#none the measurements fit lol

[eggpea]

i bought a shit ton of fleece expecting to be getting 36in by 60in pieces ( 1 yard width of fabric thats almost 2 yards in length)and i got sent more than that

[sleepymarimo]

𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕣𝕞𝕠𝕣 (fantasy au!)

summary: you're to be wed in order to bring more greatness and glory to your kingdom. to narrow down your suitors, it's decided that they will participate in a jousting match. a particular jouster riding a reindeer and wielding three lances catches your attention. you really hope he wins... pairing: zoro x gn!reader cw: none (i think?), small bit of angst, but mostly some fantasy based fluff, helmeppo jumpscare an: thank you all for being patient with me! i hope you enjoy it. i don't really write fantasy so i hope it's alright! also why are there no gender neutral terms for prince/princess?! wc: 3.9k way longer than i expected it to be when i made the poll lol

the sun rises over strong stone walls, illuminating the beauty that is your kingdom. you're in a deep sleep, your expression relaxed. all of that changes when a multitude of royal attendants scurry inside, light flooding your room as the curtains are peeled open.

"good morning, your highness." one of them chirps, ushering you off of the plush bed. "today is the day! oh, aren't you excited?"

your eyes open and you need a second to adjust to it all, letting yourself be guided to who knows where. the light is blinding and disorienting, as are the hands on your back and shoulders pushing you towards the dressing room.

the day?

oh.

the day.

the fog in your head starts to clear and you register the commotion going on outside of the castle. the horns, the cheers, the utter liveliness of it all which contrasted with the dark pit growing in your stomach. with a quick sideways glance out a passing window, you confirm that today is in fact the day- the day of the jousting tournament which will determine who’ll take your hand and rule alongside you.

before you could even reply, another attendant, an older one who has been by your side since you were a child, grabs your hand and gives you a warm smile. "all the suitors will adore you, your grace. you'll make this kingdom so proud! whoever wins your hand is sure to be strong and worthy."

swallowing a lump of anxiety, you return her enthusiasm with only a small smile as you feign excitement. from there, you're prepared and pampered for the occasion.

multiple attendants step in and out of the lavish dressing room, carrying clothes and hair products and shoes and jewelry. measuring tape is wrapped around nearly every part of your body to ensure a proper fit, nothing allowed to be out of place for the big day. you're bathed and clothed and sprayed with an insane amount of fragrance.

hours later, when the sun is high in the sky, you're guided to the jousting grounds which lay just outside the castle.

armored escorts surround you, ensuring your safety and holding the crowds at bay. the many citizens smile and wave as you pass by. you return their gestures with polite greetings of your own, satisfied with their trust in you.

your eyes glance towards the large stone walls which surround the kingdom. tapestries line them, colored in your favorite hue and sporting the insignia of the kingdom. the jousting arena is bustling with nobles, clergy, merchants and citizens. on a platform, above the rest of the stands, is where your parents sit and await your presence.

they're sitting tall and proud, oblivious to the unease growing within you.

your steps are a little awkward as you make your way to your seat, one of your undergarments having been fitted a little too tightly. it was almost impossible to relax your muscles unless you wanted seams digging into your flesh. when you finally reach your seat, nestled between those of your parents, you give them each a respectful nod and put into practice those lessons in formality they made you partake in.

"mother. father." you greet, taking your seat. shifting, you take a second to find a comfortable position before sitting tall and placing your hands neatly in your lap.

your mother's eyes lighten up, a hand coming up to gently pinch at your cheek. "oh, don't you just look so darling..." she coos, humming in approval as she eyed your attire and hair.

crossing his arms, your father simply states your name as a way of greeting you. his focus is on the arena, which is still being prepared. the jousters aren't anywhere to be seen. presumably, they're in the stables adjacent to the arena and preparing their lances and steeds for the upcoming matches.

"this kingdom needs someone strong." your father muses, casting a glance in your direction. "be prepared to take the hand of the one who wins this tournament. remember, it's not just nobility that are participating- this was an open invitation event, free to any and all who deem themselves worthy."

feeling uneasy, you just nod. with a shaky breath, you patiently wait for the jousters to line up in the arena.

it's a half hour later when all the contenders are lined up on their steeds, lances up and sitting tall as they await the introductory announcement. you're stunned by the number of potential suitors. there were at least fifty. you can't blame them for wanting a shot at the throne.

musicians blow their horns, playing a welcoming tune, before a royal attendant clears their throat and begins to speak.

"ladies and gentleman!" they announce, their voice ringing through the arena. "today, we will be witnessing a jousting tournament which will decide who will take the hand of-"

"hold it!" comes a high pitched voice, sounding displeased and almost whiny.

the crowd's attention turns to a lanky looking blond man with a cleft chin, who sits atop a white steed. he wears armor that looks much too big for his scrawny form, his expression disgusted.

the crowd breaks into hushed murmurs and mumbles, recognizing the man. "that's prince helmeppo!" one of the bystanders exclaims.

he raises a hand and points it toward another jouster, his tone sharp. "that jouster wields three lances!" he huffs, eyes narrowing as he puffed his chest. "and he rides atop a reindeer instead of a horse! dear king, i believe that he is at an advantage and should be disqualified."

your brows rise at the, well, audacity of this man. it sends a shiver down your spine to think that he was a potential suitor.

the attention of yourself and the entire crowd then turn towards the supposed three lanced jouster, who looks tense. he wears a steel helmet with a visor, so you can't exactly see his face.

"huh?" he exclaims, caught off guard by the sudden attention. "why're you talkin' about me for?"

the blond laughs upon hearing the jouster's informal manner of speech. "oh, you're just a commoner! no wonder!"

the unknown jouster and prince helmeppo exchange verbal blows until your father stands up from his seat and puts an end to it. "enough!" he orders, the arena falling silent. he looks between the two men, eyes narrowing at the reindeer and three lances. "it is true that your style of jousting is...odd. it may put others at a disadvantage."

the jouster tightens his grip on one of his lances, his frustration evident.

"if it were up to me, i'd have you disqualified. however, it is not my hand you'll be taking." your father says, gesturing to you. everyone's attention is on you, including the jouster, and you squirm in your seat, your face warm. "your highness, make a choice."

your mouth feels dry and you focus your attention on the jouster. even though you can't see his face or his expression, you swear you catch a glimpse of his steel gaze from behind the eyeholes of his helmet.

"i..." you let out a sigh and straighten up, your voice firm. "i will allow the jouster to participate in the tournament!"

cheers ensue, and so does the tournament.

the matches are all riveting. the sound of steel on steel reverberates through the air. people yell in excitement, clap their hands and make it known that they have favorites. you're on the edge of your seat the whole time, but your focus is on him.

the jouster with the three lances.

his style is interesting, almost captivating to watch. he holds a lance in each hand and lifts his visor just enough to place the last one in his mouth. it gives you a glimpse of his strong jaw and nose, the rest of his face a complete mystery to you.

every match he takes seriously, not caring much for taunts or mind games. his posture is consistently strong and poised- a true warrior. you wonder if he truly is a commoner and not a knight in disguise.

he takes out competitor after competitor. unfortunately (and you don't know how), so does prince helmeppo. before you know it, it's the time of the final match.

the two men are on their respective steeds, staring each other down from across the arena as the announcer gives a final speech. the crowd is on edge, a good majority of them rooting for prince helmeppo while a designated few display their fondness towards the reindeer riding mystery jouster.

the announcer raises a horn, about to signal the start of the match.

however, before he can do so, the sound of thunder echoes throughout the kingdom. the crowd audibly sighs in disappointment, the pitter pattering of the rain drowning out cheers and music.

both the jousters lower their lances, their postures relaxing.

the king grunts in displeasure, rising from his seat and acknowledging the spectators, as well as the final two contenders. "the match will be postponed. we will continue tomorrow at approximately midday." he pauses, thinking over something before he goes on. "a celebration will be held in the castle to compensate for such a delay. you are all welcome to join."

your father's invitation seems to reignite the earlier enthusiasm, and the crowd slowly starts to make their way towards the castle.

guiding you back are your armored escorts, who urge you to return to the safety and warmth of the castle walls. while being guided away, you can't help but look back at the finalists.

prince helmeppo speaks with his royal attendants, commanding them to take off his armor and bring him some dry clothes. his attitude towards his servants makes your nose wrinkle in displeasure.

the other jouster, though, doesn't seem to have any attendants or other individuals with him. he doesn't seem to mind the rain either, patting his reindeer and feeding it... cotton candy?

you don't have time to question it, as one of your escorts ushers you forward.

in the castle, a grand dinner is held for the people and jousters. the whole banquet hall is alive with food and music and drinks. it's a little overwhelming having so many people come up to you, but you do well to stay strong and treat them with kindness.

it's made all the worse when prince helmeppo comes your way, giving you a smile that makes your stomach ache. really, how is this guy a finalist?

"your grace." he all but purrs, kissing your hand for a bit too long. "i look forward to winning your hand tomorrow. i can assure that i'll treat you well."

your laugh is forced, but he can't seem to tell. you quickly retract your hand and subtlety wipe it on your clothes. "you're too kind..." you tell him, voice strained. "i, uh, need to attend to some royal matters..."

with that, you scurry off.

since the festivities were so lively, you were quickly able to evade the attention of your escorts and your parents. with light steps, you navigate through the castle walls and sneak out via passageways used by the servants.

it's late when you finally make your way to the stables, finding solace in the silence. since most of the citizens were in the banquet hall, you didn't worry much about being seen. you remember prince helmeppo's words and shiver in disgust. honestly, you preferred the company of the horses at this point- at least they weren't as snobby.

as you walk through the stables, petting some of the friendlier palace horses, you hear a bleat a few stalls down.

your eyes widen when you catch sight of the reindeer, curiosity taking over as you carefully approach him. it looks just as interested in you, it's head tilting while it stomps the ground with its hooves. on the stall, the name 'chopper' is engraved into the wood. a piece of metal reflects the moonlight and you realize that one of his horns had, at some point, fallen off before being reattached.

one of your hands raises to touch the cool metal and you let out an appreciative hum when you realize just how sturdy it seemed. did the jouster patch him up? perhaps he was sweeter than he-

"what are you doing?" comes a familiar, gruff sounding voice from behind you.

the cool metal suddenly feels burning hot and you quickly pull away, holding your hands in front of you as a bout of nervousness strikes through your core. how did you not hear the sound of clinking armor? you don't turn around, not having the guts to do so.

"sorry!" you say quickly, clearing your throat as you revert back to your formal self. "i mean, my apologies, jouster. i was simply-"

he exhales, the sound rattling in his chest and seeming to echo in his helmet. "you don't have to do all...that." he says, referring to your scripted, overly formal words. "it's fine."

he seems oddly calm for being in the presence of a royal.

the muscles in your shoulders relax and you allow yourself to slump slightly. you turn around and, as you thought, he's still fitted in his armor and helmet. now that you were in front of him, you noticed just how massive he was. for a second, you're almost intimidated, remembering that you're alone and without any escorts.

"i... i didn't see you at the banquet." you state, curious to learn more about the enigmatic jouster. after all, he could very well be the one to take your hand tomorrow.

he shrugs, nonchalant as ever as he took a step closer to chopper and placed a hand on the reindeer's head. "went to a tavern."

his blunt response pulls a thoughtful hum from you, leaving you unsure of what to think.

when it came down to it, it was either him or helmeppo. as of right now, you just felt trapped. you knew that by this time tomorrow, you would arranged to marry one of them.

something about that thought has you feeling a little too vulnerable, enough to want to hide your face from him. you enter one of the empty stalls and rest your weight on the wooden walls, sliding down until you were sat on the floor.

you didn't care that your clothes would grow dirty. you didn't care that some of the hay was digging uncomfortably into your skin. your head and heart were too full for you to really give it much mind.

"why're you doing this?" you ask with slight resignation in your voice, hoping you wouldn't offend or anger him. "the title? the berries?"

for a second, he doesn't answer.

his armor clinks together as he moves, then you feel a pressure on your back as the wood gets pushed inward. you quickly realize that he's sitting on the other side of the stall, right behind you.

you're back to back, so close yet just out of reach.

the next thing you register is the sound of his helmet sliding off. his action is a little surprising and it makes your heart skip a beat. you really wanted to see his face...

"i don't care about any of those royal titles." he says with a hint of indignation. his voice is clear now, not muffled by his helmet. the deep and rough timbre of it catches you a little off guard. "the only title i want is that of the world's greatest jouster."

your eyes widen a bit, before your brows furrow. "so, you want the berries?"

he sighs in frustration, armor clanking together as he crossed his arms. "i don't want-" he stops for a moment, clicking his tongue and taking a deep breath. his tone is notably softer when he speaks, more calculated. "the arena where i learned to joust is being shut down. my old mentor can't afford it, so i'm doing this to get the berries and..."

from there he trails off, but it's pretty clear what his intentions are. you imagine all the other jousters in training, children who won't be able to practice their beloved sport. you can't help but feel a great deal of respect for the jouster, even if he seemed a little rough around the edges.

yet, the notion is also so over the top. becoming a king just to keep an arena running? he'd really be willing to bear the weight of being a royal, just for all the young jousters in training?

the utter absurdity of it has you chuckling ever so slightly in disbelief.

