#blob salts

[wajjs]

"the batkids have to spend time with Hal Jordan as punishment and Hal Jordan is soooo dumb and insensitive that they all treat him coldly and he cries and everyone claps and"

HAL JORDAN ISN'T DUMB OR INSENSITIVE OR WHATEVER THE HELL YOU INSIST ON MAKING HIM OUT TO BE JUST TO MAKE YOUR BLORBOS LOOK COOL.

IF YOU CAN'T LIFT UP YOUR FAVORITE CHARACTERS WITHOUT BASHING ON OTHERS THEN AT LEAST HAVE THE DECENCY OF *NOT* TAGGING THE CHARACTER YOU'RE ACTIVELY LOOKING DOWN ON.

IF THE ONLY WAY YOU FIND TO MAKE YOUR FAVES LOOK COOL IS TO BRING EVERYONE ELSE DOWN, THEN NEWSFLASH YOU EITHER DO NOT KNOW YOUR FAVES ENOUGH TO KNOW THEIR STRENGTHS OR MAYBE YOUR FAVES AREN'T THE HOT SHIT(TM) YOU THINK THEY ARE.

ANYWAY,

[scribbly-bear]

(Potentially disturbing picture illustrating a recurring nightmare Ian has.)

He's haunted by all the innocent souls he's killed, in his nightmares they come from underground, and try to pull him back down with them. He doesn't resist anymore.

[jelly-ray]

Decided to create some alien slugs for a comic. These splorpable little fellas are generally the least conflict-seeking sillies to ever be found by humanity. But, unfortunately they have to deal with the events I'll only detail once i get to that point in the story.

Also a tidbit I forgot to mention in the drawing is that they essentially have different varieties depending on the environment their ancestors have adapted to. And due to their planet's sheer humidity , all of them can exist on land, but there are those who are better adapted to the oceans (the majority of their population) and those who are better fit for their islands (the minority of their population). I might draw some examples later to represent the different races within the species after coming up with some of them.

[tychos-huzband]

For ask game: 🩷

one thing i really love about Tycho is his voice! it always helps me relax when i feel stressed.. and he's just really sweet... 💜

Hmm... one thing I love about Charlie is... how much he cares. He's always trying to help when I'm stuck with something, even if he can't figure it out either. It's sweet of him to try, though. 💙

[whitmore]

i also think the reason courtney’s arc always gravitates around teams and family and community themes is because stargirl is by nature a social creature; stargirl is created out of courtney’s yearning for community and understanding—something she feels she left in california, something she feels she (courtney whitmore) can’t have anymore, but an alternate version of her (stargirl) might be allowed to. and it’s kind of sad actually because if they’re not shoe-horning her into some romantic relationship, her emotional development over any given arc always follows this pattern where courtney (as courtney) feels like she can’t rely on anybody and everybody relies on her (as stargirl) and always ends with her learning to rely on someone but this narrative cycle also never ends. it repeats forever and ever. this is the only emotional plot they write for her (outside of giving her a love interest, which i could argue is just the same thing in a different font but w/e)

i don’t know when this post got so negatively charged actually i apologize i think it’s fascinating how stargirl is inherently a social creature because she was born of courtney’s need for community but i am also tired of seeing her go through the same emotional developments run after run because there are so many interesting narratives and developments that could be done with her and it feels like every issue and run just goes through the same motions. which yes. that is in fact just what comics are like i suppose. still i’d like to see something new and interesting with her. i think it’s possible that because of her genesis and the inspiration for her as a character there’s a sort of fear to take any risks with her, resulting in this endless loop of same-shoe-different-foot stories

moreover on the relationships arc point i do think it’s interesting how her love interests always fall for stargirl first, and it reinforces this ‘stargirl gets what courtney can’t have’ theme; mainly interesting because courtney sees herself as so enmeshed with stargirl that it’s rarely introspected on in any meaningful capacity and yet it’s so blatantly prevalent throughout her narrative. not to tie it all together in a neat little bow but it’s also because she’s rarely given room to be introspective; between the fear of tarnishing the memory of a real life woman and the inherently socially hungry creature that is stargirl, her arcs and narratives are almost bound to fall into the trap of being more about stargirl’s companions and the people she rescues rather than focusing on developing or even embellishing her as a character in her own right at all

[whovian223]

New to Me - March 2024

New to Me #boardgame - March 2024 @garphillgames @PlayRenegade @StrongholdGames @wizkidsgames @Game_Brewer @apegames @Zmangames_ @Pandasaurusgame @StudioBombyx @pegasusspiele

[sleepingdiaryzzz]

Hear me out

Batsis baking something for them just because shes bored but shes horrible at baking (or she would just sabotage it idk put some peppers on the cake)would they just eat it?

Yandere Batfamily x reader

The kitchen smelled like war. Not the type fought with fists and weapons but the kind fought with flour, sugar, and an oven’s unrelenting heat. You stood in the middle of the chaos, apron smeared with batter and the counter coated in the powdered remnants of your efforts. You weren’t a baker—hell, you barely knew how to fry an egg—but boredom had a cruel way of twisting your decisions.

So here you were, baking for the people who had stolen you away under the guise of "family."

Not that you called them that.

Still, the silence of the manor grated on your nerves, and after hours of sulking and dodging their hovering presence, you thought, Why not? Maybe the mess would annoy them. Maybe the smell would be enough to break through their obsession-induced fog and remind them you weren’t playing along with their delusions.

The cupcakes you pulled from the oven looked… edible. Kind of. Half were lopsided, and a few were slightly charred. You dumped a ridiculous amount of frosting on top in an attempt to salvage them, but the end result was a tray of pastel blobs with vaguely cake-like shapes.

“Perfect,” you muttered sarcastically, swiping frosting from the counter with a finger.

Before you could second-guess your plan, the sound of footsteps approached. Slow, calculated. Bruce. You didn’t need to see him to know it was him—the weight of his presence filled the room like a stormcloud.

“Baking?” His voice was calm, laced with a hint of curiosity that made your skin crawl.

“Yeah,” you replied shortly, not looking at him. You started stacking the cupcakes onto a plate, pretending you didn’t care that he was watching. “Got bored.”

Bruce stepped closer, the faint rustle of his coat as deliberate as everything else he did. You hated how easily he could unsettle you. “It’s nice to see you trying something new,” he said, his tone gentle—fatherly, even.

You rolled your eyes, grabbing the plate and shoving it toward him. “Here. You can have them.”

Bruce took the plate without hesitation, his gloved hands looking out of place against the childish swirls of frosting. “Thank you,” he said, as though you’d gifted him something precious. “The others will appreciate this.”

As if summoned, the rest of the Batfamily began to trickle in.

Dick was the first to arrive, his easy smile faltering only slightly when he saw the cupcakes. “Did you make these, [Name]?” he asked, grabbing one before you could answer.

“Yep,” you said flatly, crossing your arms. “Don’t expect much.”

He took a bite. For a moment, his face betrayed nothing, but then his expression twisted into something that could only be described as polite horror. “Wow,” he managed, forcing a swallow. “These are… unique.”

Jason snorted as he sauntered in, the smell having lured him from whatever dark corner he’d been brooding in. “What’s this?” he asked, swiping a cupcake from the plate Bruce held. “Looks like someone murdered a unicorn.”

“Eat it and find out,” you snapped.

Jason raised an eyebrow but took a bite anyway. His reaction was less subtle than Dick’s—he gagged dramatically, spitting the mouthful into a napkin. “What the hell, kid? Did you put salt instead of sugar?”

“I don’t know, maybe!” you shot back, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

Tim appeared next, looking bleary-eyed and clutching a mug of coffee. He grabbed a cupcake without a word and took a bite. His eyes widened slightly, and he coughed. “Is this… is this cinnamon?”

“Possibly.”

“Cinnamon and… garlic?”

You frowned. “I didn’t put garlic in there.”

Damian was the last to enter, his nose wrinkling at the plate as though it offended him on a personal level. “What is this monstrosity?” he asked, glaring at the cupcakes.

“Dessert,” you said dryly. “Take it or leave it.”

To your surprise, he picked one up, inspecting it like it was a puzzle he intended to solve. He took a cautious bite, chewed, and swallowed. “Tolerable,” he declared, setting the half-eaten cupcake down with a disdainful sniff.

“See? Tolerable,” you said, pointing at Damian as though his judgment absolved you.

Jason groaned. “Tolerable isn’t exactly a ringing endorsement.”

Bruce, who hadn’t taken a bite yet, finally broke his silence. “It’s the effort that matters,” he said, his gaze settling on you with unnerving intensity.

You glared back at him, hating the way he spoke as though you’d done this out of love rather than sheer boredom. “Don’t read into it,” you said sharply. “It’s not like I had anything better to do.”

Bruce didn’t respond, but the faint smile tugging at his lips told you he didn’t believe you.

Despite the disaster your cupcakes turned out to be, they ate them—or tried to. Even Jason, after some grumbling, finished his. Maybe they thought it would please you. Maybe it was another way to force their twisted idea of “family” on you.

Or maybe, you realized with a pang of unease, they just couldn’t say no to you.

The thought was more unsettling than anything else.

[jazzy11scorpio]

Your hands

Description: Your morning blends humor, intense intimacy, and deep affection. A failed pancake attempt leads to passionate moments . His hands are a recurring symbol of his tender strength.

Pairing: You / Pedro Pascal

Warnings ⚠️: Adult content, dirty talk, established relationship, so much fluff,unprotected sex, creampie, SMUT.

Word count: 1k

The early morning light filtered through the window, casting a soft glow over the scene. You woke with a start, a flutter of nervous energy in your stomach – your first day at the new job.

Usually, Pedro would be there, his warm presence and gentle kisses easing you into the morning. But today, the other side of the bed was empty.

You slipped into the bathroom, quickly freshening up, and then made your way downstairs.

