#god i love corvids

[lucid-jester]

i think the crows outside my house are holding a council meeting or something bc they’re all in this one tree and like one or two crows will say something and the rest of them will just start yelling and then it dies down and another one will say something and the same thing happens

crow experts pls explain

[claypigeonpottery]

sold

a corvid-ish kiln god

[aquilacalvitium]

Just experienced a magpie watching me to make sure it was safe to cross a road and crossing alongside me

[beefbirbing]

Preen time

[blood-injections]

So I was fucking around in google earth as I commonly do for fun, scrolling around the desert to fuel my danger days fantasies and engrain myself in the universe. I was looking for places/things to use as inspiration in art or writing or whatever and out of pure curiosity, I looked around the la area to see what irl could possibly line up with like the canon map that could be wolfblood bleach because I don’t think it was ever confirmed if it’s an actual beach or not or just a name for a place and it’s one of those things I’ve yet to just make a headcanon for. I didn’t actually pull up the map to overlay it or anything but I was having fun like could it be Long Beach or a lake somewhere in here or what. And then out of pure curiosity I typed wolfblood beach into the search bar. Obviously nothing came up but then I typed in just wolfblood for the hell of it and this came up???????

CrAnIal dEForMAtiOn prOJecT???? Zoom in and there’s nothing, it’s on a mountain in the middle of the woods and there’s no weird structures or anything just trees. Look it up on google and there’s nothing. Why the goofy ass picture??? What is this???? Why does it only come up when you search wolfblood in the la area???????? If you zoom in without typing anything it’s just woods, the pin doesn’t come up. The pin is only shown when you search wolfblood.

I’m genuinely wondering if this is a lore thing like they had the weird websites and obscure YouTube videos and twitterverse I wouldn’t be surprised if they put stuff on google earth for the hell of it and somehow wolfblood is a keyword that gives you this thing. But then I would think it’d have more then the name and a goofy ass picture, it’d have some weird link or something, unless it’s just inactive and this is all that’s left. Or maybe a fan made this or something. Or maybe it’s some other weird conspiracy altogether not related to Mcr at all just a weird google earth thing in general that happens to be in the la/zones area.

Anyway this inspired me, as I said I didn’t have a headcanon for wolfblood beach yet and what it is so fuck it, it’s not an actual beach at all it’s the name of a fucked up medical facility in bat city where they have a.. cranial deformation project. Maybe not quite that maybe it’s just where they experiment with the drac masks and stuff or like chips to go in peoples heads instead so it keeps the cranial theme.

[kk-cats]

They dream, sometimes. Of things far-too-real and surreal and impossibly clear.

Faded edges.

Dull and dead.

They look at their 爷爷, sometimes. He's not dead. But sometimes he is. Rarely. It's terrifying.

They will not allow that.

So they build up Alfred Pennyworth in their head. A gleaming statue, a constant pillar. And when they see the despairing ones left behind, they turn their gaze towards that pillar.

Alfred Pennyworth does not die.

That is one of the truths of their world.

But they would not be Corus Wayne if he was the only one there. (What happens when you take away their pillars, their light? What happens when you take away their family? Is there even anything left?)

They see an acrobat, sometimes. Strong and dependable. Angry beneath the surface. A neck snapped crushed under a pillar they see-they see- and they are terrifi-

No.

They build up Dick Grayson in their head. A gleaming statue, a constant pillar. And when they see the dead body, they turn their gaze towards that pillar.

Dick Grayson does not die.

That is one of the truths of their world.

They see a guide, sometimes. Deft fingers over a keyboard. Legs that will never walk again. A guide. A mentor. She does not tell the future, but her name fits her well anyway. Competent in ways they could never hope to me.

They build up Barbara Gordon in their head. A gleaming statue, a constant pillar. And when they stumble and their legs buckle beneath them, they turn their gaze towards that pillar.

Barbara Gordon does not die.

That is one of the truths of their world.

They see a regret, sometimes. Not theirs. Someone else's. Bitter and charred, smoke clinging on. Death-defier, Gotham's child. He was already dead. But they see a world where he is not-quite-a-knight, and broken resentment drips down his arms.

They build up Jason Todd in their head. A gleaming statue, a constant pillar. And when they see the not-quite-knight, they turn their gaze towards that pillar.

Jason Todd is still fighting on.

That is one of the truths of their world.

