#gold coast play

[funthingsfortoddlers]

Looking for a local playgroup or Mother’s Group on the Gold Coast? Fun Things for Toddlers have a great list of fun groups for every day of the week! Check it out the list here: https://bit.ly/3p50TwA #playgroups #playgroupfun #playgroupclass #playgroupgoldcoast #funthingsfortoddlers #goldcoastplaygroups #goldcoastplay #goldcoastmums #goldcoastmumsandbubs #goldcoastmumsgroup #goldcoastmumsandbubs #goldcoastmumsdirectory #goldcoasttoddlers #goldcoasttoddleractivities

[ivettel]

i saw your most recent martian gifset (beautiful btw) and it reminds me so much of the la la land ending and i'm now losing my mind. why were/are they like this??? this is literally a motorsports awards ceremony. why do i feel like i'm watching the bittersweet end to a critically acclaimed movie???

i am so glad you are the one to say this because every time i think about la la land and martian i feel insane and then i gaslight myself into being like You Cannot Write Yet Another La La Land AU You Need To Do Something Different but truly they are so mia and sebastian. HIS NAME IS SEBASTIAN. and he fits. that unrelenting pursuit of his dream, that sweet melancholic fallibility... and mark as the aspiring actor who's getting older and more cynical because for some reason his luck is shit and he can't make it big, but then this broke cocky little hotshot comes along and shows him he can't give up on himself. and they both achieve their dreams in the end! they could have even made it together if they hadn't been who they were!! it's sooo bittersweet i literally have a playlist of la la land songs i put on whenever i write them just to get in the mood.

coughs. anyway to your point--yeah they're honestly awful like when mark looks away because seb mentions that they didn't always have the best of times but when he looks up again with that small (hopeful? rueful? earnest?) smile on his face because seb insists that they're gonna be okay............... when seb looks back over the crowd but his eyes land on mark........................... i need to crawl into a dishwasher

[ayrennaranaaldmeri]

doing questlines that just don’t suit my chars just to get a crumb of content w/ the faves.....

[fazcinatingblog]

Has tall Paul met two metre Peter yet

[bloodrvvvsh]

Come Into My Bedroom. | Spencer Reid x GN!Reader

Synopsis: Taking care of your lover’s long hair for him.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader

Warnings: None! This is entirely nothing but fluff. Established relationship, pet names (sweetheart), long haired Reid, very brief mention of drugs

Word count: 0.6K

Notes: I am a lover of Jesus Reid and nothing can stop me. This idea came to me as soon as I woke up and I’ve been itching to write it all day since

You were humming softly along to the music that filled the air, Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now by The Smiths, as your fingers ran through the ends of Spencer’s hair. Spencer had always been such a The Smiths fan and you had grown fond of the band in the time of you two dating.

He was sitting between your legs on the floor while you sat on the couch. He turned his head, peering over his shoulder at you. “Are you sure about this?” he asked softly and you couldn’t help but beam a smile at him.

“Of course I’m sure,” you replied. In reality, you had been dreaming about doing this ever since his hair got long enough.

You adored his long hair. He looked so handsome with it in your opinion. The only problem was that between his long case hours and now after being shot in the knee, he didn’t always have the time to take care of it properly. Lucky for him, you were there to take care of it for him.

You had helped him wash it, taking your time to really scrub his scalp and messaging the conditioner through his hair, and now after letting it dry, you were going to brush it. You continued to hum, a smile that hadn’t weavered since you began still on your face.

“Tell me if I'm hurting you, okay?” you said and he gave a small nod in response. Hairbrush in hand, you raked it through the ends of his hair. 

The feeling of your hands in his hair never failed to get to Spencer. It didn’t really matter what you were doing - playing with the strands, washing it, brushing it, it didn’t matter. It all left a fuzzy feeling in Spencer’s chest.

You were probably the best thing that ever happened to him, ever. You were always so patient and kind with him, going out of your way to do such nice things for him. Like now.

He loved you more than anything.

“Did you know that each strand of hair can contain small amounts of fourteen different elements, including gold?”

“Oh, really?” You were one of the few people he had ever met that actually enjoyed listening to him ramble. He smiled softly, glancing back at you over his shoulder again. “What else?”

He shifted slightly, hands falling to his lap as he absentmindedly fidgeted with them. “Your hair contains everything that has been in your bloodstream, including medicine, drugs, minerals, and vitamins. Drugs can actually be detectable for approximately ninety days in the hair, while it’s generally only detectable for one to seven days in urine.”

“Wow,” you breathed out. “That’s kind of crazy, don’t you think?” You moved the hair hanging over his shoulders towards you and raked the brush through.

He could feel you tugging at sections of his hair, making his head tilt back slightly. “The average person has about 100,00 strands of hair on their hair. Blondes have the highest amount on average at 146,00, while redheads have the least at 86,000.”

“Sounds like a lot of hair,” you murmured. You were almost done, just a few more finishing touches..

“There!” you chirped as you finished tightening the ribbon. “I’m done!” You reached out for the mirror sitting to your left and offered it to Spencer. Your teeth caught your bottom lip as you watched his expression carefully.

He gently pulled the braid over his shoulder, running his fingers along the twisted strands of his hair, stopping at the pink ribbon tied into a bow at the end. A smile tugged at his lips at the sight. He glanced back at you once more and your heart nearly melted at the look on his face.

“It’s stunning, sweetheart,” he said softly and your grin split across your face so wide your cheeks began to ache. You cupped his cheeks in the palm of your hands and pressed your lips to his, sighing softly into the sweet kiss.

You were going to have to braid his hair more often.

[nightmarist]

Some Zevlor Things —

EDIT 12/2/23: Added a few more things

A fellow Tiefling Hellrider, Tilses, is with him in the caves acting as his bodyguard. He sometimes calls her Tilly.

There is one bedroll in the caves shoved off in the far corner with a book titled "The Devil You Know: An Autobiography" - not sure if it's his personal writing or if he's reading it, either way it adds to the flavor of his of his tiefling pride (and/or anguish).

It reads:

Have you ever had a god change your blood? It is a horrifying thing, even for those who may desire it. Yet few tieflings wished for Asmodeus to claim their bodies, only be given no choice in the matter. It is not as if we were well-loved before the archdevil's gambit. Our people have always struggled against the notion of 'devilkin', as if a single drop of infernal ichor inescapably corrupts. How amusing, when so many others willingly sell their souls to fiends, yet their culture as a whole escapes the blame. By what method can we redeem ourselves, when the crime is not ours? I would drive a blade into every warlock that aided Asmodeus' damned ritual, but personal vengeance cannot undo the will of a god, much less one as slippery as the Lord of Lies. When every passerby thinks you a thief and heretic, it is deeply tempting to become one. (cut off) The only thing that has stopped me is knowing Asmodeus wants nothing more than for all of us to fall from grace.

Around the his table are Invasion Plans for Elturgard, Traveler's Guide to Baldur's Gate, Traveler's Guide to the Sword Coast Vol IV: The Risen Road (which aligns when he tells you earlier there are gnolls on the road), and "Front and Center: a Thespian's Memoir" that reads:

"... in fact, the greatest joy of my life hasn't been acting, but becoming. When you choose a character to play, you don't just wear a mask - you take a little bit of their soul for your own. Whoever you are in your heart of hearts, if only by the faintest note."

Zevlor aside I think this is a sweet quote for the player and player character relationship <3

Dialogue in the Caves:

Zevlor: I Hardly need a bodyguard, Tilses. This isn't Avernus. Tilses: No sir. At least the monsters there looked like monsters.

—

Tilses: Commander— Zevlor: Just Zevlor, Tilly. We're civilians now, remember? Tilses: With respect, sir — being a Hellrider is for life. They can't take — Zevlor: They can, and did. Avernus changed things — best we get used to that. Tilses: ... Yes, Zevlor

—

Tilses: The Watch or the Flaming Fist? Zevlor: Pardon? Tilses: When we get to Baldur's Gate. Where are we enlisting? Zevlor: I'm done soldiering, Tilly. I'd like a clean start. But go with the Watch. You're too honest to be a mercenary.

—

Zevlor: No word from the scouts, yet? Tilses: No sir. But if there's a clear path past the goblins, they'll find it. Zevlor: Yes, of course.

