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serpentandlily · 4 months

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Sly Fox, Dumb Bunny II

Sly Fox, Dumb Bunny II - Eris x Archeron!Reader

Summary: You find yourself ensnared by a sly, cunning fox. A very handsome, irritating one.

Warnings: none

a/n: sorry for the long wait with this one! Hope you guys like it!

Part I

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You slipped into the private library in the House of Wind, humming slightly to yourself. The faint scent of crackling embers and something else indiscernible met your nose as the door slammed shut behind you but you brushed it off, figuring it must've come from the fireplace on the other side of the large room.

You meandered to the section that was filled with romance books—the ones Nesta had made sure to stock up on ever since she became the owner of this place along with Cassian. You brushed your fingers against the spines of the books, pulling out some that had interesting titles and stacking them in your arms.

A Heart Ablaze.

The Prince of Fire.

Your skirt flitted against the tops of your boots as you walked. You bit your lip, pulling out another book. This one titled, The Flames that Bind Us. You’d read it before but it was one of your favorites.

“You should be a bit more aware of your surroundings, bunny. You have no idea what sort of monsters are lurking around.”

You gasped, jumping in fright and dropping your stack of books to place a hand on your chest. You whirled around with a wildly beating heart.

You had recognized the voice immediately but you were still taken aback to see Eris lounging in one of the armchairs by the fireplace. He was sprawled out in the chair like it was his throne, a glass of whiskey in one hand and his other lightly stroking the soft velvet of the armrest. His red hair gleamed the same color as the burning flames behind him.

Your gaze dipped to his chest, to his cream colored tunic that had a few buttons undone, exposing the silver layered jewelry resting against his chest. He wore dark brown breeches, perfectly tailored for his long legs and brown riding boots. How he managed to make such casual clothing look elegant and refined was beyond you.

When you met his eyes again, those devastating amber eyes, Eris gave you a fox-like grin that looked anything but friendly.

“What are you doing here?” you asked as you bent down to pick up the books you had dropped. You held them against your chest like a shield.

“That is no way to address a Lord,” Eris purred.

You huffed, fighting the urge to roll your eyes.

“Apologies, my Lord,” you replied, sarcastically. “What a delight it is to see you again. What brings you to our humble court?”

Eris’s eyebrows rose in amusement.

“If you must know, I’m here for a meeting with your High Lord and Lady,” Eris said. “Pray tell, what are you doing here, bunny?”

His eyes darted to the books in your arms and you blushed, trying to discreetly cover the titles. Eris didn’t need to know your reading preferences.

“If you must know,” you said, mocking him, “I live here.”

You split time between here and the River House. Mostly because Nesta had once accused you of favoring Feyre. You hated nothing more than to be used as a pawn against your sisters. But being the youngest, your role in the family oftentimes required you playing mediator between your siblings. Sometimes, messenger too.

“Poor little bunny,” Eris teased. “Locked up here in a cage.”

“Stop calling me that!”

You glared at the handsome Lord, hating the way that made him seem even more amused.

Eris said nothing, just twirled the glass in his hands as his eyes assessed you. You felt the hairs on your arms stand up, felt a chill run down your spine at his look. His smirk never left his face. You were quite sure he had been born wearing it.

“Don’t you normally meet with Rhys and Feyre in Hewn City?” you asked, unable to take the silence. You should probably leave, but something kept your feet glued to the floor.

Eris shrugged. “Sure, when our business involves Keir.”

He spat out the older male’s name with disgust.

“I’m surprised they didn’t order you to stay in your room knowing I was here,” he continued, his amusement back once more. “Can’t let the little bunny be ensnared by a fox again.”

His grin was more of a display of teeth. It did nothing to quell your nerves.

“They never tell me anything,” you murmured, annoyed.

Your lips slammed shut when one of Eris’s eyebrows raised, like you had just unknowingly passed along information you shouldn’t have.

The doors to the library slammed open and you jumped, sucking in a breath at the sudden noise. Azriel stormed in, his eyes narrowed at Eris. You suddenly felt tense, sensing the way the energy seemed to shift in the room. He stopped once he was in front of you, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

“What are you doing here?” he hissed at the redhead. “You’re supposed to be waiting for Rhys and Feyre in the war room.”

Eris didn’t seem frightened in the slightest, unlike most fae did when staring down the shadowsinger.

He plucked a piece of lint from his tunic, unbothered. “Apologies, shadowsinger. I got lost.”

You doubted that and by Azriel’s growl, you realized he did too. He turned to look down at you, his lips pressed in a straight line with a stern look.

“Go,” Azriel barked, nodding his head towards the door. You bristled at the command, as if you were a dog he could order around.

But it was Eris who stood to his full height and snarled, “Don’t speak to her like that.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. You stepped out from around Azriel to see Eris staring down the shadowsinger. You swore the flames in the fireplace grew, the crackling of the wood the only thing breaking the tense silence.

You shifted on your feet, clearing your throat as the temperature rose—Azriel’s shadows growing with it. You placed a hand on Azriel’s shoulder, trying to calm him.

“I’ll leave,” you said softly, glancing up at Eris but his focus was on your hand touching Azriel, a muscle in his jaw ticking.

“It was lovely speaking to you again, my Lord,” you said, sarcastically, bowing your head at Eris. At the sound of your voice, you watched as Eris’s mask slipped right back into place, all the tension leaving his body.

His gaze met yours and he shot you his infamous fox-like grin. “Indeed, Lady.”

Azriel growled, lowly, and that was your sign to leave. You scurried out of the room, ignoring the butterflies in your stomach—the ones that had been there since the moment you laid eyes on the handsome Lord of Fire.

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

It had taken a lot of persuasion on your part, but you had finally talked Rhys and Feyre into letting you have more of a role in their court. They had decided to let you shadow Lucien as an emissary, but so far the only place you had gone with him to was the human realm—not that you minded.

You were currently in the deserted manor that Vassa, Jurian and Lucien were now living in since the end of the war. You had just had a meeting and dinner with them, but out of politeness, had offered to clean up which left you in the kitchen alone, scrubbing dishes. You supposed you could’ve used magic, but decided on doing it the only way you knew how: the human way.

“I thought I smelt a bunny in here.”

You let out a squeak of surprise, dropping the plate you were drying back into the filled basin. Water and soap splashed all around you, speckling the smock you wore over your dress and the counter.

You yanked a small hand towel free and began to blot at the water spots as you whirled around to face Eris. The grin he wore only infuriated you even more.

“Must you always sneak up on me?” you grumbled, tossing the towel back on the counter.

“You need to be more aware of your surroundings, bunny,” Eris purred.

“Oh, for Gods’ sake, stop calling me that!”

“Perhaps when it stops to suit you so well.”

“It doesn’t suit me now,” you argued back. “I am not some little bunny.”

“Are you sure about that?” Eris took a step towards you but something about his demeanor made you mirror his step backwards, your backside hitting the counter behind you. His grin sharpened at your movement.

“Are you scared of me, bunny?”

Your cheeks flushed, your heart skipped a beat in your chest.

“N-no,” you stuttered.

He took a step closer, that fox-like grin still on his face.

“Really?” Eris mocked. “You seem quite scared.”

“You tend to have that effect on everybody.”

“Do I?”

You knew he was teasing you, but it didn’t stop your heart from pounding nor did it do anything to quell the butterflies in your stomach. He was close enough now that you had to tilt your head back to look up at him. You had almost forgotten how tall he truly was.

You nodded, losing your voice as he took another step closer.

“And why is that?”

You cleared your throat, your hands finding the edge of the counter behind you so you could brace yourself. “It probably has to do with your reputation.”

“I have a reputation?”

The question sounded more like a joke on his tongue. Eris raised his eyebrows at you in suggestion and you swallowed audibly.

He took another step closer, now easily within reach of you. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up, a small tremble shook your legs. But it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling. It was more like anticipation. But for what? That was the part you couldn’t figure out.

“You know you do,” you said, narrowing your eyes. “You’ve gone to great lengths to make sure of it.”

Something inside of you could see the mask Eris liked to wear. Another step closer and you could feel the heat coming from his body. It seemed to reach out to you, like standing near a warm fire. Your body softened in response.

“You’re right. I have,” Eris cooed. “But I don’t care about everyone. I want to know if you are scared of me.”

He was so close now, only inches away from you, his handsome face looming over you. The sun setting caused a golden hue to stream through the window, making his crimson hair shine like molten metal.

“No,” you whispered, your head now fully tilted up to look at him. “But I think…I think I should be.”

Based on everything you had been told about him, at least.

Eris’s eyes darkened as he gazed down at you. The silence was thick, the tension in your body heightened. You were captive to his stare—to those whiskey amber eyes. Something ached terribly in your chest.

Eris reached out a hand, hooking some of your hair behind a pointed ear. He leaned down, resting his hands on the counter behind you, caging you in. It almost seemed as if he was going to kiss you but instead his mouth landed by your ear.

“You’re right, bunny,” he purred. “You should be.”

A chill ran down your spine as Eris stood back up. He seemed to relish in the way your body had responded to him, his grin turning smug and haughty. You should step away from him. Logically, you knew you should move. But something kept your feet ensnared—just like that day in the library.

His stare held an intensity that made your mouth dry. Something loomed beneath–the weight of all the secrets he seemed to keep. Your eyes were a stark contrast to his. Wide and full of every emotion that ran through you, no deception to be found.

Footsteps coming towards the door to the kitchen broke whatever spell you had been under. In a blink of an eye, Eris was almost on the other side of the room, his back resting against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest.

The doors pushed open and Lucien walked in. He paused on the threshold, his eyes narrowing on his brother before they drifted to you. He looked you up and down, as if he was inspecting you for damage. Seeming content that you were in one piece, he glanced warily at Eris.

He rolled his eyes at his brother’s grin.

“Leave Y/n alone,” Lucien grumbled. “She doesn’t like your little games. Come, you requested a meeting with me. Let’s get this over with so I take her home.”

He nodded his head towards the door before leaving Eris to follow him. Eris gave you one last parting look on his way out. A look that would linger in your mind for the following weeks.

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

The Dawn Court was radiant and you couldn’t stop spinning in circles, taking in the opalescent golden stone palace, grand staircases and ornate archways. Morning glories wrapped around pillars, drooping wisterias hung from every railing. It was beautiful, breathtaking. You could hardly believe your eyes.

You smoothed down the skirt of your midnight blue ball gown, feeling slightly out of place amongst all the pretty pastel colors of the Dawn Court. It was the first time you’d been out of the Night Court, besides that slight, accidental trip to Autumn.