They see a detective, sometimes. Smart and curious and maybe just a bit too curious, a bit too inquisitive. They see someone who chose this path and stayed on it.

They build up Tim Drake in their head. A gleaming statue, a constant pillar. And when they see that accursed lie- that accusation- they turn their gaze towards that pillar.

Timothy Drake does not die.

That is one of the truths of their world.

They see a child, sometimes. Once assassin, now more than that. Blood-son. But kind nonetheless, to creatures of four legs and wings and other such things. They glimpse at a world where his heart turns cold, a world where he is judge-jury-executioner.

They build up Damian Wayne in their head. A gleaming statue, a constant pillar. And when they see the executioner, they turn their gaze towards that pillar.

Damian Wayne does not die. That is one of the truths of their world.

They see a man, sometimes. A figure. An ideal. Vengeance-justice-fear and hope. A father prepared for anything- almost. Almost. They see someone scared. Someone who pushes everything away. They see dead eyes. Hollow. Gone.

They build up Bruce Wayne in their head. A gleaming statue, a constant pillar. And when they see those dead-dull eyes, they turn their gaze towards that pillar.

Bruce Wayne does not die.

That is one of the truths of their world.

Let's shatter those pillars, shall we?

Let's see what the world is without them.

They see a fool, sometimes. Something loved when it should not be. Something desperate and dangerous. It disgusts them. Irks them. It is a parasite.

They build up Corus Wayne in their head. A cruel warning. A constant reminder. And when they crumble to their knees- they cannot turn their gaze away.

Corus Wayne always survives.

Must that really be a truth of their world?

[leviathiane]

doodling while rotating the wing au in my head

[larissa-the-scribe]

Nature is difficult: sometimes there is rain and I have to walk my dog. Nature is Neat: there was a crow having the best time of his life, squawking and talking in a tree while vibing

[corvidfeathers]

becoming obsessed w galeb. btw

[my-soul-stays-silent]

God I fucking love birds

[bigmeatpete69420]

Henlo friends fron my backyard this afternoon

It was a good day

Common ravens

[simply-m-a-d]

i need to graduate just so I can draw my silly fav ships and my silly lil oc’s without the feeling of impending doom over my shoulders pLS

[erraticalraven]

ha ah raven

[skzdarlings]

04. sharing a bed series ; skz ; hyunjin

masterlist.

sharing a bed series part 4/8. because it’s the cheesiest most classic trope and it’s FUN. -

pairing: hwang hyunjin/reader content info: sexual content. friends2lovers, sharing a bed trope. penetrative sex n the pull out method lol. also hyunjin n reader were drugged the night before, premise is based around them getting married in vegas under the influence and not remembering how it happened in the morning. drama llama antics ensue.

-

Hyunjin has the heart of a sentimental corvid; he loves his people, but he’s weird and sneaky about it.  His propensity for dramatics is only in certain situations and the rest of the time he is quiet and tends to balk at grand displays.   He definitely does not like cuddling or hugging.  He will only begrudgingly suffer through it when his more physically affectionate friends get the bright idea to attack him with their loving arms. 

So you are wildly confused when you wake up in your hotel room with Hyunjin plastered to you, hugging you so tightly that you are halfway convinced he glued himself there.  His chin is nestled on your shoulder, his breath coming softly against your neck.  The hood of his grey sweatshirt is pulled over his head but some of his long blonde hair still falls on your face.  You blow at it unsuccessfully, getting some in your eye.  He holds you tighter.   

What the hell?

You arrived in Las Vegas yesterday and while most of last night is a foggy blur, you do remember the room had two twin beds.  Sure enough, there is a second bed just a few feet from yours, the covers completely untouched.  The neatly made bed is a stark contrast to the mess of your bed: the duvet sliding off the foot, the pillows on the floor, the bedding partially untucked.  All the sheets are wrapped around your body like a cocoon while a shivering Hyunjin clings to you, presumably for warmth.    

You try to roll over but your bedsheet-burrito has you trapped, never mind Hyunjin’s death grip of a spoon. 

“Hyunjin,” you whisper.  “I can’t breathe.”

He grumbles and squeezes you, making you squeak.

“Hyunjin,” you say, a bit louder.  “Wake up.”

He groans in his sleep and buries his face further in your neck.  His nuzzling sends shivers shooting down your spine. 

