#seafoam-copper

[natsubane]

okay recoded thoughts...

since i only watched the cutscenes and didn't play the game, it didn't stick as strongly in my head as it would have if i played the game, but... i'll write this while i revisit the scenes so hopefully i'll manage to consolidate my thoughts well.

i think overall this entry made me feel the most about the importance of friendship and seeing data sora help these practically-strangers who say they were friends with a separate iteration of him without a shred of doubt or regret just. ough... and that sort of bond still having meaning despite different iterations of the same character and despite the fact that the data versions of the characters don't really have a heart... i was talking to a friend earlier about how important it is that kh (as a series) takes friendship and love completely seriously and how it makes the series so genuine about its message and those being exactly why i think it hits so hard... i surprised even myself thinking this, but i do genuinely think recoded embodies it so well that i felt really satisfied while watching.

like... seeing donald and goofy talking about how they like being dragged into sora's messes and that they've got his back even though this isn't the sora they knew... and though data sora doesn't have any memory of what did happen he still feels at ease being around them... and even if sora's keyblade was a fake, it still held power because of his belief in it and the others... and regaining it through the new bonds he creates hits really hard!! the whole conversation with pete at hollow bastion where pete keeps insisting that sora's just data but donald and goofy are real and yet they're risking their lives for data sora made me feel so . oughghgh. even when riku talks about doing things alone and sacrificing himself and making sure everyone gets home safely at his own expense that's still the love talking!! even though he needs to get a bonk on the head!!!

anyway that sort of genuineness about friendship is what makes this series hit hard! i really like that!!! i appreciate that sort of simplicity in its approach to love... it's what it does really well and i probably couldn't get sick of it if i tried. as a protagonist i think sora is a great vessel to see all of this with, too.

and in the recollection sections of castle oblivion... despite how roxas says that sora can do whatever he want without guilt and nobody will remember it, sora still chooses kindness even though it means nothing, and nothing will happen because of it... because that's just how he is... mmm... i don't really know how to put it but that just kinda hits in a way.

overall the hurt being the demonstration (proof?) of how friendship and bonds transcend memory... i feel like i don't really fully understand its significance just yet, i need to think about it more... but i do enjoy how it's used in this section. i like that the feeling of hurting because of losing a bond with someone is something that can be used to connect with others... and i just. really like being able to sense emotions through battle so the last scene with roxas just made me. ougghg. the piano and everything just . aughgghf... roxas... without a place to belong but... waughghfhg... with a place where he'd like to be... augghghh,..... sorry most of my thoughts on this scene are just wailing

and i'm really . the scene with namine also... i'm glad he finally got to thank her... even though a lot happened to make it to here and they're not even the real sora and namine...

-

other various things i enjoyed...

really interesting thing i'd like to know more about is why riku's versions of the worlds are so desaturated... i presume it's either his memories being clouded or the worlds being bugged... either way.

on the topic of riku i'm kicking my shin at riku feeling envious of sora always being surrounded by people who care about him... i hate how much that's a trope i like now .

THE BOOK OF PROPHECIES!!! I'VE HEARD OF THAT!!!!! I NEED TO KNOW WHAT MALEFICENT IS GONNA DO WITH IT!!!!!!

now that sora and the team know that diz put some data inside of him, and now that we know we're going to try and save the seasalt and wayfinder trios i'm really hoping we get to see this happen soon...

also this whole thing with the (former?) nobodies is . (eyes emoji)

[ratcoonarts]

WATCH ME MAKE MY CARD ONE WEEK BEFORE ARTFIGHT

I'm actually gonna participate more than attacking my one friend this year so reply with your artfight profile...............

[moocowart]

AAAAAYYYY ARTFIGHT 2024 BABYYYYY

(Not gonna be able to participate as much this year as past years, sorry lol, life)

[heartkaji]

gloss ⭑ suna rintaro

“don’t have time for this, rin.”

“you always have time for me, baby.”

suna dips the wand in sticky, blood colored lip gloss. you shiver a little & you fear rintarou must’ve noticed because he rubs gentle circles on your thigh & slides his palm along your hip bone. you straddle his lap & bite down on bee stung lips. copper fills your mouth & the ache on your tongue is grueling.

“rin,”

“baby.”

suna’s tone drips with poison but apples are your favorite fruit. his words are soaked with venom & his tone is sharp as knives but all you can do is bury your pretty little head into his neck in shame. something aches & you’re no longer sure if it’s your moon-bruised lips or nearly-bleeding heart.

“lemme see your lips, pretty.”

you lift your head so only your chin rests on his chest. suna rintarou is bone-achingly bright—his eyes bore into yours & his gaze alone leaves cuts along your throat; you pray you won’t bleed butterflies. you look up at him with bleary eyes glistening with seafoam & lashes rimmed with salt. you swallow the ache in your throat because god knows rintarou won’t let you live it down if you cried.

he tugs on your bottom lip, smearing plum coke gloss all over the plush. it stains your cheek a peach shine & rintarou wipes it away with his thumb. he dips his finger between your lips so you can lick off the gloss with your tongue.

“cherry flavor ?”

“close, gooseberry.”

suna snaps the gloss shut & tosses it somewhere behind him. you frown because you wish he wouldn’t do that. heaven knows you just bought all these glosses & now you’ll have to dig through worn clothes & cupboard crevices to find them. he nudges your chin off his chest & again you wish he’d be a little gentler, but if wishes were horses everyone would ride. suna rintarou is a boy who only knows split knuckles & calloused hands; you pray he won’t split your heart as well.

suna dips his head into yours & takes your bottom lip between milk bone teeth. he sucks & bites at the flesh, leaving you red & swollen & sore & aching but you whine out his name & suna doesn’t stop. his palm slides up your spine & now you can feel his tongue between your lips & why the fuck are you crying ?

he pulls back with a start, “why are you—“

“it hurts rin. been trying to tell you,” you look up at him with red tinged eyes as glossed & glassy as your lips. your cheeks are blood drenched & your lashes are wet & muddied with mascara & god you’re so beautiful but fuck you’re in pain.

rintarou bites his lip, breath warm & heavy, “fuck, sorry. got carried away.”

you shut your eyes & bury your head in his chest. “it’s okay, rin. you always do.”

© ─ heartkaji ; do not steal, copy, edit, translate or reupload

[flawseer]

Jade Mountain Academy students

#1 - Seawing chapter

Part one of my attempt to draw all the students of Jade Mountain Academy. Keep in mind that a lot of these have virtually no usable character information available beyond one or two short quotes, especially the poor sods in the copper and quartz winglets. That means some of this data is going to be made up and will likely conflict with any established popular headcanons. Just trying to make sense of this for myself.

