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wholoveseggs · 25 days

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Heyyy gorgeous, another day another request! i was thinking about CEO human reader, she’s super rich, classy and very powerful woman. She also happens to be maybe a friend of Camille? And she catches Elijahs attention. They will meet on galas, auctions, operas etc. And he’s fascinated with her because of how composed and educated she is, they share hobbies, fashion style and so on. Aaaand one day he will pay her a visit in her office and it leads to some very smutty office sex… pretty please 🥹

Paperwork

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

You approach a handsome philanthropist at a charity gala, leading to a stress-relieving meeting high above the city lights.

♡♡ Thanks for the request @msveronicag I loveeee this idea (sorry I forgot to include Cami) ♡♡

5k words - Warnings: smut, slight dom!elijah, lots of banter, little bit of choking, public(ish) sex, Elijah being the relaxed one, a whole bunch of silly business jargon...

It was a part of your job to attend these stupid functions. It didn't feel like a party, a place to unwind, it felt more like a battle ground. Where the weapons were not guns, but witty retorts and carefully calculated smiles. It was all a show.

You hated it.

But the alcohol was good, food was usually tasty, and sometimes you got lucky. Because sometimes, you meet an actual interesting person. They were few and far between, but they were there.

This gala was being held at some museum or another. You couldn't quite remember, you had only been given the information a few hours before you had to be there, and hadn't bothered reading the pamphlet. Its Grecian architecture was impressive, if not a little pretentious.

You leaned against one of the pillars leading out onto a balcony, it was an impossibly warm Louisiana evening, and the breeze was welcome. You were grateful you chose your light silk dress for the occasion, rather than the heavy, floor length gown one of your assistants had chosen for you.

You observed a man standing a short distance away, looking up at a large painting hanging high on the wall. You couldn't quite see his face, but the suit he was wearing looked expensive. You were a little bored, and he at least looked a little interesting.

You walked up behind him, careful not to step too heavily in your heels.

"I don't care much for this style, myself." You said, not looking up at the painting.

He turned his head to look at you. "Is that so?"

He was handsome, almost startlingly so. The way the light hit him made his jaw appear sharper than it likely was. His lips were full and his hair perfectly styled, not a single strand out of place. But what really drew you in were his eyes, dark brown and intense, framed by long lashes.

You smirked. "It's a bit..." You glanced up at the painting, trying to find the right word. "Stiff."

He turned to face you, his eyes wandering up and down your body, before landing on your face again. He gave you a crooked smile that made your palms sweat, oh he wasn't just handsome, he was gorgeous.

"Stiff? I don't know, I think the artist did a very good job at conveying the... passion." He said.

"Where? In the brush strokes?" You said, taking a sip of your drink.

"No." He said, and his eyes moved away from yours and towards the couple on the painting. "There."

You turned your head and looked. A nude woman, her skin pale and hair blonde, laid on her back on a bed, the red covers thrown away and onto the floor. The man, his face hidden, stood at the edge of the bed, his hands moving to grip her thighs, as though he were about to climb on top of her.

You raised your eyebrows.

"You find that passionate?" You asked, looking back at him.

He shrugged. "I do. I think he was quite enamored with her, judging by the detail put into the painting."

"She looks like she's trying to take a nap and this creep won't leave her alone." You said, and he chuckled.

"Thus, the magic of art, my dear. What is interpreted depends on the person."

"Do you often interpret napping women as passionate?" You asked, and his smile widened.

"No, I prefer passion in the form of a willing, enthusiastic partner."

You took a sip of your drink. "And how do you go about finding one of those?"

He gave you a slow smile and reached out his hand, offering it to you. "Elijah, it's a pleasure."

"Y/n." You said, putting your hand in his and shaking it, firmly.

He kept your hand in his, bringing it to his lips, a move you would usually cringe at, but with him it seemed natural. He didn't seem like the usual crowd you had to deal with at these events. His voice, his posture, everything about him was elegant and his flirting was ridiculously smooth.

"Now that we're acquainted, what say you and I go find a little passion for ourselves?" He asked, lowering his voice to a whisper.

Your eyes widened slightly, and you laughed, pulling your hand away from his.

"A little eager, are we?" You asked, giving him a playful smirk.

"I just wanted to dance with you, why? Were you thinking of something else?" He gave you a knowing smile, and it made you laugh again.

"You're charming." You said.

"And you are beautiful." He said, extending his hand to you.

He was an excellent dancer, leading you expertly across the floor, even with the quick tempo of the song, he never faltered, not once. You didn't know how, but he could anticipate your next step, as though the two of you had rehearsed this for weeks.

"I like your dress, what brand is it? Prada?" He asked, leaning in to whisper in your ear.

"Yes, how did you know?" You asked, surprised.

"I own a few vintage pieces, I'm partial to the fall 2012 line." He said, his hands on your hips, holding you close.

"Really?" You asked. "The menswear one? It was villain themed, wasn't it?"

He nodded. "You have a love for fashion, I assume?"

"It can be a great investment if you pick the right pieces. The classics are usually the safest bet."

"Oh, I agree." He said.

You smiled. "So what do you do, Elijah?"

"I'm a philanthropist," He said. "I support local artists and historical projects and such. How about you?"

"I own a commercial real estate company. It's equally boring and stressful." You said. "What I do most of the day is paperwork."

He laughed, a delightful sound, and moved one hand from your hip, to the center of your back.

"Not fond of it?" He asked.

"No, quite the opposite, actually. If I could just get rid of the meetings I'd be thrilled."

He chuckled and spun you once. "You wouldn't be the first person to say that."

"What about you Mr. Philanthropy, how do you spend your days?" You asked, falling right back in step with the music, his movements as smooth as ever.

"Oh, you know," He said, his lips hovering by your cheek. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you,"

You leaned back a little, turning your head to give him a cheeky grin.

"Oh so it's family money then, is it?" You asked, and he hummed, his eyes narrowing playfully at you.

"Something like that. Enough to afford the finer things," He said, spinning you once, your dress billowing out around you like a waterfall.

He dipped you, his grip on your waist tight, as the song came to an end. You were breathing hard as you stood up straight again, letting go of his hand.

"Thank you for the dance, Mr. Mikaelson," You said, giving him a quick bow. "It's been a pleasure,"

"May I call on you sometime?" He asked, his hand still holding yours. "For a dance that is, and perhaps dinner afterwards?"

You looked at him, considering him for a moment, before smiling.

"Perhaps, Mr. Mikaelson, perhaps."

It had been a hellish week. A buyer had fallen through on the deal, costing you a lot of money. After the announcement, several of your employees began asking questions. About profit margins, about future strategies, about the acquisition of cheaper offices and rentals. It was difficult to concentrate, what with their constant stream of questions and their low murmuring at their desks as they talked about the whole ordeal.

Your company was also in the middle of a bidding war, trying to win a lucrative contract with the city to build several apartment complexes downtown. And on top of that, you had missed a shareholder's meeting because of a flight delay, pissing off several of them and creating several more holes in the schedule.

You were up to your neck in work, stressing out about everything.

Your phone buzzed and you sighed. Elijah. He has been texting you consistently ever since the gala, inviting you for lunch, or dinner, sometimes drinks at his place, hell, even just a walk in the park. He was polite, a true gentleman, but also seemed completely unaware of the fact that you didn't really have time for this stuff.

But it wasn't like you didn't want to see him, you did. You hadn't been able to get him out of your head since the gala. He was certainly an interesting person, a quick wit, and good taste to boot, but you didn't think it was a good idea. Your relationships tended to fall apart fairly quickly, most men you dated became intimidated by your success, or found the power dynamic to be a point of contention for them. Either way, it usually wasn't fun.

But god, his lips...

And his smile, you could see the mischief behind it, it made your stomach flutter just thinking about it. The way his eyes lit up when he laughed. It was intoxicating, you just couldn't...

You opened the text.

Free for dinner tonight?

You rubbed your temple, sighing.

Sorry, can't. Too much work. :)

You put the phone aside, only to have it buzz again.

I'm really good at paperwork, some say the best. Could lend a hand,

You snorted. Oh you could totally picture him helping you, leaning over you while you sat at your desk, both of you staring down at the documents, his breath on your neck, his knee touching yours underneath the wood...

God, your hands were sweating. It was almost embarrassing.

I appreciate that, but I have it handled. Just a rough week,

Another buzz.

Surely you've earned a break? I won't keep you for long, just dinner.

You groaned and slid down your chair, feeling your face burn up just thinking about being in a restaurant with him. You knew it wouldn't be a short date, he was entirely too distracting. No, anything he wanted you to do would surely eat up multiple hours, and you didn't have that kind of time right now.

Next time, You texted, then grabbed your sticky notes, writing:

'Please let this guy dick you down,'

And sticking it on top of your to-do pile.

You read the text over and sighed. Dinner with him sounded like absolute bliss right now, it was almost painful how appealing it was. But you couldn't.

You turned back to your work, letting yourself fall back into the sea of paperwork.

Hours passed and you were still stuck at the office. Dark had descended a while ago, and the lights of the city loomed brightly behind your window. You stretched in your chair and sighed, rubbing your neck.

Your phone buzzed again and you reluctantly lifted it up, watching a notification for another text come in.

Dinner at 730 it is, I'll pick you up.

You froze, suddenly confused. Did you agree to something? It couldn't be.

You dialed his number and held the phone up to your ear, sitting back in your chair.

"I don't recall saying yes to dinner," You said as soon as the phone connected.

He laughed. It was a glorious sound. You felt lightheaded just hearing it.

"Alright, you're busy, I understand, how about I come to you?"

You heard keys in the background, he was definitely leaving. Shit.

"Elijah, no, I don't... I can't," You said, scrambling around your office, trying to make it look less... destroyed. You shoved a pile of papers under the desk, along with a few cups and an empty wine bottle.

"I'm bringing take-out and coffee. You sound like you could use the caffeine," He said, completely ignoring you.

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes, dropping back into your chair.

"I don't want you to get bored," You said, weakly.

He laughed.

"Don't worry about me, darling, I have a secret."

You blinked. "Oh? What's that?"

You could hear him getting into a car in the background, then the deep rumbling of an engine as it revved to life.

"Being with you could never bore me. Tell me your address,"

You smiled. "I'll text it to you,"

He hung up and you sunk deeper into your chair, a goofy grin plastered on your face.

You spent the next twenty minutes trying to make your office presentable, mostly just moving papers off the floor and out of sight.

When he knocked on the door, you paused for a moment, before opening it. He was wearing a button up shirt and black slacks, both looking sinfully expensive and sinfully good on him.

The take-out smelled amazing, as did he.

"Your security needs updating, at the very least you should have a keypad." He said as he handed you your meal.

"Thank you," You said, ushering him inside. "I sent everyone home for the day, no need for them to stay late because of me,"

You put the food on a small table and sat down next to him on your sofa in the corner of your office, letting out a long sigh you didn't know you were keeping inside.

"That bad, hm?" He asked.

You looked at him and immediately regretted it, he was so distractingly gorgeous. His face, his lips, fuck his eyes, they had those crinkles in the corners, and that hint of mischief, his perfect jawline, everything about him set you on fire.

