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ariel-seagull-wings · 6 months

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THE MAGIC HAIR-PINS

@faintingheroine @adarkrainbow @princesssarisa @tamisdava2 @themousefromfantasyland @softlytowardthesun @grimoireoffolkloreandfairytales @professorlehnsherr-almashy

(Turkish Folktale)

There was once a Padishah whose daughter was so beautiful that her loveliness was without equal in the world.

Now the Padishah's wife had an Arab slave whom she kept locked up in a room, and to whom every day she put the following questions:

"Is the moon beautiful? Am I beautiful? Are you beautiful?" "Everything and everybody is beautiful," was invariably the answer. After this entertaining dialogue the Sultana would lock the door again and go away.

One day, as the Padishah's daughter, by name Nar-tanesi or little Pomegranate, was making a tour of the serai, the Arab caught a glimpse of her and immediately fell in love with her. Thus on the next day the Arab modified his usual answer as follows:

"The moon is beautiful, you are beautiful, I am beautiful, but Nar-tanesi is the most beautiful of all."

The Sultana was exceedingly angry. Now that the Arab had seen her daughter, probably he would no longer admire the mother. So she went to the Princess and proposed that they should take a walk together. During the promenade they came to a meadow, where the maiden, being fatigued, lay down in the shade of a tree. When she fell asleep the mother left her there and hastened back to the palace.

When the Princess awoke and could not see her mother she began to weep, running hither and thither in fear, seeking her mother everywhere. It was of no avail, however, and soon her cries of despair echoed through wood and field.

Three brothers were by chance hunting in the forest, and came upon the distressed maiden. When she saw them she was still more afraid, and implored their grace and protection, requesting them to accept her as a sister. Overcome with pity the three hunters agreed to be her brothers, and she accompanied them to their home.

Henceforth the three youths went hunting every day, and when they brought home the game, the Princess prepared it for eating. Thus the days passed merrily away.

But the news of the maiden's extraordinary loveliness spread far and wide. The story was told of her discovery by the three brothers in the forest, and how they had taken her home to be their sister. This came to the ears of the Sultana, her mother, who was enraged to find her daughter still living. She thought the girl had long ago been torn to pieces and devoured by wild beasts.

She went accordingly to a witch and asked what she should do further to get rid of her daughter. The witch gave the Sultana two magic hairpins, saying that if she stuck them in the Princess's head the girl would surely die. The woman took the hairpins, and disguised herself as a poor beggar by means of an old feredje. Packing various articles in a bundle, she went to the maiden.

Whenever the three brothers were away hunting, the Princess kept the door locked; and when the woman knocked she made no answer. "Oh, my child," cried the woman, " why do you not open the door? I have come all the way from Anatolia with presents for my sons; at least receive them from me."

Then the maiden answered through a crack in the door:

"The door is locked."

"My daughter," returned the woman, "having heard that you are their sister, I have brought you also a present of some hair pins; hold your head close to the keyhole that I may stick them in."

Suspecting no evil the girl put her head to the key. hole. The woman stuck the pins into the Princess's head, and she fell down dead immediately. Having thus accomplished her revenge, the Sultana went straight back to the serai.

When towards evening the brothers returned from hunting and entered the house, they saw the dead body of the maiden lying by the door. They raised loud lamentation and wrung their hands in despair. When their grief was somewhat calmed they began to prepare for the funeral. Laying their sister in a golden casket, they took it up a hill and hung it between two trees.

It came to pass soon after this that the son of a Padishah went hunting and saw the golden casket hanging from the trees. Taking it down he opened it, and when he saw the lovely maiden lying within he fell deeply in

love with her. The casket was carried to his home and put into his own apartment, and whenever he went out he took care to lock the door. The Prince spent his days in hunting, and the nights in looking at and sighing over the dead maiden.

In the meantime the Padishah intended to take part in a war that had broken out; but the Vezir dissuaded him, advising him to send his son the Shahzada instead. Therefore the King called his son and ordered him to go to the battlefield. The youth returned to his apartment, opened the casket and took a last fond look at the serene countenance of the maiden. He then locked up the room, and ordering that none should enter it during his absence, he departed for the war.

We have omitted to state that the Shahzada was betrothed. The Princess he was going to marry chanced to hear of the Shahzada's locked apartment, and she determined to discover what secret he hid therein. It availed nothing to tell her that the Prince had forbidden anyone to enter it during his absence. She shook the door with such force that it opened, and she entered the room. Seeing the dead girl in the casket, she exclaimed in great irritation:

"Who is this maiden that the Prince guards day and night!"

Looking at her more closely she saw the hairpins sticking in her head. Putting forth her hand she drew them out; and hardly had she done so than the maiden was transformed into a bird and flew away.

A long time passed; the war was over, and the Shahzada came home again. Hastening to his apartment, he found to his sorrow and dismay that the casket was open and empty. In great wrath he asked his slave:

"Who has dared to enter my apartment?"

"The Princess who is to be your bride," was the reply.

"What can she have done to her!" groaned the Prince, and from that time he became ill and grew worse every day.

Now that the war was ended the Padishah began to make preparations for his son's marriage, and in due time the wedding took place.

Every morning the bird came to the palace garden, and sitting on a tree said to the gardener, "How is my Shahzada?" "He sleeps," was the answer. "May he sleep and enjoy good health," said the bird, "and may the tree, on which I sit, wither!"

This dialogue continued daily for several days, and every day a tree withered. The gardener called the attention of the Shahzada to the matter, observing that if the thing went on much longer there would not be a tree alive in the whole garden. The Prince's curiosity being excited he set a trap to catch the bird. The bird being duly caught, the Prince put it in a golden cage and took a delight in regarding its wonderful plumage.

When first the Prince's wife saw the bird she recognised it as the maiden of the casket, and made up her mind to destroy it as soon as possible. Her opportunity came when one day the Shahzada had to go on a journey. No sooner had he set off than she wrung the bird's neck and threw it into the garden; and on his return home she told her husband the cat had devoured it. The

Shahzada was very sorry for the accident, but it could not be helped. When the dead bird was flung into the garden rose bushes sprang up wherever its blood-drops fell. One day the gardener's wife came for some flowers, and among those the gardener plucked was one of these roses. They were put all together in a vase, but soon faded, with the exception of the rose, which remained as fresh as when it was growing on its stalk.

"What wonderful flower is this?" exclaimed the woman.

"It does not fade!" And while she was sniffing its delightful odour it suddenly changed into a bird, and flew hither and thither about the room. The woman was startled, thinking it must be either an in or a jin. However, after she had recovered herself somewhat, she took the beautiful creature and caressed it, and in doing so she remarked on its head something resembling a diamond. Examining it, she saw it was a pin. She drew it out, and behold! the bird was transformed into a maiden, who related to the astounded woman the story of her adventures.

Without delay the old woman went to the serai, stole into the private apartment of the Shahzada and told him all. His joy was unutterable; he bade the woman go home and take care of the maiden until he himself should come in the evening.

Twilight was scarcely past when the Shahzada was on the spot. At sight of the maiden he swooned away, and when he came to himself he requested her to relate her story with her own lips. When he left the gardener's house he took the maiden with him, but while on the road to the palace a monkey sprang out upon them.

The Prince started in pursuit of it, and he was away so long that the maiden, being tired, fell fast asleep. Now it had come to the knowledge of the maiden's mother that she had disappeared from the casket, and in order to make certain that she would not annoy her again, the Sultana left the serai in search of her, meaning to kill her.

After long wandering the woman chanced upon the spot where her daughter lay sleeping. With suppressed glee she muttered:

"Oh! you have fallen into my hands once more!"

Meanwhile, failing to catch the monkey, the Prince hurried back to the maiden, anxious lest any further harm should come to her. On arriving at the spot he saw the maiden asleep and a woman by her side. When the Prince demanded her intention, the woman said she was only keeping watch over the girl, who might otherwise have suffered some ill.

Suddenly a thought struck the Shahzada, and he asked the woman who and what she was. She replied that she was a poor forsaken creature, who had nothing, and who was alone in the world.

Then said the Prince, "Come with me, and I will repay your kindness." The maiden, however, being now awake, recognised her mother, and secretly informed the Prince.

All three set off together towards the serai, the woman rejoicing over the opportunity thus afforded her of putting her daughter out of the way for ever.

But as soon as they arrived at the palace the Prince ordered the woman, as well as his wife, to be hanged, as a punishment for their treacherous cruelty, and made preparations for his wedding with the maiden of the golden casket. Thus they lived happily ever afterwards.

#turkey #folklore #fantasy #fairy tales #literature #snow white #the fairest of them all

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day8423 · 1 year

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the idea of fiona being cursed randomly (us as the audience never discovering a reason this unknown witch put a spell on her), has always been so interesting to me. multiple times i've considered diving into writing a backstory, why she was cursed, why this witch decided fiona was destined for true loves kiss. i actually do have a whole load of headcanons and metas stored in the back of my brain, which in actuality would flesh it out and grant a reason why. but i have never put them to paper, nor will i ever, because i kinda love that we don’t know? (yeah it was probably just the writers once again belittling fiona over her male counterparts and deciding their stories were more important… but i ain’t gonna rant about that right now.) it aligns with good vs evil, the stereotypes that these films portray. fiona’s been raised on very straight forward beliefs that put her in that tower in the first place.

we never know what the witch’s motive was: was she plain evil, or was something else planned down the line? either way, far far away proved itself tenfold as a stick to the book kind of kingdom, keeping in line with all stereotypes and never drifting too far from fated paths. in fiona being cursed, harold immediately grew concerned regarding the stray of expectancy, and did everything in his power to get his daughter, his kingdom, and his own happily ever after back on track. rather than seeing how things might play out, he went to a well-known solution and beloved story: a fair maiden locked away in a tower. not actually knowing why the witch cursed fiona, ultimately reinforces the notion that far far away is a very closed minded kingdom (at least where the king is concerned, despite his own backstory). however all this unwillingly places fiona into the role of a princess like no other, the first strike of independence. she steps out of her destined pages, and rewrites her own story. and along that road, changes the entire mindset of those in higher positions in far far away. she gives lesser respected creatures a voice, advocates that being different is okay, and not only beautiful people deserve a happy ending.

i have also loved the idea that it could have been fairy godmother that cursed fiona as a little girl, under disguise as a haggard witch, in order to assure her sons place in far far away when both children grew up. then, she presented herself under a guise of goodwill, promoting this plan of locking fiona away in a tower for her own safety and security, setting the wheels in motion from the beginning. lillian and harold were so desperate for help, and she took that vulnerability for granted. which all this was not difficult given harold’s debt to her; she knew he would listen lest he risk himself and his position. (i genuinely don’t think lillian had much say in all this, but that is a rant for another time!) she waited until fiona was old enough, rather than cursing her as a baby. ‘when i was a little girl a witch cast a spell on me.’ old enough to know how to act and behave as a member of royalty, but still young enough to be moulded and naïve regarding some aspects of the world. that when she returned with charming, she would lack experience and knowledge of how to truly be a princess, given her isolation and separation from her people. thus, charming and godmother could shape her as they pleased, and gain proper reigns of far far away over carefully planned precision.

either way, cursed by fairy godmother or a random witch, fiona is never going to find out, and eventually she becomes okay with that. for a long time all she wanted to know was why. why her. why was she so different to every other princess out there. never knowing why she was cursed really does just strengthen her mindset because while she struggled with it for such a long time, it shaped her into who she is. there’s no grand backstory, she has nothing to truly blame, no one to seek revenge upon; she just needs to deal with it. furthermore, because it was random and seemingly an act of unjustified cruelty, it allowed fiona to break herself free from feeling like a victim, and get out of the tower when she did. it wasn’t destiny that cursed her, it wasn’t set in stone, her life wasn’t meant to exist in a lonely tower. if her parents had said from the beginning that it was supposed to be her story, those three stages (cursed, tower, rescue) then she would have been crafted to live like that. it would have been expected. alas, it wasn’t any kind of fate, so she really just gave a big middle finger to feeling like a victim, and took her story into her own hands!!

#ii. every princess is a beauty / every dragon must be cruel : study.#long post /#also this might seem like a harold hate blog.#(kinda is)#i DO think he loved his family a hell of a lot.#and genuinely thought he was doing what was best for fiona at the time.#but his mindset would have been VERY different if he wasn’t so scared of risking his own position and happy ending.#he’s just a weakling lbr.#also all this really is taking from my own interpretation rather than anything canon with shrek.#i probably shouldn’t need to reinforce that but like.#shrek is NOT canon here. <3 #unless specifically stated.#fiona runs her own world thank u very much!!#but yeah just the curse is so interesting to me!!!#the fact that there is legit no backstory when there could be an amazing one!#fiona being cursed really was the best thing that ever happened to her mkay.#after like...#twenty five years or so she comes to realise that rifp.#the irony in the fact that fiona’s curse was not destiny. it was random. and as such allowed her to break free from the shackles #of those emotional and physical restraints and become who she is.#but if it WAS destiny then she would have remained the dutiful princess because it was apparently who she was supposed to become.#she wouldn’t have questioned it.#i am overthinking this i know but.#i just LOVE that we don’t have a backstory.#i think it makes it way more intriguing.

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brandyllyn · 3 years

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The Scoundrel’s Reward

Summary: You have been captured by a terrible monster! Is your rescuer the dashing pilot he claims to be - or is he a scoundrel in disguise? Alternatively: Poe Dameron and you goof around and have some fun one night in his quarters.

Part of the "Goofballs in Love" Series of One-Shots: The Scoundrel’s Reward, Ghosts of Girlfriends Past, Flexibility (noun), Give me my sin again, Writing on the Wall

My Masterlist

Words: 3K (Read it on AO3.) [complete] Rated: Explicit Warnings: established relationship. roleplay. consensual dubious consent. bondage. mild violence against droids. oral (f receiving). PiV sex. two people being dorks in bed.

-Privacy Locks Engaged-

Poe tilted his head as he looked at the small screen outside his quarters, trying to think of a reason the locks might be enabled. He had the codes, of course. They were his quarters after all. Had he done it before he left? He was pretty sure he hadn’t.

Had something happened inside there? Someone might have set the privacy locks in order to keep people out. A leak maybe? Or a repair? But that didn’t make sense, if that had happened someone would have contacted him. And he was pretty sure there was a special code for that sort of thing anyway. The privacy locks were for situations when you didn’t want people walking in on you. Hell, if you didn’t have the door code you just got an error message. But if you had the door code…

-Privacy Locks Engaged.-

He rarely used them. Once or twice when he’d come back after a mission and needed double digit hours of uninterrupted sleep. Once when he’d been deep into studying some new X-Wing configurations and didn’t want distractions. But usually he used them when he had you over.

You.

The only other person who had access to the room’s security system was you. He raised an eyebrow. Did this mean you wanted privacy? But if that was true, you had your own quarters you could be in - rather than his. He mulled the problem over more.

Generally he used the privacy locks when you and he wanted alone time. When he didn’t want to risk some friendly pilot or whoever beeping in to halt whatever fun things the two of you were doing in bed together. He considered the possibility. Maybe you were in his room doing something fun in bed. You had intended to see each other that night - maybe you had gotten a head start waiting for him.

-Privacy Locks Disengaged.-

When the doors slid open he stepped inside quickly, reengaging the lock behind him. The room was dark, shadows dancing along the wall from a single lamp with a sheer yellow scarf tossed across it. His eyes were drawn immediately to the bed, and the form lying across it.

You were wearing a sheer white robe, one he’d never seen before. Even in the low light he thought he could make out the darker shade of your nipples peeking through. Somehow more interestingly, you were tied up. Hands bound above your head. When he entered the room your eyes met his and then you winked before your face dropped into over-the-top fear.

"Oh thank the gods, someone is here to rescue me," you called out in a comically desperate voice. He felt his lips twitch. "Please, handsome stranger, save me from this foul beast."

"Oh?" Poe asked, leaning against the door with a smirk. "And who has captured you fair maiden?"

He heard a whirring noise and saw BB-8 roll to place itself between its owner and you, one port opening and the droid’s taser snapping in the still air. The droid beeped questioningly and he heard you whisper, "Yes now."

A series of low angry whistles came from the droid. Threats of violence as BB-8 rolled toward him, taser crackling menacingly. Poe took a step back, putting a chair between himself and the 'beast'. "Ah, I see," he nodded, "a most fearsome foe indeed."

BB-8 gave a pleased little spin at that and he heard you urging the droid back into character. Taking advantage of the distraction Poe turned to the wall, finding a discarded broom and brandishing it.

"Unhand her foul beast!"

BB-8 rolled backwards in alarm and Poe tapped the droid gently with the broom. "Take that!" Another gentle tap. "And that!"

BB-8 spun in place in confusion before rolling towards Poe. Thinking fast, he jumped on top of the nearby table, crouching low and continuing to tap at the droid as it circled around him. Poe threw his boots at the droid one by one, taunting it for being unable to reach him on the table. BB-8 called out increasingly silly threats until Poe finally leapt down and pinned it with a downward thrust of the broom. He squatted quickly whispering "Thanks buddy, go back to your dock now."

BB-8 trilled happily, returning to its charging station and powering down. Poe tossed his 'sword' aside and made his way to the bed, strutting and puffing his chest out in victory.

"Oh brave man, thank you for saving me," you called out, lips parted and eyes wide in adoration.

"It was nothing," he shrugged one shoulder, brushing the arms of his flight suit off. "All in a day’s work for a Resistance pilot."

A small gasp. "A hero of the Resistance? To save me? I am so fortunate." Okay, maybe you were being a little over the top now.

He sat on the edge of the bed, leaning forward and slipping his arms under you to help you sit upright. His fingers toyed with your bound wrists as they fell between the two of you. "It is I who am fortunate," his voice lowered an octave, "to have the chance to meet such a beautiful… princess?" He raised an eyebrow in question and saw you nod before committing to the line. "A princess far beyond the reach of a scoundrel like myself."