"somethin' funny?" he asks with an underlying note of exasperation, getting defensive.

"no, not at all." you reassure, finding yourself smiling uncontrollably. your voice softens, true admiration lacing your next words. "i think it's very noble of you."

your words stun him into silence. if you could see him, you'd have a clear picture of his clenched jaw and reddened cheeks.

some amount of minutes pass, the distant sounds of the celebration ringing through the air. your head races with thoughts about the future. this jouster had earned your respect, that much was certain.

with a sigh, you make your decision.

"i'll give you the berries." you say, determined and unwavering. "i'll talk with my father and have them sent to the arena.”

his surprise is evident as he quickly straightens his posture, armor clinking together in a frenzy. then, it's quiet. his voice cuts through the thick air, more gentle than you've ever heard it.

"why?" he asks, not understanding your intentions. he wasn't used to free hand outs, especially from royalty such as yourself. everything he had was earned, and he liked it that way.

"because you need it." you reply simply, digging your fingers into your clothes until your knuckles turned white. you realize that with this choice, helmeppo would ultimately be taking your hand. "you don't have to show up tomorrow. go home and help your students."

he lets out a small grunt, a hint of irritation and wariness in his tone. "and you?"

even though you know he can't see it, you shrug your shoulders. you resign to your fate, knowing that your happiness was never guaranteed. it's a role you take with a heavy heart, but you find some solace knowing that others will benefit from your sacrifice.

"i'm sure i'll get my happily ever after." you say with some self-depreciation, smiling at the ceiling. "eventually."

there's silence, then more silence.

finally, you hear the familiar sound of his armor shuffling together as he stood and made his way towards his reindeer companion. you can hear him prepare the reigns and open the stall door. the sound of hooves echo through the wooden walls as he guides the reindeer outside, but there's a pause.

"thanks." he says, genuine and grateful.

you bite at the meat of your inner cheek, keeping your voice strong. "you're welcome, sir...uh-"

"zoro." he interjects, sliding his helmet back on. "roronoa zoro."

"zoro." you echo back, smiling as you said his name.

he walks off, until you can't hear the sounds of armor or hooves. dropping your head, you let yourself cry.

the night passes slowly, time crawling by at a snail's pace. a sense of defeat is instilled within you as the sun starts to rise. when your attendants dress you, you even tell them to get you clothes which coordinate with the colors of helmeppo's kingdom.

the arena is packed, everyone eager to witness the spectacle. but you know what the outcome will be.

helmeppo is on one side of the arena, gracefully sat on his steed as he awaited the arrival of his competitor. when his opponent doesn't show up, spectators begin to murmur and gossip. after twenty minutes pass, there's no need to go on any further.

the announcer clears his throat, musicians preparing to play a closing tune in light of a winner being chosen.

your eyes close as the announcer begins to speak.

"by reason of absence, we have chosen to disqualify-"

"hold on!" comes a familiar voice, the crowd gasping as the jouster approached on his reindeer. his armor rises and falls, as if he's taking deep breaths. it goes silent and his next words are eagerly anticipated by many. would he make some sort of declaration? a noble speech of redemption?

his arm comes up to rub the back of his helmet as he clears his throat. "i got lost."

some spectators boo at him.

your breath catches in your throat and your lips tremble. he came back?

the exhale that leaves you is shaky, full of relief. zoro takes his place on the other side of the arena, steeling himself and giving chopper a solid pat on the side.

"i ain't gonna run from a damn fight." he growls, readying his lances. “gotta finish this the right way.”

helmeppo is more than displeased, already preparing for a win. he raises his lance and the spectators hold their breaths. the announcer lifts his hand and starts the count, then the two men charge at each other.

you watch as they get closer and closer, lances drawn, but as they're about to make contact, you can't help but close your eyes.

a metallic thud.

silence.

then, cheers.

when you open your eyes, a smile grows on your face when you catch sight of zoro sitting proudly on his cotton candy loving steed. his three lances are still poised and ready, his armor shining in the sunlight.

the announcer declares a winner and you're given permission to head down to the arena. you pay no mind to helmeppo, who lays on the ground and throws a fit.

zoro hops off his steed when he sees you approaching, tucking away his lances.

when you're in front of him, your voice is barely above a whisper, trembling and just loud enough for him to hear. "thank you. you could've just taken the berries… you didn’t have to-”

he huffs out a laugh, hands coming up to remove his helmet. your expression falters in awe. that's what was underneath the whole time?

"yeah, well, you don't make bein' royalty seem so bad." he coolly replies, rolling out his shoulders with a gruff exhale. "and i sure as hell wouldn't wanna marry that dolt of a prince."

his moss-green hair is slightly slicked back from the helmet, a light sheen of sweat on his face. you meet his steel gaze, warmth spreading in your chest. your eyes trail over his face and he seems to sense your surprise, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"think i'll make a good king?" he asks, a tad smug as he tucked his helmet under one of his arms.

his question has you letting out a laugh, your worries dissipating into nothing but excitement for the future. "i think we can make it work, your highness."

he rolls his eye and extends a hand toward you, palm facing upwards. you take it and he offers you a lopsided grin, giving your hand a quick squeeze. his gaze shifts to your clothes and he lets out a playful scoff, bringing you closer.

"by the way, you'd look a lot better in green."

and you lived happily ever after...

thank you for reading!!

[acerathia]

pink camellias || Chapter 9: red chrysanthemum

Chapter Summary:

red chrysanthemum: i love you

Wordcount: 4.5k

Read on AO3 || Masterlist

Pairing:

Bakugou Katsuki / Reader

Tags/CW:

royalty au, inspired by Mulan, war and its consequences, violence, childhood friends to strangers to companions to lovers (i am sorry), Angst, Acts of Service, Character Death (Major, and Minor), swordfights, misogyny, f!reader, kidnapping, implied torture, let me know if I missed anything lol

Note:

honestly, let's get it over with LMAO, might post a lil bonus someday tho

Nothing was working out. You almost cursed, but you retained some sort of dignity and remained silent. The only thing leaving your mouth was a sigh, indicating your suffering. And immediately you got scolded for moving.

You pinched your face at that. Because you understood that they were taking your measurements, but were you truly not allowed to breathe? Especially if these were going to be your future dresses? You wished you still could wear your older ones.

But alas, your older dresses were outfashioned now, and pretty revealing. And not only that, but you also could not afford to arrive at the victory party littered with scars. You had them, but it would be a disgrace to reveal them like that. So, there you were, standing as still as possible for the seamstress to take your measurements to make you a proper dress for the upcoming ball.

Time already slipped between your fingers and you had no idea how long you had been standing there, but even after you were allowed to move, you couldn’t indulge and throw yourself onto your bed, at least you could sit down.

The seamstress showed you some of her designs and fabrics, and you choose a couple fitting for every possible situation you might happen to be in. And if there was a certain shade of deep red you had chosen, then it was simply because it was in fashion.

After making all these decisions, she handed you an already finished dress, because you had been summoned to the palace today. And despite your house arrest, nobody could refuse such a summon, so your father had to let you go.

The seamstress left, promising you your dresses in time for the ball. The moment the door closed, the maids swarmed around the dress, admiring it and its cut and color. And it didn’t take long until you felt their gaze upon you, and you shivered in premonition.

Still, they were good at prettying you up, so once again, you were left at their skilled hands. First, you slipped the bodice on, before the corset. You always hated getting it tied, but you didn’t complain when a maid pulled at the strings. After that were the numerous petticoats layered on top. And lastly, the adorned but simple dress.

The dress closed around your throat and had longer sleeves. Your hands were covered by elegant gloves. After everything sat right, the handmaids began to take care of your face and hair, making you fit for the occasion.

In the end, they handed you a parasol in the same shade as your dress. Still, you couldn’t help but look into the mirror before you left the room, making sure that none of your scars were visible. And you were glad that your face had remained untouched by any marring.

The way in the carriage between the mansion and the palace was smooth and didn’t take long. Soon you were leaving the palace gates behind you and a knight opened the door for you. The face you saw was rather unexpected, so you took a moment to take his hand to exit the carriage.

“Hello, lady knight,” Denki grinned, donned with the armor of the palace guards. Immediately he paled slightly as if someone gestured for him to not be rude. “I mean, greetings my lady.”

You grinned slightly at this. “Hello Sir Denki. I see you have climbed the ranks.”

“Uh, yeah! They were very pleased with my service, there’s no other reason of course.”

You patted his shoulder. “Sure, you were great. Now, I have to leave. Have fun with your new occupation.”

You then entered the palace where a maid greeted you and showed you the way to the garden, where the queen was waiting for you. Still, you took some time to look around the halls, at the art hanging on the walls and the carefully carved statues. And from time to time a memory of your childhood could be glimpsed inside your mind. The taste of these bittersweet. Especially with the current date.

You averted your gaze towards the ground, feeling a faint ache in your chest. And you wondered how long it would take for it to go away. Did you even wanted it gone? Now that you barely remembered her face?

Something caught in the corner of your eyes, and some reflex prompted you to turn slightly towards it. But once you looked, it was already gone. How silly of you, to think you had seen him again, in this very palace.

With a shake of your head, you entered the garden and greeted the queen with a curtsy. She returned the greeting with a chuckle and invited you to sit in front of her. Once you did, she took your hand in hers.

“How are you, darling? It has been some time since you had visited me last,” she asked, her gaze wandering over your face.

You squeezed her hand with your fingers. “I’ve been well, Your Majesty. I hope you didn’t get too bored in my absence,” you smiled cheekily.

Another chuckle. “Well, what can you do, I’ve been doing my duties. Only if my son would visit me also. But alas, he has been busy with the war.”

You nodded a bit absentmindedly, as you tried to remember if you had encountered any prince on the battlefield or at the base. But as much as you tried, you couldn’t, the only memory resurfacing was the way blood had felt between your fingers.

A shaky exhale and you turned your attention back to the queen. To the slightly rowdy hair underneath the crown. Yet, she looked majestic. You supposed it made sense.

After that, you both continued with light talk, as the reason you both were there in the first place didn’t have to be talked about. Even if you glanced at the flowers around you, remembering that these were her favorite. The ones she could never enjoy, unless someone put them on top of stone.

At their sight, you just stopped the conversation, unable to keep talking without any silent sobs escaping your lips. While you tried to stop your low hiccuping, she put a hand over yours once again, comforting you with her presence. She, too, was grieving in her own way. So, you both silently lamented the ones who had been taken from you too soon, leaving you without a mother, and without a best friend, a confidante of the heart lost.

This situation never changed, every year you joined her for tea until one's emotion finally broke through, leading to the memories falling from your lips, and hers. And you loved to listen about the youth of your mouth, something you could have never heard otherwise, something to connect you to her once again.

That was, until someone barged into the garden, words immediately directed at the queen in front of you in such a rude manner, you couldn’t help but gasp in surprise. Yet, she remained calm, so it seemed like that was something she had to deal with regularly.

Following the shouts you looked over, only to stop in your tracks. The sun was covering his golden hair and his eyes were focused on the woman sitting in front of you, not a glance in your direction. This time, his clothes were clean, a cape fluttering behind him. And for a moment you frowned at its color, orange, like the sunset, like peaches, like a warm bonfire, and like the royal family. Why hadn’t you noticed that earlier?

Your eyes glanced at the queen, and you suddenly noticed how eerily similar they look. The realization punched you in the gut, yet you refrained from saying anything, especially as he continued to give his mother an angry rant.

A sigh from her and she began to berate him in the exact same tone he had given her. You didn’t quite understand what was going on, but you still felt like you were intruding into this moment between them and sunk a tiny bit lower into your chair.

“… Now, you’re being rude, Katsuki. And you didn’t even greet our guest.”

“The fuck you mean, our guest, I didn–”, he turned around to face you, only to stop, as several emotions swiped over his face, his mouth slightly agape.

You tensed your jaw as you stood up to curtsy in front of him. “Greetings to the future sun of the empire, the Crown Prince.”

His whole body seemed to tense at your words, but before he could say anything, you turned towards his mother, the queen.

“Excuse me, I think it is time for me to go home. It was wonderful here, thank you for this invitation.”

She waved her hand slightly. “No need to thank me, dear, I hope you come visit me again.”

With another curtsy towards them both, you left the garden, intending on going home. While you were walking down the halls, you thought that your reaction might have been a little rash, as you had never asked him about his life outside of the battlefield, hell, nobody had even the time to think about anything else.

Still, he had made your life a little bit more difficult than it had to be, all because of your status, only for him to be relishing in a greater privilege than you. Even after you both had started to find comfort in each other's presence, he didn’t even try to look for you or even send you a measly little letter. Now, maybe you should write him one, two words would be enough, but in consideration, insulting the royal family did result in death, as much as you wanted to tell him what you think.

A hand grabbed your wrist with its fingertips, careful as if you were about to break. You turned around and pulled your hand away. The moment you looked at his face, you were really tempted to not curtsy, but maybe doing one would unnerve him.

But the moment you grabbed your dress, he spoke up: “Don’t! I mean– Fuck. You don’t have to curtsy or do any of that noble stuff in front of me, at least not when it’s just us…”

You raised your eyebrows. “No? Well, then, fuck you, Captain Katsuki,” you intoned his name sharply.

