#prompts must be freely given

[echoofawind]

I have a problem with 90% of the fests I see advertised with prompting. I love the idea of sharing plot bunnies or creative ideas. I don't like it when the prompt forms have a dozen fields outside of the prompt that further specifies anything. Ship, rating, characters, triggers, etc. A prompt in a standard fest is NOT a request for a gift. The writer is not obligated to write you a story. If you as a prompter have a list of requirements for the prompt, then you are not offering a prompt. You are saying, writer you must write me this exact story. I do not understand how that is seen as the norm in fandom right now instead of rude and limiting?

As long as you don't gift the story to the prompter, you are under NO OBLIGATION to follow any of those superfluous prompt fields. It's a prompt. A starting point for inspiration.

I cannot count how many fest prompts I've read through, found a prompt that sang to my muse and started crafting an idea only to then read 'Do Not Write: age gap relationship. Or only X or Y characters' . Who is this prompter to tell me what stories I am allowed to create? That is not how a prompt works! That is how a gift request works. Stop putting me in a fucking box.

[needsmustleap]

selling sunset is actually insane..... the most toxic workplace of LIFE oh my god..... two of them will have beef and the others will basically invite one to vent about it and then go relay everything they said to the other one so it all blows up again, it's insane!!

[ladylokilaufeyson5]

Where The Shadows Dance - The Bodyguard (ii)

Bodyguard!Azriel x AutumnDaughter!Reader

CHAPTER II: The Bodyguard

SUMMARY: The Night Court must decide who shall remain to protect the Daughter of Autumn, while also getting to know the princess with a fiery soul.

WARNINGS: More misogyny! yay! mentions of alcohol, tw: beron (we all hate him its ok), people talking shit behind y/n's back, probably swearing i can't remember (also i just swore in the warning so like... it's possible), daddy issues!

NOTE: once again special thank you to my moots @icey--stars and @fieldofdaisiies for reading over my work! <33

WORDS: 2K

Sitting in the quarters Beron had assigned to the Night Court guests, the inner circle debated how to approach this situation they had found themselves in. 

One of them was to play bodyguard for the Princess of the Autumn Court. Of course, there were many logistics to sort out, ranging from the most obvious one – who would be the assigned bodyguard – to smaller details, such as whether they needed more than one Night Court member to remain in Autumn.

“I’m telling you, they’re a bunch of snakes,” Cassian said firmly. “We can’t just leave one person behind. What if this is a ploy?”

“That is true,” Feyre mused, “but why bother to make a ploy at all? We fought in the war together, and an unprovoked attack against the Night Court would cause another war. And Beron must know that the other courts would be on our side.”

Amren sighed. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I agree with Cassian. We can’t trust these people.”

Azriel stayed silent, mulling it all over. It was all true — fighting for the same side in the war had brought the courts together, but then again, there were people like Eris and his brothers lurking in this court.

A soft knock on the door prompted everyone to look towards the sound. After a moment, the door opened, revealing Eris, a small smile on his face.

“It is lovely to see you all in a different scenery,” Eris commented after he had closed the door.

“Eris,” Rhysand greeted. “How can we help you?”

Eris went ahead and took a seat in a scarlet chair beside the fireplace, relaxing with ease. Azriel supposed it would be easier to do so now that he was in his own home, but the sight still frustrated the shadowsinger.

“I just wanted to see what you all thought of my father’s… proposition,” Eris said casually.

“Did you know?” Cassian questioned.

Eris shrugged. “I did tell you that it had something to do with my sister.”

“There was an attempt on her life, which you failed to mention,” Azriel stated.

Eris just smiled calmly. “Must have slipped my mind.”

This was exactly what Cassian had been talking about before, Azriel knew. They were cunning and sly in the Autumn Court, and that made them dangerous.

“Anything else that may have ‘slipped your mind’?” Azriel inquired.

Eris turned his gaze to the shadowsinger, a small smirk on his face. Azriel wanted to punch the male, and he remembered the feel of his neck beneath his hands, and how close he could have come to killing the heir before him. He sort of wished he had.

“My father has already chosen which member of your court he wants as Y/n’s bodyguard,” Eris revealed.

Azriel blinked. Despite the fact that Beron had given them the illusion of free choice, of course the male had already decided. After looking at Eris expectantly, Rhysand realised the male would not freely give up this information.

“Who?” the High Lord asked.

Eris glanced at Azriel. “The shadowsinger, of course.”

Everyone looked at Azriel, and the Illyrian wanted to shrink away from the attention. Why him? Yes, perhaps he appeared more gentlemanly than Cassian, as he knew how to keep his mouth shut, but what else? Yes, he was the Spymaster for the Night Court, but Cassian was the general of the armies. Amren terrified everyone, and yes, she’d be more than capable to be a bodyguard, but then again, Amren might kill the princess if she annoyed her.

“Why Azriel?” Rhys questioned.

Eris looked at the High Lord as if he was incompetent. “Is he not the most obvious choice? That one–” he nodded to Cassian, “–has already tainted a female promised to the Autumn Court.”

Rage, icy cold, flowed through Azriel at the implications behind Eris's words. ‘A female promised to the Autumn Court’ was very obviously Mor, and the entitlement in his tone…

“First of all, I have a mate–” Cassian growled, but Rhysand cut him off.

“Let's not argue,” the High Lord said firmly, although silent fury shone in his eyes at Eris's words. “We're all allies here.”

Eris rolled his eyes but said nothing more, and Cassian glared at the Autumn Court heir, clearly imagining all the ways he could rip him apart.

“Didn't Azriel try to kill you at the High Lord's meeting?” Amren mused.

Eris glowered at the female. “Well, we certainly can't have you here. Your mere presence makes the courtiers uneasy.”

“I did save your asses during the war,” Amren reminded him, but she seemed more than pleased that she still terrified people. 

Azriel let out a breath. He had guessed that it would be himself who would have to play bodyguard, but how could he do so when his job was one of utmost importance to the Night Court? Even now, with Nyx only half a year old, there were so many threats that needed to be uncovered and eliminated.

Azriel glanced at Rhysand and Feyre. Both had been reluctant to leave their son behind for a week, but they knew it would be much too dangerous to bring him to the Autumn Court. Nesta, Elain, and Mor had promised to take care of him while they were gone, and Nyx was probably having the time of his life with his Aunts.

What do you think? Rhys asked Azriel, mind to mind.

Azriel pondered his answer for a moment. I would be willing to do it, but to leave you without a Spymaster for the Cauldron knows how long…

I think we can manage for a little while, Rhys replied, a grin twinkling in his eyes.

Azriel nodded his confirmation. It was true — his court members were not truly useless without him. Just slightly disadvantaged, but they knew how to take care of themselves.

“I'll do it,” Azriel said aloud.

Cassian looked at his brother, eyes widened slightly with silent warning. Amren appeared disinterested in the conversation, but Azriel knew she was listening to every word. Eris simply nodded, as if he already knew Azriel would agree.

“Good,” Eris replied. “I will allow you to share the news with my father in your own time.”

The heir then got up and exited the room, leaving the Night Court members by themselves.

“I need a drink,” Amren muttered.

The following week was a whirlwind. Every morning, afternoon, and evening, the Night Court members dined with the Autumn Court, and the Autumn Court members also showed them their home. It was mostly Y/n showing them around the palace and the grounds, with Autumn guards trailing closely behind.

Y/n was a different person when she was not around her father. She was much more talkative, and quick to joke and tease. After a few days, it was clear that Cassian adored the princess and her witty comebacks, and she clearly enjoyed the freedom of banter with him. It was almost as if they were destined to be best friends. But whenever any member of her family was present, she would go quiet, and exhibit “lady-like” speech and actions.

Azriel had heard many of the Autumn Court’s opinions of her through his shadows, and none of them were particularly fond. Wild, untamed, unlady-like, and irritating, were the words most commonly used to describe the princess in secret, but Azriel had a feeling she did not care what she thought about them. He could tell that she only cared what her father thought — perhaps not for praise, but rather in fear of punishment.

“So, have you decided which of you will be protecting me after this week?” she asked the Night Court members as they walked through the Royal apple orchard. The apples were the finest Azriel had ever tasted, and he wondered whether there was some kind of magic behind it to make them so.

“We have discussed it,” Rhysand replied, plucking an apple from a tree and handing it to his mate. Feyre took the apple with a smile.

Y/n sighed deeply. “I wish I could go to the Night Court with you. It sounds beautiful.”

While the Night Court members had told the princess a little bit about their home, the Autumn daughter was an avid reader, and had mentioned that she’d always been interested in The Night Court. She would read any book on their court a hundred times, and had learned about Starfall, Illyrians, and many other Night Court customs. When Rhys questioned her on the books she had read, she had become slightly evasive in her answers.

“I borrowed them,” Y/n had said casually.

Azriel had raised an eyebrow. “Borrowed, or stole?”

The grin the princess threw his way had set his heart racing, but he had no idea why. “I prefer the term 'mischievously possess.’”

Cassian had barked out a laugh, and even Amren had smiled slightly.

But as well as spending time with the princess, Azriel had other things to do. When she showed him the castle, he memorised it. He marked every exit, window, door, hiding place — everything. If he was to be her bodyguard, he would have to have the entire layout memorised. For her protection, but also for his. He didn’t doubt for one second that if he let his guard down, one of her brothers, maybe even Eris himself, would try to stab him in the back. Literally.

Eventually, the week came to an end, and the members of the Night Court gathered in the Autumn Court throne room. Azriel supposed that bonds had been slightly strengthened between the courts, but not by much. Mistrust was hard to get rid of, especially when there were centuries and generations of it.

“We have come to a decision,” Rhy told Beron, his hands resting in his pockets. “And my High Lady and I shall allow you to employ one of my warriors as your daughter’s bodyguard.”

Beron nodded, his gaze flicking to Azriel for a brief moment before going back to Rhys. “And have you decided which warrior shall be protecting my daughter?”

That glance told Azriel that Eris had been telling the truth. Beron hoped that it was the shadowsinger who would be playing bodyguard, and it made sense now. Although what didn’t make sense was the fact that Eris had not lied.

“Azriel shall remain behind to guard your daughter,” Rhys promised. 

“Wonderful,” Beron said with a nod. “Thank you for this, Rhysand. The Autumn Court shall never forget this favour.”

Rhys nodded at the High Lord, and both of them shook hands, their goodbye quick and brief. The Night Court's goodbyes to Azriel were lengthy in comparison.

“Stay safe,” Rhys told Az, clapping him on the back. “Our mental bridge will be open at all times. Let me know if there’s any trouble.”

“You act as if I can’t take care of myself,” Azriel replied, a half smirk on his face.

Rhys rolled his eyes and brought his brother into a hug, the eyes on them be damned. When Rhys pulled away, Cassian was there next, squeezing the shadowsinger into a hug that nearly crushed his bones.

“I’ll miss you, Azzie,” Cassian whispered in Azriel’s ear, which set him scowling. Cassian grinned and pulled away, Feyre replacing him. She pressed a quick kiss to his cheek in farewell, and before Az knew it, the Night Court disappeared into the void, leaving him alone in the Autumn Court.

