#massive formal entry

[iamjamieswife]

Traditional Entry - Foyer Inspiration for a huge timeless medium tone wood floor entryway remodel with white walls and a dark wood front door

[bump1nthen1ght]

A Seat at the Table (F!Reader x M!Monster Warlord)

Pairing:Fem!Reader x Male!Warlord Monster

Genre: High Fantasy

Warnings: Misogyny, Slight Infantilization, Non-Con, Sexual Harassment

Word count: 2498 words

Summary: After years of hard work, you finally found your way into an advisory position on the King’s Court, pushing past the forced walls put against your sex. Unfortunately  for you, the Warlord besieging your country has just requested parlay.

Request: I would like to request a story if that's okay.

A female messenger entering peace talks/parlaying with a ruthless male warlord to leave their lands. The warlord is a build-a-monster of your own creation. All I ask is that he's big and threatening looking. Get creative!

He is so uninterested in the idea of not conquering that he starts rubbing one out on his throne at the sight of this cute little human in front of him and he tells her about all the ways he's going to claim her when his armies march in. How she should be so honored when she gives birth to his future heirs.

Naturally she's not too into the idea.

But I certainly am.

A/N: I just realized I never gave this guy a name! Feel free to drop suggestions in the comments ;)

You have suffered many indignities in your life.

It had been the natural course of things ever since you were born a girl, and it had increased tenfold when you set your mind on becoming a member of the royal staff. Not as a maid, no, but as a political advisor.

You had to withstand years and years of sneers, derision and borderline harassment. Suffer through academic debates and disputes with men half of your intellect and watch them get opportunities twice as quick. You suffered through flat out refusals to teach you, not unless you wrote a 10 page essay on why you were qualified, when others merely had to show their school and last name.

So you don’t flinch when the king asks for someone to engage in peace talks. While everyone else cowers away, coming up with vague excuses and diversions; Actions that would have gotten you kicked off the council in seconds. You don’t flinch when the knights escort you to the carriage, or when the monstrous tyrant's own army escorts you out of it and to his war tent. You don’t acknowledge the various catcalls and salacious comments from his men as you pass by, and you certainly don’t flinch when his own vizier refuses to let you pass.

“I am afraid I don’t understand.”

The vizier rubs his brow, clawed paws looking dangerously sharp in the candle light.

“Like I just said, ma’am, the king asked for-”

“The king’s message asked for parlay, His Majesty sent a messenger from his own court. Like I said, I fail to understand why I am denied entry.”

“He did, but he didn’t ask for-”

“What?” You dare him to say it, looking right into his yellow, slitted eyes. 

His shoulders slacken, eyeing up and down your formal attire. He seems to accept something, either your insistent nature or the punishment he’ll get from letting you in. Either way, he steps aside, pulling back the tent flap.

“Thank you.”

You give a half-curtsy, double what the low-life deserves. He mutters something in his monstrous language as you walk inside, something that makes the warriors escorting you chuckle. You ignore it.

You’ve dealt with men like this before, you’re trained in letting it roll off your shoulders.

You let the curtain flap fall behind you, surprised the vizier doesn’t come to follow. In your experience men like that typically put their slimy noses in everything. But whatever, that’s one headache you can avoid.

The inside of the tent is gaudishly huge, fitting for the ornate throne in the center holding an even more decorated monster. 

Furs and pelts cover the warlord’s massive shoulders, his chest decorated in gleaming armor. It shines still despite the chunks and blood stains speckled across it, old and dried. His leather skirt barely covers his massive thighs, furred legs spread debaucherously apart. One set of arms sits discontentedly across his stomach, crossed tight. The other has one hand slung lazily over the side of his chair while the other currently picks fresh meat out of the lord’s sharp canines, his large muzzle curled back in a sneer. Just as boorish and snarling as you expected.

Relax, he’s just like any man. 

You try to picture him as the braggadocious generals you’ve seen before, just with far more teeth and an extra set of arms. They have the same amount of class, the lord still digging through his mouth like a common fool.

“Greetings, My Lord.”

You fall into a curtsy, finally catching the bored tyrant's attention. Your head is bowed, feigning respect, but you still see his long tail flicker with interest.

“Oh?” The lord finally sits up, cross arms unfurling to lay on his spread thighs. They draw a line of attention straight to his center, one you refuse your eyes to follow. “I wasn’t aware I would be having my dessert sent so early.” A long, ribbed tongue licks up at the lord's chops. You knot your fists on the inside of your cloak, refusing to let the seed of terror sprout in your stomach.

“I am the envoy from the Kingdom of Magistra you requested my lord. I am here to discuss the terms of compromise.”

“You?” He asks, incredulous, eyes looking you up and down. You forcefully simmer the heating anger in your stomach. First the vizier, now this? Gods, is it so unfathomable that a woman could engage in politics? “Hmph, I was expecting a decrepit old man, not a pretty little vixen.”  Those canines gleam as the lord's mouth wires into a smile. Far too wide, far too sharp. “Though I am not complaining.”

Just a man, same as them all.

Swallowing an insult, you continue with a professional tone. “Either way, I wanted first to discuss the possible benefits of aligning-”

“Hah! Benefits, benefits you say?” The lord cackles, slapping his knee at the very idea. “Tell me, what possible benefits are there from supplicating to that absolute babbling fool of a king of yours? A cowardly army, too sniveling to even die valiantly for their home? A mere sliver of your resources, hardly enough to support me and my men?”

You quirk a brow, fist knotting even tighter within your cloak. A part of you had expected this. The detailed reports of the bloody battlefields painted the picture of a man who thought himself close to a Deity, too large to care for those he crushed under his feet. 

But the greediest of men are often at the sway of their own vices; Whether it’s land, gold, power or pleasure, you just have to find that one thing they want to make them crumble. No man fights for nothing, after all.

“His Majesty is willing to bargain with you for a sufficient deal, my lord. I’m sure that whatever you desire, His Majesty would be willing to consider it to bring an end to the conflict.” You’re actually not sure of that, knowing how proud men pushed to the brink could be. But you need to win some ground first before setting boundaries, stroke his ego and make him feel like he’s coming out on top. “Is that not why you requested an envoy, my lord? I’m sure your men must be tired, as our kingdom is. There is a way we both benefit from this bloodshed.”

“Ah, I understand why you would think that, messenger bird.” You don’t let the diminutive title hit you, even as the warlord slouches back in his seat, arms splayed over the sides. A burning gaze rolls up and down your body, you bat away the urge to pull your cloak tighter. “Your kingdom is run by cowards, after all. Abandoning their posts, fleeing from death. Those boys of yours have no sense of glory, of bloody victory.” A clawed hand lovingly brushes against a blood spot on his tunic, as if recalling a particularly vicious memory of combat. “You have shown the most courage so far, envoy. Walking into an enemy camp, alone and undefended, with only your words to protect you. Quite brave, indeed.” 

The warlord’s eyes finally meet you directly, though it doesn’t inspire the feeling of respect it should. His eyes are covetous, hungry.

Your stomach flips. Your palms grow clammy, it takes everything in you to take a step backward. You realize how small this tent is, how surrounded you are.

Fuck.

Despite your efforts, the lord’s nose curls, smelling your nerves. 

“So no, little lady, I do not send for this envoy to bargain. I sent it to remind you and your king of their proper place in this war.” The warlord's upper pair of hands go up behind his head, held in an infuriating pose of relaxation. “As my future subjects.”

“But, you must realize-”

You struggle for some logic, the well-practiced variations and evidence you brought with you, but the lord is wholly uninterested, waving a hand away.

“The only thing I realize is how fun it is going to be to finally seize that glittering castle of yours. Nowhere to run, maybe me and my soldiers will get a proper fight out of this after all.” Those eyes roll up and down you once again. Your layers of clothing don’t feel like enough protection. “How delicious it will be to claim my prize.”

Words escape you, locked on his brutal smile. It’s only then you notice his second pair of hands have slipped under his tunic, and are-

“Oh!” Your face grows hot, stumbling backwards as the warlord begins to unapologetically pleasure himself. The muscle across his jaw feathers as he grips the base of his cock, slowly stroking it up and down. You can almost see a peek of it from under his tunic before you force your eyes away. But there’s no ignoring the sound, the slick of his sweaty palm moving.

“Yes, I’ll savor you the most, sweet messenger bird. I have no interest in weaklings, but I’d love to see you break on my cock.” The warlord spreads his thighs even wider, pupils blown out at your flustered face. “I’m sure you’ve never been fucked properly, little lady. Those cowardly men of yours couldn’t pleasure you even if they tried.” 

Your body feels locked in place, still too shocked to even process. 

You have suffered many indignities in your life, but never anything like this.

“I wonder what you’ll sound like, bent in half and stuffed full. Will you fight to the end, or moan like a taken woman? Ungh-” The lord humps into his hand, pace growing sloppy as something squelches. “-Wouldn’t you like that? Getting split open on my cock? On your back, on your stomach.” 

You finally find the courage to move, scrambling back to the tent's entrance. Your hands knot around the fabric and wrench it open, nearly tripping over your long skirt. The warlord cackles, no doubt eyeing up the glimpses he gets of your behind.

“You should be honored, little human! You’ll being fucked full of my heirs, after all. Strong boys of course, a whole d-damn litter.” The slapping sound of his hand, moving faster than before accompanies his stuttering voice, hips jerking as he gets closer and closer.

Sunlight nearly blinds you as you burst back into the open, running as fast as you can back to your carriage. The vizier let you pass easily, no doubt a smirk on his face. Soldiers cackle and grab at your skirts as you dart past, but none of them in earnest. It’s a fear tactic, nipping at your heels to make the sport more enjoyable.

You all but leap into the carriage door, slamming it behind you. Your weak voice urges the driver to go, get you home as fast as possible.

There has to be a solution, something, something. Something he wants, something other than-

Other than total victory.

The warlord’s laugh, those sharp teeth never leave your mind. Even as you return to the castle town, wondering what you’re going to tell the council. You wrack your brain, hands tugging at the roots of your hair, trying to force the ideas to the forefront. 

Please, gods, let there be something.

—

The castle is the first thing they attack.

There’s an utter panic when they do, servants and staff screaming as they try to find a hiding spot, some route to flee. Particularly loyal knights try to prioritize the nobility, but many falter under the overwhelming threat of the invaders. The smallfolk are left to fend for themselves, wondering how they got caught up in all this.

That’s how he found you, hidden in a closet with a gaggle of lady’s maids and chefs, trying their best to stay quiet.

“Sing for me, my messenger bird.” The warlord pants, nails digging into your ankles up by his neck. The fresh blood smears across your skin, already starting to dry. “Fuck, you’re even tighter than I imagined.” He laughs, his second set of hands pressing deep circles into your waist, no doubt leaving bruises. 

Dried tear tracks run down your cheeks, your bottom lip nearly chewed straight off. You’re already being defiled, in the king's bed of all places, you can’t relent and humiliate yourself even more by moaning. No, this bastard can’t have everything.

“I said-” his nails dig into the side of your ankle, dew drops of blood beading at the skin “-sing.”

“Gods!” You scream, the sharp pain of claw on bone clawing at your throat The feeling of a long tongue lapping at the wound doesn’t help, nor does the sensation of a cock brutalizing your cervix. The warlord’s pace is as brutal as his battle axe, piercing you open with every thrust.

“Hnng, yes. Take your lord’s cock sweetling, take it.”

He speeds up, hands stretching your body into a mating press. His clawed feet brace against the bed, tearing long holes in the fine fabric. The paintings on the walls shaking in their frames as the heavy bed moves up and down. A long tail wiggles like a snake, unmistakably giddy as the warlord devours his quarry.

The light pressure of his claws on skin forces you to release those breathy moans, the squeaks and the yelps as he hits so deep inside you. But it isn’t enough for him, a hand sneaking down and rubbing at your clit.

“No-o! Too much!” Your hips wiggle and struggle but the lord’s grip is iron, still draw tight circles on your sensitive button. The pinpricks of his claws send goosebumps up and across your stomach, but you’re not from fear or pleasure.

“Uh-uh, I want you creaming on this cock before I fuck you full, darling.” He flicks at the button, focusing his cockhead to hump right against your g-spot. “Have to make sure my seed takes, pump you full of my heirs.”

A fuzzy static falls over your brain, skin feeling tingly as a familiar feeling creeps up.

No, no I can’t! Not for him!

But the body does what it wants, the combination of his fast thrusts and deft fingers enough to send you tumbling over the edge. Your hips buck up, chasing the sensation until the very end. The warlord no doubt smiles, cackles as your cunt finally submits, but your eyes are furrowed and you miss it. 

“Here it comes!” The warlord tosses his head back as he fucks you the hardest he can, the giant royal headboard pounding against the wall. “Fuck, yes!”

What feels like a gallon of cum dumps into your pussy, spurting out the sides and across the velvet blankets probably worth more than a year’s salary. The grips bruises into your ankle as he grinds his hips into yours, sticking to his word and making sure not a drop is wasted.

“Hah, hah…” The warlord pants, sweat sticking his fur against the back of your legs. “What a prize you are indeed, my little messenger bird.”

[shelby-fangirl00]

An Unexpected Client-One Shot

Summary: Reader is a prostitute working at a party when she meets Thomas Shelby.

Warnings: Little plot, smut, prostitution (MINORS DNI)

Word Count: 2524

Let me know what you guys think of this one! Trying to get better at the spicy stuff lol

You plopped down on an empty red couch near a darker corner of the dimly lit room. You and a hand full of other women had been hired by a wealthy Russian family to work a party tonight. Your wages were paid upfront for an entire night of service to any and all men at this party. Since you’ve been doing this for a few months now, you had seen a lot already, but the money was better than any other job you had before, so you did it. Most of the men you serviced now were regulars and didn’t give you much hassle, but every now and then, you had to work at parties like this. It wasn’t something you looked forward to doing, as it was a bit abrasive and taxing on you, but it paid better than usual nights. Usually, the men would tip on top of what you were paid upfront. 

You looked around the room, seeing several naked Cossack men bending the working women over tables and couches, pounding aggressively into them. Loud music attempted to drown out the insistent moans and grunts coming from every inch of the massive room. Nobody had noticed your entry into the room yet, which you were relieved by. You wanted to be aware of your surroundings before you were put into action. 

Usually, at these types of events, it was custom for you to wear nothing but dark lingerie. By the time you were needed here, formalities had been stripped away hours ago, so there was no need to be modest now. So, you threw on a size too small bra, panties and stockings. Your hair and bright red heels making you stand out. 

‘Care for a drink?’ Said a deep voice. 

The man was standing in front of you, holding out a glass for you to take. He stood out from the rest of the men here, he wasn’t Cossack. You could tell by his clothes and his exposed gun holsters that he was wealthy, so you perked up. 

‘Thank you, sir’ You smiled at him as you took the glass, straightening your back and crossing your legs suggestively. He leaned into the couch, opposite of you, eyes devouring the sight of your exposed body. 

He was very handsome. It wasn’t every day that you were able to entertain someone like him. Most of the men you saw were older businessmen and factory workers. You were very attracted to him, but you tried to push your nervousness and feelings aside, as this was a job for you. 

‘Tell me your name, love.’ He commanded softly as his eyes finally found their way back to your face. 

‘My names y/n, sir.’ You cooed out. You paused, hoping he’d tell you his name too. 

