#apex paradox | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nonbinary-throwdown · 2 months ago

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Update on Submissions!

Thank you all for submitting! We received 327 submissions. Of those submissions, 169 unique characters have been confirmed for this competition!

However, we need 192 characters to reach the closest amount for an even tournament. And so, submissions will be reopened until this number is reached.

The list of currently confirmed characters is under the cut. Please only submit characters that are not on the list (this list will be updated as characters are submitted)

Amount needed: 0!

Confirmed Characters

Siffrin (In Stars and Time)

Kris (Deltarune)

Bonnie (In Stars and Time)

Raine Whispers (The Owl House)

Alex Fierro (Magnus Chase)

Jim Jimenez (Our Flag Means Death)

Crona Gorgon (Soul Eater)

The Hollow Knight (Hollow Knight)

Testament (Guilty Gear)

Acht (Splatoon)

Frisk (Undertale)

Kirby (Kirby)

Ashes O'Reilly (The Mechanisms)

Murderbot (The Murderbot Diaries)

Nomi-Nomi (I Was a Teenage Exocolonist)

Stevonnie (Steven Universe)

Napstablook (Undertale)

Paintbrush (Inanimate Insanity)

The Collector (The Owl House)

Danny the Street (DC Comics)

BMO (Adventure Time)

Rita Kaniska (Ohsama Sentai King Ohger)

Marco (AI: The Somnium Files - nirvanA Initiative)

Janet (The Good Place)

Double Trouble (She-Ra and the Princesses of Power)

Floofty Fizzlebean (Bugsnax)

The Knight (Hollow Knight)

Hange Zoë (Attack on Titan)

Emporio Ivankov (One Piece)

Envy (Fullmetal Alchemist)

Sheriff Sam (Welcome to Nightvale)

Fourteen Fifteen (Friends at the Table: Twilight Mirage)

Bon Clay (One Piece)

Janel Theranon (A Chorus of Dragons)

Adira Tal (Star Trek: Discovery)

Darcy Olsson (Heartstopper)

Eighth Doctor (Doctor Who)

Ziggy (Hatchetfield)

Morph (X-Men/X-Men '97)

Opera (Welcome to Demon School! Iruma-kun)

Halara Nightmare (Master Detective Archives: Rain Code)

Kazi (The Dragon Prince)

Neferpitou (Hunter X Hunter)

Gin Noto (The Caligula Effect 2)

Setsu (Gnosia)

Shi Qingxuan (Heaven Official’s Blessing)

Haruhi Fujioka (Ouran High School Host Club)

The Bard (Wandersong)

Chara (Undertale)

Sunil Jha (Loveless)

Nightshade (Transformers Earthspark)

Two (Battle for Dream Island: TPOT)

Galore (Flight Rising)

Francois Snow (Of the Devil)

Dante (Limbus Company)

Jia (Project Naught)

Uraume (Jujustu Kaisen)

Tam Lang (Mooncakes)

Glass and Gloss (Flight Rising)

Scribbles (Flight Rising)

Loki (Marvel)

Rinn (The Tea Dragon Society)

Bloodhound (Apex Legends (Titanfall Universe))

Lion Ushiromiya (Umineko no naku koro ni)

Broccoli (Broccoli Soup)

Molly (The Warp Effect)

Cody Winter (All for the Game)

Raqio (Gnosia)

Missne (Missne och Robin)

The Student (Broccoli Soup)

F.F./Foo Fighters (Jojo's Bizarre Adventure: Stone Ocean)

Olive (Broccoli Soup)

Charles Eyler (Hello Charlotte)

The Gourmand (Rain World)

Petrel (What Lurks Beneath)

Masha (The Owl House)

Strawberry Crepe Cookie (Cookie Run)

Mama (AI: The Somnium Files)

Inazuma (One Piece)

Kyusaku "Q" Yumeno (Bungou Stray Dogs)

The Architect (Bungou Stray Dogs)

Cole Seymour (Yaelokre)

Clémente Dearworth (Yaelokre)

Kingsley (Yaelokre)

Peregrine August (Yaelokre)

Gonzo (The Muppets)

Sunshine (Creature Court)

World Hater Majik (Ichi the Witch)

Khai (Starless)

The Toy Soldier (The Mechanisms)

Sibling Dex (The Monk and Robot)

Ibuki (Assasin's Creed Shadow)

Diggory Graves (Hello From The Hallowoods)

Olivier Song (Hello From The Hallowoods)

Asra Alnazar (The Arcana)

Anne Faulkner (Paradox Live)

Mathilde Confiseuse (Tales from the Stinky Dragon)

Cel Sidebottom (Rusty Quill Gaming)

Bot (Inanimate Insanity)

Four (Battle for Dream Island)

Jamilla Gardener (woe.begone)

Osana Najimi (Komi Can't Communicate)

Shamud (Earth's Children)

Seam (Deltarune)

Princess (FAKE TYPE.)

Yuu Asuka (Stars Align)

Violet (Young Justice)

Nico Hakobyan (Danganronpa: Despair Time)

Es (MILGRAM)

Sailor Uranus (Sailor Moon)

Zoit (Lloyd in Space)

Popeye (Popeye)

Henchperson of indeterminate gender (A Series of Unfortunate Events)

Syvan (Elsewhere)

Blanche (Pokemon Go)

The Lamb (Cult of the Lamb)

Myc Cellium (Inside Job)

Hazen (Deceive Inc.)

Demon King Oda Nobunaga (Fate/Grand Order)

Sam (Deadman: Dark Mansion of Forbidden Love)

Celia (Beastieball)

Davepetasprite^2 (Homestuck)

Grendan "Grandma" "Grenda" "G-Ma" Highforge (Drawtectives)

Echo Reverie (Friends at the Table: Twilight Mirage)

Phrygian (Friends at the Table: Partizan and Palisade)

Valence (Friends at the Table: Partizan)

Klaus Hargreeves (The Umbrella Academy)

Tintomara (Drottningens Juvelsmycke)

Bliss (Citizen Sleeper / Citizen Sleeper 2)

Titania (Final Fantasy XIV)

Layne Dawncreek (The Tarot Sequence)

Jess Chambers | Kid Quick (DC Comics)

Pin-Lee (Murderbot (TV show))

The Merciful One (The Dragon Prince)

Valentina/Val (gen:LOCK)

Nathan Seymour/Fire Emblem (Tiger & Bunny)

Courtney Cahatel (Dead End: Paranormal Park)

Nanachi (Made In Abyss)

Tau-indi Bosoka (The Masquerade)

Jax (9-1-1: Lone Star)

Clover (Undertale Yellow)

Etihw (The Grey Garden)

Luka (EmuFeral)

Edward Wong Hau Pepelu Tivrusky IV (Cowboy Bebop)

Zira (I Don't Want to be a Magical Girl)

Hoshi (I Don't Want to be a Magical Girl)

Xio (The Sunbearer Trials)

Roguefort Cookie (Cookie Run: Ovenbreak)

A (Xenoblade Chronicles 3: future redeemed)

V1 (ULTRAKILL)

Ima (Ikenfell)

Raquio (Gnosia)

Huzzle Mug (Great God Grove)

Ink5oul (The Magnus Protocol)

Riva (Dimension 20: A Starstruck Odyssey)

GiGi (Chucky (tv show))

Niko (Oneshot)

Justice (Zenshu)

The Interloper (Corru.observer)

Venture (Overwatch)

Naki (Kamen Rider Zero-One)

Kai Bartley (Grey’s Anatomy)

Jae-Yoon (Ordem Paranormal: Natal Macabro)

Frankie Stein (Monster High Gen 3)

Nakuru Akizuki/Ruby Moon (Cardcaptor Sakura)

Nine (Battle for Dream Island/X Finds Out His Value)

Partynoob (Regretevator)

3 & 4 (9)

Nonbinary Yiga Clan Member (unnamed) (Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom)

Adjudicator Shrue (The Silt Verses)

Sibling Rane (The Silt Verses)

Charli Ramsey (Marvel Comics)

Pollution (Good Omens)

Desire (Sandman)

Tova (The Sex Lives of College Girls)

Juno Steel (The Penumbra Podcast)

GPS (The Nightly Manor)

Ian Wright (Quantum Leap (reboot))

Rose Noble (Doctor Who)

Frei (Hello Charlotte)

Nagihiko/Nadeshiko Fujisaki (Sugo Chara)

Clove (Valorant)

Marshmallow (Annoying Orange)

Romulus-Quirinus (Fate/Grand Order)

Moray (Undertale Yellow)

Lupe (Four Leaf)

Kai (Godslave)

Fleet (Rectify)

Monster Kid (Undertale)

Barry the Quokka (Sonic the Hedgehog)

Juice Box (Animatic Battle)

August Willenheim (When The Night Comes)

#i could just remove characters #and i would have done that but i want to include as many characters as possible plus 192 is closer #i'm also going to use this opportunity to submit some of my favorite nb characters that haven't been submitted yet #also apologies for the late update #jetlag and real-life responsibilities were kicking my ass #also btw i'm specifically doing just the eighth doctor because someone submitted just him and someone else submitted the doctor in general #and they are specifically the same character right dr who fans? idk #announcements #not polls

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understandableparadox · 3 months ago

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happy 4/13

i wrote a dnd source book for it.

thank you to everyone that helped me-

@hareofhrair for art and moral support

@funkmclovin for voice acting

@coffeecats900 for art

razzle dazzle 34 for art (i need to find them)

@eddie-draws for art

https://x.com/KingDDundo for art

@meraki-sunset for art (not in the book yet, im going to try to make it into a good cover page, your apex titan piece was so god damn good and it kills me that its not in there right now)

@spaceraes for art

and to everyone in the discord server that helped keep me sane, did proof reading and helped spawn the idea of it at all.

#homestuck #dungeons and dragons #413

19 notes · View notes

is-the-battlemech-cool-or-not · 2 months ago

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Melissa - SURPRISES IN RESERVE

Excerpts from the December 3153 issue of MechWarrior Majesty®

The premiere adult combat lifestyle magazine Sphere-wide!

