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bizarrebaby · 3 years

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Untouched

Pairing: Pero Tovar/Virgin!Reader

Work Count: 3.2k

Summary: You and Pero spend your first night together, which is your first night with anyone.

Warnings: you guys have penis in vagina sex. Some descriptions/mentions of violence, reference to painful loss of virginity, but we all know Pero’s too good to do that to you

You were a walking contradiction. Nothing was more confusing or intriguing to Pero Tovar than how you managed to exist in these times.

When he’d been introduced to you (it was generous to call it an introduction, seeing as Tovar more or less refused to acknowledge you at the time) he saw you the way he saw most everyone: an annoyance at best, a punishment from god at worst. When he glanced at you, he saw just a little thing, a girl who ought to be at home, out of her depths.

He first beheld your beauty through a veil of bloodshed. On the battlefield you had no equal. People throughout his travels often equated grace to beauty, but in observing you, Pero found that simply wasn’t so. You did not dance with the blade, like twirled silk. What you did was not akin to dancing. It was heavy and destructive, you took to you enemies with the crushing force of a mortar and pestle. You wielded the heavy and challenging kanabo, the force of which caved armor and shattered bones, man and beast alike. When you swung the heavy bat, you looked as a healer pounding medicine. The force itself was destructive, but it was delivered with the righteousness of someone who was preserving life.

You could not always use the kanabo, and you most certainly could not spar with it, for your opponents would be crippled by even a sporting blow. So Tovar sometimes saw your prowess with the sword, the staff, anything nearby. You made many an arrogant man eat their words.

Now, when he was to imagine a beautiful woman, he did not think of flowing locks and fair skin wrapped in silks. He saw sword-cut hair, an oversized tunic, the loosening laces on leather armor.

And beyond the fighting, you did not often make with revelry. Tense in the company of most others in your band of mercenaries, you kept away when they became excited. When you approached him, scowling as he wolfed down his food alone, he dreaded having to endure niceties, persuasions, and prattel from you, and had already decided to be as disagreeable as possible. To his utter surprise, you said nothing to him at all as you kept a couple of meters distance and ate your own meal. You did so day after day, and at first he had been paranoid that this was some plot at inching your way closer, that one day you would ruin this silence and reveal your true intentions. Until one night, Tovar found himself doing something unthinkable: initiating conversation. Or at least, speaking unprompted.

“You do not chatter like the others,” he stated almost mindlessly, not knowing what he was expecting by saying so.

“I try not to talk when I have nothing to say,” you admitted. You looked towards him, half illuminated by the distant, flickering fire.

He found himself studying every detail of your face from the corner of his eye. It was terrifying, for once wanting to observe and actually caring if he was noticed doing so.

“And,” you continued quietly, “they say you do not like to be disturbed.” That was a very kind way of rephrasing how he was often spoken of. In all likelihood, what you were actually told was probably more along the lines of ‘he’s a mean, miserable bastard who doesn’t like anyone’. Tovar didn’t know how he felt about your twisting such words into something that sounded… reasonable.

Understood.

“I don’t like being disturbed either.”

Now, when he was to imagine a beautiful woman, he did not think of lip rouge and silent, unnoticed steps, or curled, dark lashes, of coquettish smirks. He thought of a split lip, and the uneven pace of worn leather kicking at stray pebbles, of tired eyes rubbed with the back of the hand after looking into the fire too long, of the struggle to hold back a wide-mouthed yawn.

Through a few well placed miracles and the incessant meddling of others (William) the two of you had ended up together. And this was when Pero discovered what a contradiction you were.

You knew death in every facet… except for la petite mort.

While other girls snuck off with their paramours in experimental forays of intimacy, you were studying the blade, the staff, the bow, the kusarigama. Raised by a father and uncles who loved you, but did not know how to raise a young lady. Only how to raise a fighter.

When you didn’t scare off any potential suitors, they certainly did.

While younger than Pero, you were still fully grown, and had yet to even kiss a man until Pero had claimed your lips in a passionate fury on the night of his confession.

Pero did not fancy himself a teacher, he saw himself as a taker, one with no patience for uncertainties and incompetence. But for you, he would be anything. And regardless of what he was, what you deserved was a gentle touch. Subtle, comforting, patient, and understanding.

All words that had never been used to describe him.

Over time, the kisses grew deeper, the touches flirted further beneath the clothes, until the night came where he held you against him in his bed, eyes begging for more as you looked to him for guidance. Never had he been so frightened at the thought of bedding a woman. He was a scoundrel with hands only fit for killing, and he was terrified of hurting you somehow.

But he’d be damned if anyone else took this honor.

With every piece of clothing he stripped your body of, you looked at him with such trust. He felt your heart beating in his rough palms, like the flutter of a bird’s wings. Never before had he been responsible for something so pure, so delicate. His relations before you were intimacies he had paid for in coin, encounters that didn’t require any gentleness on his part, where he cared little about any pleasure or pain besides his own. If he were to do one thing in his life with tact and delicacy, it would be this, he promised himself.

“Tell me again, hermosa, how many before me have seen this beautiful body?”

“N-none. You’re the first, Pero.”

He hums in satisfaction, running his hands up your stomach to cup your breasts. His thumbs stroke over the hardening peaks, causing a hitch in your breath as you shudder.

“Oh, mi conejita, so sensitive,” he descends, taking a nipple in his mouth and sucking almost harshly for just a moment before pulling away, admiring how your breast shines with his spit. You squeak out a shaking moan. “I wonder if you’re this sensitive everywhere else? Don’t tell me. I’ll find out myself.”

You feel your cheeks heat at his words, feeling the urge to curl in on yourself and hide. But Pero keeps you bare to him as he lavishes eager attention on your breasts, enjoying the whines half-caught in your throat. By the time your nipples are perked and wet from Pero’s hot mouth, your blush has spread down to your collar. He pulls away slightly, gently guiding you to lay down. He takes your thighs in his strong hands and spreads them further apart. His thumbs spread your lips so get a good look at your pink, silky hole twitching with a need you’ve never known before.

Your breath hitches as one of his fingers traces along your sensitive lips, brushing against your clit briefly before beginning to sink into you slowly. He rocks it back and forth gently while admiring the rise and fall of your chest, the way your eyelids flutter as you go between wanting to watch and being too bashful to. His thumb gently strokes your clit as he works to ease in another finger, and you tense harshly at the new intrusion. He leans down to press a few reassuring kisses against your neck.