‘Tommy Shelby. Tell me, why is it that you’re the only girl in here who hasn’t been claimed by any of these men?’ He asked genuinely. 

‘Your guess is as good as mine… I think I look the part, no? you giggled out, trying to seem more charming and less nervous. 

He chuckled at this. ‘That you do, love…’ He said while placing a firm hand to softly grip your thigh. It was as if to tell you that he was in fact, the man that would be claiming you tonight. 

Excitement flooded your body, your stomach turning in knots. You couldn’t help how your body was reacting to Tommy. There was just something about him, the way he carried himself, the way he talked and looked at you …it all caused a thumping in your chest and a wetness to form in your panties. 

You placed your hand on top of his. Guiding his hand up your thigh to cup your mound, you showed him the wetness that was seeping through your thin panties. 

‘Do you want to fuck me, Mr. Shelby?’ You uttered out, inhaling deeply as he began to rub against the wetness through your panties. 

His eyes sparkled with pure desire as he looked into yours. A devilish grin covered his face. 

‘I do, very much.’ His thick accent rolling off his tongue. 

As he pulled his hand out from in between your thighs, you took the chance to drop to your knees in front of him.

‘Not here, love. We’ll go to my room, yeh?’ He stated as he helped you up from the floor. People were fucking all around us. I didn’t see why he was being so modest. Maybe he didn’t like all the eyes in the room. 

You let him lead you into an attached bedroom that he must’ve been staying in tonight. You felt like you’d struck gold getting to be with the most attractive man here, and in private. He had you all to himself now. 

He locked the door behind him before walking towards you with stride, examining every inch of your body. Goosebumps covered your arms as he did so. 

You waited for him to instruct you. 

He pulled you into him, laying hungry kisses and soft bites onto your neck, a small moan escaped you. You threw up your hands to rest on the back of his neck. You suddenly realized you were enjoying this far too much. 

You pulled away and dropped to your knees in front of him. His eyes watched your every move and yours never left his. 

You slowly unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants, letting his anticipation build. 

His cock sprung from his pants, already hard. You smirked at his eagerness, wrapping your hand at the base. You looked up at him needily, swirling your tongue around the round head of his cock before pushing your lips past it. 

Tommy let out a low groan as he pushed his hand into your hair. His eyes were heavy with nothing but desire and need. 

He pushed softly into your mouth, filling you more and more, almost reaching the back of your throat. He paused for a moment, letting you adjust to his size. Tears stung your eyes as you tried to relaxed your throat, allowing him to easily push in and out of your mouth. 

‘Fuuuck yes, love…you’re doing so good for me.’ He moaned out while tossing your hair to one side, gripping it. He used his other hand to caress your cheek, reveling in the sight of you wrapped around his cock. 

You moaned into him as a response to his words. It felt so good to make him feel good. You wanted more. 

As you pulled back, you began to bob your head up and down his shaft, pressing your tongue against the underside of his cock. Your hands wandered up his tight stomach, balancing yourself against him.

Without warning, he dragged himself slowly out of your mouth with a soft pop. You looked up at him, a bit confused.

‘Lay down, on the bed.’ He commanded you, a darkness casting over his eyes. You did as you were told, sliding your soaked panties off as you did so. 

He stood in between your spread legs, marveling at the sight of you. 

‘You’re so fucking beautiful.’ He panted out as he pushed his holster off his shoulders and onto the floor, his eyes never leaving yours. You sat up to unbutton his shirt quickly. You pushed the shirt down and off his broad shoulders, exposing his muscular chest. 

He pushed you back down forcefully onto the bed, leaning over you as you wrapped your thighs around his waist.

As his pretty face hovered over yours, he pressed his lips onto yours. The kiss sent sparks to your head. He tasted like whiskey and smelt of cigarettes. You flicked your tongue into his mouth, causing him to let out a small groan as he pushed into your lips. 

As he kissed you, he lined himself up with your dripping entrance, letting the tip glide against your slick folds, collecting the wetness. He teased your entrance, popping the head of his cock in and out of you slowly. He was driving you crazy. 

‘Please Tommy, I need you inside of me.’ You panted out, not being able to wait any longer. 

Tommy chuckled and smiled softly. All at once, he pushed into you forcefully. You gasped, breath getting stuck in your chest as you adjusted to his size. 

‘You’re so fucking tight around my cock, aren’t you? Such a good little whore for me.’ He said lowly into your ear as he fucked into you fast and hard.

 You could barely make out any words. You felt so full with him inside you. You hadn’t felt this good during sex in a very long time. Sex wasn’t supposed to be enjoyable for working girls like you. You were supposed to service this man, but it felt like he was servicing you.  

As your body adjusted to him, you quickly threw off your thin bra, exposing your hard nipples. 

Tommy dipped his face down into your chest, cupping your tits as he swirled his tongue around your nipples, sucking lightly on them before coming back to your face. 

He continued to fuck into you, lifting your ass slighting off the mattress in order for him to push even deeper into you. You clung to both of his biceps tightly, trying to keep yourself from moving around too much. 

Before you could comprehend what was happening, he pulled out of you and stood up. 

‘On your knees, now.’ He growled at you, panting as he did so. 

You happily moved to your hands and knees, your bare ass on display for Tommy. 

He came up behind you, letting his hands brush down your spine and the curve of your ass, landing in between your legs. He slowly started to rub circles onto your swollen clit. You jolted slightly under his touch. No client had ever tried to pleasure you. You felt like you were doing something wrong. 

‘Tommy, please. I’m here for you, not myself. Let me help you feel good.’ You said seductively, pushing your ass into his groin. 

‘This makes me feel good, so shall I continue or should I stop?’ He whispered again, sending a chill down your spine. You couldn’t argue with this, though. His whispers were impossible to deny.

You nodded your head silently, causing him to continue rubbing against your sensitive nub, more forcefully. His two finger drew circles, making you even more wet than before. 

‘Fuck Tommy…please don’t stop.’ You moaned loudly, still on your hands and knees. 

Then, he shoved his cock into you, picking up the pace quickly. You gasped loudly as he thrusted into you while rubbing your clit menacingly. All of it was too much to hold onto, you needed to cum. His hands, roaming your body, rubbing you, fucking you, his whispers…he was sending you over the edge.

‘Tommy..oh god, I’m gonna cum Tommy, don’t stop!’ You yelled out as he fucked you even more forcefully than before, resting his chest on your back and his face nuzzled into your neck as he worked to make you cum. The sounds of skin slapping together echoed through the large room. 

A wave of warmness ran through you before you let out a strange moan, not being able to control yourself. Your walls clenched tightly around his cock, molding them together. You came harder than you ever had, around him. He held you up by your waist as your legs shook from on your knees. Tommy didn’t stop fucking you though, he was chasing his own high now, which you could tell was close. 

‘You sound so fucking pretty when you cum.’ He said roughly as he pounded sloppily into you. You lifted yourself from your hands, pushing your back against his chest as he fucked you. He grabbed and squeezed your tits, craning your neck around to meet his freckled lips. He kissed you sloppily, his tongue invading your mouth and refusing to leave. He hooked is hands into your arms, keeping you in place.

‘Are you going to cum, Mr. Shelby? Cum all over my face?’ You asked him greedily, but also asking him to not cum inside of you. 

‘Is that what my little whore wants? You want that pretty face covered in me cum?’ He said more loudly. You could feel him getting so close. His strokes were becoming more and more sloppy. 

‘Yes, please, yes! Come on my face Tommy! Please!’ You yelled out, wanting to be covered in his warm liquids so badly. You wanted to taste him. 

Suddenly, he pulled out. As he did so, you quickly swung around to lay on your back as he hovered over your face, stroking out his own orgasm. You opened your mouth, stuck out your tongue and closed your eyes. Ropes of warm cum splattered across your face and onto your tongue. He whimpered as he finished himself off, watching you greedily lick the cum off of your face.

As he emptied himself completely, he approached you, taking his thumb and collecting some of the leftover cum on your face, and shoving it into your mouth. 

You sucked every bit of liquid on his thumb, staring back up at him as you did so. 

You both stood there, naked and panting, trying to understand what had just happened. 

‘You’re good at what you do, woman.’ He said quietly as he tenderly cupped your face and kissed you softly. You lightly squeezed his waist. 

‘Thank you, Tommy, that was fucking amazing, I have to say.’ You said sweetly to him as you went to stand up and put back on the little clothing you had before.  

‘The fuck are you doing?’ he asked, still standing where you left him, naked. 

‘I…have to keep working tonight Mr. Shelby.’ You said as you tied your bra in the back. 

‘I’ll pay ya whatever the Romanov’s did for the night, you’re not seeing anyone else but me, here. You’re mine for the night, alright?’ He said sternly, raising an eyebrow in your direction.

You were shocked but also very excited that he had enjoyed being with you, so much so that he would double your wages just to stay with him. 

‘You’re being serious? I chuckled out, hoping to God he was. 

‘Come on love, lie down with me.’ He gestured to you to follow him under the silky sheets of his bed. You smiled as you giggled over to him, snuggling your face onto is chest. His body was so warm and inviting. He rested his arm on your back, stroking the exposed skin with his rough fingers. You had never felt so protected and wanted by a client. You definitely weren’t supposed to be doing something like this, but you couldn’t help yourself. It just felt so right being around him and he seemed to enjoy your company, so what was the harm? 

You both said nothing or did anything else for the rest of the night. You both fell asleep in each other’s arms, without any interruptions, feeling extra lucky that you decided to work this party after all. 

[miss-celestia13]

Mask On

Jake x MC - Smut One-Shot

The lovely @hacked-by-jake asked if I could write a smut scene inspired by this meme. I said yes, it’s been a while, and it was a lot of fun; I missed writing smut 🤭 all credit to HBJ; I wrote it, but it was her meme that inspired me enough to do so!

It's sex against a window! So they can watch themselves. And Jake can enjoy the visual of MC coming apart for him while wearing his mask.

It’s also available on Ao3.

With that out the way, I hope you enjoy it 🥰

The MC here is my Manon from Marked Me Like a Bloodstain and other stories. But you don’t have to read those to be able to read this. This is more of an “in another life, we might’ve done this instead” type of thing. It doesn’t fit their current timeline and can be read as its own story.

It is a dual POV. The names are in bold when they change.

———————-

The elevator ascended in slow motion. Or felt that way to Manon. She was a ball of frenetic energy as she stole glimpses of Jake from her periphery and edged ever closer. He was remarkably tight-lipped despite the filth that spilled from his lips a mere 24 hours before they arrived.

They were rising to the top floor of a swanky apartment complex he’d brought her to from the airport. She’d known he had a base home hidden in the city and was aware he had money stashed in secret accounts and cash buried in multiple places in Duskwoods forest. However, upon seeing this fancy building, she realized he was wealthy as she caught sight of the formally dressed doorman who required ID on entry and observed the expensive marble floors, polished to a dazzling shine, as they walked over them.

A thousand questions swirled in her overactive mind, but she kept it all inside as the elevator came to a sharp stop. Jake turned to her, a bashful smile curling the corners of his full mouth.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been here. It might be a bit of a mess.” He said, sounding uncertain.

She sidled closer, slipping her hand into his to squeeze, and smirked as she replied, “After all we’ve been through, do you really think a little dust will frighten me?”

He chuckled, lovely and deep, and she fought off a shiver as he led the way out the open doors and into a red-carpeted hallway. The beat of her heart went out of time as they approached a black door, and Jake took out his keys. She let go of his hand and stepped back, pretending she didn’t notice how his hand shook as he turned the key.

An eardrum piercing, loud, robotic screech sliced through the peaceful quiet between them, and Jake hurried inside, beckoning her with a hand as he punched in the code to shut off the alarms.

“Well, that would wake the dead, never mind frighten off an intruder.” She joked to lighten the tension, settling on Jake’s shoulders as he loosed a sigh once the alarm silenced.

As he said, “I couldn’t let myself get caught unawares,” he reached up and scratched the back of his neck, continuing, “It had to be loud enough that I’d hear it through my headphones.”

She nodded as they kicked off their shoes, surveying the expansive apartment as Jake locked the door. Her eyes skipped the other closed doors she assumed led to his bedroom and the room she’d seen in their first video call. The sparsely furnished space held little personality; the most dominant feature was a massive dark couch by the floor-to-ceiling windows.

She suspected the stretched around the whole building.

“I’m guessing they treat those windows in a way that allows only you to see out and prevents anyone from looking in?” She asked when Jake seemed anxious about her thoughts on how he once lived.

He gave her a sly smirk and slid a hand around her waist to guide her into the living area before he spoke. She watched him in the window reflection.

“You guess right. I can’t have a drone appearing outside and catching sight of me.”

She wanted to cry for him, but knew he wouldn’t want her pity. Manon did what she did best—distracted him.

“And where do exhausted hackers sleep when they finally run out of caffeine?”

With a suggestive brow waggle, she turned to face him and grinned so extensively that she wouldn’t have been surprised if he could see her wisdom teeth.

Jake laughed, stepping closer and staring at her as he said, “We sleep wherever we fall. But I assume you’re looking to rummage through my bedroom. Unfortunately, you’ll be disappointed. There’s just a bed and a gun safe in there.”

“You really know how to get my blood going. Guns and a bed? What more could a girl want? Come on, show me!” She teased, grabbed his hand, and tugged until he allowed her to drag him behind her.

He laughed as she flung open the door and came to a stuttering halt.

“I warned you. I rarely used this room,” he said.

She cast her gaze around the ample space and shook her head. He hadn’t been lying. There was only a double bed and a safe cunningly disguised as a nightstand decorating the room. Or so she thought. Her feet were moving toward the black and white object hanging on a hook beside the bed. It was in her hands before she could recall giving her body the command to move.

Jake had worn the scuffed and cracked Guy Fawkes mask during his video calls. Without thinking, she turned it over and pulled the elastic attached to the back and shoved the mask over her head. It severely limited her peripheral vision, the hard plastic cut into her jaw, and it smelled slightly sweet and sour. A blend of chemicals and sweat, she thought.

She was so engrossed in her own thoughts she didn’t notice Jake had gone wholly still as though petrified.

“Don’t tell me you actually wore this on a regular basis? It’s terribly uncomfortable. I thought it was just for me, so I wouldn’t be able to describe you if Bloomgate ever got off his ass and did some work!”

There was a long pause, and Jake seemed to take a steadying breath as she cut her eyes to him. He practically trembled as she frowned at him.

“What’s wrong? Is there some strange rule that only you can wear this mask?” She enquired when he only fisted his hands and groaned softly.

He shook his head. His pupils had blown wide, black swamping the blue, and his fingers spasmed at his sides as though he wanted to reach for her. It hit her like a slap, and she grinned behind the mask, adopting a nonchalant stance as her muscles went loose and she sauntered closer to him.

“Are you going to answer me? Or has an invisible cat caught your tongue?”

It was as if she electrocuted him. He shuddered, blinked heavily, and said in a sheepish tone, “What were the questions?”

She choked down a gleeful laugh and swished her hips as she approached him. Her dress swirled around her knees as she moved and she lay a hand on his chest to feel the rapid fluttering under his skin.

“I asked if you really wore this mask while working, Jake. Keep up, love.” She taunted, tilting her head and tapping her fingers over his pounding heart.

