#the adventures of the merry men

[steamedbeefs]

Chapter 1 - The Town of Drake's Cove

In the realm of Virelia, signs of summer began to bless the lands, from the flat grasslands that rolled as far as the eye could see to the snow-capped peaks of the Northern Mountains and every place in between. It was in the Dragon’s Woods in particular that summer was in full swing, with its abundance of colourful wild flowers popping up amongst the thick, green grass, with butterflies and busy honey bees pollinating them, filling the air with their buzzing. A warm breeze swayed the mighty oak trees of the forest, the sun’s bright rays filtering down through the leaves, casting patterns of light and shadow on the ground.

Despite the fact that his travelling companions had all peeled off their leather armour and cloaks, made damp by sweat by the summer heat, the elderly Firbolg shuddered, goosebumps exploding on his frail skin. He shrugged his thick cloak over his shoulders, hoping that the earth-colour wool would help keep the chill out of his old bones. However, he pushed on, leading his team of sell-swords down the decades-old beaten path using his equally old map clasped in his large hand. Every few minutes, the Firbolg glanced down at the map, his shaggy, wool-like fur on top of his head hanging down over his eyes as he scanned the crumpled paper.

“Aye,” he grunted, stuffing the map back into his cloak’s pocket, taking steady strides down the road, using his staff as a walking stick. “No more than another few more leagues until we reach town, younglings.”

Falling into step next to the Firbolg, his Halfling hireling tucked a loose curl of her auburn hair behind a long, pointed ear, giving him a quizzical look.

“Are you sure, Captain Skillet?” She asked him, glancing down at his pocket where the map was unceremoniously crumpled inside, fighting the urge to snatch it and read it herself. “You said that it was only a couple of leagues away when we broke camp at dawn, and now it’s lunchtime and you’re saying the same thing again. We’ve been walking for hours and we still haven’t seen any signs of Drake’s Cove yet. Are you sure we’re not lost, sir?”

The other two hirelings, a Triton with a tangle of navy curls on his head and eyes that glittered like gold and a Goblin with a mischievous smile and messy black hair that was cut hastily, named Nalu and Bullet respectively, fell behind their Captain and their Halfling companion. They listened intently to their conversation, as Skillet had been known to get the adventurers lost from time to time, and they both were eager to finally get to the village he was leading them to and get off their aching feet. 

The Firbolg only just waved the girl off, chuckling to himself. “I know these woods like the back of my hand, Finch Waveborne,” Skillet had said to her, not slowing down his pace as he spoke over his shoulder. “This forest is where I used to play when I was just a youngling, not much younger than you three are now. The reason I am so adamant to get to Drake’s Cove, the town we are going to be selling our services to next, is because it used to be my home. And, here we are…”

With a flourish of his hand, the Dragon’s Woods began to thin around the adventures, and signs of civilization began to appear. 

Drake’s Cove was an old fishing village, weathered by age and the sea surrounding it. Farmlands and small houses made of river stone and thick logs of oak wood dotted the land, their thatched roofs rustling in the wind. The homes were sparse at first, with patches of trees and large expanses of farmland between them, but as the land rolled downwards towards the cove where the ocean lapped at the stoney shore, the houses grew closer together and the farms became smaller. One main cobblestone road ran through the main part of town, in some places covered in mud from carriages or sand from the beach, while footpaths and rotten boardwalks branched off in every direction, beating down the tall beach grass. 

Near the cove stood a large inn, with rickety wooden piers surrounding it on both sides, multiple fishing boats moored against them, bumping against the docks with soft thumps as the waves rocked them back and forth. Skillet smiled as the inn came into view through his shaggy fur, and he gestured for his young hirelings to follow him deeper into town.

Drake’s Cove was home to a variety of different races, from bulky Orcs chopping firewood or hauling water from the well at the center of town to dainty-looking Elves tending vegetable gardens and beating rugs on lines with large beaters, each one living together in peace. There was even a Dragonborne living in town from what Bullet could see, and he was exiting the bakery with an arm’s full of fresh savoury breads and sweet sticky buns. Each one raised a hand or gave a small smile in greet as the adventurers past, calling out their ‘good afternoon’s and ‘nice to see you’s to the Firbolg leading the three younglings behind him. Children played in the middle of the road, entertaining themselves by playing pretend with one another, large dogs chasing behind them. 

Approaching the inn, the adventurers could see that it was two floors tall, with a high roof made of slate tiles, the only building like it in the whole town. The first floor of the inn was built from smooth river rocks, and the second was made of dark-stained oak logs, with large windows evenly spaced throughout. Even though it was summer, the large chimney billowed out thick, white smoke. A sign hanging from a metal bracket above the large double doors named the inn ‘The Salty Drake’.

Skillet sighed happily when he led the young hirelings to the front doors of the inn, reaching up with one large hand to bat at the sign, making it swing back and forth on the bracket, squeaking sharply. “This here is ‘The Salty Drake’, the best inn this side of the Dragon’s Woods. During my younger years, I spent many a night here after returning from my adventures, draining the poor barkeep of his ale.” Skillet chuckled to himself as he reminisced, the three younglings behind him hanging onto every word. It was not often that their Captain shared any information about his past, so learning about his old stomping grounds excited them greatly. Snapping the three back to reality, the Firbolg gestured to the door. “I know the barkeep well, as he is one of my very best friends. We’ll be able to get a cheap steading here as we work, and be able to fill our bellies with his cooking.”

With a wink as he promised the hirelings a comfortable bed to sleep in and a hot meal, Skillet pushed open one of the large doors and wandered inside, the three sharing an excited look before following their Captain inside. 

The inn opened up into a grand common room, which was spacious and comfortable, with a low ceiling and a sitting area around a large stone fireplace that stretched almost half the length of the room, the flame dancing upon the glowing logs. At the back-end of the common room stood a bar with many tables and chairs surrounding it, each table hosting a patron or two as they sipped from their goblets of cold ale or spiced mead shamelessly in the middle of the day. A kitchen could be found behind the bar, with smells of cooking meats and baking bread wafted into the adventurers’ nostrils. The bar itself was clean and tidy, and an older Elven gentleman stood behind it, cleaning a goblet with a rag. He was a Wood-Elf, upon further inspection, with dark skin, long black hair tied into a tight bun on top of his head, a meticulously kept beard flecked with grey, and piercing grey eyes that have been hardened by life. 

With the sound of the front door opening and the footsteps of potential customers, the Wood-Elf looked up briefly from his work of cleaning dishes, and a wide grin split his features at the sight of the elderly Firbolg. “S-Skillet?... Is that you, old friend?” He asked, his voice stammering a little as he placed the goblet down on the bar and came around the side to approach the travellers. 

Skillet opened his arms as the Wood-Elf approached him, returning his elated smile and wrapping his arms around him, his much larger body swallowing the Elf up in his embrace. “It’s good to see you again, Thefni,” Skillet said as he pulled away, and Thefni straightened his apron, the grin that wrinkled his face never fading. 

“I… I can’t believe this… I never thought I’d ever see you again!” Thefni said, looking the Firbolg up and down as if he still couldn’t comprehend the fact that he was standing here before him. “You left so many years ago without saying goodbye. Folks were saying you went to find that great adventure you’ve always wanted, some said you were going to get yourself killed. Where did you go? What did you see? Tell me, friend. Tell me all about your travels, I want to hear every detail!”

Skillet chuckled at the Wood-Elf’s excited ramblings and patted him on the shoulder as he mounted a stool in front of the bar, letting out a small groan as he finally rested his exhausted legs. “I will, I will, old friend, I promise. Maybe tonight, over a nice cold goblet of your finest ale, hmm?” Skillet said with a chuckle in his deep, rumbling voice. “But first, I must introduce you to my hirelings. This is Nalu, Finch, and Bullet…” Skillet gestured to each adventurer respectively as he told Thefni their names, each one giving a small wave or a curt nod in greeting. “While my days of solo adventuring and sword-fighting are far behind me, I’m still travelling the lands of Virelia with my new team of sell-swords. We were wondering if you would allow us to stay here at the inn while we are in town to provide our services. We won’t be here long, mind you, not much more than a week or two at most. Just long enough until we make enough gold to last us until we get to the next town over. What do you say, old friend?”

With the explanation finished and the four adventurers looking at him expectantly, Thefni let out a loud, hearty laugh, one that made the patrons at the tables around them look up from their drinks momentarily to see what was so funny. “Did you really think you had to ask permission to stay here, Skillet? You're just as hard-headed as you were before you left all those years ago. Of course you’re welcome to stay here, for as long as you four need to. There’s plenty of empty beds and ale for you and your crew.”

Thefni then cocked his head to the side and called out across the room to the inn’s barmaid, who was serving ale to a patron that looked like they had a little too much to drink already. “Falkrunn, dear, come show our guests to their rooms, would you?”

Falkrunn was short and stout Hill Dwarf with a tanned complexion much like Thefni’s, her face covered in a splash of freckles. She wore a simple green tunic and brown breeches, and a white apron tied around her waist and her long, brown curls were pulled back in a tight braid to keep it off of the food and drink she served. She perked up when her name was called, excusing herself politely from the drunken patron and silently gesturing for the adventures to follow her upstairs to where the empty rooms for rent were. 

While the three young hirelings chased the pretty barmaid upstairs to offload their belongings and weapons, Skillet turned his attention back to the Wood-Elf, who had went back behind the bar to continue cleaning the dirty goblets. 

“Say, Thefni…” Skillet began, folding his arms on the bar as he leaned in towards his old friend. “You wouldn’t happen to have any jobs that need to be done while we’re here in town, hmm? It is the least we can do, give you a hand around the inn while we’ll be sleeping in your beds, eating your food, and drinking your ale without paying you any coin.”

Thefni laughed once more. “Come now, Skillet. You know that you’re welcome here, coin or no coin,” Thefni repeated, but now he let out a little hum as he thought about the offer he was given. “Maybe I do have something you and your crew can do, only if you don’t mind that is…”

“Anything, dearest Thefni, anything at all!” Skillet said, trying to coax Thefni’s problem out of his throat. 

“I’ve been noticing that my casks in the cellar are emptying faster than they usually do. I have even found some completely empty before I even get the chance to tap them. I believe that there might be rats in the cellar chewing open the casks, or maybe someone might be stealing the ale. Whatever it is, I needed someone to go down and investigate it. How about it, Skillet? Are you up for the task?”

“Consider it done, old friend,” Skillet smiled at the Wood-Elf, giving him a determined nod.

***

Here is chapter 1 of 'The Adventures of the Merry Men', I hope you enjoy :)

2,285 words

#writing #writing on tumblr #writing wip #writer on tumblr #writers of tumblr #writers on tumblr #short story #short story writing #short story wip #dungeons and dragons #dnd #dnd campaign #dnd homebrew #dnd oc #dnd stuff #dnd5e #the adventures of the merry men

[lovelyllamasblog]

Sparrow Hood 🏹

Son of Robin Hood and Maid Marian

Birthday: October 25

Star Sign: Scorpio ♏

Adventures of Robin Hood and his Merry Men

Rebel

#my posts #aesthetic board #ever after high #eah #sparrow hood #maid marian #adventures of robin hood and his merry men #merry men #rebel #guitar #rock #punk #punk rock

[partyinthemysterymachine]

and i think to myself: augh what a wonderful world

(commission by @radrezi )

#harry mason #lisa garland #harry and lisa's adventures in minecraft #featuring: Man #lechonk. zubat. Country Jame. #P I C N I K #Birds. at LEAST like. So Many #Map Art! #Treehouse :3c + onsen #Therapy Anvil #Pretentious Books #R O T I S E R R I E #Average Rider of Eternal Damnation #cake. cat. (ask what the cat's name is i promise you won't be surprised) #the flussy remains in our hearts #anYWAY THE DETAILS AND THE COLORS IN THIS ARE EXTRAORDIANRY #ITHINK ABOUT THIS OFTEN AND I LOVE IT SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SOS SOOOO MUCH #THANK U BABE I LOVE U AND I LOVE PLAYING MINECRAFT WITH U #OH!!! THE PROBLEMS WE CAUSE <3 THE TIMES ARE MERRY AND GREAT #and the amount of Illegal Men we have. it's all very ethical #<3!!!!!!! #your art makes me insane. INSANE #stuffing it into the crevices of my brain with my bare hands and tweezers #maybe i like glowstone a lot. maybe i do #maybe country jame needs to GO BACK TO WANG ISLAND MAYBE #i love our kingdom. i love everything about the minecraft experience wiht u

[chronically-chaotic-cryptid]

I'm currently reading 'The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood' by Howard Pyle holy hell I thought I'd left behind the Robin Hood obsession with Robin of Sherwood but nope, still there. Fucking love Robin Hood. Silly young baby who's helping people and resolves conflicts by getting people to join him.

#robin hood #books #merry men #merry adventures of robin hood #the merry adventures of robin hood

[undiscovered-horizon]

A sharp tongue - Shanks x Reader

SUMMARY: Flyting is the art of exchanging poetic insults. Arriving at a port town, Shanks is willing to face the local flyting champion. But when he finally meets you, it's not insults that come to his mind.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 1.3k

a/n: it was either Shanks or Nikolai Lantsov

The tavern appeared somewhat rugged and unkept in the low, yellow light of a few candles. They weren’t enough to make all of the interior visible. While most of the tables and patrons sitting at them seemed to disappear in the darkness, the bar counter was like a light in the tunnel; a lighthouse for all those looking for a drink, a good chat or the entrance to the demimonde.

Aisha, a rather frail woman with an ashy skin tone, was drying glasses and cups, humming an old shanty, when the door to the Blue Dragon tavern swung open. Used to the noise of Marines and pirates alike, the bartender only cocked her eyebrow as she watched the men entering her establishment. As the scourge of the seas usually does, the unfamiliar guests looked rough, although Aisha did make a notice of how politely they carried themselves, no matter how strange that might be.

One of the man, with crimson hair and three scars across his face, sat on the bar stool in front of Aisha. Despite the dark circles around his eyes, the sun damage peppering his skin and dark stubble covering his jaw, the man looked kind. Something about the roundness of his shoulders made him appear smaller, more docile.

“Welcome to Kuri Island, where the Devil bids you farewell,” Aisha announced bitterly. God knows how much she wished to dfind herself anywhere ele but home. “What’re you drinking, lads?”

The pirate captain gave her a smile.

“Give us your best rum and whiskey. We’re kind of celebrating.”

“On it.”

Heavy glass bottles clicked brightly as Aisha set them on the counter. The crewmembers snatched their drinks as soon as they could, taking a short break from their merry conversations to give the bartender a grateful nod. Then, they’d disappear into the darkness of Blue Dragon, their hoarse laughter following them like an echo of yesterday’s joy.

The red-haired man did not move from his spot at the counter and neither did any of his crewmen sit beside him. As she was going about her mundane chores, Aisha kept glancing towards the captain. He stared ahead, lost in thought, and peacefully sipped on the dark rum. Thoughtfulness is rarely a characteristic ascribed to pirates. Nevertheless, there he was - a pirate unlike any other.

The second time Shanks talk to Aisha was on his own volition. She was filleting citruses when he leaned over the bar and spoke in a low voice:

“Who’s that?”

Aisha looked in the direction the red-haired pirate pointed out with a sharp, meaningful nod of his head. Her gaze fell on a character she’s grown quite familiar with. Sitting alone at her table, the silent woman played with an old, silver coin that was no longer used. There was a glass in front of her but it was empty now. Low light of a nearly burnt-out candle played a game of shadows on her face, painting her features once terrifying and once divine.

“A flyter,” Aisha answered. Shanks nodded, clearly pondering something. “Best goddamn one in this part of the waters. They call her Snaketongue. I’ll let you guess why. If you’re feeling up for it, you can try to challenge her.”

Shanks looked at the bartender with a confident but curious grin.

“Wish me luck.”

Aisha chuckled.

“Luck won’t help,” she warned him.

The pirate captain took his glass and bottle of rum only to set them down in front of the mysterious woman. She looked up at him with a quietioningly raised eyebrow but Shanks only sat comfortably in his chair. An adventurous glink in his eye and she knew exactly why he had approached her.

“Out flyt will test your speed and wit,” she began while leaning forward, “reveal a shameful lack of grit.”

Shanks picked up the bottle of rum.

“Whether I win or lose this flyt,” he spoke as he poured himself a glass of alcohol, “your company is much delight.”

He winked at her but she only scoffed.

“If delight is what you seek in a flyt, I’m afraid you’ve found yourself in plight.” The woman leaned on her forearms, her fingers intertwined. The small flame of the candle warmed her face but also have her something of a reverse halo - a cloud of darkness crowned her face. “A man must be out of mind, to approach a snake expecting it not to bite. If you’re a pirate without grit, be honest and admit.”

The red-haired pirate did not let himself be left behind. He also leaned forward, a curious shadow prancing across his handome, rugged face as the struggling flame danced between them. The tension between the strangers almost putting it out.

“Why should my forte be grit, if I can’t charm a woman with it?” Shanks asked before taking a long sip of his rum.

“Perhaps you can’t speak rough because your spirit isn’t tough. Or maybe you’re not man enough?”

Shanks let out a raspy laugh.

