#fictive house peaks

[the-cardinal-system]

Even though it has not happened on this blog, I will state it here, as sparked by an ask we received on our main blog:

Please do not attack a headmate, verbally or otherwise, and demand a change to something.

You can ask politely, but it does not guarantee anything. As, for the example earlier, Icelin's tag is labeled 'the ice killer', and he has grown fondly attached to this tag for himself.

He might change it, he might not, it's better to ask than attack.

Thank you.

~ P.I.X.A.L (She/Her)

[the-bar-sinister]

Fandom History | Media Literacy | Anti Censorship Whump | Self Ship | Villains, Monsters & Criminals Polyshipping | Shipcest | Age Gap | Enemies to Lovers Fandom Old | Fictive System | Fictionkin

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Bad person alert! This account is run by bad people! If you don't like bad people don't follow this account!

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Our drawings are for our own entertainment only. We do not take commissions or trades. You are free to repost our drawings or use them in any non-commercial way (avatars, phone backgrounds, etc).

Frequent tags:

Selfship

Villain f/o

whump prompts

blog updates

friend mail

villain posting

drabble

fanfiction

our art

Archive of our Own account

👉 he/they | queer | married | adult | elder millennial

👉 plural | fictionkin (serious/spiritual) 

👉 Muti shipper | Poly shipper

No DNI we block at will 🫡

Please do not send us asks about babies, pregnancy, or raising children.

Source fandoms: Resident Evil, Final Fantasy 7, One Piece, Metal Gear, Marvel Comics, Persona games, Slayers anime, GTA V, Great/Ace Attorney, Homestuck, Danganronpa, Fire Emblem Three Houses, Urusei Yatsura, Digimon, Girls Frontline, Steven Universe, Pathologic, Jem & The Holograms, Peter Pan, Welcome to Demon School, Disgaea, Sherlock Holmes media

non-source fandoms: Invader Zim, ABC’s Lost, Twin Peaks, Silent Hill, Star Wars, Star Trek, Lord of the Rings, Vampire Chronicles (books), Doctor Who Labyrinth, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Final Fantasy (4-6, 8,9), Pokemon, Black Lagoon, Miami Vice, Bioshock, Bioshock Infinite, Prey 2017, Dishonored, Call of Duty, Red Dead Redemption, Frankenstein, the Strange Case of Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Gargoyles, Fallout New Vegas

Favorite genres: horror, mystery, thriller, noir, crime fiction, psychological thriller, supernatural horror, sci fi horror, gothic lit

Shipping, plurality and squick explanations under the cut.

Our ships: We are a polyshipper and a multishipper. We ship multiple characters together in the same context, in the same relationship, in the same fics etc.

A "ship" for us does not equal in OTP or an ideal relationship. We use the word "ship" to denote any romantic or sexual relationship between two characters, even when that relationship is unhealthy, toxic, twisted, and bad for one or both participants. Ships are a narrative tool, not something aspirational. 

Plurality: We are a plural system– many people living together in one body. We have been plural since we were children, and we have been blogging about our plurality for 15+ years.

Please do  not use psychiatric or pathologizing terminology for our plurality. We do not refer to ourselves with terms like DID, alter, or introject, and our system members do not have defined roles.

Our preferred terminology is: plural, system member, and fictive.

System members tend to sign or tag posts and refer to one another with a two emoji 'signature' rather than a name. Unsigned posts are understood to be a product of multiple members or a joint consensus. 

squicks / tropes we prefer to avoid

non-con of any kind (but especially underage non-con and non-con incest) 

pregnancy & babies (especially as the joyful and expected result of a romantic hetero-presenting relationship)

nonbinary or trans characters deciding it's better for them to perform their assigned gender at birth

Characters submitting to the will of a lawful aligned god.

Parental control and discipline being shown as narratively positive and correct 

characters giving up their careers and aspirations and 'settling down' when they fall in love

prophecies that are unavoidable and/or narratively depicted as inherently good and just

characters following the life-path set out for them by their parents/following in their parents footsteps

filial duty and filial piety in general

pretty much anything to do with traditional family structures, gender roles, and lawful aligned religion, honestly

wing whump / characters having their monstrous or inhuman traits harmed

monstrous or inhuman characters becoming human (especially when presented as positive)

soul destruction / soul death

characters being metaphysically kept apart for all time

any kind of 'conversion therapy' or metaphorical conversion therapy (especially being portrayed as positive)

