#blue beetle kin

[citizenoftmrrwlnd]

self care for : blue beetle (dc comics) with bugs and stim toys

x | x | x x | - | x x | x | x

[kincalling]

Hi I’m Blue Beetle from almost EVERY DC Source and I’m 18 looking for Bruce Wane/Batman. From my memories, we were very close and he was like a dad to me

🃏

[unsoundedcomic]

Whumptober 2024 - 12 - "Starvation"

Your aunties and nannas, your sisters and grammas sent you to me, little eggs? Little eggs, to me? Well, I don't have time to draw in the dirt for you all the arteries of the underneath nor the roads of the world up above, but yes, I am Half Spear Flann, and I have walked both, and I have cut spiderpaws down by their shinbones and finished them at the throat.

Yes, that is the way to do it, little eggs. I'm here in your village to refill my flasks, to fatten my packs, and to lay close with your aunties and nannas, your sisters and grammas, to make more little eggs to kill more ugly spiderpaws, but yes, I am Half Spear Flann, and I will tell you the story of why that is my name.

Many years ago in the village of Small God Umyaralech, the salt dog that was the servant of the great salt lizard Shaensigin, I was only Flann, but there was not one better with the long spear than Flann. I could pin a beetle at a hundred paces, slay Redcaps by the dozen. The wanderers heard this and wanted me badly; wanted Flann to join their wandering along the shores of the Deep Hungry Sea.

I trained and packed, and waited for the wanderers to return to Umyaralech's village. I would leave with them and be a Man then. But long past the mating time, they still had not appeared. More time passed, and the Still Season was soon upon us. The wanderers had not brought meat, had not brought roots. The little eggs bawled and fussed, tired of only bug and saflesh on their plates. The Elders took up spears. They took up lanterns. They kissed the wet snouts of their little eggs and left, to travel themselves towards the hinters in search of the wanderers.

Then, one day, a strange light burned from the blackness outside the gates of Umyaralech. Little eggs thought it our elders and wanderers, and whooped and ran to greet them. But this light was not the blue of lymph nor the warm amber of fire. This light was the colour of sickness, and even the bagmoths would not circle it.

For this light was made by the evil spellery of Spiderpaws, and it poured into our village like plague.

Cutting shards flew as the enemy barked its spells. In pieces, the little eggs tumbled to the ground, heads cut from necks, arms cut from shoulders, tails cut from flanks. I took up my spear as our leaders let loose our traps. For we were not so far at the periphery, we of Umyaralech, that we had not heard tale of the ugly giants raiding inak lands in search of ogre bones and sparkling stones. So stones we gave them! Down carved chutes, boulders thundered from the dark, crushing the fragile bones that hold spiderpaws tall. They are very weak, the spiderpaws. Break the knees, shatter the legs. Their bared bellies are soft as pig wool, and their throats open at a touch.

Flann opened many throats that day, and the nannas were like beasts in defence of clutch and kin. Soon, only two spiderpaws remained there in our home. They looked around at the bloodied village that I think they had not expected to find so large, so angry, so hard. Upon the taller of them, three inak set, raking his back open so the white bones showed through the red and we all saw the thump! thump! thump! of his terrified heart! It thumps still! Don't pity the monster, but that long thought thumps still!

The last human was left to me. Towards my snout he flung his monstrous glowing paw but Flann was not afraid. I threw a body at him - small yellow Sarb, my dead friend, who could sing and braid so well - I threw her body, and the demon's spell bounced against it. I vaulted forward, to that soft and unguarded spot between the thighs, and plunged my spear high. Oh, his scream, little eggs. I was drunk on it, as with a cup of bitter aret juice I had enjoyed when the Fanare'she visited. I wanted more! Into his dancing body I twisted my spear head, again and again, until the shaft snapped, I could no longer feel my fingers, and there was no blue of me left beneath the coat of my enemy's red gore.

Yes, inak mine, yes. Always celebrate the death of evil! Draw it out and celebrate it! For it is rare, and it is precious, and you must not be ashamed to find it beautiful.

Weeks passed, and still no wanderers. Still no elders returned from the dark. We did not expect them to. Among the dead spiderpaws we'd found my Nanna's fine jewelled belt, and many of the wanderers ancient and holy blades. We knew they had died in glory and sacrifice. We knew they never again would return home to taste Shaensigin's salt nor embrace little eggs beneath the blue lymph of Tidalsong. Yet, we of Umyaralech would not starve, there, in the Still Season. We would live, and make new eggs, and one day kill more and more spiderpaws. Little eggs would become elders, and I, Half Spear Flann, would become a wanderer and gather more wanderers to me.

And so though there was no roasted fish on our plates then, nor crisp sea cotton nor pinchers nor salt dog, we ate well that Still Season. Spiderpaw flank is not so fine a meal, but it grows little eggs into inak men and inak elders, and if you have opportunity to taste it, my fierce ones, dig your fangs deep.

Now away from me! Go and make sport with the beetles and balls. But send your nannas hither! For the Dark is deep and cold, and Flann would take into it better memories than these red tales that make your young eyes glisten and gleam.

[its-actually-minicika]

Dragon Sickness

Part 2;

Pairing: Bookcanon!Aemond x Strong!Niece!Reader;

Warnings: No usage of Y/N, bookcanon Greens, potential spoilers for Fire&Blood (but not really), dubious consent, allusions to sex, to male masturbation and oral from Aemond (female receiving - he just wants to tickle your pickle with his fingers and mouth but yk), slight angst, minor and major character death, vague descriptions of death by asphyxiation;

For the sake of keeping characters as close to canon as I can, the eye that Aemond lost was his right, not his left!

Word Count: 7k+;

Author's Note: Repost because yeah...

Reblogs would be really appreciated, since I believe I was shadowbanned :") ♡

Sorry for taking so long with getting this next part out ♡ I wanted to make sure it's perfect (or as close to perfect as I can get it), because the last thing I desire is to post something I'm not proud of/I wouldn't personally read :")

This gif was made by the love of my life and the moon to my sun - @aemondx here on Tumbr ♡ if you aren't already following her, definitely follow her right now now. I'll wait. The story will wait. She is absolutely amazing, and the sweetest person ever.

I also dedicate this chapter to my literal soulmate @diamantesprincess , who beta-read this whole shit-storm for me, and supported my insane antics ♡

Young girls dream about their wedding day. And women prepare themselves for the humiliation bestowed upon them by the raptures of the night.

Her cheeks flushed with the expectancy that was thrown before her – the avid sting that prickled her skin, flooded her veins and broke her soul. She could feel her smooth-green gown stick to her contorted form. The horrid fires of lashing out already licking at the corners of her downturned mouth.

The Velaryon thus swallowed thickly, whilst flickering her eyes by nigh to each corner of the squaring table. She needn’t glance into the silver plating to ensure what she had known, simply owed to the salacious heat that downed her heart in poisoned terror. How vexing it had been for her to hear the former Queen about – darting to her wedding night, hinting at her lack of purity. How terribly uncertain she’d felt, when Aemond all but abandoned her on that rueful and exerting night.

She’d searched feverishly for his company, trying to converse with him, to allude him to take interest, to inspire him to like her. But her attempts were answered with indifference, with clumsy lines of conversations, which never led her far in musings.

“– Even so, I trust that you understand your duty.”

She couldn’t have been quiet for long. For she felt how her mouth lulled opened, if only to blurt out a passive admission to Alicent’s extended words. Still she felt the decades pass, turning her old, and mean, and cold, as an ample flood of pain engulfed her sparring and incisive heart. The Queen Dowager sighed, either by lack of blitheness or by wry exhaustion, and merely shook her head at the sight of the conflicted bastard.

She supposed she should be grateful – for a private bedding brought across no prying eyes upon her form, upon her skin and womanhood; upon the shame she would soon feel, to spread her legs for the Qybor who slayed her kin. But a private bedding meant she'd have to be alone with him. A private bedding was unsafe, for it meant her maiden blood wouldn't have to be the one staining their rivetting sheets. And Aemond had killed men before, his flesh and blood, innocent spawn – so was there anything that would ensure he wouldn't cut her very throat?

A silent tear obscured her view, and one of Helaena’s beetles boldly flew nearby her plate.

Satin green and oryx white, silky blue and striking violet.

To be born a female was a wright cursed account.

Upon her birth, she belonged to her father. And when he died, she fitted Daemon. She suited to her brother, Jace, to the whims of the New Seven, and very soon to those of Aemond.

When she was young, her Septa was the one to tell her the story of her feeble birth – how she was good and quaint and quiet, how she had not ensued hard labour. How her mother cried when she saw her small and portly face. And how she sighed with half restraint at the notion of her naked sex.

To be born the cursed sex stripped one of their whole autonomy.

Benevolence was to be found within the weakness of a poor female.

‘The girls are easier than the boys,’ The woman nodded as she spoke, ‘They're less rowdy and quick to anger. Easier to marry, too.’

