#hes excited for my letter hes excited excited for my letter hes excited for the letter the letter that i sent

[liahaslosthermind]

~𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐩𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭~ Part 2

Part 2 of The Spy Master's Secret Find more ACOTAR works here! Summary: The strange scent of an unknown female and a... love letter? Warnings: Out of character bat boys? idk but they are happy and brotherly and all is good in this, Mention of illicit affairs (just teasing), Bad injuries, Inner Circle loves to STAY in Azriel's business, I actually write Rhys as not an asshole in this one

The Spymaster had a dirty little secret.

Well, not really. But she loved to tease Azriel by referring to herself as such. 

He always pretended to hate it, but he could never fight the smile he got when hearing her refer to herself as his dirty little secret.

Deep down, he knew she did it just to see that damned smile.

He wasn’t smiling right now though, as he sat in his office after a rather… tiresome mission and got berated by his dirty little secret in question. 

While the conversation wasn’t pleasant, a wave of disappointment hit Azriel as he heard the combined footsteps of the High Lord and his General.

With one last scathing look, she walked into the shadows once more.

“Az! Rhysand and I were… was someone else just in here?” Cassian asked, stopping whatever thought was so important in the moment that both brothers had to interrupt him, but not important enough to finish.

“No.”

“Azriel, we can smell that a female was in here… a rather excited one at that.” Rhysand said, slightly wincing at his word choice.

“Oh my Mother, Azriel is having an illicit affair with an unknown female in his office.” Cassian teased, bouncing on his feet at the excitement the mere idea gave him.

“Yes, Cassian. I found time while finishing paperwork from the two week long mission I went on to have a clandestine meeting with a woman.” Azriel grumbled. He played it off as a ridiculous thing to think, but it wasn’t actually that far from the truth. In reality, she didn’t really give him any time nor warning to find the time to get yelled at by her.

“Who is she? Do we know her? Nesta is going to die when I tell her we caught you post-hot and steamy meeting with a mystery woman.”

“I didn’t mean excited as in aroused, you idiot.” Rhysand said while smacking the back of Cassian’s head. “Is this the so-called best friend? And how did you get someone to winnow in and out of here without being detected?” 

“She didn’t winnow.”

“But her scent starts and ends in this room?” Cassian jumped in, still rubbing the back of his head.

“Yes.”

Both brothers waited for more information, till they remembered who they were talking to. Rhysand caught sight of the Shadows once more appearing in the room. “Did- did she shadow walk?” That seemed like the only explanation, but how could she have done such a thing without Azriel? She couldn't have been able to unless…

“Please tell me you did not find another fucking Shadowsinger and not tell us immediately.” Cassian begged.

“I didn’t find another Shadowsinger and not tell you immediately.” Azriel replied sarcastically. 

“Wait, so did you or did you not?”

“I didn’t.” He replied truthfully. Not that the two bastards standing in front of him could tell.

Realizing that once again Azriel wasn’t going to give more than he wanted to, Cassian and Rhysand gave up, finally explaining what they had actually come into the room for. 

----

“I swear to you Feyre, Darling. Just smell his office!” Rhysand said as he led his mate, with Cassian and Nesta in toe, to the Spy Master’s office.

He had sent Azriel on a bullshit errand in order to get the two Archeron sisters to experience it for themselves, having not believed either of the two Illyrians. 

Azriel knew it was a bullshit errand, but he also knew he didn’t want to deal with whatever Rhysand was planning on doing without his knowledge. 

“All I can smell is Cassian’s sweaty leathers.” Nesta said, coughing at the smell.

“I just washed them!” Cassian replied defensively. This only made Nesta gag, the smell strong enough to prevail even after a deep clean.

The two began to bicker, Rhysand joining in, as Feyre snooped around, not having had the opportunity to really look around Az’s office before. 

She had been content in her observations, ready to stop the argument about Cassian's eternal body odor, when she spotted a letter in beautiful handwriting.

She couldn’t read the letter, it had been written in a language she had never seen. Just as she began to lose interest, the sign off startled her.

“What the fuck?” she yelled, startling the rest of the occupants in the room.

“What's wrong?” Nesta asked, concerned at the sudden swearing. The vulgarity was normal for the eldest Archeron but not so much with the youngest. 

As Feyre pointed to the letter, Rhysand walked around to look at it, also unable to read whatever language it was written in. 

“Must be from one of his spies. Some kind of thing only they can read.” He reasoned.

“Why would he talk to his spies like this?” She asked, pointing to the ending, reading it out for the other two in the room.

𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓼 𝓲𝓷 𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓭, 𝓫𝓸𝓭𝔂, 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓼𝓸𝓾𝓵,

𝓐𝔃𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓵

A stunned silence filled the room. This was a strangely poetic side of Azriel none of them had ever witnessed. Before any questions could be asked, a crash sounded from the balcony. 

There, the poet in question held his stomach, seemingly trying to stop his organs from falling out. 

—

“How do you feel?” Rhysand asked his brother, finally waking up after a long few days asleep.

“Like death.” Azriel answered, head pounding from the light, even though it was as dark as possible, minus the candle that was lit on the far side of the room inhibited by the rest of the Inner Circle.

“Good. You are an asshole for staying on the brink of death for days straight. You stressed us out enough with your dramatics. I hope you hurt for a little.” Nesta said, trying to hide her relief at Az’s sudden consciousness. 

“It isn’t my fault I was attacked while having to search every art supply store in Velaris for certain paints Rhys wanted for Feyre. Which by the way, Rhysand, don’t exist. So fuck you for that.”

Rhysand grimaced. Feyre sent him a feeling down the bond he knew meant he was in for a lot of berating later. 

