#off the rail challenge rules

[r3ynah]

I Can be everything and anything, at once

A 27 years old Phantom was challenged to a bet, by his co-workers at the watchtower. Green lantern stated along with the the other heroes that If he could help every single one of them at least once in a month while not using any his powers and he also had to be physically and mentally there as he helps them. the cherry on top was that he needed to use his real identity instead of his ghost form in this mission.

If Phantom successfully conceals his civilian identity, while helping them, he gets to know everyone's deepest darkest secrets.

But if he loses, he must do everyone a favor and must keep it no matter how outrageous it is.

Ofcourse Phantom agreed, because he was no bitch, okay so maybe he is, he only accepts bets like this if he knows that'll he'll win. so yeah.

Besides, having no powers for this, is really a piece of cake, if you're a raging gender fluid that knows his way around makeup and can easily change the sound of his voice, to be honest the shapeshifting parts that he got from his powers are basically just add-ons.

Well what was he waiting for? afterall he needed all the blackmail he could get, not as Phantom but as Daniel James Fucking Fenton, this was an opportunity to go batshit crazy and he was absolutely stealing it.

The very first hero Danny approached to help was Wonder Woman, who thanked Danny who was now disguised as a woman wearing a long ass Red wig, and some clothes he "borrowed" from Jazz who just joked about Danny being her twin, and wished him luck.

"Thank you, young lady for your brave actions to help me." Wonder woman sincerely thanked the boy in disguise as she held both of Danny's hands as gratitude "may I ask the name of my savior? "

"My name's El, It's a pleasure to know you." Danny smiled a little wider.

The second was Flash, which Danny found completely amusing because of the way he helped the speedy hero, who tripped while patrolling around the city.

Danny who was now in a more gothic attire( thanks to Sam's help) caught the hero's wrist before he embarrassingly fell face first on the ground.

"You okay there sir?" Danny asked, as he kept a firm grip on the man's wrist to make sure he doesn't fall.

Meanwhile Flash who thought he was in those korea tv romance dramas only blue screened for a few seconds before finally get his shit together. "yeah- um- name's Flash, and you are?"

The hero tripped on his own words, making Danny amused as fuck. "James, it was nice to finally meet you"

Okay, about like three weeks in, and Danny managed to help almost everyone in the watchtower, and only a few more to go,( he didn't get why most of the heroes he helped either started to stutter or blue screen in their spot once they talk to him. like damn is this how all of you treat every civilian who interacts with you? that's just sad) but at this time, Dan and Elle found out, and were now demanding to join, with the excuse of basically being Danny but in alternate or clone form, which Danny had no choice but to give in, I mean he wasn't breaking any rules so technically this was alright.

Danny wanted to take a break so Dan took over this time.

currently Nightwing was observing the outside of the gala, Bruce was invited to, something about a bunch of drugs being hidden within the crowd, and was now being passed around.

He intently remained focused on his observation, while also keeping a conversation with Oracle and the others on the comms, he didn't realize that he was too far off the edge of the railing he was standing on, until he missed a step.

Nightwing would never admit that he let a quiet squeal to his siblings ever as he fell, he closed his eyes and braced for impact, he would never expect to fall into the arms of a man 3x bigger than him, he stared at the man, and the man stared at him. 'holy shit' Nightwing thought.

The man, chuckled making Nightwing internally scream. "When I wished for Desiree, to make someone from above to save me from this trash party, I didn't think it would be one of the birds of gotham, to come and fall for me let alone the handsome one."

Okay Nightwing was now full on red from blushing, he was put down gently by the man on the ground, before offering a handshake, once Nightwing accepted the handshake, Dan pulled the hand closer to his mouth then gave a quick peck on the back of the hand vigilante's hand. "My name's Dan Masters, it's a pleasure to meet you."

his siblings can eat dirt on how they were teasing Nightwing Right now, but this was fucking worth it.

And the last to have gotten help from Danny was John Constantine, Danny actually had a reason on why he saved John for last, and that's because John actually knows Danny's identity, so for this mission he asked the help of his daughter Elle.

Elle had helped John by fixing a ruined summoning circle, who also helped him negotiate with a demon, and somehow all day, Elle just stuck to Constatine's side, her explanation? 'He'll die without me' fair point John thought as he took the kid, to order ice cream and to hangout in the park.

"You know kid, you remind me of someone." Constantine stated while keeping his eyes on what's infront of him, which was just a bunch of trees.

Elle who sat next to him, still eating her Ice cream looked up at him and said. "Really?"

"Yeah like you two literally have the same aura and all just a little different, but I don't know who yet." He replied and ruffled the kid's hair. making the girl laugh.

"Hey John!" Danny greeted behind them, and then all the gears inside of Constantine's head began to work. he let out a groan as he realized the girl beside him was the clone of the man behind him, well he needed to kiss that secret of his goodbye. here on this spot right now or he'll die of embarrassment if he waited any longer.

"Danny, let's go on a date." Constantine stated, not facing the Man.

this comment made the Father and Daughter choke on literal air.

[ddarker-dreams]

Nexus.

Yandere Blade x F Reader.

Warnings: Nothing major yet, some minor Honkai: Star Rail spoilers. Word count: 4.6k.

Nexus index.

On the planet Eris, in the city of Perianth II, night reigns, for there is no star close enough to challenge its rule. 

Deep within the bowels of the metropolis lit only by manmade contraptions, sits a bar known as LOTUS-EATER, carved into the cragged terrain as if it’d always been there. It had not, in fact, contrary to local legend. Had the IPC not run into issues with overcrowded prisons, this planet they now consider a scourge would never have had the means to limp on. 

Easy solutions cultivate the conditions for worse problems to develop later on. 

This is what your mother — a shrewd woman to her core — instilled in you. 

Grimacing, you reread the words on your screen for the umpteenth time. 

… You wish she had instilled some business management skills instead. 

“Miss Exalted-One-Ma’am, when are you coming back inside? This client is refusing to leave until he can speak with you. Lear is running interference, but that’s going as well as you can imagine,” a feminine voice calls out. 

You glance up fast enough to assess her expression. Despite the severity of her words, she’s smiling, amber eyes crinkling by the corners. Her chestnut-colored hair is worn in a braid that extends down the length of her back, meaning she hasn’t clocked out yet, or else it’d be loose. You have some wiggle room, then.

“Nona,” you beckon her over, “What do you think this means?” 

Inquisitive creature she is, she doesn’t waste this opportunity to poke around in your private matters. Her eyes flitter back and forth as she takes in the contents of your phone. Interlocking her hands behind her back, she hums. 

“Looks like we’re due for a visit.” 

“That’s what you gathered too?” You murmur. “What a mess this is turning into. The last thing we need is for the hounds to start sniffing around.” 

“I dunno what you’re frazzled about, exalted one. The locals wouldn’t cough up info to the IPC even if their life depended on it.” 

“Therein lies your answer — the locals won’t, but our clientele is vast as the universe is infinite. Someone looking to score quickly could put in a tip. The hounds are just itching for an excuse to put an embargo on Eris again.” 

She shrugs. “Outsiders bribed and snuck their way in last time, they would now too. Benefits of a quality product.” 

You shake your head and pinch the bridge of your nose. Nona means well, but if she thinks in such simple terms, her training period won’t ever end. Or perhaps you’re being a tad too harsh on the girl, you haven’t slept since receiving this text message two cycles ago. If it weren’t for how scarce this technology is, you would’ve smashed it to pieces for causing you such prolonged strife. 

Alas, as a native of Eris, there are two things you intrinsically cherish above all else — any object that emits light and the special nectary cradled within the planet. 

“I’ll take your input into—” 

A shrill shriek cuts you off before you can finish your sentence. 

“The hysterical client, I reckon,” Nona dryly remarks. “Now, can you please come in before Lear gets stabbed? If it isn’t already too late.” 

You don’t bother dignifying her macabre speculation with a reply. You enter through a back door accessible only to LOTUS-EATER staff, weaving around boxes of cargo that need to be sorted. A heady, aromantic scent clings to the wood, yet its temptation is long lost on you. Where the clients indulge, you abstain. The livelihood of yourself and your workers relies heavily on your psyche’s clarity. 

Emerging from the back rooms has you standing on the building’s second floor, an area known as The Lounge. Here, the spherical, gravity-defying emitters of lights standard in this region are set dimly. This latest model even allows you to adjust the dimensions, ranging from small enough to fit in the palm of your hand to the size of a room. There was supposed to be one more on this floor, but while unpacking the order, it slipped from Lear’s hands and met an early demise. Great cooperation was needed to locate the glass that floated to the ceiling. 

You check the status of occupancies. Two private rooms are in session, the other eight are empty. By your design, it had been a slow night. You gave orders to the receptionist, Thalia, to only book appointments for influential customers, just in case the omen floating over your head comes true. You walk down the hallway which leads to the first floor, only to notice cool colors set in a square array by the digital lock. 

The sight doesn’t sit right with you. You consider taking a detour to investigate, only for the commotion downstairs to encourage otherwise. 

“Sir, if you’d please calm down—”

Lear’s gentle voice is cut off by another. 

“I demand to speak with her,” it heaves. “The mind witch. Where is she?” 

The electronic curtains that lift for those put into the LOTUS-EATER’s database part in a magnificent flurry of scarlet hues. You feel each set of eyes that glance your way. It’s a typical ensemble present — affluent travelers, political emissaries, and well-to-do merchants. Some drink at the bar, others watch the live entertainment playing soft music. Everyone aside from the heaving interloper is dressed in the formalwear expected of the establishment. 

The click of your heels against the dark wood floor reverberates throughout. The man’s reaction to your appearance is delayed, though he eventually turns his head to see where Lear is looking. Resentment contorts his face upon spotting you. You recognize him. Jay R. Alister, a client who gave Thalia a difficult time due to his demands to have a Synalink booking today. You thought you smoothed over the matter by granting him access to the first floor, The Club, and placing him on a priority list for next time. 

Copious amounts of alcohol must’ve unraveled your hard work. 

“Shall we take a moment to collect ourselves, sir?”

“No one— no one understands,” he insists, swaying ever so slightly. It’s a peculiar sight. One message from a handful of the individuals present would be enough to spell doom for Alister, this charade likely already has him blacklisted across multiple star systems. To be a client at LOTUS-EATER is a privilege. Everyone adheres to the unspoken rule of the honor system, eliminating the need for security inside. 

“I’d like to, Mr. Alister, if you wouldn’t mind explaining to me outside.” 

He’s drunk, but a low-level link can be established, you surmise. It isn’t an option without risks. As a recurring client, he could catch onto the invasive feeling and grow further agitated. The eyes fixated on you grow heavier. Some are curious, others bemused, and a few pass silent judgment, comparing your capabilities with the previous Exalted Arbiter. 

He blinks slowly. “My Roze… she’s upstairs. She’s waiting for me. I can’t— can’t be late…” 

“You won’t be,” your voice takes on a concerned lilt, “Let’s go meet her elsewhere. Follow me and I’ll take you to her.” 

A white ring forms around his pupils. 

“You… will?” 

“I will. Come, now, we wouldn’t want to waste any more of her time, would we?” 

The ring goes from opaque to solid. 

The low-level link has been made manifest. You feel the thread connecting you to the essence that makes Jay R. Alister himself. 

You stride past him and he immediately scrambles to follow. Out of the corner of your eye, you note how Lear’s shoulders relax and give him a reassuring nod. He did a good job stalling until you could personally see to this matter yourself. If this had occurred any other time, it would’ve been your top priority, but a far more sensitive issue threatened to ensnare you in a worrisome web. 

One after another, the pairs of eyes fall, like a flying pest in its final moments. Conversation resumes and the music increases in volume. 

Cool air embraces you once you’re outside. This particular region is well-lit, a testimony to its prestige. Restaurants, boutiques, and other fine shops have been built with walls of dark stone naturally found on Eris for better insulation. The once rugged streets are smooth, painstakingly cobbled together by a city planner many Amber Eras ago. Any crack has molten gold poured into it so that when it dries, the ground beneath your feet is a never-ending sea of ebony and gold. 

You wave over the closest security guards. The rest can be left to them, Mr. Alister has damaged his reputation enough for you to consider his dues paid. You’ll tell Thalia to take him off the registered client list for LOTUS-EATER and that’ll be the end of it. You’re preparing to head back inside when a pervasive, overpowering influence freezes you in place. It’s reminiscent of an electric current.  

The taut link between you falters. 

Straining…

(He’s reaching into his pocket). 

Fraying…

(His hands wield a sharpened implement).  

Until it snaps. 

The subjugated lunges at the subjugator. 

You try to re-establish the link, but there’s a fortress around his mind that wasn’t there moments prior. Imposing and unbreachable. Where did this surge of mental fortitude come from? You need to think, you need to act. There must be a way for you to regain control, your technique is unshaken even in the face of imminent demise. In the three seconds it takes for him to close the distance, you make seventy-four attempts, each ending in failure. 

Has the last grain of sand fallen to the bottom of the hourglass, cementing this choice to believe in your abilities as the wrong one? 

This can’t be the end. Who will take care of—

Metal clashes against metal. 

The being in front of you is a shade. Tendrils of agony untold slither up from his thigh and squeeze around his neck, constantly choking him, yet refusing the sweet reprieve a crushed windpipe would give. This is a person acquainted with every suffering a living creature could ever endure. The prismatic shards that detail his countless tragedies aren’t just broken, they’re eviscerated, an indecipherable mess. Some scattered to the wind and others forcibly scratched out. 

This nightmarish presence eclipses your would-be killer. 

His eyes meet yours and the hairs on the back of your neck stand. 

“Don’t bother,” is all he says. 

He could sense you trying to poke around in his head? Has he come into contact with Arbiters before? That can’t be possible, you’re familiar with everyone on the LOTUS-EATER registry. You cease your ministrations without verbally acknowledging him. His hollow expression burns into your retinas, invading your mind’s eye. The sword he saved your life with holds a similar weight. It radiates such intensity that you needn’t use any techniques to get a better read on it. 

Walking up the steps in a casual manner is the last person you wanted to see — Kafka of the Stellaron Hunters. She spares the now subdued Alister a glance then turns to face you. 

“Fortunately, I had the foresight to send Bladie ahead,” she smiles. You resist the urge to scoff. “Otherwise, our meeting would’ve been far less pleasant.” 

So that man’s with her, you think. That’d explain why I couldn’t make any progress. 

If the defenses surrounding Alister were comparable to a fortress, the minds of the Stellaron Hunters are like a deflective shield. Any extensive attempts at trying to gain access end up backfiring and causing you damage so long as they remain up. The only other being capable of a similar feat was your mother. Now, in the few years since her death, you’ve encountered three more with similar capabilities. 

Are your abilities growing dull? Or are other species simply evolving? 

You order the guards to deal with Alister as they see fit, he’s no longer your primary concern. 

There’s a far worse headache forming on the horizon. 

“... I suppose you’ll follow me inside whether I invite you or not?” You question, just barely managing to maintain the smile painted hastily on your face. 

Kafka doesn’t reciprocate your hostility. She never does. Instead, she motions in the direction you were planning on taking them to avoid any unwanted attention. The guards won’t be an issue, since they’re on your payroll. You don’t want to risk lingering and being spotted by someone without an allegiance to you.

“I won’t overstay my welcome, Exalted Arbiter. You have my word.” 

By essentially showing up uninvited at your front door, she’s placed you in quite a precarious situation. The man who parried Alister’s attack hasn’t dropped his vigilance for an instant. His posture is that of an animal poised to pounce. You lack the means to fight them off should they choose to utilize force. 

Your gut instinct tells you it’s a bad idea to get involved any further. Your mind reasons you can only play the cards you’re dealt. 

A sigh passes by your lips. “Very well. Let’s get on with it then.” 

The duo follows wordlessly behind you. Kafka remains close, whereas the swordsman lingers further back, taking care to avoid well-lit areas and remaining hidden. Had you not already been alerted to his presence, he could’ve easily slipped past your detection.  

