#Gold Wings Rising

[aurorawest]

Reading update, part 1

Paris Daillencourt is About to Crumble by Alexis Hall - 4/5 stars

The problem with this book was that I liked Paris and Tariq, but god, it was rough to read. I also felt—and I'm going to be honest, this is an issue I've been noticing increasingly with Hall's newer novels—a little like I was reading like, the Perfect And Unproblematic Way To Date. There's this sort of preachy, social media I-don't-know-who-needs-to-hear-this quality to a lot of the dialogue. It was also just hard to read at times. But I still rated it 4 stars, so I guess I didn't hate it.

Rattlesnake by Kim Fielding - 5/5 stars

This book is about a drifter who ends up in a town because a hitchhiker dies in his car (sounds grimmer than it is!), and the hitchhiker was trying to get to said town to see his estranged son. If you said to yourself, I bet the drifter falls in love with the estranged son, you would be exactly right. This book was so poignant and sad, so the HEA was amazing.

Gold Wings Rising by Alex London - 5/5 stars

This is the last book of The Skybound Saga and it was an excellent ending.

Heart of the Steal by Avon Gale and Roan Parrish - 3.75/5 stars

I told a friend the other day that I would die for Roan Parrish, but I should have told her not to pick up this book. It wasn't awful, but...it wasn't great, either.

Rag and Bone by KJ Charles - 4/5 stars

The Reanimator's Heart by Kara Jorgensen - 4/5 stars

The Half Life of Valery K by Natasha Pulley - 5/5 stars

Look. Guys. I've raved about every Natasha Pulley book I've read, yeah? And this is no exception. I need you all to read this. Like, I'm not sure you're all taking me seriously out there. But if you read anything I've recommended, it needs to be Natasha Pulley's books. I can only rate up to 5 stars on Storygraph, so yeah, maybe it looks like I loved this book the same as I loved Rattlesnake by Kim Fielding. No. This book lives in my heart and my mind. This book is part of my soul. All of her books are. I love and hate her for A) making me feel SO MUCH and B) being a better writer than I will ever be.

I know I've said nothing about the book, but like. You just have to trust me. Read her books.

Oh yeah, this one is about a nuclear disaster in the USSR that was covered up for decades.

You & Me by Tal Bauer - 4.5/5 stars

Teddy Spenser Isn't Looking for Love by Kim Fielding - 3.25/5 stars

Man, I wanted to like this one? It felt really phoned in, though. The characters all felt very surface level.

The Whispering Dark by Kelly Andrew - 4/5 stars

Subtle Blood by KJ Charles - 5/5 stars

How did this series just keep getting better? I'm so bummed that this was the last in the trilogy, because I totally could keep reading about Will and Kim and their adventures.

Firestarter by Tara Sim - 5/5 stars

Also the last in a trilogy, and also a worthy wrap-up.

The Mayor and the Mystery Man by AJ Truman - 4.25/5 stars

Fence, Vol 5: Rise by CS Pacat with Johanna the Mad - 5/5 stars

Cattle Stop by Kit Oliver - 5/5 stars

AHHHHHHHHHH. God. This book! Looks like a romcom but will stab you in the heart repeatedly. Oliver has a gorgeous way with words and captures the dynamic between two people who have no idea how to talk to each other so well. There's something the dialogue in Oliver's books that just speaks to me.

Rookie Move by Riley Hart and Neve Wilder - 2.75/5 stars

Boyfriend Goals by Riley Hart - DNF

Please note here that it seems like I don't like Riley Hart's writing. Unfortunately I still have like 3 of her books in my TBR pile.

The Gentleman's Book of Vices by Jess Everlee - 4.75/5 stars

Even Though I Knew the End by CL Polk - 4.5/5 stars

I feel a little meh about this one, despite the rating I gave it. Like, the world was cool, the writing was excellent. I've seen this book hyped so much, though, and it was like...yeah it was fine. Definitely the best over-hyped Sapphic book I've read lately, so there's that.

Nothing Like Paris by Amy Jo Cousins - 4.5/5 stars

Necropolis by Jordan L Hawk - 4.25/5 stars

Roommate Arrangement by Saxon James - DNF

The Place Between by Kit Oliver - 5/5 stars

Yeah this Kit Oliver book was really good too. It's about academics instead of farmers but it will still stab you in the heart a bunch of times. Oh and it's fake dating.

A Dash of Salt and Pepper by Kosoko Jackson - DNF

I didn't love Kosoko Jackson's debut—there were waaaaay too many pop culture references, many of which I didn't understand, but even when I did, I found it obnoxious. But it was readable. This was...not. I hated the main character so much, and I barely even met the love interest, but I didn't like him, either.

Level Hands by Amy Jo Cousins - 4.25/5 stars

The Secret Casebook of Simon Feximal by KJ Charles - 4.25/5 stars

How to Bite Your Neighbor and Win a Wager by DN Bryn - 5/5 stars

I looooooved this book, omg. I'm not really a vampire person, but this was so cute. I guess it was kind of cozy fantasy? Sort of? With a backdrop of homelessness, medical experimentation, and bereavement.

Rule of Wolves by Leigh Bardugo - 1/5 stars

Catch me never reading a Leigh Bardugo novel again. Oof. This woman wrote Six of Crows and Crooked Kingdom? I wasn't too impressed by King of Scars but that was better than this, even though the Crows actually appear in this book.

The Barkeep and the Bro by AJ Truman - 3/5 stars

Heartbreak Boys by Simon James Green - 4.5/5 stars

I don't usually laugh out loud when I read, but this book made me cackle. Obnoxious self-referential bit aside (yeah Simon James Green, I did catch you slipping a reference to your previous book into this one), this was very cute and very funny. I even got my wife to read this, despite her dislike of romance and YA, and she liked it!

Part 2 (because tumblr cut me off at 30 images)

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

Books of 2023. THE SKYBOUND SAGA by Alex London. I bought these because they seemed Perfectly Like My Jam (and because the author was doing some pandemic promotions from afar--there’s a signed bookplate in RED SKIES FALLING).

Unfortunately: I’m almost done with BLACK WINGS BEATING, and it is, tragically, Not Perfectly My Jam :( I appreciate that so far it’s very queer norm! That’s nice! And my girl Kylee is giving off big aro vibes (as an aro myself, I’m hesitant to fall head over heels for that until it’s more solidly confirmed in canon, because I have been Disappointed Too Many Times, but so far it’s looking promising!). But Brysen gets a lot more interiority than Kylee does, which is a bummer because he’s very milquetoast. And there’s a lot of child abuse, so brace for that. And I’ve got quibbles about some of the Bird Stuff (but most of the bird stuff is nitpicky, so I suspect your average reader won’t be bothered by it).

