#I am goblin core

[sodatabs-ontherun]

Fit check!!!

[greenstudies]

Sometimes self care looks like a 3 hour long walk through the forest and looking for birds and plants you don't know and getting your shoes all dirty and just walking off to the forest

sometimes self care is also finishing the walk with hot chocolate in a local café

[wayfayrr]

Ok ok so u had an idea of what clothes Sky would look good in. What about the other Links?? If u don’t wanna do them all maybe Wild/Tears and Twilight? (Bc those r the only Zelda games I’ve played lol

oooooo I've thought a while about what tears would wear because I am a little obsessed with him but not really what twilight would, just gonna drop some images here from my interest <3 (each boy is gonna get a dress too <3) If you'd like anyone else feel free to pop in another ask!! I'm also gonna take this chance to even out the playing field and share what dress I think sky'd suit too <3333

First tears/wild

(I can see them having similar styles in different colours tears lighter/more colours to match his hair while wild goes for darker/bluer colours)

I'm an actual sucker for techwear in places and I can see him adoring it for how versatile it is (I mean he's going to die over all the pockets), he's also surprisingly well dressed because???? his game? best outfits hands down.

p-pretty strawberry dress - I think this is a simple pick but I can imagine him loving flowy stuff because of how freeing it feels, everything ingame was essentially a part of his body so it just feels nice.

Now onto twilight!!

(fun fact what I searched for the second image was literally midwestern emo - it's him) he suits the darker grungier aesthetic and honestly he'd be pretty in anything

I showed this to my friends a while back and joked about twilight being apple jack (he would like mlp I'm sorry to admit, he's a bleeding heart like that)

but yeah!!! just gonna do those two for now - but to say why neither and by extension none of the self aware chain would really wear anything fitted or skin tight is due to that being all they've ever gotten to wear In the past, they've never worn proper clothes that weren't skin tight so they kinda like the feeling of flowy loose fabrics compared to say skinny jeans and tight shirts (not that they wouldn't wear them at times, it's just they prefer not to!)

Finally sky's dress to even it out :3

I felt like I was going insane for a minute finding this because?????? I swear there was a blueberry version ;-; pretty pastel blues remind him of home so I think he'd gravitate to that over any other colour

[chthonic-eldritch-terror]

Sometimes I truly relate to dragons because I too have a pile full of shinies and would be willing to burn anyone who stole one from me

[aura-oracle]

I know I’ve been posting a lot about goblin and goblinkin again. I just wanted to say, before someone accuses me of it, I am not using it in a racist antisemetic way. In fact the race in question from what I’ve read online is divided if they mind people using goblin and goblinkin and goblincore or not. So, I’m using in a better context. Mine does not act like the stereotype at all. In fact, they aren’t even green! In my headspace, they are either gray, brown or red skinned. No hooked noses and no greed. I am gray skinned. Also, we act similar to this screenshot I found. The only personal property is our clothing and our personal wooden box of our little hoard items.

[thegoblinwizard]

I always feel compelled to post in the wee hours of the day. Then no one sees it but I do it anyways.

I present, the goblin alchemist.

[sparkles-and-trash]

rainy evening spent inside - core 🌧️🪬🤍

[dangerdeficit]

fell into a trance and did this. coming soon to a tumblr blog near you

[bodhrancomedy]

I think one of the things concerning me about the response to Hogwarts legacy and discussing the antisemitism that pervades the entire story is people either apparently not being able to grasp what propaganda is or how it works, or being so desperate to absolve their childhood nostalgia that they’re swarming Jewish, trans, and POC’s comment sections with the most ignorant bad faith comebacks that make me ache for proper education.

“Are you saying that’s what Jewish people really look like? 😈”

No, you fucking waste of skin, I’m saying that a core element of propaganda against marginalised groups is caricature whereupon you take features that are more common among that group (like curly hair and bigger noses for Jewish people, or bigger lips for Black people, or epicanthal folds for Asian people for example) and exaggerate them to invoke feelings of disgust and separation.

These traits are completely positive/neutral on their own until bigots get a hold of their colouring pencils and set them up alongside fabricated or exaggerated slights to “the norm” like accusing Jewish people of killing Jesus or blood-libel or demanding money or stealing children - for fucks sake, Jewish children that could “pass” as Christian were regularly abducted in various time periods like the Ottoman Empire or goddamn Nazi Germany so it’s a projection - to create an image people wouldn’t get out of their heads.

And sometimes these piece of propaganda work their way into folklore and children’s tales because bigotry has a sticking power because you get to feel righteous and strong and we forget where they came from. Some people using goblins in the way JK Rowling did don’t know what they’re using is antisemitic propaganda, but the people whom the propaganda is aimed at have long memories for these things.

You gotta get acquainted with it and with it well so you can survive, so you can get the hell out of Dodge or stand up and face it.

So, once again…

Take a history class, I am BEGGING you.

[cursedhaglette]

Birdsong

“We didn’t have to - I mean,” you try to find the right words, the ones that would make him stay with you for the evening. “You don’t have to go.”

“I was trying to be polite, innocent little bird,” he raises an eyebrow in surprise, studying you again. You sit up, leaning back on your hands as you ignore the urge to correct your sleepshirt, well aware that one breast is nearly exposed from how it now hangs. “But look at you, such a pretty mess.”

“I want you,” you hear yourself say, shocked at the bold admission. You’ve been holding back the truth of how badly you want him, but with the way his body reacted to yours, maybe it isn’t as big a long shot as you’d been telling yourself… “I’ve wanted you for a long time. I want you to stay.”

----

The first time you let Astarion bite your neck, and you're surprised to find just how badly it makes you want him.

Rating: E Word Count: 2,600 Content: 18+, smut, afab reader, cunnilingus, oral sex, PiV, creampie, breeding kink if you look really hard, vampire bites,

[ao3 link]

You open your eyes, sensing something off even in your deep, dreamless sleep, and are greeted by teeth - a mouth open wide and ready to devour. 

“Shit,” is all he can say as he sits back on his heels, fidgeting nervously as you sit up and pull away - some latent instinct that you need to distance yourself for safety kicking in even though you know Astarion and what he needs. 

“I’m sorry, I - I only need a little blood,” he says, moving away from you and extending his hands in front of him. A gesture of peace, of safety. You don’t stand, but move to a kneeling position before him, well aware that your expression is likely one of fear and confusion. 

You’d agreed after his first feeding that you’d help when you could, signaling him after a long day if you were available for him that evening. His feedings are easy now, the process so quick and painless, you rarely wake up when his teeth meet your wrist in the dead of night. 

“I suppose I can help you with that,” you whisper, your voice still thick from sleep. “Um…how would you like me?”

“All over camp, love,” he smirks, and his smile only grows when he spies the quick blush that heats your cheeks at the words. 

“Ha ha,” is all you manage to say, and you roll your eyes playfully.

“Since you’re awake, I’ve been hoping to try at your neck one of these lovely nights together” his eyebrows knotting together as he moves to kneel next to you. “If that’s alright with you, my sweet, little bird.”

He’d been feeding from your wrist for the last tenday, working hard to master his control when feeding, especially since your blood is the best he gets compared to all the animals and goblins the wilderness provides. You’d limited him to that, trusting he’d keep his word if he fed from you while you slept, but he’d behaved himself - proven he could control his hunger. 

“I didn’t mean to wake you, darling, but I am happy to take from your wrist again. I simply wanted to avoid the risk of scarring from repeated feedings. We need to keep you pretty, don’t we?”

“Hmm,” you consider, pinching your lips together and trying not to look too bashful. The thought of his lips on your neck… “I suppose my neck is fine.”

You tried not to cringe as your voice came out in a soft squeak, laying back quickly to hide your embarrassment. 

“Are you quite sure you’re comfortable with this?”

“You promise not to kill me?” Again, you try to joke, but your voice falters and only sounds tired instead.

“Feel free to push me off if you start to feel faint, you know the drill, pet,” he says softly, positioning himself over you. He smells of familiar herbs, rosemary and bergamot, and something dark but sweet as well. The feeling of his body hovering above yours, while he scoops his hand under your head so tenderly, starts an ache in your core that is wholly new. You want him to rest fully against you, to run his hands through your hair, and the thoughts make you close your eyes in hesitation. 

