#really whats up with his fur pattern... hes gorgeous (:

[bizarrebuns]

"Gerson" - Chesterfield, MO

don't even have anything funny to say, this is just a beautiful buck doing his own thing with his hair.

#bunny #rabbit #houserabbit #black eye #strange coat #really whats up with his fur pattern... hes gorgeous (: #sable #according to a commenter (: thank you!

[captain-mj]

For horror night!

Graves is exploring the forest near base during the full moon. It's bright enough he didn't really thing anything of it when he gets attacked by werewolf Price :)

Delicious. Also, consent do be dubious but I can assure you, all parties are consenting.

Graves had just been exploring the nearby area. Ever since he had been put on… probation he’d call it, he had been stuck on base. It made sense he couldn’t go on missions or leave unsupervised but he wasn’t even allowed outside without someone there. If he really wanted to escape, he would’ve done so!

Tonight, the moon looked lovely. It painted everything in a silver lighting that he liked. He slowly walked out into the grass. After a moment, he slipped off his shoes to feel the earth against his skin. Growing up Southern, he was rather used to being barefoot and while he didn’t exactly indulge the thought often, it felt nostalgic, holding his boots and walking through the cold grass.

Graves got to the tree line and noticed how dense the woods felt. Not just because of the thickness of the trees but the underbrush that surrounded each tree. He could barely take a step without something dragging at his pants. Brambles and parts of thicket and even some grass that had gotten longer where humans didn’t seek to control it.

Felt like home.

Graves heard something. Branches snapping. Immediately he started to look around, hoping to maybe catch a deer or fox. Too loud to be a rabbit.

Something peered at him. Eyes glowing in the dark. It was low to the ground so Graves tried to remember local wildlife. Too short to be a badger. Too talk to be a bunny. The eyes were huge and reflected the light easily.

It stood up.

Graves watched it raise up, thinking maybe it had been crouching.

But it kept standing up.

It went from only a foot off the ground to taller than him.

Graves knew when to run. He had only made it a few steps in to the woods. The treeline was still in sight. It should’ve been Fucking easy.

One of the brambles that tugged him earlier wrapped around his ankle and he hit the ground harder. The thing shoved his face in the ground with its giant hand.

Hand?

What?

Graves tried to get a good look but there was too much weight on him. The hand pressed him down hard, bordering on painful now.

He tried to elbow it and it growled so loud his ears began to ring.

Another hand balances in front of him and that’s when he sees it. Price has scarring on his hand. Its a funny shape. Rather unique. Someone had stabbed him in it. Twice. At separate times. It made an x that crossed his palm.

The monster’s hand has the x. It felt like Graves’s world started to slow down a rolling stop.

His harsh breathing echoed the monster on top of him. After a moment, he realized it was copying his pattern of breathing. Ever inhale matched.

More and more weight was put on him until he felt like he was being crushed. Graves started to claw at the ground to get away when finally, finally, the hand shoving him cheek first in the dirt Let go. He raised up a little and tried to escape and wiggle away.

A tongue ran up the bare skin on his neck as if to taste him. A growl resonated from it and then Graves found himself lifted up slightly and flipped on his back.

Price.

It really was Price.

Graves could tell by his eyes. Those gorgeous blue eyes. His eyes had to adjust to the dark and what he was seeing. Soft dark hair that curled around giant ears. He still had the body of Price. Maybe a bit bigger. Unnatural. His body seemed to bend and twist in a way that didn't quite make sense as if the tendons were wrong.

"John?" Graves said gently, reaching for him. His clothes hung off in tatters, letting him see all of the tattoos that dotted Price's body. His chest and stomach didn't have much fur, letting Graves gently touch his skin.

Price sank his teeth into his shoulder, hard enough for blood to start flowing. Graves immediately started to fight back, but even with all of his training, he hadn't really learned how to fight off... whatever this was. He kicked his feet, trying to find purchase on the ground.

Why did he leave base? He grew up in the South. He knew all about the things that could lurk in the woods. Should've waited.

"John please." He hit at his shoulders while feeling the teeth sink in deeper. Adrenaline kept the pain from really hitting him, but it was still there. Bubbling under the surface. "You don't really wanna kill me do you?" Could he even understand him?

Price pulled away, blood dripping from his face onto Graves's. His tongue flicked out to get the blood off his face before leaned down and licked it off Graves as well. For some reason, the word tender came to mind.

Then they were kissing. Price's blood covered tongue lapping into his mouth. Graves slowly stopped struggling, hands instead running down the smooth planes of his back before tugging the fur slightly. It came out in clumps in his hand and he quickly decided not to do that.

Price's teeth fit perfectly around his throat as he ripped Graves's pants off. Graves considered for a moment if he should. Would Price be upset in the morning? He couldn't possibly blame Graves for not fighting him off but what if he felt guilty? Price couldn't be in his right mind right now.

A harsh bite to his side dragged him back to the present. Only one way to find out.

Price pawed at him. His hands were normally big, but now they made Graves feel small. Wrapping around his waist with ease. Price nuzzled against his stomach for moving to his thighs, moving down.

Graves considered running for just a moment before Price's sharp claws dug into him. Maybe not. His hot breath fanned against his thighs and Graves blushed more.

Price's fingers were thick and tipped with claws. However, he was so careful as he fingered him. Graves was just happy he was of sound enough mind to think about that. His tongue poked at him and Graves squirmed before quickly being pinned back down. He was helpless to do anything other than take.

He whimpered as Price found his sweet spot, abusing it while he happily lapped at him. Spit started to drip down his thighs and it made him shudder.

Price picked him up and pinned him to a tree, letting Graves wrap his legs around him. He pressed their foreheads together as he pushed into him.

Graves immediately shoved at him, surprised by how big it was. It felt like he was going to break in half and he barely had the tip in. He kicked out but Price didn't pause until he had bottomed out. Graves panted softly, brain turning to mush. Price held him gently, face pressed to his neck. His hips rolled slowly over and over again. Any coherent thought ruined as soon as he did.

Graves panted against him, eyes fluttering shut. Price started to thrust in properly and he couldn't take it. It felt so good. So big and it stretched him out so much. He started to sob against him, holding on tight as he could as Price ruined him.

Pleasure and pain mixed, dripping up and down his spine. His legs shook and he wasn't sure he could stop them if he wanted to. Price licked along his jaw and he moaned softly.

He started to speed up and Graves bit him back. He couldn't really rip into him the way Price did him, but he left a nice row of teeth marks.

Graves came so hard his vision went white. Price started to press closer until he felt something odd. Something thicker pressed against him and Graves vaguely remembered when he learned in biology about knots.

"John."

Price paused.

"Don't you dare." Please do.

Price pushed in suddenly and Graves screamed before devolving to more sobs. He came in him, making his insides feel warm. The knot kept them from separating and Graves panted, accepting the fact he'd be there a while. Price's hand got dangerously close to his cock and he groaned, leaning back to give him more room. He stroked him slowly, gently rocking into him.

"Price..." Graves panted out, feeling his hair stick to his skin from sweat. The moon was still high over head and he wondered if they would be doing this all night.

A small kiss on his cheek and a rough twist of his hand gave Graves the impression that yes, it would be.

#cod #cod mw2 #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare ii #Phillip graves #John Price #Captain John Price #Price x Graves #Graves x Price #Captains Horror Night

[perlukafarinn]

Rating Star Trek TOS costumes because why not! (part 9)

A Piece of the Action (2x17). Iconic fits. The screencap alone fills me with indescribable joy. They match so well, from the pinstriped suits right down to the polka dotted ties and handkerchiefs. 10/10, Kirk definitely kept these and made Spock roleplay with him.

A Private Little War (2x19). This feels culturally insensitive. I like the stupid orange faux fur crop top the girl is wearing but god, these costumes are sloppy even by TOS standards. The guy's vest is tied closed by what looks like leather shoelaces? Just leave it open you cowards, 3/10.

This ridiculous thing (seen here climbing on top of the Captain) is a "mugatu" and I love it. It's not quite Gorn levels of iconically silly alien creatures but it's up there. Looks like the abominable snowman and a stegosaurus had a baby, 7/10.

Patterns of Force (2x21). Why is it that normal clothes look so exotic on these two? The color of the shirt makes Kirk look like he's wearing a Canadian tuxedo, which I love, and Spock is adorable in his beanie and sweater (though couldn't they have given them one without holes in it?). 8/10.

Yes this counts as a costume!! My list, my rules. I'm honestly so impressed with how alien they managed to make Spock look just with a green tint to his skin, and him not sweating at all while Kirk is positively glistening is another nice touch. 10/10, they look like the cover of a 1980s harlequin novel with some seriously dark themes.

By Any Other Name (2x22). This could have been just a basic jumpsuit but they really elevated it by making it backless - plus the powder blue color is beautiful on this actress (who btw is ridiculously gorgeous). Her hair in the second screencap is also adorable, the way it's done up to almost resembled a tiara. 9/10.

Her male costars, however, don't get anything nearly as exciting to work with. The beige jumpsuit layered over the brown turtleneck is at least a little bit interesting (and it's on another gorgeous actor, which doesn't hurt) but the other guy? That's literally what they wear in prison. 6/10 for the first guy, 2/10 for the second.

#rating star trek #star trek #star trek tos

[aerkame]

Is it okay to ask if we could lean more about your OCs in the Finfolk AU? Like, what’s their work life, the roles they’ll play, what are their hobbies, and what was the inspiration when creating them? Oh, and will we see your butterfly OC by any chance? I love butterfly characters because of the unique and mesmerizing wing patterns.And fun fact, some butterflies are actually attracted to blood.

Sorry for the rambling.

I don't mind at all! Though I've never been one to make many OCs. It was only until after Welcome Home did I consider making any at all so they aren't really finished. Also I am an indecisive person on personal creative projects like this.

Both Ankor and the butterfly OC are works in progresses since I could not decide on their appearance and backgrounds, but I do have a general idea of what I want them to be so I'll share!

Ankor, who might be renamed to something more fitting, is supposed to be a shark-like dog similar to Barnaby but his features are much more sharp and he gives off an aura of strength. I got this inspiration from seeing funny videos of sharks acting like puppies around some divers because they wanted pets on the head (they were literally pushing each other out of the way for a good scratch it was so cute).

Ankor's character is that of someone who loathes injustice so he often goes about setting things right. Or well, making the scales even. He's not a "good guy", but he's not really a villain at heart. He cares about others but he does things in a violent and lethal way. More often than not, he'll be wearing silk-like furs that are really just selkie furs. No, Ankor isn't hunting them or anything like poachers do, it's actually just a good way to try and find the coat's owner because he usually does concerts near coastal regions (Side explanation: I personally think in a world of magical creatures and normal ones there would absolutely be people sick enough to hunt others for their magical qualities so I added poachers in this universe because it adds a bit more depth and danger to anyone with magic in them). He has a giant audience which means there will be lots of eyes that will see the coat so someone is bound to come forward later and get it back. He repeats this over and over whenever a new coat is found and given back to the owner. Oh, but do not lie to him. He will absolutely know when someone is lying, and he does no take well to others lying straight to his face.

As for the music he does? I'm still deciding on that.

During his free time, Ankor sometimes visits the island to see Barnaby and just hang out. The island is very quiet, there's no chance of him being tracked there, and the finfolk that Barnaby lives with all have useful items that he often buys from them. It's a win win honestly.

Onto the butterfly OC. That one I almost got rid of.

Bit of a rant sort of, it's still a touchy subject to me

At the time last year, I don't remember around what month, but it was when Welcome Home was booming, I ended up getting lots of messages from people on X about my OC and if I could draw NSFW art of her or draw Wally. The fandom seems to have this pattern of wanting NSFW from artists of either the WH characters or their OCs. It is very concerning behavior and I decided to drop anything that could possibly be NSFW or leaning towards it in any way even though I wanted my OC to be sexy or drop dead gorgeous (she's a butterfly, of course she needs to be that). But it appears that adults on X and in this fandom are too immature for that.

Her whole design was something I wanted to be alluring because of her nature. I actually did take in the fact that butterflies drink blood, sweat, and tears literally, purposefully irritating the eyes of animals to make them cry, or eating dead flesh off of reptiles. I was thinking of making her a beautiful vampire but decided against that because it felt too generic.

I think, if butterflies could truly gain higher sentience and they became giant they would not be kind at all, but flesh-eating monsters that used their pretty looks to lure others in or take advantage of others. Also, my gods, their wings would probably get massive if they became even human-sized. Gorgeous, but massive enough to cause damage.

I didn't really take the chance to flesh out her character, but I did with her personality. She has a deep French accent and a gentle but elegant aura to her and with every step she takes she looks like royalty. And she'll still keep that act up when she's drinking away at her victim's life force and blood. I wanted this OC to be as cold as ice, but lovelier than the brightest star.

If she did have a job, I could only imagine it would be modeling at fashion shows, being a designer herself, being in ballet shows, or some sort of famous singer.

As for personal non-fandom OCs? I have very few, barely even two. In fact, these two are just a mere idea of a story I want to make, but I'm not sure how.

I'll share it some other time because I really have no idea of how I can possibly express these ideas other than imagine Swan Lake, but the guy she's in love with is an evil dark lord that wants to take over the world and she's a rogue knight from an opposing kingdom that's trying to kill him and they have no idea who each other are they just want each other dead but they find each other so pretty they can't do anything about it. 😭

#welcome home #welcome home finfolk au #welcome home au #finfolk #welcome home arg #au #wally darling #oc idea #oc #ocs

[13slovergirl]

ft. Catsuki Bakugou, Shoto Todorokitty, Kittentoshi Shinso, Shota Aizawa

Summary: S/O gets a cat that suspiciously resembles them.

A 'small angry ball of adorableness' was the very first words you used to describe the new addition to the family. He caught on pretty quickly.

The light orange fluff ball hated you until you came home with some cat treats and toys that you patiently waited for him to take. Meanwhile, Katsuki was watching angrily as you sang compliments to the scared kitten.

"C'mere Cat-suki, it's okay!!!"

Yeah, he caught on.

Imagine how surprised he was when he gave in to your begging for him to give it a try and the kitty accepted the treat from his hand with barely any problem. And then the immediate 'annoyance' when he catches the smug look on your face.

You guys would have to give the cat over to his parents, but they don't mind too much.

He lays down in bed and the cute kitten jumps up onto him and lays on his stomach, head on his nice rack. After a few seconds of processing, he starts gently petting it. It's a bit awkward but the cat purrs nonetheless. The soft noise and repetitive movement starts slowly lulling him to sleep....

And then his mom walks in.

She never lets him live it down.

