#Silver Moth Mother Tongue

[thejoyofviolentmovement]

New Video: Silver Moth Shares Gorgeously Cinematic Visual for "The Eternal"

New Video: Silver Moth Shares Gorgeously Cinematic Visual for "The Eternal" @SilverMothMusic @plasmatron @mogwaiband @elisaelektra @abrasivetrees @matthewrochfrd @BurningHouseMU @BlackBayStudio1 @curlytt

Silver Moth is new collective featuring a celebrated cast of musicians and artists, including Mogwai’s Stuart Braithwaite, singer/songwriter and electro pop artist Elisabeth Elektra, singer/songwriter and multi-instrumentalist Evi Vine, Abrasive Trees‘ Matthew Rochford, Burning House‘s Ash Babb, Steven Hill and Prosthetic Head’s Ben Roberts, who has also worked with Abrasive Trees and Evi Vine.…

[rober-noir]

Silver Moth - Mother Tongue (Official Video)

Taken from the album "Black Bay" by Silver moth, released 21st April 2023 via Bella Union:

 https://ffm.to/silvermoth-blackbay 

Video directed by Maddie Burton: hotgirlera.com/videos Music by Silver Moth

Silver Moth is a new post-rock collective featuring Mogwai guitarist Stuart Braithwaite, singer/songwriter Elisabeth Elektra, Steven Hill, guitarist in Evi Vine along with fellow Evi Vine multi-instrumentalist Ben Roberts, and Vine herself, plus Burning House/Academy Of Sun drummer Ash Babb and Abrasive Trees guitarist Matthew Rochford.

(vía (126) Silver Moth - Mother Tongue (Official Video) - YouTube)

[sl-ut]

too sweet

pairing: rhaenyra targaryen x fem!targ bastard!reader

description: y/n heritage was plain as day–she was a targaryen bastard forced to work in the brothels just to scrape by, so when the rightful queen of the seven kingdoms calls for her illegitimate kin to join her in dragonstone, it is nearly impossible to ignore.

warnings: hotd typical warnings, reader’s appearance slightly described (hair colour and its mentioned that she had lost weight due to malnutrition but that's it), slight smut like literally just the beginning, slight reference to rhaenyra as mommy but not really she’s just a mother with maternal instincts and im horny mbmb

words: 4.2K

date posted: 05/09/24

The lower streets of King’s Landing had quickly dwindled into a dangerous cesspool of violence, hatred, and poverty in the months following the death of King Viserys II. The line of succession had been a heavily debated topic across the nation ever since Queen Aemma lost her first boy, even among the common folk, and especially after the Hightowers usurped the throne in favour of Prince Aegon before Rhaenyra could even attempt to lay her claim.

In truth, Y/n felt no loyalty to either side of this war. She was, afterall, one of the many Targaryen offspring left to rot in the streets of Flea Bottom, and though she felt morally tied to Rhaenyra solely through her sex, she also knew that the world was designed for men and men alone, so there was no possible way that Rhaenyra Targaryen could ascend the throne without some sort of political pushback. Her loyalty, at this point, was something to be earned from either side, but now with Prince Aemond acting as Regent, it was almost impossible to feel any sort of loyalty towards the Greens with how poorly the common folk were being treated, and though Rhaenyra’s attempts to share food among the masses in King’s Landing was most certainly nothing more than a ploy to earn their fealty, it was working. 

Y/n had lost a considerable amount of weight in the few weeks since rations had been cut back even further, and many of her regular customers had complained that her curves and plush thighs had thinned out, and anyone who gripped her tight enough could easily feel the grooves of her bones beneath the once pillow-soft flesh. Her silver-white hair appeared to be dull in colour, and her skin was more tender than ever before–not only was she more susceptible to bruising due to her malnutrition, but her clients were also rougher when they came to her; men were could hardly afford her services anymore, so they were taking her as they pleased whenever they could. Despite the neglect to her physical form, she still needed to perform her duties at the brothel each night, and had to hold her tongue in disgust each time any member or affiliate of the royal family requested her services. Y/n knew that, if she were to remain in King’s Landing for much longer, she would end up starving to death, so long as she was not brutally murdered first. 

So, when she overheard two of her clients whispering about Rhaenyra’s call for all Targaryen bastards to flee to Dragonstone, she only hesitated for a brief moment before packing the few belongings she had into a moth-eaten sack and fleeing to the shore along with many of her brothers and sisters. On the journey, they shared their stories–who they were, who they may have descended from, why they had answered the Queen’s call… Each and every one of them were there out of sheer desperation, and many of them could not even be certain that they had any Targaryen blood, they were there based on rumours and hope of escaping starvation, even if it meant that they were going to be eaten alive by one of the largest dragons in the world. 

Y/n had always been complimented for her Valyrian features, silver hair and purplish eyes, but nothing had prepared her for the unearthly beauty of Queen Rhaenyra. She was the pinnacle of how a Targaryen should appear in physicality and in presence. The moment she set foot in the regal library of Dragonstone, she commanded the attention of everyone inside, and as she argued with the dragon keepers in High Valyrian, Y/n could feel her heart beating against her ribcage. Her mere existence made Y/n nervous, similarly to how one might feel in the presence of a god, the woman watching in awe as the Queen commanded a dragon to serve her, reaching out to lay her hand upon his snout and close her eyes, feeling the energy transfer between them. 

Her awe was quickly broken, though, as Vermax rejected the first man who stepped forward to claim him, then turning to spray fire at the remaining group rather than offer any acceptance. In truth, Y/n could not be surprised; she had willingly walked into the dragon pit in hopes of claiming a wild dragon, something that was rarely done by those with the purest of Valyrian bloodlines, let alone by someone who would never be recognized as a true Targaryen. She was only glad that she was able to flee and hide herself behind a large broken piece of stone before the dragon could swallow her whole. She could not remember how long she had been cowering behind the stone before she could feel the dragon’s presence behind her, feeling the force of his exhale around the stone. She finally pushed herself up on shaky legs, turning to find herself staring into the open jaws of Vermithor as he stared down at her. She trembled at his sheer size, her entire body scarcely comparable to the size of one of his long, sharp claws. Closing her eyes, she accepted her fate–this could not be any worse than the slow death of starvation she would have faced had she not left King’s Landing to begin with. This way, the pain would be worse, but her death would be instant, and her bones would not be left to rot in the streets. She let out a shaky breath, waiting for the heat of his fire, but it never came.

Instead, she felt her body fall back, landing against the jagged stone of the dragon pit from the force of his snout meeting her chest. Her eyes cracked open, peering up at him fearfully, only to be met by his curious stare. His jaws had closed, no long seeming to be interested in harming her as he laid his head down onto the ground, grumbling impatiently as he waited for her attention. 

She turned her gaze upwards, finding the queen staring down at her amidst the chaos and smoke. She wore a small smirk on her face, appearing proud that someone was finally able to claim the wild dragon. Y/n felt a warmth in her belly at her attention, chest heaving as Rhaenyra nodded at her, as if giving her permission to finally lay claim to the dragon that had chosen her to ride him. His nose was scaly beneath her touch, but his flesh provided her with a comforting warmth that was so different to the uncomfortable heat of the still-burning flames all around her. She carefully pressed against him, resting her head against his nose, feeling the connection form between them–she could feel his emotions, how he was quickly calming from her touch, and she wondered if he could feel her heartbeat slowly decreasing from its rapid pace. He nudged her to climb up his wing, slowly raising her to step back up onto the platform and meet the queen face-to-face. 

“What is your name?” Rhaenyra spoke, her tone firm but welcoming.

Y/n lowered her head, dropping into a poorly attempted curtsy, “Y/n, Your Grace.”

The queen nodded, “I must admit, I am surprised that you have been able to claim a dragon at all, let alone one such as Vermithor, but I cannot describe the relief you have given me today. You should be proud, having claimed the second largest, and arguably the fiercest dragon in the world.”

“I-I cannot tell you how this feels, Your Grace. I am but a common girl from Flea Bottom–this is my first time even leaving King’s Landing.”

“And now you are a dragon rider. How you have risen.” Rhaenyra smirked, dragging her violet gaze down the length of her body, “Come, you must be tired and hungry from your journey. I will have my ladies prepare you a bath and bring you new clothes. I need you strong, if you are to ride a dragon.”

Her night in Dragonstone had not felt real. For the first time since she was a small child, she had others taking care of her. The ladies were gentle as they massaged soap into her silver hair and dull skin, pressing rose-scented oil into her skin and braiding her hair into a style she had never had the pleasure of wearing–she typically could not afford proper hair care, as her clients tended to tug and rip at her silver curls while seeking pleasure, making it pointless to wear anything more than one simple braid. Her dress was simple, but still the finest quality she’d ever worn. It was black, with red stitching along the hem, almost as if Rhaenyra was claiming her as a member of the Blacks, which she supposed she likely was. Her mouth watered at the sight of the food, forgoing the utensils on the table and instead ripping pieces of meat apart with her bare hands, moaning at the taste and savouring every last lick of flavour, washing it all down with the sweetest red wine she had ever tasted. 

She was on her second plate when Rhaenyra came to her chambers, silently slipping through the secret passage and motioning for the handmaidens to leave the room. 

“I hope it is up to your standard,” She spoke, smirking as the girl flinched in surprise at the queen’s voice, “I’m afraid we have had to give up some luxuries in order to prepare for the coming war, but I figured that you would be wanting for a proper meal.” 

“My queen,” Y/n spoke, wine dribbling down the corner of her mouth, “I cannot even remember the last time I have been able to taste meat at all, and I’m sure I’ve never been afforded something such as this.”

“I’m glad,” Rhaenyra took the seat across from her at the small round table, “I understand that you are tired and wish to retire soon, but I could not deny my curiosity. Tell me, do you know of your heritage?”

Y/n shrunk in her seat, unsure of whether her lineage may cause the queen any upset, “I cannot be certain, Your Grace, but I am told I come from either of two Targaryen men.”

Rhaenyra tilted her head, “Your mother could not be certain?”

Y/n pursed her lips, “I did not know my mother. She died in her labours, I’m afraid, but her employer took in and put me to work as soon as I was old enough.”

Rhaenyra nodded, the solemn look in her eyes making her understanding clear, “I am sorry to hear that. I can understand the pain of losing a mother, though I was fortunate enough to know her for a while before she was taken from us.”

Y/n bowed her head, “I was only a young child when Queen Aemma died, but I remember my household mourning her greatly. I’m told she was the finest of ladies.” 

