#has me cut him some straight copper

[vaguelydefinedshapes]

omg someone give this guy an award for Most Annoying Customer

[the-heartlines]

ablaze

jacela | {e. 1.7k}

just some smutty jacela consummation post their secret valyrian wedding 😌

"My prince," his princess whispers in his ear, sending a shock of pleasure down Jace's spine. He bit his sliced lip dried with blood, remembering how hers had tasted. Bittersweet, twangy with copper and he longed to taste more, which causes him to tense under her hand.

Her hand that has a firm fist wrapped around his cock...entirely. 

"How does it feel, my husband?" Baela repeated, licking her cut lip, eyes mesmerized by her husband's girth wrapped wonderfully within her hand. Jace could only gasp, his thoughts and words leaving him, as he bit into the meat of his tender lip harder when she squeezes around the base of his shaft, starting to milk him slow and steady now.

Baela quickly licked the blood that began to drip from it again, almost moaning when her husband's taste hit her tongue. "Tell me it feels good, Jacaerys." She said breathlessly, her cunt already wet, since the moment she eyed Jace hard and leaking, aching for her touch.

"B-Baela," he groans her name now, his eyes opening, staring straight into hers and he swears he can see the light emanating from her violet eyes, the pure blinding, burning brightness lingering beneath her skin; the depth of her heart and soul staring back at him. It makes his heart race faster, her hand stroke faster over him in tandem.

"Fuck," Jace curses, blushing, bucking upwards when she traces the crown of his cock, spreading his seedy fluids along his length to aid her precise movements. "You fit so perfectly in my hand, Jace. You were made for me. Say it, husband." Jace's stomach tenses, love and lust spiraling inside him like a huge storm ready to break. Her words are a balm for his wounded heart, each syllable sewing him back together, making him whole once more. 

"I n-need-"

You. Is what Jace wants to say but her lips are on his, her mouth stealing his kisses beautifully, sealing tightly to him, never wanting to let go.

"I know." Baela murmurs against his mouth, pressing her forehead to his, smiling stunningly against his lips, before her hand stills and she unwraps it around his length. 

"Wait," Jace whines, biting his lip once more, embarrassed at the desperation in his voice, because he was close; so, so to the purest and holiest ecstasy of his life.

"Patience, my sweet prince," Baela only laughs, playfully chastising him and the sweet sound echoes of his bedchambers, making his heart beat a hundred times faster.

Then her violet eyes are gazing fiercely back at him, full to the brim with a fire that threatens to burn through Jace-both of them-like the most delicious fever.

And Jace wants her to burn him, scorch him, set his skin ablaze, until his bones are anything except ash.

"I have needs as well, my husband." Baela steps away from him and swiftly discards her Valyrian robes, pulling them over her head along with her underthings, until she is as naked as Jace, her copper skin glinting a deeper golden color by the light of the flames. Jace's breath catches in his throat, for he's never seen a sight more beautiful, more brazen, than his wife with her silver-white hair wild and framing her face. The curves of her breast tipped with brown nipples beckon his mouth to them and he's swallowing, salivating with a need to wrap his lips around them, to suck and savor the sweetness of her. "And only you can fulfill them, Jacaerys."

Baela strides towards him gracefully to their bed and Jace hungrily eyes the sway of her hips, the crux of silver-white that matches her curls, that tantalizes him cruelly, hypnotizes him into the most blissful state of silence. His mouth gapes open, drool seeping down his chin, when she climbs astride him, licking the saliva mixed with his blood from his lip and chin, at the same time grasping him by his cock once more, pressing his head into her heat that threatens to suffocate him wickedly. 

"Baela, w-wait!" Jace hisses, but it's too late because she's wrapping her arms around him and sinking her tight, slick cunt onto him in one torturous movement which causes him to thrust all the way inside her, sheathe himself into her body to the hilt, until he's groaning, gasping, cursing at how wondrous, wonderful his wife feels wrapped wholly around him.

"Wife," Jace growls, hugging her breasts to him, placing gentle kisses into the crook of her smooth throat, murmuring his words of praise into her flesh. "You feel exquisite." Baela trembles against him, goose pimples raising along her golden skin, constricting her cunt around him even more and he jerks into her just slightly, barely.

"Oh, fuck, Jace, w-wait!" Baela cries out and Jace pulls his lips from her neck, eyes wide with concern when he sees pain painted onto her face along with tears shiny against her loveliness. 

"My brave princess," Jace presses his lips against hers gently, before his tongue licks away the salt that stains her cheeks, "my brave wife. Let me help you, sweetling. " He snakes his finger in between their bodies clung tightly to one another, joined for always, knowing how to ease his wife's pain, for he is his mother's son. Always observant, an apt listener, learning everything he can.

"Oh gods, Jace." Baela moans when his fingers stroke over her hidden jewel and Jace smirks against her lips when she relaxes her body into his, her body melting into his like lava. "It feels good doesn't it, my wife?" He watches her face relax, contort into one of pure pleasure, eyes opening, lilacs laced with the utmost lust, outlined in love. 

"I love you, B-Baela!" Jace confesses finally when her body lifts off his only to thrust down upon him once more.

"Then fuck me, my love." She hisses into his ear, all her fire and blood coursing through her veins and into him, making him tremble with the utmost need, to satiate and satisfy the dragons awakening beneath the surface.

And this time he meets her half way, with as much passion and intensity that burns through him; for he shall always burn for her, be the other half of her whole, completely, until the end of his days.

"Yes, wife, yes!" Jace cries, a loud sound that echoes off their bedchambers, along with the sounds of their bodies melding, becoming one soul, one heart. 

"Finish in me please, Jacaerys, please." This admission spurs Jace on as he grips Baela to him tighter, one hand pulling her hair back, one hand on the plush flesh of her hip, watching his cock disappear inside her slick heat, eyeing her creamy fluids upon him. His sac tightens at the sight, but Jace wants to see her shatter around him, to drown in the drenched honeyed juices of her cunt. "Fingers, husband. I need more." Baela begs, panting, hips humping against him desperately, and it awakens the feral beast lurking beneath fully, and he yanks on her hair harder, hard enough for his wife to whimper out. "Then use yours, my sweet wife. Touch yourself for me, my brave girl."

"You're cruel, Jacaerys Velaryon." Baela grits out, groaning, beginning to expertly rub over her clit, closing her eyes. But Jacaerys has other plans, latching onto one of her nipples, sucking and nibbling on it lightly with his teeth. "Ah! No teeth!" But her cunt clamps around him tighter so he bites harder, releasing her nipple from his mouth with a lewd pop. "Keep your eyes open, on me, wife." Jace wraps his mouth around her other nipple sucking it between his plump lips, fondling the other bitten one, watching his wife's hooded eyes, her lips part, if to cry out, so Jace bites into her other nipple, tearing a strangled cry from her lips, followed by his name.

"Jace!" Baela shrieks, rubbing over her clit faster and harsher, before she's reaching the highest point of her peak, body shaking, convulsing, clinging on to him for dear life, less she fall, crumble around him. 

So her dragon prince, her husband wraps his arms around him, hugging his princess to him, clinging to his wife for dear life.

"Baela, Baela, Baela," he grunts, against her tender breasts, "give me everything." And she does a second time, flooding him with her release, her honeyed sweetness that  takes and takes everything in him, milking him, and then her lips are on his stealing the breath out of his lungs.

"Yes, yes, sweet husband, now give me your son." Baela pants against his lips dreamily and Jace is the one shouting, gritting his teeth, crying out, convulsing against hers. Because he will give her a son. A son with his father's chestnut curls, with his mother's deep golden skin, with eyes the color of dark amethysts. 

"Our son," he croaks hoarsely against Baela's lips and tears of happiness spring forth from his eyes as the last of his seed is milked from his body, flowing and flooding into his wife's womb. One that will flourish, will bring forth their babe.

They fall onto their marriage bed together, into each other's arms, made whole by their union, their joyous love-making.

Jace's head is nestled in between Baela's chest, listening to her heart beat slow, his fingers lazily stroking over her toned belly, dreaming of it swelling underneath his hand.

"Lucerys," she strokes over his curls and Jace glances upwards, confused at her smiling, satiated face, until the realization dawns on him at what she means. 

"Yes," Jace mumbles, kissing the skin in between her breasts, running his tongue downwards over, dipping the tip of it into her navel, hearing her breath hitch. "Yesss," he says more hoarsely now, mouth watering and nostrils flaring, the scent of both him and her hitting his senses. "Yesss," and then his tongue is languidly licking her folds, tasting, savoring both seed and slick, ravenously beginning to devour the more of his wife's little noises that fill his ears.

And Jacaerys keeps his hand upon Baela's stomach the entire time, cock hardening at the thought of doing this a thousand more times, with his wife's belly swelling, growing with another strong seed. Another son born of fire and blood to replace one loss. Their Lucerys.

[sparxwrites]

you were asking why (i just couldn't let it go)

title is from devil and the deep blue sea’s “ashland”, which you should ideally listen to on loop while you read this. ambiguous hermitcraft slash life series modern au sort of setting. bon appetit. [ao3]

“Scar.” Grian’s got his legs spread comfortably wide in the passenger seat. The left one’s bouncing. Knee knocking against the car door like a drum beat, off-tempo with the thrum of the engine. Thump thump thump thump. “Let me take a turn driving.”

Gaze turned ahead, staring straight through the windscreen, Scar says nothing.

“Scar,” says Grian, again, and this time he turns his head to look at Scar’s profile. Curve of the nose, slightly crooked from– and the cupid’s bow of his lips, incongruously feminine, the furrowed eyebrows, same shade of chestnut as his hair. Skin just a bit too pale. On the greyish side, even, maybe. It wasn’t like that half an hour ago. “Scar, let me drive.”

“It’s fine,” drawls Scar, sing-song insincere. There’s a specific tone of voice he only pulls out when he’s lying. It’s this one. “I’m fine! Perfectly good for another hour’s driving. We’re not even halfway there yet. And what sort of a friend would I be if I made you drive more than halfway, hmm?”

He’s still looking straight ahead. Straight through the windscreen.

Grian falls silent again. Leg still bouncing. Thump thump thump. Thump thump thump. Thumpthumpthump– 

“Stop the car.”

“What?” Scar finally looks away from the road, finally, finally turns to look at him, and there’s those eyes, green as the light before a storm– that crooked nose, head-on– that scar that cuts from forehead to the corner of the mouth, wide and purple-red despite a year’s worth of healing, right side of the face, invisible in profile when he’s in the driver’s seat, thank fucking god it’s invisible, or Grian would have–

“I said stop the fucking car.”

–he’d have– already–

“I told you, Grian, I’m fine. I’m not a baby, I don’t need to be coddled–” 

Scar’s eyes are still off the road, and than god it’s mostly straight, thank god it’s somewhere rural, thank god there’s nothing and no one else on the road, or they’d be risking an accident with Scar looking at him like that for so long. Thank god. Thank god it’s just them, alone, in this car, on this endless coastal road in the middle of nowhere, with nothing for them to but fucking look at each other, because– otherwise– an accident–

“If you don’t stop this car right now, I’m going to be sick in it,” says Grian, as though from very far away.

Scar hits the breaks like it’s an emergency stop. He’s precious about his car, his Swaggon, his copper-blue baby. Doesn’t want any vomit in it. Thank god they’re both wearing seatbelts, because they don’t need– not another–

“Grian! You should have said!”

His voice is a little indulgent, a little worried, and Grian’s not listening. He’s pawing at the seatbelt catch, at the door handle, like he’s some dumb little animal that’s forgotten it has opposable thumbs. He’s scrambling out the seat. He’s half-falling out the door. He’s on all fours, knees in the grass, sea air in his lungs, pushing himself up with his heart hammering in his chest.

Behind him, Scar climbs out too. He’s a bit too long-limbed for how low down the seats are, has to unfold himself out of the car. He’s just a bit too slow about it to be quite right, too. Probably for the best Grian can’t see it, but he can hear it, and he know what it looks like, saw it at the petrol station they stopped at for snacks and the bathroom, remembers the twist of his guts at the caution–

Grian picks himself up, slowly. The damp of the grass has left little circles of wet on the knees of his trousers. Clamminess on his palms.

Scar meanders round to stand on the grass, too, rather than middle of the road. Rural or no, probably a good idea. He’s stretching the fingers one hand, a spidery little gesture, fumbling his phone out his pocket with the other. Grian’s not missed the way his hands are shaking. Grian’s not missed the way he’s rotating his wrist, like it’s hurting him, like it aches, deep, bone-painful, post-surgery ligament. Chronic.

“Should I text Cleo or something?” he’s saying, as he does it, like he’s not in pain, like it’s not Grian’s fault. That broad and expansive warmth Scar always has in his voice. The sincerity of it is nauseating. He doesn’t seem bothered at all. “How long do you think you’re going to need? If it’s more than half an hour, I should probably text Cleo and let her know. Let everyone know, but Cleo’s the most likely to check her phone. And the most likely to chew me out if I don’t tell her, which is the most important– I didn’t know you got car sick! You should have said something earlier, Grian. Oh– I might have some pills for uh, uh, nausea, in my bag, do you think they’d help with car sickness? Grian? I’m not pressuring you, take as long as you need, I just think we should let the others know if we’re going to be–”

Except Grian’s already gone, striding off, off over the grass, towards where the ground falls off into sky and sea and endless horizon.

“Grian! Where are you–? Grian! Wait! For– goodness’ sake, I–” Grian hears the footsteps, the odd stumble-hiss as a knee gives way, the bitten-off curse. “Grian, wait, I need to get my–” Car door opening, the clunk and clatter of Scar trying to get his cane out the back seat, thunk of his knee against the doorframe as he leans his bodyweight against it and tries not to fall over.

