#ambrosia heights

[ambrosiaheights]

Character Profile: Emmaline

Art by me (main: @diabolical-blue)

Emmaline is the main character of Ambrosia Heights and the only POV character (the story is told exclusively from her perspective).

Appearance: Emmaline has blond hair, green eyes, pale skin, and is 5'8" tall.

— 🌹 —

Emmaline’s family and friends would describe her as quiet, reserved, even shy. However, that surface-level passiveness masks a headstrong, stubborn spirit and a fiery temper which only emerges in dire circumstances or in cases of disturbing injustice. When particularly provoked, she can even be prone to violent outbursts, but she bottles up her more explosive emotions to keep these at bay.

Her socially reclusive background and sometimes hard-to-love personality are not the only obstacles standing in the way of what she wants more than anything else. As someone with no desire for physical intimacy, but a deep desire for an emotionally intimate and committed lifelong partnership, Emmaline has faced misunderstandings and hurtful assumptions her entire life - leaving her feeling like her dreams of companionship will never be more than a far-flung fantasy.

She wasn’t always this cynical, though. From a young age, Emmaline possessed a deep love of the sort of fantasy stories and fairy tales where everything works out in the end. In fact, when she was ten years old, she thought she actually met someone who came from a world much like the ones in her stories: a blue-skinned elf child who needed help finding his way home through a portal hidden on her grandmother’s estate. Unfortunately, the ensuing twenty years of complicated family drama and a miserably unfulfilling adult life has led Emmaline to wonder if most of that magical childhood experience was just her imagination - until the night of her thirtieth birthday, when she finds herself unexpectedly transported to that very world herself.

— 🌹 —

Random facts about Emmaline:

Though not particularly confident with her own social skills, when Emmaline is interacting with someone who is even more shy and reserved than herself, her instinctual reaction is to take the lead for both of them, giving her the false appearance of a naturally confident or even dominating person.

Emmaline has no interest in fashion and dresses herself solely for comfort. In her own world, she’s most commonly seen wearing a t-shirt, jeans or shorts, and sometimes a plaid flannel shirt. She doesn’t usually feel comfortable in dresses or skirts and tends to avoid them if possible. The most consistent part of her wardrobe is a silver necklace with a rose-shaped pendant she received as a gift on her tenth birthday.

She has had a special interest in technology from a young age. Though no “tech genius” by any means, she still enjoys figuring out how electronic gadgets work and even taught herself how to repair her own phone.

She is pretty attached to her smartphone and keeps much of her favorite content offline - movies, songs, video clips - especially when preparing for a long trip which might involve unreliable Internet access.

From a young age, Emmaline fell into the role of “keeping the peace” between her parents, who oftentimes didn’t get along. Her mother in particular would use Emmaline as her confidante and would vent to her about her troubles in an oftentimes inappropriate capacity.

Emmaline is an only child and had a very lonely and isolated childhood. She was homeschooled, never attended a traditional school, and never really made any friends her own age. She took comfort in the fictional worlds of her favorite books instead, and would often daydream about befriending the elf boy she thought she met when she was ten years old.

Emmaline has a religious background due to her parents' beliefs (particularly her mother's), but is undecided about where she stands on many of those beliefs personally now that she is older and living independently.

Her parents were apocalypse preppers who believed the end times were imminent, and prepared their off-the-grid homestead accordingly. Although Emmaline wasn't always sure if she believed them, their beliefs still had a significant impact on her development, leaving her feeling disillusioned and unprepared for an adulthood she wasn't even sure she was going to be alive to see.

— 🌹 —

An excerpt from chapter 4 in which Emmaline ponders her frustrations about her upbringing (third-person narrative observations, not first-person internal thought):

So she would do what she was told, because she didn’t have a choice. She wouldn’t express her anger when she got upset. But she would still feel it. Every injustice, every hypocrisy she witnessed, every freedom that was limited or taken away from her, every hopeless tear shed as she pondered her grim future under her parents’ unrelenting control – it was just pushed deep down, shoved into the far corners of her soul, ever boiling and festering but utterly ignored. Like a volcano rumbling, rumbling, rumbling in the background, spewing the occasional bout of steam or ash, but never permitted to fully erupt.

[brosif40]

finally got around to revisiting this, so here's all their humanoid forms :3 yaay yippee

(They'd prefer their true forms in canon ofc, I just like to have fun here yaay)

[grimm-writings]

Hi there!

I'd like to request something for the Laios party x reader where reader licks rocks like how archaeologists sometimes do to determine if it's a rock or a fossil. They just won't stop licking stuff. One moment you are just having a chat and walking side by side and the next reader grabs a rock and licks it. How would they react to their crush licking things that are certainly not food?

“stop licking the damn thing!”

…ft! touden party x gn! reader, platonic izutsumi & reader

…tags! fluff, some crack, headcanon format, grimm doesn't know shit about rocks

…wc! 342 ; 400 ; 405 ; 344 ; 303 = 1794

…notes! this ask enraptured me i had to complete it posthaste. i’m not an expert in archeology or geology, but i hope you enjoy! 

Laios

“Ooh, can I have a lick?”

His ass does NOT give a fuck.

You could do anything and he wouldn’t be fazed I’m dead serious.

Honestly, once you do it in front of him he’d steer the conversation towards your study and how you figure out each time what is a rock and what is a fossil.

He may not fully take in all the information you give him.  This isn’t a topic he’s admittedly too interested in.

Honestly he’d probably take up some of your advice and see if he tastes monster he can figure out certain things about it.  Considering most monsters are made of raw meat, he has to be held back by your fellow partymates.

Someone (Chilchuck) usually has to encourage you to not “enable his behaviours.”

Overall, Laios simply does not judge!  He’s open and welcoming, and will even take part in your study with you!

(It’s an added bonus that he really likes how you explain things to him…)

Almost like an eager dog, Laios leans over your shoulder to look at the stone in your hand.  Prepared to explain yourself, like usual, you take a breath. “May I?” he interrupts you.  You still for a second.  Does he mean…? You slowly lift the rock up to the taller man behind you.  You don’t have any words as he leans down to give a small lick. You’re almost flattered from how open he is to it. At the taste, Laios’ eyebrows furrow, and he seems to seriously try to dissect the flavour.  He hums and tilts his head to you.  “Salty?” “Yeah,” you reply, slowly growing a bit more comfortable as you get an excuse to talk about your study, “so that means this rock might contain evaporite minerals.” Laios smiles slightly, leaning back to his full height to converse with you in a more casual position.  “Which are?” Your conversation continues, with Laios taking mental notes that he’ll hopefully remember for later next time he comes across a monster. Maybe if you find a gargoyle…

Marcille

Sorry she is so judgemental.

You are so lucky she likes you or else she’ll loudly give her opinion on how gross it is.

Well, that is until she learns the context as to why.

She’ll still be a little bit unsure, wondering if it’s proper conduct at all.

Marcille is trying her best, she really is, but you can’t just end a conversation so suddenly because you saw a rock, licked it in front of her, and said “hm… sedimentary.”

She wonders every day what she did to deserve such an… interesting taste in crushes. 

Though, like all things, give Marcille some time and she’ll warm up to your habits a bit more.  It may even be that she’ll be wondering about her study of the dungeon, running her hand along the wall, and thinking that she could call out to you to taste the wall and tell her the material.

She may not try out the method herself, but she’ll at least tolerate how you do it.  There’s a science behind it, after all…

Marcille stares as you lick your lips and hum to yourself.  Her mouth is a thin line and she’s trying her best not to come out with a disapproving comment. “Any… interesting findings…?”  She stiffly asks instead, gripping Ambrosia as if you’ll try licking her to figure out the levels of Mana too.  You can never be too cautious, even if she is only made out of wood. You smile at Marcille, either blissfully unaware of her austerity or pretending to be.  You hold up the stone in your hand and outline something with your finger.  “I think if we break this, we might find some fossils inside it.  You can keep it for your research if you want.” Marcille’s ears perk up slightly at that.  “For… me?”  She asks aloud, as if there’s anyone else who’d be interested in dungeon rocks.  As soon as she processes it she’s flushed and avoiding eye contact.  “I mean, this is your field of study, not mine!  I couldn’t possibly…” But you take her hands in your own, and place the fossil in her palm.  Marcille’s breath hitches when you take her fingers and fold them over the stone. “I trust you to come up with something.”  You beam at the elf, and she thinks that she might just have to take a chance in your skills.

Chilchuck

Not exactly open to it, not entirely critical about it either…

…But you will get a bit of a look whenever you do it.

He might be more the kind to make sure you aren’t outright doing it at stupid moments.  You better not get any ideas looking at those statues!

Sometimes you’ll be about to hold the stone up to your mouth, and right when your tongue is about to touch it, you’ll hear Chilchuck sigh a “don’t.”

Honestly this guy is treating you like a dog with something it shouldn’t have in its mouth.  Don’t worry, worrying and fretting is how he shows his love.

Even if he doesn’t like admitting to it…

If you try to explain how licking things helps in your study, Chil is inclined to raise his eyebrow and say that your field must be full of weirdos.

Then again, he’s the one who likes you so maybe he shouldn’t be too harsh…

He’s willing to let you do what you need to do but that doesn’t mean you’re free from his scathing commentary.

Crouched down, you analyse some rock in front of you.  It stands out a fair bit from most of the other geodes down here.  What could it be…? You lean in, your tongue grazing the stone slightly, and you lick.  The tip of your tongue familiarises itself with the taste.  Maybe metamorphic…? “Are you serious?”  You freeze at the sound of Chilchuck’s boyish voice.  On your hands and knees licking rocks isn’t exactly the ideal position to be judged in, even as you turn to look at the half-foot, arms crossed.  “Senshi is in the middle of cooking, no need to resort to eating rocks.” You roll your eyes.  You’re used to how Chilchuck treats your study at this point.  “I was just curious.” Chilchuck scoffs, walking up to pull you by the back of your collar up onto your feet again, which you do with some coercion.  “Yeah sure,” he says, “just wanna confirm you haven’t completely lost your marbles yet.” You look up at him, and squint.  Holding back a laugh, you mutter, “was that…?” “No, it wasn’t a dad joke,”  Chilchuck sighs, leaving you to your devices again.  “Just don’t do anything stupid when no one’s watching.” He hopes even as you giggle and confirm, you won’t notice the bright blush blooming on Chilchuck’s cheeks and tips of his ears.  How embarrassing…

Senshi

Also winning the dgaf war I fear.

