#yes one of these feathers is a representation of my own

[feral-aether]

Some new bookmarks I started for not only two of my deities, but how both their influences have shifted and blended in my own feathers.

They each have their own respectively, but this will now mean all five of my major deities will have a dedicated bookmark I created for them and with their influence. Hades, Persephone, and Odin all have one(Odin actually has two but one of them isn't laminated) but neither Heimdall nor Hephaestus had one yet. Which kinda feels like a shame given I've done so much of my creative work and work work under the eye of Hephaestus, mostly my art, especially when I was working with clay and I was really trying to get this one project to work out so I wore my Hephaestus pin to kinda have him with/watching over me, and the project did turn out! Still one of my favourite pieces from that class.

It only feels right he gets a proper nice bookmark. And he sits on my work vest too. Along with Hades, Persephone, and Odin; unfortunately Heimdall does not yet have a pin. I'm hoping he does one day, but that's far out of my creative ability. So, bookmarks :3

[skzdarlings]

i do ; skz ; felix x reader

requested by anonymous: ' I would love if you could use these prompts...on Felix x fem reader:❛ i love that no one else has seen you like this, that no one else has felt you before, been inside you. they don't get to have you, but i do. ❜❛ you're mine. you've always been mine. ❜I love possessive Felix, istg i would give amything to have him' plus two anonymous requests for: 'i'd say you need someone to put you in your place' for felix.

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: look this request was for possessive!felix and so possessive!felix i delivered. he is a little weirdo in this tbh. but i think after all my anti-rich-guy stories, i have earned the right for one problematic possessive mafia boss who throws his money and his dick around hahaha. so yes, possessive!felix, virgin!reader, wedding night, arranged marriage, felix being a criminal boss, insta-love. reader's backstory involves a verbally abusive/neglectful family. explicit sexual content. word count: 4000 words.

masterlist. part of the valentine���s day stories series. credit to prompts. requests are closed.

enjoy <3

-

Your new husband is astoundingly pretty.   You expected a different face to be waiting at the end of the wedding aisle: harsh, old, scarred.  Maybe, if you let yourself fantasize, he would be handsome in a rugged way. 

You were not expecting Felix.  Slender, delicate Felix with his high cheekbones and freckles, his dark eyes and feather-soft blonde hair.  He smiled a dimpled smile as your father surrendered your hand. 

That surrender was a visual representation of a literal transaction.  You were a bartering tool to save your father’s business.  You knew an arranged marriage was inevitable when a few trades went sour and the company went bankrupt.  The family could only maintain relevancy and safety through a match to someone more powerful. 

Lee Felix is the heir to a very dirty criminal syndicate that blends in high society.  Everyone knows their money is blood-spattered, but they throw a good party and the jewels sparkle the same.

You knew his name long before the wedding.  Of course you knew his name.  But you did not know his face.  You expected a devil, not a vision of divinity, resplendent in white and gold. 

Your heart has not stopped racing since he first lifted your veil and kissed you with lips softer and gentler than your grandest fantasies. 

Now you are perched on a lavish bed in a beautiful penthouse suite.  The walls are windows, externally tinted but offering you a glorious view of the glittering cityscape at night.  You wonder how much of the city your new husband owns. 

Would that be an impertinent question?  It is not as though there is any real charade to play; this is not a love match and there is no sense pretending otherwise.  Enquiring after financial assets is arguably appropriate insofar as business goes. 

Then the door opens and your new husband enters.  All thoughts of business flitter into nothing, an insignificant detail next to your wedding night.  A night with this powerful and beautiful stranger.

“Are you nervous?” he asks in a voice so deep it keeps surprising you.  It suits his angelic appearance in a way, something so captivating about its low tones, effortlessly melodic.  But that melody is coloured darkly in its depth, scratching a shiver up your spine.  When he speaks, it feels like he is trailing his fingers up your back in a curious, searching touch. 

He looks at you with as much depth, dark eyes penetrating as he circles the bed.  He has been nothing but polite, but you can’t help but feel like prey being circled by a predator. 

Even more concerning, you can’t help but like it.  Since the moment he took your hand, his eyes have not left you.  It is almost overwhelming.  You have been invisible your whole life.  No one ever looked at you.  No one ever wanted you.  Your father scared off anyone who tried. 

Felix is not just anyone.  Anyone sensible would be scared of him.

You are also not just anyone. 

“No,” you answer.

“Really?”  He lifts a curious eyebrow. 

You are both in your wedding clothes, all white and gold.  Your veil is draped over a chair in the corner.  He puts his coat there too. 

He never looks away from you, rolling his shirtsleeves up his forearms as he approaches the bed.

“May I ask, why not?” he asks.  It’s a funny question, so polite but only posed because he knows his own reputation.  He knows what you must think of him.  The bloodshed, the ruthlessness, the merciless command he holds over his family’s legacy.  He might look unassuming, but he is not to be trifled with.  That gentle exterior could be unnerving to some people, even more than an outward brute. 

But you have dealt with those brutes your whole life.  An abusive father, cruel brother, an uncaring mother.  Hurt, neglected, ignored. 

Tonight, while you circled the reception to greet everyone, your father and brother pulled you aside.  Your mother had already berated you on the details of your appearance, but they were reprimanding you for every other misstep.

You almost burst into tears, tired and frightened.  You were so afraid you would never escape them.  Even at your wedding, on the cusp of a new life, they were dragging you around, kicking and screaming.

Then you felt a tap on your shoulder.  Bang Chan, one of Felix’s most trusted agents, stood there with a forced but cordial smile.  He looked at you and not your family. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said.  “Your husband is asking for you.  Please, come with me.”

Your father sputtered indignantly, unaccustomed to such blatant disrespect for his authority.  Chan said nothing to him, simply offered you his arm.  He also opened his jacket to flash the gun in his chest holster.  Your family had their weapons stripped before entering the reception.  It was a subtle reminder of who was really in charge. 

So your father and brother were left sputtering helplessly as Chan escorted you across the room.  Felix was sitting with some of his men, smiling his bright smile and looking like any happy young groom. 

That sunny face faltered when he saw your morose expression.  His glance passed to your family, a flicker of anger in his gaze.  Then he smiled at you and held out a welcoming arm. 

“Come here,” he said.  “Sit with me a bit.  Please.” That deep voice.  You felt it like a touch inside you. He had recited the scripted vows earlier.  This invitation was his first real address. 

You nodded.  Your legs were shaky from the confrontation, never mind the wobble from your heels.  Your feet hurt.  Sitting would be a relief if nothing else. 

There was an empty seat behind Felix.  It was the type of seat you were usually given: at the back where you could be forgotten. 

Once you were within reach, Felix grabbed you around the waist.  Your breath caught as you stumbled towards him.  He caught you and held you.  Then you were sitting in his lap, your dress draped everywhere, a glittering ivory prize perched safe and pretty on his knee.  He wrapped a possessive arm around your middle. 

It was more than a power play.  It was one thing to put you on his lap and show your family that he owned you now, but it was another for him to frown as he touched the painfully tight pearl belt around your waist. 

“Why is this so tight?” he asked, looking at you with concern.     

“I’m sorry,” you said automatically, in the habit of grovelling whenever someone took a disappointed tone.  “My mother,” you spoke softly, not wanting the rest of the table to hear. 

He leaned closer to you, offering you his ear directly.  A whisper was all you managed, unaccustomed to such attention.

“They’re real pearls,” you whispered.  “Very expensive.  Very fine.  Too fine for me.  My mother had the belt made small so I would remember to act worthy of them.  Sit straight.  Not over-eat.  You know.”

He frowned, his brow furrowing.  Instinct compelled you to soothe that displeasure, laughing like you were not upset.

“It’s all right,” you said.  “She’s right.  They are very fine pearls.”

“It’s not all right,” Felix said.  He looked at you, held your gaze in his own.  You found yourself counting his freckles.  “Do you like it?” he asked. 

Maybe it was his display of power.  Maybe it was his arm around you.  Maybe it was the freckles.  He looked so sweet, so sincere.  You could not bring yourself to lie.  Though you had defended your cruel family all your life, the truth fell from your lips in a rough exhale. 

“No.”  You felt tears in your eyes.  “I know it’s expensive.  I know it’s beautiful.  But I’ve never hated anything more.” 

He held your gaze, your watery eyes in the dark depths of his own.

Then he grabbed the belt by a thin material strand and yanked.  A couple pearls popped right off and scattered.  The rest dangled on the belt, an absurd amount of wealth in his hand. 

Felix tossed it over his shoulder like it was garbage. Then he wrapped his arm around your waist and held you against him. 

You chanced a look at your family.  They were scandalized.  Horrified.  And you breathed easier for the first time in a long time. You have long suffered the oppressive strangle of control masquerading as love.  His protective arm felt nothing like that pearl belt.

So you look at him now.  You strive to articulate all these feelings.  You are not used to speaking and having someone listen. 

“I can’t explain it,” you say.  “Maybe it’s foolish.  But I… I just feel like I was meant to be here.  With you.  Like this.”

Your heart jumps at his expression, a luminous pleasure that brightens this dimly lit room. 

“That’s funny,” he says.  “I feel the same way.”

You swallow as he sits beside you.  Slowly, touch by touch, breath by breath, he is bringing your bodies together.  His knee touches yours, his arm your arm.  He folds his hands in his lap but he is close enough you can count his freckles again. 

“I need to be honest with you,” he says.  “I’ve wanted you since I first saw you.  A year ago.  At the winter masquerade.”

You look at him with surprise.  All at once, his eyes come back to you, gazing at you behind a golden bird mask at the annual winter social.  You couldn’t place the handsome stranger at the time.  His hair was dark then, his face in a mask.  He did not speak.  His distinctive voice would have given him away. 

He danced one dance with you, the only person who danced with you all night.  You were later reprimanded for behaving like a slut, even though he touched your waist and nothing more.

“You were very kind,” he says.  “I watched you with the staff.  You were the only one in that whole room to say please and thank you to them – did you know that?”  He sighs and looks away, thoughts travelling beyond this room.  “I came from nothing,” he says.  “My family… we fought to get where we are now.  But I remember, you know.  What it feels like to be the smallest and least important person in the room.”

You sit straighter when he looks at you.  Oh, your heart has not slowed its thunder.  Excitement and affection swirl together in a motley tempest of sensation, touched by his words and yearning for more.  You thought you had been sold to an uncaring bidder, but Felix touches you slowly, like he would a very fine work of art.  His knuckles caress your cheek, the slope of your jaw. 

“I thought…” He looks at you reverently.  “I thought… I would do anything to preserve that goodness.  I would protect it.  Like your family wasn’t.”  His brow furrows now, a shadow of his face.  “They would have ruined you.” 

His hand continues, knuckles skimming down your throat, your shoulder, your arm.  You shiver.   He has a terrible scar, scoring the whole back of his hand.  A stark difference to your unblemished hand, your manicured nails against his calloused fingers. 

He says, “I know what it’s like to be ruined.”

You look from your hands to his face, his handsome profile, the slope of his nose and his soft lips.  He is still looking at your joined hands. 

“I wasn’t always like this,” he says.  “I’d give anything to have my innocence back.  But I can’t.”

He lifts your hand, cradles it between both of his like something precious.  Your breath catches when he kisses your palm, lips soft against your skin.  

“So I told myself, I would do anything to save yours,” he says.  He looks almost… afraid.  An expression you never expected to see on this man.   “So I destroyed your father’s business,” he says.  “It was all me.  I knew he would never give you to a man like me unless he had no choice.  He would have given you away to one of his friends and they would have broken you.  But you were already mine.  So I left him no choice but to see things my way.” 

“Oh,” you say, surprised beyond all words. 

“I wanted you to know before anything… happens… between us,” he says.  “But I understand if your feeling are complicated.  Or if you… fear me.”

Your father has often boasted how many men fear him.  It does not sound like a boast from Felix, rather something lamentable.  His face is shadowed in shame. 

“My feelings are not complicated,” you say.  He is still holding your hand in both of his.  You lay your other hand there, a complete joining. 

He meets your gaze, an intense and imploring stare.

“I’m not my father’s daughter anymore,” you say.  “I’m my husband’s wife.  My loyalty is to you.  My place is with you.”

“Yes,” he says, spoken on a breath.  His smile returns.  “Your place.  I’d say you need someone to put you in your place.  Your rightful place.” 

He springs off the bed like there is lightning under his feet.  He is all smiles and sunlight again, a beacon in the blue dark of this room.  You cannot help but bask in his warmth, bereft in the chill when he leaves your side. 

He takes something from his discarded coat pocket, a case swathed in velvet, soft to the touch.  You hold it, admiring the texture.

He kneels behind you on the bed while you open it.   Inside is the most breathtaking necklace you have ever seen in your life.  When you lift it, the chain is long, designed to sit low, loose around your neck.  No more chokers.  No more pearls. 

“Oh, Felix,” you say, breathless and amazed, then very embarrassed.  You are not used to such lovely gifts.  Even the pearls were a punishment.  “I can’t accept this…” you say, stunned.

“You can,” he says. 

He takes the clasp then strings the necklace around you.  His fingers on the nape of your neck have you shivering.  The necklace clasps in place, then his lips are on your neck, a chaste press that nonetheless lights fire under your skin.  “It was made for you,” he says.  “Like you were made for me.” 

He takes the zipper of your gown between two careful fingers, so slowly lowering it.  It feels like you are unravelling with it.  The zipper reaches the base of your spine and his fingertips dance across your bare skin. 

He steps off the bed.  He looks down at you, his eyes intense but his smile soft.  He touches your cheek, strokes his thumb across it lovingly. 

Then he is sinking to his knees in front of you.  You already feel weak as jelly, but your whole body goes soft and pliant when he gently grasps your ankle, when he slides your painful shoe off your foot and tosses it aside.  He somehow finds every sore spot and rubs it better. 

“This is how it works,” he says.  He is on his knees but somehow his presence looms bigger than you.  You cannot look away from the thrall of his gaze.  “You are my wife.  And when we are out there, I am your servant.”  He takes your other foot and removes that shoe as well.  He massages you gently.  “I will never deny you anything,” he says.  “You can ask me for anything. All right?  I will give you the whole world.  I will give you my whole heart.  In return, I only want one thing.”

“What’s that?” you ask, already breathless.

“I am your husband,” he says, “and in here, you are my servant.  Only I can touch you.  Only I will have you.  All of you.  In every way.  Always, starting from today.  Starting from right now.”    

“Yes.  Yes.  But I – I’ve never done this before,” you say, aching to surrender but fearful he will regret this.  Though you are knowledgeable, you are lacking in experience from years of isolation.  “I’ve been alone for so long,” you say.  “I don’t want to disappoint you.” 

“You don’t,” he says.  He lifts your leg, swoops down to kiss your calf, then higher: your knee, your thigh.  “You could never,” he says, guiding your leg to rest on his shoulder.  He gathers the volume of your wedding dress in his hands and pushes it up, up. 