Before you can second guess yourself and this choice, he bites down, and icy pain draws a gasp from your lips as you try to adjust to the sensation. It’s more unpleasant than your wrist, to be sure, but under this pain is a different sensation - brought on by the feeling of his tongue lapping at your neck, suckling at your lifeblood with combined tenderness and desperation. 

You don’t expect it to light a fire in your belly, your breath hitching as his body draws closer over yours. It’s only been a second, but it feels like your whole body rewrites what you know as normal as he drinks from you. 

A quiet moan escapes your lips at the feeling of him sinking onto you, a distinct hardness pressing into the gap between your thighs as he writhes against you. You’re more than familiar with how the sudden rush of energy and blood usually arouses all parts of him, but feeling it against you, against your heat, is entirely new. He whimpers in turn, his hips rolling into yours, and then you can hear his voice echoing through your mind. 

“Are you still alright, sweet bird?” He asks through your shared tadpole connection, and all you can do was whimper in delight at the pet name and the purr of his voice caressing your thoughts. 

The world feels fuzzy and warm as he drinks, like you indulged in too much wine before bed, and after what feels like not enough time at all, he pulls himself off. Or rather, he pulls away from your neck, but his body remains against yours, hard and panting. 

You meet his ruby eyes, both of your expressions hazy and wild. He rubs the mess of red away with the back of one hand, keeping himself above you while resting on the forearm of the other. Some part of you is sad to see the red go, to see that sight of you on him swept away. 

“Darling? Are you alright?” His question is little more than a whisper against your lips, he hovers so close. You could feel his cold hands softly twist in your hair, as if to bring your focus back to him, back to your body, as you reorient from the bloodloss.

“I’m fine,” but your eyes don’t leave his, even as they grow hazy with sleep and bloodloss, your body suddenly desperate for rest. But without thinking, you reach up - tangling your hands in his mess of silver hair - and tug him down into a kiss. 

It’s slow at first, surprise causing him to tense for just a moment, and then he opens for you. His mouth crashing upon yours, the hardness between his legs digging into you as you fumble for more of each other, tongues dancing. The sluggish hum in your bones that’s familiar after his feedings seems to heighten the sensations of pleasure that course through you, your hands quickly moving to his sides, his back, his neck.

Before you might beg for more, he pauses and pulls away, scanning your eyes as he does.

Astarion sits up, and your body goes cold as he does - despite the fire just outside and the blankets that you were tangled in. “I’m sorry - I didn’t expect, well, to enjoy that quite so thoroughly.” He gestured with one hand to his body as he moved to stand, and your eyes fell to the obvious erection in his pants. “You were absolutely delicious.”

There are no words for what you see, the want that you feel crest within you like a tidal wave at the sight of him - of how he wants you. And you’d never seen someone so hard before…Gods…you’re speechless at the sight. 

You pinch your lips into a fine line but can’t stop the smile that you know comes upon your face as you look back up to his, meeting his eyes as he winks. Your face is hot, your body feels hot - you feel unhinged by the overwhelming desire that aches for him.

“We didn’t have to - I mean,” you try to find the right words, the ones that would make him stay with you for the evening. “You don’t have to go.”

“I was trying to be polite, innocent little bird,” he raises an eyebrow in surprise, studying you again. You sit up, leaning back on your hands as you ignore the urge to correct your sleepshirt, well aware that one breast is nearly exposed from how it now hangs. “But look at you, such a pretty mess.”

“I want you,” you hear yourself say, shocked at the bold admission. You’ve been holding back the truth of how badly you want him, but with the way his body reacted to yours, maybe it isn’t as big a long shot as you’d been telling yourself… “I’ve wanted you for a long time. I want you to stay.”

“Oh you wicked little thing,” Astarion grins, “I noticed how you pant and writhe when I’m lost in your blood. But I had no idea how desperately you desired me.”

“Well, then stay. Stay and fuck me, Astarion.”

“I do love a woman who knows what she wants,” and with a swift, fluid motion, he tugs his shirt over his shoulders and his perfect chest is bared for you. You smile and lean back, tugging him against you as you do - propriety be damned. 

His mouth meets yours again in another chaotic, crashing kiss that tears a moan from you as his fingers go to the buttons of your sleepshirt. It falls from your shoulders and goosebumps dance up your arms at the contact of his cold skin on yours and the way your arousal grows more insistent with every swipe of his tongue against yours. 

He pulls back, scanning your face for just a moment, and you can’t help the mewling “Please” that escapes your lips, desperation evident in every word. You need more of him, and after waiting for weeks, you’re ready for him to give you everything. 

Astarion gives a wicked grin at the sound of your begging, but his mouth only moves low enough to take a single nipple in his mouth. He rolls his tongue around the hardened peak, before latching around it and sucking deeply. 

He shimmies your panties down with his next movement and holds up your hips, sliding his tongue up the length of your sex while one arm keeps your legs above him. You can’t help but groan at the delicious feeling of his mouth finally meeting your waiting, swollen bud, and quickly have to rest your legs on his shoulders to keep from bucking wildly at the intensity of the pleasure he offers you. 

And Gods, but he devours you, lewd noises filling your small excuse for a tent as his tongue laps at your soaking cunt. The pleasure behind your eyes burns white hot as he slips his tongue inside you, his nose against your clit moving in time with each shallow thrust. He groans with each pulsing clench of your body around him and your hands tangle in the blanket below you as you grasp for anything that might ground you in this moment.

Before you get too close to your peak, he briefly sets your hips down and moves to slip his cock out of his pants. He palms his length with one hand, hissing as he tightly pumps himself, and then slips the other back inside you. Astarion moves low, adjusting his body in a single smooth movement and then he’s before you once more, licking up until he pulls your pulsing, waiting clit into his mouth and sucking. Massaging your inner walls while he holds your pleasure between his lips and rolls his tongue until you’re bucking against his mouth. 

You go over the edge, dissolving into waves of pleasure with his name crashing from your lips in a keening moan and feel the way his mouth turns up into a smile as you clench around his fingers, but his mouth stays in place until your body stills around him. 

“You taste so sweet when you cum,” He moves up to kiss you and you sigh against his lips.

“Hells,” you breathe when he pulls away, trying to catch your breath as the hum of release dances through your body, but Astarion has no interest in letting you rest. 

“Now, let’s go for one more,” he starts, lining his cock up with your entrance and then sliding it against your slit, wetting his length with your arousal. He presses into you a moment later and you gasp at the sensation, at the way he stretches you to fit all of him, and his next words are enough to nearly shatter you again. 

“This time, I want you to come around my cock, my sweet, little bird.”

He doesn’t wait another moment before withdrawing then burying himself to the hilt, his moan echoing your gasp at how full you feel once he’s inside you. His rhythm is so desperate and  slow and deep that you’re quickly lost in every punishing hit of his body meeting yours. 

You can’t muffle your pleading moans as you beg for more of him, for the pleasure he offers and he shifts, putting one leg on his shoulder once more so he can take you even deeper. He’s bent over you and staring into your eyes as he ruts, smiling and purring as he watches you come closer and closer to breaking. 

“Yes, that’s…so good,” he groans, “...doing so good for me little bird.”

His nickname for you, in this context, feels like lightning dancing through your skin and igniting in that aching place where your bodies meet. He kisses you deeply, moans exchanged in the space where your tongues dance, and then he pulls away quickly, his voice gruff as he demands, “Turn over, sweet thing.”

You do as you're told, flipping onto your stomach, and before you might shift to be on hands and knees, you feel his strong hands kneading the muscle of your ass, his cock lining up with your entrance once more. Astarion angles your hips up for him and slides back inside with a delicious, deep groan

“Wanna feel you - uhnnn, Gods, bird - come around my cock,” he moans, his rhythm growing erratic as you both approach the peak for your pleasure together. “Be a good girl for me, be - please - fuck, you feel so good -”

With deep push inside you, his cock finds a spot that has your eyes rolling back and your body soaking him in your arousal, his praise continuing until you do as he asks again. He brings you closer and closer to the edge with every perfect stroke, his hips meeting your ass and balls hitting your clit with every punishing thrust.

