#really whats up with his fur pattern... hes gorgeous (:

[bizarrebuns]

"Gerson" - Chesterfield, MO

don't even have anything funny to say, this is just a beautiful buck doing his own thing with his hair.

[captain-mj]

For horror night!

Graves is exploring the forest near base during the full moon. It's bright enough he didn't really thing anything of it when he gets attacked by werewolf Price :)

Delicious. Also, consent do be dubious but I can assure you, all parties are consenting.

Graves had just been exploring the nearby area. Ever since he had been put on… probation he’d call it, he had been stuck on base. It made sense he couldn’t go on missions or leave unsupervised but he wasn’t even allowed outside without someone there. If he really wanted to escape, he would’ve done so!

Tonight, the moon looked lovely. It painted everything in a silver lighting that he liked. He slowly walked out into the grass. After a moment, he slipped off his shoes to feel the earth against his skin. Growing up Southern, he was rather used to being barefoot and while he didn’t exactly indulge the thought often, it felt nostalgic, holding his boots and walking through the cold grass.

Graves got to the tree line and noticed how dense the woods felt. Not just because of the thickness of the trees but the underbrush that surrounded each tree. He could barely take a step without something dragging at his pants. Brambles and parts of thicket and even some grass that had gotten longer where humans didn’t seek to control it.

Felt like home.

Graves heard something. Branches snapping. Immediately he started to look around, hoping to maybe catch a deer or fox. Too loud to be a rabbit.

Something peered at him. Eyes glowing in the dark. It was low to the ground so Graves tried to remember local wildlife. Too short to be a badger. Too talk to be a bunny. The eyes were huge and reflected the light easily.

It stood up.

Graves watched it raise up, thinking maybe it had been crouching.

But it kept standing up.

It went from only a foot off the ground to taller than him.

Graves knew when to run. He had only made it a few steps in to the woods. The treeline was still in sight. It should’ve been Fucking easy.

One of the brambles that tugged him earlier wrapped around his ankle and he hit the ground harder. The thing shoved his face in the ground with its giant hand.

Hand?

What?

Graves tried to get a good look but there was too much weight on him. The hand pressed him down hard, bordering on painful now.

He tried to elbow it and it growled so loud his ears began to ring.

Another hand balances in front of him and that’s when he sees it. Price has scarring on his hand. Its a funny shape. Rather unique. Someone had stabbed him in it. Twice. At separate times. It made an x that crossed his palm.

The monster’s hand has the x. It felt like Graves’s world started to slow down a rolling stop.

His harsh breathing echoed the monster on top of him. After a moment, he realized it was copying his pattern of breathing. Ever inhale matched.

More and more weight was put on him until he felt like he was being crushed. Graves started to claw at the ground to get away when finally, finally, the hand shoving him cheek first in the dirt Let go. He raised up a little and tried to escape and wiggle away.

A tongue ran up the bare skin on his neck as if to taste him. A growl resonated from it and then Graves found himself lifted up slightly and flipped on his back.

Price.

It really was Price.

Graves could tell by his eyes. Those gorgeous blue eyes. His eyes had to adjust to the dark and what he was seeing. Soft dark hair that curled around giant ears. He still had the body of Price. Maybe a bit bigger. Unnatural. His body seemed to bend and twist in a way that didn't quite make sense as if the tendons were wrong.

"John?" Graves said gently, reaching for him. His clothes hung off in tatters, letting him see all of the tattoos that dotted Price's body. His chest and stomach didn't have much fur, letting Graves gently touch his skin.

Price sank his teeth into his shoulder, hard enough for blood to start flowing. Graves immediately started to fight back, but even with all of his training, he hadn't really learned how to fight off... whatever this was. He kicked his feet, trying to find purchase on the ground.

Why did he leave base? He grew up in the South. He knew all about the things that could lurk in the woods. Should've waited.

"John please." He hit at his shoulders while feeling the teeth sink in deeper. Adrenaline kept the pain from really hitting him, but it was still there. Bubbling under the surface. "You don't really wanna kill me do you?" Could he even understand him?

Price pulled away, blood dripping from his face onto Graves's. His tongue flicked out to get the blood off his face before leaned down and licked it off Graves as well. For some reason, the word tender came to mind.

Then they were kissing. Price's blood covered tongue lapping into his mouth. Graves slowly stopped struggling, hands instead running down the smooth planes of his back before tugging the fur slightly. It came out in clumps in his hand and he quickly decided not to do that.

Price's teeth fit perfectly around his throat as he ripped Graves's pants off. Graves considered for a moment if he should. Would Price be upset in the morning? He couldn't possibly blame Graves for not fighting him off but what if he felt guilty? Price couldn't be in his right mind right now.

A harsh bite to his side dragged him back to the present. Only one way to find out.

Price pawed at him. His hands were normally big, but now they made Graves feel small. Wrapping around his waist with ease. Price nuzzled against his stomach for moving to his thighs, moving down.

Graves considered running for just a moment before Price's sharp claws dug into him. Maybe not. His hot breath fanned against his thighs and Graves blushed more.

Price's fingers were thick and tipped with claws. However, he was so careful as he fingered him. Graves was just happy he was of sound enough mind to think about that. His tongue poked at him and Graves squirmed before quickly being pinned back down. He was helpless to do anything other than take.

He whimpered as Price found his sweet spot, abusing it while he happily lapped at him. Spit started to drip down his thighs and it made him shudder.

Price picked him up and pinned him to a tree, letting Graves wrap his legs around him. He pressed their foreheads together as he pushed into him.

Graves immediately shoved at him, surprised by how big it was. It felt like he was going to break in half and he barely had the tip in. He kicked out but Price didn't pause until he had bottomed out. Graves panted softly, brain turning to mush. Price held him gently, face pressed to his neck. His hips rolled slowly over and over again. Any coherent thought ruined as soon as he did.

Graves panted against him, eyes fluttering shut. Price started to thrust in properly and he couldn't take it. It felt so good. So big and it stretched him out so much. He started to sob against him, holding on tight as he could as Price ruined him.

Pleasure and pain mixed, dripping up and down his spine. His legs shook and he wasn't sure he could stop them if he wanted to. Price licked along his jaw and he moaned softly.

He started to speed up and Graves bit him back. He couldn't really rip into him the way Price did him, but he left a nice row of teeth marks.

Graves came so hard his vision went white. Price started to press closer until he felt something odd. Something thicker pressed against him and Graves vaguely remembered when he learned in biology about knots.

"John."

Price paused.

"Don't you dare." Please do.

Price pushed in suddenly and Graves screamed before devolving to more sobs. He came in him, making his insides feel warm. The knot kept them from separating and Graves panted, accepting the fact he'd be there a while. Price's hand got dangerously close to his cock and he groaned, leaning back to give him more room. He stroked him slowly, gently rocking into him.

"Price..." Graves panted out, feeling his hair stick to his skin from sweat. The moon was still high over head and he wondered if they would be doing this all night.

A small kiss on his cheek and a rough twist of his hand gave Graves the impression that yes, it would be.

[softness-and-shattering]

Requisite grouch about the representation of embroidery, particularly in Bridgerton. Season 3, Im just getting to. So I get the point of this little scene is "Eloise is not interested in conventional feminine topics and doesnt fit in with her peers, and we are doing this by showing disdain for embroidery" and I fully get that in the cultural consciousness embroidery is this frivolous nonsense that rich women did to keep busy and isnt worth anything.

But two things. One, as Ive said before, the Bridgerton costuming is full of embroidery, of the kind that has to be machine made. And Im not gonna talk about historical accuracy because I consider the costuming part of the shows premise ie something you just have to accept to enjoy the show because its central. Like you cant enjoy Dungeon Meshi if you have to know how its possible for magic and dungeons to exist, you just have to accept that its part of the setting.

So either the seamstress has a few machines shes using for the lavish embroidery or her cloth is extravagantly expensive beyond all reason. LIke even more than youre already thinking.

And these women are surrounded by it, making their trade with it, its literally built into their fashion. So scorn for it makes zero sense. Second, in this scene in particular at the ball. The dialogue goes, almost exactly:

"Well the leaf stitch is tried and true"

[I think Eloise says something]

"Then theres the running stitch, the straight stitch, the fern stitch, the French knot -"

"What's your favourite stitch Eloise?"

This is not how people talk about embroidery! Its not exciting because of the stitches that exist, its exciting for how you use the stitches and what shapes and textures you can make, and how you manipulate the thread and fabric to create all kinds of interesting effects and patterns. And I fully understand that someone can be bored by that, its not for everyone. Im just mad that their "this is a normal conversation about embroidery" is listing stitching and asking someone their favourite. They could have done something like

"I just learned a new stitch, its called the split stitch, and it has this really cool effect that makes the thread look like its knitted, so Im embroidering my dog with this technique to really capture his fur, and im using French knots for his little beady eyes, and then Im gonna use the split stitch and this gorgeous russet floss to make him the coziest little sweater!"

"Oh my god I do not want to hear another thing about your thread dog and its fake thready sweater."

Thats like, a real conversation someone might have that someone else could find boring, and its respectful - and realistic - to the hobby and craft and art of embroidery! It sounds like something a human might say. Not "here are some stitch names, wait why are you being rude?". Its like imitating a conversation about someones dog like "and he has paws and his paws have nails and then he has knees and then he has two eyes and a tail" thats not how people talk about dogs! you might see "his tail is so waggy, and his eyes are so soulful, and his little feet are the cutest thing, let me tell you a story -". We couldve had a story about an embroidery mishap, that could be funny.

but no we must hold onto old outdated and sexist ideas about things and disdain them for no good reason while our costume department is embroidering everything because lets not examine any of our attitudes about anything!

The worst was still the dressmaker last season complaining about ladies and their embroidery MAAM THATS LITERALLY YOUR JOB. Ok now I can go back to watching for the pretties. And I very much admire Colin's big swooshy coat.

Im also trying to work out if Cressida is sapphic. Eloise and Pen absolutely have "middle grade sapphic friends have strangely intense friendship and then huge strangely intense breakup fight," and looks like Pen is bi, but Im really hoping they properly go into queer themes with Eloise and not just sign her up for a guy later. Also pretty sure the latest Bridgerton this season - Francesca? - is ace. Big ace vibes on her.

Swooshy coat!!

[perlukafarinn]

Rating Star Trek TOS costumes because why not! (part 9)

A Piece of the Action (2x17). Iconic fits. The screencap alone fills me with indescribable joy. They match so well, from the pinstriped suits right down to the polka dotted ties and handkerchiefs. 10/10, Kirk definitely kept these and made Spock roleplay with him.

A Private Little War (2x19). This feels culturally insensitive. I like the stupid orange faux fur crop top the girl is wearing but god, these costumes are sloppy even by TOS standards. The guy's vest is tied closed by what looks like leather shoelaces? Just leave it open you cowards, 3/10.

This ridiculous thing (seen here climbing on top of the Captain) is a "mugatu" and I love it. It's not quite Gorn levels of iconically silly alien creatures but it's up there. Looks like the abominable snowman and a stegosaurus had a baby, 7/10.

Patterns of Force (2x21). Why is it that normal clothes look so exotic on these two? The color of the shirt makes Kirk look like he's wearing a Canadian tuxedo, which I love, and Spock is adorable in his beanie and sweater (though couldn't they have given them one without holes in it?). 8/10.

Yes this counts as a costume!! My list, my rules. I'm honestly so impressed with how alien they managed to make Spock look just with a green tint to his skin, and him not sweating at all while Kirk is positively glistening is another nice touch. 10/10, they look like the cover of a 1980s harlequin novel with some seriously dark themes.

By Any Other Name (2x22). This could have been just a basic jumpsuit but they really elevated it by making it backless - plus the powder blue color is beautiful on this actress (who btw is ridiculously gorgeous). Her hair in the second screencap is also adorable, the way it's done up to almost resembled a tiara. 9/10.

Her male costars, however, don't get anything nearly as exciting to work with. The beige jumpsuit layered over the brown turtleneck is at least a little bit interesting (and it's on another gorgeous actor, which doesn't hurt) but the other guy? That's literally what they wear in prison. 6/10 for the first guy, 2/10 for the second.

[aerkame]

Is it okay to ask if we could lean more about your OCs in the Finfolk AU? Like, what’s their work life, the roles they’ll play, what are their hobbies, and what was the inspiration when creating them? Oh, and will we see your butterfly OC by any chance? I love butterfly characters because of the unique and mesmerizing wing patterns.And fun fact, some butterflies are actually attracted to blood.

Sorry for the rambling.

I don't mind at all! Though I've never been one to make many OCs. It was only until after Welcome Home did I consider making any at all so they aren't really finished. Also I am an indecisive person on personal creative projects like this.

Both Ankor and the butterfly OC are works in progresses since I could not decide on their appearance and backgrounds, but I do have a general idea of what I want them to be so I'll share!