With that out of the way:

Turtle, Prince

Tribe - Seawing

Winglet - Jade

Color - Jade green

Relatives - Princess Tsunami (sister), Princess Anemone (sister)

Clawmate(s) - Umber (Mudwing)

Favorite subject - Literacy

Least fav. subject - Exercise

Physical characteristics - luminous markings: large, polygonal, interlocking; royal wing markings; average size, slightly overweight

Other characteristics - socially subdued, low confidence

Pike

Tribe - Seawing

Winglet - Gold

Color - Lapis blue

Relatives - Barracuda (cousin)

Clawmate(s) - Bigtail (Nightwing), Flame (Skywing)

Favorite subject - Cultural Exchange

Least fav. subject - Science

Physical characteristics - luminous markings: small to medium size, jagged; minor scarring; unusually small stature, lean and wiry

Other characteristics - unusual attachment to Princess Anemone, socially aggressive (suggest counseling), prone to self-injury (suggest monitoring)

Anemone, Princess

Tribe - Seawing

Winglet - Silver

Color - Baby blue

Relatives - Princess Tsunami (sister), Prince Turtle (brother)

Clawmate(s) - Ostrich (Sandwing)

Favorite subject - Exercise

Least fav. subject - History

Physical characteristics - rings of petal-shaped patches around eyes; royal wing markings; pink accents in wings and webs; small stature, average weight

Other characteristics - animus wielder (necessitates close behavioral monitoring), socially domineering (possible maladaptive coping response, suggest counseling)

Snail

Tribe - Seawing

Winglet - Copper

Color - Seafoam green

Relatives - none on site

Clawmate(s) - Alba (Icewing), Mindreader (Nightwing)

Favorite subject - Exercise

Least fav. subject - History

Physical characteristics - curly horns; luminous markings sharp and vibrant; strong hindlegs, stature and build otherwise average

Other characteristics - fastest swimmer

Barracuda

Tribe - Seawing

Winglet - Quartz

Color - Violet blue

Relatives - Pike (cousin)

Clawmate(s) - Mightyclaws (Nightwing)

Favorite subject - did not disclose

Least fav. subject - did not disclose

Physical characteristics - luminous markings sharp and jagged; dark stripe patterns on neck scales; large stature

Other characteristics - socially outgoing, most enigmatic

[the-kr8tor]

Seafoam on the shore

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 2.8k

Tags: Use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), CW drinking, CW food mentions, TW injury.

Between the Devil and the Sea Masterlist

Navigation

CHAPTER 1 >>> CHAPTER 2

You run as fast as you can, your feet flying off the muddy uneven streets. Huffing while a local copper yells at you to stop, his yells get more exhausted every second he chases after you. So far he isn't even near you, one of the few benefits of staying at a provincial fishing town is that the police are either too out of shape to catch you, their bellies round, definitely full of ale. Or they simply don't give a damn about a pickpocket, muttering to themselves how they're not paid enough to do a city cop's job.

Losing your balance, you silently curse at your worn down work boots. Sliding off the ground, skidding off down the streets, disturbing the hustle and bustle of the market. You hit a vegetable cart along the way, wood splintering, scratching your arms. Cabbages and carrots fly off, there's yelling and screaming around you and your legs are aching from the impact.

“Sorry!” You yell back to a disgruntled vendor.

He curses at you and your entire family for ruining his sale. You take a mental note to pay him back somehow when you're not currently occupied.

Digging your heels in, you come to a halt, you're lucky enough to get a hold on a lamp post. Glancing behind, you don't see the cop running after you but you're not taking any chances so you enter a tight alleyway. You know this village like the back of your hand, you have to or else seeing the inside of the jail would be waiting for you in the future.

Knowing there’s a pipe somewhere along the walls, you run your muddy hands along the bricks, the cramp walls touching your back and chest, you stop when your nail hits something metallic.

Your ears perk up at someone snitching, “fuck” without hesitation, you climb up the rusty pipe.

Hands digging into the metal. It creaks and groans, but it seems like lady luck is on your side when you reach the top with no problems.

Hearing hurried footsteps down below, you immediately lie low on the roof. Hiding yourself from his gaze. The cop glances around the alley, scratching his head, confused as to how you escaped without a trace.

“Damn” he mutters, completely winded.

You smile to yourself as he leaves. The sun bares at your back, cotton blouse sticking to your skin. Needing a bath is an understatement.

Standing up, you carefully tread the roof, avoiding floors that look damaged. You definitely don't want a repeat incident of what happened six villages ago. You can never get used to the view from up high, the sea blends in with the orange sky, melting together, blues, greens and reds mingle in harmony. The setting sun paints a picturesque scenery, draping everything it touches in its heavenly light.

Ships and fishing boats float above the waves as if they're dancing to the sound of the water splashing on its wooden sides.

Your hands instinctively reach for the necklace hidden under your blouse. Fingers tracing the etching of a flying bird that you know like the back of your hand.

Despite the open sea, you can't help but feel trapped. The docks beckon you over to somewhere you can't remember, somewhere where you can rest in peace, somewhere across the deep dark treacherous sea are people you can call your home. People who may have been looking for you all this time. Their faces are but a blur in your mind, voices a mere echo lingering in your heart. The pendant leaves a circular indent on your palms as you grip it tight.

Is it possible to miss someone you don't even remember?

Your train of thought gets interrupted by movement from a ship floating along the dock, a large sailboat whose wood differs from each one of its structures. You can tell from how some of it is painted gold and silver like the ones on royal ships, it looks like it was hastily hammered into regular oak with intricate carvings. Some wood blends better together, dark timber melding with ashen wood. Three cannons are lined on the sides, its metal having seen better days, no longer glimmering in the sunlight.

From where you're standing, the figurehead on the bow looks peculiar, like nothing you've ever seen traveling along coastal towns. A fierce creature with sharp teeth opening its jaws, eyes wide and alert. Its red scaly skin adds to its terrifying image. What's more peculiar is the lack of flag flying on its mast. An unknown ship from an unknown place tickles your curiosity.

You slink back down on the roof when a woman emerges from below deck, her blond hair shining under the sun. Another much taller one follows behind her. Raven colored hair flowing in the soft wind. They seem to be arguing, but you're completely bewildered as to how they're allowed to sail. All this time, you can't believe that you can actually step foot inside a boat, moreso sail on it.

This changes everything, you suppose.

You leave the roof, letting the women argue amongst themselves. Expertly hopping from awning to canopy, you land at your final destination, the White Salmon pub.

Jumping down, you land on a cart full of broken fishing nets, it's a miracle that you weren't tangled under all the mess.

Entering the rowdy pub, the smell of ale and pickled fish enters your nostrils. A bunch of sailors sing off key in the middle, too drunk to care about the ruckus they're making. You try to blend in with the drunk crowd, hiding behind people, weaving around them to sneak past the bar and upto the stairs leading up to your room.

“Oi! did ya think I wouldn't notice ya?”

You stop just about the foot of the stairs. Groaning in exasperation, quickly taking off the bandana tied around your face to conceal half of your face. You try your best to put your best smile, turning your charm up to a hundred.