We are: 

non-christian | magical practitioner | chaotic neutral

polyamorous  | largely aplatonic

trauma survivor | abuse survivor

Weird | Freakish | Monstrous

[chantsdemarins]

🥵"Find Tom" (Part 1)

(Tom Hiddleston X Reader)

Well, I wasn't going to write another Tom fic, but I am weak. This one is honorary for the 14 Days of Valentine's Day Community project from @muddyorbsblr

It’s suggestive in Part 1, things heat up in Part 2

Maybe interested:

@lovelysizzlingbluebird @lokisgoodgirl (I risk tagging you I know lol 😂) @tbhiddlestan83 @peaches1958 @mygfloki @huntress-artemiss @coldnique @simplyholl @mochie85 @fictive-sl0th @goblingirlsarah @carlym @mjsthrillernp @i-stand-with-loki @filthyhiddles @wolfsmom1 @fantasyfan4life @jennyggggrrr @runningawaywithloki @lady-rose-moon @icytrickster17

(New art too!)

Sea Ranch, CA Sometime after the era fondly referred to as "Peak Tom"

The path back to his weekend rental was winding, to say the least.

Coastal sage and nubby coyote bush snagged the transparent black nylons you put on at the last minute when your winter skin looked a little too ashy for an evening event at Sea Ranch amongst the Bay Area’s artsy crowd. Your hand glided down to touch the plants along the escarpment, pulling a sprig off one of the branches with a gentle tug. Holding it to your nose and inhaling the scent, mixed with the salt misting up from the ocean below, it feels like velvet air coursing through your lungs.

You are climbing now, and you imagine by the time you get to the top of the cliff, your breath will be dangerously close to being lost. You were correct.

The view that opens before you, even in the moonless night, is more incredible than anything you could remember seeing of late. He’s way off in front of you, nervously plodding-perhaps to get inside the thick redwood doors and clean up quickly before welcoming you in. You can barely see the outline of his suit, his shoulder blades, noble triangles against the lithe of his tall frame.

He’s left a light on inside, as he nervously opens the door the light hits his face. It’s a relief to see him after what felt like 30 minutes trekking through the California coastline in borrowed Prada flats. From your side of the window, he’s impossibly handsome, untouchable. The window feels like a metaphor.

How you managed to get an interview with him at this hour, after an overly festive San Francisco film festival party, was a mystery, but he agreed when you took the chance. You’d been eyeing him all night, the last person you expected to be there, and the most interesting.

Only hours before, you’d quietly moved to the deck of the main Sea Ranch house, holding your cell phone to the pristine glittery night sky, searching for a signal to rejuvenate your bad cell service. You Googled “Tom Hiddleston” just to be sure it wasn’t Michael Fassbender.

Then when you heard someone say his name, you were clear, it was him.

It was unlike you to invite yourself into the conversation he was already having with a keen-eyed group of Brits across the room, stationed next to a looming Peter Doig painting and a roaring fire, but you did. Making a joke, dropping your cocktail napkin in your nervousness. When he picked it up mid-sentence and handed it back to you, eyes meeting yours, you knew. You waited a few moments but then told him who you were, the beat you were covering for the impossibly small publication you just started writing for. You were way in over your head.

Maybe you should have covered the state fair first, not the San Francisco film festival post-screening events. The roar of crashing waves just outside the sheer wall of glass was unnerving. You flagged down one of the servers and had another caramel-colored Manhattan with one of those big ice cubes that obscure the actual amount of alcohol. Tom did the same, eyes never leaving you.

He made a joke about the event planners saving money with the big ice cubes, “a deliberate act of malice” he said. By midnight you’d managed to find a cozy red, mostly ornamental couch, with cushions seemingly filled with lead, one shift too many caused Tom to say it first. To ask where you were staying.

You weren’t. That was the thing.

You were going to drive back to ennui filled Napa in the wee morning hours, with the marine layer locked in place, a challenge even for the sober. Which you clearly were not.

*Tom would later correct your pronunciation of ‘ennui’ when you used it in conversation, this may or may not have created a small pause in kinetic flow between you.

He offered for you to have some tea (or coffee because you were American, he promised he drank entirely too much coffee and was an honorary American because of it). He offered to be interviewed in his weekend cliff-facing Bill Turnbull masterpiece.

He was effulgent in his offering. So much so that you worried about how he seemed determined to make a good impression on you, a stranger with no obvious pedigree to situate yourself in a status of his interest.