He let out a breath, his shoulders minimally slumping. “Shit, I deserve that… Listen, ugh, fuck, I– uh, I wanted to talk to you, but not like this. This doesn’t feel right. I mean, it does, just, just I was, fuckin’ worried.”

“Worried? About what? Oh, is it because it would be too embarrassing to be seen with someone like me? A disgrace to every noble woman?” you scoffed.

“Fuck, no. Argh, listen, I didn’t want you to think differently… of me…”, he mumbled, avoiding your eyes as if in anger, but you could sense the anxiety radiating off of his posture. “You… You used to call me ‘Kacchan, and, and I wanted to show you a different, better side of me. As a knight, as someone who can actually protect you. Not that– that brat I once was…”

At this, you sighed, closing your eyes for a moment. Of course, you understood where he came from, it didn’t make it much better, though. Still, you ought to accept his reasoning.

“I understand. But it doesn’t make it okay. You’ve been targeting me in the camp, making everything much more exhausting than it had to be. And then we connected, somehow. I thought that maybe we could move on, be friends, or even… more… But instead of being honest to me, like I was from the first day on, you chose to wait, while I was thinking of a way to contact you. I understand you, I do, but the disappointment runs deeper,” you explained. “That means I cannot forgive you that easily. At least not today.”

With those words, you turned around and walked towards the exit. All while you heard him grumble, but not follow you. Once you sat in the carriage, a sigh escaped you. You felt worn out by this revelation and his reaction, your reaction. And you were aware that you were bound to meet him again, at the latest at the victory celebration. But at least you still trusted him enough to not issue any order regarding you.

And as much as you wanted to worry about the whole situation between you both, there was barely any time for you to even have free thoughts, as you were suddenly busy with managing part of the mansion and the preparation for the upcoming celebration. All while you still weren’t allowed to train, and only leave the house if accompanied by someone else.

The mere days until the victory celebration went like a breeze, and suddenly you stood in front of the mirror once again. This time not in a proper dress with tulle and beautiful stitches, but rather in pants and a fancy jacket with so many glittering buttons, a cape in the color of your house hanging over your shoulder gave the look the final touch. Your sword was hanging on your belt, visible for once, you realized as your gloved hand subconsciously gripped the handle of it.

Looking at your reflection, you saw a knight, something you had worked towards for many years of your life. Yet, you didn’t feel as accomplished as you thought you would, your fingers feeling sticky in a used sensation, your tongue coated with a taste of the living, barely hanging on.

You turned around, shaking your head slightly, trying to drive these ghosts of memories away. Taking a deep breath before you left your room and immediately went outside to the carriage that was supposed to bring you to the hall.

This time, you were alone in the carriage, the first time in a long time, as your maids couldn’t just accompany you to such a place, and your father intended to join the festivities a bit later.

For some reason, you did not look forward to it, but you didn’t have much of a choice, as once again, this was something organized by the crown, and you were inevitably one of the guests of honor.

Arriving at the hall, you let the butler at the entrance announce your entry to the festivities. There, you let your gaze sweep over the crowd for a moment, before you made your way to the buffet filled with finger food and drinks.

On the way, you greeted some people you were indirectly acquainted with, as they asked about the whereabouts of your father. You answered truthfully and chatted them up a bit, trying to ignore some of the glances towards you. You knew, it was because of your clothes, but you didn’t have much of a choice regarding that, considering that the royal family had sent these beforehand. Not that you’d want to wear something else in this situation. You fought and you deserved to be honored, as much as it seemed to bother these people. You continued to smile, aware that additionally to your honorable position as a swordmaster, you were also your father’s daughter, the heir to the title filled with power. They could not afford to demean or ridicule you.

With last goodbyes and promises to visit someday, you finally finished your walk to the table to grab a glass of juice. You took a sip of the cool liquid and let the taste drench your tongue. Looking around, you recognized some people you had fought side by side with, but you didn’t dare approach, aware of the difference in status, and the way it might affect their life, and yours. So, you changed position to stand close to a wall, observing everything and simply waiting for the highlight of the festivities, for it to be over and for it to be polite to leave.

At least the dancing hadn’t started yet, and before you could wonder why, the masses began to cheer. Looking towards the end of the hall at the heightened platform framed by two massive staircases you saw the royal family emerge. The queen started a speech, a flute in her hand to cheer after she was done. But you only listened with half an ear, as your gaze caught on the person beside her, not the king, smiling at his wife, pride clear in his face, but at the crown prince, Katsuki.

He was wearing a white jacket, its collars accented with black, yet the golden details complimented him much more. The color seemed to belong to him, the edges of his clothes set with it, the buttons and small chains glittering underneath the light. But there was nothing beating the cape, one in the same shade of his eyes, shifting into the orange of the royal family with every movement and light. You thought you even spotted a loosened red tie around his neck. The way he stood there, standing out in the warm lights of the chandelier, made him seem like from another world, despite the scowl itching his features. At his sight, your heart thumped against your ribs, and your free hand rubbed over it.

And then his eyes met yours, all explosions and blooming flowers, bursting inside of you, between you. Your brain told you to look away, but you couldn’t, being enchanted by him, by the way his eyes almost imperceptibly softened, the scowl melting into something closer to a smile.

He was the one to break the contact, his eyes shifting to his mother, and the twist of his mouth was back, even if his eyebrows seemed less pinched this time. You immediately lifted the cup to your face to drink and to hide your face, feeling heat creep up your neck.

For some reason you felt the need to change your position, so you began to wander deeper into the hall, occasionally bumping into someone you knew and having small catch-up conversations.

You stayed close to the walls, as the center of the hall began to fill with dancers and their partners, moving to the music in learned steps. And every time you were a moment alone, you watched them, your feet tickling you to join them. But as nobody asked you to dance, you couldn’t just jump into the fray.

Someone tapped your shoulder and you turned around, smiling and ready to begin the small talk once again. But then you met red, ruby red eyes and your heart stuttered, your movements stumbling slightly.

Before you could even attempt to collect the right words again, he spoke up, slightly bowing down with his hand reaching towards you.

“May I have this dance?” he asked, his voice serious, yet you noticed the slight edge in the corners of his mouth.

There was no way you could refuse him, for various reasons, like, he was the crown prince and nobody did refuse him unless there was a plausible reason, and maybe you did want to dance and talk with him. But that was something he didn’t know.

So, all you did was curtsy. “I would be honored, Your Royal Highness.” Straightening up, you put your palm in his.

His fingers carefully curled around yours before he dragged you through the splitting masses to the dance floor. You felt the heat of his skin even through your glove as you followed in his steps.

Once you both found a proper spot, he changed the grip around your hand slightly while his other hand found the dip in your waist. And you put your free hand on his shoulder.

The music began to play and you both started the memorized steps, each movement flowing into each other. He was the perfect partner, his steps fitting with yours like magic, the closeness between you diminishing with each step and ruffle.

You couldn’t help yourself but look up to him, only to see his eyes already on you, the usual furrows between them gone, a certain softness in his gaze, his features. You felt his breath on your cheek as he leaned a bit closer, on your neck.

“Let me make it up to you,” he murmured softly against the small space between his lips and your skin, and you were all too aware of it. His eyes boring themselves deep into yours, the red a dim yet a brilliant shade of red.

A sigh escaped you, feeling as if the tension suddenly had left your body, the one melting into his without any reluctancy. You wanted to respond, but words eluded you suddenly. Still, you tried, trying to distract yourself from the need to feel his lips cross the distance.

“Uhm. However you want to do that,” you answered in a hushed voice, ready to accept whatever he did.

A grin slowly spread over his lips, the exact same ones that were inching closer to your face. Your reflexes betrayed you as you involuntarily closed your eyes, your tongue darting to wet your lips nervously.

You didn’t know what you were expecting, but you felt the heat clump underneath your skin nonetheless the moment his lips touched your skin, the touch so light, almost like like hovering. He didn’t linger, even if you wanted him to.

Slowly, your eyes fluttered open, suddenly remembering where you both were, your body still moving in concentric circles. The heat intensified, and you barely could glance in his direction, even if you did notice the slight redness on the tip of his ears.

Soon, the dance was over, and you curtsied before him as he bowed, before you took longer strides than usual to get to the open balcony. The cool breeze outside met your flushed body and the differenc in temperature made it more real. You could still feel the lingering warmth of his lips against your skin and your thoughts slowly shifted into a almost ridiculous direction, picturing the way his lips would feel against your own, against another part of your skin. You felt your nape getting warmer and you began to fan with your hands.

You stepped closer to the railing, leaning with one hand against it as you looked into the horizon, trying your best to change your trail of thoughts. Barely noticing the presence now standing beside you. You didn’t think much of it, as people were allowed to this space.

Yet, despite the open space being empty, an arm brushed against yours, and you reflexively looked to your side. Only to once again gaze into his face, this time only highlighted by the soft shine of the moon. At this sight your thoughts wandered to the fairy tales of impossible beauty and charming elves.

There was something indescribable in his eyes as he let them wander over your features, over your clothes. He opened his mouth, no words escaping for a moment.

“I forgot to tell you… You look amazing this evening,” he finally rasped, his eyes immediately avoiding yours and looking to the glittering space in the sky.

And while you still felt hot, his words didn’t make it any better, but at least you knew him well enough to know that his ears would be hot to the touch.

Unconsciously, your fingers had moved towards him, brushing his warm cheek to carefully pinch at his hot earlobe. Once your fingertips touched his skin, you noticed it rising in temperature even more.

He looked down on you, his eyes darkened by the heavy lidded look, and leaned his hand softly against the palm of your hand. You brushed your thumb against his cheekbone, his lashes fluttering with each move.

You felt his breath against your wrist before he slowly shifted, his lips meeting your skin, his teeth grazing your palm.

Your breath caught, you had to say something, lest your heart explodes against your ribs.

“And… you look beautiful,” you rasped, still captured by the way the moonlight seemed to catch on his lashes, spinning them into tiny stars.

A chuckle came out of him, a small grin against your hand. “Beautiful?”, he asked with a rough whisper, his hand grabbing your wrist to pull your arm over his shoulder, inevitably pulling you closer to him.

You opened your mouth, not resisting him moving you, feeling his other hand slip onto your waist. But no words came out of you, your tongue melting at the close proximity.

He leaned closer towards you, his eyes glancing between your lips and your eyes. “May I kiss you?” he rasped, his breath against your lips.

Your still slightly gaping mouth warped into a small smile, feeling a certain rush, anticipation tingling in your fingertips.

Yet, you were able to answer him. “You may,” you whispered, your own eyes landing on his lips.

Glancing back to his eyes, they had darkened some more before he finally leaned over the last distance separating you both, soft lips touching yours, caressing them. This tiniest of touches sparking something in you, your body tingling, moving on its own.

A small space opened between you, but you burrowed your hand into his soft hair, grabbing his shoulder with the other one to pull him closer to you, to meet his lips again.

He shifted closer to you, your back leaning against the railing as he leaned closer into you. But the moment his teeth grazed your lips, you pulled away, your subconscious still aware of the place you were in.

You barely could tear your eyes away from him, but you had to check if anyone was in the vicinity, peering through the windows. Those were covered by heavy curtains, and you sighed a breath of relief.

His hand found your chin, lifting your gaze once again to him. “Don’t worry, I like to be prepared for anything,” he murmured, a sharp grin pulling on his lips, before he dipped to kiss you once again, to taste you on his lips. His eyes told you that he would never be satisfied ever again, and you didn’t mind, because you doubted you could ever stop this craving after this.

Still, you avoided his lips, landing on your cheek. “I still think we should go back… Everyone would be looking for you, You–”

“Call me by my name when we’re alone,” he interrupted you with a hoarse voice, putting his forehead against yours.

You smiled at that. “As long as you show the same courtesy, Katsuki.”

And you allowed yourself to indulge for a few seconds, standing like this, face as close as possible, before you pulled away to fix his hair, and yours.

After you both made sure the other looked presentable again, he took your hand in his again, kissing your knuckles softly, barely a touch. “I look forward to seeing you again.” Then he whispered your name against your skin, like a present, only for him, something for him to hoard and keep, forever.

He let go of your hand, and entered the hall, alone. You had agreed on you waiting for some time, lest something scandalous got out, yet you hated it, you hated to see his back towards you as the shine of the chandeliers once again lit him up, caressing him and taking him back.

You knew that it would be difficult to be with him, you had always known, yet you couldn’t stop now, your soul irrefutably intertwined with his. So, you promised yourself, your heart and your soul, to at least try, even if it meant to spend a little bit more time with him.

A sigh, a moment, a wish towards the stars, and you entered the hall once again. Alone, the same way you left, yet entirely changed.

[charmandabear]

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Leather and Lace

Summary

Lady Estelle wasn't expecting to fall for her tailor, of all people. But with everything under her control during the day, she's more than content to cede control to him at night.

Pairing: Astarion/F!OC Rating: E Word Count: 5.7k Tags/Warnings: unprotected sex, orgasm denial, safeword discussion, light bondage, d/s dynamic, p in v sex, vampire sex, biting, vampire bites, blood drinking, sexual tension, casual classism, AU, (sorta, you can make an argument), praise kink

Read on AO3

Something in me turned feral when I saw Hamrikaa's tailor!Astarion art and I needed to get this out of my system. It doesn't help that I work with costumes irl and I suddenly got a lot of opinions about Astarion and sewing.

