#heart of a clay hourglass

[nikolaraftis]

Another question that comes to mind - how did you come to title the book and series? Do you have thoughts on how it has evolved?

When I first sat down to seriously consider this series and my characters and world, the first idea I had at the core of it was "these are people who have gone through things people should not, and there are characters very different to each other that by the end of the series, probably have little in common, except for one thing: they are made from clay, as all living things are." I took inspiration from Greek myth and how humans were built from clay and given fire. Hence, I started off wanting to name my series Bones of Clay. Didn't really like it so much, neither did my friends when I posed it to them, and so I settled for a while on Hearts of Clay, which seemed more fitting to the themes and the romance sub-plot that's always running underneath it all. Because the whole mix of this series' aesthetic, I guess, is a bit of a strange one. It's the 1920s of another universe, where dragons are real and almost every magical thing you can think of, but there's also a fantasy mafia of werewolves, but also a royalty plot, but also there's a cult, but also also there's romance and saving the world from great evil and prophecies. This is kind of why it has to be a series with shifting focus. And because the books follow Zena Moralis' journey through all that, I named each book, in order: The Return, The Rise, The Tragedy, and The Fall. With each book's purpose quite clearly, explicitly set out for both her and some other characters, including Geronimo.

Nearly a month ago, I decided I had to rewrite the draft I had because nothing was going the direction I wanted and since the months I had left it abandoned my style had changed and so had a lot of my ideas and direction. By then, I had quit things with my writing partner, and it helped spur on this idea that I wanted to make my series anew. It needed a new name. I actually recruited my sisters to help me when I was outlining in my notebook. I sat down on a bean bag and said I needed them to give feedback on some book title ideas I'd jotted down. From there, we narrowed the list and the themes and direction -- they insisted on knowing what the series is about, basically, and all the key events of each book -- and we came up with a new titles: Bones Of A God, Skin Of A Jewel Snake, Blood Of A Moon, and Heart Of A Clay Hourglass. From there we went: these are all ingredients to something, but what? And in the end, it was unanimous that this was what made a Moralis. Specifically, Zena Moralis. It's the weirdest, kind of hair-brained, out-there things considering I have not written out this entire series yet, but it made me decide that this would have to be the Moralis series. Because, Moralis: bones of a god, skin of a jewel snake, blood of a moon, and heart of a clay hourglass. Geronimo is indeed the other main character, but this is still Zena's story.

A lot of the original ideas have carried over, as you can see. If we played word association with how I think of the series, it'd look something like: hourglass, immortality, time, love, betrayal, politics, blood, forests, myths, gods, siblings, patricide, loyalty, swords, sun, compass, stars, void, war, grief, death. The very earliest draft I ever wrote of this was when I was about 13, and even back then there was political drama and looming war, but also love and, well, dragons and strange fantasy plants and pink bees that drink fruit juice that I called "berry blies". I have to say, 13-year-old me was on another level. And until now, I was planning to write this series as Young Adult and then let marketing put it into YA Fantasy or Sci-Fi or Supernatural or wherever it wanted the books to go. But with all the stuff I want to do, the topics and themes I want to tackle, it just makes more sense for it to be an adult series. I feel we have a lot of (possibly questionable at times) YA fiction books, and some trashy adult ones that are either too stuffy or full of toxic contemporary romance or just fairy porn. I know some that aren't (Leigh Bardugo's Ninth House and Hell Bent comes to mind) but I wanted to add to the area in my own way. Folks always say to write what you'd want to read, and I'd want to read adult fantasy, because I've grown past the teenager stage and, honestly, have been finding it harder to relate to some of those YA books even now when I've barely hit 20. Roundabout way of doing it, but this genre sort of change also influenced the titles.

Admittedly, the titles of the books feel like they border on too fantastical at times, but they fit better than the old ones did. It seemed too boring to have such plain titles.

All in all, my thoughts on how this has evolved is... it's kind of incredible. And I'm a little scared that the longer I leave this world and these characters (it's already been about 7 years), the more it will change still, and then I will never be done with it. I'm kind of at a point where I want these books done and out to the world so that I can have new ideas for new worlds and stop expanding this one, otherwise it feels like too big a beast for me to write, period. The way the titles have evolved reflect too how much more this series is coming into itself though. I build this story, of course, but at the same time the naming process and the writing feels kind of like an excavation where the more I write and alter things just a bit, the closer we get to the true image I see in my mind.

Anyway, sorry for a bonkers long response, whoops. Hope it answered your question! <3 (As you can see, I love rambling about my work)

[nariism]

adamantine dreams — h. aki

one bed + "wait, don't pull away... not yet."

synopsis. there was a time before you when aki found it hard to sleep. call it sleep debt or whatever, but he's going to squeeze every ounce of rest he can get from his body now.

wc. ~1.2k

— for @naosaki 🫶 i love you | event masterlist ✉️

He used to have nightmares.

They started when he was young and naive, back when he felt like the world could fit into the palm of his hand and the grief he sheltered could flatten armies of enemies.

Sleep did not come easily to Hayakawa Aki.

He was a dead man walking. A corpse with tar black lungs and nothing left to lose. As much as he willingly sacrificed, and as much as he tried to put on a brave face, death petrified him. He spent most nights tossing and turning, eluded by rest leaving him in worsening condition by the day.

There was nothing in the world he wanted to do more than to close his eyes and have the world be still. To sleep without jolting awake at even the tiniest creaks of the floorboards. To be able to be at peace without the sound of a gunshot seared into his memory.

Aki had given up on such a dream many, many years ago.

Then you came along, declared that you were bunking with him while he blankly stared at his single bed in his single room in his apartment that was eerily quiet considering his horribly rowdy roommates, then promptly crawled under the blanket and fell asleep.

He had three choices that day. One, kick you out and risk being reprimanded by Makima herself, which, honestly, sounded the most appealing at the time. Two, sleep on the hardwood floor and develop back pains that would make him devil food by the end of the day. Or three, his least favourite but most logically sound option: sleep in the bed, pressed up against the wall and putting as much distance between your bodies as possible.

And, well. The rest is history.

He discovered a different type of devil wandering the earth. It had warm skin and a cute smile and fit into his arms as if it were shaped from the same clay of which he emerged.

It had no ill intent and sought not the smell of human fear, but the scent of cigarettes and black coffee.

You were a certain kind of evil he couldn't fight, no matter how much he wanted to try. His time was running thin—sand trickling through an hourglass with no signs of stopping.

Aki was hurtling toward his death at a record pace.

He thought he had made peace with that—with the fact that he would never be able to sleep like a little boy again, safe and sound. He was aware that his life was a race against the contracts he had forged years ago, back when he thought devil hunting was the only salvation in the sick world he lived in.

If he could take them all back, he would.

There was nothing he could do now but close his eyes and pretend the days weren't whirring by. He had heard as a child that time flies with the one you love, and he scoffed at such a notion once upon a time.

He would give it all up. Heart, soul, his own flesh if he could stop time just to spend this moment with you for an eternity.

Your eyes flutter open at the sound of your alarm. Aki has long since awoken, groggy but well-rested.

He was always the first one awake. While his mind has been blissfully quieter recently, his body had an awful tendency to jerk into consciousness anyways. He watches your rousing expression carefully, attempting to freeze time itself in the form of a memory.

Warm sunlight pools against your body, swimming in his navy blue sheets. Skin to skin, smile to smile, you kiss him slow and sure—a gesture he has grown familiar with over the past year since you showed up.

"Morning," you yawn, arm draping over his body and a hand slowly trailing from his chest to his neck then finally settling on his cheek.

