#either way it was FULL of the above and more

[theminecraftbee]

so i've been seeing this occasionally in the tags lately and i thought i'd bring up:

if you want someone to click or reblog your fic link you cannot simply post a link to the fic with either no description or a single sentence of description. if you do not put something beyond a link and a sentence, no one is going to click it.

part of this is basic internet safety (don't click links if you don't know where they're supposed to go), but a large part of this is that you have to catch someone's attention to make them click and leave the page they're on! people, in general, aren't going to click a link that doesn't interest them. you should interest them! so, how do you do that?

put some kind of image above your link in your post. this is BY FAR the most certain way to get reblogs and catch people's eye, but it's also the most time-consuming if you aren't already good at edits or art yourself. moodboards, little edited headers, or gifs can help you here (depending on fandom). art you've made yourself or have permission to use is absolutely the best option here, but it's by far the most time-intensive and difficult. full disclosure: i don't do this! that's because i am absolutely pants as a visual artist, even in the realm of editing or selecting gifsets. but if you have this skill and are sad your fics aren't getting attention on tumblr, this could be a potential answer!

write a summary and some kind of note with the link. there's a slightly cluttered cheat way to do this later in the list, but personally i find that formatting your fic post yourself is the best way to make these posts look good. i normally go fic link (making sure the link embed has the title) - summary of fic beneath that in a blockquote - an author's note about what to expect beneath that summary. however, everyone has different standards for how to do this! some people i know like to make sure tags and rating are present; some do not. some put some of this information beneath a cut; some do not. the main key here is to make sure there's just enough information above the cut in the main post that if i, a stranger, am browsing the tag and find your fic, i have enough information to know if it's something i might be interested in! i can always click to see the ao3 tags if i am intrigued, so it doesn't need to be all the information. just enough to catch my eye!

just post the whole fic to tumblr, including a link at the top or bottom. this is the most efficient non-art way to get notes on a fic you post, since, unlike a link with a description, a tumblr user doesn't have to leave the website to read and decide if they're interested or like it enough to reblog. however, there are two downsides. the first is that the fic almost always has to be short (~2k words if you use a cut, less if you don't), since most tumblr users aren't using the website expecting to read a bunch. the second is that doing this will mean most of your fic's readers likely will read it from tumblr, rather than following the fic to ao3. which, you may not care! i certainly don't when it comes to the ficlets i write directly to tumblr. however, it means i really don't recommend doing this with a multichapter fic.

use ao3's share button to automatically make a tumblr post. fics on ao3 have a "share" button, located above the tags and summary. this has a tumblr option, which you can then use to automatically post the fic link to tumblr. this is a bit cluttered since it includes all of the tags from the fic, alongside the full summary, rating, wordcount, etc. personally, i would then edit a little to remove some of that information so that it's more eyecatching and less overwhelming, but if you don't want to, that's also fine! that is still almost always going to be better than posting the link by itself with a single sentence to describe it, and isn't half-bad formatting-wise.

finally, you'll note my posts for ongoing chapters aren't normally given this treatment or fandom tags (although i almost always include a summary of some kind on them). this is because i generally don't want people finding my fic for the first time from a random chapter in the middle. i don't mind if they do, but i'm not going to spam the tag and i'm not going to make THAT much of an effort to make the post appealing. new chapters are things that might tell one of my followers that there's an ongoing fic they should look out for, and tell my current readers and followers that there's, well, a new chapter, but generally they aren't going to hook people. however, if you post chapters a lot more infrequently than i do, or if you simply have the energy to, there's nothing stopping you from applying these to chapter posts as well!

the thing is: look, at the end of the day, i agree with people who say you should write for yourself. how many notes you get isn't a big deal, i promise; the most important feeling is, ultimately, the feeling you get when you finish something and know you made it with your own hands. some of my favorite writing achievements are NOT my most popular, but are my favorites for reasons entirely unrelated to popularity. however, i see a lot of writers bemoaning how badly their fic posts do, when their fic posts are the ao3 embed and a single sentence that reads "this is my new fic enjoy"; the thing is, there are things you can do to make that link into something that someone is more likely to read and/or reblog! (i know i personally don't like reblogging links if i don't know their contents for the aforementioned internet safety reasons.)

just because you write for yourself doesn't mean that you can't give yourself a little leg up in finding your audience. it's worth it both for yourself and your readers, i promise.

[heich0e]

The troops file into the capital city in a slow, splintered march.

What's left of them, anyway.

It's a stark, bitter difference to the way they'd filed out a fortnight prior, dressed in full regalia and their heads held high as they set off to serve their people under the eye—in the name—of their king. The same king who watched on placidly from the palace's main gate as their procession filed past, a sight that only made the soldiers' valour swell as they marched away into battle.

Compared to that departure, with its fanfare and optimism, this seems almost a different group of men entirely.

And their beloved king is nowhere to be seen.

You're the only member of the royal family, or even the higher court, who witnesses the return of the troops at dusk. Pressed against a pillar near the gate, bathed in shadow, you watch the men trudge past the palace towards the military armoury on the other side of the city with your breath caught in your throat.

It's quiet as they pass, just the sound of boots shuffling lethargically over cobblestones, and the occasional warble of pain from one of the sick or injured. The city hasn't come to welcome them home. You wonder if these broken men are grateful for it.

Towards the end of the short procession, a sudden incident causes the group to slow. A soldier has collapsed to the ground, the few behind him stumbling over his pitiful figure, cursing at him as they go. You watch a few men kick the already suffering man, whether by accident or maliciously you can't be sure. The small, wounded man rolls onto his side, and you catch a glimpse of his face in the waning light.

You gasp.

"Stop. STOP!"

You throw open the gate before you, rushing out into the street.

There's confusion for a moment in the wake of your exclamation, but as the group of soldiers realize just who is racing towards them—the hood of your cloak falling back in your haste—they freeze in shock. The men drop (at least as much as they're able) to their knees when you reach them.

You crouch over the supine body in the street, your heart in your throat.

There's blood on his lips and up close you can see it's staining his shirt at the base of his throat, an unsightly rust brown streaked with fresh crimson. Old blood dried and wetted again with new. He's either ill, or gravely wounded—possibly both—but you can tell he's been coughing up blood for days.

You try your best to ease his head into your lap without harming him, bringing him to rest upon the pillow of your skirts rather than the filthy stone of the street.

"Your majesty..." you look up at see a higher ranking officer dismounting his horse hastily, his face stricken with fear. He dips in a stiff bow. You can't help but notice how unharmed he appears. "Whatever brings you—"

"This soldier—" your voice breaks, and you pause to suck in a breath. You run a hand across the face in your lap, wiping some blood from his lips with the edge of your sleeve, and take a moment to collect yourself. You look up at the officer again, meeting his gaze resolutely. "He's just a boy."

The officer looks shocked; less remorseful than he does guilty.

"He's a foot soldier, your majesty... there are many young men his age who serve the—"

"He is not a young man. He's but a boy. A child."

It's true, the figure you cradle in your arms is a boy no more than twelve, his body slight in every way but for the baby fat still clinging to his bruised cheeks. The child groans, still clinging to consciousness by its final fraying threads, and more blood trickles from the side of his split lips.

You hold him closer, patting his cheeks again, unsure of how else you can possibly soothe him.

"What's wrong with him?" You ask the increasingly nervous officer above you as whispers begin to circulate amongst the surrounding troops.

"H-he's... the battle was... our enemies outnumbered us."

"Is he injured?" You press, unsatisfied with his reply. "Or has he taken ill?"

"I-" The officer stutters. Looking around for support from any fellow soldiers, though none come to his aid. "He's—"

"His name, then?" You ask again, your fury growing. If this commanding officer cannot relay the details of this soldier's health, the least he can tell you is this.

The officer struggles to meet your gaze.

"Your highness—"

A familiar voice sets your teeth on edge, bile creeping up your throat.

You turn your face towards the side gate of the palace where you'd previously been hiding, and see a crowd of household staff watching you with their hands over their mouths in dismay at the impropriety. Before them stands Geto, with that same infuriatingly even expression on his face he always seems to wear. A smile with no warmth behind it.

"—whatever are you doing out at this time of night?"

You say nothing, your teeth locked together under the vice of your jaw.

You cradle the boy in your arms closer to you.

"The king will grow worried if you do not soon return to your quarters," Geto goes on to say, stepping slowly towards you.

The king.

The man Geto Suguru and every one of these brutalized men serve.

Satoru.

"Take this boy to see the court physician," you tell Geto.

"The military doctors are highly skilled, your highness," the advisor standing over you replies, still smiling blithely. "All of our soldiers are in their expert care."

"I want him to see Shoko," you repeat yourself, your voice trembling not with fear but with indignation.

"Shoko is unable to see to this soldier," Geto replies easily, brushing off your request again. "She's traveling north at present, and will not return for at least three nights."

"I want him to see our doctors," you hiss through your teeth. "He needs to be seen."

"Your highness," Geto crouches down to your eye level. Your hands shake as you hold the boy in your lap. "There is no help that our doctors can offer this young man any longer."

You look down, and feel a rush of nausea.

The boy in your arms has gone utterly, terribly still.

It's all a blur after that.

Other soldiers gather around, prying the boy from your unwilling grip. You're helped up off the street, wracked with tremors that threaten to ground you again, and a touch—heavy and unpleasant—supports you at your side.

There's blood drying to your hands. To your sleeves. To the rustling fabric of your skirt.

