#the charm stopped the warrior from feeling emotions and made him strong enough to take over as the head of the village through cruelty.

[ariel-seagull-wings]

TOP 12 PRINCE CHARMINGS (FROM CINDERELLA)

@superkingofpriderock​ @princesssarisa​ @sunlit-music​ @mademoiselle-princesse​ @amalthea9​ @anne-white-star​ @lioness--hart​ @theancientvaleofsoulmaking​ @astrangechoiceoffavourites​ @parxsisburnixg​ @metropolitan-mutant-of-ark​ @filmcityworld1​

I made a ranking for Cinderella. Is fair that i make one for her greatest love. What is interesting about Cinderella’s Prince is that, in contrast to Cinderella, who is more of a character defined by her resilient hard work, kindness, romanticism and dreams of a better life, he is more of a simbolic reward for her to win, with makes him a blank slate that gives total freedom to screenwriters, directors and animators imaginations, but over the years adaptations have shown some comonalities: sometimes he is a classical brave hero, sometimes he is a lovely bumbling dork, sometimes he is just a hedonist concerned with his own fun, but at the end of the day, they all fall in love with the honest and good hearted heroine. And tonight, i will share my favorite takes on the man who catchet Cinderella’s and, by extension, our hearts.

12º Tony Oliver as the Prince in Grimm’s Fairy Tale Classics (1989)

There is a Prince who just wants his Dad to stop meddling with his personal life. Specially when it comes to making a ball despite the fact that he doesn’t know how to dance. But thankfully for him, while trying to escape trough the gardens he literary stepped over onto a napping Cinderella, who promptly teached him how to dance, and how to love.

11º Florian Bartholomäi as Prince Viktor in Sechs Auf Einen Streich (2011)

This Prince can’t hit a target with his arrows to save his life, and isn’t particularly excited to have the responsabilities of a King. But he is kind and humble to help Cinderella to catch back some lost piglets in the woods, even if it means getting dirt in the mud, and for her and the audience, sometimes that is enough.

10º Jimmy Smits as Prince Felipe in Happily Ever After: Fairy Tales For Every Child (1995)

A Prince who admits that he isn’t fit for battlefield and would rather spend time chilling in the Palace’s dance floor. What it’s not to love about him?

09º  Pavel Trávnícek as the Prince in Three Wishes for Cinderella (1973)

The original Slacker Prince, who is constantly running away from studying with his tutor to go hunting in the forest. He looks chill enough to accept handing over the actual role of ruller to a wise Prime Minister.

08º Masami Kikuchi as Prince Charles in Cinderella Monogatari (1996)

A Slacker who has to learn about dealing with the consequences of his actions! Charles prefers a hundred times to go out fencing than to studying Power and Politics, and wears his best friend’s Alex clothes to pretend that he is page and go out stealing the grapes of his own family vines. But when Cinderella is unfairly framed by the grape robbery, Charles has to slowly understand that not everything is fun and games, and that he has to think in doing something for the well being of others, providing a good character arc about maturity and responsability.

07º Dougray Scott as Prince Henry in Ever After: A Cinderella Story (1998)

Another Prince who has to go trough a character arc, this time about letting go of his prejudices. Henry first runs in the heroine Danielle while running away from an arranged marriage that his parents are trying to push over him. He falls in love with her when she presents herself as the noble lady Nicole and the two share heroic adventures, but eventually the masquerade will have to be broken, and Henry must decide: will his class prejudices win over him, or will he accept Danielle for who she trully is and assume the love he has for her to the world?

06º Matthew Broderick as Prince Henry in Fairy Tale Theater (1985)

The adorkable Prince who gaved a second ball to see his mysteryous beloved lady again and conquered her hearth with melon balls. Three word describe him: Himbo! Himbo! Himbo!

05º Stuart Damon as Prince Chistopher in Rodgers and Hammerstein’s Cinderella (1965)

The veteran warrior hero who after having many adventures rescuing damsels and slaying dragons and evil sorcerours, is getting ready to settle down in a calm, domestic family life. When i watch Damon’s Prince Christopher, i feel that his shoulder will be a strong source of support and comfort to Cinderella after all she went trough, and that’s what makes me to want so much for him to get together with her.

04º Paolo Montalbán as Prince Christopher in Rodgers and Hammerstein’s Cinderella (1997)

While Stuart Damon was a strong Prince with lots of world experience and confidence, Paolo Montalbán was a young man that, instead of being known as a travelling dragon slayer and damsel rescuer,had the feeling of falling in love itself be his greatest adventure. Because of that, i felt that as a romantic partner, he was in a more equal footing with his version of Cinderella, portrayed as another young lady that was about to discover the world, and the two found the perfect companion in each other for their emotional journey. Plus, it helps the higher ranking that after this 1997 TV Movie production, Montalbán retook the role of Prince Christopher in the 2000 stage production known as The Enchanted Edition. Is he or not the definitive face for this musical version of the character at this point?

03º Richard Chamberlain as Prince Edward in The Slipper and The Rose (1976)

He can sing, he can dance, he has a happy musical number about pondering his mortality in his family’s mausoleum, he helps his best friend getting together with the girl he likes, he fights with his father for the right to marry whoever he wants for love. Chamberlain gaved a very energetic an fun performance to the one of the most idealistic and romantic encarnations of Cinderella’s Prince, and for this he earns the number three spot in this ranking.

02º Michael Wilding as Prince Charles in The Glass Slipper (1955)

After spending years studying in London, Paris and Rome, Prince Charles returns to his father’s small principality to reconect with his people and prepare to become the next rulling Duke. One day, walking in the woods, he remembers that he didn’t knew what sorrow was until one day when he was eight years old and saw a poor five year old girl of sad rebellious eyes crying and running in despair for the loss of her mother. By the force of destiny, he finds that same girl as a grown woman and despite her initial rejection of his polytiness as mockery, he insists in being her friend, presenting himself as Son of the Cook at the Palace of the Duke and teaching her to dance. One day, Charles that he is falling for the sad girl and kisses her, but she runs away, afrayed of being loved. And he melancholicaly sits at the piano to sing, reflecting about how her sad eyes and explosive rebellious temper, instead of repelling, atract him to her, and he asks himself how to make her thrust him.

For being this kind, perfect friend, this version was originally going to be my number one. Until he got surpassed by...

01º  Aleksey Anatolyevich Konsovsky as the Prince in Zolushka (1947)

This is a colorfull russian feature film adaptation of the Charles Perrault version of the fairy tale. One of the highlights of this adaptation is how it combines its visuals with good dialogues, where the characters talk honestly about their feelings. Thanks to that, it is one of the first adaptations to explore the Prince as human being, instead of treating him as a simple trophy. We first see him sitted at the ball, looking bored, trowing a paper plane onto the Stepmother to amuse himself. And then, he is called by his father to receive the new guest of unknown identity, and smiling in awe he says to his father that he cannot speak at her vision. A magician makes a spell for the guests to spent time in their dream lands, and the Prince gets alone with the unknown lady in a beautifull garden, asking what counsel would she give to a friend of his who likes a lady but doesn’t know how to tell her. He gets to sing to her. Back at the ball room, during their dance he guesses that she would like some ice cream, and he goes far as to select fourty different flavours, but when he arrives, the lady says goodbye and that she must go away, but he begs her to stay, declaring his love for her. When she is gone, leaving a glass slipper behind, he admits to have felt ofended with her running from him, but still wants to get reunited with her, going in the next morning to a search in the woods, where he hears a beautifull singing voice: the voice of his mysteryous beloved from the ball, to whom he promisses going in the most difficult quests, if they mean he will earn her love.

Prankster, wish guesser, shy, proud, and, above all, romantic, Aleksey Anatolyevich Konsovsky’s performance is historically significant in reaching the right balance of making the Prince the perfect man of Cinderella’s dreams, while also being palpably human, and that is why he is my number one portrayal of Cinderella’s Prince.

Honorable Mention: Robert Westenberg in Into the Woods (1987), The Triplets version (1998).

This list is dedicated to the memory of Libuše Šafránková (7 June 1953 – 9 June 2021)

#cinderella #moodboard #wallpapers #fairy tales #fairytales #fairy tale #fantasy #mithology #folklore #brothers grimm #charles perrault #genre fiction #pop culture #my rankings

[the-wolf-who-kissed-the-moon]

• Randvi x female reader 💋

a sapphire for your heart, part IV

Morning found you wide awake and restless. Your bedding was a mess on the floor and you were lying on the fresh straw which filled your bed. Nausea threatened to spill with every little movement you made; nausea from lack of sleep, and from overthinking. But with a bit of effort you managed to push yourself to sit and wash down the bile with a jug full of lemon water.

The day was promising. It seemed a lot of passers-by had stopped by the docks to bring news or tend to various local business, and many curious young men and women were flocking around Reda’s tend of exotic wonders. You made a careful selection of your own items and brought them outside for the visitors to see and admire, and eventually purchase. Saxon women were especially interested in your variety of colorful fabrics; bright teal, gold, and crimson shawls which powerfully contrasted their otherwise somber outfits. But it was your natural charms that convinced reluctant men to buy expensive gifts for their wives and daughters, and by noon you nearly sold out everything you’ve selected for that day.

All, but one.

It was an emerald green, pure silk scarf, beautifully ornate with golden threads and precious garnet beads. You were offered a hefty sum for it, but you declined with a smile and neatly packed it in your bag.

There were several locals and guests in the longhouse, chatting and enjoying the first course of their supper. Among them, you spotted a beautiful Viking with bright auburn hair and a jug of mead in her large hand. She was accompanied by several friends whom she chatted and laughed with; perhaps it was not the best of times to speak with her. But before you could take your leave, a dark-haired woman waved her arm and asked you to join them at their table. Randvi turned her head to look and when she saw you, she smiled the most beautiful smile you’d ever seen. Your heart raced like a hummingbird, sending little thrills of excitement through every cell of your being.

God… you were bewitched.

“You must be Sapphire! I’m Petra, it’s nice to meet you.”

The woman who beckoned you grinned as she made room for you to sit next to her, and right across from Randvi. You fiercely battled to keep your emotions hidden, to appear collected as you spoke with the people who would accompany you the next day in your treasure hunt. You’d be a group of five, with Petra helping you explore paths safe from dangerous wild predators, and the other three were warriors meant to protect you. A small, but capable group. You drank in their names, clashed jugs with them, and with Randvi, and promised a good journey tomorrow. However, there was a troubling feeling gnawing at your thoughts – the fact that she wouldn’t be there with you.

Soon, the longhouse was full of people dancing and singing, and enjoying the pleasant company of one another as they feasted. In the overwhelming loudness of cheering and music, you excused yourself and went outside to get a breath of fresh air. The night was crisp, sobering you up and lessening the ache at your temples.

“Were we too much for you?”

Your heart jumped at the sound of a beautiful familiar voice caressing your ears. When you looked back, Randvi was standing right behind you on the wooden porch. The light from within cast a glow upon her tall, godly silhouette, making her appear holy. You tightened the hold on your bag, momentarily deciding to postpone gifting her the shawl.

“Not at all. It was the smoke, it stung my eyes.” You answered with a smile.

She slowly closed the distance between you, and with a kind palm at the small of your back she encouraged you to walk with her further away from the longhouse. It was a simple, ghostly touch which lasted a moment, and yet it set your heart ablaze.

How cruel fate must’ve been to plant the seed of desire so deep into your core, only to watch you twist and struggle against the shackles of sapphic love. The way Randvi seemed to glow beneath the pallid moonlight was enthralling; the whole blanket of shimmering stars reflected in her deep cobalt eyes.

“How do you like Ravensthorpe so far?”

She asked.

You glanced at her briefly; beside the lingering smell of smoke in the longhouse and her anguished cries in the night, everything was perfect! But you wouldn’t dare say that out loud.

“It’s lovely. I’ve never been to a Viking settlement before. Your architecture and clothing designs are breathtaking.”

“Clothing designs?” She echoed, slightly amused; perhaps it was the mead.

“Yes. The fabrics you use, the intricate patterns and choice of color… the carvings in your shields and weapons. It’s beautiful.” You confessed with a smile. The way you spoke of her traditional wear made Randvi’s mirth dissolve into surprise.

There was a knot in your throat and your chest felt heavy, as if you were about to spill all the thoughts and feelings you’ve been silently enduring since the day you’ve been acquainted with her. The sound of the river reminded you of her pained, secret cries; you wanted to ask why. Yet all you could do was stand very still as you slowly lost yourself in the depth of her intense, beckoning gaze.

“What else do you like?” She inquired as she shifted from one foot to the other and crossed her large arms over her bosom. Her authoritative pose caught you off guard – heavens, she was a force you could not resist. Your gaze lingered on her dazzling eyes, and then slowly followed the trail of her sharp cheekbones and perfect jaw, all the way to her full lips.

“Your spirit.” You answered. “How your people fight – courageous, almost reckless, unified and strong. There’s something about you…”

Randvi’s interest slowly seemed to grow as she listened. You locked your eyes with hers again, and this time you couldn’t look away. It was beyond sinful to have certain thoughts about a married woman, and yet her allure was stripping you of all reason. If Sigurd was there, he’d probably raise a fist against you, and you’d be crazy enough to challenge him.

“I want you to join us tomorrow.”

Suddenly, you spoke.

“On the hunt you mean? I’m afraid I cannot. There is work I must tend to, here.” Randvi declined, albeit she was pleasantly surprised.

“Whatever work you have cannot be more important than such a great find – I want you to be there, to see the gold for yourself.” You felt as if you found a small grip on her will, and you weren’t about to let go. Something burned deep within you; a flame which would consume you whole if Randvi would refuse you again. Thankfully, she promised she’d consider it.

Delighted, you turned your head to hide a smile in the crook of your shoulder. All of a sudden, tomorrow seemed like decades away.

The graceful Viking walked you to each and every house of Ravensthorpe, introducing you to their current stores and notable landscapes to admire. The abundance of colorful flowers and their sweet smell was intoxicating, lulling you closer to Mother Nature’s chest. There was a soft bed of moss right beside the pool at the base of a waterfall, and that’s where you sat down to tell each other stories.

“Norway's mountains are quite treacherous. It snows heavily most of the year, and unless you’re an experienced tracker, you’d surely find your demise in those steep valleys.”

She spoke with a smile as she fondly remembered her homeland. You were intrigued, absorbing every word and watching her attentively as you learned about the Aurora Borealis and the myths of Odin and Freya, and ragnarok. How fiercely Asgard battled against Jotunheim, and how humans eventually outlived both gods and Jotuns. It was easy to picture these fables coming to life when Randvi told them in such refined detail and with so much confidence. There must’ve been a grain of truth to her words.

“Ymir's tear… I would die for that stone. I’ve heard stories of that gem scattered all over Asgard.” You sighed as you leaned back to stretch over that soft moss and gaze up at the night sky, in awe. You felt those precious blue eyes on you, yet you didn’t dare look, fearful that you’d lose yourself in them all over again.

“Sapphire is a very beautiful name.” She spoke, and you smiled.

“That’s not my birth name…” You confessed.

“Oh?...”

“When I was six years of age, I had this… feeling, as if I knew something was beneath my feet, pulsing, calling me.” You begun your tale and Randvi lowered herself on her side, watching you.

“I had this uncontrollable urge to dig, to see what lured me in and never let me sleep. I broke four of mother’s spoons trying to tear apart the dry, hard soil.” A brief laugh escaped you as you reminisced.

“At last, my older brother stole a shovel from the neighbor one night, and by morning we dug a hole thrice our size. The neighbor was furious, and mother was about to smack us when she saw what we did to our yard.

But then… beneath the damp, muddy floor of the cavern we dug, I felt it again. That urge, that call; I ripped the soil apart with my bare hands, and out I pulled a little satchel. Inside it were two sapphires. I can see them now… shimmering in the light of dawn… they felt sharp and cold, and fit perfectly into my hands, as if they were made for me.” You bit back a smile as you turned your head and saw Randvi, in all of her beauteous glory, propped on her elbow and watching you in awe. Her eyes were just like the sapphires you fell in love with.

“And then?...” She asked with vivid curiosity.

“Mother sold them to buy a farm. And when I was nine summers old, a cart with two travelers stopped by and took me. They promised mother silver, and that I’d be returned by fall with a bag full of precious stones. But… when we returned… We found the farm abandoned, burnt to the ground.”

Randvi’s gaze seemed to soften with sorrow, yet your grin never faltered as you shook your head.

“I kept on traveling, I saw the world. They called me Sapphire ever since, and I forgot my birth name as the years went by… The world, Randvi… it’s so beautiful…” You pushed yourself to sit, drawing closer as you whispered to her.

“Come with me in the morning, let us explore and travel together...”

Her auburn lashes fluttered, as if she was awoken from a trance. She took a moment to think, to find her words or collect herself; but when she turned to meet your gaze again, she answered with a nod.

“I will. I wish to see you dig for gemstones, to see your blessed hands pull treasures free from the earth.”

Your chest swelled with joy, and all at once you were buzzing with excitement.  

-          To be continued…

*part V.

#valhalla #randvi x reader #randvi fanfiction #randvi #lesbian love #sapphic love #lesbian fanfic

[duxhess-kryzewan]

Jealous Satine please!

- Jealousy - 

- Or, 5 times Satine was jealous- 

1. 

Jumping from planet to planet with minimal supplies typically results in them having to, at some point, slip undetected into civilization to procure basic supplies. It always made her uneasy, especially after their attempt of gathering supplies on Draboon ended with a run in with bounty hunters. It seemed no matter where they went someone was always right on their tail. 

