#like yes on the one hand he does have sense of theatrics

[konfizry]

the indignation experience in tales of arise is not one of “holy shit they put indignation in tales????” as much as one of Indignation? At this point of the game? In this part of the battle? This early in the playthrough? Localized entirely within the second boss’ chamber? 

[doodlesfromthebird]

I'm just going to establish that the large boy is Mattheus and the willowy halloween gremlin is Kassian. sO. THERES A FACT.... Kassian has ghostly powers, including a limited ability to phase through objects. He can't phase mundane clothing on his back or other people. He phases through walls so often he forgets which doors are "pull" or "push". Theres typically a bit of confusion when he HAS to use one. MORE FACTS UNDER CUT!

Mattheus' super strength developed as a child and it was a difficult thing for him to control. He accidentally broke a bone in one of his brothers hands when playing and he felt so awful he wore oven mitts on his hands for a week, as if it would lessen the effects of his strength

Mattheus loves olives and Kassian loathes them entirely, so whenever offered some he'll give them to Mattheus. Kassian will finish whatever sweets Mattheus can' if the sweets are too rich.

Kassian has unnecessarily swoopy cursive for handwriting. Mattheus has very sharp and scratchy, large print. (His "S"'s all look like lightning bolts. It's very cute.)

Mattheus is the tallest person in his family. He's 6'5" (almost 200 cm) the second tallest is his brother, Torin at 5'7 (abt 173cm) by a few cm. Mattheus towers over everyone in his family.

Kassian is allergic to the entire season of Spring. Pollen is constantly assaulting his sinuses, he gets eaten alive by bugs, and he swears the springtime sun gives him hives. (it doesn't, he's being drama queen)

Neither of them get much of an opportunity to do artsy hobbies, but Mattheus is fairly skilled in pottery and ceramics, and kassian likes drawing flowers and dabbles in candle-making.

they're both monster-hunting partners that specialize in exterminating a very particular kind of monster. Kassian is a mage that specializes in dark and illusion magic where Mattheus is a fighter that specializes in two-handed heavy weapons. They're very good at it.

Yes, they've done the thing where Mattheus does pushups and Kassian sits on his back.

Kassian is very open with his expressions, (he's my muse for intense expression drawing) and body-language. He's very theatrical, but he's easily embarrassed and quick to shrink in on himself. Mattheus is outwardly very stoic but is actually very passionate and softhearted.

Mattheus is what people in their world call a "young god". It's a very demigod inspired concept, where god-like traits are given to humans via gods/guardians as a sort of "blessing" if a particular family was favored by a divine being, or if the human themself was favored. Mattheus (and his sis Mainara) was blessed by two sibling gods because they favored his mother's side (long story, but in short they both had the hots for his grandmother) to which his parents were like..."uh thanks i guess??"

Kassian is the kind of person who doesn't give pencils back/puts empty containers of food back in the pantry when he's done. Mattheus drinks milk out of the carton and sneezes unnecessarily loud. Both can cook, but they both wait til they have no clothes left to do laundry.

The way they fight relies on a sort of linking of mind and energy (the closest I can think of is "drift compatibility") in a way that grounds the other as sort of an anchor. It balances Kass's sensitivity to spiritual noise and Mattheus's grounded and focused nature.

Kassian easily picks up on hidden magical frequencies mattheus can't, and Mattheus's senses are heightened to "real world" sounds and smells Kassian can't detect. Mattheus is a good strategist/planner/tracker and Kassian can slither into places to scout.

Mattheus loves all animals but especially dogs. Big dogs. Kassian is a little skittish and hesitant around living things smaller than him, but typically likes quiet animals like cats and rabbits. Big animals love HIM though and he's been knocked over by many a large dog/creature

Kassian is 25 (December 24th) Mattheus is 23 (August 30th) [he often gets "you're a lot younger than you look" I think if you get to know him a little bit and the first impression of his height & strong features fade, you kind of see he still has a boyishness to his face]

[cryptidghostgirl]

Make You Wish Chapter Four -- Vox

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Warnings: I don't think there are any for this chapter? Correct me if I am wrong.

Word Count: 1,225

Previous Part: Chapter Three -- A Reunion

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List 

Make You Wish Master List

A/N I wasn't planning on posting this until tomorrow, but it seems to have some rather excited fans so here is chapter four (and the fourth thing I'm publishing today. We're very done for the day. I am tried and have actual work to do.) Also guys, I'm screaming. I accidentally deleted the whole things right before I was gonna post it. Thankfully I had a draft from when it was almost done save but like, god that sucked.

On the screen was Vox, seated behind a desk.

"Top of the hour and we're discussing a certain has-been how has been spotted cavorting around town after a seven year absence." Vox was saying, a poorly drawn image of Alastor displayed on the screen to his left.

Y/n saw Alastor's ear twitch with irritation.

"Yeah." she sighed, folding her arms across her chest, "Vox has gone kinda crazy since you left. I told you, things got tough."

"Did anybody miss him? Did anybody notice? More on tonight's program." Vox said through the TV, shuffling a stack of papers.

Alastor changed the channel with another flick of his finger.

"Hun, don't worry yourself with it." Y/n advised, "He's still gonna be there tomorrow."

The new channel showed a talk-show set up, Vox-2-Nite, where Vox was both host and guest.

"So, the old Radio Demon is back in town." host Vox was saying to himself as guest.

"Why is he hanging around?" guest Vox asked, taking a sip from a mug that had 'fuck Alastor' written on the side.

"Al." Y/n warned, sensing her friends irritation growing.

"What does that mean for your family?" Host Vox asked before Alastor changed the channel again.

Vox was on the screen again, before a bright red curtain.

"Well, handily, I've got good news." he was saying theatrically, "He's a loser, a fossil, and I don't mean to sound hostel-"

Alastor changed the channel again. This time to one of Vox's mega church broadcasts. Vox stood in the center of the screen wearing a pope's hat with an inverted cross on it.

"But the demon is a coward!" he announced, his words matching the previous channels sentiments perfectly.

"Jesus, V." Y/n asked, eyes wide, "How many channels are you running this on?"

"You can take that as gospel. Pulling my viewers? Impossible. I'm visual, he's barely audible."

"Y/n." Alastor hummed, his eyes still fixed on the screen.

"Yeah?"

"You wont mind if I handle this quickly. We can have our little chat after, I promise. It wont take more than a moment."

"I don't know, Al..." Y/n sighed, crossing her arms and tapping her foot slightly, "This isn't good for you, letting him get under your skin like this."

Alastor changed the channel again. A cooking show appeared and Vox was standing before the oven, singing along to the music playing in the background.

"But he should've stayed away! While he hid in radio, we pivoted to video!"

Vox on screen turned to the oven as he sang, opening it and pulling out a deer's head on a plate. Y/n bristled at the site, her horns growing just the tiniest bit longer, her teeth just the smallest bit sharper.

"And now his medium is getting bloody rare!"

"Al?" Y/n asked sharply.

"Yes, darling?"

"I lied." Y/n turned to face him, "He took this shit musical. Rip him a new one."

"Oh!" Millie exclaimed, excitedly grabbing onto Moxxie's arm, "We're gonna get a show!"

Alastor's grin widened at Y/n's words, if that was even possible. He stuck his hand out to the side, his microphone materializing in his grasp.

"Lucky for me, I've got the best voice this side of the divide on my side." he noted, shooting Y/n a look.

Her eyes flashed red.

"You flatter me."

Alastor brought his microphone to his mouth, suddenly exceedingly calm. The imps present in the room watched in shock as his ears flattened along his head.

"Salutations, good to be back on the air!" he announced into the device, "Yes I know it's been a while since someone with style treated hell to a broadcast. Sinners rejoice!"

Vox's brow furrowed on the TV screen as he inched up close to the camera.

"What a dated voice." Vox shot back, clearly listening to Alastor's broadcast on the set of his cooking show.

"Instead of a clout chasing, mediocre, video podcast." Alastor continued, not showing any sign he had noticed the TV demon's insult, "Is Vox insecure, pursuing allure? Flitting between this fad and that, is nothing working?"

"Ignore his chirping!" Vox commanded from the TV.

Y/n laughed and, turning to face Alastor, realized the man held a hand out to her. With a smile, she took it and he spun her into his arms as he spoke. The music echoed through the office as Alastor raised the volume on the TV once again.

"Every day he's got a new format."

Alastor spun Y/n back out again as the pair began dancing.

"You're looking at the future!" Vox yelled back, "He's the shit that comes before that!"

As Alastor spun Y/n back into his arms, she laid one of her hands on top of his holding the microphone and pulled it closer to her face.

"Is Vox as strong as he purports, or is it based on his support?" she sang in a clear voice, Blitzo, Millie, and Moxxie's eyes widening with recognition at the sound, "He'd be powerless without the other Vees."

"That's true!" Alastor noted, pulling the microphone back to himself as Y/n let go of his hand and he spun her back out again.

"It can't be..." Moxxie muttered under his breath.

"Holy shit!" Millie cut him off, excitement creeping into her voice, "There's no way, Y/n is the guest star?"

"The fuck are you two talking about?" Blitzo asked, turning to Millie and Moxxie as they watched the couple continue to dance.

"Well, Sir," Moxxie began, fiddling with the cuffs of his jacket, "back before the Radio Demon went missing, he used to bring guests onto the show on occasion. There was one guest he never named during his broadcasts however. She mostly just sang songs and chatted with him but, she sounded an awful lot like Y/n did just now."

"You don't say." Blitzo hummed, his arms crossed as he turned back to Y/n and Alastor, "So much for little miss 'oh, my life has been so boring. You'd probably just fall asleep if I started talking about it!' She is so gonna get it later."

Alastor let go of Y/n's hand and leaned into the microphone, beginning to sing as well, using the music emanating from the TV as a base.

"And here's the sugar on the cream: he asked me to join his team!"

"Hold on!" Vox yelled.

"I said no and now he's pissy, that's the tea!" Alastor finished, ignoring the demon once again.

"You old timey prick!" Vox exclaimed, his face glitching slightly as Y/n wandered back over to Alastor.

She leaned an elbow on his shoulder, tilting her head to the side in amusement as they watched Vox struggle.

"I'll show you suffering!"

"Aww, the TV is buffering." Y/n said, leaning into the microphone, her voice dripping with sickly sweet pity.

"I'll destroy yoo-o-u-u" Vox exclaimed as his technical difficulties seemed to grow worse.

Alastor and Y/n exchanged a wicked pair of smiles as the TV flickered out. Shadows crept from the edges of the room, encircling their feet. Alastor held an arm out to Y/n once again which she took with a smile. In a flash of darkness, they were gone.

"What the fuck was that?" Loona asked, stalking into the room.

----

Next Part -> Chapter Five -- The Conversation

[soldat-buck]

i had a vision while making coffee this morning

bg3 culinary headcanons: Companion Edition

- Shadowheart: absolute zero regard for contamination while cooking. kitchen habits of a permanent bachelor. licks the tasting spoon clean and keeps using it to cook. eats hot cocoa straight out of the container with a spoon. thinks pouring ranch over an entire head of lettuce and eating it like feral animal while holding it over the kitchen sink counts as "salad". if you can get past the contamination thing, the food she makes actually tastes pretty good, even if it's sometimes odd (she cooks like a stoner, despite being perfectly sober. she is just Like That).

- Astarion: perfectly capable of cooking, and actually can cook quite well. food may not taste the same after becoming a vampire, but his enhanced sense of smell tells him nearly everything he needs to know about how to season and cook food properly. he doesn't cook because he doesn't like to (washing dishes? by hand? no fucking thank you, being undead is harsh enough on the nails and skin. finding a good lotion for normal undead dryness is already impossible)

- Lae'zel: in the modern world, if her life took her in a chef direction, she'd be in a Michelin star restaurant as the world's best and most terrifying sous chef. she absolutely would throw a knife at you for fucking up her plating (she'd intentionally miss. the first time). no nonsense is ever tolerated in her kitchen, but that doesn't necessarily mean she's got temper issues (her coldness and lack of tantrums is what makes her terrifying). she'd put Gordon Ramsay in his place for his rage theatrics and then make him weep with joy after serving him the most competent omelet he's ever had in his life. if she likes you, you may address her as "Yes, Chef!" outside of the kitchen.