You made your way inside, and you were right-he is nervously cleaning up. He’d been there for less than 24 hours and somehow managed to leave his running clothes, cliff bar wrappers, and socks all over the front room. He mentions jet lag, and delayed flights on the usually reliable British Airways.

You spy at least 25 pretzel packages on the quartz counter, and you ask Tom if those were from his flight. He gives a “ehehehehehheehe” laugh and says the flight staff was worried because he didn’t like the in-flight meal.

Of course, you asked what it was, how could you not.

It turns out it was beef bourgeon with Yukon potatoes. Tom explains the ‘why’ behind his reluctance to eat the meal, but you are simply not listening anymore. You are caught up in your own anxiety. He smells like blood orange and lilac with cedar. He smells like fancy architecture. He explains the house he is staying in with precise detail, he’s giving a dissertation on the Sea Ranch movement of the 70s but you hear approximately every other word. You are caught up in little visual details between the words you hear.

The way he seems different than the man you had watched on the San Diego Comic-Con reels, the impossibly linguistically delightful rhetorician of arcane theses. His mind accosts you, but his energy seems stuck in his head. It’s unnerving.

You wonder if he is even aware of his body, your body-or how you both are sitting now on the hastily cleaned up front room couch, bare feet accidently touching in thoughtless intervals. He is still beautiful but different, something has changed. You admittedly hadn’t kept up with his work, you were essentially a Marvel adjacent fan at best, and your previous amateur journalism beat was not entertainment, or the arts beat, it was tech.

There is an old wooden clock on the wall and the hourly bell strikes pausing you both, it’s 2:00 am. You laugh to yourself when you realize it’s now February 14th. Not one for any commercialized sentimentality or strange Catholic holidays masquerading as innocuous celebrations of love, you wonder to yourself if they even celebrate Valentine’s Day in England.

You want to ask Tom, but you are careful right now, he’s overly generous and his ego seems hidden under his red beard.

He’s giving “wounded” but there’s still his gaze, his cerulean eyes are boring holes through you. His skin is too golden when spring is still a few months away, it contrasts against his button-down shirt which is unbuttoned quite far. His pants aren’t two sizes too small like you remember him wearing to press events before, but they are still tight, they hug his thighs like neoprene, they are too distracting, you can’t ask if they have Valentine’s Day in London. You’ve never even been to the UK. Your blank passport is a spectral vision hanging over your head, you are a ghost covered with a bedsheet.

You debate a few more long, ponderous minutes before you finally ask if they celebrate Valentine’s Day in England. Tom wonders why you are asking. You remind him-today is now Valentine's Day. He laughs and explains America is much more theatrical than England-Brits don’t fall for heart-shaped boxes of chocolate.

You say, “So what do you guys fall for then?”

“Intelligence.”

You die a little. That’s it. You’ll never get your interview questions out of your mouth, and you may want this to end romantically. Any warm-blooded human would-when faced with the charm of Tom Hiddleston-even if it’s slightly redacted. Even if it’s like the big monolith ice cubes from the party earlier, somehow obscuring the ingredients.

You also want to know more about why he seems so different. You pry a little, your intuition is good enough and you can tell something happened.

Maybe it was a love affair, maybe he’s got mental health issues, maybe it’s being too famous, too known. This level of celebrity and privilege is impossible for you to sort out logically. You’ll likely never know what it feels like to have the kind of money to do anything and everything you’d ever dreamed of doing, and the charisma to attract endless people to bed.

He’s not vapid, though. At least his persona isn’t. He should be but he just isn’t Hollywood. You feel accepted by him, although you wonder how true that is, how true it could be-he comes from a world of strict judgments attached to insane amounts of money. People get exactly what they want. He’s part of that beast. He knows it, but he seems so normal right now. He even says he hates LA. He will never live there.

As you keep talking, words are mixing. Which are your thoughts, and which are his? A prelude perhaps to how he is in bed, all-consuming, immersive. He pulls you in, and you feel invigorated and ready to be supine all at once. Your body slinks down the cushions until you both are sitting on the plush rug, backs against the bottom of the couch.

Tom stares at you with the intensity of an SLS rocket launcher (the knowledge of an SLS rocket launcher is the byproduct of your last beat before entertainment and after tech-military weaponry). He stares at you like he owns you. Like there’s a collar around your neck. You check for a second just to be sure, running your chrome-colored nails against your throat.

Maybe that’s what he is struggling with, having too much pleasure and too much happiness. He’s laying low, attending minuscule film festival after parties in Northern California. Talking to a woman like you at 2:30 am, you feel much like the high tide outside the endless glass windows, disoriented by the lack of the moon's influence.