Later today, you would be meeting with the rest of the High Lords, as well as Vassa and her court to discuss a peace treaty. Rhys had insisted on bringing you despite Feyre’s hesitation. But he had made the point that the humans might take more kindly to someone familiar, someone who used to be like them.

Nesta had been the first choice, but she and Cassian were still away on their mating vacation. Elain had been set to come today instead of you until Rhys had found out that Lord Nolan and Graysen would be attending the meeting and thus, Elain was spared the uncomfortable reunion and you were put in her place.

Not that you were complaining. You were excited to finally be involved.

The courtier from Dawn led your group to the suite your court would be staying in. It was carved from sunstone, with a lavish sitting area and private dining room—all decorated beautifully with jewel-toned fabrics and cushions stacked along the thick carpet. Bird cages hung from the ceiling in the corner of the room, right next to a large window that overlooked the countryside.

Once the courtier left, Rhys was quick to throw up several wards around the room. “Don’t get too comfortable yet. Eris is slipping by to meet before the official gathering.”

Mor groaned and plopped down on a settee, throwing her arm over her eyes.

“Perhaps you’d like to go rest for a spell in your room, Y/n?” Your sister suggested.

You saw her words for what they were though. They didn’t want you around when Eris came. You might’ve tried to argue against it but decided to not push your luck today. They were already letting you come to the meeting.

You gave her a small nod and disappeared into one of the rooms. Still feeling a bit nauseated from all the winnowing, you laid down on the soft bed and drifted off into a mid afternoon nap.

It only felt like a second had gone by when you eventually woke. You cursed as you looked out the small bay window, seeing the sun far lower than it had been when you had fallen asleep. You rose quickly and smoothed out your hair and dress.

You sat down at a small vanity and touched up your makeup before finally leaving your room, not even checking if they were still in a meeting with Eris or not, not wanting to be late.

Your door creaked open and several heads twisted your way—including a very handsome one with flaming red hair. You blinked in surprise, your cheeks turning a bit pink at the sudden attention.

“My apologies,” you murmured, embarrassed. “I didn’t know we still had company.”

Your eyes darted to your sister, hoping she wasn’t upset with you, but Feyre’s face didn’t falter. Her eyes only softened as she looked at you. “It’s okay, we’re almost done here anyways.”

Eris shot up suddenly, knocking his chair back.

“What is she doing here?” he hissed.

Your eyes widened in shock, taken aback by both his words and his tone. Rhys’s eyebrows raised and Feyre frowned at the redhead.

“What does it matter to you?” Rhys asked, his face carefully blank.

Eris scoffed and straightened out the sleeves of his coat. The frazzled look in his eye flickered away and his perfectly crafted mask was back in place. “It matters little to me. But considering you’ve gone to such lengths keeping her hidden, I’m surprised you’d allow her here knowing who will be at this meeting. My father is going to be displeased to know that you have not three but four Made females residing in your court now. It might make him…less agreeable.”

“You think having her here is going to cause problems with your father?”

“I know having her here is going to cause problems with my father.”

You bristled at the way you were being spoken about as if you weren't standing in the very same room as them.

“Why should we care about your father’s feelings on the matter?” Azriel spat out, crossing his arms.

“You want him to sign your little peace treaty, do you not?” Eris sneered at Azriel, his tone full of condescension.

“We also need the humans to agree upon the treaty,” Feyre cut in. “And Y/n has been working with your brother as an emissary to gain their trust. Since Lucien cannot be here, it is vital that she is present at this meeting.”

“You're delusional if you think it’s going to be harder to get the humans to sign the treaty than my father,” Eris said in that haughty tone of his. “He still thinks about that kernel of power you took from him. Power is all that matters to him and having all four made sisters in your court is going to be an issue in his eyes.”

“We have other ways to entice your father,” Rhys said with a shrug.

You were still taken aback, unable to even form words to leave your mouth. You hadn’t been aware that your presence would cause such drama. You were nothing. No one. Just another Archeron sister. You didn’t even have powers outside the normal High Fae ones, like summoning things and winnowing.

You didn’t miss the blink of fear that passed through Eris’s eyes, but no one else seemed to catch it. He still stood, his palms now pressed against the table separating him from the rest of your court.

“Why is it that no one knows about her, anyways?” he asked. “Why is it that all reports only mention the other two sisters being put in the Cauldron and not Y/n?”

A shiver ran down your spine at the sound of your name on his lips. But whatever feeling that was passed as a memory of that horrid day came at the reminder of the Cauldron.

“Put the little one in first,” the King of Hybern ordered, smugly, as he kept eye contact with Feyre. She was pleading with him to let you go. Pleading and begging with her own life. You knew why he chose you to go in first. He knew that it would cause Feyre more grief, more stress.

The feeling of hands all over you as you fought against your binds. Hands that were dragging you closer and closer to the huge Cauldron that sat in the middle of the room. You were screaming through your gag. Tears were streaming down your face.

You could even hear your sister’s ex lover demanding the King put a stop to this.

“She is just a girl, a child,” someone in the room hissed. “Stop this!”

And you supposed you were—especially to the fae. You were almost seventeen, your birthday falling on the Autumn equinox, when both day and night were equal lengths. It was all you kept thinking about as you were dragged to the Cauldron.

Four months.

Four months until Autumn.

And then you had been pushed underneath the dark water and your humanity had been stripped away from you.

Your heart was pounding at the thought of that day, of everything that had happened afterwards. Eris’s eyes flickered to you for a moment and you got the sense that he almost knew where your mind had drifted. Feyre gave you a look of concern.

It struck you now that it had been three years since that day.

Three years.

Three years since your life had been forever changed.

“Your contacts must not be very good at their jobs,” Rhys said in answer to Eris’s question. But you were also pondering it. Why is it that most of Prythian did not know of your existence? Why is it that the reports of that day only ever mention Nesta and Elain?

Eris didn’t look like he believed Rhysand either.

“Fine, whatever, I don’t have time to argue with you. My father is expecting me back any moment now,” Eris finally said, standing to his full height. His gaze drifted to you for a second before he glared down at Rhys.

“Send her away,” he spoke through his teeth and then he winnowed away, leaving only crackling embers in his wake.

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

a/n: I got a lil inspired by that tiktok audio that’s like “I’m spooky? Do you think I’m spooky?” or whatever for the kitchen scene if you couldn’t tell haha. I hope this second part did not disappoint! So sorry for how long you guys had to wait to read it!

Tag list: @dwkfan @pinksmellslikelove @vellichor01 @whatdoyxumean @minnieoo @hnyclover @daughterofthemoons-stuff @ferrarisbitch @thaynarajejheje @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @the-sweet-psycho

*If you asked to be on the taglist and you don't see your username, tumblr wouldn't let me tag you for some reason :(

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #acotar x you #eris fanfic #eris x y/n #eris x you #eris vanserra #eris x reader #eris acotar #autumn court #archeron sisters

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horseimagebarn · 7 months

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horse standing in the snow in front of a wide river and majestic snow covered mountains across the water the image is taken with flash which reflects off the snow upon the horse however something unusual has occurred which is that the horse is glowing a bright orange red which seems impossible from just a camera flash however there is never a zero percent chance perhaps this horse is very mad and its hue has adjusted similar to a cartoon or perhaps this horse is radioactive all we know is that the mysterious snowy region this horse is in may be subject to the supernatural

#horse #horses #horse pics #horseblr #horseposting #reaction pics #reaction image #reaction images #unusual #cursed #outdoors #singular horse #neighhhh

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intellectualpoaching · 7 months

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There is a crime here that goes beyond denunciation. There is a sorrow here that weeping cannot symbolize. There is a failure here that topples all our success. The fertile earth, the straight tree rows, the sturdy trunks, and the ripe fruit. And children dying of pellagra must die because a profit cannot be taken from an orange. And coroners must fill in the certificate- died of malnutrition- because the food must rot, must be forced to rot. The people come with nets to fish for potatoes in the river, and the guards hold them back; they come in rattling cars to get the dumped oranges, but the kerosene is sprayed. And they stand still and watch the potatoes float by, listen to the screaming pigs being killed in a ditch and covered with quick-lime, watch the mountains of oranges slop down to a putrefying ooze; and in the eyes of the people there is the failure; and in the eyes of the hungry there is a growing wrath. In the souls of the people the grapes of wrath are filling and growing heavy, growing heavy for the vintage.

John Steinbeck, The Grapes of Wrath

#quote #philosophy #literature #humanity #capitalism #john steinbeck #the grapes of wrath

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total-dxmure · 3 months

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ೃ࿔ CHERRY FLAVORED →【ELLIE WILLIAMS】→ CHAPTER ONE

pairing: mega fan!ellie williams x rock star!reader

summary: your guitarist was carted off to rehab after just one month into your recent tour. fuck. there’s only one thing you can do, and that’s hire a replacement. your band thinks it’s going to be nearly impossible to find someone that is on the same level of talent as your “beloved” guitarist. you don’t have high hopes that anyone can nail the songs quite like he did either, if you’re being brutally honest. enter ellie- she’s a mega fan. the girl knows every lyric and note like the back of her hand. . . and everything about you, which isn’t creepy at all. her apparent obsession with you is something that you and your tour manager can overlook if it means carrying on with the rest of the tour. forced proximity with a stalker-level fan . . . what’s the worst thing that could happen?

warnings: smut in next chapter, talk of substance abuse, the reader is a tease and a bit of a bitch but it’s hot i promise, ellie is obsessed with reader to an unhealthy degree.

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸 READ: this account stands with palestine, and so— i require everyone who interacts to educate themselves, and support/donate. READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. silence is complicity, do not scroll past this. DO NOT BUY THE REMASTER, TLOU2, TLOU1, OR ANY GAME FROM NAUGHTY DOG! neil druckmann (the creator) is a zionist. PLEASE READ THIS. AND REBLOG THIS.

It was the kind of love that tortured poets mused over. Ribs straining against a heavy heart.

Ellie had deluded herself, as any love drunk person does, that she wouldn’t dissolve into a puddle on the floor if she were to meet you. She could keep her cool- downplay the crushing significance you held in her life. Your voice was constantly ringing in her ears. She could see your face in perfect clarity any time she closed her eyes. Pictures like snapshots played out behind her eyelids, and yet you always felt a million miles away for her. You were a perfect performer, situated on your sky-high pedestal, always out of her puny reach.

