#which is a stolen design anyway

[goforth-ladymidnight]

So I'm shopping on Etsy for ACOTAR merch for Christmas (because I wanted to treat myself this year), and good GOD there are so many Tamlin's Tears mugs and Salty Little Bitch Tamlin candles and bookmarks. Whyyyy? At least the Suriel Tea mugs are kind of funny.

It makes me want to make my own stuff instead, to be honest.

[gethoce]

Terrible doodles inspired by yesterday's events while I try to figure out what to draw next

[zkretchy]

Hope you like thrill rides

Aka after both the mine cart sections&the final boat ride....my mind went to rollercoaster? The game sure feels like it at times and I love it

quick bonus:

[cuteniaarts]

Behold, my latest and most enamouring new obsession:

Malina, Lady of the Chief of the Northern Water Tribe. As if Red Lotus child OCs weren’t niche enough

[reneestation2]

I notice a lot of people don't like the CV show, especially because Konami is not doing anything in terms of CV games, even though it's been 6 years, and the show's content is vastly overshadowing the game series' content on every online medium, but also because the writing sucks a little bit.

I mostly enjoyed the show, and so I was thinking about it, and there's a good amount of some substantial reasons on why people enjoy the show, there's SO MANY substantial reasons to either dislike or not want to watch the show entirely. Like I thought about it from my most 'average person' perspective, there's so much dumbass writing in the show. The amount of pointless characters or really stupid incentive or motive is actually mind-boggling.

I'm not gonna say I dislike it because the show is definitely a lot more than its spotty writing. I personally love the art style and not only the animation, but the choreography of action scenes is the pinnacle of the show tbh. And even then, some characters are fantastic to watch. Especially Sypha, Isaac, and Dracula. Even Varney was kinda perfect, in my opinion.

But the negativity is ramping up, because we're getting a second entirely new animated series, that didn't really need to happen, but honestly I'm for it, just because I really like Powerhouse animation, and YET, the ONLY Castlevania things happening are stuff Konami can't even bother to advertise, which are just ports to modern consoles, or a selection of niche merchandise.

If they announce a new game during gamescon or Tokyo game show, then great!! There's nothing to worry about there. But it feels like Konami is just handing Castlevania from one foster parent to another, instead of actually caring about it or working on it. Especially with all of the negative gaming press around Konami for the shitty MGS switch ports, the fact that Bloober is working on the SH2 remake, the fact we've heard nothing about the other SH games they announced for almost an entire year. People do kind of have a right to be mad. This shit is really getting out of hand.

[radiowlet]

stumbles out of the toyhou.se support desk covered in blood

[pucksandpower]

The Girlfriend Test

Lando Norris x girlfriend!Reader

Summary: no new LN merch is deemed ready for sale unless it passes the girlfriend test (or in which you are Lando’s favorite hoodie thief and the sight of another driver’s brand on you drives him just a little bit crazy)

You hear the front door open and close, followed by the sounds of Lando rummaging around in the entryway. “Babe, I’m home!” He calls out.

You’re curled up on the couch in his latest hoodie design, a soft charcoal grey number with black sleeves and his LN logo embroidered over the heart.

“In here!” You reply. Lando comes into the living room and smiles when he sees you wearing his new creation.

“Well hello there, hoodie thief,” he says, leaning down to give you a quick peck on the lips before flopping down on the couch next to you. “So I see you found my newest sample.”

You grin and snuggle further into the super soft fleece. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. This is my hoodie now.”

Lando laughs and tugs lightly on the hood. “Oh is it now? I could’ve sworn this was a prototype I brought home from my design meeting a few days ago.”

“Nope, definitely mine,” you say cheekily. “It’s so cozy I don’t think I can ever take it off.”

“In that case, I guess it passes the girlfriend test with flying colors,” Lando declares. At your confused look, he elaborates. “Oh, I never told you about the girlfriend test? I can’t launch a new LN design until you have stolen it out of my closet. That’s how I know for sure it’s comfy enough for my fans.”

You raise an eyebrow in amusement. “You’re telling me every hoodie so far has passed this supposed test?”

“You got it,” Lando grins. “I’ll leave the samples laying around and if you end up snagging one and wearing it all the time, I know it’s prime merchandise.”

You think back and realize it’s true — Lando’s hoodies have a habit of migrating into your wardrobe. The papaya one is your go-to for grocery store runs. The tie-dye version is your favorite for lazy Sundays. Even the bold purple hoodie he released last month has already earned a permanent place on your desk chair.

“So you mean to tell me this was all part of your master plan?” You ask in mock offense. “And here I thought I was sneakily stealing your comfiest clothes.”

“Baby, if I really didn’t want you wearing my stuff, I wouldn’t make it so tempting to take,” Lando says sincerely, wrapping an arm around you. “But it makes me so happy to see you in my designs, wearing my brand.”

You cuddle into his shoulder. “That’s really sweet, babe.”

“Anything for my number one fan and favorite hoodie model,” he says, planting a kiss on the top of your head.

You snuggle together in contented silence for a few minutes, your head tucked perfectly under his chin.

“So, how was the simulator today?” You ask. “Get some good practice in for Monza this weekend?”

Lando nods. “Yeah, had a really solid session. Tweaked a few things with the setup that I think will help with the low downforce.”

“Nice,” you say. “Maybe another podium this week?”

“We’ll see,” Lando replies. “Ferrari looked quick in Spa so it could be tough. But I feel good going into the weekend.”

“Well, I know you’ll kill it babe,” you say supportively. Lando smiles gratefully and pulls you closer.

“But anyway, enough about F1. How was your day off?” He asks.

You launch into a recap of your relaxed day — sleeping in, catching up on chores, and working on some creative projects you’ve had on the backburner. Lando listens intently, asking questions and commenting on the new songs and recipes you’re dying to try. The conversation flows easily, as it always does between you two.

Before you know it, Lando’s stomach rumbles loudly and you both crack up. “I guess that means it’s dinnertime,” you say, checking your phone. “Pizza sound good?”

“You read my mind,” Lando replies. While you call in the usual order from your favorite local pizza joint, Lando queues up Netflix and scrolls through options for tonight’s viewing.

Thirty minutes later you’re back on the couch, the coffee table littered with pizza boxes and cans of soda. Lando hits play on an episode of Brooklyn Nine-Nine and you settle in, toes tucked under his legs to stay cozy.

You’re only halfway through the episode when you feel Lando’s gaze on you. You turn and find him staring at you wearing his newest hoodie creation, a small smile on his lips.

“What’s that look for?” You ask around a mouthful of pizza.

Lando shakes his head, the smile growing wider. “Nothing really. Just thinking about how lucky I am.”

You tilt your head curiously and he continues. “I have my dream job, getting to race cars for a living. And then I come home to you and … I don’t know. It just feels really good. Like everything is kind of falling into place.”

You set down your pizza slice and cuddle up to him. “Aww babe. That’s so sweet.” You give him a greasy kiss on the cheek. “I’m the lucky one you know. I get to see you living your dream every day. And then I get to be here to celebrate the wins with you and cheer you up after the tough days. It’s pretty amazing.”

Lando wraps both arms around you in a hug. “Love you so much,” he says softly.

“Love you more,” you whisper back, your head tucked perfectly under his chin once again.

***

The next evening, you’re sprawled across the bed browsing on your phone when you hear Lando come home.

“Honey, I’m home!” He calls out in a sing-song voice. You grin, expecting him to come give you a kiss. But instead you hear his footsteps stop abruptly.

“Babe, what … is that?” Lando asks slowly.

You look up confused. “What do you mea-”

Then you spot what he’s staring at in horror: the soft teal hoodie you’re wearing with an embroidered Enchanté logo across the front.

“Oh this?” You say casually. “It’s from Daniel’s new merch drop. The fleece is so soft, I couldn’t resist snagging one.”

Lando’s jaw drops open. “You … you bought a hoodie? From a competing merch brand?”

You stifle a laugh at how seriously Lando is taking this. “Well yeah, you gotta support your friends right? And I told you how comfy it looked in his posts.”

Lando just blinks slowly, looking utterly betrayed. You almost feel bad for riling him up.

