#singular bear in tree

[theobromine42]

GRAAAAAGFHFHRH I GOT MY SILLIES FROM @potato-lord-but-not TODAY

THESE PRINTS ARE SO GORGEOUS I'M SO EXCITED <333 i have a cork board i can put em on but i don't have it hung up yet 😔

The stickers are all so so lovely they're such nice qualityyyy

I LOVE THE OSCAR DOODLES SO MUCH i am holding him so gently

Doing this to him ^

Hehehehhehehe

[cheeky-cheese]

The amount of times I’ve made this exact typo is verging on embarrassing

[ccsario]

if my friend and i dont go back to normal by next week then hearing 'we don't speak anymore' by dirtbag boyband bears in trees performed live might actually break me

[sobbingscripter]

Tags: [mlw][mdni][ex-husband!Roy][missionary][fingering][squirting][don't even asking][oral m! receiving][anal fingering][snowballing][hair pulling][he's a desperate man][look at the the new divider. so demure][breeding][daddy kink?][creampie][msub?][idk she says do it, and he does it][i don't make the rules, i just write them:3]

Roy watches Lian settle into the backseat, her backpack tossed haphazardly in Jason's lap as he rifles through the bag, eagerly searching for snacks that he knows you packed in.

"You ransacking my kid now, Todd?"

Roy questions, muscular arms crossing over his broad chest, the T-shirt he's wearing stretched taut across his muscular torso, vibrant red fabric a contrast to his sunkissed, alabaster flesh. The tattoo on his bicep peeks out, green ink swirled marring his skin.

"When you bring perfectly cut watermelon with no seeds to work, I'll ransack you instead." Jason retorts, opening up the clear Tupperware and setting it down on the centre console, between Lian and himself.

Her inky strands are tied back into pigtails, a fuzzy red jumper to fight the slight chill in the air and a pair of daisy dukes, with those red Mary Jane's you insist on buying her in every colour.

She looks nothing like you. Her mother's eyes and hair, she doesn't even look like Roy.

But she looks like you. The fond expression as she munches on the watermelon you packed in, the snort that leaves her when Jason swallows the one singular pit that you've managed to miss and his expression screws up in distaste.

"Mommy says if you swallow a seed, a tree's gonna grow in your tummy, Uncle Jay." Lian hums, reaching into her backpack and pulling out a wet wipe, wiping the red and sticky juice from her hands and from Jason's long fingers, the action almost innately.

The action makes the men soften, because they can see just how much you've rubbed off on Lian.

Her sweet nature, the quirky things she randomly spouts.

"Then your mommy should have a bunch of trees in her belly." Jason hums, his fingers spread out for Lian to keep cleaning his hands.

Roy's stature stiffens, green eyes widening to land on Jason and he mouths, 'why would you say that?'

"Because of all the fruit she eats!" Jason defends but Roy knows.

He knows.

When Roy steps over the threshold of your house, the familiar scent of vanilla and coffee hits him like a freight train and he swallows, taking a deep breath to welcome the scent he's known as 'home'.

He can hear the dishes clanging slightly in the kitchen, the soft hum of music to tinkling alongside the splashes of soapy water and Roy remains quiet, grabbing one of the dishcloths and beginning to dry the dishes.

His gaze remains lowered, eyes trained on the way his hands dry porcelain plates and handmade clay bowls, green pools occasionally flitting to where your manicured hands remain submerged in steaming water.

And he clears his throat.

"I—...uh... Are these new curtains?"

Roy's voice is quiet, his head lifting only enough for him to look up at the curtains that cover the kitchen window.

Mostly white. White lace with a dark brown ruffled edge that matches with the teddy bears printed onto the main part of the curtain.

"Yeah." You answer with a hum. "Lian picked those out." The corners of you mouth twitch at the memory, and Roy notices.

He always notices.

"You're a good mom." Roy murmurs softly, continuing to dry off and pack the dishes into the designated spots. "Would you... Want another? Like.... One of your own?"

It's a question you don't want to answer. Especially not when Roy's asking.

Emerald eyes watch you pensively as you move around the kitchen, your attention on everywhere except Roy because you can't look at him.

And you shrug your shoulders.

"Yeah, I would." You hum softly.

"But you wouldn't want your kid's dad's to be different guys?" Roy states and without thinking much of it, you nod your head.

"I'll give you a baby." Roy states. "A healthy baby. A real chubby bastard too."

"Roy...." You sigh softly, "I don't think...—"

"Don't think." Roy interjects. "Let Daddy do the thinking."

Muscular fingers dig into the daisy-printed cushions of the sofa, and Roy lets out a low groan, head tipping back as he watches you slobber around his aching cock. Half-lidded eyes, a hand threading through your hair and gripping the strands as he feels the way your throat tightens around him, his flushed tip nodding against your oesophagus.

"Fuck, baby, just like that. Just like that..."

He whines, muscular thighs tensing and straining against the fabric of his jeans, feeling the way your nails drag against the material, and the way your soft, pouty lips wrap around his veiny shaft.

He watches the way your cheeks hollow when you suck him, your hands moving up his broad thighs and settling on his tightly toned abdomen.

Only to find out that it's... Not as tightly toned.

A slight pudginess has your eyes widening, your head lifting until his cock slips from your lips with a wet 'pop!' and you stare up at Roy.

"Did you gain weight?" You question with a surprised squeak, eyes widened with surprise and he swallows, the blood rushing through his ears making it difficult to hear you properly.

And it takes Roy a second or two to realise what you're asking and his ears tint red.

"Uh.... Just a few pounds but, I'm gonna start cutting next week ag— oh shit."

Roy gasps, hands gripping the sofa cushion so hard that his knuckles turn white and all he sees are fucking stars. Speckled against his eyelids as an orgasm crashes over him like a fucking tsunami and he gasps, a shaky breath that turns into a high pitched whine when you don't stop sucking.

The taste of cum fills your mouth and you know better than to swallow it immediately, instead milking him with soft, spittle-covered lips before you rise, standing between his thighs.

Your knee digs into the sofa beside his hip, your lips pressed against his and the taste of his own cum filling his mouth nearly has Roy proposing again.

Shaky hands bracket your hips, and he's forcing your skirt towards your waist, fingers pulling your panties to the side as two digits instantly bully their way into your cunt.

Your nails dig into either side of his face, your brows creasing as you struggle to adjust to the intrusion that's been just... Too long.

"Oh, you're so fucking tight." Roy groans, his face moving to nestle in the curve of your neck, inhaling that scent he's missed.

Misses the way it'd cling to his clothes, to his pillows, to his car seat, to his suit.

"You're not fucking anyone, baby?" Roy questions and you meekly shake your head, your hips bucking when he presses his thumb against your clit, and leaves you to your own devices to roll your hips just the way you like to.

"Awh, poor baby." He coos. "Let me take care of that pretty pussy, okay?"

You don't know how long it's been.

Your nails grabbing at the armrests, a heavy hand entangled in your hair and tugging you everytime you lose that arch for even a second.

Roy's beefy hips snap mercilessly, the lewd sound of your squelchy pussy rings out in the quietness of your home, drool dribbling down your cheek and soaking into the throw pillow beneath your head.

"That's it, baby. Fucking take it."

Roy groans, a muscular hand moving to rest on your hip, an iron grip pulling you back against him and with each movement, his cock jams against your cervix in a mixture of painful and pleasurable sensations, and your eyes water.

Your ass is stinging, the sensation only getting worse with each unforgiving thrust of his carved hips, heavy balls slapping against your clit with each movement and it's overstimulating. You don't know how many orgasms you've gotten but goddamn, you're feeling that coiling knot slowly start to build behind your navel.

"Play with your pussy, baby. Play with it." Roy breathes out, his hand leaving your hip and dragging along your plump thigh, giving you a sharp squeeze before guiding the limb to rest on the back of the sofa.

You're not that flexible.

But before you can even object, he's pummeling into you and your vision is getting hazier with each messy circle you make over your clit.

You're uncoordinated, you're sloppy and each time, you feel that thick globs of saliva trickle down the cleft of your ass and trickling down around your stretched out hole.

It's a burning stretch.

The kind that comes after a good workout and your body's bent in almost uncomfortable positions, and you gasp when you come.

Squirting onto the surface of the couch cushions beneath you, gushing so hard that you push Roy out of you but instead of pushing himself back in, his flushed tip swipes across your folds.

And the stimulation is too much, your body going limp and your hips twitch with every weak gush that trickles down your thighs, pooling at the spot where your knees dig into the sofa.

And Roy hums, hips moving to rest, and he leans over you, pressing a kiss to your back just as he pushes back into you, feeling the way your soaked walls attempt to pull him deeper.

To pull him closer.

And he rolls his hips, pressing a sweet kiss to the curve of your neck.

"I'm gonna come back tonight, and give you that baby, okay?" Roy breathes out softly, arms wrapping around your waist and you meekly nod your head, muttering a lazy 'mkay'.

The sound of Roy leaving, and closing the door behind him has you snapping back to reality and you perk up, lashes fluttering and heavy with unshed tears.

—♱—

"What's with the smile?" Jason questions, although, the twinkle in his emerald pools already say he knows.

A drink in his hand as he reclines against the park bench, eyes flitting between Roy's face and where Lian is playing with some lady's chihuahua.

Roy stares at Lian, watching the way her expression lights up when the dog jumps into her lap, tail wagging excitedly.

"I learnt something about myself." Roy answers softly and Jason lets out a hum, silently urging Roy to keep talking.

And a grin creeps onto Roy's face, million dollar smile gleaming in the sunlight.

"I'm not above a good, old fashioned baby trap."

[dearmisshoney]

pitch a (his) tent

synopsis. when your brother mattheo brings his new girlfriend on the annual boys-only camping trip, you're invited along to balance out the dynamic. everything’s fine... until your old tent gives out, forcing you to share one with the only person staying alone — theo nott. insufferable yet maddeningly hot theo nott. let’s just say… they should be making warning signs of him too, not just of bears.

pairing. brother's bsf! theo x reader

content/mdni. fem! reader, brother’s bsf! theo, very mean! theo, switch! theo energy (he's losing it), pent-up! theo, pussy-drunk! theo, messy-eater! theo, enemies-to-lovers tension,  allusions to male masturbation, handjob (assisted), clit stimulation, oral (f receiving), dry-humping, cum play, allusions to overstimulation, allusions to edging (m receiving), dirty talk, pet names (amore, good girl), p in v implied but doesn’t happen, smut with ton of plot, one freddy fazbear joke

word count. 4k

a/n. hello, honeybuns! as promised, i came back to theo, specifically brother’s best friend! theo. this fic is also part of the first week of @acourtofchaos ’s event (although i am late oopsi). let me know what you think about this theo piece! feedback and reblogs are deeply appreciated!

the harmonious sounds of the crickets were the only hums spilling over the camping grounds. the joyous laughter and the ongoing chatter of daylight toned down little by little, falling prey to nighttime, vanishing entirely.

four tents were pitched around a put-out campfire, all jet black and covered by a thick layer of drowsiness. one lonely tent was perched farther from the cluster, partially hidden behind a sturdy tree.

a glowing beam of light emerged from one of the four tents, hauntingly hovering — fast yet quiet — towards the isolated one.

some might say that was a forest spirit, making its appearance at midnight to prowl around the mortal word.

some, against such meager fairytales, would suggest the yellowish orb to be but a tiny firefly, aimlessly flying around the camping grounds.

you would confirm that it was actually the light of your portable lamp, dangling from your hand and swinging according to the whim of the forest’s chilly wind. and the trajectory was not arbitrary — even before you’ve emerged from your tent, you decided to stick to the quickest route towards nott and his secluded shelter.

your feet, clad in simple flip-flops, crushed the dry dirt of the pathway, stepping with swiftness through the cold air of the night. the distance between the tents was not that far, yet your pajamas and your almost bare feet were not enough to protect your body from the temperature change.

hurrying your pace, you finally arrived before nott’s enclosure.

no inside light pierced through the thick material of the tent, a clear signal that theodore may be asleep. soft murmurs could be heard here and there, but you were not sure those came from inside.

you stretched out your arm by reflex, pushing the lamp forward, closer to the tent, trying somehow to see what theodore was up to. however, the additional light did little to nothing, making only the dirty green colour of the tent more vibrant; the inside was still a mystery.

“n–nott?” you whisper-yelled his name, testing the waters, still hoping he was awake.

it would make your life so much easier.

your call and the silence following it made the entire moment feel eerie. you were suddenly more aware of your singular existence in the middle of a sleeping forest.

the air felt harsher, cutting into your lungs. the light of your lantern was suddenly too bright, blindingly so. urgency spiked throughout your body, making goosebumps appear all over your skin.

fuck it, you will wake him up.

reaching out your free hand, you tightly gripped the outside slider of the zipper. and, with a final intake of air, you dragged it in the opposite direction, slowly revealing the entrance.

but it immediately flew away from between your fingers, fastly separating half the length of the zipper’s teeth.

“what the fuck is wrong with you?”

theodore's voice boomed in your ear, hitting you before his dishevelled appearance did. his voice sounded exhausted, although he did not seem to have been sleeping before your intrusion. yet, his visible grimace and his hand shooting upwards to shelter his eyes from your stupid lantern gave away the fact that he has been staying with the light off for a while.

“umm, i-”

“put that shit away, will ya’?”

his words were harsh and rude, thrown at you with no second thought. that's usually how he is when it comes to you; your brother’s best friend barely holds back, and if he must restrict his vocabulary, he colours his speech through intonation.

intonation showcasing annoyance and displeasure.

“yeah, yeah, my bad.”

you mumbled a half-hearted apology as you flipped off the switch of the lamp, the light slowly dimming in your hand until there was no more.

your surroundings were yet again swimming in darkness, and your eyes — not yet accustomed to the lack of brightness — seem to betray your disadvantage in the face of nott.

“what do you want?”

you could barely distinguish his silhouette, the contour of his body slightly blending in with the shadowy insides of the tent. you could see, however, the way his tent was partly open, a sign you were unwelcome in his vicinity.

that and his venomous words. he clearly wanted you gone.

you sucked in a breath, hammering down your ego, and carefully answered theodore.

“my tent’s ripped. didn’t notice until now–”

“and? the fuck do you take me for? bob the builder?”

oh, his patience was wearing thin. with your vision slowly adapting to the darkness, you registered the way his hand dragged the slider back down by a quarter of the length, wishing to separate the two of you for good.

“wait, wait.” panic surged into you and your hands jumped out instinctively, clutching theo’s fingers, stopping his movement altogether. your lantern long forgotten, dropped somewhere on the dirt path. “i can’t sleep there.”

