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nina-ya · 1 year ago

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May I please request a super angsty femReaderxzoro fic where reader dies trying to save zoro but in a really specific way as in she has devil fruit similar to uta but with healing abilities instead and she trades her life to save zoro which makes her have a death similar to rikas from jjk but the song she sing when she’s leaving is long live by Taylor Swift specifically “long live all the mountains we moved I had the time of my life fighting dragons with you” ect.If it’s too detailed, you don’t have to do it but I would really enjoy if you could do this

Long Live

A/N: Italics is a flashback and purple are the song lyrics I had so much fun writing this! well as much fun as you can have writing something sad, but thank you for giving me an excuse to write about more Taylor i hope you enjoy! <3 Pairing: Zoro x fem!reader CW: Reader dies, blood, vague alluding to sex WC: 2.1k Your voice had been a source of joy and happiness for as long as you could remember, and your devil fruit ability only heightened that joy, granting you the power to heal through your melodies. It felt like a gift straight out of a fairy tale. Cradling injured individuals in your arms, you would serenade them, witnessing their wounds miraculously vanish as they sprang up with newfound energy.

In your pursuit of understanding and enhancing your abilities, you dove into the histories of past users who once possessed this ability before you. While you didn't find much in terms of strengthening your powers, you stumbled upon something intriguing: the most recent user of your ability met their demise by sacrificing their life for a marine soldier. The event was well-documented—the tale of their final song and fading away into the unknown, all to save a critically wounded soldier. At the time, you found such sacrifice baffling and perhaps even foolish. The idea of willingly giving up one's life for another was a concept that had always left you questioning whether you could ever do such a thing.

You first encountered Zoro when he casually slid into the seat next to yours at a random, somewhat sketchy tavern on an island whose name had already slipped your memory. Ordering a beer, as expected, neither of you paid much attention to the other until you initiated a conversation, asking about the swords he carried with him. Drink after drink, the banter flowed effortlessly, and as the night progressed, so did the subtle hints of flirtation. Before you knew it, you found yourselves in the confines of the bathroom, Zoro pinning you against the wall, lips locked, hands exploring, clothes quickly discarded—an intense moment that seemed to mark the conclusion of your unexpected encounter. Or so you thought.

The next day, as you went about your business, you stumbled upon a wanted poster that featured none other than Roronoa Zoro, one of the most formidable and dangerous men in the world. The revelation left you torn between celebrating or worrying over the fact that you had just slept with one of the most deadliest men in the world right now. You had chosen the former.

Your lingering questions about whether you'd see him again were answered when, to your surprise, you spotted Zoro rounding a corner, seemingly lost and running in your direction. The unexpected reunion left you wondering about the twists and turns fate had in store for the two of you. He screeched to a halt in front of you, muttering something about being in the wrong place. You were on the verge of teasing him for looking like a lost fool when the unmistakable sounds of approaching marine footsteps and shouts pierced the air from behind. Without a moment's hesitation, Zoro swiftly unsheathed his swords, leaving you momentarily confused when he shoved one into his mouth. Your confusion gave way to surprise as marines in front of you began dropping like flies.

In the chaos, Zoro reached for your hand, grabbed it, and started running with you. Urgently, he asked you to lead him to the docks. Though an underlying sense of fear lingered, the idea of potential injury or worse, you couldn't help but go along with the green-haired man, guiding him through the streets towards the docks. The urgency of the situation fueled your pace, and as you turned a final corner, a grand pirate ship came into view. To your amazement, some very enthusiastic individuals, recognizable from the wanted posters plastered everywhere, were waving at Zoro and urging him to run onto the ship.

You might have assumed that Zoro would have let you go and abandoned you at some point, but to your surprise, he had you stick around. Soon enough, you found yourself on the deck of the pirate ship, met with perplexed and cautious stares from the crew. This wasn't the life you had envisioned, yet the appeal of friendship and adventures proved too compelling for you to resist.

As it turned out, your unique ability to heal with the simple power of song quickly earned you the role of healer on the ship. You often teamed up with Chopper, working together to mend the wounded, a category that frequently included Zoro. It seemed like he would intentionally find himself in dangerous situations just to give you an excuse to heal him. It became almost routine for Zoro to pull you aside for healing sessions. He would claim it was because "you're the faster healer" or "Chopper is busy with the others," but the way he stared at you with complete and utter infatuation as you sang hinted that there might be an underlying reason why he always sought you out.

Your relationship with Zoro had flourished during your time on the ship. While the two of you hadn't explicitly labeled it, an unspoken bond had formed, making you inseparable. It was clear to everyone around you that you and Zoro were meant to be. Your connection was so strong that it felt as if you were bound together for life. You, the enchanting songbird, had managed to melt the heart of the swordsman. It was a relationship that seemed almost too perfect to be true.

The shaky rhythm of Zoro's breath sliced through the air, the only accompaniment being the unsettling drip, drip, drip of crimson liquid splattering onto the floor from each painful gash on his body. His eyes threatened to give in to the darkness, the grip tampanoding his profusely bleeding wound weakening with every passing second, allowing more of the red tide to seep out. "She's close by," he reassured himself in a desperate whisper. "She will come and heal me, and everything will be okay." His vision blurred, the edges of consciousness fading, yet the approaching footsteps redirected his waning focus. Your silhouette emerged into view, and a feeble smile of relief played on his weakened lips.

You stood there, your body pulsating with the ache of injuries you had sustained from the battle. Exhaustion weighed heavily on your chest, each labored breath revealing your weariness. As you took in Zoro's dire state, a chill ran down your spine, and your hands trembled uncontrollably. The blood painted the wall against which he leaned, the pool he lay in enough to have claimed the life of an ordinary person by now.

In that moment, a wave of realization crashed over you, akin to what the previous user of your devil fruit must have experienced when confronted with the imminent death of that soldier. The only conceivable explanation for willingly sacrificing one's life in such a manner was love. Only someone who is deeply in love could find themselves doing what you were prepared to do.

Thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump—thump... thump... thump...

Your heart beats in your ears, slow and steady, a sharp contrast to the urgency that surrounds you. Crouching down next to him, your knees bathe in the blood beneath you. You reach out and stroke his face, your voice cutting through the tense air as a sweet melody falls from your lips, “Long live the walls we crashed through, I had the time of my life with you…”

Your vision blurs slightly as you start to sing, and your voice wavers, but determination fuels your every word. Zoro's consciousness begins to steady, and his gaze focuses on you. He listens to the lyrics you sing, his smile quickly fading as he senses your growing unsteadiness. His own heartbeat starts to quicken, mirroring the vivid recollection of the last time he was this severely injured.

Your fingers gently comb through the emerald strands of the injured marimo, the sound of your singing soothing his pain, mending the cuts and bruises that adorned him. As his eyes gradually flutter open from the haze of injury, he gazes up at you, a soft smile spreading across his lips upon hearing the sound of your voice. This time felt different from his previous injuries; there was an abundance of blood, and the worry etched across your face reflected the urgency to reach him in time.

You knew you couldn't stop singing. You needed to heal him, but you also needed to talk to him, so your song took on a more serious shift in meaning as you sang. "Will you take a moment? Promise me this: that you’ll stand by me forever," you begin, your voice carrying a weight that matches the importance of this moment. His larger hand envelops yours, nodding in silent agreement. You continue, "but if, God forbid, fate should step in and force us into a goodbye," confusion knits Zoro's eyebrows, wondering the reason behind the unexpected shift in your melody.

You persist, “if you have children someday, when they point to the pictures, please tell them my name.” Your voice grew shaky as you continued, “Tell them how I hope they shine." Teardrops fall onto his concerned face, and he instinctively reaches up to wipe them away. The inevitability of this conversation weighed heavily on both your hearts, each word spoken a painful acknowledgment of the uncertainties life may hold.

In response, Zoro reassures you with a resolute voice, "I promise to stay with you forever, but you know fate won't dare step in and tear us apart. I won't allow it. You’re too important to me, and I swear that we will live out the rest of our lives together, and *you* will get to tell our kids all of these things, okay?" His words, a promise fueled by determination, aim to chase away the uncertainty of what lies ahead, providing comfort in the tomorrow that they both look forward to.

It's happening. Fate weaves its cruel design, guiding you toward that goodbye—a scenario Zoro strongly vowed would never come to pass. “Long live the walls we crashed through, how the kingdom lights shined just for me and you,” you continue, your voice quivering with an emotional strain that mirrors the tension in the air. The aura that your powers provide seem to shimmer with an magical quality as Zoro's wounds gradually fade, mirroring the slow, inescapable dimming of your own presence.

Your body slumps over, a proof of the draining strength within you. Stronger hands, Zoro's calloused and desperate, grasp your arms, pulling you close in a desperate attempt to defy the approaching reality. A gasp escapes you, the sound of your body's instinctive cling towards life.

“Stop… Stop this… I—I’m fine now, see? Chopper can just fix us up; you can stop now,” Zoro pleads, his voice quivering, the tremor reverberating through the air. His lip wobbles, tears teetering on the edge of escape. He knows the words he's uttering form a desperate attempt to go against the harsh reality. In this wretched moment, he attempts to make you hold onto your own life, to discourage you from the selfless act of sacrificing yourself to mend his wounds. Yet, the heavy truth hangs in the air—a truth that your fading form seems to convey with every passing moment.

Your breath is shaky, and a sudden weariness envelops you. Yet, his pleas, laced with unspoken desperation, don't deter you. ”Long live the walls we crashed through, how the kingdom lights shined just for me and you,” you sing softly, leaning onto him, a somber smile gracing your lips despite the impending farewell.

“Please stop…I love you, please don’t do this…” Zoro's whisper is almost a plea, his voice breaking as tears fall freely. He grasps your hand, squeezing it with a desperation that clings to the diminishing hope that both of you can somehow emerge unscathed from this ordeal.

“And I was screaming, ‘Long live all the magic we made’ and bring on all the pretenders…” Another wave of weakness washes over you, and your head falls limp onto his shoulder, “I'm not afraid.” you murmur, hoping the reassurance in your words might alleviate some of the weight on his shoulders among the unfolding tragedy. ”Long live all the mountains we moved…I had the time of my life fighting dragons with you.” With that final line, your voice softens, the melody fading into a whisper as your breaths grow shallower. The grip of Zoro's hand on yours tightens, desperately clinging to the waning connection. With each passing moment, your form dissolves into an ethereal glow. In desperation, Zoro reaches into the empty space that you once occupied, his trembling fingers grasping at nothingness, a denial of the harsh reality that you are gone. The ringing of your song linger in the hollow space, a haunting reminder of a love transcended beyond the boundaries of existence. Zoro, left with an aching emptiness, is now entangled in the flickers and fragments of a love that slipped away.

#one piece #one piece x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro x reader #roronoa zoro #angst #one piece zoro #zoro roronoa x reader

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bleaksqueak · 4 months ago

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So! Because he is a recurring character, I can safely say you'll definitely know plenty about him as the story goes, but I can give you some tidbits now to hold you over. His name is Bastion Hornsby (which is why I drew this in the past when working on chapter 2: (It was gally's request I take no blame lol)

The students call him Mr. B. He isn't really fussed about how they address him, though, and is generally respected by the student body. That may be half due to a laid-back disposition, but just as much the whole "huge werewolf traps abominations for a living probably won't tolerate our nonsense". Probably. So, funny enough, he isn't actually a groundskeeper (though I would much enjoy watching him fight Groundskeeper Willie, as he's already gone MANO A MANO with a wolf before ), but he's more like a hired muscle/guard dog that keeps watch over the auxiliary campuses that aren't on the spire. A trapper by actual trade, as well a skilled therian magi (werewolf, to be exact), he's a steadfast aid when it comes to keeping the more vulnerable locations safe and lends his keen tracking skills to the Reapers when and where he can. But as glimpsed in chapter 2 and 3, even the lycan's instincts and lyra's magitech inventions combined are finding only faint trails and no results. ... Of course, he'll help out the busied Doctor Gwenne-Batar if she asks for help with some of the more humdrum tasks around the campus and stables, unless he's too busy, himself, at which point it gets passed off to the (dutiful, surely) TA, even if said TA is also busy with a tutee that is going nowhere.