Inside the palace, the staff who had watched the ordeal unfold all quickly scatter, scandalized whispers spreading in their wake. There's not a corner of the palace that will not know what's just transpired by the time the sky goes fully dark.

Geto stays by your side as he escorts you back to your quarters, his hand still at your waist, treading slowly down the sumptuous halls of the palace. Bathed in the flickering glow of candlelight, you can feel the cold, crystalline eyes of the royal portraits which line the walls watching.

"Unhand me."

Your voice is flat when you find it again, but it still rings clear without waver.

Geto obeys your command, his touch slipping from your waist as he takes half a step back from your side.

"Your maids are preparing a bath for you, your highness," Geto's tone is far too conversational for the circumstances. Too silky for the tackiness of blood between your fingers. Too gently for how rubbed raw you feel. "A doctor will be by shortly after to offer you a sleeping remedy."

"I do not need a doctor," you reply, a lump forming in the back of your throat and bitterness coating your tongue. "That boy is the one who needed aid, and was denied it."

When Geto says nothing, you stop walking and turn to face him.

"Take me to see the king."

Just for a moment, the man before you's expression slips. His smile falters.

"The king is—"

"Suguru," you cut him off before he has the chance to make an excuse. Before he has the opportunity to deny you something you did not ask. "Take me to see my husband, now."

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Hogwarts AU [pt. 4]

On the day of his birthday, Tim is very rudely awoken by something hitting his face. Or, multiple somethings, actually.

It doesn't hurt - even though the somethings are quite hard and full of edges, and some of them heavy, they were very gently dropped on him from only a few inches above. More like placed if he is being honest.

Tim groans and raises his head up from the pillow, blinking his sleep away and coming almost face to face with Minky's large, wet-looking and eager eyes.

"Happy Birthday gifts for Young Master," the house elf tells him with the deep satisfaction of a job well done and disappears with a loud crack. Tim drops his head back down, burying his face in the pillow. She does that every year, so he is not exactly surprised by this kind of present delivery. But it's still a little annoying.

It takes him a few minutes to come to the conclusion that he won't be able to fall back asleep no matter how hard he tries. Which also doesn't surprise him - who in their right mind would be able to sleep while surrounded by birthday presents? - but it's kind of a tradition at this point. Just like Minky buries him in his gifts every year on his birthday, he is trying to get a few more minutes of sleep every time after it.

With a huff, Tim sits up on his bed and throws the blanket off him, looking around. And there comes the first surprise of this morning; there are more boxes in his bed than he expected.

Usually, it's only three or four: Mother's and Father's, that come either together, as one gift, or as two separate ones, the obligatory gift from Malfoy family because they like to make sure they are paying attention to absolutely everyone, even if they have little personal interest in the Heir of Drake family, and Diggorys', who send him something unbearably expensive every time because Mr. Diggory is friends with Father and likes showing off that he is rich.

This year, there are six gifts. Well, of course there are, like, a couple dozen birthday cards as well, from everyone who bothers remembering the birth date of the Drake's Heir, but Minky never brings those, and Tim is not particularly interested in them anyway. They are for Mother to sort through and decide what to do with them.

But back to the topic. Six gifts.

For the first time since Tim was around four - so, before he realized that none of those presents were for him personally, not really - he feels excited.

He sorts through the boxes, setting the recognizable emerald green one with a white bow (Malfoys) and the yellow with a red ribbon (Diggorys) aside. He doesn't care for those, he can open them later.

Which leaves him with a white, neatly wrapped in silk package that has to be from his parents, a blue rectangular box with yellow patterns on it, a small box in pinks and purples, and a rather large, narrow cardboard thing that isn't wrapped at all and actually looks like it's made from several smaller boxes with the use of sticking charms.

The last one is the most curious, so Tim leaves it for later and starts with the white package from his parents. There's no card - not like they need to add it since they are, well, his parents - and it's not exactly the most exciting present either: a 'Guide to Your First Potion' and an empty journal in a matching cover with a self-inking quill. Tim has no interest in potions; he likes reading about charms and enchantments way more, but the underlying message is clear. He sets both the book and the journal aside on the table by his bed and runs his hands through the rest of the gifts.

He decides to go with the blue one next, an impatient feeling tugging at his stomach. It turns out to be a chess set, with the pieces made of some kind of semi-translucent, crystalline stone, but what intrigues him even more is an additional, poorly wrapped purple lump with a crooked bow inside the box. As soon as he opens that, half-a-dozen chocolate frogs leap out of it, hopping away and all over Tim's bed.

He blinks in surprise, but upon closer inspection, there's a card on the bottom of the purple package. Make sure to bite their legs off, it advises in a jumpy handwriting, and, below that, Happy Birthday! - Steph.

Tim can't help but laugh. He doesn't bother going after the runaway candy; if Minky was cheeky enough to wake him up by throwing presents all over him, he's sure she'll be delighted to go on a frog hunt later.

Instead, he goes for the next box, the pinkish-purple one. This one is signed To: Timothy Drake, From: Samantha Manson in a curly handwriting on top, but despite knowing the sender, Tim has no idea what to expect.

Inside, he finds a shiny, silvery thing with about a dozen buttons and what looks like a piece of telescope on one side of it. He frowns, carefully setting the thing aside on the bed and looking inside the box again. Sure enough, there is a note, and it's about ten times longer than Steph's.

It's called a camera, the note says with no preamble, and Tim can very vividly hear Sam's condescending voice in his ears, You use it to take pictures. Then, there's a whole list of instructions on how to use it, which Tim is reluctantly grateful for. Thanks, he knows what a camera is, he's seen them before. It's just that they were always big and kind of bulky, and he hadn't known they could be so compact.

But it's a strangely thoughtful gift, now that Tim thinks about it. He and Sam still didn't talk much when Mrs. Manson brought her over; they just somehow wordlessly came to a mutual agreement of never bothering each other and spent the time reading their respective books while sitting in the opposite corners of a room. But in the few instances when they did talk, Tim remembers saying he wished he could draw. Just so he could keep things he liked seeing in physical, tangible form, and not only in his memory.

He should probably find out when Sam's birthday is, and send her something nice in return. He has no idea what that is going to be yet, but he has to try.

Carefully setting the camera back in the box - he is not sure how delicate he should be with it but better safe than sorry - Tim looks to the only present left. He tried not to think about it lest he ends up getting his hopes up and being thoroughly disappointed later, but, well.

There's only a few things he can imagine needing a package of this shape and size, long, narrow and thin.

He licks his lips, swallows and reaches for the cardboard monstrosity, his fingers trembling slightly as he rips the packaging off.

He is very much not disappointed, because it ends up being exactly what he suspected it was.

A broom.

It's not a new broom, Tim can feel the scratches on the handle when he runs his fingers over it. And, realistically, he should probably be at least a little put off by having a second-handed gift given to him, but he can't bring himself to.

Because it's not a kiddie broom. It's an actual, real broom, a Cleansweep that's a bit too old but is still evidently well cared for. With no restrictions about speed of height or anything.

Tim takes the rest of the cardboard off of his new treasured possession, running his hands over it again, just to make sure it's not an illusion. It takes him a few minutes to come back to reality and notice a piece of paper that was also inside the poor excuse of a box. Tim thinks he knows who sent it either way, but he still picks it up, unable to get the happy grin off his face.

So next time you can join us, the slightly different sized, wide letters say, Happy Birthday, Tim! And, below that, a completely different, stern, and pointy handwriting adds, Please, make sure you have an adult supervising your first flight. There are disillusionment charms applied to this broom, as well as a notice-me-not charm, so you don't have to worry about any unwanted attention. We hope you have a very nice birthday! - Best wishes, Fenton family.

Tim thinks he is going to cry because of how happy he is.

...Although, he probably won't be able to follow that advice about adult supervision. It's not like his parents are ever home long enough to watch over him. But, on the other hand, Minky has been a Drake's elf for a few generations now, hasn't she? She's gotta be old enough to count.

He can't wait to try it out.

—☆—☆—☆—

Vague visual vibes for Tim's room:

As well as the drawings (I swear I spent more effort on editing that first one than I did on actually writing the piece)

[Picrew] [Pic of the broom found through Pinterest, I couldn't find the artist]

—☆—☆—☆—

Other notes on random things:

Part 1 of this AU was set in late spring, part 2 was happening in early summer, and part 3 took place on Christmas Eve, what with the 'Winter Ball' and all. Which means we are now more than a year into this story and Tim just turned 9 years old (his birthday is in July, so he was still 7 y.o. in part 2 but already 8 y.o. in part 3). Danny's birthday is October 31st, by the way, so technically Tim is older than him by a few months.

There's an running joke in the Brown family that they've clearly named the wrong child Lavender since Steph is absolutely in love with the color purple in all shades and hues.

One could argue that a camera is bordering on a muggle-related gift, which should probably be considered sketchy in pure-blood community, but a) Mansons don't give a shit, b) Tim doesn't give a shit either (granted, it's because he doesn't know he should give a shit), c) canonically, Harry had a whole photo-album with pictures of his parents and their friends, so I'm under the impression that it's an acceptable level of muggle technology incorporated into wizarding world.

The gift from Diggorys was a pair of sapphire cufflinks that Tim literally has nowhere to wear, and the gift from Malfoys was a book on pureblood customs because Lucius likes making vague hints about Malfoys being better than all those other, lesser families.

Also, trust me, that poll really was relevant, I'll get to that in the next part, where we'll be meeting the Waynes, finally.

