#Muse Tavern Challenge

[rainystarters]

* ☔ : action prompts inspired by FANTASY, NOBILITY, ETC. some prompts are usfw. add reversed for the muse receiving the meme to perform the action instead. ( adjust scenarios or specify details as needed. )

crown of dawn. sender swears their fealty to the receiver.

crown of silver. sender congratulates the receiver on their political engagement, hiding their true affection for the receiver.

crown of midnight. sender dances with the receiver at a masquerade.

crown of glass. sender meets the receiver while their true identity is concealed.

crown of shadows. sender controls the receiver through magic or blackmail, making them their pawn so they can rule from the background.

crown of ink. sender meets the receiver for the first time after they are joined in an arranged marriage.

crown of starlight. sender kneels before the receiver to receive a boon.

crown of rot. sender accuses the receiver of failing their people.

crown of sorrow. sender tells the receiver they are the new lord/queen/etc. as those ahead of them in the line of succession have died.

crown of blood. sender stands before the receiver to be judged for their crimes.

crown of lies. sender accuses the receiver of not being the true heir.

crown of thorns. sender crowns the receiver after killing the previous ruler.

crown of nightshade. sender consumes a poisoned drink meant for the receiver.

---

wand of bone. sender uses necromancy to raise the receiver's companions from to dead to aid the sender in fighting against the receiver.

wand of ivy. sender ensnares the receiver in a net of living vines.

wand of twilight. sender conjures the spirit of the receiver from the land of the dead to speak with them.

wand of clouds. sender infiltrates the receiver's dreams to learn their desires.

wand of portals. sender summons the receiver to their world.

wand of resurrection. sender brings the receiver back to life.

wand of memory. sender clouds the receiver's mind so they don't leave.

wand of blossoms. sender grows flowers in the receiver's hair.

wand of salt. sender heals the receiver's wounds.

wand of leaves. sender asks the receiver to read their fortune.

wand of lightning. sender conjures a storm to impede the receiver.

wand of masks. sender crosses paths with the receiver while disguised as them.

wand of flesh. sender wounds the receiver to fuel their blood magic.

---

sword of honor. sender challenges the receiver to a duel to decide an argument.

sword of moons. sender wakes up to discover the receiver pressing a blade against the sender's throat.

sword of sacrifice. sender takes a deadly attack meant for the receiver.

sword of wrath. sender kills the receiver's loved one(s) as they watch.

sword of loyalty. sender executes someone at the receiver's command.

sword of blessings. sender asks the receiver to bless their weapon before battle.

sword of madness. sender tries to stop the receiver's bloodthirsty rage.

sword of ruin. sender tortures the receiver for information.

sword of defeat. sender surrenders to the receiver after a hard-fought battle.

sword of ash. sender asks the receiver to kill them for failing the receiver.

sword of spite. sender twists their weapon deeper into the receiver's wound.

sword of wind. sender quickly kills an enemy before they attack the receiver.

sword of betrayal. sender stabs the receiver in the back.

---

card of misfortune. sender catches the receiver trying to pick their pocket.

card of coins. sender buys the receiver a drink at a tavern.

card of vipers. sender meets the receiver in a thieves' den.

card of fools. sender finds the receiver caught in a trap, magical or otherwise.

card of iron. sender recognizes the receiver from a wanted poster.

card of vultures. sender is caught looting a dead body by the receiver.

card of songs. sender asks a bard to sing a ballad about the receiver.

card of keys. sender picks a lock to help the receiver escape.

card of winter. sender finds the receiver dying of frostbite and gathers them in their arms to warm them.

card of dust. sender finds the receiver asleep over a book and wakes them.

card of stars. sender keeps the receiver company during first watch at camp.

card of crows. sender warns the receiver they're being followed but that the sender can protect them—for a fee.

card of twine. sender stitches a wound shut for the receiver.

---

heart of virtue. sender presses a kiss to the back of the receiver's hand.

heart of devotion. sender slips their signet ring onto the receiver's finger.

heart of roses. sender gives the receiver a token of their favor before a tourney.

heart of thrones. sender kneels before the receiver to pleasure them.

heart of destiny. sender tells the receiver they are fated or reincarnated lovers.

heart of honey. sender intimately feeds the receiver by hand.

heart of darkness. sender cloaks themselves and the receiver in shadows so they can kiss in public.

heart of stone. sender asks the receiver to be their lover as they can't marry.

heart of gold. sender renounces their title to be with the receiver.

heart of wolves. sender intimately licks blood from the receiver's body.

heart of knives. sender cuts the clothes from the receiver's body, unable to wait.

heart of dusk. sender meets the receiver in secret to be together.

heart of embers. sender initiates intimacy to keep the receiver warm.

[glassesntea]

Levi and female!reader developing a relationship (Canon Universe)

Part 2/2

How your foolish idealism land you into the Survey Corps

After your guard duty he invited you to a tavern where he has gathered some of your comrades. Sat on a bench with other soldiers you listened to Floch musing about the situation of the island.

"Commander Hanji shows too much trust in these outsiders. She is far too lenient and for what? A technological advancement? As if it can erase a century of being nothing else but meat for Titans."

The others grumbled an agreement. Many in the army were not happy about the government's plan: working with the Marleyans was challenging at best and you were wary about Hizuru's involvement.

Mikasa hadn't said a thing to you regarding her official meeting with Kyomi's delegation, but the somber shadows in her eyes suggested that they weren't the allies you all hoped for. In the end, the island was alone against the world. Pretending otherwise would have been stupid.

Was it really possible at this point to really trust anyone who didn't suffer as the people on the island?

Floch invited you out with his group several other times.

You hung around with them, exchanging the same worries, and it was during one of your convos that you first met Levi Ackerman.

You all were in the mess hall, finishing the supper before the afternoon drill. It seemed that the new recruits would've been training with the infamous Captain of the Survey Corps.

Up to this point you and the others have never met him. Floch and some other soldiers that followed him religiously knew him pretty well.

"He really is that strong?" You asked, and you saw Floch's face produce a tiny grimance "What?" You tilted your head but his expression turned neutral once again.

"He is." He said, drinking from his mug "But not enough, if you want my opinion."

You frowned "What do you mean?"

"I mean that letting your personal feelings play a role in life or death's situations could potentially waste other's sacrifices," he looked at you "and doom everyone else as a result. That's his weakness: he cares far too much. "

"But he effectively guided the soldiers through difficult times. And since he joined the military the percentage of death outside the Walls has decreased a lot. It seems to me that he knows what he's doing and he takes objective decisions."

Floch pressed his lips together, abruptly turning his head to the side "And yet a single foolish decision may have changed everything. And what are we gonna do at this point?"

It seemed something personal, this veiled distate tinged with anger, but you didn't have the time to pry further that a scuffle broke out at your table.

Two boys of your cadet's regiment that participate to Floch's little assemble have started to push one another after shotting up of their seats. You have heard their mumbled conversation getting progressivly more heated while speaking with Floch. One was your friend but the other you couldn't stand him since the training day.

"Oi!" snapped Floch "Quit it, already!"

You stand up, gripping your friend's arm and putting a hand on the other's chest "Stop it, you two, you want a squad leader to put you on stable duty?"

"This moron has the gall to feel pity for fucking Marleyans POW when you Wall Rose people looked down on us when these fuckers brought down Shiganshina. You left us starving in the street!" He pointed at your friend "And now you talk about pity?!"

You lightly pushed him when he tried to come closer "Cut it, Otto. He isn't guilty of what happened then. We shouldn't..."

"Mind your buisness, Y/N! Always getting in the way, alway flaunting your good nature bullshit act as if we don't see how much of a poser you actually are."

You rolled your eyes "Wow, straight for the throat? Tell me something you haven't already said to me in training."

"Gladly." He hissed, ignoring Floch's call for order "You and Franz pretend to be, oh so good, but you know nothing of real suffer. You are nothing more than a Sheena bitch" he shoved you "that grew tired of fucking rich boys and wanted to see misery like it's the next exciting thing before sweeping in and proclaim to have the solution for everything. We are not your fucking playground for you to feel pleased with yourself!" He shoved you harder and Franz shouted and bolted forward just for him to be hitted by a punch.

However you were able to intercept Otto's arm when he retracted it and you twisted your body to slam him on the table, back first.

Otto spranged to his feet, ready to retaliate. Your fist closing, your arm pushed back ready to collide with his smaug face, but someone clasped your wrist thightly and before you knew, Otto was sent tumbling on the floor by a swift kick in the stomach.

You turned around, startled. A short man with a dark undercut, dressed with the old Survey Corp uniform, was looking at Otto weezing in pain. The mess hall was eerily quite.

He lifted his eyes, letting go of your wrist "Care to explain why you three were bawling like lunatics?"

Levi Ackerman. You have seen his portrait on newspapers. He was a legend in the military. And you realized that he must have seen your three make a fool out of yourselves and throwing fists like foolish children.

"I asked you a question."

You composed yourself "My apologize, sir. I didn’t mean to cause a ruckus.”

You looked down at Otto, rolling on the floor and groaning, holding his stomach as if it threatened to spill out. You winced, bringing your eyes again on the Captain’s.

“He… uh… he started to insult me and my comrade. I…”

Levi crossed his arms “And you body slam him onto the table because of it?” He turned to Floch “What did he said?”

Floch was less than thrilled to be dragged into the mess and he shot you a dirty look before answering “He said Wall Sheena’s brats shouldn’t talk about how hard life is since the Fall of Maria.”

It was a pretty sanitized version of the truth, but the core was legitimate. You winced again, fuck I’m such an idiot.