I’m definitely going to finish the trilogy (I have them all, after all, and they’re quick reads that I can mostly put down at bedtime), but sadly I cannot give it Glowing Reviews. This may also just be a Me Problem, since I’ve drifted away from both YA and fantasy, so please take my thoughts with a grain of salt the size of a Great-horned Owl, or a ghost eagle if one’s handy.

[madlovenovelist]

#bookquotes

I love this quote, for me its a take on that old saying that other peoples words can’t hurt you if you don’t give them permission to. That if you take away the emotions and memories attached to the words, they are just sounds someone make with their mouths. Harmless. Meaningless. I wish it was that easy to do, but I strive to be able to deflate hate in such a manner, and reduce it to the…

[ninoxwof]

Onyx the Sandwing

[Image Description: A digital drawing of a burly sandwing dragon named Onyx. She is tan and ash brown, with a cream underbelly and dark brown stripes. She has a sort sandwing sail that's a mid toned brown, and a cream colored rattle on her tail right before her tail barb. Her claws, and horns and tail barb are all the same dark brown as her stripes, with her horns having two tips and her having two horns on her nose like a rhino. She has spiky scales like a bearded dragon and a chip in her left ear. She has her head lowered with an angry defensive pose. In a second image she's featured with her black chain that has a big chunk of skyfire as a pendant. /.End ID]

[killzilla]

when i first met the false dragonets, i actually really loved them bc they're all just sad kids yk? anyway, i loved Flame when i first met him and my heart was WRENCHED when he hugged Avalanche.

then when i saw his design in the graphic novel i fell inlove ALL over again.

i know there's really not much about him and he's more or less an asshole, but i am 100% a Flame enjoyer. that bein said, i also REALLY love the Gold winglet and no ONE FREAKING TALKS ABOUT THEM ENOUGH !!

[spiteriisen]

tag drop ; isande.

( even scorched by fires of war ; i will fly on wings of my own making. ✧ ic. ) isande. ( gold as the rising sun ; she holds her shield aloft to greet the dawn. ✧ visage. ) isande. ( what good is any faith if in yourself you hold none ; be your own devotee. ✧ isms. ) isande. ( through shade & sleet-- through all winter's wrath ; the thistle maid blooms in xanntash. ✧ aesthetic. ) isande. ( born in the dark but her heart never beat ; not 'til light touched her face was she truly complete. ✧ lore. ) isande.

( a message to all the holy temples dedicated to me ; you all really make up any shit huh. ✧ crack. ) isande. ( do not follow me-- do not pray ; choose to walk alongside me and i will stay. ✧ game shenanigans. ) isande.

connections ;

( i'd trade all tales human & divine to turn back time ; for song in your smile & light in your eyes. ✧ isande & finnegan. ) passionfell. ( you seek no god & i never sought to be one ; not demanding or bestowing-- i am asking for a champion. ✧ isande & ankita. ) passionfell. ( you can't wield a sword for me-- i don't carry one ; pledge oath to you & let blind faith be gone. ✧ isande & alwin. ) risingretribution.

[zipquips]

jimbo <3

[weheartstims]

stimboard for the song 'King of The World' by young rising sons with gold/white stims?

King of the World (Young Rising Sons) with gold and white stims!

👑|☁️|👑 ☁️|👑|☁️ 👑|☁️|👑

[bumpscosity]

FINALLY found someone selling the accent I wanted to use for my virgil fandragon, the gears are in motion now I just need the dragon himself…

[ahqkas]

Could you do one with the batboys having a S/O that gets lost easily and finds them at the most random places? Like they get lost in the mansion one day trying to find the kitchen and they somehow end up outside, que the batboys "mildly" panicking because their S/O has been gone for an hour. Please and thank you 🙏

♯LOST AND FOUND

— gn!reader, mention of reader’s hair in bruce’s & dick’s

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

THE WAYNE MANOR WAS A LABYRINTH—an elegant, sprawling maze of hallways, grand staircases, and secret rooms. it didn’t matter how many times you visited; no amount of “turn left at the portrait” or “take the second right after the library” advice ever stuck with you. you had been in this house dozens of times, and yet, somehow, you still managed to find yourself in the strangest, most unexpected places.

today was no different. you’d innocently set out in search of the kitchen, craving a snack while your boyfriend was busy with his family in the batcave. alfred had mentioned fresh-baked cookies earlier ( your favorite kind ) , and the thought had been enough to motivate you and set you off on your own. armed with directions you thought you’d memorized, you’d confidently strode off down the hall.

and then . . . nothing looked familiar.

at first, you thought you’d missed a turn. then you became certain the house had grown a new wing overnight because the rooms and corridors you passed were entirely unfamiliar. determined not to call your boyfriend for help—again—you kept walking, convinced the kitchen had to be just around the next corner.

somehow, “just around the next corner” turned into a venture outside, where you found yourself on a cobblestone path surrounded by perfectly trimmed hedges. the late afternoon sun painted the sprawling grounds in hues of gold, but the idyllic scene did little to soothe your rising exasperation.

“this isn’t the kitchen,” you muttered to yourself, looking around in disbelief.

. . . BRUCE WAYNE !

meanwhile, bruce was beginning to notice your absence. he’d glanced at the clock more than once, each glance sending a ripple of unease through him. you’d left nearly an hour ago, and the mansion, while vast, wasn’t that confusing—well, not to him, at least.

setting down his pen, he leaned back in his chair, a faint crease forming between his brows. he told himself not to worry. you were probably fine. maybe you’d gotten distracted by something or decided to take a walk. but after another five minutes of no sign of you, his patience wore thin. where were you?

he stood abruptly, striding out of the study and calling your name as he began his search for you. his footsteps echoed through the hallways, and as each empty room passed, his worry grew.

“couldn’t have gone far,” the batman muttered to himself, though his mind raced with increasingly unpleasant scenarios. what if you’d fallen somewhere? what if you were stuck in one of the secret passages? scared, alone, with no way to return to him? yeahhh, that frightened him just right.

his search eventually led him outside, where he spotted you—utterly unharmed, but clearly annoyed as you stood in the middle of the garden, hands on your hips, muttering something he couldn’t hear.

“there you are,” bruce called, his voice a mix of relief and exasperation as he hurried toward you.

you turned, startled, but your expression softened when you saw him. “oh, hey. what’s up?”

“what’s up?” he repeated, stopping in front of you with a look that was both amused and incredulous. “you’ve been gone for an hour. i thought something happened to you.”

“oh,” you said sheepishly, glancing around. the time didn’t mean anything out here. “i got . . . a little lost.”

“a little?” his lips twitched, fighting a smile as he took in your surroundings. “you’re in the gardens. weren’t you looking for the kitchen?”