MechWarrior Majesty® is a jointly owned trademark of the Magistracy Ministry of Entertainment and Clan Sea Fox

"Melissa Hazen’s naked form is a breathtaking spectacle, a fusion of raw power and sensuality that defies imagination. Her body, sculpted by the Totem Warrior program, is a testament to genetic perfection—a blend of human and avian traits that is as intimidating as it is intoxicating. Every inch of her radiates strength and allure, her immense, bodybuilder-level muscles rippling beneath smooth, green-feathered skin that glistens like polished jade in the light. Her physique is a paradox: a predator’s strength paired with a lover’s softness, a living embodiment of dominance and desire.

Her chest is impossible to ignore, a pair of enormous breasts that defy gravity and practicality. Each breast is a marvel of engineering, impossibly full and heavy, their weight balanced by the sheer power of her pectoral muscles. The soft skin of her nipples contrasts with the emerald green feathers that coat her arms and back, drawing the eye to the deep valley between her breasts. Her nipples are large and dusky, their size proportionate to her immense bust, and they stand almost perpetually erect, sensitive to the slightest touch or change in temperature. Melissa’s ability to lactate is as effortless as it is abundant; her milk flows with minimal stimulation, a sweet, creamy nectar that carries a faint, almost honey-like flavor. It is a testament to her body’s perfection, a reminder of her dual role as both warrior and nurturer.

Her shoulders and arms showcase her strength, each muscle defined and bulging with power. Her biceps are thick and corded, her forearms lean and sinewy, ending in hands tipped with sharp, black talons. These talons, though fearsome, are wielded with precision and care, their sharp edges softened by the gentleness of her touch. Her back is a landscape of muscle, her lats and traps forming a powerful V that tapers down to her narrow waist. The feathers that adorn her back shimmer in the light, their texture smooth and inviting, a stark contrast to the raw power beneath.

Her waist is narrow and toned, a perfect counterpoint to the lush swell of her hips and the round, muscular curve of her ass. Her glutes are a masterpiece of strength and softness, each large and bouncy cheek firm and sculpted, yet yielding to the touch. The way her hips sway as she moves is hypnotic, a deliberate, almost predatory grace that draws the eye and stirs desire. Her thighs are thick and powerful, their muscles rippling with every step, their strength balanced by the softness of her inner thighs, a hidden sanctuary of warmth and vulnerability.

Between her legs lies the apex of her sensuality, a place where strength and softness converge; it is genetic perfection, its folds smooth and inviting, its scent a heady mix of musk and sweetness. The feathers that blanket her thighs frame her pussy like a natural adornment, drawing the eye to the soft flesh hidden within. Her arousal is unmistakable, her wetness a testament to her body’s readiness, a promise of pleasure and intimacy.

Melissa’s long, taloned legs are a marvel of design, their sleek, avian shape both exotic and mesmerizing. The muscles of her calves and thighs are defined and powerful, their strength evident in every movement. Her talons click softly against the ground as she walks, a rhythmic, almost hypnotic sound that hints at the predator within. Yet, even in their sharpness, there is a strange beauty, a reminder of her dual nature as both warrior and lover.

In moments of intimacy, Melissa’s body is a revelation. The contrast between her strength and her softness becomes even more apparent. The way her feathers brush against skin, the way her talons gently grip, the way her body curves and flexes—it’s an experience that is as overwhelming as it is intimate. Her presence is magnetic, her touch both commanding and tender. She moves with a deliberate grace, her every gesture calculated yet filled with an undercurrent of passion. The taste of her milk, the feel of her skin, the warmth of her body—it’s an experience that leaves an indelible mark on the soul.

Melissa Hazen’s naked form is more than just a product of genetic engineering—it is a symbol of her Clan’s ideals, a testament to her strength and resilience, and a reflection of her role as a leader and warrior. She is a living embodiment of the jade falcon, a predator and protector, a figure of awe and inspiration in the Inner Sphere and beyond. To know her is to be captivated by her, to feel the pull of her presence, and to understand the depth of her power and beauty. She is a force of nature, a living work of art, and an experience that leaves an indelible mark on the soul.

...

Theodora Marten-Steiner is a living masterpiece, a woman sculpted from pure dominance and desire, her very form a testament to noble breeding and unshakable authority. To gaze upon her is to feel the weight of her presence settle over the senses—a slow, inescapable pull that leaves no room for resistance, only reverence. She is the embodiment of power wrapped in seduction, a figure of impossible perfection that exudes both undeniable command and intoxicating allure.

She stands tall, a statuesque titan, every inch of her built for pleasure and control. Her shoulders are broad yet elegant, framing a body that speaks of both discipline and indulgence, a physique honed to perfection. Her chest is impossible to ignore, high and full, a pair of heavy, flawless swells that defy both gravity and modesty, held firm by the raw power of her pectorals. Soft, dusky peaks crown them, exquisitely sensitive, always ready, always waiting, responding to the faintest whisper of sensation. They are both a weapon and an invitation, a paradox of command and surrender, a temptation no one would dare to refuse.

Her waist curves inward, a perfect, tantalizing contrast to the lush fullness of her hips, which flare wide and proud, built for both conquest and pleasure. Her body is a battlefield and a sanctuary, a place where power and desire converge with breathtaking precision. Her stomach is taut, a masterpiece of sculpted strength, shifting beneath her flawless skin with every measured movement, every calculated breath. She is both steel and silk, both dominator and goddess, the kind of woman who draws eyes and keeps them there, unable to look away.

Her arms, thick with layered muscle wrapped in sinuous elegance, move with dangerous grace, every motion a promise of strength and control. Her hands, long and deft, are capable of both destruction and delicate pleasure, fingers that could seize a weapon or a lover with the same unyielding confidence. And below, the thick columns of her thighs tell their own story, powerful and undeniably feminine, moving with predatory grace. Each step is a silent proclamation, an unspoken challenge, a movement so deliberate and hypnotic that it demands attention, commands obedience.

Her glorious backside, round and perfectly sculpted, is an exquisite contradiction—firm yet yielding, built for battle yet made for pleasure. Every subtle shift, every sway of her hips, is a calculated act of seduction, whether she intends it or not. Her calves, strong and defined, carry her forward like an empress surveying her kingdom, her feet perfectly proportioned, every step an unshakable declaration of her supremacy. Even in stillness, she is power incarnate, a force that cannot be denied, a presence that is felt before it is seen.

Seeing Theodora Marten-Steiner in her full, naked splendor makes one understand what it means to be undone, to feel a force so overwhelming that submission becomes inevitable. She is not simply a woman—she is a sovereign, a goddess, a living legend, a force of nature whose beauty and strength weave together into something utterly inescapable. She does not merely exist—she dominates, leaving behind an unshakable mark on the senses, an imprint on the soul, a longing that lingers long after she is gone.

...

To witness Melissa Hazen and Theodora Marten-Steiner together in their unclothed splendor is to stand before two living goddesses, their forms so vast and breathtaking that the mere act of looking at them becomes an exercise in submission. Their bodies, each a monument to power and perfection, stand in stark contrast—one a creation of Clan ferocity, the other of noble Lyran dominance—yet together, they are a vision that bends the senses, an overwhelming force of nature and seduction.

Melissa moves with predatory intent, her green-feathered skin shimmering like polished jade, her vast musculature flexing with impossible strength, every motion a display of feral sensuality. The sheer immensity of her curves, the way her monumental bust hangs impossibly full and heavy, countered only by the raw power of her chest, makes her nothing less than a walking fantasy, a being designed to rule both the battlefield and the bedroom. Her dusky nipples, large and perpetually erect, seem to anticipate touch, almost aching for sensation. Her thighs, thicker than most warriors' torsos, ripple with every step, a living display of sheer physical dominance.

Beside her, Theodora is no less magnificent, but where Melissa is feral majesty, she is regal command. Her fair, flawless skin gleams in the light, the taut lines of her stomach shifting with every measured breath. Her bust, high and impossibly full, holds a matriarchal weight, a soft yet undeniable declaration of her supremacy. Where Melissa prowls, Theodora glides, the sway of her wide, imperial hips a lesson in aristocratic seduction. Every inch of her languid movements is deliberate, measured, designed not to take, but to command surrender before a single word is spoken.

The air between them is charged, a field of unspoken tension and reverence, as though the very universe must pause to admire what has been crafted in these two titans. When Melissa moves closer, towering over Theodora, her massive, clawed hands reaching for the noblewoman’s waist, it is an act of bold possession—a hunter drawing its prize near. But Theodora does not yield. Instead, she tilts her chin upward, meeting Melissa’s gaze with cold fire, her own hands coming to rest upon the Clan warrior’s thick, muscled torso. It is not an act of submission, but of acknowledgment, of two apex predators recognizing their equal.

The way they touch is almost unbearable to watch, an exquisite war between dominance and seduction. Melissa’s talons trace the softness of Theodora’s thighs, and in turn, Theodora’s fingers press into the dense muscle of Melissa’s back, as though committing the texture of her inhuman perfection to memory. There is no rush to their movements, no need for haste—only the slow, intoxicating dance of power meeting power, of two beings so impossibly sensual that to behold them together in their naked forms is to feel utterly undone.

One is feral heat, the other imperial ice, and yet they are drawn to each other in a way that defies reason, their bodies a living contrast, their presence an undeniable force of nature. To witness them like this is not merely to see beauty, not simply to recognize strength—but to understand what it means to be powerless in the face of something greater than oneself. They do not merely stand together. They command the world around them, demand worship without words—and no one could ever deny them."

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The Talon Roost

Unity City

Cascadia Administrative District

American Administrative Zone

Terra

16 December 3153

The room was bathed in the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains, casting a silvery hue over the intimate space. Melissa Hazen and Theodora Marten-Steiner lay entwined on the large, plush bed, their bodies a perfect blend of strength and softness, power and vulnerability. The air was thick with the scent of their arousal, a heady mix of musk and sweetness that filled the room.

Melissa’s golden-yellow eyes locked onto Theodora’s hazel ones, their gazes filled with a mix of desire and affection. Theodora’s short, spiked blonde hair was slightly tousled, a few strands falling across her face as she leaned in to capture Melissa’s lips in a deep, passionate kiss. Their tongues danced together, the taste of each other intoxicating and familiar.