“So you hit him because he badmouthed you,” his voice was dry as a leaf “that’s a pitiful excuse, if I’ve ever heard one.”

“Captain, I…”

“You three are soldiers now, not tugs ready to rip each other apart just because your pride got hurt.” He lowered his stare to the groaning figure “Get up. I fully expect you all to be this lively in today’s training as well.”

He called for everyone in the room “Everyone out. Start with ten laps around the perimeter.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Regarding you three, I hope you don’t mind the smell of horse shit, bacause you will shovel it around for two weeks.” He turned his back to you after your response and you ran outside the mess hall with your cheeks burning in hot shame.

That was humiliating, but served you right for not thinking things through.

Your first meet with Levi went on like this: as a mumbling brutish idiot who kept on smelling manure on the clothes for the following weeks.

To be continued...

[songofsoma]

where anyone could see

kinktober day 7: semi-public sex

pairing: shadowheart x f!tav words: 1,223 rating: explicit

read it on ao3

The high noon sun baked the city below. It was too hot on the streets for many people to be out and about. Only those who had to be were traversing the cobblestone paths that wound around the great stone buildings that made up the Lower City. 

Rieta was one of the few to simply mull through the streets with no destination in mind. She had successfully crossed off her only task to be done—have Figaro mend a particularly nasty tear in her favorite dress. 

Shadowheart walked alongside her quietly. She had been mostly silent the entire duration of the errand. But Rieta hadn’t missed the way she watched her while trying on the dress. Something lingered behind that sharp gaze as no detail went unnoticed as if Rieta were on display just for her.

She glanced sideways at Shadowheart, trying to gauge what was going on inside her head. Even with the Illithid powers connecting them it was difficult to decipher her at times. 

“So,” she broke the silence between them, swinging the bag that held her mended dress beside her. “Anywhere you want to go?”

When she didn’t respond right away, Rieta continued hastily. 

“I mean, we could find a nice bottle of wine to share. Or we could try a new restaurant. Oh! Or if you wanted a new blade, I’m sure Dammon—”

Her babbling was abruptly cut off when Shadowheart grabbed her hand and hauled her off the road, slipping into an alley that curved out of view behind a building. 

Rieta gasped as Shadowheart pressed her back against the stone wall, its surface cool from the area being shaded. Her bag fell to the ground with a soft thud, but the bag and its contents went to the back of her mind when lips met hers roughly.

“I tried to wait until we were back at the tavern,” she murmured against Rieta’s lips, unable to pry herself away. “But I find that I can’t help myself when it comes to you.”

Hands pulled her hips toward her to press Rieta closer to her body. 

“I used to be someone who prided myself on my self-control. Worshipping the Dark Lady made it a necessity in many assists. Then you found me and everything changed.” Shadowheart’s lips cascaded from hers to kiss her cheek and then her jaw and finally to nip at her earlobe. “I found myself wanting more. I wanted you and within you, I found myself. Who I was destined to be.”

Rieta’s hand slid up her back to touch the end of Shadowheart’s white braid. It represented her path that turned from darkness to one lit by moonlight. 

“I’m surprised I even held it together until we left the damn dressmaker,” she mused. 

“I was wondering why you were so quiet,” Rieta whispered, tilting her head as kisses were being trailed down her neck. 

“Because you drive me crazy.”

Her breath hitched as Shadowheart suckled on a patch of skin on the side of her neck. It nearly distracted her from the front of her skirt being bunched up. “Here?” she asked.

“You’ll have to be quiet unless you want to get caught.” It sounded like a challenge. “Tell me to stop and I will.” Her fingers skirted along the edge of her panties. 

“Oh, Gods. If you stop now—”

Cut off once again, this time by a kiss, Rieta’s sigh of contentment was swallowed as Shadowheart slipped her hand under the thin garment.

Her middle finger parted through the slick folds of skin until she teased her entrance, collecting the wetness and spreading it over her aching cunt.

Then, with the pad of her finger, she circled Rieta’s clit. There was no effort to make the action gentle. Now was not the time for easing into things. At any moment, someone could turn down their alley and witness Rieta getting fingered out in the open. Somehow, it only made everything more exciting.

She clutched the back of Shadowheart’s blouse, silently hoping her nails wouldn’t shred the fabric. Her lover would be terribly cross over the ruin of a beloved shirt. But there was not much else to grab for support as fingers hastily pushed inside of her.

Rieta reached behind her, hand splayed over the rough wall. Her head tipped back, biting her lip to stifle the moans desperate to leave her. 

Shadowheart took advantage of her position and kissed the hollow of her throat before nibbling on sensitive skin.

Fingers curled as her hand pumped, movement only slightly altered by the limitations of her underwear. Shadowheart didn’t seem deterred. 

The heel of her palm pressed snuggly against Rieta’s clit, grinding against it with every thrust of her hand. 

Shadowheart’s movements were rough and unforgiving. The sounds her fingers drew were downright pornographic as they echoed through the alley. 

“Open your eyes,” Shadowheart demanded, her normally melodic voice turned husky. 

Rieta hadn’t even realized she had closed them. But when they fluttered open, she was met with a smug grin that pulled the scar on her cheek. 

Every look and every movement was a challenge, daring her to be loud and alert a passerby. 

“You’re going to come for me soon, aren’t you?” she asked, that grin only deepening.

Rieta was afraid of what would leave her mouth if she opened it. So she only nodded frantically. 

“Good girl.”

There was no holding back the whimper that elicited. It only spurred Shadowheart on. 

Each thrust of her fingers was calculated and Rieta was quickly coming to the edge. Her breathing was becoming erratic and it was getting harder to keep quiet. Desperately, her hand clutched Shadowheart’s forearm while the other went to Rieta’s mouth so she could bite down on her knuckles in an effort to muffle the escaping noises.

Finally, she could hold out no longer. 

Her moan was mostly muffled by her hand and the wall was her brace as her knees shook, threatening to give out. Rieta gripped Shadowheart’s arm tighter, slowing her movements until they were just enough to extend her pleasure as long as possible. 

Shadowheart was soon brushing hair out of Rieta’s face, cooing about how lovely she was in between kisses peppered over her cheeks. 

Rieta leaned into her, just allowing Shadowheart to hold her as she came back to reality. 

When her breathing became steady once more and she was sure she wasn’t going to fall over, Rieta straightened, though Shadowheart did not let her go. Hands were still massaging her hips.

“That…wasn’t too much, was it?” she asked, her words sounding almost weary.

Rieta snorted. “Are you kidding? I will never complain about you jumping my bones. I like it, in fact.”

Her face relaxed into an easy smile. “Having my way with you in a random back alley is what you’re into? I don’t even have to try and impress you with renting a private room.”

“You do not need to impress me. Not when I’m already smitten with you.” She pushed herself completely upright and Shadowheart allowed her skirt to fall back in place. 

“I will try to remember that. Now, we should get back to the inn so I can finish what I started.”

Rieta’s eyes widened and she hastily picked up her discarded bag and hurried after Shadowheart out of the alley. 

[ilreleonewikiart]

TDIOBCB challenge - day 10:

Doomed Ship - Alys Rivers and Harwin Strong

Jesser's brother nodded in agreement, his face etched with concern.  "Indeed," he affirmed. "The peculiar actions of our Lord have only served to ignite the twisted imaginations of certain individuals. Dark tales from the past, once believed to be mere fables, have resurfaced like poisonous mushrooms in the seedy corners of taverns, where our Lord's watchful eyes cannot penetrate." "And neither can his sword," Jop added, his voice heavy with implication. Jesser couldn't help but glance around the dimly lit tavern, his mind swirling with curiosity. "What manner of rumors plague these tongues?" the young emissary inquired, though he already possessed a somber inkling of what would be revealed. Weel, attempting to navigate the treacherous path of his impending discourse, began, "Many a morning, as the women gather by the lake to wash their garments, they have borne witness to Alys Rivers, leaving her secluded island on a raft and venturing to her brother's castle. There, she remains for weeks on end before returning to her abode." Jesser's heart quickened with anticipation, for he knew where this unsettling narrative was leading. "This is indeed a curious occurrence," he mused aloud, "especially considering our Lord's purported desire to distance himself from the woman in question. It seems that some of the gossiping women, well-acquainted with the ancient whispers of Harwin Strong's unrequited love for his half-sister, have begun to insinuate that his decision to let Alys Rivers reside within his lands, rather than exile her, was driven by a darker motive. They suggest that he keeps her close, so he may have her in his bed whenever his twisted desires beckon, just as he had fantasized during his youth." "And not merely to exert control over her husband, as Lord Strong himself has claimed," added the other, his words laced with veiled implications, "a husband who is undoubtedly oblivious to these insidious rumors." - from TDIOBCB chapter 4

(warning: these illustrations are inspired by an AU Divergence and have nothing to do with canon (book or tv show) events and are not meant to be reposted outside of their contest)

[wheretheharekissesthefox]

Why do you make me feel this way? - Chapter 13: Contentment

(Warning (18+): It's happening, guys, graphic description of sex, woo-ho! Hail the smut!)

The night had fallen over Baldur's Gate, carrying with it a pleasant breeze that was welcome after the heat of the day. The breeze wafted into the spacious room of the Elfsong Tavern where the remaining defeaters of the Netherbrain dwelled.

"Ooh..." Tav moaned, revelling in the attention she was given.

Halsin had a very talented tongue, indeed, eating her out like a dessert.

Astarion's kisses were passionate but tender, and his elegant hands were gentle as they roamed over her skin.

Shadowheart was a real freak in the sheets. The former cleric of Shar knew some unexpected tricks to make Tav quiver in ecstasy.

