#they're idiots your honour

[vixstarria]

Kinktober Day 10 - Inappropriate use of mage hand

For every day of the month of October I will be posting a little snippet following prompts listed in this post. Most of these will not be full fics, but rather short snippets, set-ups, and, in a few cases, copied bits and pieces of fics I have already published. But, if there is a lot of interest and feedback on any of the snippets, they might just evolve into full fics, so keep that in mind.

Disclaimer: I know, I know, it's supposed to be sexy, but my fingers slipped and wrote comedy again instead... I'm sorry. Act 1.

“Squeeze it tighter… Tighter… Not that tight. …NOT THAT TIGHT, I SAID!”

For the past hour, mixed sounds of intermittent laughter and profanity spilled from Asmodea’s tent, where she had sequestered herself with Astarion. The rest of the group had gathered at the campfire, per what had turned into a nightly routine.

“This is your fault,” Lae’zel said to Gale. “What motive did you expect she had when she requested you teach her that spell?”

“She said she was going to use it to polish her dagger,” the wizard muttered, looking away. “…You’re right, I should have known better than to take that literally.”

“Gods!” Astarion’s aggrieved shouts continued. “Honestly, are you trying to yank it off?!”

“Perhaps you should place a sphere of silence over the tent - grant them a modicum of privacy,” Wyll suggested to Gale, shifting uncomfortably.

“Leave it,” said Shadowheart. “I’d rather know immediately in case medical assistance is required. And if they cared about privacy, or had any common decency, they would have taken themselves away from the camp.”

“How was I supposed to know it was going to be this hard?!” came an exclamation from Asmodea.

“…Well at least something is still hard after all that. That’s it. I’ve had enough.”

Some moments later, to the group’s amusement, a somewhat dishevelled Astarion burst out of the tent and headed back to his own, tucking his shirt in on the way. Asmodea followed not far behind him, with a spectral hand scurrying on its fingers across the ground after her.

“Aww, what if we try a different motion? It shouldn’t be difficult to make it thr-”

“No!” Astarion paused, squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose, before turning back to her. “Figure out how to maneuver that thing properly first, then come see me.”

“How am I supposed to figure it out if I don’t have someone to practice with?!” To her disappointment, Astarion only shook his head and continued on his way. “Come on, just the tip!”

“How about I give you something to practice on, soldier?”

Asmodea paused and cocked her head at Karlach, thoughtfully. Astarion had also stopped dead in his tracks at Karlach’s suggestion, before swooping back to wrap an arm around Asmodea’s waist, and hastily leading her back to his tent, all whilst giving Karlach an ice-cold glare. The mage hand dissipated, forgotten.

“And now?” Wyll was the first to speak amid the group’s snickering. “Sphere of silence?”

“Sphere of silence,” Gale nodded, gesticulating to cast the spell.

My Kinktober masterlist and prompts post

[expectiations]

Missy: i saw you buying flowers yesterday the Doctor: they weren’t for River Missy: i didn’t say anything about River the Doctor: …good, just making sure

[angeart]

not ribbon anon but I for one would LOVE to hear more about the mating mark dispute :3 And honestly just more about the mating mark in general. I wanna know how it happened and when and why and all the juicy details.

ohohooo okay!! i just need to adjust some stuff and read over it, but i can certainly give you that bit about what kane told grian :3c

as for the details of scar marking grian the first time.... weeeeell. that will be revealed once i make progress on the Main Rambles. uhhuh.

it does have a reserved spot in the outline, so you can kind of see when. the how is still veiled in mystery, it seems, but... you know, maybe scar just lets a bit loose. maybe he just lets his instincts take over. (chomp.)

maybe he doesn't even realise what it is! like, grian gifts him the feather and scar makes it into an earring, we know this, but are these two idiots (/aff) aware that they're hardcore flirting? 👀

because it takes grian talking to kane and nico (at a different, earlier time than the aforementioned conversation) about their matching bite marks to really fully Get It. and when he goes to ask scar? like, "scar, did you mark me as your mate?" scar ends up going red and wide eyed, oblivious, stammering an incomprehending "did i what?"

this just goes to show scar really didn't have a lot of dealing with vex instincts before! he knows about as much about vexes as do they about avians. despite being one.

but he still did it, on nothing but pure, unbidden instinct. laying his claim and expressing his undying love and loyalty. something in him just knew that this was the way to do it, you know?

