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erenspussy420 · 1 year

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Babygirl Pose with the House Wardens pt 1.

You read this right.

Sometimes I like to think I’m hilarious.

TWST Guys who may or may not do the Babygirl TweetTweet Pose: The Answers may surprise you!

GN Reader Insert, however Darling is used instead of Y/N

THIS IS JUST DUMB CRACK I WROTE WHILE I WAS AT WORK

Slightly NSFW , so I’m gonna add a cautionary MDNI, 18+ Only!

Remember this blog is a NSFW one, so please beware! Be kind and courteous!

Reader is coming in with so much confidence this will work.

Riddle Rosehearts:

Doesn’t even know what a ‘babygirl’ pose is, until Cater tells him

He’s so upset with you, Darling, why? Why do you have to do this to him? And right in front of his strawberry tart!

Will keep denying to do that scandalous, undignified pose of a man of his shortness stature. Even if you have to get on your knees and beg him.

He loves you darling, no doubt about it, but please think of his blood pressure when you pull your ‘memes’ on him and bring this poor guy a sweet tart.

After the long day of learning babygirl poses from Cater, he would CURIOUSLY do it once, in the privacy of his room with no one else in sight. Did it and immediately felt shame.

Leona Kingscholar: NO, but also YES

(You/ Darling texting: Babe you love me enough to do a babygirl pose for me right?😘 )

(Leona : -last seen at 12:45 pm)

He’s so sick of your shit sometimes, Darling. (He loves you, I swear)

You must really love doing life or death situations, or Leona just loves you enough to not kick you out right there- to keep doing this shit to him.

Consciously would never do this, would rather go put effort into his classes and graduate than do any of your memes.

HOWEVER, Leona is a lion, he got that instinct though.

Handsome lion man waking up from a good ass nap, sleeping on his stomach, gets up all groggy and just stretches.

Someone must love you enough to have you walk in on this purrfect moment, to see him on his knees doing a lions man version of a babygirl pose, HIS BOOBS ARE POPPING THE SEAMS OF HIS SHIRT HERE. He’s doing this cute kneading too!

His ears twitch at the sound of your camera shutters, he snaps awake at what he’s doing and sees the phone in your hand

“Tch, So you got what you wanted huh? Well darling guess what I want? Gimme that phone.”

Kalim Al Asim: YES

He would do this actually, agrees with a cute charming laugh then proceeds to ask Jamil what that is!

`After a long scolding from Jamil, he would still do this for you of course! All in the spirit of fun! Or even not so innocent fun ;) Obviously this is a very private thing you do, can’t have images of the future heir of the powerful Al-Asims come out now do we?

Kalim doing his babygirl pose, decked out in these fancy turquoise and gold silk fabric, that draped over his body and very close to showing off those valuable Al-Asim jewels of his. JUST the fabric. His makeup touched up dark teal and shimmery gold flecks, making the beautiful red ruby hue of his eyes pop out. Beautiful crafted gold bracelets with these tiny jasmine flowers made of opal decorating it with matching anklets.

He’s looking up at you with these hooded eyes, and a cheeky grin. While the original pose is cute, Kalim is taking a more arching back shot for you~! Enjoy his cute ass!

Keep clicking away, this is hot stuff going on!

Take as many photos as you want, he’s not gonna stop you. He’ll ask if you have any other requests

“My precious treasure, did I fill your heart's desire? Haha, now come here and help me slip these off. I still have more for you to see~”

Vil Schoenheit: YES (surprised? Me too)

FIRST OFF WHERE DID YOU EVEN GET THE CONFIDENCE TO ASK THIS. You actually begged him for an hour.

He would actually do this.

Demands you hand over your phone first, before turning it off and keeping it in a drawer for now.

You want him to do that ridiculous babygirl pose? Fine, he will then. He’s Vil Schoenheit, one of the best actors out there, and still rising in the ranks, this is nothing to him.

This man! This man on his sheets, slipping into a beautiful plum colored silk robe embroidered with silver tree branches, loosely tied and the hem cut short, so please I begging here appreciate this man’s thighs–

His pose has him leaning towards you, with a slow crawl of a predator, your hands are shaking and you’re wishing you had your phone because you sure as hell want a video of Vil swaying his hips as he comes towards you. Those half lidded eyes with a piercing look, his hair down and loose that brush over his collar bone that peaked out from his robe.

WELL TOO BAD HE TOOK IT.