“Hi, aunty Janet” you walk towards her like a child caught with their hands inside the cookie jar. “I got the butter you asked”

Janet huffs, eyes narrowed, her brows furrowed. You place the stick of butter in front of her like an offering to appease an angry God.

“Please don't tell me the coppers will be knocking on my doors again”

“That was one time! Besides I actually paid for this one” you push the butter towards her with your finger. She stares at it like you're giving her contraband.

You give her one charming smile, she sighs, taking the butter from the counter. “You're on thin ice, Y/N. Don't make me regret taking you in.”

“That was a year ago and look, I'm still here!”

“A year and a half, I counted because with every shit ya manage to pull, a strand of my hair turns white.” she points at her hair that's almost completely white. “This used to be black”

“I know, I'm sorry. I just need to–”

“To what? It always seems like you're hiding shit from me and Thena” She tries to hold your hand on the counter but you flinch away.

“Won't happen again, I promise.” A clear lie on your part, you'll just have to be better at sneaking. You vault over the counter to roll up your sleeves, clean yourself up and put on your apron.

“When will you learn, girl?”

“When the king sentences me to death himself!” grabbing an empty tray, you start clearing a nearby table. Janet pinches the bridge of her nose.

After dodging rowdy customers and a flying pint, Thena takes a break with you in the tiny corner of the tavern. She unabashedly sighs loudly, smelling of ale and lavender she hastily rubbed on to mask the scent of alcohol.

You side eye her with a tired smile, Thena sighs again, louder this time, a few patrons gaze your way.

“Alright, what's wrong?”

“Oh nothin' it's just Arthur's back again and he hasn't even glanced my way”

You flick your eyes towards the blonde patron nursing a pint, his green eyes meet yours, he smiles with his yellow teeth and you look away immediately, not from embarrassment, no, but from how you don't want his eyes on you.

Why in the world is Thena so smitten by someone like Arthur who comes and goes into the pub more than he goes inside a bathroom?

“You could do better, Thena. One that actually brings in coins instead of using them all in the pub or a brothel.”

“I know,” she sighs once again. Leaning closer to your side so you slide further away. “But he's the fittest bloke here though” whining, she puffs out her cheeks.

As if some divine comedy, Arthur beckons you over with a twist of his hand. You internally cringe.

Thena gasps, “I think he's finally taking notice of me!” She stands up, sauntering over to his table with the confidence of a newborn deer.

Before you could rescue her though, Janet yells at you from the other side of the room. “Get back to work, Y/N!” She signals with head, pointing towards a table by the corner.

You groan, lumbering your way towards the customers. His large back is turned away from you, brown hair neatly slicked back, clothes looking too neat and expensive for a dingy pub like the white salmon. His companion thumps her head on the wall lightly like she's trying to get water out of her ears. Her hair is cut short, glasses over her almond shaped eyes, clothes equally looking expensive but less neat than her large companion.

Her lips turn upwards once she sees you. “Finally some service” she stretches her legs out, noting how she's wearing trousers instead of the usual frilly skirts rich women wear.

“Sorry, what can I do for you?” You put on your customer service voice that's laced with mild annoyance. The man sits still like a rock, his back still turned away from you.

“Fish and chips, some pickled eggs and a pint.” She glances at her friend before groaning with a sly smirk. “And he'll have plain porridge, no seasoning, just porridge. It's better if it's days old. Right, Miguel?”

The man huffs, craning his neck to look over his shoulder. The single candle light on the table illuminates his chiseled face, turning his eyes crimson.

“A pint will do” his voice is gruff yet calm.

There's alarm bells ringing in your head, the tray falls from your shaking hands. Your heart thumps louder than the clanking metal.

“Careful there, it's bad to drink on the job” His friend’s comment falls on deaf ears as you stare at the man before you. His expression doesn't change except for how his eyebrows lift slightly.

It's been years, surely he doesn't recognize me as an adult, right?

You clear your throat, mustering the best smile you can do. “Sorry about that, I'll get your orders right away” leaning down to take the tray from the sticky floors, your necklace slips out of your blouse, the gold shimmering in the candle light.

He could burn you with just his stare.

Walking briskly, clutching the tray, its metal is uncomfortably cold on your skin. The pub seems to get louder and louder with every footstep, the laughter and rowdy singing makes you dizzy. Janet calls after you as you run up the stairs to your room.

Thinking fast, you lock the door, pushing your dresser to further lock it. Your mind races to the floorboards beneath your threadbare bed. With your bare hands you hastily take the wood out revealing a hollow hole containing your possessions.

There's loud booming footsteps climbing up the stairs. Followed by his voice calling your name.

“Fuck” without thinking, you take the bag from its hiding place, slinging it over your shoulder before you cross the small space to the window.

“Y/N, Please!” He keeps calling after you. “Let me just,” thump, “fuck!”

That's your signal to jump down.

Landing on your heels, you feel your knees aching from the fall. You hear your bedroom door slam open with a force that surely broke its hinges.

You run like you've ran from him like last time.

Suddenly, you're thirteen years old, weaving through the forest, vines prickling your legs as you wade through the thicket. White lilies are but a blur as tears flow freely from your eyes as you keep running without a destination.

Why? Aren't you enough? Did she not love you like you thought she did? What did you do to deserve being abandoned twice?

You're back to the present when he yells your name again. Your heart pounds loudly on your ribcage, lungs burning, you feel like you're about to collapse.

His companion also runs after you, screaming your name desperately.

But you have the upperhand. Using the moon as your guide, you climb up a house, its bricks protruding out of the walls, the place you used to climb to practice, but now you climb it to save your own skin.

Running from roof to roof, you feel a presence behind you. His thunderous footsteps echo into the cold night. You don't dare look behind.

The woman follows you from the ground, her heels clicking on the uneven sidewalk. “Y/N! Wait up–shit!” Without looking down, you hear her fall.

He screams your name again, the same one she called you back then.

You run furiously, jumping off the side only to keep running towards the docks. Panicking, you see a ship leaving the docks, its fishing net left hanging on the side. Without thinking, you make a break for it.

Sprinting on the old docks, you leap the huge gap. Miraculously, you take hold of the net, clinging to it with all your might. Entering the net, you ignore the smell of fish, watching as the place you once called home gets smaller and smaller.

You say goodbye to Janet, who kindly took you in without asking for anything in return. Who gave you a job and a room so you don't freeze and starve outside. Who took care of you when you fell ill to the cold.

You say goodbye to Thena, the only friend you've ever had, the longest friend you've ever had. The same Thena who taught you how to sew and mend your own clothes. Thena who taught you how to throw a punch when a handsy sailor tries to touch you.

Thena whom you've grown accustomed to calling you her sister.

You say goodbye to the fishing town you've only recently called your home.

You say goodbye to the man at the docks who's staring at your fleeing form, whose eyes are narrowed, almost pleading for you to come back.

A/N: There's no Hobie appearance in this chapter yet :( (next chapter though 👀)

Hope you like it, thank you for reading!