“Relax, querida. Let me in.” He whispers, moving his lips to your mouth in an effort to distract you as he coaxes you open. His cock was heavy and hard against the laces of his trousers. You would see it soon, but Pero doesn’t want to overwhelm you. Not yet, anyways.

You breathe deeply in an attempt to relax your muscles as Pero’s fingers reach farther than yours ever could, and it feels as if he holds all of your bodily feelings in the palm of his hand. He continues to coo endearments against your neck to comfort you.

“Bueno, bueno… you’ve gotten nice and wet for me, cariño, so good for me,” a smirk spreads across his face as he feels you tighten with his words. “Oh, you like it when I talk, niña?” He teases, increasing the pace as he pumps his fingers in and out of you, the tight circles he’s rubbing into your clit on the verge of driving you mad.

He parts from your neck to take a look at your face in pleasure, and finds himself enraptured by the slight furrow of your brows and the way your eyelids flutter when he strokes the right part of your insides. Your quiet huffing and mewling, combined with the way your cunt is gripping at his fingers, has him more riled up than he’d like to admit.

“Pero, I-I I think I’m gonna cum,” you whine, looking at him with pleading eyes. He bristles with pride as your hips move to meet the palm of his hand while chasing the pleasure he gives you.

“Cum then, muñeca. Cum for me.”

The coil in your belly winds so tightly it snaps, and white hot pleasure floods your system. Pero groans as you cream on his fingers, feeling his cock throb harshly for the umpteenth time tonight. A tremor wracks your body as the mercenary continues rocking his fingers gently to help you ride out your climax. When they withdraw, he doesn’t hesitate to lick them clean, much to your embarrassment. The sight of his tongue against your slick on his hand gives you… ideas. Ideas that will have to wait until another night, maybe.

He leans down to plant a chaste kiss to your lips before bringing you to sit up. He wants to see what else you’ve never done. Wants to know how curious you are.

Pero places one of your hands (which feel so small in his) against the tent in his pants, encouraging you to explore his body the way you’ve so graciously allowed him to explore yours. His tunic is already off, but of course, you’ve seen men shirtless before. His cock feels hot and hard through his trousers, and the apprehension is probably clear on your flustered face, but Tovar finds this entire situation incredibly arousing.

He’s no stranger to sex, but most of his previous sexual encounters had been paid for and, thusly, were with experienced (and sometimes jaded) partners. Though the size of his cock may have impressed a few, it had never been the first they’d seen, touched, or taken. This was different.

His eyes never leave your face as you bite your lip, occasionally looking to him for approval as you move to undo the laces on his trousers. His eyes are lidded and dark with desire, and a smile crosses his face, a little more genuine than the usual smirks he throws in your direction.

“Go on,” he urges, more gently than he knew himself capable. You finally slip down his waistband and smallclothes, and his cock lands heavy against his stomach as he reclines just slightly. You try to contain your startled gasp, attempting to seem less like the blushing virgin you clearly are. The way your lips part ever so slightly as you examine his red, leaking cock with nervous interest sends the mercenary reeling.

Pero almost takes your hesitance as fear, which he’s determined to quell, before you finally reach your hands out to run them along the hard length, drawing a ragged groan from him.

For a moment, Pero feels the strongest compulsion to take charge of you. To guide your head down and order you to get his cock nice and wet before he takes you, to see tears prick at your eyes while you struggle to take his cock in your little mouth.

But, somewhat regrettably, he remembers his first time with a woman well. He remembers the nerves burning against his skin like a thousand needles, the fear of performing well and doing things he’d never even imagined doing. He can only imagine that fear to be tenfold for a girl. You’ve spent years in the company of brash mercenaries, uncouth enough that they brag of their rough, bruising conquests. He knows the type. And what women you do meet often speak of intimacy with dread, or reflect on the pain of their first times.

You are one of the few things in Pero Tovar’s life that he has ever really cared for. And his greatest wish is to make you feel cared for. He has never known patience. But for you, he shall have it in spades. You’ll have plenty of time to play rough later. Or never, if that’s what you want.

Not to mention, he’s just about as hard as he’s ever been in his entire life, and he doubts he would last in your mouth, not with the passionate stare you’re giving him. You have, after all, always been a quick learner when it came to the sword. The way you start experimentally moving your hands along his cock confirm this, as he sighs in pleasure from the light pressure you’re giving him.

“This the first cock you’ve seen up close, hermosa?” you nod, and that teasing smile is once again set on his face. “What do you think of it?”

Your eyes widen just slightly at the question. He takes one of your hands and spits in it before letting you continue to stroke his cock, still patiently awaiting an answer.

“Are they all… like this?” Pero has a feeling he knows what you mean, but he wants you to say it.

“Like what, preciosa?”

“Big.”

He chuckles quietly before cupping your chin in his hand and bringing you towards him for another bout of fervent kisses. In these moments, and most others, he looks at you and sees everything he’s ever wanted. He presses his forehead to yours when he finally parts from your lips.

“No, amor, not all,” he pauses in thought, somewhat uncharacteristically. “Are you worried?”

“...Yes.” The mercenary appreciates your honesty. For your entire life, you have had to be brave. He doesn’t want you to have to be brave with him. He’s never been trusted with something as precious as you. He calls your name with the same softness he feels for you.

“I will never hurt you,” he promises. “And…” his need causes him to struggle with the next part. He’s still not used to being sensitive, not used to caring so much. “We do not have to do this.”

Pero can see the fire ignite in your eyes, that same passion he sees when you get up right after being knocked down.

“I want to, Pero, I want to. Will you take care of me?” his eyes have their own fire now. He guides you down onto your back once again and leans over you. His cock leaks against the soft skin of your belly as he kisses up your neck, sucking in marks as he goes.

“Forever,” he swears.

Pero hoists himself up to look into your eyes as his cock catches at your entrance for the first time. He pushes himself in just barely, giving you a little more each time as he shallowly rocks into you. He watches, feeling lovestruck, as your breasts rise and fall with each short breath you take as he eases himself deeper into your heat.