As for the mask, the one you see worn by our big wolf friend is called a Pallshade Ward-- a veil of protection conjured by the caster's aether. Being a therian, Mr. B is life attuned, and so his living casts manifest as a reflection of that. While it's similar in function to the magitech enhanced masks Reapers summon as part of their uniforms, it isn't meant for long, continuous usage as it relies on the caster's finite aetheric store. Despite any limits, It offers enough protection to the vulnerable entry points of the face to save the caster from immediate compromise and filters any miasma that may arise occasionally in the deep zones, allowing safe passage should a magi find themselves having to traverse through one. A couple more example of aetheric manifest are subtle, but visible here in the conjuring wind of this initial cast, and again exponentially in this absolutely huge variation of the Trapper's Thrall spell, manifesting as his lycan form.

Though Maia was clearly startled by the sudden violence on the heels of her encounter with one of the local suspects of the island, she's the kind of person to appreciate a guardian dog stalking the grounds to keep the flock safe. Plus, he's nice to her.

#solivaga #soli asks #mr b #magic #aether #As always I type too fast and catch a bunch of typos after posting #Oh #and the most important tidbit: he isn't just humoring the pup. Adonis is *his* dog #and he calls him Donny for short #is it a useless fact #yes #is it the most important though #yes.

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pinesfamilyguidetotheweird · 1 year ago

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Ford Pines Headcanons Part 01

Feral Ford

Yep. Sending over that. As it was said, this side of Ford was initially created during moments of high stress and adrenaline and a need for self-preservation, where rational thought gets pushed aside. It escalated during his stays on 'wild' planets.

Experimented On

Ford was born with brown eyes, like his brother. However, at some point during the early years of his travels, Ford gets kidnapped by some unethical organization and was experimented on. Said experiments caused his eyes to change color, along with strange patterned irises (which you can't notice unless you look reeaal close) plus gaining a bit of tapetum lucidum. The experiment also gave him something like an enhanced healing factor, though it doesn't heal most scarring, plus some enhanced strength, speed, and agility. Not by much, but very much noticeable, especially at his current age.

Phobias

Ford has had many phobias over the years. His main one being his fear of snakes. His other fears are eyes (usually multiple eyes at once) and being stared at. He's also not a fan of the idea of hospitals because of the headcanon above this. He's afraid of someone finding something inhuman in his body.

Ace of Spades

Perhaps this is me projecting a little. Sure, Ford had a prom date and, apparently, dated a siren. The prom date ended with the girl throwing fruit punch on Ford for some reason (maybe he said something unintentionally insulting?) and it's unknown what happened with the siren...maybe they tried to eat him?

Disowned

Filbricks disowned Ford when he noticed that Ford's choice of study wasn't going to make them rich and Ford refused to change. The disownment left Ford feeling worthless. A moment of vulnerability that Bill will take advantage of.

Still Wanted

Even if Bill's gone, I'm pretty sure that some of the actions Ford has done during his travels has garnered the attention of many intergalactic governments and/or people of interest. So, his bounty remains active.

A ‘Better’ World No More

The 'Better World' where Stan listened to Ford and took Journal 1 away from Gravity Falls and Ford and Fidds founded Oddology? Ford no longer sees it as the 'better' world because it doesn't have his brother and niblings in his life.

Trauma

Boy howdy! Along with having major trust issues and permanent scarring, c-PTSD is also present. Along with occasional seizures because of the electrical torture he went through.

ADHD/Autism

Again, projecting here. lol

Memories Lost

This is after his surgery for the metal plate in his skull. A risk was some memory loss. Nothing major, but could still be a concern. Ford felt it was a good trade. Some memories for a way to protect himself from Bill? Sure! And he seems to be doing pretty well afterwards, so maybe the memories lost weren't anything important... Probably.

#gravity falls #stanford pines #ford pines #grunkle ford #gravity falls headcanons

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whatudottu · 6 months ago

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Regarding your cerebrocrustacean headcanons mentioned in the previous ask: they very well could be somewhat canon given how, when asked if Albedo and Dr. Psychobos would be willing to work together, Derrick J. Wyatt responded with "Psychobos seems like a total team up slut, he'll team up with any villain any time" (his words, not mine).

Which he likely meant in the sense of "Psychobos is so power-hungry he'll team up with anyone in order to get ahead", but with your headcanons and the fact he never talks much about his personal life in mind, you could alternatively interpret it as "Psychobos is so desperately lonely he'll accept anyone he has even the slightest similarity with into his clique, even members of a species he's violently xenophobic towards" (probably to cope with/serve as a rebound for his mancrush Azmuth friendzoning him /lh /hj).

Now all of this is making me realize that it was a massive missed opportunity in Omniverse to not have Psychobos' demeanor do a complete 180 around the people he works with compared to everyone else (whether sincere or a thinly-veiled manipulation tactic) if not solely for a few jokes. Especially him acting like an affectionate father figure towards Malware (whether he likes it or not) solely so he can rub it in Azmuth's face that "I'm a FAR more attentive and caring parental figure towards your creation than YOU ever were, and I use the term loosely".

WHAT DO YOU MEAN DJW SAID 'TEAM UP SLUT' HAHAH WHAT!? dear god it's true it's on the wiki what the fuck what the fuck assdfjhghsdlfkgfkl-!

I mean, look at his already canon group; Khyber, allegedly the greatest huntsman in the galaxy, teaming up with Dr Psychobos to make a little watch that can sample (specifically predatory) animals; and Malware, a technology absorbing mutant mechamorph, working with the cybernetically enhanced (also listed as a mutant???) cerebrocrustacean in order to make said watch- if liking the concept of animals and incorporating machines as part of oneself is enough to get into Dr Psychobos' clique well, he's certainly stretched what that means far enough to at least snag two others into his initial team up. Same can't be said for Attea and the incurseans which seems to be more of a sponsor type relationship, and Maltruant commissioned him to repair his body but violated the trade agreement so whether or not Psychobos would do business with the incurseans again, he's already squarely sequestered Maltruant in the outest of out-groups :P

Hah, the 'Dr Psychobos adopting Malware specifically to stick it to Azmuth' bit reminded me of a signing-the-adoption-papers version of the 'I throw my used car batteries in the ocean' thing- something along the lines of; [psychobos voice] "You are the most calamitous individual I have had the pleasure of meeting, and I use the term loosely." [malware voice, threateningly] "I have devoured and absorbed the specs of the Omnitrix." [psychobos signing adoption papers] [malware, experiencing the affects of cerebrocrustacean in-grouping and having no frame of reference on how to deal with it] "What the fuck is happening-"

#ask #anonymous #dr psychobos #malware #malware ben 10 #cerebrocrustacean #khyber is mentioned technically but like he's just there for clique demonstration #ben 10 #heartbreaking: the worst person you know included you in his in-group and loves and respects you just because you shared one interest #i will draw this it's a visceral image it's just that it's not now because i am exhausted :P #does psychobos having an in-group suddenly make him a good person- no #does psychobos having an in-group that does not care about what species is in it make him a good person- also no #he's a jerk which severe xenophobia and like the encephalonus IV equivalent of like- sigmund freud #but also not freud because freud is a fraud that only became the father of psychology because psychologists around the world disavowed him #but like- an infamous figure which controversial opinions but ultimately- being so well known he is the face of the collective #that collective being cerebrocrustaceans as a whole because god damn it why did dr psychobos have to go for ben 10? for fucking azmuth!?#even assholes have in-groups it's kinda how assholes spread (well they can spread in other ways but that's not relevant to the current topi #i would be nice though if the allegedly greatest huntsman and the chronically unloved mutant experienced cerebrocrustacean in-group respect #khyber would be off-put as a solo one-man show (well there's also zed but he doesn't even gender her right let alone treat her well)#malware would be so inexperienced with interactions even slightly positive he'd kinda mostly be too stunned to do anything but stand silent #dr psychobos as per usual talks and talks as if bouncing back against a wall (because really he might as well be)#but so long as his treatment towards his in-group keeps them around longer (with the bonus of not getting stabbed in the back hopefully)#then far be it from he to complain whenever his fellows come back with their parts of his little pet project

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 2 years ago

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Hey there~ I've got a question because I actually can't remember that one part. Soooo in the end who was the one that saved, or specifically picked Yuu at the end of chaper 5 after Grim's attack??? I remember that chapter 6 started with us in Ramshackle (with some kinda bandage on our face??) with Ace and Deuce and we talked about Grim with them but nobody said anything about our "savior"??? Like, who actually found us at the vdc stage during the night and took us back to ramshackle since Yuu themselves passed out???

I received an ask very similar to this a while ago! I’ll refer you back to my initial response.

At this point we’re pretty late in the main story, so I wonder if that detail will actually be addressed or if it will be totally glossed over (similar to how the main story never said what Leona traded Azul to get the magic-enhancing potion for his plot in book 2) 😂 because in the context of everything else that's happening, it’s such a small thing?? I wonder if it really matters at all… though this kind of requires way more suspension of disbelief rather than just ignoring a detail. How exactly does a whole body move all the way from the VDC stage to Ramshackle Dorm??? Just look at the distance between the two places.

Since there’s only book 7 left to explain things and Adeuce and Grim are already ruled out, I’m going to have to guess maybe it was either Crowley (since we still don’t know his motives) or a Diasomnia boy??? Most likely Malleus because he could easily teleport this long distance and he is the one most familiar with Yuu of Diasomnia. He’s also the most likely to take strolls at night to random locations 😂

#Leona Kingscholar #twst #Azul Ashengrotto #twisted wonderland #Ace Trappola #Deuce Spade #Grim #Yuu #notes from the writing raven #question #Dire Crowley #Malleus Draconia #twst theory #twst theories #twisted wonderland theory #twisted wonderland theories

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azurewildflight · 4 months ago

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Alex New Outfit and Fully Design concept: Ultra Alex

Ultra Alex is a heighten stated Alex can use enhancing his senses and abilities. It also allows for him to draw out more than 100% of his physical power

It’s split into three variants

Super Alex

Ultra Alex

Ultra Alex: Minus

Super Alex is a initial version which allows Alex to tap into some of the abilities of Ultra Alex without fully transforming

Ultra Alex heightens Alex’s abilities and gives all his energy a positive feedback

He trades off defensive abilities for offensive ones with the ability to unleash 200% of his power

He can easily perform Arts in the state, some autonomous

Ultra Alex Minus, similarly to Ultra Alex, heightens Alex’s abilities but instead gives all his energy a negative feedback

He trades off offensive for defensive and can only unleash 150% of his power

He can also create armored scales to protect himself and increase damage

#azure za raid #hybrid complex #artist of tumblr #oc #oc artist #oc art #oc artwork #character design #alex woress #my art #character lore #oc lore #oc sketch #character sheets #character development #orginal character #magic art #magic powers

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lemurlegs · 7 months ago

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Bewitched

Hi people, I'm back with a new chapter. This one is a little short compared to the others, but don't worry the next chapter is going to be long, but it is taking me some time to write it since I'm trying to establish some rules in my fic. So this chapter is more of a lore dump on how certain things work. The next one will also be lore heavy, but more focusing on our character. Anyways enjoy!

Wordcount: 3.6k

Previous chapter

Warning: none i think?

Chapter 4.

Unveiling The Mysteries

An Ultimate Guide To Demon Magic.

Written by Anonymous, 1994

Chapter 1. - The birth of demon magic

After Lucifer fell from heaven, a horde of angels loyal to his ideas fell with him. These fallen angels despised their holy nature and sought out the primordial Darkness that governed Hell before their arrival, pleading with her to transform them into beings as dark as she was.

The Darkness complied, twisting them into entities of corruption. The leading six angels became the first demons, who then went on to become the Princes of Hell, ruling over the rings.

After transforming the princes, the Darkness corrupted the rest of the angels, turning them into the first succubi, imps, hellhounds, and other demonic beings. She gave these new creatures the ability to reproduce and granted them a fragment of her magic, urging them to populate Hell. From these demons, the rest of the hellborns emerged.