You almost forget to breathe.  He kisses higher on your thigh.  Then he grabs the thin material of your white tights and rips them open.

“You’re mine,” he says.  “You’ve always been mine.” 

You fall back on your elbows, limbs already quivering as he tears through your underclothes as if impatiently ripping open a prettily wrapped gift.   With your expensive lace panties shredded and your tights in tatters, he pushes your skirts up and out of his way.  You hold them while he kisses up your thigh.  He runs his tongue along the seam between your thigh and somewhere much more sensitive. 

“No one else has done this to you?” he asks.  He already looks flushed.  Desperate.      

“No,” you answer.  You swallow hard.  “Never.”  You know some men do not enjoy providing this type of pleasure to their wives, so you are about to tell him that you have no expectations in that regard—

But then he is on you like a starving man, eyes closed and mouth open and licking through all that wet desire.  You fall on your back, pressing your heel into his back.  He groans, pressing deeper, tongue seeking, swiping, stroking. 

He grips your thighs possessively, holding you in place as he ravages you with his mouth.  He takes you up and over a blissful crest.  It leaves you a drenched and panting mess. 

He stands, wiping his arm across his wet mouth.  He does not look satisfied, eyes still hungry as he climbs on top of you. 

“My wife,” he says, like the word is sacred and impossible, like he thought a man like him could never say it.  “All mine,” he says, running his hands up your thighs, up your waist, touching every inch of you until he is cradling your face delicately in his careful but calloused hands.   

It makes your whole body clench up tightly, your breath stuttering as he kisses you.  You melt into the kiss, so different from the chaste peck of your ceremony.  It is a claiming kiss, the taste of you still on his lips, his moan in your mouth, his chest against yours as those sounds of pleasure rumble through him. 

He tugs down your bodice, then he is ripping through your underclothes again.   When your bodice is around your waist and your chest is bare except for his necklace, you find yourself covering your breasts instinctively.  He takes your hands, not forcefully but firmly, holding your gaze.  His mouth is already so pink and raw from kissing.  You wonder if you look as ravished.  Maybe more.  It makes you whimper, surrendering when he pins your hands on either side of your head. 

“This is mine,” he says, kissing your jaw, your throat, then lower.  “All mine, sweetheart.”

He wraps his lips around a pointed nipple and you feel the reaction between your legs, as if connected by a thread.  Your legs try to close around his hips but he presses down.  The crumpled skirt of your dress is between you, but he feels your thighs clenching, feels you desperately bucking. 

Even his chuckle is a deep sound.  He smiles at you, batting his eyelashes as he licks the curve of your breast.  Your whole body twitches again. 

“Mm,” he says.  “You feel that?  You getting all tight… and hot… just for me…”

“Felix,” you say, you beg.

He sits back on his heels to get your wedding dress off.  It is a flurry of ivory and silk, earning some laughter, then it is gone and your husband is staring down at you.   Again, you feel like prey, like a meal spread out helplessly for some predatory creature.  Again, you like it. 

He is just as impatient with his own clothes.  He does not look away from you while tearing his shirt open.  Buttons fly, forgotten, and he rips the material down his arms and off.  His belt is next, leather whistling through the air then joining the heap on the floor.  He grabs your hand and guides it to the hard shape in his white pants, groaning deep in his chest as your palm curves around it. 

You are so captivated him, by the way he feels, by the sounds he makes, that you are surprised when he touches you too.  Your legs part instinctively, then your thighs twitch to close when you are embarrassed by your eagerness. 

“Don’t be shy,” he says.  “Not with me.” His fingers feel divine inside you, gliding as if through silk, pressing at your walls and making you whimper.  “Yeah, my baby.  So nice… ‘n wet… for me…” he murmurs, more to himself than you. It still makes you clench, like your body wants him deeper, pulling tight around him.   “God.  Perfect.” 

“Aren’t we g-gonna—”  Your eyes drop to his waistband, then up to his eyes again. 

He smiles, laughs, and withdraws his fingers slowly. 

“Oh yeah, sweetheart,” he says, unbuttoning his pants.  “We are.  Be patient.  You’re gonna enjoy this.  Gonna remember this night forever.”  He leans down so his body is over yours.  He kisses you, presses you into the pillows.  When he pulls back, he traces a finger along the necklace, smiling brightly. “The first time I made you mine,” he says, speaking low and soft against your lips.   “I’m going to do everything with you,” he says.  “And you’re gonna want it.  All of it and more.” 

He has you begging for more already.  When he finally is pushing inside you, after so much torturous build-up, you are a breathless, sweaty tangle of limbs.  It feels like he is pinning you to the mattress, taking you so deep and so hard, like your whole body is changing to fit him.   There is a long, slow burn, but you are so wet and he is so careful; it is an ache that gives way to pleasure. 

His arms are around you, holding him above you, making you feel so completely shielded and enveloped.  He starts a slow pace that turns more frantic.  Your hands move all over his chest and shoulders to find a grip. 

“I love that no one else has seen you like this,” he says, grabbing your searching hand.  He brings it to his mouth, kisses your palm, your fingers.  He puts your hand on his shoulder, then he slides his hand under your head to cup your neck, holding you steady while he rolls his hips into yours.  “That no one else has felt you before,” he says.  “Been inside you. They don't get to have you, but I do.“

“Yes,” you say.  “Always.  My husband.” 

“Mm.”  He drops his forehead to yours.  “My wife.” 

You come again but it feels different, starting deep inside you and rolling outward, a full-body spasm that has you crying out his name.  He comes too, holding you against him, his lips on your neck as he says your name. 

Then he kisses you.  Then he lays you down.  He wraps you in his arms and squeezes. 

“Sleep for now,” he says.  “It’s been a long day.  And I want you again.”

“You have me,” you say, nestling in his arms, your head under his chin. 

“Yes,” he says with a smile.  He looks so sweet even while his wicked hands hold your body in a strong, possessive grip.  “I do.”      

[bunninophia]

Hi! I'm Bunny and I'm redesigning the whole cast for hazbin hotel

{PLS READ THE WHY SECTION BELOW}

Anyway.... Onto my designs! I'll be detailing the stuff I changed/added

First is.,..!! Sir pentious! Weird right? You would think it's Charlie but uh nah, he's my favorite character and I wanted to make him similar to my tastes.

Yes he is trans! I have a small little HC that the egg boys are his boys...

And he is much longer/bigger due to this because of sexual dimorphism! But we love him for who he is now he's so silly :). He also has a barbed tail that I would say is used as a 5th hand! To grab stuff. He already has 4 arms cause why not? He needs to push himself around already..

Next is.. Angel Dust!, he doesn't have an alt version because I feel it's not needed but here he is!

I added pedipalps, those are the mandible looking things. They are a part of spiders I think are so cool and I wanted to add them! Unfortunately they're not counted as legs and adding another set of legs to angel I couldn't figure out... But good enough!

I also changed his eyes! To include a spiderweb, I'm not entirely sure why he has that black eye, so I thought I would change it up a little bit.

A friend gave an idea that his sight from that eye is kaleidoscope-like so I'm implementing that too! And how could I forget! The spiderbutt! Without it it's kinda weird looking so I wanted to add it in cus it's so cute

Next up.... Husk! He's one of my favorite characters so.. kinda went all out on him

I didn't change much about him besides his patterns and colors, but generally his silhouette is the same!

I wanted to add a lot more feathers and fluff to him! And putting on the casino style bringing back the spades and hearts to his wings again!

I thought the spades were funny

Up next.. Vox!

I found his design interesting that he is a flat screen TV even though he died in the 50's? So I decided to change that! Turning him into a box TV again!

And giving him a cable tail, I thought it would be clever that when sleeps he charges himself up for the day!

Next up... niffty! She's the last character I've designed so far!

Also while looking up her historically accurate date I found out she's 22??? Weird... But yeah she did end up looking a little older here I'm glad, but I really wanted to give her a bigger needle! What's she gonna do with that small thing?

And her dress is based on 50's maid outfits! With the addition of an embroidered poodle!

.

Why?

Well first I'm crazy and second, I've been now made aware that the show itself does a certain type of representation so disgustingly that I'd rather make my own designs and fix what they couldn't do.

I don't support viv or the show.

If you want to read into it yourself I advise a trigger warning for S/A. It happens in episode 4.

[bastetwastaken]

Character intro: Aviditas/ Avi

"The desires of the heart are powerful, they can lead to both ecstasy and ruin. Lucky for you, I’m an expert in both."

His head rolled to the side as he was overcome with fatigue, but instead of finding an empty room, his eyes fell on a figure sat perched on the back of his sofa. He couldn't work out what it was exactly… some sort of bird…human…goat thing. Maybe he was hallucinating in his final moments. He frowned, trying to focus on the creature he thought he could see but his vision was blurry. "Aw, not gone yet, hm?" The strange figure spoke as it crossed its arms, dark feathered wings fluttering behind it. "That's okay, I can wait." That captivating voice certainly sounded human, but he couldn't understand why whoever was here had so many extra non-human parts. He squinted at it, lifting his head slowly for a better look. The things wings spread out behind it, framing a beautiful human looking figure perfectly. Wait, was this an angel? Had it come to take him to whatever came next? His lips parted and he tried to speak but it hurt his throat and all that came out was a harsh whisper. "What are you?" A smooth chuckle reached his ears and he found himself fixated on the creature before him. It tilted its head and said nothing as for a moment, it simply…watched him. "A Demon, of course." The other said with a smile, unsettlingly sharp teeth on full display. "I was here to finish you off, but it looks like you've done my job for me, I owe you one." A wink. "Come find me in Hell when you get settled in, hm? I'll show you a good time as a thank you~"

The need to know basics:

Age: Around 4786

Pronouns: Any pronouns, demons have no gender so Avi will simply conform to human perceptions of gender subject to his needs.

Sexuality: Yes. Personality: - Talkative - Flirty - Outgoing - Charismatic - Excitable Occupation: - Incubus/succubus. - Entertainer at an adult club on earth

Habits/Mannerisms: - Very lose morals (if he even knows what morals are) - Carries a small notebook with them which contains strange symbols and he writes in it periodically, especially when he hears something interesting. - Often blunt, but not in a harsh way just in the way that he sees things in a simplified way mostly. - Can get very excitable over new interesting things. - Draws people to him. - Able to talk his way out of almost anything.

Background: - Aviditas is a Latin name which means longing, desire, lust. It was given to him just after his creation. - Avi was never human, instead he is a hell born Incubus. He’s never been alive, or known an existence before that he has now. - Life in hell for them isn’t exactly easy. They are expected to do whatever their master says, without question, and he has done this for a long time. - Before a human changes the way he see's the world, he's never had many aspirations and always accepted the way things are as how they should be, but once his mind is opened, he's not sure he can ever go back to blind obediance...

Avi’s demonology comes from the representation of demons in both Christianity and Hebrew text.

Demons are essentially angels who failed to follow gods instructions, they’re not always inherently evil, more independent actors that aren’t so different from a human in terms of actual morality. However, some demons have their own agenda and can be tempted by primal desires, whilst others are directly influenced by the demons in charge in Hell and actively serve those demons' agendas.

There are demons who worship god, demons who are genuinely good-they’re just very quiet about it.

Avi speaks, reads and writes Enochian, (an occult constructed language which is spoken by angels and demons and other celestial entities, thought to be the first language of christ.) but since his job relies on communication he can also speak any human language as if it’s his own. It’s kind of like the Allspeak of the gods in Norse mythology. He does struggle to read though, often relying on text to speech to use modern technology, and he cannot write any human language. He’s never needed to learn how. Anyone not of angelic/demonic origin won’t be able to understand Enochian, it’s just not able to be perceived by the human mind. It will be possible to see the symbols though if Avi writes them out.

So he’s a demon, but what can Avi actually do?

Only certain kinds of demons can possess people. Avi cannot possess a person or an animal, but he can take their form and mimic them perfectly if he knows enough about them.

For Avi's power to fully work, he has to create a moment of weakness in the target. This is often easy for him to do through temptation. Once the person accepts him, invites him in, or falls for his charm then he is able to use his power on them.

Avis power will make even the lightest of touches feel intense to someone, everything with him will feel so much better than it ever has done with any other person. This is so he can create a stronger desire in someone and therefore have more Lust to feed on.

He can hypnotise his prey to make sure they don’t fully realise what he is. At any point he can blur the lines a little and make the person think he’s just a regular human who’s very good at what he’s doing. This is why he isn’t worried about showing his demonic features even in human form although generally if he’s out in public or doing his human job, he will keep his horns and wings hidden but he likes those things about himself so is reluctant to do so.

Avi can create obsession in a person, it’s a kind of defence mechanism and survival trait. He can make someone willing to protect him, fight for him, keep him safe from other threats to the point where they will willingly die for him. He can make them act impulsively, take risks they might not have done before and even change their personality entirely.

He can create obsession by visiting a person frequently, being intimate with them often and imprinting on them so they feel unable to live without him. He makes them feel like they desperately need him around, and this suits him fine when he needs to secure longer term food or has to hide from something. It will not be clear to the person under his spell what’s going on, but his spell can be broken by his own choice or by force if the right methods are used. (Avi will not be able to do this to a person who’s heart already belongs to another). Obsession can also occur accidentally if Avi is not careful to detach himself from a person.

Avi can sometimes become attached to a human. He tries not to do this, but if it does happen then Avi will become the irrational one. He’ll swear to protect the person, risk his own life to do so and may also stop feeding off others in favour of spending time with the person. - It’s more like an addiction for Avi though than actual feelings, he just follows his instinct which tells him he needs that person and can’t let them go.

Demons have mates, but Avi has not yet found one. He doubts he ever will find one, but this also means that he can accidentally imprint on humans he feeds on and bond with them, although the bonding part has to be consensual. It would be possible for a human to become Avi’s mate, but that would probably have its own issues due to the fact Avi is immortal and if a demon loses their mate, they cease to exist.

Avi can heal himself easily and can even heal others of simple things if he likes them enough. He can also take pain away with his touch and closeness. He has a very high pain tolerance too, it takes a lot to really hurt him.

His saliva acts as an aphrodisiac.

He can sense the true nature of a soul if he chooses to (although he'll likely only do this when it suits his purpose cause it takes effort)

------

Avi is one of the main characters of my fantasy romance between a demon and the human they accidentally saved from death.

The above image was created with Picrew’s “♡ doshi's oc avatar maker ♡“ Link is in the image

[edupunkn00b]

On a Butterfly's Wing, Ch. 7: Three Coffees

Graphical representation of the Lorenz Attractor.

Prev - Three Coffees - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

The next day, Logan Croft wakes up in the Intruloceit universe of Overruled.

Logan opened his eyes to a dream. His bedroom glowed with summer’s dawn bleeding through pale yellow gossamer curtains. Art adorned every free space on the walls, chunky oil abstracts in every color of the rainbow, pensive watercolor studies of autumn trees, fantastical starscapes filled with comets and a scientifically accurate black hole. Still lifes and portraits… there was even one of Patton styled like Frida Khalo.