When Pero Tovar met you, he didn’t exactly respect you, but he wouldn’t have called you soft. You proved quickly that you were a better warrior than most men he’d met, and despite the roughness and inconveniences of mercenary life, you didn’t complain. In those early days, he’d have scarcely called you a woman at all.

But here you were beneath him, soft and warm, and everything he’d never imagined he could be trusted with. Long ago you reached your hands into his hardened chest, with all of its armor, and gripped his heart with all of the hope and reverence of a devout finding comfort in a rosary. The vice of your wet cunt on his cock was an extension of that. An inescapable binding that he had no desire to leave.

“You feel so good, querida, so tight and perfect against my cock.”

And so you pant, looking cherubic against the sheets with your splayed hair and flushed cheeks, lips plumped from Pero’s incessant kissing. The wet noises coming from between the two of you are obscene, and you love it.

“So good for me, amor, taking everything I have to give you.”

He wouldn’t last long. Not waiting as long as he has, not with you looking, sounding, and feeling the way you do. His thrusts aren’t punishing, but they sure as hell aren’t gentle, as he can only restrain himself from wrecking you for so long. And from the way he’s hitting that place inside that makes you sing, you won’t last either.

“Pero, I’m gonna— mmm I’m gonna cum again!” You keen, calling him back from his animalistic fervor. Pero stares into your eyes with a fire roaring behind his gaze.

“I want you to soak my cock, hermosa. Cum. Give me your pleasure, let me make you mine!”

“God— oh, fuck, I love you—“ you pant as he feels you clench deliciously around him. Any hope he had of holding on has fled now.

“Mi amor, let me cum in you, please, querida—“

“Please, do it Pero,”

You can feel the skin of his hips slap against yours as he pistons himself in and out of you, babbling about how beautiful you are and how good you feel until he can’t stand it anymore.

“Te amo, te amo, te amo!” He growls, ceasing his hips as he fills you with everything he has. You jolt at the sensation before relaxing again, his hot cum painting your walls. His elbows stop him from collapsing right onto you, but he can feel your breasts brush against his chest with every breath the both of you take.

He basks in this moment for a while longer before pulling himself out gently, resolving to clean the both of you properly later. Pero lets himself fall beside you in bed, still breathing a little heavily.

“Come here, querida.”

Pero stares at the ceiling as your weight comes to rest against his chest, warm in ways he cannot describe. The arm around you tightens, as if he wishes to pull you further into him.

“Are you… do you feel alright, mi amor? I didn’t hurt you?”

“Never, Pero. I feel wonderful. Was it ok? For you, I mean. I know I’m… you’re probably not used to being with someone so inexperienced,” you trail off, feeling palpably insecure. He gently puts his hand beneath your chin to coax you into looking up at him from his chest.

“You don’t have to be anything more than what you are to be perfect for me, amor.”

Taglist:

Pedro Pascal: @auty-ren

From the preview post: @josepedropascal @tintinwrites @computeringturtle @kiwi-the-first

#nsft #writing #drabble #the great wall #pero tovar #pero x reader #pero tovar x reader #tovar x reader #tovar the great wall #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader

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perfectlyultimatebunghole · 3 years

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beyond the abyss harry dubois' salvation through annihilation

Life and death are running parallel in all of us all of the time. But it isn't until we're shaken out of our delusions that we might be so lucky as to appreciate that.

Disco elysium begins in darkness, but with these two opposing forces growing louder, painful, and more self aware by the moment.

We see them do their bitter dance inside one cataclysmically hung over sorry excuse for a mess of a man.

Surrounded by a trashed room, broken glass and electronics, and a mirror regretfully projecting a lifeless and perverse imitation of a human, our protagonist, the avatar of what ails everyone alive, comes to from a weekend of all out drinking

To find unsurprisingly that he has no recllction of anything. Not who or where he is, much less why he is there or how he got there.

"there" is a hostel cafeteria, the whirling rags in the once glorious but now seedy center of Disco Elysiums world - the city of revachol

Gentle March flurries of snow fall down gracefully onto a city that is anything but gentle or graceful.

A traffic jam CHOKES up This specific district of Revachol called Martinase. A dock workers union strike HAS Shut the harbor down, along with the lives of the agitated working types of Martinase, some of whom have legitimate gripes with their employer, and some of whom are devious and criminally minded, with nothing better to do than to spread chaos.

On the other sides, a broken bridge once connecting to wildwrness and drug towns, and on the other tenements, apartments, and an inlet leading to distant islands probably unsoiled from the malaise afflicting the rest of Martinaise, accessible only to those with the means to traverse the watery expanse

This city and its Malconents are so richly and profusy characteristicd because they are as much a character in the story as the protagonist, and his partner, lt. K

Thus, disco elysium is simultaneously the tale of a strung out detective hanging precariously hanging above a precipitous drop into nothingnwss

What lies on the other end of oblivion? Few live to tell of the verdant lands beyond the chasm of self annihilation. For them, an empty slate is the ultimate reprieve.

And The ultimate salvation, for if they are to make it over to the side, then they may yet grasp the envy of many tortured souls - - the chance to start over

But no story is ever borne from a such a virgin page. Indeed I Every dark untamed corner and crevice of the inland empire beckons ominously with its own siren song. One can look away. One can push past through; but one can never truly erase the past, awaiting gleefully in ambush for its sadistic feast

When I ask myself who and what is Harry Dubois, this is the answer my consciousness brings back to me. So in his shoes, with the controller in my hands, Harry Dubois is a man given the highly coveted and notoriously coveted chance to start over.

Or so it seems, as every sensation and perception that grazes his gray matter has the potential to push away the dense fog of his hard won retrograde amnesia after an ungodly weekend of drinking almost brings him to the his ultimate end.

It isn't long before the hints add up and it is revealed that a split with his beloved sent Harry unraveling with the speed and force of a lightning bolt. Harry is also an accomplished detective, logging over 200 hundred completed cases in a little less than 20 years.

But this decorated career brings him the opposite of fulfillment and Acclaim. Harry is a fumbling drunk and the butt of most of his fellow officer's jokes.

Wading so deeply and throughly through the underbelly of Revachol for two decades has not sobered Harry up in the least; instead he is a unrelenting alcoholic, his life and his being in tatters.