He’d watch you lick some of the rocks you had picked out from your travels while resting.

It comes as no surprise that it then crosses his mind if the flavour changes when cooked, which he asks if he can do with some of your selection.

You can use your imagination on how Marcille and Chilchuck reacted when told that today’s dinner is … just rocks.

(Laios is disappointed that it isn’t any cool monster rocks.)

One delightful montage later, and ‘tis finished!  Since they are for your research, Senshi insists you have the first bite.

Crunch… and oh, such unique flavours!

You gush to Senshi about how this is a major breakthrough in how different minerals react to cooking conditions, and he gives you his observations too.

Honestly, just sort of wholesome bonding!

“Aye, this one cooked easily, while this one took plenty more time.” You nod eagerly as you watch Senshi point to two different stones.  “That’s because one is an igneous rock, which is magmatic.  The other is a sedimentary rock, which carries different minerals from lakes and oceans.  Separation in cooking must have resulted in different reactions!  I wonder how different metamorphic rocks would react…” As you mumble to yourself, Senshi happily continues his meal-making, occasionally responding back to you with hums and comments about what else each observed in his experimentation. Even when you had finished up your meal entirely, you thanked Senshi with the widest grin on your face.  He couldn’t help but be just a little flattered when you go on to joke that you should bring him home with you so he can help with your research. In return, Senshi listens to you, and hangs on your every word as you explain your findings to him.  Even if not too nutritious of a meal, the minerals from the rocks provide some calcium and other such buffs! And well…  If he can keep that happiness prolonged with his cooking, then he’s doing a very good job providing for you indeed!

Izutsumi

“Why are you eating rocks?  Looks gross.”

Make way for the #1 hater…

Izutsumi refuses to listen to any such rationalities you make about your study or why you lick rocks (even though she’s the one who asked), she’s still finding it icky and weird.

You’d have to fight fire with fire when it comes to her, you’ll question why she does some habits she does in return – such as licking her hand.

She’ll look at you like you’re stupid, before telling you that it’s a way for her to clean herself and notice if there’s anything caught in her fur.

“Ah, so like how I would lick rocks to identify anything embedded in them too!”

…How dare you try to rationalise yourself with her own logic, heathen.

Jail for reader.  Jail for 1000 years.

She’s not one to so readily accept other people’s weird quirks, but eventually she has to find that she’ll look stupid if she doesn’t…  It’s a bit of a dirty scheme, but it works.

“Come on, Izu, just give it a try!  I promise it just tastes like water.” “What kinda water?!”  She shoots back. You pause.  “W…Water?” This is how the argument between whether or not water has a flavour comes to be.  Izutsumi insists that some water tastes icky while others taste nice.  You have to explain that this pure water simply doesn’t have a taste.  She doesn’t believe you. In fact, Izutsumi makes you give the sedimentary stone another taste before affirming, it just tastes like water.  She’s about to grab your shoulders and shake you.  What kind of water?! It takes plenty of encouragement and an immediate failsafe orange juice Senshi squeezed out for her to ‘get rid of’ the taste when you get Izutsumi to taste the stone. She still hasn’t forgiven you… 

[senascoop]

☁︎ . , SWEET NECTAR , L.HS ! 18+

PAIRING: boyfriend ! heeseung × girlfriend ! afab reader. SYNOPSIS: just a pussy drunk hee (had this in my drafts for a while) GENRE: smut, drabble, pwp. WARNING(S): nsfw, mdni, pussy eating, uses of pet names, a little fingering, cumming on tongue, a little kissing towards the end, dirty talk. WORD COUNT: 0.9k [ARCHIVE]

♫︎ REBLOGS + FEEDBACKS ARE ALWAYS APPRECIATED

Heeseung’s strong hands gripped your thighs, spreading them wide as he knelt between them. His piercing gaze locked onto your pussy, his eyes darkening with desire as he took in the sight of your glistening folds. You could feel the heat of his breath on your wet skin, making your core throb with anticipation.

“God, you look absolutely mouthwatering,” he growled, his voice husky with lust. “I’ve been craving this sweet pussy all day, and now I'm going to devour it like a starving man.”

He wasted no time, leaning in and burying his face between your thighs. His tongue, hot and eager, began to explore your folds, tracing every inch of your delicate flesh. He lapped up your juices, moaning at the taste of your arousal, his tongue delving deeper to reach your entrance.

“Mmm, you taste even better than I imagined,” he mumbled against your skin, the vibrations sending shivers down your spine. “I can't get enough of this perfect pussy.”

You gasped as his tongue found your clit, the sensitive bundle of nerves throbbing under his touch. He circled it teasingly, his tongue flicking rapid-fire over the swollen nub, sending jolts of pleasure coursing through your body. Your hands fisted in the sheets, your hips bucking involuntarily as he continued his relentless assault on your senses.

“Oh god, hee,” you whimpered, your voice breathy and needy. “That feels incredible. Please, don't stop.”

He chuckled, the sound muffled by your folds. “I’m not stopping, baby. I'm going to eat this pussy until you're begging me to fuck you senseless.”

True to his word, he increased his efforts, his tongue alternating between flicking your clit and plunging into your entrance. The combination of sensations was almost too much to bear, your body trembling on the edge of ecstasy.

“Fuck, I'm so close,” you panted, your nails digging into his shoulders. “Don't stop, please!”

Heeseung’s tongue never ceased its relentless assault on your quivering flesh, lapping and suckling at your dripping folds like a man starved. His eyes were glazed over with lust, his entire being focused solely on pleasuring you with his mouth. He was utterly consumed by the taste and scent of your arousal, driven to new heights of hunger by the intoxicating nectar flowing from your core.

“Fuck, I can't get enough of you,” he groaned, the words muffled against your slick petals. “You taste too fucking good, like the sweetest ambrosia. I want to drink from this perfect pussy forever.”

His hands gripped your thighs tighter, holding you open and exposed as he feasted on you. His tongue delved deep, plunging into your tight channel and curling to stroke your inner walls. Then he would drag the flat of his tongue up your slit, flicking rapidly over your engorged clit before diving back in for more.

Each thrust of his tongue sent sparks of electricity zinging through your nerve endings, building the coil of tension in your belly to an almost unbearable level. Your hips undulated shamelessly against his face, seeking more of that delicious friction. You were lost to everything but the feel of his mouth on you, drowning in a sea of sensation.

“Yes, yes, yes!” you chanted mindlessly, your voice high and thready with impending release. “Don't stop, please don't stop! I'm gonna...I'm gonna...”

Heeseung seemed to sense you were on the brink, doubling down on his efforts. He sealed his lips around your clit and sucked hard, his tongue vibrating against the sensitive bundle of nerves. At the same time, two fingers plunged knuckle-deep into your fluttering sheath, curling to hit that magic spot inside you.

The dual stimulation was your undoing. Your back arched off the bed as your climax crashed over you like a tidal wave, your inner muscles clamping down on his invading fingers. A hoarse scream tore from your throat, your vision whiting out from the intensity of your release.

As your orgasm subsides into aftershocks, Heeseung gentled his touch, licking and kissing your quivering flesh with an almost reverent tenderness. He placed soft, open-mouthed kisses along your inner thighs, soothing the slight sting left behind by his teeth. When he finally pulled away, his chin was glistening with your juices, his lips swollen and slick.

“You came so hard for me, baby,” he murmured, his voice rough with satisfaction. “I could feel your pussy squeezing my tongue, trying to pull me deeper.”

He crawled up your body, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to your stomach, your ribs, the valley between your breasts. When he reached your lips, he captured them in a searing kiss, sharing the taste of your arousal. You moaned into his mouth, your arms coming up to wrap around his neck and draw him closer.

But as much as you reveled in the afterglow, you could feel a renewed ache building in your pussy. Heeseung’s rigid length pressed insistently against your thigh, and you knew he was just as far from sated as you were.

"Please,” you whimpered against his lips, your hips rolling restlessly against his. “I need you inside me. I need to feel you stretching me, filling me up.”

He groaned at your words, his control snapping. In one swift motion, he positioned himself at your entrance, the broad head of his cock nudging your slick folds.

“Fuck, you have no idea how badly I want to sink into this tight little cunt,” he gritted out, his hips flexing impatiently. “I'm going to ruin you for anyone else, make this pussy mine.”

© senascoop | tumblr

[fanbasetwo]

✦ SWEET NECTAR ┊ ANTON

001. PAIRING , bf ! anton × afab reader

002. SYNOPSIS , just a pussy drunk anton

003. WARNING(S) , NSFW, MDNI, pussy eating, uses of pet names, a little fingering, cumming on tongue, a little kissing towards the end, dirty talk.

004. WORD COUNT , 0.9k

Anton’s strong hands gripped your thighs, spreading them wide as he knelt between them. His piercing gaze locked onto your pussy, his eyes darkening with desire as he took in the sight of your glistening folds. You could feel the heat of his breath on your sensitive skin, making your core throb with anticipation.

He wasted no time, leaning in and burying his face between your thighs. His tongue, hot and eager, began to explore your folds, tracing every inch of your delicate flesh. He lapped up your juices, moaning at the taste of your arousal, his tongue delving deeper to reach your entrance.

“Mmm, you taste even better than I imagined,” he mumbled against your skin, the vibrations sending shivers down your spine. “I can't get enough of this perfect pussy.”

“God, you look absolutely mouthwatering,” he growled, his voice husky with lust. “I've been craving this sweet pussy all day, and now I'm going to devour it like a starving man.”

You gasped as his tongue found your clit, the sensitive bundle of nerves throbbing under his touch. He circled it teasingly, his tongue flicking rapid-fire over the swollen nub, sending jolts of pleasure coursing through your body. Your hands fisted in the sheets, your hips bucking involuntarily as he continued his relentless assault on your senses.

He chuckled, the sound muffled by your folds. “I'm not stopping, baby. I'm going to eat this pussy until you're begging me to fuck you senseless.”

True to his word, he increased his efforts, his tongue alternating between flicking your clit and plunging into your entrance. The combination of sensations was almost too much to bear, your body trembling on the edge of ecstasy.

“Fuck, I'm so close,” you panted, your nails digging into his shoulders. “Don't stop, please!”

Anton’s tongue never ceased its relentless assault on your quivering flesh, lapping and suckling at your dripping folds like a man possessed. His eyes were glazed over with lust, his entire being focused solely on pleasuring you with his mouth.

