#danger is the newest beast

[boyfeminism]

look at my kitties (:

[peachysunrize]

Hide & Seek ⥃ Vampire!Aemond Targaryen

Summary: the nightly mysterious deaths make you wonder, but your grandma’s disappearance pulls the last straw. You go to see it for yourself if the myth about the creature of the dark is true and find your granny to take her home.

Warnings: 18+ mdni! Dark content!! Manipulation!! Vampire!Aemond, smut, chasing & haunting, death, gore, Beauty & The Beast inspired! MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, predator & prey, p in v, breeding, biting, blood & blood licking, stabbing, punching, English is not my first language<3

Word count: 4.6k+

A/n: soooo I talked to a @anjelicawrites about this idea and decided to write it so thank you for tolerating me and helping me with this idea!! also a very special thank you to @sylasthegrim for beta reading this piece for me<33 It’s inspired by Ewan’s outfit and I CANT WAIT TO KNOW YOUR OPINION ON THIS!! Comments & reblogs are so appreciated!

I don’t have a taglist for my one shots so please follow and turn on the notifications of @peachysunrizefics !

It is past midnight when you are woken up by the loud bangs on the door, yelling and pounding on the wood as someone calls your name. It is strange, no one comes to your house at such an ungodly hour, especially if they know your grandmother has trouble sleeping.

You gather your nightgown in your fist before you step down from your bed, reaching for a woolen jacket to put on before you go and answer the door.

“Coming, coming,” you yell back, and as soon as the sleep is gone from your eyes, you take in your surroundings; nothing is in its place. The house is a mess with chairs broken in half, cushions torn apart, and window shards broken into a million pieces.

“What’s happened here?” you ask yourself as you walk cautiously towards the door, staying quiet as you fiddle with the locks, thinking your grandmother is sound asleep.

You find the baker's son on your door, frantic and panting. He looks at you with wide eyes, his hands trembling, and he tries to stutter the words out.

“Y-you—“

“What’s going on? Has something happened?” you ask, wrapping the jacket around yourself tighter. You look at the poor shaking boy before you notice footprints on the snow from your house to the town. “Talk, boy.”

“Granny…” he says with fear, teeth clacking as he talks, “S-she was seen walking towards the woods with someone—“

“Are you out of your mind?” you ask in disbelief, scoffing when the boy shakes his head. “Granny is asleep inside. She sleepwalks, true, but she knows how dangerous nighttime is.”

“We thought she was on a walk with you!” He tries again, sounding desperate, “When we didn’t see her coming back we came to you! Everyone knows the myths about this town and nightly disappearances. We… we fear that your grandmother is…the newest victim.”

You laugh loudly, holding your belly as shocked laughs escape your mouth. Even the idea of your granny taking a walk is hilarious but to think of her getting kidnapped by the stranger of the night seems… unrealistic.

“I shall wake her up now,” you whisper, running back inside, jumping over the ruined furniture, and as you take in the messy room; the damage is far too severe for it to be merely sleepwalking gone wrong.

“Granny?” you say in a low tone, deep down hoping she is asleep under her flower-embroidered blanket. But when you open the door, the gasp you let out is heard from the other side of the house, “No, no, no…” 

  “Miss—“

  “Where are you, Granny?” you scream and try to make sense of the things happening around you. Your grandmother is not in her bed, her room is a mess, in fact, your entire house is. You wrap the jacket around yourself tighter, wiping your tears as you walk back to the front door to talk to the boy.

“Describe the person you saw,” you demand, your nails digging into the palm of your hands, waiting for the boy to talk, “Was it… was it as the tales say? Tall and pale, one eye carved out and teeth soaked in blood?”

“W-we could not see very clearly,” he stutters, rubbing his sweaty hand against his ripped pants, shivering under the cold wind and your much colder and teary gaze, “B-but he was tall! He… he had a long coat too and long hair as well! I did not see his face but-but I am sure his hair was as white as snow!”

“Go find a scythe in the basement and bring it to me,” you glare at the young boy when he looks back at you with wide eyes and parted lips like a fish, “Go, now. I’ll fetch the horse.”

“Where are you going?” He asks, voice shaking and hesitating, “Please, Miss, at least tell me so I can help you!”

“Enough is enough,” you wipe the tears that keep falling from your eyes, walking away from the boy to go to your room and grab a thick cloak, “I can not stand and see how people act oblivious about all the disappearances! My Granny… my sweet Granny was taken away by a man! There is no evil creature in the woods, just a man with a hunger for blood. That human is sick in the head, and should be struck down!”

“You shouldn’t go to search for Granny! People have died on that route, they have been taken to God knows where. We do not need you to go missing as well!”

“I will not,” you wrap the cloak around you tighter before you march outside, the poor boy following you with a hammer in hand he grabbed from behind a couch.

“Then let us accompany you—“

“No,” you reply, panting as you move through the snow towards your stable, petting your horse before you bring it out, grabbing a saddle, and fastening it around the horse’s body, “I will do it on my own, we have enough losses already. I will find Granny and others, trust me.”

“Please, it’s too reckless to go into the woods at such an ungodly hour! Especially now that we know that creature has Granny! Miss, let me go and tell my father about this—“

“Don’t say a word to anyone, do you hear me?” you grab the boy by his collar, pulling him closer so you can whisper harshly in his ear, “He might have ears everywhere. Tell your father about this if I do not come home in a day.”

“This is absurd! You are putting yourself in grave danger—“

“Nothing will happen to me,” you kiss his forehead before grabbing the horse’s reins and jumping over the saddle, “I will find everyone and come back, and if I am lucky enough, I will kill that man.”

“Go in grace, Miss!” he yells and hands you the hammer, petting the horse and making sure your saddle is tight and ready for a run toward the woods, “Save us from the creatures of the dark!”

“I will!” you bolt through the snow, holding the reins with one hand and the other dropping the hammer into the pocket of your cloak mindlessly as you guide the horse towards the entrance of the woods.

The crows are crowing, flapping their wings, and flying away as soon as your horse reaches them. The signs are unclear, covered in thick snow as if their old writings are not fading away already.

The howling of the wolves makes you shiver in fear. Their voices are getting clearer and closer, and you need to follow the path that leads to… somewhere. You have no idea where, perhaps a cottage, or a house, or even a castle. Based on the rumors it must be a castle, or the ruins of it at least.

The tales used to be funny, a bedtime story for little kids, but as soon as the disappearances started, things turned out for the worse. It felt as if the creature’s  long-lasting savings of food of are finished and his hunger is now looming over the city.

You turn to the left, your horse resisting and neighing before suddenly the voices of the wolves grow closer. You bolt through the path, trying to escape the voices before you stumble upon a huge gate. 

Your horse is startled by the darkness surrounding the gate, and behind the freezing bars, there rests a castle in all its glory; the building is huge, and the path leading to its entrance is surrounded by neatly cut bushes. The castle’s terraces are filled with statues of unknown creatures.

You jump down from your horse, shushing the poor animal before you walk towards the gate, examining the lock that held the doors together. Grabbing your hammer from your pocket, you swing the heavy object, trying to break the lock in one swing — the first attempt is a miss, you knock the metallic bars and create a loud sound. The second time, you hit the lock but the impact is not powerful enough to break it.

The third time's a charm; with one swing, you break the lock, fiddling with the broken thing to pull it out and open the gates for yourself.

But when you look up, you notice a flickering light coming from one of the empty terraces, and a shadow is hidden in the dark. Someone is there, you are sure of that because the glinting of a clear gemstone can be seen under the moonlight even from such a great distance.

The glinting is gone as soon as you guide your horse past the gates and towards the entrance of the castle, trying to hold it from rearing back and leaving you alone, but it is a lost cause when the animal is strong enough to knock you down and run out of this creepy place.

You sigh, tightening your grip around the hammer as you slowly push the large doors open, a rush of wind knocking you back as soon as you step inside, slamming the doors shut behind you.

You grab your hammer with both hands, cautiously walking inside the large room, looking around to find a candle so you can at least see where you are heading. Eventually, you reach a table with a burning candle on it at the bottom of the stairs. Picking it up before it ends, you make your way to a half-opened door, leading to a large dining room.

The room is cold, much colder than a human being to be able to live in, and at first glance, besides the dining table and a dusty fireplace, it looks as if no one has touched it in years.

You walk further inside the room, noticing the spider webs all over the walls and couches, even on the chairs and the empty plates — all except for one. The only chair that looks clean is on the other head of the table with an identical empty plate in front of it. But what catches your attention is not the plate, it is the full goblet next to it.

You examine the goblet, noticing the red stains around the rim, thinking of the wine this evil creature must have been having. But the smell is quite unlikely from whatever you have ever drank. No wine smells like metal nor is it so thick.

You grab the goblet and swirl the liquid in it, spilling a little on yourself before you bring the edge of it to your lips, tasting the liquid. You have never gagged so harshly in your life before, but now, you gag, cough, and spit the blood out.

You back away from the table quickly, dropping the goblet on the floor. You notice a trail of blood on the hardwood, leading to the corner of the room, hiding under the shadows. With slow and shaky steps, you follow the trail, gasping when you see your Granny lying there, no color on her face and her neck torn open.

  Granny, your sweet precious Granny who took you in after your parents’ death is now dead in a creepy unknown castle possibly haunted by a mysterious man.

  You fall on your knees next to her, letting go of the hammer as you pull her in your arms, holding her close as you sob atop her. Not in even a thousand years you could have thought about her dying like this; with so little dignity, bitten and bloodied like an animal.

Your eyes catch a shadow moving right outside of the door, merging with the darkness under the flickering candlelight. The shadow is long, and you can figure out a person’s silhouette as you slowly lower your grandma on the floor, grabbing your hammer before approaching the door without making any noise.

Slipping out the door, you follow the shadow into another hall, much larger and emptier than before, only decorated with one loveseat in front of a cold fireplace and a few empty goblets on a table next to the arm of the chair. The walls are covered in different portraits of different people, but you can see how all of them have two similar traits to your unknown haunter — long silver hair and red eyes.

  “Hmm.”

  You whip your head towards the sound, gripping the handle of the hammer tightly as you search for the source. You are scared, terrified even. Who wouldn’t be if they found their grandmother dead with blood gushing out of her while they tried to make sense of the creature who only was supposed to be a fantasy? A myth not worth exploring?

  “I wonder if you taste just as sweet as you smell.”

  “Step into the light!” you scream, your voice echoing in the room as you try to keep your breathing even, “Show yourself, you monster!”

  “Monster?” He sounds so sweet, so calming and soothing, “Sweet lamb, I am anything but a monster.”

  “You killed my grandmother!” you hold back a sob as you turn around yourself, trying to figure out where he is standing, “I should kill you myself, y-you murdered all those people! You kidnapped them and-and—“

“I did not murder them against their will,” he is walking around the room, hidden in the dark, but his footsteps can be heard as he talks, “They were all on the brink of death, I took mercy upon them, and in return, well… I feasted upon them.”

“Who are you?” You yell back, walking to where you think he might be, swinging your hammer in hopes of breaking a bone or two, “What are you, monster?”

“I am the Kinslayer your tales talk about,” he tells you, chuckling when he feels you shiver, “The long forgotten blood thirsty prince.”

“Step out, coward! If you are a kinslayer as you say, then you fear nothing! Step out and show yourself to me!”

“Oh, no, no, sweet lamb,” he hums again, his footsteps growing more distant, “I will not show myself to you so easily. You have come to my home, interrupted my meal. You are in no position to demand anything.”

“I will not leave until I kill you,” you reply, swinging the hammer and throwing it at the shadow, screaming when a loud bang echoes in the hall, alerting you that you have once more missed your aim, “I will haunt you down the way you did to all those poor people!”

“Excellent!” he chuckles once more, and you can feel him circling around you, “Let us play a game, sweet lamb; I hide and you haunt me, and if you catch me, I am yours to do as you please.”

“And if I don’t?” you pant, nails digging into your palms as you try to follow his footsteps, “What will happen to me?”

  “We shall see.”

  Then you feel him leave the room, his shadow following him outside. You bolt after him, trying to keep up with him but soon you lose track of his shadow.

You have no idea what part of the castle you are in now; a large staircase leads to two wings of the castle, and each one probably contains many rooms and halls. Figuring he would follow you either way, you choose to go to the west wing, skipping a step or two on your way up as you try to find another hall and a weapon to wield.

With ragged breaths, you reach another hall, a much larger one that you assume used to be a dance hall filled with lords and ladies, and much to your luck, you find metallic armors resting on a wall, holding a sword in their hands.

Before you can run towards them, you see a glance of the man’s white hair flowing in the wind before he’s gone again. The room is quiet and dark, but you can pinpoint where things rest thankfully due to the bright moonlight.

“Come out!” you yell, making your way to one of the armors and grabbing a sword before you see the glint of his eye for one second and disappearing again.

You try to follow his steps, or even the air that thickens when he walks away, but all is lost when you can not find him in another hall. You could be lost already for all you know, you could be in the heart of the castle where no one can hear your screams while he tears through your flesh, or you through his.

The sword is heavy but it is necessary as you carry it to the other halls attached to the bigger ones — it looks like a maze, a mind game he has created just to trap someone like you inside and have his fill with of.

You are doing your very best, but even the strongest soldiers grow weak sometimes. Stopping in the middle of a much smaller hall, you look around and take your surroundings in; a small table is next to one of the walls with cuffs attached to the sides of the table, red blood stains cover the wooden surface and you finally realize you have walked into the lion’s den with your own feet.

This room is for his victims, people he takes his time with to pull out layers of skin one by one and lick the blood off of the wounds.

  “Welcome, sweet lamb.”

  You turn around quickly, holding the sword up as best as you can as he finally walks inside the room with a candle in hand, revealing himself to your angry eyes.

“You lost,” you say shakily, your hands trembling as you struggle to keep the heavy metal up, pointing it at the pale human in front of you, “Now tell me what you are.”

“Oh, sweet sweet lamb, I did not lose,” he chuckles, one hand behind his back while the other puts the candle on the table, his white hair framing his face as he looks down at his shoes before his one eye meets your frightened gaze, “I found you, which means…”

“Don’t you dare come closer,” you say through gritted teeth, holding the sword tighter in your hand while you take a step back as soon as he takes one forward, “I fucking won, now tell me what is going on?”

“Shh,” he holds his hand behind his back, his long black coat makes him even taller than he must be, and with the way he walks towards you, it starts a fire within you, a fire so bright and burning that has you breathing faster, “I told you; I am the Kinslayer from centuries ago. Aemond Targaryen, the one-eye prince.”

“That’s impossible!” you cry out when he steps closer, wrapping your fingers around the sword as hard as you can, ready to strike if he comes much closer, “Targaryens died at least three hundred years ago! You were wiped off because of what you did to people! What you are now doing to my people!”