You shook your head and smiled. "Yes, I'm afraid so. Thank you, by the way, I haven't had time to eat all day."

"Next time I'll take you out somewhere more pleasant than this," He said, gesturing around to the cluttered office.

Your phone rang on your desk and you got up and scrambled over to answer it, Elijah giving you a confused look.

"Yes? O-oh..." You paused, standing up and pacing around, heading towards the window, looking down at the dark city.

"How long ago?"

Elijah was listening, his eyes fixed on you, the tone of your voice, the way you held yourself. You seemed calm, but the subtle signs were all there. You were upset, no, not upset, frustrated.

"Uh-huh, yes, no, thank you,"

He wandered over to your desk, to the many papers that covered it, some were marked with red, some with black, most of them had scribbles in the margins.

"Well, what is the point of a zoning committee if they can't do their job?" You asked, your voice smooth as silk, he enjoyed hearing you speak, the slight inflections in your tone.

A yellow sticky note caught his eye and he picked it up, smiling at what it said.

‘Please let this guy dick you down.’

He chucked and held the note up to you, raising an eyebrow.

You froze and your eyes widened, a deep blush spreading across your cheeks. You cleared your throat and tried to compose yourself, but were unable to meet his gaze.

"I'll see what I can do." You muttered, feeling utterly mortified that he found your stupid note.

Elijah stood, tucking the note into his pocket and walking towards you. His hands pressing into the glass on either side of you, trapping you.

You gulped, looking up at him, completely forgetting about the person on the phone.

"I.. I'll have that information when the exchange opens in the morning,"

He leaned forward, his lips hovering by your cheek.

"Yes, I understand," You said, your voice shaking.

Elijah grinned, his hands coming down to rest on your hips, pulling you flush against him. You could feel him, all of him, his warmth, the hardness in his pants.

"Okay, I'll, uh, talk to you later, yes, thank you."

You ended the call and let out a long sigh, looking up at him. He took the phone from your hand and threw it over his shoulder, not even bothering to look and see where it landed.

"I'm going to give you some unsolicited advice," He whispered, his hands gripping your waist tightly. "So take it for what it's worth,"

You raised your eyebrows, waiting for him to say something.

"Take a break." He said, taking your hand and giving it a light squeeze, "Let me take care of you tonight, then get back to work in the morning, tomorrow. You're burnt out, you're going to make a mistake and you won't even notice."

"Your concern is noted, but unfortunately..."

"When was the last time you slept?" He asked, cutting you off. "Properly, I mean, when was the last time you were properly rested?"

"If you're about to offer up sleeping with you as a cure, Mr. Mikaelson, I assure you, it wouldn't do any good." You said.

"What makes you think I'm offering anything, other than a little relaxation?" He asked, a grin spreading across his face.

"Well, we're already pressed up against each other, and judging by the hardness I feel against my leg, you're not exactly unaffected." You said, your hand running over his chest, his skin hot under the fabric.

"I think it would do you some good, a rush of endorphins, a change of pace, it could relieve some of this tension you're carrying around," He countered.

You felt your mouth dry up at his words. A whole slew of salacious fantasies flooded into your mind as soon as they left his mouth, and you struggled to think of a snarky response.

"It's been a while for you, hasn't it?" He said, reaching down to the hem of your dress, pushing the fabric up your thighs, his fingers brushing over the skin.

You bit your lip, his eyes were glued to yours, watching every tiny reaction with great interest.

"How long?" He asked, his lips ghosting over yours.

"A gentleman doesn't ask." You whispered, a smile forming on your lips.

"I never said I was a gentleman," He whispered, his hands coming down, hooking underneath your thighs and lifting you up and pressing you against the window.

Your legs wrapped around him automatically, your arms going around his shoulders, pulling him close.

He kissed you and you melted, the warmth of his mouth and the heat of his skin was so comforting, it felt so good. You wanted to get lost in him, feel him all over, touch him, kiss him.

"See? That wasn't so hard was it?" He teased, his teeth grazing your bottom lip.

Your phone began to ring again, and you pushed on his chest, trying to move away from him. He let you go, letting your thighs slip down his body until your feet hit the floor, the phone still ringing.

"I should..."

He grabbed your hips and spun you around, pressing you into the window, his chest against your back.

"You are in a very important meeting right now and cannot come to the phone," He said softly, his hand sliding up your inner thigh, pushing the fabric of your dress up and exposing you.

You moaned as he spread your legs with his knee as he pulled your dress up over your head, the phone finally stopped ringing.

"There, now we can be undisturbed," He said, his lips on your neck, sucking and nipping at the skin. His hands kneading your breasts, tugging at your nipples through the fabric of your bra.

Your breathing was heavy and fast, the cool glass against your skin a stark contrast to his burning skin.

You arched back against him and let out a strangled moan, his hands trailing down your body and his fingers slipping beneath your underwear.

You looked down to the streets below, the street lamps flickering and the headlights whizzing past as you gave yourself over to the pleasure of his touch.

He kissed your neck as he slid his fingers into you. You inhaled sharply at the sensation, his fingers curling and stroking over that perfect spot inside you. Your hand pressed into the glass, desperately needing something to hold onto.

Your hips rolled against his fingers as he worked them over your clit, you were starting to tremble, your thighs closing around his hand, squeezing as you started to come. He groaned in approval as he watched you come undone against the window, your arm braced against the glass and a thin sheen of sweat glistening on your forehead.

"Good girl," He whispered, his arm holding your waist, his lips kissing and sucking on your neck.

He unclasped your bra, splaying his hand across your back and pressing you up against the glass, your breasts squashed against the cold window, a hot flush spreading across your chest.

His shirt was already unbuttoned, and it was quick work for him to take off his belt and slip out of his pants. You turned your head to look at him, and god, he was beautiful. There was a patch of black hair just below his belly button, trailing down into his pants, and thick dark hair lined his arms. But when your eyes dropped down, your mouth fell open, his cock was... Just as excellent as the rest of him.

"Do you like being on display for the whole city?" He asked, enjoying the way you seemed completely enraptured by him.

"No..." You said, a mischievous smile creeping onto your face. "They probably can't see me, just some shadow against the window,"

He grabbed your chin and kissed you hard, a bruising clash of teeth and tongue, driving you to madness with every breath. His other hand was already pressing you up against the window, his hips driving his cock forward and filling you up in one swift motion.

You cried out, nails scratching the window and your chest slamming up against the glass, a chill running through you as the cold pressed into your skin.

"You are so fucking gorgeous," He hissed, his hands gripping your hips hard.

"Fuck me," You demanded, pushing back against him, grinding your hips up into him, moving in a way that caused you to choke out a breathless cry, fireworks exploding behind your eyes.

"So bossy, so demanding, are you like this with everyone or am I just lucky?" He said, his eyes traveling over every inch of your body.

"Maybe I just want you to shut up and fuck me,"

He wrapped his hand around your neck, pulling you back against his chest and holding you firmly as he fucked you.

Your knees felt weak, the grip he had on your throat restricting your airways, the pleasure burning into your lungs like hot lava. It was intense, your eyes began to water and your thighs trembled. Elijah's movements slowed, his pace becoming steady and smooth, rolling his hips gently, caressing you.

"Are you alright?" He asked, pressing soft kisses on your jawline. "You're shaking,"

You gulped and smiled, nodding. "You're just really good at this,"

"It's my favorite way to relax," He said, his lips tracing your ear.

You moaned at his touch, his lips feeling so soft against your skin.

"Look at them, look at all the little ants down below," He murmured, his thrusts increasing in intensity, his hand tightening around your throat. "Anyone could look up and see you, anyone. Your assistants, shareholders, a random stranger, just an anonymous face in the crowd, and they're all going about their night and here you are, above them all,"

It was intoxicating, looking down at the brightly lit city, even from this far up, you felt so high, you could fall into it all and lose yourself in the darkness, let yourself drown in the lights.

You pushed back against him, chasing the high he offered, your breath shallow and panting. His fingers raked down your skin, scraping over the flesh of your ribs, leaving your body covered in a trail of dark marks, claiming you.

His teeth bit into the skin of your neck as he pushed you back against the window, his hands over yours, holding them against the glass. He was rough and hard with you, snapping his hips and driving you up onto the tips of your toes.

"Mr. Mikaelson..." You moaned, struggling to keep yourself standing.

He chuckled and pulled you away from the window, throwing you over his shoulder and carrying you to the sofa. You giggled and kicked your legs, but he kept a strong hold on you, carrying you over to the large leather couch and depositing you on it.

"There," He said, leaning over you and parting your legs, "more comfortable?"

"Very." You said, biting your lip as you gazed up at him.

He knelt between your legs, sliding his hands under your ass and pulling you towards him, his mouth latching onto your pussy, licking a path along the seam.

You breathed out a sigh, closing your eyes and tilting your head back, your hands reaching for him, holding onto his hair, his shoulders, whatever you could reach.

"So, tell me," He said, taking a moment to rest his chin against your thigh, "do you agree that tis is a good way to relax?"

You huffed and sat up, pushing his head back down between your legs. He laughed and got back to it, letting you pull his hair and fuck yourself on his face.

His tongue was warm and wet, his thumb rubbing you, stroking your clit in little circles, teasing you. You wriggled and writhed against him, his mouth, his hands, they drove you insane.

Just when you were about to come he pulled away, kissing his way up your body, licking your nipples, your neck, your ear, trailing soft kisses on your face until you opened your eyes and looked at him.

He kissed you hard, your thighs trembling. His cock was hard against you, pressing back inside you. You moaned into his mouth as you adjusted to the feeling of him, the sensation of being filled up.

You loved it, the way you tightened around him, pulling him closer, deeper. He was breathing hard, the corners of his mouth twitching in a smile, his gaze constantly shifting, flickering from your mouth to your eyes, down to your chest.

His hand brushed against your cheek as he leaned back and began to move, gripping your waist and holding you close, his hips rolling into yours, finding a rhythm that made your toes curl, his voice murmuring your name softly in your ear, encouraging you to let go.

He smiled as you arched off the couch and dug your fingers into his skin, holding him to you. He wanted you close, skin-to-skin, every inch of you touching him, melting together.

You opened your eyes and found yourself staring up at his face, his skin, slightly flushed, his eyes were bright and he was grinning. The sex was turning into something more intimate, an actual bond was developing between the two of you.

"I like you," you whispered, grabbing his arm and pulling him close, your lips brushing against his, "I really like you,"

"Yeah?" He said, kissing you deeply.

"Yeah," you agreed, holding his face in your hands,

"It really like you too," He said, his thrusts growing deeper, stronger, more intense. He was chasing his own release now, desperate to feel you clenching around him, moaning his name.

You gasped and clung to him, your nails digging into his skin, your head thrown back, your eyes shut tight as you rode out the waves of pleasure flowing through you, and he followed right behind you, coming with a grunt, a low, quiet sound that made your stomach flutter.

He pulled out and sat down next to you, pulling you into his arms, your back against his chest. You could feel his breath tickling your neck, his chest rising and falling against your back.

