#; a peasant with big muscles

[distopea]

OKAY WAIT MADS WWII ☮ - Work Uniform 😏 ♚ - casual / everyday ♤ -  Look-At-Me-I’m-Hella-Attractive Outfit

@cantuscorvi

Outfit headcanon

☮ - Work Uniform

Due to his work as a British Navy Officer, Mads collects various uniforms depending on the ships he's sailing, his hierarchical position at the moment of the mission (aka who has the highest rank on board) and the mission (war times, simple exercise...). White and navy blue colors are often used by the British Army, but it happens, for gala and official presentation, that they switch to a navy blue uniform. They always wear a knot around their necks most of the time.

♚ - casual / everyday

Before joining the Navy, Mads was basically a farm boy from Scotland, and his fashion was much developed. He used to work outside a lot, so he prefers to wear very casual outfits to help his handy job (rolled up sleeves on jean shirt, tank tops, jeans, farm pants with suspenders). He has never really cared about his appearance, but only what he could do to be useful. He doesn't have a large collection of clothes.

♤ -  Look-At-Me-I’m-Hella-Attractive Outfit

The few times he has dressed up a bit better was for nights out with friends (to meet girls, of course). His brother Mika having a better sense of fashion, he has offered a few suit to his brother, respecting his modesty and simplicity. Mads appreciates black pants with smoked white shirts, a jacket and a tie. Nothing too fancy, but definitely something he finds himself handsome in.

[canisalbus]

You mentioned dog beauty standards - what would they be? What would the ideal dog look like in their time and place?

I think a few common human beauty standards can be applied to dog people as well. Symmetrical features, balanced proportions, cleanliness, good health, good teeth, good posture, pleasant voice and confident gait.

In Vasco's and Machete's setting, men are expected to be athletic but youthful, have enough muscle definition to appear virile and sculptural but also retain some natural curves. An ideal woman is delicate and feminine but also full-figured, soft bodied and robust enough to bear children. Failing to appear vital and lively is a huge minus.

Fur is immensely important in dog world. Length and color doesn't matter but it should be dense, lush and shiny and obviously be free from dirt, odors and parasites. Beauty-conscious dogs with dark fur try to avoid having their coats bleached by the sun. Mange is greatly feared as it almost always comes with public shunning and loss of social status.

Dogs don't have much exposed skin but it too should appear healthy and smooth. Softer paw pads and glossy, neatly trimmed nails signify high standard of living.

In this particular time and place, slightly rounder and softer facial features are favored. Big, dark and round puppy eyes are seen as particularly beautiful. Symmetrical face markings are desirable, but some dogs become known for their unique and visually striking patches and spots. Vibrant and warm colors are generally more praiseworthy than more muted shades and fur dyeing isn't unheard of, but it takes a lot of time and effort to maintain and is too costly for most dogs. Tail standards vary between different types but carrying it high is usually seen as an attractive trait. Thickly furred and well groomed tails are well liked. Ear cropping and tail docking is a tradition comparable to body modding in some communities, although at this time most people that practice it are peasants and commoners.

[gatorlovebot]

imagine being simon’s personally appointed handmaiden. a very uncommon practice for a king, but he was also unwed, uncommon for a king of his status and age.

a very gruff man with a hard exterior but over the years you two had developed a great rapport with one another. mostly waiting to be behind closed doors to really let loose when it came to both of your respective personalities. in front of the other staff and royalty you were quiet and obedient, but when it was just you and simon you could rib the masked king for days, feeling a thrill in your stomach whenever you got him to huff out a laugh. he could dish it right back though, pulling mind numbing puns from out of nowhere that you pretend aren’t funny. it makes him laugh even harder when you roll your eyes, your only acknowledgement of his “jokes”.

you two were very close, spending most of your waking moments with him. you didn’t expect to like it as much as you do when you were originally appointed to be the king’s sole handmaiden. the king was quite intimidating, the task itself seemed so daunting and you had just assumed that he would be using you for more nefarious duties. while a life of servitude may not have been what you pictured for yourself, a life of servitude for simon was definitely not what you had pictured either.

he was big and imposing and impossible to wake up in the morning. over time you had resorted to flicking water in his face when he was getting really close to sleeping through some of his important appointments that morning.

he liked his baths scalding hot. you would turn your back to him as he shrugged off his robe and submerged himself in the steamy water, pretending to futz with his towels. you always felt something in your heart settle when you heard his deep and satisfied sigh as he finally allowed his muscle to relax under the hot water.

he always wanted you to pick out his clothes. didn’t matter the ocassion either, he said you never lead him astray with your choices. you always felt a sense of smug, satisfation when he finally lumbered out of bed and pulled on the clothes that you had already laid out for him without a word.

the other servants talk, of course. whispers and rumors bouncing off the castle walls about all the time you spent with the king. you tried not to let it get to you, simon promising to get rid of anyone who spoke a cross word about you. he was a man of his word, having banished a knight the month prior who had made an awful joke about the little peasant girl keeping the king’s bed warm at night.

your relationship with simon had well surpassed just your duties, he was kind and although you would never say it to anyone because he’s the fucking king, you consider him a friend. but you can’t help but realize how many moments you two have had recently. moments that cross the bounds of your relationship.

you sat in your little stool behind the tub simon currently was sprawled out in. having just finished washing out all the soap from his blonde hair you sat back, relaxing your aching body for a moment before you would have to get him out and send him off to bed.

“long day, ah?” he commented.

all you could do was hum in affirmation, eyes closed enjoying the quiet of the king’s large bathroom.

“here,” he murmured, not wanting to disrupt the quiet tranquility you two had created, “pop your feet in.”

you cracked an eye open to see him start sitting up in the tub, turning back to you. “what?”

once he saw he had your attention he settled himself back down, shoulders against the basin of the tub. “slip your shoes off and just,” he motioned to his shoulders, voice dipping low. you could picture his eyes slipping shut again.

you hesitated for a moment, realizing the gravity of what he was asking of you. but he was also your king and even though you two had an unconventional relationship, you dare not go against his wishes.

you slip your shoes off and bunch your skirt up in your hands, pulling it over your knees as to not get it wet. you did as you were instructed and pulled a leg over each of his shoulders, shuddering at the hot water alleviating the tenderness in your feet.

“feel good?” simon pondered.

“yes, very much so,” you can’t help but smile, “thank you, simon”

he laughs to himself, just a little breath huffed through his nose, “anytime.”

you slipped your eyes back shut and allowed yourself a moment to sit and breathe and relax. the feeling of movement snaps you out of your reverie, simon reaching up a hand to loosely hold around your ankle. you see his head shift, his stubbly cheek resting against your calf. you had asked him if he wanted to shave before his bath, but he declined, cranky from his long day and just wanting to get into his bath.

you’re shocked at the touch, not as if you and simon hadn’t shared casual touches before but this seemed. emotional. intimate.

you dare not upset your king, but you know something like this can’t go on for much longer. “should probably get you to bed soon, your highness.” you know he hates it when you use his title when it's just the two of you, but you feel the need to have a degree of separation between the two of you, if not you fear you might do something stupid like reach down and get your fingers through his hair.

simon sighs against your skin and you burn at the way you can feel his lips moving, “just a little bit longer, please?”

you can never deny your king, but you never want to deny simon.

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

I realise you're HE, but any thoughts on how high school level education should be run/changed/etc? I'd love to know your views!

Oh sure, plenty, but they're not particularly informed lol

Well; Wales is actually massively and fundamentally changing secondary education atm, but we won't be getting students from it until the year after next, I think, so no real comment on effectiveness yet - but it's very interesting. They're getting rid of isolated subjects in favour of broad umbrella areas, as I understand it? So there's now Science and Technology (Physics, Biology, Chemistry, Computing, and all the various DT subjects like Woodwork, Electronics, Cookery, etc), Maths and Numeracy, Humanities (History, Geography, Ethics, Religion), Languages Literacy and Communication, and Health and Wellbeing (actually maybe Cookery comes under this one now? Dunno.) And there's a sixth to do with arts but I can't remember what it's called. But it includes Art, Drama, Media Studies, etc.

And then the idea is that a class will learn about a given topic at a time (I don't know for how long, so let's say six weeks), and this will be taught in each of those six umbrellas but via their own methods. So like... I dunno, let's say the Tudors:

That's fairly straightforward for Humanities, but in addition to giving you the historical facts you'd also explore historic trade routes and natural resources of the time and how they related to the politics (geography), the religious make up of the country and how THAT related to the politics (religion), etc.

Maths and Numeracy might explore how to use statistics to analyse Tudor era population or trade data.

Science and Tech could look at disease outbreaks and virology, or technological advancements and how they worked and get students to build one, or get students to construct a Tudor-era town using computer software

Languages can study plays from the era (Shakespeare), look at linguistic development, or use historical events as talking points to practice using vocab in conversations

Health and Wellbeing can explore stressors and challenges of the average Medieval peasant and how they overcame them, or play some popular Tudor sport or game, or make food to Tudor recipes, etc

The Arts one (god I cannot remember the name) can look at art history of the period, fashions, perform plays, etc

So everyone is still teaching the skills and knowledge of their subject areas, they're just united by one big case study. It apparently allows for far more integrated teaching, too, where two previously discrete subjects can join forces on a project.

All of which seems pretty good, on the whole, but also rife with issues if everyone isn't careful, so we'll see how it shakes out over the next few years.

From my own experiences of school though. Jesus. Something definitely needed to happen, fuck me.

What I should have learned in Textiles:

How to use a sewing machine

How to sew by hand to mend a tear

How to darn a hole

How to hem, dart, take in, and let out clothes

How to sew from a pattern

What I actually learned in Textiles:

How to use a sewing machine on its most basic setting

How to phone in creating a hand puppet out of felt because gluing was easier than sewing

How to badly sew an extremely makeshift and shit bag out of scrap fabric that you in no way want to then use

How to lose all interest in Textiles because it was useless and uninteresting

Like that is a VITAL skillset-imparting subject, and they fucked it, lads, they completely fucked it. Why did they never set us the task of buying a cheap shirt from a charity shop that we then amended in class? That would have been so useful.