TAGLIST: @honeybee54321 @marigold-morelli @lucky7rosie @itsswritten @paankhaleyaar @bubybubsters @5onedirection5 @lilah-asteria @sheblogs @thelov3lybookworm @blushingfawnsposts @thisiskaylin @morganisheree @sleepylunarwolf @bakananya @bookishbroadwaybish @namelesssaviour @glitterypirateduck @sfhsgrad-blog @ash-mcj @feyres-fireheart @ib525 @azrielswhore @copenhagenspirit @eternallyelvish @teenagellamaangel @thisiskaylin @littleladdty

[mousy-nona]

If you're still accepting prompts: Lucifer and Alastor are getting closer and closer, and Lucifer makes it clear he's interested in Alastor sexually. Alastor's uninterested in sex with anyone, but goes along with it because he thinks that's what he's supposed to do in a relationship. Lucifer stops when he realizes Alastor's dissociating through the whole thing.

They fell together like a storm. Furiously, without regard for those who might be caught in it. It started with a few raindrops – a few petty insults here and there, nothing too serious. But before they knew it, they had graduated to psy-ops (oh dear, your favorite duck is gone? You must learn to take better care of your things!), campaigns of terror that sent the residents of the hotel fleeing for cover, and full-on fist fights.

And finally, during one of those fights, they found the eye of the storm: an accidental brush of the lips. So quick, so innocent. Easy to brush off as if nothing had happened. 

But Lucifer found his heart was beating so fast it felt like a buzzing in his ears, and he knew he had found the truth of it. The reason why Alastor’s presence was like a perpetual itch he couldn’t scratch. Why he couldn’t take his eyes off of the demon whenever he was in the room. 

So he kissed him again (furiously) and Alastor had kissed him back (tentatively). 

Things didn’t change much after that. But Lucifer found himself making excuses to touch him, his fingers trailing a second or two longer on his chest when he grabbed his shirt during a fight, or lingering at his back when he pushed him out of the way. There were more of those sweeter moments too – cups of coffee shared in silence as they watched the morning sun rise over Pentagram City, reading together in front of the fire when everyone else had gone to bed, Alastor making biting (but helpful) comments as Lucifer glanced over the agenda for the annual Hell Assembly. Lucifer started moving some of the stuff from his workshop to Alastor’s studio, and when Alastor worked on his script for his next radio show, Lucifer would tinker with his experiments. And Alastor only got a little mad when he accidentally set the curtains on fire. 

They fell together so naturally that Lucifer didn’t even realize he had fallen in love until he found himself making Alastor a cup of coffee just the way Alastor liked it – black as sin, with cinammon sprinkled in – and he turned around to find Alastor had made him a cup just the way Lucifer liked it – a healthy splash of milk with five sugars. It was automatic, a thoughtless habit born of a hundred mornings where they’d done the exact same thing. 

“What?” Alastor asked.

“I’d like to keep you forever.” 

“What?” Alastor repeated.

“I love you, you idiot.” 

Alastor didn’t say it back for several weeks. Lucifer tried not to let it affect him, because love was freely given and Alastor didn’t have any obligation to love him the same, but Lord in Heaven it hurt. Were the rumors true? Was he really heartless? 

Then one night, when Lucifer was bent over a particularly difficult blueprint, he found the room had gone eerily silent. He glanced over at Alastor, who, instead of studying the current events in Hell for his latest broadcast, was staring at him with an intensity that made him nervous.

“What do you want?” 

Alastor melted into the shadows, and reappeared inches away. 

“Alastor, what in the world–” 

“Hush.” Alastor pressed the very edge of his claw against his mouth. “That’s quite enough out of you. I’m trying to concentrate.”

On what? Lucifer thought. 

Suddenly, Alastor leaned forward, and their lips met. It was just as delicious as the last time, and Lucifer felt himself melting into the kiss. Then Alastor’s tongue prodded against his lips, asking for entrance. Lucifer gave it, letting out an embarrassing moan as the taste of smoke and freshly roasted coffee and the barest hint of spice invaded his mind. He pushed forward, toppling them both onto the ground as his hand brushed against the hem of Alastor’s shirt. 

And Alastor, for his part, did…nothing. He didn’t touch him back, but he didn’t push him away either. Lucifer took that as a win and brushed his fingers across the bare, smooth skin of Alastor’s stomach. 

Alastor stiffened, his muscles locking in place. Lucifer glanced up, breaking their kiss. “Is everything okay?” He asked gently. 

Alastor’s expression was as unfathomable as the deep, but he nodded. “I thought I told you not to talk.”

Lucifer frowned. “Are you sure–” 

Alastor leapt forward, their mouths crashing into each other again. “Don’t. Talk.” He hissed in between desperate, ragged breaths. Lucifer groaned and resumed his exploration, running his hands up and down the hard planes of Alastor’s chest, his broad shoulders, his thin waist, his hard hips – so different from Lilith’s voluptuous curves, but different was good. His pulse fluttered like a bird’s as he reached for Alastor’s belt and started tugging. 

“Alastor,” he moaned, arching up to see if Alastor was feeling as good as he was – and abruptly stopped moving.

Alastor looked…empty. Far away. His eyes were like glass marbles, staring past and through Lucifer into the quiet darkness beyond.

Lucifer hissed and jerked away. Alastor stirred, as if rousing himself from a deep sleep. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” Lucifer nearly snarled. “If you hated it, you should have told me! You didn’t need to put yourself through this!” A bitter taste filled his mouth. His hands felt dirty somehow, and he held them behind his back, as if that would somehow make them both forget what had just happened.

“I don’t hate it,” Alastor insisted.

“Liar, liar, pants on fire.” 

“It wasn’t terrible,” he amended.

“Fantastic,” Lucifer groaned. “I’m just going to – I’ll just see myself out, shall I?” He tried to escape to the safety of his room, but Alastor’s hand wrapped around his wrist, holding him tightly in place. 

“But this is what people do, isn’t it?” He huffed, his strange red eyes gleaming with an emotion that Lucifer had never seen on him before. “When you–” He broke off, as if he couldn’t quite make himself say it. “When they’re like us,” he finally finished. 

“Like us?” Understanding hit him like a lightning strike. “Oh. Alastor, did you do all this because I told you I loved you?”

“And I…feel similarly for you,” he choked out, looking like he was contemplating jumping out the window while he said it. “And people who feel this way –” 

“Alastor, this is you and me.” Gently, so as not to scare him away, Lucifer held his hand and pressed it to his heart. “When have we ever done things the way other people do? That’s the beauty of relationships – we can write our own rules, and to hell with what other people might think. Besides, we’re not exactly the conventional couple. I think I hate you almost as much as I love you. And now I know you love me too. You put your own comfort aside to try and make us work.” He swallowed, running his finger along Alastor’s sharp jawline. A love he hadn’t known since the Fall filled his spirit, and the room lit up with a gentle golden glow. “Thank you.” 

The relief emanating from Alastor was nearly palpable. He swallowed, then wrapped his hand around Lucifer’s. “One small correction.” 

“What’s that?”

“I think I hate you more than I love you.” 

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “Of course you do. Tacky prick."

"It takes one to know one."

[hihomeghere]

1 and 81 for Charles smut! I’m so excited for these prompts it’s gonna be so fun!

Knight in Shining Armor | Charles Smith/Reader

I really didn't mean for this to be this long, and yet here we are! I hope you enjoy!

Prompt list

Word Count : 3.1k Prompts : 1. "Kiss me" "What-", 81. "Your heart is racing." Warnings/Tags : Mention of abuse, mentions of SH, piv smut, fingering, cleaning of cuts, getting bucked off a horse, cursing, female reader

The Parlour House was bustling with life, beer and whiskey freely flowing. Ever since moving to Clemens point, after that nasty business in Valentine, you had been frequenting the parlor house most nights. Dutch and Hosea had taught you well, pick pocketing was your specialty. It’s how you made your living in the gang, and there were more than enough drunkards to steal from in Rhodes.

Especially with the stupid rivalry between the Grays and Braithwaites. While Dutch and Hosea were dipping their hands into their pockets figuratively, you were literally doing it. 

“Honey, that must be so hard.” You cooed, not giving a shit what this Gray was actually saying. It was about the gold, always about the gold. Dutch was always talking about the gold, Hosea was always talking about the gold. Eventually to save your sanity you had to start tuning them out. You trailed your fingers down his chest, expertly slipping your fingers into his pocket, and pocketing his watch. 

“You have no idea darlin’.” He sighed, his glassy eyes raking over your body. 

“Oh but I do.” You said pouting your lips, your head lolling up and down in an exaggerated fashion. “It must be so tough.” Taking his hand in yours you lifted it to your mouth. Kissing each finger before slipping off his gold band. He wouldn’t be missing it, especially when he was flirting with any woman who would look his way. 

“Hey,” He grinned lazily, “You wanna get a room? Get a bath maybe?” He said trailing his fingers up your arm. You fought every urge to vomit, smiling sweetly at him.

“Oh honey I’m not that type of girl.” You said chuckling softly, pulling away from him. His featherlight touches turned firm, his hand wrapping around your wrist. 

“Don’t tell me you ain’t been thinking about it.” He says through gritted teeth.

“I haven’t honey, honest.” You whispered, shaking your head. Your eyes dart around the saloon for some knight in shining armor. Your eyes landing on a familiar outline outside. 

Why did it have to be him?

When you’ve been fighting feelings for the ox of a man for months. 

When he was asked to be your ‘chaperone’ after coming back to camp one too many times bruised from angry men’s fists. Turning down advances became second nature, but most boys didn’t take no for an answer.

Dutch and Hosea had given you two options, stop working or start taking a man from camp to act as muscle in case things got ugly. 

And things were starting to look ugly. 

You pulled hard against his hand, yanking your hand from his grip. Hissing as his fingernails scraped down your wrist. You turned on your heel, racing for the door. Pushing the doors open, gasping in a breath of fresh air, your eyes turned onto Charles.

“Charles!” You yelled, running into his arms. His large hands landed on your waist as you slammed into the brick wall of his chest.

“Y/n?” His brows furrowed as he looked down at you before his eyes snapped towards the sound of the parlor door busting open. 

“Kiss me.” You said grabbing his shirt, pulling him down to your height.

“Wha-“ Was all he managed to get out before you were slamming your lips onto his. He froze, his lips pursed against yours. A disgruntled huff came out of the Gray chasing you, along with a few not so kind words about your character. Although kissing Charles had deterred him, the door slamming behind the man as he headed back inside.

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled pulling away from him, “I didn’t know what else to do.” You said tucking a piece of hair behind your ear as your cheeks burned. 

“I think you’ve had enough fun for tonight.” He said, clearing his throat, avoiding your gaze. You nodded, swallowing thickly as you both walked back to your horses.

Taima and your newer stallion waited for your return. You set your foot in the stirrup, swinging your leg over your horse's back. You snuck a few glances over at Charles, his brow was set as he climbed up onto the Appaloosa.

You both set off to Clemens point, following the setting sun over the Scarlett meadows. You tried to keep your eyes forward and your mind off his lips against yours. His warm hands squeezing your waist, how they would feel against your bare skin. Shaking your head, you pulled yourself out of your daydream. Glad that Charles was riding behind you, unable to see your flushed face.

It was like time stood still for a moment, your stallions ears pinned back, a started squeal leaving his mouth. Your hands gripped the reins, trying to pull him away from the diamond rattlesnake curled up. He fought against you, bucking you off of his back. You hit the ground, hard. Gasping like a fish out of water as you tried to get the air back in your lungs. Charles was immediately at your side, helping you into a fetal position.

“Deep breath in your nose, out your mouth.” He said softly, his hand resting on your shoulder. You had no idea how he possibly could have gotten off Taima that fast, maybe you had been on the ground longer than you thought. Gasping in small strangled breaths. 

Finally you were able to take in a long shallow breath. “There we go.” He said rubbing your arm, helping you into a sitting position. His thumb moved across your cheek, wiping away a stray tear.