Being an well thought out rpg, disco elysium let's players modify Harry's intellect, psyche, emotional intelligence, as well as. His mental and physical prowess

My Harry was born to be a detective. He has a good head on his broad, impressive shoulders, and his shoulders are connected to an equally admirable pair of limbs and a sturdy, imposing frame.

And yet, Harry is haplessly inept at understanding himself and others. Even though players have this control over molding Harry, the character as I've built him seems most natural to the story.

Of course being a crime fighting machine who can think, talk, maneuver, and smash if need be through any situation makes Harry the kind of cop whose resume earns the respect of even a disciplined, highly competent and extremely professional cop like his partner, Lt. Kitsuragi

And yet, here Harry is. Revachol has swallowed him up it seems. And his most intimate refuge in the world, his life, has left him too.

So it is clear Harry DuBois is a man very much at the end of his line

But he crossed over to the end just yet, though he hangs there precariously throughout the game

So the question becomes, who is YOUR Harry DuBois? As with any other good RPG, more than half the fun is making your own unique character

Retrograde amnesia is as much a video game storytelling cliche as saving the world or rescuing the princess; but what great games do differently is make you wonder why exactly your specific character wants to undertake his or her heroic journey. Think Fallout New Vegas - a sparsely populated wasteland whose fate depends on your characters vision of justice

Disco Elysium also does soemthing similar, and it does it even better than Fallout New Vegas. Players can discover and select different topics they want Harry to contemplate in real time. As he does so and when he is done, Harry is rewarded with a Stat boost or two, further allowing players to play as their particular Harry DuBois

From what little I've played so far, Disco Elysium is far from subtle. How could it be otherwise? Harry clings to the disco vibe as much as the lack of luck hope and anything else resembling goodness clings to Him

#disco elysium #writing #games #video games #pc

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moiraineswife · 6 years

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Okay so I could definitely do with some more queer rep from Sanderson but I will say that I love the richness and complexity of his characters and the fuck that they almost all say ‘fuck you’ to writing gender roles.

‘Strong women’ doesn’t mean ‘woman punches loads of things and is badass’ it means a rich variety, of complex women who are each strong in their own way.

Vin, the street-urchin and constant survivor, whose strength comes as she grows and actually learns, in so many ways, to outgrow that ‘strong woman’ archetype. She learns to be soft. She learns to embrace her feminine side. She learns vulnerability, and love, and trust, and she grows into a better, stronger person for it.

Marasi who finds her strength in knowledge, and in loving herself for the things she can do, instead of loving the idolised version of herself who has all the things she wishes she could do. Who learns to stop revering and living in a man’s shadow, and steps out to cast her own.

Steris who is a canonly autistic woman who is never forced to be ‘normal’, in any sense of the word. The characters around her learn to read her, to understand her, and they fall in love with the woman that she is because of her quirks, because of her differences, because of her autism, and not in spite of it.

Shallan who was a sheltered, naive young abuse victim, with very obvious PTSD and anxiety who has undergone an incredible, uneven recovery journey. She has found herself, her voice, her independence, and her agency. But she is also learning how to accept what has happened to her instead of hiding from it, to heal and grow while retaining her wit, her drawing, and her smile.

Jasnah who, frankly, couldn’t care less about people’s expectations when it comes to her. Her mind is her own, and her strength comes from knowing herself, and refusing to compromise that self even when it goes against her entire culture and society. A woman who presents a composed, cold, blunt face to the world and is allowed to, and is never undermined or ‘thawed’. She is who she is, and that’s final.

Navani as a mother, a wife, a lover, in many ways the embodiment of traditional roles for a female character over a certain age. But she’s also a scholar, an engineer, an inventor, a visionary. A woman who knows what she wants, and inevitably finds a way of getting it. A woman who has deep loves and passions, and pursues them, but never loses sight of the merit of logic and order.

Vivenna, who grew up with the knowledge that she was to be a sacrifice for her people, that her pain and happiness were as nothing compared to her duty. A woman who grew up with deeply rooted prejudices, and a naive, ignorant view of the world. She grew up, she learned her own mind, and followed it to the ends of her earth and into another, where she came to lead men in battle in a notoriously misogynistic/gender-role based society.

Siri the dreamer, the free spirit, who learned that she didn’t have to be like her sister, and didn’t have to ascribe to the things expected of her to have value, and worth, and power. Who becomes a queen in her own right, and matures into a powerful woman who refuses to accept life on any but her own terms.

It’s a common enough critique that female characters get stuffed into one mould that’s described as ‘strong’ and that’s it. Which is almost as limiting and stifling as the traditional expectations of female characters. But tbh I love what he does with his male characters and the complexity and rejection of typical masculinity there, too.

Elend who grew up under the thumb of an abusive father and an oppressive system, but still had the softness, and the hope to dream of building something better. Who was more than comfortable having his wife protect him, and having everyone know that, who took pride in Vin, without ever once having it be hinted as some sort of slight to his masculinity. Who was able to accept the correction and guidance of another woman everyone else scorned and ignored who helped shape him into a better king, and a better man.

Sazed who was portrayed both as the gentle, reserved scholar, but also a rebel and an instigator, who went against his people to build a better world. Someone who was presented as rational, and calm, and arguably nonbinary, and mostly shuns pretty every typically ‘masculine’ trope in the book.

Kelsier who had the fairly typical ‘dead wife, revenge plot’ story, but that was explored in a thoroughly atypical way tbh. A man full of darkness who insisted upon fighting with a smile, and encouraged others to do the same. Cocky, and arrogant, and selfish was balanced by a little flash of sentiment, the hope for a new world, and the picture of a flower he carried with him to remind him what they fought for.

Adolin who’s regarded as one of the best swordsmen in the world, but who talks to his weapon before battle and thanks it for serving him. He wears his mother’s necklace as a good luck charm in battle, and goes against cultural expectations by being physically affectionate with the people he loves. Also has a keen interest in fashion he refuses to be ashamed of, and while his actions characterise him as a womaniser, his thoughts/behaviours display his dissatisfaction with that, and his desire for stability. Also very emotionally aware of those around him, and takes care to look after them when he reads them being in trouble.