“i was!” you insisted, throwing your hands up in defeat. “but somewhere between the portrait gallery and the second staircase, i made a wrong turn, and well, here we are.”

bruce shook his head, his expression softening as he reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “you could’ve called me, you know.”

“i didn’t want to bother you,” you admitted. “besides, i thought i could figure it out on my own.”

he sighed, his thumb brushing lightly against your temple in an affectionate gesture. “you’re never a bother. next time, call me. or alfred. i don’t like the idea of you wandering around this house like it’s a corn maze.”

. . . DICK GRAYSON !

you had zero sense of direction.

inside the manor, dick was finishing up his workout when he realized something was off. you weren’t in the gym with him. you weren’t in the living room, the library, or even his old room you two used whenever you decided to spend the night in the manor.

initially, he wasn’t too worried about your well-being. it wasn’t uncommon for you to explore the manor and its grounds when he was busy. but after twenty minutes of calling your name and finding no sign of you, his easygoing demeanor shifted into mild panic. it was like you’ve been swallowed by the ground, no traces or proof that you were here.

“maybe the kitchen,” he muttered to himself, retracing the path he thought you’d take. but the kitchen was empty, the dining room too.

“alfred?” dick called out, jogging into the study. “have you seen [name]?”

alfred, ever calm and composed, shook his head. “not recently, master grayson. though if [name] was attempting to navigate the manor alone . . .”

“don’t remind me,” he groaned, running a hand through his hair. he knew you had a tendency to get lost—easily—but this was next level. his mind raced through the possibilities. were you stuck somewhere? had you wandered into one of the less-used wings? where could he find you?

finally, on a hunch, he headed outside, his heart skipping a beat when he spotted you standing near the fountain, arms crossed, glaring at the house like it had personally offended you ( and let’s be real, it kinda did ).

“there you are!” his loud voice carried across the lawn as he jogged over.

you turned at the sound of his voice, relief washing over your face. “dick! thank god. i thought i’d end up living out here.”

he stopped in front of you, hands on his hips, catching his breath. “do you have any idea how long i’ve been looking for you? you’ve been gone for an hour.”

“it hasn’t been an hour,” you countered, though you glanced at your phone and winced. “. . . ‘kay, maybe close to an hour.”

“what happened?” he asked, his exasperation softened by the amused smile creeping onto his face. as much as he was worried sick about you for the past half an hour, he wouldn’t miss the opportunity to tease you relentlessly after he made sure you’re more than okay.

“i was trying to find the kitchen, and then one wrong turn led to another, and somehow . . . you gestured at the sprawling green around you. “ . . . here i am.”

he pinched the bridge of his nose, torn between laughing and pulling you into a hug. “you do realize you could’ve called me, right?”

“i didn’t want to interrupt your workout,” you said sheepishly. “plus, i thought I could figure it out on my own.”

dick shook his head, stepping closer and resting his hands on your shoulders. “you’re something else, you know that?”

“hey, at least i didn’t wander into the batcave this time.”

“don’t remind me.” he chuckled, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “next time, just call me, okay? you’re too important to go missing for an hour without me knowing where you are.”

as you walked back together, you couldn’t help but feel a little grateful for your terrible sense of direction. after all, it gave dick another excuse to keep you close—and he wasn’t about to complain.

. . . JASON TODD !

it should have been simple—just follow the directions your boyfriend had given you: down the hall, past the grandfather clock, first left. there’s the kitchen.

easy, right?

wrong.

somewhere after the grandfather clock, you’d gotten distracted by a painting. then a turn you thought was the right one deposited you into a hallway filled with suits of armor, which definitely didn’t lead to the kitchen.

“okay,” you muttered to yourself, looking around for any sign of familiarity. “i can figure this out.”

spoiler: you couldn’t.

what started as a confident stride through the manor became a journey through increasingly unfamiliar territory. at one point, you ended up in a library you were pretty sure wasn’t the main one, and at another, you swore you saw the same suit of armor twice.

then, somehow, you found a door leading outside.

now standing in the middle of the garden, you let out an exasperated sigh. “this is fine. completely fine. i’ll just . . . enjoy the fresh air until i figure out where i am.”

back in the manor, jason was starting to get worried.

you’d been gone for nearly an hour. the kitchen wasn’t that far, and he’d walked you through the directions at least three times. at first, he figured you’d gotten distracted by something, but after calling your name a few times and not getting a response, a knot of unease formed in his chest.

“babe?” he called, heading toward the kitchen himself. it was empty.

a quick search of the living room and study turned up nothing, and his patience wore thinner with each passing minute. “you’ve gotta be kidding me,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair as he checked another hallway.

by the time he reached the garden door and spotted you standing near a hedge, staring at a rosebush like it held all the answers to the universe, he was caught somewhere between relief and exasperation.

“there you are,” he called out, striding toward you.

you turned, startled by his voice, before breaking into a sheepish grin. “oh, hey, jay. what’s up?”

“what’s up?” he echoed, stopping in front of you with a look of disbelief on his face. “you’ve been gone for an hour. i thought you fell into one of bruce’s secret tunnels or something.”

“i didn’t mean to!” you protested, gesturing at the manor. “i got lost. again.” not an unfamiliar situation for you.

he pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a long sigh. “how do you even manage to get lost this badly? the kitchen is literally the easiest room to find.”

“well, not for me,” you replied, crossing your arms and letting your eyes set into a light glare. “this place is like a maze. and in my defense, your directions weren’t super clear, either.”

he raised an eyebrow. “not super clear? i told you to turn left after the grandfather clock.”

“okay, but what about the painting next to it? was i supposed to pass that too?”

“you don’t take directions like suggestions,” he said, a teasing smirk creeping onto his lips despite his earlier frustration.

you huffed, but before you could respond, he pulled you into his arms, holding you close.

“seriously, though,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “i was starting to think something happened to you.”

your expression softened as you wrapped your arms around him. “i didn’t mean to worry you. i just . . . have the worst sense of direction.”

“yeah, no kidding,” he teased, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “but next time, just call me, okay? you’ve got my number, and i’ve got a built-in gps for this place.”

. . . TIM DRAKE !

TIM HAD GIVEN YOU DIRECTIONS to the kitchen before he went to work in the cave, but between the hallways that seemed to stretch forever and the identical-looking doors, you were hopelessly lost within five minutes.

“okay, past the piano room, and then . . . left? or was it right?” you muttered to yourself, trying to backtrack.

your stomach grumbled in protest. the kitchen wasn’t supposed to be far, but every turn you made seemed to lead to another unfamiliar wing of the manor. you wandered through a corridor lined with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the expansive grounds. one window was cracked open, and a soft breeze tugged at your curiosity.