Grian doesn’t stop walking.

It’s not fair, of course. On Scar, that is. Not fair that he’s striding off like this, and Scar’s going to exhaust himself stumbling to catch up over unsteady ground. Even with the cane, it’s going to leave him tired and aching for the rest of the day. Grian knows this. He keeps walking anyway, because there’s nothing else he can do right now, and maybe if he just doesn’t think about the consequences–

“Grian–!”

It’s more distant, now, behind him. Could be miles behind him. It feels like he’s run for miles, though he hasn’t gone faster than a brisk walk, hasn’t been going for more than a minute or two. His chest is very tight, breathless. His head feels very empty, for something so full.

The closer he gets to the sea, the more the sky swallows up his vision, like he’s falling forward into nothingness. There’s clouds rolling in, carrying a storm with them, a thick wall in white to black-grey right across the width of the sky. The temperature’s dropping. The breeze is picking up. It tastes like salt on his tongue, half-bloody, the electric tang of ozone on his molars.

Grian’s suddenly three feet from the edge of a cliff, and all he can smell is sea. All he can see is sky.

“Grian!” And finally, finally the saccharine is gone from Scar’s voice, finally he’s speaking from his chest, low gravel, genuine fear. “Grian, come– come away from the edge, come on, that– it might not be stable– just a few feet back. Come on now.”

Grian turns his back on him, turns his face into the breeze, and closes his eyes. Inhales. Exhales.

When he opens them again, glances over his shoulder, Scar’s still fifteen feet back. He’s leaning heavily on his cane, bent a bit at the waist, panting. It might just be the light, but he looks more sallow than he did before. The wind’s tossing his hair around. There’s grey in it, now, Grian realises, on the underneath and the back. That’s new. That wasn’t there a year ago.

“It’s not fair,” he says, distant as the clouds, light as a bird. Almost as if it’s not him speaking at all. “What happened, I mean. It’s not fair.”

Scar’s face is unreadable, under the exertion, the pain, the knife-edge of fear. “Grian,” he says, voice flat. “I’m not going to comfort you about the fact that we were both in a– an accident, and I got life-changing injuries and you got a mild concussion. That’s ridiculous. Come on, let’s– let’s go back to the car.”

It wasn’t an accident, and they both know it. It’s kind of him to pretend that it was, though. To the police, and to their friends, and now to Grian’s face. Very kind of him indeed.

Too kind of him, as a matter of fact. Grian sort of hates him for it.

“I’m not– that’s not– you don’t understand–”

“What, then?” And oh, now he’s lost his patience. Now Grian’s annoyed him. Grian’s always been good at that. Getting under people’s skin. “Come on, you tell me what it’s about, Grian, because right now it seems like that’s exactly what it’s about! In fact, it seems like that’s what this whole damn drive has been about, actually, because you’ve been like this ever since I picked you up! And, oh, you know me, I’m a patient man, Grian, I’m a nice man, but I’m not really in the mood for playing a second round of games on a clifftop with–”

“It should have been me!” The words burst out of him. Detonation, flock of startled doves, landslide. For half a heartbeat, he is somewhere else entirely. “It was– it was my stupid idea, and it was my stupid fault, and I was the one that organised the stupid bloody trip in the first place, and– and now we’re about to go back, and do it all all over a-fucking-gain, another stupid bloody trip, like nothing ever happened. And I wanted– I want it to be– it should have–”

Scar’s face creases, then. Folds itself something gentler than frustration. Something like pity presses in, corner of his eyes, set of his mouth.

Grian preferred it when he looked halfway to mad.

“Grian. Grian,” says Scar, softly. “Okay. Hey. Grian. Come on. You went over that edge, too, G. Right after me. Remember?”

And I fucking walked away from it, Grian doesn’t say, and I didn’t want to walk away from it if you weren’t going to, and That was supposed to be my penance. His chest feels like it’s about to explode.

“It wasn’t the same,” is what he settles on, hands curled into fists, voice tight. Chin raised like he’s looking for a fight.

“...No.” Scar looks at him, level, eyes as green as the light through the clouds. He’s leaning heavily on his cane. He’s seeing too much, and Grian knows it, but he doesn’t look away. “It wasn’t. And there’s not much either of us can do about that. Is there?”

And it’s true. That’s the worst part. It’s true. There’s not much else to say, really. They both know what happened. They both were there when it happened.

Grian is, all of a sudden, not sure he has the energy for a fight about this after all.

“Never did work out how you went over the cliff edge, actually.” Scar’s voice is too even. His eyes are too fucking green. “None of the others were around, I’ve been told, so they don’t seem to know either. And, now, I know my brain was a bit scrambled by the whole thing, but… still. I seem to remember you were a little ways back from me. When it happened. Out of range, maybe, even.”

Grian says nothing, but he does look away. Looks up at the sky. The wall of clouds is almost above him now, pure black underneath, a physical presence bearing down. The tender little bits inside his ears hurt with the change in atmospheric pressure. The first few drops of rain hit him as he stands there, face upturned. They land just below his left eye.

“Grian,” says Scar. He sighs. Holds out a hand, the one not curled around the top of his cane. It shakes. “Come back to the car.”

Grian goes not move.

“G. Come on. Come on, I– you. You’re my friend.” Scar’s voice cracks on the word friend, like a knife slid clean between Grian’s ribs. His face creases again, with something more complicated than understanding, something deeper than fear. Something worse than forgiveness. “I… you’re my friend. Okay? I need–” He says it like a confession. “Come on, G. Step away from the edge. Let’s go back to the car.”

“...Only if you let me drive,” says Grian. It’s stupid. It’s stubborn. It’s inane. There’s nothing else he can find it in himself to say.

He should say sorry, probably. Perhaps. But he doesn’t.

“Yes, yes, fine, you can drive! You can drive. …Honestly, you might have to, after making me chase you all the way over here.” It’s barely a hundred yards from the car, which Scar doesn’t seem inclined to mention, and so like hell is Grian going to. “I’m not a young man any more, Grian! Can’t be running around, fro– frolicking in meadows and all that. I’m too old for that now. Too old…”

“Pushing forty, even, some have said.”

“Hey! Watch it, you.”

Grian can see the way Scar’s shoulders drop when he takes the first step away from the cliff edge. Back towards Scar.

“Some people! Some people. Not me. I would never say something like that.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Scar grumbles, still watching Grian like a hawk. “You know, I’d have let you drive when you first asked, if I’d known you were going to be such a drama queen about it.”

“Eh. You know me. Can’t resist a bit of drama.”

“You hate drama.”

“Do not.”

“Ren’s been trying to get you to go LARPing with him for years, and every time he brings it up, you say, oh, no thanks, I don’t like–”

Grian gets within three feet. Scar lunges.

He drops the cane to throw both arms round Grian’s neck, like he’s clinging to a lifeline. He’s too tall for this, and not steady enough on his feet, and Grian’s too short and too shocky to support him right, but Scar doesn’t seem to care. He grabs, and clings, limpet-like. His hands find the back of Grian’s knit jumper, the soft little hairs at the nape of his neck, tangle into them. His breath is very hot against the side of Grian’s face.

Grian, dumb little animal, is too shocked to do anything but stand there and take it. 

After a moment, he blinks once. Twice, for good measure. Exhales like it’s been punched out of him. “Scar,” he says, weakly, “I–”

“If you throw yourself off a cliff for me again as some weird sort of pin– peen– penat– you-know-what-I-mean, I will kill you myself, Grian.” Scar’s voice is low, and deadly serious. Grian can feel the rumble of it in his ribs, where they’re pressed chest to chest, plastered together through the sheer force of Scar’s terror. He can also feel the way Scar is trembling. “Do you understand?”

Grian thinks it’s a rhetorical question until Scar shakes him – as best as he can when he’s leaning on Grian for support like a human cane, anyway.

“Grian. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, yeah, I understand,” says Grian, and gets shaken again for his troubles. His teeth rattle, a little. Scar’s still got some force behind his movements, despite the chronic pain and the balance issues and the fucked up joints. He must have a good physio, Grian thinks, and then wishes he hadn’t. “...Yes, Scar. Yes. I understand.”

Grian doesn’t mention the trembling. Scar doesn’t press on the again. They’re both kind like that. Only to each other, though.

“Good.” Scar’s voice is firm, like he isn’t trembling. Though, come to think of it, maybe that’s less shock-fear and more pain. Grian’s fault, twice over. “Good, okay. Okay! So. Here’s what we’re going to do, then. Here’s the plan.” 

He half-releases Grian – hand still clutched in his shirt – and bends painfully, stiffly, to pick up the cane. Nearly falls over. Grian doesn’t help him, and doesn’t know why he doesn’t, still stood half-frozen in Scar’s grip. Scar doesn’t ask him for help, but he also doesn’t let go.

“We’re going to sit in the car for at least fifteen minutes–” Scar straightens up, gets the cane settled, starts off at an unsteady lope back towards the car. Hand still tangled in Grian’s shirt. “–and we’re going to eat our snacks, and drink some water, and I’m going to text Cleo that we’re going to be late so she doesn’t shout at us–” As he warms up to his monologue, some of the trembling eases off. Not enough, not nearly enough, but some of it. Grian breathes a little easier. “–and you can take some of my uhhh. Those pills. The ones that stop you feeling sick. Oh, shoot, though, I don’t think you’re supposed to take them while driving–”

“Scar,” says Grian, quietly. “It wasn’t car sickness.”

“Oh.” 

Scar pauses a moment, thinks about that – though he might just be catching his breath, too. Grian silently switches sides, to the one without the cane, and nudges his shoulder against Scar’s ribs until Scar wraps an arm around him with a grateful sigh. The height difference makes it clumsy, but they make it work. They’ve done this before. 

”Okay, in that case, twenty minutes of sitting in the car with snacks, and you have to be the one to text Cleo. As punishment for threatening to be sick in my poor baby. What’s she ever done to you?”

Grian ignores that last bit entirely, and focuses on the more important tasks at hand: helping Scar back to the car, and winning the argument. “Yeah, but if you text her, she’ll be nice to us. If I text her, she’ll bite my head off. And fifteen minutes sitting, not twenty. I’ll go crazy after twenty. Have to go for another walk about it.”

“If you go on another walk to the cliff edge, mister, I’ll kill you. Remember?”

“And then how are you going to get to the campsite? You can’t drive anywhere in this state.” Which is Grian’s fault, but they’re both kindly not mentioning it.

“Hmm. Fair point, fair point.” Scar hisses through his teeth, frustration and pain. “Okay, counter-offer. Fifteen minutes sitting, you text her, but you can blame the delay on poor old me to minimise the biting.”

“Fifteen minutes, I text her and blame you, and you take some painkillers.”

Scar pouts, as only Scar can pout. “They’re gonna make me all sleepy, though, Grian! I’ll sleep through the rest of the trip.”

“That’s fine,” says Grian, easily. They’re less than three feet from the car, now, and it’s starting to rain, and Scar’s putting more weight on Grian than on his cane, but that’s fine. Grian’s not going to mention it. “I can drive the rest of the way. Take a nap, if you’ve got to. I can get us there, no problem.”

Even as he says it, he remembers the last time he told Scar he could do something. Remembers just how much he couldn’t, actually.

Scar doesn’t mention that. Instead, he smiles, indulgent, and ruffles Grian’s hair. “I know you can,” he says, easily. “I trust you.” Just like that. As though it’s that simple.

And for Scar, Grian supposes, maybe it is.

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

Fake It Till You Make It

Arthur Curry x plus size reader

Never pair two borderline insane superheroes together on a mission.

Warnings: black eyes, some injuries, fluff, fake marriage

WC: 716

Minors DNI

Picking up strange undercover missions was your specialty. You couldn’t even count the number of times you had to wear some crazy disguise and sneak into a drug running ring or a mobster dinner party. You have been in outfits ranging from heels taller than your will to live, covered in makeup and wearing jewels worth more than your life, to oil stained coveralls who had last been owned by Superman himself.

But this, this tops the lot. 

“Let me get this straight, you want me to pretend to be married to Aquaman so we can infiltrate a wildlife sanctuary which has been using great white sharks to smuggle drugs and guns over international borders.” Batman’s face remained stoic, as always.

“Yes.”

“And you actually expect this to work.”

“Yes.”

“Fuck, fine I guess. I’ll do it but I expect appropriate compensation.”

“You can’t drive the batmobile.”

“Five minutes.”

“No.”

“I sit in the passenger seat and you drive but I pick the music.”

“…..Fine.”

“Hell yeah! I guess the only thing left to do is to actually meet this fish man.” His eyes narrowed at you from behind his cowl.

“Don’t call him fish man.” You rolled your eyes and huffed.

“Jesus Christ, old man. Lighten up a bit.” His scowl deepened. But before he could reprimand you, there came a mighty yell from down the hall, causing both of you to turn and look at the source. A man, who could only be described as a giant, was barrelling down the corridor, long curly hair flowing behind him wildly as he ran. He was topless, which you greatly appreciated, considering the fact that he was built like a linebacker with tattoos covering every inch of his copper skin.

“Wifey!” And the next thing you knew, his broad shoulder was firmly planted in your soft stomach and you were moving backwards. Your back met the cold floor of the tower and a huge weight settled on top of you. It took you a second to realise what had happened.

“Did you just rugby tackle me?” His head tilted as if to say ‘duh’. He straddled your plump thighs, keeping you pinned to the ground, his hands were planted firmly by your head. Dark curls framed his face as he leaned forward, your noses almost brushing.

“Hi there wifey.” And he smiled brightly. Maybe this mission wouldn’t be too bad.