Meanwhile, Gale sat at the foot of the bed, biting his fingernails, and enjoyed the view. He hadn't declined to join them, but as soon as they'd started their little adventure, he'd voiced his desire to just watch. But neither his frantically beating heart nor his erection hid his excitement.

Tav moaned blissfully as Halsin held her against his chest, kissing her neck, while Astarion thrusted into her slowly, and Shadowheart littered her torso with sloppy kisses.

"Oh... oh, fuck!" Tav shouted when she reached her climax.

Astarion chuckled.

"Never pegged you for a screamer."

Still panting, Tav lolled her head against Halsin's shoulder and replied: "I'll peg you, if you want."

"There's nothing that would excite me more, darling," the vampire spawn grinned and kissed her hand.

"She's a bard. Of course, she's a screamer," Shadowheart teased.

Tav huffed a laugh, countering: "Just wait. I'll make you scream much louder."

"I accept the challenge," the cleric replied, grinning from ear to ear.

Halsin placed another kiss on Tav's sweaty neck.

"You truly are a feast for our eyes. There's nothing more beautiful than a creature lost in pleasure, just like nature intended."

"You, Gale and I should sit together sometime and write a poetry book," Tav mused.

"I'd like that," the addressed wizard chimed in. "We can make ourselves comfortable in my tower in Waterdeep and I serve you my mother's famous hundur sauce. Tara will be thrilled when I finally bring friends home."

"Sounds lovely," sighed Tav. "I never had hundur sauce before."

"No? I told you before that it's a Waterdhavian delicacy, spiced to leave exactly the right amount of heat lingering on the tongue, and served with that most sharp-toothed of aquarian residents, the quipper fish. The dish packs quite a wallop, just like my mother," Gale told them.

"Apropos, lingering on the tongue; do you need some aid with your 'situation'?" the bard asked with a wink.

The wizard turned crimson, mumbling: "Uhm, that's not necessary."

Astarion grinned devilishly.

"You came in your trousers like a teenage boy, didn't you?"

Gale cleared his troat and fidgeted around in embarrassment.

"It's kinda hot," Tav muttered into the silence of the room and her companions chuckled.

With a sigh, the bard stretched out on the bed and made grabby hands towards her partners who joined her in a heap of limbs. Tav lay on her back with Astarion and Shadowheart nestled against her broad shoulders while Halsin scooted up behind the cleric to hold her close. Sleepily, Tav looked at Gale who was still sitting motionlessly at the foot of the bed.

"Come on, join us."

Gale complied, crawling closer, and bedding his head on Tav's abdomen. With a snap of his fingers, the blankets spread over them. The merry little bunch fell into comforting silence.

"Mmh, it's nice," Gale sighed, face pressed into Tav's belly and stroking Astarion's thigh with one hand and Shadowheart's knee with the other.

The human bard hummed in agreement, a smile on her face. She felt content and safe. Loved.

Astarion toyed with her necklace which held Lae'zel's red stone close to her heart.

They dozed off for a while, and when Tav woke up, Gale demonstrated that his tongue was practiced in more than his propensity towards verbosity.

Thankfully, he'd cast a noise-cancelling spell before the merry little bunch had started their night of passion.

[vievieveda]

busy | taurus & veda

@taurusvolkov:

"What look?" Taurus responded, wide eyed and offended she might judge him when many of the ruckus making customers were of his own pack. Blood, Sweat and Beers tended to be the packs go to location. Many nights spent their getting drunk, hitting on other customers, and throwing beer at the horrific entertainment. "I would never give you a look, dear, you yell at those idiots all you need to and I will applaud the tenacity."

As for what he wanted... "Would it be easier if the pack and I just took a barrel, served ourselves like the animals we are? We probably don't even need glasses, maybe you've a bowl the dog uses," he mostly joked. He did consider how amusing it might be to see which of the pack members would actually be willing to drink from a dog bowl on a dare. "You really should stop being so rude to me though, I might like it too much," the wolf smirked. No doubt the Destarin born wolf's situation was known to the young tavern owner though, that near on a decade before he'd knocked up a local girl, abandoned her and the baby, and only now returned because she had grown too ill to care for the young girl. Certainly he was not a man of substance...

.

"The look that clearly indicates that you applaud my tenacity," she quipped back, one eyebrow rising in what could be considered a challenge. If the Volkov pack were so inclined, they could easily make the night even more frustrating than it already was. But at the very least, her authority was not being questioned and was met with good natured responses given how often Taurus and his group were in the pub. "And that there may be unspoken plans to test said tenacity even further before the night is through."

Trust was hard won from the human, but at the very least, she trusted the werewolves to mostly behave themselves. As much as any of her regular patrons did. There was a difference between rowdy and riotous, thus her refusal to put up with any shit that could make the tavern fall off the knife's edge between the two. Which --

"If I allowed you to take a barrel, I would have to allow everyone to take one. Best kept behind the bar and in the cellar. As for the dog bowls," she pretended to muse as she began filling up her mismatched cups with ale for the pack. "Cookie does feed the strays from time to time, no matter what I tell him otherwise. We could dig up some sort of special bowl for you and yours if you insist." Which might be amusing once the place settled enough for her to witness if said bowl was utilized at all.

"I would say that I'm surprised to find you a masochist," Veda began as she started unloading cups and mugs in front of the wolf. "But I'm fairly certain most customers are to frequent the pub in the first place." Of course Vee knew of his daughter and the mother who could no longer care for her. But that was the thing about secrets; the best course of action was to keep them close to one's chest until a perfect opportunity presented itself to reveal them. "If you tip me well enough tonight, I might even bring you upstairs and give you a spanking."

[missmungoe]

Hey absolutely no pressure, but I was wondering where Salt Vows fell on the update schedule?

Oh gosh, I didn't think anyone was waiting for that one, so I didn't mention it, but I've been itching to pick it back up, so I'm adding it to the list! I'd love to wrap up at least one of these fics first, but in the meantime, have a snippet!

Follows chapter 1 of Salt Vows, aka the fic where the navy finds out about Makino. Some minor spoilers for recent manga chapters, but mostly with regard to the setting:

Tell the truth, but tell it slant

“Let me buy you a drink, Captain!”

“Hey, I was going to buy him a drink!”

“I saw him first!”

“I called dibs the last time he was here!”

“Why does this happen every time we’re in port?” Yasopp asked, as one of the women threw the other over a table, to hollering cheers from the delighted giants.

“A brawl!!”

“Gya gya gya, only the greatest warriors are fought over in such a manner!”

“As expected of someone like you, Red-Hair!”

The clap to his shoulder would have taken him off his chair if he hadn't been prepared for it, but then he'd spent enough time around drinking giants to know it was better to be on one's guard, even if they were friendly. Perhaps especially then.

As for when things got serious...

“Should I intervene?” Shanks asked. The bar's other occupants had gathered around to watch, their voices raised in encouragement.

“Hard to say,” Yasopp mused, as one of the women sent the other flying over the counter and into one of the kegs, to the loud dismay of the barmaid. “They might start throwing you around instead. Or tear your clothes off.”

"The way Boss dresses, they're already on their way off," Limejuice said, to guffaws from the rest of his crew. Shanks might have smiled if he hadn't been warily observing the fight, but then as much as he was known for enjoying a little attention, he'd rather keep the peace.

“Why so concerned, brother?” Brogy laughed, gesturing with his tankard to the brawling women. One of them had the other two in a dual headlock, the audience stamping their feet and cheering. "They're only fighting for your favour!" He grinned, and with a nudge of his giant elbow, "And if they're not to your liking, there are many beautiful women on Elbaf. A warrior like you could have your pick of our finest maidens!”

A rousing holler from the whole tavern punctuated this declaration, as one of the women broke free of her headlock, only to tackle the other two to the floor, and with enough force to rattle the walls.

Before Shanks could wonder if he had to resort to his haki to settle things, “I wonder what Makino would do if they challenged her for you,” Lucky said, to the delight of the rest of his crew.

“I’d pay to see that!” Bonk Punch laughed, to roaring agreement, accompanied by the raise of their tankards. “My money would be on our girl!”

“Hear!”

“She’d show them who's boss!”

“To our Empress!”

“Speaking of our Empress, it would be interesting to know what she'd say,” Yasopp mused, watching the brawl, with a grin Shanks was tempted to say was bordering on insubordinate, “if she saw all these women fighting over her man.”

“That he should button his shirt,” Ben said, turning a page in his newspaper.

“Or wear his wedding ring,” Lucky suggested, and this time, just a little too loud to just be heard by his crew.

The brawling women stopped what they were doing, as the whole tavern turned their heads towards where they were sitting.

“Wedding ring?” one of them asked.

“You’re married?”

"Cat's out of the bag now," Yasopp sing-songed, and the warning look Shanks shot them was cheerfully ignored, their grins entirely without shame, but then he didn’t know what he’d expected, protective of her as they were, her status included.

And even if it went against his own instincts to protect her, revealing her existence, presented now with the chance to talk about her, the urge struck him with surprising force, but then it had been months since he'd seen her. And the longing was always there, but it seized him now, along with his breath.

And even if they knew about her, he doubted they could do much with the information, and if the tabloids caught wind of it, it would just be one rumour among many. His love life had been a hotly debated topic for as long as he’d been in the spotlight, and even if word should get out that he had a wife somewhere, it wouldn't be the first time the press had speculated the possibility.

A glance towards the bar found the barmaid watching, but it was easy to imagine a much smaller figure in her place, a fey smile lifting her soft mouth as brown eyes sought his, as though asking, Now what will you do, Captain?

