#still working on drawing wings correctly

[finnzcorner]

I drew Grian for like the third time ever lol

[rabotimagines]

"Bottoming when they usually Top." GN BOT reader x Starscream, Megatron, Ironhide, Optimus

Summary: Topping them for the first time when they usually top you.

Warnings: None.

Genere/Theme: Smut 🔞 MDNI

G1 characters: Starscream, Megatron, Ironhide, Optimus

Notes: Bot reader uses their spike!

Pronouns: You, your, yours.

Starscream is a bit of a chaotic switch. He'll usually bend to fit whatever dynamic a partner has with him and also what he's feeling at the time. So when you first started interfacing, he was completely fine playing the role of a fixed top. It also does something to his ego that you enjoy his spike so much in the first place. So when you ask if you can top Starscream makes a stink about it, just to make you feel slightly guilty. Slightly anyway. In the bitchy "You're making me go off my regular schedule" sort of way he does when you ask him for anything. Starscream then turns around and declares "How lucky you are to have such an understanding and generous partner!" His servos digging into the seams of your waist. Starscream barely suppresses a shiver when you hum and start tracing his wings with already lewd intentions.

There is a fifty-fifty chance Starscream is going to ride you into the berth or just let you dom when you top. If Starscream gives you control, then he's a hundred percent expecting to be lavished with attention and praise. Which is how you wind up in between his thighs, pounding his valve as hard as you can. Starscreams digits are biting the paint off your back. You were a bit overcharged on Starscreams valve, your praising coming out like babbles. Starscream could feel his own overload creeping up his spinal strut. Your spike hits his ceiling node, and he cries out while you only rock into him harder.

You're telling Starscream how good he feels, and the comment makes Starscreams overload hit him sooner than he thought it would. His thighs clench around your middle, forcing you to fold harder against him when he tightens further around your spike. Starscream bucks when you start overloading inside him. Every pump of your spike had him clenching back down on you. Frag- You needed to work on how to praise correctly, but overall, you weren't terrible with your spike. Starscream vented heavily, taking in your post overloaded expression. The sight only made him want to push you down and take your valve next.

Starscream... supposed he will have to show you how you're properly supposed to praise a bot for taking your spike.

-

Megatron enjoys being in control, and he enjoys dominating other mechs both in the field and in the berth. Megatron fully expected to top without any pre communication when you entered a relationship with him. (Yes, he's a clown like that.) You could be a hulking triple charger, and Megatron would still be wordlessly expecting your obedience. He wants you to give yourself to him. Give him your everything. So he's always been content with you being a bottom the entire time you'd began interfacing with one another. So when you ask to top, Megatron is mildly surprised by the fact you'd waited this long to act on a sexual interest with him. But since Megatron actually holds affections towards you, he has almost no problem indulging you.

Almost anyway. He'll let you use his valve, but he's still going to be dominating you into the berth. He might just use the side of his arm and cannon to pin you further against the berth while he rides you both to overload. Megatron grinds down further against your pelvis, reveling in the noise he draws out of you. He chuckles at your sorry state even with his valve stuffed with your spike. Megatron only stops when you overload inside him and fill him up. He groans at the sensation and jerks his spike off to reach his own overload- Megatron cursed under his vents at the feeling of clenching down on you while overloading himself. His spikes transfluid ends up shooting you in the faceplate, dusting your paint with translucent pink.

The blessed out expression on your face and his own valve dripping with your own transfluid was definitely a positive gain. Megatron also enjoyed taking you apart in yet another way only for his optics and no one else's. He should've thought of this beforehand. Expect to be allowed to use his valve or be dominated by it after this. If you raise his affection high enough in your relationship, he'll eventually let you use his valve and dominate at the same time.

...

Eventually.

-

Ironhide was a dom leaning verse. He did enjoy control, and he enjoyed making a bot whine with how well he'd use their valve. But he wasn't so up tight he didn't know how good a valve overload felt like himself. He didn't necessarily mind only being a top for you. He was soft on you and couldn't get enough of you, valve included. But when you ask if he's okay with you spiking him, instead, he does feel a bit giddy.

Ironhides the type to bend over all pretty against the nearest wall as soon as you ask. Array already snapped back valve on full display with his hips jutting out like they were. You gape at the sight, and Ironhide just looks over his shoulder back at you. "Well? what are ya waiting for? Need a party invitation to spike a mech, right?" You calmered to your pedes and tried to work him open with your digits, which only made Ironhide scoff. "I'm not glass. Just put it in already."

You do, and you frag him against the wall then and there. Ironhide can hear your quick vents on his audials. Spike striking his ceiling node every time you bottomed out. You end up overloading before him but seem to realize Ironhide wasn't as close. You reached down and started stimulating his anterior node- Ironhide cursed and impatiently started stroking his own spike off. Ironhide groaned, focusing on the feeling of your spike still in his valve and the transfluid spilling down his inner thighs. You pulled back and hit his ceiling node once more, and ironhide is overloading on your spike with a groan.

You were a bit rough around the edges and needed some work, but-

You were panting lightly. Your digits were rolling tracing circles on Ironhides hips, like he'd do for yourself after he'd spiked you.

Ironhide would train you how to properly spike a mech just you wait.

-

Optimus just didn't have the spark to tell you no when you looked at him and told him to spike you. He loved you. Optimus wasn't too picky about positions or roles he just wanted your affection and to make you feel good. If you wanted to take his spike, then he'd help you take his spike right. Likewise, if you wanted to top him, then Optimus is all for it. He wants to make you feel good. And if you wanted to feel good using his valve? He'd let you do just that then. But well- you hadn't asked to just spike him...

How you managed to convince Optimus to let you spike him in his office of all places he still didn't know- (Yes, he did. it's because he wanted to make you happy.) But now Optimus is sitting on the ledge of his desk with you thrusting in his rather wet valve. His servos are gripping the edge of his desk hard enough that the metal starts to give- fighting to keep his palms off your frame because he'd dent your frame so easily right now. Every time you bottomed out, your pelvis ground down on his anterior node. Your spike hitting every pleasure node it could with every snap of your hips. Your optics are bright, and you look so- attractive between his thighs.

A strangled use of your designation tumbles out of him when you wrap a servo around his weeping spike and start stroking. Optimus has to fight to stay quiet while he's overloading all over your spike. His own transfluid shooting on his front with your continued strokes. You groaned and stilled, finally panting through your own overload. Optimus can feel your transfluid spilling out of his valve and onto the floor. Optimus finally allows his vice grip on his own desk to loosen and start touching you once more. He's petting you through your own post overload haze while you're nuzzling and sighing all content at his affections.

Optimus definitely wouldn't have any problems with you toping again.

... Just maybe not on his office desk next time. Optimus admitted, staring at the dents on his own desk.

[tadpolesonalgae]

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You - Part 10

Pairing: Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sister!Reader

A/N: Well, buckle up I guess

Warnings: Plot™️, I know clocks are canon but it still feels weird to do this, starting heavy 💪

Word Count: 6,012

-Part 9- -Part 11-

He sighs.

It’s not like she can help the way she is. Not like she can help the fact that whenever she tries to make things better it simply creates more work for him to do. By receding into her room, he has to pay more attention to when she appears, becoming extra vigilant in the moments she steps outside.

He shouldn’t be so harsh. Sometimes fatigue clouds his judgement, enough so it becomes apparent to even himself sleep is a necessary luxury. Still, they’re harmless behaviours really. Small habits that with the right guidance will enable her to flourish again.

A broken bone that needs to be left to set, to be good as new.

6:57 p.m.

Azriel massages his temples, the beginning aches of a headache making themselves apparent. Eases in a breath, counts, and releases. It seems a night of rest is unavoidable, but there’s so much to be done. He could perhaps rearrange breakfast…but that would collide nastily with training. Maybe moving lunch to three instead? But then that would impact the start time of going though the towering stack of reports, which would in turn result in him working later anyway.

Thick brows narrow as he prowls silently down the hallway of the River House, deciding to leave for some peace and quiet. It’s not an idea he’s keen on, but if he dips out of practice with Cassian atop the House of Wind tomorrow…that would work. Frustration simmers in his knuckles, tightening the trapezius. He doesn’t like the idea of skipping over valuable training time with the priestesses. They’re forcing themselves out of their comfort zone. The least he can do is respect their resolve by attending.

He’s so caught up in thoughts of schedule and routine he only realises she’s in the River House, on the same floor, when she’s a single corridor away. Another thing he needs to keep an eye on. Swiftly reorganises his thoughts, rotating and recalling the information his shadows have provided over the recent days and hours. The scraps of speculations Mor had offered from a single outing. If he remembers correctly, she will have just gotten back from her trip with Mor now. So why is she here? She should be back up at the House by now, retreating to her room away from everyone else.

Still, he rounds the corner in time to see her click a door closed—her sister’s. His curiosity piques, shadows already recollecting the news they’ve catalogued for the female with soft, cocoa eyes. Gloves still adorn her hands, but it does nothing to conceal their tremor.

Attention narrows in on her, darkness skittering back into the corners of the hallway, hiding between his wings as he approaches. Her lips are chapped and tight, features strained as her gloved hand rests for a moment atop the handle. Appearing in her own world—eyes glazed and vacant. Her jaw is wound tighter than usual, tight enough he can hear the grinding of enamel, like bone and porcelain powdered against rock. Brows draw together at the notice of her waxen complexion, skin gleaming faintly with peaky dew.

Blank eyes flick up to meet his own, and he steps forward. Her hand stiffens on the handle, posture turning rigid. Scent taking on a tang he’s far too familiar with from nights spent with his blade. He comes to a stop, keeping his distance from her taut form.

Azriel’s first thoughts are she must be pushing too hard with her magic. Honestly, he hadn’t anticipated her to be so resolved in mastering her power independently. Neither had he anticipated her making a lick of progress. At least not through measures that a sensible mentor would allow.

He should never have yielded to her look of despair. She’d be safer if he had simply insisted on doing things correctly. A foolish mistake on his part, and now she might be going down the wrong path. “Are you okay?” He asks, splitting his weight equally between each foot, resting in his place. Watches the roll of her throat, shifting in place, away from Elain’s door. Had there been an argument?

She nods her head, trying to straighten her spine as she sometimes does when pulling herself together. The effect is nullified by the was she hangs her head, never quite succeeding in meeting his eye for extended periods. He shouldn’t have ignored it for so long. Leaving something like that unchecked… Well, he should have known better.

“I’m—” She clears her throat, and tries again. “Good. I’m fine.” Nods to herself, eyeing the floorboards with bland eyes. He waits quietly, allowing the silence to coax her into unravelling. She shifts again, stepping away from Elain’s door, her gaze flitting about the corridor. Flicks to the stairs behind him, leading down to the exit—likely wanting to return to her haven up in the House by now.

Eyes regain a little focus, pupils contracting as a nervous smile quirks her mouth, nodding to the door as she makes for the stairs. “We were just speaking,” she elaborates, moving away hastily. “Catching up.”

Azriel watches, noting the briskness of her steps. It’s unusual for her to be so keen to leave his presence. What had happened?

“Wait,” he says, turning as she makes to move past him, peering at the floor, marking her steps. She pauses, gloved hand resting on the carved and polished banister. He steps forward, morbidly intrigued by the glaze in her eyes, as if made of glass. “You aren’t well,” he states. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine,” you repeat blandly, “just tired.”

Something bad then, if she’s not willing to even discuss whatever exchange happened with Elain.

Shadows loiter at the threshold, waiting to hear for any sounds that might offer hints, like the soft breath of cries, or the gentle splash of muffled tears. Nothing.

She turns again, descending the stairs, sweeping down the case quietly as she makes a bee-line for the door, vanishing out into the dark, leaving him perplexed and curious. A dangerous combination for the Spymaster.

She’d looked shaken up, so he should make sure things are okay.

It’s been a long while since he last had a one-on-one conversation with the soft-eyed female.

Azriel turns in the hallway, moving back the way she’d come.

8:36 a.m.

“We should talk.”

His words pull you from the world of bliss that had been graciously clouding your mind. Peer down at him from where you’re straddling his lap, pale sheets crumpled, clothes strewn about from being swiftly discarded. “About what?”

Thick, dark brows narrow over piercing golden eyes, full lips twisting down in the corners. Your own features shift to match his, “now, Bas?”

He sighs, large, warm hands splaying across the bruised skin of your hips. “I know, I know, I suck at timing. No need to tell me.” Almost immediately the edges of your lips lift up, a smile tugging at your mouth, vanquishing the momentary surge of annoyance. Fingers lightly press into the softness of his chest, spine losing its rigidity, relaxing your weight back onto him. Feeling slightly dizzy as pleasure sinks into your bones.

“Fine,” you mutter, playfully, “what is it?”

Bas shifts beneath you, thumbs soothing your skin, your back arching as you attempt to still the swirl of your hips. “Two things, actually,” he clarifies reaching higher, a reassuring pressure over your ribcage, rubbing to your waist. Peek down at him, raising a brow, “I wondered why you weren’t giving me a hard time tonight,” —shake your head, smiling slightly— “I should have known.”

He offers a tight smile and your own slips away. “Now you’re worrying me,” you murmur quietly, fingers curling. “What is it?” Golden eyes meet your own, concern shining in their depths, “you’ve been off recently. And I’m worried. So, it’s fine to be emotionally intimate too… Yeah?”

You blink, lips parting in surprise. “I’ve been…off?” Brow furrows in confusion, “what do you mean by that? Am I doing something wrong?” It’s an earnest question, yet it resonates a little deeper than you had expected. Thankfully he doesn’t pick up on the inner conflict. “It’s not that,” he reassures, hands stroking slowly, lightly. “But you’ve worn the same dress the last three times I’ve seen you.”

Internally, you cringe, making to pull away. “Do I smell?” You ask, wincing, bringing your arms to your chest. A slight smile tugs at his lips then, “no.” Relax a little, hands twining as he brings them back to his torso. “But…you taking care of yourself up there?” Sigh, shoulders losing their tension, lips resting into a quirked position.

“I’m fine, Bas. I like it up there, where it’s quiet, and—”

“No.” He interjects gently, hand slipping from yours, pushing a strand of hair from your cheek. Lightly cups your jaw, thumb skimming across the skin. “I mean up there.”

Spine stiffens, fingers freezing. Breath pauses. “Everything’s fine,” you murmur, watching him. He gives a look that urges you to stop lying, squeezing your hands. “Talk to me,” he says in response. “Something’s up. I can tell.”

“Bas—”

“Don’t even try,” he murmurs, golden eyes shimmering as he peers up at you. “I know what that feels like,” he whispers, hand raising to skim your breast, thumb brushing atop your heart. “I know change is difficult.”

“Bas, I don’t want to talk about it.”

Eyes lock, staring at one another.

His hand falls away.

Muscle loosens.

