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luveline · 8 months

Note

Hello! Would it be alright to request something where prince!steve and his Princess attend their first formal event together?

tysm for requesting ♡ prince steve au

"Don't spill anything," Steve advises under his breath. "Your corset is alabaster."

"I know. I feel like breathing the wrong way is gonna crack it like papier mache."

He snorts, adjusting your hand on his arm to the correct position where you stand around a corner from the grand staircase. You wince as rich laughter bounces off the marble steps, the sound wrought with a feeling akin to hounds snapping at your heels.

"Your nails look nice," Steve says.

He's already complimented your face, your hair, and your dress. There's not much left to praise, but he finds something anyhow, and a flush of pleasure warms your skin. "Thank you," you say, looking down at your painted nails, a shimmering mother of pearl lacquer coating each one. The cost rivals a month's groceries. "They had so many colours… we started with red, but I thought it looked silly on me. My hands are weird."

"Your hands are perfect." His eyes shine with sincerity, lips pulled into an amused smile that feels like a well-aimed bop to the chest. "I can get you more. Nail lacquer, I mean. There's a small Sri Lankan boutique by Cordelian House, they have all that intricate cosmetic stuff. It's where Munson gets his kohl sticks." He smiles at you reassuringly. "I'm trying to distract you. It's not working, is it?"

"I'm going to mess up. Your mom– the queen–"

"You can call her my mom. That's what she is." Steve nods his understanding of the things you've said without saying them. "She'll be disappointed if you mess up. But I won't be. I'm proud of you for even putting on the dress. I'd be proud of you if you didn't."

You lick your lips, cherry balm sticky on the tip of your tongue. "Thank you, Steve."

He says things like this with little regard for how forward it is. Not that subtlety is required. While antiquated in some aspects, the contemporary royal society is loudly lustful. You and Steve could be intimate together now weeks before the wedding and nobody would bat an eye, but you suspect that he's just as unprepared for that as you are, no matter how gently he covers your hand with his.

There's a short sound like a bird call. Steve straightens his back, his thumb drawing a half circle across your fingers. "Ready?" he asks.

You nod. You don't really have a choice.

They announce you together, Prince Steven and his Soul Marked Y/N. It sounds ridiculous to hear his name after weeks of Please, call me Steve, or anything else but Steven. Doubly so to hear you announced as his and not yourself. A simple 'Miss' would have sufficed. Braced for a night of similar small agonies, you hold tight to Steve's arm and begin your descent down the grand staircase and into the foyer. The palace is a structure of white stone that shines silver in some lights, impossible walls of selenite and gauzy silks. The steps are more solid, a plain marble that clicks under the soles of your short heels.

"Don't let me fall," you say under your breath, the hush of the crowd nearly occluding your voice completely.

"Never." You can hear his polite smile. "Don't panic."

You can't not panic, sweat at your naked collar, pearls like beads of ice bobbing with each step you take. The second you reach the floor you deflate with an exhale, your back clicking at the sudden decompression. There's a brief round of applause at your arrival before the cheery music begins anew, the dancing begins again, and the many faces that surround you blur into jewels and elegant clothes, fabrics coloured manilla white, snailshell purple, emerald green, a rainbow of satins swirling this way and that as girls are pushed into spins to the right of the foyer under the ballroom chandelier.

"You'll dance with me, yeah?" Steve asks tentatively.

You meet his eyes, all their soft brown gazing at you like you're worth his worry. His lashes twitch as his gaze darts swiftly down and up again.

"Do I have something?" you ask, lifting your chin.

"Lipstick. I can fix it?" He brings his hand to your lips before you've answered, using the trimmed nail of his pinky finger to wipe at your lip. You turn still as a porcelain statue, a shiver rushing down your chest at the warmth of his touch.

"You'll dance with me?" he asks again, his knuckle brushing your chin as he drops his hand.

"Of course I'll dance with you, Steve. We're expected to."

He throws a glance at the people around you and steps closer. "I want to dance with you because you want to dance. We don't have to do anything. Not this ball, not the dance. Not the wedding." He sighs. "You have choices."

"No. I don't." Because there glows your wrist. Threads of translucency like spider web and downy feather combined, a sorry hue of blue.

"Yes, you do," he whispers. "You want to leave? We'll leave right now. I just want you to be happy, and with me."

You think about it. The weight of hundreds of eyes on your shoulders and the restriction of your corset is making you nauseous. If you left, that sickness would go. But Steve wouldn't get to dance with you.

"I don't want to leave," you say, not sure if you're lying or not. You'd quite like to have his hands on your hips again. And sometimes before the dip he breathes in your ear, says something soft, like Keep going, you got it.

"No?" he asks, relieved.

"No. Let's dance. We need the practice…" You offer your hand. He takes it, the smudge of lipstick on his pinky finger like a heart. "I'm sorry. I want to dance."

"What are you sorry for?" he asks, leaning down to kiss the highest point of your cheek. "Let's dance. If you mess up, I'll mess up worse. I promise. I'll chicken dance in front of everybody."

#prince!steve au #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things 4

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clockwork-ashes · 27 days

Text

Daylight

The smallest of stones, the greatest of ripples.

Summary: Eris learns that Lucien is not Beron's son (one-shot).

Eris paced the small room, his steps soundless. Barefoot, ready for bed, cold rough stone to warm soft carpet. Over and over, again and again, a comfort.

The smell of copper, sharp like night blooming flowers, hung in the air. Eris noticed that he had bitten through the inside of his cheek. He traced the wound with his tongue, the salt and metal of his blood enough to ground him, to clear his mind.

Eris took a deep breath. He knew all the flames of this world, it was his birthright. Centuries he had lived, had witnessed much, gained enough wisdom.

Eyes like gold, glowing unlike any fire made of Autumn, Eris had seen only a glimpse of it and had known. Magic was ancient, but simple, responding like a trained hound to those who had taken the time to learn its secrets. Stoked to life in the court he had been raised in, Eris would have recognised the flames as his own.

Daylight.

Sunbright, lovely, Lucien’s eyes had been twin stars in the darkness.

It had taken every ounce of self control Eris possessed not to rear back at the sight, a death sentence.

An oath taken, a promise made in blood, Eris had nearly forgotten. His mother’s hands, claws as she had gripped his arm, begged her eldest son to grant her strange request. Everything had been made clear as Eris had silently watched the Lady of Autumn gently stroke Lucien’s curls from his face, eyes half-lidded and gold only like sunlight could be.

Small for his age and precious as all fae children were, Lucien was coddled by everyone in the Forest House.

Half a decade, nothing in the grand scheme of things, and yet enough to change everything. The smallest of stones, the greatest of ripples.

The flames in the fireplace flared, Eris tugged at the short strands of blood red hair at the nape of his neck. He felt like he was drowning, his head already below the water’s surface, Eris choked on his own fear.

“Eris, please.” His mother’s voice was quiet, a tremor in her words as she took to begging him once more. For what, Eris did not know, and in the moment he could not be bothered to care.

Eris whirled around to face her, smaller than he remembered, the Lady of Autumn looked up at her son. His fear was reflected in her eyes, the weight of knowing that an executioner’s axe hung just above Lucien’s head.

“How could you?” Eris snarled, the words biting, accusatory. Never had he spoken to his mother in such a way, the softest of tones always reserved for her.

She shook her head, loose strands falling from her braid and framing her thin face. Defeated, her shoulders curved as she curled in on herself. Eris hoped she felt guilty. “You wouldn’t understand,” she murmured, dismissive and soft.

A strangled laugh, short and unamused, was dragged from deep within Eris. His mother took a careful step towards him, and Eris took a measured step back. Closer in age than half his brothers, Eris had always understood the Lady of Autumn. “Six sons were not enough?” Eris snapped harshly.

“All children are a blessing,” she did not look at Eris as she said it, more to herself than to him anyway.

Eris wondered if those were the words his mother had told herself when she had first married the High Lord. A half truth quietly whispered when she had been alone, but not entirely convincing despite how often it was said.

“A fate worse than death awaits him,” Eris argued, sure that flames had come to life in his amber eyes, voice louder. “You’re lucky father is in Spring, or Lucien would be dead already.”

“You don’t know that,” hands clenched into fists at her side, the Lady of Autumn raised her own voice to match.

Eris felt as the temperature in the room changed, uncomfortably hot, the flames in the fireplace and in the torches along the wall responding to the raging emotions of them both. “It’s cruel,” he hissed, “it’s wrong.”

A child born of an affair, Lucien was well and truly doomed, and who else was Eris to blame but the Lady of the Autumn Court.

“And you know much about cruelty,” the condemnation was clear in the tone his mother used.

If Eris had taken a moment to think, to consider how worried and frightened she was, perhaps he would have known to stop their argument. Instead, Eris pointed a shaking finger, angry, at the female that had raised him as best she knew how. “And whose fault is that?” The question was bitter, all poison, meant to hurt.

“You can be so much like your father.”

The last word a growl, the statement hung between them. Eris would have rather she had taken a knife to his chest.

Almost as though the Lady of Autumn had struck him, Eris flinched back.

With a startled gasp, eyes wide in shock and lips parted, his mother put out her hand. Regret, clear as river water, flashed on her sharp features. But the words had been said. “Eris,” she took a step towards him, “I didn’t–”

The door opened suddenly, the ancient hinges screaming in protest, cutting her sentence short. Eris was glad for it, wished he had not come home, would have preferred the war camps to this.

Eris had assumed the door was locked, panic coursed through his veins as he wondered who might have heard. Relief, like rain during a drought, came over Eris as Lucien walked into the room. Only the crackling of the fire could be heard, Eris and his mother silent.

Eyes half shut with sleep, russet once more, Lucien dragged his bare feet along with a small blanket behind him. Eris watched as he rubbed at his eyes with one hand, as he broke into a little yawn.

“Ris?” He mumbled, voice heavy. “I thought I heard your voice.”

Eris watched as his mother moved towards her youngest son, expecting him to go to her. Instead, Lucien made his way to Eris, nearly tripping on the blanket he had brought with him.

“Why aren’t you asleep?” Eris barely recognised his own voice.

With a half-hearted shrug, Lucien knocked into Eris’s legs. “I heard you talking in the hall,” another yawn before he continued, “You didn’t come say goodnight.” Completely trusting and entirely unaware of all that had happened moments before he had entered the room, Lucien clung to Eris.

The Lady of Autumn watched with wary eyes as Eris lifted Lucien into his arms gently. “Let’s get you back to bed.” He murmured.

Lucien merely hummed his response, tired. Resting his head on Eris’s shoulder, his breaths slowing once more.

Eris could see the pleading on his mother’s face, but he did not look at her long. He turned his attention to the arched window, watching the first rays of the sun inching over the horizon.

Daylight.

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #autumn court #eris vanserra #lady of autumn #the lady of the autumn court #lucien vanserra #but he is young #i just have many autumn court thoughts #the vanserra family dynamics intrigue me #thank you for reading <3 #ashes writes sometimes

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bucknastysbabe · 3 months

Text

This is pure crack taken seriously. Fuckin in publix places.

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Public sex, the Targtower horrendous family vacation, Daeron is in the picture (he isn’t), Bodyguard Criston, age gap, almost daddy kink, spitting in mouth, sink sex?, pnv!sex, v!fingering, oral fixations, Degredation, dirty talk, Criston is Old, Aegon is the FBI’s sex crimes hound he has a 20 mile radius

Taglist: @bambitas @moncherrii @aemonds-holy-milk @fairysluna @lovelykhaleesiii @arcielee @sugarpoppss2 @targaryenbarbie @gemini-mama

I do not work at this establishment Nope not at all

It was obscenely hot. Your family was on the annual trip to Clearwater for a summer vacation to the beach. Also known as the Targtower explosion failure tour. You and Daeron had coined it that two years ago when Aegon had drunkenly exploded the back yard trying to set off fireworks.

Your mother wheeled your decrepit father around, a floppy sun hat on his spotted head. Viserys was…rotting…sort of? Cancer sucks. It wasn’t really like he was there anyways, all of you were sent to boarding schools. Ole’ Vizzy invited his eldest daughter, her children, and Uncle Daemon to the grand beach mansion this year. Probably because he’d be dead next year.

