#and good lord WHY THE STRIPES

[chopshajen]

Ok I stopped gnawing on my hands long enough to make some progress on a Trickster drawing I’ve had stewing for a few weeks, and it’s like minuscule progress but it is progress and that’s what matters

Problem is I got it to the point where I have to color in 18302048 stripes and I’m like ugh…why….why do I like this character

[typheus]

also heres a quick drawing i did from memory of her design all the way back in 2016 haha

she had different designs even further back but all of those would require way too much effort to draw. so i didnt.

Day 3: Old Oc Vivi!

ive had vivi since i was 12 n cause of that shes gone thru a Ton of changes over the years :p

not that those changes really matter since i mostly completely threw away her old story when i started making bitten off haha (*￣3￣)╭ thats how it goes sometimes

[stuckinthesun]

“Let me treat you right.” Rick Grimes x Fem!Reader

Kinktober — Week Two: Body worship, edging/denial, Dom/Sub undertones, cunnilingus

Tomorrow was Halloween, or at least according to Eugene’s makeshift calendar it was, and Alexandria was decorated with homemade and scavenged Halloween decorations for the occasion.

Everyone agreed that they wanted to do something special for the kids in the community, make a day where the world didn’t seem so shitty.

That was why you were up at one in the morning, making candied walnuts. You wanted the kids to be able to have the classic trick-or-treat experience, and Daryl had found a couple bags of expired candy, but you also wanted them to have something fresh.

You just finished twisting the timer after putting in the last batch of walnuts, when you heard the front door open and close.

“Hi, welcome home.” You called out quietly to Rick, trying not to wake up the kids.

The sound of his boots grow louder as he makes his way toward the kitchen, and when he walks in, his face is wearing a look of both amusement and curiosity, “Hi honey, what are you doing? Thought you’d be in bed by now.”

“I’m making candy walnuts,” You shrug, smiling at him, “thought they would be nice for tomorrow.”

“You’ve been doing this all night?”

“Yeah, I let Carl taste test my first batch and he said they were good so I just kept going.” You said, cracking open another walnut, “Lord knows we have enough of these-”

You were cut off by Rick suddenly standing right behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you flush against him, “Have I told you lately how much I love you?”

A smile pulled at your lips as you curled into his embrace, “Maybe once or twice; what’s the occasion this time?”

“It’s just really sweet what you’re doing.” Rick whispered, his thumbs starting to rub small circles against your hips.

You let out a shaky breath, “Well I won’t lie to you, I am making extra just for us.”

Rick chuckles and lets go of you, before cleaning off the counter in front of you, “Still, I think you deserve a reward for being such a sweet girl.”

Quickly his hands return to your waist, spinning you around to face him and beginning to slide your sweatpants down. Heat instantly starts to pool between your legs as you wonder what he has in mind.

Once Rick has the band of your sweats and panties down your thighs, he lifts you up and sets you on the counter top, “Now just sit there and keep looking pretty for me darling, I’m going to make you feel good.”

“Rick,” You whimper, watching him kneel down down in front of you and feeling slightly embarrassed because he now has full view of just how wet you already are.

Rick grabs the plush of your thighs and spreads them apart and groans, “fuck baby,” before leaning in and licking a long messy stripe through your already soaked pussy.

Your hand instantly flew to cover your mouth, quieting your moans so you didn’t wake up the kids, while your other hand tangled itself in Rick’s curls, pulling his face closer to your aching center.

He chuckled against you, the vibrations only helping stimulate you more as his tongue circled around your clit. You moaned into your hand at the tease, the feeling of his beard against your sensitive skin making you shiver against him.

Finally Rick brings his tongue directly to your clit, and your eyes roll back in pleasure. He sucks little bundle of nerves, causing you to grip his hair a little harder and pulling you closer to brink of an orgasm before he stops and goes back to teasing you.

“Wh-“ You hate how fucked out and whinny your voice sounds, “Why?”

“I’m not done thanking you.” Rick hums against your dripping cunt, before going back to dragging his tongue against everything except your clit.

This continues for another five minutes, of him bringing you to the edge and then not letting you cum. You’re now a shaking, crying mess on the counter, still desperately trying to stay quiet, “R-Rick please I-I thought this w-was a re-ward,”

You felt Rick smirk against you before he pulled away, face glistening with your slick, “It is, that’s why I’m dragging it out.”

“Please let me c-cum please please,” You beg, hips rolling against nothing, missing Rick’s mouth on you.

Rick laughs and doesn’t say anything, just dives back in and sucks on your clit hard. You moan into your hand, cumming instantly against his face.

“Sure babygirl,” Rick said after he pulled away from your now sensitive cunt, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh, “I’ll let you cum.”

You just let out a tired breath.

One of these will be on the correct week istg

[rallamajoop]

An absurdly detailed analysis of That One Soldat Photo

Hang around wintersberg fandom long enough, and you'll likely run into a popular crack-theory that, since Heisenberg obviously thinks that building a set of huge, yellow-painted signposts is a good way to point Ethan to the Stronghold, maybe it's Heisenberg who's been leaving all those handy, yellow-painted supply crates all over the place for Ethan to find! It's exactly the kind of fun nonsense I'd enjoy if it didn't feel folks are starting to take it a little too literally (by which I mean I have now read multiple fics in which it's played completely straight ‒ and, like, people do get that it's just a crack theory, right? Like, why would Heisenberg have left so many yellow crates around his own damn factory? Look, you don't have to explain every last game mechanic, not everything is lore!)

But as anyone reading my own fic would know, I'm guilty of echoing the idea that Heisenberg-was-leaving-stuff-for-Ethan myself ‒ just not because of any yellow-striped crates. No, I'm way more interested in this one weird soldat-photo you can find in the village ‒ long hours before you'll ever see your first Soldat in the flesh...

Very creepy. And if you turn it over, you'll find a clue to a puzzle you'll have to solve in order to progress.

(And of course, when you do look out the window, odds are you'll get jump-scared by a lycan just when you're focused on the numbers, because RE8 loves that sort of misdirection ‒ but I digress.)

Anyway, the code you can see out the window will open a safe containing a jack handle you'll need to move a vehicle in the village, as well as the M1911 pistol (which will very likely be your go-to handgun for the rest of the game). The game is full of conveniently-helpful clues like that (heck, most games are), often with no obvious Watsonian justification. And there are other photos around the village ‒ Luiza has a whole photo album ‒ but photos of experiments created by Miranda and her lords don't generally turn up outside their own territory.

For a player exploring the village for the first time, that photo is a lovely little bit of foreshadowing, hinting at monsters and factory stages to come. But on replaying with full knowledge of Heisenberg's later attempts to get Ethan on his side, that Soldat photo is just enough to make you go, huh... did Heisenberg leave that for Ethan? Like, on purpose?

You can find another copy of that photo later, in Heisenberg's factory, along with his notes on his early series Soldat experiments. Which doesn't really prove anything beyond the fact that assets exist to be reused... but it does at least make it pretty canon that Heisenberg has photos of his Soldats sitting around.

Possibly also significant: both the clue photo and the factory documents are tagged 'geekmemo' in the game files. Most everything related to Heisenberg in the files is labeled 'geek'-something ‒ it seems to be an early nickname for his character that lasted well into production. Everything in the factory is geek-something, even the model for the passageway from the altar to the bridge is labeled 'pathtogeek'. Considering that so many soldat-related assets are already labeled 'geek', maybe that 'geekmemo' tag doesn't really tell us anything we don't already know ‒ but it certainly doesn't work against the idea that Heisenberg wrote that 'memo' himself.

Besides, it's not like there isn't precedent for this kind of thing. RE7 had a whole mechanic where you'd have to find 'treasure photos' pointing out the location of a few rare and useful items, all with "I hid something here" written on the back. We're never explicitly told who left those photos lying around, but it's obviously Lucas: he loves playing games, he loves taunting prisoners with the possibility of escape, and who else would it be? The complete population of the Baker mansion is like 6 people and a bunch of semi-sentient mould.

Over in RE8, there are a lot more village resident who might have left that clue lying around. Like it or not though, Heisenberg is very much RE8's equivalent of Lucas: the family's wildcard show-boater who loves making Ethan jump through hoops for his amusement. So how does the game let us know it was Heisenberg who left this particular clue? Well, who else would leave a message on the back of a Soldat photo?

There's may be additional supporting evidence Heisenberg could be involved ‒ most notably the location, being a locked-off cul-de-sac labeled 'Workshop' on signs and maps. The area is full of metal junk very much like you'll later see lying around the factory.

The workshop location does have other relevance ‒ it makes sense that you'd find the jack handle in the village workshop, whether Heisenberg was involved or not. But it also stands to reason that if there's anywhere in the village proper where Heisenberg might hang around and leave clues for Ethan, the workshop is it. And you have to admit that leaving Ethan useful stuff in a safe along with an easy clue that will likely get him jumped by a lycan is 100% more in-character for the guy than just leaving useful stuff out in the open, even if it doesn't really prove anything either.

There's one more weird-little does-this-mean-anything detail: there are three dead crows near the safe too.

It's not the first time in the game you've seen dead crows (there were a bunch outside the village, and I've talked about what that might mean in the context of Miranda's cult before). But I don't remember finding any others around the village itself, other than in this one spot. And instead of being hung from trees like a ritual sacrifice, these ones are just dead ‒ messily, and with blood everywhere.

Now, maybe it doesn't mean anything, but is there anyone in the village more likely to vent his frustrations by violently killing a few of Mother Miranda's avian avatars than Heisenberg? I'd think not.

In conclusion: I still don't think all those yellow crates have anything to do with Heisenberg. And I still don't know for sure whether the RE8 development team wanted me to assume that Heisenberg left Ethan that photo, jack handle and gun. I don't know if we're supposed to read that Heisenberg keeps a workshop in the village and sometimes kills crows out of spite. But the evidence sure does point that way ‒ and it's as valid an interpretation as anything else you might take from this game.

[barleyo]

Hybrid.

Recom! Miles Quaritch X Fem! Reader (smut)

A/N: Hey, guys! I'm back from hiatus, sorry, I've been gone for so long. I got this idea while listening to one of my favorite nsfw asmr creators (feelgoodfilth, please go check him out y’all). Love you all, thanks for reading!

Tags: breeding kink, medical fetish, p in v, handjobs, fingering, unprotected sex, creampies

Wordcount: 1.7K

“Colonel Quaritch?”

“Hm, yeah?”

The woman walked into the small waiting room, taking only a few steps while clutching a clipboard to her chest. 

“I’m ready to run your tests. Would you follow me to the back office?” Her lips pressed into an awkward line, the pissed look on Quaritch’s face telling her that he wasn’t in the mood for a smile.

He stood up, head leaning down uncomfortably in the room. The ceilings got a bit higher when they turned the corner to her office, allowing him to reach closer to his full height. An examining table sat in the middle of the office, and an overhead light stood above it.

“Do I–?” Miles’ hand loosely pointed over to the table.

“Oh, yes, please. Careful of the light, Colonel.” The woman took her seat on a spinning chair, scooting it toward the table with her wheels. “Careful– careful now,” she said, holding her arms out as he roughly sat on the table, trying to protect his large body, as if catching him would have done any good. 

He snorted, lip pulling into a bored, fixed snarl. “Yeah, so sorry, miss,” he said, voice anything but apologetic. 

She gave a small nod, eyeing her papers clipped to her board, scanning over them quickly. 

“Ah– no matter. So, Colonel Quaritch, I have to run a few simple tests and check-ups before we start the extraction process. Please, hold still.”

Extraction.

“Lord, this damn thing couldn’t take any longer, could it? Fucking Christ,” he snapped, patience thinning by the minute.

The RDA just wanted to piss him off at this point, he thought. The whole situation left a bad taste in his mouth, from start to finish. Creating recoms with lab grown Na’vi bodies was getting too expensive, so this was the alternative. Why make them from the government and taxpayers’ money when they had all they really needed: a few female recoms, a few male recoms and a way for them to mix.

“I know, I’m sorry– I know this can’t be pleasant for you,” she said. She was trying to be as sympathetic as possible, but it wasn’t a great process for her to deal with either, especially when the medical wing was understaffed. 

“You have no idea, girl.” Miles groaned impatiently and spread his legs out, trying to work out the stress and kinks from his joints. “Can we just get this over with?”

The nurse nodded and scrambled over to her desk, pulling out an otoscope. She ushered him to lower his head to her level, having already pumped her chair up to its maximum height. “Hey, hey, hold still,” she inserted the tool, holding his blue ear to stop it from flicking as she looked through the lens. “Okay, all good.” 

“What’s even the point of this? Can’t I just jizz in a fucking cup and leave?” He took a deep breath and his nose twitched in irritation. 

“That– that comes later,” she said, face warm at his vulgar language, “just a few more tests, I promise. Now,” she pointed at her mouth, “open up, I need to take a look at your teeth.”

“What? Why?” Miles drew his eyebrows together, looking her up and down. 

“I’ve got to make sure your teeth are healthy, and strong before we pass your DNA down to our other soldiers,” she said while still pointing her fingers at her mouth. “C’mon, show me that handsome smile, eh, Colonel?”

A sigh escaped his muscled chest, stripes seemingly shaking as he breathed. 

“Fine.”

She brought a small light to his mouth, lifting her head up high to see all of his teeth. They were sharp and barred at her, shining in the reflection of her light. 

A few other meaningless tests were performed, each draining Quaritch of his patience more and more. If he had to do one more fucking thing, he was going to—!

“Here you are. Now just take this and, uhm, you know,” she said, passing him a sterile cup to fill. “Fill it to the top, if you can.”

She looked away and started to turn to her desk before she heard a zipper. Her head snapped over to the table to see Miles removing his heavy cock from his cargos, giving it lazy pumps.

“No, there’s– there’s a bathroom for that…!”

“It’ll take like two seconds,” he muttered through gritted teeth, “not leaving just to blow a load.”

She barely heard his response as she watched. She was too busy feeling her grip on the corner of her chair tighten, eyes hooked on the sight of his pretty, blue cock growing in his fist.

 “I, uhm, I think,” she paused, still watching as her voice trailed off.

“Huh? You think what?” He looked at her, smirking at her knuckles going white as she held onto the chair. “I think, little miss, that you want to come help me with this. Am I right?”