ITEMS —

in the Chest there is a bronze goblet, 46 gold, and a battle-worn blade. On his person he has his gloves (Hellrider's Pride), an apple, a camp supply pack, and the key to his chest.

The blade says:

A fine by well-used sword. It seemed to have once belonged to a holy order, but the indication of rank and patron deity at the hilt have recently been filed down.

The gloves' flavor text says:

A waft of sulphur emanates from this proudly-kept piece.

Celebration at the Camp:

"I should be out there, talking with them. In... Just a moment, maybe." "Is this everyone? Our numbers have grown so few..." "No more. I can't afford to lose any more of them." "No. Let them have fun. I'll be ruining it come morning anyway."

Mindfayer Colony:

Things he mumbles in the Pod:

The pod will show you his memories of Elturel:

After saving Zevlor, I forced myself to pick the "mean" options just to see how it goes.

If you tell him its his fault tieflings were imprisoned in moonrise, he says:

If you tell him "Do yo have a right to ask?" when he asks about the tieflings:

He doesn't argue with any of your remarks except one, when he says "For a moment I welcomed it" and you tell him "For a moment until you realized your reward would be a tadpole" he corrects you:

If you tell him if he wanted power he should live up to his own ideal:

If you tell him to get out of your sight:

When you tell him it's not his fault he was enthralled:

If you tell him "Fine. Good luck, Zevlor."

If you say you could use another blade in the fight to come:

At the Netherbrain:

(smiling <3)

"The journey has been brutal, but I stand here a Hellrider once more, and I would die a proud man if I died this day."

I know it's a Soldier thing to be proud to die for a cause but it still makes me worry for him given his background so far <:]

If you click on him, he has two unvoiced lines:

if you pickpocket him at this point, he'll have the same items on him as before (in this save he has a carrot instead of an apple for me).

His stats at this time: (Steeped in Bliss is from one of my items)

Post Game (Patch 5)

I don't know if there are other permutations of this letter, yet, but this is what I received:

I hope my penmanship has improved somewhat in the past months. When I first stumbled into this city, I shook so badly that I could scarcely hold the soup the priests pressed into my hands - let alone write and thank you as you deserve. It is only when the city itself began to shake that I felt my hands grow still. Along with the other veterans sheltering at the temple - discards of Elturel's 'unworthy' legions - I watched that monstrosity rise over the city. We felt no fear. Only anger. Disgust. Purpose - and with it, power. I do not know what oath we cling to now, or how long it will last - but we shall use it to ensure that this city will not suffer as Elturel did. Whether it wants us or not. It is more than thanks alone I owe. No words can make amends for what I did to my people, but that is as it should be. More come to the temple every day to aid in the relief efforts, and if I am permitted to work alongside them, then I am content. Come and see us, when you can. Zevlor

It's interesting — if not bitterswet, tragic, and inspiring — to hear that Zevlor and other Paladins regained their Oaths via pure, stubborn devotion to saving people when it began to look as bad as Elturel.

[bad-traffic-smp-ideas]

Aussie life. Everything is upside down and only pearl can play normally. They also play at Pearls convenience and the session times change whenever she wants. Uh also all mobs are hostile. Many spiders spawners. Suddenly bane of arthropods is the most sought after enchant. It’s set in a mesa island with a big jungle coast. Maybe it’s Aus shaped. There’s lots of gold.

AUSTRALIA MENTION 🔥🔥💥💥🍤🍤 🇦🇺🇦🇺🦘🦘

[stars-for-circe]

Dead Men Tell No Tales

Tags / cw: Pirate Age (1650 - 1730s), fluff, Pirate!Abby, Mermaid!reader, slight somno (reader kisses an unconscious Abby), mentions of drowning, piracy, strangers to lovers

Taglist: @ourautumn86 @peanutbutterandjayjay @happysparklingshadows @irelandzo @iamaboringrattat @genderfluidlesbain999 @slut4mascss @rxreaqia @kylorey25 @massivepeacefemme @elliewilliamsfavborderhopper @elliewilliamsisactuallymygf @ratdungeon @elxarw @mariasabanahabanabana @vvynia @r3starttt

Walking the plank was something Abby knew well, having seen it every few moons. After all, piracy always came with disloyalty - the promises of gold and rum being too tempting not to betray your crew for. But walking the plank herself? That, she was not prepared for.

Hands tied behind her back and a gag in her mouth left only a deathly glare for Abby to give to the men behind her. The men, her crew, behind her. And at least they had the fucking decency to look shameful.

“Captain, why the long face?”

…except for one.

She should have never let that fucker on her ship. Right from the beginning, he was suspicious. It was weird enough that he had managed to sneak onto her ship at the last port, and even weirder that he seemingly had no motive. Abby should have known that his promises of a map in return for safety were empty. That his objective was her fucking ship, not the treasure her crew had sought after. Another boot pushing into Abby’s back made her groan out a muffled swear, the end of the plank now dangerously close.

“Any last words? Advice maybe, for your loyal crew.” A smug snicker broke the silence afterwards. And then an exaggerated sound of realisation as he gestured with his sword to her gagged mouth.

“You must pardon my ignorance captain, I must have forgotten!”

Suddenly, a harsh kick to the base of her spine left Abby screaming in pain as she fell over the edge of the plank. The wind howling in her ears as she scrunched her eyes shut and braced for the ice cold impact of the storming ocean. But the last thing Abby heard was instead his taunting voice that followed her into the depths of the sea.

“Dead men tell no tales.”

A haunting cackle left his mouth as Abby plunged into the vicious swell. The current overpowered her easily, each wave more fierce that the last, throwing her around like a mangled toy. She could no longer tell which was up or down, but the feeling of being pulled down lower and lower gave Abby a sinking feeling that it wasn’t her ship she was heading towards.

Thrashing hard against her binds, she regained her bearings and tried desperately to kick up to the surface, the water surrounding her no longer disturbed by the storm, but instead of Abby’s panicked movements. But it was futile, Abby realised, as she saw that what was once a dark ocean around her was now her own life flashing past. How cliche, she thought.

And it had been a long time since Abby had last dreamt like this - as if death had allowed her one final moment of reminiscing before she was met with its cold embrace. She saw herself as a young girl begging her father to let her sail, dreaming of conquering the seven seas, fighting pirates, finding the most enchanting merpeople along the coasts. Like waves rolling over each other, the played over again and again, each time becoming more blurry than the last.

And when it finally ceased, Abby spent her last breath on a silent vow on revenge. As the ocean pulled her down from the violent waves into its abyssal depths, she swore it. No matter how many lifetimes it took, she would come back and fucking kill him.

Human lips were so enchanting. Unlike yours, Abby’s were pinker, and chapped - most likely due to the fact she didn’t live underwater like you. Heavens, it wasn’t just her lips. Her entire self had you absolutely entrapped with her beauty. Her structured face (that, for some reason, still displayed a frown and furrowed brows, even in her unconscious state), her long hair that was splayed around her head, and her body.

God, her body. You couldn’t help your wandering eyes after you had pulled her ashore from trailing down lower and lower. Her drenched shirt, slightly transparent and clinging to herself, proved as the perfect window for you to see her well built arms and…..other areas, too.

Fuck, you shouldn’t be getting distracted at a time like this. Your family would already be beside themselves with you interacting with a human, fancying one would probably get you exiled. But you really couldn’t help it.

When you had saved Abby last night, it was purely by chance. You were trying to swim down to the ocean floor to stay safe from the stormy surface, and you should have done so. But on your way down you had felt a large splash ripple through the water, and then you saw her. Illuminated by striker of lightning, she was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen. And you tried to keep your distance at first. After all, her feet weren’t bound together so she could have swam up herself. But when you noticed her go limp, you couldn’t stop yourself from helping her.

And it wasn’t like you’d be caught, she was fucking unconscious. So you grabbed Abby as fast as you can and pulled her to the surface, and eventually, to the shoreline. You knew this island had people somewhere, so it would only be a matter of time before someone found her - she was safe here, and you could leave her, right? No, but what if she didn’t wake up? What if no one found her in time? What if they tried to hurt her?? Maybe it was best if you stayed until she woke up.