I have more thoughts on this relationship, particularly with the class difference and power dynamics. I also really want a story with a plus size protag since I'm really tired of feeling like the implication is that all Tavs/OCs are the type 1 body. So let me know if that's something that appeals to you, or if you're interested in a longer version with more than just sexual tension and smut, lol.

Fucking Arfur.

It’s sundown on a Saturday and Lady Estelle Rosewinter is traipsing through the Lower City looking for a tailor. Arfur Gregorio had shown up to her masquerade several hours early already intoxicated. While trying to shoo him off the grounds, he had stepped on her gown, ripping the seam of the thigh high slit to a nearly obscene height. Now, as guests are beginning to arrive, she isn’t there to greet them and is rather passing shop after shop putting up their closing signs. 

She could have just chosen a different gown as her handmaiden Celia had suggested, except that it took her so long to get into the damn thing. She thought that getting it fixed would take but a minute. It did not occur to her that, given the hour, finding an available tailor would prove so difficult.

Estelle is about to give up when she sees a dim little shop out of the corner of her eye. It’s not on the main drag, but rather up a quiet alleyway. But there’s no mistaking the sign.

Threads of Starlight

The door to the shop is clearly open, so she rushes in, desperate to speak with the proprietor.

“My apologies, I know you’re probably about to close, but I have an emergency, and I promise that I’ll pay handsomely for the inconvenience–” she cuts herself off as the tailor walks out from the back. He’s so much more attractive than she would’ve expected from someone of his station. His clothes are humble but understandably incredibly well-fitting, his trousers gently hugging his lean legs and the sleeves of his light linen top rolled up above his elbows, revealing pale, slender forearms. His silvery hair looks windswept and effortless, although Estelle knows it takes a practiced hand to get one’s hair just right like that. There’s a measuring tape slung around his neck and he looks briefly startled by her appearance before a practiced charm takes over.

“No need for apologies, Lady…” he leaves a gap in his speech for her to tell him her name. His voice is melodic.

“Estelle. Lady Estelle.” She tries to match his honeyed tone but her mouth has suddenly gone dry. He takes her hand and gently presses his lips to her knuckles.

“Lady Estelle. The pleasure is all mine,” he coos and a shiver goes up her spine. What on earth would a tailor need with this much charisma? Without letting go of her hand, he gracefully leads her up onto the fitting stand in the middle of the shop. She has danced with the finest nobility in Baldur’s Gate, and none of them were even half this elegant.

“Now please, tell me what I can do for you. I hope there’s nothing wrong with this beautiful gown of yours. Is it one of Galwen’s?” The way he looks at her makes her feel exposed, almost naked, despite the conversation literally being about her clothes. She clears her throat in an attempt to regain some composure.

“Yes, I’ve been going to her for years, but she’s tragically unavailable this evening.” Not that Estelle didn’t try. She sent three messengers and finally went to Galwen’s door herself, but she refused to open back up. Pity, since it looks like she’s lost Estelle’s business for good, especially if this one turns out to be as good as he looks. And gods does he look good.

“All the more fortunate for me that I stay open late,” he says in a low tone, and gooseflesh breaks out over Estelle’s arms. “Now, tell me darling,” he coughs at letting the casual pet name slip out, “pardon me, my Lady, how can I be your gown’s savior this evening?” Estelle hadn’t heard the rest of his sentence because her ears started ringing at the “darling.” Normally she would not take too kindly to someone in the working class speaking so informally to her. She’s beginning to feel lightheaded. Has she been hexed? Does this happen to any who cross his threshold?

“It’s torn,” she says in an uncharacteristically small voice. “Right here.” She lifts her skirt at the thigh slit, threads popping out of the seam. In an instant the tailor is on one knee, examining it closely. With him suddenly this close, all of her symptoms dissipate and are replaced by just one: desire.

She tries to shake herself out of it. Not only would anything of the sort be wildly inappropriate - given her status in Baldur’s Gate, an affair with a lowly tailor would be splashed all over Baldur’s Mouth within hours - this man is a consummate professional, and she’s certain that he would never return her affections. He must look beneath dozens of hems a day, this is nothing out of the ordinary for him. 

He touches the fabric as he studies it, cool fingers lightly grazing Estelle’s skin. She gasps at the sensation, and he looks up at her sheepishly.

“I’m terribly sorry, I have poor circulation. My touch is always something nasty, I’m afraid.” Estelle shakes her head and finds anywhere to look but into those piercing red eyes. 

“It’s fine, really. I have an important evening planned, so I’m a bit jumpy,” she lies through her teeth. He steps away to pick up a needle and thread from behind the counter. While his back is turned, Estelle takes the time alone to wipe sweat off her brow. This man is making her burn up inside and out.

“Oh really?” he sings as he’s back down on his knees, dangerously close to her upper thigh once again. “And pray forgive me, but I must reach up slightly in order to make this repair, if that’s alright. I promise, I’ll be the picture of a gentleman.” He looks up at her, waiting for her consent before touching her further. Estelle, worried what might come out if she opened her mouth, just nods. 

He slides his hand between the fabric and her leg, pulling it out slightly so he can tuck his needle into the underside of the seam. Estelle bites down on her tongue to keep from moaning. She knows that she’s touch-starved, it’s been far too long since anyone has warmed her bedsheets. Between running a household, meeting with politicians and nobility alike, and her position in the Baldur’s Gate arts council, she hardly has the time. But this is ridiculous. A gentle caress from a man should not elicit this much heat between her thighs, and yet here she is, keeping them pressed together tight, the slight pressure her only relief. 

His fingers move deftly, pulling the needle through the fabric with ease. He’s focusing on his work so intently, and Estelle watches him almost like he’s a dream. He begins tying off the thread, and before he’s complete, his eyes flick upward to meet Estelle’s.

“All finis-” he begins, but Estelle is so startled by the intensity of his gaze that she jumps, causing him to prick his finger with the needle. A tiny droplet of blood lands on the pale pink silk. The tailor jumps back, horrified, and immediately starts apologizing profusely.

“Oh gods, Lady Estelle, I’m so terribly sorry, look at what a clumsy little fool I am, gods on such a beautiful dress, too,” his words tumble out of him, all composure that was once there, now gone. She’s finding this flustered side of him possibly even more appealing than the cool and collected version. Her lady-of-the-house instincts kick in, and she addresses him like a new maid who has accidentally broken china while transporting it to the kitchen. 

“Darling,” she breathes and lifts his chin with a finger. She can finally look into those crimson eyes, feeling herself regain the poise she’s accustomed to. “It’s nothing to worry about. Just a speck.” She swears she can hear his breath catch, but maybe it’s just wishful thinking because he recovers quickly.

“Perhaps, but I still feel terrible. This mend is on the house, as well as any alteration you might need done on another garment. And, ah. How to say this.” He looks flushed again, despite the paleness of his skin. “There is a foolproof way of getting one’s blood out of fabric, but it’s not the most, er, refined shall I say.” This piques Estelle’s intrigue.

“Really? And what way is that?”

The tailor shifts nervously, and she positively relishes in the trade in demeanors. 

“This only works if it’s the one the blood belongs to, but if you can catch it straight away, then, erm, saliva will do the trick,” he says with a chagrined smile. Whatever Estelle was expecting, this is not it. 

“Oh,” she responds, and suddenly she’s back to that lightheaded feeling. What is he proposing exactly? Whatever it may be, she’s certain it will involve his mouth in some way and she’s not sure how she’ll handle that.

“The next five alterations are free, I’m so very sorry, this is very uncommon while working on a garment. At least, I’m usually better at catching myself,” he adds with embarrassment. 

“Uh, yes, whatever- whatever needs to be done. Thank you.” She peers down at him, willing herself to find somewhere else to look but unable to tear her eyes away. He pops a thin, pale finger in his mouth and swirls his tongue around it. She swallows loudly as he takes his finger out and dabs it on the slit of her dress, still achingly close to her thigh. He rubs at the spot, but evidently it’s not enough, because he then brings his lips to her dress and lightly rubs his tongue on the silk. 

“Oh gods,” she can’t keep this moan from escaping her lips. If he can hear her, he doesn’t respond, blessedly. He pulls away from her, silver hair ever so slightly disheveled, and rubs at the spot with a handkerchief to dry it.

“Apologies again, my Lady,” he says with a frown, examining the spot for any remaining blood. Then he stands and they’re face to face, the few inches of pedestal putting their eyes at the same height. “I hope this doesn’t make you think any less of my skills as a tailor.” She briefly wonders what other skills he might possess before banishing the thought from her head. 

“Not at all, er,” she falters, realizing she never asked his name, which is unlike her, she usually tries to learn the names of all of the people she contracts to work for her.

“Astarion,” he says with a bow.

“Astarion, yes,” she repeats breathlessly. “Well, Astarion, you came to my aid in a time of desperation, and I suppose there was a blood price to be paid.” He lets out a startled laugh, clearly not expecting her to make such a joke.

“That’s very clever, Lady Estelle,” he says, his eyes sparkling. “You were a pleasure to have on my fitting platform, I do hope to see you again soon. At least to make up for my absolute buffoonery.” He’s back to the confidently poised man who first greeted her when she entered the shop, and he plants another light kiss on the back of her hand. 

“I assure you, the pleasure was all mine,” Estelle murmurs, almost hoping that he doesn’t hear her. “Oh, and Astarion?”

“Yes, my Lady?”

“Please. Call me Stella.

***

Several tenday have passed since Stella’s first meeting with Astarion, and she had visited his shop nearly every evening. It didn’t take long for her to admit her feelings; she couldn’t hide them even if she wanted to. Even when Astarion confessed his status as a vampire spawn, she wasn’t deterred. If anything, it aroused her all the more. Something happens to Astarion when he drinks her blood. The humble and subservient tailor disappears, and in his place is a self-assured and dominant man. Stella is more than happy to relinquish control over to him. She’s responsible for so much during the day, making decisions, telling people what to do, so there’s an appeal to having someone else take that role for once. 

The moment she walks into the shop she’s met with the graceful gentleman. No matter how many times she sees him, that wicked smile sets a small ember in her belly that quickly spreads. Each point of contact lights on fire despite his chilled skin. A spark in her fingers as he pulls her forward, a flame on her cheek as he strokes it gently. In an instant he shuts the door and flips around the open sign. With the darkened windows and the door now closed, they’re plunged into semi-darkness and Stella feels a chill go up her spine.

Astarion wastes no time in pushing her against the door and kissing her deeply. He presses his body up against hers and she gasps into his kiss as he pulls her in closer by her waist. He slides his knee between her legs and she lets out a whimper. Astarion chuckles in her ear.

“Eager, aren’t we?” he coos, lifting her slightly with his knee putting a delicious pressure on her mound. She clutches the back of his neck and hair, wrapping her leg around him to get even closer. He hikes up her skirt to her waist and scoops her up so both of her legs grip his midsection. Keeping his lips locked on hers as she continues to devour him, he carries her through the shop and to one of the adjacent rooms where there’s a bed and two untouched glasses of wine sitting on a side table. The tailor’s quarters. 

He throws her down on the bed and she looks up at him, cheeks and lips flushed, eyes glowing. Her typically neatly coiffed hair is mussed and strands splay out beneath her head like a halo. Astarion straddles her waist, pinning her in place, as he strokes her face.

“Tell me what you want,” he breathes, looking down at her with heavy lidded eyes. She grabs his shirt and pulls him in close.

“You know what I want,” she smirks, gaze flickering between his eyes and lips. He laces his fingers through her tousled hair and gently grazes his fangs over her neck, eliciting a sharp gasp.

“And you know I like to hear it,” he murmurs into her neck, and another full-body shiver goes through Stella. His breath feels chilling against her warm neck, blood pumping eagerly through her arteries. She grabs his face and forces him to look her in the eye – the last bit of control she has before she cedes it completely.

“Astarion,” she says slowly, measured and teasing, “I would enjoy it very much if you bit my neck, drank my blood, and then had your fucking way with me.” He chuckles darkly.

“Well,” he grins, a mischievous glint in his eye, “since you asked so nicely.” Stella lets out a moan as his fangs sink into her skin, the piercing pain soon giving way to a throbbing ache. His lips close around the wound, drinking in her delicious warmth, leaving her feeling blissfully lightheaded. She hums with pleasure as she curls her fingers into his silvery locks, hips unconsciously rolling into his, hungry for more contact. She can feel him growing stronger as her blood flows into him, his thighs tightly gripping her hips, keeping her locked into place. 

Astarion pulls away from her before going too far and Stella lets out a small whine at the loss of contact. He’s out of breath, chest heaving as he licks the last of her blood from his lips. He presses two fingers to the wound on her neck to stanch the bleeding as she looks up at him, pupils blown wide with lust. Once he can feel that the blood is no longer flowing freely, he takes his fingers away and hovers them centimeters above Stella’s lips.

