#{ poised and oh so refined }

[apostatizing]

Lost (And Found) [ Panette & Timerra ]

“Boss? Boss!? Oh, where could she have gone…” Though the two had entered the monastery together, it soon became clear to Panette that the acceptance process would not be the same for a commoner like herself and a crown princess. Still, the berserker made sure to search every inch of the monastery...save for the cathedral. The school itself being such a holy landmark was hard enough to stomach, Panette saw no reason why she should have to subject herself to other people’s piety when she knew for a fact the boss wouldn’t be there.

But now she was certainly in quite the pickle! No matter where she looked there was no sign of the crown princess…and that in itself was unusual. The bright eyed Timerra often left a trail behind her everywhere she went, and she is sure that their new home would be no different.

The ugly thought that something bad might’ve happen to her crosses her mind, and though it lasts only for a moment, it consumes her. What if someone laid a hand on her!? Panette could already feel her blood boil, her fists and teeth clenching as she stomped down the courtyard with the full intention of knocking some sense into whatever thug thought that touching the Princess of Solm was a good idea—

…Ah. Princess Timerra was fishing.

“Boss. I have been looking absolutely everywhere for you! I was beginning to think something had happened!” Still, Panette knows that Timerra would have been able to handle herself. She relaxes her posture slightly, looking over at whatever fish was in her basket. “It seems the fish of Fódlan have yet to learn whom they should fear now that you’ve arrived!”

@solmtinel

[solxamber]

Hiiii so I really liked your unhinged reader x Leona fic and I just saw your post about mal and vil

If you have the time, could you do the same thing for mal and/or vil?

Vil and Malleus with an Unhinged reader

thanks for the request <3 it's always fun writing for mal and vil!

Vil Schoenheit

Vil Schoenheit prided himself on his poise. He prided himself on his grace, his refinement, his ability to maintain control in any situation.

And then there was you.

A walking, talking whirlwind of chaos with absolutely no regard for personal safety or the consequences of your actions. You had this thing—this habit—of showing up wherever Vil was, just appearing out of thin air like a feral cat who found a way into the palace.

“Vil!” you called, striding confidently into the Pomefiore lounge one afternoon, without a care for the looks you were getting from the perfectly groomed students. “Guess what I did today?”

Vil didn’t look up from his tea. “Do I even want to know?”

You, with the biggest grin on your face, flopped into the chair across from him like it was a casual meeting and not the sanctum of beauty and refinement. “Okay, so. Hear me out.”

“No.”

Ignoring him completely, you launched into your story. “So I was in the botanical gardens, right? And I saw this big, fancy plant, and I thought, ‘What if I just… take it?’ You know, for science or something.”

Vil lowered his tea slowly, eyeing you like you’d just declared you were going to break into a highly secured vault for fun. “You what?”

“I took it! It’s in my bag!” You looked so proud of yourself as you patted your bag. “I was thinking it’d look great in your room.”

Vil blinked at you, mouth slightly open, as his brain struggled to process the sheer absurdity of the situation. “You stole a plant? From the botanical gardens? For me?”

“Yup! Because you like pretty things, right?”

A strangled sound came from Rook, who had been quietly observing the conversation. Vil shot him a glare to silence him before returning his attention to you. “Let me get this straight,” Vil said slowly, carefully, as though speaking too quickly would cause his head to explode. “You, with absolutely no regard for rules or consequences, took a rare and likely highly poisonous plant, stuffed it into your bag, and brought it to me?”

You blinked innocently. “It’s poisonous? Huh. Well, that explains the rash.”

Vil’s hands went to his temples as he let out a long, pained sigh. “You have a death wish, don’t you?”

“Pfft, nah. I just get bored.”

There it was. The sentence that encapsulated everything about you—no self-preservation, questionable morals, and an insatiable hunger for something, anything, to entertain you.

Vil leaned back in his chair, staring at you as though trying to comprehend how someone like you even existed. “Do you realize how dangerous that is? How reckless? How utterly insane?”

You shrugged. “Danger is subjective, really. And anyway, you’ve faced worse in your overblot, right? At least I didn’t curse anyone.”

“That’s not the point!” Vil snapped, standing abruptly and fixing you with a glare so intense it could wilt your newly acquired plant. “You’re acting like an absolute menace!”

“And yet,” you said, leaning forward with a grin that could only be described as unhinged, “you still keep letting me hang around.”

Vil opened his mouth to retort but stopped. He couldn’t deny it. No matter how infuriating you were, no matter how many ridiculous situations you threw yourself into, he never really tried to distance himself. Sure, he scolded you, lectured you about proper behavior and responsibility, but at the end of the day, you were still there, waltzing into his life like you owned it.

“And,” you added, leaning even closer, “you can’t deny that you like it. Admit it. You’d be bored without me.”

Vil scoffed, turning his nose up. “As if. I have plenty of things to occupy my time.”

You tilted your head, that same manic gleam in your eye. “Oh really? Then why haven’t you kicked me out yet?”

Vil’s eye twitched. You had him there. He could list a dozen reasons why you were the worst—your lack of decorum, your disregard for rules, your baffling ability to be where you weren’t supposed to be—but at the same time, you were… fun. Infuriating, yes, but you always kept him on his toes. You were different from the people who usually fawned over him, who tried to impress him. You didn’t care about any of that. You just did whatever you wanted.

He took a deep breath and turned to look at you, his expression unreadable. “Fine. I’ll admit it. You’re… amusing, in a way.”

You grinned wider. “See? I knew you liked me.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Vil said quickly, trying to maintain his composure. “You’re a menace to society and a walking disaster waiting to happen. But…” His voice dropped to a soft murmur, “you’re not entirely unbearable.”

“Wow, that’s practically a love confession coming from you,” you teased, still beaming like you’d won some sort of grand prize.

Vil turned away to hide the faint blush creeping up his neck. “Don’t get any ideas. I simply tolerate your existence.”

“Tolerate it all you want,” you said with a wink. “But I’m still going to hang around and cause chaos.”

Vil rubbed his temples again, as though trying to stave off the headache you were undoubtedly giving him. “I hate you sometimes.”

“Liar,” you sing-songed.

He glared at you, but there was no real heat behind it. “One day, you’re going to get yourself killed. Or worse—ruin my skincare routine.”

You laughed, pulling the now-wilting plant out of your bag. “Wanna help me plant this in the dorm garden?”

Vil stared at you in disbelief. “No. Absolutely not.”

“You say that now, but I’ll grow on you. Just like this plant.”

“I am going to bury you and that plant together.”

You winked. “As long as I’m with you, Vil.”

Vil groaned, but he didn’t kick you out, didn’t storm off in disgust. And somehow, that was all the confirmation you needed.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus Draconia, prince of Briar Valley, feared and revered by many, could handle just about anything. He’d faced fierce enemies, commanded respect with just a glance, and maintained an air of elegance befitting his royal status.

And then there was you.

You, with your complete and utter lack of self-preservation. You, who seemed to treat life like an ongoing game of “how can I make the Grim Reaper quit?” You, who treated Malleus Draconia like just another guy in your chaotic orbit.

“Tsunotarou!” You barreled toward him one evening, skidding to a halt at the last second, as if barely remembering that you shouldn’t throw yourself headfirst into the chest of a centuries-old fae prince. “You’ll never guess what I did!”

Malleus blinked, tilting his head in curiosity. “What have you done this time, Child of Man?”

You grinned like a cat who’d eaten the canary. “I may or may not have… accidentally started a small fire in the potionology lab.”

Malleus’s eyes widened slightly, though he remained composed. “A fire? Are you unharmed?”

“Oh yeah, I’m totally fine! But Crewel’s coat definitely wasn’t. That thing went up in flames like it was soaked in gasoline.” You waved your hand dismissively, like setting your teacher’s coat on fire was a normal Monday activity.

Malleus stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable, before he let out a soft chuckle. “You are truly fearless, aren’t you?”

“I like to think of it as ‘enthusiastically living life without regrets,’” you replied, crossing your arms proudly. “Besides, if something goes wrong, I have you to bail me out.”

“Do you intend to make a habit of relying on me to prevent your untimely demise?” Malleus asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

You shrugged. “I mean, if the shoe fits. You’re like my own personal dragon-shaped safety net.”

Malleus blinked. “I am not a net, Child of Man.”

“No, no,” you waved off his literal interpretation. “You’re like the ultimate get-out-of-jail-free card. Like, if I almost die doing something dumb, you’ll just bring me back, right?”

Malleus paused, tilting his head again, as if genuinely pondering your question. “I could… but do you not fear death?”

“Nah. It’s not that big of a deal.” You grinned, clearly thrilled by the look of confusion that passed over his normally composed face. “Besides, it’s boring to worry about things like that.”