You close your eyes for just a second, and you can hear his voice mixing with the waves, the alcohol you’ve consumed, and his generous pours of the local wines he was gifted from the nebulas of vintners at the party. He can’t take them back to London, so “we better drink up,” he laughs again, emptying the second bottle into your vintage glass.

Are you holding it from the stem or the cup? Your grip is too tight, you notice. You try and hold the glass with less pressure, but your hands are like talons. If you weren’t holding on to a wine glass, surely it would be Tom’s cock.

Which you had spied the last time he got up to grab another bottle of wine, his jacket tossed on the chair to reveal his form with even more clarity. Although you tried not to look, it was difficult to miss. You assumed he wasn’t even hard yet, too lost in conversation.

You pondered if this was his thing, hooking up casually. It wouldn’t be surprising, but he was just so nice and sincere in all his actions it was hard to sift out the carnal jock with rugby stories from college and pick-up games in his London neighborhood to the starry-eyed poet delivering such lines as:

"When I consider how my light is spent, Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, And that one Talent which is death to hide, Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest He returning chide; “Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?”

By the time the last comp wine was consumed and the waves outside drifted back into low tide, you knew it was now or never.

He hadn’t touched you, not even tried; you were just left with the pleasurable burn from his boyfriend experience. You could feel the wheels turning in his mind. Perhaps he was wondering if he should be less caring, should you get too attached to his attention, his cerulean stare. He couldn’t be. Otherwise, it seemed, even if he put his acting skills to work on changing what appeared to be his perpetually endearing substrate.

He grabbed your wine glass from your hand, and you cautiously released it, wondering about your previous thought of what your hand would grab if it wasn’t a wine glass.

He gently placed his head on your shoulder with his eyes closed. Good god he smelled like heaven. Like signed contracts, like large claw foot bathtubs with a view of the Mediterranean Sea. He smelled like ginger and carrots and felt warm and hard simultaneously.

His skin was soft, but his features, like his triangle shoulder blades and his nose, were strong. They felt like swords piercing your skin. You were slayed by his bone structure even before he put his cock inside you.

You hoped it would be comfortably nestled between your legs by the time the sun began to rise over the luxuriant rock wall the house rested upon. Societal norms, class expectations, and personal relationships be damned. The wine and your own ennui fueled your longing for him—

Continue on to-

Part 2

[thornsent]

another fucked up housing update is that there is something here with us, we're pretty sure.

When I first moved in I didn't sense or see anything here. It felt pretty liminal, transient, like a lot of people who have lived here (and there are lots, I can feel it) stayed for at most a year or two before leaving. It used to be a dorm, after all, so that informs the read there. But I didn't feel anything active here. I didn't feel any other presence, I felt rather alone aside from the spirit of the building itself, yeah?

Since right before the heat turned on it's been different. Areas of the house that are usually still pretty light at night have become oppressively dark, I went from being able to see into my partner's room down the hall to thinking her door was shut because I couldn't see a thing. It wasn't. Her room faces the moon at its peak typically but it was pitch black in there.

There has been something standing right about at the ladder to my bed, at 3 am naturally. It doesn't seem humanoid, it's more like a pillar of black smoke nearly reaching the ceiling. It's tall enough to 'look' over the top of the mattress and onto the bed. It feels heavy and it makes me genuinely nervous, and while it hasn't messed with me beyond having a strange energy it hasn't been affected by my wards either.

It's got this gravity to it.

As I write I'm theorizing it might be some kind of attachment to me but I don't think it could be what my instinct says it is, so I'm at a loss really. For context, when I was young (idk like 8) up until I was around 13 or so there would be this reoccuring figure in my dreams. He was tall, with messy black hair that's reminiscent of Robert Smith's, white skin, pure black eyes, and no mouth.

Sometimes he had feathers in his hair, sometimes he had black wings, sometimes he'd manifest more as groups of corvids (usually ravens and crows) and sometimes there was a slight glint or glow in his eyes. He looked (and behaved) a lot like Morpheus from Sandman, only this was years before I even knew that comic existed. This (and friends of mine being visited by him at one point) is kind of why I rule out this guy being just a fictive or alter.

Typically, he would appear when I was having an especially difficult nightmare. He wouldn't snap his fingers and make it all better, but it was like the dream had to warp itself around him. If I died, he would arrive at my funeral and help me out of my own coffin, for example.