The aroma of something…singed?… wafted through the air. You found Pedro in the kitchen, a picture of adorable chaos. He was wearing his favorite worn green shirt, and a pair of black reading glasses perched on his nose, giving him an endearingly studious look. His curly hair was slightly disheveled, and his dark eyes were focused intently on the pan in front of him.

You approached him from behind, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. "Good morning," you murmured. "What are you up to?"

He turned to you, a sheepish grin spreading across his face.

"I wanted to make you pancakes," he said, gesturing to the pan. "But… well, it's not going according to plan."

"Pancakes, huh?" you teased, raising an eyebrow. "Looks more like a culinary crime scene."

He peered at his phone, propped against the salt shaker, the pancake recipe glaring back at him. "Baby, I swear," he muttered, poking at the smoking blob in the pan, "it said 'lightly whisk' and 'medium heat.' What I did wrong?"

He looked at you, a mix of puppy-dog eyes and total kitchen defeat. "I'm telling you, I followed it. Fluffy, golden pancakes, right? That's what I was going for. This," he gestured with the spatula, "is... not that. Maybe this phone's got a vendetta against me making breakfast."

You smiled and kissed him, a deep, lingering kiss that made his eyes flutter.

God, he was so sexy, even amidst the kitchen chaos. With that pan in his huge, veiny hands and that adorably confused face, he was utterly irresistible.

You pulled him closer, your arms wrapping around his waist.

He mumbled something against your lips.

"Forget the pancakes," you whispered, a playful glint in your eyes. "You're gonna be my breakfast."

A wide grin spread across his face. He tossed the spatula aside, the pan clattering on the stovetop. In one swift motion, he lifted you into his arms, carrying you to the empty kitchen table. He set you down gently, his eyes filled with warmth.

"Finally," he murmured, his voice husky, "the best part of the morning."

He kissed you soft, real gentle, then took off his glasses. You helped him with his shirt, and you tossed your top on a chair. He leaned in, kissed your neck, all warm and tingly. You lifted your hips a bit, and he slid off your shorts and panties in one smooth move.

You pulled him in for a proper kiss, all heat and tangled limbs. "You're so damn hot," he mumbled against your lips.

His hands, those big, veiny ones, were everywhere – tracing your hips, your stomach, then cupping your breast, thumbing your nipple. He moved his hand to your neck, just kinda pressed you back onto the table. "Right here," he whispered, all low and husky.

He shoved his pants down, and damn, his cock was right there, hard and ready. You just stared, like, "Ohh Papi." He was gorgeous, all muscle and heat. "You're amazing," you breathed, kinda breathless.

He positioned himself between your legs, his hard cock throbbing against your entrance. He pressed the tip against your wet folds.

He pushed slowly, but even after all this time, he was still so big, so impossibly thick, that it was almost too much. "Oh, mi amor," he groaned, his voice thick with desire, "you're so tight. Don't move...how am I supposed to fit when you're moving like that?"

You smiled, a slow, sensual smile that made his eyes darken. He gripped your waist, his fingers digging into your skin, holding you steady. "Sorry babe....You're so big," you whispered, your voice hoarse. "So good. I need you so bad."

He pushed again, slowly, deliberately, stretching you, filling you inch by inch. Your walls finally yielded, opening to him, welcoming him inside.

He gasped as he filled you completely, his cock sheathed in your hot, wet tightness of your pussy. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, wanting him deeper.

He groaned as he pushed deeper, stretching you to your limit. "You're so impossibly tight," he rasped, his voice thick with desire. "Like you were made for me." He paused, his breath catching in his throat. "So hot, so wet…I never want to leave."

He began to move, slowly at first, then with increasing urgency, his hips rocking against yours, his cock sliding in and out of your slick heat. "Tell me you love it," he murmured, his voice a low growl. "Tell me you love how I feel inside you."

"I do," you moaned, arching your back, meeting his thrusts. "God, yes, Pedro. Just like that. You feel so good."

He growled, his hands gripping your hips, guiding your movements, setting a relentless, delicious pace. "You're mine, mi amor," he whispered, his voice rough and possessive. "Only mine. I'm going to love you until you can't breathe."

"Yes," you gasped, your nails digging into his back, urging him on. "Please, Pedro. I want you so deep inside me."

"God, you're so fucking tight," he rasped, his voice thick with lust. "I love how you grip me." He paused, his breath catching in his throat. "You feel so hot, so wet... I could stay buried inside you forever."

"Don't finish yet," you gasped, your nails digging into his back as he thrust harder.

"Hold it, yeah, just like that." You wanted to savor every moment, every delicious inch of him inside you.

"Move slowly," you whispered, your voice hoarse with desire. "I'm so close."

He slowed his pace, teasing you, drawing out the pleasure. He felt your inner muscles clench around him, your fluids exploding around his cock, slick and hot. He groaned, his body shuddering with the force of your orgasm.

"Pedro!" you cried out, your body convulsing with pleasure as you reached your peak. "Oh, Pedro, I love you!"

"I love you too," he groaned, burying his face in your neck. "So much. You feel like heaven."

"You're so beautiful when you come for me," he whispered, his voice thick with adoration. "So perfectly mine."

He pumped a few more times, filling you to the brim. "I love making you mine."

He hit a couple of hard, powerful thrusts, and then he came undone, his release a hot, shuddering rush that filled you completely. "Fuck," he groaned, burying his face in your neck. "I love coming inside you."

He leaned down, cupping your face in his large, gentle hands, and kissed you softly, tenderly. You felt yourself melting beneath his touch, a wave of warmth and affection washing over you.

You gently caressed his hands, your fingers tracing the lines and veins that spoke of strength and tenderness. "Best breakfast ever," you murmured, a contented sigh escaping your lips.

He smiled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Then you'll have this every morning, mi amor," he chuckled, pulling you in for another kiss.

You giggled, kissing him again and again, your heart overflowing with love.

He glanced at his watch, his smile fading slightly. "Oh, shit, you're going to be late for work," he said, his voice laced with concern.

"Let's get a quick shower," you suggested, already pulling him towards the bathroom. "Are you coming?"

"If I ever rejected a shower with you, darling," he said, his voice teasing, "you'd have every right to kill me." He hugged you tightly, kissing your neck, and followed you into the bathroom.

After a hurried shower, you grabbed some cornflakes, eating quickly, the sweetness contrasting with the earlier heat.

He tried to calm your nerves, offering words of encouragement. "You'll be great," he said, his eyes filled with confidence. "You're smart, talented, and you've got this. Just be yourself, and they'll love you." He smiled, a warm, reassuring smile that made your heart flutter.

"I love you so much," you said, your voice filled with emotion. "You mean the world to me. You're the kindest, most amazing man I've ever met." You leaned in and kissed him, a deep, heartfelt kiss that spoke volumes.

"Come on," he said, taking your hand. "Let's go. I'll drop you off.

As he drove you to work, you found yourself fixated on his hands. Those large, veiny hands, so strong and capable, yet so incredibly tender. You loved watching them grip the steering wheel. Even the simple act of holding a cup of coffee was mesmerizing, the way his fingers curled around.

His touch was a constant source of comfort and desire. Every time he caressed you in bed, it was a reminder of his affection, his gentle strength. He was always touchy, always wanting to be close, to connect.

When he hugged you, he held you so tight, it felt like you were one, inseparable. You could feel the warmth of his body, the steady beat of his heart against your own.

And then there were the mornings. He would wake you with the softest of touches, his hand gently cupping your cheek. His skin was always warm, a comforting heat against your own.

With his thumb, he would trace the curve of your lips, a silent promise of the kiss that was to come. It drove you crazy, that tender, almost reverent touch. It was a language he spoke fluently, a language of love and adoration.

Even as he helped you with your coat, his hands lingered on your shoulders, a gentle squeeze before he released you. When he kissed you goodbye, he held your face in his hands, his thumbs caressing your cheeks as his lips moved against yours. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes. It was a constant, unspoken reassurance of his love, a silent promise that he would always be there, always be gentle, always be caring. It was in those moments, those small, intimate touches, that you knew you were truly his, and he was truly yours.

As you arrived at your new workplace, he leaned over and kissed you deeply. "Have a wonderful first day, my love," he whispered, his voice husky. "I'll be thinking of you. I love you."

"I love you too," you replied, your heart swelling with affection. "I'm going to make dinner tonight. Gotta thank you for that… delicious breakfast."

He winked to you "I can't wait," he said, his voice laced with anticipation.

Thank you for the reading 💜

Please like, reblog and comment ❣️

Send me your requests and reviews, questions...

Tags: @bonneyzsk @berryispunk

[wajjs]

but the green lanterns are 100% spooked by batman & co, am I right pals hahaha 🫠

[firebunnylover]

In transformers,

What are sparklings? Are they like robot babies?

YES!

They are a mostly fan concept however. Hasbro has been cowards and unfortunately haven't realized how good an idea it is.

Mostly cuz that opens the floodgates of robot pregnancy I assume.

With that said, IDW comics does touch on the concept as far as I understand, regarding protoforms where they start out like lil marshmallows, then grow into their basic robot forms.

I think that protoform is a scraplet, but I'm not terribly familiar with IDW continuity so take that with a grain of salt.

In TFA, Sari can technically count as one.

Prof. Sumdac found her as a lil protoform that somehow ended up in his lab and after touching her, she somehow absorbed his DNA and became humanlike.

We probably would have GOTTEN MORE INFO IN SEASON 4 ABOUT HER ORIGINS BUT WE DIDN'T GET SEASON 4!!

Personally, I love the idea that they start off as lil squishy marshmallow blobs, developing arms n legs later on as they develop, along with more rigid structures.

And I think sparklings could be one of the reasons why Cybertronian altforms' tend to have this conveniently open space in them that you can access. They can get carried around like how marsupial do

Also we can't forget the biggest contribution to Sparkling Ideas, the KOBD child - Wildbreak.

He had so many similar traits to the gay cat husbands that fans just took the idea he was their kid and RAN.

(old drawing of mine of KOBD family feat. sparklings Wildbreak and Override)

I don't draw KOBD family as much as I should, I apologize for that.

