with this town's layout as he is his orchards and the villages he built with his bare hands back home

He finds a small wooden sign with Welcome to Tumble Town! etched into the wood

He drops the sign and takes wing again. He deliberately ignores every swamp he passes over

He flies until he can't anymore. Until his beautiful, strong, yellow wings have no strength left and cannot bear him on the winds any longer. He crash lands in the snow and does not get up

The Canary King expects to freeze to death and never see his orchards or his treehouse palace ever again. He expects to finally be free of the dreams

Night falls. Creepers sneak around the mountains. Spiders spit and skeletons clank. Zombies groan

The world has grown dark, and the Canary King's vision begins to become even darker—

A blazing golden light flares. A voice cries out and then giggles

That same voice asks if the Canary King is alright. A warm hand rests on his shoulder

The newcomer has yellow fire for hair and red eyes with darker red sclera. He has the same face shape, the same nose, the same ears as the man in the Canary King's dreams

The newcomer is concerned and the Canary King is on the brink of unconsciousness. The newcomer promises that he's safe now—he'll be taken care of. It's the last thing the Canary King remembers before passing out

He wakes up in a cozy ranch house

He feels like he's home for the first time since the dreams started

[infernafiresword]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63185590/chapters/161827990

Told you today was gonna be fun :) Time for the sequel for Healing Light to begin!

(Thank you again, @watcheraurora, for being the best co-writer!)

[watcheraurora]

Okay I’ve never written a Treebark one-shot in any variety and I don’t know c!Ren very well and I only know c!Martyn a little better and I have no idea what’s going on with the Fantasy SMP in general but the rambling was giving me such vibes and I love a bit of fantasy. I did my best

1.5k words

—

Ren sits on the shore of the lake, looking out across the water. It’s quiet. Too quiet. No shouts of the other knights. No ringing of Tango’s hammer on the anvil as he makes something new and beautiful.

He adjusts his grip on his fishing pole and sighs. He’s not used to extended camping. He’s camped before. Traveling with the other knights on assignments got him used to being outside for a while. But this was the longest he’d ever been living in the wilderness on his own.

Thankfully there are plenty of fish in this lake and he knows how to hunt. He tries not to overdo anything. He doesn't want to damage the forest. But a man's gotta eat.

The breeze drifting across his face off the water makes his ears twitch. It's chill but not cold. Still, summer will soon be over, and he will need to figure out a better living arrangement before winter blows in. Ren himself is probably better insulated against the cold than most, but that doesn't mean surviving outdoors for a whole winter is feasible.

His line tugs and his attention snaps to it. He grabs and yanks, dragging it in toward shore. A fish flops around at the surface, struggling against it.

He brings it in and quickly dispatches it to make dinner.

—

A forked tongue tastes the air. A low, guttural growling clings close to the figure that hides behind a tree, peeking out. Blue-and-white horns glint a little where the fading sunlight still manages to peek through the forest canopy.

Martyn peers through the trees with a mischievous little grin, his tail curling upward to keep it from dragging. He brushes his long, yellow-blond braid off his shoulder so it falls down his back to stay out of his way.

The knight in his camp doesn't notice Martyn. He whistles as he prepares a fish over his campfire. His hair is thick and dark brown, in a short, low braid. The braid leaves a thin scar on his neck a little exposed over the top of his armor, like someone had sliced it. The scar is old and faded, difficult to notice if not for the dappled sunlight making it glisten. Wolf-like ears at the top of the knight's head turn and listen, but never seem to quite turn Martyn's way.

Martyn wonders why. That growling noise in his chest and throat is quiet, but wolf hearing should be able to pick it up easily.

It's only polite to try to give a little warning to his presence, after all.

He steals closer, ducking behind the next tree, watching the knight, whose back is to him.

Martyn pauses. His forked tongue licks his lips as he looks at the fish roasting over the fire. Swiping it and scampering back to his den would be almost too easy. Which is, admittedly, less fun.

