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brokenheartsrecords · 2 months

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track two: a hedge maze and a hastily arranged wedding words: 1.22K tw: none taglist: @lxvebelle

"WELL, THIS IS CERTAINLY INTERESTING." Jameson says, and you can see how his lips threaten to tilt upwards. “The most obvious thing here is that this is not a secret rendezvous between the two of you. But what is it?”

You exhale, and place the shears back on the table. You are glad that he doesn’t mistake this meeting as something scandalous that would result in your marriage to this man you barely know.

“It is nothing, Jamie. The lady was simply lost in the gardens and somehow found herself in the orangery. In fact, I was going to ask her to leave right before you made an entrance.” The man looks at you, asking you to confirm his claim.

You nod, letting that oh-my-God-I-am-so-silly smile take over your lips. Jameson Hawthorne, however, does not look convinced.

“I saw you slip away from the ballroom and I heard Skye telling some of her friends that the orangery thrives in the winters.”

The blond’s eyes widen. “She’s coming here.”

“She’s coming here, and if she sees you with the lady beside you, she will find a way to get the two of you married, Gray.”

Gray is already putting his coat back on. “You couldn’t have led with that? Madam,” he says, looking at you, “you must leave.”

A minute later, the three of you are out of the orangery, going in seemingly separate directions. You, to the ball, Jameson to the hedges, and Grayson—you can only assume he’s the second son of the Hawthorne family, and the Lord of Havenbrooks—were you speaking so openly with a Lord?—you have no idea where he’s gone.

Yet, after twists and turns—was the Hawthorne’s lawn a maze?—you find yourself in the middle of a hedge maze, with no idea on how to get out of it.

A sensible woman would retrace her steps, but a sensible woman would also have kept track of where she was going—not daydreaming about a Hawthorne. In such a situation, you find yourself aimlessly walking about the maze.

At least you have been spared from having to marry a man you barely know.

You are just walking about, trying to find an exit, when you see the outline of a man, surely and steadily walking towards what could’ve been the route to the exit. And, propriety be damned, you decide to follow him. It is not proper, really, for you to find your way out of the maze by what can be considered stalking, but you do it anyway.

It’s a blond man, you notice, and you begin to suspect that you know him.

That you met him what was not even fifteen minutes ago.

Your dress catches on a particularly prickly hedge, and the bottom of it rips. You begin to notice that one of your oversized gloves have long since fallen away.

In truth, your mask is the only object on you that appears to be in perfect condition.

You don’t realise that you’ve not been paying attention to your surroundings until you bump into the man you’ve been following.

He turns. “What—madam.”

Shocked, you take a few steps back, making sure that there is an appropriate distance between the two of you.

But, as your luck would have it, the threads of your dress catches on a hedge. You try to get yourself out of the bush, but it seems adamant.

It must have caught on one of the sapphires on your dress.

Grayson looks close to laughing. “Madam, do you require my assistance?”

Defeated, you nod. Your dress is in a state, looking as though you’ve placed together pieces of scrap fabric and stuck some gems on. He walks closer to you, One hand on your waist to keep you still while the other snakes towards your back, towards the place where the gem has caught onto the bush.

If anyone were to walk in on the two of you, you’d be damned. “Are you done yet?”

Why did your voice come out in a whisper?

“Not yet.” He whispers back, as though this moment is a sacred one, which shouldn’t be interfered by anything. It’s just the two of you, in an increasingly compromising position, you might add.

“And, oh, have I shown you the maze? It’s absolutely beautiful, especially under the moon. You best hope that no lovers have decided to take a stroll!” You know that voice, and Grayson stiffens as though he knows it too.

“Ms. Hawthorne.” You say.

“I would have been finished by now, but more than one gem has been caught on the bush. I require at least two more minutes.”

“We don’t have two minutes!” You hiss.

He ignores you.

“My, are those shadows?”

“Quick.” The word escapes your lips just as Grayson pulls the dress, tearing it apart from the bush.

“Done.” He exhales.

But it might have been a bit too late.

Skye, her friends, and your mother too—oh, God. This night was a disaster—were standing just a few yards away from the two of you.

“I know I jested about it, but I certainly didn’t expect it to happen!” Skye says, and she doesn’t look a bit scandalised.

In truth, she looks glad.

That bitch.

Your mother calls your name. “Is that you, darling?”

You turn to her, and raise your hands in a placating gesture. “I know how this looks, but it is not what you are thinking.”

One of the friends giggles. “Are you sure, dear? You look positively ravished.”

Skye places her fan over her mouth. “Gray, you should’ve told me!”

“Mother, this is nothing.”

“It certainly doesn’t look like nothing!” Skye snorts. “What have you done to her dress, the poor thing.”

“You very well know that that is not because of me.”

“Oh, God, her glove!” One of the women points out, and at that moment, you wish the world would swallow you whole.

“Let’s look at this logically.” You start. “If he did anything to me, why would he leave the mask untouched?”

“The thrill of having a masked woman would surely be different from having one without.” Another friend says.

“The mask is indeed beautiful.” Skye adds. “It would have been a shame if he ripped it apart.”

“It is undeniably a beautiful mask.” Grayson murmurs.

“Oh, I always knew my son was a tad wild!”

“Mother, are you serious? Why would I rip a dress apart?”

“How would I know what you do in a brothel?”

“I’ve never visited a brothel in my life.” Grayson says.

“You are not helping.” You hiss.

Your mother intervenes. “Perhaps this is a sign. Your son has been unmarried, and so has my daughter. The Lord definitely thinks that this is a perfect match.”

“Mama!”

Skye opens her mouth. “Would you leave the girl’s reputation in tatters, Gray? You know what a gentleman does when he ruins a lady’s reputation, do you not.”

He lets out a breath.

Turns to you.

“Well, Gray?” Skye prompts.

“Would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?” Grayson says, and something in his eyes makes you think that he assumes you set this situation up on purpose.

You try to tell him that you did not, but you just nod.Skye giggles, and clutches your mother’s hands. “Oh, my Lady! We have a wedding to plan!”

#grayson hawthorne #the inheritance games #tig fandom #grayson hawthorne x reader

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wordy-little-witch · 6 months

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Okay ficlet I threw together bc I wanted to give a present to @beanghostprincess

Vampire Buggy, non-explicit sex but it's definitely happening so graphic content 😗, Shuggy hours

I hope you enjoy it, beanie baby, and let yourself rest, you're perfect and very much loved ♡♡♡ drink water, have a snack, and if anyone is mean to you I'll eat their bones

Kissing him felt like midnight storms and silk shearing blades held poignantly to his throat. The warmth of lips, hungry and devouring, filled his head with sea foam and endless clouds, stealing his breath and leaving him yearning, wanting, needing more. The nip of teeth at his skin sent shivers up and down his spine, arcane fingers carved with ice and molten lead caressing his vertebrae and veins, weaving his entirety into a tapestry of devotion the likes of which he could never explain.