"You have morning breath." He tells you bluntly, flustered as always.

You snort softly, feigning offense rather poorly. "As if your breath smells like roses right now?"

"Better than yours," he refutes. His fingers deftly squeeze yours until you release his face. You huff dramatically, snatching the blankets with you as you forcefully roll over in bed.

"Fine then. Guess I'll get on with my day without bothering you with my morning breath."

His hand shoots out to capture your wrist as you shuffle out of your side of the bed. Yanking you back, he smothers you under his weight to prevent you from escaping.

"Don't go. Not yet."

"Aki," you laugh while trying to wriggle away to no avail. "I have to go to work."

"Stay home today," he complains, burying his face into your hair so you can't see how absolutely red he's gotten.

"I can't!" You giggle. You start squirming again so he can release you. He does this time, towering over you with some sort of narrowed expression.

"Just stay a little longer," he murmurs, swooping back down to press his lips to your forehead. "Stay."

It's starting to sound more like a demand than a request, so you surrender. Your arms open wide again and he collapses back onto you with a thump.

"You're crushing me," you wheeze from beneath. He shakes his head.

"Deal with it."

"You're seriously going to go back to sleep like this?!"

"Not my fault you make it so easy to fall asleep."

"Didn't know I bored you to death like that," you tease, purposefully dodging the real meaning behind his words because, well, he's equally talented at flustering you.

There was a time before you when Aki found it hard to sleep, tormented by the visions of his entire childhood vanishing in a fraction of a second. It was those nights that were especially unbearable, never relieving him from his painful existence and forcing him to listen to the explosion of guns in his ears over and over again.

Call it sleep debt or whatever, but he's going to squeeze every ounce of rest he can get from his body now.

"You're heavy," you whine one last time for good measure. He doesn't do anything but smile against your skin, savouring every second of your body under his.

Despite your complaining, your hands tangle into his hair almost instantly and you tug him just a bit closer, heart to heart.

Sleep washes over him. You really must have been a devil in disguise, offering up the most despicable evil of all: love.

He knew his time was short. He knew that love would only make it hurt all the more.

But your fingers are combing through his hair and he can feel the gentle rumble of your voice in your chest as you tell him your plans for the day just as his eyes start to feel heavy.

There's a weakness you expose in him, a gap leftover from his lonely childhood yearning for companionship. You fill in all the missing pieces—complete him in a way that revenge and hatred could not.

So he figures, maybe it would be okay to be selfish and just close his eyes right now. Be loved. Sleep and dream of nothing but a future he could never have with you.

© ALABOADOA 2023 — please do not translate or post my works to other platforms.

[jamerasjournal]

I wish I was your favorite book. So you’d run your fingers down my spine, spread me open, read my lips. I laughed and told you I said “olive juice” when you asked me if I said I love you. Because those two phrases look the same when you mouth them with no sound. Read them again. You were right the first time.

But I’m not your favorite book. I am just dust. Slipping through the hourglass that you call your hands. Still falling. Plummeting into a sea of sand that I call you. I want to ask why you haven’t closed your fists yet. Why you don’t want to hold on to me the same way that I hold on to you. Pack me in like clay. They say that grief is just love with no place to go, and that is why I’ve been crying.

Unrequited love is like holding your breath without knowing. Like one day I just woke up and realized I was drowning in you. Me, drowning- yet you only wade in me and call it swimming. I know when I exhale, I will blow down the walls you have built around yourself. I don’t want to be the big bad wolf. I fear that you will mistake this passion for fangs. Take your little red hood off and look me in my eyes. Or maybe it’s just a red flag. And these rose colored glasses that I’ve been regarding you with are shattered now, and I’m finally seeing your true colors.

You say that you love me, but it’s not quite the way that I need. And you fail to realize that you can’t just love something, you also have to take care of it. I burned myself trying to give you the sun. And the breadcrumbs you leave me are just salt in my wounds. And my heart is on fire. Give me your hand and I’ll light yours like a candle. And we can burn in this dumpster fire until something beautiful like a phoenix rises up out of it.

You don’t have to be afraid. Don’t you see the soot on my face? Smell the smoke on my breath? I have already walked through the fire trying to show you how much I love you. I plummeted through the ozone layer like an asteroid to get back to you this lifetime. And only you can stop this forest fire.

I can teach you how to fall. If only you believed that I will catch you. I am choking on the ashes that have dusted my lungs. It has taken me so long to get tired because you’re my favorite book. I want to run my fingers down your spine, spread you like pages but you keep me shut out. I read your lips. Did you say, “I love you?”Or maybe just “olive juice.” I’ll read them again. I hope I got it right the first time. Because if you don’t loop your fingers through mine, I’m afraid I can’t keep going. I am slipping through the hourglass you call your hands. There’s not much more of me left to give you. Draw your fists tight or I will leave you in the dust.

-jamera naquai, Dust To Dust

[buxomgirlie]

When you first saw the couple sitting across the bar, you were struck by how *hot* they both were. He was big and muscular, not like a bodybuilder but soft and rugged like a lumberjack. He looked like he could easily pick you up, maybe toss you around a little, to say nothing of how efffortlessly those trunklike arms and big hands could pin you down. His wife was a total bombshell, too--her curves were not quite so generous as yours, but a glorious hourglass nonetheless, and she moved with such grace, her hips swaying hypnotically as she walked, making it hard to look away.

You were embarassed at first, a little ashamed, even--they were here for each other's company, not for you to leer at, you thought. But that sentiment faded when you looked up from your drink and saw the woman staring at you. The way her eyes moved across your body, and the way she smiled and licked her lips made you feel hot and tingly. Then she nudged her mate, and he gave you a similarly lustful look. They said something to each other--you couldn't hear because of the loud music--and then, hand in hand, they walked straight towards you.

They introduced themselves as Clay and Monica, newlyweds on their honeymoon. They're both bisexual, and love sharing their bed with beautiful people they meet. They'd agreed that you were breathtakingly gorgeous, and if you were interested, they both wanted to have you. Your brain almost ceased function entirely, and you stuttered out that you were a virgin. Clay's eyes dilated. Monica's smile widened. They were waiting with bated breath for you to say 'yes.'

So you did.

* * *

You were right about how strong Clay was--he picked you up like you weighed nothing, and carried you up to their hotel room while Monica ran her hands all over your body, cooing about how gorgeous you were and how good they were going to make it for you.

"Can you believe it honey?" Monica said. "Our first night as husband and wife, and we're going to take a girl's virginity together!"

"Mmhm," Clay grunted in agreement. Your heart skipped a beat. "And such a pretty little thing, too... you found us a good one, baby."

They kept praising you and fussing over you like that, like you were a kitten they'd decided to take home with them, and just casually feeling you up, appreciating your body. You were getting wet already.

* * *

After the three of you had stripped naked, Clay gently tossed you into the middle of the king size bed. They each crawled onto the bed, one on each side of you, and like a lion and lioness digging into the spoils of their hunt, the married couple started putting their mouths, hands and bodies all over you. Monica kissed you on the mouth and used her soft delicate hands to squeeze your breasts and tease your hard nipples. Clay's massive hands roamed your midsection, squeezing at your hips as he kissed your belly, working his way down to mouth at your soaked pussy. They went on like this for a while, sometimes switching positions so they could have all of you:

"Clay, baby, let me taste her cunt."

"Monnie, can I suck on her other tit?"

"Ooh, honey! Look how much she likes being pinched here..."