When you found an adorable and elegant long haired calico cat that had a gorgeous pattern vaguely resembling your lover's half n half, how could you not adopt it on the spot?

His first words when he sees it? "How are we going to keep it?"

I mean, yeah, it's valid. Very valid. Oh god how are you guys gonna keep it. Pets aren't allowed in the dorms and you don't think Principal Nezu is going to accept 'But Tokoyami lives in the dorms' as an excuse.

Eventually the two of you come up with a way to safely keep the cat outside of the school. It's a bit upsetting that you can't keep it in your dorm, but it's safer outside the school than inside.

Anyways, for a cat who YOU adopted, it really likes Todoroki. Cats just love him. I mean same but still.

If Todoroki wasn't a busy guy that cat would never move off his lap.

It probably would like to lay on his boobies when he's trying to sleep. And I bet you wish that was you.

I think that instead of getting therapy or 'bothering' you with his problems, he just talks to the cat. The cat doesn't care, more time with their favorite person in the world I guess.

"Have you decided on a name yet?" "What about Roki :D" ".....No." "Why not D:" "...That's my nickname :("

You did not make the choice to have this cat. Neither of you did, the cat chose you. The cute little Siamese cat laying on your porch was a manipulative bastard but the two of you had no option other to take care of it for the rest of your lives like a spoiled child.

He loves being able to sleep with the cat next to him while you're training/studying. He'd rather be doing what you're doing or cuddling with you, but you're insistent that he gets some much needed rest and ever since you started being with him while sleeping it's gotten harder to sleep without you.

The brat doesn't usually allow cuddling though, so he just has to settle for sleeping next to it.

Like Bakugou he figures out pretty quickly that you think him and the cat are very similar and he loves to tease you with it a bit.

He sees the cat curl up in your lap for a nice pillow? He rests his head in your lap in as similar of a place as the cat did. You mention how adorable it is when the cat rubs against you? He does the same. You coo at the cat when it headbutts your hand? He kisses the same spot.

If you don't catch on to his little hints he might just go out and buy some cat ears and a human-sized collar :]]]

It just so happened that a slightly older black cat with unkempt fur 'snuck' into Aizawa's classroom the same day that you planned on dropping some stuff off straight to his classroom. What a strange coincidence. None of the kids are able to keep the kitten in their dorms so I guess you two just have to keep it.

'Shota the Cat' became the class mascot and Aizawa hated it. Not the cat, just the fact the kids asked you if you could name the cat after him and you agreed. He hates hearing his name and turning to look at the person who said it, only for them to be talking about the cat.

But it's all worth it every morning and night when he sees you sleeping with the usually grumpy cat, knowing that he doesn't need to worry about you being lonely when he has to work. He doesn't admit it but he gets why you guys see him in the cat so much. He'd love nothing more than to be where the cat is.

No one's surprised anymore when he rolls up to school with the cat in his sleeping bag. However, after the first villain invasion he stopped. It's for the best that he stays home with you.

When the two of you get into a fight he likes letting you take Shota the Cat to bed and just get all your emotions out like that. The first time you did it was just a joke of 'I'm taking our child, I expect child support' but it turned into a simple way of calming down and resolving the issue faster. It also makes him feel better that you have a source of comfort.

#katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki x y/n #bakugou x y/n #shoto todoroki x reader #shoto x y/n #todoroki x y/n #shinso hitoshi x reader #shinso x y/n #shota aizawa x reader #aizawa x y/n #bnha x reader #bnha x y/n #katsuki bakugo x y/n #katsuki bakugo fanfiction #:{[ 13's lovergirl

[imhereformysciencefriends]

@loturaweek2023 Day 6: Wardrobe Updates Welcome!

“My father never wanted anyone to go there. He says their customs were…” Allura trailed off.

“My father also wanted it left entirely alone, but that was because it was a world he couldn’t conquer, and never even came close.”

Allura chuckled, then turned her attention back to her advisor. “Coran, why do you know about their customs?”

“Nevermind all that!” Coran shouted, with something that could’ve sounded faintly like… embarrassment from the older man. It made Lotor and Allura turn to each other with discreetly raised brows. “Now, Zarkon was cautious of this place for good reason, the inhabitants are most assuredly dangerous when they decide to be, and there’s merit to Alfor’s… hesitance, as well. Their culture has very strict dividing lines across gender, age, class, wealth—which is not the same thing as class—vocation, marital and dating status, and even orientation. ALL these things are indicated from how a person dresses!

“These people have very little sexual dimorphism, being a lobster-like race—though without the pincers, I always did wonder what exactly made them so “lobster like”—anyway, so if somebody is wearing a nice blouse and a skirt, that person is a woman, no questions asked. Likewise, if someone is wearing pants, you can call that person “lady” all you like, these people are only going to think they’re a man! Royalty is indicated by headgear—and you must never be caught out of the house without some kind of headwear. In your cases, since you are princess and prince, Allura’s tiara and some sort of band for Lotor should be sufficient. If you were going for gentry, you’d need a tophat of some sort. Cap, band, headscarf, bandana, anything would work really, but to go bare-headed is far worse than walking around bum-naked!”

Lotor held Allura’s hand as they sat and listened to Coran’s increasingly specific lecture on fabric, materials, patterns, cuts, styles, and even shoelaces (apparently, stolen shoelaces were something of a code?), Lotor’s thumb stroking idly over her dark skin, and she leaned her head against his shoulder (which was a very good height for head-leaning, in her opinion). This all seemed far too convoluted. She understood why her father had sworn off the place, if going around without his armor was the only way to indicate that he wasn’t hostile.

It meant Lotor would need to go without his armor, too. “Will you be alright?” Allura asked softly, while Coran went off on a tangent about filigree.

“I am… not enthused by the idea,” he admitted, eyes on Coran’s frantic waving. “But so long as they do not grow hostile, I’m sure I’ll survive.”

The requirements of this system’s dress code meant, of course, that altogether new outfits would need to be tailored. Allura had no such thing pre-prepared, and Lotor had spent all of his adult life in armor and underarmor.

(Coran, interestingly enough, had attire of his own, perfectly fitted and requiring only slight alterations to denote his age. Hm.)

“It’s all a little… extravagant,” Lotor mentioned, seeming almost hesitant as he observed the thick fabric of his surcoat and gold embroidery throughout the cloth.

“Well, we are royalty. You heard Coran, we won’t look the part if we don’t dress per their rules.”

And so Allura kissed her paramour on the cheek and gathered her clothing up to go change. She slipped into the shift (lacey, despite the fact that no one but her would even see this), then corset, stockings, underskirt, overskirt, skirt cape, long sleeved blouse, vest, epaulets, no wait cape first then epaulets, low-heeled shoes, gloves, and then jewelry. Woof! It weighed as much as her armor did, and had none of the cooling functions. Oh but it did have so many pockets.

And so Lotor kissed Allura back and took his own clothes to change. Undershirt, boxers, stockings, pants, corset, shirt, surcoat, cape, second cape that was smaller and made of fur (oh, but, it made his shoulders look gorgeous in a way he’d been attempting to capture for millenia, maybe there was a point to all this), boots, belts, gloves, and jewelry. And, the last piece, a borrowed relic that did not belong to Lotor and he wasn’t quite sure he was worthy of: Alfor’s ringlet.

Allura nearly cried, when she saw him wearing it. He stood a little straighter.

“Nothing, nothing,” she said, swiping away at budding tears as he approached her, words of concern crouched in his open mouth. “It’s just—you look very handsome,” she said.

His hand came to rest on her elbow, and she looked up at him with wet eyes that shone brighter than the very birthplace of the stars.

“And you, more lovely than the dawn,” he said gently, and pulled her closer to press his lips to her brow.

The two gathered themselves, a moment, both looking radiant in their splendor, soft emotion passed between them. When Allura’s face was once again set and Lotor had drunk his fill of the view of her, they returned to meet up with Coran, who looked downright jaunty with his tophat and cane.

“Ahhh, you two make quite the sight! Now, I have some old codes from ten thousand years ago. No telling if they still work, but time moves slower where we’re going so, let’s give it a try!” he announced zealously, plugging in something or other into the command console of the castleship.

“Hello?”

“Hello! This is Coran of Altea, seeking passage to a landing bay,” he greeted. “Two are with me, Prin—”

“Well well well, if it isn’t ‘Long Dong Wimbleton!’” the man on the other end greeted jovially.

“WE DON’T NEED TO CALL ME THAT!”

#loturaweek2023 #lotura #allura #lotor #coran #vld #vt #my writing #haro writes #allusions to Coran's wild and sexy escapades of his youth #this is actually in reference to a lengthier au crossover that exists purely inside my own head but its fun to indulge it a little :3

[salted-caramel-tea]

can we please have more met gala talk? I need to hear your opinion on some of these... looks

ok i’m gonna use this to try and sum ip my thoughts so pls bear with me

anyway i wasn’t rlly excited for the theme this year bc i don’t like karl lagerfeld and despite his contributions to modern fashion houses i don’t think he ultimately deserves to be celebrated given his consistent fatphobia, racism islamophobia and antisemitism . he was a cunt and an asshole and i hope he’s resurrected so he can die again

that being said i’m still gonna rate the looks anyway bc that was the theme of the exhibit this year whether anyone likes him or not

so obviously we get a lot of references to chancel via styles that have almost become motifs of his influence in various houses like his bridal collections , baby pink and black, flower appliqués, tweed etc

these one really stood out to me . bc this is what i would consider as a tribute to a designer . these garments took iconography and personalised them. it’s taking those influences and creating something that inserts karl lagerfeld into their world as opposed to inserting themselves into his world creating iconic unique garments that aren’t just pulled from haute couture lines or a big money talking point the garment is made for the wearer and the wearer sells it. it shows a direct intertwining of their style with karl lagerfeld fashion. jenna ortega especially drawing from such an iconic dress with the gold chains bordering the layers of her skirt i think it’s beautiful and creative

on the other end of the spectrum we’ve got vintage pulls

now i’m not against vintage pulls . bc i think some of the designs are gorgeous and i said before if anyone was going to pull from the archives i wanted it to be that exact dress dua lipa is wearing . however i to my the trouble with reliance on archived looks is that the dress was not intended for the wearer. they looked absolutely beautiful but there was no connection between the garment and the wearer, there’s no touch of them or integration between them and karl lagerfeld . wearing his designs is definitely talking points and gets people interested in looking into the archives of chanel in particular but there’s very little room for personality especially with the trending lack of accessory

the 3rd category is Doing Karl

picked these because they are on the two direct opposite sides of the spectrum for karl looks. obviously we expected men to come out in sunglasses gloves and high shirt collars but i’m more in love with the way people create from their inspirations . cardi is obviously inspired by the personal fashions of karl lagerfeld from her grey hair to her oversized collar and black and white theme but her dress pulls other crucial elements of his design career linking the art to the artist and doing so in a way that allows herself to come through the various layers of karl lagerfeld references . the dress pattern incorporating the rose appliqués and quilting in a way that almost resembles the tweed texture i think it’s a really smart garment and she looks beautiful

lastly .

the cat . i enjoy the campiness around peoples interpretation of the car although i believe some people executed it better than others i personally love doja’s entire look i think it’s glamourous but maintains that camp quietness that people tend to associate with her via the facial prosthetics and the feathering of the train of the dress replicating a fur like texture i think it’s so smart and glamorous and the reference is THERE and is understandable whilst maintaining the extravagance expected from met gala looks

all in all was i wowed to death by this year ? no . there’s been better themes. i feel like ppl got a bit lazy with influences by just dressing up as karl or pulling from archive or just not sticking to theme . i feel like with pulling from one certain designer the ability to implement the wearer and their designers own personality into the look is limited slightly but i’m impressed with the people who did create some of the most extravagant looks of the night so many people came out with beautifully executed and inspired looks and although i wish people were a little more creative (especially the men) there was some absolutely iconic looks last night . it was not ever going to be the met galas most iconic night with such restrictive influence to one designer but the created looks for last night were phenomenal and paid their appreciation towards the works of karl lagerfeld . he’s still a cunt tho .

#met gala

[a-loose-collection-of-ants]

What type of architecture inspires you the most?

Oh what an incredibly long and involved answer this turned out to be. First things first, I am actively obsessed with the work of Charles Rennie Mackintosh.

He was a Scottish architect who, along with his wife, designed some of the most gorgeous buildings I have ever seen in my life. I've never been to Glasgow, so I haven't had the chance to see any of them in person, but just-

This is the Glasgow School of art. It was destroyed by a fire in 2018. Restorations are happening, but, as far as I can find, those won't be completed until 2030.

Mackintosh was one of those architects that had to design every single piece of his buildings, including the furniture. This is where his collaboration with his wife came in. Margret Macdonald Mackintosh was not an architect, but she was an artist and designer. Her influence can be seen in the details present in a lot of their designs.

This is the House for an Art Lover, which I have to mention, in part, because it's a good example of their combined style, but also because of these absurd fucking chairs:

Something about their love of a strong vertical line led to chairs with the most insane, needlessly grandiose proportions and I love it with my whole heart. (this is a tangent I don't want to go on, but the famously humble and not at all self-important Frank Lloyd Wright uses these exact chairs in some of his designs, which is really funny for one of those architects who liked to pretend all his ideas were original) There's a sort of industrial feel to a lot of Mackintosh's work which is the exact sort of thing I've always been enamored with. I'm an artist and everything, but I'm related to enough engineers that, to me, structure is one of the prettiest things in the world.

Frank Furness is a good example of this in a way that's more local to me. He was a believer in monumentalizing the structure of a building, which is why the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts is insane a little bit. Seriously, look at this building:

At some point, I'm going to have to walk over there and do some studies of the place.

But back to the actual question, part of studying architecture (as is the case with any creative field) is finding inspiration in everything you encounter. I'm enamored by the beautiful historic buildings I see every day in Philadelphia, but I'm equally "inspired" by this one house near where I grew up that has the most horrifically arranged street-facing window pattern I have ever seen (spite is one hell of a motivator).

Every single part of our built environment looks the way it does for a reason. Even spaces designed without heavy involvement from architects are filled with little decisions that shape the way our world looks and feels, and I think it's a fun exercise to look at them and figure out why everyone involved made the decisions they did, even if it's something simple like "concrete is cheaper".

Anyway, tune back in in 4-7 business days when, at the height of whatever cold I just managed to catch, I drop a full essay on Thomas Jefferson's design for the University of Virgina and how it reflects both his idealized hope for an agrarian America and his hypocrisy in believing such a future would be an egalitarian one.