And now here you were, on the beach of a strange island, making fucking heart eyes at a human of all things. A human with the prettiest face you’d ever seen, though. A human, who was still bound and gagged, you realised (no, you weren’t making another excuse to touch her, she really needed your help this time). Tentatively, you reached out and carefully rolled her over. Which was fucking hard considering you could only use your core strength, but you managed to untie her hands and lay her back on her back.

Slowly, you trailed your eyes back up from Abby’s arms to her face, capturing and memorising each and every part of her as your hands followed in suit. And gently, you cradled her head up to undo the binds around her mouth, before placing her back down as they fell apart beneath her.

To anyone else, the angry red marks rubbed raw against her cheeks, agitated and sore from the ropes, would be a disgusting sight. Yet you found her, still, an absolutely breathtakingly beautiful sight. The way it traced her cheekbones, stopping at the edges of her mouth, where pink lips met the marks and met at a soft Cupid’s bow. God, were you being punished for something?

The one person, you couldn’t have, a human, just had to have the most kissable lips out of everyone you had ever met, and it was forbidden. Not only that, she wasn’t even fucking awake, either!

…she wasn’t awake.

She would never know.

No one would, you thought as you stared curiously down at Abby. One moment of self indulgence to end the hours of suffering and pining, that’s all it would be. No one would know, not Abby, and least of all your family. And if anything, it could be considered a ‘thankyou’ for not letting Abby drown in the first place.

You glanced up to the sky, almost daring your ancestors to stop you, before looking back down at Abby. Tentatively, you traced the back of your hand against the side of her face before cupping it into your palm. And with the other, you gently moved the hair splayed around her forehead as you took a long glance to her face. Fuck, you were in over your head. After a deep breath in, you felt yourself moving closer as you closed your eyes, and finally, you sighed as your lips met with hers.

They were cooler to the touch than expected, you thought. But that was probably because the poor girl had just taken an involuntary swim in the ocean. She tasted almost salty, you realised, as you deepened the kiss, how softly moving them against hers. With your eyes closed, all your senses zeroed in on kissing Abby, the roaring waves and screeching seagulls simply turning into static noise. All you focused on was kissing her properly before you would never see her again.

So maybe that was why you could almost feel her moving her lips against yours, returning your kisses with a soft fervour that was so delicate you could have imagined it. A soft hum escaped your mouth as you traced your tongue against her lips, lost in her taste, her touch, her. And it was only when you felt a hand softly tracing up your spine that you realised you weren’t imagining it, that Abby was really kissing you back.

Almost as fast as it had started, you bolted up away from her mouth, a panicked gasp leaving your own. Your eyes darted around her face for signs that she was fully awake, and when you noticed her relaxed state, you let out a sigh of relief. While she may have been conscious enough to kiss you back, Abby was still too out of it to notice where the fuck she was (and why a mermaid was making out with her).

Thankfully, you had time. A very short amount, you realised, as you noticed Abby coming to much faster than before, but time to hide nonetheless. Reluctantly, you took your hands away from her face and moved her hand off your back, before glancing behind you to look for an escape route. And luckily, there was one. As you dragged yourself to the rock pools, you shot Abby one last, longing glance before turning back around and diving into the shallow water from a rock platform. Praying that you were fast enough, you whispered a goodbye to Abby before swimming away to your family, who were surely worried about your whereabouts by now.

And you were. Fast enough, that is. In fact, you were so swift with your departure that you had failed to stay around long enough and see Abby open her bleary eyes and take in her surroundings. But maybe that was a good thing considering how you would have gotten lost in their grey-blue beauty. And maybe you were lucky that Abby didn’t see you go, because the best explanation she could come up with as to how the fuck she didn’t die was simply that the tide had brought her to shore, somehow.

But, for some reason, Abby could not shake the feeling that she had been helped, and she could not shake the dream she had before waking up of someone before her, untying her ropes and caressing her face. She could not shake the feeling of scales morphing into soft skin against her hand as the moving it up higher and higher. And for some fucking reason, Abby could not, for the life of her, shake the feeling against her lips. Like they were kiss-bitten and tingling, and warmer than they should have been considering how cold the rest of her was.

Maybe, if Abby had focused on her surroundings more than her recollection, she would have noticed the obvious trail in the sand leading to the rock pools on her right. And noticed that strangely large tail peeking through the now settling swell in the distance - much to large to be a fish, but too colourful to be a dolphin’s, either. But no, all Abby could really focus on was how for some reason, that stupidly warm, soft feeling on her lips felt nice. Pleasurable, even. But also, how the fuck she was getting off this island.

[meanbossart]

Okay, one more question on the Bhaalist Drow au, if you'll indulge. What happens in Astarion's mindthe immediate aftermath of the ascension failing (as in, right then but also up until the game's end). Do they bother showing up to Withers' party? How does Astarion go slip sliding down into a cowed version of himself over time? And, what I am most fascinated by in something like this, how do the other cultists, especially direct reporters to DU Drow, or like deputies, treat him? Does Astarion find he's confined certain places?

Sorry, thank you!

No apologies needed! This is a very fun scenario to play around in.

So, I'm not sure if Astarion would immediately realize that DU drow purposefully ruined the ritual, but regardless he would have realized that this is the outcome he truly wanted.

I imagine that after Du drow embraced Bhaal, Astarion would have gotten it into his head that he now must ascend so they will be on leveled ground, and fully capable of pursuing their plans of taking control over the sword coast together as equally powerful individuals. DU drow would have sold himself as completely behind this plan and supportive of the idea, eager for them to exert total control as the most dashingly evil couple in all of Faerun. And perhaps this was genuine for a day, before the fear of losing his grasp over Astarion began to settle in. He didn't voice this as all, of course, but as an avid manipulator himself Astarion would be able to tell post-failure that his support wasn't earnest.

And I think Astarion just panicked; going back and forth between convincing himself that he should be thankful to have someone powerful by his side, and just feeling like has no other option but to go along with it. Whether or not he thinks he can abandon DU drow successfully, the world has just become a much scarier place than before, and at least here he knows he has someone to take care of him - someone he should be fond of, even if time eventually proves him wrong.

For a while (weeks, if not months) Astarion would have appeared nothing if not pleased with his predicament. He has a man who is head-over-heels for him who also happens to be the head-honcho of a powerful cult, he has access to as much blood and violence as he pleases and the ability to entertain his fantasies of power and cruelty to their fullest. If there is anyone left who cares for him, he paints elaborate pictures of their routine together - of their outings, of their riches, of his exquisite quarters and their intense sex. He tells them that DU drow might be Bhaal's chosen, but he has him wrapped tight around his finger day and night and pretty much runs the show behind the scenes.

These are fantasies that he wants to others to believe in as much as he wants to convince himself of them, and a narrative that DU drow might even humor - he likes the illusion of Astarion being in control, but it can't ever be like that in practice - but reality is a lot more hollow. They have gold, and they have the expensive garments, and the sex is intense, but life has become a performance from morning until night and Astarion has completely lost the element of tenderness that he had grown to enjoy. DU drow loves him like a prized possession, like a novelty - a fragile ornament that only he knows how to handle, and no one else is allowed near.

Whenever there is push back, whenever Astarion wants to branch out, he is reminded of how vulnerable and small he is. How every day occurrences and objects can harm him, and that while DU drow may appreciate him for the man he is, others will take him for a simple monster. That It is much easier to stick by his side, sacrifice some of his freedom but be cared for than to risk exposing himself to harm. DU drow also constantly reminds him of the pain he would be in if anything were to ever draw them apart, and guilts him about what may happen if he was to die.

And as rebellious towards Cazador as he might have been, total servitude is a default he learned to fall back into in search of safety. It is easier to turn to old habits and simply accept his circumstances, surrender to them. At least here, he is never tortured, he is never physically hurt, and he is only sometimes verbally berated. He can deal with it as long as it is an improvement upon his previous situation. Slowly, he'd just become DU drow's yes-man, he'd concern himself constantly with pleasing him, looking desirable, acting desirable, fulfilling his fantasies and acting the part that's expected of him. From the outside it may even seen like he enjoys the life.