“My family died because they were fools,” he leans a bit down, his one red eye glimmering under the orange light of the candle, “They died because they thought begging nicely for a drop of blood would keep them safe. Only I was clever enough to find a way to survive.”

“By killing people! By murdering innocent humans who were happy an hour before you took them in!” 

He steps closer until the tip of the sharp blade is pressed against his chest, but he does not back away, not really. He is not scared of death, that much is visible, but he also loves to play, and that makes it much harder to resist him. He is trying to lure you in, to hurt him, to somehow make the first move so he would not be responsible for what may come next.

“You kill animals to cook, I like my meals fresh, warm, and immediate,” he raises his hand to the blade, wrapping his fingers around it before he pulls you closer, his blood leaking on the sword and the floor as he keeps tightening his grip, “I drink to survive, and I play to live.”

“I’m gonna kill you,” your lips quiver as you say, “You have to pay for what you did to my Granny, I will make sure of it.”

“Be my guest, sweet lamb.”

You do just as he wants, wielding the sword quickly and cutting through his hand, going for another blow before he slams you to the wall behind you with his foot, knocking the breath out of your lungs.

Another swing is thrown in his way, and you try to control the heavy object in your hands but he is fast, too fast to your liking, and dodges all the clumsy moves easily, his white hair swinging behind him with each puff and sigh he makes.

With one slap to your wrists, you drop the sword and fall on the floor, looking up at him with teary furious eyes. He only smirks and kneels before you, reaching to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear but you take your chance and punch him in the jaw, pushing him down on his back before climbing on top of him, holding his rests next to his head as best as you can while he recovers from the blow.

“I will torture you until you are begging me—uff—“

He flips you over effortlessly, holding you down on the stone cold floor with one knee between your thighs and his crotch pressing your hips down while he holds both of your wrists over your head.

“You are as sick as I am in the head,” he leans down, his hot breath ghosting against your face as he speaks, “You are enjoying this.”

“I am not!” A lie, you know it is a lie, he knows it is a lie. You do enjoy this little game, you love the thrill of killing him and fighting with him. The rage inside you bubbles more with each passing second that you are in his presence, “I would rather die—“

“I will not kill you until I have had my fill,” he whispers, hiding his face into your neck as he sniffs you, “Fuck, you smell so divine, I need to taste you, sweet lamb…”

“Fuck!” You let out a noise between a scream and a moan when he bites down on your shoulder just above your collarbone, his fangs pushing past your flesh as he reaches deep inside and starts sucking harshly, “You monster!”

He only hums and smiles, his thin lips wrapped tightly around the open wound — he can not get enough. He knew how sweet you smelled, your scent drove him crazy as soon as you stepped inside his castle but to get to taste you? Licking and gulping down your blood like a starved man is something he did not expect, especially when you are still alive and writhing beneath him in pain and pleasure.

  He can make you taste even sweeter.

  “You call me a monster while you are rocking your hips to relieve some of the ache between your thighs,” he says as he lets go of the wound, his chin and teeth covered in crimson red, “So pathetic of you, sweet lamb.”

You do not have anything to say, not really because he is already pushing your nightgown up to your hips with his free hand while his other is undoing your cloak. You shiver when the cold air of the room hits your heated inner thighs, your pearl throbbing in anticipation and primal desire.

He is just as mesmerized as you are when he rips your underwear to shreds and runs his 

fingers through your wet folds, enticing a whine from you. He has you right where he wants.

You writhe beneath him as he circles your nerves with his thumb, making your body tremble with each stroke, your cunt clenching around nothing, wetness dribbling out of your hole in need.

“It’s my time to play,” he announces and reaches between your bodies to free his already aching cock, stroking a few times until it stands in full hardness. 

He wiggles around a little while you try to free yourself from his grasp, not trying to yield too quickly, but the look on his face is enough to make you whimper and spread your legs further for him.

Aemond guides the tip of his weeping cock to your entrance, pushing in completely with one swift thrust, drawing a loud moan from your sweet lips as he sheathes himself inside you fully, filling you up nicely.

Your walls grip his length tightly, pulsing and squeezing him every few seconds before he starts moving, his hips snapping into yours as he holds himself up with one hand pushing your wrists into the floor harshly while the other holds his body up.

Your back arches off the stones, legs wrapping around his waist as your mind goes to another place, taking his cock like the sweet lamb he calls you, allowing him to take and take from you — he has prepared you after all with his silly games of hide and seek, seeding the thrill inside you.

“I shall keep you alive,” he groans in your ear as he once more moves his head to the wound he created, licking the blood from your shoulder while his cock nudges the deepest part of your cunt, making your body quiver in sheer pleasure, “Your blood is too sweet for me to waste. I will keep you here with me, as my doomed queen while I feast upon you every night, leaving open wounds for me to drink from whenever I desire—“

With a newfound strength, you wrap your legs around his waist tightly and flip him over until his head hits the stone floor and you free yourself from his grip.

Now with you on top, you take the lead, riding his cock as best as you can. Hands spread on his covered chest while you rock your hips front and back, moaning like a harlot in heat as you bring both of you to the edge of euphoria.

He falls apart first; the sight of you on top of him while half of your body is covered in blood is too much for him. It has been too long since he has had a woman bedding him, but now, with a sweet lamb like you trying to bring some pleasure to yourself by using him, he is a gone man.

He paints your insides white with his cum, and you lean back on his shin to make room for yourself, bouncing on top of him faster when suddenly you feel a dagger in his boots. 

The sudden revelation makes you climax right after him, your wetness gushing around his girth as you ride the centuries-old vampire to your pleasure while you pull the dagger out as best as you can with your entire body shaking in pleasure.

“Sweet lamb—“

His voice is lost when you stab him in the heart, not once, not twice, but five times, screaming and crying while you keep stabbing him until there is enough blood to bathe in, but even then, you do not stop. You slit his throat as well, and it is then that you feel his body soften and go limp completely.

You drop the bloodied dagger and try to move, completely pulling yourself away from his body as he bleeds out and his seed drips out of your sensitive cunt.

You took your revenge, now all you can do is hope for his seed to rot and die inside of you, or you will have to bear the offspring of a dead vampire legacy.

[nosyrobin]

||BEING THE LITTLE BROTHER OF STARFIRE AND BLACKFIRE HEADCANNONS||

Pair: slight robin x reader and beast boy x reader

Running from home to land onto the planet earth, finding your big sister Starfire! You’re happy, you’re overwhelmed with joy! Your big sister blackfire had lied saying that Starfire had basically died. But now you know it was all a lie.

Speaking the native language of Tamaran, the team was just looking confused. Starfire then pointed to Robin. You nodded with a smile and kissed the boy wonder who seemed shocked. He felt shivers go down his spine when the kiss ended. “Hello friends! I am Y/N!” Robin, still in shock while the others introduced themselves.

It took some time for Robin to observe you, a Tamaranean male who looks similar to Starfire herself. Your outfit was either the same like Starfire’s but masculine or a mixture of whatever you were wearing. Either way, he set you up for a test to see how far you can go. Starfire was so happy to see her friends liking her little brother. She immediately showed you the condiment of mustard, telling you it’s amazing. Robin and the others weee disgusted seeing the alien siblings drink mustard with a happy smile.

Robin is easily impressed by your powers just like Starfire’s, he knows he couldn’t be impressed. But the way you use your powers was just something he couldn’t help but smile.

Robin doesn’t mind you being around, with months going by he still ask how you are doing on earth and how you are.

Robin stares, memorized whenever you pull off a trick you learned yourself

Beast bro is sometimes seen as a small animal on your lap, you let him and coo. Making him rub himself against your body with a goofy smile.

Beast boy jokingly calls you “Prince, my Prince, my majesty.” And such, all because you are also Royal like your sisters. Though he couldn’t help but blush when you kiss his cheek in gratitude for making you laugh.

He’s definitely gonna buy a joke book.

You and Starfire mixed together are a dangerous combo, especially with Tamaranean fighting tactics.

It’s been months with you staying here, Robin didn’t want to immediately make you an official member of the team. But with how you showed your loyalty and love for the team and team members. He pulled you aside, a soft smile on his face as he puts a communicator with a T on it.

You were officially the newest member of the team!

[bluegekk0]

Finally decided to work on the designs for all the side characters in the FPK AU, mostly residents of Dirtmouth as that's where the main portion of the AU takes place

Here's the full height chart including the FPK family members

(short bios for each of the characters under the cut)

Vyrm (alternate spelling of "Wyrm") - once the king of Hallownest, now a simple resident of Dirtmouth tormented by the guilt of his past actions and his own emotional trauma. Following the return of the infection, he disappeared in a self-manifested realm where he hibernated for years until he was woken up by Little Ghost. He woke up without his powers and completely alone, which forced him to hunt animals for food in order to survive. That was until he was found by Hornet and taken to Dirtmouth, where he reunited with Holly and Grimm, who would later become his partner and husband. He embraces his instincts by hunting animals and eating raw meat, though he is far from a dangerous beast. He owns a small tinkerer's shop in Dirtmouth, where he sells his creations.

Grimm - the exiled god of nightmares, banished from Godhome by his sister, The Radiance many years ago. A very alluring type with a past of promiscuous endeavors. He travels with his Troupe to perform and complete rituals, through which he replaces his physical body. He spent hundreds of years feeling loneliness, unable to find love due to his immortality, until he met Vyrm. They became close friends, though they were not able to confess their love and start a relationship until after Vyrm’s hibernation. Grimm and his Troupe now permanently reside in Dirtmouth, from which they travel to other kingdoms to perform their shows and the ritual. He drinks blood to prolong the lifespan of each physical body, and he has a fondness for fruits.

Hornet - the beloved daughter of Vyrm and the Deepnest queen Herrah. She grew up showered with her father’s love and formed a very close bond with him. Unfortunately, following her father's disappearance, she was forced to spend years all on her own, which turned her bitter and difficult to approach. She now struggles with anger issues and intense fear of getting attached, but deep down she cares a lot about her family. She moved to Dirtmouth following the end of the infection and now works as a hunter and gatherer..

Holly - the child of Vyrm and The White Lady, and the only known surviving vessel. A very gentle soul who finds joy in art of many forms. Now that The Radiance is gone, they enjoy a quiet and peaceful life living in the Vyrm family home in Dirtmouth. With their arm missing and their body weakened, they are unable to hold their nail, instead they focus on more relaxing activities to pass their time. They wear a prosthetic arm made by their father.

Lewk - Vyrm and Grimm's first child, a very curious and kind pup who attends Dirtmouth's school and constantly looks for ways to help others. Unlike his siblings, he shares some physical traits with the Grimmchild form of Grimm's ritual cycle, which is how he got his wings.

Milo and Asta - twins, the newest addition to the family. Milo, technically the youngest member of the family, is weak and sickly compared to his twin sister, struggling to keep up with his peers, which makes him very grumpy. Asta is stronger than her brother, full of energy and mischief, though underneath all of that there is a very compassionate individual who is very protective of her little brother.

Zote - a self proclaimed knight of great renown, in reality a lonely young bug living in a world of delusions. He was rejected by his hometown and his family, and so he traveled until he reached Hallownest. After the end of the infection, he found himself “adopted” by Vyrm’s family, and is on a slow journey of becoming less arrogant and mean.

Ogrim - one of the great knights of the Pale King, the last one that remained in Hallownest, best friends with Vyrm and a close friend of the family. Found by Hornet following Vyrm's return from hibernation, and invited to live in Dirtmouth alongside them. Leaving his duty as the knight behind, he put away his armor in favor of more comfortable clothing. He eventually embraced his long forgotten hobby of cooking and opened a small diner in the town. Liked by everyone thanks to his contagious optimism and supportive attitude.

Brumm - Grimm's right-hand man and trusted friend. Runs the Troupe in Grimm's absence and assists him during the rituals, and in his spare time directs the Troupe's music crew. He is a quiet individual focused on his job. In the past he had one-sided feelings for Grimm, now years later his eyes are set on one of the Nailmaster brothers, Mato.

Divine - Grimm's closest friend, she and her team are responsible for the costumes in the Troupe, and later also clothes for the Dirtmouth community. Once a lady from a distant land, she was invited to the Troupe following a war that destroyed her home. She's chatty and glamorous, and loves advising Vyrm on romantic matters.

The White Lady - Vyrm's former life and once the Queen of Hallownest. Cold and emotionally distant, often comes off as self-absorbed. She was blind to Vyrm's needs during their time together, and ended up neglecting and hurting him. Before the marriage, she was the Lady of the Queen's Gardens Mansion, and this is where she resides following the end of the infection. Years spent in the cocoon made her reflect on her past behavior, and while her interactions with Vyrm these days are rare, she puts effort into being more thoughtful towards him and his family.

Mato - one of the Nailmaster brothers, he got attached to Ghost of Hallownest after briefly teaching them. Following the end of the infection, he traveled from the Howling Cliffs to Dirtmouth to find out what happened to them, and after discovering that the town was now full of life, he began visiting it more often.

Bretta - a young writer and a hopeless romantic, she used to be infatuated by Zote before finding out he was full of lies, though she ended up forgiving him. She writes short stories and poems under an alias, and shares Holly's interest in plush sewing. She has a crush on Hornet, and finds both her and Grimm to be very inspiring to write about.

Iselda - the owner of Dirtmouth's cartography shop, Cornifer's wife. She is a close friend of Vyrm after helping treat his wounds following the Grimmkin incident. After the end of the infection, she began joining her husband on his map marking adventures. She can be a little intimidating, at times she sounds perpetually annoyed, but she always proves to be very caring about others.

Cornifer - Iselda's husband, co-owns the cartography shop. Frequently travels around Hallownest, mapping each location thoroughly. He is good friends with Vyrm, whom he enjoys discussing the Hallownest architecture and geography with. He's extremely detail focused which sometimes makes him miss the bigger picture, though he more than makes up for it with his very approachable personality.

Elderbug - one of the older residents of the town and a respected figure. He's very pessimistic and grumpy, and is especially annoyed by public displays of affection, suggesting that something in his past might have made him sensitive to it. He can usually be found in the town centre or in his little garden.

Tiso - an arrogant troublemaker and Hornet's self-proclaimed rival. Lives in the City of Tears but frequently visits Dirtmouth to challenge her to fights. He planned to battle in the Colosseum but changed his mind last minute out of cowardice. He's extremely sensitive about this subject and reacts with anger anytime it's brought up.