To be born a female meant a deconstructive marriage. Simply something that must happen, not a matter of debate.

To be born a female meant fantasizing about that marriage. Salaciously filling your head with hopeful dreams of charming knights, or handsome princes and comely lords.

To be born a female was underestimated work. Work put up by sons and fathers, whose sole purpose of providing to the girl they had to care for was to find her a good husband.

A future to be predecided, set in stone and judged throughout – all in valour of a missing cock, and a lack of tiny stones.

When Rhaenyra married Daemon, she was happy for her loving mother.

‘I want to be just as beautiful on my wedding day!’ Her voice chirped through the halls of Dragonstone, whilst rotating about the room, chased by an ongoing Jace, ‘We’ll have a pigeon cake the size of a young hatchling, and a venue bigger than that made of the smallfolk of King’s Landing!’

‘Maybe one that smells better, though,’ Jace snickered inside her ear, earning a brisk tickle from his younger sister, ‘But you’re right, my darling sister, it’s better to stay realistic!’

A loud fit of giggles erupted from the waiting children. Rhaenyra only glanced at Daemon, who in turn shook his head, bemused by her swallowing visions.

‘Whatever prompts you to even believe your mother and I will allow such a thing?’ The Rogue Prince graced her with a trumping smirk, as the girl’s face fell to a slouch.

‘I’ll have to get married one day!’ She rebutted her stepfather, ‘With a strong knight in shining armour, or a chivalrous Lord from an important House!’

‘I would be very careful with what I want,’ He mimicked a serious and grieving tone, ‘So far you could only marry Tyland Lannister or Kermit Tully!’

‘There will be yet some time before that happens, sweet girl.’ Rhaenyra grinned at her daughter’s eagerness, pushing down the rotten feeling that gnawed beneath her bludgeon gown. She placed her hand atop her cheek and gingerly grazed the youth’s plumpness with a soft, motherly touch. ‘A couple of years from now on, at best!’ She hummed into her tender caress and opened her mouth to speak again, 'till Jacaerys’ mellow voice cut the base of her new words.

Her eyes widened to the size of two round plates, and the young Velaryon merely scrunched her nose up in dissatisfaction. ‘Kermit wouldn’t be that bad…’ She tried to reason with herself, ‘And his sister, Celia, is very nice! We would get along quite well.’

‘Of course, of course –’ Jace nodded in understanding, before throwing Luke a mischievous look, ‘Or you could always marry Aemond – he’d be quite a match, you know!”

Silence ensued for a while, until all three children broke down in their hysteric fits of laughter.

‘Oh, Gods be good…!’ She murmured lowly, shock and aversion evident on her once impatient face.

She’d found herself someone who loved her, someone whom she could amply trust. A man that’d be reliant for her, in her times of greatest fraught.

When the War of Ravens first ensued, it was he and her small brothers who went to deliver envoys. When Luke died, it was he who mended and arranged the curdling scheme of Blood and Cheese. And when Aemond took a hold of Harrenhal, cruelly burning at their allies’ lands… it was he who gave his life in an attempt to free their folk.

“Gods be good…!” Her voice strained through the musings of her handmaiden, so preoccupied with lacing up her constricting and excessive corset. “Could you go in any tighter?” Her snapping question deterred the young girl to remove her calloused hands from the fine silks that engulfed her. All of the other women who tended to her hair and eyes took a backwards convoluted step and, as if whipped across the face and wholly burnt by dragon fire, they froze up in minute poses – all of them gripping their hands, and looking down in taught submission.

Breathless and submerged in bashness, her reddened lips pressed to a line, as her gaze followed their in suit, falling on the stone below her.

“I’m sorry,” She began with a taut pitch, while expelling one of her brisk and tantalising breaths, “I didn’t mean to shout at you. That was below any level of discretion.”

"W-Would you like us to continue, Your Grace?" One of the older-looking wenches dared to ask the fair Velaryon.

No, she ached to bring herself to say, I'd stay like this, still half-undressed. Unpresentable for him to take.

"Of course," Her meek voice echoed in reply, "You must make haste to get me ready. The wedding is in but an hour."

Tens of dozen of pairs of hands flooded her every sensation with their ceaseless and insistent prodding. The softest of the cluster played with the slicked ends of her charcoal hair, adorning it with a myriad of pins and jewels, grazing her scalp with heavy and relenting hairstyles. Now there was prudence in her tying corset – as if she were a rabid beast who’d sink her claws into their necks, if only she’d feel indisposed by their way of picked-up working.

For the first time since her ladies swarmed into her darkened chamber, the girl’s leer settled on the gown before her. She took in a quick breath through the margins of her teeth, whilst feeling her stomach wail and churn with an unkept overzeal.

Her dress was of a deep set black, which seemed more fitting for a funeral than for a joyous feast precarred soon after by a most imposing wedding. Yet upon a closer look, the brims which laced its puffy bottoms smiled to her in rueful red.

Surprise etched upon her face, and the coy women must have noticed, for they all stopped forthwith again. She brought a hand to the light fabric, and grazed it slowly with her fingers.

She almost hummed in chasmal worry, before fixating her eyes away.

“Apologies, but who told you to bring this dress?” Her voice reverberated with a faint but levelled question, and a retort came back her way.

“The Prince Aemond, Your Grace,” What she assumed was a slight seamstress replied for the whole gathering, “He requested that his vest should also bear your House’s symbols.”

Surprise merged with upheld amusement, until her judgement simmered down to a least lenient of views – since the Blacks were there no more, what point was there for an exorbant gown with any shades of ghastly Green?

No matter his good-hearted message, Aemond hadn’t done it for her. Just like Alicent hadn’t proposed a marriage with her son for her clemented and invested sake.

There was no more point for her to wear his sickly green. There was no reason for the usurpers to display their endless rows of utter power.

Her family was dead. All she knew had gone with them – swallowed wholly by the sea, or by Sunfyre, by Vhagar.

“I see,” Her vocal cords strained with her roughened and perturbed reply, “It’s very beautiful,” She whispered not a heartbeat later, as she turned to the appraised seamstress, “Thank you. You must have worked very hard.”

As everyone resumed their tasks, a trailing truth pierced through her heart – she now had no family left to lead her to the Greater Sept.

His collar fell too tight on him.

He noticed late, as she approached him.

He swallowed thickly once before her, as his burnt brother gripped her hand.

Her softened smile lit up her face, though the disgust within her eyes unveiled her sickly mild facade. A rattled thought surged through his chest, mending with akin distraught. He knew full well she didn’t love him, but at the least, he’d have to try. The subtlety of her rejection stabbed right through his nervous gut, but still the Prince looked down upon her, gracing her with a half-smile.

The ease with which she then returned it relieved the throbbing underneath his leather patch, and as she mouthed him her timid greeting, the man bowed deeply in reply.

“You may now cloak the bride, and bring her under your protection.” The Septon’s voice instructed deeply, snapping both out of their trance.

His calloused fingers unclasped the belts from his broad and heaving shoulders – the cape fell heavily into his hands, yet Aemond still approached his Lady, and placed the Targaryen embroidered mantle atop her tense and fragile shoulders.

Brown eyes clashed with an unnerving lilac – both bride and groom sucked in a breath, and yet refused to look away.

The silence of the Sept was deadly, and as Aemond closed his eye, allowing his relentless thoughts to slip into a hurried prayer, he swore that every witness to their union would hear the keen beats of his heart.

The High Septon clasped his wrinkled hands together, drawing a faint and muffled noise which reverberated through the clearing – signalling to the lost children to place their hands into the other’s.

His Lady was the first to reach him. Shyly she grazed his palm with the smooth padding of her index finger, flattering an anxious probe which distilled his wilted heart, and brought heat into his cheeks.

Her small diversion urged him to press back into her – with a doubting and reserved caress made with his thicker middle finger.

The man bit into his inner cheek, as he aligned his palm to hers, and waited patiently for the Septon to bind their hands with the white linen.

“In sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one, for eternity.”

Her thumb gently caressed his own in an attempt to soothe his breaths. Though her smile had broadened yet, her eyebrows twisted to a brazen furrow. The old man hummed with unturned patience, and he nodded at their leisured and unhurried movements.

“Look upon each other and say the words.”

His chest tightened with unruly pride, as her cheeks flushed with a deep colour, which grew to match the lacings of her fitted cobbler – both took a moment to compose themselves, before Aemond’s voice filled the room with the silk-smooth baritone of his levelled and protruding tone.

“Father, Smith, Warrior,” His lone orb swirled with both uncertainty and desire, as her own voice ushered him suit, “Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger.”

Her chest heaved with a weighty exhale, and her pushed bosom shifted in her dainty dress. Abashed by his sexual intrusion, Aemond focused his left eye on the shape of her inviting lips.

Though they said the words in unison, only her better half beset his ears, “I am his, and he is mine.”