“That’s not professional,” she coughed out, turning her head away from him, arms going up to cover her chest. 

“Oh, come on. Don’t you want to help a patient in need? Don’t leave me here to suffer,” Quaritch teased, feeling his impatience being replaced by smugness. 

She bit her lip, eyes squinting as she thought. 

“Oh, nurse,” he called, voice smothered with satisfaction, “I need your help.” He let go of his dick, feeling it spring back to hit his clothed abdomen. A string of precum stuck to his shirt as his cock twitched. 

She walked over to him, pushing the wheeled chair to the corner of the room and out of her way. Taking his cock into her hand, she looked up to meet his blown, amber eyes. “Just to help? T-to hurry the process, right?”

“Mhm,” he hummed, “but, I wouldn’t mind if you took your time.” 

Giving a few, testing strokes, she held as much of his cock that she could manage in her small fist. She went slow, from tip to base. Miles shuttered a bit, hips threatening to snap up into her hand. 

“You’re a little fuckin’ tease, aren’t you? Gonna– fuck,” he clenched his jaw, “gonna actually take your time, huh? Ain’t know you’d listen t’me.”

Taking her other hand, she takes her fingers and traces around his tip, collecting the slick and rubbing it in. She felt it kick in her hands, and gave it a sharp squeeze.

“God, just– let go, c’mon.” 

She let go quickly. “Did I do something wrong? I didn’t mean to!”

Quaritch took a breath through his nose and patted his lap. “Come here, come on. That’s right.” 

She sat, facing him. Her blue scrubs made euphoric friction against his cock, gliding across the length as she got comfortable. 

“I’ve gotten a taste of you, darlin’,” he started, “I won’t be able to hold back. Can’t cum inside that fuckin’ cup.”

“What do you mean?” She asked, mouth parting slightly as she felt his hands reach under her shirt. “Colonel?”

“Ain’t no point in growing another recom in a lab with my DNA,” he started, leaning to her neck, letting the warmth of his breath hit the exposed skin, “when I could put my DNA inside of you. Gonna let me breed you? Huh?”

He held onto the swell of her breast under the shirt, running a thumb over her hard nipple. 

“Gonna let me fuck a hybrid into you?”

Her mouth hung open for a second, unanswering. “Colonel….”

“Answer me, missy. Gonna do it? Let me fill you up with a fuckin’ alien baby.”

A slow nod was all he needed to see. In a swift movement, she felt her body turned and pushed, her back on the table. 

“Careful, please,” she mumbled, lips raw from her chewing them nervously. 

“No time for ‘careful,’ honey, I gotta take you nice and rough.” Quaritch pulled her pants and panties down, balling the fabric up and tossing them into a corner in the office. He brought his fingers to her cunt, collecting the slick leaking from her hole. “Worked up, huh?”

He placed one hand over her thigh, pulling her legs apart. She instinctively tried to close them back, unsuccessfully. 

“Keep ‘em open, I need to get you prepped for me.” He took one finger and rocked it into her, reaching to the far back of her walls. “All this talk got you wet already,” he said, feeling his finger slip in and out with ease. 

“Wait, I’m close, really close,” she said, legs starting to shake. 

A  dry chuckle left Quaritch’s mouth. “Yeah? I won’t stop you. Cum.” His fingers curled into the gummy spot in her, abusing the sensitive area. A soft clenching trapped the digit, tightening over him for a few moments. “There, there you go.”

“Thank you, yes– fuck!”

“One load ain’t enough for you, huh?” His eyes were completely blown and lust-filled. “God– your greedy little cunt, milkin’ me dry.” 

“Please, one more time– one more. Want your babies so bad!” she moaned, voice completely punched out. Her whines were breathless, and broken. 

Quaritch gave a soft hum as he continued at the same pace, slotting his hips between hers roughly. The squelches of her messy, wet cunt filled his ears and egged him on further. Dribbles of his cum from earlier dripped out of her with each of his thrusts.

“I’m just gonna seed you, girl. Spill my fuckin’ cum all in you for second time so it takes.”

Her walls clenched around his cock at his words, a soft moan escaping her lips. 

“You like that, yeah?”

“Yes, yes—” 

“Keep clenching on me, keep me nice and hard,” he growled into her ear gently licking the shell of it after he finished talking, “God– you got me right on the edge.”

“Don’t make me wait,” she sobbed, feeling herself go blind from pleasure.

“So greedy, so– so impatient.” Quaritch held onto her hips, using her hips for further leverage as he fucked her into the table. 

“Cum– cum in me, please, Colonel, one more time.”

Her begging threw him over the edge, and he spilled his second load into her, his cock kicking as he did. 

“Fuck, sweet girl, there you go. Not even gonna pull out of you, gotta keep you plugged up.” He sat up, pulling her on his lap, dick still inside. 

“Do you think I’ll actually, uhm, you know?” she sighed, looking a bit concerned.

“Get pregnant? I don’t know, girl. Maybe not. Or maybe you will, and you’ll get full with some little recom soldier babies.” He ran his hand over her cheek before speaking again, “Maybe I should fill you up again. Third time’s a charm.”

[mcflymemes]

PROMPTS FROM SPONGEBOB SQUAREPANTS *  some of my favorite quotes from the show, adjust as necessary

his chops are too righteous!

it’s evil. it’s diabolical. it’s lemon scented!

lord knows i’ve tried.

two words. na. chos.

yeah, i get called that a lot.

it's just a cruel reminder that i'm single and likely to remain that way forever.

what doesn't kill you usually succeeds in the second attempt.

stupidity isn't a virus, but it sure is spreading like one.

goodbye everyone, i’ll remember you all in therapy.

don't you have to be stupid somewhere else?

i used to have a kidney stone. everything passes eventually.

you can't fool me. i listen to public radio!

stop it, [name], you're scaring him!

do instruments of torture count?

give to the children's fund? what have the children ever done for me?

this is not your average, everyday darkness. this is... advanced darkness.

what's better than serving up smiles?

i guess i'm not wearing any pants today.

did you smell it? that smell. a kind of smelly smell. the smelly smell that smells… smelly.

wake me up when i care.

look at all the hip, young people eating salads!

he was so ugly that everyone died.

the best time to wear a striped sweater is all the time!

well, the way i see it, there are three possibilites.

hibernation is the opposite of beauty sleep.

that’s it mister! you just lost your brain privileges!

good people don’t rip other people’s arms off.

well, we lost our car again.

pull your pants up. we’re going home.

you were right. fighting is for children.

i’m a good noodle!

remember, licking doorknobs is illegal on other planets.

your ceiling is talking to me!

we don’t need television.

the inner machinations of my mind are an enigma.

i’ll have you know i stubbed my toe last week while watering my spice garden and i only cried for twenty minutes.

hey, if i close my eyes, it doesn’t seem so dark.

is mayonnaise an instrument?

those are some big words. i’ve never heard you use them before.

my vocabulary is infinitely expanding.

we destroyed your most prized possession.

we shall never deny a guest even the most ridiculous request.

let’s see, a five letter word for happiness. money.

can i have everybody’s attention?

i have to use the bathroom.

do you know what day today is?

could you not stand so close? you’re making me claustrophobic.

i used your clarinet to unclog my toilet.

are they laughing at us?

if you can’t do the time, don’t do the crime.

he needs us now more than ever.

what is today, but yesterday’s tomorrow?

ice is just a myth.

this working out thing isn’t working out.

i can’t see my forehead.

i have a good idea, and no one else thinks so.

look at you, so young and happy.

i prefer to be an idiot!

sounds like a pretty good deal to me, what do you say?

don’t be sad, buddy. turn that frown upside down!

i’m ugly and i’m proud!

good! say it louder!

i can’t do it! i can’t be away from my best friend!

i need you! i can’t handle this myself!

i’m just going on vacation for a few days.

i was kinda hoping that you come along with us…

enjoy the cake everybody!

now we never have to be apart, even when we’re not together.

this is great. see you forever!

i have to keep you safe while i get some work done!

maybe he doesn’t like us.

no, are you kidding?

i propose a toast to new friends!

i guess i’ll have to move in back with my mom and dad.

he’s a thief. look at the lust in his eye…

why can’t you just accept our friendship?

[dilatorywriting]

Monster Mayhem: Donkeys & Dragons [PART 4]

Gender Neutral Reader x Malleus Draconia Word Count: 6.7k

Summary: 'Never tickle a sleeping dragon.'

🌶️Obligatory Warning for Some Descriptions of Violence & Mild Suggestive Content

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [EPILOGUE]

As detestable as they were, at the very least your assailants were well organized.

You were plopped neatly at the center of the room, in a very conspicuous location that would have made it difficult for a hypothetical someone to, say, just flat-out torch everything in sight without also catching his very tiny, mortal, companion up in said firestorm.

The group of them split off to tend to their tasks with a frankly shocking level of competence and foresight. Was this how adventurers were actually supposed to work? They didn’t just—I don’t know—saunter into an abandoned castle on a whim and a prayer, with no real end goal in sight and nothing but the perpetual bounding of a singular, shared, braincell to keep them on their toes? There was a plan? What was this madness.

“How much time do you think we have?” one of them called, busy working to set up some sort of wire trap that, in your humble ‘I have faced this legendary dragon and survived’ opinion, looked like it would do exactly diddly squat.

“Enough,” the Elf Wizard shrugged, thin arms crossed tight across his equally gaunt chest. “These vermin don’t have the same concept of time as we do. It may return soon, but we may also be waiting hours.”

Hours? Hours? You fought the urge to groan. And then remembered it hardly mattered if you did or not, because you were still trapped in a bubble of perpetual Silence, and that just made you want to groan louder.

Assumed-Rogue nodded tersely in response and continued constructing his pseudo-trap. The long, red, stripes of his sleeves were odd things—very in-your-face bold for a dude whose job you assumed it was to slip through shadows unseen. But then you noticed that the threads he was spinning were pooling from those slashes of crimson, and alright, that was fairly cool. ‘Your failure of a stealthy design gets a pass this time, good sir.’

“You’re certain this is one of the Briar Beasts, Lord Flamm?” Armored Lady piped in, busy shifting through the various swords strapped at her hip.

“Of course,” he hummed, flicking through his spell tome. “Have I ever led you astray before?”

Armored Dude snorted from his place across the room. “You’re not the issue. I just have trouble believing one of those monsters would still be alive at all after all this time.”

‘Lord Flamm’ snorted. “And why not? They’re like cockroaches—thriving through the worst of the world and gorging themselves on its corruption. This one is no different.”

Your brows twitched irritably.

Thankfully, Silence was not an indefinite spell. And after about ten minutes of muzzled misery, you felt its sticky, gauzy, gunk wash itself out of your throat.  

“I’m getting the impression that you’re really not a fan of dragons,” you said, testing your volume.

Lord Flamm stared down at you with a hawk-eyed sort of sneer. His pale, green, glare felt like a tangible thing crawling along your skin.

“They are unnatural,” he huffed after a moment. “No creature should walk the planes of this world for such a great span of time. Immortality is a perverse transgression against the sanctities of life and existence.”

“You are literally an Elf,” you replied, incredulous. His face scrunched up like you’d forced a whole lemon into his mouth, and then he dropped another dome of Silence over your head.

Another ten minutes crawled by, and words returned to your tongue.

“Don’t you think you’re being a bit hypocritical?” you hummed, casually testing the arcane restraints binding your limbs. Those seemed to hold themselves in place with a great deal more fortitude than his on-again-off-again Mute Button, which was as frustrating as it was respectable.

“It’s not nearly the same. I was born into my burden,” he sniffed.

You blinked, confused. “I mean, so was Tsunotarou.”

Elf Wizard made a punched-out sort of noise, like you’d decked him right in the spleen.

“You named the beast?” he gawked. “Like a pet?”

“Look, man,” you grouched, offended on your scaly friend’s behalf. “If anyone’s the pet here, it’s me!”

Lord Flamm’s face went white, to red, and then nearly puce.

“Wait,” you spluttered. “That came out wrong—”

And then you were gagged once more.

The next time your muzzle was lifted, Lord Flamm was already pacing along the little, invisible, edge of the spell’s cage. You cleared your throat and he came to a stop a few feet away from where you were bound.

“I can see what’s happened here,” he said, stern, and you arched a brow in disbelief. You didn’t even have any solid idea what the fuck was going on, and you’d been living it for the past few weeks. He cleared his throat and glowered down at you. “You’ve been taken in by the monster’s wiles.”

You spluttered. “Not to just keep repeating myself, but really, if anyone did the ‘accidental seducing’ thing here, it was—”

He waved you off with a puckered grimace. “That hardly matters. At the end of the day, you are still the creature’s prisoner, and it is my duty as a man of integrity to assist you however I can.”

You frowned. Because while this whole thing had technically started as a hostage situation, it hadn’t really felt like one lately. Sure, Tsunotarou still threw tantrums that shook the foundation when you’d tried to put up a makeshift bathroom door, but he also listened to all your stories with the rapt attention of someone genuinely invested in the garbage pouring out of your mouth. He tucked you into your big mattress nest at night with his scaly nose, and endured all your griping with nothing but good humor. He showed you his treasures and told you terrible, dry, jokes that you were sure you only found so funny because he certainly hadn’t meant to be.

You sighed and dipped your head, expression shuttered.

Lord Flamm stepped forward and you felt a thin, gloved, finger tuck itself beneath your chin to tilt you back up to face him.

“I will save you,” he promised, something genuinely sturdy and righteous coating the words. “If you ask it of me.”

You took a deep breath in through your nose.

“There once a man from Trebucket,” you chirped, letting the jaunty tavern melody roll off your tongue like any good Bard ought to.

Lord Flamm arched a thin brow, in equal parts amusement and exasperation.

“Who really only wanted to find the dragon so he could fuck it—”

His face twisted in rage, and to the surprise of literally no one, you were Silenced yet again. Though this one felt the most like a victory so far.