“Thank you, she was.” Rhaenyra gulped down the lump in her throat, “Enough about me, tell me of your lineage.”

Y/n nodded, “Some tell me that my mother was the bastard daughter of Prince Baelon, your grandsire. I’m told her hair was light in colour, not so much as mine, but her own mother was dark of hair. Others tell me that my father may have been…Prince Daemon.” She watched as the queen raised her brow, “I’m told he was a regular customer of my mother’s before she fell pregnant, though I cannot be certain where my Valyrian blood comes from.”

Rhaenyra sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, “I am aware of my husband’s indiscretions, but do not fear. We cannot be to blame for the misdoings of our parents.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Y/n smiled at her softly, “Forgive me for asking, but I was under the impression that Prince Daemon was here with you, I had assumed that he would be more present in the claiming of the dragons.”

Rhaenyra frowned, “Daemon has claimed Harrenhal in my name, or so I’m told. In truth, I was so determined to find riders for my remaining dragons because I am not certain whether he fights for my claim or his own. I fear he still resents me for my father replacing him as his successor, and the last time we spoke he did not seem to be very pleased with me or the way that I wish to conduct this war.” 

“I am sorry to hear that, Your Grace.” Y/n frowned, “My apologies, I never should have asked.”

“Nonsense,” Rhaenyra swiped a singular tear from her cheek, “You are one of my dragonriders now, blood of the dragon. You are privy to the internal quarrels of my council if you are to risk your life for my cause.”

Y/n nodded, unsure of what else to say. She opened her mouth, uncertain of what was about to come out when Rhaenyra stood, staring down at her with sharp violet eyes. 

“My apologies for keeping you, my lady. I shall let you rest now, I need you at your best to begin your lessons in the morn.” She hesitated for a moment before finally rounding the table and pressing a firm kiss to the crown of her head, then finally fleeing through the secret passage that she had arrived through, leaving the girl stunned at the affection she had just received from the Queen. 

In the following weeks, Y/n’s bond with Vermithor had grown more than she could have possibly imagined. She was far from fluent in High Valyrian and still had much to learn in the art of dragon riding, but she was now able to use basic commands with her mount and was growing more confident while flying. 

She had also found herself acting as a confidant for the queen, at first mostly for political matters–Mysaria had been very helpful in the beginning when it came to pulling the commoners to her side, but Y/n had lived through the cruelty forced upon the masses by the Greens, she was able to give Rhaenyra a first-hand perspective. Then, she began coming to her for other matters, even just to talk, though Y/n understood how lonely she must feel among her counsel of men, especially now that she was forced to deal with the icy attitude of her own son, who had been entirely against the recruitment of the Targaryen bastards and now seemed to be punishing his mother for giving not one, but three fully grown dragons to those who had no rightful claim to them. 

Y/n found comfort in the three other bastards that had joined Rhaenyra’s team. Hugh was a gentle soul in a tough vessel, always prepared to fight and protect those he cared about. He had quickly become quite close with the younger woman, viewing her almost as a younger sister (which they very well could be, for all they know). Ulf was, well, Ulf. He was rough around the edges, exactly the type you would expect to find in the lowest and poorest areas of Flea Bottom, the type to hang around brothels and bars for the majority of his life, spending the only coin to his name on booze and only the cheapest of whores. Addam was quieter than the other two when dealing with the queen and their newfound duties, but seemed to be the most endlessly confident man that Y/n had ever met. He was loyal to his core at the very least, but like the rest of them, he was nothing more than a commoner whose fate lay in the hands of those born into power, though he certainly had much more faith in Rhaenyra than the other two, mainly because of her greater amount of trust in him considering that he was able to claim a dragon without any help or even any effort–while the others had all come to Dragonstone to bond with a dragon, Seasmoke had chosen Addam on his own without prompt. Though, as much as he seemed to be the queen’s favourite amongst her new “army of bastards,” none were aware of the fact that Rhaenyra made nightly visits to Y/n’s chambers and would now consider her to be one of her closest confidants. 

Rhaenyra had found herself being quite clingy when it came to Y/n. Every night after she crept through the secret passageway, she would sit and talk for hours with Y/n regardless of what state the young woman may have been in. She sat with her while she studied High Valyrian, while she bathed, even while she slept sometimes, silently stroking her silver-white locks as her breathing slowed and deepened, perhaps overstaying her welcome for an hour or two before leaving through the same passage in which she had come. 

Y/n was among the few who could understand her frustrations. Everyone around her were men, none of whom considered her intelligent enough to lead their forces to victory; Daemon refused to correspond with her, despite the fact that he had travelled to Harrenhal in her name; her son resented her for bringing in these bastards and allowing them to claim dragons; her council rejected her ideas and undermined her rule as much as they possibly could. Y/n, however, was able to understand the sheer anger that she was feeling–to be ignored and criticised simply due to her gender. Rhaenyra knew fully well that everyone there would gladly turn their shields to Daemon should he press for his own claim to the throne, all except for her sweet Y/n.

The silver-haired queen could not be certain exactly when her affection for the young woman had grown past the point of decency. During their usual evenings together, Rhaenyra found herself reaching for her, laying a hand over her own or to scratch gently at her scalp or to stroke her cheek affectionately. It was something that Y/n had grown accustomed to, feeling Rhaenyra’s weight next to her in her feather-plush bed, her nimble fingertips soothing over her skin until she fell asleep. So much so, that the one evening that Rhaenyra did not come to her chambers, she found herself lying awake late into the night, waiting to feel the comforting, almost maternal presence of the silver queen. 

This longing for the woman’s wandering of the halls of Dragonstone, thanking the gods for the many lit torches lining the walls–otherwise, she would be left to wander a labyrinth of blackness with no hope of finding the queen. Rhaenyra had been spending a large majority of her time in the castle’s vast library, which is exactly where the new dragonrider found her, slouched over dozens of large, dusty books that had likely gone untouched for the last century.

The silver haired woman paid no mind to the new presence in the room, instead continuing to rake her eyes across the page mindlessly.

“Your Grace,” Rhaenyra’s eyes flickered up at the sound of the young woman’s voice, “You did not join us for supper.”

The queen sat back in her chair, rolling her neck to remove some of the kinks out, “My appetite did not find me this evening, I’m afraid.”

“And you did not come to my chambers,” This caused her eyebrows to perk up, her violet eyes drawing down her robe-clad body. Y/n shifted her weight from leg-to-leg, heat rising to her cheeks as her next admittance fell from her lips, “I admit, I found it difficult to find sleep without your presence.”

A small chuckle fell from Rhaenyra’s lips as a tired smile crossed her features, “My apologies, my sweet. How thoughtless of me to neglect you so.”

“Neglect,” Y/n muses, rounding the edge of the desk to lean against the lip just next to Rhaenyra’s seat. “I fear the only one of us that is facing neglect at your hand, Your Grace, is you.” Her fingers reached for the queen’s pale cheek, ghosting over the soft skin and admiring the pink that grew beneath her touch, “You look tired, and you have not eaten since breakfast–and do not even try to argue, I asked your handmaiden.”

“My sweet keeper,” Rhaenyra smirked, “I fear comfort is something I cannot afford at the moment, not until this war is won and I take back my rightful inheritance.”

“A war will not be won tired and hungry,” She retorted, “You must take care of yourself–or at least, allow others to care for you.”

This caused Rhaenyra to scoff, “I’m certain that my council would not care for me, even if they had to. In fact, I may be doing them a favour by allowing myself to waste away as such.” 

“Then allow me to care for you.”

Rhaenyra’s purple eyes widened in surprise, then settled into the familiar affectionate stare that she so often wore when dealing with the young woman, “Sweet girl, I fear you may be far too kind for this world. Or, for me, at the very least.”

“For the world, mayhaps, but I do not feel there is enough kindness in the world to treat you as you deserve, Your Grace.”

Rhaenyra stood from her chair abruptly, her own hands coming to settle over the young woman’s cheeks. A glaze of tears appeared in her eyes as she stuttered for a moment, mulling over her words to ensure that her point was as clear as possible.

[mothandpidgeon]

While the Baby Sleeps (demon!Ezra x f!reader)

pairing: demon!Ezra x f!reader (mom!reader)

rating: E! 18+!

wc: 2.6k

summary: The only way to get your baby to sleep through the night is making a deal with an unholy creature. But, of course, there are consequences...

tags: dark fic, Dub/non con (making a deal with a demon), breastfeeding, nursing, lactation kink, mommy kink? (but not like that), stretch marks, oral sex, unprotected p in v, overstimulation, horns, Ezra is a sex demon, moth never uses y/n

an: Here is my submission to #MothandBirdMothersDayChallenge! Actually this fic is the reason why I wanted to do this challenge. Sometimes when I'm in the dark nursery in the middle of the night, I have fun intrusive thoughts like 'What if there was a shadowy figure in the doorway?' To combat how terrifying that thought is, I took it and made it horny. Thank you @ezrasbirdie for betaing this, helping me do this Mother's Day Challenge, and all around being a cool auntie to my fics and baby Moth.

 ...

He wakes you every night. It doesn’t matter what you try. Your son hasn't let you have more than three consecutive hours of sleep since he was born. 

You’re at your wit’s end. 

Every time you look in the mirror you see a hollowed out version of yourself with dark bags under your eyes. You make yourself coffee without putting grounds into the filter. You fly into a tearful rage when you spill a bottle of precious milk. You don’t know who you are anymore. 

Tonight’s no different. You lift your crying baby from his crib. Rock him, shush him. You sit with him in the glider and try to nurse him back to sleep. It’s all done bleary-eyed, half asleep. Everything is these days. 

You’d give anything for this baby to sleep. 

Just as the thought crosses your mind, you look up to see a figure standing just outside the nursery. It’s shadowy against the dark of the hallway, shades of gray on black. From the height and broad shoulders, it could be a man. He stands abnormally still. Silent, watching. You think it’s just a trick of your sleep deprived mind until he moves just slightly and a patch of silver hair is caught in the moonlight. 

You must be dreaming because if there was a man in your baby’s room, you’d be terrified. And you’re not. You feel calm like you’re floating on steady waters. 

“Who are you?” you ask. Your voice drifts like a lullaby. 

He doesn’t respond, just leans in the doorway. All that you can make out is that blonde hair and two eyes that glint at you.

“I’ve come to help you, petal,” he finally says. His voice is warm and melodic.