[lebirbybitch]

The first in what will hopefully be a couple of connected one-shots, and eventually compiled and made into a longer fic, because I'm genuinely obsessed with this au.

@missterious-figure

Chance Meetings

~~~~~~~|

It wasn't often that Stella got a chance to actually watch one of the brothers performing. More often than not, she was cleaning the stage and audience area in between shows, desperately trying to tidy up before the next event. She wasn't meant to be here, not truly, always having some sort of task she was meant to complete.

The Casino never slept, and neither did Stella most days. Snatches of sleep could be grabbed when she could find a place to rest, but as it was she was better off taking her far and few breaks eating if nothing else.

She could deal with being exhausted if she simply grabbed something sugary to keep her wired. Was it healthy? Absolutely not. But she didn't need to be clean and shiny for the crowd, not as maintenance. All that mattered was she avoided stains on her "uniform", and she got the jobs done she was supposed to.

But she had a break now, and a too-sweet snack bar was held limply in her hands as she watched the night time performance.

Moon was glamorous as always, perhaps not as flashy as Sun or Eclipse, but elegant. His silver tail spread and swaying with every movement, feathers shiny and full. His eyes seemed to drag over the audience, letting them know he was watching them watch him. He shone in the attention.

Stella herself was hidden behind a curtain, dull and dusty bronze and seafoam feathers catching nothing more than the dirt in the air. She knew she wasn't much to look at at all, and compared to the shining silver of Moon, she was a dirty copper penny.

It didn't stop her heart fluttering at the display, the dancing and flaunting once meant for a mate instead gathering gasps and praise. A softer part of her imagined Moon dancing for her, but she swiftly shoved that part away.

She was already breaking rules by simply watching. It wouldn't do to lose herself in a fantasy. The music began to crescendo on stage, Moon finishing up his act in his usual flourish.

Stella pulled her gaze away from the stage, carefully tucking herself into the door hidden behind the curtain, the freezing air of the backways halls causing her to shiver. She pressed her back against the door, her neglected feathers fluffed up as much as they could as she savored the image of Moon's final pose in her mind, the way the light had bounced off of him. The noise behind her settled into a dull murmur as the audience began to leave the room, discussing the show.

She sighed, rubbing the feathers on her arms to sit flat once more, wincing at the dry feel of them. A few broken ones fell to the floor, and she quickly picked them up and tossed them into a nearby trashcan.

She wasn't a performer, she reminded herself as she bit into the stale candy bar she'd grabbed from the trash, the sugar off-sweet on her tongue. Her clawed feet tapped softly against the concrete of the hall as she walked, her particular biology unable to handle being shoved into shoes. (Not that the company would give a lowly maintenance worker much more than the robes she wore already.)

She didn't have the benefit of being a star attraction's mate, not like Chica. Stella berated herself for the hot flash of jealousy that bloomed in her chest at the thought of the chicken harpy. Chica was better than Stella, pretty and graceful if nothing else.

There wasn't a being in the world who'd look at Stella's disgraceful state and call her "pretty".

Even Toby said she looked like a feather duster more than an actual bird, and if there was anyone who's opinion she'd agree with it'd be the only other employee in this damn place she actually talks to.

Even if it was only when he specifically searched her out, and could drag her away from her work.

It wasn't his fault she had to work for her stay. It's not like the company spent much money on her in the long run. And it was far easier to continue working her like a mule than trying to sell her and explain her condition, or fancy her up just to get rid of her.

So she was good at what she did. She cleaned fast, and she cleaned well, and she didn't complain when she worked a whole week without a single hour of sleep within a day. The only thing worse than the company trying to pretend she didn't exist was when they noticed her failure.

Stella shook her head, adjusting the bag on her back that held her supplies as she opened the door to the backstage, carefully looking back and forth.

Good. Nobody there.

Stella placed her bag by the hidden door, grabbing a broom that was already propped against the wall. She didn't carry one around with her everywhere like the wipes and sprays, just left a few in areas she knew she'd need them. It was simplier that way, easier to stay out of sight if she wasn't lugging around a stick that'd give her away.

The practiced motions of sweeping the stage allowed her to drift, the exhaustion that normally clung to her weighing heavier when she began a monotone task such as this.

(Later, she would attribute her lack of sleep to the lack of awareness, and how she managed to completely ignore the other person in the room.)

As she was sweeping, gaze unfocused, a shine caught her eye. Pausing in her work, Stella leaned down to pick up a button, the gold coloring shining softly in the now-dim lighting of the empty room.

"Oh good, you found it already."

Stella yelped, spinning around with the button clutched close to her chest as the broom fell with a clatter, scattering her dustpile where it collapsed.

Standing serenely across from her, face unimpressed, was the largest of the peacock brothers, Eclipse.

Stella felt a cold chill go down her back. She wasn't meant to be seen, much less by the one brother most likely to begin searching her out, or go asking questions. The last thing she needed was her meager breaks being removed entirely because she managed to completely miss Eclipse's entrance.

"I'm- I'm sorry sir, I didn't hear you enter." She managed to stammer out, forcing her feathers down and averting her gaze. "Is there something I can possibly help you with?"

Stupid stupid Stella, she muttered in her head. Don't make the very important harpy ask MORE questions.

"The button." Eclipse said simply, his smooth voice breaking Stella's internal monologue. "It fell from Moon's glove sometime during the performance, I offered to search for it. Far easier to have it simply reattached rather than waiting for a new one to be ordered."

As he spoke he walked forward, his much greater height making him tower over Stella. She herself was barely taller than the average human male, while Eclipse was easily twice her size.

With an ease that honestly impressed Stella, Eclipse leaned down and picked up her broom, holding out the cleaning impliment towards her, his other hand palm up.

"A trade, perhaps?" He crooned, gaze flicking to the hand Stella was holding the button in.

She blinked in surprise, before quickly dropping the button into Eclipse's gloved hand, pulling back and grabbing her broom as if the other harpy was on fire. Part of her felt both better and worse as she took a few steps back from the larger bird, broom clutched against her chest.

Eclipse rolled the button between his fingers, humming softly.

"I don't think I've seen you around before." He hummed, taking wide strides to circle around Stella. She stood still, trying to avoid the way her feathers wanted to rise as he shifted out of her sight.

"I'm just maintenance, sir." She replied softly, gaze locked onto the floor. "You're not supposed to."

Eclipse sighed harshly, his shadow falling over Stella.

"Do you have a name, maintenance?" He asked, seemingly biting out the last word between his teeth.

Stella shivered, closing her eyes tightly. Her name was something she kept close to her chest, not even Toby knew it. Management didn't care, it wasn't worth remembering if they weren't going to use it for advertising. She was simply a Maintenance worker, and in some occasions she'd been referred to as "the maid". But never her name.

To those in charge, she didn't have one.

"I'm just a cleaner sir." She stammered, "Just trying to do my job. Honestly, I'm nobody important."

Eclipse stepped forward, back in Stella's view. His expression seemed...dissapointed, and Stella shirked away from the barely hid anger in his gaze.

"Please sir, I'm just trying to do my job. I wouldn't want to take more of your time." Stella said softly, utterly aware of her dusty feathers and unkempt state compared to the second-most vain of the star attractions.

Heavy silence sat in the room, the dark shadows of the drawn curtains hanging over Eclipse, a thin ray of light shining on Stella. She felt like she was under a microscope, a disgusting bit of dirt being studied for her faults.

"If you must." Eclipse finally said, breaking the tension. He turned quickly, bronze tail swaying behind him. "I wish you luck with the rest of your night, Maintenance." He called, pushing through the heavy curtains to leave the room.

Stella listened to him leave, unable to pry her gaze from the floorboards of the stage as the clack of Eclipse's boots became softer and softer. The creak and shut of the door relayed his exit, and Stella collapsed, falling to her knees with the broom as her only support.

Adrenaline coursed through her, the stress of the interaction leaving her hands shaking. A few dusty feathers fell into the dust around her, her trembling body shaking them free.

Stella took a few minutes to gather herself, before standing and quickly finishing her job. Perhaps not as thorough as normal, but she didn't want to be in that room any longer. The next show was due to start within the next 10 minutes.

Stella practically ran to her next job, the scenario running through her head over and over again. She could only hope Eclipse would think her just as dull as any of the other harpies in the building, or moreso, and completely forget about her.

It wouldn't do to stress over it, she thought to herself, and then had to suppress the hysterical laughter she wanted to let out at the thought.

As if she wasn't stressed enough.

She would just have to pretend it didn't happen, and let the actual problems take priority.

Like the fact someone had apparently broken an entire wine bottle in the outside gardens, according to her hidden radio.

No rest for the weary, she supposed.