You’ll have to burn this image into your brain, there’s no other way! (Except if you paid attention you can hear the zealous whimpering of a hunter trying hard not to let his excited cries escape.)

You’ll remember this no matter what. Cause this is the only time he’ll ever do this for you. If you ever asked why he did this, seeing as he shot down other trends, the babygirl pose would have been one of them. However, Vil would gracefully toss his hair back with an amused glint in his eyes.

“Well, no one will ever believe you.”

#twst headcanons #twst kalim #twst leona #twst vil #vil shoenheit x reader #twst kalim x reader #kalim al asim smut #twst riddle rosehearts #riddle roseheart smut #riddle rosehearts x reader #twst riddle #reader insert #crack twst

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luxmoogle · 2 years

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Mainland Destiny Islands pt.I

Continuing from my last post, my musings about mainland Destiny Islands~! I’ve divided Destiny Islands to smaller areas to make it easier to tackle one part or certain aspects of the islands at a time. Starting from Ocean Road and the village around it!

Ocean Road

Everyone knows Ocean Road in the context of the path Kairi and Selphie walk back home from town. The path is aligned with dense shrubbery and haphazardly built light posts. It starts from the beach straight across from the Island and seems to end up in town by the base of the volcano.

Along Ocean Road there are houses all around, creating a village environment. It seems Sora, Riku and Kairi live somewhere along Ocean Road. Selphie, Tidus and Wakka probably do as well, since they’ve been going to the Island past the beach since they were small kids as well. From Sora’s room you can see the Island from his window, suggesting that his house is somewhere very close to the beach.

Around the neighbourhood there are two types of palm trees, as well as some hardwood trees. Hardwood trees don’t seem to grow on the Island, and seem to exclusively grow on the mainland.

There are three types of flowers that seem to grow along Ocean Road and the rest of the area.

1. PETUNIA The most prominent flower seems to be a flower that seems like a petunia. Petunias have a similar shape and color schemes, petunias are also a bit of a tropical flower in the sense that they need a lot of warmth and light, so perfect for island living~!

2. TECOMA - YELLOW TRUMPETBUSH Between the petunias, there seems to be yellow trumpet flowers, tecomas, which are also a tropical flower. They come in all sorts of breeds, as vines, bushes etc. These seem to be the bush variety, but who knows, if there are trumpet vines deeper in town?

3. HYSSOP This one is more tricky than the rest, a lilac, low, bush type of a plant. The plant seems similar to lavender, but by the shape of the whole bush it’s closest counterpart is a hyssop. Hyssop is also a warm weather plant, so suitable for the islands.

Ocean Road Village

We’ve only seen the village during nighttime and sunset in game, but context clues give hints to what the area possibly looks like during daytime.

During the daytime Destiny Islands in bathed in bright sunlight, the water is bright turquoise and the plants emit a deep bluish green. A lot of the plants are cool purples and blues, and especially on the Island there’s a lot of purple and blue plants.

The houses around the village seem to be a white or creamy beige color with reddish orange roofs. The same reddish wood seen on light posts seems to be used on the houses as window trimming and fences. Curiously, there are wooden window shutters on some of the houses, which are painted green.

A suggestion to how Destiny Islands mainland might look in the day time:

..to be continued~!

#kingdom hearts #kh #destiny islands #mainland destiny islands #destiny islands musings #destiny island series #my art #theory #concepts #I could go on and on about this topic..

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gripefroot · 7 months

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Would love to see Ace in Alabasta...

Being a man meant hunger.

Being a pirate meant stealing.

He’d been both long enough to source vulnerable stalls as second nature: which shopkeeper was distracted by other customers, which marketplace guards were lured on duty by pretty women, which wide-eyed child left to tend the family stalls while mother or father walked away to carry out other business. He avoided those on principle. No food, no matter how hollow his stomach, was worth leaving a child vulnerable to a temper.

Whistling, Ace made his way down the dusty street with his pack on his back and his head held high. Another strategy: everyone suspects the lurker in the shadows. No one suspects the smiling, good-natured fellow stopping for a chat. One that admires the produce but puts it back, and when you turn away another item has slipped into his pocket.

The stalls offered only thin victuals. A difference in only a few weeks. When he’d first made it to Alabasta, food had been accessible, if not bountiful. Now mushy apples were confettied with flies and bread made a thump on the dusty sand when fumbled.

He paused. A child sat on a stool in the shade, gnawing on an orange rind. Darkened by the shade cast by a striped awning that had seen better days; holes casting bright sunlight on the pouches of spices arranged on a table. The spices had been spread out, likely to seem like there was enough to cover the entire table, but it made the empty spaces seem larger.