He is basically seen but not heard by DU drow's consorts. It's less about the respect that they may or may not have for him and more about the respect (or should I say fear) that they have for their leader. DU Drow would make it clear again and again that no one is allowed to touch him, he would be weary of anybody trying get too close, of being too friendly, even of staring a little too hard - he would kill and torture men over the most mundane of comments whether they be positive or negative until everyone is just too fearful of interacting with Astarion at all. As for people outside of the temple, he basically never has a chance to mingle without DU drow's watchful gaze over him (all for the sake of protecting him, of course).

I think Sceleritas would be the only person who can consistently interact with alone, since DU drow trusts him completely. The little goblin himself no longer sees Astarion as so much of a person, more so a possession; one that keeps his master happy and productive. So he extends the same amount of respect to him as he does to DU drow himself, and functions as a butler to both.

He also reports back to DU drow about Astarion's every request, every diversion from habit, every misplaced sigh and fluctuation in mood, every eye-roll. He knows the questions to ask to get the answers he wants, to interrogate him with poise on behalf of his master so he can make sure that his beau is always happy and content. Astarion realizes this learns to watch himself around Sceleritas over time too.

[fictionandfixation]

Older Bachelor headcanons!

Older Bachelor stardew headcanons because I’ve been playing lots recently! All sfw, some mentions of smoking/alcohol 💕 also please bear in mind I am no SDV expert, so sorry if these go against canon occasionally!

Harvey ☕️🔬📚

• Secret smoking habit that he would rather die than tell anyone about. Not often, but during flu season when he’s stressed, you can find him cooped up in his room with an imported cigar or a Marlboro Gold, an espresso and an Agatha Christie.

• Plays classic soul, funk, golden oldies and jazz in the foyer of the clinic on an old-timey record player, and chooses every day from his large record collection. Frequently irritates Maru with the extent of his Doris Day enjoyment.

• Kind of wide-set - very broad shoulders, and quite tall.

• Packets of salted peanuts and cookies on the clinic foyer desk which he restocks every week.

• Goes to fetch you personally from the mines or Skull Cavern sometimes when you get knocked out. And he also keeps a vintage forest green car behind the clinic to pick you up in. He hopes one day you’ll wake up on the way back and compliment his tasteful vehicle choice or notice he’s bringing you home. You don’t.

• Best friends with Evelyn. Worst enemies with George.

• Tennis player. Plays with whoever will say yes in the mountains and always manages to punt the ball into the lake somehow. Also used to be in a rock climbing club at university, and has sort of sinewy forearms as a result.

• Outrageous flirt after a few glasses of Pinot Noir, mostly because I think he’s on the spectrum but also because I think it would help him stop being quite so nervous.

• Brown suspenders. Every. Single. Day.

• Gives Jas and Vincent candy after their checkup.

• “Sweetheart/honey” as a nickname for you.

Elliott 📜🖋️🐚

• Striped. Matching. Pajamas.

• Finds, forages and cooks mussels when he needs to impress someone. And on that note, very much a French cuisine enjoyer.

• If blue cheese has no fans Elliott is dead.

• Rizz master. Silver tongue. Read so much romance when he was a teenager that it has actively become a part of his personality to be a book boyfriend.

• Very willowy and slender. Metabolism of the gods. Puts away food like it’s nobody’s business.

• Can read several languages, but just can’t master an accent so never uses them in a spoken context. Definitely a student of Latin.

• English accent headcanon! Probably spent the first couple of decades of his life in somewhere high-income like Warwickshire, or (more likely) Cornwall or Exeter, on or near the coast. I am also envisioning him as having been to an old collegiate university like Durham, or maybe a college at Oxford (Merton I reckon).

• Writes and then burns poems about everyone he’s ever been in love with. Starts keeping them when he meets you.

• Chats fashion history with Emily and Haley.

• Religious about his collection of cravat-style ties because he’s seen the Colin Firth Pride and Prejudice a few too many times.

• Frequent book club gatherings with Caroline, Marnie, Robin and Jodi (mostly because mothers love him, the main selling point here being that he has definitely read at least one Jodi Picoult book. He does not remember anything about it, he’s just glad to be invited).

“Dearest/my love” as a pet name.

Shane 🍺🍕🐓

• Snores. Very quiet about it though.

• I know a lot of people HC Harvey as oldest but I reckon it’s Shane. He also acts the most like a bitter old man whereas I feel Harvey is just ‘mature’.

• Could be convinced to grow a beard. Maybe.

• Goes for a jog three times a week. Hates it. Refuses to stop and really isn’t even sure why he does it himself any more.

• Secret Lana Del Rey enjoyer. Mainly a fan of Midwest emo, classic rock, nu metal and sometimes country but the kind of country where they sing about killing people and getting away with it.

• Raised by heavily Christian parents in the Deep South. Yes this is a Southern accent headcanon. Yeehaw.

• Lets Jas put eyeshadow on him sometimes. Shaves properly only when she wants to put makeup on him.

• Craft beer’s number one opp. Wants an ice cold tap Budweiser only, and if there isn’t enough head on it he will be asking for a refund. Not that Gus would ever do that to him.

• Has muscle with padding. Very strong, very wide in stature, but not lean at all. Biceps wider than your neck that you could (and would) use as pillows.

• Makes the most insane hangover breakfast known to man. Bacon. Pancakes. Sausage. Home fries. Butter. Syrup. You’re putting on a bit of healthy relationship weight for sure with Shane as your partner.

• “Darlin’/baby” user. “Sweet cheeks” as a joke. Kind of a joke.

Hope you guys enjoyed these!! I am down irretrievable for Older Bachelor content because I love ✨older men✨

Please let me know if you’d like some more for these characters or the other bachelors and bachelorettes!

[funthingsfortoddlers]

Tallowwood Park in  Highland Reserve in Upper Coomera has a fully fenced playground surrounded by a large green open parkland with winding walking paths and a large lake with Ducks and Turtles.

Find out all about it: www.funthingsfortoddlers.com/parks/tallowwood-park-upper-coomera/

[uhzuku]

— 𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐰 ; 𝐡. 𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧.

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: his skin was soft beneath your fingertips…

𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦: howl’s moving castle | 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: howl pendragon/gn!reader | 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: nsfw ; minors dni | 𝐰/𝐜: 0.92k.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: handjobs, petnames, gn reader, sub howl, dom reader.

— 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐦𝐞 !!

soft sighs of pleasure ring through the room as rain pelts against the nearby window. warm hands, so lithe and pretty and well-manicured, fist in silk sheets as the knot in the tummy of the man they belong to begins to draw tighter as ecstasy approaches. 

“o-oh — oh, oh-!” he whines, his hips bucking up slightly into the warmth of your touch. “yes — just l-like that!”

his desperate cries are music to your ears — you’d spent several hours in his bed at this point, playing the ever-talented musician to the ravishing instrument that was his body. your fingers had danced across his skin so perfectly, pressing and scratching and caressing the spots you knew to be the most sensitive to you, and the noises the actions had earned you were worth more than gold. 

even now your knowledgeable hands toy with the hot, hardened length of his cock, your fingers curled in a loose fist to jerk at his most sensitive flesh while your thumb teases his tip with the expertise of a seasoned whore. short-shrill cries and deep groans accompany his desperate pleas for you to let him finish, and you smile as you overlook the mess of a man that you had created.

you’d always found him more beautiful this way than any other, no matter how handsome he may have been in his coat and suits; no, him on his back for you while crying out your name to the walls of your shared bedroom as you lapped up his release despite his sensitivity was always much preferred. 

“howl, my darling,” you murmur softly, and he lets out a wordless whine and forces his head up from where he’d had it thrown back against his pillows with his hair fanned out around it like a halo in order to look at you through tear-lined eyes. “cum for me.”

he throws his head back again now as the words hit him, his back arching up off the bed beautifully as his orgasm rolls over him. a long, drawn-out cry of your name leaves his lips and the tears he’d been fighting off finally fall. a wicked part of you relishes the look of them rolling down his cheeks; whenever you had time to fully take him apart this way, you always strove to bring him to tears in one way or another. unfortunately for both of you, he was usually far too busy to take days like today off to spend with you, much less spend hours of his time with you pulling him apart and putting him back together again.  

you gaze up at his ecstasy-ridden form through hooded eyes from your place between his spread legs, watching the way his chest heaved and his mouth fell open as he called your name. a  smile lifts the corners of your lips upwards as you watch him fall apart, your eyes shining as the arch of his back softens as he slowly comes back down to lie flat against the bed. his chest still rises and falls dramatically with each heavy breath, and his taut stomach shines with the thick, pearlescent wetness of his release. his thighs tremble, and his hips rut upwards ever so gently — the motions are more twitches than any manner of thrusts, and they amuse you to no end as his breathing goes staggered as he comes down this time from his high. he’d been coasting the waves of pleasure for nearly forty seconds now — not an all time high by any means, but still quite impressive. 

