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aldisobey · 2 months ago

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Rook Questionnaire

@emmg yo thanks for the tag! I’m always happy to write too much about Worne. You asked for this k I can’t help but put down the full answer when I have it. I need this raccoon man to find your sewer rat because Nevarra is not good for them. Return him to the streets, get her to the beach, those tombs are freakin me out.

Anyways this is Rook ‘Worne’ Thorne. At this point he’s just Worne lol, I’m going to end up using it in the fic because it’s out of my hands it’s just who he is. Look I don’t plan on writing this info longform so I indulged here since I’m working on lichy epilogue stuff. This is the lovely foundational start I needed today. Enjoy if ya like it’s useful ref for me.

Where in Thedas is your Rook from?

Kirkwall. Specifically Darktown. It was horrible. He misses it dearly.

What is your character’s alignment?

Chaotic Good. He does crimes. They’re good. I’m a sanctioned DM okay I’ll argue this one lol

Race and subclass?

Human Rogue

If your Rook was a companion, where would they be found?

The Weisshaupt mission would go through the prisons for a section and he’s in there. Got a stash of books and literally didn’t know what was happening they forgot him in the drunk tank for fucking with the First Warden. One of the cells is considered his, he likes it fine down there. But hell yeah he’s ready to help out the Veilguard and get the fuck out of the Wardens completely. If he didn’t end up there he’s off duty at a bar in Docktown. Or in the thick of it running dangerous missions for Antoine and Evka in Lavendell.

What emotion did they usually pick?

Laughter. Joy. Where he is in life has never been in his control. Mood is his mastery. He’s choosing to chill and smile whenever he can. Life’s tough enough. Leads to a lack of decorum but he’s a very sincere person. Fuck being polite. If we’re talking what I picked in game options it was a mix. He is very kind and incredibly confrontational when needed arises. But he defaults to sincere joy if he can.

What companion are they platonically close with?

Davrin is his brother. They’re constantly picking at each other and ‘fighting’, messing with Lucanis, they have a running game for who can get the most mierdas in a day, and just being a menace to everyone at the Lighthouse when they get going. Rook looks up to Davrin in a way. Mostly because Davrin really is the expert on monster fighting. That’s sick. He also doesn’t hide his jealousy over not being chosen as a griffon ‘bodyguard’, he ‘steals’ Assan for himself plenty and they usually end up breaking something. But he’s pumped for Davrin’s book and steals figurines for a board game he’s designing. Davrin carves more of the same figurines once he notices and he’ll give him guff about it but he’lll still carve more.

They hold regular workouts with Taash and Worne is regularly handed his ass in any kind of martial training. Like Davrin, Taash, Lucanis, Harding…look, Worne’s excuse is his fighting style is brutal and not made for sparring. Like he’s not going to take out your eye here okay? He swears if this was real he’s winning. It’s doubtful. Davrin is his other platonic half but deep bonds are all around the Veilguard pretty quick, they’re family.

Neve is his beloved queen of an older sister, Lucanis is that quietly hilarious guy you’re actually scared of because he could kill you but he’s hopelessly in love with your sister who is too good for him but they make each other better and he better not fuck it up or you’re egging his ridiculous ass mansion daily. Spite is his bff. Assan is his twin. Bellara is his kid sister and he’s ready to shill her book. Emmrich has banned Bellara and Worne from unsupervised projects together because something always explodes and someone is going to lose an eye.

Taash is a rival that he always loses to, they’re the Goku to his Vegeta, he’s always a level behind and ‘furious’ about it. They’re always good naturedly flipping each other off. Harding is an equal sibling, she knew Varric, she holds a special place almost as close as Davrin, but it’s softer and they spend a lot of time talking and tending the garden together. Emmrich joins them sometimes. I can’t talk Manfred. It hurts.

Romantically close with?

Emmrich. Listen, it was a while on the road with just Varric and Harding, he was touch starved by the time they found the necromancer. This is not his first dalliance with a lover older than himself, that was never a concern. Had that mage clocked for a fun time minutes into meeting. He was not expecting romance. Thought they would have some fun, kill some gods, go on their way. But it very quickly morphed into something way way deeper. Like within weeks they’re living like an old married couple. That companionable ‘alone together’ all the time. They share a deep kindness, curiosity, and love of life. The fact that those core qualities come out in differing hobbies, likes, and manners is a delight to them both.

Of course they do share a near equal amount in common, it’s a nice balance at the end of the day when they want to be tangled up reading on the couch together. Little acts of service were almost immediate between them, just came naturally. Like here, made your cup of tea I was in the kitchen, oh I was in town got your favorite croissant and wouldn’t you know they were selling flowers, did you want to read this paper I finished? Oh is that a stray hair on your jacket, and have you hydrated you’re getting cranky. It’s just very obvious that they’re incredibly mindful of each other. Like second night at gathered dinner Worne knows what to pass Emmrich’s way and vice versa without asking, they’re just doing stuff for each other all the time as if it’s always been that way. They didn’t realize they were doing it, they’re just that way as people and literally couldn’t stop thinking about each other. The rest of the group could see how quick it was before they did. Easier to see the water when you’re not in it, the rest of the Veilguard could see them swimming together from the start.

Worne does see Emmrich as sheltered and naive and needing extra eyes on him outside of Nevarra. Like he’s the oldest of the group but also the most likely to get scammed or stabbed and Worne is ready to kill the person that thinks to try. Emmrich sees Worne as the indomitable chaotic force that he is, and does what he can to pump those breaks lest the Warden burn out. They both deeply care and are trying to keep the other safe in the ways they know how.

They both love how much they have to learn from the other and will yap about their very opposing life experiences and what they’ve gathered from it. At core Worne is dragging Emmrich out of those crypts to come live that ‘adventure’ with him. And Emmrich is trying to make sure Worne stays alive at this point so they can have their quiet (and not) evenings together when the days adventuring is through. Like please do not eat that thing you found on the ground it might carry the disease that does you in.

And they’re both degenerates and loving that. The Veilguard is aware and wish they weren’t so but Worne and Emmrich can’t help it okay they’re fools in love.

(The dynamic is very we can afford a plumber why are you reading a DIY to install the new sink, please I’m taking the car to the mechanic tomorrow how and why did you get the engine out? But oh that does look interesting. Did you have a good time at Paths of Glory night with Johanna? Yes book club was lovely as always. And they do not play board games or any type of games together anymore. It’s not good for their relationship and they know it and respect it. Worne does not like book club because he would rather just be reading.)

Who are they suspicious of?

The Viper. What secrets are under that mask. Those eyes. That voice. Also anyone named Eric. Nobles. Every noble is a suspect. Rich folk as well. Worne is suspicious of anyone with too much wealth, somehow his brain overlooks how rich Emmrich is. He can’t let it register because it would be such a ‘flaw’, like maybe we’re stealing all these things? If he knew the amounts Emmrich had paid on things for him he would lose his goddamn mind. Like go run in Arlathan for a week straight to atone, what has he become. He’s suspicious of wealth, doesn’t care for it, doesn’t value it beyond the security it gives and the power it might have for others safety.

Worne is suspicious of Vorgoth but more in the art scene criminality way than wondering what they might be. They’re a bastard is what they are. They’re a bastard for having a collection that good in private. Myrna isn’t suspicious she is business and he keeps a healthy respectful distance away from that kind of power. For now. He’s starting to figure out how this Necropolis works. He’s suspicious of necromancy as an instinct, and is throwing a hard look at Nevarra because it’s not ‘Emmrich’, it’s something else, he loves Emmrich, he thought Nevarra would be that. It’s not, and he's not sure he likes what he’s seeing. Pretty sure he hates it.

Does your Rook get along with their chosen faction?

Nope. Well, he loves the people. The Wardens are his kin. But he loathes the institution and the managing of it. Despises anything to do with the Joining, blight, darkspawn, and there is a piece deep down that is bitter that he never had a real choice when it came to where his life led. Like this type of thing, the thing he is a part of is wrong, or at least the way it operates and gains new Wardens is. The leadership loathes him, and uses him, but the people within would put their lives on the line for him. He’d hate that. Like he’ll always be a Warden to other Wardens, they’re family forever, but he’s done with the organization by the time he’s with Varric. He never planned on going back. He doesn’t want to fight stuff that makes his blood crawl. Doesn’t want to be anywhere near it. He’d die for the Wardens, but he’d never die for The Grey Wardens if that makes sense.

Are they proficient in playing any instruments?

Nope. But he is quite accomplished at whistling, but that’s a private affair.

Weapon of choice?

Daggers, knives, fists, literally anything in the near vicinity that might help. It’s very chaotic and brutal, there is no rhythm to it. Almost purposefully so, and he seems to risk or take hits to get in close for a lethal bleeding strike.

What is their orientation?

Slut. But a discerning slut. He’s too old to be wasting time with selfish lovers at this point. But if someone is up for learning him he’s game for studying them in a heartbeat.

What are their thoughts on killing? Is it a necessary evil or do they enjoy it?

Necessary. He’s not a pacifist. This is survival here and people are going to do what they can to live. He doesn’t enjoy it. Never has. He’d rather the need for it completely disappear, but he’s not one to hesitate. If it’s us or them he’s making damn certain it’s them. He killed that mayor. Money is never above people and he does not believe in the ‘death or Joining’ choice. He’s not sending anyone to a Joining. Just kill ‘em. He doesn’t care if it makes him a hypocrite.

What hobbies does your Rook have?

He loves reading, he had a hard time hiding his excitement when he realized just how many books Emmrich was moving in with. And that was only part of the collection from home?! That was his main excuse for constantly being in Emmrich’s study, and obviously he’d be quiet and out of the way and he couldn’t take the books out with him they’d get dirty or lost. He was in there as much as possible from day one.

Also loves any type of game and is notorious for never losing and always cheating. Says cheating without getting caught is part of every game, it’s an important lesson to learn. Johanna plays with him. Aware of the ruleset that all cheating goes. You only lose for cheating if you get caught, that’s their only stipulation. Their games are overly long or surprisingly short, and either deadly silent or violently loud, but it’s obvious to everyone they’re having the time of their lives. Their record against each other is neck and neck and no one can stand to play with them.

