distinguished guests

anonymous asked:

Either Alfor or the Queen are like "Fuck the Space Police" and add Coran to the royal line registry. Coran only finds out in the present.

I like you. Ok, so, polyverse, natch.


“Oh my, oh my, oh my, it has been so long since we have had such distinguished guests!” the tiny Turimonqua maid was chirping, her rainbow lace wings flashing in the light as she fluttered from person to person to pin their access badges to the collars of their clothing. “To think, an entire royal entourage!”

“Your mistress’ hospitality has been very impressive,” Allura said politely as she bowed, prompting the rest of them to follow suit. “Thank you for putting us up on such short notice.”

“Oh, it is no problem at all. Anything, anything at all for a king and his daughter!”

Silence.

“I- I beg your pardon, run that by me again?” Coran asked hesitantly.”

The maid produced a tiny scroll made of glimmering light. “You are Coran, first of his name, Second Father to Allura, Fourth of the Allura Title, correct?”

“I- well, yes, but I was unaware that-”

“Then it is settled! Come, come, your rooms are this way!”

“A king?!” Lance asked, gaping, as Coran paced back and forth in the common area that joined their rooms. 

“Believe me, this is just as much a surprise to me as it is to you,” he protested. “I mean… they’d always said they would, but-”

“Said they would what?” Shiro prodded.

“Well, it was always a given that if anything were to happen to their majesties before Allura came of age, I would care for her,” Coran said, and Allura took hold of his hand and squeezed. “But it was always going to have to be behind the scenes as her retainer. The nobility never would have accepted me stepping up to the throne.”

“Why not?” Pidge asked. “You were practically their second in command. Who better?”

Coran scratched the back of his neck, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “Mm…”

Allura squeezed tighter. “I’m right behind you, Aipa.”

He sighed. “The fact of the matter is, Altea had a very deep split along class lines. Alfor and Illyere worked very hard to do better by the lower classes, but the nobility fought it tooth and nail. It was the scandal of scandals when it came out that the three of us had formed a relationship. Whispers ran from them slumming it to me attempting a coup from the bedroom.”

Hunk made a very unamused growl, pounding fist to palm. “Too bad we couldn’t have been around then to knock a few heads straight.”

“Hell yes,” Lance agreed, grin vicious,  and there were some grim agreeing nods.

That finally seemed to take the worst of the tension out of the room when Coran laughed. “Thank you. And to be honest, your predecessors were much the same way about it. But… there you have it.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “I can’t believe they actually did it, though.”

“Well, you know how Mama loved to thumb her nose at her fellow bluebloods. There’s probably video recording somewhere of her and Papa and Archivist Michika laughing as they filed it to record.”

“Hey, I bet we could find it,” Pidge said with a wicked grin. “What do you think the search code would be?”

“Ten to one it was a present…. Aipa’s birthday.”

Coran groaned. “They would.”

“Birthday hunt for King Coran!”

“Don’t you dare start calling me that, I swear on-”

4

…I only know them from afar.

akashilio

Special guest: askthemagictrio!
From now on- and from time to time, I'll be doing special replies featuring other ask blogs! 
Sometimes it'll be their muses as pottertalia students, sometimes there will be more- either way, it'll be nice to see different art styles for a change! 6 w <)/ I'll be tagging it as "distinguished guests".
Mina's plot is different from Hogwarts crossover, and she has different characters too- plus ships, and all the beautiful replies. I should learn from her to not being lazy-
Have you seen her blog already? 6 w <)bbb If you haven't, go check it out! <3
Dangerous Woman-Part 8

A/N: Buckle up fam! I normally do a lot of research for my stories but this was ridiculous!

Warnings: Fluff/Badass/Swearing/Blood/Wound

Summary: You’ve caught the eye of Tony Stark to become the head lawyer for the Avengers. You never expected your life to change but fate has a funny way of turning everything upside down. 

Bucky x Reader 

Part 7 / Masterlist

Originally posted by stuckwithbuck

Keep reading

“Prey”

“Rhys is drinking?” Jack asks, eyeing the amber liquid in Rhys’ large glass. The omega only shrugged, swirling the sparkling liquid around in the crystal goblet.