He was utterly consumed by the taste and scent of your arousal, driven to new heights of hunger by the intoxicating nectar flowing from your core.

“Oh god,” you whimpered, your voice breathy and needy. “That feels incredible. Please, don't stop.”

His hands gripped your thighs tighter, holding you open and exposed as he feasted on you. His tongue delved deep, plunging into your tight channel and curling to stroke your inner walls. Then he would drag the flat of his tongue up your slit, flicking rapidly over your engorged clit before diving back in for more.

Each thrust of his tongue sent sparks of electricity zinging through your nerve endings, building the coil of tension in your belly to an almost unbearable level. Your hips undulated shamelessly against his face, seeking more of that delicious friction. You were lost to everything but the feel of his mouth on you, drowning in a sea of sensation.

“Fuck, I can't get enough of you,” he groaned, the words muffled against your slick petals. “you taste too fucking good, like the sweetest ambrosia. I want to drink from this perfect pussy forever.”

Anton seemed to sense you were on the brink, doubling down on his efforts. He sealed his lips around your clit and sucked hard, his tongue vibrating against the sensitive bundle of nerves. At the same time, two fingers plunged knuckle-deep into your fluttering sheath, curling to hit that magic spot inside you.

The dual stimulation was your undoing. Your back arched off the bed as your climax crashed over you like a tidal wave, your inner muscles clamping down on his invading fingers. A hoarse scream tore from your throat, your vision whiting out from the intensity of your release.

As your orgasm subsided into aftershocks, Anton gentled his touch, licking and kissing your quivering flesh with an almost reverent tenderness. He placed soft, open-mouthed kisses along your inner thighs, soothing the slight sting left behind by his teeth. When he finally pulled away, his chin was glistening with your juices, his lips swollen and slick.

“Yes, yes, yes!” you chanted mindlessly, your voice high and thready with impending release. “Don't stop, please don't stop! I'm gonna...I'm gonna...”

He crawled up your body, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to your stomach, your ribs, the valley between your breasts. When he reached your lips, he captured them in a searing kiss, sharing the taste of your arousal. You moaned into his mouth, your arms coming up to wrap around his neck and draw him closer.

But as much as you reveled in the afterglow, you could feel a renewed ache building in your core. Anton’s rigid length pressed insistently against your thigh, hot and heavy, and you knew he was just as far from sated as you were.

“You came so hard for me, baby,” he murmured, his voice rough with satisfaction. “I could feel your pussy squeezing my tongue, trying to pull me deeper.”

“Please, Anton,” you whimpered against his lips, your hips rolling restlessly against his. “I need you inside me. I need to feel you stretching me, filling me up.”

He groaned at your words, his control snapping. In one swift motion, he positioned himself at your entrance, the broad head of his cock nudging your slick folds.

“Fuck, you have no idea how badly I want to sink into this tight little cunt,” he gritted out, his hips flexing impatiently. “I’m going to ruin you for anyone else, make this pussy mine.”

NOTE : don't mind me. just taking this drabble outta my enha blog to add in here.

© 2024 all rights reserved to fanbasetwo !

[g1rld1ary]

you never disappointed me ; luke castellan x aphrodite!reader

part one part two part three part four

➻ synopsis: charles beckendorf wants to go out with silena beauregard more than anything. one problem: she's not allowed to date until her shrewish older sister does, so he and percy come up with a plan. (10 things I about you AU)

➻ word count: 2783

➻ warnings: swearing ooc/kind of loser!luke, ooc silena, she/her pronouns used for reader

➻ this'll be a few chapter so this is p1!!!

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

Charles Beckendorf arrived at Camp Half-Blood when he was fifteen years old. It was a wonder he’d lasted out in the mortal world so long with his significant stature, height enough to attract monsters, but Percy — his tour guide — guessed it was probably his more reserved nature which had kept him under the radar.

“Thank God it’s you showing me around,” Was one of the first things he’d said, “When you start things like this it’s usually all the kiss-asses that greet me.” With six schools under his belt, Percy knew what he meant all too well.

“Nah man, we’re chill. And if we get this done quick then you can meet my friends, we know how to have the real fun here.”

And so they embarked on their tour, Percy dutifully pointing out all the most important places around camp. First was the Dining Pavilion, where they met Grover as he chewed on some of the tin-can remains of lunch. Then came Thalia’s Tree, under which Annabeth was drawing out a map that Charles didn’t understand in the slightest but Percy explained was a strategy for capture the flag. After that they walked past the sword fighting arena, where they caught a glimpse of Luke in the middle of a fierce duel. They both passed quickly, and Charles got the distinct impression that you weren’t supposed to interrupt Luke when he was fighting.

As the two got to the lake, Percy explaining it was where most people hung out when they had the time, Charles faltered in his steps. Percy looked back to where he was frozen and followed his sightline to Silena Beauregard and rolled his eyes.

“Who is that?” He breathed.

“Don’t even bother, bro,” Percy replied. “She’s off limits. It’s a well known fact that the Beauregard sisters aren’t allowed to date — they’re only here over the summers and their dad is crazy strict about it for some reason.”

“But she’s so—”

“Self-centred? Shallow? Silena is all looks no substance, dude. You can do better.” Percy ushered him away but Charles was still daydreaming about the beautiful Aphrodite girl.

The tour was just finishing up by the Climbing Wall when they first saw you. You held the camp record for it, and so had been delegated the responsibility of teaching the younger kids. Today though you’d had to rescue a cocky bastard from getting obliterated by lava, singeing the fabric of your camp shirt all over your left shoulder, and you were not in a good mood.

Just wanting to get back to your cabin for a change of clothes and some ambrosia, you were certainly not in the state of mind to stop and chat with a new camper. So when Percy and Charles came along blocking the whole fucking path, you didn’t hesitate to yell “Move!” Pushing past them in a huff. You wouldn’t usually be so rude, but you were pretty sure your shirt was fusing into your skin which was so not what you needed. Plus, they were in the way. Beckendorf’s bicep was warm from where you’d shoulder-checked him with your injury.

“That’s your dream girl’s older sister,” Percy snorted, used to your disagreeable personality.

“That’s Silena’s sister?” Charles asked incredulously, “But she’s…”

“A shrew? Yeah. I’d watch out for her, and kiss your dreams of going out with Silena goodbye. Now c’mon, I’ll show you to your cabin.” Charles followed mindlessly, still thinking about the two Beauregard sisters.

When people thought of you, the consensus was pretty much this: Silena Beauregard’s older sister, and the most heinous bitch at Camp Half-Blood, a title you were extremely proud of. Whilst you really didn’t think you were that bad — in fact, you considered your actions quite reasonable — younger campers cowered away when you marched through camp and the older ones rolled their eyes when you spoke. Just the way you liked it. It wasn’t exactly unusual, camp had all sorts of kids living there, not everyone was going to get along, but it was pretty unexpected for you as a daughter of Aphrodite.

You didn’t get along with most of your siblings, despite all your efforts as one of the elder campers. You thought it was ridiculous that they wouldn’t participate in camp activities, regardless of the reason. What good was having all that beauty if it was wiped off the face of the earth by a monster? There were a hundred rumours flying about to explain you and your attitude, the most popular being that you were the secret lovechild of Aphrodite and Ares, which explained your affinity for fighting and permanent bitch face. You knew better. For one you shared too many of your dad’s traits not to be his child. Plus, Aphrodite had a long history of being associated with war in Ancient Greece which everyone at camp just conveniently forgot in favour of writing her children off as useless and vain. You hated it, and you refused to be who they wanted.

Even your favourite sibling was the polar opposite to you. Silena was a few years younger than you, and by all accounts was the model of a perfect Aphrodite child. Gorgeous, of course, and usually kind and patient. In your opinion, she was kind of annoying and self-absorbed, but you chose to believe she meant well so you could keep tolerating her. You didn’t know how the only two blood-related siblings in your cabin could be so different from one another, but it had been that way since you were fourteen and she was twelve.

You had made it back to your cabin, and your shoulder was all bandaged up after your shower. You were just flipping through The Bell Jar, your latest novel, when Silena came stomping into the cabin, waving a letter frantically through the air. You could assume what it was about.

“This is so unfair!” Silena whined, “Daddy doesn’t even know Ethan!” Ethan was the new boy Silena had been obsessed with recently, writing incessantly to your father in an attempt to get him to take back the no dating rule.

“What, can’t go swap spit with the vermin of the earth?” You exaggerated a pout. She sneered at you in the mirror.

“Worse. Now he’s saying I can’t date until you do, so now I’m going to die a stupid old virgin because of you!” You rolled your eyes and sighed.

“Have you ever considered there’s more to life than finding a boyfriend? Or, big shock I know, maybe I’m just not interested in the sweaty, uninspired pigs that are supplied here?”

“You suck!” She huffed, turning on a kitten heel and barging out of the cabin.

“You suck!” You mocked, turning back to your book. You knew Silena was really pissed at you for being so stubborn, but you hated the thought of changing your opinions over a man of all things.

Silena, in her frustration, was wandering around Camp Half-Blood to let off some steam. Charles, fresh from a kayaking lesson, spotted her across the beach and scrambled to catch up to her. Remembering what Percy told him about her not participating in many of the camp’s activities, he came up with the idea to offer his help to finish a project in the forges to get Chiron off her back. Silena seemed surprised but happy enough to agree, and Charles was ecstatic.

“She’s agreed to go to the forges with me!” He told Percy excitedly, and Percy raised an eyebrow.

“Do you even know how to weld?”

“Well, no, but I will!” As much as Percy liked the new kid, he was definitely a handful.

Charles’ first session with Silena didn’t go exactly as he’d hoped. She showed up already looking bored, and not keen to start off with a simple sword as he’d proposed. Soon he gave up with any welding, choosing instead to try and get her know better.

“If you’re not really into this we could try something else? I saw someone welding some metal flowers, you know, for like a date?” That caught her attention.

“Are you asking me on a date?” At his shy nod Silena couldn’t contain her slight laugh. “That is so cute! What’s your name again?” Charles told her quietly.

“Well, my Dad’s just changed our family rule — I can date when my sister does.”

“That’s great! So all you’ve gotta do is find someone who’ll date her!”

“One problem, Cameron-”

“Charles.”

“My sister is, like, totally antisocial?”

“Yeah, but people jump out of planes and stuff all the time! It could be, like, extreme dating!”