#Oh boy this took a while to answer #I almost feel like I should add a disclaimer that I actually barely know what I'm talking about #but building look cool and thats all that matters #archposting #asks #really though I love a good excuse to rant about the things I've invested my life in #I'm not joking about that TJ bit #but it will definitely take longer than a week

[spirallingstarcases]

i’d love to know about mask au!! is it like jim carrey’s the mask???

not exactly! this was supposed to be my peterick halloween fic but. life. yeah. it’s a masquerade/trickerella au where pete drops a sheet of poetry at a party patrick’s performing at and the next day (the party is like three consecutive days) the band is playing songs with GASP pete’s words??? and then pete sets off on a mission to find out who made music out of his poetry and yeah. i love love love this concept but i was in such a slump when i started it that i don’t rly like looking at it anymore rippp OH AND PETE WEARS A FOX MASK AND PATRICK WEARS A BUNNY MASK the prey/predator dynamic makes me cccrraaaaazy

ssssnippet

Pete’s dad spared no time for his responses. “I brought your costume.”

That’s when Pete noticed the large white box in his dad’s hands. It was like a shoebox, the ones with the lid you slip off and on. Unblemished and unembossed, so it wasn’t designer, but it was special. Or expensive.

“But I brought my costume.” Pete pointed at the black garment bag on the bed. On top of it was a small box that held his mask. “Remember it? I wear it every year, been wearing it for, like, four years?” Gold mask, black suit, the works.

“It’s time for a change.”

Pete’s curiosity was piqued. He reached out for the box, grunting in surprise at its weight as his dad placed it in his arms.

“Jesus,” he said. “What’s in this thing, chainmail?”

“Don’t be foolish,” Pete’s dad said. “I got it tailored for you, so it’ll fit. Try it on, I’ll be downstairs waiting for Andrew.”

Andrew was his older brother, heir to the immense Wentz fortune and therefore all the fuckery that comes with it. Pete didn’t envy him. Andrew didn’t particularly yearn for Pete’s life either, so it all worked out. Pete wasn’t built for the corporate life of New York, and Andrew wasn’t built for the glitzy, glamourous (heavy sarcasm here) music label life of Los Angeles.

The box slid open without a noise, revealing layers of crisp tissue paper which Pete tore past with barely a thought. Finally, his hands slipped past the fibrous texture into something hard and…furry.

Hm. Pete blinked, a cautious frown tugging at his mouth. Surely his dad wouldn’t…like…buy him a fursuit, right?

Pete stared nervously at the box. No way. Pete’s dad was a respected, high-level, Fortune 100 CEO. He probably didn’t even know what a furry was. Appeased, Pete slid the last layer of tissue paper off.

Okay. So. Maybe Pete needed to reevaluate his father some more, because he was now staring into the empty eyes of a fox mask. Granted, it wasn’t a fursuit mask, and it was actually quite delicate and beautiful, and it was a perfect fall colour, but really. A fox? As a Wentz, Pete had been called, time and time again, sly and sneaky and all those other fox metaphors, so this felt quite…well. On the nose, for lack of better wording.

Pete gently traced his fingers over it. It was a half-mask, with a protruding snout and ears, a distressingly real-feeling fur texture, and edged with gold filigree. Red and gold glass beads swirled over the forehead and under the eyes, glinting in a way that suggested mischief and glamour. Gold lines formed nonsensical patterns on the cheeks, along the snout, and around the eyes.

It was gorgeous. Pete forgot all about the implications, focusing instead on how fucking gorgeous it was.

Pete slowly lifted it out of the box, feeling like the protagonist in some highschool prom story, when the girl is wearing a dress, The One, and goes to look at herself in the mirror and gasps, “I love it.”

It was lighter than it looked. A vermillion ribbon for keeping it up, a little sponge pad to pad his forehead, and his name embossed under the eye socket. Pete set it on the bed, excitement already stirring at the idea of being able to wear it.

So maybe his dad wasn’t a furry. Maybe his dad was a genius.

Under the mask was more tissue paper, which Pete tore away to find fabric. Maroon fabric, dark and sultry. Pete was not surprised to find that it was a suit, three piece with a vest and everything.

Pete’s eyes flickered over the coat. It was longer than your average suit jacket. Pete guessed it would probably hit around his knees. Gold embroidery lined the cuffs and collar, forming intricate patterns that were fascinating to look at. Gold buttons, small and shiny, peeked out at him, winking as if they were laughing.

The vest had a heavy, darker brocade pattern embossed on it. It was barely visible, until the light caught and revealed the designs. Pete traced over the floral pattern, impressed at the feel of the silk under his fingers.

The pants were the simplest, just a pair of maroon slacks. Pete noticed the brocade pattern from the vest around his ankles, and the coat’s gold embroidery making another appearance around the waistband.

Pete’s dad was a genius. Pete highly doubted his dad actually came up with this. He made a note to send a fox themed thank-you gift to Aleena, his dad’s coordinator and assistant. She had a couple of kiddies, right? Pete wondered if they were still young enough to appreciate stuffed animals. Markedly, stuffed foxes.

Pete’s fingers, still tingling from the smooth glide of the silk, clenched into fists. He had never felt so…excited for the annual Halloween ball.

#spi.answers #anon #i rly rly wanna finish writing this #gaaaaah

[almarantha]

Aurum - A Post-Skyrim TES Drabble

“You really must take better care of yourself, child.”

Amara’s eyelids shot open at the foreign voice, sending her scrambling to get to her feet. She would forgive herself this moment of impropriety, of weakness. It was a startling thing, being spoken to when you were supposed to be dead. Reaching down, Amara placed a hand over her stomach, searching for a fresh wound that should’ve still been bleeding.

Granted, that wasn’t the only thing that seemed to no longer exist.

There was… nothing around her. No walls. No ceiling. No ground, for that matter. There was a floor beneath her, she could feel it, but actually discerning it was another matter entirely. Her surroundings were but a blank canvas. Filled with anticipation, but nothing had yet been put onto the page. No words had filled the empty void of white. No paint had given color, given life, to the environment.

“Yes, but think of the potential.” The voice mused once more, as if reading her mind.

Amara spun her head around so fast that she feared she might have snapped it. Could she even? She was already dead, right? As is, her lengthy wine-colored hair had likely slapped the owner of the voice in the face. To her left stood an Imperial man, hands calmly folded behind his back. He had a handsome look about him. Square, noble features and umber-hued hair cascaded down his neck. It was a face that could have belonged to a warrior, if not for how scholarly his posture was and how soft he wore his expression. The man smiled softly and tilted his head in acknowledgement, seemingly content to wait for her to measure him up.

His attire was familiar, although Amara couldn’t quite place where she’d seen it before. It was something an Imperial noble would wear, fittingly enough; that much was certain. Long indigo robes were rimmed with white, spotted fur. The robes covered an ornate scarlet doublet decorated with intricate gold patterns. On the whole, it looked inordinately expensive, but nothing more so than the jeweled necklace that the man was wearing. A ruby the size of her fist laid set in a gold casing, while several other, smaller, jewels of different colors rimmed the outside of the amulet.

The ensemble was gorgeous. Any Imperial worth anything would kill to be seen in such an outfit.

And yet it seemed horribly ill-fitting on such a man. Just by looking at him, Amara got the sense that he would have been far more comfortable in much simpler robes. He had that sort of priestly disposition about him. Yes, she could imagine him in a monk’s garb.

“…Who are you? Where am I?” Amara asked slowly, having become more or less acquainted with her surroundings. As much as a Dunmer in a completely foreign environment could, anyway.

The man pursed his lips, as if mulling over what sort of answer he should give. “Those are questions that won’t serve you well here. It would be more apt to ask when.”

It only now occurred to Amara that the man had never once opened his eyes to look at her. He faced her direction and seemed to know where she was, but those eyelids stayed shut. Was the Imperial blind? Amara furrowed her eyebrows at the roundabout answer. Riddles. She hated riddles. Especially riddles coming from mysterious strangers.

“When are we then?” She asked, her tone far more demanding than it used to be. Even a few years ago, that would have been unthinkable. But she’d grown up a lot these past few years. One of the first lessons she’d learned was to not take shit from people if you wanted any modicum of respect.

“Hmm…” The man hummed, contemplating her question. “The Middle Dawn, perhaps? Or maybe the Oblivion Crisis…” He lifted a hand to his chin, gazing upwards at what should be the sky. As it was though, he was staring at nothing. Or, technically, the back of his eyelids. “Ah, no. This is the Fourth Era. The Second Great War, I believe you call it. This is the fifteenth year of the conflict.”

Amara’s eye twitched. “…I knew that already.” She growled out in the most respectful way possible.

“So you did.” The stranger turned his attention, such as it was, back towards the Dunmer. “My apologies for the confusion. Such things come naturally to me, but precision can be difficult. What’s the phrase…? Ah, yes, like a needle in a haystack.” His smile never dimmed, but nor did it grow in intensity. Their entire encounter was marked by that soft, serene smile on his face. It made the stranger give off the impression of peace.

Or maybe he was just insane from being trapped in this strange void? That boded well for her.

Sighing, Amara pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her crimson eyes, attempting to compose herself. That was another lesson. Stay composed. Stay above it all. Never let others know they’re getting to you.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” The stranger’s voice came unbidden, surprising Amara out of her frustrations.

She blinked. The last thing she remembered…

“I was… someplace… where was I…?” It was hard to focus in this place, but she needed to remember… “There were gears… Not the Dwemer kind, not nearly so ancient, but modeled after them.” A stoic face flashed through her mind, violet braids matted with oil. “Zamana was excited. Someone advancing her people’s technology… She wanted to see it. So we went home-“

Wait. Was it her home? She’d visited Mournhold a handful of times, but had never lived there-

Amara snapped her fingers. “Right! The Clockwork City! Almalexia told me she knew a way in and-“

For the third time in a row, Amara cut herself off as a realization hit her. However, this one was far more frantic. It was quiet. Far too quiet. It had been quiet ever since she had arrived at… wherever this was. Amara couldn’t believe it had taken her this long to realize it! There was no prideful voice whispering in her ear. No voice giving out unwanted comments and opinions at every opportunity. No analysis of what was going on, no advice on how to handle this situation.

Almalexia was gone.

“Where is she?!” Amara cried out, aggressively grabbing the stranger’s robes and yanking him forward. “What did you do with her?!” Fury and terror in equal measures danced in her crimson eyes, tinged by the light of budding madness.

Best to head this off at the pass, the man thought.

The stranger carefully placed his hands on top of Amara’s own, his expression serious but not unkind.

Was he pitying her? How dare-!

However, her thought process was cut off as the stranger finally opened his eyes. Amara slumped forward, falling to her knees in abject awe.

Staring down at her were the slitted pupils of a reptile, encompassed by the purest gold that Amara had ever laid eyes on. They were ancient orbs, brimming with power and eternity.

How foolish was she to not see the signs…?

Amara fundamentally knew who she was speaking to now.

“I have done nothing with she who once called herself Ayem.” Akatosh intoned. The smile he had been handsomely wearing was gone, but neither did the dragon god of time look all too upset. “Yet, neither is she gone.”

Amara clutched at her chest, head bowed so the man, the god, before her couldn’t see the tears freely flowing down her face. Her frame shuddered as she breathed deeply. It was as if she was in the midst of a mighty battle, and yet the dragon’s words brought such relief to her! Almalexia wasn’t gone!

But then… where was she…?

Once more, the dragon god answered those thoughts on the surface of her mind. “What do you remember, child?” He repeated the question.

Again with this? What did that have to do with anything…? But it seemed she wouldn’t get anything else out of time itself, so she valiantly wracked her mind for the details. A feat not made easier by her admittedly volatile emotional state… Something that had been becoming more and more common recently.

“We were…” Amara’s voice cracked and shut stopped in her tracks, clearing her throat before continuing. “We were exploring. We found the main chamber. We found… we found the artificial heart. We… I… Oh, ancestors…” Her hand clasped over her mouth.

She’d died.

Rationally, she knew that. She’d known that since awakening in this place. But it was another thing entirely to replay the events in her mind, to hear the grinding gears of the automatons, to remember the cries of Zamana, the blade through her chest…

Daring to look up, she found the dragon god gazing… almost mournfully down at her. All he did was give her a slight nod, confirming her worst suspicions. She really was dead, huh? Amara had never been sure what fate awaited her once her mortal life was done. There wasn’t exactly an Ancestral Tomb waiting for her, and she doubted that House Redoran would look too kindly on allowing her one anyway… She’d burned a lot of bridges, making the roll of the dice and gambling that she would succeed in forging her grandfather’s empire anew… But it seemed that it was not meant to be. She had died too soon.

That still begged the question, however… What was to be her fate? Was this… “Is this the Dreamsleeve?” Amara asked the god.

Akatosh glanced around, observing the surroundings… or lack thereof. “No, I’m afraid not. This is a dream of sorts, but no, this is not the realm of rebirth. Your ultimate fate remains unknown, and it is not my place to speculate on matters of life and death. That is Arkay’s domain, not mine.”

Her ultimate fate…?

“Wait, what do you mean? Am I not dead? Should my soul not be bound for Aetherius or Oblivion?” Amara furrowed her eyebrows, squinting in blatant confusion. “You mention Arkay. I do not worship you Aedra, yet if one were to handle my death, it would be him. I am educated on that much. Yet here you stand, the dragon god of time… Why?”

Akatosh scratched at his clean-shaven chin. On anyone else, it would have looked almost sheepish, but surely the high and mighty Aedra had nothing to be embarrassed about, right?

Why he even had a chin to scratch was another question entirely. The humans depicted him as a dragon. The mer depicted him as a great golden eagle. Was this supposed to be a form she would be comfortable with? An avatar of his will? Amara had so many questions, but frankly, that was the least of them. So, she did not voice it, even though it was abundantly clear that Akatosh could read her mind.

“You have my blood.” The dragon god replied simply.

Amara blinked. What?

“You have my blood.” Akatosh repeated. “Your grandfather was dragonborn, surely you know this. The most famous dragonborn in Tamriel’s long history. The title is named as such for a reason. He was not mine in body, but in spirit... All dragonborn are my children. So in a way, I suppose that makes you my grandchild of sorts. Or great-grandchild. I care little for mortal semantics, however.”

She… okay, that was… wow, a lot to process. The metaphysics of it all… Yes, she had known that all of this was the official Imperial line, but… Well, she’d never exactly put much stock in it.

Akatosh glanced down at her and smiled that damnably soft smile once more, now looking almost, well… grandfatherly. Amara wasn’t convinced, however. Picking herself up off of the ground, she rubbed the dried tears away from her face. To say that she was wary was an understatement.