The Stellaron Hunters are a formidable group indeed. 

During the short journey, you recall the text message that pushed you into this vat of strife. 

It was accompanied by an animated emoticon of the magenta-haired fugitive blowing a kiss. 

You’ll be in need of me shortly. See you then xoxo 

“Absolutely not!” 

An exclamation of unrivaled proportion leaves you, accompanied by your palms slamming against your desk. Old-fashioned writing stationary clatters noisily in the aftermath. She stops the doomed descent of one pen and then looks back to you, unperturbed. 

This woman is a shadow that follows her target persistently, devising fresh torments and sowing discord wherever she steps. To fight her is to do battle with a phantom, no attacks will land. The hopeless charade serves to tire you out. Still, your pride is wounded and without a balm to assuage the tender gash. It can’t scab over to heal. Again and again, it’s reopened, fresh blood washing over what had just dried. 

“I haven’t finished my proposition,” she hums. She sits in front of your desk, legs crossed, her eyes shining an eerie shade. “I wouldn’t dare to ask so much of your resources if you didn’t stand to benefit as well. Our current arrangement has helped you cut down on costs, yes?” 

You drum your fingers over the wood’s lacquer finish. “The word ‘arrangement’ implies cooperation, I believe extortion would be a better fit.” 

“I’ll stand by my original phrasing. The IPC has abandoned all pretense of slowly creeping up rates on shipments to Eris; what they’re charging now will look generous in a few short Trailblazer Years. They want this planet dead and their past misdeeds to die alongside it.” 

“Our current projections estimate we have at least two medium-length Amber Eras before we get to that point, by then, we’ll have countermeasures in place,” you droll out. These details have been drilled into your head ever since you became the head of this quadrant. “What proof do you have that the IPC will make such a drastic move? The other factions will lodge complaints, many of them use our… exports.” 

You wince at the awkward phrasing of the word ‘exports’, knowing full well she’ll pick through any vulnerability like a vulture does a corpse. 

Kafka leans forward. “By ‘exports’, you must mean Eris’ most sought-after natural resource. The tonic of the nectary.” 

“I’m not allowed to discuss such sensitive material with outworlders.” 

“You needn’t say anything, just listen,” she pulls out a vial from inside her jacket. The familiar sheen of glimmering gold within causes your breath to hitch. “Here I have a sample of the latest synthetic developments into the tonic, courtesy of Silver Wolf. The IPC is discreetly channeling funds into the Genius Society to revitalize the research effort.” 

You bite back a laugh. “That knowledge is nothing new. They’ve been trying to replicate the tonic for ages; it’s a money pit. The last I heard, the closest they could get after investing billions of credits is a 14% match.” 

“Try 70%.” 

She sets the vial down and nods, encouraging you to take it. You don’t. 

“... You can’t be serious,” your voice sounds far away, as if it were coming from another room. “You’re bluffing.” 

“You don’t have to take my word for it. Have your alchemists examine it and come to your own conclusions.” 

As a disciple of Destiny’s Slave, she’s confident that this will suffice to convince you, and loathe as you are to admit it, she’s right. The repercussions of this allegation could be disastrous. It’d be irresponsible on your part to not at least run it by the appropriate channels. 

“What does this intel cost me?” 

“Nothing, consider it a token of good faith. There’s a more pressing matter I hoped to bring to your attention, now that that’s out of the way.” 

You raise an eyebrow. “More pressing than the future of my home?” 

“That’d depend on who you ask,” Kafka dances around your apprehension to a rhythm no one else has ever composed. “It has to do with my companion. I didn’t bring him here to take in the sights, he’s to stay on a job until further notice.” 

The mention of that enigmatic man brings with it a resurgence of the feelings you experienced earlier. It hit like a tidal wave, concentrated and suffocating. What would someone have to endure for their psyche to be saturated in such wretchedness? 

“Alright. I’ll arrange for accommodations somewhere more discreet.” 

“I think it’d be best if he stayed here, at the LOTUS-EATER.” 

…

…

…

“What?” 

Kafka has made many requests in the time she’s known you. Normally, she uses you as a point of contact to meet influential individuals or a warehouse of yours to store important items, but this is an entirely different beast. Those endeavors fester outside your purview. You give the push necessary and wash your hands clean of the implications. 

To host a Stellaron Hunter in your most lucrative establishment could very well be the start of the end. 

“After the events that unfolded earlier, you should see the potential advantages. You’re in a precarious situation. The IPC can’t place a bounty on you in an official capacity, but there are ways around bureaucracy. That attempt today won’t be the last.” 

She lowers her voice to an enticing whisper. “And we both know you’re not financially sound enough to hire competent help. Take him. He’ll be yours if you permit him.” 

How her melodious voice can invoke such a raw desire to argue is unknown, and yet, each fiery word fizzles out to ash on your tongue. In the same way you’d establish a link for the first time, you take the pieces of information at your disposal to test where the edges might align. The unusual fees on shipments, the supposed progress on the tonic, and the overall strain that’s been placed on every level of your business — the mosaic it forms is a crimson shade with a metallic scent. 

You can’t die. Not yet, not when it’d cause so many to perish alongside you. 

“This goes beyond ‘a token of good faith’,” you murmur. “Kafka… there’s far more to this, isn’t there? Just what are you planning?” 

For once, the curvature of her smile is genuine. Blatant insincerity would unsettle you less. 

“A gift for a friend.”

Upon LOTUS-EATER’s roof sits your favorite getaway, a secluded balcony. 

There’s nothing fancy about the decor, if anything, it’s worn rugged by the elements. Paint chips off the three chairs and stubborn foliage congregates no matter how often you banish it with your broom. After ensuring you can only be contacted in an emergency, you wipe the condensation off the chair furthest to the right and sit tall. 

Although you aren’t alone, you keep your eyes on the starry sky.

“I would like to apologize for the behavior I displayed earlier,” you take your time with the words, ensuring each syllable has a pleasant ring. “It must’ve been from the shock, although that’s no excuse. Please allow me to thank you properly.” 

An icy wind whistles through. Once it finishes, you fuss over your hair, putting each strand back in its designated place. You grimace when it picks back up again. 

“You can express your gratitude by speaking normally.” 

Your head snaps in his direction. You examine his side profile through narrow eyes, impatience writhing beneath your skin. He pays your poorly masked hostility no mind. One by one, each muscle in your body relaxes, a domino effect you can’t bother putting a stop to. You slump down into your chair and cross your arms over your chest. 

“Have it your way,” you sigh. Your capitulation earns you his piercing stare. “Pretty words or not, I meant what I said. So, um… thank you, and…” 

Despite yourself, you try meshing together a more subtle phrasing, only for those infinite pools of vermillion to act as a successful deterrent. 

“I don’t like being indebted to others, it’s a hassle. So, here is my offer. I’ll perform a Synalink on you, free of charge. Or a waitlist.” 

Blade exhales sharply through his nose. It takes a moment to register that your proposition amused him more than it intrigued him. The perceived affront on your capabilities causes you to bristle. This is a rare opportunity you’re granting him, surely he must’ve heard of your abilities somewhere! People spend years trying to get an audience with you. The other Arbiters you employ are capable enough, otherwise, they couldn’t work here; but you transcend their combined efforts. 

“There is only one thing I’d want to experience, it’s beyond your means.” 

Propping yourself up on the chair’s arm, you scoff. “Hah, try me. Any emotion, scenario, for whatever length of time; tell me what you want to experience and I can make it happen.” 

He doesn’t instantly rebuke you. You share a moment of silence — almost solemn, certainly more meaningful for him than it is for you. There’s a light tug of guilt that pulls at your conscience. Perhaps it isn’t him underestimating you, but not wanting to set himself up for disappointment again. If you’re going to be occupying the same space for an unknown amount of time, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to get on adequate terms. This could be the door that’ll open that path. 

You clear your throat to dispense the accumulating tension. “That clothing… you must have ties to The Xianzhou Luofu, or some experience with them. Are you familiar with Immersia games?” 

“Vaguely. An acquaintance of mine plays them.” 

You’re confident you could put a name and face to this ‘acquaintance’. For the sake of cordiality, you keep your opinion to yourself.

“I’ve never been fond of the comparison to my work, but I suppose it’s a decent touchstone. An Immersia grants the player a simulated experience predetermined by developers. There is a degree of immersion, hence, well, the name, but that’s barely scratching the surface,” you explain. 

Reassessing his body language only reveals neutrality. You decide it’s better than blatant disinterest and continue. 

“Traditionally, there are thought to be five senses in advanced lifeforms. These senses don't create the continuity of reality we experience, they just break it down into bite-sized pieces for easy consumption. Forming a Synalink is akin to overclocking a computer, not placing a hard drive in a different system. Your brain finds the stimuli I send it indistinguishable from the touch of your hair against your face, or the woody scent of incense in that jar.” 

His eyebrows crease slightly downward. “A single glimpse into my mind was enough to send you recoiling, and still, this is an offer you’re comfortable making?”   

You purse your lips. It’s a fair point. 

“That was… different. Ideally, any link should be made in a stable environment to minimize disruptions. I had nearly been—” You cut yourself off, finding the sentence to be one you’d rather not finish. “—You know, so I wasn’t at optimal performance. That’s why we have private rooms in The Lounge.” 

Your nostrils flare when he keeps regarding you with that impassive expression. Is his face permanently frozen? Does he need to be unpaused? You almost want to snap your fingers in front of him.

“Hey, you’d be less effective if you had to improvise and fight with, say, a spoon. Would your combat ability be based on that one irregular instance or the total sum of all your fights? Hm? What you witnessed earlier was my irregular instance. If you’re open to the idea, I can make it work.” 

Blade shifts so that he can resume gazing at the sky. Before you can celebrate your victory in this one-sided battle of wits, he speaks up. His voice adheres to a softer creed. 

“You are…” he trails off, taking care to select the proper description, “Remarkably strange.” 

Your eye twitches. 

This has been a miserable cycle. You had to breathe the same air as Kafka, deal with a drunk client that later tried to stab you, and you found out the main export that keeps your planet’s economy from total collapse might be duplicable. All things considered, you should be giving this guy the cold shoulder for the problems he’ll inevitably cause in your future. Altruism gets you about as far as jumping into the air and hoping that’ll transport you through space. 

“Forget it, then,” you get up and twist around. The chair you formally occupied scrapes loudly against the ground. You don’t spare him a single glance while traversing the few steps that separate you from a long, well-deserved rest. Maybe you’ll be extra petty and lock the door so he has to remain here until you wake up. The olive branch has been extended, if he wants to take it and break it in two, that’s his prerogative. 

You raise your hand to unlock the door when abruptly, something captures your wrist. 

Your heart stutters. 

There isn’t the softness of flesh or the warmth that radiates off skin. Instead, you feel the textured surface of bandages graze against you in a featherlight touch. You know the vice-like grip he’s capable of. You saw it in how he clutched the grip of his sword, like it was the only thing he was good for. Gentleness cannot come naturally to someone of his disposition. It’s an intentional choice that requires swimming against the tide. 

Shakily, you exhale, hoping it’ll ease how your hands tremble. 

When was the last time someone touched you? Ah… it must’ve been then. 

You will the thought away. 

Blade doesn’t tether you down for more than a few seconds, just long enough to ensure your attention is back on him. Your skin tingles where he came into contact with you. It’s a prickly, blisteringly hot sensation that starts at your wrist and spreads all over. You squeeze your eyelids shut in a last-ditch effort to recompose yourself. 

He’s looking straight at you when your eyes reopen. 

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” he says. You find it strange how quick you are to believe him. “If you sincerely think yourself up to the task, then…” 

There it is again, that swelling of feeling, visceral to a degree every survival instinct screams at you to turn away. 

You find yourself leaning in closer. 

He rewards your burning curiosity with the unprecedented utterance: 

"Show me what it's like to die." 

[surielstea]

Sunshine in the Shade

Based on this request

Pairing: Azriel x DayCourt! Reader

Summary: Reader can't stay in the night court for long when she's bound to day. Azriel and her have to share a goodbye.

Warnings: minimal angst but mostly fluff

A/N: sorry this took me so long to get out, I was struggling figuring out the concept of the original req, I'm still not very happy with it but I hope you guys enjoy nonetheless :) p.s I had to repost cuz my tags weren’t working, sorry if you were notified twice lol.

2.9k words

"That's a lie!" I throw a piece of popcorn at a giggling Morrigan. "Nuh-uh," She shakes her head with a big grin. "I'm The Morrigan I only speak the truth," She shrugs and I roll my eyes, clutching my bowl of popcorn to my chest as she claims 'I'm the prettiest girl she's ever seen'.

"Shut up," I scoff as she wraps her arms around my shoulders and hugs me close. "I mean it," She croons. "Azriel's a lucky male, don't you think Fey?" Her arms slip from around me as she turns to look at the High Lady. "She gets it from her Father," Feyre intoned with a mouthful of chocolate cake and I rolled my eyes at the mention of the High Lord of the Day Court.

It was late in the afternoon, so late that it'd be night soon. I shake my head, trying not to think about when the moon meets the stars. I stifle a sigh and lean on the railing of the roof atop one of Rhysand's many estates, staring out at the three males who were flying around each other like boys again.

When I was seven, my father was an apprentice for spell cleaving. He had been practicing warding spells when I had come into the room with a bright grin on my face excited to show him my new drawing. In a moment of distraction, his spell had shot straight into my heart, the effects irreversible. We hadn't found out the full extent of the spell until we had been traveling to different courts for meetings and as soon as the sun slipped from the sky and night began to rule, my heart stopped beating and I was hospitalized for weeks.

So I was only allowed to leave during the day, as long as I came back right before sunrise. A rule that made it impossibly challenging to see my mate, who happened to be darkness incarnate.

I take a sip of my wine as I watch Azriel soar with his brothers, a rare smile on his face that makes adoration bloom in my chest. "That boy loves you," Amren hums from beside me and I roll my eyes, tearing them away from my mate to look over at her. "No shit," I scoff and a snarky smile curves her lips. "No, he loves you," She murmurs, eyes on the three boys as they laugh amongst each other. "I've never seen him so happy in all the years I've been around him, don't ruin that," She looks at me and it's as if she can see straight through me to my bare soul, past the flesh and bone and to my inner core that held the truest version of me. "What do you—" I begin but I'm cut off by a gust of wind as a figure lands on the railing that I leaned on. "Fly with me," A familiar voice says as Azriel bends down and cups my face in his hands, forcing me to look up at him. "You won't pretend to drop me like last time?" I narrow my eyes on him, forgetting about Amrens words now that he was here, cradling my face. "Nope," He bites at his bottom lip like he always does when he lies to me. "I know you're lying," I sing and he grumbles a curse, leaning in and pressing a kiss to my lips. "Ok, promise I won't." He smushes my cheeks together. I can't help but put every ounce of my trust in him and believe what he says. I nod and he doesn't need any further consent than that.

He swoops me up into his arms and with a few beats of his wings, we were soaring up into the blue sky. I tighten my hold around him with a small squeal. I had a horrible fear of heights, it was foolish to be terrified of a few hundred feet in the air when literal monsters were walking amongst Prythian but it's something that's always affected me. With Azriel, though it was different, he loved flying so much, and that smile on his face beat any fear I had.

"I won't drop you," He promised. "I know, but," I look down, dread filling my stomach at the long drop. We were higher than mountain peaks. He pulls me closer to him. "Hey, look at me," He said and I obeyed, eyes pinned to his. "Don't look down, keep your eyes on me," He hummed and I nodded. "Feels nice, doesn't it?" He tilts his head I swallow thickly, still thinking about the ground that was so very far away.