“Babe, come on, don’t look at me like that! You know I’m your number one fan.” You get up and go to hug him, but Lando dodges you.

“Nope. No hugs until that … that enemy hoodie comes off,” he says dramatically.

Now you really have to hold back your laughter. “Lando, don’t be silly.”

But he crosses his arms and sticks his chin up. “I’m dead serious, Y/N. My own girlfriend, wearing another man’s merch!” He shakes his head in despair.

You bite your lip, trying not to smile at his antics. Time to have some more fun with this.

“Well if you’re going to be like that, maybe I’ll just keep it on,” you say nonchalantly, snuggling back into the ridiculously soft fleece.

Lando’s eyes go wide. “You wouldn’t dare!”

You raise your eyebrows challengingly. “Try me.”

You stare each other down for a few tense moments, before Lando huffs loudly.

“Fine then. Desperate times call for desperate measures.” And with that ominous statement, he lunges forward and lifts you up, tossing you over his shoulder.

“Lando!” You shriek through laughter. “Put me down!”

But he marches down the hall determinedly, you still slung over his shoulder. He brings you into the living room and gently tosses you onto the couch. Before you can react, he rips the Enchanté hoodie up over your head in one swift move.

“Lando!” You squeal, trying to reach for the hoodie, but he’s quicker. In a flash, he has the offending article of clothing in his grip.

“How could you bring this … this enemy propaganda into our home?” Lando accuses dramatically. He holds the hoodie between two fingers like it’s contaminated.

You have to press a hand over your mouth to contain your giggles. Lando looks utterly scandalized at the sight of you in his rival’s merch.

“I’m sorry babe, but you left me no choice,” Lando says solemnly. And with that, he crosses the room, opens the fireplace, and tosses the hoodie in.

You gasp loudly. “Lando Norris, did you just burn my hoodie?”

“I had to protect the sanctity of this home! Can’t have you falling for another man’s branding,” Lando exclaims. But you can see his facade cracking as he fights back a smile of his own.

You get up from the couch and poke him in the chest. “You’re absolutely ridiculous, you know that?”

Lando grins sheepishly. “Maybe. But you love me.”

You roll your eyes but can’t fight back your own smile. “Debatable at the moment,” you joke.

Lando pouts and gives you his best puppy dog eyes. “Come onnnn, you know I’m your favorite driver.”

You pretend to think about it for a moment. “Hmm well Daniel does give the best hugs ...”

“Hey!” Lando exclaims and tackles you into a bear hug. You dissolve into giggles as he squeezes you tight and sways you back and forth.

“Nope, absolutely not allowed,” he declares, still holding you captive.

You lean back to look up at him with a smile. “Oh yeah? And why’s that?”

“Because you’re my girl and I don’t share,” Lando states matter-of-factly. His eyes are soft now as he gazes down at you.

You feel your heart melt a little. You stand on your tiptoes to give him a sweet kiss. “You’re right, I’m all yours Lando.”

His answering smile is dazzling. But then a thought seems to occur to him and a grin spreads across his face.

In one smooth motion, he strips off the neon green hoodie he’s wearing, leaving just a black t-shirt underneath. Before you can react, he pulls it down over your head, enveloping you in soft fleece that smells like him.

“There. That’s better,” Lando declares satisfied.

You snuggle happily into Lando’s worn hoodie, his warmth still lingering in the fabric. Looking down, you recognize it as the exclusive design he wore constantly last season.

Lando’s eyes crease with happiness as he looks at you swimming in his hoodie. “That’s my girl,” he says softly, pulling you close again.

You nuzzle into his chest, perfectly content.

“Am I forgiven for my momentary lapse in loyalty?” You ask cheekily, peering up at him.

Lando pretends to consider this for a moment. “Hmmm, I guess I can let it slide this one time,” he teases back. “But only because you look so damn cute in my clothes.”

You smile and tighten your arms around him. You sway together slowly, Lando humming tunelessly under his breath. The fireplace crackles gently beside you.

After a few moments, Lando speaks again, his voice quiet. “You know I was only joking around before, right? You can wear whatever you want babe.”

You lean back to meet his gaze. His brown eyes are warm but serious now.

You touch his cheek softly. “Of course I know that Lando. Your hoodies might be the comfiest, but they’re not the only clothes I own.”

Lando nods, looking relieved that you understand. “I just never want you to feel like you have to choose between me and your own style or interests.” His voice is earnest. “I want you to always feel free to be yourself.”

Your heart swells at his words. You reach up and kiss him tenderly. When you pull back, Lando is smiling again.

“Thanks babe,” you say. “That really means a lot to me. And same to you, obviously.”

Lando grins. “Of course, it’s you and me against the world! Oh, and McLaren against the other teams,” he adds cheekily.

You laugh and snuggle back into his chest. “Yes, McLaren over all,” you agree, just to make him happy.

“That’s my girl,” Lando says again, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

[becauseicantthinkwritings]

Objects in Motion

Part 1

Alpha! Billy Russo x Omega! Reader

A/N: My very first A/B/O fic, that I started a while ago, and just decided to post.

It all started after finding out how much that lovely coat Billy wears in s1 costs.

Warnings: Masturbation, omega in heat.

You’re often overwhelmed.

It’s the hitch of your breath when your feelings are too big for your body, or the way your throat hurts with all the words that go unsaid.

There are not enoughs and there are too muchs and hardly any moments when things are… just right.

The coat in your hands is soft- ridiculously so, the label offers you an explanation- 100% cotton. You can't help the way your hands tighten on the material, as if you’d fight off anyone that tried to take it from you. Like for the first time, just right isn’t just a far away idea, it’s here, in your hands, against your chest.

How had you ended up here? Curled under your bed sheets, pillows all around you, clutching this lovely black coat to your body?

Today had been very overwhelming, your phone had pinged, alerting you to your impending heat, reminding you that you needed to pick up supplies. 

Your heats were formidable too, always too hot or too hungry or too needy. There was never a part of you that existed within the realms of fine.

At least until now.

When you were clutching this delightful black coat in your hands, bringing it up to your nose so that you could catch a whiff of the bewitching scent. 

It's bergamot at first, followed by notes of citrus that makes your eyes flutter shut. Delight spreads out inside you, fanning at the flames of your desire- your heat coming on faster as your nose lingers on the scent. You catch hints of pepper at the very end and it prompts you to take another long inhale.

Based on the size of the coat, your mind formulates an idea of the size of the person that wears it. The very thought causes you to clench your thighs together.

You didn't mean for this to happen, you'd only gone to pick up your silky PJs from the dry cleaners, designed specifically to be worn during your heat for maximum comfort on your skin. The delicate, gossamer material demanded special care, but you were very glad to have been gifted them some years ago.

You'd just picked up your item, when your nose had zeroed in on a scent that had made your body perk up curiously. It was the first time your senses had streamlined onto one thing, where throughout the day you'd had a number of difficult sensory encounters, leading you into wearing a beanie and noise cancelling headphones and the biggest jacket in your closet in any attempt to feel less things. The scent had made your brain ache for more, demanding you follow what your body had accepted- that this specific scent brought you absolute pleasure.

Even through the garment bag it was stored in, it had activated dangerous thoughts in your hindbrain, and before you could even look around for cameras, you'd reached over the counter and swiped the garment bag when the girl at the front desk wasn't looking. It had been tucked to your chest and smuggled out of the dry cleaners without even a moment of guilt.

Realistically, you wouldn't be in that much trouble anyway, omega behaviour was usually forgiven, even if it didn't make sense. No one would lock you up for swiping a men's coat, especially not so close to your heat.

You have a few hours left, and you use it to make sure your food supplies are easily accessible. Your heats tended to run on for five days- higher than average- which means that you were in a lot more danger of starvation and dehydration.

You wonder if he would take good care of you. Your mind spinning back to the owner of the coat, having already made up some basic idea of him.

You knew his designation, by scent alone, but you were too afraid to admit it to yourself, worried about the consequences of having stolen a coat from someone like that.

Would they be mad? Probably not, you were sure with a scent like that, they were used to omegas swarming around.