He heard you snort and thought for a second you rolled your eyes before he saw them widen into doe-eyed innocence. "Does this scoundrel have a name?"

"You can call me Commander," he said with a smirk. Oh you definitely rolled your eyes at that.

"What can I possibly do to reward you?" you ask, lips parted and eyelashes fluttering. Your bound hands shifted, resting high on his thigh.

"Oh I’m sure we can think of something," he tilted your chin up with one hand, thumb stroking along your lip. His hand trailed down, feeling the heat of your skin through the flimsy robe until he ran one finger around your taut nipple.

"You would take advantage of me?" Your breathy question makes his lips twitch. "Please sir I am at your mercy."

"Mmm," he hummed contentedly to himself, "I see that." He rolled your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, listening to the soft inhale of air and feeling the clench of your fingers on his thighs.

"Oh I have escaped from one monster only to fall into the clutches of another!"

Poe buried his face in your neck to stop the laughter from spilling out of him, reaching down and clasping the bindings around your wrists with one hand. Using them to pull you forward until you fell into his chest. "In my clutches," he grinned to himself, "I like that."

Your head is tilted to the side, offering your neck to his mouth and he took the opportunity without further prompting. His tongue seeking the places that he knew made you groan and squirm. "Please," the breathy moan from you made blood rush down to his cock. "Please don’t…"

"Don’t?" He whispered against your skin. "Don’t what? Do this?" Teeth sank into your shoulder and he heard you whine, felt your body arch into him. He pressed one hand behind you to delve into your hair, pulling slightly and exposing more of you to him. "What is it princess? Don’t what?"

You moaned again, the sound settling into his body. "You say you don’t want this," he murmured, tongue sliding along your jaw, "but I think if I slipped my fingers between those pretty thighs of yours I’d find a different story. Should I find out?" He glided one hand down to your thigh, flipping the flimsy robe to the side to expose you. "Hmm? Are you wet for me princess?"

He didn’t wait for your response, fingers forcing between your clenched thighs and just barely tickling into the slick heat he found. "Oh yes," his teeth nipped your ear, "that’s what I thought. You want this scoundrel to touch you."

"No," your breathy denial stirred the air between the two of you and he felt himself get harder. "I don’t want this. Not with you."

"Your body says otherwise," he countered, tongue tracing your ear. Quickly, he shifted his weight, laying you back down across the bed and stretching your bound hands high over your head. You struggled, body writhing beneath his. He grunted and straddled your waist, using both hands to secure your wrists to the head of the bed. From his vantage above you he gave you a considering look, biting his lower lip.

"Please," you pleaded, eyes wide on his. He leaned forward and pressed two fingers to your lips. Your mouth parted immediately, sucking them into the wet warmth. He groaned when he felt you lick softly at the pads of his fingers.

"You must be the Force’s gift to me for being the best pilot in the galaxy," he grinned and heard you snort. Giving you a disappointed look for breaking character, he used his free hand to flick your side and felt you squirm. He bit his bottom lip when you glared at him in return, nipping at his fingers. "Maybe I’ll use this sweet mouth of yours," he mused and the teasing look in your eyes was replaced by something more feral. More hungry.

He had said it as a joke, as a threat in the spirit of the rogue he was playing. But seeing the change on your face, the way you sucked on his fingers… He groaned, leaning forward to thrust his tongue into your mouth, using his fingers to hold your jaw open.

When he pulled away he saw your eyes were hazy, your tongue lazily circling his fingers. He smirked down at you, "Mmm princess, seems like maybe you do want this."

Your eyes snap up to his, jerking your face away from his hand. "Never."

"Oh really," he raised an eyebrow, shifting his body until he was straddling your thighs, running his hands lightly down your neck. With deliberate slowness he parted the robe, exposing your body to the air and his eyes. He swallowed, the sight of you never failed to cause his heart to skip a beat, his blood to pump faster. He ran a finger under your breast, hiding a smile when you arched slightly up to him.

His fingers tweaked your nipple, "Princess, I could have you begging for me."

"I would never beg for ahh," your protestations were cut off when he leaned forward, wrapping his lips around the sensitive nub and sucking it hard into his mouth.

"What was that?" He asked conversationally, laving it with his tongue before gently setting his teeth to it. "That almost sounded like begging."

He glanced up when you didn’t respond, saw your eyes squeezed shut, your mouth open in a silent gasp. He nibbled at your nipple, heard the keening noise you made and turning his attention to the other. Giving it the same ministrations, flicking the one not in his mouth with his thumb. His body shifted, his knee forcing your legs apart and he reached down to glide his fingers through the heart of you.

"Oh, at least one part of you is honest," he whispered into your skin. Slick heat coated his fingertips and he muffled a groan, moving so both his legs were between yours, holding you wide open to the exploration of his fingers. When they glided across your clit you moaned and he echoed it. "Mmm, that was closer, but not quite."

He shifted down your body, pressing kisses to your skin until he settled between your legs, situating your thighs over his shoulders. His hands clasped at your hips as he pulled you slightly, into his waiting mouth. The breathy little sigh you made was music - just the touch of his lips enough to pull that pleased little noise from you. He nuzzled you for a moment, his nose slipping between your wet folds and over your clit. Another noise, sharper this time.

Looking up he could see you spread out before him, the arms pinned above your head pulling your breasts up high. Your stomach was quivering and he ran a soothing hand over it at the same moment he gently licked against you.

"Poe!" you shouted and he nipped you.

"Nuh uh, tonight I’m just Commander." He thought for a moment, "Or 'Sir' if you want."

Your toes pushed against his hips and he had a feeling that 'Sir' was off the table. Ah well, it was worth a shot. Instead, he dipped his tongue into you, thrusting slowly into your tight channel.

"Oh… Commander," you panted and Poe rewarded you with a long lick up to your clit, flicking against the bundle of nerves and then moving down again. Taking his time, ignoring your breathy moans and the clench of your thighs around his head. Occasionally he turned his mouth to your inner thigh, running his tongue along the soft skin and gently biting. But he always returned to your heat, your soaking core.

"Sir…"

He closed his lips on your clit, massaging it with his lips before letting it go. "Oh that sounds lovely. Beg for me princess. Tell me how much you want me."

"I want…" you started but he was tonguing your clit again and all thought seemed to fly from your head. One of his fingers slowly slid inside of you, filling an aching need. "Please," you finally gasp and he thrust his hand up hard into you, flicking your clit with his tongue.

He gentled immediately, listening to your breathy whine. "Much better," he muttered against your clit. "If I give you what you want - what will you give me?"

"Anything," you promised recklessly.

"Oh I like the sound of that," he hummed in pleasure. "Will you let me put my cock right here?" He stroked inside of you for emphasis and you nod.

"Yes, yes, please."

"Alright then, since you ask so nicely." He didn’t tease anymore, just buried his face against you and drove you relentlessly into your peak. Holding you steady with one hand while he fucked you with the other. He relished your cries, the way your body rocked beneath his hand, even the curl of your toes into his shirt. He would never get tired of making you come. Never.

As you slowly drifted along the highs of your pleasure he sat up, pulling his shirt over his head and quickly shoving his pants off. By the time you were somewhat coherent his body was laying over yours, his mouth seeking yours out.

"Taste how much you want me," he murmured, urging your tongue to tangle with his. You moaned, arms straining against the bindings, wanting to wrap him in your embrace.

"Poe," you gasped and he nips your lower lip. "Commander," you correct quickly, "please, I want you inside me."

"All you had to do was ask princess," he whispered back, lifting one of your knees with his hand and sliding inside of you in one smooth stroke. You groaned together and he pulled away from you just as slowly, starting a smooth steady rhythm.

"Commander," you breathed and fuck but that shouldn’t be as sexy as it was. He was going to have a hard time ever concentrating during shift again with the memory of your sweet voice moaning his rank into his ear.

"Commander please, I need more."

"More?" He shifted slightly and fucked in to you hard. "Like this?"

"Yes," your reply was instant, your mouth gaping open and he quickly took advantage. Capturing your lips in a desperate kiss. His forearms were under your shoulders, hands cupping each side of your head. Holding you still while his tongue ravished you, hips snapping into yours. He relished the hot pant of your breath into his mouth, the moans he could capture. When your legs rose to wrap around his waist he lowered one of his hands to cup beneath your ass, urging you to meet his heavy thrusts.

"Are you going to come for me again princess?" He whispered the words directly against your tongue, shifting his weight so he could slip his hand between your bodies. When his fingers gently circled your clit you cried out - thighs clenching against his waist.

"That’s it baby," he pulled his head away so he could watch your face. "That’s it, come for me."

He could see your fists clenching, your arms stretched above your head, your back arching. Every movement was taut, beautiful, straining for release. He moved his fingers faster, picking the pace of his hips up.

You screamed when you came, a wordless cry that shot straight into his heart. He moved his hand away quickly, back to holding your head as he ground his hips down into yours. "Oh fuck princess," he moaned, your muscles tightening and releasing as your orgasm washed over you. "Just like that. Fuck you feel-"

Whatever he was going to say was cut off by your lips. Neck arching up to capture his mouth and he followed you back down. Lips pressed to yours as he lost his rhythm. Lost his senses. Lost his mind in the pleasure of your body.

When his brain began to function again he could feel your legs still wrapped around his waist, the hot puffs of your breath stirring his hair. He grunted when he pushed himself up, nuzzling your nose with his before placing a light kiss on your lips.

"I think that was a suitable reward for slaying a dragon," he said with a grin and saw your nose crinkle when you giggled.

"Wicked man," you sighed and he kissed you again, pulling slightly on your hair. You arched your neck into the touch, gasping softly.

"Very wicked," he assured you and trailed kisses down your neck. He felt himself slip out of you, heard the small noise you made when he did. He lightly ghosted his lips across your collarbone. "Now," he said, slowly sitting up and spreading his knees wide, your thighs thrown over his. "What inducement might you have for me to set you free?"

Your lips pursed for a moment, hiding a smile, and then you licked your lips. "You’ve already ravished me scoundrel. What more could I possibly give you?"

He raised an eyebrow and you winked at him. "Oh my dear princess," he cooed, running his hands up your thighs until his thumbs pressed to your center. "I can think of a few more things."

#poe dameron x you #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron / you #poe dameron / reader #poe dameron #smut #star wars fanfiction #fic

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une-nuit-pour-se-souvenir · 3 years

Text

random thoughts on jon connington’s chapters

The last time I read this was over four years and I had a different take on Aegon, so I was curious to see on what changed with a second read.

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The Lost Lord ~ ADWD

Sansa and Aegon

Alayne II (Sansa II) ~ AFFC

When Robert dies, Harry the Heir becomes Lord Harrold, Defender of the Vale and Lord of the Eyrie. Jon Arryn's bannermen will never love me, nor our silly, shaking Robert, but they will love their Young Falcon . . . and when they come together for his wedding, and you come out with your long auburn hair, clad in a maiden's cloak of white and grey with a direwolf emblazoned on the back . . . why, every knight in the Vale will pledge his sword to win you back your birthright."

The Lost Lord ~ ADWD

"We have gone to great lengths to keep Prince Aegon hidden all these years," Lemore reminded him. "The time will come for him to wash his hair and declare himself, I know, but that time is not now. Not to a camp of sellswords." (...)

"The plan was to reveal Prince Aegon only when we reached Queen Daenerys," Lemore was saying." (...)

The prince wore sword and dagger, black boots polished to a high sheen, a black cloak lined with blood-red silk. With his hair washed and cut and freshly dyed a deep, dark blue, his eyes looked blue as well. At his throat he wore three huge square-cut rubies on a chain of black iron, a gift from Magister Illyrio. Red and black. Dragon colors. That was good. "You look a proper prince," he told the boy. (...)

Sansa and Aegon are supposed to reveal themselves by washing the dye out of their hair and wearing their house colours, in an event that involves a wedding with someone that will facilitate claiming their birthright.

However, Aegon said “fuck that bitch Danerys” and getting married, revealed himself somewhat (to the Golden Company higher-ups only) wearing his house colours and went back to Westeros to reclaim his birthright on his own, unware that his cousin from his mother’s side is coming to him to offer aid in the war.. Aegon washing his hair of the blue dye and doning his armour will only happen wieh he sets foot in Westeros.

Likewise, we can draw a parallel scenario for Sansa and considering the “Sansa is grey girl who flees from a marriage” it all fits, Like Aegon, Sansa syas “fuck that bitch blonde Bobby B Harry and getting married, like Aegon she wears a grey cloak, and like Aegon she’ll be meeting her cousin and eventually claim her birthright.

I somehow doubt Sansa will be getting an army that soon, but in the show she got the Wildlings (via Jon, who can be seen as “sellsword” type of warriors) and the Vale army. In the books, there’s the mountain clans both in the Vale (loyal to Tyrion, whom she’s married to) and the north mountain clans (those that protected Bran because he is Ned’s son and joined Stannis also because of Ned and his daughter).

Another thing of note is Aegon ended up cutting his hair but dyed blue once more, so this may be true for Sansa as well. She may cut it shorter (a parallel to her sister Arya as well) but keep dying it for awhile still. Such, she may reach the Wall and meet Jon as a brunette (a parallel to Jeyne Poole as well as Alys Karstark). ETA: Likewise Aegon only revealing himself by washing his hair and doning his armour when he invades Westeros (his birthright), Sansa may only wash her hair and done her armour when the northern campaign starts.

Regardless, This is a smart choice because...

Cersei IV ~ ADWD

The queen bristled. "I most certainly have not forgotten that little she-wolf." She refused to say the girl's name. "I ought to have shown her to the black cells as the daughter of a traitor, but instead I made her part of mine own household. She shared my hearth and hall, played with my own children. I fed her, dressed her, tried to make her a little less ignorant about the world, and how did she repay me for my kindness? She helped murder my son. When we find the Imp, we will find the Lady Sansa too. She is not dead . . . but before I am done with her, I promise you, she will be singing to the Stranger, begging for his kiss."

The Lost Lord ~ ADWD

"His because they're bought and paid for. Ten thousand armed strangers, plus hangers-on and camp followers. All it takes is one to bring us all to ruin. If Hugor's head was worth a lord's honors, how much will Cersei Lannister pay for the rightful heir to the Iron Throne? You do not know these men, my lord. It has been a dozen years since you last rode with the Golden Company, and your old friend is dead."

Cersei’s attention on Aegon is also a parallel to Cersei’s attention to Sansa, interestingly enough Tyrion is mentioned in both instances. Cersei’s attention on Sansa also come attached with the “singing the Stranger for a kiss”, which is interesting because if “Sansa is the Grey Girl” theory holds to, the guy she’s running to for protection is in fact.... dead or close to (the Stranger is their god and in the show... the episode was aplty named, the Book of the Stranger).

The bells tolled for all of us that day. For Aerys and his queen, for Elia of Dorne and her little daughter, for every true man and honest woman in the Seven Kingdoms. And for my silver prince. (...)

He had grown fond of Lemore, but that did not mean he required her approval. Her task had been to instruct the prince in the doctrines of the Faith, and she had done that. No amount of prayer would put him on the Iron Throne, however. That was Griff's task. He had failed Prince Rhaegar once. He would not fail his son.

Let me live long enough to see the boy sit the Iron Throne, and Varys will pay for that slight and so much more. Then we'll see who's soon forgotten.

I grant that the obsession that Jon Connington has for Rhaegar Targaryen is milder and more honourable, compared to the obsession Littlefinger has for Catelyn Tully, but the fact is this is yet another parallel between Sansa and Aegon. They both have mentors with an unhealthy obsession with one of their parents and hate the other, which they project onto the kids. Last, but not least, both mentors are passing off as parents of the children while they remain disguised under a false indentiy.

However, as Sansa will have to run from Littlefinger’s toxic shadow, I suspect Aegon will do much the same. I have suspicions. Sansa escaped Littlefinger because of Jon, as he took the role of protection. No matter how people see the ship, the fact is Jon is a lot like Ned V2 (at least, that’s how Littlefinger will see it and he hated the man) but the truth is Jon is Ned’s nephew and Sansa’s cousin from his mother’s side.

Likewise, Aegon is about to meet Arianne Martell, who’s the niece of his mother Elia Martell, which makes them cousins from his mother’s side. Elia Martell, whom Jon Connington... hates, often speculated in fact that he was in love with Rhaegar Targaryen himself. The symmetry of all this, not only the mentor’s obsession with the children but also the love / hate hey have for their parents.

Connington’s wish to see Aegon crowned and the giant chip he has on his shoulder for not being recognised. For the former, I have not found any reference to Littlefinger wanting to sit the Iron Throne in the books, but this was basically his goal in the show. To be king with Sansa by his side. For the latter, well that’s the drive of his character, he’s a social climber seeking recognition.

Sansa VII ~ ASOS

I will tell my aunt that I don't want to marry Robert. Not even the High Septon himself could declare a woman married if she refused to say the vows. She wasn't a beggar, no matter what her aunt said. She was thirteen, a woman flowered and wed, the heir to Winterfell.

The Lost Lord ~ ADWD

"Why should I go running to my aunt [implied marriage] as if I were a beggar? My claim is better than her own. Let her come to me … in Westeros."

Eh. Same energy. They are not beggars and they know their birthright, they will not be forced to marry someone they don’t want to to facilitate it.

----

TL;DR: I think these concurrence between Sansa and Aegon suggest that Aegon is real, but also glimpse into their characters beyond their toxic mentors and their ascencion to power. It will be interesting to watch their common points in future events, even if by the fact that they’re different genders and that makes PLENTY of difference in ASOIAF.