“At least you are on the mend. Madja said the poison coating their weapons is what really did you in. Once she found the anecdote you started healing. So, no hard feelings. Everyone is happy now, yes?” Cassian explained, a forced smile on his face as he hoped Rhysand wouldn’t bring up the fact it was his idea to send Az on the impossible paint run. 

“Actually, I have a few choice words for the Shadowsinger.” A new voice replied, startling every single person in the room. Well, all except one.

Azriel groaned in his bed, wishing the headache was worse just so he didn’t have to go through what he knew was unavoidable. 

“You know, we have a rule. No taking what isn’t ours without explicit permission from the other. 500 years is a long time to obey that rule just to throw it out the window.” The mysterious fae female scolded.

The rest of the room was in a stunned silence. Hands on weapons, magic at their fingertips, ready to fight whoever this was the second the shock wore off. 

“Who the fuck is this?” Cassian yelled.

A reasonable question.

The sound made Azriel wince, head still pounding. But it was about to get way worse. 

“My carranam.” The Spy Master replied.

A/n: sooo part 3?

[demonic0angel]

"If you give me a prompt I'll write it 😈" - Aight Bet.

Danny didn't expect his sister to have a pen pal, she said it's someone from nanda Parbat?? Danny doesn't know where the Fuck that is but everytime he sees the letter that was sent(those are some fancy lookin envelopes) he could feel rancid Ectoplasm lingering around them.

Jazz has already noticed but took no caution about it, Jazz said that she had a son, her name was Talia (No Mentioned Last name) and she was a very odd woman.

Danny listened to Jazz ramble on about her new "friend", Her son Damian which her pen pal had talked about and even sent a drawing of(how fancy). Danny WOULD investigate and dig deep into it since he's the ghost king and all but jazz explicitly told him not to.

....

Meanwhile, Jazz plans to meet her 'Penpal Friend' soon. She's very excited but still cautious, The way her friend talked about her situations was... Concerning to say the least and jazz shall use her psychiatrical expertise to help her!

[Danny is very concerned, Dan is Very Concerned 2.0, Dani says "Yuri."]

-A.E. 👻

(I’m gonna change the context of your ask a little so Jazz already knows Talia’s identity before she meets her again in person. Also, this got really long lmaooo)

Talia gave her a small nod when she saw her. She lifted her head to meet Jazz’s gaze as Jazz gave her a dazzling smile.

“Hello, Talia,” Jazz said, pushing her hair behind her ears. “You look lovely.”

Talia avoided her gaze and just hummed. She cleared her throat lightly and then said, gesturing to the hallway, “This way.”

Jazz followed her at a set pace and said, “It’s good seeing you again. How are you? Did you enjoy the candy I shipped over?”

Talia nodded. “Yes. I gave them to my son and he enjoyed them. Thank you very much.”

Jazz beamed. She did not ask the burning question in her heart. Was Talia alright? Her letters to her had become less and less frequent in the past year before the most recent message to her had been a barely disguised begging for Jazz to come see her.

Jazz didn’t mind; she loved seeing Talia, who was startlingly dangerous and hauntingly beautiful, but it still worried her. Talia was a strong woman, but she wasn’t invincible, even with that pool of rancid ectoplasmic bath water. (She shuddered just thinking about it. She needed to ask Danny to wipe them out before Talia could hurt herself again using them.)

“Where are we going?” Jazz asked, glancing around. They were inside of a nice, expensive looking condo in Spain.

Talia paused in front of a door. She hesitated before she said slowly, “Jazz… I have valued your friendship greatly. In the last few years, you have become someone very dear to me. However, as you are already aware, I am in a dangerous position in my home. I do not wish to endanger you, especially since you are a civilian. If you do not wish to take this journey with me, then… you should turn around now.”

Jazz chuckled. How cute that Talia thought that Jazz was a helpless civilian. However, it had been Jazz who had accidentally enforced that idea within Talia’s mind. It was a little too late to correct that notion though, so Jazz just shook her head softly and tried to look reassuring for Talia.

“It’s too late for that.” She reached out to hold Talia’s hand, scarred and weathered from fighting, squeezing slightly. “I will accompany you and help you however I can.”

Talia nodded again, looking away. “Thank you… beloved.”

Jazz tilted her head curiously at the title, but did not say a word. Talia then opened the door and Jazz’s eyebrows rose as she stared at a young boy with similar features to the woman beside her. He scowled at her, but it just looked cute with his round cheeks.

Jazz turned to Talia. She already had an inkling, but she wanted to confirm. “This is…?”

“My son,” Talia said, “His name is Damian. And I earnestly beg you to take him in for me.”

“What! But mother!” Damian stood up and shouted, while Jazz’s eyebrows shot up again.

Talia gave him a light glare. She turned back to Jazz and it was cute how she had to look up at her. “My father is increasing pressure on us, and he is training Damian even harder. If this continues, Damian’s life could be in danger. I would’ve left him with his father, but Bruce’s lifestyle is… not what I want for Damian. Please, could you take him in, beloved?”

Damian shut his mouth with a click and both Al Ghuls stared at Jazz with wide eyes, one beseeching and one shocked.

Jazz smiled and reached out to hold Talia’s hand again. It was really nice to hold, and warm too. “Of course. You don’t have to worry, Talia. Like I’ve said, you can depend on me.”

Talia beamed. “Thank you, beloved.” She flipped Jazz’s hand and kissed the back of it softly. Jazz blushed. It felt strangely… intimate? But who was Jazz to judge? Maybe it was a League of Assassins custom! Or something! She didn’t get to meet Talia often, usually just exchanging weekly letters, so how would she know?

Talia turned back to Damian, still holding Jazz’s hand and said, “She will be your new caretaker. She is very important to me and you can trust her with your life. Call her… mom.”

Jazz side eyed Talia, but did not dispute it. Maybe it was some sort of spy plan? Like a code name? It would make more sense when a woman and a young boy were together for them to be mother and son.