“maybe the kitchen has a garden entrance?” you reasoned aloud, stepping through the side door.

before you knew it, you were outside, standing near a hedge maze that seemed like a metaphor for your situation at that moment. “great,” you muttered. “lost inside and outside. perfect.”

you plopped down on a bench near the maze entrance, deciding to take a breather before figuring out how to get back. the breeze was nice, the gardens were peaceful . . . maybe this wasn’t so bad.

meanwhile, in the batcave, tim was focused on a particularly stubborn piece of tech when he glanced at the clock and realized you’d been gone for an hour.

an hour. to get to the kitchen.

at first, he brushed it off, assuming you’d gotten distracted by something—probably a painting or one of the endless wayne family heirlooms like you always did.

but when you didn’t answer his texts and a quick check of the kitchen proved empty, he started to worry.

“alfred?” he called, jogging up the stairs. “have you seen [name]?”

“not since they went looking for the kitchen,” the old butler replied, though there was a faint twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

tim sighed, running a hand through his hair. “they’re lost again, aren’t they?”

“quite possibly.”

your boyfriend set off to search, his worry growing as he checked room after room. the library, the sitting room, even the game room—all empty. “where are you?” he muttered, glancing out a window just in time to spot a familiar figure sitting outside near the hedge maze. relief washed over him, quickly followed by exasperation.

he made his way outside, his footsteps crunching on the gravel path as he approached. “there you are,” he said, his voice a mix of relief and incredulity.

you looked up, startled, and then gave him a sheepish smile. “hey, tim. uh, fancy seeing you here?”

“you’ve been gone for an hour. the kitchen is inside the house.”

“i know,” you said quickly, standing up. “but i got a little turned around, and then j thought maybe there was an outside entrance, and—”

“and you ended up here,” he finished for you, gesturing to the hedge maze. “why didn’t you call me?”

“i didn’t want to bother you,” you admitted, your voice small.

he sighed, stepping closer and resting his hands on your shoulders. “you’re never bothering me. especially not when you’re wandering around like a lost puppy.”

“hey!” you protested, though you couldn’t help but smile at the affectionate teasing in his tone.

tim shook his head, a soft grin tugging at his lips. “come on, let’s get you back inside before you decide to explore the maze and I have to send out a search party.”

[aenramsden]

The following is not my idea; it was the original brainchild of a friend of mine named Omicron, with help from various others including EarthScorpion, TenfoldShields, @havocfett and ShintheNinja:

So, you know what I want to do one day? Run (or play in) a D&D campaign in which the Big Bad Super Dragon that is fuckoff ancient and unfathomably powerful and whose actions have shaped history and bent the course of nations and had repercussions on the whole culture and society in the region where it's set; the Bonus Special Boss for some endgame optional quest after you defeat the direct BBEG and win the campaign...

... is a white dragon.

To explain this for people not deep into 5e monster lore; D&D dragons are sapient beings, and known for their instincts and tendencies, and whenever you meet an big evil dragon that's really old it's usually this ancient creature of terrible intellect Smaug-ing it up all over the place.

Except white dragons are fucking stupid. Like, they're still capable of speech and thought! They're just… feral, hungry morons. And you almost never see them portrayed as ancient wyrms for that reason; they lack majesty. Critical Role did it, yes, but even then, Vorugal is explicitly the most bestial member of the Chroma Conclave, and the others are the more intelligent planners and long-term threats. An ancient white as a nation-defining endboss, though; not a thug for a smarter master but as the strongest and biggest threat around is just not the sort of thing you tend to see.

Adventurers: "Oh wise Therunax the Munificent, gold dragon of Law and Good, what can you tell us adventurers of the evil dragons which rule this land?" Therunax the Munificent, 500-year old Gold Dragon: "Good adventurers, know this: this land is torn apart by the evil of Tiamat's spawn. The eastern marches are the dwelling of Furinar the Plague-Bringer, black dragoness whose hoard is a thousand sicknesses contained in the body of her tributes. The southern volcanic mountains are the roosting of Angrar the Wrathful, the fiery red dragon, who brings magmatic fury on all who do not worship him. And the northern peaks are home to Face-Biter Mike, the oldest and most powerful of all, of whom I dread to speak." Adventurers: "F-Face-Biter Mike???" Therunax: "Oh yes, verily indeed; two thousand years has Mike lived, and his eyes have seen the rise and fall of five empires, and a hundred and score champions have sought to slay him; and each and every one he bit their fucking face off."

Like... I want to see a campaign where Face-Biter Mike is genuinely the most powerful dragon in the region, if not the entire world. Where sometimes he descends on a city to grab himself some meatsicles and causes a localised ice age by the beat of his vast wings and the frigid wastes of his mighty breath and by the chill his mere presence brings to everything for miles around him, and everyone just has to deal with that for the next decade. An entire era of civilization comes to an end, an empire falls, tens of thousands starve in the winter, all because Mike wanted a snack. Where his hoard is an unfathomably vast mass of jewels and artefacts and precious stones frozen in an unmelting glacier, except he is a nouveau riche idiot with fuckall appraising skill, so half of his hoard is coloured glass or worthless knicknacks, and he doesn't give a shit.

"Your Draconic Majesty, this crown is… It's pyrite." "Yeah, well, it's brighter than this dusty old thing made out of real gold, it's my new best treasure. Throw the other one away." "…throw the Burnished Tiara of Bahamut, forged in the First Age of Man, your majesty???" "See? I can't even remember its fucking name." "But my lord-" "DO YOU WANT TO BE A MEATSICLE" "…I will fetch a trash bag, your majesty."

But at the same time, he's not stupid, he's just simple, and in some ways that makes him more dangerous than the usual kinds of scheming Big Bad you see in these things, while simultaneously justifying why Orcus remains on his throne (because he's lazy). Face-Biter Mike doesn't make convoluted plans or run labyrinthine schemes; he just has a talent for violence and a pragmatic, straightforward approach to turning any kind of problem he struggles with into a problem that can be resolved with violence. Face-Biter Mike has one talent and it's horrifying physical power, so his approach to any complicated problem is "how do I turn this into a situation where I can fly down and bite this dude's face off?" with absolutely no regard for the collateral damage or consequences of doing so, because those are also things he can turn into face-bitable problems.

"My lord, the dread necromancer Nikodemion is using his undead dragons to attempt a conquest of the eastern kingdom; his agents are everywhere, his plans are centuries in the making, what can we do against such a mastermind?" "I'm gonna fly over the capital and eat the eastern king." "M-my lord???" "The kingdom will collapse without leadership, Nikodemion will win his war, he'll take the capital and crown himself king." "And that helps us… how?" "Once he does I'll fly over to the capital and eat him." "…" "This is why you advisors all suck. You're all about convoluted plans when the only thing I need to win is know where my enemy is so I can fly down there and eat him. Stop overthinking things."