Whatever it may be. It will be chaotic. Aemond was already scribbling furiously in his totally not a diary journal. Your family had stopped to get subs and some refreshments at one of the many Publix shopping centers dotting Florida. It was a busy Friday, so the whole clan was rotting along with Viserys in line.

Aegon slipped off to, “Stock up on booze.”

No surprise there. You eyed the family bodyguard Criston to gauge his reaction. He looked bored, gaze following Aegon. You ogled Criston’s summer wear. He looked pretty fucking good with some bitty shorts and a summery button-up polo. You’d been fucking the man since, well, every holiday or vacation since last Thanksgiving.

Which you thought would be hard. Not really as most of your family didn’t give a fuck about anything but themselves or were on something. Otto had been the closest to catching the pair of you. Taking a step behind Helaena you whispered, “Come up with something.”

Criston’s dark brows furrowed as he mouthed back ‘what?’ You rolled your eyes and murmured, “Find a reason for us to fuck off from this line, mom knows the orders!” Criston’s confusion settled into a calm facade. He spoke up, “Ali, the squirt and I are going to get some ice and other stuff, just text?”

“Sure, go ahead, this line isn’t moving anytime soon,” she sighed, waving them off.

Free from the hellish deli line you echoed “Squirt?”

Criston rubbed the back of his neck, laughing, “I mean I am 20 years your elder, and I make you squirt?” He stopped and peered at the signs, gasping when you dragged him toward the bathrooms. The bodyguard questioned frantically as you moved.

“W-what are we doing? Oh my, no, I know what you’re thinking, no!”

His big hands paused you by the shoulders. Criston sternly stated, “I’m supposed to be watching over everyone, not boinking in a public restroom! At a Christian establishment!” You frowned, throwing the man puppy eyes, pressing yourself into his trim frame. The grocery workers were probably disgusted but not surprised.

Leaning up to whisper you whined, “Come onnnnn, live a little, they’re just in line, a quickie? C’mon Criston, m’so fuckin’ wet for you baby.”

His jaw clenched down on a ragged growl. You stroked a hand down his chest, “Enjoy it while we can, soon I’m going to be frolicking around in my bikini while you gotta watch my dad.”

That seemed to win over the man, sighing and dipping into the women’s bathroom with you, taking up the biggest stall. Criston shoved you against the black stall, growling, “You’re such a damn brat, what got you all wet in the car, hm baby?”

“Mmm, I was watching you drive, your hands, wanted them ‘round my throat, fingers on my tongue baby.”

Criston’s dark eyes rolled a bit, the big hands in question slapping down on your ass as he hissed, “Drive me insane, goddamn.” He closed in toward your face and kissed, moaning soft and low. You shoved down his shorts, gently pulling at flushed cock. The bodyguard gasped and bit your lip, snarling, “Needy aren’t we?”

You nodded, opening your full lips. Criston spat into your mouth muttering, “Filthy girl.” You mewled when he picked you up and propped your ass on the sink. He told you to shut up while thick fingers slid up your skirt, ripping the thin material of your panties off. You bit down on your knuckles, whining like a damn puppy.

“Cock slut.”

You loved when he called you that. You also loved when he took your destroyed panties for his own keeping. Criston was a bigger whore than you. Folded so easily when you made the first move.

Criston murmured, nipping at your ear, “Goddamn you didn’t lie, little dirty slut, gonna have to fuck you now, god, don’t know how anyone just doesn’t look at you and know.”

“K-kn-know what?”

“What a deviant, cock-hungry slut you are baby,” he laughed quietly, pressing a couple kisses to your lips and jaw. You gripped weakly at his hair, panting in sharp little mewls. His dark eyes greedily roved over your tits falling out of the low-cut top, writhing on his thick fingers, begging for his cock.

Criston hissed, shoving his fingers down your throat to quiet your desperate begging. Tears fell down your eyes as you realized he removed

them between your legs to shove down your mouth. You shivered— more tears leaking down your red cheeks as you helplessly tasted your own essence.

The bodyguard grinned sharply, cooing into your ear, “Figured that would keep you quiet. Fucking whore.” His dark hair fell forward as he gazed at your cunt, adding, “Lookit’cha, already trying to suck me in, hah.”

He aligned his weeping cock with your horribly empty pussy, bullying his way in, free hand coming to rest at the small of your arching back. You shook at the sudden, deep intrusion, suckling Criston’s thick fingers with a mewl. The bodyguard was making forceful little thrusts

into your cunt, trying to keep the noise level at a minimum.

He mouthed at your shoulder, neck, panting dirty nonsense. You grew tighter around him, the lurid nature of this situation making you throb harder. Criston chuckled in your ear, strained from his very methodical fucking.

Usually the man wanted to be soft and sappy, fuck for hours. Or go to pound town. He was currently stuck in an awkward predicament and couldn’t do either.

“You’ll be bringing your pretty ass to my room every night after dragging me into this shit.”

You nodded eagerly, squirming on his length. Criston groaned at your unexpected response, his girl already fuck dumb on his ass, she’d have some sexy bratty remark right now. He refocused on jerking his hips up, hitting that soft spot at the roof of her pussy.

Criston shoved his left thumb in her mouth to get it wet before snaking it down to her engorged clit, throbbing and twitching in time with his direct little thrusts. He groaned raggedly at her involuntary shiver, milking his prick further along.

A pair of voices giggled from outside the stall, “Oh my god, they’re fucking? Don’t forget a condom!”

Criston’s eyes widened. He needed to wrap this up before anyone got suspicious. He pulled out a bit to slam back in, swirling his thumb, even popping a puffy nipple into his mouth. The brunette even began to massage her warm tongue.

“Mm, Mm! Cri- mmmmm!”

He grinned up from her tits, rumbling, “Come for me pretty girl, come on, do it now, we have a time limit!”

He didn’t mean to mention the time limit. Whoops.

You nodded, eyes rolling back as you were deposited into bliss. Criston hungrily replaced his wet fingers with his mouth, kissing away and swallowing desperate noises. Shuddering against his bigger frame he coddled and pet you, cock pumping along until he tensed and blew his load partially in you, partially in a papertowel, groaning your name.

His sappy puppy eyes were out now, the elder man breathing softly against your face. He hummed, “Alright, let’s get dressed yeah?” You nodded and tucked your tits away, putting wild hair into a ponytail, and straightening your skirt. The panties would have to be missing, hopefully no cum would leak out.

Criston looked a bigger mess, his curls all over the place, shirt askew, shorts on the ground. He breathed out huffily, “Please help me.” You smirked at him, getting Criston presentable for the great outdoors, of Publix. Regardless, both of you looked like you’d been fucking in a bathroom. Whatever.

The deli line had only moved 3 more spots, finally putting your mom and Vizzy, now asleep, in the front row. You held some sunscreen while Criston had the box of ice. Aemond raised a brow and scoffed. Aegon, significantly drunker than you’d last seen him sniffed loudly.

“It smells like someone was fucking? Who was fucking?”

You watched in horror as Aegon sniffed out Criston like a hound. He snatched up Criston’s fingers and stared before guffawing, the body guard shoving your eldest brother away. Aegon was on hand and knee now, laughing, “Sorry, I- HAHAAHAHAHAHAH- okay, m’god I prom-AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAH”

You kicked his shin, Aegon yelping and tripping. Eventually Otto stepped in and handed out orders of food. Why was he wearing a pimp outfit? Oh my god?

You grabbed some peach Tea while Criston snatched an energy drink. You hummed, “I mean how many times can you say that you’ve been fucking in Publix?”

“Yeah, that’s ten swats.”

#crack fic #hotd smut #hotd fanfic #ser criston cole x reader #criston cole x reader #targtowers

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merakiui · 2 years

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MERA not me thinking of the harbingers obsessing over the Tsaritsa's personal handmaiden 😫 🤌like ur so mysterious and they dont really know anything about you aside the fact that ur the Tsaritsa's personal handmaiden (reader is also immortal in here) and that what make's you intriguing to them.

Ooh, it’s even better if you’re the silent type—someone who’s as loyal as the most well-trained hound, a quiet force that only answers to the Tsaritsa. She’s the only one fortunate enough to hear your lovely voice. You often accompany her to the Harbinger meetings because she insists you come along and since it’s an order you comply without issue and stand in the background like a lonesome, unwavering shadow. You keep to yourself and only stare ahead, eyes never focusing on a single thing in the grand throne room. Although sometimes you’ll catch their stares as they sneak sly glances at you, some more obvious than the rest.

Colombina smiles covertly when she knows you’ve caught her stare. She sees no reason to hide her obvious curiosity. Just what will it take to hear the Tsaritsa’s beloved songbird sing? She wonders if you even possess a voice at all. From what she has observed, you only ever respond with curt nods and polite gestures when answering to others who aren’t your Archon. It’s only natural that your mysterious nature would attract her. Sooner or later she’ll have you singing so sweetly. It’s only a matter of time.

Capitano finds your silence alluring. There’s been a rumor amongst the Harbingers that your tongue was cut out for speaking poison, but he refuses to believe such prattle. You’re quiet and he hardly spares you much thought when he isn’t visiting Zapolyarny Palace. But lately his focus has begun to stray during meetings. It’s a relief his mask shields his face, otherwise you would know of his watchful gaze and that might frighten you. You are, according to his judgement, a fragile flower fighting the fierce, dagger-like ice that encases all of Snezhnaya. And perhaps he might be the one to protect you from such a dangerous climate. Both that and his colleagues. They are a threat to your tranquility, but then so is he.

Sandrone finds you to be absolutely delightful! You’re like an elegant, silent doll. Truly the finest marionette waltzing to the whims of a glacial puppeteer. She dotes on you in secret and wishes for a chance to catch you alone so that she may observe you more closely. Unlike her troublesome coworkers, you are far more tolerable. She almost wishes you obeyed her commands. It would be a blessing if she could indulge in tea with you without having to fret over whether or not her actions may upset Her Majesty. What a pity. Fortunately, she knows of a way to construct your likeness from spare parts, a new pet project she will thoroughly enjoy. And with time you’ll become her own precious doll.

Pantalone has gifted you a select few things in the past (jewelry, trinkets, desserts that are difficult to come by, etc). After all, you are an important pawn and the Tsaritsa values your work so it would be considerably ill-mannered of him if he failed to acknowledge your efforts with a few gifts. Some may say he’s currying favor, using riches to sway the heart of a handmaiden, and others may think he’s trying far too hard to cement himself in your life. But Pantalone is clever and with his vast wealth he can find plenty of excuses to be near you. He’s a charitable man, don’t you see? There’s no need to look through him like that. He only wishes to thank you for your hard work and, eventually, claim what’s owed. After all, you can’t expect him to give without wanting to take in the near future.

Arlecchino is relieved to know that there’s another who is as sensible as she is. The others are difficult to handle, and most meetings are tiresome to sit through, where she watches and listens to her coworkers as they bicker like children. You are the only light in this dark, abysmal situation. Every meeting becomes just a little more tolerable when she knows she’ll get to see you. Although it would be nice to speak to you, to hear your voice and relish in your every inflection, she can’t help but allow her thoughts to wander. She’s curious, and she wonders if your silence has been a byproduct of force or something else. When she bows her head in greeting and your only reply is a simple blink, she entertains a slew of possibilities. For now, she is content to observe. Your pursed lips hold a myriad of secrets—secrets that she will soon come to know and lips that she will soon capture in an icy kiss.

Immorality! What a delightfully cursed predicament! Dottore would love to pick your brain. Oh, he could spend hours researching what makes you tick, what gets you to talk, why you act the way you do, and so on. He’s especially interested in the current you. The you who keeps quiet during meetings and keeps to the shadows. The you who never flinches even when you’re in the presence of such dangerous individuals. Are you hiding your fright? Can you even feel fear? Just what is it that draws him in? If only he could take you for himself and find the answers to all of his burning questions… When he grows sick of faraway observations, he might just consider bringing you back to his lab should the opportunity present itself.