“easy, darling, that was a big one,” you coo softly, your voice a mixture of comfort and teasing mockery. he whines in mock annoyance, casting an arm over his eyes to block out the sight of your playful smile. 

“don’t be mean to me!” he complains, his voice still breathy and light. you just chuckle, climbing up the length of his body before stopping to carefully straddle him, none of your weight on him as you pull his arm from where it lay on his face so you could look down at him. 

your eyes meet, and you find yourself drowning in the deep depths of blue that gazed up at you, still misty with arousal and sparkling with curiosity. “beautiful,” you find yourself murmuring, and his cheeks pinken slightly. 

“i know i am,” he says in mock pride, feigning whatever haughtiness he could in order to avoid you teasing him more for letting such a simple compliment get to him — he was a vain creature, after all, he knew that better than anyone. 

“you can’t fool me, sweetling,” you purr instead, making his eyes widen ever so slightly and his adam’s apple bob as he swallows hard when you lean down over him. your noses are almost touching, and there’s a wisdom in your eyes that he can’t deny — your knowledge of his thoughts, his habits, and everything that made him himself shines back at him, and he curls his toes a little instinctively as a familiar heat once again curls in his belly. 

you lift a hand and brush the backs of your knuckles across his jawline, and he melts into you like the finest honey does so into a fresh cup of tea; the wizard beneath you was putty in your hands as usual, and ready for another round once again. 

“t-take me,” he stutters through a sighs, “please. use me again, treat me like your plaything — y/n, i need it.”

you smile. 

“as you wish.”

𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 © { 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 } 𝐛𝐲 𝟒𝐈𝐙𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐒. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐲, 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞, 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭.

[sunsetkerr]

PITCHES AND FIELDS | s.kerr

summary: you are sam's biggest supporter and she is yours.. sometimes.

pairing: aflw!reader x sam kerr

notes: for my Aussies x

yourinstagram

liked by samanthakerr20, caitlinfoord and 30,391 others yourinstagram in perth watching the mrs put on a show, go tillies!

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samanthakerr20 you know I love an opportunity to show off ↳ caitlinfoord yes we know

user the crows girlies out for the night

alannakennedy loudest in the crowd ↳ yourinstagram sam sat me in general admission so I had to make sure you could hear me ↳ samanthakerr20 putting you in the nosebleeds next time ↳ yourinstagram and I'll be cheering for chinese taipei

user love this!!

user such a great game to watch too

clarewheeler I'm just glad you saw my goal ↳ yourinstagram I cheered the loudest for you x

yourinstagram

liked by samanthakerr20, maddinewman17 and 29,388 others yourinstagram roped sam into a recovery day on the boat with the team, photographer extraordinaire; @aflwcrows hire her

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user its a very good day to like women

mackenziearnold what's in that can skippa?? ↳ samanthakerr20 pre-workout ↳ yourinstagram or something like that

user sam being a lil afl wag is something so special to me ↳ user y/n needs a trade to west coast and she's set ↳ samanthakerr20 thats what I've been saying

caitlinfoord drown her while you're out, yeah? ↳ samanthakerr20 but then how would we win games?

matildas looking good mrs skip! ↳ user did.. did the matildas admin just confirm that they got married? ↳ matildas idk, did we?

samanthakerr20

liked by yourinstagram, maryfowlerrr and 893,128 others samanthakerr20 three goals today for my love, would look even better in blue and gold though 🦅🦅

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eaglesaflw can't argue with that ↳ crowsaflw we can..

yourinstagram how's that for a hat trick? ↳ samanthakerr20 my favourite one was when you were getting tackled to the ground and still kicked it ↳ yourinstagram just an elite athlete really, someone give me the ballon d'or

emilyvanegmond she's just that good ↳ samanthakerr20 stop, her ego is already so big

yourinstagram

liked by samanthakerr20, alannakennedy and 32,398 others yourinstagram had the mini me on the field today

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crowsaflw can't wait to have her wearing that guernsey when playing for us in fifteen years!

user I always forget that they have a kid???? ↳ user not just a kid that's marley kerr ↳ alannakennedy show some respect

samanthakerr20 she belongs on a football pitch ↳ yourinstagram if you actually look at the picture, you will see she is born to be on a footy field x ↳ samanthakerr20 we'll see about that ↳ yourinstagram what are you gonna do? sign her up to the sam kerr football academy??? ↳ samanthakerr20 don't have to sign her up, I know the owner

[poptod]

Curious Companion (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: You wake up in a museum and realize you're just a wax version of yourself. Your curiosity remains, and you find yourself entrenched in conversation with a millennia old Pharaoh.

Notes: its happy, then very sad, then happy again WC: 2.7k

+

The guards didn't care much about your section of the museum. Perhaps, you wondered from afar, it was because you looked and acted much like them––more humanoid than the little figurines or the puppets and stuffed animal skins. Regardless of what the three night guards thought of you, it did allow you more freedom than many of the other exhibits, for which you were grateful. Still, you didn't like them very much.

You awoke much like the other exhibits one evening, like you were ripped from your home and suddenly placed in a museum. The only difference was you had no idea why you were there; reading your plaque cleared things up only slightly. It had your name, and a profession you once thought of going into as a child, only for you to decide upon your entrance into college that it was a fabled dream. It also said that you were the young version of yourself, and that you would discover an ancient city on the coast of Egypt in your late 50's. Overall, the experience was strange. Few people were afforded a plaque telling them what they would do in their life.

Eventually, you realized that you would never accomplish those things anyway. The real you did––you yourself were a wax figure stuck in a museum in the year of 1992, and it was several centuries after your supposed death. Computers, although very informative, were very hard to figure out in order to obtain this information.

Knowing this––knowing you would never age, never accomplish anything yourself––did little to stifle your curiosity regarding the mystical land of ancient Egypt. You spent many nights combing the internet for information on Egypt, everything that had been learned between your existence in the early 20th century to now, nearing the 3rd millenium.

This research was only interspersed by your search for what exactly brought you to life. Avoiding the night guards seemed prudent, despite the fact that they might have answers, and thus you were left to your own devices to try and figure the mystery out.

After many weeks of no answers, you decided to trail the guards at a safe distance in hopes of overhearing some conversation. They mentioned a mummy––one you had not heard about being in the museum before––and a magic tablet. Immediately you left in search of this exhibit, excitement teeming at your fingers. If the magic worked to make everything alive, surely it would make the mummy alive. If every exhibit retained their memories from life, this mummy would have an immeasurable amount of knowledge about what ancient Egypt was really like, although you knew language may be a barrier. But it didn't stop you.

You searched the museum as thoroughly as you could––which took several nights, seeing as how large the museum was––and eventually circled back round to a place near your own exhibit, which you chastised yourself for. You were part of the exhibit on Egyptian history. It would make sense the mummy would be near you. But before you could even enter the room, the sun began to rise, and you hurried back to your exhibit to await the next coming night.

That next evening, you waited until the night guards came and went, laughing and play-fighting each other as they locked up each of the exhibits in turn. As usual, they skipped you. But once they were gone you snuck out of your casing, and headed towards the screaming you had heard the first time you found the mummy's room.

The sarcophagus rattled beneath the heavy stone, and the thick lock keeping it together barely moved as the deceased person shook and yelled with all their might. The statues of Anubis, carrying was-scepters and adorned in gold, only watched you as you slowly walked down the hall. You circled the sarcophagus, admired the carvings, and then moved to read the plaque.

Ahkmenrah was his name. A young Pharaoh from the Middle Kingdom. Discovered in the 1950's. Son of Merenkahre with a partially illegitimate claim to the throne. Suspected to be assassinated due to the wounds in his back.