Games and PE! Fucking hell! Here's what I should have learned:

How to stretch my body safely to target specific muscle groups, and in particular, how to cultivate a daily stretching routine I enjoyed and wanted to do

How to find a physical activity active enough to get me out of breath that I genuinely enjoyed, so that I wanted to continue it, e.g. salsa dancing or rope climbing or ice skating or hill climbing or assault courses or fucking anything at all

How to build my body up to doing particular activities safely and sustainably

How to find a physical activity to do on wet, cold, rainy days that would still be fun and I would still enjoy

Here's what I actually learned:

Physical activity is always uncomfortable and miserable and sometimes even painful

If you aren't enjoying running around in the wind and rain instead of the indoor gym The Problem Is You. Start Enjoying It.

Wanting to stay warm and dry and comfortable is a punishable choice.

You are only permitted to do physical activity in clothes that make you feel profoundly exposed and uncomfortable (a gym skirt and gym knickers in my school. Cycling shorts got you detention. Don't get me started on jogging bottoms.) Again, if you do not enjoy this, The Problem Is You. Start Enjoying It.

There are only three activity options. If you don't enjoy any of them, physical activity is not for you.

You should be able to Just Do physical exercise, without any training to build you up to it. If you can't and it hurts, this is because you're Bad At PE.

You will only be shown Once

Physical activity is only ever a team sport that you aren't good enough to be willingly picked for

LIKE WHAT THE FUCK

And you know what, LET'S round off with Food Technology/Cookery. Because I remember the things I was asked to make in FT. As a little baby Year 7, I still vividly remember two of the things we made.

Angel Delight. Easy, you might say! A simple treat, you might think! Easing the children into food prep, I hear you cry! But no, because the theme of the year was healthy eating, and so we were to add fruit to our Angel Delight. Any flavour Angel Delight, any fruit. Off you go. I don't know if any of you have encountered fruit, Tumblrs, but it famously has faintly acidic juice. This will prevent the Angel Delight from setting within the one hour lesson, no matter how well you mixed the pudding, or how quickly you got it into the fridge. It will result in soggy gross lumps of oxidising fruit in sloppy liquid pudding. Lesson learned: fruit makes food worse.

Cake. Easyish, you might say! A little harder than the Angel Delight but good training, you might think! A fairly straightforward process with a child-friendly food at the end, I hear you cry! But no, because the theme of the year was still healthy eating, so the teachers made it into an experiment; make four small cakes. One with sugar, one with sweetener, one with apple, and one with carrot. Then taste them and rank them in order. Off you go. I don't know if any of you have ever tried eating sugarless carrot cake, Tumblrs, but I have, and I can tell you categorically that it really puts the "Did you know" into the phrase "Did you know that fructose and sucrose are not actually equivalents of each other in a culinary setting?" It was rancid. It was disgusting. It was vile. It made me hate carrot cake for the next 12 years, in case my mouth had to go through that ordeal again. I'm still highly suspicious of the stuff even now. To (I assume) the surprise of fuck-damned no one, we unanimously put them in the order of sugar, sweetener, apple, carrot. Lesson learned: FRUIT MAKES FOOD WORSE AND CARROTS ARE ACTIVELY DISGUSTING

What possessed them?! No idea. Fucking hell.

Anyway this is getting long and I am still ill-informed. Peace out.

[kingkunigami]

This is for @baroukitten. It was originally an ask that got long. I’m still deciding how I wanna characterise him hmmm.

Based on this.

Warnings: 18+, not proofread!, established relationship, bath sex handjobs.

Picture taking a bath with Barou and his aching muscles after a game, the way he hisses as he slinks into the warm water. He should’ve expected the sting, knowing how hot you run your baths— Hotter than the depths of hell, just how you like it.

“You big baby.” You murmur as he relaxes back against your chest with a sigh, the water almost sloshing over the edge from how muscular he is, your thighs spread to accommodate his size as you wrap your arms around his chest.

“Won’t be able to play the next qualifier with third degree burns,” He groans, feeling your hands stroke against his pectorals as you grin against his neck, your lips leaving searing kisses against the tender skin.

“I’m sure you’ll be okay, big boy.” You laugh as you grab a bath puff and begin to clean his body, taking the time to work out the kinks against his sore back as you feel him physically begin to relax. The weight of him beginning to press down against you as he heaved a sigh, his large palms squeezing your thighs that lay on either side of him as his eyes begin to flutter shut.

“Excuse me,” You feign shock as your hands travel lower, feeling his cock firm beneath the water, “What’s this?”

“You know damn well,” He groans, shifting his hips as he purposefully pushes his cock harder against your palm, giving himself some slight friction as he groans, “S’your fault anyway.”

“How’s if my fault?” You drop the puff in the bath in favour of wrapping your hand around his girth, listening keenly for the sharp intake of breath as you begin a languid pace breath the water, “I was just helping clean you up.”

“I’m sure that was all you were doin’,” He scoffs, shifting as he turns his head to the side to press warm lips against your cheek, “Don’t think I didn’t see you eye-fuckin’ me the entire game, sweetheart.”

“I was not.” Your gasp incredulously as you feel his lips curl into a smile against your skin.

“Sure looked like it,” He hums, “What was it? The hat-trick or the winning goal?”

You could physically feel him puffing his chest out at the self-idolisation, bringing him back to earth as you moved lower to palm his balls. The smug grin quickly turning into a sultry moan.

“I think it was when Raichi almost sent you flying when you both went for the ball,” You whispered against the shell of his ear, “Love it when you come home covered in mud.”

“That’s because you’re filthy,” He groans as your finger strokes along his taint before moving back up to cup his balls, barely able to move your other hand around his thick frame to stroke his neglected cock.

“Only for you, Shoei.” You coo, speeding your pace up as water spills over the edge of the tub as your boyfriend fucks into your fist, his cock throbbing as he nears his release.

“That fuckin’ peasant wouldn’t have knocked me down,” He almost growls as he feels your hand tighten around his cock.

“Of course not, my King.” The pent up tension rife inside him as he feels himself close to surrender, his balls tightening as he cums with a grunt of your name. His warm seed spilling into the water as you continue to stroke him through his release, delicate fingers tracing the smooth tip of his cock as you pepper kisses against his neck.

“Shou,” You mumble softly as you feel the water becoming tepid, your boyfriends body lax against your chest as he dozes softly, quiet snores rumble from his throat as you rouse him, “Waters cold.”

“This is more my temperature.” He grunts, eyes still tightly shut as he squeezes your knee.

“I’m getting cold,” You pout, prodding his side, “Lemme up.”

“Maybe I can do something to warm you up.” He grins, leaning forward so you can get up as swift arms reach up to grab your waist, manoeuvring you to settle in front of him as you squeal in surprise.

“Shou,” Your pleas fall on deaf ears as his hands disappear beneath the water, knuckles grazing your soft folds.

“Be quiet and listen to your king.”

[dandelionprints]

More Than Enough

(Tommy Shelby One Shot)

As some of you will know if you’ve seen any of my posts, I’ve not had any motivation to write and have really felt my inspiration dwindling on a daily basis. I had a little bit of that motivation come back to me this evening so I thought I’d use it to write this short one shot. It was quite hard to write as I feel like my self belief is at a low right now so I was questioning myself a lot when writing it but fuck it, I’ve finally completed a WIP after weeks of not writing, I hope you enjoy!

Day had slowly turned into night in what had felt like only a matter of minutes in your bedroom, the only light now coming from the fireplace and a lamp that was lit on your desk. The comfort of the fire warmed you as the air grew cold.

Piles of invitations were laid upon the wooden surface with various addresses to the wealthiest people within England and Scotland. This charity ball had better get you a lot of fucking money after all the time you’d put into it, not to mention the cramp that was now very apparent in your fingers.

“Come to bed love, it’s getting late”, Tommy whispered against your shoulder before moving the strap of your nightie to the side and gently laying a kiss on your bare skin.

“I will my love, I’ve just got a few…”, you began, getting cut off swiftly by an exasperated sigh from your husband that caught you off guard.

“Y/N, you’ve been at this for hours, you need to get some rest. I would also like to spend some time with my wife. Please, come to bed”

You turned to look at him standing there in just his boxer shorts, a look of pleading in his expression. Those eyes of blue almost boring right through you, making you melt like they had the first day you’d made contact with them.

You sighed feeling guilty, “I know, Tom. But if I don’t do it then who the fuck will? They’re meant to be delivered to everyone tomorrow and I feel like if they’re not perfect then I’ll be judged even more than I already am”

A wave of insecurity swept over you unexpectedly. Fuck you hated that feeling, never feeling like the life you’d married into was something you deserved. The money, the big house, the handsome gangster husband. None of it.

“Who do you think is judging you, the people invited?”, his eyebrow raised as he took a step toward you, kneeling at your side, “don’t take any notice of what they say, they’re all twats in expensive suits”

You nodded your head and averted his gaze, instead choosing to pick a spot on the floor to focus on.

“I know what they say, Tom. ‘What’s a girl like that doing with a man like him? A former peasant girl who used to have to beg for scraps on the street? She’s probably only with him for the money! Oh, and the maids too, they do everything for her’”

“Who have you heard say that? You tell me and I’ll send Arthur round to have a chat with them, no one talks about my wife like that!”

He stood with his fists balled at his sides, his knuckles white from the tension. Grabbing his arm you pulled yourself up and squeezed him gently, his muscles tight under your grip.