[<- part 3 | part 5 ->]

[monayen]

ik it’s early to ask this but can I bother you for mistletoe kiss headcanons when the time is right? including the ratmen please :)

Mistletoe Headcannons

➷ Paring - Multi x GN!Reader [Randal's Friends / Ranfren]

➷ CWs - light biting, light sexual references so not really sfw

a/n - 'pologies that this is a little late :-( meant to get it out exactly on christmas but alas life happens. new phone though! i hope everyone has a happy holidays, this will be my crappy late gift to you

Luther

Luther is so excited about kissing under the mistletoe! He's an unironic hallmark movie fan, so he knows all about the “romantic tradition” It’s picturesque in his mind, pine needle scent candles and a lit fireplace on the screen of the TV

Everything is meticulously placed, along with the mistletoe hanging right above the living room doorway

His silhouette faces yours completely, motioning to the green leaves above you two, “Ah, a mistletoe. You do know the tradition, right? ♡”

A large hand gently cups your face, him taking a step closer. He made sure to look extra dashing (get it?) just for you, adoring how you blush

His touch is feather-light, lips brushing against yours gently as he pulls in. It's exactly like a hallmark movie kiss, the only thing missing being a soft piano playing in the background. But he's sure he can have that arranged for next time

Nyen

Never was a big fan of the holidays, thinks it's too bright and gets tired of the same songs playing over and over again

When you point to the green plant hanging above both of your heads, he scoffs, clearly unimpressed, but doesn’t budge from his spot

“It’s just decoration,” he spits, watching as your lips press into a thin line, a flicker of disappointment crossing your face. You turn to walk away, but before you can take a step, a firm hand wraps around your arm, stopping you

“Where do you think you’re going?” His voice is low, almost quiet, as though he’s asking you to stay, but not sure how to say it

He doesn't have to say anything more though — because lips quickly meet yours, deep and rough as he presses closer to you. He can't help but smirk when he bites your lip just enough to make you wince

Nyon

Enjoys Christmas quite a lot! Maybe more so the winter season, as he's always been accustomed to the cold. Finds a strange sense of peace in the chill of the air and the quiet of the snow. Sounds quite poetic

He’s the first to notice the mistletoe hanging above you two, wide eyes flicking up to it. You notice his demeanor immediately, realizing what hangs above

Nyon’s gaze shifts toward you, meeting yours as you gesture. Without a word, he steps a little closer, but allows you to close the distance. The kiss is brief and gentle, like the soft press of his hand on the small of your back

No words follow the tender moment, but neither of you feels the need for them. After a pause, he pulls a baggie from his pocket — “My plug gave me a holiday discount. I can share?”

Randal

Takes full advantage of a mistletoe. It's almost unbelievable how many sprigs seem to appear where you’d least expect them. but lo and behold…

And every time, he’s under it with you — grinning, nudging you closer, and laughing as he pulls you in, his lips colliding with yours in a messy kiss

He’ll give nonsensical reasons to get you to kiss him, ranging from, “Ho-ho, Santa demands a kiss or the elves will perish. That's what he told me.” to “Actually I’m Santa, you should sit on my lap after this!”

Either way, it doesn't matter what he says beforehand. He’ll always push his body against yours, biting at your lips before shoving his tongue deep down your throat. What a perfect gift you are!

Sebastian

Classic fan of Christmas, likes eggnog and snuggling up in a warm, soft blanket. It’s comforting, looking forward to the same songs, movies, and decorations around the holidays. Of course it's different now, but at least Randal lets up with some of the tormenting for the sake of being on the “nice” list

One thing he does look forward to here is the chance to be under the mistletoe with you. It sounds cheesy, but his heart patters at the idea

It’s adorable how he immediately turns beat red once it really does happen. His god awful ugly Christmas sweater suddenly feels suffocating, and even though he's been looking forward to being romantic, he suddenly can't move to place his lips on yours

Thankfully, you're ever so kind to cup his face and lean in before he can nervously back out. His warmth spreads to you, both of you melting into the kiss. His hand laces into yours, quickly sputtering a “Merry Christmas” once it unfortunately has to break

The Ratmen

It's a terrible mistake to bring up the idea of a mistletoe to the ratmen. They are beyond excited for celebrating Christmas in general, but an actual act where they have an excuse to kiss you? You can see them perk up in real time

You might as well be set up in a kissing booth, because each will demand pressing up against you. They won't ever get tired of it — “Can Christmas be everyday?”

Robert is probably the most normal about it, simply holding at your waist as he leans in for a deep kiss. Micheal is too eager, head tilted mid kiss as he holds his light weight against you. He moans in the middle of it. Ratman 3 is quick with his, and part of you thinks he might prefer the innocence of a peck on the cheek rather than a full kiss. Ratman 4 is gentle enough, but his kiss is almost always cut short by Ratman 5 shoving him out the way. Ratman 5 bites, he just can't help getting too excited

[leahnardo-da-veggie]

Christmas Special

(5.6k words, wrote this in 24h <3 Merry bloody Christmas, guys! TW murder, I guess. Nothing too detailed, tho)

I woke up with a headache. Not a hangover, mind you. I am above getting such things, and in any case it's unfitting for a man such as I to get drunk. No, I had one of those classical headaches, the likes of which are received after a fine blow to the head.

That naturally implied another assassination attempt. How coarse. I opened my eyes and tested my bonds. There were none. Either my captors were convinced I would not run, or they were remarkably incompetent fools indeed.

The room I was held in was… strange, for lack of a better word. There were bright lights that danced across the ceiling, a roaring fireplace, and a table chock full of meats, vegetables, and grains. Yet, that was not the greatest surprise of all.

There was, for unfathomable reasons, a massive tree. Just— sitting, in the center of the room, dominating the festivities. It was gaudy with glowing lights, glittering twine, and baubles infesting its surface. 

Oh, and there were people. Lots of them, in fact, all looking equally confused. We were draped on sofas, sprawled out on armchairs, resting against walls. I was, perhaps, the first of us to wake up, and I swept a watchful eye across the room.

A surprising number of familiar faces caught my eye. Hash, my darling, was there, along with her lowborn friend the vampire. And, would you believe it? There was my old nemesis, the Godhuntress herself, lying blissfully unconscious, just waiting for me to kill her.

By instinct, my hand found its way to my dagger. Some of the bloodlust must have shown on my face, for I caught a mortal boy flinch and hide behind his companion. 

I was halfway to her exposed throat when said companion grabbed my wrist. “You don't want to do that,” she murmured, and her tone gave me pause. It was far too weighty to belong to a mortal, the regality in it far more reminiscent of one of us ancients.

I turned to her and showed off my best smile, the one with all my teeth. She didn't so much as blink at it. “Oh, believe me, miss. I really do. Nothing, and I mean nothing, in this world would grant me more pleasure than snuffing out the life of this vile monster. Now, how about you let me go about my business, hmm?”

She remained imperturbed. “Not happening, kid. Now, how about you tell me what's going on? I don't like this one bit.”

I shrugged and withdrew my blade. Under that strangely cold grip of hers, I sensed a power I did not want to mess with. “Damned if I know. Last I remember, I was in bed, sleeping.” 

“Your kind sleep?” She sounded skeptical. “Actually, what the hell are you?”

“I could say the same of you, miss,” I replied. “But I suppose I'll go first, shall I? I'm a forest spirit, and you may call me Hans.” I left the last portion of my name unspoken, for no one as versed in inhuman dealings as I would ever give my name freely. A damned shame that mine was so short, however. Two syllables was not a great deal of room to make aliases with.

“Katherine, and I suppose you could quantify me as a demon.” She paused. “You don't look like a spirit to me. How old are you?”

I crinkled my nose at her. “Old enough to handle my own, Miss Katherine. And you're one to talk, wearing the face of a little girl. Don't the humans call that pedophilia?”

“No, you're pedo-bait. I'm jailbait. There's a difference, pipsqueak.” The smile was slipping off her face. “Or maybe your little-boy brain is just too underdeveloped to understand that?”

I didn't take the bait. “Fortunately for us, that's not the case. And if you'll excuse me, I'll go find someone more cordial to chat with.” The Godhuntress was stirring, and much as I wanted her dead, a fair fight with her was not one I would win. 

The demoness Katherine let me go, turning back to her mortal boy-toy. I beelined to Hash, the one soul in that room I trusted wholeheartedly. “Wake up, my dear. We've got trouble.”

At that last word, he bolted awake. “Trouble?” He surveyed the room. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” I replied. “Trouble.”

The two of us watched as more and more people got up. The vast majority of them were humans, gangly and pock-marked and over-solid, though I did catch glimpses of spirits and others of our ilk here and there. Katherine was attempting to interrogate the Godhuntress, something I wished her the best of luck with. If I was fortunate enough, perhaps they would get into a fight, and at least one of my problems would be solved.

“We should try to investigate,” Hash whispered. “Someone must know something, yea?”

“If you are so inclined, do it yourself.” I pursed my lips. “I think I shall wait for them to come to me. And sample the food, while I'm at it.”

“Are you crazy? We don't know where it's from. We don't know what it's made of. We don't know jack shit, and you want to play it cool? Have you finally lost your marbles? The only kind of person who would act so casually in this scenario is-” He stopped in his tracks. “Oh. So that's your game. I like it. Dangerous as fuck, but that's life, isn't it?”

“Yes, that is life. Now hop to it, my love. Between the two of us, I think we can get a grip over this crowd in no time.”

Hash gave me a final nod, and strolled off. The first thing I did was grab a glass of wine. Everyone looked more suave like that, and it gave me an excuse to put myself in the center of the room. Several curious eyes followed me as I picked up a plate of venison on the way back, and it was not long before the first of my visitors followed.