(and maybe it's more of an attempt at a mating bite than a proper one—maybe the others can tell—but there's nothing stopping scar from trying again, and you know what they say. practice makes perfect :3c)

[foolishlywandwaving]

Gryffindor Red: Chapter 14

Excerpt:

... Hermione feels only a small amount of guilt for sidling off, but it’s hardly her business, is it? She’s here to learn, she reassures herself, laying her things out neatly, as Lavender’s shouting is in no way quietened by Professor Lupin’s reluctant involvement - 

“Rather eviscerated him, hasn’t she?” Riddle greets her neutrally as the rest of the class enters, but the twitch of his lips tells her all she needs to know. “Poor Weasley - I’d hate to be compared so eloquently to -” he cocks his head to catch the now-muffled words, as Lupin appears to have simply given up and just shut the door “- what was that? Having all the passion and commitment of half a slug?” 

His brow furrows slightly, looking confused and so unlike his usual self-assuredness, that Hermione can’t hold back her own half-smile. “Do you remember, in second year, when Ron tried to curse Malfoy with a broken wand, and then vomited up those fat, black slugs all over his stupid, hundred-Galleon pair of dragonhide shoes -”

Riddle lets out a genuine chuckle at the memory, twisting towards her in his seat. “Merlin, that was ages ago - do you know, Malfoy still can’t bear to so much as even pick up a Flobberworm now?” he murmurs conspiratorially, as she leans closer to hear his low voice. “You didn’t hear it from me, of course, but whenever he exercises his Pureblooded right to be particularly obnoxious, he finds his shampoo mysteriously replaced with Ever-Oozing Troll Slime …”

Some small, nasty facet of her personality - one that she rarely indulges - is elated to confirm her suspicion that all is not as harmonious as it would seem in the House of Slytherin: despite his outwardly friendly demeanour, perhaps Riddle, too, dislikes Malfoy?

“Does he suspect who the culprit is?” She doesn’t expect him to be honest with her, to indict himself, but -

“Well, for some reason, he was convinced it was the Weasley twins for the longest time,” admits Riddle with a faux-bashful smile that she sees straight through, “and he thought it would stop with their graduation. But when it happened again at the start of term, dear Draco ended up Hexing poor Blaise, and you can imagine how well that went down - about as well as Madam Zabini’s second husband in the Thames - ” 

Her bright peal of laughter is loud and unexpected, even to her, and he looks up at her through those unfairly long eyelashes, lips parted, a sly gleam in his eye that causes the breath to catch in her lungs, and she really ought to Occlude before - 

---

ao3

[greypetrel]

[GUIDE] from the prompt list for Aisling and Cullen :)

Was this an excuse to delve right into Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts? YES. (Thank you it is probably my favourite quest in the game, with the Arbor Wilds. :3 )

  [ GUIDE ]:          in the process of guiding the receiver through a crowded place, the sender’s hand protectively grazes against the small of their back (from this list, ask some more if you'd like!)

***

“Pardon me.”

It came in a snap, in the same clipped tone Aisling -no, the Inquisitor now- used when he and Leliana couldn’t stop fighting in the War Room and she wanted to stop them. The tone that wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“I am sorry to interrupt, but I need my Commander for a moment, there’s an urgent matter of security to discuss.”