Licks his lips, gaze flitting elsewhere. “I was lonely too, when the attack happened.” Spine softens, brows tightening. Wait silently for him to continue. Licks his lips again, returning to watch you. “Ma… It was hard on both of us, losing pa. Y’know one day he was there, then the next it’s just us.” His throat rolls, eyes glazing as he looks into the middle distance. “We had our own ways of dealing with it—the loss. Mother knows I can’t talk about healthy coping mechanisms, I practically fucked anything that would let me. Probably drank more than I should have, too.”

The attack.

You and your sisters hadn’t yet come here, still mortally human and wonderfully unaware. Well, you and Elain, anyway. Even now, there were still signs of the aftermath. Traces of grief that had yet to be healed.

He shakes his head slowly, limbs turning stiff. “It got… I know what it’s like.” Golden eyes latch to your own. “So talk to me. Don’t keep that—…stuff, to yourself.” Shake your head, breaking the connection, pulling away. “There’s nothing to talk about. Stop prying.” Shake off the heaviness, easing a breath. “What else did you want to talk about?”

His expression is indiscernible, brows dipped, lips tugged down, eyes swirling with molten gold. Shifts beneath you, your hands pressing to his chest to steady yourself as he raises into a sitting position. Moving to be eye-to-eye, hands spanning your waist, gently keeping you still. Fingers brush the concealed muscle of his shoulders, linking at his back, hips winding in gentle encouragement.

A rough-skinned palm settles on the nape of your neck, sliding and gripping your hair lightly. Thumb oscillates over your waist. Calling up loneliness from the pit of your chest. Lips brush your mouth, the slightest caress of hot skin that feels like heated silk and tastes like spices and thyme. He looks like he’s about to try again, but decides against it, instead pulling you forward.

Only you’re taken to the crook of his shoulder, palm cupping the back of your head. His free arm snakes up your back, cradling you to his chest. Keeping you close by. At first you’re stiff, unsure how to react, muscle locks as his skin presses hot to your own, smooth and soft. Warm hands soothe along your spine, gently skimming across the expanse, tracing the knuckles of bone. Fingers draw light patterns atop, oscillating and sketching with reassuring steadiness.

He makes no move to kiss you, just holding you still, the thick locs of his hair scratching softly against the nape of your neck. His arm spans across the back of your waist, hand flattening against your side, thumbing over the skin, soothing you to melt.

Your bones begin to feel heavy in your body, sinking low as you hesitantly raise your arms to lock over his sturdy shoulders, tentatively shuffling to rest your cheek against him. Inhale slowly, deeply, taking in his scent—like rosemary and myrrh. He settles across your skin, and you sink deeper, emotion thawing as you melt into his arms, so tender and soft. Healing and welcoming.

Wet drops splash atop his shoulders, dripping onto dark skin as arms pull a little tighter, squeezing as lips tremble. Spine shudders, soft breaths stuttering as tears trickle down your cheeks, wetting strands of hair as fingers grip closer. Full lips graze your temple, and you feel those small cracks that had emerged during your argument with Feyre begin to spiderweb out, restraint fracturing just a little more.

Lower lip wobbles, and you curl around him tighter, body shuddering with quiet sobs as he holds you. Dry hands wrap into fists, nails biting the flesh of your arms as you fall into him, wanting to be washed away.

To peacefully melt to a place far from memory.

Slowly fade into absence.

2:43 p.m.

The iron-cast ring weighs on your palm, the glittering blue jewel of its swollen abdomen gazing up at you like silver moonlight dripping to dark, gleaming midnight. Polished and sharp like armour and blade.

“Do you like it?” Mor asks from your side, peering over your shoulder. You’d heard her footsteps that time, but shake your head absently, putting the ring back where it belongs. “It’s a lovely piece of jewellery,” you hedge, not wanting to talk badly when the shopkeepers are around. Spiders are still a little too close to home—insects at all, really.

She hums quietly, attention skimming to a piece beside it: a silver band fashioned to the stalk of a flower, the petals looking like stretched out droplets of warm citrine. Mor examines it for a moment, then holds it out for you to look at, which you do. “What about this one?” Fingers mindlessly come up to fumble with the glass pendant at your neck, steadily becoming a habit. “It’s very pretty,” you answer, hoping it suffices. Mor hums again, seemingly getting the hint, returning it to sit on the counter.

“You liked the dress, didn’t you?” She asks, quietly. Brows dip together as you turn in her direction, cascading golden hair loosely tied back. “I mean you wanted it. Not just because I was pushing you to get something.” A beat of quiet passes, and you examine her expression: the edges of plush and pillowy lips lengthened by slight worry lines, brow marginally dipped in the centre. Minute shifts in features that would have gone undetected by human eyes.

Throat rolls as you look away, but nod. “I did like it,” you mumble, fumbling your words, “do like it. Thank you.”

“Have you worn it yet?” She asks. Dread ices your skin, eyes flitting to honey warm irises. “I— No…” you manage honestly. Look away, scanning the jewels, that blue spider again catching your attention. “It’s a special dress,” you murmur, “I was waiting for a special occasion.”

More quiet beats between you, background chatter buzzing through your mind. But then she nods, accepting your answer. “It looks nice on you,” she replies, picking up a necklace this time—a thin chain of gold that shimmers beneath the daylight streaming in from the windows. Dip your head in silent thanks.

Peer out into the streets, watching fae pass by, enjoying their lives. Spots of colour splashing along as they go about their day. Eyes mark a small shop across the road, stools holding little trinkets like cups and pottery spilling out onto the cobbles, ceramics gleaming beneath the lowering sun. Plants sway in the crisp breeze outside, the nippy winds of early autumn already setting in.

Ease in a steady breath—there’s less than a week left until you’re due to complete your side of the agreement, and only small bits and pieces of progress to show. Not enough to avoid bringing it up to the rest of them.

Glance at Mor from the corner of your eye, watching through your peripherals as she holds up a necklace to herself, peering into a mirror. How would she react if you told her right now? She’d probably smile and tell you that’s great. Maybe ask you to show her or give a demonstration. The breath releases, knowing that question will crop up eventually. Seeking results when you have none to provide.

“Are you coming to dinner tonight?” She asks breaking you out of your wondering. Blink, pulling yourself back down, having forgotten about the extra supper they’d decided to fit in. Shake your head, turning your attention back to the jewellery stand, then flitting out to the shop. “I’m feeling pretty tired,” you reply quietly, “so I don’t think so.”

���Sure?” She says absently, already having moved onto the next stand. “The food’s really great—pork that practically comes part on your tongue. And the jam that goes with it is absolutely mouth-watering,” she dreams, smiling faintly as her fingers scrunch with anticipation. Your nose wrinkles for a split-second before you shut off the reaction, offering a bland smile, “how lovely.”

“You must try it at some point,” she gushes, turning to you now, accessories forgotten. “It’s one of my favourite places in Velaris. All the dishes they serve are,” —her hand flexes, as if trying to grasp onto something, eyes briefly shutting in bliss— “amazing.”

You smile again. “I’m sure.”

Warm-honey eyes narrow on you, examining the set of your expression. “You liked the soup,” she says, “what else do you like?” Throat rolls and you shift on your feet, fumbling. “Mash?” Mor nods slowly, remaining silent; in doing so forcing you to speak, too awkward to allow it to continue. “With thyme… Beans are nice, too?” She continues her bout of silence, quietly watching you. “The rice and…sauce. That’s been nice. Very nice.”

Her brows squish together, tension coiling in your stomach and shoulders. Lick your lips. “The—…” You pause, not knowing the name of the food. “The doughy balls? With…mushroom? in the middle? With—”

Eyes pop open. “You don’t eat meat.”

“I eat meat,” you say, hurriedly, but she’s in her own world.

“That’s why Az—” Her hand smacks up onto her forehead and you internally cringe—was the coddling that noticeable? To everyone but you?

“Why didn’t you say anything?” She asks, a mix of shock and exasperation lining her tone as she stares at you. Throat rolls and you turn away from her, picking up the silver band with the citrine-coloured flower. “I can eat meat just fine,” you mutter quietly, “it’s not as though there was anything else.”

“There was the soup,” she argues, still facing you, “you could have asked me to pass it to you—I even had some for myself.”

“No, I mean—” —eyes lock, her brows risen in confusion, not accusation. You sigh, shaking your head. “Sorry. Forget I said anything…” Her neatly groomed brows dip, head tilting ever so slightly. “No, what were you going to say?” She asks, voice quietening. Glance at her sidelong, fiddling with the ring in your hand, sliding it on and off your gloved little finger—far too large for it to possibly get stuck on. Lick your lips, spinning the band as you fidget. “I just mean, it’s basically all we ate back then,” you mumble, peering at your feet with forced interest. “Just brings back some bad memories, is all. Nothing I can’t deal with.”

She sighs softly, and guilt tightens your stomach, putting the now-warm ring down, listening to it clink on the glass. “You don’t like meat,” she states. It’s not a question.

“I can eat it,” you counter quietly, not wanting to be a bother. You’ve seen how much the others enjoy it. “But you wouldn’t choose it,” she returns, keeping her body open as she faces you. Shift on your feet, “I… No.”

Mor nods, hair glinting like freshly spun straw beneath a summer day. “Then we can eat somewhere else. Or order different dishes,” she reasons smoothly, “I’ll just mention it to the others since none of us even knew. Well, I suppose Az—”

“Please don’t,” you interrupt, cringing internally. “It’s fine. Meat’s good for you and I shouldn’t be so picky anyway. It’s annoying.”

“To who?” She asks, making you glance at her. “Who does it annoy?” She repeats, seemingly earnestly. “It’s silly to switch restaurants just because of…because of something so small. I can eat when I get back, anyway. It’s fine.”

She looks appalled.

“Mor, please don’t say anything,” you repeat quietly, meeting her eyes, a pained look unknowingly on your features. “I’m fine with how things are. Don’t make a big deal out of it.” Her brow narrows, eyes flicking around the shop, taking in the other customers. “None of us would mind,” she says quietly. “You wouldn’t be causing a problem. We’ll just order more dishes without meat. We don’t have to change places if nobody wants to.”

But you shake your head adamantly. “I can eat when I get home. Please don’t change what you order just because—”

“Why don’t you deserve to eat food you like?” She asks sharply, voice remaining quiet but harsh. Blink at the tone, stiffening briefly before tension uncoils from your muscles. “It’s not like that,” you reply, turning from the display, slowly stepping toward the door. Mor follows beside you, appearing to have lost interest in the surrounding trinkets.

“No?” She asks, glancing at you through her peripherals. “What’s it like, then?”

You pause in the street, feet halting their movement as the question registers. She halts at your side, slowing to a stop, attention turned to you. “Mor, I don’t know how I could possibly put into words…” A heavy sigh escapes from you, shoulders sloping, exhaustion lining your eyes. “Never mind. Forget it.” Spine straightens, continuing heavily across the street to the shop with the little carvings and pieces of glazed pottery.

She follows quietly as you wander toward the stalls, inspecting the bits and bobs on display. Watches you quietly, taking in the ankle-length dress, clunky boots, thick cardigan and scarf. The vomit-yellow gloves. She should at least find another pair with a lighter colour for you. “You know,” she begins softly, a hint of a smile in her tone, “for someone so reserved, I didn’t expect you to be so stubborn.”

Fingers freeze for a moment, reaching out toward a small carving of a woman holding some drooping daisies. Breath catches, before you manage to resume motion, picking up the small figurine. “Sorry,” you mumble, “I don’t mean to be.”

“That’s not a bad thing,” she murmurs. “You’re strong willed. It’ll serve you well.”

But you shake your head in denial. “Feyre’s strong willed. So is Nesta.”

“Do you think Elain is?” Mor asks, holding up a glazed mug she clearly has no interest in. Your brow dips, peering at her, not having anticipated the change of direction. “Why are you asking?”

“She’s been quiet, no?”

Turn your attention back to the woman in your hand, flipping her over to peer at the lines of her dress—swaying in a breeze. I wonder why… You think sardonically. Instead a hum lulls from your mouth, non-committal and vague. Mor nods her head, again picking up those minute hints you’re unaware you’re even capable of dropping.

“That’s a nice carving,” she says brightly, redirecting the conversation without a hitch, smooth fluidity long ago mastered. “Your father was a carpenter, wasn’t he?” She asks softly. “Would you like it?”

Gloved fingers rub the concealed skin of your other hand, knuckles itching for reprieve. Under ordinary circumstances, you would have declined the offer— it looks well carved. Not that you have an eye for such things. This time, however, you can make an exception. “That would be nice,” you answer quietly, “thank you.”

Swallow down the apology that had been slowly making it’s way up from your stomach.

She smiles then, and you look away.

She’s far too bright.

6:49 p.m.

You excuse yourself as soon as you step inside, heading up the stairs and along the hallway before returning to the House of Wind. Walk quietly along the floorboards, hoping to avoid any unnecessary confrontations. Reach the door you’re looking for, landing a series of knocks to the hardwood. “Elain?” You call, listening for a reply. She answers, letting you to come in, voice soft but terse.

The door swings open on oiled hinges, and you step inside, hearing it snick shut at your back. Eyes instantly locate your sister, sat in a large armchair facing the lit fireplace. Curtains are drawn, blocking out what little light remained in the sky, room set aglow with the golden-orange of flame. Cocoa melts to something soft and spicy as she peers into it, and you wonder if she’s perhaps missing Lucien.

“Hey,” you mumble quietly, noting how she seems kind of distant. You can’t help but be reminded of those initial months, the transitional stages of your lives where the world was turned upside down. How she’d shut down almost entirely, rarely speaking. Rarer still to get anything coherent, like she was trapped in a dream state. “I just…I wanted to see you,” you murmur, moving toward her.

Haunted eyes flick up to meet you, blank as they take you in with ghostly smoothness. She blinks and it’s gone, gesturing to a seat opposite from her, closer to the fire but angled for prime conversation. A smile lifts the edges of her mouth, etched with strain, chest stretching as you take in her fatigue.

Sigh heavily, settling into the plush armchair, remaining straight-backed as you put the paper bag at your feet, careful with the little carving. Wait for a beat to pass before looking to her, cocoa already reattached to the fire. “Elain,” you call quietly, gaining her attention. In the light of the flame the circles beneath her eyes are more pronounced, shadow flickering across the heavy crescents. Worry takes root in your gut—it seems to be taking more of a tole on her than you’d thought.

“You went out with Mor today didn’t you?” Elain asks, voice soft and faint, as if coming out of a daze. A shy smile curves your lips, nodding. “How was it?” She asks distantly, gently curled hair hanging in rich ringlets, tight and silky as they spill down the lilac night gown she likes. Throat rolls, turning your attention to the fire. Will this ever be an easy subject between the two of you? Between any of you?

Eyes flit down to the bag, pulling it up into your lap for comfort. “It was good,” you manage softly, nodding. “It was…nice. To be outside. Around someone, for a little.” Elain nods, a bland smile on her face, though you don’t doubt its sincerity. “I—…Mor’s nice,” you add, fumbling your words as you try to direct the flow of the conversation toward what you’re trying to get at. But you’ve never been good at reading the room, and it’s showing.