Because Ellie, as much as she despised this fact and dreamed of greatness, was a nobody. She grew up in a tiny town of no noteworthiness, her adolescent years spent dreaming about the planets and playing guitar with Joel. By all accounts Ellie was normal, while you were certainly not. Still, she liked to tell herself that she’d somehow manage to make herself worthy of your affections if she were ever to be blessed with them.

Finding herself in a situation like this seemed like an impossibility. She was partially convinced that she was daydreaming, having concocted some elaborate fantasy just to feed the insatiable ache. She was starved for you with no way to feed herself.

All it had taken was a single audition tape. One. Single. Tape. Ellie was staring, wide eyed, at Gene fuckin’ Murray.

The blood rushed from her head, hands breaking out instantaneously into a clammy sweat. She couldn’t think, couldn’t function at the realization that she was staring at one of the people that she had worshiped for years. Gene’s talent had been praised by the likes of Lars Ulrich and Danny Carey. He wasn’t popular just for his looks but for his undeniable talent.

And he was staring straight at Ellie, arms crossed over his toned chest as he waited expectantly. She felt like an idiot. Should she be playing? If so, what did they want her to play? Surely one of their songs. She’d glossed past the fact that she was a megafan, instead making it sound like she was just looking for a successful band to join. She was talented. No, Ellie was really talented.

She wasn’t just a technical player, but excelled at making her own rules. She enjoyed the creative freedom that playing the guitar granted, and felt as though the world needed more Jimi’s and Van Halen’s. Ellie excelled at thinking outside of the box.

She wasn’t very successful when it came to women, but had no problem making her guitar scream and cry for her.

So she took a deep breath and tried to steady her heart, once again stepping up to the mic. If there was one thing that all of your bandmates had in common, it was the attitude. She’d watched hundreds of interviews, had studied all of their movements and mannerisms. . .she understood you down to a science.

“So do you want me to play or what?” Ellie spoke into the mic, gripping the neck of the guitar in the hopes that it might act as an anchor. She was scared that she might float away.

The manager’s eyebrows twitched at her sudden change in attitude but he didn’t say anything, merely turned to look at Gene. For a second everyone just stared at her, like a bug under a microscope. After what felt like five minutes but was really just five seconds, Gene broke out into a grin, motioning to her with a flick of his wrist. He wasn’t confident in her, Ellie could tell.

She had a sweet face, she knew that. Big green eyes and freckles- she was unsuspecting. People were usually shocked to find out that she had wrestled competitively in high school and had no problem putting a man three times her size on his ass. People expected very little from her, and perhaps that was part of Ellie’s real charm.

“What song?” She was staring at Gene now, gripping her guitar pick between two sweat-slick fingers.

“What ‘bout ‘Sometime Soon’? Know that one?” His tone was teasing. Condescending.

The song was fast paced. It was supposed to be played loud and hard- one of your angrier songs. Ellie knew that you had been the one to write this one, meaning it was one of her favorites. The notes weren’t beginner friendly, but it wasn’t exactly hard for her.

It was more style, less technical ability- which meant that Ellie would have no problem making this song her bitch.

It was obvious that Gene was the one meant to judge her. The manager was just that- a manager. They needed an actual musician to listen in. So she took a deep breath and readied herself. . .

and then the sound of your singing voice blasted into the booth. Drums, bass- she was meant to play with you.

She almost missed her que, eyes widening in nervousness. She thought that she’d be playing all by her lonesome. She thought wrong it would seem. They’d started her off right in the middle of the song. Probably to throw her off. She jumped in, fingers sliding along the frets to shape out the correct notes. She tucked her guitar pick against the palm of her hand with her thumb, using the pads of her fingers to tap the strings. Faster. Faster. Faster. She didn’t look up from her guitar to look at the men’s reactions to her playing. Instead she just pretended she was standing in the living room of her apartment, hellbent on getting another noise complaint from the bitchy nextdoor neighbor.

Her calloused fingers pinched the strings, satisfied with the way the guitar whined over the speakers. The guitar solo in this song was meant to be impressive- and it was, she had to give it to Leon. A lot of it was just bullshitting though. He’d admitted that he came up with the solo in the actual sound booth off of the top of his head while they were recording the song.

The man was a god. He deserved “guitarist of the year” two years in a row. Ellie had the Los Angeles native beat though. Where he had grown up in the constant presence of “the greats”, Ellie had grown up in a constant state of boredom. She’d been playing the guitar since she was fourteen. Every day she’d sit down for hours and practice until her fingers bled. . . literally. She had thousands of hours on Leon, and she knew that with certainty.

Ellie moved the guitar up and down gently with her fret hand, prolonging the last note so that it cried the way she wanted it to. The muscles in her arms were sore from how hard she had been tensing during the song. She’d been a lot more mechanical about it than she was used to, but she had something to prove.

After a second she looked up from her guitar to gauge everyone’s reactions. The manager had dropped his cold and indifferent demeanor, instead flashing her a small smile. It bolstered her, gave her the strength to turn and look at Gene.

He still had his arms crossed over his chest, and for a second Ellie was sure that he would tell her that she sucked. She widened her stance, shuffling her feet so that she was in a more defensive position. His heated gaze made her feel as though she needed to protect herself from whatever mental anguish he was about to put her through.

“I thought she was kick ass,” Gene finally spoke up, giving Ellie a small thumbs up. Her face lit up into a wide smile before she could school her reaction into one of indifference. “What do you think? You’re the one that calls all the shots.” He spoke behind him, looking down at someone that had been hidden on the couch all along.

Ellie squinted her eyes, taking a step closer to the glass to see if there was another businessman she’d somehow overlooked.

She saw your hair before she saw anything else. It was freshly dyed, different than the last she’d seen you in all of the recent tabloid photos. You were clad in leather- pants so tight that they looked like a second skin. Your top was just as restrictive, breasts spilling out from the top, midriff revealed to show off the small silver piercing you had decorating your belly button.

You were Hecate in the flesh- dark, sinister, mysterious and capable of anything. Ellie didn’t think that it would be possible, but you were even prettier in person. The sight of you sent a shock through her system, and for a second she felt her knees quiver, as if she could no longer hold up the weight of her own body. Her insides turned to mush; white, hot mush.

The Stendhal syndrome: Ellie had been brought to the very precipice of existence by sight alone. She was so overcome by your mere existence that she felt her eyes begin to well up with tears. Body trembling, eyes locked on to your face and nothing else- it felt like she might faint. She remembered reading about the syndrome once before in an art history class she took in college.

“Absorbed in the contemplation of sublime beauty. . . I reached the point where one encounters celestial sensations.”

The urge to flee was just as great as the urge to get her hands on you was. She was thankful for the wide stance she was currently in, because if her legs had been any closer together then she was positive she would have lost her balance and fallen over.

You were right there in front of her. You’d been right in front of her the entire time, she’d just been so focused on Gene that she hadn’t even seen you in her panic. She stumbled forward, her sneakered foot catching the jack for the amp. She slapped her hands over her ears as a blood curdling screech began blaring over the speakers.

Ellie could have died. In fact. . . she just might. She dropped her guitar roughly on the ground as she raced over towards the amp, fingers shaking as she turned the knob to the volume.

The booth, once again, was silent. Silent enough to hear a pin drop. Slowly she turned, grimacing when she noticed the looks on everyone’s faces. She’d embarrassed herself and ruined her chance. Even worse was the fact that she’d humiliated herself in front of you.

She had somehow deluded herself into believing that the two of you were soulmates over the years. She’d compared your birth charts, life numbers- had taken multiple celebrity compatibility tests. All signs pointed to a resounding yes. The two of you were star crossed lovers, cursed to never know one another. She had told herself that if she were ever to bump into you in person that she’d be able to keep her cool. Ellie was certain that she could pretend that she didn’t know who you are- could downplay the significance that you held

Her ignorance was laughable. She’d been so overcome by your mere presence that she’d stumbled on air while standing completely still. You were standing up straight now, and even from her spot behind the thick glass she could tell how much taller you were than her. You had to be wearing heels or platforms, because according to Google you were-

“You know how many auditions we’ve listened to today?” You had grappled the mic from the tech and were now hunched over his soundboard, the lights from all of the buttons and knobs casting strange, beautiful shadows over your face. Your eyeliner was dark and smoked out around your eyes, and in that moment Ellie wondered if you were an angel or a demon. “Twelve. Twelve fuckin’ people have walked into that booth today. Every single one of them has been absolute shit. So bad, in fact, that I’ve wanted to blow my fuckin’ brains out in this buildings tiny, piss-stained bathroom.”

Ellie blanched, lips losing their pink color as the blood drained from her face. She was about to pass out. Her vision was already starting to tunnel. She grabbed onto one of the microphone stands to hold herself up, trying to keep her expression hard and unreadable. People often told her that she had “dead eyes”, and she could only pray that her face wasn’t giving her crushing grief away. It felt like someone had just died; like she had just died. Actually, she would have rather you just go ahead and stab her then tell her she sucked. You were her idol, her dream girl, her everything.

And you were telling her that you’d rather blow your fucking brains out then listen to her play. How was she supposed to recover from this? She’d heard the saying “don’t meet your heroes” a thousand times, but this? She’d rather you just be a bitch to her. Actually, Ellie would probably like that. This was the worst thing she could have ever heard. Her nose twitched as tears began pooling in her eyes. She blinked a few times, praying that you couldn’t tell in the nearly pitch black room you were standing in.

“But this?” You turned towards your manager and pointed passionately at Ellie. “This is music.”

Breath left her lungs in a loud, audible whooshing sound, like a balloon deflating. Her shoulders relaxed, the hand that was white knuckling the mic stand falling limp at her side. No, you didn’t hate her. You liked her.

You liked her.

Everyone had their vices. Leon’s had, apparently, been copious amounts of prescription drugs- often consumed simultaneously. You were used to getting what you wanted. You drank whenever you wanted to, fucked just about anyone that peaked your interest and got away with your usual rotten antics and bitchy behavior. You lived the lifestyle that you’d always dreamt of, even when you were a little kid.

You enjoyed putting on shows. You were flamboyant, loud, and weren’t afraid of expressing yourself. Teachers often described you as a “free thinker” back in your elementary school days. You dressed yourself for school each morning, each outfit louder and more daring than the next. You were an artist, and like most artists you had some inner demons that you fought against. You still fought tooth and nail, even to this day.

Finally though, after what felt like a thousand years of waiting and biding your time, you had the life you had always yearned for.