“From this day, until the end of my days,” The Targaryen hushed in return.

Thousand of cheers erupted in the Great Sept, and Aegon even whistled lowly, but nought of the crowd’s boastful words engrained themselves into his mind.

“With this kiss, I pledge my love.”

His mouth pressed hungrily against her own, with a force and desperation that dispersed her every hope for a chaste, intimate peck. The shape of his lips moulded against her with an ease that left her wanting – wanting for it to end, for him to stop, for him to keep going.

His scent invaded her diluted senses, and flashes of her brothers’ faces danced across her hazy view. And just as Aemond was about to deepen and take his uncouth ministrations further, the greying Septon interjected with a subtle but alluding cough.

Despite the fact that he refused to speak to her since the incursive night of their engagement, the palpable need and excitement that seemingly had gathered in him burst for all high lords and petty maidens to see. Coveting whispers reached the girl’s reddened ears – each muttered truth more beguiling than the last.

‘A Kinslayer and a bastard… what an ill match for the grandeur of the Great Sept.’

With her mouth slightly agape and her breath still somewhat staggered, the former Velaryon avoided his stare, with an adamant and willful steer.

Her own eyes began to water. And the aching sadness that curled into her vrying soul muted out any reminder of the crowd’s elated boasts.

What had happened was now irreversible; and the Greens would host a banquet in honour of the newlyweds. Goblets would drown her violent sorrows, food would fill them like fattened-up pigs for cutting.

Aemond would breach her with his cock if he felt disposed to do it. Then he might smother her face, or cut her throat with the same dagger that he used on her late brother.

For why else would he deny a prim and proper bedding ceremony?

Though her eyes still looked at him, and a smile still spurred her lips, the girl swallowed down a prayer.

Perhaps he had grown to like her. She’d been good to him in those past weeks.

The High Septon yelled over the cheering crowd, cutting down each thought that breached through her weary and misguided mind.

“Let it be known that they are now one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder!”

Then cursed be she, in the light of the Seven.

The dizzying nature of the fifth waltz of the night left everyone in the Great Hall drained and panting – fully taken by the mistifying anticipation caused by the encapsulating ardour of Prince Aemond’s wedding reception. Roaring applauses erupted from the few women seated at the high tables – Aegon’s eyes followed the wanton skirts of the lowborn maidens, and even Helaena disregarded her fattened caterpillar to grace the crowd with her absent-minded stare.

At the centre of the King’s table stood the Court’s styled “star-crossed lovers”, each seemingly preoccupied with avoiding any further dancing at any and all occuring costs.

The girl’s fingers traced over the rim of the wine goblet, glancing from time to time at her newly acquired husband, who seemed hammered in his seat and not at all wanting for chatter. The dim lighting of the candled room sprawled its shadows all across his tired features, which loomed all the more sharp and perusing with each notion of a passing hour. His lack of joyful disposition was clear and evident for all to see – for even his contented mother had chastised him under her breath.

Alas, any notion of stability had at large been long repressed, and not even her able chirping managed to pry at her son’s attention.

As her eyes trailed lower yet, over the arch of his broad chest, and the poignant veins of his clenched fist, the Targaryen gasped at the obvious arousal restrained in his black leather pants. Her face turned promptly to the side, before anyone’s conviction should follow her indiscreet trail.

Another smile graced her red lips, as a very drunkened Lord tripped across her narrow view. He approached her with bemusing boldness, borne out of believed renown, and introduced himself as Quince Webber: a lower lord within the Reach, ‘right across the Arbour seat’. His puffy face was basked in red, an indication of his mind’s plied state – and as he blabbered on his woven lapses on what wedded life should be, the Lady bowed her head with grace, thus managing to stop his spiel.

He slurred over his predicted wordings in a heavy and relentless breath, but still managed to congratulate the twain for their well-thought-out alliance.

“Thank you, my Lord, I am indeed very lucky.” Her cheeks hurt from all the smiling, but still she forced herself to laugh, “Aemond has been very kind to me.” She turned to face his stare, abashed, and allowed her hand to touch him. The charcoal leather of his broidered vest burnt her at the faintest touch, and the girl had to stifle a gasp at the arid heat which charred her palm.

“He has, he has!” The lord of Coldmoat agreed well-pleased. A wolfish grin spread across his droopy face, pulling both his plump cheeks higher. An impish laugh beleft his lips, as he took a swing of liquor from a nearby empty glass.

The corner of her smiling eye darted back to that of Aemond, who merely glanced through the drunk lord with a horriedly vexated look.

“Although,” He teased them with a slurred hic, “I can’t say he’ll be nice to you when the bedding ceremony will ensue!”

Wholeheartedly amused at his inappropriate and shrivelled joke, the old man began to laugh, much to Aemond’s disarray.

His fists came into contact with the sprawled-out wooden table, shaking every cutlery which remained scattered across it. The lively whispering of the Great Hall ceased with his vicious display, and even his contented brother jerked his shoulders in dismay.

“Aemond,” Alicent spat out his name, as her face turned cold and wary. “Perhaps it’s time you two retire.”

A restless snarl etched from his throat, and he looked ready to pounce – were it not for the soft hand that touched him, and the sanity utter of her voice, which managed to somewhat reground him, and contort poor Webber’s choice.

But as cruel fate would weave and have it, another end would spend their night.

“Aemond,” His Lady tried to coax him in, “Let’s listen to your mother… please?” Her fevered eyes adamantly searched for his, until a strange yearning and passion registered on his reluctant face. His hand gripped hers in pure devotion, and his large thumb ran over her flaring knuckles, as she'd done so many times before for him.

The lord’s lost face painted over with uncouth excitement, and he turned his back around, almost hitting Daeron’s face.

“It’s time for the bedding ceremony!” He announced the crowd quite loudly, and tens of voices of plastered men rose with every passing second. Some of them swarmed close to the couple, some tried to pick the girl from her leering resting place. Most barely launched up their feet, struggling to uphold their balance.

“There will be no bedding ceremony tonight.” Aemond’s dark and frigid voice thundered through the cluttered hall. Women sighed in great relief, while the men and boys began to bicker.

“It’s tradition!”

“I’ve been told specifically that it would take place.”

“Such stupidity!”

“I bet Renly six gold dragons that –”

“The King long announced there would be none.” Otto’s otherwise calm voice resounded with a harshened tone.

“Has he now?” A slurring lord took three wide steps in the direction of the pressured lady. Her whole face morphed into preleened discomfort, as she placed both her hands upfront. “Oh, don’t you even think about it…!” She warned him with a throaty hiss, but before his hand could graze her, Aemond grabbed his arching fists.

When his nervous gaze settled on his face, he smiled.

The lord clawed at his darkened neck, for Aemond forced him in a kneeling stance, and wrapped his hands around his throat. The timber in his chilling voice rained affront with his obduring malice, sending a shiver down the bent spines of the mere on-watchers, “You wish to gaze upon my wife tonight, Lord Ashford?” The callous ends of his slim digits dug into his purple skin, “You want to see her naked form, and compare her dripping sex to your own wife’s loosened cunny?”

The older man opened his mouth – but the pressure on his wielded neck impedimented his speaking manner and, much like a fish that’d been hoisted out of water, he could barely form a word.

“N…No-n-no – I’m s-s-”

“You’re sorry?” His eyebrows rose in feigned surprise. His wails of anguish pierced his heart – and yet his grip didn't uncurl. “You’re sorry now, are you?”

“Aemond, that is enough!” Alicent’s chastising shouts failed to break his unsound trance. Among the mistifying flock of ladies, the Velaryon stood high, but frozen. Her parlous specks of deep brown eyes bore into the shocking scene, as her own transfigured hand prodded at her covered neck.

"You've heard, perhaps, what happened with little Luke Strong, the bastard.” Her own eyes widened at his cruel retorts, and her deft fist grabbed at her skirts. Despite it being aimed to scare the stupid and unbashful lord, Aemond’s dicey did nought else but expose her to the whole crowd whole.

The heated blade of loss and ire impaled her through her aching chest, cutting both her breath and temper and deterring her to simply shake.

“– I'll gouge your eyes out and present them as a wedding gift to my wife."

Little Luke. Jace. Rhaenyra. Daemon.

Joff. Rhaenys. Corlys. Allyn.

Baela. Rhaena. Viserys. Aegon.

“I-I’m b– begging you–”

Little Luke. Jace. Rhaenyra. Daemon –

“Then beg. Beg my wife for her forgiveness.”

Joff. Rhaenys. Corlys. Allyn –

“My L– My Lady, p-please…!”

Baela. Rhaena. Viserys. Aegon.

Mother, mother, mother, mother –

“Please, Aemond, stop! Just stop!” Her own voice screeched into the balling clearing, as the sound of breaking bones and the smell of copper blood menged right through her very veins. “Stop. It’s enough. It’s alright. I’m alright. Please–”

Her panicked breathing flooded her ears. Her lack of presence drowned her in.