The thought made you unreasonably jealous, for a person you didn’t even know.

.

Your heat hits you in the early hours of the next morning. 

You wake with a whine, sitting up, thighs damp with your arousal. You reach for the pills on your bedside table, taking them quickly and swallowing down some tepid water, before lying back. They would help you go back to sleep until morning alleviating some symptoms of your heat. You turn, finding the coat lying beside you. You take a deep breath into it as you fall asleep.

.

You can’t focus on anything as you pump the slick pink dildo in and out of you. There are tears streaming down your face, desperate for much more than you could ever give yourself. 

You bring the coat up to your nose, crying harder as the scent wraps around you.

“Alpha.” You pant into the soft material, imagining your fantasy version of the owner. 

You take a deep breath, envisioning him here with you, presumably large body curved over yours, taking up all the air around you, smooth skin available for you to scratch and claw at, his scent glands on display and eager for your mark.

“Alpha.” You beg again, into the loneliness of your apartment.

.

The coat becomes a centerpoint in your nest.

On day three when it’s fully finished to a satisfactory level, an arrangement of pillows and sheets all around your bed, you tuck the coat in beside you, delighted at the way the material feels on your flushed skin.

The scent is strongest at the collar, where it's probably rubbed on his neck often, brushed against his gland when he turns to examine something.

You groan, mouth watering for a bite of him, whoever he was.

There’s a lot of buttons and buckles on it, and your hindbrain is somewhat obsessed with what you think he looks like wearing it, probaby commands any room he walks into. 

The label at the back says Burberry, and though you're not very familiar with the brand, the clean stitching and soft material tells you that it’s definitely got to cost more than what you pay for your own coats.

You sigh, stripping out of your PJ’s and opting to slide into the coat itself.

A groan slips from your mouth, the material feels coarse on your oversensitive skin, but you welcome it as you feel his scent engulf you.

A fresh wave of arousal coats your thighs, and you can’t help inching your hand down between damp thighs until you find your swollen clit.

.

On your knees now, face down into your bed, you bite down on the collar of the midnight black coat.

Your eyes roll back into your head, muffled grunts as you pump your overstimulated cunt to the brim.

You rub your face into the collar, arching your neck so that your scent gland rubs against the coat, a low whine at the severe taboo thought of rubbing your gland against a stranger's.

It's frowned upon, but the very thought of it is what brings you to orgasm just a few moments later. 

You struggle for air, hair tickling your cheek as you huff, some of it clings to the saliva at the corner of your mouth, some of it is caught in the tears that smear your cheeks.

You want- like never before.

.

When your heat is over, the guilt kicks in.

You know better than to wash the coat yourself, only wiping gently at the interior in hopes of wiping off any lingering traces of… you away. You think about getting it dry cleaned yourself but you’d used the last of your money on the alleviator pills to help with your heat symptoms. You wouldn’t get paid until the end of the month.

Finally, you rummage through the pockets, checking to see if anything had been left behind by the owner. You find a crumpled napkin with someone’s number scribbled on, leaning in, you take an experimental sniff and draw away from it in disgust as the scent hits your nose.

You almost put it back, but you figured it was crumpled anyway, probably meant for a bin in the first place- so you put it there. Searching again and you smile when you come across a tub of lip balm, opening it and giving a little sniff of the inside. There’s no scent to it, and you curiously swipe a bit onto your finger and smear it onto your lips.

You begin to get a sense that the person this coat belongs to, has very refined tastes, and after a quick search, your eyes widen in shock when you discover the lip balm costs near fifty dollars.

Which is how it starts- an itch at the back of your head that tries to warn you of the possibility that the coat in your possession costs more than you’d initially thought.

You let out a slow breath, typing in the information stitched onto the label and your eyes bulge out of your head when you finally see the price of the coat sitting in your lap.

Three thousand.

The coat you stole had cost nearly three thousand dollars.

You look down at the item in betrayal, the scent of its true owner just barely clinging to it. 

You take a deep breath, pushing your phone aside as you begin rummaging for a box capable of returning such an expensive item.

Thankfully, you know where to return it to, as the name and address had been hooked to the garment bag.

Delivering it is another difficult task on its own, but you manage, having to call in a few favours and explain in lengthy detail to the courier that your package wasn’t dangerous in any way but you’d rather not deliver it yourself.

Luckily, you’re able to convince them of your cause, the urge to help an omega in distress working in your favour.

.

It’s nine a.m on a Saturday morning when Billy comes home from his run. 

He’s fishing for his keys in his pocket when he notices that there’s a box sitting in front of his door.

He pauses for a moment, looks at the item, before stepping forward to examine it.

There’s a card on top- one of those printed ones you can get at a convenience store- light blue sky and a panda holding onto a handful of bamboo stalks. 

There’s an “I’m Sorry,” printed on, and then something added in below in pen.

‘From a very apologetic Omega.’ It says.

His eyebrows twitch in amusement, he brings the card up to his nose to catch a whiff- the scent of light, floral perfume fills his nose. 

He’s aware his coat had been stolen, he’d seen video footage of the crime itself, watched as a small hooded frame had reached across and nicked his coat before it could be cleaned. The dry cleaners had sent him the footage when they’d explained what had happened.

He’d thought it had been gone for good, deleting the only copy of the footage and moving on. He could afford to replace one coat. 

This though, was interesting, it seems like the omega had felt some sort of remorse, and had returned his coat to him.

It was sweet, he found himself smiling as he reached down to pick the box up, cradling it under one arm and flipping the card open as he enters his apartment.

‘Dear Alpha,                    I’m so sorry I took your coat. I tried to clean it as best as I could, but I couldn’t afford to have it dry cleaned for you. It’s wrapped tightly to protect you from the scent on it. I'd suggest not opening it, and taking it to be cleaned as soon as you get it. I’m very sorry. P.S. You have a very nice scent.’

He huffs, feeling a little sorry for an omega that couldn’t afford a dry cleaning bill, then again, the cost of the coat would definitely bring up the price a lot more.

Curiously, he tugs the box open, finding that the garment bag has been folded carefully and wrapped in plastic wrap. 

He sniffs the box experimentally, searching for any hint of a scent, or any indication that the package could be dangerous.

All he gets is more of that pleasant perfume that he figured was doused in the box to protect him from the scent.

It only makes him more curious.

Billy grips the plastic wrap, and very carefully tears a little hole into the plastic, breaking the seal.

His body goes rigid. 

He feels his pupils dilate, his hindbrain roaring to life as he catches the scent of an omega in heat.

His omega.

He rips the plastic furiously, fumbles with the garment bag and rips the zipper open. His eyes scan the coat, as he takes one long, slow breath.

The first scent he gets are apples, and then light notes of vanilla, but under it all, is the kick of pheromones, that sticks like honey on his tongue.

He takes another deep breath, groaning as his cock swells, pulsing to life, begging to claim the owner of such a delicious scent.

There’s so much of it, filling his space with sweet notes of frustration, yearning and unfulfillment. 

His omega, needing him.

A growl tears from his chest, something inside of him collapses like an avalanche, only increasing with time, decimating his thoughts and leaving a feverish burn under his skin.

He tugs the coat open, groaning, the tart smell of cunt clings to the inside of his coat, telling him that his omega wore his coat naked.

Desperate little thing, he thinks, as he dips his hand into his joggers, fingers wrapping firmly around his cock, squeezing in an attempt to force his orgasm away. He groans, the grip around his cock rewarding him with pleasure, and he can’t help pumping himself, trying to ease the desire inside of him.

He leans in, nose pressed to the collar of his coat, where the scent is strongest, where his omega must have rubbed their little scent gland vigorously against his coat,

Sweet, delightful, his cock aches for a cunt he’s never seen, his mouth yearns for skin he’s never touched. All he has, is the honeyed scent of an omega’s heat, and the screaming inside of him that demands he claim what his body knows is his.

His grip on his cock tightens, his vision blurs, head full of thoughts, ideas of a little omega under him, sobbing as they take his cock repeatedly, begging for more with broken cries.

He doesn’t stop until he comes into his hand, only then, does his thinking sharpen.