Kissing Buggy was like death and birth in one singular heartbeat.

Shanks would be the first to admit that he was enamored by Buggy - enthralled, bewitched, obsessed, yes, yes, yes - but he never felt more secure, more grounded, more free than in the moments he felt calloused sea salted skin beneath his lips and tongue and teeth. Buggy was benediction, was damnation, and he was the altar at which Shanks would kneel forevermore.

That sentiment held true even as - especially as - tentative fangs cut the skin of his neck, carefully nursed by tongue and lip before piercing into his veins.

Buggy was a warm weight on top of him, a riotous mane of blue curls flowing over one side like a waterfall, a canopy to enshroud their love from the prying eyes of the universe. Thick thighs bracketed his waist, his hand clutching tightly to the other's bruised hips even as the man atop him rocked down. Shanks tilted his head further with a soft exhale, pressing deeper, deeper, deeper into the warmth above him, around him. His eyes fluttered shut, a pleased sigh as he felt Buggy shiver, felt the other's whimper as he pressed down harder, as he drank his fill, calloused hands clutching desperately at Shanks's shoulder, his chest, his hair, scrambling between the filling warmth of feeding and the inferno of their other activity.

Shanks grinned warmly, tilting his head further, fondly shifting his chin to rub affectionately at the other's ear. The high whine he received was music to him, fueling the mischief as he shifted his hold, held tight, and yanked the other down, disrupting their rhythm.

Buggy choked, head springing back with an arc of scarlet around his mouth, twinkling in the moonlight as he cried out sharply, tears beading in his brilliant eyes like diamonds around a pale sapphire, like a band of promise, like a vow in his very being.

Shanks surged up, bucking his hips once more, and he sagged as arms and legs shifted, clinging around him, nails biting his flesh as bloodied lips parted with sounds of absolution and temptation dripping like honeyed poison from his teeth and tongue.

Shanks swallowed it all with a satisfied smile. He'd certainly have built an immunity by now.

#shuggy #red haired shanks #buggy the clown #vampire buggy my beloved #gift!!!#gay vampire clown pirate #i've broken the code that's my gender

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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 2 years

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The Silver Dragon (23/?)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character

Word Count: 2760

Story Summary: Lady Arianwyn Targaryen, the Lady of Runestone, was seeded by her father, the Rogue Prince Daemon Targaryen, in an act of unbridled hatred, and borne of her mother, the late Lady Rhea Royce, as a desperate grasp at revenge.

Ignored by her father, and alone following the death of her mother, she is raised in King’s Landing alongside her cousin, Prince Aemond Targaryen. As they grow, the two find themselves indelibly bonded. But their lives are far from the fairy tales they read, and as tensions in the family rise, they find their paths may diverge.

Will they be pulled apart when the dragons dance?

Chapter Summary: The following morning, Aemond and Arianwyn tell the Queen of what happened. But they soon realize an important figure is missing.

Warnings: Adult content, minors DNI

Series Masterlist

Taglist: @thelittleswanao3 @trap-house-homiecide @50svibes @literishdegree99 @dc-marvel-girl96 @henriettadreaming @multiple-fandoms-girl @gyuxmilk @somemydayy @kittykylax

The Shears

Arianwyn woke before dawn, the sun but a sliver of pink light in the distance. Though every muscle in her body ached, she savored the feeling. Each twinge of pain was soothed by the memory of her husband's kiss on her lips, on her throat, her chest, and her core.

Now the mouth that had kissed her so fervently lay still beside her as Aemond slept. What remained of the moonlight was reflected brilliantly in his ever-open sapphire eye. Tilting her head against their shared pillow, careful not to disturb his arm around her waist, Arianwyn nudged closer to him.

She brushed the hair from his face to better examine the stone, a chance she had not gotten the night before as their desires quickly took hold. If she squinted her eyes just right, she could make out the Runes beautifully engraved on each facet.

As she read each one, she ran a finger across his chest, tracing their shapes. For it was not only the writing of the Runes that gave them power, but the intentions of the writer. Just in case the magic had not carried over to the gem from her embroidered instructions, she drew each shape again on the soft skin above his heart.

Two lines, crossing in parallel. Each end split, reaching for the others, but never quite touching.

"I know that one," Aemond grumbled, his voice deep and gravelly from sleep. He seized her wrist, guiding her hand as she finished the Rune. "Surely, after last night, you don't believe me lacking in endurance?"

Arianwyn could not stifle her giggle, but she could suppress it against his lips. When she pulled back from the kiss, she whispered against his ear, "Of course not. But I want my love branded to your heart, so you will never be without it."

He kissed her again, knotting his hand in her gloriously tangled hair. "Never."

Then, he pushed himself up on his side, gazing adoringly into her silver eyes as he traced the same shape on her breast. "There," he breathed, kissing the skin to seal the magic, "now we are both branded."

It was almost as though Arianwyn could feel the magic taking hold, surrounding her heart and filling her chest with such warmth it practically burned. She smiled so hard that her cheeks strained, and she had to look away from Aemond to keep herself from being overwhelmed by the sight of him.

How many fairy tales had she read that described true love? How many stories of valiant princes rescuing their princesses from evil men and monsters? How many times had she imagined herself in their place?

It all seemed so mundane now. No fairy tale, story, or poem could capture the enormity or intensity of what she felt for Aemond.

"I love you," she whispered, though the words were too small.

"Avy jorrāelan," he replied, pulling her in for another kiss.

Arianwyn yielded to him, wrapping one arm around his neck as she happily let him devour her. With the other, she traced her fingers down his chest, past where she had drawn her Runes, past the taut muscles of his abdomen, until she took hold of his half-hard member.

"Tell me how to make you feel the way I did last night."

Queen Alicent had hardly been able to sleep that night, her mind racing from all that had happened since Rhaenyra's arrival. The cruel accusations she and Daemon accusations made against her. Seeing Arianwyn again after so many years.

The competing emotions of the petition. From the elation of seeing Viserys on the throne again, walking nearly on his own, to the horror of seeing Vaemond Velaryon struck down in front of her. The inescapable heartbreak that came with the realization that her husband would pull himself from the Stranger's embrace to defend Rhaenyra and her bastards, but had never lifted so much as a finger for Alicent or the children they had together.

She had loved Viserys so very dearly. They were delightfully happy in the first years of their marriage, despite Rhaenyra's distance from them. He was ever so kind to her, and gentle. When he took her to his bed, he made sure she felt safe and loved, and tended to her needs as much as his own.

While she was pregnant with Aegon, he showered her with adoration – giving her endless gifts and commissioning paintings and music for her. When their son was finally born, healthy and strong, she thought he would deify her. Every moment of his every day was spent with them, love brimming over in his beautiful violet eyes.