They both looked across the forge where you were working, fixing up your favourite sword after an Ares kid had done quite a number on it. You had on both your signature outfit and expression — long, practical jorts with your camp shirt tied in a knot and a dangerous bitch face.

“The oversized look is out, Beauregard, didn’t you read last month’s Vogue?” Ethan was hovering around you, trying his hardest to get a rise out of you in front of his friends.

“Run along, dickwad.” You refused to blow up at him, knowing it would only be used to make you look hysterical and unbalanced later. Plus, Ethan would get bored sooner or later and find someone else to taunt.

As Charles recounted this story to Percy later that night at the bonfire, all Percy could do was groan.

“Charles — Charlie — I really wanna like you, man, but this is probably the most stupid thing you could have done. I know they’re hot, but it’s not even worth getting involved with one Beauregard sister, and you’ve just gotten yourself tangled with both — and not in the way that most guys dream about.” Charles flushed at the innuendo.

“I think you’re wrong about Silena, I think she’s worth it. I just have to figure out how I can set her sister up with another guy.”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Percy laughed, hitting Charles’ knee twice before turning away to talk to Annabeth. Charles spent the rest of the night trying to hatch a plan.

Early the next morning he got Percy on board, albeit very reluctantly. Percy brought Charles over to every single guy he could think of in your age range, begging them to take you out. The responses varied from a nervous shake of the head to Travis Stoll laughing in both boys’ faces.

“Why would I go looking for a kick in the balls?” He asked, still wheezing from his initial outburst.

They found themselves once again at the bonfire, both disheartened. Percy at having wasted a day all for this new guy he barely knew, and Charles that he was no closer to getting a date with Silena. Finally, somewhat eager to get this distraction over with, Percy came up with an idea.

“What about you just pay someone to go out with her?” He asked, and Charles considered the idea for a minute, it wasn’t half bad.

“I have literally no money,” He settled on finally, and Percy rolled his eyes.

“So you get someone else to do it for you,” He suggested, and Annabeth joined the conversation with suspicious interest.

“Like a backer?” She asked, at Percy’s nod she bit her lip, “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, guys, it seems like it could really backfire on you. I mean, what if she finds out? I heard she once tied a camper to the lava wall just for looking at her wrong.”

“She won’t find out! I mean she only has to date so Silena can, it doesn’t have to be a long term thing. She goes on enough dates for it to qualify, then they break up while it’s still casual and I can go out with Silena!” Charles explained excitedly, but Annabeth still looked skeptical.

“Plus, if we have a backer, none of the blame will go to my man Charlie here,” Percy added helpfully, which swayed Annabeth a little.

“Okay, well be careful,” She said, leaving for the dining hall to be distanced from the plot.

Percy thought the answer to who the backer would be was pretty obvious. Whilst most of the boys at Camp Half-Blood wanted to sleep with Silena, Ethan White was both rich and desperate enough to agree to it. Plus when Percy Jackson was telling you you’d look great with a girl, you generally listened.

All that was left was to find someone to set you up with. The boys used the bonfire to scope out their options, but it wasn’t looking good. For one, you didn’t even show up to bonfires if you could help it, and it was anyone’s guess what you did instead. Rumours said blood sacrifices but Percy was almost completely sure that was a lie. Truthfully you were sitting up on the roof of the Aphrodite cabin, enjoying the peace and quiet of the camp when no one else was around.

They were about to give up, Percy trying to find the right words to let Beckendorf down easy, when they saw Luke. Luke, with his brooding eyes and his cigarette, sitting on his own at the bonfire with headphones connected to a mortal mp3 player. Luke, who had never quite been the same since he returned from his quest — rumours swirling about the horrors he’d faced that he refused to speak on.

“I think we’ve found our man.”

It was easy to convince Ethan to get on board, he was so overconfident in himself and his looks he would never suspect that Percy or Beckendorf had any ulterior motives. It was equally enjoyable to watch Ethan try and approach Luke to get the plan in motion. Percy and Beckendorf were sitting with Percy’s friends on the beach the very first time Ethan spoke to Luke. He was all macho confidence, still trying to play the tough guy. Luke looked up at him from his place sitting on a rock, barely moving his head to give him any attention. The moment of eye contact meant Ethan knew Luke had seen him speaking, and the abrupt walking away communicated his absolute lack of interest. It took a gargantuan effort from Percy not to burst out laughing then and there.

The second conversation went a bit smoother. Ethan had a metaphorical tail between his legs, temporarily giving up his ego to be the smaller person in the conversation. That got Luke’s attention, having known Ethan and his antics for years at that point. And then Ethan explained his plan. Luke couldn’t contain his laughter — a sound Camp Half-Blood was rarely graced with anymore.

“Yeah sure, Sparky,” He laughed, almost wheezing in an uncharacteristic show of emotion.

“Look,” Ethan stressed, “I can’t take out Silena until her sister starts dating — their Dad is super strict and has this rule—”

“Touching story, not my problem.” Luke moved to put his earbud back in when Ethan stopped him.

“Could it be your problem if I provided generous compensation?” Luke had forgotten Ethan’s mother was filthy rich. He looked him dead in the eye.

“You’re going to pay me to take out some chick? How much?” He asked, entirely disbelieving.

“Twenty bucks” They both looked down at you on the volleyball courts, spiking a ball into a girl’s stomach with so much force she keeled over on the ground. You had the decency to look mildly apologetic while the opposing team glared at you.

“Fine. Thirty.”

“Let’s see,” Luke smiled something devious. “If I’m taking her out it means leaving camp. That’s a lot of risk I’m pursuing for you, plus the costs of taking to her somewhere — the movies maybe. And you know inflation lately, let’s say seventy-five bucks.”

“This isn’t a negotiation, burnout.”

“Fifty bucks and we’ve got a deal, Fabio,” Luke countered, knowing he had the upper hand. He had nothing to lose. Reluctantly, Ethan forked out a fifty. All that was left was for Luke to get you to go out with him, how hard could that be?

[melrodrigo]

lunch - t.c. drabble

Tara Carpenter x Fem!Reader

Summary: You want to recreate Lunch with your girlfriend.

A/n: This was purely for my entertainment. Tell me ur favs from the album?

It was Billie Eilish’s fault.

It definitely wasn’t yours, turning on the new HIT ME HARD AND SOFT album and skipping to Lunch for something to listen to while you watched your own girlfriend make lunch. You’d been more than obsessed with the snippet she let out recently, and Tara had suffered the consequences.

The rays peeked through the window and reflected her brown hair, making it a shiny auburn—a color you adored. Tara in the sun was something you couldn’t believe you were around to witness, almost daily at this point, watching as her dark brown eyes sparkled and shone. The tan skin that would turn olive at the right angle, and lips that brightened with the sun.

You couldn’t lie—the vibrations of the music mixed with Tara’s tied up hair and pink cheeks were enough to have you feeling some type of way.

It definitely didn’t help that she was lip syncing and swaying to the song ever so slightly, smirking a little whenever she looked up and caught your eye.

You make your decision in a split second. It’s the easiest thing you’ve ever done you think, coming up with this stupid plan.

You saunter over to Tara, trying to act nonchalant. She eyes you a little but lets it go when she sees you stop at the head of the kitchen table and sitting down.

“If I could, I would totally eat you for lunch.” You lean over to wrap your hands around your girlfriend and whisper in her ear, trying (and failing) to sound sexy.

“Gee thanks, what a charmer you are.” Tara says and hides the soft smile that comes naturally.

Luckily for her, you could only see one side of her face, the lopsided smile hidden on the either side. You let out an unimpressed huff.

“Okay but for real I totally would.” You try again, snaking your head and letting it rest in the crook of her neck, peppering the tender skin with light kisses.

Tara hums a little and continues cooking, continuing to sway to the music. She’s made up her mind already, but it’s nice to see you beg and grovel a little more.

“I love it when you cook.” You mumble against her, gripping her waist and urging her to turn around.

She gives up on trying to make food a few seconds later when she can tell you aren’t going anywhere.

You draw her in, cheeky smile while you stare at her lips shamelessly. Those perfect lips, tasting to you like how ambrosia would to a mortal; it’s near fatal. She fits right in between your thighs, her small frame easy to maneuver.

Tara was insecure about her height. Something you tried to show time and time again was nothing—in fact, you enjoyed the height difference a little too much to admit—always made Tara moody on a particularly shitty day.

“God, I love you.” You tell her, eyes finally shifting up to her eyes. Her eyes twinkle; you know you’re close to getting her to crack.

“You’re so desperate.” She whispers, leaning into you. It isn’t meant as an insult, and you don’t take it as one.

It was merely the truth; and you hated that she knew it.

“You need a seat? I’ll volunteer.” You sing along, letting go of one of Tara’s hands to point to your face, giggling as Tara rolls her eyes.

The sight of the brunette getting closer is enough to get you to stop.

“Still hungry?” She asks, and you think you might just die. It takes everything in you not to salivate openly. She’s tilting her head, a sign she’s decided she’s won.

So maybe you really owed Billie Eilish a kudos, you think as Tara stands up and drags you out of the room.

“Thank god Jojo Siwa invented gay pop.” You say, laughing a little nervous. It was a bad habit of yours to joke when you got excited.

It seems to fall on deaf ears, the girl in front of you not paying attention to any of the words pouring out your mouth now.

“What-what about lunch?” You gesture to her unfinished cooking wildly, knees buckling against her frame pushing you against her bedroom door.

“Fuck lunch.”

[twooftheluckyones]

Our leshycat boyo. His name is Yella and he's a soft spoken farmer lad who's family has been working the fields since the very first days of the cult! He and Leshy frequently debate proper farming methods. That little dirt worm can't resist his accent. We even wrote a little drabble of them from the early days of their relationship. Enjoy!

They'd had a few beers at the local watering hole. Nothing loud and busy like one of the pubs in the town. Outside of the walls it was little more than a few tables around a small shed storing drinks. Farmers clustered around a few small fires trawling on about the weather. Dirt under their fingers, sweat on their brows. It was squalid, and yet some charm leaked from its humble place. Leshy had imbibed in the ambrosia of the gods, attended lavish parties at Kallamar's stunning temple, and decedent feasts at Heket's grounds.

Yet the beer, a crisp ale that smelled rich with hops, was perhaps the best drink he'd ever had. All the toil of the day seemed to melt away, as if he'd been wandering in a desert and finally found shade.