Ankor, who might be renamed to something more fitting, is supposed to be a shark-like dog similar to Barnaby but his features are much more sharp and he gives off an aura of strength. I got this inspiration from seeing funny videos of sharks acting like puppies around some divers because they wanted pets on the head (they were literally pushing each other out of the way for a good scratch it was so cute).

Ankor's character is that of someone who loathes injustice so he often goes about setting things right. Or well, making the scales even. He's not a "good guy", but he's not really a villain at heart. He cares about others but he does things in a violent and lethal way. More often than not, he'll be wearing silk-like furs that are really just selkie furs. No, Ankor isn't hunting them or anything like poachers do, it's actually just a good way to try and find the coat's owner because he usually does concerts near coastal regions (Side explanation: I personally think in a world of magical creatures and normal ones there would absolutely be people sick enough to hunt others for their magical qualities so I added poachers in this universe because it adds a bit more depth and danger to anyone with magic in them). He has a giant audience which means there will be lots of eyes that will see the coat so someone is bound to come forward later and get it back. He repeats this over and over whenever a new coat is found and given back to the owner. Oh, but do not lie to him. He will absolutely know when someone is lying, and he does no take well to others lying straight to his face.

As for the music he does? I'm still deciding on that.

During his free time, Ankor sometimes visits the island to see Barnaby and just hang out. The island is very quiet, there's no chance of him being tracked there, and the finfolk that Barnaby lives with all have useful items that he often buys from them. It's a win win honestly.

Onto the butterfly OC. That one I almost got rid of.

Bit of a rant sort of, it's still a touchy subject to me

At the time last year, I don't remember around what month, but it was when Welcome Home was booming, I ended up getting lots of messages from people on X about my OC and if I could draw NSFW art of her or draw Wally. The fandom seems to have this pattern of wanting NSFW from artists of either the WH characters or their OCs. It is very concerning behavior and I decided to drop anything that could possibly be NSFW or leaning towards it in any way even though I wanted my OC to be sexy or drop dead gorgeous (she's a butterfly, of course she needs to be that). But it appears that adults on X and in this fandom are too immature for that.

Her whole design was something I wanted to be alluring because of her nature. I actually did take in the fact that butterflies drink blood, sweat, and tears literally, purposefully irritating the eyes of animals to make them cry, or eating dead flesh off of reptiles. I was thinking of making her a beautiful vampire but decided against that because it felt too generic.

I think, if butterflies could truly gain higher sentience and they became giant they would not be kind at all, but flesh-eating monsters that used their pretty looks to lure others in or take advantage of others. Also, my gods, their wings would probably get massive if they became even human-sized. Gorgeous, but massive enough to cause damage.

I didn't really take the chance to flesh out her character, but I did with her personality. She has a deep French accent and a gentle but elegant aura to her and with every step she takes she looks like royalty. And she'll still keep that act up when she's drinking away at her victim's life force and blood. I wanted this OC to be as cold as ice, but lovelier than the brightest star.

If she did have a job, I could only imagine it would be modeling at fashion shows, being a designer herself, being in ballet shows, or some sort of famous singer.

As for personal non-fandom OCs? I have very few, barely even two. In fact, these two are just a mere idea of a story I want to make, but I'm not sure how.

I'll share it some other time because I really have no idea of how I can possibly express these ideas other than imagine Swan Lake, but the guy she's in love with is an evil dark lord that wants to take over the world and she's a rogue knight from an opposing kingdom that's trying to kill him and they have no idea who each other are they just want each other dead but they find each other so pretty they can't do anything about it. 😭

[imhereformysciencefriends]

@loturaweek2023 Day 6: Wardrobe Updates Welcome!

“My father never wanted anyone to go there. He says their customs were…” Allura trailed off.

“My father also wanted it left entirely alone, but that was because it was a world he couldn’t conquer, and never even came close.”

Allura chuckled, then turned her attention back to her advisor. “Coran, why do you know about their customs?”

“Nevermind all that!” Coran shouted, with something that could’ve sounded faintly like… embarrassment from the older man. It made Lotor and Allura turn to each other with discreetly raised brows. “Now, Zarkon was cautious of this place for good reason, the inhabitants are most assuredly dangerous when they decide to be, and there’s merit to Alfor’s… hesitance, as well. Their culture has very strict dividing lines across gender, age, class, wealth—which is not the same thing as class—vocation, marital and dating status, and even orientation. ALL these things are indicated from how a person dresses!

“These people have very little sexual dimorphism, being a lobster-like race—though without the pincers, I always did wonder what exactly made them so “lobster like”—anyway, so if somebody is wearing a nice blouse and a skirt, that person is a woman, no questions asked. Likewise, if someone is wearing pants, you can call that person “lady” all you like, these people are only going to think they’re a man! Royalty is indicated by headgear—and you must never be caught out of the house without some kind of headwear. In your cases, since you are princess and prince, Allura’s tiara and some sort of band for Lotor should be sufficient. If you were going for gentry, you’d need a tophat of some sort. Cap, band, headscarf, bandana, anything would work really, but to go bare-headed is far worse than walking around bum-naked!”

Lotor held Allura’s hand as they sat and listened to Coran’s increasingly specific lecture on fabric, materials, patterns, cuts, styles, and even shoelaces (apparently, stolen shoelaces were something of a code?), Lotor’s thumb stroking idly over her dark skin, and she leaned her head against his shoulder (which was a very good height for head-leaning, in her opinion). This all seemed far too convoluted. She understood why her father had sworn off the place, if going around without his armor was the only way to indicate that he wasn’t hostile.

It meant Lotor would need to go without his armor, too. “Will you be alright?” Allura asked softly, while Coran went off on a tangent about filigree.

“I am… not enthused by the idea,” he admitted, eyes on Coran’s frantic waving. “But so long as they do not grow hostile, I’m sure I’ll survive.”

The requirements of this system’s dress code meant, of course, that altogether new outfits would need to be tailored. Allura had no such thing pre-prepared, and Lotor had spent all of his adult life in armor and underarmor.

(Coran, interestingly enough, had attire of his own, perfectly fitted and requiring only slight alterations to denote his age. Hm.)

“It’s all a little… extravagant,” Lotor mentioned, seeming almost hesitant as he observed the thick fabric of his surcoat and gold embroidery throughout the cloth.

“Well, we are royalty. You heard Coran, we won’t look the part if we don’t dress per their rules.”

And so Allura kissed her paramour on the cheek and gathered her clothing up to go change. She slipped into the shift (lacey, despite the fact that no one but her would even see this), then corset, stockings, underskirt, overskirt, skirt cape, long sleeved blouse, vest, epaulets, no wait cape first then epaulets, low-heeled shoes, gloves, and then jewelry. Woof! It weighed as much as her armor did, and had none of the cooling functions. Oh but it did have so many pockets.

And so Lotor kissed Allura back and took his own clothes to change. Undershirt, boxers, stockings, pants, corset, shirt, surcoat, cape, second cape that was smaller and made of fur (oh, but, it made his shoulders look gorgeous in a way he’d been attempting to capture for millenia, maybe there was a point to all this), boots, belts, gloves, and jewelry. And, the last piece, a borrowed relic that did not belong to Lotor and he wasn’t quite sure he was worthy of: Alfor’s ringlet.

Allura nearly cried, when she saw him wearing it. He stood a little straighter.

“Nothing, nothing,” she said, swiping away at budding tears as he approached her, words of concern crouched in his open mouth. “It’s just—you look very handsome,” she said.

His hand came to rest on her elbow, and she looked up at him with wet eyes that shone brighter than the very birthplace of the stars.

“And you, more lovely than the dawn,” he said gently, and pulled her closer to press his lips to her brow.

The two gathered themselves, a moment, both looking radiant in their splendor, soft emotion passed between them. When Allura’s face was once again set and Lotor had drunk his fill of the view of her, they returned to meet up with Coran, who looked downright jaunty with his tophat and cane.

“Ahhh, you two make quite the sight! Now, I have some old codes from ten thousand years ago. No telling if they still work, but time moves slower where we’re going so, let’s give it a try!” he announced zealously, plugging in something or other into the command console of the castleship.

“Hello?”

“Hello! This is Coran of Altea, seeking passage to a landing bay,” he greeted. “Two are with me, Prin—”

“Well well well, if it isn’t ‘Long Dong Wimbleton!’” the man on the other end greeted jovially.

“WE DON’T NEED TO CALL ME THAT!”

[salted-caramel-tea]

can we please have more met gala talk? I need to hear your opinion on some of these... looks

ok i’m gonna use this to try and sum ip my thoughts so pls bear with me

anyway i wasn’t rlly excited for the theme this year bc i don’t like karl lagerfeld and despite his contributions to modern fashion houses i don’t think he ultimately deserves to be celebrated given his consistent fatphobia, racism islamophobia and antisemitism . he was a cunt and an asshole and i hope he’s resurrected so he can die again

that being said i’m still gonna rate the looks anyway bc that was the theme of the exhibit this year whether anyone likes him or not

so obviously we get a lot of references to chancel via styles that have almost become motifs of his influence in various houses like his bridal collections , baby pink and black, flower appliqués, tweed etc

these one really stood out to me . bc this is what i would consider as a tribute to a designer . these garments took iconography and personalised them. it’s taking those influences and creating something that inserts karl lagerfeld into their world as opposed to inserting themselves into his world creating iconic unique garments that aren’t just pulled from haute couture lines or a big money talking point the garment is made for the wearer and the wearer sells it. it shows a direct intertwining of their style with karl lagerfeld fashion. jenna ortega especially drawing from such an iconic dress with the gold chains bordering the layers of her skirt i think it’s beautiful and creative

on the other end of the spectrum we’ve got vintage pulls

now i’m not against vintage pulls . bc i think some of the designs are gorgeous and i said before if anyone was going to pull from the archives i wanted it to be that exact dress dua lipa is wearing . however i to my the trouble with reliance on archived looks is that the dress was not intended for the wearer. they looked absolutely beautiful but there was no connection between the garment and the wearer, there’s no touch of them or integration between them and karl lagerfeld . wearing his designs is definitely talking points and gets people interested in looking into the archives of chanel in particular but there’s very little room for personality especially with the trending lack of accessory

the 3rd category is Doing Karl

picked these because they are on the two direct opposite sides of the spectrum for karl looks. obviously we expected men to come out in sunglasses gloves and high shirt collars but i’m more in love with the way people create from their inspirations . cardi is obviously inspired by the personal fashions of karl lagerfeld from her grey hair to her oversized collar and black and white theme but her dress pulls other crucial elements of his design career linking the art to the artist and doing so in a way that allows herself to come through the various layers of karl lagerfeld references . the dress pattern incorporating the rose appliqués and quilting in a way that almost resembles the tweed texture i think it’s a really smart garment and she looks beautiful

lastly .

the cat . i enjoy the campiness around peoples interpretation of the car although i believe some people executed it better than others i personally love doja’s entire look i think it’s glamourous but maintains that camp quietness that people tend to associate with her via the facial prosthetics and the feathering of the train of the dress replicating a fur like texture i think it’s so smart and glamorous and the reference is THERE and is understandable whilst maintaining the extravagance expected from met gala looks

all in all was i wowed to death by this year ? no . there’s been better themes. i feel like ppl got a bit lazy with influences by just dressing up as karl or pulling from archive or just not sticking to theme . i feel like with pulling from one certain designer the ability to implement the wearer and their designers own personality into the look is limited slightly but i’m impressed with the people who did create some of the most extravagant looks of the night so many people came out with beautifully executed and inspired looks and although i wish people were a little more creative (especially the men) there was some absolutely iconic looks last night . it was not ever going to be the met galas most iconic night with such restrictive influence to one designer but the created looks for last night were phenomenal and paid their appreciation towards the works of karl lagerfeld . he’s still a cunt tho .

[a-loose-collection-of-ants]

What type of architecture inspires you the most?

Oh what an incredibly long and involved answer this turned out to be. First things first, I am actively obsessed with the work of Charles Rennie Mackintosh.

He was a Scottish architect who, along with his wife, designed some of the most gorgeous buildings I have ever seen in my life. I've never been to Glasgow, so I haven't had the chance to see any of them in person, but just-

This is the Glasgow School of art. It was destroyed by a fire in 2018. Restorations are happening, but, as far as I can find, those won't be completed until 2030.

Mackintosh was one of those architects that had to design every single piece of his buildings, including the furniture. This is where his collaboration with his wife came in. Margret Macdonald Mackintosh was not an architect, but she was an artist and designer. Her influence can be seen in the details present in a lot of their designs.

This is the House for an Art Lover, which I have to mention, in part, because it's a good example of their combined style, but also because of these absurd fucking chairs:

Something about their love of a strong vertical line led to chairs with the most insane, needlessly grandiose proportions and I love it with my whole heart. (this is a tangent I don't want to go on, but the famously humble and not at all self-important Frank Lloyd Wright uses these exact chairs in some of his designs, which is really funny for one of those architects who liked to pretend all his ideas were original) There's a sort of industrial feel to a lot of Mackintosh's work which is the exact sort of thing I've always been enamored with. I'm an artist and everything, but I'm related to enough engineers that, to me, structure is one of the prettiest things in the world.