The chain around his neck tempted his fingers, the metal of his wedding band warm where he wore it against his skin. But even if the safest course of action was to lie, or to smile and keep them guessing, what he said instead was, “For almost two years now.”

It was hard to tell if they were more shocked or disappointed, but the defiance was expected as they rallied, not opponents now but allies against a common enemy, however horrified Makino would have been by this designation.

“You’ve docked here several times and I’ve never seen hide nor hair of a wife!”

“If she's real, why isn’t she with you?”

“Yeah, where is she?”

His eyes still on his newspaper, Ben’s grin told him he was on his own. The rest of his crew were unashamedly watching, their eyes wide as coins changed hands under the tables.

Yasopp hand his face resting in the cup of his hands, his elbows on the table and his beaming smile so wide, Shanks made a mental note to put him on cat-wrangling duty later.

Keeping his own smile measured, although the softer note couldn't be helped, when it was her, “She’s somewhere safe,” Shanks said, leaving it at that, but then while he considered himself among friends here, he’d been on this sea long enough to know that all it took was one person letting the wrong thing slip, and if there was anyone present who thought to use her existence in any way, they at least wouldn’t know where to find her.

If only he'd been as safe.

“If I was your wife I’d never leave your side!”

The impassioned declaration was accompanied by arms thrown around his waist, before Shanks peeled them back. “As flattering as that is, miss, I really am taken.”

Her lips pursed with a pout, before she surprised him by seizing his hand. “You say that, but I don’t see a ring!”

He should just let it lie, but he’d already revealed this much, and fishing the chain out from under his shirt to hold it up, he watched as their gazes zeroed in on his wedding band, along with the rest of the tavern.

But just as he thought that would do the trick, “Why aren’t you wearing it?” one of them asked.

“Are you unhappy? Is that why you're hiding it?”

“I could make you happy, Captain!”

Tugging his wedding ring back from where one of them had wrapped her hands around it, he ignored the shit-eating grins of his crew, and knew they'd be falling over each other to tell her the story later, no doubt with accompanying theatrics, if they didn't just put the whole thing to music.

“It's a protective measure,” Shanks said, and with the smile his old captain had said could get him off his own execution platform with his charges dropped, lowered his voice to a gentler pitch to say, “And I would appreciate it if you ladies could be discreet about this.”

Then for the killing blow, but then he was only telling the truth, “I’d do anything to keep her safe.”

Wide-eyed, there was a beat where they just stared at him. Then―

“Kyaa!!”

“How romantic!!”

“What a man!!”

“Of course we’ll be discreet!”

“We’ll protect her identity with our lives!!”

Shaking his head, “How the hell do you do it,” Yasopp murmured, his grin hid behind the rim of his tankard.

Shanks just smiled.

He was still holding the chain, slipping between his fingers now as he considered his wedding ring where it lay in the cup of his palm. He only wore it on his hand while inside his own cabin, never where there might be photographers, but then he hadn’t forgotten the vow he’d made her on their wedding day, her small feet atop his, holding her as they’d swayed to the chorus of a hundred voices, the safest he could keep her.

I’ll let no harm befall you, as long as you are mine.

Turning the ring between his fingers, he considered the polished metal, made from the anchor chain of his ship, but then without the frequency of wear, it still looked brand new, gleaming faintly in the light of the braziers.

Makino’s would look different, but then for all his misgivings, she had so stubbornly insisted on wearing it, although it was hard to feel anything but soft, thinking about her, and that gentle defiance. But then it was a rare thing, to be loved so fearlessly.

“She must be something special to have caught your eye, brother,” Brogy said then.

His smile was gentler than his feelings, as Shanks said roughly, “Aye she is.”

“She a pirate like you?” Dorry asked.

His smile crooked, but all he said was, “Not like me.”

“But she has a bounty on her?”

“On her, in her,” Yasopp said, as someone further down the table choked on their drink. Grinning, "Eh, Captain?" he asked, only to swear when a look from Shanks included just enough haki to be felt.

The bar was buzzing now, their excitement palpable, and he felt a pang of worry then that he’d revealed too much, but catching the snippets of conversation, he couldn’t help his smile, imagining her reaction, but then she got so easily flustered when at the centre of attention.

Lifting his eyes to the bar, and the barmaid behind it, he wondered what she was doing. She’d be mid-shift, their son sleeping against her back as she worked, but her bar would be nothing like this, with loud and boisterous giants, and cups of mead so big she wouldn’t have been able to lift them. Although thinking about her, it was all too easy to let his mind wander, and to wonder how she would have found it all, the fighting for his favour included.

But even if she wasn’t with him, as long as she was safe, that was all that mattered.

Yasopp’s smile had softened, no teasing in it now as he asked, “Wondering what she’s doing?”

Smiling, Shanks didn’t answer, just lifted his cup, although the pace at which he downed it said enough.

He'd just put it down when the door to the tavern burst open, revealing Rockstar.

“BOSS!!!”

Turning his head, Shanks was about to ask what was the matter when he paused, but then even prone to overreactions, the terror on his face was genuine.

His hand shook, as Rockstar held something out. “T-The paper!”

Frowning, Ben looked up from his newspaper, but then it was hours since it had arrived, and there hadn’t been anything alarming in it, aside from the usual news of the world going progressively more to shit. But nothing to warrant that kind of reaction from Rockstar, unless it wasn't the morning's paper he was holding.

“A special edition?” Yasopp asked. “Did Luffy defeat another Emperor already?”

"Given that Boss is here, that doesn't leave a lot of options," Hongou said.

“Poor Buggy just made the cut, too,” Lucky said, before his grin faltered when Rockstar's expression didn't change.

They were all looking at him now, the rest of the tavern included. The merry atmosphere within had shifted, and none of them were laughing now.

A sudden fear gripped his chest, and he wondered then if Yasopp's question had actually hit the mark, or at least close to it. Because a battle between two Emperors would certainly warrant a special edition of the newspaper, but even after Kaidou and Big Mom, if Luffy had encountered Blackbeard at the strength he was now...

Rockstar’s mouth was working, but before Shanks could fear the worst, “The Fleet Admiral,” he said, as Shanks’ brows furrowed. “H-He―”

His hand shook, as he wordlessly proffered the newspaper, and Shanks thought he wouldn’t get the words out before Rockstar rasped, “It’s Makino!”

His whole crew went still.

The giants exchanged glances. Even the barmaid had paused what she was doing.

For a long beat, Shanks just stared at him, unsure if he'd heard him right, before his gaze lowered to the rolled-up newspaper.

His hand lifted of its own volition, as he took it. He was so still, he didn’t think he was breathing, as he unfolded it.

The photograph covered the whole front page, the ink so fresh it was still drying. And he recognised Fuschia at a glance, the windmills in the background, and her bar, its sign clearly visible, although one thing had him forgetting about both. Because there, between two armed navy officers, her small hands cuffed―

His crew were out of their seats, gathered around him where he sat holding the paper. No one spoke, but then their shock was so great, Shanks wondered if they could have managed.

His eyes moved over the photograph, his first time seeing her face in months, and for a beat, that fact was all  he could think about.

She looked like she had when he'd left her, in a loose-sleeved summer dress, her dark hair gathered in a loose bun at her nape, drawn back by her kerchief. She hadn't even taken off her apron.

She looked so ordinary, and so small next to the towering shape of the Fleet Admiral, and the officers flanking her. The marines weren’t touching her, but the fact that they had their rifles out said enough, even if it looked as incongruous to Shanks as the cuffs around her slender wrists.

A terrifying stillness had overtaken him, his scars deepening as his fingers shook around the paper, his gaze fixed on Makino on the front page, and the dark eyes where they'd lifted to look straight at the photographer. And had she looked terrified, he thought no one would have believed the news, but that the navy must have been given the wrong intel, wrongly accusing an innocent village barmaid. The very embodiment of gentleness, and everything he wasn't; the mere association with him should have been dismissed as libel the moment she'd looked into the camera and the eyes of the world.

But the defiance in her dark eyes betrayed her, and her expression, the firm line of her soft mouth and the regal lift of her chin, more damning evidence than even the headline above the photograph where it declared for the world to see, in bold, black ink:

THE WIFE OF EMPEROR RED-HAIRED SHANKS,

ARRESTED.

[llixulia]

New Muse: Liara

(No image yet, have to draw her, sorry xd)

Age: 400.

Bio: A wolf shapeshifter Elf, Liara had a happy life and run with her pack in the forests and plains of Xethea. She had her family with her and became very good friends with one of the females that didn’t belong to it but belonged to the pack. From this female, Liara learned how to cook and to read tracks in her Elf form, among other things.

One day, however, tragedy struck. Another pack entered their territory, ready to claim it. They fought against each other, until both packs were too weak to keep fighting, having lost many members.

The possibility of joining packs was suggested. For protection, they said. While most from her pack accepted, Liara refused, warning them that doing so would not be good in the future and that she had a very bad feeling about the other pack.

Her friend tried to convince her, but Liara refused and challenged the alpha for control of the pack. Her alpha was older than her, but he had a lot of experience, and she lost the fight.

As per pack law, she was exiled the moment she lost, so she left the pack’s territory. Two wolves from the other pack attacked her, hurting her badly, but she managed to kill them and get out of the territory.

She kept running and running until she couldn’t anymore, lying down on the floor, thinking she would die. And then Sharcai found her. She growled deeply at him, thinking he would finish the job.

Instead, he showed her his empty claws and spoke to her soothingly. He made her understand that he had no intentions of hurting her. He spent quite a while healing her wounds, hunting and feeding her while she couldn’t.