Malleus stared at you, his lips parting slightly as if trying to comprehend how you could be so nonchalant about life-threatening situations. He was used to dealing with those who were cautious around him, who feared his power or treated him with excessive reverence. And then there was you—just casually asking him if he could resurrect you after you threw yourself into danger like it was a sport.

“What am I to do with you?” Malleus mused, more to himself than to you.

You perked up. “Take me on a super dangerous adventure?”

Malleus blinked. “I was thinking more along the lines of keeping you out of danger.”

“But that’s boring!” You leaned forward, poking his chest with a mischievous grin. “C’mon, big guy, don’t you ever just wanna go wild? Let loose? Maybe blow up a tower or two for funsies?”

Malleus raised an eyebrow. “Blow up a tower?”

“Yeah! Like a good ol’ fashioned castle demolition!” You threw your hands up in the air like you were some kind of crazed architect.

Malleus let out a soft sigh, but there was an undeniable hint of fondness in his gaze. “I believe we have different definitions of fun.”

“And that’s exactly why you need me,” you said with a grin. “You need some excitement in your life! Can’t just sit around being all broody and regal all the time.”

Malleus looked at you, something unreadable flickering in his emerald eyes. “You are… quite unlike anyone I’ve ever met.”

You beamed. “That’s because I’m awesome.”

“That is certainly one word for it,” Malleus said, suppressing a smile.

“And you like that about me,” you teased, leaning even closer with zero respect for the concept of personal space. “Admit it. You enjoy the chaos I bring into your life.”

Malleus chuckled softly, a deep, rich sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “It is… refreshing.”

“Ha! I knew it!” You jabbed a finger at him. “You love my reckless, devil-may-care attitude!”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to call it love…” Malleus started, but you were already on a roll.

“Face it, Tsunotarou! You’re absolutely smitten with my chaotic energy.”

Malleus watched you with that same fond amusement, his eyes glimmering in the moonlight. “You are certainly… something,” he said, his voice soft, yet filled with warmth.

“And don’t you forget it!” You twirled dramatically, like you’d just won some invisible competition. “Now, let’s go scare some people in the hallways. We’ll use your glowing eyes and spooky fae vibes to freak everyone out.”

Malleus sighed again but stood up, towering over you with a resigned yet playful expression. “If I agree to this madness, will you at least promise not to throw yourself into any more dangerous situations today?”

You tapped your chin thoughtfully. “Hmm. No promises, but I’ll try.”

“That is the best I can hope for, it seems,” Malleus murmured, shaking his head with an affectionate smile.

As you grabbed his hand and began to drag him toward your latest scheme, Malleus couldn’t help but think that, for all your recklessness and lack of self-preservation, you brought a kind of chaos into his life that he hadn’t realized he was missing.

And strangely enough, he didn’t mind it.

Masterlist

[raginglesbian2006]

hello! i was wondering if you could write something about alastor with a vampire reader?

Oooh, that's a nice idea. Thank you for requesting it!

Vampire Blues

Alastor x vampire!reader

Warnings: Blood drinking, Cannibalistic tendencies

It'd been a while since you were in hell. Being the infamous "Vampire Killer " when you were in your prime, you were bound to carry on your legacy even in the afterlife.

You swirled your wine glass as you took a sip of your choice of drink, blood of course. Although you had dropped into hell as a literal vampire, you thought it uncouth to latch onto someone's jugular and feed off of them just like that. No, you were refined when you were alive and you will be refined even after your death. Besides, killing your poor victims off quickly before draining them of their blood seemed like the most humane way you could go about your business

You'd died around the 1800s, so you had enough time to make deals and turn yourself into a powerful overlord. The denizens of hell were so incredibly dull anyway. You did enjoy the company of Zestial from time to time. You two regularly had little get-togethers to talk about anything and everything.

You were used to the somewhat quaint existence you had carved out for yourself within the confines of hell. What you did not expect was the arrival of a certain...Radio Demon.

You were intrigued by this particular demon. He was overthrowing overlords left and right and gaining power and stability rapidly, all the while making his radio broadcasts the most popular in hell. He did not come for you, however, which you deemed to be a wise choice on his part. You do not take kindly to challengers.

The first time you'd met the famed radio demon was at the annual overlord gathering. You sat right next to him that day. You were impressed by the poise and elegance he carried himself with. Not to mention that ever-present smile that confused his enemies. You could tell that he was decisive, intelligent, and charming.

He introduced himself to you after the meeting was over. You introduced yourself too, making sure to thank him for taking care of those undignified overlords who didn't deserve the title at all. He seemed delighted by your appreciation.

The two of you quickly bonded over the next few months. You were quite happy to find out he engaged in cannibalism, prompting you to invite him to your residence to feast on the flesh of your victims, whilst you drank their blood. Oh what a wonderful day that was.

It wasn't long before you'd received a package mailed by Alastor. In it was the blood-drenched heart of a hell-born, who had wandered into the pride ring by chance, and with it, came a little note by him, asking for your permission to formally court you.

Needless to say, you said yes.

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Vil Schoenheit - Platinum Jacket Vignette

"Happy 100th Anniversary"

[Land of Dawning – National Museum of Art]

Vil: I had heard the rumors, but this museum truly does have masterpieces from every corner of the world on display here.

Vil: There is an abundance of stunningly beautiful works of art here. This is absolutely worth taking my time to breathe in.

Vil: Oh, this painting… It depicts the scene where the Fairest Queen is sending out her retainer on a mission of great importance.

Vil: I can feel her dignified aura. The way she carries herself so refined enhances her beauty.

???: I agree, this painting gives off this overwhelmingly graceful feeling.

Vil: Never thought I'd ever hear the word "graceful" come from you, Jack… That just goes to show the power of the Fairest Queen.

Jack: Heh, guess so. I can't really see what you meant 'bout how she carries herself all refined, though…

Vil: Oh, really? I myself was immediately drawn to her outstretched fingers…

Vil: Although, that may just be because I take particular care in noticing specific details like that.

Vil: Consider the way you walk, sit, or even how you cast your line of sight… There are many points to consider when looking to exude grace and poise.

Jack: I can get straightening your back when walking, or whatever, but can fingers really be shown beautifully like you say?

Vil: Of course. Perhaps it'll make more sense to you if I explain it using ballet as an example.

Vil: If you spread your fingers, or open your palm, it feels incohesive.

Vil: However, if I carefully angle my fingers like this…

Jack: …! Woah, seeing it in person makes a huge difference. Even your arm looks longer.

Vil: Right?

Vil: This doesn't only pertain to ballet, you know. Every form of movement can be carried in some way to make it look beautiful.

Vil: A model's walk is one. On top of that…

Vil: I also take care in my everyday movements, such as how I hold my drinks, or operate my phone.

Jack: Eh, all that, too!?

Vil: Naturally. I would never forego any chance at training my beautiful movements with proper posture at the same time.

Jack: Okay, I can get behind that reason.

Jack: It's like how if you want to be able to move using the proper form, you gotta work on your core muscles.

Vil: That's exactly it. Train your core muscles, watch videos on proper, elegant movements, and verify them in the mirror...

Vil: By purposefully ingraining it into your body, eventually you'll be able to carry yourself beautifully without even trying.

Jack: The way you put in all that effort into being beautiful is just like an athlete. You really got that stoic discipline, huh, Vil-senpai.

Vil: Heh, I'll take that as a compliment.

[Land of Dawning – National Museum of Art]

Vil: This work of art is supposed to depict the scene where the love between the compassionate princess and the impoverished young man is finally acknowledged by the sultan…

Vil: But it feels like such a harmonious moment. I had fully expected there to be more tension in the air.

Jack: Yeah. The story goes that the princess rebelled against her father, the sultan, and slipped out of the royal palace, right?

Vil: Indeed. As the country's princess, I'm sure she was constantly surrounded by guards…

Vil: There may have been times she had grown weary of constantly being surrounded by other people.

Vil: As someone who has been surrounded by the press outside my home before, I can empathize with that feeling of wanting to be left alone.

Jack: Does that mean you've also sneaked from your home out of the prying eyes of the press before, Vil-senpai?

Vil: Not at all. I would leisurely spend my time at home.

Vil: Around the time I was 10, I even built a secret base I could play in.

Jack: A secret base? Inside your house?

Vil: Exactly. I couldn't possibly deny the fact that some senseless people could try to sneak their way onto my property, now, could I?

Vil: That's why I made a safe little room specifically for me inside my home.

Vil: I gave it no windows, built each wall with stone, and stacked it full of shelves… I also made sure there was proper lighting.

Jack: A secret base, huh… Guess even you were a child once.

Jack: But even if there's light, I feel like a room with no windows'd be pretty depressing…

Vil: Actually, it's quite the opposite. That was the best environment possible for me to rest my skin from the sun's rays.

Jack: Rest your skin?

Vil: You are aware that ultra-violet rays can damage your skin, yes? That's why sunscreen is a must even at home.

Vil: However, sunscreen itself can be taxing to your skin.

