#Wardrobe | Fur and Fangs

[compelledcurator]

IGNORE Tag drop <3

[yiiyiiwrites]

❄️ Winter court reader headcanon ❄️

Summary: hailing from the winter court, you’re drawn to one of the acotar men (multiple headcanons, just a brief set for each one)

🔥 Eris

Eris teasing your cute little dark blue embroidered coat lined with fur and two white pom-poms (thinks you are cute which angers you more)

“I think you need cool down autumn Prince.” Used to be said in a way to cool his anger. “Is that a threat?” But you use it for when he’s flustered

Hated each other to begin with, you thought he was too hot headed and he thought you were too detached and cold

“Do I need to warm you up my dear.” When you’re feeling cold

Using your snow manipulation to make snowballs and play fetch with Eris hounds

Gives you a fox for company when he’s not there

Sad that you don’t need your winter coat, but Eris gets a thinner coat for you made exactly like the one from your court

Walks through the forest are your favourite moments, the colourful leaves falling like snowflakes. Watching the hounds leap out of piles of leaves and nudge you closer into Eris’s arms

🦇 Azriel

Tiny snowflakes following around his shadows. Always a part of each other together

You have a pet snow fox that likes to nap on your faux fur hats, which always gets Azriel when he open the wardrobe. Fangs out as it jumps at him, but it’s become a game

Soothing his burns when they itch, the coolness of your hands in his taking his mind of it

He likes going to the winter court with you, which is a lot during the summer when you miss the snow

You got him a fur lined hat and the boys have teased him ever since, but he still wears it

Turning his shadows to ice before they can scurry back to him. Gives you a head start before anything can get back to him

Telling him about the dragons in the winter court mountains, he’s still not sure if you’re being serious or not. His shadows have definitely tried to seek them out whenever he’s in the winter court

He gets you a polar bear teddy after you tell him how much you miss seeing them in your home court

🦊 Lucien

You accidentally killed a garden in the spring court with frost after an argument with him

Charmed his way into your heart, you froze his hand when he first held yours and he hasn’t let you forget about it

“Do I make you melt?” 🫠

Lucien spending most of his time with you in the winter court when he’s not working away

His touch is sometimes too hot “do you burn for me?” You’re used to the cold so it takes a while to get used to it

Going to the human land with Lucien during summer and vowing never to go there again. You wouldn’t listen to him that you didn’t need to wear as many layers

When you’re stressed you turn ice cold, Lucien hugs you tightly to calm you down and warm you up

🦇 Cassian

Cassian’s first meeting with you was him asking about how to construct the best snowball for best impact.

Debates on the best snow Illyrian mountains vs winter court

The story he tells everyone about you finally falling for him. “Heart frozen, can you believe it.”

You are a valuable member of the winter courts army. Which means you get called back to train new recruits and keep up with latest news (cassian likes meeting you at night in your military bunk, makes him feel younger sneaking around)

Knows when he’s pissed you off as the whole house is cold, maybe even some ice trailing down the hallway

Would put a snowflake in a locket so you always have a part of home with you 🥲

The sword you keep beside you is made of ice and each time he’s tried to pick it up, it shatters. You tease him for being too strong, but don’t tell him it’s because your skin runs a lot colder than his

[mrsshabana]

♥CW: None. Pure fluff. Gender neutral reader.

♥AN: I've been wanting to start writing for Shigaraki so here's something small to start. I love mothman Shiggy fics and I had a cute idea, so here's my little contribution.

♥WC: 1,004

This is getting annoying and you’re fed up.

Every time you open your closet, you find your favorite sweaters filled with new holes. How is this even happening? These sweaters are useless in the frigid winter when they are filled with holes. The holes are big too, and there’s only one thing that you can think would have wrecked such havoc on your wardrobe.

You must have a moth infestation.

After buying some moth balls from the local supermarket, you make your way to the closet that night before bed. This should get rid of those pesky moths, you think to yourself.

Opening the closet, you are shocked by the sight before you.

A man with giant wings has your sweater sleeve in his mouth.

His wings are black and white, with an iridescent sheen that lays atop a delicate pattern. Feathery antennae stick out of his shoulder length, white hair. He has a fluffy white ruff around his neck, matching his hair. Ruby red eyes stare back at you with a frown. 

With a squeal you throw the mothballs at him.

He hisses, showing off his fangs in an attempt to scare you away. The scent wafting off the mothballs irritate him, so he simply picks them up and throws them back at you. Returning back to his meal.

“Stop it!” you shout, snatching your favorite sweater from his grasp, “This is my favorite sweater!” You’re more concerned about saving your sweater than you are about the literal mothman in your closet.

He squints his eyes at you, “Hungry,” he growls.

Getting a better look at him, he does seem sickly. Very thin and pale, with scars scattered across his skin. He’s wearing tattered pants and no shirt, the sight of his ribs show you just how hungry he is.

You start to feel bad for the poor creature, not enough to sacrifice your sweaters though. “Stay here, I’ll get you some food.”

He waits patiently while you go to the kitchen to fetch him something to eat. He has sharp teeth so you assume he eats meat, grabbing a raw chuck roast from your fridge. Bringing it back to your room on a plate.

“Here,” you sit across from him, offering him the plate. “You can eat this.”

He crawls towards you, cautiously approaching. Sniffing the meal you hold out to him. 

With a single, swift motion, he lunges forward. Pushing the plate aside and latching his fangs on the bottom edge of the sweater you’re wearing.

“No! Stop it, my clothes aren’t food!” You protest, pushing his head away from you. But he doesn’t budge no matter how much you try to push him away. It’s obvious that his strength is far beyond that of a human.

He chews at your sweater with urgency, like he hasn’t eaten in ages. And he’s shivering too. It’s the middle of winter and the poor thing doesn’t have any proper way to stay warm. Maybe that's how he ended up in your home, he was looking for a warm place to stay through the winter. 

You sigh and stop trying to push him off of you. He’s just hungry after all and you can always buy new clothes. Bringing your hand up to the ruff of his neck, you gently pet his soft fur, “Fine, you can have the sweater.”

He purrs sweetly in response, laying his head in your lap as he continues to eat away at the fabric. You stroke his fur, admiring his beauty for the next hour. Until he’s traveled up your body, and down your arms, devouring every strand of the sweater you were wearing.

The mothman licks his lips in satisfaction, sniffing around your chest to make sure he got it all, before turning around to leave. Figuring that he has overstayed his welcome. Quite embarrassed that he had just savagely devoured your sweater, unable to control himself due to the fact that he hasn’t had a proper meal in weeks.

“Wait!” you reach out to him, “Please stay… at least through the winter. You’ll be safe here.” For some reason, you feel sympathy for him. Yeah he was eating your clothes, but he was only trying to survive.

Why are you inviting him to stay? You should be screaming in fear like the other humans do when they see him. But you’re different… the first person to show him a hint of kindness. He can’t turn you down even if he wanted to, his chances of surviving such a harsh winter will be slim without a warm shelter.

Seeing that he’s not quite convinced, you quickly put on a t-shirt and scurry over to your bed. Holding the blankets open for him to join you. The warmth of your bed beckons him. He can’t remember the last time he had a warm, safe place to sleep. Following his instincts, he slips under the covers with you. Nuzzling up to your chest, purring as you roll your fingers through his white hair.

Surely you must have a death wish, allowing a deadly mothman to huddle up with you for warmth. But you don’t care. So far he’s only shown interest in harming your clothes, so as far as you’re concerned, he won’t harm you.

His tense muscles relax in your touch, wrapping his arms around you with a relaxed sigh. Trying to convince himself that he’s only doing this to warm himself up, no other reason besides that. 

“Tomura… my name is Tomura,” he mumbles. Thinking it rude that he hasn’t introduced himself yet, he doesn’t want you to think he’s some wild animal with no manners.

“What a pretty name. My name is Y/N… you’re welcome to stay as long as you like, Tomura,” you say sweetly. 

“We’ll see…” he grumbles. Burying his face into your chest to hide the blush forming across his cheeks.

He’s so comfy here with you, that he might just consider staying through the entire winter. And you wouldn’t mind one bit.

[anndramarama]

Thanks to @kingsandbastardz for tagging me!

Rules: in a new post, show the last line you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or as many as you feel like).

Hope no one minds but I'm going to break some rules and do a sort of combined, uh, belated WIP Wednesday with a longer excerpt from the last thing I worked on. I'm also not going to tag anyone else because at this stage I don't know enough people in this fandom, so reply if you want me to tag you in the future? And feel free to tag me too.

Here's some (unhappy) aftermath for MLC, and can be read as pre-difang:

Fang Duobing scanned the edge of the forest for the third time that morning and sighed heavily. There was still frost on the ground at this hour but the day was bright and he could see some distance through trees that were still burdened with last week's snow. There was no sign of life, though, and no movement near where he had spotted the most recent campfire.