It was so, so good, but incredibly overwhelming. You were being lavished with so much pleasure that your mind was leaking out from between your legs. You started to come back from the haze, and saw that Clay was rock hard, holding his cock in his hand and stroking slowly, deliberately. Monica sidled up behind you, her own hardened nipples and soft breasts pressing into your back as he arms snaked around your waist.

"Will you let my husband breed you?" She whispered in your ear. You moaned an affirmative. She smiled and reached down, coaxing you to spread your legs open with a gentle touch. Clay lined himself up with your well-lubricated entrance, and pushed himself in, slowly. He had looked sort of big, but he felt even bigger inside of you. You threw back your head, screaming joyously at how *full* you suddenly felt. Monica kissed your cheek and began to tease your tits.

"There you go, baby, just like that." You couldn't tell if she was encouraging you or her husband, but either way he began to thrust in and out of you, his hips smacking against yours in a delicious rhythm, making you bounce each time, your own tits jiggling in Monica's hands while your back pushed against her own cushy chest.

"Ahhhh..." Clay groaned.

"How does she feel, honey?"

"So fucking good... so tight and hot..." he paused for a moment, lingering inside you, then resumed his thrusts, a little more slowly and carefully.

"Awww, how cute," Monica gasped. "He's so close to cumming already. Do you want his cum? Do you want him to cum inside your virgin pussy?"

At this point, language was escaping you, but you babbled out some string of words indicating that yes, you did want that, very much.

"Don't hold back, Clay baby," Monica said in a sultry, teasing voice. "Fill her up for me, honey, she wants your cum. Cum for us, baby, cum, cum, cum..."

Clay couldn't resist her insistence for long, and let out a loud, almost animalistic groan as he pushed as deep into you as he could. You felt his cock pulse and throb inside, and you were suddenly being filled up with so much warm semen. Your body went limp, collapsing back onto Monica, and Clay gently allowed himself to follow suit, laying on top of you and letting his weight hold his cock and cum deep in your pussy where they belonged.

That night, the three of you slept together tangled up in that bed. You can't recall the last time you slept so soundly.

Okay, either you've been in my head or you guessed my type far too easily omfg I'm saving this for later 😵‍💫

[goldrose-star]

So I've been thinking 'why not create a character sheet for her?' for maybe a week or two and been working on this here since last week. The structure is inspired by @rottent33th 's OC sheets. Also some parts may be blank because I'm figuring these out. This is basically still under construction but I couldn't wait to post this. And if someone's asking, no, I don't know how to create moodboards or collages, but I'm trying 👀

Character Sheet AJ

Gender: Female

Avery Juniper "AJ" Riley

Pronouns: She/Her

Age: 24

Sign: Scorpio (November 11th)

Height: 5'3" ft / 160 cm

Build: Petite hourglass body shape

Hair: Shoulder blade length, wavy brown hair, outgrowing bangs

Eye Color: Green eyes with a hint of blue and a golden inner ring (central heterochromia). Her eyes sparkle when the light hits them just right.

From: (not yet decided)

Sexual Orientation: Bisexual / Pansexual

Relationship Status: Single

Physical Description: She has a light skin colour with tiny birthmarks / moles sporadically littering her arms and legs. Most significant are the one on her left ringfinger between the first and second knuckle and the ones on the backside of her left upper arm which look like the star constellation Big Dipper / the Pleiades. The skin from her hands to her upper arms where the tee sleeves begin and the skin between her ankles and the middle of her thighs are slightly more sunkissed. She has full heart shaped lips.

Other Defining Features: She has a lineal scar under her chin and a circular scar on the back of her left hand under the major knuckle of her thumb from an baking / cooking incident and more tiny scars littering her hands and forearms where her cat scratched her. Has a lip piercing on the left side of her bottom lip.

More about her appearance:

✨️AJ Visual Reference Sheet ✨️

Job/Profession: Website & Software Designer / Developer (freelancer) & Small Business Owner on the side (tiny accessoires she creates out of clay mostly)

Personality:

When meeting new people: cautious, quiet, curious, friendly, very polite

When better acquainted with someone: kind, helpful, can hold grudges, can be jealous

Towards people she cares about: protective, loyal, considerate, loving & bubbly, mischievous

Morality: Morally Grey

Hobbies: Painting, Knitting & Crocheting, Sewing and Designing her own clothes, Baking, Gardening & Planting, Sculpting (clay), Photography, Thrift Shopping, Gaming, DnD, Working out, Traveling, Stargazing

Style: has no sense of style whatsoever and wears whatever she likes, finds cool and pretty. This can range from activewear, to bandshirts and army boots, to jeans jackets, flowy dresses and chunky loafers.

More about her fashion style:

✨️ AJ Fashion Inspo Page ✨️

✨️ AJ Fashion Inspo Page pt. 2 ✨️

Backstory: (more following soon)

Her father is from America and her mother is from Ireland

--

Also tagging some moots who may like this:

@bluecoolr @rottent33th @slaasherslut @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better @solmints-messyocdiary @the-pinstriped-hood @myers-meadow @shonkgobonk @sketchbook-of-shadows

Let me know if I forgot to tag anyone or if you don't want to be tagged.

[handgiven]

“The road for hell for me is paved with everything I would do for you, and that list never ends.” HEAD IN MY HANDS

in love and war, everything goes. / @talentforlying

tick tock, goes the clock. and it echoes in the way the fallen's blood courses through his veins, driven by an anxious heart, pounding in his temples so loudly he can barely hear the rest of the world. a prisoner to the machine of time where once he was both the hourglass and the sand within it, floating in space rather than falling, measuring time in breaths drawn in both from the future and from the past, never pushed quite so viciously forward in the way that he is now, that blood pours out of his body with that unseen rhythm, not gold, not glowing, but thick and dark and red.

he doesn't panic, and it's strange how in that moment of mortal vulnerability there is more to him that is divine that is perceivable to the eye, than there has been for the many months prior. clumsily sculpted clay features forged into that divine marble, with curls falling around his face in that perfectly cherubine fashion, just as his hand presses against his gut, so painfully human. you can’t stand before the tide and expect it to break on you, anymore. you’re fragile, now. and these people, this constantine … they break their fragile things, just to hear the sound.

still he shows his white teeth in a smile, through the blood that comes spilling even out of his mouth when he opens it. he coughs it up and leans his head forward, thinking that this is it. and still so stubbornly, even as manny's words resonate in the dome of his skull, he latches onto that blind faith in no one but john constantine. what of it if he loses something as miniscule as his life? in the grand scheme of things, it means nothing. in the grand scheme of things, he did all he could, to help john and through john to help the world so much more than he ever could have, as an angel who puts band-aids on the gross and leering open wounds of the world. he did well. he did well. and even in those last moments it is john he thinks of, calm and peaceful, and ever so determined. ever so devoted to the faith of his own making.

when john does appear by his side, he is half sure it is just a mirage, though he smells of cigarettes and sulphur, though his eyes gleam cold blue, and his hands are shaky and cold, and his missing thumb is caught in a cramp of wanting to display tenderness, wanting to give warmth, though there is nothing but phantom warmth in it to give. he speaks, and the angel's head spins when he does, struggling a few moments longer to discern meaning in the words, wrapped up in a neat package of swears and desperate repetitions of his name, as if john worried he'd go right then and there.

he supposes he will, but it never occured to him to so feverishly hold on as john would have him. it's all so slow and steady like a river, and he feels himself washing out with the blood that drips on the pavement. his hand covers john's, with remnants of warmth, and blood. he tries to squeeze gently but he doesn't have it in him. he tries to smile but the muscles of his face will not listen to him. eyes half-covered with that heavy mist, do watch as john still keeps on moving, though out of focus, and his mouth will not stop rambling along, and his hands at once come aglow, and the pain in emmanuel's side is searing. the very potency of it brings the fallen down into that husk of a shell, the fire in it makes him scream in pain, though it takes him a few seconds to realise that it is his own throat that aches from the unholy sound of it.

what did you do, john.