“Open,” he commands, and she dutifully obeys. She takes his fingers into her mouth and sucks on them lasciviously, the metallic taste of her own blood filling her mouth. It’s one thing to prick her finger and to suck on it to make the bleeding stop. It’s quite another to lap her blood of Astarion’s fingers, languishing in the vulgarity of the taboo. She yearns to hear his breath hitch as she works her tongue over their length. 

He slides his fingers out of her mouth and grabs her chin, reversing the roles from moments before. He examines her face, turning it this way and that, like he’s inspecting a prized golden retriever at a dog show. 

“Gods, you’re beautiful,” he lets out in a low tone. “Trapped underneath me, open and wanton, ready to let me do whatever I want with you. To you,” he adds on with an impish grin, and Stella squirms with anticipation. He swings a leg over her and stands by the edge of the bed, towering over her.

“Up now, on your knees,” he instructs and she scrambles to sit on her knees, still looking up at Astarion with lust-filled eyes. He reaches behind her and fully releases her hair from its loose braid letting it fall down the length of her back. He runs his fingers through her hair, humming as he does, “Good girl.” Her chest swells with the intake of breath as she leans into his touch even more.

“Undress. Quickly,” he demands. Her skirt is already up around her waist so she peels the rest of her dress off in a fluid motion. The corset provides a little more resistance, but even with fumbling fingers she manages to untie the laces and undo the hooks, letting it fall behind her. The sudden exposure to air makes her nipples go hard. Astarion smirks and cups one of her breasts in his hand, stroking her tit with his thumb. Stella bites back a cry.

“Shh shh shh. Not a sound,” Astarion whispers as he puts his lips close to her ear, continuing to fondle her. “I don’t want to hear you make a single noise, understood? Not until I say so.” He pulls away and locks his crimson eyes on her brown ones. Stella trembles, but nods silently.

“Good,” he breathes and slides her forward so that she’s sitting on the edge of the bed with her toes lightly touching the floor. He then lowers himself to one knee between her legs. He kisses up her thigh until he reaches her panties. He looks up at her mischievously as he hooks a finger in either side of the waistband, and he slips them off in a single fluid motion. Stella shudders with anticipation for what he plans to do next. 

Astarion parts her legs and she can feel the cool air on the slickness between her thighs. He leans forward and takes her nipple in his mouth, flicking his tongue lightly over the tip. She takes in a shaky breath, but she manages to keep any noise she might want to make under wraps. He looks up at her while continuing to work his tongue. She clenches the sheets as jolts of white hot electricity shoot through her body. He pushes her legs apart even further and leans in, the ties from his frilled shirt lightly brushing against her folds. She gasps and shifts her pelvis, simultaneously trying to get less and more contact. He grabs her waist forcefully to hold it in place. He snakes his way up so that they’re face to face, lips a hair’s breadth apart.

“Ah ah, no moving either. Are you going to be good for me? Will you be silent like I’ve asked?” he says in a light, sing-songy tone. Stella keeps her lips clamped together as she nods.

“And what will you give me if you can’t obey?” he purrs, brushing his lips against hers as he runs a thin, cool finger along her slit. 

“Ah-anything,” Stella moans, turning her pleasure sound into a response. Astarion lets a smug grin play on his lips.

“Either way, I’ll get what I want,” he intones, and mercifully pulls his face away from hers. She releases a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding. But it’s still only the beginning.

He lowers himself onto both knees and places a delicate kiss on her labia. She squirms but remains silent.

“My, you could drown a small army down here,” he says with an amused smile, and Stella just continues to breathe heavily, her chest rising and falling as she gazes down at the head of white curls between her legs. He runs the tip of his tongue along her folds, hands pushing out on her thighs slightly as he does. As he parts her legs further he exposes more of her, letting his tongue explore the newly uncovered skin. A cry catches in Stella’s throat and she slaps a hand over her mouth. His scorching gaze fixes on her and she lets herself fall back on the bed. If she watches she’ll be done for. Then again, not being able to anticipate his next move might be even worse.

Not being one to let her escape his torment, Astarion grabs Stella beneath the legs and yanks her toward him, letting her legs fall onto his shoulders as he continues to lap up her sweetness. She chokes down a whine, her breath quickening as she desperately tries to control herself. His tongue plunges into her and she bites into her hand with a hiss. With her pelvis rolled up so that he can get the best angle, he continues fucking her with his tongue, getting deep enough that the tips of his fangs press into her ever so lightly. 

That’s what sets her over the edge. The smallest pinprick of pain along with all of the filthy things he’s doing to her with his tongue tears a scream from her throat, muffled by her hand. He stops and stands over her, backlit by the low lighting, her wetness reflecting off his devilish smile. He then grabs her by the throat, not enough to constrict her breathing, but just enough to pull her face up to his.

“What was that, my sweet?” he growls dangerously. 

“N-nothing,” Stella stammers out, but Astarion just smiles.

“I don’t think it was ‘nothing,’ darling,” he breathes, acid in his voice. “I was very explicit in my instructions, was I not?” His hand tightens around Stella’s throat and she lets out a choked sound. It’s not a sound she usually makes. Astarion pulls his hand back slightly, concern creeping into his eyes. Stella looks up at him and nods.

Keep going.

They have a safe word for a reason, but if anything unexpected happens, Astarion still prefers to check in. He’s mentioned before that sometimes he’s worried that he’ll lose control, especially right after drinking her blood.

Stella finds the danger absolutely thrilling, but wants him to feel just as safe as she does.

Astarion drops her throat and pushes her down so her back is flat against the bed. Still between her legs, he pushes his pelvis against hers, pinning her wrists above her head. He’s still fully clothed, and the leather of his pants feels deliciously cool against her wet pussy. He puts one knee up on the bed, pushing her right leg up higher and spreading her even further. As unphased and indifferent as he seems, Stella can still feel his erection pressing into her, and she shifts to feel it more.

“You said you’d give me anything if you failed, correct?” he murmurs against her lips. 

“Yes,” the word escapes on a breath.

“Then hold still.” Astarion stands and the sudden loss of all contact elicits a small whine from Stella. He flashes her a playful smirk as he walks over to the bedside table and pulls out two long strips of cloth. He climbs on top of Stella again, straddling her hips and squeezing lightly with his thighs.

“Wrists, please,” he commands almost nonchalantly. Stella immediately puts her wrists together and holds them out to Astarion.

“Good girl,” he coos and the praise makes her lightheaded. He tenderly wraps her wrists up in the silk cloth, making sure it's tight enough to prevent escape but not enough to cause any lasting damage. He then takes the other strip of cloth, a sturdier cotton broadcloth, and holds it to her lips. He ties it tightly behind her neck, keeping her from being able to open her mouth at all.

“Since you can’t control yourself enough to stay quiet,” he purrs, low and dangerous, “maybe this will do it for you. And I think,” he stands and walks over to the bed stand. He looks over his shoulder and orders in an apathetic tone, “Up dear.” She scrambles to her knees, wrists falling limply in her lap. He continues, “I think you need one more thing to remind you to whom you belong.” He pulls out a fine leather collar with a silver O-ring in the middle. Stella’s excitement mingles with genuine admiration for the craftsmanship. He turns around and lovingly closes it around her neck. He then slips one slender finger through the ring and pulls it up so her head is tilted toward him.

“How does that feel, good?” he asks lightly, and she nods, still desperate to please. He lets go of the collar and strokes her jaw. “Good,” he breathes, and she can see the self-control in his eyes. He wants to fuck her just as much as she wants him to, and it’s taking everything in his power to hold out. He leans into her lips as though he’s about to kiss her but stops just short of making contact. 

“Now, before I decide precisely what I want to do with you,” he hums into her lips, “I want to make sure you can still tell me if I need to stop or slow down. If it ever becomes too much, I want you to snap your fingers, understood? Show me now.” Astarion keeps his lips achingly close to hers, but she does as he says. When he hears her snap, he grabs her face in his hands and kisses her roughly, sliding a dastardly knee between her legs once again. She longs to reach for him but keeps her bound wrists dutifully in her lap as his lips continue their assault on hers. 

Once he breaks the kiss, he remains close and slides his hands behind her head and into her hair. “Good girl,” the words rumble low in his throat and Stella is grateful for the cloth that muffles the obscene noise she makes. He steps away and she’s finally able to see all of him as he pulls off the tunic, revealing his porcelain chest. She yearns to run her fingers along it, tracing the outlines of his muscles, but instead she just grabs a fistful of sheets beneath her hands. He pulls down his trousers, letting his already hardened cock free, and her pussy twitches in anticipation. 

Astarion saunters back up to her and touches the front of her gag where a small wet spot is forming with her desire for him. He smirks and pulls her face down to his cock, running the tip of it along the broadcloth. She can feel it brush against her lips, and she again moans in anticipation. 

“Don’t you wish you could take me in your mouth?” he breathes, and Stella presses her tongue against the inside of the gag, trying to make even minimal contact. He laughs cruelly. “Gods, you’re desperate,” he scoffs. “It’s a shame, because if you had been able to follow my instructions, I may have even let you ride me on top.” He pushes the tip of his dick into the gag one more time before pulling away, leaving Stella to squirm achingly. 

“But instead,” he forcefully pushes her back so that she’s once again lying on the bed with her legs spread open for him. He crawls on top of her and teases her opening with his tip. She mewls in desperation. “You’ll have to contend with me doing whatever I want to this beautiful body of yours. I can slide in,” and he pushes into her, wrenching a gasp and whine from her mouth, before pulling out and letting his tip tease her again, “and pull out on a whim. You said I could do whatever I want.”

Stella is beside herself with lust. Unable to move her hands, she writhes her pelvis, trying to get even the slightest bit of contact. Her pussy is starting to burn from the pent up desire and she’s genuinely unsure of how much longer she can last like this. Astarion grins widely and his fangs sparkle in the low lighting. 

“Shall I give you what you want, darling? What you so fiercely crave?” His slick tip is still dancing around her cunt and tears are starting to form in her eyes as she nods. He thrusts into her again and rips the cloth from her lips before whispering sharply into her ear.

“Then I want to hear it all,” he hisses. “I want you screaming my name as I fuck you.” With his permission, she cries out, all of her stifled energy finally releasing.

“Oh gods, Astarion, fuck me please,” the words spill from her mouth uncontrollably. He starts pounding into her and she knows after all that time teasing her, she won’t last long. The heat of him sliding in and out, the stretch with each thrust, fills her with a fire that threatens to turn into an explosion. 

“Fuck, Astarion, please,” she whines, moments away from climax. She wraps her legs around his waist to get him in deeper, and now it’s his turn to let out a low moan. He continues to slam into her, the sounds of their mutual pleasure mounting.

“Look at me,” he growls, and she struggles to keep her gaze locked onto his crimson eyes. He looks so beautiful above her, silvery hair getting slick with sweat, panting as he continues his smooth rhythm. She can feel her orgasm building as her cries grow louder. He knows she’s close, too, and once again he flashes a fang-bearing smile.

“Come for me, darling,” he groans, and that sends her toppling over the edge.

“Gods, Astarion, yes!” she screams as she comes, and his follows shortly after. With a final thrust, he releases into her, his cock pulsing exquisitely. He looks down at her with an uncharacteristically shy smile and kisses her as he pulls out.

Both of them are out of breath as he collapses onto the bed next to her. Stella’s limbs feel light as though she just downed an entire bottle of dream mist. She rolls onto her side to look at Astarion, who appears to be equally intoxicated. Without a word she holds her wrists up, and he laughs lightly.

“Ah, yes, you might want those back,” he croons, and uses his teeth to pull out the knot, and the silk falls away in one fluid motion. Her hands are so close to his face that she cups his chin gently, just content to look at him.

“You’re so beautiful,” she whispers, and he turns a kiss into her palm. 

“I could say the same thing,” he purrs as he looks up at her through his lashes. “Tea?” He pulls up the plush blanket that had been folded neatly at the end of the bed and wraps it around Stella’s shoulders. She snuggles into it and pulls it closed around her, then nods. He plants a quick kiss on her forehead and walks over to fill the kettle hanging above the hearth. Stella admires his silhouette, backlit by the light of the fire. He’s lithe and sinewy, his sculpted muscles built for dexterity more than strength. Her eyes rake over his broad shoulders, the dip of his lower back, the curve of his bare ass. He turns his head to look at her over his shoulder.

“Yes?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Nothing,” she hums, “just enjoying the view.” He smiles as he leans over the blanket cocoon she’s swathed herself in and kisses her lips softly, gently. He’s always particularly tender with her after a session like that, and Stella is grateful for it. She loves being able to see both of these sides of Astarion. The affable tailor eager to serve, and the dangerous dom claiming his power. Her fingers lightly dance on the collar he put on her. She likes the idea of belonging to him. A pity she couldn’t wear something as conspicuous as a leather collar in her daily life.

Astarion returns with a steaming mug, and as though reading her mind, pulls a long jewelry box from the drawer of the bedside table. 

“A companion piece to your collar, if you so wish,” he says in explanation. “You’re under no obligation to wear it, of course, but I thought you might like a little reminder of me everywhere you go.” She opens the box and nestled in the satin is a delicate silver chain with a small ring in the center. Her jaw drops slightly as she marvels at its beauty.

“Astarion, how did you–?” she begins, but he cuts her off.

