#rhythm heaven LOVES references

[yourbeginneranimator]

I drew these in art club w my friend (also the club teacher saw my cowboy space kicker art holy fuck)

[water-lemon-alex]

screw it im going to be your new supplier now

ft. my many headcanons

[puppys-rhythm-heaven]

fever's localization is so baffling to me even beyond the european version just casually relocalizing everything because like. okay so micro-row 2's reading material in the japanese version of fever directly references sick beats.

as the wiki says itself this is removed in the international versions because the reference would be lost. but in spite of this-

LOVE RAP 2'S READING MATERIAL STILL DIRECTLY REFERENCES RAP MEN-

[pokies-rambles]

Don't mind me, just posting sprites that had very small changes because I'm nitpicky-

[neuvistar]

OUR SWEET DOVE.

— featuring ┊ jing yuan x fem!reader x blade (poly!jingren comeback !)

— warnings / content warnings ┊ all consensual. not proofread, mentions of pregnancy, unprotected s3x, oral (m!receiving, most specifically bladie <3), s!ze k!nk again if u squint hard enough, reader implied 2 be a lil smaller than them <3, she/her prns used once(?), petnames used, bladie referred 2 as “yingxing” like once or twice idk, overall suggestive content. 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

— a/n ┊ poly jingren thirsts make a comeback! >:) i might turn this into a series called like whqt.. babymaking marathon LMFAO like separate hsr, genshin, + jjk characters to celebrate 2000+ but i’ll think abt it! wrote this during ovulation too guys this is NOT good.. anyways i don’t have a specific theme for this, it’s just.. them.. being them! ur on ur way to heaven AND motherhood !! (jokes.. unless..) god bless ur hips and waist ! goooodddd blessss you! <3 reblogs n feedback r appreciated <3

you were sure that time itself seemed to have stopped. how many times have you came, two times? three? four? you couldn’t even count anymore.. your mind and your thoughts were a mere blur to you, your lips locked with jing yuan’s in a moment of love as your breath grew more and more shallow by the second. your mind was blank, only filled with one thought.. blade and jing yuan’s soft caresses all over your body. your body moving in perfect harmony and rhythm with jing yuan’s as he attacked your mouth with his own.. tongue tangled with yours while blade kept one of your wrists pinned down to the pillow, his lips working on the flesh of your stomach as his arm kept your legs spread all nice for them. he was good with his fingers.. you can’t deny that. you can’t deny the pleasure that flows through your body when he thrusts his fingers deep inside your now-soaked cunt, it was a sight to see for both of them.. blade couldn’t help but let a smirk sneak through his lips as he curled his fingers, gazing up to see a reaction out of you. your hands clutched the general’s shoulder tighter, eyebrows furrowing at the mere curl of blade’s fingers in your walls, you weren’t complaining.. it felt nice.

you were a mere cocoon of love.. all thoughts, senses and senses, forgotten for you only focused on the present. you only focused on the three of you in this very moment.. how slowly your tongue danced with jing yuan’s, how fast blade was plunging his fingers in your pussy, it was too much to handle but you couldn’t complain no matter how hard you wanted to. no matter how hard you wanted to scold both of them, you were always silenced by the general’s lips. “spread your legs more, dove. he can’t fuck you with his fingers any faster if you keep closing them now, can he?” jing yuan broke the heated kiss between you both as he cooed inside your ear, his voice deep and filled with honey.. you were sure that they were filled with lust as well.

your back arched as you came all over blade’s digits from jing yuan’s lewd words. blade swiftly pulled his fingers from your insides, moving them in a scissoring motion as he stroked his cock, glancing over at jing yuan who pressed chaste kisses along your neck. “i think she’s ready enough, look how much she came.” the dark haired man hummed, slapping your cunt harshly as he earned a sharp gasp from your lips. “y—yingxing!”

“mm.. you sure did come a lot, dovey. it’s a shame we’ll be making you come a lot more today.” with a deep groan, jing yuan slammed his hard cock inside your soaked hole as a soft soft moan left your lips in an instant, he gripped your thighs to keep your legs from moving any further. “oho.. would you look at that.. your cunt’s already sucking me in. you’re a naughty girl aren’t you?” he taunted you further.. before you could even say anything, your words were silenced by blade’s cock. “come on.. you know how to suck right, pretty? go on. suck. suck it like you mean it.” you wasted no time as you allowed your tongue to swirl itself around his dick using one hand to stroke the areas you couldn’t reach, the warm feeling of your hot mouth around him was enough to drive blade absolutely feral.. oh how much he loved those sweet facial expressions of yours, how much he loved it whenever you tried your best not to gag.. how much he loved how easily his cock can twitch and slide itself inside your pretty little mouth. “that’s it.. f-fuck! keep.. sucking me off like that..”

your mouth moves against blade’s cock, taking him in so good and so well just as he wanted you to.. the male savoured the moment like you were a sweet treat, using your mouth to pleasure himself as he presses himself closer to your lips to thrust the rest of his length further down your throat, his fingers running through your hair. another other hand moves towards the side to wrap you in a tight embrace, jing yuan’s body shifting towards yours as the heat from your skin mixed with his.. his hips repeatedly slamming themselves against yours as some of your cum formed a ring around his cock. you felt so sticky already and they weren’t the ones cumming inside of you, your cheeks heated up at the mere thought of both of them filling you to the brim once more.

jing yuan stared down at your smaller frame beneath him, swallowing the single lump in his throat as his cock twitched inside of your gummy walls by the sight of you gagging on blade’s length. you were.. so small compared to the both of them.. it was enough to even turn him on! jing yuan shook his head, increasing his pace as he held your thighs down to your stomach to see more of your glistening and wet cunt. if only you knew just how much you were making him crave you further from how small you were, taking him and blade’s dicks like it was nothing. jing yuan’s thoughts began to wonder, how much can you take until he and blade break you? how much more can you handle? it was a question worth answering, his nails digging into your skin as he was determined to breed you and fill you up, maybe get you pregnant.. he wanted to see how much more you can handle.. how much more you can take until you can’t anymore. “if only you could see what i was seeing, lovely. y’know, you’ll make me cum faster with all your lewd facial expressions alone.. such a good girl. taking yingxing’s cock and mine so well now, are you?”

sweat was almost trickling along your forehead, your entire body was drenched in sweat.. catching sight of blade’s satisfied smirk on his face, his dark yet long wavy black hair was scattered all over the place, but he couldn't care any less at this point.. he gathered all your loose hair as he used them to keep your head still. blade kept a firm grip on your hair, thrusting his cock further into your mouth. honestly.. you weren’t even sure if your jaw would be alright the next morning.

your felt your legs shake. your own heart begin to flutter. your body trembled in your husbands’ holds, jing yuan continued to nibble on your skin as he lightly wrapped it around his fingers, moving them up and down your thigh. his kisses that danced along your tits were soft and tender, your heart raced and your breath grew heavy at the pleasure they both provided for you at that very moment. blade reached down to cup one of your breasts as his large hand engulfed it whole, twisting your hardened nipple to force a whine out of you. “pretty tits you have here, [name]. look at them, aren’t they pretty?” he glanced over to the white haired male as he replied with a nod, “indeed.” you squirmed under blade’s touch, a whine was the only thing that passed from your lips as your head tilted to the side, pulling away from his cock. your moans grew, an indication you were close.. you felt blade grabbing onto one of your hands as he made you stroke his dick at a fast pace. jing yuan bit his lip at the sight, watching his cock slide between your legs so smoothly, picking up the pace of his thrusts, slowly losing himself in your cunt. “it’d be a miracle if you gave us a baby or two, sweetest. do you think you can handle that?”

