#paradox and delight

[the-crazy-echidna-lady]

I really want to know more about your oc's but I don't know where to start xd

pretty much tidbits about my ocs for you to come up with questions will be found on tags with their name Like #rooty float Or #joe java I'll leave some tags for you. Also, Peri/Paradox and Delight are now just Original ocs lol no longer bound by the laws of being fandom ocs lol

[cringefail-clown]

i think dirk would give up on his evil masterplan like one week into the journey if those three ganged up on him. hed turn the ship back in tears and, once returned, begged dave on his knees to never make him sit in a room alone with those fuckers. thats the seer power for you

[hercury]

they can get worse actually

[fictionadventurer]

Potential January Reads

A Brilliant Night of Ice and Stars by Rebecca Connolly

Rhododendron Pie by Margery Sharp

So Big by Edna Ferber

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte

Vibrant Paradoxes by Bishop Robert Barron

The Diary of a Country Priest by George Bernanos

Doctor Thorne by Anthony Trollope

Katherine Wentworth by D.E. Stevenson

[thatscarletflycatcher]

The thing is, I do love a cranky, sarcastic, clever, old man writer. I delight in Alasdair MacIntyre, and I have the time of my life reading Etienne Gilson too, even the times I disagree with them.

And then there's one Gilbert Keith Chesterton whom I find insufferable to read most of the time, unless it is fiction (The Man Who Was Thursday my beloved).

[arylleth]

when lana del rey said, "open me up; tell me you like it. fuck me to death. love me until i love myself," and when olivie blake wrote, "gideon felt unopened and raw, like he’d cracked his chest in two and presented the evidence for nico’s evaluation," and when micah nemerever wrote, "he wanted to break julian’s body open and move inside it alongside him, rib cages interlaced around a single heart."

[msetra]

this will never be realized on television because the war in heaven is simply too esoteric & too costly to depict in live action or really any format besides literature, but it is fun to imagine that the last great time war as shown in the revived series is just a minor scheme in a much, much larger horror. like the ending to the original men in black, the tv series is just one marble of many, but going beyond simply lore, you have to appreciate the amount of spite that this paragraph is written with. even my own criticisms of new who don't hold a candle to this

[silverwhittlingknife]

hiii! i just wanted to reach out n let you know that i just spent the last few days speed reading all your ao3 work bc i literally couldn't put it down. the way you write dick really just scratches my brain in the best way possible. he's a little (read: very) neurotic and it just. his motivations are so clear in your work, not in the sense that there isn't tension and anxiety but in that his core personality, his drive to help and the anger and trauma that has built him, his need to always be performing and catering to those around him, it comes across sososososos SO well. he was the first character that got me into comics and since then i've kinda stopped reading him bc i have lots of issues w tom taylors run (not the point so i digress) but you have really inspired me to go back and read more of his old stuff so thank you! you have such a clear grasp on his character and its something i admire very much! ur very very talented! and i really appreciate you sharing ur art! hope ur doin well :)

HI THIS IS SUCH A NICE COMPLIMENT???? <3333 This is so nice & sweet & it made my whole day!!! THANK YOU I AM HUGGING YOU ACROSS THE INTERNET AHHHHHH

he's a little (read: very) neurotic and it just. his motivations are so clear in your work, not in the sense that there isn't tension and anxiety but in that his core personality, his drive to help and the anger and trauma that has built him, his need to always be performing and catering to those around him

YEAH IT's HIMMMM i love this description <333

THANK YOU YOU ARE LOVELY & KIND PLS ACCEPT THIS DOG PICTURE AS TOKEN OF MY GRATITUDE

[the-crazy-echidna-lady]

"AND OVER HERE WE HAVE PAI DYING BC HIS NIECE AND NEPHEW ARE DICKS- ROWDY BATHES DELIGHT IN A RAIN OF MONEY WHILST SHIMMER SCREAMS HER LUNGS OUT BECAUSE THAT WAS FOR COLLEGE, AND PARADOX PRAYS IT'LL ALL BE OVER SOON! And we put our creator in jail." Redraw from this from 2020. ->

[arolesbianism]

Sigh. Nikola why must you be one of the more interesting oni characters. I don't wanna think abt you with your stupid spiky blond hair and your unethical science that mostly just serves to make Jackie more shitty by proxy. But I do. Because you're kind of orbo blorbo. Fuck you Nikola I hope you explode again

[cyberdragoninfinity]

Yo if ya still doin yugi ask thing, and ya haven't done em yet, how bout paradox?