"Hey, look at me," He repeats with more stress on his words and so I do, I look into his eyes, at the smile on his lips, the dimples on his cheeks. I feel the summer breeze on my skin and hear the laughter of my friends still on the rooftop. "I love you," I confess, hands loosening around his neck and running them through his hair. He smiled, beaming at the words. "I love you more," He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to my cheek. I grin, then giggle as he dips down onto my neck, his nose tickling it. Cassian soars by with a large smile on his face. "No kissing and flying!" The Illyrian shouted over his wingbeats and Azriel's lips halted on my neck while I threw my head back in laughter, remembering the last time Azriel got too lost in kissing me and stopped flying momentarily, putting all of his attention to my lips instead. We dove for only a second before he regained consciousness. But ever since then, Azriel wasn't allowed to put his lips anywhere near mine while flying.

My head lifted back up and I looked at him with a loving smile, fingers coiled in his hair as he stared at me like I hung every star in the sky.

My breath hitched as the sun began to melt into the horizon. My smile faltered and morphed into a frown. "You've gotta go?" He asks and I nod with a pout, looking at him with saddened eyes. "The daughter of the sun can't stay in the night court for long," He murmurs, pressing a kiss to my temple as he navigates us back to the rooftop, leaving Rhys and Cass.

"I'm sorry Az, I want to stay," I say. "I know, it's okay my love," He places my feet down onto solid land and even if I am afraid of heights, I'd much rather be up in the air instead of down here, signaling my exit.

"It's only for the night," He shrugs, settling down onto the railing of the rooftop though despite his reassuring words, something in his gaze told me he wouldn't be sleeping until he saw me again. "Oh, Az," I crash into him with enough force to knock us both over the railing but he doesn't falter, only embraces me back as I hug him tightly. "Why don't you come with me?" I ask and he tilts his head down at me with a frown. "You know your father will kill me," He shakes his head. "I don't care, I'm nearly four hundred years old, I can do what I want," I say. "And I want you," I cup his cheeks, analyzing his features as if I'll forget them. "Except you can't," He murmurs with a sad smile on his face, his thumb pulling slightly at my lower lip.

My shoulders slump and I wrap my arms around him yet again, nuzzling my nose into his shoulder. "Fly me back?" I asked softly into his neck. My fear of flying was outmatched by another moment with him.

"I was planning on it," He pressed kisses atop the crown of my head but neither of us backed up, just staying in that warm, comforting position until the sun got too low in the sky and I knew it was time to go.

"Bye, guys! See you in a month!" I wave to the others with a fake grin across my features. They all bid their farewells with pitying smiles on their faces. "I'll miss you," Mor tangles her arms around me, tearing me from a disgruntled Azriel. "Not as much as I'll miss you," I sing, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Well now I’m sun-kissed," She holds a hand to where my lips were and I giggle, pulling away and going back into Azriel's arms who was grumbling something about the joke being dumb, but I knew he was just jealous.

"Alright, alright, let's go," Azriel swoops me off my feet and carried me bridal style before Mor could get another word in— then took off to the skies, the cool wind nipping at my cheeks as we rose above the mountain peeks and begin navigating south, in the direction my mate's flown me countless times. "Bye Rhys!" I wave to the High Lord as we pass him. "Awe is it that time already!" Cassian whined, soaring to his brother's side with an apparent frown on his face. "I'll be back don't worry," I grin over at him. "I have no doubt you will," He sighs then turns back without another word and joins a waving Rhys.

About twenty minutes of flying later I knew the sun was too low in the sky to be excusable any longer.

"Az I gotta winnow," I say tiredly, hand cradling the side of his neck. "You have to be tired, plus you still have to fly back," I explain and he shakes his head. "I could fly you around for days." He reassured and I frowned up at him. "You know I have to leave," I huff. "I know," He nods. I lean upward and press a gentle, yearning kiss to his lips.

"No kissing and flying, remember?" He mumbles onto my lips. I smile at the recollection, pressing my mouth harder to his. "I'll see you soon, okay?" I whisper and he nods with creased brows and an aching heart.

His scarred fingers dig into my thigh, searing his touch into me in case I ever forgot it. "Don't miss me too much, yeah?" I ask and he smiles weakly before uttering, "I'll try."

"I'll see you tomorrow," I sigh. "I'll be there to pick you up," He reassured and my grin faltered, then as a silent goodbye, I pressed my lips to his, holding his face with enough delicacy you'd think he was made of glass. His lips press harder onto mine. It wasn't lustful or hungry, but it was passionate and full of pining. "Love you, Az," I whisper into his mouth, and before he can reply I winnow away, leaving his arms empty with only the weight of my absence, the bond between us wearing thin as I return back to my native court, a place that no longer felt like home when every element I had of a real home was in Night.

I had winnowed right into the dining room of the Day Palace, my plate already on my spot at the table. "You're late," My father grumbled, I tossed him a glance. He sat at the head of the table, a girl half-dressed in his lap. "Gods, seriously Dad?" I shield my eyes as I grab my plate, deciding not to eat in front of something that would easily make me lose my appetite. "In my defense, I didn't think you were coming home," He shrugs sassily and I roll my eyes at his behavior. "Yeah whatever, goodnight," I mutter, getting to the large doors leading to the hall. "Will I see you tomorrow?" He asks before I can slip out. "Probably not, Az is coming to get me in the morning," I mutter and he utters a curse. "I never see you anymore," He whines childishly, making a small smile spread across my lips. "I'm sorry but my days are promised to him," I open the door wider. "Unless you're willing to let him join us for dinner sometime?" I offer and he scoffs. "I'm not feeding someone who stole my baby girl," He grumbled. "That's what I thought," I nod. "Night, Dad!" I call before slipping out the door, closing it behind me with a soft click.

I travel down the halls of the palace made of sunstone and opalescent glass, taking bites of my food occasionally but I wasn't all that hungry since I ate with Rhysand's inner circle less than an hour ago. I breathe a deep sigh as I finally arrive at my room, entering then kicking the door shut as I make my way over to my desk, setting my plate and fork down before going over to my armoire and pulling myself out of the lightweight dress I wore, slipping into a nightgown instead as I prepared myself for bed, light still in the sky.

My sleep schedule had been all sorts of messed up, I had the sleeping habits of a five-year-old. Waking up at dawn and going to bed at dusk. It was unfair of me to have Azriel spend every waking hour with me during the day but it was the only time I got to see him, I couldn't spend nights with him, and couldn't sleep in the same bed.

I huff as I slide onto my mattress, pulling the covers up to my chin as my black-out curtains do the best they can to block out any remaining sunlight.

I rubbed my eyes tiredly and attempted sleep for at least an hour before I was finally able to drift off into a light slumber, knowing the sooner I fell asleep, the sooner I'd see my mate again.

——

I wake up to a light sound of thudding outside my window, then a drumming on the glass like someone was tapping against it. But I was on the highest point in the palace, the most protected and secured part of the entire court.

I sit up slightly panicked, but the tapping stops and I suppose it's my imagination, running my hands through my hair and blaming it on being overtired. But as soon as my head hits my pillow once more the sound returns. I spring up and crawl over to my bedside window, pulling up the blackout curtains with a confused expression.

My brows shoot to my hairline as I spot a familiar winged figure on the other side of the glass. I immediately open the window, pushing it to its highest point. "What are you doing here?" I question. "I missed you," Azriel shrugs and I facepalm. "Now scoot over, my wings won't fit with you right there," He gestures to me towards the end of the bed. "Are you insane? You're not coming in," I whisper shout and he frowns. "Why not?" He murmurs sadly. "My dad will kill you if he sees you," I grit out and he shrugs. Gods, I felt like a teenager sneaking my boyfriend in.

"C'mon sunshine," He sighs, his wings slowly flapping as to keep quiet. "We'll be gone by dawn," He reasons and I stifle a curse before moving out of the way and allowing room for him to enter. Shadows protect his wings as he pushes himself through the large window that he made look small.

As soon as he through I tackle him into a hug, pressing kisses along the side of his face. He chuckles, hand coming to the back of my neck. "Thought you didn't want me in here?" He taunts and I move away, looking down at him with a wide grin. "That was before," I shake my head, leaning down and wrapping my arms around his neck, lying atop him as if I couldn't get close enough to him. "Before what?" He scoffs. "Before you were in my bed," I reason. "But now you are and I don't ever want you leaving," I say into his shoulder and he grins brightly. "Have you slept?" I ask, twining my fingers into his hair. I feel him shake his head no and I internally sigh at his insomniac habits. "Alright, c'mon," I pull him up by the collar of his shirt, towards the pillows of my bed. He follows with a content smile, flopping down onto my mattress as I slip in beside him, pulling the blankets over us as I cuddle into his side, head on his chest, arm slung over his torso while he tucks me in close between him and his wing.

"How'd you get past the guards?" I perk up, looking at him puzzled. "I'm the spymaster, aren't I?" He smiles tiredly and I return it. "Not even the pegasuses noticed?" I say with a frown. "How are you so awake?" He asks, his hand coming to my cheek and I shrug. "I'm happy you're here," I explain and his grin widens, his scarred thumb pulling at my lower lip. "Go to sleep, I'll still be here in the morning," He reassured and I believed him.

I hadn't realized just how much I wanted this until I had it. His arms around me, shadows settling over us. We've cuddled before, on couches or daybeds, but nothing like this, not with the intention of sleeping. There was something so intimate about it, how he trusted me enough to fully fall out of consciousness with his arms wrapped around me.

I smile, a warm fuzzy feeling blooming in my chest. I lean up and peck beneath his jaw. "Goodnight, Az," I murmur. "Night sunshine," He softly replies and that was all I needed to hear before I faded into that familiar embrace of sleep.

General Taglist: @fxckmiup @olive-main @iluvyewman-blog @gaymistakeboi @glitterypirateduck @amara-moonlight @impossibelle @fauxdette @going-through-shit @glam-targaryen @cauldronboilme27 @sarawritestories @tele86 @rogerbarnesxx @azriels-shadowsinger @stinkinstuffie @sandramalikstyles-blog @sassyangel16 @lilah-asteria @starsinyourseyes @inloveallthetime @melsunshine @nighttimemoonlover @ireallywannasleep127 @cumuluscranium @adharanotfound @azrielsmate3 @aelincaddel @hiddlestonspassionsackx @dee-writes-smut @secretlyhers

Azriel Taglist: @coolepowersthings @lovely-giggles @quiettuba @ilovewarner45 @judig92 @tothestarsandwhateverend @je-suis-prest-rachel @call-me-a-fool @brieflyclassymortal @cherryjain17 @stqrgirlies-blog @chelsiemp @nyxbranwenn @dnfhascorruptedme @summerandsalt @annamariereads16 @thisiskaylin @itsbonniebabe @mp-littlebit @nickishadow139 @thestartitaness @azswife @mommyofkittens @thesillyyogourt @its-me-meg @pruvli @hdigditditdjgd @sourholland @unlikely-lovers-together

Comment a “💙” to be added to the general taglist!

Comment a “🖤” to be added to the Azriel taglist!

[aidaronan]

The Strangers Things Monsterfucker May challenge is here! That means it's time monsterfy your blorbos and put them in sexy situations, babey. AO3 Collection Now Open (STMonsterMay24) | On tumblr, use #STMonsterMay Rules under the cut!

This challenge is for adults only. If you are not an adult, do not the challenge.

Characters should be from the older side of the ST universe. "Babysitter's Club" age and older. Otherwise there's no limit on who you write about. Sapphic fics and rarepairs welcome!

Use tags, respect tags. To the best of your ability, tag your Freaknasty Shit (and other things that are important to tag). Conversely, if you go into some freaknasty shit that is clearly labeled "Freaknasty Shit" on the jar and are shocked by the freaknasty shit you find, idk what you expected. This also goes for fics about characters/pairings you don't like. Life is so much better when you seek the things you love instead of being mad about the things you hate.

The Monsterfucking doesn't have to be explicit. It can be implied. You can do some "what is sex to this monster, actually?" world building. Be the fun. Have the joy.

"Is my nonhuman character idea monster enough for the monster club?" - Do I look like a cop? If it feels like a monster to you, then hell yeah.

Dark concepts/themes are okay as long as you tag.

Please be conscious and sensitive re:monsters that might not be yours to play with (e.g. creatures from Native folklore or marginalized religions) and creatures with bigoted histories (like, for example, maybe goblins shouldn't run the banks).

While there are rules, this is a largely unmoderated challenge. I'll be peeping bc i wanna be at the devil's sacrament getting railed by the devil. If I see anything hella off and it's within my power, I will try to fix it. But mostly I expect people to be kind and smart in their creating and in their reading/art-connoisseuring.

[merrybloomwrites]

1D x Reader - Beach Day

Summary: After months of hard work, you and the five boys get a day off and head to the beach for some fun.

Word Count: 837

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

It’s rare for you and the boys to be allowed free time to go out while on tour. You’re either rehearsing, doing sound check, performing, or working on recording the next album.

When you’re not working, you’re forced to stay in the hotel. Sometimes you’re permitted to hang together, but other times you’re all relegated to your own rooms. Without fail, it only takes a few weeks of this for you all to feel like prisoners.

You’re in Italy for a couple of shows, and it looks beautiful outside. It’s mid-morning on a day off. You’re standing on the patio of your hotel room, breathing in fresh air and wishing you were swimming in the gorgeous blue water you can see just across the street. 

You sit on the ground when suddenly you hear a sliding door open to your right. Louis steps out onto his deck and greets you. “Hey there Dolly,” he says, calling you by the nickname you’d earned due to your Dolly Parton obsession. 

“Hey, what are you up to?” you ask.

“Well, I was keeping pretty busy staring at the wall but I started seeing shapes in the wallpaper so I figured I should go outside before I fully lose my mind,” he replies.

“Well I’m glad you didn’t go all Yellow Wallpaper on us.”

“It’s only a matter of time before we all go mad, being locked up like this,” he says and you nod in agreement. 

He gives you a look and starts to climb over the railing that separates the two decks. “What are you doing? You’re going to hurt yourself!” you exclaim.

“Relax love, we’re only on the second floor. I could easily jump to the ground from here.” Another mischievous look crosses his face. “What do you say to a jail break?”

“Are you insane?”

“Nope, but I will be if I have to keep staring at that beach that’s just out of reach. C’mon, go get your stuff and let’s escape for a couple hours.” 

You take in his idea, and while you hate breaking rules, you’re a teenager. You’re wired to be just a little bit rebellious. You agree and both of you rush to pack a small bag with essentials. 

“Alright, I’ll climb down first and then help you,” Louis says. 

Of course, the second he starts to go over the railing, Paul happens to walk by on a nearby path. 

“And just what do you think you’re doing?” he says. 

Well crap, you think to yourself. Now we’re caught. You all love Paul, he’s like a big teddy bear, but still he’s head of security. Which means your plan is completely foiled, and you’re likely to get in a heap of trouble with management.

Even Louis can’t talk back to Paul, and explains, “We’re trying to prevent insanity. There’s a perfectly good beach right there and we’re forced to stare at it. It's cruel, Paul. Psychological torture.”

The man looks at the two of you for a moment and says, “Give me one hour. I’ll see what I can do.” With that he walks away. You and Louis look at each other in confusion, but you both trust the man so you decide to sit and wait.

Thirty minutes later, there’s a text in the group chat that the six of you have with Paul. It reads “Roger and I will be up in fifteen minutes to take you all to the beach.”

True to his word, the security guards show up and within minutes you and the boys are setting up in the sand. 

“Last one in the water’s a rotten egg!” Niall shouts and the six of you all start running. You’re grateful for Louis tackling Liam, ensuring you won’t come in last place. Moments later the two of them decide to become a team and challenge the rest of you in a game of chicken. You and Zayn being the least competitive decide to be partners and quickly lose every round. You don’t even care about repeatedly splashing into the chilly water, just happy to be normal for a while.

Back on the sand, you, Harry, and Niall work together to make a sand castle. It may not be perfect, but it sure is made with love. 