He puts his coat in bed beside him, he hopes the sheets will absorb the smell, so that he can have his little omega with him while he sleeps. He wakes with an aching cock, and the coat clutched tightly against his chest, struggling to remember fading dreams of little omegas that beg nicely.

He doesn’t get out of bed until he’s come twice into the palm of his hand.

.

He searches for days. 

But when he’d deleted the footage from the dry cleaners, he’d gotten rid of any hope of tracing his omega’s movements, and chances of finding an address. 

She doesn’t leave any record of one, always opting to pick up her items herself. 

At least he’s gotten that, a basic description, a height, an idea of her complexion and the colour of her eyes.

It was too vague to work with, but it was something he could think about before he went to sleep at night, with his nose buried in his coat, breathing in the scent of her, desperate to find the omega that had stolen his coat and unintentionally taken his heart.

He studies the card too, learns the handwriting, growing more and more desperate for his little omega.

Billy knew he wouldn't stop looking, not until he found the person who'd opened up a nest of possibilities in his head, giving him something he'd never had in a very long time.

Hope.

.

.

.

[mtkay13]

My version of the wardrobe template! yay!! I had a LOT of fun doing this and feel like I could elaborate a bit more on each of those.

It's already linked up here, but here's once again a > link to the post.< Anyway! More about these designs below!

So first, for WKX's template! - Chapter 2: Grey robes I had already made my design of those for the full TYK lineup I made a while back. I really, really like those, and took inspiration from some of the robes SHL!WKX wears in the show for the shapes. - Chapter 69: dark robes with dark red belt I expected to like that style for him, but not that much! I had seen a tutorial on how asymetrical hanfus were worn by archers in the past and that inspired me, purely on a fashion level of course. I like how intimidating he looks with those and enjoy the touches of blue in the inner layer of the robes. - Chapter 75: dark red robes The GVM robes! which I also designed a while back when researching for the illustrations of the Mt Fengya battle scenes that I wanted to make. I reworked them just a little bit and got rid of some details that I didn't like anymore. I tremendously pleated skirts for WKX so I went at it once again. I also used shifts in hues to make it look like it could have been drenched in blood. - Extra 5: deep red robes For the reminder (since apparently some people are not aware of extra 5's existance), this extra is set 5 years post-canon. I wanted WKX to wear something that looked comfortable for traveling but also practical and fashionable. The teal jacket is of course another nod at SHL since the red and teal combo was an absolute banger. Let's say I didn't want WKX to just sport an all-red look. Furthermore, the teal really works to adorn the red hues. - My personal favourite I actually don't really know whether those are my actual personal favourites, but I've come to LOVE WKX dressed in red and white thanks to @kwehxing's designs. I think it really suits him and on top of that it avoids the question "is this Hua Cheng" LMAO--okay jokes aside, I combined most of the shapes that I really like for WKX (wider shoulders, wide sleeves, and long robes with pleated inner robes) and I find him very elegant like this. Now, for ZZS! - Chapter 1: sapphire blue scholar robes Those had already been designed before as well! They're my go to generic TC!ZZS robes, haha. I was a bit extra with the blue colour here, but oh well. I'm quite obsessed with the silver brocade cynching his waist, haha. - Chapter 2: stolen farmer robes A classic as well as far as I'm concerned--of course, inspired by his hobo fit in SHL because it was quite efficient. I'm forever fond of my scruffy hobo!Xu and his toes poking from his sandals. - Chapter 18: luxurious robes from the Gao family Those were a new design! Which I had a lot of fun coming up with. Putting ZZS in a different colour scheme was also really nice. For those who don't remember, ZZS feels quite ridiculous when he sees himself in a mirror wearing those fancy robes while being so emaciated and still sporting his hobo mask. I wanted to give this "out of place" feeling; and also work on a very "wuxia" style for the robes, since this is jianghu and they were provided by Gao Chong. - Extra 5: black robes I'm incredibly fond of this design. I worked quite a bit on it, since I wasn't sure of where I wanted to go. My main guidelines were: practical and cool. I really like ZZS having a lot of room to move so ideally not too much fabric in the way, and I think he also needs arm braces to be rid of annoying sleeves. Of course, him looking much healthier and having a dynamic ponytail really works to "complete the look", and I find that he looks really cool there haha. - My personal favourite This one has been refined over the months, but it's definitely, overall, my favourite look for him in terms of shapes and construction. I like that the robes are short, I like the more fashionable jacket. I'm especially into the "pants tucked into the boots" silhouette, as well as the little ribbons keeping them tight around the ankles. I'd say that this leg shape + short robes + a bun (or sometimes a ponytail) is THE ZZS design combo for me, haha. It looks practical and fun and adventurous, just how I like it.

To conclude the whole post, I had more fun doing this than I even expected, and needless to say that I'm very excited to see other versions of them following this template. It was a good opportunity to try and project what the characters look like throughout the book, and a fun design exercise as well. I actually don't really like doing character design usually, but for characters I'm obsessed with, it's of course a much nicer experience. Anyway, thank you for reading!

[baronvontribble]

thoughts on the vampire ascendant

so, the ascension ritual was conceived of by the archdevil mephistopheles to give cazador power, right. like, this is a two century old deal with a devil. we know that deals with devils always involve an ulterior motive. something deeper is going on under the surface. so why would mephistopheles give cazador a deal like that? a guarantee of seven thousand souls? he could get that just by starting a war.

no, i think it's bigger than that. he is, after all, very specifically empowering cazador. it's an all-of-the-perks, none-of-the-drawbacks situation. the perfect vampire.

the perfect vessel.

astarion, impulsive as he is, hasn't given a lick of thought to this. if cazador had any safeguards in place to keep himself intact, astarion isn't aware of them. he hasn't even considered that he might lose himself to the ritual, and there's plenty of proof that he does.

in the hordes of the underdark expansion of neverwinter nights (yes i'm old for knowing this), mephistopheles is specifically plotting to turn toril into the lowest circle of hell under his rule. this will make him more powerful than asmodeus, thus making him the lord of all the hells.

it explains why he's the one the crown of karsus was stolen from in baldur's gate 3, because of course he'd have an object that powerful in his vault. but it also explains why he would assist a vampire in ascending, because an ascendant vampire's body would be the perfect vehicle for an archdevil looking to rule the world to work through.

there is no way for astarion to come out of the ritual intact. it wouldn't have been designed that way in the first place. particularly if this is one of the contingencies mephistopheles came up with before the events of hordes of the underdark (which, given the timeline, it is). ascended astarion is almost definitely an archdevil's puppet, much like cazador would've been if he'd been successful. whether it's one of mephistopheles's lieutenants or the asshole supreme himself pulling the strings, it's fucked either way.

anyway, no judgement, i'm just adding to the commentary/theorycrafting around it in case anyone wants to take a poke at this kind of narrative direction. food for thought, basically!

[leighsartworks216]

Designated Lockpicker

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Inspired by this post

Saw this and I HAD to write something about it. It only took me until 11:45 to finish it but it's okay I'll suffer the consequences

Warnings: one swear word, reference to Astarion's past abuse, mention of a terrible texture, innuendos

Word Count: 1,219

Masterlist

AO3

You poke your head into the room. Dust motes float through the air, which reeks with musk and mold. You'd probably cover your nose and seek fresh air if this wasn't the millionth time you’d smelled it.

Your eyes scan along the walls, floor and shelves, searching for anything interesting. Food would be nice - Gale wouldn’t stop pestering you for ingredients to cook with. Bandages wouldn’t hurt either if it would ease Shadowheart’s workload every time you got into a minor scrape.

The room was rather sparse, but it looked like it may have been a study at some point. Books were scattered everywhere, chairs were tipped on their sides or had broken legs, a desk was angled oddly for its placement. Whoever lived here before, they must have left in a hurry. Which was excellent news. Maybe they left something behind.

From the other rooms of the building, you can hear your companions’ muffled voices. You can only make out one or two words as they speak. Karlach seemed to be talking to Astarion; Wyll and Gale were going back and forth further away. You couldn’t hear Shadowheart or Lae’zel, but this didn’t surprise you.