Vil: That's why I appreciated having the peace of mind that no UV rays could reach me.

Vil: I could also comfortably practice my yoga that I've been doing daily ever since I was a child actor.

Vil: I could even read my scripts and practice my roles as time flew by.

Vil: That room where I didn't have to worry about onlookers or harmful rays was the safest place that younger me could have ever had.

Jack: Yeah, I remember kids'd get all in your face when you were out walking, just 'cause you were "Vil Schoenheit."

Vil: …I will say this, however, a majority of the people coming up to me wanted handshakes and autographs.

Jack: Ah, yeah, right. But still, that's still a pretty heavy thing to go through.

Vil: Well, obviously. It would be a grand mistake to mistake me for just any of the spudlings you see rolling around.

Jack: Heh, that's true. Do you still spend time in that room you made whenever you go back home on break?

Vil: Not at all. We would move often due to my father's work, so we live somewhere completely different now.

Vil: But, hm… It may be a fine idea to create a room that I can relax in again.

Vil: It could also end up being a great workshop to craft potions and skincare products, as well.

[Land of Dawning – National Museum of Art]

Jack: This painting is depicting the Sea Witch providing consultation for a troubled mer.

Vil: What a wonderful smile. The lighting from below works to bring out her enchanting allure even more.

Vil: And from what it seems, there truly are people who would ask for counsel anywhere and everywhere. I'm sure the Sea Witch had had her fill.

Jack: From the sound of it, seems like you've had to give out counsel yourself, is that right, Vil-senpai?

Vil: I can't say I've intended to give out any counsel. There are just those who would ask me of their own volition.

Vil: I've gotten incessant requests for advice from numerous fans in the comments section of my Magicam account.

Jack: Can't believe people would just ask someone they don't know for help like that. There's a lot of pushy folk out there.

Jack: So then, what kind of things do they ask?

Vil: A majority of the questions tend to ask how they can become just as beautiful as I am…

Vil: But there are others who will ask how they can quickly become an influencer like me, or ask about other such useless life hacks.

Jack: They'd seriously ask those things…? Don't tell me you're actually givin' them the time of day and responding thoroughly, are you?

Vil: Of course not. My time is precious. I don't even have a second to spare for someone who doesn't know how to look things up on their own and would rather rely on someone else.

Jack: Yeah, that's the way to do it. Really no use for anyone to be asking this and that from someone they don't even know.

Vil: Seriously. There was a time where I received dozens of questions asking, "How can I get clear skin?"

Vil: Methods to improve skin health can depend on age, skin quality, diet… among other possible contributing factors.

Vil: For those people who don't even understand those concepts, do you think I would grant them my ear and provide them my knowledge from the fundamentals?

Vil: In order to achieve beautiful skin, I've endured my own research even to this day. There is no way for someone who shirks effort to achieve beauty.

Jack: I bet your studies into all that are super intense. I'm curious what kind of stuff you worked on.

Vil: When I first started, I would purchase different kinds of skincare products off-the-shelf, then test and document the quality of my skin after application.

Vil: I would also keep record of any changes in my skin based on the foods I ate, or the surrounding environment.

Vil: After that, I started to get a more in-detail look at each ingredient, while also researching different combinations of products that could be compatible with each other...

Vil: More recently, I've been attempting to apply my knowledge of potionology to concoct skincare products that would go perfectly with my skin.

Jack: Y'know, I've also tried a bunch of different proteins and training regimens, and even recorded how it affected my body…

Jack: But I didn't know you were basically doing the same kind of thing. Just proves you can't skimp out on that extra effort.

Vil: Indeed. And my diligent research will always continue on. That's because…

Vil: I can absolutely become even more beautiful than I am now.

Jack: I can just feel your ambition! I gotta make sure I keep working hard, just like you do.

Jack: …Oh, look at the time. I'm sorry I took up so much of your time. I'll be heading to the next exhibit, so excuse me.

Vil: Of course. See you later, Jack. Well, I suppose I should go off and look for more Fairest Queen paintings myself.

Vil: That painting… It depicts the pretty little princess of legend. I see she's picking flowers in the forest… How carefree can she be?

Vil: Even though someone of ill-intent could take note of the empty surroundings and make their approach…

Requested by @zexal-club.

[manias-wordcount]

Show 'Em How (Phoenix Wright x Reader x Miles Edgeworth)

𝗔/𝗡: 𝗯𝗼𝗼𝗺, 𝗮𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗮𝗸 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗮 𝗯𝗹𝗼𝘄𝗷𝗼𝗯 𝗱𝗮𝘆. 𝗼𝗻𝗹𝘆 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗵𝗮𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗯𝗹𝗼𝘄𝗷𝗼𝗯 𝗪𝗛𝗔𝗛𝗔𝗛𝗔𝗛

𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚!! 𝘀𝗺𝘂𝘁, 𝗼𝗿𝗮𝗹 𝘀𝗲𝘅 (𝗺𝗮𝗹𝗲 𝗿𝗲𝗰𝗲𝗶𝘃𝗶𝗻𝗴), 𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗷𝗼𝗯, 𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗲𝗲𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘀

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚?

When you were younger, you had a crush on two boys.

The type of crush that left people with heat stuck in their cheeks and eyes casted down at the ground. The type of crush that left people like you stammering and stuttering and trying too awfully hard to look cool yet cute in every moment they’re in view. But they grew up. So did you. Though those feelings you had for the now-grown men didn’t completely disappear. You’re not even sure if they lessened enough for you to no longer feel embarrassed about it all.

  But for the longest time, you just didn’t get what you saw in both of them. After all, you thought that they couldn’t be any more different from each other aside from their shared strong will. So what made you like them still after all these years? What made you linger around like a ghost- hoping and hoping for the one who sees you. Despite knowing they would never see you as you’ve always seen them. Someone to love. Someone to adore. Someone to hold tight and want to protect for as long as they live. But that’s the thing.

  “You’re getting so good at this, aren’t you sweetheart?”

  You only thought you knew that. 

  “Mmm,” You make a quiet hum with the back of your throat as you look up at one of the men before you. “Mmm…”

   You always thought of Miles Edgeworth as a gentleman- even when you both just attending grade school. You thought of him as refined and forever poised- even in the trickiest of situations. And now, you’d admit that some of that holds true. He’s still oh-so gentle as he cards his fingers through your hair and keeps the loose strands out of the way. He’s still oh-so kind as he looks at you with eyes that hold emotions so far away from disgust and malice that you could easily forget if you wanted to. If you tried. But most of all? He’s still oh-so-sweet in the way he calls on you- insisting on sweetheart even as you wrap your lips around his dick and suck him off while free hand focuses on his rival.

  “I could have told you that,” A voice from your side grumbles. Some that have your heart thumping out of your chest and shivers running down your spine at the exact same time. It’s the same Phoenix Wright that you’ve always been smitten with. Though it’s admittedly more charming now that you’re able to hear him talking so casually. Without stress about investigations. Without drama from court cases. None of that stuff. Although… “And quit hogging! It was my turn to get sucked off ages ago!”

  You suppose nothing can be quite drama-free with those two. But you suppose it’s your fault, isn’t it? It started with you getting a little bold one night. A little brave. Then suddenly, you’re writing love letters. Love confession with the hearts and the secrets and the obvious embarrassment dripping from every single word. But this running off of a courageous high (or rather, a steep amount of liquid courage), and suddenly yourself with new emails in your outgoing mail folder. And two emails in your ingoing mail folder- each agreeing to the time and the place that drunken you had asked to meet.

  Truthfully, you don’t remember how exactly your confession went. Maybe you blocked it all from memory. Maybe you didn’t. But whatever happened must have been a good thing between all three of you. 

  Because why else would Phoenix be wrapping his hand around your neck and pulling you off of his rival’s cock all so he could lead you and your puckered lips toward his?

  “Pay attention to me too, okay?” He reminds you gently as he gives you a big smile. Instantly, you’re enamored again now that he’s the boy with your most direct attention (even though Miles’ huff is very clearly an attempt to get your eyes back off him). But Phoenix doesn’t pay him any mind- instead, he’s too busy pushing your head closer and closer to him as his free hand holds his fully erect cock out for your to slide into your throat. “I’m willing to share but you can’t forget about me, alright?”

  You’re barely registering his words. Just giving him a simple nod before your back up and sitting on your knees and wrapping your lips around the pretty dick in front of you. It stands tall and proud in front of you with quite a few noticeable veins decorating it in its entirety. A small bead of precum has been spilling from the top. But you don’t waste another second on dumb thoughts and inaction. Instead, you’re flattening your tongue and taking the thing into your mouth easily. Completely. Happily.

  The salty taste hits your goosebumps a second later, but Phoenix is quick to ease you into taking his entire length all at once. He coaches you into breathing the way he knows you should, and you focus on relaxing your mouth the same way you did for Miles so he slides right in with little resistance. But Phoenix is thicker than Miles. Not as long, but much much thicker. And so the instant you feel him start to fill up your mouth in a way that feels like too much at once, you cough. Just a little. 