“Stupid fucking horse.” You groaned, eliciting a small chuckle from him. 

“Well you won’t have to worry about it anymore.” He said getting to his feet, looking down the road.

“I told Hosea he was worthless.” You huffed, taking Charles hand as he pulled you up. You hissed, standing up. Your back burning, no doubt tore up from your fall onto the dirt road.

“I think you have high standards, Glory was a great horse.” He said dusting you off. You sighed, Glory was the best horse, but she didn’t make it out of Blackwater.

“She was.” You sighed, putting your hands on your hips as you looked down the road, “That was a good saddle, too.” You said, shaking your head.

“We’ll find you a new one.” He smiled down at you, his warm eyes meeting yours. “Come on, let’s get you back to camp.” He said, his hand connecting with the small of your back. Pain shot up your back as you let out a low hiss, arching away from his hand. “Everything okay?” He asked, his brows furrowed.

“Think I tore up my back.” You nodded, waving him off, “Get on and I’ll sit behind you.” He nodded, climbing up onto the gray speckled Appaloosa. You grabbed his arm, slowly moving your leg over her back. You wrapped your arms around Charles waist, laying your head between his shoulder blades. You could feel the pounding of his heart against your cheek as Taima started to trot forward.

“Your heart is racing.” You said softly, his chest rumbling as he chuckled.

“You gave me quite a scare, you know?” He said, turning his head slightly to look at you. 

“You probably think I’m a mess.” You chuckled nervously, shaking your head.

“No,” He said softly, “I don’t.”

You rode in silence, your hips bumping into his behind with the sway of Taima’s steps. You were glad you were born a female, because there is no way you wouldn’t have gotten a hard on. You didn’t have to worry about your breasts pressing against Charles' back for much longer, the familiar line of trees coming into view. 

He led Taima over to the hitching posts, giving her a firm pat before turning to help you off. His hands landed on your waist for the second time. He lifted you off of her back as though you weighed nothing. Setting you gently on the ground, his hands lingering on your waist. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” He said softly, nodding as he looked down at you.

“Alright.” You nodded, walking towards your tent. He headed off to grab some supplies while you pulled the canvas flap down. You sat down on your cot, staring at the discolored fabric of your tent. You couldn’t tell if it was anxiety or anticipation bubbling up inside you. You just knew if Charles didn’t get back soon you would explode from it.

He cleared his throat, pulling back the flap as he stepped inside your tent. “Can you take your shirt off?” He asked, “I need to clean your back.” You swallowed thickly, nodding your head.

“Yeah, yeah.” You said looking down, your fingers trembling as you began to unbutton your blouse. You bit your lip as you pushed your shirt off of your shoulders, moving your hair off of your back. The cot sank as he settled his weight down next to you. 

“This’ll sting.” Charles said softly, pouring alcohol onto a cloth before pressing against the cuts on your back.

“Shit.” You said through gritted teeth, your knuckles turning white as you gripped the cot beneath you. He mumbled an apology, pulling the cloth away from your back. Your breath hitched in your throat as his fingers replaced the cloth. Goosebumps erupting on your skin as they trailed down your back. You felt frozen, wanting more than anything to look back at him, but at the same time you were afraid he would stop if you moved.

You bit the bullet, turning your head to glance back at him. His dark eyes met yours, cautious, like he was afraid to spook you. Although you wanted to shy away from his gaze, you held it, an unspoken exchange passing between the two of you.

 He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder, holding your gaze. You reached up to cup his cheek, moving as though it was muscle memory. An intricate dance choreographed for you two. He let out a soft sigh against your skin as your hand connected to his face. Your soft palm resting against his scarred cheek. His hands moved to your waist, squeezing softly. His lips laid kisses from your shoulder up to your neck.

“Charles,” You sighed, not knowing what you were asking for. He hummed against your neck, his chest rumbling softly. You turned on the cot, pressing yourself against him. Your nipples rubbed against the cotton fabric of his shirt. You brushed your nose against his, your arms wrapped sweetly around his neck. He took the plunge, pressing his lips against yours.

Warmth flooded your body, like the first sip of whiskey. Heat spreads from your lips down into your belly. Arousal sparking between your legs as he moans softly into your mouth. You part your lips, swallowing his sounds greedily. Your tongue flicks into his mouth, dancing with his. Your hand threads into his dark locks, tugging experimentally at his scalp. 

He groans, low and reverberating through his chest. You smirk against his lip, repeating your motions. His hand, calloused and warm, laid over your breast. Kneading it gently, you gasp as his thumb runs over your nipple. You arch into his hand, closing your eyes as you pull him closer.

“Charles I-“ You said breathlessly, looking at him through half lidded eyes.

“I know.” He said softly, ducking his head to take your nipple into his mouth. You moaned, an unabashed whine pulled out of your throat as his tongue swirled around the bud.  He pulled away with a satisfying pop, his dark eyes meeting yours as he smiled up at him. “You need to stop with those sounds, sweet girl.” He whispered, leaning forward to brush his nose against yours again. A silent plea for a kiss which you eagerly gave. Your mouth clashed against his, unlike the first sickly sweet kiss you shared. 

“I’ll try.” You chuckled softly, looking at him with a lust filled gaze. His eyes only showed adoration, a look that had you faltering. “What?” You asked with a nervous smile.

“You’re beautiful.” He said nonchalantly, as though it was something as simple as saying the sky was blue. 

“Shut up.” You said, your cheeks burning as you pulled on the hem of his shirt. He chuckled softly, pulling the blue fabric over his head, throwing it onto the floor. 

Your lips met again, your hands laying on his bare chest. Feeling the heat radiating off of his body, feeding the fire between your legs. Your hands mapped a path down his chest, taking in every scar and divot. 

“I need you.” You whined, looking up at him. He smirked, a glint in his eye as he laid you back. You hissed, the rough fabric gliding against your cuts.

“That won’t work.” He said pulling you back up, you laid a chaste kiss on his lips before standing. You untied your skirts, letting them pool around your feet. He leaned back on the cot, unbuttoning his pants and shimmying out of them. You slipped your fingers into the top of your bloomers pulling them over the swell of your ass. You bit your lip, your eyes rising slowly to meet his.

“C’mere.” He said reaching for you, you took a step towards him. His hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you close. His head rested against your stomach, his other hand trailing up your thigh. You waited patiently for him to touch the place you needed him most. He didn’t make you wait long, his large hand cupping your mound. Trailing his fingers through your slick folds, his thumb pressing against the hood of your clit. 

Your breath hitched, pleasure shooting through your body. Your hands gripped his shoulders as he laid featherlight kisses on your stomach. His thick finger presses into your cunt, a low whine leaving your chest.

“Shh,” He said softly, starting to pump his finger in and out of you. You bite your lip to stifle your moans, your fingernails digging crescent shaped marks into his shoulders. 

Charles knows he shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as he is. Knows he shouldn’t like how you dig your nails into him. He knows when tomorrow comes those marks will remain, even if you don’t.

He adds a second finger and your knees start to shake, dancing dangerously close to the edge of your orgasm. You can feel his eyes burning into you, almost willing you to look at him. You’ve never felt this, this yearning for another person, not just for their body. You want Charles, you want all of him. You want him to be yours and you want to be his. You want to scream from the rooftops that you feel the closest to, well love, that you’ve ever been.

And fuck is that terrifying. 

Then his thumb circles on your clit and you’re fucking gone. Diving headfirst into a pool of pleasure. 

“There we go.” He cooed letting out a satisfied huff. You chuckle weakly, leaning your head against his. A bead of sweat runs down your forehead onto his. “You think you’re ready?” He asked, his deep brown eyes meeting yours.

“I’ve been ready for a long time.” You chuckled, shaking your head.

“That’s not what I meant.” He said taking your hand, placing it on his crotch.

Oh.

How was that supposed to fit inside you?

You stroked up his length through his undergarments. You grabbed the piece of clothing separating skin on skin and pulled it down this thick thighs. Your mouth watering as his cock bounced up onto his stomach. Painfully hard and weeping. You spit onto your hand, spreading your saliva over his cock head. You stand over him, letting his hands guide your hips down. His girthy head stretches you open, your breath catching in your throat.

“My girl.” He groans, as you slide down onto his length. My, My, My, My. It’s a constant loop in your head as he fully sheathes himself inside you. Stretching you wider than you’ve ever been before, painful in a good way. You let out a shaky breath, craning your neck back in pleasure. Charles' lips press against your pulse point, a silent apology on his part. Although there isn’t a need for it, your hips rise off of him slightly, before slamming back down. 

A near animalistic moan falls out of Charles lips, his hands dimpling your flesh. You clenched around him, gasping as his hips thrusted upwards. Concern flashed across his face before it quickly turned lustful as you grinded down onto him. He let you set the pace, wanting you to enjoy the experience as much as he was. He was along for the ride you could say. If he had it his way he would have buried his head between your thighs until you were crying.

You raised your hips until he was almost out of you before slamming back down. Repeating the motion until you could feel the coil tightening in your stomach.

“Yeah? You close?” Charles asked, sucking a mark that would definitely get you a few stares in the morning onto your neck. 

“Mmhm.” You said, your head lolling back and forth. Biting your lip to stop the wanton moans that threatened to break free. He took over, thrusting up into you. Suddenly the coil snapped, you gushed over his cock, slamming your hand over your mouth to muffle your moan. 

“That’s my good girl.” He praises, his thrusts starting to get sloppier as he goes on. He quickly pulls out, groaning as he spills his seed onto the ground. You chuckled breathlessly, smiling as you laid your head onto his shoulder. He let out a long satisfied sigh, his hands rubbing soothing circles onto your thighs. “I didn’t hurt you, right?” He asked, looking into your eyes for confirmation.

“Far from it.” You laughed, shaking your head. “That was…” you trailed off grinning.

“Yeah.” He nodded, gently squeezing your thigh. A comfortable silence fell between the two of you. Nothing needed to be said, that was the wonderful thing about you and Charles. But you wanted- no needed to say something.

“Maybe I should get in trouble and fall off my horse more often.” You chuckled, rubbing your nose against his cheek.

“You don’t need to do that again.” He mumbled, a smile spreading across his face. “Just- just talk to me next time.” 

“Next time?” You asked, hoping bubbling up in your chest.

“Next time.” He nodded, brushing his nose against yours.

[seiya-starsniper]

26. creating art inspired by them <3

Altair you brilliant wonderful genius, you’ve given me the perfect way to ring in a fill for “Episode 6 continuation” for Dreamling week.  We shall ignore the fact that I have already have already completed an omegaverse fill that I will be posting tomorrow LMAO-

blossoming romance writing prompts

-------------

It is late in the evening of their reunion when Dream finally notices it. Along the back of the New Inn’s wall behind Hob Gadling, there are multiple works of art, framed lovingly, and displayed proudly. It is not the one directly behind Hob that catches his eye, but one to the left of it, and once Dream realizes what it is, he cannot stop looking at it. 

It is a portrait. A portrait of Dream himself. 

Dream recognizes the style of hair and dress to be from their aborted meeting in 1889, when Dream had stormed off into the night at the thought of being called a friend. The portrait should stir something negative in his gut, a sour reminder of how poorly Dream had acted that night, but it does none of these things.

Because in this portrait, Dream is smiling. It is subtle, but it is there, in the quirk of his lips, in the tilt of his eyebrows, in the way his eyes shine in a way Dream has not seen on himself in at least an eon. It is a portrait that makes him look kind instead of cold, warm instead of aloof. 

Was this how Hob Gadling saw Dream in his mind’s eye? Even after how cruelly Dream had treated him before?  