He pulled the blanket that was folded on the back of the sofa over the two of you, wrapping it around you and holding you close.

The room was quiet, silent, save for the muffled noise of the city below, the cars and the traffic, the random sounds of the distant city.

You felt relaxed, actually relaxed, like you were floating. His warm arms around you felt like a cocoon. He was watching you, his eyes tracing over your body, his fingertips featherlight against your bare skin.

"Can I pencil you in for another meeting tomorrow?" You asked with a grin, your fingers grazing along his forearms.

He pulled your sticky note out of his pocket, sticking it to your forehead, a soft rumble coming from his chest as he chuckled.

"Hmm, I don't know, do you want to make a habit of this?" He asked, his hands smoothing down the sides of your body.

"Would that be so bad?" You asked, leaning back against his chest, letting him wrap his arms around you.

"Not at all, it's what I've been wanting since I met you," He admitted, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

"Me too, you've been on my mind constantly," You said, tilting your head back and kissing him.

"I know," he said with a cheeky smile, tapping on the note stuck to your head.

"Oh, very funny," You rolled your eyes, relaxing against him, your eyes growing heavy as the weight of the day's events caught up to you.

"Sleep, love," He whispered, pressing a kiss to the side of your head, his arms tightening around you.

"But I have so much to do," You protested, trying to sit up.

He held onto you, keeping you from moving, you didn't put up much of a fight. You wanted to stay right there.

"Work can wait until tomorrow, I have no intention of letting you go anywhere anytime soon," He said, his lips finding your temple, planting a soft kiss there.

"I can't just stay here," You said, a smile on your face as he ran his hand through your hair.

"Why not? You're the boss, you can do whatever you want," He said, nuzzling your neck.

You sighed, giving in and relaxing in his arms. It had been a while since you'd felt so content.

"Alright, maybe I can spare a few hours," You said, closing your eyes and allowing sleep to wash over you. And for the first time in a long time you fell asleep without a worry in the world.

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uwmspeccoll · 5 months

Text

Typography Tuesday

Last month, the Milwaukee Public Library's Arts & Media Department held its first Art Book Club session. Intended as an informal art book appreciation club that meets once a month in the Art, Music, and Recreation room, each session explores a different theme by looking at the wide variety of art materials in the collection. The collection is historical, non-circulating, and vast. I attended and spent an hour and a half mesmerized by the array of luscious materials presented.

There was design, architecture, fashion, and much more. As a type nerd, I was especially drawn to the several late 19th- and early 20th-century type specimen books on the tables. Here, for example, are some pages of chromatic initials by various European and American companies from Schriften Atlas, compiled by Ludwig Petzendorfer and published in Stuttgart by Julius Hoffmann in 1898.

MPL held its second Art Book Club session on the theme of "Animals" last night, but I missed it because I was conducting an evening instruction session. Dang! But I'll be attending future sessions when I can and I'll keep y'all apprised.

View other type specimen books.

View more Typography Tuesday posts.

-- MAX, Head, Special Collections

#Typography Tuesday #typetuesday #chromatic type #type specimen books #type specimens #initials #type display books #Schriften Atlas #Ludwig Petzendorfer #Julius Hoffmann #Milwaukee Public Library #Art Book Club #19th century type

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fafnir19 · 3 months

Text

Clothing is more than just fashion

Upon entering the bustling city of Milan, Luke had anticipated a week of unforgettable experiences, art, and culture. He had planned everything down to the smallest detail, intending to make the most of his time in the fashion capital of Italy. As he checked into the hotel, the anticipation of exploring the city's hidden gems filled his heart with thrill and excitement. However, fate had other plans in store for him. As he stood at the hotel's reception, the attendant delivered grave news: the hotel had been unintentionally overbooked. His room was not available, and the only solution was to share a room with another guest. "But it's Milan Fashion Week, there's not a single spare room in the city," the attendant had explained with a sympathetic look. Left with no other choice, Luke was led to the room where he was to spend his stay, his initial excitement now overshadowed by a sense of apprehension. Upon entering, he found a man already there, standing by the window, his sleek silhouette adorned in fashionable attire.

"Ah, you must be Luke," the man greeted him with a warm smile. "I'm Giovane. Looks like we're roommates for the week." Luke took in the sight before him, a bit taken aback by the situation. "Nice to meet you," he replied, offering a courteous smile, but inside, uncertainty gnawed at him like a persistent little mouse. In the hours that followed, though, he found himself surprisingly at ease with Giovane. They embarked on impromptu dinner and engaging in conversation that flowed effortlessly. Giovane shared tales of his business ventures, his passion for fashion, and the city's hidden gems. Luke, in turn, regaled him with accounts of his academic pursuits and his wanderlust. Their camaraderie bloomed, erasing Luke's initial doubts about the living arrangement.

Returning to the hotel after a day filled with architectural wonders and delectable cuisine, Luke felt the weariness seep into his bones. "I'm utterly exhausted," he sighed, collapsing onto the bed. Giovane, noticing his fatigue, offered to give him a massage, a gesture that surprised Luke at first. Hesitant, but ultimately swayed by the promise of relief from the day's strain, Luke consented. As Giovane's skilled hands worked their magic, Luke's weariness melted away, replaced by a sense of relaxation he had not experienced in ages. "You have a remarkable touch," Luke murmured, his voice laced with approval. Giovane, taking advantage of the moment, shared his frustration about an impending business meeting that had unexpectedly been canceled. Luke, eager to lift his newfound friend's spirits, suggested they use the free time to explore more of Milan's treasures. "But you need a jacket," Luke pointed out, eyeing the chilly weather outside. Giovane turned to Luke with a warm smile and asked for his help with attire. Luke's mind raced as he pondered which of his own jackets would suit Giovane. The task at hand, however, took an unexpected turn, sending Luke's world spiraling into an inexplicable realm of bewilderment. As Giovane's massages continued, Luke's utter shock was followed by desperate pleas as he found his body gradually, inexplicably transforming into an item of clothing—a vivid orange bomber jacket. Panic rose within him as his consciousness became entwined with the fabric, leaving only his head intact, protruding from the collar. "What… what's happening?" Luke sputtered in a voice laced with fear, his eyes wide with disbelief. Giovane wore a smirk as he quipped, "You agreed to help with the jacket, Luke." Before Luke could protest further, a hand was pressed firmly over his mouth, muffling any outcry. The world around him blurred as he fought the inexplicable, bizarre metamorphosis that had befallen him, and his heart pounded in a frantic rhythm. And so, in a deeply confusing turn of events, Luke found his head had been transformed into orange boxer shorts. His astonished self was now reduced to a mere garment, silently witnessing the surreal development of an inexplicable phenomenon.

The next morning dawned with Luke, being donned by Giovane. The fabric wrapped snugly around Giovane sculpted physique, emanating a warmth that was foreign and perplexing to Luca. "We shall go sightseeing today," Giovane declared, adjusting the jacket on his shoulders. "Please, Giovane, change me back," Luke's voice echoed within the confines of his new form, a hint of desperation tingeing his words. Giovane, however, paid it no heed, proceeding to prepare for the day's endeavors. "We shall visit the Duomo di Milano. Such occasions call for the utmost elegance and style," he remarked, his fingers smoothing down the orange fabric as if to accentuate Luke's purpose as an accessory rather than an individual with desires—seen but seldom heard.

Throughout the day, as they ventured through the city's treasures, Luke struggled to grapple with the perplexing reality of his existence. At times, he felt grievously encumbered by Giovane's cavalier disregard for his bewilderment and distress. Yet, as the day progressed, an unforeseen transformation began to surge within him, fostering acceptance of his newfound purpose. The musky fragrance of sandalwood that clung to Giovane's being, once an alien presence, gradually wrapped around Luke, its calming scent possessing an inexplicable allure. "You rest nicely against my skin," Giovane murmured, the corner of his lips curling into a smug smirk. Despite himself, Luke found a strange sense of solace in Giovane's reassurance, a feeling that grew stronger with every passing moment. As the day transitioned into evening, Luke's erstwhile anxiety slowly waned, replaced by an unexpected sense of contentment. "Giovane, I…" Luke began, hesitating to voice the bewildering realization that was encapsulating his very being. Giovane arched a brow inquisitively, his dark eyes fixed upon Luke's form.

"Yes, my dear accessory?" he prompted, a faint edge of amusement threading through his tone. "It's peculiar, but I find myself… oddly comforted by this," Luke admitted, his own admission startling him. "Your scent, the way the fabric envelops your frame—it's… relaxing." "You find yourself at ease playing your role, as you should be," Giovane remarked, a shadow of possessiveness underlying his words. The following day began much in the same vein, with Giovane reaching for the familiar orange bomber jacket and boxer shorts that was once Luke. However, as he extended a hand toward it, a pleading note woven into Luca's voice fell upon the air. "Giovane, I implore you, please release me from this form. I am not your accessory," Luke entreated, the urgency palpable in his words. An exasperated sigh escaped Giovane, his patience wearing thin.

"You are mistaken, my dear accessory," he chided gently, his fingers curling around the collar of the jacket. As his touch grazed the fabric, a curious thing occurred—the tense knots in Luke's consciousness seemingly unraveled, replaced by an inexplicable calm. "It's alright, Luke. Embrace your purpose," Giovane murmured, yet the undercurrents of his words held a weight that eclipsed mere reassurance. Luke's countenance relaxed, a sense of tranquility pervading his essence as though it were written into the very fibers that enshrouded him. "You're right," he uttered, a glimmer of newfound understanding lingering in his voice. "My purpose is to look good and to keep you warm." A subtle tremor of compliance reverberated through his being, one that left no room for dissent as the awareness of his purpose blanketed his being.

From that moment onward, Luke embraced his existence unquestioningly, a veil of docility shrouding his every thought and action. When the time came to bid farewell to the enigmatic garment that was once Luke, an unforeseen transformation eclipsed the moment. As Giovane peeled the fabric from his form, an astonishing development unfolded, revealing a strikingly attractive young man in the place of the once inanimate accessory—a figure who bore no semblance to Luke in any form.

"Luke?" Giovane's astonished query hung in the air, his gaze fixated upon the unfamiliar countenance. The young man offered a serene smile, one that bore no trace of the uncertainty that must have once permeated Luke's being. "My name is Luca, and my purpose is to look good and be your accessory," he proclaimed, a blend of assurance and adulation resonating within his tranquil voice. It was then that the revelation unfurled—Giovane's involvement in the fashion industry, his influence as the proprietor of a modeling agency, became evident. Luca became an integral part of Giovane's world, his existence intertwined with a role that transcended that of a mere confidant. As Milan Fashion Week drew near, Luca's metamorphosis was soon unveiled, and the runway beckoned as his new domain.

Adorned in the splendid attire that Giovane provided, Luca graced the catwalks with an ethereal elegance, embodying an allure that captivated each onlooker. His presence commanded attention, standing as a testament to the seamless union of fashion and beauty.