Childe can’t stand these boring meetings. Despite the cheery front he puts on for those around him, all warmth ebbs away the moment he steps foot in the throne room and spies the familiar faces of his coworkers. It’s such a drag. If he could skip all of the formalities and get on with his day he gladly would, but as one of the Tsaritsa’s elite he can’t just shirk these obligations. Instead, he focuses on the pretty thing who stands at attention beside an icy throne, looking out on a room of looming threats. You’re a mystery he has not yet solved—a foe he has not yet tested in battle. Childe will see this curiosity through to the end, even if it ends in bloodshed.

They say silence is bliss. Scaramouche can’t quite follow that saying, for he always has something to say. With a mouth that spews hatred as viciously as the snapping jaws of a ravenous beast, he is downright miserable at these meetings. His fuse seems to grow shorter with every minute spent in the frosty palace. But when he chooses to run off with a certain Archon’s Gnosis, abandoning his position as the Sixth Harbinger and going rogue, he thinks of you. You were always the highlight of those dreadful meetings. He’s not sure what it is he feels for you because concepts like love are so very foreign to him. He hardly knows if this peculiar feeling is classified as love. But he’s considered coming back for you. It’s a risk he’s spent plenty of time mulling over, and because it’s you it’s a risk he’s willing to take. Just what enchantment have you placed upon him? He must be going mad…

#genshin chit chat #yandere harbingers #yandere genshin impact #tsaritsa’s handmaiden #pulcinella is rooting for childe #and pierro just wants to continue the meeting in peace #can these simps please stop looking at you for a minute? he’s discussing important matters >:/

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fieldofdaisiies · 8 months

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𝑫𝒂𝒚 𝟒: 𝑯𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒔 | 𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒖𝒎𝒏 𝑬𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒏𝒐𝒙

Eris' first Autumn Equinox with his whole family for @erisweek2023🧡

• ──────────────────── •

The autumn equinox celebration is in full swing, the throne room filled with happily chanting and dancing people.

A grand feast table is in the centre of the room, filled with delicious roasted meat, platters of fruits and vegetables, and pitchers filled with the best wine. The sound of violins mingles with the melodies of laughter and conversation, filling the air with joyful delight.

The Autumn Court has hardly ever been that happy as nobles and commoners alike gather to celebrate the equinox, joining their High Lord and his family.

"Of course, the colour black suits you very well, but you look absolutely dashing in green."

Eris' arms curl around his mate's waist, careful of the wings of course, he snuggles in behind him, his chest against Azriel's back. The High Lord places a soft kiss to his mate's neck and smiles to himself.

A low chuckle makes Azriel's chest rumble and he leans into his mate's touch, his head tipping back a little.

From behind him, Eris regards his mate for a long moment, watching how the shadowsinger's long lashes draw shadows to his cheeks, how his eyes are trained on the dancing people that the soothing melodies beckon to the dance floor. They swirl and twirl in pairs and alone, joyful and free. Happier than the Autumn Court has ever seen its people.

"What are you thinking about?" Eris finds himself asking as he looks at his mate, his arms still around Azriel's strong chest.

"That the Autumn Court has probably never been that happy. And that you have done an outstanding job with restructuring this court and becoming the best great High Lord this place has ever seen."

Azriel turns in his mate's embrace so he can look at him. "And that I love you very much."

Eris smiles, and says, "And I also love you very much." He gives Azriel a tight squeeze, not kissing him as this is not very suitable in this moment, and not deemed very High-Lord-like — the public display of affection. But fuck formalities! Eris thinks.

He grabs Azriel's face in his broad hands and kisses him. "So very much," he says against his lips, voice breathless.

Azriel's cheeks gain colour, his eyes lowering for a moment. He takes a small step back and tilts his head to the table. "I think your people are getting hungry," he says and Eris bows his head.

No one has eaten yet, as the High Lord has not yet officially announced it.

"Let the feast begin!" Eris announces loudly, spreading his arms.

The people don't have to be told twice, immediately gathering the delicious meals on their plates, finding a place to sit and diving in.

Eris lifts his arms once again, lighting up all sconces in the room so that they burn a little brighter.

The sharp breath his mate takes in and the slight backwards step he takes, don't go unnoticed by the High Lord and he quickly reaches over to grab his mate's hand. "You are safe. You never have to be afraid of fire again," Eris says and turns to Azriel. The shadowsinger's jaw is clenched, but he relaxes it slowly.

Then Azriel turns to Eris. "I know that I am safe with you."

Their bond glows anew and their eyes stay locked, hearts beating in the same exact rhythm.

Until something startles Azriel. Something wet and cold touches the palm of the spymaster's other scarred hand and a small noise of surprise leaves him.

"Cerberus…" he breathes as he takes in the large hound seated next to him, panting with his tongue out. "You scared me, big boy. But obviously I did not forget you, I also feel safe with you." Azriel smiles and soon the two males and Cerberus are also joined by Odin, Eris' other large hound. "And of course, you too, Odin."

A low laugh leaves Eris and he squeezes Azriel's hand tightly.

This is his family. Azriel and the two hounds.

And of course, his mother sitting at the table right below the dais, chatting with his brother, Lucien and his mate, Elain. They look joyful, happy, their faces lit with bright smiles.

All this people are his family. The people he loves. His home. Although Azriel spends quite a lot of time still in the Night Court, this is his second home, right at Eris' side. And Eris has found a home in Azriel, when his mate is here, everything feels complete. Everything feels right.

Lucien must have noticed his older brother looking, as he tilts his head to look up at him, then lifts a brow and then finally raises his glass.

"Cheers brother," Lucien says, and both Elain and his mother join in as well, the former grinning as brightly as the sun, the latter wearing a warm and proud smile on her lips.

"For becoming the best High Lord Prythian has ever seen!"

The sound of clinking goblets and cheerful toasts fill the air, as more people join in, cheering for the new High Lord and express their love and admiration for him.

As the evening progresses, people continue to dance and chant, to chat and drink and eat. Laughter echoes through the throne room, bouncing off stone walls, and mingles with the symphony of joyful souls dancing and chatting the night away.

