Oh, to be a lone traveler stumbling upon a chateau after days of nothing but the endless fields and the darkest woods
The lord and the lady take you in and make sure that you have everything you need. The old laws of hospitality are sacred in this house, they tell you as you eat your dinner, the most delicate of meats paired with the most flavorful of wines.
Soon, a pleasant buzz fills your head, making your eyelids heavy and your heart light, so much so that you hardly notice that your hosts have hardly taken a bite. You see them exchange glances. A proposition is extended. Consent is freely given.
Later, among the luxurious silks of the master bedroom, you’re so focused on pleasuring the lady that you hardly notice the sheets rustling and a vial being opened until you feel oiled fingers massaging your entrance, slowly finding their way inside. You moan against the lady’s clit and she gasps, her fingers entangling themselves in your hair to bring your face even closer. You resume your efforts as the lord slowly works you open, pliant under his touch. After what feels like an eternity, you feel his cock teasing your entrance, just enough to make you moan. The lord hums, amused at your neediness until finally, finally he pushes in. Eventually, you fall into a steady rhythm, his cock hitting something inside you that makes you whimper.
And just as the heat at the bottom of your stomach starts to unravel, he leans over you, enveloping your silhouette in his. You feel a flash of pain as his teeth break the skin at the crook of your neck but it’s then when your orgasm sweeps over you, turning the pain into the sweetest pleasure. You feel your body relax into it, mind sky high as your hosts both give and take in a well practiced dance.
They do not leave you unattended after. You feel satisfied, spent, too weak to stand on your own two feet. They offer you drink and allow you to doze off in their embrace until the sun climbs high in the sky. It is time for you to go.
The chateau will still be there on your way back home.
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getting used to & comfortable with your own bare chest as a neutral & not inherently gendered thing over the course of an evening alone and then having to go out in public again the next day & feel weird about it again like prometheus and his liver except every day you're forced to regrow an awareness of society gendering anatomy
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I think it's mean how some people talk about fics on AO3.
'Oh you gotta wade through literal trash to find the good stuff'.
Were you not a beginner once? Did you not write crack fic or self indulgent things for your own entertainment?
Maybe don't speak that way about your fellow fic writers? Just because some fics aren't as polished as others, or involve fetishes and tropes you don't enjoy, or are not the style you want your fics to be doesn't mean they're trash.
It's a horrible thing to say and beginners are going to be discouraged from writing knowing that their fics might be considered trash because they're just starting out.
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I am loudly pushing the batdad agenda i am loudly pushing the— DPxDC Prompt
“Woah. You look like shit."
Granted, that’s probably not the first thing Danny should be saying to the guy that just bit the curb, but in his defense; he’s not running on 100% right now either.
The man -- tall, towering, and broader than Danny is tall -- whips around on his heel, black frayed cape flaring out impressively. Danny would've whistled in appreciation, but he takes the time instead to wipe the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing the blood running from his nose across his cheek.
"Sorry." He blinks widely, not even flinching as the man with the horns zeroes in on him. "That was rude of me. I have a really bad brain-to-mouth filter; Sam says its what always gets me into trouble."
And she's not wrong either, per say. His smart mouth is what landed him in this situation -- with blood blossom extract running through his veins and cannibalizing the ectoplasm in his bloodstream. Thanks Vlad.
The man grunts at him; a short, curt "hm" that shouldn't make Danny smile, but he does because he's somewhat delirious and probably concussed. The man keeps some kind of distance, sinking towards the shadows of Gotham's alleyway like he dares to melt right into it.
If it's supposed to scare Danny, it doesn't work. Danny's never been afraid of the dark; he's always been able to hide himself in it. He blinks slowly at the mass of shadows.
"You look hurt." The shadows says, blurring together around the edges. Danny squints, and licks his lips to get the blood dripping down his chin off. Ugh, he hates the taste of blood.
"I am." He says, "My godfather poisoned me. M'dying." The agony of the blood blossom eating him from the inside out looped back around to numbing a while ago, so all he feels is half-awake and dazed.
"Hey," Danny stumbles forward towards the man, a bloodied hand reaching out to him. "You-- you're a hero, right? You're not attacking me; which is more than I can say for most costumed people I've met." Maybe it's a poor bar to judge someone at, but he's already established that Danny's not in his right mind.
The man makes no change in expression, but Danny realizes blearily that it's hard to tell with the shadows on his face. He stays still long enough for Danny to latch onto the cape -- stretchy, but almost soft under his fingers.
He looks up blearily into the whites of the man's eyes. "Can you help me? I don't-- I don't wanna die." Again. He doesn't wanna die again. He blinks slow and lizard-like. "I mean- I'll probably get to see mom and dad again, but I told them I'd at least try and make it to adulthood."
There's a clatter down the street, and Danny's ghost sense chills up his spine and leaves a bitter, ashy taste in his mouth. He immediately knows who it belongs to even before the deceptively gentle; "Daniel?" echoes down the way.
"Daniel? Quit your games, badger, Gotham is dangerous for children."
Danny's mouth pulls back, and blood spills against his tongue. "Please." He rasps, and grabs onto the shadow's cape with both hands. "Please. He's going to kill me. Please--"
"Daniel? Is that you?"
His lips part, dragging in air to plead with the darkness again. He doesn't need to, the whites of his eyes narrow, and the cape whirls around him before Danny can blink. Soon swaddled in shadows, the Night lifts him up, and steals him away.
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The world needs more Yue and Zuko friendship, I squeal just thinking abt the parallels. They deserve a life changing field trip together and if u have abt ideas I’m all ears 👀
Hiii anon this ask fermented in my inbox and in my brain for so long,, so take this??? Post canon yue lives/no war au arts?? Anyway aside from the Parallels and their political position & their duty before hoes grindset I think they could learn a lot from each other. With zuko learning the gift of patience & diplomacy from yue & Yue learning that allowing yourself to feel anger and speaking up can actually be Good.
anyway hypothetical life changing trip outcome: zuko takes an intro gender studies class and yue says fuck
(oh and also must not forget the crush on sokka)
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I'm re-reading the Discworld series for reasons, and honestly the most relatable part of reading these as an adult is how many of the protagonists start out being tired, used to their little routine and vaguely disgruntled by the interruption of the Plot. Sam Vimes wants to lie drunk in a gutter and absolutely doesn't want to be arresting dragons. Rincewind is yanked into every situation he's ever encountered, though he'd much rather be lying in a gutter too. (Minus the alcohol. Plus regretting everything he's ever done said witnessed or even heard about fourth-hand in his whole life.) Granny Weatherwax is deeply suspicious of foreign parts and that includes the next town over; Nanny has leaned into the armor of "nothing ever happens to jolly grannies who terrorize their daughters-in-law and make Saucy Jokes"
Only the young people don't seem to have picked up on this---and that's fortunate, because someone has to run around making things happen, if only so Vimes and Granny and Rincewind have a reason to get up (complaining bitterly the whole time) and put it all to rights. Without Carrot, Margrat, Eric, etc. these characters don't have that reason; they're likely to stay in the metaphorical gutter and keep wondering where it all went wrong or why anything has to change.
............well, that's not quite true. You get the sense that Vetinari knows how much certain people hate the Plot. And as the person sitting behind the metaphorical lighting board of Ankh-Morpork, he takes no small pleasure in forcing the Plot-haters specifically to stand up, and say some lines.
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