#feral sweetness like honeycomb

[alexanderlightweight]

i love when Alec is just being himself and Magnus is over in the corner being a horny mess, so i was wondering if you could write something with that?

thank you for the lovely prompt! it's set in feral sweetness, like honeycomb

here we go, i hope you enjoy this

lumine

-

Magnus is about to ask Alexander out, officially this time rather than the impromptu visits Magnus has been making to his very busy shadowhunter. Magnus intends to introduce Alexander to his loft, so that his darling can come visit him as well, but so far there’s never been a time that Alexander can actually leave the Institute for long enough.

Just as he’s about to speak, fingers already reaching out so he can press them against Alexander’s own, Alexander’s second arrives.

“Commander—” Mirai says, interrupting the conversation between Alexander and himself and Magnus bites back a scowl as he allows Alexander to be distracted. Alexander barely looks at his second, just makes a hum in reply, “I’m going to request that you quell your first instinct.”

“What are you talking about?” Alexander asks, voice soft and eyes warm from where he’s still staring into Magnus’ own gaze. “My instincts are always accurate.”

This is true.

Magnus has seen the beauty of Alexander’s incredible instincts several times now — and he’s eager hungry to see more.

“Commander Lightwood—” a voice interjects between them all and Alexander goes still, and the warmth of his eyes fades until they’re two dark chips of cold malice. “I need a mo—”

The speaker doesn’t get the chance to say another word.

Alexander is up and out of his chair, blurring so fast that only Magnus’ unglamoured eyes can keep track of him. The intruder crashes into the wall of the greenhouse, Alexander’s hand on his throat as he holds them up, feet dangling from the ground and an arrow in his left hand, adamas tip pressed to the fourth and fifth ribs.

“Why don’t I talk first, before you start your business.” Alexander murmurs and Magnus can hear it, the words echoing with threat no matter how softly they’re spoken.

There’s a snort next to him and Magnus flicks his gaze over to see Mirai watching with a smirk, Alexander’s head of security and a third nephilim all watching with identical looks of satisfaction.

It is suddenly very clear to Magnus that this was the expected result, and the request was merely a way to create plausible deniability.

“An envoy from the clave. Victor Aldertree, the commander found out that he’s been supplying yinfen to the shadowhunters injured on his watch. Since he sends those shadowhunters out to Institutes it quickly became a large problem. When several came here already addicted, it caused some… difficulties.”

Magnus is incredibly impressed by Alexander’s restraint, and he refreshes his drink with a little sigh of delight. This is going to be quite the show and Magnus is going to need a cool beverage to survive, “well, I’m certainly not going to interfere. I know how the clave feels about warlocks involving themselves without direct permission.”

Magnus is suddenly being given a considering looks from all three shadowhunters and he smirks, because he’s quickly finding the way to gain the support of Alexander’s hunters.

Not that he needs it… but it does help.

—

Magnus clears the blood from the greenhouse floor with a snap of his fingers, ignoring Alexander’s protests. He has to do something with the sudden rush of lustful energy powering his magic and he might as well endear himself at the same time.

“I can handle a bit of tidying up; I know my way around bloodstains quite well.”  Magnus winks as he says it and it earns him the pleasure of watching Alexander’s pupils dilate as his eyes focus on him. It’s gratifying, because Magnus only grew hungrier watching Alexander hold Aldertree down and pull answers from him, activating the man’s iratze halfway to start again.

“I’m sure you do.” Alexander murmurs, eying Magnus appreciatively and Magnus internally preens, smug with the worship in his shadowhunter’s gaze.

“Speaking of bloodstains darling, I’m rather good with ichor as well. Perhaps you could come by some time after patrol, allow me to offer my services.”

Alexander frowns, looking confused and a little startled.

“You want to do my laundry?”

That wasn’t what Magnus meant, not quite. However, he’s quite aware that this is quite new to Alexander. That much has been made clear by his polite but still hovering shadowhunters.

They trust their leader, but they don’t trust Magnus.

So, it’s with a softer smile that Magnus reminds himself to be a little less coy and he reaches out, using magic to straighten and clean Alexander’s collar.

“I’d like to have an excuse to get you out of your clothes, darling. I’d happily do laundry if that’s what it takes.” Magnus smirks, because his bluntness has apparently stunned Alexander, his shadowhunter’s eyes widening.

There are still specks of blood on Alexander’s cheeks still and Magnus cups his jaw, using his thumb to wipe them away with magic, admiring the light blush left after his touch.

“I have a patrol tonight—” Alexander says, voice low and hoarse and his lips brushing Magnus’ thumb. “I could come by after.”

“Aren’t you resourceful.” Magnus teases and then, because he wants to be very clear about his intentions, he steps close and presses his lips to Alexander’s ear. “Make sure your hunters know not to expect you until your next shift.”

His boy — because Alexander is looking at him the devotion that can only mean he’s Magnus — nods. There’s a moment of silence and then Alexander smirks against Magnus’ thumb.

“I’m not in the habit of letting ichor get on my clothes without a very good reason, Magnus.  It would have been a long time before I’d shown up asking for your help.”

Magnus is so startled by Alexander’s dry, confident humor that he lets out a titter, a sound that equally startled Alexander.  His boy grins, a softness to his mouth as he leans forward and boldly — his boy is bold now that he knows it’s allowed — presses his mouth to Magnus’.

It’s such a delightful surprise that Magnus internally curses himself even as he groans into the kiss. If he had been a little less flirtatious and a little more forward, it seems he could have claimed Alexander as his even sooner.  It’s a delightful find and Magnus wraps his arms around Alexander and sighs as Alexander carefully, almost chastely nips his mouth.

Magnus encourages it with a hum, mouth still closed as he lets Alexander’s tug at his lip before his boy presses small, almost comforting kisses to where he bit.

It’s the most chaste first kiss Magnus has had in decades and yet it fills him with a passion he knows he can’t unleash quite yet.

“You’re making it very hard not to change the very turns of the universe to make it dawn more quickly.”

“If you do that,” Alexander murmurs against his mouth, “then I’ll be behind on my paperwork.”

“Well, we can’t have that happening. I suppose you’ll simply need to give me a few more kisses to tide me over.”

Alexander laughs, a gentle huff and then he kisses him again. Magnus tightens his grip on his boy’s hips — wanting to leave a gift of his own — and from the needy gasp against his mouth, it’s well received. 

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Hi!! I'm sososo obsessed with Satyr König oml you're a genius (also I've binge read your whole yandere könig tag it's so perfect). Okay so sorry in advance for my English, but:

I can't stop thinking about a shy (and kinda pervert lmao) nymph reader who sees him, sees how big and strong he is and how well he secretly protects all her sisters (and how irresistible his big, thick cock is) and really falls in love and is wildly attracted to him, BUT she's very shy and the idea of telling him her feelings is too mortifying, so when he's out in the woods she sneaks in his den, tidies the place up, brings him some flowers as gifts (yeah im inverting the usual roles lol), snuggles in his bed of furs (maybe touches herself fantasizing about him-) and König, well, notices the changes in his house and is VERY perplexed, so one day he returns earlier than usual and sees this cute, soft and unaware nymph moaning and whimpering in his den, her face against his furs, all wet and willing and ready to mate while she quietly moans his name, eyes closed and face red- he'd go FERAL

The idea of desperately horny satyr König with a more than willing needy nymph makes my brain melt oml

(And btw, do you think you'll ever write Satyr König again, in general?)

Satyr!König goes absolutely feral, yes.

He noticed the lingering sweet scent at the mouth of his den already, a sugary, floral scent that he knows so very well. He knows it to his core, because his nose wants to follow that scent whenever he catches it.

Only nymphs smell this sweet, like flower meadows and moonlight, like spring water and honeycombs. The distinct scent of a kore is eerie, and only gets stronger when he walks further into his lair, but what’s more is that he recognizes who this particular scent belongs to… He has memorized her in his loneliness, and every time he catches a whiff of her in the air outside, he can’t help but grow hard.

He barely even notices the absence of his usual mess, that someone has washed all his cups and put his wine pots in order. His den has seen a lot of brooming, and there are fresh flowers placed on his oaken table, thoughtful bouquets hanged from the roots of his oak. But before he gets to inspect those odd little things further – he’s used to trampling flowers out in the wild, he never even thought of using them as decoration, but they do look kind of nice, don’t they? – he hears a soft whimper from the back of the den.

From where he sleeps, and isn’t it peculiar how he can now smell something else, now, too… Something irresistibly heady, something that demands action at once, making his cock stir and swell to the point where it’s almost painful. There’s another soft moan, calling to him like an enchanted flute: his whole den has changed from a dark dungeon into a soft, scented temple, echoing with the sounds of a maiden in heat.

He finds her spread over his thick, musky furs, furs that have seen countless lonely nights, and have to be changed every turn of the moon because they’re so grimy. She doesn’t seem to have any trouble with laying down in his filth, the rough furs that smell of seed and satyr sweat, of old musk and maybe a few tears. Satyrs cannot cry, they say, but that’s only because no one ever sees them do so. He’s spilled more than his fill of salt on that makeshift bed, and not all of it was ropes of hot seed…

“P–please…”

She sees him, sees how surprised he is catching her here, in the place all nymphs always try to evade. She sees how hard he is while watching her bare and panting there, all over his furs, lips swollen from lust. Both up and down, her lips are wet and quivering; she’s completely ready to be taken, and only the tiniest sliver of respect prevents him from fucking her senseless right here and right now.

“Please, I beg of you…”

But when she begs for it like that…?

He doesn’t hesitate a moment longer. He simply cannot.

And why waste time on thinking how she got here (or more importantly, why she got here?) Why mull on the hot question of why isn’t the loveliest creature on earth trying to get away from him?

“No need to beg,” he grunts as he lays himself upon her, cock hot and already leaking as it finds her entrance.

The smell of ambrosia envelops him as he glides inside, the whimper from his nymph a song of paradise. She smiles softly at such immediate lust, or is it the sun that comes out of the clouds, somehow reaching under the branches of this oak?

She welcomes him with open arms, a tear falling down her temple and into her hair as he tries to be gentle with her. But it’s not really his size or his lust that makes her cry. Her hands trail up and down his sides, they try to desperately wrap around his wide torso. She looks into his eyes while he starts to rut her, amazed to have been granted such a blessing at all.

“I’m in love with you,” she sighs into the air between them, her eyes glimmering with worship in the dim, earthy dusk of his den.

He messes up with his thrusts, breathing out his shock while hovering over her. She’s so delicate and frail, and so desperate for a nymph who’s supposed to be frolicking in the open fields… She should be climbing in the tall trees and giggling at centaurs from there, she should be admiring the full moon and the stars, she should be playing in the freshwater with her sisters.

He always thought this one feared him the most, slinking into the shadows beneath the trees whenever she saw him. Casting her eyes down as if she didn’t want him to notice her at all, never mocking or teasing him like the others did. That’s why he left her alone: because he didn’t want to break her. She was far too pure for someone like him.