She explained, calm but firm. Except, no one in the small crowd that gathered around him and had followed him everywhere he had tried to hide moved. There was some giggle from one of the ladies, a huff from the Comte that just- he couldn’t focus on much of anything now, occupied to keep his breath steady and present at all and totally frozen in place.

“In private, if you please. Now if you would excuse us…”

And just like that, he felt her resting a hand on his back, somewhere in the middle, the other gently resting on the closer elbow, and delicately but firmly pushing him away from his spot.

He followed her, glance trained before him but not really looking at anything, the crowd was too thick and he felt all eyes on him and his heart was bearing in his eardrums loud, too loud-

She pushed on his elbow, turning them steeply on the right.

“It’s ok. It’s ok, we’re out. We’re alone, breathe.”

She coaxed him, voice turned tender and soft as after another turn on the right she finally stopped, guiding them to lean against a wall. The air was fresh, a gentle breeze caressing his skin as he relaxed and let the panic subside. First he felt the breeze, and then her hand on his back, rubbing circles on the Velvet of his uniform.

After a minute or two, without any other word, his breathe came easier and more regular, and the beating sound of his heart subsided a little, vision clearing.

They were in a balcony, in a nook protected from view illuminated just by the moonlight and the faint light coming from the door. She was still touching him, looking up at him to check whether he was good or not. She smiled when she saw recognition.

“There you are.”

“T-that’s my line.”

“There we are, then.” She giggles. “Better?”

“I-” He shook his head, breath coming up in a huff before he admitted it. There was indeed just them, the Ambassador away from who knew what at this point. “Yes, thank you.”

She just nodded, with a smile still a little filled with worry, but didn’t interrupt the contact. It’s been hours since the Ball started, and it was gonna get dragged for hours still. He didn’t even notice her slipping back into the Ballroom, honestly: last he saw her, she was checking on him, curious about the people that were crowding him. She had asked him to dance, shily and probing, and he didn’t think she would have gotten back after he told her no a little too brashly, and she all but scampered away, masking her embarrassment with a smile and an excuse to need to slip into the library anyway.

“You shouldn’t have done it.”

“Did you mind it? I…” She snorted through her nose, face crinkling in a pout. “…I’m sorry, I didn’t want to intrude but when I saw that disgusting Comte groping you, I-”

Josephine had made a point in the last months to express her worry about how much the Inquisitor wore her heart on her sleeve and was like an open book. Training her to mask and to put up a face for the Winter Palace has been the most difficult thing. She’s been great until five minutes ago, not even flinching when people called her Rabbit or questioned everything about her in her earshot, from her role to her dress to the tattoos on her face -left bare and open by a complicated game of braids Leliana had made. In that momen, as most often when it came to her, he felt just grateful for her being so easy to read and open in her feelings.It was soothing and it was relatable, and it made all that easier opening up with her, if she was the first to show vulnerability. So, he just moved his hand to cover hers, still on his elbow, squeezing down.

“I didn’t. You should not have bothered for me, tho, they treated you far worse…”

She snorted, shrugging it off without looking at him. Her right hand on his back stopped on his track, meanwhile, without her really realising it, resting on the small of his back.

“I expected the insults, and I can take them, I’m used to it. Touching without consent, when it’s clear that there’s none and the other person’s not at ease, tho?”

It was rhetoric, and as she ended it, she blinked once, realising exactly where her hand was resting and that she didn’t really asked for consent either.

“As if I’m any better, anyway, I’m really sorry, tell me if you don’t-” She started to ramble, instantly taking her hand away and stepping on the side, cheeks flushing red.

“No!” He just blurted, turning after her, to face her, and slipping hands to grab both her wrists. “No, wait. I- Ah, I don’t mind it. From you.”

He fumbled, just a little, slowly bringing her hands -her wrists where little in his hands- behind him, to place not one but both where one was before, on the small of his back. He had to slip closer, taking one step further, and there, in a palace full of scheming Orlesians, an assassin on the loose and still too many clues to retrieve, it felt stolen and too intimate than it actually was. And all the dearest for the context.