The market place was crowded, which allowed them to blend in rather seamlessly. Obi-Wan took charge of gathering what they would need - she was getting better at living hand to mouth, but he was still much more adept at knowing what to get - and she busied herself with looking at the various stalls. Once upon a time she would have been able to indulge in the various goods.

She glances around in search for Obi-Wan (straying too far from him made her a bit nervous) and finally spotted him chatting with on of the stall workers.

She had only managed a few steps in his direction before the wide smile on his face stopped her dead in her tracks. 

The girl was young, perhaps just a year shy of Satine's age, her dark skin in stark contrast with the paleness of the rest of the shop owners around her. She was laughing at something Obi-Wan had said, elbows propped up on the counter as she leans dangerously close to him and in an instant she can feel anger bubbling in the pit of her stomach. 

The girl reaching out and touching out and touching his hand was the last straw. 

"Ben," She says, marching over in his direction, "Are you ready to go?"

Obi-Wan looks surprised at her question, clearly he had not been expecting her to be so eager to leave so soon.

"If you are," He says lightly, "I was just getting the last of the things we need."

The girl  - who was alarmingly much prettier up close - bats her eyes at the young Jedi and it only served to infuriate Satine more. 

Normally she would never crass, she was raised in nobility after all, but she can't bring herself to care as she reaches out and briskly grabs hold of Obi-Wans hand. It was perhaps a bit distasteful for her to so publicly stake her claim on him, but she was no Duchess in this world.

"I'm ready." 

The girl looks suddenly dejected as they walk away, and while Satine almost never act that way towards another person, she can't bring herself to care as she all but drags Obi-Wan through the market, hand still gripping his tightly.  _____

2. 

Obi-Wan was, in her opinion, one of the better looking men to have ever graced her presence. It wasn't hard for her to understand why some of the unknowing women across their time on the run were utterly taken with him, even if he was too innocent to realize it. 

That said, strangers were one thing, but a member of Sundari Palace was different. 

Of course her safe return had been filled with everyone needing her direct attention. The aftermath of civil warfare was not easily navigated and it took away what little time she and Obi-Wan had left before he was due to return to the temple, but she tried to sneak away when she could. 

She managed to avoid her guards long enough to slip away unnoticed and head towards their normal meeting place in the gardens. It was the most secluded area they could sneak off too without being seen and she would be lying if she said the thrill of getting caught didn't make it even more exciting. 

She glances out on of the ornate windows that overlooks the grounds, hoping to spot him before making her way down, but was greeted with a sight that sent a wave of jealousy through her. 

There gathered around her Jedi was a group of handmaidens and advisors, all staring dreamily at him while he holds his lightsaber in hand. No doubt they were all smitten with his boyish charm and warrior ways. She could understand, but the gaggle of girls were cutting into their time and what little they had left. 

She huffs. Yes, she would certainly find something for them to do that was far, far away form her Jedi knight. _____

​3.

Satine had her fair share of jealous moments in her youth; what young girl doesn't? Especially when they involved the first person she ever loved. 

But now that she was older, with a few more years experience with controlling her emotions and learning what really is and isn't worth getting upset over. When it came to her relationship with Obi-Wan, or whatever it was one would classify their entanglement as, she came to understand that other women really didn't pose any sort of threat. After all, he barely had the courage to conduct any illicit affairs with her much less another woman. 

That said, she didn't realize that she would at times have to fight for him to take some time away from his former Padawan. 

"You're back awfully late." She commented when he finally entered her Coruscant apartment.

"My apologies," He says, draping his cloak on the back of her couch, "Anakin had required my help."

It takes her a bit of self control not to roll her eyes, "Yes, so you've said."

​Its a bit harsh on her part to be so detached, but their time together is always too short and she would be leaving Coruscant soon. Anakin got to have him almost everyday, why couldn't she be given a measly few hours of that time?

"Are you alright Satine?" Obi-Wan asks, and instantly her jealousy is mixed with guilt. Always so well meaning even when he was neglectful. 

"Perfectly fine." She answer, glancing over to him, "Tomorrow is my last day here."

Some selfish part of her feels relieved at his dejected expression. It gives her at least some peace of mind knowing that he would miss her when she's gone. Still, she can't help but envy how much time Skywalker gets with him. 

"I'm aware." He says lightly. Clearly he had picked up on her sour mood. 

"Are you going to spend the last few hours I have here or at the temple?" 

Despite her best efforts to sound unbothered she slips up in tone for just a second and she knows that he undoubtedly picked up on it.

"Here, I should think." He answers. 

Finally she turns to face him and takes his hand gently in her own. 

"You better." ___________

4.

Siri Tachi was a name she was quite familiar with despite never have actually having met the woman.

Obi-Wan had spoken of her in the past; about the fight they had originally gotten into before they were even chosen to be padawans to the times they spent back and forth saving each others life. Obi-Wan had respected her, recalling how she was exceptionally strong with the force and was just as lethal as she was introspective. Satine had known even back when they were on the run that Siri was someone he held in high regard.

Though she hadn't proof at the time, she suspected that perhaps they were once even more than friends, though Obi-Wan had gone on to assure her that there was nothing between them other than mutual respect.

And perhaps that was true on Obi-Wans part, but after seeing Siri and him in person together she certainly couldn't say the same from the other woman. 

Now that the galaxy had declared peace, she was able to visit Coruscant more often than not. Visiting Padme was always her excuse, and no one batted an eye at her sneaking off late in the evening to see her friend. Of course, she ended up with Obi-Wan more often than not. 

But here they were, gathered at the Senate building where Bail Organa had organized a dinner party, the few Jedi he was familiar with invited along with Satine and of course, Siri Tachi.

Satine had to admit, the woman was beautiful, with her dark blonde locks and pale eyes. She was a bit younger than Satine had expect, at least two to three years below Obi-Wan. And maybe Obi-Wan really was as oblivious as she liked to think or maybe he was too polite to indulge her, but there was no mistaking the way that Siri Tachi was staring at him. She would know that look anywhere. After all, its the way she looks at him too and it stirs up something in the pit of her stomach.

"Having a nice time?" 

He finally broke away from his conversation with Siri to approach her., something she wish he would have done sooner. But she understands; she'll never be able to have any public claim on him. That doesn't mean she has to like another woman who clearly has feelings for Obi-Wan occupying all of his time. 

"Of course," She says, "Bail does know how to throw a party. I think it's lovely of him to invite some of your fellow Jedi, rarely do I see any of them aside from you and Anakin."

There's a bit of puzzlement in his eyes though he doesn't vocalize it aloud, "It was very kind of him to extent the invitation."

"Your friend from earlier," She finds herself saying against her better judgment, "That's Siri, is it not? I remember you mentioning her before."

He nods hesitantly, "It is. We haven't seen much of one another since the war started."

Satine takes a healthy sip of the wine in her hands before speaking, "You two seem rather close."

"We're friends," He confirms skeptically, "We've known each other since we were younglings."/

Satine spares a glimpse across the room in Siri's direction and finds her stealing glances at the Jedi master, much to his unawareness. Part of her pities the other Jedi, she understands just how easy it is to fall for Obi-Wan, and the other part resents her for it. 

"Just friends?" She presses, and she can all but see the dots suddenly connecting in Obi-Wans head of what she was hinting at.

"Are you jealous, Satine?" He asks lowly, because truthfully this was not a conversation to be having in the presence of so many witnesses. 

"Should I be?" She retorts.

His confused expression shifts into amusement, "Who would have thought the poised and proper Duchess of Mandalore would be jealous of anyone."

She glares, "I’m not jealous. I’m simply pointing out the fact that your fellow Jedi master seems absolutely smitten with you, whether you know it or not.”

He spares a glance Siri’s way, who quickly averts her eyes and goes back to her conversation with Ahsoka when he does.

“Siri is a valued friend and ally,” He says quietly, “Anything more than that is purely on her side of things.”

Another mouthful of wine was her only response because really, she knows its silly of her to be concerned that Obi-Wan was anything less than honest.

“Satine,” He leans a bit closer than propriety would dictate to whisper in her ear, “You haven’t a reason in the galaxy to think I have eyes for anyone but you in this room.” _____

5.

She plops down on her - their - bed with a huff. He hadn’t so much as said five words to her since the arrival of her guest and it was driving her mad. 

Was it a preposterous reason to be upset? Absolutely. Did it stop her from feeling such? Certainly not. 

Of course the entire visit was by surprise. She had specifically arranged her schedule around his brief leave in order to spend the day with him only for someone else to snatch away his attention at the last second. It wasn’t even particularly anyones fault, but that fact alone wasn’t enough to prevent her from feeling so dejected. 

“Going to bed so soon?”

His voice startles her. She had been so deep in her own thoughts that she hadn’t even noticed he had occupied the empty space of the doorway.

“I am rather tired.” She says with a shrug, “And tomorrow I’m to sit in with the Senator meeting. You know how much that takes out of me.”

He grins and makes his way to sit beside her on the bed. 

“I haven’t seen you much today.” He comments, bringing a hand up to rub soothingly across her back. The sensation of his touch sent a spark through her and sometimes she wonders if that electricity everytime they touch would ever fade. She certainly hoped not.

“Well, you’ve been rather preoccupied with our guest. I didn’t want to intrude.”

In an uncharacteristic move, he rolls his eyes at her.

“Leia is a toddler Satine, she requires a bit more attention than you or I. Besides, I thought you loved to see the children.”

She matches his eye roll with a glare, “I do love those children, though I also appreciate a bit of notice before Padme and Anakin drop them off on the one free day I arranged for you and I to spend time together.”

Obi-Wan, bemused by her words, smiles adoringly, “Well I hardly think they planned for Luke to get sick today, and we did tell them that anytime they needed us all they had to do was ask.”

Satine slumps her shoulders a bit. He’s right of course, they had said that, she in particular emphasizing it to the couple once upon a time. Oh how she wished she could take back those words some days.

“I know,” She relents, “It’s not anyones fault, and you know I love Leia as if she were my own, though she does have a preference for you I have to say. Why do you think she was clinging on you for the entirety of the day? She would have thrown a fit if I intruded on her play time with her favorite uncle.”

He smiles widely at her and she can’t help but smile too. Yes, it was beyond silly for her to be jealous of a toddler and the undivided attention that Obi-Wan gave her. It was simply just a matter of bad timing. 

“A fair point my dear, I see why you kept your distance at times. Best not disturb a behaving child,” He leans forward and presses a kiss to her temple, lips lingering a bit longer than necessary, “But I think she’s asleep for the night. Perhaps I can use the last remaining hours of the day to make it up to you?”

She grins, “I suppose I’ll allow it.”

He leans forward and kisses her deeply and all the worries from the day suddenly disappear under his touch.  

#obitine #obi wan x satine #obitine fanfic #obitine fanfiction #obitine prompt #obitine fluff #jealous!satine #clueless!obi wan

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Protea (Part 16)

She waited too long. 

Hesitated for too long.

And now, as she is growing used to, the damage has been done. 

She thinks that Mai has known for a while now. Likely she had overheard she and Mohi conversing. She is almost certain that this it had been a test of honesty, that she has been waiting for her to come out with the truth that she had already guessed. And, by all means, she was going to--truly, she was--but, just as likely, Mai had set a time frame. One that Azula failed to act within. 

“How long have you had your memories, Azula?” She hisses. 

“Since around the night of our first date.” Her voice is quiet and even. Level for now. 

“That long? Spirits! You and Zuko are both the same.” 

“Oh wow, she’s really mad at you, Snapdragon.” Zuko remarks as he sneaks on by.

She isn’t sure if she wants to grab him by his pompous fire lord’s robe and give him a good whack or laugh at the his ignorance to the context. Laugh at the sense of unity they might soon have in Mai’s cold resentment. 

“I was going to tell you.”

“When?” Mai asks. “Because it seems like you just like to run, whether you’re Azula or Snapdragon. You always run.” She rolls her eyes. “Just like Zuko.” This is pointedly louder than the statements prior. 

“Are you trying to get kicked out of the palace.”

Mai quirks a brow. “It’s not like I have anything important to stay for.” She rubs her hands over her face. “How am I supposed to manage the flower shop on my own?”

Azula doesn’t understand. The solution is clear. “You aren’t running it alone.”

“Yes. I am.” 

“You don’t have to.”

“I would rather try to handle everything on my own than handle anything with you.”

Azula her stomach and hopes sink in unison. “You liked running the shop with me.”

“I liked running the shop with Snapdragon. Not you.” Her lip curls into a scowl on the last word.

She wonders how it is that Mai always knows just what to say to break her...to shatter her. It is just what Azula had dreaded. Exactly why she couldn’t muster up the willingness to tell her. And yet she is almost certain that Mai would have stuck around if she did. Why else would she have waited so long to start this confrontation? 

“We’re the same person.” She doesn’t think that it is the weakest defense, but it isn’t a strong one and it is the only one that she has. 

Mai shakes her head. “Snapdragon was genuine.”

“I’m trying to be.”

“Trying isn’t good enough.” Mai hisses. “Not for you.”

“What about for me?” 

Mai rolls her eyes. “You’ve had so many chances, Zuko. I’d take Azula back before I took you.”

Azula isn’t if it is she who cringes harder or he. She grows less tense when the depth of her words seems to go over his head. At least she can take comfort in that her odds are better than Zuko’s, though she knows that he has set the bar as low as ever. 

“You are in a dreadful mood.” Zuko comments. 

“Well I guess that you and Snapdragon have something to bond over. Maybe she’ll be honest with you, she already made a mess with Mohi’s sons and I.”

Finally at her patience's end she scoffs, “why don’t you go bond with Kaz then?”

“Perhaps I will.” 

Zuko waits for her to make it down the hall, “what did you do?” He flinches. “I thought that, that reaction was reserved for me.” 

“I guess that we both just have a special talent for making her angry, Zuzu.” 

“Yeah clearl--wait, what did you just call me?”

She doesn’t repeat herself. She doesn’t need to. She has already made everyone she cares about angry with her, what’s one more person? One more person who she had never been close with or gotten close to, to begin with.

“Azula, how?” 

She sidesteps his curious touch. 

“The same way that mother did.” 

“Spirts,” he chuckles, she doesn’t see where he finds humor. “Wait until Ami finds out about this one.”

She almost certainly would have laughed if she weren’t feeling so dismal. “That’s it? That’s what you have to say.”

“I don’t know what else to say. It’s a little late for ‘welcome home’, you’ve been back for a while now. I knew that you’d turn up eventually, you always do.” 

She shrugs, “you’re usually more dramatic than this.” Evidently she is almost disappointed. “Where is the yelling and the lamenting. Bursts of fire, give me something.��

“Azula, Mai told me that you ate a whole marigold, I’m still processing that.” 

.oOo.

She doesn’t even know the man. He is charming enough in appearance, sure. She thinks that he is half Water Tribesman and half Fire National. His complexion is darker though his eyes are a bright gold. His hair a deep black but beaded and braided as they do in the tribes. He has a soft goatee in the making.

He isn’t so bad as far as personality goes. He has a sense of humor, but it isn’t one she shares. He has a passion for firebending, but it is quite generic. He is generic and she wonders if that is due to having spent so much time with Snapdragon. She cruses Azula twice over for setting a surprisingly high and bizarre standard. 

It is no matter. 

There doesn’t need to be any real connection where spite is involved. 

She thinks that he might actually have a real spark for her. One that she is too indifferent to reciprocate. But she supposes that one hurt leads to another. One heartache can make a dozen more. 

Likely it is as simple as resenting Azula more than it is actually loving one another. Anyways, she can’t imagine that one discussion and one practice kiss could ignite anything real. Kaz leans himself against the wall as they wait for the dinner crowd to arrive. 

Mostly the traffic consists of chefs and servers.

She leans closer to Kaz. If she has Azula’s schedule down, she will be making her way down the hall shortly. 

She hears her voice before she sees her. Something in her heart flutters. That voice, it had been such a delight to hear. Something to look forward to and get enthusiastic about. Mai inhales before leaning in for the kiss. 

It feels just as dispassionate as she had expected and laced with a dash of guilt. She doesn’t stop though. Not until she hears Azula’s sentence cut short. Not until she detects a familiar aura of betrayal. 

She wonders what TyLee would say if she weren’t off with they Kyoshi warriors on some thrilling mission. She wonders if TyLee has found someone she loves, someone who makes her happy. She wonders why she is thinking of TyLee at all. 

She supposes it is better than thinking about the feeling of Kaz’s lips and the whir of emotions within.

Dinner is tense. Azula hardly speaks. When she does it is to ask Mohi to pass her a spice shaker. Once or twice she exchanges words with Zuko. The uneasy fluttering in her tummy is made worse when she compares this solemn meal to the lively and chaotic ones she’d shared with Snapdragon before. 

Azula excuses herself before the main course. 

There is a part of her that wants to sigh heavily and tell her to sit back down. Most of her is still so angry. Angry and hurt. And those parts let Azula go.

She had gotten with Snapdragon to feel something and now she is feeling too much.

.oOo.

It is late, she isn’t sure just how much so, when she arrives at her factory. It has been so long since she has seen it. Somehow it looks unfamiliar, daunting and uninviting. 

That is until she touches her hand to the metal, it is still very warm from the day’s excessive heat. She closes her eyes, it is familiar. 

It is still a comfort. 

She ignores the stain that the rust leaves on her palms as she finds her first foothold. It is automatic at this point, and quick and easy ascent. She reaches the first landing, a rickety old fire exit. The last of it’s emergency staircase had crumbled a few weeks prior, it still rests haphazardly on the ground. She leaps from it to the balcony above it, with a blast of fire for good measure. 

She will make it to the top this time. 

She swears it.

She will, because this time she has her fire and no trepidations.