“And do you make a habit out of conversing with the descendants of dragonborn?” Amara asked dryly. She doubted that he even talked to actual dragonborn all that much, if at all.

The dragon-man shrugged, making the motion look far more dignified than it had any right to be. “Admittedly? No.”

“Then why me?” Amara shot back immediately. “Why are you here? In this… this dream, whatever this is?”

“You are mer.” Akatosh spoke softly. “A Dunmer who once worshipped the mortals who propped themselves up as gods. A Dunmer who does not worship the Three Good Daedra like the rest of your kind. A Dunmer who is unsure where she stands among Aedra and Daedra, and so devotes herself to worldly pursuits instead.”

The dragon god trailed off, looking down at the amulet which laid flat against his chest. Clutching it in his tanned and worn hands, Akatosh lifted it off of his neck and lifted it up so that it was level with his golden gaze.

“Despite all of that,” he continued, “you chose to follow not the path of any of your mer ancestors, noble and just and clever that they were, and instead chose the most difficult path of all. The path of your grandfather. You, Ra’athim Amara, a Dunmer of Resdayn, would restore the Septim Empire. A Cyrodiilic Empire. A human empire. Did you think that you wouldn’t catch our attention?”

Amara had remained silent as the avatar of Akatosh explained himself. And when he phrased it like that…

“People need help. Someone has to do something.” She whispered quietly, mostly to herself. She looked into those ageless eyes across from her ever so briefly, which beckoned her to continue. “Ever since I was a kid… Probably before that… Everything has been going to shit around me. You called me a Dunmer of Resdayn, of Morrowind, but I’m not. My father imparted as much of our culture onto me as he could, but I grew up in Falkreath. I grew up in Skyrim, surrounded by Nords. I’m an outlander, and I worked so hard for so long to erase that stain from myself… But it’ll always be true. It’s just who I am. A Dunmer who grew up outside the homeland, because my father was exiled after the Red Year.”

Amara sighed, only now realizing how exhausted she felt. She supposed she had the right. She was dead, after all.

“The Great War, the Skyrim Civil War, the return of the dragons, the Interregnum, the Falmer Raids, the Argonian Invasion, the Second Great War… It feels like we’re all trapped in a loop of pain and suffering. Everyone everywhere is hurting. And things didn’t used to be that way; dad was always fond of telling me. Father was never fond of the empire that his own father had established, but he was never afraid to admit… Things were just better when the Septims ruled the Empire. When all of Tamriel was more or less at peace. Sure, things weren’t perfect, but the world wasn’t almost ending every few years… There weren’t constant wars with… so much dead.

“I was a healer during the first Great War, you know that right?” Amara asked rhetorically. “Of course you know that. You’re the dragon god of time. But I saw… I saw so much death. So many died in my care, I couldn’t save them…” Her expression became unfocused, her crimson eyes haunted by memories best left buried. “I did my best, I really did. And it was more… it was more than my people as a whole did. They were just content to sit idly by and let others suffer. I can’t- I couldn’t... I could help. I could help so I had a responsibility to do so!”

Her fists clenched tightly and a fire roared in her stomach, determination rising up in her throat until she felt the urge to roar. For the first time, she met the dragon god’s gaze and kept at it, refusing to let the mere glance of a god bend her into submission.

“I am the granddaughter of Tiber Septim and Queen Barenziah. I am the Anticipation of Almalexia, with all of her wisdom and training at my side. I had the ability and the means to help Tamriel, so I decided to do it. And if you tell me the way out of here, I will continue to do it. I don’t care if I’m dead, someone has to do something!”

Amara was breathing heavily as she finished her speech. In a lot of ways, it felt like justifying it to herself more than to the dragon god. How often had she questioned herself? How often had she wondered if she was just letting Almalexia convince her to do things? Well, Almalexia wasn’t here right now. This was all her.

Akatosh remained silent for a long moment more, before finally nodding in satisfaction. He held the amulet out to Amara, letting it dangle off of his fingers. “Did you know…” He rumbled, sounding more like a dragon by the moment. Ancient and all powerful. “That it used to be that whenever an emperor was chosen, they had to hold this amulet and light the dragonfires? It was a symbol of my everlasting covenant with man, that so long as a dragonborn sat on the Ruby Throne, the gates of Oblivion would be shut.” He paused. “It was more than just a symbol, naturally. Since St. Alessia, no one could light the dragonfires without my approval or consent. It is I who judged each emperor worthy. If they weren’t… they didn't tend to last very long.”

The amulet dangling off of his fingers glistened, twirling slowly as the dragon god told his story.

“No one has worn this amulet or lit the dragonfires since the Oblivion Crisis. The amulet was destroyed. The last emperor of the Septim Dynasty, a righteous young man named Martin, sacrificed himself to seal the gates of Oblivion shut forever. The dragonfires no longer have any purpose, and it will remain that way. However… perhaps I have torn my gaze from the empire I claim to patron for too long. Perhaps it is time for the Amulet of Kings to be worn once more, as a symbol of my divine providence.”

Reaching forward, Akatosh lifted the amulet over Amara’s head and settled it on her shoulders. The giant ruby thrummed against her chest, and Amara couldn’t help but wonder if this is what the legendary Heart of Lorkhan felt like?

“I…” She tried to speak, but no words came out. Instead, Amara dropped to her knees, but in a far more orderly and dignified manner than her previous descent. She knelt before Akatosh, head bowed as if she were speaking to her liege lord. “I promise that I won’t let you down.”

“I very much suspect that you won’t.” Akatosh intoned his voice more of a growl than it ever was, yet somehow felt amused. Like he was chuckling to himself. “From this moment on, you are dragonborn much in the same way St. Alessia herself once was. The covenant is reborn. Now, my child, look up.”

Amara did as she was commanded, yet could not help her mouth dropping out from under her. For before her was no man. The mighty golden dragon of time stretched out before her, infinite in all of his glory. She saw him as he truly was, not merely stretched out before her in this plane, but across all of time as well. It was enough to render her blind. Or mad. Or dead. The fact that she was only one out of those three things was likely due to the grace of Akatosh himself… And the fact that she was already dead.

“At this point, I would normally send you off. However, there is… one more thing to attend to.” The dragon forced out. His voice was far deeper than it had once been. The voice before had felt borrowed, but this… This was the voice of time echoing throughout her very being. “Tell me, child, what do you remember?”

This again?

“I died.” Wasn’t that all there was to it?

“And, pray tell, how did you die?”

“I was run through by a blade.” Amara responded automatically. But that couldn’t be what he wanted to hear. The memory was fuzzy, there had to be more to it… Who had wielded the blade? Some sort of…

Oh.

“The Clockwork City, it was being run by… some sort of ghost. Except it wasn’t a ghost. I don’t know how to explain it, but… Sotha Sil, one of the Old Tribunal, was in the city itself. And he wanted revenge against Almalexia because she had killed his body centuries ago. Zamana and I fought through his machines… We reached the chamber where his mind was being held. He had made some sort of… dwarven metal body for himself. We fought. I killed the body, but the mind still persisted, we couldn’t kill it. Then… then he had reinforcements…”

She clutched her head, trying to remember.

“I remember Almalexia screaming… She was so angry… And so terrified. I could feel it all inside me. Another Dunmer walked into the room. Seht’s reinforcements. It was… It was the Neravarine.” Amara glanced up helplessly at Akatosh. “…The Neravarine killed me.”

The infinite dragon nodded. “And in so doing, completed the final piece of the puzzle. You must understand, my child… Ra’athim Amara Septim is dead. She cannot come back.”

Amara slumped, her assumption shattered. Akatosh had chosen her, but she could not return. Was all of this for nothing?

But, naturally, the dragon could read her thoughts. “You misunderstand, child. Ra’athim Amara is dead. But you are not Ra’athim Amara.”

…What?

Her disbelief must have shown on her face, because Akatosh continued. “Almalexia did not have your best interests in mind, child. Ever since she became attached to your soul those many years ago, she has lived in your shadow. Feeding off of you. Whispering in your ear. Plotting. It was her intention that you were to be her avenue to resurrection. So she influenced you to the best of her ability. She trained you. Molded you. Guided you. You, who was raised to worship her since you could walk, never thought to question it until it was far too late. She made you like her. She led you into the Clockwork City on purpose, having a good idea of what was down there. She needed you to follow the beats of her life so that you would understand her, and in that understanding…”

“She wanted me to mantle her…” Amara whispered.

Akatosh nodded, unsurprised that the Dunmer before him was aware of the concept. It was only natural, when she’d had a god whispering in her ear for years.

“Indeed. You asked me earlier if Almalexia is gone and where she went? Nowhere. She has gone nowhere and is not, in fact, gone. You are Almalexia. Almalexia is you.”

“I did it?” The woman formerly known as Amara asked, utterly dumbfounded. “I mantled Almalexia? But… I don’t feel like her. I still remember being me.”

“Have you? Do you not feel like her? To mantle her, you had to become so much like her that there ceased to be a functioning difference between the two of you. That the Aurbis itself could not tell the two of you apart. Do you not know things that you hadn’t before? Do you not have memories that Ra’athim Amara never experienced? You are ALM. But there is a caveat to that.”

“…Well what’s one more earth shattering realization, right?” She quipped, not knowing how else to cope by this point.

To his infinite credit, Akatosh took it in good humor, chuckling along with her. “The mantling did not occur as Almalexia had planned. She forgot to factor in one, crucial element…” He let the moment drag out. Imagine that, a god with a sense of dramatic timing. Then again, he was the god of time…

“The mortal element. For all that she spent millennia as a god and being worshipped as one. Almalexia forgot what it was like to be mortal. It drove her mad before her death, but when she had no choice but to endure it while her spirit was stuck to you… Almalexia went out of her way to influence you, however what she failed to realize was that you were influencing her in turn. Not intentionally, mind you, just simply by you being there. The bond the two of you shared was intimate by any metric. To put it in mortal terms… You rubbed off on her. She became more like you as you became more like her.”

“So we…” ALM began, trying to wrap her head around the idea. Former divine or not, it made her mind spin.

“Mantled each other.” Akatosh confirmed. “You are one.”

ALM couldn’t help but note that he looked insufferably smug about that. But then again, he would. The Tribunal had never had the best relationship with the Aedra. She lifted her hand to rub her temple in an attempt to alleviate the budding headache, but she noticed something.

“…My hand is gold.” ALM noted dully. Because of course it was. Almalexia’s skin had been gold, the last Chimer in existence, and now her skin was gold too. Because she was her. And yet was Amara too.

By the Ancestors, she was going to need a mirror later.

“The veil is lifted.” Akatosh rumbled. “You see yourself for what you truly are now. More than a mortal, less than a god. Somewhere in the middle. A soul retroactively made dragonborn and a soul that still held a spark of the divinity it carried for millennia. The two together… It is not unlike the ascension of Talos, although perhaps not as grand. Which is for the best. I require you on Nirn for the time being.”

“Right…” ALM muttered. “I need… to lie down. And I can’t very well do that here. Do you know the way out of here?”

“Indeed. Our time here grows short as is. I have spoken all that has need to be said, and your Dwemer companion will require your assistance if she is to survive the night. Although, I must warn you… The method of return will not be pleasant.”

“Whatever you have to do…” ALM sighed one last time, before giving the dragon god a soft smile to match the one he once wore. “And for what it’s worth… Thank you. This all… It really means a lot.”

Akatosh nodded, rumbling in confirmation. “You are worthy. Never forget that, even in your darkest days.”

Then, without any warning or pretense, Akatosh opened his maw and swallowed her whole.

Because being eaten by the dragon god of time in order to return to the land of the living just seemed logical after the day she’d had, she thought as she slid down the divine gullet.

Hmm. She was going to need a new name, wasn’t she? Amara and Almalexia were dead, yet lived. They were one.

Almarantha sounded pretty good.

#;drabble #almalexia #akatosh #dunmer oc #v; 4e216 #concept; mantling #concept; alessian dragonborn #technically a repost #but I updated the visuals and edited some parts of the text #and I couldn't edit the old post #so new post it was #in case it wasn't obvious #akatosh is using martin's body as a puppet #part of me wanted to rewrite the whole thing to be less expositiony #yes that's a technical term #but I decided against it for now

[its-tortle]

I posted 5,252 times in 2022

427 posts created (8%)

4,825 posts reblogged (92%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@youhavenoideahowmuchihatethis

@queenofcrabs

@endgame-steve-is-not-real

@dontcallmebree

@musette22

I tagged 3,919 of my posts in 2022

Only 25% of my posts had no tags

#stucky - 592 posts

#no not without queue - 427 posts

#stucky art - 313 posts

#bucky barnes - 254 posts

#hilarity - 237 posts

#shut up tortle - 191 posts

#chris evans - 180 posts

#sebastian stan - 167 posts

#steve rogers - 158 posts

#bucky art - 149 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#but i know that often its almost performative where even when im enjoying a novel i am reading it to finish it so i can tick it off my list

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

stucky and cats :)

bucky is a cat person, he has been as long as he can remember. steve pretends he doesn't like cats.

they have a cat in brooklyn. sort of. it's a stray from the neighborhood, not really theirs, but bucky gave it milk once and now it keeps coming back when it's cold and it needs shelter, or even just for some pets and companionship. steve rolls his eyes, but sometimes The Cat is in the apartment when bucky comes home, and he knows all the windows had been closed. it curls up on steve's skinny thighs in the evenings, and there's a few loving sketches of it in steve's notebook. he wonders what happened to The Cat, after everything. he wishes they had given it a name.

then, in the same streets a century later, steve finds alpine. unlike The Cat, alpine is gorgeous, expensive-looking, and somewhat of a brat, so steve knows she's not a stray, or not a street cat at least. she must have lost her family in the snap, just as steve did, too. so, he takes her in, even though he doesn't like cats. he goes out of his way to get her the expensive cat food she likes and buys her a bougie bed she ignores in favor of sleeping on steve's face at night. she's for bucky, steve keeps telling himself. she's for when he comes home.

and when, against all odds, bucky does come home, it's to steve saying he's not a cat person amidst a cat-proofed apartment and a thoroughly loved feline on the window sill. and it feels like 1930, like home.

send me a ship and a word!

217 notes - Posted January 8, 2022

#4

i'm gonna cry thinking about how alienating it must have been for steve to wake up and be treated like a ninety year old instead of a twenty-seven year old.