Jake reached up and rested his hand over hers as he shook his head, grinning freely, saying, “It’s an annoying accompaniment to my lifestyle. I have faith in my ability to prevent people from getting through my intensive security measures. Still, if someone manages to view me through the webcam, they won’t see anything they can identify.”

“Clever. Handsome, intelligent, and you have a filthy mouth on you? Are you real, or am I dead and in heaven?” She said in a sing-song voice, edging into his personal space until her senses were filled with him. She reached up and shoved the mask up so it rested atop her head.

He didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around her and replied, “I don’t know about that, but I’m real. It’s you I’m wondering about.”

She smirked, winding her arms around his neck as she said, “And what are you wondering about me?”

Jake drew a deep breath, pulling her closer, eyes flicking to the mask on her head and back to her again.

“You’re wicked, infuriating, and so beautiful. I’m terrified I’ll mess you up.”

With a purr in her voice, she said, “If you don’t mess me up, I’ll be sorely disappointed.”

It wasn’t what he meant; she knew his fears of dragging her down with him, but she was prepared to fight for him. The air between them was electric. A thrumming current seeped under her skin and made her restless; her eyes dipped to his mouth. His gaze did the same to her, neither wanting to break the spell as the delicious tension threaded through them.

She felt like a moth at a candlelight vigil whenever she was around him—overwhelmed, unable to keep still, and desperate to share his light.

He pressed his forehead to hers. They were sharing breath, and her lips tingled as familiar impatience itched at her and demanded she push up on her toes and close the distance.

Time seemed to halt as she waited for him to make a move; her voice was little more than an airy breath as she said, “Do you want to kiss me now or later? Or both?”

His response was instantaneous. “Both.”

She chuckled, low and throaty, and said, “Good answer,” before taking the lead and digging her fingers into his hair to pull him down to her.

The first brush of his lips on hers was the sweetest. His deep groan as she plastered herself to his front and silently encouraged him to kiss her forcefully sent a wave of lovely heat rolling out from her center. He listened to her unspoken demand, much to her delight.

His hands splayed wide on her back. One slid up to cup the back of her neck, the other settled on the base of her spine and tugged her flush against his rapidly hardening cock. She almost whined as his bristled mouth bruised hers, coaxing her open, and his tongue slipped inside to slide along hers as she sighed in relief.

Glittering, scalding heat surged through her, turning her liquid between her thighs and making her hands shake as she lightly pulled his hair as though to drag him inside her. She forgot about seeing his hacker hideout as his sharp teeth nipped and his plush mouth ruled hers.

She wasn’t a religious woman, but when he kissed and touched her like this, she felt like she was holy. The silly, dramatic thought made her smile into his addictive lips as their breathing grew labored and their hands wandered.

She didn’t know where to touch first. All of him. Preferably draped all over her.

Her fingers roamed along his broad shoulders and back again, climbing up his neck to cup his bearded jaw as his tongue flicked in her mouth and his hands gripped her hips mean.

Chemistry sizzled between them like a pot of rich, thick molten chocolate begging to be indulged and she was nothing if not a greedy woman. His knee parted her thighs, and she whimpered as it pressed against where she burned for him.

The skimpy underwear she wore was already soaked as she wriggled against the hard length trapped between them and gave into the urge to grind down on his muscled thigh. Sparks shot through her like tiny lightning strikes. Their kissing turned wet, sloppy, and utterly filthy.

A thrill shimmered down her spine, setting her entire nervous system alight and making breathing difficult. What little air she could suck in. Jake stole it right from her mouth. Heat built to a blaze inside her and her empty cunt clenched in complaint as his hands moved to grasp her ass and began kneading her until she was in a frenzy of sensation and painful anticipation.

She nipped at his plump bottom lip, teeth sinking in and pulling, a whine leaving her as she felt him smirking into it. Her pulse flickered in her neck. The shake in her hands turned to a quake, and she needed him to touch her. She needed him to fuck her before she came out of her sweat and gooseflesh adorned skin.

He tasted wild and sweet and felt like home. A place she’d long given up finding until he appeared in her path. She was desperate to have him inside her.

Jake felt Manon’s distress as her body shivered and tautened under his hands. He hadn’t expected that her wearing the mask would have such a profound effect on him. His painfully hard cock twitched as he teased her tongue with his and bent at the knee, sliding his hands down the back of her parted thighs to grab hold of her and hoist her up.

Her legs wreathed around his waist and locked in place. Captivated by the little sounds she made and the way she fit perfectly into all his hollow spaces.

Her enveloping body was a warm embrace of sunshine, wrapping around him like a cocoon and melting the night’s chill from his bones. The heat emanating from her scalded him as he blindly walked over to the wall of windows and pinned her against it.

Freeing a hand, he flattened it on the window beside her head as his other hand tapped her thigh. She hesitated all of a second before catching on and unwound her legs from his waist as he reluctantly parted from her mouth to help her stand on weak knees. His heart trembled in his panting chest as she looked at him with eyes full of trust and smoky lust. Their emerald color had darkened to evergreen as she licked at her swollen lips and waited for his next move.

He eyed the mask perched precariously on her head and decided. She liked it when he bossed her around.

“Turn around, step back, and face the window.”

He moved away to give her space and smiled when she immediately did as he bid. The flimsy dress she wore had buttons from the neckline to the hem, all down her front, and his fingers itched to tug it open, but he held it back as she met his eye in the window reflection.

“Good. Now, put the mask on, Sweetheart,” he ordered in an undertone he barely recognized.

He watched her as she swallowed thickly and shifted on her bare feet. Time slowed to a crawl as he observed her hands lifting and grabbing the mask, slipping it down to cover her face as he nodded in approval.

A sparkling, fizzing sensation trickled down his spine and swirled in his lower back, sweeping through all of him and he was hard enough to hammer nails as he swept her long hair up in hand. He let the pale strands rest over her shoulder and dropped his head to the side of her throat he’d bared for his teeth.

He ran his nose down the elegant column of her neck and inhaled her warm, spicy scent and let it feed the desire racing through his bloodstream. She trembled as he brushed his lips over her rattling pulse and bit down. He banded an arm around her to keep her upright as she gave a muffled moan and her knees failed her.

The scent of her arousal, heavy with musk, was a humid warmth cloaking them both as he sucked and bit her skin, a swipe of his tongue over the small hurt so she murmured his name. His cock jumped at the sound of it. There were so many emotions packed into that four-letter name of his. He wasn’t entirely sure he deserved them yet, but he wouldn’t tell her that.

He glanced at the window as his hands moved to her full breasts and cupped them, enjoying the weight of them in his palms as he watched them in the night dark window.

Manon stopped seeing the incredible view of the city as Jake teased her sensitive flesh, nipples stiffening to hard peaks, and the wetness between her legs turned to a drenching flood.

If he didn’t have that devouring look in his eyes, she would feel foolish wearing the mask, but his feverish touch and harsh breathing conveyed his desire was at a level she had never seen from him. Excitement turned her legs to water as he grasped the neckline of her dress. She gasped in shock and giddy pleasure as he tore it wide open. The fragile buttons were no challenge for him. They popped free and clattered off the window as he hurriedly dragged it down her arms and exposed her nearly naked body to his starving eyes.

Sweat trailed down her face as she ignored the ache eating away at her fast failing patience. Her mouth went dry as she saw his reflection take off his t-shirt and jeans, hands fisting at her sides as she waited for his move. His boxers and socks soon joined the rest of clothes on the floor and his fiery body melted into hers from behind.

She ground her ass against his hard cock. Wetness dripped down her inner thighs as her mind skipped ahead and she needed him inside her before she exploded from the ardour burning through her. She luckily didn’t have to wait long before his large hands were on her again.

He latched his fingers into the elastic back of her mask and firmly pulled her head back. His other hand slid around her hip and traveled to her weeping cunt, teasing her soaked folds through her underwear. His fingertips traced the shape of her like a rhapsody, each taunting stroke composing a symphony of desire that echoed through her entire being.

Her head lolled against his chest as he shoved the lace covering her aside and met no resistance as he plunged two fingers into her tight cunt. The strangled moan that left her seemed to bounce off the walls as she felt herself clenching to keep him from leaving her body. Slick and so hot, he groaned. She couldn’t think as he played with her like he’d always known her body.

Her pounding heart and rushing blood muted all sounds as those fingers moved within her taut heat and she ground herself into his hand at his whispered urging. Her cunt clasped and unclasped as he grazed her clit and sent a trail of wheeling stars scattering across her bare skin.

The hand holding her mask slipped to wrap around her throat and the gentle squeeze he gave her was a warning of what was to come. She couldn’t wait for it. The simple action sent her heart thrumming, and she panted into the plastic covering her face. Any discomfort it might’ve caused blasted away by Jake’s obvious delight in it.

His touch unraveled her like a tightly bound scroll, releasing a cascade of longing and urgency that surged through her veins like liquid flame.

Suddenly, he removed his hands from her and stepped away, leaving her swaying as her head spun and she blinked stupidly as he whirled her to face him and ripped the mask off her. He dropped to his knees in front of her and did the same with her underwear, lifting her ankles one by one to help her step out of them. He tossed them both aside without a care as he crowded her until her overheated skin met the cold window. She hissed in shock as her head thudded back to meet his ravenous gaze.

“I want to taste my name on your tongue as I fuck you,” he said in a voice like a growl.

She squeezed her legs together to counter the ache as her empty cunt clamped around nothing and her essence glazed her inner thighs.

She formed three words, but they were enough. “Fuck me then.”

His smirk was salacious. They pounced on each other, and he quickly caught her. She extinguished his midnight chuckle with a dirty kiss and he trapped her between him and the window. He reached under her to palm his cock.

Her hips tilted as he ran the fat head of him through her saturated folds and sank inside her so fast she had no time to prepare as he stretched and filled her so completely she didn’t have room for the air in her lungs. Her nails clawed at his shoulders, mouth agape and gasping as his hand smoothed loose strands of damp hair away from her sweaty face.

The maddening pressure built and built as he remained unmoving to let her acclimate to his sudden invasion. Her hips rolled, and she used his shoulders for purchase to lift and drop back down, taking him to the hilt, both groaning as she slowly softened for him.

He muttered her name as he let her breathe and studied her face as she shook in his arms. Part of her worried the treatment on the windows only went so far and someone in the building across from them might get the show of a lifetime. But most of her didn’t care if that was true. Let them watch.

Jake had gone still, muscles jumping and quivering as she made soft little noises of frustration as that intense pressure demanded a release. Her skin stuck to the glass and there was an audible sound as he peeled her off it and he at last moved. Shallow darts of his cock inside her to open her up and rile her further.

His strength thrilled her, no strain as he hefted her up and finally, finally slammed her down on his rigid cock. Her rapturous cry of pleasure sliced through their heavy breaths and the vulgar smack of flesh meeting flesh. Fingers dug into her ass as he fucked her, planting violets and giving him more leverage to ruin her.

Every deep caress of his cock inside her dripping cunt set her ablaze, a wildfire of untamed passion consuming her as she surrendered to the exhilarating storm of sensation. When he kissed her, she clung to his hair, fingers weaving through the black strands until she could use it to hold him captive against her whining mouth.

He tasted like sin, felt like heaven and looked like hers all at once, and she could only hold on. It was as though someone had flain the first layer of her skin to expose her nerves. Even the whisper of air pressing against her skin as his hand braced on the window sent a bolt of fire down her torso.

His lips branding hers, his thumping heart that matched the beat of her own, and the heady, clean scent of his skin. She wanted to never forget a single detail. They had earned this. Through blood and sweat and fire, they had earned this and she would be damned if she didn’t take all he offered her. Tension coiled in her core as his thrusts fell out of rhythm and each one shunted her up the window.

As his tongue teased hers, she yanked on his hair, feeling owned by him and getting swept away. Drowning in the blistering sea of their shared desire. The heat in her abdomen grew out of control, but it was nothing compared to the fire she had kindled in Jake. All the awkwardness in him had vanished, and he fucked her like he’d never get the chance to do so again.

He stole moan after moan from her. The sanity eroding tension coiled and coiled until it drove her to the brink of insanity and made it impossible for her to breathe. Her stuttering hips, his thick cock, and her clenching cunt were all she knew, her throaty cries smothered against his stubbled lips as they rubbed her mouth raw.

Hovering on the brink of shattering, Manon sobbed and rocked her hips, freeing a hand from his hair. She worked it between them. The tense skin of her stomach flickered as her fingers ghosted over it and she kept going until she swirled them around her swollen clit.

“Fuck, Manon,” Jake cursed as her inner walls clamped down hard on his cock, making her smile.

A little helpless sound spilled from her as she toyed with herself and the tension in her drew so taut she arched. Jake pounded into her mercilessly, giving her no room to calm down. The sensations and lust were so intense her mind fractured with jagged white light and she struggled to withstand the tremendous pleasure ricocheting through her.

Her body convulsed as she circled her clit and pushed herself to the precipice. Jake sobbed into her mouth as he felt her clench around his cock, burying his face in her neck as his forceful thrusts slowed a little. Bursts of darkness speckled the edges of her vision as her orgasm sparked its warning.

Relief glimmered at the back of her mind as her back arched again and Jake lifted his head to see her face. His voice was a sinful melody she’d been searching for from the beginning of time.

“Come for me, Sweetheart. Take me with you.”

Any thoughts she had left disintegrated at his words. Her fingers swiped that bundle of nerves deliberately again and again. The rough glide of his heavy cock inside her threw her over the edge and she splintered into a million glistering pieces. His kiss smothered her warbling moan of his name as her cunt spasmed around his cock and sucked him in deeper, dragging him down with her as he slammed home one last time and they soon sank to the floor as his legs failed him.

Her twitching, useless body slumped and practically merged into his as he lazily drank from her mouth and ran soothing hands down her slick back. She felt every jump of his cock as he spilled into her, and her inner walls fluttered as the scalding waves of her release rippled out from her core.

How long they sat there in a complete knot of disheveled limbs, kissing and touching. She didn’t keep count. Just reveled in it and in him, as he silently told her he loved her. She shivered from the chill settling in the room at some point and he instantly broke away from her lips, concern in his cobalt eyes that she rushed to comfort.

“I’m just a little cold. Take me to bed and warm me up again.” She winked and smiled softly as the worry in his gaze cleared and he gave her a proud smirk as he eyed the bite mark he’d left on her neck.

“Your wish is my command,” he chuckled, but made no move to get up. She caught sight of the Guy Fawkes mask, and an enticing idea popped into her mind.

“After we sleep a bit and you’re able to go again, it’s your turn to wear the mask.”

A startled laugh burst from him as she nodded seriously and fixed her features into a haughty expression as he said, “Is that an order or a punishment for making you wear it?”

She gave an indolent shrug, committing his smile to memory and hoping to make good on her promise to christen every room in his apartment before they left for Duskwood. There was only one thing left to say.

“It can be both if you’re into it. Pain and pleasure, Jake,” she said in an imperious tone that made him shake his head and she patted his shoulder, jerking her head toward the bedroom door as she finished, “Come on, let’s get food and some sleep. You’ll need your strength later.”

——————————-

Thank you for reading. I hope it was worth your time. If you comment or reblog, thank you so much for that as well❤️

If I have time, I might write another part where Jake wears the mask. But I am busy with many other stories, and it won’t happen anytime soon.

I hope Sunday treats you well!