She was a young woman, something I sensed would be a common theme in the hours to come, with a spear in hand and an unquenchable rage about her. I swirled my drink in its cup and waited for her to speak.

“Hey! Creepy little boy.” In my own name, was I going to have to be called little boy all evening? “Tell us what's going on, or I'm gonna shish-kebab you with my spear.” 

“I have no idea what you mean,” I replied, pretending to be preoccupied with the vortex within my flute of wine. That glorified stick of hers was hardly sharp enough to pierce a slice of bread, let alone me. “Why would you think I know anything at all, dear?”

“Because you're the only person who looks even slightly at home here? Everyone else is freaking out, and you're just sipping a drink. What are you, one of Santa's elves? Krampus' stolen children? Why are we stuck in a Christmas celebration?” She waved her spear around threateningly.

That was interesting. I did not know what Santa or Krampus were, but I did know the elves, and I knew I could not hope to pass for one in my life. “Maybe,” I said, winking. “Or maybe not.” With luck, she would elaborate.

The girl seemed to only grow angrier at my words, leveling her spear at me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Hash watch me with alarm. I shook my head slightly, warning her not to rescue me. It would be for the best if we did not show our hand yet. 

“Come on then. Aren't you going to stab me already?” I spread my arms, offering her a clear view of my chest. She narrowed her eyes, and for a moment I felt a genuine flash of fear. Beneath that gaze was something that writhed and fed on rot, something old as time itself and hardly less conquerable.

And then it was gone, as an old man grabbed her weapon and pulled it from her grasp. “Athena! What the hell are you doing?” He was followed by another human boy and… a summoner? 

Yes, a summoner, or something akin to it. I had not seen one of her kind in a very long time. The plot thickened. I have the newcomers a lazy smile, and they responded by tensing up.

“What on earth are you?” That was the summoner, pushing angry little Athena behind her. “You're not human, that's for sure.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Athena snapped, wrestling her spear back. “That thing knows something. I'm sure of it.”

The summoner met my gaze, piercing me right through. “No he doesn't,” she said, before I could recover. “He's bluffing.”

“Excuse me?” I pushed myself out of my chair, going nose to nose (or nose to collar, as the case was) with her in not-so-faux rage. “I know plenty, little mortal. For starters-” Pulling her down by the scruff of her tattered shirt, I whispered in her ear. “I know your little girl is cursed. I know that you are a witch, and a good one at that. And, I know that you really do not want to go back to where you came from, so how about you enjoy the food and leave me be, hmm?”

That last line was nothing more than an educated guess, but it paid off. They were too scruffy and thin to have been living in safe conditions, and I caught sight of more than one open sore on them. 

Gears turned in the summoner's brain, wondering if it was worth the cost to call my bluff. Eventually she stepped away from me. “My apologies, sir,” she said, nodding politely. “We'll leave you be.”

I grinned. “Thank you very much, little one. Go try the venison, if you feel peckish. I find it delightful.”

Athena opened her mouth to argue some more, but the summoner gave her a warning glance, and she left with naught more than a glare at me. Settling back in my chair, I took another sip of the wine.

“Hey, you're Hash's boyfriend, aren't you?” On the list of things I did not want to be called, that somehow ranked below ‘creepy little boy'. I turned to see Hash's vampire friend, still wearing his Smiley Mart™ shirt. What was his name: Dane? Dale? Dave?

Yeah, Dave sounded about right. “Hello, Dave,” I said, turning back around so I did not have to look at him. “Is there something you want?”

“Hash told me to come find you. She said you could use my help?” He stepped around so I was facing him once more. “I really don't know what to do, honestly.”

I sighed. “Go interrogate someone,” I told him, more to get him off my back than anything else. “Actually, go keep an eye on some people for me.” I pointed out the Godhuntress, who was flapping her wings in an attempt to get a mortal girl to stop poking them. 

“Is that who I think that is?” Dave's eyes widened. “You think this was her doing?”

“Hmm? Of course not. I want you to tell me when she looks distracted so I can go kill her.”

“You're crazy,” he said. “That's the Godhuntress. You know, the greatest deity since the Creator herself? Yeah, that Godhuntress. She'll squash you like a bug.”

“Doesn't matter. I will find a way.” I clenched my glass. “She took something very precious from me, and I will take my revenge, one way or another.”

“Alright, alright. It'll be a hell of a story to tell, in any case.” He made to leave, then turned back. “Say, is that wine any good? I'm feeling rather thirsty.”

I considered it. “It is rather dry,” I replied. “But fruity, too. Take that as you will.”

“Cool. Thanks, Hash's boyfriend,” he said, and the glint in his eye told me he was calling me names in insult. Unfortunately, by the time I had registered it, he was long gone.

People were beginning to crowd around the tables, finally encouraged to touch the food. That was when I spotted someone I had thought I would never see again: Merida Ryder. And with another forester at that! 

For once, curiosity got the better of me, and I trotted over to talk to her. She would not recognise me, of course. I had taken great pains to disguise myself that time, and I wondered how she would feel seeing my true face for once. 

“Well, well. If it isn't miss Merida, all grown up. Remember me?” I tapped her on the shoulder.

She turned around, and it broke my heart to see how she had changed. Her eyes were sunken, the lights gone from them. Merida looked down at me, and there was no spark of recognition. “No,” she said flatly.

The forester turned around, and he let out a little gasp. “You're-” I shushed him. 

“Can you not see I am trying to talk to someone here? It is most lovely to see a fellow Ces-ilre, but I must speak to Merida first,” I said. “Are you sure you don't remember me? I passed you that gun, all those fateful years ago.”

She blinked slowly. “Don't. I don't want to remember.” Merida shuddered. “Go away, Hans. Thank you for your help. I absolve you of the favours you owed me.”

I am not and have never been a stranger to suffering, but it hurt to see her crushed like that. “So you do recognise me,” I continued. “What happened, Merin? You used to be so happy.”

“I grew up.” 

And that was all she would say on the matter. The forester extracted my hand from her shoulder and led me back to my couch. I let him, of course, something in the hollow cavity where my heart should be aching. 

“You're the Spirit Emperor,” he whispered to me, snapping me out of my reverie. “What are you doing here, my lord? And how did you know Merida?”

“Same as you, and that is none of your business,” I whispered back, slipping into forester dialect. “What is your name and clan, sirrah?”

“Kristavla, formerly of the Ko clan. My lord.”

“So you were there when… the Incident happened.” I jerked my chin at the Godhuntress, now attempting to engage a very uncomfortable Dave in conversation. Or perhaps she was interrogating him.

“No. I was attending to my fiance, my lord. The late Kitsy Te-clan.”

“Oh. I killed her, did I not?” I vaguely remembered a foul-mouthed guard who had insulted me the moment I arrived on castle grounds.

“Yes, and I thank you for it.” Kristavla shook his head. “I will not speak ill of the dead, but she was not a good woman.” 

“I can imagine that.”

We sat there in silence for a few more moments. “Would you like to help me avenge our people?” I gestured again to the Godhuntress, who was being fawned over by a lich of some kind. “We may not get another chance.”

“I am not one for vengeance,” Kristavla said. “But you are a friend of my friend. And so I will. For you, my lord, and for our people, may their remains soak the earth.”

“Thank you. Be on your way, friend,” I told him. “Speak with the vampire in the demeaning costume—” I had to approximate a word for Dave's Smiley Mart uniform— “and see if you can isolate and weaken her. From there we shall make the kill.”

Kristavla nodded, and slipped away. Taking his place (for it seemed I would have an endless supply of supplicants today), was a lean, sly doctor. Her red hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, and her skin was dry enough to resemble scales.

“Hello, Spirit Emperor,” she hissed. “Fancy seeing you caught up in the Christmas web.”

There was that word again. Christmas. “Care to explain, doctoress?” I offered her a seat. She was about as human as I, with the way she moved, though I could not tell what on earth she was.

“I am an Oracle,” she rasped, as though reading my mind. “And my people arranged this felicitous meeting.”

I froze up. “I see. And why should I believe you?”

She laughed, a sound that had more in common with the death of a small furry animal than anything friendly. “Your name is Hans-el Ko-clan. You killed and ate your parents to save the Goddess of Dreams. Your lover is a shapeshifter who will not tell you its true name, and you hold a grudge against the fallen angel they call the Godhuntress.”

“All very impressive,” I agreed. “ But any old fool could have worked that out with the right background knowledge. Tell me something nobody knows.”

The Oracle grinned, revealing red and raw gums. “Careful what you wish for, little boy.” She shifted closer, and I could smell the blood on her breath. “You claimed the throne by mimicking the magic-thieving spell the Godhuntress used on your dear friend. You helped the renegade Merida start the civil war in Palioden by orchestrating a situation in which she had to kill her sister using a gun you provided. And, as the topping on this pie, your worst fear is-”

“No!” It came out louder than I expected, and more than a few heads turned our way. “I believe that you are an Oracle. Please, do not continue this.”

The Oracle leaned back, victorious. “Good boy,” she murmured, proving that there was, in fact, a nickname I could dislike more than ‘Hash’s Boyfriend'.  “Now, I suggest you stop hiding in this little corner and get to moving the plot forward, will you, dear? You ought to be an active protagonist.” She pushed me off my chair. “And be grateful we didn't send you the Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present or Future.”

Before I could ask her what the ghosts, or even Christmas, were, she was gone. Not gone like a ghost walker, or like a teleporter. Gone entirely, as though she had never existed in the first place. I shook my head to ward off the strange feeling, and got up. It was unwise to disregard an Oracle's warnings.