And, like, yeah, it's a simplistic plan, but when you're several hundred tons of nigh invincible magical death, you don't need brilliant strategy; the smartest way to win a war is, in this case, the simplest. He's not even all that clever at figuring out the consequences of face-biting, he's just memorised the common consequences of doing so.

(If you want to go all in on Mike being the major mover and shaker in the region; Nikodemion only even has a pet zombie dragon because Mike killed the last dragon to show up and contest his turf but wasn't going to eat a whole dragon by himself. Nikodemion got to stick around and amass that much power because Mike ate the Hero of the Realm while he was adventuring because he figured the Hero would come and try to slay him at some point. Nikodemion got started because Mike ate half the leadership of the Academy of High Magic who typically keep evil wizards and necromancers in check. And then eventually this product of Mike's casual, careless actions becomes a big enough problem to bother Mike personally, at which point Mike eats him too.)

He doesn't even really fail upwards, either! He is regularly reduced to nothing but the glacier he stores his hoard in, but he's Face-Biter Mike so nobody wants to commit to actually ending him forever lest they get their faces bitten the fuck off. And his hoard's in a huge-ass magical glacier so nobody can get to it without running into the Invading Russia problem; it's hard to wage war when everything is frozen over and you're both starving and freezing to death. Once he's been beaten back to his central lair and has lost all his holdings… I mean, he's still a problem, but he's a far away problem. So he loses his assets and spends a decade in a cave brooding it up while no one dares risk trying to actually kill him, and then a generation or two later he flies down to a kobold colony and gets himself some minions, or a dragon-worshipping mage comes to offer his service against a pittance from his hoard, or a particularly stupid cult starts thinking they can get in good with him and leech off his power, and then he's (hah) snowballing again.

He's also got a very… well, the kind of weird Charisma that Grineer bosses do. Like Sargas Ruk, who's a malformed idiot, but oddly charismatic. As he's a dragon, that makes him a natural sorcerer and thus Charisma is all he needs. He's pretty relaxed when he isn't in a face-biting mood, and he's kind of infectiously optimistic, because his life has taught him that he will succeed as long as he perseveres. So he just believes it.

And sometimes that's really refreshing to work for, as an evil minion of darkness! It's like, you're coming to your Evil Dragon Lord with terrible news; you've worked for evil overlords before, you know how it goes. You fall to your knees weeping and tell him that you've failed to seize the incredibly powerful magical artifact, you think your life is forfeit. And he's just like "Eh, it's okay, these things are all over the place. Better luck next time. You remember the guy who took it, right?" and you go "Y-yes, oh great lord!" and he's like "Sweet tell me his name later and I'll grab it" and then eats a frozen adventurer he kept around as a snack.

His followers tend to quickly realise that if they fail him, bringing some temple's silver or a sack of brightly coloured beads or a couple of dead cows means he's super forgiving because at least he's got something out of the day. "Oh boy, cows? It's been forever since I had those, ever since the Orc Steppe Nomads took over it's all about goats and onions. Today is a good day." He's a master of delegation by dragon standards, in that he just tells you "Just go get it done, I don't care how" rather than micromanaging you and constantly appearing as an image in smoke or taking over your campfire.

The key part of Face-Biter Mike as a threat to players (because he exists in the context of a D&D campaign) works well in that you can rely on several known quantities:

He will not pull sneaky shit that you don't see coming

He will not make convoluted plans that you must work to unravel

He will consistently attempt to come down and wreck you personally if he finds the opportunity and you are a threat to him

You cannot fight him head-on (at least not until the last leg of the campaign, and ideally as an optional boss rather than mandatory)

So as long as you are good at staying under the radar, thwarting his minions (whom he gives broad orders to with almost zero oversight) and not putting yourself in face-biting range, you can deal with him. If you succeed, it won't be the first time Mike has lost his assets and had to go brood in his glacier for a decade or two before rebuilding. It happens; he can deal with it. And that's a win for you within the context of a single campaign, so take the win.

And if you're not going to use him as an enemy, he works pretty well as a quest-giver, too! The costs for failure are obvious and straightforward, and "do whatever, just get me mine" means that players have a lot of freedom in accomplishing their goals. As far as evil overlords go he is actually one of the least dangerous to work for; his pride is relatively subdued by draconic standards, his goals are simple and typically achievable, and he is easily pleased.

(There's also a good chance he is the forefather of any draconic sorcerer in your party, because Face Biter Mike is a deadbeat dad.)

[atyourmerci]

Gold wing, angel

meanloser!ellie X classpresident!r

CW: smut, MDNI, dom!ellie, sub!reader, v angsty, slight bondage, cunt slapping, fingering, cunnilingus, edging, orgasm denial, ruined orgasms, lite angel symbolism, no y/n, no pdor

A/N: actually surprised I finished a req (you all applaud me) this is inspired by “GOLDWING” by billie.

Ellie was a sick drug. Something not to be desired. She was the epitome of the allure of indulging in something you shouldn’t have, shouldn’t know, try at very least.

How did she get this way- who made her like this? Anger taken out through bodies of admission in an act of revenge. Taking back what was taken from her. Her pride regained by your submission.

You could have never fathomed the aggression the loser from AP American literature could obtain. You thought she’d beg on her knees for you. Worship your every move, starstruck by even getting the chance to touch you.

But she didn’t. She reveled in taking you off your high horse, got off on watching the student body president, proper and witty, utterly depraved by getting her cunt abused by a fucking moron.

-

98- A fucking 98, you did not deserve a 98 on the midterm paper. Your work was frankly sloppy, lacked comprehension. It made you ill knowing you were turning in something so lackluster with your name slapped across the front so proudly. The only thing that made you sicker was the thought of receiving special treatment- you had an image to uphold. You got to your position in this society from your own intellect, blood, sweat, tears and all. Kissing ass for a fucking 98 wasn’t in the cards.

The class began filing out as usual, like wild animals in a pack, shiny white teeth like daggers. Meshing together in their navy steam-pressed blazers, hair like defining fur, the only indication of individuality.

Except for her, sticking out like a sore thumb, the great big elephant in the room. Breaking many rulebook codes with her black nail polish, unkept hair to the standard policy, her white polo unbuttoned at the top two buttons that revealed her freckled chest. Despite her all around degenerate persona, she was irritatingly smart. Maybe if she had an ounce of charm she’d take your place.

With the rest of the class out of sight she stares at you. Not cutting off eye contact you both rise from your chairs you practically run to Mr. Stevens desk. The slap of two papers hit his desk, a 98 and a 90 shining in red sharpie ink on the white papers.

“I don’t deserve this,” comes out in unison, the sincerity in your voice cut open by the harshness in Ellies.

“Please one at a time, ladies.”