Your climax crashes through you this time, pulsing and clenching and begging for more and more of him. You see white and stars as you pant and cry through 

“Fill me,” you beg, finding your voice as the aftershocks of your orgasm leave your cunt fluttering around him. He fucks into you with absolute abandon now, desperate for his own release. “Please Astarion, come for me. I want to feel you fill me, please, please -”

“Gods above - fuck - oh, oh, fuck - ” he groans and slows as he spends himself within you, continuing to roll his hips into you with every pulse of his cock emptying within you. 

When he stills with you, neither of you move for a moment as you catch your breath. The scent of sex fills the air and you’re sure you should be bothered by how loud you were, how your companions have undoubtedly heard you both, but you don’t care. 

His cold chest presses into your back and you’re surprised when he dots cold kisses across your shoulder blade and then turns your cheek toward him, pressing a kiss there as well with a soft hum. 

“You have a lovely singing voice, my pretty bird,” he croons into the curve of your neck, continuing to pepper your neck, back and shoulders with kisses. “I hope you don’t mind, but I think I’d like an encore.”

When he moves off your back again, raising your hips til you feel his tongue licking at the spend he’s left within you, you cry a moan of delicious agony, and start to sing for him again. 

[thefirstknife]

The weekly lore book is so funny with Guardian reports. Love these two justifying why they didn't kill the enemy:

Instead of opening fire, it juked backwards and ran. I've never seen a Vex run before, and honestly, I was so surprised, I missed my shot.

+

Saw a big ol' Vex Minotaur hanging out in the shallows. It was far downrange, but it looked like it was leaking data or something from its neck. I fired before my Box Breathing kicked in, so it wasn't a kill shot.

This one got me. I sure do know what you mean:

The Minotaurs were being really defensive, staggering their shields to cover each other. If you've ever gone up against a team of Titans in Crucible, it was like that.

This one is so relatable:

The necklace Vex were wiped out and the others ripped the radiolaria cores from the bodies and took them back through the portal—or they would have, if I hadn't Thundercrashed the whole group.

Thundercrash!!!!

But outside of the funny bits, I am really looking hard at the little details. The changes in individual Vex, for example:

The thing must've caught a glint off my optics because it looked right at me.

+

It looked back at me, then it popped its own juice box and dumped itself into the radiolaria.

+

Anyway, when I moved in to make sure they were dead, I saw little model buildings in the dirt. I'm telling you, they'd been building sandcastles.

+

Right as I was about to draw, the Hobgoblin waved its hand at me. I figured it was signaling an ambush and I looked around, but it didn't have any backup. It waved again, and I gave it a little wave back—I didn't see the harm. Well, it got real excited at that and waved with both arms.

+

It was creeping through the branches and making a little noise—almost like it was laughing, if that makes sense?

There's also a strange focus on singling out Precursors and how othey don't appear to have the collars:

One of those sleek Precursor models was leading a group of normal Vex Goblins. The Goblins all had glowing collars, but the Precursor didn't.

+

Saw them clearly before I engaged: some Precursors mixed in with Nessus Vex. Nessus ones had the glowing mantles from the reports, but the Precursors didn't.

What does it all mean.

[galebrainrot2024]

GalexYou Hiding at the Goblin Camp

This was inspired by @orangekittyenergy's list of ideas for pre-relationship and pining Gale and I am just putting their idea to paper. I plan to write more of these based off of them, we all deserve a little more pining and fluff! I gave myself butterflies with this one sheesh

Summary: Gale and You (Gender Neutral) are forced to hide in the Goblin camp in close quarters and Gale is unable to stop thinking about your proximity and the blossoming feelings he has for you. Straight up pining and fluff.

Master List

“Shit!” You ducked down abruptly and pulled Gale down by the sleeve eliciting a quiet grunt of protest. A pair of drunken Goblins hum into the room, blissfully unaware of Priestess Gut’s eviscerated body as they sing in merriment. Gale’s throat closed and his knees cramped as you pressed back into his thighs, turned into him. He swallowed hard as he feels your hand against his lower back for purchase, to make sure you both fit in the secluded hiding spot. It was hardly big enough for one grown person, let alone two. 

Gale tried to focus on the dank, disgusting smell instead of you nearly in his lap. The warmth of your body pressed against his and as your breath mingled, he thought surely the orb had taken him. Your cheeks were flushed and a light sheen of sweat covered you. Gale desperately wanted to lean forward and kiss you, delicately against where your ear met your neck and taste the salt of battle. Sinful yearning thrummed in his core, his stomached knotted and goosebumps enveloped him. Despite the fear of imminent death, Gale’s mind was elsewhere. Perhaps it was the brush with danger that evoked such a strong arousal. He’d read about it, countless times. His heart thudded erratically and heat licked up his spine. Your legs were warm against his and the closeness made him flush with embarrassment. 

As your gaze was on the Goblins, Gale inhaled and adrenaline rushed through his veins when your scent wrapped him in bliss. He had forgotten the sweet musk of mortals, having spent so long isolated or with Mystra. The day’s sweat lingered on your skin and as you tussled your hair he was hit by a wave of pine mingled with dirt. It drove him mad and he felt electricity pierce his DNA. He felt like he was suffocating and wanted to rip off his skin. He knew so little about you and yet felt he had known you for a lifetime. He felt pathetic, so starved for attention he was enamored with the first empathetic person he saw. The moment you pulled him from the portal, Gale knew he was ruined. It was your eyes, the curiosity in them and the kindness you extended without knowing who or what you were helping. And then, when he revealed his sordid past to you instead of disdain and judgment you offered compassion and kindness without knowing more than he had a cat, a library, and enjoyed wine from time to time. Gale wondered how, despite the horror and looming threat of becoming a mindflayer, he had gotten so lucky to have met you. 

Gale couldn’t remember a time where he experienced such visceral longing for another. Although he had plenty of mortal conquests before his time with Mystra, he didn’t remember them feeling quite so profound. Don’t be ridiculous, he thought. With his condition as it was, he tried to avoid any unnecessary stimulation and you were exactly that. He tried to keep away and was (obviously) unsuccessful. You felt like breathing for the first time or learning a new incantation. 

It was all too much. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead and he cleared his throat. He almost groaned when you, without turning to look at him, placed your fingers against his lips to hush him. Your fingers lingered for a moment and Gale felt unholy warmth pool in his core, a shudder rolled through him. When you dropped your fingers, they grazed across Gale’s chest and he stopped breathing. 

Get a grip, he scolded himself, this is just the first contact you’ve had in over a year, you hardly know this person. It’s their biology, nothing more. Unless it isn’t, which is not likely. 

Although he could not yet admit it to himself, it was not just biology. 

He had successfully, up until this point, avoided being in such close proximity to you for this very reason. Even though you had only been traveling together for a few weeks, the chemistry that sparked between you and Gale was intoxicating and he chased the rush like a love-sick puppy. Despite his best efforts, once he understood the fluttering of guttural feeling was in fact not the orb, but you he found it almost impossible to keep far. Gale loved sharing information with you, adoring how your eyes gleamed whenever he was deep in monologue. You were one of the first who allowed him to provide his talents and intelligence without mockery or malice, especially in such a short time. Even though Astarion would groan every time he spoke, you would hush him and encourage Gale to continue. It was how you bit your lip when deep in thought and how he wished he could taste you, to share a tender and slow kiss… Gale tried to ground himself and recenter his thoughts, but it was too late. As you huddled for safety, his body pressing tightly to you. At first, Gale ignored the sensation and attributed it to the orb. The feeling wasn’t dissimilar, though the orb’s persistent ache was more of a gnawing hunger where food does not quite sate you. 

This hunger was all together different. Gale tried earnestly to maintain his composure, wondering what you were thinking about. 

Once the Goblins stumbled out of the room, somehow oblivious to their murdered healer, neither you nor Gale moved. You turned to look at Gale and he fell into your emotive pools, neither of you moving. Your breath and his echoed between the wall and crate, the air between you thick with words unsaid. 