Lunch gets delivered to you all, meaning you get to stay and hang out even longer. After eating, you all set out your towels and nap, warmed by the sun's rays. The two security guards watch over the group closely, and if Paul takes a couple pictures so you can reminisce on the day later, well no one needs to know that. 

That evening you all go back to your rooms to shower and change before meeting up for dinner. For one day, this feels like a vacation, rather than the constant work and stress you normally feel.

You’re all just a tad sunburnt at the show the following night, but a day spent having fun with your best friends is worth it.

[blood-starved-beast]

Wouldn't say it's the best character design in Hades game franchise (that is subjective) but for me personally Eris Hades game II has to be my favorite design in the whole IP.

From Hades game I the goddess of strife was established to be source of conflict within the narrative - she is a bearer of the Adamant Rail - something that goes against the narrative setting of the story within Ancient Times. They build further on this anachronism by evoking Punk aesthetic - we see her short hair, wild colors, studded corset, torn clothes, wild makeup (which double as evoking her own wings), her band makes her look like she's got tattoos, eating plastic wrapped snacks, her disregard for typical social norms. Her and Exagryph both are anachronistic and therefore punk by the aesthetics of the game. While also not being too off - she wears a chiton still. As well as that braided bra style idk what's it called.

Her design simultaneously works withing the narrative of the story. I've already talked a bit here how she scratches out the Moon Sigil on her gorget and wears it upside down on her face to opposed the Unseen. But that sigil on her face also golden - which we've specifically associate with Chronos, the Unseen's Enemy (who prefer silver). It's also gold like her Iconic Golden Apple, the symbol of her most famous crime. Eris's design also bears the colors of the Three Eriynes - who in the first game, serve as a much more personal antagonist and foil to Zagreus the protagonist there. Here, Eris is Mel's most personal guardian boss outside of Hecate - they've got beef with each other, and that's likely due to their past history.

The colors and the tassels to me also recall the jester archetype. The jester in history was tasked to entertain the king and also dole out information that the royals might not want to hear (and do so without getting killed cause rule of funny). Eris is the most verbally opposed to Mel - challenges her on her motivations especially. Why is she so hell bent on this task when she doesn't even know her family (who she might not fit in with)? What does she plan to do with her life then? Loosen up! Which she tries to get Mel to do - by fighting her to the death. "This is for your own good Trouble" and all. The Jester indeed.

This conflict leads me to another detail - Eris is an excellent enemy foil to Melinoe. Melinoe who is neat and proper compared to crass and messy Eris. Melinoe who is hellbent on restoring an Order she's got no familiarity with. Eris, who lived it and opposes it. Melinoe who's a slave to her task and whose future post-task is a big Question Mark - she's never considered it, never questions it. Eris who also lives in the present but specifically to have freedom and hedonistic-ally strife causing as possible. Melinoe who has an insane level of rizz and is absolutely adored by all around her - but is unaware of the effect she has on others but somehow is fixated on Eris herself. Eris, who is loathed by all and actively is aware of the effect she has on people at all times and intentionally cultivates a negative response from them - with the exception of Melinoe, where her troublemaking serves a dual purpose of exasperating her but also luring her in. Melinoe and Eris both are estranged from their birth families - Melinoe due to circumstances leading to nurture, Eris due to her nature. Melinoe, who Chronos describes as not fitting anywhere despite her clawing for a place in said world, Eris who had no place to begin with, and continues to dig herself out of each subsequent one. I could go on.

It's such a great foil dynamic for a boss. I love Eris.

[wasjustred]

ahhh iloveyourworkssomuch!! 💖 i'd like to request something along the lines of sugar mommy!larissa (maybe with smut, who knows *wink*) 'cause she's all i can think about these days... anyways, happy early new years!!!

Easy Does It - NSFW Larissa Weems x f!Reader

Summary: Larissa spoils you beyond comprehension. Pairing(s): Larissa Weems x f!Reader Warnings: Smut. A lot of it. (Cunnilingus, fingering, strap-on — all Reader receiving) Word Count: ~4.7k

Author’s Note: I hope this meets your expectations, anon! I originally intended to make Larissa way more domineering, but once I began writing it just didn’t feel like her——I tried to stay true to her character where I could. As always, feedback is welcome ﹠. appreciated! ♡ (un-beta-ed as per usual!) ╱ AO3

The arrangement you and Larissa have has been smoothly gliding along for about six months now: you meet for dinner every weekend, in a town about half an hour outside of Jericho. You wear an outfit she’s picked out for you, she pulls your seat out, you share conversation and good - expensive - food and drinks, and you end on the stoop of your apartment, leaning into the kiss she places on your cheek, with a weekly allowance in cash in your purse. It’s the perfect set-up, nothing you’d dare protest, but sometimes you honest to god wish she’d just break her own rules and rail you ‘till the bed breaks.

Tonight you meet her at The Aviary, draped in a black satin dress with a deep slit up the leg––one of her favorites. Larissa helps you into your seat as she usually does, but before she takes her own, she places a long velvet box on your empty appetizer plate.

“Ooh, what’s this?”

“Open it and see.” A small, proud smirk turns her lips, eyes sparkling. You run your fingers over the velvet and lift at the seam, features going slack with surprise when you realize what’s hidden inside: a collar necklace, glittering diamond-cut, softening into a single falling arc of gems which ebbs, finally, into a small, shining teardrop. Light from the restaurant’s fixtures seem drawn to it, gleaming to and fro in a scattered stream of reflection. Your gaze snaps back to hers almost immediately, heart pounding.

“Larissa, I–”

“Do you like it?”

“I– Of course I do, it’s– it’s so beautiful..” Your voice softens and tapers off as you return your attention to the box before you. It’s probably the most beautiful thing anyone’s ever given to you, but you stop short of admitting this. “Help me put it on?” 

Larissa’s smile grows as she gathers the box in her hands, lifting the necklace from its cushion. She moves to stand behind you and tenderly brushes your hair aside; her hands are as soft as anything, so gentle in the way they handle you, securing the piece around your neck. Your own hand raises to rest atop the new weight at your clavicle, and when she sets her palms along your shoulders and squeezes, you shift your hand up to capture hers.

“What’s the occasion?”

“Do I need one?” Larissa presses her lips to your cheek from behind before she retakes her seat, arching a brow in challenge. The answer is no, of course; this is how you work, special occasion or not. She always manages to keep you on your toes, though, far more thoughtful and intimate than any other ‘financeur’ you’ve ever humored in the past: Tennis bracelets set with gemstones which perfectly match your eyes, a new coffee bar set-up when you mentioned off-hand that Starbucks had discontinued your favorite drink, a signed first edition copy of your favorite book she ‘just so happened to come across’ while out of state. Much more than the simple, routine bank deposits and luxury brand pieces that were never quite you which you received from others. Larissa’s gifts have always been astoundingly personal.

You’ve never told her this, but you stopped dating altogether once your little dynamic began. How could anyone else compare? She makes you feel important without ever having to work for it ––– like you’re lovable, worthy, because you exist, and nothing more. You’re breaking  your own rules, being so enamored with her, but you refuse to dwell on it.

“No, you don’t…” You trail off as your food arrives, ducking your head in thanks as the waiter sets everything out before you. Any discussion of her gift to you ends there on Larissa’s own accord, swiftly and advantageously moving on to a new topic as soon as the waiter has left you. The rest of the night is spent sipping expensive wine and musing instead on all of the high-culture goings-on you never get to discuss with anyone else: Art, ballet, classical music. Larissa’s a delicious trove of knowledge and opinions and she impresses you with each turn of a new topic. You often find yourself wondering - not just tonight, but many nights whilst basking in her presence - why she’s chosen you. You can hold good conversation, of course, and have an appreciation for the finer things in life usually reserved for those older and/or wealthier than you, but what’s always been curious, what’s always given you pause, is that she never asks for anything else in return. You have no choice but to ask yourself what it is you possibly have to offer to a woman like her––but you almost always fall short of a satisfying answer.

She’s talking you both through an analysis of the most recent play she brought you to when you take one of her hands in your own, tracing the lines of her palm as you listen. Larissa stumbles over her words at first contact, a rare occurrence for her, and blushes pink at the sensation. When you glance up at her in question she quickly averts her gaze and carries on, moving to smooth her thumb over yours as you continue. You love her fingers: they’re long, delicate, awfully reminiscent of the Greek statues she enjoys waxing poetic about. It’s an instance in which you’re reminded art, very often, echoes us in a continuous cycle of give and take.

You don’t say a word when you notice her face darken another shade as you press a kiss to the inside of her wrist before moving on to dote upon her other hand.

She’s not once explicitly told you, but Larissa’s never expected you to take a physical liking to her. She set the rules she did early on for a reason, knowing she could live with looking and not touching, taking care of you and watching your face turn alight with each gift or special night out without ever ending the evening by your side. No sex necessary, no physical affection expected. But here you are, fawning over her, and she’s never been more conflicted.

To assuage the feeling, she convinces herself it’s the wine that’s made you this way––a good bottle will go a long way, thus your touch must be the product of inebriation, not genuine affection. You’ve both long since finished off your meals when Larissa pays the bill and drives you home as she normally does, to an apartment she partly finances (not fully, at your own insistence that there are some things you should take care of yourself) and walks you to your door, stooping to kiss your cheek. Routine. 

She is right about one thing, however, and that’s the potency of the house wine tonight. Not on your reasoning, but your self-control. You spent the car ride home admiring her profile in the passing streetlamps and traffic lights, studying the way each red light cast itself across her, how the passing headlights of opposing traffic bathed her in a cinematic glow you associated only, appropriately, with Vivien Leigh in A Streetcar Named Desire. Ghostlike, almost. Ethereal. And at that same wine’s behest, you lean further now into her goodnight kiss than you’d normally allow yourself.

It’s as she prepares to leave that you decide - anchored by the weight of the diamonds around your neck - that this is the night you’ll throw caution to the wind, fervently hoping it won’t backfire and end with her rejection and a ruined arrangement that you’d both worked to preserve over the past six months.

“Do you want to join me for a nightcap? I know we don’t usually, but.. I’d like you to. If you’d like to, of course. If you don’t that’s–––”

“Y/N,” she interrupts. You can hardly tell but her heart’s just about burst out of her chest. There’s an inner battle waging right on the precipice of her ribcage and your bright, hopeful eyes staring up at her aren’t making it any easier to parse out. Do you feel obligated somehow to pay her back for the necklace? She knows you know she’d never ask that of you, that your arrangement is not a traditional one, but has she unknowingly pushed the bounds all the same? Did you simply imbibe too much and don’t really have a clue what it is you’re saying?

Or, perhaps.. Most dangerously: Do you mean it?

“I don’t want you to feel as though you have to… ‘pay me back’ for tonight. That was never my intention.”

She volleys her own inner turmoil dead straight in your direction and stares down at you with what might be, if you squint hard enough, a nervous expression.

You lean sideways against the door and cross your arms over yourself, appraising her. Does she really not want you? What the hell does she get out of this if she doesn’t? You just can’t wrap your head around it, and while you insisted to yourself you’d never outwardly question the bounds of your relationship and why they’ve settled where they are, you’ve put yourself at a crossroads.

“Do you think I’m pretty?”

She balks.

“What? Of course I do. What does that have to do with anything?” Larissa’s expression is a mixture of incredulity and apprehension. You decide to bite the bullet then as she lingers uncertainly beneath the moonlight.

“I don’t understand what you get out of this. Am I not–– you think I’m pretty but you don’t want to touch me? You pay for my livelihood but you don’t want anything tangible in return?” You both purse your lips simultaneously and you’d laugh if the situation weren’t so dire all of a sudden. “You confuse me, Larissa.”

She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, a small cloud bursting forth as she sighs.

You fucked it, didn’t you? Fucked it right to hell, and now she’s never going to speak to you again.

“You’re an idiot, do you know that?” The air goes still.

…

It’s news to you. 

Larissa suddenly pushes forward and traps you against the front of your door, hands leveled at your waist. “I’ve always wanted you,” she grits out, her arms tensing at your sides. “I just didn’t want you to feel as though you had to. Return the sentiment, that is. You’re too precious for that.” Her voice is low and rough in your ear, strangled. You grab hold of her forearms to keep yourself upright when her tone shoots right through you, breathing heavily. You gradually lift your gaze, poring over every curve of hers as you do, and meet her eyes. They’ve nearly gone black with lust, and a subtle quiver in her lip tells you everything you need to know.

“Kiss me.”

Larissa groans, which is admittedly not the reaction you’d expected, and presses further into you, her nose brushing against your cheek.  You can feel the heat of her grow, ensnaring you in perfect contrast to the cool night air.

“You have to tell me you want it, darling. I need you to say it.” … Oh. A new wave of arousal surges through you as you turn your head ever so slightly, her lips hovering just out of reach. The shared breath between you has become fraught with possibility, with the overwhelming, unspent energy that’s been collecting over the last six months without either of you quite noticing. Of course this is what she needs: confirmation, not that you’re hers but that she’s yours, by choice and choice alone.

“I want you, Larissa. Please,” you whisper, squeezing her arms in an attempt to ground yourself. She says nothing in return, instead immediately closing the distance and engulfing you in a desperate, searing kiss. Your cheeks burn and it’s all you can do not to melt into her fully, sucking in a sharp breath as her tongue slides against your bottom lip. This, this, you realize, is exactly what you’d imagined: Feeling her against you, wrapped up tightly in her arms, being drawn in and freed all at once, struggling to contain the desire you feel pulsing within yourself. It’s like Larissa’s split open your mind and picked through every thought there, coming away with only the most indecent imaginings and putting them to use as her hips pitch forward and her hands grasp achingly at the roundness of your thighs.

“Open the door,” she husks, suddenly ripping herself away and turning you at the waist to face the door. You fumble for your keys as she scores your neck and shoulders with hot, open-mouth kisses, running the tip of her tongue along the muscle that pulls taut there.

“F-fuck.” The chuckle she gives in response to your whimpering, shaking when you can’t fit the key into its slot, only weakens you further. Larissa must know her effect well as she wraps an arm around you to hold you upright, the other grabbing the key from you and swiftly unlocking the door in one go.

“Trust me, I’m trying.”

Laughter follows you both as you take the stairs one at a time, pausing every few to take her tongue in your mouth and run your hands along her front. You bypass the living room once you reach the landing - a feat in itself - and lead Larissa straight to your bedroom, kicking one heel off in the hall and the other at the threshold of your room. 

She stops you just before you reach the bed and holds you steady for a moment: “Hold on, I want to look at you..” You hair is mussed, curls losing their hold in the heat of your entanglement, chest heaving and red. Larissa steps forward to brush her thumb over your lips, searching your face for any sign of hesitation or doubt.

She doesn’t find any.

“Christ, you’re a pretty thing,” she hums. The pad of her thumb pulls at your bottom lip and you acquiesce, tilting your chin up before taking her finger into your mouth, rolling your tongue against its tip, watching her with wide eyes that imply an innocence you don’t possess. A hiss escapes her when your teeth come down around her knuckle and she scowls, gripping your jaw with an intensity that rivets the surrounding atmosphere as she rips her hand away, smashing your lips together once more.

In the next second the backs of your knees are buckling against the edge of the mattress and you squeak; Larissa had slipped a hand over your sternum and shoved, launching you down hard into the bed. Wet heat urges your hips forward as she crawls over you, but her hands swiftly come down to force them back into the mattress, trapping you there.

“Patience, darling.” You scoff as she begins the journey down your body, placing lazy kisses to your lips, cheek, jaw, chest while her fingers deftly work to pull your dress from you. You lift your back so she can snake a hand around and drag the zipper down to its end at the top of your hips, wriggling free and moving to pull at her own dress–––but she grabs your wrists, pinning them above you with a devious smirk. 