Frank Furness is a good example of this in a way that's more local to me. He was a believer in monumentalizing the structure of a building, which is why the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts is insane a little bit. Seriously, look at this building:

At some point, I'm going to have to walk over there and do some studies of the place.

But back to the actual question, part of studying architecture (as is the case with any creative field) is finding inspiration in everything you encounter. I'm enamored by the beautiful historic buildings I see every day in Philadelphia, but I'm equally "inspired" by this one house near where I grew up that has the most horrifically arranged street-facing window pattern I have ever seen (spite is one hell of a motivator).

Every single part of our built environment looks the way it does for a reason. Even spaces designed without heavy involvement from architects are filled with little decisions that shape the way our world looks and feels, and I think it's a fun exercise to look at them and figure out why everyone involved made the decisions they did, even if it's something simple like "concrete is cheaper".

Anyway, tune back in in 4-7 business days when, at the height of whatever cold I just managed to catch, I drop a full essay on Thomas Jefferson's design for the University of Virgina and how it reflects both his idealized hope for an agrarian America and his hypocrisy in believing such a future would be an egalitarian one.

[spirallingstarcases]

i’d love to know about mask au!! is it like jim carrey’s the mask???

not exactly! this was supposed to be my peterick halloween fic but. life. yeah. it’s a masquerade/trickerella au where pete drops a sheet of poetry at a party patrick’s performing at and the next day (the party is like three consecutive days) the band is playing songs with GASP pete’s words??? and then pete sets off on a mission to find out who made music out of his poetry and yeah. i love love love this concept but i was in such a slump when i started it that i don’t rly like looking at it anymore rippp OH AND PETE WEARS A FOX MASK AND PATRICK WEARS A BUNNY MASK the prey/predator dynamic makes me cccrraaaaazy

ssssnippet

Pete’s dad spared no time for his responses. “I brought your costume.”

That’s when Pete noticed the large white box in his dad’s hands. It was like a shoebox, the ones with the lid you slip off and on. Unblemished and unembossed, so it wasn’t designer, but it was special. Or expensive.

“But I brought my costume.” Pete pointed at the black garment bag on the bed. On top of it was a small box that held his mask. “Remember it? I wear it every year, been wearing it for, like, four years?” Gold mask, black suit, the works.

“It’s time for a change.”

Pete’s curiosity was piqued. He reached out for the box, grunting in surprise at its weight as his dad placed it in his arms.

“Jesus,” he said. “What’s in this thing, chainmail?”

“Don’t be foolish,” Pete’s dad said. “I got it tailored for you, so it’ll fit. Try it on, I’ll be downstairs waiting for Andrew.”

Andrew was his older brother, heir to the immense Wentz fortune and therefore all the fuckery that comes with it. Pete didn’t envy him. Andrew didn’t particularly yearn for Pete’s life either, so it all worked out. Pete wasn’t built for the corporate life of New York, and Andrew wasn’t built for the glitzy, glamourous (heavy sarcasm here) music label life of Los Angeles.

The box slid open without a noise, revealing layers of crisp tissue paper which Pete tore past with barely a thought. Finally, his hands slipped past the fibrous texture into something hard and…furry.

Hm. Pete blinked, a cautious frown tugging at his mouth. Surely his dad wouldn’t…like…buy him a fursuit, right?

Pete stared nervously at the box. No way. Pete’s dad was a respected, high-level, Fortune 100 CEO. He probably didn’t even know what a furry was. Appeased, Pete slid the last layer of tissue paper off.

Okay. So. Maybe Pete needed to reevaluate his father some more, because he was now staring into the empty eyes of a fox mask. Granted, it wasn’t a fursuit mask, and it was actually quite delicate and beautiful, and it was a perfect fall colour, but really. A fox? As a Wentz, Pete had been called, time and time again, sly and sneaky and all those other fox metaphors, so this felt quite…well. On the nose, for lack of better wording.

Pete gently traced his fingers over it. It was a half-mask, with a protruding snout and ears, a distressingly real-feeling fur texture, and edged with gold filigree. Red and gold glass beads swirled over the forehead and under the eyes, glinting in a way that suggested mischief and glamour. Gold lines formed nonsensical patterns on the cheeks, along the snout, and around the eyes.

It was gorgeous. Pete forgot all about the implications, focusing instead on how fucking gorgeous it was.

Pete slowly lifted it out of the box, feeling like the protagonist in some highschool prom story, when the girl is wearing a dress, The One, and goes to look at herself in the mirror and gasps, “I love it.”

It was lighter than it looked. A vermillion ribbon for keeping it up, a little sponge pad to pad his forehead, and his name embossed under the eye socket. Pete set it on the bed, excitement already stirring at the idea of being able to wear it.

So maybe his dad wasn’t a furry. Maybe his dad was a genius.

Under the mask was more tissue paper, which Pete tore away to find fabric. Maroon fabric, dark and sultry. Pete was not surprised to find that it was a suit, three piece with a vest and everything.

Pete’s eyes flickered over the coat. It was longer than your average suit jacket. Pete guessed it would probably hit around his knees. Gold embroidery lined the cuffs and collar, forming intricate patterns that were fascinating to look at. Gold buttons, small and shiny, peeked out at him, winking as if they were laughing.

The vest had a heavy, darker brocade pattern embossed on it. It was barely visible, until the light caught and revealed the designs. Pete traced over the floral pattern, impressed at the feel of the silk under his fingers.

The pants were the simplest, just a pair of maroon slacks. Pete noticed the brocade pattern from the vest around his ankles, and the coat’s gold embroidery making another appearance around the waistband.

Pete’s dad was a genius. Pete highly doubted his dad actually came up with this. He made a note to send a fox themed thank-you gift to Aleena, his dad’s coordinator and assistant. She had a couple of kiddies, right? Pete wondered if they were still young enough to appreciate stuffed animals. Markedly, stuffed foxes.

Pete’s fingers, still tingling from the smooth glide of the silk, clenched into fists. He had never felt so…excited for the annual Halloween ball.

[almarantha]

Aurum - A Post-Skyrim TES Drabble

“You really must take better care of yourself, child.”

Amara’s eyelids shot open at the foreign voice, sending her scrambling to get to her feet. She would forgive herself this moment of impropriety, of weakness. It was a startling thing, being spoken to when you were supposed to be dead. Reaching down, Amara placed a hand over her stomach, searching for a fresh wound that should’ve still been bleeding.

Granted, that wasn’t the only thing that seemed to no longer exist.

There was… nothing around her. No walls. No ceiling. No ground, for that matter. There was a floor beneath her, she could feel it, but actually discerning it was another matter entirely. Her surroundings were but a blank canvas. Filled with anticipation, but nothing had yet been put onto the page. No words had filled the empty void of white. No paint had given color, given life, to the environment.

“Yes, but think of the potential.” The voice mused once more, as if reading her mind.

Amara spun her head around so fast that she feared she might have snapped it. Could she even? She was already dead, right? As is, her lengthy wine-colored hair had likely slapped the owner of the voice in the face. To her left stood an Imperial man, hands calmly folded behind his back. He had a handsome look about him. Square, noble features and umber-hued hair cascaded down his neck. It was a face that could have belonged to a warrior, if not for how scholarly his posture was and how soft he wore his expression. The man smiled softly and tilted his head in acknowledgement, seemingly content to wait for her to measure him up.

His attire was familiar, although Amara couldn’t quite place where she’d seen it before. It was something an Imperial noble would wear, fittingly enough; that much was certain. Long indigo robes were rimmed with white, spotted fur. The robes covered an ornate scarlet doublet decorated with intricate gold patterns. On the whole, it looked inordinately expensive, but nothing more so than the jeweled necklace that the man was wearing. A ruby the size of her fist laid set in a gold casing, while several other, smaller, jewels of different colors rimmed the outside of the amulet.

The ensemble was gorgeous. Any Imperial worth anything would kill to be seen in such an outfit.

And yet it seemed horribly ill-fitting on such a man. Just by looking at him, Amara got the sense that he would have been far more comfortable in much simpler robes. He had that sort of priestly disposition about him. Yes, she could imagine him in a monk’s garb.

“…Who are you? Where am I?” Amara asked slowly, having become more or less acquainted with her surroundings. As much as a Dunmer in a completely foreign environment could, anyway.

The man pursed his lips, as if mulling over what sort of answer he should give. “Those are questions that won’t serve you well here. It would be more apt to ask when.”

It only now occurred to Amara that the man had never once opened his eyes to look at her. He faced her direction and seemed to know where she was, but those eyelids stayed shut. Was the Imperial blind? Amara furrowed her eyebrows at the roundabout answer. Riddles. She hated riddles. Especially riddles coming from mysterious strangers.

“When are we then?” She asked, her tone far more demanding than it used to be. Even a few years ago, that would have been unthinkable. But she’d grown up a lot these past few years. One of the first lessons she’d learned was to not take shit from people if you wanted any modicum of respect.

“Hmm…” The man hummed, contemplating her question. “The Middle Dawn, perhaps? Or maybe the Oblivion Crisis…” He lifted a hand to his chin, gazing upwards at what should be the sky. As it was though, he was staring at nothing. Or, technically, the back of his eyelids. “Ah, no. This is the Fourth Era. The Second Great War, I believe you call it. This is the fifteenth year of the conflict.”

Amara’s eye twitched. “…I knew that already.” She growled out in the most respectful way possible.

“So you did.” The stranger turned his attention, such as it was, back towards the Dunmer. “My apologies for the confusion. Such things come naturally to me, but precision can be difficult. What’s the phrase…? Ah, yes, like a needle in a haystack.” His smile never dimmed, but nor did it grow in intensity. Their entire encounter was marked by that soft, serene smile on his face. It made the stranger give off the impression of peace.

Or maybe he was just insane from being trapped in this strange void? That boded well for her.

Sighing, Amara pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her crimson eyes, attempting to compose herself. That was another lesson. Stay composed. Stay above it all. Never let others know they’re getting to you.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” The stranger’s voice came unbidden, surprising Amara out of her frustrations.

She blinked. The last thing she remembered…

“I was… someplace… where was I…?” It was hard to focus in this place, but she needed to remember… “There were gears… Not the Dwemer kind, not nearly so ancient, but modeled after them.” A stoic face flashed through her mind, violet braids matted with oil. “Zamana was excited. Someone advancing her people’s technology… She wanted to see it. So we went home-“

Wait. Was it her home? She’d visited Mournhold a handful of times, but had never lived there-

Amara snapped her fingers. “Right! The Clockwork City! Almalexia told me she knew a way in and-“

For the third time in a row, Amara cut herself off as a realization hit her. However, this one was far more frantic. It was quiet. Far too quiet. It had been quiet ever since she had arrived at… wherever this was. Amara couldn’t believe it had taken her this long to realize it! There was no prideful voice whispering in her ear. No voice giving out unwanted comments and opinions at every opportunity. No analysis of what was going on, no advice on how to handle this situation.

Almalexia was gone.

“Where is she?!” Amara cried out, aggressively grabbing the stranger’s robes and yanking him forward. “What did you do with her?!” Fury and terror in equal measures danced in her crimson eyes, tinged by the light of budding madness.

Best to head this off at the pass, the man thought.

The stranger carefully placed his hands on top of Amara’s own, his expression serious but not unkind.

Was he pitying her? How dare-!

However, her thought process was cut off as the stranger finally opened his eyes. Amara slumped forward, falling to her knees in abject awe.

Staring down at her were the slitted pupils of a reptile, encompassed by the purest gold that Amara had ever laid eyes on. They were ancient orbs, brimming with power and eternity.

How foolish was she to not see the signs…?

Amara fundamentally knew who she was speaking to now.

“I have done nothing with she who once called herself Ayem.” Akatosh intoned. The smile he had been handsomely wearing was gone, but neither did the dragon god of time look all too upset. “Yet, neither is she gone.”

Amara clutched at her chest, head bowed so the man, the god, before her couldn’t see the tears freely flowing down her face. Her frame shuddered as she breathed deeply. It was as if she was in the midst of a mighty battle, and yet the dragon’s words brought such relief to her! Almalexia wasn’t gone!

But then… where was she…?

Once more, the dragon god answered those thoughts on the surface of her mind. “What do you remember, child?” He repeated the question.

Again with this? What did that have to do with anything…? But it seemed she wouldn’t get anything else out of time itself, so she valiantly wracked her mind for the details. A feat not made easier by her admittedly volatile emotional state… Something that had been becoming more and more common recently.

“We were…” Amara’s voice cracked and shut stopped in her tracks, clearing her throat before continuing. “We were exploring. We found the main chamber. We found… we found the artificial heart. We… I… Oh, ancestors…” Her hand clasped over her mouth.

She’d died.