“Oh, I am a man, no doubt,” he assured with amusement. “Find your proof among this crowd.” In a casual manner, he pointed over his shoulder towards his scattered, jolly crew. “I am the best pirate around.”

“And yet you’re less harmful than a trout. Looking like a wet dog with a pout.” The woman tilted her head, a dangerous glint appeared in her darkened eyes. Something wicked sprouted in her mind. “The ladies in town seem to be in drought. I don’t suppose you know anything about?”

But Shanks didn’t seem to take much offence in your insult at his prowess. His lips curved into a sly smirk.

“As true as your words might be, I fail to see disgust when you look at me. Your pretty eyes are shining bright. You’re starting to like me, am I right?” he asked with raised eyebrows. It seemed that he already knew the answer and just wanted to rub it in, gloat in his triumphant trick.

The woman pursed her lips and nodded slowly.

“Your words are sweet, I’ll give you that,” she said with a sigh. “It’s starting to amuse me, our little chat. Although I’m still waiting for an insult to be spat.”

“Sharp words are not on my mind when your charm made me blind.” His toothy grin is glistening in the low candlelight. “A more enamouring woman I doubt I will find. So, would you be so kind and agree to be dined?”

She bit her lower lip to stop herself from laughing out loud. Although she shook her head with disapproval, she was undoubtedly amused with his antics.

“How could such an offer be declined?” she asked. “I’m not sure if you’re terrible at flyting or great.” It was both strange and wonderful to hear her speak naturally. “Despite your avid refusal to actually partake in flyting.”

It seemed she really did want Shanks to be at least a little rude. Having said that, she was still debating whether she should think his refusal tedious or alluring.

“Usually I buy a lady a drink before getting mean with her.”

“Does it work for you?”

“Without fail.”

A moment of intimate yet tense silence falls between them; a quietness reserved for pondering and weighing chances. Should she or should she not?

The woman takes Shank’s bottle of rum and pours some into her glass.

“And so I succumb to a charming pirate and his rum. Who knows, maybe he’ll get to make me…” she cut her sentence short and cleared her throat. “Nevermind.”

But he did mind. God only knows how much he did mind.

#opla #one piece #one piece netflix #live action one piece #opla shanks #one piece shanks #red hair shanks #shanks x you #shanks one piece #shanks x reader #one piece x reader #one piece fanfic #one piece imagine #opla fanfiction #opla imagine #opla fanfic #opla fic #shanks fanfiction #shanks fic #shanks imagine #shanks

[howtofightwrite]

Sorry if you’ve already answered this, I’m having trouble finding different posts in your blog.

I know a lot of your asks are more practical-related, but how do you suggest fully encapsulating the horror and tragedy of war in a (fantasy) battle scene? I really need that emotional and gory impact but it also to seem reasonably realistic.

My favourite references are Battle of the Bastards in GoT and scenes from Lord of the Rings.

Thanks!!

Martin and Tolkien are not two authors I’d ever expect to find together when discussing thematic and abstract concepts like the horrors of war in their writing. One of them is extremely deep, and the other is a puddle. Neither of them are particularly “realistic” but only one of them claims that pretense while drawing from real history. If you’re wanting horrors of war, you’re much better off moving away from Martin and taking a gander at the actual War of the Roses.

Let me explain.

Tolkien served as an officer during World War I. By sheer body count, The Great War was one of the most bloody and brutal wars in human history. As a point of reference, over a million soldiers died during the Battle of Somme. Perhaps as importantly, World War I killed the cultural concept of the Summer War. Before World War I, the British upper class viewed war as a game. War was an adventure, something young men did between reaching manhood and getting married. Watson from Sherlock Holmes is an excellent example of the end result for this particular outlook. They figured they’d go off, have some jolly good fun, get a few scars, and be back in a few weeks in time for tea. What they got was a meat grinder. Two of Tolkien’s close friends died during the war. He also lived through the bombings during World War II while working as a professor at Oxford, he experienced the devastating effects that war had on the civilian population first hand, and, likely, saw a few of his students die. Despite his hatred of allegory, the man was working through some shit in The Lord of the Rings.

If you’re interested in learning more about World War I or even about effectively demonstrating the horrors of war, I do recommend reading All Quiet on the Western Front. I read it once in high school (more years ago than I’d like to admit here) and, much like Elie Wiesel, it has stuck with me. It was also such an effective anti-war novel the Nazis banned it and it was one of the first books they publicly burnt, so you know it’s good.

Back to Tolkien.

What they don’t tell you about fantasy is that it’s real life, just with elves and dwarves and magic. The real world forms the foundation of fantasy and it’s the humanity of the emotional experience in war, the good and the bad, with both ends cranked all the way to eleven that really makes Tolkien’s work so impactful. LOTR is operatic by design, but what keeps the narrative from falling into melodrama is the core thematic message underneath the pageantry. One of the major themes is hope, which gets symbolized in light, and hope’s interplay with despair, symbolized in darkness. Not just a rosy view of it either, but the genuine struggle to keep the light burning against all the overwhelming reasons to give up or give in. Tolkien allows his characters to be corrupted and redeemed, their struggle with temptation before ultimately choosing the better path or failing and falling into darkness. He commits to the idea that hope can be restored in the unlikeliest of places.

Boromir’s death is, perhaps, one of the best examples of Tolkien’s philosophy in action. Boromir is a character we’re not sure of, he wants the one ring from the outset, he’s the only one advocating that it shouldn’t be destroyed. The hearts of men are easily corrupted. When he tries to take the ring from Frodo, he falls into his worst instincts and breaks the Fellowship. But then, against the overwhelming flood of Uruk-hai, Boromir tries to save Merry and Pippin. He fights wounded, shot again, and again, until he’s felled by twenty arrows and he fails. Yet, in his failure he restores Aragorn’s hope in his people, gives him a reason to fight for Gondor, and inspires the audience to believe in Man’s potential for greatness.

Tolkien could have left Boromir in the dark, but he didn’t. He could’ve given into cynicism, but he didn’t. In every adaptation, Boromir’s death never fails to get me bawling. Boromir is both good and bad, both dark and light, his best and worst instincts are driven by the same underlying, sympathetic reason—his desire to save his people and fulfill his duty to his father.

On the whole, I find Tolkien’s presentation of the human condition and war to be more compelling and realistic than Martin’s. Tolkien’s underlying themes have more in common with All Quiet on the Western Front, Saving Private Ryan, and HBO’s Band of Brothers. For all that his characters often feel larger than life (by design, he’s telling an epic) there’s always a grounding quality that allows the audience to connect with them. Whether we agree with Tolkien’s core thematic message or not, Tolkien genuinely has something to say about warfare and its effect, both on personal and world changing levels, and he communicates that message very well.

The irony about the “horrors of war” isn’t about the horrors of war. Thematically, the “horrors of war” is about who we choose to become in the face of them when trapped in the crucible. Do we rise to our best selves? Do we fall to our worst? When every illusion about who we believe we are is stripped away, what’s left? It’s an existential question, not a “realistic” one.

You can’t write about the horrors of war in fiction if you have nothing to say about war, humanity, and its effects. All you’ll end up with is gore for shock value. The world becomes hopelessly depressing, and, in the end, all the blood turns brown before it’s finally shat out.

Hi, Martin.

Don’t get me wrong, Martin is a very skilled writer. His prose is genuinely beautiful and his first book in ASOF, A Game of Thrones is actually a pretty decent deconstruction in the traditional fantasy narrative and a fairly realistic treatment of how events would go for the standard well-meaning fantasy protagonist. And that’s… the deepest we get.

Martin comes out of the 24/Joss Whedon death for shock value school of writing and the land of Iron Age comics that doesn’t have anything to really say beyond, “people suck.” Underneath it all is a level of cynicism in the human condition that would make Garth Ennis blush. The deaths are just shock value. There’s nothing more to it than that. Once you’ve acclimated to the gore, there’s nowhere else to go and nothing else to think about. Ironically, out of his contemporaries, Robert Jordan is better at giving both war and death in his narrative lasting effect, driving character growth, and real meaning.

Martin and Tolkien are opposite ends of the spectrum in their approach to war and their outlooks are utterly incompatible. One of them is a complete cynic and the other is facing himself honestly, openly, fearlessly, and without a smidgen of irony. (The true irony here is that the latter is the Englishman.) Following Martin’s blueprint won’t bring you to a Tolkien outcome. Tolkien’s genuine emotion is the subject of mockery in Martin’s world. Season 8 may’ve been clumsy and infuriating, but it was the natural end of Comic Book Iron Age cynicism. There are no good people, people with power can never be trusted, and all heroes, no matter how noble, reveal their true colors as villains in the end. As Christopher Nolan said, “You either die a hero or live long enough to become a villain.” This philosophical outlook may be sold as realistic but it’s really just Political Both Sidesism, Fantasy Edition.

The irony is that the real history Martin draws from, The War of the Roses, is simultaneously crueler, kinder, more noble, more horrific, more impactful, and ultimately more hopeful than Martin’s own work. And this was post the Hundred Years War and all the wars that preceded it.

I bring you, the Duality of Man.

If you want to write a realistic battle scene, start with real war. If you want to write about the horrors of war, start with real war. Pick a war, any war, and dig in. Reading the experiences of others is a way to gain insight into experiences you yourself don’t share and start to process the different philosophies born out of those experiences. The horror of war is a human one.

The most important lesson is that you won’t get there by focusing on the battle itself. To truly feel the impact, every character needs to be carefully built from the very beginning with a through line to every horrific event that happens to them. If you want to learn how to do that, then you need to go study every single war movie from good to bad (including the jingoistic rah-rah ones) like Apocalypse Now, Saving Private Ryan, Battle for Iwo Jima, etc, to really start internalizing the underlying storytelling structure and character design formula that makes those films tick. There’s no one better at portraying the horror and humanity of war than the war film industry. Part of what makes the best of these films really good is their willingness to allow their characters to be emotional and vulnerable. Which you won’t find in a lot of fantasy novels that run on machismo, but is the secret sauce that gives Tolkien his impact.

Having the confidence to allow your characters to struggle, be vulnerable, experience humiliating circumstances, and appear weak is an aspect of writing that a lot of men and women struggle with. Cynicism is a form of self-protection to keep those emotions away, to keep one from being emotionally invested, and is a means by which we protect ourselves from being hurt. We may portray cynicism as the more realistic reality but it’s just a cloak we hide behind. Martin’s approach to warfare is less realistic than Tolkien’s. Tolkien’s characters approach warfare with an eye toward protecting their civilians, safeguarding their future, or, in the case of his villains, focus on genocide. War for Tolkien is the eradication of civilization and the destruction of the future. Characters from experienced combatants to innocent civilians are willing to risk their lives for a world and for the people who matter to them. Martin has the Summer War. It’s there in the title, A Game of Thrones. An entertaining charade of musical chairs. And while all of his characters are chasing power, almost none of them have any sort of vision or goal for the future beyond the accumulation of more. In Martin’s world, the only way to truly win is not to play, but in the real world playing is the only way to create the world you want. Cynicism ends with no seats at the table and no means to change or save anything.

It’s funny because England during the War of the Roses had been in a state of near constant warfare for hundreds of years with their own domestic powers and France prior to the War of the Roses kicking off. The concept of a Summer War didn’t really exist for the medieval nobility. Much as we joke today about war being a game for medieval nobles due to their ransom protections, it really wasn’t. The peasantry was also much, much more dangerous en masse than they are in ASOF. They drove traveling monarchs to hide in monasteries plenty of times and, while that’s funny, it’s not actually a joke.

Now, picture Joffrey dragged off his horse in the middle of a riot and having his skull crushed by a local fishwife right before being trampled into a bloody, unrecognizable pulp by sharp hooves.

Or enjoying the Agincourt bathing route.

You’re welcome.

-Michi

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#how to fight write #Michi answers #writing advice #writing reference #writing tips

[bimb0fy]

a siren's call; monkey d luffy

parings: siren!reader x luffy

warnings: canabalism mentions, sexual themes, slight nudity (its only for a split second).

summary: luffy never expected to meet a siren in person, they always said they were ruthless, dangerous creatures. Creatures who lacked emotion and tricked men with their fake beauty. The beauty that yet blinded him.

word count: 1.2K

ᵐᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡⁱˢᵗ!! | ⁿᵃᵛⁱᵍᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ!!

— Luffy sat on the going merry's statue. He watched the ocean pass by as he smiled. He had everything he wanted. A loving crew, a ship, adventure on every step of the way to finding the one peice.

"Luffy! You might wanna see this!" Ussop called out as Luffy scrunched his face in confusion as he walked towards his crew, they were heading towards fog, yet, they were moving backwards?

"What the?" Luffy whispered before falling down as the ship crashed onto an island, he quickly got up as Zoro quickly jumped down to examine the harm that had happened to the ship, the following crew quickly following as well. He took off his hat as he saw the water penetrating the ship.

"It's broken, but fixable, don't worry." Zoro placed his hand on the boys shoulder who stared at the ship in pure sadness. "But now, we need to find shelter on this island, we can't risk adding weight to the ship.

"Seriously? Cooking over an open flame bow, what are we, animals?" Sanji complained as Nami rolled her eyes. Luffy wore his hat once more, Nami sat down on the floor, reading the maps.

"Guys, we aren't on the map." Nami said as the crew looked at her in pure confusion.

"What do you mean by, not on the map?" Luffy asked the girl who showed him the map that seemed like doodles to him. She stood up, pointing towards were they were supposed to be. "What sucked us in though?"

"There are tails, about a place at the ends of the east blue, siren Island." Zoro answered as he placed his leg on the rock, he leaned onto it, examining the woods inside. "They often control the waves or lure pirates by their 'angelic' voices. They lure pirates in and eat them alive, to keep them away from their land, the land that we just happened to land on."

Luffy turned around as he heard a voice. He started walking towards the voice as Nami held the boy back. He turned back to the girl, the voice instantly stopping.

"What did I just say." Zoro scoffed as he looked at the boy who smiled, he shrugged before walking back to the direction of the voice only for Sanji to stand in front of the boy.

"You hear angelic sounds and run the other direction mate, how are we not affected by this?" Sanji asked the boy who shrugged.

"I suppose it's based in preference, maybe the voice is appealing to him but not to us." Zoro shrugged. They heard noises coming from the shore, Turing around to find a girl in the water, waiting for her first victim.

She's so pretty. Luffy thought as he walked towards her, escaping Nami's grasp as he approached the girl. "Hi there! Where you the one singing?" Luffy asked the girl who nodded, she stood up, her seaweed makeshift top clung onto her, as her tail moved gracefully on the shore. The wind blew her hair away, her top occasionally flying away with it. "Well, it's really great! You know, we could use a singer on our crew!"

"Is her serious?" Nami asked the other who shrugged, Sanji walked up to Luffy, only for the girl to sneer at the boy as she grabbed Luffy, pushing him into the water.

"Luffy!" Nami yelled as Zoro reached for his swords, only for Ussop to stop him. She sneered her fangs at the boy who stood still. He raised his hands up, his eyes widening at the loss of his powers.

"We're not gonna hurt you. We'll leave, we just need help fixing our ship." Luffy said as he pointed towards his ship. The siren turned around to find the going merry. She turned back to the boy, looking deep into his innocent eyes. She let go of the boy, swimming back into the ocean. Sanji and Nami quickly helped Luffy up as Zoro made sure the siren who attacked their captain was gone.

"Are you okay?" Zoro asked the boy who nodded. "What the hell did you say to her."

"I just said we wouldn't hurt her." Luffy shrugged, soon afterwards they heard footsteps behind them, ussop and Zoro quickly turning around to find the siren from before, just in human form. She raised her hands up, smiling at the crew.

"Sorry for that, we sirens don't know who to trust and not too, constantly being hunted by pirates and all. I was just protecting my people, my sincerest apologies." She smiled at the crew, Luffy took off his hat as he stared at the girl. "Are you okay? I didn't hurt you did I?"

"No, I'm just fine." Luffy smiled at the girl who nodded. She turned back to carry a few wooden planks, throwing them onto the sand.

"To help rebuild your ship, take care." The siren nodded before walking away, Luffy quickly ran after her, grabbing her hand. She turned back to look at the boy. "Yes?"

"I still want you to join our crew." Luffy told the girl who sighed. She turned back, her graceful aura overcame Luffy's actions, he didn't know if it was because she was a siren, or if she had truly stolen his heart.

"A siren, joining pirates? Why would I do that?" The siren asked the boy who smiled.

"We're a different kind of pirates. We need a singer." Luffy smiled at the girl who shook her head. "You won't hurt me, or any of us."

"Sirens need human flesh to quench their thirst every month, what if I accidently kill you, or your crew?" The siren added as the boy turned back to his crewmates. He turned back to the siren, smiling at her.

"Then we'll find a substitute, or we'll let you leave and come back a day later, whatever you need." Luffy told the girl who turned to face the going merry. She always wanted to be a pirate ironically, now she had the chance, why not take it?

"Okay." She nodded. Luffy jumped in happiness as he dragged the girl back to his crew.

"Okay guys! This is uh," he turned over to the girl who smiled.

"Y/n." She answered as Luffy nodded, Turing back to his crew.

"Y/n, she's apart of our crew now!" Luffy smiled as Zoro's face quickly changed.

"What! She just tried to kill you?" Nami yelled as the siren put her head down.