[grandisknight]

at your service | rafayel

summary: Gaining the upper hand in Kitty Cards has its benefits, which solely consist of making the loser (Rafayel) comply to the winner’s choice.

tags: nsfw (mdni), established relationship, kitty cards (derogatory), teasing, gn!reader (no specific descriptors), 'miss bodyguard' name mention, thomas mention, maid!rafayel, sub!rafayel, costumes, roleplay, maids, photography, kissing, praise kink, ‘master’ kink, brief mouth fucking, finger sucking, handjobs, m!orgasm, ejaculate, implied/suggestive ending

wc: 3.0k | ao3 | kinktober in deepspace masterlist

a/n: don't ask me what happened but just know i will die on the hill that is maid!rafayel

You couldn’t believe your luck. 

And Rafayel couldn’t understand his lack of it. 

The Evol kittens were no better in-between the two of you—some were happily purring or fast asleep, comfortable in their colored teacups. More importantly, unbothered and unaware of the two players on opposite spectrums in their aftermath.

Out of the nine creatures, an overwhelming majority belonged to you. After a long, arduous dual and third round sweep, you had overshadowed Rafayel with a score of thirty-two points to his measly eight sum. He held a quarter to your victory.

“This game sucks,” Rafayel sulks. His frown mirrors one of the red Evol kittens closest to him, rounded tears blobbing down its cheeks. Both defeated, worse for wear at the outcome.

You let out a small laugh. “You say that, and yet you still play with me every week.” 

You poke the cheek of a cheery green Evol kitten, who nudges against your touch in turn and meows. “Isn’t that right, little fella?” It delightfully purrs back at you, the accordance only rubbing more salt into Rafayel’s poor wound.

“Hmph.” He doesn’t fight you there, chin resting in the palm of his hand and averting your teasing gaze.

You collect your hand and his, returning all cards to the discard pile with a satisfied hum. No sooner did a café worker come by to clear your table, leaving the two of you to your devices.

“And you know what that means, don’t you?” You lean forward, reaching to his sulking demeanor. Catching the sleeve of his blouse, you lightly pinch the silk between your fingers, putting on your own petulant expression. “Unless you forgot so soon.”

As long as he breathed and lived, it was actually Rafayel who would constantly have to remind you of things said and done in the past. Less of the forgetful one between you, he takes pride in his memory retention.

Even so, he couldn’t stay upset with you for so long. His shoulders relax at the sound, back straightening and taking your hand into his. A scoff of, “Puh-lease, of course I remember,” answers your questions.

“Loser does what the winner wants,” he tacks on in confidence. 

It was the terms agreed upon when stepping into Meow Meow Café earlier that day—he didn’t think much of it at the time, confident he would win today’s rounds. 

But, that wasn’t the case. Right. You won the first, he the second, and as for the third…

Rafayel pauses then, dual-chromed eyes now narrowing in suspicion. “Wait a minute. I’m the loser.”

You nod, a grin plastered to your face. “Today you are, yeah.”

“And you’re the winner,” he follows up. 

(If you look close enough, you could make out swirls of equations and calculations floating around his head.)

“Two for two, you’re absolutely correct.” With a gentle tug and rise from your seat, you string along a bewildered artist in tow. 

It came altogether then. A sense of dread at your unrevealed schemes quickly fills his tone, face already draining of its color. “Oh no,” Rafayel groans.

“Oh yes,” you chirp. “I have a wish that needs to be granted, and you’re going to help me out!”

—

“Are you sure you don’t need my help?” 

You stood outside the bathroom door, which was currently (and firmly) locked from within. Not that you were going to barge in unannounced, but surely it warranted some concern when Rafayel hadn’t stepped a single foot out since entering. Only the rustles of clothing and hushed utterances echoed the acoustics of tiled walls; you couldn’t really make out any of the finer details otherwise.

And it’s been ten minutes.

You clear your throat, wondering if he missed the first time you called out. “Ra—fa—yel—“

The door swings open then, the man of the hour greeting you with, “Yeah, yeah. I hear you.”

It took a second to register his reappearance, and your mouth fell slack taking him in. “Woah,” you breathe out in awe.

No longer in his casual blouse and accompanying slacks, the artist stood before you in a newly picked attire. 

White knee-high socks stuck to his calves, with the edge of their supporting garters partially hidden and neatly wrapped all the same. A frilled apron of ivory linen rested neatly above his kneecaps, blanketing the black satin of a dress in an equally-met length underneath. Sleeves puffed around his shoulders, and a pointed collar was tastefully unbuttoned in fashion—undoubtedly of his own doing, revealing the flush of his chest and collarbone that homed one of his many beauty marks.

To which, he instinctively covers up with a defensive cross of arms and ears tipped in a bright red. Embarrassment follows his rather meek stance. “So like, that’s all, right? Can I take this off now?”

You take a step closer, hands clasped behind your back in observation and hum. It was well-fitted to his body, hugged neatly in all the places where it mattered. Thomas came in clutch when you asked him the other day, catching him at Flux Arts during one of the slower viewing hours. 

“His measurements?” The agent pondered your request. A couple swipes to his tab later, he adds on with a smile, “Sure thing. If it’s for Rafayel’s sake, then I’ll send them over.”

A little secret kept between the two of you, unbeknownst to the wearer. It was probably for the best, you wouldn’t hear the end of his moping otherwise.

Rafayel whines under your scrutinizing gaze that was lost in thought. “Hey—“

“Not yet,” you say with a shake of your head. “Indulge me for a while more. You took forever in there all by yourself, anyhow.”

You reveal a matching headdress between your once hidden fingers, a row of pleated ribbon swiftly placed amongst his wavy locks. The final piece of the puzzle, a maid in all his glory and in the comforts of your humble abode. A sense of glittering pride holds your gaze to his.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” he points out.

Your shoulders raise in a slight shrug. “Of course I am, it’s the winner’s right.” A hand trails down to the curve of his jaw, holding the face that continues to pout. With a light snicker and compliment in attendance, you tell him, “You look very cute, by the way.”

Rafayel’s pout twitches for a second, slyly revealing his enjoyment to the compliment. He clears his throat, saying, “Yeaaah right. Take a picture, I’m sure it’ll last longer.”

Oh, but he spoke too soon. His eyes widen when you actually take out your phone, much to his better judgment. “Hold on, you’re not planning on really keeping a memo, are you?”

“It would be a shame if I didn’t,” you counter. He said so himself—might as well take his word for it.

Swiping to the camera app,  you position the lens inches away and see his furrowed brows through the viewfinder. You gently tug him forward, fingers fully curled underneath his chin. On the other hand, he purposefully sways back and forth in an effort to blur your captures.

You tsk. “The more you squirm, the longer I’ll have to keep trying to take a shot.”

“What, you don’t like my blurry faces too? They’re all handsome,” he huffs. Though a squish to his cheeks cuts him short, stilling him long enough for a ring of shutters to seal the deal.

“Alright, alright,” you coo to console his woes. “I think I managed to get a good one.” 

You lower the phone in observation, scrolling through the new gallery additions. The flurry of dark lavender and hazy skin aside, a few select shots captured the paused moment of time where he did behave. 

Device neatly tucked away into your back pocket, your attention turns back to the subject of your newest wallpaper. Even if this was a reward for you, he deserved just as much in compensation. 

A soft kiss to Rafayel’s jutted lip melts some of his tension, brows no longer scrunched together. You smile at his relaxing shoulders and opening arms when you give another. 

You shower him in adoration, butterflied smooches and his closing eyes soon pressing against the closest wall. Your hands run over the frills of his skirt, smooth to the touch and gently laid out atop his thighs. The barrier of fabric did nothing to hide the amount of warmth emanating through, the effect of your touches having a clear reaction on him. 

You wondered if there was more to be seen—only one way to find out.

Shifting, you drag your lips away from his and to the sweet spot where his jaw and earlobe meet. You ask in a low voice, “So, what do you think?” His blush steadily follows into the very space, worsening when you blow gently over the affected skin. “Dressing up like this for me.”

“My thoughts?” 

Whether it was in disbelief or furthered embarrassment—perhaps a fine condition of both—Rafayel could only exhale. You could feel his legs pressing together in unspoken confirmation, and a bashful turn of his head carries his murmur of, “What do you think I’m thinking about when you touch me like that?”

“Well,” you trail off. “I’d rather show and not tell.”

In a blink, your fingers bunch up the skirt fabric into messied pleats that reveal the answers you sought after. And it truly was a lovely sight to see—you let out a low whistle, impressed at the state he’s in. Through the sheer lace of white trim, a curved tip as red as his ears was weeping quietly, soiling the undergarment dutifully.

“Don’t look,” he whines, attempting to cover up his hardened arousal with the satin.

“Would you prefer if I touched instead?” You tease, catching his wrist in apt timing. You guide his hand over where his body couldn’t lie, and he noticeably twitches. “Oh? Maybe you prefer touching yourself.”

“I can’t do that,” Rafayel weakly counters. It breaks into a low moan when you slowly inch him closer to the beads of precum pulsing past his slit. He hisses when your thumb slips against it, purposefully smearing his come against the lace. “You’re so, so mean, Miss Bodygu—“

“Ah, not so fast.” You tut, drawing back and a string of his arousal follows. He gasps at the unexpected loss, protests shaping his lips before you continue your turn. “That’s not my proper title.”

Confusion tints the hues of red and blue that, already, were far dipped into the seas of lust. “I call you that all the time though.” 

In hindsight, you are his Miss Bodyguard. Have been, for months on end, and with generous bank statements stamped with his name as a source of proof. One who graciously accompanies him when your schedules allow it, to even sightseeing trips for both business and pleasure.

He pauses, then notably gawks with the cogs of realization spinning. “You… Don’t tell me, you want me to call you that?”

It wouldn’t be the first time this particular name has come up in conversation, but the circumstances were vastly different. You bring your soiled thumb to his lips, swiping it across and allowing it to settle into a thin layer of gloss. 