- Karlach: uses 4 pots to make ramen. not because she's doing anything fancy or elaborate with it, the first pot was too small and started boiling over (whoops). the second one was, oh hold on, that's a cast iron pan, maybe you're not supposed to use that for boiling liquids, huh? wait shit, can't use this one either, i'm not supposed to use metal spoons on nonstick, don't want to scratch it. There we go! this one is the right size! and if i scratch this one, it's fine! wait, where the fuck did the flavor packet go (you should definitely be concerned about leaving her alone for the weekend)

- Wyll: very resourceful cook due to his Blade of the Frontier days. can improvise a meal out of damn near anything. can identify every edible plant and mushroom and tell you how to use it in a dish. would carry an herb garden in his adventure pack if he could. would absolutely thrive on the show Chopped (he's actually banned from auditioning again because it's not fair to the other competitors to have him on). he could make you a dessert featuring rattlesnake and fresh picked clover, and you don't know how or why, but you actually like it

- Gale: approaches the kitchen the same way he approaches most things in his life - academically. knows the proper safe temperature to cook meats/etc to, knows how to brown an onion, knows what seasonings are typically used together for certain flavor profiles and how to match seasonings to proteins. knife work sucks because he uses mage hand for mise en place and his mage hand has shitty DEX, but he's scared of his chef knife from the one time he sliced his thumb open (he was cutting an onion with improper hand placement and the knife slipped)

- Minsc: would exclusively eat by dumpster diving if it weren't for Boo's disapproval. eats like a human garbage disposal. he will eat a n y t h i n g that fits in his mouth, he is the least picky eater you will ever meet. does not understand how food challenges in the show Fear Factor are supposed to be challenges

- Halsin: world class forager. very competent hunter. prefers to eat everything as raw as possible. understands but doesn't believe in strict food safety because obviously stomach acid kills germs (and anyway, a little dirt here and there never killed anyone; exposure to germs is good for your immune system). open-mouthed kissing him is gambling with your health. makes the best vegetarian salads but do not trust any chicken he has "cooked". people with weak CON might want to consider avoiding his food

- Jaheira: uses Talk to Animals to Cinderella/Ratatouille rodents in the kitchen. she commands them like she's in perilous battle and the entire world is at stake (also rodents are worse to direct than cats, they do not know the difference between left and right. there's a lot of "No! Not that cupboard, the other one! NO, the OTHER other one! Flank him, he's off balance!"). making a cup of tea is a convoluted, stressful process that takes 10 times longer than just boiling the damn water yourself

if you want more bg3 culinary headcanons, there's also: the Absolute Edition

[nuggets-small-corner]

The Perfect Date| Sanji x Reader

Warning: Constant touching (let me know if I miss anything)

Word Count :: 1.1k

Summary: Who would have thought that going on a date with the Straw Hats' cook would be your best date ever.

A/N: I totally wrote this in like 30 minutes because I've been wanting to write something and keep overthinking. Soooooooo, here's me being down bad for Sanji.

Going on a date with Sanji will be the best and most memorable date you will ever go on.

The way he asks you out is not the best way, with the theatrical gesture of him on knee calling you darling and asking you to go on a date with him. However, once you give him that beautiful yes, you see his persona falter for a second as he just simply stares at you in disbelief. You will have to repeat yourself a couple of times before it finally clicks in his head. Once it does, you’re met with the sight of Sanji bouncing around the place and promising to pick you up at 6 o’clock sharp. 

Sanji will show up early, a full 30 minutes early. You will catch him outside with a full bouquet of the prettiest flowers in all the East Blue. His suit will have no wrinkle, not even the wind will be able to deter his sense of style. His soft blonde hair framing his face allows you to see his beautiful grey eyes. He won’t rush you either, he won’t move until 5:59 towards your door because he would never rush a perfect being like yourself.

His introduction is barely hearable through the nosebleed he has as he lays eyes on you. Poetry slips through his mouth and blood as he tries to put into words your beauty. His words will be filled with nothing but passion and love from his heart, with his next gift being the beautiful flowers. You can mention how clique all this feels, but he will make sure you know that this should be the bare minimum someone should be doing to be in your presence. 

If you expected the date to be at one of the local bars or theaters or even a restaurant, you would be extremely wrong. He wants to impress you, to give you a reason on why you should be considering giving him your time. He will hold his arms out and walk you towards his kitchen. A way to a person’s heart is through their stomach.

He will put on almost a display of his cooking talents as he makes you a dish that you’ve never heard of, but he assures you will love it. You get to sit there all prettily as you watch Sanji almost dance around the kitchen going from task to task. He will keep the conversation constantly flowing as he gets to know you without making it feel like a sort of interrogation. His eyes will stare deeply into yours as you talk to make sure you know that even though he is busy, you’re still his main priority. Sanji will make it known that no matter how important the task, you will come as a priority. 

Every so often, Sanji will slide over next to you with a hand on your upper back with a spoon of sauce or ingredient to make you taste. The way he gently places the spoon on the tip of your lips and waits patiently for you to be the one to taste and be the one to move the spoon closer into your mouth. Ignore the blood coming out of his nose, he has a handkerchief in his back pocket for this reason. 

The kitchen will be filled with the most mouth-watering aroma as Sanji puts the final touches on the meal. You might expect him to serve it to you in the kitchen, but he will simply ask you to follow. He will guide you to a cute little table with two chairs that has lit candles flickering away under the starry night. You asked when did he have time to do this if he was in there cooking, all you get is a wink for a response. 

For dinner, he will start to speak more by telling you tales from his adventures out at sea or weird things he saw in the town. Anything to occupy the air allowing you to be entertained as you eat. Sanji’s expression is a constant smile as he watches you eat his cooking made just for you and seeing you enjoy it, if the happy little sighs coming from you are anything to go off. He eats his part while you talk, but the eye contact will never waver. His attention, as it has been the entire night, will be on you and only you.

Once the plates are cleared and your belly is satisfied with Sanji’s meal, he will take you on a nice nightly walk. His hand will find yours throughout the aimless journeys. He will move slow as possible in order to give you time to set a boundary if needed, which he will listen to in a heartbeat. You once again surprise him by quickly interlocking your fingers, giving him the answer he needs. As the walk continues and the conversation turns more carefree, his thumb will rub against you letting you know that he’s right there beside you, even if you aren’t looking at him, he will be there. 

The walk will end up right back at your door. He will lean in close to you before wrapping his arms around you. With you so close to him, he will whisper into your ear nothing less than thanks for spending time with him and for letting him bask in your wonderful self. He will pull away so slow as if it physically hurts him to be away from you. As you’re saying your goodbyes and thanks too, his thumb will be rubbing up and down your arm in a soothing manner. His dark grey eyes will still be on you with a small smile on his lips as he stares at you, still taking you in. 

“I do hope we can do this again, my dear,” he mumbles, looking deeply into your eyes. The cool wind of the night blows across carrying the scent of the ocean along with his cologne. His skin is so warm against yours as all you can do is stare back at him feeling all the love and attention from tonight settle deep within your skin.

“Of course.”

[gemstone-roses]

New Year’s Eve.

Eddie Munson x Reader.

Summary: Eddie overhears you turn down an invite to Steve’s iconic nye party, stating you categorically hate the holiday, so, he invites you to spend the evening with him in his trailer instead.

Warnings; SMUT, 18+ only, p in v MINORS BE FUCKING GONE FROM THIS PLACE , mentions of drug dealing., anxiety, praise kink, hurt/comfort vibes, the holy trinity of my fics. Like soo much praise kink, fingering! This took forever to write but I’m proud of it ok. This work and this blog is intended for adults only. I am not responsible for what content you consume.

A:N - I wanted to post one more fic before the end of the year, I hope you all like it! Thankyou for all the love on this blog this past year, I am so happy my fics have been a source of comfort for some of you, I’m so thankful for all the love. it’s been a tough one for many, including myself, here’s hoping the next is easier on rveryone. Much love to everyone ❤️❤️

“what do you mean you’re not coming!” Steve asks with mock affront, standing at the door of your trailer, your leaning against the door, steaming mug of coffee, untouched, you give Eddie a wave as he leaves his place opposite, he sends you a wicked smile and a wink as he leaves to do his dealings of the day.

You shake your head and chuckle.

“Steve, every year you ask me, every year I say no, my answer hasn’t changed and it won’t” annoyance creeps into your voice unintentionally. Steve opens his mouth feigning hurt before breaking out into a smile.

“Sorry, I just haven’t had my coffee yet, but I hope you have a wonderful party Steve” you smile, and he nods “I understand, I just have to ask you know? Maybe this year will be the year you come”. “You’ve said that every year since we’ve known each other haven’t you” you chuckle, and he nods, swiping his hand through his hair. “Anyway, lots to do, I better be off, have a good night” he waves you off before getting back in his car. You bring your coffee to your mouth, finally. “Spending New Year’s Eve alone sweetheart”? Eddie appears from the side of your trailer, his face in a huge grin you can’t help but smile.

“Yes”. You say. Eddies brow furrows, as he steps into your doorway, his aftershave invades your senses as he places a caring hand on your arm” can’t have that darlin, I’ll be back at 5, come hang with me” he’s says it so casually but the sparkle in his eyes says he’s desperate for you to say yes. You weigh up your options in your head, you were just going to go to bed early and hide under your covers, but the man in front of you makes your breath hitch whenever you see him, and that mouth,god. “Yeah, okay”. You say. And you didn’t think it possible but eddies grin gets wider. “Just come over anytime after five sweetheart” his voice cracks at the end of his sentence and you have to do everything in your power not to groan. “Okay” you whisper. And then he’s gone, leaving you feeling empty without his presence.

5 o clock comes quicker than you thought. Swiftly slipping on a black band tee you pull on a pair of comfy joggers and head over.

The door swings open before you can even knock. “Hey darlin” his eyes are sparkling again as he steps back and does a theatrical bow to show you in. You laugh at his actions as he shuts the door behind you.

“So, sweetheart, you gonna tell me why you hate this holiday so much?” He steps closer to you, his eyes wide with interest. You frown, anxiety pooling in your stomach. “Hey” he says softly. Fingers coming to cup your chin. You look at him, his soft brown eyes make your insides melt slightly. “Did I upset you” he asks and it’s so sweet and unexpected you can’t help but let out a small laugh. “No, god no, I just, it’s silly” you trail off, looking down at the floor. “Not to me” Eddie says softly, and you look up and once more think you might get lost in those eyes. He’s got a reassuring smile on his face, waiting. “I get this impending and unrelenting feeling of doom okay” you whisper, then shut your eyes as if you can hide from the words you’ve said. Eddies fingers caress your face gently. “That’s not silly” he whispers, cupping your face with his big hand. You lean into his comforting touch. “Thankyou”. You whisper, lifting up your hand and placing it on top of his. “You have the most stunning eyes” he mutters before recoiling slightly as if he didn’t mean to say it out loud. “Erm”… he rubs the back of his neck chuckling. “So do you” you say simply. “Ha, thankyou, sweetheart” he laughs awkwardly. The tension in the air hangs between you, you look at Eddie, he looks at you and you think this might be it but then his brows shoot up and he says “Oh my god I didn’t offer you a drink I’m a terrible host” he says suddenly, tripping over himself to get you a soda. “It’s fine! Don’t worry” you assure him. He mutters sorry while he hands you the can and leads you to his room. “So, what would you like to do sweetheart” his grin has returned, and even though he’s asked you you know he’s got something in his mind. “I don’t mind, film?” You say sitting down on his bed pulling your legs up. Eddie stares, completely lost in the moment, watching you do something so ordinary, and you take his breath away. “What?” You ask, burning under his stare. “You’re fucking beautiful” he states. Your heart stops in your chest, mouth falls open and you don’t realise he’s moved closer, he’s sitting opposite you, his hands on your knees, he’s leaning forward slightly, a mix of weed and his aftershave once again enveloping you. You meet his eyes, full of adoration for you, his tongue pokes out to wet his lips and you can’t tear your eyes away. “Can I- kiss you?” He asks and your heart soars as you nod, he crashes his lips to yours and you forget to breathe. The kiss is gentle but firm, he wraps his arm around your waist as he pulls you into him, one hand holds the back of your neck as he runs his long fingers up and down, sending shivers straight to your core. You moan and he stops, panting slightly, he keeps one hand at the back of your neck.

“Eddie” you breathe. “God your incredible” he says, swiping his thumb across your puffy lips, he leans into kiss your neck. He trails sloppy open mouthed kisses down to your collarbone, you writhe underneath him, each press of his lips causing your pussy to throb. “Eddie please” you moan.

‘What do you need sweetheart?” He mutters and it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever heard. “You” you plead, clenching your thighs together to get some, any, form of relief.

“Mm, say it again” he groans, fingers waiting at the edge of your joggers. “I need you Eddie” you moan, pushing your hips up to emphasise your point. Mischief dances across his face as he slowly removes your pants, smiling at the wet patch that’s formed in your panties. He taps his fingers across your clothed pussy, watching as your head falls back in both pleasure and frustration. He bends down, breath fanning over your clothed core. “I can’t wait to feel you come around my cock” he whispers, placing an open mouthed kiss over your dripping pussy, before hooking his fingers through your underwear and pulling them down.

Eddie leans over you as his fingers dance on your inner thigh, one hand bracing on the window behind your head. He bends his head, hovering his lips next to your ear” Spread your legs wider for me darlin” he groans, and then smiles as you do. “That’s it” he says, moving his hand toward your core. “So wet” he comments, pushing his finger inside your hole, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on your clit. He moans as you clench around his finger instantly. “Mm fuck Eddie” you whine as he curls his finger inside you. He captures you in another kiss as he presses his thumb into your throbbing clit. “Ah, Eddie-“ you say, your orgasm fast approaching, he continues, alternating between circling and pressing on your sensitive button, pleasure begins to cloud your vision as he pumps his finger in and out of you, wetness dripping down your thighs.