Emmrich originally tried to stay for a game or stick around for the companionship but he can’t be in the same room. It’s just…no he doesn’t know the rule from appendix F, please stop yelling about weighted dice rolls, for spirits sake would they stop fighting and he can’t think he’s leaving. And that’s when they gossip. Look, they both love Emmrich, they wish he could join in the gossip. But the man can’t lie to save his life, he’s horrible at keeping secrets. They can’t trust him with the best bits for his own safety. They’ll keep yelling about the game in between discussing the latest juiciest gossip Thedas has to offer.

Worne is always down to celebrate, party, bar hop, what have you. Being the party is a hobby alright and he’s practiced. Like he can’t plan well but he’s good at conjuring one if there are enough people and drinks and food. Usually starts with plenty of drinking games and assorted challenges and hijinks and ends with telling or sharing stories. He can’t write, never learned or practiced, but loves to tell a story, he’s proud to say they’re never told the same way twice. Emmrich made him some pens that can write what he dictates and Worne loves them dearly, uses them for bare fact journaling, but it’s just not the same as speaking. He tells stories he doesn’t write books. And he does it in bars. Or at parties. Or really for anyone that might want or needs one. He wants his stories alive in a way, putting them to paper makes them one thing and he doesn’t want that.

He loves being a part of griffon training but is no help. More hindrance than anything but he is fascinated. He’s also an avid runner when it comes to fitness. Running is survival he says and would be the ultra marathon type. When all else has failed running has saved him more often than not. None of the Veilguard can go on runs with him, they’ve tried. Taash is faster, but they can’t run so fast for nearly as long. He’ll just take off and be gone all day to Arlathan sometimes. Loves to see the sights at his own speed. They’re pretty sure that’s when the whistling is practiced at some point, but that’s Worne time you don’t interrupt.

Oh! And very recently he’s taken up gardening and he loves it, just absolutely delights. It started when he went to talk with Harding plenty and he started helping with her collection. Turns out Worne is a natural with plants. He’s better with them than Harding or Emmrich. Plants love Worne like spirits love Emmrich.

What NPCs do they like? Which ones do they dislike?

Okay so he was smitten by Dorian. That take down of the First Warden? The blatant fucking lying to his face? He was done in then. Instant comrades. Take me now thoughts. And listen. I feel like Dorian wouldn’t be able to crack Worne unless he targeted his very blatant weak spot for Emmrich. Like being snarky to Worne will just delight him. A good joke at his expense is an excellent joke. He’ll up the ante on himself. He would be pretty damn defensive of Emmrich if something felt off there, but Worne is one to see charming bluster and respond with delightful sincerity. So he likes going to the Shadow Dragons, he’s desperately trying to get a read on the relationship between Emmrich and Dorian, like what in the world are they now. He’s asking Johanna what that teaching Dorian period looked like for Emmrich but she can’t speak through the laughter.

Not a fan of Strife. He can feel it. The ‘what if’ and he doesn’t like taking Emmrich to Arlathan.

He smuggles illegal cheese for Myrna and has a contentious…something with Vorgoth. Vorgoth mostly ignores him but Worne is not a fan and is frustrated that Vorgoth is keeping their art collection all to themselves. Have a collection but art is for the people, he’s stealing that shit. Antoine and Evka are his parents, Mila is his niece. I have a deep feeling in my chest that Isabella loves him and he loves Isabella. Like maybe she lets him help do the announcements for fights sometimes and he likes to hang out at the pits if it isn’t a Docktown night. He makes fun of her for almost dooming Kirkwall with that theft of hers and laughs about the fixes she made to the Lords because of it. They talk Varric a lot. Worne really did love him, he shaped himself around the dwarf’s stories to survive, credits Varric for who he is. And he loves Rivain, like has a favorite tree hammock to sleep in there but cities hold his heart. Isabella feels like family, like an aunt he goes to visit and she keeps an eye on him since he lost Varric.

The Crows think he is actually insane. Cacophony of mierdas when he strolls in. What the fuck kind of rogue is that no, don’t wear the cape like that. Dear god take the cape off you will fall in the canal. Worne likes Treviso, he saved Treviso, but it’s too ‘rich’ for him. Like wearing tight tailored pants that make you walk funny. The fit is wrong. And he is just way too careless around very dangerous Crow things. Do not give him a fancy knife he will hurt himself messing with it and accidentally drink poison, why would you keep it in such a fancy glass? For some reason the most uninhibited part of his brain flicks on around the Crows and he becomes a ball of unbridled curiosity. He wants to learn about the ‘real rogue stuff’, and dives headlong in without a care for safety, just a desire to know and try and see, but it is not a fit for him. Crow style is the flame to Worne’s moth. They could never take him in as a fledgling, how would they train out those habits? They’re crows, he’s a raccoon.

Do they have a favorite creature in Thedas?

Griffons. He still can’t believe they’re real and back. He praises Assan too much. Inflates that ego to extreme proportions but he loves those weird cat birds and can’t wait until they’re big enough to take him flying in Arlathan. Emmrich is currently working with Bellara on a device that might slow one's descent when falling from great heights. The reality of it is that Worne is not great at caring for the griffons. They’re too alike. He’s too much of a kid around them. Davrin is the adult here, he’s looking after an annoying pair of younger brothers. Worne is not helping go tend to your plants.

Do they enjoy life as an adventurer?

He’s an adventurer? Worne sees himself as a guy. He’s just going from necessary task to necessary task to stay alive. Started with finding food as a kid, and wouldn't you know he has to kill god now or everyone dies, funny how it escalates like that. But yes. He loves life and living it despite everything. He’s not letting his path dictate his mood. That’s the indomitable spirit.

What would your Rook be doing if they weren’t recruited by Varric?

He’d still be out there killing darkspawn as a Warden. Possibly dead at Weisshaupt. Possibly dead in Lavendell. But hopefully hanging out with his parents Antoine and Evka.

How do you think they’ll meet their end?

Oof. He’s terrified of the Calling. And drowning. He’s hydrophobic. Thankfully no more Calling? Looking like he might be able to die old and peaceful at home, I think that’s the dream. I don’t like the alternative.

Would they side with Solas or fight him?

Oh he would tear Solas’ throat out with his teeth if that was a viable option. The only reason he’s willing to work with that traitorous piece of shit in the end is because it’s what Varric would’ve wanted. He doesn’t think about Solas or he’ll get mad. When he sees Dorian the first thing he will do is bring up how much of a shithead Solas is and how much he hates him and they’re off. If you notice Worne doesn’t hate much, he is very much a lover and liker of things. He hates Solas. Even more than he hates nobles and rich folk. He loathes a betrayer. Solas got his happy end, but that’s because Worne respected the fuck out of Lavellan. That was for her, Solas can suck an egg. And he’s going to shit talk her choice with Dorian as therapy, like love her, but fuck can you believe? He’s still mad. About Varric. About the blood magic. Like deeply justly pissed the fuck off over it. But like. Good for them. I guess.

What is your Rook’s favorite ability?

iframes. Hahaha, but no anything that stacks bleed. Cut ‘em up bleed ‘em out.

What languages is your character fluent in?

Common and conversational in dwarven. He’s not to Davrin’s level, but working as a Warden in the Deep Roads as long as he has it’s helpful to learn as much as you can.

What do they do after an absolute crisis?

Chess puzzles now that he has access to the books for it. Or any other game. Varric mentioned that it could be helpful when he was a kid. Recent trauma? Rote task moving pieces, nothing too difficult, puzzles. I like to imagine Thedas has a ‘Go’ equivalent and that’s likely his favorite for it. You could make a board for that out of dirt and stones and you bet he does. Emmrich gets him his first real set after Weisshaupt, Worne needs it. Do not mention how much Emmrich spent on it, that will upset him. Oh and he wants to fuck, go full no thoughts a bit.

Does your character believe in the afterlife?

Nope. He’s killed a lot of people and hasn’t seen any come back. Doesn’t want to. Feels wrong. He honestly doesn’t care to talk about it much to Emmrich’s dismay. It’s one subject that kind of depresses Worne, he’s lost a lot of people. No afterlife, an afterlife, either reality isn’t something he wants to dwell on.

What specialization best represents your Rook?

Duelist. But he is not a fancy fighter, no official training besides what they could give here and there at Weisshaupt, he’s got a lot of bad habits. Varric always said it was his constitution and spirit that kept him alive. Like he’s coming along to fight the gods because the worst flu and situations in Darktown couldn’t take him out and neither could the worst the Warden leadership could send him to. He got into Lucanis’ poisons and declared them ‘spicy’. He’s got Kirkwall’s own luck, but he’s also got it’s blood.

What animal best represents your Rook?

A street dog. You know the type. Can’t quite tell the breed, or the age, but they’ll lead you to the best hiking paths and follow you around town for pets and love. Separating cat fights, walking the streets, getting a snack someone left out for him. Won’t go home with you because he belongs to the world at large but you’ll enjoy all the time he spent with you that day. Ruggedly handsome fellow if not show quality. Like the entire town knows and loves this dog, that’s everyone’s dog. People will let you know that if you get lost just follow that dog and he’ll keep you safe from getting mugged or worse, bring you where you need to go. That kinda street dog. That’s Worne. The raccoon nature is just him as a man, it’s intrinsic.

What was their life like before the events of Veilguard?

Worne’s entire life has been one of survival. Just a series of escalations to this point really. He’s good at keeping the mood light and easy because he’s a frog in the boiling pot, this is just life yeah? He knows how to have joy in the midst of all that mayhem and survival. Like yeah it’s shit, I don’t have to be.

The pipeline was orphan in Darktown, street kid, thief, pickpocket. Varric named him Rook at six and got him into stories and books and would send what jobs he could. From there just kept in that ‘criminal pipeline’ until it led to gallows or Grey Wardens. Hated life as a Warden and let his disgust be known, always sent to the worst most dangerous jobs and always came crawling back with whoever they sent with him. Last job was the final straw but look, Varric needs him. Fuck was he ever excited for that.

Is your character the de facto leader of the party? Or do they consider someone else to be the leader?

Worne is very serious about being the leader, but quietly so he doesn’t talk to anyone about it. Varric called him his second and he holds that with a heavy pride and sense of responsibility. After all, a leader serves, a leader doesn’t ask a follower to do any job they wouldn’t. He’s leading from the front and would never expect anyone else to take up such a dangerous position for him. This is the best way he can keep them all safe, and hey they all have specialities and things they’re very good at that are needed to kill the gods. His job is to keep the group together and on task and alive. Like he’ll take opinions and input. But when push comes to shove on Veilguard issues he will have the last word because that’s his responsibility.