  Even so, it’s still enough to get Miles to hurry out a call of “Be careful” to the other man, much to his displeasure. But it’s not your first. It’s far from it and everyone in the room knows that by now. So you’re quick to right things yourself. To adjust so that you mouth things about fitting Phoenix inside rather than Miles. And all too soon, you’re bobbing your head up and down and up and down and up and down. Letting it glide through your warm, wet throat as the man you’re sucking off balls his hands into tight fists and leans back into his chair.

  “Fuck, that’s good,” Phoenix all but groans as he closes his eyes and tosses his head back. His voice is much lower than what you’re used to. Softer. Quieted. More controlled even. Not that you really mind it though. As much as you love your Phoenix- the one who’s bright and loud and only just a little dumb at times- you like the way you’re making him come undone like this. Making him count his every breath. Making him rise out of his chair and curse under his breath. Making him feel good. All because of you. All because of you. “Keep going- keep sucking like that. And- and do that thing with your tongue again. Okay, baby?”

  Your heart melts at the nickname. Baby. You’re so soft for these two it’s ridiculous. But perhaps it’s more ridiculous how soft they are for you. How willing they are for you. Most men would hate sharing a lover. And yet, here comes Miles- reaching over and pulling back your hair again so you can continue focusing on running your tongue against every vein on Phoenix’s dick again and again and again.

  And sometime later, you’ll start stroking Miles’ cock again, not wanting him to lose the pretty hard-on he brought out just for you. Pumping your fist up and down and up and down- in time with the way you bod your head on the other man’s cock. But pretty soon all of Miles’ sweet little compliments will draw your attention away. Pretty soon, you’re pulling your mouth off of Phoenix’s dick and wrapping your lips around Miles’ once more- pulling out all the moves you know he likes. Playing a little with his balls. Sucking a little extra hard on the head. And looking up at him through your eyelashes all pretty like when he started mumbling all kinds of selfish yet adoring words towards you.

  And at some point, the other man in the room is going to feel content will sitting and watching anymore. At some point, he’s gonna want a hand or a mouth or that pretty little hole that’s been hiding between your legs all this time. At some point, he’s gonna want to make you do the squirming. Just like your other lover is gonna want to make you squeal and feel good. Feel oh-so ridiculously good. But he can wait. They both know how to wait at this point. And frankly, you do too.

  Because you waited so many years to confess. You waited so many years to know if they liked you back. And you waited so many years before realizing that the answer had to be both or absolutely nothing at all. But they’ve made their decision. And you’ve made yours. 

  You know they know how to wait their turn. You know they know how to play nice. How to share. And you know they know how to do that with each other. Because you were there when they learned those things. And if they refuse to do it now?

  Well, you’ll just have to show them how it’s done. 

[apostatizing]

It had just been one small, teenie, itsy bitsy mistake during the last mission. Maybe she rushed in before she was given the signal and caused a bit more bloodshed and destruction of property than what was required...but she really didn't see the issue! The bandits were quickly taken care of, and at the end of the day that was the purpose!

But the monastery didn't seem to agree, 'suggesting' that she seek counselling for her 'anger issues'. To call it a suggestion was laughable, really, but unless she wanted to be left behind on future missions at least one counselling session had to be attended. It wouldn't be difficult to sit there and pretend nothing was wrong for thirty minutes.

Until she saw the back of his head, stopping in her tracks and staring in silence. "...Actually, I am here to see the counsellor, if you would not mind moving out of the way." She sighs, stepping closer. "When did you get here, brother?"

TWELVE / FOURTEEN

@apostatizing | an office is a definite upgrade from the confession box. obvious reasons. there are windows, for one, so it doesn't feel nearly as stuffy while he was sitting in there and listening to people's concerns for hours. two, and pandreo thinks this while he stretches and sprawls across his chair until he feels the muscles in his calves threaten to conspire against him, there was plenty of leg room. more than he could say the confession box that they keep over at the cathedral and more, he expects, than the old girl could've offered him at his own church.

still, he didn't exactly—need one.

hearing someone out was almost exclusively situational. you couldn't make people just open up to you because you told them to. so, he doesn't see much of a point in having a space that probably wouldn't see much use anyway? ' hey, stop crying; let's talk about this back at my office halfway across the monastery, huh? ' but saying as much wasn't enough to get the church authorities to back down on it, and he wasn't going to be the one making things difficult over something that didn't really matter in the first place. so, office hours—he has those now.

and just like he thought, not a soul to be seen.

he'd have better luck sitting in the open market with a sign that said ' free hugs. '

—that's what he thinks until he hears approaching footsteps. with his back to the open doorway, pandreo chimes: "restroom is," a windmill of an arm before he points to his right, the stranger's left. "that-a-way; you can thank me later."

[lackadaisicallizard]

Looking

James has the attention span of a goldfish. 

Actually that’s probably being generous- a goldfish can focus for long enough to eat its food. James on the other hand once ordered and paid for takeaway but only realised late that night that he'd walked home without collecting it. 

It’s become a bit of a running joke in the group- the way that he can recall every second of a mundane day he spent with Sirius four years ago, but gets distracted while he’s cooking to the point where his food is either raw or burned to a crisp. 

The way that he knows every one of his friends’ birthdays, favourite foods, and things they talk about during late nights conversations poured over hot chocolate and marshmallows, but there’s not a chance  in hell he heard what Remus just said about… something. 

No, nothing can seem to hold his focus for more than a few seconds at a time. 

Well, until Regulus. 

Who he never really noticed past the knowledge that he was Sirius’ brother, until one day he did. 

Oh did he notice him. 

And he keeps noticing him. Every single time they’re in a room together he’s drawn to the poised, sharp, refined beauty of Regulus Black. To his piercing grey eyes that only soften when he’s talking to his friends. To his hands that stay still unless he’s particularly invested in a topic of conversation. To his lips that Regulus doesn’t let curl into a smile in front of strangers, but they do so of their own accord when Barty cracks a joke or Pandora gently touches his arm. 

And now when he doesn’t hear Remus’ comment or Peter’s question it isn’t because he isn’t paying attention. 

It’s because his attention is across the hall with the most captivating boy he's ever seen, and there's absolutely no chance of him getting it back.

He's not even going to try.

[dollible]

Tax Dollector

The scarred, towering hulk of a man bristles and drops his boulder-sized fist on the table. Wood creaks, splinters; tea cups jump in the air and spill some of their contents.

“This is fucking ridiculous!” He shouts, spraying spit, indignant; his face contorted in rage.

The little figure across from the table does not flinch. With refined poise, it raises the teacup to its perfect pale lips. Looks down, takes a little sip.

“I assure you, my preliminary calculations are very conservative.”

It looks up to the barrel of a shotgun. The hulk of a man is sneering. “I think I’m gonna plead the second, you porcelain b-” His upper torso explodes in a shower of gore, painting the wall behind him a messy dark red.

The doll snaps its wrist back in place, tests its fingers. Shame about the property price. Back in its little car resembling a beetle more than a vehicle, it opens the teletype.

]UNCOOPERATIVE 1 DEAD NEED CLEANUP RFT

The operator on the other side gives it a new address in seconds; the doll starts the engine, and the printer begins spitting out rows of transactions.

The address points it to an ancient castle outside the town. It stops its coughing vehicle in the driveway the size of a park, collects the papers in its pastel ruffled tote bag, and walks up the well-maintained stairs to the gigantic cathedral-sized doors.

No soul in sight. It double-checks the printouts, squinting a little. Hoard levy?.. That’s… an ancient and rarely applied form of a savings account interest tax? Curious.

It knocks.

Nobody answers for minutes.

Just as the doll chambers a breaching round in its wrist, the doors swing open. Its quick, tiny steps reverberate in the monumental empty space of the unlit gothic hall.

It stops in the middle, straightens its French blue dress; clearly apprehensive. Before it can introduce itself, a booming voice echoes around the hall like a choir in an asylum.

“A little treat comes into my domain!”

An orchestra of inhuman whispers, like hundreds of nails screeching on a blackboard.

The doll gazes upwards to the distant, shaded ceiling, and discerns snakelike motions of something truly gargantuan.

The monster descends through the beams of sunlight that illuminate its scaled body, slithers along the brick walls, surrounds its guest in its coils.

The doll doesn’t shoot. It recognizes well when it’s hopelessly outmatched. Instead, it offers an unconvincing smile.

The master of the house giggles with the sound of a steady stream of golden coins trickling down a pile.

Its massive body shrinks and folds unto itself, rows of scales overlapping and contracting, coils slithering faster and faster, until a human figure walks out of the chaos…

… and the doll looks up to see a disarming smile on the chiseled face of a ten feet tall woman with dark iridescent skin.