Jazz also turned to Damian and let go of Talia’s hand to walk over to him slowly, keeping an open posture and friendly smile on her face.

Damian eyed Jazz as she approached and then knelt down respectfully before him. She smiled. “Hello, Damian. I’m Jazz, and I hope we can get along.”

Damian looked at his mother. They had some sort of silent conversation that Jazz did not understand, before Damian turned back to her. “Yes… it’s nice to meet you too… mom.”

Jazz smiled. “I’ll take care of you.”

Damian sniffed. “I certainly hope so.” He tried to look haughty, but he was so short compared to Jazz that it once again looked adorable and pouty.

Yep. It was official. Her siblings were going to eat him alive.

Jazz looked back at Talia, who was staring at them both with a soft expression. Strangely, the gentle look made Jazz’s stomach flutter.

Weird. Was she growing sick?

Talia blinked, noticing her gaze. “Is there something wrong, beloved?”

Jazz coughed at the nickname again. Damian eyed her like she was a walking disease and Talia just looked more and more worried. “Nope! So, uh, what’s the official plan?”

She stared at Talia, who just blinked and hummed, pursing her red, kissable lips.

Yep. Definitely sick.

(Talia: Heh! Cool, calm, and collected, with a dash of vulnerability! I’m definitely showing my best side to my beloved, Jazz! She’s so much better than that emotionally constipated Bruce!

Jazz: *completely and utterly oblivious to any advances made by another woman* Wow, Talia is so pretty today too. Surely, it is normal to want to hold hands and kiss another girl because she’s so pretty 😃 I wonder why she wants her kid to call me mom? 😃

Damian: …. Two moms? Is this my birthday?)

[anakinstwinklebunny]

Author's note: smth for my angsty people. Inspo from amazing writer of all times @rssmary

SAM MONROE thought he'd never find someone who truly understood him. Then there was you—brilliant, kind, and everything he didn’t think he deserved. You were his lifeline, the one who believed in him when no one else did. When you told him you were pregnant, he was terrified, but your excitement and unwavering faith in him made him believe he could be better for you—for both of you.

But life is cruel.

The labor was supposed to be hard but worth it. Everyone told him that once he heard the baby’s first cry, he’d forget the pain of waiting. But when your hand went limp in his, and the machines blared around him, he forgot everything else instead.

Time stopped as they pulled him away, shoving your baby into his arms while they tried to save you. The nurses told him to hold on to the little one, to stay strong, but all he could do was stare at your lifeless body through the window, his mind refusing to accept the reality.

You were gone..

You

Were

Gone

He tried to understand the meaning of the words

Days bled into nights as Sam sat in the nursery, the small bassinet feeling like a cruel mockery. The baby—their baby—was beautiful, with tiny fingers and your nose. But every time he looked at them, he felt a sharp pain in his chest. It was like holding his heart outside his body and knowing it came at the cost of losing his own soul.

The funeral was unbearable. He didn't appear at the ceremony, hell, it pained him to even think about going there. Yet, he still did. Out of respect and love he had for you.

He stood there alone hours after the ceremony, staring at your casket, tears streaming down his face. 'I can’t do this without you' he whispered into the silence.

Because who he was? A random guy who wore eyeliner and constantly did drugs now to raise a child alone?

Yet, still, he had to.

The first night without you was the longest of his life. The baby cried and cried, and Sam had no idea what to do. He was a mess—fumbling with bottles, pacing the floor, begging them to stop screaming. At some point, he sank to the floor, the baby against his chest as he sobbed into their tiny body. “I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I’m so sorry.”

His mother was all supportive, helping Sam to do the stuff he never thought he'd have to do, but Sam refused to let anyone fully take over.

'They’re all I have left of her' he'd constantly say, not letting anyone to his room

Every milestone felt like a knife to the chest. The first time they smiled, he saw you. The first time they babbled, he heard your voice. And yet, he celebrated it all because he knew that’s what you would’ve wanted.

Sam made sure they grew up knowing you. He told them stories about your laugh, how you used to tease him, and how you were the bravest person he’d ever known. “Your mom,” he’d say, his voice holding onto the life to not break, “she was magic..wherever she is right now, she definitely loves you so much”

But there were nights when the grief swallowed him whole. When he’d sit in the nursery, the baby fast asleep in his arms, and cry silently. He’d whisper to the darkness, wishing you could see them, wishing you could see him trying so hard not to break.

“Why’d you leave me?” he asked once, his voice cracking as he rocked your baby in his arms. “How am I supposed to do this without you?”

He'd often find himself doing something so out of character to him - each week he wrote you long letters about the baby, about new stuff they did or how he got peed on while changing the diaper. Letters were hidden properly under his bed, becoming a mountain of folded papers. It was therapeutic to him, but also he felt like he owe you that, to let you know how his life's going without you, how he still lives - for the sake of your baby.

As the years passed, Sam became a father you’d be proud of. He was there for every scraped knee, every bedtime story, every school play. He wasn’t perfect—he had days when the weight of your absence was too much—but he loved fiercely.

Still, most of the nights, when the world went quiet and the baby-turned-toddler slept peacefully, he’d sit by their bed and mumble quiet “I miss you.” as if you could hear him

And he did.

Every.single.day.

Because no matter how much time passed, the hole you left in his heart never healed. You were his first love, his only love, and even though you were gone, you were everywhere. In the way the sunlight streamed through the windows, in the baby’s laughter, in the quiet moments when he closed his eyes and pretended you were still there.

And though it hurt more than he could ever put into words, he wouldn’t trade a single second of it. Because loving you, even in your absence, was the greatest thing he’d ever done.