You feel yourself nodding off for a moment. When you blink yourself awake, he’s by your side.

You can make out his features better now. Dark stubble covers a handsome face. The sharp angles of his nose and jaw are silhouetted in the dim. You smell woodsmoke and frankincense as he comes near. He kneels beside the chair and his brow furrows as he looks up at you.

“You need that child to rest,” he says. 

You nod pathetically. You can feel familiar tears well in your eyes. Hopeless, helpless. Desperate. 

“I can be of assistance,” he says. 

“Don’t hurt him,” you say, holding your son a bit closer to your chest.  Your baby might be torturing you in the night but you love him. You won’t let anything happen to him. Even though you’re sure you’re dreaming, you remember old fairy tales, creatures that try to trick and deceive. This man isn’t human, you know that somewhere deep inside you. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it. I won’t even touch him. It’s not the babe that’s piqued my interest. It’s his mother,” he explains. His obsidian eyes are on your lips, pink tongue darts out to lick his own. 

“Don’t hurt me either,” you say, though there’s no fight in your words. 

“That’s not my intention at all. Quite the opposite. You’re so beautiful, petal,” he coos, brushing his knuckles across your jawline. 

It must be a dream because you haven’t felt beautiful in a long time. Your body’s been stretched and broken, engorged and swollen. Your hair falls out by the handful. Your breasts reek of sweat and milk, a sickly funk. 

“I want you. Carnally,” he says.  

The growl in his voice makes warmth pool between your thighs. He looks at you like something divine, an awe over his features. His light touch moves down your neck and over your collarbone sending goosebumps over your skin. You’ve forgotten what it’s like to feel anything other than exhausted, touched in a way that isn’t a demand for food or comfort. 

“Let me have that and that boy will slumber like an angel,” he promises. He watches your baby suckling himself back to sleep.

It sounds so good. Suddenly the only thing you want more than a a night’s sleep is for this stranger to pleasure you, to be inside of you. You haven’t felt desire in just about as long as you haven’t slept. You’ve barely been able to shower and feed yourself let alone take care of your own needs.

“Put the child in his cot and go to bed. Tomorrow I’ll come for you and you’ll see,” he says.

“Who are you?” you ask again.

“I’m Ezra,” he whispers.

You wake up in your bed the next morning and you’ve slept like the dead.

That strange dream haunts you but you think of it as nothing more than that. When you put your son down to sleep the next night, you don’t expect any miracles. He goes down easily enough, a nice little fluke, and you decide to turn in early yourself. 

Its nearly midnight when you wake up but you realize it’s quiet. The baby isn’t crying for you. You glance at the monitor and see that he’s sleeping soundly, sucking away at this pacifier. Just as Ezra promised. 

Relief floods your veins. You put your head back against the pillow and your eyes drift close. As you begin to return to sleep, there’s a shift in the bed and you catch that earthy scent again. You gasp when you see Ezra’s black eyes. He’s beside you, the pad of his thumb tracing the plump of your lower lip. His chest is a wide golden plane littered with white scars, dusted with dark hairs. 

“Hush, petal,” he says. “I’ve kept my promise. And now I’ve come to ravish you.”

You want to tell him that you’re tired. You finally have the opportunity to go back to sleep and you shouldn’t let anything come between you and that sweet rest. But the same, strong want that you felt the night before is calling you. An ache runs between your legs up to where Ezra’s hand glides over the delicate skin on your pulse. You're powerless to stop your own desire from sabotaging the one thing you’ve wanted.

A languid sigh leaves you as you melt into his touch. 

Ezra sucks at your neck. You’ll have a black and blue mark from his teeth but the sensation is so delicious, you can’t bring yourself to care. 

He opens your legs and notches his hips between yours. The friction of his hard cock against your panties makes your back arch. 

“I want to taste you,” he says. 

He rucks up the ratty old t-shirt that you sleep in along with the nursing bra that’s constantly saturated with leaking milk. He takes a long moment to savor the sight of you so exposed, a smile twitching on his lips. A long, low growl leaves him as he slithers down your body, gathering your breasts in his big hands and bringing his face to nuzzle in your skin.

You hear him inhale deeply, taking in your scent. The stubble of his cheek scratches at your sensitive flesh. One thick finger circles your peaked nipple nice and slow. Your body responds— a bead of milk seeps out and rolls down to the valley between your breasts.

Your breath catches at the mix of sensations. Your cheeks heat and you can’t help the embarrassment that creeps up your spine. Much to your surprise, Ezra’s eyes widen with interest. He lowers himself and  traces the wet trail with the flat of his tongue. You can only imagine what he tastes– the musk of your sweat beneath sweet milk. It seems that he likes it. He closes his lips around your nipple and lavishes it with his tongue, groaning into your flesh. 

“Shit,” you gasp. 

You feel the tingle of letdown behind your breasts, his ministrations summoning more milk. Soon Ezra is drinking from you, grunting and rutting his hips against you. The other, neglected nipple weeps milk and he pauses to lap it up greedily. You tangle your hand into his hair and that’s when you feel it. There’s a raised bump amidst his curls but it’s hard as bone. It sits just above his forehead and stands only an inch high. As your fingers rake through his hair, you find another. Horns.

The terror you expect never comes. He might be something ungodly and all you feel is a building excitement. Everything about this is wrong but the world feels upside down. 

He comes away, his plush bottom lip glistening with pearlescent milk. It’s a sight that should repulse you but in the delirium of sleeplessness and lust, it just makes you hungry.

“You are an exquisite creature,” he purrs. 

His flat palm skates down your belly where you’re middle still holds baby weight, a reminder that your body is no longer your own. He peels your panties down your thighs. You feel the fine edges of his teeth against your skin. He penetrates you with two exquisitely thick fingers. No warning but you hardly need it— you’re already slick. 

You keen, back arching off of the mattress, and the sensation is doubled when he puts his lips to your clit and sucks with the same enthusiasm he had at your breast. His wide shoulders spread your knees to make room for his body. You drown in pleasure, a heady mixture of fire doused in the thick pool of sleepiness. Floating, sinking, cresting on a wave as he licks and spreads you open, presses in deep and coils you tight. It’s hard to believe your body can have such strong responses when you’re barely function in your waking life. Something primal drives you on and Ezra knows just how to unlock it. 

“Such a delicacy. To sup on milk and cunt,” he says, barely taking his lips from you. 

The swirls and undulations of his tongue and the sweet pressure inside works you into a frenzy. Your breath shortens and then stops altogether, your thighs tighten and you hold your eyes shut, listening to the whimpers and moans between your legs. It’s too much and not enough. 

When you come undone, it’s a rush of ecstasy that you want to live in forever. Rolling and gushing and sighing. You choke and arch, your entire body convulsing. Your spine clenches up like you’ve been struck by lighting and the electricity runs out through your fingertips and toes. 

“Such a glorious vision,” he muses as you come down, panting and shivering. 

Ezra’s eyes are fixated on you, pupils blown so wide they’re nearly black. He looks like he wants to devour you. 

You share his hunger. You want more already. You’ve just had a feast and yet you’re starving again. 

You see Ezra’s cock now for the first time. Thick and upright, it’s tip, flushed and red. He takes it in his fist, glazing his shaft in your release. There’s something animalistic about it that floods you with another wave of arousal. 

“More,” you manage to say. 

“Not too tired?” he teases with a wicked smile. 

You shake your head. How can you sleep when your body is on fire with lust?

“I’ll fill each needy hole,” he says. 

You whine. He lines himself at your entrance. 

“You’re a goddess. And I’m going to defile you.”

You're filled to the hilt. The noise that escapes him is animalistic and his eyes lose focus. You’re already fluttering around him, already so close to another climax. He fucks you, the stretch and rhythm making you dizzy. 

“This is the closest I’ll get to heaven, I fear,” he revels. “But what could be more divine than this sweet cunt?”

Each word that falls from his lips seems to stroke at your core. His hips drive into you, hands greedily paw at every soft part of your body. 

The only thing that quiets his debauched ramblings is suckling at your breast. Your senses are completely overwhelmed. Tears prick in your eyes as your insides tighten, another orgasm shattering through you. You bite down on his shoulder to keep yourself quiet. 

“Let me hear,” he demands. “He won’t wake.”

And so you do, crying out as you clench around his thickness, losing all control of your body. 

“That’s it, petal. That’s it,” he says. 

He goes on thrusting and pins you down, torturing that exquisite spot deep inside of you over and over again. You’re not sure where one climax ends and another begins but you’re possessed. 

“If only I could fill that womb, sire one after the other to keep you round,” he grunts. 

Ezra swears. He hisses out words in a language you don’t recognize. It sounds like an incantation. 

You hardly have time to make sense of it. He’s pulling out of you, grinding his wet length against your thigh and spilling hot ropes onto your mound. 

You lay beneath him, boneless and dazed. The exhaustion flushes over your weak body. You sense Ezra at your breast again as your eyes drift closed. 

The next thing you know, your baby is crying and it’s morning. 

It must be a dream. There’s no other way to explain it— a horned creature slipping in and out of your bedroom in the middle of the night, fucking you senseless when you have no energy left. But you wake up with come drying where he marked you. 

That night, he’s back again. 

And again after that. 

“Ezra, I’m exhausted," you breathe. "Please.”

“Isn’t this what you wanted, petal?”

Now your son sleeps soundly through the night while you are awake, debauched for hours without end. 

He’s insatiable and somehow you are, too. 

He fucks you until you’re raw. Your legs quiver and burn from being parted so wide. Your pussy feels battered and bruised. You beg him to fuck your ass just to give your cunt some rest. 

And although your body feels like it can’t take another second of pleasure, though it begs for a moment’s peace, every time he comes to you, you’re flooded with arousal. 

When you try to steal an afternoon nap, he’s there, cock already standing in his fist. 

Spittle dribbles from the corners of your lips as he fucks your mouth. It runs down your chest, your knees already bruised from the hours you’ve spent on them. You try to chase your own relief, grinding your hips against the floor. He pulls you by the ears to sink deeper down your throat. 

He grunts and moans and howls as he comes between your lips. 

He doesn’t always take. 

The next time he makes you come four times. 

“Again, again,” he chants into your ear. His words are hot breath as his fingers press inside of you overwhelming that ridge that sends you reeling. Your bodies are pressed together, sticky with perspiration and release and drool and milk. 

“I can’t,” you sob, your body sore and stretched to its limit. 