But now she’s here, with flowers and a hot, wet body, trying to grab him so hopelessly in her fragile embrace…

“You can’t say things like that, little one,” he warns, feeling something akin to fear for the first time in his life.

“Why not…? It’s true,” she chimes there beneath him, a few more tears of joy rolling down her cheeks.

His chest is burning, but the only sound that comes out of him is a low growl. A warning and a plea.

“You shouldn’t tease an old faun.”

“And you shouldn’t stop what you only just started...”

He blinks at her answer, at her soft smile.

Then, he shoots down to kiss her neck.

She moans from love when he opens his mouth, careful not to puncture her delicate flesh with his teeth: he only devours his nymph with soft hunger, licking and sucking her soft skin. Her giggles and sighs drive him to the sweetest madness as he starts to make love to her under the earth.

His home has never heard such cries of joy, felt or seen such displays of devotion… He returns her confessions thousandfold, in every way he can. These silly little creatures always fear a satyr’s love is only about lust, and therefore escape such hollow adoration, but he’s not here to just ease the pain in his sacks.

He’s now forever bound to her, whether she knows it or not…

[jinxedshapeshifter]

I'm bored, so here's traits Sonic characters have that they share with their real life counterparts

Hedgehogs - In the IDW comics, both he and Shadow are known to burrow if it benefits them (Amy also mentions this to Rouge; "If you're looking for a hedgehog, you gotta go to the ground"). In Sonic Prime, both Shadow, Sonic, and Amy (+Amy's Shatterspace counterparts) use their ears to express themselves. In Sonic 06, Silver's forehead quills flare if he's upset (for example, when he first meets Sonic), and in Sonic Rivals 2 Sonic's quills flare in his surprised sprite.

Knuckles - Knuckles is also known to burrow a lot, and burrows more than Sonic. This can be seen in this Sonic Channel art and the associated story, Sonic Boom, and the games; in Sonic Adventure 2, his dig animation is more animalistic than Rouge's, and in Sonic Generations, Modern Sonic's Knuckles challenge act involves calling him to dig up medals. In the Archie comics, Knuckles was also hatched from an egg, and his status as the last of his species could be a reference to certain echidna species being endangered.

Tails - In Sonic Boom, Tails will wrap his tails around him when he's sleeping, and he'll occasionally growl if he's upset enough (and it very much sounds like they used a canine growl sound effect for it). In The Murder of Sonic the Hedgehog and Sonic Prime, Tails (and his Shatterspace counterparts) occasionally use their ears to express emotion, and Mangey tends to behave more like a real fox by virtue of him being a feral version of Tails.

Rouge - In Sonic X, Rouge struggles with certain noises due to her hearing, and in Sonic Rivals 2 she notices Espio because of her hearing. In Sonic Prime, she and her Shatterspace counterparts tend to sleep upside down like a real bat, and in Sonic X and Sonic Adventure 2 she hangs upside down occasionally.

Espio - Espio's chameleon traits are pretty obvious in my opinion. He can change his coloration to camouflage himself almost perfectly and can walk up walls. Espio can also use his tongue as a projectile and his tail is prehensile.

Vector - There's not as much with Vector as there is with other characters but in Sonic Heroes, Vector has an attack where he holds Espio and Charmy in his mouth and throws them at enemies. This is reminiscent of a behavior observed in real crocodilians, where female crocodiles will carry their young to water in their mouths.

Charmy - In Sonic X, Charmy seems to have a preference for sleeping in the top part of the lockers in Team Chaotix's office. My friend and I theorized that this is because it feels like a honeycomb cell to him, and in real life bees sleep in honeycomb cells. As for things that are confirmed, Charmy likes honey and nectar, and, according to the Sonic cookbook, puts honey in everything to get away with eating something sweet with his meals. Bees use honey in real life to stay warm in the winter, because they're cold-blooded and don't hibernate. It functions as insulation and additional food when nectar isn't available.

There's more so I might make a part two at some point but take this lol

[honey-minded-hivemind]

For the Infected!AU, we have a few choices for platonic yandere/s. I've mentioned how different mutations will influence how the infection affects the mutant/human/being. For now, I want to explore how it affects the feral mutants, and how the bby reacts (plus possible mutations for the bby). And the thing is, the bby has backstory with their yandere/s. So, the infected's previous life and relationships can influence them, even after the infection has taken effect and obscured their past memories into a haze of blurred emotions and fragmented thoughts. For now, we will discuss some possible mutant variants of bby.

Possible mutations for their bby include, but aren't limited to:

Harpy!bby: they have a small pair of functioning wings, sharp talons akin to Sabretooth, and act a little feral. Acts like a bird sometimes, collects shiny stuff and rocks and bones. Their wings fluff up when they are highly anxious or scared, and they remind the platonic yan of a baby bird trying to look threatening. Has seen some sh*t, and lived to tell the tale. Can swallow food almost whole, inhaling it quickly as though it will disappear into thin air. Some nicknames for them given by the platonic yanderes (the feral, or anyone you want to imagine) include: fledgling, chick, hatchling, nestling, birdie, Tweetie

Empath!bby: a bby who can feel the emotions of those around them, and possible branch-offs of their mutation could include things like sharing memories between themself and another person, influencing emotions based on their current feelings and mood, feeling someone else's pain and letting someone feel their's, etc.. Very loving and warm, wants hugs all the time, spends a lot of energy trying to help who they can. Possible nickname for them given by their platonic yandere/s (feral or otherwise) include: bleeding heart, sweet stuff, love,

Pyrokinesis!bby: a bby who could be anything from a walking ember (pretty much can warm up like a heated stone), disco-inferno where they can set themself on fire or become a fire being (can be any color of flame, and might look like a light show), flame thrower (where they can generate flames and aim them at enemies), or any other flame ability. Maybe they can even start fires! They are passionate, enjoy marshmallows, and survived by cooking or boiling anything they consumed. Nicknames for this bby given by the platonic yan/s (feral, otherwise, or something else) include: Hot Stuff, Flaming Hot, Lava Lamp, ember, little light

Eldritch!bby: a bby who is a bit... unsettling. Perhaps their teeth are too sharp or too many. Maybe they have tentacles or whisps or limbs sprouting from their back. They could have multiple eyes, a larger and mind-warping form, hypnotic abilities, or anything that fits something eldritch and unimaginable. They love sea food, water, and nighttime. Can be cranky if they haven't slept for over 36 hours. Nicknames the yans could give them include: squid, H. P. Lovecraft, moon eyes, favorite (kid, friend, sibling, elder god)

GemBody!bby: like Emma Frost, they can become a living, breathing organic gem person. Perhaps they are opaque; or marbled; maybe they are two-toned; color-changing; they could look like any gem imaginable, from bumblebee jasper to obsidian to ametrine to amber to agate to any type, really. Maybe they have sharp crystals sprouting off of them in that form. Or perhaps they can find gemstones in the wild. Mayhaps they even can consume rocks in that form, and turn those rocks into gems. This bby is the sort to hit someone too hard, and apologize profusely... even if that person was someone who they were just fighting with. Keeps band-aids on hand, as well as water. Nicknames for this bby from the platonic yan/s can include: jewel, gem, diamond in the rough, gold-heart, geode

There are many other mutations that the bby could have in this au, or any others. But for now, we have these options to satisfy our craving for choices. These were some honeycomb thoughts on different mutant!bby variants!

[ananyaananyaananya]

let me begin, again.

im eternal, im seraphic, im built with calamities. i am the sea,

I part my knees and a voluptuous loneliness is revealed. my emerald ripples, and rhapsodies of turquoise plummeting at my feet.

your altruism sank you down to my lake bottom heart, a sunrays venus seashell, you were washed ashore, but the shore is a servant of my mother's wrath.

you're here now you never will be for long, takes one to know one,

and i lost count of how many seashells lost their glimmer as they were touched by my edges only to say goodbye.

your pearls and affairs, your petulance and glamorous effigy, have got no space hither, as i sit and watch the world go by.

the sky pities my elegies, as the sun is with it perpetually.

but i stayed there with my bitter equanimity, one day the shore bequeathed you to me, as your pearls shone effulgently. the teal sky frowned, because like a wasp does to tender nectars, you latched onto me.

i was regal and feral, poignant and arcane. you were volatile, animated, but something sweet. you unfolded in my arms like a note read in the secrecy of the dark.

we were lost but lost together, no doctors could prescribe our recovery, "listen kid, listen closely", i am your shore, come home to me.

stop beating your hands on the backdoors that won't open, this weak seashell won't save you, dream a new dream.

but you were the honey in my honeycombs, the sand that filled the gaps between the fingers of lovers, the most entrancing thing i had ever seen.

I couldn't let my water slip from between your mantle. so my waves won't submit to the shore again.

I will love you till we run out of mornings, then I'll find you in the dark again.

i'll stray after you till there's no footfall in the depths of my past, till I'm parched and dried out, then I'll meet you in another sphere even if they say the end is near.

I will hold you, keep you, choose you and take you away till they finish counting the falsehoods in all the holy scriptures,

till ribs stop being cages, till the gods stop feeding on ambrosia, till the places i found you in stop being Narnia.

[saturndivine]

The Ferality of Mars

»»————-　➴　————-««»»————-　➴

Feral: "Existing in a wild or untamed state"

When I think of Mars, I think of the Greek god, Ares. I think of the heart pumping blood throughout the body to keep it alive. I think of passion, ferocity, and rawness. Mars is the planet of emotion, similarly to the moon but with a more sinister twist. Mars wants you to feel everything and create with that energy, Mars wants you to be overwhelmed with emotion, so much so it consumes and guides you. Mars wants you to feel everything. It is known as a Malefic Planet because of its inability to be tamed and controlled but Mars isn’t about having control, its about intuition and allowing yourself to be guided by the invisible force that encourages you to nuzzle into your most primal and authentic state and honor that part of you. 

[Yes I will be using Hozier lyrics that represent the ferality of each sign]

Aries Mars [Mars in 1st]

When I picture Aries Mars at its most feral state, I visualize a forest fire consuming everything in its path, absorbing nature to feed as fuel. With Mars in its rulership, Aries Mars has no issue releasing, guided by their heart throughout it all to overcome whatever may stand in their way. They move quickly and harshly, striking first and questioning later. You mold life into what you want it to be so there is no need for you to even plan right? As an unstoppable force, you have to let your heart take control. 