[lackingspace]

Scurrilous (Feyd-RauthaXReader)

Chapter 3

Rated: M Word Count: 5.9K Warnings: Harkonnens are their own warning. Violence. Language. lots of banter. Author Note: Giedi Prime is here. And Feyd wants to play.✧

Prev Ch: Admonish

AO3 link: Scurrilous

There were few times you'd made the trip to Giedi Prime in the past. Always for some generalized celebration. Always with your family. And each visit was only a few days at most. 

The Harkonnen rarely hosted events that warranted extending Great House invitations. But when they did, they were not to be missed. No one wanted to snub Harkonnen, that privilege was Atreides alone. 

At least their functions weren't wholly unpleasant, in fact, if gluttony and extravagance were your prerogative, you'd quite enjoy them.

Everything was different this time. You were alone, the stay was undefined, with no clear reason for the occasion.

The first time you'd come was when you were 6. Glossu had officially been named the na-Baron. The title previously belonged to his father, Abulurd, but in some scandal you were too young to fully grasp– a disownment of Harkonnen to Rabban– the title was stripped from his person. You'd attended with your House to pay the appropriate respects that naming, or renaming as was the case, an heir was due. 

All but Atreides came. 

You barely remembered that trip. If not for it being the first time you'd sighted the black sun, you would have forgotten it entirely. You had spent far too long straying in and out of the light and shadow pondering the effect. You remembered how your eyes stung on the return to Erif IV.

The next was when you were 8. The Baron had constructed a massive amphitheater to serve as the new gladiatorial tournaments arena. As you understood it now, he had also changed it from predominantly a means to train their militia into a bloody spectacle of execution. As its inaugural fight, all houses were formally invited. 

That was the first time you'd watched a man die.

At 13 you were again invited, this time to Feyd's 12th birthday and débutante celebration. A strange occurrence as the only time a débutante occurred was if the person in question was the named heir or female, sometimes both of those were true such as instances like your cousin Josephine, but he was neither. However, Vladimir Harkonnen did as he pleased and his uncle had made it very clear he was to be given the same consideration as the na-Baron– even without the title.

It would be years before you came to understand the type of man that led House Harkonnen and the horrors that were committed within their walls. Even still, with your limited understanding, you still remembered thinking how lamentable it must be to have an uncle like that. Feyd hadn't even been in attendance. An injury– broken rib and sternum– prevented his direct appearance. 

His true debut into society came a month later at a House Ecaz function. He'd seemed hesitant, shy even, but nodded when you asked if his ribs made a full recovery.

When you were 15, the Suk school had allowed you enough leave to attend your political duties to house Ezharian. An invitation to attend Feyd's entry into the arena had been sent to all. The show he put on was violent and visceral for someone so young, but his performance was morbidly captivating. Death of men was not uncommon to you now, but they were typically in an infirmary and not surrounded by thunderous cheers. You wondered how much violence he must have suffered to be so ferocious already.

Later, at the feast when all houses made their simpering praises to the hosts, you followed suit. Praised his performance and thanked them for the invitation– the same as all before you. All traces of shyness had long since been replaced by haughtiness. 

Before you'd made your way back to the assigned Ezharian table, Feyd had smugly asked how the Suks allowed a doltish female into their field. 

In return, you politely inquired if he'd like an accident arranged so he could experience what a doltish female could do firsthand. The curl of his lips had dropped as you walked away. 

That was the first of many candid remarks the two of you would trade over the years and it was the last night you spent under the infrared sky. There hadn't been any attractions to Giedi Prime that required invitation in almost a decade. You'd since seen the family at other high society conventions, but not on their home territory.

This would mark the fifth visit in total and the first solo at 25. In all previous trips, the weather had always been fair. As if the atmosphere wanted to join in the novelty, rumbles of thunder could be felt throughout the shuttle. Flashes of lightning peeked through the half-covered viewing window.

The inky rain wouldn't do to be caught in– you'd heard enough stories that the pollution of their atmosphere caused it to leave an oily residue on whatever it bathed. Thankfully, the Harkonnen compound had landing ports that sealed behind craft for this reason. 

You weren't too worried about it though. Your focus was pulled by the storm itself and the sight it created. Having retracted the shade into its housing, the view from the window was captivating. 

The sky was a monochromatic kaleidoscope of crackling lights within smokey clouds making even the industrial landscape beautiful. The dusky gloom blotted out much of the natural infrared light, emphasizing the small pinpricks of illumination from various buildings– appearing as stars in the dimness. 

Its untamed violence was a stark reminder that although brutal, Giedi Prime did hold beauty. One that was enticing when discovered, but buried so far beneath all the hard edges that it was rarely seen. 

This was the same kind of lure Erifian seas had from shore. The soft crashes and twisting waves invite one to tread into its depths. If you treaded carelessly, icy riptides were more than happy to drag you under and never let you up, but if you managed to avoid them, the ocean's secrets were a sight to behold.

A much too close flash left you blinded for a moment, blinking rapidly, your vision faded into focus as another struck further away. Its plasma appears black to your eyes before dissipating to a white mist and then into nothingness. 

For the brief second a strike occurs, everything is illuminated in its wake– flaring infrared back to life before the shadows consume it again. Brief blindness was a worthy trade for the sight. 

You were almost sad when the view was swallowed on your descent into the Harkonnen compound. 

Lowering the window cover as the ship's elevation shifts before the telltale signs of a safe landing. That was signal enough to stand and stretch your legs. It would only be moments before the doors lowered and you were assailed by a barrage of attendants. Sharking life back into your bones seemed needed if you were to deal with people properly.

The black heels Cleo had chosen were fashionable, more sturdy than you’d expect, but damn if they were much too high for your comfort and the ache had set in even as you were seated. But pain was good. It would remind you to stay on your guard. 

Cleo had done that on purpose you supposed. She was a clever little thing. More your confidant than a servant. She'd packed each outfit meticulously and provided instruction on what occasion they'd best fit. 

She'd also seen fit to stain your hands before your departure. A traditional Erifian custom utilizing the argena root, a herb native to your planet that stains skin silver when mixed with acid. She'd made an elaborate design both geometric and organic, artfully weaving your House sigil into the pattern. 

It matched well with the dress she'd stuffed you in. A black leather bodice that hugged tightly until your midriff when the material quickly fell in two strips on your front and back down to your ankles– silver roses inlaid at its bottom edges. 

Your hips and legs on display, but not completely exposed thanks to the thin black gossamer underdress and delicate silver chains at your hips holding the heavier material in place. A deep carmine cloth looped around your back and through the silver hoops dangling from the stiff shoulder caps before free-falling towards your feet.

Your house colors on full display– Black, silver, and carmine. A reminder to all who gazed upon you that an Ezharian was among them. Even the jewelry she'd selected was a subtle tell of your heritage. Necklace a silver geometric rose design that encloses your upper chest and mid-neck like a cage. 

Lifting your silvery fingertips to straighten your hair and ensure the twisted chain is still in place on your forehead. The effect caused the inked diamond to appear like the jewel within a circlet.

It was effective for its reminder, though the warmth it provided was subpar. But you had little use for warmth in a place like this anyway. You would need to be demure, witty, and no small amount of cunning– qualities more suited to the cold.

Hearing the vents of the ship become louder and the rush of non-recycled air clued you in that the door had finally lowered to allow your exit. The soft echoes of the outside thunder were another indication that you should have been rushed by the staff at this point, but they’d yet to enter. Harkonnen had always been particular in their commands, perhaps their instruction was to wait for your exit before attending to their task? 

If that was the case, it'd be best to exit and let the work commence before some imagined disobedience occurred. Would there be a welcoming party? All times before it was some steward who welcomed your family with politeness and instructions. Would this stick with tradition or be another surprise?

Stepping out of the shuttle’s warmth into the chill of the landing dock the attendants were indeed waiting. Five standing in a line with their eyes towards the floor. Their identical black outfits marked them for what they were. A steward stood perpendicular to their line with his hands behind his back, “I hope– I hope your t-travel was w-well, My lady.” 

Familiarity, at last. Although, is that a stutter or something else? Releasing the breath you hadn't realized you were holding slowly as his words registered. The quiver in his voice spoke more of nervousness rather than a speech impediment. But what reason would he have for anxiousness? It couldn't have been you. Those were his first words and you had yet to respond. Something else must have already shaken him.

The little reputation you had shouldn't be fearsome in the least nor enough to reach their ears. It was wholly benign in comparison to those he served. Keeping your face neutral and your stride steady on your way down the ramp, “It was comfortable, thank you…” waiting for his reply to your questioning tone, “F-forgive me, my– my lady. Emil, I am Emil.” 

As your heels clicked down onto the solid level flooring you waved a hand in dismissal, “Nothing to forgive, Emil.” Now that you were a few steps from the ramp, he made a clap and the line of attendants began toward the ship in single file. Standing next to the man you watched them enter the ship, “Are you to take me to the guest wing then?” 

The man's jaw twitched and now that you were in closer proximity you could see the sweat upon his brow, “Yes, my lady.” From your new position, you could see his hands were wringing together behind his back. Your eyes narrowed as you assessed him. 

His breathing was elevated, sweating, but his color seemed fine– no flushing or paleness that wasn't natural. ‘Something is causing him excessive anxiety. An order? If he is to try an assault on me, they chose their would-be assassin very poorly. I’m almost insulted.’

“Well,” inclining your hand towards the direction you last knew led towards the guest wing, “Shall we or is there some other reason I should stand here in uncomfortable heels?” 

His eyes widened as if he committed some great offense that you had to initiate the request, “Yes! At on–” A disapproving tsking sounded from the shadowed corridor followed by slow firm footsteps.

Raising an eyebrow at the sound and turning towards its origin revealed Feyd-Rautha slinking out of the darkness. He wore a fitted black leathered outfit. Edges of the material embossed with a blocky industrial pattern indicative of Harkonnen fashion. At his shoulders, two darker rectangles were stitched much like the traditional designs used in their anointments before ceremonies. ‘Ah, the source of his discomfort.’

His dark eyes appeared to glitter as he passed varying lights on his walk towards you. The occasions you saw him were infrequent enough that you were always struck by the unusual allure he possessed. Delicate bone structure set against eyes like knives. An unassuming strength until someone stepped out of line. Teasing mischief until anger ignited. 

He'd always been a strangely enticing individual to be around.

“Does a lady's presence stupefy you or do I need to cut out what my uncle hasn’t?” ‘Ah. There it is.’  The reason you'd never pursued anything more than banter with him. ‘His mouth generally leads to more trouble than its worth.’ 

The lightness of his voice didn't match the stinging accusation of his words, “You stood there as if she was to wait on you.”  

How long had Feyd been standing there awaiting your arrival? Huddled in the dark scrutinizing his staff? The image was almost enough to make you laugh, but here laughter was meant to be wielded as a weapon in conversation, not truly for amusement.

If his attendant was thoroughly in the throes of an anxiety attack as you'd left the transport, there must have been some exchanged warning– more likely a threat– not too recent, but not excessively long ago either. 

‘As if he needed an excuse for pain beyond breathing the same air.’

Fluttering your eyes to avoid rolling them at his nonchalant manner, “Lord Harkonnen,” you inclined your head in a greeting bow, “How kind of your uncle to send you instead of the na-Baron.” 

To anyone outside of Great House politics, that may seem like a snide remark, but in your circle of society, it was well-known how vexing you were to Glossu Rabben. You quickly scanned his form, “You look well.” And he did. The suit hugged his form enough to see more muscle than he’d usually display at a court gathering. You couldn’t say you disliked the sight.

The smug little smirk stayed in place as his gaze rolled from the servant to you, “Lady Ezharian, you look…” He made a show of dragging his eyes across your form as he sounded the words. By the time he finally reached your face again, the smirk had flattened and the look in his eye changed from duplicitous into something smokey with a hint of yearning. His voice took on a gravelly quality as he finally completed his assessment, “Vibrant.” 

His shoulder rolled in a shrug to relieve tension and you could tell that wasn't quite the word he wanted to use but the pretense of civility was still in place. Pressing your tongue against the back of your teeth to prevent the acerbic remark ready to spill from your lips for the perusal. If he wanted to appear civil, so would you. For now.

If he asked, you would admit that his coquettishness had improved since you'd seen him last. But there was no need to inflate whatever ego he'd since gained by confirming he’d finally figured out how to fan the flames of desire.

 “And my uncle made no request. I’m here because it pleases me.” Blackened teeth peaked from behind a half smile-half smirk. Your eyes narrowed at the sight, ‘That's a new development...’ 

Matching his nonchalant quality you jutted a hip and tilted your head thoughtfully, “How flattering. I had no idea my presence inspired such fervor in you.” 

His look transformed into an isolating glower– dark focus so intense that you almost forgot the shaking man standing between you. The half smile fell back into a full smirk as he grumbled at you, “Fangs poised already, little viper?” The question was said more like praise than reproval. 

His voice raised as he addressed the steward, but his gaze never moved from you, “Emil,” that was the sharpest you'd heard him yet and the man visibly flinched at the sound, “Why are you still standing?” The even tone didn’t betray his ire yet, but you knew him well enough to expect what was coming next.

If a stiff breeze were to blow through the compound, it'd likely knock this man over with how unsteady he was. You ran a hand through the length of hair that hung free down your back waiting for the show Feyd wanted to put on. Whatever was about to come out of the Harkonnen’s mouth was likely to be explosive, spiteful, and wholly unpleasant. 

After another moment when the man had still yet to respond or move, Feyd's eyes ripped themselves from your form to pin him with a scathing glare. Taking the few steps forward to come within arms reach of the steward, he hissed, “I said…” Watching as Feyd placed a hand on the shaking shoulder you could see the clear pressure he applied both by the amount of crinkling in the fabric and the wince Emil displayed, “Why are you still standing?” 

The last word was snarled savagely as he pushed the man to his knees. “Your incompetence reflects poorly on my name. Beg her forgiveness.” The shaking intensified as the man half sobbed at your feet. ‘Well, his dramatics are certainly unchanged.’ 

The bubbling sound made any sputtered words incoherent. Feyd perceived the babbling sobs as another trespass against his hospitality. Kicking the man in the side, albeit softer than you expected, “Kiss her prettily polished feet.” Another kick to his ribs, “If she deems it acceptable, I might even let you keep your tongue.” Finally, his booted foot fell hard and heavy on the man's hand,  “Beg!” 

That was enough for Emil to choke out a clear apology for his ineptitude, the shakes of his body infiltrating each gurgled word. Feyd looked pleased with his handiwork and you couldn't stop your eyes from rolling any longer. With a sigh you chided, “Feyd, my patience is already thin from travel, I have little left for your antics– either end it now or leave it for your private amusement.” 

His disappointment was palpable by the scowl replacing the smirk, “How dull…I had hoped you’d request my knife.” A snort almost left you at that– almost– but you contained it for a huff instead, “Ignorance doesn't suit you. You know my conditioning.” 

He rolled his own eyes and his voice took on a mocking drawl, “Ah, yes. Your aversion to causing harm like the good little Suk doctor you are.” Continuing to scowl down at the shuddering servant, “Leave us.” That was all the man needed to try to leave the scene, but as he pulled away his arm yanked painfully in the socket. Feyd's foot was still crushing his hand and wasn’t letting up. A choked whimper left the servant as the pressure only increased if the deepening grey of his hand was any indication.