“a baby or two? why stop at that? if it were up to me, i’d fill her up with a dozen.” blade scoffed, his breath hitching as he grew close.. your thumb teasing his tip. jing yuan playfully rolled his eyes at blade’s bold claim, running his fingers through his hair as he placed his hand over your stomach. “mm.. we’ll see what she thinks. how about five, princess? is five good enough for you?” he rubbed your stomach gently, subconsciously feeling his cock thrusting in and out of you.. his lips curving into a sly smirk. “right here, beautiful. just imagine, your belly filled up.. all swollen and full of five little baby birds,”

“can you handle that, our sweet dove?”

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 2: Choose Love Or Sympathy]

Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra's wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook's Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother's life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting...

Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, extreme babygirl energy, violence, serious injury, Larys Strong, alcoholism/addiction, references to sexual content (18+), Crab Family lore.

Series title is a lyric from: "7 Minutes in Heaven" by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter title is a lyric from: "XO" by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 5.5k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged! 🥰💜

A moment of clarity, something he’s having more of lately: eyes glassy but open, voice husky, words slow. His vast bedchamber in the Red Keep always smells like honey and rose oil and the brackish golden air that blows in off the ocean. Sounds float weightlessly through the open windows like feathers on waves, music and shouts and creaking wagon wheels, gull cries and sails cracking in the wind. Late-morning daylight is an aisle across the stone floor, a river, a channel. Aegon’s bed has been moved away from the windows; when his wounds are uncovered, direct sunlight can ravage him in minutes, fresh blisters, thickening scars.

Aegon winces as you sit behind him and knead warm rose oil into his back and shoulders. His flesh is a grisly mosaic: pink and crimson and white, knots of burgeoning scar tissue, spots that are still raw and weeping. “It itches like hell, does that mean it’s infected?”

“That means it’s healing. Do you want more?” You mean the goblet of pearlescent milk of the poppy on his bedside table. It’s always there, and refilled frequently.

Aegon shakes his head, groggy, slumped, white-blond hair loose and disheveled. “I should probably be sentient on occasion. You haven’t been helping me piss into chamber pots or anything, have you?”

You smile. “No. You’ve got servants for that.” Although they report their findings to you; Maester Arthur of Claw Isle once taught you that organ failure is a common cause of death for burn victims, even if they survive the risks of shock and festering. All appears well enough on the outside, and then they start pissing blood or their skin goes yellow as their innards lose their secretive divine cadence, that vital rhythm, and then the poor soul is gone within days.

“Thank the gods,” Aegon says. “A speck of dignity remains. It’s tragic enough that I now closely resemble an overcooked meat pie.”

You chuckle as you massage rose oil into his wounds, keeping the scars moist and supple so they do not split open when he moves, so his joints are not locked in place. He will need them when he is out of bed again. He will need them if he truly is the king. “I don’t think you look that bad.”

“Because you’re used to sifting through guts and corpses all day. I’m an improvement. I’m only half dead.” And just weeks ago, he was pleading to be all the way dead. He glances back at you, brow knitted into thoughtful furrows; you can see it between the messy locks of hair that shag over his face. “What made you want to study something like this? It’s gruesome. It’s miserable, thankless work.”

“I was never good at anything,” you tell him. “My sisters were, but I wasn’t. I couldn’t dance, couldn’t sing, couldn’t embroider patterns unless they were humiliatingly simple, and even then I loathed it. My father grew so desperate he encouraged me to try archery with my brothers. I accidentally put an arrow in the foot of a squire and that was the end of my bowwoman career.”

Aegon laughs, then groans at the pain it causes him. He turns around so he can look at you, clumsily repositioning himself on the feather mattress, propping himself up on his palms. He squints down at his left hand where his ring should be: gold wings, jade eyes. You will have to remind Aemond to give it back to him. “I was never good at anything either.”

You can’t imagine that to be true, and yet it’s what you’ve always been told, that he was gifted at drinking and whoring and nothing else. You cannot reconcile those stories with the man in front of you. You keep trying, keep failing. You slather your palms in rose oil again the then begin massaging it into his chest. Aegon watches you with muzzy, drugged interest, eyes like cold ocean currents. “Then, five years ago, my brother…” You hesitate. A real name, an imagined one? You decide there is no harm in this small truth. Aegon will not remember the name of a younger son of a Crownlands house; he barely recalls the men of his own Kingsguard, who now spend their days trotting around the castle after Aemond. “My brother Everett was burned very badly, just like you were, although his wounds were mostly to his legs. And we all thought he would die. People advised us to show mercy by giving him enough milk of the poppy to kill him. They said it would be a sin to let him suffer so terribly. Yet our maester believed he could save him. My father and eldest brother had other responsibilities to attend to, and my mother and sisters could not bear the sight of Everett’s injuries. But I watched the way the maester worked on him, and I just…I thought it was the most captivating, beautiful thing I’d ever seen. The way a body can be taken apart or put back together like stones in a wall. Place one here, remove one there, and then like magic you’ve changed the course of someone’s life. Our maester taught me how to clean burns and change bandages, and when Everett was well again, he taught me about broken bones, fevers, childbirth, wolf bites, dry drowning. I read every book on the subject of healing in my father’s library. He kept having to order me more from the Citadel. I think I would have liked to be a maester myself, but…”

Aegon grins. “You have to go marry your mystery nobleman.”

“And women can’t be maesters.”

“They made me king of the Seven Kingdoms but you can’t be a maester? Fucking ridiculous.” He studies you as your fingers—tenderly, carefully—press rose oil into the red scar that creeps up over his right cheek. “Why won’t you tell me who he is?”

He means your betrothed. Aegon keeps asking about him in his moments of lucidity. You quip: “I don’t want you to have him murdered.”

“That would solve your problem.”

“I preserve life, I don’t take it.”

“I’ve noticed,” Aegon says with a soft, tired smile. Very slowly, he reaches up with one hand to pat at his silvery hair. “Can you give me my braid back? It seems to have been washed out again.”

“Of course.”

“Why did you start doing that?”

What is the truth? Something you can’t tell Aegon. No matter how often I touch him, I want more. “It’s a war braid. You’re a warrior. You’ve earned it.”

“So I am good at something after all,” he murmurs. You rebandage Aegon’s wounds and help him lie back down again. You give him a sip of milk of the poppy, which by now is badly needed; Aegon’s face is sweated and pale and agonized. Then you clean the rose oil from your hands and begin weaving a small braid into his hair. He gazes vacantly towards the open window, bright warm light he cannot walk into. “I assume Aemond is…handling things.”

“Yes, he’s…” How will Aegon take this? Is it a relief, or a slight? There was a great ceremony. You did not attend; you were here tending to the Greens’ broken king. It’s where you spend most of your time. “He’s been made Prince Regent and Protector of the Realm.”

Aegon nods, his expression unreadable. “How’s Sunfyre?”

“Still at Rook’s Rest and gaining strength. He was climbing the cliffs as of a few days ago. But I’ll ask Aemond when I see him today.”

Now Aegon smiles again. “Sunfyre is fierce. He is extraordinary.”

“You both are,” you say as you fashion his silver braid; and Aegon stares as if he couldn’t have heard you correctly.

Her steps are so light that at first you aren’t aware she’s entered the room. You see her out of the corner of your eye and immediately stand, moving away from the bed, from Aegon. You feel strange touching him this way—unnecessarily, self-indulgently, greedily—in her presence. She is his wife, after all.

“Your Grace,” you greet Helaena, bowing. She does not look at you. She looks vaguely in Aegon’s direction instead. She is wearing a turquoise blue dress and her long hair pulled back from her face. The servants have dressed her, or Alicent; she cannot do it herself anymore. In her hands she holds a large glass jar of sticks and leaves.

“Hello, Helaena,” Aegon says, more like a sigh than a welcome.

She scurries towards him and sets the jar down on his bedside table with a clunk, right next to the goblet of milk of the poppy and a number of other drinks, things you ply Aegon with to keep him hydrated. Then Helaena speaks, her eyes on the contents of the jar. There is something else in there, you see now: a fat wriggling green creature, a caterpillar inching along the length of an upright stick. "For you."

“It’s very nice,” Aegon tells her, in a tone like a parent losing patience with their child.