Her husband threw her an affrighted look, as he instantly let go of the man’s entwisted neck.

He crawled closer to his own wife’s feet. His piqued-up breathing staggered for a brief momentum.

For two or three seconds they waited.

And then quietness enwrapped the Realm.

Her honeyed voice had reached his ears.

"We're man and wife now, you and I.” She began with a faint murmur, and a small smile on her lips, “We must start talking to each other. Eventually, I mean."

She spoke to him in utter earnest, despite her voice’s nervous edge.

Alas he must not have replied to her, for her body shifted in her narrow seat, ducking away from him in recluded and uptight tension. “I’d like there to be no secrets between us – I’d like for us to tell each other whatever happens to be on our mind.”

The alluring scent of her dark hair, the creamy skin of her bare shoulders…

His breathing turned close to erratic, as he morphed his hands to fists. But two waltzes he had danced with her, before he felt his breeches tighten, bringing forth his quaint undoing.

He would have stayed in bitter silence, focused on the passing hours – were it not for the unlucky words that the brittle lord had uttered.

Oh, and how she looked into his eye; full of shock and brittle terror.

She must have been scared of him. For she was shaking like a leaf.

The walk to their marital chamber loomed with ever-pressing silence.

If only he could read her thoughts – then he might just mend his error.

“I rather liked the pigeon pie.” Her voice came out as weak and gruff, “Though it was far too big for those at present.”

When his answer wouldn’t beckon, the Lady turned and closed her eyes. She snapped her head in his direction, faltering her present smile. “I think that what you did was very chivalrous and brave, my Prince.”

The corner of his left eye widened, as her words registered in. The margins of her flimsy skirts kissed the ground atop her form – the swish and flicker of the candles remained the only source of noise.

The corners of his mouth bent slightly, at her ludicrous but fair assertion. Whether he had meant to thank her, or kiss her on that very spot, the Prince failed to puzzle out. Though his step halted in place, and his face turned briskly to her.

“Aemond,” He sighed, reluctant, whilst awaiting for her change of heart, “You said it yourself, we’re man and wife. You should start calling me Aemond.”

Her daring eyes looked up right through him, dissolving to a kindred stare. “Then you should also use my name… Aemond.” She uttered with a playful tone, testing his name upon her lips. “Though I… much prefer it when you call me ‘wife’.”

His reply was fast, forthright, “I’ll call you whatever you wish.”

“Then…” She began with a weak mutter, allowing her hair to hide her face, “No, forgive me, never mind.”

“Tell me,” He commanded with grave urgency.

Tell me of anything and I will make it yours.

“Mayhaps,” His Lady paused a while again, “You’d agree to call me your ‘dear wife’?”

His cock twitched inside his pants. The blood that pigmented his face descended lower in its lax pursuit.

All that you need do is ask.

“Anything you want,” His voice rumbled in a breathless timber before he could stop himself, “Dear wife.”

She must have thanked him with a smile again. All she did those days was smile.

She smiled when that low lord approached her. She smiled at her engagement feast. She smiled when Aemond took her dancing.

“I trust,” Alicent had swallowed deeply, “That your mother already taught you what’ll occur after the wedding.”

Better said during the bedding. When she’d be forced to spread her legs for the one man who’d damned them all.

She smiled when Aegon named her bastard. She smiled at the mention of her sweet dead brother.

She hummed as she touched her fingers, rotating her golden rings.

“What of Aly Blackwood?” Her eyes pried at her heavy conscience, “You said that if I marry Aemond, you’d think of a way to release her and make peace with Benjicot’s House.”

–

Her trail of thought was pulled before her, like a feeble dream which she won't reach.

The handle of a leaden door was yanked, pulsing the quaint hall with clatter, and basking her with a warm light.

“We’re here.”

Though wailing dread flooded her senses, her voice came out in slight bemusement.

“It isn’t furnished.”

“I wanted you to have a say.” The depthness of his mellow tune carried out his crass remark, “I didn’t know how many dresses you’d have.”

The notion of her moving in, of sleeping side by side with him, of sharing a bed and a mattress and a bath with him – it hadn’t failed to make her snort.

Hidden from his plane of sight, she allowed a distant scowl to break in her pretty features.

She wanted to scream and shout. To lash out in grave disconcern the moment his revolting hands came in contact with her lower back, urging her to step inside. She wanted to laugh at him – at the sight of his scarred face, his forceful probe and lack of honour.

“You’re so thoughtful, Aemond. Thank you.”

A grave unease surged in her gut. Pure fright prickled at the apex of her thighs. Her once loose dress seemed to constrict her form from running – from hitting him over the head and at last make her escape.

A pained sigh escaped his lips – the One-Eyed Prince who killed her family.

The Kinslayer. The Trident’s Terror. The Prince Protector of the Realm.

Almost as if he could sense her worry, the lithe Targaryen beckoned her in.

There’d been a moment when he only looked at her, bearing holes into her face and the front lobe of her skull, as his thick brows twisted slightly, jarring in misguided silence. Her jaw clenched involuntarily, as his face hithered in closer. She closed her eyes for two, three seconds, before she opened them again.

The lack of ease with which he gawped at her would have dearly made her laugh. The great and feared Aemond Targaryen, so incursed, taken aback.

He exhaled deeply in connived frustration, and simply took a few steps back. A rumbled hum of welting havoc trailed behind his high-arched lips, and a simple look of ardour was engraved on his sharp face.

The hands which had been snaked around her let her go within an instant, and as a curse sprung from his throat, the man found refuge and retreat towards the blazing fireplace. The girl followed his lenient steps, which faltered near the goatskin armchair.

His hands moved in accord with stress. Stiffly he had poured himself a hefty glass of liquid courage – swallowing it down with haste, and indifference towards the spectacle that he made with his demeanour.

His hands were shaking. His gulps of dark and bitter wine accentuated with every guise of stolen looks he dared to throw and hatch her way. At one point through his fretful jitter, the Prince snapped with a scorned hiss.

"Do you reckon you need help with your black dress, my dearest wife?” The rattled edge within his voice echoed through the room's long walls – his tone was mystified by pain, by torturous need, and want, and lust.

"N-No, my love, that I do not." She tried with shear to reach her lacings, as her mouth quirked with a smile. The desolation in her orbs spun the man to heave a sigh – his wobbled hand to reach his collar, and pull at it with forced renown.

Multitudes of scattered feelings reveled on her softened face – pain and fear, disgust and anger, lack of confidence and broad distress.

Inch by inch she thus revealed patches of her creamy skin. Feeling all her fingers stiffen with perturbed stilling discomfort, shame and angst and staid mistrust.

Although her corset was now loosened, the source of air within her lungs remained scarce and all the same.

She maintained his carnal stare, watching how his one eye darkened, turning to an opaque black. His lips pressed into a line, his furrowed brows deepened his stare – he gulped another hoist of wine and swallowed thickly at her chaffing stare. His adam's apple bobbed up and down in repressed bewilderment and apt surrender. His weary mind surged with a vast contrast of thoughts, each one more torturous and sparse than the mentioned fleeting latter.

He felt utterly inadequate.

He'd touched and fucked women before – handmaidens that caught his eye, wenches that offered their heat, servant girls who lured him in.

But none had managed to prepare him for the unrelieved pressure of her. Of the one woman he loved, of the one he wanted most.

She'd been kind to him when they were children – and remained polite throughout when he dared to rain his anger on his ludicrous half-sister.

He regretted every hostile instance where he hurt her with his words. And every bite full of prone venom, that he threw her brothers' way.

He regretted how he acted, when he killed the raucous lord. How he taunted him with perverse pleasure, how he named Luke's shocking perish right across from his sweet wife – knowing somewhere all too well that she'd take offence to it.

His face felt numb, his limbs felt heavy. He wanted to denude her slowly, to prode at the extended nature of her smooth and nuanced skin. To devote himself to her fair pleasure, to worship the slickness of her womanhood with a reverence and love perturbed.

He longed to lay his masculinity at the altar of her maidenhood, get on his knees and devout his being to making her peak with him – on his tongue, on his slim fingers, on his chin, or on his face.

He’d read the ways to get a cunt wet – it would take no less good skill and incredible amounts of patience; but for her, he’d gladly wait, and gently stretch her virgin hole, with the aid of his firm touch and the pulsing of his deepened voice.

He closed his eye in a small prayer, as he begged his Gods for guidance – to be able to bring her to the heightened cliffs of sinful rapture, to be able to prove himself as a man fit for her needs.

To make her love him in return, perhaps, and make her see his side of things.

As he remained hammered in place, trying his hardest to regain control over his trembled conscious and his indulgent thoughts, the man failed to notice how his Lady made impressive progress into her methodical and empty musings.