“Hyunjin.”  It comes out like a croak.   You try wriggling your shoulders.  “Hyunjin, wake up!” 

He makes a disgruntled sound but doesn’t move.

“Oh my god,” you say.  “How are you such a bitch even when sleeping? Wake up!” 

When he stays sleeping, you are forced to take drastic action.  You turn your face and blow, hard.   His face scrunches up and he finally stirs. 

“Ew,” he says, slowly blinking his eyes open.  His mouth draws into a sour pout, his brow tight.  “Stop.  Your breath is so disgusting.”

“Ahem.”

He makes a fist and rubs his eyes.   His dark brows are still furrowed but there is modicum of clarity when he looks at you.  It takes a minute to fully register your proximity, his eyes flicking here and there.  Finally, they open wide.  

With remarkable speed, Sleepy Hyunjin concedes leeway to Drama Queen Hyunjin.   He mewls like a frightened cat, ripping away so quickly that it knocks the air out of you with an oof. 

“What—” he starts.

He is interrupted when his thrashing makes him slide.  You are still bundled in your bedsheet-prison and can only watch as the clumsy oaf slides backwards right off the bed.  All those long limbs make a frantic windmill as he shrieks on his way down, hitting the floor with a heavy crash and groan. 

“You okay?” you ask. 

“Ugh,” he replies.   “My head.”

“Are you dying?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.  Well, when you’re done, come help me.”

His hand appears first, thumping onto the messy bed.  His head follows with an exhausted peek over the mattress.  His hood has fallen back and his long hair is infuriatingly neat considering everything.  Hyunjin is so beautiful that it is ridiculous.  All he does is run his long fingers through his hair, shake his head a little, and he looks picture perfect. 

“You’re staring,” he says with a scowl. 

“It’s because you’re so ugly,” you say. 

“Liar,” he says.  He makes a V with his fingers and licks between them.  “I’m sexy and you love me.” 

He is correct, so it is only natural that you try biting him.    

You chomp at him when he approaches, threatening to bite his fingers when they get too close to your face.  He pinches your nose between two knuckles and squeezes.

“Hyunjiiiiin, staaawp,” you say in a nasally whine.

He does, but only after playfully snapping his own jaws in your direction. 

“I should just leave you here and have a peaceful day,” he says.

“I’ll kill you and bury you in the desert.”

“Gross.  Can’t you bury me on the strip?”

“I’m gonna feed your carcass to some desert scorpions.”

“Ew.” 

It takes some effort, but Hyunjin manages to find where your blanket-burrito starts.  He grabs it and tugs like the annoying bimbo he is.  Your protest comes too late and he whips the blanket open, sending you flying off the bed.  You land with a heavy thud of your own. 

“Oops,” he says.  He rustles through the sheets to peer over the edge of the bed.  “Are you okaaaa—whaaaat are you wearing?”

You were already dizzy before Hyunjin decided to throw you around like a human tennis ball, but now it’s even worse. 

You have no idea what happened last night but it clearly involved a hit of something way, way, way stronger than usual.  It takes you a minute to come back to reality.  After shaking your head a few times, you are able to push yourself into a sitting position.  You finally look down.

You freeze. 

“Hyunjin,” you say.  “What the fuck am I wearing?”

“That’s what I just—”

“Hyunjin.  What the fuck am I wearing?!”

It is an utterly useless question because it is abundantly obvious that you are wearing a wedding dress.   A big, poofy, princess wedding dress with giant puffed up 1980s sleeves and enough cleavage on display that Hyunjin almost falls off the bed because he is tilting his head so much. 

You yank up the skirt as if that will offer any answers.  You find a pair of white stockings, one still neatly clipped to a thigh garter and the other halfway down your calf.   You stare at that stocking for a long moment, the vaguest recollection of something fighting its way through the fog of your druggy, drunk memory.   

“Uh,” Hyunjin says. 

You look up at him but his eyes are downturned to his own wrist.  You look there, your own eyes widening when you see what he sees. 

Your missing garter is looped around his wrist like a silky white bracelet. 

An image comes flooding back.  The periphery is still in smog, but you distinctly remember Hyunjin kneeling in front of you, gathering his long hair into a ponytail as he smirked up at you.  You remember him lifting your skirt, his head disappearing under the pile of white lace. 

You look at each other at the same time.  Did he just have the same memory?  Does he remember more?  You have no idea and you can’t bring yourself to ask.  Your voice is shot to hell, swallowed up by the heart that seems to have jumped into your throat.   