“That’s it, good girl, come for me sweetheart” he soothes as your orgasm crashes over. He keeps rubbing gentle circles on your clit as you come down from your high, when you open your eyes he’s staring at you, awestruck. “You did so well for me” he praises and Eddie’s cock twitches in his pants watching your reaction to his words. “Eddie, that was amazing” you breathe, and he shoots a wicked smile at you that has heat flooding your body again.

“You okay”? He checks and you nod. “Drink this” he unscrews the cap on a bottle of water for you and places it to your lips. No one has ever bothered to be anywhere near as kind and considerate and your heart once again soars because of the man currently sitting between your legs. Eddie’s cock is painfully hard in his pants as he takes in your post orgasmic state. Sweat pooled on your face, your still panting slightly, come dripping from your pussy onto his bed, Eddie thinks it’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

You sit up and pull him into you, his clothed cock pressing into your naked core. He hisses at the contact. “We don’t have to, it’s completely okay if you want to stop darlin” and once again your falling hard, the softness in his voice makes you want to cry. “I don’t want to stop” you say and Eddie places a gentle kiss to your lips before pulling his pants down. His cock strains against his boxers, you reach out and tease the head with your hand. Eddie groans, it’s feral and he places his hands on your shoulders as he nips at your neck. “Lie down for me sweetheart”. Eddie removes his underwear as you do, He positions himself between your legs as you lie back, head hitting his pillow. You push up to see his hard thick cock springing up against his stomach, precum leaking from the tip, it makes your stomach flip and your mouth water. Eddie pumps his cock a few times before rolling a condom down his cock. Eddie pushes gently on your shoulders so you lie back down, he taps his cock a few times on your pussy causing you to moan unexpectedly. He positions himself at your entrance as his hand cups your face. “You okay?” He asks, waiting for your answer before he does anything. You nod, taking a deep breath as you prepare for Eddie to push into you. “Can you go slow?” You whisper, cringing slightly, hoping you didn’t kill the mood. Eddies face softens, “of course I can baby, it’s okay, I got you” he soothes softly, his other hand rubbing the inside of your thigh. His hand comes to circle your clit slowly. “Look at me” he says, and you do. The smile on his face is otherworldly, it brightens everything around you as he studies your face closely, rubbing gentle circles on your clit as he slowly pushes his cock inside you. “Breathe, baby” he comforts as your walls clench around him. “Eddie” you whine, “You’re doing so good for me” Eddie keeps praising you until his cock is nestled deep inside you. Eddie groans at the feeling of you wrapped around him. He stays put until you speak. “Move” you whisper.

Eddie thrusts into you slowly, one hand gently splayed across your lower stomach as he rocks his hips back and forth, your hands grip the sheets beneath you as Eddie’s cock reaches a spot inside you that makes your head spin.

“Mm eddie- you moan as your second orgasm builds, every nerve in your body tingling at his actions

“You feel so amazing clenching round my cock like this darlin, you’re takin me so well” he soothes, your pussy clenches at his words and Eddie moans as you squeeze his cock. “Fuck Eddie I’m gonna-

Eddie’s cock pulses as he feels you clench harder. “Eyes on me darlin” he whispers. You meet his gaze and your head clouds with pleasure again “Good, I got you, your okay, come for me baby, drench my cock, come with me, fuck!” he groans as your pussy tightens around him as you release around Eddie’s cock just as his own orgasm crashes over him.

Your ears ring as you hear muffled praise fall from Eddie’s lips, his touch grounding you as your mind clears. “You were incredible” Eddie whispers, drawing patterns on your hips with his fingers. You smile at the sight in front of you. “Eddie” you croak, voice hoarse. “Yeah darlin” he asks, and the sight of him, sweaty, curls stuck to his face, his face flushed with heat, you wish you could engrave it into your mind forever. “Can we stay like this forever?” You sigh. And Eddie chuckles before grabbing both your hands and fitting them in his. Forever sounds amazing with you”. He whispers, catching your lips in a heated kiss as fireworks light up the sky above.

[prettyboykatsuki]

✮ tags ; gn!reader, implied bottom reader, semi-erotic and bloody fingersucking, romance, struggling with intimacy on astarions part, not an established relationship fr, 18+

✮ wc ; 1.6k (literally what in the fucking world)

✮ a/n ; *smacks astarions back* you can fit so much projection onto this thing.

canon divergent i.e. this takes place during act two but reader doesn't sleep w astarion in act one. it's explained in da fic.

The taste of intimacy is acrid.

It's bitter and sharp to the senses. In many ways, he finds it unpleasant. Intolerable. He's lost in thought, primarily caught up in the sensation of your skin pressed against his.

Too much, he decides, this entire affair is proving to be too much.

"You know, there's no need for theatrics," He can almost hear the recoil in his own voice, like hiding away into the shadows when dawn approaches. It's instinctive. "All this...poetry is quite thoughtful but very unnecessary."

Yes. Unnecessary. Somehow it feels violent, though it's anything but. You pull away from him and he winces at your expression - genuine confusion draped across your face. Your skin is hotter than the sun, much warmer than his. You're attractive.

Astarion wonders if he can assess you as beautiful. If he's allowed to use something so flowery.

He can't stop thinking about it. He's played the part of a lover before, so kissing and touching in quiet whispers is not unfamiliar. If that's the sort of affair you wish to have, than Astarion can be apart of it no problem. Whatever makes your desire towards him tangible, whatever you want. The last part he doesn't say out loud, or to himself.

But it was real, just a moment ago, wasn't it? The feeling of your lips on his forehead and the crook of his shoulder was real. The words of affection were real. He was looking for fun, debauchery, pleasure.

This is not that, he decides. He decides, too, that he does not like it.

"I'm sorry?"

"Oh don't play dumb, darling," He says, his throat tightening. It's natural to him, in a way. "Though your heroic romantic gestures are quite something, they're very unnecessary. We both know what we're here for, do we not? A little roughing up is fine."

You pause, and you stare. Your eyes are clear, like the water of the open ocean surrounding the lower city. Even in the darkness, he can see you perfectly. You can see him too, but he can't see himself even in the reflection of your gaze. He wonders if that is some kind of mercy, but remembers quickly that no god has ever shown him such kindness.

And you wouldn't either, or you shouldn't. He convinces himself that its a courtesy, and that this conversation is an attempt at honest between you. He's expecting something different. Maybe a snarky laugh of approval, or a widening set of eyes. Lurid with excitement in all the ways you're okay to defile him.

Most people he's laid with have given him the same. They're pleased with his fluidity. He shows it off like he's water in a beautiful chalice, look at all the forms I can take and adore me.

And yet, you're all but silent. What a terrible conversation to have when he's almost inside of you, he thinks.

"If that is what you desire," You says, your words slow. You then, so softly, draw your thumb over his cheek bone. It takes strength not to recoil. He almost wants to mock you. Wants to bite at the gentle caress of your hand, wants to make you bleed. "But I would've hoped my gestures conveyed my feelings a little better than this."

Shit. Shit.

"Feelings? Have you really taken a page out of the wizards book and written me a poem?"

"It would be easy enough to do," You say, so easily and so naturally - he can't help but show that he is startled. Shaken by the sincerity of every word. Bitter. "If you desire such gestures."

A feeling coils in his chest. He cannot distinguish his urges from each other. Whether it is hunger or desire. Whether to push you away or cling to you closer. He cannot make sense of any of it, despite his efforts. He doesn't need any blood, he's sure - but his mind lacks clarity.

Is he afraid or angry? He does not remember how to tell the difference between those two emotions, either.

"We're here for sex, you know?" He says, proactively pushing into old habits. His eyes feel heavy in their sockets, like their weighed by his own need to be desired perfectly. He seduces you easily. Lowers his lids and parts his lips, snakes a hand against your waist and lets you fall forward until you collapse against his chest. "Hot, lecherous, burning pleasure. Such romantics are best saved for..."

You look at him, and you want him. But it is not the same. Even he is not so foolish as to deny something you make so obvious.

"For?"

The words someone you love do not leave his lips, though they threaten to. "Someone more suitable."

"There's no one so suitable as you," You say, and the words do not sound damning. They do not intend to please him. They're not coated in myth or covered in lies. They're like you, honest and rich. "And that pleasure can be found all the same with regards to what I do."

Astarion understands little of you. Never has, in full. He finds your character damning, finds your kindness often irritable. His plan to seduce you had worked, he thought. You had taken some kind of liking to him. Enough that you act against yourself, just to appease him at times. To clumsily win him over by being a little bad, or being silver-tongued.

But you hadn't laid a hand on him despite his efforts. Without taking anything, you shield him from harm. You kill the people who wish to kill him. He'd never stopped trying to seduce you, because it benefits him to play the part of prized possession to the strong.

He thought your acceptance of his request meant you had finally broken. That he could go through with it.

Yet, you touch him like this - as you have been all evening. You brought a bedroll to fuck him in the woods of all places. Your hands are soft, and warm. You're reverent. He's kissed plenty of people, and played lovers even more than that. It was his lifes work, after all.

But it is impossible to deny that you're different, despite his best efforts to believe you are not.

Astarion isn't familiar with your gestures. He cannot hold his ground against honesty when his existence is passing and pleasant - ephemeral as a white lie.

"Astarion," You say, clear. You enunciate his name. It is not intended to have any weight, yet it crushes him. His chest tightens. Aches. It is all so strangely miserable. He wants to interrupt you, but cannot fix his lips to do such a thing "I wish to make love to you. You're welcome to find it unnecessary."

A kiss. Your mouth is warm, and tastes faintly like the sweet wine you had before bed. Your hands cup around his nape, and your other hand keeps you upright. He won't fall for it but his body does not listen, makes him melt comfortably into the bedroll. You kiss and kiss and kiss, and it is well-practiced like you have loved many times before him.

You must know something better than him.

Still. There is not enough strength in his limbs to fight you. His eyes blink open when you've stopped. A scream almost rips from him, but he's frozen in place instead. He can fight now. He could fight this.

The nails he tries to scratch you with, dig deep onto your waist. He closes his eyes. A begging for you to stay.

"Darling, really," His voice cracks. A touch so gentle and unfamiliar may be the thing to flay him open - cut him into pieces and open him up the blackened night sky. His lips feel cracked, hands shaking. "Wholly unnecessary."

There is no way out from this. From his feelings for you. How terrible.

You examine him quietly, then smile like you know everything. He is so much older than you, yet you smile like you've lived one thousand more lives. Maybe you have.

"Astarion," You mumble, your hands finding his hands. You lock your fingers together, your touch making his nerves fire whenever you brush along them. Your free hand ghosts his lips. "Look at me,"

Then, very suddenly, you push your thumb against the point of his fang. It punctures you in no small wound, and you push until the blood spills. You wince, but it's barely there. You let the blood spill into his parted mouth, let the taste of it fetter onto his lips and tongue. It's almost saccharine. He leans up on instinct, latching himself to it. He drinks from your self-inflicted wound with his eyes lidded, with desperation so unsightly.

You don't slink back. You watch onto him fondly. Watch him eat recklessly. Watch him swallow around you.

You already know what he is, he realizes, too late. The weight of your deliberateness nearly buries him. Unpleasant eyes, that know everything about him without any modicum of effort.

The feeling of anxiety, of restlessness well up even deeper inside him. The bitter unforgiving irony of finding intimacy with you lingers still. There is no escaping the thought that it will be you who betrays him first, and not someone else.

But the taste of blood, your blood, washes it all out. The gentle touch of your skin unsettles him as much as it makes him needy. He wants to be adored, and be adored by you.

He wants you in a way that does not incite any instinct. He works against each one trying to look you in the eyes.

When he manages, you are there and you are kind. You want to make love to him. He wants, very desperately, to believe it is possible. That such a ridiculous thing exists outside of a performance.

His voice is soft as a whisper. "I guess it's not impossible to appease you,"

You kiss the corner of his mouth and grin. He doesn't flinch this time.

"I'm quite relieved."

[ann-atar]

Another observation re Sauron and Celebrimbor in ep. 7. (Yes, more. Op is a teacher and is posting while grading today.)

While Celebrimbor slowly, painfully made his way back to the tower, what did Sauron do? He stayed there.

He was tearing the place apart, pacing and fuming, but he stayed put for some time, almost as if he was waiting for Celebrimbor.

As if the fact that Celebrimbor escaped, even for a short time, was momentarily beyond his comprehension.

Like, where is he, where are the nine, I left him right here!?!

He was panicked and enraged, but when Celebrimbor returns, there is still this sense that Sauron expects him.

And then instead of killing everyone immediately and dragging Celebrimbor out to take him to the nine he pauses, makes a show of killing the guards, continues their back-and-forth, says, "you will place them in my hands."

It's showy and theatrical, such a performance of intimidation, is what I'm saying.

Now, maybe there is something essential to the creation of the rings that requires Celebrimbor to surrender them in their finished form to Sauron willingly, because even though the rings incorporate Sauron's blood they are still Celebrimbor's creation and until he gives them away, he remains their master, at least while he's alive. (Which is cool if true and I approve!)