He would rather be gardening, reading, running, playing games or doing nothing in a bar. But he is good at what he does. Varric named him second because he saw that flicker for running a tight group of ‘professionals’ through the worst possible situations. His entire life has been escalating worse scenarios he’s had to survive. He’s got experience with this. He’s not made for large organizations, nah he’s your heist man. He’s going to rob that bank or that art gallery with this group of degenerates. When it’s time for the real professional crime he’s your guy. But Varric would be the only soul that really knows the depth of that. And it’s not because Worne is exceedingly good at planning, he’s exceedingly good at creating and utilizing chaos, and he’ll cheat. He can flood a river so only he can ford it. Not many can stay so calm and lucid within it all but chaos is life for Worne and he swims it natural. To the Veilguard he’s just Worne, they’ve never questioned following him, he’s always there for them and first to the most dangerous task. Like he’s everyone’s big brother and you know he’ll get you home. Once those gods are dead he’s retired though, he’s claiming his rest.

If you could choose a different faction for your Rook, which one would they have joined and why?

You know he’d have the most fun being a poor Lord of Fortune. Like he doesn’t care a wit or a wink for gold but they seem to be having fun over there and he loves Isabella. But in all actuality he knows he’d go to the Shadow Dragons. Cities are home and he wouldn’t be able to rest right knowing he could help and they would take him. The whole mess in Minrathous is eating at him and he wants to fix it. Feels he has to fix it because he chose Treviso didn’t he? He wants to see Dorian in charge of things and help Neve navigate the Threads world with his experience from Kirkwall. Maybe steer away from what messed him up and get it more union style at the docks.

What’s your favorite thing about your Rook?

Look he’s just some guy trying to eat a croissant in peace at the park with his book and he’s waiting on a good chess game. Get him a cigarette and out of Nevarra.

Bonus: some of the characters that inspired him.

Look wise he’s a lower grade Faramir with brown eyes in my head. Personality wise uuuh reading all this holy shit that’s a lot lol, umm I think I based him off that street dog. Ahahaha I’m trying to think of others and I don’t know. I’ll edit in if I think of any but he was inspired by the thought ‘who would support the lich choice when in love?’ And well a besotted Warden terrified of the blight was my answer. These two idiots fucked up. This was a lovely break from that.

#veilguard spoilers #rook x emmrich #emmrich volkarin #rook worne #dragon age the veilguard #emmrook #dragon age #datv spoilers #datv #emmrich x rook #emmlich #tag game #if I’m quiet on tumblr it’s good it means I’m writing hahaha #pls let your sewer rat find this raccoon and tempt him out the crypts with cocaine #oh he clocked that too like second week asked Emmrich if he needed a new plug or was he done with that shit because he knows a guy #the only thing he can cook is a wicked grilled cheese and it’s especially good with the stuff that’s illegal in Nevarra #shit I forgot to tag people myself do it tag me I went overboard cause I needed this aaaaaaaah

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theother9tenths · 1 year ago

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To say that Gortash’s coronation was an illuminating experience would be an understatement. As you descend the stairs, his words swirl in your mind, one sentence standing out in particular.

“Gods, you are a sight for sore eyes!”

The way he’d said it had surprised you. You’d expected hostility, even disgust. But the look on his face, mischievous and autocratic though it was, had been almost… relieved? If you removed the layers of blind ambition and tyrannical superiority… it was almost as if he was happy to see you.

Of course, upon revealing your lack of memories, his face fell into a mask of indifferent amusement, that of a person who holds all the possible cards. He revealed the whole awful truth of it. This whole mess that you and your friends are in instigated by none other than you yourself. Everything you’ve apparently done. Everything the two of you have apparently done together.

“I tolerated Orin. But I liked you.”

Your skin hasn’t stopped crawling since he said the sentence, coated in a decadent layer of hidden meaning. You agree to the alliance numbly, The Emperor reminding you that you can break it if needed. You can barely pay attention to the sham coronation, despite Wyll’s anxiety for his father’s safety radiating next to you.

The whole thing is too much, but the sinking pit of your thoughts is instantly made worse by Gale’s comment.

“Well. It seems you have a type,” he throws out half-jokingly as the group of you stroll across the bridge out of Wyrm’s Rock toward the Lower City. “I’ll endeavor to be retroactively less hurt at your firm rejection of my past advances.”

Before you can protest, your type in question does it for you.

“Excuse me,” drolls Astarion. “I sincerely hope you’re not implying that that slippery worm and I belong to the same category.”

Wyll’s voice cuts in. “Dark, brooding, power-hungry, and clearly traumatized? Yeah, I can see it.”

“If it’s any consolation, Astarion,” You can hear Gale’s smirk without having to turn and look. “You’re much prettier than he is.”

“Can we just focus on finding an inn?” you blurt out, turning back to the group. “We’re finally in the city and I don’t know about you lot but I’d like to put some of this gold we’ve looted to good use.”

The three of them blink at you for a moment before Wyll concedes. “Right as usual,” he admits. “No use in being rich in coin if we end up sleeping on the docks.”

One figurative (and literal) song and dance later, the group settles into the Elfsong Tavern, and Astarion approaches you. He stands silently as you remove your armored boots for the evening, watching.

“...Yes?”

“I’d like to hear it from you,” he says with a pout.

“What?”

“That I’m prettier than him,” he clarifies, his tone breezy. “I would certainly hope I am considering how I spent two centuries using my beauty to lure in victims for Cazador and Gortash looks like a sewer rat who polymorphed into a man, but I’ve got this awful issue with mirrors, as you know.”

#bg3 #durgetash #durgestarion #enver gortash #astarion #dark urge #baldur's gate 3 #my writing #fanfic

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randomthefox · 4 months ago

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I have never seen a SINGLE ISSUE of Archie Sonic that looked even passingly readable as a legitimate book of sequential art on its own merits as a stand alone piece of media. Let alone one that didn't ACTIVELY ENRAGE ME as a fan of the Sonic video games.

I sincerely and honestly do not think that anybody actually and sincerely enjoys this comic book. I think everybody who thinks they enjoy it simply has read so much of it that their brain has been rotted and they don't remember what decent quality writing is anymore. It's like if you cook and eat nothing but sewer rats for long enough, eventually your brain acclimates and starts thinking that it tastes good.

Look at the way people who like Archie Sonic talk about it. They don't talk about it like it's a real piece of art. They don't talk about it the way I talk about the video games for example. Analyzing thematic throughlines. Charting and dissecting character development. Analyzing cinematic intentions and symbolism.

They talk about the fucking comic like it's a daytime soap opera. In a language they don't speak. It's nothing but posting panels from the comic and going

This comic isn't fit to be my fucking toilet paper.

#archie sonic

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dragonfairy19 · 6 months ago

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A Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Wedding

The sewers of New York City were abuzz with excitement. The Ninja Turtles, Leonardo, Raphael, Donatello, and Michelangelo, were getting married!

The Wedding Day

The wedding was a grand affair, held in a hidden cavern deep beneath the city. The Turtles' friends and allies, including Splinter, April, Karai, and Casey's father, were all in attendance.

* The Ceremony: The ceremony was conducted by a wise old rat named Master Yoshi, who had been a mentor to Splinter. The vows were heartfelt and sincere, and the couple's love for each other was evident.

* The Reception: The reception was a celebration of love and friendship. There was plenty of pizza, cake, and dancing. The Turtles and their brides shared their first dance as a married couple, surrounded by their loved ones.

The Honeymoon

The newlyweds decided to spend their honeymoon on a tropical island. They enjoyed swimming, sunbathing, and exploring the beautiful scenery. It was a much-needed break from the dangers of their lives as ninja turtles.

The wedding of the Ninja Turtles was a momentous occasion, marking a new chapter in their lives. It was a celebration of love, friendship, and the enduring bond between the four brothers.

#tmnt #oc #tmnt au #cute #tmnt leo x reader #tmnt raph x reader

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lordsovorn · 7 months ago

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The sky above you is getting paler, the clouds disappearing in the white static. Between the rustle of leaves and the footsteps of horses, a quiet even hum is slowly growing louder. You can't yet point it out - and later on you'll simply be too used to it to notice.

...

Introduction to a setting I haven't posted about before.

...

More and more houses are dotted along the road. Tents, shanty towns, old taverns with overgrown gardens. Figures shuffle in the shadowy alleys of this limbo, neither out in the wild, nor inside the safety of the City.

Perhaps your village was ravaged by bloodthirsty marauders or merciless creatures of the night. Perhaps a storm came, and left it a twisted cobweb of molten stone and burnt bodies. Perhaps a maneater swamp slowly seeped under the foundations of your home until it was too late for everyone but you. Perhaps you've simply outgrown your tiny muddy bubble beneath the shifting gray sky. Either way, you seek safety, certainty and hope - and there is nowhere to go, ultimately, but to the White City.

Maybe it had a name, but it was forgotten. Maybe it never did, and was built from the ground up by the Company around the first Gates.

Either way, the White City is Civilization. It is the Center of the World - or what's left of it.

Few will get through the borders easily. Maybe you'll trudge through the colossal bureaucracic machine with passion in your eyes, favors and handshakes behind your back, valuables in hand and sheer persistence. Maybe you'll find a crack to slip in. Maybe you'll bribe a guard or pay a trafficker. Maybe you'll dig and crawl through the sewers. There are many ways forward, no road back.

Through the narrow passageways at the bottom, lit by lanterns and trashfires, followed by faceless gazes and stiff gestures. Through the maintenance tunnels with deep shadows and red lights, through the hanging megastructures extending far below, illuminated by cold projectors. You'll be lost in the labyrinth of towers above the streets. A spiderweb of rails, cables and bridges. Layer upon layer upon layer. Void-like black shadows from the intense light above.

Dirt like you isn't welcome on the gleaming cleanliness of its streets. If you want to stay, you'll stick to the alleys, to places where you are unseen. To the shadowy corners teaming with monsters, strangers and rats like you, from the strangest of places. Maybe you'll even find someone who will give a non-citizen work. Or maybe you'll tumble to the very bottom and rob those who are more lost than you, until a bigger fish comes along. Inevitably.