~~~~~~~~~~

[yume2kke]

i had artblock so you get i have no mouth and i must scream inspired nail polishes. descriptions below

weapon of mass destruction:

AM inspired polish. dark indigo jelly base with red and orange magnetic glimmer!!!

ellens sarcophagus:

scarlet with yellow gold shimmer, obviously ellen inspired hehe

birdcage:

ted inspired. leafy olive green creme matte

milk of human kindness (lol):

gorrister inspired. green khaki jelly base with copper and brass shimmer

wild beast:

benny inspired. burnt sienna creme matte!

lost child:

nimdok inspired! dark pewter jelly base with seafoam green shimmer!

lunar colony:

sky blue creme with cyan and holographic magnetic pigment :))

core processor:

another am polish! electric blue jelly base with orange and gold shimmer

scorched earth:

brick burgundy base with copper and brass glitters and flakies :))

[glamphantasm]

Scents

dear friend @arklayraven got a question that was asking about their FO's scents/colognes. i love scents. I love blending them and creating things with them. So, I built off the ask and their ideas. ... and now I have to build cologne/perfume oil for everyone. lots of stuff beneath the fold that may or may not be interesting depending on how smell-oriented you are.

Scents - The brothers end up with two blends each. If you think I forgot anyone - no, I didn't. 💞

The Avatars

Lucifer – Sandalwood, white musk, vetiver, woody amber, chypre, white pepper, violet leaf. Blond wood, lilac fougere, black musk, red apple, bergamot, spiced amber, dark red wine reduction. Mammon – Oud, woody amber, shimmering adelhyde metal, sandalwood, yuzu rind. Patchouli, copal, sun-baked spices, resinous gold amber. Leviathan – Camphor, amber, labdanum, black pepper, violet, black musk Seafoam ambergris, sea salt musk, choya absolute, lichen, bergamot Satan – Green apple skin, Carmelite water, davana, frankincense, leather, tonka. Bitter almond, parchment, sandalwood, dust, faded incense, ancient leather. Asmodeus – Peach, honey, ylang ylang, rose, and a bit of dark musk. Patchouli, a hint of synthetic leather. Overripe cherries and dry champagne. Red musk and salt. Beelzebub – Skin musk, salt, oiled leather, thick spiced cream and hazelnut, amber, crushed grass, vetiver. Black musk, pepper, galangal, amber, cacao wood, balsam, coconut palm, toasted sesame.

Belphegor – Roman chamomile, cotton sheets, lavender, opium poppy, white musk, carrot seed Absinthe, opium, lilac blossoms, dragon’s blood resin, mandrake root, warm vanilla milk

The Royals

Diavolo – Cypress, sandalwood, lilac, smokey dark musk, tobacco leaf, neroli, spiced rum. Barbatos – A touch of a very proper old gentleman’s cologne, mixed with the scents of his day. Tonka, jasmine, lavender fougere, thyme, black tea, lemon rind, polished dark woods. Mephistopheles – Black amber, frankincense, lime, juniper berry, ambergris, sugary chai, ti leaf, soapy clean skin and starched cotton

The Angels

Simeon – Milk, wildflower honey, roses, champagne grape, olibanum, with a touch of opium poppy and black patchouli. Cacao, toasted cardamon, white sandalwood, myrrh, rose, burnt sugar, faded ritual incense, communion wine. Raphael – Vetiver, patchouli, orange flower, bergamot, copper, heliotrope, adelhyde geranium, blue musk, coniferous foliage. Luke – Rose geranium, pale white mint, orange blossom, rosemary, sugared hazelnuts, soft faded incense.

Misc. Thirteen – Something clashing and vibrant and sticky and bright, unsettling. Lemon blossom, sour apple gummy candy, hibiscus, lime, coconut water, blonde oak, calla lily, a touch of grave dust.

[spmcomic]

“We have to stick together.”

(no rush on this btw!! just wanted to send for the prompt game I saw earlier, for o’chunks and whoever else fits the bit >:3)

42. "We have to stick together."

(the first prompt list is here)

The Count’s ears turned with his eye as he examined the dim dungeon walls, his team huddled close behind in the dark. He lifted a gloved hand. “There is a keyhole here,” he announced in sign, though his eye was on the runes above, lining the rough bricks that held up the ceiling. They lit up by the glow of his eye, a ruddy red, though he could tell their natural color was closer to some kind of seafoam, like copper long rusted. 

Dimentio held up the arcane light at his fingertips, squinting at the keyhole, and the Count drifted aside to allow him to examine the wall more closely. “Aha! It appears to be for the spades key.”

“Shh!” Nastasia scolded in a hissed whisper, as O’Chunks procured the key from his pocket. She grabbed at the hem of her shirt, to avoid shuffling against the ground, then thought better of it. Her hands and fingers moved swiftly, casting quick shadows in Dimentio’s light. “It’ll hear us if you’re doing your usual thing. ‘K?”

O’Chunks twirled the key in his meaty fingers and slipped it into the lock, but it did not turn. He frowned and twisted harder, but the lock did not budge. Mimi flowed around from behind him to get a better look, before turning to the Count, who huffed.