Her head hung low as she undid the lacings of her fitted garment. Her eyes were cast in shadowed doubt and in utter lack of certainty – her breathing came as fast and laboured, and her hands with-held a tremor with every new poignant display of another patch of skin.

Unbeknownst even to her, hot tears of merciless aversion rolled off her rosy cheeks, landing on her petticoat and the cold stone ground below them.

The Prince sucked a jarring breath, as she turned to face the bed with a heartbreaking and crushed compliance. Her softened eyes peered at his form, and a forceful smile unfurled along the corners of her swollen lips.

His expression must have tightened, and his form recoil in slightly – for her hazy eyes enwrapped him, and her shapely brow rose up.

“Aemond…?” She tried to lace her voice with sweetness, “Do you–” The latter words died on her lips, and she remained with her mouth parted, until her thoughts surged loudly clear.

“Should I… d-do you want me to sit in any way?”

The hoarseness in her tender voice made the man pale in disgrace.

“You’re scared of me.” He long admitted, with a rough and neutral tone.

Aemond’s feet carried him slowly, towards the place in which she stood. When his hand came to rest over her wet cheek, she stiffened up and almost winced.

“Why are you so afraid of me?” The desperation in his utter broke the silence of their spacious room, “I would never hurt you. I would sooner die than see you in pain.”

Realisation settled in, and her lost face morphed with awareness. She brought her palm smooth on his own, and searched despairingly to entwine their hands together. When she opened her mouth to speak, she blinked away her forming tears.

“No, my P– Aemond. I could never be afraid of you.”

“Yet here you stand,” He murmured weakly, “Half-naked before me, and shaking.”

“The chamber just feels very cold.” His wife hung onto the excuse. “I’m sorry, I didn’t – I swear to you that I do want this –”

“I will not bed you.” He hummed as he wiped off her tears – a soft and feeble grazing led about by the callous ends of his smooth pads.

Her face breached forward with mistrust, as her weary mouth lulled open, “W-What? No, Aemond, believe me, I–”

“I will not bed you,” The Prince repeated to her gently, “Not until you ask me to.”

A disgruntled and affronted sigh left the high arch of his lips, yet an understanding look rained across his lustful stare. The one hand which hung loosely by his side trailed a slow path to her jolting shoulder. He swallowed thickly before speaking, pushing down his burning desire.

"Ziry iksos ao qilōni lurksas issa kesīr." The meek admission in High Valyrian made her relax into his touch, "Nyke jāhor daor gaomagon mirros bona mazverdagon ao zūgagon."

The Prince staggered with a shaky breath, whilst looking her into the eye. "Skoro syt kostagon ao ūndegon bona?"

Although she tried so hard to speak, not a word etched from her throat. She nodded in undisplayed wonder, and gripped her husband by the shirt.

He took her balling fists in his, and kissed atop the even skin.

Thoughts strengthened with affirmed abhorrence steered clear through her befuddled mind – there may be hope to fix the error that she so tactlessly set off that night.

And yet before she could place Aemond’s hands down the shape of her small back, the Prince grabbed his sharpened knife, and merely nicked his open palm.

Droplets of deep-crimson liquid seeped into the whitened sheets, and the girl remained upright and frozen, as she watched him clean his blade and rummage through his modest cupboard for a piece of airy cloth.

With one hand he gripped the footboard – and began to firmly shove it into the stone wall up ahead.

The avid creaking of the bed turned into a pleased refrain. One not too fast, but not too slow, which carried on for a few minutes.

Outside their petulant and guarded door, whistles of men and cheers from women crassly seeped into their ears. Though most were muffled down by the sensitive and leal guards, some managed to blurt out half-enthused encouragements upon their midnight escapades.

A flow of compliments descended upon Aemond’s lasting pace – and some of the more improper ladies even dared to coo at her.

“It’ll feel better once you give it time, sweetling!”

“You simply must confine in us what it was like to ride a dragon!”

How utterly humiliating.

Like all bad things within the world, their idle and unseemly chatter ceased after a little while. Aemond sighed and stopped his motions, while granting her a knowing look.

“I’ll remain here for mere more moments. Then I’ll leave you for the night.”

‘N-No!” Her eyes widened in mistrust, as she gnawed her bottom lip. Almost too soon for her own well liking, she’d begged incessantly for him to stay. “Please remain near me, sweet husband… I so long to sleep by you.”

When her words seemed to elude him, she reached for his wounded hand, giving it a slight caress. She pressed her lips atop his cut, and devotedly looked up at him.

“Ao vestretan bona nyke udrāzma ao kesīr. Nyke lurksas bona ao umbagon issa rūsīr."

Aemond drew in a sharp breath, and merely settled on the bed.

“As you wish, my darling wife.”

Translations:

"Qybor" = uncle - specifically, from the mother's side;

"Ziry iksos ao qilōni lurksas issa kesīr. Nyke jāhor daor gaomagon mirros bona mazverdagon ao zūgagon. Skoro syt kostagon ao ūndegon bona?" = 'Tis you who commands me here. I will not do anything that leaves you frightened. Why can’t you see that?

“Ao vestretan bona nyke udrāzma ao kesīr. Nyke lurksas bona ao umbagon issa rūsīr." = You said that I command you here. I order that you stay with me.

[raybeetle]

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆.

welcome to my blog! my name is rayman. i use it/he/they.

˚₊‧꒰ა . Interests :

digital art

entomology

insect photography and rearing

crochet

nintendo games

˚₊‧꒰ა . More about me :

i have a beautiful qpp, his name is nagisa :) our color scheme is blue and orange, which is why youll see those colors alot as part of my blog!

i am fictionkind (of rayman) and a bumble flower beetle therian. Please dont refer to me as if i was seperate from who i am. (Example: “rayman is so cool” instead of “you are so cool”)

i love eating vegetables and fruits

i want to start collecting mini porcelain figures like old people do

im a minor! i guess in a kin way im ageless, and i dont really consider peoples ages when interacting with them. I dont like being infantilized.

I am a sweet silly baby

Im pretty far removed from how i was in my media, but that doesnt mean im not rayman, im just different now :D

i loove making new friends! feel free to send me anything in my ask box

goreshits my favorite

my favorite mario game is super mario 3d land. i really appreciate the music and general aesthetics of the game. many people criticize it for not really doing too much new for the mario franchise, but i still love it so much!

i have curly hair and im a ginger

i get art block sometimes. Currently i am in drawing mode. I dont take requests because drawing takes so much energy!

˚₊‧꒰ა . My brush and camera :

I use this brush (link is to a catbox.moe link containing the .sut file, i think it downloads on click? i dont care enough to make it not do that, just letting u know)

i use my iphone 11 camera to take all my pictures. i will get a better camera one day! you can check out my bug pictures at #bugpicks and my art at #my art.

˚₊‧꒰ა . Contacting me elsewhere :

I have discord (ask!) and reddit (u/koibuprofen).

My side blog is @beetle-baby for posts i find aesthetical.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆.

dis functions as a ref if you wanna draw me lol

[thenixkat]

[id: Three panels from the last issue of the Blue Beetle 2006 run featuring Blue Beetle 3, several armored aliens with designs similar to Blue Beetle 3's armor, and several humans.

Panel 1- Scarab Djo Zha speaks to Blue Beetle 3. Djo Zha: We begin on this planet, in your h honor. We will dismantle o oppressive states: China, Kahnadaq, N North Korea, United States. Blue Beetle 3: Uh, what was that last one?

Panel 2- Djo Zha continues to speak from off-panel. Jaime's friends are in frame listening. Djo Zha: Then eliminate rogue powers, terrorist cells, Justice League of America, Justice Society.

Panel 3- Djo Zha and its siblings/comrades make a fist-in-the-air salute. Blue Beetle 3 throws his arms wide in exasperation. All of the Scarabs are mid-air. Djo Zha: But first and foremost, the Green Lantern Corps and their Oan masters--the so-called guardians of the universe! Blue Beetle 3: No! Djo Zha, you've got it all wrong! Whatever you thought you learned from me, you made a mistake! You can't just go around destroying entire societies!

/end id]

This is why superheroes are agents of the status quo.

Khaji Da incited a worker's rebellion among its kin and the other Scarabs learned that oppression is bad. So they liberated a dozen planets and exiled their masters, slave-owning capitalist bug aliens, to somewhere where they wouldn't hurt anyone anymore (b/c Khaji Da also told them about how not doing murder is an option). They also especially said fuck the space police aka the Green Lanterns.

After confirming that Blue Beetle 3 would not help them liberate people and would explicitly try to stop them, the Khaji Da Liberation Army decided to kill him. Unfortunately, they weren't successful.