[playtimegarden]

𓆩Diantha𓆪

𓆩❀ Profile ❀𓆪

Pronouns: she/her

Flower: (Orange) Carnation, a flower with a ruffled look whose name comes from the Latin word for flesh.

Quote: Come grow with me in a world of imagination!

Color scheme: (now faded) shades of orange and gold

Style type/inspiration: burlesque

Physical description ❀𓆪

Body: pale skin tone vinyl, fixed pose (one hand up and one by hip, one foot forward and lifted), exaggerated hourglass figure with above average weight and height, seams on joints

Hair: coral, mid-back length, curly updo

Face: oval, plump cheeks with peach blush, long hawk-like nose, seams from the mechanisms that allow her mouth to open

Eyes: hooded, ice blue, grey eyeliner, pastel orange and gold eyeshadow

Lips: heart shaped, deep vermillion, open mouthed smile

Sexual characteristics: large breasts, semi realistic human female genitalia Outer: stiff vulva with large ruffled labia spread to access vaginal opening, Inner: vagina with soft material

Notable features: Diantha has a wind up mechanism (key located on her upper back) and a music box inside her which are dysfunctional. When she was functional, she would dance and “sing” when she was wound up. Like the rest of her, these mechanisms are worn down with use and age. 

Clothing ❀𓆪

Outer clothes: 

Top layer: large ruffled skirt resembling orange carnation petals, gold lace shrug with short sleeves

Bottom layer: orange and gold corset bodysuit

Under clothes: gold lacy strapless bra and high waisted underwear, matching garter belt

Accessories:

Head: golden leaf headpiece

Hands: gold lace gloves

Feet: gold shoes with short heels and straps, sheer orange stockings

Jewelry: golden and spessartine earrings, necklace, bracelet, and anklet set

𓆩❀ Long Form Description ❀𓆪

Physical description: Diantha is a semi-realistic life sized vinyl doll of above average proportions, being both tall and thick, with an emphasized hourglass figure. Everything she wears is removable except for her shrug, garter belt, and stockings. All of the dull golden fastenings on her clothes look loose from overuse and likewise, the entirety of her appears faded with age and/or use.

She is a wind up doll with seams running over her joints and a large golden wind up key on her upper back. She was made to dance and play a music box while her mouth opens and closes, simulating singing. However, her inner-workings have been worn down and she is now stuck in her current pose. She has one fixed flourishing hand raised above her head while the other hovers near her hip and she has one foot forward, tilted very slightly upward. 

Her face is also frozen in an open mouthed smile, her satiny heart-shaped lips parted to show the metal teeth and clay tongue inside her mechanical mouth. Her tongue is a muted deep vermillion color, matching her lips and her teeth are made of now dulled gold that barely holds any sheen. Above her mouth is a hawklike nose and to either side of that sits her hooded eyes. They are now a hazy, ice blue without any shine and framed in gray eyeliner and pastel orange and golden eyeshadow that appears flattened with age from a bolder look. 

Accentuating her plump, oval face shape is a peach blush on her cheeks and a frame of carefully pinned up curls of a coral hue. Both of these appear to be softened shades of more vivid colors.

Sexual characteristics: Diantha has large breasts of a realistic shape with large pink nipples, but they are unrealistically perky for her size. Between her legs is a semi-realistic recreation of a human vulva with labia minora that have ruffled edges akin to a carnation’s petals. The vinyl material does not allow it to be moved, so the labia are fixed in a spread position which allows access to the vaginal opening which is large enough for three fingers to fit inside. Inside the vaginal opening is a softer, more flesh like material. It seems to be softened further by use.

Current outer clothes: Diantha is dressed in the fashion of more modern burlesque dancers. The most eye-catching feature of her costume is a large skirt starting just below her breasts that cascades down to mid-thigh in toothed ruffles that were likely once a brilliant orange, but now look to be a flat butterscotch color. Beneath this is a corset body suit of a pale orange color with gold sequins covering the bust. Over her shoulders and around her upper back is a gold, lacy shrug with cap sleeves. 

Current under clothes: Under her costume, Diantha wears a golden lingerie set of a strapless bra, high-waisted panties, and a garter belt. They are made of satin and lace, the panties bearing lace windows on the hips. 

Current accessories: Woven through her delicately done up curls, Diantha wears a headpiece of golden leaves that are thin and long. From her ears hang tiny carnations with golden stems and leaves and orange gems carved into blooms. Around her neck is a matching choker with golden stems that wrap around to two gemstone carnations over her throat. She has a matching bracelet on each wrist and one ankle. All of the gold looks tarnished now and the gems seem to have lost some shine.

She also wears sheer golden gloves patterned with floral lace with toothed edges around her wrists that seem similar in style to the shrug on her shoulders. On her feet are a pair of golden, short high heels with sequins over the toes and straps around the ankles. Under these she wears a pair of sheer orange stockings which reach mid-thigh where they are clasped to her garter belt. 

𓆩❀︶꒦꒷Have a happy playtime!꒷꒦︶❀𓆪

[erigold13261]

📢Psychonauts NSR AU Observations, Chapter 6: Dream Fever District📢

Diva Water Frame

Milla: Is this supposed to be a hi-tech hourglass? Or is it art? I mean, it looks nice. But… serious what is this?

Sasha: The device seems to have sand kinetic osmosis to filter out water. Lucky did care for people despite the flaws she had.

Rupturika Statuette

Milla: Finally, something I can look at! It’s a dancer! And… that’s all I got.

Sasha: It’s a Rupturika Statuette. Most of these are either repurposed or kept away by collectors. To see one right here could symbolize isolation… is this what Lucky really feels?

Broken Heart

Milla: Good, something I can look at and understand. A broken heart.

Sasha: Oh… this is too familiar. A heart, very similar to what me and Lucky made in college… this hurts.

The Page’s Garden (Fan-Made)

Milla: Hmm… bells, diamonds, and coins… on a garden… is it about a gardener who is a musician who’s rich?

Sasha: The diamonds, bells, and coins symbolize earth. Lucky made this when she arrived at college. It was how she met me.

The Knight’s Armor (Fan-Made)

Milla: Hey armor, did it hurt when you fell from heaven? Cause you look like an angel. I mean, you have wings. And you are stabbed by swords.

Sasha: The spades, shields, and swords symbolize air. Lucky made this as a way to symbolize how she endured from hatred. She kept going forward. And she still is…

The Queen’s Fountain (Fan-Made)

Milla: Man, looking at that. I could go for a drink.

Sasha: The hearts, roses, and cups symbolize water. Lucky made this symbolizing her state of insecurity and loss. She didn’t know what to do when she was alone… how do I know this? I was the cause…

The King’s Torch (Fan-Made)

Milla: Ok, I may like Septentrion’s fire. But fire like this? It’s a little unnerving.

Sasha: The clubs, acorns, and wands symbolize fire. Lucky made this to symbolize her glory when she became famous. Looking at it now… the fire brings a bad memory… a really bad one.

The Joker of Judgement (Fan-Made)

Milla: This is creepy. I feel like I’m being judged.

Sasha: She made this recently. She considers this as a way of saying that her mind is a wild card. Filled with many abilities, many views, many talents. I could see it that way.