“No! Please don’t, it’s not a big deal”, you used your free hand to bring his face towards yours, “All I’m saying is I’m well aware that they don’t think highly of me. I just want to show them I’m no longer that peasant girl who had to beg for food and money, that I’m capable of organising a charity event and doing as much for it on my own as I can without the help of staff or other influences. I want them to know I work hard, Tom”

He hadn’t taken his eyes off you the whole time you’d been speaking, too fixated on every word you were saying. He brought his hands up to either side of your face and cupped your cheeks.

“You work harder than any of those fuckers that are invited, the only reason they’re on the guest list is cause they have money, and lots of it. They don’t have a clue what shit you went through to end up on the streets or how we met, which if I remember rightly wasn’t when you were still having to sleep in the gutters. They don’t know fuck all about anything, none of them do”, he said, stroking your cheeks with his thumbs.

Bringing your hands up you held onto either one of his wrists, your thumb on the back of his hand.

“I know love, I just want to show I’m enough. Enough to be deserving of this life we’ve built. Enough to be with you when there are so many other beautiful women out there who would drop their knickers for you with just a snap of your fingers”

He chuckled then before his expression turned soft, moving his face closer to yours, hands still cupping your cheeks.

“Darling, you’re more than enough. You always have been”

His lips connected with yours in a soft swoop, holding themselves there for a while before curving up into a smile.

You smiled back feeling a rush of warmth in your chest, the butterflies fluttering around in your stomach making themselves known.

“Now c’mon, bed”

This time you didn’t have a choice in the matter as he swiftly swept you up into his arms and carried you towards the bed. You giggled as you wrapped your arms around his neck, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours, the signature smell of whiskey and cigarettes moving to your nose.

Placing you down onto the bed he knelt over you and kissed you again, this time with more passion.

“I think it’s time I show you just how wrong those people are, how it’s really me who is unworthy to be with you, Mrs. Shelby”

The firelight continued to flicker, casting shadows around the room, the plans of finishing the invitations now well and truly gone.

Right here in this very moment, in your big expensive house, on the expensive Egyptian cotton bedding beneath you on your expensive four poster bed, the only thing that mattered was that the love of your life truly believed that you had always been enough, no matter what.

————

Tagged: @peakypoet @moral-terpitude @lyarr24 @cillmequick @mrkdvidal1989 @shelbydelrey @alasya16 @tommystargirl @elenavampire21 @adaydreamaway08 @slaypussypop-21 (unable to tag) @bluesongbird @zablife @cljordan-imperium @look-at-the-soul @rangerelik

[hauntedestheart]

Royal Privilege Pt. 2 (Male Possession)

PART ONE

Having successfully gotten away with stealing the body of a royal prince, Bartelby kept his head down and followed the maid towards the prince's chambers. He had to restrain himself from gaping at the finery around him (it would be unbecoming of a prince) until he was alone in his new rooms, when he finally allowed himself to cackle with glee.

Impossibly, food was already waiting for him when he arrived– but that was just the life of a royal, he supposed. He had merely to ask and it would be given.

An array of delicacies laid spread out on a table before him: fruits, roast meats, sweet sugar spun delicacies that he had seen during festivals but never been able to afford. And here it was being given to him for free.

Suddenly starving, Bartelby fell upon the feast like a wild animal. He was almost afraid that the food would be too rich for him to stomach, but of course his new body was used to it. But each new flavor was still a delight for his mind and he savored every bite– he almost cried when he tasted chocolate for the first time.

A large bottle of bubbling yellow liquid had been provided as well and he recognized it as champagne, which peasants had whispered about as one of the finest spirits ever brewed. Bartelby drank greedily straight from the bottle, feeling his head grow light and his body loose.

His belly fuller than it had ever been before and his basic needs satisfied, Bartelby turned his attention to other matters.

Bartelby approached the mirror that hung on one of the walls of the room, and the face of prince Nicholas stared back at him from its shiny surface. He leaned in close and gazed into those blue eyes– the eyes of a prince hiding the soul of a peasant. Rags to riches like a fairy tale; now he was Prince Charming.

Curious of his new body, Bartelby began to divest himself of his clothes, and beneath the finery he found something even better than riches.

He had assumed, naturally, that thanks to their life of luxury all royals would be fat and lazy– but of course that wouldn't be the case for a seventh-in-line prince like Nicholas. A seventh-in-line prince like Nicholas was so far removed from the line of succession that he was essentially breeding stock, destined to be married off to some foreign royal to forge a diplomatic alliance. His only job was to be pretty– but my, he did that exceptionally well.

"You probably haven't been missing many meals," he whispered to himself as he pressed his hand to the prince's firm midsection. The muscles there were individually sculpted, different than the kind of raw strength the men developed toiling in the fields, but as he explored the grooves with his fingers he found they held their own appeal.

He flexed one of his arms, watching as the muscles bulged up appealingly. Prince Nicholas had probably never lifted a shovel or even swung a sword in his life, but his family had most likely assigned him private tutors whose job it was to ensure that he would have big, firm arms like these that he could use to catch the princesses who swooned before him.

These were show muscles, Bartelby realized with disgust. Pretty to look at, but they would be useless for any real work.

Then he laughed and shook his head– none of that mattered, he'd never be going near a field ever again! He had to stop thinking like a peasant and start thinking like a royal. His new body was beautiful, like a marble sculpture. He was a walking work of art.

Bartelby's hands drifted over his skin and he marveled at how soft and smooth his body was now– other than the strange blow to the shoulder (the only reminder his previous life) there wasn't a blemish on prince Nicholas. This was the skin of a man who grew up sheltered from the blistering sun, the skin of a man who bathed.

He'd get to bathe now! In a proper tub of warm water, with soap, and perhaps even fragrant oils.

As Bartelby's eyes devoured the handsome man in the mirror he felt a stirring in his britches and could resist no longer. Without further ceremony he lowered his trousers, letting his scepter and royal jewels spill out to hang majestically before him.

"Well," he said, his mouth quirking up into a smile. "This must be that divine right of kings I'm always hearing about."

Nicholas's manhood was thick and long, sitting atop two huge balls as if they were a throne. Curiously it lacked the folds of skin that had surrounded Bartelby's old cock, but as its mushroom crown pulsed and flushed dark pink, he couldn't bring himself to care. This was a cock befitting of a prince.

Bartelby seized upon his cock and began tugging at it, eager to stake claim over his new body, but then he cursed– even as soft as his new hand was, he still wanted something to wet his cock and ease the motion.

His eyes searched the room and settled on the champagne bottle that stood upon the table. He licked his lips.

Seizing the bottle in one hand he raised it high and poured the champagne upon himself, licking a few drops into his mouth but feeling the rest of liquid spill over the crevices of his muscles and trickle down to his cock. His hand slick with the golden spirit, he began to pump on his new treasure.

In his old, frail body, weak from hunger and tired from overwork, his manhood had been a sad snail of a thing between his legs that could barely muster up a few droplets of cum before his reserves were exhausted. Now it poured from him like a fountain, his healthy, virile balls churning as they ejaculated load after load which flew up as far as his face.

He panted and stared down at his muscular torso, his broad chest heaving with each breath. He was still drenched and the light reflected off the sweat and semen as if someone had poured diamonds over him; even his mess was beautiful.

People around the village always joked that sex was the one place where peasant and royal were equal, and Bartelby now knew that wasn't true because the orgasm he'd just received felt like a gift from heaven.

Just another pleasure in a life that would be full of them

Drunk on champagne and power, he barely managed to stumble over to the prince's bed and collapse atop it. He groaned anew as his naked body embraced the bed– silk sheets and a mattress stuffed with feathers, the softest things he'd ever felt. He drifted off to sleep in moments.

-

He awoke in the morning to knocking at his door.

For a moment, Bartelby was scared that it had all been a dream, but when he opened his eyes and saw the finery around him he knew his mind could never have conjured this up.

His new cock bid him a good morning, eager to please its new master, and he grinned down at the sight of the sizable bump beneath the covers. He rolled over and pressed it into the bed and groaned in pleasure as he felt his manhood grind into the silk. He thrust lazily as he chased that leisurely pleasure, feeling his muscular arse flexing behind him as he humped the mattress.

The knocking came again, irritating Bartelby enough to stir from his slumber to see what the fuss was, but he was a prince now. He would take his time.

He rose from his bed and strutted over to the closet he'd seen at the other side of the room, his mouth gaping at the sheer number of garments it contained. He selected a green silk robe and began to decide on a shirt as well before he paused and left his chest bare. No sense in hiding his blessings. For his lower half he donned only modest undergarments that bulged with his still hard cock.

Bartelby flung the door open and instantly recognized the man before him: it was the servant who had turned him away at the gates.

For a moment, anger flared up within Bartelby, but it flickered out just as quickly. Why should he be angry? The man had done him a service by turning him away, it had lead him to this new life. And besides, as the prince, a servant like this was insignificant. Bartelby was now above him in all ways– wealth, status, and even height.

He peered down at the man before him and realized with amusement that the servant was frozen with his mouth hanging open dumbly, his wide eyes running Bartelby up and down as if he didn't believe what he was seeing.

Did Prince Nicholas often answer the door open unclothed, Bartelby wondered? Would he allow his servants precious glimpses of this magnificent body? Whatever the answer, Bartelby enjoyed the attention.

"Well?" He asked the servant, draping himself against the doorframe alluringly.

"Apologies, your highness," the butler managed to blather out, still struck dumb by the sight of the nearly naked prince. He cast his eyes to the floor and regained some composure. "But I was told to remind you that your father requests your attendance at dinner tonight."

There was silence for a moment as Bartelby scrutinized the servant before him. With his strong jaw, thick hair, and broad shoulders, he was a rather attractive fellow– surely all of the maids in the castle were swooning over him. But, Bartelby wondered as he glanced at the way the man shuffled before him, did he desire them back?