Jon and Aegon

Jon II ~ ASOS

A few tents were still standing on the far side of the camp, and it was there they found Mance Rayder. Beneath his slashed cloak of black wool and red silk he wore black ringmail and shaggy fur breeches, and on his head was a great bronze-and-iron helm with raven wings at either temple. Jarl was with him, and Harma the Dogshead; Styr as well, and Varamyr Sixskins with his wolves and his shadowcat.

The Lost Lord ~ ADWD

I personally ignored Aegon because I started with the show and didn’t know he was a (living) character until I read the books. I wasn’t even all that convinced he’d be particularly important. So I always looked at Jon’s interactions with Mance (associated with black + red) as "preparation” for Jon’s internactions with Daniella.

Hoewver, that changed when show!Cersei took over some of book!Aegon role: sitting on the Iron Throne, the Golden Company, and loved over Daniella in the last to final episode. It seems to me now that Mance can also (at the very least if not all) be seen as “preparation” for Jon’s interactions Aegon. As said, Mance dresss in a black and red cloak which associates him with Targs, the cloak being “copied” by Aegon. Mance united the notorious “give no fucks about authority) wildlings under one idea (run from the Others), while Aegon united a sellsword compay (sellswords are untrustworthty).

Moreover, it’s my conviction that Jon and Aegon are probably going to war against each other for a time (this is illustrated by what I believe are their respective dragons and a natural consequence if Aegon sits in King’s Landing while the Starks declare Northern Indepdencen), until they sommehow make peace (in case of Mance and Jon it was because of the Others, but for Jon and Aegon it could be their fire counterart, Danerys).

TL;DR: I think these vague connections between Mance and Aegon are rather interesting and may be “preparation” for Jon and Aegon’s intereactons will involve war AND peace. Interestingly, Connington’s next chapter feaures battle.

#aegon vi targaryen

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aonesteddybear · 4 years

Text

Little Maiden

tanaka ryuunosuke x female reader

warnings: 18+ smut ahead, highly dub-con. fairy tale/red riding hood au with kitsune!tanaka (breeding, innocent!reader, knotting, manipulation, oral sex, vaginal sex, request for others)

word count: 7575

notes: this is for the hq server collab, which the prompt was fantasy. tanaka was my pick and i saw this delicous piece of artwork for kitsune tanaka...and i knew what must be done. this has some crack moments but is mostly pwp and please heed the warnings! (also spot daichi in this!) be sure to check out the masterlist here and see all the other great writings and artwork done!

Once upon a time, there was a young maiden who lived within a village on the outskirts of a forest. It was a bustling town, with plenty of travelers that came to it and held many stories. Despite this cluster of activities, the town knew not to let any of their ladies wander into the forest, and certainly not every third moon cycle when even the animals within the forest seemed jumpy and on edge. The ladies that did stray off on their own, often came back with clothes torn and speaking of a beast with nine tails disguised as a man who would trick them into performing lewd activities with him, taking their status as a maiden and leaving them heavy with child. Those that encountered him, almost never were the same, lusting after what they encountered. Often they would disappear later on, back into the woods in an attempt to find the creature, never to return.

These stories are of course whispered from adult to adult, careful not to let young ears hear in case they would seek out the beast itself to find out the source of the stories. Most travelers believed the story to be made up, a legend to account for women who sought out companionship of men before they were wed, and had to deal with the consequences when they started to present. Yet the town remained insistent, that there was a beast within the woods, and it was determined to corrupt the maidens within it.

You of course knew the whispers, or just the stories and repeated instructions to never enter by yourself. “Always take your brother,” your parents insisted, “And don’t stray from each other's sight.”

It was that mantra which was told to you yet again, as your mother fixed your cloak around your neck. “Do not leave the path, and Daichi, please do not harass your sister anymore. Stick together, closely. I need you to get this to Grandma. Go straight to her house, don’t dawdle, and do not talk to anyone, Y/N I mean it. The woods are dangerous.” Your mother insisted, pressing a kiss to your hair line as she slipped the basket into your arm. “I will see you both tomorrow.”

Your brother rolled his eyes, ruffling your hair as you walked past as you slapped at him even as your mother tsked at both of you. You waved at your mother one last time before you skipped after your brother with a call of “Wait up!”

As you both disappeared into the woods, your mother's voice of “Be safe! Don’t talk to strangers!” called after you.

The start of your journey was uneventful, the trees whispering to you both as you wandered further and further along the path into the woods. Despite the forest darkening as you continued within it, the foliage along it continued to grow. Soft flowers bloomed along the path, butterflies flitting to and from them as you watched in awe.

Anytime your step would falter, convinced to go smell them your brother’s hand was firm on your back pushing you along. “Come on, we have to make it before nightfall.” He urged, and you reluctantly continued on.

As if the forest seemed to hear your internal struggles, it seemed each time the path curved a new batch would be there, with more flowers blooming within it as if you couldn’t resist the next plot. Eventually your brother opted to walk in front of you, not wanting to slow to your pace. Still he would call out for you, a “Y/N, hurry up!” anytime you would slow too much to look at the intricate blossoms.

Still as his pace continued steady, you fell further and further behind him. Until, this time when you stopped to bend over to look at the flower stalks, his voice didn’t call out to you. You lifted your head, squinting at the darkness of the forest as you followed the path around the curve.

It will be alright, you thought to yourself, He is surely just ahead. I can smell these and then run and catch up with him.

Yet as you leaned over again, a hand reaching out to grip the orangish flower, a shadow fell over you.

“They’re foxtails.” A voice mused from behind you, causing you to jump slightly, stumbling forward as you landed in the patch as you spun around to stare up at the man who spoke.

His hair was shaved down, short which drew attention to his face instead. Sharp brows were arched as he looked down at you, who was still sprawled upon the ground, but dark lines framed his eyes, sharpening his appearance. “Here, let me help you up.” He offered a hand out, and you carefully took it.

Subconsciously, you realize just how warm the man was as he pulled you up, and you examined his clothing in confusion. His pants were baggy, hanging off his frame and he wore only a vest which revealed his stomach and arms to your view. “Are you a traveler?” You blurt out, and he smirked, looking down at his own appearance thoughtfully.

“I suppose so.” He decides on, eyeing you. “And what about you? What is a young-” he paused, inhaling softly as he eyed you up and down before he continued, “maiden, doing out here all alone?”

You flushed at his words, smoothing your hands on your dress as you looked down. “I’m not alone.” You stated, “My brother is just ahead. We’re going to Grandma’s.”

He raises an eyebrow, “You surely look alone. I do not see anyone. Just you and myself, young maiden.”

Do not talk to strangers. Your mother's words float back to you as he stepped forward closer towards you, and you stumbled back. “I-I should go.” You stuttered out and he laughed softly, “No, stay. It is alright.” He promised, reaching down to pluck one of the flowers off to hold up to your face.

“They’re foxtails.” He repeated, “I personally think they’re lovely. Don’t you?” He questioned, waving it in front of your nose, and you felt your eyes cross as you try to examine it.

“Yes,” you admitted, and he grinned as if you just complimented him. “There are even prettier flowers further along here.” He purred out and your eyes followed his hand where he pointed, further off the path and deeper into the foliage.

You stared longingly at the flowers, foot shifting as if you would head in the direction before you hesitated, shaking your head. “I shouldn’t, my brother will surely be looking for me and my mother says I shouldn’t talk to strangers.”

The stranger frowned, irritation flicking over his face before it faded just as quickly. “My apologies, I must have forgotten my manners. You may call me...Ryuunosuke Tanaka.” He offered, “Surely your brother hasn’t gone far, I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time to see the flowers and be back before he comes looking for you. Now, little maiden, shall we?”

Your nose crinkled slightly as he stepped into you, “My name is not ‘Little Maiden’.” You retorted, “My name is Y/N.”

The man smiled, a foxish grin appearing on his face. “You are a maiden though, are you not, Y/N? You’re also rather little compared to me. Therefore...” his words trail off as he eyed you with a certain hunger, and you stepped back slightly at the close proximity of him.

You looked away in embarrassment, back towards the path where your brother had left, but the man’s presence next to you had you looking back at him for guidance. “You know my name. Now, we are no longer strangers, right? Come. Let’s go see them together.” He coaxed, voice soft as it washed over you and you nodded, taking his hand as he led you through the flowers and further off the path.

As he continued to guide you, the slightest uneasiness bubbled up in your stomach as he led you deeper into the woods and away from the way you were supposed to have been going. Anytime you attempted to turn to look behind you he’d jerk your arm, causing you to tumble into him as you attempted to not fall. “Sir-” you started, but a soft tsk from him had your words dying off as he interrupted you. “We’ll be there soon little kit, do not worry.”

As if his words were understood a bit too literal, the woods opened up around you and instead revealed a meadow of flowers. “Oh, it’s beautiful!” you exclaimed, pulling from his hand to instead investigate further into the field, bending over to sniff them as you went.

The traveler (Tanaka he said his name was, you reminded yourself) followed you around as you flit between each flower, but it isn’t until his hand gently touched your hip that you gasped and turned to stare up at him in confusion. “Do you smell that?” He questioned pulling you into him closer, and you flushed as you are pulled into his chest.

The warmth of his body is evident even through your clothing. Your hands came up to attempt to push at his chest, even as he held you tighter to him. “Do you smell that?” He repeats, voice a low rumble in his chest and you paused your wiggling to inhale deeply.

The smell of the forest dominated your nose, overwhelming you with an earthy scent of rain even with the proximity of the flowers surrounding you. Underneath it all you could smell the hint of spices, (Cinnamon a voice in the back of your head states) and the touch of wood smoke as you inhaled again. Confused still though, you look up at him. “Smell what, Sir?”

He licked his lips, looking down at you as a smile appeared over his lips and once again, you wiggled slightly, attempting to pull away as his head leaned down to press into your hair. “I don’t know,” he mused. “It smells sweet. Like..a treat.”

His face moved down your head, nuzzling along your ear and down into your neck even as you giggled at the tickling sensation, attempting to wiggle away from him. “Sir-!” you attempted again, even as his hands tightened on your flesh.

His body dips as his face moved down your body, opting to press his face into the valley of your breasts even as you gasped, hands pushing at his head. “W-Wait! You can’t do that!” You gasped as his tongue flicked out, running along your skin.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, voice monotone. “I’m just trying to find..the source of that delicious scent.”

His hands tightened on your body even as you attempted to squirm away from him and he continued his path down. He paused at your stomach, inhaling through the fabric, and you aren’t able to see how his pupils dilated at the scent. His hands gripped painfully tight on your waist before he shoved you back, allowing you to sprawl out on the bed of flowers which caught your weight as if it was a bed rather than solid ground.

He ignored your soft cry of objection, his hands bunching your skirt up as he pushed it up and his head dips down in between your legs, seeking out the source. “You can’t!” you attempted to argue, but the feeling of warm, wet muscle sliding over your underwear had you gasping and pushing at his head in objection. “S-sir!”

He looked up at you, annoyance clear on his face. “What?” he questioned and you quickly shake your head, attempting to wiggle backwards even as he grabbed at your hips, attempting to prevent you from moving away. “You can’t!” you insisted again, your voice dropping. “It’s...indecent.” You whispered out.

The traveler snorted, eyes rolling as he grabbed at your clothes, tugging them down even as you let out a squeak of objection, “It’s alright. Look, I found what smells so sweet. I wonder if it’ll taste just as sweet,” He questioned, his head dipping down as he licked a stripe up your folds even as you cried out.

“I-Sir! You...you shouldn’t!” you again attempted to argue, even as he held your hips to his face, licking and sucking at your core as you trembled. “Mother...Mother says I shouldn’t touch myself there. You shouldn’t lick there.” You whimpered out, eyes filling in tears upset by his action.

Sensing your distraughtness, his head raised and you feel your cheeks heat up as you realize his face is wet as he sits back. “What is wrong? Does it not feel good? Surely your mother just didn’t want you to get hurt.” His tongue flicked out then, and not for the first time you feel your stomach turn in anxiety at his tongue, a bit too long to be fully human.

One of his hands slid down your body, rubbing at your thigh as you wince. “Did it feel good?” he asked again and you shrugged slightly. “It felt funny.” You repeated, and he smirked at that. Your eyes flicked down to his mouth again, eyebrows knitted together in confusion at the point of teeth you could have sworn weren’t there earlier when he smiled.

“Did it feel good?” He repeated, his hand moving over your mound, his fingers dipping into your folds as he rubbed at a spot that had you gasping and attempting to jerk away from him in response. “Look how good it feels.” He purred, his words filling you with warmth. “If it doesn’t feel good, I’ll stop. Okay?”

When you nodded in a hesitant response, his eyes glinted in excitement, leaning forward once more as he pulled you close to his face as he licked a new stripe up your cunt, holding you firmly even as you gasped and attempted to pull away. “Does it feel bad?” His voice against your core sent trembles up your spine as you shook your head in response as he continued his lapping.

You watched curiously as his own hips grind against the ground in earnest. Your focus diverted for a moment, quickly back to his face as you felt his tongue press against you, and slide into you as you jerk, attempting to pull back. “W-wait!” You cried out in surprise. Pushing at him as he held you to his face, eyes flicking up to make contact with yours, even as you attempted to get away.

His tongue continued worming it’s way into your body, stroking at areas you didn’t know existed as you whimpered for him to stop. “It feels weird!” You manage out, panting as he watched you with eyes that are blank and emotionless. His hands were painfully tight on your hips, preventing you from moving as you effectively grind against his face instead.

As your legs trembled around him, you began to feel a tightening in your stomach. “S-Sir...Wait! It….I...stop….it feels...too much!” You attempted to whine out a coherent sentence even as he continued, nose bumping into your clit rhythmically as he nuzzled into it.

One of his hands removed from your hip, opting to slide down as he pressed a finger into you alongside his tongue as you cried out, jerking as both of them curled, stroking opposite walls. As he pushed in another finger you cried out, not sure what exactly you were crying for as a wave of euphoria poured over your body.

He held you with his free hand, refusing to let your hips part from his face as he eagerly drank up your cum. As he attempted to add a third finger inside you, you let out a squeal.

“Your fingers! They’re so big!” You managed out in overstimulation, and he smirked this time, pulling back as he sat back for the second time, sliding them out of you as he raised them to his face. His tongue wrapped around them as he lapped off your juices from them. “Better to finger you with little maiden,” He purred out as you flushed.

“You are, right? A maiden?” He clarified. “Never had anyone else touch you like this.” His eyes narrowed dangerously, and you swallowed as you nodded. He hummed in appreciation at your answer. “Good, I don’t like to share.”

His hands reached down to his pants, pushing them down and you quickly averted your eyes as he wrapped his hand around his straining cock. “What’s wrong?” His voice was teasing, “Have you never seen a cock before?”

You shook your head in embarrassment, “No, Sir.”

He hummed in excitement, energy radiating off him as he inched closer to you, reaching out he grabbed your hand. Jerking you forward to wrap your hand around his cock, alongside his. “Here, feel. What does it feel like?” He questioned, hand enclosing around yours as he instructed you how to stroke him.

Warm, “It feels warm.” You admitted, and he hummed, hips pressing his cock up into you harder. “What else?” He asked and you swallowed nervously, looking from where your hand was wrapped around him to his eyes. “It’s...big.” you decide on and this time his amusement is clear. “Better to fuck you with.” He explained bluntly, grinning as your eyes darted away in embarrassment.

He shifted, standing and you flinched back slightly as his cock became eye level with you. A hand found the back of your head, preventing you from pulling back further and instead nudged you forward in encouragement.

“C’mon, little maiden.” He purred out, and you swallowed looking up at him in confusion, unsure of what he had wanted. “Take it in your mouth.”

You paused, looking at it again as if you were considering it before you looked up at him once more, “I’ve never done it before though, Sir.”

He tsked his tongue, stepping forward and tapping the head of his cock against your lips as you flinched, pulling back, but his hand was there again, pushing you back against it as he rubbed the beading precum against your pursed lips.

“That’s alright, you can practice.” He promised, his words comforting despite your situation. “"Now, didn't your mother ever tell you it's good to try new things?” He scolded and you flushed at his words, nodding your head reluctantly as his cock pushed at your lips.

He rubbed his cock against the softness of your lips, coaxing you to open your mouth for him. “Look, it's leaking milk just for you,” and he was right. You could see the white fluid bubbling out the tip, and being rubbed over your lips. “Go on little kit, drink up…” He encouraged and you allowed your lips to part as he pressed it into your mouth and you immediately attempted to recoil at the bitter taste of his precum.

A firm hand on the back of your head prevented you from moving as your eyes fluttered up to him in panic. “Doesn't it taste good?" He asked, his other hand leaving the base of his cock and opting to brush fondly over your cheek bone, as he allowed you to pull back.

You immediately made a face, your hand moving up to wipe off your face as you avoided his face, instead opting to look past his hips. However, your thoughts were paused by the sight of what appeared to be a tail hanging from his hip, and as you watched it split into three separate ones.

You stared at them curiously, at their see through form, and as you watched one curled around towards you. The tip of the tail coming forward but before it could brush against your nose, a hand on your head was pulling you back into reality, and when you flicked back to look at the tails they were gone.

“I asked you a question, little kit,” Tanaka repeated, except this time, his voice was light as if he was on the verge of laughing. You hesitated, “Um,” your eyes flicked back to his hips in confusion at the illusion you had seen. “I..No. It didn’t taste good.” You admitted and this time the man snorted, an attempt to stifle his laugh.

“Now, that isn’t a very nice thing to say to someone who just offered you something to eat. Certainly not to someone who already ate you, little kit.” His voice was amused as his thumb ran over your lips, pressing on the bottom one as you parted for him again. “You know, you should know better. Didn’t your mother teach you to have better manners?” He questioned gently and you felt your eyes burn at the scolding words, tears welling up in embarrassment.