Maybe he went into town. They did need fodder, or would soon, so that was a good errand. Fang Duobing nodded and whistled for Huli Jing, who always appeared faithfully for breakfast. Unlike some people.

He paused to feed the dog and then went directly to the second level to dress before breakfast. Lotus Tower's upstairs was warmer than it had been when he first slept there. They had done that together, A-Fei quietly providing wood for Fang Duobing's project without actually helping inside. A-Fei didn't like to come inside Lotus Tower.

Fang Duobing finished dressing and returned quickly to the kitchen where he was just in time to save the porridge from bubbling over. Maybe he would add meat or spice today, just for a change.

Smiling, he reached for a pouch of dried meat and called out for Huli Jing. She wouldn't eat the porridge but a bite of the jerky would make her happy.

"Huli Jing --" He called again. Had she gone outside? Silly thing, always wandering off right after breakfast.

"Huli --" But there she was, just outside the kitchen with her nose in the wardrobe. "What are you doing? Huli Jing!"

Fang Duoboing laughed and tried to pull her out, but she lunged forward again and whined. Oh no, he thought, were there mice in the wardrobe -- shifu's clothes --

He grabbed the dog and pulled her back, quickly opening the wardrobe door to scan inside, but there was nothing: no telltale squeaking, no movement, nothing destroyed.

He sighed and looked at the dog. "What's got into you, huh girl?"

Fang Duobing released her but she darted into the open wardrobe again, this time nipping at the edge of one of the cloaks inside until it spilled out onto the floor.

"Don't, that's --"

What was that? He moved the dog to the side and picked up the cloak.

Sure enough, it was one of his cloaks, still intact. It was one he had favored, too, but there was something different about it. It was heavier, for one thing, and what was that?

"Since when was this lined?"

Fang Duobing knew this cloak. He knew all of his shifu's things and kept them all in their proper places inside Lotus Tower. And this cloak, this cloak --

He sat heavily on his shifu's bed, pulled the cloak into his lap and turned it over. Inside there was a lining of rabbit fur, downy white and very soft to the touch. It was new, too, so new that some of the edges were still stiff, waiting for the wearer to break them in slowly with time and use.

Fang Duobing fisted his hands in the soft fur and tried to breathe deeply, in and out, slowly, but it didn't work. All at once he was crying.

He pushed his face into the cloak's lining and sobbed while Huli Jing whined at his feet.

Because recently it had been rabbits. Lots of small snow rabbits, expertly skinned and left just outside for him to find.

A-Fei was an excellent hunter.

They had looked everywhere, every day, for his shifu. He had re-drawn his likeness more than once when the paper was too creased and the lines started to blur. And with what result?

I do this every day, month after month, he thought, and now A-Fei is preparing clothes for him.

Why? What was the use, and for how long can we go on like this?

It wasn't fair.

Fang Duobing stood and ran outside, the cloak left pooled on the floorboards behind him.

"A-Fei," he yelled into the bright morning. "A-Fei, A-Fei!"

[sugarzandsweetz]

Wardrobe Malfunction (Miguel O’Hara x (y/n))

Lyla decides to mess with Miguel as he is talking to one of his colleague that he has some feelings for.

*inspired by a comic I saw on TikTok)

*Y/n is gender neutral

_____________________________________________

Miguel may not posses spidey-sense as many of the spider people in Alchemex, but he does know when there are eyes on him.

“Why are you staring at me?” Miguel asked, not sounding bothered but a bit curious. The spider glances away from his many computer screen to the other spider in the room. He feels a bit warm in his cheeks as Miguel notices how they are eyeing his form.

“What kind of material is your suit made out of?” asked (y/n), the spider from Earth 0923. Their designation: the Wolf Spider.

Their pupils seem to narrow into slits as (y/n) studies Miguel’s form.

Due to being bitten by a radioactive wolf spider, (y/n) has developed the many attributes of one. Insane eyesight, good hunting skills, and amazing agility. They have become one of Miguel’s top spider people as (y/n) has proven to be loyal and quick at executing a mission.

But some people are wondering if there is another reason why Miguel always has (y/n) around.

Miguel looks down at his suit for a second before looking back at (y/n)

“Why?” he asked.

“Well, my suit is made out of a cotton blend mixed with some elastic component so that it’s comfortable and breathable.” (Y/n) said, pulling on one of their sleeves. The material snaps back onto their skin when (y/n) lets go. “The spiders here wear spandex, armor, robot suits, or fur—in that werewolf’s case.”

(Y/n) leans in to study Miguel’s body.

“Yet, I can’t see what your suit is made of.” (Y/n) said, pouting.

For some reason, Miguel feels a tad proud to tell them. “My suit is made of special nanotechnology.” he boasted, demonstrating by causing the sleeve of his right arm to disappear and reappear. “It’s like a hologram almost.”

“Don’t act so high and mighty! Like you know how to design it!” snipped Lyla as the AI flickers into thin air. “Do you know how hard it was to design nano tech that can’t be traced or hacked into?”

Miguel glares at Lyla for ruining the moment. “Are you serious right now? You designed the suit while I did the calculations!” he hissed, flashing his fangs at Lyla. “You nearly made me look like some multicolored clown!”

“Yes, and now you look like some scary crusader!”

“Tu poco—“

Before Miguel can finish his curse in Spanish, (y/n) speaks up.

“Does this mean it’s like some holo screen?” (Y/n) asked, suddenly revealing that they are right in front of Miguel.

Miguel takes a step back, startled by (y/n)’s close proximity. The Hispanic male is stuck staring into their eyes as they view him curiously.

“Uh, I guess if you put it like that.” Miguel said.

“Hmm.” (Y/n) said, making a funny face.

Seeing (y/n) make such a face gives Miguel the strong urge to grab their cheeks and squeeze them. (Y/n) always makes the most interesting faces. It’s what of the reasons Miguel likes them.

“Aren’t you worried it’ll fizz out? Like a broken computer cutting out suddenly?” (Y/n) asked curiously.

That question catches Miguel off guard.

“I don’t see that happening. Besides, how could something like that happen?” he asked, almost insulted at the idea.

This is 2099 technology. He’s perfected crossing into other dimensions without going through spontaneous disruption of his molecules. If he can’t handle putting together a high-tech suit, how can Miguel call himself a scientist.

“Oh, maybe like this!” Lyla spoke up before there is a clicking noise.

At first, Miguel doesn’t notice anything off. Not until he sees (y/n)‘a face turn a bright red.

“Spider-Man underwear?” (Y/n) said with a squeak.

“WHAA?!”

Miguel looks down and squawks when he realizes his suit has disappeared and he is now in his underwear.

“LYLA!” Miguel roared, realizing what Lyla has done. The AI is laughing her ass off as she watches Miguel hide behind a chair.

“I’m going to go!” (Y/n) said quickly as they spin around and hurried out of the room.

“Dammit Lyla! Why did you do that?!” Miguel yelled as his suit returns.

“What? I thought showing off your body will help you get bonus points with (y/n)!” Lyla said.

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME!? NO ME AYUDES!”

[yzeltia]

FFXIVwrite2024 10. Stable

Featuring: Weird West AU by @scrollsfromarebornrealm Characters: Zellita(Y'ze Tia), Claudien Expansion: Endwalker (Context) Rating: T Summary: Zellita and Claudien make their feelings clear. Notes: N/A

A whimper sounded out over the rustling of feathers, kwehs, and pecking of gryshal greens. Zellita found himself pinned against a bale of hay, shirt tattered and Claudien’s fangs in his neck. The hunger seemed to be rising in Claudien day by day and with his family in town and the increasing interest in Stonewood he had found it difficult to hunt and Zellita was all too eager to compensate.

“Enough,” Zellita breathed out, hand raking up the back of Claudien’s hair to weakly tug on him to part.

Claudien pulled away reluctantly, licking carefully about the punctures on his lover’s neck before dragging his tongue to his collar so as to not waste a single drop. Zellita shook then collapsed into Claudien’s arms, unable to stand well. “You cannot keep offering yourself to me. I’m going to go too far,” Claudien said softly, lowering Y’zel into the hay under them before getting into his satchel and pulling out an orange. He tore into the peel with his fangs then lifted his love gingerly before bringing it to his lips to make him take a bite.

Zellita whimpered then took a nibble of the orange before taking generous bites. “I will be fine as long as you maintain control and are ready to take care of me after,” he said, closing his eyes to lightly lick Claudien’s fingers clean of the orange’s juices.

“What if I cannot maintain control? What if I-,” Claudien started only to be silenced as Zellita’s finger pressed against his lips.