“Yeah, but not alcohol….just apple cider.” Rhys mumbles, taking a deep gulp and licking the little amber droplets off his lips. “Dad doesn’t let me drink yet.”

“Drinking age in America is 21.” Jack comments idly, earning himself a sour look from the young omega.

“Yeah, I know. It sucks so hard.” Rhys crosses his arms, bobbing lightly on his feet as his eyes trail over the walls and ceiling of the little hallway. Like the rest of the lodge, the walls are paneled in sleek, lacquered wood, dotted with the occasional painted pastoral hanging in a bronze framed stylized with long twigs and leaves. The whole building looks far too quaint to be hosting a gathering of mob bosses, even if the intention is something as comparatively innocent as an omega cotillion.

This idea kind of blossomed from Rhys’ dad throwing him a kind of weird cotillion/debutante ball where he is presented to various alpha suitors and how Rhys is not down with that at all. Then it turned into pseudo-angst with Rhys getting drugged by one of these alphas and Jack being conflicted about his role as Rhys’ bodyguard so….enjoy!

Keep reading

Just a little heads up for aspiring public speakers out there!

The gender neutral term for “ladies and gentleman” is “distinguished guests”. This has been around since at least the 60s, so no one is going to question your use of it.

Please, please use this along with “ladies and gentlemen” if you aren’t entirely sure of the gender of your audience.

Thank you!

flickr

Hi Geisa-kai! 

Have you seen this photo from Flickr? Mamesome’s makeup and hair is so unusual! What do you think it could mea, if anything?

Hello! Her hairstyle and makeup is normal for Gion Kobu’s geiko during the Miyako Odori season (so, basically during whole month of April). If a geiko dances in the So Odori part of the performance, she styles her hair in chu shimada hairstyle (seen here on Mamesome). But maiko do the same thing! The hairstyle is not changed for the whole day, and when maiko and geiko head to evening parties in tea houses, they use this makeup trick to distinguish them. So, guests are able to differ geiko from maiko by their kimono and obi, but also by the makeup style (and most of the geiko look very young without usual wigs, so this custom is useful!). Geiko wipe off their makeup from the faces but leave their necks painted. Maiko leave the whole makeup on their faces.

May the Grades Be Ever in Your Favor

Kyoya:  Hello distinguished guests, As exam week begins, we would like to encourage you in our own special way.  Long-time guests will recall our previous motivational memes, and this semester we are running a “Hey Girl” line of studying encouragement.  Please stop by the Host Club Gift Shop on your way out to order your own motivational meme posters.  Thank you, and have a pleasant day.  

Sherlock Vday challenge Day 11

Sherlock x reader

Note: I know, I know, I’m running late once again, but to my defense, I’ve been sick as hell the whole weekend plus we’re in the end of our term (I believe that’s how we call it in English???) in school and I had hundreds of exams and tests for the past two weeks so yeah… Any way, the prompt was “This is not what it looks like, I swear.” written for @prettyxlittlexwriter​‘s sherlock vday challenge, thanks once again for beta-reading and finding a proper ending to it, you once again saved my life dear :)

Enjoy!


Need you for a case.

I’m picking you up in ten

minutes.

Get dressed.

-SH

“For the love of- What was he up to this time?!” I grumbled.

                                                                                         Can’t you ask John?

Not really.

                                                                                                                         …

Pretty please

                                                                                         Why do you need me

                                                                                                            this time?

I’ll tell you in the cab.

Make sure to be dressed properly,

we’re going to a fancy place.


I sighed. That man could get me to do everything he wanted…

——————————~☆☆☆~——————————–

“We are formally invited to a reception for Valentine’s day evening and it will be our sole chance to catch the butter knife killer.” Explained Sherlock, as I climbed in the cab

“The butter knife killer? You’re starting to sound like John!”

The man gave me an unamused look.

“The fact is, the killer will be at the reception and I need your help, if I was to go alone, people would notice.”

“Why don’t you go with John?”

“He’s with Mary.”

“Why didn’t you asked Molly then? She’s dying for a date with you!” I pouted, not at all happy to be forced to spend my Valentine’s day with him.

“She’s got a boyfriend Y/N, they’re even fiancés and she’s surely spending her Valentine’s day evening with him.”

“Well what if I wanted to spend mine with my boyfriend?” I tried.