And he’d spend the rest of his life making sure your baby—your legacy—knew just how much they were loved by the most extraordinary person SAM MONROE had ever known.

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[seancekitsch]

The Sword and the Quill: Chapter Five

Pairing: Gwayne Hightower x Reader

In the weeks leading up to little Daeron's departure to Oldtown, Queen Alicent finds herself trying to entertain the unmarried ladies of court. As one of her ladies in waiting, you agree to an anonymous penpal in one of the men at court, and end up spilling your heart to him. He is your perfect match, your equal. The only issue? The Queen's brother Gwayne Hightower will not stop teasing you as you try to uncover who responds to your letters.

My nearly found Unfamiliar,

I feel I should be offended by this hasty scrawl of a message, yet I am just happy to hold your parchment once more. If your letter shall be brief, mine will be too. Even after we meet, I think I might like to keep these letters going. They are invigorating in ways I never expected. I am confident I will find you, as even if my guesses are incorrect I plan on not giving up until I find you and dance an almain with you. 

You are devious and wicked in the ways that you tease me! But I am smart, I will find you. I will look for rubies and I will speak our word and then… It is up to you. I trust that even finding you will make me the happiest man in the seven kingdoms, and I will put the future in your hands. 

Soon Yours,

Your Unfamiliar

Excitement surges through you as you hold the letter to you, girlish and giddy. Each time you read the note it feels as if fate is knocking at your chamber doors instead of the serving girls or Alicent calling upon you. He feels so close, so near. You never took yourself for such a sentimental woman, but this letter gets placed with all the others, in a beautifully embossed portfolio for parchment. You agree with his letter, that you want to keep this practice going even after you find one another. It will be a lovely day when you can fill this portfolio, or years down the line you can read them from the beginning. You can imagine laughing with him about your eagerness to meet and the way the two of you were bold and promiscuous. You picture yourself, wrinkled smile in the candlelight as you point out how you were thinking during these letters, his auburn hair turning grey and -

No! Not auburn. You shudder as you banish the thought from your head. Thats more than enough fantasy for today. 

You wind the leather strap around the button fastening closed the portfolio and set it aside, knowing there is much to plan. 

You fuss in front of the looking glass, certain the hour was growing short and you would be sent for soon for the feast. Your hair had been up, to the side, plaited, and pinned. You’ve decided to settle on pulling it off of your face, letting the rest of it cascade down with little adornment besides a comb dazzled with rubies. That was the pin in all of this. Dress color did not matter, though you wore a deep wine red dress that made your body look divine, as long as rubies accompanied you. Rubies were how your Unfamiliar would know you, rubies were the color of passion. If blue for loyalty was to be making trend in the court, you shall buck the system with your own symbolic color.

This is the best it will get, you think, not unconvinced of your looks but moreso knowing that fiddling with it any further will make ruin of it.

“I should have expected you would be my seat mate,” Gwayne quips, wine goblet already in hand and seated at the long table upon the newly dubbed “Green Council” side. You suppose court may only get uglier from here, and Alicent’s letter writing plan was a beacon in the dark much like the light of the high tower itself.

“We are the queen’s favorite people,” you reply, smoothing and adjusting the skirts of your dress to sit comfortably.

“Although we may be each other’s least favorite,” he jokes, and you raise your own wine goblet to clink your rim against his.

“I will agree to that.”

“You look lovely.”

“I- Thank you, Ser Gwayne.”

He drinks from his goblet and turns his attention back to the festivities, the great hall already buzzing with people talking and enjoying their food as the royal family and their parties all enter. Sure enough, you see more couples now than you had at the last feast, a testament to letter writings success. The troupe in the corner plays quietly, calm music that does not dare drown out the droning of conversation.

“Are you going to miss him?” Gwayne speaks up.

“Who?”

“Daeron.”

“Oh my littlest dragon!” you exclaim, “Yes I suppose I’ll miss him quite terribly.”

You lean over to him slightly.

“Do not tell the other little princelings or princess, but my wish was to spoil Daeron rotten.”

Gwayne chuckles at that. The eldest of the royal children have their own table, but Daeron is still at Alicent’s side. The elder three, as you can already see, are causing a ruckus. With Aegon ranting about…. something, Helaena holding up… another something you don’t wish to identify, and Aemond glaring up at the adult’s table.

“Your secret is safe with me,” He says, adding, “But if you wish to send him letters with his mother’s I will read them all the same.”

“You are being suspiciously kind to me, Ser Gwayne.”

The knight only shrugs.

“Tis a feast that followed a tourney. I am in good spirits.”

“Perhaps if you continue being so kind, I will greet you with less venom the next time you arrive.”

“Oh come now, My Lady, venom is our thing. Do not go soft on me.”

You laugh, genuinely, and from the corner of your eye you can see Alicent down the other side of the table looking at you as if you’ve lost your mind.

The rest of dinner is hardly touched, instead conversation and wine flow more freely, though jabs are still to be had.

“Would you care to dance?” Gwayne asks as he pushes his chair away from the large table. 

Oddly, you do not find yourself balking at the idea. Gwayne has been kind, enjoyable even tonight so far. What is one dance? I could not hurt as a way to get yourself onto the dance floor. You do have an Almain tonight you do not want to miss. 

“I do like dancing,” you admit as you hold out your hand for him. Gwayne takes your hand gently and guides you to stand. The song playing is slow, a little intimate for this point in the night, but you trust the royal musicians, they understand the mood of the room. Gwayne spins you the moment your feet touch the dance floor, a flourishing display of your skirts to show you off to the entire room before he brings you into his hold. One warm hand finds its way to your bodice, and the other stays clasped to yours. He moves with grace, each step carefully rehearsed yet feeling earnest and natural. 

“How are you enjoying the evening?” he asks, smiling easily as his eyes find yours.