And thus, the cycle repeated itself. Every quarter hour or so, the spell would drop and you’d start babbling some sacrilegious, borderline pornographic, nonsense that had him cursing you all over again. You counted each round of mockery softly in your head. Half to keep time, half to—

Your gaze trailed past the intricate, stone, entryway and caught. Perched atop the overhang were two gargoyles. Which was quite odd, seeing as you’d spent half a month living out of this room now and had never noticed them before (and you certainly would have, what with your host’s propensity for pointing out the gothic carvings each and every time one popped up in the castle’s architecture). Not to mention, they looked an awful lot like the pair of grey monsters which had been guarding the entrance when you’d first slunk in—the very duo that you’d sworn had tracked you and your friends with beady, gemstone, eyes and dug their pointed talons through solid rock.   

Ancient buildings always seemed to have a life about them—never quiet, never still. Always settling with strange noises and shifting shadows that danced oddly along surfaces that were forever decaying. And this castle was no different. So it took you really listening, really closing your eyes tight and straining your ears against the perpetual white noise, to make out the low grinding of the Gargoyles as they shifted atop their perch and curled their sharp claws.

You tilted your head at them, curious, and the one on the left seemed to bristle. As much as stone could bristle. The one on the right very softly dipped its chin, almost like a bow. Its purple, glass, eyes flashed in the lowlight.

‘Wait,’ that look said.

And so you did, sitting straighter and at proper attention.

The group of Dragon Slayers was still milling about making preparations. Eventually, one of the two yet-unclassified hench people slunk from the room, and when your gaze slipped back to the gargoyles, the one on the right was gone.

You made eye contact with the remaining carving, and it curled its lip at you like a grumbly hound.

There was a scream from beyond the threshold, and then a great clattering of noise not unlike an earthquake, or the resonating crunch of a building crumbling at its base.

Immediately weapons were drawn, shoulders hunched in panic. Defensive magic swirled through the air like ink in water.  

“What’s going on?!—”

With a shrieking roar, the remaining gargoyle lurched forward and collided with one of the armored attackers. The impact was like a crack of thunder, and it rattled around your skull like a gong.

And with that—dragon or no—the battle against the Hunters had officially begun.

With a panicked squawk, you began worming your still very bound self out of the dead center of this tornado of chaos. You flopped across the floor like a particularly determined caterpillar, or someone trussed up a in a sleeping bag with no limbs. You made it almost a solid twenty feet before you were scooped up by the back of your collar and dropped onto your knees.  

“Not so fast, you little cretin.”

And then there was a curved knife at your throat and a set of hands trapping your own. You gulped and the blade bobbed against your chin. Stupid rogues with their stupid stealth. You grit your teeth and clenched your fists, willing the meager scraps of magic that twirled in your veins to bob to the surface. You could feel the trace rumblings of a Thunderwave reverberating down your limbs, and it was certainly no Fireball, or Lightning Bolt, but maybe it would be enough to—

There was a spray of red, red, red and the Striped Rogue at your back collapsed in a puddle of gore.

Standing over the corpse of the felled assassin was a boy. Or, well, something that very much looked like a young boy. Or, not young. Just… It was strange. He was small, slight, with a cheerful youthfulness to him. But the mirthful expression lighting his crimson eyes chilled your bones like the seeping cold from a long-forgotten tomb. It was like looking at someone with dozens—hundreds—of faces. A kaleidoscope of lifetimes. It was disorientating.

“Hello, you,” the little demon cooed. He reached out to tap a clawed finger against your forehead and the arcane binds holding your limbs shattered on impact. “Let’s get you out of here, hmm?”

Something tugged at your brain as you gaped at that mess of choppy, black-and-pink, hair, and the glittering irises that matched the blood splattered across his cheeks almost too horribly well.

“Are you… Lilia?” you asked, dazed.

“Well done, little human,” he trilled, lips curling in delight as he hauled you back to your feet. “But there will be time for proper introductions later. Let’s get you somewhere safe first, before my silly ward really does tear this whole castle down.”

“Tsunotarou is here?” you frowned, anxious. “But these people are here to kill him.”

“We’ve done our best to keep him away for as long as possible,” Lilia hummed. “But I doubt he has much more patience for skulking about in the shadows. He never did,” He sighed, long and world weary. “And I loved this old haunt so much too. I hope it survives.”

“You—” you gawked. “You’re talking about the castle?!”

“Of course,” Lilia smiled, perfectly sweet. “Swatting these pests is going to cause more damage than they’re worth to begin with—”

You were yanked out of the path of an encroaching blade, and Lilia sidestepped the pair of you smoothly to safety.

“You’re not going anywhere!” the Paladin thundered, hand whipping out to leash a whirl of vibrating, bright, magic around Lilia’s wrists. “This fight is mine! And you will have no other!”

“Ah,” your savior sighed, looking down at the faint, yellow, glow circling his skin. “Now that is a doozy.”

The great sword came down with a crash, and Lilia ducked away from the destruction with ease. He gave you a light tap on the shoulder, pushing you forward, and you felt the flush of a Haste spell nibbling at your limbs.

“Go on ahead,” he said, with all the nonchalant politeness of someone lamenting that they were going to be late for afternoon tea. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”

BOOM went the now glowing sword as it sliced through the air where your savior had been standing not a moment before.

“Do not take me so lightly, wretch,” the Paladin spat, and Lilia’s civil little smile twisted into something that sent shivers racing down your spine.

“If you insist,” he beamed, with a level of enthusiasm that was bordering on sociopathic.

You didn’t stay to see the fallout. Lilia’s orders to flee aside, you knew well enough what a cat looked like before it pounced—that smug, animalistic, satisfaction that came after deciding that it was going to play with its meal for as long as it liked. And the grinding, snapping, howling noises coming from their direction was enough to reinforce that looking back would be a very terrible idea indeed.

You’d only just made it past the threshold and out in the grand hall beyond when there came a whining groan that sounded familiarly enough like the protesting noises the banister would make whenever Tsunotarou dropped too much of his weight on top of it. You peered back into the room, and from the darkness at its rear emerged a long, thin, snout.

The Great, Ebony, Dragon slithered forth from the blackness like a snake through the grass. The sharp drag of his claws against the stone was earsplitting, and when he spread his wings behind him, he seemed to cast the entire cavern into shadow. Faster than you could blink, one, two, three of the Slayers were scooped up by those massive, pointed, teeth and tossed through the air—wherein the pair of gargoyles descended upon them like a set of well-trained attack dogs. Your dragon swiveled to spit black smoke across the rest of the echoing room and its occupants. Between the swirling smog seeping from his throat and the blackness of his wings, the brilliant, green, glow of his eyes were the only source of light in the gloom. It was all horribly eerie, but mesmerizing in a way that reminded you exactly why so many ballads and epics had been written about the terrible might of Dragons.

He reared his head back and roared. His bellowing seemed to shake the very foundation of the castle, and the sparks jumping from behind his canines bit through the smoke with harsh little pop-pop-pops. And man oh man, he reallymust have been taking it easy on you and your duo of idiots, because this would have had the three of you shitting your pants on the spot.

From there, the battle more or less became a one-sided massacre. The stone soldiers flew through the air, decimating the opponents as their master demanded. Occasionally there was a flash of pink, and then a cheerful laugh followed inevitably by a noise that was all kinds of unpleasant. And at the center of it all was your newfound friend—picking apart the opposition with all the careful rage of someone determined to sear the consequences of these Hunters’ folly into the memories of their lineages for ages to come.

And then—amidst all the quite frankly epic fighting that you would have to tell Ace and Deuce all about when they came back to visit—you noticed that not far from where you were hiding observing was a familiar, angry, gaunt face. Lord Flamm’s elaborate black and maroon robes swirled around his ankles as he paced, and he was leering at the chaos unfolding not a hundred feet away with an expression that calling murderous would have been kind.

You bristled immediately, limbs lancing through with a tight sort of indignation.

He was just—right there! Standing all the way out here! When the rest of his party was busy being chewed to itty-bitty pieces!

And sure, rationally you knew that Wizards were squishy, glass-canons not meant for close combat more intense than a round of rock-paper-scissors. Sure, when you and your idiots had been facing down a dragon, Ace and Deuce had ordered you and your equally ill-armored self to run for it. Someone had probably hurled the Elf from the room the moment combat began, or demanded he whirl away to safety.

But you wanted to be angry. Because this was the man who had strode, eyes wide open, into a hornet’s nest with the sole intention of crushing the poor bugs beneath his heel. He deserved to bear the brunt of the miserable, stinging, backlash.

It certainly didn’t help that he was glaring down Tsunotarou with near frenzied loathing. The tome in his hands was flipped open to a dense spell that you couldn’t even begin to make sense of, and he was casting. Something tedious, and extravagant, and with enough somatic nonsense to make your head spin. His gloved fingers glowed beneath a growing mote of magic that shone horrible and bright in the natural shadows of the castle. Whatever sort of magic it was, it was strong enough to make the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end and push frantic adrenaline through your veins. Sigils swam through the air, and you swore you could feel it sapping at your own tiny pool of mana. If this was some kind of spell that would gobble up magic, then a dragon who was nothing but magic—then Tsunotarou—he would—This spell might actually—

You ran at that wretched little bitch with everything you had, and tackled him to the ground just as a bolt of crackling, pale, force magic boomed from between his fingers. The spell shot wide, and you thanked every divine being you could think of for the enduring shittiness of Wizard Muscles.

“I should have known you’d risk your life to save that unholy monster,” he seethed, rolling back to his feet and sending you tumbling off the side.

You stood firm and silent between this awful, garbage, Elf and the Dragon he so hated.

Lord Flamm raised a hand in your direction, incensed, and then you watched as something sharp and frightened slithered its way across his features. No sparks danced along his fingertips, no black miasma curled from his palms. You shoved your hands into your pockets and rocked back and forth on your heels like the most obnoxious piece of shit you could be.

“Wow,” you drawled, low in your throat. “That was impressive. I mean. How many times did you cast all those spells on me earlier? I’m shocked you have anything left.”

The already dark look coloring his face twitched into something truly foul.

“You were doing that on purpose,” he snarled. “You vile, loathsome, bumbling ignoramus of a bard!—"

“Ah, stop, stop!” You beamed, fanning yourself with a limp wrist. “You’re going to make me blush~”

You ducked out the way with a yelp as a mote of fire whizzed past your ear—singeing far too many hairs at it went. Because fuck fuck fuck. Cantrips were still a thing. And he was powerful enough that those simple, little, bits of magic would still probably be more than enough to fry the meat off your bones.

“It’ll be enough to kill you,” he seethed—like he could read your thoughts—teeth tugged into a hideous, gaping, sneer.

Your mind zipped through every possible escape route and settled frantically on the only option that had ever truly seemed to save your ass.

“What white teeth you have?” you tried.

He roared and another shot of brilliant, red, flames careened over your head.  

You ducked out of the way with a squawk just in the nick of time, nearly faceplanting into a wall in your haste.

And thus ensued a terrifying but morbidly hilarious Benny Hill chase through pillars, and behind rocks, and into holes. You killed your singular, daily use of Misty Step just trying to get out of one of said holes. And your brief attempt at tossing up a Mirror Image to throw off his groove did little but get you whacked with a Counterspell that made your bones ache.

Just as you’d burned through the last of your meager magic and were genuinely preparing to just try and deck the guy again, black smoke began to curl through the hall—soon followed by the ominous roll of thunderous growls and the heavy grindingof a gigantic beast clawing its way into the room.

You threw yourself at the dragon with more enthusiasm than was probably proper for a situation like this, and he immediately ducked his head to catch you against his snout. He curled himself around you with a rumbling snarl and your vision was drowned in a shifting sea of ebony scales. You squished yourself into his bulk with a shuddering sigh, fingers clutching a bit uselessly at the slippery surface of his natural armor.

A burst of orange flames rolled harmlessly off Tsunotarou’s scaled side and his lips curled unpleasantly over his canines. You could see the licks of emerald fire rolling off his tongue—dancing along his white teeth and lighting the hall in an ominous, sickly, glow.

Before the pair of you, Lord Flamm looked half-mad. If not fully consumed. His party wiped, his hostage freed, and the creature he hated so fiercely baring down on him with no escape.

He let his head fall back with a discordant trill of laughter and grinned at the approaching dragon without a hint of repentance. Fear, perhaps. Panic, certainly. But no remorse. He raised his hands once more, and another dredge of his own fire sparked along his fingers.

“And he shall smite the wicked and plunge them into the fiery pit.”

The Great Briar Beast of Old opened his gigantic, black, maw and choked the hall in a torrent of emerald fire.

And Lord Flamm and his Dragon Slayers were no more.

You stared intently at the singed corridor, as if waiting for one of the piles of ash to jump to its feet and pull a sword. Which you might have excused as paranoid fretting if you hadn’t heard of necrotic magics capable of doing exactly that. But after a long moment of waiting with bated breath and tight fists, the monsters did not rise from their graves, and all seemed to be truly well and over.

You let out a gigantic gust of a breath and collapsed bonelessly against the dragon at your side. After a solid minute or two of just awkwardly trying to find a good way to hug a giant lizard more than a dozen times your size, Tsunotarou slipped out of his scales, and then he was warm and fleshy in your arms once more. Still too big, still earth-shatteringly strong, but human-shapedenough that you could merrily settle into his embrace without the risk of becoming a pancake.

“Tsunotarou!” you chirped past the lingering haze of smoke. “You’re okay!”

“Me?” he gawked at you. It was an awkward angle to make eye contact, seeing as he’d latched himself onto you like a particularly determined koala, but he managed nonetheless. “You were worried about me during all of that?” He blinked those wide, neon, eyes at you like you were some horribly long and tedious math equation that he couldn’t even begin to make sense of. “You were the one who was captured!”

“They were Dragon Slayers,” you entreated, brow furrowed. “They didn’t need me for much of anything. Of course I was worried more about you.”

When the constipated look on his face refused to fade, you prodded him gently in his side.

“Look, I promise if we ever run into Bard Poachers I will be exponentially more cautious.”

He didn’t look particularly convinced—whether because he was trying to suss out of if something like ‘Bard Poachers’ were an actual, factual, threat upon your person, or because you’d just openly hurtled yourself at a clearly overpowered, feral, wizard with no regards to your already shitty constitution to speak of, so a promise to ‘be more cautious’ was about as good as saying that maybe next time you wouldn’t outright flirt with death. Only subtly. A lil’ bit.

You reached up to smoosh your thumb along the sharp slant of his frown and smooth out the harsh edges that were practically digging into his jaw.