Rationally, she knew that. She’d known that since awakening in this place. But it was another thing entirely to replay the events in her mind, to hear the grinding gears of the automatons, to remember the cries of Zamana, the blade through her chest…

Daring to look up, she found the dragon god gazing… almost mournfully down at her. All he did was give her a slight nod, confirming her worst suspicions. She really was dead, huh? Amara had never been sure what fate awaited her once her mortal life was done. There wasn’t exactly an Ancestral Tomb waiting for her, and she doubted that House Redoran would look too kindly on allowing her one anyway… She’d burned a lot of bridges, making the roll of the dice and gambling that she would succeed in forging her grandfather’s empire anew… But it seemed that it was not meant to be. She had died too soon.

That still begged the question, however… What was to be her fate? Was this… “Is this the Dreamsleeve?” Amara asked the god.

Akatosh glanced around, observing the surroundings… or lack thereof. “No, I’m afraid not. This is a dream of sorts, but no, this is not the realm of rebirth. Your ultimate fate remains unknown, and it is not my place to speculate on matters of life and death. That is Arkay’s domain, not mine.”

Her ultimate fate…?

“Wait, what do you mean? Am I not dead? Should my soul not be bound for Aetherius or Oblivion?” Amara furrowed her eyebrows, squinting in blatant confusion. “You mention Arkay. I do not worship you Aedra, yet if one were to handle my death, it would be him. I am educated on that much. Yet here you stand, the dragon god of time… Why?”

Akatosh scratched at his clean-shaven chin. On anyone else, it would have looked almost sheepish, but surely the high and mighty Aedra had nothing to be embarrassed about, right?

Why he even had a chin to scratch was another question entirely. The humans depicted him as a dragon. The mer depicted him as a great golden eagle. Was this supposed to be a form she would be comfortable with? An avatar of his will? Amara had so many questions, but frankly, that was the least of them. So, she did not voice it, even though it was abundantly clear that Akatosh could read her mind.

“You have my blood.” The dragon god replied simply.

Amara blinked. What?

“You have my blood.” Akatosh repeated. “Your grandfather was dragonborn, surely you know this. The most famous dragonborn in Tamriel’s long history. The title is named as such for a reason. He was not mine in body, but in spirit... All dragonborn are my children. So in a way, I suppose that makes you my grandchild of sorts. Or great-grandchild. I care little for mortal semantics, however.”

She… okay, that was… wow, a lot to process. The metaphysics of it all… Yes, she had known that all of this was the official Imperial line, but… Well, she’d never exactly put much stock in it.

Akatosh glanced down at her and smiled that damnably soft smile once more, now looking almost, well… grandfatherly. Amara wasn’t convinced, however. Picking herself up off of the ground, she rubbed the dried tears away from her face. To say that she was wary was an understatement.

“And do you make a habit out of conversing with the descendants of dragonborn?” Amara asked dryly. She doubted that he even talked to actual dragonborn all that much, if at all.

The dragon-man shrugged, making the motion look far more dignified than it had any right to be. “Admittedly? No.”

“Then why me?” Amara shot back immediately. “Why are you here? In this… this dream, whatever this is?”

“You are mer.” Akatosh spoke softly. “A Dunmer who once worshipped the mortals who propped themselves up as gods. A Dunmer who does not worship the Three Good Daedra like the rest of your kind. A Dunmer who is unsure where she stands among Aedra and Daedra, and so devotes herself to worldly pursuits instead.”

The dragon god trailed off, looking down at the amulet which laid flat against his chest. Clutching it in his tanned and worn hands, Akatosh lifted it off of his neck and lifted it up so that it was level with his golden gaze.

“Despite all of that,” he continued, “you chose to follow not the path of any of your mer ancestors, noble and just and clever that they were, and instead chose the most difficult path of all. The path of your grandfather. You, Ra’athim Amara, a Dunmer of Resdayn, would restore the Septim Empire. A Cyrodiilic Empire. A human empire. Did you think that you wouldn’t catch our attention?”

Amara had remained silent as the avatar of Akatosh explained himself. And when he phrased it like that…

“People need help. Someone has to do something.” She whispered quietly, mostly to herself. She looked into those ageless eyes across from her ever so briefly, which beckoned her to continue. “Ever since I was a kid… Probably before that… Everything has been going to shit around me. You called me a Dunmer of Resdayn, of Morrowind, but I’m not. My father imparted as much of our culture onto me as he could, but I grew up in Falkreath. I grew up in Skyrim, surrounded by Nords. I’m an outlander, and I worked so hard for so long to erase that stain from myself… But it’ll always be true. It’s just who I am. A Dunmer who grew up outside the homeland, because my father was exiled after the Red Year.”

Amara sighed, only now realizing how exhausted she felt. She supposed she had the right. She was dead, after all.

“The Great War, the Skyrim Civil War, the return of the dragons, the Interregnum, the Falmer Raids, the Argonian Invasion, the Second Great War… It feels like we’re all trapped in a loop of pain and suffering. Everyone everywhere is hurting. And things didn’t used to be that way; dad was always fond of telling me. Father was never fond of the empire that his own father had established, but he was never afraid to admit… Things were just better when the Septims ruled the Empire. When all of Tamriel was more or less at peace. Sure, things weren’t perfect, but the world wasn’t almost ending every few years… There weren’t constant wars with… so much dead.

“I was a healer during the first Great War, you know that right?” Amara asked rhetorically. “Of course you know that. You’re the dragon god of time. But I saw… I saw so much death. So many died in my care, I couldn’t save them…” Her expression became unfocused, her crimson eyes haunted by memories best left buried. “I did my best, I really did. And it was more… it was more than my people as a whole did. They were just content to sit idly by and let others suffer. I can’t- I couldn’t... I could help. I could help so I had a responsibility to do so!”

Her fists clenched tightly and a fire roared in her stomach, determination rising up in her throat until she felt the urge to roar. For the first time, she met the dragon god’s gaze and kept at it, refusing to let the mere glance of a god bend her into submission.

“I am the granddaughter of Tiber Septim and Queen Barenziah. I am the Anticipation of Almalexia, with all of her wisdom and training at my side. I had the ability and the means to help Tamriel, so I decided to do it. And if you tell me the way out of here, I will continue to do it. I don’t care if I’m dead, someone has to do something!”

Amara was breathing heavily as she finished her speech. In a lot of ways, it felt like justifying it to herself more than to the dragon god. How often had she questioned herself? How often had she wondered if she was just letting Almalexia convince her to do things? Well, Almalexia wasn’t here right now. This was all her.

Akatosh remained silent for a long moment more, before finally nodding in satisfaction. He held the amulet out to Amara, letting it dangle off of his fingers. “Did you know…” He rumbled, sounding more like a dragon by the moment. Ancient and all powerful. “That it used to be that whenever an emperor was chosen, they had to hold this amulet and light the dragonfires? It was a symbol of my everlasting covenant with man, that so long as a dragonborn sat on the Ruby Throne, the gates of Oblivion would be shut.” He paused. “It was more than just a symbol, naturally. Since St. Alessia, no one could light the dragonfires without my approval or consent. It is I who judged each emperor worthy. If they weren’t… they didn't tend to last very long.”

The amulet dangling off of his fingers glistened, twirling slowly as the dragon god told his story.

“No one has worn this amulet or lit the dragonfires since the Oblivion Crisis. The amulet was destroyed. The last emperor of the Septim Dynasty, a righteous young man named Martin, sacrificed himself to seal the gates of Oblivion shut forever. The dragonfires no longer have any purpose, and it will remain that way. However… perhaps I have torn my gaze from the empire I claim to patron for too long. Perhaps it is time for the Amulet of Kings to be worn once more, as a symbol of my divine providence.”

Reaching forward, Akatosh lifted the amulet over Amara’s head and settled it on her shoulders. The giant ruby thrummed against her chest, and Amara couldn’t help but wonder if this is what the legendary Heart of Lorkhan felt like?

“I…” She tried to speak, but no words came out. Instead, Amara dropped to her knees, but in a far more orderly and dignified manner than her previous descent. She knelt before Akatosh, head bowed as if she were speaking to her liege lord. “I promise that I won’t let you down.”

“I very much suspect that you won’t.” Akatosh intoned his voice more of a growl than it ever was, yet somehow felt amused. Like he was chuckling to himself. “From this moment on, you are dragonborn much in the same way St. Alessia herself once was. The covenant is reborn. Now, my child, look up.”

Amara did as she was commanded, yet could not help her mouth dropping out from under her. For before her was no man. The mighty golden dragon of time stretched out before her, infinite in all of his glory. She saw him as he truly was, not merely stretched out before her in this plane, but across all of time as well. It was enough to render her blind. Or mad. Or dead. The fact that she was only one out of those three things was likely due to the grace of Akatosh himself… And the fact that she was already dead.

“At this point, I would normally send you off. However, there is… one more thing to attend to.” The dragon forced out. His voice was far deeper than it had once been. The voice before had felt borrowed, but this… This was the voice of time echoing throughout her very being. “Tell me, child, what do you remember?”

This again?

“I died.” Wasn’t that all there was to it?

“And, pray tell, how did you die?”

“I was run through by a blade.” Amara responded automatically. But that couldn’t be what he wanted to hear. The memory was fuzzy, there had to be more to it… Who had wielded the blade? Some sort of…

Oh.

“The Clockwork City, it was being run by… some sort of ghost. Except it wasn’t a ghost. I don’t know how to explain it, but… Sotha Sil, one of the Old Tribunal, was in the city itself. And he wanted revenge against Almalexia because she had killed his body centuries ago. Zamana and I fought through his machines… We reached the chamber where his mind was being held. He had made some sort of… dwarven metal body for himself. We fought. I killed the body, but the mind still persisted, we couldn’t kill it. Then… then he had reinforcements…”

She clutched her head, trying to remember.

“I remember Almalexia screaming… She was so angry… And so terrified. I could feel it all inside me. Another Dunmer walked into the room. Seht’s reinforcements. It was… It was the Neravarine.” Amara glanced up helplessly at Akatosh. “…The Neravarine killed me.”

The infinite dragon nodded. “And in so doing, completed the final piece of the puzzle. You must understand, my child… Ra’athim Amara Septim is dead. She cannot come back.”

Amara slumped, her assumption shattered. Akatosh had chosen her, but she could not return. Was all of this for nothing?

But, naturally, the dragon could read her thoughts. “You misunderstand, child. Ra’athim Amara is dead. But you are not Ra’athim Amara.”

…What?

Her disbelief must have shown on her face, because Akatosh continued. “Almalexia did not have your best interests in mind, child. Ever since she became attached to your soul those many years ago, she has lived in your shadow. Feeding off of you. Whispering in your ear. Plotting. It was her intention that you were to be her avenue to resurrection. So she influenced you to the best of her ability. She trained you. Molded you. Guided you. You, who was raised to worship her since you could walk, never thought to question it until it was far too late. She made you like her. She led you into the Clockwork City on purpose, having a good idea of what was down there. She needed you to follow the beats of her life so that you would understand her, and in that understanding…”

“She wanted me to mantle her…” Amara whispered.

Akatosh nodded, unsurprised that the Dunmer before him was aware of the concept. It was only natural, when she’d had a god whispering in her ear for years.

“Indeed. You asked me earlier if Almalexia is gone and where she went? Nowhere. She has gone nowhere and is not, in fact, gone. You are Almalexia. Almalexia is you.”

“I did it?” The woman formerly known as Amara asked, utterly dumbfounded. “I mantled Almalexia? But… I don’t feel like her. I still remember being me.”

“Have you? Do you not feel like her? To mantle her, you had to become so much like her that there ceased to be a functioning difference between the two of you. That the Aurbis itself could not tell the two of you apart. Do you not know things that you hadn’t before? Do you not have memories that Ra’athim Amara never experienced? You are ALM. But there is a caveat to that.”

“…Well what’s one more earth shattering realization, right?” She quipped, not knowing how else to cope by this point.

To his infinite credit, Akatosh took it in good humor, chuckling along with her. “The mantling did not occur as Almalexia had planned. She forgot to factor in one, crucial element…” He let the moment drag out. Imagine that, a god with a sense of dramatic timing. Then again, he was the god of time…

“The mortal element. For all that she spent millennia as a god and being worshipped as one. Almalexia forgot what it was like to be mortal. It drove her mad before her death, but when she had no choice but to endure it while her spirit was stuck to you… Almalexia went out of her way to influence you, however what she failed to realize was that you were influencing her in turn. Not intentionally, mind you, just simply by you being there. The bond the two of you shared was intimate by any metric. To put it in mortal terms… You rubbed off on her. She became more like you as you became more like her.”

“So we…” ALM began, trying to wrap her head around the idea. Former divine or not, it made her mind spin.

“Mantled each other.” Akatosh confirmed. “You are one.”

ALM couldn’t help but note that he looked insufferably smug about that. But then again, he would. The Tribunal had never had the best relationship with the Aedra. She lifted her hand to rub her temple in an attempt to alleviate the budding headache, but she noticed something.

“…My hand is gold.” ALM noted dully. Because of course it was. Almalexia’s skin had been gold, the last Chimer in existence, and now her skin was gold too. Because she was her. And yet was Amara too.