“It’s lovely! A blessing on this new little princeling, and a fun night for people of little consequence such as ourselves,” you exclaim, your free hand finding his shoulder, fingertips brushing the velvet of his tunic. It’s fitting, you think, for Gwayne to wear rich velvets despite being a knight. He is a son of maybe the richest house in all the kingdoms besides the crown itself, and much more educated and trained than your average knight even for a noble house. It suits him as a fabric, rich and bold. But most importantly, it is soft and gentle under your hands.

“I must agree with you, I find myself having more fun than I’ve had in ages,” Gwyane says, and punctuates it with another twirl around. He’s bringing you towards the center of the dance floor, where already most of the court have congregated. Skirts flutter and men’s chains of silver and gold glitter in the light. 

The dance is quick, a swirling and complicated thing, and Gwayne guides you through it near perfectly. 

And then the dance ends with the song, and Gwayne’s hold on you loosens but does not completely leave you. Something odd hangs in the air, like a word unspoken or a shift of the weather. You find yourself not wanting to stray far from Gwayne Hightower.

“Another dance?” you ask.

“And here I thought you could not stand me.”

“I can overlook that because you are better at dancing than I expected.”

“As you wish, My Lady.”

And with that he pulls you closer in his grasp again, and as the next song begins he pulls you along the floor. 

“How are your letters going? I would have thought you would have had your lady here and courting by now,” you bring up the letters, the only topic thats ever burning on your mind, yet Gwayne feels like the one person it is not a secret to discuss with. 

“It troubles me!” he admits, a laugh coming freely as he speaks, “I wish to know her! I wish to marry her. She is so incredible, so smart and full of humor. I know that I will be smitten when I see her. If she were to reject me, I would be bereft.”

His words are nothing short of a serious declaration of his intentions. You must admit, it’s moving to see Gwayne Hightower this passionate. It’s a level of sincerity and passion you did not expect him to have outside of a training yard or tourney. 

“Then I do hope she is just as smitten,” your lips turn upwards, but not in a smirk like it usually is around Gwayne, “For I fear for what would happen if you were in a sour mood.”

Gwayne laughs, a loud and boisterous sound that makes little lines crinkle at the sides of his eyes and make each of his teeth glimmer under the light of the chandeliers. 

“And you?” he asks, something teasing (though toothy, not biting) in his smile, “What are your true feelings on this letter business, now that you know mine?”

“I must admit, your sister’s little scheme with these letters is maddening,” you smile as you say it, “I mean, I’m even wearing every ruby I own because a week ago a promised a man I don’t even know that I would give him some kind of sign!”

Your voice is more exasperated than you intend for it to sound, the wine from dinner easing you. Your hand on Gwayne’s shoulder flexes and then relaxes again, not quite a squeeze, but not nothing. His velvet tunic is soft under your fingertips, lovely and lush. His eyes seem to widen at your admission, and the expression confuses you. It would be odd for him to be surprised at this point, as he knows for weeks this has troubled you. Your hand slips from his shoulder as you step back, your arm making a sweeping motion as you dip backward before coming back to his arms. 

“I- I am surprised you have not found him yet,” he stutters, an unusual thing for Gwayne, usually so sure and even tempered. To hear him stutter is to watch him be knocked in a tilt; concerning and betraying of something wrong beneath the surface. It unnerves you. 

“And why is that, Ser Gwayne?” The way you speak is teasing, playfully rather than full of barbs. He sighs deeply, and looks at you. Really looks at you. Not his teasing glances that irk you, not his hungered gaze upon your legs, not a scowl. Gwayne looks upon you as if it is your first meeting, searching your face for signs of something. Perhaps he is, perhaps this is Gwayne seeing you for more than a shrill shrew at his sister’s side. Maybe this is him seeing you as something other than a game, a skirt to tease and bother at any time. Even more, maybe this means that he would welcome you at Oldtown if you were to visit Daeron. 

“I would think someone as headstrong and intelligent as you would have found your writer by now,” Gwayne explains, a smile returning to his face, “I know you would not give up until you were having clandestine rendezvous in scarce used parts of the Keep.”

You blink. No, certainly you didn’t hear him correctly? The music is much too loud. 

“What was that, you said?”

Gwayne falters as your smile fades.

“That- That you would be having clandestine rendezvous with your writer?”

“You,” the word escapes you, “Unfamiliar.”

Gwayne’s lips tug upward at the corner, a weaker smile this time. 

Your Unfamiliar, your traveled unfamiliar, your dearest unfamiliar, your now found unfamiliar. It cannot be. Gwayne, the one with the pen. Gwayne, who boasts of his exploits with women; Gwayne, your champion who weaved you a crown; Gwayne, who angers you to the point of screaming. No, it could not be him that writes you in promise of travel, a life of adventure. He cannot be the one who writes you so genuinely, so freely and so sensitively. It is a trick, you think, he must be tricking you. Some form of humiliation on your end through this scheme.

Your hands slip from him, and infuriatingly chaste he lets you step away. 

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head as if that will erase the knowledge, “Not you.”

“Why not me?” he asks, and something heavy settles in your chest. 

“You mock me! Have you known the whole time?” you scoff, stepping back even further, “Love and Beauty? Ha!”

Your lips tighten into a quivering line, threatening to betray you further. 

“I only discovered you tonight,” he says.

“I do not believe you,” you tell him, and you turn on your heel. Luckily, there is a corridor at the wall near the edge of the dance floor, and with haste you will be back in your chambers and you may forget all of this. 

“Wait! Must you go?” Gwayne calls, loud enough to hear you. Heads turn, and your face burns even more. You turn back around to see him, to see a knight with his face creased with an emotion you do not recognize. 

“I cannot-“ you shake your head, “It cannot be you.”

