#the craftsmanship that would be required

[carionto]

I like to think the humans ambassador hides black powder weapons around their office instead of Lazer guns or plasma, just walks about with 2 hidden flintlock pistols

You sir or madam or otherwise have given me the biggest grin with that idea, thank you.

(me from after having written it out) I did not know where this idea would take me, stream of consciousness writing will do that.

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Every delegate of every integrated species aboard a Coalition governing station in their respective segment of the Galaxy receives full accommodations in the form of an isolated embassy structure.

One day, as per a Human custom, the main delegate - Ambassador Glenn York, invited several other delegates on a tour of his embassy. With some hesitation from a few due to their prey-like ancestry and associated cultural background, but ultimately won over by the Human's eager friendliness, they embarked on this little cultural exchange.

It was a little difficult to move about, as each embassy is adapted to suit the environmental preferences of the respective species, and Humans live on a high gravity and dense atmosphere world, so much so in fact, some of the less physically suitable delegates had to put on an exoskeleton, while many others required a breathing apparatus to thin out the poisonous air.

Once we were underway, Glenn showed us that the Humans were diligent in their work - acquiring information from and learning about all the various species within the Coalition, establishing communication lines with the respective counterparts in the disparately varied local government structures, and most importantly continually updating the translation modules.

In addition, we admired their art they had installed along the barren walls. Most, Glenn explained, was done by the delegates and their staff themselves during free time, and it ranged from tiny contraptions painstakingly assembled within a minuscule glass container (we did not realize they could hone their dexterity to such a precise degree!) to large murals covering an entire wall with the most vivid color and shape combinations one could imagine; from the very clear and obvious to impossibly abstract! Though the music they had to turn down - the vibrations of the thick atmosphere were beginning to overload the dampening systems and one of the delegates almost passed out.

Near the end of the tour, Glenn invited us into his office to show off what his "hobby" is:

"The boys and gals I work with are all talented people, but none of them appreciate the kind of craftsmanship I prefer. It's kind of a ancient art form, you see, high maintenance too, very delicate."

He pulls out a pair of ancient looking projectile weapons, at least judging by the shape, but none of us can quite grasp, aside from the trigger, how it operates. We are all silent as he pours some sort of fine grain from a small bag into the upturned tube then drops a small metal ball and proceeds to jam it further in with a cloth and stick.

"I handcrafted these myself. Sure, I could get a printer to do it and it'd be perfect, but perfection just ain't right when it comes to work of the soul, amirite? I find it therapeutic, to mold the shape, heat the iron, cast the shape, smooth the edges, straighten the barrel, carve the grip, roll the bullets, grind the powder... just..."

He lets out a long sigh of relief? satisfaction? euphoria? as he gazes with great affection at the pair of devices in his hands. We feel the urge to end the tour. Like. Right now. But Glenn insists on a demonstration. We hesitantly follow him to a largely empty room below where he sets up a couple of small wooden block on a pedestal. As he points one of the devices and is about to pull the trigger, he stops, looks back at us and says:

"Almost forgot, you'll want to take a few more steps back and turn your dampeners to max."

Heeding his advice, we do so, and after he appears satisfied with our... safety?... he returns his gaze to the wooden block and pulls the trigger.

[cacophony]

We awaken after a short while, the sturdier of our fellow delegates say the rest of us were out for just a few moments, but the ringing reverberation of the shockwave through the Human atmosphere still resonates throughout our bodies. Glenn, worry in his eyes, is apologizing profusely:

"Oh I am so sorry, I didn't think you'd still react so poorly. Is anyone hurt? I even put in less gunpowder than normal, but I guess that's still too potent. I--I'll file an official apology and compensate for any damages I may have caused to any of you. I will take full responsibility for this incident. Please do not think poorly of us as a whole due to the willfulness of one individual, it was never my intention to inflict any injury on anyone."

---Later---

After a thorough medical examination, it was determined that only a few delegates suffered a minor case of shock, which was alleviated rapidly at their respective medical stations. Ambassador Glenn York was reprimanded and sent back to Earth, a replacement will arrive shortly. The one permanent remnant of the incident is the wooden block that was struck by Glenn's pistol - now put on a small display in one of the inner rooms of the Human embassy. The bullet still embedded half-way and the splinters it shot out arranged in a chaotic manner, befitting an explosion, down in front.

[prince-kallisto]

Crowley’s Gibier (A Follow-Up to the Soup Theory)

In the Magic Assault Practice event, Crowley begins with a speech that lasts four minutes- much like the Culinary Crucible event! But what truly shocked me was how he begins this event talking about how he visited a “gibier speciality restaurant.” This seemed like just him making an excuse to speak about food, but then Crowley begins getting oddly specific about the handling of gibier.

Gibier is wild game meat (aka animals hunted in the wild) which is Crowley’s favorite food!

But then, Crowley gets into more detail aboht the background process of handling such meat. He says “that the meat would get tough and smell foul if it’s not treated properly, in a process that requires techniques based on experience.”

He also says something along the lines of “there are many situations in which difficult decisions must be made on-site, and it is not something that can learned overnight,” and that it’s true craftsmanship that he’s in love with.

HM??

As the title to this theory suggests, this is a follow up to a previous theory regarding the significance of soup to Crowley, and why he repeatedly mentions it. I highly, highly recommend reading that previous theory first, as it gives far more context to what I’m talking about now! In that post, I mentioned that Crowley’s preference for wild meat, and the implications that he can eat inedible things like a crow/raven could, reminded me a lot of General Lilia’s habits of cooking rats and lizards. As soldiers on the field, they would have had to hunt for their meat in the wild, aka wild game.

So why does Crowley speak so heavily in several lines in the preparations of this, especially in how it’s based on experience? They way Crowley speaks of the smell and texture seems to imply that he’s experienced handling wild game himself many times before in order to gain this experience.

Crowley himself says that gibier/wild game involves handling several types of meat. This can include pheasants, quails, deer/venison, waterfowl, rabbit, hare, squirrel, elk, alligator etc. etc. Crowley doesn’t specify which type he is familiar with, but if he does indeed have first hand experience with the handling of freshly hunted meat, then I will safety assume that it includes some species of bird and some land animals.

It is also uncertain if the meat he is referring to is truly fresh from the hunt (meaning it would have to be plucked/skinned), or already prepared through machinery. But then, when Crowley says “there are many situations where difficult decisions must be made on-site,” it makes me think that he’s referring to the meat truly fresh from the hunt. And because he refers to treating and processing, I feel more positive on this idea!

Tw for mentions of deer preparation (not detailed) post-hunt all in the one paragraph below

I will be using deer/venison as an example, since it’s one of the most types of wild game. But Crowley says the meat would smell foul and be tough if not treated properly. I’m assuming he’s referring to the “dressing” of the meat, which means gutting the animal and then cooling the meat. Since Crowley refers to difficult decisions made on site, dressing a deer has to be soon or else there is the high risk of the meat spoiling and smelling foul and becoming slimy. Deer does indeed has a strong “gamey” smell, but the meat actually spoiling is what Crowley may be referring to. The temperature of the site you are working in is a huge factor in this, and the gutting is necessary to get rid of the body heat inside the deer. In just 20 minutes, there can be a huge spread in bacteria which can end up spoiling the meat and making it unsafe to eat. Magic in this world certainly helps with the cooking factor, as ice can be conjured up easily. But back to the difficult decisions, just a different of 10 degrees (Fahrenheit btw) can make a huge difference in the urgency that a deer would have to be taken care of. Additionally, the shot placement can have a huge impact on how quickly the bacteria may spread, necessitating quick work in gutting. And then Crowley refers to “processing,” meaning the deer would have to skinned and aged and cut, where a lot of other decisions would have to made too.

Now, Crowley being an gibier enthusiast may give him the knowledge of what gibier is supposed to taste like, but I was truly shocked at his words perhaps implying that he’s done it himself to the point of gaining experience.

But then I remembered General Lilia speaking of how he doesn’t care much for more refined cooking and meals. It was to the point that Meleanor complained of the dried meat was hard and salty. Dried is of course tougher and high in sodium, but there can be a lot of mistakes made when drying the meat. Over drying it can make the meat lose far too much moisture and become brittle, which sounds even worse if it was over salted. This, or his cuts of meat were too inconsistent, causing some slices to be taste over salted if they were cut too thinly. Lilia is also surprised by Silver, Sebek, and Yuu’s cooking as well, where the meat is tender and not dry at all- further implying that the meat he cooks is quite the opposite and just lacking in the detailed preparation Crowley speaks of. (Credits to Otome Ayui for the translation 🙏💖🐦‍⬛)

Lilia then says that after the dried meat fiasco, Levan summoned a pot to make soup. Now I am wondering if Levan made the soup from the dried meat/jerky. To fix overly salty dried meat, the salty coating can be rinsed, but sometimes when it’s so tough that rinsing it can’t fix it, it can be a great addition to *soup.* The soaking would rehydrate the meat and lessen the intensity of the sodium, while also providing a good flavor to the soup. So Levan could’ve fixed this situation with the easy solution- because he has the knowledge and experience to do so!

NAIFJZJDJCF THIS COULD BE ONE OF THE “DIFFICULT DECISIONS MADE ON SITE” THST CROWLEY WAS REFERRING TO!! If they already had dried meat, it would be too time consuming to try and gather more food. So Levan took this bad situation of overly salty and tough meat, and repurposed it inside the soup he prepared…it was quick and experienced thinking on his end!!!