Something changed after Aegon's second nameday. His warmth faded, though he remained cordial. When Helaena was born, he congratulated her warmly, but it was not the same. She did not wake to find him at the end of the bed, the babe in his arms. He did not bring his daughter with him everywhere he went, but left her with Alicent and the nursemaids, seemingly content to see her only when necessary.

He stopped calling Alicent to his bed each night. And when he did, he was distant. He did not kiss her nor help her find her own pleasure. After he had finished, he did not ask her to stay. It was a miracle Aemond and Daeron were ever born.

Alicent was almost grateful that Daeron had been born so weak. Growing up in Oldtown, under the care of her cousins and the Maesters, he did not suffer his father's indifference.

Aegon did, and it drove him to despair and depravity.

Helaena, bless her sweet soul, seemed happy enough in her own distant world.

Of them all, Aemond had felt it most keenly.

With Arianwyn, he had read all the stories of Old Valyria that remained, hoping he could one day discuss them with his father. That Viserys would see himself in his son. That despite his lack of a dragon, would see that Aemond was a true heir to the Targaryen name.

But the King never did.

He did not care to hear Orwyle's reports on the progress of Aemond's studies nor Ser Criston's praise of his martial prowess. He brushed aside each of Aemond's failed attempts to claim a dragon just as easily as he dismissed the cruelty of his eldest son and grandsons. Alicent begged him for years to intervene, but he steadfastly refused.

And then Aemond had lost his eye.

No. Not lost. It was taken from him.

Not only by the steel of the Velaryon bastards' knife, but by Rhaenyra's audacious insistence of her sons' legitimacy and the King's callous apathy.

Alicent had to steady herself against the red stone walls of the corridor, reminding herself that she was going to Aemond's rooms to scold him for his behavior at dinner the night before, not to sympathize with his lifelong plight.

She and Rhaenyra had brokered a peace after he had left, and the Queen had every hope that it would hold – if she could get her own children under control.

"Your Grace, are you well?" Alicent jumped at Orwyle's voice, breaking her from her ever-spiraling thoughts.

"Grand Maester," she greeted. "Whatever are you doing in the Holdfast so early? Is the King well?"

Orwyle's dark eyes flicked toward the end of the hall, a tentative smile on his face. "His Grace is well, my Queen, though he continues to rest after his exertions."

"That is wonderful to hear," Alicent sighed, relieved. "But you have not answered my question."

The Maester was practically sweating. "Yes, My Queen. I suppose it is fallen to me to tell you the happy news."

Arianwyn watched with delighted curiosity as she brought Aemond to his climax with only her hand. His eyes squeezed shut, and his mouth fell open as he gasped for breath, the line of his jaw impossibly sharp. He reached urgently for his wife, hips rutting wildly as he spilled his onto the sheets between them.

"Was that right?" she asked, a smug smile across her lips.

Aemond only moaned as he pulled her on top of him, too exhausted to even kiss her. But he needed to feel her weight on him, to anchor him, lest he float away on a cloud of bliss.

She laughed, the sound reverberating through Aemond's chest. "I'll take that as an enthusiastic 'yes.'”

He moved to pull her to his lips, but there came a knocking at the door.

“Aemond? Aria?”

Alicent.

His eye shot open at the voice. Why was she here? How had she known Arianwyn would be here as well?

Arianwyn was nearly thrown off the bed for how quickly he sat up, catching her with a hand on the small of her back. Her heart was pounding for fear that they had been discovered and the anticipation of embarrassment should the Queen enter while she was still naked. “What do we do?” she asked.

Carrying her off the bed, Aemond set her down by the door to his dressing room, but he froze when he realized the solution would not be so easy. “Gods, I have no dresses.”

At the blank, dumbfounded stare on his face, Arianwyn recalled a story Aegon had once told about a man who ‘had his brains fucked out.’ She had always thought it to be an exaggeration.

Perhaps not.

She moved to the end of her bed to don her shift and dress from last night, though it was still stained with blood.

“No,” Aemond called, taking her hand and leading her away from the ruined, wrinkled silk on the floor. He knew they had no time for him to fumble with the interminable laces of the confounded thing. “I have a dressing gown… somewhere.”

“I will find it,” she answered, slipping into the dark room housing all his clothing. “And for you?”

“…Trousers!” he said after a prolonged silence, wherein he had nearly forgotten the word.

Arianwyn nearly snorted. Her husband was a clever man indeed.

It took her a moment to sort through the dressing room in the dim light of the morning, but she eventually found a pair of trousers and a black silk dressing gown. Even when she tied the robe, she had to hold it closed with her hands. Aemond was so much taller than her that her arms disappeared entirely in the massive sleeves, and the large pockets sat at her mid-thigh.

He smiled when she reentered the room, a new haze of desire coming over his face as he donned the trousers. Then, as though he had not just been pressed against her fully naked form, he licked his lips in hunger at the sliver of exposed skin on her chest.

“Aemond?” Alicent called again.

“A moment, mother!” he shouted back. After securing his eyepatch, he approached Arianwyn, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “Are you ready?”

She brushed her hand against the leather patch, sad to see the sapphire hidden, but nodded and gave him a hesitant smile. “As I will ever be.”

With a swift kiss to her forehead, he led them out of his – their – bedchamber.

And straight into his mother’s waiting arms.

Alicent was a small woman, yet she somehow managed to wrap her arms around them both and squeezed so tight that they winced.

“Oh, my dears!” she exclaimed, pulling back to look at their blushing faces. “I could hardly believe it when Maester Orwyle told me the news, but here you both are!”

Aemond had thought he would never see his mother smile so brightly again. It was simply infectious. He clasped his hand against her arm. “I am sorry we did not wake you,” he said. “But we were quite hurried.”

“Orwyle mentioned something of the like,” the Queen sighed, releasing the couple and looking back to the Grand Maester, still standing awkwardly by the door to the apartments.

“With your permission,” he said, bowing his head, “I would like to confirm the consummation.”

Arianwyn gripped Aemond’s hand harder, unsure what such confirmation would entail. She had heard tale of what was done to women who had their virginity called into question, and she was not eager to experience the same.

The Maester spied the movement and held up a hand to calm her. “I require nothing of you, Princess Arianwyn. I wager I will find all the proof I need within the bedchamber. If you will excuse me?”

Slightly embarrassed, she nodded, allowing Aemond to lead her to the couch by the hearth while Orwyle passed through to the bedchamber.

The Queen took her seat in a stuffed armchair, picking at the skin around her nails while she inspected the dark bruises and cuts on Arianwyn’s jaw and neck. “Aria, will you tell me what happened?”

Suddenly finding herself shaking, Arianwyn hesitated to speak. But then Aemond pressed his leg against hers and took her trembling hands in his, and she felt nearly as strong as she had when she plunged the shears through Daemon’s hand.

She told the Queen everything. Every detail she knew about his rape of her mother. The threats he had made, both on Dragonstone and here in King’s Landing. How he had wrapped his hand around her throat so tight his nails drew blood and tried to strangle her, only to be stopped by the embroidery shears she had hidden in her skirts.