You returned to the sarcophagus.

"Ahkmenrah?" You said quietly.

The screaming ceased, but the rattling did not.

"Can you hear me?" You asked.

He made a sound, which was completely incoherent, but was a confirmation nonetheless.

You didn't really think about what you would do once you got this far. Originally you had a plethora of questions in store, but thinking about it now, it didn't seem appropriate to launch all of them upon the encased Pharaoh. Being stuck in a cramped sarcophagus did not sound like a pleasant time, and you didn't even know if he would understand you.

"Do you understand me?"

"Arabic?" He suddenly said, and though his voice was still muffled, it was clear enough to understand.

"Yes," you said, shuffling forward in your excitement. "Is that alright?"

"I know English more well," he said.

"Oh. Um…"

Your english skills left something to be desired, but they would suffice. They did better with reading than speaking.

"My name is (Y/N)," you began in English. "Do you, um… do you know why we are… not dead?"

"Yes, of course I do," he said in perfect English. "Do you see that tablet up on the wall? It's made of gold. The light of Amun shines down from the top upon its' keys."

"Yes, I see."

"My father gave it to me, as a gift. It is imbued with the powers of the Great God Khonsu, may he live forever. It was meant to keep our family together but, as I am separated from my family, it keeps the museum alive. It keeps us safe," he said.

"Safe?"

"Protected. Away from harm, or getting hurt."

"Ah." You laughed. "Your English is better than me. How did you learn it?"

"Well, before I was here, previously I was stationed in Cambridge University for study. That's where I learned English, and Arabic, and Hebrew. I had a lot more freedom there… when I learned I was to be transferred to a city of New York, I was most agrieved. Now I see I had every right to feel such a way. Um, (Y/N), may I ask, who are you?"

"I'm the young type of a famous person. I read, when I am… when I was older, I found an Egyptian city on the shore of Egypt. The city was built after you died," you explained.

"I see. I have another question, if that's alright."

"Yes, it is. I have also questions for you, if that's alright," you said in return, earning a laugh.

"Yes, quite alright. But I go first. (Y/N), do you know why I am locked up?"

You sucked in a breath. It was fair that he would ask this question; you just weren't prepared to answer it.

"There are guards, that the museum has to keep things safe. They keep everything locked up. Only a little bit of us are not locked up. I am not. But the guards are not very nice. I don't like them," you explained quietly, leaning in to speak through the tiny crack between the coffin and its' lid.

"I see," he said, a hint of sadness lacing his tone. "Do you… do you think you could open up my sarcophagus?"

"Yes, I think," you said with a frown. "But they will hear. Then I will be locked up too, and so will you, for the rest of time. And we will not be able to talk again."

"… you're right," he said, and sighed. "I'm sorry. It's just very cramped in here."

"I know. I am sorry as well."

You visited him every night, year after year. Each night you both would have questions for each other; yours regarding his life in ancient Egypt, and his mostly personal and theological. His sense of humor was surprisingly vibrant considering his state of being, and you enjoyed your time with him immensely. He seemed to be the only exhibit in the museum with a true soul, which you attributed to the fact that he was an actual human made of bones and flesh, and not a figure carved from wax. Each passing month you yearned more and more to see his face; to know his entirety. Each year the longing grew immensely more painful. Still, every night you went to see him, and always avoided the night guards, who grew older and older as you stayed just as young as when you first awoke.

"I want to ask," you began one night, "what God you worship."

"I worship many Gods. My favorite, my most beloved Netjer is Nefertem. But He is not a very appropriate God for a Pharaoh to worship. As Pharaoh, I was set to elevate Ra and Khonsu as the ultimate Gods," Ahkmenrah explained, though his answer only led to more questions.

"You are not allowed to worship some Gods?"

He sighed, and you could practically feel him rolling his eyes.

"Some Gods are not popular enough for the people to rally behind. So in order to retain power as Pharaoh, you have to encourage a God the people already love and adore in great hoards. I don't think it's very right, personally. But it's the way things are done. Now, (Y/N), what God do you worship?"

You paused.

"Supposedly the Abrahamic one," you said. "My family is Muslim. They worship Allah, a supreme male God. I… have a.. complicated relationship with Allah."

Ahkmenrah laughed, and the lid to the sarcophagus rattled with him, similar to the high ringing of marriage bells sounding like the shackles prisoners wore clinking around their wrists and ankles.

"Do you know who Allah is?" You asked.

"Of course I do. I didn't spend all that time in Cambridge for nothing. He emerged after the preachings of the prophet Muhammed. I've always been curious about this one God who has so wholly encapsulated the world. It seems he is the only God people worship these days."

"Not everyone is Muslim."

"No, but everyone worships this God that came from the Israelites, yes? From the Israelites came Jesus, and the Christian God, who is the same as the Jewish God. After the Christians came Muhammed, and the Muslim God. They're all the same, are they not?" He said.

Your brow furrowed. You hadn't thought of it that way before––perhaps a product of your era. But he brought about a good point. Suddenly the fighting between the three religions seems superfluous and stupid.

"I guess so," you finally said. "There are other religions now, not only three. Hinduism and Buddhism are large in the east."

"I've heard of Hinduism. It's polytheistic, yes?"

"Yes."

"I enjoy that."

You laughed.

There was silence, and then Ahkmenrah spoke again.

"You don't really worship Allah though, do you?"

"My family does."

"Forget your family. Do you believe in this ultimate, male power in the universe?"

"… not really."

"Do you believe in any higher power at all?"

"Yes," you said, without really thinking it through. "I do not think about it much. Well, I have not, in my past. It is not… not right. But I am not sure what I believe in."

"Think about it. Tell me next time, alright?" He requested in a soft voice.

You reached out and touched his sarcophagus.

"Of course," you said.

Next time didn't come.

The night guards had grown old over the years, and the time had come for them to be replaced. They were bitter about it, you knew, and you had overheard their ideas to steal the tablet of your friend. You had few ideas on how to stop them; when the next night guard came, you thought to tell him, but he was grossly incompetent and quit within the first day. The museum ran through several new night guards––all of whom quit after seeing how the museum actually operated at night––until one man who was desperate enough finally returned night after night, trying his best and failing to lock up all the exhibits. Despite the chaos, you had been managing to sneak away to talk to Ahkmenrah whenever the guards weren't near.

The new night guard's incompetence, however, led to one of the exhibits escaping: a wax figure of an ancient hominid. The night of your conversation with Ahk, you noticed one of the figures missing from the exhibit, and saw an open window. You knew the new night guard would not be able to save the hominid, and somehow, although you'd never been told, you knew something bad would happen if they were outside when the sun rose.

You climbed out the window. Already the evening was fading away. You went running in search of the hominid, and tried your best to lure him back into the museum. As you reached the museum doors with the hominid in tow, the sun crested over the tops of the skyscrapers, and the both of you turned to dust.

…

Larry nearly got fired for losing two exhibits on one of his first nights, but all of that seemed like the distant past after his efforts in stopping Cecil and uniting the exhibits of the museum to work together in friendship. It seemed to him a great accomplishment––especially in the light of his son's happiness and the fact that he now had a job that was actually quite easy––and he prided himself on his work.

Ahkmenrah, the dead Pharaoh, however, was not as cheerful as he had been when he was released. He spent his nights searching every historical and scientific wing of the museum and never seemed to find what he was looking for.

One evening, Larry followed him, and finally spoke up.

"So… you seem to be… looking for something. Usually. Think I can help you find it?" Larry asked, his hands folded behind his back as he awkwardly approached the 4,000 year old Pharaoh.

"I had a friend, before you came," Ahkmenrah said, but didn't spare a glance away from scanning the different plaques. "Their name was (Y/N). They spoke to me while I was locked away. One evening, they didn't return. It was… somewhat recent. A couple days before you released me from my sarcophagus."

"(Y/N)? (L/N)? The historian?"

"I would think so. I think they were Arabic. I never saw their face."

"Yeah… I think I know who you're talking about." Larry pursed his lips and took a deep breath, preparing himself to deliver the news. "I'm sorry, Ahk. They escaped the museum and uh… didn't return before sunrise."