PDOXXXXX LET'S GO

First impression: we watched BBT for the first time a little over two years ago (4th of july 2021) and at the time I was mostly like. oh ok so this movie is fucking batshit. what the HELL is going on with this villain design. IM HAVING A BLAST.

Impression now: MOMMM DANA GOT ATTACHED TO A NOTHINGBURGER CHARACTER AGAIN....god. GOD!! Paradox!! simultaneously a one-off tie in movie villain and also someone with absolutely Harrowing Agonizing Lore tied to his home series. his design is fucking insane and I maybe made a bunch of stuff up with him in my head and I absolutely adore him. Society where my guy Pdox got a Tag Force route *beautiful futuristic city*

Favorite moment: going to be a tricky little bitch and pick something not even from Bonds Beyond Time--they did NOT need to give Paradox such a raw ass conversation with Pegasus in Duel Links the Yugioh Mobile Game but thank GOD THEY DID. THINKING ABOUT IT OFTEN. HE GOT HIS WHOLE BRAIN SCRAMBLED. anyway movie wise it's been a hot minute since ive seen BBT but I do love when he's just fucking shit up in Venice. And Jaden is there.

Idea for a story: anything set in the Fucked Up Future... I want to know the intricacies of Paradox's relationship with the other Stars. I want a story about how he joined up with Z-one and Antinomy in the first place. Canon really gave us such microscopic scraps...

Unpopular opinion: he's cool and I like him and i think he can be just as interesting as the other three Iliaster guys..if we open our hearts...

Favorite relationship: GOTTA BE BASIC OF COURSE but you know im about that peepaw polycule life!!! I think he and Antinomy coulda been besties... I especially like the potential of his relationship with Z-one. It fascinated me. He fucking sent Paradox to effectively go die and didn't even care. I WANT TO KNOW MORE....

Favorite headcanon: guy i have so many gender opinions about i had to split him into two different characters in Pizza AU. nonbinary dykefag psychic duelist i know this in my BONES. French/British/Italian euromutt. I also rly like the hc (/borderline canon honestly) that he isn't a duelist and is like..frankly kind of bad at duel monsters. he's a scientist through and through.

[tokiiku]

Also, Shadow telling Maria her wish creates a paradox of sorts. Maria will likely tell Shadow her wish because she knows it has a strongly positive impact on him even fifty years after her death.

I love how Gerald was trying to keep Shadow from spoiling anything about the future meanwhile literally everything Shadow says and does around Maria is the biggest death flag ever

[miraene13]

hiii! >:3

TERRIFYING AJBSJSBDJ

HELLO!!!!! XD

[altkys]

ANAXA SMUT HEAD CANNONS PLEASE PLEASE ANAXA SMUT HEAD CANNONS PLEASE PLEASE ANAXA SMUT HEAD CANNONS PLEASE PLEASE ANAXA SMUT HEAD CANNONS PLEASE PLEASE ANAXA SMUT HEAD CANNONS PLEASE PLEASE ANAXA SMUT HEAD CANNONS PLEASE PLEASE ANAXA SMUT HEAD CANNONS PLEASE PLEASE ANAXA SMUT HEAD CANNONS PLEASE PLEASE ANAXA SMUT HEAD CANNONS PLEASE PLEASE ANAXA SMUT HEAD CANNONS PLEASE PLEASE ANAXA SMUT HEAD CANNONS PLEASE PLEASE ANAXA SMUT HEAD CANNONS PLEASE PLEASE ANAXA SMUT HEAD CANNONS PLEASE PLEASE

ılıılıılıılıılı NOW PLAYING… Lights Down Low

RAHHHH this took so long I’m so sorry (⸝⸝o̴̶̷᷄‸o̴̶̷̥᷅⸝⸝) Mostly because halfway through researching him it was like… you’re an Al Haitham, and I fucking hate that guy. You also didn’t specify much so I made Anaxa a sub, since I personally lean more dominant, I’m open to redos if you’d like! I also threw in a short Drabble as compensation <3

Anyways, hope you enjoy, sorry for the wait!! (One helluva username btw)

❝ Take it slow, put it down on me I said jump on it, ride like a pony Lights down low, time to get naughty ❞

→ Anaxagoras may have power and mystery in public, but behind closed doors, he’s secretly thrilled when you take the reins. The moment you push him down by the shoulder or whisper what you want, that ever-calm expression falters — just slightly. It’s the only time his carefully maintained control crumbles, and he likes it.