His body woke slowly, floating, without any pain. No lingering aches, no throbbing behind his eyes, no stiffness in his jaw. Humming, he relished the comfortable warmth of his bed, fluffy flannel sheets, a feather-light thermal blanket.

His heart stopped when he looked down and spotted the soft blonde hair splayed over his bare chest.

Moving slowly, he lifted his left hand. It bore the glint of a gold ring but no scars, not on his palm nor on his wrist.  The room was different from his and Kelly’s tiny first apartment but everything else felt like first year together.

Logan struggled to breath. He couldn’t take this dream again, glorified memories of those halcyon early days in their relationship. Dreams of Kelly’s softness, her passion. Her love. The dreams of the wife he’d lost, of the life he’d been too inept to hold on to. He didn’t know which was worse, waking from a dream filled with ‘I love you’s… Or the dreams when even his imagination couldn’t force those words from her lips.

Wake up.

Hand shaking, he slowly brushed away a lock of hair from dream Kelly’s forehead and revealed soft golden brown eyes looking up at him. The chai-colored eyes of his boss.

“Morning, Lo.” Janus’ voice rumbled in his chest, low and rough. And warm. His lips were curled in a wry, sleepy smile. “How did you sleep, my dear?” he murmured, bowing his head to nuzzle against Logan’s chest. At his continued silence, Janus glanced up, eyebrows raised. “Nervous about today?”

Dream logic failed him and he had no idea what he was meant to be nervous about. “Perhaps,” he nodded, hopeful he'd found the right thing to say.

Janus’ smile softened and he reached up, drawing lithe fingers through Logan’s hair. “You’ve planned everything beautifully. The party will be perfect.” Fuzzy color flashed with the movement and Logan turned his head to see Janus’ tattoo.

"Is that a pride flag?" Logan had asked all those years ago, unable to tear his eyes from the bright rainbow stripes tattooed along the other man’s inner wrist. Janus had looked up at him, pupils shrunk to pinpricks. He’d recovered quickly, papering over a flash of fear with an annoyed scowl. "Yes, it is. Don't worry, though, homosexuality isn't contagious,” he’d spat. Fuck. Logan sputtered, "Th—that is not what I meant—I—I—“ What are you going to say? ‘I thought it looked nice? Would you tell me where you got it?’ He closed his mouth and tried again. "Would it be reasonable for me to assume, then that you are... " "What, ‘gay?’ Do you have a problem with gay men, Croft?" Well done, Logan. He thinks you’re a bigot. What's next, ‘My best friend in college was gay,’ huh? Logan cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses, "No, of course not.” Janus stared back at him, eyes bright with anger. Salvage this now. “Your life choices are none of my business. What two consenting adults do in the privacy of their own bedroom is none of my concern." "'None of your concern?'" And you just managed to make it worse. Well done, Logan. Bravo. Janus stood tall, shoulders squared. “My life isn't some legal theory to debate or libertarian principle for you to support and then pat yourself on the back. The way our society treats the LGBTQ community is a matter of literal life and death for us." He was right. Of course he was right. And the pain-laced rage simmering in Janus’ glare told Logan this was far, far more than theoretical to his new friend study partner.  Logan’s throat closed but he pushed away the quaver in his voice and tightened his jaw. This wasn't about him. "I... I apologize. I didn't intend to offend you." Janus pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head as though Logan were a very, very dull student. Logan hung his head. Perhaps he was. "Listen, Croft, you seem like you think you're a decent guy, so here's your one and only free lesson in How Not to Be a Dick 101." Janus scowled at him but leaned in close. The cedar and spice of his cologne filled Logan’s lungs and his eyes glowed even as they nailed Logan to his seat. Fuck, Janus was going to be an amazing lawyer. "Impact matters more than intent." For a moment, Logan feared Janus might next demonstrate impact in a more physical way. But he appeared to decide Logan wasn’t worth it. "Just because you didn't intend to dismiss me like you think I'm just some ***, doesn't mean you—“ Voice tight, he stopped himself and took a slow breath. “Doesn't mean that wasn't your impact."  And Janus was right. Desperate to explain but certain anything else he managed to babble would only harm Janus further, Logan nodded. "I am genuinely sorry to have hurt you," he said, fighting to keep his voice under control. "Perhaps we can schedule a session later today." Logan pocketed Janus' card and fled the classroom before Janus could change his mind about them working together. His colossal failure at a good—or even decent—first impression and Janus’ quick correction of him had made its own impact. That night, Logan had walked the stacks at his security job, greeting the opening librarian with an armful of Baldwin and Wilde and Lorde to check out. It's what had ultimately led him to his internship—again working rather uncomfortably alongside Janus—and to his job at QLaw. His entire career. Janus had changed his life that day. The only sign the real Janus had even remembered their first conversation, though, was the lingering nickname.

“Lo?” Voice soft, Janus called him back to his dream. Logan's gaze refocused and Janus looked up at him, eyes gentle and concerned. Logan had seen him look at his husband like that the night he'd overindulged at a Q-Law party. And another time when the green-haired man had caught a finger in a folding table while helping to set up before a press conference in back 2012.

“Where'd you go, Lo?”

Logan smiled, the warmth in Janus’ gaze melting the icy rock at the pit of his stomach. He’d never dared imagine those eyes might look at him that way. Apparently his subconscious had no such qualms.

“I’m right here, Janus,” he whispered, reaching out to brush back a lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead. His hair was so soft, flowing and liquid over Logan’s fingers. It shimmered in the morning light, gold and platinum and…

“Counting the grays?” Janus asked, chest rumbling with a quiet laugh.

Logan shook his head. “Silver,” he countered. “And every strand is beautiful. Just like you.”

“Hmmm…” Eyes closed, Janus leaned into the touch like a cat. “You’re such a sweet talker. You make me not want to get up.”

“Then let’s stay right here,” Logan whispered with the courage of a dream. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“Mm, if only,” Janus pouted—pouted!—and leaned in for a kiss. “Re’ll be up in—”

With a bang, the bedroom door swung open, pushed by Janus’ husband backing through. Logan froze, but Janus stretched and sat up with a smile. Logan scrambled to sit up as well, straightening the covers between them them. When he looked up, Remus had turned, bearing a wooden tray of three steaming mugs.

“Damn, you’re awake,” he grinned, holding out the tray. “I thought I was going to have to get creative with how I got you both up this morning.”

“And how would that be different from any other morning when you wake before us?” Janus purred, one eyebrow cocked as he took one of the mugs. The blanket fell away as he moved, revealing he was dressed in nothing but a pair of silky boxers.

And neither was Logan.

Remus was the most dressed of all of them, clad in baggy plaid sleep pants, hung low around his hips. He was shirtless, revealing a large dragon tattoo splashed across his chest and back, one wing dipping over his shoulder, tail curled around his arm down to the wrist. Watching Logan’s gaze, Remus waggled his eyebrows in response and moved the tray closer to him. “Thirsty, Lo Lo?”

Logan accepted a cup with a small nod, cheeks burning at the innuendo.

“I thought I smelled coffee,” he said for lack of anything better to say. His earlier dream-fueled bravado dissolved, he held the mug with shaking hands. “Thank you,” he added and took a sip before he blurted out anything else nonsensical.

The coffee was just the way he liked it, dark-brewed on the right side of bitter, very strong. And hot. He pressed a scalded tongue against the back of his teeth, the pain not quite enough to drag him to consciousness.

As though the dream couldn’t get stranger, Remus passed Logan the third mug and wiggled into the space between him and Janus on the bed. Janus sipped his coffee with a bemused smile, shaking his head at Remus’ triumphant jazz hands when he’d gotten situated, lanky legs tangled together with theirs.

“Thank you, Lo Lo,” he sing-songed, inclining his head as he took a mug from him and finished half of it in one draw. “You know… You two took the day off and we still have a whole hour before Pat’s back from Portland…”

“Muse, while we are deeply flattered by your more than romantic proposition,” Janus began, hiding a smile behind his mug. “I do not believe now is the time for a morning tryst.”

“Jannie! I’m shocked!” Hand pressed to his heart, Remus couldn’t quite conceal a smile behind his look of exaggerated offense. “I was going to say we still had time to decorate more downstairs before our son gets home.”

“It’s the nineteenth,” Logan murmured, glancing at the phone charging on the nightstand before flexing the fingers of his unmarred hand. “Patton’s birthday was last week. It’s at least twenty—”

The other two had fallen silent and he looked up. Janus’ worried eyes had returned and Remus peered at him, head titled like a bird. “Lo Lo?”

“I think perhaps… I need… more coffee,” he said before gulping down the rest of his cup.

When he’d finished, Janus and Remus were still watching him, concern dragging down each of their expressions. “I… I assure you,” he murmured, inclining his head. “I am quite alright.”

After taking his empty cup, Remus reached for him, strong hands more gentle than he would have expected as he maneuvered him between them. With Logan’s head pillowed on his shoulder, he curled one arm across his back. Janus set the other cups down and brought Logan’s hand close to his lips.

"You seem upset," Remus whispered into his hair. “It’s okay to not be alright, Love.”

Janus brushed kisses against his fingers and smiled. “Now where have I heard that before?”

Buoyed by their embrace and by the naked love in their eyes, Logan nodded. “I think perhaps I need just a bit more of this before we start the day,” he finally said, chest warming at their growing smiles. “If that’s… acceptable to you?”

Cupping his cheek, Janus leaned in and pressed a soft kiss against his lips. “More than acceptable.”

[thunder-jolt]

ALYCIAN IF SHE WAS A BOT IN ASTRO BOT!

Since Kain and Raziel have representation in Astro Bot and I need to make more art for Alycian, making her a bot would be a good choice! Especially knowing how, as of posting this, Astro Bot is still kicking and people are still talking about it.

Anyway, I suppose it's also time to explain the references here, such as what that chest even is. (It doesn't look like anything seen in any of the Legacy of Kain games)

Well, it's because other than her being a Legacy of Kain OC, I was also thinking of giving Alycian her own game while still trying her to the Legacy of Kain lore, basic idea is that she wonders around the barren deserts and wastelands of Nosgoth (though it wouldn't be set in it because it's not a Legacy of Kain title and also because I'm not Crystal Dynamics), finding secrets and treasures while "stealthly" avoiding and evading monsters, who would instantly kill her if caught.

But anyway, to find these secrets and treasures, they're often in random chests, and these chests don't need a key, because I prefer things to be easy. But yeah, that's why there's a chest here.

For now, the working game title is either "Winged Heart" or "Winged Hope", maybe even "Hopeful Heart", who knows. But the "Winged" is more symbolic than literal, as my Pa suggested one of the titles to have "Winged" because of a poem, something to do with "hope is the one that has feathers" or so I recall. Feathers and wings are not literal for Alycian, it's just symbolic of her being the hope that Nosgoth needs to be itself again. Or yada, yada...

But another thing about this game that I won't make is that unlike Blood Omen or Soul Reaver, she doesn't have anything to heal herself, not blood, not souls, nothing, hence the "monsters who would instantly kill her if caught" and the whole game being stealth-based because she doesn't have anything to sustain herself other than regular food, which isn't special as blood or souls as a food source. She may be a half-vampire, yes, but the human half overwhelms the vampire half.

Anyways, have Alycian as a cute Astro Bot, I'm outta here.

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Part 7: Dreamers

Fandom: Inception

Pairing: Robert Fischer x OC

Summary: Alice and Robert experiment.

Word Count: 3,164

Notes: Warnings for depictions of smut, specifically dream sex, marathon sex, praise kink, and a wet dream (technically).

Previous Part • Series • Next Part

“Did you ever fuck your projection of me?”

Alice almost fell out of her chair at the kitchen table. “Excuse me!?” 

Robert’s eyes shone with mischievous amusement. “Just curious.”

“I don’t–I–fuck off!” she stammered. Her face was probably about as red as a tomato. She had told him about the projection of him that would sometimes visit her when she used the PASIV during their time apart from one another, and while he’d had many questions in the moment, none of them had been quite like…that.

“So that’s a yes,” he said, looking far too smug as he leaned backwards. “Was I any good?”

“Robert!” 

“What? I need to know that projection Robert had an accurate representation of my actual abilities.”

She buried her burning face into her arms. “I hate you so much.”

Robert chuckled, chair scraping against the floor as he pushed it back and walked over to her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her head up so that it was resting on his chest. “It’s alright. I’m just teasing you.”

“I know,” though she still pouted a little against him. Still chuckling, clearly far too smug about the whole thing, Robert buried his face in her neck, lips beginning to brush over her throat. “Robbie?” she asked, eyes fluttering at the touch.

“I have an idea.” 

“Uh oh.”

“Mhm,” he pulled back, tilting her face up with a finger under her chin, and kissed her, touches slow and methodical, blatant in his attempts to seduce her.

“So…” she trailed off as he kissed back down her neck, pulling the collar of her shirt aside so that he could have access to her shoulder. “What’s your idea?”

Robert leaned back, pupils blown wide, pale, freckled cheeks flushed. He stroked her face, large hands cradling her head, thumb petting her lips.

“I want to fuck you in a dream,” he said, voice low, making her core clench. Alice’s hands came to rest on top of his, lips parting as arousal began to flood over her.

“Okay.”

His eyes went alight with excitement. “Really?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “Let’s try it.”

He pulled her in for one last, quick kiss to the lips before grabbing her hands, tugging her up out of her chair. Still gripping her tightly as they began to walk hastily towards the bedroom, they giggled conspiratorially like teenagers. She laughed, when she tried to pull free from his hand to go to the closet to get the PASIV and he instead pulled her up against his chest and kissed her, hand cupping her jaw, the other sliding down her back to grope her ass.

“You keep it up and we’re not going to even get the PASIV out,” she laughed, finally pulling away from him. He let her go, though he pouted when he did it. And the moment she had the silver case out of the closet and opened up on one of the nightstands, he was pressed up behind her, kissing insistently at her neck while she worked to get everything set up.

“You’re distracting me!” she complained with a sharp laugh, even as she leaned back into him, humming as his hand slipped into her shirt and bra to cup her breast. She kissed the dimple in his cheek, a result of his grin. “Go lay down,” she ordered and he complied eagerly, spreading himself out on the bed, pulling up the sleeve of his shirt to expose his forearm to her. She slid the tiny needle in place, going to fidget with the dials on the machine. “I’ll see you soon,” she pecked his lips as he nodded, leaning back against the pillows and closing his eyes. Alice allowed her fingers, light as a feather, to brush some of the soft hair away from his face, just admiring him before she laid down beside him, slipping her own tube into place and reaching over to push the button in the center of the case.

It felt like she only just blinked. Eyes closed for the briefest of moments, and then she was in an entirely different place from her bedroom in their beach house in Australia, barely even given the opportunity to process what appeared to be a very spacious and luxurious hotel room before Robert was on her, mouth hungrily crashing down onto hers as Alice’s hand fisted with the front of his shirt.