"You ain't bad at this," Yella drawled, snapping the worm from his musing. "Fall crop's usually harder to plant, since the soils startin' to get tough and cold. Doesn't seem to bother you none."

"Of course not! Nature is my domain, were I not robbed of my crown I would have these fields already blooming."

"Mm. I bet." There was a sudden shuffle of feet, filling the ground with vibration, and the twang of someone nearby plucking a crude instrument. Leshy sat up, suddenly becoming aware of how strong the drinks had been. It was strange to lack divine fortitude. The clumsy footwork turned into a sudden din as music erupted alongside the farmer's cheers, dance breaking out like a fire in dry wheat.

"That looks fun," his companion remarked, and Leshy felt the table shift as the cat stood. "Wanna join?" His branches flared and rustled at the invitation.

Really? Dancing with some commoner, half drunk on gutter swill? As if.

Yet his feet carried him upwards, teetering slightly as that very same beverage nearly sent him reeling.

"Bah! I know nothing of your silly tromping. I'm not going to embarrass myself doing a jig like some courtroom jester!" A rough callous hand suddenly took his, firm but still carrying an edge of polite distance should he try to pull away. Leshy felt his treasonous grip clench tightly, face burning. Damned drink. His companion chuckled softly, pulling him closer.

"Don't you worry about a thing. Just follow my lead." His words were accompanied with the rumbles of their chests pressed softly together, the worm suddenly aware of their difference in height and build.

Moments later, Leshy felt the world spin, pulled into flowing motion to the tune of energetic strings, foamy mugs, and racing carefree hearts.

[pupkou]

✧ Blood and Darkness ✧

✦ Zagreus (Hades 2018) x Gender Neutral Reader. ✦ Warnings: slight mentions of gore (no details; in the game, Zagreus is killed over and over and is often covered in blood), head injury (reader is hurt, non-fatally, and is knocked out by hitting their head), mentions of Zagreus’ sexual escapades (no descriptions), reader is a servant of the house of Hades and is described as a shade, no smut (😞)... yet (😏). ✦ Word Count: 2.2K. ✦ Read on AO3. ✦ Part 1 / ?

You've heard rumors about Hades' son.

They say he's not in possession of a particularly impressive stature; he's of average height, with dark hair, and he's quite thin, really, for a God. That's what he is, after all, just a God of the Underworld. One of many. And one who looks like he's not indulging himself in ambrosia and nectar as much as he should be at that, it almost seems like he's ungrateful for all the blessings and curses that come along with being the Prince of the Underworld.

They describe him as far smaller and more pathetic than Achilles, their blush showing on their ghostly complexions as they describe how his hair is cropped close to his neck and black and unflowing, not at all like the golden locks that fall around Achilles' nape.

Oh, Achilles, why must you torture us with your divine beauty and arrogant sneer? We know our ghastly, hellish faces are unworthy of your gaze, but a small, simple kindness-- in the form of a smile from your handsome face-- would satisfy us for eternities to come. By Achilles, by Thetis, and by Zeus, please let him stroll by and be pleased by something enough to smile for us, even if his pleasure comes from our misery. Surely, one of us can think of something to poke fun at Hector... much like the spear of Achilles' poked at his neck... surely so, surely so...

They... say a lot of things, but they always call him Zagreus, which means 'great hunter'. But by the rumors you've heard, it... doesn't seem like Zagreus' name fits him very well. In Tartarus' maze, everything becomes prey to those that inhabit the different levels of death and despair that come before you feel the sun's warm embrace, or so you've heard. You've never actually felt the sun, but you have heard Achilles brag about it to Hades, reminding the king of his very eventful life on earth. The sun doesn't reach this far down, though, and is unable to illuminate the depths of Hades' realm or comfort those who call it home. Here, predators lurk around every moss-covered turn, under every magma-concealing rock, behind every skullified hero's dug-up grave, and even amongst the distinguished guests that frequent the house of Hades.

From the whispers you've strained to hear, it seems like Zagreus wants out of this place-- the Underworld, that is. The shades, your main source of information on Zagreus and the other residents of the house, love to gossip, and they say he's still not been successful in escaping the darkness that has consumed him since he was born. Some root for him, hoping that one day his laurels will know what it feels like to soak in the blazing sun like the blessed olive trees they were harvested from, while others laugh at his failure, joining Hypnos' chorus of dramatic mocking, when they see him rise from the blood once again.

He's always covered in it, head to toe, deep red and maroon coating his limbs and soaking from his limbs as if it were his own. Much of it is, considering the amount of times he's died, but that doesn't make it any less pitiful to see the Prince rise from the fluid of life (and death), unrelenting in his attempts to escape his home. He'd hardly call it that, of course, as you've heard him say as he climbs the marble steps leading from the pool of blood, wiping his glowing feet on the carpet that you think was one of Arachne's (hence its purpose being for Zagreus to wipe his bloody feet on.)

The thing about marble-- what the house of Hades is made out of-- is that it doesn't absorb sound in the slightest. It's a curse for embarrassed shades trying to quietly explain how they arrived in Tartarus early because their pet goat rammed them in the stomach, but a blessing for beings like you who get most of their daily excitement from the things that they hear refracted off of the cool stone walls.

Marble also doesn't quickly absorb any liquid poured onto its surface, despite being a porous stone, which means that you, one of the poor shades tasked with cleaning, have a lot of work to do. Guests in the house get rowdy at the kitchen bar sometimes, drinking too much ambrosia and leaving various liquids behind. Sometimes water from the river Styx drips from cracks in the ceiling, pooling and causing problems for anyone whose flesh comes in contact with the liquid. And on the worst days, the most stubborn of fluid comes in contact with the objects you're in charge of keeping tidy.

One of Cerberus' heads is a particularly messy eater, which means that sometimes droplets of blood from a cut of meat (or carcass) he's eating are flung onto precious objects. Another guest, who is said to be armed with a barbed whip, has been said to make her victims cry blood on occasion, staining the good dinner napkins and frustrating you profusely. But by far, the being who makes the worst, bloody messes, is Zagreus himself.

Despite him wiping his feet on the carpet and despite your polite suggestion to him-- a sheet for him to dry off with laid over the marble railing, Zagreus continuously trails blood all over the house. And it doesn't help that the Prince behaves like a dog, prodding at his ears when they're clogged with blood and scratching at his head to dislodge it from his scalp. He's even shook like a filthy mutt before, letting drops of blood fly from his dark hair and unknowingly creating hours of cleanup for you. You've always been forgiving, though, considering that for one, you don't have much of a choice, and two, that you've never actually spoken to Zagreus in all of your years working for the house. You've heard his name boomed in anger from Hades' decision chamber, whispered by a loose-lipped shade with an audience to entertain, and uttered during more private affairs when you shouldn't have been pressing an ear to the dark wood of his bedchamber.

But things happen. And you've never met him, so you don't feel too bad or worry too much about ever being in his presence. He's always gone anyway, wooing an undead maiden when he's not fighting to flee the house, you presume. So when you enter his bedroom dust off his belongings and collect his blood and gut soiled robes, you pay little attention to your surroundings.

You've been in his sleeping chambers many times since you've been trusted with entry, something the other cleaning shades consider a privilege. You scoff at the idea that cleaning up the Prince's dirty laundry, various collected knickknacks, and... bodily fluids is at all a privilege, but you do as you're told anyway because admittedly, it is interesting to be provided with such an intimate view of someone you've never met. There's so much to be told by someone's bedroom, or in Zagreus' case, the state of someone's sheets (his always are in various stages of disarray from his frequent activities held within the bedchamber), and you don't at all mind the exclusive perspective on the Prince.

You do, however, mind that he tracks blood everywhere. Usually, you're more aware of it, considering how much of your life you spend cleaning it up, but this time, you're not so lucky as to notice its presence. Abnormally, the carpet that cushions the foot of Zagreus' bed is kicked up in one spot so that when you move to straighten the books on his bookshelf, not only do you trip on the carpet, but you slip in a pool of blood, streaking it across the tile as you fall hard onto the floor. The force with which your head hits the hard, stone floor would surely have killed you had you not died ages ago, but in this extended lifetime, all it does is send the lower half of your body into the bookshelf's feet, knocking books, scrolls, and what are surely precious artifacts from Zagreus' journeys flying to the floor in a great crash that shakes and echoes through the room.

Although you're thoroughly disoriented and on the verge of passing out, you still hear a gravelly, skeletal voice in the distance say, "Maybe you'd better investigate that, boyo. Unless you don't got the guts! I sure don't! Ha ha ha!" before your eyes close and your mind descends to darkness.

✧✧✧

Rest, even when injury is involved, is rare for a servant of Hades like you, and it feels like only a moment has passed before your eyes are opening again, drowsy and weak as the lids flutter open. While you can't quite understand why yet, you notice that you're lying on a bed softer than a cloud and warmer than the sun (as you imagine it), and that soft voices are speaking in hushed tones nearby. One is older than the other, and commands the other to be more quiet as he worries, as though he's fretting about you.

Your sight comes back to you gradually, and you see that a red blanket with golden lining is draped over your legs and midsection comfortably, keeping you warm and still as the shocks of the pain from your head pulse through your body. Your neck hurts too, but it retains just enough of its strength that you're able to lift your hurting head and see the two forms hovering at the bedside, far enough to indicate that they were worried you might spring up like an undead warrior looking for revenge, but concerned enough that they needed to stay close.

The one on the left, who's farther from you, is a reanimated human's skeleton. A Bloodless, as they're called, was once a mortal warrior that did not receive a proper burial, and is now forced to roam the Underworld aimlessly, looking for a fight that might bring them eternal peace. It's a foolish game to play, of course, as all wise men know that no war will ever bring peace. This Bloodless doesn't seem mindless like the others though, and is able to make eye contact with his bright red irises, although he seems uncomfortable doing so. He looks at his partner when you meet his gaze.

His partner stands closer to you, his face full of concern as it points at you, studying you. He's not very tall, but he's muscular as if he uses his body more than the average God trapped in Tartarus for all of eternity, and the half of his torso that's revealed lacks scarring-- in the dimness of the room, it's almost like his skin is glowing faintly. His face is kind and handsome, unlike anyone you've ever seen before. On top of his short, dark hair rests a loop of multi-colored laurels whose crimson color fades into red, which fades into copper, which fades into gold.