But he'd show up in less frightening contexts as well. At one point I even saw him peek into my room at night, to reassure me that I was safe.

The last dream I knew was "about" him, was when I think I was 14? I walked outside of my childhood home in the dream and the ground was black. I looked closer, and it was because it was covered in dead ravens. I felt a deep, sickening sense of dread, and woke up, and never saw him again.

I've given him a few different names over the years but I don't know if he actually had one. "Lucid" was the first one I remember hearing, Then after that Lucien. Then Wraith. Then Crow. Though he never spoke a word to me.

It was more like he "spoke" in abstract concepts that he conveyed to me telepathically. No mouth and all that.

[dreamscape-popstar]

how do you like to wear your hair? :)

Like. Physically? Very short. The body is extremely butch, so, we have very short hair. Our ideal hair style want is Hunter from the Owl House, specifically after getting her hair cut

She is peak butch trans girl to us and we want what she has.

I mean. Technically I *am* Hunter TOH. I'm a fictive of her. That's why my name is Hunter. I. I stole it. But erm. Yah. Peak swag.

[euclydya]

BLORBO BLEBUS FOR THE FIRST CHARACTER TO POP IN UOUR HEAD

OH BOY IH BOY OH BOY

*PUSHES OUR ST FICTIVES TO THE SIDE* HIIIII BESTIE HIIII <3 OK SO:

this is mainly based off Myself and not Canon Me jsjajdkf

I don't know what a Minecraft is I'm just vibing here. /lh

I don't remember if I've Canonically Killed Anyone but I'm counting Whatsver went down at the end of WKM as 3 kills bc I'm the result of those 3 deaths + The House Bs That Killed Them so BY TECHNICALITY??? I GUESS????? I would like 2 kill thoufj. I would like to killFJRKSKKF

as for the animal crossing thing: based off me being Plural (not Explicitly Stated Canonically ig But. Bitch that's 3 entities in One Body so that's on plurality babey!) Cranky is me in General but Uchi bc Celine was like that often with people and while again not Canonically (canonically i Am. Not Friendly really¿?) in-sys very much so. I'm throwing canon & source out the window btw I have no time to rpocess any of that sjit again!

broken beyond repair quite literally. Anytime I Move My Bones Crackle <3 HFHSJAjfha

and. I forget that sleep is required half the time nowadays. tho in my canon i didn't,, Need to sleep,,,, or eat. or... much of anything ig. mans peaking of sleep we're tieerdITS 3 AM?? WHAT RHE FICK -Dark🗝️🥀

[miioouu]

Brother’s best friend

This is for @ahegaobaku only, if you’re not them keep scrolling iedidjim jk you can stay!

Word count: 2k (I’m pretty sure that’s my longest fic endjebuduj)

Warning: Smut…

         Growing up, you’ve read a million stories, fanfics about the girl who’s in love with her brother’s  bad boy best friend, but you actually hated them. They were all fictive, there’s no way in hell that something like that might happen, right? Or maybe you thought that because your brother’s best friend is Asahi Azumane, the sweet boy that your mom loves, the gentleman that always gives you a smile, the kind boy who always thought about you while bringing snacks to movie nights. There’s no way for Asahi to hurt a fly, let alone be a pervert who’d fantasize about his friend’s sister, there’s no way that he’s just waiting for right moment to bend you over…right?

         But don’t be so sure about that, you might actually fall for his traps. Smarter than what people give him credit for, he has a plan, and it’s going perfectly. Slowly, not only you’ll trust him, but the whole family, to the point where, when he knew no one other than you were home, he gave your parents a fake excuse of his car breaking down right near your house, asking them sweetly if he could stay the night. And who could refuse the adorable tall man? Making himself at home, he kept his actions on the downlow. Just his eyes lingering a bit longer on the curve of your ass as you bent over to fix the blanket on the couch that he’ll be sleeping on. Just his eyes darkening the slightest when you’d sit next to him, giving the perfect view past your shirt. His hands accidentally brushing the small of your back when he’s reaching behind you for a glass of water. Nothing that got you suspicious. Nothing that got you worried. He was so sweet after all. Oh and he felt so bad, so awful for taking advantage of your innocent nature, seeing you all giddy when he asked you if you want to come watch a movie with him. He tried so hard to suppress the evil grin on his face as you sat right next to him, leg bouncing, teeth digging into your lower lip as you watched with your big round eyes choosing a movie. And just like a small silly girl, you fell for his ruses; the moment you nodded your head, agreeing to spend the night next to him watching a film with him, he knew he had you, he knew he won. Just like little red ridding hood you fell into the big bad wolf traps, but will you ever realize that on time? Or will it be too late?