“You can’t be serious,” he says.

“Sorry, are you talking to me right now? I only listen to those with manners.” His eyes only grow in size, yet you feign indifference to it. Of course you would hear him out—though only with the proper name.

Ignorance was never bliss, but rather a crude form of torture for Rafayel. “M… m…” The word laid on the tip of his tongue in a hesitant sound, before a quick mumble follows.

“I can’t hear you.” Your fingers curl themselves once more in a grip over his chin, directing his gaze to go nowhere else but to you. And your eyes were steadfast, committing his flustered face to memory.

“Speak up,” you encourage.

The air above sea had never felt so suffocating yet enticing all at once. Rafayel couldn’t help but enjoy the heat, and the root cause of it, to which he says in a low groan, “Master.”

“See? That wasn’t so hard, now was it?” Your faceted praise comes with a tilt of his head and a kiss to reward his newfound diligence. He sighs into your warmth that welcomes him, though it shifts to a whine when you pull away too soon.

Rafayel nudges your nose with his, a pity show pooling in his eyes. “More, Master.”

“More of what, exactly?” You contemplate, before a decisive, downwards push of his lacey underwear has him sighing. 

His length stood proud against his abdomen, way past a softened state, firm and twitching to the exposed air. You draw a fine line from base to sensitive head, gauging his reaction. The other hand toys with the closest garter on his thigh, fingers dipping past the fine leather. “My sweet Rafayel,” you purr. “What should I do with you?”

“Want you to touch me,” he strains, an edge of impatience to confession. His lips move to mouth at your collarbone, no longer hiding his neediness and taking it in stride. It was rare for you to see this side of him, so vulnerable yet entirely reserved for you—a face he wouldn’t dare show anyone else.

Rafayel spoke with heat in his voice and hazy stars in his eyes. “Master, please. I swear I’ll do anything you want.”

“Anything,” you muse, squeezing his thigh thoughtfully. “And all you want me to do is touch you.”  You can’t help but chuckle when his enthusiastic nod only adds to your point. 

You could see his illusory fox ears flatten in disappointment when you pull away, against his wishes. He lets out a small yelp when your fingers release the garter and smack against his skin.

“Master, I—“

“Open,” you instruct, fingers searching his lips once more. 

And Rafayel does, choking a moan when you place them against his tongue. Carefully, you stroke his warm cavern, to which his mouth closes around and sucks with zeal. He swirls his tongue against the pads of your fingers, determined to please you.

His canines briefly graze your skin when you depart with a faint string. Now finely coated in a layer of his saliva, you dip your hand downwards—curling the sticky fingers around his nearly-neglected cock. Rafayel cants his hips immediately, supporting the salaciously wet noises that echo in tune. 

You squeeze his length in warning, pressing the other hand to his abdomen. “Stay still,” you scold, feeling him contract beneath your pressure. “If you can’t follow a simple order, I’ll leave you high and dry.”

“No, no, no,” he whimpers, shaking his head adamantly. His hands grip the skirt, desperate and knuckles almost turning white from their strength. Something to keep him grounded, to make sure he listens well to his beloved—“Master, I won’t move, promise.”

You purse your lips. “We’ll see about that.” 

Up and down, you tenderly attend to his arousal in generous strokes. Steady rubs and an occasional swipe to his sensitive head last for what feels like an eternity to Rafayel. He was so well-behaved when his orgasm was threatened, all in the palm of your hand.

“You’re close,” you observe with a particularly firm flick, “Aren’t you?”

“Mhm, ‘m very close,” Rafayel quickly admits, his breaths ardent and changing in pitch. He looked so beautiful like this, prettily wrapped around your fingers and a sweet song of your name resonates from his throat. 

Abandoning the languid strokes, you angle your elbow to reach him sooner—faster. “A good, honest boy,” you coo. His blush only deepens at the sound, and his keens grow in volume. You’d apologize to the neighbors later. 

“Should I let you come?” You ask knowingly.

“Master, Ma—ah—ster,” he cries out. “Can feel it, I’m about to—“ A tear rolls down his cheek, matching the one threatening to bead past his slit. “Please, please.” Overwhelmed and in a desperate need for relief, Rafayel’s expression stirred a flame within you.

“Let it out,” you coax, pace unrelenting and threatening to cramp your fingers. The finish line was only a step away, and you say with a smile, “Do it for me. Come undone, my little maid.”

Blissful orgasm wrecks his body, accompanying his labored whines and pearls of white leaving his spent cock. Both the fabric of his outfit and your hand became victims to the viscous liquid, with the air equally met with nothing but the scent of it. 

Rafayel was boneless by the time he was nothing but dribbles of cum and a wrinkled skirt, slouching against the wall.

Your dry hand finds its way to his face, kindly stroking his cheek and adding a kiss to his relaxed brow. “You did so well, Raf.”

“Course I did,” he manages to jest in a hoarse voice. He eyes the state of his clothes and your dirtied hand, to which he nods towards. “Give me your hand.”

“What?” You look down, before raising it between your faces. It glistens, brought to the light and sinking into the creases of your skin. “Why—Ah.” 

Obediently, Rafayel takes your fingers dripping in release to his mouth. He licks in strides at the leftovers as if it were a swirl of ice cream on a hot, summer day.

“Cleaning up the mess you made,” you muse, though make no movement to stop him. “What a dutiful maid I have.” 

He nips your now unsullied fingertips at the comment. His hold on your wrist brings you closer—you stumble unexpectedly, letting go of his face to steady a hand to his chest.

“Raf—“ Your voice stutters when you feel his knee rub between your legs. Purposeful and angled, the pressure stokes the forsaken flames in your abdomen. “Rafayel,” you breathe, attempting to collect your bearings. 

“I hope you know I won’t easily forget all the things you’ve done,” Rafayel murmurs, eyes glimmering in mischief. “I won’t let you off easy, Master.”

[alnilaem]

a more fleshed-out version from the third prompt of this post of mine.

cw for emotional manipulation, breaking in, stalking, smut, babytrapping, and dubcon to be safe

simon riley/reader

-

Something is wrong. 

Your suitcase is halfway past the threshold of your front door, halfway past your new grave, when you notice the hum of salt and tobacco in the air. Discomfort licks your insides and binds to your skin so heavily that you begin to sweat. A tinny sound peals out as you rearrange your keys between your knuckles, clenching it, and step inside your flat. 

Your heels are at the foot of your shoe rack. Your coat isn’t where it’s supposed to be, crimped in a pool on the floor. Your framed photographs are all inched to the left—you know this because you committed their placement to your memory—because you feared this would happen.

Something is seriously, gravely wrong. 

You feel like you’re lost at sea. Dull-headed and impaired under the alluring melody of a blood-thirsty siren. Walking towards their call, your legs moving before your mind can, spit in the presentiment of fear the same way insects get caught in spiderwebs. Stuck, and about to be eaten.  

You trek further into your flat, following the telltale signs that someone has been here—is here. A general shift in air. The stench of stale herbs and metal. A trail of silt on your hardwood floors, that of which could only be caused by certain mud-clogged boots tracking into your flat.

Here, you pause. On the threshold of your kitchen. Your stomach turns inside out and if it weren’t for your ribs, your heart would have burst out of your chest. 

It’s like you’re walking on glass. Every thin sliver that pokes your skin, invading you, is a splinter of fear. And it also makes it so that you can’t walk away—you’re frozen in place, watching him above your stove, setting a kettle to boil. 

He hears your squeak. Simon turns around, cotton-plated in his civvies, and hums. 

“Welcome home, Love.” 

The moisture leaves your mouth and rushes to your eyes. A film of dew materialises on top of your waterline. It’s thick and pearlescent and clouds your vision, turns Simon into an incorporeal blob in your vision, turning him into a trick of your eyes that you hope will go away after you blink.

He doesn’t.

Instead, Simon rests himself against your kitchen counter. He crosses his tattooed arms over his chest, tilting his head, and bends his lips into an unseemly smile.

“How was your friend’s place?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Simon?” You try getting your anger across, but your voice betrays your emotions. It’s heavily distorted by fear, waning, so much so that it makes him blandly chuckle. Like he can smell the terror roiling off of you. Like he feeds from it.

“How did you get in?”

Simon shrugs. “I’ve got a copy of the key.” 

“I changed the damn locks.”

“I got new ones,” he says.

“We broke up.”

“You broke up with me,” Simon snarls. “When I was at my fuckin’ lowest. You broke up with me and I didn’t agree to tha’ shit.”

“Simon–” a gust of disbelief cuts your sentence short. You grip your hair at its roots, tugging it, twisting it, coiling your face in frustration. “Simon, you need to leave.”

“You’re talkin’ like that ‘cause you’re mad at me. Give it a few minutes, and you won’t be.”

“Are you fucking insane!?” You yell. You draw towards him and slam the kettle off the stove. “You broke into my flat!”

“I had a key,” Simon says. He steps towards you, bullying you backwards until the hind of your spine catches on the cold granite of your countertop. Until your back bends over it, Simon, looming over you. “I’ve always told you to use the deadbolt.”

You bite your lip. The blood sticking to the roof of your mouth isn’t as bitter as Simon’s eyes. His are cold, depthless. 

“Fuck off.”

Then, Simon flips. His expression shifts in a whirlwind of seconds. Now, his brunette eyebrows are pursed and his lips are pointed down. His head is ensconced on your neck, his shoulder suddenly laden with an invisible weight as he kittens into you.

“Just came ‘cause I wanted to talk…” he mumbles. “One a’ my men died on me yesterday. Got early R&R for it. Thought you’d be happy to see me...”

You’re motionless as Simon clemently begins kissing your neck. You split your hands on his chest and try shoving him away, but he doesn’t move. He’s as solid as rock. Pushing himself into you, grovelling into your sleek skin. 

A phantom chain is tightening around your throat. You don’t know what to say. You don’t know what you can say. You feel that with any words that poise themselves on your tongue, Simon won’t take kindly to. 