It gathers its last shreds of bravery. “Good evening, ma’am! This one is here regarding-” it consults the papers, “your hoard levy going back 230 years?”

The terrifyingly tall woman looks down at the doll half her height. Appraises its ruffled bag, its straight knee-length dress, its black official-looking shoes and matching thigh-highs,

and lets out a courtly laugh in a wonderful, melodic voice. The doll takes a tiny step back.

“Oh my-

-oops, sorry! Oh my Gods! You’re so tiny! And cute! And that serious mug, oh, I can’t hold myself!” She bends down, grabs the doll by its waist, raises it up and starts smothering it with kisses.

Mwah! Mwah! Mwah!

The doll decides it won’t be having any of it. “Cease- And- Desist- This- Instant!” it shouts indignantly, punctuating every word with the flailing of its ball-jointed arms. “You! Are! Smooching! A! Government! Official! I am going to punish you with a fine! A fine for every! single! humiliating! kiss! I’m counting!”

”Worth it!” the huge dragon lady exclaims. “Wow, you’re feisty! Hey, levy doll-” The affronted Government Official snaps. “It’s ‘Tax Dollector’, thank you very much!”

The dragon lady puffs her cheeks and snickers. “Whaaaa- your superiors have an odd sense of humor!”

“They do not have a sense of humor, miss.” the doll solemnly replies. “They’re the Revenue Service.”

An awkward silence hangs in the air.

“Hey, uh, would you like to see this one’s calculator?” The doll, still suspended in midair, rummages through its bag, produces a device.

The dragon lady seems captivated by the gadget. “How quaint, what does it do?”

“A lot of things with numbers! This one doesn’t use it, though! It can count very well, you know.”

The lady suddenly shifts to a respectful expression. “Count, hmm… Would you like to see my hoard?”

The doll nods, and gets whiplash as it’s carried through endless halls and corridors and staircases (every door respectfully opens before the dragon slams into it), until they enter a vast cavernous hall; no country could hope to construct anything like that.

The place could house multiple villages or a small town; its walls are so high it has its own climate. The floor is buried entirely under mountains of treasure: every precious in every possible form, countless artifacts strewn around.

They fly to the highest peak, where the doll notices a little open-plan boudoir; there’s a huge bed that could fit the draconic form of this charismatic tax dodger, and a cuddle pile of dressed-up dolls napping on it. Well, at least there’s bound to be good tea in this place.

The dragon lady places it next to the pile gently, avoiding waking anyone up, and whispers to it with a gentle smile.

“Welcome to my hoard, you beautiful little thing. Sleep well.” She curls around the snoozing dollpile and starts drifting off.

The Tax Dollector yawns, takes a look around. Perhaps it could start by inventorying this terribly messy hoard of treasures. It’s pretty good at counting the uncountable. A few decades’ work?

It yawns again, stretches, and curls up against the drake. It can start tomorrow. ∎

[moonselune]

Minthara finally figuring out why a romanced Tav walks through cities like there's not danger upon meeting their family. She ends up meeting an older drow who introduced themselves as Tav's former personal guard. It can also make other things click like certain fighting stances are like a drow fighting style.

I made it an elf!reader so the plot made a bit more sense hope you enjoy it!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Minthara x Elf!Noble!reader | Now it makes sense

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Minthara had always been puzzled by the way you walked through cities with an air of unshakable confidence. It was as if you believed yourself to be untouchable, moving through the bustling streets with a grace and poise that belied any hint of danger. It wasn't until she joined you for a formal dinner at your family estate that she began to understand the source of your serene assurance.

The estate was a grand affair, sprawling and opulent, reflecting the high status of your elven noble lineage. As you walked her through the halls adorned with intricate tapestries and golden accents, Minthara felt an odd mixture of admiration and curiosity. You introduced her to various family members, each one more elegant and refined than the last. Yet, there was a warmth in your interactions that made Minthara feel surprisingly welcome.

As dinner commenced in the grand dining hall, Minthara found herself seated next to you, the table laden with an array of exquisite dishes. The conversation flowed easily, and she couldn't help but notice how relaxed you seemed in this environment, contrasting sharply with the intense focus you exhibited in battle.

Halfway through the meal, an older drow woman entered the room. She moved with the silent grace of a predator, her eyes sharp and calculating. As she approached the table, you rose to greet her with a smile, which she returned with a nod of respect.

"Minthara," you said, gesturing to the woman, "I would like you to meet Sarya, my former personal guard and teacher."

Minthara's eyes widened slightly in recognition and understanding. Sarya was a figure of legend among the drow, known for her unmatched skill in combat and her unwavering loyalty. It now made perfect sense why you moved with such confidence and exhibited fighting stances that were distinctly drow in origin.

Sarya inclined her head toward Minthara, her eyes glinting with approval. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Minthara. I have heard much about you."

"The pleasure is mine," Minthara replied, her tone respectful. "Your training is evident in Y/N's skill."

Sarya smiled, a rare and genuine expression. "Y/N was an exceptional student, and it seems they have found an equally exceptional partner."

The conversation shifted seamlessly into Drow, the fluid and harsh syllables blending perfectly with the soft elven melodies that filled the hall. "Your elven family is more tolerable than most," Minthara remarked, a hint of amusement in her voice.

Sarya chuckled softly. "Indeed. They have always treated me with respect, which is more than I can say for others of their kind."

"Agreed, I am fortunate to have found the exception" Minthara added, as she looked to try and find you, expecting you to be conversing with your siblings, only to be surprised when you appeared at her shoulder.

"Remember, Minthara, I know Drow too, thanks to Sarya's teachings."

Minthara turned to you, her eyes filled with pride and affection. "It all makes sense now, my beloved. Your confidence, your fighting style—everything. ."

"Oh, I get all that from being taught Drow ways? Not at all from my natural personality," You smiled, teasingly cocking a brow at her. Then when Minthara didn't answer instead taking a sip of her wine you looked to Sarya, who also chose to sip her wine. You scoffed and whacked both of them on the side, but before you could walk away Minthara wrapped an arm around your side and brought you close, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

The rest of the dinner passed with Sarya and your family regaling stories of your youth. One particular story ended in a heated debate on who had broken the carafe gifted by a noble family from Calimshan which ended in you and your siblings tussling and Sarya had to step in one final time.

By the end of the evening, as you walked Minthara back through the estate, you stopped in the gardens, Minthara pulled you close.

"You truly are remarkable," Minthara whispered before drawing you in for a kiss. You smiled and placed your index finger on her lips, pausing her advance

"And I am all yours," you replied with a mischievous smile, stealing the words out of her mouth. Minthara rolled her eyes and cupped your face, your lips melding together in passion. She then pulled away, unable to help herself.

"And you are all mine"

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

[tanzdoesthings]

Birthdays

for the Ancient AU. Five Pebbles and Seven Red Suns celebrates a birthday.

a gift for @ardienothesieno !

“I thought you didn’t do birth-cycles?” Pebbles said as he tilted his head and looked to Suns. His cup clinked against the smooth table, drink sloshing a bit, letting the ice clink against the straw. The room was filled with the low hum of conversation, casual and yet refined. Suns fit in better than Pebbles ever did.

They sipped their drink, as poised as the cycle they met, embodying a silent holiness that Pebbles could never dream of achieving. “No, it is not my usual style,” they reply, “but it seemed valuable to celebrate.”

Void below. What is he supposed to say to… this? All of this! Seven Red Suns taking time out of their busy schedule just to take him out to lunch? He’s an artist and lab tech, for wyrm’s sake, and yet they continue to meet, discussing anything under the sun, and then lower as well. Religion, philosophy, paintings, life, their work on the lifeblood of their civilization. Turning Spires is activating soon, and they’re here. Celebrating his birthcycle.

“Pebbles?” they prompt, bringing him back to the moment. “Is everything alright?”

He nods, taking another sip of his drink. “Just thinking about all that’s happened.”

They raise their glass in agreement, tipping it towards him and then taking another sip. “It’s incredible, really. We always wonder if the cycle has us trapped, and here we are, celebrating it.”

“Tradition, I suppose,” he contemplates, holding the cup on the table.

Suns seems to have noticed the oddities, to his dismay. “We don’t have to celebrate here, you know. I thought it would be nice to take you up here, but you seem… uncomfortable.”

“Thanks for stating the obvious, Suns,” he bites back, harder than he really meant to.

Smoothly, always elegantly, in a single motion, Suns sets their cup on the table, taking Pebbles by the arm and pulling. He almost falls, but manages to keep step with his friend. They travel down the elevator, out onto the street, moving between the flowing crowd.

It takes until they are standing in front of the rolling door to Pebble’s workshop that he realizes what Suns is doing. “Hey- I thought you said no work today!”

Suns unlocks the door. They’ve known the code for many cycles now. “Where do you keep your paints? And an apron, preferably.”

Little Pebbles, standing in the doorway where he was left, stares. “You want to paint?”