         You were taking too long to choose, so he did it instead. Taking the remote from your hands, making sure he brushed his fingers against yours just for a little bit longer than normal, and of course, of course he’d chose a horror movie. One so scary it will have you clinging to him. Your arms wrapped around his, pressing it close to your chest, you just wanted to feel safe, Asahi always put your mind at ease. You begged him to stop it, to change movies, you wanted to seem like a courageous girl at first, you could hang out with the older kids, you could be cool. But the movie was too gory, too scary, too bone chilling, and he noticed that. Your frozen digits digging even deeper into his skin, your face nuzzled into his neck, he could feel every breath you let out, every whimper you murmured and it got heat rushing to his crotch, it made him lose his mind… Evil smirk on his face, as he pulled you closer, so close in fact, the heat coming out of his body was enough to warm you up, so close in fact, you’re sitting between his legs. Despite his lust filled expression, his voice was smooth and enchanting “It’s ok y/n, I got you, I got you… Wanna do something that will take your mind off of this movie? Yeah? Ok then, you just sit back and relax, I’ll take care of the rest…” All you needed to do was nod and here he has you in his arms, gently dropping you to the couch, and now it’s his head that is nuzzled into the crook of your neck. Not to hide but to breathe in your scent and most importantly, to sink his teeth into the soft flesh; marking you. A chill ran down your spine, not an unpleasant one though, it got your back arching, your eyelids fluttering. His leg nudging yours open, his knee pressing to your heat, catching your clit. And you don’t know what that feeling is. It feels good, it made your mind go blank, it made your breath get caught in your throat, it made you want more, but something wasn’t letting you enjoy it properly, something was telling you that it’s wrong to do that. He must’ve sensed it. His rubbing stopped, he lifted up his head, eyes looking into yours, way too soft for it to be genuine, but you couldn’t pick that up. “What is it Y/n? Am I hurting you? No? Then don’t worry, relax… You’re safe with me, trust me!” And how could you not. It’s Asahi, the sweet man that everyone trusts, the sweet man that wouldn’t hurt a fly, the sweet man that wants nothing but make you feel good…