She makes it past the highest balcony. To the point where there are only overly large rivets to hold. She takes a deep breath and pushes forward. This is the highest she has ventured. She propels herself with a steady stream of fire, her hands find stability on one of the spokes. 

She looks down, Caldera city is a glow with lanterns and bonfires. A beacon of wealth and culture and she has the pleasure of taking it all in at once. She thinks that she doesn’t really need anything else. 

She is eager to see it from the very highest point of the factory. It isn’t so far away now. And being so close to it, she isn’t sure how she hadn’t made it to this point sooner. It should only take one more blast of fire and a careful placement of her hands. She observes it for a good while before settling on an optimal angle to propel herself from and the best place to set her hands. 

She takes another deep breath and shifts her weight. 

The spoke buckles. 

#Avatar The Last Airbender #Azula #Mai #Maizula #Fanfiction

[catte-bard]

Heart’s Desire

(A scene that’s been in my head for a while about the rocky start to Bel and Thancred’s relationship.)

@ffxiv-writers

The last few days had been long and exhausting.

So much occurring in such a short span of time. Taking Castrum Oriens, trekking out to Rhalgr’s Reach, having to fight the bloody crowned prince himself.

And then was Y’shtola...

If Bellona wasn’t already certain she was awake, she’d assume it was all a terrible dream. 

Her body was sore. Her limbs felt heavy. And her chest ached with the need to sob. All she wanted now was the comfort of a warm bed within the safe walls of the Rising Stones. 

To close her eyes and forget all that had occurred...if only temporarily. 

“You don’t have to escort me, you know.” She quietly told her companion. 

She only meant to travel from Rhalgr’s to the castrum. The trek wasn’t very long and most of the wildlife seemed content with leaving travelers alone as long as they kept their distance. But she still made sure to keep her bow within easy reach. 

“A gentleman never allows a fair lady to walk alone at night.” He simply replied. 

Despite her lousy mood, that managed to get a smile out of her. There were very few people in Eorzea who would think to cause trouble for her. Few corners of Eorzea where her reputation was not known. 

They were traveling in East End now and most of their journey had gone by uninterrupted. She doubted anything or anyone would cause them much trouble this close to an Alliance encampment. 

“I’m quite sure I can handle a few beasts and bandits.” She told him.  “Asides, there have to be a myriad of other more lovely maidens that you’d rather be spending your time with tonight.” 

Though in truth, Bellona was glad for the rogue’s company. She put on a brave face, but the twist in the day’s events had greatly shaken her. The Reach’s chirurgeons had advised her to stay put and rest. But the miqo’te had grown restless in the infirmary. 

And so she had left, at first intending to simply pace around the Reach for a while. But everywhere she looked, she was reminded of the attack. Reminded of her fight with Prince Zenos, and her wounds would begin to ache again. 

Thancred—the damnable rogue—had of course seen her slipping out. And he insisted on accompanying her. Claiming that he was heading back to Mor Dhona himself. He didn’t voice it, but she knew it was because he was worried.

Everyone was worried after seeing what Zenos was capable of. And the fact that Thancred had been the one to pursue her warmed a small part of her. She was glad for his presence. 

Thancred chuckled.  “I don’t doubt there are many a pretty maidens who long for company this night. But there are none that I’d rather spend time with more than you.” 

That surprised her. It shouldn’t have; Thancred was a friend. Of course he’d want to spend time with her over a stranger. 

“Well regardless there’s no need to worry over me.” Bellona assured him. “Today’s events have been terrible but I’m capable of taking care of myself.”

However even as she said this her foot happened to catch in a root unseen in the darkness. And with a very unWarrior of Light yelp stumbled clumsily, losing her balance. But before she could make an embarrassing fall she felt two strong arms catch her.

“What was that about not needing an escort?” Thancred’s voice was laced with amusement. 

Bellona felt her face burn with embarrassment and indignation. Of course it would be her luck! And knowing Thancred, he would never let her live it down.

“I only tripped.” She grumbled.

“And here I thought all miqo’te were of impeccable balance.” He teased further. 

He was close.

Strong, tawny arms held her against his chest, cradling her as if she were some swooning maiden. His face was mere ilms away from her own. 

Thancred was a rather handsome man. The thought occurred to her as her gaze flicked over his features. His roguish new look was starting to grow on her. Even that silly bandana he insisted on always wearing was starting to seem charming.

Her eyes met Thancred’s gaze, finding a tenderness there. He smiled fondly at her, seeming captured within a reverie of his own. Had he always looked at her like that? So...warmly? 

It tugged at something within her. An odd emotion... 

However, she quickly pushed it down, something within her fearfully flinching from it. Clearing her throat she found her footing again, pulling herself from Thancred’s arms. 

“We shouldn’t linger here for too long. I remember Lyse saying that the bears were bold around here.” She awkwardly mumbled.

Thancred blinked, seeming hesitant. Another strange expression on his face. However, whatever was on his mind he bit back.

"Right." He agreed quietly as he followed behind her.

Quiet had fallen over them then as they continued their journey. A tense and awkward kind. Thancred seemed to have fallen back into his old habit of brooding. Stewing in silence over something. Every time she glanced his way his face was drawn and he seemed deep in thought.

Twice she thought about prodding him for what was on his mind. But found her own tongue heavy. And her own mind troubled; still wrestling with the strange feeling trying to bubble up within her. 

The heavy silence seemed to make the trip to the castrum stretch on longer. Or perhaps she merely misjudged the distance?

“So what happened to your eye?” Bellona eventually managed, hoping to break the strange silence that had fallen over them. “You never told me. Get into a fight with a nutkin?”

Her friend’s new accessory had her curious ever since they first reunited in Dravania. She never thought to properly ask him about it. And opportunities had always been stolen away by duty’s call.

Thancred perked, whatever clouds in his mind parting. “I think the mystery of it makes me seem all the more dashing. Would you like to see it?” A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Bellona paused mid-step, her face scrunched into a grimace, but the morbidly curious part of her did perk up. “As long as it’s not...gross or anything.” She told him.

“Worry not, the injury has long since healed, so no puss or rotting flesh or anything like that.” He said as he reached up to undo the sash.

A gasp was already on her lips as he pulled it away, however it stopped short when she saw...just an ordinary eye hidden behind. She frowned, confused for a moment. And Thancred seemed rather amused by her bemusement. 

With a chuckle he stepped closer, leaning down towards her. “Here, look.”

For a few seconds, Bellona wasn’t sure what she was supposed to be looking at. Her gaze must have looked over his features three times before she finally noticed. His eyes—they were two different colours. The left eye was almost like Y’sthola’s—pale and grey.

It was an endearing look for him in a strange way. Made him look more mischievous which matched his nature as a rogue. 

But she also felt a pang sympathy for him. “Does it...hurt?” Without thinking, Bellona reached up to touch his face. 

And as her fingers brushed against his cheek, Thancred winced causing her to jump. However, a smirk quickly broke out across his face and he winked at her. “No it’s fine. See?” He took her hand, guiding it back up to his cheek. His skin feeling soft and warm under her fingertips.

 Bellona could feel her own cheeks growing warm. She prayed Thancred didn’t take notice. 

“I can still see out of it...the light bothers it and sometimes I get headaches. But it’s nothing that has been too debilitating. I’ve learned to get used to it.”

“How did it happen?”

Thrancred shrugged. “Perhaps, a side effect of Y’shtola’s Flow spell. Prolonged exposure in the Lifestream can’t be the healthiest thing.”

Her thumb absently brushed across his cheek. At the back of her mind, Bellona scolded herself for it. However, Thancred seemed not to notice or mind the gesture. 

He’d changed much since the last time they’d seen each other. This half-wild man before her was a far cry from the scroudral of a bard she had departed from in Ul’dah. There was a new hardness to him. A new weight he carried on his shoulders.

“Well I’m just glad you came back to us safe in the end.” Bellona said. 

His thumb brushed against the back of her hand. The gesture sent a tingle through her.

And there was that look again...That soft, fond look he gave her. “Would you believe me if I said that it was the thought of you that kept me going when I was out there?” 

The sudden confession left her speechless.

His hand slowly wrapped around hers and he closed his eyes. Leaning into her touch. "Every moment I doubted I would survive—that I would see my friends again. The mere thought of your strength, your conviction, even your smile gave me enough reason to keep fighting."

"Thancred…"

He opened his eyes and looked at her. There was a long pause between them, a heavy silence hung in the air. Something far too soft—far too filled with longing in both their gazes to be denied. And they both could sense it. 

And perhaps that’s why it happened.

When Thancred leaned down, Bellona leaned against him, catching his lips against her own. Rough, calloused hands were gentle as they held her. As if she were something softer and more delicate than the warrior she was.

Her hands roam over his chest, resting over his beating heart. Her own racing along with it. It felt good in his arms, safe, warm. She had forgotten how good it felt to be held like this. And in that moment the weight of her travails lifted from her. All felt good and right.

But...

Bellona pulled away from him, her eyes squeezed shut.

What are you doing?

“I shouldn’t have done that.” She whispered. 

She hadn’t been thinking when she’d done it. Only hearing her heart thudding in her ears. Listening to the intensity of the emotions rushing through her body. And it had been a mistake. A foolish, stupid, mistake.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that…” She mumbled again and stepped away, feeling as if her face had been bathed in Ifrit’s fires. Good gods, why did she do that?!

She felt a nauseating knot twist her stomach. Oh how she wanted to die on spot right then and there. Wanted to run away and hide somewhere. 

“Bel…” Thancred breathed, his voice lace with astonishment. “Bel it’s fine.” He gently takes her by the shoulders.

His mere touch sends levin through her body. It sends her heart racing. “N-no it’s not.” She argued. “That wasn’t appropriate of me.”

And he laughed. The sound warms the air around them. “How is it inappropriate when I feel the same way?”

What? At that, her cheeks felt even hotter. She looked back up at him, searching his face. He was giving her that look again. That soft, loving look.

He meant those words.

“You...do?” Bellona blinked. She could feel herself shaking. 

“I do.” His voice just above a whisper. 

She was speechless. 

Is this what had been stirring within her since his return? This strange feeling tugging at her heart? That flutter whenever he looked at her a certain way?

How had she been so unaware of her own emotions?

And when did her heart become so soft and so easy to enchant? 

She should’ve realized what it was. And perhaps she had known all along what it was but had just been too afraid to acknowledge it. Because it felt too soon after Haurchefant. Because it felt like a betrayal to him.

Because she was scared of feeling that heartbreak again...

Love stung. And she swore never to trust it again; yet here she was...being a swooning fool again. Enticed by its seemingly harmless appearance and forgetting its barbs.

She looked up at Thancred. Why him? Why did it have to be him? And why now?

“Have I perhaps misread something?” Thancred suddenly sheepishly asked, noticing her distress.

Bellona winced, hating the pained note in his voice. Hating the pained note in her own voice. “No it’s fine...I just.” The words came to her slowly. What? What was wrong with her feeling this way? 

Thankfully, the buzz of her linkpearl saved her from having to finish her response. 

Giving Thancred an apologetic look, she quickly answered it. “Yes? O-oh, Alphinaud.” She did her best to keep the trembling of her emotions from her voice. “Yes...I'll be there shortly.”

The call ended, she looked sheepishly at Thancred. He still waited for an explanation for her reaction. Something she wasn’t ready to explain yet.

“I have to go.” She mumbled.

Disappointment fell across his face. “Of course.” He replied.  “I suppose I should get going as well…”

She hesitates. “We’ll talk about this later…” 

That seemed like the appropriate response. And Thancred seemed to accept it. Albeit reluctantly.

“Later then.” He nods.

If he had anything else to say, Bellona didn’t allow him the chance. Quickly turning away and walking off before he could. Mentally scolding herself as she went.

Her heart didn’t stop racing for a long time.

#final fantasy xiv #thancred x wol #wol x thancred #thancred waters #(To Open My Heart Again) #writing

[veenussposts]

Mingi as a demigod (and your boyfriend)

Mingi was always a lazy person who found it difficult to be punctual and maintain an orderly lifestyle. However, he always did things well even if he had no idea what he was doing.

And things didn't change when he arrived at Camp Half-Blood, after trying to be killed by a minotaur as he walked back home.

After being claimed by his father, the God of war, Mingi continued with his same attitude as always and, unintentionally, quickly climbed into the hierarchy of his cabin. He was just good at fighting, he was honestly the best, even though he never had any training in the art of war.

He only had fun with Apollo's sons and daughters and yet no one was able to beat him in a battle. The laurel crown was his over a year ago and no one could take it away from him.

But everything changed when you arrived.

"Who is he?" Mingi asked one of his sisters who was observing all the commotion that was forming in the camp due to the arrival of a squad commanded by you.

"He is a roman demigod, one of the leaders of Camp Jupiter, the only child of Bellona the goddess of war, destruction and devastation"

"Uff, it's a very long and intimidating name for a boy. I bet he's not that good"

With determined and somewhat haughty steps, Mingi came towards you with his chin up to ask you to a duel. The warriors under your command looked at each others scared when they heard Mingi challenging you. What did you do? You laughed at him and then completely ignored him.

Or at least that's what Mingi believed because even though it didn't seem like it, you really paid attention to him. At a glance you realized that, after being rejected, that son of Ares made vibrate some swords while walking back to his cabin.

You had a slight suspicion of why that happened but there was only one way to check it.

It was a normal day after a chat with the director of the Greek camp, you were on the banks of the great lake meditating when you felt a familiar sensation in your stomach. Someone was watching you. With a single movement, you unsheathed your sword and threw it towards where your instincts told you.

"If this were a real fight you would already be dead" Your sword was pointed at his forehead as it floated in midair. With a single wave of your hand, your sword turned towards you and came back to its place.

"What... Ho-how did you do that? You... how did you manage to stop it before... and..."

"I didn't stop it, you did" Mingi's eyes widened, looking at you in surprise. "The weapons obey you, they will do whatever you tell them to do. You can even fight with them even if you don't have them in your hands"

"But my brothers cannot do that"

"That is because only a few are blessed with the gifts of their parents. Some children of Apollo can heal, others cannot. They are gifts that have to be used and I am willing to help you, son of Ares, even if it goes against my principles as a descendant of a Roman Goddess "

And that was how Mingi, dumbfounded by the way your tan skin shone in the sun's rays, agreed to train with you.

Things were going well, too well. Mingi was more powerful than you imagined and could follow your strict training without problems.

As the days passed, your stomach felt strange sensations and it wasn't your sixth sense. It was something else.

"Am I in love with a Greek demigod? Oh my Jupiter"

On the other hand, Mingi was totally in love with you. Every cell in his body went into ecstasy every morning when he saw you, he seemed to be flying through the clouds every time he saw you smile and the mere fact of listening to your compliments when he did something right blushed his cheeks.

"He is very cute"

"I think you are the only person in the world who thinks that he is cute. Brother, every time I look at him I feel like a deer being analyzed by its predator. He's scary"

"Yeah, that's one of his many charms. Ahh, he's magnificent"

Your swords collided, they withdrew and returned to find ways to outdo each other and catch up with their opponent. A slight whistle accompanied the movement of both, indicating the speed of your movements and your location.

"I'm sorry to inform you that this fight will be won by me" Mingi said as his eyes closely followed you.

"Don't sing victory yet, redhead"

Your swords collided again and both of you continued to dance across the training ground in a fight that never seemed likely to end because neither was ready to lose.

You, who at the time were leading the initiative, attacked while Mingi defended himself. He leaped back, accurately moved his hand, and one of his two swords, which he had previously lost in a counterattack against you, shot out at top speed. You barely had enough time to turn around and dodge the attack, consequently your opponent's weapon cut a piece of your purple cloak that was part of your armor.

"Well if this was a real fight you would already be dead" The cold metal of his weapon was leaning against your neck while a silly little smile was drawn on his lips as you stood up slowly. "Can I sing victory now?"

"I don't think so" The smile on his face faded when he saw out of the corner of his eye your great sword, pointed at him in midair. "I think you are dead"

"Yeah, but dead of love for you"

Your eyes widened like saucers and Mingi's hand that didn't hold the sword opened, letting it drop to the ground. His cheeks started to turn deep red like his hair as he tried to look anywhere but you.

Hell, he had screwed up. Surely you were going to reject him, surely you would laugh at...

"In that case... I guess I'm dead too" Before Mingi could understand your answer, your strong arms were around his waist, drawing him towards you. You were so close that you could smell the sweet scent of his cologne, your noses were rubbing against each other and your lips were only a few millimeters apart. "I... I also like you, too much for my liking but I couldn't help it"

Mingi leaned his head forward and kissed you, softly at first, and then with immense passion causing you to cling to him as if there was no tomorrow. His lips were caressing your trembling lips, sending shocks of electricity along your back, causing emotions that you had never thought you were capable of feeling.

Mingi almost went crazy when you confessed with a blush on your cheeks that he was your first boyfriend. For that reason, you weren't quite sure how to act in certain situations.

Despite being stoic, strict and not very good with words, Mingi knew that you loved him because your actions showed it. For example: the time you were training and it started to rain, without thinking twice you took off your cape to cover Mingi so he wouldn't catch a cold.

HE LOVES PLAYING WITH YOUR LONG HAIR. He could be brushing, stroking, or just playing with it all day.

"Just relax, I'll wash your hair for you"

He is capable of sending a sword flying to anyone who dares to speak ill of you.

"I'd fight the whole world for you and I don't care how cheesy that sounds"

Mingi says and does things on purpose to embarrass you for his own amusement such as calling you by cute nicknames in front of your legion or dancing while he was wearing your golden armor.

You haven't tell the others about your relationship but all the demigods in both camps know that your are a couple.

Gets giggle because of your existence and blushes when you kiss him.

The biggest cuddle bear ever.