The floorboards creak and groan as you step into the study. Stray beams of light keep the gloom away, for the most part. You can almost imagine how lovely it once was.

You go to take a book off the shelf, but immediately draw your hand back when the binding squishes at the slightest pressure. You scowl in disgust and wipe your hand on your pants to remove the gross sensation. Unfortunately, your more learned companions would not be getting any new reading materials today.

Against the far wall, stationed behind the desk, was a dresser with a glass case on top. All the case had was scrolls, damp and turning green. Any information they may have held was gone.

You grab the handles of each drawer in turn, sliding open the dresser to reveal its contents. A vial of ink here, another useless scroll there - nothing exciting. Until you open the bottom drawer.

Poorly hidden under some loose paper was a chest. It appeared to be made of metal, hardly rusted despite its surroundings. For its size, you were shocked how heavy it was when you lifted it out and set it on the desk just behind you. The lock didn’t look too complicated. You had some spare lockpicks in your pack, you could easily grab one and get it open. You could.

Instead, you leave the chest where it is and step into the hall. You try to listen for your friends, again, but they seem to have done deeper within the establishment. So you do the next best thing: “Astarion?”

The shout travels down the building, and from one of the rooms pops out the vampire spawn. He seemed confused why you’d be calling him of all people. But the confusion is quickly masked with suave confidence as he sauntered down the hall to you. “Yes, dear?”

You smile sweetly at him. “I found a locked chest. Could you help me open it? Please?”

He smirks and taps a finger under your chin, getting you to tilt your head upward with just one motion. “Since you asked so nicely.”

He follows you back into the room. His nose scrunches with the smell of rotting books, but the look is gone as soon as he sees the chest. You round the desk and turn it around toward him. He can’t stop his smile as you rest your arms and chin on top, still fixing him with that darling look.

This had become a habit, to his mind, anyway. For you, this was an enrichment of sorts to provide Astarion with a sense of purpose. Late night talks had made it abundantly clear just how much he loved feeling useful. For two centuries he was used, his autonomy stolen from him for the sake of his master. But little tasks like this did not feel like an imbalance in power. He would open whatever lock you wished for the praise you showered on him alone, but you also ensured he got his pick of whatever was inside. He was being rewarded for his services, something that never happened before - nothing good, anyway - and you loved giving him his moment to shine.

He just assumed you couldn’t pick a lot to save your damn life.

“I’m beginning to think you just like watching me,” he teased. He produced a pick from his pocket and began working away at the lock. “Trying to learn my trade secrets, are we?"

You hummed, looking down at his hands as they moved together fluidly. He could do this in his sleep. “Never. I just love watching you work, that’s all.”

He chuckled. “Really now?” He lifts his attention from the lock to look at you, hands pausing in their ministrations. “And what is it about my work that you enjoy so much?”

You meet his gaze. He can only describe the look you give him as fond. Love seems to rest in your irises, gleaming back at him, on display for the whole world to see. “Your hands,” you answer, and while it was supposed to be part of your playful banter, you say it so genuinely. “You’re always so precise, like you just know exactly what needs to be done before you even start. It reminds me of your embroidery.”

“And here I thought it was for more depraved reasons.” It’s a deflection. He still isn’t used to being seen like this. Seen by you. He still thinks of the way you describe how his hair curls around his ears, and how his face wrinkles when he laughs. “I’m always happy to give you a hands-on lesson, my sweet. Just say the word.”

“And if I ask for you to teach me how to embroider?”

His devious smirk relaxed into a soft grin. He nods. “It would be my honor.”

Silence takes over as he returns to his work. It’s warm and welcoming, despite your surroundings. Basking in the quiet felt easy around him. He could be reading a book, and you’d slot yourself right next to him, and never was there an expectation for him to stop to entertain you. You just wanted to be around him. It meant more to him than you could ever know.

With a final turn of the pick, a faint click comes from the chest. He seems to puff up with the success, like an all-too-proud bird. He slips the pick back in his pocket and steps back as you round the desk. Instead of going straight for the chest, you cup his cheek in one hand and press a kiss to the other. His cheeks would be positively flushed if he had the blood for it.

“Thank you, Astarion,” you whisper against his skin, pressing another kiss to his cheek right after. He leans into the heat of your hand.

“It was my pleasure, darling.”

You pull away with a grin that could put the sun to shame. You turn to open the chest, eager to know what hides behind those metal walls, and he cannot stop admiring how perfectly a stray beam of light hits your skin.

[al-of-the-stars]

poly vees! poly vees! where everyone loves eachother

anyways, the vee's find themselves attracted to an imp!reader (maybe only one or two at first). i love the upper class x lower class dynamic ajhs

the imp was originally just trying to be a thief in peace and rob them, but they get caught in the process.

gn! reader is more desirable but you can go for a fem or male reader if you want!!

-🍋 anon

"Stole our hearts. (and our money lol)"

A/n: Hi, 🍋! This reminded me a bit of Blitzo and Stolas from Helluva Boss lol Ik I said this before but I'm not too familiar with poly relationships so I'm so sorry if I got anything wrong! I did gn reader but I did mention reader wearing one of Velvette's dresses so I hope it doesn't make anyone uncomfortable! Hope you enjoy!!

Imps were never respected in the hell hierarchy. How ironic that the ones who fucked up enough to get sent here are treated better than the innocent demons who never even got a chance at life in the first place. This was the reason you decided to become a thief. If no one was willing to hire the lowlife so that you could make an honest living, you would steal to live a comfortable life. You weren't a Saint by any means but you weren't evil enough to steal from your own kind, only people who either deserved it or people who could afford to be stolen from. That includes overlords, and more specifically, your latest victims, the Vees. They were known for their social influence on the residents of hell, but you didn't really care much since overlords only live in the pride ring and imps usually residents in Imp City in the wrath ring. That, however, doesn't mean you won't travel there and take their shit. You were currently at Vee Tower late at night. Everyone was asleep so you had the perfect chance to do your job and quickly scurry off, or at least that's what you thought, You usually work fast but that doesn’t take into account the time constraint of Vox’s new security system. The moment you touched the vase, a loud alarm rang and a few seconds later, Vox and his tired partners came up to you. 

“What do you think you're doing,” Vox said, his business smile faltering. Shit. You underestimated this guy's inventions. “Oh.. uhhh..” you were at a loss for words. What were you even supposed to say? ‘Hey I was about to steal this vase that you own’? Absolutely not. Luckily for you, they didn't seem to mind as much as you thought they would. Little did you know that every time you had stolen from the Overlords, they had known you were there. Although they didn't exactly appreciate you stealing their belongings, they had taken a bit of a liking towards you. Even when being mischievous little shit, you still had a sort of charm. Like when you were stealing one of Vox's newest prototypes and spent 10 whole minutes trying to figure out what it did before giving up and furiously putting it in the bag. Or that time you stole one of Velvette's dresses and before putting it in the bag you put it on, just for funsies. She had to admit, you didn't look half bad in her designs, maybe when you finally date them, she can ask you to model for her. And the time you tried to steal one of the blankets from one of Val's studios, which surprisingly sell for a lot. You hurriedly put it in the bag, trying to touch it as little as possible, who knows what things people had done in those blankets. They slowly fell for you one by one, maybe next time, they can finally ask you out. Once they give you the world, you finally won't have to steal their things.

[llyfrenfys]

"Fascism and Welsh Nationalism", or "Stop Fawning over the FWA you cont"

This is inspired by things I've been noticing around Aberystwyth lately while out and about.

Some mfer is putting up Free Welsh Army (FWA) stickers and I have to keep on pulling them down. Why? You ask.

Fascism.

Because of the not so subtle links between the FWA and fascist movements (of which those links are quite frankly underdiscussed) this post is necessary.

So, starting with the stickers:

This is just one of three identical stickers I've pulled down this last week in Aberystwyth. They appear more to be car stickers than anything else and must have cost a pretty penny to print and/or purchase. They appear to have been bought directly from a website using FWA imagery and slogans - yet does not claim to be the FWA (that I can see, at least). I'm not going to link to it because they don't need any more web traffic. But we will get onto why this is significant in a bit.