[vulpecular-draconic]

introduction

[ edit on march 26, 2024: i have a new intro post, here ]

howdy! this is my side blog where i'll ramble about my experiences being nonhuman. i don't feel comfortable linking my main blog yet, but i may sometime in the future. on this blog, you can call me vuldra. i'm genderfluid and i'll update my pronouns whenever they change.

i am a psychological therian – for me, i feel like a critter due to being neurodivergent. i tend to have pretty strong phantom limbs, and about average species dysphoria (although i don't believe those are necessary to be therian/otherkin). i awakened in the summer of 2023. i've figured out a lot since then, but i'm still learning about myself, and i'll update/rephrase this post every once in a while.

theriotypes:

– red fox [vulpes vulpes]; specifically, the pearl fox color morph

– bat-eared fox [otocyon megalotis]

fox shifts usually consist urges to bite things/ppl, roll on the floor, wag my tail, curl up in a little ball, run on all fours, or growl. i can tell the difference between fox species by which body shape most matches my phantom limbs, which coat color feels more like me at the moment, and which habitat i’d feel most comfortable in. most of the times i get fox shifts, i feel like an anthropomorphic fox. not quite like the way most modern furries are drawn – more along the lines of how an anthro fox in an old storybook would be drawn. i like having anthro shifts better, because it's less dysphoric than when i'm an all-fours fox.

i consider foxes to be my main types, so i’ll refer to myself as a fox more often than my other kintypes.

otherkin types:

– pocket dragon; i'm only about six or seven inches long from head to tail, with layered armor-ish blue scales. my mouth is slightly beak-ish and is sharp, with no teeth. my tail has a feather-like fan on the end, although it's made of scales. when i get pocket dragon shifts, i feel the urge to scurry up trees, talk less, and eat berries and beetles.

– bird person(??); i'm not sure if i want to count this as an official kin or if it's just a cameo shift i've had strongly several times. when this happens, i get feathery phantom wings and a long tail with a fan at the end, similar to my pocket dragon tail, but feathered instead of scaled. occasionally i also get digitigrade legs. other than that, i feel pretty much human.

– antlers; sometimes i just feel phantom antlers. i don't connect with deer/other irl antlered creatures at all, so i'm not sure what this is about. sometimes the antlers are by themself, and sometimes they co-occur with other stuff.

– cryptids; sometimes shifts mix-and-mash into creatures that i call cryptids. cryptid shifts aren't always the same from one shift to another, and sometimes include cameo shift elements. i've had cryptid shifts where i'm an anthro pearl fox with feathered wings and antlers, and i've had cryptid shifts where i'm humanoid with spines and a fan-tipped tail, shrouded in a shadowy energy. while i call most of my mashups a cryptid shift, some don't have the vibe, if that makes sense.

that pretty much covers it, i think. welcome to my blog!

[woof-wolf-mcwolfenson]

Hi there! You can call me Mcwolfenson if you want!! This is my otherkin/alterhuman/therian sideblog!

An agender wolf/dog otherkin therioquestioning individual runs this account!! Pronouns: he/they/it/bug

Tag list and meanings: #mcwolfenson barks = me talking about stuff/blogging! #mcwolfenson rebarks = my reblog tag! #mcwolfenson content = anything that includes any of my own original content, like art, photography, ect.

Full list of kins under cut:

Otherkin:

werewolf, (Brown) Wolf (most likely Italian wolf to be specific), Dog (German Shepard, Golden retriever, mix or a mutt), Wolfdog (Mid Content), Fisher (Pekania pennanti), Virginia Opossum, Isopod (Pill Bug/Rolly-pollie as well), Centipede (Unspecific on which species), Stag Beetle.

Therioquestioning:

I am unsure if I am a therian or not! If so, I have not pinpointed what exactly my theriotype is!! (Knowing me, I probably fluctuate between a wolf and/or a dog).

Fictionkin:

Four (Blue number 4, BFDI), Mephone4 (Male robot-coded iphone 4, Inanimate Insanity), Fan (Red and Gold Male Paper Fan, Inanimate Insanity), Paintbrush (Beige bristled brown bodied Nonbinary Painting Brush, Inanimate Insanity), Liam (Male green backpack, HFJONE), Cracklin (Male yellow Geiger counter, I.O.N.), Artificer (Maroon Slugcat, Rainworld. This kin is based on physical traits and anger alone, not the ideology of the individual.), Scavenger (Scavenger, Rainworld), Red Lizard (Lizard, Rain World), John Egbert (Male Human, Homestuck), Sollux Captor (Male Troll, Homestuck).

Comfort Items/Likes/Interests:

Gingko trees/leaves, painting, sculpting, pine trees/cones, sewing, digital art, traditional sketching/drawing, calligraphy, quadrobics, Littlest Pet Shop, miniatures/dolls, forests, fungi.

[maulsoleum]

11 , 23 , 24 , & 47 :]

11. What is your favorite uncommon kintype?

oh hmmm… honestly any bugkin guys are really cool especially the really fuckin. niche bugs. like let’s go weevils!! lets go fucked up beetles!!! sparklemuffin spiderkin raise your motherfucking hands!!

23. Do you like the blogs about clothing/fashion for kin?

okay complicated answer, yes and no. a lot of it is just pinterest fashion, usually nature/forest/fairy core, and it’s like the SAME stuff on nearly every post. that really fucking irks me. especially bc it’s just like neutral tone cozy clothes, and like. a wolf hat for a caninekin. when they put like RESEARCH into the climates/places/origins and colors and patterns of a kintype and make it so insanely specific to that kintype and not just the same pinterest clothes, THEN i dig it. it’s mostly just wolfkin cottagecore clothes though and i don’t think that’s necessarily original. at least from what i’ve seen, kin clothes blogs don’t come for me.

24. Do any certain music types appeal to your kin(s)? If so, what kind(s)?

yes GOD yes. i’ve talked about this a lot before. it’s gotten more messy as my kintypes evolved but i associate a lot of bear and caribous stuff (sometimes dogkin though i rarely feel dogfish these days) with folkpunk. right now i associate a large mix of stuff with my hound but especially heavy bass, slam drums, and a lot of blues rock. i wanna sit down and remake some playlist for my nonhuman identities and i’ll probably end up posting them here so stay tuned? i will say though, i associate “personal jesus” - depeche mode the most with my Hound rn though. mostly by the sound, though the lyrics a little too. i fucking love this question though because hound with music special interest goes insane.

47. Is/are your kintype(s) stereotypically “good” or “bad”?

well. hm. i’m not sure. my hound (again not really a kintype) is not an actual eh. animal? just more Me. the things i amalgamate together to represent the hound kinda form a neutrality i think? liked majestic creatures and omens of death get pretty neutral. though i think it probably means stereotypically “bad” when you counter in the vampire parrot. but also the bear and caribou are good. hm. you decide!

ty for these grim i loved answering these!!

[the-mephone4-fictonkin]

Hi there!!

I'm Mephone4! This is my fictionkin/aesthetic blog (dedicated to Mephone 4 and Fruitiger Aero Aesthetics as well as old tech, kinsonas, ect.)

I mostly reblog stuff here!!!

Tag list! #>mephone speaks = me talking #>mephone.reblog = my reblog tag! #>mephone favs.png = my favorites tag #>mephone.gif = any posts here including a gif will have this tag! #>fan yaps = me talking about my fan kinshift experience(s)/anything relating to fan ii #>fan.gif = gifs of fan ii specifically #>contenstants.png = anything relating to the contestants of ii --- ; sidenote: all contestant appearances will have the format of '>[insertcontestantnamehere].png' in the tags. #>bfdi.png = anyone from bfdi will go under this tag #>stimboard.exe = stimboards will have this tag

Fictionkin List (highlighted based on relevance to this blog):

Four (Blue number 4, BFDI), Mephone4 (Male robot-coded iphone 4, Inanimate Insanity), Fan (Red and Gold Male Paper Fan, Inanimate Insanity), Paintbrush (Beige bristled brown bodied Nonbinary Painting Brush, Inanimate Insanity), Liam (Male green backpack, HFJONE), Cracklin (Male yellow Geiger counter, I.O.N.), Artificer (Maroon Slugcat, Rainworld. This kin is based on physical traits and anger alone, not the ideology of the individual.), Scavenger (Scavenger, Rainworld), Red Lizard (Lizard, Rain World), John Egbert (Male Human, Homestuck), Sollux Captor (Male Troll, Homestuck).

Comfort Character List (once again highlighted based on relevance):

X (Canary Yellow Letter X, BFDI), Two/2 (Green number 2, BFDI), Yin-Yang (Spherical Yin-Yang symbol, Inanimate Insanity), Popcorn (Pink and white bag of popcorn with 3D-Movie Glasses, Showvember), Chief (Male Grey Bloodstained Notebook, I.O.N.), Gourmand (Fat Orange Slugcat, Rain World).

Otherkin:

werewolf, (Brown) Wolf, Dog (German Shepard/Golden retriever mix or a mutt), Wolfdog (Mid Content), Virginia Opossum, Isopod (Pill Bug/Rolly-pollie as well), Centipede (Unspecific on which species), Stag Beetle.