The silence is tense.  It is hotter than the desert in here. 

“We didn’t…?” he finally says, pointing between the two of you. 

“No way,” you say.  It sounds very uncertain. 

He lifts his other hand to tuck some hair behind his ears.  That’s when you see it.  Hyunjin wears so many rings so often that you completely missed it at first.   But right now his hands are bare save for one unfamiliar ring in a very particular spot. 

Hyunjin follows the trajectory of your horrified gaze and freezes when he spots the wedding ring.  He slaps a hand over his mouth, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead. 

“Oh my god,” you say.  You are afraid to check your own hand but it is imperative.   Hyunjin looks at you, his shocked hand still covering his mouth.  Together, you watch as your hand shakily rises out of the pile of white princess lace. 

There is a wedding ring on your finger too. 

You and Hyunjin scream at the same time, him clapping both hands over his ears as he hollers and you shaking your head and kicking your feet.  After your mini-freak out, you wave your hands to silence him.

“Stop, stop!” you say.  “It’s okay.  Be calm.  Be quiet.  This is okay.”

“We got married,” he wails, dragging his fingers down his face.  “My mom is gonna kill me.” 

“Your mom?  YOUR MOM?  Hyunjin, I’m gonna kill you before you even leave this city, so don’t fucking worry about your mom.”  You mime throttling him because he is too far to reach. 

Hyunjin flops down on the bed.  He lays on his back with his arms folded like he is ready to be mummified. 

“Oh my gawd,” he says.  “Oh my gawwwd…”

“Look, we might not have even done it,” you say.  It takes a lot of effort and you fall on your ass twice, but you manage to stagger ungracefully to your feet.  “Some rings and a dress don’t mean anything.  We were probably just goofing around.  What do you remember?” 

He is still in a mummification pose, his eyes closed.   

“Nothing,” he says.  He frowns.  “No, wait.  You were hitting on some ugly bitch of a man and didn’t listen to me, as usual, and the loser put something in your drink so I drank it to prove a point.  But then you still drank it because you’re the worst, and I dragged you out of there.”  He covers his face with both hands.  “Then we got married and ruined our lives.” 

“Okay, the last part you don’t know for sure,” you say.  You stumble around the bed.  “I’m gonna go wash up and clear my head and sort this out, because there’s no way we—”  You stop when you spy something sitting on the television stand.  It takes a few clumsy steps to reach, but you get there.

“Uh oh,” you say.

“Is that a marriage certificate?”  Hyunjin asks.

“No.”

“Are you lying to me?”

“Yes.” 

“Cool.”  He rolls over so he is facedown on the bed, his voice muffled by the messy blankets.  “I love this.”

“I’m gonna… go… wash up still,” you stay.  You sigh and gather up your dress to stomp over to the bathroom door. 

“Brush your teeth,” Hyunjin says.  “Your breath is gross.” 

“I hope you suffocate over there and make me a widow.”  You close the door with a pointed shove. 

You want to disobey him on principle, but there is a truly nasty taste in your mouth so you brush your teeth before anything else.  You avoid your reflection for as long as possible because the crazed madwoman in the mirror is a terrifying sight to behold. 

You reckon with her monstrous appearance eventually, tidying up as best you can.   You remove the stockings and garter, gulping when the memory returns.  You splash a lot of cold water on your face and it helps ground you. 

Just as you begin to feel cleansed, you feel an itch on your throat.  You crane your neck and tentatively touch the sensitive indentation, the raised bruising of a hickey.   Touching it awakens another memory, one that strikes hot at your core. 

Hyunjin.  You.  This hotel room.  He pressed you against the door and caged you in, forearms on either of your head.  Despite his presence looming over you, you did not feel nervous.   You touched him as if that intimacy was something you always shared.  You remember him cupping your face in one hand and turning your head, him kissing you softly on your temple and cheek, him breathing lightly over your throat before sucking a hard kiss under your jaw.  He was all teeth and tongue, drawing moans out of you while you bucked against him.   You remember him grinding against you, remember him pinning you to the door.   You remember stringing your arms around his neck and him picking you up, then it all goes black again.   

You turn away from the mirror, still holding your neck. 

Did you… no.

Did you?

No.