You’re so spent, so overstimulated, each orgasm takes more and more effort. But Ezra refuses to quit, punishing you until you reach a fearsome crescendo. 

“Oh, my petal, but I know you are more than capable.”

He’s right. You can feel the weak muscles in your core begin to twist. You hold your breath and focus on the brutal sensations Ezra gives you. 

“Besides, your ability is immaterial,” he goes on. “These were the terms of our deal. This cunt. Is. Mine.”

Despite the fact that you’re so exhausted you can barely remember your own name, hardly able to stand on your own two feel, the climax that hits you is just as monumental as the very first. 

“Have you endured enough tonight, petal?” he asks, sucking the gush of slick off of his fingers. 

“Please,” you whimper. “Please.”

You’re not sure if you’re begging him to stop or to keep going. 

“Tomorrow, petal,” he promises. “Now get some rest.”

He wakes you. Every night. 

...

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! My asks are always open and I don't bite (unless you're into that).

[sorceresssundries]

Down by the River

Summary: The brain is defeated, the absolute halted, our heroes have won, and yet... victory isn't all it's cracked up to be. One-shot.

Warnings: Angst, mentions of violence, destroyed city, mentions of death.

Word Count: 1.4k

Looking out across the water, away from Baldur’s Gate, you could almost trick yourself into believing that the flecks of orange and red shimmering on the surface were caused solely by the sunrise—the first kiss of light from the split-lipped smile of a new, hopeful day.

Reality is a dagger, and the Chionthar reflects the flames and chaos from the burning city, spreading them over its still surface to shimmer back at you in mockery. You don’t stop looking at the river, too scared of what you will see when you turn around. 

Baldur’s Gate is a broken city. The shops you once visited, the temples where you prayed, and the homes which welcomed you had fallen. Bricks now crush the bodies they were built to shelter.

You stand on the dock with your lover, feeling as though you have been sprinting across slipping sand for countless days, and now… stopped.

You have reached the end, and there is nothing here—only calloused hands, blistered feet, and grief that stretches and settles into every part of you it can find. The nether brain is dead, the tadpole in your head has shrivelled away to nothing, the crown is discarded, and the chosen of the dead three slaughtered, yet you are numb to relief.

“It’s over” Gale’s hand is on your shoulder, trying to turn you so you can rest your weary head against him. You can’t move. You can’t turn around. He slides his hand to your waist, to wrap his arm around you. You can’t bear to have any kind of joy, or hope, or comfort offered to you. You don’t want it. Bile burns in your throat.

He is speaking to you softly, his words as delicate as moth wings. You can't hear him. Your mind is your own again, pounding with the sound of death and destruction—it's enough to make you miss the wriggling distraction of the tadpole.

“We will rebuild,” you manage to catch him saying.

For a second, you think you hear an animal screeching in the distance, but the following sobs tell you it’s a person. A mother, maybe, who has just found the body of her child. You won’t turn to find out.

“Tell that to her.” You don’t recognise your own voice. You want to bite the words at him, but your voice has no teeth, and all you hear are the hollow words of a grief-wrecked wraith. He has no answer. No quip, no lesson, no comfort. There is nothing to say, no spell to cast, no illusion strong enough to cover the sound of screams and the smell of acrid smoke.

Your gaze remains fixed on the water, your mind churning in tandem with your stomach. The Crown of Karsus is in there somewhere, broken into pieces and buried under rubble. Left to sink into the silt of the Chionthar, as was always the plan.

Unless…

Karlach and Wyll were in Avernus, bound to a life of hellscapes and blood wars. The scorch marks from the portal, from her flame-swaddled body, were burned into the wooden dock behind you.

Astarion had been banished back into the darkness he had spent centuries trying to crawl out of. He had sprinted out of the light he once basked in, and the Gods only know where he is now.

Seven thousand souls had perished in a failed ritual. The corpses of Tieflings were shadows that could not be lifted in the curse-cleansed heartlands. Shadowheart had fought with the ferocity of a wolf to cast aside her Goddess and save her parents, only to watch them die in front of her. Rolan was dead. Cal and Lia and Zevlor and Florrick. All gone.

Lae’zel

You feel the muscles in your hand flex and spasm at the thought of Lae’zel. Your heart twists.

You had tried. You had conjured up desperate deception, attempted silver-tongued persuasion, and even rage-fueled intimidation, but it had not been enough to stop Orin the Red from plunging her knives into Lae’zel's eye sockets and splitting apart her skull.

She had been twenty-two years old, and burned with more courage than anyone you had known. It had not been enough to get her to the end, to this scorched dock in the shadow of Baldur’s Gate. You were not able to save her, and the thought of it sizzles wrath through your numbness.

Is this what victory tastes like? Blood and bile and fury. If only you had done things differently. The still, flame-orange water in front of you starts to froth in the wake of your rage.

“Tav?” Gale is trying to bring you back to him. Has his voice always been so small?

You remember how he had sounded when you first discussed the crown. After finding that damned book and seeing the desperation in his eyes, hearing the soft plea of his words which soon turned petulant and sharp.

A hindrance, he had called you. He had pouted and pleaded, and any wavering uncertainty in your decision to keep the book from him had hardened to steel.

He had not learned. Ambition still trickled and hissed through his veins, pumped around by his poor, desperate heart. Mystra had been right to keep him in check, just as you were right to do the same. He could not have the book. He could not have the crown. It would drain all of his sweet, kind mortality from him until all that was left was another God to keep the wheel spinning. How many would be crushed beneath it, beneath him? You could not allow it.

Each night, the Annals of Karsus had lain heavy in your hands. The weave, usually rosewater-scented and soft as silk, was suddenly sluggish and scraped like sandpaper in the air around its blasphemous contents.

That had not stopped you. You poured over its pages in the quiet, leftover hours where night slipped into morning. The book was heavy—not just in weight, but in the burden of turning its pages and deciphering its contents. Each word felt as if it had to be pulled out and held in hard focus before you could understand any of its meaning.

It took work, but you got there. You were just as capable a wizard as Gale, after all. The weave fought you at every turn, but with dedication the riddle unravelled and the answers became clear. The crown could be reforged and reused by someone worthy enough to wear it, and you knew how to do it.

Think of what could be done…

You could cool Karlach’s engine and bring her back to the life she deserves in the city she loves.

You could shatter the iron-clad shell of Wyll’s pact as though it were made of glass.

You could grant Astarion a life of deserved sunshine.

Maybe…you could change even more.

What if you could go back? Try again? Use the power of a God to Wish for another chance. You could do things differently, leave no one behind.

You could make different decisions. You could make it so your words would be convincing enough to still Orin’s blade and save Lae’zel. You could be stronger, wiser, tougher. You could step out of that pod on the Nautiloid a different person, if you wanted.

Another attempt, a restart, a new run.

Is that too much to ask? You are not marred by towering ambition; you don't want to raise armies or infect the minds of innocents. You don't care about gods and monsters. You just want another roll of the dice.

“If I salvage the stones… I could retrieve it…” You aren’t talking to anyone in particular; you just need it said out loud. “I could change things”

Gale is in front of you now, crouching slightly so his face is level with yours, cupping your face and wiping away tears with the pads of his thumbs. His eyes are full of panic, and he is saying things, such sweet, wonderful things. He loves you as a mortal; he needs you to stay here. There is nothing that can be done, he insists, there is always another way…

“I will find you again,” you say, an oath to the man who forgot his Goddess. You will not let him forget you. “I will love you all over again, you’ll see.”

And you mean it; your love was meant to blaze across universes, you could feel it.

His voice once again quiets as all the possibilities thunder around your head with bright new clarity. Your decision is made, your path clear.

You turn to stare at the burnt-out shell of Baldur’s Gate.

Forget ambition; you would become the God of Second Chances.

[cherrycola27]

Father, Forgive Me

Warnings: Religious AU! Preacher Jake. Cult activities and dark religious themes. Blood, gore, violence, language. Minors DNI. 18+

Masterlist Next Part

...........................................

Prologue: For I have Sinned

There are a few defining characteristics that one must have to be considered a good leader.

Kind eyes, a bright smile, quick wit, a firm handshake, a charming personality, and a silver tongue that could sell ice to a polar bear. Most people only needed a few of these to be convincing enough for someone to blindly follow them.

But, if someone possessed all of these qualities and topped it off with a southern drawl and movie star face and the wrong intentions, well—they could be downright— deadly.

That's exactly what happened to the good people of Ginger Ridge, North Carolina. A devilishly handsome young reverend rolled into their town. Reverend Smith. He was young, mysterious, —different.

He fixed up the old white church at the top of Ridge Hill. He came to town and invited the people to hear his sermons. At first, he seemed amazing. Charming, caring, sweet. Everyone loved him. No— they adored him—especially the younger folks who seemed lost in their faith.

Soon, he started hosting "special" prayer groups for the lost teens and young adults of Ginger Ridge. Many of the older folks stopped attending after this. They felt like Father Smith wasn't preaching the word to them anymore. They felt like he had changed. His teachings became— darker. They townspeople tried to keep They young folks away from him, but it was no use.

The lost youth continued to flock to him like moths to flame. Blindly holding on to every word he said. In their mind, Father Jonas Smith was the mouthpiece of God, and they would do anything to please them. Maybe that's why after his disappearance, there were over dozen blonde haired, green eyed babes born to some unwed mothers in Ginger Ridge.

................

The full moon hung high in the sky that night in the sleepy mountain town of Ginger Ridge. It was peaceful as a warm summer wind blew in through the open windows of the townspeople's homes. That peace would soon be disturbed by the sound screams and cries for mercy as Reverend Smith's "lost youth" carried out his sinister plan.

When the local law enforcement from the next town over was tipped off, they immediately contacted the FBI. Agents came into the small mountain community and couldn't believe their eyes. Blood and bodies of men and women filled the streets and homes. The youth and children were nowhere to be found. Upon further investigation, they were found in the white church at the top of Ridge Hill.

All of them were clothed and singing a sermon in white robes that had been stained and splattered with the crimson red blood of their family and friends.

When they were taken in for questioning, each one said the same thing. "Reverend Smith preached the good word to us. He is truly a prophet of God. Our souls will be welcomed in the Great Hereafter now that the sacrifice has been given." What was even more disturbing than that were the roughly fifteen or so girls between the ages of eighteen and twenty-four who all claimed that they had been extra blessed because they had been selected by God himself to carry the child of Reverend Smith and raise the next generations of prophets.