“Tsunotarou, if you keep making that face, it’s going to get stuck like that,” you warned.  

“Malleus,” he interrupted, firm. You blinked up at him slowly and your hand fell back to rest in the nonexistent space between you.

“A what?”

“Malleus,” he repeated, and you felt the weight of the word dance through the air like sparks. Like an invocation, or a curse. “My true name.”

You waited a moment in shocked silence before slowly repeating your own name back at him. He startled and snorted a laugh into your neck, some of that lingering, terrible, tension finally seeming to seep out of him.

“I am well aware of what you are called, Child of Man.”

“…I know that,” you mumbled, fighting the urge to fidget. Malleus, Malleus, Malleus. The syllables sat heavy on your tongue, like your mouth couldn’t figure out how to push them past your lips. “I thought you said that dragons don’t give out their real names.”

He drew back just enough to cup your cheeks in his ashy palms, brushing a clawed finger back and forth against one of the small cuts littering your jaw.

“There is power in a name,” he said. “It is not a gift readily bestowed.”

Then why—

You swallowed, nervous, and one of his thumbs tracked the movement along the hollow of your throat.

“This way, if you call for me, I will always hear you,” he promised, eyes going flinty and venomous as he gazed at the cinder piles of smoking intruders. “And something like this will never happen again.”

“I—I mean,” you spluttered. “Me being—And this being—I mean—” You cleared your throat. “That hardly seems like a good enough reason to—to—” To put something so important into the hands of someone who literally broke into your house less than a month ago. To give something so precious to someone so human.

“Isn’t it?” he smiled, that sharp anger melting back into something painfully soft. Your poor heart kickstarted itself all over again. He ducked forward to press his nose into your temple, and you could feel the soft puff of his breath as his grin sharpened into a smirk. “Though I would have liked to bestow my titles on you in other ways as well, if this little hero would be amenable.”

You squawked, and the only thing that shook you out of the immediate spiral into ‘did he really just ask me to—am I really going to be stuck in every goddamn bard’s trope existence of—of—'  was the merry laughter that bubbled up from somewhere behind you. 

“Careful, my Prince,” Lilia hummed from his place perched atop a particularly large heap of rubble. “If you come on too strong, you’ll only scare them away. Humans are flighty like that, I’m afraid.”

You could feel Malleus’s pout against your forehead.

“Not my human,” he grouched. His hands dropped from your cheeks to encircle your waist and clutch at your lower back. “And that besides,” he continued testily, “you were the one who only just this morning insisted I take decisive action.”

“That’s true,” Lilia agreed with a gentle bob of his head, resting his pointed chin against his palm. “But perhaps three sentences at least before the proposal?”

Malleus blinked, slow and serpentine, before flicking his neon gaze back to you. “That does seem fair I suppose. What do you think?”

“I think,” you gawked, trying and failing to process any of the words that were coming out of their fanged mouths, “that I am having a stroke.”

“NOT ACCEPTABLE!” boomed a voice from overhead. “YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO FALL ILL AFTER ALL THE EFFORTS WE TOOK TO KEEP YOU SAFE!”

You jolted in shock, and Malleus’s talons flexed reassuringly at your waist as he gently turned you back-to-chest so that you could face your accuser. He nestled his chin into your shoulder, and you could feel his horns bump against your skull as he tried to burrow in as close as possible. Which all would have been thoroughly distracting, but then you noticed that one of the Gargoyles from early had landed directly across from you. Its spiked head was swiveling back and forth as it appraised you like some particularly ruffled cockatoo. And that in itself was bizarre enough to help you focus on something other than the weight along your back and the steadily rising heat in your cheeks.

“Uhm, hello?” you tried.

“WE HAVE ALREADY MET!” It screeched. “THERE IS NO NEED FOR INTRODUCTIONS!”

“It talks,” you blanched.

“OF COURSE I SPEAK, YOU IGNORANT ENTERTAINER!” The Gargoyle thundered. Its yellow eyes flashed in indignation. “HOW COULD I NOT LEARN TO COMMUNICATE IN A RESPECTABLE FASHION WHEN SERVING SOMEONE SO MAJESTIC AS HIS MAJESTY?!”

“I think,” the other Gargoyle said, slipping forward so silently you could hardly believe it was made of such strong stone at all, “that what Sebek is trying to say, is that we are happy to finally be able welcome you into our home, even if it is under less than ideal circumstances. And that we are very pleased to be able to speak with you.”

“THAT IS WHAT I ALREADY SAID, SILVER!” the spiky one snarled. No one else looked particularly bothered by his ceaseless volume, so it was probably normal. He stuck his carved nose into the air with a harumph. “AND I HAVE HEARD OF THE WAYS OF YOU TRAVELING STORY TELLERS! IF YOU BREAK MY MASTER’S HEART, YOU WILL SUFFER AN ETERNITY OF TORMENT AT MY HAND!”

Malleus growled, low and rumbling, from over your shoulder. Instantly his stalwart guardian cowed—head dipping like a kicked a puppy.

“Of course,” it continued, much softer. “I don’t think this human would do that. And—And I think my master has made a very good choice in his mate, and I will be happy to serve you too.”

Lilia sighed a sigh that sounded very much like a doting mother overflowing with parental affection. Like the kind of noise one may hear on a cozy Sunday afternoon while helping prepare dinner, or while sitting on a little, floral, couch and sifting through little paintings of grandchildren. There was still blood splattered all along his cheeks.

“It’s so lovely to have the family all together again,” he cooed. “And I do think that you will make such a marvelous addition.”

“Oh. Well. Thank you,” you nodded jerkily, just as your knees buckled and you collapsed to the floor.

.

.

On the first day of the new month, Ace and Deuce made their way back to the forgotten castle nestled in a pool of lava.

“We should never have left them,” Deuce grumbled for what was maybe the ten thousandth time. Ace was sick of hearing it. He was even more sick of the fact that despite being constantly inundated with various versions of ‘oh, we’re such terrible friends,’ the little, twisting, spike of guilt in his gut never grew any duller. Wasn’t that how it was supposed to work? Something-something-repetitive-exposure-therapy, or whatever? This sucked. He wanted a refund on this whole ‘conscience’ thing. Maybe it wasn’t too late to sell his soul and become a Warlock or whatever. Surely that would help.  

“We didn’t have a choice,” Ace reminded him. Again. “They’re okay. I know they are. We’re going to show up and they’ll be, I don’t know, lying in a bed of gold being hand fed grapes or something.”

Deuce made a rumbly, whining, kind of noise that made him sound even more pathetic than usual and Ace sighed, determined to instead focus on the rickety rope bridge swinging beneath their feet.

The ancient, looming, monstrosity of a building was just as cold and dark as it had been the first time. If anything, it was more filthy. With walls stained with seeping ash and the charred, skeletal, remains of something that Ace was definitely, absolutely, not going to think about scattered throughout the grime.

The two of them made their way to the heart of the castle until they were standing at the entrance of a grand, cavernous, chamber that may have once been some sort of ballroom.

Ace didn’t know what he was expecting. Slaver’s coils maybe. A chain around your ankles and rags drooping from your shoulders. Or maybe you wouldn’t even be there at all—long since swallowed down as a little, midnight, snack.

He certainly wasn’t expecting to see you lounging contentedly atop a mountainous heap of soft blankets, with the master of this castle—terror-incarnate, death from above, an eldritch beast ripped straight out of legend—curled along the lumpy hills of your grandiose pillow fort, its great head nestled at your back as you reclined against its scales and chattered away. Like the goddamned, rambling, idiot you had always been.

One of the dragon’s large, green, eyes shifted towards the intruders at its door, and Ace froze in place. You paused your chattering to raise your hand with an excited little wave. Your tattered traveler’s clothes had been replaced with something silken and soft enough that it would probably melt in his fingers, and it swayed like mist around you as you made your way to your feet. You were practically dripping in platinum, and diamonds, and emeralds, and—he was going to stop counting them before he gave himself a conniption.

And yeah… it wasn’t exactly a throne of gold and gemstones, but it was almost just as impressive. And immediately indignation swept through Ace with a horrible kind of vengeance. Because how dare you actually be living it up over here when he had been so fucking worried just lying about all that cool stuff to keep Deuce from storming the castle gates?

“You made it!” you chirped, perfectly merry despite the gigantic maw full of sharp teeth hovering at your shoulder.

“Of—Of course we did,” Deuce stuttered, his blue eyes flicking back and forth so quickly from the dragon, to you, to Ace, to the dragon, to you—that Ace genuinely thought he might be having a seizure. “We promised we would.”

You stopped in front of them with a considerate little hum, sharp eyes tracing and cataloguing their varying reactions. After a moment of what was obviously some very smug preening and even smugger ‘I win this round’ silent gloating, you slipped out of the piles of entangled jewels with an exaggerated shrug. With the exception of an intricately carved emerald pendant hanging softly between the hollows of your collarbones, the rest of the infinitely expensive and rare gems fell to the ground with a series of clattering chatter.

“All that shit is so heavy,” you whined. Whined. Like you had any right to complain about anything at all for the rest of your existence. You leaned forward with a wink. “I was just hoping it’d make your thieving, money-hungry ass, jealous.” You smirked, proud. “And it looks like it worked, you goddamn traitors.”

Ace was about to splutter out the most scathing remark his spiteful little brain could come up with, when Deuce ruined everything by rushing forward like the blubbering idiot he was and scooping you up into a bearhug.

“You’re okay! You’re okay!” he wailed. “We missed you so much!”

“Speak for yourself,” Ace huffed, and twinged miserably when it came out sounding far too soft. He cleared his throat and decided to take a different approach. “You know, last time I was sort of joking about the whole ‘bards and dragons’ thing. But it looks like you’ve made yourself real comfortable. And here I thought you were always super opposed to the ‘fucking my way out of my problems’ stereotype.”

However, because the universe seemed determined not to give Ace any kind of win for the rest of his natural existence, instead of getting all embarrassed and mousey, you just huffed and turned up your nose at him.

“Well obviously not as a dragon,” you complained. “Do you know how big he is? How would that even work, huh?” The aforementioned dragon lowered his gigantic head to settle on the ground at your side, and you leaned against him good-naturedly when he grumbled low in his throat. “Yeah, no,” you said to the beast, rolling your eyes. “Nice try, but no.”

Deuce immediately choked and started hacking up a lung, and Ace wanted to die.

“You can talk to it?” the redhead asked instead of keeling over.

You shrugged.

“Not like this. But I’ve learned to interpret most of it.” You wiggled your fingers. “It’s my sixth sense.”

Ace’s nose scrunched. “Yeah, right. If anything, it’s your ‘I’ve been dicked down by a dragon and think that makes me soooo special now’ sense—”

The great, ebony, monster growled and the Fighter’s mouth snapped shut like someone had taken a hammer to his jaw. You snickered goodhumoredly and elbowed your companion gently at the base of one of its long, sharp, horns.

“He’s just joking around,” you said to the winged horror. “You don’t have to get all defensive.”

There was another grumpy sneer, but the dragon simply settled more heavily at your side with a defeated sort of huff. The gust of a sigh sent a wave of scorching heat along Ace’s front, and he fought the urge to cow immediately and beg for his life. Because apparently that wasn’t going to be necessary, because you had—you had—

“Are you in love?” Deuce blurted, because unlike Ace, the Barbarian was pure, and good, and still didn’t fully understand how eggs worked, let alone the concept of Fuck or Die.

And then you surprised him yet again by getting as flustered as he’d expected you to when he’d accused you (rightly) of bending over for a goddamn fucking dragon.

But before you could answer, the dragon lifted its head to press its temple against yours. Or, as well as it could do that when it dwarfed the lot of you the way an elephant might hover over a mouse. Mostly it just ended up being a very, very, delicate head bump. A deep, warbling, purr started from its chest and rolled all the way up and past its sharp, white, canines.

“Uhm,” you tried again. “You guys are invited to the wedding, I guess.”

“The what?!” Deuce howled, before promptly falling to his knees to fan himself like a devasted matron in a church.

You sighed and rubbed at the back of your head, clearly embarrassed. You mumbled something under your breath that sounded a bit like ‘it’s kind of a whole saga, y’know.’ And Ace, in all his infinite good will, decided to take pity on you just this once. And also because you were clearly loaded now, and all good friends know that sharing is caring, right?

“Come on then, Bardy,” he smirked, leaning down to kick Deuce flatter to the floor—half to knock the guy out of his frantic spiraling, half so he could perch on his back like a chair. Because the stone floor looked really uncomfortable, and he had a feeling that trying to slip into that nice nest of blankets of yours would not end well. “Tell us a story.”

.

.

.

[TAG LIST] CLOSED

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[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 Sleepy Bitch Syndrome: Chapter Five

Sleepy Bitch Syndrome: You've got narcolepsy and have been visiting the Dreaming daily for years. Then its Lord and King finally return and he doesn't know quite what to think of you.

Warnings: Language.

To Note: Morpheus/Dream x Narcoleptic!Reader, for you dear @aralezinspace.

Word Count: ~2.4k

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You find yourself in the cold, sterile room of the sleep clinic. The bed beneath you feels foreign, the sheets crisp and unfamiliar. Electrodes cling to your scalp, chest, and limbs, tethering you to the machines that will monitor your every twitch and breath.

"You ready?" the technician asks, her voice breaking through the clinical quiet. Her eyes are kind but professional, revealing none of the potential outcomes of this study.

"As ready as I'll ever be," you reply, trying to keep your tone light despite the anxiety gnawing at you.

The lights dim, and you're left alone with the soft hum of machinery. You close your eyes, willing sleep to come quickly, but it evades you for a while. Eventually, exhaustion takes over and pulls you under.

You drift into a dreamscape that's unsettlingly familiar—Mervyn's garden. The flowers bloom in impossible colors, their petals shifting like liquid in a breeze that doesn't exist. Morpheus appears again, standing among the blossoms, his expression unreadable.

"Why here?" you ask, more to yourself than to him.

"Your mind seeks comfort," he replies. "And yet it brings you back to chaos."

The scene shifts suddenly. You find yourself back in the sleep clinic bed but not alone. Matthew perches on the headboard, his dark eyes watching over you.