Dalinar’s honestly fascinating journey from a bloodthirsty, violent soldier, to a depressed, traumatised alcoholic, to a struggling general, a hero of mankind, and then again struggling with PTSD is honestly so well-written. This man is literally a military legend, renowned for his prowess in war and we see him, in the course of the series: give away a legendary blade that is literally more valuable than kingdoms for the lives of a group of slaves, and consider it a genuinely good deal as he’s learned that all lives are precious. Struggle with very obvious flashbacks and panic attacks as a result of war trauma. Meekly align himself with distinctly feminine things to quietly support his son and stop him feeling awkward.

Renarin, who is a canon autistic character, who cannot be a soldier in a distinctly war-driven society, and is allowed to explore that, to feel bitterness and frustration with his condition. But who is also slowly starting to learn, with the support of his family, that there are different kinds of strength, and that they love him and are proud of him even if he can’t march into battle at the head of their armies. Who is allowed to stim openly, who is largely accepted for his differences, and is defended fiercely on the occasion that he’s not. Who is a goddamn super hero in this world, and is a massively progressive piece of honest autistic representation, in which he is not a character with autism, but an autistic character.

Kaladin who is honestly one of the most visceral, honest portrayals of depression I’ve seen in a fictional character. Who still, three books on, suffers from depressive episodes, who acknowledges that this kind of thing sometimes doesn’t just go away, or get better, that it’s always there, somewhere, and he fights it, and keeps fighting it, with the help and acceptance of those around him. Who is also a goddamn super hero who is warned by his surgeon-father that he’ll have to grow calluses, that he can’t care so deeply about his patients. Who becomes a soldier to support his younger brother, and tries to strike the balance between killing and protection, and to deal with his soft heart that has never truly hardened.

Male characters that have genuine, honestly explored mental illnesses, insecurities, and who are frequently depicted crying, and otherwise being allowed to freely show and explore their emotions and honestly, i could say a hell of a lot more but this is quite long enough so that’s enough of that.

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nehasy · 7 years

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Whispers of a Feather

This is for Pethics, for the ESS 2016 Secret Santa. Hope you like it. Eris/Folken, post series.

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The feather felt so light in her hands, it might as well have been made out of air. Gently, she traced her fingertips along the shaft, marvelling at its silken texture, noting how it seemed to almost shimmer with pearlescent radiance. Though she considered herself to be a well-educated woman, she had no idea what sort of bird could ever have shed such an amazing feather. Hours had been dedicated to researching it, trying to figure out exactly what Folken had been telling her when he’d given it to her all of those years ago.

“This was given to me by one of the rarest creatures on Gaea.” He’d said, his gentle voice whispering across her ears like the softest of velvet. “Now I give it to you. Guard it well, for you hold my heart in your hands.”

She’d never understood that cryptic remark but it still never failed to draw a smile from her lips at the beauty of those words. How utterly like him, cloaking himself in mystery, presenting a living breathing puzzle for her to understand all the while hiding so many of the pieces from her.

Had she a lifetime to understand him, she would still die in vexation and oddly enough, that intrigued her as nothing else could. Who would have thought that a young barbarian prince could have been such a poet in his heart? Certainly not her, and to this day, she still recalled her strident refusal to so much as entertain the notion of betrothal to the Fanelian prince.

“It will be a strong match!” Her father, Grava Aston had argued, his loud voice overriding any of her impassioned protests. “He is heir to a strong country known for their military prowess, something which we are sorely lacking my dear.” His thick bejewelled fingers had stroked his long moustache as he spoke, those calm blue eyes of his glittering in victory, no doubt already seeing a proud strong Astoria supported by the powerful Fanelian army. “While yes, I do concede that they are a little… rough, I’m sure that as a woman, you could bring an appropriate level of elegance to their country.”

She’d been furious and disgusted at the very prospect of marrying an uncouth barbarian. Growing up, she’d heard tales of the fierce warriors, living in their rough country surrounded by dragons. How they would fight the great beasts in order to rescue their chosen maidens, or defend their borders against the vicious beast-men who always sought to prey upon civilized human settlements. As a young princess, the tales had terrified and fascinated her, but once she’d grown up and seen the truth, the reality of her predicament became so much more worrisome.

The very concept of battle appalled her on a visceral level. Why would a person, any person in their right mind seek to end the life of another? It brought nothing but suffering into the world, and yes, while she understood that her own precious country had been founded on death and betrayal, it had always been taught as a life lesson rather than an act to be glorified. Yet here her beloved father was… was selling her off to these vicious brutes like chattel!

“You would have your daughter live in a glorified mud hut, devouring the flesh of innocent beasts for sustenance?” She’d argued passionately. “Why not Marlene? Why must I suffer this indignity?” Her words fell on deaf ears, no doubt her father was ignoring the “silly bleating of womanly histrionics.” as he so lovingly put it. No, arguing like a child wouldn’t allow her to escape this fate. She was a princess and had a duty to her crown and her people, no matter how loathsome it might be.

“I am seeking a match between Marlene and Duke Mahal dal Freid.” He’d replied patiently, speaking in the tone of voice he usually reserved for Millerna, her younger sister. “With that match and yours, we’ll control most of eastern and central Gaea. It will mean unrivalled power for Astoria, and more importantly, protection.

There was no need to point out how vital such a goal was in this day and age. Basram and Egzardia had been increasingly hostile to each other, moving steadily towards open aggression. As their southern neighbours, it was only a matter of time before Astoria became involved. Rumour even whispered that the reclusive and secretive Zaibach Empire was stirring in its shadows. No doubt, her father intended to marry young Millerna into one of the three countries, further securing their borders against the other two.

While agreeing to the arrangements disgusted her deeply, she understood her father’s actions and allowed herself a gentle sigh of resignation.

“At least allow me to meet the man I’m to marry. Let me look the barbarian in the eyes so that I might take his measure.” Her father laughed in delight at her words, no doubt believing that in a short matter of time, she would be the power behind Fanelia’s throne, as he’d intended all along.

The country had been exactly as she’d expected; isolated, wild and not for the weak of heart. The capital city bore the same name as the country as well as the royal family… thus proving that creativity was not a Fanelian trait.

King Goau Fanel was also as expected. Tall, heavily muscled and bearing a shrewd yet grizzled appearance, his stern face was marked with many scars as well as the weight of the crown. His eyes however burned with a strange ferocity which rivalled that of the lands legendary dragons.

At his side sat Queen Varie, his utter opposite in every way. She radiated an odd sense of serenity and calm, practically glowing in her tranquil beauty. There was a strangeness to her, an otherworldly aura which drew the eye, yet when she smiled, it calmed the heart and encourage you to smile with her.