“Silence,” he said, casting a brief cantrip over the other. “No more of this angst. You are so wound up about this every time that you’ve not once taken it too far. Your family will depart and the town will settle and you’ll be able to find other sources to feed from safely. For now, take it as my dedication to you.”

Claudien furrowed his brow, feeling the magick bind his voice. In frustration, he dropped the orange then took the other by the jaw and gave him a rough impassioned kiss, sweet fruit juice mixing with the metallic remnants of Zellita’s blood. Pulling back, he pressed his forehead to the other’s. “I love you,” he admitted softly, jolting slightly as his voice returned.

Zellita flushed deeply then leaned into Claudien, rubbing his face against the man’s chest as he touched the bite on his neck. “I love you too…,” he said before leaning away to rest his back against the stable wall, trying to bunch his torn shirt over his exposed chest. “I cannot go out like this. Perhaps a little more restraint could be used. At least as far as my wardrobe is concerned.”

“Right…Sorry…,” Claudien apologized, wincing as he tugged off his shirt to hand over. Stepping back, he pulled off his boots then lowered his trousers and boxers, giving them to Zellita as well before letting out a painful grunt as his bones began to crack while blond fur erupted all over his body. He fell forward onto his paws, back arching as his tail erected behind him and then swished dust about the barn. Looking at Zellita, he gave him a low bark then sat to wait for the other to redress himself so that he could lead him back to the library.

[artzychic27]

Idea: Actor AU commentary, but it’s for Monstrous Youths, where they talk about different aspects of the show like plots, character stuff, and of course, costumes and makeup! (Marc talking about how much he loves his moth wings, him and Reshma talk about maneuvering the extra limbs, Mylene, Mireille, and Lacey talk about how you simulate someone having vines, tar or flames for hair, the Buff Squad™️ talking about the fur on their arms is hot as hell and gets rank as fuck😅)

Chloé: *Rises from her sarcophagus* WHO DARES TO AWAKEN THE QUEEN- Ugh! Ew! There’s sand on my tongue!

Cast: *Laughing*

Director: *Laughs* Cut!

—

[Commentary]

Juleka: *Adjusting her fangs* I think what I like best about playing a vampire is that my wardrobe is the same as what I usually wear. That, and they don’t need to cake my face with a ton of makeup to give me that “undead” look.

Luka: I, on the other hand, require tons of makeup to truly make myself look like the living dead.

Juleka: And because you wanna feel pretty.

Luka: Jules… I am pretty.

—

[Commentary]

Marc: Reshma and I love being insect monsters.

Reshma: He’s an insect, I’m an arachnid. But, he’s right. It’s fun controlling the extra limbs, but also challenging.

Marc: For the longest time, we’ve been slapping the other cast members.

Reshma: I swear, we did not mean to do that!

—

[Commentary]

Kim: See, in order to play the role of the fearsome werewolf of DuPont School For Monstrous Youths, I spent the longest time observing the masters…

Max: And by that, he means he spent hours at a dog shelter playing with the puppies.

Kim: It’s called getting into character!

—

Adrien: Why don’t you just ask your dad?

Nino: Whenever I do, he always goes, “GRRRR! GRANDPA BAD!” *Coughs* God, that fucked my throat.

Adrien: *Burries his face in his hands and laughs* Drink some water, man!

Ismael: Ugh! I wanna go home!

Lila: The boy wants to go home! Enough with the bloopers! End the madness!

—

[Commentary]

Lila: Nath, Marc, and I cannot tell you how long it took us to master having wings. Mine are made of real feathers, and they’re pretty thick, so I had to work on my balance quite a bit.

Marc: Then, there are the harnesses that make it look we’re flying. Nathaniel screamed the first time.

Nathaniel: Because that harness broke and I was falling!

Lila: No, that was just… Flying downwards.

Nathaniel: Well, screw you.

—

[Commentary]

Simon: *Getting his makeup done* The crew did excellent work on my eye. It blinks whenever I do, and I can see through it. The only thing is that it gets kinda sweaty under there, and it gets all in my eyes, so my fake eye is just blinking non-stop.

—

[Commentary]

Alya: *Putting on a green bodysuit* My outfit’s a little… Complex. See, there’s this combination of the suit I’m wearing and transparent clothing to make it look like I’m a ghost with translucent skin

Mireille: The same is with me, only my clothes are not transparent.

—

Ondine: *Emerges from the pool, gasping for air*

Lacey: Ondine! What happened?

Ondine: I couldn’t breathe under there!

Rose: Why didn’t you just use the breathing tube?

Ondine: I couldn’t find the tube!

Staff member: My bad!

—

[Commentary]

Ondine: Things don’t always go according to plan on set. Some tails may come off, wings may not flap accordingly, and people trip on vines. What’s important is that we stay levelheaded, share a few laughs, and things go smoothly in the end.

Rose: And then we laugh at the bloopers.

Ondine: That, too.

—

[Commentary]

Lacey: Okay, okay! So, my fire hair?! It’s actual fire! There’s this non-burning fire that doesn’t even hurt, and it’s awesome!

Jean: Also terrifying.

Lacey: But also AWESOME!

Alix: Yeah, and speaking of hair… Those are real trained snakes. Because pops didn’t raise some coward who goes with the CGI option!

*The camera pans to Nathaniel*

Nathaniel: Hi. Yeah, uh… That actually is CGI. Alix tried the snake option for a minute, screamed, and then fainted. She just wants to sound badass.

—

[Commentary]

Zoé: I’d say the most difficult part about our characters are the bandages and vines.

Myléne: I’m always tripping on them during the days my characters forgets to trim them, and Chloé and Zoé often get tangled in their bandages.

Chloé: They’re like a fucking straitjacket!

—

Kagami: You will do well to listen, Félix. Stay away from my school. Stay away from Adrien. And stay away from me. *One of her horns falls off* … My horn fell off, didn’t it?

Félix: *Snickering* Yep. Wanna try that again?

Kagami: No, I want to wallow in shame. *Leaves*

Félix: Kagami! Come back! You were good! I was really intimidated!

*Meanwhile*

Cosette: Kagami, come on! It happens to all of us. You’re not the first one, really. Remember when I charged at Lucien and both of my horns just slipped off?

Aurore: Or when one of mine fell into the pool?

Kagami: I know, it’s just embarrassing. Right after I have the monologue of a lifetime.

Cosette: Yeah, that does kinda suck.

Aurore: Cosette!

Coaette: What? It’s true.

—

[Commentary]

Félix: Working with Lucien as the antagonists is great, just wonderful.

Lucien: Yes, I can’t get enough of playing the villain. There’s just something about it that draws me toward the role.

Félix: Same! And, you know, if there just so happens to be a villain musical number, then you can bet I’m going to give it my all. Hint. Hint.

Lucien: The writers looked at your notes; they said they’d think about it.

—

[Commentary]

Marinette: Having these buttons put on my eyes gave me flashbacks to when I watched Coraline!

Alya: She screamed.

Marinette: I did!

—

[Commentary]

Denise: That fur… Is hot as fuck! I- no joke! My arms are soaked when I take those off!

Ivan: They have to be washed constantly, and no one wants that job.

Denise: Sometimes the others make jokes about burning them, and we are beginning to consider it, ‘cause those things are getting rank.

—

Jean: Hey, guys- Ghouls! I meant ghouls! Fuck!

Cast: *Laughing*

Jean: Fuck all these fucking monster words! I need coffee! *Dramatically tosses one end of his scarf over his shoulder and leaves*

Ismael: Say what you want. He was destined to be The Phantom.

—

[Commentary]

Sabrina: The groaning my character does is actually just me saying real sentences from the back of my throat. When I say, “Hello, my name is Sabrina,” people have to listen closely to hear it. I was originally going to groan, but then I thought, ‘Nah! Lemme have some fun with this!’

—

Rose: Real quick, I can’t find my femur.

Kim: What?

Rose: It was supposed to come off for one scene, and now I can’t find it.

Ismael: *Points to her thigh* Found it. Case solved!

Adrien: You’re a little shit, you know that?

Ismael: *Smirks* All a part of my charm.

@msweebyness @imsparky2002

[clickerflight]

Clove: Part 22 - Good Host, Good Guest

So.... after that last part I realized this story is going to be longer than intended, but I still have a plan so we're all good. Also, here's benny living out our intrusive thoughts. Touch the puppy

Masterlist - Part 21

Content: vampire whumpee, fae whumpers, intimate whumper, brain washing, charming, hidden injury

............................................

Benny walked down the hall, limping a little as he went. He dearly loved his wife, but she could always be a bit rough when she was excited, and the wounds he received from her didn’t heal quickly. Maybe he should talk to her about it? Just ask her to be a little more gentle with him? A headache made Benny stumble, leaning on the wall till it passed. 

What was he thinking about? It probably didn’t matter. All that mattered was talking to Ephraim. He had been relieved to hear his sire had made it back in one piece yesterday and Benny was determined to get in Ephraim’s good books today. 