“There's no plan, there's no race to be run

The harder the pain, honey, the sweeter the sun

There's no plan, there's no kingdom to come

Sit in & watch the sunlight fade, honey, enjoy its getting late

Theres no plan, theres no hand on the reign,

...As Mack explained, there will be darkness again”

Taurus Mars [Mars in 2nd]

When I picture Taurus Mars at its most feral state, I imagine a bear tearing its way through a beehive, grasping at the honeycombs and devouring it in a matter of seconds. With a venus-ruled mars or mars in detriment, you all look for the sweeter things in life and insist that you are worthy of goodness and don’t mind taking it for yourself. Conflict is stupid to you because you have your own morals and studies and firmly believe in what you desire and if anyone steps to you, you have the power to throw it right back in their face. You are the raging bull, undefeated once you’re committed. But you represent the tamer, earthy side of Mars.

“I have never known peace like the damp grass that yields to me.

I have never known hunger, like these insects that feast on me.

A thousand teeth, and yours among them, I know.

Our hungers appeased, our heartbeats becoming slow.” 

Gemini Mars [Mars in 3rd]

When I picture Gemini Mars at its most feral state, I picture the rebirth that spring offers. The energy of this mars sign matches the intensity of the rising sun and falling rain that causes the flowers to blossom and fill the earth with its aroma. It is quite impossible to stop a determined Gemini, they want to leave their mark on this earth and do so in many different ways as they are indestructible, powered by the combination of their mind and their heart which creates an explosion upon collision. To get in the way of this placement is to stand in the way of the changing seasons, impossible. 

“Each day you'd rise with me, know that I would gladly be the Icarus to your certainty.

Oh, my sunlight, sunlight, sunlight.

Strap the wing to me, death trap clad happily, with wax melted, I’d meet the sea,

Under sunlight, sunlight, sunlight.”

Cancer Mars [Mars in 4th]

When I picture Cancer Mars at its most feral state, I visualize the crumbling of the earth into itself, only to grow back in a healthier form. A resilient placement that can have the worst thrown at them and come back only more beautiful. In the introduction, I discussed how both Moon and Mars share a common goal but the Moon goes about it a different way, as Cancer Mars goes about martian energy in a different way as well. With mars in fall, Cancer takes the soft approach to ferality, embracing the harsh energy and converting it into tenderness. 

“And I love too, that love soon might end, 

be known in its aching, shown in the shaking,

Lately of my wasteland, baby. 

Be still, my indelible friend, you are unbreaking,

Though quaking, though crazy

That's just wasteland, baby.” 

Leo Mars [Mars in 5th]

When I picture Leo Mars at its most feral state I see a blinding white-hot light overcoming anyone and everyone in its path, forcing others to bend to its will simply by doing what it does naturally. As a fixed mars, Leos energy is continuous and bold, quite difficult to escape if a Leo Mars has you in their eye line. They are everywhere, they rule the heart so they rule ferality in a way, diving back into their lion roots and fully delving into the fact that they are the rulers of the jungle and rulers of the world.

“Be love in its disrepute, scorches the hillside and salts every root 

And watches the slowing and starving of troops

And, lover, be good to me.

Be there and just as you stand or be like the rose that you hold in your hand 

That will grow bold in a barren and desolate land

Oh, lover, be good to me.”

Virgo Mars [Mars in 6th]

When I picture Virgo Mars at its most feral state I can clearly gaze upon an open field, a deer nosing at grass only to be pounced on by a random predator, yet Virgo represents both the predator and the prey, enforcing balance and really honoring nature fully. Virgo Mars is one of the most ferocious and determined martian placement because they understand how to use the life around them to their advantage. Failure is impossible because they are always ten steps ahead of everyone else. They understand balance, both aggressiveness, and peacefulness. 

“With the war of the fire, my heart moves to its feet

Like the ashes of ash, I saw eyes in the heat

Feel it soft and as pure as snow, fell in love with the fire long ago

With each love I could lose, I was never the same

Watch it still live in roofs, be consumed by the flame

I was fixed on your hand of gold, laying waste of my lovin' long ago”

Libra Mars [Mars in 7th]

When I picture Libra Mars at its most feral state, I see a person walking into a mossy lake only to never come out again. There is a slight underestimation when people first get to know the Libra Mars.  This martian placement matches up with tricky Aphrodite, Libra mars has secrets they dont want unturned, they have a hidden past that they want to be kept to themselves because they are never the people they were a few moments ago. They are evolving and healing, rubbing soil on their open wounds to grow into a new version of themselves. 

“I had a thought, dear, however scary about that night, the bugs and the dirt.

Why were you digging? What did you bury before those hands pulled me from the earth?

I will not ask you where you came from, I will not ask and neither should you. 

Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips, we should just kiss like real people do.” 

Scorpio Mars [Mars in 8th]

When I picture Scorpio Mars at its most feral state, there is a black burning tree in the middle of the falling snow, crackling and popping and falling to the pieces onto blankets of snow only to keep burning. Mars takes a different approach in this rulership, it is calculated, ready, and sure of whatever move is to be made as if it has been practiced for quite some time. There is no defeating a Scorpio mars, only succumbing, bending to its will, and praying that they will take mercy on your soul. 

“If I was born as a blackthorn tree, I'd wanna be felled by you, held by you

Fuel the pyre of your enemies.

Ain't it warming you, the world gone up in flames?

Ain't it the life you, your lighting of the blaze?

Ain't it a waste they'd watch the throwing of the shade?

Ain't you my baby, ain't you my babe?”

Sagittarius Mars [Mars in 9th]

When I picture Sagittarius Mars at its most feral state, I see the serpent in the garden of Eden sliding on its belly and offering an option of freedom, going against the grain of submissiveness. Sagittarius Mars tends to ooze this raw sex appeal that stems from their confidence & their need to question the life around them, never satisfied by what is given to them, instead they leave their own mark on the world before them by embracing individuality and moving along their own path. 

“I'd be the voice that urged Orpheus when her body was found. 

I'd be the choiceless hope in grief that drove him underground.

I'd be the dreadful need in the devotee that made him turn around.

And I'd be the immediate forgiveness in Eurydice,

Imagine being loved by me.” 

Capricorn Mars [Mars in 10th]

When I picture Capricorn Mars at its most feral state, I imagine the fall of an empire, a civilization, a society, forced to come to terms with the fact that its reign has come to an end. Mars in exalt, arguably one of the most powerful placements to have in the natal chart, there isn’t a way to prevent the energy of a Capricorn Mars, they are backed by Saturn, two malefic energies combining to create an unbeatable power and manifesting as strength in the native who claims this energy. 

“It's the light, and it's the obstacle that casts it

It's the heat that drives the light, It's the fire it ignites,

It's not the waking, it's the rising.

It's not the song, it is the singing.

It's the heaven of a human spirit ringing.

It is the bringing of the line, It is the bearing of the rhyme

It's not the waking, it's the rising.”

Aquarius Mars [Mars in 11th]

When I picture Aquarius Mars at its most feral state, I visualize a group of nude women, dancing around an intense fire, the full moon shining only for them as they howl out into the wind. Aquarius Mars is a placement that understands how to honor their roots and get back in touch with themselves to move to the future. They use their past to propel them into new opportunities and to become a higher version of themselves. There is no obstructing this futuristic placement, eyes steady on the prize that remains up ahead. 

“When you move, I can recall something that's gone from me

When you move honey, I'm put in awe of something so flawed and free.

So move me, baby, shake like the bough of a willow tree,

You do it naturally, move me, baby.” 

Pisces Mars [Mars in 12th]

When I picture Pisces Mars at its most feral state, I envision a floating sailor, sinking in with each song that leaves the siren’s voice only to realize that it is too late as the last of air leaves their lungs and they now become one with the siren. Pisces Mars has the gift of “innocence” that people project onto them and they understand how to use it to their advantage and come out on top. Deception is a mastered tool but doesn’t negate the fact that they are simply seductive and persuasive and hold power that many are unaware of. They should continue to move carefully and use their “faults” to their benefit. 

“Feeling more human and hooked on her flesh, 

I lay my heart down with the rest at her feet.

Fresh from the fields, all fetor and fertile

It's bloody and raw, but I swear it is sweet. 

In leash-less confusion, I'll wander the concrete,

Wonder if better now having survived.

The jarring of judgment and reason's defeat. 

The sweet heat of her breath in my mouth; I'm alive.”

Link to Website [Services, Blog, & More!]

[doubleddenden]

I should be in bed. Instead I stayed up an additional 3 hours to recreate my Tandor trainer card I had made long ago and apparently lost after I A. Deleted my DA account and B. Had my portable hard drive stolen in college. It was really cool. The creator of Pokemon Uranium even gave me their blessing to make it all those years ago.

And then I thought you know what? Let's go really extra with it. Oh, and a team shot, oh and make a better trainer sprite than back then

And like 3 and a half hours later I'm here. It's 6 am.

Anyway some obligatory stuff: I did not make the fakemon sprites or the balls seen here, these are found within Uranium's game files. The card itself is made from a template I made a long time ago using assets from the official games. However, i did do a fair bit of editing on my grid background to get the colors and pop out honeycomb thing.

My goal for remaking the card was to honor the memory of what was lost while also bringing it to the future. And I wanted to make the card match the radioactive stuff Uranium has

Currently I'm at the 6th badge area, but my team is basically the same as back then. I know nothing about gym 8 and beyond yet, and I'm still finding new stuff to get excited about.

Anyway obligatory self insert bio: we'll say this me accidentally did a little trip through dimensions thanks to some Xenoverse shenanigans and accidentally found himself in Tandor for a bit. He got a new do and of course he decided to spazz out and do another regional challenge, but little did he know that he would have to babysit a little kid, and survive a few nuclear meltdowns. Pretty sure he shouldn't be alive after all the radiation exposure he's had, but hey, it's in the story sooo. I like to imagine that he doesn't take his "rivalry" with Theo seriously in any sense and keeps forgetting the kid's name.

Team:

Archilles, Fire/Ground: Our starter obtained through a quiz from Bambo'o. At first he had to carry us through almost the second gym, and even now he's a reliable backup when all else fails. He's a bit of a nippy fella and keeps trying to playfully bite the hand that feeds him. He evolved very conveniently when we were about to get offed by a Nuclear Pokémon in an abandoned Plant.

Eshouten, Normal/Flying: she's a flying owl cat. We caught her as an Owlten and even though she's a little bit rougher looking, we still love this goober and how incredibly useful and reliable she is. However she has all the same habits of a playful cat, and this one has wings, so you can imagine the stress that might cause

Baariette, Dark/Fighting: got him in a trade for a Fortog. He's an incredibly fast grower and reliable in a pinch. He is a bit of a dirty fighter though, and a bit if a tsundere type in personality. But he does enjoy praise and companionship, even if he tries to hide it.