There are many paths through the City, literally and metaphorically. Maybe one day you'll even reach the marvelous floating villas and fortresses, anchored to huge spires. Factories with thousands of chimneys, vast halls of the University around the shimmering Gates, plazas, dotted with towering ceramic sentinels. Balloons and giant kites, black dots along the endlessly white sky.

Or maybe the stark, patient darkness below is the only thing that awaits you.

Strangers in the bars will laugh at you and call you lab meat. That is, if we are being sincere, an entirely possible outcome.

You need the City - there is nothing beyond it. So you'd better find a way to make the City need you.

#tagging it for the future:#the white city #worldbuilding #worldbuilding lore #lore #worldbuilding setting

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sewinrat · 1 year ago

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Randal x Unhinged!Human!Reader who just loves how weird and feral he is.

I just think the idea is funny af

Whoever sent this, I love you - this gotta be my favourite request so far. If anyone remembers kindergarten game, that's how technically unhinged you'll act.

"Hey, you wanna try some dirt?" You offered a handful of dirt to some random kid with glasses. You grinned brightly as your face is covered in dirt, mud and grass. The said random kid grinned unnervingly yet cutely and exclaim in happiness, "Yes please!" He snatched the dirt from your hands and eat it quickly, making his glasses titled and face messy.

You laugh in glee and continue to play with the ground, now with a fun company who had introduced himself as Randal. A funny friend indeed. He rants on and on about his fun adventures, especially with his family or whoever this 'Satoru' is. In exchange for listening, he listens to your rants about your messed up school that experiments on children but you managed to blow it up with some game cards. It's a fun silly story telling you both had.

Soon after, you meet his family because Randal didn't came home before curfew so they had to physically pick him up. Literally. The cat with the 'Nevada' on his shirt picked him up by the collar and Randal started to struggle while whining about wanting to play more. Luther promises that you both will meet again, he just cannot go home late at night or else. You piped in saying you can visit his house sometimes, bringing the infamous card game you told him about with you to play. Luckily, Luther allowed you to visit and now you basically feel like you live there instead and visit home with how much sleepovers you both had.

"Wanna try some sand?" You offered to Randal as he stand his doll. He rapidly nods, "Yum! Yes please!" And you spoon fed him while he works on a 'very important' thing he's making.

#more ppl start making ranfren x reader pls I'm going more and more inactive #ranfren #randal’s friends #ranfren x reader #x reader #randal ivory #randal von ivory #randal x reader #ranfren randal #sincerely sewer rat #this has no plot

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mastermatoyas · 2 years ago

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Okay! So now that I’ve met all most of the Sun Haven romance candidates, I’m gonna make a post about my thoughts for my friends and followers so I can decide who I’m actually gonna marry in this game.

Long post under the cut!

Lucia is pretty rad! She’s got a lot of confidence, but isn’t arrogant or rude, which I really admire. So far she doesn’t seem that interested in romance, though, so it’s hard to see her as a marriage candidate. She’s still in the running!

Liam and Lynn are both the sweet and shy type, which is nice, but... not that interesting to me as a romance option. So I think I’ve eliminated them from the running.

Anne fucking rules but she is a capitalist, so it’s a no from me.

Catherine is very sweet and also is a hot bunny lady, but I haven’t gotten to know her that well yet. Still in the running!

Nathaniel is adorable. We love a true knight. For some reason I’ve been racking up heart points with him really easily, too. Definitely a contender. Look at that beard.

Jun is the town counselor, and he is overwhelmingly sweet and sincere at all times. I do dig the goth vibe, especially with the earrings. A contender.

Okay I’m still not sure if Claude is meant to actually be a vampire or just looks like one. Either way I’m into it. A contender.

I love Kitty’s design, and the fact that her hobbies include getting stuck in trees and eating raw fish. We stan. However, she ends every sentence with “nya” and I cannot deal with that. Not a contender.

Wornhardt! All I know about him so far is that he’s a doctor. Probably not a contender unless he does something interesting soon.

Darius! Rude asshole prince. He sucks. Definitely a contender.

Donovan. Lives in a sewer which is not ideal, but he is an absolute bro, so he’s a contender on that alone.

Xyla. Hot demon lady who keeps calling me a sewer rat. Definitely a contender.

Iris! I only interacted with her once. Her tattoos are cool. I know nothing else about her. Weirdly femme for someone who lives in the woods. In the “maybe” category.

Vaan! I also have only met him once so far. Also has cool tattoos, also in the maybe category.

Wesley. He is an elf and he is rude. Probably not a contender.

Kai! I found this guy washed up on the beach. He has no memories. Definitely a contender. Just look at him. Hot snake man.

Vivi! I realised partway through making this post that I actually haven’t met this character yet. Oh well! I like her design, so I’ll leave her as a maybe.

Current tally:

Definite contenders: Kai, Xyla, Donovan, Darius, Jun, Claude, Catherine, Nathaniel

Maybe: Vivi, Wesley, Vaan, Iris, Wornhardt, Lucia

No: Kitty, Anne, Liam, Lynn

Stay tuned as I try to narrow this down further!

#sun haven

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out-with-the-boys · 6 months ago

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The Dance- Chapter 13

Homelander x Supe OC

Notes: 18+ This chapter contains sexual content. Each chapter will have individual content warnings as they apply to avoid spoilers. Find this work on AO3. Tumblr master post here.

Previous chapter.

Morgan stood outside the heavy doors of Homelander’s penthouse, her pulse steady but her mind still racing with the events of the day. The image of Charlie’s car—crumpled like a soda can—lingered in her thoughts, mingled with the satisfaction of knowing it could have been much worse. She exhaled, her lips twitching into a faint smile. Of all the things Homelander could’ve done to prove a point, he’d picked Charlie’s precious car.

It was... poetic.

There was a part of her that wondered if she should have been worried he knew which car was Charlie’s in the first place, but it didn’t matter now. It was a clear message that he wasn’t to reach out to her anymore. There were a few upsides to having caught Homelander’s attention in the way she had.

Adjusting her skirt, she let out a soft sigh of relief. Casual clothes were a blessed relief from the armor she’d been stuck in all day. It also made the nature of her visit feel a lot less like she had to keep up appearances. Right then, she didn’t have to pretend to be Psryen. She was just Morgan.

Steeling herself a little, she knocked once, twice, then let herself in. It wasn’t much different from the times he had let himself into her apartment.

Homelander stood by the far window, his back to her, as if he already knew she’d come. It was likely he’d heard her approach either way. His posture was relaxed, but Morgan could sense the tension beneath the surface. The air inside was thick with quiet, save for the soft hum of the city beyond the glass walls.

“I heard the craziest story today,” she started, her voice light, feigning ignorance. “One of the finance managers found his car absolutely totaled down in the parking garage. Nobody knows how it happened, but goddamn… Can you imagine having to file that insurance claim?”

He still didn’t turn to face her, but the tension in his shoulders eased ever so slightly. "Insurance claim?" he echoed, his voice low and smooth. "Does insurance usually cover damage that falls under ‘acts of god?’"

Morgan smirked, stepping further into the room. She could see his reflection in the glass now, the sharp angles of his face softened by the evening light. "An act of god, huh?" she chuckled, drawing closer. "I wouldn’t go that far. Though, I don’t think it falls under ‘acts of a disgruntled coworker’ either."

He finally turned, his eyes locking onto hers, a mix of amusement and something else, something darker, flickering in the blue depths. "Coworker?" he scoffed. "No, definitely not. He’s nowhere close to being in our league."

“You know… Reluctantly, I am forced to agree with you.” she said with a small, wry grin. “Charlie’s in a league of his own, somewhere between roaches and sewer rats.”

Homelander’s smirk deepened, but there was something behind his expression—something careful, and somewhat guarded. "There’s really no lost love between you and him, is there?”

"None whatsoever," she replied, her voice softening as she finally closed the space between them. She tilted her head, studying him in the fading light. "That’s why I can't even be mad about what you did."

There was a pause, and then she added, more sincerely, "You could have done a lot worse. I know you wanted to."

Homelander’s expression shifted, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in her words. "You sound almost relieved."

"I am." Morgan didn’t flinch as she said it, her tone genuine. "And really, destroying his car was a great touch. I’m not sure a simple detailing fee is going to cover that sort of damage.”

Homelander gave her a look that surprised her a little. It was gentle, thoughtful and perhaps even the slightest bit empathetic. “Consider it my personal touch.” He took a step closer, the distance between them shrinking even further. “I didn’t want you to think I wasn’t paying attention.”

Morgan’s smile softened, and her heart stuttered slightly as his presence filled the space around her. She could feel the shift in the air—the playfulness giving way to something deeper, just waiting to be given a voice. The way he looked at her now, there was no trace of the smirk, only the sincerity of his gaze, searching her face as if waiting for her to draw a line or step away.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she exhaled softly, her shoulders relaxing as she let herself lean into the quiet between them. “I noticed,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re always paying attention.” There was no teasing in her tone now, just the faintest trace of gratitude—understanding, even.

He didn’t respond immediately, but the shift in his expression was subtle. The trepidation in his eyes softened, just for a moment, and he reached out, gently brushing his fingers against her arm. It was a small, tentative gesture—an unspoken acknowledgment of the fragile connection they shared.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The city below hummed on in the background, but inside the penthouse, it was quiet—just the two of them, standing close enough to feel each other’s warmth. She looked up at him, her heart thrumming steadily in her chest. The charged air between them only seemed to thicken. They were both waiting, suspended in time—neither of them quite willing to make the first move, yet neither pulling away.

“I can tell you’re thinking about it,” she whispered, her voice a little rougher, and a little more daring than usual. There was a spark of recklessness in her tone. Something unrestrained. “Nobody’s stopping you.”

For a second, he froze. A look of surprise flickered across his face, but beneath it, something deeper—hesitation. He had pushed for this, hoped for this, but now that it was happening, fear crept in. The last time he had let someone get close, it ended in betrayal, in hurt. But with Morgan, there was conviction, a sense that she wouldn’t break him the same way. Maybe that frightened him even more.

His hands twitched at his sides. He could feel the pull toward her, a part of him almost desperate for it. But what if this went wrong? What if she let him down too?

Morgan wasn’t waiting, though. She was tired of waiting. Tired of trying to control every second of her life. Control had always been her safety net, her way of coping, but right now, it was the last thing she wanted. Not after the day she’d had. Her emotions had been on a tightrope, and the way Homelander had dealt with Charlie lit something inside her.