Benny skirted around a group of fae that had gathered in the hall in front of the guest room and passed through the door quietly. 

“Lucky,” one fae said, annoyed as he did so. “I want to look at the new pets.”

That meant Ephraim told everyone to stay out of the room. As fae they had to obey so as to not break the rules of hospitality, but Benny was under no such contract. 

He closed the door softly and looked around. There were remnants of dinner on the table, ragged clothing strewn about on the floor, and the door to the bedroom was cracked open. 

Benny pushed it open to see his sire asleep, one arm over a werewolf. 

“I’ll be,” Benny breathed, using a phrase from his days as a human, dropping his posh fae accent in awe. He had never even imagined a werewolf this adorable. The little guy was snuggled into Ephraim, the softest golden hair falling into his face, soft golden tail curled over his stomach. Living in the fae courts had taught Benny the worth of pets, and while Benny had at first been something special because of his good looks, charismatic nature, and double fangs, this wolf was something else entirely. 

“Ephraim is going to have a hard time keeping you,” Benny breathed, brushing a hand over the tail to see if it was as soft as it looked. 

It was. 

Ephraim’s hand on his throat was decidedly not. 

Benny scratched at Ephraim’s hand as the vampire pinned him to the wall, fangs bared as the werewolf woke, wide eyed and even more adorable than before. 

Ephraim seemed to register Benny and loosened his hold on Benny’s throat so he could speak. “What do you want?” Ephraim growled, and Benny’s heart broke at the accusatory tone in his sire’s voice. 

“Just here to wake you,” he said, his voice only slightly raspy as his new accent filtered back in. “I don’t remember you being so jumpy, old man.”

“And I remember you having manners,” Ephraim snarled. “Do not touch him.”

Benny nodded. “Understood.”

Ephraim released Benny, turning to check on the pup who was curled under the blankets, one wide golden eye peering out fearfully. 

Benny took the moment to adjust his clothing as Ephraim murmured to the child. 

The werewolf pup extricated himself slowly from the blankets, revealing himself to be dressed in overly large garments from the wardrobe. Benny made a mental note to find something suitable for the pup. He deserved clothing that did his hair and fur justice. 

“Benjamin, this is G-”

“Hyrum.”

Benny caught the look of surprise on Ephraim’s face. Hyrum stared at Benny with distrust and some small amount of fear. 

“Hyrum,” Ephraim echoed. “Hyrum, this is Benny.”

Benny bowed, making sure to use his most charming smile on Hyrum. “It is very good to meet you, sweetheart.”

“Hyrum.”

“Hyrum,” Benjamin echoed in return. “Now, we should find you both suitable outfits for breakfast. My wife is calling together the high members of the court to discuss what happened yesterday and to outline that you are both guests here, so-”

“No,” Ephraim replied, moving to put some of the fallen blankets back on the bed. “We’re going home.”

Benny frowned. His head hurt. “Home? But this is home.”

Ephraim shot Benny a truly dirty look and Benny recoiled. “O-Okay. But you really should come to breakfast first, Ephraim. The Monarch expects it.”

Ephraim didn’t heed the weight of Benny’s words as he continued to tidy up and gather some things from around the room. 

“Ephraim.”

“We are not going,” Ephraim said, refusing to look at Benny. 

Benny felt something in his stomach he hadn’t felt in a long time. Fear. 

You’ve felt fear. You just can’t remember. Last night-

A sudden spike of pain in his head left him without the developing thought. 

“Ephraim, you don’t understand. The Monarch expects it. You commanded the fae to stay out of the room, yes?”

Ephraim hesitated, sensing the power in Benny’s words this time. He turned and nodded silently. 

“It is a part of the pact that keeps you safe. The fae are good Hosts, so they honor your wishes,” Benny explained. “But to keep the pact intact and to remain protected as a guest, you must be a good Guest in return. Which means you get dressed and meet with the Monarch and eat breakfast with the court. It is customary for guests to stay for at least three days as well. There are other customs, but I can explain them after breakfast.”

“And after the three days?” Ephraim asked, eyes narrowing. 

“You can go ‘home’ if you still want to,” Benny replied with a little shrug. “Or find a place in the court.”

“And if we break the pact?” Ephraim asked warily. 

Benny pouted a little. Why did Ephraim mistrust him? Was he still mad about not getting a message from Benny? Who held a grudge past a few hours? He supposed the fae didn’t, but he couldn’t remember what was customary for humans and vampires and the like. “Well, you will be in their power, obviously. You will be a pet to one of the fae in the court.”

Ephraim’s already pale face paled farther, looking down at Hyrum, who grabbed onto his arm, staring at Benny with just as much fear. 

“But that’s okay,” Benny reassured them. “If you make it through the three days then you can just become a part of the court. That is nice, isn’t it?”

“Going home is better,” Hyrum replied. 

Home this, home that. They were really set, huh. Benny couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so set on something. 

“Okay, fine,” he said, trying not to sound too dismissive. “Come with me, then. We’ll see if there’s anything in my wardrobe that would work for you two.”

Ephraim still watched Benny suspiciously, but put an arm around Hyrum and nodded. 

They followed Benny out, the fae crowding around them with interest. 

“Are these the guests?”

“Oh they’re just darling!”

“Is that a pup? Look at his hair!”

“And his fur. Oh sweet child. If only he weren’t so scratched up. Come here, puppy, don’t you want someone to make you feel better?”

Ephraim bared his fangs at the speaker, but that only got more tittering. “Oh how precious!”

“He only has one fang! How unique! He reminds me of dear Benny here when he was new.”

“Oh, yes. I‘m glad he has a longer leash now. He’s always such a pleasure to see.”

“Benny, show us your teeth, come on dear.”

Benny smiled at the fae, double sets of fangs showing making some of the fae almost swoon.

Ephraim was careful to keep Hyrum close as the fae crowded in. When he spotted a sneaky hand trying to stroke Hyrum’s fur Ephraim snarled again. “Don’t touch him.”

The fae withdrew her hand, pouting and Benjamin quickly said, “I’m sorry, Keena. He’s just overwhelmed. Would you let us through?”

The fae all complained but backed up to let them through. Benny smiled and thanked them all before ushering Ephraim and Hyrum down the hall. 

“They don’t mean any harm.”

“I don’t care,” Ephraim replied, feeling Hyrum trembling against his side. This was all too much after the day they had before. 

Conversation quickly died after that as Benny opened a door for them, letting them into his bedroom. His wardrobe was strange and confusing and Ephraim didn’t like any of it, but he picked something he hated the least, and refused to wear the cape. 

“Come on,” Benny whined. “You should wear it! The fae love seeing us in capes.”

“Us?” Ephraim asked sharply. “Vampires? As far as I’ve seen, they tend to prefer us dead.”

That quieted Benny, and he didn’t say anything as he offered outfits for Hyrum to choose from. Hyrum chose one in the same muted colors Ephraim went for rather than the blacks or the bright colors Benny offered. Benny was somewhat disappointed, but didn’t say anything for fear of incurring Ephraim’s ire again as he led them out to the banquet hall. 

They were seated near to the head of the table, just in time for the Queen to arrive. She walked smoothly over the mirrored floors, antlered head held high. She smiled at Benny and came to stand at the head of the table. 

Benny practically melted when he saw his wife, smiling back. There was a twinge in his injured leg when he saw her, but he deliberately ignored it. 

Silence fell over the table as the Queen stood there. She looked over them all and nodded. “It is well,” she announced. “It is time to eat and welcome our new guests. May I have your names please?”

“You cannot have our names,” Ephraim replied, coolly but politely. “You are allowed to call us Ephraim and Hyrum.”

The Queen nodded. “These are our good Guests, just as we are good Hosts.”

Sharp eyes turned at that, hungry and almost feral. Ephraim had a bad feeling a challenge had been laid down. 

“Now, it is time to eat!”

Part 23

Clove Taglist: @wolfeyedwitch @the-blind-one-speaks @whumpsday @extrabitterbrain @inkkswhumpandstuff

@honeycollectswhump @whump-blog-reblogs @pigeonwhumps @mj-or-say10 @percy-frayer

@currentlyinthesprial @scoundrelwithboba @whumps-and-bumps

[singing-melliot-headcanons]

Demon AU. Humans can’t distinguish angels and demons from regular people. They just look the same, only odd part being the fact they don’t seem to age to any regular person.

Angels have six wings, halos are usually worn as accessories and are used as tools for their jobs, and they have eye markings somewhere on their bodies. In low light they can look kinda freaky, blood being gold, scars having a gentle white glow, eyes seeming to stare into your soul. In normal lighting they’re just kinda funky, dark they look like they’re ready to steal your soul. They all look pretty similar, giving off a bit of a sterile and clean look, trying to seem overly “divine”.