“You’ve got a boyfriend?!” exclaimed the man, turning to me.

I could have sworn jealousy flashed in his stormy eyes for an instant.

“Sadly, no.” I grimaced, “But it was worth a try.”

He shook his head once again and turned back to the streets, eyes scanning every passer-by as the cab would go pass them.

“Anyway it’s not like if you have any choice left now.” He mumbled.

——————————~☆☆☆~——————————–

A few minutes later, we were both standing in the entrance of a room full of rather distinguished guests.

“How did you even got invited for this?” I asked the detective, as he offered me an arm.

“Dear Y/N, after all these years we have known each other, I’m sure you could deduce it.” He smirked, leading me through the crowd.

“Come on Holmes, we don’t have time to lose if we want to catch the killer, just tell me.”

“It wouldn’t be much fun if I was to you know…” he stopped and showed me a man entering the room. “Look who’s there.”

It was a well-dressed man, small and skinny, moving with a certain grace and ease through the guests, chit chatting with some of them, going from a small group to another one.

“It’s William Johnson, the host. His family has always been one of the richest and most powerful in the country for some obscure reasons. You think it’s him?”

Sherlock nodded softly, his eyes scanning him, deducing every tiny bit of information he could get from him.

“I’ve known him for years Holmes, he’s harmless.”

“I wouldn’t be as sure of myself if I were you. Anyway that’s why we’re here.”

He lead me through the crowd, directly to where our host came from. He stopped and pulled me in a tight embrace, his chin resting on top of my head. I clenched my teeth, resisting the mighty need to punch him right where it would hurt the most.

“You know your way around the mansion?” he whispered in my ear.

“Oh that’s why you needed me instead of anyone else.”

“You know the way, yes or no?” he insisted. “It’s our only chance to find the right evidences to stop him.” He released me from his embrace and took me by my shoulders, “Y/N, please. For me.”

“You win.” I sighed. “Follow me.”

——————————~☆☆☆~——————————–

“How long have you known him?” inquired Sherlock, looking at an old picture of William and me.

I looked at him, the blue light passing through the closed curtains of the room giving a mystical taste to his feature as we searched through our host’s papers.

“As long as I remember. Our parents have always been close friends. We even dated a few years ago but we lost track of the other one after uni… I can’t believe he would be our killer, this is so… unlike Bill.”

“Are you sure?” The tall man handed me a ripped piece of cloth. “The rip fits perfectly with the one find on the last victim.”

“Not as sure as I’d like to be…” I sighed. “If you’ve got all you needed we’d better go before some passer-by hear us.”

Putting everything back to its rightful place, we left the room for the vast and empty hallways. We had almost reached the rest of the guests, the babbling of the crowd faintly audible in the background, when two voices resonated through the air. We rushed to the closest door, trying to open it, but failing since it was locked. I gave a panicked looked to my companion and he pinned me against the wall, his lips crashing onto mines in a passionate kiss. I passed an arm around his neck as we pulled apart, panting, his gorgeous blue eyes fixed in mines as we kissed a second time, hoping the two intruders would change to course quickly.

“Y/N?!”

Sherlock and I pulled away as I started to panic.

“THIS IS NOT WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE DAD I SWEAR!” I screamed in panic, recognizing my parents, who, of course, had to be invited by William.

“No, no I guess it surely isn’t what it looks like…” said my father.

“James, don’t be harsh on her, it was about time she found herself some real man.” said my mother, trying very hard not to laugh.

My father looked at us for a instant, deciphering how he should react. He sighed and shook his head, extending an arm to my mother.

“Make sure to bring him next time you pass by love.” she told me, before they left.

I turned to Sherlock, clenching my fists.

“I am never going to hear the end of it. You owe me one Holmes.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make this up to you. It is Valentine’s day after all.” smiled the detective, leaning to kiss me once again.

Bob Dylan’s Nobel Prize Speech

Good evening, everyone. I extend my warmest greetings to the members of the Swedish Academy and to all of the other distinguished guests in attendance tonight.

I’m sorry I can’t be with you in person, but please know that I am most definitely with you in spirit and honored to be receiving such a prestigious prize. Being awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature is something I never could have imagined or seen coming. From an early age, I’ve been familiar with and reading and absorbing the works of those who were deemed worthy of such a distinction: Kipling, Shaw, Thomas Mann, Pearl Buck, Albert Camus, Hemingway. These giants of literature whose works are taught in the schoolroom, housed in libraries around the world and spoken of in reverent tones have always made a deep impression. That I now join the names on such a list is truly beyond words.