By the Ancestors, she was going to need a mirror later.

“The veil is lifted.” Akatosh rumbled. “You see yourself for what you truly are now. More than a mortal, less than a god. Somewhere in the middle. A soul retroactively made dragonborn and a soul that still held a spark of the divinity it carried for millennia. The two together… It is not unlike the ascension of Talos, although perhaps not as grand. Which is for the best. I require you on Nirn for the time being.”

“Right…” ALM muttered. “I need… to lie down. And I can’t very well do that here. Do you know the way out of here?”

“Indeed. Our time here grows short as is. I have spoken all that has need to be said, and your Dwemer companion will require your assistance if she is to survive the night. Although, I must warn you… The method of return will not be pleasant.”

“Whatever you have to do…” ALM sighed one last time, before giving the dragon god a soft smile to match the one he once wore. “And for what it’s worth… Thank you. This all… It really means a lot.”

Akatosh nodded, rumbling in confirmation. “You are worthy. Never forget that, even in your darkest days.”

Then, without any warning or pretense, Akatosh opened his maw and swallowed her whole.

Because being eaten by the dragon god of time in order to return to the land of the living just seemed logical after the day she’d had, she thought as she slid down the divine gullet.

Hmm. She was going to need a new name, wasn’t she? Amara and Almalexia were dead, yet lived. They were one.

Almarantha sounded pretty good.

[its-tortle]

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My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

stucky and cats :)

bucky is a cat person, he has been as long as he can remember. steve pretends he doesn't like cats.

they have a cat in brooklyn. sort of. it's a stray from the neighborhood, not really theirs, but bucky gave it milk once and now it keeps coming back when it's cold and it needs shelter, or even just for some pets and companionship. steve rolls his eyes, but sometimes The Cat is in the apartment when bucky comes home, and he knows all the windows had been closed. it curls up on steve's skinny thighs in the evenings, and there's a few loving sketches of it in steve's notebook. he wonders what happened to The Cat, after everything. he wishes they had given it a name.

then, in the same streets a century later, steve finds alpine. unlike The Cat, alpine is gorgeous, expensive-looking, and somewhat of a brat, so steve knows she's not a stray, or not a street cat at least. she must have lost her family in the snap, just as steve did, too. so, he takes her in, even though he doesn't like cats. he goes out of his way to get her the expensive cat food she likes and buys her a bougie bed she ignores in favor of sleeping on steve's face at night. she's for bucky, steve keeps telling himself. she's for when he comes home.

and when, against all odds, bucky does come home, it's to steve saying he's not a cat person amidst a cat-proofed apartment and a thoroughly loved feline on the window sill. and it feels like 1930, like home.

send me a ship and a word!

217 notes - Posted January 8, 2022

#4

i'm gonna cry thinking about how alienating it must have been for steve to wake up and be treated like a ninety year old instead of a twenty-seven year old.

354 notes - Posted January 11, 2022

#3

actually, bucky had more than a moment of peace in wakanda. he had time, he had kindness. days were long and bright, the world was far away. he found himself at the mercy of a scientist once again, and yet this one was not cruel, but made him laugh as she tinkered with his shoulder in a bright lab with colorful murals. he took long walks along grassy praries and up rocky mountains and through bustling neighborhoods. he filled his arms with fruits he had never tried before from the local market on his way home. he made friends. he had an assortment of teas in patterned tins in his kitchen. he had fancy conditioner and a skin care rountine. he laughed when his goats head-butted his shins and combed their fur for ticks. he was given support and people to talk to -- people who taught him that his past was not something to atone for, but something to recover from. he began to realize that he was a victim, not a perpetrator. and it was this realization, this healing, that inspired him to bravery, that made him kiss steve as soon as he stepped off of that quinjet for the fourth, maybe sixth time. when steve kissed him back, he was almost able to convince himself he deserved it. wakanda was not just peace, it was healing. it was wakanda's kindness that he came to thank for his own.

459 notes - Posted August 7, 2022

#2

i don't know who needs to hear this, but you're allowed to gain weight in your twenties. you are a grown ass adult now. your body can and should not be the same as it was at seventeen. allow it to grow along with you <3

1,568 notes - Posted October 4, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

2,469 notes - Posted January 1, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[13slovergirl]

ft. Catsuki Bakugou, Shoto Todorokitty, Kittentoshi Shinso, Shota Aizawa

Summary: S/O gets a cat that suspiciously resembles them.

A 'small angry ball of adorableness' was the very first words you used to describe the new addition to the family. He caught on pretty quickly.

The light orange fluff ball hated you until you came home with some cat treats and toys that you patiently waited for him to take. Meanwhile, Katsuki was watching angrily as you sang compliments to the scared kitten.

"C'mere Cat-suki, it's okay!!!"

Yeah, he caught on.

Imagine how surprised he was when he gave in to your begging for him to give it a try and the kitty accepted the treat from his hand with barely any problem. And then the immediate 'annoyance' when he catches the smug look on your face.

You guys would have to give the cat over to his parents, but they don't mind too much.

He lays down in bed and the cute kitten jumps up onto him and lays on his stomach, head on his nice rack. After a few seconds of processing, he starts gently petting it. It's a bit awkward but the cat purrs nonetheless. The soft noise and repetitive movement starts slowly lulling him to sleep....

And then his mom walks in.

She never lets him live it down.

When you found an adorable and elegant long haired calico cat that had a gorgeous pattern vaguely resembling your lover's half n half, how could you not adopt it on the spot?

His first words when he sees it? "How are we going to keep it?"

I mean, yeah, it's valid. Very valid. Oh god how are you guys gonna keep it. Pets aren't allowed in the dorms and you don't think Principal Nezu is going to accept 'But Tokoyami lives in the dorms' as an excuse.

Eventually the two of you come up with a way to safely keep the cat outside of the school. It's a bit upsetting that you can't keep it in your dorm, but it's safer outside the school than inside.

Anyways, for a cat who YOU adopted, it really likes Todoroki. Cats just love him. I mean same but still.

If Todoroki wasn't a busy guy that cat would never move off his lap.

It probably would like to lay on his boobies when he's trying to sleep. And I bet you wish that was you.

I think that instead of getting therapy or 'bothering' you with his problems, he just talks to the cat. The cat doesn't care, more time with their favorite person in the world I guess.

"Have you decided on a name yet?" "What about Roki :D" ".....No." "Why not D:" "...That's my nickname :("

You did not make the choice to have this cat. Neither of you did, the cat chose you. The cute little Siamese cat laying on your porch was a manipulative bastard but the two of you had no option other to take care of it for the rest of your lives like a spoiled child.

He loves being able to sleep with the cat next to him while you're training/studying. He'd rather be doing what you're doing or cuddling with you, but you're insistent that he gets some much needed rest and ever since you started being with him while sleeping it's gotten harder to sleep without you.

The brat doesn't usually allow cuddling though, so he just has to settle for sleeping next to it.

Like Bakugou he figures out pretty quickly that you think him and the cat are very similar and he loves to tease you with it a bit.

He sees the cat curl up in your lap for a nice pillow? He rests his head in your lap in as similar of a place as the cat did. You mention how adorable it is when the cat rubs against you? He does the same. You coo at the cat when it headbutts your hand? He kisses the same spot.

If you don't catch on to his little hints he might just go out and buy some cat ears and a human-sized collar :]]]

It just so happened that a slightly older black cat with unkempt fur 'snuck' into Aizawa's classroom the same day that you planned on dropping some stuff off straight to his classroom. What a strange coincidence. None of the kids are able to keep the kitten in their dorms so I guess you two just have to keep it.

'Shota the Cat' became the class mascot and Aizawa hated it. Not the cat, just the fact the kids asked you if you could name the cat after him and you agreed. He hates hearing his name and turning to look at the person who said it, only for them to be talking about the cat.

But it's all worth it every morning and night when he sees you sleeping with the usually grumpy cat, knowing that he doesn't need to worry about you being lonely when he has to work. He doesn't admit it but he gets why you guys see him in the cat so much. He'd love nothing more than to be where the cat is.

No one's surprised anymore when he rolls up to school with the cat in his sleeping bag. However, after the first villain invasion he stopped. It's for the best that he stays home with you.

When the two of you get into a fight he likes letting you take Shota the Cat to bed and just get all your emotions out like that. The first time you did it was just a joke of 'I'm taking our child, I expect child support' but it turned into a simple way of calming down and resolving the issue faster. It also makes him feel better that you have a source of comfort.

[monstersandmaw]

Male mothman x male reader (very light nsfw)

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

This is a thank you for the truly lovely @severedreamerbeard​​ , who was promised this back in August at least, and who helped me when I was in a bit of a pickle.

Here’s a fluffy, childhood-friends-to-lovers, fleeting angst and finishing fluff story for you. I hope it’s a suitable thank you for your kindness and patience.

“Come on, come on, come on!” you chanted, grinning as you watched Elis scurry up the stairs into the echoing station lobby, a small overnight bag in one hand and his trademark, dark red scarf dangling from the other. Seeing him without it on made him look half-dressed, somehow, and your cheeks heated unexpectedly.

Panting, with his papery wings fluttering awkwardly behind him, he drew to a halt in front of you. His delicate antennae swivelled back to lie almost flat against the soft, silvery grey of his fuzzy head, and he looked like a scolded puppy despite his enormous size.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I got held up because Mrs. Franklin next door somehow locked herself and her four cats out, so I had to go to the building manager to get the spare key before the cats ran off, but I couldn’t find him for ages —”

“Elis, it’s fine,” you smiled, patting the mothfolk’s furry shoulder. “I was kidding, and I have to confess… I told you to meet here earlier than necessary…”

“Oh,” he said, and then huffed a self-effacing laugh and raised his hand to scratch the back of his head, scarf trailing from his fingertips and wafting in the breeze. He only had two fingers and one thumb on each hand, and while the rest of his downy fur was a creamy silver, his hands were coal black, with smooth palms and a very fine fuzz on the backs. “Guess you know me pretty well after all these years,” he added.

His gorgeous, wood-moth wings stretched a fraction as he sighed, and you caught a glimpse of the stunning misty brown patterns for just a moment. You could easily lose yourself in tracing those for hours, given the chance.

“So… where are we going?” he asked for the hundredth time as you led him through the clangour of the central station’s ticket hall and then on towards one of the underpasses to a more distant platform.

“Still a surprise, buddy,” you grinned, poking him in the chest with a finger. “C’mon. I can’t wait to see your face when you find out.”

He buzzed his wings in fleeting annoyance at your stubborn refusal, but remained quiet.

Too quiet.

“Hey,” you said, pausing beside a humming vending machine. In the lurid light it cast, Elis almost looked like a ghost, like he wasn’t real, and your heart slipped sideways a little in your chest at the sight of him. He looked so… diminished of late. “Hey,” you said again, voice soft and endlessly fond. “I don’t want to stress you. If you really want to know where we’re going, I’ll tell you. I just — we all — wanted to do something nice for you, after…” you trailed off rather awkwardly. Neither of you needed reminding of how another disastrous relationship, doomed almost from the start, had gone down the drain for Elis.

He was taller than you — a true gentle giant — and as he looked down from that six foot something height, his shoulders dropped and his frond-like antennae relaxed from harsh, straight lines to the downy fluff of a feather. “No,” he said in a voice vastly different now. His tone was sweet and almost reverent as he looked at you with huge, dark eyes. “No, you wanted to make this a surprise for me, so that’s what it’ll stay.”

The smile that twisted your lips was undeniably tinged with sadness, but affection burned hot and bright in you. You ached to hug him, but weren’t sure if it’d be entirely welcome. He’d never shown any interest in you particularly, and you’d never known him to have a relationship with a male human.

“C’mon,” you mumbled. “Let’s go. Tara and Alex are meeting us halfway there.”

At that his antenna pricked up again, this time with a curious tilt. “Oh? I thought it was just us two?”

You shook your head. “Nope. We all clubbed together to make this the best end-of-summer holiday ever.”

Elis tiny smile and gentle expression was going to be the death of you, so you turned away and led him under the main platforms to the furthest part of the station.

As you emerged up the steps, his tiny, delicate jaw dropped and he froze at the top of the staircase. “No,” he breathed, and while his already huge eyes couldn't get any bigger, he stared dumbstruck at the forest green engine that was just coasting into the station.

A plume of steam billowed up from the chimney into the glass and steel vault above, and Elis’ whole body lit up. His wings spread suddenly so wide he nearly smacked a passer by in the face with one, but he was so caught up in the approach of the deep green engine with its gold trim and black details that he didn’t even notice.

“We’re not…?” he began, his gaze flickering momentarily to you. “You didn't…?”

“I did. Well, we did. But yeah. All aboard the Starfall Express,” you beamed, picking up his tiny suitcase from where it’d fallen from his slack fingers. He still had a hold of his wine-red scarf though.