BUT THEN, in Crowley’s personal story with his new SSR card, he speaks AGAIN about wild game meat! Vargas shares this trait with him- which makes sense since he twisted from Gaston. But Crowley is not only familiar with deer meat, but many other kinds as well, reaffirming what I said above regarding his experience. This scene is also where he’s eating meat pie. And back to his speech in the Magic Assault Practice event, he mentions that he frequents restaurants specializing in gibier (Credits to Otome Ayui again!!)

I am a firm believer that Crowley’s mentions of food is significant to his story. Food is prominently presented in Twisted Wonderland as vital to the character’s backstories and even their relationship with other characters, which fits the belief in psychology that food is related to memories of an experience- instead of just the actual flavor.

(This below is copied from the previous theory I was mentioning just because I think it’s a really important point):

“Think of what the strawberry tart meant to Riddle, for example. Of the tart's forbidden sweetness, of how he disobeyed his mother just wanting to be with his friends. Or even Malleus with his disliked food being "full-sized birthday cake" and his favorite being shaved ice, and how these experiences came from being alone on his birthday!”

“TWST uses food in their storytelling very deliberately- not only for backstory/memories but for character relationships. Think of how Cater pretended to like sweet things when in actuality he despised them and only Trey noticed it (relating to his own personality of being trendy and cool, but rather detached to the people around him), and sweet things brought back memories of how his sisters used to force him to eat sweets that he didn't even like. OR how Kalim's least favorite food is curry, because Jamil was once put into a coma after taste-testing Kalim's poisoned curry. But hey, even though curry was banned in Kalim's banquets because Kalim was so terrified from the incident, Jamil's favorite food is curry anyway! Or Azul's favorite food being friend chicken disliked food being "healthy foods" despite constantly eating it due to his weight insecurities. Jade and Floyd's favorite foods relating to octopus. Trey and Vil even have stories as to why they hate MUSTARD AND MAYONNAISE”

“This is not just for the students, but for the staff too.Trein's vichyssoise establishes him as a traditional and old-fashioned (and "elegant") man, Vargas' raw eggs and Sam's chicken gumbo connects them to the movies they're twisted from (frog meat is said to have the texture and a bit of the flavor of chicken. So Sam's favorite food being chicken gumbo is a sly way to imply the frogs from the film!)”

“And in the end, there is the soup, the tomatoes stew and juice, and the wild game meat. If something as specific as a full sized birthday cake means something significant to a character, why not the specification of wild game? It's just..interesting that Crowley's mentions of food ties back in some way with the very very few mentions that Lilia makes regarding Levan.”

Okay copy-paste over haha, but I’m just so intensely interested by the recent repeated mentions of Crowley’s wild game. It’s a very, very subtle potential hint- but that’s why I so firmly believe it what I just said above. The soup from the previous theory, and now wild game being mentioned over and over and over again, in his voiceline, the Magic Assault event, and now his personal story- much like the soup that mentioned in the game, novel, AND manga. So…Crowley potentially having first hand experience for preparing wild game on site could mean a lot here.

At first, it may seem like an unexpected decision for his character, but I think with the right context, it could make a lot of sense…he is a crow/raven (these corvids scavenge for obviously raw carcasses), but values the proper preparation of wild game and acknowledges how it is a craft to be valued in itself. He likely has a respect for the nature of these animals, understanding the proper yet difficult care needed for them.

And considering Crowley is such a huge fan of meat, I wouldn’t be surprised if he ate more “unusual” parts of the animals as part of his belief, like the heart, liver, gizzard, tripe, tongue, neck, etc etc. (In many parts of America these are considered unusual haha, but this was not a rare sight to me at all growing up and frequenting cultural markets!) No part of the animal is to be wasted, even if others consider some parts to be “undesirable” and thus thrown away. Animals are not just hunted for their hide or feathers- instead, as many parts of them are saved and utilized as part of the respect for it. And as we see in Briar Valley through Lilia’s dream, the Fae here have a high respect for nature, and part of their hatred for the Silver Owls is their disrespect for it and how they’ve been ruining their land that they live off on and have cared for for centuries. So…perhaps I am looking too deep as usual LMAO, but I really do appreciate the respect given to nature in this way.

And actually, also to my previous theory…it’s becoming more possible that Crowley wanting to eat Grim was not just a joke from him haha…😰 He could be fully capable of actually cooking him in a stew like he says >_> Oh and, the MASTERCHEF Grim card was just dropped for the 4th anniversary…it’s all about food 👀

Anyway, Crowley please cook me a soup yourself. I need to know what your cooking abilities are like…

[shiyorin]

#Fulgrim x Reader

#I don't know what else to say but it's just Fulgrim and the way he appreciates your beauty.

#TW: Foot fetish :v

"Hold still." Fulgrim murmured, his voice reverberating with the faintest undercurrent of reverent focus.

You didn't pay his gentle admonition any heed. You lounged indolently upon the sleekly curved divan, hair disheveled and spilling. One shapely leg kicked out at an indolent angle, sole flexing as though to dislodge the embroidered confection of ribbons and organza puddling about your ankles.

Pursing his lips, the Phoenician found himself reaching out to steady that recalcitrant limb, chiding his guest. "My dearest, you must remain composed if I'm to properly attire you."

Your eyes slitted open at that, glinting with indolent amusement. "Must I?" You reply, somehow infusing even those two simple words with silken intimations. "And why should I?"

Had it been anyone addressing him in that tone, Fulgrim might have dismissed them from his presence then and there. But not you. No, toward you he could only sigh with a mixture of exasperation and sublime fascination, conflicting psycho-sculpted vectors tugging him in myriad directions at once.

"Because this night's very important," he explained for what felt like the hundredth time that hour. And for perhaps the hundredth time as well, Fulgrim found his gaze drifting downward over the perfection of your form. From the artful tumble of shimmering tresses to the exquisite hollow of throat and collarbones, all the way down to the ... full swell of...

"You need not demean yourself so, my lord."

Your low, throaty voice rippled as the primarch of the Emperor's Children knelt before your form. Still, you made no move to halt his ministrations or avert your shapely limbs from his attentions.

"Nonsense," the Phoenician throwing you a smile that could disarm worlds. "It is no indignity to bask in sublime beauty and assist in rendering it transcendent."

A delicate smile at that polished retort. "I had expected you of all the primarchs to disdain such... posturing."

If your words landed true, Fulgrim gave no indication. He continued deftly clasping the delicate chains braided from liquid shadow composite to your mirrsilk bodysuit. Each glinting loop spilled outward like baroque silvered vines from the highly articulated armor plates protecting your ankles.

"Posturing?" The primarch arched one perfect, sculpted eyebrow in an aristocratic moue of surprise. "My dear, assisting you in accentuating your exquisite conformation is art of the highest caliber."

Fulgrim paused in trailing his masterful fingertips along the lush, flawless contours of your calf muscle. For a fleeting moment, his noble visage flickered barely perceptible acknowledgment that you had scored a glancing blow with your provocations. Just as quickly, however, that momentary pique faded beneath the Phoenician's typical aura of unshakable poise.

"I don't merely endeavor to enhance your sublime beauty out of empty ritual." he clarified, steadily working the umbrahyde ribbons further up your leg. "Rather, I seek to elevate it to the masterwork it deserves."

The primarch shook his head minutely, allowing several perfectly-coiffed strands of silken platinum to fall charmingly across his brow. He hadn't summoned his entire coterie of beautifiers and augmenated ordators for this affair, only his most trusted serfs. Adorning true, living art required focus and reverence beyond what most anyone could muster.

Pick up the ankle-length indigo striders with the same reverence as handling sanctified gene-wrought. Chemos worked every rivet and nanosynthesized composite fiber with their most skillful arts. Even on the field of apotheosis, no detail was too insignificant nor craftsmanship not elevated into a breathtaking masterpiece.

But compared to the transcendent fleshwork that would soon grace these accoutrements, their beauty paled into vapid obscurity. 

Slowly, reverently, with each appreciative caress and brush of finely wrought material over sacrosanct dermis, he felt himself descending into a blissful rapture few mortals had ever experienced.

Through of his eyes, details of imperfection normally invisible to visual spectra alone burned in blinding clarity through his primogenoid senses. Not the slightest defect escaped his adoring scrutiny as your sculpted perfection unveiled itself in achingly slow ceremony.

First the ankles, those deceptively delicate articulation nodes sutured by intricate hyper-density musculature. How he lavished upon them, worshiping every curve while his psyche greedily drank in their elegant sublimity. Then the calves, wherein bulged and beauty beyond mere human comprehension. Fulgrim's hands roamed across each subtly undulating contour and veinridge.

Next came the magnificence of your thighs, a masterwork of helice and kinesis that stole both breath and soul with its supreme proportions. Such gracious lines and mesmerizing flexion, profiles carved by a billion recursive movements and honed into perfect design.

These were the idealized aesthetics for which any crudely-conceived "masterpieces" could only ever remain a pale imitation. Your body constituted a living canvas of sacred and perfection resonating at the exalted wavelengths of universal beauty....

"You're staring again."

Your voice sliced through the contemplative silence like a razor-edged sibilance. Fulgrim blinked, only just realizing his thought.

"Apologies." the noble primarch offered with an elegant dip of his perfect features. "You'll have to forgive an artist's momentary rapture when confronted with such a breathtaking subject."

Then, with a courtly flourish utterly at odds with his preceding transformation, the Lord of the Third raised your fingers to his full, sensuous lips. Jeweled irises of amethyst glowed with inner luminescence as he pressed a kiss to your silk glove.

"Come." he urged. "They await an introduction..."