She could not explain how she got away, not when Daemon was so much faster than her. Nor could she recall precisely how she had ended up in the library, under a table with her tears staining an ancient tome.

But she remembered exactly how Aemond had looked when he appeared, the fear and relief in his eye when he saw she was alive and relatively well. She would never forget a single detail of the wedding ceremony itself, from the reverence in Aemond’s voice to the sight of the moonlight on the Weirwood’s red leaves.

The specifics of what came next, she left vague. That particular knowledge belonged only to her and Aemond. But she assured the Queen that the marriage was consummated, a fact soon confirmed by Maester Orwyle.

“I am relieved to hear it,” Alicent said, “It will leave Daemon with little cause to oppose the union.”

Though she had maintained her calm demeanor throughout Arianwyn’s tale, Aemond was simmering with rage. His wife had revealed details he had not known, things she had left out of her letters. He stared into the smoldering embers of the hearth, focusing only on calming his breathing and the fire in his blood that seared through his scar.

“Do you think he will?” Arianwyn asked, “Oppose our marriage?”

Aemond scoffed, the left side of his face beginning to twitch and burn as his emotions ran higher and higher. “Of course, he will.”

“But he will not succeed,” Alicent countered, her voice firm. “Your father is still abed, exhausted by the events of yesterday. The Hand and I shall sit the throne today, and we shall ensure that he fails.”

While Aemond seemed assured by his mother’s confidence, Arianwyn was not. That had been the plan for the petition yesterday, and the King had miraculously risen to defend Lucerys’ claim.

Besides, it was not only their marriage was not the only thing he would bring before the court.

“I stabbed him,” she murmured. “I stabbed the King’s brother, the consort to the Princess of Dragonstone and Heir to the Iron Throne. That is not something that can be so easily dismissed.”

For that, the Queen had no answer.

Aemond had only praise for his wife's actions, but his admiration would not change the fact that she had broken the law.

Orwyle cleared his throat. “To my knowledge, Prince Daemon has not sought the aid of any Maesters to treat his wound. Should he wish to prosecute the matter, surely he would have sounded an alarm.”

It was sound logic. Daemon was not one to keep the secrets of others. Not when he stood to gain from exposing the truth.

But the truth was not what the Rogue Prince was after, Aemond thought as a starling realization came over him.

Daemon only wanted to hurt his daughter.

“The shears,” he declared.

Alicent’s brow furrowed. “What about them?”

“We never found them. Only the blood.”

Arianwyn was shaking with fear when she rose from the couch and tore open the door to their chambers, startling her guards.

“Where is Brynna?”

Next Chapter

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arc-misadventures · 2 years

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So for the dragon faunus fic I have an idea for it:

Dragons like hoarding stuff right whether it be gold or people like princesses. So what does Jaune hoard is it comics gold or something else

The Dragon’s Hoard

Coco: So, I heard you have a hoard of treasure.

Jaune: Like piles of gold coins that I can rest upon?

Coco: Yeah, so do you have a giant pile of gold you sleep on?

Jaune: No, I don’t; Besides, sleeping on a giant pile of gold sounds like it would hurt. I mean, it’s a pile of metal disks.

Coco: Oh, so you don’t have a hoard then?

Jaune: Actually… Now that I think about it, I actually do have a dragons hoard of treasure… I just thought I was a collector, not a hoarder…

Coco: Oh, really? What do you hoard?

Weiss: Money?

Ruby: Comics?!

Nora: Secret pancake recipes?!

Yang: A harem of sexy woman~?

Jaune: Uhh… Technically yes. I do have a large collection of comics, but that’s not my hoard. And, no I don’t have any secret pancake recipes. As for the harem… Well… It’s a work in progress…

Yang: Oh really now~?

Blake: Our odds are ever increasing~!

Velvet: He better hop me good, and hard~!

Coco: You better not…

Jaune: I’m the one who’s gonna get hopped, stop blaming me!

Weiss: Enough with the harem nonsense. What is it that you hoard?

Jaune: Precious gemstones!

Yang: Gemstones?

Coco: Like diamonds?

Jaune: Diamonds, emeralds, rubies, the gems, and sapphires! Likes these!

(Thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk!)

Several precious gemstones suddenly fall out of, Jaune’s sleeves. The shock of the ladies at the table at the sights of these precious gemstones was mesmerizing. But, the shear size of these gemstones sent chills of shock, and awe coursing through their spines.

Jaune: See? My, precious, precious gemstones~!

Yang: Uuuuuuuuhhhhh?!!

Ruby: That ruby is as big as an peach?!

Blake: That emerald is bigger than an avacado?!

Coco: That saphire is the size of a lemon…?

Velvet: That diamond is as large as a apple?!

Jaune: Yeah, I have way, way more than this, and many other type of gems as well. But, these four are just my favourites! I like to have them around me because they make me happy!

Weiss: Okay… B-Besides the fact that you somehow had those hidden up your sleeves?!

Jaune: Death will take me before I tell you how I hide my precious’s!

Weiss: But, that diamond… I-Is that the, Translucent Apple…?

Yang: The, Translucent Apple?

Weiss: It’s the worlds largest fine cut diamond the world has ever seen! It’s worth a king’s ransom, and a half!

Jaune: Oh, I would be a surprise, but considering someone of your background it makes sense you would know your precious gemstones. But, yes: Tis indeed the, Translucent Apple!

Weiss: T-Then that, emerald… I-It’s the, Gaia’s Seedling?!

Jaune: Yep!

Yang: Nice name…

Weiss: The sapphire… T-The Tear of the Sea?!

Velvet: Its as blue as his eyes…

Coco: Could rename it the, Dragons Eye now.

Nora: Ohh, nice!

Jaune: Smart cookie dat one is!

Weiss: And, the ruby… I-Its the B-Blood Stone…?!

Ruby: Ohh~! i like that name!

Jaune: Four for four! You win!

Weiss: …

Weiss: You’re the, Lapidary Master… The worlds most skilled gemstone cutter… The owner of Gem Refinery…?! The world’s largest supplier of raw minerals, refined metals, and precious gemstones… One of the richest people in the world…?!

Jaune: Yep, that’s me!

Weiss: Ohh…

(Thud!)

Ruby: Weiss?!

Jaune: Oh… Is she dead?

Blake: No, she just fainted…

Yang: Wait, since you collect precious metals, do you have a stash of gold?

Jaune: Yep!

Yang: So you do have a hoard of gold coins!

Nora: And, you sleep on it!

Jaune: No, I have a hoard of gold bars, not coins.

RYN: Why not?!

Jaune: Well, who uses minted coins for money any more?

RYN: …

Nora: Good point.

Jaune: Besides, its blocks of metal, that doesn’t sound comfortable to sleep on.

Yang: Like sleeping on a plank of wood.

Jaune: Yeah, pretty much.