And right now, she wanted to act on it.

“Unless you’re afraid,” she added, her voice challenging now, teasing, pushing him closer to the edge.

That did it. Slowly, his expression shifted. A touch of fear still lingered, but it was quickly snuffed out by something else. A need. A need for someone to stay, to not turn away from him when he was vulnerable. She wasn’t running, wasn’t recoiling, and that… that was new.

“I’m not afraid,” he said, his voice low, daring her to prove him wrong.

“Then what are you waiting for?”

Her words were bold, reckless, and it only fed the wildfire of emotions building between them. She wasn’t thinking, wasn’t overanalyzing, and that excited her. For once, she was letting herself be there, in that moment, without weighing every consequence.

With a quick, sharp breath, he closed the distance between them, his lips finding hers in a kiss that started tentative but quickly grew bolder. He was testing how much of himself he could give before she pulled away. But she didn’t pull away.

Instead, she leaned in harder, her arms sliding up and around his neck to pull him closer. She wasn’t interested in half-measures. There was no hesitation in her touch, no holding back. She wanted to feel this, needed to, after everything. And she knew he needed it too.

His hands, which had hovered with uncertainty, finally settled on her waist, gripping her as if to ground himself. At least, that’s where they stayed for a brief moment. A soft moan rose from the depths of her chest, and was effectively smothered against his lips, prompting a similar sound from him in return.

Wandering over her hip and downward, one of his hands strayed to the hem of her skirt to hike it just a little higher. There was a slight moment of hesitation from him, but their kiss didn’t break for even a second. The way Morgan leaned into him with such ferocity was encouragement enough.

Homelander’s fingertips brushed against her innermost thigh, and she inhaled sharply, anticipation coursing through her like liquid fire. His touch was surprisingly delicate as he teased her over the thin fabric of her underwear. An aching desire built stronger and stronger, pulling taut in her abdomen. It only got worse as his fingers pulled away.

For just a moment, they broke apart, both of them breathless. He searched her face, looking for signs that maybe this wasn’t real. Part of him wondered if maybe she was about to pull away and tell him it was a mistake. But her eyes stayed on his, her chest rising and falling in time with his.

“I’m not running,” she said, her voice soft and resolute.

His thumb traced the edge of her bottom lip, kiss-bruised and full. The significance of what was about to transpire had just begun to settle in. “Good,” he murmured, the word carrying the kind of relief he hadn’t felt in years. Maybe ever.

They both dove in for another kiss, and this one was more frantic and full of need than the last. It was impossible for either one of them to settle in one spot for long as they both pawed impetuously and the other’s clothes. The more difficulty Morgan had figuring out how to get his suit off, the more she was glad that she had dressed down for the occasion.

Somewhere along the way, they had stumbled into his bedroom, both of them halfway undressed in some manner. There was a brief moment she found herself gawking up at the massive mirror on his ceiling, but her shock (and slight amusement) was cut short. The very moment she was laid out on the edge of his bed, all of her on display for him to see, he buried himself inside her in a single, smooth stroke.

“Oh god…” she choked out, her voice a barely restrained whisper.

His only response was a slight smirk as he drew back, just enough to leave her wanting for a split second, then he pushed in again. He moved slowly– at first. Every soft breath, every little mewl he wrested from her drove him to rock into her just a little faster. Before long, she was clutching at his cape, keening desperately as his hips rutted and bucked against hers in a quick and steady rhythm.

Morgan was finally able to lose herself in the throes of it all. Her body moved instinctually with his, following his lead at some points, and at other points she was the one steering him toward the edge of ecstasy. Somewhere along the line, she had lost track of all sense of who she was, who he was, and everything that had brought them over the precipice.

That evening, nothing really mattered outside of that room.

The soft rustle of the sheets and the faint rhythm of their breathing filled the space after some time. Their earlier exertions dissolved into a quiet intimacy. Morgan lay comfortably against his chest, her body relaxed, yet her mind still processing everything that had led them there. Her fingers traced absent patterns against his skin as she turned her head slightly to glance at him.

“So,” she began, her tone softer, more thoughtful, “I have to admit, I didn’t exactly picture my day ending like this.”

Homelander’s gaze shifted toward her, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You didn’t?” he asked, though there was a trace of amusement in his voice. “Not even a little?”

She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “No, I didn’t. But I’m not complaining.”

The silence between them was comfortable now, and she felt a strange, unexpected ease settle over her. She wasn’t entirely sure what things between them were—whether they were fleeting or something more—but for that moment, they were enough.

The quiet between them lingered a while longer, but eventually, there was a shift—one that Morgan could feel even before Homelander spoke.

“I’ve been thinking,” he started, his tone soft but probing. “About you... and Charlie.”

Morgan’s brow furrowed slightly, but she didn’t interrupt. She knew this conversation was bound to surface eventually, though she wasn’t sure she was ready for where it might lead.

He turned his head toward her, his gaze unwavering. “You almost had a family with him.”

The statement hung between them, weightier than the silence that followed. Morgan’s breath caught for a second, but she met his gaze, the vulnerability in it taking her aback slightly.

“Yeah,” she admitted quietly. “We did. That was such a long time ago though.”

For a moment, Homelander said nothing, but there was an intensity in the way he looked at her, as if trying to piece together parts of a puzzle. Some part of Morgan was afraid to let her mind linger in his for much longer. There were certain avenues he contemplated exploring, and some of them she wasn’t sure she wanted to go down. At the same time, she wanted to have answers at the ready.

“I seem to remember you saying you really wanted the baby you lost.” he said, his tone uncertain as he began to tread into uncharted waters. “What stopped you from trying again? I mean, obviously Charlie was a tool and starting a family with him was an awful idea, but… In all that time, you never wanted to try with anyone else?”

Morgan’s gaze flickered, her fingers curling slightly against his chest. She really didn’t want him to go there—not like this, not now. But there it was, laid bare between them. She swallowed, her throat suddenly tight as she searched for the right words.

“It wasn’t that simple,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Losing the baby... it broke something in me. Something I didn’t know how to fix. After that, I wasn’t sure I could put myself through it again.” Her eyes dropped, focusing on the pattern of the covers instead of his piercing gaze.

She hesitated, feeling his gaze still fixed on her before continuing, “Trying again—it never felt like an option. Not with anyone.”

Homelander stayed quiet for a moment. She could sense his curiosity deepening, though, pushing him to understand her in a way no one else had. His voice was softer when he finally spoke. “And now?”

The question hit her harder than she anticipated. Something about hearing that curiosity voiced out loud hit her like a punch to the gut. Morgan glanced up at him, meeting his gaze again.

“It’s not in the cards for me.” she said, her voice a little more pointed than she intended it to be. “I’m well into my thirties, I’ve got one hell of a career I’ve just settled into and…”

There was no room for something as pure as that in her current situation.

Especially not with him.

“I’m not sure I was meant to anyway,” she continued. “I thought I was safe at sixteen weeks. Running the risk of not carrying to term again is higher for me now, and I don’t think I could go through that again.”

His expression was thoughtful, and a flicker of disappointment flashed through his mind. That wasn’t the only thing, however. There was the briefest thought of a boy that crossed his mind, but it wasn’t the one she had seen before. The boy in his memories she was used to seeing was him, but this one… He had a son.

It was immediately apparent that he didn’t want her to know about him. Not quite yet anyway. So, she stifled any sort of reaction she might have had and filed that bit of information away for later.

“Sorry, these probably aren’t the sort of questions you want to be answering right now.” he muttered, shifting slightly beneath her.

“Hey, it’s okay, really.” she reassured him gently, sitting up slightly to meet his gaze without having to crane her neck. “You’d be surprised how quickly this sort of thing jumps into most people’s minds. It’s one of those weird, instinctual things that I think is instilled into most of us.”

Homelander's lips twitched, almost as if he were about to say something more, but he held back. His eyes lingered on her, a quiet understanding passing between them, before he finally let out a soft chuckle. “This is nice,” he admitted, shifting slightly, though his gaze never left hers. “Talking like this.”

She smiled softly, sensing a shift from the conversation to something lighter. “Yeah, it’s nice not to be at each other’s throats all the time.” she teased gently, reaching up to brush a lock of hair away from his forehead.

His eyes glinted with something familiar—a spark of amusement, perhaps even relief—and he tilted his head, his usual confidence creeping back into his posture. “I don’t know, you seemed to like having my teeth at your throat earlier.” he quipped, his voice low and playful.

For a moment, the intensity between them eased, the earlier tension dissolving into something more comfortable. Morgan felt the corners of her lips tug upwards as the warmth of the quiet moment settled over them.

“Hey, you just count your lucky stars that my armor covers my neck.” she scolded playfully. “Otherwise we’d have to explain this whole thing to HR, I’m sure.”

That was enough to get a soft laugh out of him. The silence that followed wasn’t heavy or awkward—just quiet, the kind that spoke of understanding and unspoken agreements. Morgan let herself relax into it. Not even the unspoken question at the tip of his tongue concerned her. She already knew how she wanted to answer.

“I’d like to stay.” she murmured softly, laying back down against his chest again. “People are definitely going to talk tomorrow, but right now, I really couldn’t give a damn if I tried.”

Homelander’s arm instinctively wrapped around her, the steady rhythm of his breathing filled the quiet space between them. For the time being, neither of them had to worry about appearances, expectations, or the outside world pressing in.

“Let ‘em talk,” he murmured, his voice low and content. “I couldn’t give a flying fuck either.”

Morgan smiled against his chest, feeling the all the strain of the day slowly slipping away. For now, she could just exist in the stillness, without the pressure of their respective roles hanging over them. They were just two people, caught in a moment of peace before the world outside inevitably pulled them back in.

Tomorrow would come soon enough—but that night, it was just them.

Song: Samson by Regina Spektor “You are my sweetest downfall, I loved you first.” Author’s notes: Lucky number 13! They finally did the deeeeeeed! I really don’t have too much to say about this chapter, other than I was kicking my feet and giggling the whole time I was writing it. It’s a touch short, but I didn’t want the whole focus of the chapter to be on the act itself. I mostly wanted to capture the mood and everything surrounding it. It’s such a pivotal point for them, and I could imagine it all being such a blur of so many emotions, sensations and just a hell of a thing for either of them to fully conceptualize. Don’t worry, there will be more moments like this, but I hope you liked this chapter. Let me know what you thought!