There was little you could do for him, not that you wanted to, this was typically Harkonnen savagery after all, albeit from you to interrupt, but your feet did tire of standing in these shoes. “Would you like to escort him or Ito a room? If torture is more enticing, I'm sure I can find the way myself.” 

The jaw clench was your only indication he'd heard you through whatever violence clouded his mind. His answer came a moment later when his boot slowly released the hand and the creature disappeared faster than you'd thought his shaking legs could carry him. 

Feyd’s complaint was quickly hurled at you while you both watched his servant scurry away, “We both know your conditioning allows for more fun than that. What is it you once said to me?” 

Instantly, you knew what he was referring to. Your eyes momentarily widened in surprise, that must have been three or four years back now. The fact he remembered it was dangerous and startling. He was intelligent enough to recognize its significance, but it was surprising he recalled it so easily. 

You were under the impression Feyd only frequented your side at parties because you were more than a conniving halfwit and responded to his banter with equal vitriol. But if he recalled that…’He pays much more attention to my words than I give him credit for.’

“Only ignorant men believe themselves absolved of murder.” 

Decidedly something you shouldn't have said, but between wine and teasing conversation you’d let it slip. You weren't so delusional or indoctrinated to think yourself incapable. It didn’t matter that it was true either– everyone had a breaking point regardless of what the imperial rhetoric toted– but if the Suk school heard you say it, well, you didn’t want to find out what consequences would come of it.

If the need ever arose for Feyd to persuade or coerce you into something, he had the perfect leverage. There was no doubt in your mind that he knew it and that he would use it should it come down to it… If that time ever came, you’d show him true venom. But he hadn’t mentioned it as a threat, so until he turns on you, it is best to give it as little attention as possible. ‘And to be careful with my words in the future.’

A satisfied hum sounded from his chest followed the confirming recognition of, “That's it,” as he turned away from the corridor his steward sought shelter in. Facing towards you with a scowl as he stepped closer, “Travel makes you petulant.” The tension he’d unwittingly dragged to the surface of your shoulders relaxed as you snicker at his accusation, “That it does.” 

His size still dwarfed you– even in heels, the top of your head only coming to his nose. He lifted a covered arm out for you to take. A courteous court gesture that held no real purpose here other than a show of his respect for your position– or maybe habit. It wasn’t uncommon to see your hand rest against his forearm when moving through crowds of surrounding noble families. 

But you two were alone for perhaps the first time. ‘It must be habit then.’ 

Your contemplation of his offer passed too slowly for him if the snippety grunt was any indication, “Well?” 

Your silvered hand came up to accept the offer, it stood out starkly against his forearm, “If it please you, my lord.”

His non-existent brow raised at the silver, “Did you think we’d forgotten the Ezharian name? Or is this extra preening to turn my head?” Although skin staining was a traditional Erifian custom, you rarely sat for the time the process took. It was a rare sight when you bore the marks. But there was no need to confirm you'd done it for another layer of protection– that your father had demanded you sit for Cleo to apply it as a subtle reminder of which family they were entertaining. 

Smoothing the hand against his arm, cool material slid beneath your fingertips, drawing both your eyes to the way the intricate designs sat against your skin, “Hm, I have occasionally wished to turn your head.” Dragging your eyes slowly up his arm to lock gazes, “Slowly,”  fluttering your lashes at him as it was your turn to mock, “Over an open flame.”

His smile was a slow unfurling thing that bespoke of the perverse delight your words sparked, “Finally, the little vicious ice bitch comes out to play.” Your heels clicked as he started a slow stride towards what you assumed to be your room, “I could kill you for such a taunt.”

Your lips pursed in a clear sign of disbelief, “Come now, who would you speak with at tedious soirees then? Ward Ecaz? Hector Metulli? Neither are as stimulating as I am.” The doubt was replaced by a taunting haughtiness, “Or perhaps you aim to replace me with Nyla Galloway?” The poor simpleton of a girl was always panting after him. Always trying to initiate conversation and trailed his shadow unless you were already at his side. 

She would balk if Feyd ever spoke to her the way he did you. Chuckling as you continued the jest, “She's been vying for your attention these last few years. I'm sure she'd be happy for my disappearance.” Peeking at his side profile, showed his nose scrunched in disgust and strong jaw grinding at your words, “The only attention she’s worthy of is that of my knife.”

That brought a slithering satisfaction to wriggle within your stomach. It had nothing to do with jealousy and all to do with getting under his skin. You were one of the few to manage it and continue to draw breath. The compulsion to goad him further of Nyla’s attention was hard-pressed to bite down, but it was unwise to continue, so you changed your approach. 

“I think,” your words pulled his attention down to your scrutiny– eyes betraying his irritation at the previous notion, “You enjoy my malice too much to be rid of it.” Turning your gaze forward away from his penetrating regard you continued steadily down the corridor. 

Keeping your voice light– musing even– and not as snide or invasive as your tongue wished while asking, “Is that not why you always keep our talks out of earshot from anyone of consequence? Why you have never alerted my father– or your uncle for that matter– to the very reprehensible things I say to you?” 

Grumbling unhappily, affirming his threat was idle and you'd called it correctly, “You've made your point, I find your venom an enjoyable irritant.” 

Pulling real confessions from Feyd was hard fought. Like safely trespassing through a dire wolf’s territory. Generally unwise and not worth the trouble. But if you did manage it, there was a deep satisfaction that bubbled at the accomplishment. This time, the feeling settled low in your chest mingling with a slithering heat running down your spine, “Good, I prefer the dull press of a knife to my throat than a sharp one.”

You knew that was a mistake the moment it left your lips. It was too easy an opportunity. The chuckle he released was as instant as your regret. The purr of amusement was obnoxiously thick as he cooed, “Do you think of my blade pressing into you often?” 

Refusing to look at him directly, your peripheral was still enough to sight the devilish grin on display, “Is that what you fantasize about in our time apart?” The smug glee triggered irritation in you that threatened to consume everything else. “It was a metaphor, nothing more.” He wouldn't take that for an answer though, not when you'd made teasing so easy.

“It doesn't have to be. I’m more than willing to press whatever you’d like against you, though I do admit your blood coating my knives is an enticing thought.” Your reply was a very quick and very indelicate jab of your elbow into his ribs, “You’re too bold.”

He didn't even stumble from the action, only let out a responding groan that was much less of a pained sound and more of a pleasured one than you'd intended. "Masochist.” The slithering warmth was still present and it sunk lower to settle between your legs at the sound of his groan. He shouldn't be allowed to sound like that.

“Careful, Ezharian, if someone sees your abuse they might think you enjoy my company enough to pick up habits. How repulsive that would be for your perfectly pleasing reputation.” A scoff instantly left your lips at his goading words. 

He had always been teasingly suggestive with you– a stimulating jest that he continued to push until you’d bite back at him. Narrowing your eyes and looking up at his pleased grin, “They would be blind to it unless I stabbed you openly in the middle of some event. And still, it's more likely you'd be seen for the offense. Your Harkonnen presence has corrupted my prudence.”

He looked even more pleased as he was contemplating the scenario, “Now there’s a thought. I’d enjoy every second of that corruption. Especially if Moritani was made to watch.” Your face scrunched at the mention of Cesare Moritani. Feyd detested him for no reason in particular as far as you could tell. But sometimes with Feyd, reason didn’t enter the picture. Before you could become too lost in thought his next words pulled you back, “You'd still face consequences for assaulting someone of my station.” 

Crinkling your brow in disbelief, that's where he wanted to take the conversation, “Your station? Really?” He hummed in confirmation with that stupid grin still in place. You shook your head at the incredulity of it. He was making some poor flippant remark, likely probing for a mock apology for the imagined assault, but if that was his aim, you were in the wrong mood to grovel.

If he wanted you playful, speaking of rank was the wrong approach. You had very sturdy ground to stand against him in that regard and he would hate any reminder of that fact. Which meant it was the perfect response.

With a hiss, you turned on him, “Well then, my lord, should I remind you why we can speak so candidly?” Slowing your pace until you came to a complete stop which had the desired effect of Feyd stopping with you. 

Turning his body towards you in a mock show of rapt attention, you lift your hand from his forearm to brush imaginary dust off the chest of his suit, “Until your dear darling uncle pulls the title from Glossu, you are not na-Baron.” 

Just because his uncle does treat him as if he were the named heir, that doesn't give him the rank officially. The shift in his eyes went from playful to an unamused smolder. He stood straighter and stepped forward invading your space, but you didn’t bow away. 

Head craned back to maintain eye contact as you refused to move even when his chest brushed yours. The clench of his jaw drew your eye to the flexing muscles before narrowing as they moved back up to his leering ones. This was the closest he'd ever been. Much too close by proper standards, rumors and whispers would have spread from this display if anyone were here to witness it. Your father certainly would have pulled you away at this point.

But you were alone. And neither of you seemed to mind the proximity.

The stare was intense– his pinched brow would say it was anger, but if you had to name it, it felt more like burning hunger. It affected you more than you’d like to admit. His hazel eyes were so expressive this close. Taking a deep breath you spat each word while heat ignited in your lower stomach once again, “You are the son of Harkonnen’s second born and I am the daughter of Ezharian's second born.” 

You could see his eyes drop from your gaze down lower. To your lips or your throat? It didn’t matter, to know that you were affecting him just as he affected you was pleasing to the roiling heat in your veins. After a moment, his eyes dragged back to yours and his face seemed even closer than before. 

His breath tickled your cheek as you smiled maliciously at him, if either of you leaned closer your lips could easily brush. But you had more to say. “What's more, I am the only child of my father. We both hold no titles, but by lineage I outrank you.” 

Letting your smile fall into a smirk similar to the one he so fondly wore, “However, I am only female, so far as it stands, we are to be considered equals.” 

His fingers lightly dragged up your forearm towards the dangling silver hoop at your shoulder, “Equals.” It wasn’t said with any strong emotion attached to it– only repeating the word in his raspy husk with no denial or objection. A shiver ran through you at his light touch. He reached for the carmine silk that hung free, his fingers bunched the fabric into his hand, crinkling its smooth appearance as he all but growled, “My darling viper,” The look in his eye was now openly wanting and it had your thighs clenching. 

He had no right to be this tempting. The flare of his jaw should be offensive, the anger in his eyes should flare your own, and his closeness should spark disgust. None of it should flare desire, but your body was being as unruly as everything else today. 

In your musing he leaned in towards your ear, lips lightly brushing the edge, shocking you back to reality as he whispered, “You can be such a quarrelsome little cunt.”

The combination of feeling his lips and hearing the praise in such derogatory words sent another pulse of heat through you. The moment seemed to pass slowly as he shifted slightly and you felt the light press of his plush lips against your pulse point– not a kiss, but it was something. Something he shouldn’t have done. 

You drew in a sharp breath before he pulled back just enough for your gazes to meet. You’d always known he was attractive, you weren’t blind, but in that moment there was a smooth sensuality you wouldn’t normally attribute to him. His eyes trailed back down to your lips and you felt your breathing turn heavy, you wanted him to do it, but he shouldn’t. His eyes flicked back to yours as his head tilted. 

Quietly, you murmured his name, “Feyd.” It was breathless and full of an unvoiced plea– for him to stop or to continue, you weren’t sure. This was dangerous…And beyond stupid. 

For as flirtatious as he could be in conversation, it had always stayed just that. He had never crossed that line physically. It was only ever a light touch to your hand, a brief press of his fingers to your shoulder, a hand pressed to your back if being directed through crowds, nothing lingering that could be confused for indecent. If this was how interactions were to be without an interloper observing, you were in trouble. This hadn’t been something you considered before now. 

“We shouldn’t.” Your voice was a shock even to yourself. You hadn't even felt the words leave your lips. His answer was calm, unbothered, as his voice gruffly vibrated his agreement, “I know.” 

But he didn’t pull back immediately. His eyes continued to scan your face and you could see the conflict there. If you had no rank, he could do with you as he pleased, but you were a Lady of a Great House. That made things vastly more complicated. 

Finally, he dropped the scrunched fabric and pulled away. He straightened his top before offering his arm once again. Accepting the gesture the two of you resumed the walk as if nothing happened.

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Cowboy Like Me - Part 5

Azriel x Reader

Reader is introduced to the rest of the Inner Circle, Elain included. Azriel feels awkward. Nyx is adorable. Amren does what Amren does best and throws shade.

Part 3 Part 4 Part 6

Warnings: suggestive language, alcohol

The “River House” as it was so lovingly referred to was stunning and not a house in the slightest. It was an estate, and a massive one at that. I was able to hide my awe at the size of it upon arriving to the grounds but any mask of indifference disappeared as I stepped inside.

The air inside welcomed me with the aromas of seasoned foods and warm bread. Fresh flowers and art decorated the entry hall of the manor - loving, thoughtful intricacies decorated the attached living area along with cozy furniture and amenities. Somehow the High Lord and High Lady managed to turn this grand estate into a home. The sounds of laughter from another room were enough to tell me that this was a home of love and not the cold, indifferent atmosphere of many in the upper echelon of Prythian.

Before I could explore, Mor grabbed my arm and whisked me up the grand staircase. “Come on! Let’s indulge in the riches of our excursion.” Her full lips spread into a warm smile.

The room - her room - was exactly what I’d picture for the female. It was somehow luxurious if a bit sultry, while warm and welcoming, much like she was. She took my hand, leading me to a large oak vanity. With a flick of her wrist, the pocket realm revealed our spoils. Rummaging through them, Mor pulled out cosmetics from one of the boutiques we’d stopped in. I went to reach for the items but Mor swatted my hand away. “I know you’re capable of doing your own makeup but I believe I’ve got many years of experience on you. Pleaseeee, may I do your makeup? Please, please, please?”

She made a show of the pleading forming a pout on her lips, batting thick eyelashes as if she were a child trying to win over their parents.

I giggled. “Fiiiiine. Do your worst, Morrigan.”

She clapped, letting out a squeal. “Only my best for you, dear.”

An hour later my face was made up - lips painted a sultry red, kohl lightly lining my eyes, my eyelashes so thick that I likely could blink and blow half the estate away. One half of my hair fell over my shoulder in loose waves while the other was pinned back, accentuating my high cheek bones and pointed ears. A gorgeous blue dress that wasn’t too formal for dinner but was definitely a bit…. extra, fit me like an extra layer of skin. Fortunately, if I was overdressed, Mor would be too as she wore the same, only in red.

Gazing in the mirror I had to admit. I did look pretty damned beautiful. The dress hugged my curves perfectly, accentuating my feminine figure.

“Your boobs look AMAZING.” Mor shamelessly exclaimed as she smoothed out the front of her dress before looking down to admire her own cleavage.

“Says you” I smirked. “You look divine.”

“We are quite the double-threat.” She laughed. “Come on, let’s introduce you to the rest of the family and eat. I’m STARVING.”

“It hasn’t been that long since we ate!” I laughed.

“What’s that have to do with anything? Besides, the sooner we eat, the sooner we can break into the expensive wines.”

With that, she extended her arm and led me downstairs.

———————————-

Mor led me into a seating area where Nesta was sitting with a female who looked like a softer version of her. Not the High Lady, so this must be the third Archeron sister, Elain.

Mor’s demeanor shifted slightly as we entered the room, walking toward Nesta who looked up from her book to greet me “Hello, Y/N.”