“Ah, ah. Let me spoil you,” she murmurs into the crook of your neck, one hand traveling to cup the dampness between your legs. Electricity cracks against your spine at her touch; you’re sweltering and freezing all at once, watching her eyes rake over you with a hunger you’ve never seen on her before. Her fingers draw idle circles around your clit as she works her way down your body, leaving a trail of wetness in her wake where tongue meets flesh, nipping at the precipice of your hip bones, glancing up at you before she licks you through your panties. There’s no helping the whine you turn free when she all but purrs at the taste she gets of you from the soaked fabric.

“Larissa, please,” you huff, lifting your hips up to meet her mouth. She takes three steps then in quick succession: chuckles into the skin of your inner thigh; pulls your panties down and off of you; and presses a series of messy, teasing kisses to your bare sex. Your fingers clutch at the top of your duvet as she finally begins to devour you, breath hitching as her tongue circles your entrance and delves into you. In a moment of white hot desperation, you hook your legs around her, calves flexing against her back as you shudder into her touch. She’s ravenous, consuming you with long, uninterrupted strokes that ride on the flat of her tongue, lapping your slickness up and winding into you all at once. The coil is tight within you already, pulsing with every movement of her mouth. You’re almost worried it’ll be over before it scarcely has had the chance to start, but a quiet, bemused voice in the back of your mind ridicules you: Larissa is nothing if not generous.

“You taste divine,” she breathes, before returning her ministrations to your clit, sucking and popping with the filthiest fucking moan you’ve ever heard. The feeling of her tongue against that tight bundle of nerves prompts your eyes to roll back, eyelids fluttering, and imbues your hands with a mind of their own, working them swiftly into her hair and pulling her as close to your cunt as you can get her, hips lurching in an unsteady rhythm. You can feel her amusement at your desperation as distinctly as you feel her mouth, but it’s quickly forgotten when she slides two fingers into you with an ease that makes you lightheaded. The sound of your wetness is sinful, and you have to admit it only spurs you on.

“Fuck me, fuck me, pleasefuckme––” Larissa’s grinning against you as she pumps her fingers, curling into you with a startling accuracy that leaves you breathless and aching. You press your cheek to your shoulder in a feeble attempt to keep yourself above the threshold dividing pleasure and bliss, useless as she slips another finger into you and flicks her tongue against you, quickening her pace as she follows the mounting tone of your pleas. Every touch spreads a warmth through you impossible to ignore, stirring a frantic need beneath the surface of your skin.

“Cum for me, darling, cum for me, that’s right.” Larissa presses the heel of her hand into the space just below the swell of your stomach and the coil snaps suddenly, sharply, sucking all of the air out of you at the same time that you yelp and tense with equal force, clamping around her face as your orgasm tears through you. She continues to lap at you even as your hands push at her, holding fast to your thighs to keep her place. Your legs shake as she builds you up in the same breath that you’re coming down, a second orgasm already rearing its head.

“I can’t,” you keen, but Larissa shakes her head and unlatches briefly to disagree.

“Yes you can, Y/N––be a good girl for me.” It washes over you when she lowers her face again and wraps her lips around your clit, sucking with an unfazed firmness that shocks you to your center. You’re tingling over every limb, pacing your breaths to ride you through this second crest. “That’s it..” Larissa coos, running her hand over your leg comfortingly. You can hardly breathe as the shockwaves roll through you one after the other, and the darkness of the ceiling above you seems to double in size as you stare in a daze.

Your muscles melt into the mattress one by one, sinking deep as Larissa finally pulls her head away and crawls forward to kiss you; you can taste your slickness on her tongue, familiar and tangy. When you part, gasping for air, you wrap a hand around the back of her neck and press your foreheads together, gazing up into her eyes with the softest look you can muster after so thoroughly falling apart in her hands.

“My turn?” She laughs loud and heartily at your doe-eyed demeanor. You’re itching to touch her, to taste her, and she knows it.

“Mmm, maybe.” Larissa shrugs and rises up from her position over you, sliding off to the side of the bed where you can’t reach her––and not for lack of trying. A whine catches in your throat when she shoots a withering look over her shoulder, patting the space beside her. “Help me with my dress, darling.”

You waste no time in flipping over onto your knees, shuffling over to her and grappling with the zipper of her dress. You flush when she laughs both at your inability to get it down in one swift motion and the frustrated little growl that bubbles up from your chest.

“Not funny,” you complain, gritting your teeth as she shifts and the zipper gives, revealing the smooth, snowy expanse of her back. Instilled with a renewed sense of hunger, you push the fabric away from both of her shoulders and continue the journey down and around to her breasts, thrilled she’s forgone a bra tonight as you palm the supple flesh there and roll her nipples between your fingers. The sigh she expels is a ragged one, her hands dwarfing yours whilst her head falls back against your shoulder. You revel in the sight of her lip caught between her teeth.

“I want to fuck you.” You just barely catch it in between her labored breaths and your own thunderous heartbeat, but you do, and you turn to glance at her curiously before her meaning hits you square in the face.

“But––”

She cuts you off. “I want to destroy you, Y/N. You can taste me later,” Larissa mutters, pivoting without another warning and capturing your lips again. You wouldn’t complain if it weren’t for the utter distress you felt to get your hands on her. She doesn’t give you a chance to rebut, however, as she slips out of her dress and climbs over you, guiding your hands to grip her ass. “Later, I promise.” She pulls back to appraise you, taking a rigorous inventory that she’ll commit to memory if it’s the last thing she does: Your flushed skin, the way you can’t keep still under her touch, the unmistakable shine of desire in your eyes.

“In th-the nightstand,” you stammer. Suddenly the realization that Larissa is here, in your bed, and you, at her mercy, is too much at once. You’re trembling with need and anticipation. She tilts her head at you, one second, two passing before she follows your guidance and pulls the drawer open, grinning wickedly at what she finds there.

“Harness?”

You nod vigorously, propping yourself up on your elbows and directing her through another drawer of your dresser. The slow, methodical way in which she fastens the leather around herself surely burns itself into your brain, and you can’t help the shameless moan that seeps out when she smooths an indulgent layer of lubricant along the silicone from base to tip, a delicious sight between her legs.

Larissa approaches with an emphasized swing to her hips, bending at the waist to press a chaste kiss to your lips before she nudges you to scoot back into the middle of the bed, positioning herself above you with a hand on either side of your head. She dips her face down into the hollow of your throat. 

Her voice vibrates against you despite her hushed tone. “Are you ready for me, darling?”

Your brain short-circuits at her words, imperfect timing. God, she’s fucking hot.

She lifts her head again to catch your gaze and smirks, nibbling on the tip of your chin. “Use your words.”

“Yes, yes, I’m ready,” you rasp, drawing your nails down the broad expanse of her back in anticipation.

The moment she slides into you is pure ecstasy: your toes curl and you haphazardly clamber for purchase upon her skin as she buries herself deep within you, stalling for a few moments to give you time to adjust. The way Larissa groans into the motion draws out an amusing - filthy - rumination about her being able to feel every stroke as with her own body, delighting in your wetness. She fills you seamlessly, snapping her hips against you before slowly drawing herself back, only to repeat the pattern and plunge into you as deeply as she’s able. It’s bruising and pleasurable all at once, how she brushes up against your walls and the ridges of the toy hit what your mind insists is every nerve-ending within you.

You rock together desperately, bodies moving as one as if you’d been doing this for centuries, mapping each other out and bringing each other to your peak. You savor the novel, tangled scent of sweat and arousal, a newly formed association with the sound of Larissa’s broken whimpers now frozen in your psyche.

A startled breath leaves you as Larissa abruptly anchors her weight to one side and pulls you on top of her, flipping your positions. Her arms wrap tight around you, looped at your back and around your shoulder as she fucks up into you at a crushing pace. You whine into the crook of her neck and realize you’re on the verge of tears, an overwhelming wave of pleasure and desperation wracking your body. Quiet grunts accompany her each thrust, slowing just so until it’s a steady pattern you can count to like clockwork, brutal and sharp at every buck of her hips. Your knees are aching, folded as they are, but the tight, coiling sensation within you overrides any and all discomfort, merely a quiet nagging in your brain; your focus is settled precisely on the angle of her cock and how her nails dig into your skin as you grind against each other. She’s close, too. You can feel it. It’s there in the shallowness of her breaths, in the urgency of her pelvis against yours, in the subtle arch of her back. You try to meet her where she’s at in your muddled state, pitching your hips backwards and down when she thrusts upwards––and you know it’s worked when she gasps and her hands scramble to lock together at the small of your back.

“Yes, that’s it darling. Just like that,” Larissa pants, using the leverage of her hold on you to help you fuck yourself. The only sounds permeating the room are that of your mingled breaths and her cock driving into you with a consistent, almost unforgiving rhythm. 

“Pleasepleaseplease, ohfuck––” 

“Y/N–––”

She tenses with you and cries out as your orgasms hit you both at once, ravaging you beyond reason. You’re hyper-aware of the way her breasts feel pressed against you, the way one of her hands flies up to bury itself in your hair as you ride her through your climax. Larissa’s hips stutter as she whines into your shoulder, sinking her teeth into you, and you marvel at the feeling of her muscles clenching around you, from the sinewy stretch of her arms to her thighs rested between your own.

Everything you’d hoped for. Fantasized about. Greedily deliberated again and again whilst watching her across the table in another fancy restaurant in another unfamiliar town.

Larissa is careful as she pulls out of you, slow and deliberate so as not to disturb the tenderness there. You remain curled on top of her but she doesn’t complain, rather rubbing your back in long, languid movements and whispering affirmations in you ear, a sweet mixture of ‘breathe darling, I’ve got you’ and more headily, ‘you did so well for me, you’re so good, you took me so well’. When you allow yourself to fall to the side of her, she shimmies out of the harness and tosses it somewhere off the edge of the bed, ignoring its clatter as she wraps you up in her arms. You burrow yourself further into her warmth and sigh at the feeling, content.

“Now is it my turn?” you ask, voice low and raked over with exhaustion. The belly laugh she gives is worth all the weariness in the world. “You’re incorrigible!”

[thydungeongal]

Is there a system you recommend for someone who wants to play "a preplanned story outlined from level 1 to 20 with character arcs for each player character"?

Not really, because that I feel also fundamentally goes against the whole point of TTRPGs. These games are supposed to produce emergent narratives and just having the GM author a story into which players slot in their characters feels antithetical to TTRPGs in general. The moment you introduce game mechanics you kind of need that at some point the mechanics might drive any pre-planned story you may have had off the rails.

But I'll frame this another way: D&D as a game is one that shines as ultimately a challenge game that is about player-driven exploration and overcoming challenges. It's not going to produce a conventionally satisfying narrative necessarily, since it will more likely resemble a picaresque. But there are games that take pains to try and model more conventional narratives and have mechanics built in such a way that they subtly nudge the action a certain way. These are still games, so even these ones are antithetical to planning everything in advance. Also none of them have levels, but here are some I would recommend:

Fate. Fate is relevant here because D&D having very little way to represent losing besides the loss of resources or character death was what started this conversation. Fate is very much an action adventure game, but it's one that places weight on characterization. Character arcs can actually be represented mechanically. Characters losing a scene does not automatically mean death, and the game encourages players and GMs discussing what loss means in the given context. Therefore you can have characters actually meaningfully lose while maintaining narrative momentum and integrity.

QuestWorlds. This game is basically rising action: the game. It's interesting in how it may have been one of the first "narrativist" games before that word had even been coined. Anyway, the mechanics actually work in such a way that characters are more likely to start strong but then eventually meet an obstacle they can't overcome, until they get back on their feet and get back to it. The rules themselves subtly nudge the gameplay towards something resembling a three-act structure. It's pretty neat.

The Shadow of Yesterday. I keep coming back to it, but it's really cool. The thing that is relevant here is Keys which are player defined character traits/beliefs/connections that actually double as XP triggers. The game thus actually encourages gameplay where characters act according to their personality traits, rather than just optimal strategizing (there's nothing wrong with games that encourage the latter, but since the point here is to point out games that deviate from D&D's challenge game format at least somewhat it bears mentioning).

You may notice that these are the exact same games I recommended very recently in a similar context. Yeag. They're good games.

[sweet-evie]

Ohmygod Satoru and Suguru would be the MOST INSUFFERABLE pair of teachers to ever grace Jujutsu High...and poor Shoko is going to babysit them both!

Suguru would be teaching the 2nd years. Satoru is in-charge of the 1st years. Shoko is the school doctor that doesn't take shit from her two classmates.

Rule #1: Don't mess with Shoko. She will always have 2 special-grade sorcerers watching over her.

Suguru drags Satoru to Shoko's office in the school, because SaShiSu needs their Friday night outings, and somehow, the whole school knows about this... BECAUSE THEY'RE LOUD.

SatoSugu would give Yaga an aneurysm. And the moment Shoko plays along, it's over!

Satoru and Suguru would snicker like children at faculty meetings (unless the issue is super serious ofc)

SatoSugu would 100% pit their students against each other in a sparring match because they had a bet between them about whose students are stronger.

SatoSugu would be sore losers and they would challenge each other to a sparring match that may or may not set off the alarms at Jujutsu Tech because Surugu's curses are going off the rails and Satoru is spamming Amplification Blue in the middle of the forest. Shoko is so done with their shit.

But in sister school goodwill events, SaShiSu would be the best combination of coaches and stand-by medics the kids would ever know.

Suguru would try his best to be a responsible and serious teacher that you could take seriously in the classroom, but then Satoru randomly shows up to ask for chalk, borrow an eraser, deliver sweets to Suguru's unamused students, and just disrupt Suguru's class in general.

"What about your class, Satoru?" Suguru asks, and Satoru dismisses his best friend's concerns completely, because, "My kiddos are out training... unlike yours." Satoru turns to address the crowd (just 4) of exasperated children (teenagers) and says, "Suguru's the worst, isn't he?"

The kids just leave the classroom after that because Gojo-sensei and Geto-sensei are about to fight each other again.

[zukkathirst]

ZUKKA THIRST Creator rules

See commenter rules here.

Hi horndogs, thanks for all the enthusiasm for the inaugural ZUKKA THIRST, an NSFW Zukka event!

The event is set to kick off 4-6 October 2024. It will actually be split into two events: one for creators, one for commenters. For the creators, the aim is to publish anything and everything you have!!! We're not looking for or requiring perfect intricate finished pieces—in fact, we'd love to see your horny pencil sketches, mini-fics and outline posts. Let’s flood the tag with glorious, glorious smut!

Creators are also encouraged to comment and vice versa; you can head on over to this post to see the commenter rules.

Here are the prompts! Head on down under the readmore and spin the wheel (cw: flashing gif).

Screenshot the gif below to pick your prompt.

Not challenging enough? Why not aim to score three in a row with our prompt bingo!

We'll be very excited to see any Zukka NSFW content you want to share, whether it's finishing up a sketch that's been languishing in your drafts, adding another chapter to an ongoing WIP, or a brand new and original piece you've been itching to create for a while and were just looking for an excuse. As long as Zukka are railing each other stupid in it, we're excited!

And while you're at it, why not check out our simultaneous commenter prize?

Event rules:

All works must be NSFW (i.e. M or E rating on Ao3). Click here for an explainer.

Post your work anytime during 4-6 October, 2024. We accept late submissions but not early ones.

Please post on Ao3. You are welcome to cross-post on Tumblr with snippets/thumbnails. We will have an Ao3 collection and you can tag us on Tumblr to reblog. Artists, you can use this guide to upload your art (or reach out to us if you’re stuck).

You can add it to our collection here! You can either hit "Post to Collection" on the page or type "ZukkaThirst2024" into the Collections section when you post a new work.

All works must be tagged appropriately.

We do not tolerate works that are made/"touched up" with generative AI, traced, or plagiarised. We respect the very real labour that goes into art and writing, and would rather celebrate original content made by real fans.

You don’t have to stick to the prompts, but we encourage you to use them for inspiration!

We do not allow works that perpetuate or encourage bigotry/harassment in harmful ways.