"You think they got what they needed?" he asks casually.

"Doubt it," you mutter. "Feels like a whole lot of nothing."

Morning arrives too soon, dragging you from restless slumber into harsh reality. The technician re-enters the room with a clipboard in hand and a neutral expression.

"How'd I do?" You force a smile, hoping for some clarity.

"We'll discuss it with Dr. Andrews," she says. Her tone is too measured to offer any hints.

You're led to a small consultation room where Dr. Andrews awaits with your chart spread out before him.

"Your results are... inconclusive," he says after a moment's hesitation. "We didn't find anything definitive."

You let out a sigh of frustration. "So what now?"

"We'll need to run more tests," he continues. "Your symptoms are real; we just haven't pinpointed the cause yet."

You nod numbly as he explains next steps—more nights in strange beds with electrodes glued to your skin, more waiting for answers that might never come.

As you leave the clinic, Matthew swoops down from somewhere above and lands on your shoulder again. It still astounds you that he can travel between realms, but you are eternally grateful to have his company during your waking hours.

"Guess it's back to square one," he remarks.

"Yeah," you agree softly. "But at least it hasn't gotten worse… you wanna get food?"

"Fuck yeah,"

"How about that diner on Fifth?" you suggest. "They've got outdoor seating. I can pretend that you're a pet"

Matthew ruffles his feathers in approval. "Sounds good. You know I can't resist those fries."

You make your way through the crowded sidewalks, dodging commuters and street vendors until you reach the small, retro-style diner. The smell of sizzling bacon and fresh coffee hits you as you approach, and your stomach growls in anticipation.

You find a table outside, under the shade of a striped umbrella. A waitress with a bright smile brings menus and fills your cup with steaming coffee.

"I'll have the breakfast special," you say, glancing at Matthew. "And can we get an extra side of fries?"

The waitress nods and scribbles down your order before disappearing back inside.

"So," Matthew starts, pecking lightly at a napkin for amusement, "how do you feel about all this? The tests, I mean."

You lean back in your chair, taking a sip of coffee. "Frustrated, mostly. It’s like being stuck in a loop with no exit."

Matthew tilts his head, studying you. "But you're not giving up."

"Never," you reply firmly. "I need answers."

The waitress returns with your food—a plate piled high with scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, and a generous serving of fries on the side. She places everything down with a practiced ease and leaves you to it.

You break off a piece of toast and hold it out for Matthew. He pecks at it gratefully before turning his attention to the fries.

"Here," you say, picking up a fry and holding it close to his beak.

He takes it delicately, munching away with visible delight. "Best part of any meal," he quips between bites.

You smile, feeling a small sense of normalcy amidst the chaos that has become your life. Sharing a meal with Matthew distracts you—no doctors, no tests, just the simple act of eating together. Even he is a bird.

"Want some bacon?" You hold up a piece for him.

"Nah," he replies. "Too greasy for my bird stomach, you would not believe how much I had to shit after snacking on measly strip…” You try not to think about Matthew having bird diarrhea while you chew your bacon eyes wandering over the bustling cityscape. People pass by in waves, unaware of your silent struggles. Matthew’s presence brings a small measure of comfort. The bird’s casual attitude toward your predicament eases the tension you carry like an invisible weight.

Matthew finishes another fry and cocks his head at you. "You think they'll find anything useful next time?"

You shrug, swallowing a bite of scrambled eggs. "I hope so. It’s hard not knowing what’s wrong. But at the same time, how many tests have I already been though? Pretty sure they're gonna start running out and just chalk it up to me being crazy."

"Well at least you’ve got me," he says with a wink—or as much of a wink as a bird can manage.

You chuckle, the sound surprising even to you. It feels good to laugh, even if just for a moment. "Yeah, I do. Thanks for sticking around…" Then you think about it. Why is Matthew hanging out with you while you are awake?

"Matthew?" You question, catching the raven mid gobble of another fry.

You look at Matthew as he swallows the fry, his beady eyes glinting with curiosity. “Why do you stick around when I’m awake?”

He pauses, feathers ruffling slightly. “Good question,” he says, his voice taking on a thoughtful tone. “Maybe I just enjoy your company.”

“Come on,” you say, leaning forward. “There’s gotta be more to it than that.”

Matthew pecks at another fry, taking his time before responding. “Alright, alright. The boss told me to watch you, okay?"

The boss? Why would Morpheus care about your well being?

You stare at Matthew, his nonchalance doing little to mask the gravity of his revelation.

"The boss? Morpheus asked you to watch over me?"

Matthew's beady eyes meet yours, and he nods slowly. "Yeah, he did. Said you were important."

"Important? To who?" You lean in, your heart pounding in your chest. Did he still think you were a threat? "What does he mean?"

Matthew looks around, ensuring no one else is listening. Then he leans closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Alright, but you gotta promise not to freak out."

You nod, the curiosity gnawing at you. "I promise."

"Okay," he says, settling himself on the table. "So, I think Morpheus has a crush on you."

Your eyes widen in disbelief. "What? That's... that's insane."

Matthew shrugs, picking at another fry. "Is it? Think about it. Why else would he send me to keep an eye on you?"

You try to process this information, but it's like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands. "But he's... he's the Lord of Dreams, and Endless. He's older than the gods. Why would he care about me?"

"Hey," Matthew pecks at the table for emphasis, "he's more human than you think. Just because he's got all that power doesn't mean he doesn't have feelings."

"Matthew, he has the emotional intelligence of a rock."

Matthew cocks his head, a twinkle of amusement in his beady eyes. "Maybe. But even rocks get polished over time."

"Oh my god, this conversation is ridiculous," you sigh in exasperation, shaking your head.

Matthew chuckles, a surprisingly comforting sound. "Ridiculous or not, it's the truth. Why else would he send me to watch over you?"

"Because I am an interloper within his realm he can't control?" You offer shortly before chewing your lip. You take a deep breath, trying to make sense of everything. "So, what now? Do I just... pretend I don't know?"

Matthew shrugs, fluffing his feathers. "That's up to you. But you should know, he's not just watching over you for no reason. He genuinely cares."

You nod slowly, the gravity of the situation settling over you. "Alright. I'll think about it."

Matthew pecks at another fry, giving you a reassuring look. "Take your time. Just know that whatever you decide, I'm here. And so is he. I think."

He thinks. Hah!

" Great talk," You say, not knowing what else to say. "Thanks, Matthew."

"Anytime," he replies, his tone light and playful. "Now, how about we get back to those fries?"

You wander through Fiddler's Green, your eyes scanning the landscape for the perfect spot to set up your painting supplies. The rolling hills are lush with emerald grass, dotted with wildflowers that seem to glow in the afternoon sun. Trees sway gently in the breeze, their leaves whispering secrets you can almost hear.

A narrow path winds through the meadow, leading you toward a small pond. The water reflects the sky like a mirror, capturing every cloud and beam of sunlight. You pause for a moment, taking in the serenity of the scene. It's almost too beautiful, too perfect—like a dream within a dream. Enough about that dream fuckery, this isn’t Inception…

You walk a bit further and find an old oak tree with sprawling branches that provide ample shade. The roots twist and curl around each other, forming natural seats. You set down your canvas and easel, unrolling your brushes and paints with practiced ease.

The quiet of Fiddler's Green wraps around you like a comforting blanket as you dip your brush into a vibrant blue. You begin to paint the sky, each stroke bringing the scene to life on your canvas. The colors blend and dance under your hand, capturing the essence of this magical place.

"Nice choice," a voice says behind you.

You turn to see Gilbert standing there, his ever-present book tucked under his arm. His eyes twinkle with approval as he takes in your setup.

"Thanks," you reply, smiling. "It's hard not to be inspired here."

Gilbert nods, stepping closer to examine your work. "You've got quite the talent," he observes. "Capturing the spirit of this realm isn't easy with its ever shifting state."

You shrug modestly, focusing on adding detail to a distant tree. "It's all about finding the right moment," you say. "The way the light hits the water or how the flowers sway in the breeze."

He watches you for a moment longer before sitting down on one of the gnarled roots. "Do you ever feel like you're painting more than just what you see?"

You glance at him curiously. "What do you mean?"

"Well," he says thoughtfully, "it's like you're capturing the very essence of this place—the dreams and hopes it represents."

You consider his words as you continue to paint, adding layers of color and depth. Maybe he's right. Maybe you're not just painting what you see but also what you feel—the peace and tranquility that Fiddler's Green offers.

As you lose yourself in your work, Gilbert's presence becomes a comforting backdrop. He doesn't need to say anything more; his quiet support speaks volumes. You don't notice when Gilbert fades, returning to his disembodied state as Fiddler's Green.

You lose yourself in the flow of colors and brushstrokes, the world around you fading into a blur of creativity. The air hums with the energy of Fiddler's Green, each breeze carrying the scent of blooming flowers and fresh grass. It's as if the very essence of The Dreaming seeps into your painting, making it come alive on the canvas.

A shadow falls across your work, and you look up to find Morpheus standing beside you. His presence is as commanding as ever, his dark eyes studying your painting with an intensity that makes your heart race.

"You paint," he states, his voice a soft murmur that seems to resonate through the meadow.

You nod, feeling a bit self-conscious under his gaze. "I'm not really that good," you admit. "But this place is too beautiful not to try."

Morpheus tilts his head slightly, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Beauty often inspires creation," he says, stepping closer. "May I?"

You swallow hard and nod again, handing him the brush with trembling fingers. His touch is cool but not unpleasant, but rather than fully take the brush, he stands behind you, close enough that you can feel the faint rustle of his robes against your back.

"Relax," he instructs softly. "Let the moment guide your hand."

His fingers gently cover yours, guiding the brush across the canvas with fluid, confident strokes. The colors seem to blend more harmoniously under his direction, each line and curve coming together to form a more cohesive whole.

"See how the light plays on the water?" he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear. "Capture that essence—the way it dances and shimmers."

You try to focus on his words, on the way his hand moves with yours, but it's hard to ignore how close he is to you. His presence is overwhelming yet comforting, grounding you in a way you haven't felt in a long time.

"Art is not about perfection," Morpheus continues, his voice a soothing melody. "It's about capturing what lies beneath the surface—the emotions and dreams that shape our reality."

You take a deep breath, letting his words sink in as you follow his lead. The painting begins to transform before your eyes, becoming something more than just an image on a canvas. It feels alive, imbued with the very spirit of The Dreaming.

Morpheus steps back after a few moments, leaving you to finish on your own. His eyes meet yours, filled with an unreadable expression.

"You have more talent than you realize," he says softly.

You look at him, feeling a warmth spread through your chest at his words. "Thank you," you whisper.

He inclines his head slightly in acknowledgment before fading back into the landscape, leaving you alone once more with your painting and thoughts.

The colors on your canvas seem brighter now, more vivid—a testament to the brief but intense moment you've just shared with Morpheus. Your brain glitches and a solid blue screen appears behind your eyes, serenity is replaced with panic.

Shit. Matthew is right.

Date Published: 8/7/24

Last Edit: 8/7/24

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[7s3ven]

SANTA, TELL ME. draco malfoy

( master list )

IN WHICH… Draco Malfoy no longer enjoys Christmas, especially not when he has to stay at Hogwarts while all his friends are gone. But a certain bright-eyed Hufflepuff is glad to keep him company.

( draco x hufflepuff! reader )

“Santa, tell me if he really cares. ‘Cause I can’t give it all away if he won’t be here next year.”

—

Draco couldn’t remember when he had started to dislike Christmas. Maybe it was during his second year when he had to stay at Hogwarts for the winter and ever since then, he was required to do the same every year.

Draco mindlessly stared at the wrapped gifts his parents had sent him early. The cold Slytherin room was empty, everybody but Draco at home with their families.

The blond teenager was curled up on the soft couch, listening to the fire crackle and watching as the logs burned. Having had enough of wallowing in self pity, Draco slipped into a thick blazer and walked out of the common room.

He wandered around the halls, the sound of loud and joyful laughter catching his attention. He peeked out of the window, his nose slightly wrinkling when he saw Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. They were with two other girls that weren’t that annoying know-it-all, Hermione Granger.

Draco recognized one of them as Y/N L/N, a Hufflepuff who was unusually good at potions. The other girl was a dark-haired Ravenclaw with a stern beauty that contrasted Y/N’s soft features.

The group of four were playing in the snow, throwing it at each other and laughing when their noses turned red from the cold.

Y/N wore her yellow scarf which sorely clashed with her tight blue and white striped blouse, greyish-brown skirt, and puffy white jacket. She seemed to have fleece lined tights on because she wasn’t shivering.

Draco tore his eyes away from the happy friends and frowned. Even with his companions, they were never that carefree. But how Draco wished they could be. It must be great not having to worry about your every move and who you were friends with, who you liked, and who you were going to marry.

In a way, he envied Y/N. She was a pureblood brought up by muggle parents with no harsh expectations or demands.

On paper, she was a sacred pure but in every Slytherin’s eyes, she would always be an outcast. She was at every prestigious party in her bright and stunning yellow dresses, effortlessly sticking out like a sore thumb.

Draco released a sigh and ran a hand through his blond hair. He didn’t know what to do with Blaise and all his other friends gone. He had heard Nott was going on a trip to Paris. Wonderful.

Pansy was going to Italy.

Crabbe and Goyle were planning to visit a famous restaurant in London.

Millicent Bulstrode was going to New York.

And Matteo… the poor son of Lord Voldemort was stuck in the same orphanage his father had landed in decades ago. In the same room too.

Draco walked with no destination in mind until he ended up at the front gates of Hogwarts. He looked up, staring as the snowflakes dropped. Slowly, he stepped forward into the thick snow. He sank down into it and the cold offered a strange sense of comfort.

He had not been planning to go outside so he was wrongly dressed. Draco shivered slightly as the snow landed on his pale face. His cheeks were flushed red and his hands felt frozen. He wouldn’t be surprised if they were.

“You’re going to catch a cold.”

Draco hadn’t even noticed Y/N approaching him, her scarf in her hand. “If you plan to stay outside,” She uttered, trying to hand him the yellow clothing, “At least wear this.”

Draco looked her up and down, wondering why she was even talking to him. All he did was bully her friends, at least the ones in Gryffindor. Draco and his posse seemed to leave everybody else alone.