“I’m sorry, Sir.” You whispered out, and this time as his thumb moved into your mouth and pushed down on your tongue he looked excited. “It’s okay. I know what you can do to make it up to me.”

You looked up at him, in confusion at his words. “What? Really?” You asked around his finger, and he smiled, head cocking to the side and you blinked at the glint of light as it wrapped around his head, the illusion of ears appearing just as quickly as it disappeared.

“Yeah.” He whispered out, “Close your eyes, hold open your mouth.”

You obeyed, and as his thumb left your mouth, you’re empty for only a moment before a new heavy weight is pressing into your mouth the saltiness returns. As your eyes fluttered open in curiosity, your head is pushed forward, the soft head of his cock hitting the back of your throat as you jerked backwards into his hand which remained steady in pressure in an attempt to hold you on his cock.

Your hands found purchase on his thighs, pushing on them even as they rolled against your face, forcing you to take more of his cock into your mouth and throat as you gagged. Saliva ran down your lips, tears trickling out your face as you looked up at him in panic as you struggled against him. “Shh it’s okay, just relax. You’ll get it,” He insisted, his free hand petting tears from your cheekbone as the other holds painfully tight in your hair.

As his cock hit a particularly sensitive area of your mouth, you gagged, your hands fly out, grabbing at his legs and as your fingers brush against fur you grab at it. The man stiffened underneath your other hand, body jerking in response as you pulled at what you held.

A shaky noise escaped his body and as he released your head, allowing you to pull off his cock with a gasp as you looked up at him. Slowly you process the fact that the noise he made was a whine. He looked just as startled as you were, your eyes tracking from his face to your hand which currently held- “A tail.” You blurted out, the words escaping from your mouth before you could stop it.

He looked unamused at this statement, the tail twitching underneath your grasp as it writhed. “Yes,” he stated plainly. “Now, you should do that again, please.” He requested, pulling your head forward once more towards his cock, and as you opened your mouth to object his cock was pushed into your mouth again, except this time he was much rougher.

His thrusts were unpredictable, and excited as he forced your head down on his cock in sync with his thrusts. Your hands blindly fumbled at him, the fur warm under your one as you tugged at it in objection, and that only seemed to further spur him on. New fur brushed against your other hand, and you obeyed the silent request to grab at it with the other side.

His noises of pleasure only increased as he fucked into your face, you tugging at the-, no, his tails. You whimpered in objection as his thrusts became uneven. You could feel the trembles in his body, and as he hit the back of your throat yet again you couldn’t help but jerk on both of his tails. Fingers fisted in them tightly as you pulled at them in objection at the treatment.

His hips stuttered as he gasped, and just as suddenly warmth flooded your mouth as he allowed you to jerk away. Coughing at the taste you spat out what you could, looking up at him through teary eyes as he sighed, taking a step back as he yawned.

This time you could see the fangs protruding where his canines would be, much too long to be human. If that wasn’t a big enough of a hint, his eyes were dark, pupils slitted fully now and behind him...multiple tails swayed behind him, trembling with energy.

“You have a tail!” You accused, still coughing, voice scratchy as the man snorted in amusement. “I have nine actually, can’t you count?” He mocked and you bit your lip, trying to stop the tears that were already threatening to spill.

“What are you?” You questioned, trying to sound brave despite the quiver in your voice and he grinned. “Guess,” he demanded and you couldn’t help the pout of your lower lip. “I don’t know.” You admitted, and the man rolled his eyes. “That’s no fun. That’s not even a guess.”

He frowned, rubbing his own arm as he considered for a moment. “Fine though. I’ll tell you, but only because no one has played with them in a while and I’m in a good mood.” He leaned forward, gripping your face tightly in his hand and you winced as long nails (Claws, a voice told you) pinched into your skin.

He smiled, leaning forward as he pressed his lips to you, kissing you softly. “I’m a fox. A trickster god. A kitsune, don’t ‘cha know.” He whispered to your lips, and as a tear spilled from your eye, his free hand came up to wipe it away. “And right now, it is breeding season, sweetheart. You caught me right at the start of my rut. I very much do appreciate the help, but I’m not even close to done, yet.”

“I don’t want to help. I want to go home.” You decided, and the man let out a bark of a laugh. “Oh silly little kit,” He mused, petting your cheek again even as you attempted to flinch back from him in fear of what he’d do next. “I may be a trickster, but I didn’t even have to trick you here with me did I?” He purred out, voice dripping like honey over you.

Your lip trembled as you held back your tears, “It’s late. My brother will be worried. I have to go.” You insisted, and the fox god scoffed now, tails lashing in annoyance at his plans being interrupted. “You help me, and I’ll get you back before they even notice you are gone. They won’t know a thing.” He offered, “Deal?”

You hesitate, before you nodded, “Deal.”

A smile spread across his face, tongue flicking out to lick at his lips as he eyed you, and you can’t help but feel once again you’ve made a terrible mistake. “Good. That makes this much easier.” He purred out.

“Makes what easier?” You question nervously, eyes shifting from his looming figure to the empty meadow you were in. “This,” His voice was deep, dangerous as it wrapped around you.

He moved forward forcing you back as he grabbed your legs, spreading them roughly apart as you gasped. One of his hands slid down, running along the inside of your thigh and back towards your cunt as you attempted to close your thighs around him. “Stop it.” His words were harsh, and you froze at the command. “You agreed to this.” He reminded and you swallowed, suddenly regretting your words from just a few moments ago.

“You haven’t told me what this even is!” You accused as he shifted to fit himself in between your thighs preventing you from closing as he forced a finger back into your cunt.

He ignored the squeal that fell from your lips as your hand came up to push at his shoulder, “It hurts!” You yelped and he ignored you, pulling back only long enough to add another as you cried out his name this time.

“Did I not already tell you? It is breeding season.” He stated plainly, bored as he curled his fingers inside of you appreciating the squeal you let out at the sensation again. “I have no interest in making you behave, or fighting with you honestly. I really only want to stuff this little cunt of yours with my cock.” His words were punctuated with particular hard curls of his fingers causing you to whimper, “I’m going to knot you, and see how you drip with my cum, and look swollen with my seed.”

His words have you shivering, trying to form coherent sentences as he continued to play with your hole. He pulled back again, this time forcing a third finger in as you whined at the stretch, your hands flying up to your mouth as you tried to silence your noise this time. His eyes flick from where you were stretched on his fingers, to your face as you covered it.

An amused expression crossed his face as he cocked his head to the side, “You know, no one is going to hear you here. Feel free to be as loud as you want. No one will find us.” He promised, and if he realized how much his words filled you with dread he didn’t seem to care. In fact, he seemed quite happy at this fact that no one would stumble upon your acts.

Still you couldn’t help but let out a sharp gasp at a particularly hard thrust of his hand, his long fingers hitting a spot inside of you that made you wince in pain. Satisfied with your response, he pulled back licking at his fingers again as you panted underneath him watching in confusion as he mused. “You’re ready.” he stated simply.

“Ready for what?” You question again, and this time he doesn’t try to hide his annoyance at your repeated question. “Ready to be fucked open by my cock, that’s what, Little Maiden.”

This time the name is mocking, as if he was taking great glee of the fact he was about to take your maidenhood status, and as you attempted to push back slightly on the ground his hand was grabbing at your skin painfully tight, in a bruising grip.

“Shh, it’s okay. Don’t be scared, little kit. It won’t hurt much.” He promised, fingers coming up to smooth over your cheek as he fitted himself between your thighs. His other hand fit between your two bodies, brushing up against your sensitive bundle of nerves as he palmed his own cock.

“I could have been rude, not tried to make you feel good and stretch you out a little. I told you I would, right?” He questioned, touching your face fondly, and you couldn’t help but lean into his touch, feeding on his words.

“Of course, it’s not going to help when I knot you. Can’t exactly prepare human bodies for that before it happens.” He muses on, more to himself as his words drop and you feel your face contort in confusion. “Knot?” You question and he smiles, his face bright at that. “Oh yes, I’m going to split you open on my knot, little kit. Fill you with my kits.”

You start to ask what he means once again but a pressure on your core had you attempting to scoot back. His hand connected with your shoulder holding you steady as he pushed up, and into you.

You gasped in pain, tears welling up in your eyes as you grabbed at him. “W-wait, sir!” You attempted to call out, hands flying up to grasp at his body and arms as he pushed you down with the same force he was pushing his hips up with.

The stretch was painful, and you could feel as he pushed each new inch inside. Even though he had used three fingers inside of you, it felt nothing compared to the stretch of his cock as he made your cunt provide room for him.

If he cared for your whimpers, or the soft tears flowing down your face he didn’t comment on them. His own head dipping down as his eyes fluttered shut at the velvety sensation wrapping around him. “You feel so good,” He purred out, eyes fluttering open to look up at you and even through your tears you could see the unnatural glint to his eyes.

You swallowed, trying to hold back your whimpers as his hips pressed flush against yours. You felt like you were going to be split open, the sensation uncomfortable as his cock pressed firmly against your cervix. “Hmm? Why are you crying now?” He questioned, his thumb coming up to wipe at your tears as your lower lip trembled.

“It hurts.” You stated plainly and he tsked softly, “We’ve barely begun, I told you this.” He attempted to soothe. You could see his tails lashing in anticipation behind him, the goldish red of his fur catching your attention. Drawing your focus away from throbbing dull ache in between your legs “Now, quit crying little kit. You barely have anything to cry about. I haven’t even moved, you can cry later.” He promises, and once again you start to question his words, lips parting to ask what he meant by that.

However, his hips drew back, causing you to yelp softly at the sudden removal of pressure and new friction from your body. “W-Wait-!” You start to object, as his hips snapped back into you causing the air to leave your lungs as you stared up at him.

“There, see? Don’t cry.” His voice was light, teasing as he pushed himself up on his arms, shifting to a new position as he started to roll his hips in earnest, head cocking as he listened to your squeaks of objection as you attempted to form a coherent sentence.

“What is it? You have to tell me.” You knew he was mocking you as your hands gripped at the flowers beside you, trying to find purchase as he fucked you in order to ground yourself. “Oh? Nothing. Hm, disappointing. Well if you’re not objecting….”

His voice trailed off, as he suddenly pulled out, grabbing you by your hips as he flipped your body over. You started to object again as his body covered you, his cock pressing up against your thigh for a moment before it entered you just as suddenly. One of his hands gripped your hip, holding you tightly as the other found the spot in between your shoulder blades, shoving you down before he gripped the back of your neck.

The new position caused him to groan at the tightened sensation, a soft praise of “That’s a good girl, just like that.” as he encouraged you to hold the position as he draped over you. His hips slapping into you as he fucked into your body.

Your soft mewls of pain slowly turned into pleasure, trembling underneath him at the odd pressure as he drilled into your core, pressing up against your cervix with each thrust. His presence was warm, stifling as he covered you.

As if he could sense your discomfort, his hands moved to pull at your clothing. Ripping it down the seam along the back as he shoved to the side. Your protesting words were cut off as he pushed your face further into the ground with a soft snarl of “Quit complaining.”

His words left your stomach flipping as he undressed you, pausing only briefly with his thrusts before he leant back over you his skin flush against yours. The smell of cinnamon and smoke clouded your head as he pressed his face into your neck. You could feel the soft rumble of a growl in his chest, his hips stuttering against you as he found a new pace which had you both gasping for air.

Chills trembled through your body as his hands wrapped around you, grabbing at your chest and pinching at your nipples as you whined in objection. “W-wait, please slow down. I-I can’t.” Your words were whimpers, barely formed as your fingers dug into soft soil as he pounded away into your sopping cunt.

You couldn’t see it as his fingers dug into your neck pushing further into the ground, his eyes rolling in annoyance. “Can you shut up, and just whine for me instead?” He questioned, each word punctuated with a thrust, the finals one hammering directly into your cervix as you sobbed out for him.

Pleasure and pain mixing together in a ball in your stomach as he fucked into you with skilled rolls of his hips. As pleasure continued to grow in you, you could feel his thrusts begin to change. Rather than fucking you with a speed and intensity that left you struggling to breathe, they became much more targeted as he grinds into you with his hips.

Each press you could feel the nudge of something at your folds. You attempted to turn your head, looking back in curiosity at the new sensation but his hand was immediately there pressing your face further into the ground. “Stay,” His words were a soft growl that vibrated through you as he held you firmly and you found yourself nodding weakly even as he continued pressing into you. Soft fur ran against your legs, and you could feel his tails wrap around you, an attempt at a comforting gesture.

His grinding became more insistent as his lazy thrusts continued, and as it built you couldn’t help but push back against it, the pressure rubbing against your clit. This action of yours seemed to please him greatly as he leaned back over you, covering you effectively as he purred praises into your ears.

It wasn’t until he started to push it forward into your hole with purpose that it clicked in your mind that he was attempting to fit it inside you. You hadn’t seen what this new pressure was, but you could feel your hole painfully stretching at the pressure and your instincts told you that it was going to hurt.

As if he could sense your panicky thoughts, his hands were suddenly back on you holding you painfully down, his weight on your back as he continued to shove his hips against yours. “Don’t even think about it.” His words chilled you but the pain had you continuing to squirm as he tightened his grip on you, tails running against your skin.

As the pressure increased on your cunt, your breathing started to increase. Tears rolling down your cheeks and onto the ground at the burning pain continued. “Relax, it’s only going to hurt worse if you fight me on this. You’ll be okay. Breathe.” His words were attempting to be calming to you as he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck and shoulder.

His fingers dug into you as you attempted to calm your breathing as he instructed but the pressure only increased as your eyes squeezed shut. Your teeth gritted together for a moment before a sob of pain escaped. “It hurts!” You accused and he hummed, licking at your skin. “I know, you’re doing so good.” He promised.

“You said it wouldn’t!” You sobbed out, and he snorted in amusement.

“Did not...I told you I was going to split you open on my knot, and that’s exactly what I plan on doing.”

Your lower lip trembled as he continued to push into you, “It hurts really bad, please stop.” You attempt again he shushes you pressing his lips against yours, “Shhh little kit, it’ll be okay. It’ll be done soon, I promise.” He whispers against you, leaning up to lick the tears leaking from your eyes and down your face. “Go on now, cry for me. I told you, you could cry later. Didn’t I?” His words were spoken into your skin, soothing as his fingers release from their bruising grips rubbing at your skin in soft circles instead.

For the briefest moment, the pressure alleviates and you make the mistake of letting out a soft exhale, thinking he had stopped. Eyes fluttering shut as you let out a soft “Thank you.” However, as his hips snapback forward connecting you two firmly again, you feel your mind blank for the briefest moment before light explodes behind your eyelids.

Pain clouds your mind, and you are convinced you definitely were just split open as the knot at the base of his cock pushes into you, sinking past your hole and into your cunt. As blinding as the pain is, the shuddering euphoria washes over you following it, a sharp sob escapes from you as his teeth dig into your neck.

His hands pinning you to the ground under his weight preventing you from pulling away as you cum around him spasming underneath him. His noises of pleasure fill your ears, muffled as his teeth puncture your skin. His body trembles over you, his scent of cinnamon and smoke overwhelming you as he effectively ties the two of you together, his tails sliding against both of your skin before falling slackly.

As both of your orgasms wash over you, the pain returns as a dull throb in your cunt. As his fingers loosen on his hold of you, his weight sagging slightly you squirm attempting to pull away from him but just as quickly his fingers are back bruisingly tight on your hip and shoulder. His teeth dig in further into your skin making you cry out in pain. “Don’t you fuckin’ dare. You’re gonna hurt both of us.” He snarls, his voice muffled by your skin. “Stay still.” He hisses out, breath uneven as his hips ground into you once more, his movements limited now but not prevented.

With each half-hearted roll of his hips, tugging at your hole you whimpered in pain. You could feel the warmth filling your stomach, and after a few more minutes you could feel it dripping down your legs. Sensing the fluid leaking also, the man shifted. His arms wrapping around your body as he rolled to the side, pulling you with him as his hands ran over your belly fondly cupping it lightly as he held your firmly to his chest.

As both of your breathing lowered back to normal, his hands continued to rub softly at your skin. His tails wrapping around to tickle at your skin as well. He was much more gentle now, his touches almost loving, but you still couldn’t help the soft tears roll down your face at your bruised skin. Sensing your emotions the man nuzzled into your throat, tongue running along the bite mark he had left. One of his tails reached up, brushing off your cheek of your tears as you turned away from it.

“What’s wrong, little kit?” He purred out, his words sleepy and you shrugged in response. When a few seconds passed and you didn’t continue on with an answer, he pinched at your skin lightly as he pressed a kiss to your jaw. “Come on now, talk to me.”

You let out a soft sight, turning to look at the man, your lower lip trembling and he immediately stiffened in concern. His tail coming up to brush against your face again, as he nuzzled into you. “Oh stop, you’re okay. I promise.” He soothed, fingers running over your body in encouragement. “You did so good.”

“I want to go home now, Sir.” you whispered softly, and the man laughed gently at the statement. “You know you don’t have to call me ‘Sir’. I gave you my name,” he pointed out, avoiding your request. “Oh...I’m sorry, Tanaka.” You decide on and he hums, pressing another kiss to the corner of your eye. “Ryuunosuke is fine.”

“I’m sorry, Ryuunosuke.” You repeat, and he hums happily rubbing his face against you. You two laid in silence for longer, his fingers running up and down your body as he held you to his body. His lips pressing soft kisses against the skin he could reach, his tails rubbing against your legs, and wrapping around your body providing warmth to you both as your eyelids drooped against your will.

“Ryuunosuke?” You questioned, voice slurred with sleep. “Hmm? What is it, little kit?” The kitsune questions you, his fingers brushing against your cheek as he presses a soft kiss to your cheekbone. “When can I go home?” You ask and the man laughs softly.