The child stared at him, orange lowering from his mouth. Pulp stuck to his lips. Ace grinned, tipped his hat, and went on.

Well, maybe if he waited until tomorrow…

Another hungry night was survivable. He’d eaten a stack of meat-filled bread the day before and left without paying. And been promptly run out of town, rather enjoying the exercising but he would have enjoyed it with fewer scimitars brandished at his back.

The sun was hot. Too hot. His shoulders itched. Absently he scratched at them, making the burned flesh sting. Instead of food, shade. Fortune smiled on him: ahead, away from the market posh houses bore towering walls of turquoise and amber, rising from the sand. Ace whistled his way past the first few, nodding at the guards who eyed him as they eyed all strangers. At the end of the road, when the expanse of blue sky and yellow sand met on the horizon, he turned abruptly.

Last house out of town was never the richest. Almost never guarded. With a heave he jumped up to grab the top of the stone, burning hot in the sun. He scrambled up, boots scraping off dusty plaster from the stone. On the ledge he stopped in crouch, casting his eyes over a withering garden and a crooked house with crooked shutters.

Perfect. Ace dropped over.

May as well have a funeral for these trees. No leaves meant no shade. He wasn’t desperate enough to cower beneath broken branches. His boots thumped on a worn stone path, which took him around a dried up fountain and empty garden beds. Ace frowned. Well, he hadn’t expected much. Absently he scratched his shoulder again, this time flaking away dead skin.

No noise had come from the house, which meant he was safe. For now. Something itched his ears: he scratched those, too, but the itching remained. Not a feeling, a sound. He tilted his head before realizing it was a hive of bees, and it wasn’t far.

Bees. Bees meant honey.

So he’d get a snack after all.

Humming now, for himself and no one else, Ace found the hives within seconds. Next to the bones of a pagoda, curtains moth-eaten and faded; two once white-washed crates with bees crawling over the top and sides.

He grinned, lifting the first lid off. White waxy honeycomb oozed golden honey, the sweet fragrance all the more pungent in the heat of the afternoon. Ace swiped his pinky through the honey, bringing it to his mouth to suck it off.

“Jackpot,” he muttered.

His treasure was a foot-long frame positively dripping with the unctuous gold. He settled down with his back at the junction where the western wall met the walls of the house before sucking the honeycomb dry, swallow by swallow, leaving nothing sticky as bees flew lazily around his head as if offended by his pilfering but too hot to do anything about it.

“Thank you for the fine meal,” he said, to the bees at large, when the frame was clean. His hands needed cleaned, but with no water…the honey had made his throat burn from sweetness. Ace upturned his canteen over his mouth, letting the tepid water make a futile stand against the burning. Better than nothing.

The water disappeared from the sand and stone of the garden floor almost as soon as it fell. Soon no trace of his washing remained, sucked dry from his skin by the merciless heat. He capped the canteen, swinging it back to hang at his waist.

Swiiiish.

He cocked his head. From the desert? The street?

Swiiiiiiiiish.

No. Closer. The house. So it wasn’t abandoned, after all.

Abandoned by the rain that had abandoned the country. Abandoned by any sign of gardeners. But not abandoned by…

Dust puffed in the air from the second floor terrace of the house, shimmering against the azure expanse before drifting down to settle on a bare tree. Swiiiish. Another puff. Swiiiish. Another puff.

With the final cloud of dust he saw a pale-blue, tattered sleeve holding a broom.

The sweeping came closer. Closer still. The figure, barely visible between peeling columns, didn’t look particularly tall, even from below. Maybe a servant, but he doubted it. If he had to guess, based on the Alabasta he’d encountered over the last few weeks, it would be a hungry child from a once-great family, the fading-away of old blood to the sand.

The dust made it to his nostrils, making them tickle. Once more and it settled on his arms. Ace drew in a ragged breath, and gave a shriek.

The responding scream put his to shame. By the time it tapered off he was already howling with laughter, hat tipped up to show his victim that he meant no harm, that it was only a joke.

Something hard whacked his head. Ace yelped again, but for real, shielding himself from the battered attack as the broom smacked into him again and again. Sand and dust were everywhere, tickling his face and skin and sticking where he hadn’t cleaned the honey entirely.

“Ouch!”

“Serves you right! You menace!”