——————

You were soaked from head to toe, one eye swollen shut from a particularly good punch, your body completely sore from running and a chill that settled on your bones. Arthur wasn’t much better off than you; a few cuts along his arms and stomach, a dark bruise on his jaw.

But you were both smiling widely, still holding hands, your wedding bands glittering in the low light of the batplane.

Batman looked thoroughly exhausted. “What do you mean you’re married for real?”

Arthur shrugged. “We had to make it believable.” You nodded, backing up his point.

“He’s right, we would’ve been caught otherwise.”

“That’s what the forged documents are for!” You glanced at your counterpart, both of you trembled trying to contain your laughter.

“But those are fake, you could tell that from a mile away.”

“So your solution was to get legally married?!” 

“Yep.” “Pretty much.” You spoke at the same time. The older hero collapsed into one of the many seats on the plane, rubbing at his temples.

“I’ll have Alfred draw up the paperwork to get your marriage annulled.”

“No can do pal!” Bruce glanced at Aquaman, already dreading what was about to come out of his mouth next. “We’re married in Atlantean culture too and divorce is not an option.” 

Bruce sat there for a moment, his mouth opening and closing like a fish as his brain attempted to comprehend the sheer stupidity of the two people in front of him. And yet, he could only blame himself. Then, he said something he thought he would never have to say: “I should’ve listened to Superman.”

“Yeah you really should have.” You agreed, giving Arthur’s large hand a squeeze as you glanced up at him. “But hey! Now we’re permanent partners and we work really well together!”

“You blew up the wildlife sanctuary.”

“We got all of the animals out first!”

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[snailsgoingdowntown]

Written at 3am on mobile.

Plz come home blade, this is the "fluffiest" idea I have for you rn, I promise to write a genuine soft fic if you come home soon.

Blade x fem! Reader

Warnings: blood, murder, violent thoughts towards reader, slight dubcon, fear/paranoia, possessiveness, toxic relationship. Like, extremely so. Even blade hates himself for it lmao. Slight (?) Yandere blade

Minors/blank blogs dni.

In which you realize you'll never be able to let go, regardless of what happens.

==

The scent of copper and sight of crimson makes your head dizzy.

He's never killed anyone in front of you before. You always had an inkling that he does, considering he would return from other missions given to him by other people in blood, some wounds healed others not. You've also patched him up before too, wincing at the sight but said nothing.

You wanted to ignore it. Play pretend and smile, but once you learnt his name, the bounty on his head, his actual job...

It wasn't long until you fully cracked, and before you knew it, you started to be fully afraid of him. And yet, you couldn't let go, despite every fiber in your beings screaming at you to run away.

Maybe you should have.

Because the sight you're greeted with is nothing short of horrific -

Seven dead bodies, cut straight through the chest. Some had their skull split open, his sword covered in crimson. You didn't see it action, he told you to cover your eyes.

But it just made everything worse. Their screams still echoing in your head, ears ringing, mind-space blurry and unable to comprehend just what exactly happened here.

You knew he would come even if your brother didn't tell him to. He would always come, and while it seemed romantic at first, it started to worry you later on.

Because he's the only one 'allowed' to hurt you.

This group had chosen the wrong target. You almost pitied them, but as Blade turns around, suppressing a maniac grin, your world comes to a halt. Your ears are buzzing and you can't make out the words he's saying.

"... Why? You - you didn't have to kill them - "

"They would have killed you if I didn't." His voice is steady, so unlike your trembling form. He takes three steps towards you, stopping in place when you scoot away, bare knees surely bruised by now.

"You could have - you could have just taken me before they did anything. You're just - you're just using me as an excuse to - !"

You bite your tongue. Blade wouldn't kill you, right? But from the way his hands would tremble around your neck, how his bites draw blood from your flesh, the bloodlust that hanged in the air even as he would stroke your hair oh so gently. He probably would, someday. He wants to love you whilst killing you.

He's incapable of loving you normally.

You don't move away again when he walks closer. You don't cry when he squats, eye-leveled with you. You don't push his hand away as he gently takes your cheek in his hand.

Blood gets smeared on it, tainting you. From the smile on his face, you think he likes the sight. He always told you how red is a lovely color on you.

You just wish he didn't look at you with dreamy eyes, just right after looking at you like prey.

His thumb wipes away the tears you didn't know you were shedding. More blood smears across your face.

"They hurt you."

"Like you don't?"

Blade hums, free hand moving some stray hairs out of your face. "You know I love you. Right?"

You breathe in. Does he even know the meaning of 'love'? Why does his definition of it has to be so twisted? Why is he so possessive yet distant?

"I wish you would love me normally."

"I can't love like you do." A single kiss to your forehead. And then another to your nose, and then you let him kiss you on the lips. It's soft, gentle. So unlike the grip he has on the back of your neck. Firm enough to keep you in place, fingers twitching as he imagines cracking it.

While at the same time imaging how sweet you look, how he's 'happy' that he came in time -

How much he genuinely loves you.

He's too lucid to deny he wants to hurt you. But he's also too possessive and 'lovestruck' to let go, even when it's common sense.

You're also too deep in to push him away. When his lips start to move against yours, you return it hesitantly.

Why can't you make up your mind?

When Blade pulls away, you think you can see the slightest hint of guilt and self-loathing within those eyes. It leaves as quickly as it's shown, and you're left pondering if you just imagined it.

"I'm sorry, but I'm not sure if I can stop loving you."

[lamaenthel]

Bite Down On This

[read on ao3] [Febuwhump prompt: "Bite Down On This"]

Bly has to do the unthinkable to his General to save her life after a mortar strike wipes out their company.

Characters: CC-5052|Bly, Aayla Secura, Quinlan Vos Wordcount: 868

" …hear me? Bly? Bly, are you alive?"

Bly blinks, takes a deep breath, and almost passes out again. He's face-down in a pile of… something. Something that smells like copper, fire, and human shit. He pushes himself up, his head spinning, and vomits on top of the bisected abdomen of the clone trooper he landed on.

"Get up!" He's yanked sideways, dragged on his back away from the body. Bodies. They're everywhere, he can see that now. "Get it together trooper, I need you."

"Yes, General," Bly tries to say; it comes out more of a blurry, slurred yrrrs gurnnnll.

"Hold on, Blue. We're coming. I got him. See? You were worried for nothing." General Vos tugs him up and forces him to walk on nerveless legs.

"Bly?" His stomach flips at how weak she sounds. "Oh, Bly, I—ah!" She breaks off with a shriek of agony. His stomach flips again.

"We're here. We're here, Blue." General Vos lets go of Bly's cuirass and drops down beside her. "I'm so sorry, honey. This is going to hurt. Bite down on this and take a deep breath, okay?"

Bly focuses on not falling down. His brain is unscrambling, reassembling his memories like scattered puzzle pieces. Aayla was leading their small scouting company from the front, trying to keep up with her old Master's massive stride. Bly was bringing up the rear, avoiding Vos and the looks he kept throwing over his shoulder. There was a whistle over their heads, then…

Mortar! Spread out!

He was at the rear. She was at the front. He was thrown back. She…

"It's okay, Blue. I know, I'm sorry it hurts. I've got you." Vos tightens the tourniquet around her ruined leg, right above what used to be her knee. 

They had some sausages once on Dantooine, made from roba hogs by the locals. They were so grateful for the Republic's arrival. They donated crates upon crates of fresh meat, vegetables, and fragrant blue rice. They'd never eaten so well. Aayla helped them all find sticks to cook the sausages on over the bonfire—her skin glows like midnight in the firelight—and laughed like a bell when he burned his mouth. 

Bard had overcooked his sausage. The end had burst open and split apart in strips, just like Aayla's leg.

"Get down here, Commander." General Vos adjusts them so that Aayla is cradled in his lap, his tree-trunk legs sticking straight out. He puts a hand on her forehead and whispers something Bly can't hear. Her head falls to the side, lekku drooping limp and lifeless. "Take my lightsaber and cut above the tourniquet," Vos orders, tossing it to the dirt in front of him. 

Bly's legs give out. He falls hard onto his shebs, head spinning. "What?"

"You heard me, Commander." Aayla stirs to life in his arms. Vos scowls and closes his eyes. "Sleep," he orders her, loud enough for Bly to hear this time.

There's two sabers laying in the dirt in front of him. Bly unsteadily reaches for the one on the right, grabs a handful of dirt instead. 

"Now!" Vos growls at him. "Sleep." His voice turns gentle when it's directed at her. He's like a father to me. "Good girl. It'll be over soon."

Aayla is dripping sweat and drooling around the leather strap her Master shoved in her mouth. Her head tosses from side to side, struggling to stay awake. Her lekku come to life only to curl up in tight, distressed spirals.

"I…" Bly swallows down a second surge of vomit. They need a medic. Where's their medic? He suddenly remembers the paintjob of the trooper he woke up on.

"Do it!" The Kiffar General—both of them—shoots him a glare that could melt beskar. "I can't keep her unaware much longer, Commander, she's fighting too hard. Do it before she wakes up!"

"Wake up, Commander," she whispers, her lek curling lovingly around his wrist. She trails a graceful finger down his nose, tickles his lips, chases the touch with a delicate kiss. 

"Do it, now!"

Bly pushes the button, goes blind from the green light. He blinks away the spots, stares down at his Aayla's beautiful leg—she hooks it over his hip, uses it to pull him closer as she cries out his name—and stops. "I can't," he says hoarsely. "I can't hurt a Jedi." My Jedi.

"You want her to be awake and screaming while you cut her leg off?" Vos' fury is incandescent, burning like a corona. "Do it, you useless son of a bitch!"

Bly's double vision isn't helped by his tears. "I can't."

"If you don't I will fucking gut you." Vos means it, but he still can't bring himself to bring down the beam. "Do it now, or so help me—"

"Bly," Aayla whimpers around the strap. Her big, beautiful brown eyes flicker open.

"SLEEP." Vos mouths the command directly against her ear cone. Her eyes close, her head falls limply to the side. Vos' eyes meet Bly's, and his vision is finally steady enough to see that the Kiffar is crying. "Do it. Do it while she's asleep, I'm begging you." 

Bly swallows hard, nods, and brings down the blade.

Taglist: @starwarsficnetwork, @febuwhump, @soliloquy-of-nemo Divider: @saradika-graphics

[dewedup]

Here's some degradation/humiliation Aether/Swiss I wrote to celebrate @jimothybarnes follower milestone! So proud of you my love, everyone say thank you Jimothy for being a stellar human being who deserves the best life has to offer (I hope you like it 🥹)

unbeta'd because jim is my beta and i wanted to surprise them so if you see any mistakes close your eyes please

a little over 1k of absolute filth, including begging, crying, blood and heavy degrading under the cut

18+

Swiss stands completely naked in the middle of the room, cock painfully hard and standing at attention. The tip is swollen red, pre dripping like a faucet. He’s so turned on he’s starting to sweat, perspiration beading at his brows and cascading down his too hot body. He’s surprised it doesn’t evaporate with how his skin feels like it’s on fire.

Aether is sitting in front of him, sprawled casually in the red velvet recliner as he picks at his nails disinterestedly. He’s fully clothed and mildly horny, but this is his favourite part. He plans to push it for as long as he can. 

They’ve been here for an hour. Swiss displays himself with no modesty while Aether watches from underneath his lashes, feigning boredom. 

A low whine escapes Swiss at the lack of stimulation, Aether’s eyes cut to his face instantly, his expression turning hard. 

“Do you have something to say, pet?” Aether presses, rolling his neck as he sits up straight, eyes burning a hole in Swiss at the sudden attention. Swiss knows better than to say anything, fearing the repercussions, he bows his head in submission and tries to stifle the pathetic mewl that builds in his chest. 

“You should be embarrassed, baring yourself like this in front of me. It’s laughable really, how turned on you are, and I haven’t even touched you yet. I don’t think I will,” Aether’s words are cut off by the desperate whimper Swiss couldn’t contain even if he tried. “So needy,” he tsks, shaking his head as he leans back into the recliner. Aether kicks a foot up, hitching it to his knee as his hand taps a rhythm on his shin. His posture is lazy, relaxed, the exact opposite of how Swiss is strung so tight that one wrong move would launch him into the ceiling. 

Swiss’ eyes follow the movement of Aether’s fingers as they continue to dance, envying his fucking shin that he’s touching it so casually and not putting those fingers to use on his body. More pre leaks out, the splatter of it hitting the ground sounds like an explosion in the quiet room. His nerves feel frayed as he grips his hands tightly behind his back, claws digging into his palm hard enough to draw blood. The smell of copper floats around the room and Swiss swallows audibly as he waits for it to hit Aether’s nose. He can see the twitch of his nostrils as it finally meets its mark, and the disdain falling across his face is instantaneous. 

“Stupid bitch,” Aether spits out, launching to the edge of his seat, feet planted firmly on the ground as he leans forward. His amethyst eyes sparking with the quintessence magic that courses beneath his skin. Swiss keens, fighting every urge in his body to drop to his knees and beg the ghoul to fuck him into oblivion. 

He knows that won’t work, has tried it before with no success. If it was Dew, he’d watch the fire ghoul’s eyes light up in ecstasy, sparing no time to break the scene and fuck Swiss into the next dimension. Mountain would have taken pity on him fifteen minutes in, spending the rest of the time opening him up carefully to prepare for his monster cock. Hell, even Rain, who has a hidden mean streak of his own, and a well-deserved one at that, wouldn’t commit for this long. But Aether has a sense of control that he envies. He loves feeling completely in thrall and letting him take the reins. 