But I think there's something psychological at work too. For months and weeks Sauron and Celebrimbor have been cohabitating in that tower. It's their enclosure, their habitat, their little dysfunctional home. And by leaving (and then returning as expected), from Sauron's perspective Celebrimbor is still playing by most of the rules that govern their relationship.

They're even at the stage where the abuser starts scrambling to justify their choices and tries to win over their victim again ("this too shall pass"). Sauron feels solidly in control of Celebrimbor and now that he knows his identity, Sauron is basking in the heady feeling of being known.

So their codependence is still very much a thing and even though Celebrimbor won this round the game is still very much on, and Sauron expects him to come back, to continue the battle of wills until the next round is settled, and the one after that, and the one after that.

Sauron expects to win, to have Celebrimbor place the finished rings in his hands, because the nine belong to him and so does Celebrimbor.

What Sauron doesn't quite get is that Celebrimbor understands all of this because he can see the pattern now. He went back to that tower not because, as Sauron might have thought, he was compelled by the guards or by fear or by his own complicity, but because he understands the clockwork horror of Sauron's mind.

Despite his show of emotion about their time together ending, Sauron still expects to be in control because he's fighting with might, but now that the veil has been lifted Celebrimbor is fighting with light.

We know that Celebrimbor doesn't have long to live, but if I had to make a prediction about how, exactly, he meets his end it would be this: after drawing out their game by provoking Sauron and slowly "breaking" under torture, he finds a way to end his own life. (Yeah.)

At which point Sauron's rage will be enormous, and destructive, and his version of grief might cause him to display Celebrimbor's body in the way we're all dreading.

Sauron is super powerful and like Celebrimbor told Galadriel there might be no one in Middle-earth who could resist him, but Sauron is not all-powerful. There are flaws in his design, weak points in his facade and Celebrimbor can see them now, he knows where to apply pressure so that cracks form, little by little. He might not deliver the killing blow but I believe he will weaken the form of Sauron's mind, so Sauron will not be in the right headspace to kill Galadriel during their inevitable confrontation.

[luveline]

hi hii jade! i hope to not bother u at all but can i ask a request for miguel being with harley quinnfem!reader? like she’s sweet, giddy and a bit girlish but at the same time vicious and extremely violent. maybe miggy likes it a bit too much being with her but gets annoyed seeing her tiny outfit during the mission. u don’t have to do it if u don’t wanna! thank you !!🤍

thank you for your request, i love it!! I'd love to write more for this pairing ♥

—harley quinn-esque fem!reader reports for duty wearing less material than usual, to miguel's misfortune. 1k

"And what," Miguel says, looking you up and down apprehensively, "is the point of that." 

It should be a question, but it doesn't sound like one. He is genuinely shocked by what you're wearing, among other things, and it takes a lot to shock him. Your top half is decent in sense of the word, a skin tight black t-shirt with a pink spider taking perch on your sternum, legs curved over and under the shape of your breasts. Your skort (and it better be a skort, or Miguel is in trouble) is high-waisted and matching in black. A slice of your midriff exposes itself when you move. 

"You don't like it?" you ask, putting on a pout that shouldn't suit you but absolutely does. 

"It doesn't do anything." 

"Well, I figure there's no need to conceal my identity when we're visiting other dimensions," you explain. 

Miguel thinks the thing that irks him most about you is that your sweetness —made up of pretty smiles and girlish whims— is authentic. You tease and twirl, you're prone to dramatics and theatrics alike, but you genuinely are a very loving girl. Especially toward him. 

"It doesn't conceal much of anything." 

"Are you trying to say something mean?" you ask. 

"Depends on your definition." 

"Could you say it in Spanish?" you ask.

"Why?" He crosses his arms across his chest, looking down his nose at you in a look he hopes says you aren't half as subtle as you think. 

"Please, Miguel." You frame your face in two hands, long, naked lengths of your arms shining with a shimmery lotion in the laboratory lighting. "Indulge me." 

Don't I always? he thinks. "Depende de cual sea tu definición," he says. "Tu atuendo es más cruel que cualquier cosa que pueda decir." Your outfit is crueller than anything I can say.

"I hear 'cruel,'" you say, "but surely you can't be talking about me?" 

"The portal's ready," Margo says, a purple image in the corner of his eye. 

"Thank you, Spider-Byte," he says, nudging you toward the platform. For the work and the end of a dangerous conversation.

You rush up onto it and Miguel follows, ignoring the spin you make with your face turned up, watching as the portal begins to form around you, orange fractals that lock you in. 

You project from one place to the other. It's best to take a running start, and there's yards to be traversed until you meet the rendezvous point. 

"Where's the Vulture?" you ask excitedly.

"Around. Watch out, he might have Tinkerer with him." 

"Two for the price of one!" 

You stretch your arms up high, exposing your stomach, fine hair shimmering in the sunshine. Miguel's annoyed because he's weak enough to be distracted, but he'd rather blame you. 

"The point of your suit was to keep you safe," he says. "I designed it to protect you." 

"I like my skirt much more," you say, spinning again. 

So does Miguel. He looks up into the sky with a scowl, confused as to where the Vulture and his henchmen are. They're supposed to be right here, which can only mean— 

You leap for Miguel with your baton extended, the little heart sceptre piece atop of it striking the Vulture square in the jaw as the villain descends. With a spatter of blood, a shining white tooth flies across the open air, and you love it. You shake with excitement, his hands against your ribs to stop you from falling. 

"Yes!" you cry, jumping out of his arms and whacking the Vulture again. You're lucky: you manage to hit him in the eye as he retreats, prompting an outraged and pained scream that shakes the trees surrounding. "You suck!" You batter him like he's a pear under your pestle. 

"Y/N, that is more than enough," Miguel chastises, though the sight of you satisfied and in control is one that twists his guts. 

"Box him in, Miguel!" you call, blood dripping down the sceptre and onto your bare hands. 

"Woah." A third voice echoes as feet touch down to the ground, the wet thwap of webbing like an anchor, the Tinkerer deposited at Miguel's feet. "Who the hell are you guys?" asks Spider-Man.

"It's hard to explain," you say. 

"It's not," Miguel says. 

"Is she… on our side?" Spider-Man asks, eyes of his suit widening with a mechanical clicking. 

"When she wants to be." 

"I'm definitely on Miguel's side!" you say, raising your baton to give the downed Vulture another whack. He groans and raises his hands. You giggle at the fear on his face and twirl your baton around in a circle above your head. "Just kidding." 

"Y/N, come here. Now." He wouldn't be so forward in his command if you weren't as prone to ignoring him as you are. 

You traipse to his side, putting your hands on your hips to mimic him. 

"That was quick, huh?" you ask, looking up into his face. No matter your act, he can see the want for approval in your eyes. 

"Eres muy linda," he says. You're very cute. 

"What does that mean?" you ask, eager for praise. 

"You did great," he says. 

"I think you're lying," you say, and his heart skips as you lean into his space with a knowing smile, "'muy' means I did really great, right?" 

"Actually–" Spider-Man begins. 

Miguel waves a hand at him. "You did really great," he confirms. He doesn't need Spider-Man telling on him.

"And I didn't need all that extra protection after all," you say, sliding under his arm. 

Miguel doesn't react. The Vulture groans and Spider-Man hits him with a web to make sure he doesn't get far. 

"You like it really," you whisper.

Miguel glares at you. Of course he likes it. He just hates how much danger you're potentially putting yourself in. He double hates the appreciative up and down Spider-Man gives you when he thinks no one's looking.

"You have blood in your hair," Miguel says. 

"You can wash it out for me." 

He takes a calming breath. 

"Hey, guys? Do you mind explaining what the hell is going on here?" Spider-Man asks. 

You both ignore him for different reasons, you with an adoring smile sent Miguel's way, and Miguel with a long-suffering sigh as he summons a temporary entrapment for the bloodied Vulture and his squirming lacky.  

[supreme-leader-stoat]

This is my—unfortunately, rather incomplete at the moment—submission for @inklings-challenge 2024 for Team Tolkien. My chosen genre and themes are Secondary Fantasy World (i.e. a story that takes place in a world totally disconnected from Earth) and "instruct the ignorant," as well as a bit of "council the doubtful" and "comfort the sorrowful"

At the moment, the story is essentially just the opening scene. With that in mind, I'll be posting some notes and commentary at the end outlining the rough direction that I plan on taking the story for anyone who wants to know how things unfold in the likely event that it takes me a while to write the rest of it. And I do hope to write the rest of it; it's been a bit slow going due to writer's block and my health working against me, but this is the most invested I've felt in a writing project for months if not years, so for that I'm quite grateful to the people who set up this challenge.

Well, you came to read a story and not my rambling, so I think I'll leave it there for the moment. Without further ado, please enjoy the prologue of All Things Great and Small.

-----

Battuhya couldn’t breathe. Not because of the heavy formal robes she wore, with her clan’s signate murals embroidered along the back and sleeves. Nor because of the heavy scents of spiced meats and fragrant woods that filled the royal feast hall like low-hanging clouds gathered in a valley. She couldn’t breathe because the attention of the entire room was suddenly focused on her, and on the long, bare arm that stretched out to point at her.

“That one,” the Ketar said confidently. “I can feel her affinity for the secret arts. Truly, such power must be a blessing from the gods. I would be a great fool to let it be squandered. Yes, I think it must be her.”

Battuhya resisted the urge to spin around and try to see who behind her the Ketar was indicating. Surely, surely she couldn’t mean her.

Slowly, deliberately, Battuhya’s father stepped in front of her, half-shielding her from the view of the court. “My apologies, revered Ketar,” he said, not quite managing to keep the hard edge from his voice. “I mean you no disrespect, but I fear you are mistaken. This is my eldest daughter, and I have chosen her tutors myself. Her education is extensive, but I’m afraid that it does not extend to such obscure subjects as sorcery.”

The woman waved her hand dismissively. “I speak of potential, not of prior learning. I intend to oversee her training myself, and I will see to it that any deficiencies in her knowledge are corrected.”

She turned towards the royal seat, expectant. The king’s dining mat was separated from the rest of the feast hall by a massive curtain of blue silk, lit from behind in a way that cast a massive shadow across the fabric. For as still as it remained, that shadow might have belonged to a statue and not a living man.

The high steward, seated just in front of the royal veil, impassively swept his gaze across the room. Battuhya thought that his eyes seemed to rest on her for a moment, but he moved on so quickly that she began to wonder if she had imagined it. “You ask for much, Ketar,” he said, the sound of his voice quieting the sea of whispers from the onlooking crowd. “The daughter of a President is no small price. Perhaps you should consider your choice further.”

“Oh?” Said the woman, raising her voice theatrically as her lifelight flared in challenge, clearly visible even in the bright light of the feast hall. “Is this how His Majesty honors his promises?” As if to punctuate her question, a log in one of the nearby ornamental braziers gave off a loud ‘pop’ and a cloud of sparks, eliciting a few startled yelps from the noble ladies standing closest to it. “For services rendered, I was given leave to select an apprentice of my own choosing from among His Majesty’s subjects. Surely, he would not now forbid this old woman from passing on her legacy?”

The Ketar and the steward held each other’s gaze, and Battuhya sensed something pass between them, an understanding of some sort. It was subtle, something she doubted she’d have noticed if she hadn’t grown up in the court, and even then, she could only guess at what the exchange meant.

“His Majesty always honors his promises,” the steward said. “Those who would imply otherwise are counseled to hold their tongues, lest they lose them. Come here, girl,” he said, raising a hand in Battuhya’s direction.

Slowly, on feet that felt like they belonged to someone else, Battuhya began to walk forward.

“You do not have to do this,” her father hissed under his breath as she passed him.

Even through the dreamlike numbness of shock, she felt her heart swell. Her father loved her enough to challenge the will of the king, of a god’s reflection on Earth, if it meant sparing her this. But she loved him, too, which was why she couldn’t let him. The relationship between her clan and the crown was too tenuous, too strained these past few years. Refusing here and causing the king to lose face would bring down retribution on her family, maybe even spark a war.

She didn’t tell him any of this. To speak, to even look back, would cause her nerve to break. Instead, she moved forward, one step at a time, before falling to her knees at the base of the steps that led to the royal seat.

“Do you understand what is required of you?” the steward asked.

She wished she didn’t. Understanding made it harder. She would become ketar. The word meant either “clanless” or “heretic,” depending on how it was used. Often, both meanings went hand in hand. Everything she was, everything she had been raised to, would be stripped away. Her home, her family, even her prospects of marriage.

“I do,” she said.

“And do you accept this charge, to serve your new mistress to the fullest extent of your abilities?”

“This servant hears and obeys,” someone else said. It must have been someone else, you see. The voice that said it was far too calm to belong to someone with the storm of emotions that Battuhya felt trying to tear out of her chest.

“Then rise,” the steward commanded, and rose to his feet at the same time she did. “Hear this final proclamation in the name of your king. You are remanded to the care and teaching of this Ketar. From this day forth, you are no longer a subject of this realm.” He clapped twice to mark the end of the proclamation.