“It’s your birthday, yes? You enjoy doing this. I want you to show me.”

It takes another moment before Pebbles snaps back into action, collecting two aprons and moving to hang his mask on the hook- until he remembered Suns was also there. Should he take off his mask-? It would be more difficult to paint with it on- would it be weird?

Maybe it would, except Suns had moved behind him, taking an apron in one hand and holding their own mask in the other, hanging it. Oh. He tries to stop thinking, pulling off his own mask and hanging it side by side. They are smiling at him- have they always been? Their eyes are so vibrant- focus. Paint. Cans are pulled from the cabinet, nozzles fitted and set in front of a blank wall in the workshop.

“It will take some getting used to,” he says, picking up a red can and shaking. “Keep your hand moving, or else the paint will pool and drip.” A piece of paper is handed to Suns, and they reach down to pick up another can. Purple.

They shake it as well, trying a few sprays across the paper. The first two drip, but the third is relatively even. Pebbles watches, and void below is it different having Suns in this workshop. They’re tall, he’s always known this, but even without the mask Suns towers over him. He nods at the test sprays, pointing to the wall.

“We start with a sketch. This will get covered up later, but it’s good reference.” He takes a deep breath, stepping up to the wall. Scholar symbol. That will do. It’s bubbly and big, and Suns moves to add some pearls in around the character.

“Is this good?”

He’s always painted alone, this is so different. It’s good. “Yes, very. I like the way it frames the subject.”

Five Pebbles gets into the rhythm of painting. Shake-shake-shake, spray. Step back, see the big picture. Next color. Repeat. Suns works on the pearls, and they almost glow on the wall, colors weaving together. They’re picking this up well.

“You’re quick,” Suns observes, adding gold to one of the pearls.

“I’ve done this for a long time,” he replies.

More painting. Outlines are added, highlights giving emphasis to the shapes. Suns steps back at this point, letting their friend finish the work.

He steps back, dropping the near-empty canister on the ground. “Well. We did it.”

“Thank you Pebbles.”

“Oh-“ He really had needed to get something on this wall, this had just been a good excuse to-

Suns puts their hand on his shoulder. “Let’s get this cleaned up.”

He nods. It was still so surreal to see Suns without their mask, but there they went, picking the cans up off his floor. He hastily followed, putting caps back on and throwing out the empty ones. It all cleaned up quickly, and they both returned to the cabinet to put away the cans and aprons.

“It’s a shame we must wear these bulky masks and not be able to properly appreciate all the artwork on the walls.” Suns states as they pick up their mask, inspecting it before putting it back on.

“Yeah.”

Suns glances to Pebbles. “Let’s get home. It’s been a long day. Oh- send Moon my regards! I’m still writing a response to her last message,” they laugh, standing and walking to the door.

“Yeah, I’ll make sure she knows.” He follows suit, closing the door behind the two and locking it.

Many cycles later, when he’s running for his life, he’s going to come in this workshop, looking for supplies. He’s going to see the mural, made with the one who set him up to fail. The burns on his hands, his face, all from the void fluid that Suns gave him. And he is going to swallow his despair, and run.

Run far away.

[ach-sss-no]

I feel weird giving out unprompted permission statements because I'm making a big assumption that anyone's going to want to use my work. That said I also know people do like to build on other people's art and can't always work up the nerve to ask, so: Anyone is free to use this design if they want to for any reason- I don't own this character anyway. (Although I am hopeful that you do not, you know, monetize it, because i cant do that and if you do that its not fair ;_; ) Feel free to remix, improve, use as basic inspiration, etc. I would appreciate a tag/mention if you use it so I can see what you did!

This design has evolved a little since I first started drawing it, and I will see people reblogging the original design notes and think 'oh no! those are out of date and I don't have new/accurate ones!'

Reblogging the old one is still an honor- and the first take on a design just sometimes has a different appeal because it's less refined and more chaotic (especially with a character that should be chaotic), so I suspect some people will just prefer the older drawings & they'll still get shared, which is great! But I felt as if the project was a little bit incomplete without an update, since I think I've reached the point where if you see that old post & then come to my blog and look at my current content, there's a noticeable difference.

Also I kind of like making design notes.

If anyone's wondering why things changed, the answer's really simple- 90% of it is just the result of him settling into having more consistent anatomy and facial structure so that I can keep him looking accurate across different angles and poses. If you look at the old drawings you may notice that Gollum has an inconsistently shaped squishy head. That's fine for a concept post but doesn't work as well for maintaining him across different comic panels or in an animatic, at least not the way I work.

In the same vein, while my art is still & will always be heavily stylized, I started giving him more structured semi-sorta-realistic anatomy so that he wouldn't look entirely out of place next to less bizarre-looking characters such as Aragorn. (I feel that's also helpful in nudging Gollum into the uncanny valley where he ought to be, rather than leaving him so abstractified that there's a risk you won't see anything wrong with him having noodle arms.) He also acquired the new-style 'garbage bag' outfit because I found a reference in LOTR to his arms and legs being bare/exposed (it's in one of my favorite passages, the 'an eagle would think Gollum was dead if it came by right now' passage in The Two Towers):

Not even an eagle poised against the sun would have marked the hobbits sitting there, under the weight of doom, silent, not moving, shrouded in their thin grey cloaks. For a moment he might have paused to consider Gollum, a tiny figure sprawling on the ground: there perhaps lay the famished skeleton of some child of Men, its ragged garment still clinging to it, its long arms and legs almost bone-white and bone-thin: no flesh worth a peck.

[apostatizing]

The art of stealth was not one that Panette can say she understood well. Even after she had turned herself into a 'reformed' lady worthy of fighting alongside the Crown Princess of Solm, the Berserker preferred to act quickly rather than wait. Who knew what could happen if they stood by idly for too long! But for now she would play along and put on a disguise or two until the moment was right to strike.

If only the disguises provided were not ridiculous.

As to not draw attention to the fact that she and Stahl were together on this mission Panette was dressed in drastically different attire. Her hair was tied back and the gown given to her was not only uncomfortable to move in...but also a strikingly bright shade of pink. "...Gross," she spoke under her breath, trying to focus instead on the task ahead. Hopefully if this went on long enough she would get to wear something much more suited to her tastes.

"...That does seem to be them." She narrows her eyes in the hopes of getting a better look at the glasses they held, trying to ensure that each had the exact same contents. "Do you have any idea how to separate them from the King? Look at them-- they're practically attached to him!"

masters of deception » panette & stahl

A number of you are sent straight to Fhirdiad to warn King Rufus, only to arrive too late. The guards say that he is with two young princesses, a “Celica” and a “Corrin”, and are naturally aghast when they find out the truth. That said, this must be dealt with carefully: the king’s, nay, all of House Blaiddyd’s reputation is on the line, and an embarrassment of this magnitude would shame the family for generations to come. There is only one option: to don a variety of disguises as you follow after the king’s date night through the market district and separate him from the ‘princesses’. [Grants Heavy Armor +1]

The situation was far from ideal. The King could be undergoing a shakedown at any moment now -- though, Stahl would be surprised if the thieves were foolish enough to rob a royal in a busy marketplace -- and there was little time to waste in separating him from his crooked companions.

Still, that wasn't going to stop him from going all out with his disguises.

As soon as the guards had been informed of the deception and a hasty plan formulated, they had ushered the two students into a dressing room holding a variety of styles to choose from. The most important thing was that the faux princesses didn't suspect that they were being followed, so multiple disguises might be required throughout the night. As such, he had donned a large hooded cloak and sunglasses, which could be easily discarded after some time to reveal a trendy oversized jacket and a slicked-back hairstyle. Finally, if a third option was required, the jacket could be removed and his hair mussed up to transform him into a unremarkable plain-clothed peasant.

Having now arrived at the market district, it look little time to locate their King; they just followed the whispers and pointed fingers of the townsfolk.

"Over there," he said under his breath, inclining his head towards an artisinal wine vendor, where the trio were sampling the wares.

@apostatizing

[chucapybara]

"mhm, just like that. hold it up—oh, perfect!"

"is this really necessary?" comes the huff of protest from your captain, whose cheeks colour the hue of windwheel asters. just a slight flush, as she brings the dandelion up, holding it by the stem. delicate, refined, even with her departure from clan tradition. it's always suited her in ways you've only grown to adore, over the years; the way she's made of her past and the cruel jeers of the people into something entirely her own. irreplaceable, unflinching.

even through the kamera lens, eula lawrence exuded nobility, bright as the shimmering waves. almost blinding. you were no sculptor, but you'd learn every art and trade just to preserve the picture of her in undying stone.