Ahk stopped moving. His eyes halted on one of the words he was reading: founded. A great sorrow filled up his heart, and took up the space where his breath would be, and filled his eyes where his sight once lay. All that remained was the sudden stillness, and the blackness in his mind.

"I see," he said quietly, attempting his best to stop his voice from failing. "Thank you, Larry."

He left, leaving Larry alone in the hall, and returned to his sarcophagus. He lay there for the night and did not move till the sun rose, and he froze in his death.

Some days later––perhaps a week or two––Larry found him sitting on the edge of the staircase, and led him upstairs. He would not say where they were going, but when they got there, Ahk had an idea of what had happened. Your plaque was put back in its' place, and standing in the glass encasing was you. You looked confused. His lips parted in a soft gasp.

They replaced you.

"Larry, what is this?" Ahkmenrah asked, furrowing his brow.

"Well, when McPhee saw that (L/N) was missing, he had another one made, and… well, here they are. Thought you might want to know," Larry said. When neither Ahk or you made any move, he continued with, "oh, let me just…" and unlocked your new casing. "There you go."

You looked at both of them, your wide eyes darting between the two strange figures as you placed your hands on either edge of the glass. Ahk offered his hand for you to step down with. You looked at his hand, and then back up to him, tilting your head to the side.

Despite your doubts, you took his hand. You asked something in Arabic––something Larry couldn't understand, but Ahkmenrah comprehended perfectly.

"Do I know you?" You asked.

"In a way," he murmured, unable to look away from you. You were shining in the usually harsh and unflattering light of the museum. He wondered how you would look in a perfect sunset.

"You seem… familiar," you said as though in a trance.

"I'll explain everything," he said softly. "Walk with me?"

"… alright."

He took your other hand, and the two of you left down the hall, staring at each other.

[astralnymphh]

before the flora.

knight!ellie x princess!reader teaser. beginning is essentially just lore. bonus excerpt with ellie and princess interaction below the sketch. wrote the intro in january. no warnings tbh. illustration by @trackinglessons :P READ THIS . PALESTINE MASTERPOST

When the universe was born, there was only fire; a slowly waning blaze. And so hence when death begins to unfurl its low, groaning bloom— there will only be ice.

Yet the heavens and earth are nay alike, as death— and life, are interwoven by the timeless nuptial that is humans, and Mother Nature. Cordial and tepid heartbeats meet with her frigid and frightening marrow this season. Flakes are falling, a howl swells in the wind, and hearths stay an undying tongue of flame in the province of Istenad. Isle of riches and hedonism gone rampant amongst those who proved meritful of a conversation spat over gilded chalices. Or those who wiped a famished tongue stroke over the sole of His Majesty— The King's tan leather boots in entreat, declaring the hide a tenfold more gullet–watering than their stale, daily spare of bread. Where high life reins, low life is there to scrub their steeds.

The wintry pearlescent tundra fringing around uncharted woodlands hums your name— it carries by gale, an airy reed of vowels pulled through your ears. 

Tut, tut, tut, the pecking of bark.

Everything seems to resound much heavier over the windows thick limestone sill. Woodwinds, the sough of pine boughs— a chorus wafted. Woodpeckers, they beat rigid timber with their sonnets of calling. The echoed tut starts to sound awfully kindred to a beckoning call of your name. And at daybreak, when the tangerine sun dips its head under the coast, you feel a magnetic lull to traverse your truest passions and slip away into the night, arctic chilled steel in hand. The quantity of hay sticking beneath your shoes collected by skittering across the night–doused thoroughfare was well enough to concern your maids on duty to dress you, brows fuddled at the streaming of straw near your door come morning.

Loop of your knuckles, bend of your wrist, a hand flexed on the hilt of a meticulously poached sword. A swing 'round your waist, a cold hale grip the air could taste, fighting off many mythic brutes of moonlight, however only conceived where dreams are airtight. The mind, it plays. The play it perceives, a viewing spread like tawny butter. Ghouls and ghastlies encircle a quaint pond, chanting away in cryptic grumbles and beastly bumbles, enraged with their slobber frothing at the fangs you tore from their sockets— deeper than artless, juxtaposed to the blinding ruby reds and dyed paper sunflowers of the theater. Your mind’s play felt real.

Unfortunate to your heart, dreams will stay dreams.

Nary a princess was meant to tune into melee, especially at your courting age. Nevertheless, your psyche has spurned from what a maiden is expected of and is completely in a haven of your own structure, your signature sanctuary. 

In the farmsteads, a forthcoming soldier harvests not just crop— but dexterity. Derived and nurtured in the faraway prairie village of Dunwich, where the fertile seasons prove flaxen of corn and the trickling sweat of every farmhand turns to gold. Any newborn granted to this quaint village is fated to form calloused hands with labor written in their palm lines as time unfolds. In their— well, her— adolescent years, the yearning for practices of gallantry in knighthood swiveled her sights to the colossal stone castle way.. way far away. Sprouting beyond the earth line, far as the eye can see.

So, she learned, she trained, she slept, partaking in a ranged cycle taught by her ruthlessly departed father: Sir Joel. Reprisal became her nemesis; never able to rend the barrier of hesitation and cleanse her shut eyes of revolting imagery. The horseman of death was not omitting the trauma of this hazel-haired soldier. A weight so burdensome, her speckled skin remembers the tales of every scar clawed into it. Like how the lips of a bard cling to an everlasting ballad.

Every knight knew well to exile any lingering ties to the past. It's been years since he passed, she understands that. Though, the heart never lies, and certainly never covets forgetting.

Ambitions stemming from legions of knights in waiting have fallen short, submerging within the moat of the castle and sinking deep into the catacombs with no elegy sung. An allegory for dreams long since vanished. A domain so valued longs for those biding life with rigid bones, such as she. Tempered by the hardships, endured like metal meeting the blacksmith's chisel. 

A vividness to her movements, flowing like a river. For it is water that soothes the most cosmic fires, carves veins into the earth's soil, descends from the heavens above and proves iron soluble. A knight so pinpoint and poised like a painter, yet so daring and baneful like a warrior of evenfall. An artisan of her craft, this knight-to-be is. Born to thrive in matters regarding protection of their kingdom and its nobility. By the sheer tenacity of her skill, she will excel. From the self–instructed lessons in a verdant pasture, basked by undying light in her hometown— to the ordained priming within the royal court. 

They were forged to be dutiful. 

You are a daughter of the illustrious King, Sagard, and swan–grace queen, Sagard— maiden name Adela, and sister of your highly revered and cherished kin, Prudence. Subsequent to her fabled rise, was your fall. A pratfall you plainly turned a serene ear from, for you foresaw its coming. Clandestine adventures and lollygagging in the marketplace earned you right in the clasp of consequences. You knew that, knowing it kept you on the balls of your toes before you'd be caught suiting into an act more repugnant— be it, no.. befogging yourself in a peasant boys' dire–in–muck rags, merely to play "boy" games as a young one? 

Sacrilege! 

Prudence was there, at every occasion, scolding with her youthful finger at the palace fore, sucking her fingertip wet of spit and dragging a stroke over your soot–strewn cheek, just before scuttling the halls in search of father, cawing, “Father, Father! My sisters become a boy again!” until it rang his fucking ears to a pulse. Hmph, father even countered his own remark of squawk, pouring through the walls, “Hah! The second son I wish I reared! Tell me, what peasants skin does she clad: butcher's boy, or of the farmer?”

Rebuking the role of royalty isn't your entire bastion of vengeance. You purely long for a world of your own color. Your self-brewn arcadia of art. In a concise phrase, desire for sovereignty. And your family chastised you curtly for every scant display of free will, short of the Queen, she is fair.

Daughter of the King, Princess of the thicket. You retain your fortunes. Modestly.

“Why don't you resemble your sister more?”

A ruby crested box designed by the best of goldsmiths is lodged at the margin of your beds footboard, safekeeping of your esteemed regalia. You possess a bedazzled amassing of circlets, veils, brocade and velvet tunics of long lengths within this box. But do any of them revel in the blessing of being worn on regal skin? Never. You opted for garbs of less gilding and jewels, so that you might taint it with whatever adventures mold under the ribbing of your foot. That shit offended your skin with its indelicacy of forgetting a human will don its fabric golds and woven jewels.