“oh, please. you think a ghost will eat you?”

theo bit back at your reasoning, poking fun at the silly horror stories the group told right before bed and mocking your childish fear.

you can insist all you want, he doesn’t care.

his other hand ushered yours away to prove his stance, pulling the slider further down.

“you’re so ugh–” you were using all your power to stop yourself from kicking the supports of his tent and have it collapse over him.

“BEARS. i am scared of bears. actual animals that are in this forest.”

“just har har back at–”

“can i please stay in your tent?”

please. you never say please to him. please, thanks, and sorry are three words you’d never redirect at him unless you were extremely desperate.

and, shit, you seem to be needing to share his tent by the way you’ve swallowed up your pride and begged.

“fine. hop in.”

he does it for mattheo, he convinced himself as he pulled back the slider, revealing the full width of the entrance for you. he does it so your brother won’t rip his skin off if something does happen to you in your ripped tent.

yeah, that’s the only reason.

you slowly crawled into the tent, careful not to touch anything in your wake; theo seems to be in a bad mood, and you did not want to aggravate the situation further. so you propped yourself at the opposite side of him, sitting with your legs crossed one over the other, observing how he zipped back up the entrance.

you were now irrefutably stuck in a small tent with theodore nott.

after securing the slider, theo turned around to locate you. and when his eyes landed on you, all stiff and unmoving, he just sighed and slapped his forehead with his own palm.

“i hope you won’t stay like that all night.”

“like what?”

“like a creep, watching me sleep.”

“a creep? what do–”

“just lay down and sleep.”

theo issued his command and moved away from the topic at once, crawling back to his sleeping bag and sliding right in. ignoring you. even if you tried to continue the discussion, him turning his back towards you was enough evidence he did not want to interact with you more than necessary.

“okay, okay.”

you still answered him, sighing with exasperation at his bitchy attitude.

why was he so irritated tonight? indeed, theodore nott was not a big fan of yours, but his patience was never this fragile. maybe you angered him during the day? you don’t really remember talking to him at all though, more interested in spending time with mattheo’s girlfriend away from the boys.

the reasons behind his shitty behaviour will remain a mystery, as theo seemed to be adamant to go to sleep. you conceded too, finally laying down, closer to the edge of the tent, taking a similar sideway position as him.

the tent was warmer than yours, no rupture disturbing the temperature of the insides, yet the lack of covers did make your body curl into itself and seek more warmth. you did so for a few minutes, twisting and turning from side to side, searching for the optimal position.

theodore seems to be aware of it all as a long exhale emerged from his side of the tent. all loud — exaggeratedly so — and purposeful, acting as a warning, as a replacement for a verbal complaint.

you bit down on your bottom lip, hoping you were just reading too much into it, and shifted the position of your legs again. the loud whoosh sound of your pants across the tent material resonated around the entire shelter.

“move one more time and i am kicking you out.”

he spat the threat at you in a heavy tone, seriousness latched onto every word of his. he even betrayed his initial position and turned around to prove it, facing you for a third time that night.

“i am not doing it on purpose.” you hissed back at him, encircling your arms around your torso and pushing your knees further into your stomach, hoping he will realise cold was making you so restless.

“oh, so your body moves on its own?”

sassiness. mockery. rage.

“i am cold.” you blatantly stated, more of a whisper than a fully articulated sentence.

this will soften his resolve, right?

“not my problem.”

no.

you huffed out a shaky breath, curling tighter into yourself. your body was visibly shivering against the cool air, air that was sneaking underneath your pajama and pinching at your skin. you did not dare to spoke another word to him, certain his coldness will only worsen your situation; so, trembling into yourself deeper and deeper, you hoped your body will just heat up on its own.

silence stretched between the two of you, heavy and palpable. you paid theo no mind, completely averting your gaze from his emotionless face and closing them with an unspoken wish for sleep.

“­fuck, fine. c’mere.”

your head snapped immediately at his words, your eyes locked in on theodore in an instant. “what?”

“you won’t sleep otherwise, right?” he muttered, reaching for the edge of his sleeping bag and pulling at the zipper just enough so you could slip in. “just– get in.”

your heart stuttered, nerves, confusion, and something else colliding inside you. carefully, you inched closer to him, joining him into the sleeping bag as instructed.

it was cramped. too cramped.

it was obvious the sleeping bag was made for one person only. yet you couldn’t complain. wouldn’t complain.

your thighs shifted against his, pajama pants brushing against pajama pants, and your chest pressed against his arm. the space between you two was almost non-existent, your bodies mushed under the too-small sleeping covers.

it was so strange, but it felt so good.

a sigh of pleasure slipped past your lips as your body soaked in the warmth of the sleeping bag and of theodore’s body. unconsciously, you even drew closer into him, dipping your head towards his clothed chest and–

“back off, weirdo.”

his hand emerged from underneath, pressing against your forehead and regaining some distance between the two of you. your upper body might have been pushed away towards the edge, but your lower body was strongly opposing theo by latching your legs to his own and keeping your ground.

“but you’re warm.”

“i don’t offer cuddles, so stop– ugh”

his complaints were interrupted by a deep loud groan. you would have said you hit a nerve with your forwardness, and that was his reaction.

but no.

you hit something else, something in the nether regions — your knee aimlessly nudged between his thighs in your attempts at trapping him, brushing against his cock.

his hard cock, if you were to be specific.

“oh my god, is that–”

“i told you to back–”

“is that why you’re so bitchy?”

you suddenly had a moment of epiphany: theodore nott was so irritated by your arrival because you ruined his jack-off session.

“you’re so weird, geez– ah.”

you kneed him again, this time applying more pressure to his cock. you did it to stop his mindless ramble, but also to see that raw reaction again. to see how his lips parted, quivering in pleasure, to see his annoyed eyes roll back at the slightest touch.

to feel how his shaft twitched against your leg.

“were you mid-stroke?”

oh, you were so taking advantage of his weakness, taunting and humiliating theodore for his previous actions. yet, your knee never stopped its ministration, shifting around his cock and applying just enough pressure to take theo’s breath away.

“and because of me, you didn’t finish?”

“f–fuck.”

his hand dropped completely from your head, slipping down your body and sliding right over your problematic knee. and with a harsh thug, he removed your leg altogether, forcing it in the opposite direction.

any sort of control you had over him disappeared.

“i really hate you, y’ know?”

he was angry. really angry. his hand on your knee was strong, pushing at your leg hard enough to hurt. the muscle stretch indeed burned, but so did his eyes. they were focused on your face, part of his gaze wishing to light you on fire and turn you to ashes, part of it to ignite a similar flame within you.

“give me one good reason why i shouldn’t throw you out, hm?”

his beautiful orbs betrayed him, but his tongue still spoke in lies.

he managed to captivate you fully, and for a moment you did not register his question. you only stared back into his eyes, forming a link with the hidden yet burning desire in them. that blazing lust was pouring out of his gaze straight into yours, only to slowly expand all throughout your entire body.

you were submerging in undeniable arousal, and his big hand pressing into your knee was keeping you underneath it all.

“i can help you out.”

so charmed by your own unwavering stare, theo did not registered the movement of your own hand, slowly creeping down his pajama top and sliding downwards to the band of his pants. your fingertips, still cold from theo’s negligence, dipped underneath the waistband in no time, only stopping their trail when reaching his cock.

“s–shit, fuck.”

his cock was heavy and hot in your palm, trembling at the mere contact with your cold fingers. his hips jerked upwards instinctively, his cock slotting deeper in your grip. it was all wet and sticky, covered in precum and what you assumed was theo’s own spit from before, so his shaft glided along your palm nicely.

“so cold, damn.”

a shaky exhale joined his remark, puffed against the crown of your head, as you slowly started to stroke him.

“told you so.”

you merely retorted, smirking against his clothed chest, allowing your hand to pick up a lazy, teasing rhythm. now it was the perfect time to torture him, carefully twisting your wrist and applying more pressure to the underside of his cock, or shamelessly thumbing at his weeping slit.

theodore couldn’t even complain, his tongue caged by a plethora of grunted moans and nonsensical babbles. his incoherence betrayed him, and so did his hand, leaving your poor knee alone and slapping itself on your ass.

with fingers spread out across your pants, he grabbed with vigour your left buttcheek.

“shut it.”

he growled low in his throat, all his pent-up frustration and need vibrating through both of your bodies. his hand was becoming greedier and greedier, groping and squeezing your ass at every harsh tug on his cock. and you had no mercy, sliding your hand up and down his shaft, with so much dexterity.

but when you dipped your other hand lower to his balls, fondling them at with a gentle touch, he too dipped his fingers into your pajama pants.

“oho, what do we have here?”

his warm fingers dragged downwards along your skin, smacking your ass one last time and, finally, dipping lower to your cunt. the tip of his digits pushed underneath your thong, all slutty and wet against your pussy, parting your sloppy fold with a single calculated stroke.

“dirty fucking girl.”

you moaned against his chest loud, unrestricted, taken by surprise by theo’s lack of hesitation at exploring your messy cunt. you could feel his fingers brushing up and down your slit, swimming in your arousal and collecting as much of your wetness as possible.

“all this just from jerking me off?”

he was taunting you, grinning like a little devil into your hair, somehow forgetting how needy and touch-starved he behaved just minutes ago.

you would have reminded him, really, but you couldn’t form one single coherent word as his fingers pressed down harshly on your clit.

“so so needy.”

tight little circles followed soon, his fingers toying with your little bundle of nerves to his heart’s content. theo finally found your irrefutable weakness — as long as he played with your quivering pussy, you were less annoying.

“i kind of like you like this.” theo mused, humming against your head as he peered down at your face. “look at me.”

you were less annoying and more obedient. you immediately listened to his command, raising your gaze up to his eyes, looking at him with your glassy orbs, so full of lust and desperation. your lips were caught between your teeth, already bruised and bullied in the process of quieting down.

but your tiny whines were loud enough for his ears to pick up.

you were so fucking cute.

“is that what it takes, huh? all i have to do is toy with your cunt to keep you in check?

his hand sped up, flicking your clit with the pad of his fingers. your hand on his cock stilled a while back, so overwhelmed by your own pleasure, but theo seems to not care about his release right now.

“what if i eat you out, hm? will you be a good girl for me?”

“theo! good god, yes.”

and here it was, your beautiful cracking voice, finally making its appearance after a good period of only moans and whimpers, accepting theodore’s proposal in a heartbeat. your pleading eyes were a nice touch to it all, making theo conform to your wishes without additional fuss.

“no takebacks.”

it’s all he says, like a warning, before retracting his palm from between your legs. and what he does next makes another glob of arousal gush out of you.

theodore nott removed his hand and directed it towards his mouth to lick it clean.

to lick it clean.

your wetness was all over his lips and tongue as he diligently lapped up all the stickiness from his hand.

“please, god. pleaseplease–”

“yeah, amore, i got you.”

pulling his fingers away from his mouth with a squelching pop, theo then completely discarded the covers of the sleeping bag, throwing the piece somewhere to the side.

“on your back, let me see that pretty pussy.”

you conformed to his words immediately, plopping yourself on your back and even discarding your pants and panties in the process. the garments joined the forgotten covers, the ones you’ve craved since the beginning of your intrusion.

but warmth was no longer important now, as you were practically burning with lust underneath theo’s predatory gaze.

his hands joined your knees again, applying enough pressure to part them away and create a passage for him and his hungry mouth. and no great effort was needed, your legs complying and allowing theo to finally see the mess between them.

“fuck, you’re soaking wet.”

his voice was gritty, disbelief laced with something darker, something feral. he was no longer mocking you — his gaze was locked between your thighs like a starved man, as if the gates of heaven have opened at the same time as your legs.

theo pushed your knees a bit more, just enough for him to slot himself between them. and you gasped as you felt his warm breath fanning over your pussy, your hole twitching in anticipation.

“spread wider for me, amore.”

you didn’t hesitate — again. your thighs stretched further apart for him, your muscles burning yet again from the pressure. but this was something you could handle for the sake of ultimate pleasure.

“fuckin’ perfect.” he muttered briefly and then–

his mouth was on your cunt.

his slippery tongue licked a long stripe from your pulsing entrance to your hard clit, savoring every drop of your arousal just like he did with his hand. your hips jerked upwards into his face, chasing his mouth — yet his arms immediately snaked around the upper part of your thighs, locking you in place and making you take every single flick of his tongue, every single kiss to your swollen pussy.

and when he sucked your clit in his mouth, between his plush wet lips? you sobbed.

“theo– that feels so good, fuck.”

your fingers clutched at his hair, tugging at his messed-up curls, needing something to hold onto as pleasure washed all over you. and that only made him delve into your cunt more, groaning in between your folds and making such vibrations travel straight to your clit.

your enjoyment was clear from miles away, but so was his. if you got extremely wet from fisting his cock, theo also got excruciatingly horny from licking your pussy. his hips were grounded into the sleeping mat, humping the surface in desperation as he lapped at your core.

he has been edged for quite some time now, and he was no longer patient.

he too needed to cum.

“always wanted to eat this pussy.”

theo was so pussy-drunk, god. you would have never in a million years expected theodore nott to announce between slurps and kisses how much he’s dreamed about your cunt.

“y–yeah?”

“yeah. i knew you’d have the tastiest fuckin’ cunt.”

his clothed cock was moving faster against the mat, the wet squelches of theo messily making out with your pussy being joined by the swish-ing sounds of the two materials colliding.

he was definitely close, and so were you.

“this” and he placed a kiss right against your clit. “haunted me all day.”

“shiiit… w–why?”

“your dress was so goddamn see-through, and fuck–”

theo was already picking up the pace, his tongue working harder to make you cum at the same time as him. his fingers even joined in, pulling your pussy lips apart for him to feast better on you, while his nose continued to poke and prod at your bundle of nerves.

“had a boner all fuckin’ day.”

and there it was. the full story on why theodore nott was jacking off before bed and why he was so irritated by your mere presence in his tent: he was affected by you all day and you had no idea.

“‘m sorry, ‘m sorry, ‘m so– ughh.”

you had no time to give him a warning, retorting to weak apologies as you creamed all over his face and tongue. thighs clamming around his head and convulsing from the immense pleasure.

theo, your brother’s best friend, just made you cum in his tent, on a camping trip with all of your close friends.

and that wasn't all.