Quirrel - a curious wanderer and once an apprentice to Monomon the Teacher, tasked with protecting her dreamer mask. Holding the mask halted his aging process, and after her death, he aged visibly. With no purpose left, he planted his nail by the Blue Lake, but continued his life of wandering and exploration until he reached Dirtmouth, where he would become a teacher to the town's youth. He's very patient and understanding, though he can be a little absent-minded, likely due to his age and his struggles with memory.

Lemm - owner of the relic shop in the City of Tears. Following the end of the infection and the city's consequent revival, he became a respected shop owner, which made him quite wealthy. After Vyrm's return, he quickly realized his true identity, and began pestering him about his past in hopes of learning more about the kingdom, until Grimm's threats stopped him. He's very abrasive and unpleasant, though his passion for history and the relics in his possession is remarkable.

Lurien - the last of the Dreamers, who managed to survive after Ghost of Hallownest chose to unite the void and become the Shade Lord before reaching his spire. He holds the position of the highest authority in the City of Tears, willing to do anything to bring it back to its former glory and reclaim all of its districts from the criminals that plague it since the end of the infection. He struck a deal with Grimm, thanks to which he is able to keep the criminal population in check.

[fraugwinska]

Since @chefskjssart's artwork that I commissioned was such a BANGER, I felt like I needed to do something to show my gratitude. So, I messaged her and gave her free choice over a little One-Shot I'd gift her. And that's how we ended up here :D Where are my little TV Sluts at? You can thank Chef - and I hope you all have fun ;>

NSFW - Explicit Sexual Content - Minors DNI - 5.7k words

"Gotta say, Val, the revenue of your movies really skyrocketed this quarter, fuck me."

Vox flipped through the quarterly reports, eyebrows raised and a grin on his face while Valentino, very pleased with himself, lounged on the chaise next to Vox's desk, smoking.

"I told you I've made a good investment." He grinned and blew out a puff of smoke. "All the horny bitches out there are eating my movies up."

"It's more than that, you're even making headway into other rings, holy shit! We've even got a foot in the Lust Ring market, which is almost impossible with that kind of competition..."

Valentino hummed approvingly.

"And the best part: I didn't have to do much." He added and let the tip of his cigarette rest against his lips, his grin widening. "My newest author is a kinky little genius."

Vox turned his attention to the papers again, his smile slowly turning into a frown as he scanned the declining sales in Voyeurscopes.

"What are you talking about? All of your authors write pretty much the same shit, what could be so special about-"

Valentino laughed and shook his head. "That one is - believe me, carino. Poor bitch has the mind of a succubus on crack but she can't get off."

Vox looked up, an eyebrow raised in skeptic questioning.

"Can't get off?"

"Can't feel anything. Can't cum for the life of her." He replied, leaning back and spreading his arms. "Numb like a fucking dead fish."

"Or maybe she just hasn't found a good dick." Vox mumbled, returning back to the reports, skimming over the numbers.

"Mh, you be the judge amorcito. Because I tried." Valentino growled, taking a drag from his cigarette. 

Now that got Vox's full attention. The TV demon stared at his partner for a few seconds of silence, then laughed maniacally, almost falling off his chair while Val rolled his eyes in annoyance.

"Fucking weird little thing, she is. She can write the craziest shit, the hornier the better. Writes like a damn porn beast, but has no clue what good sex actually feels like."

Vox heaved, wiping his screen as if in tears.

"Ohoho, Christ on a Cracker Val, maybe you've been out of the business too long… are you maybe losing that golden touch?"

Valentino sneered. "Ay, and you think you would've been able to get that bitch to cum? Be my guest, I'll gladly watch you fail."

Vox grinned at the moth, his eyes dangerously teasing. The reports were long forgotten - this was too entertaining, and Vox loved to be challenged, because he loved the feeling of superiority he felt when he succeeded. And that feeling would be so much more satisfying when he'd beat his long time partner and porn prince of pride at his own expertise.

"Wanna up the ante? Make a little wager out of it?"

Valentino scoffed, then chuckled deviously. He took another drag from his long cigarette, his cerise teeth glistening with red saliva as he began to drool in anticipation.

"You know I like to play, Voxxy. Especially if the odds are so much in my favor."

Another script done.

Your best one yet, if anyone asked you. But you knew no one asked ever, so why bother?

You stood up from your desk in your private office - being Val's favorite pen pet had it's perks afterall.

You skipped the stage of employment where you'd be cramped in one of these horrible cubicles together with the other overworked, caffeinated and tired writers, typing another outdated secretary-fuck-fest-plot while the other employees complained about their last bad lay and the shitty pay.

At least you didn't have to deal with any of that. Your room was quiet and peaceful, the door able to be locked shut and the walls soundproof. No distractions, no chit chat, no loud coworkers or malfunctioning printer noises. Just the humming sound of your computer, and the whirring of the A/C Val had granted you - a luxury that most of your colleagues bitched about behind your back.

You stretched, your tired bones popping into place and you sighed. You were done for the day. Finally.

With the deadline looming over you, you had been a bit late with the last part, and the thought of being late with your work made you sick. But Val pressed for another banger (pun intended) like your last one, 'Dante's Infern-Hoe' and you didn't want to risk the benefits you were offered so temptingly by being sloppy.

But the script for 'The Devil wears Nada' sat now, freshly printed, next to your laptop, the file saved locally and in the cloud, with about an hour to spare still. You smiled, content and relieved. An hour of paid slacking off was nice, and you checked with a glance that the electric door still was set on LOCKED before you flopped down at the two-seater by the window, grabbing the remote from the small side table and turned on the TV.

A familiar voice spoke through the speakers, and you relaxed into the pillows with a small sigh, eyes closed.

As shitty as the program in Hell was, one thing it had going for it was Vox. That smooth, hypnotizing voice of the overlord that held pride's media empire in his claws was a delight to your ears, and even the mindless, overplayed commercial jingles were pleasant enough if he was the one narrating them.

For the millionth time, it seemed, your hand wandered under the hem of your pants, fingers rubbing lazily at your cunt, as you listened to him talk, advertising the latest angelic protection device that didn't do what he promised it to do.

It was insanity at this point, doing something over and over again expecting a different outcome. Every night your fingers were cold and wet with your slick and your clit bloody and raw while you felt nothing of even your most violent and feverish touches, trying for minutes to hours to experience a sensation you wrote daily about without the satisfaction of any remarkable buildup or release.

It was no use, you knew it was a fruitless attempt, just like all the others. The most you got out of your endless tries was a slight tingle one time where you were so desperate you fucked yourself with an electric rod on its highest setting, resulting in a power outage in your apartment and a big fat fine from your landlord a few days later.

Still, you craved it. Craved to one day feel at least something. After the disappointing One-Night-cannot-Stand-the-thought-of-it with your boss, the literal porn mogul you were ready to just give up. If the face of pride’s sexdrive couldn’t get you over the edge, was there any chance at all?

Valentino had been the last in a long line of desperate attempts, paartners ranging from incubi, paid whores, porn actors to even sexbots made by Asmodeus, costing you a pretty penny just for the hassle of trying to get through the return hotline to get your money back, explaining No, you don’t know how it was possible that the cock of the ‘Fuckboy 3.0 XXL’ broke into pieces after one time usage. 

You chuckled humorlessly at the memory - It was truly a pathetic time in your eternal existence, filled with you masturbating alone in bed like a sad porn star, yearning to experience sex like you wrote about in your scripts. Maybe this was hells way to punish you for your sins, your personal plan of torture - To never experience the very thing that possessed you on the daily.

The television droned on in the background, Vox advertising his latest technological developments; new features on your phone that you really could not care less about. Despite his unusual appearance, Vox was one of your absolute go-to Stand-in's for your plot protagonists. Charming, suave, depraved when called for and a dominating, thorough lover that took what he wanted, but with so much skill that his partner would cum threefold before he'd even begin to think about finishing. Cocky and yet sensual. Aftercare included. All the things your colleagues were too dumb to include, no wonder their scripts were a bust.

Yes, it was hell and therefore tastes were more... depraved than in the living world, but that didn't mean the populus secret wishes for some sort of common sexual decency was out the window, goddamn.

Your mind wandered away from your depressive ruminations, your hand never stopping its circular pattern around your swollen clit as your thoughts started to wander to its usual place, the only way that came close to what you longed for and what was the source for all of your best-selling porn scripts. Your boundless realm of fantasy.

'Come out, come out, wherever you are...'

Vox is standing in your doorway, his silhouette prominent against the bright white neon light coming from the corridor of the empty floor. His suit, neatly fitted to every curve of his slender body, is showing just how thin his waist really is, but that does not come even remotely close to describe his broad shoulders and firm, wide chest, contrasting it deliciously. His navy blue skin reflects the harsh lighting in the hallway, his screen sharp and clear, digital eyes never leaving you as he closes the door behind him, dipping the room you're in in darkness, the only source of light his brightly illuminated screen where his digital, mismatched eyes are solely fixated on you, hiding behind the long backrest of your couch.

'Found you, babydoll.' he says with that god forsaken sultry voice of his as he reaches for your throat, long fingers wrapping themselves around your neck as your breath hitches and he pulls you up from your crouched position, his long tongue running over your collarbones, the wet trails feeling as cold on your skin as his appendage feels hot. 'Now remember what I said? Ready or not...'

He presses you into a wall, his big, hard erection rubbing teasingly through the layers of fabric on your already wet core as you whimper with want. '... here I cum.'

You moan his name, the imagined feeling so painfully surreal, and you wished once more that your working fingers would elicit some sort of real, bodily response.

A cough makes you freeze in your movements. Your fantasy shatters like a mirror shot with a bullet and your eyes fly open, expecting to see maybe a dumb segment of a rerun of 'Vox2Nite'. Instead, you see the actual, real TV demon overlord, standing live and in color just a few strides away with an expression that was a mixture of confusion, curiosity and slight annoyance.

"I'd ask if I am interrupting, but it seems you already had me on your mind, huh, doll?"

Realizing that you weren't - in fact - hallucinating, you immediately whipped your hand out from under your panties, sitting up, flustered like a child caught with their hands in the cookie jar. How did he get in? Did you forget to lock the door? No. Did he unlock it?! You must have missed his opening and closing of the door over the voice in your fantasy. The same voice that is now echoing in reality. Oh what a shameful ending for a perfectly good fantasy orgasm.

"Um... shit, sorry, Mr. Vox, sir. I was just, you know..." you scrambled, getting nervous under the actual gaze of him as he folded his arms, waiting for you to end that sentence with a pitiful smirk. Jesus Christ, those arms are slender and muscular…

"Thinking! Just thinking, making script... scenarios..."

"Uh-Huh. And how is that coming along?" He asked, seemingly unfazed by the display before him as he took a few steps towards you.

"Oh, uh, haha, I didn't really... finish..."

He stopped directly in front of you, shutting you up with a low chuckle and his hand around your wrist, the one attached to the hand that had been in between your folds just literal seconds ago, lifting them up to look at the still shimmering wet residue on your fingers with a sneer.

"Mhm. Yeah, I've heard you have some problems with that."

Now that was embarrassing as it was alarming, and you ripped your hand out of his grip. Or better, you tried to do so anyway. It was a pointless exercise, his hand had an iron-tight grasp around your wrist as he pulled you up with one swift motion, so fast you stumbled into him, face to chest, breath caught in your throat as you were made suddenly aware how huge he really was compared to you.

"W-wow, my kinda pathetic reputation precedes me it seems. That's..." just great is what you wanted to say, but all words failed you when he lifted the hand in his grasp to his face, his thick, long tongue slithering out of his mouth just to wrap itself around your digits, lapping up the sticky residue of your arousal, watching you as your pupils widen and you squirm in his grip, mortified and turned on at the same time.

"Eh. Not as pathetic as my business partner's failure to provide something he's built his reputation on, sweetheart. Unusually smart of him to get you under contract before you shout it from the rooftops." He hummed as he tasted you, sucking in the pads of your finger hungrily and without hesitation, and all you could think of, frozen stiff like a deer in headlights, was: What the fuck is happening?

"But Val never had the kind of mindset I have... I don't do failure... or better said: I always finish what I start." His low rasp vibrated in the air around him, echoing in your head, and the heat his voice had brought to your skin left your mind racing. You asked yourself panicking if you had written too many dumb porn plots or if he was really implicating what you thought he was implicating.

"So, whaddaya say, doll..." His breath tickled your cheek as he leaned in closer, pulling you flush against him, a soft grunt of content as his hard dick pressed into your soft belly, his mouth right next to your ear, one of his hands running teasingly down your sides as he licked your ear shell. "...care to see if I can end your unlucky streak?"

'Fuck, yeah.' You thought, and almost moaned out loud as you let your head fall back to make room for his waiting mouth, when suddenly you stopped in your tracks. His hands were already groping over you greedily, squeezing your ass, your thighs, your breasts as he looked down on you, surprised to see your conflicted face.

"W...Wait. What's in it... for you?"

"Mh, you're clever. That's a new one." Vox laughed, his hand running up to the side of your face to cup your cheek, his thumb rubbing small circles on the corner of your lip. "Me and Val made a little bet, you see, and well... Let's just say: I want this to work out just as much as you do, since my success depends on yours."

"Oh.." So Val was talking about you, that bastard. He had you sign an NDA when he hired you, given that you had been unwilling to make a soul contract with him, but you guessed that that had been naively one-sided. Asshole.

Vox stroked your bottom lip, parting them before you opened them slightly on your own accord, his dark blue tongue languidly tracing the edges, waiting for your decision, coaxing you to decide in his favor. And even though you were kind of pissed at Valentino for running around telling people about your... situation - you couldn't deny it was tempting, turning fantasy into reality. And what was another overlord trying to do the impossible? Worst case - he'd try and fail, just as all the others did before, like the stupid moth pimp. At least you'd have some leverage for maybe another good deal for your silence on it. And in the highly unlikely best case…

With your decision made, you flicked your own tongue against his, humming at the unfamiliar taste and the sizzling static electricity on your tongue. Vox grinned, his sharp teeth pressing onto your lips, nipping at the sensitive flesh and growling with approval when your lips parted.

"Ohoho, baby, this is gonna be fun."

Vox ran his claws through your hair, loosening your already messy bun until your hair fell free with his playful pulls as he explored your mouth, deepening the kiss with every lick, until he could push his whole tongue into your mouth, moaning and grabbing the back of your head tightly as you let him fill you without the slightest hint of protest, fighting a desperate losing battle for air.

"Fuck, don't you need to... breathe?" you whispered after he finally pulled back, a wet trail connecting his tongue to yours, grinning down on you while your lungs burned for oxygen.

"Perks of being state of the art, sweetheart." he watched your swollen, drool covered lips - parted to catch your breath - for a few seconds longer before he inquisitively tilted his head. "Did you feel any of that?"