“You should…I mean, it would be nice for you to come along sometime…” you suggest, trailing off as fingers wring together in your lap, playing with the paper handle of the bag. “We could…I don’t know…” Shift in the chair as you try to think of something. “I’m sure there are some shops for gardening, or somewhere to sample pastries? You’re trying out pastries at the moment, aren’t you?” Eyes flit to your sister, the smile gone from her lips, lids heavy as she soaks in the heat of the fire. Letting it drink her in.

She’s quiet, and it’s obvious something’s off. Or is she just tired? She’d told you she’d been sleeping badly recently, has it not yet gotten better? Run your attention over her supple form, smooth skin over tight knuckles, the lilac of the fabric complimenting her drained complexion, dark circles beneath her eyes making the rich coca of her irises deeper, swirling with thought. They flick to you suddenly, shadow being cast across her delicate features as she turns, as if about to speak.

You look down into your lap abruptly, staring at the little carving. “I miss dad,” you blurt out quietly, the words being hauled up your throat, spat out into the air.

Elain stiffens in your peripherals, and your lips press together tight. Heart heavies, shoulders no longer being held taut as you begin to drown into the cushion. “I know…” you begin quietly, thoughts eddying away once you try to grasp for them. Just stare at the maiden holding the drooping daisies. “I was thinking about him,” you say quietly, managing to keep your voice somewhat even. “Earlier, when I was out with Mor,” you clarify, reaching into the bag.

Push the paper apart, reaching for the female figurine. Fingers brush the smooth wood of the carved figure, the pads able to sense the very grain with heightened nerve endings. She’s hewn from a darker material, deep brown and riddled with smooth and polished knots, creating a labyrinthine twist of swirling lines and wrinkles. It was probably once a beautiful piece of trunk, carried from a forest to a carpenters shop, whittled away until the figure emerged.

“I want to speak with you.”

You look up, hand stilling, fingers grasping the carving. Maybe…you’ve learned in the past it’s better to let someone else lead the conversation. Yours don’t seem to go anywhere unless the other is interested in a continuation.

“Okay,” you murmur, releasing the statue, pulling free as you return the bag to your feet, set aside so you can deliver her your full attention. “What is it?”

Elain blinks slowly, and hairs rise on the back of your neck.

“Elain?” You encourage, no more than a whisper.

For a long moment she won’t speak, just watching intently, as if she can see through you and is examining the sub-atomic structure of your soul, down to the bits and bobs between. Stiffen as cocoa bores into you, looking far older than should be possible as the flame flickers dully in muted brown. Throat rolls, trying to maintain the connection, letting her know you’re there. She’s been around for you; it’s the least you can do.

The contact breaks, her lids closing briefly, gaze returning to quietly observe the fire. Taking in its motion—how the heat wells, practically rolling from the hearth to the rugged floorboards. “There’s been something…” Elegant brows dip almost imperceptibly, the edges of her delicate mouth quivering, lips parted on a syllable. Close again, as if the words won’t suffice for what she’s trying to say. The fire almost seems to match her, growing more intense as she stares into it, shadows darkening as they writhe across the walls, like the wings of a great creature.

“I haven’t been sleeping well,” she murmurs absently.

Worry sparks across your chest but you say nothing, allowing her to articulate her thoughts at the pace she wishes.

Cocoa returns to you, the colour of conkers—you can picture them sitting cozily among the branches of a dense forest, perfectly in place. “I need you to be calm,” she says firmly. “Can you do that for me?” Brow narrows in confusion, attention fading form your body as it’s directed to your older sister, posture lithe but firm. Sitting with the preternatural stillness of the fae, and something more… Something beyond what even…

You nod—as if your voice might break whatever she’s fallen into. Might cause a change in mind, your chance to comfort her lost. She stares for a moment longer, quiet and observing. An unwelcome itch builds beneath your knuckles, but you push it away, attention solely on your older sister. Her pupils seem to be the wrong size, as if you’re something far off in the distance that she’s struggling to focus on. Her posture relaxes, silently settling into the depth of her armchair, as if it might hold her together.

“Sleep has been difficult as of late,” she murmurs, eyes locked to yours and you find yourself unable to look away. She keeps herself still; poised; refined. Even in the undress of her lilac night robe, she’s collected, but there’s something off tonight. You nod in understanding—sleeping can be difficult. Especially after the war.

“Have you been taking care of yourself?” The question pulls from your lips before it’s fully formed in your mind. A faint smile sharpens her mouth—hairs prickling at the nape of your neck. Cocoa blinks, and the sharpness has faded, settling into the familiar gentle curve that makes Elain herself. “I’m perfectly fine,” she replies quietly, though her voice is strained. Eyes again run over you, weighing. Again you keep still, enduring the assessment.

Tongue peeks out to wet her lips, shadows flickering across her face as she shifts in her seat. “I’ve been trying some different tonics,” she admits quietly. “Chamomile, root ginger, valerian…they work fine, and I end up falling asleep swiftly.”

A dull wave of relief washes through your system, like a cool balm to desiccated skin. “I’m glad, ‘Lain,” you say softly, happy she’s found a remedy. But Elain shakes her head solemnly, shadows growing darker, weighing beneath her eyes. “It’s not…I’m not struggling with sleep,” she whispers, as if the walls are sitting in on the conversation. Eyes flit about, and your brows narrow. She’s being shifty. “Maybe we should have this conversation in your room,” she murmurs to herself, fingers massaging her temples.

“Elain…” you interject quietly, worry lacing your tone, “are you okay?” Eyes flick to you, heavy with gravity. “I told you, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” You press gently. Could she have been sold another kind of herb? “You don’t seem fine…” She waves her hand dismissively, as if physically able to bat the thought away. She exhales heavily, staring again into the fire. Deep into the flames, like she can see to the other side.

“Chamomile, valerian, send me to sleep fine. It’s just not—” She cuts off, searching for the word. “They don’t send me deep enough,” she murmurs, a slight tremor in her voice. “What do you mean?” You ask, shifting toward her in your seat. Eyes snap to you with the movement, brows curving in a look of…

Fear.

You pull back, comprehending. Lean forward, on the verge of standing to cross the room to be at her side again. Like you were for those initial months. “Elain, what’s wrong?” You repeat, anxious to assuage her anxiety however you can.

“They’re back,” she whispers hoarsely. Fingers tremble in her lap, lightly gripping the lilac of her skirts to calm herself. “It’s the same thing again and again,” she manages, staring at you from across the hearth. “I see you at the edge of a forest with the wolves, traveling with the fox, ending with the…” She shakes her head. Steadying her breathing. Calming her nerves.

“There’s a flash of light—light like starfall, except it itches. Itches and burns. And then he’s down, and bleeding, and—”

“Elain, slow down,” you interrupt, standing from your seat as you hurry to her side, fingers linking with her own to soothe the trembles. Crouch before her, clasping her hands in you own gloved ones. “I don’t understand,” you say, staring up at her. “What are you talking about?”

Cocoa drains, dark and haunted.

“They’re back,” she whispers. “The visions.”

General taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks

Az taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch

cbmthy taglist: @impossibelle @naturakaashi @sakurafrost3-blog @ficienjoyedrbspot @azriels-shadowsinger @marina468 @misstea12 @going-through-shit @fussel9913 @minakay @i-am-infinite @wannabewolf @thegirlintheshadows101 @kennedy-brooke @esposadomd @horneybeach1 @jeannineee @harrystylesfan2686 @tothestarsandwhateverend @abysshaven @starlight-hope @stupidwingboy @nastynesta @luvmoo @furiousbooklover @kuraikei @kemillyfreitas @chasing-autumns-chill @marvelpotter @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @nightcourt-daydreaming @vanderlinde @fall-myriad @historygeekqueen @erin-m-harmon

[your-local-uwu-artist]

it was suggested I post this to the tags as well >:D

fuck it ima tag @transcendence-au as well because tbh I'm very proud of my silly little animation

some me being a nerd under the cut!

okay so this all started when I read the original post this was inspired by and though 'wouldn't it be silly to add some art to this 3 year old post?' but then I decided to animate it for funsies!

and gosh I sure do love animating!

So I got the base sketch and then got into the lineart animation for each component!

i don't have the sketches/wips saved at all sense this wasn't really a project and it took less than a day to complete. but here's a peak at the timeline

I animate entirely in my ususal drawing software: clip studio paint. It's just what's easiest for me.

all of these layers outside that folder are just the sparkles! after I finished I added some sparkles for fun! there's a lot of them because it involved a lot of copy and pasting sparkle layers

the bottom folders here are the wings body and facial expression! for everything like the wings arms and flags I was able to just copy paste, reverse, and then align the timing correctly in the timeline

one thing unique about this animation is that the lineart and colors are in separate layers! I tend to do line and colors on the same layer but this time I was using a brush that doesn't have the same lack of anti-aliasing and sense it's a small animation I wasn't as worried about keeping a minimum of layers like usual.

also the movement of the body is only 4 frames! and one one of those is just the hat shifting position

initially I wasn't going to have the second facial expression but when I got stuck on animating the flags I added the second facial expression while taking a break.

the arm animation is just 8 frames! honestly the only tricky part in this is the flags, everything else was pretty simple, which made it super fun to work on because I got both a challenge and mindless therapeutic drawing out of it.

NOW THE FLAGS there was 3 throw away attempts before I got it: you see the thing that made this tricky is finding the balance between believability and visual appeal. a big part of animation is creating the illusion of physics, this is the 'believability' part, I need these to look like flags that are moving and made of flat fabric, HOWEVER if I animate these one-to-one with realistic physics: it won't look good! I can't apply wind to the whole drawing because then the hair would have to react, and wind goes one way, and I wan't the flags to be pointing opposite directions. so without wind the flags would be laying down flat, but that won't look good at all! and furthermore realistic physics would have the flag not being all nice and front facing most of the time. so the trick here was figuring out how much physics to apply to make it look believable, while still making it look good.

one trick I did to help me animate the flags is I actually made a plan rectangle flag as a guide so that the general mass/volume of the flag would stay consistent, this is something i highly recommend when animating! like having a circle guide along a characters head to keep their height and proportions consistent.

after I finally found the balance with the flag lineart coloring wasn't too hard! sense I just had to follow the lines, and THANK GOODNESS the trans and aroace flag have the same number of stripes: saving me time!

and then it all comes together to make a satisfying perfectly looping bundle of cuteness >:DDD I feel like the tau fandom doesn't have as many artists with particularly cartoony/chibi art styles so I've gotta play my part in spreading the joy-whimsy-adorable-sillys >:D

anyway! hope you get to see a cool beetle today :D

[duckprintspress]

Happy Word Nerd Day! Meet Some Words We Love

We love words at Duck Prints Press, and we also love that words have a special, dedicated day when we can babble about how much we love them! Last year, we shared some of our favorite words. This year, we focused on words we’ve used in our stories and how we’ve (hopefully correctly!) used them. Contributors were asked to tell us one word they loved, and share with us a sentence from their own work in which they used the word. Ready to meet some cool words? Read on!

besmirch - to cause harm or damage to the purity, luster, or beauty of (something)

“Garbage goals win games,” Brady added. “Do not besmirch the good name of garbage goals.”

Hockey Bois by A. L. Heard

-

apoplectic - showing symptoms of apoplexy or stroke

He gasped and screamed, and as he recovered, she [tazed him] a third time, watching him shake apoplectically with a satisfied smile.

A Glimmer of Hope by Nina Waters

-

susurrus - a whispering or rustling sound

The susurrus of his voice amplifies and folds in on itself until your name is a knife, and Vash is the carver who fashions your wooden, deadened limbs.

but heaven still holds me by thechaoscryptid

-

supple - capable of being bent or folded without creases, cracks, or breaks

Laurel grounded themself with the feel of the books in their hands, the supple thickness of the covers, the pale scent of paper and glue, the quiet of the store around them.

Troubled Trouble by Genevieve Maxwell

-

variegated - having discrete markings of different colors

[His tail] glimmers in the moonlight: a dark, variegated green, with shimmering threads of gold swirling along the edges of the scales and fins

on the strangest Sea by MuseofWriting

-

azimuth - horizontal direction expressed as the angular distance between the direction of a fixed point and the direction of the object

He says that, since you're in New York, what you'll need to do is find Uranus with your telescope, then turn it about 3° west (or, as he initially put it, 3° back azimuth).

Dear Stupid Penpal by Rascal Hartley

-

unmoored - loosened from or as if from moorings

Haruki didn’t know what Akira wanted to hear. He kept smiling. Even now that the drugs had mostly worked their way out of his system and the shakes were mostly done, he felt light-headed. Adrift. Unmoored.

In Good Company by Nicola Kapron

-

elytra - one of the anterior wings in beetles and some other insects that serve to protect the posterior pair of functional wings

It slid into space, hardened sections on its back spreading like a beetle’s elytra to reveal the great engines that were its wings.

Sarisa by N. C. Farrell

-

Forsooth - in truth

“Oh yes, such a delectable morsel.” Poe held a 3D rendition of the drive in his hand, where it sat easily enough to be hidden in a fist. “Forsooth, I did see its likeness change hands within my halls. You’ll understand, of course, that the identity of the buyer is sacrosanct? They might instill in most people nothing more than a vague disgust and draw the contempt deserved by the lowest of the slubberdegullion, but they are still a guest?”

Chase the Morning by Hermit9

-

anserine - of, relating to, or resembling a goose

An alarm goes off, a full-throated anserine metronome complete with lazy red strobes.

Anglerfish by S. J.

-

ostensibly - to all outward appearances

Dean blinked and flicked to the contents page, ostensibly looking for the promised hot girls enjoying the summer.

Sunshine Commune by foxymoley

[cursednobility]

Rereading Fourth Wing and Xaden said something that kind of got me thinking and I'm not sure if anyone has mentioned this before and it may be nothing at all but I thought I'd share my thoughts. (Also I'm really not great at getting my thoughts out sometimes so I'm sorry if this doesn't make sense and I haven't finished my reread so I hope I am remembering things correctly)

So on pg 131 of Fourth Wing Violet is telling Xaden she is too short to scale the gauntlet and he says "the right way isn't the only way" this reminded me of a moment in the show Once Upon A Time, where Prince Charming, a fairytale character that is depicted as being a hero and a beacon of good says "we have to do this the right way" and another character says "no, we don't. We just have to succeed." They eventually do succeed by breaking the "rules" and working with some villains to defeat the main, worse, villain. (Gryphon riders and Venin maybe?)

I have a feeling that the way the rest of this series goes will follow that quote. The right way isn't the only way.

By the end of fourth wing we learn that the way they are taught is wrong, what they are raised believing is right is really wrong and they are fighting this war for the wrong reasons. The "right way", i.e., the way they are taught isn't the way they are going to succeed in this war.

By the end of Iron Flame Xaden is faced with becoming a villain. He makes a difficult choice and some could argue it was a wrong choice, it wasn't the "right way to do things" he didn't need to draw venin powers and he could've let Violet die but making that "wrong choice" helped them to succeed.