“It takes nourishment and then rests,” Helaena says. “It is wrapped in a cocoon and stays there for a long while. But when it emerges, it is not just well again. It is greater than it was before. And it can fly.”

“Oh, I understand now.” Aegon makes no attempt to touch her—not even her hand, not even for a moment—but his words are kinder. “I am the worm. Thank you, Helaena. This comforts me.”

She is satisfied. She turns to leave.

“Your Grace,” you begin, and hold out your hands to her. She does not take them. She does not meet your eyes; she stares instead into the golden luminescence of the open window behind you. You can hear crashing waves and the screeches of swooping gulls. “I wanted to express…I cannot even begin to tell you…I am so, so sorry for your suffering—”

She spins away from you and sweeps out of the bedchamber. You are left looking at the empty place where she stood, heartsick and sorry. What did I do wrong? What should I have said?

Aegon offers you an apologetic smirk, but his eyes are sad. “It’s not personal. She doesn’t really like touching anybody.” This is an irony, and one that must read on your face. A king and queen—by definition, by necessity—do an inordinate amount of touching. He invades, she endures, they knit heirs together out of threads of blood and sweat. “What we have between us, it’s not…romantic. It never was.”

This is not something he should be telling you. It is not a jest but a spilling of deep, sacred truths. “I didn’t ask.”

“No. But you were wondering.”

You were. You return to the bed and sit down beside Aegon, finishing his braid. You choose your words precisely before you speak. “I don’t believe I have a right to know certain things, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about what you’re thinking.”

“Then let me unburden myself so there is no confusion,” Aegon insists, drowsy but fighting sleep. “There was no joy in it for me or Helaena. I tried to make it as quick and painless as I could, but still, her disdain for the task was obvious. It happened just often enough to conceive the children. And we haven’t even tried in months, not since…” He doesn’t need to say it. Everyone knows, Greens and Blacks alike. A son for a son. The murder of Jaehaerys, six years old and utterly powerless, in exchange for Aemond slaying Luke.

Do you think such a thing was just? No, of course not, how could anyone? Very few things that happen in this world are just. They come with passionate defenses but no mercy, no vision for a less violent future. The wheel goes around and around, and everyone takes their turn being crushed. “Aegon, I’m so sorry,” you tell him softly.

He shakes his head. He will not discuss it. Aegon’s remaining children, Jaehaera and Maelor, do not ask about him; on the rare occasion that Alicent brings them to his bedchamber, they do not seem to know who he is. In fairness, Aegon does not seem to know them either; he regards them with a dull sort of bewilderment, like one might peer down at a page written in a foreign language. In the hallways of the Red Keep, the children clutch at Alicent and Otto, and sometimes Aemond will take a few minutes to play with them, stacking wooden blocks or arranging cloth dolls in a miniature castle. But if ‘mother’ and ‘father’ are words the children know, you’ve never heard them spoken aloud. “Can I have some wine, please?”

“Did you finish your goat milk?”

“Resentfully.”

“Then yes. I’ll get it for you.” You pour Aegon a cup of red wine and then tilt it against his lips. He slurps the cup dry before his eyes dip closed. You set the empty cup on the bedside table, feel his forehead for fever—longer than you need to—and then rise to leave him. You are almost to the door when you hear him say: “Thank you for changing my mind.”

You turn back to Aegon, puzzled. “About what?”

“About wanting to be dead.” He grins and waves, a weak miniscule motion of his left hand. “Come back soon, angel.”

“I will,” you promise.