It’s funny, Battuhya thought. I never realized before now, but it’s the same sound a judge makes when they condemn someone.

A hand settled on her shoulder, and she looked up to see the satisfied face of the Ketar. The other Ketar.

“Come along,” the woman said. “I expect that we’ve caused enough commotion for one evening.” She turned and strode away, and Battuhya had no choice but to follow.

The crowd parted before the woman like a school of fish in front of a boat, leaving a clear path behind her. Some gave Battuhya looks of concern or pity. Other gave apprehensive looks, looks that said they still didn’t quite understand what had just happened, but were worried they would be swept up in it just the same. A few didn’t look at her at all, people she had once called friends or allies who were already treating her like a stranger now that she had no official standing in the court.

She didn’t know what look her father gave as she walked away. She couldn’t bring herself to look back at him.

As the heavy doors of the feast hall closed behind her with a decisive ‘thud,’ she wished she had been able to.

-----

The Ketar’s study was a small room located far from the feast hall, tucked away on the north side of the palace. Battuhya stood just inside the door, unsure of what to do or say as the Ketar rifled through an assortment of jars and wooden boxes by the light of a lamp, cursing softly under her breath. Eventually, she found what she had apparently been looking for, grabbing a small handful of dust out of one of the jars and tossing it onto the log that sat in the study’s small hearth. Then she held her hand out towards it, palm forward and fingers splayed wide, and began chanting in a strange, alien language.

Battuhya’s breath caught as the room was enveloped in a bright flash, like the sun itself had suddenly dropped down the chimney. By the time she blinked the spots out of her eyes, red-orange flames were cheerfully licking at the log, casting light across the room. Magic. Battuhya had seen magic before; it wasn’t unheard of for travelling Ketar to ply their arts on the streets or, more rarely, in court, but this… this was something else entirely. Seeing magic from a distance, in the full light of day or a crowded feast hall, was a very different thing from seeing it up close, almost alone in a dark and quiet room.

The first thing that Battuhya thought, upon getting a good view of said room in the firelight, was that it reminded her terribly of her father’s study, with the stranger details only jumping out on a closer inspection. The right-hand side of the room, from where she was standing, was lined with two bookcases that reached all the way to the ceiling, and two equally tall wooden cabinets, which was where the Ketar had found the powder to start the fire. On the left was the hearth, flanked on either side by wide bureaus covered in a collection of curios; glass bottles in shapes she had never seen before, animal bones (including, she noted with a repressed shiver, what looked like at least one human skull), and a curved piece of polished ivory with strange carvings all along it. Turning her eyes upward, she saw two stuffed birds suspended from the ceiling in a facsimile of flight, both around the size of a goose. In the middle and towards the far end of the room was a heavy wooden desk with a comfortable-looking, high-backed chair. The only things behind it were the room’s single window, and a table holding a cage so large that Battuhya thought that if she were to lay down on her side, she would be able to fit inside with room to spare. An animal of some sort sat huddled on a pile of straw and fabric against the far wall of the cage, though in the dim light of the fire and with her eyes still not fully recovered from the sudden flash, she couldn’t clearly make out where the fabric ended and its body began. The only part of it that was completely clear were its eyes, bright in the firelight and far too clever and intense for Battuhya’s liking.

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

So, that's what I've written so far. I was inspired to try my hand at a take on a "the protagonist is unexpectedly chosen to become a wizard's apprentice" story. The twist here being that Battuhya is not someone being freed from her previously dreary and downtrodden life, but is someone for whom learning magic is, if not a downgrade, then at the very least a sudden and unexpected exile from the society she's known her entire life.

Everything from this point onwards is spoilers for bits I haven't written yet.

If the Ketar's conduct seems a bit overblown, that's on purpose. While she does have access to a tiny bit of true magic (I'll let you guess what it does, the hints are already there in what I've written), 90% of what she does (and by extension, what Battuhya will learn) is chemistry, pharmacology, or performance art.

The 'animal' in the cage is something that Battuhya would call an "imp from the underworld," something that can (allegedly) bargain away its magical powers but can steal your soul if you aren't careful while making said bargain. As the story goes on, it rapidly becomes clear to readers—and eventually Battuhya herself—that it's essentially just a very tiny person held captive by the Ketar. Or, perhaps more accurately, she's what we would recognize as a normal person, and Battuhya and her world simply operate on a far larger scale.

Battuhya and the "imp," as might be expected, eventually overcup their mutual apprehension of one another and strike up a friendship, of sorts. Among other things, the imp teaches Battuhya thing about her mistress' powers that the latter keeps close to her chest, as well as some of the history and beliefs of the imp's people. While from the perspective of Battuhya's world they came from underground, from their perspective they climbed into the sky one day against their God's prohibitions and found themselves in a land of giants with stars in their skin, something like a cross between the Tower of Babel and Jack and the Beanstalk. That's another strange thing; the imp only believes in a single God, something that's rather alien to someone who grew up worshiping her king as the earthly reflection of one of a pantheon of gods.

Eventually, Battuhya uncovers a plot in the court that ties into why she was chosen as the Ketar's apprentice, and the two hatch a plan for escape to freedom. Among other things, their plan involves the miraculous power the imp's people received from their God for protection upon arriving in this world (I did say the Ketar has access to a bit of real power) and a lot of the more mundane tricks that Battuhya has picked up over the course of her training.

[asteriskdisasterisk]

that older lex and dusknoir idea you mentioned is super neat to think about from how i see it from both sides imo. ramble incoming so watch out for that.

dusknoir being completely thrown off by how calmer lex has gotten in the future is neat because theres a sense of unfamiliarity to how much theres now silence that fills the gaps where *rage* and *(justified) frustration* used to be. the walls are that guard the heart still exist, but they've been almost mellowed down yet constantly hardened over the course of years that you could *almost* not know they are there. lex could still be harboring ill will, but he's doing it in a manner and under a guise of keep-it-together to the point where dusknoir could not believe that this is the guy that he. well. needn't dwell on that, maybe.

and of course, the guilt. getting caught up on the past is always a fool's endeavor, but it's that accursed past that they both share that intertwined them together. a constant grim reminder of how they got here, in this 'un'salvageable mess of love where they cannot look at one another in the eye, and how they both feel everything yet nothing at once. lex is calm, too calm, to a degree where dusknoir might've assumed that he had forgiven him. and dusknoir believed that he shouldn't be given that pleasantry, much less for everything he had done. his little theatric, his play-of-heart, that oh-so-mesmerizing display of bravery that had lex walk right into his hands for him to rip him whole.

but lex dodged the clutches and burned down that bridge, and swore to never get close to the burnt wreckage again. but time's a chump, and it just had to play mediator. so, here they are. and lex is calm, when he should be enraged. how dare dusknoir walk back into his life again, present the idea of peace and make-niceities, show just how much he 'cares', when everyone remembers that same old story of the last time that had happened?

lex should be enraged, and dusknoir would gladly back off if the threat was any more than implied in the slightest.

but lex isn't mad. not now, and such an expression has not been present with him for a while. no reason to be mad when the wounds have long been graciously painted over by his new evolution mended, and he's fiiiiine. even when he isn't. even when none of this is fine. even when he hates letting that vulnerability get to him again. even when he puts on a safe face to let anyone get in.

and lex? lexicon? lexington? oh, brother, that man is doing about as well as you'd like to think he does. yes, a fancy new evolution and a new fur color with a thousand years or so added to his lifespan, what little lex forgot to account for..

is the call that comes from inside.

oh, the years go by, and the wounds slowly close, but never mend. the memories pang, and theres none to share with them but his own dread. it nulls and dulls him overtime, but it's for whatever is necessary. he doesn't need to be angry anymore, not having some contorted rage boil down in an unsafe haven in his heart ever again, to which he can finally be free.

but freedom is a steep reward, and the way to achieve is a straight line with *both himself and dusknoir* in the way.

in a way, lex becomes his own obstacle in his own future. when you never get past your colossal emotional repression and intentionally add a tiny amount of time for your lifespan to think about that repression over, it all just boils down to how it doesn't matter to him, or how it shouldn't matter to dusknoir.

it's already enough to feel those few cracks of anger still mangle his core, but it's another thing to know that what had happened has happened happened, and that mulling it over is useless, or just to how lex can't bring himself to openly admit that hate to dusknoir.

that train has long rode off, and even then, what good will come out of ever trying to confide in dusknoir once more? "oh yes, I kind of hate you, but at the same time it's more of a lighter, bitter and melancholy type of hatred because I practically avoided talking about my issues for who knows how long to the point where it doesn't effect me as much as it did anymore!". he may as well tell Dialga to smite him if he ever entertained that thought.

But ultimately, it boils down to how much Lex just.. feels everything at once when Dusknoir is around once more. Reassuring it was to know that he turned over a new leaf, there's just too much that scars Lex's heart to ever try and see that change through, much less believe that what once was happy can ever not be sad again. You already gave into your heart once, and look at where that got you.

SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG TO RESPOND, I HAD TO FINISH THIS:

The Awkward First Encounter.

That is the face of a fox who has spent several generations practicing his poker face. As a Ninetales, he knew that it was inevitable that he would come across the future trio again in their own time. All that rage and anger he felt had been smothered down into a small ember, still hot to the touch but barely burning.

To Dusknoir, he had only recently visited the past and saw Lex then, so this is quite the whiplash. And there is a sudden and uneasy chill that runs through his whole body when Lex smiles at him.

BUT YOU KNOW THESE IDIOTS ARE STILL MILES AWAY FROM EVER DISCUSSING THEIR FEELINGS LMAO

I'm glad to finally finish something related to the 200 years later Lex concept, my design notes for him were basically just: "make him scruffier" and so I did.

Your analysis is just [chef's kiss] as always, a couple hundred years of bottling up your feelings has historically always been a good idea with no consequences whatsoever

[yes-i-write-fanfiction]

TFA X ROTTMNT crossover imagine Idea:

What if back when Splinter was Lou Jitsu he got spirited away in the TFA universe as a cybertronian thanks to a magical artifact long time ago before the first autobots-decepticons War, became a Gladiator against his will, meet Megatron and end up becoming "Friends" with him, build himself a reputation among Cybertronians and became a Well known History figure After managing to get his Freedom back and managed to get all the other Gladiator, Megatron included, free?

What if years After Lou Jitsu managed to get back to his universe and the ROTTMNT canon happen the turtles found the Magic artifact, end up in the TFA universe turned into cybertronians and two of them are warframes while the other two are civilframe?

I got way into this AU crossover the more I wrote about it and I just want to say that you, my friend, are a genius for coming up with it.

-Lou Jitsu's alter ego when he was a cybertronian was Splinter. Yeah, I'm basic like that. His alt mode would have been either a jet or a race car though I'm a bit partial to him having a car alt mode, simply because I could really see him turning into some flashy 80's sport car.

-Becoming a really popular gladiator not only for his fighting skills but also for bringing in his theatrics to the ring. They don't know that but whenever he wants to seem cool he says a one liner from one of his movies. The crowd ate it up every time. He's also really handsome as a bot so he's got a ton of fans.

-Ok but wouldn't be really cool if Splinter kinda revolutionized the cyber-ninja scene??? Like, up until his appearance it had kinda stagnated but when he shows up and shows up his amazing moves all the cyber-dojos go "YOOOOOO, THAT'S FUCKING AWESOME" and he basically starts the cyber-ninja renaissance. He also probably gets offered to become the leader of his own dojo but he declines the offer because he doesn't wanna abandon his new gladiator-buddies.

-Young Yoketron being his pupil??? Showing up one day like Genos in One Punch man and begging for Splinter to become his master??? YOKETRON YELLING "HOT SOUP" EVEN THOUGH HE HAS NO IDEA WHAT IT MEANS???

Prowl: Master, is it true that you trained under the master Splinter?

Yoketron: Yes, my pupil, I indeed did.

Prowl: Amazing, I've heard so much about him. What was he like?

Yoketron: He was... very wise. *flashback to Splinter forgetting how to use his brakes while in alt mode and crashing into a wall*

-Also, as for the brothers, if two of them are warframes then I imagine it being Raph and Leo. Raph because, well, he's built like a brick, it makes sense, and Leo because his weapons are the most lethal, made to kill. Also, Raph would be a tank while Leo would be a jet. Meanwhile, Donnie's alt mode would be like a microscope/telescope or something while Mikey would be a racer, either a motorcycle or a race car. I just want Mikey to have wheels on his pedes and rollerblade around while fighting.

-I also want some cyber-ninja dojo to 'discover' Mikey's talents, both as a ninja and spiritually, and taking him in. And Mikey can't tell them the truth, that he's already trained, so he has to pretend to be a newbie but instead he comes off as an actual genius, a prodigy only seen once every eon (he is a prodigy though so they're not too far off). Mikey shows them his 'magic hands' and the old coots practically faint.

-Meanwhile, Donnie gets similarly 'discovered' by the autobot Ministry of Science when they take notice of his remarkable intelligence and honestly? Donnie eats up the attention and praise. Perceptor and Wheeljack are fighting over who gets to mentor him and Donnie just does "Gentlemen, please, the answer is obvious; You both teach me everything you know. I want to know it all."