Next Chapter.

#homelander #homelander fanfiction #homelander fic #homelander x oc #content warnings without spoiling shit is hard #let me know if i should be less vague

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formoflamp · 1 year ago

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Hand in Hand

One of the many things the Dark Urge had noticed about Gortash over the course of their unexpected consociation was that the man smiled a lot. He held the same expression when the Dark Urge discussed rat torture or reverse hanging that he used when exchanging paltry pleasantries with the city’s patriars. It was a genial sort of smile with hollow sentiment behind the eyes. Then there was the smile that appeared when Gortash was masking his displeasure. The one where his lips curved uncomfortably upward. The Dark Urge enjoyed that one; it sometimes led to someone ending up dead. But his favorite of Gortash's smiles happened when the man seemed to feel sincerely happy. Gortash's eyes would light up in a way that led the Dark Urge to feel as if his intestines were strangling themselves.

Gortash’s recent letter had taken great care to stress the importance of today’s meeting, so the Dark Urge showed up in a timely manner. Perhaps, in too timely of a manner. It was early enough that the city was still bathed in sunlight. The Dark Urge had only had enough time after he had awoken to partake in prayer and terrorize the sewer rats; fresh murder was to be done under the cover of darkness.

His knife-hand itched to indulge in butchery.

Keep reading on Ao3

#holding hands (gone wrong)#another short oneshot #enver gortash #the dark urge #durge #durgetash #bg3 #fanfic #my fic

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aspenwriter · 8 months ago

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The Maid, The Borrower and The Young Mistress

(A commission for @AlarComet on Twitter)

Béatrice loathed the city, an unkind, dirty place not fit for a refined maid such as herself. As she stepped out of the carriage she took a deep breath. She was greeted by smog and dust, and by sea salt and the faint smell of a sewer. She wasn’t going to enjoy this place at all. She had only been there for *seconds* and already she felt dirty. This situation, of course, was the total opposite for Béatrice’s own personal total opposite.

“Ah! What a wonderful sight!” Said Lady Lenore, stepping out of the carriage. A full two heads shorter than Béatrice. While the maid wore a monochromatic attire of black and white fitting for one of her position, Lenore indulged herself with a pastel pink dress. While Béatrice wore her black hair short, cutting it always right above her shoulders, Lenore boasted a long blonde mane tied into two enormous regal ringlets. And while her servant was tall and slender, she was on the shorter side of the spectrum and a little chubby.

“Aren’t you excited Bea?” To see the full potential of our civilization in plain display?” Said Lenore

Béatrice couldn’t stop looking at the three rats fighting over a piece of fried fish near the sewer.

“Yes, the full potential of our civilisation, of course, My Lady” she replied, only just slightly sarcastically.

“Aw, there's no need to be such a killjoy, dear” replied Lady Lenore.

“I sincerely regret killing your joy, My Lady” said Béatrice.

“And there’s no need to be so stiff!” said Lady Lenore.

Béatrice simply smiled as her mistress laughed, and began carrying her luggage up the small stairs to the building that hosted the pairs’ apartment. Lenore and Béatrice’s accommodation in the capital was located on the building’s third floor. It was a relatively big apartment for just two people, which only highlighted Lenore’s noble background. Béatrice was first to climb the stairs to the third floor, eager to impress her mistress with a display of stamina. She searched in a big keychain for the keys to the apartment and opened the door, waiting for her mistress so that she could be the first to set foot inside.

Lenore entered and stretched. “It’s good to have a place to rest after that lengthy ride, don’t you think?” she said.

“It sure is, My Lady” said Béatrice. In truth, while Lenore would probably find a couch to immerse herself in a novel, she would be inspecting the place to ensure everything was running smoothly, run to the marketplace to fill the kitchen’s storage, and if necessary get to cleaning. Béatrice, of course, refrained from making any comment. She wasn’t going to spoil her mistress’ brief moments of relaxation with chores and everyday tasks.

Lenore, however, knew that. She knew how Béatrice’s head operated. How things worked from her perspective. After all, despite the difference in status between them, the both were the closest thing the other had to a true friend.

In Béatrice’s case this was due to the fact that she didn’t exactly have the time to make acquaintances outside of her work, and she essentially worked around the clock. Sure, it wasn’t like she didn’t have any friends at all. She was well known around her mistress’ family’s manor, back in the countryside. She had many friends among the other servants. From other maids to gardeners and cooks. But all of these friendships never crossed the small talk threshold.

As for Lenore, it was impossible not to approach every new acquaintance with a certain degree of suspicion and in the worst cases plain distrust. She was rich, her family powerful. She was a gateway for any potential friend into a lavish lifestyle and useful contacts. Naturally, Lenore was careful to whom she extended her friendship to, and with the exception of trusty family friends and relatives, she had few people around that she could fully rely upon.

Which is why Lenore always appreciated how lucky she was that Béatrice was assigned to be her personal maid. The young maid harbored unquestionable loyalty to her family, and yet Lenore never found it to be insincere in any way, shape or form. Béatrice joined her family’s service while she was very young, (both were just teenagers), and was the closest Lenore had to a friend around her same age.

Béatrice was very different when she first came into Lenore’s family’s mansion. Originally she was meant to be educated as a butler, after all. But well, she couldn’t stop looking at the maid’s dresses. It didn’t take long for her to try one for herself. At that point she never wanted to go back. It was even during tea time with Lenore that they were discussing new, fitting names and she settled on Béatrice.

The two had become inseparable. Lenore found in Béatrice someone she could confide in who had no ulterior motives, while Béatrice found in Lenore someone that she could talk about more things than just housework. Both loved hearing the other’s thoughts on any topic. Soon they realized that what they actually loved was the sound of the other’s voice.

Both realized, separately, that loving someone’s voice is, in fact, not a thing one has for just a mere friend. They both kept shut about it. All the while loving not just the sound of their voices but actually how they did things, how they moved, the way the sun shone on their eyes on certain hours of the day…

They loved each other. Simply put they loved each other.

But it was frustrating. If there was one thing, one thing at all, that both were unsure of was the reciprocity of their feelings.

What if she finds it inappropriate? What if our differences are too much of a barrier? She’s probably too busy to have time for intimacy anyway. All of these thoughts and more were on each other's heads from dawn to dusk.

Naturally the lengthy carriage ride to this apartment had been torturous to both. And the full projected ten-month-long stay in the capital city as Lenore sorted out a series of social events (including a staggering number of weddings and birthdays) and business deals (much less enjoyable than the former) had the potential to be nothing less than hell.

That was, of course, unless something or someone managed to bridge the two. Something that could spark a situation in which both let the social trappings that bound their feelings to let loose.

That catalyst was in the room right now. Lenore barely saw it, but Béatrice’s quick and trained reflexes managed to catch a glimpse of her, although at the time she simply discarded the seemingly impossible thought of a finger-sized girl scurrying around the floor.

“The apartment appears to be infested, My Lady” she said, rather coldly.

“Ah, well, that’s unfortunate” Lenore replied. She was a highly intelligent individual, but the tiredness from the trip, plus the unbearable tension she felt about Béatrice made her pay no attention to the fact no pest that she knew of wore a dress.

During the following weeks, Lenore’s thoughts became more distracted by balls and dinners and the weddings and birthdays rather than the possibility of having pests in her apartment. While on Béatrice’s hand, the thought was driving her insane.

Lenore was busy in a business meeting with some banker which Béatrice found of no true importance, as Lenore had been instructed to just refuse the deal in the most polite tone she could muster. What Béatrice found important were the two books in front of her displaying a discrepancy that simply could not be.

On her left was a ledger, which Béatrice kept diligently up to date as to keep the domestic economy of the two young women in check. The ledger displayed, on the particular page Béatrice was examining, the acquisition by the maid of the vegetables for the week. Béatrice being the borderline obsessive perfectionist that she was, she had taken the time to record both the weight of each bag as well as the total units of vegetables they contained.

In this record, it read that she had bought exactly 567 grams of carrots, unevenly distributed in 8 units of carrots.

This would be just another boring entry in the ledger. If not for the book to Béatrice’s right, her personal diary, whose entry for yesterday’s night read the following:

‘The Lady Lenore’s mood has been down in the gutter as of recently. One could safely assume she’s been feeling burnt out by the burden of her social and business related obligations. Fortunately I can be of some help in this matter. The master cook of the manor didn’t accept my petition to carry his cook book with me to the capital, but did allow me to copy by hand the recipes for My Lady’s favourite dishes. I believe the beef stew will be perfect for tomorrow, due to the climate and overall atmosphere that was forecasted for tomorrow. In my admittedly childish excitement I went a few times to the kitchen to ensure the integrity of the ingredients and they’re all good!’

Béatrice's excited entry on her dairy gave way to a small list of the available ingredients. In which she happily reported there were seven carrots in storage, and the recipe only demanded four anyway.

And yet when she checked on the storage there were, exactly, 7 carrots.

Seven.

She had asked Lady Lenore before she left, she hasn’t eaten it. Béatrice herself never liked carrots to begin with. Something was off. She thought that maybe she was exaggerating and overthinking a simple managerial mistake. But those thoughts quickly gave way to what she thought was the root problem of this mysterious carrot disappearance: the pest.

Whatever it was, it was subtly and sneakily chipping away at their food. Béatrice brought the ledger with her to the storage room and checked. They were missing, strangely, a lot and almost nothing at the same time.

Almost nothing because the robbery took food almost by the gram. But a lot because it took *a lot* of said grams. They had been robbed for some reason of singular grapes, cubes of sugar, spoonfuls of rice, one cookie…

Béatrice took a moment to breathe and to unwind the pressure mounting up. While her heart told her she was going insane, her brain reinforced her suspicions with the raw facts in front of her: something was stealing their food.

And in a meticulous, certainly ‘non-pest’ kind of way.

Béatrice was left dumbfounded. The bizarreness of the situation was a little too much.

And it was about to become a lot more bizarre.

A sound came from behind the maid. The sound of glass shattering. Béatrice’s instincts flared up, adrenaline shot up her veins. Lessons about hand-to-hand combat repeating not in her head but instinctively in her muscles. She was the only one in the house. There was an intruder.

But as she turned around she found… nothing. At least not at first.