I don’t know if these men and women ever thought of the Nobel honor for themselves, but I suppose that anyone writing a book, or a poem, or a play anywhere in the world might harbor that secret dream deep down inside. It’s probably buried so deep that they don’t even know it’s there.

If someone had ever told me that I had the slightest chance of winning the Nobel Prize, I would have to think that I’d have about the same odds as standing on the moon. In fact, during the year I was born and for a few years after, there wasn’t anyone in the world who was considered good enough to win this Nobel Prize. So, I recognize that I am in very rare company, to say the least.

I was out on the road when I received this surprising news, and it took me more than a few minutes to properly process it. I began to think about William Shakespeare, the great literary figure. I would reckon he thought of himself as a dramatist. The thought that he was writing literature couldn’t have entered his head. His words were written for the stage. Meant to be spoken not read. When he was writing Hamlet, I’m sure he was thinking about a lot of different things: “Who’re the right actors for these roles?” “How should this be staged?” “Do I really want to set this in Denmark?” His creative vision and ambitions were no doubt at the forefront of his mind, but there were also more mundane matters to consider and deal with. “Is the financing in place?” “Are there enough good seats for my patrons?” “Where am I going to get a human skull?” I would bet that the farthest thing from Shakespeare’s mind was the question “Is this literature?”

When I started writing songs as a teenager, and even as I started to achieve some renown for my abilities, my aspirations for these songs only went so far. I thought they could be heard in coffee houses or bars, maybe later in places like Carnegie Hall, the London Palladium. If I was really dreaming big, maybe I could imagine getting to make a record and then hearing my songs on the radio. That was really the big prize in my mind. Making records and hearing your songs on the radio meant that you were reaching a big audience and that you might get to keep doing what you had set out to do.

Well, I’ve been doing what I set out to do for a long time, now. I’ve made dozens of records and played thousands of concerts all around the world. But it’s my songs that are at the vital center of almost everything I do. They seemed to have found a place in the lives of many people throughout many different cultures and I’m grateful for that.

But there’s one thing I must say. As a performer I’ve played for 50,000 people and I’ve played for 50 people and I can tell you that it is harder to play for 50 people. 50,000 people have a singular persona, not so with 50. Each person has an individual, separate identity, a world unto themselves. They can perceive things more clearly. Your honesty and how it relates to the depth of your talent is tried. The fact that the Nobel committee is so small is not lost on me.

But, like Shakespeare, I too am often occupied with the pursuit of my creative endeavors and dealing with all aspects of life’s mundane matters. “Who are the best musicians for these songs?” “Am I recording in the right studio?” “Is this song in the right key?” Some things never change, even in 400 years.

Not once have I ever had the time to ask myself, “Are my songs literature?”

So, I do thank the Swedish Academy, both for taking the time to consider that very question, and, ultimately, for providing such a wonderful answer.

My best wishes to you all,

Bob Dylan

Dorwinion Dessert - Thranduil x Reader

This is a Thranduil x Reader one-shot inspired by a dirty Thranduil confession from the thranduilconfessions.tumblr blog. 

@thranduilconfessions

This is just for fun, pure and shameless smut, NSFW, PWP, Thrandy being really naughty and horny …. you know the King of Smirkwood. So here is your „Dorwinion Dessert“, served steamy and hot, bon appétit :)!

The following confession inspired me to write this fanfic:
„I want to be one of Thranduil’s servant girls, and one day, when he’s feeling exceptionally horny, he’ll take me to his wine cellar and fuck me senseless against the barrels, whispering „You’re mine now…“.

Disclaimer: I do not own Thranduil (unfortunately), nor any of the other characters from Tolkien’s Middle-earth. I do not make any money with this, this is purely for entertainment.

You can find this now also on AO3. If you happen to stop by and leave me kudos that would be greatly appreciated. Thank you all :)!

Second Servings of Dorwinion Dessert are now also ready, served and uploaded. It is the follow-up to this if you want to read more about dirty Thranduil ;).