Some days later Luca's consciousness skyrocketed and memories of his time as Luke flooded back. He struggled with an inexplicable desire that eclipsed the boundaries of his previous existence. “Giovane, I must confess – there is an unspoken desire in my entire being,” Luca murmured. "I knew that my inexplicable transformation into boxers filled me with a newfound longing that draws me inexorably to you, for the intoxicating scent of your essence and the longing desire to find comfort between your legs and suck your fluids."

"Giovane, your scent turned me gay and I want to smell you," Luca's husky whisper hung in the air, laden with an unspoken hunger. Giovane's lips curved into a knowing smile, a glint of unabashed allure shimmering within his gaze. "Then come closer, Luca. Indulge in the intoxicating fragrance of sandalwood that envelops me," he beckoned, the rasp of his voice weaving a beguiling melody that stirred Luca's every fiber. As Luca inhaled the heady fragrance that encased Giovane's form, an enigmatic fervor surged within him, igniting a primal yearning that seared through his being. Mere moments later, he found himself sinking to his knees before Giovane, a simmering hunger blazing within the depths of his gaze. Giovane's hand threaded through Luca's blond locks, guiding him steadfastly toward the pinnacle of sensation that awaited. " You look exquisite between my legs, Luca," Giovane's voice teased, a whisper interwoven with a potent undercurrent of desire. Giovane, whose enigmatic gaze danced on Luca's sculpted form, smiled as Luca eagerly sucked his cock. “Your purpose is to keep me warm in the most intimate way possible.”

#male tf #male transformation #personality change #straight to gay #clothes #underwear tf #inanimate tf #inanimate transformation #clothes tf #clothing tf

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astoundingbeyondbelief · 2 months

Text

Deleted/altered Monsterverse scenes in Godzilla & Kong: The Cinematic Storyboard Art of Richard Bennett

Kong: Skull Island

There's a longer opening sequence, with Marlowe discovering Gunpei's camp instead of them both crashing at around the same time.

Conrad stows away on the expedition instead of being hired as a tracker

Weaver and Conrad meet at a Philadelphia train station (no clue what the context was).

Kong swings around a helicopter while the gunner is still firing and the bullets hit another helicopter, which I think is the closest he's ever come to using a gun.

Packard's group watches Kong fight the Mire Squid instead of Chapman.

Very different take on the Iwi village, with smaller lost ships/planes incorporated into the architecture.

The big one: Conrad flashes back to an encounter with King Ghidorah in Vietnam. The three-headed monster's silhouette is basically just the Godzilla vs. King Ghidorah version, but he has at least five prehensile tails he uses to snatch up soldiers.

Conrad and Weaver are tied to a tree during the napalm plot against Kong. Another character sets them free and they go wild on a few soldiers, with Weaver hitting one on the head with a rock. The Skull Devil emerges in a separate scene.

Kong uses a plane wing as a weapon in the final fight.

The Skull Devil has a grappling tail similar to that of Otachi in Pacific Rim.

The Iwi fight Conrad's group (I think) as the Gray Fox is lowered down a waterfall with a pulley system and something ambushes Kong in the background. This one was especially hard to make any sense of without dialogue.

Godzilla: King of the Monsters

Jonah spies on Emma and Madison as they drive to Mothra's temple.

The video montage in the Senate hearing is done via hologram. A mushroom cloud is displayed while Serizawa argues with a senator.

Mark bows to a wolf that approaches him in a nice bit of foreshadowing.

Mothra arrives in Boston alongside Godzilla instead of turning up later.

Godzilla vs. Kong

In an alternate opening, the Iwi retell the history between Godzilla and Kong's species using highly-elaborate puppets. There's a horned character loaded with weapons who briefly traps Godzilla in a cage and transforms into a Rodan-like figure. An ancient mecha?

Text mentions that "the Pensacola/Florida Godzilla attack scene was going to be much longer, involving a mall stampede.

A massive explosion takes place on Skull Island (I believe coming from the Vile Vortex there).

Jia is first shown signing with Kong just before the fleet engages Godzilla.

In true kaiju kid fashion, Jia messes with the controls of the ship to set Kong loose.

Nathan discovers his brother's crash site in the Hollow Earth and gets into a fight with several guards. This scene was definitely filmed.

Bernie was at one point a woman (drawn with ultra-short hair, although in general the human characters in these storyboards bear little resemblance to their screen counterparts).

Kong finds a skeleton of another member of his species sitting on the throne. He breaks off the skull, stares at it, and throws it aside.

Group troops engage Godzilla and Kong during their Hong Kong fight; neither even notices.

Mechagodzilla coils into a semi-sphere to deflect Godzilla's atomic breath.

Echoing his fight with Kong, Godzilla tries to outrun Mechagodzilla's Proton Scream through the streets of Hong Kong.

#godzilla king of the monsters 2019 #kong skull island #godzilla vs. kong #godzilla #king kong #skullcrawler #mothra #king ghidorah #mechagodzilla #kaiju #behind the scenes

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prettyboykatsuki · 1 year

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okay fr what do you think scara is like in bed? what’s he into, what’re his kinks, the whole shebang?

modern scaramouche hc's

✭ tags ; sub!chara, dom!reader (they bottom but parts are unspecificed so gn!reader as well), this is also my modern!scaramouche take so just be aware, bratting, rough sex, slapping, hitting, a lil degradation, reader is v careful abt scaramouches boundaries tho, romantic implications reader is stronger than scara + he is short king, etc

✭ wc ; 2.1k (im soooo ashamed. anon im so sorry)

✭ a/n ; this got so out of hand so quickly. this is my personal scaramouche this has nothing to do with anyone but me and my delusions sorry in advance.

like really. cant describe how subjective this is but i also refuse to change my mind or see him any other way. thank u so much for inquiring

my modern scaramouche is usually aged like. 20-something in college. he goes to a nice university (a very competitive school mind you.) he was really concerned about excelling for like most of his hs career. kind of a loner except tartaglia who adopted him into his friend group.

he panics about his degree for the longest time cause he doesn't know what to do - but settles on civil architecture and minors in fine art.

he has his ears pierced and some other piercings too that he was peer pressured into, but overall likes how they look. he's not usually very dressed up and all of his closet is so oversized because comfort > fashion BUT he never looks like a slob either.

has like 3 other friends on campus (kazuha + mona + childe who somehow followed him there)

complicated relationship with his mom + stepmom (he doesn't hate her but they do not communicate so tons of misunderstandings between them. like sooo many)

and. usually not actively looking to date anyone ever. he had like one crush one time in highschool but chickened out so miserably and SEETHED about it the whole time.

after that he swore to never, ever, ever go back to that dark place and sort of just focused on his career and school. his major is pretty difficult so it takes a lot of his time

plus he's a little pretentious, stuck up little shit so only a few people can handle him in the first place.

anyways. u meet through tartaglia who thinks you two will get along really well (and he's trying to set you both up bc he thinks you two could work well together)

its honestly like oil and water. you're personality just rubs him the wrong way. sure childe is annoying, but he's stupid

you're...not stupid. you're kind of clever and you treat him with like. a sense of disrespect he hates. scaramouche is used to people who let him have the upperhand

but you're always pretty quick to shoot him down. you never let him him get away with anything and you guys have this like... insane back and forth for months

its the slowest of burns. he swears he hates you.

(he doesn't though. he thinks its really fucking attractive that you talk back to him and don't let him intimidate you ever. but he loathes that feeling. he also loathes how nice your laugh is and how easy it is to talk to you)

scaramouche spends. AGES. ages in denial. closes his eyes to it. its like 6 months deep into it - he starts having wet dreams and he wakes up HORRIFIED with himself.

WORSE? scaramouche knows about your sex life. not through you but through observation and gossip. he's not fucking you in the dreams. you're fucking him.

humiliated, he simply tries to ignore it. but it's making him so much moody than usual and because you two spend so much time together - you notice almost right away. of course you do.

"whats got your panties in a twist lately? not that you're usually sunshine and rainbows but you're acting like a little kid"

scaramouche says something mean. like, really mean in response. he's just so frustrated. its a personal jab, farther than he'd usually go.

he's expecting to sabotage himself you know? he does that sometimes. pushes people away when they get too close. it's a miracle he has any friends. he's expecting you to get annoyed and leave.

but there's this like. chill to your voice. and you're looking straight at him.

"you don't talk to me like that, understand? i don't care how shitty your mood is."

one hit k.o. he can't even breathe. what's wrong with him and what is happening to him, and holy shit why do you sound like that.

"sorry," he apologizes (him. he's apologizing first) "just. frustrating,"

and you immediately slink back to your usual self. and he's relieved and a little excited and just overall restless because he can't stop thinking about what just happened.

"it's fine. i like being on your ass or whatever but it's bothering me that you're so moody. maybe you really do need to get laid,"

the joke is one you often to make. it's meant to lighten the mood. but scaramouche is feeling pent-up and horny and that's kind of exactly what he needs

"s-shut up. it's not like you're going to do it,"

internally he's hoping you take the bait. he is equal parts horrified and excited watching you take in the information. you give him a lazy smile as you sit up and look at him.

"huh. do you...want me to do it?"

oh dear god. oh fuck.

"so what if i did?"

and then you laugh, which he can't decipher. he's gearing himself to be made fun of. he watches you with big wide yes as you come sit on the desk near him. feels your fingers trail his jaw and tilt his head up and holy shit he might really die.

he can barely look up at you.

"is that why you've been acting weird for last couple of weeks?" your voice is so smug and scaramouche is so turned on it's stupid. he hates it. hates himself. hates everything

"shut up,"

and then, you grab his chin. really make him look at you and it's startling but he doesn't pull away. you look gleeful.

"that why you've been running with your tail between your legs when you see me?" you hum, your eyes almost predatory "cause you want me to fuck you?"

its times like this scaramouche he could be honest. because that's exactly what he wants, but he hates having to say it.

"as if you could satisfy me," he says, instead. your eyes widen, and it takes you a minute to register it all in your head.

"you're such a fucking brat," you say, light. affectionate, really. it makes his heart pump "you think i can't?"

"i'd like to see you try," he says, absolutely and utterly in disbelief internally. you grin.

"can i kiss you?"

"why're you asking?"

"cause im an asshole, not a villain,"

you and scaramouche makeout in a study room before he decides to to get ahold of himself and invites you into his dorm. he's never been so thankful in his life that his roomate is gone.

when you get scaramouche into bed - it really dawns on him how out of his element he is. he's not a virgin - a few awkward and usually bad hook-ups in his repertoire.

but you're not like them. he's bitey and on edge but you handle him. ask for permission for little things, clarifications for what he's okay with. you're thoughtful, despite how much he's lashing out.

and it's turning scaramouche so much he doesn't know how to handle it other than doing it again. he wants to provoke you so much. he wants to put him in his place over and over.

it's mid makeout he pulls away, frustration all-welled up inside him that he asks. he's hard and needy and needs something to get him off.

"i knew you were all talk," he sneers, putting as much of himself in it as he can "this is nothing,"

you look at him very seriously "you're really asking for it, huh," you say with a sigh "do you know what you're getting into?"

"nothing serious obviously,"

"usually when i deal with brats like you, i treat 'em real rough. im being nice to you cause you're so pent up, but it's like you don't want that," you grab his face again, getting close and personal this time and scaramouche feels like he'll collapse "want me to treat you mean and put you in your place? hit you and make you cry?"

oh it ruins his life. that's exactly what he wants. what he needs from you so much it aches. so much he chokes.