There's a long pause while Martyn waits for the knight to be sufficiently distracted so he can swoop in. He's not malicious, not really. He just likes a bit of mischief. And this knight has been dangerously close to Martyn's den for what seems like weeks now. If anything, it's the knight's fault for not being cautious around a dragon's territory. If he was really worth his salt, the knight would know a dragon lives nearby.

Martyn remembers the first time he saw this knight from a distance when he first set up camp here. The overwhelming sense of trust and mourning that swept over him that he couldn't fathom, nor find the origin for.

Now!

He dodges out from behind the tree and rushes over to the camp, snatching the fish. His claws crashing through the underbrush finally catches the knight's attention.

"HEY!" the knight protests, whirling around.

Martyn's tail lashes. He sticks his forked tongue out playfully, shoves the fish in his mouth, and runs back into the trees on all fours, heading for his den. If the knight is as wolf-like as he looks, he might actually stand a chance of catching up. His ears—humanoid, but pointy—twitch back a little, listening for the knight to come crashing through the woods behind him.

Nothing.

Martyn slows down and climbs back up onto his feet, turning around to look where he came from.

The knight hasn't pursued him.

... Huh.

Martyn makes a face and walks like a normal bipedal creature back to his den.

—

Ren sighs as the humanoid dragon disappears into the brush. He goes to find his fishing pole. It's a good time of day for fishing, anyway. If the dragon needs the fish enough to steal it from him, he might as well let him have it. He is a knight of honor, despite the king's beliefs, and if that means letting the dragon have a fish because he's clearly hungry, then the honorable thing to do is let the dragon have it.

He scoops up his fishing pole and returns to the lake.

—

Martyn creeps back to the knight's camp under the moonlight. For no particular reason other than he's not feeling sleepy.

And, yeah. Maybe he wants to make sure the knight is okay after his prank earlier. He's not going to starve, right?

Crunching of underbrush underfoot catches Martyn's attention and he freezes for a split second before hiding behind a tree, sweeping his tail closer to himself so it doesn't poke out and give him away.

The full moon shines through a gap in the canopy directly down onto him, reflecting the bluish-white of his scales onto the trees around him. But the trunk of the one he's hiding behind should block the knight from noticing. He likes having the moonlight on him. It makes his magic swirl in his blood like it's basking in attention.

He peeks around the trunk toward the knight's camp.

The fire has burned low, but he can still see the knight. The man is walking around the perimeter of his camp, sword loose in one hand, peering into the darkness of the forest with narrowed eyes. He has armor on. It looks like it's seen better days.

That or a coat of arms that had one been stamped into the metal has been hammered out—

Ohhhhh.

That certainly explains why this knight has been here, all alone in the middle of the woods, for as long as he has.

He's been disgraced. Cast out.

Martyn's eyebrows tilt down on the outside corners in sympathy.

The knight walks the perimeter of his camp slowly three times before taking up a post leaning against the nearest big tree. The remains of another fish are visible. Oh good. At least he caught another one.

Martyn creeps around the outside edge of the camp, keeping an eye on the knight the whole time, until he can see the man's face.

The knight is nodding off. Indeed, he looks exhausted. Sleeping out in the mostly-open of the wild woods probably hasn't afforded him much sleep, trying to keep himself safe from the nocturnal creatures just as much as the diurnal ones.

Martyn slips silently between two tree trunks, getting closer. The claws on his feet are quiet in the brush. He's built to be silent in crunchy snow—this underbrush is easy by comparison.

He approaches the knight slowly, not wanting to startle him out of sleep.

When he's close enough to be protection but far enough that the knight's sword won't slice him without warning, Martyn lowers himself to the ground. He curls up and wraps his tail around himself, resting his head on his hands. His slitted pupils are wide enough to appear round in the darkness as he keeps watch. He tastes the air with his forked tongue. Nothing of note nearby.

Hopefully the knight will be able to get some... rest. Probably not proper sleep, standing against a tree like that. But at least rest.

—

Ren rouses just enough to realize the dragon is back. But the dragon is just... lying there. On the ground. A few paces away. His head moves back and forth, watching the forest. He has long gold hair, braided back.

Gold hair that Ren... remembers. But he remembers it shorter. Stained red from a war—

The memory flits away as quickly as it arrives.