                                        Dorwinion Dessert

It was well past midnight and your duty should have ended a long time ago when you found yourself still carrying trays and putting away goblets from the lavish feast Thranduil had held tonight. You were surprised his wine cellar still held so many more barrels after all that had been consumed by him and his distinguished guests. It was an incessant stream of servants making sure that there was a constant flow of delicious food and sweet Dorwinion wine so Thranduil’s banquet would live up to its usual style.
You were of course not allowed to participate in any of these festivities, after all you were just a servant, but although you sometimes envied these illustrious guests, you did not really wish to partake. You wouldn’t admit it to yourself but you had only eyes for the king. You had thrown Thranduil probably more covert looks than what was considered appropriate. But he never seemed to notice your presence anyway, so after a while you barely made an effort to disguise your lingering looks.

Finally the singing and chatting upstairs had died away and as everything fell silent you busied yourself with the last remnants of the banquet before retiring to your well earned sleep. As you cleared the tables you made sure to wipe carefully around the motionless bodies of the guards who have had seemingly as much to drink as all the guests of the banquet together when suddenly you heard determined footsteps approaching. You sighed and without looking up from your work you said: „Don’t tell me you are coming for more things to take upstairs. Hasn’t the king had enough?“

„No, apparently he hasn’t.“ You would recognize this voice among a hundred others. Your face flushed bright red in absolute mortification as you turned around and found Thranduil himself staring at you. His piercing gaze sent shivers down your spine and caused you to break into an embarrassed stutter.
„My Lord, I am so sorry! I … I didn’t know it was you. Please … please forgive me!“ You clung to the table behind you awaiting the scorning that you were sure was to ensue.

He took in the delicate situation which presented itself before his eyes and an amused smile passed his face: „I am aware of that.“ As he descended the last steps and strode towards you, his exquisite robe trailed behind him like a rippling sea of burgundy. He put his goblet on the table right beside you and grazed your cheek with the back of his hand, his voice soft like velvet: „Say, do you think of me as insatiable?“
„No, my lord! I would never dare to!“ you objected quickly.
„But what do you think of me then? Tell me, for I am curious.“ His fingers dragging down your neck with his thumb resting at your throat made you all of a sudden overly conscious of your hammering heartbeat.
„I … well.“ You were briefly at a loss for words. „I … I only think of you as my lord and I strive to please you in any way I can.“ The colour drained from your face as you realized what you just offered him. A flicker of lust dancing across his face was answer enough.
„I appreciate your willingness to serve me as your king.“ He leaned closer and whispered in your ear: „The look in your eyes says more than all the words you may hide from me. I can see your desire in them.“ His hands trailed along the seam of your dress slowly gliding down your back as he pressed you against the edge of the table with his body. „I saw you all evening staring at me, thinking that I wouldn’t notice. Your hands trembling every time I asked you to refill my goblet. Your face blushing when I would call your name.“
„But my lord Thranduil, I didn’t … I was only trying to …“. Your body was flaring hot under his touch, the brittle remnants of your composure like a thin veil on the verge of being ripped apart by his hands.
„Don’t deny it if you do not wish to anger me.“ His breath was hot against your neck, strands of his silver blonde hair tingling on your chest.
“I would never…,” you breathed against his shoulder, your fingernails digging into the wooden surface beneath them.
“You would never what?” He grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled your head back forcing you to meet his gaze. “Speak!” His lips were unbearably close to yours, the smell of wine lingering heavy on them.
„I … I do not wish to anger you.“ Your mouth was dry and heat was building up inside you, rippling flames that were threatening to consume you from within.
„But what do you want? Tell me! Your king commands it!“ His tone now harsh and demanding, he was seething desire beneath the scattered fragments of his usual composed self.
You were barely able to breathe and your tenuous resistance was melting away like wax beneath the heat of his feverish gaze.
„I am waiting.“ A crease appeared on his forehead as he tightened the grip on your hair, his other hand finding the dip of your waist and pressing you harder into him with a possessive force that should have scared you.
Only it didn’t.
It was what attracted you to him in the first place: he was commanding and intimidating. Unpredictably dangerous and at times with a barely veiled malice he stirred up a delicious mixture of fear and lust inside you. 