While his torso, face, and wings were a mix of hues from the silver of weathered cedar to a warm, creamy brown, the scrolling, almost Art Nouveau details of his wings were picked out in a rich, roast-coffee black and they made you ache to run your fingertips along them whenever you saw them. Unlike humans, mothfolk tended not to wear clothes unless it was really cold, since their fuzzy pelts covered their dignity and most didn’t like the feel of fabric against fur anyway. Elis, however, really felt the cold and wore his beloved red scarf from almost exactly September 1st until as late into Spring as he could push it.

“I can’t believe you did this for me,” he whispered, trotting up alongside you and smoothly taking back his suitcase from you.

You showed your tickets to the guard dressed in an antique green uniform. She took them and punched a little star shape out of one corner, and then you handed Elis’ to him for the first time.

“Check it out…” you said. It was a work of art in itself, and was definitely meant as a keepsake after the trip was over. It was the kind of thing you could stick in a book as a bookmark or frame in its own right. Gold detail around the edge bordered the design of a stylised shooting star, with the outline of mountains picked out in a single line.

Beneath it read:

Starfall Springs Heritage Railway

ADMIT: One Passenger - Twin Cabin

RTN

And beneath sat the dates and times of departure in a beautiful, curling script.

“That’s going in my journal,” he said to himself as he turned it over. “Oh! I’ve got to get a photo! Can you take one for me?”

You weren't the only ones taking photos of the train as it rolled into the station, and just as you finished awkwardly trying to take a selfie together, a very well dressed orc in a vintage suit ducked close and asked, “You want me to take one of the two of you?”

Elis was delighted, and pulled you close under his fluffy arm, beaming, with his antennae angled back in a display of open joy. Tucked beneath his arm as the orc took the picture, you allowed yourself to dream that you were more than just friends for half a second. His latest partners had been other insect folk, culminating in his latest relationship with a male, green-veined emperor butterflyfolk, which had been an unmitigated disaster.

Still, the breakup had been the catalyst for this extravagant trip between the four of you, so it wasn’t all bad.

“I still can’t believe,” Elis hissed in your ear as you made your way down the carriage to your compartment, “That the three of you did this for me. I mean… I know how much the Starfall Express costs,” he added, practically growling your name. “You shouldn’t have done that. I’d like to —”

“I swear, Elis,” you said, playfully rounding on him in the narrow corridor and jabbing a finger close to his face. “If you say you’d like to pay us back for your ticket, I will never make you another peach slushy the way you like… This is our treat. We divided it up relative to income, so actually it’s mostly Tara who’s bankrolled this because she’s a big-shot lawyer and has more money than god, but we all chipped in. This is for you, Elis. Because we love you and we want you to forget about… him.”

Elis’ antennae folded flat against his head and his wings fluttered again. “Thank you,” he said in a tiny voice and an even tinier smile.

“C’mon. Let’s see our compartment. Tara and Alex have their own cabin, even though they’re joining us tomorrow when we stop at Halftree Halt.”

Behind you, Elis trailed along in stunned silence, but you could tell he was happy, if a little overwhelmed.

He was practically vibrating as the train pulled out of the station three quarters of an hour later, and while the suburbs faded to the green blur of the countryside, he turned to look at you where you sat beside him on the squashy, upholstered seats. Later, while you were at dinner, the bench would be made up into beds, but for now, you sat side by side, facing the direction you were travelling.

At the sound of your name, you jumped a little, having been lost in the hypnotic landscape rolling past with the steady drumming of the wheels on the sections of track, and you looked up to find him staring at you.

“Thank you,” he whispered, and your heart leapt as he brought his big, dark hand down to rest on your thigh with the easy familiarity of a childhood friend. He squeezed the muscle gently with his thick, strong fingers, and then started to retreat, but not before you had snatched his hand up in yours and clenched your fingers around his.

In a rough voice, you croaked, “I just want you to be happy, Elis. You deserve —” you broke off before you said something you couldn’t take back, and looked away without letting go. Your friendship with him meant more to you than anything in the world, and if you screwed it up by confessing a life-long and undoubtedly one-sided adoration for your mothfolk best friend, you’d never forgive yourself. “You deserve to be happy,” you finished rather lamely.

Elis squeezed your hand again and released you gently. “You want to wander along to the lounge car?”

Mutely, you nodded and followed him out into the corridor.

The rattle and rhythm of the train, the heartbeat clatter of the wheels on the track, the steady rocking of the carriages as they swayed, the laughter of guests who’d dressed in vintage outfits for a wedding party, the polished antique furniture in the dining and bar and lounge cars, the promise of cocktails from glittering glasses and sloshing liquors in gilt and mirrored cabinets: it all blurred into a magical experience you almost never wanted to end.

But above all, Elis was happy.

He soaked it up, adoring the lights in the bar as evening rolled around and you headed out of your cabin again. According to the Starfall Express’ customs, all the guests had to dress for dinner, and since Elis had no need for an outfit change — save to unwind and set aside his beloved scarf — he had stepped outside to let you get dressed in the tiny space of the cabin. He turned when you opened the door, wearing a rented tux that you thought looked kind of ridiculous on you, and you watched his antennae shift back, his jaw slacken, and his wings buzz.

Well, that was a reaction you’d never seen from him before. “El?”

He tried to say something but it got stuck in his throat and he cleared it, floundering visibly. “Suits you,” he finally managed to rasp.

You grinned and looked down at your outfit. “Yeah?”

“Mmm,” he hummed, still flustered.

Somehow you almost didn’t dare hope it meant what you thought it did. “Ready for a Starfall-themed cocktail?”

When you stepped into the bar, Elis placed his hand at the small of your back and you inhaled softly in surprise. Glancing up, you found him leaning down to whisper something in your ear, and you nearly missed what he said altogether as his breath fanned across your ear and he purred in an almost inaudible whisper, “That minotaur just choked on his drink when he saw you.”

“Probably because I look stupid in this suit,” you quipped back. “He’s probably never seen anyone so ridiculous.”

Elis shook his head in a gesture that would have been an eye-roll for a human, and fluttered his dusky wings. “Come on. Drinks are my treat this time, hm?”

“Sure.”

You couldn't help but notice though that the dark-pelted minotaur on the far side of the room watched your progress towards the bar with amber eyes, and as you met his gaze, he inclined his head slightly in a gesture you couldn't quite interpret. If you didn't know better, it might have looked like he’d just conceded defeat. Beside you, Elis sank elegantly down onto a bar stool and looked at you. He did a double take when he saw you looking at the minotaur, and then swallowed and turned away abruptly.

“What’ll it be?” he asked in a soft buzzing voice, gaze focused on the polished bar top in front of him. The tone of it sent chills through you, and not in a good way.

In a moment of boldness, you hopped up onto the stool next to his and reached for his hand where it rested on the counter. Squeezing, you said, “You choose. I’m in your hands.”

For a heartbeat, he just stared at you, his reflective eyes shimmering in the faux-gaslight of the bar. Then he turned his hand over and held yours for just a second longer. When he ordered for the both of you, you grinned.

“Seems you know me well too, El,” you said as you chinked your glass against his vibrant Cosmo, and then sipped your favourite drink. “To new beginnings, hm?” you added.

“Oh, I’ll drink to that,” he chuckled.

Sharing a meal together in the dining car after your drink felt more intimate than any you’d ever shared together before. You’d fished out your guide to Starfall Springs, and along with a travel magazine from the train, the two of you pored over it, working out what to do when the train pulled in at the historic little town. In fact, you chatted so long that the dining car was almost empty by the time you realised how late it was.

The bar beyond was still bustling though, and while you flushed and apologised to the waiter who had been hovering politely, Elis stood to one side and let you head out first as usual. You wove through the happy crowd in the bar, past the orc who had taken your picture, and after exchanging smiles of recognition, you pushed on. Pausing briefly near the far end, you turned to Elis and asked, “You want to stay for another drink or something?”

He shook his head. “No, it’s too noisy for me. Don’t feel like you can’t stay though.”

You looked around, seeing that the minotaur was engaged in conversation with a handsome young man in a wheelchair near the window, and looked back at Elis. “Let’s go,” you said.

Your cabin had been turned down for the night, and you paused in the doorway. “Top or bottom?”

“…I beg your pardon?” Elis spluttered from behind you.

Snorting at your inadvertent innuendo, you turned around and grinned at him. “Top or bottom… Bunks, Elis. Bunks.”

“Oh.” With a twinkle in his eyes, the two of you fell about laughing. With a slight and knowing hitch in his voice, he said, “I… don’t mind. Up to you.”

Not quite ready to go to sleep yet, you began to undress before reading in bed for a while. This time, Elis didn’t leave, but he quietly took the top bunk and lay down to stare at the ceiling, mindful of his fragile wings. You felt his eyes on you from time to time, and once you’d changed into your pyjamas — a scruffy old pair of track pants and a t-shirt with a small hole in one armpit — you tilted your head in a silent question, and Elis laughed.

“What?” you asked.

He twitched his antennae and sighed a soft laugh before turning to look up at the ceiling again. “I thought for sure the minotaur was your type.”

You shrugged. “Eh. I mean…” you said as you began to brush your teeth at the tiny sink in the cabin’s corner. “Not gonna lie, I do tend to like my partners bigger than me, but I’m not interested in a casual one-night stand with someone I don’t know.”

“I can understand that.”

“He didn’t look too cut up about me turning him down anyway,” you grinned around a mouthful of minty foam.

For a long time, Elis stayed quiet.

Eventually, he murmured your name so quietly you almost missed it behind the rattle of the train and the gurgle of the sink as it drained. “Mmm?”

Elis swallowed and said, “Do you want to come up here to read? There’s more head room and the light’s a bit better.”

“You and your lights,” you smiled, grabbing your dog-eared paperback and climbing the ladder while he shuffled over. There really wasn’t much room with the two of you up there, but he was right about the lighting. You had a small reading lamp set into the wall, but it was severe and focused, while the glow from the main lamp of the cabin fell over his bed. It reminded you of playing together as children and making tents in Elis’ parents’ garden out of blankets and bamboo canes from the vegetable patch.

Your breath caught though as you reached the top of the ladder. In the low light, every hair on his coat seemed dusted with silver, and his antennae and wings looked so delicate you were afraid of crushing them. How the hell you were going to survive the night and another day in such close proximity to him without having a coronary, you weren’t sure.

He chirruped your name softly, sounding more like the language of the mothfolk than your own, and you swallowed. “I’m fine. Where should I sit?”

In the end you found yourself lying beside him, both on your sides, essentially spooning. With the rhythmic rocking of the train as it sped through the night, and the warmth of his body behind you, you dozed off before you’d finished three pages.

A hand on your shoulder stirred you from the deepest sleep you’d experienced in months, and it took you a long time to scrape your thoughts together. Eventually, you turned over and found yourself face to face with Elis, who was smiling. His mouth seemed so delicate, and he looked so beautiful in the soft grey light of morning, you thought for a moment you were dreaming.

“You fell asleep up here last night,” he said in a warm whisper, “And I didn’t have the heart to wake you.”

“I’m so sorry,” you blurted, scrubbing a hand over your eyes and realising he’d covered you with his blankets. “I hope you got some sleep too?”

To your relief, he nodded. “I slept wonderfully,” he said.

With a bit of awkward shuffling, you made it down off his bunk without hurting yourself or revealing the evidence of what being so close to him all night had done to your body, and when you’d washed and dressed and visited the shared toilet up the corridor, you headed to breakfast.

At Halftree Halt, you and Elis stepped off the train and stretched, Elis’ wings going wide as a parachute for a moment as he flexed them in the late morning light. The train needed to refill its water tanks, and the halt was scheduled for an hour to give new passengers joining the train enough time to find their compartments and get settled, while existing passengers could stretch their legs a bit more than the confines of the train allowed.

A pack of gnoll children barrelled up the platform, knocking into one another and scrapping and snarling joyously until their mother eventually yelled at them and they all came tumbling back again. You laughed at their antics but turned to find Elis enthralled by the sight of the engine crew refilling the tank, and you headed over to join him.

You were still watching when a shout went up behind you, and you and Elis turned to see a familiar albino naga and a satyr hurrying over to you. Tara slithered beside Alex, with her hand on his arm to guide her and a white cane folded in the other. She wore a beautiful, dark green, cable knit jumper over her human half, and her long white hair was plaited and twisted up at the back of her head in a complex pattern. Alex, on the other hand, with his thick, russet fur all over the place and a wine-red waistcoat that was buttoned up wonkily, looked like he’d just rolled out of a hedge somewhere. He grinned his roguish smile at you and you shook your head.

“Look at the state of you!” you snorted, hugging him and then pulling back. “You missed a button.”

“What? Oh, shit,” he laughed, and started to fix it while you hugged Tara and stepped aside for Elis to do the same.

When Elis had greeted them both, he buzzed his wings and the soft purr of it made something skip inside your chest. “Tara, Alex, thank you so much,” he said, wringing his dark hands in front of him. “I can’t believe you three did this just to cheer me up.”