“It pays to be a well-connected artisan, darling,” he says with a shrug. 

“Will you put it on me?” Stella asks in a light voice, and he looks delighted. She lifts up her hair so that he can unclasp the leather collar and replace it with the silver necklace. His fingers brush against her neck, lingering on the puncture mark he left earlier.

“Although perhaps you might want to sport high-collared dresses for a bit,” he admits with an apologetic grin. Stella turns and kisses him, cupping his face and gently running her thumb along his jaw.

“Well thank the gods I have a tailor who can make me new gowns in all the latest fashions,” she smirks. He climbs on top of her to kiss her more deeply, their naked bodies touching in a way that’s intimate, but not sexual. She could melt into his flesh, his kiss, his breath, and never want to change a thing.

[oh-shtars]

Lol I meant like Anny’s Nightmare Asha and Black Hole Aster but I also love your nuanced take (+bonus points for Nimona)

Ahhhhh okay. Sorry I’m dumb 😭😭

I’ll be honest, I haven’t given much thought to the alternate possibility of what the dark version Hopes and Dreams would be like. But DAMN, you guys are starving for angst crumbs aren’t you??

Fine.

For Sue��o, I think he’s the one with the loosest thread. Maybe somewhere in an alternate timeline, he does lose it and really snaps at Magnifico’s cruelty. His dark aura and desire for vengeance and hatred corrupts his core and instead of pure Wish Magic, it becomes Curse magic.

Because with the cost of using this kind of dark magic, he loses all rationality and goes mad. And I MEAN very mad, with a hatred towards all humans other than those he deems worthy. After all, all these mortals ever want is ‘more than this,’ isn’t it? Instead of a Wishing Star, Sueño becomes something that the rest of starkind fear would happen. A Curse Star. A Star that grants desires in a way that they think is best instead of letting fate and the wisher’s strength decide.

He’s not going to let any stranger, regardless of who they are, good or bad, to get near him and his friends. Especially Asha. He’s not taking any more chances this time, because you’ll just never know what happens in this world anymore. It’s best to just strike anyone who gets close enough for good measure.

………….

For Asha, it’s a little more difficult to come up with something that still fits her character. Her main trait is love, which can be both her strength and weakness at the same time. Maybe I could use that?

She’s torn between choosing to protect her kingdom or Sueño. She believes he’s just scared and fed up with everything and needs help to find the light again. But then, what about Rosas?

Wouldn’t it be also an angsty alternative if she’s forced to fight him? To defeat the one she grew to love for Rosas’ sake? Just putting the thought out there :))

But what if she were to choose Sueño? To choose to side with him?

Maybe she’s doomed to be stuck in the middle of that decision. Forever. Sueño is in a state where he’s dangerous to everyone else except Asha and certain others he’s grown close with. Her friends and other people could see that but Asha refuses to listen. She begs them to leave the kingdom if they can’t stand it, but she won’t leave someone like him alone just like that. But neither does she want to force them to endure it for their own safety.

It’s a toxic kind of protection where none of her options win. If someone were to try to strike Sueño down, she’ll do whatever it takes to get them to leave Rosas and leave him alone. For Sueño and that person’s own safety. Even if it means she has to turn to dark magic to do it.

(Btw, I’m NOT encouraging this. If you’re in a toxic relationship, please don’t think that’s okay and that you should defend your partner at your own expense. You should always take good care of yourself.)

[themetalvirus]

thinking about shadow and surge. surge shows up and shadow's like. wanna talk. and she goes i'm sick of talking and baps her fists together with electricity and shadow just doesnt move, maintains measured eye contact, narrows his eyes at her. and shes like (exaggerated sigh) (giant exaggerated arms down movement)

shadow has dealt with memories that arent his own, has gone from doing what others told him to forging his own path, and has Medical Trauma. hes seriously the best fit for actually talking with her about what she's going through and how to move forward. shadow DOES have a past, and surge has none, which is where they chafe (on surge's end anyway). but being stuck on that "past" and "doing what you're told to do instead of forming your own identity" stuff is exactly the kind of thing shadow has dealt with and overcome so he could provide some guidance.

i think he would stress that he isnt telling her what to do and the decisions she makes in her personal life arent of his concern, but if she continues to be violent, he will intervene. he isn't like (specifically idw) sonic, wanting her to have freedom of choice no matter what without consequences. there will be consequences for wrong decisions and he will see to that. he wants her to make the right ones, but knows he has no control or real say over whether she does or not, and has no interest in forcing ideas on her that she isn't interested in (he's gone through that before).

he also sees himself in her and identifies with her anguish surrounding her identity. i think he would try to express that it's okay to not know what you really want (aside from killing sonic lol), but it's important to search for what that is, to embark on that journey instead of following existing self destructive patterns

surge, of course, is not immediately receptive to any of that shit and is frustrated that people keep trying to give her life advice, but she senses something different about this particular guy and doesnt resort to fisticuffs. she'd stress that she really does have a helpless fixation on killing sonic and feels as though she can't have peace and will never have peace until he's dead so she can finally fulfill that one "prime directive" and move on with her life. the conversation makes her think, though. she didn't really think about the "after" piece, what she would do. she starts to think about it, but it's difficult, hazy, and she isn't sure where to begin. the conversation doesn't fix her but it does plant seeds, give her stuff to think about for later. she peaces out and shadow feels like hes done his good deed for the day and needs a nap. surge goes back to wherever shes nesting with kit and has a lot of thinky time

[star-going-supernova]

I saw fan art of bear cub Gregory from pixlokita on tumblr, so I hope that I can request a prompt where Gregory becomes a bear cub (still can talk and looks like Gregory) and Freddy is happy to have an actual bear and son. Please write this please, for a birthday wish. Thank you.

I took these two prompts and came up with something in between, lol. This is pure fluff. Happy belated birthday, friend! 🎉

Like Father, Like Son

None of them were technically supposed to be able to access the internet. All relevant knowledge to their jobs, the kids, the pizzaplex, etc. already existed within their databases, and all information stored across the servers was available to them. But Chica had gotten bored one day and spent a bit too much time tinkering with herself via the upgrade cylinder. Monty had demanded his own internet connection after that, and before long, every animatronic in the pizzaplex had access. 

It was not long before Roxy discovered online shopping, and after a few mishaps in trying to figure out how to get the packages to themselves without management finding out, there was not an animatronic among them who had not secretly ordered something or other. 

Sun in particular seemed to enjoy finding new things to add to the daycare—rightly so, considering management was slacking in that regard—and as a result of his frequent digital window shopping, he often sent links to the rest of them, sharing things he had found that he thought they might like. 

All that to explain why Freddy opened a link from Sun with the caption you HAVE to get this :D and discovered that yes, he had to get it. 

It was a child-sized onesie with little footie boots and gloves that could be folded out of the way or velcroed into place and a hood with ears stitched on. It looked wonderfully soft and fuzzy. It was a warm brown with details depicting a bear cub. 

And it had excellent ratings. 

• • •

Gregory laughed when he saw the onesie, but he also snatched it up and took off to go change into it, so Freddy did not think he minded the gift. The others would probably tease him once they caught sight of it, but it would be worth their jokes.

Make no mistake, Freddy did not wish Gregory was any different from the way he was. Nor did Freddy wish he himself was human. But it still tickled something in his code to imagine silly little impossibilities, like he and Gregory being a family by blood. Of course, Freddy was as much a real bear as Gregory would be in a stylized onesie, but that was hardly the point. 

It was only a minute or two before Gregory returned, and he must have stopped by one of the others’ rooms because his nose had been carefully colored in and a line drawn beneath it down to his upper lip. The onesie was a perfect fit—naturally, as Freddy knew his son’s exact measurements—and Gregory’s glee was near palpable. 

Freddy made a little involuntary sound of delight. He crouched down, feeling his eyes brighten to match the building warmth in his chest. 

Gregory came to stand in front of him and did a jaunty spin to show off the little pom-pom tail. Freddy had never understood the human urge to squeal from seeing something so utterly adorable as much as he did then. 

“C’mon,” Gregory said, showing off the toe beans on his gloves, complete with felt claws, “tell me I’m not the cutest bear cub ever.” 

Laughing, Freddy swept him up, and Gregory did not even scramble to hold on, so great was his trust that Freddy would not drop him. 

“You are certainly the cutest bear cub I have ever seen,” Freddy assured him, and Gregory smiled smugly, head leaning on Freddy’s shoulder. “And the best bear cub in general. My bear cub.” 

How odd that mere months ago, Freddy would have said he would not want a child of his own. He could not imagine, now, not having Gregory in his life. When he looked back on pre-Gregory memories, the absence of his adopted son almost shocked him sometimes. He had been happy back then, yes, but in a very mild and content way. There was little variation in his day-to-day, though he had not minded at the time. 

He did not think he could go back to that way of life. It fell far short of the joy that each new day brought now. Gregory made things unpredictable and lively in a way Freddy would be loath to give up. 

And best of all, his love, his gratefulness, and his happiness was matched in Gregory. 

Beaming, Gregory wrapped his arms around Freddy’s neck in a tight hug. “My papa bear,” he said, and it was only a bit teasing. 

[darkfictionjude]

Etymology nonnie here!

I have come back. And well, I almost regret writing what I did about the names in a previous ask. This is because most of the names that begin with "Luc-" are names that I do not like that much, or that often got replaced by an English variant by Italian Americans (during the 1950s, since that's when Luce was born, if my calculation was correct they were born in 1952, but the data I found wasn't so specific).

Worse, I ended up with a selection of three names. None of which had nothing to do with Luce. In any case, I believe the nickname has more to do with personality or how the character is seen by others. Or it may be related to the incident. Who knows? Not me, but you do, dear Jude.

Those names are:

1) Angelo: While it was often replaced by an English name (like Andy or Andrew), it was used enough at the time for me to consider it. I enjoy the contrast with the story and setting. And I always have liked the name. More so than the Spanish version (I do like Ángel, but I prefer the Italian 'g' sound most of the time). Also, I think it fits with the idea I have of Luce so far. Yet I may be wrong, so I may give it some thought before picking this one.

2) Michele: In most circumstances it would be readily replaced by Michael (which I'm also technically considering, but I want to consider Michele the main choice instead of Michael). But I like the Italian version better.

*I did consider the combination of Michelangelo, but I think too much of the artist, and I don't feel worthy. Lol.

3) Ernesto: I like Earnest better, probably. And I find funny both Italian and Spanish have the same spelling and pronunciation. Similar to Angelo, I enjoy the contrast between the meaning and the story and setting. And the meaning seems to make sense with the Luce I'm imagining in my mind given what little we know of them.

Now, I'm not making you choose (although any commentary about your preference is welcome). Rather, I'm curious about something more open and that can help other players figuring the name they want for their Luce.

See, it was common for Italian Americans to use a translation or a similar English sounding name of an Italian name. Although, there were still some who used the proper Italian name. What I'm wondering is what Luce's parents would prefer? Would they go for the original Italian name, or would they prefer an English one because of how convenient it can be for Luce in their daily life?

Now I'm also remembering that Luce is probably customizable, which means their ethnicity is not necessarily just Italian American. In that case, would Luce's parents consider a name that resembled the other ethnic/country origin (of the mother, I would believe)? Or an Italian one? Or an English name both out of convenience for Luce and as a compromise between the two heritages?

Also, maybe unrelated, but feel free to ignore it if that's the case: Do you have a name for the MC you play when you are playtesting? Does it change based on IF? Do you go with a gender neutral name for all those MCs (since I assume some interactions based on gender require a different MC while testing), or with a specific name for male MCs and female MCs?

So yeah Luce doesn’t have to be Italian American, they can be mixed. Their father is Italian, he’s pure Italian but Maria can be from any background. As I’ve said the Italian heritage is strong in the family and it is traditionally patriarchal and so the children’s names are Italian names, not English variants. Antonio chose his children’s names.

I actually don’t have a specific name, I choose the first name available for each gender just to see how gender influenced flavour text is looking. So by that measure it does change for each IF since the suggested names are all different. For WWC, it’s normal yet old names, for EC it’s traditional Italian names, for OYHS it’s names that real Hollywood actors had. From what I’ve seen most players don’t think that much about their character’s name, really. Many people use the same name across many IFs

[aldantler]

My first Grimoire Noir is done. Which makes him the 28th grimoire in total I’ve built so far. And it’s the most difficult. There’s so much measuring & hand fitting that really pushed my ability as someone that makes things to my limit in terms of what I can do with the tools I have. But he is DONE. The stitching of the cover to the text block isn’t pretty, but he has a hollow spine like the in-game model, so it’s a trade off. None of the cord overlaps because running cord through a strand and pulling tight only causes trouble. I’m happy, sad, annoyed, satisfied, and just...I need to rest lol. I’ll do more photos later.

[jgvfhl]

Song Poem Tag Game!