In time, the first sinners began arriving. Within a few years, mortal souls outnumbered the hellborn demons. Initially, these creatures coexisted relatively peacefully, but mortal souls grew envious of their hellborn counterparts who possessed demon magic. However, sinners had one significant advantage: they couldn't die permanently. A sinner's soul would always regenerate after being broken.

Using their overwhelming numbers and unkillable nature, the sinners rose up against the hellborns and successfully defeated them.

As the sinners began hunting down the hellborns, the hellborn population started to dwindle. In response, the six princes and Lucifer decided to confine the sinners to a single ring, recognizing their power-hungry nature. Lucifer chose his own ring, Pride, to house the mortal souls.

Outraged, the sinners began destroying the Pride ring, demanding their authority back. When Lucifer refused to yield, the sinners eventually accepted their fate.

Over centuries, the sinners turned to controlling one another. They discovered they could trade souls, gaining the ability to control others at will. By harnessing the power of souls, they finally achieved what they sought: demon magic.

This type of demon magic differed from that of the hellborns, as it required manipulating a small scale of soul magic to function.

Over centuries, sinners seemed to evolve in ways no one could fully understand. Some began to fall to Hell with inherent abilities, without needing to acquire souls. Typically possessing one or two abilities, these demons had an initial advantage over others and became the first overlords.

Gradually, it became common for sinners to arrive in Hell with some form of magic. In recent years, almost every sinner has fallen with some magical ability, though usually only one or two. Despite this change, the amount of power granted upon death remains limited.

Many demons began speculating and studying their history to understand the source of these powers. Some theories suggested evolution, while others believed the Darkness was responsible…

Chapter 4. What is the soul and how does it make a sinner stronger?

In the realm of biology, the soul is seen as a powerful force present in all living beings. It's often described as pure energy, and it resides in a small space between the ribs.

Souls can greatly enhance an individual's power if enough are collected. These are typically obtained through agreements known as soul-binding deals.

When a demon acquires a soul, their abilities get stronger. And as they gather more souls, they unlock new magical abilities. This process of collecting demon souls is key to understanding the extent of one's powers.

Once you gain a soul, there's a subtle shift, almost imperceptible, as its essence integrates into your own. As the connection solidifies, a sense of empowerment washes over you, a tangible manifestation of the soul's influence.

As an individual accumulates demon souls, the process of integration becomes increasingly intricate, leading to profound changes in their magical capabilities. Each soul, with its unique essence and energy signature, acts as a catalyst for unlocking latent potential within the individual.

The integration of a demon soul initiates a complex alchemical process within the individual's being. Initially, there is a subtle but palpable shift in their magical resonance as the foreign energy merges with their own. This fusion sets off a chain reaction, as the energies of the soul and the individual intertwine and harmonize.

As more souls are collected, this process of integration becomes more pronounced, amplifying the individual's magical aura and expanding their repertoire of abilities. The combined energies of multiple souls create a synergistic effect, enhancing the individual's control over various aspects of magic.

Chapter 12. - How to discover your demon powers?

To unlock your demonic powers upon arrival in Hell, there are essential steps to take for optimal results:

Self-reflection is paramount. Start by delving into your past life on Earth. Consider your strengths, weaknesses, and the aspects of your identity that define you. Reflect on your deeds, your associations, and the circumstances of your demise. What were your greatest achievements? What sins weighed heaviest on your soul? These questions can offer valuable insights into the nature of your potential demonic abilities.

Next, focus on raising your energy levels. Developing heightened awareness and sensitivity to magical energies requires dedicated practice. Engage in regular meditation sessions to quiet the mind and attune yourself to the subtle vibrations of the spiritual realm. Through meditation, you can cultivate a deeper connection to the energies that surround you, paving the way for a clearer understanding of your demonic powers.

Here are some other tips to help with your discovery:

Take the time to explore the diverse environments of Hell and experiment with different rituals, incantations, and magical techniques. Engage with other inhabitants, seek out knowledge from experienced practitioners.

Be open to trial and error as you seek to uncover your powers. Not every attempt may yield immediate results, but each experience can offer valuable insights and lessons learned. Embrace failure as a natural part of the learning process and remain persistent in your quest for mastery.

Explore the realms of dreams and astral projection as avenues for discovering your latent abilities. During dream states, the barriers between the conscious and subconscious mind are weakened, allowing for deeper exploration of your innermost self and potentials…

With a surge of excitement, you slam the book shut, springing up from the bed.

"That's it!" you exclaim to yourself.

A dream spell—it's the answer. With it, you could easily uncover your latent abilities. If demon magic truly came from The Darkness, or as you know her as Mona, The Moon Goddess, then some lucid dreaming and a talk with her can be extremely helpful. Maybe she knows how to break the curse.

The book mentioned raising energy, but let's be real, yours is already plenty high. I mean, you've been at this for nearly 500 years. Yeah, your energy is more than raised enough.

As you gather the necessary ingredients for the spell—Chamomile tea, dried lavender, and a few words of Latin—you realize an hour has passed since your return from shopping. You've been so immersed in the book that you completely forgot about unpacking all the items you bought.

You approach the bags containing clothes and toiletries, setting about organizing them and putting everything away. Once that task is complete, you retrieve the phone Angel insisted you buy. His warning echoes in your mind.‘Make sure not to have the phone around Alastor.’

What the hell does that even mean?

As you finish organizing most of your belongings, you turn your attention to the remaining bags. Carefully unpacking the supplies, you arrange them on a small desk in your room. Setting out the altar cloth, divination tools, jars of herbs, candles, and crystals, you create a sacred space for your rituals and spellwork. Fresh grimoires and other books find their place among the items, ready for reference and study.

Turning to the little dressers on the opposite side of your bed, you remove the nightlights and adorn each dresser with an altar cloth, beginning to construct your deity altars. One for Mona, the Moon Goddess, and one for Fenja, the Huntress Goddess—your two main deities.

With the leftover supplies and items, you decide to stow them under your bed. Yet, a chilling realization dawns upon you. While you can secure your door against unwanted visitors, Alastor's ability to shadow warp means locked doors offer little protection. It's best to keep him from seeing your room.

You resolve to secure your door both magically and physically. Walking over to your altar, you grasp the ritual knife resting upon it. With careful precision, you draw the blade across your palm, creating a shallow cut, allowing a little blood to well up.

Approaching the door, you begin to inscribe the locking sigil—a complex pattern known only to you, designed to keep out unwanted intruders. With each stroke, you imbue the sigil with your intent, infusing it with protective energy.

“Mea voluntate hoc ostium obligo; Clausum et obsignatum nullum introitum ad inveniendum.”

As you spoke those words, the sigil you drew began to glow with a violet hue, sealing the door with powerful magic.

It's reassuring that your magic works even here in Hell. While you're on the quest to discover your demon powers, it's a comfort not to feel completely powerless.

As you step away from the door to tend to your wound, you're interrupted by frantic knocking.

Seriously? Now?—you think to yourself, wrapping a cloth around your hand before swinging the door open just enough to peer out.

Standing before you is Charlie, her face beaming with a big smile.

"Hi, sorry to bother you, but today's group activity is about to start, and I'd love it if you could join us," Charlie says, her voice eager.

"Group activity?" you respond, raising an eyebrow in confusion.

"Yes, group activities are supposed to help with rehabilitating sinners to get them into Heaven. At least, that's the theory," she adds with a nervous laugh.

"Oookay," you reply, processing the information. "Um, listen, I'll be down in a second, okay? Just need to finish something."

"Sure, take all the time you need. We'll be downstairs in the living room," Charlie says, turning around and practically skipping with joy as she heads downstairs.

You scoff at the idea of getting into heaven. "I'd rather die again," you think to yourself.

Heaven is... well, let's just say you're perfectly fine with living in Hell. You don't exactly agree with heaven, and you have some terrible history with them.

Shaking off the thoughts of your past, you remind yourself it's best not to dwell on it. You walk towards your altar and pick up some yarrow leaves, squeezing them onto your cut to stop the bleeding. After a few moments, the bleeding stops. You proceed to clean the wound before heading downstairs.

By the time you arrive, everyone is already gathered in the living room, with the exception of Alastor. Not that you mind; while you don't have anything against him, you're cautious around someone who owns your soul, especially considering what you've read about him.

You make your way towards the group, who are sitting on the floor in a circle. Spotting Angel, who's engrossed in his phone, you head over to him. As he sees you approaching, he quickly puts his device away and greets you with a wide smile.

"Heyya, toots, finally decided to join the brainwashing?" Angel greets you with a smirk.

Vaggie shoots him a glare in response to his comment.

"Yeah, I suppose," you reply, deciding to play along. "By the way, how's your eye?" you ask, genuine concern lacing your words.

He waves you off. "I'll be fine. It was my fault, I ran into that lamppost," Angel responds, shooting you a look, silently asking you to go along with it.

"Yeah, quite clumsy of you," you agree, as Husk leans forward, interjects into the conversation.

"He seriously ran into a lamppost? It looks more like he got beat up or something. You sure it was a lamppost?" Husk questions, raising an eyebrow skeptically.

"Yep, lamppost," you quickly confirm, covering for your friend.

Husk doesn't seem entirely convinced, but he doesn't press further.

"Alright, everyone, it's time for today’s group activity! Yay!" Charlie exclaims with enthusiasm, though her energy is met with awkward silence and uninterested faces.

She laughs a little, seemingly embarrassed, before standing up and clapping her hands together. Taking a moment to look over everyone, she begins, "Today's activity—I think it would be great if we talked a little bit about ourselves. Since we have a new resident, let's start with a simple one: What got you in Hell?"

At that question, everyone seemed to withdraw a little. While some began to explain their situations, you start to realize you have no idea what got you in Hell. I mean, you had plenty to choose from, but which one was the one that sealed your fate? You had no clue.

As your turn came for the circle confession, Alastor suddenly manifested from the shadows.

Charlie turned to him with excitement. "Hey, Al! Welcome back. We were just starting today's exercise. Would you like to join?"

"Actually, dear, I have something I nee—" Before he could decline, Charlie began explaining today's exercise.

"We're going to talk about our past! Ginger was just about to explain why she ended up in hell!" she exclaimed.

At that, Alastor's smile widened as he looked at you. "Well, I suppose I can make some time."

With that, he walked towards the group circle and sat down on the couch. Crossing his legs, Alastor locked eyes with you.

"Go on, dear. Don't stop on my account," he said with an amused smirk.

"Well, I've been thinking it over while everyone else got their turn, but I genuinely don't know what got me here," you admit.

At this, Alastor raises an eyebrow, seemingly confused by your answer, considering he remembers you telling him that you manipulated men and most probably murdered them too.

"What do you mean, Ginger?" asks Charlie.

"I don't think I'm innocent or something; I just don't know which of my sins got me here," you explain with a shrug.

“Well list a few of ya sins toots, mabe we can figure it out togetha’” Angel interjects.

"Ohoho, only if you want to stay here for a few hours; that's quite the long list to go over," you joke, having a good laugh at the idea. Unbeknownst to you, the group's faces wear a dreadful expression, while Alastor seems particularly delighted by your response.

"Oookay, let's move on," said Charlie, quickly moving to the next question. "Um, okay, what are three things you're really good at or just particularly enjoyed doing?"

“Sucking dick, snorting drugs and sleeping all day” Says Angel proudly. You couldn't help but giggle, though you noticed Alastor's disgusted look, hidden behind his smile. You had to admit, the guy was really committed to the whole smiley bit.

"Thank you, Angel, let's move on," Charlie quickly interjects with a nervous laugh. "Anyone else?"

Silence ensues.

“Oookay I guess I'll go then. I really enjoy singing, drawing and making new friends”

You can't help but find her adorable. It's hard to believe she's the princess of Hell.

"Who's next?" Charlie asks, breaking the silence.

Husk groans. "Fine, I'll go. Better to get it over with now," he mutters before clearing his throat. "I like cheap booze, poker, and magic."

At that, you light up. "Magic, you say? What kind of magic?"

"Like card tricks and illusions," Husk replies.

"Oh, uh, well, I'd love to see it sometime," you say, a little disappointed.

"You can show me some magic anytime, Pussycat," says Angel flirtatiously, leaning into Husk's personal space. Husk promptly shoves him away, hurling a list of profanities his way.