“Pathetic little Swiss with his pathetic little cock. I bet you’ve never been able to please someone with that. I could fit the entire thing into my mouth and not even feel it. Would you like that, pet? Me putting that tiny cock in my mouth and wishing I could have a real dick instead?” Aether purrs as Swiss burns with shame, wanting exactly that. He’d tickle the back of Aether’s throat with his cock, but the quint ghoul would stubbornly refuse to gag on principle.

“I should get Dew in here, even his cock would give me more pleasure than that sorry excuse between your legs. Look at you standing there and leaking all over the floor. You’re making a mess. Clean it up.” Aether snaps and points a finger down to the ground, Swiss dropping instantly to his knees. He leans down to the floor, tongue lapping up the salty pre that forms a puddle below where he was standing. He goes to stand up when he finishes but Aether hisses down at him, eyes practically glowing at the sight. 

“Grovel slave, stay down there and beg me to let you come.” His words are sharp, biting. Swiss laces his fingers together like he’s praying to a higher power, braving the risk of making direct eye contact so he can see if his words please Aether. 

“Please sir, please let me come. I’ll do anything, I’m such a good slut for you. I’m a pathetic little cum whore. I’m useless, worthless. I’m a cocksleeve who shouldn’t speak, the only thing I’m good for is a warm hole to put your dick in.” Swiss pleads, the words flying out of him as he tries desperately to find the magic combination, the secret code that will make Aether see he deserves to come. 

“Cock craving whore,” Aether coos patronizingly, sitting back in his chair with a relaxed pose. The only thing betraying him is the tent in his pants that looks almost uncomfortable. “You’d be lucky to even see my dick, I wouldn’t bother trying to stick it in your stretched hole.”

Swiss is so close it’s painful, his cock throbbing with every second that passes. 

“I think we’re done here,” Aether states, raising himself to his feet as he looks down at Swiss in disgust. “You’re so pathetic that the thought of you coming all over yourself untouched doesn’t even interest me. I’d rather watch paint dry than see your embarrassingly small cock kicking as you make even more of a mess on the floor. How does it feel to be a constant let down? Unable to please your partners, leaving them wanting someone who can actually make them come. No one wants you; this is a waste of my time.”

Swiss flushes in shame, tears building in his eyes as he takes the words Aether tosses at him, embarrassed at how his cock jumps at every degrading word that leaves the ghoul’s mouth as he makes his way to the door. The tears spill over, Aether pausing with his hand on the doorknob as he turns back to the multi-ghoul. 

“I didn’t think you could get any more pathetic, yet here we are.” Aether is taking slow steps back to the centre of the room, his gaze burning into Swiss as tears fall down his cheeks, his chest heaving with deep breaths as he watches Aether stalking like a predator circling his prey. 

“Please sir,” Swiss begs once more, a pathetic last attempt to capture the attention of the ghoul before him. Aether comes to a stop before him, so close Swiss could touch him if he was worthy of such contact. 

Swiss inhales the spicy scent of quintessence in the air for a second before it tingles along his body, wrenching an orgasm from him with every lick of energy that zaps his nerves. He’s coming instantly, shooting without a target, splats of his ejaculation landing on Aether’s shoes from where he stands. 

Swiss’ body shakes in the aftermath, his head blissfully in the clouds as he stares at Aether in adoration. Aether smiles down at him, reaching a hand out to softly cup his cheek.

“Good ghoul,” he says fondly, and Swiss knows he’ll have to clean up his mess later, but Aether lets him bask in the afterglow of his orgasm with the kindness he reserves for the end of their play. Aether runs his fingers through Swiss’ hair, massaging gently at the base of his horns and whispers sweet nothings, a complete turn from how he’s acted over the last hour, but exactly what Swiss needs to ride the high of his well-deserved subspace.

[narukoibito]

Ah, I want to ask about all of them for the WIP game!! Can I be greedy and ask about Unravel Me and Librarian Harry? And the FWB one 😅

You CAN! Your excitement excites me! 💖 It makes me want to write them!

Unravel Me

I'm still stuck on chapter 7 (gahhhh). I have a draft and everything, but something still isn't fully clicking yet. Here is a snippet that may or may not make the final cut:

Ginny cut through his hesitation and bridged the gap between them. Her lips brushed against his, a seeming invitation that made him shiver. He could taste the extra sugar in her latte that chased away the bitterness left on his tongue. As she retreated, he pressed forward, deepening the kiss.  He was never meant to be this lucky. Finding a magical world where he belonged came with being hunted by the darkest wizard of his time. Finding Sirius only led to losing him.  Harry couldn’t help but wonder what the might cost him.

Librarian Harry

This is my muggle!librarian!Harry and witch!Ginny story, in which they meet at the library Harry working part-time at to pay for his meager apartment and student debt. Fresh out of Hogwarts, Ginny is working for her dad in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office after a curse during the war prevented her from trying to be a professional Quidditch player. Here are some previously shared snippets!

And okay, so this is so out of context but I really loved the comedy at play with Ginny being super bad at knowing common Muggle things, like:

"What’s that?" The alarm in her voice made him snap back, his fingers nearly fumbling the packet. “Oh, erm,” Harry said, flustered, “a, a condom. Don’t worry, it’s new — not expired or anything,” he added with a cringe because he really wasn’t sure what else could be bothering her about it. He wasn’t exceptionally experienced, but he wasn’t one to just carry a wrapper around all the time, hoping beyond hope. Ginny pulled back with both fascination and caution, glaring at the shiny wrapper as if it could detonate at any moment. “What's it for?” He blinked.

(Do I want to write the story just for these moments? ...Yes. Yes I want to write about Ginny setting his microwave on fire.)

muggle au fwb

Still untitled, but this is the OTHER FWB fic I have had in my brain even before Unravel Me. It's a muggle au, childhood friends, college au, friends with benefits mash-up, but very different feel from Unravel Me (I swear). Much more build-up in their more intimate moments.

Previously shared snippets. And a new one:

Harry leans in, slow and tentative. He has kissed his fair share of girls at this point, but his heart has never thumped so painfully against his ribs before. He can’t help but take her in, that pretty pink on her cheeks, the freckles he’s never seen so up close, the way those freckles trickle down her collarbone. Her chest rising and falling to match her short breaths. The air feels different between them, the tension almost painful as he hovers, suddenly hesitant, the space between them dangerously small. He can’t feel the heat of her breath intermingle with his own. What if this is a mistake? What if this changes something between them? More than her other kiss already has? Her eyes flutter, and her brown eyes gaze up at him through her copper eyelashes. “Harry?” The whisper of her breath ghosting over his lips. It’s the uncertainty in her voice that does it for him. Ginny is always so sure, so confident, unyielding and back straight through every challenge. Hearing her sound so small ignites a fierce protectiveness in him that he couldn’t reign in if he wanted to. “I’m here,” he murmurs back.

GOD I forgot how much yearning is in this one. asjfakg can someone please write it so I can read it?

I hope you enjoyed these!!! Feel free to send me asks on any of my WIPs!

[too-many-blorbos]

Jarlaxle leaned against the wall to catch his breath. His heart pounded with adrenaline and exhilaration.

He’d been playing it safe too long. He’d forgotten the thrill of a good chase. Xanathar’s men had given him an excellent workout; it took every trick up his sleeve to manipulate them into position for a clean kill. But he emerged triumphant, spotless except for the blood on his magical daggers. Another victory for Jarlaxle Baenre.

The timing was unfortunate. He’d have to spin a convincing story to satisfy Drizzt’s inevitable questions. And perhaps cut their trip short to ensure there were no other nasty surprises. But lying to his nephew was its own kind of fun, and he did love a challenge. 

His phone buzzed–Zaknafein’s assigned ringtone. Ah yes, he’d best call off the cavalry. He answered with a flourish.

“False alarm, my friend! All is well. I’ll let Drizzt know at once.”

“He won’t answer.” Zaknafein growled. 

Jarlaxle paused, thoughts derailed. “...Pardon?”

“Drizzt called me but hung up at once without saying anything. He didn’t answer when I called back. And now his phone’s going straight to voicemail. I called you–” Zaknafein said the word like a curse. “–because you are supposed to be with him. You promised you’d know where he was every second of your little jaunt.”

Dread washed over Jarlaxle like a cold rain.

“Where is Drizzt?” Zaknafein demanded. “What happened to my son?”

****

On the other end of the phone, Zaknafein paced around the room like a hungry tiger, hands restlessly strangling the empty air. Distance was the only thing stopping him from wrapping those hands around Jarlaxle’s neck

“My son has been abducted by a beholder, who is also a crime lord and one of your rivals.” Zaknafein summarized what Jarlaxle had told him, his voice strained from the effort of holding in his rage. 

“Maybe. I haven’t confirmed it yet.” Jarlaxle had sent men to scour the city and confirm that Drizzt hadn’t simply dropped his phone or gotten lost while fleeing. But he was too wise to hope for that possibility. 

“He could die, Jaraxle. He could be dead as we speak!”

That was actually one of the best-case scenarios. Jarlaxle had the means to commission a Resurrection, and if the death was quick enough, the boy may not even remember it. 

But his rivals were not the type of people who gave quick deaths. Beholders, even less so. Jarlaxle’s mind worked in five directions at once, calculating the most effective play in this most dangerous game. He wasn’t panicking. He couldn’t afford to.

“If I haven’t found him within the hour, I’ll send word to Xanathar and offer a ransom pre-emptively. Drizzt will fare best if he’s seen as an easy payday and nothing else.”

“Xanathar’s minions weren’t looking to mug you! What did he want that was worth risking cornering you directly? What are you up to in Waterdeep?!”

“I’ve done nothing but buy a theater! All my dealings here have been completely above-board!”

“And you intended them to stay that way?”

Jarlaxle did not answer. His silence said all that was needed.

“I ask again: what are you up to?”

“...Have you heard of the Neverember Scandal of ‘29?”

Jarlaxle could hear his friend’s teeth grinding at the tangent. “No. I have not.”

“Some seventy years ago, over the course of a decade, Lord Dagult Neverember embezzled a full fifty million from Waterdeep’s coffers. It wasn’t discovered until he was ousted from power in ‘29. It’s not known what he did with the money; he died in apparent poverty and his heirs had every copper of their assets accounted for. After a few years of frantic searching, Waterdeep’s new officials claimed the funds were found. But accounting records, or the lack thereof, suggest otherwise. More likely, Neverember perished before he could reclaim the money and it’s still wherever he stashed it. And if he had the sense to store it as an asset, like gold, rather than currency, its worth would have increased tenfold by now.”

“...You brought Drizzt to a bloody treasure hunt in a city on the brink of a gang war.”

“I genuinely did not think it’d be an issue. I’ve only been laying my groundwork for a month, and all of my dealings have been under disguise and pseudonym. I didn’t even set foot in the city until a tenday ago. No one should have known me as Jarlaxle Baenre.”

“Your entire livelihood is based upon knowing things no one should’ve known.”

“I misjudged,” Jarlaxle whispered. “I know that, my friend. I swear on my life I will make it right–whatever it takes.”

Zaknafein was silent for an uncomfortably long time. “...Regardless of how we proceed, nothing will be the same after this. Not for him.”

That hurt. By the gods, it hurt just to imagine it. 

Again, Zaknafein was right. Even if Drizzt was retrieved without incident, he’d know the truth now. That his eccentric uncle was a gang leader known and feared across the Continent. That his father worked for a criminal and always had. At best, his trust would be shaken. At worst… he may hate Jarlaxle and Zak for the rest of his life.

[sunshinebingo]

@gwynrielweeksofficial Day 9 - Tropes

The Princess and the Knight

A/N: I dropped some classic tropes, Azriel and Gwyn in a bag. Shook it a few times, and this came out.

Tropes included: Damsel in distress, Love at first sight, Mutual pining/Idiots in love

Synopsis: Azriel rescues Gwyn from an evil sorcerer.

Word Count: 1.6k

More chapters

Read on Ao3

Deep in Oorid Forest, the Knight who had been riding for hours finally slowed to a stop near the sorcerer’s tower. Sir Azriel had made a vow; to protect the Princess. He would bring her back to the castle of Sangravah. When the evil Hybern had dared steal the Princess away from her home, Azriel had felt guilty for not being there to protect her. Then he had been filled with so much rage that he had not even listened to his Queen’s response before he was atop his white mare and riding straight into the forest to find the sorcerer’s tower.

After Azriel dismounted from the mare, he drew out his sword and smashed down the door with all his force. The scream of the Princess from the top of the tower turned his blood cold. He tightened his grip on his sword and ran up the winding staircase as fast as his feet could carry him. At the top of the tower, Princess Gwyneth thrashed as Hybern tried to place a gag in her mouth.

‘’Let me go,’’ the Princess screamed. The sorcerer had bound her hands and feet after Gwyn has kicked him so hard in the nose that blood was still running down his face and soaking his black robe. Using his magic, Hybern had managed to infiltrate her private quarters and transported them both to his dusty tower. But Gwyn was no fragile princess who would give up without a fight. Her mother would be proud of her. The Queen must have had already sent an army to her rescue. She just had to ensure that Hybern did not get a single drop of blood out of her. If he did, the sorcerer would be able to bind her life to his and make her his bride. The old man was even madder than she thought if he believed that Gwyn would let that happen.

‘’Be quiet Your Highness or -,’’ Hybern was tackled to the ground before he could complete his threat. Gwyn let out a sigh of relief at the realisation that this would all be over soon. She noticed that instead of an army, only one man had come to find her. Even with his big, heavy armour, Gwyn would recognise this man anywhere. She knew that this Knight was worth at least 10 others. She watched as the Knight raised his mighty sword and brought it down on Hybern, severing the old sorcerer’s head in one swipe.