“You can touch me anytime. I like it, if it’s you.”

She looked up, bashfully, and smiled at him, nodding to signal she heard. Still blushing, the tip of her ears deliciously flushed. Without an invitation, she stepped a little forward in a hug, squeezing him and sighing, contented. He circled her shoulders with his arms, resting his chin on top of her head, very delicately so not to ruin the complex hairdo.

“Likewise… And thank you. I am sorry you're being treated so bad.”

“I should be the one to thank you, really.”

“I hate it, here.”

“Me too.”

They were allowed just some brief moments, before someone was heard from inside asking for the Inquisitor and, with a muffled heavy groan in Cullen’s chest, she reluctantly had to break the hug. Still staying there for a moment, hands still on the small of his back and looking up.

“Well, the Servant’s Quarters won’t explore themselves, unfortunately…”

“You’d better go, before Dorian drinks too much and Cassandra punches someone.”

“Wish me luck?”

He snorts, slipping a hand to play with his lucky coin, which she had insisted on having mounted as a necklace and was wearing at her neck, just a band of blue ribbon to tie it at her neck. He turned it twice in his hand, before bending down and pecking a kiss on her lips.

“Some more can’t hurt, Lucky. Be careful.”

“You too, feel free to tell them I’ll be right back to zap their butts if they bother you again, ok?”

“I’d love to see it.”

[gefallene-quengel]

Franz: I've been dropping them the most insanely obvious hints for, like 30 years now. No response.

Ivo: Wow, they sound stupid.

Franz: But they're not. They're really smart, actually. Just ... dense.

Ivo: Maybe you need to be more obvious? Like, I don't know ... "Hey! I love you!"

Franz: I guess you're right. Hey, Ivo! I love you!

Ivo: See, that just like that!

Franz:

Franz: Holy fucking shit.

Ivo: If that flies over their head, then, sorry Franz, but they're too dumb for you.

[mademoisellesarcasme]

@semercury

my favourite brand of marichat . dumb and dumber 2

[c4tto626]

normal adult behaviour 🙏

[artie-party]

The first time it rained at Canaan House...

Credit to @omiomi-koki , sorry for the @ but this was just too perfect to not draw as griddlehark

[jupijupijumi]

Your hand in mine

[stellacartography]

Kinesis Chapter 15 - Hymns Unbidden

"Greg," Mycroft murmurs. Greg can feel Mycroft easing onto the couch cushion behind him. "I could… return the favour. Of a massage. If you think that would –"

"Couldn't hurt."

Kinesis Chapter 14 - Pine for What is Not

Back home in London, Greg and Mycroft navigate their new friendship.

[tervaneula]

"I love you," Yuichi breathes out, and Leonardo's heart hammers a new kind of rhythm in his chest. He can't help but kiss him. Yuichi smiles against his lips and they stay there, on the bank of an underground river, soaked to the bone but happy, kissing and giggling like a pair of teenagers, uncaring of the yokai who pass them by on their way across the bridge towards the city. Leonardo sits up and wraps his arms around the rabbit and when their lips next separate, he murmurs his reciprocation against Yuichi's mouth. It's received with a delighted laugh and another kiss, and another, and another, and Leonardo thinks that this might be more happiness than his two hands are able to hold – but by the Pizza Supreme in the Sky, he is going to try.

...terv can have a little self-indulgence. as a treat.

[feralbutfluffy]

Give a Man a Mask

The man who caught Aziraphale’s eye was lounging rather indecorously on one of the many benches lining the walls of the ballroom. He (because despite every inch of them being covered, Aziraphale was sure it was a he) wore a well-tailored black velvet suit jacket that fit snuggly over a black waistcoat intricately embroidered with gunmetal filigree. Underneath the waistcoat, Aziraphale could just make out a black shirt and a flash of burgundy lace at the man’s throat. Black leather gloves laced up around his wrists, and matching knee-high boots fit snuggly over the man's fitted black trousers.