And only then does he surrender to blessedly numb unconsciousness, the only place in the world that doesn’t hurt.

~~~~~~~~~~

You find Aemond in his own rooms. He is sitting in front of the large circular mirror on his vanity. His hair is long and straight and painstakingly neat, his tunic made of black leather. He is wearing the crown of Aegon the Conqueror. Rubies fracture the sunlight and scatter it against the walls; Valyrian steel glints.

Aemond marvels, knowing that you’re here: “It looks better on me than it ever did on him.”

“I need more rose oil.”

In the mirror’s reflection, his lone blue eye darts to you. “You always ask so politely.”

“I didn’t want to waste your valuable time. I can be more loquacious, if you prefer.”

“That won’t be necessary.” He stands, taking off the crown and placing it—gingerly, with both hands—on his vanity. “I’ll see that you have everything you require.”

“I am eternally appreciative.”

Then he does something that he thinks is amusing, a little joke you share. He grabs for your arm and you yank it away just before his fingers can close around your wrist. This makes him smile; it’s one of the only things that does. “Now follow me,” he orders, striding past you and through the doorway.

You hurry after Aemond, dashing through corridors and archways. You know where he is going; this has happened before. As you ascend a staircase, Alicent is leading Jaehaera and Maelor down to the gardens. She has one tiny hand gripped in each of hers; the hem of her emerald green dress drags on the stone steps. She keeps losing weight. You stop to scoop Maelor up and hug him—he giggles, squeezing at your cheeks as you smack kisses onto his face—and then turn your attention to Jaehaera. She has just learned the rules of curtsying and loves to practice. You bow to her, and then she does the same to you, and while her head is bent low you ruffle her silvery hair until it is in hopeless disarray and Jaehaera is laughing hysterically. Then you kneel down so she can sabotage your hair however she sees fit. She pulls strands out of your sensible low bun until you give up and shake it all loose. Alicent—large dark eyes, demurely veiled auburn hair, somber and suffering—gives you a grave, grateful smile. Aemond has waited at the apex of the stairs for you. When you rejoin him he continues onward to the council chamber.

Inside men are taking their seats and already beginning to quarrel: Criston Cole, Otto Hightower, Grand Maester Orwyle, Tyland Lannister, Jasper Wylde, Larys Strong, the knights of the Kingsguard. Sir Rickard Thorne pays no attention to you. Aemond once mentioned off-handedly: ‘Sir Rickard, I believe our healer is a distant relation of yours.’ The knight had glanced at you and produced some noncommittal reply, oh, indeed, sure, is that so. You had met before, you realized when you saw his face, years ago, at some event that brought together the houses of the Crownlands, a wedding or a funeral or a feast. He has a hazy recollection of you, but he cannot pin it down; he spent the evening with boisterous young men like your eldest brother Clement, while you had spent it with other noblewomen. Sir Rickard’s mother or sisters could probably identify you as a Celtigar. To Rickard himself, you can masquerade as some unimportant cousin he is ashamed to have forgotten. You assume your usual place in the council chamber: standing in a corner, trying not to be noticed, only there in case specific questions involving Aegon’s medical treatment arise.

“Is he dying?” Otto asks Aemond. “He must be. He has no interest in whores.”

Aemond raises his eyebrow at you. “Actually, I’ve been informed he is improving.”

Maester Orwyle beams at you. Upon your arrival in King’s Landing, he had confirmed to Aemond and Criston what you already knew: that while the Citadel’s guidance several decades ago was indeed pork lard or cow dung to treat burns, now there is a growing consensus that vinegar, honey, and oil for scar tissue are the best available remedies. You nod back. You are natural allies; the Greens’ king is under your joint care. You both have much to lose if he dies.

Now Otto Hightower addresses you. He is a stern, weathered, shrewd man. He reminds you of your father, though far more humorless. “When will he be able to fight again?”

“Fight?” you echo, stunned. “In battle? Months at least, my lord. Perhaps a year.”

“A year!” Otto bellows, then turns his wrath on Criston and Aemond. “I told you, I told you! I urged him to exercise caution, over and over again I warned him of the danger, and while I was penning letters to every possible ally you were pouring poison into his ears, convincing him that I wasn’t doing enough. Now look at him! Look at this goddamn fucking mess!”

“How fares the dragon?” Tyland Lannister says.

“I received a raven from Rook’s Rest today,” Aemond replies. “Sunfyre is eating well and ambulatory.”

“Useless,” Otto hisses. “Can’t fly. Can’t be moved. A waste of the livestock he’s being fed.”

“We may yet find a purpose for him,” Aemond says.

“Two dragons!” Otto explodes. “Can you count them?! We have two dragons capable of combat, and one of them is ridden by a fifteen-year-old. The Blacks still have Syrax, Caraxes, Vermax, Tyraxes, and Moondancer. And gods help us if they find someone to ride any of the other unclaimed beasts on Dragonstone. Seasmoke, Vermithor, Silverwing, Grey Ghost, the Cannibal…”

“I hope they try to tame the Cannibal,” Criston mutters. “If we’re lucky, he’ll eat them all.”

“My lord,” Larys Strong says to Otto, clutching his cane; he has a habit of lacing his fingers overtop the handle and resting his chin on them. Larys is a watchful, quiet man who speaks rarely yet with great consequence. He is the Master of Whisperers, he is the Lord of Harrenhal, and aside from that he is an enigma to you. “I hate to be the bearer of unfortunate tidings, however I must speak plainly. I have just obtained reports that the Blacks are pursuing precisely the course of action that you fear. Jacaerys Velaryon is offering land and knighthood to any man who can mount a dragon and join their cause. The realm is littered with Targaryen bastards, I’m certain it is only a matter of time until they find at least a few candidates suited to the task.”

Otto slams his fist down on the table. You startle at the noise; Aemond glances over at you. “No king. No Sunfyre. Dreamfyre in the Dragonpit, who Helaena cannot fly into battle. A fucking disaster.”

“We have Vhagar,” Aemond says confidently.

“She is worth two full-grown dragons,” Otto pitches back. “Not four or five.”

“Daemon is the real threat. If I can eliminate him, the war is over.”

“Daeron should be prepared for combat,” Jasper Wylde says. “He is travelling with Lord Ormund Hightower’s army in the Reach, but he can easily be called back to King’s Landing. He could assist Prince Aemond in his pursuit of Daemon and Caraxes.”

“I don’t need his help,” Aemond replies darkly.

“Then perhaps he could safeguard the city once you’ve gone.”

“We cannot sacrifice military strategy on the altar of personal vendettas,” Criston says. “Dragons are best used on the battlefield against soldiers and castles, not on meandering quests to find one lone enemy, that’s a needle in a haystack, it’s a misallocation of precious resources.”

Aemond counters: “But if I can kill Daemon, nothing else matters—”

“It does matter, Aemond!” Criston roars. “I matter, the armies matter, winning the confidence of the houses you hope to rule matters!”

“How is Corlys Velaryon handling all of this?” Otto asks Larys. “The defeat at Rook’s Rest, the death of his wife?”

Larys answers: “He blames Rhaenyra for the losses. He has taken it badly. It is my understanding that he intended to withdraw his support from the Blacks, and was brought back only by Jacaerys giving him the title of Hand of the Queen. I am under the impression that Corlys may be willing to reconsider his allegiance if the circumstances were right—”

There is a knock at the council chamber door, not a knock but a pounding, not a pounding but a frantic drumming like the marching of soldiers’ boots. Sir Criston Cole unlocks and opens the door. Alicent stands there with her face flushed and shiny with tears. Instantly, Criston is at her side asking what is wrong, one hand resting protectively her shoulder, the other on the hilt of the sword he wears everywhere he goes.

“Come quickly,” Alicent begs you, only you. “Please. It’s Aegon.”

You race with her to Aegon’s bedchamber, hearing the screams long before you reach him. This doesn’t make sense; he shouldn’t be in pain this severe, not yet, not for hours. You are aware that there are footsteps thundering behind you, Aemond and Criston rushing to see if the king really is dying this time. In his bed, Aegon thrashes and moans. He needs to stop moving so violently; he will split his scar tissue like burst seams. Already you can see blooms of crimson appearing on his bandages where the wounds beneath have reopened: his neck, his waist, his ribcage. He is out of his mind. He is destroying himself.

He is shouting for Sunfyre, for Aemond, for Criston. He is back at Rook’s Rest being roasted alive in his own armor. Not dying, then; just having a nightmare. You kneel at his bedside and smooth his hair back, his braid threading through your fingers, and whisper to him that it’s alright, that he’s safe, that he needs to wake up now. Alicent is weeping, both hands covering her mouth. Aemond and Criston are watching you, mesmerized, transfixed.

Aegon’s oceanic eyes fly open, wide and panicked. “Where am I?”

And you smile down at him, your palm cradling his unburned left cheek. “The end of the world.”

He blinks. He remembers. His lips stretch into a grin. “There you are,” he tells you, voice gravelly and low. “I dreamed everyone was gone and you were too.”

“I’m here.”

“You aren’t in a hurry to abandon me for your burly betrothed?”

Cregan Stark must think I’m dead. “No, Aegon.”

“You can’t leave without telling me.”

Everett, Clement, my father, my mother, Piper, Petra, Penelope, they must all think I was burned to ash on the battlefield or murdered and tossed into the sea. “I know. I won’t.”

“You can’t leave,” he says again, a half-awake whimper as he sinks back into unconsciousness. You give him more milk of the poppy, enough to make his sleep deep and black and dreamless.

You reclean and rebandage Aegon’s wounds. It takes hours. Aemond fetches Maester Orwyle to assist you. Criston comforts Alicent, wanting to do and say far more than he can. When it is done, only Alicent remains in the bedchamber with you. She visits Aegon frequently, but she does not know how to speak to him; she always stands there clasping her own hands together, praying and stalling, desperate to show him love and yet incapable of it.

“Thank you for what you’ve done for him,” Alicent says, tears glistening in her umber eyes. “Not just the hours, not just the medicine. For everything that you’ve done.” And she embraces you, and when she does you hold her like she wishes her own daughter could.

~~~~~~~~~~

In the night you see it repeating like a chorus of a song in the shadows that crawl across the ceiling: one year ago, stray snowflakes in your hair, stars in a black sky and air like metal.

The Celtigar fortune is older than the Targaryens’ conquering of Westeros, older than the Doom of Valyria. Where did the money come from? Friends of the Celtigars would say distinctively cunning maritime trade; their enemies would say piracy. Perhaps the two are not always so different. Is there any mechanism of accumulating great wealth that does not involve stealing in one form or another, of wringing out some other soul like a wet cloth until every drop of them disappears down your throat? Your ancestors did not tame dragons, but they had a different sort of gift: for every coin, they could find a way to make two or six or ten. Repeat that process for centuries and there are vaults filled to the ceiling with gold coins like pieces of the midday sun.

When Daenys the Dreamer had a vision of the Doom over a decade before it left Valyria a smoldering, fragmented wasteland haunted by demons and plague, only three Valyrian houses heeded the warning. Her own family, the Targaryens, relocated to Dragonstone. The Velaryons, having already long occupied Driftmark, resolved to stay there. And the Celtigars—merchants to some, pirates to others—crossed the Narrow Sea to settled on Claw Isle.

Crispian Celtigar served as Master of Coin to Aegon the Conqueror. Alton Celtigar was his Hand of the King. Edwell Celtigar was chosen to be Hand of the King to Maegor I, and later Master of Coin to Jaehaerys I during his minority. The Celtigars have never been far from the Iron Throne…though perhaps none were ever as close as you are now.

One year ago, your father embarked upon a trade mission to White Harbor. Never a man to squander an opportunity for new business, he added stops in Oldcastle, Cerwyn, and Winterfell, and brought along his four maiden daughters to stoke the desires of Northerner lords. Piper fancied a son of Lord Manderly, Petra caught the attention of a Cerwyn boy. But no offer was advantageous enough for Bartimos Celtigar’s liking; no deal could be struck.