‘’Are you alright Your Highness,’’ Azriel asked the Princess after he cut off the binds on her hands and feet. She nodded. Azriel felt grateful for the helmet covering his face. He did not want her to know how afraid he was. He was not afraid of the sorcerer but of the idea of something happening to the Princess. He would never forgive himself if harm has come to her. Not only would his reputation and pride as one of the strongest Knight of the Kingdom be wounded, but losing her would create a void in his heart that he was certain nothing and no one would be able to fill.

‘’Let me see your face, Knight,’’ Gwyn told him, voice slightly hoarse from screaming for so long. She wanted to look in the eyes of the one she has cherished in secret for years now. Azriel removed his helmet and bowed his head. Gwyn lifted a hand to his face. ‘’Thank you for coming to my rescue, Sir Azriel.’’

The Knight gulped. When he looked at the Princess, it reminded him of the first time those beautiful bright teal eyes has met his. She was sitting on her throne next to her mother, Queen Orla, wearing a white and gold dress. Her silver crown adorned with diamonds and blue sapphires was shining atop her bright copper hair. When he had knelt to pledge his life to them, Azriel had also unknowingly pledged his heart to the Princess. He imagined then that, as a Princess, Gwyneth would never see him as more than a servant of the crown. But when he had risen as Knight of Sangravah and looked into her eyes again, Azriel knew that he would love none but his Princess.

Azriel rised to his feet first. When Gwyn stood up, her feet felt slightly wobbly from being tied for so long. She placed her hands on Azriel’s chest to steady herself and blushed furiously when he reached out to support her by the waist.

‘’May I, Your Highness?’’ his deep, unsure voice made her cheeks heat even more. She did not even know what she was agreeing to but, not willing to put any distance between them, she nodded,. Azriel placed his broad hands behind her back and knees. He lifted Gwyn up in his arms and carried her out of the room, down the long staircase of the tower. She closed her eyes and imagined that, beneath his armour, his heart was beating as fast as hers was.

For a moment, she allowed herself to be foolish enough to think that he was also a little affected by her. After all, why would a Knight who was as strong and handsome as a God be interested in her. She might be a Princess, but she knows that, for a man like Azriel, there must have been an endless amount of attractive and outgoing women waiting in line for him.

Azriel whistled when they exited the tower. A smile broke on Gwyn’s face when Isis came of out at the line of trees and ran to them. She had often daydreamed about going horse-riding with Azriel; her riding Shadow, her horse who was as black as night, and him riding Isis, Shadow’s complete opposite.

There was an odd contrast between Azriel and Isis that has always fascinated her. Whenever Gwyn has caught glimpses of Azriel riding towards danger, she could not help but see him as a dark warrior crafted from death and darkness on top of the white mare that emanated a sense of light and life. As if life and death could not exist without the other. She sometimes dreamed that she was also a source of light in his life.

Azriel placed Gwyneth on the mare, making sure she was comfortable before he mounted to sit behind her. When he placed his hands on her sides to grab the bridle, she sighed and leaned her head back on his chest. Azriel’s heart fluttered in response and he bit his lip to stop the smile that threatened to give him hope that she was doing it on purpose.

They rode in a comfortable silence, alternating their pace along the way and stopping occasionally for a few minutes. The ride took longer now than when he rode at full speed without rest to get to her. But he would not mind spending months like this with Gwyneth. This might be the closest that he would ever get to the Princess. Azriel would do everything in his power to prevent her from being taken again, even if it meant going back to loving her from afar.

Gwyn tried to start a conversation on several occasions but gave up because she felt too nervous to come up with anything she thought was interesting enough to tell him. After about halfway to the castle, Gwyn fell asleep with Azriel’s arm wrapped safely around her to keep her from falling off. She smiled when she woke up with the feeling of his head resting on top of hers. Her smile faded away at the sight of the castle. She was glad to be home safely and not married to an old fool. But she also wished that the journey back was much longer.

Azriel helped her down when they stopped in front of the stairs leading to the castle. He looked at her and tried to remember the feeling of his hands around her waist, of her own hands gripping his arms.

They kept staring at each other until Gwyneth rose on her toes. ‘’Thank you Azriel,’’ she whispered in his ear before she kissed him on the cheek. She had already thank him before, but this time, with all titles removed, it felt more intimate. The sound of his name coming from her lips instantly made him fall harder for her. When she pulled back, Azriel noticed the deep blush that was spreading on her face. He opened his mouth to say something but was cut off by the voice of Queen Orla calling her daughter. Gwyn let go of Azriel’s arms and ran to her mother.

The Queen cried as she held her precious daughter in a tight hug. ‘’I am so sorry for what happened to you my jewel,’’ she told Gwyn. ‘’I was so worried about you.’’

‘’It’s alright mother. I am fine,’’ Gwyn smiled at the Queen to reassure her. ‘’Plus you sent your best Knight to get me.’’

‘’Gwyn I think this man is as besotted with you as you are with him.’’ Gwyn’s face paled and her eyes widened at her mother’s statement. Orla smiled at her daughter’s shocked expression and cupped Gwyn’s face between her palms. ‘’Did you really think I wouldn’t notice? I am your mother my dear.’’

Gwyn looked down and did not even try to deny her attraction for the Knight. Most of all, she did not dare let her mother know that it was much more than just a simple attraction. ‘’He is not besotted with me mother,’’ she mumbled.

The Queen tilted Gwyn’s head upwards to make her look at her again. ‘’I did not send Sir Azriel my dearest. He went to you on his own before I could even ask.’’ Gwyn was hit with another wave of shock. Her eyes immediately searched the yard of the castle to find her Knight, but he was already gone.

Thanks for reading! ♥️

[littleeyesofpallas]

I'm sorry if I've missed it, but have you discussed Komomura in depth here? I would love to hear your thoughts on this character and ending.

I have! But I am verymuch aware my random and erratic posting style makes old shit super hard to find and follow. I actually love getting little requests like this because it gives me an excuse to consolidate disparate thoughts on a character every once in a while. So buckle up, let's do a Komamura Sajin recap!

The surname Komamura is neat, it's made up of koma[狛] from komainu[狛犬] which are the "Liondog" statues used in Shinto shrines, and -mura[村]: "village." Straight forward, super appropriate, and tells us that somewhere out there there is in fact a proper settlement of wolf people, not just an old mandog in a cave.

His private name, Sajin[左陣] is written with "Left"(as opposed to right) and "(Battle)Formation/Encampment/Position" Which is again a play on the komainu, as they appear in pairs on either side of the entrance to a temple grounds. So literally he is the "left position stone dog" of the traditional pair. It does sort of imply there ought to be an Ujin[右陣]: "Right Position" complementary to him?

His shikai is just Tenken[天譴]: "Heaven + reprimand/censure/reproach" which is pretty straight forward but not especially descriptive. It is noticeably not the term Tenchu[天誅], which is lit."Heaven+DeathPenalty" but generally translated as "Divine Punishment" "Divine Justice" or "Divine Retribution." As far as I can tell it's meant to be pretty literally the act of being reprimanded, which is distinctly less severe than being executed...

But the big thing to dig into here is of course his bankai. Kokujou Tengen Myouou[黒縄天譴明王]

Kokujou[黒縄]: lit."Black + Rope/Cord" but refers to the Kalasutra, a level of buddhist "hell" in the somewhat elaborate layered structure of buddhist cosmological karmic penance. It is a place specifically for punishing killers* and thieves. It is so named as the monstrous torturers brand their charges with burning iron ropes/cords and then cut them along said branded lines. It is also supposed to be a burning copper plate, likely the reason Tenken's armor is the color it is.

Tengen[天譴] is still the same, the pronunciation just softens a little

Myouou[明王]: lit."Wisdom + King" is the two literal words put together but refers specifically to the so named figures in buddhist mythos. They are wrathful and often monstrous divine beings that punish those who would deviate from the path of buddha, hence Tenken/Tengen's seemingly mild use of "reprimand." There are various mythological structures that count them in sets of either 5, 8, or 10. (As it happens, one of them is Aizen Myouou[愛染明王], Aizen Sousuke's homonym namesake.)

*I could've sworn I heard that this is supposed to be a very specific subset of murderers but I cannot seem to find a specification on that now...

Initially this has a fun dynamic with Tousen's bankai, Suzumushi Tsuishiki: Enma Kourogi[清虫終式閻魔蟋蟀] as Enma[閻魔] aka "Yama" is the Buddhist king of hell and judge of the dead. In Chinese buddhist cosmology, which serves as a source of much of Japanese Buddhist mythos, he assumes the distinctly Chinese bureaucratic role of judge and not just king as he does in his earlier Hindu counterparts, and is the figure in charge of determining not only whom amongst the dead are sent to the naraka or not, but also which specific naraka they are assigned, according to their crimes in life.

The fun idea being that Tousen served as judge who determines guilt but that Komamura served as executioner to actually mete out punishment.

But with the added context of Komamura's meeting with the wolf elder, we learn some round about but really vital details about Bleach's Buddhist based world building. On the one hand, the elder's cave entrance is marked by a tori gate with shide paper wards, like the stone dogs they are all associated with Shinto shrines, and not generally Buddhism, save for when the lines between the two are blurred, which is admittedly not especially uncommon.

But when the elder talks about how the wolf clan is punished by their appearance for the crimes they've committed, and refers specifically to chikusho[畜生] which refers to "beast" or "animal" in terms of the buddhist wheel of reincarnation, and the "6 realms." It seems to confirm that Bleach's reincarnation cycle operates by Buddhist cosmological rules, suggesting that the wolf clan were all at one point souls in Hell who came back as subhumans almost as a kind of parole, not prisoners anymore but also not free to live with the full dignity of human personhood.

This in turn recontextualizes the reference to the Kalasutra naraka in Komamura's bankai, as the reflection of his inner soul as associated with a very specific place in hell implies that prior to being (re)born as a wolfman he served his penance in hell in Kalasutrea as a killer or thief.

In any case then there is his human form bankai, which retains all the previous bits but adds, Dangai Joue[断鎧縄衣]

Dan'[断]: "Abstain from..."/"Cut off..."

gai[鎧]: "Yoroi"(the specific iconic style of samurai armor)

Jou[縄]: "rope/cord" same as in Kokujou

e[衣]: "clothes/garment/robe"

Nothing special here, just a literal description as having discarded armor and now wears only ropes. Also while the "black rope" title refers to the naraka and thus doesn't necessitate literal ropes present in the original bankai design, this form does have literal black ropes, and in a sort of kabuki-esque nio-tasuki style; which i also recently went on a tangent about, which also evokes a left side and right side gateway statue imagery.

I think that covers most of the things I've ranted about concerning Komamura at different times...

[insomnias-transgender-bride]

Princess Angelina's Finishing Class

Angelina is one of the best hair dressers in town. Not only she is great with her job, but possesses an amazing personality. She is 5ft 8 inches tall, athletic body, blue eyes and her best asset long, straight, beautiful blonde hair.

One Saturday morning she was just checking her appointment dairy at the Salon, she was glad to find her friend Vanessa’s name in it for a haircut in the afternoon. It had been a long time since she had met her. Vanessa arrived right on time and both the girls hugged each other and were very glad to see each other.

Angelina: "Hey Vanessa you seem to have lost weight since I last saw you, and you look tired too. Is everything alright?"

Vanessa: "Oh I'm doing okay, just finished with my exams today, haven't slept too well. That's why just slightly tired." Angelina then asked Vanessa to sit on the chair and put a cape around her and started feeling Vanessa's hair.

Angelina: "Hey your hair has grown pretty long and it's looking good too, what do you have on mind for today."

Vanessa: "Chop them all off, give me a short bob Angie, I'm fed up of long hair, and want a change badly"

Angelina was quite shocked and said, "Something is wrong here, Vanessa tell me whats happening."

Vanessa had tears in her eyes and said, "My bf Victor has dumped me. We went around for a year and went to bed quite a few times and now he says, he's done with me and wants a change. I'm not sad about he dumping me, but to realize that I was just his door mat and was being used by him in bed is really eating me up. I really want a new look and begin fresh."

Angelina wiping Vanessa's tears said "Don't waste your precious tears on an ass hole like him. He didn't deserve you. Infact it's a good thing he left you, but such guys must be taught a lesson. Where do u think I will find him today? Do you have a picture of his?"

Vanessa: "Exams are over today so he will be partying at Copper Club tonight, here is a picture of him."

Angelina took the picture and put it in her bag and asked Vanessa to trust her with the haircut. She just trimmed it a little from behind and cut her hair in steps, gave her bangs in the front, and gave her large curls at the bottom, behind. It added a lot of bounce and her hair looked healthy and nice. Vanessa was quite pleased with the hairdo and thanked Angelina for the haircut and for being there for her. Angelina assured her everything would be fine, and that she should be ready for a surprise. Vanessa didn't really get what Angelina meant by "surprise" but she just grinned. Both girls exchanged kisses and Vanessa left with a smile on her face. A smile, which had deserted her since long, but she was not aware that she had more smiles to come. Where as Angelina again had a look at Victor's picture and said to herself, "Watch out Victor! It's been a long time since Princess Angelina has been in action. Roll out the red carpet. Princess Angelina is coming tonight."

Angelina reached Copper club by 10.30 pm. She stole everyone's attention the minute she walked in. She wore a black mini skirt, a red spaghetti top,immaculate make up and her long blonde hair left open ready to kill. She had a look around trying to spot Victor, but not making it obvious. Then in the corner of her eye she spotted him at the bar, staring at her. She was quite surprised with his personality, she was expecting a tall well built guy, but he was about the same height as her 5ft 8 inches, quite thin, collar length black hair and thick eyebrows was the only feature which made him looked masculine. She went and stood next to him and asked the guy at the bar for a bloody mary. Victor looked at her, and falling into the trap started a conversation with her.