[oh-its-souichi]

Brainrot

Astarion x reader

Astarion cast his eyes towards you. You were sitting around the fire next to wyll, a cup in your hand. The firelight reflected up into your face and lit it up, warming it, so much so he noticed your cheeks faintly flushed with warmth. That or it was the product of the wine that sloshed around in your cup. A half smile danced on his lips, and he turned his head to rid of it. Here he was casting googly eyes at a girl he had only bedded... once... only once. He brought his eyes back to the fire and wondered what you saw when you looked at him. Did you ever sneak glances at him? And if you did what did you see.

He hadnt seen his reflection in ages.

With a sigh, he rose from his spot around the fire, making his way to his tent. Unbenounced to him, your eyes flicked to him, a troubled look forming on your face.

At his tent, he snatched his hand mirror and held it at eye level. At first, he felt nervous to look into the reflective surface because what if his face did appear. Would he recognize himself or recoil in horror at the monster he became. He studied gold metal that made up the handle for a second being inpressed with the craftsmanship of the filigree engraved into the handle and the metal incasing the mirror. He wondered if the craftsman thought, maybe even cackled at the joke of a situation Astarion found himself in. His eternal life robbed him of his early memories, each year thing grew fuzzier and fuzzier until they were gone. Becoming more and more detached. What good would looking in a mirror do anyway if he were to catch a glimpse of himself would he recognize it anyway?

He brought his eyes up to look and at first only saw the glow of the underdark, the mushrooms and algea, and plants he didn't know, producing a plethora of colors. Lighting up the haunting purple darkness that surrounded. Though it was muggy and squishy and overall gastly smelling. There was something very beautiful about the underdark. He felt his mind wandering back to you and wondered if if you lived in a place like this before the parasite and once this was all over if thays where you would return... for from everything.. far from him.

He cast his eyes down for a moment but brought them back up, and when he did, there you were. You stood in the reflection of the mirror. He felt his face soften, and he couldn't help but think you looked so beautiful here. The pink glow of a plant behind you shone behind you, illuminating your grey-purple skin tone. Creating a pink rim around the tip of your white hair. "What are you doing with that?" You asked a curious look on your face. He sighed and dropped the mirror, turning to face you. "Fixing my hair, of course," he teased, but his voice lacked the enthusiasm required to convice you he felt okay about things. "Do you miss it?" You asked and he furrowed his brow. "Miss what darling?"

You motioned to the mirror with your hand. "Looking at yourself," He frowned. "Of course I do! I was very beautiful, I am still very beautiful. It would be nice to induge in some petty vanity from time to time!" He exclaimed, waving the mirror around. You squinted at him, seeming to look very closely. Your multicolored eyes peered into him, discected him alive. "What is it?" he said, turning his head aside, bashful. He felt pitiful. "Im just looking," you said with a pleased look on your face. You seemed to have no intention of telling him your thoughts, and felt perfectly comfortable keeping the words and opinions, conceptions, and judgments swirling around in your head. He motioned his arms at you dramatically "and?"

"I think you're very beautiful." You stated, and his heart was set to ease. He relaxed his shoulders, and a sly smile formed on his face. "Is that right, what else do you see?"

"Your smile, I like its sharpness"

"...and what else?"

Your hair and how it curls and waves." You reached out and ran your fingers through his hair. A pleasurable chil ran down his spine, and he closed his eyes to the sensation. Your touch was so gentle for a second that he thought this must be what it's like to be cherished. When you pulled your hand away, he was brought down from his high. "Not very fair of you, darling," he purred, and you smiled. "Im going to head back to my tent, I hope you sleep well." He stared at you in disbelief, after all that you were just going to walk away? You stepped to leave but he grabbed your hand. "Now, wait a second, you aren't going anywhere." He said "why walk the mighty distance to your tent when I have a perfectly good one here" he motioned "plus you cant just make me feel like that and walk away" his tone failed him again and what was meant to be a seductive tone came out more a s a cry for help.

You looked thoughtfully at him and then nodded. "I guess you're right, thebothers are-" You turned your head, glancing back at Wyll and Karlach, who sat half dazed by the fire. The others quiet in their tent. "-mostly asleep." Astarion brought his hand up to your chin and held it. "I dont care about the others, now come," he said, sliding his hand down and interlocking it to yours. You hesitated and he wanted to sob "I need to get my thi-" He cut you off shaking his head "no need, I have everything, borrow my shirt, my damn toothbrush, whatever you'd like." He said, and you laughed, a sound so sweet. "My gods, would you like to carry me in as well, take off my shoes and undress -" you stumbled on your words, and he eyed you dangerously. Mischief lurking. "You needent even ask, of course I do," he purred, easily scooping you up into his arms. He carried you into his tent and closed the flap door behind him. Gently, he set you down on the cushion of his bed and fascinated the string at the bottom of the door down. "Astarion I was-" you started but he shushed you, turning around. He slipped off his own boots then knelt down in front of you and started on yours. You cheeks burned pink and you quickly turned your head, avoiding his gaze. "Stubborn girl" he chuckled, discarding the left and then the right. "I can do it myself, you know" you said. He crawled up your legs and brought his lips inches from yours. "I know you can" he said. A smile came onto your face and you wrapped your arms around him neck, gently pressing his lips to yours. He deeped the kiss, his hands easily undoing your pants, pulling them down without ever losing you. You kicked them off the rest of the way. He reached for your shirt, looking down as he lifted the fabric off of you but froze. His eyes widened, the right side of your abdomine was splotted with large, deep blue bruises. They ran down onto your legs. You had a gash across your ribs as well that looked like it had been hastily stitched up.. He hadnt realized you had been battered from the scuffle earlier. "The hells you madwomen why didnt you say anything." He scolded, and you shrugged. "I took a potion after the fight, it will all be healed after I sleep"

He shook his head, running his fingers along the bruises. "No, this won't heal entirely in that time, and you are quite aware of that." He sighed. He took the remainder of your clothes off and then started to strip himself of his own. He gently nudged you to lay down. He took his place next to you and wrapped his arms around you tightly. "We can still-"

"No, I won't ravage you when you're... well already quite ravaged, " he mummbled, burying his face in your hair. You laughed, and he felt himself smiling. A wave of exhaustion crashing over him. You closed your eyes and nestled against his chest, your finger making their way back to his hair raking gently across his scalp. Goosebumps rose all over hia body and he sighed, feeding off of the sensation, a blessing. He kissed your forehead, falling into affection, so naturally, it scared him. Why was it so wasy with you. He was scheduled to die via mindflayer parasite. Why was he perfectly happy right now? Why did he thank those tentically bastards for infecting him and bringing him to you? He slid his arm underneath your neck and rested his hand on the back of your head, pressing you closer to him. "What color were your eyes before" you asked him and he opened his eyes staring the the wall of the tent. "I dont remember," he sighed. "My old life bled out from me a long time ago." You tipped your head back and looked into your eyes. One way crimson red and the other amynethest purple. He had never noticed that before. In fact he never noticed what color your eyes were at all. It burned him to hold you so close but have you be so far away, so unknown at the same time. "You've kept yourself pretty well hidden away. What wounds do you keep?" He asked and you xhuckled. "Is that your wau of asking me to tell you about myself?"

"Well I couldnt just come out and say yhay darling, its not in my character" he groaned, his voice getting more gravely with his in reaing yearn for sleep. You sighed. "I grew up in Zirnakaynin, in the middle class partion of the city" Astarion hummed, listening to your words "its chaos down there, so Ive heard" you nodded against his chest. "Yes, its beautiful." He chuckled at your and rolled onto his sid, enttrapping you in both of his arms. "Drow were the boogeyman when we were young. The rumors of bloodbaths and cities of unregulated choas and a the pitiful deaths of outsiders. Real divas of the elven world. When my mother first informed me of them i practically shi-" his words caught in his throat and echoed in his skull, the word "mother" reverberating off the bone. A wink of a memory passed him by, to quick for him to grasp it. Since when did he remember a mother.

He sat in silence and seeming to pick up on his sudden distress you picked the conversation back up. "I moved to Menzoberranzan into my adolescence and stayed. It didn't compare to my home, but I found peace with it. My life has been good." You said simply, and it almost annoyed him, your lack of misery. "The city of spiders," he said, and you nodded, silent. "You swore in then, I presume, that does explain your eye." He looked down at you and saw your one red eye almost glowing up at him. In the tales he had head, Lolth marked her followers with red glowing eyes, intimidation in the dark of whatever. "Yes, that would be the time" you said. He felt a little shift in your tone. He seemed to have hit a sore spot, maybe you were miserable after all.

In the silence that grew, the two of you found sleep nestled in one another. The morning came, and when he awoke you were gone.

When he emerged from his tent, he almost felt disappointed not to see the sun. It was still the glowing, muggy darkness. Having been in the sun so much recently, he forgot how much he missed it. He missed waking up to warmth on his face. This region wasn't overly chilly. Where you camped now was actually oddly warm, grossely warm. Like walking into a bathroom filled with the steam of someone elses bathwater.