That was until Karlach peaked her head over, raising her eyebrows. “So… are you both ready to join us again or what?” 

Gale and you laughed awkwardly in unison, still holding each other’s gaze and stood, your bodies synched now. They know each other and cannot wait until they can have more. 

[forlorn-crows]

Crow my love will you pretty please tell me all about how Rain fucks Swiss' mouth the night Swiss kneels for him on stage? <3

i cant stop thinking about it. swiss was made to kneel for rain, i think. made to let rain tower over him and fuck his face 'til he's dazed and bleary-eyed. but he's gotta be smug about it too, right?

in a crazy turn of events, rain is cis for once. i know, i can't believe it either. crow writing rain with dick and balls? unheard of. and yet, here we are. mainly bc i am unwell about the idea of rain having a knot.

anyway. woe facefucking w/tiny mention of oral knotting be upon ye. this ones also for @askingforthesun >:)

EDIT: now w/a companion art piece by the wonderful @floating-goblin-art❤️

“Just like that,” Rain groans, pulling Swiss closer by the hair until his nose nudges the little nest of curls at the base of his cock. “Yeah, take it all.”

Swiss hums around him, sending a shiver up his spine. Still smirking despite a mouthful of cock and water ghoul slick coating his throat. 

It’s unfair, really. But it turns Rain on like no other. Confidence and desire cutting him deep through that hazel-eyed gaze. Swiss’ throat milking him for all he’s got while he grabs at Rain’s perky ass. And the noises. Lucifer, the noises he makes, all of them rumbling through his core. Straight-up sinful.

Rain loves every minute that Swiss spends kneeling for him.

“Bet you hmpf wanted to do this on stage. Get my cock out for all those people. Show them how feral you can really be, huh?” Swiss’ eyes flutter when Rain grips his locs tighter, but he holds steady. Humming an affirmative and muffled uh huh while tonguing along the underside of his length. Pushing his lips flush to his groin and swallowing hard.

Rain swears and tosses his head back, knees going a little weak. “Lucifer, your mouth . . .” 

Swiss pulls off with a pop, wiping the drool from his chin and stroking him with a coy look. Fangs out and far too handsome for his own good.

“You’d like that wouldn’t you, you dirty voyeur.” He gives a lick to Rain’s dripping tip, flat over the slit like he’s tasting a popsicle. And again, squeezing from base to tip so milky-white pre dribbles onto his tongue. Rain’s eyes roll back against his will, tingling right down to his toes at the sight of his own slick pooling in Swiss’ mouth. 

The multi ghoul swallows, licking his lips. “You’re so easy, rainbow,” he chides. “Get’cha wobbly over a few strokes.”

“Shut up,” Rain bites back. But it's a token protest, given how his fingers start loosening their grip on Swiss’ locs the longer he pumps his fist. 

He snorts. “You like my dirty mouth,” he says, pitching his voice lower on purpose so Rain’s stomach will swoop. “Just as good talking as it is taking, isn’t it?”

He shakes his head, biting back a groan. He regains the grip on his hair and takes a step forward, caging in Swiss’ body between and under his legs, looming over him just enough that he has to put a hand behind him for balance. Rain’s tail snaps behind him, eyes darkening as he brings his gaze back down. Cool and calculating. Swiss challenges it, of course, grinning as he strokes his cock over the long column of his throat.

“Put it back in,” the water ghoul hisses. Control seeping back into his voice, that commanding tone Swiss loves so much. Rain bats his hand away and replaces it with his own, cupping the multi’s chin with the other. Digging his thumb into the side of his jaw until he relents, opening wide and letting his tongue loll out. Ready and waiting to be fed.

“That’s better,” he lilts. “And you say I’m easy.” Rain doesn’t give him space to reply, immediately rubbing the dusky lilac head of his cock over the flat of his tongue, letting his taste buds push the foreskin back and forth a little before sinking back in.  

Swiss gags like he does every time his cock pushes past the back of his throat, muscles trying to force Rain out despite the eager way he takes him down. But he likes the tension, the resistance. Leans into it as he thrusts all the way down to the base with a satisfied sigh. 

Rain looks down his nose at him. Cocking his head when Swiss makes the smallest of noises. “Do you want me to really use you, pretty boy?” he asks, voice sharp and equally as saccharine. “Make you take it until you can’t anymore?”

The multi ghoul’s eyebrows dart up in the middle as a visible wave of arousal runs down his spine. A puff of air rushing out of his nose and color rising to his cheeks. He’s weak for this, and Rain knows it—abuses the fact, really, when it’s time to get his way. 

Swiss is a big ghoul, though; he can take it, masochist that he is. So he hums a sound that means yes, nodding as much as he can with Rain holding his face steady. 

He knows Swiss is hard in his pants without even looking. 

“Good,” he purrs, brushing a stray tear off of his cheek. A bit of softness before he starts thrusting in earnest, aiming to fuck his throat raw. Get his balls slapping against his chin and coated in Swiss’ desperate drool. Inch by wet inch, over and over until Swiss really gives in.

When Rain’s knot inevitably swells some time later, he tells him, reedy, wounded, and oh so desperate, to take it. Not fucking stopping. That’s it—squeeze it. Can’t stop. Lucifer, take it, you have to—all of it, Swiss, all of it.

[glassrowboat]

Sing For Me. Dottore.

Summary: The Angel of Music's lair awaits you as painted gold arms move to welcome you in, the creak of their gears barely registering in your ears over your voice as his hand fits comfortably in yours, guiding you along. Further, further, and further into his world of unending night.

Warnings: Dottore, sexual content, smut, oral, cunnilignus, masturbating, altering of POTO canon, not proof read but Risse is tired

Word Count: 5k

The lights had been blinding as always when you had stood high on the stage, filling the air with a burning heat that licked at your skin. Sweat had dripped down your back, but there was no searing ache in your muscles from performing as your legs held you up for the painted gold faces of statues to see you in all your glory without even a speck of powder on pointed toes. For there were no silk ribbons fastened around your ankles to be seen by an effigies eyes. Your feet weren't even peeling a new layer of skin. There was only a dull hum in your throat and an ever beating heart from frayed nerves at having all those eyes on you.

On you alone.

For the stage had claimed you not as a ballet dancer who twirled with each long string of a bow, but as the star all lights were pointed to.

Just like the ones covered in glitter and gems you had pulled out of your hair a moment ago and laid to rest on the vanity you were sitting before. Your own reflection staring back at you as your fingers dance over the red petals of a rose. A gift from your Angel of Music.

You could almost hear the vibrato in his voice as well wishes fell from the lips that have taught you so well. Surely, he would be dawning a smirk, prideful as he is.

You plucked a petal, withered at the end with a dull brown that curls in on itself, and let it fall onto the floor of this overbearingly pink room; from the wallpaper to the endless bouquets surrounding you in a fog of perfume. All unaccompanied by a glass bottle to spray a charming mist into the air with a squeeze of an atomizer bulb, yet it smothered you nonetheless.

But in your hands, still perfectly polished from when your makeup had been done before the show, was black. A ribbon unlike the twisted and worn ones of your pointe shoes twisting around your finger, hypnotizing you with its delicate touch.

You didn't even notice the knob of the painted door keeping you apart from the bustling crew you would normally be shrugging through in an attempt to go change out of your costume twisting.

Not until a voice called out, one without the austere lit to it you had heard between dark stones aglow by the flicker of candles as you prayed for your father. That bright red of a rose, its scent still plaguing you, was replaced with locks of embering hair and memories of salt in the air as a violin played; waves lapping at the shore a background to the sweet melody.

“A little girl let her mind wander. The little girl thought, ‘Am I fonder of dolls, or of goblins, or of shoes.”

A poem you had learned in your tender years now sparking at the core of your memory again.

“Diluc?”

Your eyes fell on him, taking in the black coat hugging a frame that had now grown out of the lanky one you had known well from days of cuddling up together in a dusty attic on an old blanket, and white tie so pure it could be mistaken for the snow that is sure to come with the change of seasons already starting to creep in through the walls of the opera house with a chilling touch.

Almost like hands made of ice were ready to wrap around your throat.