It sits on his head like a crown, much like the dark-haired child in the portrait of Cerberus that hangs in the great hall wore, you think. Identical to it, even. You've never actually stopped to read the plaque that hangs beneath the masterpiece, so you're not sure who the child or his companions are or what their names could be-- you just know that he is of the utmost importance to Hades considering he is the center of a few artistic representations, which Hades isn't often fond of. But before you can begin your quest to discover the identity of the child in the portrait, he speaks.

"Hello, dear friend," he says softly. "Can you hear me?"

You swallow, hoping your voice still works, and say, "Yes."

"Woah! This one's got no respect for royalty! They just employ any- body these days! Ha!" the Bloodless jokes, elbowing his partner in the ribs humorously. Unfortunately for him, his partner doesn't laugh, he just keeps his attention steady on you, his heterochromatic eyes caring as they watch you. In any other case, he would push the Bloodless over and reduce him (temporarily) to a scattered pile of bones, but there are things more important to worry about than someone’s mistimed joke. 

At the skeleton’s words, your stomach drops as all the blood rushes to your head all at once, and your heart starts beating so hard you can hear it in your ears, a pounding rhythm usually reserved for life-or-death situations. Suddenly, the room becomes familiar again-- the picture frames you've dusted and the knickknacks you've arranged and the blankets you've straightened thousands of times become clear to you.

You're in Zagreus' bedroom.

Prince Zagreus' bedroom.

And you're lying in his bed.

And the man, who was once a baby with a crown of laurels forced (by magic) to sit still for a portrait, is right in front of you.

The one person in the house of Hades who you've never come in contact with is standing at your bedside because you slipped in his blood.

You are so extremely damned. Somehow, even more than the first time you got damned to Tartarus for all eternity.

Blood and darkness.

✧✧✧

tagging people I think might like this <3

@vampireloverz @allright @transchainsawman @moonsong1027 <3

[ambrosiaheights]

Character Profile: Gregorius

Art by me (main: @diabolical-blue)

Gregorius is a central character in Ambrosia Heights, second in importance only to the main character, Emmaline.

Appearance: Gregorius has bluish-gray skin, yellow eyes with black slit-shaped pupils, long pointed ears, short talon-like claws on all fingers and toes, and not a single hair on his body, not even eyebrows or eyelashes. His height is 7'0" (although he tends to hunch over/slouch a lot).

— 🌹 —

Gregorius is a very quiet man, a “loner” who spends most of his time by himself. In fact, most of his life has been spent in near-complete isolation, locked away inside a belltower on the grounds of the old stone abbey-turned-boarding-school Gravehurst Hall. He was told by his guardian this was a necessity, since most humans in this part of the forest are so hostile to elves they kill them on sight.

But even when he interacts with people who are not hostile to his kind, it is difficult for Gregorius to feel accepted. At seven feet tall, his unusual height makes him stand out far more than he would prefer. Not to mention, his intimidating presence give off the unwanted impression of a threat, a frustrating if cannot-be-helped misrepresentation of the timid and gentle soul inside. But instead of responding with anger to these hurtful assumptions, Gregorius prefers to avoid conflict and tends to be quite forgiving - perhaps to a fault. Thus, he remains withdrawn from society and observes all those happy families and couples from a distance, wondering if his dreams of companionship will never be more than dreams.

And in a world where magic is treated with great caution at best, and distrust or hostility at worst, possessing unfathomably powerful - and sometimes terrifyingly uncontrollable - magical abilities is an unwanted complication in the life of a man who wants nothing more than to live a quiet, happy, normal life in peace.

— 🌹 —

Random facts about Gregorius:

He is an avid reader and one of his biggest obsessions is collecting and copying books, spending countless hours transcribing them by hand to fill his own private library.

Gregorius loves animals and is very gentle with them, but simultaneously is staunchly opposed to keeping any pets of his own. He claims it hurts too much to get attached to something with such a short lifespan.

Nobody, except for his guardian who raised him from infancy, has ever seen him eat anything. If invited to a dinner party, he will just sit there staring anxiously at his plate until the event is over and he can leave.

Gregorius is very particular about his clothing and will quickly revert back to his preferred outfit whenever possible - a well-worn shirt and trousers cut above his knees. He never wears shoes.

He is not gifted with a lot of typical social skills, quickly becoming overwhelmed when interacting with more than one person at once. Even walking down a crowded street has the potential to trigger a panic attack (especially if the specific sounds he hears are triggering for personal reasons related to his past).

He is fairly secretive about his magic powers and claims to avoid using them whenever possible. However, because one aspect of his powers is the ability to heal others, he will go out of his way to help almost any injured person he encounters - even a stranger, and even if this puts himself in danger.

Gregorius is staunchly pacifistic and will usually give the benefit of the doubt to most questionable situations, sometimes at the cost of horrible unintended consequences to himself or others.

One of Gregorius’s most treasured values is family. But just like his pacifism, this can backfire just as disastrously, particularly when the familial relationships he would do anything to protect are closer to cases of toxic codependency instead.

Many people will see Gregorius’s quietness, awkwardness, or naivety and jump to hurtful conclusions about his intelligence. However, although it is true he is inexperienced with much of the outside world (primarily through no fault of his own), he is quite intelligent and keenly observant of the world around him. He just has a slightly different perception of the world which can be difficult for others to relate to.

— 🌹 —

A line Gregorius says in chapter 11 which I think sums up his character pretty well:

[Context: Another character points out how the local villagers have a nickname for Gregorius, “the Monster of Withingham Wood.” He’s basically an urban legend, everyone making up all sorts of assumptions about him without ever seeing him up close. Before Gregorius’s response, the other character was joking about it a little too insensitively, particularly the fact that Gregorius appeared oblivious to the fact that this nickname was referring to himself.]

“It’s not that I didn’t know they were talking about me. I’m not an idiot. I just thought – or I hoped – if I never gave anyone a reason to call me a monster, then they wouldn’t. I know that’s not really how the world works. I just wish it was.”

[sidekick-hero]

(steddie | explicit | wc: 290 | tags: semi-public sex, rockstar!eddie | written for the @steddiemicrofic bonus round ‘birthday’ in honor of @steddieas-shegoes's birthday)

Honestly, there aren't many things left on Eddie's bucket list. He's met his musical idols, he's been kissed by a hot jock under the bleachers, he's been to the ocean, he's joined the Mile High Club (also with said hot jock, who also happens to be the love of his life).

Tonight, Eddie will check off one of the last items on that list: fuck Steve on stage after a Corroded Coffin concert.

He told Steve about this dream he had one night after getting drunk to celebrate his first record deal. Eddie told it like it was a big joke, but Steve, of course, knew better.

"Stevie, baby, I love you so much. I can't believe you're letting me do this," Eddie pants, his voice echoing through the empty hall, the only sound except for the slap of skin against skin and their heavy breathing. They're in the middle of the stage and Steve is riding him on the same chair where he stood a few hours ago and played his heart out in front of thousands of fans. All the spotlights are on them, adding to the heat building up between them, and they're both drenched in sweat.

He can still feel the crowd watching them and it only spurs him on to reach for Steve's hard cock to take him to the heights of Olympus itself. They're both gods, licking the ambrosia that spills between them as Steve comes from Eddie's hand.

"Happy birthday, baby." Steve grins at him, licking his lips like the cat that caught the canary, and Eddie has never been more in love with this impossible man.

There's only one thing left on his list: To marry Steve, the love of his life.

[zorosdimples]

꒰ KAMO CHOSO X READER ꒱

cw: gn!reader, just kissing, heavy religious imagery (love as religion). note: i hc choso as a slow, thorough kisser.

You aren’t sure exactly what you expected when you first taught your boyfriend how to kiss.

The memory is still fresh, a brief glimpse into the looking glass: the tentative meeting of lips—yours warm, his cool; the unsteady hand at your nape; the stillness stretched thin; the fumbling mix of teeth and tongue. But kissing him is different, now. He has grown at home in his skin. His veins thrum with vibrancy and life.

A kiss with Choso is never just a kiss.

The languorous affair always begins with a nudge of his marked nose. The ivory tip grazes your ear with insistence, tracing a line until it bumps your own, his breath fanning against your mouth. His gaze is hopeless, as though you’ve somehow deprived him of your affection. But his amaranthine eyes bloom brilliantly under your tacit approval (a soft, sunny palm cupping his cheek).

There’s no urgency in his movements. Each graze of his lips is mere gossamer, a taste of what you desire—not nearly enough to sate your craving. An ascetic, he doesn’t allow himself the pleasure of indulgence until he has exalted you. He’s meditative and meticulous, intent on memorizing the scripture hidden in the curve of your cupid’s bow, resting on the plush of your vermilion.

Once he has fulfilled his rites, he demonstrates the height of his worship by coaxing you open and delving inside. He explores you in full; his tongue sweeps past your teeth, intent on finding and winding around yours. And even though it feels profane—his lips closing around your slick, pink muscle and sucking—he’s steadfast and tender.

He could go on like this for hours on end, savoring your sweetness as though it were nectar and ambrosia. But you—the sole focus of his reverence—are much less patient. And while he brings you along for his ardent pilgrimage, it isn’t difficult to distract him. (A breathy whimper and a shimmy of your hips will often suffice in leading him astray.)

You’re lucky, you think, to have such a devoted lover. A kiss with him is never just a kiss; it’s a journey, a way of life, a declaration of love…

Perhaps it’s something of a religion.

[ghostgoose01]

Sweet Nothings~

18+

Gundham Tanaka x Voice Kink! Fem! Reader

Tw: Oral Fixation (Mouth play ((thumb sucking))), Gropey Gundham, Dominate Gundham, Fingering (ish), vaginal sex, riding, dirty talk, voice kink, devil/angel dynamic, corruption kink, breeding kink, ect.

@leehoonii-i

----_----_----_----

Gundham never thought of his voice as attractive.

Not until today.

He was sitting there, talking to you with a smile on his face, you being one of the few people he was comfortable with, when your conversation was interrupted.

After the interruption, when you guys got back to his dorm he was a bit upset. You both sat down on his bed and were talking again when he brought up the interruption. He had a small bit of a growl to his voice as he complained to you:

"...Stupid mortals. All of them interrupting my conversations with my angel of light."

At first he didn't notice what his voice did to you, but now he does. The way you squirm in your seat at first makes him think you're nervous. Maybe you're scared? Did he get too upset? Are you angry at him?

But as he leans closer and sees the flush on your face and the way your thighs rub together, it hits him.