When you had to leave Camp Half-Blood to return to Camp Jupiter Mingi did his best to keep you from leaving but, unfortunately, it was your duty and you had to leave. The first night without you he cried because he missed you.

Now, Mingi is only in Camp Half-Blood the summers, the rest of the days he lives in Camp Jupiter with you.

He sleeps on your chest because he says your skin is very soft and warm, he feels calm and protected in your arms.

"You're ridiculously comfortable"

His cellphone password is the date of your birthday and as a wallpaper he has a photo of you smiling after the daughters of Venus combed your hair in a large braid decorated with flowers.

Every summer at Camp Half-Blood, Mingi tells the new demigods how magnificent his boyfriend is, telling them that he is the most powerful person ever born, that perhaps you were the reincarnation of a hero like Hercules. Sometimes just to bother you, he tells you to go to the camp to sign autographs because everyone admires you but not as much as he does.

Worries about your safety 24/7.

"Zeus, I was very worried"

"It was just a reconnaissance mission, baby. There's nothing to worry about"

You never fight, you have a healthy and prosperous relationship, but sometimes when you have had a stressful day you ignore each other unintentionally.

In conclusion, just being with Mingi makes you happy. That redhead, son of Ares, has completely changed your life in a wonderful, magnificent and extraordinary way.

#kpop #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #kpop x male reader #kpop x reader #kpop x you #ateez #ateez scenarios #ateez fluff #ateez imagines #ateez mingi #ateez x male reader #ateez x reader #ateez x you #ateez x atiny

[shabre-legacy]

81? Ocs of your choice!

Ok, so sorry this is so long in writing. I might have had a very busy few weeks and a case of writers block and also might have written this in a hurry so I could get something done before I lost all motivation again. Anyways I wrote a little thing between Aric and Nyaisa taking place after the second time they go to  Tatooine but before they get their next set of orders. Enjoy. 

81. Sweet Dreams

Nyaisa was still sitting at her desk when Aric returned to the ship. They didn’t get much downtime and he’d long ago learned to take advantage of what time they got. He’d left the ship hours ago. He’d called up a few old friends and went to have a drink in, not quite celebration more like, acknowledgement of finally getting back to his old rank. After the extraction of that SIS agent and working with that obnoxious man, Balker, again, they’d reported in. Balker was annoying as ever, flirting with the Captain constantly, and worse, Shabre flirted back. It grated on his nerves. Once they returned to Coruscant and done with the debriefing, the Captain gave everyone some time off the ship until Garza called with new orders. She’d insisted she had reports instead of taking time herself. The others likely wouldn’t be back until morning. He thought about stopping in and talking with her. Once he’d gotten over his initial bitterness over the demotion, he’d come to find the captain rather interesting. There was no denying that she was an incredible warrior, and a beautiful woman; but it was her spirit he’d been drawn to most. Well, that and somehow she made all that armor look damn good. He’d even tried flirting a bit, unintentionally of course, but still. He wouldn’t lie to himself, he was attracted to her and talking off duty was usually a highlight of his day. She was confident and charming, optimistic and passionate. 

She’d been off for a couple weeks though. At first he’d thought it was just the reality of the hunt for Tavus being over. She’d told him a bit about her time with them, about what they’d shared and how it hurt when they turned on her, how each one they took down seemed like another part of her was shot at the same time. They’d managed to save Fuse on Tatooine and keep his bomb plans safe. It was a major victory in his book, but the whole thing seemed to have taken a toll. 

She’d gotten a holocall just as she dismissed everyone. Whoever it was from was enough for her to head straight to her quarters. He’d been the last to leave. Maybe slightly hoping to catch a moment alone with her. 

Jhasis and Dorne had left together. Seemed like they were becoming close, which might be a problem. He’d need to keep an eye on that, there were regulations and team effectiveness needed to be maintained. Maybe Jhasis just didn’t want the poor girl to spend leave alone on the ship. She didn’t seem to have any friends left. At least none that she mentioned. 

He’d finally left when he’d noticed Shabre, in her civvis, pulling on boots in a hurry, while still talking to the Mirialan man on the holocall. She’d broken up with her last partner, he’d seen that. Maybe she’d found a new one. He couldn’t help the stab of jealousy that he felt at that idea. He yanked himself away from staring at her, and the way she bit her lower lip as she focused or how a stray hair escaped from the tight style she kept it in and drifted across her face; gently brushing her lashes with each breath. 

He quickly moved to the galley and pulled a bottle of water from a cupboard and promptly dropped it, gripping the countertop and growled in annoyance. It shouldn’t be this hard. He shouldn’t be doing any of this. He’d spent part of his leave at a jewelers commissioning the perfect piece to fit the Captain. Nyaisa, why did she have to have one of those beautiful names that fit perfectly and made him want to say her name. This was ridiculous. There were rules. She was his CO and he was a soldier. He should be able to just push things aside and move on. But he was also Cathar and emotions ran high in his people. She was just so beautiful and stars, but she made him feel invincible just being in her presence. He had to get these feelings under control. He’d call the Jewelers in the morning and cancel his order. 

“You’re back early.” He heard an exhausted voice say behind him. 

He spun around to see the Captain standing there. She moved past him, grabbing a ration pack, her movements slow and strained, like she was about to fall asleep where she stood. She’d been like this a few times after particularly rough days during their mission. “Did I actually manage to startle you? Where is that famed constant awareness?” She actually laughed. It had been weeks since she laughed. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it.

“You didn’t startle me. I was just lost in thought for a moment. It’s been a long few weeks.” 

Nyaisa sighed. “It certainly has.” 

Aric immediately regretted bringing down her mood. But any chance to talk to the captain. He gestured over to the table and grabbed his water as they moved over and sat down. “Seemed like you had someone to meet earlier. I would think that’d make the day better.” 

Nyaisa giggled at that, actually giggled. It was adorable. “That was my brother!” 

Well, that made since, she had mentioned a brother. “He’s a Jedi, right?” That would explain the rush as well. Jedi seemed to get less downtime then soldiers. 

She sighed again, “Yes, the famous Hero of Tython, as they’re calling him now. He was on Coruscant for a quick meeting before heading out again. He’s already left. Just fucking saved Tython and avenged Uphrades and the council can’t give him a break.” 

“Avenged Uphrades? Didn’t some Sith burn the entire planet?” 

“Yes, Angral, I think the name was. He was upset my brother killed his son in a fight and decided to destroy the Jedi and the Republic in vengeance. Like that was ever going to happen. Nic stopped him. He didn’t want to talk much about that.” She fell silent, staring at the table, her eyes suddenly seeming a million lightyears away. “Captain?” no reply “Captain” she was lost in her thoughts and clearly tired. “Shabre.” She blinked and focused on him again. He suppressed a shudder at having the full attention of her gaze on him. “What did your brother tell you that has you this shook up? We’re all mourning Uphrades, but seems more personal than that.” He instantly backpedaled. That was too personal a question to get with his CO. “Sorry, didn’t mean to get that personal, sir.” 

This time she glared a bit. “We’ve talked about this, Jorgan. No need to call me Sir when we’re off duty.” She deflated again. “It wasn’t Uphrades. I mean, it's horrible and if Angral wasn’t dead, I’d be trying to kill him myself. It’s yet another reason the empire has to be defeated. But no, he…” another sigh, “He found out about our father and it’s just a lot to deal with.”  

That was his Nya. Destruction of planets, Traitors, Plans going to hell, Impossible missions that never stopped, those she could handle without blinking. Personal issues though, that was what shook her. She was a soldier through and through. His Nya? When had he started to think of her as his? Where had that even come from? And since when did he think of her as Nya? This wasn’t good, but he couldn’t seem to find the motivation to leave. Instead, he simply stepped over to the Cafpot and poured her a cup. Setting it down gently in front of her as she began to speak again. 

“I think I mentioned that I never knew who my father was. Mother never told us and then the injury, she’s barely ever lucid enough for me to ask when I visit. Apparently, he decided that Tyrenic’s confrontation with Angral was the perfect time to step the hell up and try to be a parent. Not when our village fell. Not when my sisters were dragged away. Not when I spent a year in refugee camp or years on Mirial under imperial occupation. Not when my brother survived the fall of the Coruscant temple and could have used his father. No, never any of those times.” She shook her head and sipped at the caf smiling at him gratefully as she picked at her rations. Why she was eating them when there were thousands of restaurants and cantinas here and many delivered, he’d never know. “Turns out our dad is a Jedi Master. ‘Riqr’, Nic said his name was. Same Jedi who used to come over a lot as kids, same Jedi who took Nic away to the Jedi. That’s our dad and I don’t know... I guess I’m just angry about it and hurt. I know they can’t have families, but still.”

“Well, I don’t know about that. I’ve heard rumor's about lots of Jedi families. Even Jedi getting married. But it seems more like they have to be discreet about it. Guess that makes sense when you’re making personal enemies of Sith all the kriffing time.” That was not the right thing to say. Nyaisa just shrugged and stared into her mug. “He must have had his reasons, even if they aren’t good ones. How is your brother holding up with this?” 

“He’s not as angry as me. He said that he talked to Riqr and his reasons made sense. But I’m not a Jedi. I can’t just get over everything the way they do. I’ve already lost everyone else. I can’t lose Nic too, not to some stranger that’s convinced him that he’s somehow not a terrible excuse for a parent.”

That was that, the pain in her voice, it hurt HIM. Thank the force the others weren’t around or they’d have given him so much shit, but he couldn’t let her think she was alone. He reached out and took her hand, squeezing gently. “I doubt you’ll lose your brother. He took the time to come here and tell you right? If you don’t want anything to do with this Riqr, then don’t. I don’t understand what you’re going through. My parents are protective and have always been there. But I know that you’re a strong woman and smart and kriffing good at sorting out messy situations. You’ll get through this and figure out what’s next..” He took a breath himself. “And if you need an ear, I’m always around.” 

He’d intended to thank her for the promotion tonight. But it didn’t seem right with everything else going on. Her eyes fluttered, struggling to stay awake as she stared into the mug and gently squeezed his hand back. “Thank you Aric, really. I…” Her head dropped and fell onto her other hand, barely missing the mug. He sat there stunned for a moment. She’d used his name. It was the first time that he could think of that she’d called him Aric. It was always Jorgan, they were in the military after all. But still, it meant something to him, something he was NOT going to think about. He smiled down and shook his head. The Captain was dedicated to her work. Usually falling asleep at her desk or in front of one of the terminals because they’d fought for days and she’d had paperwork for more. But this time, he could do something about it. If she was angry with him in the morning... Well, she was never shy about making her disapproval known. 

He stood and gently turned her chair away from the table, glad he hadn’t gotten as drunk as his friends had tried to get him and was mostly sober by now. Aric reached down, picking up his captain and gently carrying her to her quarters. He laid her on the bed, pulling off her boots and covering her with one of the thin blankets that she seemed to prefer. He went to leave, but had a thought and stepped back. Reaching down he quickly undid the tie that secured her hair and placed it by her bed as her hair unraveled. Sleeping with it that tight couldn’t be comfortable. On impulse, he gently brushed the back of his fingers across her forehead as he smiled down at her, she looked relaxed in her sleep, at peace. If only she could always have that kind of peace. “Sweet dreams.” He whispered as he slipped out and sealed her door behind him. At least she’d get a few hours of rest, he thought as he moved towards his own quarters. She deserved at least that much.

#swtor #Nyaisa Shabre #Aric Jorgan #asks #fanfics #my ocs #my writing

[lady-plantagenet]

What hasn’t already been said: The Spanish Princess 2

Episode 2: SOdden (or Sod ‘Em depending on your persuasion)

(Dont know how long I’ll be able to keep these puns up)

Catherine, like this woman, does not really fit into this era. But while this woman seems dropdead cool and at least looks the part, Catherine just...

To all those of you keen enough to have come back for another segment of ‘what hasn’t already been said: TSP’, as opposed to have just been scrolling when you see this - welcome back! (Scrollers you too <3)

To anyone who’s seeing this for the first time: what this is a list of observations, jokes, reactions and criticism which occur to me upon a rewatch. I wait every week until Saturday to do this so that I have had my fill of scrolling through the tag and aggregating what has already been said. I tried doing a whole spoof (here where I gave up 10% in) but tbh a) I don’t know the history well enough b) it’s more time consuming than I thought and c) this series is just not as funny or as crazy as TWQ, so it’s untenable. Having said that: This is not a hatepost. I’m not hatewatching this series and nitpicking on purpose but expressing my honest views and trying to find the good in it as well as the bad.

Without further ado...

First Scenes:

The baby cloth lifting into the ceiling of the chapel had nice ‘myth of the demon countess of Anjou (ancestress of the Plantagenets)’ vibes. I am 100% that was unintentional. I get this impression by the cringiness of the baby’s screams (what’s up with those sound effects? It sounded like a zipper).

Henry gives me such softboi vibes? It’s pleasing to me because it’s making me attracted to him as a viewer, but no good in convincing me this is Henry VIII.

I think Catherine’s exposition about how she feels is pretty ok actually, it’s fitting that she would feel anger.

CHARLES’ FATHER IS NOT MAXIMILIAN, IT’S PHILIP (or rather it was). ~~ A quick wiki search guyz, a quick wiki search. Ughh

Again with the whole everyone acting like Catherine is Queen. Can they cut it out? Also while we’re at it, what was Catherine’s attendance in councils even like?

The music was nice

Post Child announcement phase:

Oof I hate to say it but I lowkey wanted de la Pole back in this mother. Mainly because it would mean more Margaret Pole and by this point I am scared her storyline will fade in prominence now that there’s no longer a Yorkist subplot (showhorned as it was, it was the crowning glory of last season tied with Arthur x Catherine).

More x Maggie Pole and all of it over Seneca and learning :’). I already know this will be the best part of the episode.

‘We certainly know stoicism in our family’ ~ I guess she’s referring to Reggie? Because our boi Clarence was no poster boy for stoicism. Though could she be making an ironic reference to her father~?

Edmund de la Pole Debacle:

Well this convo at least passed the bechdel test.

Maggie and Edmund’s interactions here are touching. I know this plotline was rushed but I think it was just right to bring us back here for 5 min as a mournful throwback to the bygone era to which Maggie Pope belongs to and now continues to do so alone. It is emotionless and you can just feel how the York cause was hanging on by a tired old threat by that point.

Maggie Pole is becoming matronly now and I like this transition.

What bothers me about a lot of fans of Margaret Pole is that what they don’t realise is that she wasn’t all like ‘I want nothing to do with my family I’ll stay low and obscure’. While far more cautious than the likes of her ancestors, she did engage in land disputes with Henry VIII and was an outspoken supporter of Catherine and Catholic. Having her be a woman woth dubious loyalties towards the Tudors is accurate.

Scotland with Meg and Jammes:

LMFAO it’s like they read my mind when I spoke of how much I laughed when Meg was like ‘Alexander Steward you pig!1!!’ last episode.

Nice reference to Aulde Alliance

I like James.

Henry and Catherine on the balcony:

Was she commander of the forces? Was Howard appointed that? Regent she was, ok.

Charlotte Hope’s new hairstyles really suit her!

‘Will you please stop cursing’ agahsjdk ahah

No offence to women (of which I am one) but this comparison between childbirth and war is just... wrong. I know Starz think they are being smart but childbirth is far less impressive than winning or surviving a battle - comparing the two diminishes the bravery of soldiers. YET ,having said that, childbirth is necessary for our society whereas war is almost always futile and by comparing them, it wrongly represents violence as something inherently as natural to us as birth and continuing of civilisation. overall not a smart, respectful or accurate parrallel to make.

Meg and prep for invasion + Catherine in her weird armour:

So Margaret dreams that her husband is dead and bloody in her bed. Ughh show you neeed to get more creative. But I did like the whole ‘dreams are how our ancestors talk to us’ line from Angus Douglas.

Re: Meg in her beret... Why is Meg dressed like me going to the London shops in October? Digging the aesthetic but not sure about the accuracy.

Rich of Catherine to bring up Edmund.

Why is Ursula Pole crying??? What is all this to her really?

Did Howard just call the guard... sonny?? Is this some WW2 crossover?

Catherine - James and the tent parlay:

Did Catherine just insult Meg’s intelligence??

Also lmao I’m going to miss James.

Re: Howard saying ‘I’m not going to get insulted by a man wearing a dress’ .. UMMM Starz, you do know that just thirty years ago men were prancing about in dresses and leggings (essentially). From around the middle of the 14th century to the beggining of 16th century (if not earlier), Englishmen were also essentially prancing about in ‘skirts’.

Am I getting a weird cooperation-partnership vibe between Meg and James?

The Battle:

Charlotte Hope looks so good with the helmet, she’d really suit an english hood! Such a shame they won’t give her one!

Ewwww he’s eating mud, why?

Just standard battle scene. They are all the same to me no matter which movie.

Aftermath:

Jesus, I find the whole Meg crying over James IV so heartfelt ‘you arrogant bastard’ for some reason just came out so full of emotion. Can someone please explain why the hell I ship them more than Henry x Catherine?? Like how ??

Awwww Linna is sooooo adorable ughhh. Also this whole Catherine going into armour among all the women crooning over the children gives this adorable sense of Catherine boyish and bloodying herself out to protect their peace, idk. All I have to say is that these series is less eager to pitt women against each other than the previous. I think that’s a step forwards.

Also, good to see Catherine being modest about her victory so Henry can save face. Finally starting to seem like the real Catherine.

‘Go on you dog’ arghh ahah he sounds like some public school rugby lad egging his mate on.

Re: Wolsey cock-blocker; the real Catherine would know it was uncatholic to have sex when you were pregnant. Also Catherine is not technically speaking in confinement if she’s wandering about.