"And now," the butler gave a bow, and then began to back away nervously. "I must away to-"

"No no, stay," Bartelby commanded, and the man froze in place instantly. Bartelby gestured for the man to step into his chambers, and to his delight, the man complied.

Bartelby nearly shivered with the display of power, and he now understood what had driven this servant to be so cruel to him at the gates– the pleasure of subordination, of having someone else be the weak one. It was intoxicating.

He could have his servant thrown in the dungeon, whipped, tossed out into the street and torn limb from limb by wild horses– but Bartelby wasn't a cruel man. No, he instead he had his mind on something he thought they might both enjoy.

He bent down and dropped his loincloth, letting his massive new cock spring forth and hang between the two men. The butler gasped, and Bartelby grinned.

"My cock is hard," Bartelby announced, sweeping one hand down the flesh that jutted out before him and shaking it. He shivered for a moment when he felt the heft of it, much greater than his old cock, and a strangled whine escaped the throat of his servant. "As you can so clearly see."

In his old life as a peasant, Bartelby would have never dared to be so forwards– people in his village were not open minded and he could have been stoned for acting upon his desires for other men. But who would tell him what to do now that he was a prince? He was free to do as he pleased, and what he wanted to do was to sample that which had been forbidden to him for so long.

And now he had something to offer as well, a beautiful body with delicious muscles and a generous cock that would satisfy any man.

Bartelby watched the way that the butler's eyes searched him up and down, traced the hard lines of his physique, lingered on the obscenity bursting forth from his groin, and he knew that this man wanted the same thing too.

"You are my servant, are you not?" Bartelby continued, and his butler nodded weakly. Bartelby smiled. "Well as my servant, I command you to do something about this. Personally. Have I made myself clear?

The servant's eyes went wide, and he licked his lips. "As you wish, my lord."

His loyal subject kneeled before him to kiss the royal scepter, and Bartelby groaned in ecstasy.

It's good to be the prince.

[theaveragepsychoticbitch]

Breakup smut pt 1 🫶🏾🥲

Poseidon x Fem Reader || NSFW || Warnings: body worship (hopefully lol), evil princess esque reader, but really youre just traumtized lol, repeated mentions of human sacrifice and the like, porn interlaced with plot, and kind of established relationship? Idk bro I obviously know nothing of relationships 🫠💔

A/N: I may have outdone myself

Your body is a temple, and Poseidon, the greatest of your devotees.

You are quite used to being worshipped. Back in the human world, your skin was kissed by peasants for good luck, and a strand of your hair was said to bring wealth upon families for generations. There was no shortage of adoration, for you were the blessed child, the one born to bare the gods' wrath like fine silks.

A very long and tedious way to say you were raised to be the human sacrifice, but you can't deny that it sounds better.

When the knife was raised, you knew at once you would not die. And when it lowered, you found yourself unsurprised that your skin stood strong as steel. The gods' wrath was not something that could be bested by mortal weaponry, it'd seem.

The resulting flash from impact left much of the happenings after as naught but a blur; how you got to Valhalla, and what happened to the villagers.

But it wasn't important to you anymore. You were no longer a scapegoat people could simply pin their fates on, a body to be slaughtered so others may live. Now, you were a true God, and the way the haughtiest of them all was gazing at you from his place at your feet proved it.

Eyes as cold and blue as a glacier were clouded with something akin to delusion. Obsession, perhaps. The way he couldn't keep his hands off you yet fought to follow your every order certainly lined up with such a trait.

As big a man as he is, even on his knees he'd dwarf you easily. Which is why you sat on a big throne- his throne, in fact. You find the sapphires and white gold compliment you quite nicely.

"May I taste you again?"

It made your head spin, the power you had in your lap. Your ascension to Godhood was accompanied by no powers; no super strength, no mental magic. All you had was your tongue, your body and your face. And with that alone, you've defeated one amongst the greatest of foes.

Your eyes are lowered to mere slits, a cocky sort of mischief darkening your irises and contorting your face.

"Do you truly believe you deserve a second taste?" The words slide off your tongue far too easily. If only you'd known the many ways you could use your power before... if only you'd always been a nasty bitch, maybe things would have turned out differently.

Oh well.

"Allow me to prove myself. Allow me to touch you, Princess. I will make you feel good."

You knew he would. He'd done it before. You'd seen stars when you came, felt muscles you've never used contract. It was pleasure so intense it almost pained you. You'd been quite vulnerable then.

But it was the sudden loss of control that put you on guard. For those moments, you were a weak human girl again, molden entirely by the people around you. If they wanted you happy, then you were. If they were scared, you were the brave one. If they needed a human sacrifice, you were it. If Poseidon wanted to make you cum, then you'd let him.

In the back of your mind, you knew that didn't make sense. But an emotion you didn't want to name pushed you to push him even harder.

"You will? Really? So much confidence... After your rather lackluster performance earlier, I can't quite say I'm ready and willing for you."

Poseidon was, at his core, a prideful God. For him to lower himself to his knees was already a great feat. But to gaze up at another? As they fix him with a disgust that was a cheap copy of his own? It was tearing apart the very foundations he'd built his persona around.

Poseidon was perfect. Everyone knew that. Perfect beings didnt bow to others– yet "may I's" left his throat in shards, like so much broken glass. And his knees were not used to such a position. The slow-creeping ache was deeply discomforting.

But your insult to his performance struck deep. A being incapable of subparness, being told he was a failure. Pride wasn't the only thing on the line here. It was his identity as a God itself that you've challenged.

"Watch, Princess. I shall wield your body as though you were waves at sea, and soon, you will know."

The sudden poetry left you speechless for once, allowing your legs to be spread as his lips crept up and over faded scars you still got insecure about. They were just slightly darker than your skin tone, and to you, stuck out like so many sore thumbs. They were ugly. But he kissed them with a reverence saved for something beautiful.

You hated this part; when his hands start to roam, and your mind, once so clear and your thoughts once so calculated, become muggy and muddled. He touched you with a gentleness you didn't think him capable of, as though you were something- someone -precious.

It's embarrassing to admit, but you're still quite new to the many facets of pleasure. Lust was never something you had a chance to indulge in. And now, under the slightest of pressure, you're left sensitive and open, your moans as common as flowers in the spring.

"P- Poseidon. Slow down..."

He was already going quite slow, and you realize that making him go slower was worse. His tongue dragged up your torso at a most agonizing pace, and the seconds it took him to slip your gown above your head felt like hours.

Now bare, the coldness of the room latched to your skin. You started to tremble, just slightly. If you'd been a bit more clear-headed, you would have forced yourself to stop. But Poseidon's mouth has found your tit, and he's got both hands at your hips kneading the skin like it'd make him cum. You never stood a chance.

You flinch, head thrown hard into the cushioned back of the throne as his tongue sucks on your nipple. He twirls it in his mouth, savoring the way your whimpers change in pitch when he runs his teeth over it. Part of him wants to bite hard, hear you squeal as pleasure mixes with the pain. He wants to feel your whole body jerk into his embrace, and hold you there while you suffer through it.

But the part that knows you knows you'd never recover from such a move. It'd be no fun to torture you if you'd become pliant after. He'd simply have to make you twitch in other ways.

His hands take more direct action as he lifts you up and into the air. You're balanced on his chest, and find yourself shy to be fully naked in front of him. You've had to bare yourself before crowds before, of course. But he was just one man, one God. You couldn't run from his eyes, from his hands, from his tongue. His attention was all on you, and you were far too aware of that fact.

Gosh, it made it no better that you were the only one naked.

"I-I demand you take your clothes off!" You meant to sound powerful, commanding, like earlier. But your voice broke and watered and you stuttered over your words and your face was getting hot and you couldn't look him in his eyes and holy hell. You weren't sure you could take much more of this.

"You demand me...?" You can feel the vibrations of his voice in his chest. However, it's rather inconvenient that your cunt is pressed so tightly to it. You almost sob out a moan at how good it feels. Your arousal was surely soaking through his robes, and you fear you'll pass out if you so much as glance at the stain you've made.

His deep voice has gained a tone of authority, much like the Poseidon everyone was used to. But it didn't thicken the air with his anger, like when he spoke to his brothers. It was cold and calm and calculated.

Where your authority faltered, his bloomed. It came naturally to him, of course. It made quite the farce out of your earlier bravado.

"Yes? I, I do. I do demand you!" You sound like a little kid. This is going terribly for you.

Poseidon doesn't answer you. He's still staring. His hands mold themselves into the fat of your ass, and the sensations leave you gripping his shoulders till the fabric rips, arching into his hold with full confidence he wouldn't let you fall.

You can't help but grind against his chest, just a little bit. It's muscular, but his pecs are soft like your own chest, and meld to your cunt so perfectly you can't help but chase the feeling. The thought to be embarrassed doesn't have time to cross your mind, as you're already long gone, riding the waves of pleasure to wherever they take you.

You're jostled suddenly, and you realize your eyes are closed when you open them and find Poseidon has retaken his rightful seat. You'd react, but he moves first. You're set down in his lap, all contact discontinued.

You feel... small. You now look up at him. And being that the chair was made for him, you find he looks far more regal than you ever could've. In seconds, you're transported back to that night. Being woken up from your bed in the middle of the night. Full restrained, your screams drowned out by the prayers they chanted as you were walked up the stairs towards the alter. Being laid flat along it, seeing the dried blood in the dim firelight. The way the knife gleamed under it.

Subconsciously, your hand moves above your heart, as if protecting it. The knife never struck home. But you're feeling pains as if it did.

Soft lips along your cheeks make you realize you're crying.

The stoicism hasn't left his features, but deep in his eyes you notice something deeper than admiration. Something that far surpassed the superficial love a devotee has for a God. This was a love for equals. For people who have seen each other, known each other's souls like they know each other's skin, who's loyalty isn't out of duty or convenience, but out of the most genuine of cares.