Hob pauses in the story he had been recounting, clearly noticing that something is amiss. He makes a questioning noise, but Dream cannot find it in himself to speak, too dumb struck to form any coherent thoughts or words. It is a rare thing indeed, for the Prince of Stories to be found wordless. And here Hob Gadling has managed to do it with a simple charcoal drawing.

Hob’s eyes eventually follow Dream’s line of sight, and he must realize what Dream is looking at, for he whips his head immediately to the portrait and inhales sharply. 

“Oh, uhm, that,” Hob says sheepishly, bringing a hand to rub at his neck. Dream tears his eyes away from the portrait in time to notice there is blush blooming along the immortal’s neck and face. Hob is still turned to the portrait, as if transfixed.

“You know,” Hob says, eventually turning back and meeting Dream’s eyes. “I’ve been drawing you for a long time,” he admits. “I’ve lost most of the sketchbooks and paintings, after…well, you know when. But that one in particular is special to me. I drew it after you missed our appointment in 1989.”

Hob’s smile is shaky, as if he expects Dream to get up once more and flee The New Inn, as he had in 1889. But leaving is the furthest thing from Dream’s mind. 

“You would draw me so kindly?” Dream asks, voice barely above a whisper. “After we parted so poorly that night?”

Hob’s smile becomes more confident. “That’s how you always looked to me,” he says warmly. “A kind stranger who’s given me the greatest of gifts, a long fulfilling life, a chance to learn and fix my past mistakes. A…” he pauses, then huffs a small laugh. 

“A friend,” Hob says definitively.  “My oldest friend.”

Dream lets out a choked sob. He hadn’t even known his eyes were watering but now tears are flowing freely down his cheeks. He is overcome with emotion at Hob’s devotion to him. And he does not know what to do with himself. 

“Shit!” Hob exclaims, palming at his jacket and jeans until he finds what he is looking for. He pulls out a handkerchief and makes an attempt to first offer the item to Dream, but then changes his mind and moves to wipe Dream’s tears himself. 

“Please no tears friend, this was supposed to be a happy reunion,” Hob pleads, pressing the cloth gently into Dream’s skin. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Dream shakes his head and places his hand over Hob’s, stilling the man’s ministrations. 

“There was no offense,” Dream says. “You just continue to surprise me, Hob Gadling. My friend.”

Hob’s returning smile is blinding. “I don’t think I’ll ever tire of hearing you say that. I would wait another 133 years for you just to hear it again.”

“You do not have to,” Dream replies. “I will call you thus for as long as you will let me. And…” Dream purses his lips, trying to form the correct words for what he will say next.

“Perhaps moving forward,” he continues, “we no longer need to only meet once a century. It is my understanding that friends meet more than that.”

“They do,” Hob replies. “And friends also invite one another into their homes to break bread and drink wine. As it so happens, my home is above this lovely establishment. Would you…would you like to come up?” 

Dream smiles and nods, before they stand and he follows Hob upstairs. 

[beloved-blaiddyd]

"Papers, Please" [Thoma/Reader]

note: Thoma is underrated, and we don't talk about him being a fixer enough teehee.

prompt & content tags: Exploring the possibility that the resistance failed, Inazuma's borders became stricter than ever before. Thoma begs the inspector to let (Y/n) in last minute, but it's a far more challenging ordeal for a "fixer". [tw: death]

Teppei is an immigration inspector selected by the Kujou clan in the labor lottery held in October. His designated checkpoint is in Ritou, where most visitors would assemble to submit their required paperwork in an attempt to gain entry into the main city. 

And that's where his importance lies. Teppei is in charge of controlling entry based on the given documentation. Declining on those who gravely need their jobs and family makes him restless, but after several near-terrorist calls, stamping passports with approval makes him equally uneasy. Still, he must perform this task. His family back in Watatsumi is the only thing he thinks about. His grandma is still ill, and the harsh winter has only made her condition worse.

“Hey there, Teppei!” He heard a voice from the other end of his booth. “Can you open up? I need to show you something.”

After the divider noisily rose, a bright young man waved in front of him. They were no strangers to one another. It was Thoma, Ritou's “fixer”.

“Glory to the Shogun.” They both greeted unenthusiastically, but Teppei's eyes trailed to the clunked metal that landed on his booth.

It was a locket.

“I have a favor to ask,” Thoma did not waste a second. “Their name is (Y/n). They're missing some documents. Please let them in.”

Teppei raised an eyebrow.

“I can't have another citation…” Teppei muttered. “If I get another violation, I can't pay for extra heating this week. Finding a job is hard enough with my record. My granny—”

“Please, Teppei.” Thoma gripped the table. 

Horror momentarily seized Teppei's wits as he saw the desperation in the Mondstadter's eyes. Thoma's face was suddenly unfamiliar. Ordinarily, he'd attempt to win him over with a hearty meal or an under-the-table pay. He is not the fixer for nothing. None of the tricks that were once parlor for him were not being used. Just what makes this so different?

Teppei glanced at the time while Thoma glanced at his fortune slip.

He has 5 minutes before officially starting work while he has the words of great misfortune on his hand.

“... What's your proposal?”

Thoma's shoulders slackened in relief. “When the traveler first arrived in Inazuma, she took the Alcor with another person.” 

The traveler…

Inazuma had hopes comparable to Naganohara fireworks upon Lumine's arrival. She had seemingly arrived in various nations to solve their issues. Many were eager to see their dreams come to full bloom, freely soaring in the sky, but they would only spark momentarily before fading into the night. That, to Teppei, was what happened in the failed revolution.

That, to Inazuma, was the dead light that cemented their current state of affairs. That, to the rest of the world, is what made the nation of eternity come to a standstill. 

The resistance no longer nursed their anger but their wounds instead. Upon their disbandment, Teppei nearly found himself charging to Inazuma City with a sketchy vision. But before he could take a foot out the door, his grandmother collapsed. And so too did his delusions of grandeur.

“I'm not going to risk granny's comfort for another pipe dream,” Teppei laughed cynically. “It's time you let it go, Thoma.”

“No, no, you don't understand!” He shook his head, sharply inhaling. “You can't make me let this go— this isn't about the resistance.”

Teppei held the locket's strings between his fingers. 

“I can't see how it can't be about it. Thoma, I fought in the war, I saw the corpses of my friends lying stretched in the city instead of our homeland. None of us would make light about giving up if we escaped scatheless—” 

“It's not! This one's personal.”

Teppei opened it.

There's a folded photograph inside. Upon sensing Thoma's consensual nod, he spread the page to see the full picture— and subsequently, his foolish paranoia.

“(Y/n) isn't Inazuman, but they're not a descender either. They're not interested in starting another war, they just want to see me. Just that. They’re the least greedy person I know and that's their only wish. And it might just be the final one.”

In the picture, Thoma was smiling beside the (Y/n) he spoke of. They were surrounded by dogs and presumably had frosting on their cheek. Thoma held a cupcake in one hand and their back on the other. Playing with food is not an activity the ever-so-grateful Thoma willingly participates in, but the childish grin on their faces made them look as though the rest of the world was secondary.

Teppei had not realized he had been frowning. There he was, holding Thoma's happiness encased in an inked vessel. Based on the wrinkles, he can only guess the number of times the immigrant held onto this fragile solace. 

The sight of this image alone makes Thoma forget his heart's heaviness.

“... You love them.”

“I do.” Thoma looked down, biting his lip. “I do.”

The fixer breathed in shakily. 

“I think about (Y/n) every day… Do you… Do you remember the time you and I talked about our ideal partner at lunch, and you said my tastes seem so hyper-specific?”

“I honestly thought you were just gonna say someone with a good personality, not a list of things you think is pure domestic bliss.” Teppei chuckled.

“Well— I was just describing (Y/n),” Thoma blushed. “I miss the way they'd—”

“Recommend food to try? Link arms together while you walk? Point or gush about when an animal passes by? Smile when—”

“Yes, yes, all that.” Thoma grinned sheepishly, scratching his neck. “You get the point. I'm surprised you still remember those details. I'm… glad. That someone will remember (Y/n) and not just me.”

Teppei didn't quite understand what he meant by that back then.

“Now that I can put a face to those details, it's like I already know who (Y/n) is.” He said.

“Well, you will soon enough.” 

Teppei tilted his head, which urged Thoma to elaborate. He cleared his throat.

“Just last night, I received word that they're finally here in Ritou.” He rambled. “I know this is sudden but our communications were blocked for a long time. Please, let (Y/n) pass, and I will owe you, big time. Honest! Please!!!”

When Teppei was relatively new on the job, he had dealings with the fixer often as to who deserved to enter the country. Some, they both got away with. But in the times they did not, he received warnings. Those warnings turned to salary deductions. Those salary deductions turned to possible dismissal.

And Teppei can't have another M.O.A.

“Are they missing a document?” Teppei said. “Are they on the criminal list? Forged documents? Why are you here, then?”

Thoma slowly got on his knees, which jolted Teppei up in an attempt to stop him. With the booth on his way, Thoma was already on the floor, begging with his entire body.

“Please…” 

“G-Get up, Thoma!”

The sound of soldiers banging on the door alerted them both.

“INSPECTOR, IT'S TIME TO START.”

Thoma scurried off wordlessly and Teppei went back to his booth. With time against him, he pulled the lever and let the people know that it was the start of a grueling day. 

Teppei preferred to separate his work from his heart. Back when the two were the practically same, he had sacrificed so much with little in return. Twice the dreams, but even more than half the payoff. He was not a starving artist off on his craft. Teppei was a fool who thought independence could fill his stomach. 

So when several people had begged to see their family, he turned a blind eye to their suffering and detained them. So when those who secretly slipped a letter in his booth, begging for their passport to be denied for they were being sold off to unsavory services, he spoke nothing. 

If he made a slip-up, another “freedom fighter” might enter with their Fontainian muskets. If he made an outrageous error, more people might die. The last time it happened, one of his Watatsumi friends assigned as a guard got his head blown away. Which is why the only other person he gets to talk to in this monochrome job is Thoma. 

Work life is bleak. His grandmother is what he has left after he threw his life for the resistance. The Kujou Clan might just send him to prison if his performance is terrible this month. He can't lose her too.

And so, he hoped Thoma’s lover could legally pass. The shogun does not take kindly to those who were sent by the breeze of pirate ships. If (Y/n) was one of these stowaways…

“Papers, please.”

“Are you Teppei? I heard you were a friend of Thoma's.”

Teppei stiffened.

(H/c) hair and (e/c) eyes…

He opened their passport.

(Y/N) (L/N)

DOB ████/██/██

SEX █

ISS █████

EXP ████/██/██

- - - - - - - - - -

WJFPQ-K0M1

“H-He said that you are a friend and that you'd help us out…” (Y/n) muttered. “I don't have any family left, that's why I momentarily traveled with Lumine. To see the world. I didn't have anything to live for, until I met him…” 

Teppei's hands trembled as he looked up. 

Think about what you have left...

Think about granny...

“Your entry permit?”

(Y/n) wore a troubled look as they shook their head.

Teppei gulped. “ID Supplement?”

They shook their head again.

Teppei slouched down.

“... Vaccine Certificate?”

Silence.

“I'm… sorry, (Y/n)—”

“P-Please, wait!” (Y/n) teared up. “Please, I don't have anywhere else to go to. My love, I know he's just behind that door, waiting for me. Please, Teppei.”

Teppei sighed. “Why not come around next month with these requirements—”

“There is no next time. I'm…” (Y/n) felt their eyes start to burn up. They told themselves they'd stop crying and face their dilemma bravely, but it's easier said than done.