When she was finally able to change back to her Elf form, she asked him why he had helped her. “Do I really need a reason to help?”, he asked back. She chuckled and shook her head. They became friends after that, travelling together and earning gold by doing quests for people.

At some point, Sharcai mentioned wanting to find out if more slavers were at work somewhere and fight them to release the slaves. He didn't want anyone else to go through what he had when he was younger.

Liara suggested having a tavern might help with that, since people often talked too much when they were drunk. Having nowhere else to go, she offered the possibility of co-owning with him. He agreed and they bought The Swift Crow. She’s been living there with him since.

Trivia.

She has long black hair, orange eyes, pointy ears and a scar from her fight with the alpha on her otherwise beautiful face.

She's protective of her friends.

She takes no shit from clients. You mess with her in a way she doesn't want you to (for example getting groped) or that's making others uncomfortable, and you're getting kicked out of the tavern.

[pangolinheart]

FFXIVWrite DAY 24 - SUIT PT. 2 (EXTRA-CREDIT)

Find part 1 here!

(Please be kind to me I don't know how to write romance or historical fiction or characters who have chemistry but i tried my hardest, dammit!)

Rating: General Characters: Haurchefant Greystone, Warrior of Light (Z'rhiki Irhi) Relationships: Haurchefant Greystone/Warrior of Light Word Count: 2,000 Content Warnings: None

The full moon lit the courtyard in blue and silver, lending it an enchanting, spectral quality. The loud thrum of activity that permeated the dance floor was muffled by the stone walls and paned windows, leaving the exterior pleasantly quiet. He idly wondered if there were any other ne’er-do-wells who had snuck away from the tasteful entertainment to enjoy a bit more privacy. If there were, they had already secreted themselves away among the hedges.

He had made his way unhurriedly across the ballroom and had lingered for a short time at the door before slipping through it, ensuring that no curious stares followed him outside. In that time, he had lost sight of her, and he wandered aimlessly through the grounds. He had no doubt that his path would eventually wind its way towards her. He ambled to and fro for a short time, enjoying the sights and smells of the labyrinthine garden before he found himself following the sound of running water down a familiar footpath. Sure enough, there she was, perched on the edge of a stone fountain, legs crossed in a manner most un-ladylike, dangling one hand carelessly into the cool water. The fountain was not quite as grand or as expensive as the one that stood at the center of the courtyard, but he knew that it was her favorite. She liked all of its carvings of mythical beasts from the world over; manticores, unicorns, gryphons, sea serpents, and more he couldn’t even name. Her gaze was turned skyward when he approached, towards the glittering stars that sprawled overhead, far beyond the reach of the yellow light that poured from the manor house. He took a moment to admire her like that: staring dreamily at the stars as her hand drew small patterns in the water.

The picture lasted only a minute, however, as she soon brought her eyes back down to smile impishly at him. He smiled back at her fondly; the only child of the Irhi family, and the scourge of not only her own house but noble houses everywhere. She was loud, crass, and openly flirtatious in a social strata where so much as sharing more than two dances with the same partner was enough to label one “promiscuous.” She invited men and women alike to dance, though more and more her invitations were politely declined. She wore whatever she felt suited her at any given time, be it lavish dresses or men’s coats, to great protestation. She rode astride horses and challenged men to races. She was overly familiar with servants. She snuck out of her parents’ house to visit raucous taverns, where she sang and danced and even climbed onstage. She indulged liberally in good food and alcohol, played childish pranks, and told scandalous jokes. She was a blight on her parents’ reputation and polite society at large, and he couldn’t help but find himself quite taken with her.

“You know,” He mused, coming to stand before her. “Some might find it highly improper for a young lady such as yourself to be strolling the gardens at night, unattended. Especially in the company of a man. What would your parents think?”

“Nothing they haven’t thought before, surely,” She replied flippantly. That was probably true. It was hardly the worst thing she had done, and her parents hadn’t disowned her yet, to the consternation of many. “And if you’re so concerned about my good name, you didn’t have to follow me. I didn’t ask you to.”

“Didn’t you?”

“No,” she denied, though they both knew that the invitation had been intentional, if unspoken. She knew he couldn’t say no to her. She didn’t even have to ask the question.

“Though, she continued, “I can’t pretend I’m disappointed with the company.” She flashed him a grin.

He smiled back, somehow feeling at ease even as his heart fluttered. “Weren’t you enjoying the party?” He asked.

She snorted, something he was sure would have been deemed “unbecoming” back inside. “I was enjoying the party plenty. It’s other people who weren’t enjoying me enjoying the party. I came out here to give them a reprieve.”

Haurchefant chuckled at her dramatic tone. “How very magnanimous of you,”

“Isn’t it just?” He only noticed that there had been a mostly full glass of wine sitting on the lip of the fountain when she raised it to her lips to quaff some.

“You look lovely tonight,” He managed to find his manners again as he looked at her. The dress she was wearing certainly stood out – looking nothing like what he knew to be the fashion of the time. It was fitted much lower, rather than cinched just under her bust, and lacked the distinctive square neckline. Instead of the pastels that were favored for summer occasions, it was a dark, rich color, somewhere between blue and violet, with a diaphanous overlay dotted with glittering beads that reminded him of the stars above.

“Do I? Thank you. I rather like this dress.” She looked down at herself, and her smile looked almost sad. “My mother hated it. She didn’t say anything – she was probably thankful I managed to bring home a dress at all this time – but I could tell. I don’t think many people inside like it either. I’m sure it’s too showy or too immodest or too fanciful or too something. I just don’t like the kind that are in style now. They make me look like a child playing dress-up with my mother’s things. Something like this just suits me better, don’t you think?”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Haurchefant said warmly. It did suit her – beautiful and completely out of place, like a flower whose seed had been blown in by a foreign wind, blooming amidst the primroses and daffodils. “Though, I confess, I’m surprised you don’t find that your mother’s opinion adds to its charms.”

She bit her bottom lip and frowned. The toe of her boot worried the cobblestones at her feet. “I don’t do things specifically to upset my parents, you know.” She pointed out. “I just… do what I like and more often than not they find it upsetting. Even if I wanted to make them happy, they make it so damnably impossible.”

She sounded genuinely frustrated, and he raised his eyebrows in muted bemusement. It often seemed as if she had not a care in the world for what others thought of her, and he had never seen past the defiant mask she donned in the face of criticism. He supposed it wasn’t too shocking. The constant disapproval and social ostracism was bound to erode even the strongest will. Having suffered his own fair share of scorn, he was not without sympathy.

Cautiously, he lowered himself to sit next to her at the edge of the fountain, making sure they were still a few ilms apart, and set his hands on either side of himself. “Do you want to make your parents happy?” he asked gently.

“Sometimes,” she admitted, keeping her gaze low. “But it’s a bit late for that now, isn’t it? Besides, it seems like the only thing that will make them happy is me being miserable.”

Haurchefant could certainly see how it might seem that way, though he doubted that was truly the case. “I’m sure your parents view it as trying to secure your future happiness. If they cared not at all for you they could have disinherited you long ago.” It was a harsh reality, but not an altogether uncommon one He had seen it happen a handful of times, though in at least half of such cases reconciliations were eventually made. He doubted that would be the outcome for her, though – be it by gods or devils she had been imbued with a fearsome stubbornness.

A bitter laugh slipped past her lips. “They probably should have sent me to a convent while they still had the chance.”

He considered her, imagining her unruly laughter and boundless energy. Even the city itself seemed like a cage for her, so he could only imagine how much more she would chafe in a nunnery. “While I’m personally glad that they did not, I’m certain it was also for the best for all involved. You… don’t seem well-suited to life in a convent.”

This made her laugh with more sincerity. “I suppose you’re right. I would have set the place ablaze and gone running screaming and naked through the streets before the year was out.”

He almost choked on whatever he had been about to say next and was sent into a fit of coughing and laughter. “That would… certainly be a sight to see.” He managed when he recovered. Her grin returned.

“Wouldn't it? Now if I really wanted to drive my mother out of her wits, I’d commission a painting of just that. Fortunately, I’m a benevolent daughter and would never do such a thing.”

“Fortunately indeed,” He agreed. He cleared his throat. “Though, I suppose I should point out that if you truly wish to please your parents, you certainly won’t accomplish it by sitting out here with me, of all people.”

He felt as much as saw her eyes slide over him, thoughtfully. Her lips quirked. “Well, sod it then! They’ll just have to find some way to cope. As I said, I do what I please, with who I please, and if it doesn’t please them, its due to their own poor tastes.”

Suddenly, she fixed him with a curious stare. “And here we’ve spent all of this time talking about me.  But what of your good name? You’re not worried that you’ll tarnish it by associating with a scoundrel like me? And one to whom you’ve not even been formally introduced, at that!”

“What good name?” Haurchefant returned in jest. “I’m the bastard son of a nobleman. Even ‘twere I a saint, I’d rank just above the kitchen staff. And the lives of saints seem so very dull.”

“Well, up until the martyrdom, anyway,” she mused. “Honestly, between the two of us it’s impossible to tell which of us is the bad influence upon which.”

 “It would seem you are right once again, my lady,” he agreed amiably. “I suppose we’re both damned.”

“That we are.” She tossed back the rest of her glass of wine and abruptly stood up. She turned to him and extended a hand. “So, in that spirit, would you care to dance? That’s what we came here for, isn’t it? If you listen, you can still hear the music from inside…”

He marveled at her for a moment. She possessed all of the traits that books and common wisdom declared unattractive in a woman, and yet, looking up at her from this angle, her face framed by the starry sky, he couldn’t help but think she was one of the most beautiful people he had ever seen.