“You helped me last month. So I’m returning the favor.” Y/N brightly smiled and Draco felt his face heat up, much to his dismay.

Draco thought for a moment before he realized what Y/N was talking about. It was true, he had helped her but only because that boy who was trying to flirt with Y/N was making a fool of Slytherin and he didn’t approve of making girls uncomfortable.

“Ah.” Draco murmured, staring down at the scarf. He slowly reached out to grab it. “He deserved it.”

“Matteo punched him.” Y/N piped up, reminding Draco of what had happened. Yes, Matteo had punched the idiotic boy while Draco stood on the sidelines, merely watching. “His nose started bleeding. I’m all for defending people but was that necessary?”

“He’s done it before. Matteo only wanted to teach him a lesson. Sexual harassment is no joke. That boy has tried peeking up girl’s skirts so my statement still stands. He deserved it.” Draco uttered it more firmly this time.

“Where is Matteo anyway?” Y/N looked around, trying to catch a glimpse of the brunette boy. “I thought he would’ve stayed behind.”

“I’m not sure why he went back to the orphanage.” Draco wasn’t the best at small talk, especially not with friendly people. But Y/N didn’t seem to notice as she rambled on.

She was relatively good friends with Matteo. She was one of the few who could get away with talking to him and not receiving a glare in return.

“He told me he was staying behind but maybe he didn’t want to be alone again, since he assumed you were leaving too. He kind of envies you and your family trips. He’s envious because you actually have a family.” Y/N paused, slowly covering her mouth. “Ah… I wasn’t supposed to tell you that… sorry.”

She lifted her head, locking gazes with Draco. “You’ll… keep this between us, right?” She sheepishly smiled, “I swear I don’t usually spill people’s secrets…”

Draco shrugged. “I wouldn’t be able to do much with that information anyway.” The blond hair turned around to walk away, but he realized he was still holding Y/N’s scarf. “I changed my mind. I’m going back inside. I assume you’ll be staying out here for a while so take this back. We don’t want you to freeze.”

Draco wrapped Y/N’s scarf around her neck, nodding. There was a slither of a smile on his lips before he spun around and strutted off.

“Why were you talking with Malfoy?” Harry approached Y/N as soon as Draco left.

She hummed in surprise and slightly jumped. “What? Oh. He’s not so bad. He’s actually… somewhat nice.”

Harry scoffed and rolled his emerald green eyes. “Malfoy? Nice? As if. Anyway, we’re going to walk around the pine woods. Wanna join?”

Y/N shook her head and beamed. “No. I’m good. I’m a little tired so I’ll see you inside.” Harry smiled back at her before jogging over to Ron and Anna, the Ravenclaw girl.

Y/N pushed past the large wooden doors, walking back into the warmth of the Hogwarts castle. The fire in the Great Hall crackled as Y/N entered, intent on warming her hands. But she found Draco standing in front of the Christmas tree, staring at it in wonder and awe and sadness.

“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” Y/N snuck up behind Draco, startling him.

“Jeez! Merlin’s sake, L/N, don’t sneak up on me like that!” Draco stormed out of the Great Hall while Y/N poured and huffed.

“Hmph. What’s his problem? He was fine before.” She shook her head in annoyance as she warmed her freezing body by the fireplace. “Slytherins really are bipolar…”

Though, Y/N couldn’t help but feel sorry for Draco. She knew he was the only one in the common room because Matteo had told her everybody always went home. Pansy confirmed it.

Y/N and Pansy weren’t close but they had worked on a group project together and for along relatively well. Unbeknownst to Y/N, Pansy tried her best to hate the kind Hufflepuff but she never could.

Y/N could hear footsteps approaching the hall and assuming it was Harry, Y/N didn’t turn around. She should’ve because as soon as she caught sight of blond hair in a reflection, she knew it was Draco.

“Come to yell at me some more?” She asked, a joking tone to her question.

“You helped decorate the Great Hall, right?” Draco inquired, getting straight to the point.

“Yeah, I guess so. Why?”

“I need you to decorate the Slytherin common room.” Draco held up a pouch of money, “I’m willing to pay.”

Y/N glanced at him as he jingled the coins. She shrugged. “Nah. I’ll do it for free. Let’s go!” She linked arms with Draco and dragged him to the supply closet where the extra decorations were being been kept.

“Why do I need to help you?” Draco grumbled as Y/N shoved the boxes into his arms. She huffed.

“What? You think I could carry all this by myself? Hey,” She poked Draco’s shoulder, “There’s things even I can’t do alone. Besides, you’re strong. Use it for something helpful.”

Y/N turned away, which relieved Draco because he refused to let her see his flushed cheeks.

“Wow, it really isn’t decorated at all. That’s surprising, especially on Christmas Eve. The Hufflepuff common room is almost too shiny with all the tinsel.” Y/N looked around the Slytherin Chamber in disappointment. At least they had their Christmas tree up, though it was a very sad and bland one. She frowned. “How do you guys live like this?”

“I helped you carry the boxes. I trust you’ll be able to do the rest.” Draco dropped the boxes full of decorations and hurried off.

“Huh? Wait! You don’t expect me to do it alone! I need to socialise! I’ll die if I don’t talk to people!”

Draco slammed his dorm door shut, making Y/N sigh. “He’s only nice when Matteo is around.” She mumbled, “Does he have a crush on him or something? I wouldn’t be surprised. He keeps turning down girls, even Pansy. And she’s gorgeous.”

Y/N sorted through all the tinsel, sighing. “I suppose if I were a boy, I’d go for Pansy. Or Hermione. Maybe Luna?” She picked all the green tinsel strings, making sure to leave every single red-colored one in the box.

“Daphne Greengrass or whatever her name is would be a good choice too.” Y/N uttered as she wrapped the green tinsel around the stair rail. “Hm, who else? Ah! Cho Chang! Cedric sure is lucky to be dating her. I’m almost jealous!”

Y/N sighed as she hung ornaments on the lonely Christmas tree. “Ginny would also be on the list I guess. She’s a total badass. Why won’t Harry notice her? If I were him, I’d fall in love instantly.”

She checked fireplace, and made sure to add some more wood to the flames to keep them ignited. “Pansy, Hermione, Luna, Daphne, Cho, and Ginny. A strong lineup. What about the boys? Matteo is handsome but I only see him as a friend. Lorenzo I would get with. Cedric? Maybe. Oliver? Yes. Dating Harry or Ron would be a little weird so maybe not. Besides, I ship Hermione and Ron.”

This went on for quite some time. Y/N had made amazing progress while talking to herself. The chamber was almost unrecognisable. Draco, who was cooped up in his room, clenched his jaw. He was covering his ears, trying to ignore Y/N’s annoying rambling.

But she kept talking. Over and over again. About useless topics too. Finally, Draco had enough. He pulled open his door and was about to yell something until he heard Y/N mention his name.

“Draco? Hm… I don’t know. Am I supposed to call him Malfoy? I feel like we’re on relatively good terms. Would I date him? A solid maybe. He’s so handsome but he’s a little bipolar. If only he was a little nicer. I wouldn’t mind kissing him.”

Draco slowly lifted his head, hanging onto every word Y/N spoke. If he was a little nicer… she’d kiss him?

“I’m going out. The room looks great. Thanks, Y/N.” Draco hurriedly grabbed her hand, pressing an innocent kiss to her knuckles before he hurried off.

“Did he… just say thank you?” Y/N huffed in disbelief. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard his say that.” She looked at her hand, still able to feel the ghost of Draco’s lips against her skin.

Draco had never been a nice person from the start but he figured the way to Y/N’s heart was to get on neutral terms with Potter.

Speaking of the devil, Draco could see Harry, Ron, and Anna walking into the castle.

“Morning, Potter.” Draco uttered as he passed the trio, trying his best not to scowl. “And Weasley and, I’m sorry, I don’t know your last name but I like your black hair.”

Once Draco was out of earshot, Ron and Harry shared a disturbed look. “Was he… poisoned or something?” Ron asked, “I prefer when Malfoy’s mean! It’s scary when he’s nice.”

“Hey, guys!” Y/N jogged towards her friends, wildly waving at them. “Have you guys seen Draco?”

“Yeah. He went that way. But he was acting super weird. What did you say to him to make him greet us and tell Anna he likes her hair.” Ron scoffed, “Or did you slip a potion into his drink?”

“Huh? I didn’t say anything!” Y/N exclaimed. She paused. “Oh… well, I did say I would kiss him if he was a little nicer. But I was talking to myself.”

“Bloody hell, Y/N.” Harry uttered. “Malfoy probably fancies you.”

“What?” Y/N tilted her head to the side.

“If you think about it, it makes sense.” Anna retorted. “I mean, he’s always trying to talk to you. He doesn’t bully you and he seems to stay away from bullying your friends as well. I mean, Harry and Ron and ‘Mione excluded.”

Y/N sighed. “That doesn’t prove anything. Do you know where he went? I need to ask him about the decorations. I’m decorating the Slytherin chamber.”

“He walked outside. Probably to Hogsmeade to go on a shopping spree for himself.” Ron quietly scoffed.

“Tell me if you see him, ‘kay?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Y/N walked back to the chamber, staring at the work she had done. The Slytherin common room looked much more comforting and welcoming now. She smiled proudly, placing her hands on her hips.

“Looks good, Y/N.” She happily high-fived herself. Y/N sat down on the couch, slightly slouching. She waved her wand around while mumbling a small charm, smiling as snowflakes floated around.

Hours eventually passed and Draco still hadn’t returned. Y/N had finished decorating and she had refurbished the fire as well. She was so bored she eventually found a way into Draco’s dorm and cleaned it too.

“Santa, tell me, if you’re really there. Don’t make me fall in love again if he won’t be here next year.” Y/N quietly sang, humming the beat to the muggle song. She had went to fetch Hermione’s gift, a small radio that played all kinds of songs. Y/N was enjoying it very much.

She grinned as she happily swung her legs. She stood up to check on the fire, slightly dancing.

The chorus played again, and this time Y/N sang louder.

At that time, Draco walked in. He froze, watching as Y/N surprisingly hit all the high notes in the Ariana Grande song.

Draco slowly smiled, strutting towards Y/N. He tapped her shoulder, “You’re a good singer.” He complimented her.

“Oh… thanks. What took you so long? I finished ages ago.”

“And you didn’t leave?”

“I, uh… didn’t wanna leave you alone.” Y/N sheepishly smiled. “Oh, what’s that?” She pointed at the bag in Draco’s arms. “A gift for your friend?”

“I guess you could say that… but she’s not really my friend. More like someone I owe.” Draco held out the bag, shoving it into Y/N’s hands. “For you. Merry… early Christmas.”

Draco looked away, trying to his his reddening ears.

Y/N tilted her head to the side before she opened the bag, gasping softly. “What the… Draco… this must’ve cost a fortune.” Inside was a freshly pressed Burberry blazer.

“I overheard that you were going to Paris in Winter next year and it snows there occasionally, so I bought you something to keep you warm.”

“Oh… it’s lovely, Draco.” Y/N smiled, feeling the fabric. “I love it. Thank you… so much.” She couldn’t contain her laugh of happiness.

“That’s not all.” Draco reached in, pulling out a jewelry box. “Vivienne Westwood.” He uttered, showing her the beautiful silver necklace.

Y/N gasped again. “You didn’t have to do this… you spent way too much money, Draco.”

“I wanted to do this. Consider it my thanks for decoration. It looks great. Turn around so I can put this on you.”

Y/N slowly spun around, feeling Draco’s cold hands against her neck. He gently pushed her hair aside, lingering for a moment too long. He put the necklace around her neck, carefully clasping it.

“Thank you.” Y/N grasped the pendant, smiling. “I love it. And I love the blazer too.”

Draco was still standing behind her, not wanting to move as he inhaled the smell of her sweet perfume.

“Y/N.” He whispered, “Can I…” Draco hesitated, “Can I kiss you?”

“What?” Y/N turned around in shock, staring at him with wide eyes. Draco, misunderstanding it as rejection, frowned.

“Sorry. I just blurted it out. I didn’t mean it.”

The clock in the common room loudly chimed as it reached twelve o’clock, a reminder of what day it was now. Christmas.

Y/N reached out, grabbing Draco and pulled him forward. She quickly kissed him and shyly pulled away, her cheeks flushed bright red just like Draco’s ears.

“Merry Christmas, Draco.”

[ask-maxie-boy]

Goonion's Ghoul (Part 4)

Bruce does a little digging. This one's a little more serious, but dont worry, the shenanigains resume next chapter <3

Part 1 & 2 Part 3

The pool hall was fairly quiet tonight. It was a dim place who's customers were the only thing shadier than its corners. The smell of smoke lingered in the whole building, but the usual cloud that held over the room seemed to be gone.

The "No Smoking" sign on the door was new, and it seems like people were listening. Bruce fiddled with the stick match between his fingers - he wondered if it was going to be a problem.

"8 Ball, side pocket" Clack!

"Tch. Good game, whatever."

As the men and small crowd around them get their bet earnings, Bruce approached with a predatory grin. "Hey fellas, mind if I get in on a game?"

Most of the men seemed to be sizing him up, but one in particular (the one who won the last match) inhaled sharply. "Matches fuckin' Malone, I haven't seen you 'round here in a while! You sonofabitch, where ya been?"

'Matches Malone' pulls his titular match out from his teeth, and puts on an annoyed face. "Bah, deal went south, had to lay low for a while." Someone handed him a pool stick, prompting Bruce to nod and grab some pool chalk.

"I getcha. We can go a round, Matches. Loser buys a round at the bar for everyone."

"Jeez, I said I was just layin' low and thems are the stakes?" Matches' grin comes back, a gleam rolling along his aviator shades. "Guess I could use a free drink, so why not?"

The other guy rolls his eyes. "Well, aren't you confident. Promise that'll changes once the game starts."

The game gets set up quickly, and they let Malone break. He lines up his stick, but isn't too concerned about exactly how to hit this shot.

"Say," Bruce asks, "I heard there's a new way of gettin' some help around here. Any'a you know about it?" The cue ball slams into the triangle of other balls.

"Oh, you're askin' about the Goonion? You don't gotta beat around da bush. Even if you weren't in good company, there ain't no need to be hush about it." The 7 ball rolls into a corner pocket, a solid color sunk.