Breaking the kiss, Theodora’s lips trailed down Melissa’s neck, her hands exploring the soft, green feathers that adorned her lover’s body. She paused at Melissa’s chest, her breath hitching as she took in the sight of her lover’s impossibly full breasts. Theodora’s hands cupped them gently, feeling their weight and softness, before her lips found one of Melissa’s large, dusky nipples. She suckled gently at first, then with increasing intensity, drawing out the sweet, creamy milk that flowed so easily. The taste was rich and slightly honey-like, a testament to Melissa’s genetic perfection. Theodora moaned softly, the sensation of the warm milk filling her mouth and the feel of Melissa’s hands tangling in her hair sending shivers down her spine.

Melissa arched her back, her taloned hands gripping the sheets as Theodora continued to drink from her. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and intimacy that left her breathless. “Dora…” she whispered, her voice a mixture of need and affection.

Theodora pulled away, a trail of milk connecting her lips to Melissa’s nipple. She smiled up at her lover, her hazel eyes filled with desire. “You’re perfect,” she murmured, her voice husky with need. She reached for the milking machine they had set aside earlier, its soft, silicone cups designed to fit perfectly over Melissa’s breasts. Theodora carefully attached the cups, the gentle suction immediately drawing more milk from Melissa’s nipples. The sight of the machine working, combined with the soft moans escaping Melissa’s lips, was almost too much for Theodora to bear.

Melissa, in turn, reached for a sleek, vibrating dildo, its surface smooth and inviting. She guided it to Theodora’s entrance, her golden eyes locking onto Theodora’s as she slowly pushed it inside. Theodora gasped, her hips bucking slightly as the dildo filled her, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through her body. Melissa’s taloned hands gripped Theodora’s hips, holding her steady as she began to move the dildo in slow, deliberate strokes.

Theodora’s hands found the pussy pump they had set aside, its soft, silicone cup designed to enhance sensitivity. She placed it over Melissa’s sex, the gentle suction pulling at her lover’s folds, drawing them into the cup and increasing the blood flow to the area. Melissa moaned, her hips lifting off the bed as the sensation intensified. Theodora’s fingers found the controls of the vibrator they had placed at Melissa’s entrance, turning it on and sending waves of pleasure through her lover’s body.

The room was filled with the sounds of their moans and the soft hum of the sex toys. Theodora leaned down, her lips capturing Melissa’s in another deep kiss as their bodies moved together in perfect harmony. The milking machine continued to draw milk from Melissa’s breasts, the sweet liquid pooling in the collection chamber as Theodora’s hands explored her lover’s body.

Melissa’s taloned hands found the anal beads they had set aside, their smooth surface cool against her skin. She guided them to Theodora’s entrance, her golden eyes locking onto Theodora’s as she slowly pushed them inside. Theodora gasped, her body arching as the beads filled her, the sensation overwhelming. Melissa’s hands moved to the controls of the vibrator, increasing the intensity as she continued to move the beads in and out of Theodora’s body.

Theodora’s hands found the controls of the pussy pump, increasing the suction as she continued to drink from Melissa’s breasts. The combination of sensations was almost too much for both of them, their bodies trembling with pleasure as they moved together.

As the intensity built, Melissa’s taloned hands gripped Theodora’s hips, holding her steady as she pushed the beads deeper inside. Theodora’s moans grew louder, her body arching as the pleasure became overwhelming. Melissa’s own body trembled as the vibrator and pussy pump worked their magic, the sensations pushing her closer and closer to the edge.

Finally, with a cry of pleasure, Theodora reached her climax, her body shuddering as the waves of ecstasy washed over her. Melissa followed soon after, her body arching off the bed as the pleasure consumed her. The room was filled with the sounds of their moans and the soft hum of the sex toys as they rode out the waves of their orgasms together.

As the sensations began to subside, Theodora leaned down, her lips capturing Melissa’s in a deep, passionate kiss. Their bodies were still entwined, the sex toys forgotten as they held each other close. The milking machine continued to draw milk from Melissa’s breasts as they lay together, their hearts beating as one.

The room was still bathed in the soft, silvery glow of moonlight, the air thick with the lingering scent of their passion. Melissa and Theodora lay together, their bodies entwined, their breaths slowly returning to normal after the intensity of their shared climax. Theodora’s fingers traced lazy patterns over Melissa’s green-feathered skin, her hazel eyes filled with a mix of affection and lingering desire. Melissa’s golden-yellow eyes met hers, a playful smirk tugging at the edges of her sharp, black beak.

“You are insatiable,” Melissa murmured, her voice low and teasing, her taloned hand brushing a strand of Theodora’s tousled blonde hair from her face.

Theodora chuckled, her lips curving into a mischievous smile. “And you love it,” she replied, her voice husky. She leaned in, capturing Melissa’s lips in a slow, lingering kiss, their tongues dancing together in a familiar rhythm. When she pulled away, her eyes sparkled with a new idea. “I think it’s time to try something… different.”

Melissa raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. “Oh? What do you have in mind?”

Theodora’s smile widened as she slid off the bed, her movements graceful and deliberate. She crossed the room to a large, ornate wardrobe, opening it to reveal an array of carefully stored toys and equipment. From within, she retrieved a sleek, black latex vacuum bed, its surface gleaming in the moonlight. The bed was designed to envelop its occupant completely, the body encased in a tight, form-fitting embrace.

Melissa’s eyes widened slightly, a mix of excitement and anticipation flickering in her golden gaze. “You have been holding out on me,” she said, her voice tinged with amusement.

Theodora laughed softly, her hazel eyes gleaming with mischief. “I like to keep a few surprises in reserve,” she replied, unfolding the vacuum bed and laying it out on the floor beside the bed. She connected the bed to a small, quiet pump, ensuring everything was in place before turning back to Melissa. “Ready?”

Melissa nodded, her smirk returning as she slid off the bed and stood before Theodora. Her tall, powerful frame was a striking contrast to Theodora’s slightly shorter, yet equally commanding presence. Theodora’s hands moved to Melissa’s shoulders, guiding her down onto the vacuum bed. Melissa lay back, her green feathers brushing against the cool latex as Theodora carefully positioned her, ensuring her head rested comfortably against the latex. She guided a breathing tube into Mel’s beak, letting Melissa both breathe and speak – though the latter would come out muffled.

Theodora’s hands moved with practiced precision, securing the edges of the vacuum bed around Melissa’s body. She paused for a moment, her hazel eyes meeting where Melissa’s golden ones were underneath the sleek black sheet. “Last chance to back out,” she teased, her voice soft but laced with anticipation.

Melissa’s smirk widened beneath the latex surface, her sharp beak parting slightly as she replied, muffled, “Not a chance, Dora. Do your worst.”

Theodora chuckled, her fingers brushing against Melissa’s cheek before she activated the pump. The vacuum bed came to life with a soft hum, the latex tightening around Melissa’s body as the air was slowly sucked out. Melissa’s breath hitched as the pressure increased, the latex molding itself to her form with an almost suffocating precision. Her immense muscles, her full breasts, her toned waist, and the curve of her hips were all accentuated by the tight embrace of the bed. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of restriction and stimulation that left her trembling with anticipation.

Theodora watched with a mixture of admiration and desire as Melissa’s body was encased in the black latex, her form perfectly outlined by the tight material. She knelt beside the bed, her hands trailing over the smooth surface, feeling the contours of Melissa’s body beneath. Her fingers found the outline of Melissa’s breasts, the latex clinging to their fullness, the nipples visibly erect through the material. Theodora leaned down, her lips brushing against the latex where Melissa’s nipple would be, her breath warm against the cool surface.

Inside the bed, Melissa moaned softly, her golden eyes fluttering shut as the sensation of Theodora’s lips and the pressure of the vacuum bed combined to send waves of pleasure through her body. “Dora…” she whispered, her voice trembling with need.

Theodora’s hands continued to explore, moving down Melissa’s body to the outline of her hips and the curve of her ass. The latex clung to every detail, the pressure enhancing the sensitivity of Melissa’s skin. Theodora’s fingers traced the outline of Melissa’s sex, the latex taut against her folds, the sensation almost too much for Melissa to bear.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” Theodora murmured, her voice filled with awe and desire. She reached for a small, vibrating wand, its surface smooth and cool against her hand. She pressed it against the latex where Melissa’s clit would be, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through Melissa’s body.

Melissa’s breath came in short, ragged gasps, her body trembling as the sensations overwhelmed her. The combination of the vacuum bed’s tight embrace and Theodora’s skilled hands was almost too much to handle. “Dora… please…” she begged, her muffled voice a mixture of need and desperation.

Theodora’s hazel eyes gleamed with satisfaction as she increased the intensity of the vibrator, her other hand continuing to explore Melissa’s body through the latex. She leaned down, her lips brushing against Melissa’s latex-covered beak in a tender kiss. “I’ve got you,” she whispered, her voice filled with affection and desire.

The room was filled with the sounds of Melissa’s moans and the soft hum of the vibrator as Theodora continued to pleasure her. The pressure of the vacuum bed, the vibrations against her clit, and the feel of Theodora’s hands on her body pushed Melissa closer and closer to the edge. Finally, with a cry of pleasure, she reached her climax, her body arching as much as the vacuum bed would allow, the waves of ecstasy washing over her.

Theodora watched with a mixture of awe and satisfaction as Melissa rode out her orgasm, her own body trembling with desire. She slowly turned off the vibrator and released the vacuum bed, the latex loosening its grip on Melissa’s body. As the pressure eased and the halves of the bed separated, Melissa’s breath returned to normal, her golden eyes meeting Theodora’s with a mix of gratitude and affection.

Theodora leaned down, her lips capturing Melissa’s in a deep, passionate kiss. “You’re amazing,” she murmured, her voice filled with love and admiration.

Melissa smiled, her taloned hands reaching up to cup Theodora’s face. “And you’re full of surprises,” she replied, her voice soft but filled with affection.

"I told you I was."

-----

Several minutes later, Melissa and Theodora stood in the center of the space, their bodies glistening under the low light, their earlier activities having left them both flushed and breathless. The two women moved with a quiet efficiency, cleaning themselves up with practiced ease, their movements synchronized as if they were two parts of a single machine. The silence between them was heavy, charged with unspoken promises and the thrill of what was to come.