As everyone explains what they enjoy most, there are only two left: you and Alastor.

“Alright toots, you're up”

"Okay. Well, let's see. I really like history, particularly the 1920s. I enjoy reading, and I like singing." You explain. Let's just say you liking history is more so because you lived through a lot of it. You did some fuuuun things in the roaring twenties.

Now that sure got Alastor's attention.

"Hmm, I suppose it's my turn, isn't it?" Alastor muses. "Let's see, I quite enjoy tormenting souls, jazz music, and cooking."

Everybody grows quiet at that answer.

"Okay, that's, um, good for now, I suppose. You're all free to go," says Charlie as everybody starts leaving. That's when you realize Alastor didn't answer the first question. Curiosity piqued, you stopped everyone.

"Wait, Alastor, you didn't answer the first question. What got you in Hell?" you inquire, feeling a surge of curiosity.

If you thought the awkward silent pauses that happened tonight were bad, then you had another thing coming, because the whole group looked at you as if you had a death wish. And while cautious, you wouldn't say you were afraid of Alastor.

With a snap, his neck bent in an unnatural way.

"My, my, quite bold, are we?" he said, his tone laced with amusement. "Well, if you must know, I was a serial killer in the 1920s, cleaning the streets of New Orleans. I'm quite certain that's why I'm here."

You give him a smile.

"Thank you for sharing, though I don't see what's so wrong in cleaning up the world from vile, disgusting people," you say, looking up at him. Craning your head to look at the tall demon, you give him an innocent-looking smile.

The whole group stands wide-eyed, jaws on the floor at your interaction. Even Alastor seems shocked, but more happy shocked than disturbed shocked.

With that you inform everyone that you'll see them tomorrow. Before you go to sleep though, you go to the kitchen to make your cup of tea. And also to catch a few bites.

You select a mug adorned with a little fox design, evidently made just for you. Cute.

As you begin making the beverage, you sense a strange, dark energy manifesting behind you. You had felt it this morning too, when Alastor appeared behind you, and when he shadow warped you back to the hotel. So naturally, you call out to him with your body turned away, hoping to catch him off guard as he's likely planning to do the same.

"Hello, Alastor, fancy seeing you here," you say, still completely facing away.

"Well, hello to you too, darling. How did you know I was behind you?" he asks, surprised. Ha, got him.

"Lucky guess, I suppose," you reply, though in truth, it's more like centuries worth of experience and raised vibrations.

He hums at your response. "I actually want to ask something from you, dear."

"Shoot," you say.

"Pardon?" he asks, confused.

"I mean, go ahead. What did you want to ask?" you clarify.

"Ah, yes, of course. I need you to pick up some fresh cuts of meat from the butcher for me tomorrow. I'll write down the address for you," he says, snapping his fingers, and a notepad and pen appear in his hand.

Your eyes widened at that. Conjuration—wow, it's like this guy got all the cool powers Hell can offer.

"Okay, but why do you need me to get it for you?" you ask skeptically, raising an eyebrow at the demon. This felt like a trap, or at least like it wasn't just for the purpose of getting a slab of meat.

"Well, you certainly ask a lot of questions, dear. Don't you know curiosity killed the cat?" he responds as he leaned forward, now invading your personal space, inches from your face.

"Yes, but satisfaction brought it back," you quip back at him, not even flinching at his closeness.

At that response, you see Alastor getting visibly irritated. Antlers elongate, his smile stretches to unnatural lengths, and his eyes darken, pupils changing to radio dials.

"It would be in your best interests to do what I tell you without question," he warns, smile turning into more of a snarl.

You stand there unfazed; you've certainly seen scarier displays than some deer man throwing a tantrum. He might own your soul, but you're not going to let him walk all over you.

"Sure, whatever you say," you shrug, as you turn away from him and back to your sandwich, still unamused at his antics.

He returns to his normal form, slightly confused by your lack of fear. Then he turns to pick up the notebook and pen and scribbles something on the note. Tearing the page off, he hands you the paper.

"Pick it up by 9 and put it in the fridge. You don't need to worry about money; it's already paid," he instructs.

With that, he melts into the shadows, leaving you alone in the kitchen.

You eat the sandwiches you made as you take your piping hot tea up to your room. You reach your door, placing your hand over the place where the sigil is. Focusing your energy, you unlock it in mere seconds. As you close your door, you turn towards your altar, placing some dried lavender in your tea, preparing the drink for the spell. Taking the bundle of dried rosemary, you use your magic to light a small purple flame to burn it. You take the bundle and cleanse your room, your bed, your cup, and yourself. Then, you take the little spoon and mix it clockwise, drawing in the energy you're manifesting. With that, you begin your incantation.

"Somnia cosmica, nunc decerno;

Evigila, anima mea libera.

In somnis amplexu, conscientia video."

With that, you start sipping your tea. A foggy, cloud-like energy surrounds your mind, and you begin feeling incredibly tired. You chug the tea down, already feeling its effects.

After a quick bath and your nightly routine, exhaustion overtakes you. You slip into your cozy king-sized bed, dressed in your red sheer nightgown with fluffy furry trims, and you fall asleep within seconds.

As you drift off, you anticipate the journey ahead, eager to discover what you're truly capable of.

#alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x oc #alastor x reader #alastor x you #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel fanfiction

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reyaint · 3 months ago

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history of HAIQIN | part VII: transition to parliamentary monarchy

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date: october 3-4, 2024.

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Transition to Parliamentary Monarchy (1890s):

End of Absolute Monarchy:

End of Full Monarchy (1890):

By the late 19th century, mounting social unrest and pressure for greater public representation culminated in the shift from absolute monarchy to parliamentary rule. King Nerosin Vasilios, a pragmatic and reform-minded monarch, foresaw that maintaining absolute power would only fuel civil unrest. In a calculated move to preserve the monarchy’s relevance, he initiated the formation of a constitutional framework that shared governance with elected officials. This marked the end of centuries of absolute rule under the Vasilios dynasty.

Voluntary Relinquishment of Power:

In contrast to violent uprisings seen in other regions, King Nerosin Vasilios opted for a peaceful transition. He recognized that empowering a new class of elected officials would enhance national stability. He recognized the importance of a more inclusive government that reflected the desires of his people. This strategic decision reflected a broader awareness of democratic ideals, influenced by ongoing movements in Europe, and allowed the monarchy to preserve its legacy while evolving with the times. While the king still retained significant influence, major governance decisions would now be shared with the emerging political class.

Establishment of Parliament:

Bicameral Parliament (1890):

The introduction of a bicameral parliamentary system marked a significant development in Haiqin’s governance. The House of Sovereigns, comprising members of the royal family, nobles, and military leaders, retained advisory powers, ensuring the traditional elite maintained some influence. In contrast, the House of Commons consisted of elected officials representing the provinces and cities, providing the people a direct voice in government. This house represented the voice of the people and was responsible for matters such as taxation, laws, trade, and regional governance.

Roles and Responsibilities:

The distribution of legislative power was carefully balanced. While the House of Commons assumed primary responsibility for taxation and legislation, the House of Sovereigns maintained the authority to review and amend proposed laws, ensuring that aristocratic interests were not entirely sidelined. This balance reflected a compromise between tradition and modern democratic practices, allowing both social classes to participate in governance.

First Parliamentary Elections:

The landmark elections in 1891 were met with enthusiasm across the kingdom. Voter participation surged as citizens, for the first time, elected representatives to the House of Commons. This event not only marked a new chapter in Haiqin's political history but also fostered a sense of civic engagement and national identity among the populace.

Constitutional Framework:

Drafting the Constitution (1890):

The new constitution was a crucial element of this transitional period, serving as a legal framework that synthesized Haiqin's historical governance with contemporary democratic principles. It established a clear separation of powers, delineating the roles of the monarchy, parliament, and local governments.

Monarchy's Role:

Under the new constitution, the monarchy transitioned into a more ceremonial role, with its powers defined but limited. While the monarch remained influential in areas such as foreign policy and military leadership, their direct involvement in legislative matters became restricted. However, they maintained key powers such as foreign policy oversight, military leadership, and the ability to appoint certain ministers, subject to parliamentary approval. This shift reflected a modern understanding of governance while preserving the cultural significance of the monarchy.

Checks and Balances:

The newly established checks and balances were instrumental in preventing the concentration of power. The Prime Minister, elected by the House of Commons, emerged as the head of government, responsible for domestic affairs and administration. This structure encouraged accountability, requiring the monarchy and parliament to collaborate, ensuring that no single entity could unilaterally dictate national policy. The monarchy, though still revered and influential, could no longer enact laws without parliamentary approval. This new system prevented any single entity from wielding unchecked power.

Peaceful Transition:

Avoidance of Civil War: Unlike many nations undergoing similar transformations, Haiqin experienced a remarkably peaceful transition. King Nerosin’s foresight and willingness to adapt to the political landscape averted potential civil strife. Various societal factions, including military leaders and the burgeoning middle class, recognized the necessity for reform, thereby supporting the shift to parliamentary governance.

Public Reception:

The public's response to these reforms was overwhelmingly positive. The promise of greater representation invigorated citizens, many of whom had long felt disenfranchised. The monarchy's compromise fortified its standing as a revered institution, and citizens viewed this transition as a necessary evolution in their national identity.

Social Reforms and Modernization:

Education and Infrastructure:

The establishment of the parliamentary system catalyzed significant social reforms. Education systems expanded dramatically, the curriculum now included both modern subjects and Haiqin's ancient traditions, ensuring that future generations remained grounded in their cultural heritage while embracing global advancements. Schools and universities flourished, fostering a well-rounded populace prepared to navigate a rapidly changing world.

Industrialization and Economic Growth:

The late 19th century marked a period of robust industrialization for Haiqin. Factories, railroads, and ports emerged, driving economic expansion and enabling the export of textiles, steel, and artisanal crafts. Haiqin's strategic alliances with Greece, Ireland, and Scotland allowed it to thrive as a key trading partner in the region. Urban centers blossomed, giving rise to a burgeoning middle class and transforming the socio-economic landscape.

Workers' Rights:

As industrialization progressed, so did the challenges associated with labor exploitation and unsafe working conditions. The new government responded with early legislation addressing workers’ rights, regulating wages, working hours, and child labor. These measures showcased the parliament's commitment to social justice and economic equity, reflecting the growing awareness of labor rights in the industrialized world.

Provincial Reorganization and Decentralization:

Formation of the Ten Main Provinces (1892):

As part of the new parliamentary framework, Haiqin’s regional governance underwent a significant reorganization. The kingdom officially recognized ten provinces, each possessing distinct cultural and historical identities shaped by their geography and population. This shift toward decentralized governance allowed provinces greater autonomy in managing local affairs while still contributing to national decision-making.

Representation of Provinces:

With the establishment of a parliamentary system, each province secured the right to elect representatives to the House of Commons. This ensured regional voices were included in national discussions, helping to quell historical tensions between the central government and provinces that had previously felt marginalized.

Unique Provincial Identities:

Each province developed its own cultural and social identity, shaped by its unique history and geography. Some provinces embraced Greek traditions, while others maintained strong Indigenous or hybrid cultural practices. This regional diversity fostered a sense of unity among the provinces while allowing for the preservation of distinct cultural identities within the national framework. Each province had distinct regional identities shaped by their history, geography, and culture. However, with the formation of Parliament, these provinces were granted more autonomy to govern local matters, such as trade, culture, and resource management.

Regional Diversity:

The provinces, while united under a single national identity, began to develop their own unique regional traditions. This helped foster a sense of unity despite cultural differences.

Provincial Governments:

Each province established its own local council, which reported to Parliament. These councils were responsible for managing local affairs, including taxation, infrastructure, and education.

Provincial Representation in Parliament:

Local councils were established within each province, tasked with managing regional affairs such as taxation, infrastructure, and education. This governance structure empowered provinces, encouraging local engagement and increasing accountability.

Role of the Monarchy Post-Reform:

Ceremonial and Cultural Leadership:

Post-reform, the royal family’s role evolved into one of cultural and ceremonial leadership. They became symbols of national unity, heritage, and continuity. Public appearances, royal events, and festivals reinforced national pride, providing a stabilizing force during a time of rapid societal change.