Later, the equinox fires outside are lit and cast a warm glow upon the people present and the Forest House. Eris not once leaves his mate's side, keeping his promise to keep him safe and protected. And so he is joined by his whole family, all celebrating him and with him.

~~~~~~~~ erisweek tag list: @brekkershadowsinger @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @liftyourhipsformelovex @elsie-bells @the-sweet-psycho azris tag list: @azrielsbabyg @lady-riel @moonlightazriel @aayo-whatt @brekkershadowsinger @ladyelain @banasheefan56 @a-frog-with-a-laptop @ofduskanddreams

#eris #eris vanserra #eris acotar #azris #azriel x eris #acotar #acosf #autumn court #elucien #elain x lucien #lucien vanserra #elain archeron #erisweek2023

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shankss-magnificent-ass · 2 years

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Imagine earning your keep with the Beast Pirate

You: *gets dumped, face-first, on Kaido's ship by the weirdness of the grand line*

Kaido: *watched you eat shit on deck when you fell*

You: *doesn't move*

Kaido: You okay?

You: I think, I'm a little afraid to move. *Makes a small attempt* oh I'm fine.

Kaido: good good, now how did you get on my ship? You: your what now? *Looks round* Oh, I have no clue how I got here.

Kaido: I'm feeling generous, I won't throw you over board, but you'll be put to work later. In the meantime, join us for a shooting competition.

You: I don't know how to shoot.

Kaido: I'll show you.

A week later during a battle onboard the ship

You: *holding your own dual wielding pistols*

King: *getting ganged up on by several strong opponents and is struggling*

You: *finished off your opponent, and takes the opportunity to snipe all but three of them*

King: *smirks at you because you've exceeded his expectations*

Really large enemy: *scoops you up and throws you at King*

You: *grabs onto the nearest thing to stop yourself from falling, which happens to be King's wing.*

King: *jerks back when you scramble up his wing, onto his shoulder*

You: Don't mind me, *uses his shoulder as a snipers nest to pick off enemies*

At the end of the battle

You: We make a good team *grins over at him*

King: get down

You: of course *climbs down*

A few days later on an island to restock the pantries

You: *combing the stony banks of a delta when you find a fossil geode*

King: *taking a breather from gathering wood when you surprise him*

You: King! Do you have your katana?

King: it's right he- wait, why?

You: I need help breaking this open *shows him the stone*

King: *plucks it out of your hands and cracks it in half like it's an Oreo.* What's this?

You: what'd I get? *Stretches up onto your toes, trying to get a look at it.*

King: *shows you the shimmery fossil within* Where'd you get this?

You: Oh cool! That's an opalized trilobite! I found it on the shore, along with a bunch of other cool stuff. Anyway, that's for you. *Hopping down off his shoe*

King: for me?

You: yeah, it's a “Thank You” gift for not throwing or incinerating me during the battle the other day.

King: oh, no problem I guess, but how did you find this?

You: gotta know what to look for, come on I'll show you.

Later that night at dinner

Kaido: *Sitting with his all-stars watching you examine and sort your rock hounding haul on deck* What are they doing? *looks at King* What the fuck are you doing?

King: *also sorting and examining his rock haul.* hmm? Oh uh, they know about rocks and fossils and shit. They showed me a little about how to find them, see? *Shows Kaido his new collection like an excited crow*

Kaido: Since when have you two been buddy buddy?

King: *shrugs his shoulders and hands Kaido the fossil you gave him* look what they gave me for not incinerating them during the last battle.

Jack: you're running a protection racket on Kaido-sama's ship?

King: what no, they got thrown at me, and then they used my shoulders as a sniper's nest.

Queen: a protection racket is a good idea.

Kaido: *smacks Queen* I've never seen anything like this... Did they find anything else?

King: I don't know, they said they were going out again tomorrow.

Kaido: (y/n)! I'd like to go look at rocks with you tomorrow.

The next day

Kaido: *rummaging around the bank for precious stones* Is this a fossil or bone, I can't tell.

You: let me see *puts it on your tongue* it sticks, so it’s bone.

Kaido: There's no fucking way you can tell that way.

You: *shrugs* it's the way I was taught, and it's never failed me, you can also tell by the weight, a fossil is heavier than bone. But if it's not a fossil, who cares. If it makes you happy, keep it. *Hands him the bone back.* Oh! Mushrooms! *runs off into the tree line.

Kaido: *grumbles and shoves it in his pocket *

At the end of the afternoon

Kaido: *now considers you amongst his most valuable subordinates after he watches you dig up a large branch of fossilized wood with amber sticking out*

#one piece #one piece x reader #one piece imagine #king one piece #one piece king #king the wildfire #king the conflagration x reader #king the conflagration #king the wildfire x reader #one piece kaido #beast pirates #one piece queen #one piece jack #queen the plague #animal kingdom pirates #from the depths of the dragon's hoard #tma original #9/10/22 #no beta we die like men

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rinwritesfics · 2 months

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Four Hours

Plot: You meet Hound while awaiting jury duty and hit it off.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1076

Author’s Note: Inspired by a four-hour wait for jury duty last year. @diviluscorner, I did it! Finally.

You sighed, shifting again in the uncomfortable chair in the hallway that was both dim and sharply lit by artificial lights. First, your entire week is upended by the call, and then they ask you to sit for most of the day to see if you’re even needed. Four hours to wait? The thought of it was exhausting, let alone the process.

As if things couldn’t get any worse, a massif with a brown harness and leash stopped to sniff, then sit at your feet. The creature’s tongue lolled out as it looked up at you as its handler caught up.

The Corrie Guard handling this reptilian creature turned to you and you froze. This one was different from the others with the fabric hanging from his helmet with sharp grey teeth painted on it. Were you about to get in trouble? Oh, stars, what did the massif think he smelled on you?

“Are you alright?” the Corrie Guard asked, his voice distorted partially by his modulator.

You chuckled nervously. “I’m fine. I just don’t relish the idea of waiting four hours to see if I’m needed or not for the jury.”

He tilted his head. “Four? That’s pretty unusual, even for this court.”

“Ugh, when one of you guys notices, that means it’s extra special,” you laughed in an attempt to seem calm. “If it wasn’t, I’m sure you wouldn’t tell me that.”

He laughed, too. “You’re right. I wouldn’t.”

You both fell into silence for a moment before he spoke again. “Got something you’d rather be doing?”

“Rather than waiting? Yeah. I’m not good at sitting on my hands and waiting. I like to be busy, and these chairs are very uncomfortable.”

“And what do you usually do?”

“I’m a mechanic, down at Grand Old Republic Motors.” You shrugged.

He laughed again. “You must see a lot of our faces down there, then.”

You grinned. “Yeah, I do actually.”

“I take it that’s why you’re not afraid of talking to me?”

You laughed. “Well, I’ll admit, I did think for a second you were going to confront me about something. Even my sighing.”

“Of course not. Just because it’s a right to be judged by peers, doesn’t mean the system jurors are chosen through doesn’t have its snags.”

“Sure does.”

“I’m Sergeant Hound, by the way.”

You smiled. “Y/N. I think Commander Fox has mentioned you a couple times. Something about a grizzly getting his teeth around a fuel injector?”

Sergeant Hound sighed. “I was scrubbing the floor for weeks after Grizzer got himself into that mess.”

“You, I take it?” you asked the massif in front of you in amusement. He was sitting at your feet and wagging his thick tail. His tongue lolled out again and he looked ready to play.

“He’s the group’s massif, and there are a couple of them but he only listens to me, so he kind of is mine.”

You grinned. “He seems like the goodest boy.”

The sergeant nodded. “He likes to think that, but he also has a chaotic streak in him.”

The two of you talked off and on, him coming back every so often to check on you during his patrol, but eventually you were called back in. By the time you found out you had been excused and were leaving, you saw no sign of Hound, which made you a little sad. You’d run into a few Corrie Guards, as well as other battalions at your employment, but something about Hound was special. You left the building, a little forlorn at missing saying goodbye.

A couple days later, you were almost hanging upside down underneath a customer’s small personal craft, working on replacing a new manifold.

“Y/N, you’ve got another visitor!” called your boss. Usually, the visitors were part of the clone battalion. Your boss was a little biased, but hid it pretty well – other than pushing them onto you on top of your other duties.

You groaned, wanting to shout about being busy.

“Am I always meeting you when you’re in distress?” asked a voice. It was definitely a clone voice, but not what you’d expect any of them to say.

You struggled out from under the craft with the manifold in-hand and your eyes met his. This one you didn’t recognize. His hair was a little longer than the others, so his curls were better formed, and he had a gray tattoo spanning both sides of his lower jaw like a row of sharp teeth. The only things that disrupted the tattoo were four long thin scars across his right cheek and a goatee.

“Uh, hi.” You stared at his tattoo, then realized – “Sergeant Hound. It’s nice to see you.”

He grinned. “Just Hound. How did you know?”

“Your jaw matches your helmet.”

He chuckled and said, “Guilty.”

“What can I do for you, ‘just Hound’?”

He laughed again. “I just wanted to come visit. I didn’t get the chance to say goodbye the other day. My shift was over and then I came in the next day and figured out you didn’t get put on a case. I guess I missed you, is all.”

You blushed. “Missed me, huh? You didn’t know me for long.”

“Actually, my brothers talk a lot about you.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I was one of the only ones who had never gotten the chance to meet you.”

“Well, I guess that means you’re not as rough on your speeder as they are.”

“I’m also one of the youngest, so give me time,” he chuckled.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He looked away and rubbed the back of his neck again. “Look, I don’t know if this is too sudden, but could I take you to dinner?”

You smile. “You came here to ask me on a date?”

“It’s fine if you say no -”

“Hound. I’d really like that.”

“Oh, thank the Maker. I know I told you Grizzer’s pretty specific as to who he likes, but even he was a little confused when we left and didn’t see you.”

“Oh, I see, you’re setting me up with your massif. Guess Grizzer will get the goodnight kiss.” You winked and his eyes widened.

“Wait, that’s not what I meant -”

You tossed your head back and laughed. “I’ll be done in four hours. Think you can wait that long?”

He grinned. “I think I can wait four hours with you.”

Taglist (open!): @trixie2023

Hound Concept Art:

#tcw hound #tcw sergeant hound #tcw hound x reader #rinwritesfics fic

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ervona · 9 months

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Day 5: Forgotten / Devotion for @tes-summer-fest

Once there was a tower, a twisted thing with winding corridors and roots sunken deep into the ground. It had stood in its place for ages longer than many now abandoned ruins, and it was alive. The master wizard liked his tea bitter, his stew warm, his estate orderly and his patients content. He kept busy, shrouded in mystery, far from power struggles and political squabbles, making few enemies in his long lifetime. In the end, his greatest enemy turned out to be himself.

Before the great calamity, Vvardenfell was teeming with wildlife in grasslands and ashlands alike. Each day marked their struggle for life, which mer deemed as survival of the strongest. One ought to know that a nix-hound was no match for a kagouti, such a spindly thing in comparison. But when a pack of nixes descended together, they could best the mightiest kagouti and leave nothing but bones.

All creatures wished to survive, and some of them even wove secret arts through intricate magics to further lengthen their lives, but that didn’t necessarily keep them safe from harm. The tower would outlive its maker, and in turn make good use of him.

On the highest spire of spores was a mer clad in bone and brass. Having just unmade her maker, one could guess that she was distraught. In truth she was taking in the morning air, like a newly hatched kwama's first breath. Once, twice, she clicked her feet and her magic boots soared. Unlike how netch would float high with an innate sense of limits, for the time she was lighter than air and they helped to weigh her down.

So high above one could see the whole island, from other towers to castles of stone, black sand and green plains and rivers of fire, and at the very heart of it the corprus-spitting mountain. She thought of the woman who’d last visited them looking for the cure, grumbling under her breath in the tongue of that old friend Vistha-Kai.

Perhaps that floe in the sea of her normalcy had come to note when the patient survived, impatient and insistent that she had a god to kill for what he’d done to her. The tides of inevitable change came for all. For all the effort to remember her parting words, she could not.

Four sisters scattered to the four winds and set out for the sights they’d been sure to never see. One wished to look for ways to aid the afflicted alongside an old friend, another wished to have the world sing and dance to her tunes, and yet another wished to make a name for herself in the circles of noble mer.

One was floating ever still, with no particular devotion for anything, so she stayed and pored over the ancient tomes and artifacts left in her keep. She’d never been alone before, it hadn’t been allowed, so she used the quiet to think upon who she even was on her own.

When calamities struck one by one, she found it difficult to care. Unfortunately, her tower was dying, and she had little interest to maintain it further rather than let the cycle of decay and growth finally be. Let the elements take it, the undercroft swallow it and monsters claim the treasures.

Of herself she made a falling star, and she saw Azura from stone standing strong as ever while the eruption clouds choked in ash her whole world. And she laughed, though out of breath. Goodbye tower and sand and plain, goodbye shimmering coast kissed by an impassive Prince, goodbye Vvardenfell. Goodbye sisters, whom the winds took to where their hearts pointed, may the sun shine on you.

She had never gotten to visit the ruins of old that dotted the landscape, nor seen the snow fall like ash as it did in the north of Telvannis. When she stood on the highest peak of the Velothi Mountains, she had no doubt about journeying further westward to find her place. So she found herself a mountain, and bone-weary from her travels, fell into a deep slumber.