His hands planted on her back, pulling her firmly into his front, until she could feel the clothed erection in his slacks pressing into her stomach. He groaned, low in his throat, when she gripped his shirt in both hands and tore it open, buttons popping off and flying everywhere. It was a dream. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was running her hands up the naked skin of his torso, angling her head so that she could kiss him deeper. They broke apart for only a stutter of a moment so he could pull her shirt off over her head, groaning as she hastily undid her bra and slid it off her shoulders. Robert’s hands were everywhere; in her hair, on her breasts, squeezing her hips.

When she buried a hand in his thick hair, he moaned, and started to walk her backwards in the direction of the bed. She let him push her gently onto it, cradling his face with her palm as he crawled on top of her.

“Mm,” her head fell back as he started to press kisses into her throat, making his way down to her chest to play with her breasts. Legs wrapping around his waist, she pushed her hips up insistently until his erection, fully straining in his pants, pressed against her. “No foreplay,” she said, desperation growing at the feel of him.

“You sure?” he lifted his head from her chest, eyes wide. Alice nodded.

“It’s a dream. You won’t hurt me.”

Growling, he surged on top of her, fingers fumbling with the button and zip of her pants. She helped him to wriggle her out of them, underwear going with them. And then she was sitting up, pushing him onto his back and kissing him feverishly as she undid his belt and the zipper on his slacks, pulling them down, taking note of the wet patch already forming in the front of his boxers before she pulled those away too.

When she took him into her hand, hot and swollen and already throbbing, he whimpered, loudly, head thrown back onto the pillows. 

“Alice,” he pleaded, eyes rolling as she rubbed her thumb over the sensitive head of his cock, testing the weight of him in her palm, smirking at the way he pulsed when she tightened her fist around him. Eyes snapping back to hers, they narrowed playfully. “You said no foreplay.”

Fair. Still keeping him in her fist, she rearranged herself so that she was sitting in his lap, his hands on her hips to help stabilize her. “Sorry,” she kissed him. “Couldn’t help it.”

A startled shriek left her lips as he suddenly rolled them over, planting his hands on either side of her head while he hovered above her. Laughing, she wrapped her legs around his waist, encouraging him to come closer.

“Ready?” he asked, rubbing his nose along her shoulder, waiting for permission before he did anything more.

“Yes,” she said, kissing his cheek. He was always so sweet to her.

Robert let her guide him inside of her, thrusting forward with a grunt once she’d lined him up. Her head fell back at the familiar stretch of him, mouth falling open at the satisfaction of being full again. 

“Robbie, oh,” she let out a startled yelp as he shifted forward, pushing his cock directly into the spot that made her toes curl. He moaned loudly, as he entered her, lips falling open to gasp as his chest heaved, face burying in her neck.

“Alice, so good,” he babbled, one hand remaining anchored to the space in the bed beside her head, while the other came to rest on her hip. She wrapped both arms around his neck, nuzzling him, wanting him as close as she could physically get him.

“Please,” she whispered, rolling her hips up as best she could with him technically pinning her under him. Robert groaned again, nodding, and started to move at a slow, deep pace that left her clawing at his back, nipping his shoulder at the way he was hitting her g-spot with every stroke.

The hand near her face moved to stroke her head, brushing some hair out of her face before cradling her. “Alice,” Robert said, voice straining, and she nodded in silent understanding, lifting her head up enough to kiss him as they continued to thrust and roll against each other. He adjusted his movements only slightly, so he was both rubbing up against her clit with every thrust and still pressing his cock into that sensitive spot inside of her on every stroke in, and Alice threw her head back with a cry, practically sobbing at how good it felt.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop–” she chanted over and over again. He kissed her face, her eyelids, her nose, her cheeks, down to her neck.

“I won’t, I won’t,” he promised, movements only growing harder and faster, more frantic in his goal to get her to come. His thrusts so powerful she was shifting up the bed with each other, short nails dragging across his back, sliding back up into his hair to pull his head down so she could kiss him again and again and again. The band in her lower belly was growing tighter with every movement, orgasm imminent.

“I love you,” she said, between kisses, then threw her head back, body beginning to tense. “I’m close.”

“I love you too,” he told her, nuzzling at her cheek, groaning from deep in his chest as he felt her walls beginning to spasm around his engorged cock. “Come for me.”

And with a scream that might have been his name, she did exactly that, gripping tightly his shoulders, legs tightening around his hips as if trying to draw him closer. 

“Robbie…Robbie…Robbie,” she said, over and over, walls going tight around his cock. Robert moaned as he felt her gush out all over his erection, soaking it with her come as he continued to thrust steadily, chasing his own orgasm while prolonging hers. 

“So beautiful. You’re always so beautiful,” he said, kissing her cheek. She could feel him throbbing deep inside of her as he grew closer, thrusting only a handful more times before he stilled with a loud cry, muscles tensing with his orgasm. His cock thrusted as deep inside of her as he could get, staying there as he poured his come into her with several powerful throbs. Stroking his hair, Alice nosed at his temple affectionately as they both just laid there, basking in their shared afterglows.

Finally, Robert lifted his head enough to peck her lips tenderly, pulling out and rolling over to lay down beside her. Alice shifted closer until she was cuddled up against his chest, head resting just below his collarbone. Robert hummed contently, kissing the top of her head and wrapping his arms around her.

“Good?” he asked.

“Mhm. Very much so.”

He shot her a cocky, crooked smile and she snorted, burying her face in his neck. 

“Shut up.” 

He just laughed and hugged her tighter. Alice nosed deeper into his neck, breathing in the scent of his soap and cologne, letting her lips ghost along the soft skin. Robert shivered.

“Al, what are you doing?”

“Nothing,” she drew the word out, still kissing and nuzzling, lips curling up with self satisfaction when a small moan bubbled from his throat. Readjusting herself against him, she slid her thigh forward, until she grinned in triumph as she was greeted with his cock, already beginning to stiffen up for her again. “Mm. You’re horny today,” she teased. He huffed, grabbing her smiling face with both hands, raising her head up to look at him.

“Pretty big talk coming from the woman who can’t keep her hands off my cock.”

She just smiled at him innocently, flexing her fingers around him, enjoying the sensation of him swelling up and twitching in her palm.

“Fuck,” he dropped his face into her hair. “How much time did you put on the timer?”

“Just enough for us both to come again, if we hurry.”

“I love you,” he said it with such seriousness, clutching her face in his hands, that she couldn’t help but giggle against his lips as he kissed her. “Turn around on your side.”

She raised an eyebrow, but complied, letting his erection go and rolling over so she was facing away from him. Robert draped himself around her from behind, cock nudging against the small of her back. Wrapping an arm around her, he pulled her flush against him, the other hand taking hold of his cock. She watched him from over her shoulder, brows raised. Robert smiled and kissed her nose.

“I got you,” he promised, then nuzzled at her neck as he began to push in again, his entrance slickened by the combination of her come and his previous load still seeping from her. Alice moaned, arching her back, loving the feeling of having him spooned up against her. So warm and close.

“Okay?” he asked, pulling some of her hair back so he had better access to her neck and shoulder.

“Yes. Yes, good,” she breathed out. Robert pressed his lips to her shoulder, peppering the skin with soft little kisses as he started to thrust again. Mindful of the ticking clock, his movements were quick and deep, just how he knew she liked it. The hand around her flattened against the middle of her chest, directly between her breasts, and with his lips close to her ear she could hear almost every single little sound he made.

“Fuckkkkkk, so tight,” he growled out, her walls spasming around him at the praise. “Not gonna last…” he warned.

“Me neither,” already, she could feel a second orgasm building up in her with every movement of his cock, the way he was throbbing only pushing her closer. With a moan, he slipped his hand down to rub her clit in time with his movements, her head lolling back against his shoulder in response. 

“I want you to come again, Alice. Can you do that for me? Come for me, sweetheart,” he murmured, all while he pumped that enormous, heavy cock in and out of her, focused entirely on making her feel as good as he possibly could. She wanted to cry. He was always so sweet to her. So kind and gentle. She loved him with all her heart.

Her walls clamped down on him hard, cunt spasming as she came with a moan, eyes closing with it, body shuddering with bliss. When she finally came to, it was to find Robert still frantically rutting against her, breathing harsh as he chased his orgasm. Tilting her head so she was murmuring into his ear, Alice began to talk to him. 

“You always take such good care of me, Robbie,” she told him, hand rising to tangle in his hair. “Always make me come so hard.”

“Ohh…” he whined, face burying deeper in her neck, cock twitching as it prepared to spill another load. Alice smiled softly.

“Feel so good…always so good,” she shivered as he throbbed. “Love how it feels when you come in me, baby. Always makes me feel so full.”

Robert let out a thunderous moan, body stilling, hips flush to hers and he started to empty inside her, cock pulsing with it, his entire body twitching with each generous spray of seed.

“Fuck,” Alice hissed once they’d finally come to a complete stop, her body slumping deeper into the mattress. Robert pressed adoring kisses all along her neck and shoulder, remaining seated inside of her as they both relaxed. Turning her head enough for him to kiss her lips, Alice smiled when he pecked her nose right after.

“Time is probably almost out,” she murmured.

“Mm,” he wrapped both arms tight around her, resting his head into the crook of her shoulder and closing his eyes. “Let’s just stay like this, then.”

“Okay,” she was more than happy to snuggle down into his arms, his chest warm against her back as they rested. Her eyes drifted closed, and when she opened them, she was staring up at the ceiling over her own bedroom, back in the beachhouse. Mind still groggy, she fumbled to pull the IV tube free from her arm, tossing it away and rolling over to nestle comfortably into Robert’s side where he was laying beside her, groaning groggily. She pulled his IV out too, tossing it away in the general direction of the PASIV.

Dom and Arthur would have been appalled. Whatever. She’d put it all away later. 

“Mm,” Robert mumbled, still a little dazed, even as he put his arms around her. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Alice giggled, nosing at his chest affectionately. “I think I would say that was a successful experiment, wouldn’t you?”

“Oh, yes. Very successful.”

She smiled, stretching her legs out slightly, body still locked in the final stages of post-orgasmic bliss. Robert shifted beside her, then made a face.

“Ugh.”

“What?” she lifted her head.

“I’m gonna have to throw out these pants.”

Glancing down, she snorted at the obvious wet spot on the front of his slacks. Between her legs felt wet and sticky as well, the only evidence of what they’d been up to together in their shared dream.

“I feel like a teenager waking up from a wet dream again,” Robert complained, throwing his head back dramatically. Alice laughed, sitting up to kiss him. He cupped her face, smiling into the kiss.

“That happen often for you?” she snickered. He stroked her cheek.

“Only when I dreamed of you.”

“Cheesy,” she chastised fondly.

“Hey, you fucked your projection of me, you have no room to talk.”

She laughed, laying her head back down on his chest, arms wrapping around him. God, he was her absolute favorite.

“So…” he trailed off, fingers petting against her shoulder.

“Yes…?” she asked, glancing up at him.

“Was that better than with the projection?” 

“Oh, so is that what this was all about? You in some competition with yourself?” she asked with a smile, stretching up to kiss him again. “Much better,” she admitted, once they’d broken away. Robert grinned dorkily, chest puffing out proudly, and she snorted. Yes, definitely her favorite. “Shower?” she asked, pecking him again.

“Ugh. God, yes, please.”

She laughed, climbing off of him, taking his hands and helping to haul him up to his feet, kissing him joyfully as she let him walk her backwards towards the ensuite bathroom and the much anticipated shower.  

Previous Part • Series • Next Part

Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or like. I always appreciate feedback and love getting the opportunity to interact with you and hear your thoughts!

[callingallthemansters]

I’ll never not roll my eyes at some gen one stans who view gen one through rose colored nostalgia glasses and use that as their sole reason to hate gen three. Gen one was loaded with cringe jokes and cringe moments. The same kind that some of these people try to tar and feather gen three over. And gen one had its awful writing moments too. Just like gen three has had some. And I don’t care how much these people try to paint gen one as this great diverse show. It wasn’t.

All the girls in gen one were the same body type(a unrealistic one at that), they were all the same height minus I believe Abbey. The dolls were all the same body type and height too. The guys in relationships existed as nothing more than accessories or sources of conflict. Such as Deuce with Cleo’s sister and dad. Or in Manny and Heath’s case to be gross sexist jerks. 

Whereas now we have different body types and heights. We have actual representation which will always matter more than implied/hinted representation. The cringe unneeded sexism from Manny and Heath is gone and they are actually likeable now. Deuce and Clawd actually have their own personalities and such and feel like true characters now.

Does gen three have its issues? Yes. Does gen three have things I don’t like or wish where different? Yes. Has it had its cringe moments that grated my nerves? Yes. 

But to view gen one through nostalgia glasses and act like it was this perfect faultless thing like some of these fans do and then use that to base their whole reason to hate on gen three isn’t a cute look. Like having valid reasons/criticisms for gen three is fine. But to solely hate it and be a prick to people who do like it just because it doesn’t fit the picture perfect nostalgia image you have of gen one in your head isn't it.

[panzershrike-pretz]

UHHHHHH ANOTHER TAG GAME MADE BY THE MOST AMAZING @onehelluvamarine!!! I LOVE THESE KEKKEKEKEKEK

----------------------------------------------

A band you don’t like that many others do:

Well, it's not that I don't like, it's more like: I only ever heard probably 3 songs. That would be The Beatles; I never got really interested in their music, they're not my vibe really

A childhood memory that you remember vividly:

I have many, but one of them was when I was maybe 6? and I went with my dad to the bank deposit money. He found a friend of his and started talking to him, while I picked up some pigeon and turtledove feathers up off the ground. That friend was deaf, but he could still speak a little and he congratulated me on the feathers then gave me a pat on the head (he was strong as fuck??)

Least favorite animal and why:

Any insect, but ESPECIALLY cockroaches. I'm so fucking scared, you have no idea 💀

Hot fandom take:

Scourge is one of my favorite characters from Warriors, I don't care if he's an edgy bitch. My man clawesd open Tigerstar'sbelly and made him loose all 9 lives at once???? Scourge is very fucking cool (also purple collar is the real collar. But I like rainbow)

Do you were any jewelry, if so, what’s your favorite piece:

I have a pair of gold earings! When I was born, my ears were pierced and I got those. I only ever changed them once (boughr a pair that's a little bigger, but my baby earings are still here). I can't use any other kind of earing or jewelry on the ears or else I'll have an allergic reaction 🤡

A movie others liked but you didn’t:

How To Train Your Dragon 3 (actually, did anyone like that??) I don't like the Light Fury and it feels so wrong having Toothless leave Hiccup 😭😭😭 It's a damn pretty movie but I still consider itto be non-canon <3

Three things you love about yourself:

My sense of humor, my eyes and my hair

A place you hope to visit in the future and why:

Paleontological digging site. I know I'll visit it with my college, but!! I can't wait!!

There's also this wildlife reserve-park thingy on the way to the state of Paraná called Vila Velha (Old Village) that I NEED to visit one day. It's such a pretty view from the road, I swear 😭

An actor that gets on your nerves and why:

I know nothing about famous people, so I don't care for their lives. I have my own problems, no time to bother with theirs :3

Things you’re excited for in the nearby future?