He shivered at the thought, then pictured walking into you in a warm bath and figured it not to be so bad. Astarion took a few steps forward but stopped when he noticed Wyll walking his way with a puzzled look on his face. Astarion walked towards him, meeting him halfway. "I'd say by the look on your face you request my attention," astarion smiled, boastful. "Yes, actually," Wyll said, coming to a halt. "I haven't seen y/n this morning, I have matters to discuss with her," he said. Astarions face dropped. Like a baloon being popped, he deflaited. Suspicious of what Wyll would want with you. He was handsome and noble, he saw you two talking but not in the way you talked with Astarion. Did he plan to snatch you up? "Why?" Astarion said, tone flat. Wyll cocked his eyebrow at him. "I assure you it's only business," he said, putting his hands up. A half smile came to his face. "I seem to have struck a cord. I didn't realize the two of you were involved, an interesting choice on her part." He chuckled

Astarion scoffed, "you've not only struck a cord you've broken the whole damn string!" He said storming off, once he got a ways away he stopped and turned pointing. "And we are not involved! Officially, at least." He hollered and continued his storming. Wyll held his hands up a smile on his face. "An interesting time this is," he chuckled and continued on his search.

You were at the far side of camp bathing in the dark waters of a small waterfall nearby. Hot springs were not common up top, so you were happy to be able to bath in warm water. You currently laid back with your head on a mushroom. You would cross the lake today to fight, so you wanted to enjoy this time alone to recuperate. You out some warm wet moss over your eyes and let yourself get lost in the warmth of the water. So lost you didn't hear the pair of feet co.ing towards you. Two pairs of feet, to be exact...

Astarion was the first to waltz up, and he felt like his prayers had been answered. You were submerged in the dark water but he could see enough to know you had no clothes on. Thoigh he could do without the pond scum you have covering your eyes. "My fancy running into you here" he said, sauntering over. You shot up. Ripping the green shit off of your face. You stood before him fully exposed, and he could only grin. "You sacred me, wreched man!" You exclaimed. You wet hair clung to your soulders, some of it still hanging down your back. You looked delectable. He dry throb hit his throat and he was overcome with the urge to taste you. "May I jo-" suddenly a twig snapped behind him and he turned his head.

Wyll walked up the trail, his eyes widening when he laid eyes on you. "Hey, wyll," you said, and he turned away. "Pardon my intrusion. I didn't think of the state you would be in." Astarion scoffed. "Dont 'hey Wyll' him, get in the water, women! Gods, you are not for everyone to see!"

You smirked and sunk slowly into the water, eyeing Wyll, who remained looking away. "I only came to see what the plan for today is." He said. You sighed and swum back to your original place. " I figured everyone could rest a bit more, pack, and then go. I dont know exactly what we are up against, but if they are foreigners in the underground, without allies, they've got to be the slightest bit tough."

Wyll nodded "I think that sounds fine. Im sorry to interrupt your lovers quarrel." You stuck your hand out. "Think nothing of it, we arent involved."

Wyll nodded and started to walk away hear Astarion shout "Officially, at least." Wyll chuckled, disappearing into camp. Astarion crossed his arms and dramatically turned his head in the opposite direction of you. You eyes him blankly. "Astarion, what is it?" You said having an inkling what his dilemma was. "You are so quick to shoot us down in front of Wyll. So maybe it's him, you fancy." He said keenly, aware he did the same things mere minutes before. You hesitated on your words. You hadnt mean to hurt his feeling. You just thought it best to keep your perso al business out of the parties. "I-" You started to say but spotted a small smile threatening to form on his lips. "You tyrant, Astarion, get in the water with me and stop with your brooding." you said, words targeted. At this point you knew how to ease him, compliments and affection, love and understanding. Astarion looked to you with a wicked smile. "Now that's what I like to hear, my darling" he started to strip off his clothes and submerge himself into the water. At first, he shivered at the warmth, and then his face relaxed. "This damn parasite has made my skin so sensitive, I can feel everything, I could barely feel a thing before." He muttered, cozying himself up to you.

...

The fight hadn't gone well for you. Well, the party won against Nere but YOU personally were tore up, Karlach as well. You had expected that from a fellow Drow and part of you felt prideful, your kind still held up their scary reputation.

You laid on the stone floor of the temple blood oozing out of your side just below the platform where the others were. You had been trapped in a corner away from the rest with Nere, and he shoved you off the side with a bash to your head. You figured he lured you, but you didn't know. You didn't think the others knew where you were, though, but you didn't pay that mind. sweat dripping from your forehead. Lava surrounded the platform, and with all the blood you lost and the suffocating heat you felt so painfully ill. You turned your head to the side and could hear Gale dumping something and his magic whirl. "She should be alright. We need to get to camp and leave before any more show up." He said. "Wait.." he muttered."Astarion wheres Y/N"

"She right..." Astarion said, and you thought you heard concern in his voice. "Where the hells is she?" he said. You couldn't hear Karlach and wondered if she was alright. Your thought faded away as the heat below you zapped away your strength. You were so hot, the metal of your armor stated to burn your skin, and you wished you could strip yourself of it. A small groan left your lips. Despite the pain, your eyes started to grow heavy, and your vision blurred. You wondered if you were just extremely tired or dying. You didn't expect to die in a battle so small, so unimportant to the grand scheme of things. To die in pursuit of finding a cure so you sidnt die by the parasite lodged in your brain. A small smile came to your lips, and you giggled. "How funny," you said. Your eyes closed and from above you - you thought you heard someone speaking. "You can't die damn you," they seemed to be saying, but the voice was too far away.

...

Astarion and Gale dragged the both of you back the camp. Karlach was just alright, unconcious and still bleeding, but her survival was pretty much guaranteed. You, on the other hand, the others weren't so sure.

Your legs and right arm were badly burned. You had severe trauma to the back of your head. The healing spells Gale and Shadowheart cast on you seemed to be lightening the load of the injuries, so they were still so bad. Astarion stood outside of your tent biting his fingernails. A disgusting habit, he seemed to have picked up from the stress. It sickened him but here he was gnawing and gnawing. He spit one of his fingernails out and peered out into camp. His mind whirled. There was still so much to do, so much more ground to cover. He mused, guardians and the parasite be damned, he might sneak you away in the night and take you back to your city. The two of you could live tofether in the darkness, away from all of this. When he first saw you laid below the platform smoking and burnt he was furious. How dare you go ahead and make him care just to die in front of him, just to cause him more pain. That feeling faded quickly away from him though, now he wanted to coddle you, rob you of your pain.

Gale was in with you now, and Astarion waited impatiently outside. He was casting more healing spells. He prayed to whoever that these ones would be enough.

Gale came out a few moments later and sighed. "I think she'll be alright," he said, putting his hand on astarions shoulder. A tsunami of relief crashed over him. He wanted to sob and scream. He didn't, though. Instead, he looked at his nails. "We arent involved, if thats what your touching up is about" he said and Gale scoffed "oh dont act nonchalant, youve stood outside her tent for three days now, sighing and gnawing" Astarion scoffed "Oh pardon me for looking after my party Mr. Calm and collected, Im not gnawing anyway Im-" there was a rustling behind the two. They whipped around started by the sudden intrusion. You emerged from the tent, and though you were so beautiful to him, Astarion thought you looked like shit. "Darling ypu mus'ent be standing." he rushed to your side, putting his arm behind your back. "Im alright, Im-" you weakly protested, but he shushed you. "No, tent now." He instructed, and you sighed.

[visit-new-york]

How tall are the towers of the Brooklyn Bridge?

The Brooklyn Bridge, an iconic symbol of New York City, stands as a testament to the ingenuity and craftsmanship of its builders. Completed in 1883, this marvel of engineering connects the boroughs of Manhattan and Brooklyn, spanning the East River. Among its distinctive features are the two majestic towers that anchor the bridge and have become iconic elements of the city's skyline. In this article, we delve into the heights of these architectural wonders and explore the significance they hold in the history of bridge engineering.

Historical Background:

Designed by John A. Roebling, a German immigrant and civil engineer, the Brooklyn Bridge was envisioned as a suspension bridge that would surpass any of its kind in existence. Tragically, Roebling died during the early stages of construction due to a ferry accident, leaving the project in the capable hands of his son, Washington Roebling.

Construction of the Towers:

The construction of the towers began in 1870 and required immense precision and skill. The towers were built on massive caissons—watertight chambers that were sunk to the riverbed and filled with compressed air to keep water out. These caissons served as the foundation for the towers and were an engineering feat of their own.

Tower Heights:

The Brooklyn Bridge towers stand at impressive heights, contributing to the bridge's grandeur. The height of each tower from the riverbed to the top of the parapet is approximately 276 feet (84 meters). The clearance above the mean high water level is about 119 feet (36 meters). These dimensions make the Brooklyn Bridge towers not only a visual spectacle but also a technical accomplishment considering the technology available during the late 19th century.

Architectural Details:

The Gothic-style arches and intricate stone detailing on the towers add to their aesthetic appeal. The limestone and granite used in construction were sourced from locations in the United States, giving the bridge a distinctly American character. The towers were designed not only to be functional but also to serve as iconic landmarks that would endure the test of time.

Symbolic Significance:

Beyond their architectural and engineering significance, the towers of the Brooklyn Bridge hold symbolic value for the people of New York City. They represent the spirit of innovation, resilience, and the unyielding determination of the individuals who contributed to the bridge's construction. The completion of the Brooklyn Bridge marked a turning point in bridge engineering, setting new standards for future projects.

Conclusion:

The towers of the Brooklyn Bridge stand as enduring symbols of human achievement and perseverance. Their heights not only physically connect the boroughs of Manhattan and Brooklyn but also bridge the gap between the past and the present. As we marvel at the skyline of New York City, the Brooklyn Bridge towers continue to inspire awe and admiration, reminding us of the timeless beauty and engineering prowess that went into their creation.

[askganon]

Savasaaba, Lord Ganon

I have a query for you regarding Gerudo dress. What is the process of creating garments of such elegance?