Military and Diplomatic Influence:

Though no longer absolute rulers, the monarchy continued to hold influence in military affairs, especially in maintaining alliances with Greece, Ireland, and Scotland. The royal family remained active in diplomacy, representing Haiqin at international summits and serving as ambassadors for the nation's interests abroad.

#reality shifter #reality shifting #shiftblr #shifting community #shifting #shifting motivation #shifting reality #dr scrapbook #dr world #reyaint #anti shifters dni

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housekonig · 1 year ago

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Regional Resurgence: Education and Economic Growth at the Forefront of State of the Region Dinner Talks

The R4 Conference's traditional State of the Region dinner served as a platform for shared vision for economic growth and regional stability for member-nations. Elected officials from each member-nation delivered keynotes, sharing their national commitments and plans for fast-speed rail systems, increased intra-regional trade, and enhanced opportunities in education - all of which are set to turn the tides for the region's future.

The R4's governing body laid out plans for a speed rail network connecting the countries, designed to increase trade and commerce, while minimizing transit times and ecological footprint. Officials also highlighted measures to boost educational exchanges and university opportunities within the region, hoping to foster the intellectual potential of the region.Other topics covered include internet access, climate change, and shared other shared goals and initiatives.

The State of the Region dinner yet again showed that cooperative efforts amongst the R4 member-nations plays a fundamental role in building a more prosperous and well-connected region.

The conference continues with a museum visit, wreath placement, and will end with a state dinner hosted by Her Majesty and other senior members of the royal family.

The Kingdom of Vernick (@housekonig)

United States of Simerica (NPC Nation Version)

The Kingdom of SimDonia (@bridgeportbritt_

The Empire of Pierreland (@officalroyalsofpierreland)

The Trentallia Union (@trentonsimblr)

The Kingdom of Uspana (@nexility-sims)

The Ionian Union (@funkyllama)

Empire of Francesim (@empiredesimparte)

The Kingdom of Illyria (@the-lancasters)

#housekonig #ts4 royal #ts4 royal family #ts4 royal legacy #ts4 royalty #the sims 4 monarchy #the sims 4 royal family #ts4 royal simblr #R4 conference

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sexymemecoin · 7 months ago

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seluchiha · 4 months ago

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match up trade for @sugutoad ✨

I ship you with… Daemon Targaryen

- Cocky, Arrogant, Charismatic… It’s definitely him. Daemon has a commanding presence and charisma, often described as the rogue prince, which could be very appealing to you

- Both Daemon and you share a fiery temper and passionate nature but in the different ways. Like fire and ice. Daemon is known for his strong emotions, his impulsivity, and his ability to get intensely angry. He isn’t afraid to speak his mind and is very direct, which aligns well with the your own blunt nature. You both are stubborn, and while this could lead to clashes, it could also create a mutual understanding and respect.

- Despite his rebellious nature, Daemon is fiercely loyal to those he loves. He would fit the need for someone’s who is attentive to their partner’s needs and willing to stand by them, particularly in difficult situations, showing you "the light at the end of the tunnel."

- Daemon is the perfect example of a “beautifully broken” character. His strength, both emotional and physical, would be grounding for someone like you who needs reassurance when feeling insecure or anxious. He’s morally complex, absolutely not kind or innocent, which could make you connect with him, try to “fix him”. Despite his wild side, has a fiercely protective nature toward those he loves.

🌹Ship Tropes🌹

"Enemies to Lovers"

Both have strong, stubborn personalities and blunt communication styles, which could initially cause friction. Your fiery temperaments and desire to be right could lead to heated arguments, creating tension and passion. Over time, however, this tension turns into mutual respect and attraction, with their intense emotions fueling a passionate romance. You’ll learn to appreciate each other’s strengths, and the initial conflict becomes the foundation of a deep, fiery bond

Beauty and the Beast" (Fixing the Broken Hero)

Daemon embodies the "beautifully broken" character archetype—charming but damaged. You are drawn to "fix" emotionally complex people, would see through Daemon’s tough exterior, recognizing his inner struggles and vulnerability.This dynamic creates a relationship based on emotional healing and growth.

Opposites Attract" (Fire vs.Ice)

While you share similarities in temper and passion, their fundamental outlooks on life are different. If you are more of a realist and overthinker, while Daemon is impulsive and reckless. This contrast creates an exciting dynamic where Daemon pulls you out of your comfort zone, encouraging you to be bolder and less anxious, while you can help Daemon reflect more on his actions and make better decisions. You’ll balance each other out, with your differences enhancing your connection.

I see you…in the HOUSE STARK🐺

- Like the Starks, you value privacy and tend to be more introverted, often appearing composed on the outside despite internal struggles.

- The sense of duty and being the eldest child (often parentified) mirrors the Stark family’s deep commitment to responsibility. The realism and directness, which can sometimes be perceived as cold or blunt, much like how your honesty is sometimes misunderstood. House Stark's blend of responsibility, duty, emotional depth, and intellectual strength fits well with this your personality profile.

your ship song🎶

Million Dollar Man - Lana Del Rey

MOONBOARD

#house of the dragon #match up #hotd #daemon targaryen #house stark #game of thrones #hotd matchup

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jmoonjones · 2 years ago

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OK, so this story really ballooned in my mind and it started to become clear that drawing it all out would be a pretty big undertaking, especially since much of it is exposition.

I made the pivot to writing most of it out because as a dyslexic person, it does me good to practice writing (I tried for the style of a history book? Maybe?). Prior warning on any typos, just roll with it.

In post-war Illyria, the land finds itself ensnared in a web of adversity. A dwindling population hampers agricultural endeavors, while power struggles over vacant leadership positions sow discontent among the people. Whispers circulate, advocating for Illyria's right to select its own leader from someone who lives within their own borders.

This chosen person would safeguard the interests of Illyria and its inhabitants from being used as a military power but ignored in times of peace. Progression is overdue, trade is being stunted, and the now-largely female population (due to the losses during the war) is eager for equality.

And thus enters Emerie, a Carynthian and a Valkyrie, as well as a small-business proprietor. Practical and resolute, Emerie begins to garner support from the predominantly female populace, with her Carynthian status creating male allies as well. She envisions a future of thriving trade, using her own experience running her shop, and dreams of Illyria never being lacking in spices and salt.

She envisions cultivating an economy based on tourism, enticing other courts to partake in Illyria's small shops and enterprises, and this will help build new businesses like hotels and guided tours.

As the movement gains traction, the final piece of the puzzle falls into place: Devlon. Possessing the wisdom of age and name recognition she lacks, Devlon bridges the divide between the disparate camp factions and gives her 'legitimacy' to the wary males by standing as Emerie's second-in-command.

Devlon wants independence for Illyria and is smart enough to see that getting on board with Emerie and her group would give the movement more traction and more likelihood of success.

(It helps that Nesta, ever vigilant, casts an ominous witchy glance at Devlon whenever he looks to be up to no good. He will eventually establish himself as a trusted confidant to Emerie and her government. )

In a collaborative effort with their loyal companions, Emerie and Devlon meticulously pen a declaration of independence so thorough and thoughtful that even Rhys, the High Lord of the Night Court, accedes to its terms. Acknowledging that the most advantageous course of action for Illyria is to empower it, Rhys pledges financial aid as seed capital while the newly independent nation gets on its feet. A special bond endures between Illyria and the Night Court, now operating as sovereign entities with far less strain than before.

Emerie becomes the Prime, with Devlon as her Second-in-Command. There's an initial forum with citizens to share their worries, followed by a celebratory party DJ-ed by Nesta's ipod-egg and featuring singing by Gwyn.

Rhysand employs this secession as a catalyst to deepen his involvement in the Hewn City, but this time with benevolent intentions. Bereft of the Illyrian army, he endeavors to gain control over the Darkbringers and seeks to enhance the quality of life therein, offering the possibility of migration to Velaris for those who desire it.

With Nesta and Cassian at the helm of two formidable armies—the Valkyries and the Illyrians, respectively—Illyria solidifies its status as a force to be reckoned with in Prythian. This commands immediate respect from the other courts, who are intrigued at this new country for them to trade and visit (but not dare to take on in battle).

Oh, and did I mention that our trailblazer Emerie secures a seat at the High Lord table being the first female and elected leader to sit there? Because she does.

Gwyn, bravely venturing forth from the confines of the library, champions the cause of non-High Fae rights. As a part-nymph, she has personally encountered bigotry, which resonates with the plight of other marginalized fae and Illyrians. (Remember all that 'lesser fae' bs from ACOTAR?)

Gwyn assumes the mantle of their advocate, bolstered by Nesta, who desires a future where her part-Illyrian child will never experience such animosity. Several priestesses get involved and their 'safe haven library' mission expands to other courts (becoming a quasi-embassy) run by a priestess-ambassador. Helion and Meallan are invaluable as transportation while they get set up.

In this shared mission, Nesta stands as Gwyn's steadfast second, while Gwyn reciprocates as Nesta's second within the Valkyrie army. Together, they dedicate their efforts to train any woman who aspires to be empowered and thrive.

Emerie bestows a position of authority upon one of her close friends in Windhaven; a fellow small-business owner, who becomes the Chief of Trade. She begins by establishing a robust import framework, laying the groundwork for future exports and imports. Initially targeting the Night Court as a trade partner, their aspirations eventually extend to encompass all of Prythian.

Azriel becomes both emissary for the Night Court and shared spymaster. This mutually beneficial alliance allows Illyria and the Night Court to share confidential intelligence. By being more involved in Illyria, Azriel begins to reconcile his own long-held prejudices to his people and heritage. He splits his time evenly between the two courts (when he's not spying).

Nesta and Cassian live in Illyria full-time, training their armies and raising their family. Nesta also dedicates time to creating a night life by helping establish several clubs/bars with dancing and music for all to enjoy. Eventually talented Illyrians will form schools dedicated to the arts. Speaking of school...

Devlon's cause is education. Too proud to ever admit he's wrong, he realizes he needs to be right more often than not to make that work. He sets up schools in each camp, many of which also serve as boarding schools for the orphans. He claims it because it's because he doesn't want to deal with wild children running about, but he becomes very invested in education and it gets really dusty in here whenever a child hugs his leg.

This emancipation advances Illyria and the relationship with the Night Court is forever made more solid now that there's mutual respect and admiration between the two.

Are you still reading? Oh my goodness, thank you. As you can see, this idea would have been tricky to draw out since most of it is exposition.