"She was just protecting her family, like you guys protecting me." Luffy defended the girl, causing her to smile. The crew looked over at eachother.

"Is she gonna eat us?" Ussop asked the boy who scoffed. Y/n crossed her arms as she frowned. She knew it was hard for humanity to accept siren, yet no one had ever bathmouthed her straight to her face.

"Guys seriously? I'm captain and I say she stays." Luffy scoffed at his crewmates who sighed. He was right, he had full authority, more then anyone else.

"Aye eye captian, I must say, she is a rather pretty lady." Sanji joked as he winked at the siren who rolled her eyes.

"I will eat your face off if you talk to me that way again." She threatened the boy who frowned as Zoro laughed at the boy.

"I'll grab a few sirens to help rebuild your ship, I'll be back." The siren smiled at the boy who held onto her.

"Wait." He said, handing you his hat, placing it on the girls head. "Now you have to come back."

"I will." The siren smiled at the boy who nodded, she walked to the shore swimming off as he smiled at the ocean.

"What a lady huh!"

"She still tried to kill you."

#one piece live action #monkey d. luffy #monkey d luffy #monkey d luffy fanfic #luffy x reader #monkey d luffy x reader #opla luffy #one piece live action luffy #x reader #x female reader #x siren reader

[nightswatchdisbandmentera]

The idea that GRRM is anti Tolkien is particularly funny because ASOIAF is sprinkled with rather intricate (and even passionate) homages to LOTR. And I can’t help but think of how Tolkien’s Fellowship, more specifically the Hobbits, may have inspired GRRM’s Night’s Watch. Jon Snow, for starters, is in many ways a combination of LOTR’s Frodo and Aragorn. And in the same way that Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin are unexpected heroes in LOTR (because who looks to a hobbit as the face of an epic adventure?), Jon the bastard becomes the leader of a ragtag of socially disenfranchised men (in the form of the NW) who are anything but heroic. Sure there’s the odd knight or noble in there, but the NW is quite full of criminals and the very worst of the social order. The hobbits aren’t the strongest or the sharpest but they become the face of the fight against Sauron. And the NW, while being severely undermanned and under-equipped, has become the main force that stands against winter. GRRM even adds a love letter to Tolkien’s Sam Gamgee by adding his on Sam - Sam Tarly - who acts as a moral compass and counselor to Jon, in the same ways that Sam Gamgee is key to Frodo’s journey. And just like Frodo, Jon gets his very own pair of jokester friends, one of whine is even named Pyp. So it’s all very beautiful and nice, and we should talk about it more because it’s super evident that GRRM is a massive Tolkien fanboy. But I do have to say tho, GRRM’s take on Gandalf is exceedingly hilarious just because Melisandre is famously very bad at her job.

#asoiaf #lord of the rings #lotr #Gandalf - old and scary and very competent at his job #Mel - very old very scary and displays varying levels of competence #jokes aside another cool parallel between Jon and Frodo is that both #choose to embark on this dangerous journey because who else will do it? #Lots of arguing about who will destroy the ring who should have it etc and Frodo is just like #I’m ready to do what needs to be done even if it takes me to Mordor #Which is very similar to Jon who watches the rest of Westeros bicker about some stupid chair #And he’s willing to sacrifice his life and win no glory to save humanity in the face of an existential threat #And don’t think I need to get too much into Jon’s similarities with Aragorn because they’re plain as day #Also the iron throne and the ring of power having cool parallels? #Anyway asoiaf is so heavily inspired by LoTR and grrm is a such a huge fanboy #It’s insane that people think he hates Tolkien or whatever #jon snow #sam tarly #pyp #grenn #the night’s watch #frodo baggins #sam gamgee #merry brandybuck #pippin took #melisandre of asshai #gandalf #valyrianscrolls

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Eva Dahlbeck (Smiles of a Summer Night, A Lesson in Love, Kastrullresan)— Beautiful, formidable, funny. Ingmar Bergman called her a "battleship of femininity" and cast her in several of his comedies. It's a joy to see her pulling all the strings in Smiles of a Summer Night while her two boyfriends make utter fools of themselves.

Maureen O’Hara (The Parent Trap, The Quiet Man)—They called her the Queen of Technicolor. That right there should help introduce people to the fiery, wonderful, stunning Maureen O’Hara. She was from Ireland, born in 1920, and started in theater at the age of ten. At 15, she was winning drama awards, including one for her performance as Portia in the Merchant of Venice. At 16, she was the youngest pupil to graduate from the Guildhall School of Music. By 18, she transitioned to film, starting off with a bang alongside Charles Laughton in Hitchcock’s Jamaica Inn, and proceeded to work steadily up through the early 1970s. She was in adventures and comedies and romances, spent a lot of time in westerns giving merry hell to John Wayne (and less merry hell to the indomitable John Ford — she held her own even when he was verbally abusive and demeaning to her). She was in The Quiet Man, which was the first American-made film entirely filmed in a foreign country. She helped make American Christmas what it is with Miracle on 34th Street. She played a lineup of headstrong, forthright women second only, perhaps, to Katharine Hepburn. She was married three times, lived for a while with a boyfriend in Mexico, sued for custody of her daughter in the 1950s, AND sued a magazine for libel in the same era. After mostly retiring from acting, she edited a magazine. She eventually sold the magazine to spend more time with her grandson, but even then ran a ladies fashion store. She was an outspoken, brilliant, passionate lady, with amazing red hair, a career to envy, and — well — that face!

This is round 1 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut]

Eva Dahlbeck:

Maureen O'Hara:

I thought she was one of the most beautiful women in the world when I was a kid and I have yet to really change my mind. Always loved her temper and her red hair. Plus she was kind of a MILF in The Parent Trap

Haughty, red hair, hot.

The hair. The accent. The figure. The acting chops. The perfection.

I would have to give up my passport if I didn't submit Maureen O'Hara but also have you seen her? Not only did she look like that (she was called the Queen of Technicolor, though she wasn't a big fan of that sobriquet), she was also very funny and tough as nails. She faced off against Walt Disney in a contract dispute and the legend goes that when someone mentioned her at his deathbed, he sat up and said 'That bitch!'. Her comment on that story is "At least he didn't think of me and say, 'That wimp'." She struggled to get serious roles for a time, saying ""Hollywood would never allow my talent to triumph over my face," so she plays the sexy princess/pirate/harem girl in a LOT of early movies that she referred to as "Tits and Sand" films, she being the tits in question. She also turned down so many leading men and studio bosses (Errol Flynn and Howard Hughes are among her rejects) that there were rumours spread that she was a lesbian. Many egos were battered it seems. I'm including the infamous Lady Godiva scene in the photo propaganda for the sheer Moment of it [link] . It was a bit of a flop critically, but it was one of Clint Eastwood's first film appearances and she said he told her later that he was very glad of the money at the time. She was a very proud Irish woman and when she went for her American citizenship they insisted on referring to her as British (the timeline of Irish independence is a bit wibbly wobbly, we won't get into it here). She refused to accept American citizenship under that condition and argued her way through every level of US immigration she could find, supposedly saying "I'm not responsible for your antiquated records here in Washington", until a judge finally gave up and said "Give her what she wants, just get her out of here". This made her the first ever person seeking US citizenship to be proclaimed Irish on the record! And while we don't embrace the leprechaun imagery quite so enthusiastically today, her dressing her dog up in a little shamrock hat is too cute for you all to miss so I'm including that in the photo propaganda.

*Marge Simpson voice*: I just think she's neat 🤷‍♀️

#maureen o'hara #eva dahlbeck #fuck that old woman #hotvintagepoll #ladies 1

[maddie-grove]

Most Common Problems Faced by My Childhood Dolls (Grouped by Type of Doll)

Baby/Companion Dolls: life-threatening diseases; bullying by other dolls at school; my dubious discipline style; my divorce from my imaginary husband Jake.

Groovy Girls: bullying by other Groovy Girls; life-altering gymnastics accidents; feet too unwieldy for go-go boots.

Barbies: false witchcraft accusations; real witches; tuberculosis; kidnapping; the time Ken and his brother Adam started a polygamous cult; bullying by other Barbies (whether in a normal high school or a beauty pageant or a cult); basically anything bad that happened to female movie stars in Hollywood under the studio system; the challenges of raising a million Chrissies and Kellies and Stacies and Skippers and similarly sized off-brand child dolls with little help from Ken or Adam; sibling rivalry (including an East of Eden-style mess between Ken and Adam).

Dollhouse Families: my friend Emily C. (I was Emily S.) stealing the mom doll from my old Fisher-Price family, leaving John (the dad) a widower, so when I got a new family a few years later, I decided that John should marry Patricia, the mom of the new family, which made it necessary for me to interpret Robbie (almost certainly meant to be a dad doll) as Patricia's teenage son, which was obviously very emotionally confusing for Robbie and exacerbated the usual tensions of a newly blended family.

Clothespin Dolls: Nancy, Alice, and Lily, the three charming clothespin dolls made by my genuinely talented great-aunt Beth in the 1960s or 1970s, were grown-up sisters who had a complicated dynamic (both Nancy and Lily had serious psychological and/or substance abuse issues, so Alice had to take care of them and Nancy's children and her own children) and also experienced nineteenth-century-literature-style problems, like diphtheria and ice-skating accidents and bear attacks. The clothespin dolls that I created myself as a tween/young teen were not as well-made, but their problems were generally limited to normal high school bullshit (not even the kind where you get poisoned or kidnapped!).

Miscellaneous Medium-Sized Figurines (mostly fast food toys of Disney characters and mini-Barbies): various passive-aggressive rivalries between groups (mini-Barbies vs. movie/TV characters, Disney vs. non-Disney, movie vs. TV, protagonist vs. non-protagonist, etc.); a lack of eligible bachelors (leading to unwise marriages, such as Belle from Beauty and the Beast marrying a temperamental Space Jam monster); ennui.

Playmobils: the Playmobils had a nearly utopian society, relatively free from poverty and class snobbery, and generally this diverse group of Union soldiers, stuffy Victorians, pirates, outlaws, royalty, horse girls, milkmaids, and fairies were able to work out their differences peacefully. However, all that progressive modernity had a dark side, most clearly illustrated by the Kafkaesque ordeal of Oliver, a boy who was imprisoned for no discernable reason by an evil psychiatrist and his social worker girlfriend despite the desperate efforts of his mother to free him. Intense wartime romances and infectious disease outbreaks were also common themes.

Fisher-Price Great Adventure Action Figures: these rather hideous but very fun toys (consisting of an anachronistic mix of knights, pirates, cowboys, and Robin Hood's Merry Men) belonged to my seven-years-younger brother, so we would play with them a lot while I was looking after him. Naturally there was a lot of military conflict and criminal activity built into our play (will Robin Hood and his friends be able to steal the treasure from the castle? Will the golden knights or the black knights win the big battle? Who will stop the stagecoach robberies?), but, to entertain myself, I would introduce storylines such as "the Golden Sword Knight is tired of being bullied by the other knights, so he runs away and goes to live in the forest with Robin Hood's gang, where he falls in love with a female outlaw" and "Little John starts a AC/DC-style rock band with two of the black knights and everyone hates it."

Fisher-Price Little People: easily the most provincial of the doll groups, the Fisher-Price Little People struggled with extreme class/wealth inequality, widespread adultery, child abuse, teen homelessness, practically non-existent resources for the disabled, sexual repression, a character known only as "The Pervert," and a killer clown. Every day they went to school and work, and every night they tried to find someone to hook up with and maybe got kidnapped. I only wish my brother and I had been in possession of the motel playset. Think of all the extramarital affairs and drug deals that could have happened there!

Polly Pockets: the Polly Pocket community was dominated by two wealthy factions, a nouveau riche pair of brothers with a beach party house and the royal family. Due to a severe job and housing shortage, plus the local men's habit of not acknowledging their natural children, ordinary Polly Pockets had to struggle and scrape. Compared with the Barbies, there was a lot of solidarity among women (and also Josh, the one working-class boy Polly Pocket). Many of the Polly Pockets were very fragile, including the alcoholic Cowgirl Becky and the agoraphobic piano player Penny.

Paper Dolls: intense status jockeying over who had the most/best clothes, mainly. They also fought about friendships and (if there were any of them) boys, but it ultimately came down to clothes.

#dolls #little john's signature song was called 'ride to hell' #'we're going along on a ride to hell/why don't you come along and feel the trail' #it was not good and everyone was so mad at him

[steamedbeefs]

With a flourish of his hand…

…the Dragon’s Woods began to thin around the adventures, and signs of civilization began to appear.

Drake’s Cove was an old fishing village, weathered by age and the sea surrounding it. Farmlands and small houses made of river stone and thick logs of oak wood dotted the land, their thatched roofs rustling in the wind. The homes were sparse at first, with patches of trees and large expanses of farmland between them, but as the land rolled downwards towards the cove, where the ocean lapped at the stoney shore, the houses grew closer together and the farms became smaller. One main cobblestone road ran through the main part of town, in some places covered in mud from carriages or sand from the beach, while footpaths and rotten boardwalks branched off in every direction, beating down the tall beach grass.

Near the cove stood a large inn, with rickety wooden piers surrounding it on both sides, multiple fishing boats moored against them, bumping against the docks with soft thumps as the waves rocked them back and forth. Skillet smiled as the inn came into view through his shaggy fur, and he gestured for his young hirelings to follow him deeper into town.

Our fearless Captain Skillet leads our adventurers into the town of Drake’s Cove with a destination in mind. What waits for them there?

#writing #writing wip #writing on tumblr #writer on tumblr #writers of tumblr #short story #dungeons and dragons #dnd #dnd homebrew #dnd campaign #dnd stuff #dnd5e #dnd oc #the adventures of the merry men

[thebigbiwolf]

Starvin', Darlin' - Chapter 1

Pairing: Not quite friends to lovers Astarion x OC/F!Tav

Chapter Summary: Astarion knows his power is waning, and seducing their leader Evelyn has gone poorly at best. If he is to keep himself in the tiefling's good graces, he's left with no other options. He must drink from a thinking creature.

Everything goes according to plan... until it doesn't.

Fic Tags: Minor spoilers for Act 1, The Bite Scene, Emotional slow burn, Angst, Teasing, Frottage (god I'm sorry), Pining, This is my first ever fic so idk how to tag things appropriately but you get the gist.

Fic Warnings: Eventual Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI), Language, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubcon (I cannot stress this enough), Bloodlust/Loss of control, Mentions of blood, lmk if you need anything else tagged.

Word Count: 6.1k

Read on Ao3: Here

A/N: I started this as a way to get this fruity fuck out of my head but I think I just made the situation worse. If you know me, no you don't. If you've followed me for a long time, sorry in advance. I may make this a mini-series depending on time and reception, but we'll see! OC is a rogue who seduces men to gain their favor but we'll get to that in later chapters.

Astarion's trance did not come easily that night; his hunger manifesting as a throbbing headache that refused to subside. It had been hours of tossing and turning in his tent, willing his body to settle, forcing himself to ruminate on the past few weeks.

Before he joined this disgustingly merry little group of adventurers, hunting rabbits and the occasional boar had been enough to sustain him. In fact, dining on larger animals had been a significant upgrade from the meager flies and rats he’d become so accustomed to under his master’s rule, but that was before all of this incessant hard labor. 

He could feel his strength waning over the last several days. His senses were dulling, his reflexes numbed. Just this morning, he had failed to gain the upper hand with a particularly nasty kobold. He paid for it dearly when the damned thing all but pummeled him into the ground. 

Luckily, Lae’zel had been there, hammer at the ready to divorce its jaw from its head. Beautifully done, by the way, but his blunder did not go unnoticed. All this sneaking around for barely a nibble during his watch was beginning to take its toll.

Astarion knew he was on thin ice, considering his relationship with their fearless, incomparable leader began with him pulling a knife on her and grappling her to the ground -  in front of the damn wizard, no less. Some friction was to be expected.

But things hadn’t progressed much between the two of them since then. The pair rarely saw eye to eye on anything, and she seemed to have an innate passion for berating him over his unwillingness to stop for every single injured bird or helpless child as they traveled - as if playing the part of a hero was a favorable distraction from the literal time bomb in both their party and their heads. 

“The world is full of potential allies, Astarion,” she had told him, sprinkled with a hint of her usual irritation. “I’m simply expanding our network.” As if a group of starving refugees and mud-slinging tree huggers were going to find them a decent healer any sooner. At this point, he’d heavily considered taking his chances with the goblins. At least they knew how to have fun.

What made matters even more frustrating was that Evelyn was seemingly unaffected by his charms.

Just how exactly was he supposed to secure his place under her protection when the woman barely spared him a second glance? Surely he wasn’t losing his touch. He was a master of seduction. Thousands of others had thrown themselves at his feet for far less effort. He’s had centuries of practice. The mere notion would be ridiculous.

In fact, he couldn’t remember a single moment in the last two hundred years where his advances had been so callously brushed off. Every attempt to make her laugh with his (admittedly morbid) quips was met with her chastising him for being insensitive and making threats to send him back to camp. She dismissed every flirtation, even if her lovely little blush betrayed her. She seemed determined to make him play her little game. He just hasn’t quite figured out what the rules are, yet.

Astarion couldn’t afford to take any more chances. If sleeping his way into her good graces wasn't an option, he was left with little choice. He wanted to make himself indispensable, so he was going to have to take drastic measures to ensure that his strength and physical prowess would never come into question. At least, not again.