Once they were clean, they turned their attention to the sleek, black latex bodysuits laid out on the bed. The material shimmered faintly, its surface smooth and unbroken, save for the faint seams that traced the contours of the suits. Melissa—now Drone 1612—stepped into her suit first, the latex clinging to her powerful frame like a second skin. The material stretched taut over her broad shoulders and muscular arms, accentuating every curve and ridge of her toned physique. The suit hugged her impossibly full breasts, the latex molding to their shape with a precision that left little to the imagination. Her long, green-feathered tail slipped through a custom opening in the suit, the feathers brushing against the smooth material as she adjusted the fit.

Theodora—now Drone 1405—followed suit, her movements deliberate and graceful. The latex clung to her athletic frame, highlighting the defined muscles of her arms, back, and legs. The suit emphasized the lush swell of her hips and the round, muscular curve of her ass, the material stretching and shining as she moved. Her breasts were encased in the smooth, black latex, their weight and shape perfectly captured by the form-fitting material. The two women stood side by side, their bodies transformed into sleek, featureless drones, their identities obscured by the smooth, black masks that covered their heads.

The masks were smooth and unbroken, with no visible features save for the faintest change in material in a broad window over where their eyes would be. The only sounds in the room were the faint rustle of latex and the soft, rhythmic breathing of the two women as they prepared for the hours—and possibly the entire night—ahead.

Drone 1612 moved first, her taloned feet clicking softly against the floor as she approached Drone 1405. The two drones stood facing each other, their masked faces unreadable, their bodies radiating tension and anticipation. Drone 1612 reached out, her taloned fingers tracing a line down Drone 1405’s arm, the smooth latex amplifying the sensation. Drone 1405 responded with a subtle shift in posture, her body leaning into the touch, her movements slow and deliberate.

The play began in earnest, the two drones moving in a carefully choreographed dance of dominance and submission. Drone 1612’s talons traced patterns across Drone 1405’s body, the sharp edges of her claws contrasting with the smooth, yielding latex. Drone 1405’s movements were fluid and responsive, her body arching and twisting in response to Drone 1612’s touch. The lack of facial expressions forced them to communicate through body language alone, their movements becoming a silent dialogue of desire and control.

As the hours passed, the intensity of their play grew, the boundaries between them blurring as they lost themselves in the roles they had assumed. Drone 1612’s talons explored every inch of Drone 1405’s body, the latex amplifying every sensation, every touch. Drone 1405’s responses became more pronounced, her body writhing and twisting under Drone 1612’s ministrations. The room was filled with the sound of their breathing, the rustle of latex, and the occasional soft click of talons against the floor.

The play continued into the night, the two drones pushing each other to new heights of pleasure and intensity. The smooth, featureless masks added an element of anonymity, allowing them to fully immerse themselves in their roles. Drone 1612’s talons found every sensitive spot on Drone 1405’s body, her touch both commanding and tender. Drone 1405’s responses were equally intense, her body moving in perfect harmony with Drone 1612’s, the two women pushing each other to the edge of ecstasy.

-----

The first light of dawn painted the room in soft hues of gold and pink, the faint rays filtering through the curtains and casting a warm glow over the entwined forms of Melissa and Theodora. Their bodies, still encased in the sleek, black latex bodysuits, the material clinging to their curves like a second skin. The masks remained firmly in place, their smooth, featureless surfaces reflecting the dim light, a silent reminder of the roles they had embraced throughout the night. The silence between them was thick with satisfaction, their breathing slow and synchronized.

Drone 1612 shifted slightly, her taloned fingers brushing against Drone 1405 arm. The touch was gentle, almost questioning, a silent communication that needed no words. Theodora responded with a subtle tilt of her head, the smooth mask turning toward Melissa, their featureless faces inches apart. Though their expressions were hidden, the connection between them was palpable, a shared understanding that transcended the need for speech.

Slowly, Melissa reached up and removed her mask, the smooth latex peeling away to reveal her flushed face, her golden-yellow eyes bright with the afterglow of their play. Theodora followed suit, her hazel eyes meeting Melissa’s as she pulled off her own mask. Their faces, now visible, were flushed and radiant, their lips curling into matching smiles of contentment and affection.

“Morning,” Melissa murmured, her voice soft and husky, a stark contrast to the commanding presence she had embodied as Drone 1612.

“Morning,” Theodora replied, her tone equally soft, her lips quirking into a playful smirk. “That was… incredible.”

Melissa nodded, her fingers tracing idle patterns on Theodora’s arm. “It was. But… I do not think I am ready to stop yet.”

Theodora’s smirk widened, a spark of mischief lighting up her hazel eyes. “Neither am I. Let’s make it a full day.”

The idea hung in the air between them, charged with promise and excitement. Without another word, they rose from the bed, and made their way to the shower. The warm water cascaded over their bodies. They washed each other with deliberate care, their touches lingering.

Once clean, they stepped out of the shower, they donned the suits once more, the latex clinging even more tightly to their bodies. They took a moment to adjust the fit, ensuring every seam was perfect, every curve accentuated. The masks were secured once more, their identities hidden again beneath the smooth, black surfaces. As they stood side by side, their reflections in the mirror were striking—two sleek, anonymous drones, their powerful forms encased in shimmering latex, their connection palpable even without words.

The day began as any other, but with a twist. Drone 1612 and Drone 1405 moved through their home with deliberate grace, their movements synchronized and efficient. They prepared breakfast together, their taloned hands and gloved fingers working in perfect harmony. The masks were removed and placed on the table, their smooth surfaces obscuring their faces as they shared the meal in silence, their communication reduced to subtle gestures and the occasional brush of a hand.

As the day progressed, they went about their normal activities. Drone 1612 worked at her desk, her taloned fingers tapping rhythmically on the keyboard, while Drone 1405 lounged on the couch, her masked face tilted slightly as she read. The silence between them was comfortable, the lack of verbal communication an expression of deep trust.

When evening came, they prepared dinner together, their movements as synchronized as ever. The masks were removed only long enough to eat, their faces flushed and radiant as they shared the meal. The rest of the time, they were Drone 1612 and Drone 1405, their identities hidden beneath the smooth, black latex.

As the night wore on, they found themselves back in the dimly lit room where it had all begun. The masks featureless surfaces reflected the soft glow of the lights. They moved together, their bodies entwined, the latex amplifying every touch, every sensation.

As they finally drifted off to sleep, their bodies still encased in the smooth, black latex, their breathing slow and synchronized, they knew that this was just one of many such days to come.

#battletech #mechwarrior #operation touchdown

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apexparadox · 8 months ago

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Silver x tempest 😼 also, I made this like a few months ago but never posted it 😭

#long john silver #john silver #apex paradox #oc art #treasure planet fanart #treasure planet #oc x canon #canon x oc #oc

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that1garrulousfan · 10 months ago

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Treasure Planet 2 was SO FREAKING AMAZING!!

My favorite character is Tempest!

Part 1 of my art trade with @apexparadox !

🚫Please don’t repost/trace and/or steal my artwork!! And don’t use AI either!🚫

#treasure planet #apex paradox #tempest #garr art #art trade

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the-most-humble-blog · 3 months ago

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🛐 THE PARADOX OF THE FEMINIST CHICKEN “You're yelling at a man who hasn’t rearranged your jaw… only because other men are watching.”

You’re not brave.

You’re buffered.

The only reason your skull hasn’t been politely remodeled into a Picasso painting is because the man you’re barking at is surrounded by male restraint — not because you’re untouchable.

You’re yelling at a lion in a zoo. And mistaking the bars for your power.

🧠 What Is the Feminist Chicken?

A creature that:

Clucks at apex predators from inside malls

Squawks about "power" while flanked by mall cops

Believes a man's refusal to snap her femur like a breadstick is proof she’s “winning the argument”

Let’s be crystal clear:

If it weren’t for the presence of other men… you wouldn’t be speaking. You’d be praying.

🥩 The Myth of Equal Mouths

Mouths aren’t equal.

Because mouths don’t throw punches. And mouths don’t stop elbows. And when a man who’s seen war hears a feminist trying to out-volume him in public?

He’s not scared. He’s deciding if he’s going to let civilization keep holding him back.

📉 What Happens If He’s Alone?

Let’s simulate:

You and him. No backup. No street cams. Just you in a dim parking lot with a man who grew up breaking ribs before breakfast.

What happens to your tone?

It drops two octaves. Your syllables turn to syrup. Suddenly, “toxic masculinity” feels like safety with a pulse.

That’s not feminism. That’s evolutionary recall.

🧬 The Deep Biological Truth

You don’t argue with him because you’re strong.

You do it because his restraint is strong.

If he snapped?

You’d become quiet in ways your ancestors haven’t experienced since the last time women watched wolves drag away the loudest girl in the tribe.

🛡️ Why Does He Hold Back?

Not because you’re right

Not because you’re dangerous

But because men around him still believe women deserve safety even when they act like fools

That’s what you’re gambling on.

You’re betting he won’t reclaim the biological veto power you pretend doesn’t exist.

🐔 So Why the “Chicken”?

Because like a chicken:

You’re loud

You’re fragile

And you’re absolutely dependent on stronger animals to stop your own extinction

But unlike a chicken?

You’ve been told you’re royalty. You’ve been fed lies that say your shriek is equal to his silence.

It’s not.

His silence has a body count behind it. Your scream has a hashtag.

🧠 TL;DR

You’re not bulletproof. You’re just temporarily protected. And you mistake male decency for your own dominance.

If it weren’t for the invisible code of masculine civility, your jaw would’ve been an abstract expressionist experiment by now.

You're not safe because you're strong. You're safe because the strongest ones are still choosing not to remind you what they're capable of.

💣 CALL TO ACTION:

🔁 Reblog if you've ever clenched your fists in silence while a woman mistook her safety for superiority 👊 Save this for the next time someone says “masculinity is fragile” in public 📡 DM it to the man who didn’t snap — but you know he could’ve 🗡️ Bookmark if you’ve been the reason another man didn't burn the building down

⚖️ LEGAL DISCLAIMER: This post is Blacksite Literature™, sociobiological truth delivery, emotional restraint analysis, and public morality reconnaissance protected under satire, psychological anthropology, and primal behavioral doctrine.

If you’re offended: There’s a reason you’ve never yelled at a man in a dark alley. Your nervous system knows what your ego refuses to admit.

🛡️ BLACKSITE LOYALTY DRILL™

🛐 BLACKSITE CHALLENGE: “WOULD YOU YELL IF HE WERE ALONE?”