It was a sound that warms your body as you feel your body drift into unconsciousness, his head moving to rub down over your stomach fondly, and the soft bulge still there from the kitsune’s actions earlier. As you feel the world fade to black, it is his words in the background, a soft whisper into your skin that guides you into sleep.

“Oh silly kit, you’re not going anywhere just yet. You’re not leaving until you’re heavy with my kits. Then you can return to your realm, just like I promised.”

#tanaka ryuunosuke #tanaka #kitsune tanaka #tanaka x reader #tanaka x you #hq server #hq server collab #female reader #kitsune #fantasy au #red riding hood #halloween #halloween au #halloween 2020 #hq collab #bella writes #ryuunosuke tanaka

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shera-dnd · 3 years

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New chapter arriving a little early today. This time featuring Weiss’s lesbian awakening at the hands of a certain Knight of the Fall Maiden

As usual you can read here or over on AO3, just follow your gay little heart (like Weiss is hopefully gonna do soon)

It had taken Weiss a couple of days to get used to not wearing her helmet, and a few more still for her to ditch the armor altogether. She hadn’t engaged in combat since those first couple of days, and even if she did, she was more than confident that she could best her opponents with sword alone.

Now, with the protection of Lady Ilia’s shawl she was given a level of freedom she did not expect. She was able to roam the festival grounds without a care in the world, no longer weighted either by iron or name. Tied down no longer by responsibilities to her father nor to House Schnee as a whole.

Of course Lady Ilia accompanied her wherever she went, though now Weiss saw her less as a shackle and more as a companion, with whom she spent time happily. She hoped that by putting aside her iron she had made herself more approachable to Lady Ilia. She had the fae to thank for all this after all.

“Must we really accompany those two once more?” Lady Ilia demanded as they followed a little ways behind Lady Yang and Lady Blake, who were both very openly and blatantly flirting.

“Lady Blake is our friend, Lady Ilia,” Weiss replied, “shouldn’t we be happy to accompany her in such a joyful evening stroll?”

“Oh, I’m plenty happy,” Lady Ilia countered, clear annoyance disproving her own statement, “though I do not understand why I must be exposed to these love birds every day.”

“Because Lady Blake requested that we accompany her,” Weiss informed, a playful grin forming on her face, “besides how else will you reach your daily quota of snark and mockery?”

“I’m sure you’d still give me plenty to work with, Lady Gigas,” Lady Ilia replied in kind, using the false name they had chosen for Weiss’s disguise.

“You know nothing delights me more than being of help to you, Lady Ilia,” Weiss added. The two of them looked at each other with an attempt at annoyed glares which very quickly dissolved into amused smirks.

“If you two are quite done,” Lady Blake called, “we’ve arrived.”

Around them sprawled the tents of the valean envoys and the Knights of the Fall Maiden, above them fluttered the flag of crossed axes over a crown, the symbol of their kingdom. They would finally meet Lady Blake’s companions.

“Come here, men,” the knight called in the valean tongue, “I wish to introduce you to my friends.”

With that many of those present gathered around the four of them to exchange greetings. Plenty of these knights had been bested by Weiss the week before, but none of them seemed to hold a grudge against her, and many had taken the opportunity to request rematches, which she gladly accepted.

It was after she had assumed she had met all of Lady Blake’s companions that she was greeted by the sight of a new arrival. An arrival that caught both her eye, and every scrap of breath from her lungs.

She was a tall woman with a flowing mane of red hair. Her body may not be as large, nor bulky, as Lady Yang’s, but the lean muscle it had looked as if it had been sculpted from marble, and the sweat - from what was clearly an intense training session - gave them a shine that made it near impossible for Weiss to look away.

She was starstruck.

“Lady Nikos,” Lady Blake called, “I hope I haven’t interrupted your sparring practice.”

“Hello again,” she greeted, with a lovely smile on her face, “are these the companions you have spoken so fondly of?”

With that she happily greeted the four of them and then continued to hold an animated conversation with her fellow knight. Weiss’s mind was having a difficult time grasping what was being said, most of it focusing on the lovely sound of Lady Nikos’s accent, and the insufferable smirk on Lady Ilia’s face.

Before she could question her companion on this another knight stumbled after Lady Nikos. A blonde man that Weiss first assumed to be her squire, but whose regalia was that of a full fledged knight.

Her next assumption was that the man had stolen his gear from an actual knight, though Lady Blake would have apprehended him if that was the case.

“Sir Arc, good to see you’ve survived your sparring session,” Lady Blake welcomed, the title as unfitting on him as his armor.

“Jaune’s been getting better and better,” Lady Nikos assured her, though why someone like her would waste her good will on such a buffon was beyond her.

“It’s only because of your teachings, Pyrrha,” he replied, offering the recognition back to the one who actually deserved it, “I wouldn’t have made it this far without you.”

“Nonsense, you’d still be a knight of great renown,” she assured him, quite wrongly in Weiss’s fair opinion.

To drive her point home she took his hand and gently pressed a kiss against his knuckles. Weiss decided then that she despised Jaune Arc with all her being.

With her mind now being assaulted on three fronts - two annoying and one lovely - Weiss did not contribute much to the conversation, which only aggravated Lady Ilia’s accursed smile.

It was only later, when the two of them had been separated from the group that Weiss finally had a chance to question her on that.

“What amuses you so, Lady Ilia?” Weiss asked, making no attempt to hide her annoyance.

“Nothing much,” she replied, her tone as unbearable as her smile, “only that you’re so clearly smitten by Lady Nikos.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Weiss scoffed.

She was not some foolish little princess swooning over any knight who so much as flexed a bicep in her vicinity. More importantly she did not seek the company of women in that way...at the very least she was pretty sure she didn’t.

“That you wish it was your hand, not Sir Arc’s, that she had kissed,” Lady Ilia replied with certainty.

“That is…not untrue,” Weiss admitted, “but that doesn’t mean anything.”

“Doesn’t it now?” She teased, “does the thought of a strong woman in knightly armor, carrying you off into the sunset not set your heart aflutter?"

“It very much does not,” Weiss informed her, unamused.

“Then perhaps you wish to be that knight in shining armor,” she tried again, “brave, powerful, holding a swooning maiden in your arms as she declares her undying love for you.”

That thought certainly brought some color to Weiss’s cheeks. Though it was obviously only because it played to her dream of becoming a knight, and not because of any previously undiscovered attraction to swooning maidens.

Certainly not.

“Oh Lady Schnee,” Lady Ilia continued, hands clutching her chest as she leaned back in a clear mockery of said maidens, “you’re so handsome and strong, please carry me off to your chambers so you may ravish me.”

“Yes, yes, you’ve made your point,” Weiss rolled her eyes, deigning to ignore Lady Ilia’s nonsense in favor of preparing their camp once more.

That was certainly a lot for her to process all at once. Certainly she was surrounded by women who held interest in other women, but that did not speak of her preferences, right? Though if she was so certain she shouldn’t be having all these doubts right now.

Perhaps she enjoyed the company of men and women, much like Lady Yang’s mothers. Though she couldn’t quite remember a time in which a man’s company did to her what the mere sight of Lady Nikos did.

She needed something to get her mind off of this. Something that would both distract her and help her think more clearly. Thankfully she knew just what could save her in her hour of need.

“What are you doing?” Lady Ilia asked, as Weiss began searching through her belongings.

“Searching for my training swords,” she informed her, “the two of us are gonna spar.”

“I see,” Lady Ilia replied, seemingly not much entertained by this idea, “and why is that?”

“You’ve claimed to know how to defend yourself,” she explained. Having found the pair of wooden swords that she had stashed away - just in case Winter could spare some time with her - Weiss tossed one over to Lady Ilia and continued, “I wish to test that.”

Her reasoning wasn’t entirely untrue. She did want to measure her companion’s skill, just to be sure she would be safe were they ever separated, and that explanation dealt a far smaller blow to her pride than, ‘I’d rather swordfight you than sit around and question my sexuality all night.’

“Very well,” Lady Ilia agreed, getting up and giving her sword a few practice swings, “though do not be saddened when I put an end to your winning streak, Schnee.”

“My lady,” Weiss replied, in a tone she knew annoyed her companion deeply, “you know you could never sadden me.”

“You know that won’t stop me from trying, Schnee,” she replied, matching Weiss in her annoyance.

This would bring her such joy.

“On my mark then,” Weiss declared, taking a proper fighting stance, “begin!”

The word had barely left her lips before Lady Ilia’s sword was already swinging for Weiss’s head. She barely had the time to block that blow before another hit came her way, then another, and another still. Lady Ilia pressed the offensive with a terrifying fury, backed by skillful swordsmanship.

Sidestepping her next blow, Weiss finally managed to get her footing again and swing her first blow towards her opponent. Lady Ilia evaded it masterfully and pushed the attack once again, only to be stopped by a follow up blow of Weiss’ sword.

Oh, this was exhilarating. The intensity of her lady’s attacks, the rhythm of their push and pull, truly nothing could get her blood pumping quite like a good fight, and Lady Ilia was giving her exactly that.

“I wanna see you grinning like that once I turn you into worm food, Schnee,” she threatened.

Oh? Had Weiss been grinning this whole time? Perhaps she had been enjoying herself too much. Not that she had any cares right now. There was only space in her mind for the fires of combat, both with blades and words alike.

“Your skills with the blade are matched only by your eloquence, my lady,” Weiss declared, trying to keep a calm tone even as the fight continued.

“And yours is only matched by your fairness,” Lady Ilia countered, matching Weiss blow for blow.

“I’ll be taking that as a compliment,” she replied, taking some ground as well while she was at it.

“Not once I’m done beating your face bloody!”

Weiss laughed.

She couldn’t help herself really, not when she was enjoying herself so much. She hadn’t had such fun in ages, so of course she had been grinning and laughing like a complete fool. It did not help that her sparring partner was making herself a fool in much the same way.

Perhaps it had been such bouts of laughter that had caused Lady Ilia’s stance to slip for a moment. Making the best of the opportunity she had been given, Weiss lunged forth, hitting her partner’s sword with force, knocking her backwards with the blow. Though she did not wish for her companion to suffer any real wounds, and dutifully caught her in one arm before she could touch the ground.

Her breathing was labored, heavy with strain and adrenaline. Lady Ilia did not find herself in a much better position, clinging to Weiss’s arm to keep herself from falling back as the both of them simply held themselves like that. Their bodies pushed oh so closely as they allowed themselves to slowly recover.

“I must admit, Schnee,” Ilia was the first to break the silence, “you’re quite the fighter.”

Weiss did not care to stop the smirk that had returned to her face, “it wouldn’t do for my lady to have a poor knight at her service.”

Calling herself a knight was perhaps a bit much, but she felt she could allow herself such indulgences in this moment. As expected, Lady Ilia clearly disagreed, rolling her eyes at Weiss’s self satisfied comment.

What wasn’t expected was for her body to fracture into a kaleidoscope of butterflies, each of them flying away and dispersing into the air. Weiss froze in stunned shock, unable to move as her mind tried to grasp what had just unfolded.

She felt hard wood gently press against her back, before the real Lady Ilia allowed herself to retort, "and it wouldn't do to let you grow too cocky, Schnee."

The Ilia she had fought was an illusion.

Now that had returned the smile to her face.

Weiss righted herself and turned to face her sparring partner. Ilia’s excitement was written on her face as clear as day. She smiled not only at the fact that she had bested a Schnee, but at the simple joy of a good fight.

It struck her then that perhaps there was some truth to Lady Ilia’s assumptions. Perhaps she had certain preferences when it came to her partners. That was certainly a lot for Weiss’s poor mind to digest while still being pumped full of adrenaline. Maybe it would be for the best if she saved the self questioning for later, and just allowed herself to enjoy this moment of joy.

“Again?” Weiss asked, already knowing what her lady’s answer would be.

“Again!”

#rwby #prismatic ponytails #weiss schnee #ilia amitola #pyrrha nikos #medieval au #fanfic

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revchainsaw · 3 years

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The Lost Boys (1987)

The City of Santa Carla, CA has a vampire problem and that's just the sort of thing i've been looking for. We are amping up to Summerween my flock. What better way to get in the spirit of the season than with this 80s Vampire flick set in a balmy california beach town.

I can't lie, having just recently viewed the 1985 film Fright Night, it got me comparing the two so you may read some of my opinions comparing and contrasting The Lost Boys with it's predecessor. But where Fright Night is a classic vampire story brought into the then contemporary 1980s, the Lost Boys was the decades very own vampire film. Drawing from classic vampire films and the story of Peter Pan in equal parts the Lost Boys set the precedent that vampire films would draw from for years to come.

Sermon

The Emerson family falls on hard times financially and therefor moves to the town where Grandpa Emerson, the patriarch of the family grew up; Santa Carla, CA. The family has recently experienced a schism due to divorce, leaving the family unit as a grandfather, a mother and 2 sons, Michael and Sam.

Michael is quiet and masculine, his interests include fitness, motorcycles, and girls, while Sam is a bit more timid. Sam is into comic books and still can't sleep with his closet door open. The two begin to explore their surroundings, and while Sam meets the self-certain and precocious Frog brothers, self proclaimed Vampire hunters, Michael is lure by a young woman named Star into a group of predatory teenage vampire punks. Which let's face it, if they were to lean into the schlock, Teenage Vampire Punks would have been a great alternative title.

These Lost Boys as we'll call them seem to be led by David, played by Keifer Sutherland. David and his gang seek to initiate michael and through some manipulation trick him into drinking vampire blood disguised as wine. This turns Michael into a half vampire, who must fully give up his humanity to join the family.

Sam learns of his brothers transformation and after a little adjustment seeks the aid of the Frog brothers. They decide they must defeat the lead vampire to return Michael to normal, and astutely as we'll later find out (no spoiler warning, the movies almost 30 years old), pegs his mom's new boyfriend Max as the head Vamp. Max outwits the boys attempts to prove his vampirism, and thus they settle on the belief that David is the big bad.

The Frog brothers invade the Lost Boys hideout and kill Bill of Wyld Stallyns fame. They narrowly escape into the daylight before David can exact his revenge, but they know they have targets on their backs and they prepare themselves for a vampiric siege. The Lost Boys attack the Emersons and the Frog brothers and are defeated one by one. David is killed by Michael but no return to normalcy occurs. Max reveals himself to be the big bad, right before Grandpa Emerson returns and saves his family from this Peter Pan's Neverland. Grandpa hops out of his truck and delivers one of the greatest final zingers in film history.

The Benediction

Best Character: Did you know David means Beloved?

It's true look it up, it's Hebrew. David is the prototype for the young, rebellious, sexy vampire. It wasn't long after the lost boys that we got Spike in Buffy the vampire slayer, who is let's be honest just the 90's version of David. Spike my be a bit more of a lone wolf, but David is hands down the best character in this movie, and really what competition does he have other than the Frog brothers? Michael is kind of a lump, even if he's a lump who resembles Jim Morrison.

I am also going to include best actor into this category. All the charisma and charm falls on Kiefer Sutherland, as he acts circles around everyone else on screen. There's a reason the image of David is what you think of every time you think of this movie. He's not even the main antagonist of the movie. David is a great look, a scary vampire, a great actor in a great role.

Worst Character: Who's the Kid?

The first time I ever saw Lost Boys, i didn't understand how Michael and Star had a kid already. It was later that I realized he's just some kid. He doesn't really add anything but a cool looking image of a vampire faced little boy. Kind of a superfluous part. Not bad, just extra and unnecessary.

Best Kill: Death Breath (or Guard Dog on Duty)

The best kill of Lost Boys is when the Frog brothers defeat ... Paul? one of the other vampires besides David. Whoops did I say the Frog brothers defeated him? No, that was actually Nanook coming in for the kill. The Frog Bros fail to succesfully off this bloodsucker when Nanook barges into the bathroom and knocks this punk into a tub of Holy Water. The gore on the vamps face is excellent and probably some of the better practical effects work in the film.

Best Effect: Holy Water Works

While the Vampire melt itself is pretty darn good to look at, it's immediately followed by a volatile reaction that Sam Raimi would be proud of. The whole bathroom convulses and erupts with blood, it comes out of every pipe! the toilet explodes! It's awesome!

Best Aspect: Not your Big Brothers Vampire Movie

I had mentioned earlier that I had been comparing this movie to Fright Night, and as much as I love that older film, the Lost Boys beats it at almost every way. The effects in Fright Night are above bar constantly and hold nothing back, but the film for all of it's unrelenting visuals is actually quite slow. The Lost Boys and Fright Night definitely represent how much youth culture can change in just 2 years. You'd be forgiven for thinking these films take place in different decades. The Lost Boys is faster, has more attitude, and is much more adventurous in it's scope than Fright Night. If Fright Night was Judas Priest then the Lost boys is Iron Maiden. It's not as mature, but it's just that rebellious juvenility that gives it it's punch.

Worst Aspect: Mini Max

As far as big bads go. If I could make another comparison to Fright Night, it would be so much more intimidating the have a charming Jerry Dandridge playing his games with the Emersons, as his underlings The Lost Boys get the dirty work done and have fun doing it. However, we end up with this kind of dorky dude, who is even written off in the second act, only to return at the ass end of the movie just to be immediately slain and provide the but of the final quip. It was pretty weak sauce.

Best Dog: Nanook

Nanook is a good dog. He does all the protecting and is the best vampire hunter in the movie. Sorry Frog Bros.

Runner Up Dog: Thorn

Thorn is a good dog. But Thorn is also a bad dog. Thorn is a hellhound familiar to Max, but she is still good at doing dog stuff. So round of applause for this good girl.