"Is it my voice angel? Speak up."

He teases, watching you for a reaction.

And sure enough the flush on your face gets darker- but you refuse to answer the question.

"Angel. Speak to me, is it my voice that has you this... unraveled~?"

He adds a soft growl to his words, a commanding tone that made you gasp, his hand now placed precariously under your chin, thumb rubbing your bottom lip.

"I-I-"

You give a flustered squeak, unable to form a single word under his touch. He was gentle, his hand cold, and yet his touch felt like fire on your skin.

"Awhhh... it seems like my little angel likes the overlords tone.. how cute."

He gives a small chuckle, a soft rumble to his voice that would have any woman squirming, including you. His eyes held a sparkle of pride.

"Aren't you just an adorable little thing? Cmon, give the overlord your precious little words, tell him what you want."

The hand not on your lip now slid down your neck and to your thigh. The cold making your skin jump beneath his touch, his hand ever so slightly under the edge of your skirt as he smirks at you, clearly expecting you to speak.

"It is your voice... it's.. attractive.."

A flush fills your face as you admit it and his smirk only gets more clear- the normally shy man now finding his bearings. His hands now adding a bit of pressure to your thigh and chin as he holds your head to his position.

"Attractive? In what way? In the way that makes your thighs quiver under my touch? The way that makes your pretty little head think of the sinful things I could do to you? The way I could treat your body the way a devil would a goddess~?"

"Yes... yes..."

You stumble out quietly, looking up at him from his now looming position. Your height difference between you two never as noticeable as it is in these moments.

"Good girl, my stunning little goddess of heaven... You're such a good fucking girl."

He growls out lightly, definitely using his deep rumble to his advantage, sliding the hand on your thigh up just a bit higher and massaging the skin, causing sparks of fire underneath his hand, eyes trained into yours and the hand on your face now having his thumb prodding at your lips a bit.

"Come on my little goddess, give in to my temptation, part your sweet little lips for a taste of the devils ambrosia.."

You part your lips as if on a command, you suck on his thumb like a whore, and his smirk widens in response.

"That's it my little goddess, fall from heaven, let the urges take over your little head..."

He runs his hand further up your thigh, lightly massaging the point where your panties met your hips, feeling the material on his fingers.

"Such a pretty little goddess, such a shame I'm about to corrupt that little soul of yours.."

Gundham hummed in a teasing tone as he gently snapped the material on your skin, causing you to gasp and squirm, which only made him chuckle.

"Awhhh... I think you might already be ruined... how cute."

He slips his hand down the center of your thighs, his index and pointer finger rubbing along the outside of your panties, the material wet from the building desires he was putting you through.

"Oh-? My goddess truly is loosing her light so easily isn't she~?"

He mused, teasing you with the simple pushing of his fingers onto your aching center above the cursed material that did not let you feel the rough padding of his fingers well enough to be truly pleased. You whined softly at that lack of contact and he tsked lightly at you.

"Tsk tsk tsk... such a needy little one aren't you? So needy for corruption.. so needy for her devil to ruin her.."

He pushes a little harder on the material, letting you feel a little more but not enough.

"Beg."

Your eyes are trained on his, his eyes full of pride and ego as he gently rubs just enough to bring you pleasure, but not enough to truly please you. He wants you to beg, but you put up a fight of silence for a moment.

"I said, beg."

He leans forward, placing his mouth onto your throat and holding your chin a little harder, forcefully tilting your head back to give himself access to your neck. Biting and licking at the skin of your neck like a predator would it's prey.

"Beg. Beg for me to ruin you. Beg for me to take that pretty little body and turn it into a fleshlight for my own personal use. Beg me clip your wings and put you on your knees where you belong. Beg me to ruin you, my goddess."

He bites down between every sentence, making sure he had continuous access to your neck as he demanded what he wanted through his deep and rumbling voice- tone enough to make you whine and whimper on its own, and the biting and rubbing only making you moan and roll your eyes back.

"Beg me to breed you. Beg me to fill you with the children of the underworld. Beg me to ruin the temple of the gods with my demonic release. You know you want it. You know you want to be all mine don't you? Cmon, use your words."

When you finally give in and beg for him to just touch you already, he's quick to tear the material of your panties from your skin, leaving you in your skirt and shirt as he unbuckles his belt and pulls you into his lap, aligning himself with your entrance without a second thought, pulling you down until he's bottomed out.

The feeling causes him to let out a low, primal growl as he breathes heavily. The way you twitch and whine in his lap from the feeling of fullness makes him want to drill you right then and there, but in the back of his mind that moment when his voice caused you to become like this made him reconsider.

"Move."

He commands, using his hand to guide your hips to rotate once or twice before pulling it away. When you start to move on his command he smirks.

"Good... good girl... without your pretty little wings, you'll make a perfect toy.."

His voice reverberates through his chest in a way that has you clenching around him.

"Faster."

Another command leaves him, along with a low chuckle when you comply.

"Good girl. Good girl little one. Ruin yourself on my cock, show me your fall from grace..."

The commands continue on for quite a while, groans and heavy breathing mixed in, you had already finished twice when he suddenly flipped you both other and started to drill into you at a much faster pace than you had been riding him at. Letting out a low growl, he spoke:

"Beg for me again little goddess. Cmon. Beg. Beg for me to breed you. Beg for me to ruin your womb with my seed. Beg for the pleasure. Beg to be mine. Cmon. Beg for me."

He pants as he continues, his grip on your hips enough to leave a mark for a few minutes but gentle enough not to bruise. Despite the rough treatment, he would never truly hurt you.

"By God's you're so fucking tight. So fucking pretty. I'm gonna ruin you. I'm gonna corrupt you. You'll be mine forever. You'll never be the same again. You'll be my little fallen angel. My goddess kicked from Olympus. My little fuckdoll-"

His voice rolls from his tongue like a sinful honey, his pace only getting faster as he reaches his end. As he stills inside the deepest part of you, thick ropes of cum warm inside you, he places his forehead on yours and kisses your lips softly.

"I love you, my fallen goddess.."

As the moments pass and everything slows down, he ensures himself to cleaning you up, and pulls you in for a cuddle, whispering to you..

"You did so well.. such a good goddess you are.. my beautiful one."

[saintgoths]

☾༺♰༻☽ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛ☾༺♰༻☽

mdni 18+ - cunnilingus, princess and daddy calling.

carlos oliveira

You caved your body forwards, stimulated by the focused motions by the tip of Carlos’ tongue, your fingers deep into the fabric of the pillows while the slick texture of his tongue travelled up the opening of your cunt, your taste tangy and sweet and him drunk off your nectar.

He moaned as his fingers gripped into the smoothness of your skin, his head between your thighs as you comfortably sat on his face, intoxicated and drowned by your ambrosia the minute you began to rock your hips.

“Mhmm princess,” he whispered, his eyes open set on your breasts as the height of your moans began to peak, your hands had travelled to the curly locks of his hair as you looked down at him, your eyes glossy as you could feel your orgasm summit, the hard twitch of your figure strong enough for him to recognise you had been close your climax. “Don’t—” he pushed the faint vibrations of his word able enough to send you over the edge.

“Daddy please!” You whimpered, your hand now interlocked with his, the balance of his tongue raked against your pearl and another whimper pushed from the back of your throat, your legs had trembled and there had been an uncertain concept that you could remain to sit on his face, and without second-thought, the tingling sensation had strike through your body and your cunt had pulsed out the clear sweet drink into Carlos’ mouth.

Thus, your body had completely fell forward, allowing Carlos to take the entire control, over-stimulated your body had lightly humped against his tongue probing for anymore ecstasy until Carlos had finally pulled his face away from your pussy. His eyes then examined your body, your ass face up and him enthusiastic and ardent to continue to use your figure.

With the bottom of your lips tucked behind your teeth, the noise of the unbuckle of his belt had aroused your physique to position yourself properly in his direction. “Ready?” You heard him question and content you had gently nodded your head.

“Yeah.”

♆

[oncewhenalongtimeago]

Wildflower pt 4

Pairing: Unrequited!Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Fem!Fiance!Reader

Words: 2,279

You overhear some gossip. An ask is made and a direction is followed.

Tags: Mild age difference, fem!reader, heavy exposition, non-canon politics, original characters

<Previous - Next>

It had been both a hot morning and one full of action. Already, sore muscles grew sorer.

Shoes glanced against the grass, tiny bits of dew clinging to your ankles.

You marched easily, slowly as you made your way through the fields. Past long fronds and heavy rustling, you heard the raspy, muted tones of invested conversation. 

Besides you was a large cart with wooden wheels nearly the height of the place just above your hip, chalk-full of bales and barrels of both the dusty and fishy variety, respectively.

“Y’hear? With old man Harald and Frode?” There was an interested lilt to his voice that had you tilting your head ever-so-slightly away. You had no time for mingling or gossip. The clear words made their way over to you anyhow.

“‘ckh, how couldn’ I? They were shouting louder than Heaven in Hell.” 

You grimaced, pausing for a moment as a particularly tough breeze ran over you, brushing down fields like a hand down one side of a gorgeous fur coat, bowing and coming back up smoothly. In a much similar fashion, in that moment, some small, wet patches were rendered nothing more than crusted patches of sweat.

 It seemed that Duckmaw and Bjorner hadn’t been the only ones locked in battles of words.

Exhaling deeply for a moment, raking in the fresher air, past dusty yellow and drying greens twitching and shifting under the breeze, your eyes grazed over Saint Livary, with his hunched back and downy gray hair. He was skinny for a fisherman but very, very tall with quite the exotic name.

You weren’t particularly sure where it had come from, but it was probably Christian.

“You saw it happen, then!” You didn’t know the other one. You didn’t spend much time looking at him, his likeness only half-caught as you glanced away. 

He was tall and large enough to nearly dwarf the both of you though not as much of an intimidating presence as the Chief. His voice was nearly obscured not just by the sounds of distantly bleating sheep but also the sound of heavy chewing, the slight cracking of wood against teeth as they were picked at.

“Saw it happen? They were right up in my ear! It was my fish baskets they were arguin’ over- Who had the right to ‘em.” He shook his head out, long hairs twirling in the wind, “Well, I wasn’t sellin’!”

He barked out a laugh, “Those clansmen, I tell yeh.”

Your shoulder blades ached slightly, head tilted forwards at an awkward angle as your upper back was pressed flat against wood.