→ You love to make him straddle you — his long silver hair messy around his face, breathing shallow, eye wide with anticipation. When you hold his wrists behind his back or have him ride you slow and steady, his soft gasps and clenched jaw are everything.

→ He’s articulate, but when it comes to asking for what he wants — being touched, being taken, being praised — he hesitates. You use it to your advantage, making him squirm with low demands:

“Tell me you want me to ride you again.” He’ll hesitate, throat dry, then obey — quietly, obediently. And when he finally does, it’s devastatingly pretty.

→ He’s usually the one talking in riddles and cool analysis — but once you start grinding down on him or whispering dirty praise, his mouth becomes a mess. Half sentences. Little groans. Quiet pleases he never thought he’d say. Bonus if you tug on his earrings or kiss just under his jaw.

→ He tries to stay composed—but when you start going faster, deeper, rougher, he loses the rhythm of his own voice. His words come out rushed and strangled:

“Y-Yes, just like that, wait— wait- don’t stop—” It’s music to your ears. He hates how quickly he comes when you’re in control, and you love pushing him past the edge.

→ When things get rough, he loves being grabbed by the back of his silvery hair and tugged into place. Biting his throat, leaving visible marks across his collarbone — it makes him shiver. He’s so pale that every bruise shows beautifully, and you delight in that.

→ He’s the definition of a pillow prince — he will lay back and let you ride, fuck, take your time, and won’t complain. But don’t mistake him for passive: his hands roam with purpose, his teeth graze where you know it counts, and that single intense eye contact from below? Devastating.

→ When he comes, it’s a full-body reaction. He arches, jaw slack, eye fluttering shut, and whimpers softly. You find it addictive to hold him there, trembling, overstimulated, and whispering sweet, filth-laced praise into his ear as he rides it out. He never knows if he’s being worshipped or wrecked — and that tension turns him on more.

→ After it all, he’s clingy in a low-key way: resting his head in your lap, letting you wipe him down, eyes half-lidded and dazed. Stroke his hair, whisper “good boy,” and he won’t even deny it — just hums quietly, face tucked into your skin like he belongs there.

→ Fitting for a philosopher, his safe word is “paradox.” It’s rare that he uses it, but it fits his aesthetic — and when it’s whispered, immediately pull him close, hold him until he's grounded again.

✦ "Lights Down Low" — Drabble; 1.3k

The first time you told him not to touch, he didn’t listen. Now? He wouldn’t dare.

You’re above him again tonight—just like that first time, only slower now, crueler in the way you savor him. The way you ride him without a rush, without mercy. He’s already on edge, his body betraying him with every twitch and whimper, but you haven’t even started to fuck him properly.

You're just… watching.

And he’s just… waiting.

Like a sword on display. All shine, all restraint. But underneath? He’s begging.

You lean in, lips near his ear, breath warm.

“Hands stay there,” you whisper, pressing his wrists back against the headboard.

And he nods. Because of course he does. Because your voice melts right through whatever icy pride he still thinks he has left.

“Good,” you murmur.

He doesn't even know what you did to him. Only that when you speak like that it folds him open in places even he didn’t know existed.

Your hips shift down and Aeons, he can’t help the sound that spills out of him, quiet and strangled, like shame wrapped in silk.

“Don’t make me hold you down,” you say, teasing. But there's a real warning in it.

“I- I’m not moving,” he breathes. And he means it. His arms ache to touch you, to pull you closer, to feel the curve of your spine under his palms. But you don’t want that tonight. You want him still — under you, for you, yours. And he gives it.

He always gives it.

Even if it kills him.

You start to move again — slow and deep. He can feel the slick slide of you around him, dragging over every hypersensitive inch of him, and it’s too much, already too much.

“Fuck,” he breathes, brows drawn tight. “Please…”

“Please what?” you ask, slow and cruel. “Tell me.”

He doesn’t answer at first. He can’t. He’s panting, barely able to breathe with the weight of how you’re rolling your hips — so steady, so controlled, it’s like you want him to fall apart in pieces. And maybe you do.

“Use your words,” you say. “Come on, Anax.”

A shiver runs down his spine. You only use his name like that when you mean to ruin him.

“…I- I want to come,” he admits, voice wrecked. “Please. Gods, just — let me…”

You tilt your head. Smile.

“Not yet.”

And it shatters something in him. Not because you denied him. But because he’ll obey.

You always make him obey.

