#not much changes story wise for them though

[whaliiwatching]

get remixed, bitches

[mejomonster]

i think in my indulgent Demon immortal Fei Du au, I’m going to make him part fox spirit on his mom’s side. Just because priest made SO many references in Silent Reading to fox spirits being with humans, and to Tales from a Chinese Studio stories. It wouldn’t be right if my boy Fei Du wasn’t actually a sneaky fox too ToT

[themirokai]

I got this comment on a story from my Other AO3 Account this morning.

(Info redacted because I prefer keeping these accounts separate but no one follows me on the side blog I have for that account.)

The story was posted almost a year ago and is relatively “popular” by my average statistics even though it has tropes and themes that are big turnoffs for a lot of people (hence separate accounts). This popularity is undoubtedly because it’s a Marvel Loki story and that fandom is massive.

So there is obviously an algorithm or a bot scrubbing ao3 statistics and leaving this comment on fics that meet a certain metric with the main character of the fic inserted into the comment.

I had a little time to kill this morning so I decided to investigate further. And y’all this is so predatory. Come on this journey with me. It made me mad. It may make you mad.

First, if you go to Webnovel’s website, you HAVE to choose between male lead or female lead stories before you can go any further. WTF?

And that’s weird, but this gets so much worse. This is basically a pay-to-read site that has different subscription models. Which… okay BUT! The authors don’t get paid! Look at that comment again. They’re promising a supportive and nurturing community, but zero monetary compensation. It’s basically, “post your stuff here so we can get paid and you can get… nice vibes?” I mean look at this Orwellian writing:

Using the phrase “pay-to-read model” in the same sentence as “qualitative changes in lifestyles for authors” deliberately makes you think that you can get paid and maybe even make a living on this website. But that’s not actually what it says and authors will not receive one red cent.

Oh but wait, the worst is still to come. In case this breaks containment (which I kind of hope it does) this is where I mention that I’m a lawyer in the US.

I don’t do intellectual property or copyright law but I do read and write contracts for a living. So I went to look at their terms of service. It was fun!

Highlights the first, in which Webnovel gets a license to do basically whatever they want with content you post on their site. This is how they get to be paid for people reading authors’ writing without paying them anything.

Highlights the second, in which Webnovel takes no responsibility for illegally profiting off of fan fic. This all says that the writer is 100% responsible for everything the writer posts (even though only Webnovel is making money from it).

Highlights the third which say that by posting, the author is representing that they have the legal right to use and to let Webnovel use the content according to these terms. So if a writer posts fan fiction and Webnovel makes money from people reading the fan fiction, and the House of the Mouse catches wise, these sections say that that’s ALL on the writer.

So that’s a little skeevy to start off with but the thing that is seriously shitty and made me make this post was that these assholes are coming to ao3. They are actively recruiting people in comments on their fan fiction. And they are saying they are big fans of the character you’re writing about and that they share your interests.

They are recruiting fan fiction writers and giving every impression that you can make money from posting fan fiction on their site and hiding the fact that you absolutely cannot but they can make money off of you while you try, deep in their terms of service which no one but a lawyer who writes fan fic and has some time to kill will read.

I see posts on here regularly from people who don’t understand how this stuff works, don’t understand that they (and others) can not legally make a financial profit from fan fiction. And there are tons of people who will not take the time to dig into the details.

Don’t deal with these bastards. Fuck Webnovel.

[verstappen-cult]

Hi Gwen, I really like your story. Can I ask for a lestappen x reader where they are going out together (shopping or date). Then when Max and Charles leave them for a bit, someone tries to hit on the reader but she's oblivious about it? Thank you!

“You think this would fit me?” You ask Charles, blue dress in hand. “But I want it in green.” Your boyfriend didn’t even have a chance to answer before you turned around, looking for something else. 

“I like how blue looks on you.” Max says, sitting next to an annoyed Charles. 

You’ve been shopping for the upcoming trip you’ve planned for summer break. They were excited to come with you at first, even though you insisted on going alone, so now they have a choice but to follow you around until you find everything you need. 

“That’s just because blue it’s your team color.” Charles huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “She looks prettier in Ferrari red.”

“Can you stop being so whiny?” Charles sticks his tongue out, leaning against Max. 

“Why don’t we go for something to drink, uh?” Your boyfriend says, wrapping an arm around the Monégasque’s shoulders. “Will you be okay?” 

“Can you get me an Iced Latte, please?” You look at him beneath your lashes as he stands up, dragging Charles with him. 

You decide to try on the blue dress just because Max likes it when you wear blue clothes. On your way to the changing room you spot a red strapless top and you grab it too. Making them happy is that easy. 

In the end, you like both items and there’s no doubt you’ll buy them, but you still want the dress in green. As you get out of the changing room, wanting to ask a saleslady if they have it in other colors, you bump into a young man which causes you to drop the clothes onto the floor. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you.” You’re quick to apologize. The stranger looks up from his cellphone, brows furrowed and jaw clenched. However, once he sees you, his expression relaxes and a smirk appears on his face. 

“Don’t worry. It was my fault, I was looking at my phone.” He crouches down in front of you, picking up the clothes. He scans the items very carefully before giving them back to you. “Good choice.”

“Thank you, I really like them.” You say, happy that someone thinks they’re pretty. Maybe he’ll buy them for his girlfriend too. 

“I’m sure you’ll look hot in that dress.”

You don’t know what to say or how to react. Most times you ignore what men say to you, other times you thank them when they have good intentions or you know they're fans that respect you. But this man doesn't give you good vibes, not with the way he’s smiling at you with his eyes running over every curve in your body. 

He takes a step closer, and you want to throw up. What kind of perfume is he using? 

“You can use it on our date.” He says it with so much confidence you want to laugh in his face, but you don’t do it because that wouldn’t be very wise of you. However, you still hear someone laughing behind you. 

You don’t have to turn around to see who it is, you can recognize that laugh anywhere. 

“Who told you she wants to go out with you?” You feel Max’s warm body behind you, his hand finding your waist in a very possessive way.

Charles keeps laughing, which is drawing the attention of everyone in the shop. 

“I’m sorry,” He says, wiping imaginary tears as he stands next to Max. “Does that really work out for you? Because it’s awful, mate.”

“You should really think about changing the way you approach women.” Max’s voice is dripping with venom, and you instinctively lean closer. 

“Waiting for them outside the changing room, really? Pretending to not see her?” Charles is not laughing anymore, he looks pissed. “She’s taken, by the way.”

The stranger looks between Charles and Max, recognition crossing his features. 

“I’m so sorry!” He apologizes, his whole attitude changing in a minute. “I wouldn’t dream of hitting on your girlfriend. Never.”

Max laughs, but ignores him. “Are you done, schatje?” 

“Yes, but I was trying to ask someone if they have it in green when… well.”

“Let’s go see, then.” Max gives you a pat on your ass, making you giggle and walk away from the still very shocked guy. 

“Oh,” Charles says, making you and Max turn around to see what’s happening. He’s a few feet away from the stranger, walking in your direction but looking at the man standing right where you left him. “Think about changing your perfume too. You stink.”

[autisticsonic]

My take on a Sonadow fankid! She actually existed for a while now, but the trend gave me motivation to finally draw her!

Most sonadow fankids are purplish and tube-grown, so I decided to make her neither!

Background for the story under cut, in case it gets long!

So in this AU, stories from the more recent games happen when Sonic and Shadow are at most around 20 years old. Back then Sonic was rambunctious and reckless as we know him to be, and Shadow was a depressed, traumatized emo kid. While at first they were rivals as depicted in the games.

Over the years tho, just like their friends, the two matured. They started getting along a lot more, and became official friends, which eventually lead to dating. They both were afraid of getting serious though, so they took things slow and casual. Due to some of their unresolved issues, they couldn't get any closer. But not for much longer.

Some of it has been brought on by a Particular Event, and some of it due to restructuring how they go about saving the world, but things changed. As Forces has shown, putting so much responsibility on One Guy isn't wise. Sonic felt so quilty for failing, but it never should've been his job alone, so they created an organization, to share the load more evenly!

The org became global, with local groups of heroes being recruited all around, meaning that now the characters we know and love now had more time to take care of their personal lives.

While for some the change hasn't been much, Sonic, and to a lesser extent, Shadow, struggled quite a lot. Many of things happened in between, but eventually both of them grew to quite enjoy the domestic life.

They moved in together, and started taking things to the next level, now that both have done some healing and therapy. They found that they get along quite great. After a bit longer, they decided to start a family :)

Shadow came up with the name. He wanted to honor his sister's memory, but Mar-Mar was also a symbol of all his progress. He did go to therapy to make sure that he can handle them sharing a name, to see if it's a good idea, and well, it was!

She's now 4 and very loved, and her dads love each other very much as well. For a certain Sonic though, things won't go so great.

[flowerandblood]

Appearances (Oneshot)

[ canon • Aemond x little sister • female ]

[ warnings: incest obviously, fingering, smut, angst, sexual tension, obsession, mention of arranged engagements ]

[ description: All Aemond cares about is the recognition and attention of his younger sister, but she seems to ignore him and shun him, driving him to an ever-increasing state of withdrawal and dark, grim agony. Something inside him snaps when his grandsire announces that it is time to marry her off. Sexual tension, understatements due to lack of communication, obsession. ]

This oneshot has its sequels: Experience & Refinement & Sacrifices, but can be read as a stand-alone story.

My other works: Masterlist

_____

It seemed to him, though because of this his throat squeezed in pain and rage, that his little sister was simply afraid of him. He couldn't explain her behaviour otherwise – the way she quickly looked away, meekly lowering her eyelids adorned with her long, dark lashes, playing with her fingers in a nervous gesture as she met his gaze.

She was the only one who didn't have their pearly white hair, the only one who didn't have the eye colour due to the gods.

Even when she witnessed his duels with Criston Cole, when she could see how much he had changed, how skilful he was in wielding his sword, defeating him again and again, she did not congratulate him – she turned and left the square, no longer bestowing even a single glance on him.

Confronted again with her wordless rejection, he thought in the back of his head that she was disgustingly ordinary with her dark hair and eyes inherited from their mother, that she could be the daughter of some commoner walking up to his knees in the mud feeding his pigs.