Best make-up: Vampire Face

Fright Night stomps all over Lost Boys in the effects department, except for in the design of the horrific vampire face. The vampire face in Fright Night looks like a prosthetic sitting on an actors face. It doesn't feel like that mouth could be used for eating or biting but is just there to look creepy. In moving away from that the make up artists for the Lost boys focused more on the upper parts of the face, creating an almost cat like predatory look for when the vampires are at their most carnivorous. This style was absolutely borrowed by the team on Buffy the Vampire Slayer years later, and it's an aspect of Vampires in film that has sadly gone away. Sign the petition, let's bring back vampire face.

Best Feature: The Soundtrack

It would be impossible to talk about the Lost Boys without talking about the soundtrack. There's not one standout song in this movie, some may argue the Echo and the Bunnymen cover of People are Strange, but I think it's just one incredibly well utilized song of many for this film. Listen to the whole soundtrack, it's all good.

Summary

In the 80s there were several attempts to resurrect the monsters of old. Several directors who had grown up on the Universal monsters were now in the position to make films themselves. The resistance to rely on vampires and werewolves was fading and these sorts of monster movies were finally being green lit. Arguably, An American Werewolf in London is the best of these films, but the Lost Boys is definitely the most representative of the movement. It's not a satire, its funny but not a comedy, it's not parody or a subversion. The Lost Boys is 100% the definitive 80s Vampire Movie.

Grade: A

#A #Grade A #The Lost Boys #Keifer Sutherland #donald sutherland #Horror #1987 #1980s #87 #vampire #sutherland

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navigatrixnarrations · 3 years

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Sometimes Always Part 4: Thieving Magpie

Warnings: canon-typical violence and profanity; teenage Vane being a little creep; sailing jargon

Catch up on Parts 1-3 here.

“Are you working tonight? Or prizefighting?” Margaret asks Vane by way of greeting as she lays two parcels on the table in front of him, one containing their breakfast and the other containing a fine pair of pistols, used but well-cared for.

“No.”

“I have a meeting with a smuggler boss. He used to be a privateer” -- she sneers as she says the word -- “and I’d appreciate it if you’d join me and watch my back. He intends to fuck me, in all senses of the word.” Margaret’s face is a mask of disgust. “He won’t succeed in any way, but he’s going to make his best effort. The pistols are for you.”

Had this been Nassau, where Charles Vane of the Ranger is famed and feared, he’d have made it known that he would take it personally if anyone was to bother her. If only Margaret had seen him there in his glory, though he realizes the impossibility of the wish: she left Nassau because he forced her to. What would have been, if he’d seen the truth of the situation with Eleanor, if he’d told Margaret how he felt about her, if he hadn’t driven her away? If she’d chosen him over Sully? But here they are, and the past can’t be changed, and Vane has to admit there’s a sort of poetic justice in his current situation, in being wanted and on the run, unable to use his own name and pretending to be Margaret’s hired muscle.

At the rough tavern beside the shipyard, Vane walks directly behind Margaret and stares down anyone who dares comment on her presence, letting the grip of one of the pistols barely peek out from beneath his coat. He takes an immediate dislike to Margaret’s contact, a Mr. Ballard, a ridiculous puffed-up peacock of a man with soft hands and a haughty air. Though she takes a seat across from Ballard, Vane opts to remain standing, so that he’s always in Ballard’s line of sight.

Even though she’s in a dress with her hair pinned up, what Vane has come to think of as her proper lady disguise, Margaret manages to look piratical with her deadpan expression and alert eyes and the lamplight glinting off the silver rings in her ears and brass buttons of her sea coat.

Ballard’s bloodshot eyes flicker from Maragaret to Vane and back. “I see the Adventure is registered to a M. Sullivan.”

Margaret’s face is mildly amused. “Correct. I’m Margaret Sullivan.”

“How did a woman --”

She cuts Ballard off. “With difficulty.”

“And why would you be seeking two long nines, Miss Sullivan?”

“Mrs. Not Miss.”

“Very well, then, why would you be seeking two long nines, Mrs. Sullivan?”

Margaret spreads her hands in a broad gesture. “It’s a dangerous life at sea, Mr. Ballard, full of smugglers and pirates and all manner of cutthroats. The Adventure needs to be able to defend herself.” Vane quickly hides his smirk by lighting a cigar using the candle on the table..

“Surely, Mrs. Sullivan, you know such cannons command a premium.”

Margaret frowns slightly at the rather inflated price Ballard names. She begins to rise from her chair. “I regret that we’ve wasted one another’s time, Mr. Ballard.”

“Just so you’re aware, I used to sail with William Kidd. You should always know who you’re doing business with, Mrs. Sullivan.” Smug bastard. Vane wants to punch the self-satisfied leer off his pompous face.

Margaret regards Ballard dispassionately. “In that case, I propose we race for this deal. Skiffs. Shipyard to Red Hook and back, through Buttermilk Channel both ways.”

“Mrs. Sullivan, I realize you’re fairly new to the area, so I must warn you that the currents in Buttermilk Channel are --”

“An opportunity to demonstrate skill,” she finishes for him, voice calm.

Vane turns his head so Ballard won’t see him barely suppress a seawolf’s smile. Margaret used to make extra spending money by racing skiffs in Nassau Harbour against newly-arrived sailors. Getting beaten by Margaret Teach was something of a rite of passage for would-be pirates.

“You’re challenging me to race your, ah,” Ballard’s eyes slide over to Vane, who blows a perfect smoke ring and otherwise keeps his face stoic, “associate?”

“No.” Margaret leans in slightly. “I’m challenging you to race me.”

“And what are your terms?”

“If you win, I’ll pay your asking price plus an additional ten guineas. If I win, you give me the two guns. For free.”

Vane sees the man’s greed and pride plain on his face; he’ll take pleasure in watching Ballard lose. They troop down the pier to a pair of skiffs. Margaret and Ballard each row to the middle of the river and raise their sails. One of Ballard’s men fires a powder charge from a pistol to mark the start, and they’re off. Vane can imagine the keen, hungry look on Margaret’s face, one he’s seen so many times when in pursuit of a prize. Crouched low with one hand on the lines and the other on the tiller, she heels the little skiff as hard as she can without capsizing it to pick up speed, maneuvering so that she’s on a beam reach with the sail halfway out. Ballard is far more cautious; he leans his skiff far less, and more than once he eases the sheets for a smoother ride.

Vane leans on the railing of the pier, watching and smoking as Margaret rounds the northern tip of Nutten Island into Buttermilk Channel and her sail goes out of sight. The winter constellations wheel overhead in a suddenly clear sky; the wind is shifting. Between the changeable gusts, the currents in this tidal strait, and the cold, he almost pities Ballard. He doesn’t trust the bastard not to try to pull some dirty trick out on the water, and he wishes he had a spyglass. It’s not long before Margaret is back in sight on the return, beating to windward in a series of quick tacks and trailed at some distance by Ballard whose tacks are not nearly so precise and whose sail he allows to luff too soon. Margaret has docked and is back on the pier by the time Ballard starts rowing back in. She heads directly to Vane, her eyes shining and the grimness temporarily gone from her face, and the knot in his chest eases, the weight in the pit of his stomach lessens. He takes his position at her back as Ballard walks up, winded from his exertions.

“Where did you learn to sail like that?”

“My father taught me.” Margaret’s gaze is direct, and Vane thinks the man finally shows enough sense to look abashed. “I trust that you’ll uphold your end of our bargain post-haste.”

“Just so you’re aware,” Vane growls over her shoulder, “her maiden name was Teach.” He watches recognition of the name -- and fear of it -- dawn in the man’s eyes. Good. “You should always know who you’re doing business with, Mr. Ballard.”

He wonders briefly if Margaret will be angry at him for intervening, but no. She looks back at him and grins triumphantly. Ballard all but stammers out orders to his men to move the guns to the Adventure immediately, then takes his leave.

Margaret and Vane stand side by side at the dry dock, watching Ballard’s men hoist the two cannons aboard.

“Bow chaser and stern chaser?” Vane asks. That’s what he would do with the new guns. For pirates and smugglers, it’s crucial to be able to slow down an enemy ship when the Adventure's small broadside can’t be brought to bear.

Margaret nods. “Just so.” After the race, she is almost lighthearted for the first time since they’ve been reunited, a spring back in her step and the strain around her eyes and mouth relaxed. “The old girl might not be in dry dock now if she’d had them when I was fetching you.”

“Or if you hadn’t fetched me.” He intends to sound jocular, but it comes out defensive.

She fixes him with a look that he can’t read. “Martyrs don’t have to answer for their deeds.” There is no venom in her voice. “And they are absolutely no fucking assistance at sailing.”

“We worked well together,” he offers, trying to ignore the sting of her words.

“We still do.” Is that a hint of wistfulness he detects? “Thank you for accompanying me tonight.”

“Always, Magpie.”

Margaret was surrounded by pirates from another crew, who were accusing her of stealing from them and shouting to “hold the bloody little bitch down.” She was fighting hard. Her shirt was torn, her cheek was gashed, and there was a wild terror in her eyes that he’d never seen there before, that he never wanted to see there again. She’d shot two of them and stabbed a third by the time Vane and Sully ran to her aid. Together, they dispatched three more. The remaining two, now that they were outnumbered, fled. He and Sully exchanged a dark look: we will make them pay for this. They walked her back to the Revenge camp, one on either side of her, then went on the hunt. They dragged the two who’d escaped back, and dropped their bloodied, barely-conscious bodies in the sand by the bonfire. Margaret hadn’t been nearly as grateful as they thought she’d have been. No, she was resentful about it. When asked what she wanted done with those last two attackers, she simply pulled a knife from her belt, slit their throats, then stalked off. Vane found her sitting a ways down the beach, elbows on her knees, blood-splattered, staring out to sea.

He sat beside her. “It bothers you that it bothers you. Them coming after you as they did. Needing help.”

She looked startled that he understood. “Yes.” She bit her lower lip, thinking, and finally said “Thank you for helping me tonight.”

“Always, Magpie.”

And then he was drawing her closer and her hands were tangling in his hair and his lips were on hers and he wasn’t sure whether it was her pulse he felt throbbing or his own. Strange that she should have begun to tremble then, once the danger had passed and she was safe in his arms.

Later, Sully told Vane that those shits weren’t entirely wrong about her, and Vane was going to fight him for insulting her, until Sully explained that their thieving Magpie had stolen them both and didn’t even seem to realize what she’d done.

Did she edge nearer? She edged nearer. He realizes that they’ve been looking into each other’s eyes without speaking for a long moment, and he’s about gathered the nerve to put his arms ‘round her when she shakes her head as if clearing it of whatever thoughts she’s having. She waves a hand at the Adventure.

“Our names will be on the manifest as Margaret and Charles Sullivan to get out of port.” At Vane’s raised brow she adds “As you pointed out, you can’t very well use your own name. I’m sure Sully would have found this hilarious.”

“Did you call him Sully while you were married to him?”

Margaret snorts.“Of course I did. He hated being called Michael.”

“Not as much as he hated being called Mick.”

The corners of Margaret’s lips turn up slightly as she reminisces. “That’s what I’d call him when I wanted to annoy him.” The way her face softens when she thinks of Sully, Vane thinks he’d been right to stand aside; no reason at all to think of the many times she gave him a similarly gentle smile.

“The only time I called him Mick, he called me Charlie-Boy and we ended up brawling. I don’t even remember who threw the first punch. You dumped a bucket of water on us and told us to stop being fucking idiots. You looked about to spit nails.”

Margaret tilts her head up and shrugs. “Fucking idiots or not, I didn’t want the two people I loved most to fight each other.”

The two people she loved most. Yes, there’s that gentle smile again.

They begin the walk back to Thieves’ Alley just as a snow squall blows in off the harbor.

“It’s pretty,” she sighs, “even if it delays us being able to get the hell out of here.” Repairs to the Adventure had come to a halt on account of the weather. She glances sidelong at him. “It’s crossed my mind that you might try to take my ship and leave without me.”

Vane winces. He can’t blame her for being gun-shy, but he feels gut-punched nonetheless. “I wouldn’t do that, Magpie. Not to you.” He would not willingly lose her a second time. Surely she knows that.

“I want to believe you.” Her voice is soft and a little sad, her eyes large and serious.

He steps in front of her, facing her, hands on her shoulders, and forces his own voice to be steady. “Betraying you was the worst mistake of my life. I give you my word that the only way I’ll fuck off without you is if you tell me to.”

She responds by resting a hand on his chest, close to his fast-beating heart. “I’m trying to believe you, Charles,” she says heavily into the small space between them. “I don’t know if I can, but I’m trying.”

“That’s more than fair.” Magpie, sweetheart, it all went so wrong, he wants to tell her. I want to mend this broken thing but I don’t know how. But the words are blockaded by the lump in his throat.

She turns her head slightly, and he follows her gaze. The Puritans on the third floor are watching out the window, pinch-faced and disapproving. Margaret gives them a jaunty wave, bringing forth a chuckle from Vane. Funny how she still has that ability, even when his heart feels like grapeshot and his stomach like ballast.

“I’m sure we’ll be waylaid with a speech about hellfire the next time either of us takes the stairs, but at least neither of us are going through life with mouths pursed like a cat’s arsehole,” he tells her. “Rooftop?”

They pick their way across the slippery roofs, past chimneys and over gables to their garrett, Margaret with her skirts hiked up, blithely ignoring the hand that Vane holds out to assist her. He opens the shutters and swings his way inside; she follows, this time taking Vane’s offered hand. She holds it a moment longer, perhaps, than necessary.

“The only invention worse than a dress,” she informs him as she yanks out the pins holding up her hair, “are stays. I don’t know how civilized women tolerate these things every day.”

He bites back the urge to offer to help her out of it and do some uncivilized things with her. Instead, he sets about building up the fire while she goes to change into trousers. He dares not even cast a glance at the shut door to her room; bad enough that she’d given him a wry half-grin at his widening eyes when she hiked up her skirts to scale a drainpipe.

He shouldn’t have been watching her. The gap between the boards in the bulkhead wall of her small cabin, where she moved when Teach decided she had become too much of a temptation to the men, was just wide enough for him to see through, and he told himself he was keeping watch so that none of the crew would see what he was seeing. She was bathing herself as best as she could on the ship, with a cloth and a basin of seawater, and he couldn’t pry his eyes away as she stretched a wiry arm overhead, the muscles of her back stretching and flexing, to wash her underarm. Life at sea is one of physical labor, and her body was sleekly muscled, feminine as a lioness. He longed to run his hands over the hard sinews and soft curves of her, the swell of her hips and the hollow of her waist. She turned to wash under her other arm, and the lantern light caught her sweet, round breasts. It was slightly chilly, and her nipples, dear god, her nipples, were hard. By this time, he’d been to the brothel numerous times with the men, who decided he was due. Yet somehow the effect she had on him was entirely different than anything he ever experienced there. She wasn’t performing; she wasn’t seducing.

He knew he shouldn’t have been watching her, but he wanted to delight her. He wanted to take those delicious peaks in his palms and his mouth then move lower, run his fingers and tongue across the bullet scars on her ribcage from where she saved his life, then lower still, through that cloud of curls at her cleft. He found himself wondering how she would taste, what noises she would make, what kind of touch would make her melt. He knew she was still a maiden, that nobody had ever touched her there... He inhaled sharply at the thought and she must have heard him because she tensed and grabbed a knife as she checked that the door was bolted. The image of her naked body coiling in preparation to fight seared itself into his memory, replayed countless times in the intervening years. He willed himself to be silent and after a moment she seemed to decide it was a false alarm. She pulled on a clean shirt and breeches then sat down on one hip, legs curled to the side, and unplaited her hair to comb it. He thought she looked like a mermaid luring sailors to their doom, and he’d have gladly drowned if she beckoned him. The next day while she was working abovedecks, he caulked the gap in the boards.

Tag list: @whenimaunicorn, @n3rdybird

#sometimes always fic #charles vane x oc #black sails fic #charles vane fic

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a-libra-writes · 4 years

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Fighting Alongside the GoT Characters & They Realize You’re a Woman

THIS IS A NEAT IDEA + a request woop woop, I hope i did it justice, anon!

I didn’t include some characters because a few started to get repetitive, or bc I genuinely struggled with them. If i removed or didnt include your fav, serenade my ask box and ill add them!

In this preference, you'll be fighting with: Ned Stark, Robb Stark, Sansa Stark, Jon Snow, Benjen Stark, Jory Cassel, Dolorous Edd, Tormund Giantsbane, Theon Greyjoy, Yara Greyjoy, Daenerys Targaryen, Jorah Mormont, Missandei, Tyrion Lannister, Jamie Lannister, Tywin Lannister, Sandor Clegane, Bronn, Stannis Baratheon, Davos Seaworth, Margaery Tyrell, Brienne of Tarth, Roose Bolton, Ramsay Bolton, Oberyn Martell, Beric Dondarrion

NED STARK

When you removed your helmet, Ned was certainly taken for surprise, but it wasn’t so unheard of for women to fight in the North - for a moment he wondered if you were with the Mormont family and he just didn’t recognize you. He’d thank you for helping him in battle and once he was home, ask around to see if anyone had heard of you. If you were the daughter of a knight or soldier at Winterfell, he’d feel quite abashed for not knowing you, and he’d make a point to try and speak to you again.

ROBB STARK

In the middle of battle, Robb noticed you were consistently protecting other men on the battlefield. He focused his attention back on the battle and at one point, you intercepted a soldier coming for him. After the battle, Robb looked for you, and was stunned to silence when you removed your helmet. He quickly recovered himself and thanked you for protecting his men and himself. If you had time, he’d want to know more about you, especially how you learned how to fight so well.

SANSA STARK

A tourney had gotten out of hand, and you were the one to shield Sansa away from a drunken crowd that turned into an outright brawl. She got separated from everyone, and you easily guided her home. She’d graciously thank you, asking if you were a Ser, and she wouldn’t hide her surprise once you pulled your hood back and showed your face. She’d think about you well after she went back into the Red Keep, and ask her handmaidens if they knew of a woman with a pretty face and a sword at her waist.