“Upon closer inspection,” he signed, “this is the hearts hole. It is upside down.”

Dimentio threw up his hands, launching the light into the air, before he scrambled to get it back into his grip. 

Mimi’s hands moved precisely, as if exactly copying illustrations she’d seen. “Then that means we have to go back! There must be a fork we missed. Did you see any in the dark?”

The Count frowned. “Perhaps one of the branches is sealed…”

O’Chunks stuffed the key back into his pocket and started to turn, signing as he moved. “I’ll go feel back along the wall for a crack.”

But before he could step out of Dimentio’s cast light, the Count grabbed his arm. O’Chunks stopped to look back, and the Count met his eye.

O’Chunks lifted the aura shield at an angle to deflect another of the Count’s arcane blasts. “I dunno, Count-” he grunted as he swung the shield to bat away the second blast- “Yer pretty formidable on yer own.”

When O’Chunks threw his shield, the Count held out his hand and caught it in a levitation spell, letting it circle around him a few times. O’Chunks charged forward to swipe the shield out of the air and rocketed his free fist forward, which bounced off the Count’s own bubble shield with a wobbly twong. The Count raised a brow. “Count Bleck has lost many fights.”

O’Chunks grimaced sympathetically, then bounded back to repeat the exercise. He wiped sweat off his forehead before it could run down into his good eye and adjusted his posture, digging his toes into the hard ground and holding the shield in front of his face. 

“Nastasia, then, seems the most suited to solo encounters,” the Count said tersely, lifting his flaming hands again.

“Yeh wouldn’t put ‘er in danger like tha’.”

“No.” One bullet, then the other. 

O’Chunks angled the shield, feeling the force of the blasts against his arm push his whole body back an inch and then another, grinding up the dirt beneath his boots. He grunted, but held his ground. “So there yeh go. ‘Tis nae a good plan t’send any’f us off on our own, yeh? ‘Tis madness! Askin’ teh lose!” He whirled around to chuck the shield, aiming just to the Count’s left. As O’Chunks expected, in as careful consideration as he was, the Count only caught the shield in his magic once it was past his shoulder. 

The Count blinked, then his ear twitched. “Even for one-on-one battles?”

O’Chunks walked forward and snagged the shield as it swung toward his head. “Sometimes yeh cannae avoid it, yer right. And sometimes a battle is a personal thing. But, when we have a cavalry, we use the cavalry. We have teh stick together.”

“It is as you said,” signed the Count, finally, after his pause. “We have to stick together.”

O’Chunks’ brows drew upward, and he gave the Count a complicated look, but relented. “Who’s going with me?”

After a moment of thought, eye darting back and forth, the Count pointed at Mimi and Dimentio and flicked his finger outward. Mimi smirked and pounded her fist into a flat hand, and skipped after O’Chunks, both of them staying within Dimentio’s thin light. The Count and Nastasia exchanged a look, before heading down the hall in the opposite direction, into the darkness.

[aeroblossom]

narcissus without water; sou hiyori

i wasn't gonna post this here because i really reaaally hate it but ehhh fuck it we ball. 3-1 unused intro spoilers. does that even count. kanna route implied.

In the aftermath is cold. Icy, chilling cold. The immense rush of the impact lasted but a moment. Time is a fleeting thing for all who live, whether the hearts beating in their chests are made of muscle, or of metal; whether the circuits powering them and every moment of madness, every second of passion, every victory and every mistake, are made of grey matter, or of a network of microscopic transistors.

The merciless weapon, which had moments ago pierced through his torso, now meets him eye to eye. As if a deeply loyal animal that was too loved to know when to retract its claws, destroying everything in its path to be close to the one it owes its devotion to. Through flickering sparks in one eye, and slowly blurring vision in the other, he stares. He smells blood. The sight of it would not bother him in the slightest had it been someone else it was coming out of. But when you've lived as he has, blood seeping from a wound feels unnatural. And he'd started to believe he was finally rid of the last vestiges of his humanity. Red drips down the side of his face, from the grey matter in his skull that still held proof of something human. The emotion centers of his brain were dysfunctional since he came into the world. So really, it matters little to him. He can barely even feel the pain.

The thing that upsets him more is the red on his chest. It doesn't trickle down from his crown, but spurts from the gaping wound in his center. Sparks fire in all directions, somewhere in his ears he hears a low ringing of both his organic bodily systems as well as mechanical ones. The gears cry emergency, the cells cry of death. A realization supplied by his mechanical logic center creeps slowly into the back of his head, surrounding him fully until he submerges in acceptance. He has little time left.

Eyes the color of sea glass stare at nothing in particular, yet keep darting about, aimless, anxious perhaps, but with unmistakable defeat in them. Little light penetrates the coffin, brought in only by the gaping hole created by the drill. It illuminates a straight stripe across his now ruined body, one bright seafoam gaze and tousled mess of green last in the light's path. Dust particles shimmer like gold specks, his contemplative eyes fixating on their fluttering dance.

He hears distant voices, he thinks, if his audio faculties are even functioning by now. Crying - pained voices, happy voices. Meister's scrawny tone, and determined words from the young girl with copper hair. They must be huddling together right now. Allies. Cooperates. A team spirit reignited.

Petty emotion lurches inside him, wanting to shatter that nonsensical resolve with his own hands. He knows how to. Even now, it would not take much -

No.

It's over.

Defeat weighs heavier than how it first felt to have your flesh replaced by porcelain. It's heavier than the volume of crimson flowing from the wound in his chest. Not that he has needed to breathe in a long time, but here, now, he suddenly feels breathless.

Silence is the mind's curtain call. Contemplation weaves its way through his thoughts, thoughts that will soon fade. Thoughts that are firing wildly due to the vast amount of information being processed in these final moments, alongside a slow system shutdown.

It's a bit like he's dreaming with his eyes open, if you think about it like that.

Ah. He's wasted so much energy in meaningless thoughts. Not that it truly mattered at this point. Right... where had he gone wrong?

Hiyori, Sou. Assumed age, twenty. An easily recognizable mop of green hair, tied down at the ends into a neat rattail that didn't match how the rest of his hair looked. The nickname they gave him was his namesake hair. Tall, fairly lithe. Eyes a deeper colour than the hair, like pure, vibrant jade. Plainly, more than half of him was doll, and the vestiges human. What were once the tender hands of a real human are now porcelain and alabaster. Gears tick inside the system, rhythmic, he was a mechanical harmony. Occasionally interrupted by remnant humanity.

Living, breathing red pumped from his heart, no matter how much he'd separated himself from flesh and blood. The proximity of that living heart to electrical equipment gave him a quicker heartbeat than most. The proof of this regnant humanness now bled and ripped itself apart. He thinks he feels a bit of pain. This is probably the only physical pain he's felt since the last time he had real hands.

But it's not what he'd thought it'd be like. It does hurt, it hurts so much. Yet something else hurts a little more, something that rises from a faulty limbic system and creeps down in physical form to become surging pain in his core.