-Splinter, after becoming a mutant, turns into a cybertronian again but he looks really different so no one recognizes him. He's a beast-former now with a rat alt mode, about the height of Bumblebe (maybe even shorter). He kinda radiates this mystical air though, only perceivable to those with more spiritual senses, like Prowl.

Edit: Added some ideas of what Bot-Splinter would look like, both before and after mutating.

[creativesnek]

An Unlikely Romance

A boisterous energy filled the pristine penthouse. Partygoers crowded the dance floor, whooping and cheering; others stood or sat by the sidelines, sipping on drinks and talking. Mario walked around the party, occasionally greeting some friends and joining in banter. Amidst the flashing lights and pulsing music, he spotted the host of this year's Halloween costume party; Felix stood in the center of a small crowd, talking excitedly about something. Mario smiled, then walked toward him, slightly giggling at his friend’s costume. 

He was wearing a white shirt with red overalls, yellow gloves, and a polka dot bow tie. On top of the entire get-up, a pair of rabbit ears were on his head. Mario waved his hand around, “Yo, Felix!”

Felix’s face lit up when he spotted Mario approaching. “Mario!” he called, extending his arms theatrically. “How’s it going? What do you think?” He struck a silly pose, tipping an imaginary hat in Mario’s direction.

Mario chuckled, taking in Felix’s outlandish costume. “You look… colorful, to say the least,” he teased. “I’m guessing you’re, uh, some kind of magician? Or maybe a… rabbit clown?”

Felix grinned and gave a mock bow. “Close, my friend! I’m Roger Rabbit!” he replied. “What’d you do this year? A werewolf?”

Mario nodded, gesturing to his false fangs and wolf ears as well as the tattered clothes. To be honest, it was all last minute since he almost forgot it was a costume party; this was what was left from the costume store. Felix burst out laughing, patting Mario on the back. “Well, you pulled it off! Honestly, the whole post-transformation werewolf looks works. It's got a charm of its own, don’t you think?”

Mario laughed sheepishly, scratching at the fake fur collar. “Glad it passes for charm instead of… lazy,” he admitted. “Wait, if you’re Roger, where’s Jessica?”

“Tammy went to get a drink. And yes, she’s wearing the Jessica costume. It took some convincing but she decided to join us for Halloween this time.”

Mario threw his head back in laughter. Imagining the Sergeant Calhoun in a glittery red dress and makeup was hilarious; he wouldn’t believe it until he saw it. Whatever bargain Felix proposed had to be good, because the military woman would have never agreed to it if it wasn’t. They shared another laugh before spotting Tammy making her way back to them, balancing two drinks with surprising grace given the glittering red dress, high heels, and the dramatic makeup. Mario nearly choked on his laughter as he saw her approach, looking every bit the Jessica Rabbit character but with an intensity that only Calhoun could pull off.

“Alright, alright,” Tammy said, handing Felix a drink and raising an eyebrow. “Get it out of your system now, because I’m only doing this once.”

While Mario leaned on his knees in wheezing laughter, Felix looked up at his wife lovingly and complimented her outfit; the comment slightly erased the scowl on her face. She wrapped an arm around FelIx, “All right, furball. That’s enough,” she said. “Where’s the other one? I assume you’re doing a twin costume thing?’

Mario wiped his eyes. “Oh, not this year. He’s going to do a couple costumes with his girlfriend.”

The couple turned to him in shock. Mario himself had been somewhat surprised; not surprised that someone saw his brother’s greatness. More surprised at the person who noticed him. She was uh…  something all right. Mario couldn’t shake off the sense that she didn’t like him very much. Felix raised an eyebrow, exchanging a glance with Tammy before looking back at Mario. “Wait, wait—Luigi has a girlfriend?” he asked, genuinely surprised but clearly delighted. “When did this happen? And who’s the lucky lady?”

Mario chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, it’s a recent thing. She’s, uh… well, let’s just say she’s not what you’d expect. A bit intense, yeah. She’s got this… strong personality.”

Tammy’s curiosity was piqued, her scowl replaced with interest. “Define intense. Like, does she like, I don’t know, setting stuff on fire for fun?” she joked, nudging Felix.

Mario laughed, though part of him wondered if that wasn’t too far from the truth. “Well, she’s um… It’s hard to explain. You’ll see when she gets here.”

.

.

.

The sound of chalk sliding across a surface echoed through a candlelit room. The sound of chalk sliding across a surface echoed through a candlelit room, each stroke steady and deliberate. Shadows danced on the stone walls, cast by the flickering flames, revealing Luigi’s face. He studied a neary book before continuing to write the symbols on a circle, humming slightly to himself. Luigi dropped the chalk then stepped back, allowing the magic of the summoning circle to take hold.

As Luigi stepped back, he watched with wide-eyed fascination as the symbols he’d carefully drawn began to pulse with a faint, eerie glow. His humming trailed off, replaced by a mix of anticipation and nervous excitement. The symbols shimmered brighter, and tendrils of light started to rise from the chalk lines, spiraling up and swirling around the circle. A faint hum filled the air, resonating with an otherworldly energy. It smelled like ash and brimstone.

For a moment, nothing happened, and he felt a pang of doubt. Maybe he’d drawn the symbols wrong, or maybe he’d mispronounced a word in the chant. But before he could second-guess himself any further, a figure began to materialize within the circle. Swirling mist coalesced into a solid form, revealing the outline of a towering, familiar shape—spikes on the back, horns atop the head, a powerful frame. Then it shifted and undulated, reaching a more humanoid form.

The light faded. Luigi quickly stood and raised the light intensity slightly. A muscular woman with flaming red hair sat within the circle, sharp horns glistened on her head. Green scales dusted her shoulders and collarbone. She drowsily rubbed her eyes; Luigi smiled, “Welcome to Earth, belleza!”

A sharp-toothed smile creeped into Bowsette’s plump lips. “Anything to see you and take a little vacation away from the Darklands.”

She lifted his chin up with a sharp claw, causing the human to blush. Luigi took her hand and kissed her knuckles. “I-I hope the Great Demon Queen will be pleased with tonight’s plan?”

“Hmm… A night where humans dress up and try to scare each other? Color me intrigued, considering you humans tend to be so skittish.”

She playfully tapped his nose before standing up. Luigi rushed to a nearby closet and retrieved a purple gown. Given Bowsette’s current form, hiding her horns and dragon tail would be rather easy; after all, anyone would assume that it was part of a costume. It was super unlikely that anyone would assume that the woman dressed as a Demon Queen was actually a Demon Queen. Plus, Luigi loves her horns and tail; they have an otherworldly charm that should not be hidden.

Bowsette put on the gown and snapped her fingers; spiked bracelets appeared on her biceps. And to complete her look, she wore black boots; the heel looked like a golden maw full of sharp teeth. Luigi grabbed a nearby crown and set it on her head, nestled perfectly between her horns. She smiled then gestured to his costume, “What exactly are you supposed to be? It’s not particularly frightening,” she said.

Luigi was wearing an all-black bodysuit with a green bandana. He wore a black mask across his face, making his usually blue eyes look white; a green cap with a black, inverse L covered his brown curls. Luigi gave her a playful grin, adjusting the green bandana around his neck. “I’m… your mysterious shadow, lurking in the night!” He struck a stealthy pose, though his bright smile betrayed the attempt at looking ominous. “Or, well, maybe just your mischievous counterpart.”

Bowsette raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips. “Mischievous, huh? Well, Shadow Luigi, I hope you can keep up.” She adjusted her crown and flexed her arms, showing off the spiked bracelets. “I don’t have time to babysit a sneaky sidekick.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Luigi replied, adopting a confident tone. “I would never do anything to slow my dark queen down.”

Bowsette snorted smoke, an unmistakable blush on her face. “Enough of that. Let’s go, we’re already late for the party.”

.

.

.

When Mario said Luigi’s partner was intense, no one in the party expected a nearly seven feet tall goth woman. Felix and Tammy were shocked Luigi would pair with someone with such an ominous air or dark sense of style. As Bowsette entered the room, the chatter of the party hushed for a moment, all eyes turning to the striking woman beside Luigi. Her tall, commanding presence, dressed in a gown that looked like it had been spun from shadows, demanded attention. Felix’s jaw dropped slightly, his eyes widening as he took in Luigi’s partner. He nudged Tammy, who was equally wide-eyed, muttering, “I thought Mario was kidding when he said intense…”

Tammy whispered back, “I mean, he wasn’t wrong. I feel like we’re looking at the queen of the underworld or something.” She glanced at Luigi, who was standing by Bowsette’s side, looking uncharacteristically confident as he waved to his friends with a relaxed grin.

They had to admit—he looked perfectly at ease, as if he’d finally found someone who matched him in spirit, if not in appearance. Mario approached them, chuckling at his friends’ reactions. “Not what you expected, huh?” he teased. “That’s Bowsette. She’s new in town.”

Bowsette glanced around, picking up on the whispers and awestruck expressions. She smirked, leaning down to murmur in Luigi’s ear, “Quite the impression we’re making, wouldn’t you say?”

Luigi looked up at her, his cheeks a bit pink but his smile genuine. “Yeah… they’re probably shocked by just… everything about you.”

Bowsette shook her head, placing a clawed hand on his shoulder. “More like they’re in shock that you, of all people, somehow managed to bring someone like me here. ” she said with a wink. “Their loss. Maybe if they hadn’t wasted time, they would have seen your excellence before a certain demoness swept you off your feet.”

Luigi’s confidence grew at her words, and he laced his fingers with hers. He looked around the room and noticed his brother with his friends. The couple headed toward them; a smile on his face, but a forced grin on Bowsette. She’s still very wary of his brother. But, that’s nothing a little time won’t fix. 

After slightly tense introductions, they joined everyone else in the party. Mario did his best to remain in the queen’s good graces (with a small level of success) and had fun. Luigi stayed closely by his beloved’s side. Partly because he was just happy to see, but also she would help seamlessly cover up the true story of this unlikely romance. Together, they all continued enjoying the night, laughter and conversation filling the room, with Luigi and Bowsette at the center of it all, feeling more at home than ever.

[theladyofbloodshed]

Final chapter/epilogue - Thank you to everybody who has read this little fic of Lucien whisking Nesta away from the shackles of the Night Court <3

The week of absence that Nesta had requested dragged its heels and lasted an eternity. When the new day dawned, Jurian appeared like a spectre in the doorway, unkempt hair hanging about his chin.

‘Today’s the day, Vanserra.’

Lucien shrugged in response, not giving him the satisfaction of yes, it was that day and yes, every single minute had been agony wondering over her wellbeing.

‘I need to head to the Dawn Court to speak with Thesan,’ he said, attempting to breeze by, but Jurian’s arm blocked off the doorway.

‘Don’t fuck about. You’ve given her a week like she asked.’

He heaved out a sigh then removed Jurian’s arm from his way. ‘I am not at Nesta’s every beck and call. Yes, it has been a week. It does not mean that I need to run like a lap dog to her side.’

The words settled around them then Jurian let out a calloused laugh, fingers tapping on the door frame.

‘But you absolutely want to.’

‘Yes, I do. But I won’t.’

Before the wretched mortal could get another word in, Lucien cantered down the stairs. He hurried to put his boots on, but – as always – Jurian was there, again. An ever-looming presence who haunted his steps in their manor.

‘You have the swiftness of the fae.’

‘And no doubt the same annoyingness.’ Jurian smirked. ‘Go to her.’

‘Later,’ he waved away.

‘Oh.’

‘Oh?’

Jurian gave a theatrical nod. ‘Playing hard to get.’

He was not. Or maybe he was a little. Maybe it was fear that he’d go to Nesta and she’d regret every choice and demand to be back with Cassian. Or she’d look at him with disgust after an absence because she’d come to her senses.

‘I have to go to the Dawn Court,’ he said curtly.

‘If I could winnow, I’d be there,’ said Jurian. ‘I’ll steal her from you.’

‘She’s not mine,’ Lucien reminded him.

He stepped out of the front door, ready to winnow away when Jurian called, ‘Isn’t she?’

The day sped away quicker than Lucien would have liked, leaving little time to prepare himself. Strictly speaking, he wasn’t a nervous person. One could not be nervous around Beron Vanserra because he’d sniff out the weakness to exploit. Nerves of steel were forged in the fires of the Autumn Court as a means of survival.

And still, Lucien found reasons to delay his departure from the Dawn Court. A new shop had him enthralled; a stranger striking up conversation had him hooking his claws in to prolong it. Eventually, it came to travelling to Summer or returning to the mortal lands where Jurian would be waiting. If the male wasn’t stood on the door step, expectantly, then Lucien would drop down dead in shock. No, he could find his courage to face Nesta.

The strong smell of the sea washed over him as his boots sank into the sand. The heat had him peeling off his jacket and slinging it over his shoulder on crooked fingers. Nesta’s home loomed before him, making his palms sweat. He couldn’t fathom why. They had parted on amicable terms. Her request for privacy had been respected. But what if she hadn’t meant a literal week, she’d meant longer? She was fae now. What was a week compared to eternity? Would she push away his attempts at contact, wanting a fresh life without the baggage of her past?