With that, you turn, and run. Once again, you put distance between yourself and Gwayne Hightower. It cannot be him. He cannot be the one who angers you daily, yet writes you so sweetly with honeyed words. Gwayne Hightower cannot be your Unfamiliar.

You do not stop until you reach your chambers, slamming the door shut behind you. You all but tear off your rubies, your pretty dress, feeling tainted now. Once again, you have dressed for nothing. Once you are bare you throw yourself onto you bed, a dreamless sleep 

His most recent letter will go without response. 

[changingplumbob]

Struck By Love: Nov 20th, Post 5

CW: Mentions of Violence - Guide to content warnings

Right as I finished my book talk Byron rang and told me everything. I freaked out but did my best to try and listen to him rather than judging him. He did sound remorseful and we talked my whole ride home about what we could do to stop it happening again. When I got home Art was checking the letter boxes. I hugged him before he could properly register me being there.

Layla: Thank you so so much. I’m sorry you had to deal with it

Art: I don’t mind Layla. For what it’s worth it really sounds like that other girl was having a go at him. I wouldn't hit a kid but if an adult said those things about you... I probably would have tried if I thought I could win a fight with my leg like it is

Layla: *smiling* He did win the fight. But I can’t smile when I talk to him or he’ll think I approve of him fighting. How’s this face? Does it say I love you but please don’t punch others, especially girls?

Art: One hundred percent

Layla: I'll get you a key made. If... if that's okay with you

Art: I'd love it. Especially since I'm apparently on file as safe to collect the kids and a backup contact

Layla: Oh... yeah I just thought... since we are friends and going on a date and neighbours then if Jessica wasn't available you would be a good next choice

Art: You mean, you put me down because you like me and trust me?

Layla: I do? Hmm... I don't think you're wrong about that

He grinned that excited joyful smile in response and my stomach did a somersault.

[dira333]

And the medal goes to... - Present Mic x Reader

for @alienaiver - for the Milestone Event Week 1 - Words: 1,6k

Join My Taglist

This is the best day of his life. 

“You’re annoying,” Shouta tells him from the side, but that’s not breaking his stride, no no.

“You’re just jealous,” Hizashi sings. “Because you didn’t got nominated.”

“I don’t want to be nominated.”

“Who doesn’t want to be nominated?” He turns now, glaring incredulously at his best friend. “It’s a freaking gold medal.”

“It’s not real gold,” Shouta corrects him. “You’re not playing the Olympics. You got gold in the Sports Festival one year, why is this making you so excited?”

“It’s a Medal of Valour, that’s serious business. Valour!!!”

“Yeah, I got it the first time.” Shouta sticks his pinky into his right ear and twists it. “Thanks for bursting my eardrum.”

“I didn’t burst it. I can burst it though if you want me to.”

“Not right now, maybe later.” Shouta parks the car. “Will you be okay without-”

“Don’t you dare stay behind!”

-

It’s a shame he had to come in his hero outfit. 

Sure it looks cool, but the medal will look stupid hanging right over his directional speaker. He could have worn a cool suit, mix up the old-fashioned needle-strip with some leather, spikes or bold colors.

“Oh, Present Mic, Sir, you’re right on time.”

“Of course, it’s such an honor-”

“Right this way, Sir,” he’s cut off, ushered down hallways. “You can wait in here until it’s time to step outside.”

Hizashi blinks. “Am I not supposed to listen to the speeches?”

The girl that had been guiding him looks a little confused.

“I mean, you can listen to them, but your presence is supposed to be a surprise, so you shouldn’t be seen from the crowd.”

“A surprise?” Behind him, Shouta lifts his head. Leave it to him to sniff out something weird.

“I’m sorry, maybe we got this wrong, but isn’t he nominated?”

“Nominated?” The girl stares wide-eyed in surprise. “No! Haven’t you read the letter we sent you?”

Shouta looks at him. He remembers the letter, but not the contents of it. 

Nomination, Medal of Valour, something something.

“Uh…”

“You’re our special guest. You’re here to deliver the Medal.”

“Oh,” Hizashi feels about half his size now. How is he going to explain this to his colleagues tomorrow? They’re all waiting to see that damned medal.

“No harm done,” Shouta calms down the poor girl while he tries to regain his sense of self. “We figured it out in no time. He doesn’t have to do a speech or anything?”

“No, just… be himself and deliver the Medal.”

“I can do that,” Hizashi promises, fumbling with the zipper of his leather jacket. “I can totally do that. I just… I think I got confused, because, why me?”

“I really can’t stay any longer,” the girl excuses herself at that, all but fleeing the scene. So much for an answer.

“Don’t say anything,” he begs Shouta who’s smile is small, but telling. Oh, he’s definitely going to hear about this later.

-

The room is small, but cozy, with a mini-fridge filled with drinks. 

One door leads back to the hallway and the other, Hizashi guesses, leads to the stage.

He pulls it open just a smidge so that he can listen.

The speeches are long and drawn out, as they usually are for an event like this.

Finally, they announce the names of the nominees. 

It’s not a competition, Hizashi knows. Each one of them will be granted their medal.

There’s an older lady who saved a toddler by calling for help. A guy who carried his co-worker out of a burning building. And then there’s you.

Something changes, he’s not sure what it is. Maybe it’s the murmuring crowd or the guy explaining everything or maybe it’s something entirely else, but Hizashi listens carefully now.

You’ve stood up to a Villain, faced injury or worse in order to shield an innocent child.

He knows he’s missing something from the story, but he doesn’t know what.

-

“Why don’t you tell us a little bit about yourself?”

The older lady’s name is Yachi Hitoka. She calls herself a scaredy cat, but knew she needed to do something when the little girl in front of her seemed to have trouble breathing. 

“I don’t have children,” she recalls, “but she held tightly onto my hand as we waited for help to arrive.”