Anyway, returning to the stickers - I pulled down the first one off of an electric box on North Road, opposite Vaynor St in late November. I pulled down the second (pictured) also in late November on Penglais Road off the bus stop near the hospital. And in early December I pulled down the third one off of a wall near the Spar at the end of Vaynor Street. Right off the bat we can assume the guy who wasted a lot of money on these stickers lives local to where the stickers I've found so far were. So they're lazy, for one - not venturing much further than their own front door by the looks of it.

Iconography:

I've written about the iconography of the FWA before here but it bears repeating that if fascists approve of your iconography, then that's a sign your movement is already overrun with fascists.

This is the sticker design which I've been noticing about town. Top to bottom we have "Cymru Rydd/Free Wales" which on its own is fine. No qualms with that. But between the Welsh and English text is a symbol. This one:

Now, this was the symbol of the Free Wales Army. Note that I say *was* because the FWA doesn't exist any more. Yet various actors have tried to resurrect its very unsuccessful corpse over the years. These stickers seem to belong to a new organisation which is the latest to try and capitalise on the ghost of the FWA. Now, if you're like me, you'll have already noticed this design is, for lack of a better word, a bit dogwhistley. The angled, blocky, swastika-like stylisation of what is supposedly an eagle, the black and white void of any other features and the very fact it *is* an eagle depicted all seem a bit *too* similar to the iconography of the Third Reich, don't you think?

Their design choice is no accident. It is a design which appeals to fascists while also has enough Welsh cultural reference for apologists to hide behind with a plausibly deniable reason for why their eagle Looks Like That. The white eagle is a reference to the 13th C. poem Mab Darogan, in which Myrddin prophesises that "a king shall come with heroism from among the Welsh people" and that "generous men shall be reborn of the lineage of the eagles of Snowdonia". The eagle could have literally been drawn in any way. But it rather specifically was drawn like this. That choice is not accidental.

Now this new organisation which is trying to reanimate the corpse of the FWA (we'll call them EW) has incorporated the FWA symbol into their sticker. An endorsement of the failed so-called 'paramilitary' organisation on their part, to be sure. EW also have included a different style of white eagle on their sticker as well - which is blatantly stolen from Wikipedia (the copyright is expired, but 0/10 artistic effort on their part even so). Also not to nitpick but the eagle on the sticker is grey not white so that's also a fail.

Artistic criticisms aside, the sticker is loaded with dogwhistley iconography all round. The Celtic knot border isn't necessarily problematic, however, fascists and/or neo-nazis love to slap Celtic knots onto things because they associate Celticity with whiteness. The colour scheme may also be a coincidence, but it does remind me of the fascist symbol which is the 'Flag of Kekistan" which uses the same colour scheme.

Why does this matter and who were the FWA?:

The FWA were a Welsh nationalist (supposedly 'paramilitary') outfit which formed in Lampeter in 1963 and disbanded in 1969 (just 6 years of activity). They took a lot of their cues from the IRA and were effectively fanboys of them. The group was never really considered a threat and mostly consisted of middle-aged men playing paramilitary dress-up. They did claim to be funded by the IRA and that they had dogs trained to carry explosives. Their claims remain unproven.

HOWEVER - and here's where things get sticky. A lot of the issues the FWA were publicly concerned with were and are actually valid issues (e.g. the drowning of Capel Celyn, the Aberfan Disaster etc.). The problem is that fascists or fanboys of fascists love to get their foot in the door by addressing genuine issues. But what happens is that invariably a minoritised group is blamed for the existence of said issue and naturally that leads to discrimination and violence.

The police started to get a bit antsy with the investiture of then-prince Charles as prince of Wales and the possibility of the FWA doing some terrorism. So some of the FWA's leaders were arrested just prior to this. The group officially ended in 1969.

The nationalism advocated for by the FWA was of the 'blood-and-soil' type. Not just your common or garden nationalism (which still has issues but given context is perfectly able to exist in a non-fashy way). And that's why the idolisation of the FWA in years since is sus. It appeals to romanticised nationalist notions of brave men in uniforms helping free Wales - when in reality they did little terrorism and little to actually further the Welsh nationalist cause. In fact, the leadership of the FWA fell apart after they started to disagree on whether their actions were damaging the cause rather than helping it.

Julian Cayo-Evans founded the FWA and ran it with Dennis Coslett and Gethin ap Gruffydd. Gruffydd went on to found other youth nationalist organisations after he left the FWA due to disagreements with its direction - e.g. he founded the Patriotic Front in 1964 which was later outlawed by Plaid Cymru in 1966. It goes without saying names like 'Patriotic Front' are deliberate nods to other, similarly named fascist organisations like National Front.

Legacy and The Present:

FWA's only legacy is the sycophantic fanclub which ressurects the corpse of the FWA every few years to parade it around and relive the 'glory days' of paramilitary cosplay. But aside from functionally being useless, their iconography and politics are still very much under the fash umbrella and that must be resisted at every opportunity (hence why I'm tearing down their stickers - I don't want fascists to feel welcome here). Part of why people may turn a blind eye to the FWA/sympathise is that they may not be aware of the history of the FWA or see the dogwhistles laden in their work and symbols. Some may even just assume without any other context that they're just another Welsh-language preservation group and may even support them without realising the deeper nature of the organisation beyond just preserving the Welsh language.

Which brings me back to EW. I'm going to put the rest of this under a cut, I do encourage reading the rest though and reblogging to get the word out that

It is always morally okay to tear down fascist propaganda

If you see some in your town, don't hesitate to let fash know they aren't welcome here.

EW:

So, onto the latest in a long line of paramilitary wannabes who idolise a long-dead organisation from the 60s.

The EW website seems... sketch. Lots of banners and sections asking to 'donate now' and 'take action' (with money). So right off the bat this looks like a cash-grab.

Secondly, from their own 'About' section they claim that the Welsh Independence movement has "become inundated with authoritarian Marxist entryists who regard Welsh independence as merely a vehicle for furthering their own political agendas". Which is pretty bold stuff coming from an organisation trying to do The Exact Same. There's also a LOT of emphasis on youth involvement and youth nationalism.

There's also a lot of ahistorical claims in the About section too. E.g. on the prophecy of Myrddin "From this legend derives the very name of Cymru’s greatest mountains, with ‘Eryri’ meaning the ‘Seat of the Eagles’ in Cymraeg." - this is contested as there is no one agreed upon etymology of Eryri. To claim that this is The Etymology suggests that they picked this one just because it conveniently fits the version of the mythology they're presenting. They also claim that "Owain ap Gruffydd, would adopt three such eagles as his royal coat of arms" - this is blatantly incorrect as Owain ap Gruffydd lived before the Age of Heraldry and the three eagles are actually later attributed arms.

In EW's FAQ there's a section on supporting their organisation - with one paragraph saying that you can buy stickers instead "If you aren’t eligible or willing to commit to becoming an activist". Lol at 'if you aren't willing to fully commit to our FWA fanboy club you can put up some stickers instead'. Also the button to buy stickers suggests you pay via paypal "We’ll accept quick payments using PayPal and will have them shipped to you First Class" - which *totally* sounds legit (what do you bet they ask people to pay via 'friends and family instead of through business means?).

And... that's it. There's very little else on their website. It *looks* like they're trying to be a movement, but appear to lack substance (and money, judging from how many different Donate Now buttons are plastered all over the site). A hollow organisation blatantly bending history and mythology to fit their narrative, proudly using symbols designed to appeal to fascists while asking people to trust them with the future of Wales?

Dim diolch.

For further reading on why we should guard against fascism in Welsh language revival and independence, see my other post here.

Reblogs welcome for an antifascist independent Wales.

[infinitystoner]

Exaltation

AO3 | Masterlist

Summary: In which you express the depths of your devotion to Loki of Asgard (whilst on your knees).

Pairing: Prince!Loki x Female Reader

Word count: 2.2k

Tags/Content: Teasing, Bratty Behavior, Humor, Bit of Fluff, Praise, Smut, Oral (m receiving), Established Relationship, Second Person POV, No Y/N

Rating: Explicit; 18+

Author’s note: So, I’m kind of obsessed with writing Prince Loki at the moment. Perhaps this is the start of a new collection? Anyway, here’s a lil’ something for @sarahscribbles’ birthday celebration. I hope you enjoy these brats in love, my dear!