About | FAQ | Commenter rules

[kamenstranger]

A review(?) of Dandadan

Starting these reviews off is always the hardest part, but it often comes to me after some time filling out the rest of the article. Dandadan has been stubborn in that regard, so much so I've been trying to figure out where to start with this series since it first came out.

I began reading DDD before tankōbon's were being printed, hell before it even made it to NA digitally (There were translations in Europe which got them early iirc.) Then batches starting coming out, and I still have those original single chapters from Sept. 5 '21

I became captivated, but, like its namesake, describing why I enjoy DDD is daunting in how esoteric it all is.

The general plot is straightforward on its own: Momo Ayase, the granddaughter of a spirit medium, though circumstance meets with an occult obsessed otaku, Ken Takakura, and, yes, he's named after exactly who you think, which drives the Takakura obsessed Momo nuts. She calls him Okarun, which I will also be doing for the rest of this.

Okarun's big obsession is UFOs and aliens, which he believes in, but not ghosts. You see where this is going. Hi-jinks ensue, both go to hot spots for each others interest and what do you know, Momo gets abducted by Aliens and Okarun is possessed by a geriatric genital biting speed demon.

Feel free to re-read that last part a few times.

Suffice to say, Dandadan gets fucking nuts almost as soon as the first chapter, but we're not even close to how off the rails this series gets.

I'll save you the details of how they deal with the Turbo Granny, but I will say the mythos and rules surrounding the various spirits, urban legends, cryptids and aliens is handled with a shocking amount of intricate care. If you're like me, you grew up surrounded by a plethora of Unsolved Mysteries, caught UFO Files as it was airing, maybe you even had some of those Forbidden World books laying around from the 80s before getting into stuff like Yokai. Even though I don't really engage with that sorta thing outside Weird NJ nowadays (It stops being fun when people in public office are into conspiracies-- particularly of the nazi variety like lizard men and flat earth)

The narrative and aesthetic appeal of them has stuck with me.

Anyone that's read my Kamen Rider reviews would know how much of a sucker I am for that quintessential cryptid look, which Dandadan has plenty of along with just being absurdly unhinged and hilarious.

The first two volumes do a fantastic job setting up the limitations and powers of spirits in particular, eventually resulting in part of Turbo Granny's soul being trapped in a Meneki Neko and leaving her speed abilities with Okarun. Unfortunately, Okarun only got 1/3 of his bits back.

So now have two super powered protagonists touched by the supernatural and the unearthly on the search for…missing nuts. Or I guess testicles that look like magic golden orbs of power. That's seriously how we're kicking this off.

And yes, there is a basis for that in mythology called Kintama. If you're familiar with Gintama you probably knew that.

But beyond that basic set up… where the fuck do I even go from there? The series is far more than OTT action and good monster lore, but it's also hard to delve into the how and why of its overall qualities. Sure The supernatural and sci-fi bits are fantastic, and the comedy is wonderful, but it's a by product of the real core of Dandadan: the interpersonal relationships of the characters. Surprise.

Which yeah, if it wasn't clear from the get go, DDD has a romantic angle between Okarun and Momo.

Under the monsters, dick jokes, and the completely unhinged nature of everyone and everything is an oddly captivating and flat out adorable love story between our two leads, one that slowly unfolds but is challenged by the various shake ups from monsters, invaders and cast additions that occur to hinder that development; or in some cases push it further by bringing the two closer.

Okarun in particular very well might be one of my favorite interpretations of the Otaku with a heart of gold. He's a legitimately sweet person, cares for people, he trains his ass off to earn mastery over his powers to make things easier on Momo and to keep up with the ever increasing threats they face. In a sea of otaku power fantasy characters, it's nice to be reminded that characters with limitations and weaknesses to be overcome or dealt with are still showing up.

He's also just a total sweetheart to Momo.

And it's pretty clear even early on that the feeling is mutual. Momo is easily flustered whenever a cute girl gets a little too chummy with Okarun, or strings him along. She even retaliates in some cases.

Momo is also about as dorky as Okarun (As seen above) just in different ways, which makes the two complement one another while also contrasting in how much of a hot head Momo can be.

For a series that gets as bonkers as DDD, Momo's grade A shit talking "too stubborn to admit her feelings" gruff Gyaru personality helps ground the series with a rather realistic portrayal of a girl her age-- albeit one with psychic abilities and goes through some extreme struggles much later in the series.

In fact one of the more overlooked aspects whenever I read about Dandadan is how surprisingly dark the chapters start to get in the 80s onward. Because despite the major kick off involving Okarun having his balls stolen, the series is capable of being very sardonic.

For all the absurd fun like giant enemy crabs or the Flatwoods monster as a Sumowrestler, and even a daikaiju way later, you also have things like human sacrifices and tragic ghost stories which are treated with a heavy tone that is never undermined by that off-kilter comedy. You even see tones of that with Turbo Granny of all things, involving the trapped spirits of butchered girls.

Don't misunderstand, however, the series is first and foremost a romcom with horror elements, but sometimes the horror shines through in surprising ways. That nuance is also seen in the rest of the cast, which I've yet to talk about much because one of the biggest challenges of this whole thing is figuring out how.

Talking about Dandadan beyond the very bare basics of the opening chapters is difficult without spoiling something, it's part why I was hesitant to review it back when I first started reading, despite how enamored I was. For one thing, focusing on any one aspect would be a gross oversimplification, doing a disservice to how each angle of the series is handled. Conversely, delving into Dandadan as whole would mean recapping the story arcs and events because Dandadan has some of the most tightly woven threads I have seen in some time. I can barely graze the surface of why character dynamics work or are unique before inevitably getting into a full blown synopsis and spoiling character arcs and entire narrative structures, which is… frustrating, to say the least.

For example, I can't really give you a good look at Aira Shiratori without getting deep into how she's a schoolmate of Momo and Okarun, gets into a rivalry with Momo because Aira thinks she's a demon while viewing herself as "The special one"; a delusion made stronger when she gains her own demonic powers which is basically Sedusa. But over time she forms a bizarre friendship with the two over their trial and tribulations, while also dealing with the massive weight of guilt over cruel rumors she spread about Momo. But that really doesn't even begin to tell you how much of an absolute fucking perfect little bitch she is, and yet what an enjoyable dork she becomes. To do so would be to just tell you everything that happens in her story, which, while not complicated, is tied heavily into the narrative.

It's a similar scenario with Jin "JiJi" Enjoji, Momo's first crush, which you can imagine the upset that causes; one that's pretty goddamn funny because the dude, while handsome, athletically fit and arguably the strongest of the entire cast, has the personality of a goddamn muppet. So Okarun's getting all strung up on a guy even more goofy than him.

In a nice subversion, his relationship with Okarun develops into something surprisingly positive pretty quickly, if not without complications due to a fairly dark story with his character, which pushes Okarun even further in his training after Jin gets his own possession. And it also makes it all the more hilarious that the chipper muppet baby has a secondary Shadow the Hedgehog cracked to 11 persona that's a legit threat.

Then there's Kinta "Kinny" Sakata who is basically if Okarun was even more socially inept and a dipshit Gunpla addict who tried really hard to be a Jojo. His strengths is a vast knowledge of sci-fi tech and a chuuni like ability to imagine entire fantastical constructs; quite handy when mind reading alien nano machines enter the picture. It also helps break up the monotony of everyone else having or developing some sorta supernatural power.

And then we have Vamola, a character I literally cannot say a single thing about without giving away massive plot points. I can't even show a photo because her design itself contains spoilers. Just know that her story is when shit really hits the fan and will be a gut wrenching read while also having the most Battle Manga goodness.

What I can at least tell you is that for as much as Momo and Okarun are the main protagonists, Jin and Aira get damn good focus and are fully formed characters in their own right, they're not just a monkey-wrench thrown into the fray. I mean, they are also that, but they add to those elements while being more than a foil to our main heroes developing relationship, making the story much more varied and expansive than a supernatural will/won't they. Vamola especially in that area.

If there's one takeaway from this it's that Yukinobu Tatsu is capable of creating a great, varied cast full of humor and impeccable chemistry. (not to mention a lot of cheescake that shouldn't work as often as it does.) I'm constantly surprised with how masterful all the different pieces come together to create a compelling dynamic in this deranged Sci-Fi, Supernatural comedy mishmash. Hopefully I can convey a little bit of that Dada-esque appeal despite my spoiler aversion.

What's a lot easier for me to get across without spoilers, however, is the drop-dead gorgeous artwork. Good god is this series beautiful to look at.

Tatsu has a backround in, uh, backgrounds, and it shows on just about every page. Any one side panel has more detail than most double-page fight spreads in other books, and when they do a splash page it is breathtaking.

The fact this is a Weekly series is goddamn insane and… honestly kinda makes me a lowkey worried about their work ethic. But a lot of panels feature just the character on simple stark backgrounds (And some pages feel a little heavy on the reference material, if you get my meaning.) But even so, it's hardly a sacrifice for the impressive amount of work that goes into each chapter and how just about every other page has at least one impressive environment to gawk at.

Not only is the detail impeccable, but the layout, timing and expressions are goddamn phenomenal and a big part of making the series legitimately funny. That same talent translates seamlessly to high energy fights and impactful creepy moments.

This truly is one of the most compelling reasons to read the manga. At the time of this writing we're 5 episodes in the Science Saru anime and I want to make clear I'm enjoying it and do highly suggest watching it. I think their high octane stylistic approach is, in many ways, perfect for the series. There's clearly a lot of love put into translating page to screen best they can. Realistically, I know there's no way you could completely capture Tatsu's style 1:1, especially with what the industry is nowadays. The budget and man power it would take for that wouldn't be worth it.

But that sense of scope, scale, the depth, shading and a ton of small eccentricities is something unique to the manga and a big part of why it works. If you only know the anime then I think you're missing out. Plus you've got 8 volumes to read up on.

But also still watch the anime, I'd love a season 2. Hopefully with a bigger budget. Frankly, they're gonna need it.

That said, while I have praised and gassed up Dandadan, I should mention it has a number of trappings that by all means should not fly with me. As previously stated, there's a lot of cheesecake, and I like cheesecake, but it can bog down stories like this and they're a dime a dozen in the manga and anime world. At first glance DDD can look like that from the outside. There are so many instances of things that are annoying in other works, schlocky things (derogatory) that are sell themselves only on the limp-dicked exploitive elements like Fan service. Make no mistake, Dandadan is schlocky (complimentary) but it's also incredibly endearing not only outside those aspects, but in them. At least for the most part. I have to imagine it's aware of the more stupid indulgent elements but wisely plays them straight while at the same time employing a cleverness many other series fail to have.

For example, the characters are comically stripped very frequently, even (and usually) during otherwise semi-serious moments like battles (although not if the stakes are dire.)

But the cheescake is always balanced out by the other qualities. Hell, the cheesecake is often imbued a certain charm that is funny in itself or oddly sweet, which certainly becomes more true in the later chapters. Think more Cutie Honey and less Highschool of the Dead in terms of how it's handled.

A big hand in that is they're not afraid to get silly with all the characters, especially the girls, so it typically feels more tee-hee fun. They're almost if not equally goofy in their own ways and that does a lot in keeping it from being obnoxious. And ya know, they also have real developed personalities and relationships outside just having their clothes blasted off, which also happens to Okarun if that wasn't clear. Actually it's worse because he usually loses everything, and the same is also true for Jin.

It's so audacious in every aspect that I simply can't fault it. I mean, I also wouldn't fault anyone not gelling with it, but I just sorta expect it and roll with it for a series this absurd. I'm a critic, not a goddamn puritan. I know exactly what it is, and it's doing it far better than most. It is, at worst, background noise.

That's not to say the series handles all of its exploitative elements well. Rather infamously the first chapter has an almost not quite sexual assault for Momo. It's… not as bad as it sounds-- in part because it doesn't happen and also the situation is so absurd. Honestly I think there's been a bit much blown out of proportion with it. Still, the over the top nature of an Alien with a metal syringe dick getting his comeuppance by having it bitten off by a granny speed-demon can only mitigate the general grossness of the implication so much and I still wince at it. It's the only part of Dandadan that dips into a level a cheapness it otherwise sidesteps in most other endeavors. Thankfully, it happens early on, but it also isn't a great first impression, especially if you didn't have more chapters or episodes to view at the time, leaving you to wonder just what the hell kinda story this is.

It's worth noting some of the other early chapters have bumps here and there, but nothing quite on the level of chapter 1, and those parts are ironed out overtime to be a lot more palatable. Compare how chapter 3 handles T&A to chapter 26 and you'll know what I mean.

Aside from that, however, there is at least one semi major stigma I have against Dadadan's otherwise enjoyable self indulgent nature, which is that a lot of the monster designs are painfully derivative. And I mean DERIVATIVE. Just about every alien creature in this series is an Ultra Kaiju.

Oh Shin Godzilla in the case of Nessie.

And, look, I get homaging stuff you like. Dr. Slump has loads of references, Patlabor has references to Ultraseven, depending on which version of Urusei Yatsura you're looking at it's loaded with them, Project A-KO has them, Eva is a love letter to Jissouji Ultra (along with flat out copying a few fights from various 70s mecha anime) and even something like Bocchi The Rock is at least a quarter references. References are not the problem. Well, maybe a little, but I'm not gonna get Orson Wells on you here.

Regardless, its hard not to think that maybe they could've dialed it back a little bit.

The Z'gok in Gundam is based on Alien Zarabe but it's doesn't look like a knock-off version of it. But the Dover Demon in Dandadan looks like "original the character" Kanegon that turns into Baltan. Because it is.

Like come on, man. Even the Space Pirates in Metroid aren't this blatant.

Why this sticks out to much is because the art is so damn impressive but the design aspect is lacking in certain areas. I'm willing to give leeway for some designs if they're based on folklore elements like Ghosts, Yokai, and crypids. You want to make them recognizable, but can still work in cute references or original ideas without being as glaring as "we have Ultra Seijin at home." For what it's worth, I guess Dada knockoffs with Pegassa eyes are better than generic greys. But while it's cute at first, I felt it got irksome by the time I saw Shin Godzilla… and then Hipporit as a subterranean shows up. Then a tail-less xenomorph. And Alien Guts, and a Metal Gear, and Elecking, even an Alien Zarabe.

A lot of those do end up as cannon fodder so I can understand not wanting to put a lot of work into stuff that ends up being one offs. I can't deny the art looks incredible and hype as fuck. But man, it gets distracting sometimes, especially when Gomora shows up at one point with the body of Red King and later on they end up making that a major deity in an alien culture. It's not played as a joke at all. It is one of the most dead serious chapters… But it's still just an Ultra Kaiju. Sometimes I'm reading Dandadan and I'm having a great time and I'm getting all the referential designs, and I don't *hate* this, but in the back of my head all I can think of is that line in Akibaranger.

And on some level I do get how that borderline level of infringement adds to the absurdity, how the near mono focus of a singular love for Tsuburaya is charming. Hell, it's even refreshing in some ways considering how that hasn't really been a thing in Japan since the 80s. But it does still get a bit much from the sheer volume.

I think on some level Tatsu knows this because in the more recent chapters the Serpo Aliens are primarily depicted in their disguised forms and the fake Gomora gets a slight redesign in later appearances that's a lot more generic. I sort of get the impression things that were maybe meant to be one off gags ended up becoming reoccurring elements, but given the tone and humor of the series that's really hard to tell, for better or worse.

Although kudos to Science Saru saying fuck it and making the opening to the anime one big Ultraman reference. They know what they're doing.

All that said... I don't really know where to lead off from here. Dandadan is still ongoing, currently at about 170 chapters in Japan, while the anime is still currently airing the first season. So I can't really give a full review of either. Likewise, for all I know the series could go completely off the rails at some point-- in a bad way, I mean.

As it stands I'm still finding enjoyment out of this series and now seems good a time as any to suggest everyone check it out. There's multiple manga out, it's easily available digitally, there's the anime across multiple platforms in NA, we've got figuarts coming out. It's good to see.