He grabbed at the broom, bristles cutting into the flesh of his palms. Good humor threatened, he glared up at his attacker, but only saw a pale, pinched face between the terracotta balusters. Not three feet above his head, but he could see when the eyes of his attacker widened. And the precise shade of them.

The broom gave a yank. Ace held on.

“I only want to know who to thank for my delicious meal,” he said.

“What—” The face pushed out further between the balusters. Not a child, as he’d half-expected, but a woman, the same pale-blue fabric over her head but not quite containing all of her hair. “You ate my honey!”

“So I have you to thank?” Ace grinned.

Her brows drew together, another futile yank on the broom. “Thank the bees.”

“I already did. And now I thank you.”

“If you really want to thank me—” She puffed, seizing her end of the broom with both hands for an enormous yank. It did nothing. Ace’s smile broadened. “—give me bread or butter or water or something.”

“I can do that,” Ace said.

She stopped pulling on the broom. Mesmerized by the shifting emotion on her face (irritation to surprise) he didn’t notice the silence falling between them like a shroud. She stared at him. He looked back.

“Do you live here alone?” he asked.

She shook her head, fingernails picking at the fraying handle of the broom. “I live here with my grandma. My parents died, but I—” Another shift. Stunned, horrified: the woman stood abruptly, dropping the broom to clatter on the stones of the garden. “Who are you! Get out!”

At least she didn’t have the broom to start hitting him again. Ace stood, stretching his arms overhead with a yawn. He scratched his belly, ridding it of dust. The shadow of the garden wall stretched its fingers, heralding the lengthening day. The market would be open a while yet. He might be luckier on a second pass.

Ace bent over to scoop up the broom. He proffered it to the woman, half-hidden behind a column and regarding him with wary eyes. “Here,” he said.

Like the shadows, the moment stretched. He smiled, taking a step closer. The broom brushed against her skirt on the tile floor. She sucked in a breath, bent at the knees to pull the broom out of his hand, and within two blinks she was gone. Not even a flash of blue fabric remained.

Ace watched the darkened terrace a while longer, anyway. Still smiling.

He whistled as he jumped over the garden wall, craning his neck at the shuttered windows on the face of the house. Not a single one moved, not even when he whistled low like the call of a bird. Too bad.

When the sky was struck with an indigo brush, cooling the relentless desert like an unfurled petal, Ace left a stack of steaming bread on the front step of the house. He pounded a fist on the door, stepping back. Already behind him he could hear shouts; it hadn’t been his best thievery, all in all. But if the woman didn’t take the bread now…and it was found on her doorstep…

A shutter above his head clattered.

Ace cupped his hands around his mouth. “Come and get it!” he hissed. “Quick! Before they find it!”

He’d have to leave town. A disappointment, really, but risks were risks. They rarely paid back in fair hands. Behind the door he heard an iron bolt pulled aside, the squeak of long-neglected hinges. He took another step back, hands open and free to show no danger.

“Go!” The woman appeared, blue fabric clenched in her hands to cover her hair. But it didn’t cover her face, or her smile. “They’ll cut off your hand if they catch you.”

Sharp little thing, wasn’t she? Ace laughed, a firework in the night. The bread was bundled up in the woman’s skirt before she pushed the door closed again, the slip of her smile his last sight of her.

Risks were risks.

And a smile was worth being run out of town.

#drabble requests #portgas d ace #ace x reader #one piece drabble #drabbles

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leiawritesstories · 1 year

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Queen of the Seven Kingdoms

Ummmmmmmmmmmmmmm........hi

this obviously is not the promised/anticipated FTBF update, but instead is something completely different! because my brain is just Like That! anyway, here, have this little something that i don't entirely know what to do with so i'm just gonna leave it here.

word count: ~2.5k

enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aelin Ashryver Galathynius was completely and utterly petrified.

She rested one elegant hand on the smooth, polished marble railing and stared out over the gently rippling waters of the Great Ocean, eyes closed, feeling the early-evening breeze waft across her face. She'd only been standing like that for a moment before booted footsteps clicked on the tiled flooring behind her and a man's voice broke into her reverie.

"Ah, there you are, little cousin." Aedion Ashryver, her cousin who was three years her senior and absolutely insufferable about it, strolled through the delicate curtains, coming to stand by her side. "Have you been hiding away up here this whole time?"

Aelin rolled her eyes. "I do not hide away, Aedy." The deliberate use of his childhood nickname aimed to irritate.

The prince huffed. "Then what do you call it when you conveniently forget to make an appearance for our guests?"