Dirty-Stained Doctor’s Coat (Fan-Made)

Milla: Someone needs to do laundry. Oh wait, it’s artwork. Nevermind!

Sasha: This was made after an incident in college. Lucky often studied in health. She didn’t get along with her professor Jackson Potts. I don’t know what happened, but she made him go crazy… and it clearly made Lucky drop out. She still feels bad about that.

Pill Capsule Mosaic (Fan-Made)

Milla: Pills? I have seen clay and glass used for mosaic, but not pills. Gotta give a thumbs up to Lucky.

Sasha: Lucky made mosaics like these not out of clay and glass, but rather of things that were like that. She said that using clay and glass would make her the same as everyone rather than being different.

Second Sight-Branded Painting (Fan-Made)

Milla: OMG IT’S SECOND SIGHT! A PAINTING OF HER! A REAL PAINTING OF HER!

Sasha: Second Sight was a backup singer in Septentrion. Milla always told me that she and Vision Quest had it going on.

[shamanfox]

Dust tastes like rejection


on silent afternoons


as sunlight warms earth 
in

their private dance


and laughter


echoes through clay


pattered canyons


fossilization waiting


waiting….
waiting…


for the fracking.


A dry mouth ingrained 


unseasoned stuffing


filters wild beast 
hair

raised to see 
their

breath bouncing


off cracking ice


to shatter sundown.

Dust tastes like scuffing 


blood paste on cracked lips


Fahrenheit 451 “You are


NOT the lover.” 


Watching river smooth


over rocks, I refuse 
to thirst

for acceptance.


My limbs wrapped in Zebra


painted warrior lying 
in wait

for truth. 
Now empty for


all wine is given 
away,

I am a Fools Cellar 


a drunkard on evolution.

Dust tastes like a memory


pressed into thin pages


of an excuse for comfort


As sadness drapes paved 
roads

for road signs.


This Way This Way


is the way, to go.


Tears, sand and dew drops


all feel the same in years 
adorned,

barcodes


stamps

labels

definitions


My heart cracks as ice


beneath barking beast(s)

my refuge is in flight. 


Cold water and tongues

of fire
 questioning my

reflection
 in sunrising galaxies.

Dust tastes like Hope

Joy 
or June.

Is it weather 


woman

that warms
 seasons?

Skin flaked
 sheets cry out

that form 
has changed

comfortably. 


A story was heard long ago

I am only 
here

to

pick

up

pieces.


Sweeping remaining moments


dustpan gratitude 
lightly

seasons my garden.

Dust tastes like Nicole


hourglass Śīrṣāsana
a

flowing river where 


Salmon spawns Universe(s)

speaking 
Folk-Art paints


pen gifted by Chief
 Eagle Feather

{graduation
 marries you today, Create} 


ways beyond tools


now in Aurora magic


Shamans fly free 
to

create their own trail.

[orangecoluredsky]

Opening Lines

Tagged in by: @itscometothis! thanks for aiding my addition!

Rules: List the first line of your last 10 (or however many you have) posted fics and see if there’s a pattern!

In suite with @itscometothis, one has a prologue, and its split POV each chapter. I'm including both?! - so, 4 lines?

The Doppelganger (Prologue, POV 1) “He was on our side, you know.” - Neville (Prologue, POV 2) Justin’s hand went limp, the heart rate monitor flatlined. Clay stared at his brother, now lifeless in a hospital bed. (CH 1, POV 1) Glancing up from her calculus textbook, Hermione found her roommate, Lauren, bounding through the open door. (CH 2, POV 2) Lauren was very much the cheerleader type.

The Triad from Nowhere Moving with a purpose, Sirius meticulously walks through the corridors after hearing a particularly nasty rumor involving his brother and a particular branding that only appeared on the arms of Voldemort’s followers.

Forgotten Sandalwood “That was fast,” Theo comments from over his runes work, accidentally splotching ink on his hand when he hears Hermione enter the room. 

The Merry Murderesses of Azkaban The guard had dark circles under his eyes. 

Lost in the Snow This is not how Regulus foresaw spending his evening.

Beyond the Hourglass Regulus swears this is the last time he does anything for Horace Slughorn.

The Misgivings of Sirius Black The garden in the back of Number 12 Grimmauld Place is in early bloom and the air is oddly humid for the middle of June as Hermione and her small group of peers form a circle in the damp grass.

Carry On, Harry, Carry On Harry eyed Ginny wearily. 

I See The Light “What do you suppose your friends are planning for tonight?” Theo asks Hermione as he plays with the ends of her hair, leaning over her as she lies happily in the grass.

Into the Unknown It isn’t unusual for the interior of Number 12 Grimmauld Place to creek.

Notes: There were a few in between some of these. But, those were fanart only postings/translations.

Two fics start out at 'Number 12 Grimmauld Place'

Lauren, one of my OCs, is apparently a popular subject.

Oh, Reggie. Your name starts off two of my fics.

Tagging in: @poisonousbeautifulhope, @anna-h-ofeliya, @wombatrat

[absentabsolution]

Why should I care?

You’re lost the moment I do.

The moment I love you the hourglass flips —

You’ll pass like the grains too.

I spent a year killing my soul with alcohol.

Worshipping a poison god.

Ethanol in my veins and my engine,

My heart in armor shod.

So tell me why I should want you?

Why should I beg you to stay?

Tarnished silver is my heart,

Black silver and feet of clay.

There’s not much left I’m afraid,

Yes, fear is what holds me back.

There’s nothing wrong with you my Dear —

The problem is in my Lack.

I’ll run away and wander

If I get too happy here.

Or maybe loving is the voyage?

If so it’s one that I can’t steer.

[weareinbloom]

--a living artwork-- Yatora x Reader

UniversityYatora x Reader

---

summary: You call Yatora again after your breakup and he decides to meet you after months without talking. Both of you realise how much you've missed the other.

genre: angst, a little fluff

warnings: family issues, heartbreak

wordcount: 1,3k

Your eyes roamed over the cities horizon, the last rays of sunshine weakly enlightening the skyline. Faint hues of red painting the sky in an artistic colour gradient. Like the romantic setting in an old cliche drama. Tokyos lights are getting turned on one after another, sprinkling bright flashes of white over the scene.

Time passed by in a broken hourglass as you wondered how long you'd been sitting there. The metal of the railing feels cold against your hands which begin to feel numb under the weather.

November has never been kind to his admirers, ruling over the city with overcast days and frigid wind. A harsh reminder that winter is about to knock on the door.

On particularly cold days, he used to put both your hands in his pocket. His cheeks would then bloom in a bright shade of pink, a reaction that never failed to bring a smile to your lips.

It felt like a song written by young lovers meant only for you both. You could listen to it a hundred times without getting sick of it, the lyrics so remarkable you'd remember them in eternity. Surrender to your heart.

The memory still makes your stomach feel warm and your heart beat faster.

The sound of feet walking ver soil and huffing breath drew you out of your thoughts and brought you back to reality. Turning your head to the side, you catch sight of a familiar bleached, messy hair. A scarf was wrapped around his neck, giving a nice contrast to his warm eyes. A melancholy scene of some sort.

"Why did you want to see me?" Yatora asks coldly. His cheeks burn in a decent red due to the chilly air. Cold drops of sweat caressing his cheekbones. He looked like he was moulded from clay, his face even and fair. As pretty as the day you parted.

"I wanted to see you because we haven't talked in a while..."