I was long over due for look since first reading those Glitter screen-grabs some years back.

Funny enough, this late August I visited my Girlfriend in Illinois and got to see 8 volumes of Dandadan on the shelf in a comic shop, that was a nice surreal experience for something that wasn't even available digitally in NA when I first started reading it.

What I didn't realize at the time was when I took a photo of them on the shelf, it was September 5, three years to the day I got the first few chapters. So yeah, it was time for this to happen.

Given the on going status of DDD, I'll certainly be revisiting the series for a future look at and proper review. Until then, I encourage you to read the manga and see if you see what I see. It might not be some super deep narrative, but it is most certainly unique and well worth your time.

As always, thanks for reading.

[azrielsmommy]

Dark Paradise (Part 3)

Pairing: Azriel x Fem! Reader

Summary: Never in the existence of Prythian had there been a rightful heir to two courts, much less a female, but there you are, in the flesh. With war upon the lands, and questionable family dynamics, a certain shadowsinger takes it upon himself to make your life just a little bit more interesting.

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: violence

a/n: hey y'all so sorry for the month hiatus, uni has been CRAZY, anyways enjoy :)

To say Azriel was dumbfounded when he saw you, the women from his dreams, sitting on the throne instead of Helion, would be a severe understatement. He was absolutely enthralled by you, the way you spoke to Rhys with no care for his nobility, challenging him instead of falling head over heels. He lingered in the limited amount of shadows for the duration of your conversation, cursing Helion under his breath for covering the entirety of the chamber in a blinding sheen of sunlight. He watched you speak with such effortless grace, like you were made for the sole purpose of ruling.

His shadows had brought him a ring while he was observing you as he jumped between shaded corners, the ring gleamed in the sunlight as he rolled it between his fingers. He was going to toss it back to the corner where his shadows had unearthed it from, but the sound of shoes hitting marble drew his attention back to the task at hand.

You had sauntered down the stairs, the sunshine that pooled in through the windows lined behind you, had enveloped you in a blanket of light, silhouetting you in a ring of gold. Azriel had then and there decided that you were a goddess, one crafted by the most richest of golds.

He had enough, choosing no longer to hide in his shadows he winnowed to meet Rhys and you. You looked even more breathtaking up close, where he could see the groves and dips of your face, like a breath of fresh air. Azriel didn't know what came over him, it was like you had your hands around his very soul, forcing him to be drawn to you like a moth to a flame.

Rhys had noticed the starstruck shadowsinger, and teased him for it when they trailed behind y/n. "Your jaw is practically on the floor, pick it up before your tongue rolls out too." Rhys's voice had filled his mind, he shot him a scowl before choosing to ignore him, but he didn't stop there. "I wonder what names you'll choose for your children, Jaime, Carmilla, Jude, personally I love Dorian" he spoke, the shit-eating grin evident in Rhys's voice. Azriel slapped Rhys's chest so hard that he let out a pained grunt, smile still etched onto his lips. Rhys threw his a look saying 'you know I'm right.' Azriel tried ignoring the insinuation, but he couldn't deny that your outfit left little to his imagination.

He immediately blocked out the several scandalous thoughts that had spinned up in his mind before he would've been forced to excuse himself.

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

The Night Court was beautiful, even more so at night. The lights that decorated the city below shone brightly, paired along with the distant playing of music. The river that ran through the city twinkled as the stars up above bounced off of the ripples, it was gorgeous. Placing your hands on the railing that held you back from falling over the edge, you drank in the scenery before you. It was peaceful and comforting for a moment, before a harsh gust of wind swept over you, sending plums of snowfall over you. A shiver ran through your body, piercing even through Azriel's jacket that you had snuggly wrapped around yourself.

"Come on, you'll freeze out here." Azriel's gruff voice echoing over the wind. One of your bags was around his shoulder, while you held the other one loosely in a hand, outstretching his free hand towards you he gestured you towards him. You frowned as you took in your surroundings fully, you were in an empty clearing, no house in sight. "Where's the house?" You asked, as you walked towards him absentmindedly, goosebumps rising on your exposed legs. "We're almost there." He slightly smirked before pressing a rough hand under your knees and behind your back, collecting you abruptly into his arms.

Letting out a shocked yelp you instinctively gripped onto the closest solid surface, which so happened to be his shoulders. "Wha-." Before you could even begin demanding to be let go, he shook his wings, freeing them from their tightened position, and shot into the sky. Throwing your arms around his neck you pressed closer into him, so hard you thought you might melt into his chest. A low chuckle came out him, his chest rumbling at your startled reaction. Loosening your grip on him you looked back at him with a frown, "You could've warned me you know." You yell over the howling wind as you soared through the sky. "You're right I could've," you watched as he tore his eyes away from whatever he was focusing on, and looked into your own, "but where's the fun in that?" He spoke lowly, chest rumbling with each word.

Suddenly becoming hyper-aware of how close your faces were, you pulled back, instead choosing to turn your head to whatever he was looking at earlier. A large, almost castle-like mansion came into view, presumably the House of Wind. The sound of Azriel's wings beating heavily as you approached the wide balcony, built awfully similarly to a runway. Safely he landed, gently letting you down onto your own feet, still shook from the sudden flight you stumbled a few feet as you gained balance. Azriel offered a hand to you, but you slapped it away, "All of you Illyrians are absolutely mad, I swear" you mumbled under your breath. Throwing his hands up in mock offense, the both of you walked into the awaiting house.

You nearly moaned at the warmth that engulfed you as you stepped through the doors, melting away the coldness that had seeped into your bones. A squeal sounded through the lounge room before nimble arms tackled you, sending you crashing into the black leather couch. Blonde wavey locks, and a bright red-lipped smile filled your view, as you laid, sprawled, on the couch.

"By the cauldron, I haven't seen you in so long! How've you been? What've been up to? Oh my gosh, any new boys on the roster?" Mor berated you with questions as she laid on top of you, that beautiful smile of hers never leaving her face for a second. You giggled as she shook your shoulders rapidly, trying to shake the answers out of you.

"Mor stop it, you're going to give me a headache." You laughed as you playfully fought with her, trying to nudge her off of you. "You guys know each other?" Mor's and your head turned to look at Azriel as he stood there, watching the both of you with furrowed brows, your bags in tow.

"Of course we know each other, who do you think keeps me sane during all of those horrid meetings." She rolled her eyes at the mention of meetings. You had heard of Mor through your brother, Eris, when he was betrothed to her. Becoming friends with her wasn't exactly the smoothest of transitions, not after what Eris did to her. You had first properly met her in Vallahan during one of your diplomatic meetings for the Day Court, but once she found out who you were, and who you were related to, she avoided you.

Eventually, meeting after meeting in different continents, and different courts, you dragged her to a private room and made sure you drove the point that you had no part in her marriage arrangement with Eris. Explaining how you had zero connections with the Autumn Court, and that you refuse to support their cruel activities. After that, you grew close, but no matter how many secrets and deep truths you whispered to one another, she never told you what really happened that dreadful night when she ran into Eris. At first it hurt, knowing she didn't trust you enough with her deepest secrets, but you learned to respect it, knowing that when she was ready she would tell you.

"Oops sorry." She sheepishly clambered off of you, noticing your pained face, body growing numb from the weight of her body completely on top of yours. Helping you stand up she lead you to your room, Azriel in tow, carrying your bags with ease.

Reaching your bedroom door, Mor kicked it open, showing you around your massive suite, touring you around each additional room inside. Azriel dropped your bags onto the floor and bid you goodbye, you thanked him, watching as his broad frame walked out of your room.

"So, anybody special in your life?" Mor wiggled her eyebrows from her spot on your bed, her head propped up on her elbows as she laid on her stomach, kicking her feet in anticipation. You groaned as you flopped onto your back beside her. "No, I haven't had time for that, you know that." You dramatically threw your hands into the air.

"Yeah yeah, you got your royal duties to take care of or whatever, blah blah blah." Mor mocked you, memorizing your usual approach to this topic. "It's true! I'm not as lucky as you, catching the eye of every male. And female." You smirked at her. She shoved you in response, before resuming her questioning.

"How was your trip up here?" She picked at her perfectly manicured nails, "That crazy Illyrian practically threw me into the air, I thought he was going to drop me." You waved your hands around.

"Azriel would never drop a gorgeous girl like you," you turned your head towards her, a smile on your face from her compliment, "besides if he did, he would've been scrapping a flattened y/n shaped puddle off of the ground by now. Helion would have his head for that." Your smile immediately dropped at the idea of you being peeled from a random sidewalk in the city, you're sure that would've traumatized at least a couple Velaris civilians.

"Well since you're not going to tell me ANYTHING, about boys and what not, I have a welcoming gift for you." Mor abruptly jumped off of the bed and scurred off into your closet, you swore you could hear her giggling and mumbling to herself as she rummaged through clothes. Just as you were about to ask her what she was manically searching for like a rabid animal, she sauntered out of the room, clothes in hand.

"Well what do you think?" You sat up to get a clearer view of the garments she beheld. In one hand she had an intricate black dress, it wasn't fully midnight black, no, it had gold streaks pouring down the bodice, in the shape of a corset of sorts. There weren't any straps, showing of the shoulders, the deep v-neck that reached nearly what would be your bellybutton, showed off cleavage, and extenuated the neck. The gentle swish of the draping skirt was gorgeous, ever so often catching glimmers of gold, as it shimmered in the light.

"Oh that's sexy." Words tumbled out of your mouth as you took in the elegantly crafted dress before you. "I had it personally made for you, so of course it had to be sexy." She set the dress aside, and quickly replaced her hand with another piece of clothing. This time it wasn't a dress, it was a maroon trench coat, long enough where it would reach halfway down your calves. Several golden button adorned the front of the coat, pairing nicely with the barely visible gold seeming that lined the cuffs.

"These are beautiful Mor, but I can't accept it." You sheepishly look at her, a wave of guilt washing over you at the realization that you hadn't gotten her anything in return. She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow at you, her kohl lined eyes entrancing you, making it difficult to break eye contact.

"I mean, I just didn't get you anything in return, and that's not what good friends do, if I had been given an earlier notice I would've certainly gotten you some grand shoes, or jewelry..." You laugh nervously under her stare as you twist your rings in aimless circles.

A giggle bursts from Mor, you stare at her shaking form, slightly confused, you nervously giggle along with her. A howling laugh rips from her throat as she points at you, your eyebrows furrow as you rush to a mirror, thinking that she's laughing at something on your face.

"Is there something on my face?" You palm at your face, as you search for what she's laughing at, maybe you had caught a stray leaf on your flight here.

"Yeah that stupid look," She wipes her eyes, catching any tears, grabbing your shoulders she pries you from the mirror to face her instead "Gods, Y/n you don't owe me anything in return, I wanted to give you this, as a present. Besides, I was going to give you this for Solstice anyways, but, you're here now. Consider this an early solstice, from me." She beams at you, you return a smile back.

"But, I wouldn't mind some fancy shoes here and there." Shoving her shoulder you mock roll your eyes as you move towards the vanity, needing to take a relaxing steaming bath. "Dinner's served in half an hour, if I don't see you by then, I'll drag you by your hair." You throw a vulgar gesture over your shoulder as you shut the door behind you.

You quickly got ready and arrived at the dinning room before Mor could even think of coming to 'escort' you. The dinner went smoothly, Rhys introduced you to the 'inner circle.' Cassian was the easiest to get along with, his overwhelmingly kindhearted personality nearly suffocating you, however, by how incredibly well-toned he was, it would be a mistake to assume he was always so friendly. Amren was the complete opposite of Cassian, extremely witty, quick with her words, and the way she looked at your jewelry with those silver, ancient eyes sent shivers down your spine. You swear up and down, that she even licked her lips when she thought you weren't paying attention.

As you continued your dinner, chatting about nonsense, you felt a pair of eyes on you, glancing across the table you landed on Azriel. He sat there, holding a glass of some sort of alcohol in his hand, maintaining eye contact he swirled his glass around, the liquid sloshing against the sides, before bringing it to his lips. You won't lie, in that moment, the way his tight-fitted black shirt had the top couple buttons undone, exposing his neck and chest ever so slightly, had you blushing and gripping onto your own champagne glass for dear life.

"I think I'm going to turn in for the night." You mock yawned, rubbing your eyes in faux tiredness, needing to leave the room before you could even begin to think of other things, more like think about him.

"It was a pleasure meeting you all." Bidding everybody a quick goodnight you slipped away, feeling a pair of eyes on the back of your head as you rounded the corner towards your room. A frigid coldness swept against your leg, but as you looked around for a possible open window, you were met with nothing but shadows. Cold, wispy darkness.

Looking back down the dimly lit hallways, the faint golden hues from the fae light illuminating your face, you met Azriels gaze. The rest of the table engaging in fervent conversation, but he stared at you. It felt as if time itself slowed down with the way he watched you. His eyes low, glossed over with the influence of alcohol, enhancing the copper flecks in them by tenfold. You tried to tear your eyes away from his burning gaze, but it was as if the universe itself held the two of you together, refusing to let up its iron grip.

Subtle pain spread down your hands, turning your palm upwards you finally managed to look at something else other than Azriel. Half-moon crescents were indented in your palms from where you dug your nails so deeply into them, causing ruby red blood to drip from the broken skin. Glancing back down the hall, expecting Azriel to be staring at you, but his eyes stared unyieldingly at your hands, something swirled in his eyes, something wild. Bringing your palm up to your mouth you sucked up the blood, making sure he watched as you licked up what remained. He propped his chin on a hand as he watched your ministrations, eagerly.

Your lip curled in a sly smile as you et your hand fall back to your side. Turning on your heel you pushed the door to your room open, the coolness of the door pressing against your burning back as you leaned against the door. Running a hand through your hair you undressed, getting ready for bed. Your mind playing what just happened in the hallway over and over again, without cease. As you laid in bed you kept remembering the way his eyes roved over you, and no matter how many times you denied it, you did enjoy it, a little too much.

The next morning you were abruptly awoken, not by the sunlight flooding in through the partially shut blinds, nor was it your palms, instead you felt a searing pain in ribcage. Kicking the sheets off of yourself haphazardly, you lifted your shirt just under your breast, exposing your stomach to the crisp morning air that filtered in through the room.

Nothing. No wound, at least not visibly. Gently you pressed down on your skin, pain bloomed. Maybe you had simply slept weird, or knocked your ribs against a corner last night in your rushing, but you couldn't recall anything of the sort.

Deciding to ignore the strange pain you got dressed, remembering Rhys mentioned last night something about a training room during dinner. Completing basic hygiene you threw on some training clothes and fashioned your hair into a simple braid. As you wandered the halls in circles for what felt like hours your ribcage increased in pain, of course bearable, but nonetheless annoying. As you ascended a long flight of stairs the pain persisted, almost getting more intense as you got closer to the top.

Finally you stepped into a large space, light flooding into the ring, reflecting off of the various weapons that lined the walls and racks. The wind swept over the expanse, refreshing as the sun beat down. In the middle two people sparred. standing in their glory Azriel and Cassian threw punches, swift and calculated. By the way they were huffing you were more than sure that they have been here before dawn. Noticing your presence the two of them slowed down, Cassian being the first to approach you, "You here to practice?" A large grin spread across his face, wiping his forehead free from sweat with the back of his hand. "No I'm here to sunbathe." You retort, twirling around to show off your 'bathing suit,' a deadpan expression gracing your features.

"I'm hurt Y/n, where was my invitation, you know I'd be more than happy to ditch this loser over here." He threw a thumb over his shoulder towards Azriel. "Yeah I'm sure you'd be more than happy to ditch the way I've been kicking your ass for the past hour." Azriel crossed his arms, extenuating his sweat sleeked biceps. "You know everybody hates liars Azriel." Cassian threw him a glare, Azriel rolled his eyes before walking over to grab a cub of water.