So what if by the end of Onyx storm Xaden is full venin (but not fully evil like he's still in there or whatever) and that somehow leads to them making a breakthrough about defeating venin. The right way would be to not turn venin obviously, but maybe going down that alternative route, making that wrong decision is what eventually leads them to succeed?

And then the next 2 books will be them taking that into action(and healing xaden) and by teaming up with their original villains and then by even becoming another villain is how they succeed in taking down that true main villain. The have to make the seemingly wrong decisions in order to win.

That quote just stuck out to me and I feel like it could have more meaning to it than just getting Violet over the gauntlet. I'm also sure I'm forgetting things like maybe there are more instances this quote could apply to so far. I really need to finish my reread and keep an eye on this.

But what do you guys think?

[impala-dreamer]

His Return

A Supernatural Story

~Walking alone at night can be deadly.~

Vampire!Dean Winchester x Reader

1,780 Words

Warnings: NSFW, Major Character Death, Vampirism. 

A/N: First published to Patreon July 2022. See what you're missing?

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works  

The night is cold. Steely wind nips at your cheeks and you draw your coat a little tighter across your chest. Moonlight leads you home, beaming down through the haze of midnight and you free it from oil-slicked puddles as you walk down the alley.

You’ve walked this way a thousand times before, but tonight it feels different- there’s something lurking in the corner of your vision, some hidden danger that sturs your senses and makes every hair stand on end.

A flutter of wings catches your ear and you turn with a gasp; just a pigeon fleeing the dumpster. You laugh at yourself and continue on; there’s work to be done tomorrow and not much more time for sleep.

Another noise strikes your attention and you spin again, nerves on edge, mind reeling with illogical fears. It’s the heavy footfall of a boot, familiar yet unscheduled, but when you turn, there’s nothing behind you except the night.

“Stop being such a pussy, Y/N,” you laugh at yourself, turning back to face the shadows and your shortcut home.

One step and you’re slamming into solid muscle.

“Holy shit!” you scream and try to run, but a hand clamps down around your elbow and holds you steady. The grip is strong and cold, and you look up with fear in your heart.

Green eyes sparkle in the moonlight.

“Dean?”

A soft smile curls his plump lips. “Heya, Y/N/N.”

It’s been forever since you last saw the hunter; a few years in fact. He’d been the only one to believe you when you ranted to the police about how a monster had taken your little sister. Sure enough, by week’s end, you were standing hip to hip with the strange fake Fed, covered in blackish goo and sharing a victory kiss beneath the stars.

He left before dawn that night, speeding away in his giant black boat of a car. To see him returned was both welcomed and jarring. Something had to be amiss.

“Holy crap- you scared the shit out of me!”

His hold on your elbow vanishes and he stuffs his hands in his jacket pockets. He dips his chin and looks at you through perfectly thick lashes. “Sorry about that.” He smiles and your heart melts a bit, remembering what those lips could do. “I saw you walkin’ alone and thought- well… You really shouldn’t be walking alone this late at night, Y/N.”

A laugh tickles your throat. “I’ve done a lot worse. As you remember.”

He laughs with you at that, a little chuckle that lifts his broad shoulders. “That I do. But still- it’s… dangerous out here.”

Reaching into your bag, you pull up your secret weapon. “I’ve got pepper spray and a mean right hook.”

Dean looks away and back; a slick smile tugging on his lips as he wipes a hand down his cheek. “Oh, that I remember well.”

“Yeah. Sorry about that…”

His eyes flash over your face and your breath catches in your throat. “Don’t be. I was impressed.”

Pride swell in your gut but something’s still wrong. “Why are you here?” you blurt out, staring up at him as if he’s some ghost from the past, and well, he is. “I mean- it’s nice to see you but-”

“Seeing me is like a bad omen, huh?”

He looks away and you feel bad. “Not like that, but- kinda? I mean- you only show up when monsters are lurking.”

Dean lets out a deep laugh as if he can’t help it and his green eyes turn back to dig into yours. “Monsters…” He sighs heavily and shakes his head. “I don’t know about that.” He licks his lips slowly and your mind is shoved back in time, right back into the backseat of that damned Impala. “Anyway- why don’t we get you off the streets, huh?”

“Do I remind you of a working girl, Mr. Winchester?”

He smiles and you swear he’s trying to kill you with it. “You know what I mean.” He crooks his elbow and holds it out for you. “If I remember correctly, your apartment isn’t far-”

“Correct.” Your hand slides a bit too easily onto his arm, fitting perfectly in the hollow of his elbow.

You turn together and head into the shadows, not caring about the puddles underfoot or the cold wind attacking your cheeks. Dean seems to shield you from more than just the wind- you feel safe in his arms, careless and free.

“So, just passing through town?”

He nods, looking straight ahead. “Something like that.”

“Sam with you?”

He isn’t revealing much, hiding all behind a soft smile that crinkles around his eyes and turns your mind to mush. “No. Sam’s- not with me.”

“Oh well. I hope he’s doing OK…”

“I don’t wanna talk about Sam.” Dean stops at the foot of your stairs, memory guiding him straight to your building. He grabs your hand and you spin with him, falling against his chest as he tugs you close. “Do you?”

Staring up at him, you lose all sense of time and space and it’s just like it was a few years ago. He’s strong and tall, mysterious and beautiful; a hero there to guide you back to the light.

“Ya know,” you whisper, pushing up on your toes to try to reach his lips. “I really couldn’t care less.”

Dean dips his chin and brings his lips close, hovering there, giving you the option to pull away. With a smile, you do the opposite, pushing in and kissing him hard.

He exhales against your cheek, tips his head to the side, parts his lips. His tongue juts out, swiping over your bottom lip and you hum at the memory of it. His left hand finds the nape of your neck and he holds you there with freezing fingers that seer into your flesh.

Pulling back, you’re stunned to find his eyes open and focused; every ounce of his attention on you.

“Do you- wanna come up?” you ask, surprising only yourself. Dean seems to know you’d offer, waiting patiently for you to catch up.

“I’d love to.”

He follows closely up the three flights of stairs and you rack your brain to try to remember what panties you have on; if it’s the lacy bra or the junky one.

Your breath is fast with climbing and nerves when you finally reach your door, but Dean is steady, appearing behind you almost too quickly.

“The- the place is kinda messy. Sorry. Wasn’t expecting- um… you.”

Dean swallows visibly, his upper lip twitching as you push open the door. “Don’t worry about it.”

His tone has changed slightly; the feel of him ass well. Gone are the familiar shy smiles, the feeling of being wooed. He seems stiff, focused.

He stands back as you step inside.

“Well,” you laugh, watching him hover in the doorway. “Come in.”

His boot is hesitant to step over the threshold, but he does and he breaths in the room, scanning the apartment quickly.

“Nice place.”

The door shuts and locks behind you.

“Thanks. As I said, usually not so messy-”

Dean holds up a hand and waves you off. “It’s great.” He spins on his heel and soon you’re back in his arms, cradled delicately against his chest. “Just like- you…”

A smile bubbles up from deep inside and your cheeks burn. “Dean- did you come back here just for me?”

His fingers tangle in your hair and he tugs, lifting your shy eyes to his. “And if I said yes?”

Your answer is a kiss that closes your eyes and makes him moan. You lean closer, pressing yourself against him. Hips and chest and thighs all crashing together as you give yourself over to him with a push of your lips.

He responds instantly. The hand in your hair tightens, the other digs into your lower back, locking you to him.

It’s a mad rush to the bedroom; so hard to walk and shed clothing between maddening kisses.

He lays you down, drags his calloused fingers down your naked body, teasing and pinching and driving you wild. His name falls from your lips in desperate moans as he licks at your skin; plump lips planting bruises from throat to hip. He’s feverish- grasping at every inch of you like you’re water in the desert.

“Need you,” he whispers, throat dry and torn.

You push a hand through his hair and bite your lip. “All yours…”

He presses inside, spreading your thighs wide with his hips. The stretch is deep and exquisite and you toss your head back against the mattress, savouring every inch of him as your body tightens.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you.”

He stares, eyes hard and wild. Still thrusting slowly, Dean drops down, covering your body with his. The crush is heavy, knocks the breath from your lungs. A big hand wraps beneath you, a cool hand covers the nape of your neck. Fingers, long and deft, lock around your jaw from beneath and turn your head to the side.

You gasp, struggling to breathe beneath his weight as pleasure and fear collide in your chest.

“Dean-”

“Be still,” he growls, lips tickling your ear. He pulls back for a moment and the corner of your eye tricks your vision. He bares his teeth; tiny fangs dropping like magic before he attacks, sinking them deep into your throat.

Your heart pounds, pumping blood to meet the heavy pull of his beautiful lips.

“Dean!” You claw at his shoulders, strangled and desperate to be released.

The pull is strong and the room starts to spin.

He thrusts harder, moaning loudly as he drains the life from your veins and nears his climax.

The numbness starts in your fingertips, works its way up your arms; the muscles protest and relax, leaving you limp and empty beneath him.

“So fucking perfect,” he groans, swallowing the last drop just as he cums. His timing is perfection and he cries out in ecstasy; his entire body vibrating with your blood and his pleasure. “Just like I thought you’d be.”

He doesn’t bother to clean up, just drags his jeans up his thick thighs and tugs on his layers of flannel and canvas.

“Another fun stop on the Dean Winchester Memory Tour.” He laughs at his mess: your arm is bent wrong; your legs are forever open and your cunt leaks with his cum.

He kisses your forhead before he leaves and your eyes stare into the shadows.

“I told you it was dangerous to be walking alone…”

He doesn’t bother to shut the door behind him.

2023 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)

@aditimukul @agirlwithdemonblood @amanda-teaches @akshi8278 @alwayskeepfightingsweetheart @b3autyfuldisast3r @babysimpala @beardburnsupersoldiers @because-imma-lady-assface @bloodline1632 @charred-angelwings @chenshemesh1 @cosicas-cuquis @covered-byroses @djs8891 @deanwinchesterswitch @deansyahtzee @feelmyroarrrr @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @iamsapphine @idreamofdeanie @ilsawasanacrobat @impalaspixie @jawritter @justcallmeasmodeus @kazsrm67 @kittenofdoomage @leigh70 @lovealways-j @lyarr24 @mariekoukie6661 @maggiegirl17 @mistressofallthingsgeeky @pandaxo79 @peachy-vans @rachiem4-blog @roseblue373 @sacriceria @samwellwinchesterthebrave @sexyvixen7 @spideysimpossiblegirl @spnexploration @stevekempscocktails @the-wounded-healer05 @thoughts-and-funnies @vulgar-library 

[aquaquadrant]

Hi there. I’m going insane and it’s your fault. Like I discovered your absolute emotional masterpiece of a fanfic the other day and it’s all I think about anymore I’m so obsessed; I downloaded tumblr bc of you and I don’t really know how this site works but I do know how to click the ask button so that’s your problem now. I got words for you

First off: HOLy the writing and the voices are so good??? Like the characters say things the way their irl counterparts would say it? How?? Teach me your ways? Actually tho what did you do to learn to do that, is it innate, do you practice?

Second: “He wouldn’t have known the sight of Tango’s pale skin flushing bright red all the way down his chest.” That sentence just kinda stuck out to me from the last chapter… for some reason... anyways (idk what my point is here but it sure has got me thinking thoughts :P )

Third: I said I was obsessed, and I think it was an understatement. I didn’t study for my chem final because of this (still got an A tho so dw) and I went to bed for three days straight thinking about it and I woke up every morning thinking about it. (It took a solid hour to snap myself out of it when I actually needed to get work done lol) And on the plane ride home for break I drew some things so I’ll just leave these here if you don’t mind (umm ignore the tango faces on the first page and his left hand on the second, there's something Wrong™ about them I gotta practice, ok?)

idk if the formatting is good or whatever but here they are

As you can see I love love love the scene after the nightmare. If I remember correctly, Tango started wearing the gloves to protect his claws so they could heal after he escaped, and then when Jimmy gets hurt he just instinctively gives them to him?? Hello, the symbolism??? Tango just surrenders his own protection, both physically, because he would rather protect Jimmy, but also emotionally bc it immediately reveals what he considers a flaw in himself, monstrous, hideous. And Jimmy sees him throw the walls up again, “He quickly shoves the gloves at Jimmy, moving to get up. “I’ll uh, I’ll get another pair tomorrow-”” but Jimmy won’t let him, instead looks at what could be considered Tango’s entire soul —his trauma, his Hels origin, the feral, blaze side of him, the side that lies and hides and lashes out at any who get too close, the “ugliest” parts of him —and loves him despite it? Even sees the beauty in him? Yea, no, I’m normal about that—

Anyways idk how long these things are supposed to be but I have a couple more thoughts so you’re still stuck with me. Ummm let’s see… I adore your impulse design. So I’m taking that, thanks. (If that’s ok) also was thinking about how Jimmy would wear shirts with the wings getting in the way (see bottom of 2nd pic), and then thought maybe that’s why he’s so good at embroidery or sewing in general, cuz he has to make custom clothes. And then I thought what if he made some *cough* outfits and had Tango judge them… or asked for help putting on/taking off a particularly difficult shirt... haven’t had time to draw that yet but ya know… one day. Aaaaand the blaze rods could theoretically make a pretty cool fire crown when Tango's angry, also blazes do damage when you touch them, but I don't think you get set on fire? So it must be the blaze rods themselves doing damage, so I imagine when Tango's fighting they swirl around him both to attack whoever gets too close and to block any incoming projectiles (see middle left of 1st pic). +gradients on the blaze rods :]

Last thing, I showed my sister the fic last night and she’s already read through it twice so you’ve infected two of us. We were theorizing on what’ll happen next chapter. We both think that the others will piece together, to some extent, Tango’s backstory before they figure out how to remove the collar, what with the cuffs he wears, the comments Atlas made about a farm, Atlas’s mentioning about using Jimmy that way for his feathers, etc etc. and the comment that Tango can hear everything? Yea, no, when that collar comes off he’s gonna be distraught, I’m wagering that everything immediately bursts into flames around him or something (cuz that’d be cool). I think he'll probably try to run away, too, but we'll see

Anyways, that’s not all my thoughts but this is getting pretty long, so maybe I’ll send another ask later if that’s alright. Have a good day! Post again soon! Please. Please I'm begging you. For my sanity plea-

(actually tho take ur time. quality is worth it, and this is nothing but quality)