Before the words can even escape your lips Ellie rages, “I worked my ass off on this. I deserve better than a 90,” she spits out. “I know you can do better than this Ms.Williams, I expect more from you.” Ellie scoffs back at him, “this is bullshit,” she muffles but continues standing at his desk.

Mr.Stevens nods his head in your direction for your speech, you glance at Ellie with her arms now crossed, awaiting your protest. You brush off her insistence on staying and begin, “Mr.Stevens, I appreciate your grading and understanding my agenda for the midterm, but objectively this is sub-pare work. I think you may have given me someone else’s grade… maybe you mixed up my grade with Ms.Williams.”

He doesn’t skip a beat, “I don’t mix up grades, you earned it. Now if you two will excuse me,” Mr.Stevens directs you both to the now empty hallway.

Ellie storms out with rage, cheeks flushed and lips pressed closely, you follow behind. “‘ms Williams’? the fuck was that?” Ellie presses in a scowl, words echoed in a bare hallway.

“Look I read your paper, I think you deserved better,” you retort in an attempt to soothe her. You cant seem to keep your eyes off her cupids bow, the contrast of soft pink lips against her tired skin.

“Oh thats fucking rich coming from ‘ms I don’t deserve my grade’ you’re pathetic,” she points, eyes thinning.

“Maybe if you weren’t such a bitch more people would like you,” you attempt, heat rising in your own cheeks, heart thumping roughly in your chest.

Ellies cruel disposition contorts into a grin, inching closer to your body, “you’re fucking him aren’t you? Ms. perfect sucking off the teach so she can stay on top?”

A power so foreign comes before you, using force to push your wrist into her chest, though she doesn’t budge, “shut up.”

She returns your aggression, pushing your bodies flesh up against the brick wall behind you, ripping the breath from your lungs. Your hands instinctively grip into her shirt. Her eyes are wild, as if she was surprised she’d taken it this far, or rather puzzled by the fact you haven’t broken your grasp.

You both pant from the intrusion, glaring, waiting- waiting for someone to cave.

Like a dog on a leash you dragged her in, pulling her by her fabric until her lips met your own. A depraved act, met with open mouths and wandering tongues. Hatred in its finest form, digging into her as if you’d ever thought of it. A subconscious desire pulled from the depths of your cravings.

Before true indulgence she pushes you off, taking a moment to look at your hazy disposition, drunk on delinquency, “don’t ever do that again,” she pants out. Taking her thumb she wipes the saliva from your bottom lip and takes off without your response.

-

Time after time you went back. You told yourself you’d stop, never talk to her again. Yet there the keys were in the ignition, a path that you knew like the back of your hand. Leading, controlling your own fate of defacement.

“Can you please just open the door,” you plead on her doorsteps, mind and body corrupted- to only be pleased by the mental games, the destruction in forms of submitting to her.

Strung up like an old doll long forgotten in the attic, bound wrist behind your back and ankles tied to the head of her bed, vulnerable and needy.

“What now? Use your fucking words,” Ellie remarks before spitting on your neglected cunt. Your body winces at the sensation of the hot liquid dripping down the pulsing flesh, “please I promise I’ll do whatever you ask.”

She hovers over your squirming body, carful to not give you the satisfaction. Gripping your jaw in her hand, “do you ever pay attention to what I tell you? You don’t deserve to come,” cocking her free hand back to lay a purposeful slap to your slick folds causing you to scream out from the blissful pain.

She lays another one into the already beat red skin, a cruel grin growing on her lips as she hears you enjoying it. “You’d let me do anything, wouldn’t you?” she asks glaring at your tucked in lip, eyes glossy. You nod back at her, signaling your approval for using your body as her personal vessel.

Somehow it was good enough for her, dropping down to your perked nipples and sucking it into her teeth as she uses her hand to cover your eyes. You’d learn very early on that you weren’t allowed to watch her use her mouth on you. In the odd occasion she’d let you have your cunt in her mouth shed have your face shoved in the sheets while she took you from behind. She never told you why- and you didn’t dare ask.

Your wrist wriggle behind your back as your chest arches into her mouth, hot and wet. You obsess over what it would feel like on your mouth again, most nights were spent only thinking of her mouth- foreign, an impenetrable fortress. You began to chase the chance of the feeling her again.

You feel as her mouth comes off of the swollen bud as she removes the hand on your eyes, “don’t look,” she says with no threat in her tone, but you don’t risk crossing her.

You shut your exhausted eyes, dropping your head back as you feel her wrap her arms around the meat of your thighs. She drags an antagonizing strip up your slit, jolting your body into the mouth.

She goes as slow as possible, providing as little pressure she can muster up to the swell of your clit, but from her slaps it wouldn’t take much. Your body akin to a fish gasping for air out of water, squirming under her touch. She digs her fingers deep into the flesh as a warning.

“If you ever want to come again Id advise you behave.”

“P-please,” you plead to her, legs shaking as you whimper her name over and over like a prayer.

“I said no, i swear to god I’ll ruin every fucking orgasm,” sliding her two fingers into your clenching hole she drives slow pumps as she returns her mouth to your clit.

Your face contorts in concentration, attempting to hold yourself back but you could only be held off for so long.

“Ellie- Ellie!” bursting at the seams, your body detesting her rules, letting the hot white cum coat her fingers. She only fucks you harder, faster through your orgasm. This is a game you weren’t to win, rather to allow herself to revel in your pain. She got off on destroying your mind, making it to where you can only be pleased by her punishment.

Ellie kept her word, working you up on the edge of finishing and stopping completely, laughing at your pathetic state, crying and begging to come.

Clipping your wings, she hung them on her walls as a trophy. Pleas echoing her room, come splattering her sheets, your lips chapped and neglected.

[the-poke-nebula]

Each Muse and their Region of Origin (Under cut bc length)

Born in Hoenn, has ancient Hisuian roots.

Born in Galar, has ancient Hisuian roots.

Kantonian

Unovan on their mothers’ side, Hoennian on their fathers’

Will eventually be born in what is modern day Sinnoh. Country barriers are tough when you live in a Nuclear Wasteland.

Galarian

Half-Galarian, Half Eridian-Draconid

ALL THESE MOTHERFUCKERS PUREBLOOD ERIDIAN DRACONIDS FROM TAIRNEANACH

Luuwan (Egypt Fanregion)

Johtoan

Kantonian

Hoennian

Unovan

Uplyrian (Fanregion- no discernible location.)

Unovan

Uplyrian

Zenturian (Fanregion- no discernible real-world location)

Rebornian

Kantonian

Not even they fucking know-

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

On the subject of Bruce Wayne getting married: why not both? They have a marriage of convenience at Vegas first, but once they're deep in their feels, they have another more intimate and meaningful ceremony officiated by Alfred

UGH anon i could not agree more

Warnings: Marriage of convenience; fluff

Summary: It was supposed to be easy—a year-long marriage of convenience to keep Bruce's name clean; cash for your time spent, for your name and likeness splashed all over the papers, run through the mud by the tabloids.