You find yourself standing up and leading him to the bedroom.

On the mattress, you see eye to eye. He's bared his skin for you. You got to watch as he did it. Waning candle light flickered across pale skin as he slowly loosened his fabrics. He enjoyed the hunger in your eyes. You enjoyed feeling hungry. It'd felt forbidden to want for yourself. But now, you let your greed consume you. And consume it did.

You basically drooled as the folds slid down his hips. His cock was soon exposed, and the red, throbbing tip made your mouth water. His thighs were sticky with precum, and now that you look, you weren't the only one leaving stains on clothes.

You found him gorgeous. Ever last inch of him was pure and perfect, the very image of Godhood. From his perfect golden curls to the deepness of his gaze and the stony expression on his face to match.

You wished you could tell him all this and more. Instead, when he approaches you, you kiss it into his skin.

You're maneuvered slowly onto your back. Kisses that felt like prayers rained down by the dozens. Open mouthed, wet, messy. His love for your body was so strong it seeped into you. Suddenly, you loved the skin you were in, loved it for everything its lasted through, loved it for being the temple he prayed at. His reverence was a clear sign he intended to finish what you started earlier- showing you how a perfect God pleases his partner.

All at once you were eaten. The teeth of desire are sunken deep into your flesh, your arousal drunken like water in a desert of lust. He was everywhere and you were nowhere, you were a map, and him a traveler determined to explore every corner. You never knew you could feel so many sensations at once. It was wonderful and terrifying and your hips were moving on their own and you could barely hear your thoughts over your own moans and-

"Ohhh..."

His tongue is inside you and his thumb is at your clit. His other hand palms your breast. Whatever spot he just hit triggered something to explode deep inside you, and you were cumming across his tongue before even you knew it.

You trembled hard, but his hands held you steady at the waist. If you saw stars last time, the whole universe has now spread itself out before you. Galaxies boasted a beauty you couldn't comprehend for mere seconds before you were dropped back on Earth, panting and sweating and surely out of your mind.

Your lover rises, and you find he looks rather good with your cum running down his chin. His whole chest was wet, and not long ago at all that would have left you feeling embarrassed. But right now, all you felt was a sense of rightness.

Pride bloomed alongside it when you see he'd blown his load all over his own thighs and the bed. He came untouched. And that was your doing. ♥︎

He hadn't softened even a bit though. He was looking at you like you were some kind of savior, and it made your cunt throb that much harder in anticipation.

"Poseidon...My love?"

Your tone was innocent, but one look at your face revealed the act for what it was. Your intentions were unholy despite the obvious irony of that, but as long he'd indulge, you could care less.

"I may not bend oceans to my will, nor be experienced in the wielding of the skin nor the sword..."

"But I find you've broken a spell over me tonight. The shackles of my past shan't hold me anymore. For the first time since that night, I have left the altar. I have left the false throne I'd known most of my life, and come to you not as a figurehead, nor a Princess, but as myself. I do not order, but ask: allow me to prove myself. Allow me to touch you. I, too, will make you feel good."

Your question is not answered with words, but a kiss. One as soft as a feather, and as sweet as freedom.

-------------

A/N: This came to me in a wretched vision this very night, believe me or not. Will I spellcheck this? I'll see after I add tags. Will I edit and sharpen this? I'll see when I'm spellchecking. Enjoy.

[probablybadrpgideas]

Fighters get proficiency in the peasant railgun

Big muscles for grabbing peasents

[peachymilkandcream]

Kingdom of Ash and Greed|Part 4|King Levi x Evelyn

WARNINGS: implied noncon/dubcon, big age difference, kidnapping, slavery, violence, power imbalance, implied somnophilia, forced pregnancies, mind breaking, yandere behaviour, yandere themes, etc.

===============================================

In the end, Evelyn ended up pissing her maid off. Feeling awkward and uncomfortable with the silence hanging between the two she had tried to make conversation. However it turned into the maid getting tired of her and restraining her with the help of another maid and some rope.

She was tied on all fours with her face pushed into bed, so that she could only hear if someone had entered the room. She had thought she could've fought them off, but it was clear the people from this kingdom were a different breed of ruthless.

Evelyn wasn't sure how long she had sat there, her muscles aching from the uncomfortable position and her mind running through what Levi would do to her when he came back. She was no more than an animal to them, and clearly there was resentment that the King had seen her as fitting to bear the royal heir. Evelyn was told very plainly that she wasn't fit to be the king's slave, but some cock sleeve for the lowest soldiers and peasants.

Surprisingly, with these comments she was happy Levi had taken interest in her, interest enough she wouldn't have become some universal cum dumpster in the streets.

She heard the door click open and then shut, and she could almost hear the smile of wet lips pulling away into a sadistic and toothy grin.

"Now what do we have here?"

In a slight panic at hearing Levi's voice, clearly amused with her situation, Evelyn starts to pull more fervently at the ropes and restraints.

But she's met with a hard and merciless spank to her rear.

"That's enough of that."

The sound of rustling clothes fill her ears before she feels the warm skin against her, teasing her by feeling along the entrance and threatening to gain access.

"Whoever did this will be rewarded, I can tell you that. A nice surprise for their ruler. My servants know me so well."

All at once he pushes in, her toes curling at the suddenness. How did he have the ability to completely fill her like it was nothing?

She tried her best to pull away, only managing a third of an inch before he pulled her back down onto him. He took a moment to tie the ropes tighter, to the point they had no give and there was no way she could even move.

Confident of her forced submission Levi pounds furiously into her, making sure she feels every inch and how he rules over her with an iron fist.

He gives her no mercy, making her whole body shake until he holds her close, filling her womb with his heir to be.

He scoffs at her state. "I like you like this. I think I'll keep it that way."

Evelyn starts to retort, but thinks better of it, keeping her mouth shut.

"Smile, you've been blessed with my seed, you should know your worth."

===============================================

She had been tied up and used for days on end. Since Levi hadn't ordered anyone to no one of his staff had bothered to care for her. Or more likely they knew of her state and chose not to help in order to be cruel to their enemy.

Whatever the case, Evelyn's relief when Levi finally gave the order to let her down was immense. He had gotten tired of the same position and the same scenario, he craved something more.

He was starting to get bored and she knew it, soon enough he would dispose of her and move on. There was no way she would allow herself to be treated this way and then discarded like trash. She would have her freedom and life back.

So when an attendant left the door unlocked Evelyn picked out Levi's plainest clothes and tried her best to blend in while she snuck out the door.

[hamsterclaw]

Royal Pain

Crown Prince Hoseok has had his kingdom taken from him, and you're going to help him take it back, with a little help from your friends.

Pairing: Hoseok x F! reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: Fantasy AU, royalty AU, smut, angst

Word count: 7.6k

Warnings: Sex, swearing, magical themes, mentions of blood and killing, references to fire, Namjoon on a dragon

Hey there @xjoonchildx and @hobi-gif -- sorry about the blue balls!

Hoseok’s back muscles glisten with rivulets of water from the stream. Fully dressed, he looks lithe, slim. It’s only when he’s like this, naked that it becomes obvious that he’s dense with muscle.

The mark on his shoulder blade, high up, is pale in the bright sunlight. He’s had it since you were children. You’d always planned to ask your parents about it but then the invasion had happened.

Hoseok had been with you in your chamber when the treacherous Halians had stormed the palace, and it’s the only reason you’d both managed to get away without being killed.

No one would have thought of looking for the crown prince of Daranthia in the quarters of a servant family.

You were training to be a royal guard, but no one ever let you forget you were descended from peasants.

Now you’re both in Eosul, a coastal city far enough from Daranthia that you both feel safe, but close enough that you can keep abreast of the turmoil the invasion threw your city into.

Hoseok turns to face you, and you know he’s only done it to show you more of his beautiful body.

Your eyes travel from his shoulders, down his torso, to the hint of darkness just below the water level of the stream.

‘Done preening, my prince?’ you ask, voice heavy with sarcasm.

You and Hoseok played together as children. There were other children living within the palace gates, but none as close in age as the two of you.

The Queen had doted on you like you were her own daughter.

‘Why don’t you join me?’ he asks, smile inviting as he gestures. ‘The water’s perfect.’

You enjoy Hoseok’s easy flirtatious charm. You’ve seen him use it to great effect on the ladies and men in the royal court, and he’s flustered many a servant girl with his beautiful manners and equally dazzling smile.

Perhaps the servants’ quarters were not such an unexpected place to find the crown prince of Daranthia.

The Halian army’s lack of intelligent strategy was your and Hoseok’s gain. You’ll never be caught off-guard again.

You keep your thin chemise on as you enter the stream, and modestly turn your back on Hoseok, which is why you miss the way his eyes linger on the curve of your ass and the line of your straight spine.

You’re nearly done washing when Hoseok asks, ‘Did you ever find out about the mark?’

The reason why you’re so curious about Hoseok’s mark is that you have an almost identical one on your own shoulderblade.

‘Maybe they did it so you couldn’t be swapped with another baby,’ you speculate. ‘All babies look the same, after all.’

Hoseok snorts. ‘I was a very regal baby.’

You laugh and climb out of the water. ‘You’re regal now, my prince,’ you say, teasing. Hoseok’s still wearing the plain garments he wore when he came to see you that day. You’d planned on going hiking in the mountains, just the two of you.

Hoseok doesn’t answer immediately, and you realise he’s looking at your front. The wet chemise hides nothing.

You give him a look to show you’ve noticed his lapse in decorum, and turn pointedly to gather your clothes from the grass.

‘It’s as beautiful a view from the back,’ Hoseok remarks, and he sounds so much closer than before you take a big step forward and look back warily.

Hoseok’s on the bank of the stream with you, but he’s already turned away to get dressed himself.