You contemplated lying, but figured honesty would probably be the best in this situation, shaking your head and giving him your most pitiful attempt at an apologetic smile, already bracing yourself for him to give up or get mad. "My lips tingle a little."

"Mh." He huffed as he pushed you back into the two-seater, your back hitting the cushions with a soft thump, and unceremoniously pulled on your very not-sexy-at-all sweatpants and slightly-more-sexy-but-not-quite panties until they slipped over your legs.

"How about this then?" He pressed his knee in between your legs to nudge them apart. "Can you feel any of this?" He spread your already wet slit open to run a cold claw over your hole, softly dipping first one, then two and lastly three of his fingers inside to stretch you further open and push it back in, repeating the movement slowly while keeping his eye contact trained on your face.

You hummed non-commitally, closing your eyes and pressing yourself into the cushions, trying to feel for any sensation that should come with every slow drag of his digits pumping inside of you, and not finding any of it was so fucking frustrating. You felt like you were not only disappointing yourself, but him, as stupid as that sounded. But with every added finger and still a lack of response, you saw the progression of frustrations in his face that you knew all too well - eyebrows furrowed, irritated twitches of the corners of his lips that turned into a snarl with the third added digit. You frowned, sighing and bit your lip - nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing, and fucking nothing again, just another wet hole, the clenching of your walls a habit and reflex only, no pleasure whatsoever.

"It's no fucking use..." you whined, pressing your hands to your face in frustration and fear of looking back into his eyes, "I can't feel anything at a-aaAAH...!"

Your back arched at this strange jolt running down your spine, forcing you to grind down on his hand as a strong electric current buzzed from his claw tips right through your cunt, curling in your stomach in a hot wave of wanton need and knocking the wind out of you. Your eyes flew open just in time to see the flash of victorious satisfaction on his screen before his face turned fuzzy as you began to tear up.

"There's some reaction. There we go, sweetheart." He cooed and curled his fingers in that deliciously sinful way again, making your breath catch in your throat. For the first time since you can remember, you FELT. You dropped your hands from your flushed, hot face onto the plush of the couch, fingers desperately digging into the fabric, and stared at Vox with wide eyes. He winked, nudging his head to his buried fingers, and with a shattering gasp you could see neon blue bolts of electric sparks traveling down his slender arm, crackling around the soft flesh inside of your pussy that had never felt so sensitive.

"How are y-aaaa.... aaa-AAah...." he silenced any questions you might have had or possible retort with another shock wave traveling through his hand as he dragged his fingers in and out in an agonizingly slow pace, it had your ears ringing with white noise and your eyes water with unknown, strange pleasure.

You were shaking, and though it should have frightened you a lot more than it did to be electrocuted while doing something that could be considered borderline treason to Valentino (And it still had your cunt dripping on a whim), but there was nothing left for you to think of other than the sharp shocks making every nerve inside of you buzz, your thighs already trembling in anticipation of the possibility of an unknown, but oh-so-wanted climax. Yet it was somehow still out of your reach, out of your range of senses.

"I feel like we are getting closer, babydoll." The TV demon chuckled darkly, his voice over amplified, the electrical buzz reverberating loudly in the soundless room. "How 'bout we kick it up a notch, huh?"

He pulled out his fingers in a quick, cruel movement, making your pussy clench around nothing as you already mourned the feeling. Before you had the time to voice your loss however, he had your thighs already in his hands, pushing them back to almost fold you in half and spread them apart as wide as he could get them without hurting you. With a smirk he stuck out his tongue, inhumanely long, thick on its base and pointed at the end - and let his electric energy visibly spark around it. Holy Shit.

The moment his head dipped down and his appendage swiped through your puffed, red folds, you could feel your insides buzz in sync to his delighted moan. He began eating you out feverously and obscenely, not holding anything back, just like you wrote your most popular protagonists to do - NO, this was so much better than anything you've ever written or fantasized about, his tongue twisting in patterns that felt like nothing you've ever even came close to imagine before. It was like he powered your whole nervous system, overriding every strand of nerve with his own electricity, amplifying any touch, any lick and any suction that would normally not even register a thousand-fold.

"O-Oh my g... F-fffuuuuhhh-ck.. meeee..." you moaned in confusion and amazement, your legs shaking helplessly on either side of Vox's rectangle head as he fucked his tongue into you, switching between the deep, long, thorough thrusts and fast, small, teasing flicks into the wet heat of your cunt, coating his screen in a shining mix of your natural juices and his blue neon saliva. He sucked at the protruding of your swollen bundle of nerves, your sensitive clit twitching under his attention - it was maddeningly unreal. You felt like a complete, utter sham - if this was sex, you've never written it anywhere correctly.

"I'm working on that, sweetheart."

Vox smirked against your pulsing core, humming with satisfaction at your wet, gaping slit begging for him to push back in and fill you up again, making you ache for his tongue deeper and deeper, forcing every shred of sense you had to leave your mind as you bucked into his grip in desperation, chasing another intense jolt he held just out of your reach as he laughed deviously at your hungry reaction to his teasing antics.

You didn't care how pathetic you looked, how undignified or desperate you sounded. This was nothing short of fucking fantastic, this all new, unknown sensation that you deemed impossible to ever experience and an real, tangible orgasm so close you could almost grab it. You felt a violent greed, you needed more of this, more more more, you needed to cum and you knew exactly that only Vox was able to do it - but you needed him inside of you, pushing you into oversensitivity, no matter what was required to get you over the edge. Fuck all dignity, that ship had sailed the moment your back hit the couch.

You shook your head vigorously, choking down sobs of grateful pleasure that racked your body with every curl of his tongue inside of you and a guttural moan, high pitched and broken.

"P-Please... ah, Pl..please..." you panted and Vox felt for your thighs to hold you steady. His claws sank in with such force into the soft meat of your legs he drew blood. "F... Fu..Fuck me.. please." you stammered and he smirked, a look of pure joy in his digital eyes as he stared you down.

"Oh, I will, baby." He smiled against your core, curling the tip of his tongue around your clit with just the right amount of pressure that your entire vision went blank with a broken cry and the strongest wave of static he'd managed to work you up to so far. "Don't worry about that, I'm not nearly done with you."

He fucked his long, slippery tongue back into your quivering pussy, his thumb taking the place on the sensitive bundle of nerves where his pointy tip had been and you cried out again as he found that one spot you've always read (and written) about. You had questioned it's actual existence, believing it to be one of those wishful myths girls dreamt and you by proxy wrote about - Until Vox and his fucking talented mouth and miraculous tongue brushed right up against it with expert accuracy. It made your eyes roll to the back of your skull, mouth open to cry out as your back arched like a bow string.

"Yeah, there? F-Fuuuck..." The overlord growled, watching your blissful face twist with a new kind of overwhelming pleasure. "You gonna cum for me baby? Come on, let go, good girl..."

You knew the reader-pleasing phrase by heart. You used it a hundred times and fantasized about it even more - It shouldn't have that effect on you, but yet it was that comment of his, spoken in a raspy low rumble directly into your cunt that finally pushed you over the edge, leaving you panting helplessly and cumming.

Hard. Harder than you've ever dreamed about. Every nerve ending on overdrive, every hair standing on edge - it felt like getting struck by lightning, the static electricity sizzling through your blood vessels like a thunderstorm as he was still thrusting that goddamn magic tongue into your spasming hole through the clamping of your muscles, taking you through it with small, measured licks to keep you on the edge a little longer, whines and hiccups mixed with breathless laughs leaving your raw throat as you slowly returned to reality.

This was it, what you've always longed for, you realized after your vision came back to you, staring down at the smug looking TV demon who was still settled between your legs, his glowing screen painted with the remains of your climax. You managed to give him an exhausted smile, blowing a stray strand of wild hair from your face with a quick puff before dropping your head back in the pillow, absolutely spent. Vox pressed a toothy kiss on your thigh and pushed himself back to his feet.

"You've got quite the gushy orgasm, doll, damn..." he wiped a thick blotch of your arousal from the corner of his screen, the neon blue stained fingertip disappearing in his mouth as he hummed appreciatively and licked it away. Then he looked over you, slumped lazily on the sofa, your face flushed, your hair all tangled and the exposed pieces of skin covered with a shiny layer of sweat.

"Shit, sweetheart, you look goddamn good when you're all messed up like that..." He eyed you intently and leaned down, his heavy frame caging you in underneath him, one hand trailing a line from your still heaving chest, between your breasts and up to your throat.

"T-That was.. wow. Just... wow." Clearly illiterate and 50 IQ-points dumber post-orgasm, you cleared your throat, trying to compose yourself. While you were a little disappointed that you still hadn't really fucked, he did what he promised to do. Got you off - and how. You were grateful.

Sad that it was over, maybe even sadder that the chances of a repetition were likely zero - Vox was a goddamn overlord, and who were you other than a nobody with a hard-to-please cunt?- but grateful nonetheless. And you felt the need to let him know that.

"I don't know how to than... w-what are you doing?"

You sat yourself up on the elbows with a dumbfounded expression as Vox began to undress himself, his jacket, bow tie and undershirt discarded within seconds onto the ground and he practically pounced you as he began to undo the belt of his slacks, trapping you in between his legs and under the very prominent hard-on he sported.

"What, you really thought that was it? Make you cum once, win my bet and ding-dong-ditch like a fucking amateur?" Vox laughed as he pulled his massive length out of his pants - Words were your bread and butter but they would ever fail you to describe the gloriousness that was his cock.

Almost as thick as your underarm, smooth and almost shiny, glowing with built-in LED lights along the underside of his shaft and practically weeping with precum. He knelt down on the sofa, taking your hand to run it over its full length, smearing the sticky residue along your fingers, his almost bioluminescent cum dripping thick and slowly from the angry swollen tip. "Fuck no, sweetheart. In case you forgot, let me remind you..."

He leaned down to your ear, a violent electric bold jolting from his cock through your hand right into your overwhelmed, disbelieving brain as he guided you to line him up with your still throbbing entrance.

"I always finish what I start."

Vox had never been in a better mood.

His phone - finally surviving for more than just a few days, since his win against Valentino prevented the moth pimp from smashing it, even in one of his many temper tantrums - buzzed again. A notification of another upload into the cloud. He smirked when he saw the name of the user.

The whole conversation after he fucked Val's writing savant into Limbo and back had been a fucking blast for Vox - he reveled in the morbid joy of cashing in his stake while teasing Val that he'd have to wait another eternity for the chance to make Vox star in a double length porn with him - a fantasy of the moth Vox has been always against. Not to mention that Vox had accomplished what Valentino with all his 'mighty dicks and porn mastery'-aura couldn't. Which (rightfully) sent him into his biggest hissy fit yet, so enraged that, in lieu of Vox's phone to throw against the wall, he threw his newest Robo-Assistant Kitty out the window.

Although Vox had been certain he wouldn't lose the little bet against his partner, he still felt a little relief that his ass wasn't on the next new load of crappy porn DVDs. Granted, that would've surely caused sales to skyrocket - but with his revived and improved little star author that was more than just unnecessary.

Val's fears that a good dicking with a Happy End would sort of break the little writers 'Sex-Spell' and her scripts turn into shite like the rest of Val's useless crew produced proved to be the exact opposite. Ever since Vox made her cum - on his fingers, mouth and cock for multiple times that fateful night - her scripts improved even more, resulting in stellar sales reports, a major spike in cashflow and a personal inquiry letter for a meeting from Asmodeus himself (which Vox contemplated to frame and hang over his fucking bed like a medal of honor).

And since Valentino, in his hurt pride and childish, stubborn pettiness refused to speak or fuck with him, Vox had no qualms of paying his little writer a few more visits. Every time he found impish joy in finding new ways to make her cum, and after one shag-date where he actually stayed long enough for an after-sex-cigarette and some smalltalk, he discovered that she wasn't just a kinky, but also an interesting bitch with great taste in whiskey and a crude sense of humor that was just up his alley.

"I'm curious doll." Vox said as he took another drag from the cigarette before he handed her the bud, throwing his arm around her shoulders and pulling her onto his bare chest as he lounged on the new, bigger sofa he got for her office (more space and much more versatility) "What the fuck did you do to end up in hell? You don't seem like the ax-murder type."

She chuckled mischievously. "I was a pretty popular crime author back upstairs. I hit a pretty bad writer's block, and decided to get in some field work to inspire me for more creative ways of murder. No axes, but I did have a fable for knives." She grinned, inhaling the thick smoke as he laughed and the way her tits pressed into his skin had him almost hard again. "You know what's the most ironic part?" She asked, putting the bud out in the ashtray on her side table and glanced back over her naked shoulder to him, a devious glint in her eyes. "I got the electric chair for that." That woke his cock fully up again, and he couldn't help but take her for another round.

His assistant babbled something about his schedule, but Vox didn't listen. Instead, he planned on visiting her office again, maybe he'd even stay after and order sushi for two, who knew? The media Overlord smiled smugly as he opened the database and looked over the newest script you had uploaded to the cloud. It was when he read the title that he burst into ringing laughter.

'Electrocutie - One Big Cock Shock'

[bethanythebogwitch]

Wet Beast Wednesday: abalone

This is a Wet Beast Wednesday post, but it would also be applicable for Mollusk Monday and maybe even Flat Fuck Friday. Today I'll be introducing you to the abalone. The squat snails have some strange features that set them apart from their fellows in the shell squad. Unfortunately, over harvesting of abalone for their meat and shells have put many abalone species in danger.

(Image: an abalone attached to a rock. It is a snail with a large, broad, and flat brown shell. A muscular foot attaches the animal to the rock. Around the body is a membrane covered in tentacles that reach out around the body. End ID)

Abalone are marine snails of the genus Haliotis (not to be confused with halitosis) that can range in shell diameter from 20 mm (0.8 in) to 300 mm (12 in). The number of species is a matter of some debate. There's a lot of variation in morphology within species which led to many species being incorrectly classified as multiple species. The most accepted number appears to be 56 species and 18 subspecies. Abalone shells are highly flattened and the spiral can be hard to see, making them look like large limpets. They have no operculum and cannot withdraw into their shells like other snails can. Instead, when threatened they suction as hard as possible to an object. The shells have holes in them on one side which are used for respiration, waste disposal, and release of gametes. As abalone grow, the number of holes will change with some being filled in and new ones forming. The interior of the shell is covered in nacre. This substance, also called mother-of-pearl is valuable for its polished, iridescent appearance. Abalone use the nacre to make claw-shaped pearls. The shell is composed of microscopic bricks of calcium carbonate glued together by a protein structure. When pressure is applied to the structure, the bricks slide against each other and the protein glue stretches. This helps absorb the energy of blows and makes the shells very resistant to cracking. The shell structure of abalone has been studied to make sturdier body armor and ceramics.