Ruby: So… Uhh… Can I hold the, Blood Stone, Jaune?

Jaune: Sure you can!

Ruby: Really! Than…?!

Jaune: As soon as I remove it from your arm that is~!

RBYNCV: …

Yang: D-Did you just threaten to remove, Ruby’s hand…?

Jaune: Yes.

Blake: Your kidding, right? I mean, if I touch the emerald…?!

Blake barely had time to remove her hand before, Jaune’s talon hand slammed down on the table, tearing a frightening deep groove in the table as his hands encompassed his gem’s. His eyes shined with a madness that sent chills down their spines, as he glared upon them cautiously, and threateningly.

Jaune: BACK! Back away all of you! Death follows those who dare take my precious’s!

The group of ladies could only keep their hands in the air as they gulped nervously as, Jaune’s personality took such a violent, and deranged shift. Fortunately for them, someone who could manage, Jaune in this derange state finally came forward to save them.

: Jauney dear I heard you had some… fun with, Pyrrha. So, when can I expe…? What’s going on?

Nora: Mom, thank Gods you’re here!

RBYCV: Mom?

Nora: Jaune was showing us his precious stones, now he’s gone mad!

Juniper: Ahh, that explain that. Yeah, Jaune doesn’t like anyone touch his stones.

Coco: You don’t say.

Blake: He nearly cut my hand with his talons!

Ruby: He threatened to cut my hand off if I did!

Juniper: And, worse if you actually took it from him.

Velvet: He would?

Juniper: Oh yeah; When it comes to, Jaune’s gems, he will gut you if he sees you as a threat to his gemstones.

Velvet: S-Seriously…?

Juniper: He’s done it before. Luckily it was a bunch of bandits that attacked one of his supply convoys. He wouldn’t do it to his family, but the snarling fangs, and flames aren’t much better…

Ruby: Oh gods!

Yang: Okay… So, how do we get him to stop?

Juniper: Don’t worry girls, I’ve got this. Jaune Luna Arc!

Jaune: Rahhhh!

Juniper: Don’t you growl at me young man! How dare you treat your friends like this! Who even taught you such terrible manners?

Jaune: …

Jaune: You did.

Juniper: What?! I would never do such a thing!

Jaune: Well, not directly, but you did.

Juniper: I would not! What makes you think I would do that?

Jaune: Mmmm… I believe you said: “Get your filthy hands off my man you skank before I gut you like a fish you bitch.”

Juniper: …

Juniper: Oh…

Nora: Wow… Mom is awesome!

Yang: Okay, how is she your mom?

Jaune: …

Juniper: …

Juniper: So, can I expect grandbabies soon, or…?

Ruby: So she’s just going to ignore all of… That?

Coco: Probably for the best.

Yang: Wait… Pyrrha… Grandchildren… You slept with, Pyrrha didn’t you!

Jaune: Yes.

Nora: Why don’t you think she’s not here; Girl can’t feel her legs after, Jaune was finished with her.

RBYV: …

RBYV: WHAT?!!

Coco: Nice~!

#rwby #jaune arc #yang xiao long #blake belladonna #nora valkyrie #pyrrha nikos #weiss schnee #ruby rose #juniper arc #jaune x pyrrha #pyrrha x jaune #rwby arkos

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dothemindything · 7 months

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BROKEN MIRROR, SHARDS AGLITTER, SHOW DISTORTED IMAGE. WOBBLING LIKE THAT, ABSOLUTELY SICK WITH IMBALANCE, THE SAME SIGHT OSCILLATES WILDLY. REALITY WAVERS, I PIERCE MY FINGER, AND IT'S THE ENSUING STREAM THAT SWALLOWS OUT HIS MISIDENTIFICATION.

EMERALD, RUBY, SAPPHIRE. THEY CAN SLIP DOWN, BUT I'LL KNOW THE DIFFERENCE.

NAME, FACE, SOUL. THEY CAN TRY TO WEAR YOU, SKIN SHEARED AND MISSHAPEN, BUT I WILL KNOW THE DIFFERENCE.

#muse

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shinysparklesapphires · 1 year

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At your service M'lady

Chapter 1

cw: Royal au, mentions of war Barisapph mainly

"My Lady, you've rejected countless suitors already, when will you choose one to be your husband?" Navi, the royal attendant, looked completely exhausted, look back at the red haired princess sitting on her throne. "They all bore me. Besides, there's only one man I have my eyes on…" Sapphire had stood up from her throne to look out the window, where a certain blue-haired knight was sitting in the garden. "My Lady, we've been over this, you cannot marry a commoner like him.." Navi kept rambling on, but Sapphire just stared off at her love, not listening to a word he said "blah blah blah blah you must marry a noblemen, blah blah blah it's for the good of the kingdom, blah blah blah, besides, you've never even met him, blah blah blah blah-" "Sapph!" she was brought back to reality by Navi snapping a finger in her face. "you know it's rude to speak to your future queen like that Callidryas." "I don't care, you ain't queen yet!" he chuckled, earning him a light punch on the shoulder from Sapphire. "Anyway, I'm going to the flower garden, don't tell Pheebs where I'm going!" as she walked off, leaving Navi there. "What am I going to do with her?" Navi sighed. As Sapphire entered the garden, the man was already gone. "Hey Princess!" Sapphire heard a familiar voice as she entered the gardens. "Flori!" she turned to see the pink haired groundskeeper, who was holding a pair of shears. "Shouldn't you be like, choosing a husband or something?" Florianne leaned back against the gate. "It's not that easy, Florianne." "What do you mean?" Sapphire held her face in her palm, "Most Noblemen are pathetic scum, who only want money or power. They never talk about anything interesting either. If I get one more half assed compliment, I'm going to lose it." Florianne got down on one knee and extended his arm out dramatically. "Oh fairest lady of the fair, would you consider taking my hand in marriage forever and ever, stay with me, from dusk till dawn?" She snickered, "That was one of the cringiest things I've ever heard" "Thanks, I tried" Florianne giggled. "Hey, have you seen a man with blue hair anywhere around here?" Florianne thought for a moment. "No I haven't, sorry. I'll tell you if I do though," She smile at him and walked off. When she returned to the throne room she saw the blue haired man, along with Navi, who looked just as shocked as her. The man walked towards her, and kissed her hand, "Hello princess, from now own, I will be your personal guard, at Lady Pheobe's request." Sapphire glared at the little girl behind him, who gave her a cheeky grin. "Dammit," she thought. "My Lady, it's for your own good," Pheobe started, "Our lines of defense have been getting weaker, and you are our only heir, we can't risk it." Sapphire sighed, "Fine." As her new "bodyguard" walked her to her room, she got a better look at him, his navy blue eyes, his long silky sky blue hair, his- "We're here My Lady." she looked at the door to her room. "Ah, thank you…" "Baritone. That's my name." "Thank you, Baritone. Goodnight." "Goodnight My Lady."