Gellen, Electric/Grass: oh man, I remember playing the game with my friends back years ago and this was our BABY. Appropriate since he is literally a baby hatched from an egg. Very powerful and reliable, but a little bit dimwitted. Gellen doesn't know his own size and still thinks he's a baby

Glavinug, Water/Ice: this is probably my favorite design in the dex and actually made me choose to get the fire or grass starter when I saw it initially. It's also designed by one of my favorite fakemon artists, Pequedark-Velvet. Another one of the babies that quickly grew to a badass monstrosity. She was fished up from Route 8, and is a sweet fella that wants attention all the time. I don't think she realizes just how lucky she is to have avoided a certain story event due to us catching her

Nucleon, Nuclear type: one of the few non feral Nuclear types. Nuclear is basically the glass cannon type that is weak to and strong against almost everything other than Steel. When I saw that there was an eeveelution with the typing, I knew I needed it. I just got it in my new playthrough, but in my original it was amazingly powerful, especially with Atomized Hyper Voice that just WRECKED everything. The third babey. I like to imagine she's like my dog, a sweet shy girl that likes many naps.

I haven't been this excited about a game or sprites in a while. I was in a big creative rut but I think finally picking up the full game really helped me out of it. A big thank you to everyone involved with Uranium, you guys really paved the way for how creative fan games could get and set a standard for others to follow. If there ever was a fan game that deserved to be real, it's Uranium.

[studiovlinderdas]

🍯Megira Amberhold - Dwarven Druid🍯 🐻Loukoumidas - Large Beast/Construct🐻 "A sweet, old lady and her even sweeter familiar". Megira has always been the odd one out of her clan, preferring the plains and forests over the mountains. She lived a secluded life, surrounded by her loyal colony of bees. She sees herself as a part of it, not as it's leader. More of a tactician, choosing places for them to nest and working out strategies from a distance. This makes her and her familiars, Loukoumidas the bear especially, formidable foes in battle. She is, however, very "go with the flow", acts as a kind and motherly figure for both her companions and the nature around her. Loukoumidas is the perfect example of Megira's magic and tactical ways. First the unnamed corpse of a poor old sunbear, Loukoumidas now houses most of her colony. Loukoumidas serves as a feral bodyguard, protecting both his creator as well as the queen that resides within his body. Now this was something, like a whole lot of something. The honeycomb patterns destroyed me but they are worth it. I love the character and backstory they both became~!! Maybe I should work out a small statblock or spell/ritual for the creation of a "Honey Walker" like Loukoumidas~!!

[elisende]

The Acolyte

Characters: Halsin/Kagha Rated: E Warnings: Light BDSM, Choking, Suicide Words: 3277

When the wild druid from Kagha's fantasies spirits her away, she exults in achieving her greatest desire. But for such freedom, a price must be paid. Most people assumed Kagha was born into this life.  As though she’d slipped from the earth’s muddy womb to run, unshod, through the pathless forest with feathers in her hair, singing hymns to the Treefather in Wild Elvish under the light of the waxing moon. 

Most people were fools.

She did not used to believe so.  Kagha had been a biddable girl, and once a pliant bride.  She came from a good and ancient family, a line descended from noble Eladrin.  Her family words were Ta selun tor’selu, Highest of the high.  

When they thought no one could hear, polishing the family silver in the kitchen alcove, the servants whispered the words to each other and giggled.  But Kagha heard, and made sure those servant girls were put out on their arses without the day’s pay.  

Her family lived in Alaghôn, a once important city that teemed with once important elven families.  The glory days were long gone but their patina remained; the city stood upon a honeycomb of ancient tombs and palaces, full of relics of a long forgotten age, when dragons reigned and druids wove wild magic in the surrounding hills. Mischance and her incurable curiosity had led Kagha to just such a buried crypt: a druid shrine.  The figures on the walls had danced under the guttering light of her torch, making the mosaics come alive.  Of elf and beast and man all engaged in an ecstatic dance under the shelter of a great oak, from which a deity smiled.  

What captivated her most was the central figure, a wild haired elf, larger than life.  Half bear, even, depicted mid-transformation, his fingers dipped into the open mouth a half-elven acolyte.  His eyes direct, frank, challenging.  Vine tattoos twined up his cheeks, lapping his sensuous lower lip.

She’d discovered the tomb on her wedding night and when the bloom of her marriage faded over the coming months, almost as quickly as the snowy blossom of the dogwoods that proliferated around Alaghôn’s silent streets, she found herself spending most nights in the shrine, under the gaze of the druid, and in her loneliness and misery she fancied that he spoke to her, that she was his acolyte, that he slipped his fingers into her mouth--and more.  Much more.

Kagha recognized him immediately when the same druid came into her husband’s hall, bowed his head to them, drank their wine.  She trembled to see him in the flesh.  She was not gratified, or even pleased.  For she knew the power of her will had drawn him to her; and that had frightened her.  

He had come, he said, to ask a boon.  The key to a lost temple under the foundations of their home.  He spoke in pretty Elvish and he had good manners but he was a wild beast next to her cultured, urbane husband.  Seeing them standing next to each other, she realized her past was standing next to her future.  

Seducing the druid was harder than she thought.  For he, too, was strong willed.  She relished the challenge and where her husband was accommodating, gentle, and predictable, her new lover--for her lover he would be--was stubborn, wild, and prone to rages, like the bear within.  Deploying all of her guile and her considerable beauty, she only barely managed to convince the druid to take her back to his grove to take the trials of a novice.  

She left a single branch of dogwood on her husband’s pillow, its last white petals barely clinging to it.  He was sophisticated, and not unintelligent.  He would understand.

In his grove, the druid Halsin was unguarded, easier to approach.  Her aptitude stunned him, and her unyielding passion captivated him.  After the passing of three seasons she claimed him in a grove of flowering almond trees, planted by some forgotten woodsman.  He kissed her breasts as he came, sighing her name, and on his lips, it had sounded like a great tree cracking down its center and tumbling down.  Kagha.  Her joy in that moment, her triumph, had been unequaled since.  Halsin had a poor memory but Kagha’s was very good.  She could remember the highest point of her life with perfect, painful clarity.

They made love in waterfalls, under the stars in wild glades and secluded bowers, or sometimes even in the caves around the grove.  Halsin made no secret of their affair in the Circle, and, almost as gratifying as having him was the knowledge among the others that he was hers.  Their deference, edged with jealousy.  It was important to Kagha that they knew she was better, separate.  Ta selun tor’selu.

And then, like a towering oak struck down by a sudden clap of lightning, it had all ended.

It ended on a cool autumn day when there wasn’t much to do but lie together.  They rambled out early that morning, he in his bear form, she shivering in little but a filmy shift.  By that time--and through her tireless toil--the forest and wild scrub around the grove had been cleared of the goblin filth that had still infested the land when she joined the Circle.  But now the wood and shore belonged to the beasts and birds, warded by the druids--as it should be.

They found their way to the river and he caught a salmon for them to share in his paws, tossing it to her still flapping.  That was their game: it wriggled and slapped her arms as she caught it, screaming.  He shifted back to his elven form, laughing until tears gleamed at the corner of his eyes.  

Why had they always found that so funny? she later wondered.  Her past self was like a stranger to her.

With his hunting knife he cut her a bit of the flesh and fed it to her, raw.  Watching her as she ate it.  His eyes seemed to shift colors like the trees in the wind.  He liked to see her like this, untamed and even feral.  Even then, she was distantly aware how it was a salve to his ego, that he’d transformed a high elven matron of Alaghôn to a wild girl with her hair running wild down her back, eating raw fish from the end of his blade.  Wasn’t he the master druid?

He discarded the fish and fell upon her by the water’s edge, hands plunging into her hair, and her nose filled with his scent, cedar and smoke and something sweet, like forest berries, or perhaps the wildflower honey he loved to eat.  Their kisses were lingering, needy; up until the very end, they’d never been able to get enough of each other.  Her hand wandered to his cock to find him already hard, his hips lifted to her touch and he sighed into her ear. 

Kagha broke away with a laugh and ran past him to dive into the river.  Her shift clung to her breasts, hips, and the mound between her legs; she made sure to show it all to him from the high, flat rocks that stood like a platform in the center of the river.  With a growl he leapt into the freezing water, clambering up onto the rocks with such grace a bear of an elf could muster.  She laughed again, was still laughing when he climbed onto her and took her breast in his hand, thumbing her nipple through the wet cloth.  Her laughter became a gasp that he swallowed with another deep kiss, this one more forceful.  

This was the other game they liked to play. 

He shoved her onto her back, pulling her head back by her wet hair to expose her neck and claim it with harsh kisses.  His other hand found the damp mound of her sex and grabbed it, fingers roughly stroking her lips through the cloth.  She hissed and grimly he smiled, his eyes not meeting hers, all his attention focused on her body.  

Impatient with the damp fabric, he ripped her shift up to the hip, exposing her to the chilly air.  His rough fingers found her already wet; he circled and flicked her clit with his thumb as he extended a finger, then two inside of her--not gently.  She gasped and her hands found his cock again, clenching it so punishingly tight it made him groan.  

“Do you want me?” she demanded, her voice low but steady.  When he didn’t answer immediately, she loosened her grip, slid her hands down his shaft, teasing the tip with her thumb when she reached it.  

He sighed.  “Yes.”

“Then take me.”  A crack as she slapped his cheek hard with the back of her hand, its outline raised in red on his left cheek.  He looked angry--truly angry--but that was part of their game, too.  With a snarl, he ripped off what remained of her shift and positioned himself between her legs, even as he took her breast in his mouth, lashing her nipple with his tongue, sucking it as harshly and avidly as marrow from a bone.  

Crack.  She landed another blow.  Now he roared as he grabbed her hips, his hands rough on her skin and grip so tight it would leave bruises that would outlast them, outlast what they had together.  She would see them tomorrow and weep.

But now, there was only pleasure.  He plowed into her, and the world seemed to sharpen, become brighter.  The pain from the tiny pebbles and ridges in the rocks that scraped her back.  The sound of the water rushing all around them.  The glorious sense of fullness between her legs, the sweet throb of her pussy as she took all of him in.

His grimace made a mask of his face: he looked almost ugly, older than his five centuries.  She smiled, overcome by a sense of triumph as he continued to thrust.  She traced a hand down his muscled and scarred chest, then turned her caress into a rebuke with her sharp nails.  They drew blood.  He glowered above her like an angry god.  She lifted her hips from the rocks, taking him deeper, giving herself the pleasure she required of him.

“You know what I want,” she said.  “Give it to me.”

His big hands circled her neck and squeezed.  She choked and gasped, smiling defiantly.  If she had the breath, she might have laughed.  She’d learned how to get him to squeeze tighter.  And he did, and stars swam overhead as every sensation below became enhanced.  She felt every raw inch of him, each thrust pounding like a wave against the shore, a relentless onslaught.  It was the full expression and experience of his power that she lost herself in.  

As always, her climax came first, and forcefully.  Her hips bucked against his grip and she screamed soundlessly, for she had no more breath.  The stars in her vision brightened as she lost control, until she couldn’t even see his face anymore.  She sensed him coming, like a stormcloud loosing its rain from a great distance.  The hands around her neck slackened and gasped, vision returning.  They never held each other, after.  Kagha hated being held; it felt too much like being captured.