I have also been surprised and fascinated by the obviously superior craftsmanship of your people's weapons, and would appreciate any information.

Respectful Regards,

Rosellea-Travelling Historian

It is quite interesting actually. Our basic linens used for vestments and casual wear are made from flax-like plants that grow hither and thither throughout the desert. The silks required for our more elegant garments are harvested from darner larvae.

As for our weaponry, our ore is weathered by wind and sand before we can mine it, granting a higher yield to aerodynamics. We also inlay weaponry with sand before heating it, making sure the graduals enter the small imperfections in the blades' surface. When heated and tempered, the sand becomes slivers of glass, which cause more harm to our enemy's flesh even after combat.

[wanderingmind867]

Part 4 of my Greek family tree thing. I took a break from it because it was getting kind of dull and it required a lot of wikipedia searching. But I've come back for part 4. The least I can do is discuss the first 12 Titans briefly. So here we go (note: this took me nearly two hours to write):

Gaia and Ouranos had lots of children (including the Cyclopses and the hundred-handed ones) but their most famous children were the 12 Titans. Six male, six female. In order from oldest to youngest (well, with Oceanus as eldest and Kronos as the youngest. I don't know the others) they were:

Oceanus: Oceanus seems like the most gentle of all of Gaia and Ouranos's sons. Being the oldest, perhaps Oceanus had a maturity the others didn't. Oceanus didn't participate in the attack on his father (he was the only one of the six male titans who didn't participate in the attack), and he also didn't any sides during the first titan war. Perhaps this is why there's no indication Oceanus was punished in any significant way. Unlike his brothers, I'm assuming he got amnesty for staying neutral.

Tethys: Tethys would end up as Oceanus's wife. They were both Titans of the water. According to her wikipedia page, Tethys nursed Helios and Selene for her sister Theia. Her and Oceanus may have also raised Hera while Zeus was fighting Kronos. Wikipedia mentioned something about that.

Hyperion: Titan of Light, he is responsible for most of the gods that represent the cosmos. Him and his wife Theia had three kids: Helios (the Sun), Selene (the Moon) and Eos (the Dawn). Also, Hyperion was guardian of one of the pillars that held up the sky. Him, Crius, Coius and Iapetus were the four Titans in charge of holding up the sky. Hyperion got the Eastern Pillar, making him Titan of the East.

Theia: The Titan in control of sight and vision. Theia is responsible for making precious metals like gold and silver shine the way they do. She made them precious, I suppose you could say. Her and Hyperion were clearly a good pair. Light and Vision, two things very commonly associated with each other.

Coeus: Coeus is the forgotten titan. He's almost never mentioned in the Pjo books, his wikipedia page is much smaller than his brothers, Coeus is clearly very forgettable. Maybe it's because he was one of the middle kids in the titan family. Coeus was also the guardian of the Northern Pillar of the sky, making him Titan of the North. He may have also been the Titan of Knowledge. Apollo, Artemis and Hecate are his grandkids.

Phoebe: Wife of Coeus, Phoebe is also associated with Prophecy. Before her grandson Apollo, Phoebe was the guardian of the Oracle of Delphi. She gave it away to her grandson on one of his birthdays, the same way her sister Themis had given it to her years ago.

Crius/Krios: Titan of the Stars, one of his names (Krios specifically) was supposedly also the Greek word for Ram. Crius is another one that's easily forgotten, but at least he was briefly seem in the Pjo series (that's more than what Coeus got). Crius is also the Titan of the South, holding up the southern pillar of the sky.

Mnemosyne: Titan of memory, Mnemosyne stayed neutral in the Titan war (or fought for the Olympians). We know this because Mnemosyne is also the mother of the nine muses, who were born from Mnemosyne and Zeus.

Iapetus: Titan of Mortality and Craftsmanship, Iapetus was the Titan of the West. He may be seen as humanity's oldest ancestor. To the point where his four children (prometheus, epimetheus, atlas and menoetius) were seen as embodying some of humanity's worst aspects.

Themis: Titan of Justice and Law. Themis would go on to marry Zeus and become his second wife. Fun fact: Themis is still referenced a lot today. Whenever we refer to lady justice, we're probably talking about Themis.

Rhea: Mother of the gods, Rhea plays an important role in the history of Olympus. Also, let's be honest. Rhea probably had an awful life with a husband like Kronos.

Kronos: The youngest of the Titans, Kronos was also the worst of the lot. Kronos was probably the Titan/God of time (unless you think him and Chronos are two different people). Kronos may have also been the god of the harvest. But honestly, he'll always be known for castrating his father and trying to eat his children. Oh, and probably being an abusive husband with that track record.

[gasolinerainbowpuddles]

𝕂𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕥𝕠𝕓𝕖𝕣 🎃💦 ∘₊✧ 𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝟙𝟞 ✧₊

|| ︶꒦꒷𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕥𝕠𝕓𝕖𝕣 𝕞𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥꒷꒦︶ | main masterlist ||

@absurdthirst's Kinktober 2023 Prompts

day 16: Speech/Movement Restriction, Body Worship (Genitals), Vampires/Werewolves

𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐜

| PAIRING(s): Joel Miller x fem!reader | RATING: explicit material | 18+ | WORD COUNT: 1k | CONTENT: Miller Construction Corner type shit, Bob Villa could never, restraints, overstimulation, fluff mixed in with horniness | SYNOPSIS: Joel crafts a custom wood project for you.

It wasn’t often Joel admired his handiwork, but this upholstered bench was quite a work of craftsmanship. Measured and assembled with your specific details in mind, it was a one-of-a-kind, perfect fit. The leather was as smooth and buffed as the sturdy wooden framing, but your bare form bound to the legs was the most impressive sight of all.

The rough drag of a calloused finger across your plush thigh made you jump – well, as much as was possible in your restraints. Joel laughed under his breath, trying to downplay the electric excitement building at seeing you splayed out for him, unable to escape his whims and wishes.

“Not too tight is it?”

You lick your lips, dry from the anticipation of this new experience, and respond, “No. It’s good. It’s comfortable. Sort of.”

Joel smiles to himself. The bench is plenty wide to support your back and adequately support your limbs, but the bend of them where they’re met and tethered can’t much be helped. He took care in making sure it wouldn’t be too extreme of an angle, but he also wanted to ensure every bit of you would be open and accessible.

“That’s real good, honey, 'cause I’m gonna need you to be comfortable when I’m keepin’ you like this for however long I see fit.”

You shiver at his insinuation – being used and pleasured for hours on end with no physical autonomy. Sure, you’d always been into the “kinkier” side of things, but it wasn't until Joel came along that you were actually able to explore them. After all, it required a trustworthy, dedicated partner.

Gone were the days of broaching the topic of less conventional forms of intimacy and getting weird looks from potential partners or, worse, the predatory looks from those who had no intention of building the sort of relationship necessary for these things to be fun for everyone.

Joel was in a league of his own. It wasn’t just the fact that your pleasure enhanced his own pleasure. He took the time and effort to learn things about you, to recognize your tells and likes and dislikes – both in and outside of the bedroom.

“Fuck, you’re so wet already,” he groans when he slips between your thighs and prods at the pooling slick that’s accumulated there just from imagining what he was going to do. “You excited thinkin’ ‘bout how I’m gonna use you, baby?”

“Yes,” you whine, your voice already sounding hoarse from the effort of keeping a level head when Joel was driving you mad.

The blunt strike of his fingernail against your perked nipple draws a restless hiss from your throat. “So fuckin’ sensitive, too,” he muses. He plunges two fingers inside you without warning, hooking expertly on the ridged mound inside of you, and some unfamiliar, guttural sound escapes you.

The pace of his small but precise movements quickly build that pleasant but more pressured heat in your lower belly. “Yeah, that’s it. Lemme hear it.” He sounds drunk on lust and power already. “Always squirmin’ away from me whenever I try to rub it, but ya can’t go nowhere this time, can ya?”

“Oh god! It's so—OH!—”

You’re moaning and crying out, the sensation always having felt like a bit too much to ever enjoy it. You’re not sure if it’s the already charged atmosphere or the mind bending intoxication of Joel exerting himself over you, but the too much feels like it might just be perfectly right this time around.

“I’m–I’m—OH MY GOD!” you scream. 

Joel is glad he had enough sense to install some sound buffering foam to this portion of the basement. “C’mon. Right there, you’re right there.” He somehow doubles down on his effort, and it pays off immediately when the semi-clear liquid starts pulsing out of you.

Your body shakes from where you’re braced against the bench. The sound of Joel’s belt buckle being unfastened snaps your attention back to the moment. Without a word he buries himself into you. A weak moan mixes with his strangled gasp. The drive of his hips is immediately excessive, his voice clipping with something frantic and manic when he speaks.

“Not gonna stop ‘til you tell me those pretty words, baby.”

You slur something incoherent back to him. You both know everything stops the instant either one of you speaks those words, that extra layer of safety and trust.

He grunts in time with the jerk of his hips. There was no hindrance to his range of motion in this angle of working himself between your immobile limbs, and you feel your second orgasm coming on fast. “Fuck, just look at ya. Can’t fuckin’ move. Just gotta take this cock. Can’t do nothin’ but take this cock, huh? Christ you're just wide open for me to take.”

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as your release rockets through your entire body. His fingers dig into your hips where he holds fast as he works you both through your climaxes. His spend coats your walls, and with one last pump he drags himself out. You both make a desperate sound at the separation.

He’s smoothing and pressing bits of his cum back inside you. Your mind is almost completely blank from the whiplash of coming twice so hard and so close together. It’s part of what makes the unhinged noise barrel from your chest when Joel plunges his fingers inside you again and starts the slow, massaging circuit against that same ridged mass.