However, his great annoyance usually lasted only a moment, after which he went back to his state of despair.

He didn't follow her, wanting to spare himself this humiliation and discomfort, feeling his heart twitching in rage, in shame that he so desperately desired her attention, a few words of recognition, one warm look.

He saw her one morning through the window speaking to her servant, gesturing vigorously and laughing pearly, joyful; he thought with regret that she was consorting with people who might take advantage of her, who cared only about her position.

That if she were his he would protect her from them.

She would be safe.

She was so careless, innocent, wise and naïve at the same time, looking at him with those big dark eyes of hers when someone in her presence annoyed him, begging him with her gaze not to explode.

His tongue was like a blade, cutting anyone who approached him – she knew this and was afraid to open her mouth in front of him, imagining for sure how cruel his reaction would be.

He didn't know how to explain to her that he would never hurt her, his sweetest little sister, his greatest joy.

He watched from the distance like a cool, sinister shadow as her fingers intertwined with Helaena's, stretched out side by side on their armrests during supper, observed her leaning towards her with a sweet smile, whispering something tenderly, from which their older sister giggled quietly – there was something mythological in these scenes, making a shiver run down his spine.

He knew that they sometimes met in her chamber and even slept together, confiding in each other about their feminine affairs that were beyond his comprehension, however, he couldn't stop the feeling of burning jealousy that filled his chest when he thought of how he wished it was him she visited at night.

He thought then of how tender he would be towards her, how his arms would enclose her warm, delicate body in his tight, firm embrace, protecting her from anything that might frighten her.

He imagined how wonderful she would smell, her oils teasing his nostrils constantly, sweet and intense – looking at her figure seated next to him he felt the need to bite into her flesh like a ripe fruit.

He thought she would taste like a peach.

When at last they had finished their conversation and her beautiful, soft hand reached for her cup her gaze finally met his – her plump, glistening lips parted slightly, as if the intensity of his gaze frightened her, her breasts quivered in quick, shuddering breaths.

He felt what he saw in his breeches, his length all swollen, demanding her closeness.

Wanting to keep her attention on him he lifted the platter with her favourite dish, sweet cinnamon pie filled inside with apples; he saw that she blinked quickly, her cheeks flushed at the realisation that he knew she favoured them.

He watched her swallow with difficulty, her trembling hand set her goblet aside – his manhood throbbed hard when their fingers brushed in the air as she took the silver platter from him. She lowered her gaze, embarrassed, her sweet, plump lips parted to whisper a quiet, barely audible thank you.

He leaned back again, looking at the pleasing profile of her face, her long eyelashes gleaming under the warm candlelight, a drop of sweat on her skin shimmering like a small diamond ran down her neck.

Gods, how he craved her.

He wanted to touch her, stroke her shamelessly exposed back with his large hand, rough from holding the hilt of his sword, and dig his fingertips into her warm, smooth skin, with a subconscious gesture proving to whom she belonged, that she had been his right, his delight and his duty since she was born.

Why didn't she realize this?

He watched with a squeezed throat as she took a piece of pie into her mouth, the involuntary lick of her tongue with which she brushed her lower lip focused all his attention.

The thought that this fleshy lips could in the same way clench around his painfully swollen cock, suck it and squeeze it, barely able to fit it in with her sweet cry of effort.

He grunted, looking away, feeling his length twitching and pushing against the tight material of his breeches.

She didn't look at him again that evening, absorbed in a discussion with their mother and grandfather as he drank Dornish wine, staring dully ahead, its tart aftertaste melting on his tongue.

"I spoke to your mother about the importance of slowly deciding on a suitable candidate for your husband, my love." Began their grandsire with his eyebrow raised in satisfaction, directing his words to his younger sister, who froze in mid-motion – he saw that her hands, in an involuntary reflex of terror, clamped down on the material of her gown.

She remained silent.

"She's still too young, for god's sake." He hissed out feeling rage like a burning fire pulsing through his veins. He grew hot and took another quick, deep sip from his cup, an uncomfortable silence fell around him.

Otto grunted, turning with a creak of wood in his seat, his fingers stretched out and clenched into a fist on the table top in front of him, apparently wondering why such a sudden and aggressive reaction on his part.

"I understand that as an older brother you feel responsible for her safety, however, she is now of the right age and has begun to bleed, and that's why…"

"Father." Muttered their mother, looking at him pleadingly, clearly not wanting him to bring up such intimate and sensitive topics at the table, moreover in the presence of other men.

He saw out of the corner of his eye how his sister dropped her gaze, her dark eyes shining from the tears of shame that had gathered under her lids, her brows arched in pain.

If she had only asked him to marry her he would have done so at once, freed her from this laughable obligation that her marriage to some mere lord would be.

He felt his jaw clench at the thought that no one would ever love her as devotedly, dearly, warmly as he, her blood, her protector, her brother.

"In the coming months, we would like you to meet a few candidates we consider worthy of your hand." Concluded their grandfather, taking a deep sip of wine from his goblet; he felt rage filling his chest when he saw that his sister merely nodded her head, accepting her fate without a word of protest, looking down at her plate.

He got up from the table, bitter and furious, leaving the hall without a word, unable to look at her, once again letting his anger take over him, accusing her in his mind.

Her lack of reaction, her lack of opposition, when it was so obvious that her husband could only be him, him, him.

He walked into his chamber, undoing the buckles of his tunic, throwing it angrily to the ground, remaining in only his chemise and breeches. Although he did not usually do so, he reached for the wine jug and poured himself a full cup, grabbing it and sitting down with it in the chair by the fire, tilting his head back, letting out loud sigh.

He shuddered when he heard a quiet, tentative knock on his door – he ran his hand over his face, guessing it was his Queen, as usual wanting to be his voice of reason, to come to him with her stoic calm, explaining to him why he had to accept the responsibilities that faced their family, including those standing before his sister.

He didn't feel like having this discussion, however, he acknowledged with reluctance that he couldn't dismiss his own mother.

"Come in." He said coolly, staring into the flames.

He heard the creak of the door opening and closing a moment later – he glanced involuntarily over his shoulder and froze, feeling his heart stop in his throat at the sight of her, beautiful, teary-eyed, her face all flushed red with pain, her fleshy, plump lips parted in a hastened breath, her brow arched in pain.

"Lēkia (big brother)." She mumbled out with difficulty, choking on her own tears – he stood up at her words looking at her with eye wide open in shock, driven by some sudden emotion, moved that she had come to him as he had always imagined she would, vulnerable and desperate, seeking refuge and a reassurance in his arms.

"Come closer, hāedar (little sister). Come." He whispered softly, extending his hand to her in a gesture of encouragement; she moved tentatively towards him, looking up at him with her wonderfully dark, large eyes, tear drops glittering on her lashes like little stars.

He parted his lips and swallowed loudly when her smooth, warm hand touched his, thought with tenderness that compared to his she was so small, so fragile.

When he dared to lift his other hand to her cheek she twitched, wrinkling her eyebrows, breathing loudly, distrustful like a maiden who was afraid of a stranger's touch, simultaneously craving his closeness and fearing it.

He breathed quietly as she let his fingers touch and run over the wonderfully soft, firm skin of her pink cheek, her eyelids closed for a moment, a quiet, sweet sigh leaving her lips.

"Are you afraid of me?" He asked in a calm, low, trembling voice, ashamed of how scared he was of her answer, of her rejection.

She looked at him surprised – her lips parted in astonishment as if she didn't know what to reply to his words, her quivering fingers touched his hand stroking her cheek.

"I fear your harsh judgment, brother. It seems to me that my person often arouses your frustration and impatience." She muttered in shame, lowering her gaze; he felt a squeeze in his throat at her words, not believing what he heard, what she confessed to him.

I am afraid of your harsh judgment, brother.

It seems to me that my person often arouses your frustration and impatience.

How could she think so? Was his eternal desire, his suffering so expressed in his gaze, his facial expressions, his gestures?

Did she perceive his rage at the lack of her closeness as his constant displeasure at the sight of her?

He was horrified by how deep the misunderstanding reached – he didn't know what he should do to fix it now, to reverse it, he ran out of words that could describe what he felt.

How glad he was that she was standing before him now, that she trusted him, that he had adored her from the moment she came into the world, cherished her with a love that was warm, tender and devoted, that he believed she had been born to be his, his sweet joy, his beautiful little sister.

He swallowed loudly, parting her plump, fleshy lips with his thumb, looking at her in emotion, feeling a painful tightness in his throat.

"My sweet sister, where did these words come from? How could I feel anything but adoration towards you?" He asked softly, feeling her whole body quiver at his words – her mouth parted involuntarily, letting his thumb go deeper, between her puffy, sticky lips.

Something changed in her gaze, dreamy and warm, from which he felt heat in his chest and lower abdomen, her fingertips digging into the skin of his palm.

"Ivestragī umbagon issa (let me stay)." She whispered in a trembling, uncertain voice, and he felt his breath caught in his throat, his manhood throbbed aggressively in his breeches at the thought that she wanted to stay in his bed, in his embrace.

His surprised silence made her lower her gaze, ashamed, apparently panicking at the thought of what she had suggested, of how indecent it was, surely thinking that he would now despise her.

"Very well." He muttered quickly, not wanting her to leave his side.

She lifted her hopeful gaze to him and nodded, swallowing loudly, her cheeks pink with emotion. He rubbed his thumb over her wet skin and leaned over her placing a tender, lingering kiss on her forehead, her wonderful scent filling his lungs again.

He took her small hand in his, guiding her towards his bed, sitting down on it with his face towards her, letting her stand over him and decide what would happen next, looking at her pleasant, girlish figure.

It seemed to him that she had no idea what they were doing, whether it was right – he could see thoughts and doubts running across her face, fears of what would happen if their mother found out.

"Come. Do not fret. Your big brother would never hurt you." He whispered in a voice trembling with emotion – he was hot, his heart pounding like mad in his chest, he felt butterflies in his stomach, a sweet delight of satisfaction spread through his body.

His words emboldened her; she stepped closer to him, standing between his thighs, breathing loudly. He sighed and closed his eyes as she took his face in her soft hands, stroking it for a moment with gentle, slow movements that made his throat dry up; he felt with horror that his cock was completely hard, all swollen and throbbing.