“ah, shit, wait, wait.”

he didn’t stop.

no, no, no.

theodore continued to lap at your pussy, slurping up all of your release as he continued to jut his hips into the sleeping mat. and, finally, after a couple more seconds, with a guttural moan, he too came, spilling his release inside his boxers.

filthy, pathetic, and so so hot.

he pulled away from your pussy only after his own hips stabilized, moving up from the ground and away from between your legs. his face was wet, incredibly so, yet he was smiling bigger than ever.

with glistering lips and blown-out eyes, you expected theo to say something meaningful about the entire ordeal.

but alas, he was still the idiot friend of your brother.

“someone did eat you. but it wasn’t a bear.”

“oh, shut up.”

you were so done with him and his idiocy. if it weren’t for your shaky legs, you would have kicked him in the shins by now.

“what? you make a tasty meal.”

“nott, stop! you–”

“come tomorrow too.”

oh?

“i will steal condoms from mattheo and fuck you all night, amore.”

your breath hitched.

“… and the next night.”

your legs instinctively parted.

“… and the next night.”

your cunt was already pulsing with need.

 “… but only if you want to.”

“how could i refuse such an offer, nott?”

tags: @downbad4reid, @cafechichay, @lov3notts, @nottslove

[bumblebeesfromvenus]

Northman!Price 🪓

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Born from this post and a late night conversation/brainstorming sesh with the lovely @flowermiist !!

This was so fun, and Northman!Price is now occupying my mind 24/7 lol

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Northman!Price who's a lone wolf. Likes being on his own, surrounded by the thick and vast forest surrounding his wooden cabin. The quietness of it all gives him peace of mind when he listens only to a soft breeze rustling the branches of the tall and strong trees.

Northman!Price who built his cabin with his own two hands. It's quite spacious at that, and the intricate carvings on the wooden door beams add a mystical touch.

Northman!Price who's big and burly. Bulging muscles that are covered with a layer of soft pudge and a thick blanket of hair. Strong arms and a broad back that have lifted many logs and various kinds of animals for dinner.

Northman!Price who's covered in meaningful markings and tattoos. Some for battles won or lost, and others just because. They decorate his arms and his chest, all the way to the beautifully woven Celtic knot that adorns his shoulder blade, moving in sync with the rippling of his muscles.

Northman!Price who has two wolf companions that pull his sled in the deep winter, making the thick snow a breeze to get through. Yrsa and Trygve, his loyal pups that he rescued from traps and nursed them back to health. He never planned on keeping them, but they just wouldn't leave. Staying by his side until he relented and took them in.

Northman!Price who's covered in furs, leather, and other natural fibers. Layers are key in such a bitter winter, after all. The huge bear hide is what keeps him warm most of all, held in place with leather straps over his linen underclothes.

Northman!Price who has a thick leather belt, holds all kinds of useful things. Knives of many different sizes, some for carving others for breaking down animals or adding a new scar to the raiders that dared to cross his territory. Pouches with materials to start a fire, a quiver, and a small axe.

Northman!Price who takes great care of his beard, always keeping it nice and groomed. His hair on the other hand, not so much. The longer locks are pulled back into a bun, a few strands falling in his face still. There are a few small braids scattered throughout, some wrapped with twine or leather strings with a charm carved from bone dangling from it.

Northman!Price who's lost a wolf companion before. He knew it would happen eventually. The graying fur around the wolf's face and the slower pace gave it away. With great sorrows, he buried his friend in their favorite place in the woods and fashioned a small wooden marker so he wouldn't forget. He wears one of their fangs around his neck, right above his heart.

Northman!Price who wears a singular earring made of stone with a rune carved into it. A tradition he continued to hold dear even after he made the choice to leave his family behind and make a peaceful life for himself in the deep forest.

Northman!Price who, when he goes out hunting, only takes what he needs. Who humanely and respectfully puts the animal to rest and always thanks Mother Nature for keeping him and his wolves fed. He uses every part of the animal, so their sacrifice wasn't in vain. Uses the bones for tools, the hide to keep warm, the sinew to patch up any holes and the antlers to decorate his cabin.

Northman!Price who's very knowledgeable when it comes to plants and herbs, always gathering bundles in the summer months. Especially when spring comes so the animals he killed during winter can replenish their numbers.

Northman!Price who despite his intimidating and scary appearance couldn't be more of a gentle soul. Not so much towards humans if he does cross one once in a fortnight, but he has all the animals eating out of the palm of his hand, literally.

Northman!Price who has fallen asleep with Yrsa and Trygve on more than one occasion. It always happens on accident, but who's he to complain? It happens a lot in the fall when he chops wood outside, preparing for the harsh cold months. He thinks he deserves a quick break, wiping the sweat from his brow, only to immediately nod off with his two wolves nuzzled close to his side, keeping him warm.

Northman!Price who always keeps his battle axe strapped to his back, right next to his bow. He doesn't use it unless he needs to fight off some unwelcome guests, but having the weight of it pressing between his shoulder blades is more reassuring than it should be.

Northman!Price who can't help but feel a little lonely sometimes. It would be nice to have another human around, he thinks. Maybe even someone to love. He grunts in frustration at his ridiculous thoughts and lets out his feelings at the chopping block, splitting wood until the horizon has swallowed the sun whole.

Northman!Price who has a stream not far from his cabin. It's his main water source. In the summer, he bathes right in the stream and brings water back for his wolves and himself. In the winter, however, he heaves bucket after bucket to his cabin to boil it, needing a hot bath to warm him up and release the tension from his muscles.

Northman!Price who traces the many scars on his body, some he looks at with fond memories while others only seem to make his heart ache. They remind him of when he was with his family, his people, storming into battle with his friends to defend their honor. Unfortunately, as time went on, he kept returning with fewer and fewer comrades and made the decision to put down the battle axe.

Northman!Price who has matured and doesn't crave the thrill of battle like he used to. He never passes up an opportunity to slice up some raiders or bandits, however. But the guilt lays heavy on his shoulders, knowing that if and he and his friends hadn't been so naive, he would still talk to them and share some mead instead of going to visit where they fell.

Northman!Price who indulges the playful moods of his pups and wrangles them to the ground with a boisterous laugh, even letting them win. The sweet nudges of their wet noses never fail to make a smile crack on his face.

Northman!Price who loves sitting outside on a cold winter night and admires the sparkling stars and constellations. Or how the Moon shines her light on the snow and makes it look like a blanket of precious stones. His favorite, however, is when he can spot the occasional Aurora Borealis.

Northman!Price who goes out hunting one day, taking care to take slow and quiet steps so as not to scare the deer that has its snout buried in the snow, looking for food.

Northman!Price whose body moves without thinking, crouching for cover and carefully readying his bow to take the shot. The cold is biting at his fingertips, but his hands are steady nonetheless.

Northman!Price who lets out a breath, his fingers slowly slipping to loose the arrow, only for the deer to drop dead accompanied by the whiz of someone else's arrow cutting through the air.

Northman!Price who's immediately alert and on edge, stashing away his bow and pulling out the small axe he has attached to his belt. He keeps his eyes trained on anything that might move and slowly starts to approach the dead deer.

Northman!Price who ducks behind a tree, when he sees a bush rustling. He tightens and adjusts the grip on his axe, just in case.

Northman!Price who doesn't know what to do or think when you come out from the bush and cautiously look around, bow still in hand. He watches, frozen, as you kneel before the deer and whisper illegible things, but the tone of your voice alone is enough to soothe his soul.

Northman!Price who finally takes you in. Same as him, you wear furs to keep you warm, but you don much less weapons than him. A bow with a quiver and a small knife is all you have. He lowers his guard and continues watching.

Northman!Price who thinks you're way too soft and sweet to be out here like this. He's seen his fair share of female warriors, raiders, and such, and he doesn't think you couldn't be those things, but something about you gives him the immediate urge to take care of you. Keep you close and make sure you have the best life he can give you.

Northman!Price who's lowered his guard too much, and when he comes back from his thoughts, you're gone. The deer is still there, so is your arrow lodged in its heart, but you're nowhere to be found.

Northman!Price who thinks he must've been dreaming, but the arrow that clearly doesn't belong to him makes doubt tug at his mind. He hasn't started to lose his sanity from being alone for so long, has he?

Northman!Price who mirrors your actions and makes his way to the deer to kneel before it. He removes the arrow and runs his fingers over the delicate carvings adorning the shaft.

Northman!Price who's, for once, completely unaware of his surroundings just because he saw a strange woman take down a deer with a shot so precise, he swears he's never seen anything like it before.

Northman!Price who lets out a grunt when something is pressed into the middle of his back and a glinting blade is held dangerously close to his neck.

Northman!Price who shivers when you lean down to talk into his ear.

"Hasn't your mother taught you not to spy on women, hm?"

Northman!Price who can feel your breath down his neck and takes every ounce of his self-control not to buckle.

Northman!Price who wants to turn his head and look at your face to see if you're as beautiful as he thinks you are, if your enchanting voice does you justice. However, he has your knee digging into his back and your knife against his throat, but all he can think is that he's in love.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Consider me deceased 😵‍💫😫

he's just so AURGHHAHAJAJAJAJA

More of my work -> 💫

[twizzie-lairs]

My Darling, My Honey

Alastor X Fem!Reader (Part 7)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

Quick Notes:

You, the reader who is an artist, and had become Alastor's sweetheart, have just died.

Alastor is about to find out.

Part 7:

The sound of a singular gunshot rang clearly in the night that had been so peacefully quiet up until that moment in time.

Alastor, with the engagement ring in his pocket, who had been peacefully reading a novel within the confines of your shared home, nearly ripped his book in half upon hearing the sound of a gunshot in these woods.

The forest around here was part of his private property, anyone who dared to trespass or hunt in his neck of the woods was shot on sight. Many people ignored the plentiful and very obvious warning signs, so it wasn't his fault so many people ended up becoming your and his meals. Everyone else just thought the law didn't apply to them, straight-up criminals. In his eyes, they all deserved it.

Thinking it was just another nuisance, a "tsk" left Alastor's mouth as he grabbed his shotgun and headed into the woods.

After a few minutes of walking, he finally caught sight of the transgressors. Two men that he, unfortunately, recognized right away as the men from the bar who liked to push his buttons by harassing you.

The seething rage pooled in his core, bubbling up into his chest. This was his chance to get rid of those nuisances once and for all.

They would trouble his darling no more.

For him to get into a better position to take the men out, he crouched down and quietly circled around them like a hunter playing with his prey.

After circling around to position himself behind the men, what he wasn't expecting to see was the most nightmarish sight he's ever seen.

His beloved sweetheart, soon to be betrothed, all disheveled and tied up against a blood-splattered tree with a bullet lodged in the middle of their forehead.

Your eyes were lifeless. There was no doubt about it, the love of his life was dead.

Alastor didn't need to even think before pulling the trigger on the men, shooting one after the other, over and over, even after their bodies had hit the ground.

He. Was. Enraged.

By the time Alastor was done with them, they looked like Swiss cheese, barely strung together.

Alastor's breath was heavy, his chest heaving, near hyperventilating, his eyes were enlarged and his mind was focused on one thing. You.

His beautiful love, he couldn't bear to see you in this state.

In his oddly manic and shocked state, he untied you from the tree and took your body back to your shared home in the woods not too far from here.

For a few moments, his rage was replaced by sorrow and mourning as he buried you in the backyard. As fucked up as he was in the head sometimes, he would rather die than think about eating you. You were sacred to him.

As he laid you down into the ground, he embraced you once last time and took the ring out of his pocket. He placed the ring onto your ring finger and kissed the top of your hand, "In life and in death, I am forever yours, as you are forever mine. I love you, dear."

After you were buried, the rage returned like a vicious tsunami. Oh he wasn't done with revenge just yet.

Every single man or woman that ever mistreated you or offended you, was put on his list.

This night was the catalyst that gave birth to the serial killer known as the "Bayou Killer".

Alastor stopped visiting Mimzy's bar since your death, with his sole focus and dedication in life going to hunting down those that had harmed you in life. After all, they deserved it, you were like an angel to him.

But what Alastor didn't stop doing, was broadcasting his radio show. So many of his connections were made because of his show, so it was a valuable resource to keep active, to use to his advantage.

Alastor continued living his life like this until every single name was crossed off his list.

It was then that it was time for his luck to run out.

Right upon the killing the very last person on the list, was Alastor also shot right square in the forehead.

Before his consciousness faded into black, all he could hear was the muffled panic of a stranger who seemed to be apologizing for mistaking him for some sort of animal.

All Alastor could do was chuckle at the irony of the whole situation, the maniacal laughter was the type that only a madman could produce- before everything went dark and he died.

He thought he would never see you again, because surely, his beloved sweetheart would end up in heaven right?

The answer to this would remain a mystery for many decades to come as Alastor descended into Hell and became who is now widely known in Hell as "The Radio Demon".

-> Part 8

[hazard-symbols-that-fuck-hard]

Fun fact: almost all of the apples you eat are clones!

You see, apples have extraordinary variety in their phenotypes. Just like dogs, their fruit can vary so much that it’s hard to believe that they even come from the same species.

Except unlike a dog (where if you breed two boxers together, you’ll get another boxer), apple genetics have so much variety that every single seed planted will sprout into something completely new (and likely foul-tasting).

Even if you pollinate an apple tree with its own pollen, enough genetic re-combining will happen so that the resulting tree will produce fruit that is absolutely nothing like the fruit of its singular parent.

This makes apples (and other tree fruits) extremely difficult to selectively breed, so almost every single apple variety simply… isn’t selectively bred! Almost all apples, save for GMOs, were basically spontaneously generated by nature and simply propagated by humans.

But how do you propagate a set of genetics that doesn’t grow “true to seed”? Easy.

You graft.

Plants, unlike animals, are eager to accept any marginally similar flesh as their own.

You can cut off a branch of a tree (or a stem of almost any plant), affix the branch of a different tree (called a scion) over top the newly-created wound, and the base tree (called the rootstock) will heal them together and incorporate the new branch into its vasculatory system.

Not only will a tree willingly incorporate tissue of any member of its species, many trees will also take on the tissue of other species!

If it’s done while the tree is young enough, you can get a tree with very sturdy roots AND nothing but perfect apples from the waist up.

Grafting is the oldest form of cloning. It’s an agricultural practice with evidence of practice as far back as 2,000 BCE

Could you imagine if animals were like that? You could just stick something on and it would just work?