Aziraphale sighed with envy. He could never pull off something like that.

Of course - he told himself - it wasn’t the man necessarily that had caught his eye. It was the clothing; he had always noticed and admired fine clothing, and his outfit really was exquisitely made.

Besides, it was hard not to notice someone who had dressed in such stark contrast to the rest of the guests. It seemed everyone else was dressed to excess, resplendent in feathers and lace, gemstones and pearls. This man’s costume, by contrast, was downright modern; minimal but striking, yet still in keeping with Carnivale. The handstitched leather Plague Doctor mask beneath a black tricorn hat completed the look. It should have looked offputting, really...

It did not.

The man looked less like a man, Aziraphale thought, and more like a long black shadow curving against the wall. Aziraphale popped a fritelle into his mouth and chewed it slowly before swallowing. 

If he was honest with himself (which he would prefer not to be, all things considered) he knew what had really attracted his attention; there was something about him - the lazy confidence evident in the way he was sitting, or the dark clothing perhaps - that made him think of Crowley. He hadn’t seen the demon in a few years, and although he was absolutely loathe to admit it even within the privacy of his own mind, he did rather miss him.

Well. He missed him and worried about him in equal parts. Handing over the thermos of Holy Water a few years before had certainly ramped up his anxiety.

He was extremely glad of his full-face volto mask as he watched the figure out of the corner of his eye. He popped another fritelle into his mouth under the mask, chewed, and swallowed with a little groan of pleasure. They really were delicious.

The Plague Doctor swiveled to face him as if he had heard him, and although there was no possible way the stranger could have heard anything of the sort from across the crowded ballroom, Aziraphale blushed ferociously. The heat of it was almost unbearable behind his full-face mask.

He turned his body away from the man, staring down at the sweet delights laid out on the banquet table, and tried very hard to ignore what felt like a heated stare. He gazed down at the galani, his mouth suddenly dry.

Although he was almost expecting it, the dark presence at his elbow a moment later made him start.

“Buonasera, come sta?” said the Plague Doctor in perfect Italian, tipping his hat in a quick formal bow.

Aziraphale had been right about it being a man.

He jerked back at the greeting, startled by the man’s sudden proximity, and scrambled for a reply. 

“Oh! Buonasera!” Aziraphale could think of nothing else to say. He cringed behind his mask and wondered if he could miracle his way out of a conversation that was embarrassing before it had even begun.

The Plague Doctor was wearing a zendale beneath his tricorn, and the silk hood concealed every part of his head not covered by mask or hat. He tilted his head, looking like a curious raven, and rested both his gloved hands on top of a cane Aziraphale hadn’t noticed before. His tight grip - Aziraphale could see his knuckles straining against the leather of his gloves - obscured most of what looked like a beautifully carved gunmetal handle.

He looked up. The large eyesockets of the mask were filled with dark glass lenses, revealing absolutely nothing. Aziraphale smoothed down his more traditional costume. The cream and white concoction with gold embroidery and an abundance of lace ruffles had rather delighted him when he’d stepped out this morning, but it felt quite indulgent next to this austere creature.

“I trust you are enjoying yourself?” said the Plague Doctor in an extremely thick Italian accent, leaning forward on his cane so that the beak of his mask almost punctured his bubble of personal space.

“Oh yes, very much so!” Aziraphale nodded, wondering what had drawn this man to his side and how he could possibly reverse it. For all that he had been intrigued before, he hadn’t intended to actually engage the stranger in conversation. There was something extremely unsettling about him up close. Perhaps it was the costume, or the way he was standing; it was patient, watchful, almost… predatory.

Aziraphale shuddered, and the Plague Doctor’s head tilted the other way, making it clear he had noticed. 

“Va bene, Signore?” Are you well?