354 notes - Posted January 11, 2022

#3

actually, bucky had more than a moment of peace in wakanda. he had time, he had kindness. days were long and bright, the world was far away. he found himself at the mercy of a scientist once again, and yet this one was not cruel, but made him laugh as she tinkered with his shoulder in a bright lab with colorful murals. he took long walks along grassy praries and up rocky mountains and through bustling neighborhoods. he filled his arms with fruits he had never tried before from the local market on his way home. he made friends. he had an assortment of teas in patterned tins in his kitchen. he had fancy conditioner and a skin care rountine. he laughed when his goats head-butted his shins and combed their fur for ticks. he was given support and people to talk to -- people who taught him that his past was not something to atone for, but something to recover from. he began to realize that he was a victim, not a perpetrator. and it was this realization, this healing, that inspired him to bravery, that made him kiss steve as soon as he stepped off of that quinjet for the fourth, maybe sixth time. when steve kissed him back, he was almost able to convince himself he deserved it. wakanda was not just peace, it was healing. it was wakanda's kindness that he came to thank for his own.

459 notes - Posted August 7, 2022

#2

i don't know who needs to hear this, but you're allowed to gain weight in your twenties. you are a grown ass adult now. your body can and should not be the same as it was at seventeen. allow it to grow along with you <3

1,568 notes - Posted October 4, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

2,469 notes - Posted January 1, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #this is so fucking delightful actually

[adashelbysaysshutup]

Gansta - Tommy Shelby

Part 2:

As Grace was getting ready for the event, she put on the gorgeous sapphire necklace. It shimmered in the candlelight, making her smile. Charlie adored it, and it was simply beautiful, so she decided to wear it.

After putting on her heels, Grace strutted out the door and into the car. There she waited for Tommy, and after a while, he arrived.

"Hi-" She was cut off by Tommy kissing her lips and she soon deepened it. They chatted the whole way to the event, their hands interlocking. A smile was plastered on their faces, but little did they know it would be the last time that they would be smiling for quite a while.

✞︎

"A woman of substance, and class," Polly muttered, taking a drink from the waiter before going to talk to Ada with a cigarette in hand and her head held high.

Grace spotted Tommy, so she wandered over to him, waiting to introduce somebody. "Hey Tommy, he's the leader of the Birmingham city council."

"Hello, Tommy."

"Hi, Danny. Long time no see." They shook hands, smiling lightly at each other.

"How's the business going?"

"All right, holding up, holding up. How are you?"

"Wait- you two know each other?"

"Uh- I have interests in steelworks in Cradley Heath. Tommy helps me get my products to the carmakers." He chuckled. Grace wrapped her fur coat around herself, feeling slightly nervous. "Congratulations on your wedding by the way Miss Shelby." He smiled as Grace murmured a quick thank you before turning towards the door. "Oh, now the party has really started." He continued.

"Who are they?" She asked.

"Father John Hughes from St. Mary's Boys Reformatory, and with him is Mr Patrick Jarvis, MP. They are part of an organization called the Economic League." He flailed his arms around trying to explain it, which made Grace laugh slightly.

"Did you invite them Grace?" Tommy asked, suddenly becoming protective over his newly wedded wife.

"Well, their names sound familiar, so they were probably just recommended by the Lord Mayor. Do you know them? I can introduce you if you want?"

"No Grace, it's fine. I'll go introduce myself." He declared, striding off. While he was off talking with them in the concert hall, Grace was busy greeting guests, some of which were the Petrovna sisters. When Tommy returned, Grace was quick to introduce them to him.

"Tommy, this is Duchess Tatiana Petrovna and her sister Duchess Sasha." Tommy simply cleared his throat before looking away. "Come on, Tommy, Aren't you impressed to meet two Duchesses At once? And beautiful ones at that." Grace complimented, causing Sasha to smile.

"You're too kind Miss Shelby."

"Well. I understand they charge a fee." Tommy spouted.

"Wow Mr Shelby, You are direct." Sasha interrupted, putting her hand on Grace's shoulder.

"Mhm. Too direct." Tatiana and Grace agreed. "It is true, I attend these things for the champagne," Tatiana explained.

"Oh sister, We all know you only wanted to come here for the chance of being treated like a duchess again." Sasha laughed, Making Tommy roll his eyes. "You should have kissed our hands, Mr Shelby. Out of respect."

"Oh, I'm very sorry." He rolled his eyes once more, a pattern seemed to be forming. "You also shouldn't interrupt people, out of respect." He said, glaring at Sasha.

"Well, I'll let you talk when you've earned my respect. Shelby." She spat their last name with such disgust that made Grace frown. "Until then I will need another glass of champagne." She began, going over to the waiter.

"Well, Uh-." Grace cleared her throat. After a short while, Sasha returned to converse with them. "She was asking about my sapphire earlier," Grace nodded to Tatiana.

"Mhm. Thought I recognized it." She knew Tommy would want to hear what she had to say.

"She said it was Russian. My husband has business in Russia, Perhaps one of you knows about it?" Grace inquired but Tommy stopped her.

"Well, tonight is not a night for business, eh?" He seemed uncomfortable talking about it, so Sasha pushed further.

"Is that why you were talking to those men earlier in the concert hall? Hm? The MP and Father John, is it?" She enjoyed seeing him squirm.

"I think people are ready for dinner now Grace."

"No, no. I'm not done pumping people for money."

"What is Er... Pump for money?" The sisters asked in unison.

"It's what I do every day." Tommy sighed.

"Do you know each other? You see, I was in charge of piling the list of guests together, but it's my husband who seems to know everyone." Grace scowled.

"Mhm. I hear he is very well connected."

"Ah. And where does a duchess hear that? Hm?" Grace remarked, making Tommy feel uncomfortable.

"In certain circles of course!!" Sasha butted in, Not liking Grace's tone of voice with her sister. She wouldn't want to upset the Duchess, As she was known to have quite the temper.

"Alright enough you three. Sasha pipe down. Hello Ada." Tommy hoped that greeting his sister would defuse the tension, however, it just made it worse. For some reason, Thomas couldn't take his eyes off of Sasha, and Grace seemed to notice. Her hair was perfectly parted, and her eyes were a walnut brown, which enticed him in. Everything about her made him intrigued.

Even her voice drew him in.

"You two, you and I will speak later," Grace announced, eyeing the girls as Ada pulled her off.

"I would like that."

"Let's see if she even makes it till later, shall we? With that Necklace on, there is no hope for her. You should say your goodbyes now while she's still here. You don't have very long." Sasha giggled. When Tommy sent her an inquisitive look, she swiftly continued, "Does your wife know that the sapphire she is wearing has been cursed by a Gypsy?" Tatiana and Sasha both laughed.

"What did you say?"

Suddenly, their faces turned completely sombre. They were serious about this, Tommy could tell.

"𝗡𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗼𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗵 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗥 𝗺𝗮𝗸𝗲 𝗺𝗲 𝘄𝗲𝗮𝗿 𝗶𝘁." They chuckled in unison.

#peaky blinder fanfic #arthur shelby #paul anderson #cillian murphy #Tommy Shelby #iconic tbh #joe cole #john shelby #russian #ada shelby #tommy shelby x oc

[daddychamber]

Chamber x fem!Reader fanfic

Smut 18+

Kinks: nipple play, daddy kink, semi-public sex, forced creampie

He traces his finger up under your skirt watching the goosebumps appear on your skin. "Are you scared of me mon bébé?" He asks in a dulcet tone, smirking down at you as you shiver under his intense gaze. "N - no." You whimper, trying your best to keep your voice from cracking but failing to do so resulting in him chuckling under his breath. As his finger reaches your mound he begins to trace small circles against your cunt eliciting a breathy moan from your reluctantly parted lips. "What's got you so worked up baby?" The words being whispered directly into your ear in his sultry voice, thick as honey. You can feel yourself begin to soak through your underwear as his finger begins to speed up, pulling your panties to the side slightly as his finger makes direct contact with your lips. You gasp at the contact, being weary to not let out too much sound as you take in your surroundings: the light from the hallway emanates from underneath the door, and the distant click clack of what can only be Reynas high heels echoes from the distance. How did you even end up like this? Chamber had joined the valorant initiative a couple of weeks ago: an annoyingly charming conman, he had made a name for himself in the underground as an excellent sniper. It was your job as the valorant headhunter to keep tabs on anyone who you deemed to be a potential asset to the team, and with the number of radianiate related attacks increasing exponentially over the last few months you had begun to grow desperate from Brimstone's incessant hounding. Deciding you had finally had enough of the old man breathing down your neck as you tried your best to compile intel on other radiants or radianite users, you had set up a covert meeting with the French man, honestly not expecting much to come of it. At two am in a frost bitten dark alley somewhere just south of the Seine, you shivered in your black fur lined coat. Exhaling through your nose slightly, you look up and watch as your breath dances in the slight breeze, swirling and tracing a nonsensical pattern in the moonlight. "Well good evening gorgeous." A deep voice emanates through the alley, bouncing off of the walls and disturbing the momentary calm you had painstakingly cultivated for yourself. "I would hardly call it a 'good evening' considering the fact that you're 30 minutes late." You grumble, huffing in annoyance and begrudgingly pushing yourself off of the wall. You turn to him and take in the sight before you. He was..... attractive. Sporting a garishly flamboyant golden vest and an even more garish smug grin as he adjusted his glasses to further drink in the sight of you. "To be honest I did not have many expectations when coming here tonight, but YOU, mon cherie, certainly was not one of them." He purrs as he takes your hand and placing a gentle kiss upon your fingers. You blush slightly, burying you cheeks in your woolen scarf so as not to betray the effect his actions had on you. Brimstone really had to let you out of the office more often if THIS was enough to work you up. "I'm going to ignore the slight underhanded misogyny of that statement and instead get straight to the point." You snap, abruptly pulling your hand out of your grasp and blowing some fallen hair out of your face. Quirking an eyebrow up at you and appearing completely unperturbed by your explosive reaction, he straightens his back and regains his previous air of grandeur. "Do go on mademoiselle." He says, adjusting his frames slightly. "Have you ever heard of the valorant initiative?" From then on the process had been relatively smooth sailing, Brimstone having had the contracts prepared for months by this point - practically gagging from desperation at the thought of someone coming to aid the team - and Chamber flying through the training with ease (which had honestly left you feeling quite smug with yourself, glowing with pride at the fact that you had discovered someone possessing a marksmanship to rival even the most experienced members of the team). Fitting in with said team however was an

entirely different matter: to be frank, no one trusted him. Even Killjoy and Raze - the happy go lucky couple - who were always the most excited at the prospect of a new individual joining the team felt uneasy around the man, which obviously left the baby sitting to you. "You were the one that found him y/n, he's your responsibility!" Brimstone sighed, exasperated at having to repeat himself for the umpteenth time in the wake of your protests. "B-but-" you began to stutter, being cut off by one swift raise of the large man's hand. "No more complaints agent, ever since you sustained your injury this is your new position on the team. If you fail to fulfill your duty, I would have no choice but to forcibly call for your early retirement." He says, a pleading look on his face as if to say his hands were tied. With one final look of disgust, you left your commanders office and trudged down the hallway. "Mon cherie, what has you looking so down?" Great. The last person you wanted to see right now. "Nothing." You grit out from between your teeth, punctuating your statement with a glare that could freeze hell over. Chamber raises his hands in mock surrender, backing away from you slightly "I'm sorry mon ange, I was only trying to help". You frown slightly at this, realising that your outburst at him was - for the most part - unwarranted. "Stop frowning or wrinkles will start to ruin your beautiful face." Never mind, you had no idea why you ever felt bad for this absolute CLOWN of a man. "Listen here you," you growl, backing him up against the door to your right. "I have had my ass absolutely handed to me by Brimstone because YOU can't seem to play nice. So, if you must know, YOU are the reason why I'm looking so down." By the time you had finished your explosive outburst you had backed him up completely against the door, your face merely inches away from his. You take this moment to trail your gaze up to grace over his features : his eyes hidden behind thick jet black rims were a beautiful hazel hue, a certain playfulness dancing across them; his nose effortlessly chiseled; his cheeks slightly hollow and impeccably carved; and his pale pink lips curved up into the exact smug grin he held upon your first meeting. "At this point the tension must be palpable to even you, the densest of them all, chouchou" He whispers against your lips, a fire burning behind his eyes. In one swift motion he grabs your hand and pulls you into the cupboard door you had him pinned up against just moments prior, resulting in your current predicament. "For someone who pretends to hold nothing but disdain for me, you seem to be rather wet down here mon cherie." He smirks, tracing soft patterns against your clit. Your eyes widen before you bite down against his shoulder, his much broader and taller frame now pinning you against the door, the dominance now belonging to him. "Hush mon coeur, or someone will hear you whining so prettily for me". You pull back from his shoulder violently and accidentally slam your head against the door in the process. Ouch. Chambers eyes widen briefly in panic before returning to their everpresent cool and collected state, a façade of indifference betrayed by the momentary lapse in his charade. "Did you just call me... mon coeur?" You enquire, head angled slightly as you stare up at him with big eyes. He stutters, blushing momentarily before composing himself. "You know French?" He questions in lieu of an answer, pulling off of you completely as he crosses his arms. "Oui, je peux parler en français." you punctuate your statement with a flirtatious wink, tracing your hands gently up his arms - only barely pressing your finger tips against his muscular limbs - before interlocking your fingers neatly and resting them on the nape of his neck. "Care to expand on that, _mon coeur_?" You whisper in his ear. The gentleman takes a deep breath and exhales aggressively through his nose, pushing his glasses up his bridge before resting his forehead against yours. "Ever since I first saw you, I've