"You neither needed nor wanted me at that men's meeting," she returned coolly. "I simply did you the favor of not interrupting."

"Bullshit," Aedion muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "This is your future we are talking about, Aelin, you do know that?"

"My future is all I ever hear about," she scoffed. "At least do me the favor of flattering my intelligence and call it what it is--the next step in your scheme to retake the throne."

Aedion wrapped his hand around her bared bicep, turning her to face him. "Fine." His eyes, the turquoise hue twin to her own, bored into hers. "Your marriage to Prince Whitethorn is a key step in our journey to reclaim our rightful throne. Understood?"

"Kind of you to refer to it as ours," she snorted. "Aedion, we have been in Wendlyn for ten years, and now you decide that this is the time?"

He sighed heavily. "I cannot expect--"

"If you finish that sentence, I will personally tear off your ears and stuff them down your throat," Aelin snapped. "Do remind me who insisted that I be by your side at all important meetings since the day Galan took us in?"

Aedion had the grace to flush slightly. "All right, I won't be an ass."

"Too late for that."

He poked her shoulder. "Please, Aelin, I...I don't want to force you to anything any more than you want to be forced."

"Yet clearly, that want only goes so far." Freeing herself from his halfhearted grasp, she took a step back, rooting herself in the last embers of the falling sun's warmth. "Tell me, Aed--when the Whitethorns approached you offering their armada in exchange for my hand, how long did it take you to cave?"

His face shuttered. "Good night, Aelin." Spinning sharply on his heel, he stalked out of her rooms, the rapid click of his bootheels indicating his muffled ire.

"Aed--"

"Don't." The soft warning sounded off to the left.

Aelin turned, her right hand straying towards the slender knife she kept strapped to her upper thigh, the steel politely hidden by her gauzy skirts. "Who's there?"

"Just me." Philippa, who had been Aelin's lady's maid since she came to Wendlyn, emerged from the door to the bathing room. "Your cousin will come to his senses; he just needs to see it."

Aelin sighed and tugged the pins from her hair, letting the soft blonde waves cascade down her back. "If he'd only been open about this visit being a marriage negotiation, I wouldn't have such a problem with the whole thing." She yanked the ties of her dress, allowing the sheer layers of fabric to fall loose on her frame as she entered the bathing room. "I knew I would not get to decide the time of my marriage, but..."

Philippa's motherly face softened in sympathy. "But you deserve more than an order, Highness."

"Don't call me that," Aelin mumbled, stepping gracefully out of her dress. "How many times do I have to tell you, just call me Aelin?"

"At least once more, my lady," Philippa teased.

Grumbling, Aelin stepped into the huge, sunken tub--really, it was more of a pool--wincing slightly at the faint twinge of pain when the hot water hit the scars clawing across her back. After four years carrying the marks, she thought she'd be used to the faint hints of pain that still cropped up.

She was not.

Drawing in a deep inhale, Aelin submerged herself into the bath's scalding embrace, closing her eyes against the water. Odd as it may seem, she'd never been bothered by the heat, instead finding it comforting--even when others would not even be able to get into the tub until it had been tempered with cooler water. She allowed herself exactly sixty seconds to luxuriate beneath the bath's surface before standing up, steaming water cascading off of her body, and settling down on a step.

As her lady's maid helped her bathe, Aelin once again let her gaze drift out the windows, watching the Great Ocean shift and stir under the darkening sky. Watching the ripples and crests of the waves.

Looking east, back towards the seven kingdoms that were her right to reclaim.

It was far too godsdamned early for this nonsense.

Prince Rowan Whitethorn shifted in his saddle, pressing a soothing hand to his horse's neck. Shh, Chiri, we will ride soon. He didn't know why the hell Aedion Ashryver had requested this...business to happen at the crack of dawn, but a promise was a promise.

And, if he was being completely honest, Rowan didn't think he would mind if his first sight of Princess Aelin Ashryver Galathynius was something of a bleary memory, given the early hour.

Arranged marriage tended to do that to a person.

Conceptually, Rowan completely understood and even agreed with the rationale. Doranelle and the Whitethorn clan were ancient, powerful, and filthy rich--just what the last two living Ashryvers needed to back their claim to the Erilean throne. And the Ashryvers were no struggling pair, either. The two cousins might have been the last of their line, but they brought the legendary power of the Ashryver-Galathynius line--the dynasty even older than the Whitethorns and rumored to have dormant fire magic sleeping in its veins. And a rather staggering fortune squirreled away in foreign banks.