In a gesture of desperation he snuggled into her abdomen, clasping his large hands on her back – he heard her surprised gasp, her hands froze upwards for a moment before they began in a soft, calm motion to stroke his head as if he were a small child.

He closed his eyes, snuggling into her body, the material of her gown pleasantly delicate and soft; he could feel her flesh throbbing from beneath it, her womb that could swell with his inheritance, his dragon seed that could root deep inside her if only she noticed his devotion and love, if only she understood that they had always been destined for each other.

He clenched his fingers tighter on the material of her gown when he felt her lean in, enclosing him in her embrace – his face was locked between her shoulders, her womb and her breasts, enveloping him in her warmth, her hands running down his back with such tenderness and gentleness that he closed his eyes, wanting to focus only on that feeling.

"I am terrified, lēkia." She whispered softly, her breasts trembling in a broken breath – he moved away to look at her, his hand cupped her soft, warm cheek.

"Marry me, issa dōna rūklon (my sweet flower). Marry me and I will protect you. I will caress you, adore you, hold you in my arms, I will give you everything." He said in a quivering, low voice, placing the emphasis on the last word, so final, direct, betraying how desperate he was.

She looked at him for a moment, shocked, her lips twitching in disbelief, in terror and something else that shone in her dark eyes, but which he did not comprehend.

"You don't have to do this. Sacrifice yourself for me." She mumbled with a blush of shame, as if she thought his suggestion stemmed from his logic and tactics, from helping her not to leave her home, rather than from his feelings.

"How much longer do you want to torment me? Shall I fall on my knees before you and beg?" He asked resentfully, pain emerging from his throat with every word he spoke – her eyebrows arched in disbelief, her breasts began to rise and fall rapidly in accelerated, ragged breathing.

Her face expressed that only now did she realise what he meant.

"Marry me, brother. Marry me and never leave me again." She whispered so quietly that he barely heard her – they looked at each other with wide eyes, not believing what had just left their mouths, flushes of shame and doubt burning their cheeks.

He shuddered and drew in a loud breath as she placed her hands on his shoulders and climbed tentatively into his lap, startling him completely – he felt a jolt of heat, his cock so hard that he felt like it was about to explode.

All he felt was a squeeze in his throat and the heavy pounding of his heart when her soft fingers gently grasped his hand, her face blushing with embarrassment, a sigh full of arousal escaped her lips as she pulled her gown up, slipping it slowly between her legs.

They both opened their mouths wide and gasped loudly, surprised apparently at how intimate and shameless this sensation was – he thought in disbelief that she was leaking with desire, her hot opening pulsating restlessly under his fingers, her hand pressing them harder against her quivering flesh, eager to feel him deeper.

"− please − please −" She whimpered, breathing loudly, looking at him pleadingly with her dark eyes full of tears. He stared at her in shock wondering if it was possible that he had made a mistake, that he had misjudged the situation, that contrary to what he thought, she was reciprocating his affection.

His lack of hesitation, his fingertips that dug into her fleshy, hot womanhood surprised her so much that she squealed and hopped up on his lap – he put his free arm around her and held her in place, not letting her escape.

"− easy, little dove − shhhh −" He hushed her, his two fingers sinking into her plump muscles, collecting her moisture that leaked from her thirsty, throbbing core. He stared at her, seeing the expression on her face indicating that this experience had shocked her, sweet, soft moans erupted from her puffy, glistening lips, her hips involuntarily began to move to the rhythm of his hand.

"− that's it − let me take care of you − brothers know what is good for their sisters, don't they? −" He hummed low as if he were speaking to a small child and she only nodded, clearly having trouble concentrating. He sighed in pleasure as she wrapped her arms around his neck, her moist, sweet lips pressed against his in a sticky, loud kiss.

He murmured into her mouth with delight, thinking with awe that indeed her skin felt like the flesh of a fruit, wet and sticky to the touch, his fingertips teasing her bud hidden between her folds. He could feel her bouncing in his lap and trembling all over, quivering in his arms as his fingers roamed around that spot, their breaths raspy and loud, full of desire.

"− y-yes − right here, lēkia − mghmm −" She babbled in between their messy, saliva-wet kisses – he dared to slip his tongue between her plump lips answered by her sweet purr of pleasure, his hand all soaked with her juices, his long, slender fingers digging into her skin in circular, sure strokes.

"− just like that − soaking wet for me − issa dōna hāedar (my sweet little sister) −" He cooed in delight, feeling his swollen length pushing impatiently against his breeches, thinking only of how wonderful it would be to feel her, to watch his fat cock open her wide, her tight folds glistening from her moisture.

"− mhm −" She hummed between passionate, deep, ferocious kisses, a combination of their lips, teeth and tongues licking against each other.

She tilted her head back and moaned loudly as his fingers slowly made their way inside her, exploring her throbbing, swollen core – his thumb rubbed her her pearl, his fingertips searched intensely for the spot he'd read so much about in books, and when he found it her walls began to clench around him in convulsions, a pathetic whimper escaping her lips.

"− o-oh gods, brother, yes, please, please, please −" She mewled desperately, clasping her hands in his long hair, rising and falling on his fingers with a loud click of her moisture – he grasped the nape of her neck with his free hand and pulled her close, forcing her lips, swollen from his caresses, to join his in sticky, hot kiss.

"− come on, little one − I can feel you are close − thaaat's it, there we go −" He gasped out into her throat when a powerful shudder ran through her body, her moans of delight erupting from her mouth again and again as her hot muscles began to clench greedily around his fingers, sucking him inside, his hand all sticky with her fulfilment.

He was panting loudly along with her, cuddling her quivering body, thinking of how wonderfully warm and fleshy her insides were, how perfectly she would squeeze his cock once he could possess her whole, his sweet wife, filling her to the brim with his seed every night.

He intended to perform his marital duty with passionate devotion.

"− such a good girl − you did so well for me, dōna hāedar −" He praised her, wanting to reassure and soothe her, stroking her soft hair, pressing her face to the hollow of his neck, his hand between her thighs cupped over her pulsing, moist womanhood.

The smell of her wetness, of her flesh, of her sex filled his entire lungs, so lewd, ungodly and wonderfully carnal – his mouth placed involuntarily little butterfly kisses on her beautiful face, her eyes closed, her lips slightly parted in delight and disbelief, her hands clenched on the material of his chemise.

He grasped her fingers in his and lifted them to his lips, kissing them with tenderness and reverence as his other hand stroked unashamedly her plump bare buttock hidden beneath the material of her gown.

"Now it's my turn."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @rwdkarla @echos-muses

[moonstruckme]

The other day I fell down the stairs of my building and had to just like. Get back up and go to work and my knees are all fucked up and I’m so sore. Do you think you could write doctor!remus or casual dom Remus when his girl tells him about it hours later? Or whatever you think is best story wise lol.

Don’t worry about it if not, your writing is literally my absolute favourite right now, you are so amazing!! -angie

Hi Angie, thank you for requesting <3

cw: blood

doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 666 words (oooo)

When the car stops, Remus won’t let you get out on your own, which is embarrassing even though there’s no one but him around to witness it. Remus is overall in a horribly embarrassing mood. 

Though you tried to hide it, you’d noticed him noticing the stiffness in your legs as you walked out to his car after work, and before you’d had a chance Remus had reached over and buckled your seatbelt himself. The whole drive home he’d been spooky silent, occasionally shooting narrow-eyed looks to the blood stains on your work pants. 

“I’m okay,” you try to reason with him now, when he sets his hands on your hips to take some of your weight. “I’ve been walking all day, baby.” 

“I know, that’s worse.” Your boyfriend is huffy. He seems to be contemplating fully picking you up and carrying you inside. 

You press your lips together while he supports you the rest of the way to the door, holding you firmly to his side when he needs one hand to unlock it. The two of you go straight to the bathroom, where the dress you were originally going to wear to work today still lies on the floor. Remus frowns but doesn’t comment. 

When you’d taken a tumble on the concrete stairs outside your apartment this morning, you’d been running too late to be concerned with anything but looking presentable and getting to work. Your dress left your bloody knees exposed and made you feel like a child fallen from their bike, so you’d screwed up your mouth and forced a pair of work pants on over the burning cuts, then changed into an appropriate top to match. Your knees have been alternately stinging and aching all day, and when walking back home from work seemed too much you’d called your boyfriend for a ride. He seems determined to make you regret it. 

“Sorry,” you murmur after he lifts you onto the counter. 

Remus looks at you. “What for?” The question isn’t patronizing or a test. He wants to know. 

“For not telling you.” 

He sighs softly, looking down to fiddle with the button of your pants. You trace the cruel line of a scar from his forehead down to his cheek. 

“I wouldn’t mind so much if you’d taken the time to clean them properly,” he says. “But if you were in my place—lift your hips for me, love—and I called you to say I couldn’t get home by myself because I’ve been hurting all day and not done anything about it, wouldn’t you be a bit distraught?”

“I would,” you admit. You suck in a quiet breath when he starts pulling your pants down over your knees. 

“Sorry,” he says, unsticking the fabric from your ruined skin as gently as he can. They slide the rest of the way down far easier, and Remus kisses his teeth when your knees are revealed. “Dovey.” He sounds equal parts pitying and disappointed. 

“Sorry.” 

“Let’s stop trading apologies.” There’s the barest hint of humor in your boyfriend’s tone as he finishes tugging your pants off your ankles, letting them puddle on the floor and leaving you in your underwear. The countertop is cold on your bare skin. Remus wraps a hand around your thigh, careful of your knees as he leans forward to give you a kiss. “I’m not going to ask you not to do it again—although I hope you won’t—because I know you, but I get that you’re sorry, sweetheart.” His thumb swipes over the unbroken skin above your knee, lips turning down unhappily. “I’m sorry you hurt yourself, and that you’ve been in pain. I promise to try and lecture you about it as little as possible, okay?” 

You can’t help but smile, your voice coming out wry. “Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome, dove.” He gives your hip a condescending little pat. “You can make it up to me by sitting still while I take care of these and tell you about infection.” 