(I can’t help but wonder if ancient people ever tried grafting livestock together after seeing that it works with crops)

[marsmaladeee]

it's been a whole year since how to build an ocean: instructions by the one and only dirtbag boyband @bearsintreesofficial was released!!! how and what!!!!

as we approach the Next Era i wanted to do a drawing to commemorate everything that's happened in this one. this is maybe my biggest drawing ever and i've put a lot of thought into it and it has soooo many references to the past era in it!! so i'll explain all those under the cut :))

i love this album so so so much and i hope this drawing conveys even a little bit of that!!!

i took everything i knew about the themes of the album and tried to distill it into one piece. the band's mentioned that the album is themed around coming home, reconnecting with your hometown, feeling lost and not really knowing your place in the world. so they're stranded in the middle of the ocean on a boat and trying to navigate their way back home!! haha. it's based more directly on a line from idwba - "when i step onto that ferry, and the man demands his pay". initially i had the boatman charon in the drawing too, but i ended up taking him out as it was kind of confusing!

i wanted it to have a kind of whimsical, fantastical vibe so there's a tree growing out of the boat. why? just for funsies!! on a qna i asked what the band thought the biggest visual symbols from this era were, and they answered maps, the ocean and scrapbooky vibes, so i've given the ocean is a big feature in the drawing. that's what the album's named after!! . callum and george are reading through some maps (callum's are screenshots of croydon on google maps or OS maps of the croydon area, and george is holding the map from the album cover). for the scrapbook vibes i've made a version that looks a bit like a scrapbook page, and a regular version as well.

over on iain and nick's side there's the cake callum baked for the baby shower announcement stream. there's a vase full of daffodils like from that one photoshoot. there's the banner they used to announce ttllm on tiktok, dj l8 nite kitten's head from the iwfc mv, and iain's infamous jleeves. there's two books in front of nick: flights by olga tokarczuk, which the album is named after, and the myth of Sisyphus by albert camus, which is referenced in injured crow. iain is drinking coffee with a raven flying above them whilst nick drinks hot chocolate, and there's also a crow with a bandaged wing - an injured crow, if you will :)

beside callum and george there's the giant mechanical skull callum gave to george on stage, the wizard hat nick had on tour and the bubble gun from the seaside tour. there's also George Jr, the raccoon hand from the spill the beans challenges on the subathon, and the chillies which were also from the subathon. there's also a can of chickpeas. this one's a funny one because iain actually told me to put it there themself! not even a joke!! i asked for an object to put in the drawing and they said a vase (which holds the daffodils) and a chickpea. i drew a can of chickpeas instead because a singular chickpea kind of just got lost in the drawing.

on the back wall of the boat there's a number of engravings. behind nick there's a bike for cycling, jaded - a song that was meant to go onto htbaoi but never made it - and a line from your favourite coat which was used as a clue for the arg leading up to the album announcement (thanks to @asherapparently for sending me that!!). the engravings on the far right side are the lil ghost from the ttllm music video, and the boatman taken directly from the album cover. i mentioned before that i had to omit him from the drawing so i thought i'd pay homage to him here.

finally, there're paper aeroplanes from your favourite coat, confetti for all you get is confetti, and the sign says '463 miles', like the bus route mentioned in henry says. on the side of the boat are a number of photos taken from instagram & twitter posts from this era, and the symbols from the album cover and the back of the vinyl are engraved onto the side of the boat - each one representing a different song. the streamers tied to the tree are in all the colours of the album.

bears in trees if you see this - your album is beautiful and wonderful and i love it dearly!!!

[clairewritesfanfics]

Villain Creation System Chapter 2

Pairing/s: Invincible x Reader x Invincible Variants

Chapter 1

Synopsis:

You died. Literally. The process itself was nothing special. The interesting part is what happened after. Instead of the abyss or paradise, a mysterious voice strikes up a deal with you in front of your fresh corpse.

[I am the Villain Creation System, if you want a second chance at life, then you must corrupt the souls of various Mark Graysons across the multiverse.] “Do I have a choice?” [Of course! Agree to our terms, or spend the rest of eternity alone and conscious of your own nonexistence, unable to move on to the next life and barred from what your ilk calls Heaven.] [ ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ ] “…okay, sold.” [Yay!]

You successfully destroyed the lives of different versions of Mark Grayson, but when it’s time to claim your prize, something goes wrong and you are stuck in this godforsaken timeline. What’s worse was that they have found you.

“Come with me and we will rule the universe together.” “Be my wife and bear my children. No harm will ever come to you.” “After you died, no one could compare to you, not even your own corpse.”

You: (•_•)

Trigger Warnings: you are literally dead, death in general, dark humor (e.g. necrophilia jokes), innuendos, mild swearing, mentions of violence and bodily harm, toxic relationships, the Marks are their own warning

444 Alternate Universes Ago…

The instant you agreed to sell your soul, or rather, save it, you were teleported away from the site of your death and into a pure white space. 

[Scanning Host’s memories…]

[Re-calibrating for comfort…]

There was a ding and the whiteness shifted into a gorgeous lobby with expensive wallpaper and a wooden floor. The place was green with all sorts of hanging and standing plants. One wall was just a giant floor-to-ceiling window pane framed by sheer curtains in your ideal color, behind the glass were trees as far as the eyes can see. In the middle of the room was a singular sofa, the one you always wanted but could never afford in life. 

[To minimize damage to the Host’s mental health, the Main System instructed me to shape the Soulscape into your ideal space. I looked into your memories and recreated all the repeating trends you saved on your Pinterest board.] 

“... you read my mind?”

[You sound upset. Rest assured, after you agreed to become my Host, we are now intimately intertwined. I have access to the deepest recesses of your mind.]

You did not appreciate the way it said “intimately” and you certainly did not like how casually it treated breaching your privacy.

[If you are scared about my knowing the memories that your kind deems “shameful” or “embarrassing” then do not be afraid; we systems do not care about such unimportant things.]

“Just… stop.” You walked over to the window. You could see a mountain range from this point. It looked like you were in a mountain lodge.

[Ah, I might as well tell you, but we are in a pocket dimension that’s been limited to simulate your ideal space for working and thinking. If you were to leave this area, which you can’t, you will not find trees.]

“I get it.” You put your hand on the glass. “Outside of this room there’s only that white void.”

[Ding. Host is correct. You’re not as dumb as I thought.] 

You ignored its unintentional jab and took a seat on the sofa. If you were alive you might have fallen straight to sleep with its welcoming softness, but because you didn’t have a physical form you felt awake, vigorous. You’ve never felt this… lack of fatigue when you were alive.

“Let’s get this over with.” 

[You’re lucky, Host, compared to other systems the demands for our contract is easy.] 

A holographic display flashed before you to reveal a few animated clips of Invincible.  

You knew that the show was about a superhero named “Invincible” and his dad was a piece of crap who ran his face through a train full of civilians, and you did see a couple of short clips online, but that was it. Surface level stuff. The series skyrocketed into mainstream popularity during the pandemic but you didn’t get the chance to join the bandwagon before you died.

You had a lot of questions. Not just about the show or the system, but the whole “Is there a God?” and “Do our choices even matter?” package. But you were in no mood to be insulted again so you decided to keep such questions to yourself.

[For each mission world that you enter, you have but one simple task: break that universe’s Mark Grayson to the point of villainy.]

The screen paused and zoomed in on a bloodied Invincible, his right eye was swollen and his hero suit was torn.

The system then played a clapping noise. [Easy, no? Other systems usually have their contractors move into the body of pre-existing characters so those people need to maintain their character settings within 80% or risk getting too OOC and hurting the fabric of reality.]

“Wait a minute, what are the parameters for villainy?” You threw an accusing finger at the screen, not at Mark but at the system. “The task is too vague, how will I know that he is villainous enough for me to move on to the next world? Morality is relative.”

[Host is sharp. Are you perhaps afraid that we’re tricking you?]

Your eyebrow twitched.

The screen showed what appeared to be a health bar, but instead of red or green, it was black. Above it was the word “DARKENING.”

[This bar measures what we consider the corruption of one’s soul. No tricks or whatever.]

“How do I know what counts as corruption?”

[Unfortunately, detailing what constitutes as “corruption” itself is far beyond my capabilities, but luckily for you, you don’t need to know that. Just understand that as long as the bar reaches 100% the mission will be considered successful.]

“Fine,” you capitulated. “Do I get a cheat or a skill? A lot of isekai mangas and webnovels have that.”

[This is not fiction, Host.]

It paused.

[But yes, you do have access to cheat items.]

There was a ding and the screen showed you a digital store with a search bar and a shopping cart.

[You don’t have any currency at the moment, but a successful mission will give you reward points that you can spend.]

You browsed the products: “The Little Mermaid’s Voice in a Bottle. One sip and you can make any man, woman, or sea creature do your bidding!” for 25000 points.

“White Moonlight, Untainted. Look ethereal even as you wither away from a terminal illness and become a beautiful memory that haunts his dreams with this perfume!” for 22000 points.

“It’s Alive! Imbue sentience to anything, from a churro to a stuffed toy with this ray gun! (disclaimer: the system is not responsible for any vengeful, murderous object that you cursed with thought)” for 50000. 

Every product felt like one sick joke after another. 

“Is the amount of reward points constant for every mission?”

[No, your reward points will be proportional to your grade, which will be proportional to the difficulty of the mission world.]

You got it. Just because they were all Mark Grayson didn’t guarantee that they were the same. Not just them, the settings could be unlike your Earth but dystopian, the “stories” may not even take place on Earth.

“Does using system cheats affect my grade? How am I graded? And how many worlds before I can get my life back?”

[To answer the Host: no, using cheats is irrelevant so long as you do your job successfully.]

[As for the grading criteria, it all depends on the Host’s performance in each world. Please direct your attention to the screen.] The light monitor displayed the criteria. 

[The grades you can achieve by doing your mission are listed from lowest to highest: C, B, A and S. You must achieve a hundred S-graded missions in order to return to your original world, or the equivalent of a hundred S grades, like a thousand A’s.]

“But you just said I only have one task, to darken Mark Grayson, with zero other requirements, shouldn’t I be on a pass or fail grading system?”

[Spoken like a true nerd–]

You wondered if it was possible to physically choke this thing.

[Ahem.]

[According to the Main System, a pass or fail grading scheme is too harsh.]

“Then what is the breakdown for my grades? What is the percentage–”

[Geez. I was bred for helping lost souls but you are loquacious for someone who just died.]

“Sorry, am I annoying you?” You crossed your arms. “My life is on the line here.”

The system sighed, actually sighed. You didn’t think you would ever be on the receiving end of a sigh from a night-omniscient, maybe-divine, maybe-demonic artificial intelligence. 

[Don’t sweat the small stuff, Host.]

You swallowed the lump of irritation in your throat and inquired, “Do I get access to the plots of these worlds?”

[That’s a negative. Depending on the world, we may be able to provide a brief overview, but we can’t provide you minute details or predict the future.]

“But these universes aren’t even real, right? Surely–”

[Host, with each work of fiction, there will be fanfiction and fan arts made. For every piece of fan content that is created, a branch of the universe is created, and from each branch blooms a new world. Think of a copy of a copy of a copy, ad infinitum, some so close to each other that they’re almost impossible to tell apart, others so fantastically different from the original that you can tell immediately, but even those that differ from the original are bound to have produced branches of their own. Sorting these parallel dimensions would be too troublesome.]

You massaged your temples. “Okay, I think I understand.” Basically, knowing the future is useless because you wouldn’t know that it is the future, but a future. 

“But why do you want to turn Mark Grayson into villains? Shouldn’t he be a villain already?”

[A lot of these Marks were created simultaneously by fans, some with care, some without thought about how they became the way that they are. These Marks had to come from somewhere. But they were created by humans, who are finite creatures, so the laws established within these realities are often arbitrary. The World Consciousness, that is, the force that keeps each alternative universe from collapsing, will compensate for the missing puzzle pieces. But its work is not without flaws. It’s a machine working on a set of preprogrammed commands, so it is bound to have missed something or encounter a situation that was not included in its original instructions, resulting in imperfect solutions. Your world does not have this problem, because it was created by an infinite, all-knowing being.]

“That… sounds like a lot of work.”

[It is.]

“So why bother?”

The system replied cheerfully: [Because it is our job.]

You groaned inwardly. Guess this was your life now. 

“Okay.” You exhaled, patting your cheeks. “Okay, I can do this.”

[Does Host have any further questions?] 

“Shouldn’t I at least know the main timeline’s plot?”

[Ding. Request denied.]

“What?!”

[Host, I told you, a lot of the parallel universes are eerily similar to each other, and these universes are almost exact replicas of the main one. There is a reason why humans are not given the ability to see the future. If you could then the fear of making the wrong choice can cripple you to the point of uselessness.]

“So you want me to go in blind? In a world of supers and villains that cut through normies like they’re veggies?”

[It is the will of the Main System. But I did receive authorization to provide minor details should they help.]

“...”

[...]

“Fine.”

[Does Host have any further questions?] 

“None at the moment.”

[Ding. Then prepare for transmigration. Be not afraid for this system shall accompany you every step of the way.]

��Oh, goodie.”

[Communicating with World Consciousness…]

[Gestating…Creating Host’s backstory…]

[Synchronizing souls…]

[Initiating transfer ... 1%, 43% ... ]

You were lulled to unconsciousness. Your soul ebbed into the stream of time and space. For a while you felt… almost free. Weightless as you were carried by the Main System through various dimensions. 

[... 98%, 99% ... Transfer complete.]

[Ding. Invincible Alternative Universe No. 1 welcomes you. World Difficulty: Tutorial Level.]

[Happy darkening, Host!]

When you came to, the feeling of weightlessness was gone, replaced by the familiar ache in your back and shoulders and heaviness under your eyes. You observed the environment. You were in a university. Even without the system providing you details, the giant, imposing buildings and wandering undead young adults were a dead give away. 

You lifted your hands. They were exactly like the ones your old body–your real body–had. The fingernails cut too short, the calloused pads, the climbing veins too visible under the thin skin. 

You touched your face. Same nose. Same contours.

“I’m actually here,” you muttered, still processing. It wasn’t just because you were in a new reality, it was because of the unfamiliar memories–

While you were being transferred to this body, memories of your life here poured into your mind seamlessly. 

You were Mark Grayson’s next door neighbor and childhood friend, but when you turned twelve your family had to move countries. But now you were back in town and starting college.

It was scary how they fit so well into your head. 

[Don’t worry, Host, in a way, you have achieved enlightenment. You are aware of the so-called fourth wall. You don’t have to fear losing yourself to these false memories.]

You stared at your hand, opening and closing it. “Let’s hope so.”

You turned your attention to your surroundings. “What now?”

[For now, may I suggest you start walking to class? You don’t want to be late.]

***

The good news was that the you of this universe was also pre-med. Even better news was that you had a philosophy elective, which wasn’t an option when you were in college. 

Your professor was a stocky built middle-aged man who wore a tweed sweater and thick black spectacles. 