“I believe it’s considered highly improper for a lady to invite a man to dance,” He said, though his hand was already in hers.

“Well, if we’re both to be cast into the fiery hells anyway, I don’t see that it matters. A dance of the damned, then!”

She pulled him to his feet and one of his hands found her waist, while the other remained wrapped in hers. He tugged her closer, just a little too close to be proper, and his ears strained to hear the faint melody that drifted out to the garden so that his feet could find a rhythm. Soon their bodies fell into time, and she began to hum along with the tune, slightly off-key and adding her own little flourishes where she felt appropriate. As they danced in that secluded corner of the garden, so close together they could feel the warmth of each other’s bodies, moving to the sound of her voice, he thought if they could dance like this in hell, being damned might not be so bad after all.

[coldshrugs]

take another step off the edge

pairing: io/estinien word count: 850 note: estinio first kiss fic. do not look at me.

Dinner, drinks, talk of their work in the area and beyond, questions about how they’re doing besides; these meetings with Estinien have become something of a regular occurrence for Io. Each one leaves her eager for the next, hoping they might stay for one drink longer, recount one more story, let one more silence drag on between them—a comfortable tension, like a sore muscle finally being stretched.

Afterward, Io usually takes the short walk to the aetheryte plaza before returning to Mor Dhona, but tonight she has the luxury of a guest suite in Meghaduta palace. They bypass the small, shimmering aetherytes that would quicken their journey, favoring instead a scenic trek through Radz-at-Han, from the Meyhane at the far end of Artha, to Dharma.

Were she accompanied by someone less familiar with the city, the visual cacophony—vibrant color streaming from every surface and the late evening crowd bustling from one lively venue to the next—would still be overwhelming. Somehow, the present company makes the sights and sounds lush. Inviting, even.

Even relatively mundane outings are more pleasant with close friends, Io muses, the words ringing in her mind each time their arms brush as they sway out of someone’s way. Close friends, yes. But lately there is a thought she cannot shake...

Estinien navigates the labyrinthine streets with his usual calm decisiveness, though his pace is unhurried. An attempt to prolong the night, perhaps? It wouldn’t be objectionable. She enjoys spending time with him.

Though he doesn’t say much, his expression is relaxed. There is a softness about him that would look out of place if she did not know him so well.

They meander through the city, making quiet conversation and sharing jokes along the way, stopping when something catches their attention; a street musician, a vendor offering spun sugar, the proprietor of a noticeably vacant tavern promising free drinks to the first twenty people in the door.

The evening stretches out, little by little until they have nowhere else to go besides their quarters.

They reach their destination, a high-ceilinged corridor meticulously painted with vibrant shades of green and pink and accented with delicate gold leaf. The sight is astounding, even in the dim light. Meghaduta’s guest hall is uncharacteristically free of the attentive staff so prevalent in other parts of the palace.

They are alone, and Io feels it keenly.

Feels it like her tongue against the roof of her mouth. Like her chest rising and falling in stuttered intervals.

Her door lies a few paces ahead, and Estinien’s is just beyond it. The easy peace between them simmers. There’s no crowd to make way for, and still, they walk close enough for their hands to brush.

Io hesitates in front of her door, a hand on the knob, and looks up at him. Estinien crosses his arms, caught in a sliver of moonlight. Gods help me, has he always looked like this?

“I’ll say goodnight.”

Io leans against the door, lingering.

Hoping.

“You need not say it so gently, you know?” Estinien does not step away. He’s half-smiling, and there’s something spirited in the words. Almost like a challenge.

A wave of giddiness rushes through her chest. Friends for years, allies even longer, and now something rips at the seam between comfort and possibility. He stares down at her, unflinching, familiar, and full of fondness.

Io tugs the thread.

“How would you prefer I say it?”

Her eyes flash to his lips, still smiling, and she’s not sure who moves first.

Estinien raises a careful, calloused hand to her cheek before sliding it behind her neck. Io clutches his shirt greedily, feeling the warmth of his skin bleeding through the fabric. Each pulls the other to them, movements fluid and certain, anticipating where the other will be before they've arrived.

They collide.

A tender spark ignites between them, the answer to a question they’ve asked privately for several months: could you feel the same?

Yes, is the wordless reply, lost to the heat of this Thavnairian night. Yes, they say with searching hands, wondering how close is too close as they reshape their friendship into something new. Io feels starved for him, even as she gasps against his lips, pressed between the door and his body.

Io’s hand is still on the knob and, in her haste to move it anywhere else, she fumbles and the door swings open behind them.

The kiss breaks. They catch themselves mid-stumble, fighting to keep their laughter quiet. As mortifying as alerting the staff would be, the feel of his hands at her waist and on her back would be worth a bit of embarrassment.

Estinien touches her face again, thumb sweeping across her cheek, and kisses her quickly. “More fitting, wouldn’t you say?”

A smile plays on his lips, unbidden, brilliant, and he makes no effort to restrain it. How long has he waited for this?

Io beams, covering his hand with hers. “Then I should expect the same in greeting tomorrow.”

He hums a little laugh as he parts from her, turning to leave. “Goodnight then,” he says, closing the door behind him.

Io is left standing in the center of her dark room, in the wake of Estinien’s warmth. The ghost of his kiss still tingles on her lips. She resists the urge to follow him next door and pick up where they’ve left off.

Unable to stop smiling, she readies for bed. Tomorrow, and what it promises, cannot come quickly enough.

[gleamingsilence]

78 the seven goats, please.

I thought this one was a wip with snippets in it (I got poor memory obviously...), but it's a full 1k one-shot about Vesemir from the Witcher. It's named after a star constellation in the universe.

I think I didn't post it for a flash challenge because I felt my tropes were over-used.

Tags: #young Vesemir and his black hat #trial of the grasses #grief interfering with love affairs

"He had put on his best shirt, white linen with red and black embroidery. Clean trousers and his favourite and very becoming black hat. He had carefully groomed his beard and combed his hair back. Going without armour or gear, he left the safety behind except for two small daggers, hidden in his boot and on his side.

He was standing at the side of a three stories high house in a small alley, hidden by the overgrown bushes and shrubs. The air thick with the nightly smell of the carefully selected exotic flowers from the expansive and prestigious garden and there was only faint noise from the taverns of Oxenfurt to be heard. He mused that he looked like a lovesick man awaiting his lady. At least that was what the ballads made him imaging. Tho still looking like a man in his thirties, Vesemir was too old for nonsense poetry and songs. Life had taught him different."

[bladedwoe]

ariveth asked : 👀 / nothing to see here just some totally not-assassins smoochin

Send 👀 for our muses having to kiss in order to avoid detection from someone. @ariveth -- accepting

        𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐦 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐬𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐬 𝐚 𝐭𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐜𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐬, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨. Most of the time, it was a bigger challenge to break into the window of a house, but it all served Astrid in the end. Astrid never preferred a room at an inn.

        In the dimly lit room, Ariveth lays in her bed, Astrid’s dagger resting underneath her chin. The shadows perfectly captured the sharp angles of her face, darkening her brows, and brightening her collarbones to her wandering eye. Astrid loomed over her in the shadowed corner, her shoes damp from the snow (a disadvantage of light armor), and her cloak blanketing her form with its warmth. She traveled all the way from the foggy, damp, green forests of Falkreath to the snowy mountaintops of Skyrim just to see Ariveth in the name of revenge. It wasn’t a short journey by any means, dark circles lingered under her eyes but her eyes gleamed with excitement.

        ❝ You look cozy, ❞ Astrid breaks the silence, her voice sickly sweet. On the other side of the door, she can overhear the sweep of a broom against stone and a cough caught in one’s throat, but overall, the tavern is empty after all the drunks stumbled back home. The perfect time of night when everyone, but Astrid, was expected to be sleeping. ❝ But I don’t intend to draw this out. We both understand why I’m here, and we've wasted enough time already. ❞

        Her knife juts forward, its razor end begins to pierce into Ariveth’s skin when the door creaks open as blood starts to sweep over the blade. A flood of light washes over the side of the bed, making her eyebrows lift and her eyes widen. Astrid draws her blade away, a small speck of blood coats the point and buries it into the pillow beneath Ariveth as she moves to straddle her enemy in a matter of seconds. A cascade of blonde curls unleashes from under her cowl as she pushes it off her head before tugging down her mask from over her nose and mouth. The cloth material tickles her chin as she halts her quickened breath, sealing her lips over Ariveth’s. 

        It dawns on her how soft Ariveth’s lips are, like the petals of nightshade, but Ariveth is nothing but a deathbell to Astrid. A poisonous figure that had drawn away her thoughts from what was important, stealing her kill, and running off into the night with no mercy. She trudged out into the cold, snowy depths that Skyrim offered just to get another chance to kill her, going through more than enough people to track her down to this inn. She wasn’t hiding away in a mouse hole, or in the thicket of some forest, but rather she stayed in a common area. An area she should’ve looked for in the first place. Even if it meant drinking poison, for only a moment, for her to kill her, she’d do what it takes.  

        The door shuts abruptly after that, leaving Astrid grinning and dizzy as she pulls away. She looks down at Ariveth with a half-lidded gaze, a smirk curling the edges of her lips. She chuckles darkly, her dagger drawing out from under the pillow. ❝ A kiss of death, how fitting. ❞ Strands of blonde hair drape in front of her face, wild and untamed, one clings to her lip, shivering with each exhale of breath. ❝ I hope you're satisfied. ❞

[xfindingtrouble]

the devil's after both of us. (Vax to Percy)

" mhm. it's part of our charm, don't you think? " his words dance off his tongue with a post-drunken sarcasm. it's nearly funny, that Vax is the one who knows, who see's. That Percy has the opportunity to see him as well. Out of anyone, Vax is the only one willing to face the darkness that nipped at Percy's heels. Perhaps it was because it followed Vax too, casting a shadow over past & present alike. It drives them to fight & survive & do whatever it takes to do so... regardless of any ugliness it took to do so. There were things they needed to do, and ideas to protect.