You start to fuck him in earnest now — harder, deeper, riding him like you own every inch of him. And maybe you do. The way he reacts to you — throat tight, eyes glazed, hips trying so hard to stay still — it’s devotion. It’s surrender.

You reach down, hand splayed over his chest, pushing him into the mattress as you grind down.

“You look so pretty like this,” you say. “Falling apart underneath me.”

And he does. He knows he does. He can feel it in the heat flooding his cheeks, in the sheen of sweat on his body, in the way his cock twitches helplessly inside you, desperate for friction, desperate for permission.

Every sound he makes is for you. Every shudder, every breath, every whispered, broken plea.

You lean down and kiss him like you want to taste how far gone he is. He moans into your mouth and gasps when you pull away, eyes fluttering open.

“You wanna come, pretty boy?”

He nods frantically. “Please— please, I can’t—” He breaks off with a sob when your hips stutter just right.

“Then beg.”

And he does. Because pride is dust in the air when you're above him like this. He doesn't even know what he's saying — just your name, again and again, some mix of please and love and fuck and I need you so bad, I’ll die if you stop.

You must like the sound of it. Because you lean close again, nose brushing his cheek, lips at his ear.

“Come for me, Anaxa. I want to feel you fall apart.”

And when you say it like that, he doesn't stand a chance.

He comes with a sound you've never heard from him before—guttural, raw, like it's been torn out of him. His whole body arches up under yours, and he still doesn’t move his hands. He still follows your rules. He’s trembling, gasping, nearly sobbing from the intensity, from how hard you made him wait, from how good it felt to finally, finally be allowed to give in.

You don’t let up until he’s shaking. Until his legs won’t stop twitching and he’s gone soft inside you, ruined and sensitive and beautiful.

When you finally stop, you lower yourself gently over him. His arms drop—finally—and wrap around your waist. He buries his face in your throat, breath shallow, heart racing.

“I hate you,” he mutters weakly.

You smile into his hair. “No, you don’t.”

“…No,” he admits, barely a whisper. “I don’t.”

Thank you for the request!! Please reblog or comment feedback, love yous! ♥(⸝⸝⸝ᵒ̴̶̷̥́ ᵕ ก̀⸝⸝⸝)ෆ

[azrielsrealmate]

alcohol and pancakes

azriel x reader

summary: azriel was always devoted to you, but when drunk? He was clingy, touchy and devoted. And he wanted to take care of you even if his mind was spinning.

warnings: mentions of alcohol?

word count: 1.3k

this is a silly little thing because I’ve just read somewhere that Azriel gets clingy when drunk and oh my god that’s sooo cute 😭

Your touch on his cheek was like a soothing balm for a wound that throbbed and stung, with each languid and incredibly soft stroke easing the pain more and more. He let go, leaning into your touch.

Why did he always have to be the tough and unbreakable guy? He wasn’t that tough, nor unbreakable, he was just... himself. And your gentle caresses made him want to whimper. His honeyed eyes closed with a hum of satisfaction, and you laughed softly. Why was even your laugh soft? Azriel didn’t understand. Azriel didn’t want to understand.

“How much have you had to drink?” you asked, arching both eyebrows in pure tenderness.

It took Azriel several seconds to process the question, in reality, he had drunk quite a bit. But that didn’t diminish any of the things he wanted to do with you, which at the moment was nothing more than resting his face between your generous breasts. He nuzzled your palm, breathing in and pressing a soft kiss.

“Not too much.”

Liar. Lies. A shadow whispered in his ear, and Azriel nearly growled, brushing it aside and nuzzling your hand further.

“Ah, I see,” you murmured, entertained by the sight—a warrior nearly two meters tall, and a spy no less, clinging to you like a needy child craving affection. Your voice was drenched in amusement, dripping over him just enough to make him open his eyes slightly.

“I’m not that drunk.” He almost whined, his eyebrows furrowing, and you had to stifle another giggle. Not wanting to offend the oh-so-scary shadowsinger that was hovering over your body, laid across your marriage bed.

“I’m not that drunk,” Azriel repeated, this time with a firmer, almost defiant tone, though it wasn’t as firm or defiant as he intended, because you could see the tremor at the corner of his lip, trying not to smile like a fool upon seeing your own smile. He reminded you more of Nyx trying to convince you that he wasn’t sleepy at bedtime just to spend more time with you, than of the five-hundred-year-old spy that he was.

His eyes, usually as inscrutable as the night sky, were now clouded by a mixture of alcohol and a tenderness he rarely allowed himself to show—a vulnerability that made you stroke his cheek once more.