Even— court gatherings. You don the likeness of simplicity and temperate elegance. This morning's virginal aurora, a broach of light swoll from the windows arch, to the footing of your bed, made the wake of your eyes begin upon a lighting behind sheer skin. Your box of regalia shone in that incandescence momentarily. It danced, fleeter than you, irkingly so. You had to squint whilst flipping the clasps and hauling the heavy lid slanted against your bed, or else you may be heaven–blinded. “Every inch of Princess,” you intoned in quietude at the sight of glamored fabrics, “—whom I shant mirror.” and reached for the homelier fabrics, scratch of cobalt-blue linen delight brushing under your prints, you grasped your reserve tight.

“I was not made aware that there is a village wedding to be, dear sister— from what river does this dress of rags hail from?”

“It is not a brides dress, nor rags, leave me Prud—”

Prudence had blocked the shut of your chamber door with her hand flattened, pursuing, “You glum your gems. Rotting in that chest, tasting no light, no glory.”

You kept your lips thickly sown shut, casting dimly eyes to the ground.

“Shall I send for the steward so he may sell—”

“No need.”

“Hmm, most stubborn, are we? Then I—”

“I am least stubborn,” you wedged your fingers beneath her palm, prying the door loose, “—it is you, who strays your own counsel, unmoving as a mountain.” ending with the trudging shut of your door, ceasing in silence.

[++ bonus excerpt from act 2, scene 1]

“Uh–huh..” she draws out. Legato; a sarcastic reply, and wipes her tongue through the press of her lips together, “This far out? You must rebel quite often to have made a friend, I bet?” she tilts her head, a bit playful.

“You bet well— a lot, I assume?” 

Cannily, she winks, “Indeed I do.” and aligns her face onward. Gesturing to her horse's rump a second— third? Eh, whatever time— she jerks her brow with a head cock back, “Hop on, I'll take you there.”

Both brows fall, and you flinch bemused, “Wh– uh,” as you hem and haw for words, grating a stutter, “But not a moment ago you spoke of the roads recent perils—”

“Surely it's not far?” she spoke presumptuously, “I mean, you've come this far, My Lady. Nobody would travel the woods past sunset, besides you it seems.” now a matter–of–fact vocal barricade that shoves itself into your ears and winds the cogs to think cleverly.

You shan't know my transgressions, sweet Knight. You may talk.

Trust is sparse as a puddle marched in.

“‘Tis but a mile out. Bravo on your convincing, Williams.” you wry and scoff. 

“Can't fumble that name, huh?”

“I would not want to dishonor your knighthood.” 

“You honor me with your coincidental presence, Princess.”

“Honor in your mind.”

"Hmph," her breathy chuckle, a sweetness you luckily caught with ears even numbed by the snowsquall. Do not blush. Do not smile. Fuck. Guess you'll be visiting Malina after all, the gale of a displeased sigh icing your lips over as you approach that dangling stirrup.

[totalswag]

date night — RAFE CAMERON

authors note thank you so much for the love on my recent fic AND for almost 300 followers!!! it doesn’t matter if you guys leave a comment or not, seeing you guys interact by liking and rebloging makes me happy. i’ve seen a few writers write something like this concept before too.

requests are open

summary rafe takes you out every first friday of each month. this friday in particular, he takes you to one of your favorite restaurants in town then some ice cream for dessert.

warnings kissing, food, ice cream, and soft!rafe

You were finishing up your makeup then changed into your outfit for the night with your boyfriend, Rafe Cameron. You already curled your hair prior to doing your makeup because you rather get that over with first than makeup first.

The first Friday of every month, Rafe likes to take you out to dinner or anything else that comes to mind. Tonight however, he’s taking you to one of your favorite Italian restaurants. It's a fancy restaurant so you have to dress somewhat nice.

You don’t know where you found Rafe but you are glad that you have him because you don’t know what your life would be like without him in your life. He was the one who started this little tradition when you first started dating. At first you thought it was a one time thing but it began to happen more often.

I’ll pick you up at 8pm angel.

The time read seven thirty five which gives you sometime to get changed and walk downstairs to the front door. 

After getting changed, you headed downstairs where your family sat on the couch in the living room watching a movie. Your younger sister, who’s just turned four, gasps when she sees you enter the living room, and runs over to you.

“You look so pretty sissy” she giggles, putting both hands together, swinging them back and forth. 

You crouch down, “you are too sweet for this world” placing a soft kiss to her cheek.

She giggles, wrapping her arms around your neck, hugging you.

The sound of Rafe’s truck pulls up to your house. You tell your family and little sister goodbye and you’ll see them later whenever you get back.

Rafe stood by the passenger side of the car as you walked out the door and around the corner, holding a bouquet of flowers. Your body was filled with a warm sensation. That man never fails to make you smile.

“Everytime you give me flowers it makes me feel like its our first date all over again” you state while smiling. 

The smell of Rafe’s cologne fills your lungs. The scent he’s wearing is your favorite too.

You take the flowers from your boyfriend's hand, bringing them to your nose, they smell beautiful. You whisper thank you, stepping on your tippy toes to kiss his lips.

“Why do you always smell so good?” you groan, “makes me wanna do things to you” you add, wrapping your pointer finger around his gold chain. 

He chuckles, placing his hands at your lower back, pulling you closer, “mhm maybe you can do those things later tonight” smirking. 

“We better hurry up, we have reservations at eight thirty princess.”

This man makes me go insane.

He opens the door for you. He held your right hand while you lifted yourself into the truck. The truck is lifted, not too crazy.

You wait until Rafe is settled in the truck, then you start the engine and connect your phone to the bluetooth to play Lana Del Rey. 

One thing about you is that you love Lana Del Rey. You fell in love with her as soon as you heard her songs. You usually mention Rafe is written about Lana whenever you see him, which is all the time.

West Coast.

When the music begins to play, you both make eye contact. He gently rubs your left thigh with his right hand, sending goosebumps down your spine. You squeeze your palm on top of his while you sing along.

The number of people at the restaurant was outrageous. You were glad Rafe made reservations rather than just strolling in and waiting for an hour or however long it would take to be seated.

Rafe held onto your hand as you two walked to the front where the hostess was standing.

Italian music is playing all over the restaurant. The whole restaurant is made to look and feel like you are in Italy. A smile creeps up your face when you walk inside.

“Hello, I have a reservation for two under the name Rafe Cameron at eight thirty” he smiles to the young man behind the booth.

The young man nods then types in Rafe’s name.

“Right this way Cameron” he smiles, grabbing two menus, then leading you to your table.

Your waitress for the night comes to the table to introduce herself and asks if you two want anything to drink– you get two waters and wine to start off.

Rafe and you begin scanning the menu when you get seated. You go back and forth with each other about what sounds good. You end up going with pasta instead because the one you usually get fills you up.

“I might get the same thing but I'm still gonna look just in case I find something different” Rafe answers your question about what he’s thinking of eating.

In the meantime, Rafe and you were talking about Cameron Development and what it was like working for the family business.  Rafe has been working for his father for six months. It's been hard, but he's trying to build a life for himself and the two of you one day so you can have your own place one day. 

Thirty minutes later, your waitress brought Rafe’s and your food.

The minute you got your food your mouth was already drooling by the food sitting in front of you just waiting to be eaten.

You took your phone out of your purse and took a picture of the food and Rafe setting his wine glass down before picking up his fork. Rafe's toothy smile comes instantaneously as he hears the clicking sound from your phone. 

“You have to take a picture of everything, huh?” He jokes, shaking his head.

“If the pictures involve you in it, I’m definitely taking it” You reply, tilting your head to the side, winking.

After dinner, Rafe and you walked over to an ice cream shop. Where the restaurant is located, there’s a shopping center with food and desert.

The inside was filled with people ordering and sitting inside.

Whenever you get ice cream together, you always get mint chocolatechip in a cone and Rafe always gets lumberjack in a cup. There was enough sitting outside for the both of you. 

The night sky looked beautiful– stars filled the sky, the moon shining bright as always, the sound of crickets coming from every direction.

“Thank you for tonight baby, I love you so much!” Whispering in Rafe’s ear before kissing his lips softly. 

“Anything for my girl” he smiles down, wrapping his free hand around your lower waist, pulling you closer to his body.

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