You didn’t fuck Hyunjin.  No way.  You would have remembered that much.  If nothing else, there would be evidence now.  A used condom or a mess somewhere, a twinge between your legs.  You are both fully dressed.  You even have underwear on.  It’s not the underwear you were wearing when you first left the hotel room, but it is underwear nonetheless. 

One thing is certain; you did not go that far. He took a bite out of you and carried you to the bed where you probably passed out.  How you got into a blanket-burrito, you are not sure, but at least it protected your dignity.  Whatever was left of it, at least. 

You step out of the bathroom only to walk straight into a pacing Hyunjin.   You bonk heads and cuss each other out, swatting the other person out of your way. 

He walks over to the bathroom and is about to step inside when you release a sigh. 

“I have a hickey,” you say.   

He pauses in the bathroom doorway. 

“You gave it to me,” you add. 

You cross your arms when he turns around, his gaze suddenly too hard to meet.  You tap your foot and stare at the wall. 

���I know,” he says.  “I remember it.” 

That draws your attention.  You look right at him and plant your hands on your hips. 

“Well, what else do you remember?” you ask. 

“I—I—ugh!  This is so annoying!  Ugh!”  He grabs his head and shakes it like a snow globe. 

His stupid beautiful hair is barely ruffled and he still looks amazing when he surfaces.  He runs his teeth over his plump bottom lip and you suddenly remember him grabbing your face with both hands, him smiling at you as a hot breeze fluttered around you, him holding you steady as he planted a big, wet kiss on you.  It makes your whole body lock with tension, barely paying attention to the Hyunjin in front of you now, the Hyunjin on the verge of a meltdown as he intentionally smacks his head against the doorway. 

“We came back here,” he says.  His whole face is scrunched up with disgust like he just ate something bad.  “Then I gave you that.”  He slaps a hand over his face.  “Then you… tried…”  He puts the other hand on his face too.

“I tried what?” you ask, heat creeping your neck. 

“You put your hand down my pants,” he croaks, hands over his eyes.  “I said we should wait until morning and you started crying.  I think you tried to give me a lap dance while crying, actually.”  That does sound like you, drugged or not.  “Then I…”  He points to the messy bed.  “I wrapped you in the sheet to protect your honour.”   

“My honour?  Ewwww.  Don’t call it that.”

“I’m gonna go drown myself in the shower.” 

“Hyunjin, wait.”

Once more, you stop him before he crosses the door.  He sighs and his shoulders deflate.  Pushing a hand through his hair, he turns around.

“What?” he says. 

“I’ll take care of this, okay,” you say gently.  “We weren’t ourselves.  Thank you… for taking care of me.  Seriously.” 

He sniffs and looks aside, the tips of his ears turning red.  You try to ignore the pitter-patter of your heart.  

“It’s Vegas,” you say.  “I bet they have drive-through divorces.  I’m just… I’m just sorry this happened.” 

“You are?” he says, staring at the ground. 

“Of course,” you say with as much sincerity as you can muster.  “Hyunjin, I know you.  You’re a goofy old romantic.  I’m sure you’re not happy about your first technical marriage happening while you were drugged up, and to someone you don’t even love.  Right?”

He looks a little panicked when he meets your gaze.  It flashes in his eyes for a second, then he looks away.  He crosses his arms protectively over his chest.    

“Hyunjin,” you say.  It feels like someone just lit fireworks in your chest.  “You… don’t… love me, right?” 

There is a long moment of silence then he throws both hands in the air. 

“Why do you say it like that?” he demands.  “Would it be that bad if I did?”

“What.” Your jaw falls open.  “You love me?”   

“Unfortunately, yes.  Sorry for inconveniencing you with my goofy romantic feelings.”  He snarls at you.  “It just happened.  If I could have stopped it, I would have, but I can’t.  So live with it.” 

“What kind of love confession is this?  You’ve watched like a million romance dramas and that’s what you come up with?”

“I’m a painter, not a poet.  Good-bye.”  He is quick this time, jumping into the bathroom and slamming the door closed.   

It leaves you standing there, jaw still hanging open. 

Hyunjin loves you. 

Of course Hyunjin loves you.  How could you be so stupid?  All this time, you had yourself convinced your best friend was unattainable because he’s the most gorgeous creature on earth, but all this time he loved you and you didn’t even notice.   He drank a drugged drink just to protect you.  He got a bit nutty in the head and married you, but even at his most fucked up, some intrinsic part of him sprung to your defense.  No matter how out of his mind, he couldn’t bring himself to do anything that could potentially hurt you. 