You don’t want him to have the last word.

‘Same to you, my prince,’ you call.

Without turning around, Hoseok says, ‘If I thought you meant that, I’d take my comfort from you right now.’

You finish getting dressed in silence.

***

You were born with elemental power but you’re by no means good at magic. You can spark a fire if the kindling’s dry enough and there’s no humidity in the air.

As far as you know, Hoseok has no magical abilities.

Both of you combined can’t hold a candle to the man you’re watching juggle fireballs without using his hands.

Hoseok rolls his eyes at you. ‘Come on, we have a lot of things to do. We need food, and lodgings, and a means to make money.’

‘Very practical of you, my prince,’ you say, approvingly.

‘Stop calling me your prince. We’re incognito,’ Hoseok complains. There’s a spark of something in his eyes. ‘Unless we’re in bed, then you can worship this royal ass all you like.’

‘You certainly are a royal ass,’ you agree, ducking the arm he tries to put around your shoulders.

Hoseok turns to go, and a fireball zips past his head, singeing the edges of his hair.

You step in front of him and turn to face your attacker.

The man who’d been juggling fireballs is approaching you quickly.

‘I’m sorry!’ he says, raising his hands up as you square up to him.

This close, he looks more a boy than a man, wide-eyed and worried.

Hoseok nudges you out of the way, and you step aside reluctantly. You haven’t finished your royal guard training, but it’s always been your instinct to protect Hoseok.

He is the prince, after all, and he’s shit at protecting himself.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says again. ‘I got distracted and my fireball went wild.’

‘It’s fine,’ Hoseok says, magnanimous. ‘We’re new to the city, do you live here?’

‘My whole life,’ the man-boy says, beaming at you.

You can’t help melting at sweetness of his smile. ‘I’m Y/N,’ you say.

‘Jungkook,’ he replies. You smile at each other.

Hoseok clears his throat. ‘I’m Hoseok, if anyone was interested,’ he says, dryly.

You roll your eyes. ‘Sorry, he’s had a tough week,’ you say to Jungkook.

Hoseok snorts. ‘We need help. Can you show us around the city, Jungkook?’

***

Your new friend Jungkook knows the city like the back of his hand, eats like it’s his last meal, every time, and is able to control fire almost effortlessly. You’re both in awe of how powerful he is, and flummoxed by how ridiculous he is otherwise.

Hoseok and you are watching Jungkook form fireballs as you train, using sticks Hoseok’s carved from waste timber. You hadn’t realised he was so skilled.

Hoseok’s thrust hits you right in the middle of the chest as you lunge towards him and slip in the mud.

Thankfully the point of his stick isn’t enough to impale you. Neither of you have healing powers.

Jungkook comes running, fireballs extinguished. ‘Are you ok, Y/N? he asks, breathlessly.

He pulls the stick out of Hoseok’s loosened grip and tosses it away, like Hoseok would use it on either of you.

‘I’m fine, Jungkook, we’re just training.’

‘I want to learn to fight too,’ Jungkook says.

From the look on Jungkook’s face as he crouches next to you on the ground, Hoseok’s a little worried about his motivations.

Also, the kid’s obvious strength is mildly terrifying.

‘I’ll train you,’ you say to Jungkook, smiling sweetly at Hoseok.

‘You’re a good fighter aren’t you, Y/N, you swore an oath to protect your people,’ Hoseok reminds you. ‘All your people.’

Jungkook and you spend the rest of the afternoon training whilst Hoseok thinks about how he’s going to reclaim his kingdom and protect his people.

***

You stare at the barmaid who’s just escorted you and Hoseok to your rooms.

Except there’s only one room, not two, and there’s only one bed.

You say immediately, ‘I’ll sleep in the stables.’

‘We don’t have a stables,’ says the barmaid. ‘This is all we have.’

‘We’ll take it,’ Hoseok says smoothly, paying her.

‘I’ll take the floor,’ you say, begrudging.

‘You can have the bed,’ Hoseok says.

‘You’re the prince, I can’t take the bed.’

‘Want to share it with me?’ asks Hoseok.

‘Can you keep your hands to yourself?’ you ask.

Hoseok raises a brow, as though he’s taken aback by your forwardness.

‘I’m a royal prince,’ he says, huffy. ‘Of course I have no impulse control.’

You groan. ‘I’ll sleep in the forest.’

Hoseok says, ‘Don’t be ridiculous. We can share the bed, of course.’

‘I have no desire to be -‘ you break off, trying to find the right phrase.

‘Mounted in your sleep?’ suggests Hoseok.

You stare at him in horror.

‘Ravaged like a siren?’

Your mouth opens, but no words come out.

‘Robbed of your virginal innocence?’

You glare at Hoseok.

‘Have you ever considered that we have matching marks on our backs because we might be blood relatives?’ you ask sweetly.

‘Like siblings?’

Hoseok’s face fills with profound and deep horror.

‘Don’t be disgusting,’ he snaps.

‘Why is that disgusting?’ you ask, voice dripping with honey. ‘Have you had thoughts about me, my prince?’

Hoseok’s getting paler by the second.

He’s muttering to himself. You can’t make out much of it apart from ‘but your ass,’ and something about ‘lush lips’.

You strip off, and to your satisfaction, Hoseok can’t even look your way.

You’re between the sheets and asleep long before he calms enough to go to bed.

***

You’re snuggled against a warm chest, a long leg thrown over your hips.

You turn your face right into Hoseok’s beautiful one.

His lashes make pretty fans on his cheeks, his heart shaped lips are slightly pursed. He looks adorable.

Then he opens his eyes.

‘Good morning, wench,’ he says, affection in his voice.

‘Wench? I was almost part of the royal guard,’ you protest.

He still hasn’t moved his leg off your hips.

‘You look beautiful,’ he tells you.

‘I could be your sister,’ you tell him.

‘I thought about this before I got into bed with you, whilst you were dreaming.’

He pauses, ‘What were you dreaming, by the way? You sounded delectable.’

Your face warms all over.

‘We can’t be blood related. We wouldn’t have been able to have our naming ceremonies if we were.’

He’s right. Each of you had had a naming ceremony with your mother, and they’d been within less than six months of each other.

Hoseok’s father had died within months of his birth, and your father was the most honest, upstanding person you’ve ever known.

The timings can’t possibly line up.

‘Thank Jaesu for that,’ Hoseok says. ‘Now I can go back to my fantasies about-‘

You cut him off.

‘I don’t wish to hear about your lurid fantasies,’ you say, as haughtily as you can.

Hoseok just smiles. ‘When you’re ready I can share them with you.’

He slips his leg off your hips, and your traitorous body mourns the loss of his warmth.

You try not to let it show on your face. 

Hoseok’s already half dressed, muscles im his back rippling as he slips on his loose linen shirt over his breeches.

You step out of bed and gather your clothes.

‘That lacy contraption makes your breasts look delectable,’ Hoseok remarks, ‘but it must be uncomfortable to sleep in.’

‘If you were a gentleman you wouldn’t be staring at my breasts whilst I’m asleep,’ you retort.

Hoseok’s soft boots pad on the wooden floor as he approaches you.

He lifts your hair out of your cloak with gentle hands, barely tugging.

‘Lucky for you, I’m not a gentleman,’ he says, and the smugness of his smirk is almost too much to bear as he reminds you, ‘I’m a royal prince.’

You groan and stomp out of the room.

***

To defeat the Halians, Hoseok has to raise an army. 

He’s never been a stickler for the right way of doing things, in fact, he’s always favoured a dirty shortcut if he can find one.

‘You want to what?’ you half-shout.

Hoseok winces, and Jungkook’s mouth opens slightly in what can only be described as a confused pout.

‘The dragon-riders of Eosul are our best bet for defeating the Halians, fast,’ Hoseok says, reasonably, he feels.

‘The dragon-riders can’t be trusted,’ you argue. ‘What if they turn on you?’

‘I have a plan,’ Hoseok says, reassuring.

There’s a beat, two, of silence.

‘I will come up with a plan,’ Hoseok amends. ‘It takes two days to get to the summit of Mount Halji. I’ll have a plan by then.’

You groan and put your head in your hands. Jungkook pats your back, trying to be reassuring. 

‘My fire power’s been getting more accurate lately,’ he tells you, smiling sweetly.

‘Accurate enough to defeat a dragon?’ you ask grimly. 

***

The hike up Mount Halji starts off easy enough. You’re taking a break even though you’re the only one who seems to need one.

Hoseok’s quiet today, you guess he’s still thinking of a plan.

You spark tiny fires to entertain Jungkook whilst you and Hoseok speak.

‘Do you really think the dragon-riders will help us?’ you ask, quizzical.

‘I used to train with one of them,’ Hoseok tells you.

‘Ah you didn’t say you had a dragon-rider friend!’ you say. This is looking hopeful.

‘We aren’t really friends,’ Hoseok says. There’s a scowl on his face. ‘He’s kind of annoying.’

‘How annoying can he be, if he helps you?’ you point out.

‘Namjoon’s just — annoying,’ Hoseok grumbles. ‘You’ll see when you meet him.’

You light another little fire to lure Jungkook back from the edge of the mountain path.

‘Your frenemy is our best option right now,’ you remind Hoseok.

‘I know,’ grumbles Hoseok. You realise he’s staring hard at your chest. You cross your arms.

‘Sorry,’ Hoseok says. ‘Just trying to see what undergarment you’re wearing today.’

You scowl at him. ‘I don’t ask you to drop your breeches to show me yours.’

‘I wish you would,’ sighs Hoseok, wistful. He smiles at you faintly, then calls to Jungkook to stop running and join you both to continue your journey.

***

The dragon-riders of Eosul live in a well-guarded enclave at the top of Mount Halji. 

You’re a little unsettled as you approach the forbidding-looking gates, and beside you, Jungkook’s fallen silent for the first time. 