But Diluc's were warm as he kneeled before you, hand reaching out to rest on your shoulder only to pull it back like he shouldn't have dared to be so familiar with you despite the moments you both shared. “Or of riddles or of frocks..or of chocolates.”

The flutter of your heart still stirred from the stage, twisting and turning as you looked up at him.

He was different from the boy you once knew, but he still held traces of himself from the memories you replayed in your head on an endless loop in between chatter with the other chorus girls and, dare you admit, even in the face of a blue glow that could never melt into shadows the same way the rest of your phantom did.

“Should I refer to you as Vicomte now?” You asked, remembering how the new managers had introduced him during rehearsal.

“Please, don't call me that.” The flickering light of the candle moved along Diluc's shoulders as they slumped. “It makes me uncomfortable. And there's no need.”

Not between us, is what he didn't say.

“Diluc it is, then.”

“And you, should I call you the star of tonight's show?” Diluc asked, head tilting slightly when your eyes met with his. “You did amazing up there.”

“Oh I see, so I'm not worthy of the title a prima donna yet? But no.” you shook your head, a smile quirking your lips up at his genuine praise. He had always been so quick to listen to your quiet lullabies in awe once upon a time, and that same unabashed reverence has turned back to you again.

He really did remember you despite not recognizing you- not seeing you- when he was first introduced to the troupe as a new benefactor of the theater.

“There's no need for that.” You assured him.

“Then if there's no need for titles between us, how about we share a meal. One in celebration of your wonderful performance and to meeting again?”

Your fingers tightened around the stem in your hands the moment he asked, wrangling it into something new, something misshapen. All between knuckles that were slowly turning white with each passing second. “No.”

“I'm sorry is”- Diluc’s hand drew back further, continuously pulling away the warmth he had to offer- “something wrong?”

And the stirring in your heart seemed to quell the further Diluc got.

“It's not- well..you remember what my father said, right, Diluc? That when he was in heaven he would send the Angel of Music to me.” With a sucked in breath you got out the words: “well father is dead, and I have been visited.”

“Oh, there's no doubt of it.”

The sentence echoed one that had once been whispered between you on a windy day, almost bringing you further back in time than just his mere presence brought you. To memories of dark stories and a scarf trying to fly off with the breeze and swim along the waters being returned to you as he wrapped it around your neck as you promised one day you would stand on the stage waiting for your voice to be heard by everyone and by him.

How far you've come.

The both of you.

But…

“And the Angel of Music is very strict.” You reminded yourself. The you that had become intimate with the shivers racking your spine simply at the thought of displeasing him currently running over you.

Breath falling short.

“I don't intend to keep you for long.”

“I know, it's just-”

And then he asked you to please play along, to indulge him on this even as the hole drilling itself in your stomach grew and grew. To the point eating anything in the first place sounded sickening, but you smiled at that same baby face Diluc couldn't seem to grow out of even after all these years and dared to agree.

The hair on the back of your neck stood up as he walked to the door, pushed it out of the way with one last call of “You must change. Something you can actually walk around in, preferably. In the meantime, I'll order my carriage.” And a promise you won't regret joining him as that pink door closed.

Painted lilies staring back at you as gooseflesh awoke on your skin.

A lock silently clicked in place without you even noticing.

Then, a voice seemed to blare over the room, blowing out the candles around you one by one. From the vanity your red rose laid upon to the one next to the dressing screen you had only just been behind to change (trying to discard the heavy costume you had worn on stage), hands occupied with fixing the tie to your robe. Darkness took over, leaving you in the music of the night.

“He's insolent, my muse. Just a boy who hasn't even fostered the voice you now yield, but there he was sharing in my triumph.”

The sneer you could hear in his voice was recognizable and well known after all the times other ‘young suitors’ as he liked to call them dared to cross an invisible line he drew. One you still couldn't tell if it was etched in the grains of sand or hammered into concrete, but either way, daring to pass, it was as risky as a gambler asking for Aphrodite’s kiss.

“He didn't mean any harm.”

“I would say trying to step in the way of your spotlight for a chance to greet you is pernicious at best.”

Like the panes of a window leaving shadows along the floor where the sun casts its rays.

“Look, I'm sorry. I wanted to tell him no.”

“But your soul was weak, I take it?” He asked with the same snark you've grown accustomed to from him. At this point it was almost a comfort after hearing him make remarks about the inability of the crew, Carlotta, and the new managers who had just taken over all while a stained glass image of a god you bowed your head to watched over you.

A holy gaze keeping you safe as prayers for your father whispered on your lips and a flame sparked as you lit a candle in his name, but in here it was only you and a fog slowly creeping in.

Dottore always was one for dramatics.

“Forgive me, teacher.” You said at last.

A hum filled your ears, just as the fog rose higher and higher, blocking out the endless bouquets that had been filling the room more than the gaudy furniture could even dare to try.

He spoke of Diluc basking in your glory, but here he was doing the same with your trepidation.

All you could do was wait for the other shoe to fall, or-

“Only this once, my muse.”

Or to have a hand held out to take yours. Black gloves and golden claws shattering the illusion you were semi alone in this room as the mirror fell away for Dottore to pull you inside. Arm wrapping around your waist to keep you close as a melody filled your ears; blocking out the sound of Diluc rattling the doorknob to check on you as panic swells in his chest.

“I am your Angel of Music.” Dottore said as he cast a sidelong glance towards the door, his hold on you tightening. “Come to your Angel of Music.”

With a crescendo, everything else fell away.

All with that same fog following you, drowning everything else out. Leaving the world above the murky depths you were pulled into distorted by refraction. Blocking out the last words you could have sworn went something along the lines of: “Who is in there with you?”

You couldn't even register the concern lacing each word, not when all your nerves were set alight. Yet the raucous beating of your heart, a drum that has long since been used and abused, finally soothed as Dottore pulled you along.

“Come now, and sing once again with me our strange duet.”

A haze passed by all at once with golden arms clicking as gears in need of a good oiling moved, fingers intertwining with your own, and the splash of water as a rowboat that looked as fickle as glass dipped under your weight when you climbed in.

All with the assurance “I have you” as you were flooded by the Phantom’s song.

His voice echoed off the walls dripping with a moisture you would rather not think about, slipping between the cracks and over dewy cobwebs with a raw texture. The talent of a man who taught himself all he knew in the silence between the shows put on in the light as his shadow cast across the stones down below.

Dottore had once likened it to a hollow building, one falling apart at the seams all thanks to its unsteady foundation, but you? You, the very thing that inspired his song, had come in and filled that shell of a home with comfort. Blankets over the windows to keep the cold air out, rugs padding over the hard floor, and a place to rest; one without the worry of rats creeping their way into our home.

Dottore never explained why he called it “our home.”

Not even as his masked face turned towards you and you were left questioning if that black and white porcelain could hold an expression of fondness.

“Surely you know how to get out of a boat yourself.” Dottore teased, even as he helped pull you out with one last unsteady lurch and splash of water under your feet. Droplets tickling your ankles.

“Apparently not.”

“Don't tell me I have another thing I need to teach you.” Dottore raised a brow, or maybe both, you really couldn't tell.

“Would it matter if you did?” You teased.

“I suppose not. We can stay down here, together.” Dottore whispered with his hand ghosting along your cheek. Cold to the touch. “And abandon the garish light of day all while I teach you something new. All in this kingdom of music..”

A kingdom with only one subject, the king: Dottore himself.

“I'm not just going to purge my thoughts of the life I knew before,” danced on your tongue, wanting to escape from the confines you only tightened the hold of. Chaining it to a wall to be forgotten and discarded.

For his eyes could both threaten and adore; you already knew which would be easier to handle. And you were too exhausted to try weasel your way out of this mess you had stumbled in again, anyway.

“Softly, deftly music shall caress you. Hear it, feel it secretly possess you.” As he sang in your ear, lips and the touch of his mask grazing your skin, Dottore's hand fell from your cheek. Roamed as it pleased. Traced over your collarbones only to go lower, lower, and lower. The golden claws he's wearing toy with your robe, reflecting back your own thinly pressed lips in their radiance. “Open up your mind, my muse. Let me in. Let yourself belong to me.”