In Winterfell, Lord Cregan Stark was already married. His wife, a childhood friend before she was a bedmate, trudged around the castle heavily pregnant and dragging layer upon layer of furs to guard her against the cold, often biting even in summer. Lord Cregan took little notice of your giggling, gossiping sisters, and even less of you…until his sparring partner broke his arm in the castle courtyard. As the other women fled with nauseated faces back to their needlework, you asked Winterfell’s maester if you could watch how he set the fracture and managed the man’s pain. The maester was delighted—Northerners, as a rule, lack intellectual curiosity—and even allowed you to help bandage the wound once the split bone had been popped back into place. And it was only then, as you knelt there with your forehead creased with determination and blood coating your hands to the knuckles, that Lord Cregan Stark began to see you.

You have a fear of marriage, not a general aversion but a specific and powerful dread. When you were fourteen, you asked your mother if she enjoyed lying with her husband, and you had known as soon as she spoke with a careful sort of reticence—‘I enjoy feeling close to him, I suppose’—that the answer was no. When you were sixteen and your cousin Theodora married into House Bar Emmon, you went with the other noblewomen to inspect her bedsheets the next morning, and were horrified by how they chuckled at the large rust-like stain and recalled their own initiations into sex, this unavoidable rite of passage, this ultimate surrender. At breakfast, the men toasted wine and hooted and sang, while Theodora stared down with glazed eyes at her untouched bacon and duck eggs and said when Piper asked how the night went: ‘He wanted me three times. Is there anything I can do to make him stop?’ And you had thought: Aren’t unions like this supposed to be holy? What the hell do the gods have to do with it? Are they in the sweat, in the bleak resignation, in the linen of the sheets? Do they fill the man with blind lust like an animal’s, do they help hold the woman down?

Your eyes close as you lie in bed in the Red Keep, your room adjoining Aegon’s, and suddenly you are back in Winterfell again. You are making notes as the maester shows you the herbs growing in the Glass Gardens when Cregan finds you. He is tall and broad, made more so by the furs that engulf him like mist drapes the stony cliffs of Claw Isle. His voice is booming, thunderous, cataclysmically formidable. He is used to being listened to. He has never been expected to sit quietly as other men charted out his life like the route of a trade ship: here you will go, here you will be emptied of every scrap of value. He says he will give you a tour of the Library Tower. It is not an invitation; an invitation can be declined.

You walk together through the Godswood—dark water, blackberry bushes, crows squawking, gods you do not believe in—and Cregan tells you fond memories of his childhood. He likes hunting and archery. He spars in the courtyard for hours each day. He never stays still, he never goes quiet. He wants to know where you learned to marvel at the ghastly art of piecing broken bodies back together again. He wants to know why you are so different from other women. And he inquires with great fascination about the legendary treasures of your house, not just gold but rubies, jeweled cups, Myrish carpets and Volantene glass, a horn said to summon krakens from the sea, an axe made of Valyrian steel.

Winterfell’s library is sparse and dusty, cobwebs in shadowy alcoves. Cregan Stark thinks you will not notice. As he slips books about anatomy and herbology off the shelves to show you, you cannot help studying his hands, large and calloused and always stained with black patches of ink or soil or soot. They make yours look tiny and defenseless, skin of silk and bones like glass. You picture him claiming you, owning you, climbing into the marital bed knowing that you cannot refuse anything he asks for. You envision him forcing your thighs apart with those huge filthy hands, leaving smudges like ash. You imagine him tearing his way into a part of you that feels so small, so vulnerable; you imagine the suffocating burden of his interminable weight.

A moment of clarity, in the library beathing dust and Cregan’s scent, a woodsmoke musk, a wolflike wildness: I don’t know this man. I don’t trust this man. I’m glad he’s not free to marry me.

This was before the war began, before Cregan’s wife Arra Norrey died birthing their son Rickon, before Jace Velaryon arrived in Winterfell to forge the Pact of Ice and Fire. And when Cregan agreed to support Rhaenyra’s claim to the Iron Throne, and Jace pledged to marry his firstborn daughter to Rickon, the Warden of the North decided there was one last thing he wanted inked into the covenant. He wanted an ally in the South, bottomless wealth, his future children to have Valyrian ancestry. He wanted a woman with vigilant, unflinching eyes and blood on her hands.

He wanted you.

[himimitsu]

angel

ੈ✩‧₊˚ kunikuzushi likes calling you angel

- kunikuzushi x fem!reader

- cw: smut, sub reader, tons of praise, 'angel' and 'good girl' as a nickname, soft and fluffy yes

it's been that way for as long as you've known him.

you've always been his angel, sent from the heavens to grace his life. sometimes it was embarrassing, like when he went into your classroom during lunch and referred to you as 'angel' in front of your classmates. or perhaps when he spammed the nickname in your messages while you were showing a picture to your friend.

but there were also the times where he held you close and shushed your tears, telling you that it'll all be okay. he'll keep holding you, he'll keep taking care of you, his angel.

ೃ⁀➷

"you're doing so good, angel... does that feel nice?"

there were also times like these. where you both trusted each other to be vulnerable and to keep each other safe. times where the bedroom would be filled with warmth, the soft sound of your combined pleasure, the quiet, whispered words of love.

"nghh- ah- kuni...!" you whimpered in his shoulder, arms wrapped around his body. he hugged you back, stroking your hair as he chuckled into your ear.

"yeah? feeling good, angel? keep making those pretty sounds, alright? good girl..."

he pushed in as far as he could go, grinding against you. rolling his hips slowly, letting out a groan at the feeling of your walls clenching tight around him. his self-control was running out with each minute he spent in you. he promised himself he would be gentle. his angel deserved to be made love to, after all.

for the past twenty minutes, that's what he was doing. ensuring your pleasure, and making you come once already. slow and gentle, kisses and his hands making sure to lovingly squeeze every soft part of your body.

though his mind almost went blank in lust when he accidentally thrusted a little too hard and a beautiful cry left your lips.

"ah- that's it..." he said with a shaky breath, his hands gripping tighter. "so beautiful... can I go a bit faster, angel?"

"mhm, please, kuni..." you whined. "need you, love you so much-"

his lips met yours, swallowing up your desperate whimpers as his hips moved faster, trying to stick to a rhythm. he left the kiss to rain kisses over your neck and chest, finding your breast to suck on it. he moaned softly, everything feeling just too good.

your love, your warmth, your soft body, kunikuzushi could barely hold himself back.

"i love you too, angel..." he groaned, feeling the flutter of your walls around him. each thrust found your sensitive spots, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. he seemed to recognize this as well, as he trailed his fingers down to massage your clit, sending a shock of pleasure up your body.

"you're so warm... ah- angel- don't tighten like that-" it almost sounded like a whine, unable to control his voice.

"ah! kuni-" you covered your mouth with one of your hands, muffling your pleasured sounds that grew louder by the minute. they were getting embarrassingly loud from his ministrations and you were so, so close- you didn't know if you could take much more.

"n- no, no, let me hear you." he said softly, moving your hand away and pinning it gently to the bed beside your head. "good girl... you sound like an angel, don't hide it from me, alright?"

you whimpered in response, unable to form words from his pace. you could only hold kunikuzushi in your mind, again and again. his love-filled gaze, his gentle kisses, the feeling of him filling you again and again, just the thoughts alone were making you crash into the edge.

"i- 'm gonna... hnn! kuni, kuni... 'm gonna-" You sobbed into his shoulder, feeling like you were floating. You needed to ground yourself, the pleasure was wound up so tight-

"g- good girl, angel- you can do it, be a good girl and cum, okay?" he said, putting more pressure on your clit. "i got you, come on..."

when you fell over the edge, kunikuzushi pressed his lips to yours immediately, muffling both your moan and his as he finished right after you. It felt so warm, so peaceful as you both panted against each other's lips, holding each other close.

messy, yet kunikuzushi wouldn't have had it otherwise.

"you were so good..." he murmured, parting from you to take a rag he prepared beforehand, cleaning you up. "my angel, all mine..."

"all yours..." you said softly, patting his hair as you watched his movements. once you were both cleaned up, he trapped you in a hug, not letting you move in the slightest.

"love you..." he murmured. "i'm so happy I met you..."

you both held each other for a long while, making a bit of small talk before falling asleep, closing another blessing of a day. for every day was a blessing when kunikuzushi had his angel, you.