Trussst... Trussst him... the wind whispers. You've trusted your life to him before...

The scar on Ren's neck twinges. He rolls his neck to stretch it out. Have I? he wonders. He supposes so. He's trusted the dragon enough not to eat him.

He slides down the trunk of the tree and rests his head back against it.

"You got a name, beastie?" he asks, voice quiet and tired.

Pale white-blue eyes flick to him. "I have," the dragon says. "Although, I quite like 'beastie'." He chuckles softly. "Have you a name?"

"Not one that matters anymore." Ren closes his eyes and rubs the scar on his neck. "A knight with no king isn't worthy of one."

"I had a king once," the dragon says. "Many ages ago." He sounds wistful. "One I barely remember. Yet, my name remains. Tell me yours?"

"... Ren."

"Martyn."

"An honor to meet you, Martyn."

"You as well, Ren. Get some sleep. I'll keep you safe."

I suddenly wanna give dragon Martyn a forked tongue for some reason

Im trying to fill the gap made from lack of fantasy Ren and Martyn interactions. Ramblings under the cut.

I imagine since Martyn purposefully moved his dragon den closer to Ren's camp that he'll end up messing with him and his gear often. Ren will have just finished catching and frying some fish and Martyn is right there ready to steal some so he doesn't have to fish for himself.

Ren will often make nightly rounds around his camp to check for any enemies and sometimes Martyn will find him asleep at his post and will just curl up next to him and keep an eye out for anything while he sleeps.

While Ren makes a big show of how much he finds Martyns presence annoying, he secretly likes having the company. Being a disgraced Knight he isn't used to being alone so he finds comfort in Martyns frequent presence.

[adoreddestiny]

ೃ⁀➷ BITING ON THEM — rafayel, zayne, xavier x gn!reader

rafayel yelps before staring at you in utter silence. he blinks once, twice before rubbing the spot on his hand that you just took a good chomp out of. “what was that for?!” and you shrug, going back to whatever you were doing beforehand.

rafayel appears to come to his senses. pushing his hand in front of you once more. “do it again!” you shake your head, haughty amusement glittering in his eyes as he frowns and shakes his hand again. “don’t wanna," you grin. he scoffs, leaning in closer to try and get a reaction. but you give him none.

rafayel frowns, turning away from you dramatically before taking your hand and gently sinking his teeth into the palm of your hand. his eyes daring you to say anything against him. “if you get to do it, i do too,” he says stubbornly, crossing his arms over his chest.

zayne is unphased. to be fair, he's gotten to know you well enough to always expect the unexpected. he blinks at you, glances at his forearm, before going back to typing up another email. seeing as you've failed to get his attention, you go back to laying on the couch staring up at the ceiling.

zayne tilts his screen down, raising an eyebrow at your behavior. "care to explain?" he says gently. you take his arm, stubbornly biting it once more. at this, a deep chuckle rumbles from his chest. "is this one of your many tricks?"

zayne watches as you sit back up, leaning against his shoulder as you look over what he was previously working on. "no. i just felt like it," you say with a shrug. he shakes his head at your antics before taking your hand and nibbling your fingertip. "then i might as well give you a taste of your own medicine."

xavier gives you a look of gentle surprise as you munch on his ear. he glances behind him, pleasantly surprised to see you. as you release him from your toothy hold, he rubs the spot you latched yourself to. "what was that for?"

xavier grasps your hand as you wrap your arms around his shoulder from behind the couch. you don't answer right away but give him a well-behaved smile. "can't i just bite you?" a curious look of mirth fills his pretty blue eyes.

xavier turns slightly, tilting his head to graze his teeth against the column of your neck. the sensation has you hurrying backwards and grasping the spot he teased. your shocked expression only elicits a smug look from him. "like that?"

[xauroraxborealisx]

Apparently, I'm back? Or at least trying? Just a few quick one-shots to get back into writing before diving back into longer projects! Enjoy and oh! Song suggestions are welcomed, if ever! 😉

[dawnarowdite]

Another sneak peek because I want to