He would have to drink from a thinking creature.

The idea of it was as invigorating as it was terrifying. He had spent the last two centuries enduring unimaginable cruelty, starved in ways mortals couldn’t begin to imagine--for years--without any reprieve. 

No, starving doesn’t even scratch the surface. No words could ever describe the tortuous, gnawing, ravenous hunger that consumed his every waking moment under the heavy weight of Cazador’s boot.

Though, Cazador wasn’t here now, was he? 

Curious.

Astarion had spent some time ruminating on who to approach before settling on Evelyn, though his options were limited at best. The githyanki was entirely out of the question; gods forbid he get caught, she would make quick work of him without allowing him so much as a single word of explanation. Shadowheart was…tempting, but that mark on her hand frequently caused her pain, and who knows if that magic would have any affect on him or worse, her taste? And Gale, well, he would rather subsist on a diet of garlic sprinkled with holy water before he put his lips anywhere near that man.

So, Evelyn it was. The tiefling wasn't terrible to look at. She was a younger woman full of vitality, so surely she wouldn’t miss a bit of her blood. He would just have to mind the horns. 

He would be in and out. A quick nibble, then he'd be right as rain. One bite, he tells himself, barely enough to leave a mark. Then, he’ll pass it off and say that they had been attacked by bats during his watch and, not wanting to wake everyone, he quietly dispatched them and saved the day. Unfortunately, not before one of those wretched little beasts managed to puncture their illustrious hero. It was the perfect plan. Infallible. They'll eat it right up.

He continues passing through camp undetected, catlike in his silence, but when he reaches the canvas entrance of her tent ready to pounce, he freezes at the sight of her.

She looked…different while she slept. Softer, gentler, almost; surrounded by a nest of fur blankets, snoozing away instead of attacking his ego. Her hair was puddled beneath her head and horns like dark, red wine; rich and unrestrained by her usual loose bun. 

Another realization hits him: this is the first time Astarion has ever seen her in her sleep clothes, a simple basic black wrapping across her breasts. Practical. Of course.

Her skin is pale enough to rival his own, even with the warmth of the firelight. She’s lying on her side, her uncovered shoulder lightly dusted in freckles, much like her cheeks. Her lips are slightly parted, and in the silence of the night air, he can hear her light, even breaths.

Cute, he thinks to himself. He could almost forgive her for being so maddeningly aloof with a face like that. Almost. 

Astarion leans over to brush her hair away from her neck; the strands softer than he had anticipated. The thrum of her pulse underneath is magnetic. It pulls at his very being, beckoning him closer.

Settling on his knees beside her, his arms form a cage around her body.

He takes in the image of her form one last time and allows himself a moment to savor it. She is toned and lithe, much like himself, but smaller. Perfect. Delectable. 

He bends closer, feeling her gentle puffs of breath on his shoulder; the warmth of her body. His ears ring with anticipation; manicured nails clench the sheets by her head.

She’s going to be so-

Something brushes his leg, hidden beneath the furs.

Her tail. He forgot about her bloody tail.

Evelyn stirs, and fully awakens right as his teeth are at her throat, eyes meeting his. 

Shit.

“Shit.”

With incredible speed, she reflexively reaches for the dagger closest to her pillow, lunging at him. He just barely seizes her arm in time to save himself from being skewered.

“What in the hells are you-” he clasps his palm over her mouth to silence her.

The girl’s eyes are wild with panic, their golden hues burning a hole in his skull. He notices them flit down to where his body hovers over hers before she begins to struggle against him. “No, no, shh,” he whispers. “It’s not what it looks like, I swear.” 

Her expression shifts from panicked to confused. She ceases her squirming. Good. Well, not good, but better. He can work with this.

“When I take my hand away, you have to promise not to scream and wake the whole camp,” he continues, hushed, “unless you’d like for them to find us tangled up in your bedroll. You wouldn’t want to give them the wrong impression now, would you, darling?”

Her eyes widen. Her face flushes deep red, warming his palm against her skin.

There, he thinks, that should-

Her body turns, and suddenly he feels the hard edge of Evelyn’s knee make contact with the corner of his ribs. A direct hit. Pain shoots up his chest as he rolls off of her and onto his side, clutching himself and coughing, heaving air back into his lungs.

She hurriedly covers herself with her sheets, glaring at him as he struggles to collect his breath. He can see her fuming through the tears forming in the corner of his vision. If looks could kill, he’s sure she would have him skinned alive. Maybe use what's left of him to scare away the crows. 

She’s still holding the knife out toward him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? What do you think you’re doing in here?” 

A fair question, one he was not prepared to answer. Perfect. He’s just going to have to wing this. Possibly with two broken ribs. He can’t believe he expected this to go any smoother.

“I-I wasn’t going to hurt you.” He raises a hand and falls back on his thighs with a grunt, grimacing in pain. His other clutches his side, a bit of sweat forming at his brow. “I just…” 

Okay, this is it. He’s got this.

“I just needed, well,” 

Aaaaand,

“Blood.”

There. Excellent form, Astarion. Good show.

“I - You needed what?”

She blinks at him, whether in disbelief or shock, he cannot say.

It takes a moment before his words start to sink in. She takes that time to scan over his body, purposefully. 

He couldn’t quite tell if she was looking for something or if she was deciding whether or not to believe him, but then again, what other explanation could he give? 

He works over his options in his head, considering just how difficult it would be to pass this all off as a terrible joke, but just as he’s about to open his mouth to start on damage control, he hears Evelyn heave a deep sigh. She lowers her weapon, then tosses it to the side, massaging her eyes in frustration. 

Oh. Well, alright.

After some time, he watches her expression soften into understanding as a few notable things dawn on her. He’s never really eaten any meals with them, has he? Then there was the drained boar, which he so carelessly left out by the road.  The damned beast hadn’t even taken the edge off that night, and he was so desperate to quell the nagging ache in his stomach that it lay there forgotten until she found it the next morning. He admitted to her himself that it had been drained by a vampire, after all…

A bit of silence follows.

Astarion doesn’t say a word, doesn’t dare move a muscle. He just allows her the time to process whatever she’s feeling. What’s important is that he’s still alive, she hasn't run him out of camp, and she hasn’t screamed for help. 

He may be able to salvage this, yet.

She scratches the back of her head, carding her fingers through her hair to ease her irritation before finally meeting his gaze.

“Astarion.” The sound of his name leaving her lips pulls him from his thoughts. He can see the disappointment on her soft features just as plainly as he can feel it humming through their psionic link. 

He didn’t think himself capable of guilt, but there was an emotion akin to it brewing within his chest. Ugh. He breaks eye contact, searching for anything to pull his attention away from his discomfort. The miscellaneous bags of clothing and trinkets she had scattered about her tent were just oh so fascinating. And was that a new hairbrush? Hm. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

He’s taken aback by her question. He expected a more offensive reaction. A few insults, maybe ones pertaining to his sharp teeth or bloodlust, but an olive branch?

After all the lies, the invasion of privacy, and the failed attempt at assault?

She really is just full of surprises.

“Well, we aren’t exactly close, you and I. Though, you must admit, I’ve made several attempts to…” He waves a hand between them for emphasis, “mend the gap, so to speak.”

“Well, have you ever considered maybe not being such an asshole?”

Ouch.

But in fairness, no.

“I…” He thinks carefully about what to say next. The buzzing behind his eye socket acts as a threat, reminding him of the very fragile barrier between their minds. Should she choose to dig her claws in and pry the information out of him, she may find more than he's comfortable sharing, so Astarion makes a decision that surprises even himself. 

He chooses to be genuine.

“At best, I was sure you’d say no. More likely, you’d ram a stake through my ribs.” He gestures towards the dagger at her side. “But believe me, I’m not some monster. I’ve never killed another person.”

Evelyn raises an eyebrow at him. 

“Well, not for food,” he quickly corrects. “I’ve been subsisting on animals. Boars—like the one you found the other day—deer, kobolds, whatever I can get my hands on.”

“And what exactly was the plan here? You were just going to kill me and expect the others not to notice?” 

He recoils at the accusation but fights to keep his expression neutral. “I had no intention of killing you. I would never do such a thing.” He leans in closer to her and lowers his voice, as if letting her in on a secret. “We need each other.” 

Evelyn shifts to lean her weight on her arm as she listens, dark hair falling to the side of her shoulder. With the new level of exposure, he can hear her pulse settling into a more comfortable rhythm. 

He swallows. Hard. His hunger is rearing its ugly head again, just at the sound of her.

Oh well, might as well lay all the cards out on the table while we’re at it.

He takes a deep breath, steeling himself, and continues, “As it stands right now, I’m too slow. Too weak. If I just had a little blood, I could think clearer. Fight better.” There is a question hidden in his words, a favor to be asked.

She seems pensive as she considers him, mulling over everything he’s said in her mind. She lifts a thumb to her mouth and starts nibbling on her nail, no longer looking at him. Nervous too, no doubt. How could she not be with what he’s asking of her, as if he had any right to ask in the first place? 

“I understand you detest me, but-”

Evelyn appears to snap to some conclusion, sitting up straighter and placing her arms to her sides before she responds.

“No, I should detest you, Astarion, but I don’t. You just don’t impress me.”

Wow.

It feels as though he’s been slapped. He barks out a laugh that’s a bit too loud for the intimate setting, trying to mitigate the damage to his ego. “Excuse me?”

She has the nerve to shrug at him. “I’ve seen every trick you’ve used to fill your little black book, probably a thousand items over. I’ve used them all myself. So, frankly, I'm uninspired.”

For the first time in his undead life, he’s totally speechless. His face contorts in indignation, disbelief. This devil.

There is something dangerous in her expression as she leans further forward, neck tilted, exposing herself to him. Her eyes are hooded, with long lashes casting shadows over her cheeks. Her shoulders relax as she lifts her chin to stare down her nose at him, sneering. 

He works his jaw, clenching the muscles unconsciously.

“Astarion, men are idiots. I’ve spent my entire adult life toying with them and robbing them blind. I’ve heard and seen it all. You really believed a few empty praises and mediocre jokes would have me jumping into bed with you? 

Wha- Mediocre?

He opens his mouth with every intention of retaliating, but Evelyn’s palm unexpectedly rests itself on his calf, and the action stuns him into silence. She begins leisurely dragging her nails up towards his thigh. 

His body responds involuntarily; eagerly, frustratingly, the delicate little motion leaving his skin prickling with excitement. 

She regards his chest, admiring the hard planes of muscle. Then, her attention slowly inches down the toned curve of his abs until, finally, they stop at where his cock hardens disobediently beneath his pants.

“Your pretty face doesn’t detract from the fact that you’re still just a man.”

It finally clicks.

She’s baiting him, attempting to get a rise out of him. 

Hm. Impressive.

Normally, at this point in her little game, he assumes most men would take her flirtations at face value. They would likely mistake this performance as an enthusiastic plea to bed her, but Astarion is not like most men. He sees her little game for what it is and recognizes it with ease because he has spent lifetimes playing it himself.

She leans back, satisfied with her little show, and smirks at him.

“So, you admit I have a pretty face?” He teases, his own smile twisting, becoming more mischievous.

She rolls her eyes, but this time she laughs. It’s a soft sound, genuine.

A pinkish hue crawls up her face and paints the tips of her pointed ears, but he can’t discern if that's supposed to be part of the act or, more likely, an unfortunate side-effect of the living experience. He’s finding it hard not to admire her dedication, regardless. 

Well, that’s quite enough of that. Back to business, then.

“It’s settled,” Astarion clasps his hands together, “I’ll just need to impress you with my more eclectic talents if I am to earn your favor. We can start by gracefully slaughtering a few goblins, depending on how the rest of tonight goes. Which is entirely up to you, of course.”

The tiefling squints at him. “Oh no, if you want something from me, darling, you’re going to have to ask politely. With manners. You have those, don’t you? Familiar with them, at least?”

Under normal circumstances, he would find this amusing; nothing like a little role reversal to spice up the evening. But this feels different, heavier, as if her feigning indifference will alleviate the weight of what he's asking of her.

Fine. He supposes relinquishing a little bit of his pride is a fair price to pay.

He takes a deep breath. "Please." 

"Please, what?" She lifts an eyebrow at him expectantly. "Come on, Astarion. Use your words. I know you’re quite fond of them."

He scoffs at her shamelessness, and for a moment, he honestly considers whether this is worth it, but he can't back out now. He'll make it through this, surely. He's been through worse. 

Through gritted teeth, he barely spits out, "Please, may I drink from you?" 

Gods. He's going to be sick.

"Good boy. That wasn't so hard, was it?" 

He’s going to fucking kill her.

There is an uncomfortable silence that follows. So many unspoken questions and a rising suspense that makes Evelyn adjust herself uncomfortably where she sits. Astarion is also musing to himself, still wondering how it's all come to this. Why did he choose her, again? Something about her not killing him right away? Death may have been preferable to this, actually, but he is pulled back to reality when she finally speaks up.

“So," she's picking lint off one of her pillows, avoiding his gaze as she asks, "how exactly should we do this?”

Well, it occurs to him that he doesn’t actually know. He understands the mechanics behind it, of course, but how exactly were they supposed to go about this?

Should he tell her that he’s never actually fed from a person before? Would it make her more or less comfortable to know that he’s just as clueless about this as she is? 

No. He decides against it. Astarion has always done best when he’s playing the role of the confident seductor. This should be no different. He’ll just treat this as if he’s bedding a virgin: guide her, take things slow, and she’ll no doubt be begging him for more soon enough. It’ll be easy. All she has to do is behave.

“Lie back and get comfortable.”

He moves himself closer to her, settling at her side as she does what she’s told. The flap of the tent remains open, letting in the faintest amount of warmth and illuminating Evelyn’s features. With such close proximity, he can see the gold flames within her irises flickering and dancing, a genetic trait attributed to some luckier members of her race, and a feature of her’s that Astarion would have never otherwise noticed. 

He can hear her pulse quickening as he closes the space between them, lifting himself a bit to settle above her, once again caging her between his arms. One of his knees parts her legs, and he can tell in the quietness of her tent that she’s struggling to hide her uneven breaths. Her stare is intense, but he can’t read the meaning behind it.

He decides to give her another out, just in case. Better safe than sorry. 

“We don't have to do this, you know,” his voice is composed, as if his body wasn't currently screaming with anticipation. “I appreciate the consideration, regardless.” 

“I’m fine.” Her response is clipped, dismissive. Her face remains stoic though her fingers fidget with the blankets at her sides. She had moved the furs to give him better access to her body. The darkness inside him preens at the concept.

Best get on with it, then.

He leans down and, unable to help himself, takes in the scent of her: woodsmoke and the faintest hint of vanilla, which he had watched her pick up from a merchant in the grove just the other day. “For Gale’s cooking,” she amended, when he gave her a questioning look.

He gives her one more moment to stop him.

She doesn’t.

A bit of pressure on the skin before it snaps and gives way, his fangs finally sinking into her. He can feel Evelyn’s body tense at the sudden intrusion. She hisses through gritted teeth, her arms involuntarily raising at her sides, reaching for him, but she stops herself before she touches him. He wants to tell her it's fine, expected, even, the need to ground herself, but all of his higher thoughts are plunged into complete chaos when he finally registers her taste. 

Every cell in his body awakens.

The iron flavor of her floods his throat and sets his nerves ablaze. Its heat fills, expands, and splits every crack in his self control into deep, cavernous fissures. 

A groan escapes Astarions throat before he has the chance to quell it. Of course it would be like this - drinking from a thinking creature. Drinking from her. He understands now why Cazador forbade this. Before, he had assumed it was a matter of keeping his spawn weak and compliant, but this was entirely different. This was far more than a method of control. The bastard had been withholding ecstasy greater than he’d ever known.

A feeling swells in him, crashing like waves through his veins. Warmth. It invades him and fills every fiber of his being. He wasn’t naive enough to believe his first time wouldn't have some sort of great, emotional impact, but this? 

This was everything. How was he ever supposed to come back from this?

"Agh - Astarion," he barely registers her pathetic little whine through the haze. She finally allows herself to grab onto him, the loose sleeve of his nightshirt tightening in her fist. For purchase, he tells himself with what little is left of his consciousness, practical. That is until he lowers himself fully onto her in an attempt to relieve the strain on his biceps.

With no space left between their bodies, he doesn’t anticipate the blazing heat of her core on his thigh, even through the several layers of clothing. She gasps at the sudden pressure,  fingers twitching, nails digging little crescent shapes into his skin. What surprises him most, though, is when the taste in his mouth melts into a flavor so much sweeter. 

Something primal within him recognizes it instantly; it twists in his gut and sits there heavily, as if the emotion were his own: arousal.

Oh.

She is burning for him.

Good.

After all of that teasing, the woman he’s spent weeks enduring endless lectures from actually does desire him, or at the very least desires his body. Which is just as favorable, in his opinion. It’s just nice to know all his hard work hasn’t gone to waste. 

If she lets him live, he's going to spend every waking moment tormenting her over this. His lips vibrate against her skin as he chuckles to himself, causing some of her blood to run down his chin in hot rivulets, blooming new stains onto her sheets. 