On her lap was a small black haired boy, full of light and happiness. He giggled as he squirmed, making a game of trying to slip from his perch and no doubt go off running amok. While he clearly favoured his father’s darker coloring, there was an echo of his mother’s beauty in the shape of his face and eyes. No doubt one day he would be exactly what young women pictured when imagining a Fanelian warrior king.

Standing in the shadows, watching her with as much trepidation as she watched him, was Folken Lacour de Fanel, heir to the crown and her betrothed. Tall like his father, he however bore his mother’s slender form and gentle face. Kind sienna eyes watched her cautiously, the spark of hope glittering in their depths and she knew in that moment that he was just as nervous as she was.

Her fingers trailed along the delicate feather once more, watching the play of colours shift and dance at her touch. Who could have known that white had so many different shades? It was almost mesmerising in its beauty and it seemed to radiate the love and gentle soul of the man who’d gifted it to her.

Slowly, her eyes drifted over to the second feather resting in her lap. Reverently, her fingers picked it up, placing it next to its brother. Two feathers, identical in size and shape and yet so different that it was heartbreaking. This one was black, deeper than the glistening ever shifting darkness of raven’s wings. Unlike the first, it felt cool in her hands and heavier, as if the weight of the world were pressing down on it. Rather than reflecting a myriad of tones at her touch, it seemed to drink in the colours around it, drawing them in and muting them with its darkness.

It should have seemed threatening, but instead, all she felt was melancholy. Her first feather had been given with the promise of life and unity everlasting. This one had been a farewell from a man she’d long ago thought dead and lost.

“This feather was given to me by one of the rarest creatures on Gaea.” Folken had said softly, his eyes sad as they stared into hers, speaking volumes that she feared she’d never understand. His voice was just as she’d remembered, as rich as the softest velvet, yet full of resignation, sadness and… oddly, hope. It had pulled at her soul to hear it and she knew deep in her heart that he was saying goodbye to her one final time. “Now I give it to you. Guard it well, for you hold my life in your hands.”

He’d placed it in her palm and gently closed her fingers over it. Only his true hand touched hers, the twisted mechanized thing which was his right hand stayed hidden beneath his cloak, loathe to touch her tender flesh.

“Don’t leave.” S he’d breathed softly. “Stay with me, let us have the life fate denied us.” It sounded like something a silly heroine from one of Millerna’s books would say rather than the plea of a proper princess, but her lips formed the words on their own volition, guided by her heart rather than her head. “Let us have one moment of happiness before it all ends.”

His smile had been so sad and yet so full of love as he’d leaned forward and kissed her. It felt… like home to her, filled with sweet comfort she’d always denied within herself.

“Live for me.” He whispered gently. “I’ve lived too long in the darkness to be part of your light. Make your fate is your own, fight for it, cherish it and help rebuild this world. Lead it towards the peace you hold in your heart and never forget the man I once was, or who I became.”

She’d stood there in the garden, holding the two feathers in her hands while he left her to save the world from the brink of madness. The sky had been coated with emerald light, poisoning the souls of Gaea with false promises of glory before burning with the madness of Basram, obliterating friend and foe alike in their quest for glory. Still, she stared at the feathers, tears falling silently down her cheeks as she contemplated their beauty and their mystery.

When they’d come to tell her that Folken had died fighting Emperor Dornkirk, she’d simply nodded her head and clutched the feathers to her chest, feeling the warmth and coldness radiating from them in a heartbeat, forever held on that precipice between one beat and the next.

“Draconians are not the cursed people.” She whispered softly to the feathers in her hand. “It is those they leave behind who bear the curse. Those left to grieve.” Closing her eyes, she once again held the feathers to her heart, feeling their conflicting natures and the lost promises trapped within their vanes. Without a further word, she gently placed them in an elegantly carved box and slowly closed the lid, sealing them in the darkness for another year.

com;Cy3*t�

#Vision of Escaflowne pre-series #tenkuu no escaflowne #Princess Eris #Folken Fanel #escaflowne fanfiction #Post series

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wielderofbreidablik · 7 years

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Kiran

eName: Kiran

Class: Summoner

Gender: Male

Birthday: May 11th

Zodiac: Taurus

Hair Color: Black

Eye Color: Blue

Height: 5'9

Weight: 184 lbs

Handedness: Right

Blood Type: AB

Sexuality: Hetero

Appearance

Kiran is a young man with a slender white complexion that’s largely unblemished. He has short dark feathered hair, royal blue eyes, and an ovular face. Prior to coming to Askr, he had a very average build with little to no muscle definition. However, after joining the Order of Heroes and participating in the dangers of combat, he begins training to increase his strength, speed, and stamina, eventually gaining a more lean and athletic figure over time. His normal attire consists of an open white cloak with gold trim, worn atop a blue shirt, with a leather belt worn on the outside that holds several pouches around the back and Breidablik’s holster. His pants are baggy and white (also with gold trim) that are tucked into brown leather boots. He also wears brown leather gloves, unless he’s working at his table or sleeping.

Profile

Kiran was born and raised in a small rural town called Folkson, where the climate was temperate all throughout the year and the people were as fair as they were firm. His mother, Freya, was one such individual, who conceived her son during a passionate spring she shared with a man from out of town. This man, who would be Kiran's father, disappeared during the season's end - effectively vanishing without a trace and leaving Freya as a single parent. Regardless, she did not begrudge her circumstances and in fact bore her son with grace and pride, eventually nurturing him into the gentle, smart, and diligent young man that spent most of his time working in a little restaurant to help support his mother.

However, with what time he could afford away from his job and his other daily activities, Kiran would enjoy the realms of fantasy and sci-fi found within his books and games. Of particular interest to him was the Fire Emblem series, with its many tales of heroes, kingdoms, and dragons. He'd long since lost count of the number of hours he'd spent investing itself in everything from its lore to the mechanics of its games. As a matter of fact, it was not at all uncommon for him to fall asleep suddenly in the middle of enjoying a new entry and dream deeply of being immersed in its world.