I smiled. “Hello Nesta, I missed having our lesson together today. I’m rather eager to brush up on my ballroom dancing skills soon.”

The silver-eyed female smirked with a hint of amusement that only a trained eye could spot “It’s not you who needs the extra work, it’s the toe-stepper.”

I huffed a small laugh. Her and Mor were so different yet both felt like they could have been good friends in another life, had I been born into this circle.

I turned to the doe-eyed female next to her about to introduce myself when Azriel entered the room gaze fixed on Nesta. “It was one time! You two are never going to let that go, are you?”

Elain tensed as his gaze shifted to her from Nesta, he nodded his head in greeting before turning toward me.

When his eyes met mine, he froze, that intense hazel gaze sweeping from my head to my toes and back up again, twice. I could have sworn his gaze fixed on my chest for a moment before he met my eyes again. “You look…” he paused, then glanced slightly to the side, seemingly remembering who was in the room. “Nice.”

Mor scoffed. “Nice? I know you’re not a male of many words, Az, but nice? I’d go with ethereal, like a goddess, a deity.” She rolled her eyes, scoffing once Mor. “Nice.”

Azriel said nothing as Mor again took my arm, “Come on, Y/N, let’s go speak with people who will appreciate your naturally gorgeous features and my incredible skills in enhancing them.”

A part of me begged to feel disappointment in Azriel’s choice of words but, words meant so little when his eyes said so much. Perhaps he still had a relationship with Elain? Perhaps they didn’t have one but he didn’t want to hurt her? Perhaps he was completely indifferent and… ugh. Again, why does it matter? He’s a colleague and nothing more. He owes me nothing.

Mor and I entered the dining room to find Rhysand, “Rhys” as he told me to call him and the High Lady. “High Lady” I curtsied, “it’s a pleasure to meet you, officially.”

“Hello Y/N,” a soft smile graced her face, her gray-blue eyes fixed softly on me. “It’s nice to have you here. I do remember briefly seeing you during the encounter in the Summer Court but it’s nice to truly meet you.”

“Thank you, High Lady.”

A booming laugh echoed through the room as a broad, tall Illyrian male entered the space, taking up most of the large entryway. Cassian, I recalled. The general of the Night Court’s armies, the fearsome Lord of Bloodshed.

“High Lady? Since when does family dinner have such formality?”

He turned toward me with a wicked grin. “Hi, I’m Cassian. Just Cassian. And you must be my new favorite person - the one who hit Az with that baguette.”

I blushed, hiding a laugh. “It’s nice to meet you, Just Cassian. I’m Y/N.”

Cassian’s eyes lit up at his humor being met by my own cheesy attempt at a joke. “Az didn’t tell me you were so….” His cheeks puffed as he blew out air “So…” with both palms extended, he gestured to me in an up and downward motion. Clearly my figure was not lost on him. Under typical circumstances, this would have been awkward but I could sense that this was, well, just Cassian.

“Oh good gods.” Mor muttered. “You males are truly terrible at complimenting an attractive female.”

Rhys mocked offense, striding up to me only halting a step away. “Y/N, darling. You look exquisite.” then proceeded to take my hand and press a kiss to the back of it.

Feyre’s eyes lit up at the gesture, clearly adept at enduring her husband’s antics. “You really do look stunning, Y/N. And, as I would have told you before Cassian butt into our conversation, please just call me Feyre.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet all of you. Truly.”

At that moment, a shadow-wraith with High Fae features entered the room holding a babbling and insanely adorable winged toddler. “Oh, the wraith said. I didn’t realize there was… company” she eyed me for a moment before returning her gaze toward Feyre, who only smiled and took the babe from her arms. “It’s okay Nuala, this is Y/N, she’s here for family dinner.”

Nuala’s eyebrows rose. “Oh?” Walking toward me in easy-graceful strides and a nod of her head. “It’s nice to meet you.” Her tone and expression kind with a hint of curiosity thrown in.

The lovely wraith skittered out of the room as a very petite fae entered the room with one hell of a commanding presence. Oh, I knew exactly who this was. The legendary “Amren”. Rhysand’s second in command. Gods, she was practically legendary - tales of her both horrifying and awe-inspiring. I bowed in reverence as she assessed me, sniffing the air. “Interesting.” She said flatly, more to herself than anyone else.

“That’s Amren.” Mor noted. “Don’t mind her. She’s likely hangry and in need of a nap.”

“Careful, girl.” Amren chided. “You aren’t far off from the truth. Do not test me.” Her lips curled into a slightly terrifying smirk.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

An awkward silence momentarily filled the room before the toddler in Feyre’s arms noticed my presence, patting his mother’s shoulder before pointing a chubby finger at Mor and me. “Mama, mama! Look! Pretty!”

“Finally!” Mor praised. “A male that knows how to give a compliment. Thank you, Nyxie baby.”

—————————————

Dinner was spread out on the table before us leaving my mouth practically watering. Mor seated herself on my right, Feyre on my left at the head of the table with Nyx in a high chair beside her, and Rhys next to him. Azriel sat across from me avoiding eye contact. Though, I felt his burning gaze on me any time I turned to Mor or Feyre to speak. A small, traitorous part of me heated low in my belly knowing that he couldn’t resist sneaking glances in my direction.

Elain seated herself beside him in an awkward manner as it was the only remaining chair. Her body tense and avoiding any accidental brushes of their arms. I caught her looking at me a few times too, something like longing and contempt warring within her overall kind features. My gut churned at the tension, though nobody seemed to sense it.

A pang filled my chest at the sight of the High Lady at the head of the table and her mate, the High Lord next to her and their son, instead of the opposite end of the table. They were good parents, you could see the love they poured into Nyx overflowing out of him. My parents loved me that way too.

Chatter filled the table, Cassian’s boisterous laugh and risqué comments earning elbow nudges from Nesta to which he’d look at her with nothing but love and adoration in his eyes. The fierce female warming beneath his stare.

I may not be a total romantic but my mind wandered. What would it be like to be loved like that? The way Rhys looked at Feyre and her at him, and the way Cassian and Nesta looked at each other. Mates. Something only the lucky few ever experienced.

“You’re being quiet, girl.” Amren accused. “Listening for information to sell to the highest bidder?”

“Amren.” Azriel warned.

“What?” The petite female added. “This is perfectly normal? For you to invite a stranger, one who is a known spy join us as if we’ve known and trusted her for centuries? Since when do you go to such great measures in seeking evening companionship.”

My jaw dropped at the same time Elain gasped at the statement.

“Enough, Amren.” Rhysand spoke. “She is my guest. I am the one who invited her.”

“A foolish decision.”

Darkness rolled off of Rhys, dimming the room. Feyre diverted Nyx’s attention to her with gentle coos.

I stood to excuse myself from the table, Azriel quickly standing to follow, but Rhys held a hand toward him. “Excuse us, Y/N. I believe we need to have a family discussion on manners. Azriel, stay seated. Elain, perhaps you could show Y/N the garden.”

Mor started “That’s not necessary, I can -“

“You will stay here too, Mor.” Rhys demanded.

Elain slowly, begrudgingly stood up from the table, walking past me with a whispered “follow me.”

——————————————-

Tags: @fxckmiup @saltedcoffeescotch @minnieoo

[m1d-45]

stella fortuna

summary: ventis entry for my previous (formal) post, aka a minor character study. this was meant to be up 3 days ago :)

word count: 1k

-> warnings: massive spoilers for mondstat archon quest

-> gn reader (no pronouns)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24

< original post || < masterlist >

if you asked venti how he felt, seeing everybody in mondstat be chosen as a vessel but him, you’d get the same answer every time, no matter where or when. even drunk, flopped over the bar with an empty glass in hand, he recites the exact same response as if it’s been committed to memory.

“what need does a bard have for divine strength? i’m glad my friends get to go on adventures, but my place has always been to tell stories, not to write them.”

if you were to listen closely, past the sheen of charisma that coated all of his words, past the mask of a bard and into the heart of the wind, you’d hear the lie.

the memorized words, a paper-thin front over his true feelings, only hide the truth from those who don’t care to find it. the drip of wine only makes this clearer; put a bottle in his hand and watch how quickly his eyes turn blank, how the smile pulling at his features feels forced. the same words, the same lie, the same turmoil that surrounds his every action. confusion is hidden in the downturn of his eyes and something akin to desperation hides in the tilt of the bottle, yet his words come out as sugar-sweet as his drink.

“it doesn’t bother me. why should it?”

it shouldn’t.

he shouldn’t be jealous. he shouldn’t be surprised that mortals were blessed first over a god, he shouldn’t be examining his own skill set for faults. he’s an archon. one without his gnosis, sure, one with the least power from his people, sure, but an archon nonetheless. he still wields anemo with more strength than anybody in mondstat could dream of, the winds still bend to his will, he still challenges amber to an archery contest if the day is slow and he still wins, even with her extra star on her side.

venti doesn’t need acknowledgment from his god, not when there are so many mortals that deserve it. not when hilichurls still fall before his bow, not when his windcurrents still carry pets and children and kites from trees, when the whisper of a breeze alerts knights to a threat at his bidding.

(but he wants it)

none of the other archons have received divine blessings, he’s not even an outlier in that sense. he’s not an exception to the rule, he is the rule, and yet he finds himself wishing it would bend anyway. he should count himself lucky, in truth, that a vessel of his element is always at his gods side. he should be happy that the creator found joy in his domain, that some of the highest favored bore his winged seal. he should take pride in the fact that the head of mondstat’s church was given 6 stars, share diluc’s joy in having his vision burn brighter. he should put a bottle on his step for the darknight hero to enjoy, in celebration of his crimson flames searing hotter than ever.

so why can’t he?

venti couldn’t hide the way his fingers faltered at the wash of divine power coming from the door to the angel’s share, nor the haste with which he looked over. his hand still strummed his lyre, but he let the reprise go on for a bit longer than it should have, letting himself take in the uncharacteristic nod diluc sent his brother before moving to the back room.

kaeya’s eye caught his the moment before he looked away, something knowing in the ice. with a slight lift of his hand, he downed the rest of the wine in his glass.

venti looked away, the finale of his tale finally falling from his lips.

it was late, most of the patrons far past sober, their minds too soaked in alcohol to register the flatness to his voice. when he ended his story with a flourish, skipping the last few bars of the melody, all but one cheered.

the exception joined the outlier, tucking his lyre into his inventory. venti flagged the bartender, kaeya kindly waiting until he had wine in his hand to speak.

“why the long face?”

he looked over, glass half-raised to his lips. the captain seemed… genuine, almost, something knowing in his eyes. whether it was his usual charisma or not didn’t matter, not really—gods saw easily through mortal lies—but he knew it wasn’t anyway.

venti set down his cup. “what do you mean? after a long night of playing, i’m reaping my rewards. what reason do i have to be sad?”

kaeya tipped out his glass for charles to refill, sending him a nod of thanks before turning back to him. his eye skipped over his features, never landing on one for too long: the flower in his cap, the dimness of his eyes, the grip on his glass, all picked up and turned over and assessed.

he drew a conclusion, taking a soft sip of wine. “i don’t know, venti. you tell me.”

what reason did he have to be sad?

by all accounts, tonight was a good night. he’d made quite a bit of mora, he was having a nice drink, he’d turn in a bit earlier than usual and wake up with the sun, feeling the air warm around him as he roamed the city’s dawn. nothing large, or awful, or tragic. nothing… nothing.

ventis eyes slipped, falling to the ice on the captain’s hip, to the peacock he couldn’t see, but the glitter he could feel. the sheen of heaven that dusted the calvary captain’s presence, lending him that much more credibility.

he found kaeya’s eye again, catching himself, but it didn’t matter. the humor had already dulled, understanding flashing back at him.

in the city of wine and song, mondstat’s archon indulged in both.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

I'm not usually one to go for modern construction, but this house, built in 1982, is impressive. My own house was built in 1986 and looked nothing like this. It looked old and dated. This Atlanta, Georgia home has 4bds, 4.5ba, and has the best of both worlds- it's modern, renovated, and you can make it look historic. Asking $1.6M. No HOA.

Imagine your guests coming up the long driveway and the massive front entrance.

They enter thru your double front doors to a lovely entry hall. In front of them are sweeping stairs and a curving mezzanine. There's an archway and look at the perspective they get of the other rooms off to the right.

Is this not gorgeous? Beautiful crown molding, dramatic fireplace. Okay, the wood isn't carved, it's plaster, but some older houses have plaster.

Look at the details in the ceiling. This is so beautiful and it's not an historic home. If it was, it would cost a fortune.

The kitchen opens up right to this room. I don't know, is this the dining room? It looks like a grand ballroom.

I thought that this was the dining room, unless it's for less formal dining. All these rooms have doors to the garden and I'm so glad that they're not painted gray.

Check out the bar.

Look at the ceiling in this family room. Fireplace, w/a hanger above, so all you do is put up your flat screen and you're good to go.

Here's the kitchen looking right out into the "ball room."

Very large. I would need a backsplash, though. I don't see an exhaust hood for the cooktop. And, it's missing the cover for the light fixture.

It's beautiful up here. I didn't realize that you can see into the ball room below. Love the curved railing and the ceiling.

This looks like the main bedroom. Look at the lovely architecture.

Such a large bathroom.

The only tile is in the shower.

Walk-in closet is small by usual standards. Maybe it's just one of two.

Here's a secondary bedroom. They're pretty big. Look at the size of this room and it has a big en-suite.

Wow, look at the cool brick fireplace in the ground floor rec room.

There's another room and bath on this floor.

Wow, marble floor around the beautiful pool.

Grassy area look at the brick walls.

The large garage looks like it has an apt. in it, too. There's an acre of land.

[flightdale]

Recruit to Officer

When candidates arrive for their appointment at Academy will meet this Instructor who will start training process

Called Recruit are scan by Instructor to design custom plan for repair and enhancement then Instructor step behind Recruit and start being sexually close which Recruit thinks is very strange but their collar was saying Enjoy this, One of Instructor's hand grab face of Recruit so can kiss lick then hand moved down to ripped off shirt continuing to feel muscles of chest and arms while other hand had found Recruit's hips to rip off pants then grab bulge with bit of smile across Instructor's face he say 'You are well built and ASSET to Force' in sexy voice then was interrupted by electronic tone 'Injection Activated' so with this Instructor went formal pushing his chest into Recruit's back while hand on bulge was forcing Recruit's ass onto Intstructor's bulge where long large hard cock was extending deep inside Recruit then Instructor release massive load of special liquid which overwhelmed every thing making Recruit go extremely floppy and collapse to floor as Instructor's cock return to home with same voice say "Stage 1 accomplished Now Ultra Class Stage 2' Instructor pick up shirt and pants to put in nearby waste bin along with shoes and collar then got Recruit off floor, march to shower so can do sensual clean then deliver body to service portal for conversion where Stage 2 is declare completed and Instructor return to Entry to repeat whole process again since despite human exterior Instructor is pure robot built for one purpose - preparing Recruits for insertion into portal, Each Instructor can do 50 Recruits in 10 hour shift and Academy employ 100 of them who work 7 days on 2 rotatioal shifts of 9am-7pm and 7pm-5am with gap (5am-9am) use to clean and repair portal plus install updates to Instructors who know nothing outside of Academy as are not allow to leave when off shift thus often engage in some fun with other Instructors in 1 of pods that is their home or use Gyn where can find enhanced Recruits (see my earlier post for example) willing to get very personal but as both got fixed built in plugs no injection will be possible and cock remains off line

[mothmanwarble]

Idk alot about eon's worm friend could you tell me about him?