Ah, no, not quite. But that was certainly how it felt when she awoke one day to the sight of a statue–grand one by the looks of it–being built almost in her courtyard. Soon enough she would have pilgrims and busybodies all over her peaceful, frozen mountain and the home she’d made for herself in its forgotten corridors. She was of course fuming like an alchemist’s attic, more vexed than she'd been in so long, having almost put her temper behind her.

Rather than simply let them disturb her peace, she would come to them first. Winterhold–which had stood for ages longer than she’d known, cared or moved into its vicinity–was a city of mages, and they were awfully curious. These fools could be content with aught that sounded like arcane knowledge, but she would teach them lessons that they’d never forget, if they survived where she sent them.

Once again came a heavy knock on her door. “I have a letter for the wizard Fyr… not sure who from,” the courier’s voice came in muffled, but the howling wind was as sharp as ever.

“Give it over,” she said, then rushed the poor thing inside, if only for a moment of respite. Must have been truly devoted to her work, to come all the way up here. But word traveled even faster. How did she even find her, was the question. “Do you know who I am, girl?”

“I… think you are very old and you come from Morrowind. I’d love to visit it someday. And you were of House Telvanni, correct?”

The courier left after having poked her with more questions, but she’d begun to tolerate this. She’d never been alone before, and now she was the wizard Fyr. As far as they were concerned, the only one that ever was and ever will be. Still, she burned the letter unopened.

It took another great calamity to strike her home for her to stir once more. Something in her had sought company for so long, but she’d never expected to find it where she had, to find herself sitting at the foot of the shrine as a habit, supping with its last remaining keeper.

“More tea, Alfe?”

“What? Ah, and more honey. Thank you.”

“You are going to use up all my stock,” she tutted, but mixed in the honey ever still.

“But you don’t mind, right?” Alfe slunk to her side on her fur bedroll. It was no position to drink in, but she liked to tempt fate. After all, fate had led her to the strangest places.

“Certainly not! There are but two of us here.”

Aranea Ienith was by her own account a strange mer, but she was no stranger than herself. The path of sorcery taking a sharp turn into monastic life must not have been so rare, though she didn’t know enough people to tell. She was only strange in that she remained assured Azura had a plan for her yet to be revealed, even after everything that had transpired.

The sea had never stopped hungering for the land, and in years uncounted after her move to Mount Anthor, the raging waves had devoured half of the city below. Winterhold had been a passing interest, rarely a necessity, but to Aranea it’d been much more. This image of Azura was just as uncaring as the one back home had been, looking upon what remained with silent acceptance.

Alfe simply wished that she could offer what her Prince didn’t, and so she did, for they ate and drank and even laughed together despite it all. They discussed at length the lost art of spellcraft while cleaning up the snow piled on the shrine's entrance that so few ever visited.

On the coldest nights made warmer by her presence, she thought of an old book of Aldmeri ballads that she’d left to rot, illuminating what she was feeling and decided to keep close to her chest. She was not the Nerevarine–wherever that woman was now–to contest with gods.

Ofttimes she wondered if they’d met before, somewhere on her rare outings to Sadrith Mora, and it had slipped their minds like so many moments of their long lives best left behind. She was sure she’d seen Aranea before, the same copper hair framing a silver face, only younger, as she had been. It mattered little in the here and now.

Their lives had grown entwined like the roots of old trees, and the priestess' striking devotion was her own now. Not necessarily for the Lady of Twilight, but for each dusk and dawn spent together, for the promise of tomorrow that neither of them would have to face alone.

Thus the tale of Alfe Fyr went on, and would go on for quite some time. As for her sisters, one might wonder, had they each found their place under the sun? Theirs were tales for another time, but rest assured that they lived and prospered, and may yet live to this day.

#tesfest23 #tes #the elder scrolls #morrowind #skyrim #alfe fyr #aranea ienith #merry if you squint. she's there #also the nerevarine. all women special chapter #no cw necessary for this despite the characters #aaand we're back sorry for the delay #scrawling tag #tes legends #i forgot to specify that because i've talked about it before. alfe on mount anthor is from that game!

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witch-and-her-witcher · 5 months

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For @asnowfern, a gift for @acotargiftexchange! The support and positivity of your responses left me brimming with creative inspiration, so please enjoy this Nessian First Hybern War (and after) AU.

Thank you @popjunkie42-blog and @wilde-knight for your beta reading and handholding. <3

Ao3 | 1, (2)

nessian | E | marriage of convenience, first hybern war AU, angst, whump, emotional slow burn

War brings them together, a bond binds them - but is that enough for two broken people to find love with each other?

When she tries to close her eyes, Nesta relives the heat of battle: the snapping of bones, the gnash of teeth, the stomach dropping dread as great wings and ugly, inhuman snouts descended from the skies. The visceral warmth of pissing herself the first heart stopping collision of her blade and warm body. How sharp and acidic the Fae beasts’ blood tasted on her tongue, smeared across her lips.

When she does drift to sleep, her dreams are nothing more than clinging to the bell tower as the hordes of ugly Hybernians descend on the village. There’s no Cassian, no red beams of focused killing magic to shred and mangle, to buy time — only Nesta offered as a delicious morsel to trip their thirst for human blood.

For soft, mortal bodies.

The loss of control in those dreams is the worst part, rather than her impending death. That same loss of control that has been hounding her and the other women in the human lands since the beginning of this conflict.

Suffocating fear grips her when she resurfaces. Spiraling her into a downward panic as she grips her chest where the searing twist of her anxiety seems to live.

She has to pinch her forearm, her thighs, to remind herself she’s in the present, in reality, and there’s no one pressing her into the mud, into the ungiving wall of a building —

It isn’t just the war that inspires the nightmare.

They’d shaken off the yoke of slave owners taking them at will only to introduce breeding grounds for lawless hordes of men and males alike that roamed, waiting for an opportunity to take what wasn’t theirs.

To overpower. To pick on the vulnerable.

That’s likely what had led the men to their doorstep, following her and Elain from the tavern where they’d enjoyed a rare hot meal. Unfortunately for them, it had only been her father to greet them at the door. It had to infuriate them when they had been drunk, seeking to steal pleasure, to only see the plump body of a man who had lived a far too easy life compared to most humans.

It was the only explanation Nesta could convince herself of, that blind rage from violent, unmet need had driven the dagger into her father’s belly, had driven the men to snap his neck.

It was no secret father wasn’t a courageous man. He likely hadn’t spat in their faces as they’d deserved, would have been more than willing to placate and offer gold to protect his daughters, but no other grand actions —

Only cold-hearted, cruel men could do what they had to her father, what they’d left her to clean off of the stoop of their home as her mind relayed the final snap she’d heard from her and Elain’s hiding place pressed beneath the stairs.

As with most failed attempts to sleep — or successful ones at that — Nesta has to scramble to the bathroom to empty the contents of her stomach.

“Gods-fucking-damnit,” she curses her own weakness, collapsing onto the floor and watching the floating remains of her meager evening meal.

Another failure to add to her list.

Even Elain doesn’t waste the food Nesta could find.

Nervous energy radiates from her center, itching and clawing under her skin.

Nesta rinses out her mouth, checks Elain is peacefully sleeping in her bed, before shoving herself into her too-small boots and pulling on her leather jacket. She’d shamelessly procured it from a slight of shoulder Hybernian soldier, one of the dozens that had been carried in by the winged soldiers and released onto the forest floor.

They had been vicious, no matter they didn’t have the same bulk as the winged Fae on either side. Fast, nimble.

Nesta wears the jacket like a trophy.

It also happens to be the best fitting piece of clothing she’s owned in ages, the male fit of it hugging her waist and hips because of the fabric making up for her ample chest. There’s something about sneering and chasing away the lingering male gazes with her icy eyes, it chases away the fear of her nightmares.

A band plays a jaunty tune, calming the crawling, too-tight feel of her skin.

She makes for the bar to order a drink and sit at a secluded table, but her relative peace is short lived.

“If it isn’t my lovely bride-to-be.”

#nessian #nesta x cassian #acotar winter gift exchange 2023 #acotar #acotar fanfic #my writing #CYLMWIHM

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tiny-elf-of-doom · 11 months

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All Soaped Up : COD

Simon needs some shelter on a stormy night in Scotland and ventured to Johnny’s place. A woman was supposed to indulge Lt in one of his fantasies, but disappeared without a word. It was a good thing Simon came around.

MDNI 🔞: sęx, shower, soap, suds, top!Ghost, bottom!Soap, riding, dirty talk, slight degradation, soft aftercare, and drinking.

An hour had passed since Simon had decided to stay the night at Soap’s house. It might not have afore mentioned, but Soap assumed it would be so. After clinking their glasses to a successful mission, the two rested on the sofa in search for a movie. Before Simon could even seat himself, however, Soap had to remove his cat from her signature pillow. She didn’t like Simon very much and the feeling was mutual.

If there was one thing the two men loved, it was military films. They were almost never realistic to some concerns while a choice few had them feeling proud to be soldiers. Soap was a bit of a movie hound, collecting DVDs over the past few years. The one they decided on was a 2012 release called Act of Valor. It wasn’t the most factual film, but it was a fun watch that kept them entertained.

Hostile situations, illegal weapon trading, and high risk situations were the daily occurrence for Simon and Soap, so watching Hollywood play on it was slightly humorous. Twenty minutes in, they reached a point in the film where the SEALs were heading for a hot extraction. It was a long, rough sequence, but action packed nonetheless. Soap appeared to be enjoying it far more than Simon, but then again, Simon felt something strange in the air since he came over.

“Come on, boys…” Soap whispered in anticipation. Then, as the truck crashed into the river, the boat came into view, blasting artillery at the enemy like a bat out of hell. “Now that’s how you make an escape!”

Simon felt Soap punch his shoulder and tried to hide the smile on his scarred lips. He loved seeing the man this excited, it was satisfying. A happy Soap was a good Soap.

“Speaking of escapes, do you mind if I take a quick shower?” Simon requested.

“Nah, go on. I think my disappearing hookup left her stuff in the bathroom last night. Feel free to use it, I’m probably not going to.” Soap replied, fixated on the film.

“That sounded like a lie,” Simon said, laughing at his own comment until he noticed the look on Soap’s face. There was a sudden burst of red igniting his cheeks. “Eh, you doing okay, Johnny? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you that color before.”

“Yeah, I’m good,” he stuttered.

“You’re terrible at lying to your friends, Johnny.”

Soap swallowed a wad of spit, “I know.”

The Scotsman had something on his mind, possibly on his tongue, and Simon wanted to know what he wanted. Without valuing Soap’s space on the couch, the taller man scooted closer until there was only an inch or two between their legs. Soap inhaled sharply, feeling that red pigment travel down his neck. Unique reaction, Simon thought to himself.

“Johnny, what were you and that little lover gonna get up to?”

“What do you think?” Soap choked, “because I think you already know.”

“Maybe, in the grand scheme of hook-ups, but there’s a key detail to that date than you’re not letting on.” Simon laid a hand on his forearm, “I’m not gonna shame ya, I just want to help you out.”

“Help me out, eh?” a bead of sweat ran down the side of his face, “alright, I’ll give in. I invited her over because we both shared a liking for shower sex. Might be normal to have a wank under the showerhead, but I enjoy being cleaned, teased for being filthy then probed with products. Real naff, I know, but that’s the story…”

“Sounds reasonable.”

Suddenly, Simon was pressing his lips to Soap’s mouth. Such forwardness; his skin was still bitter from the cold, though the heat from his mouth was intoxicating. Soap could feel the scar on Simon’s lips. It was thick, deep set into his skin. As the kiss deepened, Soap found himself grasping his friend’s arms for stability, especially when the man’s tongue began to massage his own. Whimpers left Soap’s mouth in harmony with Simon’s husky groans.

Passion leaked from their kiss as Simon lifted Soap off the ground. It felt safe having his partner’s legs wrapped around his waist. They continued to attack one another’s lips on their way to the master bathroom, taking Simon very little effort to carry his partner. Once they stepped through the door, Soap was made to sit on the counter against the mirror. Simon loved how tightly he was being gripped by those incredible thighs. Sadly, he departed them to see what the shower lady had left.

“Let’s see,” Ghost hummed while reading each bottle carefully. “I’m noticing a theme: vanilla and brown sugar. ‘Might be mistaken, but I think she was trying to turn you into a sticky toffee pudding.”

“Probably,” Soap chuckled, “sounds about right. My nana used to make the best batch around the holidays…”

“Clothes off.” Simon barked, bringing soap back to the present. He rambled when he was nervous sometimes.

Soap paused for a moment, surprised by the demanding tone. Then, he noticed that familiar glint in Simon’s eyes. Blown pupils, lidded, full of desire. “Yes, sir.”

“Good boy,” Simon purred, “you’ve got clean manners, but I can’t say the same about the rest of you… don’t you worry, love, I’ll be sure you feel real pretty after all this.”