DO NOT PUT MY WORKS INTO ANY AI.

tags: @i-like-forgs @twistwonderlanddevotee @officialdaydreamer00

#sapphy's baritone stuff

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rswllthtndswll · 8 months

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Bonded and Blighted: The Burned Library

Azure… sapphire …cerulean… a puff of cream breaking me from my constant trance. My eyes fall downwards to more puffs of cream, I've been tending to this flock since I retired from Baldur's Gate. Feeding, shearing, rearing, breeding… this is the… gods, 42nd generation from my first line?

From the first wet, shaking lamb I pulled from it's ewe I've been minding them… and their kids… and the grandkids… and the kids of the grandkids… and so on and so forth for ages. The first few decades were great, building the ranch up, carefully pruning the flock for traits, shipping them to villages and towns all over the realm but this is what it falls down to: staring at puffs of cream on green, or staring at puffs of cream on blue.

The days blend together as I gaze into the sky, the constant mixing of clouds pulling me deeper into the trance. The weeks blend, the years, the decades and yet the sky never yielded its hold on me. Gazing at the wide, impossible blue I begin to see it shake--no vibrate? Hum. It's humming and I can't shake my gaze; in the static I see symbols… dots and lines like constellations across the midday horizon. I'm paralyzed, desperately making sense of the symbols and the humming only to be freed by the searing light of the sun as it crosses the static.

I run to the stream and fall in, soothing the burn, blinded and bewitched by the hum still constant in my ears. It's incessant as I wink the water out of my eyes, and I see it. The light dancing off the ripples, the silt I kicked up clearing, the rocks settling into the bed and I SEE it. The patterns dancing across the stream were the same I saw in that haze. I throw myself onto the bank, clawing the grass away to scribe the message in dirt. The constellations… the notes? Is this… music?

My eyes dart across the ground as I translate the symbols into a key; reading it I realize it's playing in my ears already… the humming.

The hum that rattled through me in that trance was something, someone, trying to speak. I spent the next weeks dragging my guitar through the hills, accompanying the humming still rattling in my head. Over the months I start to see more patterns, I try to translate as I sight-read. The more patterns I see, the longer the hum in my mind gets. What was once a single key is now a score… no symphony looping through my ears, eyes, and mind. I needed to see more, know more about this song: I questioned the villages I traded with; did interviews in the towns I delivered to; handed off the flock to hired hands and haunted the conservatories I could reach. As I searched I found footnotes and whispers of Celio Caelum… the celestial song.

They say the Celio Caelum is the voice of the universe, the vibrations running through all that was and ever will be. No one has record of any score, ballad, or songbook of Celio Caelum but the songs of its power were plenty. Aside from spells and cantrips, the Celio Caelum can conjure a way into the farthest realms. There I'll be able to find the source, and reach back into the cosmos that shook me to my core. My hunt took me from adventure to adventure, eventually I found myself in a ruined temple of Oghma. Hidden in the wilderness, I snuck and slaughtered my way through kobolds to the inner sanctum. A massive library, filled floor to ceiling with carved bookcases wrapped in overgrown vines, curling to the stained glass window stretching from the center of the ceiling to the farthest end of the hall. Scouring the shelves for every history textbook and songbook I could carry, I found that the kobolds did much more than drink the cellar dry. They had started shredding the collection to use the papers for kindling, rolling papers, and to eugh- wipe themselves.

After hours of scouring the halls of the temples, scouring texts and retrieving pages from kobold innards I had finally pieced together my most promising lead: The summoning instructions for a powerful, wish-granting entity…or rather that's what I could glean from the broken infernal texts. It definitely described an ancient creature that seemed more benevolent than most things coming out of the Hells. As I assembled the last pieces to the ritual and read from blood soaked pages, the sanguine sigils around me sparked and popped, lighting aflame as I dragged my blade across my hand. As my blood hit the center of the circle and I uttered the last scripted sentence I found myself surrounded by an emerald inferno, parted by a VERY angry… Tiefling?

A massive frame topped with a crown of wild ebony hair and pointed, bloody horns marched through the flames. They grabbed me by the throat, lifting me above their head with a dappled, lilac hand. I kicked and struggled under their gripped as they roared, their booming voice reverberating through the library and drowning out the constant hum in my ears.

"Who summons Abaddon, spawn and champion of Malador, Lord and Master of The House of Wrath?" I started clawing at the hand around my neck when I was dropped to the cold tile " You have whipped my essence across the realms for what? To writhe in lizard viscera?" I scrambled back from Abaddon as his tail whipped across the floor, striding as I pulled myself up using the bookshelves surrounding us. "Look, I don't want any trouble I'm just looking for information--" I couldn't help but shrink back from the Teifling as they loomed over me, barking over my explanation "Did you not read the text? I am not the original demon bound to this ritual, look at me, I am no scholar. I did not wait patiently to be summoned to… what is this place, a bookstore? You summoned a gladiator to read you stories?" Reaching for the notebook tucked into my waistband, my hand was wrenched and slammed into the stone shelf behind me. As Abaddon ripped the notebook out of my hand I noticed the chain hanging from the neck of his harness back to the center of the summoning circle. "What is this chicken scratch, why is it soaked in…FILTH!?" The mountain of a man flicked the notebook to the ground and released me, wiping his hands on their leather pants.

"I uh…had to improvise? See the kobolds in this library have been using the books for… I'm sorry can we start over? I know you're not exactly a regular person but I just can't with the power play nonsense when you're chained to the circle like that." Finally, the Tiefling met my eyes without malice but rather confusion and disgust. "I am bound to the circle by this chain until the summoner states their desire. Fertile land, a playmate, the heads of their enemies but never have I been asked for information. State your query and--" Blinding, bright lights of agony rip through my eyes as I scream and fall to the floor. I shake and writhe against the cool tile, it's soothing touch I start slamming my head against it with the thoughtless desperate need for that coolness to pass through my skull and ease the inferno in my brain.

I see flashes of merchant docks. I'm gagged by the smell of fish and fall backwards into the darkness, rising back to my feet and waning forward I see… A giant knight with a shield. I'm falling down and as my face pounds through the pavement I'm twirling through the air, falling deep into a pitch black well. I smell…ale? Fried food and vinegar? There's people laughing and screaming and someone's trying to tell me I…I haven't paid! Oh gods I'm falling down to the Undermountain at the Yawning Portal, I'm in Waterdeep! YES, my gods yes! I feel the rush of release as my body stops seizing and I'm back on the library floor, a wave of euphoria rushes from my eyelids through to the back of my skull and the hair on my neck stands stiff as I rise with shaking arms to meet the fiend's gaze.