It’s nice to see Catherine sticking up for Howard, she at least learned to respect him during the battle.

I foresee Oviedo having enough of this Christian stuff and wanting to return to the berber domains (I suppose Spain is out of the question)

Knighting Ceremony:

Apparently Margaret Pole herself was made Countess of Salisbury during this same ceremony... right? @houseofclarence

Also Maggie Pole being like: “being a rebel is in my blood, or so they tell me”... gahhh what’s with these shows and the Clarence erasure? Can’t they make one bloody reference to her dad or grandad Warwick? Ugh. Especially with lines like this. Actually? You know what? Ignore my previous comment about the stoic remark and it being an ironic reference to Clarence. I put such subtlety above this show’s writers.

Catherine has a habit of going to the coldest places possible to lose her children...

Haha @ Henry asking Bessie Blount (of all people) where Catherine is.

Conclusion:

6/10

What I’m happiest about is that Flodden got dealt with in one episode because warrior xena Catherine is not what interests me most about this show. Having said that, it was a true shame that James IV died because his were some of the best scenes. This whole show is starting to feel so historical fantasy-ish because the aesthetics are so confused. Granted it’s still pretty (not eyesore like Reign) but it doesn’t penetrate.

I am as always invested in the Poles (and More) but am also starting to get attached to Princess Mary whose actress exudes plenty of charm. This show remains confused with its feminist message because while it shows women being proactive there is so much emphasis on babies that what remains with the mind after watching is this womanish birthdrama, as opposed to a show about struggles which affect both genders.

You might tut at me and say I’m being ridiculous and that it is historically accurate to put so much emphasis on women’s babies and I say that’s swell. I would happily watch a show where that element is strong (most pre 1995 historical dramas are like that with traditionally feminine characters and I gulp them up like sustenance), but if a show promises feminism and women-men being partners I want it to deliver that properly. As I said in my previous post, why do we keep trying to make women engage in acts like war as if such an abhorrent act is the only way to take them seriously? I await the day where cunning, rationality and cool-headedness will be the traits portrayed as feminist ones.

There is nothing else to really comment on... the only potentially deeper message in this is the gender discourse. I am unsure about the accuracy so I can’t speak of the historical value of the interpretation. But what I will say is that though I remain excited for each new episode... I’m just not as invested as I was in TWQ (rewatch every year dont @ me) or TWP despite their many flaws. Some characters pull me in eg Maggie Pole (Carmichael is a bae), Thomas More etc but not the whole cast like TWQ. Anyway... would be interesting to see if anything happens with Lina and Oviedo tommorow as their storyline is conspicuously slow.

#the spanish princess #the spanish princess 2 #fool if you thought I wouldn't jump on the whole 'being a rebel is in my blood' opportunity to bring up Clarence #I was delighted last time when people left comments and stuff #rofl #so yeah #Please please I love discussions and do not think twice before sending me an ask or commenting ! #lady plantagenet's series reviews #the dialogue remains a bit trite #the sugared grape counterpart for this episode was edmund's death and the whole ironic reference to Senenca and stoicism #not because the dialogue around edmund's death was particularly poignant but how conspicuously quiet and swift the whole affair was as #...as compared to previous york pretender plotlines left a mournful note #basically I feel like I keep focusing on stuff the show doesn't want me to focus on #and am projecting therefore

[ivegotbreadinmypants]

calls of guilty thrown at me

a little soul-baring never hurt anyone (1/3)

Find it here on AO3

Geralt/Jaskier - Soulmate AU

Word Count: 3792

Jaskier has known his soulmate for over twenty-two years, yet he's never felt the man's lips against his.

—OR—

Jaskier and Geralt go to a banquet, and Jaskier meets his rival-slash-ex-lover there. Somehow it gets emotional; there's some crying involved and soul-baring on both sides.

The way s(he) tells me I'm (his) and s(he) is mine

Open hand or closed fist would be fine

The blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine

If Jaskier wanted to count the number of times Geralt has saved his life, the number wouldn’t be accurate because twenty-two years of friendship means the many, many, many times Geralt has saved the hair on the top of his head. Jaskier is thinking this night is only another tally to Geralt’s score.

The bard was invited to perform for a ball at this duchy. It all started from a simple contract, really. Geralt was tasked by an ealdorman to take out the two—not one but two—drowned dead nests skirting the edge of the village, near the swamp. Obviously, when word got out that Geralt of Rivia was in town, the duke—a fan of Jaskier’s work—just had to invite the bard to entertain the village, a celebration of sorts after Geralt’s completed contract.

Jaskier could not refuse a man of such power, especially when he’s getting coin. Besides, it has been a while since he’s performed in front of a regal crowd.

Geralt wasn’t fond of the plan.

“Please, Geralt, just one night of drinking and my wonderful music and then we’ll be on our merry way to be covered in selkie guts in the next town,” Jaskier had pleaded. The man had glowered for a good few minutes before grumbling, “Just as long I’m not wearing anything colorful. Or any doublets.”

“Ah, well, that isn’t quite up to me. You see, the duke’s sister expects everyone to be in their finest wear for the evening and we can’t have you walking in wearing your… very fashionable blood-splattered armor. She already sent your clothes that I requested to the inn.” Jaskier worried that it was the deal-breaker for the man, but to his surprise, other than an exasperated glare and a heavy sigh, the Witcher could not say no to the bard. After all, they are soulmates.

——

When they met in Posada, and Jaskier broke the silence with the most charming sentence a man can say: I love the way you just sit in the corner and brood, Geralt had barely flinched and, without missing a beat, told the bard he was drinking alone.

Obviously, a Witcher of Geralt’s caliber was taught not to react to strong, unbidden emotions. But Jaskier, on the other hand, wasn’t taught to suppress what he felt on a day-to-day basis, so it was only fair when the bard had almost lurched forward in shock, the gentle burn of his words—written in bold just above his left hipbone—sending a full-body tingle from his head to the tips of his fingers and toes.

Jaskier still vividly remembers the small smirk on Geralt’s lips after he saw the entirety of his reaction—when the bard’s world was turned on its head in a second.

Despite their shared soul-marks, Geralt never made the whole ordeal as romantic as ballads had painted it out to be. In fact, Geralt never made any sort of move at all. At the end of their adventure at the Edge of the World, Jaskier concluded that the Witcher just wasn’t attracted to him that way.

Sure, they have their chemistry; the easy back and forth between them; that familiar spark of a soul-bond, that pull of fate bringing them together when one needs it; and when Jaskier turns up the annoying theatrics, the Witcher never once pushes or sends him away.

(Other than that one time on the mountain—)

But even after years of knowing each other—possibly closer than anyone Jaskier knows—Geralt never once made a move. Jaskier has heard of soulmates who don’t fall in love; those who choose not to or just have unforeseen circumstances standing in their way. Jaskier doesn’t take it personally (—okay, maybe he did, a long time ago, but only for a while. The bitter anger was fleeting.) and he’s come to treasure what he has with the Witcher, no matter how far apart they are on the Continent.

Being with Geralt is like a warm scented bath after hours of walking, like a sip of cold apple juice in the sun, like a string of pretty words coming together perfectly in a new ballad. Being with Geralt is like coming home.

And it’s no doubt why Geralt humors the bard on his many, many ridiculous whims. The Witcher feels the same when Jaskier is around. It’s inevitable when one is your soulmate.

But sometimes, during the lonely nights away from his dear Witcher, Jaskier wonders if what he feels is a result of falling in love rather than the soul-bond binding them together.

It’s a thought he tries not to visit often.

——

“This, this, damn thing won’t fit properly,” Geralt curses, the frantic movement of his shadow behind the room divider giving a rather amusing view of Geralt getting trapped in the confines of his new outfit. Jaskier hardly tries to stifle his laugh, coming up to knock on the divider.

“There’s no shame in asking for help, you know.”

“Yes. There is,” Geralt grits out. This time, Jaskier’s lips split into a grin, a laugh bubbling in his throat. “Just say the word, Witcher, and I shall valiantly save your life from those cursed clothes.”

“Shut up, Jaskier,” he grumbles and Jaskier only hums. The bard walks back to the bed, ungracefully plopping down on the mattress. He grabs onto his lute resting at the foot, and plucks a few strings, making sure they are finely tuned for his performance.

“Geralt?” The Witcher hums.

“Do you think that the duke’s sister is unwed?” There’s a soft grunt and the stomp of a boot as Geralt yanks on his shoes.

“Even if she is, it’s not like that’s going to stop you,” Geralt says matter-of-factly.

Jaskier grins. “You know me so well.” His thumb smacks on the top string, a shallow twang sounding in the room.

“Try not to get killed tonight, Jaskier. I don’t want to spend my evening chasing away jealous lovers,” Geralt rumbles, his voice still as gruff even when behind a room divider. Jaskier wonders what’s the point of the wooden wall. It’s not like he hasn’t seen the Witcher naked. He has, in fact, many times. (Maybe it’s just a flimsy reason to ogle the poor man, but he digresses.)

Jaskier makes a face when he realizes what his friend just said. “I won't, what was it you said?, ‘hide my sausage in the wrong royal pantry’.”

Geralt chuckles, a low sound that makes the air in Jaskier’s lungs disappear. The bard rolls his eyes and mutters, “Of course you’d laugh at your own joke.”

His fingers find a soft rhythm to drum on the surface of his lute. “I’m not quite feeling up to a lustful rendezvous tonight. Even a bard of my skill would be quite tired after performing for a court like this one.”

Geralt peeks around the divider, looking at the bard with a cocked brow. “I’ve seen you play for a kingdom court twice this size. Two nights in a row.”

Jaskier opens then closes his mouth, glancing away.

“That’s a very good point, Geralt.” The Witcher snorts and goes back to his buttoning his doublet.

Jaskier shrugs despite not being in his view. “Maybe I’m just getting old, my dear Witcher.”

Geralt snorts once again. It’s a special case, their soul-bond. Jaskier is supposedly forty-one and yet he still looks as young as the day he met Geralt. It’s almost as if upon meeting the Witcher, his aging process stopped. A decade ago, he would have claimed it was up to his skincare, but over thirteen years has passed and it’s like he hasn’t aged a day.

Geralt had pointed it out a few years ago when Jaskier passed him a bottle of wine—a gift for his thirtieth-sixth from his colleagues at Oxenfurt. It was a startling realization for the both of them. Witcher and human bonds are rarely heard of, but there are bonds between other magical beings and humans that are documented; it was said that the human, Jaskier in this case, is found to be aging slower because of residual magic binding two souls together.

Bollocks, he had said. But time passed and he still hasn’t aged.

Quite convenient, Jaskier had joked once, guess you’ll have to endure me being by your side for many years to come.

Geralt didn’t say anything, only hummed and stared into the fire thoughtfully.

A heavy, tired sigh reaches Jaskier’s ears and he can’t help but smile.

“Come on out, Geralt. You can’t avoid the social interaction forever.”

“I’ll try my darned best to,” Geralt growls as he steps out from behind the divider.

The first thought that crosses his mind is that Geralt is… ridiculously uncomfortable.

The second, well…

Jaskier is glad he has his lute over his lap.

Those sleeves really do a terrible job at keeping Geralt’s arms in, the fabric stretching to accommodate his lines of muscle. For another, his chest is so wide Jaskier has the unshakeable want for the man to press his weight onto him. And Gods, those trousers, those legs

“Jaskier,” Geralt calls out. The bard blinks and—

Geralt is smiling, a small grin curving his lips.

Jaskier clears his throat and jumps to his feet. “Well, chop, chop. We can’t be late; we would be awful special guests, won’t we?”

He ignores the way his cheeks heat up, hoping he turned around fast enough to hide it from the Witcher. Knowing Geralt though, he could probably even feel the damn temperature change.

——

The court is raucous by the time they both grace the halls, with men already drunk off the rails and women fawning over the warriors busy with arm-wrestles. When Geralt sends him the side-eye, Jaskier can only grin and shrug.

“Let’s just hope they have enough ale for you to get through this night,” Jaskier says, slapping the Witcher’s shoulder with sympathy. Geralt grumbles, “I was thinking the same thing.”

“Dandelion!” a manly voice booms from across the room. Immediately, cheers from all over the room erupt, and Jaskier can’t help bowing to his already wonderful audience.

He looks over his shoulder to Geralt, his eyes twinkling under the chandeliers. “And I didn’t even have to play a song.”

The man only snorts, rolling his eyes. They walk up to the ducal table and surprisingly, every member wears only welcoming smiles for the both of them. A small weight is lifted off Jaskier, glad that his songs have travelled this far to spare Geralt a little bit of the prejudicial stress of being a monster hunter.

The duke claps for them, getting to his feet, “Welcome! It’s a pleasure to see you two here. This morning, I had that the invitation did not get to you. Fortunately, it seems you two are not eager to leave the duchy yet. I am pleased.”

His Grace is regal man, his ornately stitched doublet and crown telling everyone that he’s no doubt a man of royalty. “We’d like to thank you, Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf, for ridding us of all those foul beasts—those pests. They’ve really been a pain in my arse—”

“Jarvis!” a well-dressed woman in green and golden robes by his side slaps his arm, but the duke only laughs. He leans down to press a kiss upon her temple. “I apologize, my lady. I did not mean to utter such profane things to our guests.”

“You better not,” the woman warns, but the loving warm grin on her face takes away the bite. Jaskier and the Witcher share a look. Soulmates.

Geralt bows his head respectfully, “I take no offense, Duchess. Besides, it’s all in a day’s work.”

She waves a hand. “Nonsense. You were invited as a guest and will be treated as such. It’s no matter if you wield two swords.”

Jaskier can’t help but pipe up, “Do I have to be a Witcher to be introduced to such a lovely lady?”

She faces Jaskier and the warmth and kindness emitting from her face grows tenfold. “Ah! Dandelion. You may refer to me as Duchess Emylya. My duke and I are nothing but big admirers of your work, especially of the tales with your—” she glances over with a smile to the silver-haired man by his side, “—Witcher.”

He chuckles. He’s not mine.

“I’m honored, Your Grace. It’s a pleasure to meet your acquaintance.”

“The pleasure is all mine, bard. If you wish, you may start your performance,” the duchess says, and the duke nods, clearly as excited as she is.

“We are all rather eager to hear your tales straight from the source. Quite tired of listening to your stories from minstrels who’ve not faintest idea of what they’re singing about.”

Jaskier laughs. In the corner of his eye, he can see Geralt resigning himself to his fate. A night of mingling.

“Well, I would like to make good on my promise and let me grace your ears with my performance,” Jaskier merely says before heading to the group of minstrels prepping their instruments, sliding a comforting hand on Geralt’s back as he passes by. He overhears the duke inviting the Witcher to sit at their table and he has to muffle his snort of laughter. Only Geralt can be invited to sit at the ducal table.

He takes his time to tune his lute, even though it’s been done several times before the party even began. He then slides the strap over his shoulders and plucks an experimental first note. The crowd quietens.

He grins wolfishly, pleased by the warm reception. He strums a chord, and another and soon, the whole room bursts with life. He steps into the middle of the court, commanding attention with his ever imposing presence.

“Oh fishmonger, oh fishmonger, come quell your daughter’s hunger…”

It is a classic, a song that even dates back before Ciri’s birth. He still remembers the Cintran court like it was yesterday.

His body thrums with vibrant energy, like sunlight bursting from his chest, glowing at the seams. It has been a while since he’s let himself go like this, singing his heart out as if he’s still young and free—like a bird in the sky. He feels limitless, like he can sing and pluck a tune forever and ever, the moment unending as he brings joy and elation to everyone around him.

Golden honey brings him down to earth, grounds him in dirt and cooling soot; he meets the Witcher’s eyes from across the rowdy hall and can hardly tamp the urge to flash a wink. Geralt only smirks and gives a fond roll of his eyes back. The familiar interaction is a soothing wave, washing over him with warmth that Jaskier knows so well, pulling him down under the sea. He never wants to leave the water.

—————

After a whole hour of prancing around, music flowing through the air, Jaskier finds himself parched, a little worn out from the constant movement.

He tells the group of minstrels to take a break, considering they are probably faring worse than he is, and drifts over to the table of juices and alcohol provided. He pours himself a tankard of ale, gulping it down excessively to stave off the thirst.

He wonders if Geralt is enjoying himself, especially when it seems like the duchess has roped him into a deep conversation.

A hand rests atop the table right next to him, and he turns to face the person. Green eyes, dark hair and a handsome face.

Jaskier stops breathing.

Valdo fucking Marx.

His hackles raise, back going straight as a rod as he leans back to glare into those beady green eyes. He resists the urge to spill the biting remark already on his tongue.

“Jaskier,” he purrs, that annoying glint already in his eye, like he knows every little thought that crosses Jaskier’s mind. Before, it used to thrill Jaskier—the danger, the risk of having someone so sly and cunning between his sheets. Now, though, it fills him with unbridled bitter anger, Valdo’s stare unleashing an uneasy crawling feeling under his skin—like little bugs festering.

“Valdo,” he says stiffly, taking a step back, but the man only chuckles and closes the space.

“My dear, I must say, your voice is still as beautiful as the day I—”

“Left me with my heart torn to pieces like the snake you are?” Jaskier bites out.

He supposes he wasn’t able to resist the urge for too long.

Valdo laughs, a grating sound that used to charm Jaskier silly. Sometimes, Jaskier just absolutely hates his heart for falling in love so easily; it can never quite differentiate the bad from the good.

“Jask—”

“Call me Dandelion,” he states, no room for argument, narrowing his eyes. He wishes he has the fear-instilling glare Geralt is well-known for.

Valdo grins, his white teeth flashing in the golden candlelight. “My, my, my, you’ve grown feisty, haven’t you?”