The FBI attempted to locate Reverend Jonas Smith after that night, only to find that he never existed.

After months of searching for him, the trail went cold, and the case was given to you, Agent Y/N Walters. After a few weeks of digging you did stumble upon a similar case from Massachusetts, except the man believed to be behind it was someone named Father Jackson Simmons and a case from Texas but the person of interests name in that one was James Simon.

You read each file and realized that Jonas, Jackson, and James all had to be the same man. You just had to figure out who he really was and stop him before the events of Ginger Ridge were repeated.

..........

The windows were down on his beat up late eighties model pickup truck as Jake Seresin drove down the highway. He fiddled with the radio station landing on a Beach Boys song as he drove past the "Welcome to California" sign.

The sun was just setting as he pulled into the small seaside motel in the town of Del Angelo. He adjusted his tie and grabbed his duffle bag before exiting his vehicle.

"Good evening." The older woman at the desk greeted him.

"Evening Ma'am." Jake said as he walked up to the counter. He dropped his bag by his feet and set his worn Bible and keys on the counter.

"How can I help you?" She asked him.

"I called yesterday. I have a reservation for the next few weeks under the name Saunders." He said before giving her a wide smile.

"Ah, yes, I remember. Jason Sauders. I have the reservation right here. A room on the third floor, end of the hall, just as you requested." She smiled at him before handing him the key. Jake handed her a large stack of bills and gave her a wink.

"My name is Ethel if you need anything, and if I'm not around, you can ask my husband David or my daughter Mary-Ann." She told him.

"Thank you, Miss Ethel. You know there actually is something you might be able to help me with." He said.

"What's that?" Ethel asked him.

"When I was driving in town, I noticed an old boarded up church. Any idea who I could talk to about fixing it up?" Jake asked her.

"You'd probably need to talk to Mayor Andrews about that. Is there any reason you want to fix up that old place?" She asked him.

"Well, Ethel, my full name is Reverend Jason Sauders, and I was hoping to fix up that church so I could bring the word of God to the people of Del Angelo." Jake told her.

"A preacher? My word, we haven't had one of those here in years. Lord knows we need one. You might be just what we need around here, Reverend Sauders." Ethel beamed.

"I hope so. I know that after I'm finished, Del Angelo will never be the same." Jake smirked at her before grabbing his things and heading to his room. He chuckled to himself, knowing that the first part of his plan had already been put in motion.

Tagging some who might be interested: @thedroneranger @roosterscock @shanimallina87 @desert-fern @teacupsandtopgun @mayhemmanaged @lovinglyeternal @lovingbradshawafterdark @wkndwlff @roosterforme @daggerspare-standingby @dakotakazansky @startrekfangirl2233 @hecate-steps-on-me @cassiemitchell @na-ta-sh-aa @blueoorchid @milestellerlover @katieshook02 @mak-32 @je-suis-prest-rachel @soulmates8 @ohgodnotagainn @diorrfairy @eli2447 @xoxabs88xox @potato-girl99981 @djs8891 @roosterbruiser @roosters-girl @sebsxphia @roostette

Hope yall enjoyed my unmedicated ADHD filled dumpster fire

[under-the-aspen-tree]

A Moth To You (Chapter 2 - Endings, Beginnings) Aegon II Targaryen x (Bastard Velaryon) Reader

Series Summary: After a year travelling abroad, you have been called home to Kingslanding by your mother, Rhaenyra. Turns out your family has grown in your time apart.

Word Count: 1.9k

The crimson of rooftops looked like flecks of red dirt in peachy sands from where you flew above Kingslanding, circling the city from the confines of the clouds. The journey to Westeros was an easy one, with the ship mooring at Dragonstone so that you had time to bathe and rest before separating from Rhaenys, your cargo safely chasing behind you when you took flight on Cerys. You were eager to fly once again, legs and stomach aching from days on the boat, and try as you might you were eager to see your family once again. Cerys, your young dragon, was delighted at the opportunity to roam the lands of her birth once more and had spent the journey dipping her scaled talons in and out of the seas before soaring up towards the hazy cloud lines.

Cerys was a great beast of five-and-twenty, older than yourself and larger than your brothers by nearly twice fold. Her scales were of a beautiful milky white with flecks of silver that marked her underbelly. She was such a perfect shade of cream that even Cregan Stark had found himself delighted at the sight of her curled up in the snows of Winterfell at the beginning of your tour, remarking on how well she took to the icy terrain. 

Now, her colouring was the perfect illusion as you drifted through the skies, awaiting the moment you would be forced to make an entrance. You knew your family would have some idea of when you would arrive, that they would be patiently standing within the dragon holdings beside The Red Keep, but for some reason, you couldn't face them. It had all seemed so quick. One moment, you were breezing through the days with the sun on your skin and your worries in the breeze, the next clad in thick riding leathers, your hair twisted back in knots and layers with that life almost 500 miles behind you.

Stirring you out of your thoughts, Cerys let out a light snarl, rumbling your saddle as you twisted the reigns to circle the city once more, the beast growing tired. You had departed from Dragonstone before the sun was more than a quarter way through the sky and it was now gone noon. The winds had thankfully assisted your travel, but you were certain you had been in flight for almost nine hours. Your skin was dry and tired, your throat parched, and Cerys must have felt even worse having carried the weight of the journey for all this time. 

"I know girl, I know," You said, stroking your hand against her scales. You looked out once more towards the East, imagining how simple it would be to turn back, before running your dry tongue against your lips and tugging at the reigns. Cerys dipped her head gladly, stretching out her wings as you began your descent. The rooftops merged from flags to mosaics, and then into houses as you soured further and further down in swooping circles. The wind rushed in your ears and, even tired, you let out a laugh at the feeling. Even from here, flying above the city, you could smell the familiarity of the lands. There was a comfort in home, even if you had wished to stay away. Cerys circled twice before flapping her wings against the wind, the holdings beneath you. You could just about make out the white hair of those waiting, the flapping of coats and dresses as Cerys made her descent, before rocking in your saddle as she hit the ground with a gentle roar.  "Okay," You whispered to yourself, heat pouring to your cheeks as you heard the chatter of those waiting for you. "I can do this."

You took your time unbuckling yourself from your saddle before resting your feet on Cerys wings. Your legs ached from hours of sitting and it took a moment to stretch some life into them as you slowly stepped down and back into solid ground. A hand reached out to assist you, and you grasped it before realising who it even belonged to.

"Jacaerys!" You gasped, catching sight of the mop of dark hair resting against the boy's forehead. Well, boy was a sweet word for the man before you. The Jacaerys you had left behind over a year ago was shorter than you by a head and a half, with angular shoulders and an almost elvish face. Your brother had certainly grown in your time apart. He stood like a man now, with the sturdy strength of a swordsman and eyes that had to look down to behold you. He took you into a welcome hug, lifting you off your feet slightly.

"(Y/N), It's been too long," He laughed into your ear as he set you back down, placing a gloved hand on your shoulder. "I hope your travels were easy."

It had always been so easy with Jace, perhaps because you were the closest in age. He was born less than a year after yourself, though always seemed determined to fill the role of older brother. Throughout your childhood he had protected you in every way he could, even if sometimes you had to chastise him afterwards for being so imposing. Once back in his arms, you had no idea how you had ever left them.

"They were lovely thank you," It was as though every concern you had was washed away at the sight of your brother, every dreaded thought seemed silly, though the pleasantries were off-putting. "How is everybody?"

"You can ask them yourself," Jace said with a knowing glint in his eyes, gesturing behind you both.

Your mother stood proudly, her hair twisted in elaborate braids away from her face, with one hand on Lucerys' shoulder and the other wrapped around Joffrey. Behind her, with his chin up and his hair longer than you remembered it being, was your great Uncle, Prince Daemon. You practically had to tug Jace to keep up with you as you faced your family.

"Mother!" You cried out, burying your face in her hair and breathing in the smell of nectarines and lotus that you loved. It had been so long since you felt her arms around you, seeing her kind eyes and gentle face. You hadn't realised how much you missed it. Luke and Joff came next, though you had to lean down a little to hug the latter. You were shocked at how much they had changed in your time away, with the only faces remaining the same being your mother and step-fathers. 

Finally, stood back beside Jace, you finally had the chance to speak to them, and everything came rushing out. "How are you all? How is the king? How is the dragon riding coming along? Are you all sword fighting? Why did you want me home?" Your mother had to place a hand on each of your shoulders to prevent the onslaught of eager questions, but her eyes were alight with a smile.

"You will have a chance to ask anything, and I'm sure your brothers are very excited to hear about your adventures themselves, tonight. The King and Queen have hosted a feast to celebrate your return."

You clamped your mouth shut, cheeks going red as a smile broke through on your face. "Yes, mother."

"Jace," She turned her attention to your brother, pushing your shoulder slightly to face him. "Could you lead your sister to her chambers to rest before supper?"

Jacaerys stood proud and offered out a hand to guide you. It was only now that you realised you were in dire need of a bath, leathers drenched in sweat and skin smelling of dragon. You took his hand and smiled farewell to your family before joining him on the path to The Red Keep. 

"We're all well," He informed you as he led you across the grounds, smiling as you beheld the keep. It hadn't been so long since your last visit here, but it was as though you were seeing it for the first time. You had forgotten how high it reached, how far it spanned, and just how many people were there. Back in Pentos, it all seemed a lot quieter. "The King is deteriorating, but not more so than is expected. The Queen is well, but it is our Uncles you must watch out for." 

He gave your side a knowing nudge with his elbow at that and you laughed. You had almost forgotten about your extended family, so caught up in seeing your siblings. The last time you had seen them, they had barely said a word to you, with Aegon looking frustrated with being forced to make an appearance at your departure. Your childhood with them had been a bittersweet one, with your eldest uncle doing his best to completely ignore you, or sometimes pull your hair if given the chance. Aemond was kinder, but the incident at Driftmark changed something within him, and you found yourself lumped into the hatred he bore your brothers. Helaena was sweeter, you had nothing but fond memories with the girl, even if you had little in common. You shook aside the thoughts. Having repressed them all for over a year until now, you could hold them aside for a little longer. 

"How so?" You inquired, giggling. You knew Jace had never gotten along with your Uncles, and they perhaps hated him even more. You had spent many days watching from the sidelines as they played at swords, bashing each other to the ground at every opportunity.