Behind her was the open door of the storage that lead into the kitchen. Nothing was blocking it. There was no one sneaking behind her. Her eyes looked down, searching the source of the shattered glass sound.

It was a small glass container. Among the broken glass was clove. It was the small clove jar. Clove is a spice so logically her eyes went up to the shelf where the rest of the spices where stored. There it was. The intruder was there. It was impossible but there it was. Or rather, there *she* was.

In between the jar of dried ginger and a jar of bay leafs was a space where the clove was supposed to be. It was currently occupied by a girl. A tiny, pinky-finger-sized girl.

And she was admittedly beautiful.

Her hair was the first thing that Béatrice noticed, as it was in truth the most noticeable of her features, for it was of a reddish brown that had a lot of contrast with her olive dress. Her big eyes being roughly of the same colour.

Her expression, however, was of paralyzing fear, as if she had made the worst mistake in her life.

Béatrice and the strange intruder stared incredulously at each other for what felt like minutes to them, but it was close to five seconds.

Then the intruder started running.

But fast as she was (and she was admittedly pretty fast) Béatrice was considerably larger. For each ten to fifteen steps the little one made, the maid made half a sep. The adrenaline coursing through her blood made her move at almost superhuman speed. Quick as a lightning bolt, Béatrice snatches the intruder up in her closed fist.

Her heart was beating loudly and rapidly. She heard the muffled sound of tiny protests from the girl trapped in her hand as she struggled and squirmed in her closed fist.

Béatrice took a brief moment to process the impossibility of the situation. Once again, her brain was hard at work trying to convince her that there was, in fact, a tiny person in her hand. Once the adrenaline died down, and as her heartbeat slowed, her rational self regained full control.

In a few seconds Béatrice regained her composure. She straightened her back and took a deep breath. With the tiny girl still struggling, she searched for an empty jar. Then, she dropped the tiny girl there.

“Let me go!” Was the first audible and intelligible protest she made. Her voice sounded like that of a young adult. She fell gracefully into the jar, as if she had grown used to falling from heights.

Béatrice raised the jar to eye-level. The tiny girl’s bravado stopped suddenly, as if eye-contact reminded her that she was now on the maid’s complete mercy.

Still, Béatrice was looking at her not in a cold way, and not in a baffled, incredulous way either. She was instead staring rather curiously. Examining the little person’s body language, characteristics, looks, everything she could to better understand her. Until she realized that the creature spoke in her language… so the better way to understand her was to simply ask.

“What are you?” She finally said. To the little person’s surprise, there was no malice in her tone. Nor was she angry with her. She just sounded like a curious young woman. It was almost inviting.

And she decided to take the invitation.

“I’m a borrower” she said.

Béatrice’s eyes widened behind her glasses “I thought you were just a fairytale” she said “something children believe in”

“Well I’m not a fairytale and I’m telling you to let me go!” Said the borrower, growing bold again.

Béatrice smiled “Don’t worry, little one. I mean you no harm”

“Don’t you ‘little one’ me!” Barked the borrower.

“Oh. My deepest apologies, miss borrowers” said Béatrice, in a deeply respectful tone, as if she was talking with a noble guest to Lady Lenore “Can I bother you with your name”

The borrower sighed, as if the fact that her existence was revealed and she was a captive wasn’t enough of a humiliation, now the human was asking for her name. Still, it was known that on these cases, placating the big people was always the better course of action.

“Acorn” she said “My name’s Acorn”

Béatrice smiled sweetly “That’s a beautiful name” she said, sincerely “I’m Béatrice”

The borrower looked away from her eyes. “Thank you” she said, partially embarrassed that she was actually flattered by something a human said.

The maid maintained her sweet smile “I am very sorry, you’re probably not the most comfortable inside a glass jar”

“Oh, glad you noticed huh” replied Acorn.

Béatrice walked outside, past the kitchen, and back to her own room. Once safely in, she closed the door behind her and gently set the jar on her desk. Then she began tilting the jar, so that Acorn could climb and jump out on her own. Which the borrower did gracefully as a cat.

Acorn examined her surroundings still distrustful of the giant maid. Béatrice’s room was plain. A bed for one, a desk with an inkwell and some paper and pens. There was bookshelf filled with books on different topics, from novels to botanical science, astronomy, cooking. Acorn was actually impressed that the maid was so capable of handling such topics.

Béatrice took a seat on her desk’s chair, looming large over a slightly intimidated Acorn. She leaned in, letting her head rest on her hands as she got as low as possible while still sitting for the borrower.

Acorn could finally look at Béatrice’s face up close without the glass jar’s distortion. She didn’t want to admit it, but the maid was nothing short of beautiful. She was tall and sleek, with a long neck and straight black hair. The only point of colour in her whole being was the red frame of her glasses, from behind of which the maid’s bright green eyes looked in delight and curiosity at the borrower.

Béatrice was the first to speak.

“So, what exactly were you doing stealing our food, Miss Acorn?” She said, raising an eyebrow.

“I wasn’t stealing, I was just borrowing it, that’s what we do” replied a half indignated Acorn at the implication she was a mere thief.

“Borrowing it?” Asked Béatrice “I’m afraid there are a few problems with that”

“No they aren’t!” Barked Acorn.

Béatrice gently got up from her seat and went to the table. She searched for a book, browsing with her finger. Then, she pulled a big tome, the largest Acorn had seen in her life. It was plainly titled ‘Dictionary’.

Béatrice opened the book, scanning through the pages. This went on for a while until…

“Aha! So borrowing, noun, the action of borrowing something… ta ta ta… ah, to borrow, verb, to take and use something belonging to someone else with the intention of returning it” said a satisfied Béatrice, closing the book and returning it to its spot in the shelf.

“Uh… so I don’t see-“ began Acorn

“You were stealing food” interrupted Béatrice “I can hardly imagine how do you plan on returning something that you presumably consumed”

Acorn sighed sadly “there’s no need to shame me like that you know?”

“I’m not trying to shame you” Béatrice said, genuinely concerned with Acorn’s feelings “I get it, I have had to steal food befo-”

“I wasn’t stealing” Acorn corrected “I was borrowing it”

Béatrice sighed “Ah, have it your way, but as I was saying… look, you could just ask for the food. The amount you eat can be written off as an administrative mistake”

Acorn was a bit baffled by the maid’s statement. The possibility of an actual friendly big person was something entirely new for her, maybe just as the existence of borrowers was to the maid. Either way, she meditated on it for a while.

“So, what if I ask for food?” She said.

The maid had felt it when she grabbed the borrower. The little one was hungry. She had felt ot in her hand, she could almost feel the borrower’s individual bones. She had gone through that experience, she couldn’t let someone go through that if she could stop it.

“If you ask, we can just make a space for you at our table” she said.

Acorn’s stomach growled and ached. She hoped Béatrice hadn’t heard it, nor seen her slight wince of pain. The maid’s senses were keen, however. And she took notice, as it showed on her now concerned face.

“Oh dear, you… you need something to eat, fast” said Béatrice.

“Oh, it’s nothing, don’t worry about it…” she said, hiding her pain the best she could.

But Béatrice wasn’t easily fooled. She offered her hand for the borrower to jump in.

“Come to the kitchen with me, please”

Acorn’s head was evaluating a world of possibilities. What if she was planning to cook her? What if she drowned her in a bucket of water? Or what if she was going to throw her out of the window? Or what if…?

She shook her head. She was very hungry. So she decided with her stomach this time, and jumped into Béatrice’s open palm.

The maid traversed the apartment quickly to get to the kitchen as soon as possible. She let her borrower passenger jump off at the kitchen’s table while she rapidly checked the coals in the stove were still burning. Then, she went into the storage, and came out with some hen’s eggs, butter and salt.

Béatrice took a pan out of a cabinet and placed it on the stove, cutting some butter for the eggs. Acorn just sat silently, and let the maid cook the food peacefully.

Once they were done, she set them on a plate with some bread, and sat with Acorn. The borrower wanted to jump and swim in the creamy warm eggs and eat it whole, but she had to maintain her dignity. She didn’t want to leave a bad impressionon her new acquaintance. So she slowly took out a minuscule piece of bread and spread some of the eggs in it.

And it was delicious.

It was the best thing she had eaten in her life.

“I hope it’s to your liking, I know they’re some simple scrambled eggs but-“

“It’s perfect, really, it’s perfect” said Acorn, with her mouth full.

Béatrice smiled, satisfied, and spread some egg on some piece of bread for herself.

“Why are you so good to me?” Said the borrower, holding back tears.

“You remind me a bit of myself” said Béatrice.

Acorn didn’t think too much of it. She was very busy eating. But Béatrice did. Her time as an urchin in the city. Before Lenore came into her life…

But she didn’t want to reminisce now, she had done a good thing and that was enough. Although there was a slight craving growing in her right now. She needed to indulge it.

“Do you… mind if I do something, Acorn?”

“Do… what exactly?”

I want to pet her so fucking bad. Béatrice thought.

“May I, caress you?”

“Oh… eh…” Acorn was trying to avoid the thought, but what if? What if it felt really good?

What if it felt really, really good?

“Alright… I suppose the eggs merit it” she said “go ahead”

Béatrice reached for her, trying to not to do any sudden move, nothing that could scare her new little friend. Her fingers started tenderly stroking Acorn’s back.

It took a lot of restraint not to lean in and kiss her.

Acorn herself was trying her damned best not to show how much she was actually enjoying herself.

Both were starting to feel… entranced by the other.

So entranced indeed that neither heard the door opening. They didn’t hear Lenore walking to the kitchen either. Béatrice only noticed because of the bright pink dress she was wearing.

Lenore’s blue eyes were directly locked onto the borrower. Neither of the three spoke a word.

But Lenore didn’t have to rationalize every little thing. She didn’t have this need that Béatrice had of having to convince herself of the facts. No, Lenore simply walked to the kitchen’s table, sat down, and leaned as close as possible while respecting Acorn’s personal space.

“You’re ADORABLE” she said to the borrower.

Béatrice trance was broken by this point “L-Lady Lenore! S-so early…?”

“Ah don’t get me started on that boring meeting with the banker, introduce me to your adorable new little friend first!”

“O-of course!” Béatrice regained her composure as a maid “My Lady, let me formally introduce you to Acorn, she’s uh… a guest”

“I live under the floor, Béatrice..”