JON SNOW

Jon flounders a little when he finds out. He was thanking you for your help and complimenting the quality of your sword, then you took off your helmet and his words suddenly sputtered and failed him. You could probably tease him a bit for it, and he’d apologize with a blush. Jon wouldn’t be able to hide his curiosity as to who taught you how to use the sword, and he could definitely be goaded into a spar. The matter of how you ended up at the Night’s Watch occurred to him as well, and you certainly had to elbow him when he tried to ask you something in front of others.

BENJEN STARK

He had a few suspicions when he’d seen you before, but his attention was quickly taken away when a pack of wildlings attacked you and his scouting party. You watched his back more than once, and he did the same, and you two dealt with the wildlings fairly quickly. Once you both were alone, he’d just bluntly ask if you were a woman. He’d want to know more about you and why you were here of all places, asking with a genial smile. He wasn’t judging, you could tell, and he wouldn’t expose your secret.

JORY CASSEL

He was pleasantly surprised when you stepped in to help him fend off some opportunistic bandits. Once you revealed yourself, he couldn't hide his surprise and stumbled on his initial words. He still thanked you and he'd think about you for some time after, wondering if anyone at Winterfell has heard of you. If you ran into each other again, he’d take that chance to actually ask you his questions and get to know you better.

DOLOROUS EDD

He didn’t pay much attention to “the brother who creeps about in a hood”. You both were somewhat friendly, you were just quiet for obvious reasons. It wasn’t until you both got caught out beyond the Wall during an expedition, and a wildling yanked your hood off, did he realized why you were bundled up and hiding. It was just you and Edd that were caught out, and you more or less threatened them into silence. To say he was surprised was an understatement, but he played it cool, trying to get to know you throughout the trip and subtly distracting anyone who was bothering you.

TORMUND GIANTSBANE

Tormund would light up with absolute glee once he realized the crow he’d been watching in combat was actually a woman. He liked your style and asked you outright to show your face and give him a proper spar. It only made him like you even more, especially if you’d disarm him during the spar. He’d probably end up with a crush by the end of the day, and Jon would have to pull him away once he started asking after your battles and scars.

THEON GREYJOY

Theon actually scoffed when you remove your hood. There's no way a girl could've hit the bandits with the ferocity you did, but here you are. He's distinctly reminded of Yara when he sees the way you grip your weapon and glare at him, so he gives a half-baked thanks. Later in the Winterfell training yard, he'd laugh at the way you'd knock over Jon and Robb, until the two of them pushed him into the ring to fight you. He wondered how he’d never noticed you before, but not being noticed was kind of the point of your disguise. For every time you’d laugh at how easy it was to disarm him in a spar, he’d laugh at how sideways your arrows would fly.

YARA GREYJOY

She didn't pay attention to who was fighting alongside her until afterwards. When you removed your hood to shake out your hair, she just laughed outright, recalling just moments ago when you doubled over a man twice your size. She would then saunter over, bluntly asking why you were helping her and her men. Yara appreciated ferocity in a woman, and she’d say as much. She’d want to grab a drink with you and find out how experienced you truly were, and if you were looking for a crew to work on. Being surrounded by a bunch of men with only a few brains between them got exhausting, after all.

DAENERYS TARGARYEN

You had heard of her exploits through Essos and travelled to Meereen to see the dragon queen for yourself. During a sudden revolt, you jumped forward beside her guard and helped fend off the angry crowd. Once she was safe in her palace, Daenerys demanded to see your face and know your intentions. You removed your hood and explained yourself. Admittedly, she was much more interested upon seeing your face, and she’d accept your service if you decided to pledge to her.

JORAH MORMONT

He’d seen and heard of women warriors in Essos, it wasn’t too unusual. He was still surprised when Viserys hired you to watch Daenerys on her wedding day, perhaps thinking she’d run. You and Jorah ended up with something of a rapport, especially once he saw you fight. He grew up with ladies in courtly dresses and manners, so to see such a pretty woman wield a weapon with such ferocity was an interesting and sometimes amusing sight.

MISSANDEI

Missandei rarely left the palace unless she followed Daenerys’ lead, and this was the exact reason why. She’d try to be stealthy, but she was caught up in a riot in Meereen. You pulled her to safety back to the palace, cutting down any that tried to hurt you both. There wasn’t time to talk until you both were finally safe - shaken, but safe.

You’d finally remove your hood and ask if she was alright, and Missandei was surprised, but still grateful. She’d implore you to come into the palace, to see the khaleesi and perhaps you’d be rewarded. Missandei liked that you didn’t want a reward, but she’d still want your wounds to be tended to.

TYRION LANNISTER

Like the rest of the attending audience, Tyrion was shocked that it was a maiden who won the melee at Casterly Rock. It wasn't long before the gossip caught up and he learned your name and House, if you had one. Later at the feast, he'd make a point to bring you a cup of wine, since he heard many lords snickering and complaining about your win. He'd jest that you'd lost them quite a bit of gold, then would chat and try to learn about you.

JAIME LANNISTER

You fought alongside him in his father’s army, and at first, he thought nothing of the soldier beside him, besides your competence and skill with the blade. It wasn’t until in the heat of a fight, when your helmet was knocked off, that he realized what you were. You scolded him for being distracted and retrieved your helmet after the battle. You then implored him to keep your secret, and Jaime did. He still thought of you sometimes, and would try to seek you out at camp, but you blended in too well with the other Lannister soldiers. It’s an understatement to say he was surprised to see you long after, when he returned to King’s Landing a very different man. You still had the same sword, the same armor that hid your features. It was oddly grounding to see something hadn’t changed, and this time, you gave him a smile.

TYWIN LANNISTER

He'd heard some years ago about a lord in the Crownlands allowing his daughter to don armor and learn the sword, but Tywin never kept idle gossip in mind. The thought returned when you arrived with your lord father and his men, fresh off the battlefield. You removed your helmet and gave your courtesies, while your father remarked on how many Stark men you took the life of. After that, when his generals would disappoint him, Tywin would make a snide remark about how he ought to bring the Crownsland girl to the wartable, since her bannermen were doing more for the war. He might even call you into the war chambers and quiz you on strategy in front of them, just to make a point.

SANDOR CLEGANE

You were a sellsword hired by that Imp, along with those hill clans he brought along, but you certainly weren’t with them. He must’ve picked you off the street. Sandor thought something was off, but he also didn’t give a shit to investigate further. You were pretty short for a mercenary, though. It wasn’t until the riots, when the two of you went after the missing Stark girl, did your secret get out. Your hood was thrown off in the scuffle, but it hardly deterred you as you pulled Sansa to her feet and into his arms. On the way to the Keep, you had the mind to pull your hood back, but he already knew. It was a funny thing for a woman to carry a sword with such confidence, but you were useful in a fight, and you lacked the cruelty of most of the City Watch and Goldcloaks.

BRONN

Tyrion sent him looking for sellswords, so he did, listening for gossip around the city and checking the seedier taverns. You had a reputation, and he saw your skill firsthand when you handled yourself in a brawl some sellswords started. He didn’t join in until a sword came straight for his gut and you blocked it. Your eyes met for a moment before you returned to the fight. You hadn’t noticed your hood had fallen down.

A woman with a sword was a strange thing, to be sure, but it could also be a useful thing. With a lopsided smirk, he offered you a drink and said a certain Hand of the King could use your sword.

STANNIS BARATHEON

You had distinguished yourself during the battle for Blackwater Bay, even if it was a failure. Not only had you killed a number of men, you saved a good amount of your own. When Stannis called you and a motley of other knights and soldiers to give credit where it was due, you wore your helmet, like the rest of them. And like the rest of them, you had to remove it when your king commanded. There was a rise of murmurs and hushed whispers across the room, and you were sure a flicker of surprise crossed Stannis’ face, but he pressed on. Your skill was recognized and you were given a newer, better command.

DAVOS SEAWORTH

You were one of the many sellswords brought to Dragonstone, and while Davos spoke with the leaders of their mercenary bands, he rarely met the individual warriors themselves. It was during one of these meetings that a sudden brawl broke out between a bunch of hot-blooded, bored men that you went to work in breaking up. You’d helped get Davos out of the way while the men were dealt with. Your hood had been torn in the process, and while he had seen plenty of women with weapons during his travels, it was still a little surprising, especially seeing one so young. He gave you genuine thanks and, if he saw you again, he’d make a point to say hello and ask after you.

MARGAERY TYRELL

You were a supposed sellsword that saved Margaery and her guards on their way to King’s Landing. It was just bandits, but there were a number of them, and you got a wound for your troubles. Margaery positively lit up once she realized you were a woman, and a cute one, at that. She’d insist you come back with her, especially to tend to that wound, and she’d ask all sorts of questions on the way back. It almost felt like a job interview….

BRIENNE OF TARTH

You helped her fend off several soldiers on the battlefield, and she said a quick word of thanks before moving on. It wasn't until the battle had finished and she saw you around camp - the same armor and shield, sans a helmet. Brienne quickly approached you, baffled that she couldn't tell. She'd be very interested in your skills and would shyly ask after you. Secretly, she was delighted and intrigued, but she didn't want to annoy you with her questions. It was pretty obvious to see her interest, though, and Brienne would be more than willing to join you in a round of spars.

ROOSE BOLTON

Your father was an old sword for the Bolton house, and he taught you what he knew, provided you kept your head down and stayed out of trouble. You did so for years, no one suspecting until a battle against the Lannister men. You thought you were alone when you removed your helmet and armor and tended to a wound. Lord Bolton decided a woman with proficiency in swords and an ability to keep hidden for years in his own keep, could be put to better use than a common footsoldier. It didn't take long before he confronted you and assigned you under new orders.

RAMSAY BOLTON

Although he’d claim otherwise, Ramsay didn’t actually know every man and sword employed to the Bolton house. Some were strictly his father’s, and didn’t report to him. You were one of those swords, often keeping to yourself under a hood and few words. Unfortunately you were tasked with accompanying Ramsay to free Winterfell from the impromptu Greyjoy attack. When one of the Ironborn tore off your hood, he was there, and he saw. You recognized that glint of interest immediately, and promptly reminded him that you were a soldier for his father, not him. He didn’t command you, and you weren’t going to be a part of his little games.

OBERYN MARTELL

His skill with a spear was more than well known, and he was confident in his abilities, so Oberyn didn’t worry too much about bodyguards. His brother finally wore him down and he agreed to take two on an impulsive trip to King’s Landing. Sure, that was enough, and you came in handy when a sudden brawl broke out at the brothel he just insisted at staying at. In the midst of the fight, your hood was thrown off and he really stopped everything, even ignoring the man bleeding at your feet, just to get a look at you. He made some cheesy line about treating you like a proper lady, had he known, and offered you a drink. You pointed him to the angry matron of the brothel and suggested giving it to her instead.

BERIC DONDARRION

Like many in the Brotherhood of Banners, you joined after your village was destroyed by the Lannisters. You kept to yourself and kept your identity a secret. You trusted Beric as a good man, but some of the others, not so much. The first time he saw you fight properly is also when your identity was exposed, a soldier having ripped your cloak off. Beric just smiled and asked if you were alright, and complimented your skills with the sword. He had an inkling you were a woman when you both first met, and he was more than willing to keep it a secret if that’s what you wished. And, yes, he’d set your sword on fire if you asked- just once, though.

#game of thrones #got imagines #asoiaf #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones imagines #I AM NO MAN #this was quite a challenge lol hope its ok

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serelia-evensong · 4 years

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All Possible Truths

Serelia’s head pounds. Pounding isn’t the right word. It throbs. It squirms and twists. In her several hundred years of life, the woman who was once Quel’dorei, then Sin’dorei, now Ren’dorei, has experienced many sorts of headaches. The minor aches and pains of every day life. The withdrawal of caffeine. The dull ache of too much to drink, and waking with a dehydrated body.

Nothing ever felt the way the Void feels. Headaches can be described in so many ways, but the one she experiences today feels like a nest of worms writhing and squirming at the base of her neck, where spine meets skull. The kind of pulsing moving ache that makes a person want to dig nails into their skin and attempt to rip out whatever can be found beneath.

It’s controlled, most days. Since she lost her natural sight, since the Void ‘augmented’ the woman it claims as its own, she has focused her life on strict structure. When you can see every possible reality all at once, it becomes difficult beyond measure to know what is true. So she walks the same paths. Trains the same places. Drinks at the same seat in the bar. She keeps eyes squeezed shut often, when the magic in her glasses can’t filter out the truths the Void wishes to show her.

In these ways, she stays sane, keeps the headaches and confusion at bay. The Mage District. The Canals. The Golden Keg. The Brawlpub hidden beneath it. Old Town. Training grounds. The stall at the market that sells baking supplies. She has an acute mental map that keeps her stable, filled with immutable facts that hold the Void’s madness at bay.

Today, she is in Westfall, a place she hasn’t been since she fought Percival what feels like a lifetime ago. In truth, in her long lived life, it was barely a flicker, two years, give or take. It feels longer, but regardless, Westfall is not a part of her mental map, so the headache writhes.

Going through her flows, the methods of control of body, mind, and spirit taught by the Panderan helps. At least until a voice calls out, breaking through the meditative calm of her practice.

“Well, and here I thought I had come across something valuable,” the voice is echoed and metallic, altered by the metal mask the Warlock wears. “Instead, it’s just one of the filthy pets of the crown who had the stupid idea to come after me. On another bounty hunt to reclaim something that now belongs to me?”

In the space between where Serelia moves from pose to pose, eyes squeezed shut, and the Warlock calls out to her, she can tell there are Demons. The pair of stalkers makin space between them, perhaps just his defense, or perhaps meant to menace.

She finishes her current sequence, a series of strikes at the air meant to keep an opponent off guard and off balance, before she lets her body ease. She turns towards him, empty eyes opening, feet slightly apart, hands clasping at her mid back as she adopts a Military parade rest and takes in Percival. “Come after you to reclaim something? No, and of the crown? Not in years. I left my service to the Holts long ago,” a smile curves on her unpainted lips. “Not many noble houses with a lot of need for a blind guard, though it turns out, even when you can see every possible reality, you’re still the scum at the bottom of a barrel in all of them.” A hand leaves her back, moving to glide fingertips along the right arm of her glasses, dialing in the magic that helps focus her vision.

“Ha,” the barked laugh reverberates and echos with Percival’s mask. He makes a gesture, any number of gestures, and the hounds, imps, succubi, eyes, whatever demons escort him, enter a state of rest.

“Blind as you may be, seems you finally see the truth of Stormwind; of humanity. Once they see your darkness, you’re something to be thrown away and forgotten. It’s almost poetic.” He too adopts a position of comfort, one of either bravado or ease with hands behind his back.

What she tries not to let show is how badly she’s trembling. The shudder in her body, the pain at the back of her head. Having eyes open and putting on this little show of bravado is exposing herself to chaos. She sees the man in the metal mask. An old man. A young man. A shambling corpse. A Nathrezim. He walks amongst lush fields of wheat. Of dead and dying grasslands. Amidst bowing and adoring followers. Amidst the dead and dying, bodies on stakes. Her trembling hand continues its movement along the arm of glasses, attempting to dial in the things she knows are true. The man in the metal mask. Golden dying fields. The pain at the back of her head squirms in protest.

Hand drops from the arm of glasses, settling back into Parade Rest. There’s nothing more she can do to focus her vision, settling for occasionally closing her eyes to quiet the void. "I was surprised when Stormwind took us in at all in the first place...but then, they needed soldiers for the fight they wanted to spin up for the Horde. Our so called leaders seemed eager enough to give them that so...smart move."

None of this banter is why she’s here.

“It’s been a long time Percival, though not nearly long enough in my years.”

“Not long enough, and yet you’ve come back to the last place we crossed paths. So either it’s mere coincidence that we happen to be in this wasteland of a region at the same time. Or you’ve come lookin for me. As a gambling man, my money is on the latter. What do you want?” Percival sees through Serelia. It’s true, there’s no reason for the blind mother to be in a place like this, other than to seek the man who still hunts it.

“You’re right, I sought you out. Much as I hate you...and in particular the...little gifts you had sent my way over the last few years.” She shudders a little, though tries not to show it, thinking on the parts that arrived on her doorstep. The man has a sick sense of humor. “I still think you might have value to me.”

“And here I was worried they’d be lost in the mail,” Percival’s reply is marked with another laugh reverberating from within the metallic mask that hides his face. “At least Stormwind’s postal service is reliable!” The laugh becomes a veritable cackle.

It cuts off abruptly though like a switch shut off, all seriousness retaking him as his mask focuses squarely on Serelia. “So then. What do you want?”

“Knowledge,” Serelia replies, remaining at comfortable ease, even as she trembles and writhes inside. Her headache squirms. “The rumors say that on top of whisking away innocents, and stealing the journals of young maidens,” as if anyone would actually call Rian that, “that you amass knowledge of all sorts of magic. You’re not my first choice, but where others have failed, maybe you won’t.”

“The rumors are true,” Percival confirms as he closes the distance. No longer wishing to shout, or perhaps continuing to show bravado in the face of one of the few people on this world who have gotten close enough to do him real physical harm. “Unlike some wizards you might have spoken with, I learn about all magics. Taboo or otherwise.” The hounds part to flak the Ren’dorei, pincering her, creating a half circle of danger around the woman, but conspicuously leaving her rear free. Perhaps a push to make her flee, to test her resolve.

“What makes you think I’d share anything with the woman who stabbed me? You say I’m of value to you. What value are you to me?” The words don’t surprise Serelia. She was prepared for him to try to make a deal of this. It doesn’t stop a hint of a smirk at the memory of her hand razors sinking beneath his armour.