[gogogodzilla]

If you take asks for Connor, I'd like a story where basically reader does connor so hard he short circuits or something along those lines and reader is like "omg are you ok???" And after a moment, he's like, "very" idk I hope I explained it well

Missed You || Connor (RK800)

Summary: You couldn't wait for date night.

Warnings: smut, afab read, semi-public sex, fingering, slight choking, Connor has a praise kink, argue w the wall

{Masterlist}

After a few months of dating, you and Connor had developed some form of a schedule. Every Saturday was date night, and this week had you particularly eager for it to arrive. You’d barely spent any time with Connor with him being stuck on a case that had him halfway across the city for most of his days and working late nights. 

Saturday night rolled around like it always did, and you paced your shared apartment in anticipation of Connor arriving. You’d both agreed on just going to a movie. It was the one you’d been dying to see, so you weren’t complaining.  

The sound of keys jingling against the lock had you practically sprinting to the front door and flinging it open. Connor looked down at you with wide eyes, his keys hovering mid-air. 

You grabbed the lapels of his usual suit jacket and brought him into a kiss. He let out a small sound of surprise against your lips but quickly melted into your grasp. He wrapped his arms around you as he nudged you further into your apartment and kicked the front door closed. 

“Missed you,” you murmured against his lips as you ran a hand through his hair. 

He slowly pulled away, taking in your features. “I just need to get changed and then we can go,” he offered, patting your hip as he released you. 

You wanted to say to hell with date night and just ravish him where he stood, but you forced yourself to nod. It’ll be worth the wait, you tried to convince yourself. 

The tension in the air was palpable as Connor emerged from the bedroom, rolling up the sleeves of his button-up. Your gaze traveled up his forearms, taking in every inch of exposed skin. He had the same idea, and his eyes raked over the hem of the dress that danced across your thighs as you shifted your weight from foot to foot.

You forced yourself to look away as you moved to grab your car keys and tossed them to Connor. “Ready?” you questioned, ignoring the way your heart was practically bursting out of your chest from the way he was looking at you. 

“Always,” Connor responded, kissing your forehead as he passed and grabbing your hand to lead you to the elevator. 

You eyed the emergency stop button as you stood far too close to Connor in the cramped elevator. No one would even notice the elevator was stopped for a few minutes, you reasoned.  

Ding!

The chime of the elevator caused you to nearly jump out of your skin, and Connor shot you a look. 

“Are you feeling okay? Your heart rate has been high ever since we left; we don’t have to go to the movie—” 

“No!” you cut him off, even though every fiber of your being was begging you to drag him back into your apartment. “I’m fine,” you assured him, resting your hand on his arm and keeping it there for far longer than you should have. 

He raised a brow, eyeing you. You ignored him and led him out to your car before hopping in the passenger seat. 

Connor wordlessly hopped into the driver’s seat, and you watched him. You wondered if the long week apart was affecting him as much as it was affecting you. You saw how he was practically undressing you with his eyes when he came home. His usual precise movements were far more controlled than they usually were, stiffening every time your skin came into contact with his. It couldn’t hurt to test the waters. 

Connor always set his right hand on the gear shift or your thigh when he was driving, and today was no exception. He loosely gripped the gear shift as he drove, gaze never leaving the road. A wise decision. 

You took his hand and placed it on its normal spot on your thigh. He glanced over at you. You could’ve sworn you saw his free hand tighten on the steering wheel, betraying the small smile that flashed across his lips.

A few minutes of comfortable silence pass, and you decide to push your luck a little further. 

“Are these pants new?” you causally questioned as you leaned over and ran a hand down his upper thigh, giving him a perfect view down the bodice of your dress. 

Connor cleared his throat and swallowed hard, “They’re the same pants I always wear.” 

You hum and move to return to your seat, your hand accidentally grazing over the place you wanted so badly. Connor sucked in a breath as he approached the red light. You grinned, bathed in crimson. 

“Connor,” you purred, lolling your head to the side to look at him. The light turned green and he pressed on the accelerator, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. His eyes grazed the bare skin of your thighs before returning to the road. 

Your heart rate picked up as Connor turned down a side street in the opposite direction of the movie theater. You weren’t going to make your showing.

Connor’s movements were controlled as he picked a secluded spot to park. You were on him before he could even fully pull the keys out of the ignition, clumsily climbing over the center console. 

The keys tumbled out of Connor’s hand and clattered to the floorboard, but he didn’t seem to care as he pulled you in for a heated kiss. He pushed the seat back so you could comfortably sit, legs straddling his thighs and skirt hiked up just enough to tease him. 

“Couldn’t wait,” you murmured against his lips as you pulled away, your breaths entangling in one another. 

“You’ve been looking forward to this movie all week,” Connor teased, running a hand up the bare skin of your thigh and cupping the curve of your ass. 

You dipped down and hovered next to his ear, whispering, “I’ve also been looking forward to riding you until you short-circuit.” 

Connor’s grip tightened on your ass, and he shoved your hips down to grind against him. The tent in his pants pressed against your clothed core and caused a shudder to run through your body. 

 “Do you feel what you do to me?” he questioned, voice husky and increasing the ache in your core that had gained intensity since you left the apartment. 

You nodded, leaning down to kiss him and run a hand over his covered length. Connor jutted his hips up to meet you, groaning as you ran a hand over the smooth fabric of his pants. His nails raked up your thighs and he hooked his fingers on the waistband of your underwear and tugged hard enough for the side seams to rip, and for them to fall in his lap. 

Your gasp was quickly swallowed by his lips against yours and his fingers sliding through your folds and circling your clit. Breathy moans escaped you as you shoved your head in the crook of his neck, lazily pressing kisses to the hardly exposed skin. 

He ran a finger over your entrance and you pressed against him, begging for him to fill you. He obliged, slowly inching a finger inside of you before quickly adding another, stretching you deliciously. He pumped his fingers, savoring the way you clenched around him, aching for more. He curled his fingers inside of you, brushing against the spot that had you seeing stars, and you cried out his name, throwing your head back. 

“Fuck me,” you whimpered, grinding yourself against his fingers when he stopped his movements. “Please, Connor.” 

He removed his fingers and slipped them past your lips, making you taste yourself. You ran your tongue over the pads of his fingers as you met his gaze. He used his free hand to undo his belt, the smooth leather brushing against your thighs. 

You reached down to where your hips met, unbuttoning his pants and yanking down the zipper, impatience coursing through you. You released his length from his pants, eliciting a breathy sigh from Connor. You pumped your hand, thumb sliding over his tip and spreading the bead of precum that had formed. 

You aligned him with your entrance and you both groaned as you lowered yourself onto his length, savoring the way he stretched you. You started rocking against him, flushing as the suspension of your car squeaked with your movements. 

Connor gathered the skirt of your dress in one hand and watched as you ground against him. You dipped down to kiss him, reaching up to rest one of your hands against his throat. He twitched from within you, and he snapped his hips to meet yours. 

“So good for me,” you praise, squeezing his throat lightly as he looked up at you, eyes unfocused and mouth hanging open. 

His hands found your clit and resumed the same tight circles as before. You released your hold on his throat as you rocked your hips into his, feeling the familiar heat pooling in your stomach. 

It took no time for your release to hit you, Connor’s length finding the spot that had you moaning his name over and over again. Your release caused you to squeeze Connor’s cock, pushing him to finish directly after you. Connor lifted his hips to meet yours, and threw his head back, letting out a guttural moan. His whole body froze and tensed under you as his climax washed over him. Connor twitched inside of you as you slowed and pressed a kiss to his forehead. 

After a few moments, when his eyes still hadn’t opened, you brushed a finger over his chest, relief washing over you when you felt the familiar thrumming of his bioregulator. 

“Connor?” you murmured, tapping his cheek lightly. “You alright?” 

His lashes fluttered as he slowly opened his eyes, a small smile curving into his features.  “Did I say how much I missed you?” he hummed, reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“No,” you mentioned, chucking, “although, I think I have an idea.”

[triflesandparsnips]

So I understand that there are Good Omens show fans who have never read Good Omens the book, and that makes me deeply sad because--

Like, there's so much depth to the story being told about humans and humanity and the choice between good and evil -- and how that's actually a false dichotomy whoooops -- WHILE ALSO not really being about Aziraphale and Crowley at all (who are, imo, basically there as embodiments of "Impressive Failures" for the purposes of Theme and also Plot).

BUT IF you want to know why I've shipped them since the book-- here's the moment it happened for wee teenage me:

Wednesday (before the end of the world)

So it's Warlock's birthday party. And there are all these children and security guards and also an angel doing magic tricks while a demon is disguised as a caterer. This bit is basically the same as the show, so hooray.

But as wee me understood the characters up to this point, they were still basically enemies who had been in the field together for way too long and knew each other's moves well enough for the same tempting/thwarting of one another to become kind of boring and repetitive and generally pointless-- particularly once they realized that they could, for instance, just live their (separate!) lives watching humans being weird (Crowley) and seeking various sensory stuff (Aziraphale) while doing the least work necessary to keep their respective bosses off their backs.

The Arrangement was borne not out of hiding a friendship or anything, but instead the realization that sometimes covering for one another would just... cut down on their total overall workload. They were, at best, employees of two different, competitive companies-- though in same kind of department, doing the same kind of work-- who discovered they liked to have lunch at the same deli and that their jobs were sometimes distressingly more similar than either was comfortable with.

SO ANYWAY. BACK TO THAT WEDNESDAY. They're not covering for one another with this whole Antichrist thing-- they're now actively collaborating, and they've acknowledged (mostly) that it's not to cut down on their individual workloads, but rather to preserve their identical-- but not shared (not yet)-- goals of Getting To Continue The Lives On Earth They've Grown To Enjoy.

But like-- still not friends. Not really.

Until Aziraphale fucks up a bit, Warlock accidentally gets hold of a security guard's weapon and starts waving it around, and:

Then someone threw some jelly at Warlock. The boy squeaked, and pulled the trigger of the gun. It was a Magnum .32, CIA issue, gray, mean, heavy, capable of blowing a man away at thirty paces, and leaving nothing more than a red mist, a ghastly mess, and a certain amount of paperwork. Aziraphale blinked. A thin stream of water squirted from the nozzle and soaked Crowley, who had been looking out the window, trying to see if there was a huge black dog in the garden. Aziraphale looked embarrassed. Then a cream cake hit him in the face.