Oh my god.  

Hyunjin loves you.  You love Hyunjin. 

You are pacing when Hyunjin exits the bathroom and smacks into you.  You bonk heads and curse, again, then he brushes past without saying anything more.  You watch him go to the clean bed, watch him fold back the covers.   He takes off his hoodie and his pants.  Despite how many times you have casually dressed down around each other, this time you find yourself looking away, hot in the face.   When you look back, he is in a t-shirt and his boxers, sliding under the covers. 

“What are you doing?” you ask, fiddling with your thumbs.

“Going back to sleep,” he says.  “I’m tired.”  

He doesn’t look at you once.  He rolls onto his side and faces the wall, laying stiff as a board. 

You touch a finger to the mark on your neck and shiver.

“Hyunjin,” you say, to which he just grunts in reply.  “I want to sleep too.  I’m sorry, but can you help me with the dress?” 

He exhales and closes his eyes, shoulders dropping, but then he flips the covers down and gets out of bed.   He still doesn’t meet your gaze.   His strides are long and quick and, before you can blink, he is in front of you. 

You open your mouth to speak but he grabs you and spins you around.  It feels like an electric zap from your heart to your pussy, hands instinctively clutching your chest in surprise. 

You can feel him fiddling with a few buttons, muttering expletives to himself.   

He is still wearing the ring.  So are you. 

“Hyunjin,” you say softly.  “I love you too.” 

He has his fingers on the zipper.  He stops. 

“What?” he asks.  He stops touching you entirely so you look back at him.  He is tucking hair behind both ears, shaking his head.  “Don’t just… say it,” he says, still staring sideways.  “That’s worse than not hearing it.” 

“Hyunjin,” you say.  At least he looks at you this time, even if it is with uncharacteristic uncertainty.  You smile at him.  “Unzip me please.” 

You turn back around, chewing on your bottom lip.  

It takes a second, but Hyunjin does what you asked.  You feel one hand on your back, the other circling the zipper.  He tugs it down slowly and you shiver as the cool air conditioned air kisses your back.  His fingers brush your bare skin when releasing the zipper.

“Thank you,” you say, glancing back at him. 

He nods curtly and spins around.  You smile, watching him march back to the bed.   You turn your back to him when you let the dress drop, then you remove your bra.  His open luggage is nearby so you slip a t-shirt out of the suitcase.  It smells like him, his favourite cologne, and that alone gets you hot.  

With a final tug on the hem of the t-shirt, you turn and walk up to the bed he is in.  He is sitting upright but under the covers, his hands folded neatly in his lap while he stares at you. 

“Can I sleep here too?” you ask.  “The other bed is a mess.”

He nods.  A second ago, he refused to look at you and now he can’t stop staring.  It makes you grin, beaming at him as you slide under the covers. 

“You’re staring,” you say. 

“I’m not,” he lies, still staring at you.  He slumps against the headboard and slides down until he is laying flat.  His hair pools around him on the pillow.  Ridiculously gorgeous man. 

You lean over him, staring back.  You rest a hand on his chest and can feel his heart palpitating as quickly as your own. 

“You are staring,” you say, then giggle a little because his expression is still wide-eyed.  “You look like you’ve never seen a woman in bed before, and I know that’s not true.”   

You say it jokingly but he doesn’t laugh.  He tilts his head, his expression softening.  His tongue touches his upper lip then he smiles at you. 

“Not like this,” he says with heart-stopping sincerity.  “Not you.  Not… my wife.” 

Oh god.   People always act like there is something supremely unsexy about wife or husband, some stagnant nothingness that kills sex appeal.  But the second he says that word, it feels like an electric storm ignites between the two of you.   His gaze is dark, his breathing hard, his heart still pounding under your palm.  You suck in a deep breath, a shuddering release.  You are already aching. 

“Hyunjin,” you whisper. 

His hand comes up and cups your face, his thumb stroking your cheek.  It passes over your bottom lip and tugs at it.  It feels like you have a heartbeat between your legs. 

“Fuck,” you say, and swing yourself over him. 

He makes a noise the second you are straddling him, both his hands dropping to hold your hips.   You lean down, your hands on either side of his head.  His eyes are already closed when you start kissing him.  You rock against him, feel him getting harder in his boxers as his hands run up and down your thighs. 