“Aww, the floor isn’t an appropriate place for someone as cute as you” said Lady Lenore “you’d be a lot better off as a guest of this house!”

“I appreciate your offer but-“

“Aw just look at her, Bea!” Said Lenore, almost kicking the air out of how cute she found the borrower to be “isn’t she the sweetest!”

Lenore’s compliments had the borrower completely smitten. Acorn had spent a lifetime running away from humans, avoiding their traps, and getting almost killed by them several times and yet she somehow had these two bewitched.

And she couldn’t say the feeling wasn’t mutual.

Béatrice might just have been the prettiest girl Acorn had ever seen but Lenore was a close second. She barely knew her for probably a minute and yet the way she dominated the room was… well Acorn hadn’t seen anything like that before.

Lenore leaned in a bit closer, making sure Acorn was seeing what Lenore considered to be the prettiest angle of her face, and asked “And what can I do to make this little sweetie stay?”

Acorn’s heart was beating like a drum “Uh… ah… I d-don’t know…” she said, her face visibly getting red.

“My Lady, what are you proposing?” Asked Béatrice.

“Oh well, showing out little guest some hospitality, that’s all…” she said, leaning in to kiss Acorn’s head.

Béatrice gasped and Acorn froze, but she liked it. In fact she loved it, in fact she found herself hugging Lenore’s lips as she kissed her.

Lady Lenore backed, leaving a small trail of saliva between her mouth and Acorn’s saliva covered face. The borrower was completely stunned, so overwhelmed by the situation that it made her incapable of speech.

“Did you like that?” Asked Lenore.

Acorn simply nodded.

“Would you like more?”

Acorn nodded energetically.

And so Lenore leaned in for a kiss again, this time, however, she was even bolder, licking the entirety of Acorn’s tiny face with her wet, warm tongue, an experience in which the borrower rejoiced,

Lenore’s eyes went to her maid, who was looking at the entire situation in stupor. The young mistress smiled to her maid. And then looked back at the stunned borrower in the table.

“Isn’t my little Béatrice pretty, Acorn?” Said Lenore.

Acorn nodded again.

“Would you like her to kiss you?”

“M-MY LADY WHA-“ but Béatrice wasn’t able to finish her sentence, as she was distracted by the borrower’s reaction.

Acorn had to start breathing through her mouth. She wanted to say yes so badly but limited herself to nodding again.

“Come here Béa! Our little guest has spoken!” Said Lenore motioning for Béatrice to lean in.

The maid shyly leaned towards Acorn. The borrower’s face was completely covered in a little film of Lenore’s saliva. Her heart was racing. Not only because of kissing the borrower, but for indirectly kissing her young mistress.

Her first kiss was soft, elegant, as she was. It was brief but it enchanted both the borrower and the maid, as well as the young mistress looking in amusement at the pair. Her second kiss was longer, and this time she let her lips taste the shape of Acorn’s face. By the third kiss she had begun using her tongue, tasting both of Lenore’s saliva and under that the innate taste of Acorn’s body. Then a fourth kiss, then a fifth and a sixth…

“My, my, a little enamoured with our most esteemed little guest aren’t we, my sweet Bea?”

Béatrice didn’t realize she had too started breathing with her mouth.

“Why don’t we go to my room for a while?” Proposed Lenore.

A few moments later the three would be in the apartment’s master bedroom. Lenore was first to enter, followed by Béatrice, who in turn was carrying Acorn in her hand.

“Help me with my dress, Bea” said Lenore.

Béatrice didn’t answer, but she went to Lenore’s back and unzipped her long pink dress. The young mistress was left in her underwear, just a white bra and panties.

This was… what she wanted. At least just once. To shake away the barrier between them.

“Give Acorn to me and I’ll help with yours” said Lenore, with a voice that might as well had been covered in honey.

Béatrice was ready to hand her over into Lenore’s hands but she didn’t have them up, she just looked her in the eyes, smiling. Béatrice read the queue, and placed Acorn on her mistress’ cleavage.

Acorn was about to explode. Lenore’s chubby body made her breasts massive or at least massive in comparison to the borrower. Her breathing accelerated as she noticed she had to actively hang on to Lenore’s breasts to keep her from falling down deeper into her flesh.

Meanwhile, Lenore was unzipping Béatrice’s dress. The elegant maid uniform fell to the floor to reveal Béatrice’s lanky body.

“You’re so beautiful, little Bea…” Lenore said, inviting her to her bed. It was large, fancy, and certainly big enough for three normal sized people, so it had ample space for two humans and a finger-sized borrower.

Lenore gently set Acorn on the bed, letting her hop off her hand. “Your turn little one” she said.

Acorn was beginning to take her little dress off, but she was stopped by Béatrice’s fingers.

“Let me help” she said.

Acorn stopped moving. Béatrice dexterously removed her dress completely. It was actually amazing she did. Under it Acorn wore no underwear.

Lenore leaned for another kiss, the bolder yet, as this time she licked the entirety of Acorn’s body and lifted her into her mouth with her tongue. She gently pushed Béatrice down into the bed.

Béatrice hoped this wasn’t a dream.

Her young mistress laid on top of her body. Then she kissed her, with the borrower still on her mouth.

The maid could only wonder as how it would feel to be Acorn right now. To be so small and yet so lovingly encased within two caverns of flesh. To be so close to meeting one’s demise by accident, by being swallowed or by a mouth closing in too hard and yet to trust both of them completely.

Acorn, on her part, could never imagine she would willingly enter a human’s mouth. That she would willingly give herself up to these kind of games. But it was fun to play. And she wanted more.

Never before had she felt this aroused. She grabbed onto the interlocking tongues, rubbing her body against them. Lenore at first, then Béatrice. The three dancing in the name of excitement and desire. She had been turned around so many times that at one point she forgot whose mouth was supposed to be whose.

She couldn’t keep it in. She moaned loudly. And let both tongues taste her fluids.

At this point lips closed on her back and one of the tongues left. She felt movement. When the mouth opened again she was dropped on someone’s belly.

Lenore’s. This is Lenore’s tummy. She thought. The first time a cohesive thought that could be put into words came to Acorn’s head.

Béatrice was above them. Looking like she too was having a hard time thinking with all the lust clouding her head.

“Please… continue… I want you…” said Lenore.

“Yes… My Lady” barely said Béatrice.

“But… I want Acorn in too…”

Acorn knew what it meant. Lenore made no actual command but Acorn obeyed nonetheless. The young mistress smiled, satisfied knowing that the borrower could read her like that. Acorn half walked half crawled towards Lenore’s panties and got inside, between the white fabric and the wet flesh.

But then the panties where removed and Acorn found herself between Lenore’s wet flesh and the soft flesh of Béatrice’s girl dick, which she was rubbing and grinding against Lenore’s pussy.

Béatrice was refined and elegant even in these moments, as every thrust was made following a meticulous rhythm in connection with Lenore’s pleasure. Even in love she lived to serve her needs.

For Acorn, the experience inside the mouths was enough to be of world shattering implications. So when it came to her place here in between the passionate dance of Béatrice’s dick it felt of no consequence. She had already overloaded. She wasn’t going to spend this time thinking on how afraid of humans she once was. Now all she could think of was where to contribute to both women's pleasure.

The borrower squirmed between the two girls, climbing a little up Lenore’s flesh, until she was right against her clit. Acorn felt the entirety of Lenore’s body tremble in pleasure. All while Béatrice’s dick was still grinding her against Lenore.

At this moment it was simply too much for all involved. Acorn, Lenore and Béatrice all came roughly at the same time. The room was filled with loud delectable moans for a few seconds, and then Béatrice collapsed on the bed, at Lenore’s side.

“Oh dear… I’m sorry… I made a terrible mess…” she said, in between breaths and referring to the exhausted borrower covered in her load crawling out of Lenore’s intimate flesh.

“Ah… ah… d-don’t worry about it…” said Acorn’s tired voice, doing all she could to reach Lenore’s tummy on her all fours.

Lenore was smiling and satisfied. Both to have broken the tension between her and her maid, and to have made a new friend. It was also a very tiring and boring day, filled with endless meetings and empty pleasantries, and this was the best way she could dream of unwinding it.

“So… what say you now, sweetie, will you stay with us?” Said Lenore.

Acorn had settled for a point slightly above Lenore’s belly button to fall on her back and rest, leaving a trail of Béatrice’s cum all over the young mistress’ abdomen. She took some seconds to breath before answering.

“I’ll… I’ll…” began Acorn, trying her best not to reveal she just had the best experience in her life “I’ll think about it…”

The borrower fell silent, and closed her eyes smiling.

“I’ll bring a towel for our guest… before the… uh… ‘substances’ dry up…” said Béatrice, standing up from the bed “A hand towel will suffice”

Béatrice left the room and returned with a wet towel, ready to help the borrower clean herself up from all the fluids she spread on her. But once she returned both her mistress and the borrower on top of her were sleeping, exhausted and well pleased.

She couldn’t resist the thought. Acorn looked the cutest while naked, sleeping and completely blanketed by her love. She was sleeping just so peacefully, so calm, so loved.

A maid’s duty, it seems, never truly ended. She cleaned Acorn’s body gracefully and impressively this only half woke the borrower up and she returned to a completely asleep state as soon as Béatrice’s hands were off her.

Now, if she let the two sleep like that on this weather they would end up catching a cold. So she carefully picked Acorn up by the waist and set her gently beside Lenore’s face. It was safe, She knew her young mistress never rolled in her sleep.

Then as to not disturb her young mistress’ sleep, she went for a blanket in the closet, and managed to cover both women with it.

Once both were comfortable, Béatrice stretched and slipped back into her working uniform.

After all they wouldn’t be asleep forever and they would certainly be hungry once they woke up. Béatrice went to the kitchen and pondered her options.

She really hoped Acorn would appreciate the stew as much as Lenore did.

Béatrice began preparing herself some tea. And as the water boiled she began wondering.

Was what she did wrong? Was loving one’s mistress wrong?

But she soon found out the implications of what she did didn’t affect her. She loved Lenore. That was all there was to it.

And while certainly she couldn’t call it *love* yet, she was totally enamoured with the borrower.

As she poured herself some sweet tea she wondered when they could do that again.

But not now. She had work to do.

She wouldn’t let her mistress and a guest to their house go hungry.

#g/t writing #g/t community #g/t story #giant/tiny #g/t related #size difference #wholesome giantess

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