„You…,“ you finally gave in, „… you are what I want.“ There; you said it. Now there was no way back.
The corners of his mouth curled into a sly smile: „Indeed this is just what I thought. Naughty. Little. Girl.“ He emphasized each of his last words with a tight squeeze of his hand around your waist.
„But I must warn you. If you give yourself to me, I will have all of you. Is that clear?“
You nodded silently, unable to utter any more words.

He cast away the last of his self-restraint and kissed you hard, his lips crashing against yours, demanding and hungry. The force of his onslaught almost took your breath away, his tongue eagerly parting your lips and exploring the welcoming warmth of your mouth. You moaned into his mouth, wanting more and giving more and then you threw your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, trying to eliminate every inch of space that was still separating you from him. His slender hands wandered all over you, touching and exploring, taking in every curve and every hollow of your body.
„Oh my lord…,“ you moaned as you felt his desire pressing urgently through his clothes against your own core. He carelessly dropped his velvet robe to the floor, unbuttoning his brocade tunic with impatient fingers when he glanced at the passed out guards on the other side of the table. He interrupted his motions causing you to throw him a confused look.
„We would not want to wake them now, would we?“ He looked at you with a mischievous smile, lifted you up with your legs dangling around his waist and carried you to the opposite wall where there was a low-lying shelf in front of a long row of barrels. He sat you on the empty shelf and reached under your dress only to realize that you were not wearing anything beneath it.
„You are an audacious one, aren’t you?“ He groaned as he slid his fingers past your dripping wetness, his own arousal even more intensified as he felt how much you desired him. He brought his finger to his mouth, sucking on it slowly. „You taste delicious, much better than any of the food I have had tonight.“ Your face flushed bright red in embarrassment, but you wanted him so much, that you didn’t care anymore about feeling ashamed of your own desires.
„My lord…,“ you moaned, „… then let me be your dessert.“ Your own boldness surprised you, but  the spark in Thranduil’s eyes told you that it only spurred his own desire.
„I will take then what you offer to me so generously.“

With his own trousers barely past his knees he bunched your dress around your thighs and pressed you against the wooden barrels behind you. He threw your legs around his waist and then you felt him hot and rigid at your entrance. His eyes were dark with lust and he grabbed your chin possessively, breathing on your face: „This is it, the moment of no return. You are mine now!“ And then he entered you, slamming his full length inside you, making you gasp out at the sheer force of his fulfillment. He groaned as he touched you all the way inside, for a moment stopping all motions to relish in the pure delight of being united with your body. And then his lips found yours and he claimed your mouth like a king claiming his possession, not tentative or gentle, but forceful and demanding. He left you out of breath, gasping for air as his mouth wandered lower down your neck, leaving crushing kisses on your chest, his fingers skillfully pulling apart the delicate drawstring of your tunic and exposing one of your breasts to his eager mouth. Every flick of his tongue, every passionate bite of his mouth sent you higher into dizzying pleasure, moaning for more. „Oh, my lord…,“ you gasped, „yes … yes … I’m yours!“

And then he started moving again inside you, slow and controlled strokes at first, your insides welcoming him thick and plentiful, his own lust fueled by your burning desire. He grabbed your hands by your wrists with one hand and roughly pinned them over your head while he slid the other one under your bottom to take you even harder. Over and over, again and again he sunk his hardness inside you.
„Yes, you are mine!“ he rasped, his voice hoarse, „this luscious little body of yours, it’s all mine.“ His thrusts became deeper, stronger, harder still. Pain and pleasure mingled inside you as you were pinched in between the king’s hardness and the rough wooden barrels behind you. You felt so deliciously helpless that you clung on to him as for dear life, your legs tight around his waist. He drew in a deep breath and his eyes were heavy with desire: „You are a wild one. It seems you need to be taken hard.“
„Yes, please my lord…,“ you muttered against the hollow of his neck as you felt ecstatic pleasure spread from your core and take hold of your entire body, blinding and bright. Hard and violent were his thrusts, filling all your inside with delicious friction, your walls tightening around his length as you felt your climax approaching. He released your wrists and covered your mouth with his hand muffling your cries of unadulterated pleasure.
„Come for me now, girl. Come for your king!“ You arched your body against his, all the world around you fading away into blackness as you drowned in a starlit sea of endless bliss. Every fibre of your being was nothing but heavenly delight and pure pleasure at the mercy of your king.