Victor: "Hi Babes, never seen you around here, is this your first time in here."

Angelina: "Actually it is, I'm new in town, and was looking to make some new friends."

Victor: "I guess then your search ends here. Once you have Victor as your friend, you don't need thinking about anyone"

Angelina: "Oh! Is it? what's so special about you?"

Victor: "That's for me to know and for you to find out babes"

Angelina: "Very interesting, but I guess this place is too noisy to sit and find that out. Would u like to come home, I stay alone. Nobody to disturb us for hours. What say?"

Victor thought Christmas has come early this year, He felt absolutely jubilant to trap a fish so fast. But what he didn't know is that he was the fish accepting the bait so easily. Both of them got out of the club and proceeded to the "big net" Angelina‘s house.

As soon as they reached Angelina made him comfortable in the living room and asked him for a drink. Victor asked for some coke with rum. Angelina went to the kitchen and quickly returned with two glasses. She put them on the table and with great care picked up one glasses and handed it over to Victor. Both then started sipping their drink and got chatting. Angelina had actually mixed some tablets in Victors drink to drug him, but Victor wasn't showing any signs of that. Then Angelina threw the final bait saying, "Hey if you can finish your drink fast we can proceed to my bedroom and be more comfortable there." Victor was like "Sure" picked up his glass and gulped down the remaining drink. As he got up to go to the bedroom he started holding his head and fell down on the sofa. The fish was finally trapped. Game Set and Match to Miss Angelina.

When he regained conscious, he found himself lying completely naked on a bed with his hands spread on both the sides tied with handcuffs to the end of the bed and his legs handcuffed together at the ankles. He could taste something weird on his lips. He could see some daylight through a small window. He realized it was Sunday morning. Then he heard two girls giggling and chatting outside. He didn't have a clue as to what's happening. That's when he started shouting, "Hey Angelina why have you tied me here?" Angelina entered the room.. She was wearing blue denim shorts and a tight, short white blouse exposing her belly ring. Her hair was sensually piled up on top of her head with strands of hair falling on her face.

Angelina: "From now on you will call me Mistress Angelina, do you understand Loser, and you will be my slave and obey what ever I tell you. Is that clear?"

Victor: "What nonsense is all this. You Bitch just untie me and then see what I do."

Angelina: "Mind your tongue loser. You are already being punished for what you did to Vanessa. You don't want to increase your punishment, do you."

Victor: "Vanessa! Who Vanessa? I don't know any Vanessa."

Angelina shouted: "Hellooooo Vanessa."

Vanessa entered the room. She was casually dressed in jeans and a pink top and her hair tied up in a high pony tail. He was quite shocked to see her and then his face expressions showed that he now understood how and why he was trapped into this. Then gathering some courage he said:

Victor: "I'm gonna complain to the police that u have drugged me and now you both are blackmailing me."

Angelina: "Oh if you do anything like that we have a few pictures of yours, which we are planning to put it on social media and college Internet site. You would love to see those first before you think of doing anything. Vanessa let him have a look."

Vanessa sat next to him on the bed and showed him the pictures. There he was wearing a red and yellow floral dress, with dark red lipstick and heavy make up and his hair tied up in two tight ponytails on both the sides of his head with lots of barrettes and sliders all around. Since his hair was not very long, it looked even funnier. His thick eyebrows clearly suggested that a guy had been decked up. Then Vanessa with a huge grin took out a make up mirror from her pocket and showed it to Victor and the same face in the pictures reappeared. They had only taken off the dress but the remaining things remained. Victor started shouting and abusing. Angelina quickly gagged him with a red ball and then started clicking few more pictures of him lying naked. Victor desperately tried to untie himself but in vain. Then Angelina sat next to him and caught hold of his hair.

Angelina: "Now you can shout as much as you want, no one can hear you. But just keep this in mind, the minute you disobey us and try to act smart, these pictures would be the talk of the town. So it would be smart to be a good boy or rather shall I say good girl (giggling) and do as we tell you."

Victor then calmed down and realized that he was fighting a lost battle. He resigned to his fate and gave in. He was ready to be a toy in the hands of two hot beautiful women.

Angelina and Vanessa were just grinning at each other, waiting to start their party.

Angelina: "Okie sweet girlie, welcome to Angelina's Finishing Classes. I believe you have been very naughty in the past, now it’s time to pay the price for it. I believe you are expert at using people for your own selfish needs. Angelina will show you what it is to be used by others. After today you will never think of using anybody. From today, I believe you have vacations in college for two months. My maid servant and the receptionist at my salon are taking a leave for a month so who better than you to replace them sweetie. Morning shift you will do the entire house hold work, then from 11am to 6pm you will work as a receptionist at my salon, and after 6 pm, third shift you will serve me, your Mistress. That's your timetable for the month and after that if I feel you have been a good slave, then I will let you go. Vanessa have you thought of a name for our girlie?"

Vanessa: "Hmm How about Valerie?"

Angelina: "Oh! That's such a sweet name. Done your name from now on is Valerie."

Tears started rolling Victors eyes. But he was completely helpless. He was cornered from all sides. He had no option but to do as he was told.

Angelina wiping his tears: "Oh my sweetie don't cry. It’s not that bad, I will make it fun for you. Just promise me to be an obedient slave, never get me angry and everything will be wonderful Valerie. Ok let’s get started. Vanessa just clear his makeup, till then I will heat the wax."

Vanessa: "Shall I untie his ponytails too?"

Angelina: "No no leave them on, she looks so cute in them."

After a few minutes Angelina got some hot wax, and put it on a table beside the bed. "It's a good things you haven't removed his gag Vanessa, we will really need it," said Angelina and both girls burst out laughing. Victor was dreading every moment of it. He had heard from his girl friends how painful waxing was. Today he was going to experience it. That too full body waxing. Vanessa started with his feet and Angelina started with his face except his eyebrows. Both girls were giggling and enjoying every moment of it, where as poor Victor thought he was going to pass out or something, the pain was unbearable. Once they were done with the front, they untied him and started with the back. In an hour they had removed every trace of hair from his body other than hair on his eyebrows and head. Angelina then got some floral lotion to apply all over his body. This made his body look smooth and it also added a bit of glow.

Angelina: "Hey Vanessa, we better give him something to wear. Hes been naked since long."

Vanessa said giggling: "Oh! Don't worry about that, he loves to be naked specially with two hot chicks around."

Angelina: "Oh I see, I will keep that in mind while he is working in his third shift serving me. Giggles Now I guess get me a set of silky panties and bras from my drawer. Hey a nightie too, let him feel the silk all around his body. Valerie very soon is going to start loving this. What say Cutie?"

Victor didn't know where to look. He had never been humiliated like that before. He just sat there on the bed naked red in embarrassment.

Vanessa got a light lavender set of panties and bras and a dark lavender spaghetti nightie.

Angelina: "Nice colour Vanessa." Then holding the elastic of the panties, she turned to Victor and said, "Hurry up and step in Valerie, we have still loads to do." Victor got up and stepped in and Angelina placed the panties around his waist.

Angelina sarcastically: "Hey Vanessa aren't u feeling sorry to see your beloved ex bf in panties."

Vanessa: "Oh I'm loving it. I wished I would have done this earlier." giggles

Then Angelina asked Vanessa to hold Victor‘s both hands behind while she brought a box. Vanessa obliged, and victor's curiosity rose at to what was there in the box.

Angelina: "Don't look so worried sweetie, u just getting your normal organs. I have some wonderful C cups breast forms for you. Just stay still so that I can glue this properly. This will stay till a month at least. Don't you dare think of removing this. "

Victor's face dropped and tried to get away from Vanessa but she tightened her grip. "let me go" he said.

Angelina raised her voice: "Stay still sissy. You don't want me to put your lovely pictures on the net do you." Victor gave in.

She quickly glued the breast forms. Then she picked up the bra and Vanessa left his hands loose and Angelina slipped the bra in place and then she put the nightie over his head, which fell around his knees. There he was looking so feminine in a lavender nightie, breasts and a hairless body. The two ponytails made earlier with sliders and barrettes made him look even sweeter. The girls couldn't stop giggling. Angelina then passed on a small digital camera to Vanessa and she quickly took a couple of pictures. Click Click

Angelina then put a salon chair in front of her vanity. In the mean time Vanessa held Victor's hands and pulled him towards the chair and asked him to straighten the nightie before sitting. Angelina opened a drawer, took out a couple of ribbons and tied his hands to the arms of the chair.

Angelina: "I don't like a lot of movement when I'm working u see." Then she picked up a pair of tweezers and sat on Victor's lap facing him. It was an awkward position for Victor. He had a hot babe in shorts and tight blouse with all her hair put up in a messy manner sitting on his lap. He had longed for such moments but then he also realized he was losing his last signs of masculinity. His eyebrows.

Victor pleaded in a soft voice; "Please don't pluck my eyebrows. I will do whatever else u say. It will be very hard to hide these."

Angelina: "Don't be silly Valerie. You are not working as my receptionist with bushy eyebrows. What will my clients say." She just pushed his head behind on the chair and started plucking his eyebrows. Victor after the waxing session had thought that the painful part was over but he was mistaken. After about ten minutes Angelina stopped and asked Vanessa what she thought of it.

Vanessa came closer, put her finger on Victor's chin turned his face both sides and said, "A touch more thinner." giggles

Angelina: "I think so too" and started plucking again.

Victor knew that by now his masculinity was completely buried.

Angelina: "There you go. What say Vanessa?"

Vanessa: "Oh its just perfect Angie, I want to get mine done too in the similar way," she said jokingly.

Angelina got up and exposed the mirror to Victor. He actually looked through him. He couldn't believe it was him. It was as if a sweet girl with highly arched thin eyebrows stared back at him. What a difference eyebrows can make. No better person than Victor to ask.

Angelina: "Don't u like what u see sweetie? Wait till I'm done with your hair. From a sweet, cute girl, you will be transformed into a sexy, hot chick. Take my word for it."

Victor‘s raised newly arched eyebrows gave the message that he was really worried now. He wondered what are they going to do with his hair now. Nothing drastic he hoped. But the word "drastic" would be an understated adjective considering what Angelina had in mind for his hair.

Angelina: "Hey Vanessa just remove all the accessories from Valerie's hair till I get everything organized for her new hairdo."

Vanessa in a very teasing manner first started twirling and rolling her fingers in his ponytails. She seemed in no hurry. She kept staring at Victor through the mirror and kept grinning at him as if to ask him how is he enjoying his payback. While Victor couldn't look in her eye. He sat there embarrassed with his head down till she had finished removing all the hair accessories. In the mean time Angelina had kept a lot of tubes, lotions, combs and scissors ready on the dressing table. All this really intimidated him. He was use to comparatively less complicated visits to the barber.

Angelina: "Okie We are ready to go." Pouring an entire bottle of lotion into Victor's head.

Vanessa: "Whats that lotion Angie?"

Angelina: "Oh it's a new magical product. Girls who want long thick hair instantaneously, use this. One needs to first gently massage this lotion into the scalp and then constant brushing of the hair increases the length to the desired level."

Vanessa: "Amazing! I hope they come out with a lotion, which can eradicate fat instantaneously."

Angelina: "You never know, that might be quite possible with the way we progressing"

Angelina finished massaging the lotion and started brushing Victor's collar length hair.

Angelina continuing brushing: "You know Valerie, I could have given you wigs or extensions, but you wouldn't get to experience the feeling of someone's fingers gliding through your hair. You would miss that little "tickle" on your neck when someone is playing with your hair. Now u going to have your own long hair. Aren't you glad sweetie? " giggles

Victor looked quite anxious and stammered and said: "Ho.. how am I gonna manage and carry long hair. Please give me a short bob, or a pixie or something." He tried his best to get away with long hair, but Angelina was very clear with what she wanted.

Angelina still brushing: "Don't be crazy Valerie, more the hair, more the hair dos, more the fun. Don't deprive us of the fun we going to have playing with your hair cutie, and why fear when Angelina - The Best Hairdresser is here. I will give you amazing hair dos, not a strand of hair would be out of place. Look! You have beautiful thick waist length hair now."

Victor couldn't believe his eyes with all that hair falling over his shoulders close to his waist and his eyes nearly popped out when Angelina declared that she was going to colour it blonde.

Angelina: "Don't be so disappointed Valerie, remember Its Blondes who have all the fun." Giving a high five to Vanessa.

Angelina squeezed a couple of tubes in two different small containers and did a lot of mixing. Finally it seemed she was ready with what she wanted. Then she started parting his hair in sections and applying the colour and at times she would apply colour on a few streaks from the other container and wrap up that section of hair in foil. When she was finally done, she set up a timer.

Angelina: "Okay, I guess this is going to take a while. In the mean time I think Valerie needs a manicure and a pedicure. giggles What say Vanessa?"

Vanessa: "Oh that would be lovely, I guess I will take care of her toe nails and you focus on her manicure."

Angelina: "Cool! That would be perfect. In the mean while she would be ready for her haircut. I will just get all the tools."

Angelina opened a drawer and gathered quite a few things and Vanessa got some hot water in a small tub and before Victor knew it, they started filing his nails and cleaning his cuticles. After meticulously working for fifteen minutes they put his feet and hands in that tub. Victor didn't know how to react. He loved to be pampered in spas. This was like a dream come true for him with two hot blonde girls giving him a manicure and pedicure but at the same time he was confused as all this was coming at a price. His masculinity. He was wondering whether he should just accept everything and may be start enjoying the company of these two beautiful damsels.