You sold out arenas, appeared on the front page of just about every magazine imaginable, and had celebrities clamoring over themselves to be your “best friend” of the week. Things were good.

But also a bit empty.

The friends that you’d made in your youth only used your name for bragging rights. Your parents had stopped showing up to concerts years ago, instead choosing to listen about your successes through their shitty television shows. Life felt a bit hollow.

Exciting. . . just different than you had always been used to.

“Come play with us.” One of the women whined from her spot on your plush hotel mattress. The bombshell blonde was already stripped down to her underwear, her eyes glazed over from whatever overpriced alcohol she’d already taken from the suite's bar, at your expense no doubt.

Your manager was used to the up-charges on the company card. He would probably be relieved in the morning when he found out that you didn’t break anything. There was still time for that, of course. It was only one in the morning, which meant you had nine more hours to get fucked up and wreck the cushy room.

“I’m not feeling up to it right now.” You said simply, already disinterested in the two women you had invited to bed with you tonight. You were holding a beer bottle loosely between two of your fingers, swishing the remainder of the room temperature alcohol absentmindedly.

You weren’t much of an “observer” when it came to sex, more of a very active participant. Still, all you could do was sit back in one of the comfortable lounge chairs, muscles tense after a long show. You weren’t exactly sure why you’d invited the women back to the hotel. They were both attractive and had come onto you at the same time. It was obvious what they had been insinuating, and who were you to deny two beautiful women? The first thing that had popped into your head being “a threesome might make me happy”.

Except now you were bored out of your skull and would much rather be sleeping right now than watch two ditzy girls clumsily fondle each other’s fake breasts.

“Please? I want you to fuck me so bad-” There was a knock at the door, causing both girls to go silent for a second.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, exhaustion threatening to swallow you up whole. If it was your manager here to yell at you for “accidentally” breaking an amp at tonight's show you were going to scream. It was too late for that bullshit. Still, you saw this excuse as a blessing.

“Hear that, ladies? Looks like we’ve gotta pack it up. Thanks for showing me a good time.” You stood up from the seat with a small groan, placing your beer bottle onto the counter clumsily. The glass clattered, almost spilling all over the shag carpet.

The two girls groaned, obviously frustrated that they hadn’t successfully gotten you into bed with them. You weren’t sure what was wrong with you lately. If this had happened a few months ago then. . . well, you would have fucked them- no questions asked. Were you maturing out of your “wild and crazy” phase? No, you didn’t think so.

You bent down, scooping up a discarded bra so that you could toss it onto the bed. Fabric rustled behind you as they began to quickly sort themselves out, hoping to beat you to the door.

“Who is it?” You called out in a sing-song voice, deciding that if your manager was already angry enough to show up in front of your door at one in the morning then you might as well have a little fun with it.

There was no reply on the other side of the door, causing you to scoff. He was giving you the silent treatment. You reached out for the door handle, only to have your shirt yanked on by one of the women. You could hear the seams ripping against the weight of her, her eyes wide with desperation.

“Please let me show you a good time. I promise I’m good- I swear.” There was a fear of rejection there, you could tell.

You felt a bit guilty and were quick to lean in to press a kiss on her cheek. “Baby, you’re gorgeous. I’m sure you would have been wonderful- but I’m tired. That’s all, okay? It’s nothing personal.”

And with that you opened the door. The air from the hallway was brisk, causing goosebumps to instantly break out on your bare arms and legs. You were expecting the balding, bespectacled Barry to be standing on the other side of the door, all in a huff about “expenses” and “damages to the venue”. Blah, blah, blah.

Instead it was Ellie. A very broken looking Ellie.

The girls were quick to straighten out their outfits, their attention now turned towards the guitarist. Groupies like this didn’t care who they slept with, just so long as they were getting it in with someone that was in the band.

“You’re Emma. . . right? The new guitarist? You were so great tonight. I mean- Leon was always a bit of a poser anyway. You’re killing it.” One of the girls started, moving to stand next to you in the doorway.

You weren’t sure why, but you felt angry. Genuinely angry. Were you jealous of Ellie? No, because you were sure they would still rather fuck you than her. You’d been their first choice, afterall. Maybe you felt the need to shelter Ellie a bit? Yeah, that had to be it. She was still learning the ropes, and the last thing she needed was to be sexually harassed in a hotel hallway.

“. . . -lie” She was mumbling under her breath, eyes locked on the expensive carpet beneath her ratty old sneakers.

She had changed out of her stage clothes and put on jeans and a t-shirt. Her hair looked wet too, meaning she’d already taken a shower. She smelled earthy- Alpine, even.

You leaned against the frame, slamming your hand against the doorway to box the two women in, hoping to keep them away from the newbie. They flinched but both seemingly weren’t off put in their newfound pursuit.

“You’re the most talented guitarist I’ve ever seen live. I mean. . . your solos were incredible.” You hadn’t managed to successfully remember the girl’s names. Just that they were friends with two guys that had worked security for the venue tonight. People often took advantage of connections like that in order to get close to you and your bandmates. It usually worked too. Tonight was different though. Tonight you had a real stick up your ass.

Ashley? Amber? Sophie? God, you were bad with names.

“. . . -is Ellie.” Your guitarist mumbled again, slowly moving back down the hall in the direction of her suite.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion over her attitude, and you were quick to stumble out of your room and down the hall after her.

“Wait! Emma, can we get an autograph!” One of the half naked girls called after the two of you, trying desperately to shrug on her shirt to follow after.

Ellie turned then, eyes narrowed and teeth bared. You’d. . . You’d never seen her like that before.

“My name is fucking Ellie! Who is Emma? Jesus fuckin’ Christ-” She dug her hand into the back pocket of her jeans, trying desperately to find her keycard.

The girls gasped at her outburst, jostled by the look of pure evil on her face. Even you were taken aback, not used to this kind of attitude from her. Still, you’d be lying if you said that you didn’t know why she was acting like this.

Ellie was what some would call a “mega fan”, though that would be putting it lightly. The word “stalker” would be more appropriate. Your manager knew that before he even messaged her for an audition. He’d checked all of her social media sites and scrubbed the internet for anything he could find on her. One thing was made very clear:

Ellie was obsessed with you.

For whatever reason she seemed to be keeping it a secret from Gene and Chris. All she fessed up to them was that she enjoyed your music, which was why she’d auditioned in the first place. She’d conveniently left out the dedicated fan blogs and the status of her cult-like following.

You didn’t mind it. Sure, it was a bit creepy. . . but she was talented and you liked her. She could hold her own against Gene and Chris’ constant asshole behavior, and had been receptive to Barry trying to teach her the ropes of the business. It was obvious that she wanted this, even if her motives weren’t exactly purely for the music. You’d let her be as close to you as she wanted if it meant that she’d continue playing the way that she does. The crowd had loved her, and it was only her second show with the band.

She was a bit shy, but that would pass eventually. You remember your early debut days vividly. You’d been just like her, maybe even a little worse.

“Hey, stop for a second.” You reached out to grab her wrist, stopping her from fleeing after her outburst. She turned to glare at you, but her eyes softened as she took in your features.

You could feel her arm trembling in your grasp, so you gently let go. No matter how many times you touched her or spent time with her, she still seemed to get overly nervous in your presence. It was endearing.

“Aren’t you a bit busy? Don’t let me ruin your fun-” She was being sarcastic.

“I was done with them by the time you knocked on the door. They aren’t exactly my type. I’m not sure why I even invited them back in the first place.” If you had to guess, you’d probably done it out of habit. You were used to inviting people back to your room or tour bus.

Ellie didn’t seem pleased by your answer. If anything it seemed to upset her even more. She bristled, reaching back into her pocket for her keycard. What did she want to hear? That you hadn’t touched them? You groaned, wiping an exhausted hand down your face.

The elevator dinged behind you, meaning the girls had finally taken the hint and were leaving with their tails tucked between their legs.

“Are you jealous or something?” You asked once the elevator doors were closed. The last thing you needed were the girls trying to sell information to some shitty gossip magazine.

She froze, eyes going wide and lips going pale. It was almost like she didn’t think that you knew all about her dirty little secret. A part of you wanted to tease her. Really make her squirm.

“Why would I be jealous? Those girls weren’t exactly my type either.” She was good at playing things off. Ellie was a good liar.

But you were good at sniffing out the bullshit. It was one of your many talents.

“Not of me,” You leaned against the wall next to her door, watching with curious eyes as she began fumbling in her pockets for her key. “Of them. Do you wish I had taken you back to my room or something?” You cooed flirtatiously, flashing her one of your most sinister smiles.

She coughed, turning around so that she could hide her face from you. This nearly had you groaning out loud in disappointment. Was she blushing? Do her freckles look even brighter when her skin gets all pink and hot?

Nah, it was dangerous to think like this. Band members were always off limits. It was a recipe for disaster. The last thing you needed was another Stevie Nicks and Lindsey Buckingham situation on your hands. Your PR team wouldn’t be able to recover. They’d just barely gotten over the “Leon” incident by the skin of their teeth.

Your old band member having to be tackled by three cops in a hotel lobby was horrible. It made you look sloppy. And sleeping with the brand new edition to the band was definitely sloppy.

“You’re acting crazy.” Ellie told you, shoving the keycard into the lock so that she could clammer into her room.

Pushing the boundaries was sort of your thing. You enjoyed being bad, fuck the consequences. Right about now you wanted to kiss Ellie. What would her reaction be? Was she a good kisser? You wanted to know. No- you needed to know.

“You’re right. I’m talking nonsense, don’t listen to me,” You called after her into the room. “Sweet dreams.”

And with that you sauntered back to your own room, practically purring in delight over the fact that it had been that easy to get to Ellie like that. You loved pushing the boundaries. . . and now you had a new toy to play with.

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c0mbatchameleon · 1 month

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@jegulus-microfic April 21st, prompt: run, words: 1160, nsfw

aka regulus comes until he cries? that’s basically it yeah (+t4t jeg)

He shouldn’t cry.

It’s what Regulus has heard since—well, as early as he can remember. Crying is a vulnerability he can’t afford, a sign of weakness, and the Black family are anything but weak. Don’t be a baby, they’d say—to the literal fucking baby.

The last time Regulus cried was when he was 7 years old, he thinks—his mother certainly made sure he never did it again. And even long after he left that house behind, left his family and everything they stand for, found a new family, found a new home and new self unrestrained by hatred and abuse, transitioned, finally became comfortable with himself, his identity—after all of it, this is what he’s held onto. The belief that he shouldnt cry.