He stood behind a podium and spoke in that unique way only intellectuals seemed to speak. For a fictional character, he was an excellent lecturer. You didn’t take notes. You couldn’t, you were too busy debating with him.

“You’re saying that you would choose to sacrifice five people for one person?” He asked.

“No, I’m saying that the choice is not that easy–”

“Of course not, that’s the entire dilemma.” The whole class laughed.

You didn’t back down. “What I mean is that we’re so intent on choosing between the needs of the many and that of the few that are presently in front of us, that we forget that the trolley problem was created to demonstrate that a utilitarian view is not applicable to mortals.”

“Explain.”

“Well, we are given the options with so little information. We are forced to make life or death decisions under the assumption that we know everything. What if the one person we decided to sacrifice was a super genius who could cure cancer? What if the five people we decided to save were terrorists or robbers or murderers? The problem shows that we cannot make a decision based purely on the outcome because as humans, we are incapable of knowing everything.”

The professor was grinning. “Excellent point.”

The bell rang. 

He sighed. “Sadly, that’s it for today’s lectures. I hope the next class will have another enthusiastic debate, and not just with one person. I already uploaded the reading materials for the next session. Please do not neglect them.”

You packed your untouched notebook and unused pen.

“You still use actual paper for taking notes?”

That voice. No way–

[The target, Mark Grayson, is here.]

Your memories of him were foggy, as are most childhood memories.

He was taller than you remembered. His limbs were less lanky now, too. His shoulders were broad and his arms bulged against his quarter sleeves. 

Gone was the graceless boy who used to cry when he tripped playing tag. 

Standing before you now was a young man who exuded confidence.

[Ding. Affection: 5%. Darkening: 3%.]

[Ding. Affection: 5.1%. Darkening: 3%.]

You were so confused, until he chuckled and you realized that you’ve been staring, way more than what was socially acceptable. 

Willing your attention back to your things, you explained, “Writing makes it easier, but I digitize my notes at home.”

[Affection: 5.2%. Darkening: 3%.]

“That so…” He purred, reaching over to play with the hamburger keychain hanging from your bag. “I’ve never seen anyone talk that passionately with Professor Harper. Did you just start attending classes?”

“Um. No?” You started the semester at the same time as everyone else.

“That’s weird, cause there’s no way I wouldn’t have noticed a pretty thing like you.”

“...are you hitting on me?”

His smile hardened, surprised, then he snorted. Then he laughed. “Wow, you’re cute.”

[Affection: 5.3%. Darkening: 3%.]

Hold on.

“Wait. You don’t remember me, do you?” 

This time his grin left his face completely. “Ah, crap. Did we already–”

“Mark, it’s me.”

“...”

Total blank. 

He tilted his head, thinking. Then he snapped his fingers. “Amber’s party?”

Silence.

“No? Was it at the freshman orientation? Was it prom? Jesus, that was so long ago–I mean, uh…”

[Affection: 5%. Darkening: 3%.] 

You shouldn’t feel offended, after all, it’s not like he was your friend, and yet you could not stop the frustration that swarmed you. 

You pressed a finger to his chest and told him your name. 

For a second, you thought that jogged his memory, but no, he simply raised his palms in the air in surrender. “Sorry, I don’t usually remember a lot of my flings. Nothing personal, I swear.”

Your logic quickly overrode your petty feelings and you pulled back. “Right. Nevermind.”

[Affection: 4.9%. Darkening: 3%.] 

Jerk.

[Host, an orifice he may be, he is still your ticket to a happy life.]

“You don’t have to remind me,” you huffed.

“What’s that?”

“Nothing.” You grabbed the straps of your bag and breathed. You then glanced back at him and asked, “Wanna grab an early lunch?”

Mark fell quiet. So did the system. 

Through your mind, you directly communicated with the system, Did I do something wrong?

[You have the eyes of a dead fish.]

It stopped.

Then it added: [And you sounded like someone who crossed paths with an acquaintance and politely asked them how was their day even though you don’t care but you had to because they definitely saw you and it would be weird to just walk away.]

Well. Crap. 

As you scrambled for a backup plan, Mark laughed again. 

[Affection: 5.5%. Darkening: 3%.] 

“Sure, I could eat.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously. I know a good burger place.” 

“Just so you know, I’m not paying.”

He chuckled. 

The restaurant was called Burger Mart, and he wasn’t joking when he said the place served good burgers–actually, that adjective undermines how amazing they are. 

The bun was soft and fluffy. There was no trace of the usual cheap American cheese that felt like plastic on your tongue but actual, melt-in-your mouth cheese. The lettuce was crispy and the tomato super tangy. And the meat patty? Thick and juicy and perfectly seasoned.

Mark watched, half-horrified, half-impressed, as you chomped down your second ultra deluxe cheeseburger. He was barely done with his. He wasn’t trying to be judgmental, but the burger was comically huge. He didn’t expect you to finish half, let alone order another round. 

“You sure like burgers…”

You dipped a fry in your sundae and then put it in the burger. “I always celebrate finishing an exam with lots of carbs.”

“Exams?”

Oh. 

You cleared your throat. “I mean, a successful debate.” 

“You were really cool back there.”

“You don’t have to make fun of me.”

“I mean it though.”

You snuck a glimpse of him from the corner of your eye. For the first time since you two interacted, he looked serious. 

“Eh.” It was a basic thing to discuss in a first year philosophy class, nothing worthy of compliments. That being said, you enjoyed when the professor praised you. Who doesn’t like praise?

“You still didn’t make it clear whether you would choose one person or five people, though.”

Your jaws worked overtime as you tried to argue.

He interrupted you, “Don’t tell me that ‘that’s not the point.’”

He then leaned on his elbows. “No omniscience, no extra information. If you were put in a scenario where you have to choose between one person’s life or five other lives, I wanna know which would you choose?”

You slowed your chewing and tilted your head.

You then answered, “I would choose the option that lets me save everyone.”

He snorted. “There is no third option.”

“Then I’ll make one.”

His eyes widened, then he grinned sardonically and reclined into the vinyl cushion. “That’s optimistic.” 

You wish. 

“Nah. It’s more like…” You didn’t want that blood on your hands and be blamed. “I’m a coward who hates confrontation.”

He glanced at the window, then his chin dipped with a chuckle. 

[Affection: 7%. Darkening: 3%.]

You didn’t know what happened. But you were eating a burger and no one has attacked you so you were going to consider this a win. 

After you finished the last of your fries, Mark offered to walk you to your dorm, which was sweet, you had to admit. However, his smart watch beeped. 

His face scrunched up with irritation. 

You saved him the trouble of coming up with a lie. “That looks important.” You then told him you’d be fine on your own and watched as he reluctantly left you alone in front of Burger Mart.

“Now that he’s gone, mind telling me what that affection meter is all about?”

[It’s exactly what you think it is. It measures the target’s affection for you, in this case, it’s specific to romantic affection.]

“You said there were no other requirements.”

[This is not a requirement, more like a … necessity, to ensure both your survival here and to improve your ability to increase his darkness.]

You stared at the two bars. One was pink, the other was black. 

[Throughout history and fiction, humans have become victims and instigators for the name of love. And Mark Grayson may be a superman who can fly and survive the vacuum of space and punch through cement, but he is just a man.]

You hate to say it, but you understand.

author's note: gee, i wonder which mark is this?

@weponxwrites

Chapter 3: coming soon.

MASTERLIST | request rules | ask box

[waitingandwishing]

everything, everywhere, all at once

In the grand tapestry of existence, the multiverse and time are not separate forces but two interwoven threads, intricately bound to one another. The structure of reality, then, can be envisioned not as a linear pathway or even a branching tree, but as a vast and fluid network—one where every timeline is both a singular entity and an extension of countless others.

You sprayed a bit of water from the sink, watching it land on their face with a mischievous grin. The cold droplets splashed across their skin, and you couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and carefree. But before you could even enjoy the moment, you felt a flick of water land on your cheek. Surprised, you gasped, your eyes wide as the glistening droplets caught the light, and you turned to see their eyes sparkling with playful mischief. The water fight had begun.

You both started flicking water at each other—each drop a challenge, each laugh a victory. Your hands moved quickly, slinging water with abandon as you both danced around the room, ducking and dodging, trying to outsmart the other. Your clothes became heavy with the weight of the water, sticking to your skin in a way that might have felt uncomfortable in another moment, but here, in this moment, it didn’t matter. Every droplet felt like a part of the game, a part of something simple and pure.

Rather than a simple set of parallel universes, the multiverse is best understood as a web of possibility. Each universe exists within a framework of cause and effect, yet no universe is fully isolated. 

Instead, they are connected by subtle vibrations—moments of decision and fluctuations in probability. Every event, no matter how seemingly insignificant, sends ripples that do not echo through a single timeline but reverberate across multiple realities.

You bowed before them, padded knee against the ground as you raised your sword high. You didn’t deserve this title, one that you certainly could not live up to in the grand scheme of things. Sure, you had trained for this your whole life, but… You weren’t ready.

They told you to rise, to come forward. And you did, with your head not daring to meet their royal eyes and your sword by your side. They stood up, reaching their hand to your face and caressing it so gently that you were sure this was a dream. You should be cursed, cast out, but instead were met with a gentle whisper of praise. You did enough.

Time is an illusion of structure. In reality, it behaves more like an ocean than a river, shifting, eroding, and reforming its paths with the weight of existence. The past, present, and future are not fixed entities but shifting constructs. Some moments are more resistant to change—fixed points where the probability anchors them into stability—but most are fluid, subject to alterations caused by interference, both internal and external.

Every night at 2:47 AM, a person appears in your dream. They’d confess their love for you then caress you softly and hold you close. You have no idea who this person is, but every day no matter how horrible or good, they are there. And they comfort you even though they’re a stranger.

You want to find them but can never speak in your dreams, can never change the fact that they are pulled away from you time and time again, but… They’re there. It never sat well with you that you could never find this person who whispered sweet words to you. But there was some comfort that even if you two were strangers, they’d always end up loving you.

At key moments, timelines and universes brush against one another, forming convergence points. These can take many forms. For example, echoes. Residual imprints of events from one timeline appear in another, creating déjà vu or premonitions. 

Or perhaps crossroads, decision points so powerful that they send tendrils of possibility stretching into multiple realities, ensuring that at least one version of existence bears witness to every choice. Or, on rare occasions, merging phenomena. When two or more timelines collapse into one, their histories intertwine into a singular thread where paradoxes are absorbed into reality itself.

For centuries you have wandered the earth, untouched by time. For centuries you have seen your friends and family die. After a few centuries, you have learned not to love. But then why did the lungs that you never knew were there make you lose your breath whenever they looked at you? Why did a heart you didn’t know you had skipped a few beats every time they kissed you? 

You told them stories of places you had been and ancient civilizations you had witnessed, but you never shared the truth. You could feel their growing attachment to you, and the weight of knowing you could never truly grow old with them was unbearable. You saw the glimmers of hope in their eyes, the desire for a future—their future—and you knew that, like all the loves before, this one would be destined to end in tragedy.

While some aspects of existence are seemingly unchanging, the interplay between free will and fate is an ongoing struggle. Within this theory, fate is not a force that dictates a singular path but rather a gravitational pull—one that can be resisted or redirected but not entirely ignored. Some beings exist in multiple timelines simultaneously, their consciousness stretching across realities, while others are bound to the linear perception of time, never aware of their counterparts in distant echoes.

A couple sits side by side at the kitchen table, papers scattered across the surface. The air is filled with the quiet rustling of forms, the clicking of a calculator, and the occasional sigh. There's a rhythm to your collaboration. Every so often, you pause to share a look or a laugh about the complexity of the tax code, both trying to make sense of the labyrinth of deductions.

Despite the stress, there’s a sense of camaraderie between you. You’ve learned to navigate this annual task together, finding humor in the little mistakes and the occasional frustration. At times, you argue over the numbers, but the tension usually dissipates easily. It was all part of the process.

Changes to the past rarely only overwrite reality. Instead, time exhibits a form of self-correction, where contradictions resolve themselves by redirecting the course of events rather than outright erasing them. 

A paradox does not destroy reality but instead forces it into a new equilibrium, ensuring that continuity persists in some form, even if the details shift.

You grab the detergent, carefully measuring out the right amount, your eyes glancing over at them with a smile as they fiddle with the dryer settings. They’re the one who always forgets the fabric softener, but you don't mind—it’s a small quirk that makes you laugh.

There’s no rush, no pressure. Laundry is just another part of your day, but it’s also a chance to enjoy each other’s company in the quiet moments. Folding clothes, laughing at an old shirt that brings back memories, chatting about everything and nothing. The task is simple, but together, you make it something a little more—something shared, something that makes your home feel warmer.

Concluding things, to navigate the multiverse and time is not to travel through space or history but to understand the delicate balance of choice, consequence, and convergence. Reality is not a single truth but a shifting mosaic of infinite possibilities. The past and future do not merely exist in isolation—they are sculpted by the infinite interactions between worlds, each moment a ripple in the great and boundless sea of time.

[ranfordgallus]

I can't believe i made a whole ass species lore just for a wild kratts oc my god i never thought it could come this way but..thats the fun of it i guess LMAOO

Anyways..

Meet the Sickle-horned Equdore, a species of antelope found in the northern part of Kazakhstan where forests lie. Where their ancestors, the bluebuck, migrated from the south coast of africa to central asia.

The word Equdore (pronounced "eqoodor") means equine-like antelope, due to their appearance being similar to those of modern day horses though due to their two hooved they are not considered in the equus family.

The sexual dymorphism of the Sickle-horned Equdores are somewhat similar to those of deers or mooses, the male being bigger and more patterned with bigger horns. However not all male Sickle-horns have big horns, some have smaller horns usually from too much stress of poor diet during development of the horns growing, female Sickle-horns prefer those with bigger horns to show their health and potential. Male Sickle-horns are the only sex with the distinctive sickle shaped horns, hence their name.

Female Sickle-horned Equdores are slightly smaller than the male by a foot, however just because they are smaller than the males, does not mean they are small compared by a human, standing 8 feet tall. Female Sickle-horns have more curved horns that doesn't resemble an actual sickle, while the male horns of the Sickle-horned Equdore are shaped for both protection and attraction, female horns are only used for protection.

The social behavior of them are also similar to wild horses or chickens. One alpha male (fuck..i can't take that phrase seriously due to THOSE alpha male dudes you see in instagram reels or in podcasts..) and a herd, usually 8 to 15 females, the male provides safety and food by communicating that theres an abundance of food, if the male..example, finds a fruit tree, he will call the herd and let them eat first by helping to kick the tree so the fruits could fall down, easier to pick on, and the male will eat after a few have eaten already.