(Image: an empty and polished abalone shell, seen from below. The shell is lined with shiny and iridescent nacre. The nacre color varies with species, but in this case is blue-green. A line of holes are on one side of the shell. End ID)

The majority of the shell's interior is filled with the muscular foot, which the abalone uses for locomotion. The foot is attached to the shell in the center. Around the edge of the foot is a structure called the epipodium. This is a frilled membrane lined with sensory tentacles. When an abalone is relaxed, it will extend the tentacles to examine its surrounding. When threatened, the tentacles retract for safety. Along the edge of the shell is the mantle, which produced the material for the shell. Abalone will grow larger throughout their lives, with the mantle continuously making new shell. At the front is the head, which has sensory tentacles and a mouth that contains a pair of oral tentacles use for finding food and the radula. The radula is a tongue-like structure lines with sharp teeth. The teeth scrape algae off of rocks and into the mouth. The teeth are arranged in rows that move forward like a conveyor belt, allowing worn out teeth to fall out and be replaced by fresh ones. The head is near the newest-formed hole and the anus is next to the rearmost hole.

(Image: an abalone seen from below, with the foor removed and anatomy labeled. The organs circle around a central muscle that the foot attaches to. A small head is in the front while the epipodium rings the body. Source. End ID)

(Image: an abalone's radula, removed and next to a pencil for scale. It is a long, thin structure lined with rows of tiny teeth. The front end is stained brown with algae. End ID)

Abalone live on coasts worldwide, with the exception of the North American Atlantic coast, South American Pacific Coast, and the poles. Most species live in cold water, but tropical species are known. They spend their times feeding on algae. Abalone shells are usually covered with life, including algae and sessile animals like tunicates, sponges, and tube worms. The hitchhikers combined with the upper shell's dull appearances serves as effective camouflage. During mating season, males and females release gametes into the water. The number of eggs a female can produce increases with size and can be up to 11 million per season. The larvae start out in a swimming form before metamorphosing into non-swimming juveniles called spat. Abalone reach sexual maturity young and at a small size.

(Iamge: dozens of abalone spat in a tank. They are miniature versions of the adults, but have nacre on the outside of the shell as well, giving them a shiny turquoise color. End ID)

Abalone have been hunted by huamns for millennia, with the oldest evidence of use being a 100,000 year old "workshop" found in Blombos Cave, South Africa, where abalone shells were used as storage for ochre mixtures. Throughout their native ranges, abalone have been harvested for their meat, nacre, and pearls. The shells are often used for jewelry, as decorative inlay, and, in some cultures, as currency. The foot is edible and considered a delicacy in some cultures and a staple in others. The value of abalone has led to worldwide overfishing, resulting in many species being endangered. Captive farming has become a major industry in many places to meet the abalone demands. Farming began in China and Japan in the 1950s and 60s and the majority of abalone farms are still in east Asia. Because of overfishing, the majority of the world's abalone supply now comes from farms. Sport fishing is legal in many parts of the world, with 25% of the wild harvest coming from Tasmania. Many places require permits and have catch limits, but poaching remains a major industry. Collection of abalone is usually done with a blunt scoop called an abalone iron that can pop the animal off of rocks. It has to be blunt because abalone blood does not clot and any cut will lead to the animal bleeding to death. Overharvesting and increasing ocean acidification are the largest threats to abalone. Places where abalone are reintroduced to the wild have seen increased biodiversity and environmental health.

(Image: a carving made by the Haida people of British Columbia, Canada. It reselbles a face with a tall hat or head with a small body carved on it. Abalone shells are used for inlay,, cut into rectangles with the nacre facing out. End ID)

[pinechild]

I was watching Hazbin Hotel and I saw Alastor's design and I thought I've never seen a yandere story about a deer monster... So could you do that, please?

I’ve never watched Hazbin Hotel, but I do like what you’re thinking, anon. I’m rusty when it comes to writing full blown fics so go easy on me chat 🫡

Antlered, Stalking

◇ Gn! Reader

◇ Summary: You get lost in the woods after a heavy downpour washes away all of your markers to get back to your car, leaving you open for a yandere deer beast to ensnare you in his grasp. He thinks he’ll keep you - his newest mate.

◇ Warnings: horror themes, yandere themes, stalking (obvi), non consensual licking + touching, mentions of dead animals, entrapment, slightly suggestive, bugs (?)

Torrential rainfall would be perfect for you, especially in this time of year, under different circumstances. But now—as your hair sticks to your face, cold and damp, your heart clamored in your ears; It was anything but.

Fear injects itself into your gut—its frigid and decaying fingers piercing right through your stomach and making its presence known to your bloodstream as it spreads its digits. The makeshift chalk markers you made on multiple trees instantly washed away once the storm rolled in, leaving stupid little you, lost.

It’s almost as if you were frozen in time, not hearing the rain harshly slapping against the leaves, or the sound of your own breath leaving your lungs—not even the sound of wet underbrush being squished somewhere off in the distance. Anxiety has your mind clouded in a thick miasma, riddling itself with possible solutions to try to get you back to where you came from and into the safety of your beat up car, survival fully switching on in your brain and making your thoughts race.

In retrospect, you knew this wasn’t a good idea from the start, but human as you are, your own arrogance was your hubris—believing that since it’s never happened to you before, it’ll most likely not happen to you now. As if the stars were smiling upon you and bestowing upon you fortune for seemingly being on good behavior as of late.

Oh how you wish you could slap the fuck out of your past self right now and got proper markers.

Cell service was pretty much moot as an option—you knew that, even the most beginner of hikers (those with half a brain, anyway) knew this fact. The forest in this area was just so thick that it would be mere impossible for any radio waves to pass through. So, the next best thing is—

Your body in an instant—and almost unconsciously— fiddle inside your pockets, methodically searching for something like a well oiled machine before you hunch over, letting the rain drum against your back and bead off of your jacket in attempt to not let a single drop soak the inside your bag. The only sounds you can soak in are the rustling of cloth, zippers closing shut, and the rain that continues to beat on your back until your fingertips finally bump into the item you’re looking for: your compass.

You cant help but a little flicker of hope spark inside you as you pull it out.

With a slight tremble of your fingers, you lift up the compass, breath bating as the needles slightly jerk from its magnetic pull. The slight anticipation gnawing at your chest.

However what you don’t expect is for the needles to instantly spin precariously at a rapid pace, as if it was a dog chasing its own tail, going round and round and round. In your eyes (in the most irrational of case), It’s almost like it’s taunting your situation, and fears gnarled fingernails scrape against your gut, tugging it down as you spend more than one second thinking about it.

What the fuck? Is this thing broken? How?? Didn’t this work before?

Hot, acidic bile stings at the back of your throat, your mind screaming at you to move amongst the sea of questions ruminating.

Biologically, the human brain tends to react in a sequence of events when danger is present in its environment: Fight, flight, freeze, and fawn. And your brain, in this case, instantly makes your legs move—uprooting your feet from the muddy earth. Flight it is.

You know partly how you came to this spot in to where you were now, so in a snap decision you decide to retrace your steps to the best of your abilities—better than staying in one place with a broken fucking compass. And god forbid it gets dark, you don’t think you could follow the stars with all this cloud coverage in the first place (not like you could anyways but it that was neither here nor there)—

Along with the nonstop pour, mud squelches and plops under your shoes, the cold starting to nip at your fingertips. The only thing right now your mind can focus on is just getting out of here—your eyes scanning for any wildlife as you move through the dense forest floor, trying your best to avoid rocks or uneven earth. But, the more you try to retrace your steps….the more you feel an uneasiness prickle at the nape of your neck; hairs and goosepimples uncomfortably standing on end.

…

Are you being followed?

No, that’s not possible. You were the only person here from the last two hours—matter of fact, you didn’t even see any wildlife skittering about during that time either, and that strikes you as odd. Rain or not, there was bound to be a couple chipmunks scampering in the undergrowth.

A dreadful feeling swirls inside you at that thought, blooming inside you along with your throat getting uncomfortably dry—something’s wrong here.

It’s then you hear a cry in the distance, echoing even through the thickest of bramble—an eerie, grating sound, one that mimics decrepit metal doors opening on rusted hinges. It’s a familiar sound, but foreign at the same time. What is it? Why does it itch at your brain so much?

Until it hits you: It’s an elk.

That chilling sound like it belongs in a horror movie, scraping at your ears like nails on a chalkboard every time you heard it. You recognize it now.

It’s odd though, you don’t remember any elk living in this forest before, but, maybe you were just lucky to have never heard its cry during mating season. Who knows. But, right now you can’t think about that right now—you need to move. An elks bugle shouldn’t shake you up this much as it did. You have to go. Now.

You continue your trek, trudging your legs along as your lungs shake with each exhale. That unnerving feeling of being watched sticks in the back of your mind, making you pick up the pace. You try to ignore the elk’s bugling getting louder and louder with each step. Even still, the sound unsettles you. Maybe, in the best case scenario, it was just your paranoia getting to you, playing tricks on you to think you’re in more danger than you already are—at least that’s what your anxiety riddled brain likes to think.

But the more you thoughts stew on it, the weirder it gets: You know you remember there’s no elk in this forest—you remember the first time you hiked here and the guide saying something about watching out for bears and the occasional wolf—but never about elk. Not that they were dangerous to humans anyways but still—they were never mentioned among the list of what you would see on the trails, that you remember.

And not hearing multiple elk during mating season is strange in itself, how come was there only one? Not to mention you’ve never even seen any on your hikes—ever. And to see there’s no other wildlife besides the elk? The compass spinning in all directions? The sickening feeling of being watched, possibly stalked?

It’s weird. It’s weird and it’s not just your imagination.

Something is deeply, deeply wrong here.

Bone scrapes against wood, and on instinct, you run into a full sprint.

Ignoring how the mud splotches onto your clothes, your throat clamps shut as adrenaline surges your veins heart thundering in your ears obstreperously, rattling your eardrums and breaking your skin into a cold sweat.

In the most logical minds, one would know that it was just the elk rubbing its antlers on a tree as its mating habits, that it’s nothing to worry about—but you knew it wasn’t the truth. The sound of anything other than the rain and your bones creaking under your skin wasn’t natural. It didn’t belong here.

And what’s even worse is the thrashing of underbrush quickly catching up behind you. Your vision almost becomes dizzy with how much adrenaline is pumped into your bloodstream and panic settling in to the marrow of your bones. The haunting, metallic bugle of the elk dwarfs your heartbeat, looming over you. The acid of the bile pools in your mouth, stinging at your tongue and almost making you wretch. You gotta hide! Need to—

Your chest harshly lands on the waterlogged ground, effectively knocking the wind out of you as mud cakes your face and chest. Unnaturally large hands wrap around your waist and that creaky, hollowed bugle rings right beside your ear. Choking on your breath, you dare to crane your neck to look over your shoulder, body trembling as you cough and wheeze your way to breathe again. The sight alone makes eyes go wide at the first glimpse on what towers above you.

What you see, is no ordinary elk, but a monster. One with antlers strong and pointed, reaching towards the heavens and branching out to the point where the two antlers almost touch—like tangled and twisted tree roots. Its head an elk skull, underneath the empty sockets lie human eyes, peering at you. You even dare say, undressing you.

Its upper body is like that of a human, save for the talon like nails that anchor your body down to the ground. As your eyes move down, however, you see the dirt caked fleshy skin transition into fur—one traditionally like an elk followed by hind legs and cloven hooves, chipped and worn with age. Natures twisted amalgamation of animal and human; a bastard of the unnatural.

It bugles again, softly this time, crooning. Almost as if asking if you like what you see.

And you want to fucking throw up at the implication.

The urge to scream and thrash away from its grip dies before it even begins like a snuffed out flame. An invisible force freezing your vocal cords, holding them captive as the creature leans closer, hinging its maw open to reveal a sleek, black tongue—licking you. Your muscles writhe beneath your skin.

“Mine.” Its voice is a rumble of thunder, rippling throughout your fragile bones as it—he—speaks. It’s a voice worn and booming; one that hasn’t been used in ages—at least that’s what you assume. Plumes of his breath appear in a smoke like cloud against the biting chill of the rain, tongue retracting back once its had his fill of licking all the salt and sweat from your cheeks.

Lifting your frozen body with a relative ease, he tucks you to his side, cradling your body in his hand as if he was holding a parcel.

In this moment, you can’t think. Everything’s happening so fast that your mind can’t even keep up, mentally grasping at straws at the how’s, when’s and why’s of it all. It’s like your mind is on a chairoplane—holding you just by the head as it spins at a nauseatingly rapid pace while you ragdoll through the air.

When the wind and rain whips at your face as he starts to move, do you notice how he weaves through the forest at a breakneck, inhuman speed. It dawns on you there was no chance of getting out of here to begin with.

The world, or rather, the reality you thought you knew, utterly shatters. Monsters are real—and you’re being kept by one, dangling in its grasp as it figures out what to do with you next.

Tears never seem to come from your glassy eyes, but you could feel them chewing at your optic nerve—a burning, sizzling tingle, something akin to a sparkler you used to play with as a kid on muggy summer nights.

Thinking about it, you’ll never be able to play with them again—or drive your car, or even complain to your friends about work. You never even got to tell your mom you love her after your fight.

You’ll never be able to do that again, you'll never able to do anything again, not while you’re in this beasts grasp. And the realization of that, makes the cavity in your chest clatter in a silent, violent scream. If your lips could move, you’re sure your throat would be rubbed raw by now, vocal chords utterly fried.

Too lost in your own despair, you don’t notice that the creature stopped running until you hear a light chuff above you. Raising your head at the noise, you see the mouth of a cave—a warm, amber flame casting ambient light along the jagged edges of the rocks. A deceptive illusion of comfort beckoning you in.

When getting closer, you see a string of dead rabbits formed into an almost perfect circle near the foot of the entrance, just mere feet away from the kindling fire. A gift? An offering of some sort? Well, you don’t care either way, it’s not like you’re going to take it.

The monster sets you down, whispering a soft hum in some sort of satisfaction, probably because of its successful attempt at catching you. His eyes, dark and lifeless, resembling the bottomless void, follows the way the flames mold to the planes and soft curves your face, drinking in every pore and detail of you.

You try not to focus on him or the stench of the rabbit corpses assaulting your nose, all you can do now to keep your sanity is to just stare into fire.

You hear shuffling, fur chafing on stone as he gets closer, jaw chittering as his tongue slides along your neck. It's oddly warm without the rain nulling your sense of touch, but it does nothing to help from the familiar taste of bile from swelling in your throat.