He knows he’s had enough. He means to let go, he truly does, lest he end up draining their groups' only hope of survival. Surely that wouldn't go over well with their companions. Pitchforks, and all that. 

But her whimpering, her heat, coupled with the ferocity of his hunger, all provoke a feeling that has been building beneath the surface which he’s unable to name; it's desperate and possessive, a predator guarding its kill from hungry scavengers. The monster in him casts a dark shadow over his mind as he feeds. His body no longer feels as though it is his own, betraying him; a slave to the demands of his appetite. 

He needs her, needs all of her, and he cannot will himself to stop, too lost in sensation and the sound of her mewling to bow to his higher thinking. 

He mindlessly rocks his weight into her and grunts—a slow, unintentional grind against her mound. The motion comes easy to him, like breathing - instinctual. The blunt edge of his clothed cock drags deliciously through her parted thighs. Evelyn’s breath hitches at the feeling, her squirming beneath him giving him the sickest form of satisfaction, but the animal within him demands her compliance.

His hand gathers her loose hair and pulls, growling, warning her to keep still. She whines at the force, back arching. The other grabs her arm, pinning it down, and tightens, thumb gently stroking against her wrist.

"Astarion,"

She’s no doubt making a mess in her smallclothes as she quivers beneath him, all flushed cheeks and furrowed brows. She may deny it later, but her taste tells him everything he needs to know.

Her body is burning against his cool skin, and her gasps are only spurring him on. He laps at the wound, dragging his tongue up the length of her throat, indulging himself in her. It's too much. 

He feels her pulse weakening, her rhythm slowing.

It isn't enough. 

He's about to latch on to her again, teeth at the ready and blinded by his eagerness, when he suddenly feels a piercing sensation behind his eye - the tadpole, he assumes, writhing in panic. Screeching at him to open himself to it. The discomfort is just enough to pull him back into his body. Then Evelyn's voice invades his mind. 

‘Astarion, enough!’

He disentangles his limbs from hers, practically jumping off of the poor woman. He’s gasping for breath as he comes to his senses, the mix of her blood and his saliva staining his lips pink. It dribbles down his chin. He wipes his face with the back of his knuckles and licks them clean.

But then, the cold realization of what he’s done is thrust upon him like a bucket of iced water, shocking him back to the present. He’s going to need to come up with one hell of an apology to get himself out of this one. Or maybe he should just run? Baldur’s Gate is really only a few weeks travel at most. 

“Shit,” he whispers, more to himself than to her. "Are you alright, dear?"

Evelyn's eyes meet his. Her pupils are blown, almost entirely overtaking the gold of her irises when she glances away from him to assess the damage.

"Gods damn it," she quietly groans and applies pressure to the wound, thankfully finding that it isn't too deep or particularly painful. She tends to it, wiping the thin sheen of sweat from her brow. She searches for a rag as she avoids his concerned stare

A deep purple bruise spreads across her pale skin. Small red droplets trickle down the length of her nape, dampening her black breast band before soaking into it and disappearing entirely. He collects himself, willing his mind to cease its incessant urge to lick the damned liquid from her neck. She is flushed and sweating, unbalanced, panting from exertion as much as her own embarrassment. Her dark hair is a tangled mess from his attention. She looks ravaged. 

It… suits her.

Astarion clears his throat, trying his best not to get caught admiring his handiwork.

She was right about one thing. He was, at least in some respects, just a man... 

“Here,” he insists, grabbing one of the smaller furs and holding it up to her. She takes it from him without acknowledgement.

“I -” He begins, but he’s at a loss for words. What does one say in this situation? ‘My sincerest apologies. I don’t know what came over me! I must have gotten swept up in the moment!’ as if that pitiful excuse would overshadow the fact that he manhandled and almost devoured her.

He wants to laugh, but the sound dies in his throat.

He begins to worry that she really may not forgive him. He fears she'll wake the whole camp, or maybe finally cast him out like the monster he is. He wouldn't blame her. She took a great leap of faith in trusting him with this, and he rutted against her like some horny bugbear. Or worse, a teenager, he sneers.

Evelyn pulls the rabbit skin away from her neck, examining it. The brown hairs are matted and crimson, but the bleeding has stopped. She runs her fingers over the puncture marks, feeling the skin dip slightly where his fangs pierced her. She sighs with resignation, surely thinking about how the others will approach her with a plethora of questions tomorrow morning, face reddening at the idea.

“You could have warned me, you know.” She rolls her eyes at him. “I didn’t realize I was agreeing to…all of that.” 

His heart sinks. 

Of course she thinks it was on purpose. I mean, look at him. He’s all but thrown himself at her since the moment they met. He’s spent this entire time playing the part of the rake. It's only natural she assumes the worst.

“Evelyn, darling,” speaking her name aloud brings her focus back onto him. 

The gravity of it is suffocating, condensing the already small space they shared. The tension pulls at something undefinable within him that he thought was long dead—a sincerity that betrays the character he’s been crafting for as long as he can remember. 

It sways him.

More truths to forgive more transgressions, then. A fair transaction.

“I’ve had this condition for over two centuries, but, truth be told,” he clears his throat again, because ugh this is awful. And why does she have to stare at him like that, with her earnest, wet eyes? “You were my first. I’ve only ever fed on beasts.” 

The implication is there: how could he have known?

His confession takes her by surprise. “You don’t…” she pauses, taking everything that transpired tonight into consideration. He must be giving her a look akin to pleading, because she takes mercy on him and disregards whatever question she was about to ask. 

“Please tell me you didn’t do that to the boar.”

Seriously, a joke?

He barks out a laugh before he can stifle it. Whether it's from the sheer ridiculousness of the question or the disbelief towards her acceptance of it all, he truly doesn’t know.

“No, my dear. Just you, and you were delectable.”

Her expression is difficult to read. She’s not looking at him; refuses to, when she replies, “So then, did it work?”

Astarion moves to stand, peering down at her form. He exhales in relief, feeling as though he is a century younger. His muscles are lax; all the stress has been drained from his body. A novel experience. “Yes, I would say so. I feel stronger. My mind is clear. I feel…happy.”

He adds the last word in an effort to appease her, but it does ring true. His main source of joy since he contracted this affliction has been causing others pain, ripping out throats and such. This feels distinctly different, less exhilarating, but pleasant all the same.

“Well, I look forward to seeing you fight.” 

He acknowledges her, then stretches his back out, extending his arms to the sky with his hands clasping behind his head. The motion pulls the rest of his nightshirt out of his trousers and tugs it upward, exposing the hard edges of his hips. He can’t confirm it, but he swears he sees her eyes flit quickly towards them before making an expeditious retreat.

“Shouldn’t take long. So many people need killing.” He lifts the flap of her tent to peek outside. No sign of anyone stirring, and the night is still young. Knowing the wildlife in this area, he may still have a chance to sate himself. With his newfound strength, he may even be able to wrangle up a bear. What a feast that would make.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, you’re invigorating, but I need something more filling.” He bows his head to her in thanks. 

He’s about to step outside, one foot exits the canvas before the rest of him, when it hits him that he feels…odd, uncomfortable leaving her like this. He can’t place his finger on why. He’s ridden atop many women and left without saying a word.

But, he supposes this is dissimilar.

Evelyn listened to him tonight, heard him out when anyone else would have carved him into pieces without second thought. She let him drink from her, forgave him for getting…carried away. 

The most shocking part of it all is that regardless of her dismissiveness, he now undeniably knows that she’s attracted to him. Yet, she didn’t capitalize on the opportunity when it arose to take advantage of his altered state; of his needs. With that, she’s shown him more kindness in the last hour than he’s experienced in his entire undead life. 

He likely owes her for this, of course, but there are worse fates he could endure.

The elf looks over his shoulder at her and catches her watching him intently, as if she wants to continue this conversation but can’t quite figure out what she wants to say. The intensity of her gaze almost forces him to turn back towards her, drawn to her by an unfamiliar ache; a thrill in his spine, the compulsion pulling at his chest like some sort of spell.

“This is a gift, you know.” The words escape him, hanging in the air between them with raw authenticity. He means to make himself sound more frivolous, but before he can edit them in his head, more truth spills from his lips, “I won’t forget it.”

His throat tightens. He considers her for a moment, wondering what he might find if he does turn to meet her eyes.

But, Astarion resists.

She must be exhausted. He shouldn’t take up any more of her time.

He leaves before she can respond. There wasn’t anything left for them to discuss, and he’s desperate to break free from the uneasy weight of her presence.

The second he steps fully outside, he feels as though he can breathe again, not that he needs to, being undead and all. 

What a strange feeling, that was. 

One he decides he’d rather forget. Best to not burden himself too much with it.

The taste of her lingers on his teeth. He finds himself savoring it for a moment too long before stalking towards the forest, confident. Ready to hunt. 

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion #astarion fic #astarion x tav #fanfic #bg3 #bg3 tav #bg3 astarion #baldurs gate 3 oc #im muting every bit of social media i have after posting this lmfao #evelyn

[muscles-and-suits]

Merry Christmas!

It's now Christmas in my country and I'd like to take this opportunity to say thanks for following and enjoying my AI art of muscular men. I started this blog just a little under a year ago and the support this year has been tremendous. Yes, I read every comment and reblog!

On this special day, I want to extend my warmest wishes to you and your loved ones. May your day be filled with love, laughter, and cherished moments. Thank you for being a part of my musclebound AI adventure.

Enjoy this render of a handsome and jacked Santa Claus!

Here's to more AI muscle guys! 💪

#ai

[nocontextveggies]

FOR SALE!!!! (Post 1/2) Please PM me if interested in anything I am purging a very large section of my movie collection! This includes most of my Veggietales material! I am at minimum the second owner of most of these-they were all obtained secondhand, and are in various conditions.

Title List + prices under cut(all prices in CAD, shipping from Canada at buyer's expense) Since there will two posts about this You can also find a full list of everything here [X]

VHS Tapes, 50 cents each A Very Silly Sing-Along, Silly Sing-Along 2, Jonah Silly Sing-Along, Ballad of Little Joe, 321 Penguins Amazing Carnival of Complaining

DVD, 1 Dollar Each Where's God When I'm s-scared, Rack Shack & Benny, The Toy That Saved Christmas, Larry-boy! and The Fib From Outer Space, Larry-boy and The Rumour Weed, The Ultimate Silyy-Song Countdown, Lyle The Kindly Viking, Wonderful World of Auto-tainment, Easter Carol, Snoodle's Tale, Sumo of the Opera, Duke and the Great Pie War, Minnesota Cuke and the Search for Samson's Hairbrush, Lord of the Beans, Sheerluck Holmes and the Golden ruler, Larry-boy and the Bad Apple, Gideon Tuba Warrior, Wonderful Wizard of Ha's(TWO COPIES), Abe and The Amazing Promise, Saint-Nicholas Story of Joyful Giving, Sweetpea Beauty, It's a Meaningful Life, Little Drummer Boy(TWO COPIES), Robin Good and his Not-So-Merry Men, Penniless Princess, Beauty and The Beet, Bob & Larry's How To Draw, Pirates Who Don't Do Anything,

Books 1$ Each Photo Album Unopened with Stickers

Other Larry-Boy Ultimate Super Hero Collection(2$), Christmas Classics(2$, comes with christmas ornament),, Jonah Very Veggie Family Adventure Full Kit(Best Offer), Various Christan Pogs(25 cents each),

#veggietales #bigidea #nocontextveggies #veggie tales #for sale

[bestnoncannonship]

HELLO NAUGHTY FANDOM FRIENDS ITS FERAL CHRISTMAS TREE TIME!!!

You've seen the Good Omens Tree:

You've seen the Merlin Tree:

This year we have the

SHERLOCK HOLMES TREE!

Merry Christmas Everyone! Is this not the perfect Christmas tree for Christmas with your queerplatonic life partner in your strange little house? I think it is. Now our favorite interpretation of Sherlock Holmes is the Granada with Jeremy Brett. So it's his visage and that of his longtime Watson, Edward Hardwicke, who top the tree this year.....with miniature festive versions of their top hat and bowler hat:

Some of the Ornaments are just things that come up often in Holmes's world. Like Holmes's Violin, a Train, a Magnifying Glass, Various Vials of Science and Tobacco Ash, Smoking Pipes, and Watson's Revolver.

Others are references to certain cases; The Severed Ear from "The Cardboard Box", Mary's Pearls and Poison Darts from "Sign of the Four", the French Gold from "The Red Headed League", an Orange with Five Pips from "The Five Orange Pips", the Triangulated Tree from "The Muskgrave Ritual", the Big Dog from "Hound of the Baskervilles", the Noose from "The Resident Patient", the Bicyle from "The Solitary Cyclist", "Silver Blaze"'s horseshoe, A "Blue Carbuncle", Irene Adler's Sovereign from "A Scandal in Bohemia", and a garland of Dancing Men from "The Dancing Men" that spells out the Lyrics to "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen".

I've also included the crest of Mycroft's Diogennes Club with their mascot (a plucked chicken) and their motto (Shut up ...but in Latin), and a skull....because it seemed appropriate.

And of course......there are plenty of copies of the magazine where Watson immortalized their adventures together:

Merry Christmas!

#Christmas #Christmas tree #sherlock holmes #sherlock fandom #john watson #sherlock fanart #granada holmes #jeremy brett #edward hardwicke #arthur conan doyle #johnlock #mycroft holmes #the strand #acd holmes #acd canon #acd johnlock #acd watson #the adventures of sherlock holmes #the casebook of Sherlock holmes #sherlock #irene adler #mary morstan #the blue carbuncle #the solitary cyclist #the hound of the baskervilles #the diogenes club #the dancing men #19th century #granada johnlock #watsholmes

[mononijikayu]

chapter one  — violetta and alfredo.

Every detail of her being held captive in a cascade of enchantment. Her beauty was a symphony of nature's finest elements, a composition that left him spellbound. Her hair, reminiscent of the morning light that kissed the shores and painted the sky, framed her visage in a halo of radiance. Eyes, bright and vibrant like the ever-changing hues of autumn leaves, mirrored the lively spirit of the earth's vast wild plains. Bathed in the moonlight, she seemed to emanate the very essence of life, casting out darkness with the light it needed to thrive.

Genre: No Curses Au!, 1800s Royalty AU!

Warning/s: Fluff, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Pinning, One - Sided Romance, Royalty, Strangers to Friends, Friends to Lovers, Courting, Arranged Marriage;

masterlist

note: almost 12k words,,,,,,it seems im back to my old way of writing. its just that type of life i suppose. anyway, enjoy!!! i hope this makes up for ghost of you!!! i love you!!!

SHE THINKS THAT THE SIGHT OF A CITY LIKE THIS WAS MARVELOUS. The anticipation of the journey ahead filled her with a sense of excitement and wonder, her mind drifting to the possibilities that lay beyond the distant river. Lost in her daydreams, she imagined the adventures that awaited them on the other side, eager to explore the unknown.

However, her reverie was abruptly interrupted as she was pulled back to reality by the need to change into a new outfit. Her brother, Yu, was busy preparing for the journey as well, and she knew he must be equally disguised to blend in with the crowds. Yet despite the preparations, Yu seemed adamant about reuniting with his old friends from his academy days, particularly Lord Nanami, whom he held in high esteem.

The arrival of nobles from distant lands to celebrate the king's birthday added an air of caution to their travels. Father would undoubtedly be furious if he knew they were embarking on such a journey without proper precautions. However, Yu had planned their departure a day early, anticipating potential delays due to weather or other unforeseen circumstances.

Yu's thoughtful consideration for their well-being touched her deeply, a testament to his generous nature amidst the complexities of their world. She cherished his kindness above all else, a beacon of light in the darkness of the Jujutsu world. As they prepared to embark on their journey, she couldn't help but feel grateful for her brother's meticulousness in all of this.

Yu's decision to choose an inn east of the city, known for its discretion and privacy, was a thoughtful one, reflecting his understanding of their preferences. He took great care to ensure their privacy would be maintained by organizing the departure of all men in small groups, minimizing the risk of drawing attention to their presence.

She departed with the servants first, allowing Yu to bring up the rear and oversee the process without causing any delays. As they approached the inn, named 'Cherry Merry,' she couldn't help but giggle at the whimsical name. Yet, the sweet scent of cherry blossoms that enveloped the room upon their arrival immediately charmed her, offering a welcome reprieve from the hustle and bustle of the capital.

The simplicity of the room, adorned with cherry-colored sheets and subtle hints of silver, resonated with her taste. The presence of two large lamps on either side of the bed, accompanied by round tables, added a touch of elegance to the space. A small desk awaited her, adorned with quills resting atop clean white parchments, and a bottle of ink enclosed in a glass cylinder, inviting her to immerse herself in creativity.

Despite the temptation to open the wide windows that flanked the bed, she hesitated, mindful of the need to maintain their privacy. The unlit fireplace, filled with fresh logs scented with cherry blossom, added to the cozy ambiance of the room, creating a serene retreat for them amidst the chaos of the outside world.

Her luggage sat neatly arranged on the edge of the bed, a silent testament to her presence in the room. Embellishments adorning her belongings hinted at her noble lineage, with the wide heron's head emblem proudly displayed. It was a symbol of the once illustrious lineage of their clan, now revitalized by her brother's lordship. Their family's fate had been lackluster for years, overshadowed by the repercussions of siding with the wrong faction in the previous war. Whispers of their father's shortcomings echoed through the halls of Jujutsu society's higher echelons, yet her brother's tireless efforts had begun to mend their tarnished reputation.