I was about to approach a random person, when someone once again came to me. For once, she seemed perfectly normal. “You look like you know what's going on,” she said without preamble. “Care to explain?”

“Unfortunately for you? I do not,” I informed her, pausing to pick up a few jellies and put them onto my plate.

“Well that's not very polite of you, seeing as I know what Christmas is and you don't,” she replied, taking a few jellies of her own. “And I hear you killed your parents too. We've got that in common, at least.”

That gave me pause. She didn't look like a mage of any kind. “And how did you do that, little girl? With a knife? A pillow to the face at night?”

“A death ray, actually. I'm Mara. Nice to meet you, Hans,” she informed me, sticking her hand out. “You're the talk of the party, you know. They say you're an Emperor.”

“And just who might this ‘they’ be?” Blasphemous gods above, did she ever shut up? 

“Well, Visitor over there, and his buddy Aida. They're from Palioden, which a few little birds tell me is a land in your world. Which, if you can't tell already, I'm not from.”

“What?” 

Mara giggled. “You heard me, Mr Spirit Emperor. I'm not from your world. And if I eavesdropped right, they-” she pointed at Athena's crew- “aren't either. The creepy girl who stopped you from killing that goddess too.”

“The Godhuntress isn't a goddess,” I snapped. “She's nothing but a grandiose genocider. And how did you know about me and Katherine? Everyone was asleep.” 

“I happen to be really good at pretending to be asleep. Picked up the habit in kindergarten.” I tiptoed to pick a cream puff off the top of its tower, and she helped lift it down for me. 

“Thank you. So what do you want, Mara-murderer? A boon? As you have ascertained, I know naught more about this place than you.” Finally, that was a lie. The Oracle had provided me with some excellent information.

“I want to help you kill that bitch. The Godhuntress, or whatever her name was.” Mara's eyes glinted with bloodlust.

“Why?”

“She disrespected me,” Mara snarled, cracking her knuckles. “I was wondering what she was, and I poked her wings, and would you believe it? That fucking bitch slapped me. Me! No fucking warning.”

I was deeply surprised to hear that the Godhuntress had not done worse than a mere slap for the insolence of grabbing her wings. But any aid was welcome aid, especially from someone as adept at spying as Mara appeared to be. “I see. Let's team up, shall we?”

“Excellent.” She rubbed her hands together. “I know that pretty elf girl and the convenience store dude are on your side. Is the other spirit with you too?” I nodded. “Mmkay. I'll tell them everything I know, and report back.”

“Certainly,” I replied. Mara let out another disturbing giggle, and ran off. There was something deeply wrong with that girl, I decided.

I drifted down the table, plucking up more desserts as I went. The talk of the party, was I now? I could certainly see it. More than one person parted way to let me pick out my food, and I saw a distinct wariness in their eyes. Then again, it was but my dues. 

I passed by a Luxatian Crusader in full armour, and she nodded at me. “Spirit.”

“Knight.” For once, I was having a normal encounter. For once, nobody was questioning me about Christmas, or Santa, or Krampus, whatever they were. For once-

The knight unsheathed her sword.

I moved to dodge the blow, but it never came. Indeed, she was not so much as looking at me. Her eyes were trained on someone else, instead. A lich.

“You,” the knight snarled. “Iraela Foundling. The Lich-Queen. I swore an oath to defeat you. And now, I shall.” Ah. It seemed I was not the only one with a grudge to satisfy. 

The Lich-Queen blinked, and eloquently croaked out, “What?”

“I am going to watch your unlife spill out onto my blade, foul beast. You killed my family, my entire village. I watched your ghouls eat my sisters. They were six years old, Lich-queen. I had to run while they begged me to save them.” Tears sprung to the knight's eyes. “You are a monster of the foulest kind, and a fog shall lift the day you die.”

“A monster? Damn right I am a monster,” the lich announced. “I am the monster humanity made of me. Your kind declared me cursed, broken, unlovable. All I did was listen to their words. You should have known it by now: a child not embraced by the village will burn it down to feel its warmth. And all I ever wanted to feel was warm.” She threw her arms wide. “Go on. Slay me. Continue your precious little cycle of hatred. One day, the people I saved, the ones your family scorned, will avenge me.”

A glint in her eye told me she had no plans of going down so easily.

The Crusader spat on the ground. “Spare me your lies, Lich-Queen. Your pretty words will not sway justice.”

I sighed. I knew what kind of woman turned herself into a lich, and it was hardly the sort who a mere knight could defeat. If nobody stopped that fool knight, she was going to get herself killed.

In a flash, I was standing behind the Crusader, barely reaching her underarm. A quick knockout spell later, and she was down, keeling over like a metal doll with its strings cut.

The room had fallen silent. Everyone, even the Godhuntress herself, watched me. I resisted the urge to declare my undying hatred of her, and instead gave a cheery wave to the room. 

The Lich-Queen let her arms fall. “Say, might you be the Spirit Emperor?”

I nodded. “The one and only. And a little bird—” I prodded the unconscious knight with my foot— “told me you were the Lich-Queen. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“And I yours.” She offered her forearm, and I took it. “I actually knew your predecessor: Sucsu'anane.”

That name belonged in our history books. Sucsu was old, and infamous. “But that would make you the first Lich-Queen,” I murmured. “You- It was you who started the Runic wars! It was you who caused the shifters to die out!”

I was staring a legend in the face, a woman who had caused horrors long before my time, horrors that echoes for all eternity. “By the false gods, it is good to meet you! What an honour, Lady Iraela. What an inspiration you were to me.”

I might have spread the flattery on too thick, but Iraela lapped it all up. “Why, you're too kind. Let me tell you: ruling is all in the flair. Why, for my coronation…”

I let history's greatest disaster lead me by the arm to a nice corner, where she proceeded to chatter my ear off. For once, I shall spare you the details. Suffice to say, I learnt more about the history of the Deadlands than I ever wished to know. 

“Let me tell you something, Hans,” she said, interrupting her own monologue.

“Hmm?”

“I heard you knew a shifter named Hash. Well, I met him too.”

That made me perk right up. I'd known Hash was older than I, but that old? Fascinating. What else was he hiding from me?

“Don't trust him. He betrayed us all. We would have won the war, if that little bastard hadn't run off to the elves and spilled the beans. We could have been great, Hans-el. Our peoples, the vampires and the spirits and the ghouls, could have ruled the world. But Hash was soft. Do not let that softness corrupt you,” she warned. “It will rot you from the inside, and when your enemies scoop your guts out, they will not so much as give you the gift of eating you alive.”

“I know,” I replied. “My mother was soft, and it brought her naught but suffering. Our people revile it.”

“And yet you love him,” Iraela commented wryly. “That alone tells me enough about you.”

I did not dare lie and disagree. “Yes, I do. But Hash can take care of himself, now. He's slippery as hell.”

“Yes, that much I have seen from tonight's festivities. But that is the point, is it not? He will slip your grasp and betray you, just as he did the shifters. One day, you will make a cruel choice, a choice for the greater good, and his soft little heart will push him to betray you. All because you weren't hard enough to cut him off.”

I stood up, suddenly reminded of my conversation with the Oracle. My greatest weakness indeed, I thought. “That may be so, my lady. He may betray me, and leave me dead in the gutter. But that is a risk I am willing to take.” I brushed invisible dust off my skirt. “All you are is a woman who failed to rule the world, Lady Iraela. At the end of the day, all you have is your love's blood on your hands and a heart you wrenched out of your own chest. Even if I lose it all, at least I loved, and was loved in turn. For someone who went on and on about needing to feel warm earlier, you just do not seem to understand that, do you?”

Iraela laughed. “So young,” she whispered. “So young and so foolish. They'll make mincemeat out of you, little Emperor. And I'll laugh at you from my grave.”

I strode away from her, back stiff and fists clenched. I could take insult all day, but this? This firm condemnation? It stung. It stung like my father's whippings. It stung and I wanted to never think of it again.

I was still standing about, willing emotion away from me, when Mara tapped me on the shoulder. “Come on,” she said, grinning. “Buncha tables appeared. I grabbed one for us. Your little vampire friend got dragged off to hang out with the rest of his kind, but it seems I'm free to roam.” She laughed maniacally. 

She led me to a table. Hash, my Hash, my brilliant, softhearted friend, grabbed my arms and all but pulled me by his side. “Check this out: That vampire's got a tan!” He pointed a woman in work clothes, conversing animatedly with Dave. “Apparently, she's a field researcher. Can you believe it?”

“Yes, I can,” I agreed numbly. 

“Oh, and this Christmas thing! Mara told me all about it. Apparently, they eat turkey and give gifts and celebrate this saint of theirs. I don't have a gift for you, but I figured this might do!” He pointed at the Godhuntress and lowered his voice. “I cut a sleeping rune onto her piece of turkey while I was carving it. She doesn't know know to use the cutlery, so when she bites into it, the spell will activate, and it'll be your chance! Whaddya think?”

He really was sly. “Brilliant, my love,” I whispered, my mind still on the Lich-Queen. “What else did you find?”

He scrunched his nose up and thought. “Um, the God of Evil's here, and he's a pretty chill guy. The Godhuntress' daughter's here too, and she's got an axe to grind with dear old mum, too, but I convinced her not to do anything drastic. There's some poor blue fellow in the corner, and he's got some kind of curse. I didn't go too close, but he seems… different from the rest of us. When we're done, we should go investigate.”