He avoided your eyes like an illness. Too scared to drown in a river of memories. Recollections of your past still hurt him on lonely nights, the cut that always bleeds. "That's your fault."

His words cut through like a knife, making your skin burn. But he was right; you deserved this as a punishment.

Silent envelops the space around you as he leans over the railing, head hanging low. His fingers clenched, he wanted to say something, but for someone as fascinated by words like him, it was amazing how often they failed him. Hell, he didn't even know what he wanted to say: that he missed you? That he hated you? Or maybe still loved you?

It felt like his head caught flame, and he remembered how you used to kiss his scalp and caress his brain. A ghosts touch still lingering on his skin.

As the silence seemed to overwhelm you decided to ask: "You have a new piercing; I thought you already looked enough like a delinquent.." You realised this the moment you saw him; how could you not? He looked great with it, but he looks different with it, at least different from the Yatora you used to know.

"I lost a bet."

"You did what?!" you couldn't hold a chuckle from escaping your lips. The calculating, hardworking Yatora actually losing to someone and then shaving his head? "Well, if I'd make a bet, I would force you to shave off your hair."

It kills him, you're talking so casual like you haven't seen each other for months. Like you have forgotten what you said.

"It was, but Maki decided that something less cruel would do it too."

Oh, Maki. Picture perfect, flawless figure, +hardworking and gifted; she's all the things you wish you were.

"Listen, you surely didn't bring me here to talk about my appearance. What do you want from me?" You could see the pain in his eyes; it made your heart bleed.

You can't delay it any longer.

"Do you remember the day in February when my mom kicked me out because I was a shame to the family? By now, it must've been around five years ago. And I walked to your house and threw rocks at your window. Somehow you managed to let me in over a ladder. I still don't know why you keep a ladder in your house." you mumble the last sentence between breaths. "My parents were evil and I wanted to escape reality. So we spent the whole night watching documentaries about people escaping into their paintings. And you said: I'll live in an Artwork with you because nothing's wrong if nothing's true."

Breathing stops, and clocks stop ticking as memories rush through your and his mind like polaroid pictures. A collision of atoms that happens before your eyes.

Yatora and you, with your heads hidden underneath the blanket. Cola with a burned-out taste. Art dates outside until the sun kissed the horizon. 'There is a light that never goes out' left on repeat. Hidden smiles under willow trees. Silent Gallery dates, loving every single piece because you've seen it together. Kids with heads inside their dreams.

Yatora gazes at you; he watches over your twiddling fingers and parted lips.

He wanted to be mad, to hate you for leaving him in the cold without ever telling him your reason. But he couldn't. These last months were torture, a moon eclipse filled with nothing but darkness. But that didn't stop him from coming here, from seeing you again after he could hear your shaking voice over the phone.

"Can we live in a Painting again? Just for tonight? Make-believe it's hyperreal." With tears brimming in your eyes, you utter this request with desperation swinging in your voice.

"Because lately, I feel like I'm a forest fire and everything I touch just burns to ashes. And if I keep going like this, I might burn myself. It's like my mother always said I'm-"

You didn't realise the speed of your voice picking up and your heart drumming against your ribcage until a warm hand caresses your cheek. Wiping hot tears from your skin.

You lean into his familiar hand, his eyes meeting yours under the blank street light.

An intimate moment shared between past time lovers, and maybe you would've been still together if you kissed in the right place and time.

"Yatora, I missed you."

Your words ring through the air and he finally owns the courage to do what he should've done when you walked away.

His arms close around your body, pushing your head onto his chest. His scent encloses your senses as he puts his head on top of yours. One of his arms around your waist while the other secured your head.

"I missed you too." He whispers, and the city sings it back to you.

You fail to put into words what you're feeling. It's like a bloodstream that finally flows again after being clotted for so long. It's like a marathon run or a mountain you scaled without thinking twice.

"I don't know what happened, and you don't have to tell me. But for tonight, I'll stay with you, as I promised." Yatora mutters in your hair.

"Do you trust me?"

[hectic-hector]

Man in an Emerald Hourglass

I figured that since I once wrote a poem about Coco’s Héctor, it would only be right to pay tribute to Encanto’s Bruno as well.

”Man in an Emerald Hourglass”

You kiss me ablaze with that beautiful mouth Sing to my skin as you’re traveling south Hold me and mold me like clay in your hands Grasp grains of truth as you’re sifting the sands

Your eyes are pure emeralds, are embers that glow Eyes that are wiser than they dare to show Can’t you see us together at the end of the world? Can’t you see our forever, our future unfurled?

They called you the prophet, the prodigal son Now there’s no one for me if you’re not the one The salt that I taste, is it sweat, is it tears? When I kiss away all your pain and your fears I felt your heart beating behind that cracked wall And I heard you pleading far down that black hall Where rag dolls and rats were our mutual friends And our love was a love without any end

Can we break free and flee, and finally take flight? Can I hold you right here for just one more night? Where the shape of our souls interwoven could be A butterfly, an hourglass, or infinity.

[akiraink-no]

Empires SMP-Spirts/Fae AU

Hey! So I was watching Shubble’s stream(right after her first episode and as she was playing, I got some ideas for the Empires SMP!  Note: I haven’t watched everyone’s episodes on Empires, but I highly suggest that you check them all out. Pearl and Gem’s videos on Empires are some of my favorites, but I also love Shubble, Scott, fWhip, and Pixlriffs.

Initial World-building:  I like to think that the Empires SMP is a story of spirits/fae/royal courts. For example some of the players would be spirits or fae creatures. (Think Scott, Shubble, Jimmy?? And maybe Pixl), and the rest would be normal, human players that are royals. (Again, fWhip, Mythical, Pearl, Katherine, Joey, Gem, etc…)  I’ll start with the fae creatures first and if I’m up to it, I’ll post my ideas for the others. 

Scott Smajor: Ice/Wind

So in my head, I like to think that Scott is a fae creature from the court of ice and wind. (Mostly because ice powers are cool and because he’s in a mountain). He has explicitly stated that he’s building in an elven sort of style, which can still match with him being from a fae court. 

Personality: 

I would like to say he’s cold, calculating, and even ruthless or cruel at times (He murdered Gem after she died, guys, come on). He sees the people around him as assets that can help him, but he doesn’t form a real connection with any of them just yet. Everything is very strict and formal around him

I like to think that because wind spirits are pretty mischievous and free spirited, he has a softer side to him as well. He likes to pull pranks, but doesn’t know when too far is too far. His pranks can border on cruel and sometimes insensitive, but it’s because wind/ice spirits are probably the most detached from the other spirits

Appearance:

As for his appearance, I’m taking his skin as part of my inspiration. I like the idea of him in whites, blues, golds, and silvers. He has a crown of diamond shards that mimic ice and is held together with silver and gold that mimic branches. His robes are mostly white(representing snow) and there would be a trim of blue for the skies above his lands. He might have either arm bands, bracelets, or rings that are made of silver or gold(representing the times when the sun or moon hits the snow). 

Powers(?)

Because Scott is an ice/wind spirit, I think it would be cool if parts of him would reflect that. Maybe his skin is super pale and cold to the touch. Maybe he doesn’t wear furry coats because he doesn’t get cold. 