“…I”

You took too long to respond.

That was apparent in the way his hand drew back. A stove hot to the touch to tender flesh. Leaving him wounded.

“You need rest. It's been a long night for you.”

“Right…I'm not even that tired though.” Not when your eyes had a place to scour over. To soak in all the rugs placed over the mildew-claimed floors, the lights buzzing with electricity that somehow worked all the way down here, and a well loved piano sitting atop it all.

“You will be. Just give it time.”

All while that same fog that has been chasing you both filled your vision.

You didn't even get the chance to ask Dottore what he meant by that as you fell into his arms. Eyes rolling back as you were greeted by the darkest dreams a mind could imagine.

“Took longer than I thought it would. I'll need to change the percentages in the concoction then. My fault for not testing the drug when it's airborne.”

Muttering to himself Dottore carried you to his bed and placed you down. Tongue clicking as he looked at you slowly being swallowed up but the mattress he had spent countless restless nights tossing and turning in. “Can't you see? Only you alone can make my music take flight…but that boy…”

Hands that were still burnt from your earlier refusal pulled a blanket up and over your shoulders; shaking unsteadily. They might as well have actually been burnt under a flame, set alight, for they twitched like embers were ingrained into his skin as Dottore lingered near you.

Silently watching.

“Once he's gone you can help me make the music of the night. But for now, simply rest well.”

Pressing a kiss to your forehead, Dottore left in favor of his piano, desperate for something to take the swirling storm in his head out on.

It was better that way.

It gave Dottore something to focus on that wasn't his cock straining against his pants as he set the sheets of an unfinished piece before him. Notes daring to be written on the yellowed paper, crinkled and worn after all times he's dug it out only to store it away again without adding a single drop of ink. His pen always did hang in the air, threatening to add something as Dottore busied himself with tapping at the keys; feather covered back turned to you as he tried to work.

Crude, Dottore thought as he huffed at just how wrong it all sounded to his self-taught ear.

It was the tapping that eventually stirred you, forcing your eyes to crack open only to be greeted by the sight of a metal bird staring down at you rather than the mask you had come to expect. Its head tilted to the side. Blue eyes glowing in the dark.

You didn't even get the chance to mutter a confused hello before it flew off with a squawk. Soaring. Long, almost vial-like tail flowing after it.

“What the…”

Grumbling, you pushed the blankets covering you away. Feet padding on the floor as you followed after its flapping wings.

Without your Angel by your side this place seemed different. Hollow, almost. Lonely, like a burnt out candle waiting to bring fire to this world again as it fails to shine. To the point you were glad to follow the song that never seemed to stop playing in your head all the way to a hunched figure.

Without turning back to look at you Dottore said: “I see you're awake. How are you doing, my muse?”

“Like I entered a fever dream.” Which would explain this labyrinth where the daylight dissolves into darkness. All except a faint glow leaving his skin an unearthly hue. “You see the bird too, right?”

Another tap of the keys laid out in front of him rang before Dottore spoke again.

“I do.”

“At least I'm not going crazy then.”

The feathers of his jacket greeted you first, brushing along your arms as they wrapped around him. Would the bird feel the same or would it lack Dottore's warmth you clung to? Would it feel as stiff as he froze under you like deer under the glow of a blinding light.

Funny, for a man who would take a life with as little emotion as a carriage running over a fawn's carcass.

“If you were going crazy I would be sure to tell you.” Dottore strangled out. Voice so tight you couldn't help but check you weren't accidentally pulling on that strap he wore around his throat (for some reason or another), but you weren't even so much as touching it.

“How thoughtful.”

“It's less being thoughtful and more the thought you of going”- his hand pulled away from the keys to gesture at something you couldn't see- “crazed might affect how you choose to sing. Though, it might add an interesting candor as you bear your heart and voice to the opera house.”

“And to its crowd.” You teased, eyes peeking up at him, at the mask he wore, from the feathered mantle you were snuggled up against.

You were so tempted to reach out and graze your fingers over the material, to feel the cold sting grace your skin before pulling it away to reveal what lay underneath. May it be a man or a monster your curiosity begged to know. Pleading into your ear. Only for you to remember the last time you tried as he sucked in an unsteady breath. How he pushed you away, raised a hand that never fell to your cheek as you crawled farther and farther away from him until your back hit a wall behind you.

He shook then just as Dottore is now.

“Yes, them too.”

So your hand didn't dare to try again. Instead it fell to the keyboard to tap over a note or two, fiddling with it to keep your mind off the need to pull away from him- to flee- that gnawed at you. After all, if this truly was a kingdom then what subject could truly run away without repercussions?

The monarch himself picked up the pen beside him, pinched it between those pointed claws, and the notes you had just played were written down on the piece of paper laid out before him.

“Are you writing a new piece?” You asked.

“I'm attempting to. Unfortunately, I am rather distracted.”

Ignoring the way his jaw jutted your way accusingly you continued to tap at the keys. And he continued to write each note down until he told you to sit beside him

“I don't think there's enough room on that bench you're using, Angel.”

His hands were on your waist in a second, the pen clattering as it dropped while Dottore pulled you on his lap. “I said: sit down.”

You barely noticed him picking the pen back up from the ground with his fingers playing with the laces of your corset; brushing over them all the way down to the messy bow you had tied together. At the time your hands had been shaking as the excitement to be on stage had rushed through you, but now your own jittery effort was undone by one single pull of the wirey cord.

Dottore’s touch burned, even through his gloves.

“So..a new piece?” You asked.

“Yes, but I was..admittedly struggling with composing it; on my own, that is. It would be a great help to me if you played another note.” The laces were tugged at again. “Or two. Or three.”

Even as the garment fell off you, only held up by your own hands, it felt harder to breathe than before. “I wouldn't mind, really, but was this necessary?”

Dottore's eyes flicked down between you, scalding you with the red fire inside of them that seemed to only be held back by a single barrier of glass, begging to shatter under the stress. “I was undoing it to keep the corset from pressing on your diaphragm. I don't need your voice distorted.”

It was only a moment later Dottore tacked on “That's all” even as he leaned in closer to you, hand trailing up your back just as softly as the air from his lips was gracing yours. Only an inch apart. Getting closer, closer, and closer to the point you could see deformities in the mask.

Then his head fell to your neck.

“You'll help me f-” Dottore cut himself off, shutting his own trail of thought down. “For my music, won't you, my muse?”

Your hand met the piano, trying to play another note even as his hand dropped from your back and you fell against the keys. The chord cluster had your fingers curling around the white tiles; the damned bird squawked with a jump, only causing your grip to tighten at the shrill sound.

“I'm the one who interrupted your focus, so..” You cleared your throat. “Yes, teacher.”

Dottore replied back with an excellent, already clearly hard at work again as his pen moved, writing the notes you accidentally slammed down on. Black ink trailing off with every flick of his wrist as Dottore's hand slid up to where yours was keeping the corset up and pressed his thumb right over your diaphragm; fingers tickling your ribcage.

“Try to sing a note.”

Without a second to doubt his reasons you obeyed, and Dottore nodded in thought.

“Excellent, just like that. Now, remind me, I don't think we've practiced singing while enduring rough activity, have we?” He asked, head tilting ever so slightly to the side as his eyes flicked over your form on top of him.

“No.” You got out even through the discomfort pressing at your chest.

“Then it's time to change that. Don't you agree?”

“It would be a waste to turn down an opportunity to learn, right? That's what you always say.” At this point you could probably parrot the exact cadence Dottore uses as he repeats those exact words, voice controlled, a lit to it you knew belonged to a man who enjoyed having eyes on him as he made a spectacle of how smart he was, all while teaching you. Usually, Dottore would posture, flick his cape when it gets in his way - not pull you from his lap and place you down on the piano behind you.

Another slam of the keys.

You shifted, trying to get comfortable in your new found place as you tried to figure out why you thought something had been poking at your thigh the entire time Dottore had been holding you close. Had you sit with him on the stool clattering to the floor in Dottore's rush to push it away and kneel before you.