He observes, silently, the ache surge in intensity as the voices continue to speak. Words, thoughts, emotion, memory rapid fires in his mind. He tries to recall the path he'd taken so far, wanting to make out what error he had made to make him up end like this. This would not do, after all.

But no matter how he tries to focus on this endeavor, a recurring feeling scratches inside him. A sharp pain, tearing him into two. He feels he recognizes it as something from impossibly long ago. Suddenly, he realizes, in that silent grave of his, that he was entirely alone in this death. His heartbeat begins to ring into his ears alongside the periodic beeping of his system going into overdrive.

System warnings, words ringing in his head, and the wildly pounding heart, all converge like oil and paint into a wretched musica humana.

It's really stupid. Hilarious, in fact.

He wasn't human. He hadn't been so for a considerably long time, as far as himself was concerned. Death... to him, wasn't it trivial? An infinite amount of copies of himself can be made. It's meaningless, however many times he dies.

...And yet, here he was.

Does Hiyori Sou feel? Does he regret? Does he hurt?

Does this largely doll, barely human, ever find himself lonely?

In the moments that follow, the emotion that grips him next is sheer horror. At not just these intrusive questions, but his body's physical reaction to it.

Something clouds his vision much more heavily than before. What little he could see before him twists into an oil painting, unrecognizable, an intense pain radiates inside his neck, like strangulation. And then he heaves a sigh as a singular, pearlescent tear streams down his face.

He can hear Meister's scratchy voice from a while ago, before any of this. Before all of this.

So you can cry too.

He had said, as Hiyori leaned against his screen and shed tears at the sight before him. Him, of all people, mourning - it was, of course, an unbelievable sight. At the time, he had found it jestly insulting that Meister would imply he couldn't cry or feel such emotion. So what makes this different? Why does it feel so different?

Ah, it really does feel like the entire world is making a mockery out of him. But perhaps this is a fitting end for himself. Villain he was born, villain he will die.

Death holds little meaning to someone like him.

It's almost time. His thoughts begin to slow down to a grinding halt.

He faintly registers some shifting sounds. The coffin he resided in is being laid flat on the ground. Will it be opened next? Will they see him like this?

A light slam signals to him that the coffin has been taken down. The drill carefully withdraws, now leaving only his mauled body behind. The sound of dust and rocks crumbling, and then light filters into the depths. Though it gets brighter and brighter, he finds his world only becoming darker.

Meister is the one lifting the lid. He has it propped up with one hand, the other on his knee as he knelt down, chewing on a cigarette, inspecting what he was seeing with a careful, suspicious, and yet rather surprised expression. Tia Safalin stands beside him, one hand on her chest and the other seemingly reaching out to touch him in the coffin. He knows hearing is beyond him when he sees the anxious woman mouth his name, when he watches them talk amongst themselves, and can't make out any of it. It's probably too late to worry about what it could be.

The crying doll leans down, placing one hand to his face. As if the plaster skin wasn't stiff enough, he finds himself turning into what may as well be stone. She inspects his head wound. He can't move his eyes anymore to follow her actions, but he can still vaguely feel them. The small hand moves down slowly, tracing a line across his face and down his chest, analytic. She shakes her head with a sigh upon the damage to his torso.

It's really over for him, isn't it?

Her finger ghosts its way back up, this time lingering on his face. He notices the slight dumbfoundedness in her expression, pressing slightly to make sure she was seeing right - the tear stains on his cheek. He wants to smile, all of a sudden, but he no longer can.

As she concludes her inspection and stands up, hiding her expression with that stupendous hat, he faintly wonders if she's crying too. Is she crying for him? No... that would be ridiculous. There wasn't anyone left who could cry for him. In death as he was in life, alone.

Mere moments remain for him, and he wonders, for the final time - should he have led a different life, would there be comrades by his side? Does there exist a world in which Hiyori Sou, too, has allies?

Vibrant seafoam eyes darken like a wilting flower, unable to make out anything clearly, shedding one final tear.

[sae-mian]

NIRA'SAE / 5 CHARACTER ASSOCIATIONS

☾₊‧ Emotions/Feelings:

anxiousness wonder doubt confusion love

☾₊‧ Colors:

teal navy silver seafoam green white

☾₊‧ Scents:

lilac sweet berries freshly cut grass rain copper

☾₊‧ Objects:

longbow burgundy scarf sewing kit blue ribbon crystal pendant

☾₊‧ Body Language:

biting lip looking away/avoiding eye contact restless fidgeting slight slouch twitchy/expressive ears

☾₊‧ Aesthetics:

blood on a white shirt rosy cheeks and laughter distant thunderstorms rolling in a doe in a dense forest sunlight breaking through cloud cover

holy moly that was hard (but fun)-- thank you @captainqster for the tag!!!

i.. have no idea who has or hasn't done this at this point so i am bLIND FIRING TAGS, @humblemooncat, @elliewiltarwyn, @vasheden, @imyour-marigold, @caerbannogs-- if i overlap with other tags my bad fakfjsfkajs

[romeowfr]

so what's everyone's favorite new aether genes ^^ show me scries you like!! :D here's some plans i have with dragons!! my favorite genes have definitely been the harle/jest, and so many of the terts are absolute BANGERS!!! dia and koi are of course favorites, and im enjoying fans more than i thought!

all of the dragon links + what they are under the read more! :D

Patina - Copper harlequin / Bronze spinner / Spearmint spores Frankie - Lavender chess / Wisteria Lacquer / Spruce Capsule Lichen - Fern slime / Fern sludge / Fern fans Sweetpea - Twilight tapir / Rose paisley / Seafoam koi Riptide - Iris jupiter / Magenta noxtide / Navy fans Chime - Magenta chrysocolla / Royal Facet / Iris Diaphanous Melody - Fog wasp / Fog constellation / Fog soap Harmony - Peach harlequin / Peach jester / Peach Diaphanous

[aurorasilverthorne]

Fire & Blood AU

___________________

Characters:

Baela Targaryen

Elder daughter of Laena Velaryon and Daemon Targaryen. Wife and queen of Aemond Targaryen. Mother to Vaemond, Visenya, Elaena, and Aerion. The rider of Tyraxes, a he-dragon with piercing ebony eyes, seafoam green scales, silver crests, and onyx black claws and horns. Known as a kind and generous queen with a gentle heart when it comes to the well-being of children and animals.

Aemond Targaryen

The second son and child of Viserys and Alicent Hightower. Brother to Helaena and Aegon. King and husband of Princess Baela Targaryen and father to Vaemond, Visenya, Elaena, and Aerion. Rider of the unpredictable female dragon Shrykos with her gold eyes, navy blue scales, brilliant rose gold crests, and pearl white horns and claws. Known for being an austere man with a tactical mind. Has a gentle hand when it comes to his wife and their children.