They are the sand that had already passed through the hourglass. And there's not much left at the top. Even the greatest doctor in Liyue had nothing else left to say about their condition. The only treatment they could receive was a zombie's cold touch of “comfort”— a grim reminder of what (Y/n) will become soon enough.

I'm sorry (Y/n), you're no longer contagious, but…

“I don't have anything left. Just not-enough-boxes-in-the-calendar and so-many-sorries .” (Y/n) gazed at him earnestly. “You… You understand what I'm saying, don't you? I…”

Teppei's eyes widened.

No.

No, he doesn't want to understand.

Stop this, please...

“I… want to spend my days with him. It's… it's all I ask.” (Y/n) smiled, but it was weak, no different from the rest of their body. “And it's my last and final request.”

…

…

“I'm… afraid I'll have to give you another sorry.” 

Teppei looked away. Quickly, he stamped their passport before he could hesitate further.

“I'm sorry, (Y/n), but I can't,” Teppei muttered. “If the world decides who gets their way based on who is the most unfortunate, Inazuma would be an open country. But… but it doesn't work that way, doesn't it?”

(Y/n)’s smile soured from weak to bitter.

“Y-Yes, I… I understand.”

They remained in their positions quietly. The red ink had dried long ago, and (Y/n) could leave whenever they wanted to. But their feet were ingrained on the floor, not wanting them to add more distance between them and Thoma.

“Please… Please tell Thoma I will always love him.”

Teppei harshly shut his eyes, feeling his face wrinkle. If he could do the same for his ears, he would. 

“Please tell him we will be together, in another life.”

Thoma rarely comes to Teppei's workplace.

Even his own. Lady Ayaka, in her increased lonesome, often lets her lips flow out strings of concerned mutterings for her retainer. Thoma frequents bars more often. And at the estate, he would be seen staring into nothing with a broom in hand. No staff trusted him in the kitchen, not out of disdain but heavy worry. On one occasion, the lord of the manor's hand loudly echoed as it landed on Thoma's cheek. They all begged him to snap out of it. 

But he cannot.

“He's already not very good with alcohol and yet he proceeds to down sake as though he could handle it.” Madarame sighed. “He always has a room in the clan, and I would never take that away from him, but…”

“Maybe it's time we let him go,” Furata spoke. “I say that not out of malice. I believe young Thoma deserves to see the world again, like (Y/n) had— maybe we are the ones chaining him down. Our Lady said they're buried in Liyue, perhaps…”

People talk. Their chatter is endless. But they all fail to mention how Teppei's decision had buried (Y/n) in a pirate ship. 

However, Thoma can't bring himself to be angry. Before Teppei could stamp the passport, there was already a truce in this folly. How can he be mad when he cannot offer words of reasonable counsel to persuade an inspector?

In Thoma's eyes, it was not Teppei who failed (Y/n).

It was…

“I'm sorry, (Y/n)...”

Himself. And he will never forgive himself for it.

All (Y/n) has, even when they are long gone, are ticked-off-calendar-boxes and a-grave-of-sorries. 

The blonde man clung to his locket yet again. His breath tasted like alcohol. When was the last time he ate a cupcake? He can't remember anymore. He can't remember the warmth of another human's touch. He can't remember the joy of it all.

He just knew that he "will always love them", too.

“I-I'm so sorry…”

Even if it hurts.

[turiluvr]

lucky charm

in which you leave lynette a "lucky charm" before leaving fontaine

lynette x gn!reader

Once, you asked Lynette something about the bow on the back of her head. You tilted your head to the side, narrowing your gaze, and gently ran your fingers through the ends of her ponytail. Your question was something along the lines of what Lynette remembered to be: "Isn't it heavy?"

Lynette was used to the weight it put on her so she shook her head, telling you that it wasn't as troublesome as you thought it was. However, you didn't seem too convinced and went off on a tangent about how inconvenient it must be to wear such a thing everyday.

Lynette didn't understand why it mattered to you so much. That is, until she received a box from a two-tailed nekomata saying that a package was addressed to her. It didn't take long for her to realize that it came from you, who recently left Fontaine for another nation.

When she opened the box, there were two items—a hairpin and a hair tie. Both of them were intricate, light, and had a miniature version of her bow attached or implemented into its design.

On the bottom of the box was a handwritten note that said: "I wish I could've given this to you in person but I had to go due to urgent matters. Treat this like a lucky charm and bring it around with you, alright? Make sure to think of me when you look at it."

She stared at the note, and then at the accessories. Sighing, she undid the bow around her hair and let it fall freely over her shoulders.

"Like a lucky charm…"

"Ah, Lynette. How unusual. You've been wearing that accessory for a while now—have you graduated from your usual bow?"

"Hm? Oh, not at all. I just decided to wear this on simpler occasions."

"And what prompted this sudden change?"

"... I think it's a lucky charm."

"You think?"

"That's what they said, anyway. Maybe they gave it their blessings."

[herrlindemann]

Interview with Till's lawyer, Simon Bergmann, for Cicero.

Mr. Bergmann, what are the criminal charges against Till Lindemann, which prompted the Berlin public prosecutor to start investigations?

The authorities in Vilnius have already stopped their investigations due to a lack of sufficient suspicion. The investigations by the Berlin public prosecutor's office were not triggered by criminal charges from victims, but by two people and an association who refer to media reports or a YouTube video. 

So the Berlin public prosecutor's office did not officially open proceedings, although the information was publicly available, but only reacted to the criminal charges?

As we can see from the investigation file, this is the case. I cannot say whether the authorities reacted to public pressure. On the other hand, we have nothing against it. An investigation has the advantage that the allegations are clarified by professionals and not by investigative journalists. We'd rather have the public prosecutor's office check that than leave it hanging in the air. I also know of cases like this, where suspicions are reported, but at the same time there are no investigations at all. This is a new phenomenon.     

In the case of Julian Reichelt / Axel Springer, the old publisher Dirk Ippen intervened in Munich and at the last moment prevented any publication about alleged misconduct by the Bild editor-in-chief in the Ippen group. As a result, his investigative team resigned and went to Spiegel together . Der Spiegel must and wants to use these people and make full use of them. 

The most spectacular result so far is the cover story from June 9, 2023: "Rammstein: Sex, power, alcohol - what the young women from 'Row Zero' report", produced by 13 authors. Do you see a pattern in the recent suspicious reporting? Is this a new development with results that were not seen five or ten years ago?

One gets the impression that the topic has gained a whole new spin in the media with the MeToo movement and Harvey Weinstein. You noticed that this topic triggers people. It attracts a lot of attention, just the catchphrase "MeToo" alone, and it guarantees high sales figures, especially in the digital sector. 

That's why you will hardly find any MeToo reports without a payment barrier. They appear in the print edition - which you have to buy - and often in the paid subscription area, so they are not freely accessible. The reason for this is that they also want to make money with it. This has led to a significant increase in impermissible reporting of suspicions and to a dangerous shift in the guidelines. 

Where do you draw the line between permissible and impermissible reporting of suspicions?

This is very complex, actually a case for legal seminars. There is no such thing as black and white. It must be assessed on a case-by-case basis. In order to be able to report identifyingly, a celebrity must usually be affected. If it is not about a celebrity, the story is usually dead, because then there is no public interest in naming or depicting the person. The reporting interest of the public must not only be given, but also relatively high, because the risk of stigmatization is enormous. You are reporting something that has not yet been clarified.

The authors and one of the publisher's legal advisors recently said in a video discussion with selected readers – “ Spiegel – Backstage” from June 29th – themselves: “We don't know whether what we're writing is true.”

That's how it is. There are accusations, there are clues or witnesses or there aren't. The person concerned denies it or does not comment. One does not know whether the person did what someone claims. That has to be clarified by the investigative process or by a court, or it will clear itself up. Only: As long as that is not clarified, the accused has to be considered innocent. That is why there are these strict requirements from the Federal Court of Justice to the Federal Constitutional Court and the European Court of Human Rights.      

As far as the public interest in Rammstein is concerned, you don't have to worry too much: Yes, of course such allegations are also possible in principle. In any case, the lack of prominence is not the KO criterion. Only: The article would not really work for Lieschen Müller or the average consumer anyway. It takes celebrity to make it sell. 

The second hurdle is then the main one: Depending on the severity of the allegations, the press may only report when sufficient evidence is available or has been determined. The press now has to see for itself: Is there enough evidence that the person did it? It must have a minimum number of connecting facts and, if requested, produce them that support its presentation. Only then is she allowed to publish her suspicions. This is where most mistakes are made. 

Do you assume that such legal disputes and even defeats as now before the Hamburg Higher Regional Court, which also cause considerable costs, are factored in by the magazines in their sales expectations from the outset?     

I do believe that publishers see the risks and consciously take them. The Spiegel legal counsel and also the investigative editors have recently commented on the alleged thoroughness of their research, even before a legal dispute arises. I am very surprised that the press obviously feels compelled to justify its research in such a proactive manner, given that it is a matter of course in journalism.

Or she turns the tables and uses the opportunity to celebrate her own professionalism, impartiality, her ethos and thus to do additional advertising. On the one hand you want to arm yourself against criticism, on the other hand it is a marketing tool: "How did our research in the Rammstein/MeToo case go?" New people are attracted to listen to it: Take a look and you can consider getting a subscription. This is really new.

Is that voyeurism that is being exploited and exploited in terms of sales? Especially since you know next to nothing about the private life of the band Rammstein. They isolate themselves and allow no insights, let alone home stories; which makes you really curious.

Definitely. That's also my point of criticism. The alleged perpetrators do not peddle their private lives. In the case of Luke Mockridge, the preliminary investigation had been discontinued when the reports began, in the case of Rammstein suspicious reports were used as the basis for a preliminary investigation, and in the case of the gallery owner Johann König, there was no preliminary investigation at all until today, which did not prevent Die Zeit from getting started against him .

What is the evidence in the Rammstein case ?

I ask for your understanding that I do not want to comment on the status of the criminal investigation. On the other hand, I can judge what was put forward by the publishers in the press law disputes. And the means of making the allegations credible - rape, administration of knockout drops to enable sexual acts - do not convince me in any way.

There is surprisingly little, considering what has been announced in the articles and headlines. Der Spiegel is an example of an approach that I have observed in numerous recent MeToo reports: When the article says: We spoke to around two dozen women and this resulted in a certain pattern, a system. A man who pushes boundaries. A man who does not respect the will of women. You read the article and you think: Well, two dozen women – that sounds pretty bad. There must be something to it. And the higher the number of witnesses, the more one believes that this is true.

As a person affected, you then have to sue, so in this case apply for an injunction against Der Spiegel . Only then do you have a chance to find out what's actually true about it. Most of the time you don't even know who is accusing whom of what. These are often alleged or actual events that happened years ago. So you have to force the press in court to disclose the results of your research.

As part of a process, the court then has to check whether the stated principles of reporting on suspicions have been complied with. Other criteria are whether the reporting was balanced and objective, and whether the opportunity to comment was given. And it shouldn't be prejudiced. Incidentally, all points that I believe were disregarded in the article. Anyway. Then you go to court and then Der Spiegel presents its research results and then you check: where are the two dozen women actually?

The text is about the "casting system", but also about the accusation that Lindemann used knockout drops or had them used to make women compliant. And we only attack this latter, this really serious accusation, because the "casting system" is more a question of moral evaluation. You may ask: Do you still have to go to bed with groupies these days, do you have to make a “selection” based on visual criteria? You can evaluate everything critically and raise the moral index finger. I find this feigned indignation completely exaggerated. For me it's a puritanical hypermorality that's being shown. 