[thekeeperof-thefandoms]

Headcanons of Lucifer watching his s/o and Charlie getting along and maybe even having a little musical note together I just know he'd be getting all teary eyed and shit seeing his baby girl having some form of mother figure or someone she can really look to for advice currently present in her life ❤️ Thanks sm hope u have a good day/night!

Absolutely!

I think at first the relationship between Charlie and anyone her dad dates is awkward because she's so nice and trying to be supportive and Lucifer's new s/o would be trying too hard to create that bond. But steadily, you two would find real things you have in common and begin spending time together.

I'm going to use myself for reference here, but I personally really like arts and crafts kind of stuff and am willing to listen to pretty much all genres of music as long as I like the beat/rhythm. So I imagine most of your bonding is done making posters for the hotel, doing crafts with the guests, and just in general vibing to music together.

Like, one suggested activity for the group is coloring because it's a good outlet and it becomes so popular you guys just have a permanent stack of coloring pages and books available with marker, pens, colored pencils, and you, Charlie, Lucifer, and Vaggie are all just coloring and talking, Lucifer's telling embarrassing stories about baby Charlie for you and Vaggie, and you share a few embarrassing stories of yourself to make Charlie feel better and the absolute relief on her face is palpable.

Charlie is nervous because some sinners critiqued her hotel, her appearance, how her dad had to bail her out in the fight against heaven and it's all just making her upset. And of course her dad and her girlfriend are gonna say stuff about how she's beautiful, the hotel is a wonderful idea, and she was so brave in that fight. And like, yeah you're dating her dad and you've been super nice so far, but when you sit down next to her and ask quietly, "Can I offer you some advice?"

"Please? I feel like I don't know what I'm doing."

You laugh, patting her shoulder. "You're young, Charlie, you're not supposed to have it all figured out. But one thing you can do, is decide not to let judgemental pricks get to you. Take every criticism with a grain of salt. Improve, adapt, and filter out bullshit. You can't make everyone happy, and you'll exhaust yourself if you try. So as long as you're happy and at the end of the day you can say you're proud of what you've done, that you tried....well, that should be enough, right?"

Charlie thinks about it and nods. There's a visible shift in her attitude. "Thanks, I needed to hear that....Do you think you could help me read through some of the reviews and stuff? I want to improve if there's any genuine issue that I can address and Dad and Vaggie are....a lot. They just keep trying to tell me everything is perfect."

"They're just trying to hype you up. They love you a lot, so naturally they want you to feel successful and excited. Come on, let's go make some big bowls of ice cream and read through those reviews using silly AI voices. It'll be hilarious."

You and Charlie head off to do just that, talkin and laughing, and neither one of you notices Lucifer absolutely melting into the floor from a few floors up, as he clings to the railing he was leaning against to ease drop. He's gonna need a few minutes to recover. He's crying happy tears. His little girl is grown up and getting along with his partner and they're spending time together and enjoying things together. You're giving her advice and offering her comfort and meeting Charlienat her level and he's just more convinced you're perfect.

He may or may not be ring shopping in the near future. Probably with Ozzie and Bee. They've always had good taste and will probably be thrilled to help him. And if Ozzie is also casually looking for a ring while they're out, well, Lucifer won't say anything.

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Tenshi

Debut: WarioWare, Inc.: Mega Microgame$!

I know what you're thinking. It's been four grueling days since the last post about some kind of fictional cube. Don't worry! Cube delivery right here! Even the most humble of gray blocks is a beautiful and valuable thing. Far too valuable for some schmuck like ME to touch with my oily, mortal, mammal skin. Only the divine can be trusted with delivering this block!

This gray block is the ground for our feathered friend Pyoro! He needs to eat those Beans, and if he can't stand on a solid surface while doing so... well, I can't stand to imagine such a calamity! The beans are ruthless. Just a single gently drifting bean can obliterate a poor block, making a gap Pyoro cannot cross, restricting his movement! What Bad Beans!

But even among Bad Beans, there are some Blessed Beans! When this funny bird eats the right bean, something happens. The heavens are notified. God must intervene. Even if He may have been watching over the entire universe, He knows something dire has happened in one small area. He can't let the beans prevail. He must send His angels!

That's what Tenshi means! It means Angel. This is one of those funny situations where an entity's name is just a regular word in Japanese, but it has never technically been referred to in English, so we gotta just accept the Japanese name as official until further notice. They come bearing gray cubes from above for Pyoro to scuttle atop! Anything to let him eat some more beans! It's a very important matter!

In WarioWare Gold's remake of Pyoro, as well as Super Pyoro, the Blocks have received a makeover! Please let me know if you were a Gray Block Enthusiast who is miffed about them now being made of real dirt and grass and looking kinda Minecrafty! I feel neutral to good about the change, though. It's a handsome block. Maybe it can be argued that it lessens the strange ambiguity of Pyoro's whole situation for the blocks to be more "realistic". But if that is a concern to you, then maybe you should think about other things. Sorry. Look, Tenshi now has a halo in game! Yay.

Super Pyoro introduces a few new mechanics to the classic gameplay, including a new Hidden Bonus Area in space! Here, beans abound on conveyor belts, being put there by food service Tenshi wearing little uniforms! Retail workers are the real angels!

To get to this stage, you must allow a beanstalk to grow by letting a bean fall through a hole in the ground... will you sacrifice one of our beloved Blocks to let this happen? Is it worth it? Does the presence of unique Cloud Blocks in the bonus area make up for it? It is up to you! And up to Anubis when he inevitably weighs your heart someday! I hope you made the right decision!

Tenshi is a very Ko Takeuchi character design, by which I mean it is one of those very simple Little White Guys he is always drawing. All the time! Rhythm Heaven is full of them, not nearly limited to just the Chorus Kids, and WarioWare gets its fair share of them, too! What can I say! The man just loves to draw Little White Guys!

[veras1ne]

“The Brightest Star”

Summary ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Stargazing with Anakin was no unusually scene, but tonight was different resulting in comfortable silence, loving touches, and love-laced words.

🫧 Pairing☆⋅⋆ Anakin Skywalker/Reader -ˋˏ Gender Neutral! As always <3 ˎˊ

Warnings 🦢 II 🐾 References to love bites AKA hickeys, and some hand holding!

Thank you guys for all the love on “Heaven is any place with you.” I hope you guys love this one just as much!! Kisses everyone, and remember to leave any requests, thoughts or love in my asks/inbox!! Love ya ,, Vera🫶🏻🫶🏻

There was no denying that Coruscant was a busy planet. From the never-silent city to the everlasting hub of culture and the arts, alongside the large city came the even larger scene of politics.

While many would agree that politics could be harsh and lacking in ethics, being in the Senate had its perks, such as nights like these spent in your apartment with your dearest general Skywalker.

Sneaking around your own complex in order to spend nights with your beloved Jedi was not ideal; peaceful dates and small, rushed kisses turned into passionate whispers, love bites and hour-long conversations you had grown to love and long for. Similarly, a dinner date in your apartment quickly became hushed giggles and hurried touches in the night guided by the light of Coruscant’s moons as you ran to be the first to arrive at your large balcony, attempting to compete with Anakin’s large strides, which, by method of playful pushes and unfair distractions, you had not won.

"It’s not fair, Ani; you always win because you cheat!" Your breath was rapid and lacking rhythm, but your voice was laced with joy and laughter. "It’s not cheating if there were never any rules." Although his voice was playful, you knew he truly meant what he said. "Oh, stop it, Anakin even if there were rules, you’d be the first one to break them," you snickered. Rules were never Ani’s thing, not when he was a padawan, and certainly not now as he’s grown into a man of his own design. His chuckles filled your ears as he shook his head in disagreement. "Please, you sound like Master Kenobi, and it’s not ideal for me to think about him while I’m kissing you," he breathed out snarkily, smiling as speeders flew past Coruscant’s buildings, while your fingers intertwined with Anakin’s rough, callused ones.