At least, it was what he held onto.

Now, as Regulus finds himself bent over the kitchen counter, nails dragging down the cool granite that he’s pressed flush against, he’s beginning to think crying isn’t so bad after all.

The tears started falling after his second consecutive orgasm, streaming freely down his face as he convulsed around James’ strap. James only slowed his thrusts to something deep and drawn out as he leaned forward and cooed, “That’s it baby, let it out,” hot breath cascading down Regulus’s ear and neck, hand stroking his hair gently. Languid kisses pressed down his neck and shoulder as he twitched and softly gasped in overstimulation.

He barely got a chance to catch his breath before—

“How ‘bout one more for me, yeah?” And just like that, James was drawing out and ramming back into him with a brutal pace. Regulus let out a choked gasp as his vision whited out, back arching, legs shaking. All he could respond was a tear-streaked string of oh fuck oh fuck oh fu—ah—please as James continued chanting soft praise and encouragement, railing him into a new fucking plane of existence.

That leaves him here, hurtling head first towards a third orgasm and choking on intermittent sobs and moans in rhythm with James’ thrusts. Each one is hitting that spot that sends a line of white-hot electricity up his navel, fraying his nerves until his entire body feels like an exposed wire. His hands grab for purchase on the countertop, unsuccessfully, as he tries to drag himself up, away, anywhere to put distance between himself and the onslaught of pleasure-pain that’s spreading like a fire across his whole body.

But James only digs his hand into Regulus’ curls and pulls, the other wrapped around the front of him so Regulus’ cock grinds into it with each movement of their hips. “Where are you trying to run off to, love?” he teases as his grip tightens and holds Regulus in place.

“Oh fuck— I can’t—“ Regulus’ own moan cuts him off, loud and lacking shame. “S’too much,” he whines.

“But you love it, don’t you?” Soft lips trace up behind his ear. “You don’t want me to stop, love, do you?” Regulus’ eyes roll back into his head. The hand presses down further on his cock and another sob escapes him. “C’mon, tell me how much you love it when I take you apart like this,” James coaxes, pulling him up further by his hair so that he has to balance on his forearms, his head falling back.

And, here, in this state of over-saturated, pure white static bliss where Regulus can barely distinguish reality, the world around him, anything other than James’ hands and James’ lips and James’ sweet-honey voice and James and James and James, the only thought he can form amidst the haze is the one James has supplied for him so graciously, so giving as always: that he loves it.

You love it, don’t you?

And Regulus does.

He loves having his walls taken down, brick by brick until he’s bare, surrendered to pleasure and to release. God, he fucking loves this release. The kind he never allowed himself before, the way it washes over his whole body and builds up like a dam, the way it flows in and out of him, completely open, running rivers down his face and sending shocks out from his core, chest heaving, bones melting, transcending his own body and yet more grounded in it than he’s ever been. He’s nothing but skin and shaking muscle and neuron and nerve ending and pure, unfiltered feeling, and, yes, he loves it. So, he does what he’s told and voices it, let’s it flow out of him like the rest of the dam, frantic and breathless.

“I love it, I—ah—oh—I love it, I love it I love it I—fuck—“

“That’s good, that’s right, fuck, you’re doing so well, baby. You look so pretty when you cry like this” James praises, breathless now, tone soaked in awe and pure adoration as he watches Regulus repeat the phrase like a mantra, an oath, a prayer, the words melting together to the point of near incoherence: I love it I love it Iloveitloveitloveitloveloveitloveit.

“That’s it, I know, baby,” he tugs on Regulus’ curls again, pulling him up against his chest. The new angle makes his cock drive deeper into Regulus, drawing a strangled moan out between his quick, gasping breaths. “Why don’t you show me how much?”

His fingers move in quick circles on Regulus’ cock, other arm wrapping around his shoulders to hold him up. “C’mon, let go for me one more time, Star.”

The simple order is all it takes. When Regulus comes, it’s with stars behind his eyes and tears flowing freely and a scream tearing through him, head hanging back on James’ shoulder, back bowed, clenching down on silicone as shudders rack through his body in waves. James works him through it with a slew of there you go and so good for me and so perfect and show me how good it feels, baby, that’s it.

He collapses back onto James, boneless, and breathes. Shakily. James squeezes him tight. All that concentrated flame has simmered and spread out into something soft and warm and buzzing all throughout his body. A small whimper escapes at the feeling of James pulling out, his core still throbbing around nothing.

James scoops him up easily, laying him down gently on the couch in the next room, and kneels down to cradle his face with his hands.

“Okay?” he asks softly, kissing Regulus’ forehead.

Regulus keeps his eyes closed and smiles in delirious dream-state bliss, just barely aware that he’s still sniffling. “Love it,” he mumbles, and James snorts as his thumbs swipe back and forth under his eyes. His head is still cloudy, his body floating somewhere with it. “Love you,” he adds dazedly.

“Always so sweet after you come,” James remarks. “Think if I get you to five next time you’d propose to me after?”

If Regulus had the energy, he’d roll his eyes. Instead, he reaches out and runs his hand through James’ hair, down the back of his neck, along the scars on his chest, down his arm where he grabs his hand and pulls it into his own chest, body curling around it like he’s hoarding it. James doesn’t seem to mind. “We’re already married, James,” Regulus mumbles. “I literally proposed.”

James chuckles softly, fondly. “I love you, too, Star.”

#microfic brought to u by lana del rey #nails in the kitchen et al #anyways I don’t actually know how I feel abt this but here we are #jegulus #james potter #regulus black #james potter x regulus black #starchaser #sunseeker #marauders #the marauders #jegulus microfic #writing stuff and things #microfic tag #jegulus fic

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meanbossart · 2 months

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Because I love the idea of DU drow as a companion... how would you recruit him? Where do you find him, and what's his intro cutscene?

Hi, I've been thinking about this since I got this message :V

There's this nautiloid pod somewhere nearby the Owlbear cave right? So those things were just crashing all over the place, not just near the beach where the actual ship fell. I believe his pod could have had a similar fate and fallen somewhere off the beaten path.

Mind you that, In this scenario, waking up from the pod and onto the forest map would have been DU Drow's first-ever conscious minutes ever since having his mind wiped, so he truly has no fucking idea of what just happened - he just knows his head is in shambles and that he needs to survive for long enough for his memories to return, assuming they ever will. So, his immediate instinct would be to retreat away from where the people are.

I think underneath the bridge, where there's running water and some fauna/flora would be a good spot to find him. Players might take a day or two until they stumble across this weirdo companion and so they are more in the loop than he would be. You'd find a little blood-trail leading you down there, and eventually spot a fist's corpse with no shoes near the river - DU drow would be crouched down by the water washing blood off himself:

While the rest of the party may have been picked off random places as they went about their days, this guy was busy being dissected and put back together over and over again - and there's no way Kressa bothered to dress him back up fully before he was taken away from her (me allowing the man to have pants on at all is a mercy onto you all) so he begins with no armor, but to make up for that fact he's the only companion who begins with a great-sword, which he would have stolen from the fist.

When you approach he is perfectly calm, In fact, he doesn't seem all that there. He stands up and appears half-ready for a fight, but lets you speak first. You can either ask what he's doing here, or about the corpse. You get more or less the same answer to both:

If you successfully persuade him, he tells you with no particular tone of shame or remorse that you got him, he did kill him, however he claims he was attacked first. Whether you pry into his mind with the worm, or have a scroll of read-thoughts, you get the same narration:

"Behind the aloof facade, you find the drow's mind to be in a concerning state of disarray: dozens of thoughts racing, jumbled, all at once, each trailing into the next before you can catch a hint of substance. You don't find the answers you were looking for, just red goo."

You CAN however use speak to the dead on the corpse. If you do that, it's revealed that he is actually telling the truth; The fist found him and assumed him to be with the drow who raided Wakeen's rest. Otherwise, you have to either take his word for it, attack him, or leave him.

He will refuse your offers to join you/go to your camp until you reveal to him that you have been tadpoled - either through using the Illithid-worm option, or telling him upfront through normal dialogue. If you didn't peer into his head earlier, you will now, confirming to yourself and him that he's also been infected. Then, you can tell him you're looking for a cure, and he will agree to travel along. This gets you approval from Shadowheart, Karlach, and Astarion, and disapproval from Lae'zel, Wyll, and Gale.

If you attack, he's as easy a fight as any companion would be at that point. If you choose to leave him be/not tell him about your worm so he refuses to join, he will appear at your camp after two long rests, basically forcing himself to into your party unless you kill him. You find him hanging out around Withers and he tells you he's decided to travel with you from now on, and that he will make himself comfortable.

If you ask for his name, he tells you to just call him whatever you want to (cue like 5 joke dialogue answers - he responds to all of them with a snort and you get approval if you pick any flattering ones). Whatever you ask about him gets you a very blunt, vague response. If you have Shadowheart in your party/are playing as her, she implies he may be suffering from memory loss, finally prompting him to admit to it. Otherwise he only reveals this after a couple more long-rests.

#this was fun thank you LOL #I love thinking about his store in terms of actual game mechanics.#ask #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #companion DU drow

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sayruq · 1 month

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Yemeni, Iranian, and Palestinian authorities have spoken out in support of US university students and faculty members who have been targeted by brutal police repression for the past two weeks during mobilizations calling for an end to the genocide in Gaza. The leader of Yemen's ruling Ansarallah movement, Abdul Malik al-Houthi, said during a speech on 25 April that the US government “does not respect their laws, their constitution, or any headlines they raise and brag about,” stressing that there is a “concerted effort” from Washington to silence a movement that “has begun to wake up to the horror of what is happening in occupied Palestine.” “With the demonstrations and sit-ins at prominent US universities, the US support for the Israeli enemy became clear, as authorities dealt with the demonstrations and protests … in a bad manner that goes beyond all considerations,” the Yemeni resistance leader added.

Iranian Foreign Minister Hossein Amir-Abdollahian also condemned the crackdown witnessed across several universities. “The suppression and violent treatment of the American police and security forces against professors and students protesting the genocide and war crimes of the Israeli regime in various universities of the United States is deeply worrying,” Iran's top diplomat said via social media, adding that this repression is an extension of “Washington's full-fledged support for the Israeli regime and clearly shows the double standard policy and contradictory attitude of the American government towards freedom of expression.”