"Well, Aemond HATES me," He started quite dramatically. "And he hates Luke even more so. He won't ever say it directly, but he talks in these weird riddles as though I won't realise what he actually means when he says-"

As Jace complained about training and dinners, your eyes wandered to where a group of people watched your entrance, servants bowing as you came into view. But there, at the front of the gathering, stood two quite noticeable men, though if not for their bright silver hair, you would have scarcely recognised them. When you had last seen your Uncles, they were still on the cusp of youth, yet their differences were even greater than your brothers.

Aemond stood prouder than you remembered, with a sheet of icy hair that fell like water down his shoulders. His eyepatch was stark against his pale skin and his lips were twitched upwards in something close to a smirk. He watched you like you were beneath him, and there was something almost cat-like in his regards. Poised, careful, waiting for an opportunity to pounce.

Beside him was Aegon, the elder of the two, yet slightly shorter still. Where you remembered a skinny boy with unkempt hair and a youthful face, the man that now regarded you was filled out. Cold eyes, wavy hair cut to his chin and pushed behind his ears and an arrogance that had grown remarkably. If Aemond looked at you like you were a mouse, then Aegon watched with the primal intrigue of a wolf stalking prey. They were your family, you had known them since childhood, and yet the glint in Aegons eyes sent chills that ran down your spine and remained there until long after you left them behind. Their purple eyes followed you all the way across the gardens before Aegon turned his head to whisper something into his brother's ear. Even you could hear the cold laugh that rang out clear across the grounds at whatever he had said.

[leggerefiore]

"mostly him being entranced by the concept of tiddies" Oh bestie you KNOW we're here for that. Tell bugsband that he's free to give them a hands on examination! Squeeze them? Use them as a stress ball? Rest his head on them? Suck on them? It's all legal! His Titty Privileges are permanent, he can do whatever he wants with them! 👍

I am going have to steal Bugsband from you eventually that was too good lmao

cw: 18+ content, extremely tiddy centric, frosmoth ingo

Being a creature that hatched from an egg and ate basically anything with fibre and sugars meant that the Frosmoth hybrid was a bit unacquainted with the human form in its in entirety. Yes, his mother may have been a human, but he was unaware of how humans appeared in a state of undress. His antennae tried to cover his eyes as you changed into more comfortable clothing after a long day of work. It was embarrassing. All of it. Your body was attractive, he knew, but a certain feature made him lose his mind partially.

Ingo was down-right fascinated with your tiddies. The way they just existed on your chest. Moving as any other piece of your body, but existing with a purpose that was outside of his species needs. You tilted your head at the flustered moth man and approached him. He had seen you naked many times before, both of you engaging in a relatively active sex life. “What's up?” you asked, brushing the antennae from his face. He shuddered at the sensation. His fluff poofed up at his distress. Wings fluttering, silver eyes refused to meet yours. Your body was still bare before him. Could you not just dress yourself already?

“Ah… It's the temperature,” he made an excuse up, “It's still quite warm for November, is it not?” You shook your head. It had actually been colder today than it had been all week. He dared a glance back at you to see your breasts still on full display before him. Why were you doing this to him? Did you know? He just wanted to pretend they never caught his interest in the first place. Suddenly, you giggled at him as you realised what had him so distressed. Taking his hand lovingly, you brought it to your tiddy. A sound much like air barely escaping a balloon left his throat as he felt the soft feature.

It was warm, of course, your entire body was leagues hotter than his, but its warmth somehow felt strangely different. Your nipple grew hard in his hand, poking it lightly. Unconsciously, he lets his fingers tighten into a grip around it. A groan left your throat from the contact as he groped you. You still felt giddy. During your last few bouts of passion, you were fairly certain you had caught him staring at your chest, but this confirmed it. “Ingooo~” you cooed, “Want to suck on them?” His eyes looked much too pure as he gazed at you.

“M-may I?” he asked nervously. You smiled. Nodding, you sat down on the bed to make it more comfortable for the both of you. He knelt before you and nervously swallowed as he gazed at the items of his infatuation directly before him. Then, his lips surrounded a nipple as he sucked on it. You groaned and threw your head back as his tongue played with it wonderfully. Your hand pressed into his chilly, fluffy hair as you held him closer to you. His own hand grasped at your other tiddy, and you felt a familiar tickling starting in your stomach as he kept up.

Eventually, you lightly pushed him away. Instead, you laid on the bed with your legs parted. “Want to try something else?” you offered.

He nodded eagerly.

[throughtrialbyfire]

TESFest Day 3 - Teeth

a moment of contemplation from a dunmer mage/future dragonborn inspired by this headcanon about dunmer baby teeth word count - 873 content warnings - parental abuse, sibling death, disowning

As a young child, his baby teeth were placed along the family shrine. Dunmeri tradition dictated that this ceremony would bring him closer to his ancestors.

Today, he had them in a jar.

Wyndrelis clutched the glass in his palm, turning it over. The College of Whispers had been the only place that would accept him. The Synod knew of the accident. Conjuration was involved. It was no wonder, then, that their rejection letters were so biting.

He watched the pearl-bright shards as he moved his wrist, hearing them clink against the insides of the container. His grey thumb grazed the smooth surface. His dorm - no larger than a closet - swallowed him in the dark. The sweet song of sleep had eluded him again, passing it's voice away from his ears to the ones of those who slept in the other rooms, down the hall, lulled to depths of dreams. It did not reach him here, the night racing in long silver streams outside the cynosure.

Wyndrelis had been on thin ice since the moment he was born. Among the Dunmer, his family were strangers, unable to use magic. A curse had been placed generations back, tying knots and subduing the magicka that should flow in their veins. A Telvanni had placed it, he'd heard, though the legitimacy of that claim was debated.

It didn't matter now. What mattered was that Wyndrelis, one of the only in many generations, had been born with such a high amount of magicka that it startled his parents. It left them scolding him in hushed voices, that whatever he does, to not drag anyone into his madness.

He stared down at the long-fallen teeth. His mother had swiped them up in her palm, her scarlet eyes glowering down at her middle child as she deposited the hollow bones into his cupped hands. She spoke no words to him since Drolosa's death. She turned on her heel and left the shrine and went about her daily duties. Memories of his younger sister ghosted his mind, moth-quiet, snickering. He wondered if her spirit was furious with him. It had been his fault, at the end of the day, that her remains had joined their ancestors so early.

He rose from the bed, tossing his sheets aside. The maroon sleeves of his College of Whispers robes bloomed along his arms. He wrapped the ends closed with leather straps, and dug through his pack. The old Synod letters. He skimmed the pages, the words, parchment crumpling between his fingers, rejection after rejection after gods-damned rejection. He looked to the jar.

Moving to the common room of the small cynosure, he crept through the shadows, hearth still burning. He shuddered. He'd get over the way fire curdled his stomach, made his throat close and head spin. He had to, if he had any hopes of being a real mage. He shifted himself closer, kneeling on tired legs by the flames. Wood crackled and split, spitting out embers into the chimney. He pulled the papers to his side.

One by one, he set them alight, letting the parchment join the logs that would scorch his past away. He had a new life now. He had to remember that. His family had removed him from their shrine. He had no lineage, his father stated plainly. No brothers, sisters, parents, grandparents. Bloodless, pastless, history drowning in ink and blotting out the names. A family tree on fire.

He considered for a moment tossing the teeth into the hearth. He decided against it. His family was already doing everything to erase him from their lineage. As far as they were concerned, he did not exist. His younger sister had been murdered by a stranger, that was all. Tragic, really, what mages can do when their experiments go wrong.

He could remember the saltwater taste on his tongue as he tried to tell his father goodbye. One last meeting. The older Dunmer reclined in a large chair by the family hearth, grief lining his face, worrying into the edges of his eyes. Wyndrelis' younger brother, the youngest Femer child, rested on the floor, working his way through wooden puzzle cubes that had once belonged to him.

"I'm leaving." Wyndrelis pushed the words through his lips, glasses reflecting the figure of the man who raised him. The older Dunmer didn't reply. "Father, I'm leaving."

The older Dunmer held up his hand. "I have one son, and one daughter, and you are neither of them."

His family would try to erase his presence from their home. But these, these tiny teeth in a glass jar, this was the evidence of his lineage. It was proof he'd not sprung into existence fully-formed, a demi-prince of nothing. He'd had a mother and father, and brothers and sisters. Wyndrelis was not without name. He was the last in the Femer bloodline thus far who could hold magic in his palms and weave it the way his older sister wove her elaborate tapestries. He wasn't going to fade into obscurity like they hoped.

They would be forced to come face-to-face with the son they banished, if not in this life, then in the ashes.

[butterflyheartau]

~Cats Outside Groups~

💌*KAYLA --- short-haired former kittypet marmalade Burmese molly with green eyes, mother of NEWT --- (long-haired blue silver marbled torbie and white mink molly with green eyes), SPECKLE --- (short-haired apricot silver classic tabby mink tom with white freckles, white mitts, and blue eyes), and HAWK --- (short-haired blue silver tom with a white face and white freckles)

💌FALCON --- long-haired silver rosetted blue caramel bicolour tom with blue eyes and a half-torn-off tail

💘ASH --- short-haired black smoke tom with low-to-medium white spotting, folded ears, and dark eyes

💘BUBBLE --- long-haired ginger low-contrast molly with green eyes and low white spotting and thin scars on her legs, mother of POP --- (short-haired black smoke tom with low white and amber eyes) and BURR --- (long-haired albino molly with blue eyes)

💝MANTIS --- short-haired fawn classic tabby tom with paler legs, a white face, one folded ear, and blue-grey eyes

💝BUMBLEBEE --- short-haired black harlequin jack with dark brown eyes and a missing back right leg, mother of DRAGONFLY --- (long-haired black tom with low white and light brown eyes), LADYBUG --- (long-haired blue classic tom with low white and light blue eyes), and BEETLE --- (short-haired blue classic tabby molly with high white and blue eyes)

💝BUTTERFLY --- long-haired mackerel tortoiseshell molly with white gloves, a white face, and yellow eyes, mother of MOTH --- (short-haired blue classic molly with gold eyes)

AMBER --- long-haired cryptic tortoiseshell molly with a white neck, white gloves, and amber eyes

💖COURTNEY --- blind short-haired cinnamon smoke pseudo-tabby molly with white cheeks, white freckles, a white tail-tip, and pale grey eyes

💖BRITTANY --- short-haired dominant white molly, masking lilac classic tabby, with blue eyes

RUPERT COOK BARNABY DE LA VILLA IV (Cook) --- long-haired kittypet fawn classic Persian pointed tom with violet eyes

GARNET --- long-haired smoke chocolate tortoiseshell jack** with a white tail-tip, white chest, and cyan eyes

Kayla & Falcon live in a barn. Falcon has lived there his whole life whereas Kayla moved in after meeting him one day while she was roaming. A kittypet friend told her what would happen to her kits if she stayed with her housefolk so she fled until she found Falcon and began living with him. They hunt in the barn and around the farm and take in lost, sick, or injured cats to nurse back to health. They are known for being skilled with the herbs the farm owners grow in their garden.