His eyes are wide, the emerald blaze from the circle climbs up the chain to his neck but he doesn't move. He's not moving, gods the fire is closing in on his collar! I leap from the floor, snatching the chain from his neck and screaming as the metal sears into my flesh. Abaddon rips the chain from my hands, peeling the skin of my palm with it and covers his hand over the wound. A flash of blue light and suddenly the only pain left is a dissipating heat that melts into the warm glow of newly grown flesh. "I am…I am unbound. Elf you did not state your desire, why did you unchain me?" His hands are tight around my shoulders now, not the crushing grip of before but more like concern. I feel like I'm about to be scolded by Buttons, not thrown against the wall like a ragdoll. "I don't know?? I was coming up from a migraine and you were about to be lit on fire with that stupid look on your face. What did you want me to do?" Abaddon rises, lifting me by the shoulders with him to stay level with those burning pits he calls eyes "I want you to state your desire. Why did you summon me, Elf?" My eyes dart everywhere to not meet his gaze, "I-uh-I need to get a book in Waterdeep." He pulls me in closer "You will not sell your soul for a shopping trip. " "I'm not selling my soul at all! Look, I know it's not all about souls with you people, I can get you whatever you want! Just get me to Waterdeep and help me get the info I need and whatever you want, you'll have it! Deal?" Abaddon's eyes are latched onto mine, I don't think he's blinked since I came up from my seizure.

He slowly lowers me as he speaks, "What I want." he whispers as my toes graze the floors "I want to… I need to be… Where are we?" My feet swing until they find solid grip on the tile below "We're somewhere in the Snake woods, in west Faerun." The fiend closes his eyes for the first time since I've met them "I want to stay in Faerun. For safe passage to Waterdeep, you will follow my instructions to keep me on this plane. Do you accept?" "What do you need me to do?" My head lolls back as Abaddon stretches his arms out, pushing backwards on my toes "You will carry my summon and resummon me immediately if I perish. You will guide me through this realm, then you will settle me in your home." So the next piece of the puzzle for a travelling mate? He's definitely big enough, and he said he's some sort of champion? He could get me out of this forest and through Elturgard without breaking a sweat. "Deal. Do I resummon you like this?" I nod over to the green blaze slowly eating it's way through vines attached to the stained glass "No." My feet are lifting off the ground again but his gaze at me is still the same as the smoke rises. It's… it's not rising, we are! We're lifting above the shelves, following the stained glass scroll to it's origin in the middle of the ceiling and push through the ruined panel of the hand holding a scrawling image of the blank script tumbling over the dome into what used to be the garden.

We land softly on an iron beam supporting the last fragments of the glass panes, he finally releases my shoulders as his tail lifts two books to his outstretched palm. "You will use this," he hands me my notebook with a blank page set, flipping what's left of his summoning book in the other to the final page "to transcribe this in your blood over lavender ink." It's a massive symbol accented with infernal text, he pulls a pot of ink out of the air. He dips a single claw in and with a purple blur the intricate summon is perfectly remade in my notes. Abaddon turns the notebook right-side to me and presses his clawed thumb into my fingertip, piercing it- which paints the parchment in red blush as I drag it along the fresh ink. "In the event that I perish, recite the text and bleed in the center." His claw is dragging over the infernal text… and I'm picking up every fourth or fifth word. "Okay, but first: get me off of this roof. Second: Tell me what this says, I can barely make out something about Minauros and Dis in here."

I take a step towards him, immediately tripping over another hole in the glass and tumbling down the side of the dome head first. I close my eyes and brace for impact that never comes. Abaddon is holding me five feet from the ground by my ankle, he tilts his head at me and I finally get a glimpse at one of those massive shining, white fangs cluttering his mouth "You're one of those "clowns" I've heard of here, aren't you?" He gently lowers my head into my hat lying below me "It's Beau, actually."

#bg3 tav #bg3 oc #dnd #dnd oc #wood elf #cambion #bonded and blighted

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anantradingpvtltd · 2 years

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Price: [price_with_discount] (as of [price_update_date] - Details) [ad_1] Restores the razor's edge on any blade in just seconds Get a second life out of your knives, scissors and other household products with the Sharp cordless multipurpose blade sharpener. Equipped with a professional-grade, high-speed sharpening stone, the Sharp restores the razor's edge on any blade in just seconds, from knives to scissors to small hand tools. The built-in guide holds the blades at the perfect angle, and a catch tray underneath collects all the metal shavings. Use it on steak knives, serrated knives, hedge shears and more. This incredible motorized knife sharpener includes a safety slot for different functions and has a removable attachment for all your sharpening needs — big or small. Professional grade, high-speed rotating sapphire stone shapes and hones the blade Compact design for easy storage Safe and easy to use Professional grade, high-speed rotating sapphire stone shapes and hones the blade Ideal for chef knives, carving knives, bread knives, steak knives, paring knives, filet knives, cheese knives, choppers, cleavers, scissors, precision tools and more! Cordless, motorized blade sharpener Runs on 4 AA batteries ( Not Included ) [ad_2]

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keyto2023 · 2 years

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Multi-channel Rotary Shear Valve Explanation Draft

Hello, I'm Xiaoyong, and I'm glad to bring you guys another new Keyto product sharing. What I wanna share today is the multi-channel rotary shear valve series product, which is self-developed by Keyto.

Rotary valves have different names in the market, such as rotary shear valve, distribution valve, switching valve, etc. They are commonly used in the working environment where laboratory analytical instruments, water quality testing instruments, medical instruments, etc., which require switching the direction of multiple fluids flow. According to the function, rotary valves can be categorized into selective rotary shear valves and sampling rotary shear valves. The selective rotary shear valve is the connection that one channel is connected to multiple channels, and the sampling rotary shear valve is the connection between two channels.

The rotary shear valve products are mainly used to switch the direction of multiple channels of fluid. For example, the rotary shear valve of one channel with multiple selections works with a central port public channel connecting the stator and rotor for switching between channels, achieving the fastest response times of less than 130ms for adjacent positions and less than 780ms for the furthest position. When we use rotary shear valves together with pump products, fluid handling methods such as one-inlet and multiple-outlet, multiple-inlet and one-outlet can be realized.

Keyto multi-channel rotary shear valve can be categorized into long lifetime model and regular model according to the service life. For long lifetime models, medium materials in contact with the fluid include PCTFE valve head, ceramic stator, and sapphire rotor. For the regular model, the medium materials in contact with the fluid include PCTFE valve head, PEEK stator, PTFE rotor. Both the stator and rotor are corrosion-resistant and wear-resistant. If you have any special reagent tolerance requirements, please feel free to contact us. Keyto supports customized material.

#rotary #shear #valve

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merryastheday · 2 years

Link

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Weisinger's of Calfornia Fur Coat ~Sheared Beaver w/ Mink Collar ~ Bust Size 42.

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dragons-bones · 2 years

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FFXIV Write Entry #2: Tailor’s Tools

Prompt: bolt || Master Post || On AO3

Before she does anything else, Tataru takes out a small notebook, bound in aldgoat leather, worn down into buttery softness from age and use. She leafs through the pages, idly noting the names and numbers on each, before she finds the correct one. It’s a moment to clean the measurements listed and replace them with the new ones she took less than a bell ago.