Despite the weight of their family's history resting heavily on her shoulders, she found solace in the unspoken understanding between her and her brother. He never asked for her assistance, preferring to shoulder the burden alone, but she knew that her role extended beyond mere appearances. It was a duty she willingly embraced, masking her inner turmoil with a facade of poise and grace whenever required.

Raised in the sheltered confines of Haibara's distant ashy meadows, she had always felt stifled by the constraints of her noble upbringing. The societal expectations of a lady felt suffocating, constraining her desire for freedom and autonomy. Deep down, she yearned to break free from the shackles of her status, to embrace a life unrestrained by societal norms.

Her brother, understanding and empathetic, would have readily granted her that freedom had she asked. But she couldn't bear the thought of leaving him alone in their struggle for redemption. They were each other's pillars of support, their unwavering bond the only constant in an uncertain world. If she were to leave, he would be left to navigate the treacherous waters of politics and power alone. The mere thought brought a pang of guilt to her heart, a silent reminder of the sacrifices she made for her brother's sake.

As she stood at the threshold of her room, lost in her thoughts, Kusakabe's voice broke through the silence, drawing her attention. She turned to face him, the weight of her contemplation evident in her eyes.

“You alright, little one?” He asks her, taking a place by her side.

"I'm fine, just... there is much in my mind, Kusakabe," she confessed, her voice tinged with uncertainty. "I have no business being here."

Kusakabe nodded in understanding, his expression reflecting a sense of empathy. "No," he agreed solemnly, "but it is the king’s invitation. King Satoru insists on everyone being there to celebrate his birthday. And he likes your brother enough. Shielded both of you from the elders.”

Rolling her eyes, she couldn't help but sigh in resignation. “I know that much. But I was happy at home, you know.”

"Quite obvious, little lady," Kusakabe chuckled softly, "But isn’t this your introduction to society?”

Her shoulders slumped slightly as she contemplated his words. "Not what I want. I’ll never hear the end of society if I show up.”

Kusakabe's laughter rang out, a warm and familiar sound that eased the tension in the air. “Hm, I suppose you won’t.”

For a moment, they stood in silence, enveloped in their own thoughts. Then, with a gentle smile, Kusakabe approached her, reaching out to tuck a misplaced strand of her hair behind her ear. "I can’t believe you’re already so grown up. I never thought I’d ever be watching both you and your brother like this.”

Atsuya Kusakabe had been a steadfast presence in their lives, standing by their family through thick and thin. From the siege of their family home to the challenges they faced in their daily lives, he had always been there, protecting them with unwavering loyalty. 

A few years older, he had been taken in by their father when he was gravely injured on the streets, offering him freedom in exchange for his service to the family. Since then, he had become an indispensable part of their lives, more like an elder brother than a servant. His dedication and loyalty had earned him their trust and respect, making him an integral part of their family.

"This is so new to me," She mused, a hint of wonder in her voice.

"Hm? What is?" He inquired, turning to regard her with mild curiosity.

"Atsuya would not say this. This is certainly not you," She replied with a playful grin, causing him to chuckle and nod in agreement.

He rolled his eyes affectionately, pinching her cheek. "You are ever so cheeky like this. Brazen even. A man would not stand a chance, I fear."

"Who needs a man anyway?" she retorted, her grin widening mischievously. "Yu would be happy to keep me at home as a spinster. Would you not be happy about that too?

He sighed softly, a wistful expression crossing his features. "It’s not that I wouldn’t be happy to keep you at home with us. It’s just that… don’t you want that life too?"

She raised a skeptical eyebrow, contemplating his words. "What do you mean?"

"You know, falling in love. Being happy. Having your own family," He explained gently, his gaze searching hers.

"But you guys are my family," She replied sincerely, her voice filled with warmth. "I’m content with that."

He sighed, nodding in understanding. "I can’t argue with that."

She smiled, leaning forward to press a kiss on his cheek. "Thank you. Now, go and eat something. You must be famished after being stuck with me."

He laughed, the sound echoing with fondness. "As if. Go back to your room too, little one. You need to rest before we resume our journey."

With a playful wink, she nodded in agreement. "Alright, Atsuya. I'll see you later."

As he departed, she remained standing in the hallway for a moment, feeling a sense of contentment wash over her. The conversation with Atsuya had stirred something within her, prompting her to reflect on her own desires and aspirations.

What comes next?

What is there to be for her?

She sighed, pondering.

What is there for a woman?

IT WASN’T LONG WHEN THE THOUGHTS OVERWHELMED HER. Heading back to her room, she couldn't help but ponder the notion of love and family. While she cherished the bond she shared with her brother and uncle, she couldn't deny the faint tug of curiosity about what it might be like to experience romantic love and create a family of her own.

Settling into her room, she allowed herself to daydream for a moment, envisioning a future where she found someone who cherished her just as much as her family did. But for now, she was content to enjoy the present moment and the journey ahead with her beloved brother and their sworn sword by her side.

As the hours stretched on with little to occupy her mind, she found herself grappling with an unrelenting sense of boredom. Initially, she attempted to immerse herself in the books she had brought along, eagerly flipping through the pages in search of diversion. However, the stories she once found captivating now felt dull and predictable, failing to hold her interest for long.

Turning to another favorite pastime, she reached for her writing materials, hoping to channel her restlessness into creative expression. Yet, as she attempted to weave words into poetry, she found her thoughts scattered and uninspired, unable to summon the eloquence that usually flowed effortlessly from her pen.

With a heavy sigh, she leaned back against the soft cushions of her seat, her gaze drifting aimlessly towards the ceiling. The emptiness of the room seemed to mirror the void within her, amplifying her sense of ennui and prompting a restless stirring within her soul. She knew she couldn't bear another moment of this oppressive boredom and resolved to find something, anything, to occupy her mind and soothe her restless spirit.

Frustrated by her inability to find solace in either reading or writing, she rose from her seat with determination, determined to seek out an activity that would banish her boredom once and for all. Casting a quick glance around the room, her eyes fell upon a familiar object tucked away in a corner – a beautifully crafted chess set.

A spark of excitement ignited within her as she approached the set, her fingers tracing the intricate carvings of the chess pieces. Chess had always been a favorite pastime of hers, a game of strategy and intellect that never failed to captivate her mind.

With a smile of anticipation, she carefully set up the chessboard, arranging the pieces in their starting positions. As she settled into her seat, her mind focused solely on the challenge that lay before her, she felt a sense of purpose and excitement wash over her, replacing the oppressive boredom that had plagued her earlier.

Lost in the intricacies of the game, she relished the mental stimulation it provided, each move calculated and strategic. The hours flew by in a blur of intense concentration, her boredom forgotten as she immersed herself in the timeless battle of wits that unfolded upon the chessboard.

By the time she emerged victorious from her match, her mind felt alive and invigorated, the lingering traces of boredom banished by the exhilarating thrill of the game. 

But the problem is she keeps winning.

She could only pout as she looked at the pieces.

She needed to get out of here.

She needed to not be bored.

IT WASN’T LONG WHEN SHE STARTED TO PREPARE TO LEAVE. As she rummaged through her belongings, her heart raced with excitement, her hands trembling with anticipation. She knew exactly what she was searching for, and when her fingers finally closed around the familiar handle of her fishing rod, a triumphant smile spread across her face. With the rucksack in hand, she practically danced towards the door, her mind already envisioning the peaceful tranquility of the nearby river.

However, her excitement was quickly tempered by the realization that there were guards stationed just outside her door, their watchful presence a constant reminder of her restricted freedom. Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she opened the door and greeted the guards with a polite nod, masking her inner turmoil behind a facade of composure.

Engaging the guards in casual conversation, she deftly maneuvered the conversation towards the topic of their well-being, using her charm and wit to subtly persuade them to accept her offer of refreshment. With a gracious smile, she produced a handful of gold coins from the folds of her dressage, insisting that they indulge in a well-deserved respite.

Despite their initial protests, the guards ultimately yielded to her request, their reluctance overshadowed by the implicit threat of consequences should they defy her wishes. As they hurriedly departed to enjoy their brief reprieve, she couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction at her ability to wield her influence and power when necessary.

With the guards temporarily distracted, she seized the opportunity to slip out unnoticed, her heart pounding with exhilaration as she embarked on her impromptu adventure to the river. As she made her way through the lush foliage, the sound of the rushing water growing louder with each step, she felt a sense of liberation wash over her, reveling in the freedom that came from defying the constraints of her gilded cage.

After swiftly changing into a simple ensemble to minimize the risk of being recognized, the lady deftly attended to her own attire without the need for assistance. With no ladies-in-waiting at her beck and call, she completed her dressing with practiced efficiency, braiding her hair before adorning herself with a scarlet hat that lent a touch of flair to her ensemble. A satisfied smile graced her lips as she appraised her reflection in the mirror, pleased with her appearance.

With nimble fingers, she quickly assembled her fishing rod, drawing upon her past experience to complete the task with ease. Gathering her essentials into a rucksack, she prepared for her impromptu adventure, ensuring she had everything she needed for a pleasant outing.

As she made her way down the stairs, she maintained a cautious vigilance, scanning her surroundings to avoid any encounters with the guards stationed throughout the manor. Concealing her face with the rucksack, she felt her heart quicken with nervous anticipation, yet her determination propelled her forward, undeterred by the prospect of potential obstacles.

Stepping out onto the stone cobbled street, she relished the sensation of her sturdy hunting boots against the pavement, the familiar weight grounding her as she embarked on her excursion. Despite the flutter of nerves in her stomach, a wide smile graced her features as she set out to seize the day, eager to immerse herself in the adventure that awaited her.

"Excuse me," she called out to a passing man, his long white beard and merchant's attire marking him as a familiar sight in the bustling capital. "Good man, I do not mean to disturb your morning, but could you tell me the way to the river?"

The man regarded her with a mixture of curiosity and surprise, but he quickly nodded in response. "Yes, uh, it's to the left, to the left."

"To the left, to the left," she repeated with a grateful smile. "Thank you, good sir!"

With a nod of acknowledgment, the man continued on his way, leaving her to begin her adventure.

As she made her way through the narrow streets, the vibrant energy of the capital enveloped her. She walked amidst a sea of people, each engaged in their own activities—selling, trading, and going about their daily lives. The sidewalks were bustling with activity, and makeshift markets sprang up along the paved pathways, offering a colorful array of goods and wares.

With her fishing rod in hand, she navigated through the crowd, her senses alive with the sights, sounds, and smells of the bustling city. The beauty of the capital unfolded before her, and she couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement and anticipation for the adventure that lay ahead.

As she strolled through the lively streets, the warm rays of the sun bathed the city in a golden glow, casting a cheerful ambiance over the bustling scene. People of all ages and walks of life meandered along the cobblestone pathways, some leisurely enjoying the sunshine while others bustled about their daily tasks.

Mothers cradled their infants in their arms, their laughter mingling with the cheerful chatter of couples strolling hand in hand. The air was filled with the aroma of freshly baked bread wafting from nearby bakeries, tempting passersby with its irresistible scent. Old taverns, steeped in history and tradition, stood as silent witnesses to the passage of time, their weathered facades echoing tales of days long gone.

Amidst the historic landmarks, she spotted newer establishments springing up, each one a testament to the city's vibrant spirit of innovation. A quaint watchmaker's corner caught her eye, its storefront adorned with a freshly painted sign that gleamed in the sunlight. Intrigued, she stepped inside and browsed the assortment of finely crafted timepieces on display, marveling at the meticulous craftsmanship.

After making her selections, she continued on her way, her steps quickening with anticipation as she approached a bustling market stall. There, she purchased provisions for her fishing expedition—a selection of bait and tackle, as well as a loaf of freshly baked bread and a refreshing cup of lemonade imported from distant lands. With her supplies in hand, she set off once more, eager to embark on her outdoor adventure along the riverbank.

As she wandered through the city streets, she couldn't help but feel a sense of longing for the simplicity of the lives she observed around her. The ordinary people she passed seemed content with their everyday concerns—finding love, pursuing careers, and building homes—without the burdens of status and expectation that weighed heavily on her own shoulders. Despite her privileged position as a high-ranking woman, she envied their freedom from the constraints imposed by societal norms and familial obligations.

Pushing aside these thoughts, she focused on her quest to find the river. With a warm smile and friendly greetings, she attempted to engage with the locals she encountered along the way, despite their wary and hesitant responses to her unfamiliar appearance. Clad in a dark velvet gown adorned with feathers, she stood out amidst the crowd, a foreign presence in their midst.

After a half-hour journey, she finally reached the riverbank, her eyes lighting up with delight at the sight before her. The calm waters of the river flowed gently, reflecting the blue sky above like a mirror. The riverbed, dotted with large and small stones, created a mesmerizing contrast against the water's dark hue. The peaceful ambiance of the surroundings made her feel as if she had stumbled upon a hidden sanctuary, a tranquil oasis amidst the bustling cityscape.

Setting aside her fishing rod, she retrieved a bag of worms from her rucksack and carefully baited the hook, following the instructions her brother had taught her. With a practiced hand, she cast her line into the water, watching with anticipation as it disappeared beneath the surface. Standing on the edge of the rocky outcrop, surrounded by nature's beauty, she felt a sense of calm wash over her, as if all her worries and cares had been momentarily suspended in the gentle flow of the river.

As she focused on fishing, memories of her childhood with her brother Yu flooded her mind. She recalled the days spent by the riverbank, learning the art of fishing from him. Yu, ever the resourceful and creative one, had fashioned her first fishing rod from sturdy sticks he had whittled down with his trusty knife. With a few modifications and some ingenuity, he had transformed the simple sticks into functional fishing rods, complete with thin wiring and metal hooks.

The nostalgia of those carefree days brought a bittersweet smile to her lips as she waited for a bite. Suddenly, she felt a sharp tug on her fishing rod, jolting her back to the present moment. Excitement surged through her as she realized she had caught a fish. With a surge of adrenaline, she gripped the rod tightly and began to reel it in, feeling the familiar thrill of the catch.

However, in her eagerness to land the fish, she pulled too hard, causing the fishing rod to slip from her grasp. With a gasp of surprise, she watched in dismay as the rod flew behind her, caught on something unseen. The sound of horses nearby startled her, and she froze in panic, holding onto the rod as she tried to free it from whatever it had become entangled with.

"You, woman with the fishing rod, how dare you fish here?" The voice boomed, causing her to whirl around and face two men on horseback. One was a tall, lean figure with sandy brown hair, his expression stern and disapproving. The other remained calm atop his horse, her fishing rod's edge snagged in his cloak. She gasped in realization.

"Oh, dear god! Please don't move," she pleaded, releasing her grip on the fishing rod and hastily reaching for her rucksack. With trembling hands, she retrieved a small pocket knife and rushed towards the two men on horseback, her heart pounding with urgency. She felt tall enough to reach the cloak and was about to cut it when the redheaded man stopped her. “Let me help you, my lord!”

"How dare you point a blade at the king’s high minister, you lowly woman?" he bellowed, dismounting from his horse and restraining her.

"Ino, there is no need for such fury over a trivial matter," the blond man interjected calmly. "We inadvertently interrupted her fishing. She has every right to be here. It is open to the public. That’s the purpose."

The man, named Ino, bowed his head slowly. “Forgive me, my lord.”

"The king’s high minister?" Her breath caught as she locked eyes with him, her gaze meeting his soft brown eyes behind green-tinted goggles. Yu will not let her hear the end of this with his teasing. She should have known who he was. 

He was handsome, far more than her brother had described. She glanced at the brown-haired man and attempted to free herself, but he confiscated the knife. Rolling her eyes at his overreaction, she focused on removing the hook from the minister's cloak.

Then she got down on her knees in a curtsey she had always known to do, her eyes averting the minister's gaze nervously as the man with red hair looked at her with proud demeanor. She had never seen Nanami Kento before. The times he visited their family’s estate, she would be out visiting Utahime in her family’s estate. She purses her lips, looking at him. But ending up flustered, cheeks colored scarlet.

He was very handsome, a bright burning star in an already bright sky. So bright that no one could even outshine him. His primed blond locks were neatly pleated on the side of his head. Dressed in a silver uniform, he looked ever so formal — Yu had said he never wore anything else but his military uniform. She wondered if he did this every day, walking and riding about the city without any guards and freely accompanied by such companions. It could be dangerous if he was not careful or keeping a low profile.

"My lord, I must apologize for any offense I may have caused," she spoke softly, bowing her head in contrition. "I understand that such a transgression is punishable—"

"Dear lady, there is no need for apologies when no wrong was committed intentionally," Nanami interjected, his voice calm and reassuring. "Please, rise and reveal yourself. We assure you, we harbor no ill intentions towards you."

Obeying his command, she stood up, allowing Nanami to fully see her. He couldn't help but be struck by her beauty; her long hair tied behind her back accentuated her celestial skin, making her eyes shine even brighter than he thought possible. In her innocence, she appeared as a vision of purity, and Nanami couldn't fathom her being capable of any wrongdoing.

However, her attire revealed her foreign origins. Such dress was uncommon among the women of the capital or the surrounding regions. She must have been the daughter of a merchant, Nanami deduced.