His knuckles were light upon the door. A ghost of a knock so that he could walk away if she did not answer him. He listened for footsteps – for the scurry of feet to abruptly stop when she recognised his outline through the thick, frosted glass beside the door.  

Nesta was not home.

Perhaps she’d left the day he’d brought her to the Summer Court. Maybe she had forgotten that he was to come again after a week had passed, her life in Summer already more interesting than the one an exiled prince of Autumn could offer her.

Lucien put his hands in his pockets and turned to leave.

‘Lucien.’

Her voice carried on the air, startled and commanding all at once.

Nesta stood on the peak of a sand dune, grains of sand running like a river beneath her bare feet. She wore a dress that was completely unlike her favoured ones from the Night Court. Instead of steely grey or frosty blue, it was a pastel yellow that matched her fair skin. It was long but thin for the hot weather, the sleeves rolled up past her elbows and the skirts ready to billow in the breeze. There was a bracelet around her wrist. Threads of blue, crimson and silver braided together. The coronet was there, of course, but it seemed loose like she’d had a busy day and it was unravelling itself ready for the night.

He met her on the sand, his clothes not suited for it. They stopped before each other, suddenly strangers.

‘How are you?’ he said.

Just as she said, ‘It’s nice to see you.’

A small smile curved her lips. Lucien had never seen her this way – like an enormous weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She stood straighter, easier, rather than the steel-spine she built to cope.

‘Would you like to come in?’

Lucien peeled his tongue from the roof of his mouth. ‘If it isn’t too much hassle.’

‘I thought you’d come this morning. I was waiting for you,’ she said, blushing slightly. ‘I have employment now. Sort of. So I went there. I left a note on the door, if you arrived. I only popped out now to look for shells while the tide is out.’ Nesta held open the door, ushering him in. Her cheeks had turned a beautiful shade of scarlet. ‘I’m talking too much.’

It was not too much. It was nice to hear her voice. Hear her speak freely and not guard her words or pick them apart into something the Night Court would find more palatable.

‘You look well,’ he said, gesturing to the slight tan on her face. It had brought out the freckles upon her nose. Ones he’d never known she possessed. ‘It makes you look like Feyre.’

‘Without the tattoos. Or the horrid husband.’

Nesta poured glasses of orange juice for them both then took a seat at the small table opposite him. It was a humble home, but a good beginning. Evidence of Nesta was littered about the place: shells lined up on the windowsills; a book on the arm chair and another three in a stack on the floor; a bowl was built up with oranges and towered precariously in the middle.

‘Is there an abundance of oranges in the Summer Court?’

‘We never could afford fruit when we were poor. There are trees near here for anybody to pick the fruits from. I cannot stop making orange juice, Lucien,’ she said in that severe way of hers, like it was a crime. ‘They all grow back within a day. I’ll strip an entire branch of pistachio nuts and they’re back by the morning. One night, I sat here and said it’s just like magic.’

Lucien laughed at that.

‘I didn’t know magic could do things like grow crops. It seems so simple but I’d only ever seen it for destruction, as something to be feared.’

He gave a nod. ‘It works best here - and to a degree in Spring and Autumn. The solar courts can’t harness the magic in the same way; their powers are suited to other avenues. Winter, well, it’s just ice and snow. They have to import most of their fresh goods from Summer or us.’ He blinked. ‘Autumn, I mean.’

‘How are you?’

The words hung between them. What could Lucien say? His life had existed as normal. The new normal that he had created since leaving Spring. But a part of it felt empty like there was still room in the jar for something else.

‘Fine,’ he said, with a nod to emphasise that fact. ‘All fine. Jurian misses you.’

The corners of her mouth twitched. ‘The sentiment is shared.’

Nesta pulled a tray of cake from the oven. It had been sliced into little rectangles and drizzled with icing. A few pieces had already been eaten.

‘I’m not much of a baker,’ she explained. ‘But I was expecting company, so I tried.’

Lucien shook himself. ‘Sorry. I can go.’

Her fingers slid around his wrist, tethering them together. ‘You. I mean you.’

‘Oh.’ Lucien leaned back in his chair, Nesta’s hand still touching his. ‘Thank you.’

‘You won’t say that when you try it,’ she replied, in that dry way of hers. ‘But I thought it was fitting. You helped to open my eyes through the power of sugar.’

They sipped at their orange juice and nibbled at cake. It wasn’t bad like she’d made out. Airy and light, basic but delicious. A zing of lemons punched through the icing and before Lucien could even ask, she said, ‘I cannot stop picking lemons either. I'm hoarding them all like a dragon. I do not think lemons make for good jam though.'

‘You like it here?’

‘It’s nice to have my own space. Cresseida has been once to see how I’ve settled. And I have employment.’

‘Sort of,’ he echoed.

Nesta dipped her chin, hiding a smile. ‘Sort of. There’s a male in the house on the hill,’ she said, pointing in a vague direction over his shoulder. ‘He’s a cartographer. I cannot draw, but I scribe for him. I read his letters and write them in return to clients. I write on the maps – the directions, landmarks. That sort of thing.’

‘That sounds like employment.’

She shrugged. ‘He gives me coin, but I don’t do it for that. He’s interesting company.’

A feeling of betrayal roiled through Lucien’s gut as he imagined Nesta becoming cosy friends with an interesting male from Summer.

‘He’s almost a thousand years old,’ she said, eyes widening. ‘And he’s lesser fae – his mother was a water nymph. You must meet him; he has the most wonderful stories.’

Some of his panic loosened. The male was triple his age. He imagined paper-thin skin and webbed fingers, weakening eyes that were grateful for a kind female assisting him with his work.

They took a walk along the beach as the sun started to set. The warmth was glorious enough that Lucien was tempted to curl upon the sand and nap like a cat beneath the golden light. Nesta went barefoot, discarding her shoes in her home before they went. There was something about that gesture that had him breathing with relief. She was at home here. Comfortable. Relaxed. He did the same and rolled up his trousers to his knees to walk through the shallows.

‘I am trying not to feel angry,’ Nesta said as she held a shell up to examine. ‘At how much they didn’t teach me. About magic. Faeries. Lesser ones. A little creature popped out of the waves one day and asked for my shell. It had huge ears and eyes like saucers, its fingers long and gnarled. I could only stare at it in shock – then it called me rude and dived back into the water.’

Lucien laughed at her story. ‘A vodnik. You’re lucky it wasn’t a hob because they hold a grudge for life if they’re offended.’

Nesta stared incredulously. ‘I don’t even know what a hob is. My history of the fae comes from mortal stories and whatever the Night Court told me. I am alone here with only my thoughts for company, Lucien. How can it be that Rhysand cannot stop the Illyrians from maiming their females? He could enforce the ban – clip their wings in return – and lose his army. More and more, I’m picking apart everything they told me and seeing the holes they tried to hide.’

He nodded, letting her talk.

‘There have to be more like Morrigan. More in the Hewn City who want release, who dream of a better life.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t understand it. Maybe one day my sisters will see it too.’

The Night Court had cultivated its reputation for millennia, not solely in the five decades beneath the mountain where Rhysand stood at Amarantha’s side.

‘I feel for Gwyn and Emerie. I miss them too. But I can’t go back there. I won’t. The bond needs to be severed. I've never been more sure of anything.’

With more daring than he felt, Lucien settled his arm around Nesta’s shoulder in understanding and comfort. As if she had been hoping for it, she eased out a sigh and stopped walking. Her body leaned in close, her warmth matching his.

‘Thank you, Lucien, for saving me.’

‘You saved yourself.’

Nesta tittered. ‘You reached for my hand.’

He turned his face slightly to look at her. The sun was splintering in shards of gold across her face. She was so beautiful. They were different people on the surface; he liked to be amongst many, loved to meet new people whereas Nesta was more reserved, happy to retreat to her own sanctuary. Yet, Lucien could not help but feel like they balanced each other. Perhaps balance meant more than equality. Hadn’t she sought out her own company here in the way that suited her?

He ran his knuckles along her cheek. The Nesta Archeron that he’d met away from Velaris had been so very different from the one that was whispered about in the House of Wind. She wasn’t rude or selfish. Nesta was capable of showing teeth, but only when provoked. Didn’t everyone have a right to defend themselves?

‘I missed you.’

It came from her as a whisper, an admittance of weakness even. Nesta tilted forwards so her forehead met his lips as if begging him to kiss her there. He did. He’d kiss her wherever she wanted in every moment.

He held onto her while the waves lapped across their feet.

‘Can I see you again next week?’

Nesta’s hand slipped against his hip then curved around his back. ‘A week is too long.’

‘Tomorrow?’

‘Tomorrow,’ she vowed, tipping her face up to him.

Lucien met her there, fingers tilting her face to deepen the kiss. ‘We’ll pick oranges together,’ he said between kisses. ‘And lemons.’ Another kiss. ‘Pistachios. Whatever you want.’

‘And when my teeth fall out?’

Lucien kissed her again, unable to stop himself. ‘I’ll still love you.’

‘You will love me?’

‘I love you,’ he confirmed, kissing the tip of her nose. ‘I’ll never love you less – only more. Only more.’

His arm slid to the back of her knees to lift her into his arms. Their steps were made slow by the soft sand slipping through his toes and punctuated by kisses. Nesta curled against his body, a smile pressing into her lips.   

‘I’ll take you to the Continent,’ he whispered between kisses. ‘To Rask. To wherever you want to go.’

Nesta kissed the scar on his face. ‘As long as it’s with you.’

[sweetlikehoneystingslikeabee]

Which of the Gotham rogues do you think would be into marking their partner? Which ones do you think are more into PDA and showing off their partner, and which ones are more private?

Would love to hear your HCs for all of them ❤️.

"Showing off" Rogues Party

OH HELLO? MARKING AND PDA HM? Sorry this took so long, but better late than never!

TW: NSFW, marking, degradation, somnophilia, biting, knife play, needle play, collars, spanking

Riddler

Somewhere mid- on the scale of marking. He enjoys it, but it's not a necessary kink for him. In the case of his partner being into marking and encouraging him, he would get into a lot of theatrics for it. Talking sweet and dirty to you as he leaves an imprint of his teeth. Taking a green sharpie and writing a question mark on your hip because he thinks he's cute.

One thing that would get him going is seeing the imprint of ropes or ties on you. Nothing that cuts into you deeply, but seeing those marks after a session of tying you up... the intricacies of patterns pressed into your skin, even if it's brief. He wants to drag his lips across it.

He's obnoxiously into PDA. Despite the fact that he doesn't like touching by anyone else, he's terrible about it when it comes to you- Unless you ask otherwise. Taking a moment just to kiss you, not caring who sees. Hanging off of you when you're talking to someone else. See, everyone who thought he was too annoying and made up his partner, here they are! In the flesh! He's making sure everyone knows you're dating. And that anyone who tries to get at him through you will encounter a fate worse than death :)

Penguin

Oswald likes biting- HOWEVER, it's a ton of light grazing because his teeth are actually sharp and he doesn't want to hurt you. Plus, he likes your skin as it is. Light scars but nothing that will stay longer than a couple weeks. He will dirty talk it up though in the heat of the moment.

He'll pick out your outfits and things that have an obvious insignia or "Cobblepot colors" of white, black and purple. Garter stockings/thigh harness with jewelry he bought you that people can only see when you flash your leg a certain way. If nothing else, he'd ice you out with a choker if that's more your thing. He would also pay for a tattoo- nothing crazy, but a symbol on your thigh or hip that's meant to represent him.

Showing off his partner is part of the deal. He's an incredibly public figure and he doesn't intend on hiding the fact that someone really cares about him. That and the fact that you fuck. His hands linger over your ass or thighs in a way that tells everyone else you're taken, which is a form of marking on it's own. He also likes public sex or at minimum public messing around, even if he would make sure to cover you up if you were ever caught.

Mad Hatter

IRONICALLY, for him being as kinky as he is, he wouldn't like marking with his teeth or hands. Into marking in the sense of clothing. Matching decor- themes. You two walk into a room and it's obvious you are Together. If he ever did mark your skin in a lasting way, he'd be the first one to kiss it. Terribly sorry, dear, he couldn't help it. You're far too lovely for him to resist. It would turn into a praise session for how beautiful you are.

The ONLY exception to not liking to leave marks is with somnophilia and even then, he'd ask you first if it was okay/part of the play for you. Him being so cautious to not even wake you up, using your body to his whims and the only sign when you wake up is a pleasant soreness and little marks on your hips or thighs.

Yes and no. He wants people to know the two of you are together but he does have a sense of being chaste in public. If you initiate, he'll gladly reciprocate the affection you give him. The clothing mentioned would likely be enough to clue people in, anyways. If someone made him jealous or got too close to you, however, he'd suddenly get a lot touchier and in your space. He likes the idea or perception of him being a gentleman despite his dabbling in psychedelics and mind control.