The unique part of the Sickle-horned Equdore is each pattern from each individual species are different, so they have their own set of pattern only own by those who bear it, making them easy to distinguish from others. And their fur is blue in colour, while not very blue, if you colorpicked their fur the color is more the blue area even though it looks more purple. Blue pigment is very- almost impossible in mammals, some "blue" furred mammals are usually more grey.

I also even made what the creature power suits of the species, both sex, though the powersuits are still a big smaller compared to the actual animal, they still stand around 7-8 feet. Poor chris, he's more teal and blue than his usual green colour, like the blue heron episode...

So what are the Sickle-horned Equdores known for other than their sickle-shaped horns and their blue fur?

They are famous for the creation of the mythical greek animal, the unicorn. When greek adventurers went to central asia, they discovered the rarest mutation of the Sickle-horns, the mutation that made them have a singular horn, while in real life unicorns were from the misinterpertation of rhinos, in my Wild Kratts universe, the unicorn mythology came from this species but historians theoried that it came from rhinoceros because they haven't found or rediscovered the species that created the famous fantasy animal in the first place.

This mutation is REALLY REALLY rare, less than 2 percent have this mutation that caused them to have a singular horn.

(Picture of Aoife and Einhorn. Oc on the left (Aoife) belongs to @martincrushcameback while Einhorn belongs to me.)

The burden of having such a unique birth defect is that you have a low chance of surviving or creating a herd of their own, female Sickle-horns with this condition are less likely to find a mate or a group to be accepted in, while males have a hard time to create their own herd, and their singular horn couldn't fight a male who already has a herd and they can't stand a chance, because whos more likely to win? A highly skilled person with two swords or the one that only has one and is average skilled?

One horns are so rare that records say only one was found, though many scientist disaproved the one horned as "not real" thinking the photo was painted to look like it had one horn, since they didn't believe that unicorns existed..lol

And Sickle-horned Equdores were once highly poached and hunted during the mongol empire, the people tried domesticating them so they could use them as a source of transportation for the extremely wealthy and war for the mightiest soldiers, unfortunately the domestication was a fail, so instead, they hunted them for their beautiful coat and horns for decor for the rich and those in power. So much that they reduced their population from a million to only 200 thousand left today. Their population is growing at a steady pace due to orginizations to protect these endangered animals. Fun fact, the Sickle-horned was rediscovered very early in the 1970's, historians found remnants of Sickle-horn hide and horns thinking these creatures are long extinct back in the 1900's.

Sooo..yeah, thats all i got for the species of Einhorn and Aoife..guuuhhh so much research..

Also, Equdore is a genus of antelope, meaning, like the big cat family including jaguars, tigers, lions and such, is their own family branch of the antelope family..MEANING...that there are other Equdore species not only existing to the Sickle-horned!

Also just to make sure Equdore is a fictional animal, there is no such genus of antelope called an Equdore..bah..

[myjjongie]

౨ৎ to my beloved ── p. jongseong ⟢ teaser

SYNOPSIS . . . Moon Yn daughter of a notorious Duke who is said to be one of the Emperor's most loyal aides is married off to Archduke Park Jay. Their marriage soon became the talk of the country. Everyone adored the joining of Yn, daughter of Duke Moon and the Emperor's eldest son Jay. Two people the Emperor cherished very deeply. Unaware of Duke Moon's true intentions, he desired the throne the Emperor sat on. Using his own daughter as a means of infiltration he marries her off to Jay. Yn being shackled down to her father listened to everything he told her to do. Eventually when the day came for the overthrowing of the Emperor's throne Yn dies before ever knowing who truly won in the end.

OR

IN WHICH . . . Yn is sent back in time to before she married Jay, before her father started preparations to overthrow the Emperor, before everything was lost. Finally having a second chance to save the people most dear to her. Yn won't let her father control her as he pleases this time. For Yn will make her own decisions despite the unforeseeable future. With this second chance she'll marry Jay with the intentions of helping him without the control of her father. ⌇WORD COUNT . . . 382 ⌇

.ᐟ PAIRING . . . archduke!jay x archduchess fem!reader

.ᐟ GENRES . . . oneshot histrorical au, time travel trope, enemies to lovers (if you squint your eyes hard enough), magic/magical beings are a thing, contract marriage, she fell first he fell harder, angst, yn was a villainess in her past life (???)

.ᐟ WARNINGS . . . yn unalives herself (in the beginning), family abuse (all from the father), heavy descriptions of certain topics, detailed scenes with physical touch

.ᐟ STARRING . . . enhypen (all members) ive (liz) nct (chenle + mark) aespa (giselle) + possible mentions of other idols

•

꒰ evie's note : so i cooked up this snippet an hour or so ago. posting this fic teaser to test the waters in a way cause i only have a smau being posted at the moment. i've also been itching to write write something and it's been a hot minute since i've gotten my creative brain juices flowing as well. back into reading manhwas again so if this reminds you of any of those, yes. and yes it's about jay again IM SORRY i miss my pookie bear angel can yall blame me :( also if i finish this within a timely manner i wanna have it out before the end of next week tbh. really hoping i'm able to do this fic justice for yall. but alas enjoy the tiny bit of what my brain cooked up. ꒱

taglist ( open! send a ask/comment to be added ) . . . @shinkenprincess-oh @jiryunn @rebeccaaaaaaaa @fancypeacepersona @thinkinboutbin @nnnecubrate @pyreflyforest776

perm. taglist ( open! send a ask/comment to be added ) . . . @ikeulove @leehsngs @nickiminajleftasscheek

YN POV .

My eyes blink open to see the view of an all too familiar ceiling above myself. It was the same cream colored ceiling that belonged in my bedroom in the manor at the Moon duchy. Slowly sitting up my eyes scanned my surroundings. It was exactly as I had remembered the room, the sitting area for when guests were over. The windowsill where I had often read books to pass time through the day. The tall walls decorated with intricate designs only a Duke could afford for a singular room. Thing was the last time I had been in this room was before I left for the Park duchy. When I left to get married to Duke Jay. My mind was a mess of memories as it all dawned on me.

I remembered the blazing fire as I ran through the trees in the forest next to the Park duchy. I could recall the stinging pain as the branches scratched and tore at the skin of my arms. Then the feeling of my legs numbing as I sprinted in the heavy dress that was tailored for a archduchess to wear. My head ached as everything came back to me. Remembering the sound of the knights corning me in the forest, shouting how I needed to go with them. Jay wanted me alive, but I knew it was all a lie. My father had started a coup d’état, he always craved for the higher power in the aristocracy. Being granted a duke title while not being related to the royal family simply wasn’t enough for him. So he sought out higher power, the throne of the Emperor. Jay was one of the Emperor’s sons, there was a feeling in me. Jay wouldn’t stand for his wife being the daughter of the man who wanted to take his father’s throne as well as his life. If the knights captured me to take me to Jay he for sure would have killed me with his own hands. With no other choice I took my life. In hopes that there would be one last thing I had control over before I died. It was laughable at how in the end I only had control over how I got to die and who got to kill me.

©myjjongie 2025

[evilminji]

Was Krypto Jor-El's dog? Or did their family have another pet?

Because think about it. Thanks to Cujo, we KNOW animals with unfinished business or strong attachments stay behind. We ALSO know from nigh COUNTLESS videos on the internet that pets get REALLY attached to pregnant moms and by extention, the new pack members.

Krpton was an Alien planet. Just because SOME of the animals there looked similar to earth animals, doesn't mean ALL of them do. Nor does it mean they ONLY domesticated dog like creatures or cat like creatures. They could have anything from vaguely bear-like to fox-ish to small moose but with more teeth.

It was a completely different ecology.

And Jor-El? Him and his wife had a CHOICE to make. They had A pod. Singular. Tiny. Not a ship, not an escape pod, not even a refurbished shipping container. Just a pod with life support and all the information about Krypton they could fit. A guidance system that, gods willing, would see their son to a safe and sympathetic planet to be raised by kind people.

THEY couldn't even fit.

How in the gods name would a large pet? Even a mid sized pet. Let us assume, for this prompt, that being scientists of high position? Pays or allocates pretty well. They have the room. The resources. When they got married, Jor-El's wife REALLY wanted a cub or pup or what have you, of some large-ish animal breed.

The equivalent of an earth mastiff dog. Just an Absolute UNIT. Used to be gaurds and working beasts, now more athletic pets then anything. Known to be great protecters of Their People.

And well... Jor-El WAS already starting to notice some things that were making him Less Than Popular... probably nothing (he had naively hoped, at the time.) But better to have a Just In Case. Sure, honey. Let's get one!

And they LOVED Snookums.

Snookums ADORED them AND the baby! Kal-El basically NEVER left Snookums sight. He slept beneath Kal's crib. Followed them everywhere they went, when they were holding Kal. Planted himself like Kal's Sworn Protector as the baby drooled all over his fur. It was the cutest thing EVER.

But then?

No. Dear Gods No. Please... Please let him be wrong!

He's not. He never is. He is too careful with his calculations. To the point of near paranoia. Maybe they can stop it. If they DO something. Act IMMEDIATELY...

But...

Well, we all now how that story ends. Two people, standing on a launch pad, tears streaming down their smiling faces, trying to memorize the last moment they'll ever see their son. Praying this will be ENOUGH.

That they aren't trading one terrible death for another.

Watching their son disappear into the sky. Flying home as the ground groan as shakes, trees toppling and people screaming. Panicking. Dying pointless deaths that could have been stopped.

Walking into the home that should have been where they spent their whole live. Where, in a way, they WILL.

Knowing they won't grow old.

Sitting on the floor with their confused, frantic, pet as fire starts to light up the horizon. As the ground shakes violently on last, terrible time. Knowing the lethal heat will hit them before their ears ever register the sound.

It's Over.

But! Where is Snookum's Baby Kal!?

They are scared, confused, and everything is LOUD AND RUMBLY. Very Bad. Don't like that. Their ADULTS come back home. BUT NOT THEIR BABY. Where is Baby Kal?! Snookums is a GOOD Boy and a GREAT Protector. It is in his blood.

Something BAD is happening.

Has? Happened?

Everything is GREEN.

But that does not MATTER. Snookums can not REST. Can not stay here! They must Sniff and search and hunt! Look for Kal! Who is SMALL and needs to be protected! What if he is HURT? How will he SLEEP!? With no Snookums to cuddle for nap time!?

But the universe is large. And there is no smell in space. (Well, there ARE. But they are Stinky Gasses and those do not help Snookums.) So it takes lots and lots of time. Until! He meets a glowing blue dog!

A hopeful corgi? What is a corgi? Irrelevant! The hopeful one knows of Snookums' Kal! Oh, thank you small friend! You indeed DO give hope! We shall go at once and Kal shall be safe and with family once more!

Meanwhile? Danny? Wakes up to a sticky note on his forehead from Clockwork. "Bring Cujo with you to meet the Justic League"? What? WHY? He loves the pup, but Cujo has never behaved himself in a formal setting ONCE in his doggy LIFE. Danny is trying to make a good first impression!

But... Clockwork doesn't Post-It lightly...

Guess he's breaking out the doggy bow ties. Great. Wonder what THIS is about...

Four and a half hours later? Watching Cujo playfully wrestle with the ghost of what HAS to be a Kryptonian... gonna saaaaay.... Bear-fox? Which nearly TACKLED Superman, freaked the ENTIRE Justice League out, and nearly got him STABBED by Etrigon. Yeah. That was a good call.

Congratulations on your new ghost pet, Superman. No, he's not leaving. It just kinda happens sometimes. It's how Danny got Cujo. Wanna do pet playdates?

@hdgnj @ailithnight @mutable-manifestation @dcxdpdabbles @nerdpoe

[kckt88]

Scorched Hearts XVI

Summary:

'We loved with a love that was more than love - Edgar Allen Poe'

After Aemond disappears, Valaena sets out to find him.

Warning(s): Angst, Drama, Language, Confrontation, Confessions, Uncle/Niece Incest, Kissing, Smut, Oral Sex (M & F Recieving), Come Swallowing, Fingering, P in V & Sex on Dragonback!!

AEMOND x O.C Niece

Word Count: 5405

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated, do not copy/post to other sights without my permission.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8 @darylandbethfanforever9 @killua2dot0 @msassenach @xcharlottemikaelsonx @moonnicole

The cold wind stung Valaena’s face, but she barely noticed as she pushed Silverwing faster through the clouds.

Her gloved hands tightened around the handles of the saddle, thoughts storming through her mind as she remembered Aemond’s tortured confession—'Because I tried to kill you’.

The look of horror on his face had seared itself into her memory, leaving her shaken. She hadn’t had a moment to respond before he had bolted from their chambers, mounting Vhagar and vanishing into the sky.

Now, he’d been missing for three days, gone without a word or trace, his absence hanging like a shadow over her heart.

Valaena had waited, given him time to grapple with the storm raging inside him, but she could bear it no longer.

Mounting Silverwing, she’d taken to the sky, knowing instinctively where he must have gone.

There was only one place he would seek refuge: the small cabin by the Wendwater, hidden deep in the forest—their sanctuary, their place.

The memory of his haunted face made her stomach twist as she imagined him alone, suffering with the weight of his guilt.

She would find him, speak to him, and bring him home.

Silverwing must have felt her urgency, for the dragon roared and pushed her wings harder, cutting through the clouds as they descended over the Wendwater.

Valaena’s eyes swept across the dense trees below, searching for any sign of Vhagar.

Though Vhagar was massive, her scales often blended with the shades of the forest; it was only when Silverwing gave a chirping call—a sound she reserved only for Vhagar—that she knew for sure.

In answer, a familiar low rumble echoed through the trees. Relief surged through Valaena’s chest.

He was here.

Guiding Silverwing to a clearing, her wings stirring up the sand as she landed with a powerful thud.

Unhooking herself from the saddle, Valaena slid down Silverwing’s side, one hand reaching to rest on her dragon’s neck.

“Sȳz riña,” murmured Valaena, her voice low and gentle (Good girl).

Silverwing trilled in reply, before turning to lumber toward Vhagar, who gave a softer rumble in return.

The two dragons, as familiar with each other as their riders, seemed to settle close, forming their own quiet comfort.

Valaena took a deep breath and turned her gaze toward the cabin, her heart steadying with each step.

She had come here with one purpose—to break the silence that was consuming them both.

Valaena took purposeful strides, the weight of her determination pushing her forward.

As she approached the cabin door, she paused for a moment, gathering her resolve.

Then, she opened the weathered wooden door.

Aemond sat slouched in the chair by the fire, his face illuminated by the flickering flames, his singular eye bloodshot and rimmed with tears.