Put your entire song collection on shuffle, then write down the first line from each of the first ten songs that pop up to create a poem. You must then dedicate the poem to the blorbo or OTP that it most reminds you of! Then tag or send asks to three others that you think might enjoy the challenge! I was tagged by @padme--amygdala 🫶

God made the mountains; God made the skies -- Paint Your Wagon musical

I slept with another guy, just for you! --Desperate Measures musical

I've been good and I've been kind, Mother, doing only what I learned from you --Into the Woods musical

I DON'T KNOW, BUT IT'S BEEN SAID! --Spamalot musical

Six hundred men. Six hundred men under my command with only one goal in mind --EPIC: The Troy Saga

So Jacob came to Egypt, no longer feeling old! --Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat

A-way out here, they got a name for Rain, and Wind, and Fire --Paint Your Wagon musical (again)

A little gossip! A little talk! --Man of La Mancha musical

I am a sentimental man, who always longed to be... a father --Wicked musical

And it's home, boys, home! 2, 3, 4! --The Jolly Tinker Boy (Hadrian's Wall)

Dear god, that truly exposed me for the musical theater NERD that I was raised to be 😭 I swear the other half of my song library is sea shanties and Irish and Scottish folk music????

Umm... Blorbo... uh... okay the lines from Into the Woods and Wicked are throwing me, bc NONE of my blorbos wants to be a parent of ANY kind lol... my favorite book character Count Vega???? Maybe????? Again, has both mommy and daddy issues but IT'S THE CLOSEST FIT!!!!

@theultimatesandwich @lucidz-dreamz @23-bears @worldseer HAVE AT IT, FOLKS

[hersweetrevenge]

rohan is so cute as frank. and not enough people talk about it!! just wanna hold him and tell him everything will be okay 😭

he is !! anon, you are so right !! 💗 i could talk all day about how pretty rohan is and his boyish good looks, but i could spend just as long talking about how much i love frank and how interesting i find his character so i really wish there were more frank fans out there too (i guess we just have to stick together lol) !! season three is not available for me yet so this is based on s1&2, but my agenda remains the same: protect frank hardy at all costs.

i think what i love most about frank is he is so earnestly genuine. i love how when he first meets callie and chet and isn't sure how to respond to callie's playful scrutiny. i love when he can't take the rosegrave tour seriously. i love how he understands the need to hone his detecting skills through fenton's books, rather than joe's intuitive approach. i love when his voice goes all soft when he realises he was wrong about tom ellroy (and also how it signals the first inkling that he is getting too reliant on the eye). i love how when fenton comes back from finding rupert, his reuniting with frank is so different to his one with joe; he tells frank "it's okay", over and over because frank's reactions are so much more internal than joe's (for the most part).

frank is honestly just very well-written. he's athletic but not a jock. he's studious but not an academic. he's romantic but he isn't particularly flirtatious (i'm not sure it even registers to him that he is handsome, beyond the "clearly biased" opinions of his mom/grandma/aunt). he's level-headed and has a check on his external displays of emotion, but his internal emotional experiences runs very deep. he is rational and measured, but he can also be one-track minded.

i love how there are so many facets of his character but none of them are ever really contradictory, and when they are it just highlights how he is a teenager who is struggling with this huge trauma and sometimes makes irrational decisions because of it. he's a skeptic, he's level-headed, but he's also not had the support he needs in order to grieve his mom properly so all of his skepticism goes out of the window for a chance to see laura again. he's selfish in his grief because even though he knows joe is hurting too, it's difficult to see past his own hurt because (as everyone points out) he was laura's counterpart, and joe is fenton's. the fact that he really is a perfect fit to be gloria's heir but he's so deeply compassionate that he could never be ruthless enough for that sort of business.

where was i going with this? i don't know, but i agree with you, anon. i really want to tell him it'll all be okay. frank really has the weight of the world on his shoulders, and he is struggling so much but it's revealed in much more subtle ways than with joe. in the first season, he's lost his mom, he's in a new place and his dad has left. i think part of him feels like he has to stay grounded and reasonable, for joe and fenton and trudy. i just want him to be supported and happy. in the second season, he's still struggling, and now has to try even harder to keep himself grounded even with unimaginable influences working again him in his very own brain. he's trying so, so hard to remember that it is the eye that manipulating him, he tries so hard to ignore george even when he's starting to see him everywhere. he can feel himself going mad and there's nothing he can do about it.

by the end of season two, before the sleep room, frank feels like he needs to save himself because no one else will. he feels like he needs to save his mom, because no one else wants too.

the show is really about, amongst other things, how grief can effect people. and even more so, it's about grief effecting people in different and unexpected ways. joe clearly channels his grief into solving mysteries and helping people. sure, he's a little bit gung-ho about it but it makes sense for his character -- optimistic and impulsive. frank, on the other hand, who is shown time and time again to be skeptical and level-headed, is the one who becomes irrational and unstable and emotionally volatile. of course the eye has some influence, but i also think frank's more reserved nature is being strained by the grief that he isn't given a chance to deal with and ultimately it makes him desperate and scared.

what i'm trying to say is: frank is so very cute and caring and earnest and i love him very dearly.

[immortalarizona]

hi! i’m curious about how you’re characterizing buppido in your OotA game—in my experience playing and planning to DM, i’ve had trouble connecting with him and figuring out how to make his twist surprising and impactful.

also if you have any similar thoughts for shuushar, that’s another blorbo i don’t know how to make compelling lol

I'm soooooo flattered to have gotten this ask from you!!!! first off, I would like to apologize if this is largely incoherent; I have spent a solid seven (7) of the past 24 hours playing two different D&D sessions, both of them pretty brutal combats. this is gonna be a loooooong post, so my answer is under the cut :]

also, if anyone reading this post happens to be one of my players going snooping for my blog, STOP READING NOW.

okay cool

I'll start each character section with a quick description I wrote for myself on each of their personalities (or my interpretations of them, at least).

Buppido

Buppido Diirdeklin is surprisingly talkative and friendly given the situation everyone is in. In fact, he doesn’t seem to be afraid of anything, diving into even the thick of battle with his perpetual, almost uncanny cheer. He seems to be very devoted to some deity unknown to non-derro, as after every battle, he kneels over the bodies of any enemy he has slain and appears to pray in silence for a few seconds. Buppido’s faith is the only subject which he remains reticent about, but he will happily engage in discussions of almost anything else with anyone else. He claims a desire to return to his people in Gracklstugh in order to help liberate them from their lives as second-class citizens under the duergar.

basically, how I saved Buppido thus far was through a lot of guilt-tripping the player characters and using what I knew of them (only what I reasonably figured he would know at this point; he's not secretly omniscient like Jimjar so there's only so much meta knowledge I can apply) to manipulate them. the angle I'm taking is that he wants something objectively good (for the derro to not be treated like dogshit) but is going about it in The most fucked up way possible (ritual murder because he think it'll give him back his divine power, which he can then use to fucking obliterate the duergar and free his people). he is very polite and has this veneer of kindness with which he treats the people he's manipulating. he will say whatever it takes to get the person he's talking to on his side, regardless of whether he actually believes it (but I do think it's more interesting if he genuinely believes he's doing the right thing). as an example of this in action, here's a copy of the monologue he gave the rogue when she was like "hey dude, I'm getting Real Bad Vibes from you, what's up." keep in mind that she is a tiefling.

"I heard what Kzekarit said to you a few nights back--so I trust that you will understand what it means to be judged solely on the basis of your blood. The duergar"--he almost spits the name--"have given us many names, none of them fit for polite company. Even our name in Undercommon comes from their word for 'derelict.' The audacity, when it is them that have forced us to live in the streets--if they allow us to live at all!" Buppido's voice has steadily been raising in volume this entire time, and he has to take a moment to catch his breath after that. When he continues, his voice is quieter, but no less passionate. "I have lived a long time. But I am blessed beyond measure. I am the exception. I am what is known among my people as a savant--one who has manifested magical powers. We are respected, yes, but. . . magic changes you. I have seen. . . things. . . in the shadows that I can never unsee. Things much worse than intellect devourers." His grip on his staff, which he is currently using as a walking stick, trembles, and he closes his eyes. "I have to believe that it was worth it. If I don't deliver us. . . no one will." He looks up at Promise again. "Do you understand now, little thief?" he asks, but it's not a question. It's a plea.

(for context, Sarith called the rogue "demonspawn" before promising that he would not hesitate to stab her if he saw a reason to do so when she asked where his loyalties lay.)

similarly, Buppido appealed to the ranger's sense of sympathy/pity with an excuse about nightmares and not entirely being himself when he woke up from one, which is why he tried to stab the twins. this was a bit of metagaming on my part, but the ranger is haunted by nightmares despite not sleeping (drow moment). it worked, and when the ranger had a mini emotional breakdown, Buppido then appealed to his sympathies further by patting the ranger's hand and saying that he would hug him, but he is not very tall, and his poor back can only take so much strain. the ranger then kneeled down, cast cure wounds to help Buppido's back pain, and gave him a hug. Buppido thanked the ranger for giving him another chance (as he had similarly given Sarith another chance) and told the ranger that he has a "good heart" and to "never change." (what he really meant was "you're so fucking easy to manipulate and I would prefer for that to not change.")

so, y'know. a lot of Manipulate Mansplain Manslaughter, with a side of Moral Complexity. like, man's a fucking serial killer, but he also has an ultimate goal which my party at least seems to empathize with. as for the emotional impact, you really only get as much out of the reveal as your players put into the character during the lead-up. my party has a Massive found family dynamic going already (Topsy has already sarcastically called the ranger, who she accidentally bit by the way, "dad," to give you a sense of how things are going), and Buppido fits right in as a sort of grandpa figure. he will find the most emotionally vulnerable PCs, worm his nasty little way into their hearts through false displays of kindness, and try to drive a wedge between them and any other characters who see through him. (I suggest giving him expertise in Deception. it feels appropriate.)

Shuushar

Shuushar the Awakened claims to have spent a lifetime in contemplation and solitary meditation in order to overcome his people’s legacy of madness, and it shows in the aura of enlightened calm he exudes despite the horrors he has suffered during his imprisonment. Nothing seems to be able to drive him to anger, and he is utterly unafraid to die for his belief in peace and goodness. He is always happy to offer tidbits of wisdom to those who ask for them, and also to those who don’t. Shuushar hopes to return to his hometown of Sloobludop in order to share his enlightenment with his fellow kuo-toa, as well as anyone else he encounters along the way.

Shuushar,,, drives my players a little bit insane, and I definitely haven't been utilizing his full potential (the players have been mostly fixated on Sarith, the twins, and the cleric NPC I brewed up to replace Eldeth). I've mostly been using him as a vehicle for foreshadowing through what I call Shuushar Stories. he's just. the Worst Fucking Storyteller and it's delightful to write, actually. here are two of the ones I feel contribute most to his characterization:

#1: Darklake Hag

“Yeah, so when they threw me out of Sloobludop, they didn’t even give me a boat, so I had to steal one. Or I was planning to, but then my friend Bloppdagadil snuck out after me to give me her spare boat and also a bag of crawlers. They weren’t fresh, but it was still a great gesture. What a gal. . . Shame the merrows got her. Nasty surprise when the fishermen I was traveling with pulled bits of her out of the Lake in their nets. . . Anyways, yeah, so I was traveling in Bloppdagadil’s boat when suddenly, I’m stuck on a sandbar! So I get out and try to push the boat back into the water when this weird green lady appears out of nowhere and asks me if I want to make a deal with her—I think it was for infinite wisdom or something. I told her, ‘No thanks, I’m good,’ and I push the boat back into the water. Enlightenment is more about the journey than the destination, really, and it wouldn’t mean anything if I didn’t earn it. . . The boat got caught in a whirlpool a few days later. I think it was the green lady’s fault. She said goodbye very ominously.” 

the key takeaways from this one are these:

the Darklake is dangerous, and Shuushar exists in a world where it's just Normal for people to die. you accept it. you move on. it is what it is.

he believes in the journey over the destination. the end does not justify the means.

he has a strong moral code and refuses temptation at every turn (you could play with this in your own campaign depending on how well your players take to him).

he is just a Weird-Ass Guy (affectionate).

foreshadowing for the green hag in the Darklake which I'm gonna present as an option to save Sarith (but at a COST, mwahahahaha).

#2: Funny Story, I Was Exiled

“I will warn you that I didn’t leave Sloobludop on the best of terms, really. Everyone was always moving, moving, moving with the land currents, but I just wanted to stand still for a minute. Ploopploopeen didn’t like that. He didn’t like that at all. . . Oh, Ploopploopeen? He was the archpriest of the Sea Mother—had just been promoted, and his first act was to tell me to never come back. Said I was a ‘bad influence’ or something, and that his daughter would get the wrong idea, watching me. . . I’m not mad about it. Love and fear, together, are a strange thing, and either one alone can drive people to do things they know in their hearts are wrong. Tost about by unseen currents. . . I wonder if he remembers me. I want him to know that I forgave him a long time ago.”

what this monologue was meant to convey:

foreshadowing, mostly. tryna set up Ploopploopeen's motives a bit better than in the module.