But on one fateful February, those dreams would become something much more, as a voice suddenly called out from across boundaries that were previously unknowable to him. It spoke through feelings and impressions - not words - and carried with them a sense of urgency that soul as kind as his couldn't dismiss. Indeed, before he even understood what was happening, Kiran found himself trying to reach out to the voice in response, and in doing so became consumed by a pillar of blinding light.

Moments later, his eyes open to find that he was no longer in the comfort of his home, or anywhere in Folkson for that matter, though he was accompanied by a figure that seemed familiar. Swept up by confusion Kiran instinctively focused on the person before him, trying to find his bearings through recognition. But the person before him wasn't someone he had met. They shouldn't have even been real. It was Anna, a reoccurring character from Fire Emblem. But that was impossible! Absurd! Yet she starts speaking to him and her voice is familiar too, and he's so shocked by these alien circumstances that all he can do is stare for a time, unable to find his voice.

However, there would be no opportunity for understanding then. All too quickly the two are besieged by enemies and Kiran is forced to take on the relic Breidablik. Through conflict after conflict, Kiran comes to know of his new surroundings: the world of Zenith. He then comes to meet the royal siblings Alfonse and Sharena. According to what he learned from them and Anna, their kingdom - Askr - was at war with the kingdom of Embla, and that each side had the ability to open and close portals respectively and that these portals lead to different worlds. Embla was traveling to these worlds to conquer them and enslave their champions to conquer further worlds and enslave further heroes. All at the behest of Princess Veronica. He also came to learn that Breidablik had the ability to summon forth the Heroes of other worlds to fight at his side, an ability that only he could properly utilize and that this made him instrumental to Askr and its Order of Heroes in their campaign to protect the worlds from Embla and its like.

When he finally came to know all of this and they formally requested his as aide, Kiran understandably hesitated. They were asking him to participate in a war after all. A war between individuals that, until not long ago, he'd been sure to be entirely fictitious - one that, in all likelihood, would not be ending any time soon. It was certainly a lot to be asking someone who seemed so astoundingly average compared to those that surrounded him now.

But still, it was an unrefutable fact that through Breidablik, Kiran had a power that was both formidable and unique. A power that could be used to save people and prevent tragedy. What’s more, his tactical prowess had already proven itself to be just as invaluable as well. So could he really turn a blind eye to all of that just to stay out of harm's way? After all, if he had the power to protect those in need of salvation, didn’t he have a responsibility to take action? As momentous as those questions were, it didn’t take him long to find the answers. Indeed, it might be more accurate to say that he had known them before he had begun to ask himself.

So with somber determination, Kiran adopts the role of both summoner and head tactician for the Order of Heroes, even as the challenges before him began casting a broad shadow upon his future.

Personality

Kiran is best described as a cheerful and optimistic person who's extremely loyal to those he cares about. He's also quick to form attachments and sympathize with those he spends time with, so from the outside looking in Kiran can sometimes seem like a naive person. However, Kiran is also extremely intelligent and quick-witted, so he's not easily taken in by those trying to deceive or take advantage of him unless it's being done by someone he believes is absolutely beyond doubt.

Kiran also has a very strong sense of responsibility and ethics, always being willing to take action on matters that demand it, even if said actions would normally be reprehensible or daunting to him. This makes him an extremely selfless person, so much so that he's often in danger of neglecting his own needs in service of helping others. On more than one occasion, Kiran has overworked himself for the sake of the Order. He's also quite modest, so much so that it can border on insecurity at times, as is evident whenever comparisons are made between him and the members of the Order of Heroes or he begins to reflect on any of his past failures, such as the death of Gunthra.

He isn't very quick to anger, and in fact, is a remarkably gentle person. After fighting Muspel, he becomes apparently more hardened to the point that he becomes capable of summoning individuals such as Grima, Duma, and Garon, though his kind nature remains intact owing to the love and support of his allies. However, if someone he cares about is in sufficient danger or should someone be unjustly harmed, he can become much more aggressive in eliminating the threat.

Kiran can also be surprisingly protective at times. For example, even though Breidablik’s power prevents his units from permanently dying in battle, he still takes steps to prevent situations where they would get hurt, and in fact has put himself in danger to keep them safe on several occasions, even though he’s more at risk than they are owing to his poor fighting skills. Furthermore, his fierce sense of loyalty and compassion can also drive him to extremes in an attempt to see those he cares about safe and happy.

Kiran can easily be described as a romantic individual, capable of finding positive qualities in just about anything. Most especially with the opposite sex and any potential partners of his. This makes him more easily swayed by the words or actions of girls, something that Sharena unknowingly makes use of on a near-daily basis and that Anna does much less innocuously. The reason for this is very largely owing to the amount of female involvement in his life growing up, most particularly from his mother, who was a pure and constant presence for him.

Abilities

In terms of fighting potential, Kiran's abilities are quite low. Unlike the many Heroes he's surrounded by, he hadn't spent even a single day of his life preparing for battle, making his stamina and physique remarkably average. After coming to Zenith of course, he does begin training more formally, though he’s obviously far behind his peers. However, Kiran’s true value lies in his ability to plan and strategize, allowing him to lead the Order of Heroes to numerous victories with few casualties throughout his significant tenure as head tactician. This has also earned him a place on the battlefield in spite of his inability to fully protect himself, though more cunning individuals such as Veronica have been quick to take advantage of this and have isolated and captured him on more than one occasion.

Kiran's most unique and significant ability is his ability to wield the relic Breidablik, which allows him to summon Heroes should he have enough Orbs. As it stands, Kiran has great difficulty summoning specific individuals, since Breidablik responds more acutely to his feelings rather than his thoughts, though there have been certain occasions when he's done so. Breidablik by default also form contracts with those he summons, so like Veronica he has the ability to subjugate his Heroes, though in practice he rarely ever does so - with exceptions being to those he feels like he needs to reign in. Breidablik also has the ability to prevent those contracted to him from falling in battle, though they can still be incapacitated by other means. This protection does NOT extend to death caused by sickness, hunger, or so on.

Due to Kiran's hefty experience with the Fire Emblem series in his own world, he also has near-omniscient knowledge about Heroes and the worlds they come from, with Zenith being one of the few exceptions. However, due to the nature of this knowledge and how it might affect others, he largely keeps this all to himself. If he should ever say something that would betray this, he simply remarks that his world has stories about the different worlds they've visited in a similar fashion to Zenith does. This knowledge is also in part of what allows him to be a good tactician since it helps him to possess a greater understanding of his units and the units of certain enemies.