But: If there were criminal offenses, then I don't want to defend it. I just can't see it at all right now, at least not in terms of a "casting system". And as far as the knockout drops are concerned, I didn't find anything relevant in the documents and evidence provided by Spiegel . The district court of Hamburg has meanwhile also assessed this in the same way. 

So what follows from this? 

The media must find out: Is a statement credible? Are there additional indications, facts? The thesis that in testimony-against-testimony offenses the man always wins because of the principle "in case of doubt for the accused", i.e. it should never be reported on, is wrong. It's not like that. Criminal proceedings on sexual offenses are checked very carefully because the public prosecutor's office does not want to be accused of stopping such proceedings too quickly. 

That's how it should be. It's different from a few years ago. There are other options; you have very well-trained civil servants, above all. There are indications such as Whatsapp messages, signs of injury, cell phone data on whereabouts. This is often the subject of an indictment. Whether or not there will be a conviction is another question, but prosecutors are trying their best. 

But abuse of power is also accused of Lindemann.

Because of serious sexual offences, which, given the current state of affairs, is not even remotely possible and, by the way, is not even covered by the allegations made by Der Spiegel : I did not find any evidence in the file about the knockout drops. At this point, Der Spiegel is already rowing back and says that it did not raise this suspicion at all, but that it primarily came to speak of this "casting system" and of abuse of power.

What is the abuse of power in the Lindemann case?

If you compare this with the Weinstein case, you realize that the abuse of power does not exist. What kind of power is that supposed to be? Rock star prominence is said to be power. He uses it. Only: You could level this accusation against any celebrity who has sex with a woman who may not be his own.

Have you found any indications that your client has given or promised anything to women? Does he put together a backing choir? A dance group? vocals? Or did he conversely threaten them with the end of their careers if they are not compliant?

Nothing like that. The women whom Der Spiegel is now using as witnesses do not claim that either . The affidavits I've seen make no mention of that. On the contrary, the majority of women say they knew there would be sex at the after-show party, and they went anyway. Only two of these affidavits come from women who report from their own experience. Others only report atmospheric. And that they left when they became uncomfortable. 

Were women prevented from walking when they wanted to?

I did n't find anything about this in the documents provided by Spiegel . But I was never there myself. So I can only reproduce the statements I have seen so far. Result: None of the women say they were prevented from leaving the room. And none of the women talk about abuse of power. On the contrary: Most of them, at least that's how I understand the statements, were interested in sex.

I also see the problem that, as a person affected, you first have to put a lot of money on your table before you can even attack an issue of Spiegel or anyone else.

That's added. I have clients who honestly say: Unfortunately, we have to lay down our arms, as sorry as we are. It's no longer financial.

If it goes all the way to the Higher Regional Court and then to Karlsruhe, that will be really expensive - and woe betide you lose in the end. Do you have an example?

I'll give you a case. The client, himself active in the media, was accused. We took action against the mirror , applied for a restraining order. That took a long time. It was issued in essential parts, so initially a success, but the mirror raised a hearing complaint and the BVerfG suspended the enforcement of the temporary injunction. 

Consequence: What we had achieved, the deletion of passages from the article, is reversed and the text can be put online again. Negotiations were then to continue in August, which lost another two months. And Der Spiegel had already announced that it would go through all the instances and also force my client into the main action. Against this background, the continuation of the proceedings no longer made any sense. 

So if things go as Spiegel has threatened, that means: In the injunction proceedings you have two instances with two oral hearings and you then have main proceedings with at least two, but probably three instances, because then it goes from the regional court to the higher regional court to the Federal Court of Justice.   

How much money does that add up to?

This depends on the amount in dispute and the course of the proceedings - the more serious the damage to reputation, the higher the costs. If the client loses in the end, which thank God rarely happens, he has to bear all the costs, including those of the other party. That can add up to a six-figure sum. Of course there are people who can and must afford it, but there are also clients who are prominent but not millionaires. 

And they are brought to their knees.

And the media, the opponents of the trial, know that. They take into account the financial situation of the person concerned. They say to themselves: We'll report on the suspicion despite all our reservations, but the scoop is so big that it definitely pays off and we'll include the lawyer's fees. My impression is that the mirror has now reached the level of an image newspaper. In the specific case even clearly worse than the picture . Methods are used that are actually attributed to tabloid journalism. This is a bad development. 

[peachsayshi]

🦇{S E V E N  S I N S}🦇

{kinktober with peach 🍑}

╰⊰✿´ 🍒 {greed} - the sin of desiring to possess more than one needs

3: SOMNOPHILIA - (Sukuna x Female Reader)

TAGS:  {minors & ageless blogs do not interact}  - somno (consensual) but slightly dubious, smut, mention  of oral (female receiving using sukuna’s hand lol), fluff 

WC: 823

A/N: Okay, I know it’s January, and technically these were supposed to be out by last October lol but I really needed to step away and take a writing break. I’m planning on completing all these requests (but I just realized that I need to work on my own time + the lack of interactions were really killing my motivation to write). I am happily over that terrible writer’s block, and can’t wait to share more of these stories for you! This was a prompt requested by @onliafaze 

sukuna often wonders if you bewitched him, and contemplates the probability that you might have lied about your mortality when truly you were something magical in disguise. maybe it was laced as an addictive poison in your kiss, or maybe you put a hex on him while he slept vulnerably by your side. there was not a single soul in his world who compared to you. you were the embodiment of an ethereal beauty that made even this violent monster melt with a mere smile.

sukuna slips off his white robes, thoughts still racing as his eyes shifts to your tempting body resting on his bed. you must have fallen asleep waiting for him to arrive, a sign of such blissful comfort that no one shared with the cursed king.

finding his place next to you, sukuna rests on his side and reaches for your bare waist. he closes the gap of space between you both, taking in the difference of his size compared to yours. his thumb lightly rubs your soft skin where he is reminded of your delicacy, because with enough force he could crush you until your bones turn to dust between his fingers.

one kiss to your cheek and another to your neck, sukuna’s hand slides over the slope of your waist to meet your belly. he moves further down, breath hitching slightly as he finds the space between your legs that he’s come to worship. he groans against the back of your neck, feeling you shift slightly by arching your tail bone and pushing your rear close against his throbbing member. 

your thighs spread naturally, and the corner of his mouth twitches into a grin as he cups your pussy gently in his hand. he notices you roll over and edges himself away to give you the room you need to rest comfortably on your back. he kisses your temple when your brows knit together tightly, your shoulders trembling upon feeling a slick, wet tongue glide between your folds. 

a dark chuckle escapes your lover, quite amused by your natural reactions to his ministrations. your lips part when you exhale a quiet pant, and he responds by pecking you gently. slowly he shifts, situating his large frame over yours while his lips trail down the curve of your neck until his body easily cages you in. the hand between your leg moves to grip the back of your thigh, and your muscles tense up as you quietly moan. 

“disappointed, pet?” sukuna whispers as a chuckle follows his question. his deep voice triggers the goosebumps across your torso and his mouth finds your nipple as he tenderly sucks on the bud. 

the weight of his cock rests against you, the pre-cum leaking from the tip a sign of his intense desperation. he’s never taken you while you’ve been asleep before and the last thing he wanted was for you to open your eyes in fear. you’ve given him full permission to use your body as freely as he desired, but this made the act seem excessive in a way he couldn’t comprehend. 

he’s used to taking what he wants whenever he wants, but sukuna eventually gets bored of his own debauchery.  

not with you.

never with you. 

he yearned for more than just your body. he wanted to consume your devotion in every way possible. he wanted to be the center of your world, the way you’ve become his. he had an ache in the pit of stomach that left him frustrated regarding his own greed over you. 

did you know the kind of hold you had on him or were you simply oblivious to your own charm? 

he nips at your breast, the sensation prompting you to bring both your hands to the crown of his head. your fingers curl around his locks, the recognition of his presence causing you to massage the back of his head sweetly. he hears his name roll of your tongue, your tone undeniably precious that it makes him pulsate. 

your laugh pierces right through his chest, fists itself around his heart as you tenderly scratch his scalp. 

“you’re insatiable, my king,” you breathe, sighing once again as he draws his mouth to yours to finally greet you with a kiss. you can taste his impatience, and your hands drag down his cheeks to hold his strong jaw. 

with your leg slung over his hip, he ruts into you feverishly and fucks you like your body solely fuels him. the heat emanating off you embraces him in a blissful warmth. he inhales your breaths and swallows every whimper of your pleasure as if they were his own. he grasps onto you like your his only salvation amidst the turmoil of his own weighted emotion. 

when he finally cums, he stares longingly into your eyes while knowing wholeheartedly that he’s been afflicted with a tormenting burden of desire that will always have wanting more. 

TAG: @chemstrails-club @lunaetiicsaystuff @t4naiis @ackerfem-blog @gummy-dummy @damn-geto @pensivespecter @ekaterinatepes @jelly-jellx @lollipopd @shuxjodie @mikasackrmann @alreadyblondenow @nanamikentcs @aizumie @mrsmorgenstern @artemisthestar @velvetlight333 @sluttoru @smoothy-ve @bisexualwomanofcolour @bloombb 

[annasghosts]

Third part of this micro!! (Second part here). Enjoy!! ❤️ For @jilymicrofics with the prompt: Smooth

Lily marvels at how odd of a feeling it is to lay there, in the arms of a man who is at the same time a stranger and someone who knows her to her very soul. James’ chest is smooth under her cheek, warm, real, an anchor in the storm brewing inside of her. She lightly scratches her nails on his arm, feeling him shift, his eyelids fluttering before she is looking into his warm, hazel eyes, clouded by sleep, but soft as he gazes down at her.

“Hey, Evans.” He says, voice raspy, and his arm tightens on her back when he feels her shivering.

“This doesn’t mean I forgive you.”

“I know.” He murmurs, eyes roaming her face. She wonders what he sees when he looks at her. She is suddenly hit by the thought that, while she’s rediscovering someone she’s known all along, she must be the real stranger to him. The other Lily. She is suddenly uncomfortable, the intimacy between them too much, and she moves back, taking the sheet with her as she sits up. He makes no move to stop her, but she thinks there’s too much understanding in his eyes and she doesn’t think she can handle it so she looks away, for the first time taking in his room, the early morning light falling on his things, on the pictures of the people important to him.

“There are no pictures of me.”

“You wouldn’t have liked it.”

“Why?”

“We weren’t like that.” He says softly, shrugging, and she shakes her head, annoyed at his half-truths, at how much he leaves unsaid.

“Why did you say you were trying to protect me?” He sighs, getting up, unabashed in his nudity as he looks for his clothes scattered on the floor. “Potter?”

“It was stupid of us to get involved. It still is.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“There are things I can’t tell you, alright?”

She can tell he’s getting annoyed, his shoulders tense as he bends over. “That’s rubbish.”

“Just trust me on this!” He says, raising his voice, and her frowns deepens.

“So I’m good enough for a shag, but not for the truth?” She retorts icily and he looks at her in genuine shock, the shirt he’s just picked up dropping on the floor.

“What the fuck, Evans?” She doesn’t answer, getting up and letting the sheet fall on the bed. She hastily grabs her robes and starts looking for her wand, biting hard on her lip as she feels tears threatening to escape her eyes. “Evans?” He tries again and her vision blurs as she feels him getting closer, hating herself for that moment of weakness.

“If you ever, at any point, cared about me,” She says shakily, turning to look at him, needing to see him. “you need to tell me the truth.”