Ohohohoho, absolutely! I will never turn down an opportunity to talk about Wiggleworth. Now, I’d like to apologize in advance— this might get a bit long.

Along with the Warrior Librarians and the Eternal Archives as a whole, Chief Curator Wiggleworth made his debut in Spyro Versus the Mega Monsters, the first entry in the Mask of Power series of chapter books. He’s introduced to the reader in the most normal, uneventful, not-at-all-overdramatic way possible: arriving at Eon’s Citadel completely unannounced on a massive, flying warship. Y’know. Average librarian stuff, I’m sure. Also, the warship is so massive that it effectively blocks out the beacon emitted by The Core of Light.

Understandably, everyone at the Citadel is freaking out. Even Master Eon is deeply concerned because, well, there’s a warship full of Mech-Piloting Murder Librarians hovering over his house. Not ideal!

The Warrior Librarians (who are all armed with laser swords, because why not) all descend from their ship and confront Eon who nevertheless greets them very formally. What follows is maybe one of the most adorable moments in any Skylanders book ever, in which Wiggleworth, upon recognizing Eon, reveals his itty-bitty worm self from within his mech:

“Greetings, Master Eon,” wheezed a tiny voice. “It is good to see you again.” Eon’s face broke into a dazzling smile. “I don’t believe it!” the Portal Master exclaimed, raising his hands in delight. “Chief Curator Wiggleworth, my old friend. How wonderful to see you.”

Yup! Surprise! Turns out the leader of the Mech-Piloting Murder Librarians is a very, very old and trusted friend of Eon’s! The two of ‘em go way back. Like. Many centuries back.

Wiggleworth is a bit like Eon in the sense that he too is an unfathomably old dude who leads a team of fighters and is burdened with immense responsibility. The Warrior Librarians are described as being the “archivists of forbidden knowledge” and the “curators of the arcane.” Their library and base of operations—the Eternal Archives—is home to every single book ever published “from every corner of the universe,” no matter how mundane, magical, or malicious. As such, Wiggleworth and the others take their job very seriously, hence the weaponized mech suits and ridiculously massive warships. (…But that’s also because he’s a bit prideful and self-important, too. His mech is the only one with a cape, which serves absolutely zero practical purpose. And despite each librarian having the same weapons, Wiggleworth’s weapons happen to be larger than everyone else’s. It’s so unnecessary, I love him.)

He shows up in almost every book in the Mask of Power series, but he doesn’t get much to do after his debut appearance. He basically stops being relevant by book 6, in which his one scene has him get (justifiably) scolded by Spyro in chapter 1. Why? Well, it’s revealed that one of Wiggleworth’s most trusted librarians was actually a double-agent gathering intel for Kaos (whoops!) who also (somehow??) succeeded in kidnapping Eon without anyone noticing (double whoops!!) After this catastrophic screwup, Wiggleworth is never heard from again.

…Until Skylanders: Trap Team for the 3DS! Not only does Wiggleworth act as your guide/tutorial guy/exposition machine, but the game’s main hub is the Eternal Archives itself! Since the events of the Mask of Power series were set before the events of SSA, Wiggleworth’s presence in STT 3DS confirms that he survived up to that point in the timeline while also suggesting that the Skylanders are all on good terms with him again (…maybe). Unfortunately though, Wiggleworth doesn’t really…do much outside of explaining game mechanics. He doesn’t even get to fight at all (he gets put under a sleeping spell while in the middle of a fight with a slightly-larger-than-normal exploding Chompy…off-screen). Furthermore, Wiggleworth and Eon don’t even acknowledge each other at any point in the game either! Needless to say, I feel robbed of an old man reunion.

While it saddens me that Wiggleworth ended up underutilized in both his book and game appearances, I’m glad he was added to the series at all (thank you, Mr. Beakman!) I find the concept of the Warrior Librarians both hilarious and compelling, and I absolutely adore the fact that Wiggleworth was introduced as one of Eon’s dearest friends. And hey! Although Wiggleworth didn’t make it into the game himself, his legacy lives on in SuperChargers, in which we meet the original founder of the Eternal Archives: Pomfrey! I think it’s so awesome that an idea originating from the books literally wormed its way into the games.

Chief Curator Wiggleworth, you’ll always be famous to me o7

[stromuprisahat]

The Little Palace and Grishas’ lives in Second Army, pt. 7

Siege and Storm- Chapter 13

The Palace grounds

The winding white gravel path led us through the palace grounds, past the rolling lawns and follies, and the high walls of the hedge maze. ... My heart beat faster as we entered the wooded tunnel. The trees pressed in on us and, above, the branches wove together in a canopy of green. The last time I’d seen them, they’d been bare. We emerged into bright sunshine. Below us lay the Little Palace. I missed it, I realized. I’d missed the shine of its golden domes, those strange walls carved with every manner of beast, real and imagined. I’d missed the blue lake gleaming like a slice of sky, the tiny island not quite at its center, the white flecks of the Summoners’ pavilions on its shore.

The Hall

... I climbed the steps, the others trailing behind me. The servants flung the doors open wide, and we stepped inside. We passed through the cool dark of the entry chamber and into the Hall of the Golden Dome. The room was a giant hexagon with the proportions of a cathedral. Its carved walls were inlaid with mother-of-pearl and topped by a massive golden dome that seemed to float above us at an impossible height. There were four tables arranged in a square at the center of the room ... ... The Darkling’s ebony chair had been removed. His table sat vacant.

The Darkling's quarters, including war room and oprichniki ?barracks? (Do they all live there, or is it just a place for those on duty?)

I strode across the room and threw open the doors to the Darkling’s chambers, giving silent thanks that they weren’t locked. I walked blindly down the hall, unsure of where I was going, but eager to get far from the domed hall before anyone saw that I was shaking. By luck, I found my way to the war room. ... I paced back and forth in front of the ancient map of Ravka that ran the length of the far wall. ... The Darkling’s quarters were just down the hall from the war room. A charcoal-clad servant led us into a large and rather formal common room furnished with a long table and a few uncomfortable-looking chairs. Each wall was set with a pair of double doors. “These lead to a passage that will take you out of the Little Palace, moi soverenyi,” the servant said, gesturing to the right. She pointed to the doors on the left and said, “Those lead to the guards’ quarters.” The doors directly across from us needed no explanation. They stretched from floor to ceiling, and their ebony wood was carved with the Darkling’s symbol, the sun in eclipse. I didn’t feel quite ready to face that, so I ambled over to the guards’ quarters and peeked inside. Their common room was considerably cozier. It had a round table for playing cards, and several overstuffed chairs were set around a small tile oven for keeping warm in the winter. Through another door, I glimpsed rows of bunk beds.

Aleksander's bedroom

... [I] crossed to the ebony doors. The handles were two thin slivers of crescent moon made of what looked like bone. When I took hold of them and pulled, there was no creak or scrape of hinges. The doors slid open without a sound. ... The chamber was hexagonal, its dark wood walls carved into the illusion of a forest crowded with slender trees. Above the huge canopied bed, the domed ceiling was wrought in smooth black obsidian and spangled with chips of mother-of-pearl laid out in constellations. It was an unusual room and certainly luxurious, but it was still just a bedroom. The shelves were empty of books. The desk and dressing table were bare. All his possessions must have been taken away ... I walked to the side of the bed and smoothed my hand over the cool fabric of the pillow.

pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3, pt. 4, pt. 5, pt. 6, pt. 8, pt. 9

[simstagramsomeone]

Entry for @cawthorntales Bachelorette challenge: Luna Clawcrest-Harper

Brady McConnell runs his Simtube channel by day, but by night he's secretly in on a plot to cause some massive mayhem online. Computer viruses? Childs play. Under the alias Simnonymous, who knows where he will strike next.

The only issue with being chronically online? It gets lonely... he's hoping this will be his chance to finally meet a real life woman.

CC Under the Cut. Available for download on the gallery. I'd consider him evil but place him appropriately.

Skin

Freckles

Eyes

Nose Preset

Hair

Everyday 1:

Shorts

Shoes

Everyday 2:

Sweater

Shoes

Everyday 3:

Pants

Formal:

Suit

Athletic:

Shorts

Shoes

Party:

Top

Shoes

Swimwear

Hot Weather:

Tank

Shoes

The eyebrows says they are by lightdeficient but i cannot find them so feel free to change

Gallery ID: Mellofin007

[blackestnight]

1: subtle arts

Day 1: Envoy Word count: 1844 Hanami has the worst vacation ever. Starfinder AU.

Hanami made it two entire days into her system leave before she got insufferably bored, which was probably a record of some sort. She heaved a sigh, set down her glass—sweating condensation in the jungle heat, which she wiped off on the slick fabric of her carbonweave trousers—and picked up her datapad. First she sent a message to Yugiri, so she could alert the winners of the inevitable betting pool back at base, and then she opened the local infosphere port.

Boring. Boring. Boring. Not that she was expecting much in the way of difficult mercenary contracts, at least not freelance; Castrovel’s civil war had ended decades ago and the vast majority of the guard work in the jungle was done by private companies, plus the formians across the strait still had their colony structure—besides, they hadn’t quite figured out personal pronouns well enough to comfortably navigate dense legalese in written contracts. And the elves were just assholes, as a rule. Boring. Boring.

She blew her bangs away from her forehead and skimmed the highest-paying entry. Some corporate agent from Absalom looking for a local guide. Bonus pay to make up for the short notice, plus company-sponsored food and lodging for the week.

Hanami shrugged, downed the rest of her juice, and clicked bid.

—

Myraka wasn’t the worst client she’d taken on, but four days into the job she kept having to remind herself why. He was chatty—always prattling about himself, his job, his clothes, his job, his favorite currency conversion tools, his job, and the ‘charming’ architecture of Cordona. And his job. Which would have been less grating if he hadn’t been an investment banker.

At least he’d exhausted his interview-disguised-as-small-talk questions for her after the first day. (What brought you to Castrovel? Used to vacation here with her last partner, before he got eaten by a dragon. Why take on more work on your leave? Remembered she hated vacations. Is it true you led a centuria during the Swarm invasion? Yes, it took a year to finish scraping the bug goop out of her ship’s vent ports.)

The meetings were better than the downtime, because none of the prattle was directed at her, and although she did a lot of standing around, it was at least standing around with a purpose—mentally engaging, if not physically. The green-wings back at base who complained about guard duty being a drag were shitty guards; staying engaged and alert for hours at a time took focus and effort, and zoning out or drifting off was how you ended up with compromised bases and dead bodies.

Day four started with brunch—Hanami had been amusing herself by ordering different cocktails every morning at breakfast, just to see if she could make Myraka twitch; he hadn’t yet, and she was still trying to suss out if it was because he knew she was immune to sedatives and stimulants or because he was too polite to point out the blatant day-drinking. He was even more hyperactive than usual, fiddling with his cuffs and his tablet pen while he talked, and once they’d finished eating he brushed nonexistent dirt off his ugly gold suit and bounced to his feet.

“Well!” he announced, pushing his wrought-iron chair back into place with its matching kitschy patio table. “I hope you’ve saved room, Captain Hagane—next on the agenda is high tea with an ambassador from Nerundel, and I would hate to insult the man by declining the cakes! You are wearing your best jacket, yes?” (She was. It was the same jacket she’d been wearing all week. The Skyfire Legion didn’t have a formal uniform as such, but the golden Centurion’s seal at her shoulders was recognizable enough to command respect from most people who bothered to look.) “Let’s be off, we daren’t be late!”

They took a hard-light cab from the cafe into the heart of the inner city, where skyscrapers and towering botanical gardens crowded up against the massive steel wall that blocked off access to the rest of the continent, elven mithril hovercraft darting around the tops like glittering insects and automated turrets swaying like morbid, stiff flowers. Myraka bounded through the front doors of another restaurant—silver vines twitched and uncoiled as they drew near, unfurling over the entrance to spell out The Jade Bower in looping script—and Hanami followed as a butler bowed to them both and led them into a gilded lift, which brought them to the top floor, directly into a tearoom with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the top of the border wall, where they were just tall enough to see the tops of the trees on the other side. The plexiglass was faceted around the edges, likely meant to spray rainbows across the marble floors, but all Hanami could think was that this was probably what it felt like to be a fly. The rooms were lined with glass columns, each filled with its own tiny ecosystem—a miniature waterfall in one, jewel-winged butterflies crawling on golden honeysuckle in another—and a long banquet table sat in the center of the room, under a chandelier dripping with crystal lilies, the embroidered tablecloth obscured by the trays near-overflowing with baked sweets.

One of the seats was already occupied by an elven man—a true elf, Hanami noted as he turned to greet them; his eyes were a richer blue than you saw in any human, with no whites to speak of, fading to a darker ink color near where a pupil might be, and the overall effect was a bit eerie—who rose from his chair with arms spread. “Welcome! Master Myraka, it is an honor—we’ve refreshments aplenty. Shall we start with tea, or wine? Anything for your guest?” he added, sparing a glance for Hanami, who refrained from rolling her eyes and settled into parade rest behind Myraka’s chair with a shake of her head. Myraka started to babble, and Hanami settled into her routine of vigilance, watching the windows (guards in Sovyrian uniforms patrolling along the border wall at regular intervals, rifles slung over their shoulders) and the vents (fine filigree mesh covering the openings, and no telltale flash of mirrors or camera lenses when she called the smallest of sunsparks to her fingertips) and the table (all hands clearly visible, the elf leaning forward in polite interest while Myraka nearly vibrated with nervous energy).

The base of Hanami’s neck began to prickle. The Sovyrian guards outside the window turned on their heels mid-march and walked away.

“Yes, the scholars of our Halls are quite excited to explore more practical uses for the cultivars they’ve been developing with the Xenowardens,” the elf said. “As I understand, Abadarcorp has been doing phenomenally well in the pharmaceuticals trade.”

Myraka laughed. “The Keeper smiles upon His faithful! And upon the savvy, of course.”

Hanami shifted her weight behind Myraka’s seat, letting the cybernetics in her legs click and whir slightly. Shh-shh-click. Shh-shh-shh.

“The savvy,” the elf said agreeably. “And the swindling.”

Myraka froze.

“I beg your pardon?” he said, with a titter bordering on hysterical. One hand twitched toward his own elbow.

Hanami moved.

Left leg, sweep: shatter the legs of the chair, send it flying. Pivot. Right arm in, palm open, perfectly positioned to catch Myraka under his jaw. She’d timed it so well that his torso didn’t move at all as she seized him by the throat; the only sign that anything had happened was the frantic flailing of his legs and the terror draining the blood from his face.

Well, that and the clattering of his ion pistol as it fell from his sleeve.

“Start begging,” she said.

The elf sighed as he stood, carefully moving his own chair aside and brushing wrinkles from his robe. “I appreciate a well-crafted deception as much as you do, Master Myraka,” he said, as he carefully rolled up his sleeves. “It requires true artistry to conceal a plot of this magnitude. I rather fear that my friend has little patience for the arts, though.” He fingered a silver cuff adorning his wrist, slipping two fingers under the metal, and there was a gentle click and an electric hum—the elf’s face seemed to shimmer like a heat mirage for a heartbeat as the holoskin shut off, as the royal blue faded from his eyes to reveal white sclera, irises the color of a frozen lake. His ears grew shorter, the angles of his jaw gentler.