been transfixed by your beauty. The way the moonlight reflected in your eyes, your beautiful soft hair, your mesmerising smile. But it wasn't your looks that made me slowly start to fall for you: it was your fierceness, your determination, your intellect, your courage." He looks up at you at this, his eyes vulnerable again as they stare deeply into yours. "I fell for you, y/n." At this you slam your lips against his in a searing kiss, your mouths frantically moving against each other. Chamber slots his hands underneath your thighs and hoists you up against the door as you wrap your legs around him. You pull back, staring at him momentarily before whispering "je t'aime, mon amour" against his lips. He takes this as an opportunity to grab your hair and pull your head back, latching his lips onto your neck and sucking in bruises of red, purple, blue. "Everyone will know you're mine." He wastes no time in unbuttoning your blouse. You flush a bright shade of pink as he stares blatantly at your chest, watching it rise and fall with your heavy breathing. "You are so beautiful." He breathes out, barely audible in the electric air, before roughly pulling your breasts out of your bra and suckling on your nipples. You cry out at this, clasping your own hand over your mouth a bit too late. The absolute vulgarity of the situation doing nothing to alleviate the wetness pooling in your underwear. "Sensitive are we?" You feel rather than hear him smirk against your chest before diving in to leave all manner of marks against your breasts. "Hurry up already." You grit out through your teeth, the words muffled slightly from behind your hand. At this he erupts into a deep laugh against your skin "hurry? But we've only just started". "Stop stalling and just fuck me already." You whine, attempting to pull him even closer against you with your legs. He growls against your chest at this and pulls back before saying "Fine, you want to play? Let's play." In one swift motion he pulls down your underwear and pushes himself into you. [This is not supposed to be accurate to real life sex don't do this guys] You scream as his huge throbbing length pulsates inside you, making you feel oh so deliciously full. He let's out an uncharacteristically breathy moan, head collapsing against your chest. "C-chamber, I'm not on the pill..." You groan, surprised that you can even form a coherent sentence with how overwhelming everything feels. "It's daddy to you, and I don't care." He spits out before beginning to thrust into you. You can barely do anything but moan a litany of "daddy"s "oh yes"s and "harder"s. The feeling of his frankly frighteningly long and girthy dick pummelling your pussy sends you into an absolutely euphoric state; your head thrown back against the door as he marks your neck up as though youre his territory. Chamber begins to rub your clitoris at an agonising pace, making you writhe against him as everything was just all too much. "Daddy~" you cry out as you cum, your eyes rolling back into your skull as the waves of pleasure wrack through you. You serve as little but a lifeless fuck doll as chamber continues to abuse your hole, roughing pinching and pulling your nipples as he chases his own release. "Daddys about to cum." He breathes out in your ear. You begin to protest, trying desperately to push him out of you. "N-no please." You beg, pleading with watery eyes. He simply smirks in response as he pushes into you one last time. "Daddy does what daddy wants with his property" is the only warning you get before your insides are flooded with his semen, the warm liquid pouring into you. You cum again at the feeling of bring impossibly full, being able to do little else but let out breathy little whines. "You look so beautiful mon bébé..." your lover says, tracing the back of his fingers against your cheek. You blearily peer up at him, feeling hot under his intense gaze. "What do you say?" He interrogates, voice cold and demanding, almost unrecognisable compared to the softly spoken tone he used only moments

ago. "Thank you for fucking me daddy." You gasp out as his hand begins to close around your throat. "And?" He continues, raising an expectant eyebrow at you. "And thank you for giving me your cum." "That's a good girl." He purrs, retracting his hand before catching your spent - almost lifeless - body in his arms. He strokes your hair lovingly as you find your eyes closing, feeling so inexplicably exhausted and safe in your daddy's arms. "You're my breeding doll now little one." Is the last thing you hear before the world around you slowly turns black.

#Valorant #Valorant smut #valorant x reader #chamber x reader

[monstersandmaw]

Male mothman x male reader (very light nsfw)

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

This is a thank you for the truly lovely @severedreamerbeard​​ , who was promised this back in August at least, and who helped me when I was in a bit of a pickle.

Here’s a fluffy, childhood-friends-to-lovers, fleeting angst and finishing fluff story for you. I hope it’s a suitable thank you for your kindness and patience.

“Come on, come on, come on!” you chanted, grinning as you watched Elis scurry up the stairs into the echoing station lobby, a small overnight bag in one hand and his trademark, dark red scarf dangling from the other. Seeing him without it on made him look half-dressed, somehow, and your cheeks heated unexpectedly.

Panting, with his papery wings fluttering awkwardly behind him, he drew to a halt in front of you. His delicate antennae swivelled back to lie almost flat against the soft, silvery grey of his fuzzy head, and he looked like a scolded puppy despite his enormous size.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I got held up because Mrs. Franklin next door somehow locked herself and her four cats out, so I had to go to the building manager to get the spare key before the cats ran off, but I couldn’t find him for ages —”

“Elis, it’s fine,” you smiled, patting the mothfolk’s furry shoulder. “I was kidding, and I have to confess… I told you to meet here earlier than necessary…”

“Oh,” he said, and then huffed a self-effacing laugh and raised his hand to scratch the back of his head, scarf trailing from his fingertips and wafting in the breeze. He only had two fingers and one thumb on each hand, and while the rest of his downy fur was a creamy silver, his hands were coal black, with smooth palms and a very fine fuzz on the backs. “Guess you know me pretty well after all these years,” he added.

His gorgeous, wood-moth wings stretched a fraction as he sighed, and you caught a glimpse of the stunning misty brown patterns for just a moment. You could easily lose yourself in tracing those for hours, given the chance.

“So… where are we going?” he asked for the hundredth time as you led him through the clangour of the central station’s ticket hall and then on towards one of the underpasses to a more distant platform.

“Still a surprise, buddy,” you grinned, poking him in the chest with a finger. “C’mon. I can’t wait to see your face when you find out.”

He buzzed his wings in fleeting annoyance at your stubborn refusal, but remained quiet.

Too quiet.

“Hey,” you said, pausing beside a humming vending machine. In the lurid light it cast, Elis almost looked like a ghost, like he wasn’t real, and your heart slipped sideways a little in your chest at the sight of him. He looked so… diminished of late. “Hey,” you said again, voice soft and endlessly fond. “I don’t want to stress you. If you really want to know where we’re going, I’ll tell you. I just — we all — wanted to do something nice for you, after…” you trailed off rather awkwardly. Neither of you needed reminding of how another disastrous relationship, doomed almost from the start, had gone down the drain for Elis.

He was taller than you — a true gentle giant — and as he looked down from that six foot something height, his shoulders dropped and his frond-like antennae relaxed from harsh, straight lines to the downy fluff of a feather. “No,” he said in a voice vastly different now. His tone was sweet and almost reverent as he looked at you with huge, dark eyes. “No, you wanted to make this a surprise for me, so that’s what it’ll stay.”

The smile that twisted your lips was undeniably tinged with sadness, but affection burned hot and bright in you. You ached to hug him, but weren’t sure if it’d be entirely welcome. He’d never shown any interest in you particularly, and you’d never known him to have a relationship with a male human.

“C’mon,” you mumbled. “Let’s go. Tara and Alex are meeting us halfway there.”

At that his antenna pricked up again, this time with a curious tilt. “Oh? I thought it was just us two?”

You shook your head. “Nope. We all clubbed together to make this the best end-of-summer holiday ever.”

Elis tiny smile and gentle expression was going to be the death of you, so you turned away and led him under the main platforms to the furthest part of the station.

As you emerged up the steps, his tiny, delicate jaw dropped and he froze at the top of the staircase. “No,” he breathed, and while his already huge eyes couldn't get any bigger, he stared dumbstruck at the forest green engine that was just coasting into the station.

A plume of steam billowed up from the chimney into the glass and steel vault above, and Elis’ whole body lit up. His wings spread suddenly so wide he nearly smacked a passer by in the face with one, but he was so caught up in the approach of the deep green engine with its gold trim and black details that he didn’t even notice.

“We’re not…?” he began, his gaze flickering momentarily to you. “You didn't…?”

“I did. Well, we did. But yeah. All aboard the Starfall Express,” you beamed, picking up his tiny suitcase from where it’d fallen from his slack fingers. He still had a hold of his wine-red scarf though.

While his torso, face, and wings were a mix of hues from the silver of weathered cedar to a warm, creamy brown, the scrolling, almost Art Nouveau details of his wings were picked out in a rich, roast-coffee black and they made you ache to run your fingertips along them whenever you saw them. Unlike humans, mothfolk tended not to wear clothes unless it was really cold, since their fuzzy pelts covered their dignity and most didn’t like the feel of fabric against fur anyway. Elis, however, really felt the cold and wore his beloved red scarf from almost exactly September 1st until as late into Spring as he could push it.

“I can’t believe you did this for me,” he whispered, trotting up alongside you and smoothly taking back his suitcase from you.

You showed your tickets to the guard dressed in an antique green uniform. She took them and punched a little star shape out of one corner, and then you handed Elis’ to him for the first time.

“Check it out…” you said. It was a work of art in itself, and was definitely meant as a keepsake after the trip was over. It was the kind of thing you could stick in a book as a bookmark or frame in its own right. Gold detail around the edge bordered the design of a stylised shooting star, with the outline of mountains picked out in a single line.

Beneath it read:

Starfall Springs Heritage Railway

ADMIT: One Passenger - Twin Cabin

RTN

And beneath sat the dates and times of departure in a beautiful, curling script.

“That’s going in my journal,” he said to himself as he turned it over. “Oh! I’ve got to get a photo! Can you take one for me?”

You weren't the only ones taking photos of the train as it rolled into the station, and just as you finished awkwardly trying to take a selfie together, a very well dressed orc in a vintage suit ducked close and asked, “You want me to take one of the two of you?”

Elis was delighted, and pulled you close under his fluffy arm, beaming, with his antennae angled back in a display of open joy. Tucked beneath his arm as the orc took the picture, you allowed yourself to dream that you were more than just friends for half a second. His latest partners had been other insect folk, culminating in his latest relationship with a male, green-veined emperor butterflyfolk, which had been an unmitigated disaster.

Still, the breakup had been the catalyst for this extravagant trip between the four of you, so it wasn’t all bad.

“I still can’t believe,” Elis hissed in your ear as you made your way down the carriage to your compartment, “That the three of you did this for me. I mean… I know how much the Starfall Express costs,” he added, practically growling your name. “You shouldn’t have done that. I’d like to —”

“I swear, Elis,” you said, playfully rounding on him in the narrow corridor and jabbing a finger close to his face. “If you say you’d like to pay us back for your ticket, I will never make you another peach slushy the way you like… This is our treat. We divided it up relative to income, so actually it’s mostly Tara who’s bankrolled this because she’s a big-shot lawyer and has more money than god, but we all chipped in. This is for you, Elis. Because we love you and we want you to forget about… him.”

Elis’ antennae folded flat against his head and his wings fluttered again. “Thank you,” he said in a tiny voice and an even tinier smile.

“C’mon. Let’s see our compartment. Tara and Alex have their own cabin, even though they’re joining us tomorrow when we stop at Halftree Halt.”

Behind you, Elis trailed along in stunned silence, but you could tell he was happy, if a little overwhelmed.

He was practically vibrating as the train pulled out of the station three quarters of an hour later, and while the suburbs faded to the green blur of the countryside, he turned to look at you where you sat beside him on the squashy, upholstered seats. Later, while you were at dinner, the bench would be made up into beds, but for now, you sat side by side, facing the direction you were travelling.

At the sound of your name, you jumped a little, having been lost in the hypnotic landscape rolling past with the steady drumming of the wheels on the sections of track, and you looked up to find him staring at you.

“Thank you,” he whispered, and your heart leapt as he brought his big, dark hand down to rest on your thigh with the easy familiarity of a childhood friend. He squeezed the muscle gently with his thick, strong fingers, and then started to retreat, but not before you had snatched his hand up in yours and clenched your fingers around his.

In a rough voice, you croaked, “I just want you to be happy, Elis. You deserve —” you broke off before you said something you couldn’t take back, and looked away without letting go. Your friendship with him meant more to you than anything in the world, and if you screwed it up by confessing a life-long and undoubtedly one-sided adoration for your mothfolk best friend, you’d never forgive yourself. “You deserve to be happy,” you finished rather lamely.

Elis squeezed your hand again and released you gently. “You want to wander along to the lounge car?”

Mutely, you nodded and followed him out into the corridor.

The rattle and rhythm of the train, the heartbeat clatter of the wheels on the track, the steady rocking of the carriages as they swayed, the laughter of guests who’d dressed in vintage outfits for a wedding party, the polished antique furniture in the dining and bar and lounge cars, the promise of cocktails from glittering glasses and sloshing liquors in gilt and mirrored cabinets: it all blurred into a magical experience you almost never wanted to end.

But above all, Elis was happy.

He soaked it up, adoring the lights in the bar as evening rolled around and you headed out of your cabin again. According to the Starfall Express’ customs, all the guests had to dress for dinner, and since Elis had no need for an outfit change — save to unwind and set aside his beloved scarf — he had stepped outside to let you get dressed in the tiny space of the cabin. He turned when you opened the door, wearing a rented tux that you thought looked kind of ridiculous on you, and you watched his antennae shift back, his jaw slacken, and his wings buzz.

Well, that was a reaction you’d never seen from him before. “El?”

He tried to say something but it got stuck in his throat and he cleared it, floundering visibly. “Suits you,” he finally managed to rasp.

You grinned and looked down at your outfit. “Yeah?”

“Mmm,” he hummed, still flustered.

Somehow you almost didn’t dare hope it meant what you thought it did. “Ready for a Starfall-themed cocktail?”

When you stepped into the bar, Elis placed his hand at the small of your back and you inhaled softly in surprise. Glancing up, you found him leaning down to whisper something in your ear, and you nearly missed what he said altogether as his breath fanned across your ear and he purred in an almost inaudible whisper, “That minotaur just choked on his drink when he saw you.”

“Probably because I look stupid in this suit,” you quipped back. “He’s probably never seen anyone so ridiculous.”

Elis shook his head in a gesture that would have been an eye-roll for a human, and fluttered his dusky wings. “Come on. Drinks are my treat this time, hm?”

“Sure.”

You couldn't help but notice though that the dark-pelted minotaur on the far side of the room watched your progress towards the bar with amber eyes, and as you met his gaze, he inclined his head slightly in a gesture you couldn't quite interpret. If you didn't know better, it might have looked like he’d just conceded defeat. Beside you, Elis sank elegantly down onto a bar stool and looked at you. He did a double take when he saw you looking at the minotaur, and then swallowed and turned away abruptly.

“What’ll it be?” he asked in a soft buzzing voice, gaze focused on the polished bar top in front of him. The tone of it sent chills through you, and not in a good way.

In a moment of boldness, you hopped up onto the stool next to his and reached for his hand where it rested on the counter. Squeezing, you said, “You choose. I’m in your hands.”

For a heartbeat, he just stared at you, his reflective eyes shimmering in the faux-gaslight of the bar. Then he turned his hand over and held yours for just a second longer. When he ordered for the both of you, you grinned.

“Seems you know me well too, El,” you said as you chinked your glass against his vibrant Cosmo, and then sipped your favourite drink. “To new beginnings, hm?” you added.

“Oh, I’ll drink to that,” he chuckled.

Sharing a meal together in the dining car after your drink felt more intimate than any you’d ever shared together before. You’d fished out your guide to Starfall Springs, and along with a travel magazine from the train, the two of you pored over it, working out what to do when the train pulled in at the historic little town. In fact, you chatted so long that the dining car was almost empty by the time you realised how late it was.