You'd been in a tough spot; you were willing to risk it.

But you couldn't have banked on falling in love with Bruce, or on Bruce falling in love with you.

"We should get married."

It's mumbled against your temple mid-nuzzle, and chased by the warm pressure of Bruce drawing you impossibly closer. Your brow furrows even as your lips pull into a smile, your head tipping back to get a better look at Bruce in the dim bedroom light.

"We are married," You remind him.

"Properly," He insists.

You have to consider it for a moment.

Your first wedding hadn't exactly been a grand affair.

You still remember the roiling nerves as you'd pulled up to the drive-through chapel in Vegas. You'd known that the press would catch up with you in the next twelve hours; that every woman that had ever shown an outward interest in Bruce, so much as breathed in his direction, would come out of the woodwork; that you were likely expected to ignore his infidelity for the year of your contract.

But Bruce had held your hand tightly, come home faithfully. Your physical attraction had only grown as your emotional attachment had flourished. While Bruce's nights could be late, you never had a hint of infidelity from the press, or from Bruce himself.

You knew that you were in far too deep the first time the two of you had slept together. You hadn't been able to take your eyes off of him—even as you'd cum, your gaze had been glued to him, watching his eyes slip shut as his jaw dropped, your name and a murmur of, "Fuck," mingling as his hips stuttered.

It was supposed to be easy—a year-long marriage of convenience to keep Bruce's name clean; cash for your time spent, for your name and likeness splashed all over the papers, run through the mud by the tabloids.

You'd been in a tough spot; you were willing to risk it.

But you couldn't have banked on falling in love with Bruce, or on Bruce falling in love with you.

For better or worse, in sickness and in health, sometimes it feels too damn good to be true. Sometimes you wake up in Bruce's arms, and you just keep still and hold your breath. You revel in the warmth and comfort of his arms, and just feel the rise and fall of his chest against your back.

You've known that the end of your contract was nearing, but Bruce hasn't mentioned it.

Not until now.

"Properly?" You question, fingers skimming along his side. Bruce hums, hands sliding over your shoulder. "Was there some hitch with the first license that I don't know about?"

Bruce huffs softly, and your stomach flips as his hand slips up to your neck, grasping at the base and tipping your head up. You meet his eyes steadily, searching his gaze as his thumb skims along your nape.

"Go ahead," He urges, "Lie."

"Excuse me?"

"Tell me you don't feel this, too."

"Bruce," You huff, pushing yourself up, drawing back from his arms. It's hardly a few seconds before Bruce is up behind you.

"Tell me."

"It's just—We have a contract."

"Fuck the contract."

"You're speaking in a lot of absolutes."

"...Look at me."

You hesitate, gaze lingering on the gold band on your wing finger before you tip your head back toward him. You let your eyes sweep and settle on his chest, his shoulder. It's safe there.

But Bruce has never been one to go the safe route. He reaches up, curling his fingers tenderly around your jaw, tipping your chin up and forcing your eye contact.

"If you want out, tell me right now," He insists. "Nothing from the arrangement will change. We'll divorce, you'll have your stipend...Or," He leans into it softly, "We keep on. Nothing changes...Alfred will get ordained—"

"Bruce!"

"—And marry us properly...He should've been there the first time."

You frown as his face shifts, his eyes dropping to your lap. You hadn't known then, but you know now how dear Alfred is to Bruce, and Bruce is to Alfred. You hadn't known when you'd agreed to the contract, but it's become crystal clear to you now.

You push a quiet sigh through your nose, reaching up and taking hold of one of Bruce's hands in both of yours.

"What if you change your mind?" You ply softly.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean...This was supposed to be temporary, Bruce. We had a deal—we have paperwork, for fuckssake."

"I'll add a non-compete."

"Be serious—"

"I am being serious." Bruce intertwines your fingers, raising your hand and pressing a kiss to your ring. "Not about the non-compete, but...About Alfred. About getting married—and meaning it, this time."

You consider for a few moments before you lean against Bruce, sliding your thumb along his knuckles as you consider.

"The contract should be retooled into a prenup."

"We don't need a prenup."

"Now you're being ridiculous."

"No," Bruce insists. "I'm being decisive. I know what I'm doing."

"What if you're wrong about me?"

"I'm not."

"Are you always so full of yourself?"

"Sure of myself."

"Tomato, to-mah-to."

"Are you gonna marry me again or not, Mrs. Wayne?"

You grin, tipping your head back to press a gentle kiss to Bruce's jaw.

"Again and again, Mr. Wayne."

Tag list:

@missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @amneris21 ; 

@ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ;  @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; 

@millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa​ ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices​ ; 

@thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; 

@winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989 ; @missswriter ; @nominalnebula

[ninoxwof]

Icicle the Icewing

[Image Description: A digital drawing of an Icewing dragon from Wings of Fire named Icicle. She is a powder blue with a white pointed and ridged underbelly, and a midtoned blue featured through her upper arms, shoulders, snout, tail, knees and face similar to collie markings. Her fur is spikey and pointy like icicles and her wings are feathered with points like the shape of snowflakes. Her white ice like horns and spines are also long and pointed like icicles and she has saber teeth, two long whiskers, and a spikey beard. Her hooves and crystal like tail spikes are also white and glisten like ice. She has bloodshot anxious and tired blue eyes and she is laying down with her head raised as though she's having trouble relaxing. /.End ID]

[whensecretsrise]

The monster adoption fair was like nothing you could imagine. It was massive. Feeling as though it stretched on forever. Creatures ranged from mundane to outlandish. Rows upon rows of were-creatures- be it wolves or cats, naga or foxes or great feathered birds and more- all nestled safely within their kennels. A sign directed the way to where the centaurs, minotaurs, and satyrs were kept. You barely gave it a glance before turning down the next row. Tanks held merfolk and sirens, some muzzled for safety, and a number of amphibian and reptilian creatures. One tank in particular seemed impossibly large. The water in it so dark you weren't sure what could be inside. That was until a great suckered tentacle brushed along the glass.

Your heart kicked against your chest at the sight of it. Half primal fear, but the other half. Well, there wasn't any use dwelling on it. There was no way you could imagine what caring for something that large would take.

You wander deeper, giddiness welling inside you. The background checks you had to pass, the rounds and rounds of interviews you had to go through to prove that you would be a responsible owner. All of that and more was worth it to be allowed entry into the fair.