“Joel,” you choke – plead, really. “I–I can’t. It’s too–I’m—”

He shows no hesitation in his movements, panting and worked over from the already explosive time you’ve had so far.

“Not gonna stop ‘til I stuff you at least one more time, and you better get used to comin’ on these fingers cause I ain’t stoppin’ unless you say the word.”

He works you into another burst of liquid, and the sound of his wrecked approval is enough to make it worth it. He only gives you a short break to take his cock down your throat before he’s working your spent cunt yet again.

Tears trickle down your temples, but you refuse to give in. Not when you finally have someone who has earned enough of your trust to be doing any of this in the first place. No, you will happily endure whatever endurance test and mental marathon Joel sets forth because it’s nice to finally have someone to give this to.

[killuagirly]

I'd love to see the Noah's Ark Circus boys with a girlfriend (or neutral if needed) who is handy with crafts, making blankets, clothes, decor, ect. Please and thank you!

Noah's Ark Circus Boys[Separate] x F!Reader

Summary: Our lovely boys with you, - their girlfriend - who is skilled in the arts and crafts department. What would they think about your artistic talents?

Notes: This is really cute, not to mention I'd love to start up some of these hobbies myself! Crafts require talent and passion; I admire those who are skillful with such things. I can draw pretty decently if I do say so myself, but I'd rather not try making clothes and such. Room decor is kind of fun though? Maybe I just have a short attention span.

CW: Nothing, really.

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Joker

☆ Honestly, Joker would admire your craftsmanship to an extent. He's seen people of all sorts with talents of their own before, but you're much more entertaining to watch. If you're ever working on a multi-day project, Joker makes it a point in his day to come and check up on your progress. He'll ask about your work in detail, even if it was just something silly that you did made up for laughs.

☆ If he ever has the chance too, he'd take a bit of his salary out in order to buy you new materials. It's just as effective as buying the object itself, if not more in his eyes. Then not only can he get you a lil' something, but he can also support you in your interests and hobbies! So considerate of him.

Dagger

☆ Dagger is simply mesmerized by the way you can take turn something so simple into something brand new. If you ever need, he's always got a knife on hand for cutting string, cloth, or whatever else you might need. He's happy to help you out with anything he can!! In a way, Dagger is your own personal assistant whenever he's free.

☆ He definitely has asked you at some point to make him something, saying something like, "'s much better 'en 's made b' y' darlin'! Please?" If he managed to convince you, he'd be overly exciting and in anticipation the whole time you were busying yourself with making his gift. Don't even get me started on how much he would treasure it once it's in his hands, nobody could lay a finger near it.

Peter

☆ In the beginning, Peter plays it off as though he's unamused by your little hobby. It's a bit easy to see through him though, knowing his way of always putting on an uncaring act. He really is interested in the things you make, but not interested enough to invest his time in your projects. If you ever ask him about something you're working on you should expect a, "I d'nt really care. D' whatev'r y' w'nt"

☆ How to really get to him might be gifting him something. I mean, who knew Peter could even get all flustered? He was flattered that you made something for him, but even so he told you not to do it again since, "Y' wastin' y'r time 'nd money," and so on about how he could've just went out and bought something for himself. He's got money now, y'know? Really, he loves that you were thinking about him though.

Jumbo

☆ Jumbo finds your talents adorning and cute. Sometimes he'll sit by your side for hours as you work on different projects, playing his harmonica for you as a source of comforting background music. He'll praise your work and smile at you if you ever ask him for advice, "Y' doin' great already hun," or, "'s lookin' wonderful." Never a negative comment out of his mouth.

☆ His heart melted when he saw you made him something, especially since it's hard to find clothing in his sizes. You could make him a sweater, shirt, pants, scarf, even a pair of gloves and the hearts in his eyes are visible, sweet words coming naturally to him about how much he loves you. Could you get more of an appreciative gentleman? I don't think so.

Snake

☆ Snake enjoys different textures, feeling and touching fabrics and materials you happen to be using. At first he thought you might find his little habit weird, but once he - or rather his snakes - explained how the feeling of his scales against something softer was comforting, he was surprised at your reaction. Why are you asking him to touch different pieces? Why do you care which one he thinks feels the nicest??

☆ One time, you even found Snake snuggling up against a new blanket you had made for him in the fabric he specifically said was his favorite. It was just as adorable as you planned it would be, and you and your beloved now had a new bonding topic. Even if you didn't see the same appeal he did, it was nice to have someone near who would offer their thoughts when asked.

═══════════ ☾ ═══════════

Masterlist

[carnivorousyandeere]

Greetings! I was one of many who put “Not enough! MOARRR 👿” on that poll lol. I don’t ask for much, just a lil smut piece for Brucie plz he’s so UGH- (with love). Amab reader please, you can do the rest as you please! Thanks :D

Of course my love!! Thank you for the request~! 💕💕

It ended up not being so “lil” but I hope that’s okay 😭 (I mean neither is Brucie tho, so 😏).

MDNI

CW: smut, brief hint of having been kidnapped

Info: AMAB reader, gender-neutral reader, bottom reader, jacking off, fingering, sucking off

You and Brucie have been together for a little while now. You’re really starting to get used to him, and your new environment. It’s even… kind of nice, in a way. Like a strange vacation from your previous life.

Your finger traces the rim of the delicate teacup Brucie had handed you to drink from while making breakfast. You look over at him. Brucie is hunched over the stovetop, broad back and shoulders obscuring what exactly he was cooking, but it smells delicious.

You look around at the kitchen around you, settling on the wood grain and smooth finish of the kitchen table, tracing the lines and whorls. You’d asked Brucie about it before, and he’d looked very sheepish but proud as he told you he’d built it by hand. He’d even cut down the trees for wood himself.

It isn’t difficult to imagine Brucie, big and strong as he is, chopping wood and dragging tree trunks around like it’s nothing. Imagining the way his muscles would flex, and how he’d look with sweat running down his temple…

Okay, that part is still easy to imagine, but difficult to think about! It’s hard not to get flustered around Brucie when he’s always so close to you, and thinking about things like that only makes it worse…

The point is, it isn’t difficult to imagine Brucie doing heavy lifting and building sturdy furniture like this. That makes sense in your brain.

But what is more difficult to wrap your mind around is the teacup. And the wooden utensils. He’d made those too— and they were so small, so delicate, and yet so detailed. The teacup was thin and painted with small flowers. The ends of the utensils’ handles were carved in the shapes of different animals. Moose, deer, bears. It was hard for you to imagine this giant man with his giant hands making anything that required such precision.

Brucie walks over and sets a plate of steaming hot food in front of you. It smells fucking delicious. He smiles fondly at the way your stomach rumbles and you dig in.

You finish eating before Brucie does. You notice the plate you’ve practically cleared matches the teacup. It brings your mind back to his craftsmanship. Your eyes wander to his hands.

Brucie’s hands are massive. Broad, thick, and calloused, with little sharp scars crisscrossing his fingers. There is the evidence of his carving work, but it still amazes you to think of those giant hands as being capable of such delicate work.

“Something on your mind, my lil pumpkin pie?”

You cringe at the nickname, looking up to meet his steady gaze.

You gesture to the plate. “Did you… really make all this?”

Brucie blinks and tilts his head. “…Yes? You were sitting in here while I cooked.”

“N-no! I meant the plates and forks and everything…”

Brucie blinks at you again, his expression brightening ever so subtly, “Yes! I made the plate set while thinking of you. The other stuff, I made a long time ago.”

His expression dims a little bit as he thinks about your question further. Brucie does this a lot, holding onto every single word you say. Gnawing on them relentlessly like a dog with a bone. Hell, he even looks like a kicked puppy right now. “Do you not like them?”

You splutter, “What? I never said that! I think they’re pretty. It’s just…”

Your eyes flick to his hands. “It’s just, y’know, kind of hard to imagine you making them. Your hands are so big, and the stuff you make is so delicate.”

Brucie’s expression lights up again, just as quickly as it had fallen. “You think my hands are big? And talented?”

You just stare, caught off guard by his sudden changes in mood and the suggestiveness of his last sentence. Or maybe you were just being pervy, surely Brucie didn’t mean…