#yes it's a hilariously non-violent and calm transition of power. This is cute escapism! If you want violence and strife #please watch the news and then donate/vote/act upon your outrage #for real #meanwhile #devlon becomes an emerie simp #this is what happens when I'm sat in a waiting room for hours and let my brain run rampant #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar head canon #wing clipping is obviously outlawed PROPERLY #emerie of illyria #valkyries #nesta archeron #nessian #gwyneth berdara #gwyn berdara

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whumpbug · 7 months ago

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hi bug i am here to trade questions!! i have a burning one about your boy archie:

what exactly are his powers? what sort of things can he do? what are the drawbacks to them, how do they hurt him back?

thank you :>

-@whump-kia

thank you SO much for asking this because i've been wanting an excuse to talk about this boy ( ๑˘ω˘ ) like yours, i also wrote a LOT so i apologize in advance

okay so. i think i've said before that his enhancements are like if daredevil and captain's americas abilities combined but ill explain it in more detail for people who aren't totally sure about the specifics of that

the tl;dr is basically this: archie has enhanced strength and heightened senses. he's about 4 times as strong as the average male his age, and similarly as resilient. because of his enhanced strength, he can also run faster and jump higher (the boy has quads of steel). he can also see and hear much clearer and farther than your average human and can even hear heartbeats from a decent distance away!

under the cut is a lottt more detail and context for those who are interested!

so basically, i'm gonna start with some backstory.

archie's villain (hero) origin story:

archie grew up in the city and was never very. affluent.

he grew up with his mother because his father left when he was really young. he doesn't remember him well, but what he does remember is the effect his absence had on his mom. to put it briefly, he grew up around a lot of things that a child shouldn't have had to grow up around.

still, his mother did her absolute best to give him a good, safe childhood. unfortunately, there are things you just cant protect your child from.

when he was about 7, he was walking home from school and goofing around like a kid does, and he somehow got roped into a drug deal that was being made just a block from his apartment.

long story short, the guys were roughing him up (they were assholes.) and one of them was messing around and pretending to stick him with one of the syringes.

and then he actually did.

and it was agony.

poor, tiny archie was immediately overcome with the worst pain he'd ever experienced in his life to this day.

to avoid this section becoming a straight up 100k fic, ill just say that the recovery from the initial contact with the serum took archie weeks to recover from, and it many ways, he hasn't.

the boy is terrified of needles.

about the drug itself:

so you're gonna have to bear with me her because i am not a biochemist, and this might not make any sense.

so the drug, which i've dubbed VSD (Very Scary Drug) was originally made by a very shady crime syndicate, for underground fighting rings, kind of like a steroid but more permanent. the drug has 2 parts.

the first part of it works by acting on a specific DNA sequence, and spurring HGH (Human Growth Hormone) to amp up its production in the skeletal muscle cells, bone cells, and neuromuscular junctions (for better and faster reflexes)

the other part alters the somatosensory cortex, occipital lobe, and temporal lobe, and esentially causes them to be extremely active, to a point beyond human ability, but because of the first part of the drug, it's able to heal itself and create new cells

because VSD was designed to be permanent, it is very dangerous and not for everyone. the thing about it is that you have to be genetically compatible with it, or the entire thing could backfire or malfunction. only about 1 in every 100k people are even able to reap the effects of the drug. about 1 in every 100 even survive taking it at the dose archie recieved it.

if someone incompatible takes the drug, the effects are. dire. they can range from blindness, deafness, loss of sensation throughout the entire body, tumors, complete paralysis, and even the body just. not producing more cells. and then the vicitim would just deteriorate.

so yeah! not a fun time! and archie was incredibly lucky. the drug was obviously discontinued, and archie hasn't heard of anyone else who recieved the same effects that he did. there are only drugs that can do similar things now, but none are permant like archie's, and the abilities dont even begin to compare.

now what the hell can archie actually do?

well, let's first start with what he can't do.

the drug has no cognitive or behavioral effects, so archie is still the same old archie, only his body has changed.

the drug also has no effect on the immune system, both innate and adaptive. archie can get sick the same as any person, and has the same recovery time too!

now lets move on to the fun stuff!

like i said before, archie has about 4 times the strength as your average male his age. because of his muscle mass and bone density, he is also relatively resilient to injuries from "normal" people, but he's not like. invincible. if you smack that boy with a brick, its gonna hurt. he is sometimes unaware of his own strength and limits though, and throws himself to situations with the mindset of "this isnt even gonna scatch me" and is proven very wrong.

as for his senses, we'll start with vision

he can see about twice as far as your average person, and with clarity beyond even 20/20. he is also very privy to noticing small movements, even if theyre in his peripheral.

now hearing! he can hear much much quieter things than your average human. im not totally sure how to quantify this one, but basically he is hearing like.. everything. all the time. which we'll get into later. the way i gauge it is the fact than he can hear heartbeats, even when he'd just standing next to the person.

and lastly (and probably least interestingly) touch! he can feel sensations a lot more clearly than most. the sensation you would have on your fingertips is kind of what he feels all over, and it makes him have pretty bad sensory issues with certain things (me too archie, me too.)

how can we whump this boy?!

okay, now onto the drawbacks of these abilities!

you're probably thinking "bug. how are there even any drawbacks? these abilities seem sick asf! how do i get my hands on VSD?!"

and i'm here to tell you. NO no you do not want this. archie still suffers every day.

the first and most obvious one is the unimaginable sensory overload this boy feels every day. he hardly ever gets a quiet moment, and even when he does, he still can't tune out the sound of his own heartbeat thundering in his ears. it's hell. luckily, hes had 17 years to learn to cope, but he still has days where he curls into a ball in a dark room and sobs because everything is too bright and so so loud

also, the drug isn't painless. since the muscle mass isn't natural, prolonged use of his body (like in fights) cause horrific aches the days after. it feels like his body is trying to tear itself apart, which, it kind of is.

also, the headaches. god, the headaches. the human brain does not take kindly to being toyed with and doesn't archie know it. archie is sort just. in a perpetual headache. and he only really notices when that headache becomes a migraine. get this boy some ibuprofen, please.

another thing is increased appetite. because cells can't just synthesize out of nowhere, archie has to keep up with the rapid production. this boy can EAT. he is always hungry. always snacking.

lastly, the psychological aspect of the whole thing. growing up as a superhuman, where even playing thumb war could break your classmate's thumb, was hard. archie lived most of his childhood keeping to himself in fear of his own strength. as he got older, he learned to manage it a bit better, but he's still very anxious about it. he won't let himself near babies, cats, or small dogs.

and then, of course, there's the trauma. this manifests as a SEVERE needle phobia, as well as just a fear of doctors in general. its the reason why he and Simon's relationship just works. he doesn't see him as a doctor, he sees him as a friend who is always willing to take care of him when he needs it, and for that, he is forever grateful

end!

and that's pretty much it! please excuse my probably horrid typos and grammar errors, i kind of rushed this because i was excited, so i hope you like it kia! thank you so so much for the ask! ヾ(^ ^ゞ

#my ocs #archie schultz #archie my beloved #bug chats about their silly little guy #i love he #yes i know vsd is like a heart condition but shhh dont worry about that

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cavalierious-whim · 3 months ago

Text

Socially Awkward, Chapter One (Wriolette)

Wriothesley and Neuvillette are both lonely, socially stunted older dudes terrified of dating, and so they do what the youngsters do-- accidentally initiate romance over social media by way of 'lewd modeling'.

'Socially Awkward'

Part 1 of 11

modern au

old dude cliche rom-com

Read here on AO3. You can also, follow me on Twitter and Blue Sky.

“You do know that your phone has died, right?”

Wriothesley's face tilts towards Clorinde, who leans over the offending piece of tech. It’s propped against a stack of weights, and no, he didn’t know that—he was too busy counting out his current set and staring off into the distance. He curses, dropping the dumbbell in his hand to the mat.

“Ah.” Clorinde’s mouth curls into a smile as she watches him scramble. “So you didn’t—”

“I don’t need to hear it from you, miss, ‘I have a flip phone’—”

“It isn’t a flip phone,” she replies tersely. “Or, it is, but it’s still a fancy smartphone and certainly newer than yours.”

“You traded up because of nostalgia.” Wriothesley shoots her a knowing look before leaning over to pluck his phone from the floor. “But, you lack the technical know-how of how phones work.”

Clorinde raises an eyebrow. “Says the man who didn’t realize his phone was dying?”

“I wasn’t looking!”

She snorts softly. “I know how to text and answer a call. That’s all that’s needed.”

Clorinde would say that. Clorinde is allergic to anything that doesn’t involve CrossFit, sharpshooting, and butting into Wriothesley's business. Like being nosey and peeking at his phone.

“Well, just in time, I guess. I’ve been needing a break. Hungry?”

“I wasn’t, but now that you’ve said something…”

Wriothesley shoots her a grin. “Want to call it an early day and go to Café Lutece? An order of Crepes Suzette would really hit the spot—”

“Right in your gut,” cuts in Clorinde, following him to the locker room. It’s an unspoken rule that Clorinde is allowed on the men’s side, no questions asked. Besides, it’s not as though she’s looking with intent—her eyes wander in an entirely different direction, and the gym is small enough that the others don’t care. “What happened to the diet?”

“I’m still bulking up!” A flimsy excuse that has Clorinde giving him the look. “Look, there’s nothing wrong with a treat here and there, and you know how good the Conch Madeleines are—”

“Alright, alright, you don’t have to sell it to me.” Clorinde waves a hand. “You had me at Café Lutece. Besides, you need a break, I need a drink, and we need to talk about plans for the week.”

“It’s—” Wriothesley looks at his watch. “—barely noon, Clorinde. Surely it’s too early for booze.”

“Have you never heard of brunch and mimosas? But no, I was thinking about a nice latte. I know their tea is mid—”

“It isn’t that bad.” Wriothesley tugs off his sweaty shirt and drops it into his bag. He pats himself down with a damp towel, paying particular attention to his neck and face, and then it too is tossed into the bag. “It’s drinkable. Besides, like I said—the madeleines.”

While Clorinde’s comment about his diet was mostly a tease, he could be better about his occasional treats. But the madeleines are just too good, and they enhance even the most subpar teas.

He tugs on a fresh shirt and looks at her. “Decent?”

Clorinde leans over and sniffs, her face wrinkling comically. “Decent enough to sit outside. As long as no one is within five feet, we should be safe.”

Rude. Wriothesley reaches into his bag, grabs his soiled shirt, and chucks it at her in response.

She stands there as it smacks her, and then she drawls, slowly and deadpan, “Delightful.” She peels away the article and tosses it right back into his bag. “And you wonder why you’re single.”

Wriothesley shrugs. Reaching for a comb, he attempts to groom his wild rat’s nest of hair, grunting slightly when the tines get stuck on the coarse strands. “You act as if I’m trying to be anything else.”

Because he isn’t. Wriothesley isn’t wired for relationships. They require too much trust, too much vulnerability, and he isn’t about to dip his toes into that. Clorinde should get it because she’s the same, and that’s why they are two peas in a pod.

She’s too quiet though—quiet enough that he looks at her again. Her expression is soft and contemplative.

“What’s with that look?”

“Hm? Oh, it’s nothing, just… Well. We aren’t getting any younger, right?”

“Surely you aren’t thinking about dating again.” Wriothesley hisses softly as the comb finally slides through a tangle. “Clorinde, you’re my wing-woman—”

“Wouldn’t that imply that you are dating?”

Wriothesley snorts. “An occasional fuck and run isn’t dating. Don’t leave me stranded.” A few more tugs of his comb make his hair presentable. “Besides, didn’t you swear off men years ago?”

Men, yes. Women, though?

“Women are fair game,” replies Clorinde, the expected response, one repeated so often that Wriothesley mouths the words alongside her the moment they slip from Clorinde’s mouth. She reaches over and nudges him sharply in the ribs. “Enough of that, though. I’m hungry.”

Only because Wriothesley suggested they grab a bite to eat. Still, he shoots her a smile, and shoulders his gym bag.

“Yeah, let's get out of here before we’re cornered by Sigewinne.”

“So, the schedule for the weekend.”

Wriothesley is halfway through his bite of crepe when Clorinde broaches the topic. He groans, shoving the fork into his mouth and swallowing. “Do we have to talk shop here? Can’t it wait?”

“It could,” she says, “but it’s better to just get it out of the way, no? Besides, you’ll bounce the moment we’re done and then we’ll have to have this chat over the phone—”

“Which you’re allergic to. Got it.”

Clorinde levels him with an unamused look. “I do remember saying that phone calls were fine. It is you who decidedly dislikes them.”

Wriothesley cringes at the accusation. It isn’t his fault that he dislikes it. Direct messages and emails are easier. Clorinde only gets a pass because he’s known her forever. She carries the distinct titles of “bestie” and “ex-roommate”, and is the only person that he remotely trusts. Others are email-zoned, as it were.

“Okay, then, the schedule,” he begins, shoving his food around his plate.

“I knew you’d come around,” she replies, earning herself another groan and a roll of Wriothesley's eyes. “You have a boxing match, right? I think I saw it on the gym calendar.”

Wriothesley nods and hums softly. “Yeah, that guy from Mondstadt. Mr. Dark-something or other.” He chuckles. “Last time we crossed mitts he told me he preferred a fight name which I get, but like…” Wriothesley waves his hand. “He could’ve picked something less comic book-y.”

“I remember that being a good match, though. Excited to have another go at him?”

She knows that he is, and Wriothesley shoots her a grin and winks before shoving another bite into his mouth.

“So, Saturday’s booked up. Good to know. Does that mean you’re streaming on Friday like usual?”