In Palestine, officials from Hamas and the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine (PFLP), as well as student organizations in the Gaza Strip, issued statements supporting the grassroots movement that has taken over about two dozen university campuses in the US. “We, the students of Gaza, salute the students of Columbia University, Yale University, New York University, Rutgers University, the University of Michigan, and dozens of universities across the United States who are rising in solidarity with Gaza and to put an end to the Zionist–US genocide against our people in Gaza,” a statement from students organizations in Gaza reads. “From here in Gaza, we see you and salute you. Your actions and activism matter, especially in the heart of the empire, in the United States … It is clear that a new generation is rising that will no longer accept Zionism, racism, and genocide and that stands with Palestine and our liberation from the river to the sea,” the statement adds. For their part, the PFLP called on Palestinian and Arab students to “rise for Gaza following the example of American universities.” “Palestinian and Arab universities must take the initiative and break the barrier of silence, following the example of American universities which have ignited an intifada within the campus for the victory of the blood of our Palestinian people, and in rejection of the continuing American support for the zionist entity,” the PFLP statement reads. In a similar vein, Hamas politburo member Izzat al-Rishq said that the government of US President Joe Biden “violates individual rights and the right to expression, and arrests university students and faculty members because they reject the genocide that our Palestinian people are subjected to in the Gaza Strip at the hands of the neo-Nazi Zionists, without the slightest feeling of shame about the legal value represented by the students and university professors.” “The Biden administration, which is a partner in the brutal war on our Palestinian people, does not want to acknowledge that [the US public has] discovered the truth about the Nazi entity and is siding with human values and standing on the right side of history. Today’s students are the leaders of the future, and their suppression today means an expensive electoral bill that the Biden administration will pay sooner or later.”

#yemen #jerusalem #tel aviv #current events #palestine #free palestine #gaza #free gaza #news on gaza #palestine news #news update #war news #war on gaza #students for justice in palestine #gaza solidarity encampment #columbia university #iran #pflp #palestinian resistance

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mayasaura · 2 months

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one problem with a theatrical adaption of tlt is htn, where the reveal that Gideon lives on works because of the change of second person to first.

the only way i can think of it working is that the actor playing gideon works backstage, like the lights system (but is hidden from the audience aside from subtle hints)

the biggest hint is when when wake breaches pal's river bubble she 'breaks' the lighting system and the stage goes dark. harrow is ushered into the wings by pal so she doesn't see anything, but the lights flick back on just before the curtains drop for a scene change, and pal looks directly up at the light box in surprise and smiles. if the audience is quick to turn around they can see a flash of a black robe.

Oh boy my friend, have you come to the right place!!

So, fun fact about ninja. Bear with me, I am going somewhere with this. The image of a ninja covered head to toe in black, with a hood and mask, comes from Kabuki theatre. It was originally a stagehand uniform. Like stagehands in modern theatre, stagehands in Kabuki would wear all black to signify that they were not really there, and whatever effect they were causing (carrying a prop, creating a breeze, ect.) was to be taken as happening on its own. Basic stagehand stuff, a lot of productions in many styles around the world do it, especially if they don't have fancy rigging systems.

Someone (I don't remember who now, or in what play) had the idea to dress the ninja in a production up as a stagehand. In the convention of the theatre, this made them invisible. The audience was already so used to ignoring stagehands, they didn't know any more than the characters that the ninja was present, despite the actor being clearly visible on stage. Which meant when the ninja struck, it was as if out of nowhere. I can only imagine the uproar in the theatre the first time it happened. It worked so well as to become commonplace, and the rest is history. The popular image of a ninja is still a kabuki stagehand.

So, back to the stage play of Harrow the Ninth. I think you've hit almost exactly on how to incorporate the Gideon twist into a theatrical production. But not as a lighting tech. Gideon is a stage hand. Maybe there would be more than one stagehand, maybe she would be the only one, but she would operate in full view of the audience, literally setting the scenes. I think it works best if she's the only one, but if the production needs more, she should subtly stand out in some way. As the play went on, we would notice that this one stage hand... increasingly interacts with Harrow, though Harrow never acknowledges it. At first it might look like she's playing Harrow's necromancy, because that would be the main special effect she would need to help with. When Harrow is unconscious at the end of a scene, it's always the same stagehand carrying her out. But we all know she's not really there. Until Palamedes acknowledges her. Turns to look right at her, and speaks to her. I can see the scene clearly. He would look at her, stunned, until Gideon finally took off her mask. The line "Kill us twice, shame on God," would be addressed to Gideon, and then he would turn back to Harrow, kiss her on the forehead, and tell her to go. Gideon, always out of Harrow's line of sight, would guide Harrow away while Harrow looked back at Palamedes.

#the locked tomb #harrow the ninth #I have a few ideas how to do gideon as harrow but it needs a lot of workshopping #I love this idea #htn spoilers #gideon nav #speaking as someone who has worked as a light tech that specifically doesn't work so well #because techs are rarely on stage messing with the lights during a production #maybe if there was a spot on the catwalk or if the array was small and the gels needed changing #but anyone who can turn off all the lights on stage is usually behind the audience in a little control room with a lot of switches and dial #that said the stage SHOULD go completely dark immediately after this scene #and the lights should come up suddenly on Gideon and Harrow alone on stage together #harrow having a crisis and staring resolutely forward while Gideon behind her reaches for her and can't touch her #just for a brief moment

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deepestnightcolor · 2 months

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Hi I love your writing!! Not sure if you take requests so please ignore this if you don’t!! What if Sam and reader were dating and then reader finds out about Sam/Penny liking each other in the past so they get kinda insecure and Sam reassures them

nsjhdwj thank you so, so much! <3

It really means the world to me to hear it! :) Thank you so much for your request as well, it was absolutely LOVELY to write. I hope you will enjoy it! Have a lovely day, dear anon~ <3

(Needless to say, I do take requests >:))

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Sam (SDV) x GN!Reader

ᴡᴄ: 1889 words

✧ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: a lil jealousy, a lil insecurity. it is mostly fluff, though. gentle kisses and all~

☾ ᴡʜɪꜱᴘᴇʀꜱ ☽

The relationship between Sam and you had begun to blossom in the fall of your first year in Pelican Town. It had all started out quite simple; playing pool with the blond and Sebastian in the saloon turned into hanging out and playing video games together. Taking turns trying hard levels bled into fleeting touches and looking at one another longer than necessarily needed; until it all ended in a chaste kiss behind near the river. It hadn’t taken Sam much longer to show up on your doorstep with a bouquet of flowers, asking you to officially be with him.

Ever since, your relationship had grown like the crops on your fields – filling your heart with a deep, comfortable feeling of contentment and calm, something no one ever had managed up until the town. However, whenever Sam walked up to you, looking at you with these deep blue eyes filled with excitement and genuine happiness and smiling at you as if you were the first warm day in spring, you felt like you were at the right place, at the right time.

However, there was gossip in town. Little whispers, really, nothing you wouldn’t have expected living in a sleepy community like this. The gossip here was nothing more than a fleeting thought that was spoken out; here one moment, gone the next.

You had always promised yourself to not let these whispers stick to you, to just smile and forget about it. And so far you had done well; the most attention you had spent on anything that wasn’t rock solid was wondering how someone would come up with something like that.

In all seriousness, you just didn’t care for it. It rolled off your back like droplets of rain rolled off your raincoat.

You didn’t think a simple visit to Pierre’s would change that. You were standing in front of one of the shelves in the far back, looking at the different seasonal seeds in stock, considering trying out something new on the fields when you heard Marnie’s voice. It was hushed as it usually was when she was gossiping. Any other day, you would have just turned back to the bags in your hand, but today, you heard your boyfriend’s name. Much to your shame, your ears perked up almost immediately, and even worse, you actually tilted your head a little to catch what Marnie was saying.

“Yes, I am surprised he didn’t end up with Ms. Penny. The crushes they had were quite obvious, even my nephew picked up on it,” she hummed.

Another voice now answered with a hum, but when they talked, you were able to identify it as Mayor Lewis’s. “Even my old eyes picked up on it! I saw them at the bridge often, and I always thought Ms. Penny just waited for him to make the first move and she would have been all his.”

Your heart sank. Sam had had a crush on Penny? You furrowed your brows as you thought back, trying to remember if you ever had picked up on anything like that. Then it hit you – they had often hung out by the bridge together, and if you were honest, you had always felt a weird tension sizzle in the air between them.

Marnie again: “It is quite a shame, really. Jas told me that Ms. Penny looks a little sad when they pick up little Vincent. I think they would have made a good couple; she could have taught him a lot, I bet.”

“And maybe he would have helped her to get out of her shell a little. I thought they were a good match as well.”

You couldn’t take any more. You stepped out from between the shelves and almost ran to the till, slamming the bags onto the counter. “Just these, please,” you smiled at Pierre, loud enough for the hushed whispers behind you to stop.

“Thanks,” you murmured after you had been rung up, fleeing the general store without as much as a look in the two chatterboxes’ direction.

You had genuinely wanted to let go of what you had heard today. After all, Sam was with you now, and he seemed genuinely happy with you. Even now in his sleep, he was looking peaceful and content; his arm stretched out towards you as usual. Whenever you and Sam slept together, he had to touch you in some way. You didn’t mind that, in fact, it usually calmed you and lulled you into a deep slumber. Tonight, it didn’t help.

You had started thinking as soon as your conversation with Sam had faded as his breathing had grown heavier; a clear sign that he was drifting off to sleep.

Had you gotten in the middle of something between Sam and Penny?

Would he maybe be better off dating her?

Would he be happier with her?

Why did he choose to be with you when there seemingly was a spark, big enough for others to notice?

Penny, in all honesty, was not only a beautiful human but had an incredible personality at that. She was a catch, no doubt. Maybe you had ruined the best relationship Sam could have ever had, because what could you offer? You were a farmer, nothing more, nothing less. Doing work many considered as nothing but simple and dirty. Whereas Penny was always clean and well-kempt: being noble enough to try and give the town’s kids the best possible education. Trying to give your boyfriend’s little brother the best possible chances, for crying out loud!

Holy shit, you had probably ruined Sam’s life, what did he even see in you?

“Babe?” a groggy voice next to you asked, making you tense up. You had been so lost in your whirlwind of thoughts that you hadn’t even realized how much you had been tossing and turning. You tried to stay still, even out your breathing. Maybe he would just go back to sleep.