“Simon… I’m sorry for you. I really am,” you slip out from under him and step back. “But this isn’t the way to go about it. We’re adults. And I’m asking you to leave.”

Simon raises his head, lukewarm. He stares at you through his half-lidded eyes, breathing heavily, clenching his fist around the lip of your countertop. Thickly, you swallow. You fidget with your cardigan and hope it will offset the discomfort hanging in the air. Simon takes a deep breath, sucking it all up—the discomfort, the presentiment—and you expect his huffing to precede an explosive reaction, but it doesn’t come. He just slips himself off the island and turns around, quiet when he speaks.

“Yeah,” he hums. “My old man didn’t want anythin’ to do with me, so why should you?” 

Your eyes widen. Though you’ve spent so much time trying to bury it, trying to familiarise yourself with Simon’s sick gambits, a pang of guilt hits you hard.

“Don’t say things like that,” you point an accusing finger to his chest, “it isn’t fair.” 

“No, no,” he grumbles. “Makes sense, does’n’it? My old man walked out on me, so I should handle you walking out on me, too.”

Simon shudders with a long breath. He slaps his face into his hands, and it’s at this point, does your knee-jerk impulse to comfort him take hold of you. The last of your even-tempered brain screams at you—he’s trying to ply you with a humanised side of him, but that side died a long time ago—but you press forward and awkwardly bring him into your arms, patting him on the back. 

“Simon, I’m… sorry, okay?” He buries his head in your neck, nips at your skin. “I’m sorry.”

“Can’t you jus’ yell at me tomorrow?” He asks. Simon slips his hands into the depression of your waist, pulling you against his chest. Against the ever-rising tent of his jeans. 

Your mind protests, but Simon keeps you close. He stinks of sweat, impairing you with it, spinning you around and pushing you against the counter. 

“Simon–”

“Shhh,” he hums, catching his fingers on the hem of your leggings. “Y’said we can talk later. ’m tired, Love. Just need you right now.” 

Any protests rot on your tongue because the wind is knocked out of you as you’re folded over the counter. Simon’s hands travel, gripping every part of you, rekindling old bruises left behind and making space for new ones. 

He ruts into you, cock fattening in his boxers and stressing against his jeans. He slides a hand over the divots of your spine and bends it around your neck, hoisting your head back, huffing into your ear. 

“You’ve no idea how much I missed y’Love,” Simon’s humping you now. Rutting himself against your ass with unrestrained vigour. He bites the husk of your ear, flattens you against the counter, and sinks a hand below your waistband. He spreads your pussy open like the shell of a fruit, pushing his thick fingers into its flesh, knuckle-deep and kneading you. 

“How’s here?” He grumbles. You whine, and he twists himself deeper. “What about there?” 

Your mind and body wrestle between pushing him away and yielding under his touch. Simon fucks his fingers a little deeper, a little meaner, into you, and chuckles when you squeal. 

He rests his chin on your shoulder, and you see a sliver of bared teeth as his lips hitch up into a gnarled smile. “Ah, so that’s the spot, innit?”

You’re dew-skinned and fuzzy when Simon throws you over his shoulder, carrying you to your bedroom. Your tongue is heavy and numb and bootless against any objections as he throws you on the mattress, standing balefully at the foot of the bed. 

If you were a child, you’d hide under your sheets until he disappeared. But you’re not a child, and Simon doesn’t disappear. He sinks his knees into your bed and swipes his shirt off over his head, unbuckling his belt in one slick motion. 

He unzips his jeans and doesn’t even pull his balls out, just cups the gauze of his boxers beneath it and leans onto his hands.

A pearlescent bead of precum slips down the slit of Simon’s dick and drools onto your comforter. He wraps his hand around it, slips his palm up and down, tugging down your pants.

Your legs kick into a paltry complaint, but Simon pins your legs down. 

“No reason in fighting,” he says, rubbing his cockhead against your clit, “You’re so wet, Love.”

Simon nudges your panties to the side and thumbs your clit. Leans in for a biting kiss and swallows your moans, slapping his fat cock against your puffy, wet cunt. 

“Missed me just as bad, eh?” He huffs, setting his dick against your winking hole, pushing past your first ring of muscle and rolling at the sticky sound of your cunt spreading open.

“Simon–” you hic, latching onto his forearms. Trying to offset his bruising grip on your hips as he falls into a steady, deep rhythm. “At least wear a condom.”

He’s so thick, so heavy between your legs. Hoisting you onto his thighs and leaning over you, snapping his cock into you. He screws his face tight, pellets of sweat running down his marred collarbone. Congealing into the spindly, blonde threads of hair on his chest. Down to the wire of steel wool that thickens on his pelvis, pinching your clit each time he slams into you.

“You’re stayin’ with me, Pup,” he pants, kissing a stripe up your neck, suckling on your pebbled nipple. “Gonna gimme a litter, ain’t you? Just like we talked about?”

A little, lone tear slips down your hot cheek. Simon leans in and licks it off. He stuffs himself to the hilt, shuddering with abrupt pleasure as he skips to his feet and folds you in half, pounding into you, biting down on your shoulder.

It hits you like whiplash when Simon pushes himself so deep that you feel him swelling under your skin. He gives you no warning before emptying his balls inside you, flooding you with a white-hot come, clutching your jaw into a wet, messy kiss.

You’re blinded and eclipsed by pain as your orgasm shoots through you. The pleasure is numbing and makes you quiver, tremble, until you’re gushing around Simon’s cock and swivelling your hips to get away.

You’re shaking when he pulls back, giving your pussy no time to soften. Simon gives it a swat and flays himself off of you, heading to the bathroom. You hear the cellophane of your birth control peeling open, and the successive thunk as Simon tosses it into the bin. 

You try getting up but Simon flattens you back as he crawls in bed next to you. There’s a hand of his on your waist, seemingly benign, but tightens itself each time you try slipping away. Your sniffles are piercing and Simon pulls you close. Brushes your tears away, kisses your eyelids. 

“You’re not gonna leave me now, eh? You can’t,” he whispers, “you’re all I’ve got. You and our baby. You can’t leave me now.”

A pitiful cry escapes you. Simon takes that as agreement.

[rmadridcore]

Cabin Moments

Pairing: Jude Bellingham x Reader

Requested

Summary: After a hilarious cookie mishap, you and Jude escape the cold and find yourselves melting into each other in a cabin warmed by love and a crackling fire.

Word Count: 3.3K

Warning: Smut! (Minors DNI)

Author’s note: I’ve been wanting to write something Christmas themed and I decided to combine it with one of my requests ✨ Hope you’ll love it, happy holidays everyone 🤍🤍🤍

Jude had approached baking with the same confidence he brought to the pitch, but the batter currently clinging to the ceiling suggested otherwise. It was a few days before Christmas, and after ending the year with a win, Jude had whisked you away on the snowy getaway you’d both been looking forward to for weeks. Nestled in a cozy, picturesque cabin surrounded by a blanket of thick, crisp snow, the two of you had every intention of soaking up this peaceful time together before heading to England to celebrate the holidays with his family.

After a playful afternoon of snowball fights and building lopsided snowmen, you’d returned to the cabin, cheeks pink from the cold and laughter. That’s when Jude had insisted on baking cookies for you — a gesture he’d framed as a “thank you” for always taking care of him during his grueling season. You’d tried, and failed, to talk him out of it, knowing all too well that Jude’s cooking was less “Michelin star” and more “hazardous experiment.”

“Babe, why is there flour on your forehead?” you asked, squinting at him from your perch at the kitchen counter. Your chin rested in your palm as you watched his questionable culinary process unfold.

“Because the bag exploded on its own,” he replied, his tone completely serious as he stirred a bowl of unidentifiable liquid that was supposed to be cookie dough.

“Uh-huh,” you said, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “And I’m guessing the whisk didn’t magically fling batter onto the ceiling either?”

He sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Okay, that one might’ve been me.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. It was impossible to stay annoyed when he looked so determined, even if his methods were… unconventional. He whisked the mixture with such vigor you half-expected the bowl to launch itself off the counter. Butter, eggs, sugar, flour, vanilla, and a pinch of salt were haphazardly combined in a way that made you want to intervene at least ten times. The butter wasn’t properly melted, the flour was clearly insufficient, and his measurements were more guesswork than precision — but he was so resolute in doing this himself that you decided to let him be.

And prayed the cookies wouldn’t kill you.

As Jude began shaping the dough, his brows furrowed in concentration. He rolled an oddly lumpy blob in his hands, inspecting it as if it held the secrets of the universe. “Do cookies need to be round, or is that just a societal norm?” he asked, holding up the blob for your opinion.

You couldn’t hold back your laughter, doubling over as the absurdity of the question sank in. “No, Jude, they don’t need to be round,” you teased. “But it helps. Want me to take over?”

Tempted as he was by your offer, Jude stood firm. “No, thank you. I’ve got this.” His voice was confident, even as his hands struggled to mold the dough into something remotely spherical.

After what felt like an eternity, Jude triumphantly placed six misshapen dough balls onto a tray and slid them into the oven. Turning back to survey the kitchen, his eyes widened in disbelief. The once-pristine space now looked like a war zone — flour dusted every surface, utensils were strewn everywhere, and a suspicious trail of chocolate chips led to the corner of the counter.

He caught your knowing look and sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Okay, maybe I’ll let you help with the cleanup,” he admitted sheepishly.

You grinned, grabbing a dishcloth. “I thought you’d never ask.”

As the cookies baked, the two of you worked side by side to restore some semblance of order to the kitchen, exchanging teasing remarks and stifling laughter at the chaos Jude had created. The air was filled with the warm, sweet scent of vanilla and butter, but also the undeniable warmth of shared joy and affection.

A soft ding from Jude’s phone broke the quiet, signaling that his cookies were ready.

“They’re done!” he shouted, darting to the oven with the kind of excitement you’d expect from a five year old on Christmas morning. You stifled a laugh, watching him as he carefully pulled the tray out, his expression radiating pride.