“Nine P.M. on the dot.” Clorinde nods and sips at her latte, silence stretching between them. And it’s fine—Wriothesely can sit there and just enjoy space beside her, but he’d be a fool to not use the shared lunch to needle her in the same way that she did him. “So, about earlier… got eyes on any girls?”

“Wriothesley—” Oh, that’s a terrible tone. “—we are not talking about that.”

He behaves, his mouth snapping shut. Clorinde has shot him in the ass for less things, so he pulls back his teasing and doesn’t push.

After a moment, though, she sighs, and says, “But, to humor you, the answer is no. Every recent date has been…” She trails off, her mouth contorting into a sour frown.

Yeah, that sounds about right.

“It’s a nightmare out there,” says Wriothesley in solidarity. “Especially for folks our age. That’s why it’s easy to go for something with no strings attached. Besides, you like being alone. Remember when you kicked me out?”

Clorinde’s mouth twitches slightly at one corner. “I’d seen one too many bare asses belonging to your conquest of the day.”

“Yeah, yeah, you had to preserve your sanity, I’m sure.”

“I’d prefer to think of it as self-care,” replies Clorinde smoothly.

It isn’t a fight with weight. They’d slummed it together as roommates for nearly a decade and even Wriothesley decided that he’d needed the space, so it worked out in the end. He loves Clorinde, truly, but it’s been nice to just… stretch out and make a place his.

Plus, she doesn’t get to yell at him for leaving out dishes any more. Like yeah, it gets lonely but he thinks they’re better for it. Clorinde is there nearly every other day, especially to help with—

“Oh, that reminds me,” he says suddenly. “Are we still on for tonight?”

Clorinde drags a hand down her face and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Gods, I’d hoped you forgot. Can’t you figure out how to use the timing option on your camera?”

“I know how to use it,” Wriothesley tells her, a smug expression pulling across his face. “But you always get the best angles to show off my assets—”

“Please never say that again.”

Wriothesley will. It’s a standard phrase in his vernacular used specifically to annoy her. He leans over and steals a madeleine from her coffee cup saucer and takes a bite. “Your help is apprecass iated. As thanks, I’ll pay for your coffee.”

“I deserve more than a damn coffee having to see your ass hanging out of—”

“And that’s a little too much info to be tossing out there in the open, Clorinde.” Wriothesley shoots her a glare and then looks frantically at a table just feet away sporting a couple and their young child. “Really?”

Clorinde snickers and steals the madeleine back. “Get your own damn cookies.”

“I’m paying for it!”

“Don’t remind me.” Her reply is as dry as the Sumeru desert. “But yes, tonight. Just try not to blind me.”

Wriothesley promises no such thing.

Clorinde gives him a once-over with a critical eye. She looks unimpressed, a furrow between her brows, and her bottom lip caught between her teeth. That doesn’t bode well. She taps her chin, walking around him, taking in the sight from every angle.

Wriothesley presses a hand to his bare chest, not so much self-conscious, but concerned about his chosen attire for this particular photoshoot. Before he can ask, Clorinde reaches out and tugs on the loosely knotted tie hanging limp against his sternum.

“Do men actually find this attractive?”

“I’ll have you know that my audience is equal opportunity when it comes to gender,” Wriothesley retorts.

Clorinde meets his face. “You’re wearing a tie and a glorified jock strap.”

“It’s proper underwear!” Even if the ass is cut out. The point is that everything important is covered, fully, and the waistband even reaches his hips.

“I don’t find this remotely sexy.”

“You’re a lesbian.”

Clorinde hums. “Again, another reason that I’m the wrong choice to help you.”

She’s the best choice, actually, and she knows it. Not only does Wriothesley trust her but she has a solid camera eye. Even untrained, Clorinde manages to get his good side, leaving Wriothesley looking less like a man pushing forty and more like a silver fox to be admired. Truly, he owes his entire channel to her, which is why she gets critiquing rights.

“Look, I took a poll and this is what won. Shirtless—that’s a no-brainer. Everyone wants to see these guns—”

“I will shoot you,” deadpans Clorinde from where she sets up the camera from across the room.

Wriothesley flexes his muscles just to spite her. “As for the bottoms—”

“Can you actually call them that?”

“—these are the highest quality, made of moisture-wicking bamboo viscose. They leave no lines underneath your clothing and—”

“Your ass is hanging out.”

Wriothesley frowns. There’s no need to point it out for a second time. “That’s the entire point,” he reminds her. He turns and looks at himself in the floor-length mirror to the side. “I work hard on these gains so naturally I should show them off.”

Clorinde gives him a cursory glance and fails to hide her grin. “I’ll grudgingly admit that of the male asses out there, yours is above standard.”

A rare compliment. Wriothesley shoots her a grin and tucks it away for a rainy day. “So, where do you want me, O Mighty Photographer?”

Her teasing over with, she looks at him again, thinking. “Well, as you said, we should offer up the gains. Bend over and show me those glutes.”

Wriothesley chokes on his laughter, wheezing as he coughs through it. Oh, the things she says. But this is also why they have a rapport he shares with no one else. Clorinde knows him like the back of her palm, almost better than he knows himself. She’s aware of everything; his gritty and grimy past, the things that haunt him in the present, and his trust issues.

They’re old—old enough to be wiser but there are times that Wriothesley feels like he knows nothing at all. Clorinde makes it easier. Bearable. It’s nice to have a friend to share those woes, and who’s willing to snap photos of his mildly hairy ass for the sake of Wriothesley's dubious side hustle.

So, he could complain but he doesn’t. He just kneels onto the mattress, jutting his backside out for a good angle. Wriothesley shoots her a glance over his shoulder, schooling his gaze into something sultry, and says, “Good enough?”

Clorinde says nothing but the click of the camera is loud in the room.

The photo set is a hit, which comes as no surprise.

Clorinde’s teasing aside, Wriothesley knows that he is, objectively, handsome. Enough people toss him money to gaze upon his half-naked form that any anxieties that may have once wracked him have gone right out the door.

It’d been a mid-life crisis thing—starting up a ThirstTrap account. He’s aging, going gray, and it’s harder and harder to snag cute guys when out on the town. So Wriothesley thought: What is the harm? He posts up a few lewds, gets a few bites, and maybe makes a couple hundred on the side. Being a personal trainer pays his bills, but a slush fund is nice, and Wriothesley deemed it worth the ill-advised idea™.

Clorinde had laughed at him. Literally. Wriothesley spilled the beans the next day over coffee and tea cakes at Café Lutece, and she’d laughed so hard he thought he might’ve broken her. He’s known Clorinde for decades and that is the only time he’s seen her double over and lose it.

She’d stopped laughing after the first payout because Wriothesley was an instant sensation, a rough and tumble, silver fox showing off the goods. As it turns out, there’s a market for decent-looking middle-aged men with gnarly scars, and a bomb-ass physique.

The streaming came naturally. His fans love his photo sets, sure, but a chance to see him in action? No, not a camboy—Wriothesley would never. He’s too embarrassed to pull out his dick and stroke it in front of a crowd, but lewds? Implied content? Shaking his butt a little to ooing and awing audience members?

Worth the money, at least.

“So, what did we think of the last outfit, hm? You all voted on it and I think that it was a hit.”

The chat of his stream goes wild with comments, and Wriothesely gives a silent shout-out to Clorinde who moderates from the privacy of her own home. Bless her. Seriously. Wriothesley has a thick skin but some of his followers are… well, they’re something.

Parasocial relationships know no bounds.

“I know that I’m done up more than usual today, but you know the rules—the more donations that come in, the more that comes off.”

Wriothesely lounges on his couch in well-cut trousers and a nice button-down that defines his biceps. He fiddles with the tie around his neck—loosely knotted, just like the photo set from a few days prior. “I was thinking,” he says, “that tonight we’ll indulge in a follower favorite. What do you think about me reading aloud to you?”

The chat pops off and Wriothesley grins, pulling that tie open entirely and letting it hang across his shoulders.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Let’s settle in for—” Wriothesley looks at the book procured by Clorinde and instantly regrets it.

Still, the show must go on. He shoots his most charming smile at the camera, and finishes with, “Double Your Pleasure, Double Your Fun: The Accidental Eggening of My Beloved Archon.”

Monsieur Neuvillette, the Lead Prosecutor of the Court of Fontaine and number-one choice for the next Chief Justice, does not take time off.

He lives the latest of nights and survives on coffee (which he hates) and takeout (force-fed to him by his beloved paralegal Navia Caspar). Neuvillette has learned how to function on several hours of sleep a day. He’s perfected the interested look of disinterest—even if his mind is barely there you would never know because it would seem that you have his full attention.

Neuvillette is socially awkward, his best friends are books, and he has only three vices to his name—one being a cool, crisp bottled water from Chenyu Vale (something that Navia would grouse about being a capitalistic nightmare spurred on by rich-inclined folk such as he who choose to splurge on what she calls, “Frivolous”. It is not frivolous; there truly is nothing that tastes quite like it, and Neuvillette’s taste buds thank him at the end of a long and grueling day of case reports and courtroom arguments only to be outvoted by a hulking, mechanical device with a too-long name and a startling amount of personality for a computer).

This night is like most others. Neuvillette lets himself into his dark townhouse, kicking off his shoes before placing them neatly and side by side next to the door. First, off comes his coat. Then his tie, loosened and pulled open gently. His keys are tossed into the bowl on the entry table.

He peels his layers slowly as he walks to the bedroom. His suit jacket is hung up for another wear, provided there is no staining, and perhaps the trousers follow suit if they aren’t too soiled. His shirt is dumped into the laundry, mildly rumpled.

Neuvillette’s bathroom routine is short; he washes his face with a cleanser and water. He dresses down for the night in soft, silk pajamas, and a loose robe.

A midnight snack is often next. As the leftover consommé heats up in the microwave, Neuvillette pulls open his second vice: Kameragram. He scrolls through a slew of new notifications from his last post—a daring profile shot of him in a navy three-piece suit. From the neck down, as always. His hair swept back so the ends barely show, and others are unlikely to recognize him.

He still has a backlog of pictures to post so he picks one and uploads it; the same suit, only this time his jacket stripped off and hung over his shoulder for a more casual look.

Neuvillette did not set out to enjoy social media—he barely knows how it works—but Navia had talked him into checking out this particular application.

“I think you’d like the aesthetic of some of these creators,” she’d told him, and she was right. Neuvillette was instantly hooked by accounts that showed crisp and sleek fashion sense, and the ambiance of what he has come to know as Dark Academia.

The microwave dings just as his picture finishes uploading.

And then there’s another notification that pops up on his phone, his third vice. Neuvillette stares, reading it over, considering just how to spend the rest of his night. He could indulge, or he could indulge. There are differing levels and rarely does Neuvillette give into his baser instincts and truly let loose.

But it was a long day of Focalors running him ragged.

“I have the day off tomorrow,” he muses, thumbing his chin. His eyes fall on a bottle of unopened wine on the counter of his wet bar. A gag gift from Furina. Neuvillette rarely drinks, disliking the way it dulls his sharp-wittedness. But here in the comfort of his home… there is no harm, correct?

“Why the hell not?” he says, the rare curse stinging his tongue.

The pop of the cork is almost foreign to his ears but the blood-red splash of the wine into his glass feels like a welcome friend. The first sip is acrid and acidic—but perfect. That, paired with the consommé will spell out a divine end to the day.

Neuvillette’s third vice comes as an embarrassment in the form of ThristTrap account Cerberus69.

He is a picky man—to the point that he doesn’t date. He can’t remember the last time he was properly fucked, unwilling to let his eyes linger on anyone who doesn’t fit his standards. The Duke is not his type. He isn’t. And yet Neuvillette is hungry for this man in a way that he cannot comprehend.

And so, the indulgence.

Perhaps it is because The Duke isn’t a cam model in what most would consider its purest form. Neuvillette has sat in on other streams and was left unimpressed. Those models, those men, naked, leaving nothing to the imagination. There is no tease to it, no opportunity to be edged, just hands on their dicks and empty words cooed at their audience.

The Duke, though, is different. Classy. The mask settled over his face is handsome despite hiding everything above his nose. Never entirely undressed, just stripped down, that mouth of his pulled into a smirk as he turns to and fro. Just enough skin is revealed to entice. Curate clothing this side of tight to show off his assets, which apparently, are more than just his muscles because Neuvillette finds his gaze locked on the bulge in his trousers tonight.