My teenage brain exploded at this moment.

BECAUSE: there is no reason for Aziraphale to do that.

Work-wise: If he got shot, Crowley would get discorporated, but not die-- and anyway, it would happen in such a way that both of them could explain it away easily to their respective sides (and possibly even be commended for it!).

Collaboration-wise: If Crowley had been watching Aziraphale, and if he'd seen Aziraphale have the chance to change the gun but not do it-- then yeah, probably that would've been annoying enough to have warranted some chilly conversations once he came back topside, and therefore, Aziraphale choosing to save Crowley could've been a reasonable, logical choice to keep their working relationship on an even keel until they'd sorted out this Doomsday thing.

But Crowley was looking the other way.

Work-wise, it doesn't make sense-- and secret-collaboration-wise, it doesn't make sense-- and so it is, overall, really weird that Aziraphale saved him.

But his automatic reaction-- in a blink-- is to stop Crowley from getting shot. And he knows it's weird-- he feels embarrassed that his sudden, unthinking reaction is to save his "enemy".

And the final bit is just a couple paragraphs later:

With a gesture, Aziraphale turned the rest of the guns into water pistols as well, and walked out.

SO LOOK: He changed only the pistol about to shoot Crowley. His automatic reaction had nothing to do with saving a party full of humans, many of them children-- nothing to do with Heaven or Hell-- nothing to do with preserving the coworker he needs to stop Armageddon--

It was all to do with saving Crowley. Who may be the enemy, but he's Aziraphale's enemy. And another part of his life on Earth that he's doing all of this just to preserve.

Which may also be, for the first time, the moment he lets himself realize how important Crowley in particular is to him.

...and so anyway, that's how I started shipping these two immortal idiots, and one of many reasons why everyone should read the book.

[avithenaftali]

October 28, 2022, 7:11 P.M.

For whatever reason I enjoy thinking about Diana Wynne Jones' writing as a whole and picking out unexpected or resonant trends. For example, some things that comes up often is:

She'll fabricate a world (right down to its cosmology), fill it with memorable characters, set one or two short novels in it... and then never touch it again. On to the next one. Rinse and repeat for her entire career.

The concept of multiple/parallel universes appear half a dozen times in different novels/sequences, but always in completely different ways. The multiple worlds of Chrestomanci function very, very differently from the multiple worlds of The Homeward Bounders, which themselves function so different from the Ayewards/Naywards of Deep Secret, or the walls between the worlds in Dark Lord of Derkholm. More importantly, all these approaches to multiverse explicitly contradict each other. There is no larger DWJ multiverse; there is no way to coherently combine any of them, much less all of them. I love her for this. Every book is its own project. Franchising be damned.

With one exception (which is the Dalemark quartet, oddly enough), none of these worlds are sealed-off secondary worlds. Our own Earth appears in all of them, though usually from the 'wrong' end of the telescope. Meaning, it's stuff like reading Charmed Life and assuming you're reading a magical secondary world fantasy for most of the book... up until the point when Janet is pulled into the story due to Gwendolyn's spell. The reader instantly understands that Janet is from our own world, from the 1970s when the book was written. She never makes it home, either. She never sees her parents again. She's a supporting character who becomes permanently stuck in the world of Chrestomanci, as a casualty of Gwendolyn's spells.

It is interesting, though, how there are almost no sealed-off secondary worlds in DWJ's oeuvre.

There are lots of neat things to say about how DWJ did this, and why she'd do it, and the implications in the storytelling. But tonight I'm thinking mostly about how it can be a moment, narratively, that makes you halt and have to recontextualize all these things you thought you knew (or were assuming) about the nature of the story.

In Ursula Le Guin's The Dispossessed, Urras is obviously the metaphorical capitalistic stand-in planet for our own Earth... up until a moment right near the end, where we realize our own Earth exists in this novel too and is an ecological wasteland due to unchecked climate change.

Urras may be the distorted-mirror, uber-capitalist version of our own world. But it's also a planet with a functional ecosystem. It's a planet where society is careful about maintaining that ecosystem. We're not going to be Urras, says Le Guin. We'll be lucky if we become Urras. To become Urras means we wised up in time to not go extinct.

And suddenly, little subtle moments in the worldbuilding around both Anarres and Urras—their shared attention to their own ecology—come into a different light. All because our own, devastated Earth turns out to be present in the novel too.

And in Howl's Moving Castle, Howl is a magician who fits into the fairy tale landscape of Ingary as naturally as anyone else—until the chapter when he has to go home to retrieve a lost spell, and you realize home is in another world, aka home is our world, aka Howl is fucking Welsh and found his way into Ingary by pure accident. And Ben Sullivan, Ingary's missing royal magician, is no native of Ingary either.

To Sophie, it just means that both magicians travelled to Ingary from the same enigmatic foreign land, which is as strange to her as any spell.

To us readers, it means "oh my god he's Welsh too? Just how much is Wales secretly connected to Ingary? Next thing you'll tell me Ben Sullivan's a rugby player as well—"

[itsswritten]

a new chapter

Pairing: Fairy x Azriel (technically no Az in this, but there's a nod to him if you look)

Word Count: 2.1K

Summary: The start of fairy's story. (Can be read on it's own, but if you read the other parts the pieces of the puzzle will come together.)

Wings Universe - More from this world.

The sting from the cuts had dulled as you continued to pull the thorn covered weeds with your bare hands. The feeling becoming numb as the pointed spikes drew blood across your delicate skin. You had never been afraid of hard work, never turned away from getting your hands dirty— but perhaps even this was beyond your ability.

“Y/n,” your best friend, Elodie, whispered with a melody of sadness, the warmth of her own hands gently coming to your shoulders to stop you.

You hadn’t realised till then that you had been crying. Crying while you helplessly tried to save the meadow you so dearly loved. But the meadow you loved was nowhere to be seen. The entire court had been ravaged by vines and thorns, and where no plant grew lay decay and ruin.

In a dishevelled state you wiped the tears from your eyes, faintly smearing dirt and blood across your face. Scrambling to your feet, you looked at your friend. The same sadness drowned her own expression. Whatever hope you held onto, no longer lived within her.

She had only stayed so long for you. The guilt began to gnaw at your gut as you took in Elodie’s dejected expression, dark circles sunk beneath her eyes that mirrored your own.

After Feyre had left, after the upheaval of Tamlin’s court, after the war– things among the land became estranged.

The court was deemed unsafe.

And after multiple conversations with the fairy council an evacuation had been ordered. You supported the move of all creatures, animals, birds, insects across the borders. And then species of Fae and Fairy relocated to the other courts too.

Not you though. You couldn’t bear to leave your home. Not when it so desperately needed your help, now more than ever.

Especially as Tamlin’s sorrow and anger seeped into the soil like a disease, transfiguring even the most beautiful flowers. Turning them into deadly ominous growths.

You had pleaded with Tamlin, even begged on your hands and knees. Head pressed to the floor by his feet. You had requested that he fix things, asked if you could go seek the help of the other High Lords, cried that you couldn’t bear to see the court turn to ruin. 

But he had dismissed you.

Tamlin too consumed by his own self-deprecation and hatred hadn’t wanted help, hadn’t wanted to save his court– or himself.

So you tried instead. A small group of fairies stayed– your friends, colleagues. People who held you in high regard and respect,  people who loved you and believed you when you said you could make a change. But as the weeks turned to months it was only you and Elodie that remained. Somehow, by some stroke of luck there was a small part of the meadow you had managed to maintain. Little blue dahlias bloomed much to the disarray that surrounded them. With time though, the buds began to decay and today you found your little patch of hope overgrown with darkness.

“Let me speak with him one more time.” Somehow you mustered some strength in your voice, composing the wobble in your tone. 

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Elodie asked mournfully, her stature limp with hopelessness.

It wasn’t. Wisdom and smart ideas were long gone. All you had left was desperation. You weren’t afraid of begging, didn’t care how pathetic you might look. You had to try, at least one more time. 

With that you made your way to the manor house, patting down the torn dress that sagged under the despair that filled the air. You pushed yourself through the dark branches that covered the home, the sharp limbs scratching at your skin as you forced your way inside.

The floorboards creaked under your feet, the manor now derelict and plagued by the sharpened vines that crushed the framework. 

This place, just like the court, was once truly beautiful. It was a tragedy what had become of it.

“Tamlin?” You spoke softly, knocking gently on a door that hung to the side on one hinge. Sharp growths sunk into the walls, causing the brick to crumble under its grip. The plant stretched out like roots across the building, the dark energy festering and growing from inside the room. 

You hadn’t needed to knock, but nervously, you had wanted to. Let him know you were here. Unsure what a surprise might spiral him into, and perhaps nervous to what you might find when you entered. You were psyching yourself up.

You could sense him in the shadows, crouched over his desk shrouded in a darkness you never thought could exist in Spring.

“The meadows…” you continued, stepping in when he didn’t respond. “There’s nothing left anymore–”

“Why are you still here?”

“Why?-” Surely he knew. You almost wanted to scoff. This was your home, a land you had committed to protecting and preserving. Had your pleading all those months ago not been clear? Did he even remember?

“Because it is my duty, as it is yours, to ensure the land flourishes and is a sanctuary to all creatures and fae. I am here because I believe we can fix this–”

“Stop.” He cut you off. “Stop with your self righteous bullshit. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Tamli-”

“STOP!” He cut you off like a sword cutting a blade of grass, sharp and swift but with a sting you felt pierce your skin. Tamlin had stood to his feet in defiance, his hands– no, claws, slamming onto the desk in front of him.

The wood groaned under his weight, splinters splitting under his talons. The darkness permitted in the air only grew. Vines slithering on the walls like snakes, while their razor edges glinted in the dim light in a taunt.

Was this person even Tamlin anymore?

The male before you resembled something more similar to the beasts you knew roamed the Middle.

You swallowed hard.

Your relationship with Tamlin was passing, as amicable as it needed to be. As was most fairy and fae connections. You’d always gotten on better with his emissary Lucien, but the beautiful redheaded Vanserra had left with Feyre and not returned. 