"wh-what the hell are-"

but you make him face forward, look you in your eyes.

"your first lesson is answer me when i talk to you. is that what you want? you can nod if you can't say it,"

so he nods and you laugh.

"yeah? should smack the brat outta you shouldn't i?

you're asking for permission. despite his everything, there's something affectionate about it. he feels his stomach twist with desire.

"just fucking do it already,"

"tell me if you need to stop,"

"i said—"

it's unceremonious, really. when scaramouche feels the palm of your hands on his cheek, landing heavy and hard as you push him back against the bed. you hit him.

he liked it. makes his cock throb in his fucking jeans, feeling the sting.

"your second lesson is don't fucking mouth at me," you practically spit. there's some roughness in your actions that make scaramouche keen as you crawl on top of him "can't even deal with your moods without lashing out."

scaramouche feels his stomach churn as your hands make rough work of him. you pin his wrists over his head, tell him to keep it there.

and of course he refuses, disobeys - gets to feel how strong you actually are when you spit the words back in his face again to hold fucking still.

scaramouche keeps doing it. keeps pushing until you have to put him back where he belongs forcibly. he doesn't know that he's doing it

but he wants something he can't name, a desire that aches so deep in his chest. he wants you to take responsibility for him - like a promise of some kind.

he likes the way your mouth feels on his skin. your teeth feel so good sinking into pale flesh. the scratch of your nails and sting of your palms as you spank and hit and push his body.

you manhandle him so fucking easily, putting him in every position you can think of. on his knees, or his back - naked and waiting.

you tease scaramouche till he's honest, your voice coarse until he starts giving in.

you're so good with your hands. your fingers, your mouth. you know just the right things to get him all squirmy - praising him when he's getting desperate towards the end.

his sense of shame nowhere to be found as he gets close to the edge. as you tip him over it, he can feel all the tension bleed out of him. goes from bitching, to whiny - needy and not above begging.

he doesn't even understand it. can't wrap his head around it all the way - lets you guide him through the feeling as he starts feeling pliant.

you let him fuck you with mercy. don't make him work for it, just sit on his cock and tell him that he looks so much better when he's all messed up for you and he just. melts completely. like feels like he's gonna fall through the floor.

he cries when he cums. sobs a little as he finally gets relief then melts into your bed like a pile of wet sand as you finish yourself off and overstimulate him a little in the process.

after all is said and done - he falls asleep basically immediately after the high.

when he wakes up the next day - you haven't left. he's like kind of nuzzled up in your arms (which. is wild bc he has always hated physical touch but? apparently not with you)

when you stir awake, you're immediately whistling. you even press a kiss to his forehead and brush his hair out of his face.

"you awake? feel okay?" you hum, so stupidly tender and scaramouche has to fight every urge to push you away.

"im...fine. you're still here," he says unhelpfully. you chuckle.

"yeah. figured you would start spiraling if i left in the middle of the night"

he is horrified at the accuracy.

"it's weird when you're being all...nice to me,"

"its a lot easier since i realize you just wanted to be put in your place," you say with a knowing him. scaramouche elbows you "it's cute, it's cute. don't kill me,"

"you're annoying,"

"yeah, i know. i wiped you down a bit but we should shower and i gotta make sure you're not too hurt anywhere,"

"i'm not a flower,"

"i was bein' pretty rough and its my job to take care of you,"

"why would that be your job?"

"cause im a responsible sexual partner and we're seeing each other, i figure?"

he flushes at the implication. he doesn't want to think about it as he cuddles himself into your side. ugh. whatever.

"who said that?"

"do you want me to see other people?"

"i'll kill you,"

"that's what i thought,"

scaramouche hates it but does not have the confidence to protest you.

scaramouche realizes with the weight of the world on his shoulders that he is the most submissive brat in the fucking world

he decides not to think about it for a while

#i edited it so much out i want to fuck the brat out of him im SORRRYYYYYYYY #scaramouche smut #genshin impact smut #scaramouche x reader #genshin impact x reader #writing tag

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prophecyofwinter · 27 days

Text

Across the Sea and to the East

Aemond Targaryen x Stark!Reader

Summary: Under your uncle’s usurpation of your brother you have been sent away to hide in Lys under House Rogare. You’ve found new purpose with the Lord of Light but you will be called home soon.

Tags: slight slow burn, actual burning, violence, smut, angst, tags will be added as we go.

Authors Note (new!): I will be releasing a prologue for another Aemond x Reader fic soon! I love writing about Essos so I had a good idea for a story about Saera Targaryens daughter. Keep an eye out! I will take turns for chapters between the two.

Chapter 3 | Chapter 5 | Prologue

Chapter 4: A Womb and A Prophecy

It was a beautiful Lysene morning. It was raining therefore no morning fire, so you were able to go back to House Rogare to spend some extra time with your adoptive siblings.

Ten siblings you acquired, not including bastards, most are younger than you. Including your sweet sister Larra, she turned four and ten just a few moons ago. She has been sweetly attached to your side since you arrived in Lys.

The two of you sat in the greenhouse seating area snacking on small treats. The pitter-patter of the rain on the glass smoothed you greatly as you sipped your tea down. You wore a lovely red gown, made of light and airy fabrics to match Lys’s weather and style of fashion. You would have to find yourself a new wardrobe as to not be seen as a foreigner in your home country.

Larra curiously twirled her thumbs, thinking before she spoke.

“Father tells me you are to go to Westeros soon. Does that make you happy sister?”

You let out a breath of laughter out of your nose, leaning back in your seat.

“Why yes, yes I am happy to go to Westeros… though it is not to Winterfell, King’s Landing will have to do.”

Larra got a little pouty, you weren’t sure if it’s because she’d miss you or if she wanted to go to King’s Landing herself. Even if you wanted to bring her, you truly had no promise you would come out unharmed. You wouldn’t forgive yourself if Larra somehow got involved.

“I’m sure you will go to Westeros one of these days Larra, I don’t believe you’d quite like it though.”

Naturally you can’t have more than a few moments of peace and footsteps quickly approach your seating area. You sigh out loud and turn to a proper position to greet your interrupter.

You sucked in an abrupt breath, not expecting this visitor without a notice. One of the highest priests from the Red Temple in Volantis, she stood draped in red robes with a mask of gold covering her face. Her dedication to the Lord is commendable, she gave up all identity to have no obstructions in her faith. She was nobody but a faithful servant of the Light.

“Priestess, I had no word of your incoming arrival or I would have met you at the Temple myself.”

You stood to meet her, she bowed respectfully as one must do in your presence.

“It is raining so I knew I would find you here my Lady. Apologize but it was far too urgent to wait and it is too private to be sent by letter. I must speak to you privately.”

Goosebumps creeped up your body, her phrasing worried you immensely. You peaked over your shoulder to Larra and nodded your head to tell her you’ll be back shortly.

“In private is where we will speak Priestess.”

——————

You took her to one of the guest rooms, decorated beautifully with beautiful architecture like the rest of the house. The rain gave the room an odd darker feeling.

The tension in the room was so thick you could cut it with a sword. Even for someone as experienced as her, even she didn’t know how to go about it. That tells you it must be of extreme unique importance.

“I have many things to attend to today so if-“

“Do you remember the Azor Ahai prophecy?”

How could you not, it was one of the first things you learned about in the temples. It’s a tale every child in Essos hears tenfold.

“Of course I do but I don’t see how that was so important to come all this way for.”

For the first time you see the Priestess look nervous, or at least you could tell from over her mask. You assume there’s more to it so you allow her to speak uninterrupted.

“You must play your own part in the Prophecy my lady. I know R’hllor has told you, you make your own path and this is your choice as well. However, if it is to come to fruition there are circumstances to cultivate it.”

“You are beating around the bush, out with it.” You speak with slight frustration.

“Azor Ahai must come from your and a dragon lord's blood. If you are to go to Westeros it would be wise to secure something for yourself. It would be unwise to rely on your descendants to do it for you.”

Oh, well. Beat around the bush she did not. Yours and a Dragon Lord's blood? Targaryens are the only Dragon Lord’s left so that’s all she could mean. Oh.

“Oh. So I must have children with one of the Targaryens is what you mean.”

“Yes. Since you have a past with Prince Aemond I would hope the choice would be there. Do not leave Westeros empty handed my lady.”

This complicates things for you, going to Westeros was in part to see Aemond. But, what if he has moved on and has no desire for you. That is always a risk, and now the fate of the prophecy rests on you getting Aemond to marry you. If you were a man and Aemond a woman, it may have been easier to manage.

“I see. Is that all?”

“Yes, that is all. I will be seeing you for prayer this evening my lady. I look forward to it.”

As she leaves you feel a sense of weakness fill your bones, you have to sit down. This doesn’t feel right, you had been promised a life free from these exact circumstances, though it’s presented as a choice.

In reality, it really is not.

In less than 2 weeks you will be faced with more choices and consequences then you had ever wished for.

#aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #house of the dragon

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eveistdiepommes · 12 days

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Classes Start !

“World Academy is like… suuuuper prestigious! Everyone who goes there is either at the top of their class, or they had the money to get in! Either way, you’re surrounded by brilliance no matter which hallway you turn down!”

Hiiiiiieeeee everyone!! Welcome to my newest AU! If you couldn’t tell, it’s a College AU! I’ve been struggling recently with making art, but yesterday something clicked and I started doodling tons and tons and this was the result! Safe to say, my art block is at bay for now!! I started doodling for this AU because I wanted to tweak my art style a bit and because I just wanted a universe where lighthearted, funny things might happen! And as I drew and drew, I started thinking up more lore, more character backstories, and just having a ball thinking of all the characters’ dynamics! So, welcome to World University!

(Character bios and info below!)

Feliciano is quite brilliant in his own unique way, as Lovino knows and as Ludwig will find out. Feliciano has the amazing ability to draw what he sees photorealistically, and his brain seems to be able to break down architecture to its finest detail. His paintings are breathtaking, his skills are unmatched, no wonder he earned a scholarship! Ludwig, who was so sure of who he was, starts to question everything after returning a blueprint the elusive Feliciano had dropped. Ludwig comes from a very prestigious family, a family of winners, a family of business. So of course, he is to follow in his father’s footsteps, just like his older brother is. But… What if he… doesn’t want to do that? What if he wanted to explore other ideas, other concepts, where nothing is concrete and everything is colorful? It’s scary… not being sure… But he is sure of one thing! Feliciano is quite beautiful.

It’s a hassle to deal with his brother though! Calloused and on guard, Lovino is always there to speak up on his younger sibling’s behalf, maybe a bit too much. Lovino just gets worried, as their family does not come from money. He doesn’t need some rich assholes picking on his brother like kids did in middle and high school! Working as a model, Lovino is starting to gain attention, which means more money to support him and his brother. And he is just fine with this. He never thought this would be his profession, but he can’t deny, it is a big confidence boost!