"no," you murmur, unable to keep the fondness out of your voice, as you steady the gadget held up to your eye. "but we might as well, right?"

after all, it's your birthday, you add in your mind. and you keep growing more and more beautiful, every single year.

eula rolls her eyes, an exasperated smile twitching on her soft lips. "fine. let's just get it over with."

she always holds herself up with such dignity and poise, unwilling to allow anyone else to glimpse anything of her; keeping the world beyond arm's reach. a protective shell, if nothing else.

but with you, all the tension bled from her, as easy as breathing. with you, there was no need to pretend for anything greater than herself. nothing to prove, nothing to uphold. no softer hands could bear her heart with such kindness—they may as well have been pillow cushions, a regal throne upon which her unbidden affections, her very lifeblood sat. cared for, in ways she may never be able to entirely repay.

so she leans back, ankles crossed, resting her free arm on the hollow tree trunk she's made for a seat (in your head, you feel mildly envious of the fallen wood). her figure, all slender yet lean muscle and elegant grooves, leans just rightly to the side, almost demure, and—

she tilts her head. eyelashes fluttering, and oh, there goes your breath, stolen away, the wind knocked out of your lungs.

you choke, and eula straightens up, surprised. "are you alright?" she asks, her brows furrowing as you cough, wheezing, the camera almost dropping into your lap. oh, you are terribly whipped for this woman. it's your turn to blush as brightly as freshly-picked valberries. damn.

"yeah," you croak in response. "i'm fine. wow. just—wow."

it shouldn't take you this long to snap the photo, but you can't help being simply gobsmacked by your captain, to the lawrence's honest amusement. first, your hand trembles, and the photo comes out blurry—she chides you impatiently, a scoff of your surname that's just a little too soft on her lips, but the words hold no malice, you know—and the next one comes out too bright because a beam of sun blasts it unfortuitously—

but then you steady yourself with a deep inhale, and take the next shot.

the device clicks,

and it's perfect.

eula stands out from verdant grass as the boundless sky does the earth, stems of dandelions lending hues and saturation onto your lady. for a moment, it's a glimpse of heaven made flesh, goddess made real.

you can't believe she's real.

"do you intend to keep gawking at my image as a duckling does," eula muses, sunset gaze sparkling with something gentle, "or do you have any actual intention of showing me what you've captured?"

you fluster, again, as you pick yourself up from the grass, slipping her the film. and as you set down your kamera, you find that the sun is warm, and your heart even warmer.

"hmph." eula huffs, again, in that way so characteristically her that you can discern between her genuine annoyance and affectionate irritation. her eyes flicker from photo, to kamera, to photographer, and they linger on you for a moment longer than they ought to. you see the quirk of her smile, invisible to all but a few, yourself included.

"not bad. you certainly have an eye for portraits. perhaps i ought to have you photograph our entire company?"

"i wouldn't be opposed," you murmur. but just as you reach for your kamera, eula beats you to it, her grasp swift as it withdraws the gadget from your reach.

"ah ah ah," the lawrence raises a knowing brow, a rare but intentful smirk on her features, and you gulp. oh, dear. "we're not finished, yet. don't think i'm done exacting my vengeance upon you."

a protest of your own dies in your throat, when she lifts the kamera to her eye, lens facing you. her instructions are your command, and even as you redden to the extremity of sparkling berry juice, vermilion chill sitting sour-sweet in its glass as you try to veil your face behind a hand, you already know better than to deny your beloved what she wishes.

"consider it a birthday gift. from me, to you."

[aiyexayen]

For the mini ficlet ask game - ship: hanwenzhouliu 💜💜💜

It is a cool, gray day in spring when the guest they've waited for finally arrives at Siji Shanzhuang.

The bells at the gate do not startle the birds in the garden, but they do seem to startle the man in pink who is playing the flute there; his hands fumble as he puts his instrument away and he rushes for the large double doors. He takes a moment to compose himself before opening them.

"Liu Qianqiao," Wen Kexing greets their guest. His voice has genuine warmth this time and, after weeks of practise in anticipation of this moment, he does not even come close to calling her Yan Gui.

Liu Qianqiao is unaccompanied and dressed simply, perhaps to avoid trouble on the road. In response to Wen Kexing's informality she bows deeply.

From his place in the shadows, Zhou Zishu winces. He'd instructed Han Ying to take the other disciples out to the east orchard this morning--and every morning for the past nine of them--in anticipation of this being difficult, but he had still hoped, for Lao Wen's sake, that this would go smoothly.

"Wen-daren," Liu Qianqiao greets as she straightens, face stone, eyes flint.

Because it is Wen Kexing, he does not miss a beat.

He bows with grace as if he always intended to do so and when he says, "After such a long journey, Luo-guniang must wish to come in and rest," it's with such gentlemanly poise that even Zhou Zishu could almost believe it. Almost.

But every line in Liu Qianqiao's body tenses just a fraction and Zhou Zishu knows that she, too, can see where the edges of Wen Kexing's smile have gone brittle. He must admit he's impressed; even Ying'er isn't that good at reading Lao Wen yet, and he's been here since midwinter. Is it their history together, or is she just that good? An apprentice of his shifu isn't someone he's interested in underestimating.

"Wen-daren has asked me here on behalf of Zhou-zhuangzhu. I don't dare waste time before meeting with him, lest the inn down the mountain give my room away."

Whatever Liu Qianqiao sees in Wen Kexing's mood, she meets it with ice.

Gu Xiang, Zhou Zishu thinks, finally putting a finger on the familiarity of the attitude.

"Zhou-shixiong insists you stay here," Wen Kexing asserts with that same forced smile, "and has ordered a suite prepared in advance."

Gu Xiang if she was made of elegant refinement instead of fierce belligerence, Zhou Zishu amends. There is something almost courtly about Liu Qianqiao, and he comes up with at least seven possible explanations for this in the short time it takes Wen Kexing to process her insult.

"The generosity of Zhou-zhuangzhu exceeds his reputation, and I am not worthy; I don't dare accept."

It is at this point that Zhou Zishu tunes out the conversation--or rather, he lets the words flow over him, to be catalogued in some back corner of his mind as he pays attention to the real communication at play. The words are of minimal importance, even more than usual, which is just as well given how greatly his own name is being abused.

He will give them thirty seconds more to de-escalate and then he will step out of his hiding spot.

"Wen-shishu!"

"Wen-shishu, there you are," Han Ying calls as he approaches. "Bi-shidi needs--" A small inhaled breath. "Oh. My apologies, guniang, shishu."

A third voice cuts into the tension like a blade stuck into flesh--deceptively easy for those with practise; the certainty of blood, now, if suddenly removed.

Zhou Zishu tenses.

Zhou Zishu opens his eyes in time to see the shift in Han Ying's body language as he bows to Liu Qianqiao. He in no way authorised this move. He hopes Han Ying knows just how much hell he has coming for this stunt.

Liu Qianqiao's narrowed eyes dart from the newcomer to Wen Kexing and back. But even from here Zhou Zishu can see Wen Kexing's relief is too visible, the tension easing at the corners of his expression; he clearly didn't authorise this, either.

"Han Ying, this is Liu Qianqiao, ambassador of Gui Gu and an important guest of your shifu's," he says. "Liu Qianqiao, this is Han Ying, Siji Shanzhuang's head disciple."

"You had something you needed?" Wen Kexing prompts.

There is a prolonged moment of silence when Han Ying looks up from his bow and into Liu Qianqiao's eyes. Some might call it instant connection, a spark, fate. Zhou Zishu calls it two players on a field sizing one another up.

It's equally gratifying to see Wen Kexing oblivious to Han Ying's intentions--an indirect compliment to Zhou Zishu's own training--as it is to see Liu Qianqiao's suspicions playing in the dips and hollows of her face.

Han Ying's previous urgency creeps back onto his face, not too quickly to be believable. Absently, Zhou Zishu nods his approval.

"Bi-shidi is in the kitchen and needs your help fixing whatever he's done to the soup this time. He said it's urgent."

"I see."

Lips pursing, Wen Kexing sets his shoulders. It could not be more obvious he is about to make one last bid to get Liu Qianqiao to stay before he rushes off to handle this issue. Zhou Zishu shakes his head.

"It is acceptable," she says.

"Shishu," Han Ying slips in, just before Wen Kexing can speak, the model of an attentive disciple, "if it's acceptable to Liu-guniang, I will see her to her quarters while you go help Bi-shidi."

He flashes a tiny smile at Liu Qianqiao and to Zhou Zishu's surprise, she smiles back. Reserved, but she's decided to be genuinely amused by this development, apparently.

"It is acceptable?" Wen Kexing repeats, eyebrows lifting.

Liu Qianqiao does not look at him. "Han-daxia, I am in your care."

"Then I'll leave first. Liu-guniang, if you'll excuse me." With nothing more to be said, Wen Kexing briefly grips Han Ying's shoulder and then takes off toward the kitchen. Their unspoken gratitute--in fact, all the small unspoken ways they have learned to communicate these days--warms Zhou Zishu's heart.