The Scotsman made no haste with removing his clothing, kicking the excess behind him towards the hamper before returning to Simon. Soap wanted to touch him, to remove the man's clothing with kisses trailing in his wake, but Simon refused his wishes.

"Nope, you're going to get that water warm, not smoldering, and you're going to wait for me facing the showerhead. Understood?"

Soap nodded, proceeding to step around Simon and open the glass door. Once the water came running out of the head, steam filled the room, even just for a moment to ease the tension in his bones, then it was lowered to a far more manageable temperature. The anticipation for Simon to enter the shower was driving Soap's erection far more than the act itself; hearing his soft grunts, seeing the silhouette through the steam, it was all very theatrical.

Then, a draft entered. Soap wouldn’t dare to look at Simon until he was told to, suddenly feeling more exposed than he normally did around his partner. What if Simon ran off after this, too?

"What's wrong, love?" Simon asked suddenly; chest pressed to Soap's back. "Your muscles are tense enough to cut metal."

"If you're intending on leaving after this, then maybe we shouldn't do it... I already had that one lady walk out on me, I can't have that with you, Simon. No hard feelings, mate, I just hate it when I blink and the person who was with me just vanishes after the fact."

Simon hummed in understanding, but grabbed the man's arms and pulled them over his head. Careful fingers began to pinch at both nipples, playing with the sensitive bundles of flesh until Soap let out a strangled gasp. Simon continued to mess with them, earning honey sweet coos from that pretty mouth.

"I'm going nowhere, Johnny. When I say I’m gonna stay, then I’m planted.”

A warmth pooled over Soap's chest, knowing his partner meant it. However, the feeling was short lived as Simon grabbed the black loofah left by the previous woman. He scrunched the material with a hefty dollop of cream until it was dripping bubbles onto the floor. From there, he dragged it up and down Soap's chest, making sure to get every crevice of his frame. He made sure to scrub along his arms, under his arms to the downward curve of muscle that met his abs. They were beautifully shaped and presented a groomed line of hair.

"Where does this lead to?" Simon teased, nipping at his neck.

"Somewhere I want your dick to be," Soap chuckled, but was turned and pressed to the wall.

Simon gave Soap's backside a harsh slap before positioning the loofah between his cheeks and beginning to scrub. Suds trailed down Soap's legs slowly as his moans filled the bathroom. This felt incredible, unlike anything he might have felt with a complete stranger. Simon was far more experienced with his partner, making the act far more personal.

"Gotta get ya nice and squeaky for me. ‘Promise I’m gonna put my dick in ya here in a minute," Simon explained, laughing when he felt Soap's back arch at his words.

"Please, sir..." Soap begged, "I'll soap up my cock while you're fucking me... I'll be your good boy, Lt..."

"Oh," Simon whispered into Soap's ear, "I know you will."

And as Simon lowered himself to the floor, Soap rinsed himself off and seated himself on his partner's lap. Using a healthy squirt of silicone lube, Simon coated himself and his needy partner before handing Soap a bar of, well, soap. Lowering himself onto the man's cock was a task considering it was a rather large specimen, but Simon was supportive all the way to the base.

Soap was careful at first, not wanting rush the sensations; that was until his body got a feeling for Simon’s cock and the assist of the textured soap. Everything within him was screaming at him to go for it. Soap wouldn’t argue and began to bounce roughly onto that egregious cock in his ass. Simon's calloused hands gripped the man's hips, meeting him in the middle of each thrust. Loud cries to pleasure flooded out of Soap's mouth like a waterfall of emotion. For the first time in a while, Simon was getting him closer and closer to peak.

"My dirty boy, fucking hell." Simon cursed, "'might just like you that way better... a dirty, slutty boy who just wants my cock.”

“I love your clock Lt… there’s nothing like it… soap my tuts won’t ya?”

Simon obliged, taking the left over bubbles and squeezing those abused nipples one more. That wicked scent of vanilla was intoxicating, but so pleasant. No wonder it was such a popular not in fragrances and bath shit.

Soap held nothing back the closet he got, riding so roughly that the skin of his knees was scraping the floor. Another clash of hips and Soap covered Simon's chest and stomach in white.

“Fuck! Simon! Yessir!” Soap screamed, squinting harshly.

Seeing his partner in such a state of bliss made Simon want to fuck the hell out of him again, just to catch him off guard, but he refused. Instead, he brought the man's head to his shoulder.

"I might really need a shower after all. You’ve got me all sticky, love.” Simon chuckled.

Both men settled into one another, enjoying their embrace when scratching abounded from the bathroom door followed by small mewls.

“Gonna have to feed the cat before we continue. Sorry, Lt.”

Simon shook his head. “You and your goddamn cat, Johnny.”

#call of duty #call of duty mw2 #call of duty ghost #call of duty soap #soap mctavish #simon ghost riley #soap x ghost #cod modern warfare #cod smut #smut fanfiction #mdni #shower fun #cod fanfic

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saltygilmores · 5 months

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Thoughts While Watching Gilmore Girls: S3/EP4/One's Got Class The Other One Dyes

Episode titles with 6 or more words (the first four seasons): Season 1: The Lorelais First Day At Chilton, Star Crossed Lovers And Other Strangers Season 2: Red Light on The Wedding NIght, Nick And Nora And Sid And Nancy

Season 3: One's Got Class The Other One Dyes Season 4: The Lorelais First Day At Yale, The Hobbit The Sofa and Digger Stiles, In The Clamor and The Clanger, Girls In Bikinis Boys Doing The Twist, Last Week Fights This Week Tights, Nag Hammadi Is Where They Found the Gnostic Gospel (come on AmyShermanPalladino. Come on. She's just fucking with us with that one. She didn't envision a future where people like me would have to type that shit out). Anyway. This episode is a classic.

Let's have a look at what Jesstopher is reading...

That tracks. Lorelai: I think I'm in touch with the other side. Rory: Republicans? Ba dum tsssh.

What are we doing, naming things we see in the room? Dead cow, dead cow, non paying customer, non paying customer, old timey scale, the only business proprietor in America who purposely tries to drive away his own customers by insulting their selections from his own menu... Lorelai has been having premonitions about her own death. How does she know about the script for my Gilmore Girls horror movie trilogy titled "Blood In The Hollow"?

No, Lorelai will get a much more dignified slaughtering in BITH (at the hands of Rory? Luke? Jess? Her mother? Crusty? Possibly even DEAN, her jilted lover? The script is still in progress).

Now you're just naming all the hilarious ways I've imagined Dean's demise. TWWGG is chock full of "Dean Forrester should get eaten by a ____" , Most recently, it was a pair of T-Rexes. I may have suggested Death by Turtle before, I can’t recall. I do know that when he wore this sweater I said he looked like a turtle anus.

Stars Hollow has never once rocked and or rolled. Lane's got dreams of rock superstadorm. Not if AmyShermanPalladino has anything to do with it. Rory wraps her half eaten burger (The fakest fake burger I've ever seen) in a napkin (this is not a thing) and R&R leave Luke's without paying. INCOMING!

Lorelai's face. Lorelai mutters that Shane is a freak. Because why...? Sure, she doesn't have the best manners with all this barging through the door stuff, but you wanna talk about ettiquite, Miss Dine and Dash? So what makes her a freak? The girl has (horny, horny) needs and she knows how to get what she wants. Shane doesn't play silly games. On a random Tuesday at 6:17 pm, Shane thinks, "I want Jess Mariano's tongue in my mouth" And then she goes to the diner and gets that tongue in her mouth. That doesn't make her a freak, that makes her an example R&R should take after. Shane is a role model. Shane is Rock and Roll. Shane is a modern woman. Shane is a GOD DAMN HERO. SHANE IS SWAN FOOD (soon).

Nobody in the diner even blinks while this is happening.

There may not be any rock and roll in Stars Hollow, but there's certainly free porn, and Rory's going to grab a popcorn and watch the show.

"That was my intention, Uncle Luke"

Introducing for the first time, Zack Van Gerbig and Brian Fuller. I don't have any dog in this fight of "Which boyfriend was better for Lane". Well, maybe I do have a dog, but she's a sleepy bassett hound who can't be bothered to choose because anything that happens after season 4 (aka Lane's life trajectory after high school) doesn't affect me in the grand scheme of things. Alright let's briefly rate the members of Hep Alien: Zack: Lane's first sexual experience with Zack is a complete disaster. Zack enters into a teenage marriage with Lane, buys cheap off brand condoms and knocks her up with twins on their honeymoon, derailing her entire life and destroying her rock and roll dreams. (People on this show need to stop getting married right out of high school, for the love of all that is holy. And stop sleeping through Sex Ed! You live in a blue state where sex ed in school might actually be adequate and available! CHERISH IT). Zack is cuter than Dave. Zack is the lead singer, but I tend to crush on band members that are not the lead singers. Lead singers are trouble. That blond floppy hair is trouble. He looks like he might not shower that often. Dave: Dave didn't do any of those things. Dave definitely takes showers. Maybe too many showers + Impeccably clean, geeky clothes. Did you know Dave read the entire Bible in one night to impress Lane's mother? What a guy. He has curly hair which means he's a good guy. Got sucked up by the Male Gilmore Girls Character California Wormhole but unlike Jess and Max, She liked him so much she never spat him back out. Brian:

Lane gets a taste of the rampant sexism inherent in Rock and Roll when her suggestions for improving the band's sound are totally ignored by the men. Lane's paranoia about her mother is incredibly annoying and stifling to the other members of the band, and they almost walk out, and I'm not saying it's right to ignore her...I'm just saying, I understand.

In my gritty unrated Gilmore Girls spinoff with cursing and nudity and realism titled the Hollow no one would be shielded from perversion. At one point, Kirk apparently had a rock band called "The Kirk Gleason 5" who played covers of Queen songs and Mrs Kim put the kibosh on them.

The people of Hartford to the people of Stars Hollow: Please stop coming over here. There are other cities in Connecticut you can visit if you want to escape The Bubble. What about Stamford? We're full. Lane has to find a way to make it to band practice in Hartford 3 nights a week while still under the watchful eye of Mrs Kim. Rory and Lane try to brainstorm how she might get away with this Super Secret Band Thing, even though Lane has no money, no car, and no instrument.

A circa 2002 Karen (real name: Debbie), calling the Gilmores. Lorelai doesn't remember Debbie-Karen because Rory can only describe Karen-Debbie, the mother of a former classmate, as blond haired and average height. We find out Rory actually had another childhood friend of sorts besides Lane, Debbie-Karen's daughter Kathy. Rory would frequently go swimming at her house. Lorelai claims she can't remember any Stars Hollow Moms because they all look the same, except for Mrs.Kim and a woman with a glass eye. I guess that's Lorelai's way of saying Mrs Kim and Mrs Glass Eye are the only two minorities in Stars Hollow. That tracks. Lorelai doesn't even know Dean's mom? Things might get awkward when Lorelai and Dean have to write out their wedding invitations. Karen-Debbie: The PTA likes to ask prominent locals in business to talk to the students, you know, someone who knows about how much hard work it takes to run a business, and we thought of you. Bahahahaha. Lorelai, a hard worker. Don't make me laugh. Oh wait, I already did. I will laugh some more. Bahahahaha.

The Gilmore Girls California Wormhole is about to claim it's first female snack, Kathy. Things Googled While Watching GIlmore Girls We Owe You Nothing (first tried I Owe You Something because I couldn't see the cover), major cities in Connecticut, Brian's last name (it's Fuller)

#gilmore girls #lorelai gilmore #rory gilmore #luke danes #denise rewatches gilmore girls #Gilmore Girls Season 3 #OGCTOOD #wormhole #zack van gerbig #hep alien #lane kim #dave ryglaski #Shane

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scatteredthoughts2 · 1 year

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HOUNDED TO DEATH.

I'm being hounded to death,

But it's all in my head,

Because the hounding's being done,

By those who are dead.

They invade my dreams,

And disrupt my sleep,

And they don't give a damn,

'Bout the hours they keep.

But that's not the worst part,

As bad as it seems,

For now they are coming,

Right out of my dreams.

They follow me round,

Every hour of the day,

Controlling my tongue,

And every word that I say.

I've always been crazy,

But then so are you,

But we learn to control it;

Let our sane side show through.

I could pass as being normal,

You would think I was grand,

But now these damn spooks,

Are getting way out of hand.

I went to the doctor,

To look for a cure,

To lock up my demons,

Behind a stout door.

He said you'll be grand,

I'll just give you a pill,

But the demons keep coming,

And they do as they will.

The last chance I have,

Is to visit a priest,

And pray he can help,

To make my nightmares cease.

Maybe by praying,

We can banish this gloom,

Or I'll live out my days,

In a locked rubber room.

@Ambrose Harte

@Scattered Thoughts

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daughterofhighever-blog · 5 months

Text

Kirkwall, The Gallows - Late Summer, 9:36 Dragon Age...

(Starter for @knightslament)

One more Fereldan in Kirkwall wasn’t a thing that could draw undue attention on its own - and this particular Fereldan had long ago mastered the skill of moving undetected and unapparent in a bustling crowd. It was not yet midday, and the Docks of Kirkwall swarmed with the usual assortment - seedy merchants, greasy sailors, and sweat-drenched labourers…

And not a single one among them suspected that this little slip of a woman, accompanied by an aged - yet still rather spry mabari hound - who ducked and wove her way through them on her way to the Gallows’ Ferry - was a Commander of the Grey, and the Hero of Ferelden. The cloak she wore largely concealed her distinctive Warden’s vestments. The cloth was lightweight and dark blue in color, fastened together at the shoulder with a worn silver pin in the shape of the Cousland Wreath.

Elissa’s sharp blue eyes kept a continual survey of her surroundings, until after the transport boat to the Gallows had put a dozen or more yards of water behind. It was not the first time she had ever been to Kirkwall, but that had been a lifetime ago, or so it felt. She looked at the city with different eyes now, and it was unsettling to say the very least. Something dank and rotten pervaded her senses - itched at the back of her mind and darkened her thoughts. The sensation only intensified the further the boat traveled.