Beside me, a man in a strange vest sat down. “Hello there, lad,” he began, only to fall silent when he met my eyes. “You're no child. You're a monster.” He stumbled back, clutching his hand to his chest. “Maya? Let's find another table.”

Hash barely hid back laughter as he all but fled the scene, the girl he called Maya giving me a wry smile and nod as she followed. “Now, where was I? Oh, yes. The others. Look over there. No, not at the demon-girl. The blondie and the redhead next to her.”

“I recognise the others at that table,” I told him. “Kristavla and Merida.”

“Yeah, Kris was helping us out earlier. The redhead? Apparently an infamous mind-mage. She fuckin conquered an entire city, all on her own. And the blond girl's a spell-snapper. Ugly combo, if you ask me. They're from the same era as us, but Nyctomachian.”

“And them?” I pointed at Athena and the one-eyes summoner. “They damn near called my bluff.”

“Yeah, they bothered Dave real bad too. Something tells me they're not gonna harass us again, though.” He grinned at me. “A certain someone may have implied that he was the reason they even ended up here.”

I wanted to facepalm. “Damnit, Hash. That was exactly what I told them too.” I looked over at them, deep in discussion. The old man met my gaze, and held it with the kind of defiance that promised trouble. “Ah, what the hell. We can deal with them later. For now, let us celebrate.”

I drank more wine, this time watered down (for no man of my stature should ever get drunk), gossiped with Hash and Mara, and bided my time.

The Godhuntress took her spare time sipping drinks and eating appetisers. For a moment I suspected she knew of our devious plan, for she avoided her turkey for far too long. Then she lifted the fateful piece of poultry with more grace than it deserved, and bit down.

I was by her side before her head hit the table. My reputation preceded me, for the others at her table, a rather foolish spirit and his mortal friend, scrambled back. Gasps of shock and horror resounded as I readied my blade.

It was quite a shock to realise those noises were not for me. I glanced up from my goal for one fateful minute, perhaps compelled by the strings of Fate that the Oracles pulled, and caught sight of what could only be described as a cryptid.

He came from the chimney, white and red despite the soot. A full white beard hung limply from his chin, and his deep voice resounded throughout the room. “Ho, ho, ho! Merry bloody Christmas, fools!” He pulled out a massive sack and grinned at the room. “You're all bad apples, the lot of you! Coal for everyone!” 

Everyone except me dodged the sudden hail of coal that followed the opening of his sack. “Well, what are you waiting for?” He leered at me, icy blue eyes piercing me like the fangs of the last Oracle I met. 

I lifted my knife, aiming it at the dazed Godhuntress' throat. A glimmer of recognition dawned upon her face, but I did not let her recover fully. Down went my blade, swift, brutal and twice as just as any executioner's axe.

And what a merry, bloody Christmas it was.

[vasiliquemort]

Commissions are open!~

Please feel all beckoning possible to reach out with any thought of painting, inquiry or question through either: - Direct message in tumblr or ask inbox - Through gmail mentioned in the card above - Or through commission's google form!

Each way is beautiful and welcoming, and by each conclusion I would be overjoyed to be reached by your company<з

There is additionally written full options of the pricelist:

- Bust of one character down to the chest: 60$ Background for busts is free to be added<з

- Portrait of one or more characters starting from waist: 70$ For background + 10 $ as base cost, prices over are determined by detailing. For each new character + 20 $

- Character (or several) in full growth: 80$ For background + 10 $ as base cost as well, prices over are determined by detailing. For each new character + 30 $

I do portraits in three formats - bust, waist-length and then full-length. They can be various in styling, therefore please pay close attention to the difference in the execution of these formats: - The busts are always more detailed in the character's features. - The atmosphere is more consistent in waist-length paintings. - Full-length drawings are well suited to demonstrate clothing design or particular scene.

Cost of more complex and expressive pieces and backgrounds are increased by tipping after full painting was completed, which I express as an deeply loyal and tactful system - it is absolutely voluntary and happens only at the end of the project, so you have ability to define their cost to your feelings and abilities and nothing over that<зз

I adore to experiment with styles and learn new tones of this craft - as each meeting is a start of something beautiful, and I desire to create art that is complex and multifaced, but to an important extend I should say that I do not feel comfortable to copy or imitate other's styles of execution and sensuality, and a lot of expressions and detailing in my work are sudden and stands in variability - art is an journey and yet I would love to share this journey with you;з

Oh, and you have read almost everything, thank you so much!o///o And also there, under the cut, is described general process of work and how we conclude payment.

How do we work on an order?

Please, once again - feel free to contact via Tumblr, mail, google form or ask inbox for any questions you may acquire!~

After I discuss the content of the painting with you and receive additional materials (photo of the person that is drawn, or references that are close to what you would like to see in particularly), I start creating the first sketch.

In accordance with the request, I make a sketch of the future painting, which will contain all its important elements and an approximate color scheme that we will use. At this stage, you can freely make your amendments, and when the content suits you, I will ask you for an advance payment of half the cost of the work without additional prices of background or detailing.

After that, work on the portrait will begin. Its duration varies on several factors - to a greater extent on the volume and complexity of the work itself, as well as on my own workload with other projects.

After completing the portrait, I will send you its version in lowered quality - after you familiarize yourself with it (there is also possible some edits - of tones and colors, elements of shading, character's features and general small details), and after you pay the rest of the amount you shall receive the final result of our artwork! ~

[iamafictionfreak]

Hello, hello!!!

So… it’s been a while. I know I promised/offered/hoped for more of this. And... even though it’s been months, I've finally managed to write the next part.

Not to be deceiving, but part 2 is literally episode 2 only. I'm going the way of Loaded march and posting oneshot's with a rough length of about 20, 000 words? Give or take 5000.

Ever read Footloose’s Loaded March? The Merthur fic to end all Merthur fics?

For those here who aren’t Merthur veterans – we hold weekend group therapy sessions, and depression Thursdays – Loaded March is a series of stories (16 in all) amounting to 1,261,720 words, which is mind boggling to me, and each story is never more than either a oneshot or a handful of chapters until you reach the end.

So, I’m doing that here. Highest form of flattery there is.

So, yep. Part 2 is written and it's around 20000 words - Once it's edited I'll upload, very hopeful for a release by New year. Each episode will be the equivalent of a mini arc but it'll likely be a while before part 3 etc.

As with the above post, I’m aiming, if I actually manage to get there, to cover the rest of season 1 and leave it in a good place. It’s basically a retelling of the show, except with Arthur knowing Merlin’s secret, which changes everything. The juicy part is how this is investigated, developed and how it may or may not alter events as these two idiots progress.

Forewarning: don’t expect a light and fluffy time. Yes, I’m hoping it will be humorous. It’ll likely be dark at times, angsty. Painful. But the light is the key, and the relationship between Arthur and Merlin, the core. It’s, hopefully (pleasepleaseplease) full of adventure and truth and fun!

Unfortunately, Arthur, as you’ve seen, won’t immediately be buddy buddy with the personification of ‘evil’ that his father has raised him to want to destroy. We have a trained killer with a nobility made of steel and a heart as fragile as a bird’s. We have a soft and squishy peasant boy beholding the world's heart of gold, a primal gaze who is an unforeseen powerhouse with unlimited potential to grow into the most formidable man on the planet.

In the show, we see Merlin change over time, moving from servant to devotee of Arthur but kept very much isolated and shadowed. It leads to a very bittersweet end and a deeply fearful Merlin who should never have had to be. With said man knowing the truth, how does that change this growth. I’m not a fan of unearned progression so please don’t expect these two to become the best of friends in the space of 2 chapters.

In the show they fit all the definitions yet fit exactly none of them. They’re friends, except they’re not because their social status gets in the way. They’re devoted comrades, except they’re not because how can they be when such huge secrets stand between them. They’re each other’s protector, except neither really knew it nor understood what it meant. Arthur became Merlin’s purpose, and no one ever knew that heartbreakingly beautiful truth, so he couldn’t serve said purpose to his fullest potential. Arthur was never able to know what it was like to have someone like that by his side because even when he married Gwen, there was a piece if himself that he kept concealed. Watch season 5 and you’ll see what I mean and it’s because of that, that Gwen feels so alone at times.

The show held such potential. And luckily fan works aren’t limited by money or stereotypes or backwards thinking or, oddly enough, a yearning to thrown in a boatload of realism in the last half hour of a supremely unrealistic show.

This fic will not be halted or forced or rushed into romance of any kind. I have an issue with unearned progression. Natural chemistry leads to places yes, but people don't usually just fall in love and go with the flow.

The possibilities are delicious, won’t lie. If Arthur and Merlin had been allowed to ‘touch that’ in the show, the depth of it - the many layers it would have added - would have taken it in a very different direction, one that didn’t fit BBC goals at the time. Imagine all the S1/2 episodes with a bi Arthur. How that alone changes everything about it. Likewise, rewatch the episodes and imagine that it circles certain forbidden feelings and suddenly it’s so much more. I also won’t destroy existing love angles for the sake of something that I want more. No, it needs to feel natural. We’ll see what happens.

If you have questions, throw them at me, whether I answer them is another thing entirely.

I hope you’re all okay at the very least. It’s been a tough few years.

P.S I was going to wait until the third part was written as well, but the year has been hard; I've been sick, I've gotten a new far more stressful job and I've begun it question whether we really do exist within a 'matrix', so it feels right to post a sequel at christmas when merlin did everything to kill us once upon a time.