CREDITS LIST FOR BANNERS UNDER CUT

as i was creating this list, i realized more than half of the posts have been buried in my main account's likes and reblogs, so if you see one of your banners here and you would like credit, please don't be afraid to message this blog about it!!!!!

cafekitsune: crystalline divider, ocean divider,

drinkthesky: ocean divider,

[citizenoftmrrwlnd]

self care for : a bugkin with buggy items including beetle-related things!

x | x | x x | - | x x | x | x

[koizan]

Was Tagged in this post by @azonine and my edible hit a while ago. let's go for it everybody thank you beloved

Last Song: my sister and i were listening to our spotify blend earlier and i think it's updating itself bc i could've sworn the last thing i remember was something like passion by nicki minaj with a pink album cover but i can't find this song so i think i made it up. likely what i actually hear was Bomb Intro / Pass That Dutch by Missy Elliot. it's my sister's contribution but i vibe with it. apparently we're an 83% match which is interesting. she also keeps making fun of me for saying ethoslab is attractive but i'm literally right. sorry you wouldn't understand

Favorite Color: BRIGHT red slightly pink. i never used to say i have a favorite color and i lost my shoe. i've found it. anyway i gravitate towards red, especially that shade. i also love just black of course but that is a safe color that goes with anything. but red. that's bold. also many flowers are red. flowers are gorgeous. every single one. godbless they make the world cooler

Last Movie/TV: The Wilds. one of those cancelled lesbian shows. unfortunate. it's not as good as Yellowjackets though. i think they spend too much time on everyone's backstories but they're honestly not that complex like half of season 1 is leah having a breakdown over that guy and they want to be like leah is an obsessive person but they only show the one thing like. her other obsessions are so much more interesting i don't care about mr pedophile writer guy i literally do not care. let her go insane she deserves it for being bisexual. the last movie is possibly blue beetle which was alright for an airplane movie, wish i could pause it though. why tf is it a channel? who put live channels on planes? who did that? you deserve SUFFERING. also, while i was writing this i realized i actually later watched the new percy jackson episode with my sister so that actually but i don't remember anything from the books and unfortunately the show is clearly directed towards the same age range as the original series and it's like. good for what it is but selfishly i wish it was cooler for me specifically. rick riordan is cool though

Sweet/Spicy/Savory?: sweet or savory depends on my mood really. but savory maybe? although i am searching it up and now i am confused about the definition. i love the savory crepes (the philly) from crepevine it's possibly my favorite meal ever. would love to eat crepevine every day all day ever

Relationship Status: newly single. please hmu if you like taking care of pathetic people or alternatively have a lot of money

Last Thing I Googled: "vegetable list" to answer the llff qotd which i keep saying in my head as "quote of the day". before that. soojin g-idle. queen. you would've killed it in queencard i know it. also as you can see above i am in fact single

Current Obsession: i think my depression is currently bad enough to prevent me from a single obsession currently. i searched the wilds on tumblr a couple times but it's like 90% people complaining about canceled wlw shows bc tumblr search is unusable. i wouldn't call it anything close to an obsession though, it just happens to be what i'm currently binging. most recently though - poppy seed pets. also rewatched a couple community episodes. such a good show my god. wish alison brie was asian. also i have been thinking about tattoos a lot. specifically my new one which was my first. got with friends. very cute (: further i am going to be so abnormal about the boys s4. i don't have a kin list but i'm starting one rn putting jordan li at the top. minecraft character bdoubleo100 second. king from the owl house third. not for size reason we just both get disrespected. taking recommendations for additions that aren't a random small animal you saw on instagram - please keep in mind that i am 7'4" in real life and extremely intimidating. i am also considering adding nora from the wilds (autistic) and abed community (autistic) and todd sanchez bojack horseman (aspec but actually we're not that similar. i think i am just thinking about him. what a lad.) and perhaps. asian lesbian from scream queens because i too think chanel no. 3 is hot. actually every character from community except pierce is relateable. also generally any character that is "bad" representation of a minority group and knows it but i haven't seen much of that kind of character. they should make more of them for the bitches like me who are simultaneously whitewashed and a stereotype

[scryarchives]

⇢ ˗ˏˋƧΛM [ 18, genderfluid, SEA ]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ dreamer, infp, into many, many fandoms & simps for fictional characters (sue me)

likes ! ☼ anything with my favourite hyperfixations/kins, angst & fluff, doodles, one-shots, writing canon x oc, talking with my mutuals, talking about my hyperfixations and long convos! i love compliments and feedback on my works is always encouraged. feel free to reach out cuz id love to chat!

dislikes ! ☼ negative comments, overall negative vibes, mosquitoes, loud noises and busy-bodies.

my favourite shows and movies ! ☼ the owl house (toh), metal family, jujutsu kaisen (jjk), fionna and cake, dr. strange, guardians of the galaxy vol. 3, blue beetle, avatar, avatar: the way of water, encanto, the greatest showman, sherlock, httyd, howl's moving castle (or anything studio ghibli) !

my kins ! ☼ [ jjk ] itadori yuuji, [ toh ] hunter, amity, luz, [ metal family ] glam, dee, [ mcu ] america chavez, rocket raccoon, [ avatar ] neteyam & lo'ak sully, [ dcu ] jaime reyes, [ adventure time ] simon petrikov, fionna campbell

dni if you(‘re) ➼ dislike canon x oc. homophobic, transphobic, or racist. a pedophile, xenophobe, islamophobe. dislike the content i create. this blog is a safe space for all.

before you follow ➼ currently, i have a lot of time on my hands but updates will be slow (i get burned out too, now and then). please keep in mind that any form of hate speech will not be tolerated! you will be blocked and reported if so.

bear in mind that ➼ english is my first language, but i’m still learning and growing. as mentioned before, constructive criticism is welcome! i write for canon x oc, both platonic and romantic. if you aren’t comfortable with that content, you are welcome to leave (i mean this in the nicest way possible!).

[infiniterichesinalittleroom]

August

Dull August! Maiden of the sultry days, And Summer's latest born! When all the woods Grow dim with smoke, and smirch their lively green With haze of long-continued drought begot; When every field grows yellow, and a plague Of thirst dries up its herbage to the root, So that the cattle grow quite ribby-lean On woody stalks whose juices all are spent; When every fronded fern in mid-wood hid Grows sick and yellow with the jaundice heat, Whilst those on hill-sides glare with patchy red; When streamlets die upon the lichened rocks, And leave the bleaching pebbles shining bare, And every mussel shell agape and parched, And small snail-craft quite emptied of their crews; When not one angel-cloud is to be seen To image coolness and the coming rain, But all the air with stour and dust is filled, Through which the sun stares with a pallid face On which one long may look, and turn, and read Some prophecy of old with eyes undimmed; When every morn is fiery as the noon, And every eve is fiery as the morn, And every night a prison hot and dark, Where one doth sleep and dream of pleasant snow, And winter's icicles and blessed cold, But, soon awakes, with limbs uneasy cramped, And garments drenched, and stifled, panting breath; When life itself grows weary of its use, And mind is tarnished with the hue of things, And thoughts are sickened with o'erdàrkened food; When man uneasy strolls, a listless mome In museless misery, a wretch indeed— Say, fiery maiden, with the scorching eyes, What hast thou left to chain us to the earth? Ah, there are busy forms which, all unsought, Find yet a relish in thy scanty store. And, for that blooms are scarce, therefore the bee Wades knee-deep in the purple thistle tops, And shares their sweetness with the hungry wasp. Therefore the butterfly comes sailing down, And, heedless, lighting on a hummer's back, Soon tacks aloft in sudden strange alarm, Whilst bee and wasp quick scurry out of sight, And leave their treasures to the plodding ant. The beetle in the tree-top sits and sings His brassy tune with increase to the end, And one may peep and peer amongst the leaves, Yet see him not though still he sits aloft, And winds his reedy horn into the noon. Now many a sob is heard in thickets dim, Where little birds sit, pensive, on the spray, And muse mayhap on the delights of Spring; And many a chitmunk whistles out its fear, And jerks and darts along the panneled rails, Then stops, and watches with unwinking eyes Where you do stand, as motionless as death; But should you wag a finger through the air, Or move a-tiptoe o'er the crispy sod, 'Twill snudge away beneath the balsam brush, Quick lost and safe among the reddened spray. Now one may sit within a little vale, Close to the umbrage of some wood whose gums Give heavy odours to the heavy air, And watch the dusty crackers snap their wings, Whilst gangs of blue-flies fetch a buzzing teaze Of mad, uneasy whirlings overhead. Now one may mark the spider trim his web From bough to bough, and sorrow at the fate Of many a sapless fly quite picked and bare, Still hanging lifeless in the silken mesh, Or muse upon the maze of insect brede Which finds a home and feeds upon the leaves Till naught but fibre-skeletons are hung From branch to branch up to the highest twig. And many a curious pleasance may be seen And strange disport. Of such the wondrous glee The joinèd gnats have in their headlong flight; The wild'ring quest of horse-flies humming past In twos and threes, and the small cloud of wings Which mix and throng together in the sun. A num'rous kin dart shining o'er some pool Spared from the general wreck of water store, And from the lofty woods crow-blackbird trains Chuck o'er the barren leas with long-drawn flight. Far o'er the hills the grouse's feath'ry drum Beats quick and loud within a beechen copse, And, sometimes, when the heavy woods are still, A single tap upon a hemlock spire Dwells with the lonely glades in echoes deep. Then with the eve come sounds of varied note. The boys troop clam'ring to the woods, and curs Yelp sharply where the groundhog's lair is found. The horn has called the reapers from the fields, And, now, from cots half-hid by fruited trees, The homely strains of fiddle or of fife, Which distance sweetens with a needed art, Come dropping on the ear. And sometimes, too, If sparks are deemed sincere, and rustic love Run smooth, the merry milkmaids sing A fallow's length with pails at elbow slung, Or, while they thrust the draw-well dangler down, 'Gainst which the swains oppose their yielding strength, Laugh loud and long, or scold with mimicked heat. These find a pleasure in the waste of days, And strive against the mis'ry of the time With am'rous snares and artifice of love. Not less those faithful ones who look upon This weather-sorrow with sufficing joy— The old, who still would linger with their seed, And snatch a little comfort from the earth. Still would they gaze upon the simmering sun, And take the warmth into their aged bones, Nor cavil with the hindrances which stay. The lethal hour when death shall come and bend Their reverend heads into the restful grave. Hail August! Maiden of the sultry days, To thee I bring the measured meed of praise. For, though thou hast besmirched the day and night, And hid a wealth of glory from our sight, Thou still dost build in musing, pensive mood, Thy blissful idyls in the underwood. Thou still dost yield new beauties, fair and young, With many a form of grace as yet unsung, Which ripens o'er thy pathway and repays The toil and languor of the sultry days.