But you knew Sam better than that. And just as you had expected, two strong arms slowly snaked around you, pulling you into a warm chest. Sam’s hand found your hair, long fingers running through it just mere moments later. Sam knew you, sometimes better than you knew yourself, and he knew what to do when you were nervous. And even now in your state of inner turmoil it helped; you relaxed into his arms, and for a split second, your head was quiet.

“What’s wrong, baby? Bad dream?”

That was your chance. If you said yes now, he would probably cuddle you, caressing your hair until you fell asleep. Sleep sounded nice right about now.

“Did I ruin your chances with Penny? Would you rather be with her?”

The caressing stopped, and you could feel the mattress behind you shift. Was he leaving now?

The light switched on, and before you could say something else, you saw Sam’s face hover right over yours. His rough hand was placed on your cheek now, thumb caressing the skin gently as he peered into your eyes. All sleep had vanished now, replaced by honest concern and confusion.

“Why would you think something like that?”

You bit around on your lower lip, looking away in embarrassment. “I heard Marnie and Lewis talk at Pierre’s today…They…they talked about the crush you had on Penny and the crush she had on you and how you would be a great match and how she is sad when she picks up Vincent now and-“

Noting how stupid you sounded, you stopped yourself, taking in a deep breath and not being able to stop yourself, “and it had me wondering, because I saw you hang out as well and Penny is so beautiful and kind and noble and she would have a good influence on you! And what am I, just a farmer, you have seen me in dirty clothes more often than in clean ones and-“

You looked at Sam helplessly, tears in the corner of your eyes. “And I just…Why did you choose me when you could have had her, Sam? Why didn’t you choose her? You could have…I…” The blond looked at you, patiently waiting for you to finish speaking.

Only when your stream of words had seemingly ceased did he lean in and press a soft kiss to your lips.

“Because Penny isn’t you, my love,” he murmured against the plush of your lips, looking into your eyes. His thumb was still caressing your cheek, allowing his other hand to lock together with yours.

“Yes, Penny is a good-hearted woman, and yes, I might have had a crush on her. But you touched my heart in a way no one ever has. I fell in love with you, and I mean all of you. Your eyes; the way they light up when you’re proud or happy. The way you smile and the many different smiles you have. I love every single one. I love that you get dirty every day while doing what you love. I love that you give it your all every day.”

Sam kissed your nose carefully, his eyes peering into yours again.

“I love how careful you are with everything, especially with things that are dear to you. Yoba, I love the way your breathing sounds when you are next to me, I love the way you ramble to yourself when you are working on something and think no one can hear you. I love the random sounds you make. I love seeing you. I love being around you. I love you being mine. I love you.”

Sam kissed your lips again, holding onto your face. You looked up at him with teary eyes, hiding your face in his chest. The blond laid back down, carefully pulling you on top of him. He drew random patterns onto your back; mostly hearts and clouds and little stars.

“I remember the first actual date we went on. My heart was pounding in my chest, and I was so close to just throwing up. Sebastian kept teasing me, asking me why I was nervous, I had been to the beach so often…” he kissed your head again, holding you a little tighter to his chest. “And then I saw you there. All bundled up in your winter clothes, and I asked myself why I had been so stupid to suggest a date on the beach in winter. But when you smiled at me…Shit, that was the moment I just knew that you were my one and only. And I wouldn’t want to live a life in which you weren’t.”

You sniffled a little, but smiled a little as you thought back to the date. You had, in fact, asked yourself why Sam would want to meet up at the beach in winter, but you could have never allowed yourself to pass up the opportunity.

You closed your eyes; taking in your boyfriend’s scent. He smelled like cotton and a hint of vanilla. Honestly, you found he smelled like home.

You could feel Marnie’s and Lewis’s voices quieten down, as did your worries.

Sam could feel you relax in your arms and slowly lifted your chin with two fingers.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, Sam.”

“And tomorrow I will skate on the Mayor’s property.”

“No, Sam."

#sdv #stardew valley fanfic #stardew valley #stardew valley farmer #sdv fanfic #sdv sam #fanfic #sdv sam x reader #stardew valley x reader #SDV #SDV Sam #SDV Sam x reader #Stardew Valley Sam #fluff #fluffy Sam

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kingkatsuki · 3 months

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Hihihi hello! More Dragon King Bakugou thoughts

Dragon King Bakugou drags you kicking and screaming. A brute display of strength as he wraps a bloodied, muscular arm around your waist and hauls you towards his dragon.

It’s the only way he can remove you from the devastation and destruction that he caused, your village— your home, now nothing more than charred ash and embers. You’ll die if you stay here, and maybe it’s a warped sense of morality that has him bringing you with him. A spared pardon that will allow the gods above to judge him less when it comes to judgement day; if there even is a god when all this life seems to give is destruction.

His castle is dank and cold, nothing like the warm grass that settled beneath your feet in your village. The saccharine of wildflowers that blessed your senses each morning as you made your way to collect fresh water from the flowing river. You have nothing inside these four walls but time, aimlessly wandering through the bleak halls as though it’s some kind of reward for being alive. For being pitied.

The first night he brought you here you tell him that he should’ve killed you. Of all the people that night, you wondered why he’d chosen to pity you.

It’s the better part of a week before he forces you to bathe. The cinders and blood from that fateful night are still seared into your skin, a constant reminder of the anguish of watching everything you’d ever known burn. You had nothing else— and this was yet another thing the Dragon King was trying to take from you.

This was the first time you’d left your village since you were a child— your first look at the big wide world outside and all you wanted was to go back home.

And yet here you were standing in front of the man that stole everything from you. The ruthless King that had seemingly taken everything was still trying to take more. The numerous attempts from Mina to help you bathe had been in vain as you refused to remove the tattered cloth that you wore that fateful day, the stench of death and decay was even starting to bother you as you tried to fight the desire to purge yourself of the toxins. But the desire to disobey Bakugou was stronger—

“Get in,” He snarled pure venom, “Or I’m throwing you in the lake.”

You fought the urge to spit back ‘make me’ knowing that he most definitely would. His crimson eyes focused on you, challenging you to disobey him now.

“You’re stinkin’ out the castle,” He sneered, “Even my dragon smells better than you.”

“Let me get in then.” You challenged, hoping he’d leave the room so you could lock the door again.

“You can try that shit with Mina, but it won’t work on me, fuckin’ brat.”

It felt like stalemate, as you both bore into each other. The intensity of his gaze made you want to look away, but you had to hold what little fight you had left— before you broke yourself completely.

“Lake it is.” Bakugou took a step towards you, booted feet clomping against the cold stone floor as your hands balled into fists in the fabric of your dress. Holding the cloth in your hands as you begun to bunch it up your body, focusing on the way Bakugou seemed to stumble— catching himself before he paused.

You lifted the dress up and over your head as you let the soiled, bloodied cloth fall to the floor beside your bare feet. Leaving you completely exposed to him as he tried to stop his hungry eyes from feasting over your bare skin, left eye twitching as he fought the hardest war he was yet to face to maintain eye contact.

The air silent as you stepped forward, raising a leg to dip your toes into the forged metal tub. Exhailing when you felt the warmth engulf you as you stepped in, trying to ignore your heart hammering against your ribcage at how exposed and vulnerable you were right now as Bakugou allowed himself a moment to admire your round breasts and plush hips as you dipped into the bath.

Bakugou could feel his pants tighten at the sight, a multitude of sordid thoughts racing through his mind as his cock pulsed in response. Making no attempt to leave the room as you sunk lower into the bath, letting the dirt and grime mingle with the water as you breathed a sigh of relief. The warmth helping to soothe the aching muscles that you hadn’t allowed a proper chance to relax since that day— maybe you had needed this.

You hid your smirk beneath the murky water as you noticed the way the tips of his ears tinged vibrant red at the sight of you, successful enough to rile him up or piss him off you weren’t sure. But it was enough to be called a small victory as you let the warm water calm you, the first time you’d felt at ease since that night.

“That wasn’t so hard was it, brat?” Bakugou growled before turning to leave the room. Thankful his cloak was long enough to hide the bulging tent between his thighs as he took swift, long strides down the hall towards his quarters. Pressing a palm to his crotch to try and elliviate the tension as he tried to commit the sight of your naked body to memory. The door barely closing before he had a large palm fisting his cock—

#dragon king bakugou #Bakugou x reader #Bakugou smut

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comfortless · 3 months

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Everything you write leaves me breathless <333

Sorry in advance for my English

I was thinking about König, (maybe in an ancient rome/Greek settling) being so alone and desperate for connection that he turns to religion: one day he's walking in the woods, deep in thought, when he finds an abandoned temple. The inside is small but lavish, with a life sized statue of what must be its goddess. He sees this lovely sculpture, abandoned and alone and sees himself in her. He becomes a dedicated, fanatic and soso lovestruck worshipper. Unknownly to him his goddess, woken by his prayers, has been watching him and listening to him. One day while he's praying in front of her her statue moves and talks and now his deity is in front of him. Looks like he has an opportunity to worship her like she deserves ;)

granting you ten million kissies for this prompt and your sweet words! your English is perfect, little wisp! <3 also… giving me an excuse to write more loner/loner and mutual worship?! you have spoken to my heart…

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. historical/myth au; vague time period, brief mentions of violence, fluff, pining, not very explicit smut, mutual worship.

The spirit of the temple feels disorienting, though the architecture is a still, white marble, the floor riddled with leaves and dirt, creeping up the sides of the building as if river water had washed the entire thing ashore… Something feels very alive here, feathered out on the air, a pulse of thunder, the breeze beneath dove’s wings, enthused and yawning. Hungry.

It only becomes more apparent the closer he steps to the statue.

She is unlike any he has ever seen before, carved with the same skill, but so much smaller than the other statues in their temples, so much more lifelike that he almost thinks to greet her. She’s been painted unlike most, a perfect vision bathed in color where she stands out amidst the sea of white and green surrounding her. The temple has not been stained with blood, no offering strewn before her bare feet, left for the rot or dragged away by the dainty hands of this very goddess. No maidens sit in prayer, no men lower there swords to her…

There’s nothing to tell him just who she is, either.

Despite his better judgment, his hand does find her side, a swift draw up from the vision of her thigh peeking from her robe upward to curl over her hip. Her beauty is unmatched, impossible to describe and the call seems almost tangible, shrieking at him in whispers to bend a knee and let her in. So, he does. He prays to her in the silence, alternating between whispers and his own thoughts.

He tells her of his struggles: a soldier brought in from a small tribe up north, robbed from his parents as a boy, how all he knew now were the Roman ways yet could rarely comprehend their customs and deities. Maybe she could offer him some counsel or solace…? Make the weight of his blade feel less heavy as he struck down men that could very well be his own brothers? Give him something to return to when old wounds reopened and he bled, hurt with no one but himself to tend to his heart or his injuries.