You were no stranger to occasionally stargazing with Anakin, but tonight felt different. The winds were calm, and the only sounds that could be heard were the buzzing of nearby vehicles passing by and the slurring of drunk individuals below waiting to get a ride.

Words often were not needed to enjoy your time with him, but the comfortable silence came to an end as your voice piped up, "Do you think the stars ever get lonely?" Your voice was hushed and quiet, but loud enough for only the both of you to hear as your head turned to face his, taking note of how his chest moved rhythmically with each breath, enjoying the peaceful night he was having and basking in your presence, not wishing for it to end. "With over 400 billion stars in our galaxy, I certainly wouldn’t. But then again, I’m not sure I’d worry about the others so much, not when I’m with you." His voice dripped with sincerity, pursing his lips and wetting them to speak once more, all while his eyes never left the sky

"Even with over 400 billion stars in our galaxy, you still shine to me as the brightest."

[amelee23]

Color of romance | Lee Minho

Info: Lee know x reader, fluff, suggestive, heavy use of kissing (making out?), hopeless romantic and dramatic stuff, reader is referred to as they/them, reader discretion advised, 400 words

In which lino rents a clear tent because his baby wants to star gaze. His baby, his lover, the pulse above the bones of his wrist - they want to look at the stars while he holds them safe to his chest. And he was made, constructed by the heavens to fulfil the wishes of those he loves. So he makes it happen; he strings fairy lights, he lays down to serve as a mere pillow, and enjoys the silence as they stare at the sky - but then he laughs. God, the laugh that escapes his chest and shakes the being of his lover. They've forgotten about the stars quite easily, and instead, they've attached to his lips, to his forehead, to the apples of his cheek, to his goddamn cardiac rhythm. He feels so high thinking of the power that he holds - that suddenly he was more interesting than something that they've had on their bucket list for years. But he doesn't complain – he never fights it - he kisses, and he kisses, and he lets himself be kissed. He circles their waist, grabs their clothes with the gentlest touch, pats their hair and combs it under the moon. Once in a while, they look like they want to say something, but they say nothing. They look into his eyes and dive back into his skin, and he knows without any words he is loved. He can tell it, from a gentle kiss to his nose, from a mess of mingled breaths, from a sigh so deep and so filled with content, from a nuzzle and a long intake of his scent adorning his neck. He never thought he'd fall in love with a romantic, but now he's addicted - he's addicted to their addiction to him, he's so deeply lost into the depth of their love. He'll never be able to go back to being loved normally; no, this daydream must remain eternal, and the stars must continue to shine to paint everything in the color of romance.

The stars reflect into his eyes, and his lover doesn't need to even glance at the sky to see the sparkles; he's only half alive, half his soul sold to love, and the other waiting to be sold once the love becomes eternal. And yet, he's never felt more lively.

©amelee23 do not copy or repost

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Mouths, Incomparable - An EZ/Reader/Manny Smut Short.

My brain is firing on filth, besties. Only fair to share it, I thought! I am now also coining the term smut short. It isn’t quite a one shot, but it’s too long for a drabble, so yes. Smut shorts are now a thing in this house of heat!

Words - 651

Warnings - Smut (inc. male/male sexual acts) below the cut. Minors DNI!

“Yeah, you like it when I ride this gorgeous face of yours, huh? Mmmm, get you nice and wet,” you gasp, your pussy coating the face of your lover in the sweet honey of your arousal, EZ sucking at you, his groans all filthily indulgent, one hand slapping your ass, the other gripped on at the back of Manny’s head, his cock rooted deep in his throat.

“Mmmhmmm.” He groans a little helplessly around a particularly firm suck upon your clit, stiffening his tongue thereafter, giving you an extra contour to grind yourself against, your hips swaying back and forth as you stimulate your soft tenderness against his face, wetting his nose, lips and chin.

“Yeah, he’s a happy, happy boy right now. You always are when you’ve got us both all over you.” His groans escalate, rumbling through his throat thick and fast, turning your head to caress Manny’s short beard with your nails. “What are you doing back there to make him sound like that, hmm?”

He slowly glides his mouth back up EZ’s cock, releasing him with a little pop. “My usual brand of devil magic.”

“I love that that’s stuck,” you snicker, your lovers laughing quietly. What else would you refer to a man with absolutely no gag reflex as? EZ was very right when he summed up Manny’s blowjob skills as such. “Oh god, fuck!” you then exclaim, EZ’s tongue beginning to move in a rapid flicker over the tip of your clit, spanking you again, Manny returning his mouth to him, wet heaven encasing his iron hard shaft, his fingers stroking over his abs, reaching to caress you before dragging back over EZ’s chest, squeezing his nipples until he shakes violently.

“I swear, one of you needs to get on me right now,” he grunts, turning his head to lay a soft bite upon your inner thigh, his arousal gleaming, Manny moving to pull your body back, feeding EZ’s cock into the sodden grasp of your cunt.

“You first, mamas, you get him nice and wet for me, and then I’ll fuck you good and deep while I ride him.” His hands slide over you as you roll your hips into EZ, his thick cock hitting you deep, grinding sparks into your summit, Manny allowing you to enjoy him for only a short time before pushing you forward. You seat yourself on his abs, gliding back and forth, EZ raising an eyebrow at you.

“Are you gonna rub that pretty little pussy over all of me tonight, querida? Because if you do, I have plans.”

“Thigh riding?”

He smirks, about to say something when his features crumple, his mouth dropping open, you knowing that behind you, Manny has just slid down onto him. “Mmm. Eventually.” Reaching past you, he glides his fingers down Manny’s arms, grasping his hands momentarily, winking at him before his eyes fall closed, Manny taking you by the waist and pulling you back before sliding his cock into the warm hug of your cunt.

“Damn, that feels too fucking good.” His voice shakes with the pleasure, the emotion, having both one of his lovers inside him while he’s balls deep in the other, his hands stroking your bodies as he fucks up into you with a steadily delicious rhythm.

All three of you sway against one another, Manny’s hand grasping your tits as he makes a feast of your neck with kisses and licks, feeding his fingers into EZ’s mouth, grasping his jaw, your moans sinfully erotic as the heat rises like a mist, each of you edging into utter sexual paradise.

“I fucking love you both so much,” EZ pants, pulling you down, kissing you hungrily, Manny’s tongue swiping your spine before he leans over your shoulder, his mouth finding EZ’s, their mouths fluttering against one another in carnal beauty as you kiss EZ’s neck.

“And we love you, too.”

A/N - Please, be good to your author and reblog if you enjoyed this. Don’t want to reblog because it doesn’t match the aesthetic of your blog? That’s fine. Leaving a little comment of appreciation goes a long way!

[puppys-rhythm-heaven]

why of all games can people not agree how rockers would port to button controls. just. use the a-button. i know that unlike big rock finish muting the guitar is required in rockers but would anyone really be complaining if they removed that-

[rioblitzle]

love inconsistency with referring to nintendo games by what they're called where i live vs what the american names are. yeah this series is called rhythm heaven because that's what the fandom online calls it. yeah this game is called kirby squeak squad because that's what it was called on the rom on the r4 i had as a kid. but i am NOT calling that game animal crossing city folk, that is fucking Animal Crossing: Let's Go To The City

[centipedelightning]

Hello hello again!!! I was wonderin if i could please request Black and Mutt (and/or Gold and Pawn if you’re up to it 👀) separately with a they/them reader that likes to cling to the skeles arm while walking bc it makes them feel safe? (And can the relationships be romantic please? Ty!!!)