"What is your name?" the blond man asked as he dismounted from his horse. "I presume you are not from the capital, am I correct?"

She smiled warmly at him and shook her head. "No, my lord minister, I am from the countryside."

"Ah," Nanami smiled triumphantly. "I am correct, then. You are from the countryside, but your accent—"

"The countryside boasts a variety of accents, my lord minister," she replied, though she felt a pang of guilt despite the truth in her words. "I reside near the far meadows, within the Haibara lands."

"I see. You must be a vassal of my lord Haibara." Nanami nodded thoughtfully, patting his horse before gripping the reins. Ino glanced at his lord minister, unsure if this decision was wise. Turning to his friend, he hesitated, "Ino, will you return to the castle and inform them that I will be delayed? I intend to walk back."

"But Lord Nanami, this is not prudent. I cannot leave you here—"

"But you will," Nanami insisted firmly, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder. "That is my wish, Ino. I wish to accompany this lady back to her lodgings safely."

"But—"

"That is my decision, and if you disregard it, you are not truly following me, my friend," Nanami interrupted, his tone unwavering. "Have you not pledged to comply with any request I make?"

Takuma Ino sighed heavily, recognizing his friend's stubbornness. Reluctantly mounting his horse, he cast a concerned glance at Nanami. "Very well, but ensure you don your cloak upon your return. Your safety is paramount, my lord minister."

Nanami Kento chuckled softly at her words, a glint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "Yes, my lady. It seems even princes are not immune to moments of chivalry."

She returned his grin, feeling a sense of warmth at his playful response. "Indeed, my lord. It's a refreshing reminder that chivalry still exists in this world."

As she began gathering her belongings, Nanami watched her with a gentle expression. "Take your time, my lady. There's no rush."

She nodded appreciatively, feeling a sense of ease in his presence. "Thank you, my lord. I won't be long."

With a graceful movement, she carefully packed her belongings back into her rucksack, ensuring everything was secure. As she finished, she straightened up and turned to face Nanami once more.

"Now that we're alone," he began, his voice soft yet commanding, "I would prefer it if you addressed me by my name. Kento will suffice, my lady. The formal titles... they feel unnecessary in our private conversation."

She nodded in understanding, a smile playing on her lips. "Of course, Kento. Thank you for your kindness."

As they stepped out into the bustling streets of the city, a sense of anticipation filled the air. The city buzzed with activity, merchants hawking their wares, street performers entertaining passersby, and the aroma of street food wafting through the air. Despite the crowds and the chaos, there was an undeniable energy that permeated the atmosphere, a vibrant pulse that seemed to echo the heartbeat of the city itself.

Walking side by side, Kento and the lady navigated their way through the throngs of people with ease, their conversation flowing effortlessly as they exchanged stories and shared insights about their lives. With each step they took, the city revealed itself in all its splendor, its grandeur and its flaws laid bare for all to see.

The lady found herself captivated by the sights and sounds of the city, her senses alive with the vibrant energy that surrounded her. She marveled at the towering buildings that reached towards the sky, the narrow alleyways that twisted and turned like a maze, and the colorful tapestry of life that unfolded before her eyes.

Kento, meanwhile, was content to simply be in her presence, enjoying the simple pleasure of her company as they strolled through the city streets. He listened intently to her words, his heart warmed by the genuine warmth and kindness that emanated from her.

"I think I get what you mean," the woman said, her voice carrying a hint of understanding.

"Hm, about what?" Kento inquired, his curiosity piqued as he raised a brow in intrigue.

"It’s as though those titles just feel like it's about to drown you and the expectations with it, just too heavy to carry," she explained, her words filled with a sense of weightiness.

Kento's gaze softened as he listened, his eyes following her every movement as she carefully adjusted her rucksack. "Yes," he nodded slowly, "Exactly like that. And there is no time for you to think about what you actually want to be."

The woman nodded in agreement, a solemn expression on her face as they continued their stroll through the city. "Well, the control is often out of our hands," she remarked, her voice tinged with resignation. "A woman is always to be charming to her husband and obedient to all men, father and husband, without having the right to think of it. The same as your predicament, Kento."

As the woman's words echoed in Nanami's mind, he couldn't help but be reminded of his own family's struggles with duty and expectations. His thoughts drifted to his mother, a woman who had been forced into a marriage with his father solely out of obligation and tradition. The weight of her sacrifice and the constraints of societal norms weighed heavily on his heart.

Nanami's mother had endured a life of silent suffering, bound by the chains of duty and obedience. Her marriage had been a transaction, devoid of love or choice, leaving her trapped in a life she had never desired. Nanami had witnessed her struggles firsthand, the longing in her eyes for a life of her own, free from the shackles of expectation.

For a moment, a wave of melancholy washed over Nanami, engulfing him in a sea of sorrow and helplessness. He felt the weight of his own obligations pressing down on him, the burden of his father's expectations suffocating his spirit. His mother's sacrifice had taught him the harsh reality of their world – that sometimes, duty came at the cost of one's happiness.

Yet, despite his inner turmoil, Nanami remained resolute. He knew the risks of challenging his father's authority, the potential consequences of defying tradition. He couldn't afford to act impulsively, not when the stakes were so high. Nanami understood that he would have to bide his time, waiting for the right moment to assert his own desires and ambitions.

As they continued their walk through the bustling streets of the city, Nanami's thoughts remained consumed by the weight of duty and the struggle for autonomy. He couldn't shake the feeling of helplessness that gripped him, knowing that for now, he could do nothing but watch and wait.

As Nanami's thoughts swirled in a tempest of emotion, the gentle cadence of the woman's voice brought him back to the present moment. He found solace in the way she spoke his name, the syllables rolling off her tongue with a delicate grace that soothed his troubled mind.

"Kento." Her voice was a soft melody, a gentle reminder of the reality that surrounded them. "Are you alright?"

Nanami's initial response was a reflex, a facade he put up to shield his vulnerability. "Y–yes," he stammered, attempting to mask the turmoil brewing within him. "I am very well”

The woman's concern was evident in her expression, her eyes reflecting a genuine worry for his well-being. "I had thought I had broken you. Do forgive my words if they have offended you.”

Nanami's smile, though strained, radiated warmth and reassurance. It was a facade he wore with practiced ease, a mask to conceal the turmoil raging beneath the surface. "Oh no, do not be alarmed, you have not," he reassured her, his voice steady despite the storm brewing within. "It was just you who said such true things. On behalf of the men in the world, I apologize over that matter. Women have as much say in things as we men do, I agree."

His words were a testament to his belief in equality and justice, a declaration of solidarity with those who sought to challenge the constraints of societal norms. Yet, behind his composed facade, Nanami grappled with a torrent of conflicting emotions, wrestling with the weight of his own obligations and the desire for freedom.

As they walked together through the bustling streets, their conversation took a playful turn, the woman teasing Nanami with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"For a moment, I thought there that you are pioneering a way for the kingdoms, Kento," she teased, her grin playful as she gazed at the lord minister.

Nanami couldn't help but chuckle at her jest. "Maybe one day, when men realize women as their equals, then perhaps that will happen," he replied, his tone tinged with a hint of wistfulness.

The woman pursed her lips thoughtfully. "You should know that if all women were like you, then perhaps men would fall to their knees and bow to all women, who would be our queens.”

A raised brow was the woman's response to Nanami's statement. "Must all women be like that in order to be queens? Can't sweet girls be queens, or ones who are powerless?" She challenged him.

Nanami paused for a moment, considering her words carefully. "Well, I suppose I did not think of that... all people can be queens or kings," he answered diplomatically. "If they manage to convince others, if they have the strength to do it, then they will have power."

The woman grinned at his careful response. "Careful answer, Kento," she remarked, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

"I try my best to please others with my words, of course." Nanami replied with a smile, his gaze lingering on her as they walked. "I have forgotten to ask, forgive me.. What is your name?"

As she paused, a flicker of uncertainty crossed her features. She knew she couldn't reveal her true identity, aware of the potential consequences if her brother found out. Yet, with a graceful smile and a steady gaze, she decided to share a piece of herself with Nanami.

With gentle sincerity, she whispered her name to him. It was a moment that seemed to suspend time, as if the world around them faded into the background. Nanami's heart skipped a beat at the sound of her name, finding it as sweet as the person standing before him. In that instant, it felt as though life itself was unfurling in the most enchanting way, as if a new chapter was beginning with each syllable spoken.

"It's nice to meet you," he murmured, pressing his lips gently against her hand as she extended it to him. The touch was as delicate and soft as feathers brushing against her pillow. A sense of warmth and admiration filled her as she regarded the gentle lord minister before her. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance."

She withdrew her hand, clasping it with the other as they exchanged pleasantries. Glancing around, she realized they were nearing her intended destination. Time seemed to have slipped away in the company of this charming prince, leaving her with a memorable stroll to cherish.

"Do you like music?" he inquired, his eyes sparkling with a mix of joy and melancholy as he spoke of his passion. There was a depth to him, a complexity that intrigued her.

"Very much," she replied sincerely. "I often find myself lost in all kinds of melodies. Sometimes, the music moves me so much that I can't help but dance. The musicians at home would play the best tunes to dance to! My brother teases me so much for it—” Se stops once she realizes he freezes and she blushes. “Am I talking too much?”

He shakes his head and smiles warmly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Not at all. Passion exists everywhere. Music is just one of them. Music is a deeply personal experience for everyone. Do you prefer lively tunes then?"

"Oh, yes, dearly," she chuckled. "If I could dance until dawn, laughing and giggling, I would!"

Nanami's compliment caused a faint blush to rise to her cheeks. "I could imagine you outshining all the ladies of the king’s court," he remarked. "A beauty and mind such as yours would be a power unable to be reckoned with by all others."

She offered a soft smile in response. "Such compliments must get you far with the ladies of court, then?"

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Oh no, dear lady. Women are always charming to me at court, yes. But there are other matters more important for me to attend to."

She regarded him curiously. "And you... you have no interest in them, my lord?"

"Kento," he corrected gently, his expression thoughtful. "It's not that I lack interest in women... it's just that I haven't found the right one."

She tinges red once more. “Forgive me for my slip of the tongue, Kento.”

“Not at all.” He reassures her again, a smile on his face. “It happens.”

She pouts back at him. “I still need to do better at it. You requested that I call you Kento and I slip.”

“It will get better with time.” The blond says to her, waving her off. “It’s not that important. We aren’t at the king’s court.”

“Oh, so you wish to see me again?” She now grins at him, looking up to his higher figure. “I am irresistible, I suppose.”

“You are quite a cheeky lady, aren’t you?”

Her eyes beamed with mischief. “Why, yes! ‘Tis would be dull if I was not.”

“Then you have my answer to your question earlier.”

Her brows furrowed. “On what?”

“I will not be shackled to marry someone that I do not like.” 

"But won't that matter?" she questioned, meeting his gaze with curiosity. "We don't always get to choose who we wed..."

Nanami nodded in agreement. "The king is insistent on seeing me married. He believes it will make me more sociable, less focused on my work. But….”

“You haven’t found the right woman.” She finishes for him.

He nodded. “And the king insists that I should make it happen as soon as possible.”

"Well, I’m sure you work so diligently that the king simply worries," she remarked with a small smile. “You are his friend, after all. Well, the whispers say he is.”

He snickered softly. “The man is more of a nuisance and trouble than he's worth."

She laughed lightly. "I’m sure the king is not that bad, my lord."

Nanami shook his head, a wry smile touching his lips. "Believe me, you wouldn't wish to be at court, my lady."

She pivoted on her heels, coming to the realization that they had arrived. The familiar facade of her inn stood before her, a place she considered her refuge. A flicker of concern crossed her mind as she acknowledged the potential complications of bringing the lord minister into such a common establishment. The inconveniences it could cause were considerably too significant to overlook, and she resolved not to add unnecessary trouble to the lives of those around her.

Stepping away from his side, she turned to face him. A subtle height similarity emerged between them, with him only slightly taller. The streets around them whispered with the murmur of city life, the vastness of the cityscape stretching out beyond. In that moment, the boundaries between their worlds became apparent, and the delicate dance of their encounter carried an air of bittersweet transience.

"I suppose this is where you leave me," she said, her voice carrying a hint of resignation.

"Are you sure of that?" He asked, his brow furrowing with genuine concern for her safety. He didn't know her well, but he wished he did. "Not all of the capital is as safe as it once was..."

"I shall be fine," she assured him, mustering a convincing smile that could rival the radiance of a thousand women. "I am off to the ships tomorrow anyway. We will be returning home. I will be fine, I promise. I am a merchant's daughter, Kento. I know a thing or two about protecting myself. Do not worry about me.”

"But still..." he began, his worry lingering in the air.

"Please, Kento," she insisted once more, her voice soft but resolute. "I will be fine."

"But I must insist on bringing you to your quarters tonight safely, my lady," he persisted, his tone gentle yet firm.

"That is very kind of you, my lord," she conceded with a grateful smile. She looked adorable, slipping once more, with formality. She’s such a kind little soul, prim and proper. And yet so cheeky. When she finally realizes, she pouts once more. “This tongue of mine slips too often.”

"It is merely Kento," he said softly, his eyes reflecting a sincerity that touched her heart. "I insist on that with you. If I see you again. This informality makes me happy. It makes me feel…”

Amidst an atmosphere charged with unspoken tension, two figures stood resolute, their gazes locked in a silent exchange that transcended mere words. Despite the insistent push of the wind, urging them to part and surrender to the whims of the world around them, they remained steadfast, rooted in the intimate space they shared. In this moment, it was as if the external world faded into insignificance, leaving only the profound connection that bound them together.

Within the depths of their gaze lay entire universes, each conveying a myriad of emotions and thoughts that defied comprehension yet resonated deeply within their souls. It was a language of the heart, spoken in the silent symphony of their intertwined gazes, weaving a tapestry of understanding and empathy that surpassed the limitations of verbal communication. In this wordless exchange, they found solace and understanding, a sanctuary where their souls could converge in perfect harmony.

As they stood enveloped in this ineffable connection, it felt as though they were swept away by a force greater than themselves, engulfed in a love that knew no bounds. It was a sensation that consumed them entirely, suffusing every fiber of their being with a sense of completeness and belonging. With a gentle lowering of her gaze and a soft brush of his fingers against her hair, they shared a tender moment of intimacy, each gesture a silent affirmation of their shared bond.

In that fleeting instant, as their worlds collided and merged into one, it felt as though time stood still, allowing them to exist solely in the embrace of each other's presence. It was a moment that transcended the confines of reality, a sacred communion between two souls intertwined in the intricate dance of love and longing. And in the quiet stillness of that moment, amidst the echoes of their shared breaths and the soft caress of the wind, they knew with unwavering certainty that what they had was real, and it was enough.

The young woman, her voice barely above a whisper, breaks the silence with a single word, "Human." Her gaze locks with that of the man opposite her, their eyes briefly connecting in a moment fraught with unspoken meaning. 

Kento’s response comes in a contemplative murmur, his mind seemingly wrestling with the weight of her declaration. "Yes... human," he echoes softly, his eyes never leaving hers as they both linger more in the enigma of the other.

The woman's response was gentle, her words carrying a subtle grace as she acknowledged his gratitude. "You have been a gentleman," she murmured, her smile reflecting the warmth in her tone. 

He clears his throat, his hands resting at the small of his back. “It was nothing. It is…a gentleman’s duty.”

With a smile and a nod, she continued, "Thank you for your escort, Kento." 

Her gratitude held a depth that transcended the simple act of companionship, hinting at a mutual respect and appreciation for the connection they had shared during their time together. Nanami Kento could not help but be warmed inside.

"Will I see you again?" he ventured, his voice tinged with a mixture of longing and apprehension. 

Kento's inquiry, delivered with a blend of hope and uncertainty, hung in the air between them, pregnant with the weight of anticipation. “....If you return to the city. Will you come and seek me out again?”

She blinked at him, the drawing sun drawing immortality upon their silhouettes. His question carried with it the unspoken desire for their paths to cross once more, fueled by the fleeting but profound connection they had forged during their time together. She thinks it was her turn now, to feel this warmth.

Their exchange encapsulated a moment of delicate vulnerability, where unspoken emotions lingered beneath the surface, waiting to be acknowledged. As they stood in the quiet aftermath of their parting, the question lingered like a whisper in the air, leaving the possibility of a future encounter suspended in the balance of uncertainty and hope.

Nanami Kento's curiosity about her was insatiable. He longed to delve beyond the surface, to understand the intricate layers of her being. It wasn't just her love of femininity, strength, and wit that captivated him, though those qualities held a magnetic allure. No, he yearned to uncover the depths of her soul, to unravel the mysteries that lay hidden within.

He found himself pondering, contemplating the enigma that was she. And he wanted to know everything. He wanted to unravel her. All for his own. What were her dreams, her fears, her passions? What secrets did her heart hold, and what stories did her eyes long to tell? Each moment spent in her presence only deepened his curiosity, stirring an unquenchable thirst for knowledge.

In her, he saw a world waiting to be explored, a universe of possibilities waiting to be discovered. And so, with each passing encounter, he sought to peel back the layers of her facade, to uncover the true essence of who she was beneath the surface. For he knew that within her lay a treasure trove of untold stories and hidden truths, waiting to be unearthed by the curious soul brave enough to seek them out.