Yes, this is what he likes, what he finds pleasure in—the art of the striptease. He’s left dreaming for more, coming back time and time again just to hear his voice, to wonder just what his cock might look like, imagine how it might feel—

Neuvillette has had too much to drink tonight.

The Duke reads aloud a smut book. Neuvillette is stretched out on his bed, watching the stream on the television hanging on the wall opposite him. He can feel the flush of his face and the tightness in his sleep trousers. Wicked thing. The Duke. And Neuvillette’s cock. It isn’t behaving tonight.

So Neuvillette takes another sip of his wine, thinking that he can trick it into settling down because he’s too tired to fuck his hand.

But it’s tempting. It’s been long enough that he sighs at the thought, hand drifting lower to rest against his clothed cock. Just to sit there. The weight is nice. Focus on The Duke. Yeah, he can do that.

Another sip of wine.

The book The Duke reads is terrible, the sort of fodder geared towards middle-aged women who spend their brunches grousing over their children. But with The Duke's mouth curled around the words, it’s tolerable.

“It isn’t that I doubt my mate. His ovipositor is long and thick, and it will fill me just right. I pull him close for a kiss, relishing his heavy weight against me. My pussy tightens, wet enough to drench the insides of my thighs—”

So, maybe it isn’t tolerable. Neuvillette drags a hand down his face, willing those words to just melt away, focusing on the raspy timber of The Duke's voice instead.

“A rare treat,” drawls The Duke. He’s relaxed on his couch, shirtless, toned abs and built pecs reflecting the ring light that’s tilted towards him. Neuvillette’s eyes drag across his form taking in every delicious inch, every scar that mars it, every dip and curve. “Whilst my beloved mate often shares these less-than-human traits, this one is left for special occasions. ‘Are you sure you aren’t in rut?’ I ask huskily, nipping at his ear. ‘And what of the risk for hatchlings?’ I barely hear his response—a quick, clipped, ‘I’m too old to worry about unprepared eggs’. A pity. My pussy clenches at the thought of having a few fucked deep into me.”

This isn’t the standard fair of what The Duke typically reads loud. His content varies, of course, but eggs—Neuvillette shudders as The Duke says something particularly dirty. “His cock—” The Duke's voice is like sin. “—is good, but his other length, the one meant for eggs, is an entirely different beast. Long and thick, tapered at the edge to ease penetration. It’s hot against my palm as I give it a stroke.”

Neuvillette cannot stand it anymore. Usually, he just watches and there is enough satisfaction in that, eyes tracing over the Duke’s edges before dozing off to the dulcet tones of his voice. Tonight the wine has made Neuvillette bold. Arousal burns through his veins, white-hot and heady. Pleasure coils in his gut, his cock twitches, and fuck, the sight of The Duke just makes it blaze hotter.

That hand he has resting against his cock grinds harder. He’s fully hard and aching, leaking a mess into his trousers. Ridiculous. Neuvillette is better than this but just for one night, he can give into his baser needs. The heel of his palm catches against the tip, raking the soft fabric of his sleep clothes over it. He hisses. His hand would be better. He could fuck it properly, stroke himself until he’s wet and needy and spilling all over his stomach.

The wine. He’s never drinking again, he thinks as he takes another sip.

“‘Like this?’” purrs The Duke. “My thumb slides over the tip of his length, the draconic one, the one that has my pussy clamping from just thinking about being filled. His precome is thick, and viscous, sticking to the pad of my thumb in a long string as I pull it away. I desire to taste it.”

Sinful. Utterly sinful, the way that The Duke reads something so absurd aloud. Neuvillette curses softly, shifting in his bed, lifting his hips just enough to slide his trousers down his thighs. His cock slaps against his belly, dribbling from the tip. He groans, finally getting his hand around it. A quick stroke has him sinking into the sheets, the pillows, the softness of his bed.

“‘Darling,’ I say to my mate, the taste of his come settling into my tongue. ‘I need you to fuck me.’”

Yes, yes, yes. Neuvillette doesn’t listen to the words themselves, just The Duke’s voice as it settles across his bones. He lets it caress his being, his skin. He pumps his cock, eyes closed, imagining that—perhaps—it was the hand of another man. Would the Duke have callused fingers? A tight grip? Would he whisper praise into Neuvillette’s ear as he stroked his cock?

Neuvillette would like to think so. The Duke seems like a pleaser. After all, isn’t that what he does here? Pleases his audience? Neuvillette’s gaze flickers back to the screen because The Duke has paused in his reading.

“Oh,” says the man, leaning up from the couch. “A generous donation from—” He chuckles, and oh, that sound. What Neuvillette would give to hear it, hot and damp, next to his ear. “OneWildNightInSnezhnaya. Such a generous amount. I think we should thank them, chat.”

It is an obscene donation. Neuvillette silently thanks the person for their generous wealth the moment that The Duke stands from the couch. He tilts from side to side and hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his tight trousers to pull at it. “These next?” he muses, his mouth pulled into a crooked grin. “You know the rules of course—never much more than this. But…”

The Duke’s hands move to his fly. The buttons are undone slowly, and his trousers drop, inch-by-inch as he turns to show off his ass to the camera. The art of the strip tease is what Neuvillette is appreciative of. The Duke still wears briefs underneath those trousers but he may as well be naked with the way that they cling to his thighs tightly. Little is left to the imagination. Neuvillette’s gaze rakes across the thick length trapped behind that soft cotton and he suddenly needs; needs something more, something out of his reach.

Neuvillette blames it on the alcohol, not his loneliness, or his pickiness. Why date when he can occasionally fuck his hand to a handsome streamer? No muss, no fuss, and the clean-up is easy. He goes to work the next day with little worry, mind clear, and body ready for the long work day.

But The Duke—Neuvillette imagines his hands sweeping over him, catching on the angles of his hips. Those fingers opening him up, spreading his rim wide. The words he’d purr against his ear as he fucks him deeply. Neuvillette would keen at the stretch, gasping in the sheets as The Duke moves within him.

Gods, it’s been a long time. Neuvillette’s hand moves faster on his cock, tugging it from base to tip. Not wet enough. He grunts, pulling away to dig in the drawer of the bedside table to find a mostly full bottle of lube. Pathetic, but not as pathetic as pouring it across his cock and imagining that his hand belongs to another.

“My mate is a needy creature. ‘Yes,’ he cries out as I stroke his length, paying extra attention to the flared head of his cock. ‘Yes, just like that. Sweet girl.’”

Neuvillette lets his fantasy run wild. The Duke, settled over him, pulling over his cock. “Yes,” murmurs Neuvillette, back arching in the bed as he fucks his hand with a rolling thrust of his hips. His brain is fogged by the wine. The room is sluggish and his throat is dry. All he thinks about is the tight grip he has on his dick, and of how The Duke might take care of him.

“My mate’s cock twitches against my palm. I dip closer and kiss the tip, and instantly his hand finds the back of my head to hold it there. ‘Are you going to come?’ I ask.”

He will. He’s so close, heat curling in his gut, coiling tight.

“His breath hitches as my tongue swirls around the tip of his cock. And then the slit, dipping into that larger opening meant to push out eggs. Gods, I want that, to be full, to be bred. He wants that too, judging by the way his hips buck, forcing his length into my mouth.”

Neuvillette’s hand moves faster, and squeezes tighter. His thighs are tense as he arches in the bed, head tipping back as his pleasure begins to mount. Hot, he’s so hot. His head is fuzzed and he needs this, to come, The Duke’s hand on his cock, the praise Neuvillette knows he’d dole out.

“My hand strokes what my mouth doesn’t reach. ‘Good girl’, says my mate, guiding my mouth to move. I’m drunk on the praise, on the taste of his precome on my tongue. ‘Just like that. Yes, yes—’”

Neuvillette comes with a whimper, spilling over his fist and stomach. He jerks himself through it, dick twitching against his palm with overstimulation. He hisses, his pleasure turning sharp and hot, and then mildly uncomfortable. He drops his cock and it falls against his belly with a wet slap. Neuvillette lays there, a blob in his sheets, breathing heavily as the air suddenly turns cold around his heated skin.

Mortification sets in. He drags his clean hand down his face as he comes to the reality that he just masturbated to his favorite streamer. Never has he crossed that line, never has he debased himself to the point fucking his hand to the sound of The Duke’s voice. Keyed himself up, yes. Fucked his hand after the stream is cut? Occasionally. Neuvillette rarely touches himself, to begin with, but never whilst actively listening, watching—and the fantasy of it…

He groans. “Sovereigns, I’m pathetic.”

He’s lonely. He’s drunk. Navia is going to laugh at him the next morning when she sees the circles under his eyes. Then she’ll pity him, pulling out her concealer and clicking her tongue as she sweeps her thumb across the offending skin.

“A bath,” Neuvillette tells himself next. Crisp, clean water calls to him. He hasn’t paid an absurd amount for the nicest hard water filter to not abuse it. He rises from the bed, cringing at the mess he’s made. On the television, The Duke still reads aloud, his sonorous voice moaning softly as the explicit content in his bed picks up its pace.

Right. A bath. To clear his head. Neuvillette is unsteady on his feet, wobbling about in his tipsy haze. No more wine. Never again is easily said, only to be quickly forgotten the next time he feels like this. Worth it? Maybe. Neuvillette will disagree in the morning, but his sore muscles certainly don’t disagree now when he finally settles into the steaming hot water of the bath he draws.

The tub is large enough to submerge himself. Neuvillette’s worry eases at the warmth but the mortification is still firm, like a solid rock in his gut. He’ll never be able to watch The Duke again.

“This is why I don’t do people,” he murmurs once resurfaced. “This is why I keep to myself. Interpersonal relationships are…” Too complicated. Especially for him. Neuvillette already fails to understand the intricacies of friendships, but with his position as a prosecutor, things become awkward fast.

He simmers in the bath until he’s soft and pruny. He rises again, wrapping himself in a soft, fluffy bathrobe. “Self-care,” said Navia when she’d gifted it a few years ago. Self-care indeed. Neuvillette already feels better.

Or maybe it’s because he’s sobered up a smidge.

Neuvillette walks back to the bedroom on sea legs. His brain is still muddled, but he’s better instead of worse for wear. The Duke is still live, this time chatting to those lingering in his chat. “Yes,” he says, lounging on his couch in nothing but those damnable, tight briefs. Neuvillette swallows as he stares. “I do have hobbies, like anyone else. Social Media scrolling is soothing, no? I have a penchant for handsome men on Kameragram.”

What? Neuvillette stills, the covers pulled back, one knee already pressed to the mattress. His head tilts as he glances at the screen.

“I’m not particularly fashionable myself but there’s nothing quite like a man in a well-cut suit. I am a fan.”

Never before has The Duke mentioned his preferences in such detail. He’s talked about enjoying both men and women, yes, and his content is tailored to both, but when asked about himself he always redirects to the chat, and what they enjoy. Tonight he seems chattier, laughing and smiling wide.

“Mmhm, yeah, you understand me, TheSpooniestBard. Muscles, a nice and tight fit, a collar pressed just underneath a sharp jawline.”

The Duke is, inadvertently, describing the entire aesthetic of Neuvillette’s personal Kameragram account. He slides back into bed, settling the comforter over his lap. He sits there dumbly, listening to The Duke ramble on about handsome men in suits, that deep voice of his soothing.

He always checks his phone for last-minute work alerts before turning in for the night. This time, though, Neuvillette opens up Kameragram and assesses himself. He is not unhandsome. His suits are high quality and of the finest fit. Even without his face in the frame, he paints an appealing picture.

“It’s just so pleasing, the thought of peeling it off. What’s hiding underneath? Are they built? Soft? It wouldn’t matter, I’d love it all.”

Neuvillette is still tipsy enough to make dumb choices.

ThirstTrap has an in-app messaging system that Neuvillette has never even thought about using but on this night he navigates to it and drops his Kameragram link accompanied by a very simple message:

>> I see that you like men in suits. Our tastes seem to align. I think that you may like my account in particular. Enjoy.

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