Vanessa interrupted his thought flow and asked: "Hey Angie how about a bright pink nail polish?" Vanessa was done and ready to paint his toenails.

Angelina: "Nice! That would really be a great contrast to his lavender nightie, and besides bright pink goes with everything."

While Vanessa got into applying nail polish, Angelina started sticking acrylic extensions to his nails. Now he had femininely shaped long nails, ready to be painted bright pink. Once Angelina finished applying two coats she asked him to extend his fingers pointing them down.

Angelina: "Hmm Aren't your hands and feet looking wonderful Valerie? Lot of effort has gone in that. I think I'm gonna take my reward tonight." Grinning away to glory.

In the mean time, the timer started ringing and it was time to wash his hair and get ready for the cut. Vanessa took him to the bathroom, made him sit with the washbasin to his back with a towel wrapped around his neck and with a hand shower she started washing his hair. He loved the feeling of her soft hands massaging through his scalp. Then keeping the hand shower aside she started drying his hair gently. He could see her smiling all through. Then she wrapped up all his hair in the towel in a turban and with a huge grin and said, "Welcome to the world of blondes Valerie"

Angelina anxiously asked, "Hey how's the colour turned out?"

Vanessa walking in with the new babe: "It’s Amazing! I guess once again I'm falling in love with him.. oops I'mean her" laughing aloud.

Angelina had put on an apron all ready with combs, scissors razors and clips to begin her artistic work.

She got the new blonde seated on the chair facing the mirror and put a cape around him. Then she removed the towel from his head. The entire pile of hair fell all over his face. Victor couldn't believe his eyes. He now had long blonde hair with light blonde streaks. Angelina was satisfied with the colour and started parting his hair in sections and holding them there with clips. She kept working on them with great care and concentration. She didn't alter the length too much, cutting the hair in layers to give a feather cut and then used a razor cutting the edges for texture and movement. From the front she gave him long sweeping bangs and then finally she started blow-drying his hair. Vanessa in the mean time couldn't believe the transformation and was busy capturing the sight on camera. Angelina after she finished blow- drying got all his hair in the front falling over his shoulders almost reaching his stomach, with a few strands on the side framing his face. She then removed the cape and stepped aside to admire her master work. Victor was shocked to see himself, once Angelina stepped aside. All this while she blocked him from seeing himself in the mirror. Now he had a clear view. He couldn't believe his eyes. Was the reflection in the mirror lieing, he was wondering to himself. He had a hairstyle, which most women would die to get. Infact Angelina had given him a hairstyle quite similar to hers.

Angelina then went behind the new babe Valerie and collected all hair and put it up behind the head in a tight messy chignon. He was still in a daze when Vanessa now stepped in front and started cleaning up his face with moist cotton. He had not realized that she had collected many cosmetics and put them on the dressing table. She first started applying foundation all over his face. Then said, "Okie sweetie close your eyes" a light purple eye shadow was put on his eyelids. Vanessa next took an eyeliner and said, "Look up babes ... yeah that's like a nice girl," and she outlined the eyes. Then she attached false eyelashes and put some mascara on them followed by some pink blush on on the cheeks. "Now part your lips slightly," she said taking a pink lipstick and applying it twice. "There you go, beautiful, pink lips," smiled Vanessa, putting the lipstick back.

Then after she was done with the makeup she winked at Angelina and sat on Victor ‘s lap and held his hands tight together. Before Victor knew what was happening Angelina appeared from behind with a gun like tool and punched three holes in each of his ear lobes. She inserted silver hoops in the lower holes and delicate studs in the remaining holes. Victor cried out loudly in pain. "Oh Shut up! Now you realize how much pain a girl has to go through, and by the way you are not yet done," said Angelina She asked Vanessa to life his nightie and expose his naval and punched another hole and inserted a belly ring. Both the girls were taking him to a point of no return to get back to his manhood.

Angelina then started adding some more jewelry. She put a delicate gold chain with a heart pendant around the neck. Few bracelets and bangles in the hands and about six rings in the fingers. Three in each hand. Then she bent down and put silver anklets for the feet. Not a trick was missed to complete the transformation.

Angelina then opened a drawer and took out a pair of blue contact lenses and carefully placed it on his eyes. "Blonde girls and blue eyes really go well. What say Vanessa."

Vanessa: "Sure does but you know what Angie, with every step of transformation Valerie is looking more and more like you."

Angelina: "That's my plan sweetie. I wanted Valerie to resemble me. I always had this desire to have a girl looking like me under my control and I then can do anything with her. Finally today that day has come. "

Angelina then went behind Valerie opened up her clip. Parted her hair in the middle and put her hair in two bunches on both the sides. She pinned up his bangs with sliders with flowers on it.

Finally the transformation was complete. Angelina: "Okie get up Valerie and see the new you."

He looked into the mirror and he saw a sexy girl in a lavender nightie, thin arched eyebrows with two cute bunches of blonde highlighted hair, silver hoop earrings, pink nails, pink lips and blue eyes with perfect eye make up. No one could say he is a guy.

Vanessa: "Oh Valerie you look like such a sweetie," and kissed him on the cheeks.

Angelina: "Look at you Valerie, you look so hot, my guy friends would die to have a date with you."

Vanessa: "Oh but I'm going to date her first, Hey Angie if you don't mind, can I pick her up from your salon tomorrow evening for a night. I'm dieing to complete some unfinished business."

Angelina: "By all means Vanessa. You have first right over her, she is all yours."

Vanessa: "Thanks so much Angie. I better get going now. Its quite late. See you Valerie. Can’t wait for our date tomorrow." giggles She then hugged Angelina and left.

Angelina: "Hmmm I want to have some fun now. It’s time to serve your mistress Valerie. Take of your nightie and wait for me. I will be there with you in a minute."

Victor: "Yes mistress as you say." He was ready to do as said. He had resigned to his faith. He was still reluctant to be the house maid or receptionist at the salon but pretty much ready to serve his new mistress Princess Angelina.

Angelina came out in the same lavender bra and panty with her hair open. She sat on the chair and handed him a brush and asked him to start brushing her hair gently. Then she asked him to put her hair in the same style as his. Victor struggled a bit initially but then managed to pull it off. The same sliders went in. Angelina asked him to apply the same make up to her. Angelina obviously was getting her fantasy to life.

She then opened her wardrobe took out a strap on, put it on and approached her "twin." Angelina then pushed him on the bed and said, "Valerie are you ready for the time of your life?"

Victor hesitantly replied, "Yes Mistress."

Angelina went hard on Victor and there was a lot of moaning and groaning with Angelina above Victor. Lot of smooching and licking. Panties and bras flung across the room. They both had a real blast.

Then Angelina softly whispered in his ears, "Time to go to sleep Sweetie, you have a long and hard day tomorrow.

Victor gently replied, "As you say Mistress."

[scifrey]

NINE-TENTHS

Part Nine

"So what do I call you?" I ask when he gets back. I'm trying to offer an olive branch, or whatever it is when you've been an ass to the regular who has accompanied you to the hospital, even though he didn't have to.

Part of my question is because I don't know his name. But part of it is me realizing he's a dragon—I mean, I knew he was a dragon this whole time, the eyes give it away—which means he's probably got a fancy title. Duke McSootyClaws or something. 

They're always dukes in books.

"Oh." He freezes. "Dav, I suppose."

"You suppose?" I slouch, trying to find a position where my arm doesn't throb. I’m not having any luck.

"Alva-draig Tudor." This is the first time I've heard him actually sound miffed. 

He looks out of sorts for the first time, too. His pants are creased and smeared with ash, and his waistcoat is hanging open like a regency rake. His hair, normally straight out of an Errol Flynn flick, with a severe part and careful swoops on top, is a sort of frizzy orange flop across his forehead. He pushes it back irritably. He's rolled up the ragged ends of his sleeves so his shirt looks less like he stuck his hands in fire—which he absolutely did—and more like it's a sartorial choice. And wow, forearms. Trim, and muscley, and flecked with more of those intriguing gold-dust freckles and spun-copper hair and, yeah. 

It makes something in my middle flippy. Or maybe that’s the pain meds? One or the other. I’m too hot, and too cold, and sticky with pain-sweat, and kind of nauseous, and I want to close my eyes and lean against his shoulder and sleeeep. Ugh.

"Dav it is," I concede. "Middle name for a middle name, then. Colin Fergus Levesque."

I'm blinking dumbly, my eyelids heavy in a way that sucks because there's no way I a) could actually fall asleep here, and b) should fall asleep here, and c) will probably not be able to sleep later when the shock of being lightly-stabbed in the middle of my first (and hopefully last) industrial fire has worn off.

"A pleasure," Dav says as he sits. His whole face twists up when he realizes what he's said. "Well, not the part where I hurt you—and set fire to the—it's not actually been a pleasure—"

"No, I get what you mean," I say, cutting off his increasingly-desperate word-deluge.

I shimmy, looking for some moment of relief because this is awful. I just want to cry and I’m not going to, I’m not. The fingers of my right hand have started to tingle. Maybe something’s wrong with my arm. I could be paralyzed, or disfigured for life.

Shit.

"Though, draig is not my middle name," he adds softly. His voice sounds like it's coming through a tunnel. "It simply means dragon. We often append that to our given names. Rather like saying, ah, Joe and Not-Human Joe."

"Huh?"

"Dear lord." His voice is now deep in the cave, his face suddenly blocking my eye-line to the scuffed linoleum floor. One slender hand cradles first the back of my neck, then my cheek, then is laid against my forehead, then is gone. Gosh, he's warm. A miserable full-body shiver crawls over me. I wish he'd put his hand back on my nape. "You've gone dead pale. Colin?"

I wiggle my fingers, to prove to myself that I can, and the pain it stirs up is excruciating. 

Am I about to vomit? 

I might be about to vomit.

That wouldn't be even remotely cool and sexy.

"Hold still," he says, and then he's gone. 

Ha, like I have anywhere to go. Or the ability to get there.

The flip in my stomach is starting to feel more like a flop.

"He's coming out of shock," a new voice says over my head. A blanket whumps onto my lap. "Keep him warm. The painkillers have started to wear off."

"Then give him more," Dav says, and this is the first time I've heard him leader-ly. "He should be lying down."

I bet he's a duke. Maybe a baron. Do I address him as 'Lord' or…? Boy, he sounds authoritative. Why is he never bossy around me? It’s sexy.

"There's no beds," the nurse (the voice must be a nurse) says. "We'll push him up the queue."

"I'll get you some water," Dav says, and the nurse tells him not to. No food, either. He tucks the blanket around me, aggravated, and I swat him away.

"Hurts," I tell him when he yanks. "Knock it off." He steps back, lets out a frustrated sort of hissing noise that I had no idea dragons made, and is absolutely not adorable. "Go for a walk or something."

"I don't—"

"There's a Timmie's in the lobby."

"Their coffee is wretched."

"It's hot."

"It's not yours."

At some point my eyes closed, because I need to pry them open to squint at Dav. 

"Say what?"

"It's not…" he starts, but my head is swimming and I don't catch the rest. "...-lin? Colin?"

"Don't drink it then. It's just an excuse to get you to stop fussing."

"Do you want me to go away?"

His stupid wounded expression hooks into me, tugs at the squishy bit behind my breastbone where my heart is working overtime. A part of me wants to, so badly, say No, please stay, hold me. I'm actually scared. I want my Mum. Instead I say: "I’m fine on my own."

"I don't think you are," Dav says quietly. He crouches down in front of me again, slacks pulling tight across his thighs. "The nurse said no food or water. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

I open my mouth to say shush and let me sleep, but what comes out is: "My sister used to read to me."

Fuck. 

I did not mean to say that.

Now he knows I have a sister, and maybe he thinks I'm some sort of lame pansy for reading romances, and I'm not ashamed, but what if he thinks it's something shameful, and how could I ever like someone who thinks having a nice relationship with his sister is shameful and— I'm panicking, I realize belatedly.

Previous Part | Next Part | Read on Wattpad

[eli-writes-sometimes]

Seven Snippets, Seven People

Tagged by @lyssentome, thanks for that!

Rules: post seven snippets and tag seven people.

This is gonna be a long one so snippets will be under the cut

1.

“Right, here’s two black roses. That’ll be five coppers, if you’ll be so kind.” I start as Hunter returns, clutching a small glass with two delicate black roses in them, and waves her hand in the air as my father reaches into his pocket for the money. 

“I’m sure you know what you’re doing, Hunter, but I have to ask. Why are you doing that thing with your hand?” I ask, and hope that the question doesn’t come across as offensive - I can’t be seen as intolerant towards others, even if their actions make no sense. 

“Oh, don’t you know? This is how I water my plants! There’s a lot of water in the air that we can’t see, and I can manipulate it to get enough water for all my plants, like this!”

She pulls her hand sharply back towards herself, and droplets of water begin to appear in the glass, quickly filling it up past the stems of the roses, which almost begin to look fuller and healthier, although that might just be a trick of my imagination. 

“Very impressive.” I say, and she smiles. I’m glad to hand out validation when these people probably don’t get it from elsewhere.

2.

“I thought that we were going to pay our respects. She is dead, after all.” “Well, I can see why you might have thought that. But, due to…” His eyebrows start to come closer, only slightly, but I instantly recognise his face reserved for considering the exact words to say to someone that means that they will agree with him and stay calm. Finally, he sighs, and gives me whatever version of events that he believes that I will take the best way. “Due to the manner of the incident that has occurred, it would be best for our public image for us to make a statement, separating this incident from our name.” “Yes. You said.” 

The comment slips out more deadpan than I intended, and my father clearly notices. 