Ash & Bubble and Mantis, Bumblebee, & Cricket live under a dilapidated bridge just outside of Feather Court territory. While unplanned, Bubble, Butterfly, and Bumblebee all had their kits in the same moon, so Feather Court allow Ash and Smoky to hunt in their territory during newleaf and greenleaf. They don’t hunt there much so as not to overstep and generally hunt in some meadows and a copse of trees near their home. Their den is sheltered by fallen stones, a log, and some old construction materials disposed of there.

Amber lives in an abandoned truck in a lot near Kayla and Falcon’s farm. She visits often, sharing tongues and hunting with them. They’re all great friends. Amber hunts in her lot and on the farm most often, though occasionally branches off elsewhere. She uses the pelts of animals she’s hunted, Twoleg cloths, and soft plants to make a nest. Because of the angle of the truck, she also uses Twoleg blankets to fill the bottom corner of the trailer so that she can walk.

Courtney and Brittany roam around, stopping in many places. Brittany scouts for places that are easy to get into such as hollows in rock faces, clearings with thick treetops sheltering them from the rain, and Twoleg gardens. Most recently, they have been staying with Kayla and Falcon in the barn. Brittany helps hunt while Courtney helps Kayla with the kits. They have been asked to stay as Kayla and Falcon enjoy their company and they’re good at what they do.

Cook is a rude, entitled kittypet who lives in the farmhouse on the farm with the barn. He never goes outside and is generally unpleasant and nasty.

Garnet lives in a cave in the rock face near Trick Court’s territory. They are often called upon to help settle disputes between the Courts as they have a unique perspective. Because of this, they are allowed to hunt where they please, although they prefer not to hunt in Court territory if they can help it. They attend Gatherings and sit with the medicine cats so that they can help with any disagreements. They know all the tunnels, cracks, crevasses, and ledges of the rocks and cliffs they live on and they can read the skies and predict the weather.

*An emoji denotes a non-platonic relationship– cats with the same emoji (or symbol in other allegiances) are in a relationship.

**A jack is a non-binary cat in the same way a male cat is a tom and a female is a molly

[thejoyofviolentmovement]

New Audio: Silver Moth Shares Gorgeous "The Eternal"

New Audio: Silver Moth Shares Gorgeous "The Eternal" @SilverMothMusic @plasmatron @mogwaiband @elisaelektra @abrasivetrees @matthewrochfrd @BurningHouseMU @BlackBayStudio1 @curlytt

This week will be extraordinarily as I’ll be covering the fourth edition of The New Colossus Festival this week. Look for various portions of my coverage to be coming within the upcoming weeks — including some potential interviews, live concert photography and other thoughts. But I’ll be trying my best to squeeze in my regular coverage of all things within my world — musically and otherwise. So…

[bougainvillea-and-saltwater]

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ *grabby hands* give me your character facts i need them!!!!!!!!!!!!!! two stars for miss beloved jia and two stars for mr old man miraak (・ω・)

4 ⭐️= 2 facts about Jia, my original character, and 2 facts about her significant other, Miraak! 🥰

Jia:

⭐️Jia's most treasured item is a blanket made of wool, picturing the needlework of a growing crescent, embroidered with golden and silver stitches. In this depiction, even though the moon is less than one-half lighted by direct sunlight, a fraction of its disk is increasingly illuminated by the sun. It is a blanket woven by her mother and has a double meaning: Jia's mother was a Companion, and even though she did not choose to become a werewolf herself, the personal sigil she always sewed on her attires was a Nordic ship beneath a full moon. As for the second meaning, I cannot yet reveal it as I will spoil my own fic, but I will only say it has to do with Jia's and Miraak's connection…😼😌

⭐️Jia is an aspiring scholar, following the footsteps of her Imperial father. Kodlak Whitemane, who taught her to read and write in the Common Tongue and Nordic, noticed her tendency in education, and despite not having a single idea of what those fancy Imperials found so interesting about dusty tomes, he hired a private tutor for little Jia to teach her Old Cyrodilic and instruct her in the world of knowledge. From then, and after growing up a woman and adventurous Dragonborn, Jia started collecting her books until she finally built the caracoled, two-leveled library tower she always wanted in Heljarchen Hall.

Miraak:

⭐️In my headcanon, Dragon Priests were hymning. And there was a distinct psalm they chanted for the avatar-deities they worshipped––a different for the Dragon (aka Alduin/Akatosh), other for the Moth (aka Dibella), other for the Wolf (aka Mara), etc. So, Miraak, as a highly esteemed Dragon Priest, has a marvelous singing voice. It has a deep, baritone cadence with a little pinch of hoarseness inside, and I personally imagine it like this!

⭐️Again in my headcanon, Miraak has long snowy-white hair and eyes of deep blue like the reflection of a wintered, dark-clouded sky in the ocean. Around his irises, there are also traces of purple as a result of his larger-than-normal magicka pool. He is an exceptionally talented wielder of spells, especially the ones concerning ice. He is basically the opposite of Jia, who is red-haired and sun-colored-eyed and wields only fire spells. (Fire and Ice, summer and winter, First and Last, both opposites and other halves. See what I did there? 😝)

[theam-cjsw]

The AM: January 23, 2023

Jeremy Klaszus of the Sprawl joins in the third hour to talk about Calgary's civic identity—a topic that's endlessly engrossing to folks who live here, and hopefully tolerable to those of you who don't. If you're here for the music, you'll be well-served, too. We've got an eclectic mix, from Quebeçois chanson to psych-pop, Danish ambient tunes to Dylan-inspired blues. All the better to start the week with. Enjoy!

(image by www.instagram.com/outrunyouth/)

Listen on Soundcloud

Sprawl Interview

Stream from CJSW

Spotify playlist

Other links

Hour One:

Felt Drum & Lace • Frost

Vespers numün • Book of Beyond

Jet Jespers & Anders • Boredom is Deep and Mysterious Vol. 2

tecnologia Brad Allen Williams • œconomy

Impasse Bristol Manor • A Distant Urban Forest

Diamond Rain Lee Paradise • Steady EP

No Interest Project Pablo • Come To Canada You Will Like It

7O4 Popp • Blizz

You Know Picnic In The Well • Few Less Ravens

Emerald Sea London Odense Ensemble • Jaiyede Sessions, Vol. 2

Hour Two:

Le chat du café des artistes Jean-Pierre Ferland • Jaune 2005

September Weather Christian Kjellvander, Tonbruket • Single

Once Upon a Time in the Northeast Kid Koala • Once Upon a Time in the Northeast

Colour Me In Broadcast • Maida Vale Sessions

Tamalpais High (At About 3) David Crosby • If I Could Only Remember My Name

Music is Love David Crosby • If I Could Only Remember My Name

Spot Thirteen Rozi Plain, featuring Alabaster dePlume • Prize

Aselestine Yo La Tengo • This Stupid World

Summer Jennifer Castle • Castlemusic

Mother Tongue Silver Moth • Black Bay

Hour Three:

Moving Sylvan Esso • No Rules Sandy

Blues in Bob Minor Robert Wyatt • Shleep

This City Belongs to Us The Reverie Sound Revue • Reverie Sound Revue EP

Azeda Booth The Consonant C • Capes and Crowns

Halve Benoît Pioulard • Eidetic

In Between River Tiber • Dreaming Eyes

Bite the Invisible Hand Zacht Automaat • P Is For Progress

Starlight The Exorcist GBG • Single

[thefairefolk-rp]

Clove Thorn | FC: Emma D’Arcy  | OPEN

Age: 400 Species: Faerie (Hob) Court: Seelie Occupation: Queen’s bodyguard Gender: Non-binary Pronouns: She/They

CW: death, fire

Appearance

There is an immaculateness to Cloves appearance that borders on overly controlling. Their clothing is pressed and starched to perfection. Their gleaming blonde hair hangs bone straight or tightly plaited into an updo, rarely a strand out of place. When performing everyday duties they wear the standard white robes of the magi, a silver antler pin secured at their throat. For ceremonies and parades they are dressed in the same style as the rest of The Queen’s dazzling entourage. Outside of these settings Clove’s fashion is always of the current fashions, the faerie prefering to blend in amongst the nobles at court. In fact, they are delighted when mistaken for a couriter. White moths that match the paleness of her hair are often glamoured to sit and flutter about her head and shoulders for special occasions

Clove quickly picked up high fae, the language of the nobility. The hint of a hearthing accent that had once been part of  Clove’s dialect has long since faded, despite the hob language being her mother tongue. Only in her twin’s presence will Clove ever speak it. The years have brought the same nasally accent that most Seelie-born courtiers possess. There is assertive confidence to Clove’s voice that can swell to downright haughtiness. Even the way she moves reeks of the uppercrust now, years of practicing gliding steps, flourishing bows and stick straight posture in the mirror paying off.

Personality

Clove has always had ambition and a vision for their life that surpassed the station they were born into. As a child, this trait was seen as delusions of grandeur. But, a skill for social strategy, and a dash of luck has brought many of these dreams to fruition. Clove often views life at court as a game of sorts - one they are hellbent on winning. Once an outsider, Clove studied the fae at court and learned quickly. The charm came naturally for her, but the expert level of  calculation and smug entitlement were learned. Clove has developed a voracious hunger for power, something often fueled by their own insecurities about their low birth and lack of noble blood. They wield the power they possess a cracking whip, often vengeful of those that undermine them or make them feel small. Their identity and ego is intertwined with being an elite member of Queen Mab’s circle. They view themselves as a knight of old, protecting the realm under the banner of a divine cause. While Clove does ultimately believe she fight for good, Clove’s methods can be harsh and cold. But, nobody can say she isn’t efficient. As one of the Seelie courts protectors, she believes she must defend it at all costs.