Shuushar has hidden depths! he's not some dumbass stoner (though I do try to portray him like he's constantly high, because I think it's funny), he has philosophy! and compassion! and an incredible ability to forgive those who have wronged him! he's a genuinely good dude!

the delivery of these really helped his character come across, tbh. (these ones were given during the session proper, not between via text chatting.) he's just spacey and--not monotone, exactly, but very level in his tone. he's calm. he's unshakeable. maybe your players will appreciate that, or maybe they'll find him annoying and want to stuff a rag into his mouth to get him to Shut Up. (and even that in itself can become compelling; I think we've got a bit of an in-joke developing that We Don't Let Shuushar Tell Stories.)

thanks for the ask, and I really hope this helped!! it was delightful getting to ramble about my own devious machinations, and I would be happy to chat further about my takes on each of the NPCs if you so desire :D

[emmashouldbewriting]

For someone who obviously does not measure her value based on her work, I know it is not her priority right now. She probably thinks about it but that's just it.

For all the privileges that she has, I hope this is the one thing that she'll seize the most without the public and those people who claim to support her make her feel guilty about.

It's also unfair to compare her with Charles.

I don't know why people are insistent I'm wrong when I say she's working. She is - she's just doing the behind the scenes things that nobody thinks is work. She cannot abandon a project like Early Years or her charities with zero communication or reviews from her. That doesn't fit her character, so do we really think she's just downed tools and said "okay lads, do it yourself, none of my business!" and flicked her hair???

Everyone likes to tell me that "She does so much behind the scenes the royal rota doesn't report!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" whenever I've criticised her workload. WELL GUESS WHAT SIDE I'M ON RIGHT NOW. So pick one, lol.

[ao3gobi17]

What I forgot to add to the what if maze runner,

In the books and movies before the kids get put in the maze they wipe their memory so that none of them have any memories of anything before the maze.

So obviously, spider wouldn't recognize Quaritch, would that fuel his anger even more? Or would he be glad, because that means he could keep spider in the dark about what happened and spin his own story about what happened.

Also, in the books WCKD gives the kids different names when they get put in the maze like Thomas' real name before the maze was Stephen. So in this scenario it would mean that spider thinks that his real name is spider. Would that infuriate quaritch even more? Since spider was named after him?

I'm also curious as to how quaritch and the team would handle spiders trauma.

I also think that they would be pretty impressed by what spider can do, since they were pretty self sufficient in the maze.

Maybe spider was a runner and has a great condition that could come in handy (weather it comes in handy for spider or the team remains the question lol)

You could write a good crossover fic out of this, you should consider it!!

That's a great question about Custody-Quaritch and the memory stuff. I think ultimately Quaritch would care more about Spider's wellbeing than how Spider felt about him. I know that's a tricky one because he's done things in Custody that are not beneficial to Spider's wellbeing, but he sees much of it as temporary measures (eg Spider won't be 'kidnapped' forever, because he's going to want to stay with his dad once he gets used to everything). So even though in this MR scenario Q would benefit from being able to shape the narrative to Spider however he liked, he would care more about the distress/confusion Spider would feel if he couldn't remember his past.

And in fact, depending on how you squared the timeline, if Q had only broken out of prison and the government (WCKD is the government, right?) was evil then Q is very much not the bad guy other than the question over whether he killed Paz. He's escaped the bad guys and rescued Spider. So he doesn't have a lot to defend about his actions at this point and he definitely would prefer for Spider to have his memories. Even more importantly, if Spider didn't know who Q was then Spider might feel kidnapped rather than rescued and he might feel suspicious of Q. Q wouldn't have the childhood memories to fall back on either - we cannot underestimate how much Spider's memories of those first 7 years are in Q's favour in Custody.

That was a really long way of saying Q would want Spider to have his memories LOL.

Q would not be delighted that Spider didn't know his name was Miles, he'd be pretty mad at the people who messed with Spider's head like that, but I don't think he'd be so hung up on it just because Spider is named after him. Like if Spider approached Q right now in Custody (hard with a whole cliff between them lol) and said 'I go by Spider nowadays, would you call me Spider? It would mean a lot to me' I think Q would agree to do that for him.

The recoms and Q would both be impressed with Spider indeed - I think they'd all be able to relate to eachother a bit better because some of their experiences and abilities probably align. Spider himself could have quite a different personality from the one we see in Custody too, probably more brash, less serious, less insecure, taking more impulsive risks than calculated risks. So I could see him fitting in with them well. Of course, if he was just super traumatised by everything, then maybe we'd see a different Spider again! I reckon the recoms would have some harrowing tales to tell from armed conflicts, so they might be able to help Spider find some kind of normalcy about what he'd been through and give him hope for recovery.

And needless to say, Q would be exceedingly protective! <3

[izzy-b-hands]

Watching Prince vids to find some new ones to gif and have realised i absolutely need to write either modern au Ed and Izzy fucking at a Prince concert (u know Ed's essentially cosplaying as Prince for the show, as he should, and there's this one outfit of Prince's that's a v Izzy shirt with a tight jumpsuit that I bet Izzy would happily wear both for Ed and bc. it's cute as fuck lol) that turns into a bit of steddyhands

Or. if i can wiggle around how electric guitars work in the canon time (can i just say they do and not worry abt it lmao), I'm equally down for writing it like.

Fuck it, mini sort of fic time for this version of it. nsfw and horny edizzy into steddyhands below the cut

Canon time version of this is like

Post s2, in an au version where everyone is well and fine (the only version i personally fuck with rn tbh bc u guys Know my feelings on actual s2 lol)

Ed and Izzy have been working on things. Slowly, painfully, and tbh, they still communicate in a way that's like. Absolutely odd and not great to anyone except the two of them and the few crew members who are starting to figure it out or already had some understanding of it (ex. Stede for the former and Fang for the latter)

But there's a show at this port, tonight. A fairly famous bard, that Ed's maybe always wanted to see (let's be real, he adds the maybe in bc he feels bad abt wanting to go, to spend a night away from the ship and Responsibilities, the same shit that kept him feeling tied to being Blackbeard)

It doesn't take much to convince him tho, once Izzy admits that actually he thinks it would be good for everyone to go, and Stede eagerly agrees. They'll go as a group, but everyone can vibe and do their own thing as they want at the show (aka The Swede is in Jackie's lap for most of it, Zheng and Olu and Jim and Archie are all over each other in between dance breaks, and it's just a nice time out for one night where even the navy officers in the crowd that are poorly disguised aren't gonna start any shit)

He's basically vibrating with excitement after Stede and Izzy start talking wardrobe for the show, and then suddenly they're tearing apart old stolen clothes to stitch together to make new things and he's going out in something tight, silk, different shades of purple and violet with black highlights to even it out (and some glitter, for good measure.) Izzy's smiling, helping get himself fitted into the jumpsuit that Wee John has insisted upon helping them sew together in time, adding extra black silk frills to an already black frilly shirt they've found amongst their pile of spoils (none of them like folding or hanging up clothes, so be it lol)

Add in that Stede and Izzy are taking turns making out with him mid-dress up and he's. on a fucking hair trigger by the time they go off the ship into the port, to the biggest pub there to join the crowd (Jackie notes it isn't as nice as her place was, and she's right, but it could be worse.)

Stede offers that they should go, the two of them, up closer to the front and he'll join them later (partially bc he needs a moment to adjust to the crowd which is full of pirates recognising him and Ed and Izzy and it's. v cool to him but also overwhelming considering how that went the last time at the republic of pirates), so they make their way until he's pressed gently into the front barrier, Izzy grinding against him from behind.

They're not dressed so they can hide much of anything, but everyone around them is seemingly there for the same thing and in the same sort of spirits, so they can play pretty freely. The ppl closest give them dreamy, eager, wanting looks as they watch, and he can't help but think yeah, they should be jealous. Doesn't matter if they're more jealous of Izzy for being with Ed or vice versa, it's a turn on both ways now for Ed (and he's realising he missed out on a lot by not appreciating the ppl who look at him with need in their eyes, bc he's the one taking Izzy fucking Hands home with him and not them.)

He can reach back and feel how wet Izzy is, knows the cream coloured pantsuit is probably showing it too (buttery soft and thin cream coloured silk, the brightest thing he's seen Izzy in in ages, and he wants him both in and out of it all at once lol.) His own cock is fighting against the purple silk and velvet skirt Wee John and Frenchie helped make, and he's mindful enough to not want to tear it, but he does want it pushed up so Izzy can start playing with his ass and cock

That's a step too far for the moment, but he grinds against Izzy like his life depends on it, and it's everything he wanted and more once Stede joins them. Surrounded by the men he loves being with, taking turns sneaking in kisses to them while the music plays (and the show is fucking amazing, Ye Olde Prince and his group egging everyone on to have fun and get nasty), and he's juuuust abt to come untouched when Stede and Izzy finally pull him towards the back of the crowd, where ppl are letting themselves really go for it

His eyes linger for a minute over the crew members nearby and what they're getting up to (in part bc Frenchie and Roach keep breaking away to come over and get their hands on Izzy, who moans so prettily whenever they or Stede or Ed touches him that it makes Ed ache)

But then it's Izzy on his knees pulling up Ed's skirt to suck him off, Stede behind him teasing his ass with a finger, leaving kisses and hickeys all over his neck and collarbone

He couldn't tell you much about the actual moment he cums, bc there's not a drop of blood going to his brain during it lol. He can hear the song that's playing (I've got a list for which it could be bc there are a lot of Prince songs that are on my edizzy and steddyhands lists), and he can feel Izzy swallowing it down while Stede grabs at his ass, toying with his hole (and making Ed wish they'd brought something as lube tbh), jerking himself off as best he can thru his trousers (tight, teal silk, a favourite for ed and izzy to see stede in)

After he's propped up between them for the rest of the show, taking turns teasing Stede through his trousers and rubbing at the front of Izzy's pantsuit (it's not near enough friction considering how hard Izzy grinds against his hand, stifling moans into Ed's shoulder)

The game plan was to return to the ship after the show, but an invitation from Ye Olde Prince's security guard to the backstage for the three of them means a few things:

finally access to lube and getting off with one of his favourite bards in the same room, with two of his favourite people, and the crew gets to have the ship all to themselves (something they were pretty blatantly hoping would happen in how they were talking before the show, and he can't blame them. There are a lot of fun places to fuck on the Revenge, and everyone deserves a chance to get themselves and whoever else they want off in them.)

Anyway. god. if i could draw I'd have sketches of their outfits too for u guys. but alas on that part of things akdnfjgn

[taegularities]

Rid, this maybe a small rant so bear w me pls >:(

I was having a conversation with my roommate in college yesterday about books and reading in general. She is picky when it comes to reading, mostly inclining towards romance and sub genres within the umbrella. While I believe that reading anything is a good practice, she is radical in her opinion. In the sense that she believes books which are officially published in a hardcover are credible enough to be called books or novels for the matter. Recently i revealed to her that I’ve been reading fan fiction for 3 years now and her reaction was… quirky? She thinks that fanfiction writers are still amateurs in writing, have no experience with editors and they only write as a hobby so they don’t put in as much effort as a novel writer would, so their stories are dumb when compared to novelists and best selling authors. I argued that fan fiction is not something to be looked down upon cause some people have put out excellent things to read and they do work hard on their plots and characters. Even if they are not accustomed to working with publishers and all but that doesn’t work as an authentic judgement that fanfic writers can’t be placed as the same level of some authors. Just putting out a book in hardcover doesn’t equate quality of a story, it only means you had access with some publishing house. The argument kinda took a sour turn cause she was unwilling to take in my pov so I asked her if you think fanfic writers suck then tell me which stories you have read in your entire lifetime which you consider masterpieces then i might recommend you some stories from my end to change your perspective. She texted me sometime ago and most of her list includes Colleen Hoover 😐 it kinda made me realize that in fact we as readers must have a fanfic phase in life otherwise we would place authors like CoHo with incredibly poor taste in writing on the pedestal and look down on underrated talents in the field of literature. I still can’t comprehend what does CoHo write in her books that attracts mass attention from people cause all she does is glorify toxic relationships and normalize it with her weak happy endings. I’ve read around 3 books from her and lemme tell you some of the bts fics on ao3 & tumblr deserved way better audience than she does. In my opinion, the only reasons books like these blow up is due to people who have a first time experience in reading and don’t really take much interest in reading, it’s disgraceful to way better writers who are overlooked cause they don’t suit the usual trend due to certain criteria they don’t fit in, the criteria being easy choice of vocabulary, some aesthetic corny words, incredible smut and bland character development. Maybe the lack of quality romance novels in bookstores has me caving into fanfics because I feel in some measures I’d rather spend a week completing works of a fanfic writer with amazing plots for free over spending dollars and wasting time on books I end up disliking because of their stuff characters having absolutely no growth or a potential plot going to waste.

rant anytime, love <3

oof, i don't know much about colleen hoover, so i can't judge.. but honestly, any kind of creative work should be appreciated. like, i used to be young adult girly myself, and got into writing like that, so i feel like none of us should drag down someone's effort (not talking about you, just in general!!). and like, as a fanfic author myself i do feel a bit bleh about your friend saying we are amateurs bc we don't work with publishers lol :') i've actually thought about this before. editors have so much work to do, like they need to perfect a story, right? i know it's different for us, but most beta readers i know do the same.. literally sit down and spend hours reading a fic to help a writer improve it (shoutout to you ily @missgeniality). tbh, i'd say agree to disagree with your friend and enjoy whatever you enjoy!! sometimes it's hard to explain a pov to someone. but tysm for standing up for fanfic authors, like i'm so happy you cherish them the way you do <3