Hakkon’s greyed muzzle dug at her elbow as he huffed and whined, sensing her unease. Clicking her tongue in an endearing chastisement, she gently plucked his snout before rubbing the top of his head and behind his ears.

As the ferryman slung a loose coil of rope around a docking poles at one of the courtyard’s piers, she inwardly shook her head and turned her focus to the task at hand. The practicalities and responsibilities that her position as Commander entailed included the Grey Warden’s ceaseless need for men and women to fight the Darkspawn. That duty had not ended with the death of the Archdemon, and she feared the disturbing contents of Nathaniel’s reports were merely a prelude of what was to come.

Those who were aware of her business in Kirkwall were very few in number - the Grand Cleric, First Enchanter, Knight Commander, and the late Viscount's Seneschal. However none of them knew yet that she’d already arrived the day before. The situation in the city between the Mages and the Chantry’s militant faithful had long walked a very fine line, but the attempted conquest by the Qunari two years before had made an already delicate situation that much more tenuous. Quite simply, personal experience alongside the counsel of her closest companions and advisors concerning Meredith’s… disposition… had led Elissa to believe arriving at the Circle unannounced, early, and as inconspicuously as possible was for the best.

Most unfortunately for Elissa Cousland, she had barely gone twenty paces before her hound caught sight and scent of someone that drew his attention in a most inconvenient manner. Before she could grab his scruff, and with a great WOOF, Hakkon took several galloping strides across the worn stone floor to tackle jump up and slam his paws against the chestplate of an unsuspecting Templar - with a happy, open mouthed, tongue lolling smile on his face.

Chasing after her errant dog with bent back, reaching for his collar and catching it with her fingertips, Elissa skidded to a halt and reared back abruptly when she caught sight of just who it was her mabari had been so eager to greet.

“….fuck!”

Coughing and clearing her throat, she prayed to the Maker for the first time in years that he would not recognize her right away. The Commander barked a harsh command in a language no one in Kirkwall should would have understood, and yanked Hakkon down, trying to avoid looking the taller, curly haired man directly in the eye.

“Forgive me, Ser… My hound forgets his manners in his old age.”

#world state: warden reformation #sub world state: dark origin #verse: because i could not stop for death #knightslament #muse: cullen

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prometheanglory · 1 year

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Heyo! hru you today Vy??? Hope you're having a wonderful day today! If it's possible for you (skip this is you want). . . I'm curious, all the dorms have some lore abt the figures the dorm is based off of, so maybe some snibbts abt what stories in Stagrove revolve around the hunter Man??? Also, how does the dorm do leader succession??? Thank you for your time! :< - Anon

I LOST THIS ASK IN MY INBOX AND FORGOT ABT IT UNTIL NOW…. but :-) here we go

i kind of intend for the Huntsman to be more like a character of american-esque folklore than true concrete historical figure for Stagrove and their adjacent homelands !!

kind of like… a johnny appleseed or paul bunyan kind of deal….a grand figure of myth that no one actually believes Existed but his figure kind of encompasses some kind of value or has a quick explanation for something that happened?

in the case of the Huntsman, he acts as a bit of an explanation for how the mountains came to be so habitable. how he scared off the beasts of the woodlands so that other people could live there?

the figure of the huntsman has always been meant to be faceless 🤔 in the sense that anyone could be seen in the huntsman, but even then…. no matter where he went, you could always tell he was there? a man of great presence, bigger than his own body that could make the air vibrate or make forests crumble in a night. no matter where he went, he’d always find a way to make the land bend and give. he’s a clever one, with traps and hounds at his beck and call — a weapon on his back that leaves craters in the ground, and a strength that makes even the noblest creature falter 🧍 something like that

i feel like most of the stories are through hearsay and spread by tongue so everyone knows a slightly different version!! he’s certainly not responsible for their living establishments or civil lives or anything — the legend rly is just, more of a tall tale based around an era rather than an actual historical moment/figure.

ALSO. i can’t remember if i ever gave a statement on this before 😭 so redact it if i did. but what i’d like to think of is that it is a very rigorous process (that’s unfortunately annual and mandatory 🤡) that can’t rly be muscled or sped through.

like at stagrove’s core is the resilience of the huntsman, but surrounding that would be…. his craftiness, resourcefulness, his endurance, etc… everything that lets him push on longer for a greater promise of a reward?

environment test: how well do you understand and or know the abiotic and biotic factors of your current surroundings; consists of two exams, one on paper and another one on the field.

physical test: students' physical health and performance stats that have been documented throughout the year are looked over; dorm members are expected to undergo a physical exam to ensure the present-health of the candidates as well. this exam is the lengthiest portion of the selection process and consists of: an endurance run, distanced run, push-up test, pull-up test, three climbing tests, and more.

safety test: tests how well students know the rules and regulations of stagrove’s environment and dormitory — includes a smaller series of practical exams (and a written exam) to gauge their knowledge.

craft test: the most notorious part of the exam… students are asked to construct and enchant a prototype for a ‘tool’ — it is evaluated on the grounds of practicality and efficiency. whether or not the tool is meant for ‘individual’ use or for ‘community’ use, there are two categories and will be tested separately on the field. items that are counted as ‘individual’ are new wands or weapons, jackets, harnesses, etc. items considered ‘community’ are infrastructure-related such as bridges, buildings, lighting, etc.

points will be tallied (some areas will have more ‘weight’ to their grades) and the top 15 individuals will be voted on for the title of dorm and vice dorm.

the remaining 13 will become part of a specialized ‘officer’ category in stagrove that holds some authoritative privilege; they are capable of organizing new plans for construction, teams, schedules, etc… however it has to be voted on with the dorm heads and the officers to be put into work.

#stagrove #twst #twst oc #twisute oc #answers #I HOPE THIS ANSWERS SOME QUESTIONS….

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birboon · 10 months

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CIRCUS BOY

ACT 1 - Chapter One

PAIRING: Peter Parker x Dick Grayson

WORD COUNT: ~4k

ㅤㅤㅤDICK GRAYSON ADORED the spotlight. How could he not? It was what he'd grown up with. The tabloids had gone crazy when Bruce Wayne first took the newly orphaned boy beneath his wings, irrationally conservative newspapers sprouting unsavoury rumours on the 'truth' of his adoption. Coupled with some scarily intimate knowledge of the twelve-year old's life that journalists had no place in revealing, it made for a spectacle. But that's what came with being the ward of America's most eligible bachelor.

And having spent his earlier teenage years pent up inside to avoid the stalkers and paparazzi being thrown from the grounds of Wayne Manor, Dick relished in the attention. Mostly. The excitement had calmed down as he got older, but the public's interest never did: The gaggle of people gathered on the private landing slip awaiting his and Bruce's arrival proved just that. No doubt they were waiting for some fiasco, a slip up; the flash of the brilliant Wayne smile that the young Grayson had taught himself by copying Bruce to go with a quick scoop for the celebrity columns.

How they'd caught wind of their trip to Washington was beyond him, though. He'd kept it tightly under wraps but apparently modern media was the force that refused to quit. Dick's idea to visit the nation's capital had been a home run in his mind – a couple days away from the gloom and doom of Gotham that just so happened to coincide with his own agenda. He was there for a photoshoot: Teen vogue had been overflowing Bruce's spam with pleads for Dick to be on the cover of their Summer Edition and after a while he had tiredly given up ignoring them.

Of course, Dick had been the one to give the company his email. But what the man didn't know couldn't hurt him.

And, pure happenstance (though some weaseling with Lucius Fox didn't go awry), their little trip to D.C clashed with the grand opening of the new Wayne Enterprises' Washington office. Let Alfred never say Dick never did anything for him. Bruce Wayne was about due another public scandal. In hindsight... maybe it wasn't so hard to anticipate their coming here.

"I still don't see the point in me being here," Bruce grumbled as he straightened his cuffs, peering tiredly towards Dick. The jet lurched as it touched down on the airstrip and the boy grinned easily back at him, fingers gripping the leather arm-rests.

"It's your company, Bruce! The tower's been built with your money and your company's name plastered all over it," Dick condescended. "Which means you need to be there."

The man snorted, muscles shifting beneath his tailored suit as he stretched in his seat. "You're evil, conspiring with Alfred against me."

The boy kicked him indelicately in the shin, fishing a shiny phone from the pocket of his jeans: "It's hardly conspiring if we're both in on it. Here, hold still – I told Alf I'd let him know when we landed." He held the device up towards Bruce, tongue poking from his lips as he captured the man's confused glance in high definition.

"That's exactly what conspiring means, Dick," he said, a gentle frown gracing his handsome face as he watched the boy's rapid thumbs tap out a reply to one of their dear butler's sarcastic quips. "Is that Snapchat? How are you typing so quickly?"

"Do you know how old you just sounded?" the teen chortled, snapping another picture of the man's blank face.

"I'm only thirty."

"That's a poor argument," Dick replied, ducking his head as Bruce reached forward to comb through his dark locks roughly. He chanced a peek through one of the jet's windows, eyeing the bustling crowd poised and waiting outside. Bruce followed his gaze, and Dick watched the slight narrowing of his eyes, the tightening of his shoulders. He stared into the man's outwardly impassive face. "Relax, B. It's just reporters."

"You know just once I'd like to go somewhere and not be hounded," Bruce complained, features taut, and Dick took a mental note of the irritation in his voice. The teen shrugged, releasing his seatbelt. He tilted forward, tugging on the billionaire's tie with a charming grin as he spun into the aisle.

"what did you think this was gonna be? A vacation?" Dick asked jokingly, observing the careful adjustment of the patterned fabric. Bruce cast him a sharp look, a warning, sapphire eyes shadowed. Dick frowned. "I mean, it could be if you wanted –"

"We don't have time for a vacation," Bruce said, voice carefully guarded, and the teen's fingers twitched for something to do as he watched the man perfect his appearance. The billionaire smoothed out the invisible creases in his blazer before rising to his feet.

"I wouldn't mind, y'know. Spending some time together... away from it all."

"Gotham needs us. Like I said, we don't have the time," came the resounding sigh, and Dick's frown deepened further.

"We could make time," he insisted steadily, creeping forward. Bruce shook his head, hunching his shoulders to get a clearer view through the port windows of the bobbing heads gathered just beyond. "Batman could afford a day off and- you need to get away. Maybe the league –"

"The league has strict instructions to stay out of my city, Dick. The less meta-humans seen there, the better."

"Okay, then Ollie! He's like us, he could cover for a few days and we'd be back before you eve-"

"No," Bruce growled, turning towards his ward. He had that look in his eyes, the one he always got when his mind was made up. Dick's face mirrored his guardian's, stern and protected from any clear emotion.

"But Bruce –"

"I said no, Dick!"

The boy stared at him. At the faint rings beneath his eyes, covered by layers of make-up, at the slump in his shoulders and the slight preference he had for his right leg. Their life – their real life – was eating the man alive. Dick was tempted to retort, spit something mean to get his point across and scold the man just like Alfred would. But it would be too obvious to the press that they'd argued on the plane, and they couldn't risk the coverage.

"You should have gone with the teal," he said finally, words emotionless, and Bruce flinched ever so slightly. He gestured to the man's tie: "Red washes you out."

The Wayne pursed his mouth, meaning to reply, and the deep-set guilt in his eyes was setting Dick on edge for one of his 'you have to understand' speeches – as if the boy didn't get it. Like he was still the sniveling child Bruce had first knelt beside in the blood-soaked sands of the circus ring. "Dick, please –"

"Mister Wayne?" someone interjected softly. A pretty woman with cropped brown hair approached them gingerly, almost tiptoeing on eggshells as she made her way from the crew's quarters at the back of the cabin. Bruce's mouth snapped shut instantly. "The pilot says we're ready to disembark."

"My dear your timing is impeccable," came the man's guttural reply moments later. He winked playfully towards the hostess, eliciting a confused blush on the woman's face. "My hero."

"Let's just get this over with," Dick sighed, folding his arms across his chest as the two of them watched the blonde walk away. There was a sway in her step that hadn't been there before and he sniffed resolutely.

"You'll have to save me again sometime," Bruce called after her.

"And what, exactly, did she save you from?" Dick hissed. "Finally expressing your emotions?"

Bruce turned his attention to his ward, crystal eyes glittering. The switch between his personas was seamless, as usual. Dick always hated it; Brucie Wayne was the biggest pain in the ass imaginable. The teen held up a hand to silence the playboy immediately upon seeing the corners of his mouth twitch into a tricky smile.

"I'm not done. This - " he gestured between the two of them irritably. " - is not done. Don't think you can hide behind the idiot to escape me."

"Dickie, I could never hide behind you, you're far too small."

Dick Grimaced, drawing back against the velvet interior at the lop-sided grin sent his way. The socialite's mask was plastered firmly on. "You know what? Let's put a pin in this conversation," he muttered, spying the way Bruce's eyes lit up with the knowledge that he'd won. For now. "How about we give the public a surprise? Let's arrive fashionably early for once."