Arthur was never a fan of his parents. They pressured the hell out of his older brothers, and then they turned their sights on him. Their pressure was harder on him though, as it wasn’t just to do well, but to do well and be “ladylike.” Safe to say, as soon as Arthur escaped to college he completely abandoned what they had taught him, finally cutting his hair, finally dressing how he wanted, finally living how he wanted to live. And when they came to visit one year, and saw the changes he had made, they were furious. One thing led to another, and Arthur lashed out, declaring that he was dropping out of college to pursue what he wanted to pursue. And he soon learned that his parents had cut him off from their funds completely, leaving him stranded in the town.

Francis is idolized around the school, mostly by other fashion students. Many have confessed their crushes to him, only to be met with a chuckle and gentle rejection. No one understands him! In the years before, he hadn’t been so reserved, flirting freely with peers and what not. But something has changed, and sometimes, people have seen him at some grungy joint where the scene is way too sketchy and the music is way too loud. After Arthur got off stage, it was Francis’ cue to follow him. He heard something curious the other day, something he wanted to ask Arthur. So, meeting him out back, Arthur scolded him for sneaking up on him. And through a game of mental chess, Francis had learned that what he heard was true; Arthur had no safe place to sleep. He decided then and there, Arthur would be going back to his dorm, even if he had to sneak him and that obnoxious guitar case in.

Kiku could relate to being pressured. It was a hassle just for his family to let him choose illustration as his major. But once he was set, he was achieving what was expected of him, he excelled. That was, until two years in he got sick. See, Kiku has a very weak immune system, it had given him issues in his childhood, and now it seemed such conditions were back to haunt him. After taking a year off, he’s been struggling to get back to the top. His anxiety has risen, his focus seems to be dwindling. Arthur helps him study, and what a kind and noble thing to do. But some days, he just needs to let off steam and go to the arcade to set a new high score on one of the many rhythm games. What he was never expecting… was to be challenged by the human embodiment of the sun.

Ivan had lived a quite solitary life until now. Even when he started college, many did not seem interested in being his friend, maybe because of his intimidating stature, or his accidentally off color comments. But when he dances, he frees his mind from any troubles, completely absorbed in the music. One would never guess from his height and build how easily he can float through the air, and it’s quite exhilarating to watch! Well, according to Yao! The ever energetic Yao met Ivan in a class they shared, and for the first time in his life, Ivan had been approached with a beaming smile and sparkling eyes. Yao was innocently curious of Ivan’s diet and workout regiment, exclaiming how cool he looked unabashedly. This made Ivan’s face red! He had never been fussed over, his sisters didn’t count!

Alfred heard all about Ivan from Yao, becoming excited at the prospects of more friends! Alfred seemed like he was the polar opposite of Ivan in the friendship regards. Almost anyone at the university could easily find themselves talking to Alfred, he was just that personable! But Alfred didn’t have many close friends. He had his twin Matthew of course, and he had Yao and Ludwig, but that was it! No one really stuck around beyond small talk. Maybe that’s why he went out of the way to climb through a forming crowd in the arcade one day to see just who had all eyes on them? He wanted attention too, you know? To say he was surprised would be an understatement. The guy his eyes landed on playing the game was like expert level good! Being the cocky guy he is, he couldn’t help but offer a challenge, even if he was sure he’d lose. That guy was just too cool! He wanted to be closer!

Matthew has struggled in school in the past. It’s not that he doesn’t understand, it’s just that he could never get the words out to explain his understanding. Oral presentations were living hell, as was socializing and trying to fit in. But with his twin brother’s help, Matthew got through high school and made his way into college. The change of pace was rough at first, often resulting in meltdowns from not comprehending what he felt he should be comprehending. His grades were excellent, and his love for nature and the arctic were always very apparent… maybe even too apparent. See, that’s what he couldn’t comprehend still; he couldn’t socialize. Alfred talked to people so easily, but Matthew struggled greatly. He knew from a child he had selective mutism, but it seemed that even when he wanted to speak, he’d choke! His palms would get clammy, he’d start collapsing in on himself. And then the dreaded day came where he had to give an oral presentation… in college. If it weren’t for his white haired peer, he surely would have gotten a bad grade. But miraculously, with Gilbert, he started finding his voice.

Gilbert does not care what his parents expect from him. He doesn’t care what anyone expects from him, well, except for maybe one person… But either way, Gilbert is a completely free spirit, doing what he wants and making his own way! He’s a class clown, often cracking jokes at the expense of the professors, but when he heard that soft little giggle cut through the crowd, his interest was definitely piqued. He attempted to speak to Matthew after that, being met with a stumbling, awkward response, which was somehow even more endearing. Gilbert learned quickly through Ludwig, who was told by Alfred, of Matthew’s past, his struggles in socialization, and his lonely habits. How could anyone not love talking to him? He had a bear fact for every conversation! What is there not to like? Gilbert was quickly becoming attached.

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rennybu · 3 months

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hi.... i'm just a poor boy . who does not know the loam lore. would you be willing to share.... a summary.... (so curious i am a loam enjoyer)

oh my gosh hi griff..! oh there is so much to tell... i will h ave no choice but to put this under a readmore. the shortest answer is that he is my character of 3+ years in @jawsandbones homebrew dnd campaign and he is like a son to me. but to start off with baby pictures:

LOAM was born 52 years ago in a city called TILDEN, which is blocked off overland by a CURSED* SWAMP that creeps closer every year.

*Misremembered and only Recently Re-Contextualized Major Historical event

His mom is a shy, worried, and loving woman named Bayla - she's a druid and sells medicinal mushrooms of all sorts. His dad is an unwaveringly positive (but incredibly serious) mason named Uttara who proudly works on all sorts of projects around the city, especially major infrastructure. Yay stoneworkers!

(Because fantasy lifespans are strange and somewhat silly to me I just imagine Firbolgs to be stuck in their mid-20s existential dread until they're like at least 150. The backstory part of this spans literally 51 of his 52 year s of life. he's so young)

He got equal enrichment from time spent in nature with his mom as from time spent in the city with his dad. His nickname in the Tilden Firbolg community To This Day is "Always With Questions" - a kind of affix to differentiate him from any other Loams. He may not know much but he really would like to find out, please!!!! He sees a lot of beauty in the natural world, but his idea of what's natural is skewed somewhat by the uh, Curse. He once fell through some algae into a deep body of water and had a very fun memento mori experience as a kiddo (beautiful golden sunbeam shining onto a silty skull)

He got the name Loam very young from his interest in both his parents' work, which lead to him learning about soil types and uses in gardening and construction aklfhglskg. Loam was important for both jobs so he (in guess-what-I-just-learned little kid fashion) told everyone who would listen about it. The association STUCK and he's Loam now :].

His birth name is actually Rahara! but that's secret knowledge only his bestest friends and Tzip and some scarycool important NPCs know.

He loves beasts and magic and plants so much. And on the flip side he also loves and is fascinated by architecture and engineering. He never got any like, higher academic schooling or whatever, but had many many different apprenticeship type training relationships from his parents, other tradespeople in the city, from the senior rangers etc etc.

Small break to plug @jawsandbones lore packets for the Quarter Cities (including Tilden), Scarabae, and the overall campaign setting!!!! I'm just gonna talk about stuff without adding too much context of my own because AAA WORD COUNT!!!

The hole in Loam's ear was brought about by a shit ass Tilden local trying to tear his earring off him, since he'd bought it from a foreign merchant from a city Tilden/the Quarter has historically warred with. Loam's always been open minded and deeply curious about other cities, due to how isolated the bog is. Any visiting merchants are sources of wonder!!!! Even though he only bought the one hoop earring from the Quietus merchants (Mirjam and Mihail, mother and son!), after the ice was broken he stayed by their stall the rest of the day and talked about all kinds of things, and befriended Mihail!

Loam trained as a ranger as soon as he was old enough to do so!!!! He saw it as the next logical step past what his parents would be able to show him and was incredibly eager to get hands-on experience in the wilds. He met his first ever boyfriend among his peers there!!! Bragi... he has had many lovers and situationships in Tilden since, BUT only recently feels comfortable trying monogamy again after meeting Tzipporah.

Bragi unfortunately died badly to a creature in a traumatic backstory incident that left young Loam super fucking bereft and hyper aware of how easy it is to die. (Big monster attack + group of trainee rangers accompanied by a few more senior rangers + chaos and bloodshed. Loam carried Bragi to safety and tried resuscitating him but he was already gone. The experience made him uncomfortable with the idea of being in a defined, monogamous intimate relationship for the next like. 19 years. He felt like he got ripped in half!)

After the ranger's guild recovers from THE CREATURE ATTACK, Loam meets his close friend, Reece, a fellow ranger and Kenku (she looks like a masked shrike)!!!

He gets his septum pierced by the same visiting merchants from Quietus a few years after Bragi's death. It's a very important moment for him, where it feels like he can finally start to let himself change and grow beyond that event. He also spends more and more time in the city, away from the more rural/overgrown districts, and chases a love for the arts and partying and people, where he meets Kallirhoe (human, not a even a classed bard but like. an indie musician. an eboy if high fantasy had eboys. a tattooed twinkish fellow. you know the type)! They are very good friends who also have sex. Many days spent waxing poetic about THE BIG WIDE WORLD and how they'll never get to see it. (Spoiler: He sees it)

Loam gets into tarot as a hobby, and makes his own deck in a very scribbly freehand style with ink and charcoal!!!! he's slowly replacing them with more Worldly artwork - the deck he left home with was very. Tildencore

Many good years of being a party girl who has to go work a construction job tomorrow and then go be a ranger at 6. A rich and storied life. AND THEN THE GAME TIMELINE STARTS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

A path Through the bog has recently finished being built by Dagda, the Southern representative to the other Quarter Cities, making more trade possible overland, and making local tensions go even crazier. Also there are strange Awful Huge Scary Monsters appearing WORLDWIDE, so the Directions and the Three Kings of Scarabae and the remote island of Geest (ADRA'S HOME!) and the mysterious magical Widow's Wood are all like "STOP WAR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING RN". Trials are held in the Western city of Dina to appoint FOUR TEAMS OF FOUR to help defend against the new threat. Loam is like. Well I've gotta fucking do that. I've got to try. If I'm not chosen, at least I've set foot outside. He has a fight with his mom about this, because she is terrified she will lose him, like she lost her mother in a previous conflict when Scarabae was occupying the Quarter, before Loam was born. He stands firm and his dad has his back, and ultimately he leaves with both their blessings, but his dismissal of his mom's feelings weighs heavy on him the longer he's away from home. (He has a big cry and reconciliation about this when he is next able to come home.)

I'm clapping and cheering and skipping joyfully because now he HAS MET HIS BESTEST, DEAREST, CLOSEST FRIENDS IN THE ENTIRE WORLD: ADRA ILSA AND TALEE!!!!!!! I have to be so careful now because we have no joke hundreds of pages of notes. I cannot read that shit on google docs mobile app. We are approaching session one hundred and fifty of this game. They love each other so fucking much. THEY ARE THE INFORMATION GATHERERS!!! A PARTY OF SLEUTHS!!!