Its an easy shot to the 5, side pocket. "Wouldn't expect that from a big band 'a criminals," Bruce says, casually lining up the hit, "but I guess that's Gotham for ya. So, how do I get in contact?" *Clack!*

"There's a big place on 29th street, down by Proctor Ave." The 5 cleanly rolls into the next pocket. "They put up a big sign just yesterday, you cant miss it."

The next shot is a bit more tricky, trying to get the 3 without hitting the 10 in. "No shit? A big ol' sign that says 'Hey, a buncha lackeys here!' right out in the open?"

The other guy snorts. "I mean, the cops don't give a damn, and the criminals are already in on it. That just leaves the bats, but between you and me? I hear the robins are in on it."

Not only does Bruce miss the 3, he knocks the 10 in, closely followed by the cue itself. A scratch. "Well, now I know you're just fuckin' with me."

His opponent grabs the cue ball with a chuckle, and puts it just by the 12 for a clean corner pocket hit. "Like how you were with that last shot? Yeah, yeah, I'm messin' with you... kinda. There's a runnin' joke that the robins should be considered one of us."

Second stripe down, Bruce's eye twitches, hidden by his large sunglasses. "I don't see whats so funny about it, considering how many times we've had our ass handed to us on a black-n-blue platter by 'em."

Its a more difficult shot to hit the 9 in the side pocket, but the opponent aims anyway. "Yeah, Danny's got this big ol' thing about how Vigilantism's a crime and Batman's a crime lord. Ya kinda have to hear him say it, but damn if it isn't funny." He makes the shot, but the cue ball slides in the pocket with the 9, as Bruce bites back a grumble.

Its his chance to get back in the game, and clean it up. Bruce puts the ball on the table, and lines up a shot that should also get him in position for the next few. "Danny, eh? Whats his deal anyway? Everyone seems all buddy buddy with the guy, but I can't find out a thing about him. He some kinda "

The normal sound of a pool stick hitting the cue is clean, crisp, and short. A satisfying ricochet right to where it was aimed, sealing a calculated move into victory.

That is not the noise that echoes through the hall.

Instead, the stick bounces off of the cue strangely, shaking awkwardly as a much harsher CLACK! attacks everyone's ears, as the ball rolls slowly in the wrong direction, and hits nothing.

His opponent, and everyone with and without money on the game, look right at him. Some are giving dirty looks, some seem angry, others just discontent. A few look ready for a fight to break out, as the sudden tension ensnares him. He gets the feeling its not the bum shot they're upset about. "Uh... any chance I can try that hit again?" He asks sheepishly, analyzing exits, preparing for the brawl that might happen, and a cover story for how Matches got out of being attacked by this many people.

Bruce winces as his opponent places their hand on his shoulder, but doesn't strike back just yet. His opponent still seems tense, but not rearing back an attack. "Matches, you'se a good guy, so I'm gonna let you off easy on this one. But for 'da future, dont go askin' around about Danny. He doesn't like people poking into his business.”

The crowd seems to calm down a bit, but there's still a few bad looks being sent towards Bruce. He puts some hint of worry in his voice, dusting off his suit to sell the idea that that shook him up. “I.. I see. Caposh.”

His opponent goes back to the table, picking the cue off the table after Matches' bad hit. “...He's just a kid, Matches. Smart, kind,” he lines up his next shot on the 11, “I'd call him naive if he didn't prove he knew what he was doing.” A clean shot, into the side pocket.

“If you're goin' to the Goonion, you'll meet him and see.” Another easy shot, 13 into the corner. “He does good work. The Hood may have started the union, but Danny stoked the flames, kept us together when we wanted to fall apart.” A hard hit, the cue ball stopping dead as it strikes its target, knocked straight into the pocket. “He fought for us, went up against some of the most dangerous people in Gotham and told them to kneel.” Someone in the crowd murmurs, “Stronger together,” which has him roll his eyes. “Yeah yeah, we all did it, sure. But someone needed to face 'em down, and not only did he bite the bullet,” 14 ball, corner pocket, “he spat it right back out at 'em.”

“He got us dental!” Someone cheers, and most of the crew cheers with him, clinking beer bottles together.

“Point is, he's a good guy who does a good job, and the least we can do is stick our noses out of his business.” 15 ball, opposite corner. “We don't need him getting hurt because we couldn't do that.”

Something flickers in Bruce's eyes at that last comment, noting the slightly somber tone. “...he didn't ask you to stay away, did he?”

“He didn't need to. I told ya, you'll get it when you meet him.” He points out his last shot, “8-ball, corner,” and hangs over the table to aim his cue. “People like him don't usually stick around Gotham, and not by their own choice. If someone finds out you're the one who made him leave, whether you meant it or not...”

The 8 ball rolls cleanly into the pocket, a promise fulfilled. “You'll be lucky if you're found with a bullet to the head.”

An open secret. One that puts him in harms way if the details get out. Details people are purposefully avoiding, out of gratitude. Makes things difficult for him.

“...Well, a deal's a deal. A round on me, everyone!”

@akikkobara @thegatorsgoose @addie-lover-of-stories @apointlessbox @screamingtofillthevoid @semiprofessionaldumbass @sailor-goddess @malice-of-the-sunrise @savaton @spikedlynx @emergentpanda-blog @starlightcat04 @demented-trashcan @vehan-tikkun-olam-and-stuff @soren1830 @vixen-uchiha @rowanaway-fromthisbs @space-dreams-world @wolfeyedwitch @the-legal-shipper @gmkelz11 @dannyphantomphan @idkmrpianoman @somuchyikes @blankliferain @thatonegirl10 @thewondersoflebanon @cass-brightwood @coruscateselene @hallowsden @avelnfear @ultimatebluff @kryzs2000 @blep-23 @jaguarthecat @all-mights-asscheeks @meira-3919 @ricekristytreaty @illya-roma @mentalcarebear @wackyattack @fisticuffsatapplebees @love-has-no-labels @dat1angell @igotafewbadideas @thordottir45 @idfk-man10 @choppedphantomsweets @dragonfirefeather @smol-book-nerd @randomkiddoscrewingaround @alinmenttreasure @queen-of-the-grapefruits @cyber-geist @bianca-hooks123 @gaelic-holiday

[skyeslittlecorner]

Tails for all! - Kings edition

Other parts: Gehenna | Tartaros | Hades | Avisos | Nilfheim | Abaddon | Paradise Lost

Satan

The most classic tail, simple elegance. Ankle-length, black, with a red arrow at the end, just like his horns.

At the base, it is as thick as the wrist and tapers towards the end.

Identical to the horns to the touch, set won in the lottery.

You'll recognize his emotions more easily by his tail than by his face, he wags it like a cat when he wants to make some noise and lifts it at the base when he's happy.

The end has rounded corners, making it resemble an elongated heart instead of an arrow.

Sensitiveness 8/10. Doesn't like it when someone touches him by surprise.

When he's in a good mood, he gives tail slaps instead of kicks. The nobles are delighted.

It's not sharp at the end, so he'll try to stick it inside you. It's smooth and slippery, an arrow produces milk just like horns, and it fits so good.

Mammon

Big tail for a big man. Long, winding along the ground, golden and scaled. Standard tip without decorations, at least as thick as Mammon's thigh at the base.

His tail and greed gave rise to the legend that dragons collect treasures.

The upper scales look like pure gold, the lower scales are black and resemble obsidian. The entire tail resembles flakes of stones and precious metals.

The scales are bumpy like his horns, but it has no spines or blades.

Surprisingly warm. The scales at the base are very large.

Sensitiveness 5/10. He really enjoys being scratched hard as you leave lighter marks on his scales from the pleasure.

He likes to put his tail in his lap and you on top of him and watch you grind against him while he plays with your ass.

Leviathan

Not much longer than Satan, but covered with scales. They are soft compared to Mammon and shimmer like smoky mirrors. At the base, it is as thick as two cupped hands, shimmering purple and black.

Its ending is unique. On land it has a long, soft fur, but when he approaches water he can wrap a thin layer of skin around it, making it membraneous and resembling and looking like a fin.

Similarly, it has tiny long fins on its sides. They are a bit sharp, so sometimes he hurts himself with them. (Kiss these wounds, he will criticize you but he will love it anyway.)

Due to childhood trauma, he learned to hide his tail, wrapping it under his clothes and only showing the tip. That's why many demons think his tail resembles that of a deer.

Very, very sensitive. 12/10. Proceed with care.

He loves playing with his fins, but of course he won't tell you that.

Just seeing his tail in all its glory is incredibly rare, and being choked with it is the greatest honor. Not even Solomon experienced it.

Beelzebub

rainbow unicorn tail narwhal tail insect abdomen A long tail, similar in thickness to Leviathan's, but does not taper towards the end. Black, with dark green lines on the sides and back.

As befits the Lord of the Flies, his tail resembles a pelecinus polyturator. Composed of segments like a scorpion. Shiny, slippery and very hard. Chitin.

Green stripes are not just decoration. He can pull out the blades from them, and whipping will easily cut off your limb. He can pull out a sting at the tip, each blade producing a paralyzing venom.

His whip is almost a mirror image of his tail, but with golden blades instead of green.

While the rest prefer to wrap their tails around their legs, its natural position is twisted upwards, also like a scorpion. When he feels uncomfortable, he can "blow out" his tail into a swarm of flies that follow him. After all, it is a deadly weapon.

Sensitiveness 2/10. He likes it because it gives him an advantage over you. Until you start scratching his skin at the base. He's all yours on his knees.

If he doesn't pull the stinger out, the tip is rounded and a little bulbous, but you won't notice until he's deep inside you.

Lucifer

Long and thick, almost like a Mammon, phenomenally beautiful, angelic white with golden reflections. Resembles a snake. It splits in 1/3 and has two ends.

If you get close enough to it, you'll see that the base is as red as its horn.

You'd expect it to feel like reptile scales, but it's more like smooth feathers. Soft, but only the top layer. When you press it, you feel that the core is iron-hard.

He has the same scar as on his chest above his tail, only smaller.

Sensitivness 6/10. Unlike others, instead of pleasure, he may suddenly be struck by pain. Take care of him.

That doesn't mean he won't use his tail against you.

He wants to see your tears when you have his penis in your mouth and the tips of his tail in both holes.

[b1ravenclaw]

IS IT TRUE? - PT 4 (final)

Azriel was growling from where he stood, at the edge of the bed, watching as my fingers sank into my cunt again, again and again. 

“Tell me.”

“I am sorry.” His voice was angry, no doubt from the cold power binding his legs to the floor. 

“I don’t quite believe you, see my side Azriel, it looks like you only came for me after Crescida left.” “I would have come sooner if you weren’t all over Cassian.” 

“Kallias orders, you understand.” 

“I highly doubt Kallias ordered you to seduce Cassian.”

“Hmm, and why is that?” I said, sighing, focusing on slowly but surely tracing my clit. 

“Because you already seduced me.” He said, and then there were shadows holding my hands, and securing my legs open, my own power faltered letting Azriel take a step forward but I was quick to recover, and now he had one knee on the bed. 

“Debatable, I would say you were the one who…”

“And.” He interrupted me, “After today’s dinner I would guess that you and your High Lord are closer than most.” 

“Jealous, Shadowsinger?” I gasped as his shadows put pressure on my clit, and couldn’t hold the moan as they didn’t stop. My power faltered again, and this time I wasn’t quick enough and he was on me. Azriel grabbed my legs hastily and threw them over his shoulder, his breath fanning over my exposed sex. 

“Is it true then?” His eyes searched for mine.

“A lady never tells.” I waited a beat and then… “Were you?” “Jealous? Gods yes. But not of Kallias.” Cassian then. He liked a stripe, then another, his tongue caressing my entrance and gathering the wetness that pooled there.  “Now it’s your turn.” 

“But you are doing such a good job.” I whined, and he laughed. 

“I meant,” He replaced his tongue with his fingers, going slower so I would actually pay attention to him. “Admit that you were jealous too.”

“Oh but Az, why would I be jealous of Cass when I wanted him to join us?” Wrong fucking move. Azriel growled and the room shook, he slapped my cunt and turned me around as my face hit the pillow his hand found my ass. “You dirty fucking girl. Can barely handle me and wants another Illyrian to join us.”  I could only moan as he slapped and groped my ass. 

“You know I would not mind welcoming others in bed with you.”

“Even Crescida?” I stilled, the sound I made barely registered as cold harsh power pinned Azriel to the fucking floor. Ice tendrils snaking up his groin.

“Talk of her while you are touching me and I’ll take your pretty dick as a souvenir.” His breathing was heavy, and he shivered underneath me.

“So you think I’m pretty?” 

“Your dick.” He raised a perfect brow at me “And your tongue, but only when it is being used properly.”

“And how would that be?” He asked, staring directly at my wet cunt. That was my invitation, the sign I needed that he was going to let me have the upper hand this time. Lowering myself onto his face I released the cold power off of him, and moaned as he grabbed my thighs and delved his tongue on me. 

Azriel was a professional  at eating cunt. I discovered this the first time we had sex, and since then wondered if it was an Illyrian thing. All coherent thoughts I ever had left my mind while his tongue explored my lips, my entrance… my clit. I let the moans roll free from my tongue, scream of yes, there, ohs and most of all his name. I wanted to burn cold the name of her off of his tongue. I wanted to drown him on my juices so much that he would not be able to utter another word about her ever again. And as I felt myself getting closer to falling from that amazing cliff I grinded hard onto Azriel’s face, and he fucking moaned at the feeling of me pressed further onto him. 

He grabbed every part of me his hands and shadows could reach and with a loud guttural moan I came undone above his perfect face. 

“Fuck Azriel.”

Amidst my post orgasmic dizziness I could barely register him settling us both back into bed, my ass up. The pain from him hitting it again woke me up again. 

“Is it true? You are so fucking jealous?”

“Shut it.” He slapped me again.

“Uh-uh. What do we say?”

“Fuck me?”  He slapped me again.

“Oh I will.” Again, again, and again until I couldn’t handle the pain anymore. 

“Okay!” I screamed. “Yes, it is true. I was jealous.” 