The anguish is clear in his face, so she reigns in the impulse to storm out, to take the chance she’s so freely given to break her heart away from him, and waits him out.

“I- I care about you, Evans.”

“Then talk.” She says, wiping at her eyes.

“I can’t give you all the answers,” He blurts out, watching her intently. “I don’t know the whole truth myself, but I know that as long as you hate me, you’re safe.”

“That makes no sense.” Lily says, baffled. “Why would that matter?”

“I don’t know.”

“But-”

“Look, we had to work together on this- this project, and you couldn’t stand me. You complained the whole time and I was annoyed, alright? I said I thought you were a brat and I didn’t want to work with you either, but Moody just laughed and said that might just save both our lives.”

“Moody?” She asks, trying to think back, to remember what happened. “Mad-Eye Moody?”

“Yes.”

“We were working for him?”

“We were.” James confirms, then shifts his eyes away. “It doesn’t matter now. You need to get your memories back.”

“But I’m a potioneer!” Lily exclaims loudly, not listening. “I came to England to work with Professor Slughorn. That’s why I left my family! Why would I work for an Auror?”

“I can’t-”

“The hell you can’t!”

“Look, I don’t know everything.” He says firmly, trying to calm her. “I just know that this wasn’t supposed to happen, but there was something between us.”

“A spark.” The word escapes her before she can reign it in, but she knows it’s the truth.

“Yes. And we didn’t care, we didn’t care about the consequences, about the future.” He shakes his head and there’s a bitter smile on his face and Lily can’t look away, drawn in, hanging onto every word. “You said you could act like you hated me just fine, you’d make it up to me later.”

She blushes and looks away. She could see herself telling him this, teasing him. There are still so many pieces missing, but she believes him. She knows he’s telling the truth. She feels the pull between them, the passion, even now. And she knows herself, she knows she would have chased that thrill even if it was stupid, even if it was dangerous and, looking at him, at the need reflected in his eyes, she thinks they are the same.

[yeehawbvby]

Silver and Gold, Blood and Snow (Gortash x GN!Dark Urge)

Rating: Teen+ (Mentions of canon-typical violence)

Summary: Midwinter is a tenday away, and it has Gortash reminiscing of your holiday celebration just a few years prior.

Author’s Note: This was written as a Ko-fi request for the wonderful @liquid-coffeebear !! It takes place before the events of BG3, but after Durge got Orin'd. The Durge's race, height, gender, etc. are all left completely ambiguous. I had so much fun writing this, and I hope y'all enjoy it as much as I do! :D x

Check it out on ao3!

Snow was bountiful in the Lower City this winter.

Enver watched from the balcony as children played outside his fortress: trudging their way through the knee-high substance, pelting snowballs at one another, and letting even the weakest hit knock them down, just to have an excuse to lay atop the soft white sheets beneath them. He viewed passersby buying gifts for loved ones from the local booths and shops, arms full of burlap, and burlaps full of toys and jewelry and clothing galore. He gazed at the warm-blooded Dragonborn denizens walking freely in their typical daywear while the humans, halflings, and everyone else shivered beneath their copious layers.

The Lord had never been one for people-watching, more focused on his duties and plans for the future than those whom he’d spend it with. For some reason, though, he felt nostalgic this year.

He thought back to when you were around. Before Orin had… well, you know.

There was one Midwinter’s eve in particular that stuck out in his memory, as vivid as red on white. You had just finished wreaking havoc, as was your specialty; you would regularly fill the city’s citizens with dread, and leave them with a submissive and naïve hope for a better future that only their Lord could potentially grant them.

Blood had been splattered across the walls of every building you entered that day – the Upper City palace Enver had resided in at the time being the only exception – and in turn, crimson smears stained every inch of snow you stepped in. Of course, as a courtesy towards those you’d slain, you decorated their corpses with ribbons, and garland, and any other festive decor you could rip down from proximate displays. It was the least you could do, really.

In the midst of the chaos, you found time to steal a present for Enver. He’d complained at first that he had enough gold to buy himself anything he wanted. He appreciated the gesture, of course, but what need was there for such menial yearly practices when he could have all of Faerûn – perhaps all of the world – in his palm within the coming years?

You huffed, demanding in spite of your kind eyes that he take the damned gift before you slit his torso open and replace his viscera with it.

You truly were a being after his own heart.

He’d laughed, wordlessly taking the hastily wrapped box from you. After turning the lengthy object over in his hand for a moment, he peered up, only to view you staring intently at your own feet. Shyness was a rare look on you. It fueled Enver’s curiosity, prompting him to finally tear the parchment away from the wooden vessel.

Opening the small metal clasp revealed to him a set of golden gauntlets. There were two arm coverings that looked as if they could be a perfect fit for his person, and for his right hand only laid somewhat of a glove piece. Along with these came a set of rings, some of which resembled claws.

The ore had been molded into serpentine designs, yet within the right-hand adornment laid an empty crevice. It looked as though it was meant for a jewel of sorts, but the poor soul these had been lost to hadn’t had a chance to insert it yet.

Enver tilted his head, poring over every detail of the accessories. The back of his mind wondered just who these were originally for – certainly it must have been an elite, given the intricate craftsmanship – but his consideration evaporated as he realized it mattered not.

The poor soul was long gone anyway.

For the first time in ages, someone had rendered him speechless. He looked up at you, whose gaze was back on his. Your eyes glimmered with a hope you clearly hadn’t wanted to be seen. You knew he respected you as his equal; that he trusted you with his life, to rule his world alongside him… yet you seemed to search for his praise..?

It was silly, really. Of course you’d earned it. These were perfect for him. He closed the gap between the two of you, placing the box in your hands so he could try the gauntlets on. The rings fit splendidly. The arm pieces could use some adjusting, as they were a bit too snug, but it was nothing his personal smith couldn’t fix.

Using one of his newly equipped prosthetic nails, he tugged you closer, planting a kiss to your slightly chapped lips. It was all the approval you needed.

In the present day, Enver looked down at the gauntlets. He rarely removed them – they’d become an integral part to his aesthetic. The empty slot that once was now contained his beloved Netherstone. Not only did your gift have sentiment, but it served a grander purpose than you’d ever come to know.

Enver missed you. Orin was a fine accomplice, but if anyone was to be Bhaal’s chosen, it should have been you… and if anyone was to share his companionship, it needed to be you. His heart felt empty in your wake.

He headed back into his chambers, requesting a cup of mulled wine from one of his servants. The same blend you’d shared on that cold Midwinter’s eve.

This Midwinter was just a tenday away. Perhaps he’d have a lonely celebration of his own this year. He’d relax by a fire and drink in your honor, reminiscing of old times and musing what could have been.

[aescela]

Selachimorphaphile - Arlong x reader oneshots and headcanons

A collection of very self-indulgent Arlong/reader snippets, some of them nsfw. The full text can be found on AO3 (link provided down below by yours truly), here's a little sample. You're welcome to stop by if you love Arlong as much as I do. NSFW under the cut. 🖤🦈🖤 @mmkin

Arlong's kisses are a sharp-edged pleasure in all possible ways. When he kisses you, his saw-shark nose requires him to tilt his head a bit further than you, and be mindful of the sharp points lining its edge. Over time, you do get a few scratches on your cheeks that are hard to explain, telltale patterns that prompt quiet rumors and dirty jokes behind your backs, but Arlong's lips are soft and giving and it's worth every little cut. His razor teeth are another matter, you do need to be careful when exploring his mouth with your tongue, something you rather welcome him to do than vice versa.

Sometimes, when you both get carried away, you end up with a bloody lip.

Sometimes he apologizes.

Sometimes he doesn't, a predatory glint in his eyes and a red-tinted smirk on his face that stirs a strange hunger deep inside you.

-

Arlong’s body is littered in scars, big and small, as is the skin of many pirates. Fishman skin heals fast, so they are barely visible unless one is very close to him.

One of the most striking scars rests right below his dorsal fin, a blunt, broad stretch of healed skin. As if he was violently kicked in the back.

You don’t ask him about his scars if he doesn’t offer the stories freely, which he sometimes proudly does, but never this one. It must have been painful, and you sometimes stroke it with gentle fingers when you’re falling asleep in his arms. He nuzzles his nose into your hair when you do, and you hope it’s soothing an old hurt he’s trying to forget.

-

Fishman blood runs cold, adapting to whatever water temperature they are swimming in, and while Arlong used to complain about your human heat ("Just sitting next to you is like sitting by a fucking bonfire"), he secretly enjoys the warmth you radiate. At night, he cradles you close, tangles his legs with yours, tucks his chin into the crook of your neck to get as much surface contact as possible.

When you slept with Arlong for the first time and he explored your nether regions with his fingers to coax more of those needy little noises out of you, he'd been almost shocked at just how hot your insides where.

“You’re gonna cook me alive, girl,” he’d joked. You remember your own smug grin when Arlong finally entered you and desperately had to fight for self-control to not come there and then, overwhelmed by the sheer novelty of your feverish heat. He’d gotten a hold of himself quickly, though, his fishman endurance winning out, but the sudden stutter in his breath and the way his eyes had fluttered shut will burn themselves into your memory for as long as you live.

He never admits how much he loves it.

Both of you pretend that one time when he was slightly drunk and said that you'd spoiled fishman females for him never happened.

-

Arlong is open to any and all positions as long as it doesn't involve him lying flat on his back as it bends his dorsal fin uncomfortably. If you want to be on top, he needs to be sitting up slightly, and even if he is usually the prideful kind who likes to be in control of the situation, sometimes he enjoys just letting you take the reins and ride him until you both forget how to think.

-

The first time you used your mouth on Arlong had him come after a ridiculously short time, unprepared for the sheer heat of your mouth and tongue. He pretends to not be embarrassed by that and hides it behind carefully given compliments on your tongue skills, and you accept the praise like a good girl, but you love to use it against him sometimes, teasingly reminding him of how powerless it turns him for a moment.

Arlong often insists fishmen never blush, but you know otherwise.

His cum is thick and salty like the ocean and has a quite pleasant flavor to it that vaguely reminds you of dried seaweed. It’s always a lot and you love lapping it from the solid planes and trim curves of his chest and stomach while he’s struggling to get his breathing back in order.

 

If you want more you'll find it here:

[twstunes]

A recurring concept in self-aware AUs is that the player (or their MC) possesses some form of ‘divine grace’—by interacting with and upgrading characters, the player imparts a sense of happiness, power, and so on to them. This is often used as a setup for yan stuff and similar darker works centered around obsession, typically with the characters becoming increasingly dependent on the emotional high caused by contact with the player/MC.

But what if the existence of divine grace was not so readily accepted?

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland

Characters: Rook, Azul, Leona, Lilia, Idia

Notes: gn Yuu, early stages of self-awareness, mostly platonic

Warnings: character-appropriate levels of stalking (Rook, Idia)

‎

✧ Very little escapes Rook’s notice, and the strikingly positive effect Yuu has on others is no exception. Like any good hunter, he spends some time stalking familiarizing himself with the Ramshackle prefect before making any final calls. He manages to work out a number of things about Yuu’s ‘grace’: only certain students (named characters) are affected, staff members don’t seem to be affected much at all, the effect is strongest on those physically near Yuu and with Yuu’s direct attention…comment trés étrange. This is certainly unfamiliar quarry for him. How exciting!

✧ He may or may not report his findings to Vil. He does care dearly for his housewarden, but considering how happy Vil has been since Yuu entered their lives…well, la grâce divine de Yuu does not seem to be a threat. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to let a sleeping dog lie, for now.