*not my gif*

In a Land of Christmas, and a Time of Fanfiction, There was an Irritated Woman in Dire Need of a Re-Write:

(gifs not mine - they're from @genyakosstyk)

So… I did it! I did exactly what I said I’d do here. I wrote the start of what could become a long-winded piece of diatribe focusing on how much Merlin the tv series could have healed us instead of hurt us.

I can’t tell if I’m overly ambitious, a little desperate (about anything and everything honestly) or just so done with 2023 and the crap-tastic news it generates. That and, I have this on repeat in my mental-space, which is more of a shed than a palace:

(gif from @punqueen13 )

So that's fun.

It’s forgivable to escape horror or fear or fatigue or guilt and grief by diving into fantasy. And is there anything more fantastical than merlin? Merlin and all the promise it brings. Is there any wonder why fics are still being churned out for a series that ended 11 years ago?

So here it is.

Part 1 of one. I’ve written a short, five chapter thing. It isn’t a prologue, it’s an intermission between episode 1 and 2 of season 1. The chapters are short for a reason, but I wanted to give a mix of both Arthur and Merlin povs so do let me know if they’re extremely out of character – I can handle a little ooc, especially given the nature of fanfic but if I can’t hear their voices in my head or see them as I read, I feel like I’ve failed.

I think I did ok?

The premise is simple:

Arthur sees Merlin, a peasant he had a brief altercation with, use magic to save his life. He should tell his father about. He should arrest Merlin.

He doesn’t. His honour being at risk, he allows Merlin to work for him on the proviso that he doesn’t use magic. Ever.

Except Arthur has questions he’s never been given the answers to. And Merlin is – odd. He’s nothing like what Arthur’s been told a sorcerer is and he makes it all too easy for Arthur to drop his guard around him.

Which- well, it must be magic, right?

His father, his attendants and tutors, have taught him about the manipulations of witchcraft and sorcery and how they can twist a man into feeling empathy for the wicked.

The problem is that Merlin isn’t exactly what he’d call wicked. Arthur trusts his own instincts and they’re telling him very different things to what the king decreed. He vows to watch over his new manservant. The moment he commits treason, he’ll run a sword through him.

And in the meantime, maybe – just maybe – he’ll find out for himself if a man who turns to evil, can’t turn back.

I’LL POST EACH CHAPTER WITHIN THE NEXT TWO WEEK SEASONAL PERIOD.

But.

There will then be a wait for part 2 – if anyone truly wants it, that is. And if not, hey. I had fun writing this.

Other bits and bobs and odds and sods:

Will there be romance?

Eventually! But I do wonder with who you mean? And this is first and foremost an experiment about how Merlin and Arthur could have been if what when how and why. If Arthur had Merlin's full trust and if Merlin was allowed past the walls Arthur had erected to keep even Gwen out, what could they have become?

Is it funny?

I HAVE NO IDEA. I truly hope so though, at east a little. There's some seriousness ahead to get through first though, Arthur isn't just going to jump into trust.

Will there be a lot of differences from season 1?

I aiming for exactly that.

How much trouble is Merlin in? More than season 1?

Ahem, have you seen the below man?

Merlin's in ALL the trouble. He just doesn't know yet that trouble is his home-spice.

[wild-at-mind]

USians you will be distressed to know that in the UK far right people use Trump flags, MAGA hats and even confederate flags to signify their allegiances to each other.

[shadyhouse]

making a new post bc the other one is pretty bulky, im about to be severely overdrafted when i pay my rent in a few days and i really really really cant let that happen :( pls if you have anything to spare i'd appreciate it, im in the process of finding a new job because my current one refuses to give me hours. im transmasc and i dont have a car so finding a job has been difficult but im doing everything i can to make ends meet. even just spreading this around helps

pp: paypal.me/bewearrr

vnm: tobias_leviathan

thank you 🥺💕

90/450

[ahalliance]

how do i turn qantoine’s spontaneous marriage proposal to qetoiles into evidence of his early-days fear of qfrench drifing away and keeping secrets from one another

[blundering-thoughtless-hooligan]

Instead of a verbal confirmation all Yuri receives as an answer is another low hum rumbling in the back of Taiga's throat as he lets his head loll forward at the ministration. There's no acknowledgement of being halfway dragged onto the other ghoul's lap either, partly because he's barely even registered it happening, partly because he simply doesn't care. Taiga's a touchy guy, always slinging his arm around someone's shoulder or giving his underlings little pats on their heads or backs at a job well done, and that isn't even scratching the surface of the kind of invasion of personal space he resorts to when he actually likes someone. Romeo knows it better than anyone ever has or ever will, the tiny casual touches and lingering caresses and all the spots the Sinostra captain presses his lips to when he really truly treasures someone.

The memories make his heart clench just a little tighter and he wills himself to concentrate on the fingers digging into his scalp for long enough to take his mind off things.

Taiga gives a small chuckle when Yuri swiftly interrupts the train of thought he rightfully suspected the older ghoul to have. Yeah, Taiga's favorite way of testing his limits has always been going above and beyond, any resulting damage be damned. Just like kids will only learn not to put their hands on the hot stove by getting burned Taiga relies on first hand experience, craving the consequences of his actions almost more than any possible reward.

"You a shrink now or something?" It was sarcasm, after all one of the tirades he's had to endure again and again was how Yuri couldn't possibly specialise in everything, that there are different types of doctors for a reason, he couldn't be a surgeon and a dentist and a neurologist all at once, at least not to each field's full capicity.

Romeo has sent him to countless therapists, each one seemingly more useless than the one before them. He isn't sure if all the diagnoses he's acquired over the years can still be counted on only two hands. It's like they had desperately tried to fit his affliction into medical terms only to still fall short on that end. He finds it laughable but Romeo doesn't seem to share his sense of humor.

"If you wanna poke around in my head be warned, I've made several people here quit." Yuri knows, obviously, he has Taiga's complete file after all, even though Taiga doesn't know just how detailed those therapy reports are and how many gruesome details they might have left out.

An alarm goes off on his phone and Taiga is left staring at it for longer than strictly necessary, reading the reminder 'Go to Mortkranken' over and over and racking his brain for the context before it eventually clicks.

Oh, yeah, he'd set that reminder when he'd met up with Isami a while back. He can't quite remember what for but he figures the other ghoul will tell him once he gets there.

He shoots Romeo a quick text, letting him know he'll be going to Mortkranken, before he makes his way to the aforementioned House.

As usual most of the general students scramble out of his way which, wow, rude much, he only ever bit two or three nurses here, what the fuck are they still getting their panties in a twist for? It's not like he'd ever staged a hostage situation to get meds out of— oh, wait, he had.

Whoopsie.

Well, still no reason to hold grudges.

Taiga doesn't bother knocking, swinging open the door to Yuri's office like he owns the place.

"Yo, Doc, your most difficult patient is back!"

@blundering-thoughtless-hooligan

Yuri glances up at Taiga, then looks back down at his paperwork and continues writing. "Believe it or not, you are no longer my most difficult patient." He finishes his sentence and sets the pen down, "challenging, yes, but you've been surpassed for behavior."

He folds his hands together in front of him and manages a mostly genuine amused smile, "it's good to see you again, Taiga. You actually came back for that checkup?" How unusual. He would have thought Taiga would forget and fight him on being reminded.

This was almost calm, normal. At least for Taiga.

"Sit, Taiga, sit," he gestures to the couch. He'd insist on an actual examination room for anyone else, but Taiga's checkups needed to be in the office. He was a tiger unless you put him in a sterile clean examination room, then he became an impulsive junkyard dog, shaking and biting everyone in sight. The office smells... good to him or something, he'd said once. Yuri doesn't know how to interpret that.

[blubble-lake]

it's been over 2 weeks and this thing (unfortunately) still has a grip on me

[colourfullanguages]

some days i feel like i was born to do great things, accomplish big stuff and other days i feel like i was just a big fish in a small pond and unfortunately here on out i'll just be a small fish in a big pond and other days i feel like i want to choose a normal life but the normal life was not meant for me because i was born to be outstanding but there are days when doing great things feel scary and i don't have the courage to pursue it so i feel i should just default to an ordinary path

[nomaishuttle]

im always like wistfully sighing one day i will live with somebody who loves me and we'll cook together and itll be so romantic and then i remember when i was a kid and my mom would force me to let my sibling help me bake and id get so mad that i considered fratricide

[hellokittyish]

★ thinking about nanami who, contrary to popular belief, is completely oblivious to just how big his dick is.

because this is a man who rarely ever watches porn due to him finding the performances highly overdramatized, so he hasn’t really had the chance to compare his size to other men. and while he’s by no means a virgin, he’s always assumed that the women who have told him he’s ‘big’ were just aiming to flatter him — his mother raised him to be humble, after all.

but it’s not until he gets you (the sweet girl he’s been seeing for the past few months) into his bed that it dawns on him that he might be a little… larger than average, to say the least.

“k-kento— ‘s not gonna fit,” you whine pitifully beneath him, fat tears beading along your lower lashes as you squirm against the mattress. “‘m sorry but... i-i don’t think i can take it all.”

and nanami can do nothing but gape at how giant his cock suddenly seems in comparison to your little fluttering hole, his angry reddened tip trying (and failing) to slowly push past the first ring of resistance inside your spongy walls.

“o-oh, sweetheart,” he rasps out, adam’s apple bobbing harshly as he swallows down the thick lump that seems to have arisen in his throat. “i’m sure we can make it fit, no? just… just try ‘n relax a little more for me.”