Your livelihood, your duty as a fairy had always existed outside of Fae law. You were the Mother’s firsts, her obedient children created to take care of the land. Fairies did not care for control or power. So when the Fae came along– those beautiful but greedy creatures flourishing in their power, fairies had chosen to stay out of their way. Moulded and conceded to their will you could say.

Your kind hadn’t objected when they began to split the land. When they picked rulers and chose borders. Fought over titles and possessions. This wasn’t because fairies were weak. 

No, that was something many misunderstood. 

But because it wasn’t important to your kind. You didn’t care to rule, didn’t care for wealth or power. It was your love for the land that would always come first.

And it was your unwavering adoration for the earth, the droplets that filled the rivers, the kaleidoscope of flowers, and the blessing of all creatures that brought you here–again. Pleading with Tamlin.

You felt for Tamlin, you truly did. You weren’t privy to the intricacies on what had happened among him and the now High Lady of the Night Court, and you certainly weren’t impressed by his questionable actions in the war. But your heart had ached for him.

However, he was now choosing to be an obstacle in your life’s mission. Your patience was wearing thin.

“Tamlin. You’ve wrecked the land.” You said sharply, deciding you weren’t going to dance around your words. No longer dance on that thin line Tamlin had drawn.

“I. Don’t. Care.” Tamlin growled out.

Your fists curled at your side, your wings striking back in frustration as a glow simmered faintly around you.

“You Fae should do right to remember that we were here long before you divided up the lands, and created your silly borders. Segregated fae and animals, we allowed you to reap the benefits on this structure, on the condition that the land would always remain protected–”

“You would do right to remember exactly who you’re speaking to.” Tamlin snarled, the vibrations of his growl rippling through the room as the weight on his talons crushed the desk in front of you.

Perhaps if you weren’t so stubborn you might have backed down. But you see fae, had always underestimated you and your people, dismissed your kind. And now you were angry…angry that all your hard work for years had been wasted, that your loved ones had been made homeless, and that your words were never valued enough by the courts to be listened to.

There was a vibration of power in the room, your fairy dust began to quiver in the air. This energy, pure and light sung within the pockets of air in the room, and while any onlooker would assume it was Tamlin asserting his dominance, they would be quickly corrected by the shock etched into the High Lords face.

As it was your energy causing a shift. Splitting up space with beams of light, fairy dust spreading and scattering in the room, Tamlins vines began to retreat to whatever dark pit they came from.

Just as his vines cowered, Tamlin took a step back.

Just because fairies had never cared for power and control, didn’t mean they didn’t possess it.

You felt a grip on your arm, tight but gentle, and then a slight tug. It was Elodie. She had fought her way through the deadly plants, perhaps pulled by the beaconed glow you were emitting. A warning look on her face, as you tempered your power swiftly. “He’s not worth it.” 

Your gaze flickered back to Tamlin, his expression bore one of surprise. His brows furrowed, frame finally resembling something more fae than beast. His eyes flickered between the two fairies in the room, fairies he had always assumed to be glorified gardeners. You could almost see the gears in his mind turning, as he began to question everything he’d ever known about the fairies that lived in his meadows.

You didn’t want to wait for whatever reaction may come from his revelation. Elodie was right. He wasn’t worth it. You had spent more than enough time trying to save his court, it was time to save yourselves.

Straightening your back, you looked Tamlin directly in the eyes. “We can’t work here anymore, it’s not safe for us and honestly, our talents are wasted in this void.” Elodie looked at you with a proud smile, a softness in her eyes. “If you change your mind Tamlin…just call on us okay?” You didn’t wait for him to respond, simply leaving him a small conch on his desk. 

𓇢𓆸

“Where to now then?” Elodie spoke, placing her hand gently in yours as you both stood on edge of Spring court. Your eyes were still, staring at the dark shrouded forest you had always called home, no semblance of familiarity remained.

“Your cousin from Autumn wrote to us, said we could join her?” Elodie continued, squeezing your hand gently. 

Her warming touch pulled your glassy eyes from the forest behind you. Fully turning your back on the only place you’d ever known. A ripple of sadness cursed under your skin, panging in your chest.

Is this what heartache felt like? At least, some version of it you assumed.

But what help would a heartbroken fairy be to the land, to the Mother?

You held onto that. The resilience that had kept you in Spring till now, a stubbornness that wasn’t going to allow you to give up.

“How about we experience it all Elodie?” You smiled widely at your friend, pulling on those tiny slithers of hope you had left.

Elodie tilted her head, a bright smile spreading across her lips at the notion. You had both always toyed with the idea of travelling, experiencing the terrain of the other lands, furthering your studies and training in the seasons and their creatures.

“Oh do you really mean it y/n?” There was a giddiness, a spring in your friend's step that hadn’t been there for a while.

“We could go see it all, the Pegasus’ of Day, catch a tan in Summer…even check out those Illyrians you find so handsome in Night,” She teased, bumping her shoulder against yours.

You were laughing now, like a pair of young girls again. Linked arm in arm as you took the first steps out of Spring. An excitement simmered in your gut, of what adventures would unfurl, what type of people you would meet.

You weren’t sure what this next chapter would bring, where you would find yourself in a year's time. But as you glanced back over your shoulder, the darkness of Spring feeling further and further, you hoped one day beauty would return to your home.

Whether you would also return to it, only time could tell.

a/n: I felt like fairy deserved a little backstory <3 show aspects of her character you perhaps haven't seen yet! But yes for those wondering...her and Elodie will absolutely be going on a girls trip across the land. Who would you like them to meet before they end up in Night Court? 👀 I'm sure Helion would be an amazing host and would adore her and Elodie...there's also Autumn, her cousin is there so it would only make sense if she meets Eris right?? What mischief do you think these two get up to? and with who? 😏

forever tags: @lilah-asteria @illyrianbitch @sleepylunarwolf @daily-dose-of-sass @milswrites @amberlynn98 @marscardigan

wings tags: @megscabinetofcurios @minaethrym @scorpioriesling

[bluegekk0]

Finished designs for the FPK Dragon AU! Very happy with how they turned out, I'm definitely going to draw more art for this side AU in the future

Some short info and close-ups below

General AU stuff:

I don't have many story or world details yet, but in general it would be quite simplified and changed in a lot of ways

The vessels are not a thing, though The Radiance does exist and the infection would still happen in some shape or form (I haven't thought of the details yet). Holly's purpose would still be to put a stop to it, but the whole aspect of emotionless void beings is not included

Humans don't exist in this world, so the one above is simply to get an idea of their scale. The dragons in that world are sapient and live in communities, a lot of them can use magic and similar powerful abilities

More info to be added as I brainstorm it, and I might design more characters for the AU in the future

Character specific stuff:

Vyrm - a lot of his backstory is very similar to the main AU, his kind is considered extinct (the reason would most likely be different), though he never changed his form to be smaller, which means his large wyrm form does not exist here. His relationship with WL was also basically the same, as was his journey of discovering his love for Grimm. And just like in the main AU, he ended up losing his status as a leader and hibernating. Unsure whether he would also lose all his powers, since I want to keep his workshop hobby and I like the idea of him having powers that he learned specifically for that purpose (not to mention, doing any kind of precise engineering would be difficult with his dragon anatomy). So we'll have to see.

Grimm - once again a very similar backstory to his main AU counterpart. He is one of the most powerful dragons to exist, and The Radiance is still his sister in this AU. He was banished from his homeland and stripped of many of his powers, losing his status as a higher dragon as a result. I'm still brainstorming how NKG comes into the AU, as of now my idea is that it would be closer to a god-like beast form than a being in another realm, but it may still change. And I'm still thinking how to reconceptualize the ritual to fit this version. Even though he's much weaker than in his prime, he's still more powerful than an average dragon, especially in the NKG form (if that is the direction I take with him).

Lewk, Asta and Milo - basically the same as in the main AU. Lewk and Asta can fly just fine, Milo however is incapable of it (and will likely remain that way even as he gets older, with his wings being too small and weak for flight).

Hornet - in most aspect she's the same, though her half-spider origin would be changed to something else; Herrah is not a spider in this AU, though she would still be quite beastly and unique in her appearance. She has two pairs of wings, which are a trait inherited from her mother's side. She knows silk magic, which she learned as a young dragon.

Zote - he's the most unique here body plan wise, I based his design on pterosaurs. I loved the mental image of him being this annoying, bird-like dragon. In basically all aspects he's the same as his main AU counterpart, though being a dragon I imagine he would have a more impressive lifespan than an average bug in the main AU. He's a herbivore dragon, his mouth resembles a beak, and he has no powers, only a nasty attitude.

Holly - as mentioned before, they are not a vessel in this AU, nor a void being. Instead, they're a hybrid of Vyrm and WL, who is a powerful higher dragon, and were trained to stop The Radiance and put an end to the infection from the day they hatched. Though they did end up learning void magic to aid them in the fight, I think that would be a nice way to preserve at least some of that aspect and it would explain the color of their body in this version. They have a mouth, though they are still mute, likely as a result to battle damage. Like in the main AU, they lost one of their eyes and a limb, and I'm considering designing a prosthetic wing for them at some point to mirror their counterpart.

[hnslchw]

if she wasn't your last - LN4 X Reader

Summary: You haven't felt this uncertain before. Now that doubts about Lando's lingering feelings for his ex have surfaced, you're struggling to move past them. As your insecurities grow, you're finding it harder to trust him, wondering if you'll ever truly have his heart.

Based on "Did you like her in the morning?" by NIKI. (highly recommended to play this while reading)

Warnings/Themes: heavy angst and overthinking insecurities (please let me know if I missed anything)

Word count: 1.2k

Author's note: hello everyone!! This would be my very first story im ever posting on tumblr, pls be kind. For the longest time l've just been appreciating everyone's stories. I hope you guys enjoy (pls tell me if there's anything I should change or look into tumblr settings wise). English isn't my first language and im a tad bit dyslexic please bear with me if there are any errors HAHAH but please comment what you think. Thank you <3

It was never hard loving Lando. It was a whirlwind, an intoxicating rush of emotions you never thought you'd experience. Someone like him, bright and vibrant, taking a chance on someone like you—a girl who had never been in a proper relationship before. It felt surreal, perfect, at least in the beginning.