“Azriel…” you whispered with a gentleness that only softened the normally sharp edges of his face further. You could see the freckles scattered across his nose, small and nearly invisible, like tiny constellations marking his skin. And the slight green ring in the center of his eyes, and a few strands of hair longer than the others.

“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of you,” he said, burying his face in the crook of your neck, this time sounding more resolute, acceptably more resolute, as he breathed in your scent like it was a balm he desperately needed. The way his body, so big and strong, curled up against yours was a delightful paradox you couldn’t help but enjoy. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders to pull him closer. You felt the weight of his head on your shoulder, the brush of his dark hair against your cheek. “I can take care of you... always.”

A soft laugh, impossible to contain, escaped your lips. The irony of his words filled your chest with a playful warmth. “Really?” you teased, your hands caressing his back with the same slow indulgence of someone petting a spoiled kitten. Carefully avoiding his wings, so as not to turn clingy-drunk Azriel into horny-clingy-drunk Azriel. “Then, if you’re so capable, why don’t you go down to the kitchen and make me some dinner?” You were pretty sure he would wobble if he got up.

Azriel lifted his head, his eyes gleaming with a determined light that almost made you regret your words. He could make you dinner—no, he should make it for you. You were his mate, and he had lost count of how many nights he had come home dazed with exhaustion only to find a warm dinner and loving arms.

Before you could react, he got up from the bed with the agility of a feline, the weight of his determination palpable in the air, your thoughts incredibly wrong; he didn’t wobble even once.

“Azriel, no—” you began, reaching for his arm as he headed toward the door. “It was a joke, I’ve already eaten, please don’t try to make me dinner when you’re in this state…”

He didn’t listen, or decided not to, moving through the room with that lethal grace so natural to him. You were forced to follow him as he made his way down the hallway and then down the stairs to the kitchen.

When you reached the kitchen, you made sure to turn on the lights because Azriel hadn’t bothered, given that he was already opening the cabinets, inspecting their contents with an intensity that almost made you worry.

“I’ll make you pancakes,” he announced, and you laughed, so much that your cheeks turned red.

“Pancakes?” you approached him, placing a hand on his arm in an attempt to stop him. “Az, that’s not dinner.”

“It will be,” he said, determined, and his stubbornness brought another smile to your face. There was no stopping him now, so you resigned yourself to helping him.

He continued to inspect the cabinet contents, searching for something that he didn’t even have in mind. You couldn’t help but let out a giggle—he was so determined that he didn’t even seem lost.

“How about you start by getting the flour?” Azriel’s eyes lit up as if he finally remembered something. He grabbed the bag of flour. Then he looked back at the other contents in the cabinet, and you wanted to laugh again.

“The eggs and then the milk.” As he pulled out the ingredients with hands that were skilled but slightly shaky, you stayed close. He observed everything he had taken out, all placed on the counter, and then directed those hazel, clouded eyes at you, tentatively, in a silent question.

“That’s all we need.”

“Ah… I knew that.” He said as if trying to convince you of something.

“Of course you did, I wouldn’t doubt that my clever shadowsinger knew.” You were teasing him, but he didn’t even notice. Though you did notice the red that brushed his cheeks.

You handed him the bowl and the ingredients, watching with amusement as he measured and poured, his brow furrowed in concentration. His hands, which usually wielded weapons with deadly skill, now worked with adorable clumsiness to mix the ingredients. As he stirred, fearing that Azriel might spill too much of the mixture out of the bowl, you moved closer to help him, your hands gently falling over his, trying to guide him. Azriel froze for a second, and you knew almost instinctively that he was looking at the scars covering his hands, so different from the softness of yours. You offered him a warm smile, quickly making him forget about it.

The warmth of the kitchen was comforting, but not as much as the warmth radiating from his body next to yours. That warrior who could bring down armies was now focused on making pancake batter with the same seriousness he would approach any crucial task. And though pancakes weren’t a conventional dinner, you knew that the dedication he was putting into them made them more special than any banquet.

“Is this good?” he murmured, turning his face toward you, and for a moment, his honeyed eyes met yours.

“Perfect,” you replied softly, allowing yourself a small moment of respite in his closeness, enjoying the tenderness hidden behind that façade of hardness.

Azriel nodded, satisfied, before turning toward the pan that was already starting to heat. And as he poured the mixture, you couldn’t help but admire him, so determined and so devoted. All for you. All yours.