“i’ve been trying to relax this whole time,” you hiccup, trembling hands pawing at his bulky arms positioned either side of your head as he peers down at you sympathetically. “you’re just too b-big, ken.”

he exhales deeply, leaning down to press a tender kiss to the corner of your mouth as a form of apology for what he’s about to do— before swiftly using all of the strength in his lower body to thrust every inch of him inside in one go.

and you’re squealing, nails no doubt leaving crescent-shaped indents in the skin of his muscular biceps as you thrash against the sheets, desperately trying to adjust to the feeling of being so completely and utterly full, your poor cunt practically being split in two to accommodate the sheer size of him.

“christ— ah, there we go,” he grunts, sweaty strands of blonde hair falling over his forehead as he forces himself to stay completely still above you, allowing you ample time to get as comfortable as possible. “see, darling? i told you we’d make it fit.”

but nanami can’t bear the idea of you struggling this much every time the two of you are intimate, so he comes to the conclusion that he’ll just have to make sure that by the end of the night, your insides are moulded to the exact shape of his cock.

that way it won’t be such a difficult fit next time, right?

[screampied]

☆ cw. fem! reader, husband nanami, dad bod, mating press, protected -> unprotected, size kink, bręeding, praise, mdni.

it’s something hot about how husband! nanami just isn’t aware of how big he really is.

he’s insanely thick - easily stretching you with only just a few vast inches inviting its way in between your slippery entrance. the rubbery tip of the condom nearly snags against your gripping insides as he moves, hovering his soft weight above you. heavy, rushed pants of breath drag out from each lung as he looks down at you lovingly. just a mere glimpse of you, and he’s already ready to propose to you all over again.

“f.. fuck, sweetheart. hold on t’ me.” he’d grunt with two beefy arms held against either side of you.

curled twines of blond hair paint a nice bushy portion of his chest like a canvas. it starts near his neck before trailing further down toward his plump abdomen. nanami’s tucking his head into the crook of your shoulder, silently gasping at each veiny inch that disappears inside. “k- kento,” you moan, one of your legs hooking around his wide snapping waist. he’s hesitant before his hands pull your legs way up to your chest. “mmp- don’t stop, baby.”

“hah- promise,” he groans through clenched teeth, his jaw locking by the second. the stretch he creates was so good that it’s got nanami falling right into your chest. his body was practically akin to a pillow, and he’s squishing himself on top of you before your cunt squeezes around him. fuck- fuck- fuck- that same word chants in his empty brain, nearly slipping out a hoarse whimper at how slick you coated the entirety of his cock. “c’mon, sweetheart. open for me like ‘y always do. gooood, biiiig stretch for kento.”

but as he’s gradually bucking his unsteady hips into you while gently placing a hand on top of your tummy, the two of you are met with a loud abrupt ‘snaaap!’ sound, and nanami pauses.

literally - the condom pitifully snaps apart, ignoring gravity as the now ruined rubber tightens around his shaft. nanami’s panting in your neck as his entire body quivers over you before he mumbles out a raspy, “o.. oh.. shit.”

it’s rare for him to swear, but at that particular moment, you throbbed, impatiently chewing on the skin that lived on your bottom lip.

your bare heel rubs soothing circles around his tense back muscles as you suddenly meet his lustful gaze.

his eyes - they’re shining almost. the more you peer into his fawn, almond eyes, the more you got lost in his gentle, ardent stare.

“i- it’s okay,” you’d breathlessly mumble, feeling his dick retreat its way out of your sopping pussy. it’s a loud, sobbing ‘pshs’ sound that slops from your vocal pussy before you shakily whimper, “go raw, ken.”

“hah- dirty girl,” he’d groan, pressing three wet open-mouthed kisses against your temple. in immediate response, your body shudders underneath him as you hear as you feel him starting to shuffle.

with a single veiny hand, nanami snatches the snugly-fit condom off of his length before tossing it in the nearby trash bin. “ ‘m not sure if i’d last long…my lo- oh fuuuck.”

nanami’s dead silent.

shallow, shaky breath falls from his rose-colored lips as the v-shaped head of his blushing cock lightly taps against your slobbery cunt.

you’re so soaked, abundantly pouring from all sides as your legs remain prettily spread and folded. nanami himself couldn’t help but stare, openly gawking as he’s slowly creating a nasty full thrust.

just one-

a single thrust that’s making you both fall against each other at once. he’s laid right over your body, being careful not to crush you as he grunts at the occasional clenches of your cunt.

the best way to describe nanami was like a teddy bear, so soft ‘n round from all angles. with him having you in mating press, you’re feeling all of his weight plummet down onto you, each pound of his cock becoming deeper within every swallowing inch. it’s got you speechless, moaning continuously as a few strands of his chest hair collide against your skin.

“mmpf- s.. so big, ‘ken,” you’d moan, twisting your toes in anticipation at the raw friction.

he’s so big - even bigger without the rubber it seemed, and you gasped once you felt his soft foreskin slide its way inside. truth be told though, you’d never get used to his size no matter how many times he’s stuffed you full. your gummy convulsing walls merrily greeted nanami’s shaft as your arms wrapped around his rounded belly. “ugh- there, right fuckin’ thereee.”

“god- woman, you’re just.. huuh- askin’ for another baby,” nanami grumbles, blond brows creasing together as he tenderly rubs a wide palm in a circle around your tummy.

his dick’s thoroughly massaging through you perfectly, and he’s sucking his teeth at the natural feeling. your slickness coats him so good, and he’s still got you in the lewdest mating press with your knees shoved against your chest. “ ‘s that what you want, princess?” and as he speaks, his voice lowers, feeling your tummy anxiously tuck inward. “you’d look so pretty again all plump.”

with a look of meek, you cup his face, gently stroking a thumb over the crack of his parted, pouty lips. “mhm-” you’d nod, holding in a gasp once he presents your pussy with one vigorous thrust.

it’s sharp- and you whimper at how his cockhead slammed itself deep against your clit. as your thighs frantically shook, nanami holds them up before playfully tilting his head at your response.

“mhm?” he repeats your little mumble, a hiss nearly slipping through his clenched teeth as he pulls out before sloppily pulling back in.

the slimy squelches that followed were just the definition of wet. each dramatic-sounding squelch that yelped out between your legs had nanami on the verge of shooting blanks right then and there. not just there and there but inside you, too.

as dewdrops of sweat dribble from all sides of his head, nanami presses a sticky wet kiss against the crevice of your mouth. “use those pretty words, i wanna.. wanna hear my sloppy wife talk to me nice.”

“k— kentooo, please,” you’d whimper, writhing underneath his soft body. he’s pressed up against you, practically suffocating your body with his huggable warmth. each barreling inch he spent inside you had you drooling from the inside of your mouth. nanami hums, sneaking a kiss on your damp lips before feeling you claw a hand down his chiseled back. “hah- cum inside. f- fuck me.”

exactly at your sweet pleading words, you felt his dick throb inside of you. it’s more of a sporadic twitch, and it makes you let off a cute ‘ooooh!’

nanami slumps his head in between your sore jiggling breasts, sliding a tongue down the crack of your chest before groaning. “f.. fuck, when you ask me like that, can’t r- resist, honey,” and his voice dripped with such sensuous desire. nanami’s shaft greedily kisses its way against your pearled clit before his entire body erupts into vicious shakes.

he knew he wouldn’t last long at all - especially raw because once he’s starting to swell from the very tip, he’s gutturally groaning right between your tits. gluey golden strands of hair tickled against you as he’s cumming hard, whimpering into your chest.

nanami’s entire body quakes violently, and his thrusts switch from rhythmic to pathetically sloppy within seconds..

even still, you’re folded in such a pretty way, taking each slobbery drop that fills into your cunt deeply, and you moaned once his dripping tongue glides a path down toward your sensitive nipples. “mmph-” he’d grunt, muffling himself as he’s still dumping such a thick load.

nanami guides a hand down between your legs, smearing the back of his wedding ring against your flooding pussy. with a loud pop! your nipple wetly plops out between his lips and he holds still.

“take it, sweetheart. ‘s all for you,” nanami lowly whispers against your clammy chest, his heavy eyelids flapping shut. your warmth - it’s so balmy inside, and he’s already shuddering once his leaky tip sprinkles the final remnants of cum deep into your womb. it leaves a beautiful dry taste in his mouth, and nanami uses a thumb to spread a flap of your folds apart. “she’s s- so pretty.”

“f- fuck..” you’d suck in a airy moan, panting at the pitching faint spurts of wetness that echoes through your ears. gooey, thin torrents of cum run down the opening of your cunt as he pulls out, and you gasp once nanami suddenly flips you over.

now - you’re laid on your chest with your hips raised, ass arched up, and your neck most certainly raised.

“hah- forgive…me,” nanami throatily murmurs, using the back of his wedding ring once more to slither down your cream-coated pussy. his tone, it’s far lower this time—raspy with a bit of a smoky airiness to it.

oh- you were just an entire mess. he’s already licking his lips as he takes in the beauty of his wife’s backside, immediately feeling his sensitive dick twitch at the coarse, arching sight.

the way his cum just messily cascades down between your syrupy slit, splattering onto the silk white sheets in the process - he wanted more..

nanami hungrily rolls out his tongue before licking your pussy from top to bottom—shamelessly relishing in his bittersweet taste that soaks against his sizzling buds. the viscous mess glitters a sheeny filthy coat onto his pursed lips before he huffs, sitting back up.

with a soft little tap, you whine, feeling the familiar upturned curve of nanami’s hardened tip smack against your cum-slobbering entrance again and again..

“arch a bit more for me. atta girl, mhm- let’s.. hah- aim for triplets this time, my love..”