TAXIDERMY CLASSES! TAXIDERMY CLASSES!!! TAXIDERMY CLASSES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Least favorite ship in a fandom you’re in:

The fuck is with people shipping Alastor (Hazbin Hotel) with everyone. He's canonically aroace, get a grip fellas 😭😭 (yes aroace people can still have any kind of relationship but fuck. Alastor? He very clearly is NOT in the game for a ship,,,,,, and when I finally find a lil' scrap of representation, people want to strip that from the character??? Nuh-uh, I hate Alastor ships. Leave him be!!)

What’s the most toxic fandom you’ve been in?

.........Dream SMP 💀 *explodes and dies*

List three things you find beautiful about life:

Being able to hear birds singing (and see them flying), snuggling together with my dog when I'm feeling down and long walks on the beach with said dog.

Any dreams for the future?

I have a big big BIG interest in falconry (although it's a very odd thing for Brazil 😭) and, obviously, i can't wait to learn taxidermy. I know it's a stinky and slow process to learn and mount stuff, but I can't wait to start learning and hopefully have my first bird piece done!

How are you really feeling today?

I just woke up to a pair of chacalacas (why the fuck araquã in English is like this?) screaming like crazy, so I haven't had the time to feel anything xD

Damn this got big-

Tagging (no pressure!): @onehelluvamarine (do your version >:3) @xxluckystrike @blueberry-ovaries @1waveshortofashipwreck @grumpy-liebgott @executethyself35 (and whoever else wants to join!)

[vacantgodling]

unique writing asks: 1, 5, 7 (for any and as many WIP/s as you want), and 30

thank you valen <3 i hope you're doing good!

1. What themes would you like to write about that you feel don’t get explored very often?

tbh its less about what doesn't get explored often and more like, the way that a lot of people do it doesn't do it for me so i gotta make it my fucking self. a lot of it does center around representation for men especially and most importantly queer and poc men. mlm relationships that aren't just teenagers, that aren't just completely happy and non problematic, that have MASCULINE men and positive visions of masculinity. nonbinary masc leaning characters, men over 30 that are complex and have rich inner lives and rich emotions especially with other men.

also black fantasy that isn't "black first" -- i really don't know how to explain it but as a black person i am MAD tired that every fantasy that a black person is in always tends to come with some caveat about being black or showcases black struggle, or they're a minority. i want fantasy that is a majority black cast and has nothing to do with them being black. i want fantasy where every character is an individual and their skin tone has nothing to do with the story. i want queer people who's stories who deadass have nothing to do with being queer they just ARE. i'm tired of having to lead everything with my identity and not being able to be just a GUY and i feel strongly about that in my works too. like yes, all my works are queer and poc and nd centered. but them overcoming these things or having challenges with these things isn't always the point, ESPECIALLY not with race like i am SO FUCKING TIRED of my race being a factor in fantasy man like i'm exhausted.

5. Would you rather write a happy ending that soothes the soul or a tragic ending that hurts the heart?

happy endings. i refuse to write sad endings. AT MOST i will write bittersweet endings, but i just dislike writing endings that are tragic. tragedies can be super good but i just don't like things to be super dour and i don't like things that steal away my hope. i want there to be some sort of hope there, even if it was hard won and hurts a little.

30. What is some of the best writing advice you’ve read or received? Why does it work for you?

honestly the best advice i ever learned or got was to write things that make YOU happy and to worry about the themes and shit later. the thing is: everyone has morals or things they believe in or shit that is important to them; trying to force them out and into a story is the easiest way to stifle whatever creativity that you have about the idea or the characters etc. if you're trying to FORCE yourself to create a message instead of letting one form naturally, then it just gets rough as shit. and at least for me, i've found that when i write what i want to write and focus on the shit that i enjoy, messages and themes come out on their own anyway.

7. Favorite description in your wip? (If asked more than once, respond with a new piece each time)

prepare for a lot and so i'm putting it under a cut lmao: sorry in advance for this overload but prose is probably the thing i'm proudest of generally speaking

CAGE

His first study of Hanzo wasn’t entirely fair to the man; clouded by anger, and distrust, and not to be dramatic, but definitely a bit of apprehension, but perhaps this was the first time Cassidy was truly seeing Hanzo. He’d thought the elder Shimada’s nose was like the jut of a mountain cliff; but was there anything more majestic than seeing the peak of a mountain obscured by clouds at the crest of dawn? His eyebrows were severe, but why did Cassidy only just now notice that they feathered at their ends like the wings of tiny birds? Hanzo looked like Genji in Blackwatch; when he snarled, when he let his expression fall flat, and lifeless. But here, and now, with a soft linen towel draped about his shoulders, his dragon tattoo near iridescent in the cresting evening, his hair once again down and fanning his shoulders, and gazing up at the expansive blanket of the stars with a quiet and meditative eye, Hanzo looked practically seraphic. 

COME TO BED (one of my 3 buddy daddies fics)

“We can’t do this unless you take it off too.” And as with everything, Rei ceded. It was a painful show of trust; Kazuki could see it in how he hesitated but his hands kept moving, kept unzipping his tracksuit, tossed it; shrugged out of his tank top revealing a chest Kazuki had seen many times before riddled in scars. But it was different now; to touch it, to taste it, to feel Rei shudder beneath his ministrations, to watch him gasp and tilt his head back. Kazuki wasn’t sure what was more intoxicating: his skin, his reactions, or the trust they suddenly built here. They couldn’t go back after all of this, and like with Miri they wouldn’t. They’d fight, they’d fuck up, but Kazuki was beyond the point of not putting a name to this thing between them and Rei must’ve felt the same because he was here. He was here, here, here. Kazuki thought it and kissed it like a mantra to Rei’s collar, Rei’s stomach, Rei’s thighs. 

WILDFLOWERS IN THE PAVEMENT (one of my 3 buddy daddies fics, warning for nsfw)

Better. His eyes seemed to say. That Rei looked better like this; domestic and falling apart in the safety of his arms, bangs sticking to his forehead from sweat and love. Rei felt better like this. Suwa Rei was becoming some distant thing to him—some cloak he donned before slipping out into the night, some second skin that was becoming too small to crawl in. This Rei, who let Kazuki strip his cock raw until he was over sensitive and panting, wrapping his legs even tighter around Kazuki’s back. This Rei, who met Kazuki’s wine dark eyes with a plea, a promise, with love, with need. 

“K-Kazuki.” 

“I’ve got you.” Kazuki said and it was enough, it was enough.

PARAMOUR -- dude there's gonna be a lot i went loco on the paramour prose

Hyacinthus glanced over his shoulder, only slightly; not enough to draw attention to it. The voice that rang in his ear was but a passing whisper, smokey like an open fire, and sent that same warmth chasing through Hyacinthus’s gut. In his peripheral, he caught sight of a plain black crow mask. In the dim electric light of the room, it glimmered with embedded black gems, only just so to give it the illusion of motion. It was a half mask like his own; the slow smile that came to the person’s face when they realized Hyacinthus was looking was far too telling.

##

Pretty dead leaves of fire and gold had begun to coat the cobblestoned streets of Halifax when Hyacinthus received another one of Aloe’s letters.

##

He didn’t take Hyacinthus’s hand, merely started off through the suffocating mass leaving Hyacinthus no choice but to follow. Hands and bodies pressed close from all sides—writhing and grasping, seeking to touch, to steal, to feel—to take anything they could get their hands on. Hyacinthus squared his shoulders broader and began to push. Whether his shoulders or the severity of his expression told them to move a small channel around him slowly began to take shape. That was the difference between himself and his wiley butler, who weaved and bobbed in and out of the crowd with ease. Whenever there was an opening, like water, Amon slipped through—fluid and malleable. Hyacinthus however, shaped any opening to his own size. Water in a vase, as was water to a mountain. They pushed and shaped each other, in ways uncomfortable to dwell on.

##

Moonlight washed the courtyard in pale blues and serene milk whites. Below this floating palace, the lights were harsh and gold. He could almost taste the stiffness of the air; choked with mirth and alcohol and the fervor of the night. The packed rooms of The Nimbus, the claustrophobic walls of winding back alleys, the grunts and groans of passion and pain; all of the world’s earthly pleasures, finite and pale delights compared to this quiet. 

Entranced wasn’t the right word. It wasn’t strong enough. Transfixed. Illuminated. Anchored. Their lips had yet to touch, yet the only thought in Amon’s mind was the pleasures of the divine; lips and tongue and tastes of the gods. Hyacinthus was before him, yet he wasn’t close enough. He wanted to be one in the same skin. To follow the thread of intimacy until he forgot who he was supposed to pretend to be. For a drop of mercy he would kill for it; beg for it. A soft indulgency that could never be his but how Hyacinthus’s gentle caress of his cheek made him yearn.

##

Narcissus’s world was like glass. Delicate, intricate, finely blown and shaped, to a perfect sphere she could cradle within her hands.

THE GRAVES WE DUG

His thoughts wandered, as they tended to these days. Dark, hooded eyes roved over the small bits of scenery presented to him. Drunkards lavished themselves over poker and pool tables; brims of their hats tilted high in jubilation or low in deception. Graves’s own gambler was tipped low down; to keep the bright, fly addled, naked bulbs above from creating blind spots in his sensitive vision. He was a creature of the darkness and this saloon was too bright; too close to a normalcy long foreign to his mind.

He drained his bitter dram, then set his glass to the side. The girl who refilled it was prattling on about something he wasn’t hearing. He let his eyes slip closed. 

Then, he was standing on the balcony of The Rome.

[oddlyunadventurous]

After ten p.m. the television would be shut off and I would be left lying awake in bed, against my parents’ hopes that I should sleep, endeavoring to programme a television showing inside myself. There, in the diligent dark, I would imagine as hard as I could new, phantasmagorical adventures framed in a four by three aspect ratio, projected onto the cathode ray tubes behind my eyes. Every sound, every drop of rain or creak in the floorboards would remind me of an important, transfixing event that had occurred during my day, I imbuing it with a cosmographic meaning: a precious, shimmering artifact that slotted - or was to be slotted now, under the cover of night, by my diurnal over-accretion of imaginative powers - into the perfect, reasoned out star map of my life. My tiny, compact, meaningful life. I would close my eyes and find my universe exploding and recombining itself: now in blue velvet, now in the rhythm of a somber gait across puddles in the morning, now in the images of picture book crescents and pentagrams, steadfastly inked in delicate, undeviating line and diffused throughout with the nebulous, downy touch of watercolor, each star and constellation holding some esoteric meaning, like an abacus made out of blazing gemstones, in account of all my life so far.

Sometimes I got away with leaving the TV on ‘till eleven and even midnight, of course, but perhaps I preferred it better when I was made to sleep on time. With nobody to save me (I slept in my own room always, apart from my parents), I would struggle against my assailant always as a pleasurable act of motioning, by feigned resistance, to the notion, the possibility, of my total submission. He was already inside my room and under my white-blue sheets: he was me and no one else, he was my body heat, my insatiable urge for believable confabulations and for finding meaning, the most inebriating of the human vices, one less debasing but more rapacious than Lust herself. I would writhe and tangle, and feel consumed, in this chasm of the hypnagogia, by an infinitely more powerful version of myself: the totality of me, which was no more, really, than the totality of all that had transpired to me during the day, a saving grace from the present me who, like all little children, was oppressed by both past and future in horrid perpetuity.

This was, perhaps, the true reason why I could never fall asleep. Long after this solar flare of activity within the mind of a typically precocious child, when it came to be that my mind, without me sensing it, had ossified into a cold and hollow, porous rock, then I would continue to employ the habit, uselessly, of delaying my sleep for as long as I could, since I wanted, of course, to extend myself a little farther. I wanted five more minutes of listening to my sheets, of rubbing my skin across the plush blankets and imagining that the successive sensations of touch which they produced somehow shared a kinship with the successive strokes of pen on paper, that not just sound and sight were the privileged mediums of representation but that touch, also, shared in their ability. Yes, then, in those moments, I had a suspicion so heavy that it pressed the old, goose feather pillow terribly against my resting curls, I felt touch to be capable of a language of its own, which a mind like mine, so apt in the art of finding novel patterns, may humbly learn by simple supplication to its tactile prosody. I then went on, from this very likely conjecture and by reasonable induction, to the conclusion that all five saints which guided me through life, those whose names had been inscribed, in Hellenic script, over the arches of my sensorium, that all of them held this capacity to tell me all I asked of them, that they all could be reasoned with and reasoned through. I was afraid of going to sleep, in short, because I thought the world might die tomorrow and, if so, I would fail to see and talk to it just one last time. This estrangement from all I knew, I perceived as a fate far worse than any physical death. Since then, though this has no place in the beginning of my story, I gradually came to be haunted by dark suspicions that it is, in fact, a fate chillingly equivalent to really dying.

y’all bitches ever felt something kinda like this or is it just me who’s fuckin’ wack? o.0 xD

[aurorathedragon45]

1. when did you find out you are a dragon?

April 27th of this year, though it feels like wayyyyy longer :>

2. what kind of dragon are you?

A humble forest dragon!

3. when did you join the dragonkin/alterhuman community?

I knew about the community before my awakening so when I did find out I was a dragon I kinda just tried to interact as much as possible so I could figure things out more

4. what are some unique features of your dragon self? can be related to your body, your powers or your behavior.

I have a very light, cream-green mane that wraps around my neck, and leaflike protrusions on my head. My wings are kinda leafish too

5. what do you think of the representation of dragons on earth?

I find it unfortunate that most western dragons in folktales are large, murderous beasts. They're also considered a "symbol of greed and evil" which is upsetting. Most of the dragons I know aren't evil at all!

6. do you have memories of being a dragon in a past life or concurrent life?

Not that I know of.

7. what do your shifts look like, if you have any?

I walk on my tiptoes (feels like digitigrade legs) and sometimes use a lot of improper grammar when texting. (I force myself to speak normally in reality to not weird anyone out, hhh)

Also just like- idk. It's hard to describe everything else.

8. what does your species' diet?

Omnivorous, but I would likely prefer not to kill and eat live animal, I would rather eat fish or recently deceased animals.

9. do you have a breath weapon? if yes, which one?

I'm not really sure, but if I do it's probably just fire breath.

10. do you know your dragon body's size?

8'7'' tall (about 2.6 meters) and 13'5'' long. (about 4.09 meters)

and 50' wingspan (about 15.2 meters)

I'm not sure about width.

11. do you hoard?

Yeah, I hoard rocks, books, feathers, and some other things

12. how does your draconity influence you irl?

Not sure how to answer that really

13. do you feel species dysphoria sometimes?

I experience it often, but not really to a super duper strong degree. It's just. A lingering sadness

14. what did/would your habitat look like?

A forest, though I'm not sure what kind.

15. are you territorial? can be a place(s) or other beings.