Scarecrow

The psychological effects of marking alone makes it a fascinating thing for Jonathan. I've mentioned it before, but sex to him is yet another avenue to analyze you and your mind through behavior. What satisfaction does it give you to be "owned" by him? To have other people see that you're "his" by the marks he leaves upon your skin? It's a very fun thing for him to sink his teeth into, metaphorically and literally.

Usually his idea of marking is using his nails on your skin, leaving scratches that bloom in light inflammation after the moment is gone. Lines he can run his fingers over in the following days. It doesn't show to anyone besides him really, but he's also fond of spanking. Leaving little marks by his hands or a tool that you'd have to wiggle in front of a mirror or get a photo of to see.

Not big on PDA. This is a man who grew up having to hide a lot of facets about himself so he wouldn't be a target to bad things. Then it was the second persona of the Scarecrow. He's very private in the day to day outside of certain people. You'd find he's much more likely to kiss you in front of fellow rogues, for example. He would get you something small as a gesture to show off your "engagement" i.e. relationship to him, however, a small ring, necklace or a bracelet sort of thing.

Music Meister

He would feel bad. He sees that he gave you a bruise on your thigh when he grabbed you in bed and he's apologizing when he sees it. He has an incredibly soft and romanticized idea of sex so he doesn't try to get rough in the first place. You'd have to ease him into it and make it a sort of scenario. He'd be careful still, but you might get something out of it. Reassure him it's alright and that you like it.

A type of marking he would do, though, without much prompting, is physical marker writing. Ticking off the amount of times he's made you moan on your thighs. A little note here or there for you to find later. A song lyric because he has ADHD and got distracted- well. You shouldn't be shocked.

PDA and showing off, though? He's making an entire musical number to announce your arrival. Clarence is having you in dance routines for his heists. Everyone is going to know that you are together. If you were looking for privacy, you should not have gone for the theater kid. Lots of public kissing, hand holding and his arm around your body.

Victor Zsasz

ooooooo fucking boy.

#1 the guy you would look at for marking. If you can handle the fact that he's a freak and not really a nice guy, he'll mark you every which way you can imagine. Literal markers, his hands, his nails, his teeth, needles, knives, actually carving his initials into you- If you're game, he'll do it. Make you bleed while making sure you're not passing out on him or getting too injured. He'd "mark" his gun or knife handle by fucking you with it so he's always got "you" around when he's working.

Would write "cum dump" on your abdomen with drawn hearts if you're into that. He'll even take pictures of you like that, bound and gagged and stuffed with his cum for a spank bank later. If you've ever seen the intricate "needle art" some people will do (with sterile equipment), he would. If you don't at least have a couple bruises after going with him, he doesn't think he's properly fucked you.

He's... disgusting, really. He'll spit in your mouth in public to show off how good you are for him if you'd allow it. Collar and a leash, make you pant on his leg and beg for it. In more refined, appropriate settings, he would push it by huffing about wanting a kiss. In certain crowds he'd be more private for your protection. Because in his own twisted little way, he does care.

Killer Croc

Marking is something he got into over the years because it's very difficult for him not to mark up a partner by accident. It took a while to get there emotionally/psychologically since it definitely fed into this fear of him being a monster that only hurts people. Then as the condition got worse, people generally lost interest unless they had a fetish which just... no. As he came to acceptance with his entire thing, the marking kink sort of fell into place.

Yet, he's still careful as he drags his claws up the plush of your thighs, holding you close to kiss him. It's not terribly hard for him to make someone bleed, after all. Where it might be more difficult to restrain himself funny enough, is if his partner is holding all the control and he gets REALLY in the moment. You could be ordering him around, he's with it, and he's also biting your shoulder hard enough to leave a blemish.

He doesn't dislike PDA, but he won't really initiate. There isn't a particular reason for it. It's just not really his style. He thinks it's really cute if you want to hang off his arm or kiss him around other people, though. It's very validating for him. One way or another, people are going to know the two of you are together if it's by conversation or him playfully hoisting you on his shoulder as you head home.

Harley Quinn

It's actually not a kink of hers, it's rather something that just kind of happens because she gets really enthusiastic. If anything, she winces if she sees too many bruises on you, kissing softly as a way of showing her apologies. There was a time she loved seeing those on her own body because of what they meant- Now it's a grim reminder. Side note: if you guys play spar it's a slight exception, this is related specifically to sex/romantic relationship things.

That all being said, she adores being with you and pretty much all displays of affection being with you. It's not shocking to literally anyone who ever saw her when she was with the Joker. She has a penchant for pet names and grandiose gestures of her affection. She's the one who walks up to a carnival game and the guy working there thinks they'll take her money- and she walks away with the biggest stuffed animal for you.

Sometimes you'll look over at her when you're out together and you'll notice she's just looking at you with hearts in her eyes. Holding you and being held by you in those movie theaters where you can push up the arm rests. Sharing a drink and food. Everyone in Gotham knows.

Poison Ivy

Only likes it in the sense of rough play. Similar to Harley, doesn't aim for it. Just happens. Bruises from being bound. Scratches from messing about around her plants or her perfect nails. Doesn't really use her teeth for much, however. Given how her saliva can have an effect on people even when she doesn't mean to via an oral route, she would not want to risk it getting into your bloodstream. It's a "just in case" safety precaution.

The exception to intentional marking is if it's part of dominating play and it's something her partner is seeking out. Even then, it's more about clothing to put you in a position of "hers". For example, collars, clothing with tight straps, etc etc. You want people to know you're hers, baby? Why don't you tell them yourself?

Yes and no on PDA. When someone is under her thrall, she loves big displays because it shows the power she has over them. With you, her partner, she's actually more demure. A small kiss on the cheek or the lips, pulling you close and holding your hand as you walk in the park. She has a thing for sex outside or at least in nature, but she tends to pick areas that are more secluded to prevent people from peeking in. If anyone asks, however, she'll never deny you're her person. Let there be no doubt about that.

Two-Face

Complicated. Harvey still struggles with it because in his mind, that's something horny teenagers or early 20-somethings do. It's not professional, it's could be potentially embarrassing for your partner. Sure, it's fun in the moment but- Harv is already telling him to shut up, it's hot. It's a sign of passion, of wanting someone so bad your teeth mark them because you could devour them whole! Who wouldn't be into that?!

If Harvey got into it, it would be things you can easily hide under your clothing. Hickeys and little bruises where his hands held tightly. He feels... kind of naughty doing it? It's fun, though! Harv dives full-force into it, intentionally leaving little marks where he knows it'll drive Harvey's boy scout routine crazy. They both like seeing it on your body, there's just a disagreement on admitting it.

Something they can both agree on 100%, however, is showing you off as their partner. Clothing that has a "duality" theming to it so you match with them. A hand that depending on the current controller is high on your back or dancing low just above the curve of your ass, fingers resting in the hip dip. Sometimes they like to steal kisses when you least expect it, just so others can see your reaction go from surprise to a warm smile.

Black Mask

He'd make you show other people or, at minimum, tell you to wear things that would show off exactly where he marked you up. Teeth marks, hickeys, bruises, the occasional knife play- It gets him off to watch you pull up your shirt or skirt to show off something he's done to your body. Like it's a badge of honor to have Roman Sionis leave a reminder on you of your past transgressions.

Collars. He will get you a collar for every different occasion and outfit if you want. It doesn't have to strictly be a collar, either. Just something you wear that everyone sees as his "ownership" over you. If you guys have gotten to a serious note, he wouldn't mind matching tattoos, either. Something small and subtle on your hands or wrist. After all, you're together for the rest of your natural lives, right? It's not like it's that different from a wedding ring.

He would have sex in public or at least around other people if you were down, if that answers your question. He'll kiss you, grope you, pull you into his lap whenever it pleases him. It could be egregious enough that someone might be confused that you're just a toy for gratification vs something serious. He'd knock the teeth out of anyone who said that about you around him.

Mr. Freeze

Unintentional when he marks up his partner. Yet when he kisses for a lingering amount of time... there is a frost build up. It's certainly not permanent- it's like a powder of fresh snow was left on your shoulder. Even if he was into it, per say, he would worry about intentionally trying to mark a partner with his own body. Given his condition that could lead to skin or even muscle damage!

He's certainly more private, but he's not against PDA. A lot of how he shows affection is just subtle and not about physical touch. Ensuring you're bundled up while in his work space that inevitably gets frozen over. You're eating all your meals and when you're sick you can rest.

People are going to know you're with him without "showing off" simply because it's apparent that he cares for you. For one, he actually keeps you around. Two, if anything threatened to get between you, he'd be getting suddenly very hostile...

Ra's al-Ghul

Actively against PDA and showing you off. Getting handsy and kissing a lot in public makes you a target. It paints him as someone with a very visible weak point. Marking would be something private. Only you can see it, i.e. it's under the clothing. So writing, a stray scratch or bruise- Having very apparent signs that the two of you fuck or that you "belong" to him in a sense, however, is different.

For one thing, you are either in his quarters or directly next to him. If you ever go out without him, you have a trail of spies behind you for your protection. Some might say it's like living in a gilded bird cage. To others it's a significant show of respect and intimacy that the incredibly secretive Ra's al-Ghul wants you to know him inside and out.

You will wear clothing that is befitting to your status as his partner. Golden jewelry, either an arm band or something around the neck- green like his robes for any gemstones. He'll kiss the skin as he puts these pieces on you himself. Much of this isn't marking in the "traditional" sense, but people will surely know that you are his partner.

Bane

On the fence. On one end, he doesn't want to like it because he's not the brute that people want to think he is. His entire identity is not that of a violent criminal despite what the world has made him. And yet... there is something visually pleasing about seeing a sign of where he's been along your skin. It's not dissimilar to shows of strength with you. Little bruises where you asked him to go rougher, to grab you tighter. A slight indent of his teeth on your shoulder.

Other than that, he does not like the idea of hurting you. Anything where he's intentionally marking you up is off the table. He doesn't really go for fashion. He doesn't want to write on you (it feels strangely disrespectful to him). Asking him to cause you harm (even minor and in play) is an incredible turn-off.

He likes being affectionate in public, however, he is strict on when and where. He works with dangerous people. He has a mind for strategy- you could be another pawn piece for someone if the two of you are too affectionate in the wrong crowd. Amongst his true peers or, say, your family or friends? Completely different, he's kissing your neck to make you laugh and hugging you close.

[izzyspussy]

i actually think somewhat slightly opposite-ish of this post.

ed wants to show off. he absolutely does love having proof that he's desirable, wanted, and loved. and taken, in multiple senses of the word lmao. and he's definitely not shy, not embarrassed, doesn't particularly want to be private about it, or any of that. but i think he's very aware of the fact that he is not great with boundaries, that he can - as they say - Forget Himself. and while he and stede know each other a lot better now and are more honest with themselves and each other, no longer seeing each other as or trying to fit into the perfect idealized shape of Gentleman and Pirate (either one in either role), there are still some lingering clingy little holdovers from that. so on that hand, ed is not sure how much showing off is Too Much. if stede will be off-put or embarrassed by him if he crosses some invisible line from tasteful into trashy. and i also think there's this other hand where ed wants to show off, but just ever so slightly more than that (in the context of his relationship), he wants to be shown off.

meanwhile, stede has always been put down for not being good enough or strong enough or masculine enough and he was married to a woman who didn't want him and who he was at least something of an embarrassment to, and he's used to being passed over and belittled and neglected, and to having a lot that he doesn't want and nothing that he does, and being shamed for both. and! at the same time he's still every bit as up himself as any other wealthy white guy lmao, and he's deeply, deeply, apocalyptically theatrical lmfaooo. anyway, point being. now that he has something to brag about that actually really does stroke his ego, rather than just being the only thing(s) he's got to try to make people respect him (in the only way he was brought up to understand "respect"), he will absolutely take literally any opportunity to do that. put together all his measuring-up issues, the fact that he fully and completely believes ed to be the most beautiful and gorgeous and sexy and impressive and perfect and very best man to ever live, his eagerness to make ed believe that too or at least believe stede believes it now that he knows that's an issue, the fact that ed's blush and ed's smile and ed letting him dress him or change his hair or put his hands on him makes him feel more powerful than god, his indelible smug richboy attitude, and his own utter lack of boundaries, and you get a man who cares not one whit what marks on him are showing but will go completely out of his way to make sure everyone sees the marks he's left (or any other clear indication that ed - yes that ed, that one right there - is his).

so, in my head, the scene in front of lucius and his iced coffee goes more like stede dressed completely normally and ed with his hair partway up and his collar tastefully open, clearly trying to show off a little bit but trying not to overdo it (which is just as clearly not coming naturally to him lmaooo). and then stede saying something or other about ed looking uncomfortable or having a hair out of place in a voice that could not possibly be more disingenuous, and reaching over to pull ed's hair all the way up and brush his fingers improprietously over the marks on ed's neck he's purposely revealing on his way down to undo a couple more buttons on ed's shirt, then turning to lucius with vanity so palpable it crunches (as if lucius isn't also in a loving and committed relationship with someone he's just as attracted to, because obviously no one compares to ed and everyone but stede has had to settle at least a little) while ed stares at him like he hung the sun, moon, and every star in the sky.