His enthusiasm was endearing, until you remembered the last time he’d insisted on cooking. You prepared yourself for what was likely going to be an unforgettable culinary experience.

The cookies cooled for a few minutes, and then you both grabbed one, each taking a tentative bite. It only took a second for reality to hit. The moment your teeth met the cookie, it felt as though your entire dental health history flashed before your eyes.

“Jude, what is this?!” you exclaimed, your jaw protesting from the sheer effort it took to chew.

Beside you, Jude was in the same boat, though he valiantly tried to act like it wasn’t a disaster. He set his cookie down slowly, as if to avoid offending it. “They’re just… crunchy,” he said, forcing nonchalance.

“They’re not crunchy, Jude. I think I just tested the limits of my dental insurance policy,” you replied, gingerly placing the cookie back on the plate and vowing never to attempt another bite.

Jude’s face fell, a cute pout forming as he stared at the offending baked goods. He looked so disappointed it tugged at your heart. Bless him, he had just wanted to make something special for you.

“It’s okay, my love,” you said, softening your tone as you approached him. You cupped his face gently and placed a sweet kiss on his lips. “I’m still so proud of you. You’ll do better next time.”

Your reassurance brought a small smile back to his face. He hugged you tightly, his chin resting atop your head as he pressed a kiss to your hair.

“You probably won’t,” you whispered teasingly, unable to resist.

“Hey!” he protested, pulling back with an offended look that made you laugh.

“I’m kidding,” you said, pecking the tip of his nose. “How about you go light the fireplace, and I’ll make us some hot chocolate? Deal?”

“Deal,” he replied, clearly agreeing that cooking should forever remain your domain.

You set to work preparing two steaming mugs of hot chocolate, using the adorable Christmas-themed mugs Jude’s mom had gifted the two of you just a few days ago. With the rich scent of chocolate filling the air, you carried the mugs into the living room.

Jude was already sprawled on the couch, the fireplace crackling and casting a warm, flickering glow around the room. The cabin was utterly serene, the kind of cozy that made you want to live in this moment forever.

You handed him his mug before curling up beside him, his free arm naturally draping over your shoulders.

For a while, the two of you sipped your drinks in peaceful silence, the warmth of the fire wrapping around you like a soft blanket. It was a much-needed pause, a rare moment of tranquility amid the chaos of your lives.

“I wish I could freeze time,” Jude murmured, his voice breaking the quiet as he rested his head against yours. “Just stay like this forever.”

“What would we even do all day?” you teased, humming contentedly as the sweet, creamy liquid soothed your throat.

“This,” he replied simply, his fingers tracing soft patterns on your arm. “And maybe… I’d hold you a little closer.”

His words made your heart swell. You turned to look at him, your eyes brimming with affection. The way the firelight danced across his features left you breathless. He was stunning, and in this light, his expression so relaxed, so full of love, he somehow seemed even more beautiful.

“You look so different like this,” you whispered, your fingers grazing his jaw in a tender caress.

“Different?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Softer,” you said, smiling as your hand lingered on his cheek.

“Softer, huh?” he teased, his lips quirking into a grin. “That’s a first.”

“Not your muscles, silly,” you replied, rolling your eyes playfully. “Your eyes. They’re glowing. Like you’re thinking about something.”

He gazed deeply into your eyes, his demeanor calm and tender. “Just thinking how lucky I am to have you,” he said softly, his words making your heart flutter, as they always did.

You leaned in, pressing your lips against his, gifting him a short but heartfelt kiss that carried every ounce of your affection.

Turning your head, you let your eyes settle on the fire burning in the hearth, its soft glow casting a magical warmth over the room. “There’s something about this moment,” you murmured, “something magical, isn’t there?”

Jude brushed a gentle kiss to your temple, his lips lingering for a moment as his arms tightened around you. “You’re the magic,” he whispered against your skin. “The rest is just the setting.”

Your gaze flicked back to him, your chest swelling with love as a warm, fuzzy feeling settled deep within you. He reached for your mug, setting it alongside his on the coffee table.

“I don’t want anything between us, not even hot chocolate,” he explained when you gave him a curious look.

Before you could respond, he pulled you into his embrace, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was slow, deliberate, and brimming with emotion. His tongue grazed your bottom lip, and you granted him entry, allowing him to explore your mouth with delicate care. His hands traced slow, soothing patterns along your back as he lowered you onto the couch, his body hovering over yours, never breaking the kiss.

Your fingers found their way to the back of his neck, nails grazing softly along his skin, sending visible shivers through him. He moaned quietly into your mouth, the sound igniting a fire in your belly.

“I love you,” he murmured between kisses, his lips trailing a path to your neck where he began leaving soft, open-mouthed kisses. His warm breath sent tingles coursing through you, your skin heating beneath his touch. “I love you more than anything.”

“Jude,” you sighed his name, your voice a soft groan of pleasure. “I love you too.”

He hooked one of your legs over his hip, his lips continuing their worshipful journey along your neck and collarbone. Jude’s hands worked quickly, pulling his top off in one swift motion before reaching for your sweater, lifting it over your head. You unclasped your bra and tossed it aside, your bare skin now exposed to his hungry gaze.

He cupped one of your breasts, his thumb gently stroking the sensitive skin while his mouth captured the peak of your other breast. His lips and tongue teased your nipple with a mix of tenderness and desire, leaving you breathless as soft moans slipped from your lips.

“Jude,” you moaned again, the sound spurring him on.

Hearing you say his name like that was his greatest reward — a confirmation that he was making you feel good. It fueled him, his own pleasure second to the joy of knowing he was satisfying you.

Within moments, the rest of your clothes were discarded, leaving you naked beneath him. The firelight danced across your skin, painting you in a soft, golden glow that took Jude’s breath away.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his lips brushing against yours. “I’m obsessed with you.”

His hand slid between your bodies, his fingers exploring your wet folds with slow, deliberate strokes. The sensation sent waves of pleasure coursing through you. You were already ready for him, Jude had that effect on you. Just his touch, his words, even the way he looked at you could leave you completely undone.

You whimpered softly as his fingers left you, watching as he stroked himself a few times before positioning himself at your entrance. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your sweet scent as he began to push into you slowly.

A deep groan escaped your lips as he filled you, stretching you perfectly in a way that was both intense and utterly satisfying. Your hands gripped his shoulders, your nails digging slightly into his skin as you adjusted to his size.

When you tilted your hips upward, your body signaling your readiness, he began to move, his thrusts slow and purposeful as he lost himself in you.

A soft, almost inaudible sigh escapes your lips as Jude begins to move, his hips rocking slowly, savoring every second. There’s no rush — neither of you are in a hurry. For the first time in what feels like forever, you both have all the time in the world to explore each other’s bodies, to bask in the tenderness and love that envelopes the moment.

His rhythm is steady and purposeful, his thrusts full of affection. Each movement feels like a silent declaration of how much he loves you.

Jude lifts his head to meet your gaze, his dark eyes melting into yours, filled with devotion and longing. Your fingers curl into the back of his head, your breaths mingling as your hearts beat in perfect synchrony.

“You’re so perfect, you know that?” he whispers, his voice soft yet full of intensity, as if the words themselves carry the weight of his entire heart. His hand gently brushes strands of hair away from your face, revealing every detail of your expression.

Your eyes hold all the emotion that words could never fully express. If others wear their hearts on their sleeves, you and Jude carry yours in your eyes, transparent and undeniable.

He moves gently within you, every thrust igniting a fire in your core, sending pleasure rippling through your body. His lips find yours, warm and inviting, and his tongue slips past your parted lips to deepen the kiss. Slowly, he trails his kisses along your jawline, then down to your neck, his mouth hot against your skin.

Soft moans spill from your lips as his pace quickens, each movement perfectly calculated to bring you closer to the edge. Your legs tighten around his waist, pulling him deeper as your hands explore the expanse of his back. He groans softly against your neck, the sound vibrating through you and making your skin tingle.

“You feel so good,” Jude murmurs, his voice thick with adoration. “So perfect.”

His large hand moves to cup your breast, his fingers teasing the hardened peak with a gentle pinch. He presses open-mouthed kisses along your neck and shoulder, his lips lingering on your heated skin.

“Jude, you make me feel so good,” you say breathlessly, tilting your head back to give him more access. Your words spur him on, his lips trailing even lower, leaving you a trembling mess beneath him.

Hearing you say those words is everything to Jude. It fuels him, his desire to make you happy, to make you feel cherished, surging through him like a tidal wave. He pauses, his lips leaving your skin to gaze into your eyes once more.

“Y/N, you’re my everything,” he says, his voice raw with emotion. His eyes lock with yours, and you see the love radiating from them. It’s overwhelming, almost too much to bear, yet you welcome it, reveling in the intensity of his feelings for you.

Even without his words, you can feel it. His every touch, every glance, every moment you’ve shared has shown you how much he adores you. But hearing him say it, especially now, sends warmth flooding through your chest.

He captures your hand in his, bringing it above your head, intertwining your fingers tightly. His thrusts remain slow and deliberate, his body perfectly aligned with yours as he leans closer, his forehead resting against yours.

“You’re mine, right?” he asks, his voice softer now, almost vulnerable.

The question feels so silly to you, but you know Jude well enough to understand the quiet need for reassurance beneath it. Even though he knows your heart belongs to him, hearing you say it, especially in a moment this intimate, brings him a joy he can’t describe.

You smile, your free hand gently cupping his face as you whisper, “Of course, my love. I’m yours. Forever.”

The words ignite something within him. His thrusts pick up slightly, enough to send waves of pleasure cascading through your body, inching you closer to the edge. Your soft cries of pleasure echo in his ears, and he knows he’s exactly where he’s meant to be — wrapped in your arms, lost in the love you share.

Jude gazed down at you, his breaths heavy and labored but his heart fuller than ever. To him, you felt like a dream, a tangible piece of heaven he could hold, yet somehow still untouchably divine. There was an ethereal connection between the two of you, unlike anything he’d ever experienced.