His past relationships were never something you dwelled on. Everyone has a past, you told yourself. You were confident, secure. Or so you thought. But that was before you both went public with your relationship, before the internet got involved, before every picture of you two sparked comparisons you hadn’t asked for. His ex-girlfriend, the one everyone seemed to prefer, loomed like a shadow over everything.

Suddenly, you were scrolling through endless posts dissecting every detail—her smile, her style, the effortless way she seemed to fit into Lando’s world. You, by comparison, felt like an outsider.

You tried to brush it off at first, laughing along with Lando when he made jokes about the craziness of social media. But when you opened your phone, those comparisons started to chip away at you. Even worse, there were moments with Lando that made it impossible to ignore. Like now.

He was rifling through his drawers, his movements frantic, eyes wild with panic.

“Where is it?” he muttered, slamming another drawer shut before turning to you. “Have you seen it? My bangle, the silver one?”

You felt your stomach drop at the mention of the bangle. The one his ex-girlfriend gave him. He never talked about her, but you always noticed how careful he was with that piece of jewelry, how he wore it every day, like it was some kind of talisman. The fact that it wasn’t on his wrist now sent him into a frenzy.

“No, I haven’t seen it,” you said softly, watching him tear through his things.

“Damn it,” he hissed, running a hand through his hair. “I can’t believe I lost it.”

“Lando…” You hesitated, unsure if you should even say anything, but the words slipped out anyway. “Why does it matter so much? It’s just a bracelet.”

He stopped, looking at you like you’d just said something offensive. “It’s not just a bracelet,” he snapped. “I’ve had it for years.”

You took a deep breath, trying to keep your voice steady. “I know, but…it was from her, wasn’t it?”

He froze, the question hanging in the air between you. His expression softened, and he sighed, but he didn’t deny it. “Yeah, but that’s not the point. It’s… it’s sentimental, you know?”

You nodded, even though you didn’t quite understand. It was hard not to feel like you were competing with someone who wasn’t even here anymore, someone who left behind pieces of herself in Lando’s life that you couldn’t match.

“I get that,” you said quietly, “but sometimes… I feel like she’s still here. Like you’re still holding on to her.”

Lando blinked, his panic slowly giving way to confusion. “That’s not true. You know I’m with you.”

“I do,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “But when you act like this—freaking out over something she gave you—it makes me wonder if part of you still wishes she was here.”

His gaze softened, guilt flickering in his eyes. “I didn’t mean to make you feel that way. It’s not about her, I swear. It’s just… I don’t know. It’s complicated.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat, trying to believe him. But deep down, the doubt was still there, lingering, just like the bangle that had somehow become a symbol of everything you weren’t sure you could compete with.

That night, after everything settled down and the search for the bangle was abandoned, you lay next to Lando in bed. The room was dark, filled only with the soft hum of the city outside and the faint sound of his breathing. His arm draped over your waist, pulling you closer in his sleep. It was a familiar gesture, one that should’ve comforted you, but instead, your thoughts were miles away.

Did his hand find her waist like this?

The thought crawled into your mind, uninvited but persistent. You could almost see it—her leaning against him, laughing with that carefree confidence everyone loved, while he pulled her close, their night buzzing with that electric excitement.

Did he kiss her goodnight?

Did he hope the night would never end?

You close your eyes, willing the thoughts to go away, but they don’t. Instead, they morph into another image, one that stings even more.

Did he laugh with her over cold cups of coffee that he hated but still drank anyway?

You’d seen him do it a thousand times with you—pushing a cup of something bitter away with a grimace, teasing you about your questionable taste, but always taking another sip. Was it the same with her? Was she the reason he developed the habit in the first place?

The questions wouldn’t stop. Every memory you shared with him felt tainted now, overshadowed by the possibility that they weren’t really yours at all. Maybe you were just walking through scenes he had already lived, following in someone else’s footsteps, trying to fill a space that was never truly empty.

Beside you, Lando shifted, pulling you even closer in his sleep, but it didn’t feel like enough. You stared at the ceiling, blinking back the burning sensation in your eyes. You wanted to wake him up, to ask him Did you laugh with her like that? Did you hold her like this? Did you want her more than you want me?

But you didn’t. Instead, you stayed silent, letting the questions twist and tangle inside you like a knot you couldn't unravel, the truth too painful to confront. You turned to look at him, his features peaceful in sleep, and wondered if you’d ever know the answers to those questions or if they would haunt you forever.

In the early morning light, his fingers traced lazy circles on your skin, but his eyes seemed distant, lost in a memory that didn’t belong to you. Did he like her in the mornings too? Was his smile brighter then? Did he hold her closer?

The quiet moments between you were filled with unspoken questions, the weight of his past love pressing between every breath. He said your name softly, but it didn’t feel like enough to anchor him here, with you. You're falling, but you wonder—has he ever truly caught you? Or is his heart still wrapped in the warmth of a love that wasn’t yours?

You want to ask him. The question sits on the tip of your tongue, Are you still in love with her? But you don't. You stay silent, afraid that by giving voice to your insecurities, you'll make them real. You cling to the hope that maybe, just maybe, you're overthinking it, that it's all in your head. After all, he’s with you now, right? That should be enough.

But deep down, you can't shake the feeling that you're sharing him with a memory, a past that he hasn’t fully let go of. And it's hard to compete with a memory. So, you keep your doubts hidden, tucked away in the corners of your mind, even as they threaten to pull you under.

Because in the end, you're afraid of the truth: that he loved her in the mornings, just like this. And maybe, just maybe, a part of him still does.

"I know it would be easier if I just didn't ask, but it'd also be easier if she wasn't your last"

[almostfoxglove]

have Javier and reader ever talked about his relations when he was in Columbia? them being best friends and all. did she laugh it off? did she understand? I'm curious ☺️

HI SWEETHEART this made my day when I got it. I'm so sorry it took a while to answer but I hope you don't mind that I got a little carried away with this one... everything's weird and bad right now so I'm gonna post this and try to get some sleep - I hope you're taking care of yourself <3 thank you soso much for sending this ask, seriously it means the world. ily!! here's some tenderness for you.

javier confesses about colombia

an I'LL CARRY YOU drabble

Explicit (18+) | Javier Peña x f!reader | drabble 1.1k words CW: Allusion to canon-typical violence & trauma and two idiots being sickeningly in love.

You never push back on anything but his blame. 

headcanons and full drabble below the cut!

in ICY, javi leaves to colombia (the first time) at twenty-eight (seen in part II). between that moment and when he returns aged thirty-six (seen in part I), they have no contact because her phone number changes, so when he calls her right after leaving (seen in dark heart), he thinks she's icing him out for good. *sobs gently*

we know he disappears again at the end of part I and doesn't return until he comes home for good at the end of part II. between those two meetings, they also have no contact - so his girl doesn't hear a thing about colombia (and by extension, all his sexual escapades), though she follows the news.

in the year after his return (all of part III) I don't think much of what happened down there comes up. javi's traumatized, still acclimating to civilian life while his girl's engaged *sobs harder*, and I imagine he's scared to admit his role in all the death and violence. if / when she asks, I think he keeps it pretty vague and chooses not to talk about the women he was involved with (they aren't together yet, after all)

POST-FINALE HOWEVER, javi tells her pretty much everything in little chunks at a time, including about all the women he slept with and what he knows of what became of them (I imagine the helena story is an especially tearful / difficult retelling, but it's important to him that she knows the truth). he's pretty terrified it'll scare her off, but I think we know her better than that.

here's a peek at what I imagine part of that conversation looked like <3

It’s the middle of the night and he’s not yet buying it, still has that little wrinkle above his nose that folds when he scowls cutting deep into his brow. Propped against the wall in his little twin bed, when you insist Javier’s dark eyes dodge yours and fall to the hands that knot themselves in his lap, anxious. But anxious is fine—just means he’s talking. Cutting off slabs of those missing years like meat from a bone for you to carry.

You’re grateful to be given anything at all. You know how deep trust like this really goes, unseen but branching. Mycelium underground. 

You never push back on anything but his blame. 

“Baby,” you say softly, and his jaw ticks as the word melts him a touch. 

His chin might flicker briefly like his body longs to cry, but if it does he wrestles it back before meeting you with dark, helpless eyes. “You don’t know,” he says, no cruelty in it. His voice not much more solid than a whisper and slaughtered red by guilt.

“Know you though,” you say.

The sigh that cuts out of him could shatter you. Javier turns to stretch out length-wise on the bed, his socked feet hanging off the end. You moved in weeks ago but haven’t gotten around to upgrading to a bigger mattress and part of you believes—though you’d never say it—that he’s waiting to get through all this first. Like the hurt of him needs to be here to do it: in the bed where you both once were small, held. So you allow it, take turns groaning in the daylight hours about your backs and hips and necks, and at night you hold each other ‘cause you have to, to fit in this little thing. Not that you wouldn’t, anyway. Not that either of you know how to sleep without the weight of the other’s body anymore. 

You always did sleep best beside him.

When he’s settled, you slip down to lie against him, propped up on one elbow with your torso folded over his and one arm draped across his hips. Javier sighs, pleased by the weight of you, and closes his eyes. 

“Was different there,” he says, after a long moment. “M’different now.” 

Outside the crickets are rioting again, ribbiting their threaded symphony. You push the hair back from his face—more pewter than ever but so familiar in its waves and curls—and watch the twitching of his face, all the microscopic ways he wrestles with some unnamed memory. 

You give him his time. All this patient, open air until he swallows and starts to say, “Didn’t do right—” 

It isn’t that his voice cracks, just that it stops all at once like someone’s lifted the needle off a record. Though you don’t know precisely what he’s trying to say, you sense its jagged outline. Can feel the memory slicing him anytime he speaks. Below you, Javier clears his throat. “Didn’t do right by them.”

Deep breath, then you push.

“Did you hurt them,” you ask, your voice quiet but solid, firm.

Though his brows fold low, his eyes stay closed. Swallows again. “No,” he says.

“Did you touch them without their consent,” you go on. “Do anything they didn’t want.”

“No,” Javier replies.

“Were you cruel?”