The guy’s name is Tanaka Ryūnosuke and he talks about his deed of heroism like it was nothing but a walk in the park.

“Well I had to carry him out,” he recalls casually. “He couldn’t walk. It wasn’t that bad, just three sets of stairs. And he’s not that heavy, I think everyone could have lifted him-” He hesitates for a second. “Well, anyway, it was a good thing that I prioritize lifting over Cardio.” He chuckles over his own joke.

Finally, it’s your turn.

Your voice is friendly, but there’s an underlying hint of anxiety. No one’s calm on a stage unless they’ve had practice. 

Your name doesn’t ring a bell and neither does your profession but your story touches him differently than the others.

“I just had to help,” you say, voice tight. “Just because they’re quirkless doesn’t mean they can be treated that way! And what kind of person would I be, just looking the other way?”

“What gave you the strength to stand up to this Villain? I’m sure it wasn’t easy.”

“No,” you laugh. “But I thought about my favorite Hero. And that helped me a lot.”

“Oh, you’ve mentioned him before. What’s his name again, so that we all now?”

Your voice turns lower, as if you’re flustered.

“It’s, uh, it’s Present Mic. I’ve looked up to him since he’s had his debut.”

Shouta’s elbow digs deep into his ribs at that. Hizashi had forgotten about his best friend’s presence until that moment and he curses quietly under his breath.

Behind him, a door opens. 

“Are you ready?” The girl from earlier asks and he turns to nod at her before facing the stage again, peeking through the open door at the thick curtain he has to step through in a moment.

- - - x - - -

It’s hard to focus with the bright lights all around you, your sweaty hands leaving damp marks on your arm rests and all those faces looking up at you.

Medal of Valour. Hah. You didn’t do it for a Medal.

You did it for yourself, growing up Quirkless. For all the looks and the rumours and the loneliness.

You did it, because you knew, if he had been there, Present Mic would have done it too. 

At least you like to believe that.

“We were touched by your story,” the interviewer says now. “So we brought in an extra Guest today. Someone special to deliver the Medals.”

You swallow, unsure how to react.

Movement on your right has you shift your head and you glare into the bright light, trying to figure out what’s happening.

The curtains lift and you see something, someone, stepping through. Black leather, bight blond hair - you let out a weird sound that’s neither here nor there.

Present Mic is taller than you imagined him. 

He’s staring at you like he’s not quite sure what he’s seeing and you wonder if he noticed the cane crammed between your thigh and armrest or the dark shadows under your eyes that come from the anemia.

Present Mic opens his mouth. You think you’re prepared for his voice but you’re not. Or rather, you’re not prepared for his words.

“You’re pretty!”

He says it like he’s dazed, like one does after getting hit in the head.

Snickers are heard from the crowd and he snaps out of it, blushing a feverish red.

“Pretty brave,” he corrects himself and you choke out a nervous giggle, try to avert your eyes and find you can’t. “Pretty brave indeed. I heard all of your stories. That’s what heroism is about, right? To help when needed, even when it’s hard.”

He blunders on, puts one word after the other until he’s got a sentence and then another but his eyes don’t seem to leave you.

It’s crazy and strange and you’re probably imagining things - yeah, that must be it - but he’s suddenly right in front of you, handing you that medal you never thought you could want, his hands lingering on yours a little longer than necessary.

You watch him move on. Tanaka-san next to you claps Present Mic on the shoulder like they’re old friends. Yachi-san giggles like a schoolgirl in love when he compliments her up-do, not once mentioning the obvious grey.

It’s over too soon. You’re meant to leave the stage under the applause of a crowd but you can’t walk that fast and the applause ebbs away as you fight your way down the stairs, your hand gripping your cane shaking.

It’s the nerves, really, but you know how it looks like.

“Care to hold on to my arm?” Present Mic’s on your other side all of a sudden, his arm right where you need it.

You hold onto it, flustered when he puts his hand right over yours, warm and reassuring.

“Can’t let you get away from me before I have your number,” he mumbles but he’s not good at speaking quietly, it seems and heads turn.

You don’t care for them. 

You only care for the mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

“Well I could give it to you,” you tell him, a little braver now that you’re on solid ground, the crowd dispersing around you. “After all, you’ve been brave enough to ask.”

“Mhm,” he nods, smirking. “Brave enough to get a Medal of Valour?”

“Let’s not get too hasty,” you play along. “Start with my number first.”

“And a date second...”

-

Tagging:

@notsochillnerd @tsxkishimx @alexxavicry @lokiloveheart @kaykaystrings

[adventuresasmrsfindley]

I can't believe it's already been 3 weeks since we put our dog down. It still feels so freaking weird that she's not here. For the first 2ish weeks every time I left the house or came home it felt like something was missing because I didn't have to put her up/let her out. (She was not a free range pup lol she had to be confined to the (finished) basement if we weren't home). She drove me nuts when she was here but man, I miss her. We got her ashes back so that does bring me a little peace knowing she's back home.

I asked for good vibes the other day because Cole had a job interview and we found out yesterday that he got it!! He is currently a union carpenter and does a lot of dry wall hanging. It absolutely kills his already jacked up back. He is having a microdiscectomy in a couple weeks to get it fixed and he has been very adamant that he does not want to return to his current job after he recovers. I don't blame him. He has worked physical labor for 10+ years and it really wears on his body. A Project Engineer role opened with the company he works for so we worked on a resume and cover letter and he applied. He was sooo nervous because he has never had a ~professional, office type job. He's very much a blue collar man lol. But he really put in the work to prepare for his interview and I was so proud of him! It's a huge weight off our shoulders knowing he will not go back to breaking his back every day. I'm really excited for the doors this could open for him too. It's a bit of a pay cut at first but they get raises quarterly and profit sharing so he should be back to where he is now in no time. Thanks for all the good vibes that were sent!