You had half a mind to comment how gross that had to be with these floors, but you were cut off by Dottore himself. “Have I ever told you nighttime has a way of heightening and sharpening each sensation?”

“Here and there.” You nodded. “But what does this have to do with your composition?”

The music sheet (one missing a title) was now cast aside, pen keeping it in place from any stray breeze hoping to pick it up and force it to fall along with the stool. Abandoned by its own creator without mercy for his hands had left it to play with the hem of your skirts; pushing them up and along your legs.

“Oh that's quite simple, but it seems my muse can't figure it out on her own.” Dottore clicked his tongue with a harsh tch. “Sometimes I swear you need everything spelled out for you.”

Ripples ran along your thigh as the cool metal of Dottore's claws graced your skin, from your hip to your ankle as he dragged your undergarments down. “I'll simply draw the notes out of you. You can just lay back and feel it all, savor each sensation.”

“Angel-”

“Oh, and-” Dottore's eyes raised from the sight of your skirts now bunched around your waist, pushed out of the way for his convenience. All to place a single kiss on your thigh that you nearly jerked away from. Only held in place due to the grip he had on you; mercilessly keeping you still even as a heat crept over your cheeks. “And make sure to use your voice.”

Your leg was hooked over his shoulder, the feathers from before taunting you as they brushed against your skin. Were you supposed to grab them or his hair? Were you supposed to yank him back and ask what this was about or let him keep leaning in closer?

The puff of air breathed out on your core answered before you could decide for yourself. And you were suddenly grateful you were sitting on the piano instead of trying to keep yourself up, afloat, as sharp teeth nibbled at your skin leaving your knees feeling weak even after all the years of ballet lessons that strengthened them. Hours of holding poses, perfecting them until you were given a nod of approval from Madame Giry, all suddenly for naught.

“I-I don't think this is very appropriate.”

“You said you'd help me.”

“Well, granted, I did, but-”

His tongue slid along your folds, tasting the very essence you exude. A long strip, a long drag of his tongue on you, and you were a goner.

A single moan ripped through your throat had Dottore's hand reaching down, fumbling with the buttons on his pants (far too many for his liking right now) to push them aside as he tasted you again, again, and again. Only pulling back long enough- giving you a chance to recover- to whisper against your folds “Don't think about anything besides me, my muse. Just me. Let me inside your mind.”

The keys pressed down, playing a soft melody every time your hips bucked up to chase after his touch; desperately trying to drag out more and more of the pleasure building in you. It was a raging fire flooding your soul, a need Dottore returned a hundredfold with a hand wrapping around his cock. Fucking it imagining it was you under him instead- bodies intertwining.

A minor, D minor, and E minor played on the piano, only drowned out by the sound of your cries and the wet sounds between your legs.

A strange duet that was wholefully one of your and Dottore's making.

His thumb brushed over the head of Dottore’s cock, smearing pre into his gloves as Dottore's tongue ravaged you with every bit of lust he'd tampered down over the years. Finally he was able to let it drain into you. Each moment of grazed hands, stolen glances and close calls coming to fruition as his tongue lapped at you.

Using you as a faucet to his molten need that never failed to be stoked, coals sparking with a fire burning alight, by your voice.

“That's it, give in to me. Give in to what I do to you.” Dottore barely managed to mutter between his own groans and hatred to be parted from you for a single second.

Your hand tugged at his hair, the questions you asked yourself long since tossed aside with the flame burning in your core, begging to be eased.

To be satiated.

You barely caught sight of the mechanical bird watching as your eyes rolled into the back of your head, the image of Dottore kneeling before you, head between your thighs as he stroked himself reflected back in its metal beak; warped image capturing the moment you came as the Opera Ghost himself made you sing.

You were too dazed to make out the notes you were playing anymore, only the fact they were turning in your head like a music box that never failed to draw you in as Dottore's head fell against your thigh. Slick coating his face (and parts of his mask), leaving it with a sheen he licked off as his hand moved. Hips stuttering up into the hole he made with a moan.

He called your name as he came, white sticky fluid splashing over the ground.

Blood red eyes staring up at you the entire time.

Speech seemed to turn into silence, words failing you, just out of reach of your outstretched hand desperately hoping to grasp onto anything to say in this moment. But all you could think about was how your blood was still racing.

Even when he had raised from the floor, ran a hand along your cheek, and finally kissed you you still had no clue what to say. Not even as your Angel whispered “Finally. You are so beautiful when you sing, my muse, to the point I couldn't smother your voice even when I longed to kiss you.”

Pulling you in his arms, Dottore held you close, hand running up and down your back, passing over the open laces of your corset.

“Don't you see? This is the music of the night.”

For you alone can make his song take flight.

Funny, how even wrapped up in his embrace, the heat of your release painting your thigh, you still felt cold.

And you longed for another to hold you tight.

[arc-misadventures]

NNN: Jaune and Jessica bet their teams they can last NNN.....how do they do?

NNN: J

Jaune: I can totally beat, NNN. Just you watch me!

Blake: You really think you can do that?

Jaune: Easily!

Blake: What makes you think that? I mean, Jessica is just a cuter version of, Ruby…

Ruby: You take that back!

Blake: Can you really deny, Green Ruby?

Ruby: Green what?!

Jaune: First off, Ruby’s nothing like Jessica.

Ruby: That’s right! I’m way better than that goblin!

Blake: How so?

Jaune: First off. She’s a legal loli, Ruby isn’t.

Blake: That’s true.

Ruby: Excuse me what?

Jaune: And, Jessica has magic powers with her ring. Wait, Ruby has magical powers with her eyes… They’re both cute as a button. Both have a passion for heavy ordanence. Both are small. One is green, the other is red, making them complimentary colours. Have small chest, but full butts. Wow… It’s like they’re twins…

Blake: So if you imagine, Ruby as, Jessica, would that make you dealing with, NNN hard?

Jaune: No, she’d just be, Red Jessica then.

Ruby: I’d be red what?!

Blake: But, don’t you want to… ‘tap dat ass?’

Jaune: I do, but I’d rather tap the older Jessica ass, than the younger one. Well, 60/40 in favour of which, Jessica I’d like to tap.

Jaune: …

Jaune: First…

Blake: Older Jessica?

Jaune: Yeah, back in her world she’s in her twenties, she looks like a completely different person. I bet, Ruby will just look a few inches taller when she’s older.

Ruby: Take that back!

Blake: What does she look like, this older, Jessica?

Jaune: Here’s a photo she sent me…

Blake: Damn~! Puppetry was kind to her~!

Ruby: I bet I’ll get a better figure then her.

Jaune: See! I want to tap that! But, I can’t…

Blake: Why not?

Jaune: She’s back in her world, and I’m here… Can’t lose, NNN when there’s nothing to lose to…

Blake: But, I thought she was coming back?

Jaune: She promised she would, but even she doesn’t know when she could… So, yeah…

Blake: So, what are you going to do then?

Jaune: Wait, and see. What else can I do?

Ruby: You can fun with me instead~?

Jaune: Not now, Red Jessica.

Ruby: I am not, Green Ruby!?!

Blake: What do you think, Jessica is doing now?

Jaune: Probably saving the world, that’s what heroes do after all.

~~~~~~

Meanwhile in the, DC RWBY Universe

~~~~~~

Jessica: FIX THAT FUCKING MACHINE ALREADY!!!

Jessica was not saving the world at the moment, she was currently losening her mind with unbridled lust, and blinding rage.

For she was currently being restrained by her friends, Powegirl, Wonderwoman, Superman, and Hal Gordon of the Green Lantern Corp. At least they we’re trying to; One would think three of the, Leagues strongest members could restrain a girl in her mid twenties with relative ease. However, they didn’t take into consideration what a highly horny girl, who was frustrated to no end because she was so hormonal could do to a person.

For in, Jessica’s, hormonal rage, for the lack of a better description, had received both a ring from the, Star Sapphire Core, and the Red Lantern Core. Making an already powerful Lantern exponentially more powerful, and terrifying.

Clark: Hurry up! We’re barely holding her back!

Victor: We’re working as fast as we can!