There was a temperature change in the next room you entered. Everything was warm enough that you were already starting to sweat before taking even a dozen steps inside. Demons, incubi, succubi, and plenty more beyond that all stared out at you through their glassed enclosures. The glass was thick enough that you couldn't hear their words, but the way they moved, so languid and sensual, had a blush rising to your cheeks that had nothing to do with the heat. The temperature slowly lowered as you approached the far end of the room. The creatures in those enclosures were more insectoid. Joints that seemed to bend the wrong way, appendages stranger than any you'd seen before. You couldn't help but pause to watch their twitching movements and how they traversed the structures in their enclosures. Beyond those lay more familiar creatures. Giant bees. Wasps with their wings beating so fast you were sure you could hear their buzz. Moths that had left a fine coat of powder from their wings on the glass. After a moment of awe you move on.

The temperature in the next room was considerably lower. A much welcomed respite from the heat. More tanks and enclosures filled this room. Your heart began to speed for you had made it to the room you had come for. Slimes of all sizes and colors pressed against their glass. There were plenty of humanoid slimes with big, soft eyes and coy smiles, but that wasn't what you wanted. You brushed past the larger tanks with barely more than a second glance. A smaller companion was what you were seeking. Something that wouldn't take up too much space, but was easy to cuddle with if you wanted.

You carefully inspected a number of tanks. Some of the slimes gave off a faint glow while others shimmered under the lights. There were even some that seemed to change from one color to another as they moved. Each one had a small description plate in front of it detailing habits, temperament, enrichment suggestions, and more besides. The wiggling masses within regarded you with varying levels of interest.

One, however, immediately perked up when you approached it. It was a beautiful pearl white that sparkled with golds and pinks. It swarmed against its glass, pressing itself as close to you as it could manage. Tentatively you placed a gentle hand against the glass. Doing so wasn't allowed, but you couldn't help the way it was drawn to you. A trickle of warmth passed through the glass and a wave of calm washed over you. This was it. The one you would take home had claimed you for its own.

You quickly scribbled down your guest number on the provided card, and took a copy of the creature's location card. The slime remind pressed against the glass as if watching you work. It was only when you began to walk away did it shrink back down to the bottom of its container.

It took a while to locate a staff member among the vast network of rooms and the other visitors of the fair.

"I would like to adopt this creature please," you said as you handed over the slime's identification card.

The worker scanned the card before giving you a sympathetic look. "Are you sure about this? This particular slime has been bounced back to us at least three times. It's very temperamental."

You recall the wave of calm you had felt when you were only separated from it by the glass beneath your hand. "I'm certain."

"Have you ever had a slime before?"

"No," you admitted, "I've never had the money to adopt one. I've been saving for years though, and I'm certain this is the slime I want."

"You might want to start with an easier one first. You being brand new to this and all. I can almost guarantee that this one will still be around if you decide to go looking later."

You shake your head. "I appreciate the advice, but I'm set on this one," you say firmly.

"Suit yourself," the worker shrugs. "Not like the poor thing isn't used to coming back here."

"I'm going to take great care of it. I've got my apartment set up and everything."

"Alrighty then. You can go ahead and head up front to pay. I'll have your slime brought up by the time you finish." The identification card is handed back to you.

As promised, there was a small, travel sized tank waiting for you after you'd paid and gone through the mandatory speech on slime care. You already knew most of it after years of research, but it did remind you of a few things you seemed to have forgotten.

You carried your new creature out to your car and buckled the tank safely in the front seat.

"Alright little slime, it's me and you now. I'm going to make sure you have a good new life. I'm not going to give up on you like the others." You pat the top of the tank and feel a vibration and a soft noise from the other side of the glass, almost as if the creature was purring.

Back home you carried the case over to the tank you had prepared for it and sat it inside. Only then did you open the travel container so that the slime had a chance to safely explore and get used to its new surroundings. You secured the tank lid and went off to put away the pamphlets that the adoption fair had given you.

When you returned the slime had moved into the big tank. It pressed itself against the glass as though it could sense you.

"Hey there, it looks like you're getting used to your new place. I hope that it’s big enough for you. It'll be a while before I can afford something bigger, but even then I'm not sure it would fit."

The slime vibrated again.

You smile and open the tank to remove the travel container. The slime oozed off of the glass and to the bottom of its tank. You stick your hand back down, fingers brushing affectionately against it. Another purr came from it. This time, the first time you've actually touched it, had it suckling at your fingers. Calmness washed over you again. Your fingertips began to tingle.

"Hey now, what are you doing?" You pull away with a laugh.

The slime follows you up, but releases you once your hand is nearly out of its tank. It sinks back down into a puddle and crawls to a corner as if sulking.

With another laugh you reach both hands down toward it. "Alright, if you're going to be mad about it, I guess I can let you out for a bit. We'll both have a chance to properly meet each other."

It surged upward into your hands. It oozed over the edges of your hands, but retained its overall shape. You carried it over to the couch.

The creature puddled into your lap. Bare seconds had passed before it was sending tendrils out to explore you. It wrapped itself up your arms. Retreated and slid along your neck. It caressed your lips and coated your stomach.

No residue was left in its wake. You had expected needing a full shower after taking it out of its tank, but perhaps not. Calmness had stolen through you, stronger now that the two of you were touching. The soft, lapping movements over your skin lulled you. Before you knew it you were stretching out across the couch, mind hazy with calm. Time passed and your eyes dropped closed. Your slime exploring you had faded into the back of your consciousness.

When it slipped beneath your clothes you barely noticed. Not even when it explored lower, seeking out the warmth between your thighs. By then your body was pliant and wanting. A wanting that stole over you on paws so soft that you couldn't remember not that want. Something secret, just for you. The slime drizzled like honey into your center. So slow and fluid you didn’t register the feeling. No, you existed in a state of such hazy serenity that it was only when the slime began to purr that you clicked back to reality.

The purr sent a jolt through you. A vibration that had your hands clenching into fists on pure instinct. Now you could properly feel the ebb and glide of it within you. Your hazed mind began to clear with your racing heart. Heat bloomed in your cheeks. Seemingly of their own accord, your hips began to rock. The slime began to spread. It filled you in ways it hadn’t before. A moan escapes your mouth. You arch your back, trying desperately to grind on thin air.

The slime moves inside you as if thrusting. Hitting you deep and slow. Even through your first orgasm it doesn't stop. It sent another wave of haze inducing calm washing over you. Keeping you right on the edge. Making sure you felt every millimeter of it. A tendril of slime draws out of you. It spreads to cover your center. The feeling of it sucking at you pulls another orgasm from your pliant body.

It wrings orgasm after orgasm out of you. The state of bliss and arousal is never disrupted for long. It ebbs and flows from orgasm to orgasm until, finally, the slime pulls away. It climbs up your sweat slicked skin to nestle against your chest, purring contentedly.

"Little slime," you whisper, "you and I are going to get along very well."

HAVE YOUR AGE LISTED OR CATCH A BLOCK