He shifts, uneasy. Mutters back a weak and whispered, “No.” Sometimes he has trouble with this one and stumbles over the answer, but tonight he’s got it right.

You know all this, of course. You’re not asking for you because you already know the answers—know him, whether he wants to admit it right now or not. Doesn’t matter that he’s different now; so are you. So is everybody. Tragedy doesn’t let a goddamn thing stay the same. And while you’ve always known you’ll never see nor fathom the whole, vicious picture—what living down there through years of violence laid ghost and seed beneath his skin—there’s not a bone in your body that believes him malicious. 

At first he worried, but you don’t care about the bodies he lost himself in. All the women he held and had. Sort of surprised you too, but you didn’t learn of them until after you’d found each other again, for good this time, and so what was there to be afraid of? That there’d been, in the worst of his agony, warm hands and welcome bodies? 

No, you don’t care. Doesn’t matter the number. 

You’re glad that at least for small, clustered minutes, he wasn’t always alone.

“Did you try?” you ask. This is the big one, the one you know hurts most for him to hear. “To help them.”

In the turquoise cover of early night, Javier’s face crumples in. Forehead canyoned by lines, his eyes swallowed by miserable, crinkled Vs. You see no glossy tears slip loose but they must be in there, hidden under his lashes when for so long he holds his breath like he can’t trust his own lungs or own mind. While you wait, you lay one palm in the center of his chest and the shimmer of moonlight winks off your hand, reflected in the flat face of a garnet, making silver of red and pearl. It feels, for the moment it’s bright, a little like having his mother back. Like you can feel her in the room, holding him with you.

Javier’s heart hammers beneath your touch, then his hand bolts up to cover yours as if to keep you there. As if you’d ever pull away. “I—”

You press down gently, give him your warmth, your weight, and his hand tightens in kind.

“I wanted to,” he croaks.

“Did you try?”

And it breaks him, chokes him. One wet sound punches out of his chest but he’s tough, soft bits and all. Something in him’s always just known how to hold on. How to take it, for better or worse. But it’s for the better here, you’re certain. Because he won’t survive believing himself evil—you see that clearly, illuminated like a streetlamp casting gold over a night-dark road. If he doesn’t see that he tried, doesn’t let himself feel it, one of these days the guilt will kill him.

It’s just the one ragged breath, then he pebbles apart perfectly still. Steady, you leaden your weight on his sternum, press down a little harder, and Javier grips your hand with greater need. All his warring goes on quietly, invisible in all but his head.

“M’right here,” you tell him gently.

He nods, his eyes still shut. His breaths slow and agonizing.

“Right here,” you say.

Together you wait for the spell to pass, for the storm to clear, until finally the clouds part over him and he sucks one longer, deeper breath, dragging all the room’s air into his lungs. There it is, there he is, solidifying under your palm. Seaming back together, stained glass made new. 

“I tried,” Javier breathes.

His face unfurls and the deep lines once carved with a knife fall smooth. The wrinkles stay of course, all the evidence of his life, but they’re softer now. You trace the crows feet at the corner of his eyes with your thumb and find his skin hot and damp. 

“I know you did, baby,” you whisper to him. “You tried.”

Suddenly his arms fly up and crush you to his chest—so startled, you yelp and can’t help but chuckle as his grip tightens and tightens. You let him squeeze you, your arms trapped under his, and hum softly when you feel his nose against your hair. Carefully he inhales, then slow he exhales: something he’s picked up in his sessions, attended twice a month. Which is how you know that although he’s fallen silent, he’s busy in his mind reminding himself of frivolities. All the tiny bits he must have missed in those long, distant years he spent away from you, believing you hated him. 

You imagine cut grass and July sunshine, beer bottles ice cold on the porch with his pop,

and rolling cigarettes in the bed of the pickup at sixteen, laughing at the sour clouds choking out of you when you couldn’t hold your smoke,

and birthday parties,

and your hand, at every age, in his.

He knows better now, that you never hated him and never could. Knows too that you’ve loved him all the years he’s loved you and will all the years you have left.

Eventually you feel the air shift as he comes home into his body. With his chest smushed tight against the shell of your ear, you’re half asleep, adrift in the deep throb of his pulse. You feel his mustache, the graze of his lips, and the quiet murmur of his voice calling you another name. New, these last weeks. It still surprises you, the sweetness of mi amor on his tongue, in his mouth.

“Get some sleep,” Javier murmurs as his arms go slack around you without pulling away.

“Only if you do,” you mumble in reply, eyes feathering open just long enough to catch the last of the sky’s deep blue. Then they’re closed again. Everything is warm and black.

“M’right behind you,” he says, and soon you’re both asleep.

dividers by @saradika-graphics <3 tag list below!

@pedritosgfreal @thundermartini @guiltyasdave @jolapeno @reluctanthalfwayoptimism 

@myownwholewildworld @sunnytuliptime @indiegirlunited @anoverwhelmingdin @pedrospatch

@bergamote08 @harriedandharassed @casssiopeia @sweetpascal @half-moon16 

@noisynightmarepoetry @theoraekenslover @luxurychristmaspudding @kyberblade @toomanytookas 

@itsokbbygrl @wannab-urs @milla-frenchy @yopossum @beezusvreeland

@katw474 @bluesweaters15 @jessthebaker @encasedinobsidian @ppascalrain

@yxtkiwiyxt @schnarfer @bbyanarchist @amanitacowboy @iknowisoundcrazy

@whiskeyneat-coffeeblack @missladym1981 @ro-nahime-things @helenanell

[pinksilkribbons]

COLLAGE: yan! classmate

CW/TW: non-consensual candid photos, elijah has a shrine of [name], mentions of praying to and basically viewing another human being as god, small implication of a boner, general yandere stuff ig.

You guys my last post on Elijah got quite a few likes I’m so glad y’all like him!! He’s my least developed OC so i decided to write more on him and develop his character. I’ll post some of my others soon!

Ever since he bought his new polaroid, Elijah has discovered a new side of himself. At the beginning he’d only taken pictures of you and hung them around his closet.

But eventually…he grew tired of it. Not of his darling, no! Of course not! But…it was rather difficult to sneak photos of you without getting caught. Not to mention the majority of them turned out blurry anyway.

Something needed to change.

He didn’t just want pictures of you at school. He wanted pictures of everything. When you’re angry, when you’re sad, when you’re eating. Pictures in normal clothes instead of a school uniform for fucks sake!

In the beginning school was the easiest (and only) way he could gain access to you, but now it’s proving to make his job that much harder. There’s too many risks involved.

With a dramatic sigh he shut his closet door, making sure to click the padlock into place. After hanging so many pictures of you on his closet walls he decided it would be wise to invest in a lock.

He knows it isn’t normal. Taking pictures of people without asking isn’t normal. Being so deeply obsessed with someone isn’t normal.

But not being normal doesn’t make him bad. Just…more passionate!

“Hey mama?”, He asks, trudging down the stairs.

His mother turns away from her phone with a quick glance his way. Her head tilts up as if to silently ask him what he needs.

“You aren’t using these magazines anymore, are you?”

A small stack of magazines with a bunch of ‘trendy fashion’ labels catches his eye. On the front cover a young lady with blonde hair is posed in a field of flowers. The lady, however, isn’t what he’s interested in.

She laughs playfully and watches Elijah pick up the stack. “Well, not exactly. But why do you need them? I’ve never known you to be interested in fashion.”

Elijah feels a rush of red to his cheeks. A part of him feel dirty. Perverted, even. It’s clear his mother is implying something dirty, and while she isn’t even wrong, he’s probably planning something much worse than whatever she’s imagining right now.

It takes a few good seconds for his mind to come up with a plausible excuse. “W-well, I’m not interested in fashion! I just need some material for this project in art class.”

Luckily his mom doesn’t question him further. She definitely rolled her eyes at him though, clearly not believing his story.

As soon as he makes it back to his room Elijah is quick on his feet. He rushes over to his closet so quickly he almost falls over. A pulse of excitement gushes through his body as he begins to unlock his closet door.

The password to which is his darlings birthday, of course!

Upon opening the door, one wouldn’t suspect much of anything. Clothes, shoes, some random boxes, but nothing out of the ordinary. The real magic is in the far right corner, at the very bottom of the wall.

So far his collection is pretty small. The few photos he does have are all taped beside one another, carefully placed to ensure nothing is crooked or overlaps with the other. This small corner is Elijah’s entire life.

He lives and breathes [Name]. In fact, every morning, without fail, he finds himself in this exact position; sitting on his knees, admiring his darling. He bows his head and prays to your existence.

The amount of sheer joy your being grants him should never be taken lightly. Elijah is a good boy. He’s thankful. And He proves it every single morning.

“I feel kinda bad, cutting up her picture like this”, he mumbled to himself. His hands carefully maneuvered the scissors, making sure to save as much of his darlings face as possible.

Believe it or not it came out pretty good! Next he needed to cut the cover from his mom’s fashion magazine, which proved to be the real challenge.

The blonde lady on the cover was dressed in a blue flowy sundress. From the moment he saw it Elijah knew that dress was meant to be his darlings. The chances of him getting a real photo of you in this dress were zero, but he’d like to think he’s quite creative!

To finalize his creation he glued [Name]’s head onto the models face, successfully dressing her in the beautiful gown. Just imagining her in such an outfit had his heart racing and pants tightening.

It made him feel proud knowing he found a way to grow his collection while also reducing the risk of getting caught. Next time he visited the library, Elijah would be sure to pick up a few books on collaging.

You truly did bring out a new side of him. Who knew he was so artistic?

[galacticghoste]

I got bored and started to wonder what Sonadow and Blazamy kids would look like, So i made some :P

Idk much on them story wise but hey i know this

Perci is the type to not be bothered by "meaningless fights" basically if he's on ur team your on ur own, bros off some where to take a nap bc he's Lazy. Also when asked to spell his name he accidentally misspelled it so he's legally known as Peirce the hedgehog to lazy to change it so he accepted the changes XD.

Audrie is a sweet girl a lil shy but she can warm up easily to new people. Shes into star signs and fun space stuff her parents though it be good for her to visit sonics dimension also because she want to see the dimensions Amy grew up in