Loki huffs as the two of you cross the threshold into his rooms, kicking the heavy golden door shut behind him, the impact reverberating off the stone walls with a resounding thud.  

Norns, he’s as eager to get to the bedchamber as you are. And rightly so – it’s been days. 

“Loki!” You giggle as you turn to him, warm laughter faltering at the sight of his solemn countenance, a shift that tinges the atmosphere with something you can’t quite place.  

It’s unexpected, yet familiar. Anticipation simmers in your stomach as he releases your hand, jerking his chin toward the blazing hearth at the center of his study. 

“Over there. Now.”

Oh. 

Just a few hours earlier, Loki, Thor, and their entourage had returned from a week-long royal hunt. Your reunion at the celebratory feast had been nothing short of scintillating – a mirthful evening of rousing conversation, stolen glances, abundant wine, and teasing touches. 

But it hadn’t been enough. With Loki, it’s never enough. 

He’s always a bit insatiable after time apart, but tonight something is different. There’s a sense of determination emanating from him as he observes you following his order without hesitation. His jaw is set, the muscles of his neck subtly tensing as he holds his head high, nostrils flaring slightly as his eyes bore through you. 

It’s quite thrilling, really. 

The fire emits a symphony of pops and snaps, flames lapping at the logs in an enchanting waltz as Loki stalks forward, commanding your attention with each step. He unfastens his cloak, draping it over the settee. You wonder why you’re not already draped across the sofa, Loki’s body pressing into yours. But you dare not move from your designated spot, especially when you notice the devious glint in his sharp, calculating gaze.

“It’s been much too long, love.” He’s in front of you now, poised and majestic and biting his lip in the most devastating way. The crackling fire crescendos as logs shift, casting shadows that flicker and sway throughout the chamber, and you furtively take a small step to the left. It’s a vain endeavor to quell the mounting ache between your thighs, but at least the new position allows the amber light to accentuate each curve of your silhouette. Because whatever little game Loki’s planning, you intend to win. 

“I don’t know why you insist on making it longer.” 

He only hums in response, quirking a brow as he rocks on his heels, regarding you. 

Infuriating brat. 

Loki slightly startles when you impetuously fist the collar of his tunic, crashing your lips into his. You don’t expect him to lean in, considering his little display of dominance and all, so it’s your turn to be caught unawares when his tongue slips past your lips. It’s slow and sweet, and the lingering taste of honey wine envelops your senses and sends you reeling with pleasure.

When Loki breaks the kiss, you lurch forward, craving more. It’s never enough. 

But any momentum you might’ve summoned with your amorous advance is now gone – the deep, jovial laugh rumbling through his chest a stark contrast to your shallow pants.  

“Ah, ah,” he tuts, his palm flat against your collarbone. “Remain where you are so that I may get a good look at you.” 

“I believe you did enough looking during the feast,” you quip, finally catching your breath. Loki takes another step back, eyes crinkling in mirth and appearing every bit the mischievous god that he is. 

“There wasn’t much else that could be done in front of the Allfather and half of Asgard, now was there, darling? And surely you cannot fault me for wanting to admire a divine creature such as yourself.” 

Damn that silver tongue.

“But I am curious to know all the sordid thoughts hidden away in that pretty head of yours,” Loki continues, his darkened eyes raking over your body as a familiar warmth ignites every nerve ending like a fiery enchantment. At first, you think he’s magicked away your gown – a dash of disappointment arising in you when you realize you’re still fully clothed.

“Whatever do you mean?” you reply, tauntingly narrowing your eyes. It’s a wily attempt to lure Loki into your trap – because the only thing he loves more than provoking chaos is countering a challenge. 

“Careful, little one. Do not lie to me. Not when both know your intentions are less than honorable, what with that rousing performance licking the ambrosia from your fingertips at the high table.” 

An impish smile tugs at the corners of your lips as he circles you, the stealth movement reminding you of a predator on the prowl. You refuse to be his prey. For now, anyway. 

“Oh, that? Merely an ill-timed consequence of misplacing the serviette.” 

Loki’s fingertips trail down your arms before he grasps your hips, pulling you against his solid form. 

“Is that so?” he rasps in your ear, his cool breath sending a chill down your spine. His erection is evident, and you both shamelessly groan as you grind your ass into him. 

“See?” The timbre of his voice vibrates across your flesh as he cups your breast, his thumb roughly flicking your nipple through the sinfully thin fabric of your dress. “Trouble.”

“You love it.” 

“Oh, do I ever,” he hums, scraping his teeth over the sensitive skin below your ear as his hands continue their exploration. It’s an addicting action he knows drives you wild, and, in the haze of lust he’s conjuring, you don’t realize he’s deftly unclasping the pin at the shoulder of your gown.   

A small gasp escapes you as the silken bodice pools around your waist. Even with the hearth burning beside you, the air in the chamber is crisp, and Loki’s hands are cooler still. He circles you again, tugging the lustrous material over your hips, a smug grin adorning his face as you stand completely bare before him. You straighten your shoulders as he retreats, his pupils expanding with unabated lust as he drinks in the sight of you. 

The light ebbs and flows around you, but your eyes are solely focused on each other as Loki settles into the plush velvet armchair across from where you stand. 

“So brazen,” you tease, stepping out of your slippers and lightly kicking your discarded garment to the side. “But I thought you fancied yourself a benevolent god, Loki.” 

“Hmm? Oh, yes,” he says, eyeing the front of his trousers. “I suppose that was quite unfair of me, wasn’t it?”

He waves his hand with a flourish, his clothing evaporating in a flash of emerald. 

Gods, he’s gorgeous. Golden light flickers across his immaculate physique and a part of you wants to stay here forever – committing the impossible splendor of this maddening man to memory. But Loki has other plans. 

“Enjoying the view?”

You release a shaky breath, the throbbing in your core becoming more unbearable by the second. “Yes.”

“But it’s not enough, is it?” His voice drips with a blend of amusement and mockery, as if savoring the mere taste of your frustration. 

He’s going to be the end of you. You shake your head, watching in awe as he widens his hips, the ripple of elegant muscle beneath his alabaster skin accentuated in the firelight – but it’s the sight of his beautiful cock resting against his thigh that makes your heart stutter. You’re gawking, too; you’re sure of it. But you don’t care. 

When your eyes dart up to meet his, Loki smiles and silently beckons you with a graceful curl of his forefinger. 

Finally. Arousal thrums through your veins, but as you move to climb atop him, he snatches your wrist, and you freeze. 

“Kneel.” 

It’s a command so powerful, so sensual, that you know surrender is imminent. 

You’re between his thighs in a heartbeat, yearning to worship every glorious inch of him. Your knees sink into the plush furs at his feet as you prepare to indulge every request he makes.

“Loki…” you say breathlessly, dragging your nails up his muscular calves. 

“You know–” he interrupts “–out there, in the wilds of Asgard, the vision of you on your knees, begging for me, possessed my every waking thought. In fact, darling, I was so preoccupied that I nearly clipped Thor with a rogue arrow.” 

You breathe out a nervous laugh at his admission, and his lips curl into that damned smirk as he looks down at you. It’s the one he always dons when he’s up to something, and suddenly everything falls into place.

“Beg.”

Your resolve shatters, words tumbling from you without conscious thought. “I need to touch you, Loki. Please.” 

“Oh, you can do better than that, dove,” he taunts, languidly beginning to stroke himself. “Beg for me and I’ll give you exactly that which you desire.” 

You inhale, mouth watering in anticipation and mind reeling with possibility. And then the perfect words come to you.

“My king,” you say with an air of innocence, pride bubbling in your chest as Loki’s cock twitches in his palm. “I am yours. Completely.” 

Your gaze meets his as you caress his thighs, pushing them slightly outward as you lean forward. He exhales when your hand replaces his own, shifting in the chair as you emulate his unhurried strokes.

“Words alone cannot express my eternal devotion.” 