Instead they lay side by side, fingertips barely touching.  Kagha watched the rills of water that parted around the rocks, listened to the birdsong, and felt the contentment she was never to experience again.

*

When they returned to the grove, even the air seemed somehow poisoned--too quiet, pregnant with some unsavory possibility.  

Kagha and Halsin exchanged a look; he sensed it too.  At least they were dressed.   They had plucked some clothes from a line by the river; a careless novice who’d left the washing unattended in the sun had saved them from an awkward return to the grove.

“Kagha!  My love!”

She whipped around to the source of the voice, which was coming from a great tree at the edge of the grove.  

The idiot.  Her husband, the scion of a great house and a lord of Alaghôn, had perched in the sacred sycamore and covered himself in some kind of disgusting ointment.  He wore a massive set of antlers on his head, tied together with some string, only they wouldn’t stay up and he kept having to reposition them on his head.  He was stark naked.  

She buried her face in her hands.

Beside her, Halsin sucked in his breath.  “Is that…?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice harsher than she meant it to be.  “It’s Talarion.”

“He looks rather different,” Halsin said mildly.  A novice ran up to them, closely followed by Aelar, another high elf who had recently joined their circle from the High Forest.

“Master Halsin, there is a problem,” Aelar said breathlessly.  

“I had noticed,” he replied, a smile playing on his lips.  

“He refuses to leave until,” the elf gulped, glancing sideways at her, “Until he speaks with Kagha.  He says…”  

“Well, get on with it,” Halsin said, smile broadening.  Damn him, he was enjoying this.  Kagha had never been so mortified.  It was somehow worse than if she herself was naked and covered in filth in the sacred tree.  The idea of being connected with such a pathetic figure filled her with shame.  And rage.

As though he heard her thoughts, Talarion screamed her name again from the tree, desperation reaching new heights.

“The sacred balance of this place has been disturbed,” the novice said, speaking for the first time.  A drow girl with a saucy look about the eyes that Kagha disliked immensely.

“Balance has a way of restoring itself,” Halsin said.  “I don’t think the circle is in danger of irreparable harm.  You were saying, druid?”

Aelar gulped again.  “He... says he is Kagha’s husband, Master Halsin.”

A putrid silence followed this, one she felt obliged to fill.  “And so he is not.  I am done with him.  I am with Halsin now.”

The novice smirked, though she tried to hide her face behind her hand.  Cunt, Kagha thought viciously.

“Nevertheless, I don’t think he’ll respond to anyone else,” Halsin said.  His tone was measured, reasonable--conciliatory even.  That angered as much as the words themselves.  

“He is a fool and not my responsibility,” she said.  “I’m not going to placate a child who cannot accept--”

“O sun of my summer sky!  O sweet dawn of my heart!”  The verses stirred some vague memory in her.  But mostly they served to enrage her further.  The idiot, what could he be thinking?  

“Oh Silvanus’s mercy,” Halsin said.  “He’s reciting Daldorian rhyme now.”  

“He attacked everyone else who tried to come near,” Aelar said.  “One of the novices has a broken arm.  This elf’s magic is actually quite advanced.  But since he’s Kagha’s, er--well, as he knows Kagha we didn’t want to hurt him.”

“You have done well, Aelar.”  He turned to her, merriment still dancing in his eyes.  She could spit at him.  “Kagha, you know what you must do.”

She swore an oath that made the slut of a drow gasp and began to ascend the tree, all the way to its crown nearly a hundred feet in the air.  The sticky honeydew of aphids made her fingers tacky as she climbed.  

Below, the Circle watched.  She felt every stare as though it was a lance in her side.  She imagined she could hear their thoughts.  That she was pathetic, unworthy, ridiculous.  

“I, a simple shepherd under the numberless stars, sing the song of love to the vault of heaven, that the gods may hear my prayers!”

How had she ever cared for such a fool?  As she came nearer, the noxious smell intensified.  He had indeed covered himself in excrement, for reasons beyond anyone’s comprehension.  

Finally, she reached the branch where he paced.  He seemed shorter than she remembered, though in comparison with Halsin, he was bound to seem small.  His fine blond hair was caked with mud and shit.

“Talarion,” she said, sharply.  Perhaps his name would bring him back to his senses.  “What in the hells are you doing?”

“Kagha, my love,” he said.  He reached for her, arms spread wide to embrace her.  She twisted away with an exclamation of disgust.

“You are filthy!  How I could have been fool enough to marry you is an utter mystery to me.  I am done with you, do you understand?”

He hung his head and began to sob, crumpling to his hands and knees on the branch.  “Losing you has broken me.  Have you no pity for one you swore an oath to cherish and love for eternity?”

Gods.  With a mighty sigh, Kagha sat next to him on the branch. The stench was overwhelming.

“I am wretched without you, Kagha,” he whispered.

“You need to move on,” she said, not unkindly.  She patted his mucky leg.  “I am not coming back with you, if that’s what you hoped for.”

“No,” he said thickly.  “I know how bloody stubborn you can be.  I truly know you, far better than you think.”

She straightened her back.  Everyone always thought they knew her so well.

“You are a wild thing.  Out where the wild things belong.  I knew you wouldn’t come back,” he continued, “I suppose I just wanted to see your face.”

“Well,” she said.  “You’ve seen it.”

“Maybe I was hoping the druids would kill me.  Or I’d be eaten by a bear or some poetic end like that.”

She winced.  There wasn’t anything poetic about being devoured by a bear, particularly.  They were not great killers and were apt to eat you while you were still alive.  But of course, Talarion wouldn’t know that.  The only truths he knew were written in hexameter verse.

“I never meant much of anything to you, did I?”

When she didn’t answer, he laughed jaggedly.

Silence stretched out between them.  Finally, she glanced over to see him staring at her with his impossibly blue eyes.  He was handsome, she realized.  Just at the moment the thought surfaced in her mind he slipped from the tree and hit the earth with a wet thud.

No one knew then or afterward if it was an accident or intentional, though it seemed everyone in the Circle had their theories.  Some swore to their dying days that Kagha had pushed him.

Kagha, who had been looking into his eyes at the moment he fell--or jumped--could not guess one way or another.  In a way, she reflected, it didn’t really matter.  The outcome was the same.

Below, the grove rang with screams and Halsin rushed over to Talarion’s body.  But such a fall, from such a height--there was nothing the master druid could do.  His body was shattered, brains spilling onto the muddy earth.

*

It all ended, after that.  There was no tearful scene, no accusations.  Halsin wasn’t disposed to theatrics and Kagha had enough of the grove’s attention.  When he withdrew from her, after that day, she didn’t pursue him.  She refused to humble herself.

She vanished into the forest for a time, a season of reckoning.  

No one knew what happened to the proud elf in that bitter winter, its ferocity remarked upon even a century later.  But she came back from the wilderness hardened and impenetrable.  A honed edge.  And she became ever more comfortable with the lie: that this was what she had always wanted.

[alexanderlightweight]

Can we get some more of calculating badass Alec?

I hope you are having a great week

i am having a great week thank you! i have to attack the overgrown weeds in the backyard because nightshade is starting to use them as salad this weekend! i hope you are as well!

so i realized i wasn't sure if this was a specific verse so i wrote this in the feral sweetness, like honeycomb vs. the one thats where malec meet because alec shows up and just puts an incompetent shadowhunter in their place.

let me know if it was a different one?

lumine

-

Magnus arrives at the Institute, dressed like he’s about to storm a city and his lips tinted with just a hint of red.

Every single shadowhunter notices him but besides the two who are prepared to greet him, no one stops to stare at him. They know he’s there and they continue their work as if the High Warlock of Brooklyn stopping by is as routine as the jobs they’re already doing.

“Is Alexander available?” Magnus asks, because he has no intention of being formal when requesting a meeting with his shadowhunter, not after the intimacy they’ve shared.  Nor when Magnus wants him, and Magnus is not one to be denied what he wants.

There is a blink of surprise from the woman with curls — the one Alexander trusted to have his back and fall first — and a small, shocked look from the shadowhunter behind her.

“He’s training.” Is all that Magnus is offered, “would you prefer to wait in his office or the greenhouse?”

Both are tempting offers and they also make something very clear.

Alexander knew Magnus would come to find him and he’s clearly given orders that would allow Magnus access to him, whenever Magnus happened to show up.

It soothes the sore edges of Magnus that had latched so deliciously to Alexander when they shared energy and been raw when torn away. He takes a moment to think and then he smirks, a wicked thought coming to mind.

“Oh, is observing him not an option?” Magnus means it as a tease, because while he dearly wants to, he also knows better than to just assume that much allowance.  To his pleased surprise, both shadowhunters seem startled by his request and Alexander’s second frowns for a moment in thought before she shakes her head.

“It’s allowed.”

“Then by all means, I’d love to observe.”

—

Magnus thought by training that Alexander was going to be exercising. He realizes now that if it were merely something that simple, they would have just interrupted him.

That much is clear from the small balcony Magnus is shown to that has several other shadowhunters on it. Everyone gives him a surprised look before their faces go blank and they nod.

“The High Warlock will be viewing the training today.” Mirai says with a soft smirk, “the Commander has given permission.”

Considering that Alexander had not in any way been consulted, Magnus can only assume that he ordered his second to treat Magnus with a certain amount of leeway. It’s tempting to press, to find where Alexander drew the line on what he’d let Magnus get away with, but he doesn’t press.

He won’t, not when Alexander is on the line.

The training is already underway and for a moment, Magnus thinks that Alexander is only giving out instructions, until he realizes that his shadowhunter is shouting out instructions while also shooting moving targets.

He’s barely paying attention to the determined but flustered young hunters sparring and it shows with how many arrows he’s shooting.  Yet it seems as if he’s aware of every single flaw or mistake.

It’s one of the most morally devastating ways of training Magnus has ever seen, yet with every shot Alexander takes and every firm, but cool instruction he calls out, the hunters only try harder.

It speaks to their opinion of Magnus’ shadowhunter, and Magnus suddenly yearns to touch Alexander with a fierceness that leaves him aching.

[symphonic-scream]

Feral Jocks au: CN & Hornet calling each other Kitty Cat & Honey Bee

Hornet calls Chartreux Kitty Cat for sure, also names like Whiskers, Cutie Paws, stuff like that

Chartreux wouldn't break out Honey Bee for a while, but she'd get there eventually. Honeycomb, Sweet Bee, stuff like that are also on the table

[conretewings]

Honey Cakes-a RWBY ficlet

Hazel aimlessly wandered through the empty stone halls, his insomnia overcoming the sleep he so desperately needed. Try as he might all the usual methods to quell it had thus far failed; exercise, reading, chatting with Tyrian as he perched like a feral cat on a windowsill, talking as he did in his odd, disjointed manner that Hazel found both eerily fascinating and exhausting until even the scorpion faunus began to win his own battle with the condition and slunk back to his room. Thus Hazel was left alone with nothing but his own thoughts; a dangerous situation right now.