Demon horns are unique to each, they never stop growing and are treated like hair, being styled different ways and having great effort out into maintain it. Asides from horns, demons kind just go buck wild with how they look. Their traits are determined by the work they do, the kind of person they were in life, and just general vibes. Plus, when you stab them their blood is like staring into the void, drowning out any light that touches it.

So, as to how the main Adamandi crew look

-Portia dyes some of her feathers pink and wears her halo as a ring, it’s easy to access and not too gaudy, just plain and simple. She changes her clothes as time goes on, and finds enjoyment learning new styles of the era. Her eye markings are along her arms.

-Ambrose is the exact opposite, he keeps great care of his wings, wears his halo as an actual crown, and his eye markings are along his spine. His clothing stays pretty much in the jock category of each era, mostly sticking to some variation of t shirt and jeans, spicing it up with a jacket on occasion. Dude just somehow looks homophobic in every time period lol

-Quincy is different, only having one set of wings from having given up their role as an angel, now just kind of chilling on earth with Vincent. Their two other sets slowly fell off over time due to them giving up their power, their glow is lesser than other angels, and they’ve got their eye markings on the palms of their hands. Quincy’s halo is a ring on a necklace, but they don’t really use it anymore. Quincy has worn some variation of a sweater over a button down with a bow tie since the 1930s and hasn’t changed it much lol

-Vincent has horns that look kind of like a mountain goat’s, he used to have long twisting ones, but started shaving them down so they wouldn’t poke into Quincy when cuddling. Their main traits are very weasel, having claws, a weasel tail, patches of fur, and fangs. The fur turns white in the winter, and they gain streaks of white in their hair, because Vincent is weasel coded. Generally just a critter. He wears a lot of long jackets, button downs, unholy abominations of pattern combinations, greens and browns, and he likes to change up his wardrobe ever decade or so.

-Beatrix, just look up a Jacob’s sheep for the horn reference. They’ve got a mix of lion and owl traits, having claws, a long tail with fluff at the end, bits of feathers sprinkled in the fur, and having funky yellow eyes that are kind of creepy to look at for too long. Beatrix kind of just wears whatever can be found in the men’s section of a thrift store, so just perpetually looks a little out of style.

Beatrix is supposed to give off “I could totally kill you” vibes, but be completely quiet while doing it because that’s how cat paws work, while Vincent had the weasel thing of looking like he couldn’t kill anything, then just absolutely tearing it to shreds.

Feel free to make edits to these, these are just concepts.

thank you anon i will bring great fortune to your bloodline

[quietwingsinthesky]

Wishing u much good food and killing michael buble with ur teeth 🫡

May I request arranged marriage for the ask game 👀👀

hello lee :3 i shall provide. this is, quite unashamedly, inspired by your thoughts on king!lucifer (with some of my own spin on things, lol) I really hope you like it.

Sam isn’t given the dignity of a proper marriage. The agreement is in writing before he’s ever even seen his new husband’s face, and after that, he’s carted up north like a prize of war. His retinue of king’s men from the south dwindles the more miles they travel. He’s sure some of that is planned, a man or two to travel so far and then hand him off to northern soldiers, a few more who agreed to go further and turn back, but more than a few times, Sam is sure they’re just deserters, terrified of what will happen to them outside the safety of the south. The wind blows frigid over the growing hills, and the north speaks a different, hostile tongue. Sam hates every single one of the soldiers who leaves, not for abandoning him, because they were never here for his protection, but for escaping when he can’t.

It’s easy to tell the difference simply by how they’re dressed, and by the time Sam is left with only northern soldiers, he sticks out like a flower in the snow on one of these barren fields. The men around him dress in thick furs, garb so heavy that it obscures their entire figure and the weapons beneath their cloaks but never slows them down. Sam is left with his thinner summer wardrobe and the absent gift of a blanket at night to keep him from freezing to death.

The king of Hel will be crueler, Sam tells himself, and he will have to survive that. He wishes he spoke their language. The one benefit of being a hostage in the south was that he understood how he was being humiliated. Though, as he shivers in the carriage he’s locked up in, his muscles aching from the cramped space, he probably wouldn’t need that many tries to guess.

They’re only stopped once. A very bold messenger catches up to them on horseback and demands Sam’s hasty return. Not out of mercy, Sam learns as he keeps close to the door of the carriage and eavesdrops, but necessity. Sam exhales in relief as the messenger grits out that Dean Winchester, the first son of their late father, has gone missing before he could marry the True King.

Sam huffs a laugh at how little weight that title carries now that they’re within Hel’s lands. The messenger must feel it, too.

The soldiers tell him, in no uncertain turns, to turn around and go back to his king empty-handed, or else go back with no hands at all. The deal, they say, was done, and the king of Hel does not renege on deals.

Sam is taken further north with only the hope that his brother is alive and safe and free to keep him warm.

The king doesn’t meet Sam at the gates or in the hall or even in his own bedroom, after Sam is ungracefully herded in there. Not by the soldiers who brought him. Very few of them even entered the walls of the castle and even fewer accompanied him into the keep. No, Sam’s guard from then on was minuscule, only a pair of women. He might have taken them for maids if not for the flashes of steel he caught as they walked beside him and the dangerous looks in their eyes. (Neither of them feel safe, but he keeps his eyes on the red-haired one more than the dark-haired one. When she smiles, Sam keeps expecting to see a wolf’s fangs beneath her lips.)

It’s the dark-haired one who tells him what to do. She isn’t very subtle. “Wait on your back for the king to come fuck you. When he’s not busy with anything more important.” The red-haired one laughs, bright and cruel like fire, and she shuts the door behind Sam once he’s inside. He waits, holding his breath, to hear their footsteps. They shuffle briefly, but they don’t move away from the door.

Sam does not wait for him on the bed. Surely a king has to keep some kind of weapon in his own chambers. Sam searches every nook and cranny, lowering his standards from a real weapon to anything remotely sharp enough to do damage. If Dean escaped, then Sam at least has to try.

The solid stone walls don’t do as much to keep the cold out as he would like. Sam’s fingers are tingling with numbness when he finally closes them around the only appropriate thing he can find: a letter-opener, sharpened crisply. It isn’t as fancy as he’s expecting. It seems more fitted for use than for decoration, no encrusted jewels or intricate flourishes on the blade. Nothing but a snake engraved into the handle. Sam keeps it tucked close.

He waits.

And waits.

And waits.

The sun is below the horizon by the time he hears a new pair of footsteps outside. A new voice, speaking too soft for Sam to understand, even if he knew his language. The door drags open.

Sam lays his eyes on his husband for the first time.

For a few seconds, in a delusion born from how freezing cold Sam is and how scared he feels, he thinks the king might be some sort of monster. The face of a bear stares him down. Sam’s frozen under its dead glare until he realizes its only another layer of clothing. Sam looks down as the king divests himself of his bear’s hood. He rubs his jaw, a few days of stubble to match the dark circles under his eyes.

Sam tightens his grip on his letter-opener, feeling naked in comparison to the king.

The first thing the man says is, “Why aren’t you asleep?” The woman who spoke to Sam earlier had a thicker accent than him, as did the soldiers. Sam can still hear it clearly, but his pronunciation is much clearer than theirs. Sam doesn’t answer, and the king’s eyes drift up and down his body. Even more confused, he asks, “Why aren’t you dressed?”

“I am,” Sam says, though he doesn’t feel it. “Your highness,” he forces himself to add. The king takes a single step towards him before stopping, eyeing Sam as he tenses up. The king says something in his own language, but Sam can recognize the sound of a curse in any. Sam watches the king remove his cloak. The king of Hel is broad-shouldered, thick-bellied, and without his cloak, he doesn’t look any smaller.

“How about a trade?” he says. “Wear this. It’s as warm as it looks”—Sam shivers.—“and in return, you hand over that blade you’re hiding.”

Sam feels his heart stop. His breath catches. The king tilts his head, but there’s no anger in his eyes. There’s… He looks sad, as though he understands why Sam needs the letter-opener to feel safe.

“Please, Sam,” he says, and Sam can’t be comfortable with how easily the king says Sam’s name when Sam doesn’t even know his. He offers the cloak, and he waits.

Sam shivers again, worse than before. It’s been a fight to not crawl under the blankets in that comfortable looking bed, but the cloak is an impossible temptation to resist. He can’t be thinking straight with how cold he is. He reaches for it. It’s heavier than he’s expecting. The king sees him struggling to take it with one hand and moves, bringing the cloak around Sam’s shoulders. There’s body heat cradled beneath the pelt, and it sinks into Sam’s skin.

The king is standing there, without armor, within reach of Sam’s small blade. He adjusts the cloak silently around Sam’s shoulders.

Sam doesn’t strike.