The air around him gets colder when he’s angry or stressed, and if he gets really pissed, he could make it start to snow around him. When he’s sad, ice starts to freeze the ground under his feet or plants around him. Maybe it gets windy when he’s happy or dies down when something shocks him

I also think it’d be cool if he had like… frost walker(?) on his feet. Like the water freezes should he get too close and he doesn’t even realize it until someone points it out. It makes travel easy for him, but also an annoyance when he is doing a build or getting a bucket of water

Shubble: Nature/Decay

So Shubble’s kingdom/empire is called the Undergrowth. When I think of that, I think of mushrooms, soil, roots, and trees. It’s pretty close to what she’s planning right now. Her style of building gives me very cottage core vibes that’s very overgrown. I like to think that she’s a nature spirit because she has said that nature provides and that just seems like a very spirit thing to say. 

So I know I said decay, but when it comes to decay, it has an interesting look to everyone. Sometimes it’s bleached bones and withered grass, sometimes it’s spongy soil and mushrooms. I like to think that Shubble is the kinder side to decay(That’s saved for someone else). Something that must happen for the cycle of life to continue, she isn’t ruthless or cruel, she’s just trying to help the earth along.

Personality: 

Shubble would be very kind, sweet, and overall very trusting. That doesn’t mean she’s stupid or naive, it just means she’s willing to be kind to people first and give them chances to show their kindness. (I spent a long time in her chat during her streams and… yeah, wholesome energy). 

She doesn’t see the people around her as assets and rather hopes to make friends rather than enemies. I won’t say she forms connections quickly(mostly because I haven’t seen her interact with others just yet). But she is very trusting. (remember fWhips potatoes and Pearl’s shovel). During her stream after her first episode aired, she talked about hoping to be friends with Katherine from House Blossom and is aiming to stay as peaceful as possible during the time of the server. 

Appearance: 

So I haven’t seen her skin yet(mostly because this is coming out before we see it.) But she’s using a lot of browns, yellows, greens, and reds. I would like to say that her outfit would sort of reflect that. Instead of a crown of precious gems and metals, it’s maybe a crown of twigs, branches, leaves, and maybe some smaller mushrooms. (Antlers would be cool, so… ) 

I don’t think a dress would work, since she does a lot of work around her base. (Her stream was having her working with trees, leaves, and mining), so I think maybe a pair of overalls (maybe a brown?), a yellow/red undershirt and maybe a dark green jacket. Her outfit would be perfect for her to get on her hands and knees and dig into the earth(Gardener! Shubble). 

Powers:

I feel like because Shubble has this overall sweet and kind energy, I think mushrooms would grow from around her feet. Maybe she can sense when things are about to pass on and tries to make them as comfortable as possible. She can communicate with the earth below her(again, nature provides), and can speak with the animals to some degree

I would like to see spore blossoms react to her. Since spores are also the seeds for mushrooms, it’d just make sense in my head. Maybe she can coax plants to bloom or grow slightly faster around her if she’s happy. Maybe when she’s sad, things start to wilt or shrivel up. Her anger makes things die or age rapidly around her. Her touch can either harm or heal. Knitting the body’s wounds or it could tear into them, causing them agony. 

Jimmy: Ghosts/Decay

I like to think that maybe Jimmy started out human. Or maybe he’s half human. Like one of his parents was human and the other was a fae. (It would certainly explain his skin) 

Personality:

So I haven’t watched a lot of Jimmy, but I wanted to get this off my chest because it’s been in my head for a while now. I think Jimmy, like Shubble, is trusting. Not as much as Shubble, but he does aim for friendship first and then enemy second. So, maybe he’s an opportunist instead. 

Another thing that he might be is petty or spiteful(see his and Sausage’s argument over a music disc). Another ruler might negotiate or bargain their way to what they want, but I think that either Jimmy is pretty young(for fae standards) or his mixed bloodline makes it hard for him to act with a clearer head. It’s pretty clear that he wants others to take him seriously, but at the same time, he can act very impulsive and rashly(See all of 3rd life). 

Appearance: 

It’s pretty clear that Jimmy has that green tinge to his skin. But I think he would have colours such as green(for obvious reasons), browns, and maybe some greys(for clay in the swamp). He wouldn’t have a crown, instead, he’d have a set of gills on each side of his neck. Since I like to think that he swims around in the swamp to talk to the cod in his kingdom. 

For more formal events, he might have a brown cloak and pants with a rich green tunic. He doesn’t look the most royal, but maybe that’s okay because he doesn’t want to be seen as super royal to the rest of his kingdom. Maybe he feels like if he appears to be too royal, the people of his kingdom wouldn’t approach him. 

Powers: 

So Jimmy’s was pretty difficult. Swamps aren’t like ice and wind or nature. But he is a spirit of decay. A less kind version of decay, but not overall cruel. Maybe his decay strikes faster than Shubbles. Where she is understanding and aims to help those along, Jimmy is buried with memories, sunken bodies, and ghostly apparitions. 

So maybe he can see the dead, ghosts who haven’t passed on and simply wander his empire. His eyes glow a faint green whenever he talks to them and tries to aid them to move on to the afterlife.When he’s happy, he shines in the dark backdrop of the swamp, drawing more of the dead, eager to pass on. 

Maybe his anger results in ghostly wails or being dragged into the soft earth around his home. His sadness draws more of the dead to his area, even if they didn’t die there. His pain and grief is like a blackhole, pulling souls in and forcing them to stick around, stuck in his orbit. Maybe a certain few stayed because he was the first one who spoke to them, who reached out to them, who made an effort. 

Pixlriffs:Time/Death

So Pixlriffs has said that he wants to watch over the others deaths with his vigil and he lives in a desert, so I thought they would work with each other. When you think of time, you think of hourglasses, they have sand so that’s the connection I made. 

Personality: 

So Pix has shown an unhinged side to his overall calm and collected composure.(Example, Episode Ten, I think?) His: I sent five people to their deaths and they granted me wings(paraphrased) line is both chilling and is also perfect for a spirit of time/death. 

He, like Scott, is a bit disconnected from the others. Not by accident or nature, but by choice. As a spirit of time and death, he sees the clocks above everyone’s heads, knowing when their last breaths will be taken and when those clocks finally stop. 

It’s not that he’s apathetic to his fellow kings and queens, but rather he is scared. He doesn’t want to form connections only to see them disappear like a drop of sand in a desert. He wishes to honour the people who have weaseled their way into his heart. So he keeps the vigil to count their deaths and remind them that they will not be forgotten. Pixl is a watcher, an overseer that is afraid of the day his friends will pass on and leave him alone. 

Appearance:

The man calls himself the copper king, so I have to have those shades of copper in his outfits somewhere. Teal, brown(for bronze), and those shades between (for copper)are very good(both in builds and on clothes). I also think that pale yellow(representing the sand) is also a nice touch and green for his lush gardens is also a wonderful tone. 

He has a cape that is mostly teal(I’m thinking the shift between the third to final stage) with a bronze belt. The pale yellow would be his shirt and his pants would be a darker brown. Matching his boots. 

I think he would have a crown with pale yellow crystals(yellow zircon or topaz) with bronze wires making up the rest of the crown. Maybe there are pieces of turquoise or aquamarine, that would be cool too. 

Powers: 

The man is basically a watcher. He has wings and can see through time. Like I said before, he can see the clocks ticking above the other players’ heads. Seeing how long they have until their last breath. Pixl is equal parts chaotic and calm. So I think he has a good control over his emotions. 

When he’s stressed things start to wilt under his feet(another reason he lives in a desert), in his anger, he can cause death. Maybe he’s just an omen or something that draws in death. (See his end raiding attempts one and two). I like to think that maybe he has the ability to hold flames or make small ones(just for his candles), he isn’t violent or uses them to hurt others. He simply just uses them to light his candles. 

He’s more than capable with his other abilities. 