The kiss breaks for a second, just to breathe, and he sighs. 

“Good,” he says.  “You brushed your teeth.”

“You are soooo…”  You try to sound annoyed but it’s impossible.  He laughs, his eyes crinkling with mirth.  “Ughhh, the worst!” 

You roll off him as if you have any intention of denying him, but he doesn’t give you a chance to tease him.   He just follows, rolling on top of you so it’s you pinned under him, the weight of him between your open legs.   He goes right back to kissing you, taking his time, almost torturously slow while pressed so intimately against you.  He licks into your mouth, nips at your bottom lip, steals your breath and comes back for more. 

“Hyunjin.”  You are out of breath.  You grab his face with both hands, gasping against his open mouth. 

“Mm?” he replies, pecking your lips. 

A part of you thinks you could lie in bed all day doing nothing but kiss Hyunjin.  Just a small part.  The rest of you is burning up with the need for much, much more. 

“Make love to me,” you whisper.  His breath stutters.  “Please,” you say.

He nods frantically.  If you weren’t so hazy with want, it might have made you laugh.  As it is, you string your arms around his neck and pull him down for another kiss.  This one gets heated quickly, wet and sloppy and pressed messily to the corner of your mouths, your hands moving over each other, trying to find the hems of your shirts without breaking apart. 

It happens in a frenzy, but you somehow get down to just your underwear.  His boxers land on the lamp and the shirts could have flown out the window for all that you care.  He is laving kisses all over your body and you are so wound up that you get a little teary, arching under him and tugging on his hair. 

“Hyunjin, please,” you say, dragging your nails up his back.  “I need you.”

He looks up at you.  You smile and bite your lower lip.

“I need my husband,” you say.

You are pretty sure you can visibly see his brain short-circuiting.   The next second, he is fully above you, pulling your panties down your hips.  It stays hooked around one ankle but the thought of it leaves your mind quickly.   He slides his hands under your thighs and spreads you open, leaning down to kiss you as he finally eases inside you.   

You both look down at where he inside you.  It feels like your clit is jumping for attention, your whole body shaking when he gently rubs you there while sinking fully in. 

“Okay, okay, okay,” he says, mostly to himself once he fully inside you.  He closes his eyes and breathes a little harder.  “Don’t move,” he says.  He leans down so his chest is against yours, your faces close.  “If you do, this is gonna be over really quickly.”

“Really?” you say with a giggle, pleased he is as unravelled as you. 

He just nods, his eyes still closed.  You kiss his cheek and hold the back of his neck, stroking there lightly and giving him a minute. 

“Feels good,” you say, because it does, even just like this, pressed so tightly together, him so full and hard inside you. 

He just groans, dropping his face to the crook of your neck and shoulder.  You rake your fingers through the hair at his nape when he rocks a testing thrust into you.  You have only just adjusted when those hips starting rocking with fluid determination, rolling steady and deep.  He feels almost impossibly good inside you, driving you into the mattress again and again. 

“Oh my god,” you squeak, putting both arms around his neck and clinging tight.  “Hyunjin.”

He just makes noise, unintelligible sounds that make him sound crazy despite how deftly he is moving.  You feel a bit crazy yourself, blinking at him with your mouth open when he lifts his head.   He kisses you, swallowing up your gasping moans, and presses his forehead to yours.  For someone who claimed to be close, he lasts a long time at a steady pace, the subtle, corded muscles of his slender frame holding taut as he moves. 

“Touch yourself,” he says, and kisses you without waiting for an answer. 

You kiss him back, very messily at that, but you do what he said.  You lick your fingertips and slide that shaking hand between your bodies, getting yourself off just seconds before his hips get erratic and he has to pull out.  He strokes himself to completion just over you, coming on your thighs.  He manages to reserve his strength long enough to gather you in his arms and roll over.  He guides you to rest on top of him, your face in his sweaty neck and your rising-and-falling chest against his own. 

“Why haven’t we been doing that for years?” you mumble. 

He laughs, his hand flying to his face to cover his mouth while he giggles.   The ring catches your eye and you reach for that hand.   He gets quiet, watching you. 

You lace your fingers with his, looking at the ring then looking up at him. 

“We’re a little crazy if we stay like this,” you say. 