To the women reading this with clenched jaws:

Ask yourself —

Would you still raise your voice if there were no men to stop him?

Would you scream your truth in a cave, not a coffee shop?

Would you insult his masculinity if you didn’t trust it to protect your face from the consequences?

Don’t say it. Feel it.

🔥 Reblog if you know you’re only bold in public. 🛡️ Save this if you know men are still the reason women can scream at them. 🩸 DM this to the woman who’s never been alone with a lion — but thinks she’s one.

If you hesitated? You’ve already heard your nervous system whisper: Sit down.

Shut up.

Say thank you.

🛐

🔁Reblog to keep my signal to mankind going strong.

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jetsetlife138 · 1 year ago

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Imaginary: Reimagined (Alastor-Fem!Reader) - Chapter 2

A Multi-Chapter Story

Previous Chapters: Intro / Chapter 1

Chapter 2: The Introduction

Chapter Rating: Mature

Chapter Warnings: Reader experiences intense feelings of anxiety, discomfort, fear, and unwanted attention from a certain Radio demon.

Startled by the unexpected greeting, you pivoted swiftly in search of the elusive voice. Given the distinct static overlay accompanying the speaker, you initially anticipated seeing an antiquated television or vintage radio. However, to your astonishment, the origin was far more ominous.

The towering, gaunt figure before you exuded a distressing aura, his malevolence etched into every line of his sinister visage. As you examined him further, a labyrinth of unique features unfolded like a tapestry of the macabre, each detail more entrancingly unsettling than the last.

His penetrating leer felt like it could scorch the very depths of your soul, his eyes smoldering with an otherworldly crimson fire. The blood-red sclera lent an eerie depth, complemented by cinober irises that glowed with a supernatural intensity. Thin black pupils, sharp and unwavering, bore mercilessly into whosoever dared to meet his gaze. A burgundy oval-shaped monocle rimmed with sleek black adorned his right eye, adding an air of sophistication to his countenance.

A mischievous, broad smile unfurled across his face, a wicked crescent that exposed a set of teeth colored like sulfurous flames—sharp, pointed, and reminiscent of shards of amber. Each tooth, a gleaming weapon, hinted at a predator's cunning, a testament to the calculated danger that lurked behind the veneer of his baleful grin.

Crowning his head, peculiarity manifested in an unconventional hairstyle—an unruly cascade of fiery strawberry-red, meticulously cropped with a rebellious flair. The tips, dipped in the deepest black, created a striking contrast. Two audacious tufts of hair, tipped in the same jet black, extended defiantly from the apex, creating a distinctive silhouette, adding an almost devilish semblance.

Perched atop this vibrant display were two small, elegant black antlers—a subtle yet distinctive touch that further emphasized his unearthly presence. Together, the hairstyle and the antlers wove a tale of defiance and mystique, marking him as a character who embraced the havoc within, turning it into a crown of eccentricity.

His attire, further validating his enigmatic persona, consisted of a carmine pinstripe coat and dark cherry lapels lined with stark white; the garment exuded an air of both elegance and decay. Torn and ragged along the hem, it hinted at a history filled with battles and untold challenges. Beneath the coat, a bright red dress shirt with a bold ebony cross on the chest hinted at more profound symbolism. A black knotted bowtie with a ruby center adorned his neck, giving the apparel a subtle touch of formality.

His hands, sheathed in sable gloves, each fingertip adorned with a flash of dramatic scarlet, adding a touch of theatrical flair to his gestures as though every movement was part of an elaborate performance. Completing the ensemble, obsidian pointed-toe boots at his feet, their tips dipped in a fiery red, as if the ground itself ignited in his presence.

Maintaining a poised stance with impeccable posture, he stood with shoulders pulled back and chin elevated in a decorous and dignified pose. One arm rested gracefully behind his back, enhancing the implication of formality. At the same time, the other gripped a staff crowned by what looked to be an unusual microphone fixture, hinting at a strange fusion of worlds in his grasp.

This ambiguous figure stood as a walking paradox, a haunting blend of elegance and menace, sophistication and chaos.

Sensing your trepidation, his grin widened even further into a wicked expression that seemed to relish in your stunned reaction as well as the element of surprise. “Tongue-tied already?”

Apologizing nervously, you stumbled over your words and cleared your throat before mustering a hesitant greeting, "Um... hello."

"Delighted to make your acquaintance, sweetheart!" he exclaimed, extending his hand to clasp yours forcefully. The unexpected strength in his grip caught you off guard, smoothly drawing you closer—a bold move that sent a tingling sensation through you as you struggled to reclaim your composure. "Alastor, at your service. An absolute pleasure, I must say!"

A subtle crackle in the air marked a palpable shift, signaling a sudden transformation in his demeanor. In the blink of an eye, his welcoming host facade vanished. In its place emerged the persona of a beguiling gentleman, his intentions now veering towards the less honorable. Undeterred, he continued his greeting; his charismatic glamor, now laced with an undeniable allure, hinted at lurking danger beneath the surface. "And you, my enchanting mystery, what should I call you?" With a subtle yet commanding touch, he pressed a refined and tender kiss to the back of your hand, each second stretching into eternity as his intense gaze remained fixed on yours.

Despite your desire to reclaim your hand, it remained ensnared in his firm grip, rendering your haphazard attempts futile. Staring back at him, completely captivated, you failed to muster even the most straightforward responses, such as your own name. His aura derailed you far more than the demons you had encountered when you first arrived, surpassing even the ones who posed more direct threats.

Incoherent and nonsensical words stumbled out of your mouth, the quiver in your voice reflecting the unease that enveloped you in the magnetic field of his presence.

Growing impatient, the demon interjected, "Surely, you possess a name of your own. Come now, don't be a canceled stamp. What moniker belongs to such a captivating individual as yourself?"

As he continued speaking, you noticed his language unmistakably belonged to a bygone era. The vintage phrases and rapid-fire delivery echoed the dialogue of old black-and-white movies you had encountered over the years, particularly those with brisk and lively commentary.

His manner of speech carried a peculiar mix of disconcerting enticement, seamlessly melded with his overall style and disposition. A fleeting thought crossed your mind, contemplating whether it was a carefully crafted act or if he could indeed be a relic from the 1930s. In your current setting, where boundaries between eras blurred, the possibility of him being a genuine product of the past could be as likely as any other extraordinary occurrence in Hell.

Drawing a deep breath to steady your nerves, you eventually yielded, surrendering your name to the demon. Alastor, as you now knew him, flashed his ever-present grin, the twisted mirth dancing in his eyes as if he had just secured a coveted prize. The lobby's light seemed to flicker in tandem with the sinister satisfaction on his face.

"Why, that's absolutely delightful," he declared, testing the sound of your name on his lips. "It just rolls off the tongue, doesn't it? Splendid! Now, forgive my curiosity, but you don't strike me as a local." It was challenging to focus on his words as Alastor's eyes bore into yours, like embers dancing in the shadows. His impeccable manners and theatrical gestures were a stark contrast to the ominous air that surrounded him.

Collecting yourself, you felt your pulse quicken as you stammered, "W-what gives you that impression?" It was a feeble attempt to challenge his assumptions, but even as the words left your lips, a moment of realization struck, making you feel somewhat foolish. The truth was painfully obvious – you were undeniably human, not a demon. The air around you seemed to tighten with an awkward silence, a palpable acknowledgment of the absurdity that hung in the space between you and Alastor.

"Well, my dear," he said, a glint of amusement in his eyes, "first and foremost, you're alive. There hasn't been a living soul down here in… well, ever, to my knowledge. Your heartbeat practically sings in this abyss of torment!" His tone carried a mix of mischief and genuine fascination as if he had stumbled upon a rare and captivating treasure. "Quite the twist, isn't it?"

Another chill crept up your spine, the realization settling in that Alastor's interest extended far beyond mere pleasantries. Each syllable he uttered bore the weight of a concealed agenda, leaving you to navigate the labyrinth of his enchantment cautiously.

"Secondly," he continued, visibly unfazed by your gawking stare, "You're quite noticeably average. Hell is brimming with anthropomorphic beings. I regret to inform you that you stick out rather drastically. If your intention was to be discreet, it appears you're off your trolley!"

Perplexed, you furrowed your brow. His attempts at communication through outdated terminology failed to resonate and left you even more bewildered. "Sorry, what?"

He laughed heartily in response to your evident confusion, delighting in the disorientation you were experiencing as he playfully tapped the microphone on the top of his staff. "Hello! Is this thing on? Can you read me loud and clear?"

Battered by the relentless onslaught of mayhem and Alastor's nonsensical banter, you felt your sanity teetering on the brink of collapse. The unyielding pandemonium you had continuously endured was reaching its limit, and the existential panic lingering in your mind was now threatening to surface. You felt the unraveling of your composure, desperate for a moment of peace.

Sensing the strain on your waning mental stability, Alastor abruptly ceased his heckling. A sudden stillness replaced the dastardly mirth as he offered assistance, his tone surprisingly gentle. "Forgive me, I've been a bit uncouth. I reckon you've had quite the day with all these novel experiences! What might I fetch for you to aid in a moment of repose? Some giggle water? A gasper, perhaps?"

Once again, the unfamiliar jargon failed to resonate, intensifying your confusion. The unexpected, yet supposedly sincere, offer of abetment from the intimidating demon further disoriented you. The interaction alluded to a hidden layer of complexity within him, contributing to the overall intrigue surrounding his character.

Despite your efforts to remain composed, a heavy sigh escaped you, vocalizing the frustration that had taken place within. Your hands found solace in cradling your head, a physical manifestation of the turmoil that enveloped your thoughts.

"Look, it's Alastor, right?" His nod of confirmation prompted you to proceed as you dropped your hands to a less manic stance. "Okay, Alastor. I'm sensing a disconnect here. I'm not sure if this—" you gestured toward him, observing the quizzical tilt of his head before continuing, "... old-timey persona is your 'shtick' or whatever… But, honestly, I can't deal with this right now. While I appreciate your hospitality, up until earlier today, everything in my life was perfectly normal. Now, I'm trapped in some bizarre cartoon universe filled with humanoid monsters who apparently want me dead, and I'm having a hard time coping. So, could you give me a minute? Please?" The pain in your voice was evident, a desperate request for a moment of calm amidst the surreal madness that had become your reality.