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! omg welcome. this was genuinely SUCH a lovely ask to read, but i wanna take the time to properly answer it so i’m gonna continue under the cut cause boy can i ramble

first off: HELLO, you got a tumblr bc of HTP?? incredible. i’m honored that this gay angsty little block man au was your introduction to the hellsite (affectionate). and don’t worry, i welcome asks no matter the length (tho i might not get to everything in a timely manner)

second of all: i’m SO happy you enjoyed my character voices. that’s definitely something that’s taken a bit of practice, especially for more understated characters that don’t have super obvious or unique vocal traits/vernaculars. i find it helpful to a) have spent a decent amount of time watching the source material and b) always go over my dialogue with the character’s voice in my mind, and see if it sounds like something they’d actually say. ofc, sometimes liberties can be taken based on the plot/setting of a fic but generally i spend a lot of time and effort on getting character voices right, so i appreciate the appreciation <3

thirdly: i like that particular sentence too ;0

fourth: THAT ART THO??? oh man. impulse looks amazing (i’ve always loved demon!impulse and gotta credit @lunarcrown for bringing that vision to life 💃) and the wings are SO well done, like you conveyed that leathery thin bat skin texture perfectly. the various tangos are SICK, i luuuuv seeing him in full blaze rage mode, using those blaze rods to their full effect. and those hands… goddamn. not only do i respect the hand anatomy but the ROSES… the shackles and their metallic texture… the gradient on tango’s claws… chef’s kiss 💋👌 and THANK YOUUU the post-nightmare scene was one of my favorites from that chapter, and you’ve summed it up beautifully.

moving on: as with all of lunar’s designs, she’s happy to inspire so BEHOLD, DEMON IMPULSE UPON YE (that’s a yes from both of us LOL) i love ur idea about jimmy making custom shirts to work around his wings, that’s one of those little details i never put much thought into but it fits so nicely with him being into embroidery. so jimmy def makes a lot of his own clothes (and occasionally some for tango), co-signed and approved. and ur on the right track about tango’s blaze rods- most of his defensive fire comes directly from them, doing that crazy swirly fireball thing that actual blaze do, but he does also have the ability to produce fire from his hands, he just doesn’t do it often. it takes a bit more concentration and practice, and he spent so long trying not to use his abilities that it doesn’t come second nature to him anymore. he was way more of a fire starter as a kid in hels.

last but not least: AWW it’s so sweet u got ur sister into the au (lord knows i’ve dragged mine into many a fandom 😂) glad y’all enjoyed it so much, AND now u have someone to theorize with 👀 i won’t say anything more on the matter other than i hope to get the next chapter out over the next couple weeks, so stay tuned…

[brella-boi]

Well it's that time again where Jay attempts to make another fursuit but this time from scratch and of a creature that has Zero Tutorials documented on because I hate my life apparently

DANGO TIME!

This guy is a fantasy hybrid based on a pangolin. That's all we really need to know because the prominant feature is his pangolin scales, and the rest is made up.

BASE MATERIALS WE'RE GONNA USE:

EVA foam- high density 1cm

EVA foam- low density 5mm

Normal foam 1in thick for neck

Normal foam 1cm thick for scales

Craft foam as a tester

Fabrics

Eye mesh

Googly eyes

Magnets

The core features of this head I want to incorporate are:

Moving jaw

Detatchable magnetic ears and antennae

Whiskers on springs

Removable neck on a zipper

Removable tongue

Parts I'd like to make:

Head

Paws

Wings (tryhard)

Tail (tryhard x2)

Feet (what is wrong with you)

This is no easy project and I only have about a month to tackle this so lets get to it!

Starting with a simple little model from sculpey, I taped it with masking tape, marked the pattern down, cut it up, traced on paper, then went to scaling it up on my computer which was no easy feat. But in the end we have ended up with a more or less correctly size pattern.

For the test of seeing if its fits and is sized correctly I used flimsy craft foam to put it together and immediately found it Too Large. But otherwise I liked the shape!

Back to the digital drawing board, rescaling, crushing the snoot in from being too long aaaaaand I was out of craft foam so I used a cardboard box instead (it worked better than the craft foam honeslty.)

And it looks pretty good! The size is nice and its pretty sturdy. Only adjustements that were needed was scrunching up the jaw a little and lifting the cheakbone some. I added the brow spines and secondary cheek and we got ourselves a good base!

It's still a large-ish head, but I cannot go smaller due to how big the eyes gotta be, but it's okay.

Thankfully the head is pretty blocky on this guy, so I don't exactly have to worry too much about organic shapes (for once)

The sight on this guy is going to be great too. The eyes are going to be domes using large googly eyes which are 10cm in diameter. That gives a GREAT peripheral vision to the sides, but not much in the front which is fairly normal for fursuit. Thankfully though the jaw will move, so Ill have extra sight through the jaws.

Day 1 complete! Next day: Using EVA foam for the proper base.

[crimium]

Mandela's Leftovers Vol. 1 - False Miracles

Merry Christmas, everyone! Today I have a special gift to share.

Today, I'd like to go over some of the unused, extra, and prototype content that I made for my game, False Miracles. Think of it as sort of a look-back on everything I've done this year.

Well, let's get started!

Concept Art / Character Concepts

Aero

Aero was the first character I ever designed specifically for False Miracles. He was meant to be a personification of the Frutiger Aero aesthetic, specifically inspired by Windows Aero design from Vista/7.

This was the first drawing I made of Aero, for a discord server art contest. I drew this around the time I was still making Aquatopia, so my art style was a bit different.

This is the rough sketch of their cut-in portraits. I decided to give him a more silly atmosphere, so I give them that :3 face, lol. Also, some people have said that his shoes look like crocs. That wasn't intentional, but perhaps I'll roll with it if it's the majority opinion.

Adrian Pélagique

I designed Adrian after I designed Aero. Frutiger Aero as an aesthetic often portrays both technology and aquatic life. While Aero was the technological side of things, Adrian was meant to represent the Aquatic aspect of it.

This is a drawing I made of him on a school whiteboard around the time I was developing the demo. He's probably my favorite to consistently draw.

This is the sketch of his cut-ins. It was also the drawing where I designed him. For many of the characters, I was improvising their design while drawing their cut-ins. At this point, Adrian did not have a color-scheme yet.

Þ (Thorn)

Thorn was designed after I designed Adrian. Another aspect of Frutiger Aero is nature and plants. So, Aero, Adrian, and Thorn are kind of like the Fruitger Aero personification trinity, lol.

This is a drawing I did of Thorn recently, I imagine this is her casual attire, when she's not gardening. Her fashion sense is inspired by my grandma.

And, her cut-in rough sketches. Like Adrian, her design was created on the spot.

Nisali Adriel

Unlike the last few characters, Nisali is not inspired by the Frutiger Aero aesthetic, because she's actually a character I created long before I created False Miracles, for a Dungeons and Dragons campaign. I still play her as a character in D&D regularly, actually!

This was the earliest design I could find for her, from a character sheet from around 2021-2022? Her design and clothes are quite different. Note she doesn't have her wings. If I remember correctly, they used to be retractable?

and here's the sketches of her final design. This is also the design I use in D&D campaigns where I play as her. Quite a bit has changed!

Onyx "Roadkiller" Schäfer

While Roadkiller isn't necessarily inspired by Frutiger Aero, they still have that 2000s air to them, and I think that aids the game. I wanted to design a character of rebellious nature, taking inspiration from alternative fashion.

I believe this is the first proper drawing I made of them. Not much changed from this and their final design, although they did not have a color scheme yet.

This is the cut-in rough sketches. I notice that I left some of the details that required line-less art out of the rough sketch, so I could do it later. I also had their tongue out in their boss attack pose, but got rid of it for some reason. I don't remember why lmao

Skyler Woods

People who've been following me for a while probably knew about this character before False Miracles. I featured them as the main character of an old album of mine called "Into the Woods" which is very old now, lol.

Some old art I made of them in like, 2022? Meant for a sequel album to Into the Woods that I never ended up making.

Eventually I repurposed them for False Miracles as a sort of tribute to my old work. I also like them as a character, and wanted to use them more. Perhaps they can appear in all my work as a sort of sign that what you're looking at is made by me, or something.

Other / Misc

The sketch I made for Magu's sprite. Magu is a guest character, and was created by @d6ggyb0x. So if you want more of Magu, go follow him!!

This is art of Skyler and Thorn when they were younger. I'd imagine this is what they looked like in High School.

Originally, I wanted there to be alt-color palettes for you to choose from. These are ones I made for the demo, that I never ended up implementing.

Unused Assets

These are graphics that I planned on using in-game, but never did.

Unused Achievements

These are icons for achievements that I never ended up implementing due to time constraints. The first one was for clearing all Story Mode routes, and the other two were for clearing a match without using lives or bombs.

Unused Border

Originally, I wanted to include mini-games or something like that, sort of like Plants Vs. Zombies. This would've been the graphic used for those, since you wouldn't be competing against a CPU in some of them. This was scrapped pretty early on, because I thought it might've been too much of a task to implement. Maybe I might try something like this in the future.

Unused Staff-roll images

These were two graphics I wanted to use in the staff roll. Instead of the scrolling city, I wanted this image to pan from the grass up to the sky. It's a picture I took myself, but when I tested it out, the image quality was too low when zoomed in. So I never used it. The ball would've bounced around the screen, but I threw it out because I thought it might be too distracting.

Unused Music

These are songs that I wanted to be in the game, but I threw out before release.

*Note: The songs you hear were originally composed in Online Sequencer, but were remade in LMMS like the other songs to be accurate to the final version of the game.

Aquarium ~Vibraphone Version~

This was an unused version of Adrian's theme. The version you hear in game would've played normally, but when Adrian sent over a boss attack, it would switch to this version.

This would've been a cool concept, but ultimately with how limiting Scratch is as an engine, would've been a nightmare to implement. So I didn't use it.

Photosynthesis

This was originally meant to be Thorn's theme. When I was first creating Thorn as a character, I imagined her with a more bratty, childish attitude, but as I started designing her more and more and started writing for her, she changed to a more motherly, optimistic and friendly character, so ended up making a new theme for her. This one is okay, but in retrospect, I'm kind of glad I never used it. I think Serenity fits Thorn much better.

Looking back on this year, I'm really happy with how much I was able to accomplish this year. There were times where I thought I would never even finish this project, but I'm glad I did it. Thank you so much for sticking around. Happy Holidays, and I hope you have a Happy New Year!!

-Crimium

[tecceran]

xbc3 off-seer toya sketch

ramblings under cut

!!spoiler warning for all three of the numbered xenoblade games!! mostly the first two actually. i imagine if any reads this, it will be a curious pjsk fan who doesn’t really care about xenoblade, but proceed at your own risk.

…

i have ideas for all of the pjsk characters i just don’t have the patience to draw them all out.

i wanted all the natural pairs set up by the game to be one agnian/one kevesi so they could be ouroboros. they’re also probably all off-seers or wannabe off-seers because that’s really the only music in aionios.

i’ll at least talk about vbs here.

toya is the off-seer for a kevesi colony. he has a pretty high percentage of high entia blood, so he still has pretty big headwings (compared to others in 3, not pure blood high entia) but they match his hair color. for some reason his dad feels like the type who would have been a high entia blood purist, but toya made it to aionios somehow so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

akito is agnian and would become toya’s ouroboros partner. he’s also an off-seer, but like mio he probably got drafted into the role due to his prowess when he really just wanted to be a great fighter and make it to his homecoming. he’s gormotti and has the cat ears. also face stripes. they might just be a nia thing but i think they’re fun. i imagine you don’t see his core crystal much like taion, but he could have a flesh eater’s core crystal.

if i’m remembering correctly, agnian colonies commonly have two off-seers, so an would be in the same colony as akito. i feel like she definitely has to have the fire hair like sena and brighid. like she’s already got the gradient, it’s perfect. i don’t imagine her having a peculiarly shaped core crystal, but she could have ether lines like sena as well. she probably is more naturally in tune with off-seeing than akito, but he has the edge in combat. they probably has a similar relationship to canon where they poke fun at each other and argue, but they take care of each other when things get rough.

for kohane i think she comes from a different kevesi colony than toya. her colony’s off-seer just died unexpectedly, so kohane took up the mantle as the new off-seer for the colony. maybe toya’s colony is nearby so he helped train her like crys with noah. i know there’s like a kevesi off-seer school/training program but i don’t care. kohane is just a basic homs like noah. an is her ouroboros partner, too

[edit:]

as far as combat stuff, i think kohane is an attacker, an would be an attacker, but in more of a debuff-y way, akito a dodge tank (i picture him similarly to mio), and toya could be a healer.

i think the flutes are customized to the off-seer in game? so everyone gets a custom one + a charm. toya’s charm is a wing but i might change it later. akito’s is a lightning bolt. an’s is a star. not sure about kohane yet either but maybe she’ll just have a ring similar to noah since she’s new to off-seeing.

also thinking toya maybe caught the eye of a consul while in off-seer and was taught violin. i’m not sure if off-seer flutes are made specifically somehow that allows the special motes to rise, but i say toya’s violin is customized and it can raise motes.

maybe the way toya’s dad is worked in is that he’s the consul (tho not literally toya’s bio dad then) that teaches toya violin, and then toya has a whole arc about coming to terms with the fact consuls are bad because he was close to one.

he’s temporarily at kohane’s colony teaching her when the whole ouroboros thing happens.

toya’s instrument could be worked into his blade like glimmer, but i kinda like the idea that it’s an actual instrument not made for battle in anyway. and it means he gets to stand over a battlefield and play a haunting violin melody.

[wish-upon-a-star-official]

The Stella Crids designs right now

As of current, these are the designs for the magical creatures known as Stella Crids Here I will explain what they are, which constellation they are from, and why I made them look the way they do. I won't be sharing their names due to some aren't set in stone, and others I'm still deciding names for them. Just reminder, the Stella Crids are all named after stars in their constellations Another thing, their gender. Naturally they don't have a gender, but it's common for them to prefer certain pronouns to others. And as of now, their pronouns aren't 100% set in stone I would also like to show, the characters that I rebranded for this series use to look like this

So you can tell that most of them did end up keeping their original ideas as I worked on their Stella Crids.

Stella Crids as of now have a few design choices 1. Their tail always has some star on it. 2. Their head will always have some sta(s) on their head/ears 3. They have a star like mark on thier foreheads 4. They all have wings that are usually white. It doesn't matter what type of wings. 5. They all are kinda sparkly since they are made of starlight. (sometimes i may have forgotten to draw these elements)

This is the Stella Crid for the hero that I have based off of Andromeda. I made it a pegasus since the Pegasus Constellation is incredibly close to Andromeda. He's blue due to if i remember correctly, that is a color connected to the chained princess.

This is the Stella Crid I gave to the hero based off the Fornax constellation. She is supposed to resemble a phoenix in a small way (but not fully look like a bird) due to I wanted a beast the represent fire since Fornax is a furnace. And the red for her is due to that fire aspect

This is the Stella Crid for the hero that represents the Pyxis constellation. Due to Pyxis is the sailor's compass, I tried to make it resemble a little of a dolphin since dolphins are known to help sailors. When I looked up colors that are connected to Pyxis, it gave me blue and orange for some reason. I may adjust those colorings later on.

This is the Stella Crid I made for the hero that represents Leo. I think it makes sense that it is a lion. I gave him those style of wings to test out using different looks for the wings on these little guys.