The bar beyond was still bustling though, and while you flushed and apologised to the waiter who had been hovering politely, Elis stood to one side and let you head out first as usual. You wove through the happy crowd in the bar, past the orc who had taken your picture, and after exchanging smiles of recognition, you pushed on. Pausing briefly near the far end, you turned to Elis and asked, “You want to stay for another drink or something?”

He shook his head. “No, it’s too noisy for me. Don’t feel like you can’t stay though.”

You looked around, seeing that the minotaur was engaged in conversation with a handsome young man in a wheelchair near the window, and looked back at Elis. “Let’s go,” you said.

Your cabin had been turned down for the night, and you paused in the doorway. “Top or bottom?”

“…I beg your pardon?” Elis spluttered from behind you.

Snorting at your inadvertent innuendo, you turned around and grinned at him. “Top or bottom… Bunks, Elis. Bunks.”

“Oh.” With a twinkle in his eyes, the two of you fell about laughing. With a slight and knowing hitch in his voice, he said, “I… don’t mind. Up to you.”

Not quite ready to go to sleep yet, you began to undress before reading in bed for a while. This time, Elis didn’t leave, but he quietly took the top bunk and lay down to stare at the ceiling, mindful of his fragile wings. You felt his eyes on you from time to time, and once you’d changed into your pyjamas — a scruffy old pair of track pants and a t-shirt with a small hole in one armpit — you tilted your head in a silent question, and Elis laughed.

“What?” you asked.

He twitched his antennae and sighed a soft laugh before turning to look up at the ceiling again. “I thought for sure the minotaur was your type.”

You shrugged. “Eh. I mean…” you said as you began to brush your teeth at the tiny sink in the cabin’s corner. “Not gonna lie, I do tend to like my partners bigger than me, but I’m not interested in a casual one-night stand with someone I don’t know.”

“I can understand that.”

“He didn’t look too cut up about me turning him down anyway,” you grinned around a mouthful of minty foam.

For a long time, Elis stayed quiet.

Eventually, he murmured your name so quietly you almost missed it behind the rattle of the train and the gurgle of the sink as it drained. “Mmm?”

Elis swallowed and said, “Do you want to come up here to read? There’s more head room and the light’s a bit better.”

“You and your lights,” you smiled, grabbing your dog-eared paperback and climbing the ladder while he shuffled over. There really wasn’t much room with the two of you up there, but he was right about the lighting. You had a small reading lamp set into the wall, but it was severe and focused, while the glow from the main lamp of the cabin fell over his bed. It reminded you of playing together as children and making tents in Elis’ parents’ garden out of blankets and bamboo canes from the vegetable patch.

Your breath caught though as you reached the top of the ladder. In the low light, every hair on his coat seemed dusted with silver, and his antennae and wings looked so delicate you were afraid of crushing them. How the hell you were going to survive the night and another day in such close proximity to him without having a coronary, you weren’t sure.

He chirruped your name softly, sounding more like the language of the mothfolk than your own, and you swallowed. “I’m fine. Where should I sit?”

In the end you found yourself lying beside him, both on your sides, essentially spooning. With the rhythmic rocking of the train as it sped through the night, and the warmth of his body behind you, you dozed off before you’d finished three pages.

A hand on your shoulder stirred you from the deepest sleep you’d experienced in months, and it took you a long time to scrape your thoughts together. Eventually, you turned over and found yourself face to face with Elis, who was smiling. His mouth seemed so delicate, and he looked so beautiful in the soft grey light of morning, you thought for a moment you were dreaming.

“You fell asleep up here last night,” he said in a warm whisper, “And I didn’t have the heart to wake you.”

“I’m so sorry,” you blurted, scrubbing a hand over your eyes and realising he’d covered you with his blankets. “I hope you got some sleep too?”

To your relief, he nodded. “I slept wonderfully,” he said.

With a bit of awkward shuffling, you made it down off his bunk without hurting yourself or revealing the evidence of what being so close to him all night had done to your body, and when you’d washed and dressed and visited the shared toilet up the corridor, you headed to breakfast.

At Halftree Halt, you and Elis stepped off the train and stretched, Elis’ wings going wide as a parachute for a moment as he flexed them in the late morning light. The train needed to refill its water tanks, and the halt was scheduled for an hour to give new passengers joining the train enough time to find their compartments and get settled, while existing passengers could stretch their legs a bit more than the confines of the train allowed.

A pack of gnoll children barrelled up the platform, knocking into one another and scrapping and snarling joyously until their mother eventually yelled at them and they all came tumbling back again. You laughed at their antics but turned to find Elis enthralled by the sight of the engine crew refilling the tank, and you headed over to join him.

You were still watching when a shout went up behind you, and you and Elis turned to see a familiar albino naga and a satyr hurrying over to you. Tara slithered beside Alex, with her hand on his arm to guide her and a white cane folded in the other. She wore a beautiful, dark green, cable knit jumper over her human half, and her long white hair was plaited and twisted up at the back of her head in a complex pattern. Alex, on the other hand, with his thick, russet fur all over the place and a wine-red waistcoat that was buttoned up wonkily, looked like he’d just rolled out of a hedge somewhere. He grinned his roguish smile at you and you shook your head.

“Look at the state of you!” you snorted, hugging him and then pulling back. “You missed a button.”

“What? Oh, shit,” he laughed, and started to fix it while you hugged Tara and stepped aside for Elis to do the same.

When Elis had greeted them both, he buzzed his wings and the soft purr of it made something skip inside your chest. “Tara, Alex, thank you so much,” he said, wringing his dark hands in front of him. “I can’t believe you three did this just to cheer me up.”

“You deserve it, big guy,” Alex grinned, punching him lightly on his fuzzy upper arm. Under his waistcoat, the satyr wore a long-sleeved shirt which, on his stocky frame, looked about half a size too small, and if you hadn’t been so enamoured with Elis, you might have found it distracting. As it was, you had eyes only for the mothfolk standing beside you on his delicate, paw-like feet.

“What is your cabin like?” Tara asked. “Was it comfy? Did you sleep ok?”

Elis buzzed his wings again, this time with a note of embarrassment, and you looked at the ground before Alex caught your eye and grinned a feral grin that made you want to strangle the satyr. Mercifully, he didn’t voice his suspicions. At this point, Elis was probably the only person unaware of your monstrous crush on him, and you’d have been mortified if Alex had given you away now.

You filled them in on the happenings of the day and evening before, and they heaved their bags onto the train and stowed them in their own compartment, even though the onward leg of the trip to Starfall Springs was only a few hours. Tara really was wealthy though, so you didn’t comment. They ended up joining you in the lounge car anyway, and you spent the next couple of hours chatting, with Elis sat beside you, and Alex and Tara on the other side of the table.

Alex leaned on one elbow and grinned. “I’m so glad we did this. Even without needing to show Elis just how much we love him, we should do something together every year. Maybe not of this… scale,” he added pointedly as he eyed the vintage finery around you, “But still. We should go on holiday together every year.” He turned to Tara and said, “And you can even bring your gorgeous new partner with you next time.”

“Too bad he had to work,” she sighed into her tea, “But I think the four of us are trouble enough for now, no?”

As one of the gnoll children passed through the carriage with a little engine-driver’s cap dangling from her fingers, you watched Elis track her progress, staring longingly at the hat, and an idea for a gift formed in your mind. A discreet twenty minutes later, you excused yourself while they were all wound up in friendly debate, and found the gift shop at the other end of the restaurant carriage.

With you purchase concealed in a paper bag bearing the Starfall Express logo, you snuck it back past them just as Alex kindly distracted Elis by asking him all about the heritage rack-and-pinion railway that ran up into the mountains outside of Starfall Springs.

When you slid back into your seat a little while later, and Elis was still going, Alex looked at you and mouthed, ‘you owe me’.

You grinned.

Whatever price he demanded would be worth paying to see Elis’ face when you gave him your present.

The station in Starfall Springs was a large, brick and stone building which, despite being one of the newest buildings the town, was still nearly two hundred years old. Steam filled the shed to the rafters as the engine ground to a halt at the buffers, and the four of you disembarked.

Elis’ wings were twitching with excitement as he looked along the length of the train and stopped to take a couple of photos while the plume of steam swirled around the wheels and the coupling rods. Alex and Tara headed for the exit, but you muttered that you’d meet them outside, and waited for Elis.

When he’d finished, he turned back and found that you were almost the only two people left on the platform. He clamped his wings and antennae down, looking miserable, and scurried back to you with his small suitcase clutched in one hand. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I…”

“El, it’s fine. This is your trip. I want you to have fun, ok?”

“Yes, but… the others…”

“They’re waiting outside in the sun. It’s fine,” you smiled, and on a whim, you patted his fuzzy, dusky silver shoulder and watched him shiver. He shot you a shy smile, and followed you out into the sunlight of Starfall Springs.

Later that afternoon, after sharing a gorgeous cream tea with the others in the hotel, you and Elis headed out alone while Alex phoned his boyfriend and Tara caught up on a little work. You agreed to meet for dinner at the Starfall Inn, which had received rave reviews in the travel magazine you’d read on the train, and you took Elis out into the pretty, old town.

In your small messenger bag, you carried Elis’ present, waiting for the right time to give it to him.

You carried it all afternoon, in and out of three antique bookshops and the glass-blowing shop and the trinket shop down by the harbour, and all the way around the museum, but finally, when you got to the bridge that led up to the temple, you paused and cleared your throat.

Elis turned and tilted his head curiously. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” you croaked. “I… I got you something. I… I wanted you to have it, but I wasn’t sure when to give it to you. I probably should have given it to you on the train, but… I kind of chickened out.”

He breathed your name and stepped close. To your surprise, he reached out with his velvet-soft fingers and tilted your chin up to look at him. The contact was fleeting, but it left you dizzy and tingling all over. “You’re so kind to me,” he whispered.

The words ‘because I love you’ danced perilously on the tip of your tongue, but you bit them down and fumbled in your bag for the wrapped parcel with the Starfall Express logo printed on the paper. Handing it to him, you stepped back and watched him.

His dark, delicate fingers eased the selotape off the paper and when he’d unfolded it without ripping so much as a millimetre of it, he lifted one of the folds up and gasped. When he saw the hat, with the small holes already tailored in the side for folk who had horns or ears or, in his case, antennae, he clutched it to his chest and looked at you. “It’s perfect!” he laughed. “I’ve always wanted one of these!” and without waiting a moment longer, he rammed it onto his head and drew his antennae out through the holes afterwards.

“Suits you,” you beamed. He looked utterly adorable.

A heartbeat later, he swept forwards with a rush of wings and flailing arms, and pulled you tight to his furry chest. His heart fluttered rapidly beneath your ear and you squeezed him as tightly as you dared. He was more solid than he looked, and stronger too. He held you fiercely, his wings jittering. “I love you,” he whispered. “I love you so much.”

You froze. “What?” you gasped.

He jerked back and grimaced. “I… I’m sorry,” he said. “I just… I didn’t mean to ruin everything. I — gods, I don’t want to ruin everything — but… I had to say it. I can’t… I can’t… I’m sorry.”

“Elis, did mean it?”

“Of course I did!” he scowled. “No need to rub it in. I know you only see me as a friend. Always have. I just —”

“Elis, I’ve been in love with you since I was eight years old, and you came over to talk to me during lunch break on my second day at school,” you laughed deliriously. “As far as I know, you’ve never dated a human, so I figured you weren’t interested.”

“They weren’t you,” he mumbled.

“What?”

“Humans. I thought… I thought I could forget how I feel about you if I dated other species. It didn’t even work when I tried to date my own species. They just weren’t you.”

You swallowed and took a steadying breath. “Elis, I hate to say it, but I think we might be idiots.”

“One brain cell between us,” he agreed. “Still, there’s no one I’d rather share my brain cell with.”

And with that, you began laughing. When the tears prickled along your lashes though, he fell quiet and brought his soft, leathery palm to your cheek and thumbed gently along your cheekbone. “I’m sorry I waited so long,” he said.

You shrugged, feeling shaky and as though you were floating. Elis’ hand was the only thing keeping you tethered. “Better late than never?”

“Indeed,” he said. “May I kiss you?”

“Gods yes,” you said in a little rush.

As he leaned down, his wings unfurled slowly behind him, showing his beautiful patterns and casting a protective shadow over you. He trailed his fingertips down your cheek and tilted your face up a little. When his mouth met yours, you moaned. His tongue flitted out and tasted your lips, and he returned your moan with one of his own.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said when he drew back a moment later. “Shall… uh… do you want to go back?” he asked with a fleeting but pointed look at your groin. “I know I do,” he added shyly. “Much longer out here and I won’t be decent in public anymore.”

“Makes two of us,” you snorted, taking his offered hand in yours. He still had that ridiculous engine driver’s cap on, but he looked so perfectly happy that you couldn’t object to it.

He led you by the hand, back through the streets of Starfall Springs to your hotel, and as the door to your room closed behind you, and he did take the cap off to hang it on a hook at the back of the door, it was your turn to call him beautiful and watch him flutter his wings.

You did finally trace all those lovely patterns while he gasped and shivered, until he lost patience and flipped you onto your back. He wrapped his long tongue around you, tasting you, worshipping you, until you had to gasp and tell him to stop or you’d spill into his mouth.

Elis reacted a fraction of a second too late, but he swallowed you down with his hands clamped to your hips, his wings spread wide above you, a fierce light in his eyes.

“I love you,” you hissed as your body slumped and your muscles turned heavy.

“I love you too,” he smiled as he sat up and showed you just how turned on he had grown by taking care of you first. “How do you want me?”

___

I really hope you folks enjoyed this one! If you did, please consider reblogging the story, since that’s the best way to help out creators whose work you enjoy on Tumblr!

___

| Masterlist | Ko-fi (tip jar)

#mothman #mothfolk #mothman x male reader #mothman x reader #mlm exophilia #mlm

[xaharadesert]

Winter Days! - Headcanon

Arcana Characters (Main 6)

A/N: thank you, @astraeus-trash for continuing to feed my binge-writing with your requests :) it’s very much appreciated! Please let me know if there are any spelling or grammar mistakes :) requests are open!

❤️Julian❤️

He usually claims that winter is his favourite season because the outer world reflects his inner mind

Really he just likes it because his clothes are hot and heavy, so winter is the only time he can wear them comfortably

He doesn’t like what the cold does to his leeches though >:(

You can often see him setting up a little habitat for them to vibe in when the cold first reaches Vesuvia

Aside from that, though, he’s a big fan of how people flock to Vesuvian festivals due to the myriad of celebrations that take place

He likes to be the life of the party, and it’s even better if he doesn’t have to see any of them again if he does something he doesn’t want to face the consequences for

🧡Portia🧡

Winter, in her opinion, is the perfect time to bake an excess of pretty much everything tasty

It’s usually too hot in the warmer months to use her oven so often, but with winter, not only is she making delicious treats, she’s also warming up her house!