The next thing she does is gather the relevant supplies: tracing paper, scissors, and the greatcoat pattern she had modified for Alakhai.

It’s soothing, tracing out the pattern and then making adjustments based on the new measurements, a type of meditation not even balancing the Scion accounts allows her to achieve. Just a shade narrower in the shoulders and hips; the Xaela had gone lean, and nothing but a perfect fit would do for one of her Warriors of Light. Tataru will keep this tracing paper pattern rather than create a new one in proper pattern paper for now.

Her scissors glide through the tracing paper, and once the pieces are cut out, it’s time to choose the wool.

Tataru’s personal stocks of cloth are extensive; sewing is both a passion and a business opportunity, after all. If there’s one thing she misses about the Waking Sands, it’s that it’s no longer as easy to go into Ul’dah and peruse the cloth stalls on Sapphire Avenue or the finest of the Weavers’ Guild creations. She owns many wools, and she has the perfect one in mind for this project.

The wool is thick, and appropriately enough, La Noscean; it will be perfect for protecting Alakhai against the cold winter winds that blow in off the Indigo Deep and through the Lominsan boardwalks. The previous one Tataru had made for Alakhai had been dark blue, but this roll she heaves down off the shelf and onto her workbench is a stormy grey, just a few shades shy of black. She has another wool, mohair, dyed a rich plum, that will serve well as the greatcoat’s lining, but that she will cut later.

She spaces out the pattern pieces carefully on the wool, and then places her weights to keep everything in place, and then it’s time to outline in tailor’s chalk. She needs to climb onto the worktable to do so—the downside of having so short a torso and legs, but a challenge she has overcome many times before. The rhythm is soothing and she falls into it without fuss.

Tataru can’t go into battle with her Scions and Warriors of Light; that isn’t where her skills lay, and she would be a liability. But she has crafted their armor, the robes and coats and tunics and gambesons they don before striding forth to save the star over and over again, commissioned the realms finest mages and weaponsmiths to create their weapons.

With every cut of her shears, she whispers a prayer of protection. With every stitch she sews, she hopes she’ll see her family come home safe and sound. She weaves her love and her worries into the clothing she makes, weaves actual magic—simple cantrips to prevent tears and lost buttons, heavy wards to repel blasts of magic or monstrous claws—into the seams and hems and embroidery. It isn’t foolproof, nothing is, as she has bitterly learned over the years, but she is Ul’dahn, and she will stack the deck in favor of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn as much as she is able, from greasing the correct palms to blackmailing a surly pirate to sewing a warm coat.

A greatcoat like this is purely for warmth, but as Tataru begins to cut the wool, she knows she will put all of her usual efforts into its creation as if Alakhai was going to wear it into battle. And gods only know that she still might—one can never be too careful, she reasons to herself, especially when it will be worn by an Upright Thief. The armscyes are already adjusted to accommodate the Xaela needing to wield her knives at a moment’s notice, but protections to deflect an enemy’s blade won’t go amiss. And if Alakhai looks sleek and intimidating in a perfectly tailored greatcoat, as well? That’s just a happy bonus.

The Scions and Warriors of Light deserve the world. Tataru can’t give it to them—yet—but she can give them the means to keep protecting it, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant.

Even the smallest can change the world.

PREVIOUS PROMPT || NEXT PROMPT

#ffxivwrite2022 #final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #tataru taru #dt's writing

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pinespittinink · 2 years

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❛ i shouldn’t allow myself to get this close to you. ❜

Some In the Deep of the Trees for you cammie! Anden is a new character less than four days old (lmao); we’re going to see if his name sticks but I thiiiink it will for now.

{ subtle smut sentence starters }

🖤 Titus & Anden 💦

“I shouldn’t allow myself to get this close to you,” Anden remarks. He tilts his head to the side, long fingers playing against the lip of Titus’s shirt.

“Why?” Titus replies. His voice is sinuous, lapping through the dark. One hand is curled in the other man’s honey-blonde hair, holding him there like an animal caught in a trap.

“As if you aren’t aware,” Anden scoffs. “I wouldn’t be in this mess if I hadn’t gotten too close in the first place.” Anden meets his gaze, hazel of the sun shearing through the height of the trees Titus has only dreamed of. Blue crystal lights around his irises, a sapphire flame, and Titus thinks of the sky and the rumors of its vastness. “Besides, if I’m not careful enough, I think you might just eat me alive.”

It’s Titus’s turn to scoff this time, trenched with derision. Anden’s pupils darken as Titus lengthens the cut of his nails in his hair, sharp above the nape of his neck.

“I have no reason to devour you, Anden,” he says. “Your death would serve me no purpose. All my leverage upon you is linked to your breathing life.”

“True enough,” Anden replies, “but you may devour me yet.”

“I may,” Titus agrees, black with velvet and the serration of a knife, weighted and sure. “You’ve demonstrated it already before. You’ve no sense of self-preservation great enough to stop me.”

He kisses Anden full on the mouth, consuming. Anden meets him with vigor, one hand reaching up to lance itself through the decadent fabric at Titus’s back. It’s stripped away under the presence of the droonlight, Titus’s bare back a broad thing, dark amber rippling over muscle as he rests on his knees above Anden upon his bed, buried in him deep as Titus pins him down by a hand at his neck and the small of his back. He fucks him violently, no kindness in the action of it, not even a petal left to be shredded. Anden bucks back against him, the onslaught laid over him like rot, air punched from his lungs as he gasps and fists the abyss of the sheets, silk snaring between his fingers.

When he reaches for himself, pawing back between his legs, Titus tears his hand away with a snarl, gathering them both at the small of his back and forcing Anden down further, mouth popping open as his cheek is pressed against the bed.

“You’re a prick,” he gasps, vitriol slit through his tone like vinegar.

“You’ll come from my cock or not at all,” Titus growls at him in response, jarring Anden up the bed, sheets skewing under his knees. He ruts against him, sweat gathering and dripping down his back, against the length of Anden’s spine, and Titus grips his wrists tight, his other hand smothering in Anden’s pale lychee-honey hair.

He’s made Anden come this way before, untouched and throbbing. He’ll make it happen again. Anden had tried to wield control over him before, secrets lauded against his ribs to feather free across the shadows of the court, and Titus had taken it from him with his own tools—poisons and blackmail and carnal hooks. The only control between them now belongs to him, and Titus will keep it that way, tied tight in his grip like Anden’s breath as he gasps beneath him, fraught through and rippling with arousal and rebellion and dependence.

Anden is right, after all. He did get too close, and now he spends each day living on the tenuous rope of the consequences of his own blind actions.

#aninkwellofnectar #oc: titus #oc: anden #in the deep of the trees #my writing #asks #i thought Anden up while in the car the other day and I really like the dynamic offered between these two #blackmail galore

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