by Charles Mair

[vriedi]

hello dave and bambi-ians of twitter now tumblr here are my (and harvey ech0mo’s) main ocs also non dnb followers here are the guys i sometimes tag about under the cut to be nice to your dashboards

zambo - born in a wet cardboard box all alone. humanaboo magician with schizophrenia and several other disorders. lacks hands entirely. learned magic in response to being bullied, and to help with their disability. in the process changed their biology so much to the point where they formed an entirely new subspecies of bamboids, in addition to changing their blood and other bodily fluids color to match their magic. they/he pronouns

sidney - zambos malewife. neckromancer, blood magic manipulator. also a vampire. likes to bite. talks somewhat verbosely. whore. goes around murdering people with zambo, its fun. can turn his cape into wings. taught that by zambo. he/it pronouns

thinbi - zambos best friend. funny silly guy. can be a cartoon in real life and make squeaky noises. its cute. engaged to bibo. british. can clone himself but the clones dont really do much at all. zambo possesses him to kill people but he doesnt know that. impervious to physical harm due to being a minor deity born to mortals. taught others about origin forms. overall just a guy. he/they pronouns

bibo - comedian. thinbi’s husband. literally just a normal guy. however he likes to make horrible concoctions of food like jello salad. that kind of horrible. gulpinkin (pokemon) kin. can change his face to whatever as long as it looks doodley and funny. thinbi calls him bobo and he calls thinbi bibi. does commissions. he/they pronouns (despite being a cis man)

bambert - pathetic little man. announcer/referee combobob. happily married to bambrute. masochist, mostly for pain by them and others he finds attractive. serial cheater, flirts with Anyone he thinks can maim him. wife literally incapable of jealousy, doesnt matter. bunny. dot eyes under his glasses. allergic to many many things. kinda a pissbaby. he/they pronouns, but prefers being referred to by name

bambrute - the only woman ever (kinda, theyre agender and genderfluid both). bamboxs rival, champion of BDBA. kinda a bully. no actually fully a bully. not a good sportsman (sportswoman), plays rather dirty. likes feminine nouns like wife but has a masculine identity (gay man). worlds first cishet gay couple with bambert. bear. cannot grasp the concept of jealousy whatsoever. she/they/he pronouns (first two preferred)

bambox - himbo boxer. bambrutes rival. always runner up never champion. likes to grill burgers and eat sloppy joes. kinda a dad. doesnt get memes, but posts minion memes. afraid of five nights at freddys and baldis basics. also afraid of flying. one of thinbis dads. he/they pronouns

bambug - stag beetle. bamboxs lover. bamberts nemesis (bambert is not aware of this.) literally sexist (is disgusted by and despises sex. hates people who have sex). blue blood. acts like sakura katana chan kinda. thinbis other papa. hates zambo and sidney too, thinks theyre terrible to thinbi. yandere. internet discourser. he/it pronouns that is all of the main guys lawl

[thenixkat]

Go, Ted! Handpicked to help defend the multiverse. Also chosen to represent the Earth 4 heroes in this crossover event

Again, Ted is strong as hell. Holding up a whole grown man's full weight with one arm

Isn't that the fucker that was fighting dr fate in the Rebirth Blue Beetle run? also 45,000 years b4 the present… a bit overestimating how long humans have been around

superhero mentality I swear. Just cause you got attacked after being invited/forced to go somewhere doesn't mean it was a trap/set up on the part of the inviter

also, the only things that actually hurt the shadow demons have been shown to be the Scarab, the Green Lantern's light, and the lights in the Monitor's ship turned up to full brightness

ok yeah, that Atlantean is the same character but… he's an antagonist in the rebirth Blue Beetle story for… reasons. And looking at his wiki he was not a fucking villain until post-crisis stuff

also fucking superheroes assuming the Monitor lied to them b/c things are going to shit and not dude had a plan but it isn't working like he thought it would

mfers really be jumping to conclusions and wanting to fight someone about it

local asshole villain Dr Polaris really said 'fuck yeah! let's kill some Nazis!'

while Ted would also like to kill some Nazis, he's focused on the mission they got sent there for. Also, the Ted being a mama's boy thing has come up twice this far in this crossover. That is entirely fucking new, Ted never mentioned his mom in his og comics

so man got brought over to the DC universe and they made him more flirty and a momma's boy

of course, I do have to question why in this fight the shadow demons get zapped from just touching Beetle while in the first encounter that didn't happen

of course, it hurts like hell just to get touched by the shadow demons

the Monitor is disappointed that the Beetle doesn't work as effectively against the demons as he thought the Scarab would so he sends the fucker home, really?

Also, I guess Jaime would be plowing through these demons like tissue paper then if he were in this

also, Ted having the Scarab in the first place is another retcon but it's a very minor change, he's still a tech hero since it doesn't actively give him powers

but the passive protection from demons is fascinating

cause like from Khaji Da's narration at the end of the Reach arc it did bond to Ted too, it was just too damaged to do shit for him

of course, we need superheroes to fight so now Ted thinks that he'd been kidnapped and fed lies

hey someone aware that this fighting and these thoughts feel forced

the Anti-Monitor boosted Psycho Pirate's powers and is making him influence people on the 3 remaining Earths to fling themselves into the antimatter waves and fight the heroes that try to stop them

heheh Ted really the cosmic representative of Earth 4. He's literally just... a guy but apparently he was that popular

Khaji Da listening to this in Ted's pocket: The Oans have no equals… what are we chopped liver?

I'm just picturing the Reach and their kin on the other side of the known universe seeing shit go down and just going 'ugh, we're gonna loose so many days of productivity over this' and just phase shifting into the Bleed and watching the Oans and lanterns get their shit rocked

again I'm just imagining the Reach watching all this fuck shit going on and going, that is not my problem

will finish reading the issues with Ted in them remaining for this crossover later. It's given me a bunch of thoughts

also, just the Spectre is fucking useless, yer telling me it goes after fuckers who've escaped the vengeance of man and there's a whole league of supervillains just sitting there unsmote

Superheroes said you are not allowed to retire from being a superhero even if we know that you are actively dying every time you use yer powers

the cosmic treadmill can do shit but none of the magic users that's wild. Fucking run fast enough and you can travel across dimensions

Wild that we can time travel to save the universe when the plot calls for it. That we can create a massive time paradox to save the universe when the plot calls for it. But Booster Gold can't be allowed to use time travel to save his best friend Ted Kord from getting shot.

combining the forces of many heroes and villains fuckers are going back in time and across the universe to 'defeat' (read kill, everyone is ok with killing this time) the ANtiMonitor.

Also, imagine DC Comics buying you out so they can have yer characters and then kill off all but one of yer characters in a crossover event.

Also, why did observing the Big Bang lead to the creation of the antimatter universe in the first place or open a second antimatter gate when someone did it again?

The superheroes without powers applicable to fighting cosmic beings really just here for moral support, huh?