“Mate. Mine.” His large hands resting onto your stomach, fingers creeping under the layers of clothing to get a mere touch of your naked flesh. Feeling him touch you like this feels like bugs are wriggling underneath your skin, wiggling and writhing in disgust. You want to pluck them out, get rid of this nastiness tainting your body and scrub at your skin until you're red and bleeding.

A gargled sense of a moan creaks out of this throat.

“Love. Breed.”

Your stomach drops to your ass, knowing your fate was already sealed with just those two words.

On its own, your body shakes as he purrs, bone snout nuzzling into your hair. The nauseating reality of you never being found again or even being able to see the outside world weighs on your tongue like stones. It makes you sick—want to scream, curl up into a ball and wither away, letting the cave centipedes eat at you down to the bone.

And it’s all because of those fucking markers.

[coralinnii]

❋ If you’re a villain, then let me be your accomplice ❋

↳Reincarnated into a new world as the bad guy part 2

feat: Rook

genre: drama, slow burn romance, smitten fools,

note: sequel to reincarnated into a new world as the bad guy Rook ver., historical fantasy setting, sculptor!reader, reader is referred to as “Ma artiste” and “Mon amour” by Rook, no pronouns used with the reader, mentions of beast hunting, 1.8k word count

While it refers to fictional beasts, this touches the controversial topic on hunting which can be sensitive to people. I’m not trying to claim that my own opinions or the opinions in this fic are right and you can have a stance against these opinions. Despite the controversy, I still decided to add this into the story because this world is supposed to mirror the era when this was practiced by people of the time and with Rook as a canonical huntsman, this fits the story well.

I choose to be transparent that this topic will be in this fic and if you are uncomfortable, you are free to ignore this story because I would rather you decide your comfort levels than have people read my story.

Random note: when my laptop died, all my banners are gone so yea…I changed my character banners again

series masterlist

To your dismay, you found yourself facing the consequences for the actions of an obsessive character that convinced the famous knight Rook Hunt to be your fiancé.

Begging the Hunt family, you managed to settle a deal to repay the dowry the Hunt family paid to annul the engagement, since losing this engagement would cost their side more than yours.

Thankfully, the era of this world was the rising age of artistic revolution and the aristocracy was itching to find the newest trend of beauty and creative innovation, which you enthusiastically took as an opportunity to build your name in the field of art as a sculptor, starting off with simple desk ornaments to breathtaking statues.

Perhaps it was your silver lining that your still fiance Rook was a well-known admirer of all things beautiful as with his keen eyes, your sculptures stood out among others due to the added details of your subjects that your fiance pointed out as you work. You were confident in your skills but you owe it to Rook for enhancing the realism in your sculptures.

Initially, guilt ate away at your conscience for not only the forceful engagement you placed upon the knight (even if you weren’t directly responsible) but for also taking his help with your commissions without any benefits to himself. But the green-eyed man did not ever allow you to dwell in such thoughts.

“Non, ma artiste! Your works of art are the fruits of your passion and hard work that cannot be replicated. I may have given some notes here and there but the beauty of each masterpiece you created can only be brought out from your skillful hands.”

Rook smiled as he held your hands, still dirtied with bits of dried clay. The gaze of his bright green makes you feel somewhat self-conscious. You were a noble but you must have ruined the softness of your skin due to your long hours of work and stress. You tried to pull your hands back in embarrassment but your fiance held them firmly in his own gloved pair.

“Every scar, blemish, and crack is a show of your strength, mon amour. I could get lost tracing the lovely lines of your hands if you allow me.”

No matter how many others have praised you or your work, you couldn’t help the unique warmth in your heart that only appears when Rook sings them. But you chalk it up to your body reacting from old feelings held by the original character. It must be, right?

Your commissions have thankfully slowed down enough to give you a well needed break. You were curious to what might taking up the attention of the nobility right now which was how you learned about the bi-annual “Hunt of the Beasts” event.

You were initially terrified to learn the existence of magical beasts in this world and the danger that resides in the dense forests and mountainous lands that borders the kingdom. In order to maintain the beast population for the safety of the people and resources, the imperial family hosts an extravagant event for the knights and local mercenaries in the kingdom to vanquish the beasts. Some may call it barbaric or cruel, but for the safety of the villages and farms that reside near these beasts’ territories, it was an unfortunate necessity that is at least maintained by the imperial family to avoid excessive hunting that disrupts the delicate balance of the population.

Rook was a frequent participant of the hunt and of course he was going to be a participant. Typically, partners of the participants would attend the event as spectators waiting by the designated zones among other visitors. However, you were too new to this world and this will be the first hunt for you where you will surely come across images you weren’t sure you were prepared for.

Giant beasts…even thinking of their corpses. It’s too overwhelming.

You expressed your discomfort with Rook and despite his experience as a seasoned participant, offered words of understanding to you. The knight suggested that you could sit out from the event and he could explain to any curious busybody that you were not feeling well.

Once again, Rook warmed your heart with his words but there was some guilt still left behind within you. Despite the loveless engagement, Rook has wholeheartedly supported you in your passion and your work despite his own inexperience in the field, but you couldn’t bring yourself to accept something that he as a knight and huntsman took pride in. You allowed your fear win over and it left a bitter feeling in your heart.

The day has finally arrived and the dense forest that bordered the kingdom was busy with attendees of all status. Many have come to join to spectate and support the brave men and women who have trained to battle the dangerous beasts that lurk within the land that was darkened by wild greenery. Aides from the imperial palace watched over the event as participants were informed of the rules of the hunts; what to expect, what to capture, and what to avoid lest they choose to face punishment.

Rook surveyed his surroundings as he finished his last preparations. He saw both familiar faces and newcomers that hope to make a name for themselves today. Tents were filled with important families and even visiting guests from nearby lands either to observe or participate themselves. But he doesn’t see a glimpse of your figure.

Not that he expected it. He respected your choice not to attend the event. It could be that he has become too desensitized by the presence of beasts and monsters due to his work that he has forgotten how frightening it could be for a civilian to witness them in person.

Maybe during his hunt, he could find some wild flowers to bring back to you when he visits you later. Would you feel better if he did? You had such a conflicted expression on your face last he saw you so maybe a bouquet of rare flowers could brighten your mood, even bring you some inspiration for your art. Would you feel grateful, perhaps even smile for him as you call his name in appreciation…

“Rook.”

Ah, he could even hear you right now.

“Rook?”

A rare occurance, Rook was actually spooked to suddenly feel your presence behind him. The blonde knight did not sense you standing there, with him…at the Hunt of the Beasts.

“Mon amour, you surprised me!” His green eyes almost couldn’t believe it. “I thought you’d chose not to attend this year.”

To be fair, you’re surprised yourself. The whole idea of this event still feels unreal to you and your fear of witnessing something you’re not mentally ready for is still there. Even so…

“I want to support you, like you always have with me” you whispered shyly but Rook could clearly hear your voice at this distance. He then saw in your hands a small woven charm bracelet, a common blessing given to participants like him.

During the Hunt of the Beasts, traditions came about among the participants and non-participants. Those who participated in the hunt would offer their game as an offering to their lover as a show of devotion and strength to protect them from harm. In addition, non-participants could give a blessed items to the participant of their choice as a show of admiration or to wish them safety during the hunt.

You noticed the knight’s gaze and you felt more nervous than before. As this was your first attendance, this was also the first time offering a blessing to someone. When you told your servant you were going to the hunting event, he graciously gave you a woven bracelet and suggested that you offer it to your “lover”, much to your embarrassment.

But then you noticed the knight more closely and saw that he already had a number of bracelets and ribbons peeking out from his left arm sleeve. You supposed despite his eccentricity, Rook was still a very talented knight and quite attractive to people of all social status. Even if he was technically a taken man, this did not stop admirers from showing favour towards him with blessed charms and ribbons.

Mortified, you tried to hide the small bracelet as you put on a smile. “Since it was tradition, I thought I should bring you something but I should have guessed that you would have plenty of blessings from others. Adding more would probably be burdensome-“

You flinched slightly when you felt your hands being captured by another pair. You saw Rook’s gloved hands stopping your own but he had such an unreadable look in his eyes that you couldn’t tell what was on his mind.

“Rook?” The call of his name seemed to have woken him from his trance as Rook quickly gave you a smile before he spoke.

“Mon amour, I would be honoured to receive your blessing.” Releasing his grip on you, Rook removed the glove on his right hand where unlike his counterpart hand, was empty. “Would you please place it upon me?”

Nodding your head, you gently wrapped the woven bracelet around Rook’s wrist, careful not to tighten the knot too much since this was Rook’s dominant hand. You tried not to think too much about how he allowed your blessing and only yours on his right hand and not with the rest on his non-dominant hand.

“It doesn’t mean anything.” you tried to focus on something else and rested your eyes on Rook’s hand. It was not often you see it as the blonde-haired man tends to wear gloves as part of his uniform but you could see the rough calluses and scars littered about his fingers and palm. The skin of his hand was smoother than you expected (probably due to his friendship with the Schoenheit heir) but you can tell how hard Rook must have trained to be as skilled as he was today. How diligent this man is which earned the respect of many. While caressing his warm hand, you absentmindedly echoed the words he once spoke to you.

“Every scar, blemish, and crack is a show of your strength…How beautiful.”

Realizing what you just said aloud, you quickly let go of Rook’s hand before rushing to create distance between the two of you (when did you get so close to begin with?!).

“There, all done!” you did your best to hide your embarrassment with a smile. “I’ll be in one of the tents until the hunt is over. I wish you luck!”

With a quick bow, you rushed into a tent that was open, too flustered to look back and face your fiance.

A shame, really. Because you missed the opportunity to see a rare image of Rook with a rosy shade blooming across his cheeks and ears.

[honey-minded-hivemind]

Lone werewolf Reader lives on their own in an old, decaying cabin at the edge of the woods, where the trees grow thick and the sky shows rain. They don't know how to be a wolf, or werewolf, so here they are, traveling into the woods to test their abilities.

They've been on their own for years, abandoned at a young age for reasons unknown to them, left with scars on their arm shaped like teeth marks, and having to make it on their own. It has made them a little rougher, a little colder, and a bit wiser. People weren't good, and neither were the wolves, whatever they may be in the end. All were the same in the end: greedy, hungry beings who took and took and left you dry as a bone.

Reader has learned how to grow plants, how to lay traps, how to keep an eye out for footprints and tracks. They've learned to repair boards and knobs, they've taught themself to understand the ways of the world, they've seen how to sew and how to clean. Everything they need, they can do.

It doesn't help when one day, as they're out in the woods in human form, they stumble on a wolf caught in a trap. It's a small one, oddly colored, but Reader, for once in a very long time, feels pity. Empathy. Courage. And they saw through the ropes holding the poor beast down. It nips at them at first, until it seems to realize they're helping. It licks at their hands, staring up at then then hopeful, bright eyes.

Once the ropes are cut and its free, it jumps up. For a moment, Reader fears it will attack them-

But it doesn't.

All it does it lick them, let out a short, playful bark, and then it runs off, a blur through the cold, wet woods. Reader sighs, but heads back to their home. That night they can hear howling, loud and winding, and even when the moon is full and round, Reader stays tucked in their blankets, hiding away from the sounds that haunt them, away from the blinding moon, away from the town and the woods and all the danger lurking out of sight...

When they wake up in the morning, there are dozens of footprints outside their house. Reader can see some small, but the ones that give them fright are the large ones, larger than their head... Reader isn't sure what exactly they helped... or who... but, they decide to tread more carefully from now on...

(And watching from the trees, happy to see their new friend, is a young werewolf, ready to drag their newest friend into the woods for a day of play...)

@sugar-soda @roxanndrummond @thewickedweiner (Guess who the young werewolf is! And woo, Reader has trauma! What color pelt do you think Reader has? Something natural or something unique? Their eyes, I imagine, are a honey orange or fluorescent green)

[yanderes-galore]

How about a concept with Sukuna from JJK? If it’s possible!

Sure! I'll see what I can do for him :) I tried to keep what form of Sukuna this is vague for the most part. This is for those who wanted more gore/yanderes dealing with rivals.

Let me know if he's in character or OOC :)

For a more in detail look at my thoughts on him, check out his Yandere Alphabet.

Yandere! Ryomen Sukuna Concept

(Ft. Itadori Yuji... again)

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Degrading behavior, Manipulation, Possessive behavior, Violence, Mentions of being a pet/toy, Sadism, Marking (Biting/Clawing), Punishment, Murder, Blood, Graphic descriptions (Sukuna is like that), Jealousy implied, Yuji's dragged into this, Forced "relationship."

I feel it's already quite known that Sukuna's "love" is seeing his obsession as a pet and toy.

Sukuna wants to make his obsession completely his and has no intentions of sharing.

Despite this... if he's sharing Yuji Itadori's body... Yuji is probably dragged into any sort of obsession Sukuna has.

If this is way before, when Sukuna was still the four armed beast he was, then he doesn't have to worry about such an issue.

Due to his views on human companionship, Sukuna is possessive and controlling.

He's one to mark his obsession, taunt and degrade them until they're forced to see him as superior.

Point is, overall, Sukuna isn't the most caring with his obsession.

He's brutal when others think they can touch what's his.

Those around you could easily be demolished...

But Sukuna likes to prolong their punishment... just so they learn what they've done wrong.

Sukuna is the type of yandere who lives for the darker parts of his obsession.

The blood, the gore, marking his newest pet... he adores that more than the object of desires themselves.

Expected of someone such as himself, honestly.

He likes it when those who touched you perish under his claws, the blood coating his skin.

It all makes him feel alive...

However, he also enjoys the warmth that coats him when he holds his darling close.

They may be shaking, but he adores the fear you radiate as he pulls you into his lap.

I honestly, again (Referring to the Gojo vs Sukuna concept), feel bad for Yuji being dragged into this if Yuji isn't yandere.

He most likely sees you as a friend, only for Sukuna to barge his way in and taunt you.

Yuji wants nothing more than to comfort you, but Sukuna stirring inside him says otherwise.

Sukuna adores obedience in the end, but breaking a defiant darling is another fun game.

His overall plan for his obsession is a ruthless one, his intentions being to make you fully loyal to him.

No curse, curse user, or normal human can come close to you without Sukuna's bloodlust flickering.

You are simultaneously the most protect person out there... yet also the most tormented.

Sukuna's treatment of you is not because he hates you, if he hated you... you'd be long gone.

He adores you, finding you the best little pet he could have.

Occasionally he'll calm down on his cruel behavior, mimicking the care humans typically show their "spouses".

Sukuna in the past and present acts nearly the same to one another.

However, present Sukuna finds more fun in tormenting Yuji with his obsession.

Especially is Yuji likes you too... it's a shame Yuji can't have you as Sukuna makes it clear that you're his.