His eyes glisten as he reaches down to tenderly grasp your chin, the pad of his thumb massaging your bottom lip. 

“That isn’t–” Loki hesitates, his voice carrying a hint of wariness, and your heart aches for him. All these years and some small part of him still believes he’s unworthy of your affection. 

He deserves every ounce of veneration you can bestow upon him – and not just tonight. For as long as time stretches across the cosmos, you’ll spend your days and nights proving to Loki the love you share is real and that he is worthy of it and so much more. 

“Allow me to exalt you” is what you think you say before he guides himself into your mouth, but you’re not certain of anything right now. Except that he’s warm and heavy on your tongue, and the sweet, tangy taste of him is divine. 

You hear him gasp from above, and you moan in turn, watching in fascination as he responds to your touch. He’s everything you desire and soon your fervent slurps and Loki’s soft grunts are the only sounds accompanying the crackles and pops of the fire.  

“Gods, yes,” he pants, delicately placing his hand at the nape of your neck as you quicken your pace. “That’s it. That’s my good girl.” 

His praise spurs you to flatten your tongue against his cock, working your magic until his hips rise to meet your every movement. 

Saliva drips from the corners of your lips as his sounds of pleasure intensify, thighs shuddering around you. His brows knit, face contorting in ecstasy as you gag around him. 

“Faen… I- I’m,” Loki manages to say through gritted teeth, chin pointing up to the heavens before his hips jerk once, twice – a strangled groan echoing around the chamber as he spills into your mouth. 

When his hand falls from your head, you slowly pull off of him, sitting back on your heels to admire the view before you. 

He’s still hard, and you already miss the weight of him on your tongue, but the flush of pink on his cheeks and the thin sheen of perspiration on his brow, along with the ragged rise and fall of his chest, assures you he’s properly sated – for the next few minutes, at least. 

“Get up here, woman,” he instructs, eyes twinkling as he guides you to his lap. As you straddle his waist, Loki’s head tilts to the side, an expression of absolute reverence that no one – save for you – ever bears witness to on his handsome face. 

“I love you.” It’s a whispered incantation on your skin, his cool breath sparking a yearning that burns brighter than any star in the night sky. Surely this must be what Valhalla feels like.

You open your mouth to respond – to tell him you’d unquestionably journey to the ends of the universe and beyond with him – but the passion burning in his eyes compels you to kiss him again. You delight in the small whimper he makes when you bite his bottom lip, rolling your hips against him in response. Loki deepens the kiss as you comb your fingers through his dark curls. It’s surprising that he allows you to continue your search for friction as you grind into him, but just as you’re nearing the edge of bliss, he pulls away, stilling your motions with his hands as you whine in protest. 

The glow from the hearth illuminates his dimples as he grins up at you before playfully swatting your ass.

“You know, I don’t believe you ever actually begged,” Loki says, turning his head to leisurely kiss along your inner wrist. “We’re going to have to rectify that.” 

“Is that a threat or a promise, your highness?” 

Truthfully, you aren’t sure which prospect excites you more, but without warning you’re in motion, a small shriek escaping you as the prince lifts you, his hands gripping the back of your thighs. 

Loki pretends to ponder your question as he lays you gently on the sofa, his practiced fingers dipping between your legs. 

“I promise you this, my love: You’ll be begging for release before the night’s end.”

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt from the one where Krypton lives and Kara did not sign up for this.

Only Kal would manage to get his DNA stolen on a planet called “Earth”, of all the godsdamned stupid places.

Might as well just be named “The Planet” or something, she swears. 

“All three it is,” Kara says, waving open her wall storage and grabbing her rice pot out of it. She only has the one because she's never had to cook for anyone else in her life, much less anyone who was staying with her, but she'll make it work. 

Somehow. 

Can't be any worse than pulling off mission-critical military maneuvers in shit conditions with untried and under-trained new recruits, she figures. 

. . . though she is admittedly more prepared for that situation than this one, if it comes to it. 

Look, that’s just experience, alright? She’s been on a thousand maneuvers and missions she didn’t have the resources for, but Kal doesn’t get cloned every day. 

Well, at least not when he’s not on incredibly uncreatively named alien planets, anyway. 

Kara dumps three times the usual amount of rice into her rice pot while Thirteen hovers just outside the kitchen and Match stands very, very still beside him. Neither of them says anything else, though Thirteen looks like he might want to. He seems to be the talker, from what Kara can tell. 

Or at least, he’s the one they’ve designated to be the talker. He asks more questions, and sometimes Match looks at him like he’s expecting him to ask a question. Even if they don’t necessarily get along, they seem to be cooperating at least that much. 

Well, it makes sense. They’re the only other successful Kryptonian-human clones that anyone’s aware of existing, and they know cloning is illegal on Krypton, and Kal isn’t here right now. Who else are they going to rely on when meeting a total stranger? 

Even a total stranger who is, technically, family. 

Or at least arguably, anyway. 

Her house communicator plays a familiar identifying little melody as she’s juggling her spheres of katso sauce and dried spygin in one arm while trying to dig out the last couple of bly fruit she <i>knows</i> she had shoved in the back of her cold storage, which admittedly is a bit cluttered with premade meals right now. Or . . . always, pretty much. 

In her defense, she really doesn’t cook very much. Or very well. Or . . . at all, really, when she can avoid it. 

She’s a grown woman and a decorated general, alright? She doesn’t need to cook if she doesn’t want to. 

“Accept call,” she instructs briskly, and the communicator’s holoscreen materializes to her side. Thirteen startles slightly; Match doesn’t so much as twitch. Doesn’t so much as breathe either, though, so she’s pretty sure he was startled too. At least, that’s the impression she’s been getting from the way he’s reacted to things so far. 

Avoided reacting to things, more like. 

“Oh, look who’s finally calling,” she says, eyeing Kal’s image on her projected screen. He looks just barely harried and the slightest bit sheepish, and she can see a dark-haired woman who’s presumably his new wife sitting behind him in his home office wearing peculiar clothing that is definitely not Kryptonian, but also doesn’t look nearly as indecent as what Thirteen and Match both showed up wearing. She seems occupied with a reader, and keeps activating and deactivating it like she’s never seen anything like it before. 

So probably the wife, yes. Lois Kal-El, née Sam-Lane, according to Kal’s previous calls. Though he also says that humans have slightly different naming schemes than Krypton does. And apparently more varied ones than Krypton does, too. 

Why Kal apparently made sure his grown wife was more appropriately dressed than the children were is beyond her, though.

[scoatneyhall]

Surprising lack of conversation about how the bar Jamie and Roy were drinking at was Bones and Honey - you know, the exclusive members only place from Beard After Hours, and where Rupert takes Nate.

Are Roy and Jamie both members? If not, which one is the member and which one is the guest? I suspect Roy is a member regardless of whether Jamie is or not. The date was Roy's idea and I extremely love the idea of Roy being a member because I enjoy his total hypocrisy when it comes to posh and expensive shit. He thinks Waitrose is too posh but will spend 60k on a watch and not care if it's stolen. In theory you'd think he would prefer a run of the mill old school pub. In reality, not so much.

Related: I love that Ted and even Rebecca will frequent the Crown and Anchor regularly, but that the players very much don't. The only times a player has been there (curse meeting, Jamie with Ted) it's been a big deal and they've been somewhat gawped at and photographed by fans. It's a great touch of realism in terms of the footballers' fame level and lifestyle that they'd hit up a members only bar as a matter of course, somewhere with a level of exclusivity that offers them privacy. Even Roy. If what Roy wants is to sit somewhere quietly and drink and "be normal" and not be bothered by people, the price of admission for that privilege is doing it in a place designed to protect the rich and famous from civilians. It's really fucking interesting.

Anyway, we know that place has a snooty receptionist on the street level and a lift ("elevator") up to the bar. Do we think the fight started in the bar and people just turned a blind eye because this is a place where people can get away with shit? Did it start in the bar and they immediately got kicked out and possibly their membership revoked? Or did they say more stupid shit and just bristle at each other while purposely and intentionally taking the lift down to street level with the full knowledge they were about to lay into each other? What does Sarah Coombes think of all this?