This is all I have for now. If I decide to do the others, I’ll add a link to this post. I’d appreciate some information or ideas for the other players since I haven’t had the chance to touch down on all of them. If you have any ideas, feel free to send them to me too!

[otonymous]

Immortal Beloved (IkeVamp Leonardo - NSFW)

Description: Leonardo muses on love, lust…and the inevitability of time Warnings: NSFW/18+: explicit/graphic language — reader discretion is advised.  Potential trigger warnings: angst, allusions to death Word Count: ~700 words (3.5 mins of angst & smut-lite™️) Author’s Notes:  For whatever reason, I cannot help but wax poetic when it comes to the IkeVamp boys, especially Team BFF: Le Comte & Leo 😂. This drabble is dedicated to the lovely @aaviav​, one of the winners of my follower milestone celebration.  Thank you so much for your patience, my dear!  I hope you enjoy the read! 🥰💕

⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳

It is a constant reminder of that which our kind will not allow ourselves to forget:

The hourglasses he surrounds himself with in his room; the Master of the House looking upon a reflection distorted in bulbous glass to see entire deserts shift with each grain of sand yielding to gravity’s pull.

My gift of the watch that adorns your delicate wrist, the hands of fate upon its face tick-ticking away to move your ship inexorably forward in the swift currents of time while him and I...

We are forever moored to the curse to which we were born.

Inherited in blood, forged in bone.  Birthed in the bite, such that even at the pinnacle of joy, sorrow is never far behind.

For how could I ever forget, cara mia, that Hell is not the instance of fire and brimstone but the slow crawl of ravaging time, drawing out the fickleness of fleeting youth until you are cold and still in earth’s embrace while I...

…I, alone, will be left to watch the sun dawn on a new day, that rosy maiden arriving from the East indifferent as her laughter shines bright upon my shattered world.  And for once, there will be something broken beyond even the means of my repair.

So let me love you.  Now, and for the rest of your life.  And when that day comes to find your eyes too weary to lift, my heart shall go with, never to love another again.

For there is a divinity in your body laid out beneath the stretch of mine, a spark of design in your gaze — desire unfurling like tendrils of cigarillo smoke to intoxicate each and every heightened sense.

You drive me crazy, cara mia, but I suspect you already knew.

The knowledge settles in the sway of your hips; secrets tucked in the symmetry of their perfection and constantly beckoning to curious hands so that I cannot help but touch you, no matter where we find ourselves:

In the gardens where roses bloom.

Behind the spectres of billowing curtains in the halls.

In between kisses stolen among shelves of dusty tomes.

And yet, it is never enough.

If I were an abomination of that which nature intended, then greed is the true face of the monster, for when it comes to you, I am insatiable.  I want your everything, need all that you are.  And though I already own your nights, I desire your days — every minute slipping by that finds me anywhere but inside you a moment wasted.

I feel your lips on my skin like a phantom even in your absence, every kiss warm like the comfort of a hearth.  Sense the mischief in your playful tongue, quick and agile dancing along my hardening cock until I cannot help but push into the wetness of your mouth.

And apt pupil that you are, you take me so well.  

All of me.

It is nothing short of a wonder, the show you put on like a prima donna of the stage — feigning naïveté when the embers of lust already cast you in the spotlight of their glow.  You move with the grace and strength of a dancer, seeking your pleasure in sheathing me deeper and deeper within the slick vice of your body as I, your rapt audience, find meaning in the coquettish curve of your smile.  Every moan laid upon the lobe of my ear is an aria, and I yield to your touch like most pliant clay — a man transformed by the enigma of your love.

Long are the days in which I’ve wandered this earth and yet it is only now that I’ve come to understand the capacity of the heart.  How small it is.  You fill it entirely, cara mia, and there will never be room for anyone else.  And yet, when you fit your tiny hand to my own, I find the entire universe within my grasp.  Such is the paradox of your love, the mysteries of which I will never tire of unravelling.  You gave me everything when you gave yourself to me, and though eternity runs not through your veins, it is my heart that will forever beat for you…

My immortal beloved.

⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳

Thank you so much for reading!  Check out more of my work here! 📚

[sasorikigai]

45 + 50 ( for modern fire hubby plz )

𝟏𝟎𝟎 𝑵𝑶𝑵𝑽𝑬𝑹𝑩𝑨𝑳 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑷𝑻𝑺 . || @sonxflight || accepting

∗ 45﹕ sender  kisses  receiver’s  [ forehead / cheek ] .

∗ 5o﹕ sender  rests  their  forehead  against  receiver’s .

💥 || There is nothing more sacred and holy than be cradled in the serenading radiance of his beloved’s sunshine in his waning heartbeat, after having decided to relinquish the very air that he needed to breathe in order to revivify his deflating lungs. How rose petals of his spilling sanguine intertwine with iridescent stars of his gaze, embedded as his mind flows to the frantic beat of Ryou Sakai’s heart; thorns in constellations that prick his beloved’s thumb can render him as equally as incapacitated and motionless as hardening copper upon the scorching galaxies that erupted with blinding aura of white flowers of detonation. Time may be tangible; but Hanzo Hasashi knows the truth. 

Time is a needle; a sewing needle so often touched by the immortals’ hands, in and out of the fabric of their eternal, everburning tapestry. For they have endured and will continue to endure more physical and emotional afflictions than all the mortals, for its quiet silver of the raining bullets and shrapnel that perforate and pierce through even their hardened, adamantine bones and musculature. The hourglass is their hearts, but they would never fathom to perceive that precise moment when the last drop of sand would fall, thus it would be their destined time to be erased from this world, in any circumstances possible. 

How to describe this, loss... Hanzo Hasashi remembers each shape of Harumi and Satoshi’s body constructed in countless manifestations of his daydreams and nightmares; made over him, also made him over. How he had been unmoored for eons of time, tethered to torture and suffering and annihilation and brutal violent death all wrapped up into pretty little packages for his bruised, unhealed heart. Punishment and judgement and condemnation and horrors and the monsters under the bed, all worded beautifully and sweetly like a love song tied together by ribbons of carefully placed euphemisms of his damned immortal life wrought by vengeance and indomitable will to serve righteousness. 

How his obstinate gaze manifests itself as endlessly decaying shimmer of light. For Hanzo Hasashi’s dissevered soul from his reconstructed form, without any blemishes will unadulterate him; cleansing him of a filthy mixture of mud and clay and blood, dripping with acid rain, and stinking crud. No longer the living dead, being filled without utter fear, nor an ultimate sense of dread he experienced in Edo Japan when initial mortal Hanzo Hasashi met his supposed death. 

Hanzo, the roundness of the sound of his name, echoes through the nonexistent space between their being. There was something in the shape of Ryou Sakai’s mouth, in his mirror eyes, and while he may struggle to name it a softness, or a recognition, he could only look up at his beloved, rapt, all radiant and unshadowed of distress and despair. With a tempered abandon, as impression of tangible warmth paints his fevered hot cheeks, how his sinew repairs, and his once severed heartstrings strengthen. New fibers woven into his being as unbidden, intensive, and gossamer affection colors him from deathly pallid back to rubicund and magnificent. 

“Every time I experience rebirth, I find myself imbued with strength and life. Enriched with more experiences and more torn sails, and find myself continually dreaming of the better future, lest such fervent terror of criminality will continue to rampantly degrade humanity, I know that future reincarnations of ourselves will continue to overcome and overwhelm the gift of our tiny deaths.” The proverbial raging fire within his being burns its beauteous, magnanimous embers, as his tightened embrace cradles Ryou closer, until their hearts merge into one.  💥 ||