Vaemond Targaryen

The firstborn son of Aemond Targaryen and Baela Targaryen, the Crowned Prince of Dragonstone and heir to the throne of Westeros. Brother to Visenya, Elaena, and Aerion. The rider of Vermax, a mercurial he-dragon with olive green scales, orange eyes with matching frills, and a red spine. Known for being an introvert with a keen intellect and plethora of patience.

Visenya Targaryen

Eldest daughter of Aemond and Baela Targaryen. Sister to Vaemond, Elaena, and Aerion. Rider of Arrax, a young male dragon with purple wing membranes, pearlescent white scales, orange frills, and amber eyes. Best known for her beauty, compassion, and outgoing nature.

Elaena Targaryen

Third born child and second daughter of Aemond and Baela Targaryen. Rider of Morghul, a dragon with obsidian black scales, maroon wing membranes, and fire green eyes with deep bronze claws and horns. Known for her playful, adventurous personality and for possessing a fierce temper and a sharp tongue.

Aerion Targaryen

Youngest child and second born son of Aemond and Baela. Brother to Vaemond, Visenya, and Elaena. Rider of Tessarion, a cobalt blue female dragon with bright copper crests and claws. Known for his love of books, music, and dancing. A shy, affectionate, and soft-spoken boy.

___________________

Disclaimer: I do NOT own House of the Dragon or any of its characters.

Reminder: Vaemond, Visenya, Elaena, and Aerion are my OCs, so they all belong to me. If anyone wants to use them in fanart or fanfiction, please remember to credit me as their creator. Thank you.

Part #2: https://www.tumblr.com/aurorasilverthorne/758186985867345920/characters-2?source=share

Part #3: https://www.tumblr.com/aurorasilverthorne/758217659182645248/fire-blood-au-characters?source=share

Part #4: https://www.tumblr.com/aurorasilverthorne/758227678086283264/blood-fire-au-characters?source=share

Part #5: https://www.tumblr.com/aurorasilverthorne/758449181436362752/fire-blood-au-characters?source=share

[komodoghost002]

Everyone meet Riot :3

Serial Designation Riot is the leader of the Bomb Squad - A squad that crashed on Copper-9 due to a steering mishap and is now stranded.

He loves explosions, bombs, and following the rules. He has no remorse for anyone who he considers as "anti-JCJenson" and has and will murder in cold blood based off this fact.

Think a genderbent J with a bunch of features of a pyromaniac.

And hes all yours for free today cuz he is on my artfight profile(along with all of my other characters) that you can find here:

GO TEAM SEAFOAM!!

[polutrope]

Hi 😁 I would love to hear your DVD commentary for "Made For Her"!

"Maitimë’s body is the model of womanly beauty: she is all long curving lines, each joint blending seamlessly into the next; and where the lines break continuity — as at her fine collarbones, her proud cheekbones, the sharp line of her nose — these are as artfully placed cuts upon a gemstone.

Elsewhere her body swells — her breasts, her calves, her ass — and it is upon these features most eyes, following the cascade of her shining copper hair, linger.

Few venture to meet Maitimë’s bright grey eyes. She is told (and knows) she has the eyes of her father, twin white flames, and laughs when rumour comes to her that even the princes of Valmar who dwell at Varda’s feet are too afeard to look upon them long.

Maitimë does not mind. It tickles her, such admiration and awe, for no prince or lord will ever have her. “To none will the lofty heir of Curufinwë grant her love,” they murmur, and she plays the part they have given her.

There is only one, too close to be suspected, to whom she grants the enjoyment of her body. And when they move together in ecstasy, Macalaurë worships every part of her with hands and tongue and seafoam gaze. For her sister never shies from Maitimë’s eyes.

Macalaurë’s body is in every way unlike Maitimë’s. Small, wiry, slender and firm, sharp at the knees and hips and shoulders. Her breasts like little dewdrops with blushing pink nipples, the plush bump of her ass, are a secret she keeps behind loose robes, opaque and simply decorated. Her dark hair she seldom lets loose, preferring to knot it behind her head, out of the way of harp and quill. Macalaurë’s body is the instrument of her craft, and it is for her craft that Tirion loves Macalaurë. Nothing will ever surpass the beauty of her music, and so Macalaurë does not try.

But Maitimë finds her sister’s form no less lovely than her song."

How did you think of the premise, did it take you a long time to think of their female forms or did it come to you right away, how do you think they first started doing this, do you have other headcanons about this universe, do you relate to one or the other more, what's your writing process like, how did you get so wonderful at descriptions.... etc etc! Anything you want to tell me I am all ears!

[Made for Her, 1.5k, E]

Predictably, female Maglor came to me first. Maglor exudes gender fluidity to me. But contrary to human binaries, s/he's a bird of paradise. So as a male, he's showy, sumptuous, comfortable with his sexuality, proud (see: Played). So I thought: what if female Maglor moves the opposite direction? Deceptively drab, effortlessly elegant, discerning.

Maitime, Well-Formed One, followed naturally as Maglor's physical foil.

This waterfall smut scene did not take me long to imagine at all 😆. I love slippery sexy times in water, and I love elves in nature. The images came to me in a vision while I was in Shivasana in yoga class hahaha.

I have thought about the broader universe of f!Maemags, though not in much depth. I allude to it here:

They were warned, as girls, that too much of bodily pleasure wearies the spirit. Not theirs. In them the spirit of fire burns, and burns, and but for her sister would burn Maitimë up entirely. Macalaurë was made for her, of this she is certain. Made to tame the heat of her spirit, to match her flame for flame and then to douse her in her watery embrace. 

The Feanorians are soooo incest-coded to me. The way Feanor isolates them from others, takes them on journeys to the 'border of the Dark', the liminal, the unknown. I think Maitime and Macalaure started fooling around early in their girlhoods, before they knew to feel any shame about it. It's a secret not because they are ashamed but because they are that possessive of their unusual love for each other. And secrecy is sexy.

I can imagine f!Maemags being even more codependent, more claustrophobic than m!Maemags. Especially in a patriarchy, where power structures set women apart, force them to find intimacy and community with each other, boundaries blur and dissolve more easily and sometimes uncomfortably. Which I imagine is how things go for f!Maemags in the First Age.

Thank you for your kind words on my descriptions. Descriptions were one of the things I was complimented on early on in my writing, so I seized on them as something to hone that wouldn't be painful.

They're not easy. Crafting a description I'm satisfied with is -- I imagine, because I don't do it -- much like trying to capture an image in paint or clay. The words are my paint, and I experiment with different strokes and colours: syntax, verbs, sounds. And then, with a sprinkling of magic, a sentence takes shape that makes me go, "Yes! That's it. That's the image/sound/taste/sensation." But until I get there I don't really know what it is. It's very satisfying. Similar to solving a math problem (not that I'm a mathematician, but I always loved that feeling of finding the solution). It feels like unlocking the codes to a little piece of the human condition.

So, uh. Anyway. Those are my thoughts on a little piece of p0rn.

Thank you so much for the ask, and for your readership!