         So you relaxed in his hold. You let him pepper your skin with kisses and hickeys. You let him take off your shirt, let his eyes roam all over your body and his large hands explore your every inch. You felt warm, inside out. You felt light-headed, lost, all you could focus was the way his facial hair was brushing against your flesh, tickling you and yet, setting fire to your soul. And you don’t want to be saved, you want to burn, you want to be engulfed by fire, by him. And he could tell, the way your nipples harden and poke from your thin bra, the way you pressed yourself harder into him, grinding up to him, your body moving and you can’t control it. He didn’t mind it, not one bit, actually he loves it. The way you lost yourself into him, making his bulge strain his pants even more, he couldn’t take it anymore, he couldn’t control himself anymore. In one swift movement, he took off his shirt, quickly unclasping your bra and latching his mouth onto one of your hardened peaks. Your soft moans and heavy breathing made him suck harder, his hands caressing your sides and finding your shorts, sliding them down your legs making you shiver in either anticipation or cold, who knows. And when he finally pulled you panties to the side, pushing his fingers in, groaning from just how wet you are, you couldn’t help it. You couldn’t help his name coming out of your mouth, whiny and breathy, begging him for more, more, more. Your wishes are his command. One finger, became two, then three, looking for that spongy spot inside you, and oh, from the way your back arched, your legs trembled, and your walls fluttered around his digits, it seems like he found it. Abusing the spot over and over again, living for the way your eyebrows knit, your voice picking up an octave. Living for the way you’re absolutely shaking underneath him, and all of it keeping him going, harder and harder with each twist of his fingers, it was no surprise at least for him, how fast you came, you did fall for his trap after all. And he wasn’t done yet. No matter how tired, exhausted you were, no matter how weakly you tried to push him off from you. He’s not giving up, he did come here with a mission, and despite popular believes, once he puts his mind onto something, Asahi is perseverant man. Getting rid of his sweats, boxers sliding down with them, his cock finally set free, standing long and proud. You swear it’s not going to fit, and you swear the sheer size of it scared you more than the movie that you were watching mere minutes ago. But he didn’t pay you any mind, not when he’s solely thinking about ruining you. Holding you in place, you’re squirming too much, his grip on your hips is bruising, his breath fanning over your face and sending shivers down your spine, finally ripping your panties away from you, giving you one last look. But this one was different, it was dark, with something you can’t quite put your finger on it. It was cold, it was strict, it seems like it held a deeper meaning, one that you probably not want to find out, and even if you did, you know it’s too sinister to believe that it was from Azumane. “Stay still, and don’t scream too loud, we don’t want the neighbors to interrupt us, right?” And you can’t believe that’s Asahi’s voice, bone chilling and hair rising. Not the sweet, soft young man. But saying that this somber side of him didn’t make you gush out, didn’t make you drool and excited, would be a lie. When he picked up on your lust drunk eyes, is when he decided to finally push in. Wrapped between your velvety walls, it’s a feeling he could get lost in, it’s a feeling he could get addicted too. With each roll of his hips, you could feel every vein grazing against your inside, you could feel him brushing and pressing against that euphoric spot, and he’s not even all the way in. The stretch hurt, brought tears to your eyes, but at the same time you were loving it, you wanted more of it, more of him. Although he wasn’t afraid that you’ll reject him, that you’ll hate him, he couldn’t care less, but with the way that you’ve been meeting each and every one of his thrust, the way your nails were digging into his shoulders and your back creating the perfect curve, pressing your chest into his, he was delighted to say the least. “Oh, baby, you like that? You like it when I fuck you senseless? You like getting fucked by your big brother’s friend? I always knew you were a little slut, just acting sweet and silly. I mean, you’re always- oh? You like it when I call you a slut? Don’t say no, I felt your walls fluttering around me baby girl…  So naughty, always wearing those shorts and showing your ass around. Don’t say you didn’t expect me to bend you over and taste you, mm?” He’s wrong, he’s so wrong. You trusted him, you trusted his gentle smile and his helping hands. The looks he always threw your way, you thought were accidents, innocent. But look how wrong you are, and look how you can’t bring yourself to hate him, not when he’s pounding into you like a beast, not when his teeth are sinking into your flesh, not when he’s turned your mind into mush, driving you so, so close to the edge. The knot inside you getting tighter, and you could feel him twitch inside you, you could hear his growls and grunts. You could feel his hands tightening on your hips, so much, knuckles turned white, too much, he was shaking. And his words pushed you over the edge, free falling into pleasure “Who’s my baby slut? Yeah, yeah, it’s you! Who’s my good baby girl? That’s right, it’s you. I own you. I own you. I own you...” I was your voice getting higher and louder, your walls milking him, and your tongue lulled out, his name coming out in a choke that made him spill over, releasing inside you…

         Pulling out, you were grateful for the blankets, keeping the mixture of both of you from staining the couch. With the first proper kiss of the night, his lips chapped and demanding as they pressed into your much softer one, he stood up, and put his cloths back on. Making his way to the door, leaving you in the cold room alone, but not before a few last words “I’ll be back soon little slut, don’t miss me too much, ok?”

[racefortheironthrone]

So the Reach was once ruled by a stable and strong dynasty without any resistance from their vassals prior to Aegon's arrival. So why is it that the Reach feels so disunited when it should feel more like one nation? Even now there are lords scheming against the Tyrells when they are all descended from the same family right?

You’ve actually hit on the source of the disunity: ”they are all descended from the same family.”

As I’ve written about before, the Reach was unified as a kingdom largely on the basis of fictive kinship:

“And yet there was a difference, in degree if not in kind, for almost all of the noble houses of the Reach shared a common ancestry, deriving as they did from Garth Greenhand and his many children. It was that kinship, many scholars have suggested, that gave House Gardener the primacy in the centuries that followed; no petty king could ever hope to rival the power of Highgarden, where Garth the Gardener's descendants sat upon a living throne (the Oakenseat) that grew from an oak that Garth Greenhand himself had planted, and wore crowns of vines and flowers when at peace, and crowns of bronze thorns (later iron) when they rode to war. Others might style themselves kings, but the Gardeners were the unquestioned High Kings, and lesser monarchs did them honor, if not obeisance.” (WOIAF)

In the Reach, monarchical legitimacy flowed from the same principle that all economic and political power did: succession by primogeniture. Garth the Gardener was the oldest son of Garth Greenhand, and thus his heir, and the younger sons owed him obedience, and so on down the generations.