He leans in and kisses you for so long that you almost forget what you were saying.  You remember when he smiles down at you, when he squeezes your hand, when he leans in and says, “That’s okay.  I like a little crazy.” 

In agreement, you smile back. 

[spockandawe]

Straw marquetry! Okay, full disclaimer up front, i still barely know what I'm doing here. This is a craft with limited educational resources, and a lot of the inspiration pictures are from high-end french ateliers. But those pictures are SO pretty, plus the cost of buying a bunch of straw is much gentler than the cost of buying a bunch of wood veneer, and the shiny finish activates ALL the corvid instincts in my brain

The rough idea here is that you split and flatten stalks of straw, glue them to a substrate, square up the edges while the glue is still wet, and continue onward. If you want to pursue marquetry in the wood tradition, you can escalate to cutting pictures out of this and piecing them together (fundamentally, if you can't buy your own veneer, homemade is fine), but you can also do a lot just with geometric patterns and the natural color variation of the straw right on your working surface. I have a bunch of fancy empty frames i idly want to fill, so that's what I went with! Also I decided to make my own mat for ???? reasons, ahahaha

My frame opening was about 22x28 inches, so this was a lot of surface area for a first project! But I learned a lot along the way, things like 'oh my god why would you start from the outside instead of the inside' and 'wow small motifs sure are easier than big ones,' but that was part of the goal here! It's hard to identify the things you don't know without wading in and getting your hands dirty. And I had SUCH a fabulous time with this. I ran out of my primary color five triangles from the end, and had to order more, and you know I ordered additional straw for future projects

I might be starting one as soon as I post this, honestly. Because this one is done! It doesn't have a home on my wall yet, I'm still considering locations, but it's all nice and cozy in its frame and I love it so so much. And I'm including a short video showing off its shine, because no still image is ever going to fully do it justice

[sillygoofyqueer]

Ooh, for Shen Yuan’s looks I was thinking a black, blue and silver theme, to Bing-ge’s black, red and gold.

(You can’t tell me emperor Bing-ge, also the Huan Hua Palace master, doesn’t have at least some gold in his formal outfits).

If you look at crow feathers, they have a sort of blue sheen in the right lighting, so blue would be quite fitting!

I also like the idea of his hair being mostly elegant and classy, but with some cute little braids that include colored threads weaved in them, plus shiny bobbles and feathers hanging off the ends. The braids are from his crow family members. It’s a traditional grooming practice!

Anon I am MADLY in love with you. We're going to high five and hug and frolic in the fields together if I ever find out who you are. The idea of little braids being in otherwise elegant hair really fits with my perception of "mainly classy Shen Yuan until his bird instincts kick in (he's also a little gremlin before that)", because he obviously wants to keep his hair neat and presentable but he also has the natural instinct to let people braid his hair to show affection! (Definitely have to have a wholesome little scene where Shen Yuan shows Bing-ge how to braid his hair in the traditional fashion). I love the idea of shiny things being in his hair as well, through shiny beads and threads. BONUS POINTS if he has a shiny little thing that holds his hair up and counts as a little dagger (gifted by one of the others in the crow family as a precaution. Can also be traditional for those who come of a certain age!) On another note, thinking about Shen Yuan in half human form. He retains his wings and I like to think he has spatterings of feathers crawling up his spine and the back of his neck, around the edges of his cheeks maybe? He looks mainly human, but I'd find it cool if he still had those little patches of feathers (like when you see patches of scales on a dragon-shifter type character)

Oh, this is so fun. I've always loved a protective family, and I love Bing-ge being struck by the audacity of the crow family and also jealousy because nobody ever acts like this about him!! His wives do, he supposes, but that's for their own selfish reasons! They don't really care about him like the crow family cares for Shen Yuan. The crow family is only not attacking him because Shen Yuan has said that it's "not cool" to attack the emperor, or whatever. Corvids can mimic that stuff?? Oh my god, the ANTICS! Shen Yuan would totally use it to mess with people when he's bored, jumpscaring people and having fun with story time for the kids. He would also use it when stealing, so that he doesn't have to needlessly hurt anyone to get to the shiny thing he covets, the human side of him holding him back. I'd find it super funny that when the crows (cultivating or not) meet Bing-ge, a few start spurting out every curse they've ever heard from humans, and Shen Yuan has to explain that they're mimicking what they hear people say, they don't mean it! (probably-) {part five! Part one, part two, part three, part four, part six, part seven!!}