“Not feisty. I just demand the respect you never gave me then.” His tone is sharp, cold and not quite forgiving. He’d rather die from one of Geralt’s Witcher potions than let the man treat him the same way again.

Valdo ducks his head, “Of course, my flower.”

Jaskier’s glare flares. His hand itches to throw a punch. He hasn’t hit a person in a while, considering Geralt has been doing good in terms of keeping him in check—stopping him just short of a tavern brawl every time. He doubts he would miss though; anyone would see Valdo’s face as the perfect target difficult to ignore.

“You should know to stay out of my way, but you just can’t help yourself, can you?” Jaskier hisses, fingers tightening around his tankard.

His smirk looks awful against the golden embroidered red doublet. He has good fashion taste, Jaskier can give him that; the only original thing the fraud has. Knowing him though, Jaskier won’t be surprised if he copied someone’s style.

“You know me, my flower, just a hopeless romantic for nostalgia. How can I ignore a beautiful old friend like you?” Valdo says, fingers digging into a fruit bowl, popping a grape into his mouth.

“Old?” Jaskier scoffs. “Are those crows’ feet I see?”

Yes, in this moment of time, Jaskier is willing to borrow one of Yennefer’s insults (that has since then turned into a fond sarcastic comment every time they see each other). It’s quite embarrassing to know Valdo can drag him to stoop so low as to borrow insults.

It further irks the bard when Valdo only chuckles, amused in the same way Lambert would be when Jaskier falls on his ass during sparring.

“Let’s just say I age for the both of us, especially since you’ve aged so beautifully,” Valdo jokes, sounding wistful, but it’s impossible to tell if there is any actual sincerity to it. The bard resists the urge to spit in his face.

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “Well, it sure has been an awful time catching up. Let’s never do this again, yes?” Jaskier picks up a fresh roll and goes to walk past the two-time cheat.

A hand slaps around his bicep and grips. “Now, now, now, that’s not the way to treat a friend—”

“You’re not my friend,” he snaps, dropping the bread roll and wrenching Valdo’s hand off his arm. The man only grabs a fistful of the back of his doublet and yanks him back to the side of the table—the movement subtle and fast enough no one who isn’t looking at them will notice.

Jaskier is closer to him now, close enough to smell the hint of oranges, lemon, the slightly sweet-sour note making Jaskier’s face scrunch—such a familiar scent that always sends him back to those nights in Valdo’s room.

Geralt had wondered why Jaskier so willingly left him to do work alone when they had that one archespore contract at a lemon farm.

Valdo clicks his tongue, sighing softly as if dealing with a bothersome stray, “That wasn’t what you said when came crawling back to me after your Witcher left you in the dust.”

Jaskier’s face twitches. He hopes the wretched, hurt emotion flew past fast enough but based on the amused grin on Valdo’s face, it wasn’t.

Jaskier doesn’t need to think twice to know what he’s talking about. It feels like a lifetime ago when Geralt was dragged to a royal court just like this—Jaskier was so naïve then, having fallen so deeply for his soulmate—that somehow ended with Geralt saddled with the responsibility of a Child Surprise, leaving the bard behind at the party. Jaskier didn’t get to talk to him, he just upped and left wordlessly, surrounded by broken furniture and aghast members of the royal family.

Obviously, Jaskier was hurt. Back then, it had been nearly a decade since they first met; he had thought Geralt trusted him enough to share his personal burdens.

It was so easy to float on the familiar wave of abandonment he started to associate with broken hearts and—sadly, more often than not—Geralt. It also made it much easier to fall into the arms of another.

Valdo wasn’t at Cintra’s court, but he was there at that blasted tavern when Jaskier licking his wounds after the party.

“I’m quite surprised you’re still trailing after him like a lovesick puppy.” Valdo takes obvious pleasure in the way Jaskier’s face twists, flames of anger licking the edges of the bard’s vision. The ‘you’re pathetic’ goes unsaid, but Valdo might as well have said it with the way he mockingly traces a finger under the line of Jaskier’s jaw.

“Even after all this time. I’d have thought you’ve grown a spine by now,” Valdo tells him, voice just above a husky whisper, the words send his temper skyrocketing.

Valdo’s hand slides down his front, nails grazing his throat, a twisted show of his benign mask. Jaskier bares his teeth, trying to slap away the offending limb from his body.

In a blink, the man grips Jaskier’s wrist, fingers digging into his pulse.

“Stop fighting. You know you can’t resist me,” Valdo mutters with a coy smile, like they’re sharing some sort of sick secret. He steps closer, breaking the boundaries of even Jaskier’s personal space, pressing up against his front.

Jaskier’s eyes go wide and he drops his tankard of ale—a twang of fear ringing in his chest—when fingers edge under his doublet, Valdo’s intent very clear.

Part two

#geraskier #geraskier fic #Ao3 #geralt x jaskier #geralt x jaskier fic #geralt #jaskier #witcher fic #soulmate au #geraskier soulmate au #my writing

[some-lists]

All the Disney Princesses Ranked From Worst to Best.

(Sorry, no Vanellope.)

14. Merida

I know Merida has really badass archery skills. She’s also outspoken, strong willed, and clever. But she’s still my least favorite princess. I just didn’t like her. Maybe it’s the fact that she wanted to change her mom. And she actually went through with it. Of course, she didn’t actually know what was going to happen, and the journey brought them closer together. She grew as a character and that’s good. But just seeing her disrespect her mother, especially publicly in front of all the clans, is hard to watch. It doesn’t help that I thought Brave was one of Pixar’s weaker movies and essentially Brother Bear all over again.

13. Anna

Not gonna lie. I hate Anna. She’s so damn pushy and combative. I know, it’s all her parents’ fault. All of it. But still. She doesn’t listen to Elsa at all. She pushes and pushes triggering Elsa’s ice outbursts, which become more visible as they build along with her anxiety. Every uncontrolled “accident” Elsa has in the first film is because Anna didn’t listen to her. Of course, she also didn’t listen to Elsa’s warning about marrying Hans either. She foolishly left the kingdom in the hands of an outsider, someone she didn’t even know.

She definitely shows improvement in the second film. She becomes more sensitive towards Elsa’s feelings and her powers. She’s also very loyal and brave, risking her life for Elsa, yet again. She’s still very clingy and desperate for people’s love. It manifests in her fear of losing Elsa and Kristoff. I do not like her humor or awkwardness. I don’t find them relatable, but rather annoying. But I do appreciate that those insecurities are real and that’s what makes her more relatable. Her relationships with the other characters, especially Olaf, is what saves her from being last on my list.

12. Tiana

There’s nothing wrong Tiana. I think she’s great. She’s hardworking, determined, and a realist. Those are great qualities that I’m glad Disney decided to focus on too. The downside of this is that she comes across as rather boring. The film relies on other more colorful characters to bring the personality and charm. I think that’s a shame. She also suffers from starring in a weaker film.

11. Aurora

I like Aurora. What little we see of her anyway. We can tell by the way she interacts with the fairies, woodland creatures, and Prince Philip that she’s smart, sweet, shy, kind, cautious. She’s a dreamer, but not foolish. It’s too bad we didn’t get to see more of her.

10. Snow White

Snow White, in my opinion, does not get the respect she deserves. Was she stupid to take that apple from the very obviously evil hag? Yes, she was. But people have forgotten all about the really great qualities she possessed too. When she walked into the dwarfs’ cottage, it was a disgusting, unlivable nightmare. The dwarfs were pigs. They didn’t clean their home or themselves. They bickered all the time. Snow White changed all of that. She created order where there was disorder. And she didn’t do it alone. She delegated chores to each of the animals and made sure they did them right. That’s some managerial skills! She got a bunch of unruly little men to wash, sleep at a decent time, and behave. That’s authority. Those are some real life skills I wish I had more of. Yes, she cooked, cleaned, and sewed, but Snow White wasn’t a servant. She was in charge.

9. Cinderella

Like Snow White, Cinderella has gotten a bad rap over time, but I will defend Cinderella anytime anywhere. Those who say she “needed a prince to save her” lack compassion and are completely missing the point. Cinderella was a young woman who was abused by what family she had left. At a young age she experienced loss, grief, then neglect and emotional abuse. But Cinderella was resilient. That abuse didn’t stop her and it didn’t change her. She could’ve become mean, bitter, and jealous. She could’ve continued the cycle of abuse like her stepsisters. But Cinderella didn’t allow their mistreatment to define her. She remained kind, empathetic, patient, humble, and hardworking. She also didn’t allow herself to become a victim. She didn’t mope or give up on herself. When the ball was announced, she worked hard and believed she would go. When she got help from the fairy godmother, she accepted it and rocked that ball gown. She didn’t go to the ball to be rescued. She went because she wanted to, and she did. Moral of the story is do not let others’ treatment of you determine who you are or what you’re worth. Cinderella had awesome inner strength.

8. Ariel

I will admit that as an adult, Ariel’s appeal fades. She made really bad choices and sacrificing her voice for a boy is a terrible message to sell to kids. But for a 5 year old girl, only two things mattered. She was a mermaid and she could sing. The Little Mermaid kick started Disney’s renaissance and set a new precedent for its movies. Unlike previous princesses, Ariel was the first princess full of life, passion, and adventure. She had an exciting and lovable personality and a Broadway singing voice. Credit goes to Jodi Benson for bringing Ariel to life and the writers for getting the world to fall in love with her. She made a huge impression (hello, mermaid craziness everywhere!), even if she was a total idiot teenager.

7. Jasmine

What’s great about Jasmine is she can see through people’s BS and she doesn’t put up with it. She isn’t impressed by the superficial suitors that come her way. She stands up to Jafar. She catches on pretty immediately that Prince Ali is actually Aladdin. She sings like Lea Salonga, Disney and Broadway legend, and she has a pet tiger. What’s not to love?

6. Pocahontas

Pocahontas was the first Disney princess to not go after her dreams, but instead chose family, community, duty, loyalty. That’s incredibly mature and selfless. She taught a racist, arrogant, ignorant man to love and respect others different from him. She followed her intuition, was one nature, and dove off cliffs. The only minus is falling for John Smith over Kokoam. I don’t know what she was thinking!

5. Moana

Moana is not qualified for her mission. She has no experience and no skills required for sailing across the sea, finding Maui, and defeating a lava monster. But it’s her purpose. She was chosen. So she sets out and figures it out along the way. That’s an inspiring example. It’s not until the end that we find out why she was chosen. She sees Te Ka for who she truly is. Te Fiti. The image above is one of the most powerful moments in all of Disney’s films.

4. Rapunzel

Similar to Cinderella, Rapunzel has been abused throughout her childhood. IMO, Rapunzel had it worse because she believed Mother Gothel was her mother. Their relationship was nonstop manipulation, infantilization, and gaslighting. But Rapunzel was brave enough to go after what she wanted and smart enough to find a way to do it. On top of that, she was creative and artistic, incredibly strong from years of hauling Mother Gothel up the tower, and had magical hair with healing powers. In the end, she does what we didn’t get to see in Cinderella. She stands up for herself and confronts her abuser. She’s a real survivor and victor.

3. Belle

I love Belle because she is a true introvert and a true individual. She’s not very social, doesn’t gossip, doesn’t fawn over Gaston, doesn’t follow the townsfolk’s way of life. She literally just does her own thing. For that, she’s misunderstood and judged by the village. I think that’s very relatable. But she’s also intelligent, curious, adventurous, honorable (she keeps her promise to stay with the Beast), and stands up to the Beast when he’s out of line. She’s the only one that truly challenges the Beast and he grows because of it. And she saves him.

2. Mulan

Similar to Belle, Mulan is a bit of an outcast, because she’s individualistic in a society that values conformity. She’s socially awkward, clumsy, but brave. That bravery saves her father and all of China. She’s a true badass warrior.

1. Elsa

Elsa is technically not a princess, but a queen. She still counts and she tops my list. Out of all the Disney princesses, she is the most real and fully developed. She’s beautiful, kind, brave, strong, but also very flawed. Many people have identified with Elsa in different ways because her flaws are so real and so relatable. The LGBTQ community has adopted her as a symbol of their own. For me personally, I see a mental health issue. I think she’s a highly sensitive person with anxiety. Her ice powers are a beautiful symbol for that anxiety and the struggle over her mental health. Her journey to accept herself for who she is, to embrace herself for who she is, and to find her place in a world that deems her different is truly beautiful and empowering.

#disney #disney princesses #disney ariel #little mermaid #beauty and the beast #aurora #sleeping beauty #cinderella #snow white #jasmine #pocahontas #disney mulan #princess tiana #rapunzel #merida #pixar brave #frozen #queen elsa #disney moana

[trying-write-fanfics]

AsheXReader price of war part 10

Catherine was able to track down the Western Church. Though still recovering, Ashe insisted he joined his professor and brother’s executor. The fog was hard to navigate through, but Ashe knew he had to do this.They had to make Lonato rebel against the church against his will or manipulate him. They had to of twisted Chrisphoer’s death in order to get Lonato to raise a rebellion. It wasn’t his fault. He would right the wrongs, and erase Lonato’s shame on his name.

“ Lord Lonato’s blood is on your hands!”

 Catherine and Byleth tried talking to Ashe after the battle, but he was mentally exhausted to form a real conversation. He found more evidence that Lord Lonato was a mere tool in something much greater, but it only left him with more questions.

 Returning to the monastery, he found Y/n returning too. She didn’t go on the mission because she had family matters to attend to on her day off. He didn’t tell her the details of the mission he was going on before she left because if she knew, she would have dropped her family matters for him. It was nice of Catherine and Byleth to let him wander back alone, it gave him time to evaluate his emotions. Yes, he helped take down the western church and avenged Lord Lonato, but it was just a small piece in a larger system he cannot let take over.

“Look at the knight returning from his mission!” Y/n called out from the arena area.

“Yeah, took all weekend.” he called out.

Y/n had a different problem. Her family matters were getting called a talentless warrior, and her father does not even know why he agreed to send his daughter to the officer’s academy. Her father thought he was saying that with care, but no one in the room felt that. She was invited back home to see what progress was made, but when her scarred shoulder was revealed her father exploded in rage. If she was strong, she wouldn’t have gotten hurt, and now someone might not even want to marry her because of her torn up body. Her mother did defend her daughter saying she could open up a clinic if she didn’t want to be a knight or go husband hunting. That didn’t help much, profiting off of the injured and the ill made her father sick to his stomach because the goddess should decide who lives and dies.Her father told her that their sister-in-law is a single male cousin who might be interested in her, but that did not brighten the mood. Y/n was disgusted and full of shame. Her mother told her father to let Y/n graduate because so much can change, they are investing in the possibility of their daughter becoming a knight, maybe even a retainer for prince Dimitri...or wife. It tore down some self-esteem for Y/n. She thought she had made a ton of progress, and she hasn’t died, but that’s not enough, she has to be better than everyone else.

“How was your mission? You look exhausted.” She asked him.

“It was a lot of labor, I’m glad to be back.” he told her. “How were your parent’s?”

“Oh they just missed me, wanted to get a bite to eat together.” she lied. “Oh but I have something for you!” she sang pulling books from her bag. “They’re some fantasy novels I know my family hasn’t touched in years. They were just lying in the house, they all have knight’s tales in them. I figured you would like ‘em.”

It was such a grand gesture.

“Thank you Y/n, but I gotta confess something.”

Her eyes lit up at the words. Maybe he was still uneasy around her and was going to tell her they can’t be friends, she’s a try hard loser, and she’s a terrible student here at the whole academy. 

“Ever since my concussion, I’ve been having a hard time reading.” he told her.

“I can read them to you!” she spat not thinking at all, but was just so happy their friendship wasn’t terminated.

“You will?”

“Yeah it’s not a problem! I’ve already read these books a million times, and my voice is charming.” She said trying to take the flirting down a notch but ended up flirting with herself!

Ashe sighed, which only worried Y/n more. 

“Will you sit on the bench with me?” he asked her.

“Yeah, of course, what’s up?”

Her heart was pounding a million miles an hour. 

“I was hiding what my mission was about. I went with Catherine and Byleth to take down the western church.” he told her. “I killed some people today, and they used Lord Lonato for something bigger that I don’t even understand yet.”

“Ashe...are you okay?”

“I don’t know. The academy is seeming to be a lot more dangerous than I thought.” he told her.

Y/n didn’t come clean about her secret. It was so much more little and pointless compared to his. She just wanted to help her friend in any way shape or form.

“We’ll have each other’s backs, I promise.” she told him. “It’s not like we’re front lines people anyway.”

“I’ve also been thinking about trying to become a wyvern rider. The professor says I have a real talent for it.” He told her.

“Oh that's pretty great, will you take me for a ride sometime?” she asked.

“You can be the first.” he said without thinking, and then realized what he told her.

 It was just so easy to slip and say something like that with her. But she didn’t push away.

“Alright that’s a promise Ashe.” she laughed.

It was just easy to talk to her. She didn’t take things the wrong way, but she also didn’t take his flirting like on a deeper level he would hope. 

 Jealous eyes watched the duo, and wanted to intervene, but decided not to for it would only make a embarrassing fool. The jealous feelings thought they were coming from a place of concern, but there was a deeper meaning that hadn’t been understood yet by the brain of the eyes.