He stared blankly into the fire; his usually sharp features worn down with anguish. He looked up as the door creaked open, his shoulders stiffening when he saw Valaena standing there.

“Aemond?”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“Why not?” Valaena asked, her tone edged with frustration.

“You know why,” Aemond murmured, refusing to look at her.

Valaena scoffed, stepping inside and letting the door slam shut behind her. “Because you said you tried to kill me?”

His breath hitched, but he nodded. “Yes-I did.”

“And that’s why you’ve been acting so strange lately,” she said, her voice trembling slightly.

“Yes,” he admitted, his tone hollow.

“Aemond” exclaimed Valaena as she unclasped her cloak and draped it over the back of a wooden chair.

“Do you not fear me?” he asked suddenly, the words spilling out unbidden as he turned his head slightly toward her.

“No,” she said softly. “Never-”

He shook his head in disbelief, staring back into the fire. “I admit that I tried to kill you, and yet you do not fear me.”

Valaena crossed her arms over her chest and stepped closer. “I know there’s more to it than that. You wouldn’t just decide to end my life. You had your reasons, didn’t you?”

Aemond clenched his fists. “I do not wish to discuss it.”

“Well, I do,” she shot back.

His voice rose, raw and sharp. “Go home, Valaena.”

“No,” she said firmly. “Not without you.”

He huffed, finally turning to look at her. “Why do you have to be so stubborn?”

She arched an eyebrow. “Look who’s talking.”

Aemond sighed, his shoulders sagging as he ran a hand through his unkempt hair. “Look, Valaena, I—”

“No,” she interrupted, her tone resolute. “We’re going to talk. Whether you like it or not.”

He scowled, his temper flaring. “Why can’t you just leave me the fuck alone?”

The words hit her like a blow, and her face fell. For a moment, she said nothing, her hurt clear in her eyes.

But then she straightened, her voice unwavering. “Because I am your wife, and I love you. Aemond, please, don’t shut me out.”

He turned away again, pressing his hands to his face.

“I can’t-I-can’t” muttered Aemond.

“Why are you doing this to me?” Valena asked, her voice breaking. “To us?”

He didn’t answer, his silence louder than any words.

“So that’s it, then?” she demanded, her frustration boiling over. “This is how it’s going to be from now on? You confess something like that and then flee like a coward instead of facing me?”

Aemond’s head snapped up, and his eye narrowed. “You think me a coward?”

“What else am I supposed to think?” she challenged.

Aemond stood suddenly, towering over her, his voice sharp with pain. “Do you have any idea how hard this is for me?”

“No, I don’t!” she snapped back. “Because you won’t talk to me! How are we supposed to deal with this, to move past it, if you won’t talk?”

He took a step back, his breathing uneven. “I’m afraid.”

Her voice softened. “Of what?”

His eye glistened with unshed tears. “Of what you’ll think of me. Of what it will mean for us.”

“For the love of all that is holy, please,” she pleaded. “Just talk to me.”

He exploded, his voice raw and desperate as he surged forward. “You want me to talk? Fine, I’ll talk!”

She stood firm, her gaze unwavering. “I’m listening.”

Aemond began pacing, his movements erratic as he wrestled with his emotions. “Growing up, I never really knew what love was. My father barely acknowledged me, and my mother-well, that’s not something I wish to discuss at the moment-”

“Aemond—” Valaena began, but he raised a hand to silence her.

“-But then there was you,” he said, his voice softening, trembling. “You taught me what love was, you showed me something that terrified me and enraptured me in equal measure, and I quickly found myself craving it-”

Valaena nodded silently a tear slipping down her cheek.

“We were supposed to hate one another, stand opposite sides of the chasm that had opened up within our family, yet when everything seemed to conspire against us, we found a way to be together.”

“Because you are everything to me,” said Valaena, more tears brimming in her violet eyes.

Aemond nodded, his own tears slipping down his cheeks. “And you are the love of my life. When you were in that coma-” His voice cracked, and he had to pause to gather himself. “-Something inside me broke. No one knew if you were going to wake up. Your mother and Gerardys-they began discussing giving you a high dose of sweet sleep.”

“What?” whispered Valaena, her face pale.

“They thought it was kinder than letting you suffer as you wasted away,” he said, his voice hoarse. “-And at first, I couldn’t accept it. The pain of losing you was too much. But then I realized they were right. And even though it tore me apart, I knew it was kinder to let you go.”

Her voice was barely a whisper. “Go on.”

Aemond met her gaze, his face contorted with anguish. “I remembered what you said to me. That if you were to die, then you wanted it to be by my hand.”

“Yes,” she said, her heart aching.

“And I swore that if anyone was going to end your life, it would be me. So, I stood over you with a pillow in my hands, ready to keep my promise.” His voice broke as tears streamed freely down his face. “But I couldn’t do it. I lost my nerve.”

Valaena stepped forward, wrapping her arms around him as he sobbed into her shoulder. “It’s okay, my love.”

“No, it isn’t,” he choked. “I could have killed you. I almost did.”

“You had your reasons,” she murmured, her voice soothing. “You didn’t know that I was going to wake up.”

“But you did wake up,” he said, pulling back to look at her. “And what I almost did haunts me every single day.”

She cupped his face, her thumb brushing away his tears. “You should have told me. Instead of pushing me away.”

“I was ashamed of myself,” he confessed. “For what I almost did. For what I almost cost our children.”

“You don’t have to carry this alone anymore,” she said, her voice steady. “Let me help you.”

His arms came around her then, holding her tightly as if afraid to let go. “I’m sorry, Valaena. For everything.”

"Aemond," she said, her voice steady but tinged with sadness. "Why won’t you lay with me?"

His head shot up, his single eye meeting hers briefly before flickering away, shame and guilt etched into his features.

"Valaena, it’s not that simple."

"Then explain it to me," she pressed, "Because I’m at a loss. You won’t touch me, and you won’t even kiss me as you used too. What is it? Do you not desire me anymore?"

Aemond stared at her aghast "Gods, of course I desire you. You’re all I think about, Valaena."

"Then what is it?" she demanded, exasperation slipping into her voice. "Do you have any idea how much this hurts? To feel like I’ve done something wrong?"

Aemond took a deep breath his expression raw and vulnerable. "I’m scared."

"Of what?" asked Valaena softly.

"Of losing you," he admitted, his voice breaking. "I can’t-I can’t risk my seed taking root and getting you with child again. Carrying another child so soon could kill you. I couldn’t bear it. I can’t lose you-I won’t"

Valaena’s eyes softened, and she reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. "Aemond, there are ways to prevent that from happening. You know there are."

Aemond shook his head, pulling away. "What if it doesn’t work? What if it fails? Valaena, we already have four children"

A smile tugged at her lips, a hint of playfulness breaking through the gravity of the moment.

"Rhaegar happened because there were several occasions where I forgot to take the tea, Elaena was planned, as was Daenys. And Aemon-" she added, arching a brow, "-was conceived because moon tea was in short supply during our sail back to Westeros."

He stared at her, his lips parting as if to respond, but no words came.

Valaena stepped closer, cupping his cheek, forcing him to meet her gaze. "Your fear is valid, my love, but you cannot let it control you. I promise, I will take the moon tea. I’ll even drink the damn stuff it in front of you if that’s what it takes to ease your mind. But please-" her voice softened, laced with longing, "-do not let the fear of a possibility rob us of being with each other in that way-

“Valaena-” muttered Aemond.

“I know you miss it too and I’m telling you now I do not wish to be deprived of your cock any longer”

A soft chuckle escaped him, the sound warm and unexpected, and he reached up to tuck a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. "Is that so?"

"Yes-" she replied with a grin, her hand sliding to his chest. "I will not stand for it-I have needs Aemond, as I know you do-"

For the first time in what felt like forever, Aemond smiled—truly smiled. He cupped her face with both hands. "Can you ever forgive me?" he asked softly.

"Oh, my love. There’s nothing to forgive," she whispered, leaning into his touch.

Aemond’s smile grew, the tension in his shoulders melting away as he leaned in, capturing her lips in a passionate, all-consuming kiss.

He poured everything into it—his fear, his love, his apology—and she returned it with equal fervour, her arms wrapping tightly around his neck as if to anchor him.

When they finally broke apart, breathless and flushed, he murmured against her lips, "Come. Let me deprive you no longer."

And with that, he swept her into his arms, reclaiming what they had nearly lost.

Aemond watched with a hooded gaze as Valaena began to remove her riding leathers, letting them fall to the floor.

Whilst she removed them, Aemond hastily pulled off his own tunic and breeches, he sighed in relief as his already hard cock was free from its confines.

Valaena smiled slightly as she hooked her fingers around her own small clothes and slowly pulled them down, Aemond could feel himself salivating as he stared at her cunny.

“Come here-” growled Aemond, as he reached out and pulled Valaena onto the bed.

“Let me take care of you” muttered Valaena as she placed kisses along Aemond’s sharp jaw and then down his neck, making sure to gently nip and suck his skin as she went.

She carried on moving down, pausing as she reached his chest, she grinned as she took one of his nipples into her mouth, her tongue teasing it before she bit down gently.

“FUCK” moaned Aemond.

“Does issa dārys like that?” asked Valaena as she moved across and gave his other nipple the same attention, (My King).

“Oh. Gods” whimpered Aemond as she moved further down his body, her tongue and teeth grazing his pale skin.

When she reached the light trail of hair from his belly button down to his cock, she pressed her nose against him and giggled when she felt the hair tickle her skin.

“Kostilus issa jorrāelagon” begged Aemond (Please my love).

“Ao līs umbagon issa zaldrīzes” replied Valaena (You must wait, my dragon).

Aemond stared down at his wife, his mouth hanging open as Valaena’s warm, wet mouth quickly wrapped around the head of his cock.

Her tongue gently moving around the tip – tracing the ridges and licking off the drops of pre-cum that had started leaking out.

“Fuck, Valaena!” groaned Aemond as he threaded his fingers through his wife’s dark hair.

Valaena ran the flat of her tongue along Aemond’s length, tracing every hard inch of him.

Aemond’s heart almost stopped when she moved down to suck his stones into her mouth, one at a time.

Her warm hand moving slowly over the hard length of him.

When Valaena moved and engulfed Aemond’s cock in her mouth again, he squeezed his eye shut. She was driving him crazy.

But Aemond forced himself to open his eye, he needed to watch as his wife sucked his cock. 

“Your taking me so well. Such a good girl for me-” moaned Aemond.

Aemond knew it would push the limits of his control, but he did not care. He just had to watch his cock disappear into Valaena’s mouth and see it come back out, shining with her spit.

Her head moving back and forth, her perfect pink lips stretched around the length of him.

“I’m not going to last-It’s been too long-too long-gods” groaned Aemond.

Valaena smiled slightly and began moving faster, also using one of her hands in rhythm with her mouth. 

“It feels so good-that’s it” groaned Aemond.

Valaena responded to his statement by relaxing the back of her throat, and swallowing as much of her husband’s cock as she could, whilst her other hand cupped his stones.

“Shit-Valaena. I’m going to spill-. Oh, fuck, I’m-” shouted Aemond as he exploded.

His wife took every last drop, swallowing his warm seed and licking him clean.

When he recovered, Aemond saw Valaena’s self-satisfied smile.

“Was that to your liking my darling husband?” asked Valaena.

“Y-Yes. Now get up here and ride my face until I’m ready again” gasped Aemond.

“Are you sure?” whispered Valaena.

“Get up here and sit on my fucking face” ordered Aemond, his cock already twitching with interest.

Valaena hovered above Aemond’s face; her knees splayed on either side of his head.

“Such a pretty cunny-" breathed Aemond as he ran the flat of his tongue along Valaena’s soaked slit, from bottom to the top, tasting her.

“Oh, my god” moaned Valaena her eyes rolling into the back of her head.

“That’s it Issa dōna. Let me hear you” (My sweet).

“YES. It feels so good. Don’t stop. Aemond. Please” begged Valaena.

“FUCK” growled Aemond.

“Ooooh A-Aemond” shrieked Valaena.

"Delicious" purred Aemond as he began lapping at Valaena, running his tongue along every fold.

"More" panted Valaena "Please. I need more”.

Aemond inserted two fingers, sliding them in and out of her slick wet folds.

“Oh" whimpered Valaena; her chest heaving as she began to gently roll her hips against his face, his nose bumping against her pearl.

“That’s it baby, ride my fucking face” groaned Aemond, his cock was so hard that it was boarding on painful.

 Aemond’s fingers were soaking wet as they continued to pump in and out of her tight heat.

“I can’t wait to get my cock inside you. I don’t want to wait any longer, peak for me baby” moaned Aemond.

Finally, he felt Valaena’s inner walls start to flutter around his fingers, squeezing them. Valaena’s back arched taut as a bow and she screamed her release.

Aemond pumped his fingers slowly and lapped at his wife’s centre as she came.

After a few minutes, Aemond gently urged his wife to move down, so she was hovering above his cock.

Her hand wrapped around him, running the head of his cock along her warm wet folds.

“Your such a tease” moaned Aemond as his hips jerking involuntarily.

“But it feels so good” replied Valaena as she slowly sunk down on his cock, so only the tip of him was inside her.

“P-Please-” whimpered Aemond.

“Uh-uh” said Valaena shaking her head from side to side.

After a few torturous minutes Aemond couldn’t take it anymore and seized his wife’s hips, before surging up and ploughing his hard cock into her soaked cunt.

"AEMOND!" screamed Valaena.

"Gods. You feel so good" rasped Aemond.

"Fuck me, Aemond" urged Valaena, her tone bordering on desperate as she rolled her hips against his.

Aemond started to thrust slowly, trying to prolong the feel of his wife squeezing his cock.

“P-Please. Husband” whined Valaena as Aemond began teasing her pearl with his thumb.

“That’s it-take all of me”

“OH-MY-“ shrieked Valaena as Aemond began to move.

"Faster, please" begged Valaena.

“Like this?” replied Aemond as he gave a quick deep thrust.

“Yes, Aemond, just like that-" panted Valaena.

Her hands ran along his arms, over his shoulders and down his chest, digging her nails into his pale skin.

“Gods, Valaena" grunted Aemond, speeding up slightly.

"Fuck me, Aemond-oh please" whispered Valaena "Fuck me with that big, cock of yours. You feel so good inside me, filling me up. Give me what I need”.

Aemond knew exactly what Valaena was doing, and he couldn’t help himself.

Valaena wanted faster and he was going much faster now, his feet planted on the bed to give him more leverage and his pace increased with every filthy word that dropped from his wife’s luscious lips as he pounded into her.