Meanwhile, my job continues to suck my soul lollll. Probs won't do anything about it because they pay me well and the flexibility is priceless but I still like to complain periodically.

So glad it's Friday! We have a busy but fun weekend ahead and then a short week next week. Crazy that Thanksgiving is right around the corner and 2025 will be here before we know it. This year has flown by. It was mostly shitty so I'm not at all sad to see it go.

Love you all! Have the best Friday. 💜

[willczek-art]

Decided to give Dragon Age another try and the first character I meet COMPLETELY wins me over in a matter of seconds-

[nebulathunderwave-art]

Birthday wishes to Zewu-jun from Lanling

(Birthday wishes to Er-Ge from A-Yao)

8.10.2024 | Happy birthday Lan Xichen! 💙☁️

[pareidolla]

For the bingo game!! I'll let someone else ask you about Broken, what are your thoughts on Smitten?

polite dearest i am so sorry for taking forever to answer! here's scarlet hollow smitten - i ruminated on it a bit and decided smitten talking to animals is very, very funny ♡ vv excited to finish up his stp design i think he's coming along very cute

and oh right my opinion of...! smitten...! wowie, isn't he just... a character... who exists...

yeah, i'm sorry, i have to confess that i've never loved smitten the way everyone else does, and i feel terrible about it. he's cute! he's funny! his little "narrator!" towards the end of razor makes me stim. everyone has turned on him after the epilogue, and i'm like now you're thinking he's creepy? the "in a way, we still got a romantic end" comment after we tried stabbing thorn didn't hint to the fact that maybe he's kinda a major freak?

and its the combination of his uncomfortable lines mixed with the fanbase's reception to him that really sours the character for me. i adore characters who are toxic and weird about love (milgram mahiru shiina >>>) but everywhere i look, i see supporters defending his behavior or high-fiving him for being the haha funny simp guy, which drives me crazy. esp smitten fans who hated broken for having an unhealthy love for the princess, but hail smitten as a chad for it. actually makes me gag.

but despite being my least favorite voice, i think it's a shame we don't have more of him. in particular, i was truly rooting for him to be an extra voice in fury-adversary. the devs have explained we get cold because we're telling vera we love her while denying what makes her happy, but she should have been able to say it to our faces! i want him to properly adore a big monster princess without it functionally being a joke, to deal with not wanting to harm her but wanting her to be happy, and to have his shit repeatedly demolished by her. justice for smitten honestly

[zentriii]

fucking. canadian kyoutani kentarou wearing timbs and an off-centered toque. walking through a timmies drive-thru. bitching abt shitty food truck poutine. he burns his tongue on watered down hot chocolate in a styrofoam cup and smells like woodsmoke from adjusting the logs in his fireplace every winter. he's real and true to me

[koshercosplay]

got this amazing find at a secondhand jewish bookstore yesterday for only $2!!

[the-raging-tempest]

Thinking of you

Lariel featuring @aelyosos’ Ocean

[aeligsido]

I don't remember if I ever shared this but I don't think so so anyway, new fic idea—

What if when searching for a cure to their son's lycanthropy, the Lupins ended up on Master Potionner Fleamont Potter's doorstep?

What I'm saying is, James and Remus as childhood friends,

[kinthulou]

Disability in TTRPG: Nerf Your Rests

So I love to think about how to represent disability in my ttrpg, yeah? As a disabled person, this is super important to me. And I may have just figured out how to nerf long rests (via D&D 5e mechanics) in a way that's entirely representative of my actual lived experience with chronic pain and fatigue. Folk are welcome to use this in their own games, as a way of explaining their own disability to others, or to adapt to other systems or to their own experiences. But for now, I present to you: the Chronic Pain & Fatigue Long Rest. Per standard long rest rules, taking a long rest replenishes the following: 1. Hit Points 2. Hit Dice 3. Spell Slots Choose two. If you choose to replenish Hit Points, you may only do so by rolling whatever Hit Dice remain from your day's pool. You will always replenish Hit Points first, and replenish Hit Dice second. If you have one or more levels of exhaustion, you may either: 1. Choose one from the replenishment list and remove a level of exhaustion. or 2. Choose two from the replenishment list as usual, and keep the level of exhaustion. Optional, but related rule: You have resistance to healing magic and items, and only regain half the HP you would otherwise be granted by the spell or item. You may be thinking, "Why would I use these rules? They seem complicated and risky?" Well, yes, but also they can provide an approach to gameplay that's all about clever resource management, and also a lot of people actually live like this every day and maybe we'd like to be able to engage with said clever resource management in a way that's fun for once. Maybe we need a safe and controlled way to practice asking for the accommodations we need, or to gently teach our friends how crucial those accommodations actually are. And maybe some of us just really like our characters to be disabled like we are, so we can still explore the fantasy of going forth and exploring dungeons and fighting dragons and completing adventures in a way that feels genuine to ourselves? Idk, man (gender neutral). Do with it what you will. But I'mma be out here nerfing some long rests.

(As always, please work with your game master on any nerfs. They need to know you want to do this, and need a chance to warn you if the game they have planned might not jive with these mechanics, or to help you change things to fit what you both want out of the game.) (Also, if you're not playing a caster, replace Spell Slots with some other resource replenished on a long rest. Or something else! Get creative with it!)

[shot-by-cupid]

Anyway I’m going to bed soon and I’ve talked about this in like. Two different servers but I NEEEEEEED to post this clip I NEEED to talk about it again

He says ‘I’m tall!!!!’ In a way that only a man who is 5’1 could. This is the most excited he’s been about anything in his entire life. His bite sized ass really needed this and you can tell. He is so excited about this and I love it I’m so happy for him.