Ashe laid in bed thinking of the western church. It twisted his stomach into knots. Who else are they capable of corrupting? Is it just the western church or a group even bigger with access to all the weakness of nobles and commoners? He worried for Y/n and her family, they’re not a major house in the kingdom, if they fell to that evil group’s will, the church would kill them all. What side would Y/n take? Would they use magic to manipulate her? He looked at the books she gifted him and felt a little relief. He did like her, and wanted to protect her from such dangers. They will have each other’s back won’t they. No doubt. He didn’t fall for her for her looks, she was gorgeous, but he didn’t fall for her first sight. It would be silly, a noble he knew nothing about other than how pretty she is. No he fell for her with everything that had happened. The time she held his hand when professor Jerizta was being a total demon ghost, their late night training sessions. He thought back at the moment she held him when he was injured. How she hummed and told him things were going to be okay. Her hand pressed against his cheek. It was too much to think about in bed, he rolled over, tossed and turned.

“What are you doing out so late?” Felix asked Y/n as she snuck out of her room.

“Why do you care? Are you the dorm police?” She asked.

“Normally I have to yell at Sylvain for this kind of behavior, but you-”

“Well if I never do this maybe you shouldn’t scold me, it’s a one time thing.” She cut him off.

“You should really leave the monastery, go and find a husband.”

“First Ingrid and now me, what the hell Felix? What is your issue?” she asked him.

“Things are looking bad here and I don’t see them getting any better anytime soon. It’s best if you don’t get caught up in all of that. You’re not one who can stand bloodshed.”

“And how do you get to judge that?”

“I’m there on the battlefield with you. Save yourself the trouble.” He told her. “I already know what your father is up to.”

“Well, I can only get better with time Felix.” She told him. “Good night.”

“Your room is the-” “I’m sleeping with the wolves tonight. They’ll devour any fears I have about the battlefield. Wouldn’t that be nice so you won’t have to spend your nights telling me and Ingrid to go find a husband!” she yelled from the stairs.

She made her way to Ashe’s door in her long nightgown and candle. She didn’t let Felix’s words haunt her, but she can only assume that Felix got a letter from her parents telling him it would be a good idea to take their daughter out on a date. She grimaced at the thought of more embarrassing letters from her parents floating around, waiting to be used as black mail. She knocked on the door a couple times, and Ashe was surprised to find her so late in the night.

“What are you doing here so late?”

“I told you I was gonna read to you.”

“This late.”

“You don’t even sleep!”

He let her in. She wasn’t wrong. He picked out a book for her to read to him. She told him once more she read that one enough times, she knows the story by heart. She set the candle on the nightstand. He laid in bed wondering where she was going to sit.

“Scoot over.” She told him, sitting right next to him in his own single person bed.

But he complied. It was awkward as first listening to her read since they were both sitting up. He noticed she was cold, so he put the blanket over both of them which only made his heart beat faster. She kept reading to him though. She would make silly voices for merchants and ogrs that came into the story. He relaxed more as the situation seemed to normal itself out. Without thinking he placed his head on her stomach, and even had his arm over her waist. When he realized what he had done, it was too late to really react. She was still enjoying reading to him and he wouldn't want to dwindle the spark she had going on. She also didn’t stop him or seemed uncomfortable. His actions did make him hyper aware of the situation. She adjusted her arm, and placed her hand on his back. It was all so much. He didn’t know if he thought of the word in his head he would be able to handle it. They were cuddling! In HIS BED. IN THE EYES OF SOTHIS. He tried staying as still as he possibly could to draw attention to himself. She smelled nice, the fabric of her nightgown was soft, it was all intoxicating, she was right there! She can’t see how he’s internally reacting to the situation! He wouldn’t be able to talk without sounding like a banshee. 

 At some point he realized she’d stopped reading. He propped himself up on his hands, removing himself off her stomach. She’d fell asleep, IN HIS BED! WITH HER ARM WRAPPED AROUND HIM! His mind raced with what to do? Does he sleep in her bed? Does he wake her up? What if she gets caught leaving his room, surely she would get in trouble. He laid back in the bed, facing her, unable to come to a conclusion. She rolled over, and her face landed in his chest. Maybe his next action was selfish, but he blew out the candle and put the book on the floor. He let Y/n sleep in his chest, because she let him use her stomach as a pillow.

 The next morning the duo woke up around the same time. Ashe jolted away from her realizing what he did, but she awoke casually.

“Sorry I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” she yawned.

“No, no, it's fine, you were doing something nice for me.” he told her.

“How am I supposed to leave though? I’m in my pajamas, and my dorm is on the second floor.” she whined.

“I have an idea.”

 The idea was he would give her his spare academy uniform so she could go back to his dorm. If anyone asks why she was there, she would say she was stopping by early in the morning to study together before the library opened. The plan did end up succeeding. 

“Here are your clothes back good sir” she was being dramatic.

“Thanks.” he laughed.

“I should be thanking you, you really saved my ass.” she told him.

“You were just taking care of me.” he told her.

“Well, I had fun too. I haven’t read those stories in awhile.” she told him

 She also had fun? This crush was going to be the death of him.

#ashe ubert #ashe ubert x reader #fe3h #fire emblem #Fire Emblem Three Houses #imagines #xreader

[selinurr]

“I’m sorry it has come to this, my Lord. “ - Malavai Quinn

“I’ll marry you, Quinn,” she says with the charming smile that he loved so much. Malavai’s heart skips a beat as he almost stutters his next few words.

“You’ve made me very happy, my lord. In light of our new commitment, perhaps you should start calling me “Malavai”, he says, a boyish warmth spreading through his cheeks that he hopes his beautiful wife doesn’t notice. But nothing escapes her eyes, not even the playful glint that he almost missed.

“Why stop there? I’ll just call you “Husband.” How’s that?” says Wrath with a smile. She notices Malavai’s blush darken ever so slightly as he shakes his head.

“Please, don’t,” he says, sighing softly.

“Or maybe “Hubby”,” she says with a smirk, enjoying the adorable flush that seemed to deepen on her husband’s cheeks.

“I know better than to take you seriously. I’m going back to work, Wife,” says Malavai as he pretends to be upset with her but smiles once he utters her name. The word rolls off his tongue so soothingly that it almost made him believe that this was meant to be but a nagging feeling tugs at him as he sneaks a quick glance at his love when she walks away. He could still feel the softness of her lips when she pulled him into the kiss, passion coursing through their veins like a drug even when they reluctantly pulled away. 

But he had his duty and this was the last time that he will feel her lips on his.

---

The doors close just as she walks into the emptiness of the starship and already, she could sense something was wrong. Could it be a mistake? It couldn’t be..

“My lord, I could not leave you to this fate without showing the respect of being here to witness it,” he says as he turns his back and glances off into the distance. His voice sounded regretful and filled with remorse but she knew that he would never do anything without reason. Perhaps this was a trick?

“Did you get lonely? You just can’t stand to be away from me, can you, dear?” she says with a small smile. 

“I have enjoyed your company and companionship, my lord. That’s why this is so hard,” he says with a shaky breath. His tone scared her; she had never heard him sound so distressed before and it was breaking her heart. “It pains me, but this entire scenario is a ruse. There’s no martial law and no special signal emitter,” he starts, turning to face her. He pauses just the slightest of moments and she could already predict what he was going to say. Her hands, which were clenched in anticipation, loosened; as if all of her strength suddenly left her. Neither she nor Malavai noticed the crescent shaped cuts on her palms or her pale knuckles from when her fists were clenched. 

“Baras is my true master. He had me lure you here to have you killed.” Malavai speaks with the confidence that she fell in love with but his tone was almost venomous towards her. But even as hostile as he was, she notices that he could barely look her in the eye. Her heart, once filled with nothing but loving and fierce passion for this man, tug at her painfully and filled with an overwhelming sadness that had her exhaling a shaky breath.

“Our romance dies in flames. And here I thought you loved me,” she says, glancing away while glimpses of passionate kisses and gentle caresses flood her memories. She knew their love was real but the more Malavai speaks of his betrayal, the more pain she felt. It was almost as bad as-

“I didn’t want to choose between the two of you. But he’s forced my hand, and I must side with him,” says Malavai, his hands behind his back while he paces and observes her, taking in her beauty one last time. “Baras and I have been planning this for some time. You’ll have to face this fight this alone, my lord.”

---

“I’m sorry it has come to this, my lord,” he says, masking his emotions as he prepares to battle with her, one last time.

Wrath’s eyes fill with such an immense wave of rage that it made Malavai flinch. She watches as he takes a step back and aims his blaster at her menacingly. But as the droids beside him collapse from her might, he couldn’t help but feel as if he didn’t factor in what he loved most about her - 

Her wrath.

“I should’ve know,” he says, kneeling and holding his side from when she defended herself against him. Malavai noticed that she was holding back against him but sneaks a glance at the droids that she disassembled with no remorse. He shivers at the thought of his last moments, dying in her grasp. This was not part of his calculation. “I thought I’d programmed the perfect killing machine for you. I was painstakingly precise...”

“I’m at a loss... I have betrayed you. Conspired with your most hated enemy,” he says in defeat. The aches that he felt from her attack were dull as he gazes upon his love. “I know it is meaningless to express my deep regret. I don’t expect your mercy,” says Malavai. He was ready for his fate. There was no such thing as failures and he was in every sense - a failure.

“I can be merciful,” Wrath whispers, her eyes softening at the sight of her love, her husband. “I understand your confusion. Baras can be very persuasive,” she says, her arms crossed against her chest. The next few words shocked him to his core but it didn’t prepare him for the immense pain that he saw in her eyes. He knew his betrayal would hurt her but even he let out a soft gasp as she stares back at him. 

“I forgive you, Quinn,” she says. Immediately, he could feel his heart drop. Was she serious? Was this frighteningly beautiful wife of his about to forgive him of his betrayal? He couldn’t believe it. This must be a sick joke but he quickly discards this thought as he remembers the pain he just caused her.

“My lord, I am deeply grateful. Darth Baras would have never offered me the same forgiveness,” he starts with disbelief. Even though Darth Baras could do unimaginable things to him, Malavai thought that they would’ve paled in comparison to what his wife, Wrath, was capable of. He chooses his next words very carefully, as he knew this will be the only chance that he can slowly regain his trust from his strong and beautiful wife again; but he already knew the damage was done and could only hope for the best.

“If you will permit me to stay in your charge, my dedication to you will never come into question again,” he says with the confidence that she loved. His eyes held a new glint and although she was happy for his sudden change and dedication to her, her heart was already crushed at his betrayal; but she didn’t blame him.

“All is forgiven, my dear,” says the warrior with a small smile. “You’ll just have to make it up to me in private, Captain.”

“That can be arranged, my lord,” he says with immense happiness in his tone. Malavai couldn’t believe that his wife still loved him, after all that just happened. He would make sure that the thought of betrayal never even crosses his mind again; for he wasn’t sure if she will be as forgiving if it happened again. But she always had a talent of surprising him. “This interruption has delayed you enough. I’m eager to return to the ship and put this behind us.” She nods and turns away, tracing their steps back to the entrance of her ship.

“The ship is though there. Prepare for departure. I’ll join you shortly,” she says. She wanted some time to gather her thoughts before going back to her companions. A little time away from everyone - including her husband, Malavai. 

“Of course, my lord... One thing my lord, do you plan on telling the others what happened?” Malavai asks nervously. He didn’t want the others knowing about it but he knew that it was definitely not his place to tell her otherwise.

“Your secret’s safe with me. Don’t worry. This will just be between you and me, Quinn,” she says softly. He didn’t know why, but hearing Wrath call him by this name made him flinch. Her playful tone was gone and replaced with sadness.

“I appreciate it, my lord. I will see you back at the ship.” Nodding absentmindedly, she turns and walks back to the windows of the empty ship, glancing blankly at the stars. Wrath leans against the glass, sighing as a new wave of emotions course through her, making her frame tremble. 

Her own husband betrayed her and not long after their beautiful union. It hurt her in ways that even he didn’t know.

Malavai continues to take in his wife’s trembling form and is startled. He had never seen her so... broken. He has nothing but the deepest of regrets for even thinking of siding with Baras and betraying his beloved. He could not handle his wife, his beautiful Wrath’s trembling form any longer and walks up to her. Gently, he pulls her into his arms and silences her soft protests. His shirt felt damp with her tears but it was of little consequence compared to how much pain he just inflicted onto her heart. 

The damage was irreparable.

If she permits it, he will make it up to her for the rest of his life.

#malavai quinn #swtor #sith warrior

[bts5sosempire]

Ivar the Boneless: Thin Ice (3)

A/n: after a lot of writing blocks that stop me from writing this, BEHOLD I AM BACK AND ITS FINISH. And I never proofread this too. 😩😊😘

Pairing: Ivar x Reader

Words: 1,679

Summary: get ready to be married off.

. . . . .

You went to the market to get some fishes as your parents allowed you to go alone this time. You never got the chances of telling them about the eyes of Ivar's men lingering everywhere you go.

Upon returning home, your parents saw you. “(Name) come inside we have to talk to you.” Your mother orders you and you quicken your steps.

Putting the basket inside once you entered your home. There was tension in the air.

Sitting down, your mother hands hover above yours. You knew what she was going to talk about anyway. “Your father and I, we both had come to a hard decision that we will marry you to King Ivar.” You weren't the slightest upset nor mad, in fact, you were scared. You had come to accept your fate once you start seeing visions, but this was different for you.

Seeing your indifference, your mother thought you were upset and feels sorry. “I should've been a better mother if only I could've kept you safer from this life, you would've been happier.”

“Wife…” Your father brought your mother to his chest. She silently cried.

“Don't be sad, it's all my fault that this happened in the first place. I should tell Ivar that we accept his proposition.”

Rose from your seat, you smooth out any wrinkle from your dress. With a deep breath, you left your safe haven.

You spot one of Ivar's men, Asvard.

“Take me to the King”

.

Asvard led you to Ivar's training ground where Ivar was shooting arrows at a target. The target was full of arrows to the brink that there was no space.

“King Ivar,” with a soft-spoken voice he lowers his bow that was ready, “you want an answer? I came here to give you my answer.” He turns around to face you with a knowing smile.

“I already know,” he turns away from you and raises his bow again. He let go of the string and it hit the target's head that was full of arrows. He manages to split an arrow in half.

“Then why?”

“I prefer it to hear it from your lips.” He set his now and arrows down. Ivar rose from the tree stump and grab his crutches and make his way over to you. His eyes that always seem to hold such deep charm and devious aura to them enrapture your very own orbs. “You come and go like the wind, soft when you want to be and strong when you feel threatened and angered. Unpredictable yet such hidden motives.” Ivar words of an observation made you turn away from him. You didn't know if you be amazed or scared at his accuracy.

“I would like to take my leave.”

“Have a walk with me, be my familiar before the wedding. I want to ask your opinions on a few things.” Ivar ignores your plead and made you walk with him.

.

The talk went about sometimes, as you give him small but precise answers to his questions. Ivar seems to be enamored by your elegant and soft talks, something he never saw you loosen up about. You were always guarded around your feelings and a few encounters had you spilling to him like an ale. Ivar saw you considerably became a little more ease around him in such a short time, but not completely. You are such a dear, run away at first sight when trouble arose.

Should he be happy about his accomplishment? He should be because this is shortly the closest he would ever get to you at the moment before he set the wedding and date.

He never pours his thoughts onto one person, due to many betrayals and enemies who claimed to be his allies. But he had a feeling around you for quite some time now, it wasn't like anything he thought of before. You were quite the opposite of him, he was ruled by logic and calculation and you were ruled by compassion and feelings.

Ivar may be a cunning and sly man, but with you around its a whole different level. He had to suppress most of his emotions because he views them as weakness and blockage of making decisive decisions.

“You've been quiet for some time now Ivar, something on your mind?” Flatly asking him, you found Ivar to be quite pleasing to be around if he isn't all that work up or blows up a short fuse. He has a very calm demeanor right now.

“How would you view war?” He quickly comes up with the topic and challenges you on, this is something that he loves. Ivar loves to see what runs in your mind.

“War?” Thinking for a moment you have a lot to say about war. “ I had a lot of views on war, it is something that would create a new era for the people or something far more stupid than you can bargain for.”

He made an okay face, “I just realized you stop using the honorific for me.”

Your face flushes a color of red, “O-Oh sorry.”

“Don't be, go home. I already held you on enough here.”

You found it strange for him to be in a good mood. Ivar motion a hand for you to leave and you did.

.

The wedding was held within a week and it was already that day. Ivar wants to get it over with as soon as possible. He invited trusted allies and family to the reunion. But everything was short fused, he would get angry at simple matter here and there as thralls failed to comply to it immediately.

“Ivar,” with a recognized voice, the man turns his head to see Hvitserk. The one whom he gets along the most out of his other two brothers. The older Lothbrok smile down at his little brother who looks happy, but wipes off the smile off of his face. “How do you feel about today?”

The wedding went like a blur in Ivar's opinion. “So and so,” was his short reply. He was rather tight lip at the moment. His eyes trail to where you were. You were sitting with your parents, while your father and mother were talking to you as you nervously answer them with tense body language.

Hvitserk eyes follow to where Ivar eyes are and saw them linger at you. “Do you like her as a whole, or as a Volva?”

The man stays silent. Did he love you because of your vision and because you were going to provide him a child? At first, he did, but his interest runs deeper than his obsession with the thought of you. You were, in fact, a version of his mother but different and the glow around you spark a different light and a sort of calmness.

Ivar saw you stand up from your parent's table, as your mother usher you away from them with a hand motion. Ivar saw you slowly make towards his way with a shy nature. Something he saw many times.

You seated yourself next to Ivar on the throne and Hvitserk moves a bit closer to peer at your face while sitting on a chair that was on the other side. “Wife,” Ivar greeted you and you mumble out his title with a soft voice and foreign feeling. You never thought that calling anyone ‘husband’ would be so nerve-wracking. Ivar handed you ale and you accept it.

“Sister.” Hvitserk also greeted you with ale in the air. You did the same.

.