He also has his meet-cute with Tzipporah at the trials, which in hindsight is hilarious, because of the whole, "Tzipporah was sent to the trials as a spy (by the very people responsible for the giant awful monster crisis) and immediately pegged Loam for an easy mark to get information from" thing. And he was 100% correct. But a lot has to happen before that gets revealed. They took a nice night walk and write each other big long letters. And Loam tells him soooooo much <3

At one point while exploring a wizard tower he attunes to a lightly cursed ring and forgets what his parents look like, like their likenesses are Gone from past and recent memory. Which is a big thorn of homesickness that he writes to them about. He has a big cry and stares at them both for a LONG time when he next sees them.

Also they save an orphaned Kenku from some bandits and now Loam has a little shoulder-sniper named Bubby. We have a son. A perfect little crow son who is really good at killing, with arrows. He hides things in Loam's hood regularly

Other major things include ummm umm Loam's TWO deaths, one during a dungeon-rescue type scenario in a room that was Flooding and full of Phantoms and also a charmed Druid (Feyan, good friends now) wildshaped into a big scary water snake. He was hurt bad and (comedically) levitated so he wouldn't DROWN but then got Phantom Speared right through the torso. Second one was because Tzip's evil half brother Vences was like, mad at him for being a good influence on Tzipporah and interfering with the spy duties. Chill touch so no healing + dagger in the ribs! Ow. Also the reveal that Tzip was a spy was happening like, simultaneously here so we were yowling and screaming. (Well. Talee and Co had their long time hunches about this. Loam and I had turned a beautiful blind eye to all suspicious activity)

ANYWAY HIS DEATH SCARS LOOK LIKE A COMET ABOVE HIS BELLY!!!! The spear scar made a patch of his fur turn white (front and back), and the dagger scar is its crude tail!

I am skipping over so many plot revelations i. This is just the Loam Cut. and it's not even all of it.

His buzzcut was for emotional superstitious reasons!!! He cut it after Death 2 and Tzipporah getting taken against his will back into Evil Gang. Loam's mom has a lock of his hair at home now. ALL THIS TO SAY TZIP IS OKAY, NO LONGER SPYING, WE RESCUED HIM AND RIPPED A MASK OFF HIM AND SAVED HIM FROM GETTING HIS MIND EXCAVATED ! SO LOAM IS GROWING HIS HAIR OUT AGAIN!

The deaths of his close friends and their allies have also been. insane for him to process. To return someone to life in this setting u need to like. entreat a Titan. plead on the deceased's behalf and offer something up for the chance to revive them. (NO player spells like revivify. house rule) So interacting with these entities he sees as like Both forces of the natural world AND of huge religious/cultural importance regionally. And to have their requests be HEARD? He loves magic he loves Titans. And the plot is unfolding in such a way that scares me so bad. He loves his titan (The Curious Spear) SOOOO MUCH he has like the foundational belief that it can see through his eyes. Even if not true it motivates him to always seek understanding of strange new things.

Oh my god I didn't even talk about his multiclass into druid. He's a druid also. Circle of the Stars!! As a navigational point. He loves them. He loves space. He loves geography and regional interpretations of constellations. He used to just do freehand observations but truly became dedicated to charting the skies of every place the party travels to, after Tzipporah gifted him a grid-lined journal <3 <3 <3 STARRY FORM!!!!!!

His awe and inspiration and hunger for knowledge is the well he draws magical power from. My Boy is thematically bound up in the soggiest parts of this earth and also the unknowably distant stars above and I'm normal about it (lie) (There is a new and scary Third Thing rising which is the space between. I <3 Void). I know i draw him beige and green but his like, character colour theme is. Dusk to me. Gloaming. When the world is lit like a dream <3

In summary. In conclusion. He and Adra and Ilsa and Talee (and the rest of the Four of Four) are trying to prevent Global Disaster of an existential scale never before seen and are being very brave about it.

Loam wants to understand everything about Everything. Because understanding is love. Unfortunately there are hostile resentful and vengeful forces making this hard to do. Most recently by saving a city we Unmade a magically sustained centuries-old library. And we haven't had time to like fully let that sink in. Because of the horrors of war and being Four of Four means responding to emergencies and protecting cities as best we can against a foe that was forgotten by history until like, 10 months ago. Less, even. I hope this is anything. I hope u are his friend now too because he is yours

good lord how could i forget. His gender is male in such a way that he does not give a shit about it. He's one of the girls. He's genderless. Like a knight. His sense of identity is built on Living Laughing and Loving.

his personal goals are 1. to uncurse the bog in such a way that the wrongs committed by Tilden historically are brought to light and righted, 2. to get super married to Tzipporah and build a house together, and 3. to somehow, eventually, through great teamwork and effort, cure(?) the dreadful lingering soul plague on the island of demeter. HUMBLE! OH and to make a finished star chart covering the entire planet. humble.

thank u for reading here are his current stats

#titan campaign #loam #aart #theres some secret goodies under the readmore btw #IM SOOOOOO SORRY FOR THE CHAOTIC FORMATTING AND HOW MUCH I JUMP AROUND #i will happily answer more questions. and i wont take months to respond i promi #GRIFF... THANK YOU SM

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andreablog2 · 2 months

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I love Los Angeles so much, I feel like it’s the only city on earth that can embody every cultural trend and niche and allow it to fit some kind of beautiful kitsch. Nothing really matches or goes together in LA so in a way everything does. From the personalities of the people you meet, the architecture, the music people listen to. It’s truly everything goes. It’s so unique that a major city of the world manages to give a lot of people a suburban feeling while in the middle of it. In New York things go in and out of fashion every week and I still have that kind of mindset buts it’s so exhausting to keep up with

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ledalasombra · 1 year

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The Granddaughter

Chapter 1 - Reunion

The motorcycle cut through the city traffic passing through different scenarios from the fashion district to the noblest region, stopping in front of the big gates of the Wayne mansion. She rang the intercom looking at the mansion in front of her through the gate.

“How can I help you?” She was slightly startled by the sound of the intercom that didn't take long to be answered.

“Ahn... I'm here to see Alfred Pennyworth? Sorry, this was a little awkward” She took a deep breath, removing her helmet “My name is Marinette Pe… Marinette Dupain-Cheng, I am here to talk to Alfred Pennyworth.”

Marinette can hear the sound of something breaking on the other end of the line, frowning “Monsier, is everything alright?

“Marinette? When did you arrive in Gotham?” There was a pause and she sighed lightly “Enter and follow until a little after the main entrance. There is a place where you can stop the bike. I'll meet you there.”

“I'm on my way...” she replied, giving a slight smile, knowing that she managed the feat of surprising him. She replaced the helmet quickly, redirecting the bike to the indicated place, looking with great admiration at the whole place. The front gardens and the mansion building were beautiful. She removed her helmet after getting off the bike, attaching it to the bike and grabbing her purse afterward.

“Grandpa!” She said, hugging him next with a wide smile on her face and her eyes full of tears “it's so good to finally be able to see you!”

Alfred smiled as he hugged the young woman in front of him. She was so much like her mother Julia that he felt as if he had been given a new lease on life.

“I didn't know you were coming to Gotham... Sabine and Tom didn't tell me anything. Let's go inside, I'll make us both some tea, and in the meantime we'll talk and I'll finish up dinner.”

“ Can I help you?” she smiled while holding his arm “ This place is amazing grandpa! So much to be inspired by... The architecture, the details and that garden! Wow, that place is beautiful!” She spoke with eyes shining like a child, as they walked through the halls of the mansion.

Alfred gave a slight smile at the enthusiasm of the granddaughter he hadn't seen in almost a year. And despite the long time without seeing each other, the bond between them was strong. They constantly spoke through voice and video calls, she sent constant photos about everything that happened in her life and Alfred was happy about that. Everything he lacked with Julia, all the closeness and trust he would have liked with his late daughter, he gained with his granddaughter. Not even the distance allowed them to be separated or absent from each other's lives. Though only Bruce knew of her existence, they shared a unique family bond. He would have liked to be physically present in Marinette's life, but he knew it wasn't fair to make a 4-year-old child live in the chaos that was Gotham, the chaos that was the Wayne family.

When they reached the kitchen, Alfred indicated a chair for her to sit on, immediately putting the water on to heat, then bringing all the material to prepare tea for both of them.

“And then, mademoiselle, to what do I owe the honor of your visit? Why didn't you say you were coming to Gotham? I would have picked you up at the airport” he asked sitting down opposite her, she immediately took his hand. Alfred smiled at the gesture, knowing how much she liked and asked for physical contact.

"If I had, it wouldn't have been a surprise." her smile fell quickly, becoming slightly anxious “shouldn't I have come? Oh, I'm interfering with your work, aren't I? Oh my god I should have warned you and not just knocked on your employer's door...”

“It's okay my dear, I'm sure Master Bruce won't mind. He will certainly want to meet you” she said patting her hand lightly, seeing her expression calm down.

“I came to see how you were doing and to give you the news that I've moved on to the University of Gotham” she said extremely excited about the matter “and I start classes next month! I arrived in the city two days ago and it's been so busy. Everything is so different around here...”

“I thought you liked living with Sabine and Tom? I thought you were going to do Esmond, as you commented several times…”

"Paris has been my home for years, but I can't stay there after everything that's happened... With the whole Hawkmorth affair and I don't have that many friends to lock me up there..." Marinette looked at her grandfather with sad and tired eyes, taking a deep breath. She had already told him everything she could and what had happened to her from the beginning. Alfred was her only blood family, all she had that was related to her mother. For years, even apart, she formed a relationship of trust and friendship with her grandfather, telling him practically everything. She trusted him as much as she trusted Tikki and hoped that one day she would be able to open up to him the only part of her life he wasn't yet aware of.

The young woman took a deep breath, hearing the noise coming from the kettle and getting up “let me prepare it. I brought an herbal preparation that my old Mandarin teacher taught me. I know you don't like just any tea, but for some reason whenever Master Fu made it for me I was reminded of you.” she said as she walked over to the stove, bringing the kettle over to the table, failing to notice how her grandfather made her back stiff and tense with the comment.

Alfred watched his granddaughter take a can from inside her bag, opening it carefully, giving a slight sad smile with the memory that came through the aroma of tea. She put a little of the mixture on the porcelain, adding the water next, looking at the clock so that she wouldn't waste the preparation time. He was intrigued by the name quoted by his granddaughter. It couldn't just be coincidence, but he saved that information for now.

“And what happened to him?” he asked seeing her give a sad smile.

“He passed away in London together with his wife 2 years ago. I visited them from time to time, they were quite old.” she sighed looking at the clock again. “According to him, the secret of a well-made tea is not only the herbs used, but also the time for it not to become bitter and, above all, the energy we put into it when we prepare it. He helped me a lot when Hawkmorth came along, especially with my anxiety attacks. He helped me with some self-defense classes as well. In return I helped him with the massage shop schedule and some shopping.”

Alfred drank some of his tea and smiled. It tasted great and took him back to a past he hadn't told anyone about. He looked at the can that was on the table, smelling the herbs, realizing in his memory the same preparation he hadn't seen since his youth. He took a deep breath looking at his granddaughter weighing what he should say or not, taking her hand he saw her eyes go towards him.