"Who knows, Kento," he heard her say, a teasing smirk playing on her lips. "You may ask the gods. Wish for my presence very well. The gods are merciful to those who they deem worthy."

Before she could continue, she turned to face him again, her expression softening. "About what you said earlier." She smiled gently at him, almost sympathetic. "I don't think you should continue to let yourself suffer this way. The commandment of the holy books can be too much, even for the pious."

He raised a brow, a curious smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "And what say you?"

"I think that you should be able to be your own man, too," she answered, her voice gentle but firm. "You have a right to it. You are only a man, Kento. Be one that lives for yourself too. Not just for others."

"Then I suppose I must work on that then? Being my own independent man?" he mused, a thoughtful expression crossing his features.

"Yes," she nodded at him encouragingly, her eyes shining with sincerity. "Yes, yes you do."

And so she walked away from him, her figure fading into the bustling crowd until she disappeared from his sights.

In that moment, a sense of melancholy washed over him, a feeling of loss at her departure. Yet, amidst the melancholy, a glimmer of hope flickered within him.

Hope that he would see her again, that their paths would cross once more in the winding streets of the city. Hope that the connection they shared would endure beyond this brief encounter.With a wistful sigh, he turned to continue on his own path, carrying with him the memory of her presence and the anticipation of a future meeting.

HE COULD NOT STOP THINKING OF HER. As Nanami Kento returned to the castle later that night, his thoughts were consumed by her, an irresistible force that lingered in the recesses of his mind. The captivating allure of her presence was indelible, leaving an indescribable imprint on his thoughts. She embodied life in its most enchanting form, a woman who compelled him to consider possibilities he had not dared to entertain before. In her existence, he found a paradox, a challenge that both intrigued and unsettled him, becoming an unexpected anathema to his previously defined world.

Every detail of her being held captive in a cascade of enchantment. Her beauty was a symphony of nature's finest elements, a composition that left him spellbound. Her hair, reminiscent of the morning light that kissed the shores and painted the sky, framed her visage in a halo of radiance. Eyes, bright and vibrant like the ever-changing hues of autumn leaves, mirrored the lively spirit of the earth's vast wild plains. Bathed in the moonlight, she seemed to emanate the very essence of life, casting out darkness with the light it needed to thrive.

Her lips, a rich shade of red reminiscent of a precious ruby, were meticulously contoured like a finely crafted sword. Cheeks adorned with the delicate pink of apples in the late echoes of summer, ripened by the passage of time, crushed into a powder that the wind carried, infusing the scarlet wind with vibrant color. Yet, it was her blush, a tender display of vulnerability, that captivated him most profoundly.

Unable to escape the allure of her image, Nanami Kento found himself entangled in the enchanting tapestry of her existence. She became a muse that colored his thoughts, a presence that lingered in the corridors of his mind, leaving an indelible mark that defied both reason and restraint. As he navigated the corridors of the castle, he grappled with the unspoken emotions that blossomed within him, a tumultuous sea of longing, admiration, and a recognition that, against all odds, she had become a singular force that reshaped the contours of his world.

As Nanami Kento raised his goblet to his lips, the rich aroma of the wine enveloped his senses, but it was the scene unfolding around him that truly captivated his attention. The grandeur of the chambers, filled with an abundance of people, seemed to overwhelm him more than the wine itself. Despite the lively atmosphere of the king's party, his mind remained preoccupied with thoughts of her, her image echoing in his thoughts like a haunting melody.

Throughout the evening, he had fulfilled his duties with practiced ease, maintaining a composed facade as he greeted guests and exchanged pleasantries. Yet, beneath the veneer of social niceties, a sense of restlessness gnawed at him, rendering the mundane tasks of courtly life nothing more than background noise.

However, as a familiar face loomed into view, Kento's brow furrowed in a subtle display of displeasure. The sudden interruption disrupted the fragile semblance of calm that he had carefully cultivated, pulling him away from the sanctuary of his thoughts. Though the white noise of the party had momentarily receded, replaced by the distractions of familiar faces and idle chatter, he found himself yearning for the solace of his own thoughts once more.

As he navigated through the sea of faces, exchanging polite greetings and engaging in fleeting conversations, Kento couldn't shake the feeling of detachment that lingered within him. Despite the opulence surrounding him, it was the memory of her that held sway over his mind, casting a shadow over the festivities and leaving him longing for a moment of respite amidst the chaos of the night.

"My lord," Sir Geto Suguru's voice cut through the air, his figure adorned in the regal elegance of fine silk, a cloak trailing behind him as his hand rested on his side. He smiled as a gentleman would. It was clear why he’s the king’s favorite. An intrigued brow arched upward as he addressed Nanami Kento. "You seem to be rather...silent tonight."

Lady Ieiri Shoko, her demeanor playful as she lounged with her pipe, enveloped in wisps of smoke, chimed in with a knowing grin. Nonchalant as always, Kento thinks. But thicker with her bluntness. "My lord does have a lot on his mind, Suguru," she interjected, patting Suguru's shoulder in a gesture of camaraderie. "He deals with Satoru enough. Give him the space."

Lady Tsukomo Yuki, her presence commanding as she leaned in with a mischievous glint in her eye, joined the conversation. Her husband, Lord Choso tending to his brother, Kento’s god-son, distracted him. It would make sense why she was a stray in tonight’s gathering. 

"Though I must say, my lord," she teased, her arm resting casually upon Suguru's shoulder, "Ser Ino was rather...moody today. Tell me, my lord, with all your honesty, was he jealous? Was he jealous of you meeting a lover?"

Shoko's snort of amusement punctuated the air as she handed her pipe to Suguru, who eagerly indulged in a puff of smoke. "Make sure Satoru doesn’t hear," she quipped, her tone laced with amusement. “He’d find this lover and force our lord here to get hitched!”

Nanami Kento's gaze scanned the bustling chamber, searching for the familiar figure of the king amidst the sea of courtiers and nobles. "Where is the king, anyway?" he inquired, a hint of concern tingling his voice.

Sir Geto Suguru, ever the observant companion, gestured towards a cluster of individuals, his gaze settling on a pair of piercing blue eyes that shone like beacons amidst the throng of guests. "There he is," Suguru remarked with a wry smile, "Set loose upon the courtiers, scaring the old folks who don't want to fund his little projects."

Kento sighed inwardly, a sense of resignation settling over him as he contemplated the inevitable task of mitigating the fallout from the king's impromptu interactions. "I should have suspected as much," he muttered under his breath, mentally preparing himself for the diplomatic challenges that lay ahead. 

Satoru Gojo's family background was steeped in tradition, with his father known for his staunch conservative beliefs. However, Satoru himself diverged from his father's ideology, embracing a more progressive mindset that often clashed with the traditional views of the higher-ups in the court. This ideological divide was a source of constant tension and potential conflict, one that Kento Nanami knew he would eventually have to navigate as the king's minister.

As he contemplated the impending conversation that awaited him, Kento felt a familiar ache begin to throb at his temples, a physical manifestation of the weighty responsibilities that came with his position. The intricacies of court politics were a delicate dance, and as the king's trusted advisor, it fell upon him to manage the inevitable fallout from Satoru's divergent beliefs.

Though the prospect of confronting the conservative factions within the court was daunting, Kento understood that it was a conversation that he, as the king's minister, was uniquely positioned to handle. His loyalty to the crown demanded that he navigate the delicate balance between tradition and progress, ensuring that the king's vision for the kingdom remained uncompromised.

As Kento braced himself for the challenges that lay ahead, the weight of his responsibilities pressed down upon him like an oppressive force. The relentless pounding in his head served as a grim reminder of the burdens he bore as the king's minister, a solemn duty that demanded finesse and diplomacy in navigating the complexities of court politics. Yet, as he prepared to confront the ideological divide threatening to tear the court asunder, Kento steeled himself for the difficult conversations that awaited, knowing that the fate of the kingdom hung precariously in the balance.

Amidst the weighty atmosphere, Lady Tsukomo Yuki injected a moment of levity with a playful tease, her expression a mix of amusement and exasperation. "But go on," she urged with a teasing glint in her eyes, "Don’t leave your guests hanging. Satoru’s tomorrow’s business. We are your business right now. Continue with your little story about the eventful stroll, my lord! Give us your romanticism!"

Kento felt his lips retort upward at Yuki's jest, a fleeting smile gracing his lips as he acknowledged the playful banter of his companions. Despite the weight of his responsibilities and the intricacies of courtly politics, there was a certain camaraderie in moments like these, a shared understanding and camaraderie that served as a welcome respite from the rigors of noble life.

 And as he prepared to navigate the complexities of the evening's festivities, Kento couldn't help but feel grateful for the companionship of friends who lightened his burdens with their humor and camaraderie. But he knew he would never say that out loud. Not even if Yu would force it out of him. He supposed he was a bit more grateful for that. Haibara Yu was more than he could ever handle. They may have been childhood friends, but there are things Kento keeps to himself.

Kento sighed softly, crossing his arms in a casual display of nonchalance. "It was nothing much, really," he retorts, a hint of sheepishness coloring his tone. "He was merely angry with me for being too kind to the woman.That's all."

Suguru's laughter echoed through the room as he took in Kento's explanation. "A beautiful, kind stranger of a woman?” he exclaimed with mirth. "Love at first sight, perchance?”

With a resigned sigh, Kento met their amused gazes, preparing to divulge the details of his encounter. "She is a merchant's daughter, if I recall correctly," he confessed, knowing that his friends would appreciate the honesty. "It was merely that she was fishing by the lake and managed to hook onto my clothes by accident."

Suguru's laughter continued, the jovial sound filling the room as he teased, "Oh, my lord. I never thought the day would come when the mighty and trusted Lord Nanami Kento would be fished out from the river by a merchant's daughter."

Despite his attempts to downplay the situation, Kento couldn't help but feel a sense of bashfulness at their teasing. "It was only an incident," he insisted, his cheeks tinged with a faint blush. Shoko snickers at the sight of him, as much as his response. "She may have fished a lord, but she saw me as a regular man, for which I am thankful."

Yuki nodded in understanding, her voice soft with empathy. "That is the only thing a man ever truly wishes for," she murmured, her gaze meeting Kento's with a shared understanding. "To be seen as nothing more than a man. Like you always wanted, huh?"

Shoko's smirk widened as she teased, "And how beautiful is this merchant's daughter, my lord? She must have been quite a surprise."

Yuki’s short empathy turned into mischief. “Oh, yes! Do continue to tell us about that!”

Suguru intervened with a sigh, handing the pipe back to Shoko. "You ought to stop it before he starts to be irate, Sho," he cautioned, though amusement danced in his eyes.

Kento sighed, feeling the wine loosening his lips as he opened up further. "And she is not just beautiful," he admitted with genuine warmth, a fondness coloring his voice. "She is very smart, lively, and opinionated, I may add."

Shoko's mischievous grin widened even further, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she leaned in closer to Kento, eager to hear more about the intriguing merchant's daughter. "Oh, she sounds absolutely captivating," she remarked with a playful lilt in her voice, unable to contain her curiosity. "I must say, my lord, you seem quite taken with her."

Yuki, sensing Kento's growing warmth and openness, couldn't resist adding to the teasing. "Indeed, it seems you've met your match, my lord," she teased, a playful twinkle in her eye. "A smart, lively, and opinionated woman? She must have left quite an impression on you."

Suguru, ever the voice of reason amidst the playful banter, offered a gentle reminder to temper their teasing. "Let's not push our luck too far, my dearest ladies." he interjected with a soft chuckle, though there was a hint of amusement in his tone. "We wouldn't want to overwhelm our dear lord with our curiosity."

Despite Suguru's caution, Kento couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the lighthearted distraction his companions provided. "Thank you, Suguru," he acknowledged with a nod, his smile reflecting the genuine warmth he felt towards his friends. "And you're right, she did leave quite an impression on me."

Shoko raised a brow, intrigued. “It must be enough that you would want to see her again.”

"I should hope to see her again.” he admitted, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. "But let's not get ahead of ourselves. It was merely a chance encounter."

Yuki's teasing only fueled the jovial atmosphere, her playful twinkle mirroring the lightness in Kento's heart. "Ah, but my lord," she persisted with a playful glint in her eye, "a chance encounter that leaves such a lasting impression? It sounds like fate may have intervened."

Suguru, ever the voice of reason, interjected with a gentle reminder, his tone laced with amusement. "Let's not delve too deeply into matters of fate, my friends," he cautioned, though there was a fondness in his voice. "After all, we mustn't forget our duties here tonight."

Kento nodded in agreement, acknowledging Suguru's reminder with a grateful smile. "Of course, Suguru," he replied, his tone sincere. "But I appreciate your concern. Rest assured, I will handle matters accordingly."

As the evening progressed and the wine flowed freely, Nanami Kento found himself gradually opening up about his encounter with the merchant's daughter in a way that surprised even himself. Despite his usual composure and ability to handle his liquor with ease, tonight was different. Tonight, there was an energy in the air, a sense of camaraderie and warmth that encouraged him to let down his guard.

With each refill of his cup by attentive servants, Kento felt himself becoming more relaxed, more willing to share the details of his encounter. It was as if the wine acted as a catalyst, loosening his tongue and freeing him from the constraints of propriety.

The gentle prodding and playful banter of his companions only served to fuel his openness, encouraging him to delve deeper into the nuances of his interaction with the merchant's daughter. He found himself recounting the details of their conversation with a newfound enthusiasm, each word tinged with a sense of wonder and excitement.

Despite his initial reservations, Kento couldn't help but revel in the warmth of his companions' company, allowing himself to be swept away by the moment. Tonight, he was not just a noble lord; he was simply a man, sharing tales of love and longing with friends who understood him like no others.

As the night wore on and the wine continued to flow, Kento found himself swept up in the easy camaraderie of his companions. The weight of his responsibilities seemed to melt away with each passing moment, replaced by a sense of lightness and excitement that he hadn't felt in a long time. It was as if tonight held the promise of something extraordinary, a feeling that lingered in the air like the scent of blooming flowers on a warm spring evening.

Suguru's laughter subsided into a knowing smile as he regarded Kento with a twinkle in his eye. "It seems our lord has found himself quite intrigued by this charming young woman," he remarked, his tone laced with amusement.

Shoko leaned forward, her curiosity piqued as she pressed for more details. "Do tell us more about her, my lord," she urged, her expression eager. "What is she like? How did you find her?"

Kento paused, his thoughts drifting back to the lively encounter by the lake. "She is unlike anyone I have ever met," he confessed, a hint of wonder coloring his voice. "Her spirit is as vibrant as the sunlight dancing on the waves, and her wit as sharp as a finely honed blade."

Suguru couldn't help but interject with a teasing remark. "And he had a poet's career in a day's time," he quipped, a playful glint in his eye.

Yuki nodded in agreement, her eyes sparkling with interest. "And what of her opinions?" she inquired, leaning in closer. "Did she challenge your beliefs, my lord?"

A thoughtful expression crossed Kento's features as he recalled their spirited exchange of ideas. "Indeed, she did," he admitted with a chuckle. "She has a way of seeing the world that is both refreshing and enlightening. It was... invigorating, to say the least."

Suguru's gaze softened with understanding as he listened to Kento's words. "It sounds like she left quite an impression on you, my lord," he remarked, his voice tinged with warmth. "Perhaps it is a sign of something more."

Kento's heart skipped a beat at Suguru's words, a rush of emotions stirring within him. Could it be possible that this chance encounter held the promise of something greater? He pushed aside his doubts, allowing himself to entertain the tantalizing possibility. Tonight, amidst the laughter and conversation of his friends, Kento dared to believe that perhaps, just perhaps, there was something extraordinary waiting on the horizon.

As Kento mulled over Suguru's words, a surge of anticipation coursed through him, igniting a spark of hope within his chest. The possibility of something more with the merchant's daughter danced tantalizingly at the edge of his thoughts, like a distant melody beckoning him forward into the unknown.

With a renewed sense of determination, Kento turned his attention back to his companions, a bright glimmer of excitement shining in his eyes. "Perhaps you're right, Suguru," he admitted, his voice filled with a newfound optimism. "Perhaps there is more to this encounter than meets the eye."

Shoko's eyes widened with curiosity as she leaned in closer, eager to hear more. "Do tell us, my lord minister," she urged, her tone tinged with excitement. "What do you plan to do next?"

Kento's mind raced with possibilities as he considered his next steps. "I suppose only time will tell," he replied with a thoughtful smile. "But for now, I intend to explore this newfound connection and see where it leads."

Suguru nodded in approval, a supportive smile gracing his lips. "A wise decision, my lord," he remarked, his tone filled with encouragement. "Follow your heart, and trust in the path that unfolds before you."

Yuki's eyes sparkled with anticipation as she chimed in, her voice filled with enthusiasm. "Yes, my lord, embrace this opportunity and seize the moment!" she exclaimed, her excitement contagious.

As the night continued to unfold, Kento felt a sense of purpose and excitement bubbling within him, fueled by the support and encouragement of his companions. With their unwavering support behind him, he felt ready to embark on this new journey, eager to discover what the future held in store. And as he laughed and talked with his friends late into the night, a sense of anticipation and possibility filled the air, setting the stage for the beginning of something truly extraordinary.

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