And fluff is preferred but I don’t mind if ya throw a lil bit o angst in there 👁️ 👁️

(Sorry my brain is also crashing while I write this so idk if any wording is weird or not so feel free to message me if something confuses ya JSJDKDK)

WAHHH I DIDN'T SEE THIS IM SO SORRY 😭 You know despite Gold and Pawn being my ocs, I’m still not sure how I plan on characterizing them. Also this took an extra week bc I wanted to get Gold’s reference sheet into the world first so my comment about his face made sense. this isn’t proof read sorry…

References for Gold (official) and Pawn (outfit isn’t official)

| Fellswap!red and Fellswap!Gilded Sans and Papyrus x gn!Reader || romantic headcanons || fluffy!

cw/tw: none || words: 1280

Black

He's such a cornball <3

He's a bit confused the first time you do it, but catches on immediately.

I hope you're okay with public disturbance because if you do it for the first time in a crowded area, many people will hear Black gloating about how he's so strong and amazing and you can cling to him anytime you get scared in public.

Please stop him that definitely won't help your anxiety, or maybe it's exposure therapy. Who's to say...

After that though, he's very nice about it.

He likes taking evening walks around the park, and he has gotten into the habit of offering his arm to ask you to join him.

It's such an ego boost by the by.

He loves that you find him safe. He is so proud that you know he's capable of protecting you. Did you have any doubts in the first place? Of course not no, but Black appreciates a clear physical confirmation. His grin always gets a bit more self-important whenever you cling to him. It also makes him look scarier than usual.

He's so insufferable I love him

He loves to rub your arms with his free hand. Just light touches with the tips of his claws. He finds your company very soothing, not that he'd ever admit it (yes he would he's a sap at heart)

He does it mostly when you two are just loitering somewhere. Like waiting for your order or the bus. Stuff like that.

He'll also jumpscare you with a little kiss if you aren't paying attention. It's not necessarily to get attention back on him as much as he just likes to make you jump. He's a bit of an ass tbh. But he's your ass and he loves you very much.

Depending on your height, his primary location of attack is either your cheek or shoulder. They might be a bit malicious but Black always kisses lovingly. Even the quickest, tiniest goodbye pecks are dripping with his love and affection.

If you wear jewelry that's another thing he'll mess with if you guys are just standing around. He likes to just fidget with whatever rings, bracelets, or bangles you have on.

Mutt

He won’t publicity humiliate you! Yep! He, unlike his brother, has no interest in shouting to the heavens how you should cling to him if you ever feel scared.

but… he will give you a look that tells you he is about to very lightheartedly make fun of you.

I promise he means nothing by it and if you tell him early in the relationship that you’re not into playful mockery, it won’t happen at all. If you give him the green light please expect to be teased a bit.

He’s actually very good at knowing where the line is and not crossing it.

Anyway

He loves when you grab onto him

Not to mention it’s very comfortable to do so. He usually sports heavy jackets and thick sweaters, so there’s a very comfortable cushioning.

As you two walk he likes to use his free hand to hold yours. Mutt is a sucker for casual, small acts of intimacy.

He also taps little rhythms while he holds your hand and like to have you guess them.

On less busy sidewalks he likes to walk like an asshole and jostle you around. He’s not swerving all over the place but he is sidestepping randomly, just enough to make you trip a little.

If you aren’t steady on your feet, guess what? Mutt is right there to save you! He is conveniently ignoring how it’s completely his fault you were almost making out with the concrete but hey, you love him!

In a similar vein to him tapping rhythms on your hand, if ya’ll are just standing around somewhere he likes to trace pictures and have you guess what he’s making. Hint: it’s very often either a sun or a fish

Gold

It depends on which side you grab him from. His almost full blindness in his right side makes sudden grabs a bit… threatening…

If you grab him from the left he’s gonna swoon a it. He really likes that you trust him so much and will definitely make a joke about it

He’s very touched starved btw. Jut letting you know….

Listen if you give him a pat on the back he’ll swear his life to you, so you grabbing onto him?? You just got a protector in this life and the next.

There is one exception for holding onto his left and that’s if he trusts you to protect him as well.

If you make it clear to him you have any capability to offer safety or protection he will gladly offer his right arm to you when on outings. If not, he’ll keep you on his left.

He adores walks around with you, especially if you live in an area that gets decent snow. He loves walking around parks or shops when they are all decorated for the season.

Plus he loves warming up with your body heat.

He is so proper and stiff. He is a man with a lot of responsibilities, I don’t think he’s relaxed in his life. Point being that he is so respectful when you grab him. Perfectly poised arm with his hand laid over you arm so lightly you’d think it wasn’t there. You need to tell him if he can touch you at any capacity.

Even if you say he can touch you and he’s good to go, he’s still only going to rest his hand on top of your hand or arm.

There’s one exception: He will grab you hand every once in a while to kiss it. Not for any reason you can figure out, but there seems to be one.

Pawn

You will get the most shit faced, conniving smirk you’ve ever seen in your life.

Judging by the incessant jokes, he loves it.

He’s also a sucker for intimacy, so it’s no wonder he loves having you hang off his arm all the time. He’d just hold your hand if you weren’t the type to grab onto him.

In the grand scheme of things he doesn’t actually make a big deal out of you looking to him for safety. He’s pretty used to watching out for people in Snowdin and around the Underground as a whole.

That’s not to say he isn’t flattered of course, he’s just not super surprised

I will say… he doesn’t Reek, but his main gig is fixing and selling stuff he gets from dumpster diving. Not every dumpster he hops into is a beacon of sanitation.

Also watch out for pointy edges in his coat. There’s absolutely a few pins and needles he missed when fixing a hole or sewing on a patch.

You can cling to him, but do it at your own risk I guess.

So you know how I mentioned Mutt will drag you around a bit to mess with you? Yeah, Pawn is full on worm-walking.

As long as the sidewalk is clear, he will be walking like a drunk ma just to terrorize you. It does technically mean that you are less likely to fall on your ass because he’s pretty consistent, but it’s still obnoxious.

I love him <3

When ya’ll are standing around and he doesn’t need to pay attention, he likes to follow any bumps, moles, or freckles on your arm like a connect the dots.

You asked him once and he claimed to not know what connect the dots is but you still think that’s what he’s playing. he’s a dirty little liar.

If you are to the point in your relationship where he starts gifting you gold (in this case jewelry), and you wear it, please know he will play with it nonstop with a tiny flush on his cheeks.

[ultimateanthropoll]

MASSACRE ROUND 10: God I love gay people

Modified Bear (bear; Radiohead) vs. Woodcutter Bear (bear; Rhythm Heaven) vs. Kumatetsu (bear; The Boy and the Beast) vs. Bepo (polar bear; One Piece)

Submitters Say:

"Sorry if he's not a "real animal" enough!! Description: they're apparently genetically modified bears who end up looking antropomorphic!" (Modified Bear)

"90% sure this dude was both my furry and gay awakening. He’s crazy hot, he wears pants and overalls but no shirt, he yells masculinely at the top of his lungs while he chops wood in the forest, and he “wears clothes three times his size because his muscles get really big whenever he flexes.” He’s hot in canon too, the wiki says that the cats that he helps are “heavily implied to be attracted to him,” which is why they keep asking him to chop more wood for them. This also means that, at the very least, the cats are gay (they’re called “los gatos” in Spanish instead of “las gatas”), and, let’s be honest, the bear’s probably gay too. Just look at him. They’re just a few steps away from forming a polycule that worships this guy. Actually, they probably already have that without him knowing. Also at the end of the final remix, he chops open a giant peach and a baby comes out. I know this is a reference to a Japanese fairy tale, but I don’t know the specifics, so… it’s possible? Maybe? The mpreg furry polycule is possible? In the cute little rhythm game? Please?" (Woodcutter bear)

"Honestly I became so attached to this mess of a father figure. Shame the movie he's from released the same week as Zootopia in the US, I didn't know about the film until the next year. He's got issues, that's the best part! The bear has been my comfort character and blorbo since 2016 (oh god it's been that long?), and that's not about to change!!! I don't expect him to win, but hot damn do I wanna see this Dilf go down fighting." (Kumatetsu)

"If only one or two of the One Piece characters get in, it should definitely be either him or Carrot" (Bepo)