“You deserve it, big guy,” Alex grinned, punching him lightly on his fuzzy upper arm. Under his waistcoat, the satyr wore a long-sleeved shirt which, on his stocky frame, looked about half a size too small, and if you hadn’t been so enamoured with Elis, you might have found it distracting. As it was, you had eyes only for the mothfolk standing beside you on his delicate, paw-like feet.

“What is your cabin like?” Tara asked. “Was it comfy? Did you sleep ok?”

Elis buzzed his wings again, this time with a note of embarrassment, and you looked at the ground before Alex caught your eye and grinned a feral grin that made you want to strangle the satyr. Mercifully, he didn’t voice his suspicions. At this point, Elis was probably the only person unaware of your monstrous crush on him, and you’d have been mortified if Alex had given you away now.

You filled them in on the happenings of the day and evening before, and they heaved their bags onto the train and stowed them in their own compartment, even though the onward leg of the trip to Starfall Springs was only a few hours. Tara really was wealthy though, so you didn’t comment. They ended up joining you in the lounge car anyway, and you spent the next couple of hours chatting, with Elis sat beside you, and Alex and Tara on the other side of the table.

Alex leaned on one elbow and grinned. “I’m so glad we did this. Even without needing to show Elis just how much we love him, we should do something together every year. Maybe not of this… scale,” he added pointedly as he eyed the vintage finery around you, “But still. We should go on holiday together every year.” He turned to Tara and said, “And you can even bring your gorgeous new partner with you next time.”

“Too bad he had to work,” she sighed into her tea, “But I think the four of us are trouble enough for now, no?”

As one of the gnoll children passed through the carriage with a little engine-driver’s cap dangling from her fingers, you watched Elis track her progress, staring longingly at the hat, and an idea for a gift formed in your mind. A discreet twenty minutes later, you excused yourself while they were all wound up in friendly debate, and found the gift shop at the other end of the restaurant carriage.

With you purchase concealed in a paper bag bearing the Starfall Express logo, you snuck it back past them just as Alex kindly distracted Elis by asking him all about the heritage rack-and-pinion railway that ran up into the mountains outside of Starfall Springs.

When you slid back into your seat a little while later, and Elis was still going, Alex looked at you and mouthed, ‘you owe me’.

You grinned.

Whatever price he demanded would be worth paying to see Elis’ face when you gave him your present.

The station in Starfall Springs was a large, brick and stone building which, despite being one of the newest buildings the town, was still nearly two hundred years old. Steam filled the shed to the rafters as the engine ground to a halt at the buffers, and the four of you disembarked.

Elis’ wings were twitching with excitement as he looked along the length of the train and stopped to take a couple of photos while the plume of steam swirled around the wheels and the coupling rods. Alex and Tara headed for the exit, but you muttered that you’d meet them outside, and waited for Elis.

When he’d finished, he turned back and found that you were almost the only two people left on the platform. He clamped his wings and antennae down, looking miserable, and scurried back to you with his small suitcase clutched in one hand. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I…”

“El, it’s fine. This is your trip. I want you to have fun, ok?”

“Yes, but… the others…”

“They’re waiting outside in the sun. It’s fine,” you smiled, and on a whim, you patted his fuzzy, dusky silver shoulder and watched him shiver. He shot you a shy smile, and followed you out into the sunlight of Starfall Springs.

Later that afternoon, after sharing a gorgeous cream tea with the others in the hotel, you and Elis headed out alone while Alex phoned his boyfriend and Tara caught up on a little work. You agreed to meet for dinner at the Starfall Inn, which had received rave reviews in the travel magazine you’d read on the train, and you took Elis out into the pretty, old town.

In your small messenger bag, you carried Elis’ present, waiting for the right time to give it to him.

You carried it all afternoon, in and out of three antique bookshops and the glass-blowing shop and the trinket shop down by the harbour, and all the way around the museum, but finally, when you got to the bridge that led up to the temple, you paused and cleared your throat.

Elis turned and tilted his head curiously. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” you croaked. “I… I got you something. I… I wanted you to have it, but I wasn’t sure when to give it to you. I probably should have given it to you on the train, but… I kind of chickened out.”

He breathed your name and stepped close. To your surprise, he reached out with his velvet-soft fingers and tilted your chin up to look at him. The contact was fleeting, but it left you dizzy and tingling all over. “You’re so kind to me,” he whispered.

The words ‘because I love you’ danced perilously on the tip of your tongue, but you bit them down and fumbled in your bag for the wrapped parcel with the Starfall Express logo printed on the paper. Handing it to him, you stepped back and watched him.

His dark, delicate fingers eased the selotape off the paper and when he’d unfolded it without ripping so much as a millimetre of it, he lifted one of the folds up and gasped. When he saw the hat, with the small holes already tailored in the side for folk who had horns or ears or, in his case, antennae, he clutched it to his chest and looked at you. “It’s perfect!” he laughed. “I’ve always wanted one of these!” and without waiting a moment longer, he rammed it onto his head and drew his antennae out through the holes afterwards.

“Suits you,” you beamed. He looked utterly adorable.

A heartbeat later, he swept forwards with a rush of wings and flailing arms, and pulled you tight to his furry chest. His heart fluttered rapidly beneath your ear and you squeezed him as tightly as you dared. He was more solid than he looked, and stronger too. He held you fiercely, his wings jittering. “I love you,” he whispered. “I love you so much.”

You froze. “What?” you gasped.

He jerked back and grimaced. “I… I’m sorry,” he said. “I just… I didn’t mean to ruin everything. I — gods, I don’t want to ruin everything — but… I had to say it. I can’t… I can’t… I’m sorry.”

“Elis, did mean it?”

“Of course I did!” he scowled. “No need to rub it in. I know you only see me as a friend. Always have. I just —”

“Elis, I’ve been in love with you since I was eight years old, and you came over to talk to me during lunch break on my second day at school,” you laughed deliriously. “As far as I know, you’ve never dated a human, so I figured you weren’t interested.”

“They weren’t you,” he mumbled.

“What?”

“Humans. I thought… I thought I could forget how I feel about you if I dated other species. It didn’t even work when I tried to date my own species. They just weren’t you.”

You swallowed and took a steadying breath. “Elis, I hate to say it, but I think we might be idiots.”

“One brain cell between us,” he agreed. “Still, there’s no one I’d rather share my brain cell with.”

And with that, you began laughing. When the tears prickled along your lashes though, he fell quiet and brought his soft, leathery palm to your cheek and thumbed gently along your cheekbone. “I’m sorry I waited so long,” he said.

You shrugged, feeling shaky and as though you were floating. Elis’ hand was the only thing keeping you tethered. “Better late than never?”

“Indeed,” he said. “May I kiss you?”

“Gods yes,” you said in a little rush.

As he leaned down, his wings unfurled slowly behind him, showing his beautiful patterns and casting a protective shadow over you. He trailed his fingertips down your cheek and tilted your face up a little. When his mouth met yours, you moaned. His tongue flitted out and tasted your lips, and he returned your moan with one of his own.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said when he drew back a moment later. “Shall… uh… do you want to go back?” he asked with a fleeting but pointed look at your groin. “I know I do,” he added shyly. “Much longer out here and I won’t be decent in public anymore.”

“Makes two of us,” you snorted, taking his offered hand in yours. He still had that ridiculous engine driver’s cap on, but he looked so perfectly happy that you couldn’t object to it.

He led you by the hand, back through the streets of Starfall Springs to your hotel, and as the door to your room closed behind you, and he did take the cap off to hang it on a hook at the back of the door, it was your turn to call him beautiful and watch him flutter his wings.

You did finally trace all those lovely patterns while he gasped and shivered, until he lost patience and flipped you onto your back. He wrapped his long tongue around you, tasting you, worshipping you, until you had to gasp and tell him to stop or you’d spill into his mouth.

Elis reacted a fraction of a second too late, but he swallowed you down with his hands clamped to your hips, his wings spread wide above you, a fierce light in his eyes.

“I love you,” you hissed as your body slumped and your muscles turned heavy.

“I love you too,” he smiled as he sat up and showed you just how turned on he had grown by taking care of you first. “How do you want me?”

___

I really hope you folks enjoyed this one! If you did, please consider reblogging the story, since that’s the best way to help out creators whose work you enjoy on Tumblr!

___

| Masterlist | Ko-fi (tip jar)

[xaharadesert]

Winter Days! - Headcanon

Arcana Characters (Main 6)

A/N: thank you, @astraeus-trash for continuing to feed my binge-writing with your requests :) it’s very much appreciated! Please let me know if there are any spelling or grammar mistakes :) requests are open!

❤️Julian❤️

He usually claims that winter is his favourite season because the outer world reflects his inner mind

Really he just likes it because his clothes are hot and heavy, so winter is the only time he can wear them comfortably

He doesn’t like what the cold does to his leeches though >:(

You can often see him setting up a little habitat for them to vibe in when the cold first reaches Vesuvia

Aside from that, though, he’s a big fan of how people flock to Vesuvian festivals due to the myriad of celebrations that take place

He likes to be the life of the party, and it’s even better if he doesn’t have to see any of them again if he does something he doesn’t want to face the consequences for

🧡Portia🧡

Winter, in her opinion, is the perfect time to bake an excess of pretty much everything tasty

It’s usually too hot in the warmer months to use her oven so often, but with winter, not only is she making delicious treats, she’s also warming up her house!

She likes to give her baked goods to her friends, since she makes way too many to eat by herself

Usually likes to snuggle up in a warm blanket with a mug of hot chocolate and some fresh baked cookies after a long day

Pepi drapes herself around Portia’s neck to keep warm

You’ll never see a more cozy and inviting sight

💛Lucio💛

His birthday falls in January, so you best believe that celebration will be spread all throughout the month— no, the entire season

He likes to receive gifts from those around him, and he usually isn’t picky (he’s more about quantity than quality)

Also loves to decorate for the various holidays that come with winter

He might not even personally celebrate all of them, but you best believe he has the proper decorations to cover the palace with

The ever-changing decor is a bit of a headache for the staff, but Lucio finds it absolutely delightful

💚Muriel💚

He likes that most people stay inside, and, therefore, away from him

He also likes to stay inside, wrapped in warm furs, Inanna at his side

Living in such a dense part of the forest, the snow doesn’t really bother him, instead collecting on the thick branches of the trees

He likes the patterns of light that manage the shine through the snow onto the forest floor

He’s also a big fan of walking around areas of deeper snow with Asra, just because it’s so fun to watch his friend try to hop from boot print to boot print of where Muriel stepped

💙Asra💙

Absolutely adores ice sculpting

He can’t do it very well, personally, but he still loves to watch professionals do their work

The sculptures are always so detailed and gorgeous, and he appreciates their transitory nature; they really are something that can only be enjoyed in the moment

He’s also a big fan of snowball fights, if only because he can enchant his snowballs to win

His favourite opponent is Julian, to say the least

💜Nadia💜

For her, the winter is a time to stay inside and avoid the cold

Prakra is a relatively warm country, even during the winter, so she’s not a huge fan of Vesuvian winters

Admittedly, she enjoys the extra bit of time off

Most projects are slowed down during the winter, due to travel restrictions and unsafe work conditions, especially for construction

So she gets to curl up in a big comfy chair with a glass of wine and a good book, free to do as she pleases

[demonfamilytherapist]

Demon Form Ranking

Thanks Tia for the tag!

I'm not putting an image for each one... sorry. In rough order, from worst to best!

Team 'What the FUCK are you guys wearing'

Satan - this one should surprise absolutely no one, and yet it's personal for me. I love the horns. I love the tail. I even like the boa and the rib tie. But I cannot forgive the fucking... white dots on the pants??? What did you do, Satan? Did you wash them with bleach? Absolutely disgusting. And I know he's covering a bunch of skin, but everyone else has some sort of markings/tattoos. Where are Satan's?

Asmo - Another one where I love the concept but not a fan of the execution. His wings and horns are adorable, and I really like the scorpion actually? But I dislike the weird buckled pant leg (asymmetry is cute, but how many buckles do you need? And grey and black?). I also don't like the bare arms, or maybe it's just the tight cuffs? Points for the hearts though.

Belphie - This one may be controversial but. I think it just looks silly. What are those buckles supposed to connect to, bestie? Why can I see your ankles? Why are you wearing parachute pants???? Belphie does get points, however, for the cutouts on the sleeves echoing the cow pattern on the torso. I can't decide whether I love or hate the horseshoe, so I won't comment further on that.

Also, I always forget how fluffy his tail is... he gets extra points for fluffy tail.

Team 'You made an effort but I can't give you full marks'

Barbatos - The colours are cute, love the tail and the veins on it, and I think the horns are very cute. It feels relatively plain, but I can't bring myself to hate it. Points on for good tailoring, points off for the mindfuck his shoulder ruffles deliver unto me.

Diavolo - Don't get me wrong, I do like this design generally. I like the gold tipped wings and horns, and the gradient on his wings is gorgeous. I also like the fur and all the gold details, it definitely lets you feel he's royalty. Let's just say everything above the waist gets full marks... but the pants just feel insanely visually busy to me. I don't know whether to focus on the white loincloth, the gold sparklies, the gold dots, or just give in and stare at his boots. At least the boots look kinda cool.