This is the Stella Crid I had made for the hero that represents Lepus. Again, self-explained the animal. I liked the idea of it having fairy like wings to give more of a docile look to it since I imagine this little one to be, well, docile. But it's also used to make people be shocked that this bunny ends up being tough. I don't know why I made the bunny yellow, I just liked the idea.

This is the Stella Crid I gave for the hero that will represent Libra. I did research on this but butterflies can also represent justice, fitting for the scale constellation. I remember looking up and digging somewhere if green would work to represent Libra for some reason since I really wanted to use it. I think green works due to its a majestic color as it is.

This is the Stella Crid that I made for the hero that will represent Perseus. This creature I tried to make to look like a fusion between a scaly beast and a horse, due to Perseus is connected to the lore of Andromeda and Cassieopia. That lore involving a winged horse in Perseus story before going over to Andromeda's and the scaly creature later on.

This is the Stella Crid I made for someone that represents the constellation Cygnus. I once again tried to make one that slightly resembles a bird, but tried to make it more majestic since it's to be a more wise Stella Crid, having been active longer than the others. I made him a light blue due to that seems to be a color connected to this swan. He also gave me the idea that Stella Crid's can have different size wings, which I may try to play around with later on. (Maybe the wing size shows it's age) Now you may be thinking, these are all hero Stella Crids, where is the one for the villain? I want to make a separate post on the villain and her Stella Crid when I figure out her objective.

[tadpolesonalgae]

Chapter 9

A/N: Please defer to warning section in Chapter 1

-Chapter 8-

You’re transported to a room of low light—Rhys’ bedroom, you realise.

It’s cavernous, decadently large for one male, though there are currently three in the room alongside you. The High Lord releases you enough for you to scan the room—at least allowing you the opportunity to gather your surroundings before they pounce.

Your eyes mark the Spymaster first, stood by the open window, moonlight catching in his inky hair, making it appear like the softest silk. He shifts on his feet, dark, starving hunger in the depths of his gaze, clouds of billowing lust making you swallow.

Movement catches your eyes, tearing them away from the Shadowsinger.

Your eyes widen marginally as you locate Cassian.

He’s been tied up, as Rhys had claimed. The male’s hands are bound to each of the chair arms, the no-doubt enchanted rope shackling his wrists and biceps to keep him still. Each of his ankles are in turn tied to the wooden legs, his torso pinned against the seat to keep him from moving.

There’s a wooden table before him, as if he’s preparing for a feast—the furniture lengthways to him.

His wings flare slightly at his back when he spots you, drawing a muffled sound from his throat.

Shadows are gagging him, you realise.

“Cassian,” you breath, snapping your head toward the Shadowsinger, concern shining in your eyes. “Is he—”

Azriel crushes his mouth against yours, tongue sweeping in with such dominance and hunger it makes your knees weak. His scarred hands cup your jaw, angling you correctly so he can delve deeper, taste all of you, mark all of you.

A needy sound of surprise is pulled from you as his scarred hands grip your waist brutally, tugging you hard against him, hips dragging against your body as he begins to satiate himself. At your back, you feel Rhysand approach, squishing you into Azriel’s chest as you’re sandwiched between them.

His hands grip your hips, dragging his cock over the swell of your ass as he nips and bites at your neck, already beginning to paint his colours into your skin.

You whimper, unsure where to put your hands. You’ve been in this line of business for around three centuries and you’ve never had an experience where you’ve been so thoroughly overwhelmed—so completely dominated. So completely okay with it.

You’re about to settle your hands over Azriel’s upper arms when he growls, hands dropping to your thighs as he shoves the hem of your dress up, pulling it away as Rhys’ deft fingers work on the ties at your back so they can be rid of it. You’re reduced to your underthings within the span of seconds, and the males growl as they take you in.

Azriel’s cold hazel eyes trace over the red lace set you had adorned yourself in, the matching ruby red heels that accentuated the nail varnish you’d decorated the tips of your fingers in—as if they had been dipped in blood. He grips you by the throat while Rhys’ powerful arms snake around your waist, hand settling with proprietary entitlement over your heat. The High Lord’s front presses into you as he rests his chin on your shoulder, watching his Spymaster intently.

“All dressed up, I see.” He says, icily, and you’re brought back to when you first met. How withdrawn he was. Distanced.

Something intrinsic warns you not to speak back.

His eyes shift away from you, turning slightly to draw Cassian’s attention. “Are you pleased, soldier?” He asks, nodding to your red-adorned body. “Is it worth being tied up for? Seeing her in your colour?”

He’s remarkably good at making you feel insignificant.

Awareness lights your body as Cassian drags his wary eyes over you, starting at your shoulders, down over your breasts, the side of your hip—everything he can see from his chair. The shadows vanish from his mouth, and you can make out how the edges of his lips look raw.

“Yes,” he replies hoarsely, dipping his head in a nod, eyes filling with hunger and ravenous lust.

Azriel merely hums, turning his attention back to you. His fingers hook beneath the strap of your brassiere, skimming his fingers over your near bare skin, before dipping to the waist band of your underwear. “I think you need a closer look at her. Gather in all the fine details,” he says blandly, snapping the band back against your hip, watching for a reaction. Seeking one, by the looks of it.

You keep your expression neutral.

Something like approval flickers in his eyes, before he’s stepping back, allowing Rhys to stand to his full height, hand pressing between your shoulder blades as he guides you toward Cassian, shoving you forward roughly. Close enough you can make out the mouth-watering shape of his arousal through his leathers.

But instead, Rhys’ hands grip your upper arms from behind, twisting you sharply so you’re facing the table. “Not that way, darling,” he drawls softly into your ear. “Cassian won’t be getting anything until we’ve had a piece of you. Teach him not to grab at his food.” And then he’s shoving you down, bending you over roughly so your hips are pressing tight against the wooden edge. Darkness binds your forearms at your back, allowing Rhysand’s hands to greedily grip your hips, one brushing over your ass, making you arch slightly into the touch.

“Better?” The Shadowsinger asks, now stood before you, the other side of the table. He’s staring at Cassian, but his hand fists in your hair, jerking you up so the General can get a nice view of you, makeup and other slight cosmetics undisturbed on your pretty face. “Like the sight of her bent over this table? Ready to take both of us?”

Cassian nods, and you mark the heavy roll of his throat.

“Maybe you’ll like her more when we paint her white,” he muses, and you tighten around nothing. Hazel eyes flick to yours, and you could swear you see a spark of dark satisfaction in his gaze, as if he can sense your every reaction to them.

You don’t have time to ponder it when Azriel’s free hand drops to his leathers, undoing the knot at the top, then stepping closer. His hand is still fisted in your hair, keeping your mouth level with his hips, and there’s nothing but lust in his cold, dark eyes as he jerks you lightly. “Untie them.”

Your eyes drop to the front of his leathers, where you can so clearly make out the prominent shape of his arousal. If you weren’t already wet, you would be now. You swallow, shifting forward slightly as your teeth clamp carefully around one of the strings, pulling it lose, allowing it to swing free.

You move to the other one, unable to help the way your nose rubs against his length, feeling how hard he is. His fist tightens in your hair in warning, and you tug the string free, moving lower.

This time, you angle your head to avoid brushing him again, but Rhys subtly rolls his hips, shifting you on the table, your lips pressing firmly against him. Azriel pulls you back harshly, smacking you hard across the jaw, making your nails dig into your palm with the force. “Such a fucking tease, aren’t you?” He growls softly, bringing you back to the ties. “Just have to push your luck.”

You bite the inside of you lip, before offering an apologetic lap up the seam of his leathers, over the ridge of his cock.

Rhys chokes on a laugh, while Cassian groans quietly, noting something you haven’t. What—

Azriel snarls, yanking you back, shadows constricting around your torso to help pull you upright. His hand grips your jaw as his lip curls, forcing your mouth open as he spits onto your tongue. You blink at the pain, then warmth heats your skin as you feel the wetness in your mouth, his flavour coating your tongue, and you want so badly to rub your thighs together, but Rhys is making sure to keep them spread.

Hazel eyes flick to violet ones, and you stiffen when the High Lord’s hand wraps over your neck, forcing you to crane backward, mouth still open as he puts his own saliva down your throat. This time you whimper as he pulls away, cock dragging over your backside teasingly, fingers deftly brushing over your front as he leaves.

“So lovely, finally seeing you giving something back after such a long wait,” the High Lord drawls, hands leaving to attend to himself as Azriel drags you back for the last few ties. “Don’t praise her,” he says roughly, “she’ll feel rewarded.” You can just picture how Rhys shrugs, carrying that air of nonchalance to him, “I can’t help it if I want to reward her. Just look at her. Wouldn’t you agree, Cass?”

Wisely, the male keeps quiet, just watching you with that carnal lust in his hazel eyes, burning bright in the dark. You follow his example of making good decisions, and continue pulling loose the strings in Azriel’s leathers, salivating at the arousing outline on him.

“Reward her when she’s done something, then. You don’t train a pet by feeding them treats nonstop. That’s how they become errant and spoiled,” the Shadowsinger replies, hand tightening painfully in your hair as you move onto the last set of strings before you’ll be able to have him. You hope to the mother he doesn’t make you do this for Rhysand, too.

“I’m sure you’re perfectly capable of whipping the disobedience out of her, Az,” the High Lord drawls, and it occurs to you he might be buying you time. To free you from whatever nasty punishment the Spymaster had in store for you.

Any thankfulness you had felt disappears as he drags his finger down the line of your underwear, stopping as the slight indent in your soft skin, where the lace becomes shamefully wet. He presses against your entrance lightly. “That being said, if you drip onto my shoes, darling, you’re going to have to lick it up.”

You squirm against his shadows slightly, tugging in search for some form of comfortability. “Stop struggling.” The darkness wraps tighter in consequence and you halt the movements of your arms, following his orders. “Better,” he says, though it sounds reluctant.

The ties are out, and you push as upward as you can manage, nose brushing his lower abdomen as your teeth grasp the hem of his leathers, peeling them away from his hips, then you’ll finally be able to—

He tugs you away roughly, gripping your jaw as he forces you to look at him. “Greedy,” he mutters, icy hazel piercing into you, cold enough that you shiver beneath his grip. Amusement surfaces as quickly as it vanishes, his eyes flicking to Rhys’. His gaze returns to you, watching with anticipation as—

The High Lord groans as he pushes the red lace to the side, devouring the sight of your gleaming cunt. He can’t help himself, he needs to— “Rhysand,” Azriel growls in reprimand, about to remind him that you only receive pleasure when you’ve done something deserving of a reward.

“Open.” He snarls, and your legs shake at the inherent dominance in his voice, the power of your High Lord crackling in the air as you spread your legs further, curving your back in attempts to please him. It seems like it’s enough, because he dropping to a crouch, hands spreading you wide as he laps a firm stroke up your heat, groaning as he does so.

You’re vaguely aware of Cassian shifting in his chair as he’s forced to watch, watch as Rhys and Az get to taste you, fuck you, and he’s strapped to this damned seat.

The High Lord cursed under his breath as he buries his face into you, pushing you forward on the table even as you attempt to push back into him, revelling in the hot wetness of his tongue, finally receiving some stimuli. Your eyes roll from the sudden relief, teeth sinking into your lower lip as you keen beneath them.

Azriel’s gaze drags down to you, still cold and unforgiving, but there’s undeniable heat burning deep within him—perhaps one that’s been suppressed for too long. Maybe that’s why you try again, slowly inching forward, getting him to see what you’re wanting to do, seeking permission.

He grits his teeth, but drags you closer, allowing you to pull his leathers away from him. It’s only when he’s fully out that you stop, holding back from licking him up and down, getting a taste of him.

“Rhys,” Azriel commands, “up.”

It seems the High Lord senses what’s about to happen, because he finally stands, but leaving you feeling cold between your legs. You need his hot mouth encasing you again, need the wet muscle of his tongue flicking over your clit.

A needy whimper is strung from your throat, making Cassian buck with that same desperate fervour.

Your lips part in a sharp inhale when you feel Rhys’ tip press against your entrance, dragging himself through your wetness to slick himself up. And then you’re writhing, pushing back against him as that overwhelming need crushes you, the need to be filled, to be fucked, to be utterly and entirely owned, so overpowering it’s all you can think about.

The High Lord snarls his displeasure, hand splaying over your lower back, shoving you down into the table to still your movements as he guides his cock to your entrance, just the head inside of you. “You know, Az,” Rhys drawls lazily, an edge to his voice, “as much as I want to pleasure her, I don’t think she was very good just now.”

You can practically see the gleam in the Spymaster’s eye at the silent suggestion. Just your luck that Azriel has sadistic tendencies in him. “Punish her, then.” Rhysand hums to himself, as if he’s thinking.

“I don’t think it’ll get through to her… Maybe something more unorthodox will encourage her.”

To your right, Cassian hisses sharply, and in your peripherals you see how his body goes rigid. You freeze, turning to look at the Warlord. “Rhys!” You hiss, worried for the General’s well-being. You don’t miss the darkness that slithers away from the sensitive wings at his back, and you heat with a guess at what that hiss was from.

The High Lord only laughs darkly, “that’ll do. That’ll do nicely, don’t you think? Every time you misbehave, we’ll give your pleasure to Cassian over there. I imagine that’s torture enough for both of you.” His hips shift and he presses a little deeper, but this time you keep your head, for both your sakes. “Very good,” he taunts.

You only grit your teeth as you fight your instincts to grind back on him, to slam your hips against him, bury him deep inside your cunt. You try desperately to catch Azriel’s eye, needing something to distract you with, but he does nothing to come to your aid.

Quite the opposite, in fact.

The Shadowsinger shoves you down onto the table, cheek pressing hard against the wood as your eyes lock with Cassian’s. “Watch him,” the Spymaster instructs, and you don’t have it in you to face the repercussions of disobeying him. You can only imagine what he could gladly come up with, given the chance.

Hazel eyes land on your own, and you know his gaze is a reflection of your own, the need, the hunger, the lust, all going unsatisfied. That is, until Rhys pulls his hips back, to slide in further. In. And in. And in. Your mouth drops open as your eyes widen with pleasure, back arching as you feel Cassian’s attention drag down your body, flicking back and forth between your euphoric expression and the male between your legs.

He barely fits all the way in, but you’re taking as much as you can so it’ll have to do. Rhys groans as he feels the wet heat of you encompassing him, wrapped tight in your cunt, finally. His hands squeeze your ass as he pants, fighting the urge to rut into you, fuck you until you can’t stand, can do nothing but blabber and drool around Azriel’s cock.

The Shadowsinger pulls you from the table, yanking you up so he can look at you. For the first time that night, amusement sparks openly in his eyes as he tilts your face to Cassian, gripping your jaw in a bruising grip. “Who’s that?” He asks, supporting your shoulder carefully. “Can you correctly name him?” Azriel drawls, enjoying how you’re already losing your mind.