What macabre common ground to find, illuminated by the fading light of the tavern they had holed up in. It was always a bit odd, to spend time alone with Vax'ildan. Percy mused was like walking a tightrope, deciding which way Percy may want to fall.

Something was thrilling about being challenged. It always made Percy feel too alive, his heart hammering inside of his chest as it threatened to leap out at Vax. It made it hard to breathe, hard to think, hard to distance himself from the heated moments they shared. But just as intoxicating, were moments like this. Familiarity, understanding, it was all hard to come by.

tonight has been entirely too genuine, likely fueled by the drinks Percy kept ordering one after another. it was easier to fuel the momentum when he took the edge off his mind when he didn't want to think twice ( or three times, as he was prone to. ) They had spent to evening trading quips & allusions to the men they were. Infuriating, dangerous & often flawed it was magnificent to observe & be seen. The night was simmering to an end as was the haze that brought on such honesty, but other, clearer feelings still lingered. It was a mess of emotions he couldn't quite place, a draw he felt when he settled too naturally at Vax's side.

" When you know the devil is at your heels, you always want to look at him. see what he's up to. doesn't leave a lot of room to look forward. " the sarcasm slides away as he meets Vax's gaze, looking for the understanding he craves but struggles to ask for. it feels strange, like he's confessing to Vax in a moment separate from the rest of time. it feels like he has to pluck the words from his ribcage, presenting them to harvest. At least Vax knew they may make him sick if he indulges. Perhaps this is why his expression now falls, resenting how easy they were to reach under Vax's presence. Percy lets out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, " But you know that, don't you? "

It was too real. Percy felt just as alive as he did when he & Vax caught one another's frustrated glances from across a room. Maybe more. Sharing sentiments, finding common ground that often feels out of reach when balancing the dynamics around them. True, there was always something worth keeping to their chests but unfortunately, there was just as much worth sharing. Percy liked scanning the metaphorical emotional passages Vax was willing to lay before him, enjoying the opportunity to peer over his carefully constructed walls to see what lies beyond.

But, Percy would be a liar if he claimed he didn't enjoy being nestled in the back of this tavern, shoulder to shoulder, flipping through the pages of one another's life. he's not sure when he leans so close. a breath away, he sees vax - he sees the details of a face tired as his, lovely in its survival. a surge of something close to boldness, maybe the desire, washes over him & he closes the space between them too quickly. a kiss, more eager than he means to be, though he doubts he could define what he means to begin with.

he wants to be closer, closer, closer yet & it is maddening. But this moment removes him from the past and catapults him into the moment. Percy recoils just as quickly as he pushes, reluctantly tearing his lips away before there is a moment to think. ( that was stupid, incredibly stupid ) He clears his throat, casting his gaze to the table in front of them. Percy wishes he was drunk enough to blame it on the alcohol but even he knows better. Even now he feels like he's caught in a sort of spell, drawing him back in. So he does something difficult for him: he tells the truth, " I'm not sorry. "

[kingscyrus]

XXX. -What’s the raunchiest thing your muse has ever done?

FEAR. -What are your muses biggest fears?

I. Oooh, man, the raunchiest thing? It wasn't his proudest moment, but the young prince and his sworn-to-be wife had gotten a bit tipsy at the royal tavern, making love in the back, fully aware others could hear them. He certainly got a scolding from his Mother for acting inappropriately (they both got an ear full). && in doing so, he solidified the relationship between the two, meaning if the relationship ended in any way, the Princess of Yuimid would be considered impure, and marriage would be even more challenging for her.

II. Cyrus's biggest fear is his daughter's and his Kingdom's future. If he were to die suddenly, most likely somehow falling in battle or being cursed with unbelievably powerful dark magic -- How would the kingdom protect itself? At her young age, she would be 1, unable to rule, 2, unable to use and unleash the power of the Eldritch without her body being completely torn to shreds. If his queen was alive, that would've been a somewhat different story.. but she's not. Also, the fact that his brother lies in wait for the perfect time to strike from the shadows, to reclaim what was 'stolen' from him. There's a lot of fear that rests in his soul.

[svartalfhild]

Half-Empty

Rating: M, to be safe

Genre: Fantasy, Angst, Humor

Words: 2,696

Summary: Vrae Zilivna, bard and secret Ravenloft escapee, has been working at a tavern and cabaret for a couple of weeks now. She's starting to get into the swing of things, but the swing is chaotic, and her grief will not do her the courtesy of sitting in the sidelines until her shift is over.

Content Warnings: discussion of sex work, brief blood/gore, PTSD

A/N: This is a small story that details a moment in the life of my DnD character, a drow bard who is from Ravenloft, but escapes to the Prime Material Plane for our campaign. This story takes place during the campaign.

Previous Stories: The Oracle and the Officer, (Un)bearable, Shattered, The Mirror is in the Eye of the Muse, Cold, For the Dead We Revel, For the Living We Mourn, Dreaming in the Dark and Waking in the Light, The Nightmaven, Vespera Dignitatis, From the Mists

~ ~ ~

The end of the week was a busy time for the tavern and cabaret known as The Deep Chalice, and as such, Vrae was expected to be working.  She hadn’t been employed there for long, only two weeks now, but she was learning the way of things quickly enough.  The regulars and her colleagues alike were all about as strange as she would expect of a place like this; it was why she’d come here in the first place: to be among her fellow freaks and outcasts.

The owner, Madam Grimella, ran a tight ship, but she wasn’t unkind and she certainly looked after everyone.  She was a human of middle age with long black hair silvering at the sides that was always arranged in some elaborate style, and she perpetually had a red silk shawl draped on her shoulders or around her elbows, no matter what else she was wearing.  She had a flair for the dramatic, even in the more mundane moments of the day, as if she would die if she were ever a little too normal about life.

Several of her employees were cut from the same cloth in one fashion or another, one of the better examples being a dancer named Excitement, who was a bright red tiefling with hair in a darker shade and big golden eyes that seemed to flicker ever so slightly as if backlit by flames.  Her horns were long and angular and a pair of fangs showed themselves whenever she smiled, which was often.  She was a bubbly, talkative sort with an irrepressible zest for life, and Vrae didn’t really understand her, but she was an excellent performer, and that was all that mattered at the end of the day.  Vrae was in need of reliable coworkers, not friends.  She was cordial, amicable even, but always emotionally distant with her new circle of acquaintances.  When she got attached to people, it always resulted in death and destruction, so she wasn’t keen to make such mistakes again.

While this was sometimes challenging with the staff, it was quite easily done with the customers, even the regulars.  It was effortless for her to give them everything and nothing.  She could bare her soul in a song, bare her skin in a dance, and still be a complete mystery to her audience, as if they were looking at her through the keyhole of her boudoir.  They could see her beauty, but they would never see the skeletons in her closet.

Tonight was a night when she was asked to dance, since the scheduled headliner, a young human woman named Helinna, was under the weather.  Vrae asked the tiefling lute player, Drefor, to play something dark, and she went about her business dazzling the tavern goers with a scarf dance using a sheer black cloth and a little prestidigitation.  Even the scatterbrained wizard who was usually ranting about obscure arcane theory in the corner stopped and watched when his younger friend nudged him.  She completed the performance by putting out every candle in the room just as she struck a particularly tantalizing pose.  Being underground, this meant it was pitch black to all but those with darkvision, and when she returned the light, she was gone from the stage.  There was an eruption of applause that she enjoyed from behind a curtain before slipping backstage and around so she could make her way to the darker end of the bar in peace once the next act began.  Staeran, the burly human barkeep, already had a mead waiting for her when she arrived.

“Lady Wispcaller?” she heard a young man address her only a few minutes later, and she looked around to see the wizard’s friend.  She’d seen this man around here a couple of times before.  She recalled his name was Setric.  He was a willowy, square-faced fellow with floppy blond hair, tailored blue robes, and the confident air of a rich boy who fancied himself a rebel because he dared to study the arcane and spent time in the city’s seedy underbelly.  He was an open book to her, and not one she was interested in reading.  His cards, however…

“Yes?” she responded, pulling a tarokka card seemingly from thin air as she turned to him.  The Trader.  She smiled wryly to herself and returned the card to her deck in the same manner in which she’d summoned it.

“I was wondering if you had any prior arrangements for the evening?”  It was a classy way to ask what he really wanted to know, and she could tell he thought his conventional looks and proper manner would get him somewhere with someone like her.  She wondered what he would say if he knew she used to assassinate rich men like him in their beds.

“I don’t.”

“Then I wondered if I might…”  Setric reached for her waist, and she slid from his grasp.

“You can’t afford me,” she told him firmly, and he frowned.

“Surely you can see that I’m more than capable of paying handsomely.”  He gestured to himself, confirming her suspicions about his ego.

“Oh, I’m well aware of your deep pockets, and that should tell you exactly how dreadfully unaffordable I am, especially when you’re not very good at keeping an eye on your purse.”  Vrae held up his fat coinpurse, filled with probably more money than she’d make in a month, and offered it to him as he gaped at her.  “You might want to learn the rules of the street a little better before you start trying to play in it.  Now, I suggest you find a girl in your price range or go back to your friend.  I’m sure Edvard is dying to tell you about the importance of the sun and moon in transmutation magic or some such thing.”  With this, she shooed the stunned young mage away and finished her mead.