✧ It’s worth noting that despite his stalking observing, Rook doesn’t shy away from approaching his target directly. He can only appreciate Yuu’s beauté so much from a distance, after all—and of course it must be some form of beauty, for what else could evoke such emotion from the hearts of many? He may outright ask Yuu about this ‘grace’ they seem to possess, though the questions are phrased so poetically that they’re a bit hard to parse.

✧ Yuu’s euphoric effect on others is something Azul notices quickly, specifically due to how some rather high-profile students seem to gravitate towards the Ramshackle prefect. His first thought is, naturally, if it can be used to lure in more customers to the Mostro Lounge. He could rope Yuu into working some shifts, prompting their little entourage to follow along, score some customers and some free publicity at once…wait shit why does he feel so high-spirited when they’re near, why does he keep tripping over his words when they speak to him, this wasn’t supposed to happen– Jade Floyd stop snickering this is serious, no he does not have a CRUSH–

✧ Azul likes to think that he’s savvy, and he really is—but he’s also very much not equipped to handle this. The effect of Yuu’s presence is warming, empowering even, and given freely at that. It absolutely does not fit into Azul’s worldview, where anything given comes with a price attached one way or another. What does Yuu want in return for this…niceness, for lack of a better word? What are they angling for? It deeply disturbs him that he can’t divine an answer.

✧ Yuu’s grace is a gift that keeps giving, and Azul is convinced that there will be a steep price to pay for it in the end. He makes attempts at tempering it, offering discounts and the like, but it’s hard to focus on digging himself out of a perceived debt when being near Yuu keeps making him forget about it altogether.

✧ Leona has spent long enough mired in depression that the effects of Yuu’s divine grace just feel weird at first. He knows Yuu doesn’t have any magic up their sleeves—they still smell like the same magicless herbivore they were that day they stepped on his tail. So then why does he feel so much…lighter when they’re around? Less blasé about everything? Something’s off, and he’s not entirely sure he’s okay with it.

✧ He definitely has an “am i in love??” moment before shutting it down entirely. Screw Farena and how he gushes about his wife the queen; Leona might privately admit to believing in the existence of love, but he does NOT buy into any “love at first sight” junk. Besides, his senses are sharp enough that he can tell how others are similarly affected by Yuu’s presence. It’s a little complicated, how he feels about that—the irrational, possessive part of his brain is annoyed at having to “share,” but he’s overall glad that it’s an easily-observable phenomenon.

✧ After mulling it over for a while, he ultimately concludes that it isn’t a serious enough issue for him to bother stressing about. It doesn’t look like the herbivore consciously controls…whatever it is they’re doing, and their conscious actions come off as genuine attempts to help out. He might still be a little wary, but by the Seven, it’s not going to interfere with his naps.

✧ With how long Lilia has been alive, he’s definitely gone through his fair share of heart-pounding experiences—love, infatuation, adrenaline rushes, illicit substances, the whole nine yards. None of them are quite the same as whatever effect Yuu has on him, however, and it piques his interest.

✧ He’s a little concerned about how Yuu is imparting such an effect without so much as a hint of magic, but for the most part, he’s content to just let things be. Yuu doesn’t seem to want anything other than to bring out the best in others, which is hardly an ignoble goal. He might question Yuu about this ‘grace’ they seem to possess, but it serves more to sate his own curiosity than anything else. He just wants to know a little more about his new human friend, that’s all~

✧ Though he’s not one to deny himself novelties or pleasures, he’s no fool. His role as Malleus’ overseer takes priority. If he notices that Yuu’s presence is becoming literally addictive to him, he’ll start taking precautions as needed, distancing himself from Yuu. He’ll bring it up with Malleus immediately, especially if he suspects the other fae is being affected in a similar manner.

✧ Surprisingly—or perhaps unsurprisingly?—Idia is one of the least receptive to Yuu’s ‘divine grace.’ Though he can admit that he doesn’t dislike hanging around Yuu, a potent mix of paranoia and pessimism keeps him shying away. Like Leona, he’s not exactly in great emotional health, so suddenly feeling giddy and relaxed instead of gloomy and anxious throws him for a loop. He also has a mild case of ‘little hater behavior,’ being quick to find fault in anything not immediately pertinent to his interests or useful to him. Yuu qualifies as both in the beginning; even after they get acquainted, Idia’s at a loss for how he’s supposed to react to the effects of their grace. It’d be easier for him if they would just leave him alone, at least then he wouldn’t be stuck not knowing what to do…

✧ He doesn’t actually realize that Yuu’s presence has the same effect on others until he starts noticing irregularities in Ortho’s functions. The lil guy is already designed for optimum processing and performance speeds, but being around Yuu somehow makes things run…even more optimally? Ortho what’s with these energy readouts, how do you have an extra 12% charge? With all you’ve done today, you should be at 46% power maximum…what do you mean being around Yuu makes you happy? That shouldn’t affect your charge levels so greatly??

✧ Idia’s probably the most vigilant about observing how Yuu’s presence affects others once he notices, if only bc he has access to both the school’s security system and any scans Ortho runs. He’d written it off as normie behavior before, but…huh. People are acting weird around Yuu. If it winds up being something bad, it’ll be annoying to get caught off-guard by it. He’ll have to keep monitoring things, just in case…

[heathtrash]

The Worst Witch December Events

Well met, everyone! 

It’s that time again where the festive holiday-themed fics are plentiful, and we all come together to collectively ignore canon in favour of being kinder to our favourites. Many of you are probably wondering if anyone’s organising any fun little Worst Witch fandom events, and the answer is yes! Over on the TWW Discord we've come up with two challenges that can be attempted by themselves, or combined - a gift exchange you can sign up for on AO3 via this link, and a December holiday-flavoured prompts list.

Gift Exchange

For the gift exchange, everyone will be secretly assigned a person to write a fic or make art for, matched according to your shared ships. There’s a simple form where you can provide details for what you’re offering as a gift and what you’d like to receive. Be sure to provide as much detail as possible and specify whether you are requesting or offering fic/art, what you are willing to create, and what you’d prefer to receive. For example, “I will write/draw fluff, but will not write/draw anything nsfw”.

When you submit, all fics will be invisible until the final submission date, when they will be revealed anonymously. Try to guess which fandom writer you received! The authors will be revealed on the 25th December.

Fics must be a minimum of 1,000 words (there is no maximum), and art (while subjective) must be of decent image size and quality. Your work must be submitted to the collection on AO3 (linked on this post). To give and receive gifts, you must have an AO3 account. Ships must involve consenting adults only. If you are submitting to the December Prompts, do not add your gift fic/art to that collection until after the authors have been revealed. No AI art or fic is permitted.

While this is for fun, please be serious about having something (relevant to the request given, of course) to submit. It would not be fair for someone to miss out after having put in a lot of hard work and effort on their own submission. 

Due dates are as follows:

Sign up is open until 20th November 2023.

Completed work submission is 18th December 2023.

Authors are revealed on the 25th December 2023. 

Full guidelines are up on the collection. Remember to sign up this week before it's too late!

Prompts List

There is a separate collection just for prompts! You can freely submit your works here to the AO3 Collection as and when you like.

The images below contain a variety of prompts that may be interpreted in any way you choose. How you complete those prompts is entirely up to you - whether it’s doing an entire day’s worth of prompts together, mixing and matching prompts from different days, choosing one prompt from each day, or picking a few that you like and working with them.

Use the hashtag "#tww december prompts" when linking your AO3 works so we can find and share them!

Many, many thanks to @hydr0phius for helping set this up, and all the lovely folks on the discord for providing inspiration!

(silly little art by me)

[oxydiane]

'Smile!'

For the Day 1 prompt! @jilytoberfest

You can read on AO3 too!

‘I still don’t get why you bother with that chunky muggle thing, we can’t even move in those photographs!’

‘You know,’ Lily’s sweet tone was betrayed by the roll of her eyes. ‘It’s nostalgic, and I can’t really expect Mum and Dad to frame wizard photos.’

‘Why not? We keep that horrible vase your sister’s given us, they can keep something of ours.’

‘You know,’ she starts again, ‘Muggles don’t usually keep moving pictures around, now I wouldn’t be opposed to that, but that would mean she’d have to hide it… and I don’t think Mum would want to hide any of us.’

James straightens his back. ‘Yeah, you’re right, we make too good of a family to keep it to ourselves. The Muggles deserve to see the handsomest of them all.’

That makes Lily giggle and peck her husband on the cheek. She reaches for the polaroid camera that lay discarded on the coffee table, James never figured out how to work it.

‘Smile!’ She exclaims, and right before the camera clicks, James starts tickling the small baby sitting on his lap. Lily rejoices, sure she must have caught the moment.

‘Mum and Dad are going to love this.’

James stands up, Harry’s head resting on his chest as he recovers from the attack. ‘I bet, they’re going to make a right fuss as soon as they see how much this little guy’s teeth have grown. Is that right, Haz? Is grandma going to send another letter complaining about how we never bring you over so she can smother you in peace?’ He speaks in an exaggerated silly voice that makes Harry laugh and reach for James’ face.

‘Oh, please, at least they don’t yell! If I get another howler over breakfast from Euphemia telling me we need to visit soon and bring Harry because they have more gifts for him…’

‘Hey, leave her be! You know she gets lonely, alone with Dad in that big house, her two kids away –‘

‘Talking about her kids,’ interrupts Lily, waving the polaroid near her face. ‘Is Padfoot dropping by soon?’

Harry seems to perk at the mention of his Godfather. ‘Pa’foo?’ He asks, big green eyes travelling from his mother back to his father.

‘Yeah, yeah, your beloved will be here soon,’ says James, talking to Harry rather than Lily. ‘I still can’t believe that was his first word.’ He mutters that to himself.

Mere moments later, the telltale roar of Sirius’ motorbike can be heard from outside their home, and the familiar sound makes Harry clap and laugh in anticipation.

‘Talk of the devil…’ utters James, but he was smiling from ear to ear.

Lily’s eyes roll back as she watches her husband excitedly go for the door. She follows them and crosses her arms, leaning against the wall with what she’s sure is a sickeningly sweet look; watching her son smile big and squish Sirius’ cheeks in his tiny hands whenever his Godfather picks him up does that to her.

‘Heard from a little birdie that little Bambi was missing his Pa’foo?’ Sirius coos while kissing one of Harry’s hands, and Lily was sure that if she tried telling any of their old classmates the Tall, Dark and Handsome Sirius Black actually spends at least three days of the week making a baby voice for her son, they’d say she was mental. Oh, yeah, they’d require proof to believe that.

Struck by an idea, she makes her way back to the coffee table and picks up the discarded muggle camera before quickly walking back and snapping a picture of the scene. Sirius, noticing the click, finally stops fussing over Harry and turns to Lily.

‘I hope that’s not your muggle rubbish, Evans,’ he jokes and Lily laughs freely because she knows he doesn’t mean any of it. ‘I want proper pictures of this baby here, need this charming smile in my wallet to balance the dad’s ugly face.’

‘I’m afraid you’ll have to make do,’ she retorts and shakes the fresh picture as James makes an indignant noise. ‘And it’s ‘Potter’ now, you of all people should know, best man.’

‘Yeah, yeah, sure, let me see that.’ Sirius dismisses the conversation when he notices the picture developing.

Soon, all three of them are looking fondly at the blurry photograph in Lily’s hand and Sirius takes it before turning his attention back to Harry, who had started crying out for him.

‘You know…’ whispers James, ‘We are going to use wizard film for my parents. No this isn’t up for debate! Mum will skin me alive if I send her still, blurry pictures of her grandson – hey, stop laughing!'