Hoseok, with his lifetime of confidence as the Crown Prince of Daranthia, walks right up to the gates and calls, ‘Is this such a savage place that it doesn’t recognise royal blood when it sees it?’ 

You step next to him hurriedly. ‘It’s the Crown Prince of Daranthia, Jung Hoseok. Open the gates, please.’ 

Hoseok eyes you like you’re the crazy one. 

‘Do we need some fire?’ Jungkook asks, timid. 

Thankfully, the gates swing open. 

The group of men standing beyond the gates look just as forbidding as the gates themselves. 

The leader, a man so tall you have to look up to see him properly, steps forward. 

‘Crown Prince Hoseok,’ he says, inclining his head in the slightest of bows in greeting. 

The disrespect! You’ve never bowed to Hobi in your life but he is a royal prince after all. 

You’re already stepping forward, ready to tear him off a piece of your mind, when Hoseok says, ‘Commander Namjoon.’ 

Commander Namjoon’s eyes fall on you and Jungkook. You straighten up and try to look intimidating. Beside you, you can sense Jungkook doing the same. You hope he’s not smiling. 

The rudeness of these people rankles. 

Beside Namjoon, a shorter man with blond hair and a scar along his neck tilts his head. 

‘The Great Hall is ready for our guests, Commander.’ His voice is light, musical, with a silvery quality to it that makes you think of bells. 

He smiles at you. ‘My name is Jimin. I’m Namjoon’s second in command.’ 

His smile is so pretty you find yourself smiling back. ‘I’m Y/N, and this is Jungkook.’ 

‘Allow us to lead you to the Hall,’ Namjoon says, his deep voice resonating through the emptiness of the entry compound. 

As you follow the group, you look around you, awed despite yourself at the scale of the dragon-riders’ enclave. This high up, there’s nothing but mountains to see, a cool mist blanketing the more distant peaks. 

The air’s fresh and sweet. 

There’s a distant reverberation, a rumble, and you look at Hoseok, worried. 

‘The dragons,’ Namjoon says, and you realise he’s been looking at you. ‘There’s a patrol around the periphery every hour.’ 

‘Who’d want to fuck with a bunch of dragons?’ Hoseok mutters. 

‘You’d be surprised,’ Namjoon says. He smiles at you, and you’re surprised by the appearance of dimples in his cheeks. 

He’s still as tall, broad and forbidding looking as he was, but the dimples make him look almost attractive. 

He moves past Hobi to stand next to you. ‘How did you get saddled with the job of protecting a liability like Hoseok?’ he asks. 

His question startles a laugh out of you. ‘He’s my oldest friend,’ you say, loyal. 

You’ve reached the entrance of the Great Hall, and Namjoon offers you his arm to climb up the stone steps. 

You take it, and he presses your hand into his side as he leads you up to the entrance. 

You wait for him to let you go, but he seems content to hold your hand tucked into the crook of his admittedly strong arm as he guides you into your seat at the huge, round wooden table. 

He looks at you as you thank him, and the intensity of his hooded gaze makes you feel warm. 

Hoseok slides into the seat next to yours. ‘I told you he was annoying,’ he says to you in a too-loud stage-whisper. 

You don’t think Commander Namjoon is annoying at all. 

‘His arms are bigger than Jungkook’s,’ you say, stupidly. 

Jungkook, next to you, lets out a petulant half-whine, half-growl.

‘But I’m sure you’re much better at fire,’ you say, reassuringly. 

Hoseok mutters something disgruntled as he turns back to the table. 

Namjoon looks piercingly at Hoseok. ‘What do we get in return for helping you?’ 

Hoseok holds his own. You rarely ever see him serious, but as he faces off against the serious dragon-rider leader, you see shades of the king he was about to become before your kingdom was invaded. 

‘How about freedom?’ Hoseok says, so casual you almost miss the meaning of what he says. 

Jimin glances at Namjoon. 

‘I was most of the way through drafting an agreement with the Emperor of Eosul recognising Mount Halji as an independent state,’ Hoseok says. His voice is still light, but his eyes are intent on Namjoon’s. 

‘Help me reclaim Daranthia, and I’ll make Mount Halji an independent state as my first ruling on the throne.’ 

A muscle ticks in Namjoon’s jaw. 

‘The Halian army is huge in numbers, and they have unlimited gunpowder from the caves of Ijil,’ Jimin points out. ‘Defeating them won’t be as easy as summoning our dragons.’ 

‘I also plan to invoke the Flames of Daranthia,’ Hoseok says.

Your eyes snap to his. 

The Flames of Daranthia are a legend every Daranthian child hears about growing up, a mythology passed down to every descendant. 

The Flames haven’t been invoked in your lifetime, or in your parents’ lifetimes either. 

The legend goes that all full-blooded Daranthians are descended from the fire gods, and that the true royal family of Daranthia are blessed with the power to invoke the flames and lay waste to any enemies of the kingdom. You know Hoseok’s been taught the incantation, it was part of his training as Crown Prince, but you’ve never seen him so much as light fire to a candle without a match. 

Beside you, Jungkook looks confused. 

For the first time, you find yourself as confused as Jungkook. 

***

Hoseok’s stripping out of his clothes, getting ready for dinner. 

You turn your back on him to afford him privacy even though he’s insisted you can watch him. 

‘Can you invoke the Flames, Hoseok?’ you ask quietly. 

He sighs. ‘I know how. It’s never worked for me before,’ he says, and for the first time, you can hear bitterness in his voice. 

You turn, wanting to see his face. 

He’s shirtless still, breeches low on his hips. 

His body is beautiful. He’s beautiful. 

He looks at you, and his pretty mouth twists in a smile. 

‘Why do you always look at me like that?’ he asks. 

‘Like what?’ you ask. 

‘Like you’re enjoying what you see,’ he says. 

You laugh and turn away. 

‘Don’t worry about looking away,’ he says, and there’s a rasp now to his voice that wasn’t there a moment ago. ‘I like it.’ 

Your eyes fly to his, and he’s taken a step forward, closer to you. 

‘Do you need to get dressed too?’ he asks, voice low. 

You try hard to keep your voice steady as you reply. ‘I think there’s a dress in my chamber.’ 

‘Let’s go. I’ll give you a hand.’ 

‘I can get dressed on my own, Hoseok,’ you say, dryly. 

He’s already slipping a shirt over his shoulders, shrugging into it carelessly, letting it drape over his razor sharp collarbones. 

‘But I want to help you,’ he tells you. 

He follows you to your chamber, down the corridor from his. 

You look worriedly at the dress that’s been gifted to you. ‘I’ll just wear what I have on,’ you say. 

Hoseok smiles at you. ‘Come on. Live a little. Our kingdom might be a fiery wasteland tomorrow.’ 

You snort as you take the dress from him. ‘Pretty confident in your ability to invoke the Flames for someone who can’t even light a candle.’ 

Hoseok laughs, sounding like his usual self for the first time since you arrived on Mount Halji. 

You motion for him to turn around and slip the dress on. 

‘Ready.’ 

Hoseok turns, already holding his arm out for you to take. 

He stills as he looks at you. The look in his eyes makes you feel like you’re burning up from the inside. 

He laughs softly. ‘I can’t light a candle, but looks like I can make you burn up,’ he says, mocking. 

‘I’m getting changed back,’ you say. 

He takes your arm and slips your hand into the crook of his. 

‘You look beautiful,’ he says, with such sincerity your heart does a funny double beat. Then, ‘bloody Namjoon. If you’re going to be on anyone’s arm it’s mine.’ 

You mull over his words as you head to the banquet hall, wondering why they make you feel all fluttery and molten inside. 

***

The dragon-riders of Eosul fight like warriors, swear like sailors and apparently party like it’s their last night on Earth. 

You press a little closer to Jungkook as two large men come barrelling down the hall, narrowly missing you. 

‘What the fuck is in the mead?’ you ask. 

Jungkook hiccups. ‘No idea. But it’s potent.’ 

You look up at him and realise his eyes are glazed over. ‘Jaesu, Jungkook, how much have you had to drink already?’ 

‘Just —’ Jungkook tilts his head to one side, open-mouthed, counting out loud. 

You stop listening when he gets past five. 

‘Come on, I’m gonna get you some water.’ 

You’re half-carrying Jungkook to the water fountain when a warm arm slides around his waist from the other side, taking his weight off you. 

You look up to see Namjoon, still dressed in the black chain-mail of his armour. 

He smiles at you. ‘It looked like you needed a hand,’ he says, holding Jungkook up effortlessly. 

You smile gratefully at him. ‘I was just going to get him some water,’ you say. 

Jungkook’s smiling to himself, oblivious to you and Namjoon holding him up. He sings a raunchy ballad as you get him to his chamber. The sweetness of his voice somehow manages to temper the fact that he’s singing about fucking. 

Namjoon gets him into bed and you pull the covers over him. 

Jungkook falls asleep promptly, tucking his hands under his face like a child. 

Outside his chamber, you turn to Namjoon. ‘Thank you for helping me,’ you say. 

Namjoon tilts his head to one side. A dimple flashes in one cheek. 

His chain-mail clad arm rests on the wall beside your head, and he’s standing so close to you, sandwiching you between his broad frame and the wall, that you can feel how warm he is. 

The man radiates warmth, both from the sheer size of him, and the intense, fiery look in his eyes. 

‘You look very beautiful, blue suits you,’ he tells you. 

You can feel yourself melting under his gaze. 

A tremendous crash reverberates through the castle, shaking the walls. 

Namjoon swears. ‘It’s the dragons,’ he tells you. ‘When everyone gets merry like this, sometimes the dragons get worked up.’ 

You stare up at him, wide-eyed. 

‘You’ll be fine,’ he says. ‘Stay here where it’s safe.’ 