A bit, yeah

Places and beings, depending on where/who it is

16. what do you think about the dragonkin/ alterhuman community?

I think you all are very lovely :)

17. do you use a special vocabulary related to your draconity?

Sometimes!

18. does your species have a special language or alphabet?

Nah

19. do you have a pack/clan or are you on your own?

On my own. Except there would probably be a select few humans that know of my existence. Other than that, I'm an urban legend :) /j

20. where do you spend the most time? outside in nature or in your cave (at home)?

At home, but I try to be outdoors more.

21. what is your favorite dragon media? is it a book series, a show, a video game or something else?

I LOVE HOW TO TRAIN YOUR DRAGON

AND PETES DRAGON

22. have you ever met a dragon like you or similar to you?

@/akalikestodraw is also a forest dragon :3

23. do you consider your identity spiritual, psychological or something else? do you use these labels at all?

Honestly I'm not 100% sure, I'm leaning more toward psychological. There's a high chance I'm on the spectrum somewhere or at LEAST neurodivergent in some way so I think that contributes greatly.

24. do you have any other identities beside being a dragon?

Dragonhearted (cladohearted) but I'm not sure if that's what this question is asking, cuz that's still dragon related

25. do you own any gear (tails, horns, jewelry etc.) related to your draconity?

Yeah, I have a dragon tail and wings, except they're from a costume from years ago before my awakening and they're bright blue and purple, so they don't really match.

26. how does your species communicate primarily? do you use speech, sounds/vocals and/or body language?

Not sure, I'm not exactly a specific "species" of dragon. I know I can make dragon noises myself, and probably could communicate with humans, but I'm not sure how, whether it be Saphira with her mind reading/projection, or if I can speak English normally.

27. is your dragon self animalistic/feral or sapient?

A mix, leaning a little more toward feral. Smart enough to communicate with humans and have human intelligence, feral enough to live in the wild and far away from humanity.

28. do you have a visual description of yourself or something that looks similar to your dragon body?

I have drawings of myself :)

29. do you have any body modifications (tattoos, implants etc.)?

Nope, and don't intend to.

30. are there any dragons/other dragonkin who inspire you?

I think allll the dragons here inspire me!

31. uhhhh rawr

dragonkin ask game

hey there! since this year, the year of the dragon, is getting to its end, i decided to come up with some questions for dragonkin and other draconic beings in the alterhuman and plural community. these can be used for personal use in blogs and are free to use for "draconic question of the week" pings on discord, for example. i will explain the reason for those and what i plan to do with them below the questions after the cut. i hope you will have fun with those.

questions under the cut

1. when did you find out you are a dragon?

2. what kind of dragon are you?

3. when did you join the dragonkin/alterhuman community?

4. what are some unique features of your dragon self? can be related to your body, your powers or your behavior.

5. what do you think of the representation of dragons on earth?

6. do you have memories of being a dragon in a past life or concurrent life?

7. what do your shifts look like, if you have any?

8. what does your species' diet?

9. do you have a breath weapon? if yes, which one?

10. do you know your dragon body's size?

11. do you hoard?

12. how does your draconity influence you irl?

13. do you feel species dysphoria sometimes?

14. what did/would your habitat look like?

15. are you territorial? can be a place(s) or other beings.

16. what do you think about the dragonkin/alterhuman community?

17. do you use a special vocabulary related to your draconity?

18. does your species have a special language or alphabet?

19. do you have a pack/clan or are you on your own?

20. where do you spend the most time? outside in nature or in your cave (at home)?

21. what is your favorite dragon media? is it a book series, a show, a video game or something else?

22. have you ever met a dragon like you or similar to you?

23. do you consider your identity spiritual, psychological or something else? do you use these labels at all?

24. do you have any other identities beside being a dragon?

25. do you own any gear (tails, horns, jewelry etc.) related to your draconity?

26. how does your species communicate primarily? do you use speech, sounds/vocals and/or body language?

27. is your dragon self animalistic/feral or sapient?

28. do you have a visual description of yourself or something that looks similar to your dragon body?

29. do you have any body modifications (tattoos, implants etc.)?

30. are there any dragons/other dragonkin who inspire you?

31. free space

the reason i made this ask game is because i will try to answer every one of the questions during the last month of the year of the dragon. this is a sort of "dragonkin ask game/challenge", and you can try it too, if you want.

thank you for taking a look <3

[hatchetfieldtheories]

Nightmare Time Season 2 - What do the Cryptic Clues mean?

Just over a week ago, things were vaguely normal. Work was busy, I was tired, and this blog posted either a normal or ridiculous theory every now and then while I waited for life to settle down a bit again.

Then a blue N appeared.

And well, you have all witnessed the carnage that followed.

So we have spent a week piecing together the clues, blaming the bees, having meltdowns over green As, and working out timezone differences. Now we have a complete jigsaw puzzle giving us a whole bunch of clues. Layers upon layers of clues.

So my thoughts are below. They're very loose and speculative at the moment, but that's the fun of it! Last time I did a theory like this was before Nightmare Time Season 1 and I was pretty bad at it - so you know... I can only go up!

The Clues:

1 - Blue

Pictures: Bee and honeycomb; old barn or pot farm; boat on a lake; birds; honey

Phrases: Honey Queen; Perky’s Buds

This is the row that I think is giving us two different storylines, “Honey Queen” and “Perky’s Buds”.

Honey Queen - as a few people have mentioned is likely a reference to the Hatchetfield Honey Festival. Now when I hear the phrase Honey Queen, I imagine something similar to a May Queen, who is a girl picked to front a May Day parade. But this is Nightmare Time, so I also immediately thought of something similar to Carrie happening - though maybe with bees, or honey? I also think the boat relates here, and will link us to the Monroes somehow.

Perky’s Buds - I think this has a double meaning. Obviously it’s likely a reference to Emma’s pot farm, and is a FANTASTIC name for such. But I also think its going to mean Emma is going to meet some - not very pleasant characters. Now remember, Blinky is always watching, and has feathered sniggles. I think the birds in the image are Blinky watching what Emma is up to - they become her “buds” - though she isn’t happy about it.

2 - Green

Pictures: Woodcutting axe; canoe on a lake; cabins in woods; roasting marshmallows on a campfire; leather work

Phrases: Abstinence Camp

Oh, Abstinence Camp - this is the one most people seem most excited for as I’m sure we’re all seeing that possible connection to our longed for Nerdy Prudes. Abstinence Camp makes me think of typical teen slasher movies of the mostly 90s, but 70s and 80s also. Plus the axe is likely a reference to the one character I have been waiting for for SO long - Lumber-Axe the Mad Woodsman. Is he the killer in the woods killing off the horny young adults? There is also the leather work image, which I reverse searched to try and get a better image of it and found the original image, but it didn’t tell me much more than “leather work”.

However it is also important to note the canoe on the lake, considering Deb’s family own a lakehouse, which is where the infamous party during Watcher World takes place.

3 - Purple

Pictures: Musician on a stage; sewer or portal; jukebox; wedding rings; diner

Phrases: Killer Track Daddy

Yes, hello, please be about Miss Holloway. I don’t have much to say on the name, Killer Track Daddy, except I think again we’re getting a double meaning. Killer as in death, sure, but also Killer in the same way Bill S Preston Esquire and Ted Theodore Logan might say it. Which is why I am getting the 80s vibes from this and immediately going to Miss Holloway.

There is the theory that Miss Holloway was a star in the 80s (Tiffany) and has time travelled to now. Maybe the sewer is related to that time travel. The wedding rings are interesting, and @donteatthefishtacos mentioned the idea that Miss H and Wilbur Cross clearly have a long history - make of that what you will.

4 - Red

Pictures: A scantron exam sheet; lockers; a roller disco; fire; an arcade machine

Phrases: Yellow Jacket

This is the one that makes me scratch my head the most. We're obviously in a high school, though do teens still roller disco? Teens, please let me know. So maybe this could also be set in a different time period. I mentioned that when I read Yellow Jacket my mind immediately went to a varsity jacket, because I am british and my only knowledge of american high schools is Saved by the Bell and Mean Girls. I'm assuming its an accurate representation.

Now I know by the video Matt posted we've seen Hatcherfield's school colours, but I still think there's gonna be something in the varsity jacket idea. Plus, yellow - tinky - time travel. Which would explain the roller rink.

The fire makes me think something might have burnt down, like the roller rink. And maybe something was built on top of it? Like the Starlight. The arcade machine however? Maybe we'll see Pizza Petes in more than one story, but one of the stories will just be a background storyline, like in Black Friday - and then we learn about the real horrors of Pizza Petes in another story.

5 - Magic Letters

Nibbly Must Eat

Its very possible this is its own story, in which case - NIBBLY!!!!

With the image Dylan posted of Nick with a pretzel surrounded by game machines, I am indeed getting FNAF vibes, and god love us if Nibbly is haunting a pizza place.

I also saw this post by @themystifier about how Pizza Pete might be similar to Uncle Wiley, but like. What if he is Uncle Wiley. What if this is another Wilbur part? We see him as Uncle Wiley, we see him as the Wiggly delivery man, we hear him as the announcer at Watcher World. So what if this is another role?

6 - The Vertices

The Monarch is Now Vexed

I fully anticipate a new Being who is the parent of the LiB and Webby. They're Lords, but this is a Monarch.

I've also decided the Monarch is Nick, as his only part in the Nightmare Time intro is during “Daddy's Gonna Get Ya.”

Some other interesting theories (not anywhere near all the ones I wanted to include - anything I have reblogged I have loved, but these are just some notable ones I found)

Odd One Out @sidekickajustim

Gemini Home Entertainment Vibes @vaguely-functional-directions and @ifduckislordthenheavenisapond

Honey Queen Melissa @infected-hive

Post By Post Breakdown @awigglycultist

[incorrigible-groupie]

Wow, this analysis of the last episode of Helluva Boss went way further that I wanted…

« Blitzo is in love with Stolas !!! »

What.

Hell no.

No no no no.

Did we watch the same show ?

Even since the pilot we know the « relationship » between them is an arrangement more than a love story. I mean, Blitzo doesn’t swoon about Stolas, doesn’t think about Stolas and only talks about Stolas when he remembers he needs the book, he freaking spent some time with him only because he was paid (you know… when he went to Loo Loo Land ?). He shows more compassion towards Moxxie (while treating him like sh*t) than towards Stolas, for Satan’s sake he went to the Harvest Moon Festival only because Millie’s family was there.

Did you see Blitzo’s face when Striker aimed at Stolas ? And then the F*CKING TERROR ON HIS FACE WHEN STRIKER AIMED AT MOXXIE ??? Blitzo was ready to tear an arm appart with his own teeth. But for Stolas ? Meh.

So no, Blitzo isn’t in love with Stolas.

And episode 6 proved that.

DISCLAIMER : The following post is nothing against Stolitz shippers obviously, especially because both characters are great and badass but I really think their feelings aren't synchronized and therefore their relationship isn't completely healthy. They could have a nice one... but not yet. And most importantly, the hallucination scene isn’t about Stolas. Let me explain why I believe that.

« Did you see the golden feathers that put Blitzo back to himself ? »

Oh you mean the golden feathers that turned into chains and that Stolas took to bring Blitzo to his feet ?

Yeah, I saw them.

Of course I saw them.

This is exactly what I expected how Blitzo sees his « relationship » with Stolas, this is exactly the thing that proves that I was right all along.

Blitzo doesn’t love Stolas, he is only with him because he has to.

And with what happened before the stair scene, I know now why.

Blitzo feels like trash, still feels like trash, maybe because of his older relationships, probably because he is from the lowest of the low (working in a circus, then a little bit higher when dating a pop star…).

Did we watch the same show ?

The show that talks a lot about inequality between castes, the show that talks a lot about how difficult it was for Blitzo to make his own company, made from scratch ???

Striker, IN THE PREVIOUS EPISODE, made an entire statement about how Blitzo is underestimated and Blitzo felt it. He was very close to accept to go with him… but he needed to protect his « easiest lanky ticket to Earth ».

Stolas is just a tool for Blitzo to get what he wants. At first, I thought it was because he is searching for something in Earth (and uses the missions as a distraction). But now, I think it’s about something more important : power. Stolas’ feathers have nothing to do with his « transformation », it just shows that Blitzo wears a mask, a costume, a cleaner suit to pretend he isn’t like trash, that he wasn’t trash, that he will not go back to trash.

Whatever it takes.

« Yeah but the figures that are fanning Stolas in such a caring way… »

You mean more like slaves ?

Again, castes, stairs, chains, fanning ? You see a metaphor of love, I see a metaphor of slavery. That’s really disturbing. This is a representation of how Blitzo feels towards Stolas and gosh I’m so worried about him, and them. This is about power.

« But he is climbing towards him ! He wants him ! »

No. He doesn’t want to go to Stolas. He wants to climb those stairs. He wants to go higher. He wants to stay away from the trash. This is about power.

« But the chains… »

I hate those chains.

This is about power.

This is about power.

THIS IS ABOUT POWER.

« No. I think this is about fear. I think he fears to be rejected, so he bound himself to someone, but he also fears of commitment… »

…

Fears of commitment ?

Blitzo ?

What the hell ?

Are we talking about the boss who is not afraid to show (not say, but SHOW) how deeply he cares about his employees ? Are we talking about the demon who adopted Loona and says to everyone that he loves his daughter ? Are we talking about the Blitzo who shares his passions everywhere even on Instagram ? You think someone who is afraid to be rejected would be afraid to commit ? He knows how to express his feelings, he even lies to make the ones he loves happy (yes, I’m talking about Moxxie’s taste in music, duh).

And he does talk about his relationship with Stolas, but do you remember how he calls it ? A transaction.

The book in exchange of passionate fornication.

Nothing more, nothing less.

When people says that Stolas is his boyfriend, Blitzo denies it because he doesn’t want to be seen as just a lover, just a partner, he doesn’t want to have an image of a demon who had success because he is lucky an higher being felt in love with him.

No.

He planned that.

He organized that. He slept with Stolas to stole the book, he still sleeps with Stolas FOR the book.

That demon has ambition that is not related to love.

« Have you even listened to what Blitzo’s subconscience said ? »

… Actually no, not really.

I’m sorry.

English isn’t my native language so it was harder than usual to understand ‘Moxxie’ gibberish (also, I was tripping balls listening to Brandon Rogers playing everyone voices).

I started this all post while not considering what was said, I only listened to my guts which twisted while watching Blitzo being chained because of Stolas.

I’m sorry. I may be wrong…

… But I never believed Blitzo loved Stolas and I won’t start now.

So how can I explain how what is showed and what is saying are related ?

Maybe because Blitzo is scared to be put on a pedestal in his friends minds whereas what he is doing with Stolas isn’t completely right. But he must do it for a reason. Like I said, that demon has ambition.

This is about power.

I think Blitzo has a goal in mind (which he wasn’t able to obtain alone, like Robot Beetlejuice said), a goal he will gain by sacrificing the respect his friends have for him.

You know… whatever it takes.