Passing the kitchen, something caught his attention and he paused in the open doorway. Moonlight pouring in had caught and was reflecting off a large, glass jar of honey that had been left out, golden-amber beams scattering across the counter and floor. He sighed and entered to put it away, but upon lifting it, a scrap of memory formed...

"Honey cakes! Honey cakes! C'mon bro let's make some honey cakes!" Gretchen shouted up the ladder to their loft bedroom.

Hazel poked his head into view, "What?"

She almost bounced on her heels, "Dad just got home and he's got a big chunk of honeycomb and he said it's all ours! So let's make something while it's still fresh!"

"....I'll be right down." he replied with a resigned grin, knowing she would likely drag him down if he didn't come on his own.

Entering the kitchen he saw she had already tied on an apron and was busy grabbing bowls and ingredients. In a shallow dish sat the large hunk of honeycomb, bits of leaves still stuck in it's surface and the sunlight coming in the window making it shine. Setting down a large mixing bowl on the work table she turned to him and grinned.

"You ready for some baking oh dear brother?"

"Did you memorize the recipe?" Hazel wondered aloud, noting the lack of a cookbook among the many times she'd grabbed.

Gretchen waved a dismissive hand, "Pssh! Of course! We haven't made them for a while but I remember because it was mom's favorite thing...to..."

She trailed off, clutching her apron as she tried to swallow back her tears. Instantly Hazel was there, wrapping his arms around her as she hugged him tightly back. They held each other in silence, understanding the need for a moment's quiet. Finally Gretchen pulled back and quickly wiped her eyes before planting her hands on her hips and nodding.

"Operation Honey Cake is a go!"

Some time later, after dinner and their father had gone to lay down to rest, the twins sat at their large dining table, playing cards, chatting and enjoying their own sweet, savory honey cake with tea.

"I think these are the best ones we've made so far." Hazel noted.

Gretchen nodded, talking through a mouthful of cake, "We outta open a bakery! We won't have a lot, but we'll have our own business, and each other!"

With a soft smile, Hazel held out his mug, "To the Rainart twins bakery!"

"To us!" she grinned, tapping his mug with hers...

Her laugh echoed in the past as he stared down at the jar in his broad hand. As he started to place it in the cupboard he paused, then took it back out. Perhaps even now, somehow, she was helping him and this was a sign showing him what he needed right now.

Setting the jar on a work surface he started to gather the items he needed...

Emerald paused just before the kitchen, sure she had heard someone. It was nearly four in the morning; who could be there? Praying it wasn't Tyrian, unable to sleep herself and needing a snack she silently peered in to see Hazel sitting at a table near the window. In front of him was a mug and a plate containing what appeared to be a large, flat cupcake. Glancing around she saw the used dishes neatly soaking in the sink and bits of flour still on the countertop.

"Were you...baking?" she asked.

He glanced at her with a simple, "Yes."

"Didn't know you could bake." she said, heading to the fridge, "Smells good."

She turned to ask what it was when she spotted the second plate and mug opposite him, as if he had been expecting company. Did he know about her late night raids? Another look and she realized they were empty, only raising more questions.

Curiosity was winning over and she ventured closer wondering, "I...see there's two plates but...you're by yourself..."

He looked up at her, and she could see the tiredness and sorrow in his deep eyes, "It's...for her. A gesture. Perhaps it's ridiculous, but I felt it was right."

Emerald's brow furrowed slightly; her? Then she understood. She honestly knew little about anyone here and preferred it that way, but one thing she did recall was the scant bit about how he had lost his sister years ago.

She took a step back, unsure how to respond, "Oh..I see. I'm...sorry."

As she was turning to leave, something deep in his bones tugged at him; perhaps his loneliness, perhaps delirium had begun to set in, perhaps this was one more sign and Hazel heeded the feeling.

"Emerald?"

"Yeah?"

He gestured to the pan still sitting atop the stove, "You said they smelled good. Please have one. Join me if you'd like."

The young woman blinked, confused at this sudden invitation, but admitted the scent was quite enticing and going to get one, sat down across from the older and much larger man.

She smelled it closer and taking a small bite, her eyes lit up, "This is so good! It's sweet but also kinda herby?"

"It's honey cake," he replied with a swig of his tea, "I'm glad you like it."

They sat in silence for a bit, Emerald nibbling the dense sweet cake and Hazel gazing out the window. Finally she finished it and licked her fingers clean, then stared at the table uncertain what to say.

"....Thank you for the food." she said at length.

He gave a nod, "Thank you for the company."

"But we didn't really talk..."

"That's okay. Sometimes, someone else just being there is good."

Emerald mulled that over. He was right; it was nice to have someone around. She knew all too well the struggle and loneliness of being on your own. She wondered if he ever got lonely...

Her eyes began to feel heavy and he noticed, "If you need to sleep, you can go."

After all that, she hated to just ditch him, but she was getting tired. The warm, soothing food had done wonders. Standing, she paused a moment.

"Well...um...thanks again...goodnight."

"Goodnight. And you're welcome."

She quietly padded out, looking back one more time before slipping into the dark hallway.

Hazel looked at the now empty chair, stray crumbs on the plate and smiled just the slightest, convinced that indeed, even beyond the grave she was still helping him find what he needed...

[goblin-gardens]

Gob Or Not? An Extremely Scientific Examination Of The Mighty Nein

A couple weeks ago, as an attempt to lure my friend Grim into Critical Role, I made a Goblin Inventory of the M9. this post is an updated survey of the team, slightly reformatted, mostly to be more accurate to my current understanding of the characters (as of Episode 58) and also funnier.

Abstract:

The goals of the initial report were two-fold. First, to examine the differences between being a member of the goblin species and Being Goblin, and second to determine whether Nott The Brave was truly the most Goblin of the group. The first findings showed that Nott scored a 40 out of 77 on the Goblin Scale, not an especially high score and far from the highest in the group. While the conclusions of this survey are not wildly different, the key to Science is repeating your experiments and coming up with not-exactly-identical findings, and doing this roughly a billion times and then you can say that you’re Probably Right (Most Of The Time).

The Goblin Quotient is determined by quantifying, on a scale of 0-11, how fully a person embodies each of the 7 Habits Of Highly Effective Goblins. These are, 1) Collection Of Crap, 2) Chaos, 3) Minionhood, 4) Gooey Center, 5) Laser Pointer Focus, 6) Furious Devotion, and 7) Hideous Cackling.

the full text of this very serious academic paper is under the cut and not behind a paywall.

1) Collection Of Crap

Top scorer, Caleb Widogast As a wizard, Caleb has purposefully immersed himself in Collecting. He is constantly filling his pockets with spell components including, but by no means limited to, sulfur, molasses, honeycomb, bits of copper wire, and literal bat shit. it’s all just. in his pockets. being slimy. Other Caleb Collections include: Books, Paper, Friends, Magic, and Pain. unfortunately, he still has not collected a fantasy therapist to help him KonMari some of it into healthier boxes. Nott’s new form has upped her Collecting habits, but this is a fundamental hobby of Veth’s. This quells some uncertainty about how much of this is truly Her. turns out, lots! (Runners up: Jester, with the animals and haversack of holding, Nott, with the buttons. Special mention: Fjord, with his balls.) Lowest Scorer, Yasha: a 6 of 11 ain’t shabby, but it’s not much compared to the others. This might be due to her having had less screen time, but she does tend to travel light.

Trait The Second) Chaos.

Top scorer, Jester Lavorre: The M9 are a pretty Chaotic group, but Jester is the only one who’s built a religion out of chaos. She’s a high priestess of drawing dicks on things. Her magic powers come from a divine mandate to fuck shit up. Pets (to which she has added Yarnball) up the chaos meter, and their virtually indestructible plot armor means they’re not going anywhere execpt maybe home wth Yeza. In general, Jester’s childhood in the Lavish Chateau was sort of like a pandora’s jack in the box getting wound tighter and tighter and tighter past all physical comprehension, and though the lid has been lifted, the spring is only just starting to sproing. we haven’t even reached the Zenith yet! After seeing some more of Veth and Yeza, it’s clear they’re not the most sedate of couples. Some eyebrows have definitely gotten singed in the Brenatto lab. However, since they aren’t the ones who burned it to the ground, a bit of Safe Science Techniques have to at least be assumed. (Runner up: Molly, with the egg dick incident) Lowest scorer, Beau: She’s not settling down, but she is… settling. Beau does her share of the check-ins, and has made the highest number of Agreements To Not Be Assholes Together. She might be in the running for mom friend??

C) Minionhood.

Top scorer, Fjord “No-Name” Swordvjore. In CR, goblins are not often leaders. They will work together to target weaker and easy opponents, but aren’t typically masterminds. They aren’t prone to individual heroism and rarely, if ever, go out of their way to save a friend. In their villages, little value is placed on familial relationships or education, they’re not big team players, and everyone has a terrible sense of humor. So how does Fjord factor into this? By showing the other side of the coin, like how tactics that don’t rely on using yourself as canon fodder are more successful, or like how the power of friendship and diverse skill sets makes your team stronger. Nott is not much of a follower, though she is an aggressive supporter. Though both these green kids were outcasts when they were younger, finding love with Yeza, stating a family and running a business has given Veth a strong sense of what she wants, and it’s not to be a leader or a follower. (runners up: Caduceus Clay, committed WildMinion and Jester, Travelerite) Lowest scorer, Caleb Widogast. He’s had his brush with Minionhood and the further and safer from it he feels, the more he wants revenge.

Four) Gooey Center Top scorer, Yasha Nydoorin. The Gooey Center is protected by a spiky, brittle, intimidating, crunchy, and/or off putting exterior.  Yasha is our big, scary, tenderhearted wlw. our giant soft-hearted, angelic, full-of-boiling-murderous-rage, lightning-punching, funeral-not-having runaway who loves her wife and makes us cry. she shaves her arms with her sword. she uses books in non-traditional ways. she vanishes into the night sometimes in a very mysterious and tragic manner. she is our most Romantic player character, and she is super ripped and super queer, which are all aspirational goblin qualities. in practice, most goblins connect with their gooey center by being squished by someone like Yasha, maybe with a giant hammer. Nott does more to protect others’ feelings than her own, really. Poking at her sore spots makes her stab at yours, but she’s pretty up front about how she feels. When actually fighting, she’s proven to be pretty adept at not being hit. (runners up: Caleb, glass canon with a very crunchy exterior, Fjord, known horc twunk, Caducues, mystery boy, and Molly, who rudely showed us just how how close that center can be to the surface) Lowest scorer: Nott! She’s actually…. Relatively well adjusted? Has emotional intelligence?