Yearningly, you thought of wide wooden basins and warm, slightly murky waters. You thought of freshly-washed skin and the feel of all the day’s hardships being washed away- unfortunately, you’d only your rags to look forward to tonight. Two rags and a bucket of cold water.

It was nothing a quick trip into the woods wouldn’t fix, though it seemed that the majority of Berk’s woodstockers were growing quite lazy. 

“You’ll be whistlin’ by a different tune once they start houndin’ you for yer woods.” He paused for a moment, “Woods and coals.” 

The shade felt like cool ambrosia soothing your skin. The break in your journey upwards was enough for your twinging lower back to deflate, the muscles loosening enough that you knew you would have some trouble getting started up again. 

You leaned closer. 

And, well, trouble was a long way off, you were sure… but, if there was anything to know, you would surely rather know it.

“Was the Jorgensons and the Thorstons before, wasn’ it?“

“Get off it- Harald’s an Ingerman.” Livary rasped, something smacking against what must have been the large, hollow horns of his metal helmet.

 You didn’t know of anything else that could make that sound, contracting sharply against the one that marked the shifting wiry shoulders and bag-like clothing. “That whole bit’s done and over with. Couldn’t find the papers.”

You leaned back, drooping down your ax with a heavy thunk.

 It stood on the ends of its blades for a moment before following you and leaning against the cart, wood clashing against wood,

It was only the expression of suspicion by the suspicious that would be able to raise the hairs on the necks of the suspect, so you didn’t bother to hide. While gossip was by nature secretive, the subjects of gossip were no secret and the Vikings of Berk were both bold and brash. It wasn’t worth the effort, anyhow; even if they knew you were there, they wouldn’t care much, and their chattering was nothing a pint at the Hall couldn’t earn you less than a coin.

“Pity. Made ‘emselves a whole show- was a mite interested. ‘Specially with ‘ol Gorm… That Gorm Halfdan knew how to make business interesting...”

“Gorm was a drunk. A waste of clean air.” Saint Livary barked out. “But- Ah, don’t look so disappointed yet, son. You ever know a Jorgenson who stayed out of it?”

You rolled your eyes, picking dirt out from under your nail with one hand, the other draped over the crook of your elbow, your ankles crossed.

The Jorgenson clan was a full one fueled mostly by ego and pride. They boasted of more of their accomplishments in war and coin than any other family. If you thought right, they might have already come.

It was nearing noon when you finally made your way back up to the house, past shoulder-height stone Vikings and up uneven rock-and-dirt paths. 

It felt later than noon, cool as it was, with shadows and strips of light stretching and marking the flooring, setting the stage for small, glowy bits of dust, which had somehow kicked up in the stillness of the room, now slowly settling down under intense beams of warm light.

Cloth caught over cloth as you brushed against the slightly splintered wooden door frame of the Haddock house. 

You could feel threads pulling against each other, sensation pulling at your arms the same way it did running your hands against raw, matted sheep’s wool, listening to the sound of a hard nail dragging against dusty stone.

A measly loaf of bread, not even enough to dwarf the width of your own hand, lay discarded on a small, cracked plate by the side of one large, hairy, freckled elbow.

 It was a poor excuse for a snack and an even poorer excuse for a meal, but Berkian society was one fueled by war rations. As of late, the meals had been sparser and the stews thinner than you’d ever seen them.

Once, a long time ago, you had a measly cookbook. It had been lost alongside your first pot and a plate you’d hidden away in the fields to make and hoard your own food. You’d already known how to cook some small things by the time you’d arrived. Unfortunately, the knowledge you’d had had been sparse and much of it had been lost to time. 

Still, you were sure your cooking skills were still much better than anyone else on the island.

“Chief,” You greeted, waiting still and patiently.

Dwarfing the chair to his back the same way the hoof of a sheep looked to an ant, the Chief leaned over a small table, his head in his hands, bear fur spilling through crooks of his arms and over wooden top, mingling with the seams of his clothing and twining itself in with foreign threads in a way that made it look nearly sewn-in.

The room immediately felt fuller and the rest of the world much, much smaller.

His hands were large enough to fully grasp your skull, calluses rough enough to slice papercuts into the softest part of your arms, his forehead hidden by a wide-horned helmet and a generations-old thick, furred coat donning his back in a way that made his giant self all the more imposing.

A few, measly scattered scrolls lay by his elbows, slightly worn and yellowed, pages crumbling and delicate like the ends of a daisy flower you'd once held between small fingers. 

You’d much rather be messing with your notebook, relishing in the feel of old leather and twine, feeling nearly spellbound, flipping pages with casual abandon. 

 Onto the Chief’s papers, in clear, old handwriting, were runes, clearly inscribed using a mix of the liquids and pastes found in the intestines and guts of dragons, killed, turned inside out and disposed of.

 It left a very specific sheen- for many years, so long it was practically tradition, dragons have been used by the higher clans to make their inks and seal their woods, mixed with dyes and blood and plants and plastered onto paper.

It was a luxury for some. 

There wasn’t enough wealth on Berk for there to be anything like Jarls- they lacked the excessive gold and silk clothes, crowns and castles and whatever else might dictate such a fancy name, rules born from tales from distant lands… Or, perhaps, that had just never been the way the people on Berk did things. Even still, there lay many discrepancies between the people. In most cases, status was marked by smaller things, such as this. 

You stilled for a long moment, waiting. 

It wasn’t so often you saw the Chief in such a state, light and shadow casting over him, washing away his color, making the thick lines over his face look nearly skeletal.

“‘Been a long night, lass,” He grumbled deeply.

You hummed something terse, face blank as he sat up, pushing back his chair with his back as if he hardly noticed it, moving back with a thick, wooden scrape against the hut’s floor. 

You were an easy ear to rant at, your silence taken as permission, your person first in line to fall victim to loose words and heavy hearts.

You weren’t surprised by his answer. In fact, you felt somewhat eager.

“The Jorgensons-” His words spoke nothing of your intrepid fiance nor any of his unVikingly obsessions, his head full of odd wheels and cogs- Your fiance was quite noteworthy, though only because of his failures. It was a feat for anyone to outstrip him in that manner, but if it had to be anyone, it would have been Jorgenson. 

You cleared your throat awkwardly, still standing at full attention. You kept your eyes focused on him still, a beast named ‘Curiosity’ glowering from a place far behind them. 

You might have been silent, tamed, but you were no less hungry for it.

“They’re land-hungry. That lot knows better than to get ahead of themselves.” He went on, large arms stilling, boxed fingers coming up to brush against his large mustache. “...They’ll stop the trouble, one of these days.”

“I’ll hit the books,” You offered. The library was always open in time like this. Abhorrently, peacefully quiet. Always empty. Things to read, to learn, full enough to keep you occupied for hours.

He looked at you appreciatively, appraisingly. He’d never found a reason not to. 

You took to hard work with ease and did not complain if you’d even bothered to speak a word. 

 Of course, he’d only taken you in as a favor, a response to a plea from a stranger. He’d probably never expected so much of you. He probably didn’t expect anything from you now, though it was a rare occasion in which you offered to help with any politicking.

His words were gruff, “You’re good help, lass.”

You nodded, something in your chest feeling- it wasn’t necessarily good or bad, pride or pleasure. Still, it was bright, and the feeling was a very, very rare thing, slightly dampened. Under normal circumstances, you’d never allow it, though even the most hardy plants needed rain. 

As you turned to leave, you hid your grimace.

You crumpled new paper between shaky and to let it fall to the floor, knowing more than ever what it felt like to pull in the heavy weights of dewey tears- Of course, the boy- you’d rather not be his carer, so it was just fine. You hardly liked him at all.

You'd always known you could do things- you just hadn't always known how to go about them. But…

You stared at the crumpled piece of paper on the floor, small fists clenched around the body of your skirt, dark shadow of your small, curtain-sectioned-off sleeping place under the stairs making egg-ey white look that much more gray.

Messy scribbles and your neater, still clumsy handwriting, some small correction, a small, hesitant smile, a bold rebuke, a broken bond, made not by either small hand but one large voice- It hurt.

You had hardly a clue in the world how to go about things here, where everything was so harsh and bleak and cruel. Maybe it was better if you washed your hands of him.

“Lass… better not,” He said, voice nothing like it had been before, sounding tough and displeased. It was stiff, threatening flat tones, awkward, far from the comforting baritone he’d most probably intended.

You did your best to keep your mouth still even as your hands threatened to shake, looking over at him with watery, ornery eyes.

You stared at his large hands, pressed aside worn, dirty green-gray cloth, his crouched knees, his shoulders that barely fit halfway through your makeshift ‘doorway.’

He scared you twice as much as he’d ever been able to ease your spirits.

You kicked the small, crumpled paper aside with the toe of your boot as if you might be able to hide it. You knew you couldn’t.

It was fine.

You’d only just been trying to help.

[azora-ink]

RoyalDuties Trio!!

———

Ft: Zihan, Azora, Yu Ming which is my friends Oc!!! (@z_nnyd4yz on tiktok)

Its still a wip because it was only to help me on my artblock (I might finish it later tho)

(My base)

———

Heights-

Zihan~ 6”3

Azora~ 5”10

Yu Ming~5”11

Small info abt them:

• Azora actually made the weapon Zihan wields, a scythe, awhile she still (over)worked as a full time blacksmith, as well as many of the other vampire guards, you know which weapons were made by her because of her signature

• Azora is the type to get “hangry” so shes usually gifted food often whenever guards or others go to talk to her

• Even though Azora is a princess she rarely stays in her fathers land aka The Land of Ambrosia, constantly going out to megapolis or other places, including redsons place(mostly to bother him)

• Azora was once banished from the empire, though it was eventually lifted, only to come back to her mother gone(NO SHES NOT DEAD)

• Zihan is Azora’s personal bodyguard, though they bicker over the months of first being together they’ve eventually agreed to atleast try to stand eachother

• Yu Ming is actually Azoras step-brother after her Father Auryn re-married

-they have a good bond after azora got used to him/started trusting him, though her boundaries remain(she def rants to him)

• Zihan owns a pet squirrel who he names Timmy, he would die for Timmy (no he wouldn’t but he’s a little dramatic)

• Zihan is a pureblood vampire but the sorcerers that work for Auryn blessed him with the ability to withstand the sun, but if they were to die the gifts they have given would break

• Yu Ming owns a garden in the celestial realm, Azora constantly visits him up there