She likes to give her baked goods to her friends, since she makes way too many to eat by herself

Usually likes to snuggle up in a warm blanket with a mug of hot chocolate and some fresh baked cookies after a long day

Pepi drapes herself around Portia’s neck to keep warm

You’ll never see a more cozy and inviting sight

💛Lucio💛

His birthday falls in January, so you best believe that celebration will be spread all throughout the month— no, the entire season

He likes to receive gifts from those around him, and he usually isn’t picky (he’s more about quantity than quality)

Also loves to decorate for the various holidays that come with winter

He might not even personally celebrate all of them, but you best believe he has the proper decorations to cover the palace with

The ever-changing decor is a bit of a headache for the staff, but Lucio finds it absolutely delightful

💚Muriel💚

He likes that most people stay inside, and, therefore, away from him

He also likes to stay inside, wrapped in warm furs, Inanna at his side

Living in such a dense part of the forest, the snow doesn’t really bother him, instead collecting on the thick branches of the trees

He likes the patterns of light that manage the shine through the snow onto the forest floor

He’s also a big fan of walking around areas of deeper snow with Asra, just because it’s so fun to watch his friend try to hop from boot print to boot print of where Muriel stepped

💙Asra💙

Absolutely adores ice sculpting

He can’t do it very well, personally, but he still loves to watch professionals do their work

The sculptures are always so detailed and gorgeous, and he appreciates their transitory nature; they really are something that can only be enjoyed in the moment

He’s also a big fan of snowball fights, if only because he can enchant his snowballs to win

His favourite opponent is Julian, to say the least

💜Nadia💜

For her, the winter is a time to stay inside and avoid the cold

Prakra is a relatively warm country, even during the winter, so she’s not a huge fan of Vesuvian winters

Admittedly, she enjoys the extra bit of time off

Most projects are slowed down during the winter, due to travel restrictions and unsafe work conditions, especially for construction

So she gets to curl up in a big comfy chair with a glass of wine and a good book, free to do as she pleases

#the arcana #the arcana game #the arcana headcanon #the arcana hc #arcana #Julian devorak #Julian arcana #Julian headcanon #Portia devorak #Portia arcana #Portia headcanon #julian hc #Portia hc #count lucio #lucio headcanon #Lucio arcana #lucio hc #Muriel arcana #Muriel headcanon #Muriel hc #Asra alnazar #Asra headcanon #Asra arcana #Asra hc #Nadia satrinava #Nadia headcanon #Nadia hc #Nadia arcana #love you all! #hope you enjoyed!

[stupid-sloot-headcanons]

“You will learn to love me.” - With Heisenberg and restorator darling, please? Perhaps when this is her first experience?

Heisenberg/F!Darling: "You'll learn to love me."

TW: Dubcon, loss of virginity, forced marriage

Weddings were usually a joyous affair. Gorgeous dresses, dancing and enjoying your loved ones' company, celebrating the life you wanted to share with your one-and-only... ____'s wedding was not at all like what she or her family might have hoped it would be. For one thing, none of them even knew where she was; she'd spent the last few months trapped by the terrifying man who'd kidnapped her from the Romanian wilderness, a man named Heisenberg who had a gift with metal that bordered on supernatural. As a restorator she would've been fascinated if she wasn't terrified of what he could do with that power of his, especially when his "work" littered his factory with corpses and their scattered body parts. The only other company she had were the wolflike monsters and patchwork creations that followed Heisenberg's orders.

He'd actually bothered to get a wedding dress for her, an admittedly beautiful traditional gown made by the women in the village. The delicate lace along the sleeves and the vibrant embroidered flowers and patterns on the vest looked so out of place in the dusty and rusted-out factory. The villagers were eager to celebrate their Lord's marriage and hadn't stopped sending flowers, pastries, clothing, and handmade talismans for long-life/love/fertility to the outskirts of Heisenberg's property until he'd stationed some of the Lycans to scare off the throngs of annoying worshippers and well-wishers. ____ didn't know if it was better or worse that Heisenberg and her would be the only ones at the wedding; she was terrified of being alone with him, but the way the villagers stared at her and threw themselves to the ground while reverently calling her "Lady Heiseberg" left her uncomfortable to say the least.

____ stared at her reflection in the mirror and tried her best to prepare herself for what was to come. I can still try to escape, but...being his wife just makes it feel more hopeless. She bit the inside of her cheek and glared at the reflection of her dress through her veil. I'll have to be tied to him, even if I'm being forced to say those fucking vows to always stay with him until "death to us part."

She didn't hate him, at least not as much as she did when he'd first taken her. She definitely feared him, but that was just common sense when your captor has an army of corpse-machines, werewolves, and can control electricity and metal with his mind. He'd been more accommodating than he'd expected for a kidnapper. He had been sexually forceful sometimes whenever he groped her or turned her head to kiss her, or lightly rutted against her body when the two of them slept in the same bed. But he'd also given her a room to herself, and insisted on not forcing himself on her completely until he'd made her his wife--another reason she was dreading this day. He'd appreciated her restoration skills and the two of them had actually shared some enjoyable conversations while spending time in his workshop. And he was fiercely protective of her when it came to his equally monstrous siblings and mother. Part of it seemed to be selfishness, not wanting them to go after HIS woman, but he'd consoled her after that wretched little doll of Lady Beneviento's had insisted on "playing" with her by chasing her and tearing at the flesh and skin of her legs. His voice had been soft when he'd promised to not let anyone hurt her, and having him hold her was comforting.

The sound of her bedroom door opening snapped ____ out of her thoughts, and she saw Heisenberg walk into the room. He wasn't wearing his usual trenchcoat, and instead had on an outfit that ____ had never seen him in before: a black vest with similar embroidery to her own outfit, along with a white blouse underneath with fur-trimmed black sleeves. His pants were also black, save for the bit of dust around the hem from walking around the factory. His shoes were made from dark leather and had the same fur trim as his shirtsleeves and the inside of ____'s vest. His signature sunglasses were absent, and his hair was freshly washed and combed.

Heisenberg stared at ____ for a moment, looking her up and down as she stood in her wedding clothes. He had seen what they'd looked like folded up and hanging in her closet, but it was nothing compared to her wearing them. He wasn't used to seeing something so delicate and beautiful, especially in his factory. "Everything's ready," he said. He put one arm around ____'s waist and kept a gentle yet firm grip around her. "Since Miranda gave us her 'blessing' beforehand, we don't need to have her here to watch and attend in all her glory," he quipped. "God knows that bitch would ruin this whole thing just by being here."

____ let Heisenberg lead her to his own room, where a small leather box lay on his bedside table. He used his powers to shut and lock the door behind ____ while he went to grab the box. "I don't have much from my real family," Heisenberg said, carefully opening the lid. The inside was lined with cloth, and inside was a pair of exquisite wedding bands. There were some signs of age in the metal, but the small opalescent jewel nestled in the center of the bridal ring shone as if it had been polished just yesterday. The other ring was less flashy, with the only flair being am etched ridge in the shape of a mountain on the top, inlaid with gold. "This ring's one of the only things I've got from them." He took the groom's ring and slipped it on his own finger. "I want to say it was one of my great uncles who made it? One of them was a jeweler, I think." He shrugged and held his hand out to admire how it looked. "My mom slipped them into my things after Miranda's people had come to take me and my cousins away. I think she knew it'd be the last time she saw all of us together."

____ noticed the strange tone in Heisenberg's voice as he recalled his last memory with his family. She'd never heard him reminisce about them before; with how far-off and melancholy he sounded, she knew why it wasn't something he discussed that often. Just as she was about to try to say something to try and comfort him, he took the bride's ring with one hand and slipped the box into his pocket. He took ____'s hand and squeezed it. "There's no set of vows we have to take," he explained with a half-smile. "One of the perks of being royalty in this shit hole is anything you do is fine, no matter how informally you do it. Not like the villagers are gonna complain about us not following all the traditions, so it saves a lot of time. But..." Heisenberg stared intensely at her as he slipped the ring onto her trembling finger. "One day, you'll learn to love me. I promise that."

____'s hand felt as if it were chained to a sinking weight, pulling her through the ground and crushing her. There was no way out. She'd be "married" to this man who'd ruined her life, isolated from the rest of the world and completely at his mercy. Her heart leaped into her throat and she suddenly felt a rush of dizziness; she stumbled forward and Heisenberg caught her, helping her back upright and holding her in his arms. He brushed her clothed hip with his thumb and then lifted her veil to fully reveal her face. Before ____ knew it, Heisenberg's lips were against hers as he tilted her head back slightly to deepen the kiss.

Heisenberg ran his fingers through her hair as he lowered her onto his bed. ____'s heart raced and panic ran up and down her spine as she lay on the bed. He was taking off his shoes, unbuttoning his vest...reaching down to take off her veil. "K-Karl," she stammered, "I'm not...I've--"

"Never done this before?" He rested one hand on her vest before unbuttoning the golden clasps and sliding it off of her shoulders while she just tried her best to stay still. "I figured as much." Heisenberg smirked and moved one hand underneath the skirt of her dress, creeping up her thighs and stopping just inches from her panties. "You always get that funny little look on your face whenever I touch you for a bit in bed, almost like you're feeling a certain way for the first time. Wouldn't surprise me if you've never even touched yourself."

Goosebumps rose on ____'s legs as Heisenberg ghosted his fingers over her pubic mound, and she looked away as she rubbed her thighs together. Was she really THAT obvious about it? "I know I can't stop you," she said quietly. She bit her lip and tears welled up in her eyes as she tried her hardest to not envision what ____ was about to do to her. Maybe he'd start to tire of her once he finally fucked her and got what he really wanted, and he'd let her go. Would she get blood on the sheets and her dress when he entered her? Would he even care? She could already feel his cock prodding her through his pants; it was a strange, foreign presence that filled her with dread. She knew that some men had penises so large that they could fill someone up all the way to their cervix...just how painful was this going to be once he took all of his clothes off? How harsh would he be now that he didn't feel the need to be so accommodating and kind once he finally claimed her?

____ sniffled and looked up at Heisenberg pitifully. "Please be gentle," she begged. "I don't want...I know it can hurt a lot during your first time, so just..."

Heisenberg cocked his head slightly and rested his fingers on the flesh of her right thigh. "It can hurt if you don't do it right," he replied, sounding a little confused. "What, you think I'm just gonna whip my cock out, go in dry, and finish after a few pumps?"

____ looked up at him, not sure of what to say. "You want to f-fuck me, don't you?" She sounded more confused than accusatory. "That's why you kidnapped me. That's why you've tried to be nice to me and make me trust you." Her shoulders drooped slightly and she clenched her jaw. "I just figured that you wouldn't care that much about...about making me feel good, at least not as much as yourself."

Heisenberg's brows furrowed, but only for a moment before leaning down to kiss her again. ____'s eyes widened at just how gentle this kiss was compared to the one he'd given her after slipping his ring on her finger. "I didn't kidnap you just to be a cocksleeve," he replied with a slightly disappointed frown. He caressed the inside of her thigh and trailed his lips down to her collarbone. "If I wanted that, I would've just raped you the first night you were here." ____ moaned softly as he moved one hand underneath her blouse to massage her breast, and a sudden rush of heat pooled between her legs as he used his other hand to play with an extra-sensitive bundle of nerves through her underwear.

"Kidnapping you doesn't really help my case," he said begrudgingly, "But I do love you, you know. As much as I can love anyone after the shit I've been through." He toyed with her nipple and smiled when he felt her hips rock a bit as he circled around her clit through her panties. "You're not my whore, you're my wife. So tell me what you want, and how you want it. And I'll give it to you."

____'s entire body felt so warm underneath her wedding dress. The places he was touching her felt so tingly, just like how they did whenever he groped her before tonight. Somehow though, this was different. Her fear wasn't as prevalent and the heat bubbling up underneath her skin wasn't from shame. This felt gentler. This felt good. So, so good. He wasn't lying to her about doing whatever SHE wanted; for once, she felt like she had a semblance of control while in bed with him--previously her kidnapper, but now her husband.

____'s voice was breathier than she expected whenever she spoke again. "C-could...could you put your mouth on me?" She rested one shaky hand by her chest on top of his own. "On my breasts, where your hand is right now. I want to f-feel more of...of this." She was struggling to articulate just what she was feeling and what she wanted, but Heisenberg just grinned as if he'd heard her loud and clear. When he lifted her thin white blouse over her head, leaving her in just her skirt, panties, and stockings, he immediately latched onto her right breast while he continued to play with her left nipple. ____ gasped and bucked her hips as he swirled his tongue around the pebble of flesh; his stubble grazed her soft skin, and the texture made her shiver.

Heisenberg finally moved his lips back with a small pop and switched to her other breast while he circled even faster around her clitoris and occasionally stroked the damp spot around her cunt's lips. "Can you feel how wet you are down here?" He chuckled and hooked one finger around the waistband of her panties before pulling them off of her completely. "I definitely won't hurt you if you're dripping like this from just my fingers." He slowly inserted his middle finger inside of her tight walls and eagerly looked at her face as she moaned and moved her hips to take even more of his hand. "Does it hurt, honey?"

"Ah, n-no..." ____ had never felt so hot and lightheaded and FULL. There was a stretch, but it wasn't painful; if anything, she wanted to feel more and more of it. "It feels good, so good..." Heisenberg curled his finger inside of her and laughed again at how his wife cried out in pleasure, practically shoving her pelvis forward to fuck herself on his hand while her pussy clenched around him. "More, more, please! That felt even better, do it again--o-or, or put another finger inside, or your whole hand or your cock or--"

Heisenberg shushed her and slightly increased his pace as he slipped another finger inside of her. "Easy, tiger," he teased with a smile. "I'm not using my cock until you cum at LEAST once on my hand. I haven't even gotten to taste you yet!"

"But...don't you want to feel good t-too?"

Heisenberg felt his hard-on stabbing through his clothes as he rutted his hips against the mattress. He'd get some relief soon, but for now he wanted to show her just what she really meant to him. He could fill her up with his cum and fuck her silly later--right now, he wanted to make sure his perfect little wife enjoyed every single second of her wedding night the way she deserved.

This WAS a celebration of their love, after all.

#.re8 #.heisenberg #yandere re8 #yandere heisenberg #virginity kink #tw: dubcon #.myshit #.queue #fem darling