In truth, there probably wasn’t a single soul in this world she’d allow into her bed, whether it be for profit or pleasure.  She knew she could easily make a lot of money if she did, but something in her felt weary at the thought.  She didn’t want to touch or be touched anymore, even for a practical purpose.  Unconsciously, she pulled her silk wrap more tightly around herself and crossed her arms.  She touched the small silver locket that hung from her neck on a black leather cord.  She always felt so exposed wearing it in the open, as she had to when she did burlesque, but she was careful to choose costumes that would make it look more like an accessory than a treasured item.  No one had yet dared to ask about it, but she had a few well-prepared lies for anyone who might.  A sensible person would just take the damn thing off, but the idea felt profoundly wrong to her, almost as if it had a curse upon it, compelling her to keep it on, and in a way, it did.  She had loved and lost the man who had given it to her, but she felt forever bound to him, and this locket was the physical manifestation of that.

“Vrae!”  At the sound of Madam Grimella calling her name, she let go of her locket and quickly turned around to see her employer hurrying over to her, looking a little concerned about something.  “Vrae, dear, there you are.”  The woman came right up to her and leaned in close to whisper.  “Could you run out and fetch a healer?  Excitement’s hurt her ankle rather badly and we simply cannot have two dancers down this weekend.”

“Oh, there’s no need for that.  I think I have enough energy left today to help her myself,” Vrae replied with a dismissive wave, and Grimella frowned at her.

“Help her yourself?  How?”

“With magic, of course.”  Vrae gave her a sly smile before sweeping past her and heading on up the stairs to the room kept by her cheerful tiefling colleague.  She found Excitement sitting up on her bed, clutching her left leg and looking distressed.  “Hello, Excitement.  I heard your ankle’s gotten into a spot of trouble.”

“Oh!  Vrae!  Don’t you worry about me.  Madam G. sent for a healer.”  The poor woman put on a brave face, but she was clearly in pain.

“I’m your healer.”

“What?”  Excitement gave a giggle as she said this, as if she were unsure whether to be amused or not, and Vrae carefully sat down beside her.

“May I?” the bard asked, reaching for her colleague’s leg, and when Excitement gave a hesitant nod, she gently cradled her heel and began to hum a haunting tune, almost like a dark lullaby, delivered with a reassuring smile.  Her patient stared at her in bewilderment, which slowly turned into joy.

“Oh, I feel much better!” she exclaimed when the song ended.  “How did you do that?”

“Music is a powerful thing, d’anthe.  Especially if you know how to make the universe listen.”  Vrae set aside Excitement’s leg and primly folded her hands in her lap.  “You should be ready to dance again once the stiffness is gone.”  At this, the tiefling leapt forward and threw her arms around Vrae in a big hug.

“Thank you!  You’re the best!”

Vrae froze and her breath hitched.  Memories of Shaena Pencroft, her best friend, flashed violently through her mind.  Shaena, riding piggyback and whooping as Vrae ran down the beaches of Vradlock when they were teenagers.  Shaena, wrapping a blanket around her as she trembled after a brutal encounter with the constabulary.  Shaena, helping her up from the mud in the rain with the secret police in pursuit.  Shaena, lying dead on a stable floor in a pool of blood that gushed from her open throat.

“I’m not!”  Vrae reflexively pushed Excitement away.

“Oh, no!  Did I hurt you?”  Excitement touched the base of one of her horns self-consciously.

“No.  No, I…I’m not…I’m just not…good.  Please don’t give me more credit than I deserve.”

“Don’t be silly.  You’re a healer, and healers are always good people,” Excitement stated sweetly, and Vrae gave her a sad smile for her naïveté.

“I wish that were so.  But all the same, please don’t…hug me.”  Something finally clicked for Excitement at these words and her eyes widened.

“Oh!  Oh, I get it now.  You don’t like being touched.  Sorry about that.  My mama always says I get too carried away.  Is there a reason, or…?”  The question was a bit nosey, but Vrae was accustomed enough to her chatty nature by now to recognize it as well-meaning.

“Yes, but that is a story even this bard will not tell.”  She would let Excitement draw whatever conclusions she liked from that cryptic statement.  Excitement nodded and pulled her knees up to her chest to rest her chin on them.

“But you must have some juicy stories you can tell.  What about that locket?”  By the gods, this girl had a preternatural gift for innocently asking about the worst things.  Thankfully, Vrae was quite ready for this kind of inquiry.

“This?  This is merely a gift from an admirer that I thought pretty enough to keep.  No, I can do you much better than that, but if you want a delicious secret, you must first tell me one of your own,” she challenged with a playful smirk, and Excitement’s golden eyes lit up with interest.

“Alright, what do you wanna know?”

“Tell me, who is your favourite client?  You don’t need to give anymore detail than you’re comfortable with, of course.”

“Oh, that’s easy.  There’s this mage fella who comes in about once a month.  He’s a tiefling like me.  Gray with just the loveliest silver eyes.  He’s as serious as a funeral, but he’s very sweet to me.  Look at what he gave me!”  Excitement leapt up and went to her vanity to retrieve a bottle and a small tin, which bore ornate labels that declared them horn oil and horn wax respectively.  “I complained about my horns chipping, so he gave me these.  What a sweetheart!”  The products were magical too; Vrae sensed the abjuration magic in them.  Excitement would probably never know just how expensive this stuff was.

“Yes, I can certainly see why you like him,” Vrae replied with a wistful smile, absently brushing her fingers over her locket.

“Now your turn.”  Excitement flopped onto her stomach and rested her chin in her hands, eagerly awaiting her prize.

“Very well.  Many years ago, I journeyed to a beautiful kingdom that lay beside a lake of steam.  While I was there, I attended a lavish ball hosted by the royal family and tasted sweeter nectars there than you could ever imagine.  I was of course there to perform at the behest of the court, and when I sang for them and their guests, the crown prince fell madly in love with me.”  Excitement gasped in delight at this.

“What happened?”

“He asked me to dance, but I was not going to allow someone who had so much to have something from me for free.  I told him I would give him his dance if he would promise to teach me the dance of swords.”

“Ooh!”  There was a pause as a look of confusion came over Excitement’s face.  “What’s the dance of swords?”

“Fencing, darling.  Swordplay.”

“Oh, right.  Well, what’d he say?”

“He agreed to my terms.  He was a renowned swordsman, you see, and he thought it an easy enough task, but I proved to be a difficult student.  He would tell you it was because I was too brash, but in truth, I was just very distracting to him.”  Excitement giggled and kicked her feet at this.  “It took time and determination, but I learned the sword, and departed the kingdom soon thereafter, because the rest of the royal family did not approve of the attention their heir paid me.”

“Why?  There’s no harm in looking.”

“Maybe not, but here ‘attention’ means more than looking,” Vrae explained, and Excitement appeared to knock this around in her brain for a moment with minimal success.

“Oh, sex!” she burst out eventually.  It wasn’t exactly what Vrae had been going for, but she chose to roll with it.  “But I thought you-?”

“This was long before all of that.”

“Oh, wow.  So you could have been a princess?”

“I don’t think I was ever really in danger of that,” Vrae answered with a wry laugh, and her coworker looked disappointed.

“Would you have said yes if he’d asked?”

“Maybe.”  This seemed enough for Excitement, and she gave a small squeal of delight, kicking her feet some more.

“What’s going on up here?  If everyone’s alright now, there’s work to be done and distressingly few people to do it,” came the voice of Madam Grimella as she suddenly swept into the room, a few of her carefully arranged locks of hair hanging out of place.  Vrae immediately sat up straighter, but Excitement just gave a cheerful, fanged grin.

“Hey, Madam G.!  Don’t you worry; Vrae fixed me right up.  I’ll be back down in a minute.”

“What needs doing, ma’am?” Vrae asked.

“I need you to play the tune for Jesticles’ act.  Drefor has to help him with some sort of trick he’s planning.”  This news was not at all welcome, but Vrae didn’t let it show on her face.  Instead, she dutifully got up and made to return with their employer.

“Alright, see you later then, Excitement.  I have to go watch a clown strip.”

“Have fun!”  Vrae did not respond to this, as she did not trust herself to hide her contempt for the idea.

It was times like these that she was glad she had started to pick up mercenary work during the day.  Sure, clearing bats out of basements and harassing unethical wizards could be a bother, especially when she had to share the pay with a bunch of strange holy people and a manic kender, but there was more dignity in it than assisting Jesticles Mortimer in whatever fool thing he was planning to do on stage next.

[honorhearted]

Never have you ever? (For Abe, Astrid, or Lydia!! Whoever you feel more drawn towards! )

Send my muse “Never have I ever” + an act, and if my muse has done it, they’ll take a drink. / ALT: Send my muse “Never have you ever” and my muse will list an act they think your muse has done. / @cabbxges-and-kings

Ben grinned, already pushing his stein across the table in preparation for his win. "Truly?" he mocked. "Abe, the fact you would even challenge me -- the man who arguably knows you best -- to a game of this sort proves how damnably stubborn, not to mention, oblivious you can be. Unless you just misunderstood the rules?"

Still, friendships were oftentimes built off heckling, so smug in his amusement, he loudly declared above the din in the tavern, "Never have I ever flashed my bare arse -- out a window -- at Farmer Dodson and his flustered wife." Chewing his cheek to bite back a grin, Ben ultimately failed as he said, "I'd never seen a woman swoon before that moment. She must've been unaccustomed to such pale, flat surfaces."