"Anyways, I need a sparring partner, you up for it?" You looked at Cassian awaiting. "Oh uh, my shoulder suddenly really hurts, I'm sure Azriel needs the extra practice." Cassian's eyebrows furrowed in obvious fake pain as he rolled his shoulder to 'work out a knot,' tucking strays pieces of hair that fell from his ponytail he gestured towards Azriel, who stood by the water station.

Gesturing towards the empty ring you watched as Azriel set down his glass and stalked his way to the open space. "Sure, don't worry Cassian I'm sure Rhys will kiss your boo boo better." Azriel teased Cassia, as you walked down the stairs towards the ring, you're more than sure that Cassian threw him a vulgar gesture by the way Azriel chuckled.

Rolling your neck you cracked your fingers, getting ready for some hand to hand combat. Azriel tossed you a knife, not sharp enough to cause serious damage, but dangerous enough. You couldn't help but notice the way the sunlight hit Azriel's bare chest just right as you worked out the last knot in your neck. His toned chest evident of the several years it took to perfect, the muscles chiseled, like he was sculpted from finest of marble. "You can always back out whenever, no shame in it." He spoke in a low voice as he took up a fighting stance rolling his own knife in is hand. "Same goes for you, I wouldn't want to embarrass you in front of Cassian." Following in suit, you threw up your hands, getting ready to deliver the ass whopping of the century.

A faint smile flickered on his face before he lunged, throwing a flurry of punches. Blocking and dodging his attacks you jumped back, creating space in between the two of you. He fought with an intensity you haven't seen in years, each move calculated and aggressive, holding no punches back. If it were an average person they would quickly be knocked out by now, but you were no average person.

Quickly recovering from the slight set back you sent back your own attacks, sparks flying from where your blades met, throwing a mix in between slashes and swift punches. From the corner of your eye you spotted a forming bruise on his left rib, the exact same place you woke up to this morning. Just managing to dodge a swift slash from Azriel in the nick of time you side step Azriel and drove the hilt of your knife into his rib.

A low whistle resonated throughout the room from the wall where Cassian stood post, watching your duel. Stumbling a few steps back Azriel grunted, your own side reflecting the same throbbing pain you imposed on him.

He didn't even let you catch your breath before unleashing punches upon you, the strength behind them causing you to scramble to deflect them. Throwing a right hook, he landed square on your jaw, nearly sending you across the floor, blood ran down your chin from the newly inflicted wound on your lip. Wiping away the blood from your chin you grinned at him, the metallic taste of blood covering your teeth in a pink sheen. "Shit, I didn't mean-" Sucking you teeth clean from the blood you didn't even let him finish his apology before you lunged for him. Catching him with his guard down you kicked his legs out from under him, his back hitting the floor with a harsh slam, quickly you clambered onto him, sitting on his lap, legs tightly pressed against the outside of his thighs to keep him from moving. You pressed the knife to his throat, not hard enough to break skin but enough to ensure his defeat.

"Yield," you huffed out as you drew your face close to his. The back of Azriel's head hit the floor, causing the curls that weren't plastered to his forehead to spread out around him in a way that made him look like a literal angel, his onyx hair giving him an ethereal glow.

His eyes stared into your own, as he took in deep breathes, chest heaving under you. "I yield." His voice gruff as he rested his hands on your hips, holding you tightly, his gaze unwavering, a slight smirk on his lips as he licked his lips. "This is my favourite positions after all," He whispered, "Sorry?" Taken aback by his suggestive comment you leaned back from his face. "This is one of the best positions to render your opponent immobile, I mean. What did you think I meant?" He slyly spoke, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

"Atta girl Y/n, you just won me some money." Cassian's boisterous voice boomed throughout the room, snapping you out of your trance. Both you and Azriel turned your heads towards where Cassian stood, rubbing his hands in anticipation as he proudly gave Rhys a shit-eating grin. Begrudgingly, Rhys dug in his pocket for money, throwing it at Cassian's chest with a scowl.

"You guys bet on us?" You asked baffled, "Yup, and Azriel just lost me so much money," Rhys's tone clearly reflecting his disappointment at his major loss. "I promise you, I'm taking that out of your salary Az." Rhys sent Aziel a pointed glare, Azriel simply shrugged, clearly not caring, you're sure it wouldn't even leave a dent in his finances.

"Anyways enough of these stupid activities-", Rhys approached the two of you, "You only think it's stupid because you lost," Cassian responded in a sing-song voice, "Shut up." Rhys quickly retorted back. Running a hand quickly over his jacket, plucking at invisible dust, he stood over you and Azriel on the floor. "What mission?" Azriel asked, confusion across his face, clearly not having been debrief about this mission earlier. "Autumn Court." Rhys crossed his arms, as he watched for your reaction.

You looked back down at the sprawled out Azriel under you, clear disgust in your face at the idea of going to the Autumn Court so soon into your stay at the Night Court. Feeling the same way, Azriel rolled his eyes before closing his eyes, letting out a long breath out.

"Fuck." Was all that needed to be said.

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

tag list: @dr4g0ngirl @tothestarsandwhateverend namelesssav hnyclover

[prettyboysdontlookatexplosions]

Fire-eaters' political work was crudely done. At one level, it was racial fear mongering. In all of the speeches and appeals, the truly inflammatory pair presented was white women and black men. The threat of violence Black Republicans posed was always directed not at the white race in general but at white women in particular, and the threat itself was posed not by "black" Republicans (who were mostly white men) but by black and usually slave men incited to rape and pillage. The racial and gender threats were invariably a linked pair. And they were linked in pursuit of the nonslaveholders' vote.

On the eve of the presidential elections in 1860, a propaganda association was formed in Charleston, South Carolina. Called, appropriately enough, the 1860 Association, one of its avowed aims was to prepare, print, and distribute tracts and pamphlets. The publications committee made good on its promise, ultimately distributing more than 166,000 pamphlets. None had a bigger circulation than John Townsend's two incendiary contributions, "The South Alone Shall Govern the South" and "The Doom of Slavery in the Union." Both directly considered the effects of Black Republican government, which Townsend construed to include slave emancipation, on "the nonslaveholding portion of our citizens." Both insisted that the poor white man's racial superiority was bolstered only by slavery and would disappear with it, and both insisted that submission to Black Republican rule would touch off a race war between poor white and black men. "The midnight glare of the incendiaries' torch will illuminate the country from one end to another," Townsend railed in one of the pamphlets, "while pillage, violence, murder, poison, and rape will fill the air with the demonic revelry of all the bad passions of an ignorant, semi-barbarous race, urged to madness by the licentious teachings of our northern brethren." If they did not secede, Southern freemen would live to see their women seized as booty of war or, worse, raped by bestial and now emancipated black men. In Townsend's apocalyptic scenario the gender and racial threat to white men's rights are inextricably linked, their common property identified as white women, beloved objects men were pledged to protect.

All over the South, but particularly in the Deep South, politicians eager to unite voting men-the people-behind their plans envisioned the defense of the state as the defense of white men's wives from rape and murder. The fusion of the national and the feminine in Southern pleas has been repeated ever since along with the images and rhetoric of 1860 and 1861 in the argument that Southern men went to war to protect their womenfolk. In treating those images as truisms, as unproblematic and transparent articulations of men's beliefs, historians and others continue to deploy women as objects and symbols in a history made exclusively by men, just as Jefferson Davis had said. Where the nation became a woman, the woman took on a national posture. But the women offered to us in fire-eaters' and Unionists' narratives in 1860 and 1861 were not real. Like the virgin emblazoned on one side of the Virginia flag (who matched the shield on the other), or the female form adorning the hilt of a sword, they were figurative versions edited and simplified to serve as signs. They never spoke for themselves, never offered up their complicated and divisive perspective on events, their perceived truths about the dangers and the necessities in the historical moment. They were timeless forms, outside history. The challenge is to make women subjects of, as well as images in, the history we write.

stephanie mccurry, confederate reckoning: power and politics in the civil war south

[aidaronan]

We're a little under halfway through the Stranger Things Monsterfucker May challenge, and I think we absolutely can and must fuck more monsters about it. So make your blorbo into a dragon, a demon, a demogorgon. Or maybe take a little inspo from Mermay. 😉 AO3 Collection Open for Additions (STMonsterMay24) | On tumblr, use #STMonsterMay Rules/info under the cut!

This challenge is for adults only. If you are not an adult, do not the challenge.

Characters should be from the older side of the ST universe. "Babysitter's Club" age and older. Otherwise there's no limit on who you write about. Sapphic fics and rarepairs welcome!

Use tags, respect tags. To the best of your ability, tag your Freaknasty Shit (and other things that are important to tag). Conversely, if you go into some freaknasty shit that is clearly labeled "Freaknasty Shit" on the jar and are shocked by the freaknasty shit you find, idk what you expected. This also goes for fics about characters/pairings you don't like. Life is so much better when you seek the things you love instead of being mad about the things you hate.

The Monsterfucking doesn't have to be explicit. It can be implied. You can do some "what is sex to this monster, actually?" world building. Be the fun. Have the joy.

"Is my nonhuman character idea monster enough for the monster club?" - Do I look like a cop? If it feels like a monster to you, then hell yeah.

Dark concepts/themes are okay as long as you tag.

Please be conscious and sensitive re:monsters that might not be yours to play with (e.g. creatures from Native folklore or marginalized religions) and creatures with bigoted histories (like, for example, maybe goblins shouldn't run the banks).

While there are rules, this is a largely unmoderated challenge. I'll be peeping bc i wanna be at the devil's sacrament getting railed by the devil. If I see anything hella off and it's within my power, I will try to fix it. But mostly I expect people to be kind and smart in their creating and in their reading/art-connoisseuring.

[imabillyami]

Samijey - possessive lust

Hey anon! Well, seeing as 'possessive lust' are technically two words, I didn't really stick with the rules either oops. This is a bit more than five sentences. Let's just say I was on a roll. Written for this challenge.

Hope you like it! (Might end up including this in another prompt I'm working on actually. We'll see.)

This is the raunchy stuff (aka smut), so no peeking if you're underage (aka under 18) please!

Sami adjusted their position so that Jey’s cheeks hit the cool glass, shocking his system and sending a shiver up his spine - whether it was from the sudden coolness or thrill of getting fucked against a window for all the world to see, he wasn’t sure.

When Sami spoke again, his voice was low and gravelly, “Imagine Jey, they’d only have to look up. And what would they see, huh? What would they see?”

“I-”

“They’d see you for what you truly are, Jey. They’d see how filthy you really are. Letting yourself get railed in plain sight, begging for my cock to go deeper, to rip you in half. What would they say, Jey, huh? 

“I-”, tears gathered in the corners of his eyes and threatened to spill over any second now. 

“Tell me what they would say, Jey. Now.”

“Um-”, he stuttered, unable to focus on anything but the feel of Sami moving inside of him, the dark voice in his ear, the wild array of emotions flooding his chest.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you.” The command was one he couldn't ignore. Not from Sami.

The second he lifted his eyes to meet his intense gaze, he knew he was done for. A choked sob spilled from his mouth, big fat tears rolling down his cheeks as he struggled for air when Sami drove his cock back into him with a particularly sharp thrust, hitting all the right places inside of him. 

“Are you gonna make me ask again?”

“No sir! They’d say I’m desperate. Dirty. F-Filthy.”, his voice cracked on the last word from lust and shame and overwhelm. He felt so filthy. But filthy felt so good. Only with Sami did it ever feel this good.

“That’s right, baby. My sweet boy. And you’d like that wouldn’t you? All these people watching you while you get fucked just the way you like it. Calling you all these things. You’d get off on it, wouldn’t you?”

Jey vehemently shook his head, feeling his eyes widen in protest. Sami drove his dick into him even harder - a punishment. “Don’t lie to me, boy!”

“I-I’m sorry.”

“Tell me.” Sami demanded, continuing his relentless pace, pressing even closer to him, his hot delicious breath hitting Jey’s face and clouding his senses. 

“Y-yes sir, I would get off on it. Their eyes would feel so good on me!”, he admitted shakily.

“But only their eyes, baby. I’m the only one who gets to touch you, isn’t that right?”

“Yes yes yes, only you! Only you!” No sooner did he yell out the words than Sami's lips found his in a sloppy kiss that was all tongue and teeth and possessive lust.

Jey’s body trembled with the effort of holding back his impending orgasm.

He felt so good.

Being Sami’s felt so good.

And that Jey was.

All Sami’s to love and cherish and hold and love on and fuck. And he wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

[angelswing236]

"No, we're not doing that."

Fictober 24 challenge

Fandom: Downton Abbey

Fanfiction

Carson picked up the box and emptied it onto his desk, pursing his lips at the number of folded slips of paper falling onto his blotter.

‘They’ve certainly taken your proposal to heart,’ he said, disapprovingly.

‘Did you think they wouldn’t?’ Mrs Hughes said, reaching for a slip.

‘I didn’t expect this many suggestions. Personally, I don’t see any need for anything to change.’

‘No, I suppose you don’t,’ Mrs Hughes replied, unable to refrain from rolling her eyes. ‘But clearly, they do. And as much as you think it might, it won’t kill you to make some concessions.’

‘That is yet to be seen, Elsie. I am still of the opinion that there is a right way to do things and then there is every other way, and every other way has no place in a grand house like Downton.’

‘Let’s just see what some of the suggestions are, shall we? Before you make up your mind to refuse them all,’ Mrs Hughes said, opening her first slip of paper.

Carson picked one up and opened it, scanning it, his eyebrows rising.

‘No, we’re not doing that,’ he said, starting what he was quite sure would be a substantial rejected pile.

Mrs Hughes glanced up at him, frowning.

‘Or that. Or that. Or that,’ he continued, discarding slips of paper like confetti.

‘Are you even reading them properly?’

‘Of course, I am. I’m giving each one the consideration it deserves,’ he said, primly.

She narrowed her eyes at him and reached for his rejected pile.

‘What are you doing?’ Carson asked, indignantly.

‘Looking to see what the requests are that you find so impertinent,’ she said, shuffling through the papers. ‘Coffee as well as tea available during our breaks. Moving the wake-up call back half an hour on Sundays. Another easy chair in the servants’ hall. Permission to eat the biscuits the family don’t eat in the jars next to their beds. Well, none of those seem all that revolutionary to me.’

‘Coffee is expensive. And the family might get up early on Sundays. We don’t have the budget to waste on frivolities like another easy chair. And what if the family do want a biscuit and they are not there?’ Carson countered, not willing to budge on the standards he held dear.

‘Oh, Charlie, come on,’ Mrs Hughes said with a sigh. ‘You’ve got to at least consider some of these things.’

‘Why?’

‘Because times are changing, and you know as well as I do that it’s getting harder and harder to get anyone to come into service these days. We need to look after the people we’ve got and do what we can to encourage them to stay. When they can get decent wages without having to do the hours service positions demand, the least we can do is make the terms as appealing as we can.’

Carson blew out a sigh of his own. ‘Back in my day, you were grateful for what you got and that was enough.’

‘I think you have a bit of selective memory going on there. Did you never rail against unfairness or wish for a bit of loosening of the rules?’

Carson sniffed, saying nothing.

‘I know I did,’ Mrs Hughes continued. ‘And none of these suggestions so far are out of the realms of possibilities. No-one’s asking for more days off or a pay rise. It’s all things that are fairly reasonable. Mrs Patmore can make more coffee. We can raid the attic or some of the unused rooms for more easy chairs. Except for his lordship, the family never eat the biscuits. I don’t know why we even continue leaving the jars by the bed for the ladies. And I’m sure if you spoke to his lordship, he'd agree to a bit of a lie-in for the staff on a Sunday.’

‘I suppose,’ Carson said, grudgingly.

‘The key is to think that all these little changes are for the good of the house in the end, Charlie. Happy staff, happy house. Isn’t that what we say?’

‘Hmmph.’

‘Let’s look at what else they’re suggesting.’

‘If we must.’

‘I fear we must. If we’re to survive the modern age.’