Beelzebub - I really like the silhouette here, the tight tank, and Beel's is possibly the only design where the excess buckles don't bother me, because they blend visually with his outfit. The jacket's a little visually busy (love the spikes, I think I'd be fine with it without the little rings?) and I'm not sure how I feel about the boots. I think if there was a little extra pizazz I'd be happy with this, maybe if his wings were more translucent/reflective as they are in fan art?

Team 'Understood the assignment'

Lucifer - I don't know if I can put into words how much it pains me to put Lucifer this high up, but I can't deny his demon outfit is just plain good. I love the balancing of the black/red, I love that it fits his character to have such a grand outfit, the inclusion of the peacock theme, his wings (which I feel should be bigger, but I'm willing to accept he's keeping them partially folded). He's kept from top ranking because if I compliment him too much my soul will shrivel up and I'll die.

Mammon - I guess the eldest bros just brought their A game? It makes sense given that he's a model and all for him to have a good outfit. The horns look delicate but super sharp, and the bone detailing on the wings looks incredible. I like the spikes, the gold accents, and I even like the stupid little dangly bits on the collar. Everything totally suits his character. The only thing keeping it from being my absolute favourite is that I think all the diamonds on the sleeves are a bit too much.

Leviathan - This one might be a bit of bias shining through, but Levi looks so much like an outfit you'd design in your teenage emo phase and it somehow works. The mesh undershirt with the cozy hoodie? The little scales? I don't know if this is intentional, but his horns remind me so much of coral and I love how on-theme that is for him. Also love the recurring scale motif, it's just perfect for him. The only thing that I'm unsure of are the suspenders, which I can't decide if I hate or love.

[2goth2moth]

Hi there!! Could I request a satyr x AMAB!Reader with some frottage and/or size kink?? Perhaps even food-play? The rest is up to you :) (i don't like making anything too specific and letting the writer have a good amount of creative freedom)

-The Anonymous Anon(s)

Hey, I'm so sorry this took so long getting to you! This was a blast to write, and I really hope you enjoy it

The Most Important Meal of the Day (M!Satyr x AMAB!Reader, NSFW)

Big thanks to @xo-philia for beta-reading this!

This does feature food/foodplay, so keep that in mind if either of those things trigger you. Also, this really is just me projecting my romantic frustration so get ready for all the concentrated domesticity that I just can't seem to keep out of my writing.

Word count: 2276

Includes: Foodplay/food kink, frottage, mentioned/mild size kink, coming in pants,

There were certainly worse ways to be woken up than by the smell of freshly cooked breakfast. It was by no means a rare occurrence in your house, but it was nevertheless always appreciated. On this particular morning, the sweet smell of blueberries wafting into your room dragged you from your sleep and to the kitchen. A plate of pancakes sat on the small dining table, along with a pot of coffee and a bowl of cut fruit. The door to the fridge was open, doing a poor job of hiding a furry rump that could only belong to your boyfriend. He was rummaging around, humming to himself and shaking his hips to the tune. It was very cute.

As quietly as you could, you snuck through the kitchen until you stood right behind him, pausing for a second before wrapping your arms around his waist. He jumped a little bit at the contact, hooves scrabbling on the floor as he rushed to turn around in your hold.

“Good morning, Alexis,” you mumbled, still groggy, cuddling him closer to you.

His furry ears twitched, and he gently smacked your chest in feigned frustration. “Don’t sneak up on me like that, you scared me half to fucking death! I didn’t even know you were awake yet.”

“Mmmm, sorry.” You tucked your face into the warm fuzz of the side of his neck. “It just smelled so good, and then you looked too cute not to touch…”

The skin that you were nosing against heated up even more, and it took all of your self-control not to smirk at the fact that he was getting flustered, even after all this time. It was true, though. Alexis ran warm, especially when working around the stove, and to remedy this he had a habit of cooking naked, save a very pretty vintage apron patterned with delicately rendered wildflowers that somehow stayed miraculously spotless no matter how many times it was worn. The emerald fabric of its tie was knotted into a bow at his back, digging ever-so-slightly into the soft flesh of his waist. The colour was gorgeous against the chocolate brown fur of his hindquarters.

“It’s not fair,” you groaned quietly, nuzzling further into the side of his neck.

Alexis finished getting the maple syrup out of the fridge and waddled to the table the best he could with you still clinging to him. “What isn’t?”

“Just you,” you grumbled into his skin, ”It’s too fucking early for you to look this good and be productive enough to cook.”

He laughed sweetly at your complaints and put the bottle of syrup onto the table before gently unwrapping your arms from around him. You sat down in your chair, just noticing the plate on the table opposite to you. It was dirty, covered in scraps of pancake and smears of jam (Because Alexis ate his pancakes with jam instead of syrup so that they didn’t “get wet”? You never quite understood his logic on that one).

“Did you already eat?”

“Yup.” He hopped up to sit on the edge of the table, furry hind legs kicking idly from beneath the green hem of his apron. “I wanted to wait so I could eat with you, but someone slept late today.”

You pulled the most cartoonishly shocked face you could. “‘Slept late’?! It’s only, like, nine in the morning, you little menace!”

“It’s more like a quarter to ten now, actually.” Pushing the uneaten plate and the bowl of fruit towards you, Alexis tugged gently on your ear, his dark eyes full of affection. “Now eat up before it gets cold.”

The small stack of pancakes was dotted with blueberries and there was a pat of butter slowly melting over the top. Chunks of peach and mango lay mixed with berries in the bowl, juice smearing the inside. Your mouth watered at the sight.

Small fingers darted across your vision to snag a strawberry and pop it into Alexis’ mouth, too quick for you to stop him. You made an indignant noise and batted fruitlessly at him. “I thought you already ate!”

He shot you a cheeky grin. “You know I can’t resist something tasty when it's in front of me.” And the tip of his pink tongue flicked over his finger before he stuck it into his mouth.

The sight of Alexis sucking the juice from his fingers coupled with his suggestive words had you hardening in your loose pyjama shorts. A quick survey of the table, the fruit and the pancakes and the syrup that sat before you, gave you an idea. You gently wrapped your hand around one of his ankles, stopping his leg’s rhythmic kicking in its tracks.

“I can’t either.” You stared up at him through your eyelashes, rubbing your thumb over the place where the coarse fur of his leg met the hard material of his hoof.

He giggled at you, eying the growing bulge in your pants. “I can see that.” Letting his legs fall open teasingly, you could see his own arousal beginning to tent the front of his apron. “Now, are you going to do something about it? You still haven’t touched your food.”

“Come here,” you said with a gentle tug on Alexis’ leg.

Moving like water, he slid off the table and directly into your lap, perched so that he put barely any weight on your thighs beneath him. A slight wiggle to get himself comfortable made his weight drag against your groin, pulling a quiet groan from your mouth. He cupped your face in his hands and leaned down to kiss your brow.

“You have a scheme going on in that beautiful head of yours, don’t you?”

You hummed and nodded, ghosting your hands up his back to linger at the nape of his neck. A simple bow kept the top of the apron up, and you let your hands catch teasingly on its loops. “This will have come off, it’s too pretty to get dirty.”

“Do it then.” Alexis leaned forward to kiss you again, his lips against your cheek in the exact right place for his nose to brush your ear. “But I certainly hope you plan on getting me dirty, no matter how pretty I am.”

A quick tug on the loose ends of the bow had it coming undone easily in your hands. The bib of his apron went slack but stayed up, the sides gapping just enough for you to see the soft curve of his chest underneath. Downy fluff, the same that made up the undercoat of his legs, trailed from the curls of his hair onto his spine, and you followed the now-uninterrupted line with loving fingertips until you reached the tie at his waist. Delicious tremors went through him with every inch that passed under your hands, making him lean into your chest, his arms slung around your neck. He was heavy against you, solid and sure despite his shuddering breaths as you slowly untied the bow at his back, and you decided-- not for the first time-- that heaven was a lapful of warm, gorgeous satyr. Your hands ventured lower, threading into the thick double-layered fur of his hindquarters until you could scratch at the base of the short tail that extended from the cleft of his ass. Alexis whined and his tail flicked frantically as he rocked his hips into yours.

“You’re so sensitive,” you crooned into his ear as you slowly pulled the fabric of the apron from between your bodies, letting it fall to the floor in a crumpled pile.

A moan, muffled by your shoulder, was all you got in response as his cock, now fully hard, sprung up to bob enticingly between your stomachs. It was huge, way bigger than any human penis you’d even seen, the flushed head reaching almost all the way to the top of your sternum. You couldn’t help but swipe your thumb over the pre-cum beading at the tip when you reached behind him to gather the food to the very edge of the table.

The syrup first, you decided. The bottle was still cold from the fridge, slippery from condensation on the outside, and it took a fair bit of concentration to get the top open. Your job was not made any easier by the circles his hips were grinding into yours, or the path of his hot, wet mouth over your throat, or the damp spot your leaking cock was leaving on the front of your shorts.

He flinched and moaned at the first freezing drip of syrup that fell over his shoulder. Goosebumps rose in its wake as it crawled ever-so-slowly over his chest. You waited until it reached a peaked brown nipple before lowering your head to lick it up, relishing just as much in the feeling of soft hair and warm skin under your tongue as you did the sweet taste of maple.

“This isn’t qu-quite what I meant when I told you to ‘eat up’.”

“No?” You pulled away from him to pop a piece of mango into your mouth. “Do you want me to stop?”

His legs clenched around you, hooves clicking dully against the legs of the chair. “Don’t even fucking think about it.”

Smirking up at him, you poured more syrup onto his chest, a thick stream right under Alexis’ collar that trickled sluggishly down his entire torso as you tore the pancakes into chunks behind him. You took one of the pieces and swiped it through the sticky mess on his chest, putting it into your mouth and chewing. As Alexis continued rutting against you, his length dragging against your body and sweet little gasps coming from his mouth, it became very clear that such mundane things as “eating breakfast” could wait until after you had both cum.

You took a moment to pour even more syrup over him, the thick amber liquid wetting down the hair on his chest, catching on his nipples, running into the dip of his breastbone and under his chest and his navel. His ears fluttered happily and he gasped at the feeling, grinding down harder onto your lap. You loved the look on his face: eyes fluttering shut, blunt teeth sunk deep into his lower lip, mouth slack and wet. Sparing yourself only a moment to enjoy it, you kissed the underside of his jaw once before diving back into his chest. Fingers firm and sticky on his hips, you lapped greedily at the syrup covering his torso.

“Oh fuuuck,” Alexis moaned when you let your lip drag over his nipple.

He ground his groin deliberately into yours, the pressure and friction of his body through your shorts making you groan into his skin. You redoubled your attention on his nipples, licking and sucking on one while bringing one hand up from his waist to pinch the other, rolling the nub between your fingertips before squeezing it hard enough for it to toe the line of “too painful”. Alexis moaned again, the sound throaty and lewd, and you knew that if you looked up you would see his head tilted as far back as it would go in pleasure. His hips were rocking constantly now, stoking the fire of your orgasm deep in your gut as his own cock was rock-hard, flushed and leaking onto your shirt. A particularly hard press down onto you sent your hips jumping to meet his.

“Please, for the love of God do that again.”

The plea, desperate and beautiful, sent fire licking through your veins. You dropped your hand to grip one of his plump, furry asscheeks, and began rocking your hips up into Alexis’ as intensely as he had been rutting into you, rubbing your cock against his through wet fabric. The syrup where your mouth was had long since been licked away, but you kept lavishing his chest with attention as you ground together, sucking and nipping at the sensitive little bud, leaving hickies and bite marks in his supple flesh. Small gasps and whimpers were leaving both of your mouths constantly now, Alexis’ hips stuttering with every grinding motion, his thighs quivering around yours as his climax grew nearer with each second.

Wrapping his arms around your shoulders, he pressed his body even closer to yours. With both of your hard, weeping cocks trapped between you, you could feel every miniscule movement of his warm body against yours. It got to be too much very quickly, and you pulled him flush to you as you came with a muffled cry. He continued rolling his hips with hiccuping sounds, sounds that rose to a loud groan when you let your teeth graze over his nipple. You let it happen again, the barest tease of a bite, a promise that you made good on seconds later when you sank your teeth into the delicate skin. The sharp burst of painful pleasure sent his spine bowing backwards as his own climax shuddered through him. Cum shot out of his cock, more of it than could have come out of a human, pearly ribbons hitting your chin and soaking into your shirt as he went boneless in your arms.

Objectively the whole thing felt a little ridiculous: the two of you humping like rabbits in your kitchen while breakfast got cold, covered in maple syrup and cum, yourself still completely clothed. But no matter how ridiculous it seemed like it should have been, you couldn’t deny that it was easily one of the hottest things you had ever done. You just absolutely were not looking forward to the clean-up.