Sukuna is a cruel yandere and he knows it.

He loves your emotions and reactions... no matter what they are.

You intrigue him... he likes that.

Sukuna may push you too far at times, but he is aware of your limits.

He isn't sure why he likes someone so weak... but your reactions to him make up for it.

Just know the moment someone decides to hurt you?

They become nothing but a red strain when Sukuna's done.

Sukuna is easily one of the most powerful and dangerous yanderes I've written.

His affection is rough, biting and digging his claws into you to see your reactions.

That and how he deals with rivals is over the top.

Sukuna doesn't care about the consequences of his actions.

His obsession, if this is present Sukuna, may very well break both Yuji and you.

That isn't a concern to Sukuna.

Sukuna plans to get what he wants...

Even if it means breaking a few pawns or painting the town red... he'll get what he wants... which just so happens to be you.

[inkstainedheartbeats]

Part two of this because I couldn’t leave it alone.

—//—//—//—

The thing about being a Preternatural creature is that there is a society within a society. Instead of learning just one set of rules you have to learn two. And while Robin’s ears have always had a way with picking up language, her eyes did not bless her with the ability to pick up social cues. Despite this glaring weakness, even she knew what Steve Harrington was.

A Preter learns quick to make an in with the oldest living creature in a town. Learn the lay of the lands. And there is none older than Flo who works for the Police Department. The Buckley’s aren’t sure what she is. Just that she named the three, not one oh no, three Hunter clans. The Carver’s are the newest but they’re the most dangerous. Fanatical in their desire to put down a Preter at the slightest hint of mistake. The Hagan’s were the biggest clan, had the most members even if not all of them shared the same last name. The Harrington’s are the oldest. Used to be the biggest, the strongest. And then the youngest son was sent away for some reason and then the current eldest living of the family died and the clan just sorta… trickled out. Leaving Steve and his family.

Robin hadn’t meant to Change Steve. Hadn’t wanted to. Changing was dangerous work. There were hoops one needed to jump through. Consent to be given. Alphas to plead cases. But she had thought she was tied to a dead man. Her ears had been clogged, her nose smelling nothing but decay because of the Gate. Steve Harrington had tried to protect her, had protected her. And she thought he was dead. He wasn’t, not then. More torture, drugs that really fucked with the inner beast. Later she’ll praise the Moons. She’ll burn candles and leave gifts on any alter she can find.

Then there was confessions in the bathroom. Little oh’s and laughter. He hadn’t cared that she was gay. He hadn’t cared that she was a Wolf. Which is when the fleshy nightmare had to ruin everything. It’s a blur. Adrenaline, her mother would coo later. Both parents wrapped around her and a still shaking Steve. The need to protect the Pack. Billy dies. Little Red tries to bring him back but she’s too young, too muddled of blood to do it. They’re waiting for Joyce and Hopper to come back. Waiting for parents to come pick them up when it happens. When Steve goes down like a stack of bricks.

Hearing barely back hones in on the beating of a heart that might as well be her own. She hears it start to stop and reacts without thought. Because a life without Steve was not one she wanted. He was her and she was him. How she knew right then she doesn’t know. Doesn’t care to know. She just needs him like she needs her arms. So she bites him.

Wills the Change be quick and kind. It can be slow. It can be cruel. Rarer still it is both. She watches as his veins turn dark from the bite on his wrist. As they slowly ink and inch their way to his heart. Steve’s eyes are closed, blood pours from his nose, from his ears. He’s dying. The Change races Death and she can do nothing but watch.

Later, after he’s been scented by her parents, her brothers and sisters. Later when it’s just them in the nest he’ll tell her that the reason his parents are never home is because he hates killing. They took him on a Hunt once, out of town hoping that not knowing who he was putting down would help. He threw up, nearly shot his father instead. His mother hadn’t minded. Had kissed his cheek and said this wasn’t the life for everyone.

“He’ll kill me if he finds out. This will be a stain on his ego. Won’t care that it saved my life.”

“Good thing they never come back.”

“Yeah.”

He is her and she is him and Moons willing she’ll never have to know what the sound of his heart stopping sounds like.

—//—//—//—

Now with a part three

[bridenore]

HD Hogwarts founders fic recs

Here are a few Harry/Draco recs revolving around the Hogwarts founders. Listed in alphabetical order, as always.

Annus Mirabilis by Ren [39k]

Harry and Malfoy are trapped at Hogwarts around the time the school was founded. Stuck with a different way of doing magic, with no chocolate, and with each other, they have to find a way to work together if they want a chance to go home.

In Plain Sight by oldenuf2nb / @dianacopland [37k]

Draco Malfoy had stopped believing his wishes would be granted long ago. He could perhaps be forgiven for being startled, then, when one of them came true.

Manticoria by @lol-zeitgeistic [70k]

In the dangerous days after Voldemort’s fall, Harry struggles to find a way to be with Draco—again. But as the magical world threatens to die all around them, it might be more difficult than he thought. Includes dying wards, dying beasts, and love struggling to live; sentient magic, wandlore, Founder lore, potion lore, and ward lore; and of course there is Zacharias Smith to ruin everything, as usual.

Turn From Stone by @harryromper [45k]

Something happened in the hours after the final battle, after the evacuation of the living and the dead. As the last of the survivors left the castle, and as the castle itself turned its wounded back on them all. The loss of Hogwarts has been felt by their entire community. And it’s something that needs to be put right.   Harry knows there’s nothing he can do to stop Hermione (war hero, historian, author of the reissued “Hogwarts: A History”) once she sets her mind to something. Even an extremely risky last-ditch effort to restore the ancient castle and lay its newest ghosts to rest. What he wasn’t counting on was her insistence that Draco Malfoy be part of the plan.

Until Dawn’s First Light by valinorean [50k]

Harry and Draco find a mysterious portrait in Hogwarts that tells them about different stories of people in the past. But suddenly, strange things begin to happen as each story unfolds.

Wish Upon a Star (As Dreamers Do) by @icmezzo​   [27k]

There’s plant magic and celestial magic and dark magic and the normal magic that allows Harry to use a spell to clean his socks when Myrtle’s taken up in his laundry room again. Then there are wishes, and dreams, and love, and those are even more magical still.

I hope you enjoy these stories as much as I did!

[harrypottermovieproblems]

Hello, all!

We find ourselves at a funny little crossroads today. There is officially an HBO television adaptation of Harry Potter in the works, one with a clearly stated commitment to open casting that could create an inroad to character representations aligning with a great many fans' longtime hopes and dreams for Harry and Hermione especially. Ten years ago, this would have been everything we could have ever hoped for in this fandom. Today, news of this new television show cannot bring joy.

The movie adaptation has brought many book fans a great deal of frustration over the years (hence the creation of this blog); while being greatly beloved by an entire generation, it simultaneously dropped the ball in many areas focusing on characterization and worldbuilding. And yet the faces of that film franchise - the actors of the main trio especially - have been invaluable voices in the public struggle to push back the flood of anti-trans rhetoric free flowing from JK Rowling's social media accounts.

On the other hand, we finally have a long-form adaptation of the series on the horizon, but it comes less than fifteen years after the end of the original movie series and therefore inevitably falls into the exhausting position of being yet another franchise remade too soon. And most importantly, of course, the main and inescapable effect of its creation will be lining the pockets of a woman who has been actively and enthusiastically supporting bigotry against women - both trans and cis - in society and in politics.

There have been rumors that Warner Brothers is trying to buy the rights to the entirety of Harry Potter from JK Rowling, and if true, it has to be admitted - ironically, given the nature of this blog - that I hope they succeed. If the choice is between lack of artistic fulfillment in the portrayal of a fictional world or real-life financial support of a woman actively making the world a more dangerous place for vulnerable populations, there is only one choice to support.

A few years ago, I started writing a detailed post that was a general post-mortem on our collective fanship of JK Rowling, and never completed it due to general feelings of exhaustion, disgust, and feelings that it was redundant. But briefly:

Many years ago, JK Rowling made a post on her personal website about her portrayal of Aunt Marge's bulldogs. She was dissatisfied with how she had written them, because she hadn't known a lot about bulldogs at the time and hadn't taken the care to portray them in a way that did them any justice. While she meant no harm, she's since learned better and wishes, in retrospect, that she had portrayed them differently.

When I think about JK Rowling, I think about that post a lot.

Even before her newest and most outspoken TERF era, even prior to all of the issues involved in the Fantastic Beasts spinoff series, JK Rowling wrote a beloved children's series that was seen as highly progressive upon publication but also contained a number of elements that have aged, shall we say, very poorly. Some of these were markers of the time when Harry Potter was originally written - many things from the 90's have aged badly - and some of them are down to the personal ignorance of the author, whether or not you assume that ignorance came hand-in-hand with malicious intent.

She could have spoken out about this if she wished - you know, like she did with the fucking bulldogs, to say that she had no ill-intent at the time but that would write these elements differently today if she had the chance - but as far as I'm aware, she has not. In fact, despite having endless wealth and resources at her disposal now, as opposed to the original start of her writing journey as a single mother scribbling ideas on cafe napkins, her portrayal of delicate issues of things like race, gender, and sexuality in her writing has only gotten worse.

The 'JK Rowling was always a secret conservative' rhetoric is strong, especially on Tumblr, and while I understand it, I genuinely think that it is misguided. The woman spent most of her life voting in favor of and speaking out for leftist and progressive politics. We (progressives) are not immune from propaganda, radicalization, or being raging fucking bigots. However she votes now, whatever idiots she is friends with now, the call very much started from inside the house on this one.

So, to circle back to the original point of this post:

This new HBO television series, in a best-case scenario, could take all of the tone-deaf sociopolitical issues with the original novels and fix them. It could take all of the creative issues with the movie franchise and fix those too. It could give us a diverse cast and tell an emotional story that does credit to what so many people held dear about the book series while growing up.

(I doubt it will, but it could.)

And yet this would still be a thing that on some level brought me no joy, because at the end of the day, it would also be putting pallets and pallets of cash into JK Rowling's pocket as she continues to dig her way down the conservative rabbit hole instead of fixing any of the mistakes of her early writing career.

Gross.

xoxo

[mythaura-blog]

Development Update - October 2024

Hi folks, Miyazaki here bringing you an update for Mythaura's development for the month of October! We've got some species change mechanics, super cute expressions for Hippogriffs, a rich new color for your beast creations, the Ko-fi results for the Fall Quarter Ko-fi Rewards, and some astrology.

Additionally: Koa, Sark, and I have been very busy the past month scoping out the remainder of the work that needs to be done in order to support Mythaura's initial launch. We're building in plenty of buffer to account for any unforeseen work that will need doing as well as any issues that may crop up.

We're really buckling down to get Mythaura to a point where we can bring in our Beta testers and get this game into a playable state. We've come a long way in our development journey and are so thankful to have had you all along for the ride.

Changing Species: Soulshift Coins

One of our biggest goals with Mythaura is to grant users the ability to customize their Beasts to be exactly what you want them to be. To that end, we've created our species-changing items: Soulshift Coins.

Functionality

There will be one coin for each species; Tier 1 Beasts (Griffins, Unicorns, Dragons) will have bronze coins, Tier 2 Beasts (Quetzals, Kirins, and Hippogriffs) will have silver coins, and Tier 3 Beasts (Ryus, Perytons, and Basilisks) will have gold coins. We are also planning to have a Jade Soulshift Coin, which would randomize the species of the Beast that it is used on.

These single-use items will change a Beast's species, so long as they are not in a Wild Area or in battle. They can be used on both young and adult Beasts. They can also be used on expecting Beasts, but will not impact the species of the unborn offspring.

Immediately upon use, the Beast will have their secondary Element changed to match the new species (if applicable). All Skill Tree points are reset and all equipped glamours and apparel not supported by the new species will automatically be uneqipped and sent back to the player's inventory.

Acquisition

All Soulshift Coins will be obtainable with in-game currency. Access to the different tiers will be tied to the New Game cycle that the player is in:

Players in the base New Game will be able to purchase Soulshift Coins for the Tier 1 species

Players in New Game+ will be able to purchase Soulshift Coins for Tier 1 and Tier 2 species

Players in New Game+2 and beyond will be able to purchase Soulshift Coins for Tier 1, Tier 2, and Tier 3 species

Tier 2 and Tier 3 Soulshift Coins will also be available through other gameplay means, like Seasonal rewards and the Weekend Traveler's inventory. Soulshift Coins that show up in the Weekend Traveler's inventory may end up being purchased with premium currency. We're still figuring out the details there, but rest assured that there will be multiple ways for players to acquire these species-changing items!

New Expressions: Hippogriffs

Koa and our talented art team have wrapped up drawing each of our available Specials, Supers, and Mutations on the expressions for both the young and adult Hippogriffs. These headshots will appear whenever a Hippogriff shows up in dialogue.

New Color: Porphyry

Named for the igneous rocks that they resemble, our color wheel's newest addition, Porphyry, is a rich red-brown with purple highlights. We encourage you to play around in the Beast Creator to come up with some fun new Beast designs!

Ko-fi Fall Quarter 2024 Winners

Thank you to all the Ko-fi sponsors who voted for the Fall Quarter 2024 rewards. Next month we will show the finalized artwork for the Inhabited Skull Companion and the Diaphonized Ryu Glamour. Stay tuned!

Mythauran Astrology: November

The month of November is referred to as Deepfrost's Current, representing the powerful and dangerous currents coursing beneath the ice floes that form to bridge the mainland to the stony islands off the coast. This month is also associated with the constellation of the Reaver and the chrysocolla stone.

Mythaura V0.33

Created functionality for species change items

Added functionality for 8 out of 12 ailments

Ongoing work implementing skill functionality

Refactored passive effects, splitting them into "battle effects" and "passive effects"

Added ailment display to battle front end

Added passive effect display to battle front end

Added checks that prevent certain game actions from occurring while in a wild area or in battle

Added temporary health, armor, and shield to beast stat bars

Thank You!

Thanks for sticking through to the end of the post, we always look forward to sharing our month's work with all of you--thank you for taking the time to read. We'll see you around the Discord.

[bluegekk0]

FPK AU reference sheets for the main cast!

(brief descriptions below the cut; click the names to be redirected to the character’s respective lore page)

Vyrm - once the king of Hallownest, now a simple resident of Dirtmouth tormented by the guilt of his past actions and his own emotional trauma. Following the return of the infection, he disappeared in a self-manifested realm where he hibernated for years until he was woken up by Little Ghost. He woke up without his powers and completely alone, which forced him to hunt animals for food in order to survive. That was until he was found by Hornet and taken to Dirtmouth, where he reunited with Holly and Grimm, who would later become his partner and husband. He embraces his instincts by hunting animals and eating raw meat, though he is far from a dangerous beast. He owns a small tinkerer's shop in Dirtmouth, where he sells his creations.