The king touches Sam’s wrist. He gently takes the letter-opener out of Sam’s hand. The way his palms, more callused than most lords Sam’s ever known, cradle his hand lingers in Sam’s mind long after the king has finally let go. The king turns the letter-opener over, running his thumb along the snake like he’s reminiscing about something. He shuts his eyes, grimaces, and lays the letter-opener back on the small table Sam had found it. There’s nothing stopping Sam from snatching it up again when the king turns his back.

He eyes it, but his gaze soon goes back to the king as he kneels beside the dark fireplace. He sweeps the ashes aside, getting his clothes dirty. He hauls another log into the hearth. He starts the fire himself, holding his hand above the flames as they grow and threaten to lick his skin before he stands. The room seems less like a jail cell when it’s more lit up.

The king gestures at the fire and tells Sam, “Wait here,” as if Sam could leave if he wanted to. He leaves Sam wrapped in his cloak and warming his extremities by the fire, arguing back and forth with himself about picking the letter-opener back up.

When the king returns, he brings food with him, steaming fresh. He hands a bowl of stew to Sam. Sam’s mouth immediately starts watering. He hasn’t had anything close to a good meal in nearly a month, granted only the same rations as the soldiers who were leading him here. There’s fresh meat in the broth before him bobbing between vegetables. Sam spears a chopped potato on the end of a fork and hurries to swallow it.

“I’m not going to take it away from you,” the king says, as though he can read Sam’s thoughts.

“Why are you feeding me?” Sam asks between spoonfuls, not completely trusting that this food isn’t a luxury he’ll lose if he says the wrong thing. The king joins him by the fire. Sam noticed the way he kneeled earlier, stiffly, and he wonders if that’s exhaustion alone making him move slower or the twinges of an old injury. He sits and relaxes.

“You’re hungry,” he answers, “you’re cold,”—He glances down at Sam’s stomach.—“and you’re skinny. I’m killing three birds with a single stone.”

“Skinny?” Sam scoffs. It’s not how he’d describe himself.

“You have muscle,” the king says, an amused tone entering his voice. “Muscle’s good, makes you warm, but fat will keep you that way.”

“And I thought you were a man, not a bear,” Sam says. It’s… strange to hear the king chuckle, to know that he’s the reason why. Sam puts another spoonful in his mouth and chews some tender meat. It’s delicious. He’d thought food up here would be tough and flavorless, but it’s rich and savory instead.

“I learn from what I hunt,” the king says. “Sam-“ He pauses. Sam is busy drinking the broth, and he’s caught off-guard when the king says, “You don’t know my name.” It’s like some sort of revelation to him, and Sam just frowns. He wasn’t special. No one knew the name of the king of Hel. “You’ll have to forgive me, Sam. I made certain… choices during the beginning of my reign. I created an image I still have to uphold, even though it has long outlived its usefulness.” The king sighs. “My name is Lucifer.”

He says it like it’s supposed to mean anything to Sam. It doesn’t. He watches Sam’s expression, and his brow furrows.

“What is it?” Sam asks.

“It was Michael’s seal on our marriage, and if he’s still alive, I thought-” Whatever it is troubles him so badly that he falls silent, leaving Sam to have to fill in the gaps himself.

“You know him?” For Sam knows him well. He’s not half as kind (if Lucifer is kind, if this is not all an act) as the king of Hel.

“As children,” Lucifer says, his voice soft, “but I doubt he’d know me now.”

“You were born in the south,” Sam deduces, and Lucifer nods.

“That letter-opener has already tasted blood, Sam,” he says. He doesn’t carry a hint of Sam’s home in him anymore, if he had once. He looks exactly like what a king of the frozen fields should.

“Do I have to use it?” Sam grips the spoon hard between his fingers. His voice goes flat. “Are you going to force me-”

“No,” Lucifer cuts through his words with sharp finality. “No.”

“If you don’t consummate-” Lucifer leans back on one hand, exhaling in frustration.

“And what will they look for? You can sleep in tomorrow to pretend you’re recovering, no one is outside the door listening for your screams, and if they want blood-” Lucifer stands. Sam watches him take up the letter-opener himself and spread flat one of the furs on top of the others on the bed. He cuts his own hand and smears it down the fur. He removes it from the bed afterwards, laying it across the windowsill where Sam can see Lucifer’s blood drying on it. “There. It’s done. You are mine.” He turns to look at Sam, and his voice softens out of the frustration he’d been holding onto. “And I am yours.”

Sam doesn’t know what to say. Lucifer’s shoulders sag as he yawns.

“I’m going to bed,” he tells Sam, “and you’re safe to join me whenever you want. The bed is large, and I won’t touch you.”

More than anything, Sam wants to ask why Lucifer agreed to this at all if he doesn’t even want Sam. It’s not as though Sam can give him heirs, or, it seems, like Lucifer even wants to make them.

He averts his gaze as Lucifer undresses further. (Or tries to. His eyes keep flicking back to catch Lucifer rolling his shoulders beneath his thick white underclothes or pushing his shirt up to scratch his nails through the thick trail of hair beneath his belly button.) He focuses on finishing his meal, and when he’s done, his stomach is filled with hot stew and the rest of his body, still draped in Lucifer’s cloak, hasn’t felt cold at all since Lucifer started the fire.

One last time as Sam passes it, he looks at the letter-opener, now covered with Lucifer’s blood.

He leaves it. Lucifer is snoring steadily from his side of the bed, the covers rising and falling with his breath. Sam removes his cloak carefully, and unsure of where to put it, folds it and lays it across a chair. The bear’s head doesn’t seem to be growling at him anymore.

Sam slides under the bedcovers. He sucks in a breath. He’s never been more comfortable in his life. The weight of the furs presses him down into the mattress, but they’re all soft to the touch. He stretches his body down the bed, covered chest to toes. The pillow beneath his head is firm but pliable, giving way to a comfortable shape. He turns to look at Lucifer.

Lucifer frowns in his sleep. His cheek is wet, and Sam feels the urge to reach out and wipe it dry. It rises, he resists, and it fades again. Sam turns over. He shuts his eyes and sleeps better than he has in years.

[sagemonsters]

@atlasthefallen has a blind date with...

Imara the Gnoll

Imara is a happy gnoll (a bipedal and intelligent spotted hyena) who loves the African metal scene. She dresses from head to toe in black leather and lace adorned with silver spikes and chains. She wears a lot of silver jewelry and has dyed some of her fur black as well.

Imara is dedicated to metal, and is always excited to go to concerts and music festivals. She can talk about her favorite bands for hours on end, and loves discovering new music. She’s always down to talk about music with you, and is starting to build a vinyl collection while hunting down the perfect turntable.

Imara is an incredibly cheerful person, and isn’t nearly as angry as her music taste would lead anyone to believe. She always has a hug and a few words of encouragement at the ready. She tends to look on the bright side of things and expects the best out of people, which some folks mistake for childishness—to their downfall!

She’s a carnivore first and foremost, and her powerful jaws can crunch through bone when need be. She won’t hesitate to defend you from any threat, and doesn’t allow bigotry of any kind to pass unchallenged. 

Thanks to her thorough immersion in the metal scene, Imara is a bit of an outlier in her pack, but her large extended family supports her interests and is always ready to back her up if things go south. Once you’re introduced, the family is eager to welcome you into the fold for however long you’re a friend or partner of Imara’s, and is always happy to dispense advice or aid if you need such things.

Imara is very feminine and loves makeup and jewelry. Her tastes tend toward the macabre, although she identifies more as a metalhead than a goth. Her wardrobe is 99% black, and she watches a lot of makeup tutorial videos on YouTube. She’s always happy to loan you articles of clothing and help you with buying and/or putting on makeup.

“Okay, so you don’t have Desecrated Deeds to Decease,” the gnoll said, leaning her leather-clad elbow on the glass countertop. “What about Intellectual Metamorphosis by Wrust?”

“Rust like iron?” the salesclerk asked.

The gnoll huffed and reached over to grab a pad of sticky notes from next to the ancient-looking computer monitor in front of the cashier. She scribbled something on it and showed it to him.

“Oh, I see,” the cashier said as he looked. “That’s a Botswana-based group, right? I don’t think we carry anything from Africa.”

“And you call this place a record shop,” the gnoll grumbled. Her black, pierced lips peeled away from her fangs in a grimace of frustration. “Can you order the vinyl from your supplier so that I can pick it up?”

“Uh, let me talk to my manager…” the cashier said, and fled through a door in the back of the shop. The gnoll looked over her shoulder at you, her kohl-lined eyes softening and her grimace turning more embarrassed than frustrated. “I’m sorry this is taking so long,” she said. “I know you’ve got your own stuff to buy; I wasn’t expecting this much hassle.”