“No? Can’t do it?” He asks, turning you back forcefully to look at him. Rhys rolls his hips against you as a moan spills from your lips as you struggle to get a hold of yourself. “What about you, hm? What’s your name?” You look at him through half-lidded eyes, and he moves his hand to grip the muscles in your cheeks, lightly squeezing. “Can’t do it, whore? Come on, say your name.”

Cassian hisses from your side, and you know Rhys is playing with him to entertain himself.

You blink up at the Spymaster, panting deeply.

He has to grit his teeth as your lips part a little further, and he knows you’re doing it to tease him—just as you always are. Your back curves as his attention is drawn to your chest, nipples peaking through the thin lace. How dearly he wants the run his thumbs over them, take them in his mouth, flick his tongue over them—

“Pretty thing,” you moan breathlessly, “you like to call me pretty thing.”

He could kiss you. He could really give you anything you wanted.

Azriel groans, lowering you closer to the table again. “That’s right,” he mutters, the words turning guttural, “such a pretty thing.” He guides you to his cock, and honestly nearly loses it when your lips part for him, eyes peering up at him as you flick your tongue over the slit in his head, lapping up the bead of moisture that had gathered there.

It’s the sign Rhys has been waiting for—the go ahead from Azriel.

His hips draw back, and he slams into you, making you moan around the Shadowsinger’s cock. It comes out muffled and wet, and you’re pushed further down onto his cock with the force of the thrust, back curving sinfully as you run your tongue under the base of him.

Cassian takes in a sharp inhale, but this time it’s not from either of them. It’s from you. The sight of you finally submitting to the males, enjoying them, taking them so readily. Cassian could sob, would beg on his knees to be set free, but he knows they won’t allow that. Not until they’ve had their way with you first. To teach him his lesson about not sharing.

A flush warms your cheeks as you pull back slightly, pressing a kiss to the tip of Azriel’s cock, leaving the smallest stain of pigment decorating the milky slit. “I didn’t think you’d be capable of maidenly blushing,” he remarks mockingly, and you tighten around the High Lord.

“We’ll make sure to fuck whatever remaining innocence you have right out of you,” Rhys purrs, gripping your hips as he pounds into you relentlessly. You’ve been craving him for a while now, and you’re responding so well to him, to the touch of his cock inside of you. You won’t last long.

You whimper, taking more of Azriel into your mouth, but it’s difficult to do so when your arms are bound, having to use your abdominals to leverage yourself correctly. And he’s so big, you need every advantage you can get to make sure you pleasure him. To think he’ll be spilling into your mouth, and you’ll get to taste him—

“Deeper.” He commands, and you can’t tell who he’s talking to. But you moan when Rhys bucks his hips, finding that spot inside of you that makes you weep, the spot that’s been undisturbed for a little too long in your time as a pleasure worker.

You writhe against the Spymaster’s shadows, needing to take him deeper. You need to show him how good you can make him feel, in return for the pleasure he’s giving you in allowing you to outlive such a depraved fantasy as this.

Tears brim at the edges of your eyes as you look at him pleadingly, begging him to let you go as you tug at your restraints. You don’t know what you’ll do if you can’t exhibit the full wonders of your mouth to him.

His fist tightens in your hair in warning, and then his shadows release you.

You sob, hand first raising yourself up, then one arm snaking around his hips, the other gripping his waist, dragging him closer as you take him all the way down your throat. Azriel gasps sharply, hands slamming down on the table either side of you as you work him so well. Even with Rhys pounding into you at that perfect angle, abusing that spot inside of you over and over again, until tears are rolling down your cheeks, you’re set on returning every ounce to him.

You only pull back enough to breathe in deeply through your nose, before you’re swallowing him down again, flexing your throat in a way he hasn’t experience before, nails digging into his skin as your nose touches the dark swirls of hair at his base, tongue dancing over him so deliciously.

With a final buck of his hips, Rhys spills inside of you, thick, hot liquid filling you up in a way that has you moaning straight onto Azriel, each of the sensations triggering your own highs. Your eyes roll to the back of your skull as you flutter around the High Lord, the feeling the Shadowsinger’s release hit the roof of your mouth, shooting down your throat as your tongue swirls over the slit in his head soothingly.

You’re all panting, bodies slick with sweat, the smell of sex heavy in the air—you can’t imagine the torture it is for Cassian.

Azriel pulls you from his cock, thumb swiping over your lip before landing a firm pat to your cheek, ordering you to open up. You do so gladly, parting your lips to allow him to see his come coating you, painting you white as he had said. He groans at the sight, memorising the sight as he ingrains it in his mind.

“Swallow,” he breathes, and watches as your mouth seals, throat bobbing as you follow his orders perfectly, opening to show him proudly. His thumb rubs soothingly over your lip, and you keen into the touch, eyes fluttering shut as you bask in his attention.

Too soon, you’re being hauled away, Rhysand’s hand replacing the Spymaster’s as he forces you to your feet, shoving you toward Cassian at last, watching as you stumble, dumped between the General’s legs. You can guess that you look obscene, lipstick likely rubbed a little out of place—you’d intentionally selected one that was difficult to smudge, but not impossible.

“Go on,” Rhys drawls, his voice rough and breathless from the orgasm you’d gifted him. “You wanted to mess around with him, didn’t you?” You can hear the feline smile on his hellish mouth, “now’s you chance to repay him.”

And you don’t waste a second, slinking forward as you prowl up onto your knees, fingers deftly untying the strings to Cassian’s leathers and he practically whimpers at the prospect of relief, hips bucking into your warm hands, hands that promise soft, endless pleasure. Well versed in male satisfaction.

But of course it’s not that simple. What would be the fun in that?

You yelp as something cool and silky licks between your thighs, making you pause and look down. You whine when you spot Azriel’s shadows settling themselves between your legs, already soothingly flicking and lapping at your clit, getting heat to build in the pit of your belly.

Your eyes flick to his, but he only growls softly. “Go on.”

Cassian’s eyes practically roll as you pull him free, hand wrapping around his base, and he thinks he might come from that alone, make a mess of himself before you’ve even gotten your mouth on him. Maybe that’s their plan, to humiliate him like that in front of you. It would certainly work. He’s not sure if he could live that down.

But darkness wraps around the base of his cock, constricting. Not the silky darkness of Azriel’s shadows. The deep, powerful type from his High Lord. Hazel eyes flick to merciless violet, and he knows Rhys isn’t doing this to help him. It’s just another form of punishment he has to suffer through.

Your tongue laps over him and he moans, hands fisting as he grits his teeth, cursing beneath his breath. Your velvety mouth feels so good, so hot and wet and perfect. He needs to have you on him every hour of every day. To know this pleasure and be without it would be too much to bare.

“So good,” he murmurs encouragingly, wishing he could thread his fingers through your hair. You seem to sense it, raising your left hand to twine with his right, allowing him that sense of comfort as you take him deep within you, feeling the heat of his strong hand, the bulge of him in your throat.

He needs that release. He doesn’t care if it’s quick. You’ll know him better than that, understand the context. He just needs to come.

“Please,” he breathes, head tipping back in the chair, exposing the strong column of his neck. A muscle ticks in his jaw as he stares Rhys down, “please… I understand. I know better… please…”

The High Lord’s mouth quirks at the edges, but his eyes remain ruthless. Darkness disappears from the base of his cock, and he feels the wave about to crest—

You release a strangle moan as you’re jerked back, Azriel’s shadows having made their way up your body steadily, having now formed a collar around your neck that he uses to pull you away. Cassian snarls viciously, thrashing at the ties that don’t budge an inch.

“Rhysand,” he growls, so guttural you hardly recognise him.

The High Lord merely cocks a groomed brow, removing his shirt, preparing for round two. “Someone needs to teach you that lesson, Cass. I think you’d prefer it to be me rather than Az, here.” Sure enough, Azriel’s eyes are colder, promising a longer, harsher sentence. They soften almost imperceptibly when they dip to you, though.

All the General can do is snarl at the two males as his pleasure is taken away from him, made to crawl across the floor, following the leash back to her master.

You feel bad about abandoning Cassian like that, when you’re partially the reason he’s in the predicament, but there’s really nothing you can do against the two of them. Forces of nature in their own rights.

You follow the leash back, until you’re kneeling at Azriel’s feet, Rhys and Cass too preoccupied as his quiet eyes land on you. You lick your lips subtly, inclining your head every so slightly. The Shadowsinger’s eyes flick between the other two, before dropping down into a crouch to be at your level.

He stares into your eyes, and you wait patiently, curiously.

The argument sounds heated, getting more vicious in the background, but it falls away as you peer into the hazel of his dark eyes. His expression is neutral, but you get the feeling that if you wanted to…

You crawl forward, raising your hand to him. His eyes track the movement but he does nothing to stop you. Leans into your touch as you brush his cheek, fingers threading in his dark, silky locks, and you marvel at their softness.

His eyelids flutter shut beneath your touch, and you take the opportunity. Slowly, quietly shifting forward, before you’re bringing your mouth to his, lips pressing against his own, as if made from heated silk.

But he can’t afford too long, or they’ll notice he’s being contradictory and taking you for himself. Even he would be in trouble if Rhys and Cass decided to team up on him. So he presses into you a little, nipping at your lip before pulling away. There’s the faintest flush of colour on his cheeks as he stands, that leash reconnecting to your collar.

“If you’re done.” He says, tone dropping to the ruthless iciness so easily. The argument ceases, and you feel the weight of Cassian’s gaze on your body. As much as you’re enjoying yourself, you needed that momentary reprieve Azriel provided, able to read emotions slightly deeper than the others. Whether that’s from being forced into so much solitary time as a child, or those shadows of his…

Cold eyes drop to yours. “Get up.”

On trembling legs, you manage to stand, feeling the beginnings of Rhys’s come about to start dripping out. You clamp down, trying to keep him inside of you.

The Shadowsinger nods to the table, “bend over.”

You swallow, but do as he says, shifting to the edge, before slowly laying yourself across the wood, eyes latching on to Rhysand’s. His are warmer than Azriel’s, star-flecked and bright, full of hunger and blind lust, and beneath that…

You tense when the Shadowsinger lands a harsh smack to your ass, gripping and squeezing appreciatively as he pushes your underwear to the side. Suddenly he understands why Rhys went to his knees behind you. You’re glorious.

And he gets to bury his cock into you this time, fill you up so perfectly, let you know you were made for the three of them to take. Theirs. All theirs.

“Open,” he commands, mimicking the first order your High Lord had given you earlier tonight. Your legs spread wider, and Rhys’ hand threads in your hair, not nearly as demanding or rough as the Shadowsinger’s. His free hand cups your jaw, thumb swiping beneath your lip as he pries your mouth open easily.

“Are you going to be good about this?” He purrs, “or am I going to have to treat you like Az did?” You bite your lip, letting him know exactly how you felt about the rough treatment you received. A dark laugh drags from his throat as he tilts your head, guiding you to his tip, still gleaming with your release.

“Look how obedient you’re being. Where was this side of you in all those debates, huh? Incessant teasing all year round, flirting with each of us as if we weren’t all thinking about tying you up somewhere you’d never escape from, so we could use you whenever we pleased.” His fingers brush soothingly over your scalp, nails taking close behind. A gentle reminder of his rougher nature.

“But it was only recently you confirmed you’d like that, too.” He strokes your jaw, encouraging you to open up for him, and he eases in, and you hear Cassian whimper with need. It must be physically painful for him by now. “Isn’t that right, little lynx?” He purrs, guiding himself deeper into the wet heat of your mouth. You hum hoarsely in response, throat bruised from taking Azriel so hard.

You feel Azriel press against your entrance, and your thighs tremble with his size.

“Anytime you want,” Rhys purrs, “I can alter your memory to temporarily forget this ever happened.” He allows you to put your hands on him, taking him into your mouth as his Spymaster presses inside of you, stretching you out in a truly delicious way. “That way we can do this for the first time over and over again,” he smirks. “We can make it as fucked up as you like.”

And it starts all over again.

Azriel draws his hips back, then slams in, his hips smacking against yours as you’re jolted up the table from the force. His fingers bite into your hips as he pounds into you, making your mind practically melt as Rhys fucks your mouth. You moan onto him desperately, letting your High Lord set his own pace, gripping your hair as you keep your mouth open, tongue swirling beneath him, throat bobbing as you contact around him, urging him to spill into you.

Cassian writhes helplessly as he groans gutturally, head tipping back onto the back of the padded chair as his jaw clenched, trying to calm himself, but the scent of your sex is driving him crazy. Mother knows what he’ll do when he’s released, but maybe that’s part of their plan.

Rhysand snarls softly above you, jerking your head back, violet eyes plunging to indigo, to icy blue. “Take your attention anywhere except from me and see what I can do to you,” he growls, fist tightening painfully in your hair as he grips your jaw tight. You whimper when Azriel bucks his hips, targeting that spot Rhys had found, abusing it steadily as he angles your hips so he can make you scream. He needs to know how good he’s making you feel.

“Understand?” The High Lord snarls, and you whine, curving your back, tears brimming at the edges of your lashes as you nod your head. “That’s the last damned warning I’ll give you. You fuck up again and you’ll get something worse than what Cassian’s having.” This time you take the threat to heart, eyes widening pleadingly.

“That’s better,” he growls. “Now set that fucking mouth to work so I can have something to reward you for, yeah?”

The second he’s releasing you, you’re diving down, swallowing him whole as you feel him bulging in your throat. Again, you flex and bob your inner muscles, tightening around him and Azriel to make it as good for them as it is for you. Driven by that need to satiate, to please and pleasure.

Rhys groans above you as you do something wicked with your tongue, making him twitch, a sure sign that he’s close. You moan onto him, half intentional, half because you can’t help it. Azriel’s hitting all the right spots, and you can feel yourself unravelling, parting your legs wider. You want more, more, more from him.

Pants and groans echo throughout the room along with the wet slap of skin against skin. You raise one of your legs slightly, enough for Azriel to get the hint. His hand wraps beneath your shin, cocking your leg as he keeps you spread out, and the new angle makes you scream. Your eyes roll, muscles spasming as you come so hard you nearly black out, the pleasure rolling through you in hard, firm strokes.

Rhysand spills on your tongue, his flavour so delicious you could cry. So intrinsically him. And you can feel the waves of come as Azriel releases deep inside of you, how his hands grip tighter with each wave that crests him, panting deeply.

“That’s it,” the High Lord soothes, thumb brushing beneath your lashes, tracing the paths of hot water as he pulls out, eyes fixated on your mouth as you again swallow. “So good, weren’t you?” You nod wearily, tired out from both of them using you so intensely. You don’t know if you have any energy left for Cassian.

But the Shadowsinger’s hands are gently hauling you from the table, easing out of you as you tighten around nothing, desperate to keep their releases deep inside of you. Tucked away nice and safe.

“Looks like you’ve learned your lesson, Cass.” The Spymaster drawls, slightly breathless from the high—you don’t know how he’s managing to keep himself together. But then he’s pushing you forward, and you’re not sure if you can take any more.