“If you have the knowledge that helps me control this,” Sere briefly lifts a hand from her back once more, indicating her eyes as they open wide again, revealing in full the dark endless nothing like bottomless wells in her face, “I would be willing to consider sharing my sight with you. The Void shows reality in its fullness. I see through illusions, through disguises, through hidden things both magic and mundane.”

Her hand returns to her back, and she ignores the threats around her, holding her ground. Serelia has lived a long and dangerous life, survived every War that has hit Azeroth in the last two hundred years. “I’m sure someone of your means and breadth could find a use for that.”

“Clairvoyance in exchange for control, an interesting proposition.” Percival nods, seeming to truly consider the offer on the table. “Well I can tell you now. I don’t have the answer you’re after with me. I may be a polymath of magic, but I’m still a summoner first. But I may have something of value that could help you gain some sense of control over your dark powers.”

There’s every impression the man must be hiding something, but whatever it is isn’t visual, not on any spectrum the Void sighted woman can see. It doesn’t matter, she always knew this deal would come with strings and complications. It’s why he’s a last resort.

“You have your deal with this devil, Miss Evensong,” Percival proclaims, extending a hand out to her to shake and bind it.

For the briefest moment, Serelia considers attacking. It would be easy to take advantage of their proximity. Her vision shows it to her too. She sees her hand lunge out, razors snapping into her palm. Sees the spurt of blood fountaining in her vision as it slips beneath his jaw. Into an armpit, through a weak joint at the hip. None of it is real, and she doesn’t act on it, at the end of the day while she might kill him, there’s no assurance she wouldn’t get herself hurt in the process, and she won’t risk denying Zara of her mother.

“I don’t see that we can ever be allies,” her hand clasps with his, firm and calloused from a lifetime of combat, “but the knowledge I need comes from darker places than I have access to, and I’m comfortable paying for it in service. So we have our deal.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Percival’s words are curt, and he turns on his heel, giving her his back. She doesn't act on it. “I’ll meet you here, at this exact spot, in two days time,” his voice carries back towards her, he holds up a hand and what she can guess is two fingers, in spite of the magical tuning of her glasses starting to lose further focus as possible realities splinter off. “And feel free to bring a bodyguard or two. I certainly shall!”

A sharp whistle pierces the air, and the demons that follow Percival rustle the dried grasses of Westfall as they heel to his side, and he walks from view.

Serelia sees him leaving too, and in every possible way. Dozens on dozens of Percivals in different shapes and sizes and forms mount, and portal, and sprint, and walk. Multitudes on multitudes, but in common...all of them leave. None turn and attack, none stay to kill her. The void doesn’t seem to consider that that reality existed in this moment. Interesting.

“Two days,” spoken quietly to herself as she turns from the spot to head up the road towards Elwynn, and home.

One card has been lain on the table. There’s still another to pursue during the two day wait. A name whispered and rumored amidst underground fighters and illegal combat rings. A woman who fights unlike any other, who whispers say fights like she has precognition, like every movement of her opponents is visible and known to her before they even make them. ‘Darah’. It’s not much to go on, and legends rarely prove to be as true and as large as stories make them. Serelia though, is sure her time is limited, and wild rumors make firm allies of the desperate.

Her headache squirms.

[ Written alongside @thalsianiii; vague allusions to @kat-hawke ]

#ic #all truths all lies #summoning realities #ren'dorei

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veenussposts · 4 years

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Yuto as a prince (and your boyfriend)

The bells of the Great Tower rang the day the queen's first son were born. With a soft rosy color on his cheeks and a tender smile, Yuto was declared the future king and heir of the family lineage.

Through the years Yuto prepared for the special moment in which his small crown would be replaced by a much larger and much heavier one due to the responsibilities that fell on it.

He was instructed in the most elegant arts and activities such as diplomacy, manners, and elegance in general terms. But he was also instructed in the arts of war: strategy, use of weapons and defense.

The pressure that fell on his shoulders was immense at a young age and, without being able to avoid it, he ended up becoming an ice floe as cold as those that were created on the outskirts of the castle when winter came.

That sweet boy who loved to run through the halls and play with his mother's maidens transformed into a man as strong as a mountain and terrifying. His eyes full of happiness stopped shining and began to reflect darkness, anyone who looked at him couldn't help but look away and even the children of the villages created fantasy stories about his eyes.

"Junhyuk told me that if you stare into his eyes for a long time you will become a coal statue" One day you heard a child talk to one of his friends while you were doing one of your day patrols around the city and you couldn't help but laugh because those children couldn't be more wrong.

Prince Yuto looked like a beast, a man who was ready to act at any moment, a man who was overflowing with knowledge and whose fighting ability was unique in the entire kingdom. Prince Yuto inspired fear and respect in others... but that was only what others saw, not what he really was.

From the first day you knelt before his father and swore eternal loyalty, you saw something in his eyes that no one had seen before. You could see something special in his hard gaze as he carefully watched the diamonds sparkle on his father's crown, you could see an old friend reflected in the darkness of his eyes.

Fear.

That feeling that you had seen up close and felt on your own skin was reflected in his gaze.

For this you decided to be something more for Yuto, something more than just his knight; you decided to be his friend.

Little by little you got closer to him. Little by little you were penetrating the armor that he had created to protect himself. Little by little you were discovering things about him that nobody knew. Little by little you fell in love with him.

The white light of the moon was reflected in your golden armor as you watched the corridors of the castle, standing guard a few meters from the royal rooms. The tranquility of the night threatened to numb your senses when a deep voice called you from one of the rooms.

"You can come with me?" Yuto said with his characteristic low voice. "It is an important matter"

Without thinking twice, you left your surveillance post and hurried to his room, worried that something bad had happened. But, when you put your feet inside, there was nothing out of the ordinary. A couple of letters were spread out on the large wooden table near the window, his large bed was neatly arranged and the gold spines of his library books shone as usual.

"I can't sleep" His hands played with the little blue clasp on his belt while his eyes looked at everything but your eyes. "Can you... can you stay with me?" Your heart sank into your chest when his eyes finally made contact with yours because fear had taken hold of them.

You nodded gently with your head, then took off your helmet and gloves and then slowly lay down on his bed.

"Come here" You said, moving your hand over the elegant sheets on his bed.

Silently, Yuto leaned back next to you. Both remained with your lips closed as well as your eyes without saying a word and without seeing anything, you enjoying the tranquility of the moment and Yuto enjoying your presence.

“I am… I am afraid. I-I'm so scared” His voice came out in a shaky sigh that ended up breaking your heart. That confession filled your heart with pain and joy at the same time because he was finally able to accept his feelings and share them with you. Your hand moved like a snake on the bed until it reached his, giving it a little squeeze to signal him to continue. “I am afraid of disappointing everyone, my parents expect a lot from me and I fear that I may not be what they expect. I'm afraid of being a disappointment ”

"Do you know the only way to be a disappointment?" You asked and his eyes looked at you intently, your faces were so close that your noses brushed lightly. "Not be yourself. I don't know any king who is loved by his people and that is because they aren't sincere. They stop being human and become perfect beings who inspire respect in their people, but also terror because they don't show empathy. I know that you like to play with the guard dogs, I know that you don't like spicy food and that you are afraid of the dark. I know that you are not a cold or bad person, I know that you are anything but a disappointment”

"But if I show myself as I am, everyone will think I'm weak"

"I am a knight and my training days have taught me that the bigger the armor, the weaker the person inside is." Slowly, your face moved closer to his. You could feel his breath hitting your lips. “If you show yourself as you are, your people will love you because they will know that they can trust you, they will know that you are a person like them and not a kind of god to be afraid of. They will know that you only want the best for your kingdom and they will love you for who you are. They will love you for being you, just Yuto"

"You love me for being me?"

"Absolutely yes, my prince"

The touch of your lips was tiny, but it was enough to fill your stomach with crazy butterflies that kept flapping their wings. The warmth of his cheeks brought you happiness and the sparkle in his eyes only made yours shine even brighter. Your noses touched each other and moved back and forth lovingly as Yuto leaned back against your chest, feeling the cold of your armor.

"When I am with you I feel that I am invincible, I am not afraid of anything because I feel protected by your side" And with that sentence, his eyes closed. "I hope you are right because I trust your advice, my love"

When his eyes opened the next day and he saw you lying there beside him, his heart filled with happiness.

"I'm happy that what happened last night wasn't a dream"

You are his first partner, so he doesn't know how to act in many situations or he blushes easily when you show affection, but you assure him that he is the best boyfriend in the world and that he doesn't need to change anything.

His parents love you and his little brothers too, but he can't help but get nervous when everyone is together because they don't know you two are in a relationship.

The only people who know that you are dating are his mother's maids, who saw you one day kissing in the garden, but they swore not to say anything to anyone.

Hugs from behind and kisses on the nose.

You are the first person who has managed to defeat him in a battle, but Yuto says that you are a cheater because he didn't know that you had a dagger hidden in your forearm.

You like to hide behind the hallways to scare him, but when you see his terrified face you regret it and fill him with kisses.

Yuto always makes up excuses to spend time with you.

Both usually run away disguised as villagers to the city to be able to walk through the streets with tranquility. Once you met a group of children and played hide and seek with them.

He is the most loyal person you have ever met and would never do anything to betray your trust and love.

"In you, I have found the love of my life and my closest, truest friend"

It is a little overprotective. He gets jealous easily when princesses from other kingdoms flirt with you when they visit his castle, but he knows that you love him with all his heart and that if you want to break up with him you will tell him. He really trusts you.

Every day you compliment his beautiful eyes and, when you have the opportunity, you say to the kids in the city that If you look directly into Yuto's eyes, you will be able to see each and every star in the universe.

Your dates are mostly walks through the royal garden at sunset.

Yuto thoughtlessly rejected a marriage proposal because of you and you got mad at him because it could have been a great opportunity to improve his family's reputation.

“You were the first person who told me to be myself and I only want to marry one person and that person is you. If I can't wear a ring with your name on it and swear my love for you to the stars, then I won't do it for anyone else because you are the only one in my life and you always will be"

Yuto is the kindest and sweetest prince that you had the opportunity to know and nothing and nobody will be able to destroy the great bond that exists between the two of you.

#kpop #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #kpop fluff #kpop x male reader #kpop x reader #kpop x you #kpop pentagon #pentagon #pentagon yuto #pentagon imagines #pentagon scenarios #pentagon x male reader #pentagon x reader #pentagon x you

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phantomphangphucker · 4 years

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Ectober Week Cloak/Plague - Sihlenta’s Curse

Prequel to One Of The Herb, highly recommend reading that first. What was the life Sihlenta left to seek out a town where both the living and the dead practically coexisted? And better yet, why?

A young girl sits at the side of a bed, her feet up on the seat of her chair and a bundle of strange herbs giving off a visible aroma cradled between her legs and stomach. Her faintly green-tinted lips are turned down in a frown as her purple/green streaked eyes watch the lady on the bed with both sadness and understanding. The lady on the bed breathes slow and deep, barely conscious and with her head tilted towards the girl and her herbs; breathing in the aromas. Her once fierce orange hair that sticks out from under her bird mask is now an ashy brown with only hints of its former colour; it makes her look so very old even though she is only thirty-two years of age.

The young girl’s hair is tipping brown as well. They both know that is not a good sign, but neither calls any attention to it. The older because she lacks the strength to have That Conversation again. The younger because she knows what she has to do and she doesn’t want to do it. Not now. Not ever even. She shouldn’t have to. The land was strong. The herbs grew well. The dead visited often. But there were facts both knew, that the current situation was proof of.

It wasn’t enough.

The Deaths Aura given off by the spirits, muses and banshees that came to enjoy the smells and flavours of their grown herbs, was simply too weak and they didn’t come often enough. Not for her family. Not for mother. Not for Oma. Not for her. She was young but it wasn’t truly enough.

Both women turn their heads when the beads covering the doorway make soft clinks and chimes as they’re pushed aside. An older woman walking in quietly on bare feet. She was in her late forties but any would think she was nearer to seventy due to the gray-streaked orange hair and worn skin. She had the hands and feet of someone who spent their time tending to plants and preparing herbs entirely by hand. Though her cloak and bird mask disguise her age and gender. She approaches the bedside, grabbing up the lady’s wrist and dangling a small berry over top. Her sad smile pulling at aged skin can be felt even if it can’t be seen, “my apologies my sweet one, it would seem your skin is no longer receptive. There is little any, living or dead, can do now”.

“I suspected as much. It is what it is”.

Both adults turn to the young girl. The bedridden women speaking softly yet almost chastising, “Sihlenta”.

The girl puts her chin on her knees, “I know”. She knows that traditionally she’s not old enough. That she hasn’t learned how to plant Spleemi the right way yet. Or how to mix Deaths Nip in a way the dead found the most pleasing. But her mother wanted to be around, wanted to watch and support her. Support her on the day that would be the last that anyone would see her bare face. When she got her mask and cloak, that all those of her heritage wore. She can’t remember what her mother's face looked like, and she’d never seen her Oma’s.

Looking to her Oma, she’s not surprised to see her holding up a folded cloak. She knows not doing this would only hurt her mother, her mother that likely didn’t even have an hour of life left in her. So she nods softly, putting the bundle of herbs onto the wicker table next to her mother's bed and the place she’ll probably die. Standing and looking up to her Oma, “I... know I’m not truly ready or that I even really want to but”, she fiddles with the browning tips of her hair, “it’s what must be. The way we are”.

The older woman nods softly herself, “Letomanes is an unkind fate, my little one. I am walking proof we can live a life, but it is hardly one lived gently or free of suffering”. The young girl nods back and lowers her head, she could already feel the ache beginning in her joints; aches that she knows will spread through her bones over time. That breathing will one day make her ribs ache. That her teeth will burn and ache at any food with even the slightest of a rough texture. That she won’t be able to sleep comfortably as her spine, arms, and ribs will scream over the pressure.

The older woman does not need to see the youngers face to see her sadness. So often did people forget their bodies showed their insides as much as their faces did. Unfolding the cloak and draping around the young girl’s shoulders, “sih~anne~tïïa, though young and still blooming, here you are home and millions of flower petals fall covering your footprints before you. However, your time of youth is at its end, changing with the season's sway. To change and not fade away. To make sure that you shall not be lost. For you we welcome with rain-soaked cloth”, buttoning the cloak closed.

The young girl looks up and makes herself smile faintly, turning to her mother as her Oma passes a birds mask to her and helps her to sit up. The mother cups her cheeks and rubs her thumbs across those cheeks, “shëa~lent, keep your dew-berry eyes and unripened apple lips. I am the shadow behind you offering you this helping hand, though bless you not be the next maiden in row. My flower may be dead, but I’ll scatter my petals down your road to hope it never ends. I’ll love you and I hope you’ll understand. Oh sweet as honey, your garden will grow even if there is where I’ll never go. Answer with laughter and may ye be free under birds wing”.

“I don’t want you to go”.

“I know, and for that I apologise”, she slips the birds mask over the younger girl’s face, clasping it around the back of her head. Both mother and Oma grabbing one side of the cloak's hood to pull it up, covering the young girl’s fox orange hair.

Not half an hour later Oma and daughter watch as the woman’s ribs rattle and her eyes leak green. Both moving to help her lay back down, the younger moving clumsily under the heavy cloak. All three feel comforted and eased slightly as a young beautiful muse floats in dancing on the air. Humming softly and moving to grab the bedridden woman’s hands. The eldest laughs lightly, “it would seem the muses have claimed you. You are to be a muse, my dear Remiana”. None of the women pay any mind to the aromas of the herbs in their masks beaks reacting to the presence of one of the dead.

“I think I’m quite fine with that”.

The muse hums and giggles, sounding like small bells on the wind. Moving her face into the face/mask of the young girl, “I’m here, don’t you fear. Little one. But rumours on the wind I bring, they sing of a mortal town to become of two worlds. Life and death with hands enjoined. Brave it will you?”, and tilts her head.

The eldest laughs slightly, “ah”, looking to the youngest, “any trip is far beyond what I can take. But you, our little one, that is a path you could take”.

The muse hums yet again, crossing her legs and moving to cradle the bedridden woman’s head in her lap, “Amity Park we hear it called, though not yet a place that dead love, things will change in time we hear”.

The young girl frowns a little but says nothing, everyone looking to the bed at rattled wheezing. Both women grabbing Remiana’s hands as she shudders. The muse humming and patting at her hair. Her breathing in shakily, “I valued, nothing more, more than, you two”. Both women pat her hands, doing their best to ignore the choking sounds.

A young girl sits in a garden of flowers, cloak bunched up and a bird mask reminiscent of a plague doctors with setting sunlight highlighting its angles. A much older woman walking barefoot up behind her, wind blowing her cloak in the air faintly, “so, what are you going to do, little mystic who weaves”.

The young girl looks up at the sky, watching the light gray clouds moving across it, both women ignoring the scent of death wafting off the house behind them. She plucks off a small white bell-shaped flower absently, a Grave Seer, before standing. “I will find it, this land of life and death, and maybe then...”, turning her head to look back to the elder woman, “maybe then I’ll be free”.

The elder woman nods, walking up and handing her a pouch. Putting a hand on the younger girl’s masks beak, “then may these keep you well, and may we meet again under the cherry trees after a time long from now. Practice plenty and do not turn your nose up at any bonds you may find”.

The young girl nods, hugging her Oma before turning away and taking off running. She knows her time will be short, but she’s got a town to find. A place ripe with the dead that will chase away her aches and pains. To save her from the fate of her heritage. Even if to here she’ll likely never return, you can’t return to the past. So she’ll move on with life and live, and then... then she’ll never hesitate again. Gently she hopes that if the answer she’s looking for exists where she wanders then the world will let her see it bloom. Not knowing yet the years it will take to arrive nor the young half-dead boy she’ll find in a town that straddles the line of life and death just as much as one muse, and many others she’ll meet along the way, said it did.

End.

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