I think he knows he will disappoint them so he wants to enjoy his remaining time with them while not getting too close to them so the fall won’t be that hard.

« So you agree ? Blitzo is in love with Stolas but can’t make it real. »

Still no.

For all the reason I said before, Blitzo doesn’t seem attached to Stolas. It’s not that he hates him but he doesn’t really care that much.

« Or he pretends he doesn’t care, after all Moxxie said… »

Yes.

Moxxie.

Wait a second.

It started with Moxxie. 

This entire scene isn’t about Stolas and Blitzo relationship, it’s about Blitzo and Moxxie.

« I’m torturing you in your own hallucination. »

(Yep, I have access to the dialogues, you can’t stop me now.)

You are right, it shows Blitzo’s fear : his fear not be a good friend to Moxxie. How could he ? His past relationships were garbage, even recently he hired someone how wasn’t trustworthy, and he’s currently having an affair with someone he doesn’t really like.

I said earlier that the golden feathers put Blitzo into a clean costume, a disguise no one is supposed to see through.

Except that Moxxie does.

Moxxie knew all along that Blitzo is only pretending, Moxxie is more hurt when Blitzo isn’t honest with him than when Blitzo says awful comments to him. 

Moxxie sees Blitzo with the broken heart on Blitzo’s forehead, exactly like how Blitzo sees himself.

Do they talk to each other while tripping ? Do they listen to each other ? Do they only hear what they want to hear ?

Because their thoughts are way too synchronized (Moxxie talking about how Blitzo pushes everyone away, Blitzo being at the top of some stairs…).

Maybe they do talk to each other and then have their own perception of this conversation in their minds :

Blitzo feeling it like accusations that burn his skin like golden feathers who shut him up and chain him and blind him so he will have to abandon everything he is and loves to obtain his goal, Moxxie believing it like their relationship can go higher and evolve and be fine and equal finally.

OH, AND THERE’S SOMETHING MORE : I know there is a theory about Moxxie being a fallen royalty and I think this episode showed that if it’s true, Blitzo knows, with how in his hallucination Moxxie eloquently talked and then transformed into a princess while climbing the stairs (without needing Stolas’ feathers).

Maybe that’s also why Blitzo doesn’t think he is worthy to be friend with Moxxie. And why he is angry at him : because he is jealous, Moxxie gave up everything Blitzo wanted for unknown reason (but probably for Millie, why annoys Blitzo even more not to mention that while Moxxie gave up power for an healthy relationship, Blitzo is craving for power by using an unhealthy one).

« Okay, let’s say that the hallucinations were about Moxxie and Blitzo. But… But THE KISS ! »

Oh yeah the kiss, let’s talk about that !

When Stolas goes to kiss Blitzo, our favorite demon pulls the king’s hair so it won’t happen and… Gosh he doesn’t want to be kissed by Stolas, does he ? I’m sorry but, no, this doesn’t feel right. I may not be an expert about romance but… what ?

This is about power.

Blitzo doesn’t hate having sex with Stolas, I mean, he thinks the role-plays are weird but he goes with it, and I think that’s because during the role-play he is always the one who dominates the other.

Just like with the kiss. The kiss happened only because Blitzo made it so.

It makes sense, those role-plays : Blitzo wants to forget he isn’t the one with power (which is why he made that sad face when he sees Stolas on his throne or when Stolas saves them because he is so strong and Blitzo maybe feel sad that he isn’t strong enough to protect his group, that he still needs the help of someone he knows will ask for compensation after ?), and Stolas wants to forget he is the one with power (and forget that his favorite imp probably doesn’t love him back so he lets him do whatever he wants to do to him and maybe he will fell in love ?).

Anyway.

I feel… No, I’m sure this all dream sequence is more about the power people have on Blitzo.

And power shouldn’t have something to do with love.

Maybe one day Stolas and Blitzo will put aside their differences, the huge gap between them, maybe they will realize that their ranks have a big impact on their relationship and THEN have a real, romantic, healthy one.

But for now seeing Stolas and Blitzo together is heartbreaking for me because one of them feels forced while the other is completely in love.

[i-drink-and-i-write-fics]

The Wolf & The Hound

Chapter 4: Blessed Name Day

Summary: Ever since your conversation with Sansa, Sandor has disappeared. Was she right?

Notes: First update on the new blog!

The next two weeks were so crazy preparing for Sansa’s coronation that you barely noticed that Sandor wasn’t around as much as before. It crossed your mind as you lied down in bed at the end of the night, but you were so exhausted from the day that you fell asleep before your mind could begin to panic. 

But it was felt, on a subconscious level. Your protective shadow was not there and it left you cold. Maybe Sansa was wrong. Maybe it wasn’t you that he wanted to court, but he told Sansa that to hide his true motives. 

The morning of the ceremony, you were up long before dawn and dressed so you could race to Sansa’s room to help her. As Brienne was the only woman of the Queen’s Guard she met you at the door and entered a step behind.

“Good morning, my lady. Are you ready to begin your day?” You curtsied shortly after you entered the room, Sansa standing next to the window to look out over the courtyard. 

“Good morning, ___. Yes, please. We have a long day ahead of us. Ser Brienne? While ____ tends to me, can you please have the kitchen bring up breakfast for all of us?”

“Yes, my lady,” Brienne bowed and left the room.

While Brienne was gone, you went to work filling Sansa’s bath with hot water, bathing and dressing her, and finally brushing her hair as Brienne returned with a member of the kitchen staff carrying a huge tray of food. Sansa wanted to wear her hair unbound as she wanted all the attention on her new crown and gown. So you gently curled the ends.

You then helped her dress in her dark grey dress that had many representations of the North. From the red leaves of the Weirwood Trees to a sleeve made of crow feathers to the metallic bodice that was a mirror of Weirwood branches. One sleeved looked like fish scales to represent her mother while the collar looked like a dire wolf for her father. She was beautiful.

If she was nervous, Sansa never let on. Holding her head high as you busied yourself getting her ready for the ceremony. You then stepped back so Brienne could escort her to the Great Hall. Normally, you would follow Sansa everywhere, but you wanted to quickly get her room ready so it was more fit for a queen.

You raced to change the sheets on the bed, clean her bathroom, douse the fire and clean out the ashes before creating a fresh fire. The floors were swept and cleaned and windows opened to air out the room. The last thing you did was dash down to the kitchen to make a small bundle of cinnamon and rosemary and ran back to place it in the fireplace to burn, so her room would smell welcoming when she returned.

Then you went to your room to bathe and change into clean clothes before you raced to the Great Hall. The room was packed with representatives of the remaining Northern Houses, her brother, Bran Stark, as well as Sansa’s uncle, Edmure Tulley from Riverrun, and Robin Arryn of the Eyrie. You tucked yourself into a back corner where you could easily see the dais. The normal high table had been removed and replaced with a new Throne of the North, with dire wolves on each end on the back. 

Sansa entered the room and was trailed behind by her new Queen’s Guard. You hadn’t had a chance to admire the new armor this morning. The current five members wore black armor with a grey dire wolf head on the chest plate and grey capes trailing behind them. Sandor looked amazing in the new armor. He had even trimmed his beard to appear less scruffy for his new queen. And like the other guards, he kept his eyes ahead as he escorted Sansa to her new throne.

Once there, the maester placed the new crown upon her head as he announced the new Queen of the North. It was a simple band, molded to look like the Stark pattern with two dire wolves meeting at the front. 

The moment the crown touched her head, the North chanted: “The Queen of the North!”

You could not be more proud of the young woman you had helped raise. She looked every bit the queen that she had planned to be when she was a little girl and promised to that monster, Joffrey.

That night, all of Winterfell filled with loud voices, music, and the distant howling of wolves as everyone celebrated their new queen. You took a moment here and there to drink a glass of ale or wine, but mostly you tried to busy yourself so you wouldn’t focus on the fact that Sandor and Sansa were talking once again.

Yes, Sansa told you that Sandor really wanted you. But seeing them together made it so hard to believe those words. Especially when Sandor had yet to confirm them.

So that night you went to bed early to save your heart.

The next morning you were up early again and off to Sansa’s room, where you got a surprise from Arya in the hall.

“And where are you going?”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “To Queen’s Sansa’s room? I have to get her grace ready for the day.”

“Absolutely not! We know you’ve been lying to the staff about when your name day is, but you forgot we grew up with you. You have today off while the feast is prepared. Now head back to your room, a bath is being drawn and food is being brought up.”

Your jaw dropped in shock. “But Ser, I’m just a handmaid.”

Arya wouldn’t hear it. “You kept by my sister’s side, especially in King’s Landing when I couldn’t. You are family. Now go.”

Confused, but slowly growing happy at the sisters’ insistence of taking care of you, you went back to your room to enjoy a quiet morning. A brand new dress was awaiting you on the bed, no doubt a gift from Sansa and you couldn’t wait to change into it. You took your time, enjoying the warm bath, the good food, and then sitting in front of the fireplace in your room in a towel as you gently dried your hair, using your fingers to break up any tangles. 

After you finally put on the new dress, you left your room to walk the grounds. Fresh snow had fallen during the night and your footsteps were muted as you made your way to the Gods’ Wood. For once, Bran was not parked in front of the giant weirwood tree and so you took a seat at the stone by the trunk. 

You were quietly praying to the Old Gods when a deep voice interrupted your thoughts. 

“Forgive me, Little Wolf. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

Your heart leaped in your chest at his voice. A voice you had not heard in weeks. Raising your head, a small smile graced your face as you answered. “No. I was merely speaking with the Old Gods. Thanking them for another year and for watching over me so I was able to return home safely.”

Sandor frowned at your words and you wondered what his relationship with religion was. He was from the South, but he never seemed the type to visit the Great Sept while in King’s Landing. 

“You believe in all that?” He slowly approached you.

“I don’t know,” you looked down at your hands as he stopped at your feet. “I did when I was a child, but much of that changed when I traveled South. But I know I cannot turn my back on them completely.”

“And why is that?” Sandor questioned.

“I believe they kept me alive. No one taught me to fight like Arya, no one taught me how to scheme my way to safety like Queen Sansa, and no one was by my side to fight for me. And yet, I not only survived King’s Landing but getting home as well.”

Sandor crouched until he was in your line of sight. Snow was drifting down from the deep red weirwood leaves, dotting hit hair and beard giving him a soft look to his tough face. 

“I believe you are not giving yourself enough credit, Little Wolf. I saw with my own eyes how you can take down a man when cornered.”

Your face grew warm at his praise. “Thank you. But I hope to never have to do that again.”

He cleared his throat and shifted on his feet. “You won’t. Not while I’m here.”

“You promise?”

A small smile graced his lips. “I promise, Little Wolf. I will never leave your side until you command it.”

You let out a shaky breath. “That’s unrealistic. You’re Sansa’s guard.”

“Aye, I am. But you are her handmaid and where she is, you are. I will protect both of you.”

“Thank you, Sandor. That means a great deal to me.”

“Does it?” Doubt crept into his eyes. “Most might be scared off by the idea of my following them around.”

“Aye. There was a time you frightened me as well. But that was before I truly got to know you.” You held a hand up to stop him from interrupting. “Now, that is not to say I don’t know your past. I am well aware of you who were. But any fool can clearly see you are no longer the man who left King’s Landing during the battle against Stannis.”

“I’ve tried. After my fight with Brienne, I was saved by a Septon. He taught me a few things. And before you comment - I can see your curiosity - he was once like me. So he would be the only religious fucker I’d listen to.”

You gave a small laugh. “Yes, that makes sense.”

His face grew serious. “There is something I’ve wanted to speak with you about. Something that has been on my mind for a while. But with the coronation, I haven’t had the time.”

“Well, you’re here now and I have the whole day to myself.”

“Aye, I know. Sansa told me where I could find you.” He ran a hand over his beard, trying to find his next words. “Little Wolf, I know who I am. I’ve done horrible things, things no one should be proud of. I’m no knight and I’m not a rich man. But I’m trying to change so I don’t- so I won’t be someone so frightening. You are a beautiful, quick-witted woman who can survive, even if she may not believe so. Any man would be lucky to court you.”

You took a shaky breath as he forced himself to meet your eyes.

“Would you...allow me to court you?”

The God’s Wood became still at his words and you tried to comprehend what he had asked you. Did Sandor really ask to court you?

“You...want to court me?”

Sandor tried to hide his face falling, mistaking your words for a no. “I know that may not seem something I would do, but I wanted to do right by you and our queen.”

You reached over and took his hand. “Sandor, I would love to court you.”

While his face did not betray any emotions - as was standard for this stoic man - but he reached up with his other hand and cupped your cheek. You placed your free hand over his as you felt yourself smile. Sansa was right! He really did want to court you.

He shifted on his feet and leaned in, the question in his eyes. And the answer was on your lips as you leaned in the remainder of the way to close the gap. It was the first sign of affection Sandor had ever given and he felt no place was more appropriate for a Northern girl than under a weirwood tree. So you would know how serious he was about you.

His large hand moved from your cheek to the back of your head to hold you closer to him and you moved both of your hands around his neck. Sandor pulled away after a few moments and you could feel how warm your face was, despite winter flowing all around. 

“We should get you back inside, Little Wolf. The Queen will have the feast ready soon.”

“You’re right, we shouldn’t keep Her Grace waiting.”

He climbed to his feet and held out a hand to help you up. Then after tucking your hand into the crook of his arm, he lead you out of the God’s Wood and back to Winterfell. You could tell he felt a bit awkward at the formality of courting so you squeezed his arm.

“Sandor, I know you are worried about doing things right for me - for us - with our courting. But perhaps instead of doing what others would expect, we do what truly would work for us?”

“What do you mean?”

“I know you are trying to change yourself, but we both know you are not a romantic man. There will be no vase of Winter Roses awaiting me in my chamber. So instead, let us move forward as us. You will show your affection your own way. And I will do the same.”

You looked up at him and could see the smirk forming. “Aye, that sounds like that path may suit us better.”

Inside the Great Hall, many of the lords and ladies who had traveled for Sansa’s coronation were there and the feast was already set up. All that was missing was you.

Sansa looked up from talking to Arya, a smile growing on her face. “There you are! We were afraid we would have to begin without you two.”

Arya snorted. “Looks like the old shit got some words to share.”

Sandor growled. “No one asked you.”

Sansa smirked. “Are we celebrating two things today?”

Your face grew warm. “Yes, Your Grace. Sandor has asked to court me.”

Arya rolled her eyes. “About damn time. You haven’t kept your eyes off her since we found her in the woods.”

“Shut your mouth, you little shit.”

“Whatever. Let’s get the drinks going.”

“Good idea, Arya.” Sansa turned back to you. “If you wish to announce your courtship tonight, just say the word. Otherwise, the kitchen has made your favorite tonight. Blessed Name Day, ____.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

Sansa stepped forward to give you a quick hug before she continued around the room to speak with the other lords. Sandor took this cue to lead you to a table where he poured you a glass of wine. Plates of food were brought over and Sandor took a seat across from you.