A profound silence settled between you. Alastor's piercing gaze carefully scrutinized you while he pondered your words. While his perpetual smile never faltered, a subtle nuance in how he regarded you conveyed a hint of disappointment. It was as if he feared he had inadvertently damaged his newfound source of entertainment before fully indulging in its potential.

"Dear, I was only–"

"You heard her! Back off!"

You and Alastor swiftly redirected your focus as a commanding voice resonated across the lobby. Emerging from the distance was a feminine figure resembling a moth adorned with long white hair elegantly secured by a vibrant cherry bow. A prominent X marked her left eye, accentuating her distinctive appearance.

As the figure drew closer, you noticed the disapproving scowl etched across her face, which looked pointedly fixed on Alastor. The tension in the air heightened as the unexpected ally intervened, her presence signaling a shift in the unfolding dynamic.

"Vagatha," Alastor greeted with cool nonchalance, an almost dismissive nod accompanying his words. "Right on cue."

"That's not my name," The moth-like woman mumbled under her breath, her narrowed eyes betraying a lingering suspicion. Yet, when her attention turned to you, her demeanor transformed. A warm smile replaced the scowl, and she placed her hands protectively on your shoulders, instantly creating a sense of comfort.

"I'm Vaggie," she introduced herself amicably. "Don't let this guy scare you off. Somehow, he wormed his way into becoming the hotel's Facility Manager, but that's on a probationary period. He's already on thin ice." Vaggie's gaze shot back to Alastor, a glare loaded with unspoken challenges. Alastor, however, seemed to relish in the confrontation, his eyes crinkling in mischievous glee.

"Charlie got held up on an important phone call, so she sent me to help get you settled until she can meet up with us. Come on, we've got a room ready for you upstairs." The promise of sanctuary in the form of a bedroom thrilled you, a welcome reprieve from the brewing storm in the lobby.

"Thank you, that sounds great," you agreed, your response punctuated by a nervous swallow. You were still attempting to stifle any apprehension triggered by Vaggie and Alastor's unique features. Turning back to Alastor, you offered a polite farewell. "It was nice to meet you, Alastor. I guess I'll see you around."

To your astonishment, you recoiled as his teeth seemed to sharpen even further, the unwavering smile on his face widening at your acknowledgment. "Oh, yes, dearest. Sooner than you think," he purred, his words dripping with a subtle menace that left a trail of anticipation in their wake. The air thickened as Alastor's gaze lingered on you, a predator watching its prey, as you turned to follow Vaggie towards the large, creaking staircase.

As you climbed the grand staircase, the glare of the lobby gave way to the soft glow of sconces that adorned the walls, casting flickering shadows along the ornate patterns of the carpet. The plush and intricate designs felt as though they absorbed the echo of your footsteps, creating an atmosphere of subtle refinement.

Vaggie led you through the upper landing, the ambience changing as you ascended. A faint scent of aged wood lingered, intermingled with the distant wails of Hell's tormented souls. It was a disturbing reminder of the realm you found yourself in.

"Your room is just down there," she said, her tone easing into a more casual cadence as she gestured ahead. The subtle tension of the encounter with Alastor seemed to dissipate with each step. "Sorry about that weird thing with Alastor. He's... unique. But don't worry, you're in good hands now."

The hallway unfolded as a corridor of opulence, with ambient lighting casting a vermillion gleam upon the dark, polished wood of the ornate doors that lined either side. Vaggie halted before a particularly imposing door, turning to you with a small, apologetic smile. "This is it. Your new home, at least for the time being." The door's intricate carvings and richly hued finish hinted at the luxury within, offering a glimpse into the mysterious haven that awaited you.

Entering the room, you were met with a surprisingly cozy atmosphere. The large bed dominated the space, adorned in rich crimson and gold bedding. Four beams stood proudly on each corner, supporting a black canopy that added an air of elegance. With their shears drawn, the two giant windows along the wall hinted at consideration for your well-being, shielding you from whatever horrors lurked below. Despite the obscured view, the city's lights cast a warm and inviting glow into the room.

A large, regal dresser stood proudly between the windows, a vast mirror attached on top reflecting the refined atmosphere of the room. Against the opposite wall, an armoire added a touch of vintage charm, and in the corner, a matching vanity whispered of bygone elegance. A door beckoned on the opposite end of the room, leading to your private en-suite bathroom.

Vaggie, her posture casual yet observant, leaned against the wall, her eyes following your every move. "It's not exactly the Ritz, but it's got its own flair."

You turned to face her, the weight of the day's events still etched on your features. "Flair might be an understatement, Vaggie. This place is..." You searched for the right word as you regarded the room. "Impressive."

She chuckled softly, the sound echoing in the quiet space. "Hell has a way of blending horror with splendor, doesn't it? Anyway, make yourself at home." Stepping back to survey the space again, you marveled at how it had met your needs and exceeded them.

Captivated by the allure of your new living space, you nearly missed Charlie's spirited entrance. Bursting through the doorway, her radiant expression illuminated the room like a burst of sunlight, and she greeted you with unbridled enthusiasm. "Welcome!" she exclaimed, extending her arms to accentuate her elation. "I hope that this space will suffice. If you need any other accommodations, I'm sure our gracious Facility Manager will happily assist!"

A derisive snort from Vaggie redirected your attention, her skepticism evident as she shot Charlie a sidelong glance. "Yeah, our 'gracious' Facility Manager has a knack for overstepping boundaries and could learn a thing or two about minding his own damn business. You're better off coming to me or Charlie for anything you need."

Charlie, undeterred by Vaggie's cynicism, chimed in with an eager smile. "Oh, we'd be thrilled to help with whatever you need!" Her eyes sparkled with genuine sincerity as she moved closer to Vaggie, intertwining their fingers as if grounding herself in their shared strength. As she took Vaggie's hand in hers, Charlie's gaze lingered with adoration. "Vaggie has done so much to help get this place up and running. She's not just my right hand; she's my better half."

Vaggie smiled sheepishly, trying to conceal her blush. Charlie planted a delicate kiss on Vaggie's cheek before turning her attention back to you, adopting a more serious tone. "Listen, I know this must all be pretty terrifying, and you must be so scared, but we've got you, I promise."

"Try to keep a low profile," Vaggie encouraged, placing a hand on her hip as she stood confidently. "Keep to yourself, avoid any potentially dangerous situations, and most importantly, stay away from the Shitlord. If you can do that, you should be fine until we can figure out how to get you home."

You blinked, puzzled by the peculiar term. "I'm sorry, the 'Shitlord'?"

"Alastor," she grumbled, ignoring Charlie's subtle scowl. "Our not-so-friendly neighborhood Radio Demon."

"Why should I avoid him?" you inquired, your interest piqued, especially after your earlier encounter. "If he's here helping to redeem sinners, he can't be that bad, right?"

The conflicting responses from Charlie and Vaggie painted a vivid picture of the polarizing figure that was Alastor. Charlie's eyes lit up with loyalty, defending the demon's actions, while Vaggie's glare spoke volumes about her mistrust.

"He's an ass," Vaggie stated bluntly, not mincing her words. It was clear she had little patience for the potentially problematic Radio Demon.

"He's not!" Charlie interjected, her tone almost pleading. "He… has a certain reputation, is all. I can't just assume that every demon that walks through our doors has bad intentions. We've got to give him a chance. He's been nothing but helpful since he's arrived."

Quirking your brow, you glanced back and forth between them as Vaggie rolled her eyes. "Charlie is endearingly optimistic."

As you observed the dynamic between Charlie and Vaggie, you noticed the subtle interplay of emotions – Charlie's infectious optimism and Vaggie's more cautious demeanor. The room's atmosphere shifted, transitioning from the initial excitement to a more serious undertone. The warmth of the welcome clashed with the ominous warning about the unpredictable Radio Demon.

Vaggie's gaze hardened as she met your eyes, a stern expression on her face. "Seriously, it's for your own safety. Alastor might come off as charming, but there's a reason other demons keep their distance. He's one of Hell's most feared Overlords. He's unpredictable, and you never know what he's up to. Just steer clear of him, okay?"

Charlie tried to diffuse the tension with a comforting smile. "We're just looking out for you. The Hotel can be hectic, and we want you to feel at home." Her words carried a gentle reassurance, attempting to balance Vaggie's wariness and her own hopefulness.

Vaggie sighed, a hint of frustration in her voice. "Just trust me on this one. He isn't just a happy face; he's a creep we've reluctantly allowed to help us. And the last thing we need is an innocent, unsuspecting soul falling under his influence."

A momentary flicker of doubt passed over Charlie's expressive eyes, but she swiftly regained her composure. "Alright, let's not dwell on this too much tonight. You must be exhausted," she said, her concern palpable. "We'll talk more tomorrow. If you need anything else, Vaggie and I are just down the hall, last door on the left."

"Got it," you affirmed, inclining your head in gratitude.

"Oh! And don't be alarmed if you cross paths with some of the other hotel staff," Charlie resumed, her enthusiasm returning. "Niffty is our diligent housekeeper, and Husk is our skilled bartender."

"At the moment, we only have two other guests," Vaggie chimed in, her tone more pragmatic. "Sir Pentious is usually occupied with his little minions and shouldn't be too much of a nuisance. Angel Dust is another story. If he bothers you, just ignore him. Or strangle him. Either one works."

"Will do," you chuckled, her attempt at humor injecting a welcome lightness into the atmosphere. "Thank you so much. I don't know what else to say. I'd probably be dead by now if you hadn't found me. It means a lot that you'd go through so much trouble for someone you don't know."

"Happy to help," Charlie replied, her sympathetic smile providing tender reassurance. "Get some rest!"

With those words, the two exited the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts. Eager for a distraction, you sauntered to the windows, drawing back the curtain and peering through the grimy glass.

Hell unfolded its macabre grandeur before your eyes. The twisted, decrepit structures that lined the streets challenged the laws of architecture. Each building, crooked and battered, exuded an eerie magnetism that hinted at the horrors within. The air was tinged with a paranormal quality, a discordant symphony of colors and shadows playing on the blood-splattered streets.

As you contemplated the surreal spectacle, a question involuntarily danced through your mind—what form would encapsulate your essence in this infernal realm? Would you morph into a whimsical creature, an embodiment of the anarchy that defined Hell, or perhaps manifest as an object reflecting the remnants of your earthly existence? The sheer absurdity of the thought evoked a quiet laughter that bubbled up from deep within, a coping mechanism against the overwhelming horror surrounding you.

