who cares about title

well, I have eye of the north now on my gw1 account

so I suppose now I have to try and max out my hall of monuments ( / v \ )

if anyone has any spare miniatures or items that work towards HoM I’d be more than happy to trade gw2 items for them or anything like that ; v; I’m still not overly sure how gw1 functions but I’m trying my best, a-ahah.

some sort of old timey AU where they get subtextually gay on a balcony

The ballroom was gilded and bright and overflowing with important people. Noblemen with attractive daughters who were all too willing to buy their way into the Grimm-Pitch family; widowed duchesses hoping to find a new (and wealthy) husband; girls looking for men with heavy pockets.

Gods, all of the girls. Shiny, embossed, glossy girls who only didn’t care about Baz, only his title and money. Girls who tossed around flirtatious smiles and girls who giggled at everything Baz said. It was complete and utter torture, especially under his father’s keen eye.

He was meant to find a wife tonight.

Simon’s night was one thing: making the rich people happy. That meant keeping glasses filled with wine and stomachs filled with food. (He couldn’t get over the food. Whole platters crammed with every imaginable pastry, but not one bite was to go to him).

“Excuse me,” drawled a low voice. Simon’s eyes flitted away from the buffet table. The lord’s son, Basilton, stood with one hand resting on his hip, regarding Simon with little interest. “I need a drink.”

He had never seen this servant before. With the shabby brass buttons (not unlike the color of his curls) and sleeves that fell well passed his hands. Baz almost thought he looked too young to be here.

What corner of the street did my father drag you off of?

“I need a drink.” Baz wasn’t particularly fond of drinking, but he was growing weary of listening to men boast about their daughters’ beauty. He could care less about wedding. He cared more about this cute serving boy with the stardust freckles.

The boy nodded curtly, fixing Baz a glass of wine that matched the color of his uniform.

“What’s your name?”

The boy looked up at him. His eyes were an unremarkable shade of blue. “Simon, sir.”

Baz pursed his lips. “Simon,” he repeated, it was a normal name. As normal and unremarkable as the color of his eyes. “Where are you from?”

“The orphanage.” Simon shuffled his feet. He probably wasn’t used to getting attention from the wealthy, let alone the son of Malcolm Grimm-Pitch.



Baz took a sip of his wine, wrinkling his nose. It was bitter and vile tasting. “Do you want to come with me to the balcony while no one’s looking?”

Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch completely baffled Simon. All of these beautiful woman begging for his attention and he wanted to go to the empty balcony. With Simon, the servant he’d hardly spoken ten words to.


“You’re not very talkative.”


“That’s fine.” Baz abandoned his drink on the table. Simon thought he looked tired (and strikingly beautiful). Then he was gripping Simon by the wrist loosely and dragging him through a grand pair of French doors.

The air outside was thick and humid, and the stars glistened like the gems hanging around the necks of noblemen’s daughters. The balcony overlooked sprawling farmland. All owned by Basilton’s family. Simon felt nauseous.

“You’re dad won’t like me leaving my post.”

“He won’t notice.” His finger traced the edge of the railing. “My father is too concerned with me finding a wealthy woman to attach to my arm.”

Simon studied him closely. “You don’t seem very excited about the fact you have an entire ballroom of beautiful woman to pick from. And on top of that, they’re all fawning over you.”

“They’re fawning over my wealth.” Baz waved a hand flippantly through the air. “Besides, I’m not interested in any of them.”


“No.” Baz dragged a thumb over his bottom lip, breaking eye contact with Simon. “I’m more interested in boys.”

“I’m interested in both.” Simon watched a star streak across the sky. His face burned.

“Simon.” Baz met his gaze now, hard and steady.


“Call me Baz.”

Simon smiled. “Baz?”

“I think we should get to know each other better.”

Threepio said something that didn’t register, because she was thinking of the last time she’d seen Han - of his eyes as he stared up at her from inside Cloud City’s carbon-freezing chamber. And then of everything else they’d shared in the few weeks before that. How she’d begun to tremble when he’d taken her hand aboard the Millennium Falcon, drawing steadily closer until he’d finally kissed her. He’d been right about her - she did need a scoundrel in her life, someone who wouldn’t salute her, who didn’t care about her title or role in the Alliance.
—  Moving Target
You’re not a real female until you can provide medical documentation that you’ve completed gender reassignment surgery. I hope that you can accept that the university is not against you personally as demonstrated by so many here who care about you, including me.
—  Title IX coordinator and VP of Student Development, submitted by estrogene