Thranduil was breathing heavily as he slammed faster into you, his composure fading altogether as his own peak approached on him rapidly while you were floating in the ocean of your own delight, your walls still tightening around his hardness. He gripped you hard around your waist, pumping into you with deep and relentless strokes, taking you to the very edge of what was bearable. His whole body tightened as he groaned into your hair and with one final thrust he finally found his release, pulsating inside you and filling you with his seed, a wave of heat washing over you as you felt its force touch your most intimate spot.
„Oh yes, my king….,“ you gasped out of breath still from his violent onslaught as he collapsed onto you and you allowed your hands to glide tenderly through his silken hair. His head was resting on your shoulder, his breath ragged and his heartbeat racing against your own. A deep satisfaction took hold of you, warmth and affection filling your heart.

He was still inside you when you both slowly regained your senses and he finally looked at you, his expression now softer and a glow of fondness inside his eyes that made your heart flutter.
He smiled openly at you when he said: „This was by far the best dessert I have ever had.“ You blushed, feeling flattered by his words and smiled back at him. After planting a tender kiss on your mouth he added: „And I intend to request a second serving. Soon.“
„Yes my lord, of course,“ you replied quickly.

As he retreated from you he made sure to restore your tunic to its original tidy state, finishing up the drawstring with a neat bow. You couldn’t help but admire the diligence he devoted to such a small detail, so very much unlike his usual commanding manner. He then took equally great care in rearranging his own clothes until he was altogether back to his former regal appearance.
„Let me help you.“ With one swift motion he lifted you down from the shelf and before releasing you from his hold he looked down on you, a mischievous glint in his eyes:
„I am expecting you tomorrow evening in my chambers at nine. And don’t be late, we have a long night ahead of us.“
„As you wish my lord Thranduil.“ You threw him a coquettish glance. „I promise your dessert will be sweet and served just on time.“

So indeed, the king was insatiable after all.

floranocturna, January 2017

So a few people wanted an Auguste Survives AU so here’s a little snippet an ever growing ficlet I might continue it if you guys like it. (sorry for the grammar and what not I wrote this real quick before work.)

AO3 link

Thanks to @myanchorandyourcompass @theorathanatos and all you amazing nerds who left “PLEASE WRITE THIS” in my tags, for getting me inspired to get this actually written down . It’s not great but hey here goes nothing

__________________

The golden prince lets out a silent plea as he falls.

Keep him safe

He doesn’t scream in pain as the sharp-swift blade cuts through him. Instead he looks upward. Between him and the heavens is the face of the man who killed him. Between him and the heavens is the man he should hate. It takes another life time to fall and in that time all he can think of is that Laurent will be alone now. Sweet, shy bookish and pure little Laurent was going to be alone now. This war wasn’t worth it if it left Laurent alone like this.

Please keep him safe.

He’s gone before he hits the ground, a smile on his lips.

And the golden prince sleeps.

—————————

The border palace is nowhere near complete, but spirits are high, and already people remark at the beauty of it, a harmonious mix of the Akielon and Veretian styles.  Miles south it seemed like half the kingdom was gathering at the gates of Ios. They were a mix of Akielons and Veretians, and travelers from Patras and Vask. Among them is a group of people from beyond Ellosean sea, traveling like distinguished guests among the crowd. They draw looks from the those around them as they make port and a messenger is sent out at once to the palace.

At the head is a woman dressed in a robe like the sea at midnight with a collar of feathers like a corset sitting weightless on her chest.

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Keeping Appearances

Another little ficlet based on @fighteramy ’s Lab Buddies AU.

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Everything was going great. Hundreds of billionaires were here to congratulate Strife for the new Strife Solutions smartphone. Strife was proud of the design and even more prideful of his keynote speech. People were interested and critics on Twitter were already praising the company for making such an ingenious design.

Then he showed up.

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A Guide to Westworld for the non-viewer !!!

So you want to interact with a Westworld muse but you haven’t seen it, and don’t want to spend 6 glorious hours enriching your life with its amazingness. A terrible choice, to be sure, but understandable. So here are some bullet points to make all of us new WW muses less confusing for you!