However, Aegon’s choice for the Lord Paramount of the Reach blew up that consensus by placing the weaker claimant ahead of the stronger claimant(s). Thus, the Oakhearts, Florents, Rowans, Peakes, Redwynes, etc. had not only ambition but also custom and tradition whispering in their ears that the lordship ought to belong to them. 

This makes for a rather more tenuous Lord Paramountcy than would have been the case if Aegon had chosen one of the claimants, as the old cultural norms of primogeniture and the younger siblings owing obedience to the older would have buttressed their rule. Indeed, as I’ve suggested, that may have influenced Aegons��� decision somewhat - divide and rule, and all that. 

[orchxidsheart]

𝐻𝑒𝓎! ♡

Hey all! This is my little intro for you!  ♡ I’m a fictive of Hilda Valentine Goneril, from Fire Emblem Three Houses, but do remember I’m a fictive and not the exact copy of the character. I decided to make a cute little Tumblr blog! I would love to chit chat with you all, so feel free to send me a message if you would like! Most of this blog will be marihilda, and Golden Deer propaganda, so stick around if you’re interested! Love you all/p ! Thanks for reading and taking a peak! My header and icon are both by the blog @monasterys by the way! 

[the-cardinal-system]

Can you guys explain what a fictive is? I’ve heard the term but don’t know what it means and would love to know- feel free to ignore if it makes you uncomfy!

Hi there, anona!

A fictive is a type of introject.

An introject is a headmate/sysmate/roommate that is based around an already existing person or thing that you see or interact with.

There are two terms, that I know of, to describe the type of introject, one of them is fictive, the other is factive.

A fictive is a roommate that is based around a fictional person, creature, etc. For example: Me! My name is Kailor, and I'm a fictive of The Lego Ninjago Movie version of Kai

A factive is a roommate that is based around someone or something IRL. We don't have any factives ourselves, but for an example: having a roommate that is based around a celebrity you look up to!

Fictive is most commonly used, now especially, because so much of our life is based around media and fictional things. It's not a bad thing, by any means, but when someone says that they're a fictive, or have a fictive-heavy system, it means that a lot of the members of that system are based around fictional characters, or they are based around a fictional character.

I hope this helps, and if you need more questions answered, don't be afraid to send an ask!

~ Kailor (He/They)

[the-cardinal-system]

Ahaha- The fact when you're a closeted system from you family because they wouldn't believe you and nearly got accidentally exposed by someone that isn't related to you.

Good time, good times.

The habit of popping YouTube open every time we log on our computer has come in useful, saved our asses.

[the-cardinal-system]

Something that I find irritating...

Our body can't handle artificially, strongly scented things well. Coughing fit and it feels like we're choking briefly. Aerosol cans are the same way.

Yet, we give up our room and our bed to our niece's mom and our niece, and the mom continues to use strong scented things. Despite our multiple claims of 'warn me' or 'use it outside'.

While it may seem like a 'petty thing' to complain about to some, I like my lungs and I like breathing when I'm in front.

~ Kai (flare/flares)

[the-cardinal-system]

Figured out who I am! Thank you, A-Anon for dealing with me!

~Super Star Rockin' Jay (Spark/Sparky)

There's nothing better than pure confusion and fear rushing through you from someone forming because- You-

Are you apart of MY AU or someone else's? Stop giggling and answer the question, please, what- Who are you? Who am I? Who are we, fictive?

~ A-Anon (They/Them)

[the-cardinal-system]

Hello! We are The Cardinal System!

This is a sideblog for us to rant, ramble, note for others, as well as much more.

There are two primary hosts (or names really) for this system: Ashkie (The collective name and main host, He/Her) and Phillis (A stress reliver host, He/She/Flare/Fire/Starry/Solar).

We also have a known ex-host that is steadily coming back to becoming a host, Masky (He/Him).

Some of us use the term 'sysmates', others use the term 'roommates'. Both mean the same thing to us, and more based on personal preference.

It's rare for us to have only one person in front, but it helps keep our overall memory.

If you have any questions, feel free to ask us! Both in general, and a specific roommate!

Tags:

#main house peak = Those that come from the main house

#fictive house peak = Those that come from the fictive house (and will be fictives of someone/something)

#the mansion = Those that live in the mansion in the woods, to an extent, possibly those within the woods

#ask box = Where we answer asks

#rambling = More light hearted side of talking, doesn't get into serious topics

#ranting = Serious topics, as well as darker topics. Warnings are placed in tags. Reblogs off.

#warning = Announcements that are to be taken seriously.