So, when Aedion and Galan Ashryver had reached out to Ellys a few months ago, it had taken Rowan's lovely (if somewhat rash) uncle all of ten minutes to decide that he was going to send Rowan off to marry the foreign princess. Of course, he sent a full contingent of Whitethorn family, warriors, and personnel along, but Rowan knew that if Ellys had ordered him to go alone, he would have gone alone.

After all, he was the Whitethorn prince--maybe he wasn't the head of the clan, but he was the head of the army. And that certainly counted for something.

Resisting the urge to glance at the rising sun for some hint of the time, Rowan muffled a yawn.

To his right, his cousin Endymion coughed quietly. "You could at least pretend to be happy on your betrothal day."

"Piss off," Rowan grumbled.

Enda smirked. "Where's the grinning groom?"

"He'd be grinning a whole lot more if this whole damn business wasn't so...contractual." Rowan frowned. "It's not like I don't understand why this has to happen, I'd just rather not have it all so suddenly."

"Right." Enda offered a small, crooked half-grin of condolence. "The princess is probably in the same position, y'know. Maybe you'll find some consolation in that."

"Always with the optimism," Rowan grunted.

Enda beamed. "Much better outlook than your infernal grouchiness."

"Why don't you--oh." All the breath suddenly and unexpectedly rushed out of Rowan's lungs, his calculating emerald gaze trained on the stone stairs in front of the Whitethorn contingent.

Where a golden-haired woman who looked eerily like the female version of Aedion Ashryver was descending the stairs, her expression carefully placid, her sharp turquoise eyes trained onto Rowan.

Princess Aelin Ashryver Galathynius.

His...his fiancée.

With Aedion and a handful of guards and staff at her back, Aelin strode down the stone steps with all the royal confidence of her ancient bloodline, stopping a pace away from him. Rowan found himself mildly shocked at how small she appeared from his perch atop Chiri. Her stature, though, was no match for the fire blazing in her sea-glass eyes.

Finding himself unable to speak, Rowan simply nudged his horse slightly forwards, locking his eyes onto the princess's. There was a long, rather tense, beat of silence.

Then he reached down, swung Princess Aelin Ashryver Galathynius up into his saddle, settling her in front of him, wheeled Chiri about, and galloped down the drive in a cloud of dust and gravel.

Aedion blinked. "That went...well?"

Enda chuckled. "If Rowan had decided he didn't approve of the princess, we would know. Trust me, Ashryver."

"Why do I find that concerning?" Aedion muttered. He tipped his head at the contingent behind him.

"Let's go."

Aelin's brain still hadn't caught up with the fact that she was currently sitting in the same saddle as Prince Rowan Whitethorn of Doranelle, the famed warrior-prince of Wendlyn. Or that he'd been remarkably gentle despite the brute force of the way he swung her up into his saddle.

Or that she was going to be married to him at sundown.

Rowan reined in his stallion at the edge of Galan's grounds. "We can wait for the others to catch up," he said, the deep rumble of his voice surprising her.

"So you're not the kind to run off with your bride, then?" Aelin snarked, the barbed comment slipping out before she could think twice about it.

Rowan's eyes widened--in shock or outrage or interest, she couldn't tell. "No."

"Mmm." She tilted her head. "I thought a warrior prince would be more interesting."

He pressed his lips together, definitely trying not to snort. "Are you implying that you wanted your betrothed to run off with you?"

Just like that, reality slammed into her. "Right. Betrothed."

The prince--gods, no, this was not the time to start thinking about his admittedly rather attractive appearance--loosed a soft, short sigh. "Does it feel like a business contract to you, too?"

For some reason she couldn't name, she decided to be honest. "I'm a princess, Prince. My marriage was always going to be little more than a business contract."

"Call me Rowan," he responded, and Aelin nearly laughed.

"Rowan, then," she offered, rolling his name on her tongue. "All right, but only if you call me Aelin."

"Aelin." He pronounced her name with such care, the syllables flowing with the dips of his accent. "I...I can't honestly say I expected the betrothal process to go like this."

"But here we are," she mumbled.

"Here we are," he agreed. "And--"

And then Enda, Aedion, and the rest of the contingent appeared, and whatever conversation might have been beginning was abruptly cut short.

The actual marriage ceremony itself was short and simple and something of a blur. Aelin didn't quite remember repeating the priestess's words, didn't quite remember the sash tied around her and Rowan's hands, binding the two together. She didn't quite remember the following feast, barely even tasted the rich array of foods laid out before her. She twisted the plain gold band around her left ring finger, wondering how something so small and simple could possibly represent something so wholly life-altering.