"Remarkable, isn't it?"

The unexpected voice, a sinister melody that sliced through the eerie silence, prompted an involuntary yelp. You spun around with a start, almost stumbling over yourself, only to find Alastor standing in your bedroom doorway. The unnerving permanence of his smile rattled you while his eyes, gleaming with an otherworldly intelligence, seemed to leer at you.

"Jesus Christ!" you choked out, a hand instinctively clutching your chest to steady the frantic beat of your heart.

"Hmm… not quite," Alastor replied, his grin deepening, causing his eyes to crease with malevolent cheerfulness. "Forgive me, miss. A gentleman should refrain from intruding upon a lady's private domain. However, our earlier conversation was abruptly cut short, and I am not one to leave matters unresolved," he continued, twirling his staff with a casual flourish. "I would be remiss if I did not take advantage of this rare opportunity. Would you grant me the pleasure of your company, perhaps for a brisk stroll?"

Your eyes narrowed, wrestling with the uncertainty of his intentions. On one hand, curiosity was a shared sentiment; however, Vaggie had explicitly warned against spending any time with Alastor. Additionally, your suspicion that Alastor's interest in you concealed darker motives had only intensified since your previous encounter.

Observing your hesitation, Alastor's low, rumbling chuckle reverberated through the air like an ominous prelude, the static overlay even more prevalent than before. He casually leaned against the doorframe, his dark silhouette swallowing the feeble light in the room.

"No need to be so guarded, sweetheart," Alastor drawled, his voice an unnatural blend of charisma and menace. "I'm merely captivated by the anomaly of a living soul gracing Hell's grounds. You see, it's not every day we welcome a newcomer like yourself." Despite his attempt at reassurance, the room felt suffocating, as if his presence tainted the entire space. "You couldn't have arrived at a more intriguing time," Alastor continued, his eyes glinting with a vicious spark. "It seems fate has a sense of humor, placing a delicate creature like you amidst the chaos of Hell–and so soon after an extermination!"

Your eyebrows furrowed, skepticism etching lines on your face as you shot him a look that bordered on irritation. "Am I supposed to know what an 'extermination' is?"

"Sweet girl, an extermination is a grand spectacle of Hellish proportions! It's a symphony of destruction orchestrated to cleanse and reset the infernal balance," Alastor explained, his words dripping with macabre enthusiasm. The way he spoke made it sound like he reveled in the mayhem. "And you, my unsuspecting guest, have stepped directly into the aftermath."

Your arms crossed tightly over your chest, a mix of defiance and fear lacing your words. "Is this your idea of a sick joke?"

Alastor leaned back, a wicked grin still playing on his lips as if savoring the fear dancing in your eyes. "Who's joking?" he jested, his voice resonating with a chilling levity.

You eyed him warily, the manic in his eyes intensifying. "So, what's your role in all of this? Are you some kind of demonic tour guide or a sadistic host?"

He hummed softly as he mused. "Oh, you could say I wear many hats. But most importantly, for the time being, I'm here to make your stay in Hell as... entertaining as possible."

His words dripped with a malicious promise, each syllable carrying the weight of an unspoken threat. As he spoke, the air around you seemed to thicken with an unsettling energy, and you couldn't shake the feeling that you were just beginning to scratch the surface of the twisted game that Alastor had set before you.

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Chapter End Notes: Okay, I'm seeking honest opinions here... is my writing TOO complex? I feel like I'm using a lot of words that aren't used in everyday conversation, and I worry about any unsuspecting readers whose first language isn't English. It concerns me that they might struggle with comprehension and have it take away from their experience. I don't want to stress anyone out. Does that make sense? I'm an overthinker, so any feedback is appreciated!

#alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #hazin hotel imaginary #fanfiction #hazbinhotel #hazbin hotel fanfiction

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kharrneth · 2 months ago

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐑

Khorne has kept Tzeentch’s company for longer than any of the other three Ruinous Gods, having been the second of the Four to awaken into a state of sapience. Originally, Tzeentch was a background figure to the seven siblings the then-young Khorne struggled with for supremacy but through meddling and scheming, he would become front, center, and utterly despised. Though the exact tales vary from skald to skald, one thing is for certain: Tzeentch is the reason for the Blood God’s unequivocal hatred of the arcane. He associates it with Tzeentch, and therefore it is cowardly and dishonorable in his hateful eyes. It is also something Khorne can never master over the Architect of Fate, as Tzeentch is the wellspring of all magic as well as it’s chief architect, and so the soured Blood God quickly spits upon it as the weapon of weaklings and deceivers. However, while the latter is definitely true of Tzeen’neth, Khorne hesitates to apply the former overmuch to the Changer’s person. Though personal violence is not the Trickster’s preferred approach, he is still very much capable of physical battle and the damage he can inflict is significant. By sheer stature, Tzeen’neth is the largest of the Gods, even when not in an Ascended State. He has twin beaks, one jagged from age and war, that can rip through god-flesh, and the suckers on his tendrils house wicked hooks that leave a mess of scars behind in their wake—assuming one escapes from them.

To these pains Khorne can personally attest, and while he despises Tzeentch and his cowardice, the Changer’s power – both in his legions, his influence, and his physicality – is nonetheless something the Blood God begrudgingly concedes respect to, one Apex Entity to another. The reciprocity of this respect is intermittent, as Tzeentch definitely doesn’t (always) view Khorne in the same light, even if the other god is a proper Ruinous Power now. The fact the Changer came into being as Chaos Power and Khorne began as little more than an enraged god-beast will forever color the way he views his younger sibling. Of the four gods, Khorne is Tzeentch’s preferred target for tricks, traps, and trespassing even over Grandfather Nurgle—he likely knows the Blood God’s realm better than the Blood God himself.

All the same, the Blood God does not intend for the rivalry between himself and the Changer to go on in perpetuity. His hatred for Tzeentch is only dwarfed by the absolute loathing he feels for Slaanesh and the Blood God would like nothing more than to wring the Changer’s necks like a fowl chosen for slaughter. He has taken steps to undo magic itself and therefore render Tzeentch vulnerable to attack, as Khorne has accepted that a direct assault is not feasible on the Changer’s legions. The Khadeium Paradox, as it is called, houses the warrior-sages of the Blood God tasked with bringing about the end of all magic.

There will always be other foes, war continuing on without end, but if Khorne had his way Tzeentch would be slain once and for all time and the Blood God would lay claim to the most impressive of his titles: The Great Game’s Greatest Player.

#khorne #warhammer fantasy #tzeentch #pars carnagia (headcanons);

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redfilledfantasies · 3 months ago

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Invigorated Muscle (Chapter 2 of 8)

Carmella Hill paced the length of her office, the quiet hum of Manhattan muted behind the thick glass of her floor-to-ceiling windows. The desk lamp spilled a warm, golden glow, pooling softly over neat stacks of resumes—carefully organized, meticulously reviewed—that stood like sentinels of possibility on the polished mahogany. Each pile told a story of promise and potential, but tonight the air was charged with anticipation rather than mere professional duty.

The room was a paradox of precision and personality: alongside the clinical sharpness of medical textbooks and journal articles lay personal mementos—the faint scent of jasmine incense lingering softly, a framed photograph of a long-ago marathon glinting in the lamp’s light, and a delicate crystal heart paperweight that caught reflections in its fractured facets. These subtle touches betrayed the woman beneath the white coat, a cardiologist who had long mastered the anatomy of hearts but now found her own betraying her.

Her steps measured and rhythmic, she circled the space slowly, heels clicking on the smooth wood floor. Each breath came sharper now, heart rate climbing, steady pulse beating quicker with every tick of the antique wall clock. The quiet labored rise and fall of her chest wove through the silence, a fragile metronome syncing with her inner tumult. She paused by the window, watching the city's softened neon heartbeat reflected in the dark glass—an ocean of light mirroring the one racing inside her.

Her fingers flexed tightly at her sides, jaw clenched against the rush of nerves that fluttered just beneath the surface. Thoughts spiraled with questions and rehearsed answers—how would Lydia's commanding presence weigh against Bailey's shy earnestness? How would her own professional façade hold beneath the weight of personal fascination? The mingled promise of both weighed on her, an exquisite tension twisting in her gut.

Unable to stem the mounting current, Carmella stepped to her desk, sliding open the lower drawer with a subtle creak that punctuated the stillness. The new stethoscope lay nestled within its plush velvet casing, the polished metal gleaming like a sliver of promise. Her fingers closed carefully around the cool black tubing, the tactile memory of the instrument grounding her even as anticipation fluttered fiercely.

She lifted the earbuds, sliding them into place with a practiced motion, then pressed the metal disc gently against the apex of her heart. The coldness kissed her skin briefly before yielding to warmth, a threshold she crossed willingly. Instantly, the pulse swelled in her ears—a steady thump that spoke of life, urgency, and the primal beat behind every rational thought.

Her breath stilled, the world narrowing until only the fierce cadence remained, booming and insistent at 80 beats per minute. Gradually, as adrenaline surged through her veins, the rhythm quickened, climbing past the mundane into a territory where the line between science and sensation blurred. The steady beat accelerated—ninety, ninety-five, one hundred, one hundred and five—a steady rise that summoned waves of fascination deep within.

She leaned closer into the sound, cheek pressed lightly against her chest, every nerve electrified. The office seemed to shrink, the amber light fading into soft halos as the steady roar enveloped her, becoming less a physical sensation and more a pulsing presence—a companion, a tether, a secret whispered by sinew and blood. Time fractured into moments held breathless between beats, the space between pulse and thought tightening into a fragile thread of wonder.

Then—four sharp knocks sliced the delicate veil. The sudden intrusion shattered the spell, reverberating in the still air and jolting Carmella’s heart into an erratic stutter that rippled vividly beneath her fingertips. The steady drum shattered, the wild skips roaring like a fault line beneath her skin.

Her eyes fluttered open, breath caught in her throat as the solid voice of the receptionist pierced the doorway, clear and formal. “Dr. Hill, the candidates have arrived.”