The goddess only blesses him with silence: the wind does not pick up outside, there is no disembodied laughter, no sudden thought of an offering or new words to speak to her. She is void of an answer just as the very temple she waits inside is empty of all else.

This does not dissuade him from returning.

Returning to the city after another battle some months later, his first thought is to return to her, to leave the things he’s taken from dead men at her feet, to paint the temple with the blood lingering on his weapon. There is honey, wine, meat and jewelry made of stones from the sea. There is brittle, dried flakes of blood polished from his blade and left to settle onto the floor like the leaves of late autumn. He presents these things to her with a grin, thinking that assuredly this goddess would call back to him then, grant him with a love so consuming that all of the evasion and emptiness cursed upon him would be untwined.

He kneels before her statue, presses his cheek to her thigh, sighs content at the feel of cold marble against the ever-burning of his flesh, gazes up at her like an adoring dog.

Assuredly, if this temple were built for a being that did exist at all she would know just how she was all that this lonesome soldier had, would know the way that he loved her and waited with bated breath and heartstrings pulled taut for her to love him in turn. A greedy, begging muzzle that utters his prayers, words he’s never spoken to anyone whether deity or mortal, only to her in the quiet of the forest.

It’s not madness that provokes him, but the gentleness of her face and the tender look in her eyes, an expression that no other had ever offered to him, no one but this little forgotten goddess. Whether pitying or loving, he did not know. It was only enough to keep him returning: for many days, his path from the city led straight to her feet, even some nights were spent lying upon her floor, finding peace finally being able to sleep next to something apart from lonely walls.

The sun rises and sets each day where he sits and speaks to her as though she were a living, breathing woman. Occasionally he reads aloud to her in the stillness, cheekily tells her when another goddess’ name is brought up within the lines of poetry that they could never hope to compare.

It’s ridiculous when he does not even know what purpose she serves, but this silent figure is his only companion, the only thing that sets his heart ablaze and mind focused in battle because above all else, he has to return to her. Though she can not share his words, he knows somehow that she shares in his loneliness.

Finally, he thinks to ask her the question that has been burning at the tip of his tongue for weeks and months. One, that he has tried to hold back, display a patience that he lacks. It’s after a night of sleeping on cold marble, an ache in his neck from its hardness and his own refraining from bringing a cushion from his own home in his desperation to return to her.

“Why won’t you speak?,” he asks, somber as he makes his way to leave the temple, only halting in place to cast her a fragile look from over his shoulder. He has read the epics, heard the stories and seen the blessings of other deities… Yet no matter what he does or how often he tethers himself to her leg and dotes upon her, she still meets his devotion with nothing but her silence in return.

König is left with the thought that his gifts are not enough, that he, himself, is not enough, even as her sole devotee. To keep his mind preoccupied, he keeps to the city for a time. The bed is cold, the people still see him as a barbaric outsider, and the horrible coil wound around his heart only seems to tighten its grip further. He feels as though he has left a part of himself out there in the forest within the four chalked walls of her temple.

This loneliness does not feel like one he is forced to swallow down, it feels like a vicious sort of ache, the twisting of a dagger beneath ribs to sink in and steal away what little of a life he does have.

He returns to her the following night, with a furrowed brow and a grave look upon his face. There’s an intent to demand she free him of her, that this longing finally pass, but as his sandals reach the entrance to the temple, those thoughts fall away from his mind like droplets of rain, a cool drizzle that begins to fall outside the very moment he is sheltered.

The statue— the goddess moves.

She tilts her head and inspects him fondly, the perfect mouth he has envisioned speaking to him so many times prior tilts upward in the gentlest smile as her bare feet move to carry her body forward.

“A test,” she explains as though answering his question from only the past day, almost saddened by her own words as her gaze lowers to the space between them.

König’s heart does not roar then, it only melts with the knowledge that someone like her has been left alone for so, so very long that she felt the need to prove to herself that he would return to her side. He would. Time and time again he would. When she raises her head to look him in the eye, her own clouded and misty, he only silently prays that she could see such a vow upon his face.

“I am worthy then?,” he questions, forcing himself to remain rigidly in place despite the call- the urge, to circle her, just once, drop at her feet to then feel her pulse beneath his fingertips. Anything. Even an assurance would be reward enough, but there is always a greed in the hearts of men, one he feels burning a hole through his very being even now.

Her lips press to a line and her gaze seems faraway, lost in her own thoughts that must be as mighty as Olympus itself. After a time, she only answers in a soft whisper, “It is I who am unworthy of you.”

All discordance in his chest pulls to a halt at this, all apprehension and sadness are whisked away when she instead comes to kneel before him. She curls her arms around his leg, presses her cheek to his thigh as he had done so many times before. The goddess gazes up at him with not just affection… but reverence, as though he were the strongest warrior of myth, deserving of even the love of something only as ethereal and sweet as she could provide.

His breath catches for a mere moment before he lowers himself at her side. The stares exchanged from both are full of an unspoken wonderment, all of the things that words alone would fail to speak in truth.

He waits out the rain there, sat beside her with the air surrounding them charged with such a great and unspoken affection that even Venus would taste a bitter envy on her tongue should she pass by to see.

She tells him she can not recall what she was the goddess of… or if she was ever truly any goddess at all. The marble surrounding her was put up for a purpose, but she’s never seen the Elysian Fields or climbed Olympus on her own. Her memories are scattered blurs, and she confesses that she feels tired when she tries to parse things together in a way that he will understand.

He listens while he tends to her by offering the honey and dried meat left in offering for her here, then fetches fresh water from the stream that brooks several yards away and returns to her side with a face both damp and flushed.

König tells her of his life too, how during every battle since stumbling upon this sacred place he has kept her in mind; he has no wife to return to, no other women to bed, that since their meeting his life has become hers. He confesses he had the intention of returning only to force a curse upon this madness that had enveloped him, but… he could never have brought himself to do so, even if she had not appeared to him warm and breathing.

Her laugh then could have prompted waves of flowers to bloom and birds to sing in tune, whimsical and so precious he only begins to feel himself fall, truly. Not out of sheer desperation, but with genuine affection.

When her exhaustion does take her, she does not mind the way his arm curls around her middle to tuck her body closer to his own. The goddess has no fury within her, only mirrors his own feelings with a fluttering of lashes and a soft sigh.

So she sleeps, pulled close to him like a lover rather than a stranger. When dawn breaks, when König knows he’s to be called back to train and fight with the other soldiers, have dull talks about what land to cross and take for their own next, she tells him she will wait there for his return.

He can not concentrate as well on his training this day. The plans for future wars and battles do not send flurries, hot excitement through him. The world is an endless gray, reflected above with darkened clouds threatening further rain. There is only one place he wishes to be, one that yearns for him more than his own home or the women waiting on the street for coins the other men readily supply. When one, a native Roman, does ask him why he does not just venture to the brothel to put himself in better spirits, König only grits his teeth to still his hand from quieting him eternally. These men knew nothing of the love he feels, and certainly they didn’t deserve to.

The temple is no different from how he found it the night prior. The goddess sits with her hands curled in her lap, smiling just as fondly at him as she had before. His heart shatters at the thought that she had sat there waiting for him in such a way all day. He swears to her that he will have a proper bed made for her, bring her the softest of furs and cushions stuffed with downy feathers to lie upon. For now his offering is only fruit and wine, things that she shares with him while she shushes his concerns with quiet words and gratitude that he had returned.

She lowers herself again before him after pulling her robe free and lying it upon the floor. It is no proper bedding at all, but she swears that it is enough, that his own warmth is just enough for her to be sated and comfortable. His head swims when she kisses his thigh, drags her lips up from his knee to rest there with that reverent look in her eye. Mortals coupling with deities was not unheard of, but to think it could happen to him…

She is a goddess. How is he supposed to… How could he ever dirty her with himself? He thinks to refuse her before she tugs away the barrier of fabric between them and takes him into her mouth. Stunned, he only watches her, feels her in a way he has never felt a woman before until he finds his voice again.

“Lie down,” he breathes, shaky and tentative as he rests his hand upon her cheek. She complies, giddy and content when she’s splayed out on the white robe beneath her, legs parting immediately and her arms reaching upward to invite him into her hold.

There’s no tact when he lies atop her, feels the warmth of her thighs around him and her arms curled over his neck. His forehead is pressed to her own when togetherness is found, and when she sighs so soft as she envelops him in full, his mouth descends upon her own.

She doesn’t praise him, doesn’t need to in words, because the muffled sounds and cries that leave her lips are more than enough to spear him onward. König, however… he babbles ceaselessly, overwhelmed and overcome by such a profound joy, he can not keep himself from reciting every word that comes to mind, whether vile or pure.

“My goddess,” he whispers into her hair, eyes half-lidded and dazed with each shallow thrust. “We could have had this for a season… you have made me wait so long, hm?”

The way she feels is unmatched, he thinks, when her breathing shudders and she only seems to constrict him further. To think he could bring a goddess to ruin… the grin that crosses his face when he pushes his head against her neck is bordering on both ecstatic and cruel.

“I will give you a demigod,” he hisses against her throat, not at all subtle about just how far he was willing to go to keep her here. With him. More than Olympus, she belonged beneath him, and the tremor that wracks her form then is all of the confirmation he would need.

She sobs his name when the tension becomes too much to bear, fingernails graze the flesh of his shoulders as she shudders, falls into such bliss that her words of praise come incoherent and weak. He follows her to a saccharine abyss with a guttural groan.

The aftermath is softer than any other moment he has shared with her. There are an abundance of kisses pressed between them, littered across her flesh and his own with whispers that leave his mind cloudy. Her worship is subtle by comparison to his own, coming in honeyed stares and such words he would never dare to repeat, no lowly poet deserved to ever hear them, their voices could never compare to her own.

The goddess holds him close, bumps his nose with her own and makes a promise; she tells him for as long as he shall live that this temple was as much his home as it were his own. That even when this body of his does die, she will seek him out in the Elysian Fields, lie at his feet as he had done her own; that no matter what may come, they will never be apart.

#könig x reader #konig x reader #storing your other request for now angel! <3 #someone kick me and make me write! so sorry to anyone who has sent something in that i have not gotten around to just yet #i see them and i promise i am working through them! my heart soars any time i am entrusted with a König prompt!

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