“So what will you do?”

A smile graced your face as you picked up your fork. “Tonight, I will just enjoy the food and wine. And perhaps, a few moments alone with you. Tomorrow, we can worry about expressing our news.”

“Moments alone?” He raised an eyebrow. 

“If you feel up for it later.”

“Anything for you, Little Wolf.”

Tagging Crew:

Everything

@marvelfansworld​

@that-chick212​

GoT

@harper-emory-writes​

The Wolf & The Hound

@imagine-the-fanfics​

@imagine-the-fanfics-main​

[moon--mama]

I think you’re right about Bryce’s line coming from the Prison island. Evidence is spread across both series.

When I first read the quote below in CC2, I assumed they meant that Bryce’s line was from an island of Midgard. But I think the island they’re referring to is actually in Prythian, not the Avallen island.

CC2:

“Not your kind of Fae, of course—your breed dwelled in a lovely, verdant land, rich with magic. If it’s of any interest to you, your Starborn bloodline specifically hailed from a small isle a few miles from the mainland. And while the mainland had all manner of climes, the isle existed in beautiful, near-permanent twilight. But only a select few in the entirety of your world could shift from their humanoid forms to animal ones.”

Yes, the prison island is miles from the mainland.

ACOMAF:

“On an island in the heart of the Western Isles,” Rhysand said, staring up at the mammoth mountain.”

This makes me think that they are definitely talking about the night court. There is a dawn court, day court, and night court, so it would make sense that dusk’s court is nearby. The only argument I have against the existence of a dusk court is that it would unbalance the 7 kingdoms. Seven seems to be a “holy” number—unless that was brainwashed into common memory by the Asteri.

ACOTAR:

“Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter, Dawn, Day, and Night,” it mused, as if I hadn’t even answered. “The seven Courts of Prythian, each ruled by a High Lord, all of them deadly in their own way. They are not merely powerful—they are Power.”

The select few that can shapeshift in Prythian are the High Lords…the Fae Plus, if you will.

ACOTAR:

“What sort of powers do you have? Can you shape-shift like Tamlin?”

He sighed, looking skyward before he studied me warily, that metal eye narrowing with unnerving focus. “Trying to figure out my weaknesses so you can—” I glowered at him. “Fine. No, I can’t shape-shift. Only Tam can.”

ACOWAR:

“The face … it was those creatures that had been carved into the rock of the Court of Nightmares. That made up his throne. The throne not only a representation of his power … but of what lurked within. And with the wings …

Hybern soldiers began fleeing.

Helion beheld what happened and ran, too—but toward Rhys.

Shifting as well.

If Rhys was a flying terror crafted from shadows and cold moonlight, Helion was his daytime equivalent.

Gold feathers and shredding claws and feathered wings—

Together, my mate and the High Lord of Day unleashed themselves upon Hybern.”

One more loose end:

“According to legend, the pegasuses had come from the island the Prison sat upon—had once fed in fair meadows that had long given way to moss and mist. Perhaps that was part of the decline: their homeland had vanished, and whatever had sustained them there was no longer.”

If Helion’s Pegasus are going to survive as a species, they need their homeland back. Think of the cycle of the solar calendar: night-dawn-day-dusk. Without the dusk court, Helion is the broken link in the cycle. It makes sense that his Pegasuses are unable to breed or sustain themselves. Plus…

“The seven pegasus pairs that remained”

That number seven appears again. Referring to the seven asteri, or the “holy” number? Maybe it’s meant to indicate that the Pegasus herd is fated to die out. But maybe it’s there to make us look closer and realize that this herd isn’t just some fluff filling the pages.

And…

“This one is a unicorn-pegasus.” She stroked the lilac mane. “Jelly Jubilee.”

We cannot forget that Bryce has an obsession with Pegasus. There’s no mention of real Pegasus in Midgard, but they definitely exist in Prythian. Hopefully Bryce will meet a real life Jelly Jubilee in CC3! Our girl deserves some joy and healing.

Bryce Quinlan's true home: A compilation of all the evidence.

[ACOTAR, CC and slight TOG spoilers!]

It seems that the consensus among fans is that Bryce will return back to Midgard at the end of CC3, and that most of the story will be wrapped up. On the contrary, I think it's just getting started, and instead believe that:

Bryce Quinlan's true home is Prythian. She will be the Starborn Queen, and ruler of the Dusk Court.

And not just Bryce. I think Hunt, Ruhn and everyone else will be joining her too... because (to put it bluntly).. Midgard is fucked.

Allow me to go through the evidence.

Bryce is repeatedly connected to dusk.

One of the first thing Hunt notices about Bryce is that her scent is of the "first stars at nightfall." Nightfall is another word for dusk. SJM often uses scent to foreshadow a character's home (ie. Rowan of TOG smelling like Terrasen, and Rhys smelling like Velaris).

Bryce has been obsessed with Pegasus dolls since book 1. It's then no coincidence that the Pegasus's in Prythian came from the Prison Island... where the Dusk Court (most likely) used to be. (And... think about that Pegasus doll that SJM included in the CC3 reveal video...)

Bryce often has her nails painted in "twilight" colours (another word for dusk), and even her damn nipples are described as "dusk pink" (lmfao).

"Dusk's Truth" seems to be of great importance, and I'm willing to bet that everything Danika did - from giving Bryce the Horn, to even her own death - was so that Bryce could escape Midgard and reach Prythian and the Dusk Court. Recall Baxian's words; that Danika was searching for a way into a new world - one without the Asteri.

The home of the Starborn fae isn't Midgard, it's Prythian - the Dusk Court. Bryce Quinlan is heir to the Starborn fae. She is Queen Theia's descendant.

Bryce is also connected to Prythian.

The star on Bryce's chest is a "beacon" for Prythian, and glows for people who also originate from the ACOTAR world (I don't think people understand how big a deal this is...). If Bryce returns to Midgard permanently, then she'll forever wear a star on her chest that glows for another world.

Bryce is the Horn. If you subscribe to the theory that the Horn is the 4th Dread Trove item, with the other 3 being in Prythian, then she is obviously needed there - especially when ACOSF hinted that all 4 items joined together allows for something big to happen...

The prophecy about the knife and the sword suggests that the ACOTAR and CC fae are going to be reunited. Bryce owns this prophetic sword - she has a big part to play (one that surely can't be fulfilled if Bryce just pops into Prythian for a quick visit, and then leaves again... and really, what would be the point of that?)

Foreshadowing that Bryce will be a queen.

It is repeatedly stated that Bryce bears the exact light of the Starborn Queen.

Bryce's name in Hunt's phone is 'Bryce Is a Queen.'

Hunt himself often remarks on Bryce's queenly demeanour:

And in CC2, Hunt again thinks to himself that the 'princess' title isn't enough for Bryce... that she is something more...

Then in the final CC2 chapters, we see Ruhn pleading with Bryce to become Queen:

To which Cormac agrees, and then says that the future of their people moving forward, all depends upon Bryce...

And most importantly, Ruhn's last words to Bryce: "Long live the Queen."

And now that I'm thinking about it, it is repeatedly stated that Hel's armies strike at Bryce's command. The entirety of Hel... await Bryce's orders. As if she too is their Queen. (It won't surprise me if the Dusk Court is strongly intertwined with Hel, there's SO much evidence... but that's for another post).

Other characters and their connection to Prythian.

Bryce isn't the only one with ties to Prythian. We also have:

Ruhn and Rhys looking identical.

The Asteri originating from Prythian, and making clear that their true goal is to go back there to get revenge (so the plot is likely to follow in this direction...)

The Princes of Hel are connected to Prythian: the Illyrian's and Hel's armies have the same wings, we have a "Lord Thanatos" in the Hewn City, the 7 layers of the library, that "cat presence" watching...

When Bryce is taken to the town house in Prythian, she remarks that the interior decorating is the same as Jesiba's and the Autumn King's - they are both likely from Prythian.

The Bone Carver drew three interlocking circles in the sand, which is the exact symbol of Parthos (and the symbol of Bryce's Archesian amulet). The Bone Carver's brother is Koschei (the upcoming ACOTAR antagonist) - he is also likely connected to Parthos.

The Under-King is described exactly like The Suriel (they're likely the same species). Bryce's star even glows for the Under-King, which tells us he is from Prythian.

Bryce's star also glows for Cormac and the Avallen fae; they're likely from Prythian also (and the Dusk Court). In fact, one of the first thing Bryce notices when she lands in Prythian, is that everyone is wearing the same clothes as the Avallen fae.

The Thunderbirds (and likely Hunt) were connected to "Dusk's Truth." (So, Bryce ending up in Prythian isn't just about the Bryce x Azriel theory...).

And this leads me to my most controversial opinion of all: although unbeknownst to readers, Crescent City is an ACOTAR spin-off series. That's not to say it can't stand on it's own, or that is has lesser value - but rather that almost all characters have ties back to the ACOTAR world - and this is surely not a coincidence.

I truly believe that SJM is planning a full multiverse crossover series between all 3 of her worlds, and CC was the series needed to bridge ACOTAR and TOG together. But, more on this later...

We don't want the characters staying in Midgard. They need to get out.

Midgard is entirely different to the ACOTAR and TOG worlds. The Asteri entered Midgard, absolutely obliterated everyone and everything, and then built their own world from the ground up. Every building, road, every inch of this world - was created and orchestrated by the Asteri. Their power and influence is absolute. Bryce realises this too:

We see the death camps in Kavalla... but I would argue that the whole of Midgard is one giant death camp. Any sense of freedom... is an illusion.

And because the Asteri control everything, they see everything, and know everything. I can't see how any of the CC characters will overthrow the Asteri in Midgard (I mean, they get close to Rigelus at the end of CC2, and Bryce has to world jump to escape, and Hunt and Ruhn are facing slavery, or worse. And yet we're to believe that SIX Asteri will be defeated in one book...?)

However, if this is all part of a larger scheme, where a multiverse book series in the works, and ACOTAR, TOG, and CC characters will rally together to defeat the Asteri (TOG Spoilers - as well as Orcus and Mantyx... they're still out there, don't forget), then maybe there's a chance.

And, let's not also forget that Bryce bargained away her resting place to the Under-King. If Bryce dies in Midgard... she's screwed. She has no chance of reincarnation, or eternal peace, or... whatever happens after death. But, if she dies in Prythian, it's a different story...

Midgard is doomed.

Following the final chapters of CC2, it is clear that Midgard is heading towards imminent destruction.

We know that Bryce has been thrown into another world. Ruhn is in the Asteri dungeons, his future uncertain. Cormac was killed. Do we really think the two fae kings; the Autumn King, and The Avallen King, are just going to sit back and accept this? Let the Asteri murder and torture their children?

We also know that the leader of the human rebels, Pippa Spetsos, was killed. I can't think of anything that would enrage the rebels more (and their mech suits, the synth - everything they've been brewing, feels like it's reaching its climax...)

Then we have Apollion mentioning that the 'Northern Rift' is groaning, and that he senses war approaching. (And for what it's worth, I'm not sure I trust Apollion...)

Lastly, we are still yet to see the consequences of Tharion's actions, and the River Queen's wrath. It is stated multiple times that the River Queen has the power to flood Lunathion if she wished, and I can't help but feel that is relevant.

The flooding of Midgard.

When reading CC1 and CC2, did you happen to notice the sheer amount of times it is raining?

SJM even makes a point to tell readers that there is record rainfall... (and thank you to @/highladyfeyre on TT for her theory on this!)

Then, in Throne of Glass, Aelin falls through the worlds, and sees the ACOTAR world and the Crescent City world. However, she also sees a world entirely covered in water.

Linking to this, in ACOSF, Merrill explains that all of the worlds are stacked on top of each other, even sharing the same space - but what separates them is TIME. Again going back to TOG where Aelin falls through the worlds, it says this; "She was falling. Falling and being thrown. The Wyrdgate sealed behind her, and yet she was not home. As it closed, ALL WORLDS OVERLAPPED. And she now fell through them."

If the worlds are separated by time, then it can be argued that Aelin wasn't looking at separate planets - she was looking at the same world, throughout differing time periods (more evidence for this here). Meaning, the world covered in water... is still yet to happen.

And following CC3, what is the final Crescent City book to be called...?

House of Many Waters.

The Multiverse series.

You might be thinking - what the hell is the point of Midgard flooding?

Well, the 'flooding of Midgard' is a key event in Norse Mythology, and signals the arrival of Ragnarok (a huge war across all of the worlds, that resulted in the end of life as they know it).

Another term for Ragnarok, is "Twilight of the Gods."

The same name as Sarah's WIP book series... one that she appeared to draft at the same time as Crescent City...

Twilight is another word for DUSK. It all just fits too perfectly to be a coincidence.

Thus, I wholeheartedly believe that CC3 and CC4, as well as the final ACOTAR books, are the precursors to SJM's endgame series - Twilight of the Gods. Where the ACOTAR, CC and TOG characters will unite for a universal war, in order to stop the end of the world.

"But SJM said ACOTAR and CC will be standalone!"

Firstly, with all due respect to SJM, her word in interviews is not always gospel. She is known to deceive fans in interviews; for example, in 2020, SJM said a multiverse crossover would never happen, and in her most recent interview, she revealed that she has actually been planning the crossover for years. I'm not suggesting SJM has malicious intent, if anything, it's the opposite - she does not want to spoil the books for us.

Secondly, SJM never confirmed that ACOTAR and CC are both entirely standalone reads (if they were, she'd never go forth with the crossover). Instead, she said that you don't need to read ACOTAR to understand CC3. That makes sense, and to me just means that she is going to include extra contextual information to help out those fans who are indeed standalone readers (which won't be hard, because Bryce will be learning everything about Prythian for the first time too).

But the most important point is this - the multiverse crossover changes everything, and 100% changes the ACOTAR world as well.

As proof of this, consider Rhys. He has been studying the universe intently for years now. He even built his own orrery - his own map of the universe. As of CC2, he has just met a girl from another world. This girl will almost certainly be telling him about the Asteri, and that their true goal is to go back to Prythian - Rhys's home - and exact revenge.

So, do you really think that Rhys will learn about the existence of other worlds, the existence of the Asteri (who actively want to hurt his loved ones), and then just.. forget about it in future books? Send Bryce back to Midgard alone, simply wishing her well, and then going back to his ordinary life? No.

Elain's book.

As even further proof of this, consider that Elain's story will be the centre of the next ACOTAR book.

In ACOSF, we are told that there are three prominent mountains in Prythian, known as the "three sister peaks." The mountain where 'Under the Mountain' took place (and where Amarantha held people captive), Ramiel, and the mountain of the Prison Island.

Feyre conquered the first mountain; when she defeated Amarantha.

Nesta conquered Ramiel.

Which leaves the third mountain, the Prison Island mountain, to the third sister... Elain.

And what is the Prison Island most likely to be....? The Dusk Court.

I'm willing to bet that Elain's story intertwines heavily with Crescent City also.

That all of this... is so much bigger than we can imagine.