Grimm - the exiled god of nightmares, banished from Godhome by his sister, The Radiance many years ago. A very alluring type with a past of promiscuous endeavors. He travels with his Troupe to perform and complete rituals, through which he replaces his physical body. He spent hundreds of years feeling loneliness, unable to find love due to his immortality, until he met Vyrm. They became close friends, though they were not able to confess their love and start a relationship until after Vyrm’s hibernation. Grimm and his Troupe now permanently reside in Dirtmouth, from which they travel to other kingdoms to perform their shows and the ritual. He drinks blood to prolong the lifespan of each physical body, and he has a fondness for fruits.

Lewk - Vyrm and Grimm's first son, raised in love and affection. He is an extremely kind and curious little pup, who finds interest in the daily routines of all family members, in particular Hornet's patrols. He also attends the small Dirtmouth school and eagerly listens to Quirrel's teachings. Lewk shows a particular interest in cooking, and he loves watching Hornet prepare meals for the family and helping Ogrim in his diner. Above all, he's still discovering the world around him and finding his own place in it.

Milo and Asta - twins, the newest addition to the family. Milo is the little skinny boy with pale skin and fluffy "pants". He hatched days after his sister, giving his parents a big scare, as they feared that he did not make it. He's much more frail than his siblings, much like Vyrm during his childhood. Surrounded by much needed care, Milo was able to survive the earliest days of his life, and while he's still quite sickly today, it is no longer a serious risk to him. He's practically inseparable from his Tiktik plushie and spends most of the day sleeping or watching everyone else from his little blanket burrow. Personality wise, he's a little grumpy and with every passing day it becomes more and more clear that he's jealous of his stronger siblings. Asta is the slightly older of the twins, Asta can best be described as a dark fluffy ball of temper. She's much stronger than her brother, though despite her tendency to bite fingers and cause trouble, she is very patient with him. While he sleeps, Asta can usually be found looking for ways to escape her blanket nest and wander around. Even at such young age she's very clever, she is a master escapist and especially good at hiding, which often causes her parents a lot of headache.

Hornet - the beloved daughter of Vyrm and the Deepnest queen Herrah. She grew up showered with her father’s love and formed a very close bond with him. Unfortunately, following her father's disappearance, she was forced to spend years all on her own, which turned her bitter and difficult to approach. She now struggles with anger issues and intense fear of getting attached, but deep down she cares a lot about her family. She moved to Dirtmouth following the end of the infection and now works as a hunter and gatherer..

Holly - the child of Vyrm and The White Lady, and the only known surviving vessel. A very gentle soul who finds joy in art of many forms. Now that The Radiance is gone, they enjoy a quiet and peaceful life living in the Vyrm family home in Dirtmouth. With their arm missing and their body weakened, they are unable to hold their nail, instead they focus on more relaxing activities to pass their time. They learned writing and simple sign language to communicate with the family, though their favorite forms of self-expression are drawing and sewing. They wear a prosthetic arm made by Vyrm.

Zote - a self proclaimed knight of great renown, in reality a lonely young bug living in a world of delusions. He was rejected by his hometown and his family, and so he traveled until he reached Hallownest. After the end of the infection, he found himself “adopted” by Vyrm’s family, and is on a slow journey of becoming less arrogant and mean.

---

Additional references:

[call-sign-shark]

A Rose in the Corridor

summary: Pairing Modern!Darkling x OC || Amos x Heaven (PB)

Sometimes, all it takes to bring joy to a mental hospital is a fashion designer. And bringing joy is Rose Coldwell's, stylist student, specialty. or 3 times Rose saved the day.

Part I. Part II.

Content: tooth rotting fluff. Mention of graphic physical violence. Aleksander Morozova’s modern Identity is Amos.

notes: Rose is @justrainandcoffee's OC

+ This belongs to a modern!AU collection of scenes featuring reader of Echo of Shadows.

1: The Rose in the Corridor

The corridor was deathly quiet as Heaven walked back from isolation, still foggy and dizzy from the heavy dose of medication they gave her in the hope of keeping her quiet. With her steps lazy and her long white hair hanging from her face, she seemed a bit disoriented in this endless maze of hallways and, this time, Amos wasn’t there to help.

Heaven let out a little sigh, the stillness pressed against her like a weight, amplifying the ache of solitude that had clung to her ever since they dragged her into that stark white room. A room in which she couldn’t even knock herself out with the walls. All she could do was spiral, recalling the screams of the tall darkness and hers when they separated them, locking them up in a different cell.

As she dragged her soulless body, her bare feet making no sound on the cold linoleum, she suddenly stopped at the melody of a soft voice she hadn’t heard before. She paused, lingering at the edge of the hallway, drawn by the warmth in the tone.

“I really think it could help them,” the voice said, full of conviction, tenderness but also tinged with a bit of defiance.

Peering around the corner, the white-haired creature saw the newest nurse of the service standing with a woman she didn’t recognize — A strikingly beautiful stranger, her brown hair swept into an elegant ponytail and a little frown on her pouty face. No straight jacket or the awful hospital uniform, she was wearing a perfectly tailored green coat cinched at the waist with a belt. Heaven didn’t know anything about clothes but even she could easily tell that the woman’s outfit was designed for her and that, consequently, it was pricey.

“It’s unconventional,” the nurse replied, her tone skeptical and hesitant, wondering if she could take this kind of huge decision by herself. “But if you think patients would be interested in your project…”

“They will,” Rose interrupted with a soft but firm determination, her eyes sparkling with hope at the idea of one hospital agreeing with her project after days of declining replies. “It’s not about interest. It’s about giving them something beautiful. A chance to feel… like themselves again. To bring their worth to light after life crushed them! This place needs that.” Rose added the last sentence with a hint of sadness laced in her tone as she quickly glanced around the sanitized and dull corridors of the hospital.

The nurse sighed but didn’t argue further. Maybe she was right…

Heaven tilted her head — something about the woman captivated her. Maybe it was the way she carried herself with such certainty like she could bend the world to her will with a single look. Or maybe it was the warmth in her voice, so foreign in this cold, sterile place. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the little anarchist demeanor she exuded. Wherever her fascination for the woman came from, the killer doll couldn’t help but stare with those chilling, frozen blue eyes of hers.

Their eyes met suddenly, Rose’s gaze catching hers.

Heaven froze. While she was used to being noticed because of her eerie aura and exceptional appearance, she wasn’t used to being welcomed by a warm smile.

The nurse followed Rose’s gaze and stiffened when she saw the blonde woman, almost jumping a little bit as if she had been turning her back to some kind of dangerous beast that could have pounce on her back and rip her throat. “Heaven,” she said curtly, her tone guarded, “You’re supposed to go back to your room.”

“Where’s Amos?…” The murder doll drawled, her voice tired and croaky from having screamed too much. She fidgeted with the hem of her shirt at the same time.

Rose raised a brow, amused, as curiosity lighted up her features as she studied Heaven — she was… splendid. Otherworldly. Effortlessly pretty even here, in her inmate uniform and the reddish circles under her eyes.

“I’m serious Heaven. Nurse Betty said you have to go back to your —“

“Oh,” the crazy girl blurted, her voice uncharacteristically soft as she cut off the nurse and completely ignored her. “You’re… pretty. You look like a beautiful rose.” The corner of her lips stretched into an odd smirk, naturally but unwillingly menacing and awkward.

The nurse blinked in shock, her mouth slightly agape. To be honest, Heaven was rarely sweet—never kind—and certainly not to strangers. Such a sudden sympathy was more than surprising.

Rose beamed, offering the blonde girl a radiant smile as her frown disappeared from her face. “And you look like an angel,” she said, her voice like a joyful lilt.

Here she was — her perfect model.

2: Hyena Pup Snorting Cocaine

No one expected the crazy chick to agree to be Rose’s model. And no one expected the headmaster of the psych ward to give his permission either, but the stars had aligned and there they were, in the common room three weeks later for their usual meeting.

Heaven shifted from foot to foot, her arms flailing slightly as Rose tried to measure the length of her torso for the fifth time.

“Stop fidgeting,” Rose said gently, her voice patient despite the obvious frustration beginning to creep into her tone.

“I’m not fidgeting,” Heaven retorted even though she immediately twitched as if to prove her wrong. Staying still was harder than what she thought.

The stylist let out a small laugh and stepped back, hands on her hips and one brow raised, trying to appear firm but failing instantly for her affection for the patient was too strong. “You’re impossible. Do you know how hard it is to take proper measurements when you’re moving like a squirrel on caffeine?”

“I’m not a squirrel,” The killer doll mumbled, crossing her arms on her small breasts and accidentally knocking the measuring tape out of Rose’s hands in the process.

"Aaargghhh! You're going to be the death of me!"

Leaning against the doorframe, Amos watched the scene unfold from his usual spot, his void-black eyes glinting with amusement. He had appeared without a sound, like a shadow slowly creeping into the room.

"What's this?" He asked, stepping into the common room, "Some kind of torture session?"

"No," Rose said, shooting him a playful glare -- after three weeks here, she had learned that whenever the angel was, the tall darkness loomed nearby. At first, she had felt uncomfortable around Amos, for his pitch-black eyes and his whole body language exuded the predatory nature of a wild cat. But the more she saw him soften with Heaven, the more she came to the conclusion that even dangerous men could be tamed by love. And tamed he was each time he glanced at the blonde doll. “I’m trying to make her a dress, but she’s got the attention span of a hyperactive hyena pup snorting cocaine.”

Heaven huffed, glaring at both of them now. “I can stay still!” She exclaimed.

“You haven’t for the last fifteen minutes,” Rose pointed out before running a hand through her hair, exhausted by the end of the semester coming, all the forms to fill for her new flat with James, and an unruly model. “Amos, would you mind giving me a hand instead of standing in the corner, mocking me?”

Amos raised a brow, clearly entertained. His smug smirk stretched. “What, you need me to hold her down?”

“Something like that,” Rose replied, "Just do something because if your plan was just to lean against the door and look handsome well you can leave or else I'll throw needles at you!"

"Fine, fine. No need to threaten me."

Watching the back and forth between the tall darkness and the small rose, Heaven scowled but didn’t protest as Amos moved smoothly behind her. The dark-haired man placed his large and warm hands firmly on her shoulders, his grip definitely steady but not harsh. “There. Now stay still, or I’ll have to start singing lullabies to keep you calm.”

"Fuck you," The crazy blonde squirmed a little but froze almost instantly when he leaned closer, bringing his mouth to her ear to whisper in a low voice, "Behave, little hyena." The tip of his nose gently bumped against her cheek in a playful, teasing way, "Or I'll have to make you behave". Her cheeks flushed and she bit her lip, suddenly very aware of how close he was. Aware of every shape of his body fitting snuggly with her as he stood just behind.

Rose took the opportunity to quickly drape the fabric over Heaven’s petite frame, pinning it in place as she worked with her skilled fingers. “Perfect,” she said, glancing up at Amos with a grateful gleam in her eyes. “You’re surprisingly good at this.”

“I’ve got practice,” Amos replied, pressing a bit more on the white-haired brat with his hands. His thumbs were tenderly caressing her in circular motions.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?!” Heaven snapped, though her voice lacked its usual bite

“Whatever you want it to mean,” He purred and it made her melt.

Rose chuckled as she straightened up, stepping back to admire her work. “Done. You can unleash the beast now, Amos!"

Heaven wriggled a little bit and stepped out of the tall darkness's grip with her cheeks still pink, "Both of you are the worst.” She mumbled under her breath, but the little grin on her juicy lips betrayed her own amusement.

3: Something Meaningful

Snow blanketed the hospital grounds as December rolled in. No matter how expensive and new the mental hospital was, it still felt like the chill of winter was seeping through the walls and into Heaven’s bones. With Amos gone, the days felt heavier, the nights colder and her soul entirely empty. She was sitting on the couch, her knees drawn to her chest as she stared out the windows, dissociating. A part of her expected to find a bit of comfort in the view, but the sky was dull and gray, and the snow in the courtyard reduced to a disgusting brownish muck.

“Hello,” Rose’s voice called gently.

Turning, she found Rose standing at the common room's entrance, holding a neatly wrapped package in her hands.

“What’s that?” Heaven asked, her voice quiet, "And what are you doing here? It's almost Christmas, shouldn't you spend time with James?" She sniffed a little before putting her chin on her knees while her far too pale eyes observed the young stylist.

"Don't be so gloomy!" Rose walked over and placed the package in her lap. “It’s for you. Open it.”

"For me?" Heaven repeated, surprised. Her fingers started brushing the shiny paper, “You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” Rose interrupted with a gentle smile, "It's from James and I. It's not as warm as Amos but it's clearly more comfortable and less annoying."

Slowly, Heaven unwrapped the gift and, when she saw what was inside, her breath caught in her throat: it was a hyena plushie, its fur incredibly soft and it's open mouth pulled into a huge grin as though it was silently laughing.

“I remembered you said it was your favorite animal,” Rose explained, sitting down beside her. “Fierce. Loyal. A little misunderstood. It reminded me of you.” Rose also wanted to add that it was the nickname the tall darkness always gave her but she didn't want to rub salt in the wound by talking too much about him.

Heaven’s throat tightened as she stared at the toy. It was silly, maybe, but no one had ever given her something so thoughtful. “Thank you,” she murmured, her voice rasping and her face veiled with a bit of confusion, not knowing how to deal with emotions.

Rose sat on the couch next to her, “You’re welcome.”

After a moment of comfortable silence, the young stylist's hand playing with one of the crazy girl's pigtails, Heaven stood quite abruptly and left the room, leaving Rose blinking in confusion for she often forgot how unpredictable the killer doll was.

When Heaven returned, she held a small box in her hands.

“For you,” she said, thrusting it toward Rose, " I know you don't celebrate Christmas soooo... I don't know, consider it a Hannukah gift or something like that?"

Completely surprised, Rose opened the box carefully, revealing a well-worn poetry book and a handmade bracelet made with tiny pale pink beads and golden charms strung together in a pattern that felt both deliberate and unique. Among the charms was a rose.

“I made it,” Heaven said quickly. “It’s not much, but… I thought it’d suit you.”

Not wasting more time, Rose slipped the bracelet onto her wrist, the silver catching the bright neon's light as she did so, “It’s perfect. It mends the fact you're an awful model to work with despite your beauty.”

And for the very first time since Amos' departure, Heaven let out a laugh — a real, genuine laugh that echoed in the room and filled it with joy. Sitting together, the hyena plushie cradled in her lap and Rose’s bracelet glinting on her wrist, the coldness of the season felt a little more bearable.

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