  • Westworld is a futuristic theme park for the wealthy and hedonistic of society. It is a complete reality that is massive in scale, and contains thousands of AI bots called hosts
  • Hosts are (by default) unaware of the nature of their reality, or lack there of. A major plot point of the series is the AI becoming self aware.
  • Hosts are all cowboys or natives (”indians”). Mostly cowboys. Whores, outlaws, gunslingers, deputies, ranchers, etc. It’s about as cliche as it gets.
  • Hosts cannot hurt guests. (Yet). They can try, they can shoot, but the bullets do nothing. Guests may kill hosts, or do whatever they damn well please no matter how horrible to the hosts. If a host is killed, they are repaired in a lab and sent back into the park.
  • The park is completely immersive. You do not leave at night, you stay in a hotel or a saloon. You ride in on a train and stay there until your session expires.
  • Hosts have loops. These are narratives that they continue to go through the motions of at every reset (each dawn / or end off their loop.) Guests may choose to join in on the loops, or interfere and change them. They can go hunting bandits with the sheriff, or become an outlaw themselves. They can spend their time gambling, or being fucked by whores. 
  • The main town is called Sweetwater, all guests arrive here and it’s fairly tame. The further out you go to other settlements, towns, and outposts, the more dangerous and depraved the narrative becomes.
  • Telling a host they are not real (for the most part, see point 2) will do nothing. They’re programmed to ignore any such speaking.
  • Guests will always be wealthy and fully dressed for the environment and times. It’s impossible to distinguish guest from host, really.
  • Guests may not shoot or kill other guests. 
  • Hosts are programmed to please the guests no matter what. Take this to mean everything you think it could mean. They exist for the gratification of the paying customers. 
  • Aside from guests and hosts there is a slew of employees who work in the labs behind the scenes, keeping things running smoothly as they can.

There is a lot more to it than just that, but these are things you would need to know when interacting with a Westworld canon muse, and to help you craft a verse, potentially. 

The second queen

Based on “Imagine telling Thranduil that you know you’ll never replace his first wife and that you’re fine with that. You will love him with all you have and that’s enough for you.” from Imaginexhobbit

Requested by Anonymous

———————-

Looking back, in the years to come, you would tell the story that your life had truly begun at the the spring festival of Nost-na-Lothion, the Birth of Flowers. The evening had seemed ripe with promise as you’d painstakingly arranged your hair and dressed in your rich, leaf-green gown, and twirled playfully before your father, asking, “how do I look, Ada?”

“Beautiful, iellig,” he’d replied with a smile. “You will shine as the starlight for everyone to see.”

As one of King Thranduil’s advisors, your father was a distinguished guest at the feast, and introduced you to what seemed like an endless stream of his acquaintances. When he was drawn by another of the King’s councillors into a conversation about trade with the men of Laketown, you took the opportunity to wander to the fringes of the crowd, watching the dancers in the center of the grand chamber. You had momentarily glanced down, idly smoothing your skirts and adjusting the bracelets on your wrists, when a pair of feet stopped before you, and you looked up, surprised, into the face of the King. 

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The Queen's Consort - Chapter Two

TITLE: The Queen’s Consort
CHAPTER NUMBER/ONE SHOT: 2/?
AUTHOR: freudensteins-monster
WHICH TOM/CHARACTER: Loki
GENRE: Drama/Developing relationship/Smut
FIC SUMMARY: The Allfather is in negotiations with the Queen of Vanaheim for the services of her army and the wealth of her neighbours. There is just one thing that the Queen of Vanaheim wants in return for her loyalty: Loki.
RATING: M
AUTHORS NOTES/WARNINGS: Inspired by the art of the wonderful nanihoosartblog. I’m afraid as this one’s pretty detailed it’s going to be slow burn and feels like it might take a little while for anything interesting (i.e. smutty) to occur, but Loki and Sigyn should have another face to face interaction in the next chapter. Let me know if you want to be included in a tag list for chapter updates (updates will not be daily, cannot guarantee frequency). xoxox

Chapter One

“Queen Sigyn, thank you for joining us.”

“Allfather,” the foreign queen replied with the slightest nod of her head.

“I didn’t have the opportunity to introduce my sons to you at the feast last night. May I present Crown Prince Thor and Prince Loki. They will be observing our negotiations today.”

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