As the sun began to descend, Philippa and a Whitethorn woman came to Aelin's sides and led her away from the feast to a private tent, where they helped her out of her ornate wedding gown and into a sheer, flowing nightgown. They loosed her hair from its complicated braids, allowing the golden waves to spill down her back unfettered, and took all her jewelry except her wedding band and the delicate golden necklace she always wore.

They led her out to a waiting horse and cart and handed her into the seat, murmuring quiet goodbyes and good wishes and reminders that she could just close her eyes and let her mind roam. Then the driver nudged the horse into motion, and Aelin was taken away.

She was dropped off near a rock outcropping with an absolutely stunning view of the Great Ocean. It was to that view that she turned, sighing faintly at the caress of the sun's fading warmth, letting her eyes drift over the blaze of colors painting the sunset sky. She closed her eyes and felt the evening breeze kiss her skin and lift her hair, rooting herself in the peace of that moment.

Once again, footsteps behind her broke into her peace. This time, though, the footsteps were her husband's.

Rowan stopped a pace or two away from her, his jaw slightly agape as he drank in the sight of her. In the fading sunlight, the long silvery strands of his braid glinted golden, a few stray ones loose and waving in the breeze, framing the sharp angular planes of his face. "Aelin," he whispered, her name a caress.

She turned to face him, showing down the fear that welled up within her. Not fast enough, though, because the flicker that crossed his face told her he'd seen it.

"I won't."

She blinked. "What?"

He raised his hands, palms up. "Unless and until you tell me to, I won't touch you, Aelin."

A surge of deep gratitude swept over her. "Thank you, Rowan," she whispered, suddenly finding the man attractive in more ways than just his appearance.

A tiny smile flicked across his face. "I have a gift for you."

She raised a brow. "Oh?"

He nodded. "Come here." He held out a hand. Aelin slipped her hand into his, something sparking in her blood at the feel of his large, warm, calloused hand wrapped around hers. He led her down the ledge to where his horse and another mare were hobbled, led her up to the mare's side. "Her name is Kasida."

"Rowan," Aelin breathed, incredulous. "An Asterion?"

Her husband's lips quirked upwards. "The Whitethorn clan has something of a fondness for rare breeds of horses; there are several Asterion mares and a few stallions in our stables." He tugged the end of his braid, a little nervously. "I...thought Kasida would be a proper gift for my wife. For the Ashryver and Galathynius heiress."

Aelin's heart fluttered at his thoughtfulness, his sincerity. Almost before she registered it, she rose up onto her toes and pecked a kiss against Rowan's cheek. "She's beautiful."

Rowan's tiny smile grew, curling his lips further upwards. "Here," he murmured. "Let me help you up." Cupping his hands, he boosted Aelin into the saddle, then smoothly mounted his stallion. "Ready?"

Once she'd adjusted herself in the saddle, Aelin nodded. "I am."