A multi coloured blast of energy soon shot past, Cyborg’s head, narrowly missing the trans-dimensional gateway thar he, and Batman we’re working on repairing.

Bruce: Hal, block her energy blasts. If one those hits the machine it will be destroyed.

Hal: I’m trying, but I’m fighting three on one!

Kara: Have you called any, Lanterns for back up!

Hal: I called, but it will take them a while to come here.

Another multi coloured blast ripped past, Hal’s head, and nearly impacted one of the stations windows, but the blast doors quickly shut as the, Flash hit the emergency button to activate the blast doors.

Wally: Okay, that was close. Okay, can someone explain to me what’s going on?

Diana: She’s been cursed by, Aphrodite!

Wally: What?

Kara: She decided to do the, NNN challenge. But, that only made her think of that, Jaune kid she’s been talking about, and now she’s just really, really horny!

Clark: And, angry!

Wally: Oh… Well, not to sound vulgar, but can’t she just… do it, and relax then?

Kara: You certainly never been with a woman before have you?!

Wally: Hey!

Bruce: Enough. Just hold on a little longer, we’ve nearly finis…?!

Victor: Oh shit!

Hal: AHHH?!

Another blast of energy hit, Hals shield, only this time it broke through, and slamming into, Hal, and sending him flying only for the bolt of energy to fly though the air, and crash into the machine. It surged with new found power from within, suddenly it blast upward into a multi coloured hole in the ceiling. The ensemble of heroes stared at the whole before something fell through it, and hit the ground with a heavy thud. Before the portal, as it seemed to be suddenly vanished.

They look down upon the ground to see a suit of armour slowly rise from the ground. It’s once polished clean white metal, now was stained by streaks of rust. The knight looked down at his hands before a weary sigh escaped its lips. It’s hands reached up, and removed its helmet, revealing a mane of blond hair tied in a wolf tail. It looked down at the helmet in it’s hands before letting a deep sigh escape his lips. One burdened by the weight of the world, and tired of carrying such a burden around without rest.

: I see… I’m the, Rusted Knight once again… peachy. But… where am I? This clearly isn’t the, Ever After… So where is it?

The figure was about to turn around, when they heard a series of mechanical shifts, and the whirling of engines. He had the stinking feeling he was in a place he wasn’t supposed to be.

Bruce: Who are you, how did you get here?

: I don’t know how I got here, a portal appeared below my feet, and I fell through it, and suddenly I appeared here. As for who I am, well… In this form, I was called the, Rusted Knight. But, that was only in children’s fairytale. But, my real name is, Jaune Arc.

The knight held up it’s hands as it slowly turned around to face them, revealing a grizzled beard of golden hair, laced with white streaks. As he stood before them, he looked at them with a perplexed expression across his face as he stared at them in turn.

Jaune: Do I know you? You look familiar, at least some of you, have we met…? Wait… Jessica, is that you?

The trio was struggling to contain, the Tri-Coloured Lantern from her hormonal rage, but she suddenly went slack in their arms, as the knight fell through the portal. But, her breath quickened as she saw a grizzled old blond man appear before them.

Jessica: J-J-Jaune…? Is that really you?

Jaune: It’s really me my little nightlight.

Jaune smiled warmly, with a fatherly smile as if he was pleased to with what he saw before him. For him, being reunited with his girlfriend, even in such an unorthodox manner was quite pleasing to him. Jessica was also, extremely pleased to see her boyfriend again, she was however, going through a panic attack as she struggled to digest what she was seeing before her.

Jessica: J-J-Jaune’s here?! B-But it’s not, Jaune… This, Jaune is b-bigger! Taller! Those muscles?! And, the beard! That glorious beard! And, are those white streaks? J-Jaune’s a silver fox?! He’s a total daddy now! My Daddy now! Ah… Ah-ha…! Ahahahahahahaha?!

Everyone started looking at, Jessica in concern. Jaune was concerned that after finally reuniting with his girlfriend they would have had happy embrace, followed by a lovers kiss. But, here he was watching his girlfriend falling down into a mad fit of laughter.

For the rest of the, Justic League it was unsettling to see their friend go from stark raving mad, to looking like she was just dosed in, Joker laughing gas.

And, yet it all ended as fast as it began.

Jessica: Aaaaahhhh~!

(“Thud”)

Blood poured down, Jessica’s nose she she finally stopped laughing, before she promptly fainted, and fell upon the ground. Silence hung in the air as all turned to face their unexpected guest.

Jaune: Uhhh… Sorry?

Clark: All thing’s considered this was probably for the best.

Jaune: Okay…?

Kara: That’s, Jaune?!

Diana: he was a teenager when I last saw him, not like… this?!

Kara: Do you think, Jessica is open to sharing?

Jaune: So uhh… what now?

[vexwerewolf]

Howdy! If you’re still taking lancer build requests, I could use some help. I’m stumped on how to build my Sunzi for support with a pinch of controller, and find myself asking “How would Dr. Valentinian do it?”

I was informed that you requested my advice on loadouts. Having now read your request, I feel as if you may be labouring under the misapprehension that I believe there's one correct loadout for all situations - allow me to assure you that no such loadout exists, nor do I believe that it does.

My ethos as regards the equipment choice for a mechanised chassis depends entirely upon the mission briefing and available intelligence. Who are we fighting? What chassis do they pilot? Are we outnumbered, or do we outnumber them? What are the strengths and weaknesses of both individuals within the opposing force and the opposing force as a whole? It goes without saying that these considerations will drastically affect my decisions as regards what equipment I bring with me.

Additionally, I am by no means an expert pilot. My speciality is blinkspace physics, with a secondary expertise in developing mechanised chassis. The majority of my children outpace me in piloting skill; I'm sure they could give you a far more comprehensive answer on this subject than I could.

All of this being said, I doubt you'd be satisfied without a straight answer, so allow me to humour you with the following loadout. I suppose you'll want me to name it as well, won't you? Very well - call this Sleipnir.

-- HA Sunzi @ LL6 -- [ LICENSES ] HA Sunzi 3, HORUS Minotaur 2, HORUS Goblin 1 [ CORE BONUSES ] The Lesson of the Open Door, Improved Armament [ TALENTS ] Skirmisher 3, Demolitionist 3, Grease Monkey 2, House Guard 1 [ STATS ] HULL:2 AGI:2 SYS:2 ENGI:2 STRUCTURE:4 HP:16 ARMOR:1 STRESS:4 HEATCAP:9 REPAIR:4 TECH ATK:+3 LIMITED:+1 SPD:5 EVA:9 EDEF:10 SENSE:15 SAVE:16 [ WEAPONS ] FLEX MOUNT: Warp Rifle MAIN/AUX MOUNT: Assault Rifle / Nexus (Light) [ SYSTEMS ] Personalizations, Blink Charges x4, Metafold Carver, H0R_OS System Upgrade I, Final Secret

Oh, you want me to explain it to you as well? I suppose I have time.

Sleipnir leverages synergies between the crude but effective blinkspace technologies developed by HORUS and the far more refined technologies I developed for the Sunzi frame. Metafold Carver's "Ophidian Trek" is an infinitely repeatable teleport that can be used to instantly rescue an ally from danger at up to range 15 simply by targeting them.

This revolves around the fact that you can target an ally with an invade and they can choose to make it automatically succeed; you don't even bother rolling dice to see how far you teleport them, because your Safe Harbor trait allows you to designate spaces adjacent to you (and this area expanded by the first rank of House Guard) as the endpoint of any teleport that affects an ally.

If you wish to pull an enemy out of position, you can use the same trick with your Blink Anchor; simply invade them using "Ophidian Trek," and then redirect them. This allows you to continue pulling enemies out of position even when your Blink Charges have been expended.

Speaking of Blink Charges, the Demolitionist talent also makes them more versatile, as they can now push enemies around (you choose the order of effects, meaning you can teleport an enemy and then push them back, allowing you to decide the exact direction of the knockback) and you can use them as mines without fear of losing limited charges.

I shouldn't need to explain to you the raw utility of the H0R_OS v1 system. If I do, you probably aren't competent enough to be piloting a mech.

That's all for now. I hope this was illuminating for you. As for me, I must get back to work.