“Aemond-I’m going to peak. Oh, fuck!” screamed Valaena.

Valaena always looked amazing when she came. Her head thrown back in pleasure, her amethyst eyes alive with lust, and her pale skin shining with sweat.

Gods he had such a fool to deprive him and her of this, that moment in the world where only the two of them seemed to exist, that moment they were connected as one.

“I-I’m going t-to f-finish-” groaned Aemond,

“Y-Yes, A-Aemond-Give it to me” whined Valaena as she clamped down around his cock so hard he could hardly move.

That, combined with how glorious Valaena looked, pushed Aemond over the edge, the heat shooting across his abdomen.

“God. Valaena” groaned Aemond as he exploded. His cock throbbing and twitching as he spilled his seed inside his wife’s wet heat.

The soft glow of the fire bathed the cabin in warmth as Valaena lay sprawled across Aemond, her leg slung lazily over his waist.

His hand traced idle patterns along the bare skin of her back, a touch that was tender and unhurried.

Her face was pressed against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“I could hear you,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Aemond’s hand stilled. “What?” he asked, tilting his head to peer down at her, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“When I was in my coma,” she continued, her tone soft and contemplative. “I could hear your voice.”

His eye widened, surprise and disbelief flickering across his face. “Truly?”

She nodded slowly, shifting to look up at him, her violet eyes glinting in the firelight. “It was kind of muffled, like I had my head underwater, but I knew it was you. I would recognize your voice anywhere.”

Aemond swallowed hard, his throat tightening with emotion. “I never left your side,” he confessed. “Not for a moment.”

“I know,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “I wanted so badly to reach out to you, to let you know I was still there, but I couldn’t. And then-I saw you.”

He stilled, his fingers pausing their soothing motion on her back. “You saw me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

She nodded again, her lips curving into a faint smile. “We were flying, you and I, soaring through the clouds. And then there was a light. It was warm, so inviting. But then you called out to me. You wouldn’t let me go.”

His chest rose and fell beneath her as he exhaled shakily. “I had a similar dream,” he admitted, his voice rough. “You wanted me to take you home.”

Her smile widened as she nuzzled against him. “Maybe our souls were reaching for one another.”

“I’d like to think so,” he murmured, his hand resuming its gentle patterns on her back.

A low rumble from outside broke the silence, the unmistakable sound of Silverwing grumbling.

Valaena sighed, reluctantly lifting her head. “I think she’s telling us it’s time to head back to the Red Keep.”

As she began to sit up, Aemond’s arm shot out, pulling her back down against him. “I haven’t had my fill of you yet,” he said, his voice husky with intent.

Her eyes sparkled with amusement as she arched a brow. “Oh, is that right?”

In one fluid motion, Aemond shifted them, rolling so that she was beneath him, his weight a comforting pressure as he nestled between her legs.

His lips brushed against hers, a teasing whisper of a kiss that left her yearning for more.

“I have some making up to do,” he murmured, his tone deep and low, sending a shiver through her.

Valaena grinned, her fingers tangling in his silver hair as she pulled him closer. “I’m glad to hear it,” she whispered.

As they approached Vhagar and Silverwing, Aemond grabbed Valaena’s wrist and spun her around. His lips captured hers in a searing kiss, full of passion and longing.

Valaena gasped against his mouth but melted into him for a moment, her hands curling into the fabric of his tunic.

When she pulled away, her cheeks were flushed. “Aemond,” she began breathlessly, “we must return to the Red Keep.”

He pouted, his eye narrowing playfully as he nuzzled his nose up her cheek. “Do we have to?” he murmured, his voice low and coaxing.

Valaena giggled softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “For our children.”

His lips curved into a smile at that, his expression softening. “Ah, yes. Our little dragons.”

As she turned to mount Silverwing, Aemond caught her wrist again. “Fly with me,” he said, his voice almost pleading.

Valaena glanced at Silverwing, who snorted in annoyance, stamping her clawed feet in protest. “I’m not sure-”

Aemond leaned closer, pressing a trail of kisses along her neck, each one a gentle persuasion.

“Please,” he whispered against her skin. “I’m not ready to be parted from you just yet.”

She sighed, her resolve weakening as his lips found her pulse point.

Stroking Silverwing’s neck apologetically, she murmured, “Vaoreznuni, riña” (Sorry, girl).

Her dragon grumbled but relented, watching as Aemond quickly led Valaena toward Vhagar.

Aemond gestured toward the rope ladder hanging from the saddle. “Ladies first,” he said, a roguish grin tugging at his lips.

Valaena laughed, giving him a playful curtsy. “Why, thank you, good sir,” she teased before starting her ascent.

Aemond followed close behind, his eye fixed on her with a smirk.

When they reached the saddle, he settled behind her, guiding her to sit in front of him. His chest pressed firmly against her back as his arms enveloped her, taking hold of the reins.

“Sōves, Vhagar,” he commanded, his voice steady (Fly.)

The ancient dragon groaned as she shifted her massive weight forward, the ground trembling beneath her.

With a mighty thrust of her wings, she surged into the sky, her colossal form cutting through the air.

Behind her, Silverwing reluctantly followed, still grumbling.

As they climbed higher, the chill of the air surrounded them, though Aemond hardly seemed to notice.

Resting his chin on Valaena’s shoulder, he whispered, “I love you.”

She turned her head back to him, her lips brushing his. “And I love you, too,” she murmured.

Aemond released the reins with one hand, sliding it around her waist. His fingers grazed the ties of her breeches, and a sly grin tugged at his lips as he began unlacing them.

Valaena stiffened slightly. “What are you doing?” she asked, though her voice betrayed a mix of amusement and anticipation.

He chuckled, his breath warm against her ear. “I think you already know the answer to that, ābrazȳrys,” he replied, his voice dripping with mischief. “Now lift up and sit forward.” (Wife).

Biting her lip, she obeyed, lifting her lower half and leaning forward in the saddle. The cold air nipped at her skin as Aemond worked quickly, tugging her breeches down to her thighs. He shifted behind her, freeing his hard cock with practiced ease.

“Sit on it-” he instructed softly, his hands steadying her as he guided her back onto his lap.

She let out a shudder as she felt the blunt pressure of his cock at her wet entrance before it slide inside her as she settled back against him, the heat of their closeness chasing away the chill of the sky.

Her head lolled back onto his shoulder as he pressed kisses along her neck, his teeth grazing her skin before biting down gently.

His hips moved, rolling into hers with deliberate intensity, his hand slipping around her front, his long fingers teasing her pearl as she rolled her hips.

“Oh" whimpered Valaena; her chest heaving as she began to roll her hips faster.

“That’s it-” groaned Aemond, his cock throbbing inside her.

“Ohhh Aemond” whined Valaena.

“Come for me baby,” moaned Aemond, his face pressed between her shoulder blades.

Finally, he felt Valaena’s inner walls start to flutter around his cock, squeezing him. Her back arching as she screamed her release.

“Lean forward a bit more” urged Aemond as he removed his fingers.

“Hmmm yes” whined Valaena as she moved forward.

“That’s it-take it-take all of me” muttered Aemond as he completely released the reins and grabbed hold of Valaena’s hips and increased the pace of his thrusts.

“Ooohh-fuck” muttered Valaena.

“Gods-" grunted Aemond, speeding up slightly.

"Fuck me, Aemond. Fuck me with that big, cock of yours. You feel so good inside me”.

Aemond’s grip on Valaena was fierce, his movements relentless. He drove into her with a force that seemed almost brutal, but Valaena took every thrust with an almost frantic eagerness.

Her body began to tremble, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she surrendered completely to the intensity of their coupling.

“Fuck-that’s it” moaned Aemond.

“Give it to me please” pleaded Valaena her head lolling back onto Aemond’s shoulder, her arm reaching behind her to tangle in his hair as their lips connected in a messy, passionate kiss.

“Let go baby, I can feel you clenching around me again” exclaimed Aemond.

“AEMOND” screamed Valaena her vision going white as she came around his cock.

His grip on Valaena tightened as he neared his own climax, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more forceful.

The noises he made were almost otherworldly, a mix of guttural growls and breathless moans.

“I love you-I love you-I love you” groaned Aemond as he finally exploded.

Afterwards, as they floated through the clouds, Aemond help her close against him, his arms securing her in a protective embrace as he retook the reins.

His voice was a low murmur against her ear. “Keep me inside where it’s warm, darling.”

Valaena nodded, her cheeks flushed as she adjusted her leather skirts to cover them both, concealing any trace of their heated moment.

Vhagar and Silverwing soared onward, their wings cutting through the air as the Red Keep loomed on the horizon.

Aemond carefully descended the rope ladder first, his movements precise and measured.

Once his boots hit the ground, he turned, reaching up to help Valaena climb down. His hands found her waist, steadying her as her feet touched the earth.

Before she could step away, he pressed her back against the warm, scaled flank of Vhagar, caging her with his body.

“My love,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with emotion.

Valaena’s arms instinctively looped around his shoulders, her fingers threading into his hair. “My life,” she whispered in reply, her eyes soft as they gazed into his.

Aemond leaned in, capturing her lips in a kiss that was nothing short of fervent, his hands cradling her face as if she were the most precious thing in the world.

The heat of their kiss defied the chill in the air, and time seemed to slow for them.

But their stolen moment was interrupted by Vhagar’s deep, rumbling grumble, a sound that reverberated through the ground.

Aemond sighed in irritation as he reluctantly broke the kiss, his forehead resting against Valaena’s.

“Sȳz sia jāre,” he muttered begrudgingly, glancing at his dragon. (Fine, we’re going.)

Valaena couldn’t suppress her laughter, her lips curving into a teasing grin. “Do you think she knew what we were doing up there?”

Aemond’s eye narrowed playfully as he glanced back at Vhagar, who regarded him with what could only be described as an unimpressed glare.

He smirked. “Oh, she absolutely knows.”

Valaena studied Vhagar’s disapproving expression for a moment before meeting Aemond’s gaze, and both of them burst into laughter.

Their mirth echoed across the clearing, the bond between them stronger than ever.

When their laughter subsided, Aemond shook his head with a fond smile.

“Come, it’s rather cold. Let’s get you warm.” He offered his arm, which Valaena took with a smile.

Before leaving, Valaena turned to Silverwing, who had landed nearby.

The smaller dragon trilled affectionately, and Valaena gently stroked her neck. “Sȳrī sōvegon hēnkirī aderī sepār ao se nyke” (We’ll fly together soon, just you and me).

Silverwing trilled happily, head lowering so she could nuzzle Valaena affectionately, her nostrils exhaling warm air.

“Gaomagon ao gīmigon skoros īlon gōntan?” whispered Valaena (Do you know what we did).

Silverwing trilled again, her tone playful, almost as if mocking.

Valaena glanced at Vhagar, who responded with another rumbling growl.

“You know,” Valaena said with a smirk as she looked back at Aemond, “I think Silverwing is actually laughing at Vhagar.”

Aemond chuckled as he patted Vhagar’s neck, his tone affectionate. “I think you’re right.”

When their dragons were settled, Aemond took Valaena’s hand in his, lacing their fingers together as they began the walk back toward the Red Keep.

TBC

[polishchuk]

Yukio Mishima as Saint Sebastian (60s)/ Guido Reni - Saint Sebastian, 1615

“I was flipping through one of the last pages of a volume. All of a sudden, from the corner of the next page, there flashed before my eyes an image that I had to assume had lurked there for my benefit alone.

It was a reproduction of Guido Reni’s Saint Sebastian, which figures in the collection of Palazzo Rosso in Genoa.

The trunk of the tree of torment, black and slightly oblique, stood out against the Titianesque background of a gloomy forest and a serene sky, gloomy and distant. A young man of singular loveliness stood bound naked to the trunk of the tree, his arms drawn up, and the straps that clasped his crossed wrists were fastened to the tree itself. No ties of any other kind were discernible, and the only covering of the young man’s nakedness consisted of a rough white cloth that loosely wrapped around his loins.

I imagined that it was a description of a Christian martyrdom. But since it was due to a painter of the eclectic school derived from the Renaissance, even from this painting depicting the death of a Christian saint exuded a strong aroma of paganism. The young man’s body - one could even compare it to that of Antinous, Hadrian’s favorite, whose beauty was so often immortalized in sculpture - bears no trace of the hardships or exhaustion derived from missionary life, which imprint the effigy of other saints: instead, this one uniquely manifests the springtime of youth, uniquely light and pleasure and gracefulness.

That white and incomparable nudity of hers sparkles against a background of twilight. His sinewy arms, the arms of a praetorian accustomed to flex his bow and brandish his sword, are raised in a harmonious curve, and his wrists cross immediately above his head. The face is turned slightly upward and the eyes are wide open, contemplating the glory of heaven with deep tranquility. It is not suffering that hovers over the expanded chest, the taut abdomen, the barely twisted lips, but a flicker of melancholy pleasure like music. Were it not for the arrows with their points stuck in his left armpit and right hip, he would rather look like a Roman athlete relieving fatigue in a garden, leaning against a dark tree.

Arrows have plunged into the heart of the young, pulpy, fragrant flesh, and are about to consume the body from within with flames of heartbreak and supreme ecstasy. But the blood is not gushing out; the swarm of arrows seen in other paintings of St. Sebastian’s martyrdom has not yet raged. Here instead, two lone arrows send their quiet and delicate shadows over the smoothness of the skin, similar to the shadows of a branch falling on a marble staircase.

But all these interpretations and discoveries came later.

That day, the moment I glimpsed the painting, my whole being quivered with pagan joy. My blood roiled in my veins, my loins swelled almost in an emptiness of rage. The monstrous part of me that was close to exploding waited for me to use it with unprecedented ardor, rebuking my ignorance, gasping in outrage. My hands, not at all unconsciously, began a movement I had never learned. I felt something secret, something radiant, launching itself rattily to the assault from within. It erupted suddenly, bringing with it a blinding intoxication....

Some time elapsed and then, in a desolate mood, I looked around at the desk I stood in front of. Outside the window a maple tree was casting a vivid glare everywhere -- on the ink bottle, on school books and notebooks, on the dictionary, on the image of St. Sebastian. Splashes of a dim whiteness appeared here and there - on the title in gold letters of a textbook, on the margin of the inkwell, on an edge of the dictionary. Some objects dripped lazily, others glowed with a dim gleam like the eyes of a dead fish. Fortunately, a reflexive movement of my hand to protect the figure had prevented the volume from soiling.

That was my first ejaculation. And it was also the clumsy and totally unplanned beginning of my “bad habit.”

–Yukio Mishima “Confessions of a Mask”