Background

Clove remembers small things from their children -  like the smell of the natural dyes that boiled in vats in her parent’s small textile stall, the vibrantly colored lengths of fabric that would emerged from them, color stained fingertips. There are distant memories of smiles and warmth, but just as many memories of the feeling of an empty belly and the bark of harsh words. The only childhood memories that remain vibrant are those Kane, Clove’s identical twin. The two were inseparable in youth.

Magic has long been as innate as breathing for Clove and Kane. Their gifts came early, and powerfully. But, the extent of their skill was unknown to most, until the fateful day a member of the Seelie Magi spotted the twins playing in the marketplace with magic far surpassing the magic milestones for their age. In that moment the eyes of the royals turned upon them. On the twin’s 49th (11 in human years) birthday their parents received a letter imploring them to release their children to be trained with the Magi. Clove begged her parents to allow it, but they refused. Mere weeks later, their parents died in a house fire while the twins were running errands. Thus, they became wards of the crown, and were sent to the Magi. For the first time Clove could see a life laid out for themself that was beyond the mundane.

Queen Mab had lofty plans for the Thorn twins, adding them to her collection of gifted individuals. Clove was dazzled by Queen Mab and the grandeur of the Seelie Court from the moment they arrived, and it was clear Mab favored her most of the twins. The next few years were a blur of training and adapting to court life. Clove found herself to be unexpectedly adept at the games of court, while Kane withdrew into themself. For Kane, who had drove themself to near madness over the belief their parents death was no accident, it was a jail sentence. On the sparring field Clove and Kane have perfected working in tandem, trained to bob and weave in a wordless dance when they fight. But, off the field there is little left, except nostalgia and duties as bodyguards connecting them after years of contention.  Clove believes with all her heart that the Seelie court and her beloved Queen would never do what Kane claims. However, recently Clove’s secret tasks for Queen Mab have stretched the limits of her loyalty, and left them uneasy for the first time since they arrived at court.

Relationships

Identical Twin of Kane Thorn

Ex partner of Henry Duffy

Admires Naveen Byrd

[squiddy-god]

𓆩♱Tome of the Dark⊱♱𓆪

(Masterlist)

Hi hi hi~ the masterlist for my fics! Previously I was @/squid-god-supreme. Please make Shure to check the pined post for navigation! It has convenient links to everything!

♡-fluff/sfw

♥︎-smut

❥-potential content warning/dark fic.

✤-angst

Genshin impact-

♥︎-Secret Menu (diluc x reader)

♡- happy birthday diluc

♡-dilf albedo hcs (albedo x reader)

♡-Xiao and his "friends" (Xiao x reader)

♡-love on the breeze (venti x reader)

♡-happy birthday tartaglia

❥a lonely night (osial x reader pt1)

❥a stormy night (osial x reader pt2

♥︎- neuvillette smut hcs

♡-"crashing winds" venti x soulmate reader!

♡- "antique hearts" zhongli x reader

♡❥-"festering feelings " Dragon!albedo x reader

♥︎-The Hydro Dragon? A closet freak!? (Neuvillette x reader)

♡-types of affection (xiao, childe, albedo, zhongli)

Twst (twisted wonderland) -

❥groom of the deep sea(Azul x reader)

♡-Pomfriore as vampires

♡-a kiss to wake (malleus x reader)

♡-intertwined (jade, Floyd x reader)

♡-Dorm leaders happy S/o

♡-Dorm leaders S/O bad period

❥captured (king! Malleus x reader)

♡-Confession to a fae (Lilia x reader)

♡-Ode to a prideful knight

♡-Lilia vanrouge fluffy confession

♡-random imagines (dorm leaders x reader)

♡-dorm leader crush on same person

♡-octo trio plushie

♡-dorm leader general hcs

♡-Malleus, Leona, vil, Floyd S/O who rides horses

♡-dorm leader crush hcs

♥︎-idia shroud phone sex

♡-malleus, Leona shy but crack S/O

♡-meeting deuces mom

♥︎-malleus and his long ass tongue

♡-like a mother to a flame (Moth! Idia x reader)

♡-cuteness aggression (Floyd x reader)

♡-Malleus, Azul, lilia, jack, idia S/O bad at self care

♡-riddle, Azul jealousy hcs

♡- S/O rest head in lap (ace, deuce)

♡-pirates treasure (jack x reader)

♡-Harpy epel

♥︎- Rook NSFW CEJX

♡-Rook wedding BDGHMT

♡-Silver Wedding Alfebet C,D,E,H,K,M,N,O,Q,T,U,V,X,Y.

♡-Twst cowboy Au! (The town of night Raven)

♡-dorm leaders w/ chubby S/O

♡-Vil with an overworked, tomboy s/o

♡-3rd years with a s/o who crochets

♡❥-Dorm leaders x neglected reader

♡-savanaclaw x golden retriever (beastman) m!Reader

Jjk-

♡-gojo, nanami, geto, noya cuddle hcs

♡-Jjk men as dads (gojo, nanami, geto, choso)

Miscellaneous-

♡♥︎- Kevin honkai impact, sfw and nsfw hcs

Moriarty the patriot

♡-William fluff hcs

Bungo stray dogs

✤-Tell tale heart (poe x reader)

♡-soft akutagawa hcs

♥︎-riding akutagawa

♡-valentines day chuuya

♡-"You hand in mine" akutagawa x reader

Demon slayer

♡-Main trio Reckless s/o

♥︎-praise obanai

♥︎-blindfold (giyuu x reader)

Obey me!

♥︎-shower sex (levi x reader)

♥︎-chokeing (belphegor x reader)

♡belphies fashion show pt1

♥︎belphies fashion show pt2

♡-NRVWX Satan wedding alphabet

♥︎- reader in heat (belphie x reader)

♡- you propose (brothers x reader)

♥︎- wedding night (brothers x reader)

♡♥︎-making out with belphegor

♡-tummy kisses from the brothers+dia

♡-beel cuddleing his +sized s/o

♡-Levi x reader who is a VA

Black butler

♥︎-body worship (snake x reader)

✤♡- traumatised s/o (Sebastian, Undertaker)

♡- snake hcs (snake x reader)

♡-grell jumpy touch-starved s/o

♡- jumpy touch-starved s/o (Sebastian, Undertaker, snake, triplets)

♥︎-snake NSFW alphabet a-z

♡-snake wedding aplphabet CDEHKMNOQTUVXY

Death note

♥︎- food play (L x reader)

♡♥︎- valentines day L

My Hero Academia

♥︎-overstim (shigaraki x reader)

Call of duty

♡✤- his ugly Orange hair (konig x ftm reader)

♡♥︎- Task force T4T (trans! Ghost x trans! Reader)

♡♥︎- Task force T4T (trans! Gaz x trans! Reader)

♡♥︎- Task force T4T (trans! Soap x Trans! Reader)

♡- ghost valentines day

Dr. Stone

♡✤- comfort fic (ryusei x reader)

♥︎- blunt confessions (senku ryusei tsukasa)

♡-Senku, gen, ukyo shy S/o

Honkai : Star rail

♥︎-HSR men and manhandling (argenti, Boothill, ratio, king Yuan)

♡-"makes you look stupid" (ratio x reader)

♡-ratio x cheeky m!professor

Chainsaw man

♡-Denjis bi panic (Denji x male reader)

Boulders gate 3

♡-Wyll, Astarion, karlach, Gale x plus sized/chubby reader

Wuthering waves

♥︎-Wuwa manhandling (geshu Lin, jiyan, calcharo)

[piasgermany]

[Album] Silver Moth veröffentlichen "Black Bay" am 21. April!

Das neu gegründete Kollektiv Silver Moth veröffentlicht das Debütalbum "Black Bay" am 21. April auf Bella Union!

Aufgenommen unter besonderen Umständen, ist "Black Bay" der Sound von sieben erfahrenen Musiker*innen, die sich für sechs Tracks gemeinsamen musikalischen Zielen verschrieben haben. Stuart Braithwaite von Mogwai, Elisabeth Elektra, Evi Vine und Steven Hill trafen sich bereits Anfang 2021, um zusammen an ersten Albumskizzen zu feilen. Nach einigen für diese Zeit typischen Zoom-Calls besuchten die Vier gemeinsam mit Abrasive Trees-Gitarrist Matthew Rochford, Burning House-Schlagzeuger Ash Babb und Cellist Ben Roberts die Black Bay Studios an der Westküste Schottlands, wo alle Songs in nur vier Tagen gemeinsam mit Produzent Pete Fletcher geschrieben und aufgenommen wurden. “We went into a really intense creative mode as soon as we got there”, erinnert sich Elisabeth Elektra an die intensive Arbeitsweise auf der Isle of Lewis. “We were in a bubble and there was a lot of collective grief going on, so it was like a pressure cooker, but I think some real beauty came out of it.”

Schon der Opener "Henry" strahlt eine besondere Intensität aus. Evi Vines kristallklare Stimme thront über den Arrangements, während der Song seinen stürmischen Höhepunkt und ein lang ersehntes Gefühl von Gemeinschaft erreicht. "The Eternal", eine Hommage von Elektra an ihre verstorbene Freundin Alanna, entfaltet sich mit hymnischer Ruhe, das mit den einfühlsamen Strophen fast wie ein Gebet wirkt. Das von Vine und Elektra geschriebene, an Talk Talk angelehnte "Mother Tongue" lädt mit mehrstimmen Vocals und effektreichen Gitarren zum Träumen ein und stimmt dabei ein Loblied auf die weibliche Gleichberechtigung an. "Gaelic Psalms" basiert auf einem Gedicht des verstorbenen schottischen Schriftstellers Gerard Rochford, das von seinem Sohn Matthew mit viel Gefühl als hypnotisches Spoken-Word-Stück vorgetragen wird, das sich durch plätscherndes Wasser schlängelt. Es folgt "Hello Doom", bei dem die Band 15 Minuten lang in ein Noise-Rock-Epos und imposante Soundkulissen abdriftet. "Sedna" rundet das Album mit einem Liebesbrief an die Inselgruppe, auf der das Album entstand, ab, begleitet von atmosphärischen Synthies und verträumten Gitarren-Arpeggios.

“I knew with everything in me that we could make something powerful, beautiful, celestial and driven” führt Evi Vine aus. “Even though we had never met. We spend our lives in repetition, surrounded by certainty. It’s important to push aside the things we think we understand, because when we least expect it, change comes and we are lost.”

Tracklist “Black Bay”: 01. Henry 02. The Eternal 03. Mother Tongue 04. Gaelic Psalms 05. Hello Doom 06. Sedna

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