Aziraphale nodded quickly. “Oh yes… Sto bene!” I am well. There was a brief pause while he summoned up formal Italian and hurriedly added a thank you. “La ringrazio!”

The Plague Doctor nodded. “How did you come to be here?” The words came low and slow, and Aziraphale felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up, his skin prickling with awareness.

He had always had a bit of a weakness for the Italian accent. 

“It was suggested to me by the concierge at my hotel,” he smiled, even though the man couldn’t see it. “He thought I might enjoy it, and he was right! I am enjoying it tremendously! The food alone...!" He made an appreciative noise. "How did you…? Are you local to the area?”

A slight tilt of the head as if the Plague Doctor were considering his question. It was surprising how demonstrative he was able to be without a single facial expression.

“Not exactly,” he said, and Aziraphale thought he could hear a smile in his voice, “Although for tonight... Certo. If you like.” 

The man swept into a much deeper, more theatrical bow than before. The black feather in his hat almost grazed Aziraphale’s chest. “This is my palazzo - my festa - and I am your host for the evening. You are…” he said, and straightened, holding out his hand. When Aziraphale hesitated, the man crooked his fingers impatiently and for some reason Aziraphale obeyed, quickly placing his white silk-gloved hand in the man’s leather-clad grip. 

“... You are extremely welcome here,” the man finished, bringing Aziraphale's knuckles to his mask.

It didn’t seem to matter that there were no lips there to brush against his hand; Aziraphale felt it as if the man had kissed his knuckles open-mouthed. A dart of something hot and unutterable shot through him, flared up and burnt out, thankfully vanishing before Aziraphale had time to recognise it and panic.

“Yes. Well. Thank you. La ringrazio,” he said, feeling flustered.

“No need for such formality, Signore,” the Plague Doctor said warmly, tugging his hand without warning to bring them shoulder to shoulder. He tucked Aziraphale’s arm into the crook of his elbow and patted his hand as if to reassure him that it was alright.

Aziraphale thought that it was probably not alright.

Surely it was not alright to walk arm in arm with a total stranger? Surely there was something morally grey about taking a turn with a mortal Italian dandy who apparently owned a palazzo and, by extension, the many sweet treats Aziraphale had been helping himself to throughout the evening?

If nothing else, surely he should feel some guilt or shame about enjoying the closeness of a stranger who reminded him so much of Crowley?

Continue reading...

[foolishlywandwaving]

Gryffindor Red: Chapter 15

Excerpt:

“- I take it you’ve seen the notice?” The world’s least welcome voice smoothly interrupts her rant, and she whirls around.

Fuck it all. Of course, it’s him. 

Riddle is not even bothering to hide his particularly pinched expression as he emerges from the dungeons. Despite the weekend, he still wears his Hogwarts robes. His book bag is slung over his shoulder, a periodical in his other hand. Hermione squints at it; on the front cover, a glamorous witch levitates with her arms spread wide -

“Hullo, Riddle,” Neville says, relieved for the distraction. “Heading out?”

“Indeed,” and the Slytherin frowns deeply, as though the closed library has personally offended him (Hermione certainly feels personally offended, attacked, slighted -). “I had wanted to finish some reading for Charms, and the stalls seemed like the next best place.” 

Hermione cranes her neck further and it clicks into place, why he’s heading to the Quidditch pitch. She points accusingly at him, her bad mood festering. “You’re reading about Ascendio already? We don’t cover that until next term, you -” 

“Why good morning to you too, Hermione,” Riddle says, effortlessly charming, but there is a tiny hint of warning in the set of his shoulders.

“Good morning Tom,” she simpers, meeting his coal black eyes directly, and dropping her shields. 

Are you studying ahead of me, you scab -

His mouth twitches. 

---

ao3

[teainthesnow]

they may be pirates but they absolutely rock the dresses as well

ft. my goober from at my worst and sensei from live life by @centerofleesmind

go vote for Live Life in the tmntaucomp

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