He wonders, though, how long was Han Ying watching? Long enough to go create a real situation in the kitchens? Or only long enough to lie? He's always been very good at thinking on his feet, Ying'er.

Zhou Zishu watches Liu Qianqiao take Han Ying's arm and let herself be led away with a complete absence of fuss. When they're out of sight he lets out a long breath, slumping back against the wall.

That could have gone much worse--Liu Qianqiao has agreed to stay and no battles broke out in the courtyard at all. Not to mention, the exchange was very...informative. The next few days stretch out in Zhou Zishu's mind like a puzzle, a maze that needs careful navigation. If he plays his cards right, he's certain now that he can get what he wants from Gui Gu, and from Liu Qianqiao herself.

And he has quite a few cards left to play. He can hear one even now, singing badly as she hangs up the laundry with help from Xiao Cao, intentionally kept in the dark about their imminent guest.

For now, though, Zhou Zishu has a head disciple that needs talking to, and a shidi whose ruffled feathers need soothing. With one last glance in the direction of the guest house, he heads for the kitchen.

[chadillacboseman]

@gloombride made me insane thinking of an AU where Graves was in the tank, but had a little Midnight Mass moment and was turned as an act of "mercy" by a desert vampire.

--

"I wasn't in that tank."

Oh, but Graves had been in the tank.

He had felt every lick of flame, every piece of shrapnel as it shredded through his body. By the time he had managed to pull himself from the twisted wreckage, his body was broken; everything was a blur- the sand, the heat, the blinding pain that made his vision go white. By some miracle, he'd managed to crawl away, to find shelter outside the walls of the base.

Like an old dog who finds a quiet place to die, Graves had made his peace with death, lying in the sand of the Mexican desert in a pool of his own blood. By the time the sun had began to set, he was in and out of consciousness, breaths coming in shallow waves as he stared up at the winking stars in the black sky.

Then, something happened out there in the desert that Graves couldn't explain.

The memory was hazy, like looking through frosted glass. He remembered eyes bobbing in the darkness, two halos of shimmering gold. He remembered feeling frightened, but unable to move, weakened from the blood loss and the broken bones. A new pain, something sharp in his neck- the taste of copper springing into his mouth. Coughing, sputtering, floating on the verge of unconsciousness until things went black entirely.

And then the pain was gone.

All of it.

He remembered looking down at his hands, marveling at the way the burns had disappeared. He moved cautiously, stretching his limbs until he was sure they were no longer broken.

A miracle.

But it came with a price.

When Graves stepped out from the cave, the sunlight burned, it left his skin blistered and red. He tried it again, this time just his hand. The same result, a deep, red, angry burn that sizzled across his flesh but disappeared almost as quickly as it had appeared when he pulled his arm back into the shadows.

Graves waited until nightfall, slipping out from his shelter and making his way to the base. He could move faster now, more silently than he ever could before.

And he could hear things.

There was a discordant thrum that haunted his ears as he wandered the base under cover of night. Gentle pounding, sometimes loud, other times nearly undetectable. When a Vaquero wandered into his field of vision and the thrum grew louder into a rhythm he could place, he finally understood it.

Heartbeats.

He waited until the soldier passed and continued his hunt for a vehicle. Revenge could wait. He needed to get back to you.

The hunger didn't find him until he was closing in on the border- a sudden, painful jolt in his gut like a knife had been lodged in his insides.

By some instinct borne of his new condition, he knew what he needed. His canine teeth, always abnormally sharp, were refined to a point that made them a hazard in his mouth. Like two snake fangs, poised and ready to strike.

Opportunity came in the form of a sudden burst of red and blue lights in the rear view mirror of his stolen jeep. He pulled the vehicle to the side of the road and watched carefully as a border patrol agent sauntered up to his window.

"Somethin' I can help you with?" Graves flashed his best smile and held his hands where the man could see them.

"Mind tellin' me what you're doing out here in the middle of the desert? You don't look like one of them hombres from the base-" he pronounced the hard "h" in hombre, enough to make even Graves roll his eyes, "You American?"

Graves nodded his head toward the flag patch on his vest and the man raised an eyebrow, "I assume you got your papers, then?"

Graves was growing tired of this man and his questions. His heartbeat, fast in anticipation of resistance, hammered away like a drum.

"Tell ya what, how about I step out of the vehicle so I can grab my duffel in the back seat. All my papers, passport, everything- it's back there. D'ya mind?" Graves smiled again as the man considered him, "I'm unarmed."

Not entirely true.

The officer nodded, satisfied, and stepped back to let Graves exit the jeep. The hunger pains were worse now, burning, rolling, stabbing in his gut, threatening to bring him to his knees.

The agent didn't have so much as a second to react; Graves was on him in a heartbeat, teeth upon his throat, tearing, rending the flesh like an animal on its prey. There was a sickening gurgle as the man dropped to the sand and stared up at his attacker in shock, a trickle of blood oozing thickly from the corner of his mouth.

"Nothin' personal," Graves paused to lick the blood from his lips, "A man's gotta eat, after all. Wrong place, wrong time."

The man wheezed, clutching at his shredded neck as Graves knelt beside him. The heartbeat was much weaker now, and fading with every passing second, but he could still hear it. He hovered his mouth over the man's neck, listening, feeling the heartbeat until he found his jugular. His new teeth sank into the flesh like butter, sending a surge of warm, coppery blood into his mouth. The man thrashed weakly in his grip, moaning in pain until the light went out of his eyes entirely.

The hunger pains subsided, and Graves fell back on his heels as blood dripped down his chin and spattered onto his vest. On the horizon, he could see the glittering lights of some Texas city, just across the border.

He was almost home.

[pagetreader]

@honorhearted {x}

On the outside, Portia F.eatherington appeared well composed, poised, and refined, but on the inside, she was screaming at the top of her lungs, prickling with anxiety and dread. After the recent and rather unexpected passing of her husband, may his damned soul know no rest, the Feathington estate and all the family’s assets were to transfer to the most immediate family member, which was Archi.bald’s cousin, Jack F.eatherington.  However, Jack was still out of the country, currently galavanting somewhere in America. God only knew when the man would deign to return and rescue them from financial ruin. 

While her eldest, Prudence, was only twelve and not yet in need of a prepared dowry for a future husband to claim, it was preferable to Portia to have the means – something she’d possessed, or so she’d thought, only weeks ago. Then Archibald had admitted to his gambling debts, the squandering of their comfort. 

Soon after this tragic revelation, his sins had caught up with him, leaving Portia and the girls destitute. Until Jack’s tentative arrival, it was as if she was left to paddle through the ocean without a life preserver and not a single boat in sight. She was panicking, suffocating. She needed consolation, a source of relief.

While an American tutor was far below her status, it hardly mattered. Portia knew that her age put her at a severe disadvantage. Prospects would be slim were she to attempt to find a new husband with enough wealth to support her and her daughters. No, this improper attraction wasn’t about finding a suitor. This was purely carnal. 

After the dismissal of her daughters from the library, and a barrage of questions for Mr. Tall.madge from little Penelope, Portia, who’d been observing from the entryway, made her presence known to her employee, evidently startling him as he absentmindedly went about his routine packing. "Oh! Mrs. F.eatherington... I'm so sorry, I...I didn't hear you come in." 

“My sincerest apologies for alarming you, sir” she replied, smiling warmly, a glimmer of intent in her eyes. 

“You just missed Prudence, if that's who you're looking for. She's doing an exceptional job with her arithmetic -- all your daughters are doing remarkably well, in fact, and I'm not just saying that because you cut my checks."

His humor was cruelly ironic. Incidentally, Tall.madge was one of the few staff she could afford to pay these days. 

"You’ve done absolute wonders for my girls…Perhaps there are a few intimate things you could teach me, Mr. Tallmadge."

"Intimate?" he appeared puzzled. 

Portia stepped forward, “That’s right.”

"Well...if you wish for a one-on-one lesson as well, I would be more than happy to oblige. Don't let the naysayers tell you any differently: it is never too late to learn a new skill."

There hadn’t been even an ounce of flirtation in his tone, though he didn’t appear to be implying rejection of her advances. Perhaps he’d misunderstood. Evidently, despite being gifted in academics, the man was entirely obtuse when it came to the opposite s.ex. 

"Are you familiar with The A.eneid, by chance?” he asked, removing the book from his satchel, “I tend to start all my pupils with this book since it's relatively simple...though I confess, my female students don't tend to be nearly as enthusiastic about this choice as the boys."

“It’s a childhood favorite, in fact. But I’m afraid you’ve mistaken my meaning.”

Here, she placed her hand over his which held the book, removing it and setting it on the desk beside them before offering his palm a soft squeeze, “You know, the love shared between Aeneas and Dido is infamous...”

Still holding fast to his hand, Portia dared to brush her fingers along his weskit, downward until she reached his breeches and ardently tugged him forward by their hem, “Passionate and lustful.”

The latter word rolled off her tongue like sweet honey.