5️⃣) Laser Pointer Focus Top scorer: Caduceus Clay. Related to Minionhood, this is the aspect of Goblinry that the leader uses to achieve goals. the dogged focus of a True Goblin is powerful and direct, but can be redirected with the proper pressure or leadership, or lost when a cause or leader is not compelling enough or doesn’t provide adequate payment. the Laser Pointer Focus has an investigatory aspect as well, gathering little bits of info from every which way in moments, though the information gathered is rarely put to use immediately. Caduceus, who sees all but doesn’t always act on it, and is content to support the Nein and follow their meandering path to his goal, checks many of these boxes. Nott knows exactly what she wants in life, which is her old life. She knows how to get it, which is to keep Caleb alive until he can learn a powerful enough spell. The difference between her pursuit of her goal and Caduceus’s lies in the fact that this isn’t a Hero’s Quest for her, with no Tests of Character or Symbolic Goals set or arbitrated by an outside force. (runners up: Fjord, spiritually chasing a laser pointer at all times, Jester, whose laser pointer always points at chaos. Special mention: Frumpkin) Lowest scorer: Beau. Maybe she’s still figuring out what her driving forces are. She knows what they aren’t, but Not Being The Same Type Of Shitty As My Dad isn’t a full thesis. She’s dedicated to protecting her friends, but until we see exactly what it is that she defines herself in opposition to (ie. get that sweet sweet Loregard) her intentions might remain a bit fuzzy around the edges.

VI) Furious Devotion Top scorer: Beauregard Lionett. Also going hand in hand with Minionhood (Minionhood has two hands), this is the trait that makes goblins actually willing to die in battle against adventurers and town guards and shit. It doesn’t require any comfort with or willingness to follow authority, it’s the more feral side of love that is reigned in by Minionhood in true Goblins. this is the part of the Goblin that drives the Collecting of Crap because it genuinely loves all the shit it finds. Beau is a prime example of this trait, especially because as she gets more and more invested in a person or ideal, her willingness to let go, even in the face of likely death, decreases dramatically. see episode 55 for reference, among others. she also has a rather Goblinish inability to effectively communicate the depths of her feelings, though this is sort of an aspect of her defense of her Gooey Center and something she’s actively working on. Now here’s something Nott’s got. So much love. More love than can be contained by one family. Angry love, protective love, throw-all-the-dishes-on-the-floor-in-a-pile love. Draw the dragon’s attention so her friend she’s had for less than a day can get away love. She can and will sacrifice herself for the people she cares about. (runners up: Nott, whomst loves, Yasha, very good at using the Fury to pursue the Devotion, Jester, whose love is so powerful it brings people back from the dead, and Caleb, even less able to discuss his feelings than Beau) Lowest scorer: Fjord. This does NOT mean he doesn’t love his friends, or that he’s not sometimes very angry, but they aren’t connected. He’s still keeping everyone at arm’s length, tbh. Again, this is something that will be easier to judge with more backstory.

and finally 7) Hideous Cackling Top Score: Mollymauk Tealeaf. This is what a Goblin does when surveying their Collection of Crap and the Chaos they have caused. This is how they communicate with fellow Minions in the know, how they react to seeing someone else’s Gooey Center, to catching the Laser Pointer. This is the easiest way to express their feelings of Devotion. The Hideous Cackle of a True Goblin is un-selfconscious and entirely for the benefit of the Cackler. Cackling Hideously is an act of self love. You can find your goblin group by listening to the Discordant Chorus made by Cackling together, and when you’re all reveling in the cacophony, there you are. It’s a little hedonistic and a little punk and a little queer, disregarding conventional expectations of beauty or family or polite behavior, and all about diving deep into the things that you are and the things that make you happy. An extremely Molly philosophy, truth be told. Nott Cackles, sometimes. More since Yeza is back. Unclear whether this arc ending in safe Brenatto Boys will leave her more prone to Cackling, or if she’ll miss them and be too sad :( (runner up: Jester, gleeful agent of chaos) Lowest scorers: Caleb and Fjord. Part of their higher charisma is being careful with their words and presentation. A truly Hideous Cackle doesn’t have time to be self conscious.

And now, the rankings themselves!

Nott The Brave Collection of Crap– So. Many. Buttons.  10/11 Chaos– FLUFFERNUTTERRRRRRRRRR!  8/11 Minionhood– Eh. She’s more of a supporter than a follower.  3/11 Gooey Center–  She’s not particularly secretive about her feelings or opinions 4/11 Laser Pointer Focus–  Her main goals are all inwardly motivated and have not changed during the campaign.  3/11 Furious Devotion– Her love is extremely powerful.  10/11 Hideous Cackling– Reunited with her husband, she has felt freer to Cackle, she also seems to appreciate her current job a lot  6/11 total score: 44/77

Caleb Collection of Crap– keeps everything in his pockets except for his cat, which is in his heart.  11/11 Chaos– Absolutely creates it, and is starting to revel in it.  6/11 Minionhood– Formerly a Minion, he is now hellbent on the destruction of the System. Good for him.  0/11 Gooey Center– Easily smashed by any large or medium-sized hammer, but maintains staunch denial of inner Gooeyness.  8/11 Laser Pointer Focus– Has goal, will travel. Difficult to redirect.  5/11 Furious Devotion– Slow to accept his own devotion, but very committed once he has.  10/11 Hideous Cackling– Having friends and talking about his feelings is good for him. He’s getting better at this. 3/11 total score: 43/77

Yasha Collection of Crap– A whole book of pressed flowers!  6/11 Chaos– She doesn’t really revel in it :/.  5/11 Minionhood-- Serves a higher power and follows along the decisions of others in the group, even when not super enthused about them, like going to Xhorhas.  8/11 Gooey Center– All the Gooeyer for being well protected, and though her emotional walls are not the most formidable in the party, the amount of protected feeling was unexpected  11/11 Laser Pointer Focus– Loyal to two guides, the Stormlord and the M9, though the Stormlord can pull her easily away from the group.  9/11 Furious Devotion– Very very angry.  10/11 Hideous Cackling– Could stand to be a bit more open about it.  4/11 Total score: 53/77

Fjord Collection of Crap– Collection is limited in scope and volume, but high in Strangeness.  8/11 Chaos– a troublemaker, for sure and certain.  7/11 Minionhood– Literally A Minion right now, summons demonic minions on occasion.  11/11 Gooey Center– Desperately wants somebody, anybody, to tell him he’s doing a Good Job. Adamantly refuses to admit that.  8/11 Laser Pointer Focus– this man cannot resist pushing buttons, be they physical, emotional, or likely to end the word.  10/11 Furious Devotion– He is angry, but it’s not focused. To get more points here, he needs to be less angry at himself.  3/11 Hideous Cackling– too self conscious! loosen up! needs to Cackle in his own voice.  3/11 total score: 50/77

Beau Collection of Crap– Wants to know everything, is building a family. Some points lost for minimalist monk aesthetic.  8/11 Chaos– Aspiring member of Nott the Best Detective Agency, punches people to learn about them. BUT she is apparently a Voice Of Reason, which makes it harder. 4/11 Minionhood– would destroy me for even suggesting it.  1/11 Gooey Center– just! wants! everyone! to! get! along!  7/11 Laser Pointer Focus– Is becoming a moral compass?  2/11 Furious Devotion– JUST! WANTS! EVERYONE! TO! GET! ALONG!  11/11 Hideous Cackling– Tries too hard to be cool. Like yeah, she is cool, but she tries too hard to make sure people know.  5/11 total score: 38/77

Molly Collection of Crap– Behold the coat. 8/11 Chaos– He has that certain je ne se quois.  10/11 Minionhood– The Moonweaver in not a fan of her followers following anyone’s orders. also he has his own minions and doesn’t want them  3/11 Gooey Center-- Loves openly and without reservation. and also……………………  8/11 Laser Pointer Focus– Molly’s focus is loving his friends and knowing fuck all.  5/11 Furious Devotion– Found a tall sad lady and made his circus adopt her. gives money to orphans.  7/11 Hideous Cackling– Genuinely personified this action for two years.  11/11 total score: 52/77

Jester Collection of Crap– In addition to being the Holder Of The Bag, she also collects doughnuts and cool shit. While most of her random shit has potential uses, it’s also a whole lot of random shit. Some of its weasels.  10/11 Chaos– Spreading discord is a religious mandate for her. Her powers come from chaos.  11/11 Minionhood– A champion of the Yes And, she is more likely to voice her opinion of an existing plan than come up with her own. She is definitely a better minion than the Traveler’s other ONE.  10/11 Gooey Center– Physically well-defended, she has the luxury of wearing her heart on her sleeve. 6/11 Laser Pointer Focus– It might seem like she’s easily distracted, but that’s actually because her surface level attention is secondary. her primary goal is actually Fucking Shit Up, and she’s good at it. 7/11 Furious Devotion– Gets attached and does. not. let. go.  10/11 Hideous Cackling– The end goal of practically everything Jester does is Cackling With The Traveler, and she often succeeds.  10/11 total score: 64/77

Caduceus: Collection of Crap– Dude has a swarm of bugs living in his staff, and his backpack is full of tea.  8/11 Chaos– NOT a fan of stuff that disrupts the proper order of nature, but he is developing a wonderful and unique sense of humor. 5/11 Minionhood– Of all the M9, Caduceus has the strongest adherence to an ironclad and pre-written set of ethics and willingness to follow the path a greater power has laid out for him.  10/11 Gooey Center– Encourages everyone else to talk about their feelings, yet doesn’t talk about his own in the same way. Mysterious. 7/11 Laser Pointer Focus– Has a well-defined goal, but not a well defined path. 11/11 Furious Devotion-- You can’t be On A Quest To Save Your Home (And The World?) if you’re not devoted to your home. However we haven’t seen the fury? Structured devotion is different and not exactly Goblin. 5/11 Hideous Cackling– Cackling is a bit more intense than what he does, but he’s on the right track. 5/11 total score: 51/77

final ranking (out of 77)

38, Beau 👊

43, Caleb 🐱

44, Nott 🏹

50, Fjord 🗡️

51, Caduceus 🐞

52, Molly 🎴

53, Yasha ⚡

64, Jester 🦄

All in all, a pretty Goblin Group, and Nott, the only one who is physically a goblin, is not even in the middle of the pack. Clearly, true Goblin Spirit is something else all together. 

It seem that perhaps the True Goblin Was The Friends We Made Along The Way. also Jester.

[anothersillyfanblog]

Homemade Halloween

Everyone made something for the trick-or-treaters. They were that family- the ones with cakes, sweets, anything you could ask for.

Chase made cakes. Some were coated in thick, green icing, made to look like ghastly eyeballs. Others were decorated like cute little ghosts, with tiny flower crowns.

Jackie made fudge. More specifically, chilli fudge. The others said it wasn't really appropriate for small children, but a few (feral) kids absolutely adored it.