You smiled back at her. “No worries. I’ve been here a lot; their catalog system is from the Triassic and takes forever to look anything up. I’ve been in your position plenty of times, and with longer lines behind me! It’s cool.”

The gnoll let out a burst of cackling laughter. “It’s a relief to hear that,” she admitted. “I hate making people wait when they’re in a hurry. Who’re you?”

You told her your name, and the gnoll nodded as she looked at the stack of records in your arms. “Nice picks there,” she said appreciatively, and grinned. “Say, is African music really that exotic to people around here? I want to get my vinyl from local indie record stores, but so far nobody in this city has carried the stuff I want.”

You shrugged. “I suppose it depends on what you’re looking for? Tell me what in particular you like, and I’ll see if I can help you find it.”

The gnoll’s eyes lit up. “Really? That’s real sweet of you. I’m a big metal fan, if you couldn’t tell, and my name’s Imara. I try to find music that’s kinda, you know, off the beaten track. I think you’ve got pretty good taste, so let’s swap phone numbers, yeah?” 

“Awesome!” you said, and shifted the stack of records into the crook of your arm so that you could pull out your phone.

see here if you'd like your own blind date with a monster!

[oldfacesnewdawnoffical]

Dandelion / Fritillary / Fritillaryheart

Supporter of the Woodruff Faction (as of: the start of A Dream of Destiny)

A massive, thick-furred, very fluffy golden marbled tabby jack with black along their mane, belly, tail-tip and along the backs of their legs, and with one floppy right ear, a scarred right eye, and green eyes. Has Myasthenia gravis and butterfly “hooks” on their paw pads.

Wears a small, smoothly carved bone-and-river stone earring in their left ear and twin cougar fangs in their folded right ear. Back of mane is braided with reeds and small, pinkish shells. Wears a necklace of twine and freshwater mussel shells. Wears thick, boar hide leather supportive braces around each paw.

•─────⋅ᓚᘏᗢ⋅─────•

Child of Rhema Songfall†. Neibling of Purrheale Featherwhisker. Littermate of Monarchmask. Partner of Sloefrost. Ren of Allium; adopted ren of Daylily and Duranta.

Trained by Poppydawn†. Training Bear.

57 moons old (equivalent to a 33 year old)

Bold, Emotional, Altruistic | ENFJ-A

Transfeminine Genderfluid // Pansexual // (They/Her/His)

Aslan - The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe - Stephen Thorne

Name implies a golden-furred cat who is loyal and passionate.

[rmhashauthor]

hey!! this is chance and here’s week 5’s prompt. your oc suddenly gets transported to a mall. what store(s) would they go in? would they buy anything? what would they think? tell me about the experience.

Mmm interesting.

I'll be referring to my OC Lienfang, from the book I am currently releasing serially on Wattpad: The Dragon Prince's Consort.

Fang grew up extremely poor. Her parents did their best, but when her mother got hurt working in construction the company decided to terminate her instead of pay out the worker's comp. Her father got sick and through some underhanded bureaucratic nonsense the Federation denied him insurance benefits, so he slowly wasted away and died. Eventually Fang's mother also passed, leaving Fang alone and burdened with her parents' debt, which she tried to work off for years with no success. She just fell deeper and deeper into the pit, occasionally homeless and eventually moving to the Drassian Empire to try to start over, where she gets into trouble with a certain extremely wealthy young fella whose older brother is a complete dick.

Now that she's with Valen, the titular Dragon Prince, she's loaded. Just SOME of her clothes are worth millions, which Valen made sure of in the event that he can release her from her contract - that way she'll have more than enough stuff she can pawn for cash with plenty left over.

Before, Fang would have just gone into a mall to look around and maybe get warm. She might have had a few coins in her pocket, but probably not enough to buy a pack of gum, let alone food that isn't compressed protein rations and vitamin tablets. Now that she's Valen's concubine, though, there's literally NOTHING she can't afford to buy at least a hundred of. In the novel (I really need to get used to calling my 'stories' novels) Valen takes her to the highest of the high-end shopping avenues and takes her first to a master robe-maker and proceeds to spend about six million on Fang's wardrobe. To start. Gowns, stockings, leggings, tunics, riding kit, boots, underwear - he blows through cash like there's no end to it and Fang's head spins when he makes a guess at how much it all cost.

After that he takes her to a dozen other shops to buy her jewelry, shoes, combs, pins, soaps, creams, cosmetics, anything and everything a prince's concubine is expected to have and then some. It's so much stuff that it has to get shipped back to the palace compound (which by the way is the interior of a friggin' mountain, because DRAGONS) and an army of servants have to unpack it and put it all away. Fang is overwhelmed by the estimated price, though she accepts that in order to pull off the scheme she's cooked up with Valen she'll have to act like she deserves all of it. At the same time, it's not so hard to grow accustomed to warm socks that don't have holes in them, gowns and robes that fit properly and aren't patched dozens of times, and shoes that aren't so thin she can step on a penny and tell you what year it was minted.

It's only when the newness wears off the clothes and jewels that Fang starts wising up to the idea that it's not so much the stuff she enjoys or the comforts they bring, it's Valen's attention and apparent enjoyment of giving her things she's never had before. Brand-new shoes that no one else has ever worn? They're hers now. Silk and satin gowns trimmed with fur and silver thread? Made custom to fit her and only her. Rouge and makeup in colors Drass don't wear? Specially ordered for Fang. Valen's beyond wealthy - his dad's the goddamn Dragon Emperor - he can afford to spend 10-15 million on his new "girlfriend".

I figure lots of people have a princess fantasy, or at least a sugar daddy kink. I don't judge.

The Dragon Prince's Consort updates THURSDAYS on Wattpad, and it as well as my finished novel STARFISH are available to read absolutely for FREE because why not.

HOWEVER, if you do happen to have a dollar to spare, I also have a Ko-fi. I don't expect to make money off of these but it sure would be nice if I could afford some toast or a piece of cheese. *GASP* or a grilled cheese sandwich?!

You can follow me on Instagram for updates and short-form junk like mini-rants on romance tropes I love or hate, update announcements, very short snippets, dorky memes and pictures of my cat Nell. She is EXTREMELY cute and I love her VERY much, even if she is a brat 78% of the time.

[twotailednekomata]

Look at this emo, demon boy. He looks like he is ready for some trouble. ( •̀ᴗ•́ )و ̑̑

For real, though, he gave me sooo much trouble last night. I wanted to draw my demon designs again so I'd originally plan to draw a regular demon in this 'at a rock concert, partying' pose, quickly finding out that attempting to draw a human chin in an upright position was going to be a pain in the ass (although I did manage to figure it out).

Then I noticed that the proportions I'd made for the body did not match an adult male's so I pivoted to a teenage instead (also because I thought it would be easier for me to draw). After this point that I decided to make the character an emo kid and added a wolf theme to it (because early 2000s, the peak of emo fashion and those edgy wolf ocs. No, just me? Okay...).

Next, I had to outline the body sketch I made with a darker pencil since I realized that I would not be able to see the lines I would make for the clothes if I could not see where the body ends and the clothes begin.

Then I'd to look around for references for the clothes this boy needed to wear. Google was not giving me the references I wanted so I used Tumblr to find inspiration instead (I mean, I have an account, might as well use it.). After getting ⋆the vibes⋆, I still had to design a general outfit for him, which meant more searching. (/◡_◡)

When I finally got past the 'Build-a-Wardrobe' phrase and commence drawing him, the jacket decided to be a little troublesome, especially the fur on the right half of the torso. I had to use colour to indicate where the fur was so that it didn't blend into the rest of the outfit. I did, however, noticed that the shoulders were looking odd so I added some fur to them too. (Also, I drew the outline of the pants before deciding on an outfit so I had to design around that. Ripped pants are emo enough, right?)

Once I got past all of that, my pen decided to not work so outlining him was a real sore, especially at certain areas like the horns or fur.

The easiest parts of this drawing were the goat legs and the tail I added after I finished outlining the rest of the drawing, lol.

Anyways, overall I'm proud of him and below the read-more are the main references I'd used. Hope you enjoyed the rest of your day. (ﾐ꒡ᆽ꒡ﾐ)

Reblogs >>> Likes

(The concepts I drew for the main drawing)

https://www.mrporter.com/en-us/mens/product/celine-homme/clothing/leather-jackets/leather-jacket/560971903906151

(There's another reference for the jacket but it seems I can't find it)

This Tumblr post I'd found featuring a belt with a fanged mouth at the front (The demon is wearing it, just due to the size and limitations, I had to simplified it.)

Last, but not least, the jewelry. I mostly just came up with it from my imagination. I noticed that the emo photos I looked at feature at least one form of piecing and I saw an image that shows someone wearing two necklaces. Giving my character a choker, rings and a bracelet just made sense to me.