#muse #//icons by lakeblessed

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bdo-kenai-kanu · 7 years

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A Glimps Behind the Veil: Chapter One

Life on the island was quiet, tranquil and still.

That is what struck the youth most about the place he called home.

The village sat nestled within the rugged peaks of the mountains that protruded from the island’s heart, exposed enough to bask in the sun’s warmth but shielded enough from the harshest of storms that came in from the sea.

Lush, vibrant, and full of life were the thick forests that encased the rock that formed the island’s base, dense shrubbery to clusters of trees sprouting up from the earth to cast their shadows over the scattered patches of grass rarely traveled by those not native to the island.

The village was the picture of serenity.

Airy thatched roofs perched atop sturdy walls comprised of wood, clay, and stone; unshakeable architectures that withstood the test of time and all its trials for centuries. The homes were humble yet practical, just as the villagers themselves with everything keeping in balance with the land that both provided and sheltered them.

The heart of the village sat nestled near the summit of the mountain at the island’s center, a grand Monastery whose secrets were locked away in ancient texts and scrolls, written records reserved for the truly enlightened and a place where guidance and wisdom were shared by the village Elder.

There was a name for the villagers here and one the youth had high hopes of one day obtaining himself once of age, his trials passed and his training completed.

Monks.

The villagers here were a legacy, descendants of generations upon generations of Monks that dwelled upon the island in solitude in centuries past that had once settled here long ago, secluded and protected where they could conduct their meditations and training in peace.

Enlightenment, balance, and self-improvement were the basis of life here, a daily task in seeking harmony with oneself and nature whilst perfecting the arts of the body, mind, and spirit. The lessons of old were passed down from parent to child and teacher to student here through ancient scriptures and oral tales. The young learned early the basics of these teachings, that harmony is found in all things and that balance dictates life.

There can be no light without darkness just as there can be no good without evil, that everything has its place and therefore, its counterpart. This was the greatest truth in life.

One learned how to live in harmony with the world around them and with themselves, striving for discipline and the cultivation of wisdom, kindness, and compassion for all things. To these peaceful, content people, Life was sacred and beautiful, well worth fighting for and protecting. Because of this, they practiced diligently in the ways of martial arts, mastering techniques and secrets to turn the body into the deadliest of weapons, sharpening the senses and empowering the soul whilst maintaining a harmonious balance with the earth and all living things.

This was the way of Kenai’s people, the norm by which he grew and lived by from birth.

Davos Kaedo was a Master in the ways of the Monk’s unique kickboxing style of martial arts(a blend of what we know as Muay Thai and Capoeira), passing on the teachings of their heritage to the classes of students he trained and instructing them in the ways of combat. He was a stern and stoic man, dark-haired and with eyes as blue as the sea who stood tall and proud with his broad, powerful stature- intimidating to many. Even so, he was a respected man, one of conviction and honor, a true pillar of the old ways and looked up to by those who knew him.

Marla Kaedo was, perhaps, the very opposite of her husband in many ways. A creature of beauty, her skin golden yet fair with hair richly hued in tones of warm browns and eyes that shown as radiant as rays of sun through drops of honey, her body petite and lithe that moved both graceful and calm. Her laugh was as sweet as the honeysuckle that grew in abundance upon the vines that climbed the walls of the village’s homes, also a teacher who instructed the village’s youths in the art of mastering the mind with pursuits in meditation and enlightenment. She taught with her wisdom and her words whereas Davos taught with action and diligent practice.

Together, they were the pinnacle of balance, the perfect compliment, and contradiction, to one another in all thing yet they were one. The very essence of the lessons taught by the Monk’s scriptures.

Kenai, himself, was no different. Nor was Aisha, his younger sister.

As the children of Davos and Marla Kaedo, Kenai and Aisha came into the world naturally gifted and with many holding high expectations for their future. As he grew, it became ever more apparent that the youth had a keen sense of the world around him and a natural ability to endure, proving resourceful and swift in reflex, strong and spirited. A martial arts prodigy.

Aisha proved gifted as well, her own talents lying in spiritual strength and mental clarity, a contrasting yet balancing talent to her elder brother. She was gentle and soft-spoken but keenly empathetic with an intellect that would make seasoned scholars envious, particularly for one so young. Even with her gifts, Aisha was the shyer of the two siblings, doe-eyed and gentle with a passion for learning over the physical arts.

Kenai was already five years old when his sister was born. From the first moment he saw her, he knew instinctively how special she was, even at such a young age. Though he could not understand why as a child, he could simply feel it, knowing it to be right. He made the promise to protect her, always and as they grew together, he had always safeguarded Aisha, shielding her and ensuring she was always safe from harm. He could never explain why, but he had always felt the need to protect her; she was kind and tender-hearted, sensitive and loving- the sort that had a big heart and cried easily because she felt so deeply.

Everyone loved Aisha. Just as everyone loved Marla. A mirror image of their mother was exactly what the girl was, inside and out- from their light, golden brown hair and skin to their amber eyes and compassionate spirit. As for herself, the youngest Kaedo child had her own adoration. It was rare to see the siblings apart, even during the earliest years. It was with a devotion like no other that Aisha would follow Kenai everywhere he went, admiring and idolizing him.

In her eyes, her brother was everything she wished she could be and more than that, he was her best friend. As she grew, her elder brother became someone she could always rely on, who she could always talk to and share her deepest secrets and biggest dreams with. Someone she could always be herself with, who knew what made her sad and how to make her laugh. Her dearest protector.

As the years passed, it seemed logical that their training be conducted in unison, students to the parents that now stood before them as Masters. There was no bias or favoritism in their lessons; they were taught as though they were any other students- if not more so. Davos made clear his expectations for his children; they were to surpass him at all costs. Nothing else would do.

So Kenai and Aisha pushed themselves, constantly tested. What Aisha could not contribute to physical prowess, she made up for with spiritual power, tutored in the art by her mother to harness what was referred to in the scriptures as “Spirit Fire”.

The siblings found harmony together in their training, learning to work together as a team, complementing the other’s style and making up for what the other lacked. They were prodigies and still so young. Great things seemed to be in their future.

But fate can be uncertain. Even for the gifted.

#ic happenings #short stories #Shadows of the Past

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