Marvin wanted to make honeycomb but it kept turning out all wrong. Anti offered to help, despite the fact he hated sweet food, and things seemed to go a lot better. They were a chaotic duo, but there was no doubt that the honeycomb was delicious.

Jameson simply made gingerbread witches. Ginger-witches? They were all identical, with pointed hats that were neatly iced. No complaints there.

Henrik went to the store to buy Moams. He'd been meaning to make something, he really had, but everything had gotten on top of him. He was so disappointed in himself as well...

Until he realized that kids fucking love Moams.

[thisusernamewasprobablyabadidea]

Please tell me if this is a thing for anyone else but for literally my entire life the feral part of my brain has had the powerful urge to eat a honeycomb. Like idk if I'm misremembering something with similar texture and sweetness that I ate as a kid or if it's just my monkey instincts but I have never in my life been able to look at a honeycomb, even in a picture, without some forsaken part of my brain going ",,,,,,, cr0nch"

[cyberneticlagomorph]

Mellifera

Hozier echoes throughout your room like mutinous heterodox hymns in abandoned churches left to the elements. Arcane and profane songs leaking through the rotted gaps in the roof and walls, spilling out into the empty air. Your vision is stained with the gold-black hue of His voice, and the sinfully sweet taste of His words. Your agitation melts away away away, leaving you fluid and fae as you dance in very little, body bending in impossible shapes, twirling, swirling to the rhythm as you sing along. Your crystals form deadly fans that chime with each and every syllable, every movement.

A hundred years in the future and you have His Last Album on repeat, His songs got further and further from human understanding as his career continued. Now, just playing His songs out loud summon things, beautiful things, wondrous, illegal magic that changes your room into a far flung forest full of impossible, unimaginable things that know every lyric, every note and key. You feel at home here, and you're sure He did too.

You're late for your audience with the Queen of Candyland. But still you dance, as the next song plays and the ceiling above you becomes the canopy of a night-dark forest, letting in beams of moonlight to dapple the mossy floor. An uncountable number of rainbow hued shooting stars streak by and cast stained glass shadows on everything around you. And still you dance. Feet leaving the ground as your magic kicks up, voice multiplying, radiating. A cacophonous choir of voices that don't do His words any justice. But still you sing. But still you dance.

Your secretary, Hououmaru, has to coax you out of the music's thrall. You aren't exactly happy about that but you have shit to do, and you can't spend all day listening to the Last Album. Even though you really want to. Your butler sees to the state of your hair, applying some new color while you shove some toast into your waiting maw and take your meds. Your seamstress, Nui, brings your clothes along as you teleport to your castle in Wonderland, still in your underwear. You can't be bothered to take most of this seriously, but you're still taking your full security detail over there with you. Better not tempt fate after all.  You have to take the carriage over to Candyland, you're still far too drained to teleport yourself plus security over there on your own steam. But you're not incapable of defending yourself, as evidenced by the Vorpal Sword at your hip.

Your arrival is watched by a thousand eyes. Candy people and animals cower at your approach, and some part of you stings with guilt. There's little you can do about that, but it still hurts nonetheless. You guess you should be... happy, proud of yourself even, to have people cowering in your wake. But you aren't, it just makes you feel like a bully kicking down sand castles. You don't look out of the windows for the rest of the ride, contemplating sinking down low in your seat before remembering that Nui would eviscerate you if you wrinkled this outfit. So you just shut your eyes and sit very still until the carriage comes to a stop. There is mild concern from your entourage that you might be feeling ill, and at the moment you can't exactly refute that as you take one look at the Candy Queen's castle and feel your heart and stomach switch places.

Flanked by your security detail, sword at your side, countless tricks up your metaphorical sleeves and you feel no safer. Candy Guards stand stone-faced and silent in the halls, ever-present but unmoving. Eerie and discomforting. The throne room is no better, here is where you realize how grossly outnumbered you are. You can feel Rae behind you, silently counting the guards in here, adding their number to the ones you saw when you came in. She leans in to inform you of the seventy possible assailants you might have to claw your way through to get home. Seventy against four. You've never been much of a gambler but you like those odds.

Mellifera, the Candy Queen, is slow to address you, relaxed in her throne, honey-gold eyes half-lidded as if she were bored to the brink of dozing. Still, you are respectful and bow low at the waist, with your detail following suit.

"Stand, supplication does not suit you, Thief-Prince." she purrs in a voice as warm, rich and sweet as hot milk and honey. She is a magnificent creature, with translucent dark brown skin, twitching antennae, faceted black eyes, and fluttering wings at her back that cast stained glass shadows just like the falling stars from the song you'd so carelessly danced to. Her hair is opalescent white, full of sparkling sugar and sprinkles. She smells like raw honey, and a soft buzz chases the tails of words spoken with yellow painted lips. Beneath her skin is an endless maze of honeycomb, and floating just above her head is a crown of chocolate and amber that seems to perpetually melt, but the drips vanish before they can stain anything.

She is horrifically, horribly beautiful in every way. And yet as you think back to the night you two faced each other in battle, her face twisted with fury, she was beautiful then too. She sits up straight, an action that causes her obvious pain, Jeanne's parting gift, fondly remembered. Your ear twitches at her not-so-subtle insult.

"Thief-Prince?" you ask, voice level, calm. Too calm. Rae puts a hand against the small of your back, and your unconscious bristling ceases instantly, "I had no clue that retrieving lost property counted as theft in your lands, Lady Mellifera."

She gives you a smile, warm and sweet like brown sugar. It's wry but genuine and you don't like it, the way she looks at you when she does it. It makes you feel sorry in the wrongest of ways.

"There are many things you are clueless about, dear Thief-Prince, but your naivety is not what I wanted to discuss." she rests her chin in palm of one hand, head tilting just a little as she watches you squirm at her digs. You frown and lean back against Rae's steadying hand, the flames of your ire dying down to embers. She wants you angry and you aren't about to give her the satisfaction.

"Are we going to get to these discussions any time soon or do you intend to bore several millenia off my lifespan with this petty attempt at a squabble?" it comes out way more nonchalantly than you intended but that somehow adds weight to your words another tone just wouldn't have. Still, she laughs at you, a nasal snort that seems out of place coming from someone so clearly alien.

"Very well, we'll 'cut to the chase' as you Earthborn mongrels put it." she does air quotes, like the passive aggressive asshole she is. "I'd like to propose a peace treaty between my land and yours, we could become great assets to each other but that isn't possible if we are at each other's throats."

She shifts in position, resting her cheek on her fist. "And don't worry about the subjects of mine you slaughtered and devoured like animals, they'll be replaced soon enough."

You blink, bewildered, and she catches your shift in expression immediately, "You learn quickly not to get too attached to anyone around here," Mellifera doesn't even sound sullen, and simply shrugs as if this were something as small as a papercut. "Go on, kill them, my guards, I know you've been itching to. I'll just make more."

Her words hang in the empty air like the obvious threat they are. Unconsciously, you shudder, and she smiles again. That same damn smile. "So, what do you say?"

Your words falter, failing you as you struggle to process this fresh hell you've found yourself in. Finally you swallow thickly, the overpowering scents of sweet things turning your stomach as fast as the thought of the implications behind all of this.

"I'll... consider it." you say, softly, softer than you should. She seems elated nonetheless and wiggles her antennae in a pleased way that might have been cute under different circumstances.

"Wonderful, I'll send you a copy of the treaty to inspect at your leisure, then we can further discuss any specific edits or additional terms you may deem necessary." you instantly regret your words but it's too late to go back on them now. You'll play her games, just for a little while.

"Take this, as a hopeful gesture of peace between our two countries." Mellifera gestures at a shape draped in plain white cloth, the covering is pulled aside to reveal a marvelous cage of golden mesh, inside is a swarm of bread-and-butterflies. They flutter here and there on wings made of bread and toast, shimmering with butter, honey, or even jam. You can smell their warm, doughy scent from where you stand but can do little more than just stare in awe.

Hououmaru nudges a box into your hands, you nearly drop it in your carelessness and are left awkwardly holding it out towards the Candy Queen,

"We have brought a gift as well, Lady Mellifera, may it please you." the word please is accented and scummy, try as you might to sound professional you're quickly losing your nerve. Mellifera rises from her throne and makes her way towards you. Your security detail gently bristles like dogs on leashes, hands hovering near weapons just in case. None of the candy guards move, as if they too didn't care who lived or died. After all Queens can be replaced just like anyone and everyone else. Unease curls low in your belly, toothsome and vicious, as the Queen approaches. You are reminded of how fragile Candyland natives are by the way she limps towards you, still feeling the pain of your wife's bullet in her ass. It's a miracle she can walk at all, honestly.

Inside the box is a walking tea pot, not one of the feral ones that have moved in around the Brillig, a custom made one filled with tea from the river you'd stolen from her lands only nights ago. A petty, backhanded gift to repay her for the poisoned plants her least favorite daughter gave you a long while ago. After she opens the box, Queen Mellifera smiles that brown sugar smile at you again, the one that makes you feel sorry for things you haven't done. As if every injustice in this world was somehow your fault, but it's ok, she forgives you.

You really don't like her smile. You really don't like her. Childishness and invasion of your country aside, she makes you deeply uncomfortable as a person. Someone who has such a flippant view of death and sacrifice is clearly not to be trusted. She doesn't trust you, that's obvious. But still, here she is trying to kiss your ass and act like eons of tension between your home and hers has never existed. Something dark and cruel tells you that everyone would have been better off if you'd slaughtered her during the Battle for the Brillig. You almost never listen to that dark, cruel thing. If you did, you'd be out hunting down the twenty some-odd scientists that had escaped your initial siege of Delta Facility by some twisted facsimile of a miracle.

Mellifera thanks you for the gift, handing it off to a nearby guard. You two stand, locked in an uncomfortably quiet staring contest, as if you could decipher what the other was thinking just by sight alone. Mellifera searches your face for answers before that eerie smile dims into a thin grim line,

"If you have more to say, say it. If not, leave." she straightens to her full seven something foot height, and you refuse to give her the satisfaction of looking down her nose at you, stubbornly levitating up to look her in those cold black eyes, unsettled by the way they reflected your face a dozen times over. You barely see her move, barely have time to draw your sword as her own blade makes a sweeping arc towards your throat. It's over in a blink but there you both stand, blades barely biting into the skin of each other's necks. Blue running over her blade just as honey-gold runs over yours.

She smiles again, a different smile. She's impressed, and a little smug. You aren't smiling. With eerie synchronicity, you sheath your blades and fall back behind a wall of guards. "I grow tired of your company, Thief-Prince." she presses a sleeve to her wound and turns to leave, her free hand flying up to wave you off, "Until we meet again!"

"Until we meet again," you reply, ignoring the blood staining the collar of your dress. You leave with your gift in tow and find a jar of honey waiting at home, a note taped to it's lid and stamped with Candyland's royal seal.

"your pound of flesh -Melli" is all it says.