“I, on the other hand,” Aymeric said, and raised his hand to touch a point below his ear, and suddenly the airy, chiming tones of his voice melted into his usual warm baritone, “have always committed myself to a variety of studies. Back to the topic at hand, however—that price-fixing scheme of yours. Care to divulge the names of your conspirators?”

Myraka croaked, and Hanami tightened her grip. “I don’t—I won’t—”

Aymeric shot her a wry smile. “Careful. He does need to talk.”

“They have telepaths here,” she grumbled, but obligingly dropped Myraka—with a clench of her fist, he hit the floor spread-eagled, gravity pressing down on him with sudden magnitudes of force that had him heaving for breath. “And I had to listen to him nattering about fucking stock exchanges all week. Let me have fun.”

Aymeric brushed her arm as he rounded the table, then bent at the waist just enough to meet Myraka’s eyes. “From one businessman to another, I have a deal to offer,” he said. “You tell me—and the Stewards—what we wish to know, and we can have this conversation like civil beings. Or if you insist on continued resistance, I’ll have no choice but to leave you to the good Captain’s tender mercies. Either way, you will be spending a long, long time in prison, Myraka, so you truly have nothing to lose.”

“Except your limbs,” Hanami added.

Aymeric glanced at her from the corners of his eyes with an indulgent grin. “I’d rather not witness a dismemberment today, my star.”

Hanami shrugged. “Close your eyes.”

Myraka gulped.

—

Later, once the Stewards had shut Myraka in their shuttle, and Lucia had seen them off with a crisp salute, Hanami helped Aymeric finish picking the holoskin nodes out of his hairline. “Next time I choose the vacation,” she grumbled. “Fucking stock exchanges, Aymeric.”

He grimaced and shook his bangs from his eyes, tucking the nodes into his pocket, and slipped the voice modulator cuff from his ear. “You still have three days of leave, do you not? I hear there are carnivorous jungle expeditions that set out from an island just west of here.”

She grunted, but took the apology for what it was. “You better have packed your hiking boots.”

His rich, warm laugh was lightyears better than the bell-chime chuckle he’d been affecting with the modulator, and made even more welcome by the hand he slid up her spine. “As soon as I get changed, we can wrestle bloodthirsty megaflora to your heart’s delight,” he assured her, and she snorted and slung an arm over his shoulder to guide him down the sidewalk.

[beloveddawn-blog]

What do you mean I built Nathanial A WHOLE-ASS ROOM in my house and I'm not allowed to touch any of it?!? It's my house! Go back to the barracks if you don't like it!

Fic below cut.

"So what do you think?" Teleri asked, bouncing on the balls of her feet. She was new to this human concept of spouses, but the part that sounded the best was having a whole other person around who loved you. She'd been so excited for their wedding. Nathanial still spent most of his time at the barracks, which she could mostly understand due to his work, but she hoped this would entice him over even a little bit more.

"I love it!" He replied in awe, looking around him in delight. "It's perfect! Did Roza help you decorate?"

"And your Mom." She confirmed, still feeling giddy. "She told me you liked truly dark spaces to sleep in, that light bothers you, so I built one without windows right next to the entry so you could still hear someone if they knocked on the door. I had to move the piano, of course, but that's fine. I don't usually get a chance to play it, and I'm kinda shit anyway. Every now and then I consider asking Claude for lessons, but honestly when would I get the time?"

"I love your music." He assured her, "Even if it's just experimental messing around with the keys or strings, it's always wild and fierce in a way that suits you so well. Formality would ruin it, I think."

Teleri blushed, her cheeks darkening as they pinked. "I have a drum set too, but it's in Nel'Vari. You should come there sometimes and hear me play it."

"I'd love to." He assured her. "Sometime after the danger has passed, I'd be delighted to take some time off and travel with you. Why Nel'Vari, though? I'd think the piano would suit better there, and the drums... Maybe in Withergate?"

"DRUMS IN AN APARTMENT?" She brought her hands up to cover her mouth, not quite sure if it was in horror or shock. "No. Hell no. FUCK no. That's such a mean thing to do! The forge is bad enough and it's mechanized! Xyla would kill me, and she'd be right to do so!"

"Sorry, sorry." He laughed, holding his hands up in surrender. "I didn't think that one through. Why Nel'Vari, though? Surely it's the same sort of issue? Don't they value their peace there?"

Teleri shrugged, the movement as fluid through the shoulders as it was in her watery hair. It was her innate grace that had first drawn Nathanial to her, and he often felt like some hulking brute holding a delicate teacup near her, never mind that she was actually tougher than anyone in the town including both him and Roza. She shot him a grin that he couldn't help returning, as totally smitten as he was. "They do. But Wesley told me not to make a nuisance of myself and made me climb the massive safety violation on the outside of The Great Tree by barring me from using the wind lift, so the first chance I got I bought some drums and moved them in. You can't hear them in the town proper, I'm too far away, but the sound travels to the bridge. You should have seen the look on his face!" She broke down into giggles, and Nathanial joined her, his booming laugh echoing through their house.

"He didn't cause you any trouble over it?" He asked, still chuckling. Nathanial had met Wesley at the most recent music festival, and the man had seemed like the sort to take that personally. Especially when it was.

"Nah," Teleri replied, waving a hand dismissively. "Every time he tried to, Lucius would intercept him and Wesley would get an hours long 'friendly conversation' about how the Moon Goddess delights in my joy and blesses my work. My dude's got my back, and he loves my drums. The fairies and the fish supposedly do as well, so he doesn't feel as lonely or misunderstood when I'm playing. And he's awake anyway, he's a devotee of the Moon Goddess."

Nathanial sobered at that, remembering suddenly the one very important thing he had to tell Teleri about his room...

"Beloved..." He began, and her joking demeanor fell away in an instant. He wished he could get that sort of response from his soldiers most days, but it was still heartening to get it from his wife (Wife! They were married now! Teleri had picked him to be with officially and forever, despite not truly understanding human monogamy). "About that... About how you can be... A bit disruptive..." He trailed off, really not wanting to insult her, but...

"Is this about that merchant?" She asked, eyes narrowing. "Because I didn't mean to scare him. I was just in a hurry to get to the farming store before it closed. I needed more flower seeds."

"No, this is not about how that man ran blubbering to me that an invading warlord was terrorizing the town on their hell-beast and I had to explain that it was just my wife, the local farmer. I knew it was you, I've met the owlbear and he's a sweetheart, and it never would have been a problem if he didn't like to block the whole street with his self-importance. No, this is about your sleeping schedule." He took a deep breath and dove right in. "I'd like it if you didn't use my room. At all."

Her face fell, and Nathanial immediately felt like such a jerk, but he knew he couldn't waver on this. Not if he wanted this relationship to last.

"But why?" She asked, sounding truly lost, and he stepped forward to lay comforting hands on her shoulders.

"Teleri, Beloved, light of my life... You are a morning person. You're up literally every single day at or even before the sunrise. And not only that, you come skidding in every evening you actually sleep here in the last moments before midnight, rushing for your bed and smelling of magic and metal. I know you need less sleep than me, you've proven that time and time again, but I need more sleep than that. I'm a light sleeper and you wake me up, both coming and going. I always end up a complete bear the whole of the next day, and my focus is shot. That's not safe for me, it's not safe for Sun Haven... And it's not good for you either. It's not good for us. I don't want to spend our time together exhausted, cranky, and resentful of your energy. That's not fair to either of us."

Teleri's pout had deepened as he spoke, but Nathanial knew her well enough by now to know she was feeling petulant rather than actually upset. "I suppose that's not entirely unreasonable." She allowed, still sulking. "So I'm not to wake you at all?"

"Wake me if you need me." He assured her. "I'll always be here for you, just don't wake me consistently every evening and morning. I'll be no use at all if I'm consistently sleep deprived. If something's on fire or... I don't know, a dragon shows up, or even if you just need me you can always, always count on me."

Teleri tilted her head in confusion. "Why on earth would I wake you if a dragon shows up? Dynus drops by any time he feels like he's being ignored to hiss out some philosophy, loom ominously, and leave scales all over the place. He's really quite needy, to be honest."

Nathanial blinked at her. "Dynus does what?!?"

[ofthecrowsandcranes]

thoughts of the week

i went into this intending to write a reflection on the grimoire challenge for this week but ended up thinking more about general reflections of my practice instead, so, thoughts:

like i said in this reblog, i'm using this challenge (and a bunch of other stuff) as frameworks, because i haven't really written down much of my practice. most of it lives in my head. i have (2) partial grimoires, one that's evolved into just a notetaking notebook and another that was digital that i don't really use because even though digitization makes it easier to organise, there's something about paper that i really, really like.

so my goal/intention for this challenge is to practice consistency. attempting the prompts that make sense to me, even if for some of them i know they're going to be a rough draft of what my practice ends up being. for the spellwriting 101 one, i haven't even done enough spellwork to know what process works best for me (consequences of being more pagan than witch for the past few years), so i took notes from @breelandwalker's how to write spells post since her process is concise and feels like a good checklist of "did i consider this aspect? am i being specific enough or not?" obviously my methods may change as i do more practical work but having a good starting point is what matters the most

one of my general goals for 2024 was to just Do things, and worry less about the finished product and more about the process. so some of my pages are messy and i don't have a specific order for things. i'm filling in the index/table of contents last so i can use it as a "where did i put this" list instead of a "this will go here" list. in the future, i'll probably use a binder or something with easily insertable pages/entries as a formal grimoire, but for now, i'm recording and practicing and that's what matters most for me, since i haven't done that before. despite four years of doing stuff on and off.

i'm gonna put a cut here because otherwise this post will be Massive but i'm gonna go into more detail about some of the pages/things that i did for reference.

monday

name your book: done! i just called it my spiritual lab notebook, since that's what it is.

definitions (ritual and spell): done! very UPG, but to me a ritual and a spell differ because a ritual is to affect the Now and a spell is to affect the Later. also rituals have more broad intentions vs a spell which has very specific intentions

Study herb: bay laurel! i did a bay leaf wish ritual on new year's day with my family and my mom asked why bay leaves, and i was like "hm, i don't know the specifics of why they're associated with wishmaking" so i added them to my herbs list so i could find out, and then learned it's because they're fucking bay laurel. i feel extremely stupid for not making that connection but! now i know!

tuesday:

outline: done! it's blank, i won't fill it in until the notebook is full

study gem: not done, still trying to decide how to substitute this. i might do tarot spreads instead.

spellwriting 101: done! discussed above

wednesday:

common tools: done! i really only put three things for now, but i'll probably go back and add things as i remember/find new tools. so far i've got tarot cards, embroidery thread, and candles, but in writing this i've remembered bells and jars and beads also

year outline/calendar: done! added the Big 4 (solstices & equinoxes), samhain, lughnasadh, and christmas (since my family celebrates it). will definitely be adding more as i go, but that's what i want to celebrate (or do celebrate) for now

Practical (tool usage): done! did a 3 card pull with my elemental power tarot, since i want to use it more as a reflective tool.

thursday:

altar design/workspace: done! sketched a layout of my current altar + wrote some wishes/dreams for when i have a different space.

practical (cleansing): not done yet—around this part of the week my chronic illness stuff started to flare up, and since cleansing involves actual cleaning for me, i couldn't really do it while resting. it's on my backburner for later.

friday:

personal practices: done! did a quick journal entry in DayOne

and that's all! if i can get to cleansing today i'll do it, but i have many other things to do also, so i'll get to it eventually.

[beloved-death]

Starting a Family Headcanon Answers, since I lost the asks.”

Number: How many children does your muse want?

Mason considers 2-3 ideal, he is not opposed to a single child but he feels that multiple children make an ideal family. As for more... well if it happens it happens he knows that having a lot of kids is a massive burden on everyone.

Adopt: Does your muse want to adopt, or do they want to have children naturally? Both?

Mason has no issues with adoption but he is very much the old man and easily prefers biological kids. He also would not make a good adoptive parent as busy as he is.

Single: How would your muse feel about being a single parent? Would they be able to take care of a child on their own? How would that work?

Being a single parent is not an option but if such a crisis were to happen the children would have an entire staff to care for them.

Want: Does your muse want children? Why or why not?

He had children in his mortal life, but now? He doesn’t know...

Capable: Do you think your muse is capable of caring for a child? Why/Why not?

Maybe once they get past their toddler years maybe. Before that? No, not at all. Not only is he busy but he is entirely unqualified.

Chores: How does your muse prefer to divide the housework?

The staff takes care of most housework, otherwise Harmony does most of the cleaning while the more difficult tasks are done by him.

Outing: What sorts of things does your muse like to do with their kids outside of the house?

Taking them to the theatre, proper restaurants, field trips, and for rides. Things like that.

Emergency: How is your muse in an emergency? Are they calm? Panicked?

Depends on the emergency, injuries are effortless as mason does not panic, illnesses are a call to a doctor and a flight to a medical facility if necessary. The child would never go missing, Mason would be able to sense them. 

Diaper: Has your muse ever changed a diaper before? Are they good at it?

NOPE and considering the requirements for speed and dexterity they would be good at it.

Entertain: Is your muse good at entertaining children? How do they go about doing it?

Not at all, Mason pretty much never interacted with kids and has no knowledge on the subject. All of that would be under harmony’s purview.

Tantrum: How does your muse deal with tantrums? In public?

He does not deal with it in public. He cannot exactly use magic to silence the child but he is certainly not going to let himself be embarrassed. The child would be forced to be on their best behavior at formal events, besides there will be plenty of other vampires and servants to adore the child. 

Parent: What type of parent does your muse consider themself?

A glorified bank account and a warm body.

Bedtime: Does your muse read their child to sleep? Are there any other bedtime routines they have?

Yes actually, though it would largely be poetry and old songs. 

Treat: How does your muse reward their child? Candy / Toys / etc.?

Rewarding children doesn’t make sense to Mason. Why would you have a reward as an incentive if they will normally receive gifts from their parents regardless?

Destress: What’s your muse way to destress after a long day?

Cold glass of liquid or blood, a quiet room, and something to read or a record to play.

Scrapbook: Does your muse like to keep record of their kids, or are they more ‘live in the moment’ type?

Within the library there will be several volumes containing moments of life. One day memories will fade but the pictures and entries will remain.

Cuddle: Is there designated cuddle time for your muse and their child, or is it more unprompted?

Unprompted. Doesn’t happen often as Mason is not the most affectionate parent.

Mess: How does your muse handle a mess that your child has made?

Teaches them how to clean it, and then cleans it or has a member of staff clean it.

Lullaby: Does your muse sing lullabies to their kids, or do they just put on CDs?

Lullabies, CDs are cheating.

Daycare: Does your muse prefer to bring their child to a public daycare, or do they hire someone they trust to watch them?

No daycare at all, children’s rooms and similar things are the only options. Other than Harmony’s family the child is only ever left with staff.  

Date: How often does your muse get a date?

Considering he is married, he does not. But when he was single it would be whenever he desired.

Playtime: Does your muse enjoy playing with their kids or do they simply observe them as they play?

More often the latter. It cannot be stated enough that he has no experience with kids.