The shock of sound sent a fresh bloom of heat rising beneath her neck as she hurriedly withdrew the stethoscope, the metal disc sliding from her skin with a soft whisper. Fingers trembling slightly, she buttoned the blouse she’d left open moments before, her movements quick and deliberate—a dance of composure reassembled from splinters.

A slow inhale steadied her breath as she squared her shoulders and swept back stray strands of hair. The intimate cocoon of her office cracked, replaced by the poised, commanding presence she wielded effortlessly in daylight and in darkness alike. She nodded crisply toward the door.

“Please send them in, Mrs. Walker.”

As the footsteps approached and the door prepared to open, the amber glow of the lamp softened once more, bathing the office in a golden hush. Stacks of resumes lay awaiting their judgment, silent ambassadors to promise and ambition. The room held its breath, and within its walls Carmella Hill stood poised at the edge of possibility, heart racing in tandem with the moments yet to come.

The office door slid open with a soft click, casting a slender shaft of light that spilled over the threshold and illuminated two distinct figures stepping inside. Carmella stood poised, the pale amber lamp catching in her eyes as they flickered between the two women—one exuding composed dominance, the other wrapped in hesitant stillness, each carrying a heart she already felt beating under her skin.

Lydia Andersson moved first, the subtle swish of silk whispering against the polished floor as she entered with the grace of a panther unfurling in a quiet jungle. Her business skirt, cut sharply at the knee, spoke of costly precision, the fabric hugging every curve with unapologetic intimacy. The heel of each designer shoe clicked like a measured drumbeat, authoritative and deliberate. Over this, the blouse of creamy silk revealed a teasing secret: two prominent peaks, nipples hard and insistently visible through the nearly translucent fabric, proclaiming her disregard for convention and hinting at the raw power beneath. Her earrings—delicate golden loops that caught the light—danced with each slow, controlled step, framing a face marked by sharp, almost imperious beauty. A faint, knowing smile played at the corner of her full lips as her blue eyes locked with Carmella’s, a silent challenge and invitation mingled in the depths of their icy calm. Her shoulders rolled back confidently, the arch of her neck lengthening beneath the pulse she had surely felt rise the instant the door opened.

Behind Lydia followed Bailey Esposito, the contrast stark and undeniable. Where Lydia’s presence claimed space like a storm, Bailey seemed to fold herself into the shadows with tentative hesitation. Her business suit was unremarkable—dark fabric tailored cleanly but clinging in ways that betrayed the sinewy strength she tried to mask. The jacket’s buttons sat neatly done up, the collar crisp and precise, nothing hinting at the strong athletic body beneath. She avoided direct eye contact, gaze cast downward or drifting to anything but the faces before her. Her fingers danced nervously at the edge of the sleeve cuff, wringing a faint crease into the smooth fabric with each breath. Her soft, hazel eyes flickered toward Carmella for brief moments, wide and uncertain, before darting away as if afraid to meet the weight of that scrutiny. Every movement bore the unmistakable signature of anxiety—the shallow inhale before speaking, the quick catch of breath when addressed, the small shuffle forward as if drawing strength from the floor beneath her feet.

Carmella’s gaze settled hard between them, each detail etching itself sharply into her mind and body. The soft warmth of her breath caught unevenly in her throat, her chest rising a little faster with each beat. The subtle tremor that flickered through her hands betrayed the careful mask of control she wore like armor, the cool steel of her stethoscope temporarily forgotten on the desk. Beneath the careful professionalism simmered a quiet fire—a racing pulse that echoed the urgent cadence emanating from the two women who had just crossed her threshold. Lydia’s bold declaration in silk and daring met Bailey’s shy vulnerability wrapped in layers of restraint, their two rhythms set to collide beneath the tempered light.

With a steadying inhale, Carmella lifted her chin and met both of their gazes with poised clarity. “Thank you both for coming,” she began, voice calm but threaded with sincere apology. “I’ll first start by apologizing that I’m interviewing you both at this time and not separately, as I know it can be both intimidating and confusing to see fellow applicants competing against each other for the same position.” Her eyes softened slightly as she glanced first at Bailey, whose slight nod and quiet swallow revealed a flicker of relief at the acknowledgment.

Bailey’s response came in a hushed murmur, breath trembling just enough to color her words with earnest humility. “It’s okay, Dr. Hill,” she said, voice soft and measured, a fragile light behind her hesitation. Her gaze briefly lifted, fingers curling nervously at her side before settling with a small exhale.

Lydia’s reply was a smooth contrast—sensual and sure, her words draped in a slight German accent that lent them a compelling resonance. “Thank you, Dr. Hill, for arranging the interview like this. I assure you, it won’t be a problem at all.” She leaned subtly forward, the curve of her neck exposed beneath the silk’s delicate sheen, eyes flashing with teasing certainty. “Competition can be… invigorating.”

The sharp lines of Lydia’s confident posture drew Carmella’s attention again—an elegant arc of dominance that filled the room with a tangible heat. Bailey’s more reserved energy, barely contained, seemed to retreat even as she straightened imperceptibly, her trembling fingers folding tightly in her lap.

The balance between them was like a fragile dance—two worlds in opposition yet inexplicably bound in this shared moment beneath Carmella’s watchful eyes. The faint rustle of fabric and the faint scrape of polished soles against hardwood punctuated the quiet, the air thick with unspoken dialogue: challenge, curiosity, hesitation, and the tentative spark of something both professional and personal.

Carmella’s lips curved into a small, controlled smile, her voice steady as she motioned toward the chairs set before her desk. “Please, have a seat. We’ll begin shortly.” Her hands moved deliberately, smoothing papers with a slight tremor she fought hard to mask, steadying herself as the room settled into a tense stillness ready to stretch into the unfolding dialogue.

As Bailey and Lydia slid their chairs forward, the soft scrape against the polished floor echoed like a heralding note, threading through the room’s suspended breath. Carmella’s gaze lingered briefly on the subtle contrasts once more, her own pulse quickening even as she fought to recapture the clinical composure that was both her shield and her signature.

The interview was about to begin, but the charged silence promised that in this small, intimate chamber, science, desire, and destiny were already converging with deliberate intent.

Carmella’s eyes traced the delicate rise and fall of the two necks before her, the fine pulse beneath translucent skin pulsing with stories of strength and restraint. Each beat—a measured whisper, a fierce declaration—drew her deeper into an intoxicating dance between curiosity and control.

Her gaze lingered first on Lydia, where the rhythmic throbbing at the base of the throat was as steady and unfaltering as the gentle tide. Eighty-five beats per minute, smooth and assured, the carotid artery pulsing with a calm regularity that bespoke both confidence and well-tempered restraint. The skin over the vessel shimmered faintly beneath the soft office light, the delicate shadows lending a silent grace to the sensual landscape of firm lines and polished flesh. Lydia’s posture held steady, neck elongated and inviting as she shifted subtly, lips parting in the faintest exhale that mingled with the steady beat—an unspoken harmony of presence and poise.

In contrast, Bailey’s pulse was a slower, deeper drum, sixty-two, no, seventy-two beats per minute, but with a noticeably stronger push—a vibrant throb that pulsed visibly beneath thinner, paler skin. The artery bulged with each surge, a powerful flood breaking through the confines of calm, threatening to spill over in forceful declarations. Carmella’s breath caught imperceptibly as she observed the contrast: the quiet authority of Lydia’s flow against the hidden intensity residing in Bailey’s quiet veins. The swell of Bailey’s pulse seemed to resonate beyond mere numbers—a corporeal language that spoke of strength tightly coiled beneath fragile surfaces, muscles that clenched unseen, a steady force harnessed in shy reticence.

A faint flush crept along Carmella’s neck as the air shifted around her awareness, her breath catching in gentle faltering rhythms. Her hands trembled briefly as she arranged the neatly stacked papers on her desk, the smooth glide of fingertips over crisp edges anchoring her swirling thoughts. The faintest sheen of heat pooled at her cheeks as her eyes fluttered involuntarily, pupils dilating just enough to betray the rapid thudding beneath the fabric of her blouse. The tug of her own heartbeat echoed the intensities before her—a discordant symphony she fought fiercely to tame beneath the veil of clinical detachment.

Lydia’s lips curved with the knowing patience of a seasoned predator, her sapphire eyes gleaming with amused sharpness as she leaned forward just enough to close the narrow gap between observation and invitation. Her voice, when it came, was low and smooth, seduction woven intricately into each carefully enunciated word—a subtle cadence heightened by the melodic German lilt. “You can see it,” she murmured, “the intense throbbing, can’t you, Dr. Hill?” The soft curl of her tongue against her teeth sent a quiet shiver across the air, the challenge implicit and unapologetic.

Carmella’s breath faltered sharply, a warm pulse of arousal flaring beneath ribs and restraint alike. The faint tremor in her fingers deepened, the metallic edge of her stethoscope slipping slightly as she pressed down harder on the papers before her. A deliberate inhale smoothed her racing chest, the controlled exhale threading quiet calm into the charged atmosphere. Her eyes lifted to meet Lydia’s unabashed gaze, steadying with the effort of will.

“Let’s go ahead and start the interview,” Carmella said, her voice tempered but firm, an anchor tossed into turbulent waters. “I don’t want to hurt both of your schedules.” The sharp, clean articulation served as both command and invitation, weaving authority through the fragile thread of desire.

As if rehearsing submission to a master conductor’s baton, the two women adjusted their postures, the soft scrape of chairs sliding against polished hardwood threading through the quiet. The subtle rustle of papers as Carmella retrieved her questions from the neat stacks punctuated the delicate tension—an auditory echo of control and surrender dancing in tandem.

The office walls seemed to hum with expectancy, the fragile lattice of sound and scent weaving a taut fabric that cocooned them in shared breath and mounting curiosity. Carmella’s eyes lingered a moment longer on the poised forms before her—Lydia’s poised confidence, Bailey’s gentle earnestness—each a symphony of strengths in delicate counterpoint.

And as she folded her hands with deliberate grace, poised to unravel the mysteries promised by the interviews ahead, Carmella felt the rhythmic pulse of possibility quicken—a shared heartbeat threading through the silence, daring them all to listen.

#cardiophile #dr. carmella hill #heartbeat #cardiophile thoughts #female heartbeat #heartbeat kink #beating heart #cardiology #female heart #dr. bailey esposito #dr. lydia andersson #invigorated muscle #red filled fantasies

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