“Can I… show you how talented they are?”

~~~

And that’s how you end up naked in Brucie’s lap in the living room. One strong arm around your waist, broad hand splayed across your back to hold you in place, while his other hand teases your cock to hardness.

His big, thick fingers trace gently over the head of your cock, gathering your precum with the tips of his fingers and dragging it down your shaft. Brucie closes his grip and begins stroking you like that, slow and steady. You wiggle your hips against his jeans, sighing at the feeling of his hands.

Your soft sounds spur him on more, and he kisses you while increasing the pace of his hand until you’re whining and panting desperately against his mouth. Everything is so fuzzy, and you’re so close, heat coiling in your gut, and then— Brucie pulls his hand away.

“No, no,” you protest, reaching for his hand to try and drag it back to where you want it.

“Shhhhh. Hey, it’s okay baby. I’ll make you feel even better. Promise.”

He turns and lays you back down on the couch, relishing in the way you grasp at him to try and keep him close. Brucie digs in his pocket, pulling out a bottle of lube and coating his fingers with it. Brucie kisses you again, deeply, as he slowly works his fingers into you one by one.

You moan, hips rocking desperately as his fingers spread you open and work to find your sweet spot. His fingers slide over your prostate and your legs twitch like you’ve been electrocuted, the loudest moan yet leaving you.

Brucie focuses his efforts on that spot, massaging it precisely. Your cries become so frequent and desperate you can’t even kiss him back. Brucie leans his forehead against your shoulder, and looks down to where his fingers are buried inside of you.

He groans. “Fuuuuck, baby, look at you… look at how you’re leaking…”

Brucie moves down, fingers not faltering in the slightest, and leans towards your cock. His beard and lower lip brush against your tip, making you shudder, but he doesn’t take you into his mouth until you plead for him to.

The feeling of his thick fingers inside you and hot, wet mouth around you is overwhelming. You can hardly even recognize the sounds coming out of you as Brucie practically sucks the soul from your body. His tongue is just as talented as his fingers, and soon you find yourself on the edge again.

You tangle your fingers in Brucie’s hair, pulling him down onto you, pleas for him falling from your lips, and he lets you empty your balls down his throat. He continues to suckle at your cock softly as you come down from your high until your hands start pulling him away rather than closer.

Brucie leans his head against your thigh, and slides his hand out of you gently. He looks up at you, eyes dark and satisfied. His beard glistens with your precum and his spit where it rubs against your leg.

Brucie runs his clean hand up your side and back down to hold your hip, rubbing comforting circles into it with his thumb. “You alright, baby? I didn’t go too rough on ya, did I?”

You’re not coherent enough to give a response, but Brucie takes it in stride, picking you up and taking you to the bathroom to clean up, whispering reassuring words against your temple as he carries you.

[arakihorrorzine]

Eddie's a rather tender subject - but these aren't.

On this post, we will answer your questions, comments, and concerns from the interest check! We will add to this post as others come in.

If you have any additional questions, please feel free to send them our way via our ask box, the interest check, or our CuriousCat!

Not only are queer themes allowed, but they're encouraged! This is a Rocky Horror-themed JJBA zine, after all.

This zine is fully LGBTQ+ inclusive (in terms of content and contributors), and you are welcome to explore headcanons or themes related to sexuality, gender, and identity.

We understand the concern, and we agree - that is why we are insisting that all contributors be 18+ by the time zine creation begins (applicants for the potential NSFW zine must already be 18+). This will extend to all individuals shown in cosplay photos.

For applications, your submission will look pretty similar to the writers and artists. You'll need to fill out the form and submit a small portfolio of your work with three featured images. You will not be required to have have cosplayed JJBA or RHPS before, though we would love to see that in a portfolio. What we want to see are pictures that showcase you being confident, creative, and fun! This IS NOT a popularity or craftsmanship contest, so feel free to submit images that incorporate your personal identities, head canons, and take creative liberties.

For submissions to the zine, it us our top priority to maintain your safety while providing you as much freedom and flexibility as possible. Zine submissions should consist of one or two high-quality cosplay photos, or a collage intended to fit on 1-2 pages. Our mod team has envisioned submissions mostly consisting of Jojo's characters combined with the aesthetics and themes of Rocky Horror (e.g. burlesque fashion, integration of a Rocky Horror character, or the utilizing the unique gothic/camp/carnival aesthetics present within the film in some way). But we are flexible and open to different ideas and interpretations!

While we would love to see submissions from cosplay groups, solo submissions work as well! You are not required to work with a photographer, as long as your images are high quality and follow the submission rules.

[abyssalbrews]

High res versions of the art, a Foundry VTT module, and other formats, as well as a full compendium of our items can be found on our Patreon

Honor & Poise

Shortsword & Dagger, rare (requires attunement)

These weapons sing of the elegance of elven craftsmanship as each edge is both beautiful and functional within their design. The shortsword Honor and paired dagger Poise are not just mere showpieces. It’s no doubt that a master smith took their time to craft such blades to serve those who would use them honorably. Though these are two individual weapons, they only take one attunement slot. These weapons are considered magical for purposes of overcoming resistance.

While attuned to these weapons, you can use your reaction once per round to attempt to parry a melee or ranged weapon attack that is targeting you. Make a contested weapon attack roll with Poise versus the attack roll targeting you. If your result is higher, you successfully parry the attack and take no damage from it. Additionally, you gain a charge of Honor on successful parries. If the parry fails, the attack hits normally. You can use this feature a number of times per day equal to your proficiency bonus.

Honor. You can have a maximum of 5 honor charges at any time. Any charges that would be gained beyond 5 are lost. At the start of your turn, you can spend any number of honor charges to gain a +1 bonus to attack and damage rolls made with these weapons, per charge spent. This bonus lasts until the end of your turn.

[see-arcane]

Cannot screenshot all the tags as phone won't let me but wanted to say this is exactly it you Get It and can't wait for what you have to write exploring All That. Also to be fair Mina is smug, she just sometimes goes "Now if you forgive me for bragging...." first

I think it would come down to a very specific arrangement of social factors for her to brag aloud and/or for the Harkers to flaunt their whole deal in the first place. Because yes, Mina is capable of a little social spice...but only before/after some apologetic or self-effacing comment. For Mina to 'brag' about Jonathan would require Jonathan Kool-Aid Manning his way into the setting to show rather than tell.

It goes without saying they're both absolute terrors on Valentine's Day. But Jonathan 'My Inhibitions Died in Transylvania' Harker takes it up a notch by, say, 'accidentally' interrupting a dreary conversation in which sundry aristo friends*** Mina met through Lucy--imagine Marjorie Lindon and Dora Grayling if you can stomach them--are rambling about their respective quote-unquote catches, complete with pity claps for Mina about her little clerk lucking into running his dead boss' business, what a lovely half-step up the ladder, ha ha--

Jonathan, loaded down with roses, a wad of handmade Valentine cards, and a heart-shaped box: "Mina, there you are! I simply couldn't wait until after work to celebrate so I figured I'd take the day off. Here."

Mina, opening the box: "Is that..."

Jonathan: "Chocolates molded in the shape of every car in the new train model you've been eyeing in the shop window since January? Yes. I had to make the molds myself, I do apologize for the amateur craftsmanship. I hope the actual trainset will make up for it. I laid it out around the table at home. Now, how's the taste?"

Mina: "Perfect. Is this Swiss?"

Jonathan: "It is."

Mina: "You should have some yourself."

Jonathan: "If you insist."

Cue an obnoxiously long 'I think I need to get my hand fan out' kiss that has onlookers wondering whether the Harkers have more than human lung capacity. Then Jonathan Spider-Mans them out the window, still kissing.

It does more than any verbal boasting could manage.

[avatarmerida]

Jealous

A short Huntlow oneshot where Hunter and Flapjack decide to coordinate their Halloween costumes. Inspired by this by @astrolavas

So glad it’s Halloween and Flapjack is happy and safe and very much alive

———

“Did you... put a tiny wig on Flapjack?” Gus asked.

Hunter nodded excitedly as he proudly showed the group his latest project. After finding the cardinal suit at the store (and on sale, to top it off) Flapjack had suggested Hunter craft him a costume as well and the opportunity was just too good to pass up. So now, Hunter stood proudly wearing his cardinal costume while Flapjack flew around the room in a tiny blonde wig and white cloth napkin that acted as a cape, the Golden Guard symbol carefully at stitched on the back.

“He insisted on the cape, he thought it was funny.” Hunter explained.

“Where did you even find a wig so tiny?” Gus asked, genuinely impressed.

“I made it out of yarn,” said Hunter, his excitement increasing. “I found a tutorial on the line, and it only took three hours to make!”

“Looks like it was time... well spent.” Amity said gently, impressed by the craftsmanship but still somewhat unsettled by the result.

“Not to mention, we can reuse it in the future,” continued Hunter. “I’m sure there are plenty more human holidays that require elaborate costumes. And I don’t see this bit growing old anytime soon.”

“Um... yeah there’s totally so many times you guys can wear those...” said Luz, giving a look to Amity that suggested otherwise as they all processed to return back upstairs to finish donning their own costumes. “But for real, you guys look great.”

As they went up, the door opened and Willow made her way down.

“Hey Hunter, do you think I could use your sick sewing skills to- oh my Titan,” Willow stopped herself in her track the moment she noticed Hunter and Flapjack’s costumes.

Hunter turned to her and offered her a wide smile, holding his breath for her approval.

“Hunter,” her voice held a serious air for a moment before gradually becoming more bubbly. “You look so... adorable!”

He beamed at her words as she quickly leapt down the stairs to see them better.

“Oh my gosh Hunter, look at you!” She gushed. “So cute and handsome!”

“Well, I don’t know if I’d say cute and handsome,” Hunter replied bashfully, suddenly unaware of what to do with his hands, alternately between crossing them and putting them on his hips. He torn between being flustered and allowing himself to have his ego slightly inflated. “But who am I to argue?”