The moment he had you in his life, he knew there was no going back. How could he? You made him feel like he was perpetually on cloud nine. You were the light that brightened even the most ordinary days, a warmth that banished every shadow.

As his pace quickened, your fingers squeezed his tightly. He responded by leaning down, capturing your lips in a kiss that was deep, fervent, and all-consuming. It wasn’t just a kiss — it was a declaration, a pouring out of emotions from the deepest corners of both your hearts.

To Jude, it felt as though he were floating on warm water, his entire being weightless and suspended in bliss. His heart swelled, threatening to burst from how much he loved you.

“I still can’t believe how lucky I am to have you,” he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with sincerity.

And he truly felt like the luckiest man alive. You loved him without reservation, understood him like no one else ever had, and supported him in ways that made him feel invincible. He never thought his life had been lacking before he met you, but now, he understood — nothing could ever compare to the completeness he felt with you by his side.

His thrusts quickened slightly, urgency mingling with tenderness as both of you approached your highs. Your intertwined hands tightened simultaneously, the shared gesture grounding you both in the moment.

Your lips remained locked as the peak hit, his warm release filling you just as your orgasm surged through you, sending tremors down your spine. Your walls clenched around him, eliciting a low, guttural groan from deep in his chest that you swallowed with your own cries of pleasure.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of your labored breaths mingling with the soft crackle of the fire. Jude slumped against you, his weight resting on you in a way that felt grounding and secure. He was careful not to crush you, but he also didn’t want to break the closeness of the moment.

Your fingers found their way to the back of his head, gently caressing his slightly damp hair. The soothing motion sent shivers down his spine yet again, a sensation that never seemed to grow old no matter how often you touched him.

The cabin was silent, save for the occasional pop of the firewood. Outside, the snow was falling heavily, blanketing the world in stillness and cold. But inside, wrapped in the warmth of each other’s embrace, you felt untouched by the chill.

Jude rested his head on your chest, pressing lazy, loving kisses along your collarbone as he listened to your heartbeat — steady, soothing, and his favorite sound in the world. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close, the crackling fire and the scent of pine only adding to the magic of the moment.

Though it felt like perfection, both of you knew this was just the beginning. With Christmas just around the corner, the love and passion you shared promised even more magic ahead. And as the snow continued to fall outside, you lay there together, hearts full, basking in a warmth that no fire could ever rival.

[3liza]

Wh... why are you making tiny salty gelatin cubes?

really valid question. i have a chronic condition called Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome, which causes a lot of symptoms of various kinds but the big ones are feeling faint and weak and having low blood pressure from not having enough blood! so POTS patients are medically advised to eat 10 grams of salt or more every day, plus the other electrolytes, to make us hold onto water better and increase the volume of our blood.

it's pretty hard to eat enough salt. you can buy salt or electrolyte pills and drinks and drink powders, and all of them are pretty good. my favorite is strawberry pedialyte. but it's really expensive, and the individual minerals by themselves are cheap, so salt pills are the more economical option. the problem with salt pills, especially for people who have trouble eating anyway (which i do) is that dropping a salt tablet into an empty stomach, or sometimes even a full stomach, can make your stomach pissed off and give you nausea or vomiting. not everyone has this issue but i definitely do.

i started making my own salt pills with regular table salt, then started adding powdered gelatin into the capsules to help buffer the salt. i need more protein anyway because my collagen is fucked. the gelatin buffer worked really well, i could take my gelatin-salt pills on an empty stomach no problem and my hair and nails were growing better, BUT buying empty gelcaps all the time was also expensive.

so i decided to try melting the gelatin into jello or gummi blobs and turning it into a small shape i could swallow easily. and actually i just popped all the little hemispheres out of their silicon sheet just now and it worked PRETTY well, but i need to look up how to make hard gelatin because a lot of them started to melt as soon as they got up to room temp even though the water-gelatin ratio should have been stable, possibly from the salt content making the gelatin hydrophilic idk.

i would post a pic but the gelatin browned as it was melting so they look DISGUSTING. next time i'm going to add some grape jelly or something for color because this is awful. they're fine as "pills" though

[evilminji]

I Ponder The Humble Blob Ghost!

You think they are what happens when you ALMOST but not quite A Ghost(tm)? Like, you have the ectoplasm and the will to continue... but you didn't really have A Thing in life? No Final Crystalizing Thought that brings focus? Just "ow! Ah! I'm scared. Don't wanna die!" And theeeeen.... *poof!*

Why am I Orb? Am squish? No bones.

Like? Remove any one piece of the Critical Formula and you get Blob instead of Ghost? Different KINDS, mind you, but blobs none the less.

Like Skulker! Not enough Ectoplasm. Ended up Blob. He CLEARLY had the Will, the Obsession, the gory end and unfinished business... buuuut? No green goo to power the creation of a full body. He clearly knows what he's supposed to LOOK like? But it's not something FIXABLE? Even with his now unlimited access to Ectoplasm.

Like in utero damage that permanently stunted his growth. HE is fine. All his facilities are on-line and checking in as they should, for the level of sentience expected of a ghost of his people. He just... smol. Same strength, intelligence, and power as he would have always HAD...

He just got handed a really, REALLY crap "customize your eternal meatsuit" option screen. Like for real guys. Basicly NO options. His salt is eternal and entirely justified. He could have had his tattoos. He paid a LOT of credits for those! Sat for DAYS! Had to track down this One(1) artist on this SHITTY little trading hub, that BARELY QUALIFIED as one, to sit in on uncomfortable overturned crate... IN A GAS MASK because the AIR SUPPORT KEPT KICKING IT... for hoooours!

It was a WORK OF ART. You would have CRIED.

This is BULLSHIT.

But wait, I hear you say, staring at the Blob ghost chewing on a lamp post. The one that has wii music playing behind the eyes. No thoughts, head jello, one might say. What about THEM?

Good point! Remember that formula?

LOT of Ecto! But THAT... might be either an animal or a fungus. We'd have to check. ANYTHING can and DOES die. If it's alive? It can die and potentially leave a ghost. But! Consider the noble Ghost Rabbit! *holds up squirming rabbit that is ABSOLUTELY trying to both bite me and kick me in the face* A noble and friendly creature!

THIS is what happens when an animal: has sufficient Ectoplasm at the death site, a reason to continue living (fairly common. It's usually their offspring, escape, the instinctual drive to survive itself or other understandable base drives. Like love, loyalty, or hunger.), and that all important High Emotions End.

Miss any of these? You get Blobbertson over there! He's clearly a hungry boy! But! Not very DRIVEN is he? Just floating along, chewing on whatever seems interesting, looking for a snack. He's food motivated. But not MOTIVATED motivated.

Blobbertson over there? A peaceful death. Too much Ectoplasm too leave, too food motivated in life NOT to carry over, but? No DRIVE. To DEFINE and DEMAND the Ectoplasm in his little body become sharp and active. No highly emotional state to stir it into action.

Is Blobbertson INCAPABLE of higher emotions? No. He is every bit as capable as the Ghost Rabbit that has savaged my hands and escaped while you were reading. It was, in fact, NOT as friendly as originally assumed. I may be bleeding. Unimportant. Blobbertson is PERFECTLY capable of getting attached. Being trained.

Whatever level of intelligence Blobbertson had in life, still remains. And WITH that? Comes the ability to improve and grow in death! IF (and this is the big one) he ever finds MOTIVATION to do so.

Because you see, Blobbertson is quite happy. No thoughts, brain jello. Drifting along in a happy green ocean like a jellyfish. Only concerned about his next snack. It's comforting. His food obsession filled, his tiny motivation barely enough to move him place to place.

He would GLADLY sit in one place and eat for the rest of eternity. Head blissfully silent.

And that's OKAY! It truly, honestly, is. Not everyone has to be conquers and kings, crafters and cosmonauts. Sometimes you just want to spend the rest of time playing in the sand. Resting on a sunshine-y hill. Not EVERY soul is a loud one.

This is the INFINITE Realms.

And there are places like Amity Park out there. THICK as cold honey with Ectoplasm in the air, gently infusing all the life that grows there with greater and greater chance of Ghost-hood. Even the peaceful blinking awake after that final rest to look down and... little nubby green paws.

Congratulations on becoming a Blob, grandma! Yes, I imagine you ARE furious it is inordinately difficult to knit like this. No, I don't think complaining to the king will help, MeMa.

That said? I can not tell you if Blob Ghost all belong to the same Family or the same Order, but they are NOT the same species! The WAY in which you fuck up that ever vital Fomula results in WILDLY different Blobs! Was it an animal? A sentient species? A sentient PLANET? A complexe interlocking colony of fungi? What was the EXACT Ectoplasm concentration at the death site? Was that the historical levels or the At Death levels? Was the individual under sedation?

Yes! All of this IS in fact, VERY relevant!

And you think it ends THERE? HA! The SKIES are FILLED with Fighty Mother Fuckers! Ghosts LOVE to fight! It's built into their social dynamics and hierarchy! Good ol brawls to get the Ecto pumping!

......Local Blob Farmer would like to take this moment to say "GET OF HIS GHOST PEONIES, YOU HEATHENS."

No they would NOT like to join your 24/7 thunder dome in the sky, THANKS! Martha here is trying to compose some Atlantian Shell Poetry. Blobby Jr of Blobbington and Blobbington Incorporated is TRYING to study! You've DESTROYED THE COMMUNAL ZEN GARDEN!!

Get! GET!!! *swings broom*

And THEN you look not even a mile east? And it's the floating island of Blobs. They LIKE that rock. It's just an ever shifting, accidentally rolling off the edge, falling slightly, making an offended squeek, and floating back to the top of the pile to repeate the process, MOOSH of thousands of blobs. No one's certain if they used to be seals or some sort of cat.

Apparently THAT island is Warm(tm).

So there they sit. Making contented noises, chirping and shoving for the best spots. They never leave. You can literally just... float up and sit on them. It's amazing. You gotta be careful not to get buried, but it's So Soft and bouncy? And they are ALL making that soft happy Blob vibrate noise. It's like a giant, island sized, warm and almost fuzzy but not, water bed that massages you.