“Hmm, was it so hard now?” He finally plunged his dick into me, and I moaned deliciously as he did so. His cock filled me up so nicely, stretched me out so good. Sometimes it was all I could think about. 

“Answer.” He grabbed my hair, I should have known the little dominance I had earlier would not go unpunished. 

“No, it wasn’t.” 

“Hmm, now tell me.” He was thrusting tortuously slowly in and out of me. “Kallias?” If he could see my face he would see my cheeks red.

“What?” I mumbled. 

“He could join…” “Kallias doesn’t share.” “But here we are.” “I am free.” And I backed up on him to prove my point. Truth was I did not want to talk about Kallias and I relationship and I think he sensed that because he stopped asking and starded fucking, his finger finding my clit making me clench harder around him. My wings were concealed earlier but as the pleasure he was giving me was building up again I felt the need to show off, to pose and to flutter my beautiful white wings at him. I think that was what sent us over the edge finally, his view of my wings and the freeing feeling of letting them out. Later after we both were cleaned up and breathing evenly, Azriel held me against him and we slept facing each other. The words stay here dying in my tongue as sleep took over me, I could only hope I woke up on time for the inevitable farewell.

author's note: so that was it, my first actual miniseries hope you guys enjoyed it!!!

[girlboypersonthingy]

SALLY FACE PLAYLISTS 🎭 🎸

Sal Fisher x reader and the mix he would make for you~ 🩵

Side note: I always try to keep the reader gender neutral but some of these songs may use specific pronouns like she/her or the words boy/girl. But don’t let that stop you from enjoying the music! ❤️🧡💛💚💙💜💖

This mf is so sappy, good lord…he’s a big fan of the cure and the smiths fs. Before Larry showed him metal music,

[pedropascallme]

the edging jokes in the new cards against humanity... like i know everybodys joking around but a few comments from damien and just......

him making you beg and plead and whine for him to let you cum only to ruin it for you over and over again until he finally lets you..... good lord

"Ask nicely." Damien's fingers were buried deep in your cunt, thumb brushing over your clit offering a painfully minuscule amount of relief. All you could do was whine. "No, princess--with your words, baby. How else will I know what you want?"

"Want you to make me cum, please." Your words were choked between frustrated tears, his fingers stretched you wide and despite the hours he'd been playing with you, you had yet to experience the type of fulfillment you wanted.

"I said ask nicely," he punctuated his words by curling his fingers forward to caress the tender spot inside you, "Don't make me ask again."

"Please, Damien--please, make me cum, let me cum, I'll do anything--you can do anything to me please, please."

"Oh, baby..." He leaned over you on the mattress. Your hair was wet with sweat, body covered in a light sheen, and he licked a stripe up your throat. You whimpered for him, and he propped himself up on his side with his elbow, allowing himself to bask in the glory of your body, fingers still pressed into your core. "That's what you want?" He began pumping his fingers slowly in and out of you again, "Why didn't you just say so?"

[siphonomy]

siiigh

PONR HEADCANON LIST BUT REALLY UNORGANIZED

starting with voice claims below

David - Lord Asriel from His Dark Materials

Greg - Phindoll from ENA: Temptation Stairway. Thank you Hyper!!

Fitz - Donnie from TMNT (Rise specifically)

Jim - Luigi :o)

Isa - Abbey Abominable from Monster High

Arabella - Toralei Stripe from Monster High. I really like monster high

Mr. Bacon - Wheatley from? Portal 2??

Mrs. Acorn - Lenore from Castlevania!!!

Mr.Homestead - Roundabout from Carmen Sandiego (2019)

Evan - Rigby from Regular Show if he spoke really fast and loud. Bonus points if you listen to the Brazilian dub

Percy - Oz/Yellow from?? Monster Prom?? It’s either that or Wirt from Over the Garden Wall

Jorge - The Turrón Merchant from ENA: Temptation Stairway. Love that guy

Shortcake - Beatrice from Over the Garden Wall

Rhea - Layla from Genshin Impct but this is subject to change

Wakogma - Tyler, the Creator

Lakelyn - Sapphire from Steven Universe

Junkface - Funtime Foxy from Ultimate Custom Night

Basquiat - I’ve never watched or heard of this show, but Fruity from the hit series Downtown

Bob - Captain Barnacles from Octonauts no I will not argue

now onto actual headcanons:

-Cappers is made of paint. That’s why he keeps the bucket on his head, he’s just… he’s literally made of paint. He’s also somewhat blind but I’ll get into that hc another time

-Cappers, Basquiat, and (somewhat) Cam have a weird shapeshifting ability where they can change how they want to look. Just comes with being made of paint/ink/whatever the hell Cam is

-Ricky makes up for being the only human one by being the strongest one. I don’t know how, but he can lift all of them off his shoulders for like a good 5 minutes.

-Bizarre has chromethesia, which means he can see colors with sounds. It’s how he makes his outfits; just puts on a random song and lets the colors flow to him

-Wakogma’s antennae sort of have a mind of their own? Think of the phenomenon where people have thrown out their retainers because their body found it to be uncomfortable. He either can’t wear anything over them, or it has to be something soft, so it doesn’t get flung across the room.

-No clue if it’s already canon, but Percy is a dabbles-in-everything doctor. He’s just managed to study anything under the medical or psychological field, so Yes he can be your therapist.

-Selective mute Ricky. Talk to the hand if you disagree /joke

-Percy, despite being a nervous wreck, is the lovey-dovey one in him and Isa’s relationship. Isa is still figuring it out

-Coney behavior is hermit-crab like. Also they hide babies underneath the cone (hi publi if you see this hiiii)

-Transmasc Jorge? Anyone?

pay me ten bucks and you’ll get a part two, featuring ships (/not serious)

[hedghost]

Hedge’s Unofficial Ratings of 2024 Adidas Kits That A Few People Asked For This Time

Let’s start strong with Germany! Did someone say kuntenserven?

Everyone’s seen this home kit and rightfully, everyone loves it. It’s just so sexy, how could you not? The crisp clean white paired with the classic adidas stripes, but with that sexy germany flag gradient? oh lord i’m weak at the knees. Naturally it’s helped by the fact that the germans have a pretty sexy colour pallete to work with, but still.Even the diamond detailing like oml. It just looks fire, literally. i love it. -9/10

The away kit meanwhile is kind of spinning my head a bit. I genuinely don’t know if i love it or hate it. in theory i love hot pink kits, but i also fucking hate the purple gradient. if the whole thing was pink i’d say absolutely yes because i genuinely love garish eyesores, but this is just not hitting the spot for me. also what’s with the pattern? this is what i imagine you would see if a hedgehog went down on you. undecided - 5.5/10

Wales’s sense of style reflects their Euros qualifications… in that i’m yet to see either

don’t get me wrong the home isn’t bad, it’s just nothing special, and nothing we haven’t seen before. i like the green and yellow stripes up the side, that’s a nice touch, but other than that i’m left feeling uninspired, which is probably how the welsh feel when they watch their men’s team play. still, i’m sure hayley ladd serves in it so - 6/10

the away kit though? yep that’s fucking ugly. whoever decided that wales should include yellow in their red and green colour scheme needs jail time, and also probably an eye test. what the fuck is that shade? yellow is very hard to make look good so props for trying, but just no. plus they missed the chance for green kits, objectively the best kit colour possible, yet also the most underused. (and don’t say it’s because it blends into the grass because that’s blatantly not true). i like the fun zigzags down the side, but it’s giving reggae, which is absolutely not the vibe that wales gives. should’ve put a big dragon on the front and called it a day - 3/10

Spain, what did I just say about ugly yellow kits?

The home kit is lovely. They didn’t feel the need to push the boat out, but why disrupt a classic? These shades go so well together, and there’s also a very faint but very nice pattern on the shirt if you look closely. its bright, it’s energetic. it’s giving fire, flames and lightning mcqueen. kachow! - 8/10

Away kit is absolutely fucking disgusting. Are adidas capable of making two nice kits for one team? If you asked me to describe the absolute worst shade of yellow i’d picture exactly that. the word that comes to mind is putrid. and as if that wasn’t enough, they decided to pair it with an absolutely clashing shade of turquoise. no thank you. no me gusta - 3/10

No Scotland No Party? Well with this kit, I’m inclined to agree.

Who would’ve thought a tartan football kit could be a good idea? Not me, and yet here comes Scotland, with an actual fucking masterpiece. This home kit is just, wow. I love it. It’s so clever, such a good nod to the country, and it just looks absolutely incredible. I fucking adore it. I don’t have much else to say other than whoever made this knew what they were doing. Good job - 10/10

The away kit meanwhile, is again, astonishingly mid. It’s fine I guess. Very plain, kind of giving the colour scheme of a cartoon character but i can’t put my finger on which one, but it’s still decent. The colours do go well together, and i like how the side panelling, includes that tartan pattern again, which as i already mentioned, is fucking sexy. just maybe stick to the home - 6/10

Hungary for more? Not really.

This is the wales kit. it is pretty much almost exactly just the wales kit. like it’s fine, but it’s just?? idk i’m bored. also why have they got two badges? greedy much? just a bit busy. idk it’s fine i have literally no other thoughts on this. boring! - 6/10

The away kit is boring as fuck too, but i actually like this one a lot. i think white kits have more license to bore. it’s a nice colour scheme too. does look a bit italian though. idk it looks good but i can’t say why. it’s just classic. the centre adidas logo looks good here. it’s the green im telling you. more green please! - 7.5/10

BELGIUM I AM KISSING YOU ON THE MOUTH

oh my god this home kit. i’m in love and i suddenly wish i was belgian. wow. holy shit. who did belgium pay to get a kit this nice? i’m in genuine awe. the sexy sexy maroon colour, paired with black and gold? fuck me sideways. i’m not joking when i say this kit oozes sex. that pattern?? oh my lord. it’s giving luxury velvet chaise longue. its giving old timey men in those smoking jackets, with a glass of whiskey and a cigar. i feel like i’m in the palace of versailles just looking at it. wow belgium, wow. - 11/10

not only that, they did it! they actually gave us two good kits! this one is based off tintin, and who doesn’t fucking love tintin? i adore it. lovely shade of blue, with this gorgeous pattern again, and the collar? collars should only be used if they add something to the kit, and boy does this add a whole fucking lot. thank you tintin you beautiful boy. what a kit. - 10/10

And now we’re back to normal programming with Italy

The common theme with adidas is boredom. At least when i was rating nike i actually had stuff to talk about. these are just okay. like yep okay it’s fine. there’s nothing wrong with it. i like the flag shoulder stripes. but yeah, it’s just there. i’ve forgotten what it looks like already i’m that bored - 6/10

the away kit is exactly the same. to be fair, i do like the asymmetric colour scheme, that’s quite nice. it’s simple, it’s clean, it’s just the italian flag really isn’t it? the collar is nice in fairness. it’s decent. - 7/10

Wow. Mexico. Holy fucking shit. Wow.

i literally am so in love with this kit that i’m lost for words. just everything about this is so stunning that i’m struggling to believe it’s a real adidas kit and not a fan made one from tiktok. this pattern has so much going on yet without being garish or busy, it just works. the colours go together so well, i’m just sat here staring at it with tears in my eyes. it’s art. i love it so much thank you mexico thank you - 11/10

and it just gets better with the away kit? this is so fucking sexy, so clean. it complements the home kit perfectly. it’s such a fun pattern but it’s also so classy, so beautiful. both of these kits invoke mexico without being either stereotypical or same-old same-old. i just love it. i love when kits are different!! more please, everyone else take notes!! - 10/10

Colombia took me a while but I’m actually a fan

i hated this at first because i thought it was just a plain boring yellow kit but then i saw those sexy ombre side panels. i just love red orange yellow colour schemes, like yes they hurt my eyes but it’s just such a sexy combination. fire for real. the yellow prevents it from getting top marks bc yellow is just fugly let’s be real, but overall it’s not bad - 7/10

now, you guys now i feel about black kits. more please!!! black is always sleek, it’s always classy, it’s always cool as fuck! big fan. this also seems abnormally shiny, which like okay serve i guess? the only thing i will say is it’s giving training kits with the orange highlights, but we can’t all be mexico, can we? - 8/10

Peru couldn’t be fucked and resorted to clip art

this home kit is like the definition of couldn’t be arsed. i could’ve done this on microsoft paint. i actually hate sash kits they’re just so fucking boring, and like, they just don’t look that good do they. boring. - 4/10

the away on the other hand? wow wow. this is what colombia wishes it was. this is a sexy fucking black kit, and pairing it with dark red and gold? oh lord yes please. sexy as fuck, plus a cheeky bit of animal print? okayyyy get it. even those little bits at the side that adidas seem obsessed with this year are sexy. it’s reminding me of a cheeky little leg slit in a cheeky little dress, and then you get a cheeky little glimpse of some cheeky little red zebra print thongs. okay word. peru you cheeky little minx, stop teasing me. - 9/10

Chile stayed solid, and you can’t go wrong with that.

these are both just nice kits. the home is classy, it’s just a simple white kit but it looks fresh as hell, and the red swoops look so good. also love that the patterning they’ve used on the red matches the away kit. it’s very simple but it’s clearly thought out and i respect that. they saw the others going ham with crazy patterns and stuck to their guns. it just looks nice. - 7/10

the away is a similar story - nothing flashy, but effortlessly nice. i rate the little pixel pattern, it’s simple but it’s nice. it’s a decent kit. could’ve pushed the boat out a tiny bit more but overall it’s fine. it’s giving national league a tiny bit. respect chile - 7/10

Finally, you can always count on Argentina to serve.

The home kit is just pure argentina innit? like there’s no way you see this kit and see anything other than argentina, and i respect that. it’s just a classic! it’s clean it’s crisp, we’ve seen it all before, but listen, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. can’t go wrong. also i’m a huge believer that gold should only be permitted on a kit if you’ve won something, and so mad respect for these sexy gold highlights.- 8/10

and the away kit? i’m a huge fan. it’s a nice simple kit, they’ve gone for a new shade of blue and it’s pretty sexy. the collar looks so fit here, i love it. what i love the most though, is how they’ve incorporated the usual kit into the swoopy bits? (that’s their official name now i’ve decided). anyway those blue and white stripes just look so yummy, very nautical, i’m a big fan. yay argentina! - 9/10