“Excuse me?” “Well, you’ve been very clear that you want to separate our name from this incident, but you’ve been adamant on just changing the subject, or saying that I wouldn’t believe you. But here’s the thing. Every time that you say that I wouldn’t believe you, it makes me more and more inclined to not believe you. So, are you going to give me a straight answer, or am I going to turn around and walk back home, sending you to your little reputation-ruining eulogy with nothing.”

3.

“I- What are you talking about?” “Trust me. Please.” “I can’t! How can I trust you when you keep avoiding the question like it’s an assassin with a knife?” “I- It’s hard for me to talk about this. Can’t you have some respect for your father for once?”

He’s wrong. I know that he’s wrong, he probably knows it too. But he’ll never back down, and we both know that, as long as no-one saw it, it never happened. 

The beauty of politics, he calls it. The horror, more like, but I’d never tell him that. 

He looks back at me with that smug, smug look on his face, and we both know that there’s nothing I can do or say that will ever come close to outsmarting him.  I sigh, defeated. “Sorry, Father.” “Of course. I can forgive you this, because this must be a lot to take in. That comment may have been slightly uncalled for, and I apologise for that if that will help you calm down. I need you to be upset but not in a state in which you cannot deliver a speech.”

4.

“Now, get dressed quickly. Formal attire, obviously. Wear something black, and have a rose in your hair.” “A rose? Who’s dead?”

Wearing a rose is the highest form of respect for someone who has passed, and people of our societal level would only wear it for someone incredibly important or close to us. 

“Alya Maxwell.” His tone is as monotonous as ever, and he looks almost surprised when I recoil in horror. “Alya’s dead? Gods, Father, break it to me gently!” Even as I say it, I wince and shrink back, hoping he won’t notice me taking the name of the Gods in vain. 

He gives me a withering look, his purple eyes boring into mine, but quickly replaces it with an uncharacteristic look of sympathy as he takes in the look on my face. Alya never meant that much to me, but I still find myself feeling upset on her behalf. Unlike my father would like to believe, I do still have feelings.

5.

My father would never admit something like that. He always wants to keep up his image of a perfect man with a perfect life, and not just in front of the crowds. He’ll never admit he doesn’t know something, not even to me. 

“I- no reason. Sorry, Father.” “Hm. Well, we’re nearly here. Ah, but let’s make a stop here. I see you haven’t got the rose I asked you to get.” He gestures at a flower shop, and I feel my face growing red.

“We didn’t have any!” He smiles as I start to get defensive, and I fight off the defeated sigh that is attempting to force its way up my throat. I’ve always hated when he does that, when he laughs at my pain. I just tell myself that it’s because he has a lot on his mind, and hope that, if I say it enough, I might start to believe it. 

“Right, right, of course.” He says, almost chuckling at the expression on my face, and I fight down the urge to get even angrier. We’re in public, and I know what happens when I make a scene in public. If I embarrass him, then I embarrass myself, and if we fall out of public favour, we’re ruined. Reputation is everything, and we both know that. 

6.

“Wait a second. Memorial?” “You think something like that could happen and Alya would survive?” “Maybe! She’s a resilient woman!” “Right. But not that resilient. Someone tried to go in and look for her, and the shadows flew out at him, knocked him to the floor like a ragdoll.” “They’re physical things?”

This is bad. I’ve never heard much about shadow manipulators - there seems to be some kind of town wide taboo on the subject, and no one seems to be able to broach the subject without getting really paranoid, looking over their shoulders like the law-enforcement officers are going to jump out behind them and arrest them for disturbing the peace - but of the few nuggets of information that I’ve been able to get out of them, the shadows created by those that could control them were never physical things, and only the most powerful could actually solidify them. 

7.

My job isn’t as bad as it could be, and my charisma has to count for something, because I probably wouldn’t be here today if I didn’t have it. I’ve managed to make at least one “friend” with the personality that I built for myself, and they seem to tolerate me, for now. I don’t know what will happen when they find out what I really am, but I suppose I’ll burn that bridge when I get to it, just like all the others. There's a reason that I took the name Ashes. 

But, all things considered, the people here do seem to tolerate me, at least. They trust me enough to open up to me, at least, so that’s why I’m not as surprised as I maybe should be when Kallisto Ried, my only “friend”, and a regular of the Black Swan. 

I’m polishing the glassware, just like any other day, facing away from the door towards the area in the back where I can hear Jett, the owner of the tavern, chastising Alekto, the guy supposed to be helping me on my shift, for being late again, and him once again pleading guilty to spending too much time with his boyfriend. I sigh, not being one for romance, and turn back to the door, where I hear a loud crash, and the door suddenly swings inward violently, and Kallsito runs in.

Tagging - @mariahwritesstuff @elizaellwrites @druidx @writeintrees @ehlaaaaaaaa @rms-writes @e-lisard

[deathinterrupted]

“listen, asshole. i’m gonna carry you home whether you like it or not. you’re not in any condition to get there yourself.” From Wrath.

Gabriel’s eyes narrow as he spits, tasting the copper of blood coating the inside of his mouth. His lips busted, brow cut and he swears faintly he can see spots dancing in the corner of his eyes but he forces himself to try and stand anyways. A lot of good it does him though, for the moment he starts to move, his knees give out sending him straight back onto his ass and he growls. “You know what!” He shouts up at them, “you can’t call me an asshole and then try and do something nice, so either fuck off or…” he doesn’t know what else to say as a wave of dizziness washes over him, whatever was on the tip of that blade has really fucked him over. He looks down at his shirt and winces but he realizes that he’s not healing, not very fast anyways so it’s either deal with Mr. attitude here or… stay the night on the streets and hope it doesn’t rain.

As if on cue thunder rumbles overhead, expression turning deadpanned before he’s reaching a hand out. “Fine, but don’t blame me when you have blood all over your suit, I’m not paying for your dry cleaning and I sure as hell am not inviting you in for a drink.” Lies he tells himself, he won’t even be able to get inside his house without their help let alone get himself a drink. But, Gabriel thinks as he feels them pulling him up, tossing his arm over their shoulders and wincing, maybe it won’t be so bad to have some help after all.

@learnedlucidity

[chimpgames]

heres a little excerpt from a scene in twilight epoch.

for both immersion reasons and general limitations of trying to solo dev a whole ass jrpg, the vast majority of the story is told through prose, as opposed to the usual cutscenes or dialogue boxes.

i won't be posting many of these because i don't want to spoil the story, also i have a suspicion no ones going to bother reading it until they're playing the thing, but i want to post at least one to give you an idea of what to expect.

the party have arrived at New Magness, the capital city of Union Prime, historically known as Terra. Dusk, the main character, has been taken in for a medical examination for reasons i won't spoil. while waiting, Lua, Mush and Copper hit downtown with the newly met union fleet officer Jenny Gun, who has been tasked with accompanying the party on their soon-to-be mission.

i'm sort of assuming that most reading this have been following the game and recognise the party member names, but if not it doesn't matter too much.

------------------------------------------------------------------

"This was a favourite of mine, a year ago when I was with the police department. Good for a bite if I got lucky with the calls."

It was a diner on a corner. Above it's wide and tall windows with only thin frame, a scrolling light-diode text wrapped around the bevel of the building, unreadable to Lua and Mush.

"Hey waidda minute, how come we can hear each-other but can't read the signs?"

"Visual translation can lead to hallucinations. Audio's good enough." Lua answered absently, eyes following the scroll to try and translate it manually.

"Fifty Brothers: Finest Pitta" Copper read the name, buried among other superlatives claiming it to be the best, most eminent diner of all time.

"Fifty..." sucking his pipe.

"Yeah, the owners, uh, Anamian. They get busy."

"So no seafood here then, I take it?" blowing.

"Heh heh. Yeah, no."

"Bah." throwing his hand and turning. "If it ain't got seafood, lass, it ain't got me; not with a pitta place. I'll look elsewhere then come back for a pint." trailing off into the streets darkness, the glow of his pipe fading.

"Alllrighty."

"But he's missing out." she side-mouthed with chin-tucked, smiling to the other two.

The interior was a clinical white, between the white fluorescent lights and less-white square tiles plastered with vague faded footprints and very un-clinical pools of grease beside a no mans land of fallen straws and condiment packets.

Parallel to the large windows were three tables with four stools each, capped with red cushion. The counter was steel, and had no seats, meant only for ordering to the fish-like man with a uniform apron and cap. Gun greeted him with a nod, and the others took the one free table in the centre.

Neither really knew what a 'pitta' was. Craning or just straight up extending their necks to take a glance over a wrapping from a stood up customer revealed a cradle of flatbread holding spread cheese, with pockets of what looked like moretum (which Lua had never been able to find anywhere beyond her home island), topped with large tomato pieces and pomegranate.

Ten minutes later, they were halfway through one and pleased. Lua more so, as she cut surgical pieces to get the most variety of flavour out of one bite.

"You said you were with the police department just a year ago?" daintily sliding a quarter tomato off her fork.

"E-yuh huh." chewing.

"You've got a fast career if you're in Union fleet now, then." with slight disbelief.

"Mmm..." considering then swallowing. "It was more like a transfer."

"Oh?"

"They've been delegating fleet positions to PD's all across the plane. I think they're just short-handed. There's talk of some big project too, but that's, uh."

She zipped her lips. "Don't have the clearance to know the first thing about it."

"S'why the streets, umm..." stabbing her food "aren't looking the best right now." taking a cheekful. "I feel bad for the people still on the force dealing with all the staff cuts."

"Erm. Staffs are a blunt weapon." Mush raised his finger with eyes morphed into glasses. Lua huffed.

She swirled her drink.

"So is that why the admiral was so welcoming? They need more people?"

"Ehhh. Maybe. I think he was feelin' more genial than usual; eager to talk to someone. Though he's been a little odd in general."

She thought back to anything odd about him besides his cooperation.

"How so?"

"Well, he just came back from a three month deep space expedition near Terra Relicta; there were highly unusual readings. Travelled there for weeks, searched for a week."

A cold swig of beer slushed, and she breathed out.

"Didn't find Jack Thompson, unfortch."

"Who?" Mush whispered, looking up to Lua.

"Jack didd-ely squat. Nothing." She elaborated over the lip of the bottle. "Which musta been pretty demoralising, coming back empty handed after all that time cooped up in space. So he's not quite himself, if you feel me."

"I see." Lua muttered.

A tendril pushed against the tile floor, then wiped off some grease on the edge of the stool cushion. Mush spun around and round slowly on the stool.

"Waaaaaaidda minute." volume dipping and rising as he spun.

"We were just in Terra-raricta. N' it took us like a week to get here. Why'd the brown guy take three months?"

"Mush..." Lua facepalmed.

"Well, he says it how it is, don't he?" grinning.

"Admiral Thymes took that long because he travelled on a ship."

"Uh, yah, but can't ships do the tangly thingy?" still spinning.

"There's no computer powerful enough in the Weave to calculate entangling a mass as large and complex as a fleet ship."

"Basically," Gun joined "A ships too big to fit through a lightthread, so they have to travel the actual space between planes instead of just zippin' around between them."

Lua propped and looked out of the window. "Unless its a really small ship like ours, designed to do it."

She took a bite of moretum. Then, snorted derisively. "Or a plane-buster, stars forbid, those'll fit."

Mush stopped. "Oooh, whats that?"

"Big bomb. Kills billions. Booooooom." deadpan, waving her hands then falling back onto her propping palm.

"Every power with a tail has one, because... because I don't know, I guess we're all neanderthals." Lua trailed off to a glass of water, sighing.

Dishes clanked and stoves burned quietly behind the counter, just beneath the hum of a fly-trap.

Gun cleared her throat. "Well, the Union has no plans of using one. They're for worst-case scenario self-defense."

"Yeah, probably..."

"Probably? Try 'definitely'. Peace is our top priority." putting down her drink and limply pointing.

Lua scoffed. "I wish I could say the same about Ta'al."

Nails tapped rhythmically on the table.

"...Is it my place to pry?" she ventured.

"Pry til the last plane fades, nectar." chuckling. "I don't give a θΞΨΠ about them, I'm an exile. I'll tell you hegemony secrets, everything. I was barely a Ta'al to begin with."

Gun leant back, with a look to the ceiling, then a smirk with eye contact.

"Sound's like you could do with a stronger drink, 'nectar'."

"Huh?" she sat up, confused.

"Oh, no, no. But thank you." lightening and shaking her head. "I only used to drink vine, uh, you know" she giggled "on occasion."

"I sip Oh jay..." Mush said quietly, rolling his lips like a playa.

"Vine? What, like fruits off a vine, fermented?"

"Yes." pleasantly surprised. "But, um... you don't have that here, do you?"

She clucked, wagging her finger. "Ah, but we do. Add another 'v', there."

"...vuh-vine?"

"YE WON'T GET WINE AT A MANKY ESTABLISHMENT THE LIKES OF THIS, YE FOOLISH WOMAN." a muffled voice boomed through the window beside them, attracting the attention of everyone in the room, staring at the 8 foot tall metal man framed by two very startled people and a mushroom.

"How long was he...?"

"Like, ten seconds ago." Mush answered.

"THERE'S NARY A FINE BROAD NOR A LOBSTER TO BE FOUND ON THESE BARREN STREETS!!" with desperation, tipping a trash can and stomping off into the darkness, making a pair of teenage girls shriek.

"RAAAAAGH!!" distantly, beside passing sirens.

Everyone else resumed eating, inside the coughing ambience of the diner.

"He's uh, gonna get fined if he gets caught doing that." Gun said with a dry throat.

"I think we should round him up then go check on Dusk..." muttered.

They nodded.