ㅤㅤㅤ

DICK COULD SENSE Bruce was mad at him, and a mad Batman in a confined space was trouble. Especially when you were trapped with him for the next seven miles.

The conversation on the plane had rattled the man. It was almost as if he didn't think the boy would notice that he was trying to work himself to an early grave. Dick had half a mind to turn their visit to Washington into the vacation Bruce was so scared of just to spite the man...

It may also have something to do with what Dick had dubbed the 'interview incident'. The newest scandal in a long line of similar mistakes the teen had made.

The original meeting had happened so long ago that he'd forgotten all about it - until one of the reporters that greeted them on the airfield brought it up again, thrusting Dick back into the unfortunate limelight: An interview with some moderately popular internet blogger had asked after some of the Wayne heir's hobbies, and it was safe to say they'd been satisfied.

The perfectly executed anecdote on 'that time he'd gone spelunking in South Africa' had seemed funny at the time, but now it was back to haunt them in all it's glory because Dick had tried to see the venomous sparkling in the interviewer's eyes as admiration rather than execration.

The blog just had to resurface now, didn't it?

Bruce was on his phone, sat at the opposite end of the limousine to Dick, scowling as he always did when reading the articles that the teen was involved in:

' 𝙱𝚁𝚄𝙲𝙴 𝚆𝙰𝚈𝙽𝙴 𝙴𝙽𝙳𝙰𝙽𝙶𝙴𝚁𝚂 𝙻𝙸𝙵𝙴 𝙾𝙵 𝚂𝙾𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝚁𝙾𝚄𝙶𝙷 𝚁𝙸𝙳𝙸𝙲𝚄𝙻𝙾𝚄𝚂 '𝚂𝙿𝙾𝚁𝚃' '

"What were you thinking?" the man asked, exasperated. Dick slid down into his seat, looking away as Bruce threw his top of the range WayneTech mobile harshly onto the leather beside him. His eyes burned into Dick's head from across the way. "'My harness broke, it's lucky Bruce was there to catch me'? Really, Dick? I'm already deemed irresponsible enough, there's no need to rekindle a raging fire."

Dick winced, rubbing his thumb along the grooves of the plush seats awkwardly. "It makes you sound like a hero?"

"Bruce Wayne isn't a hero."

"He is to me," Dick asserted, chancing a glance up through his eyelashes to spot Bruce running a hand over his face. "What?"

Bruce let out a disgruntled growl, levelling the boy with a dangerous stare. "I'm not a good role model, Dick. We've established this."

"No, you established it. I can't help thinking you're cool."

"Oh for the love of - can you stop? What's wrong with you today, Dick?" the man demanded, brows furrowed. He looked furious, but Dick wasn't so sure the anger was directed towards him.

"Jeeze, Bruce, I don't know! Maybe it's just hard to watch someone you care about suffer," the teen snapped, gritting his teeth. Blue eyes widened momentarily, a splash of light quickly drowned. Bruce shook his head.

"If you're struggling with your duties as Robin, I can -"

"God, are you even listening to me?" Dick cried, aghast. "I'm worried about you, Bruce. We all are, hell even Clark said -"

"You've been speaking to Clark?"

"That's not the point! Everyone's worried about you Bruce. Alfred, Babs, Me, the League - you need a break from being in the dark all the time."

"So you arranged this trip?" Bruce concluded, settling back against his head rest. Coal black locks brushed against the roof of the limo. Dick nodded unsurely as the tension in the car reached it's breaking point. "I should have seen this coming."

The boy chose not to reply, instead observing the minute changes in his guardian's expression as he collected the facts in his head. Why it was so hard for Bruce to understand that there were people out there who loved him, Dick didn't understand.

He played with the thin gold chain hanging around his neck, an R-shaped pendant dangling from the end: Bruce had given it to him when Dick first came to live at the Manor. Had said it was in his father's possession when he'd died - an early birthday present they'd intended to give his son after the show.

"You know," Dick began in an effort to break the strangling silence threatening to overcome the vehicle. "Spelunking gives a pretty good excuse for the bruise on my back."

"What bruise?" Bruce asked, eyes snapping to his ward. Dick shrugged, focusing on pulling the rest of his shirt free from his jeans. Having it tucked in was so last season.

"From where that guy got the drop on me a couple days ago. By the harbour?" the boy continued, feeling the palpable stress in his veins begin to release at Bruce's willingness to move towards a different topic. "I think they were one of Penguin's."

"You never mentioned any injuries that night."

"I talked about it in the mission's write-up, I swear. I described it as 'disturbingly floral'!"

"Floral?" Bruce muttered, amused. He ran a hand vapidly through his dark hair. "I think I'd remember reading that one."

"Barbara probably deleted it to get me in trouble," the teen hummed non-committedly, gaze trailing towards the system's electronics piled beside the car's windows. "Hey, what'dya think these do?"

Bruce watched him carefully, a single eyebrow raised dramatically. "Don't break anything I'll have to pay for."

"Poor you, how could you cope?" Dick snickered, unbuckling himself so he could investigate the mismatch of buttons with a new-found fascination. Bruce grunted disapprovingly.

The Grayson boy was automatically drawn to the largest switch, one with a suspect symbol plastered atop, and he instinctively pushed it. A miniature disco ball descended from a hatch hidden in the roof, sending blinding orbs of light into Bruce's eyes as it reflected the pink and purple strobe LEDs accompanying it. The billionaire squinted, shielding his eyes and sending Dick a vexed glance as the boy let out a relived breath. He grinned haplessly towards his guardian: "Oh thank god. I thought it might've been an orgy button."

Blue eyes dulled with parental fear, though Bruce's lips couldn't quite seem to decide whether they wanted to grin or stay stern and resolute. "Don't use words you don't know the meaning of," he chided, the corners of his mouth tilting upwards ever so slightly.

"I know what it means," Dick reassured, grinning immaturely as Bruce's face twisted into horror-struck regret. "It's when a bunch of people get naked and -"

"Alright that's enough of that," the man admonished, and just like that their previous argument was all but forgiven and forgotten. He leaned over to turn the switch off and the disco ball receded, lights evaporating into a boring white glow. Dick laughed brightly, copying the look of disbelief on Bruce's face.

The billionaire took a sip from the champagne flute in his hands - diet ginger beer, Dick could smell it - lifting it away from his lap as the limousine sped downtown, the wheels squealing at a sharp right corner. Bruce was watching Dick through carefully narrowed eyes, a mixture of peaceful alarm making its way across his face as the boy opened his mouth to speak again:

"Have you ever had an orgy?" Dick asked. There was a beat between his words and Bruce's reply as the man swallowed back the rest of his carbonated drink. The silence spoke volumes.

"Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to, buddy," the man said carelessly. Dick wrinkled his nose as he caught wind of the guilt in the his disapproving stare, cheeks flaring up. Bruce's deep laugh rung in his ears as he turned his head away, unable to keep looking at the man. "You'd make a terrible journalist."

"I'd still be better than Clark," said Dick nonchalantly and Bruce smiled gently. The teen stared out of the blacked-out windows watching the world blur past, tinted in shadow.

"Still better than Clark," he agreed lightly. Dick threw him a contagious smile as the car began to slow, pulling up in front of a tall corporation building. Bruce returned it wearily, checking his watch as the engine rattled to extinction.

Dick crawled along the seats towards his mentor, throwing himself onto the man in an awkwardly positioned embrace. One arm was slung around the billionaire's shoulders, the other hanging limply off the edge of the chair, and Bruce let out a breath of surprise as he rested a hand between the boy's shoulder blades.

"This is my stop, B," the teen drew back with a grin, squeezing the man on the shoulder. "I'll see you later."

"Have fun, Dick."

"Without you?" the teen replied as the door slid open. He ducked from the limo with a boisterous thanks to the valet. "Never!"

He winked to Bruce as the door closed behind him, feeling the smile face from his face at the despondent look on the man's face. Great. He was still mad. Dick really thought he'd gotten off easy with the orgy stuff.

He beelined for the pretentious revolving doors, sliding into the lobby. Was it the right building? All signs pointed to yes - it was certainly rich enough to be the type of venue Vogue would hire out for their photoshoots - but the mass of people milling at reception was somewhat alarming. They were all wearing some weird blazer, so maybe they were here for a group shoot. Otherwise... Dick just hoped they weren't fans.

"Hi, could you tell me what level the teen vogue shoot is on?" he asked quietly, keeping his voice low to avoid attracting attention his way. The receptionist spun to him, blinking owlishly in recognition.

"Oh! Dick Grayson! What a pleasure, they said you'd be dropping by today," he said excitedly, and Dick withheld a sigh as a few heads snapped towards them. "You're looking for level two. When you get out the elevator it's the first door on the right."

"Uh, great. Thank you." One of the blazer-clad people - a teenager, a little younger than him by the looks of it - stepped out of their group towards him as he leaned away from the help desk.

She looked nervous - nice, but nervous - and her hesitation made Dick pause despite himself. He did love the spotlight, after all. With a wave, he beckoned her over.

"Holy- Hi, my name's Liz," she said excitedly, running a hand down her ponytail. She stumbled closer as one of her friends pushed her forwards. "I'm a big fan. I mean, wait is that creepy? I'm sorry, I -"

"It's fine, see? Not creeped out." Dick grinned as he gestured to himself. "Did you just want to say hi or...?"

"Oh! Could I get a picture? Is that okay?" She asked unsurely, and Dick shrugged. He cast a glance towards the elevator - it was on the fourth floor, he had time.

"I don't see why not!"

"Oh wow, thank you!" Liz pulled out a sleek iphone and Dick pressed closer to get in frame as she held it in front of them. It was always fun, stopping for a selfie. And the girl seemed sweet enough; as long as the entire group didn't want one there was no harm done. A quick press of the screen and Dick was already pulling away. First floor. Still time.

"It was lovely meeting you," Dick disengaged softly as he began to sidle away, and Liz nodded, holding her phone to her chest with brilliant eyes as the rest of the blazer gang gathered around her, whispering. The Grayson boy shot the girl a wink for the fun of it, beaming as her cheeks darkened and the giggles of her companions filled the room. The elevator was on the ground floor.

Dick stepped into the metal cube as soon as the doors began to open, holding a finger against the button for the second floor as if it would make it go faster. The cheery elevator music reverberated from the mirrored walls, and Dick stared into his reflection thoughtfully.

Liz had been nice. Some of the self-proclaimed 'Richard Grayson' fans out there were pretty weird. And he'd met a few. He'd read a few of their tumblr blogs, too. Creepy stuff. It was always nice to find a genuine admirer who was more interested in him than feeling up his ass. Although, her hand had drifted pretty low...

The second floor was just a little too grand for his taste. Very bare. The doors to the think-box slid open with a chime and Dick shimmied between them. He was greeted by an empty coffee shop, with wide panel windows overlooking the streets of Washington below and the same amount of chairs as there were trees in a square meter of desert. It was barren and it was sad and Dick couldn't remember what direction the receptionist had said to go. Left or right?

There was a random kid curled up on one of the mauve velvet sofas, feet dangling over the edge precariously close to a mug that had been placed on the oval coffee table without a coaster. If Dick did that sort of thing at the Manor, Alfred would throw a fit.

"Hello," he said, alarmingly loud even to his own ears, and the couch's occupant shot upright instantly as Dick strode towards them. His eyes flickered to a yellow blazer discarded to the side - the same that Liz and her friends had been wearing . "Are you here for the shoot?"

"Uh..."

"Were you on your way to the studio? I could use some help finding it."

Dick slumped down on the plush chair opposite the boy, raking his eyes over him. Messy brown hair, cute nose, pretty eyes - definitely a model. "I didn't know there was a - what even is this theme you're going for here? Looks like a school-kid thing, field trip maybe."

"I- I am on a field trip..."

"Already in character. Nice. That's strong, man, I salute you," Dick grinned. He reached forward absently, lifting the cup of now-cold hot chocolate to slide a coaster beneath it.

"Character? What are you talking about - who are you?" The model-boy asked and Dick detected a hint of concern in his quaking voice. He frowned, settling back against the sofa.

"Dick Grayson," he replied curtly, watching for recognition to wash over the boy's face. He didn't get what he was looking for. Dick was beginning to think he'd gotten the wrong impression. "You're here to model right? For Teen Vogue?"

"M-model? Vogue? I- No!"

Dick pursed his lips awkwardly, tapping at his thigh as he and the not-model boy stared at each other. "Oh."

"Right," the other boy agreed. "Oh."

"This is, uh, this is my mistake, It's just I saw your group downstairs and Liz was pretty and you're pretty so I just assumed..." Dick climbed to his feet, wiping his mysteriously sweating palms on his jeans. He was usually smoother than this.

The boy's face flushed a rosy pink: "I'm not... you know Liz?"

"Uh, not really... I met her downstairs though, she was nice," Dick said slowly, debating whether or not he should just leave. He'd made a big enough fool of himself already. The other boy made an odd sound of agreement, turning his eyes to the floor, and Dick struggled to think of something else to say. He thought back to the conversation he'd had with Bruce in the car: surely there was something from that interaction he could string together to make this one more bearable.

Boy, was he wrong.

There was only one thing flooding his mind - one thing that didn't involve alter-egos and stressed out men in capes. Unfortunately, his brain didn't filter it out as a no-no for conversation starting. If anything, it ended them before they even began.

"Hey," Dick started desperately, trying to avoid the slight crackle of his voice. His throat was itchy, was that normal? The other boy peered up at him sheepishly, a faint blush powdering his cheeks as he caught sight of Dick's stare. "Have you ever had an orgy?"

[...] to be continued

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