And together, the Prince of Doranelle and the heir to the Ashryver-Galathynius dynasty galloped off into the night.

~~~

A/N: most of this scene and concept comes from the first season of Game of Thrones, with some alterations for the TOG characters and world.

TAGS: please lmk if you want to be added/removed!

@live-the-fangirl-life

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@morganofthewildfire

@backtobl4ck

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

@julemmaes

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@chronicchthonic14

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

@sweet-but-stormy

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

@darling-im-the-queen-of-hell

@llyncooljones

#my writing #throne of glass #tog au #got au #because...brain be like that #also you canNOT convince me the ashryvers aren't the targaryens #it's just the truth #aelin galathynius #aelin ashryver galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowaelin #rowan x aelin #rowaelin fanfiction #aedion ashryver

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jungle-angel · 1 year

Text

A Selkie in the Sunshine State: Part 1 (Bob Floyd x Reader)

Summary: When you were young, you had heard tales of the seal people. Many thought you were completely crazy, until you met one for yourself. You just didn’t know how much it would change your life for the better.

Tagging: @lt-bradshaw I know I’ve gotta do a taglist but I’m completely inept with technology and with this hellsite in general (lol).

Key West, Florida

You stepped out into the bright Florida sunshine, feeling so much more at ease now that you had all the time in the world to yourself. Sunshine, sunscreen and sandals....you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

Moving to Key West had been the best decision you had ever made, getting away from the cold winters in your hometown and far, far away from the things that bothered you day in and day out. Your health drastically improved with the tropical sunshine, your eating habits had gotten better and you could walk to and from work with no problem. Hell, you were finally able to wear all those pretty clothes you loved that would have normally had to be packed away during the winter.....but here, you could finally be yourself. Your wonderful, free, self.

Down to the white, powdery sand beach you went from your little cottage, the turquoise and peach pink shuttered little structure facing part of the street with its little white picket fence and porch while the back faced the ocean. The turquoise and teal water gently pulled in and out off the beach, the smell of salt and sunshine tied together in the breeze. Today was sure to be perfect. You had a feeling that you just knew that everything about today would be perfect.

All along the shores you went, gathering shells and sand dollars, the water washing over your feet as you stepped over a small pile of seaweed. Your eyes suddenly fell to a yellow-green piece of something in the washed up weeds, something plastic with thin threads that formed a diamond lattice.....part of a ripped up drag-net.

It wasn’t uncommon that you found something like that. Every now and again, you clipped up those pieces along with empty soda can rings to make sure no sea critters became their unfortunate victims. Yet something else caught your attention from further down the beach, something that sounded like crying.

You rushed to the commotion, following the noise until it grew louder and louder when you suddenly laid eyes on what was making the noise.

“Oh buddy, I’m so sorry, c’mere, you’re ok.”

It was a little grey monk seal with thready little rings of white around its eyes. The poor little thing bawled and cried, tangled in the drag-net that had washed it up on shore, the seaweed hanging from it like clumps of dark green hair. You clipped away at the tough, plasticky threads with the Swiss army knife you kept in your pocket, trying painfully hard not to hurt the little guy who squirmed and wriggled.

“Ok, ok, you’re almost out,” you cooed to the seal.

No sooner did you cut the last plastic thread that something frightening and strange unfolded right before your very eyes. The seal’s skin seemed to drop away like wet cloth as flashes of a pale, human form were revealed. The seal skin hung from one shoulder, a wet, bedraggled mess as the figure kept his hands planted in the dirt, coughing and spitting up water. Your breath stilled as you reached out your hand to touch his well-muscled back, your movement slow and tentative, fearing that when he turned around, he’d instead be some hoary, razor-toothed horror of the deep.

Your hand had barely touched him when he let out a loud gasp, both of you startled by it all. You instinctively clamped a hand over your mouth, in complete disbelief at the man who faced you. He wasn’t some terrifying humanoid from the darkest depths of the ocean. His eyes were of the deepest cerulean blue, the features in his face soft and shy looking. His chin and pencil thin lips wobbled a little, from what, you had no idea. His hair was a soft, dark blonde that grew lighter in the midday sunshine while perched on his nose was a pair of wire-rimmed aviator glasses......birth control goggles as the airmen from Pensacola would call them.

“I.....you.....what are you?” you stammered.

“Miss please I.....I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, I just.....”

You were still tentative to even speak as the grey seal skin fell from his shoulder. The only noise you could remotely hear was the gentle slapping of water. “No, I should be the one who’s sorry,” you told him. “I didn’t....I didn’t know.”

The young man cleared his throat, the sunlight making his unusually pale skin a near blinding white. “I um....I would stand up but.....”

“You have a cut somewhere?” you asked.

“No it’s.....it’s a little more complicated than that Miss uh.....”

“(Y/n),” you answered. “My name is (Y/n). You?”

“Bob,” he answered.

“Bob?” you said, chuckling a little. “I’ve never heard of a selkie named Bob before.”

Bob’s eyes went wide, his mouth opening like a guppy gasping for air. “How do you....?”

“I read alot,” you admitted. “C’mere, I’ll help you up.”

“Oh (y/n), please, I don’t think you want to do that,” he said, turning bright red.

“And why not?”

“I’m.....I’m naked.”

You blushed a little too, a snicker escaping your nostrils. It wouldn’t have been the first time you saw a man naked nor would it be the last time. You took his hands in yours, instantly aware of a strange, warm sensation rippling through you. Not a bad one, but something warm and comforting.....just like home.

“How about this,” you said, biting your lip and trying not to cast your eyes downward. “I have plenty of clothes back at the house. You can borrow them until we can get you some new ones.”

“Thank you,” Bob chuckled.

He picked up his seal skin, shaking the sand off its damp surface before he wrapped part of it around his waist and followed you back up to the cottage.

#top gun maverick #robert bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #dagger squad #lewis pullman #lewis pullman x reader

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