The wedding night went by with no trouble. Men being men were ego boosting one another as they entertain each other with stories and jokes. Your tired eyes roam the hall as everything apparently became duller than before as sleep was dawning upon you. Ivar was being very loud next to you, so is Hvitserk.

With a wave, a thrall took your mead from your outstretched hand. Ivar took a hold of your hand and you tense up. Your attention went to him as there was no vision and your body relax for a moment.

“We should go,” Ivar told you before announcing his departure with such an authoritative voice. The hall cheers loudly for him. They all split a path for the King and newly crowned Queen, and Ivar holds you by the hand. Your eyes went to parents for a split second. You know what is bound to happen. Your father nodded his head slightly at you.

You and Ivar were being escorted by a few warriors to the bedchambers. His hold seems to tighten around your hand.

One of them opens the door to the newly wedded couple. Ivar didn't waste time as he ordered no one was to disturb you and him. They all nodded at him before leaving.

“Wife,” he once again called you by the new title of yours before you make small steps towards him. Stopping in front of him, he tugs on your hand. Nervousness course through your body and mind as you stumble into his lap. Ivar took off the flower crown on your head and set it aside.

His rough hands make their ways to your hips and face. The firelight from the fireplace flickers in his eyes as something in his eyes seems to burn something you were uncostumed too. It was rather a deep look in those blue orbs of his. He brought your face closer to his. Uncertainty filled you now but it then faded, as you brought your lips to his before sliding your hands around his neck and jaws.

“Relax,” Ivar cooed against at those soft lips of yours. The strings that were holding your dress together loosen. They fell loosely over your shoulders before sliding down your body. You hesitated but continued. This is the first time that you feel like this.

With slow hands, you took your time with Ivar's clothes.

(A/n: I won't write any smut, because I'm not ready to be flagged.)

Tonight Ivar claim what was his.

#ivar imagine #ivar ragnarsson #vikings ivar #ivar x reader #ivar's heathen army #ivar lothbrok #ivar the boneless #vikings fandom #vikings fanfic #ivar fanfic #vikings #jesus im finally done oml

[kasnoyoullgetintrouble]

On Maters Related to Love- WIP

(I don’t know when I will finish this but I thought I might as well post what I have so that I won’t forget about it, so take my half finished oneshot about how lovable Zevran is)

                       Contrary to popular belief amongst their rag tag crew of misfits, witches, and other undesirables, Zevran and Valonyla’s relationship wasn’t just  sex. If Valonyla had to put it on a scale of sorts, she would say at least 47% of their relationship was about sex. For some that number was too high, for others it was to low but in Valonyla’s opinion, it was just right. Their chemistry was just right, Zevran’s wiliness to try new things was just right, the pleasure was just right, everything was just right. That wasn’t to say, however, the sex was bad or average, the exact opposite actually. The sex was absolutely mind blowing, just as Zevran had proclaimed, but it was the ‘no strings attached’ policy the came with it that made the whole dalliance just right for Valonyla.

                       Valonyla wasn’t looking for a steady relationship, especially not after what happened to Nelaros back in Denerim. Granit, the two city elves never really had a ‘steady relationship’ since they had literally just met before the incident but it was something Valonyla had desperately hoped would come with their marriage. She had hoped to just settle down, to start going steady, and to begin the family she had so desperately prayed for when she was young and bright eyed. But what did she get? She got nothing but bloodshed and the fate of all of Fereldan placed on her shoulders.

                       So, what if she didn’t want something ‘steady’ now anyways? Valonyla didn’t want it and according to Wynne, she shouldn’t have it either. As a Grey Warden she needed to stand vigilant and strong, a beacon for hope and the warrior of peace. She needed to place the lives of others above her own because that was what she, albeit begrudgingly, signed up for. And although it would have been nice if Duncan were to have explained all this to her earlier, rather than have some old bitty from the Circle do it instead, Valonyla decided not to brood over it like she once had after meeting Wynne.

                       It was because of all these things that Valonyla gave so little fucks on how others felt about her and Zevran’s relationship because it wasn’t inherently wrong and Valonyla, in her opinion, deserved some pleasure from the whole Blight ordeal. They were friends (at best), who bonded over slightly crude jokes, their infatuation with knives, and their mutual approach to casual sex. If something happened to Zevran Valonyla would, no doubt, be sad over the lose of a good friend but she could live on and continue her duty as a Grey Warden because of what they were, friends. The sex was an enjoyable side benefit that Valonyla would fight anyone over if they ever dared to tell her how ‘inappropriate’ it was considering her ‘duty.’

                       It was this ‘duty’ that kept her from many things. A warm bed, decent food, a roof over her head and, most of all, companionship. Sure, Valonyla had the rest of her misfits to lean on but that wasn’t companionship, it was trust and a few unfortunate events. Though the terms were rather similar, companionship meant more to Valonyla because it was a choice she had made to be a part of. Trusting someone was easy given the right circumstances but finding someone you enjoyed spending time with was difficult, especially so considering Valonyla’s circumstances.

                       And that was what made up the 53% of her and Zevran’s relationship, companionship. It didn’t mean they were dating or romantically involved, as Wynne would put it, but from the outside looking in it rather seemed that way. Valonyla didn’t want it to be love, because love was just too much for her now already cluttered plate. Love was the knotted ball of yarn Wynne joked about herself unraveling as she knitted stockings or the glittering necklace that adorned Morrigan’s chest. Love was everything Valonyla would rather push away into the deepest crevices of her mind and burry with thoughts and memories she hoped to forget someday because it was, ultimately, pretty and complicated.

                       But companionship was different. Companionship with Zevran was late night poetry readings, which where done in outrageous Antivan accents that left Valonyla laughing her way into tears late in the night. Companionship was Zevran sweeping her up into a dance around the campfire, only to look like idiots in the process because they needed an excuse to touch, to hold one another. It was also the two bickering over which boot, leather or fur, was better just because hearing the other’s voice was comforting. It was… well you get the gist.  

                       Although it might seem like love it was, under no circumstances, love. Valonyla forbid it because she did not want something as complicated as love in her life after all the shit she had been through and she was sure Zevran was no different in that regard. Of course, as fate may have it however, things were bound to change.

                       They had just gotten done with one of their little ‘romantic escapades’ in Valonyla’s tent, leaving her exhausted but buzzing from orgasm. Had they done this earlier in their relationship Zevran would have been gone by now, suited up and ready for battle as he marched off towards his own tent for the evening, now not so much. Valonyla laid sated and naked, covers wrapped around her hips leaving her chest exposed to the amber light emitting from the lantern beside her. Zevran, on the other hand, was leaning over Valonyla, his face hidden in shadows but his golden eyes shining with curiosity as he traced patterns over her skin.

                       Now, Zevran chose to stay. Valonyla wasn’t sure when it started happening, but she didn’t particularly care either.

                       His fingers traced tantalizingly against her skin from the soft spot behind her ear that made Valonyla’s toes curl, down to the dip in her collarbone and then to the valley between her breasts. There was something reverent in Zevran’s touch, even as he mapped out every scar that marred her chest or belly, his touch stayed tender and soft. It was a strange feeling, something Valonyla had never been accustomed to before now, with anyone. Anytime someone got this intimate with her, their touches were heated and passionate like a roaring fire in the winter and when everything was all said and done the fire was subdued and all that was left was the cold. What Zevran was doing made her feel special, maybe even important. A part of Valonyla whispered she should stop him, that Zevran was crossing a line she needed to keep for the two of them to allow this casual fun to continue with no strings attached, but it was quickly smothered when Zevran placed a gentle kiss one of her nastier scars on her abdomen.

                       She liked it, Valonyla really liked it, but she just couldn’t understand why.

                       “V, might I ask you a question?” Zevran whispered against her pale skin, his breath sending a slight tremor up her spine.

                       Valonyla looked down at Zevran, giving her response little thought because in her eyes, it didn’t need any. “Of course.”

                       Zevran smiled at her lack of hesitance before his eyes dipped back down to her abdomen. Following his gaze, Valonyla’s mouth formed a small “O” as she realized what his question might be. He was looking, and now tracing, the small but angry looking scar located directly above her hip bone. It was a nasty looking thing that Valonyla had come to terms with long ago that it would never simply ‘go away’ like Soris had told her. The skin puckered and appeared misshapen in its heap of discolored and mutilated flesh leaving a permeant eyesore for all to see.

                       When she glanced up to see Zevran’s reaction, however, it made her eyes go a bit wide and her chest tighten. His expression didn’t appear disgusted but instead looked painfully sad, worried even. She reasoned he was just imagining the pain behind such a horrendous wound, but the way his eyes shimmered and his lips frowned told her otherwise. It told Valonyla he really truthfully cared, and the thought was almost physically painful because that wasn’t what their relationship was about, or at least it shouldn’t be.

                       But, like most things that bothered Valonnyla in her life, she pushed the thought into the back of her mind and averted her gaze from his handsome face and back to her abdomen.

                       “You want to know how I got that beauty?” Valonyla asked, masking her alarm from earlier with her usual sarcasm.

                       Zevran laughed with that stupid yet insanely charming laugh he reserved for their evenings together, which nearly left Valonyla undone. The laugh was like silk against smooth skin and the feeling of wine slithering down one’s throat, deliciously sinful. Valonyla thanked Andraste in that moment that the sound had graced her ears yet again, even if it did make her seem a little foolish.

                       “Yes, very much so,” Zevran paused, brow furrowing in thought before he turned to look at Valonyla. “Unless it is something you wish not discuss then, I won’t pry.”

                       Valonyla blinked at Zevran owlishly for a moment, her mind and heart racing under the sudden onset of emotions. Shockingly enough it didn’t feel like Zevran was prying, even if the scar was  

#zevran #dragon age zevran #dragon age #dragon age 2 #dragon age inquisition #female warden #warden tabris #female warden x Zevran #oneshot

[babydoll1947]

Let’s Talk: Mental/Emotional Abuse, from a Survivor

If you read my recent post, you have seen that I am a true crime lover, and have been watching the ID channel as if it may disappear when I’m not looking (kind of like this post did the first time I wrote it, but we’ll get to that). However, I have found that my obsession sometimes comes at a cost to my mental health. You see, when I watch these shows and hear about these horrible people with horrible traits... well, sometimes it triggers recall of some of the equally horrible traits of the man who once abused me. Now, do I think one day he will escalate all the way to murdering someone? No, I think there is a fairly slim chance of that, just given the lack of physical violence I have seen him exhibit. But, I could be wrong, and I sincerely hope everyone he encounters stays on their guard with him. Do I, however, believe this man is a sadistic psychopath who derives pure please from controlling and harming other people (especially women)? Yes, yes I do, with every fiber of my being. No matter the type, abuse is a topic people cringe at the thought of having to talk about. Trust me, the first time I wrote this before tumblr threw it off into the cosmos somewhere, it turned out to be one of the most difficult and painful things I’ve ever had to write. And, I do not relish the thought of having to write this all over again. But, even though we don’t want to talk about this, I believe that we NEED to talk about this. And yes, I said “we”, because it takes small actions from a whole lot of people to make a change in the world around us, not to mention the fact that I think everyone can gain something from the takeaways of abuse survivors. So, here I am, about to write about one of the worst years of my life, hoping to help others gain more understanding. WARNING: I am about to share graphic, detailed accounts of abuse. If you do not feel you can emotionally cope, that’s okay, please just skip to the end of the post for the recap. If at any time you feel you need support, please send me a message and I will be happy to direct you to some amazing resources! I met Chris... and I am choosing to use his real first name, as I do not feel he deserves any anonymity at all... when I was 17 and a senior in high school. When I said earlier that this man is a psychopath, I do not use that term lightly. Like, “Oh, that girl is psycho, like, totally cray cray!” I mean it in the full sense and scope of the disorder. I met him through a close friend who was seeing him, and our first real encounter should have sent off warning bells in my head. To protect the privacy and dignity of myself and my friend, I am not going into details of that particular encounter here, but I will say that it was sexual in nature. False promises were made to my friend to convince her to do this, and it was not an overall a good experience. Even with that, though, there was something so charming and alluring about him that you just felt pulled in. Right away I started seeing him on my own. At first, it was almost like a secretly agreed “sister wives” situation... each of us knew about the other, and knew we were both seeing him, but also both adored him so much that we didn’t seem to care. Over time, as we both started to want more with him, he would lie or manipulate the situation to keep us placated. Often, he would tell me he was not dating her, but tell her that he was. He loved to lie. Like, genuinely loved it. He once told me that half the time he would lie even when he didn’t need to, just to see what he could get away with and how many people he could fool. Another red flag I missed, since that is one of the hallmark traits of a psychopath. He could also fake any emotion necessary to obtain his end goal, even though I doubt he really felt much of anything. Before long, I was practically living with Chris and his roommate in their apartment. Despite this closeness, and his supposed care for me, we never “officially” dated. This is where things started to go haywire. He frequently would list off things he desired in a potential girlfriend, and I would jump through hoops to make them happen. I grew my hair out because he preferred long hair (even though I hated maintaining long hair), got French manicures because he didn’t like bright colored nails (even though I did), changed my mannerisms and reactions to be the “cool girl”, literally anything I had to do to please him. Sadly, I never realized that nothing I did would ever please him or be good enough for him... he just wanted to see how far he could push me. Over that year I morphed into a person I didn’t even recognize in the mirror. Then came the “reminders”, as I like to call them. He would not only talk about girls he liked from work or school, but bring them home with him when he knew I was there, parading them in front of me to remind me that I still wasn’t good enough. Next were the subtle put downs. Then the more serious put downs. Then came the tough love. So tough, in fact, the he held me by my arm while I was sobbing and trying to go home, holding me there until he was done telling me everything that was wrong with me. That was the closest he ever came to physical abuse, his hand wrapped around my forearm, but hell... sometimes I wished he would just hit me, thinking it would hurt less than his words piercing my heart and self-esteem. Still, I fell in love with him. Still, I stayed. Things continued to spiral, and with that spiral came the sexual abuse. That was undoubtedly the worst. His idea of sexual fun was to make me give him oral sex until he was almost ready to orgasm, then push me onto my stomach so he could fuck me for a few seconds until he came on my body. It was no longer about my pleasure or desires, only his. He convinced me that I would like being submissive, that I enjoyed it. He made me call him master, and bend to his will. On more than one occasion he would put me on my knees to give him oral sex, then hold me by my hair and half-drag/half-make-me-crawl over to him like a disobedient dog. Like an animal. I didn’t like it, but I just figured as long as it pleased him it was okay. I had only one hard boundary which I had communicated to him several times: I would not do anal sex. So, to get around this boundary, he decided to just rape me instead... One night as he was fucking me from behind, he pulled out of my vagina and ruthlessly thrust himself into my anus. I buried my face in the mattress and screamed, the pain being indescribable. He did not stop when I screamed. He kept thrusting until he finished inside me, and gave the final demeaning blow as I followed him into the bathroom: “This is why I don’t do anal, it makes your dick smell bad.” I sat on the toilet for several minutes in disbelief, dripping blood and cum into the bowl. I had never felt more humiliated in my entire life, and I don’t know if I ever will. But, he apologized (though he did not mean it), I forgave him (as I always did) and life moved on. Any time I tried to pull away from him, he made sure that didn’t happen. He would talk bad of people I liked, talk bad of me to the people I liked, and sabotage any attempt to let him go. The final few months of hell came with his drug abuse. He became addicted to Xanax and Percocet, and I became his caregiver and guardian, ensuring that he ate, finished tasks, etc., and watching over him on many sleepless nights, making sure he didn’t start to overdose in his sleep. He never once thanked me for helping him, or saving his life until he finally went into rehab. The only good thing that ever came of our relationship happened during one of his attempts to be sober: he began going to church, so I went with him and ultimately rekindled/strengthened my relationship with God. That relationship is what lead me to eventually leave Chris behind. As more time passed we slowly parted ways, him going into rehab and then halfway homes, and me leaving home permanently. Still, it took a very long time to remove him from my life completely. He was like a cancer that I had to extract from my soul one piece at a time, and it took me a lot of time, distance, and perspective to come to the realizations I have about who he really is. Here are the reasons why I am telling you all of this (if you didn’t want to read the details, come back now). First of all, something that still haunts me to this day is how nobody did anything to help me. I mentioned that he lived with a roommate, and they regularly had another friend at the apartment with them, but neither of them tried to intervene on my behalf. I know how hard it can be to confront a friend for doing shitty things, believe me I do, but we MUST do this. Please. If you are friends with someone who shows signs of being a perpetrator, please talk to them, or help the person they are with. The next thing is, please be understanding and patient with people who have survived or are currently experiencing abuse. I already know that a lot of you were thinking while reading my story “Why didn’t she just leave?” The answer is a simple one: I really believed that I loved him. I couldn’t process what was happening to me while I was still wearing the rose-colored glasses, and it can be extremely difficult to discern how bad a situation is in while you are still in it. Give your loved ones time to process what is happening, but still support and protect them as much as you can. Nothing is as black-and-white as it seems. Also understand that just because the abuse isn’t physical, it doesn’t make it any less damaging. I still struggle with the trauma to this day, seven years later. The last few days I found myself dealing with flashbacks and bouts of intense anger. It happens sometimes, and will likely continue to happen here and there for the rest of my life. And lastly, I leave you with this: If you have experienced abuse of any kind, or if you still are, I promise you that you will be okay. You are strong, a fighter, and a survivor. You are a WARRIOR. Time may not heal all wounds (I still have plenty of scars) but it truly does make it easier and less painful. There will come a day when the pain is not a constant ache, and when you can breathe freely again. Never, ever, EVER give up! I love you all, and I am always here for you! Thanks for going on this journey with me.