“When I was in the war many years ago, before I met your grandmother Marie, I met a man named Wang Fu.” He paused, watching his granddaughter hold her breath, “he made that same tea and said that, like everything else in life, nature requires balance. For a good tea, we need good leaves, which require time and patience, the latter being a virtue. I confess that this was a quality I lacked at the time” he smiled slightly at the memory “We met a few times, until one day he found me seriously injured. He took care of me for 3 days until I was able to recover.” she paused, adjusting her posture, “Fu was a rather peculiar man, you might say. He followed the war from afar, although he tried not to intervene. In those three days that we were together, I met his fiancée, Marianne. She was part of the French resistance, just like her grandmother.” He paused with a sad look on his face, patting his granddaughter's hand lightly, "He gave me a second chance, which completely changed the course of the war."

Marinette took a quick breath at the two words spoken by Alfred and he couldn't help but show his surprise when he heard what her granddaughter mumbled. “Sass?” she spoke Kwami's name almost instinctively, bringing her hand to her mouth right after. She saw Alfred smile slightly, placing her hand between his two.

“Certainly he was very agreeable company for several months, until the war was over. Wang Fu said it was too dangerous to remain where he was and left a few days later with our mutual friend.” he smiled slightly patting the hand he was holding “We kept in touch after many years. It was Fu who told me about the existence of his mother, Julia, who until that moment was unknown to me. He was a great friend and is an irreparable loss.” Alfred make a pause, looking Marinette in the eyes “But what intrigues me at the moment my dear is how you met him and know that name.” he said letting go of her hand, hearing a faint alarm coming from the direction of the oven. He got up then to check on dinner.

Marinette was speechless upon hearing her grandfather's story. She held her teacup in both hands, trying to center herself and think of what to say. At least that explains the protective aura coming from Alfred that she always felt when she was with him. She takes a sip from her tea, and close her eyes quickly, sucking in air and concentrating. When she opened it she could see Sass's aura around her grandfather, letting a tear flow. Alfred, like Luka, was one of the true holders of Sass, which explained so much on her mind. She got up going to the island in the middle of the kitchen and pulling the bench to sit down, seeing the door open then, turning her attention to the person who entered.

"Alfred, I'm going to need..." Bruce stopped talking as soon as he saw that Alfred wasn't alone. He adjusted his posture giving his charismatic smile, watching the young woman who was sitting, apparently talking to the butler. "I didn't know I was interrupting, sorry Alfred."

Alfred finished removing the dinner that was almost complete from the oven, seeing the door open and hearing Bruce come in, he sighed deeply, shaking his head, and approaching his granddaughter, putting his hand on her shoulder.

“Master Bruce, let me introduce you to my granddaughter Marinette Pennyworth Dupain-Cheng. Mari, this is Bruce Wayne. Every male in our family has worked here at some point.”

Bruce flashed a wide smile that Marinette found forced, but ignored in favor of Alfred. However, what bothered her was the aura that emanated from him. She closed her eyes briefly, taking his hand towards the man in front of him, giving a slight smile.

“It is a pleasure to meet you Mr Wayne. My grandfather spoke a few times about you.” she said squeezing his hand.

“The pleasure is all mine, Miss Dupain-Cheng. Alfred told me about you, although he is very secretive about his own family.” Bruce responded with great enthusiasm, which made Marinette tilt her head slightly and Bruce slightly raise his eyebrow.

"Marinette, please behave yourself..." Alfred caught her attention with a slightly raised eyebrow, looking at her and then at Bruce. His granddaughter just sighed, looking at him.

“I'll ignore it this time. I have to go, I have dinner with Uncle Jagged tonight and if I don't make it on time, I'm sure I'll get several calls from him coming to the restaurant.” She saw Alfred nod, realizing he recognized the name from conversations they'd had earlier. She went to the table, picking up her bag and stopping again in front of Bruce who looked at her intrigued. “It was a pleasure to finally meet you. I hope we can talk more properly next time” She gave a slight smile and turned her attention to Alfred. “I need to use the restroom before I go.”

“As soon as you leave the kitchen, it's the second door on the left.” He watched her leave, turning his attention back to Bruce, “Master Bruce, I'm going to ask you two important things: the first is that you be original with her, Marinette can see right through all this media act. Second and most important, my granddaughter has had some very difficult things in her life and I would like you to make a big effort not to start an investigation into her life. She is a strong and very sensitive person, you will realize that over time...”

#mlbxdc #mlb x dc #dc x mlb #daminette #damian x marinette #maridami #maribat #marinette x damian #damianette #damimari

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bealovesmarauders · 1 year

Text

miss americana & the heartbreak prince // james potter

⋆ ࣪. ⁺⑅ ⋰˚ *.ﾟ .˳⁺⁎˚ ˚⁎⁺˳ . ༺ ˖

james potter x fem! reader, royalty au, fluff

wc: 1.2k

in which prince james finds his princess at the ball

it's you and me, that's my whole world, they whisper in the hallways she's a bad, bad girl

a/n: this is rushed as usual but i really wanted to write this idea cause i haven't seen anyone do a royalty!au with james yet! hope you all like it<3 also this is not proofread as usual so i'm sorry for mistakes :)

⋆ ࣪. ⁺⑅ ⋰˚ *.ﾟ .˳⁺⁎˚ ˚⁎⁺˳ . ༺ ˖

the ballroom is as beautiful as it is boring. it's only once a year that the royal family opens the doors to the palace for a ball, and the aristocracy goes mad for it every single time without fail. this year, the celebration marks the spring equinox- magnolia petals scattered across the marble floor, peonies blooming in the palace gardens. gossamer drapes the architecture, the chandelier glinting. the bluebirds in the castle aviary have been singing cheerfully all week. the royal family, typically frugal and stoic, has gone all out for the celebration- and yet not everyone is enjoying it.

it is not quite midnight, yet the dance floor is pure chaos. so busy, so bustling, that some of society’s most eligible bachelorettes are hiding away. one, to be exact- the most competent of them all. pale half moons in her hair, gown reflecting starlight, lady y/n stands on the balcony, looking out at the night sky. her reputation as the daughter of one of the country’s most esteemed families precedes her- she has not yet received a dance invitation tonight, nor does she hope for one. instead, she she wishes she had brought a book- it would have been most enjoyable. but the balcony will have to do.

the breeze is a nice contrast from the stuffy ballroom, the night air tickling her skin. the pearls adorning her collarbone are cool against her body, and it takes everything in her not to fidget with them nervously. she didn’t want to come- crowds are never fun, but it is her duty, or so her father, the lord, had said in the days leading up to this. but at least she is not a princess, enslaved in societal expectations. what a nightmare that would be.

a commotion arises from the ballroom behind her, but she ignores it, instead focusing on the constellations she's tracing with her fingertip. it’s sure to be the king and queen arriving- fashionably late, of course, to their own party. but she is in the middle of connecting orion’s belt with her fingertip, reaching for the stars when the french doors to the balcony creak open and-

“may i have this dance?”

there he stands. prince james, known for his angelic smile and claim to the crown. the heir to the throne, the rascal of the royal family. y/n’s jaw drops, and she rushes to shut it. “i-”

the prince grins, arching a regal brow. his brown eyes are deep, his skin glowing in the candlelight spilling out of the french door back to the ballroom. she sinks down into a deep curtsy, unsure of the protocol. he laughs a bit, but not unkindly. “you don’t have to do that. curtsy, i mean.”

she stands up quickly, the satin skirt of her gown rustling, awkward and embarrassed. a rosy blush spreads across her cheeks. james thinks she looks beautiful. “i just-” she blurts out at the same time as he says, “don’t worry about it.”

she colors again. he meets her eyes, curious and kind. she’s shy, and even though he’s a prince, james’s social cues are good enough to realize that. “what’s your name?” he asks, his smile accentuating the dimple in his lovely cheek. he might be the prettiest boy she’s ever seen.

she looks the prince up and down, swallowing the nerves. butterflies in her stomach flutter, beating their precious wings, stirring up a whirlwind of thoughts, a warm feeling creeping to her heart. “i’m y/n. pleasure to meet you.”

“i’m james,” he replies, extending a hand. she grasps it, and it’s warm and solid and lovely and she can feel calluses on his palms.

“i know,” she says, voice soft and light. he lets out an exaggerated gasp. “i didn’t know i had a stalker. how on earth did you know my name?”

she smiles, the first genuine one of the night. “must be your ravishing good looks.”

she’s not wrong. he’s known for his glorious curly hair - the lovely smile teasing his lips - and consequently, all the heartbreak that’s ensued from his previous relationships. he’s a prince after all- he can have his pick of the draw, so why is he talking to her? the doubt must be palpable in her eyes, and the prince steps back a bit, sensing the shift in tone. but then he plucks a gardenia from an ornate planter by the balcony railing, sniffing it and offering it up to her, coming closer to her again. carefully, she takes it, stroking the petals delicately. they’re so close he can smell her perfume, sweet vanilla and enchanted roses and water lilies. “thank you,” she breathes, and in that moment it is as if the rest of the world has fallen from her feet, and she is floating on air.

the tension melts from the atmosphere. he is not a prince anymore, just a boy at a ball giving a girl flowers. a sparkle appears in his eye, and the prince- james- gestures towards the interior of the palace.

“i was just wondering if you wanted to dance,” he says, voice husky. “you looked lonely out here. plus, all of those girls are too obsessed with the crown. my mother would highly disapprove if i were to waltz with any of them.”

if he were any other prince, perhaps she might’ve felt pressured to say yes. but he’s warm and comfortable, so why not? she ducks her head in another sort of mock curtsy, letting ringlets of hair cascade over her shoulder. “of course, your majesty.”

“no,” he says firmly, and she recoils a bit at the harshness of the word. but his tone becomes more gentle. “just james. please.”

it’s funny he’s so insistent at this. any other boy would probably jump at the chance to be called things such as sir, your majesty, your royal highness. but not him, apparently. he seems almost uncomfortable with the terms. perhaps being an heir isn’t all it’s cracked up to be- and maybe he’s only known as the heartbreak prince because of the so-called girls chasing after his crown.

“okay, james,” she says finally, and the name tastes good on her tongue. “but- your parents- they’re okay with you dancing? with me, i mean.”

james shrugs, grinning. “my mother’s the one who wanted me to come ask you. she thinks you’re pretty- and so do i.”

surprised, she casts a glance into the ballroom. the queen and king, casually sipping cocktails and chatting with a duke and duchess, are indeed keeping a watchful eye on their son, queen euphemia especially. the star-jewels on her dress glitter, reflecting light from the chandelier, and her aura of regalness is blinding. the king, on the other hand, is simply enjoying the appetizers, glancing around every once in a while.

and so she accepts, taking james’s proffered hand and basking in a glow of happiness as he leads her onto the dance floor. all eyes on them, classical violins begin to play a traditional waltz, and in his sturdy arms, she feels safe. it’s her and him, there’s nothing like this. and who knows? maybe the heartbreak prince isn’t too much of a heartbreaker after all.

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