“Azriel…” you whimper softly, “I—…I can’t…not again.” He continues guiding you toward the General, and heat’s already looking in your belly from how sensitive you are—you know this one’s going to be intense. “Az, please…” you beg, softly, tears rolling as you attempt to push back.

“Vanilla?” He whispers, lips brushing against your ear as he’s quiet enough the others can’t hear. And it’s enough of a reassurance—that he’ll stop, that he remembers—that you manage to shake your head lightly. You know you can’t take another one, but that’s the fun. Cassian’s going to force you to ascend to that higher level of lust, just like he promised. With the buzzing beneath your skin, you’re not sure you’ll remain conscious.

Shakily, you stumble forward, trembling as you crawl into his lap, feeling his tip press against your entrance.

“Cassian,” you murmur, quietly, “I’m not sure how long I’ll last…” He shakes his head, as if he isn’t either. “Doesn’t matter. Just need to be in you.” Heat flushes your skin, fingers settling on his shoulders as you slowly sink down onto his lap, breathy moans tumbling from your lips.

And then the ties vanish.

He doesn’t have the strength to hold back, and you don’t want him to.

Your head falls back as your mouth drops open in a silent scream. He’s pounding into you, hips bucking sharply with an energy that intimidates you, hands gripping you tightly as he slams you down on his cock.

White spots dance in your vision and you must black out at some point.

When you come to, you can feel Rhys and Az at your back, helping to ease you off Cassian’s lap. You’re a trembling, whimpering mess in their hands, simply allowing them to do the heavy lifting. You clench desperately, wanting to keep them inside of you, all perfectly mixed up by now.

You can hardly tell up from down as they carefully move you to the bed, making sure you’re comfortable and tucked away before all three of them clamber in beside you.

It’s been a long while since you’ve been so thoroughly satiated, feeling as though you’ve been fucked within an inch of your life. And you know you’ll likely be sore tomorrow, but you don’t have the energy to care. Not with the aftershocks of such immense pleasure still simmering beneath your skin.

And certainly not when you’re surrounded by all three of them.

You’ll show your happiness thoroughly…but tomorrow.

Tomorrow you’ll sort through the hard stuff. For now, you’ll enjoy them. Their scents, mixed with yours, heavy in the air. The sound of their breathing, deep and evening out, down to the steady warmth that’s surrounding you.

They’re perfect.

Utterly perfect.

[vibesoda]

Hi! I love your Fine/Quick Clockwork au and i was too shy to ask about it before but i saw your post talking about people asking questions, and it felt like a sign asdfsdf

ok first though i found the fic from your drawing of fein/fine and couri/icarus and it's literally??? been living in my head rent free i was making silly little doodles of fine and couri during class today like???? the story is so interesting and cool (im a BIG sucker for hero-villain stuff) and the characterizations are so good, especially loving the dialogue and fein's narration, it matches his voice really well

i think i've reread chapter 3 at least six?? times?? probably more. every scene is so good because they're all tense but in different ways, which makes each part suspenseful while still being unique. there's a feeling of dread throughout the whole chapter, and it's awesome. also villain fruit is everything to me...he's so slay (literally. maybe too literally actually)

So I have two questions! One, aside from obviously having different characters, did anything change between the chapter three that we got and the original idea/vision for the chapter (that you can say w/o spoilers) given that there was a 2 year gap between it and 2? And two, how common is having a power in the au's world, and how did you decide what power to give each person? of the people we know i feel like people wouldn't usually correlate fein and being a healer so it's soo interesting seeing that kind of dynamic here

this got really long so just wanted to say your writing is amazing and im always excited to read your works, thanks for taking the time to read this ok bye-

thank you SO much for this. you are so kind and i’m absolutely overjoyed that you enjoy my work. i’ve said this many times before, but it bears repeating that people like you are the reason i’m still sharing my work. knowing that people other than me derive joy from what i make is everything.

anyway, to answer your questions: no, not much changed between the original concept for the story three years ago and the current outline i have. one thing that changed, though, was that i never planned on Fine himself being targeted by villains, but i since changed my mind (obviously) because the events of chapter three force Icarus to think about being a hero from a different perspective. it starts a domino effect that leads to some rather groundbreaking discoveries on Icarus’s part.

i’d say about 30-40 percent of the population has some sort of power, but very few of them are “powerful,” like Icarus’s wings. Lots of them go undetected for a long time, like Fine’s healing.

Icarus’s power was pretty straightforward. A long, long, time ago in the year of our lord 2021 (and parts of 2020 if i recall correctly), couri ran a category of 1.16 RSG called icarus, where the player would start with an elytra and a stack of rockets. that’s where his sona’s wings came from. artists started drawing him with wings and the rest is history.

about Fine’s power: Iterum readers would know that it’s quite similar to Switch’s power, but Fine’s power predates Iterum, so it came first. if you read the tags on Fine, you may notice one that reads “superpowers as a metaphor for love languages,” and, uh, weeelllll, if you read into Fine’s monologue in chapter three, think about giving vs taking, uh, you can come to your own conclusions about all that. A lot of HBG’s powers are based on their Dolorem/Iterum counterparts, if that provides some insight.

[lesbolordo]

Viktoria the babygirl

This started as a harmless sketch. I ended up drawing all three years of Viktoria's time at Hogwarts (from 1868 to 1870).

Obviously, Viktoria was a Gryffindor.

Her uniform came from older students, because her family couldn't pay one for herself. Of course, when it got teared appart, she couldn't get it replaced and spent the rest of the year with a miserable uniform. Not like she really cared... She almost never wore shoes.

Don't ask what is going on with her hair. She never brushed it, and even so it was naturally wild before she finally managed to tame it down years late.

Although she was allowed outside late because her pack lived literally in the Forbidden Forest (they had moved just so they could be next to her), she spent a lot of time in the castle in her first year, exploring and finding treasures (bones and galleons to chew on.)

Viktoria wasn't liked at first, being the weird kid who barks and sniffs others. People began to like her in the middle of her first year when she broke her foot to save a kitty stuck in a tree. After that, she was really popular and had lots of friends.

She mostly hung out with the older students, but sometimes a first year would come and ask her for a ride on her shoulders or her back, and she'd run around the castle carrying them.

Sebastian the King of detention ? No, that's her. She spent her life getting detention in all three years. First because she was quite rebelious. Then because she didn't do the work. And last because she'd skip class.

In second year she began to learn hunting with her pack, leading her to beginning to miss classes. She had an accident in the middle of the year, leading to her having a scar on her lips.

She loved Hogwarts, but not enough to spend hours sitting still and quiet on a chair. And so, by the end of her third year Viktoria had already stopped attending under the advices of Professor Weasley.

Professor Ronen taught her how to shave after her facial hair began to grow a lot and quickly in the beginning of her third year, making her face a mess.

An older student taught her the Aguamenti charm. After that, she could often be seen outside watering random plants or animals, or even other students and herself in summer. They would all get in troubles for it, but she didn't care.

In transfiguration, Viktoria was quite good. But only to transfigurate objects into toys or bones to chew on. Matilda always encouraged her still. She was a bit disappointed when Viktoria stopped attending, but Matilda knew that it was for the best.

In History of Magic, she was the source of entertainment for the students during these hours of hell. She'd go wild after 3 seconds of Professor Binn talking. She was his nemesis and after her first year he stopped giving her detention or caring.

In Defense against the Dark Arts, Viktoria was good as long as you only put her against a training dummy, unless you wanted her to blow up something or someone... Professor Hecat was quite amused by her : also fascinated, giving she was a Lycanthrope.

In Charms, she was pretty good too. Professor Ronen had gotten the hang of it : she does the exercise correctly and she gets a treat or the right to go run around outside for the rest of the class. That's when it became obvious that her skills in magic were held back by her wild nature. She was a talented witch but had no desire to be such. She was Professor Ronen's favorite, and he still visits her from time to time.

She was forbidden to go to Potions class. Else she'd eat the ingredients.

Forbidden from going to any Care of Magical Creatures classes that included birds or animals with wings (Thestrals and Hypogriffs not included). No one knows when her phobia of birds began, but many know when some student's trauma from seeing her rip appart a Duricawls began.

We don't talk about Arithmancy. She could never even write down the class' name.

Magical theory was a no brainer, and Professor Fig had decided to give her private lessons so she wouldn't disturb the others, instead of just kicking her out of the class. His wife Miriam sometimes came by to have tea with her husband, and they'd invite Viktoria to offer her some treats and ask some questions about her life, out of curiosity. Viktoria loved Miriam. Fig never had the courage to tell her about her death.

Viktoria liked Muggle Studies a lot, she'd learn about a lot of weird objects and weird traditions or ways to live.

She could not fly a broom for the love of Merlin. She was terribly bad, and brooms hated her. During the three years in which she attended Hogwarts, the brooms constantly had dents or bite marks all over them. The culprit was never found...

She liked Astronomy as long as it was just staring at the stars, but even that bored her quickly.

Surprisingly, Viktoria was good enough at divination. Her imagination and open mind were strong enough to allow her to get good grades in the subject.

Studying Ancient Runes also was easy enough for Viktoria, thanks again to her ability to open her mind and imagine. She even began writing down a lots of things in Runes in her second year, and the Professor graded each of her personnal works to make up for her absences.

In Herbology, the plants were either scared of her or loved her. She pampered them a lot, and those who didn't like it would get eaten. Yep. Just, straight up eaten.

She didn't understand Quidditch but she loved the atmosphere of the students when there was a match or it was simply brought up in a conversation. Everyone seemed happy and excited, almost as much as her in their everyday life.

After beginning to attend Hogwarts, she told everything that she did to her pack, even showing some of them. Most weren't wizzards and witches, but those who were learned a lot from her, as they couldn't afford two kids going to Hogwarts. She was chosen because her mother was the pack leader, and also because she showed signs of great talent. Her talent was proven useless when she stopped attending Hogwarts, and her little teaching and showing to her younger siblings was proven useless too when they all died.

Isn't she the cutest ? Viktoria was so excited for her first year.

If you have OCs that attended Hogwarts from 1868 to 1870, this is for you lmao.

[your-talos-is-problematic]

For the First Time In Forever, WIP Wednesday!!

I am being brave and starting it myself today 😟. I know I haven’t contributed in a long time, but I think I’m now at a moment where life has calmed down enough for me to want to write again. Until auditions, but that’s another whole can of worms. Tagging @skyrim-forever @trickstarbrave @throughtrialbyfire @friend-of-giants and anyone who sees this and wants to join!

No TES stuff rn but I do have some Baldur’s Gate writing! I actually finally got myself to write again because I had this whole scene out in my mind and told myself to just write it down before I forgot it. Being able to share the work in progress here was actually a big motivator too!

So, without further ado, here’s a scene that hasn’t happened yet in my playthrough, but oh well. Narrator is my Tav, Tilia- helpful information is that she’s a tiefling draconic soul sorcerer. Also there’s italics on her inner thoughts but those don’t copy-paste between notes app and tumblr properly.

I pushed open the door, stepped in, and stood waiting, silently, for the aging halfling shopkeeper to notice me.

After a few seconds, he looked up, his lightless eyes not making contact with mine, but drawing upwards to my horns. After a short sigh, he explained, “We don’t serve tieflings here,” in the cadence of a line he had said more times than he had the right to.

That’s to be expected. I responded with a smile. “Even me?”

Confusion and annoyance crossed his brow. “I don’t know who you are, girl, but I don’t need to. Devil-spawn aren’t-“

“Aren’t welcome? The number of times I’ve heard that. Tragically,” I said, realizing too late that he wouldn’t get the joke, “it’s exactly what I expected to hear from my own grandfather.”

There was a long, empty silence in the room after that. I eventually disrupted it by hopping up onto a table and curling my tail onto my knees, turning to watch the recognition dawning on his face.

He moved away from the counter to stand closer, still leaving me a wide berth, then brought his eyes up to mine. “You’re leaving. Now. GUARDS!” The two people, both armed and armored, who had been watching anxiously by the door, began to move towards me. It’s a good thing I’d thought of this- coming here alone was risky, so I’d remembered to keep a few spells on hand.

I pressed my fingertips together, pointing my hands in the direction of the two people but not releasing them. All three sets of eyes were trained on the tendrils of poisonous Weave held in my palms. Cloudkill was a bit strong of a choice, but for the sake of my pride, my mother’s heart, and my father’s nerves, I needed this to go correctly.

“It’s not very nice to attack your granddaughter. Now, can I continue my story, please?”Taking his [empty/fearful/annoyed? gaze] as a yes, I continued on, in my best impression of a bard.

“Yes! The little Zariel tiefling baby belonging to you, my good sir, miraculously managed to survive its abandonment. In fact, she- yes, your child is a she, even though you never knew her long enough to find out, lived long enough in Reithwin to meet a man. A tiefling man, no less, coming from a long line of people proud to be tieflings. She swept him off of his feet and they left for Elturel together.” I took a strategic breath, giving him time to recall the fate of that city- my best bet is that the high classes of Baldur’s Gate don’t think about what happened to us all that often. “Before everything went down with Avernus- she survived, no worries- they had a daughter.” Another pause- this time to let my green, scaly wings materialize and unfold. I slid my eyes away from the rest of the room and directly to his own. “A daughter born with the dragonblood that, as far as I know, comes from your side of the family! Isn’t that unbelievable?”

He’d been glued to my words since I brought out the wings, so I slid down from the table, landing face-to-face with him, and let the magic from the Cloudkill flow back into me. Up close, I could notice more details about him- he was definitely the right age to be my grandfather. More notably, there was a resemblance between us- the curly hair, and the nose shape that betrayed me as a descendant of halflings.

“What do you want, little girl?” His tone was exhausted, intentionally- he was deflecting. Nobody wants to hear about the child they abandoned, I suppose.

“I’m [23?]. And I want everything you know about the dragonblood. Then you never have to see me or my family again.”

“Fine. One of the sorcerers in the family wrote a book about it, I think. I’ll look for it.” He turned away, taking a few steps in the direction of the stairs.

“And I want a letter of apology to my mom, written and signed in your hand.”

His head snapped back in my direction, indignation on his face. “No.”

“Yes,” I said, with my best threatening smile. Last resort- Thamaturgy. I let lighting gently crackle across my horns and arms.

“My daughter doesn’t want to hear from me,” he responded.

“You haven’t seen your daughter since she was a day old and you left her in Reithwin. Don’t tell me what she’d want.” I knew this part was going to be hard, but I care about my mother.

[shit happens idk]

“Mhm. I’ll take those books. And I’ll be back tomorrow morning for the letter.” I turned

“Wait a second, girl.”

I turned. Come on. This was going exactly like I wanted it to. With a hint of anxiety in my voice, I asked, “What?”

“Who do I address the letter to?”

“[mom’s name that is some sort of positive quality or whatnot].”

“And you are?”

“Tilia of Tragedy.”

[she leaves]

Now I have to figure out how to get a letter to Waterdeep.