One bonus piece of reference before I go are these sketches for when I decided to take my first crack at demon design!

[lunarscaled]

"Don't be fooled. There are countless guilds and perhaps only two-thirds of them here."

-> One arm crosses their chest and holds their elbow as the hand on their collarbone thoughtfully and politely covers their mouth as they assess what few parties they knew: The Wild Hunt and it's members stood out all their own, donning their black and silver masks in many shapes, but they would not be seeing their guild leader tonight---the ancient Archfey rarely showed himself in public when he did not have to. His guild, hand selected to be the best of best, were his representatives. They see the six-foot tall, furred shape of a white and grey wolf whose every step is the grace of a skilled hunter as her yellow eyes flit between spats of movement indiscriminately, dressed in blacks and blue skirts, and know vaguely that she is the aged leader of Silver Fang, a guild of werewolves so sprawling they had packs in ten different countries and a handful of states.

"Guilds are not guaranteed work or success. All are invited, in attempts to be equal, but imagine the cost of coming here alone. Flights, hotel rooms, your wardrobe, the time off you take to attend this event..."

-> They see a coven of witches in one corner taking up all the sofas, their lace stockings and traditional hats overlapping each other's knees as if they sat in a sorority house and not a ballroom; keeping a mindful eye on their privacy and manners is Dahlia Forewind, her hair braided into rows and then braided again together behind her, gussied with little pink and purple flowers the same rich color as her dress. She wears a gold eyeliner that stands out against her dark skin and gives her a stare like a hawk, a bit of filigree to let others know they are observed by the chemist. Not too far from her is the gentle green scaled skin of the siren who heads Sailor's Song sitting on the edge of a fountain wall with her fingers in the water, her lashes a seafoam color that rests against her flushed cheeks with every blink. Their reputation as a guild specializing in subterfuge and naval command precedes them, as well as their unspoken benefactor position for safe housing for escorts who are also guild members; they called them Mermaid Lounges, if Lyric recalled. ( Hasr'thal sat in the hotel room with one of his three laptops open, reciting pages of information to them, never one to be caught off guard in a social interaction. they're getting a headache trying to think of all the names and faces they should know and show reverence for that he said---why should they be handing out their respects to anyone other than someone who has earned it directly? chatting in groups for hours about international guild efforts didn't feel legitimate at all. ) They turn their body towards him, hand still a thoughtful curl in front of their mouth, because they don't like the idea of someone standing behind them where they can't see even if it's only to get a drink. Lyric could get one, too, but they won't. They didn't care to drink and talk.

"My guild is only here because Mel would rather die than miss a party, so he covers the fees, but my friend is not a bottomless coffer. Even the guilds this event so supposedly supports and employees are not to all reap it's benefits."

-> A flawed system, which they knew. But they could do nothing about it here on the floor, nor even from a conference table where they held not even enough sway to be seated. They were still small fry as far as guilds went, struggling to prove themselves and sink their claws into whatever awful, back breaking jobs they could get to build their reputation. It would be that way for who knows how long, and that was why everyone worked second jobs while Lyric managed all the paperwork and guild meetings and petty, little things. A curved, claw-like nail scratches along the edge of their cheek as they give him a raised eyebrow, palm obscuring the amused twitch of their lips that exposed their teeth. ( they're actually almost angry how imposing and gem encrusted he is---prince indeed, wearing royalty that came from his very bones. they weren't even in the same class of people here, how could they be expected to keep his focus the whole night? )

"Of course I would. I told you I hate being shown up, didn't I? With those horns, who the Hell is the dragon here? You're a honey trap for debutants and there's no way I'm gonna let myself get side-eyed all night cause they want me to leave."

❛❛ misunderstand me , not , dear guild leader. it's serves a purpose , someone lives. ❜❜ Saint drew a tall figure outside of his armor , in this silk and lace these kingdoms knew as finery , and he felt naked in them. his hair is pinned up into an even higher tail than usual , perfect strands of thick hair that neither touched him nor the floor in its straightness. acceptable where his waves and braides , hair matted and dreaded in some places , were less so. by the heavens and the earth , this was their standard. The standard. and he's sure , it makes them feel quite powerful on their age old monoliths. and all he saw . . .

Saint crossed behind Lyric , and grabbed a presented glass of crystal on the table of their backs with a single movement that looked as ridiculously elegant as all this waste indeed was. ❛❛ someone makes their livelihoods doing this. that , that is where this becomes bearable. what isn't ⸻ ❜❜ he pauses to welcome the few guilds of which he holds a specific relationship , who know of him as their prince or as an ally to their wonderlust kingdoms he much preferred. they tried to bow in the customs of these kingdoms that thought his sprawling , wonder of a kingdom to be too rich for the people in it , and he wouldn't argue against it ( though his lips burned to breathe fire and sand ). they had never walked into his kingdom erroneously thinking it small , thinking it good food for adventurers because it was a kingdom of magic users. they would never know the sheer size of corner of the world , and he would never clue them in. there were few , and even fewer still that would be caught speaking about the sheer finery of their own kingdoms. they gathered and had so much fun the browner kingdoms of yore , such unabashed joy to be had. then , there were they.

he turned crimson gaze onto the back of a small , bird-like prince wearing such heavy gold that he looked as though he would tip like cattle , who would be an emperor one day. his hands were smooth , unblemished , and he sneered down over his little bird at everyone he deemed too unsightly for his delicate tastes. this man couldn't even meet his eyes proudly. ❛❛ but I must wonder , who has a livelihood , who eats. they would throw these parties off the backs of their poor and their citizenry , the peasantry. that is where these things lose me. ❜❜

because in Ziira , everyone eats. everyone has a place to earn a living. everyone has a living to earn. while the classes could be considered much more clear and defined in ways that even they couldn't quite establish , it was just a matter of fact rather than something to brag about at parties with enemies and friends. as a prince , he went into the streets and he built for those of whom he considered apart of his ménage , a part of his outer family model. some that were closer to him fell within his kay la , his household, specifically.

he found this wasteful , distasteful , because it went nowhere it needed to but back into the pockets of those who had plenty. he turns from those that likely procured an invitation for existing rather than by works , by recognition , and looks more at those they spot with his own discerning eye. Saint gives a nod to their countenance before he takes a drink from his glass.

❛❛ I have respect for the guilds , it's the kingdoms of which they sometimes operate that I find my ire moved toward. ❜❜ he smoothed his hand over his countenance and sighed. his crown , golden pits dug into his skull formed into rubies , into broad leviathan horns atop his head and brought arching curled and jagged like his chitan. his skin split apart to show how precious even his bones were , blessed with gold and silver and rubies. the lines were softer , drawn into laurel leaves cascading down his body like victory , like beauty , like sunlight crawling from the pure ruby at the center of his forehead. gold that moved and shifted like molton streams through his skin and shined like sunlight. his suit fell open at the chest to show the thick , blocky lines of gold that framed his body like reverent hands. he cuts an impossible , exposing figure even without armor.

❛❛ why , bleu , you would allow them to ravage me so ? how scandalous for you not to keep me whole and hail as my friend. tis my first time around. ❜❜

[deathbypride]

Our Flag Means Death x Queer Eye AU.

humour me here:

Ed’s the owner of ‘Ed’s Bar and Grill’ and BOY does he need a pedicure and some tlc.

Stede’s his bff who everyone thinks is his boyfriend, no idea why, we’re just friends, stop looking at me like that, Tan!!

Antoni teaches Roach the chef how to slice an avocado. Falls wildly in love with Jim’s mad knife skills. He’s never seen a carrot sliced that finely!! Jim shrugs. Olu glowers quietly.

Jonathan deep conditions Ed’s hair, tidies that whole thing up, plaits cute little ribbons into his beard. Compliments him on his glowing skin. Ed blushes. Stede glowers less quietly. 

Tan asks Frenchie and Wee John what they think of Ed’s wardrobe. Ends up with three pages of notes and a diatribe on why cats are the devil. He secretly agrees; cat fur is a bastard to get out of fabric.

Bobby asks Pete for help revamping the restaurant. He’s thinking some DIY stuff - put up shelves, sand down table tops, nothing too strenuous. Pete goes away and wittles a tiny, perfect model of ‘Ed’s Bar and Grill’, complete with all the staff as movable figures. He’s uncharacteristically modest about it. Bobby mounts it on the wall and nearly cries.

Buttons introduces Olivia and Karl (who lives, don’t question me here) to Neon the dog. They’re besties in minutes. 

Fang and Ivan try to smuggle Neon into their truck with doggy treats. They get a few yards before Stede gives them his best ‘I’m Very Disappointed’ look. Neon whines nervously. So does Ivan.

Lucius gets adopted into the Fab Five. Maybe this time the literature specialist role will work out??

Izzy’s the grill’s assistant manager. Karamo takes one look at him and has a field day.