Just DON'T start anything there! Holy SHIT are they territorial. You Will Die. They SWARM.

And THATS not even getting into the Blobs that are? Literally brainless. Some people eat those. Which? I guess? They ARE basicly Ectoplasm jello. But SOME of them are NOT? Like... it's a debate. Hot button issue, ya know?

Some fungus turns into Ecto Jello with negative IQ and delicious insides. Is this food? But OTHER fungus was SENTIENT in life and become a whole RANGE of Fungus ghosts, from Blob right on up to complexe dryad like ghosts! Clearly NOT food unless you are a MONSTER. But THEY argue the FIRST group are ALSO not food?

Plant Ghosts have strong opinions and are willing to Gruesome Violence about it.

Which brings us back to the Humble Blob Ghost! Check before you pet! That might be grandma! Or planning to eat your hand! Just as Mammal tells you little to nothing about what animal you are looking at, so too does Blob and Ghost! Stay safe out there! And if anyone sees a glowing green rabbit? I want my blood back! That's supposed to be in MY body! Rude!

This has been, the daily ghost!

@hdgnj @stealingyourbones

[wingsoffirenews]

Compilation of new(ish) WoF News!

The Darkstalker Graphic Novel will come out on November 4th, 2025 and will be illustrated by Jake Parker! Talons of Power Graphic Novel will also be coming out in 2025.

For some reason around 5 years ago, Lego set a blacklist on the Wings of Fire IP, meaning they couldn't make any merch with them. But as of recently, the IP has been confirmed by an employee to be unblacklisted, meaning it's possible that WoF Legos could be a possibility for the future!

Escaping Peril: Graphic Novel is out early in certain Barnes & Noble locations. Here's an official trailer!

On Instagram, Tui stated that there will be more WoF merch made in the future!

Here's a video of an interview Tui was a part of for The Flames of Hope's launch! Things to note: She says dragons currently think there's no animus magic but with the way the spell was cast it leaves a door open for future animus dragons & at the time Dan Milano (executive producer) said there was a planned release date for the TV show but it was a long while away.

Tui says if she could rename any character it'd be Scarlet because her scales are orange and not red/scarlet.

Book 16/Arc 4 notes: We'll find out more about Beryl, it will have nothing to do with Pantala and it'll take place somewhere we've never been before, Tui says the reason she's disappeared from socials for the past 2 months is cause she's been writing Book 16, Umber is planned to come back and be given a boyfriend (if she doesn't just give him his own Winglet), she wants to bring Blob back somehow, she also wants to bring back Auklet, she mentioned she can't say where Leaf and Ivy are at the moment due to potential spoilers, the book will take place after A Guide to the Dragon World, Tui watched/read a show/book for inspiration on Book 16 that she claims is the opposite of Life in The Underground that contains creatures she calls "the absolute cutest things" but she won't share what this show/book is yet until Book 16 is done (when asked if this means there'll be new dragon tribes, Tui says she can't say and is still deciding on what "it" is), Tui has a planned release date for the book but wont disclose it in case something happens to push it back, she says Peril and Sky will not meet in Book 16 but might make them meet in a Winglet instead, Snowfall will either get another POV in Arc 4 or we'll see her from someone else's POV, she doesn't want anybody else who's already had a POV to have one again in Arc 4, she says she wants to put Lynx in Arc 4 as well, when asked if there'd be a new continent she said she'd like to see Pyrrhia and Pantala on the same map alongside "something else," Tui says there'll be a new ship written in Book 16, right now Tui is working on backstories for new WoF characters that'll appear in Book 16.

Tui says Book 9 was the hardest book to write and says Kinkajou would've happily taken the POV from Turtle which is why she's such an important character in the book.

Tui was inspired to write WoF based on her favorite book series Pern, saying that her idea for WoF at first was to write a book series about dragons' POVs and how they feel about humans.

Voting for where the first FanWing Fest will take place is still ongoing! Places include San Diego CA, Decatur GA, Minneapolis MN, Portland OR, Dallas TX, Boulder CO, Chicago IL, St. Louis MO, Philadelphia PA, Salt Lake City UT, Washington DC, Northampton MA, Southern Pines NC, and Austin TX! It'll take place in April-June 2025 and Tui will be present to read a bit of Book 16, plus there will be other activities planned. The fest will take place in around 3-5 of the most voted cities.

There's currently submissions open for people under 18 to submit their WoF art to be used in a picture booklet that'll be sold at the FanWing Fest. You can only submit one piece per person and the contest ends January 17th, 2025 at 11:59PM EST. In total 250 illustrations will be included. AI art is not allowed and the art must be submitted by your parent/guardian. The illustration must be on a single sheet of unlined 8.5 x ll paper in a portrait orientation, and all submissions must be sent through the website. The file must be named with your first + last name. The art pieces themselves will be judged around February 3rd, 2025 and will be picked based on imagination, creativity and interpretation of the WoF series. Winners will be contacted through email around the same day.

Special Editions for books 2-5 are set to release on September 2nd, 2025. Each will be $10.99 and will have exclusive content, including new covers!

Tui claimed Wren's second favorite dragon is Deathbringer.

Myles Warden, someone who worked a little on the WoF TV show, stated on Twitter that when the show was cancelled, they were pretty far into the show's development.

Although poor quality, this is Tui's concept art for Pantala.

During an interview back in 2021, Tui stated: She chose Snowfall to be The Dangerous Gift's POV because both Starflight and Turtle weren't very active POVs for their arcs' 4th book, her first idea for the third arc was of Pantalan refugees coming to Pyrrhia, she says Snowfall thinks both Winter and Qibli are annoying, Tui likes to look at WoF fanart, when The Brightest Night was just being written is when she had the idea to make a second arc, she likes to leave bread crumbs in books for potential future books, she plans to make a sequel to Dragonslayer and she wants to write more Winglets, she says Kinkajou was easy to write, she likes writing fierce dragons into her books, she has a draft where the boulder to the DoD's cave is animus touched, she says if she were a dragon she'd be a RainWing with a second choice of SeaWings and third choice of LeafWings, she usually gives herself 6 months to write a book, she says Peacemaker will never get Darkstalker's memories, she says something happened with The Lost Heir that made her have to rewrite it with different characters, Peril and Sky and Winter were originally going to also be DoD, Sky's original name was Ember, originally in Darkness of Dragons Darkstalker was going to talk Qibli out of "something" but it was scrapped because Darkstalker would've been too convincing, originally NightWing moon powers were always going to be fake, she got the idea for Darkstalker when she kept getting fanmail trying to understand Chameleon and Morrowseer which made her want to write a bad guy on the outside who was complicated on the inside, Cliff and Qibli are based off Tui's three-year-old son.

In a different interview from March 23rd 2021, Tui stated: She avoids reviews of her books because she doesn't want to get upset and potentially interfere with her work (she said Sundew and Willow's relationship didn't seem weird to her when writing it and believes LGBTQ+ representation should be represented in her books), she has an idea for what the Rainforest Kingdom was like while Sunny was gone during the Brightest Night and would like to make a graphic novel about it, she heard about the WoF Roblox games and thinks they're really cool, she has a melody in her head for The Dragonets Are Coming, she reads her own books once they're published so she doesn't forget anything she's written about, she confirmed dragons don't have eyelashes and that she instead imagined them batting their eyelids like humans, she often rewrites the prophecies she makes to get them perfect, she says it was hard to come up for The Dangerous Gift's title and she came up with 50 different ones before choosing one, she'd like to make a mini series for Ivy and Leaf, she came up with the dragon tribes through inspiration from Animal Planet, she originally believed Anemone would challenge Coral someday but is against it now (saying Coral is a decent queen who makes mistakes from time to time), she thinks the Great Ice Cliff reminds her of Twitter but didn't explain how, she names dragons with things relating to their tribe to help her remember them, she says Mink is based of a friend of her son, she says the reason Snowfall hates Tundra is because every time she appears to remind her of her responsibilities she thinks she's failed in some way, she thinks she's most like Sunny but says there's piece of her in every character she writes.

Tui claims she sees Starflight and Cricket as neurodivergent alongside Whiteout.

Tui considered Swordtail to be The Flames of Hope's POV but went with Luna instead.

Tui claims one out of many reasons Scarlet wanted to kill Glory was because Glory became queen of two tribes while her own life was going downhill.

Tui has expressed interest in the past on making a Winglet for Cobra and Vulture.

The Winglets are being translated to French and will be called Destinies.

We'll be getting graphic novels for Arc 3 and and that The Lost Continent Graphic Novel will be released roughly a year after Darkness of Dragon's graphic novel. Tui says she's most excited to see The Poison Jungle as a graphic novel.

Right now, the WoF TV show is on step 6 of 100 towards completion, and Tui has hinted something "good and important" has just happened with the show that has her very excited. Right now the show is in the writer's room and the script is currently being worked on.

Tui says she has a list of every character's theme song, with Winter's being That's How You Get The Girl by Taylor Swift and Luna's being I Can Do It With A Broken Heart (she didn't say who it's from).

Tui says Snowfall will likely get together with Lynx in the future and that she had chemistry with Sky, but Tui thinks Lynx is better for her compared to Sky.

Tui says if Blaze had won the war, the IceWings would've ruled over the Sand Kingom and that Glacier would've been Book 6's POV, struggling on figuring out how to run 2 kingdoms. If Blister had won, all of Pyrrhia would be set down a dark path. And if Burn had won she'd be a decent and strong ruler, but that she'd be a threat to the Dragonets of Destiny.

Tui claims Winter will find love eventually (that isn't Moon) but right now he has growing to do. She mentioned she's fond of both Winter and Qibli but right now Moon and Qibli are together, but stated they're both young and anything can happen in the future.

In a different interview Tui stated: Krakens do exist in WoF by that no other mythical creatures exist in the series, Tui said if she did make a spider tribe she'd name them WebWings.