“Oh my gosh you’re so cute, I can’t stand it! I just wanna kiss your little face!”

Hunter stopped breathing, stunned but not the slightest bit displeased. When he remembered how to breathe, he took a deep breath as he crafted the perfect response.

“Well I-I mean-,” he summoned all his courage to look down to her but when he did saw she was actually talking to Flapjack, dressed as Hunter. “Oh.”

Flapjack tweeted happily loving the attention, especially at his owner’s expense.

“Oh, what’s that? You’re gonna kidnap me so I’ll join the Emperor’s Coven?” Willow said in a sugar sweet voice, scratching under his beak. “Oh well you’re so cute, how could I say no!”

“Was I not cute enough?” Hunter muttered in defeat under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing! Ha ha! I said nothing!”

“Well okay, Flapjack,” she said with a wink to the boy in the bird suit before turning her attention back to the palisman. “I was hoping Hunter here would be able to help me sew this patch onto my sweater for tonight.”

“Of course I-.”

“Flapjack, please, I was talking to Hunter.” Willow teased and the bird shot the real Hunter a smug look. He gleefully tweeted* his response before taking the sweater from Willow in his beak and flying it over to his owner as he sat in his shoulder. Hunter’s face turned red at the cardinal’s words that only he understood.

“I do not talk like that,” he said sternly to his Palisman knowing now for sure his face matched the bright red of his suit.

“What did he say?”

“Oh! Uh, n-nothing really, just... weird Hunter stuff?”

“Well I happen to like weird Hunter stuff,” she said, standing on her tiptoes to give the bird a small kiss on top of his head. “Thanks for your help!”

Flapjack happily chirped** in response which made Hunter blush again as his eyes widened. Luckily Willow couldn’t understand him. But Hunter didn’t want to take that chance.

“Ha! Well okay! Sure, I’ll make sure Hunter gets right on that for ya!” the real Hunter said nervously, taking the sweater from the bird, holding it carefully. Willow giggled as she handed him the patch she had chosen and smiled sweetly at him.

“Why thank you Flapjack,” she said, giving him a playful nudge. “Hunter’s so lucky to have you to help him.”

“Yeah, he really is.” Hunter sighed, truly so grateful for the little rascal.

“And he’s lucky to have such a handsome bird to help him too,” she said, reaching up to boop his fake beak. “I’m gonna grab a snack, want me to bring you some worms?”

“I uh... yes?” Hunter hesitated, knowing she was most likely joking but also knowing she spent enough time in the garden to have easy access to worms. She giggled at his confusion, excited to see his reaction when she returned with gummy worms, before making her way back up the stairs.

Flapjack (disguised as Hunter) tweeted*** his farewells to Willow, loving the reaction it evoked from his owner. The true Hunter dropped his smile once Willow was out of sight and turned to throw the sweater at the bird who successfully dodged it and continued to fly around the room teasing him.

“Okay well then, you can sew on her patch for her,”Hunter said in a huff. “Good luck impressing the Captain without any thumbs.”

Flapjack Translation:

*Of course, anything for my dear beloved Captain.

**I think Flapjack is jealous and wants a little kiss too.

*** I shall begin work as I count the minutes until you return, beautiful and mysterious creature.

[just-french-me-up]

Sworn Hand

Fandom : The Sandman Ship : Dreamling Rating : E | 1.3k Tags : PWP, Smut, Blowjob, Established Relationship, Knight!Hob ish Summary : Dream gave his prince consort an armour. Hob is very fond of it and has some ideas about how to break it in. Hob does look ever so good as Dream's consort and sworn armed hand. And sworn... everything else. Written for beloved @handahbear's birthday!!!!!!!!!

Hob brushed his hand against the metal and leather of his chestplate, admiring the details and the sheer beauty of it. The metal was nothing he had ever seen in 600 years, either in his waking or sleeping lives. It resembled gold, though it had a slight bronze tinge to it, and looked as sturdy as it was beautiful. Intricate designs had been carved in the metal, making it as much a piece of armour than a garment. A gift, truly.

It had been a full week since Dream had offered the whole thing to him. Hob could not say he would ever grow tired of it. He looked at his reflection in the full-length mirrors of Dream's bedchamber, almost as if catching the reflection of a stranger before remembering he was, in fact, the one wearing it, and wearing it very well, thank you very much. His husband had always had an eye for details.

"I trust you like it," Dream commented behind him, the hint of a pleased smiled hanging at the edge of his lips.

Hob inspected his left vambrace, his eyes reflecting in the shiny metal.

"It's a fine piece of craftsmanship, for sure. Could buy me a good chunk of land down in Kent."

"Do you not own one already?"

"Irrelevant," Hob dismissed with a wave of his hand.

"You have owned armours before," Dream pointed out, joining him by the mirrors, his eyes travelling down Hob's body, though Hob could not tell whether he was admiring his own work or his own work on him. If the self-satisfied glint in his eyes was any indication, it was the latter.

"Nothing that fancy. It's... a far cry from those I used to wear on battlefields."

He had been used to loose hand-me-downs then, scraps of metal vaguely welded together, heavy chain mails, rusty things. This looked almost too good to fight in. Then again, he doubted he would ever have to.

"You hardly required any armour after my sister bestowed her gift onto you," Morpheus remarked.

"Immortal doesn't mean I don't value my kneecaps, love."

Hob looked at himself once more, turning to appreciate the fluid way his cape fell from his shoulders to his ankles, almost brushing the floor. Dashing was the word that came to mind. He briefly wondered what Dream's thought process had been, upon making it.

"Still," he added, "pretty damn good for an honorary knight."

"Prince consort," Morpheus corrected, indignant at the evocation of a lower title, unfit for his husband. It did have a nice ring to it. Especially in Dream's mouth. "And Lord Protector of the Realm."

Hob chuckled, turning away from the mirrors to face him. Damn, how did this thing look so imposing and yet feel so light?

"Lord Protector," he repeated, as though testing the sound of it himself. "You made that up on the spot, didn't you?"

"I most certainly did not," Morpheus huffed.

"So I am your sworn hand, then?"

The idea was pleasant. He did swear his heart to him, marrying him. Their vows had been about body and soul, had they not? Surely that included his hands. And there were so many things to do with them. Wield a sword, sure. But that was only if you lacked imagination.

"Amongst other things."

"Oh."

A wide grin spread on Hob's lips, his eyes going from Dream's eyes to his mouth. He took a step forward, causing Dream to step back.

"Pray tell," he said, his voice lower, warmer. "What other parts would you have me pledge to you? Sworn hand, we've covered that."

His hands reached for Dream's sides, wrapping them around his waist, bringing him closer. He heard his husband's needless, futile breath catch in his throat. Oh, to steal the breath of a being who did not require it. Hob always relished the sound.

Dream let himself be led backward, mirroring Hob's darkened, roguish gaze. His faint smirk had Hob tighten his grip. God, the things he'd do for that smile.

"Sworn lips, perhaps?" Hob teased, his own lips brushing Dream's, breathing him in, touching the soft edge of him, pulling away the moment Dream leant in to meet him.

Dream's dissatisfied expression only grew as Hob pushed him onto the bed, Hob's hands leaving his sides. He did seem mollified, however, when Hob lowered himself onto his knees. A knight in front of his king. Hob dragged his thumbs along his thighs, digging slightly into his flesh, delighting in Morpheus' expectant gaze. He had always looked so beautiful above him, the soft curve of his lips contrasting with the sharpness of his jawline and cheekbones. This, too, Hob could never grow tired of.

Hob's hands were swift in pulling Dream's trousers down, though the damn thing resisted him at first. All the fashion in the world and beyond, and skinny jeans were his first choice. Baffling. One of his hands palmed the outline of Dream's hard cock through his underwear, teasing the length of it with a light stroke. Hob could feel the muscles of Dream's thighs tense at the touch, expecting more.

"Sworn tongue?" he looked up to meet Dream's eyes, his mouth a head tilt away from his arousal.

His lips wrapped themselves around him through the fabric, eliciting a frustrated groan. Not enough, he knew. Hob pulled the black underwear down, dragging his lower lip along the shaft.

"Those have proven quite serviceable indeed," Dream admitted, his voice low, raspy.

"Serviceable?" Hob raised an eyebrow at him. That would not do. Methodically, his tongue swirled around the head of Morpheus' cock, earning a low moan and a slight shiver in his husband's thighs.

"Pleasing," Dream corrected himself.

Hob smirked, settling properly between his thighs, sparing a thought at the way the poleyns didn't dig into his knees. He did think of everything while making it.

"My king's pleasure is my command."

His next ministrations were more improvised, swallowing Dream down at a leisurely pace, humming gently around him at each gasping breath and pleased moan. He could feel his hair failing in front of his eyes until Morpheus raked a hand through it, a gentle grip settling on his scalp. His hips rolled slightly under Hob, lightly pushing his cock deeper with a low grunt of unrestrained pleasure. Hob welcomed it, bracing his free hand around Morpheus' upper thigh, to ground himself.

By the time Dream pulled up on his hair for him to breathe, Hob's chin was mess he didn't bother to wipe away. He kept his lips against Morpheus' cock, his breath blowing erratically over its sensitive head. The look on Morpheus' face was to die for, and Hob almost regretted he couldn't. Flushed cheeks, dark eyes, slack jaw, the slightest hint of a bite that had strained his lower lip...

"My sworn knight," he whispered, stroking his hair.

"Sworn throat?" Hob teased, the movement his lips playing against him, making him shiver again.

"You say such things..."

"And you listen to them so well."

He took him again, Morpheus holding his hair rather than guiding or pushing him down, his grip only tightening under the effect of increasing pleasure. He was getting louder, closer. Hob quickened his pace, breathless, ignoring the pressing need for air. Morpheus' hips rolled against him, demanding, seeking release. God, he always made such beautiful, imperious sounds when he was about to come.

Dream came with a strangled shout, his hips stopping at once. The grip around Hob's hair loosened, though he didn't let go. Hob swallowed around him, before lifting his chin, satisfied.

"I do hope I fulfill my duties as―what was it?―ah yes, Lord Protector of the Realm," he panted with a smile, pressing a kiss against Dream's hip bone.

"Admirably," Dream smiled, drowsy and drunk on pleasure, his hand still playing in his hair.

"Such a shame those are a hassle to take off."

Hob gestured towards his armour, the presence of which he had nearly forgotten, in the heat of the moment.

"That could be dealt with."