He’s already turning, running down the corridor, fast despite his size. 

You check in on Jungkook, who miraculously, is still asleep. 

Then you run after Namjoon. 

There’s no fucking way you’re missing a chance to see the dragons in action. 

***

You can’t believe you’re watching a dragon fight. 

You’re on one of the castle balconies, watching in awe as Jimin wrangles one of the magnificent beasts. His skin glows in the moonlight, and with his light hair, he looks ethereal. Well, he would look ethereal, if it weren’t for the fact he’s inexplicably shirtless, muscles rippling in his back as he leans forward over the neck of the dragon, graceful and deadly. 

Next to him, Namjoon, regrettably still dressed, has mounted a dragon with scales as black as his armour. They’re a striking, incredible pair, the size of his beast bigger than the rest of the creatures in the fray. 

A flame licks out metres from where you’re standing, and you step back quickly. 

Beside you, a throat clears. ‘May I?’ 

You’re nodding without clarifying, and an instant later, the man who’s asked permission mutters, ‘Force field.’ 

The air shimmers around you. 

‘It’s safer to watch from under a forcefield,’ he explains. 

‘Oh, thank you,’ you say, grateful. ‘I’m Y/N, from Daranthia.’ 

‘Min Yoongi,’ says the man. He looks at you, eyes sharp and penetrating.

You wonder what’s in the water on Mount Halji that makes all the men who live here able to fluster you with their gaze. 

‘That mark on your back,’ he says, casual. ‘It looks familiar.’

You’d forgotten that the gown gifted to you is backless, cut almost to the curve of your ass. 

You turn away from the dragons clashing in front of you and look at him curiously. ‘Have you seen it before?’

Min Yoongi isn’t in armour like the other men you’ve met so far, in fact, he’s dressed simply, in a velvet jacket and shirt.

He nods at your curious look. ‘I’m a sage from Ijil, across the gulf.’

You’ve never been to Ijil, but that’s not unusual. Ijil’s residents are descended from enchanters and wizards, the whole place teems with magic and wisdom. Or so you’ve heard. Ijil protects its borders by being difficult, almost impossible to find.

He hasn’t answered your question. 

‘What brings you to Eosul?’ you ask.

‘This and that,’ he says, vague. 

Seeing your incredulous look, he laughs. ‘I’m friends with Jimin.’

A flash of heat licks along the forcefield he’s conjured over the two of you, and Yoongi grimaces. ‘It’s getting hot. Should we go inside?’

You glance at the magnificent beasts flying above you. The conflict seems to be dying down. 

You follow Yoongi into the castle and run into Hoseok, panting like he’s run a marathon.

‘Where were you?’ he asks. He runs a hand over his face. ‘I —-‘ 

He doesn’t finish his sentence because Namjoon strides up to your group. He’s sweating, large chest heaving as he looks at you and asks, ‘are you all right?’

Yoongi stands apart from your little triangle and snickers.

You say, very firmly, ‘I’m fine. Yoongi conjured a forcefield to keep us safe. Good night, boys.’

You turn and walk down the corridor to your room. 

You feel eyes burning into your bare back as you go. You’re not sure who you want them to belong to.

***

Jungkook’s eaten his way through most of the breakfast spread by the time you’ve finished nursing your mug of arabica.

He offers you a tangerine he’s just peeled, proudly.

You accept and are rewarded with a boyish smile. 

‘Should we practice with our lances after this?’ he asks.

‘Sure,’ you agree. ‘Let me just check on Hoseok and I’ll meet you in the courtyard.’

You knock on Hoseok’s door and push it open when you hear his voice.

He’s on the floor by the bed, stretching. There’s a light sheen of sweat on his skin.

‘Just wanted to check you were ok,’ you say. ‘Jungkook and I are going to do lance practice in the courtyard.’

‘I’ll be down in a moment,’ Hoseok says.

His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and it’s so unlike him you stop. 

‘Are you ok, Hobi?’ you ask. 

‘What kind of prince would give up on his kingdom?’ he asks. 

He looks at you, his beautiful mouth twisting into something that’s more a grimace than a smile.

‘We’ll get Daranthia back,’ you tell him. You kneel in front of him so he’ll look at you. 

Quickly, you kiss his cheek, near his mouth. 

‘Don’t lose hope, Hobi.’

He’s still staring at your mouth. ‘Y/N,’ he says, husky.

You’re already up, heading for the door. 

***

You’re sparring with Jungkook, working up a sweat because although you’ve trained him, he’s taken to it like a duck to water.

Your lances clash, the wood vibrating under the force of your blows. 

As you whirl, you realise you’re no longer alone. 

Namjoon and Jimin are on the edge of the courtyard, watching. They’re out of armour, dressed simply like you and Jungkook.

Jungkook’s swing would have hit you on the head if you hadn’t leaned back at the last instant. As it is, it catches your hair, flipping it into your face.

You dive for his feet and he stumbles. You lunge the point of your lance against his chest, pinning him to the ground.

‘Can I spar with you?’ Namjoon asks. He’s much closer than before.

You can’t help it, the flirt in you snaps, ‘why? Do you wish to see me impaled on your stick, Commander?’

He laughs, voice so deep it’s like a rumble in his chest.

‘Plenty of time for that later, my lady.’

‘If anyone’s doing any impaling, it’ll be me,’ Hoseok says. He reaches for your lance. ‘Let’s go, Joon.’

You watch apprehensively as Hoseok and Namjoon circle each other, lances braced. 

‘Wow,’ comes Yoongi’s dry voice. ‘A clash of manhood.’

You laugh. ‘I believe the other name for lance is penis extension.’

‘Size never matters as much as attention to detail,’ Yoongi murmurs. 

His dark eyes flick to yours, and the heat in your face makes his lips curl in a smirk. 

‘You could at least pretend to be watching, princess,’ Yoongi says. ‘They’re fighting for your favour, you know.’

‘I’m not a princess,’ you say, rolling your eyes. 

‘Aren’t you?’ muses Yoongi. 

He jerks his chin to Hoseok and Namjoon, grappling like a kingdom’s at stake. 

Namjoon’s stronger, bolder in his strikes, whilst Hoseok’s quick on his feet, pressing any advantage he’s given. 

You’d say they’re evenly matched.

The lances clash up in the air, and you watch, worried, as the cross starts listing towards Hoseok.

There’s a sharp crack, a blinding flash, and the smell of burning fills the air.

Both lances are on fire. They fall to the ground.

Hoseok looks up. ‘Jungkook?’

‘It wasn’t me,’ Jungkook pipes up from the edge of the courtyard.

You glance at Yoongi, but he just nods to himself and walks off.

Namjoon glares at Hoseok. ‘Did you just invoke the Flames because you were losing?’

‘Firstly, I wasn’t losing,’ Hoseok replies, a picture of innocence. ‘But also, that wasn’t me.’

Namjoon looks unconvinced. 

‘We set off at mid-day,’ he says. He glances at you. ‘You can ride with me, if you wish.’

‘I can ride my own steed,’ you reply, ‘but thank you, Commander.’

You bow politely as Namjoon leaves.

***

You were silly to not take Commander Namjoon up on his offer to ride with him. 

The big man looks as magnificent on a horse as he does on a dragon. 

You’re starting to think he’d look good mounting anything. Including you. 

Jungkook and Jimin are riding ahead, playing a ridiculous but deadly serious game involving low-hanging branches and acrobatics that seem to require boundless amounts of core strength. 

Yoongi’s up ahead with Namjoon, reading a tome that looks like it smells of witchery and mustiness. He’s cleverly conjured a leather strap connecting his steed to Namjoon’s stallion. 

Hoseok pulls up beside you. 

‘Remember when we used to ride in the forests of Paitin,’ he asks. 

You smile at the memory. You’re not much of a rider, but Hoseok is. He used to drag you along with him, following the path of the Juran stream that runs through Paitin. 

The sunlight filtering through the canopy had always flattered Hoseok’s beautiful profile. 

You remember finding an abandoned cottage in the woods once. 

You’ll always remember the way Hoseok had held you that one time, the breathless kisses you’d shared. The way his golden skin felt under your hands. 

You glance at him, and he’s looking back at you, a smile on his face. 

There’s no mocking in it, not that you can see, anyway. 

You’re distracted by loud shouting from up ahead. 

‘Get the horses to shelter,’ Namjoon commands, doubling back to you and Hoseok. ‘It’s fire demons.’ 

God damn it. 

Fire demons are deeply irritating in so many ways, with their stony bodies and penchants for shooting firebolts. Horses are terrified of them. 

You’re already on the ground, taking the reins Hoseok’s slapped into your palm, curling them around your fist with your own. 

Namjoon tosses you his reins, and he and Hoseok take off to help Jimin and Jungkook. 

Namjoon’s huge stallion stamps its foot restlessly. You put your face against its nose, trying to calm it. 

Beside you, Yoongi’s murmuring what sounds like a calming incantation, his deep voice low and melodic. 

You lead the horses away from the fray to a clearing. 

Moments later, Jimin and Jungkook run into view, flanked by their horses. 

Namjoon’s right behind them. 

‘A forcefield would be good right about now,’ he bellows to Yoongi. 

Yoongi looks at him and raises a brow. ‘Say magic is better than muscles.’ 

You laugh despite yourself at Namjoon’s face. 

‘Muscles are better,’ mutters Jungkook. 

‘Where’s Hobi?’ you ask. 

‘Magic is better than muscles. Forcefield us, Yoongi, or I swear to Jaesu –’ 

Hoseok barrels into the clearing, a fire demon hot on his tail. A bolt flashes past his arm, and you grab him. 

‘Get back!’ Hoseok shouts. He tackles you to the ground. 

You land hard on your back, Hoseok’s body covering yours. 

‘Forcefield,’ Yoongi finally says, casual. 

The air shimmers above you, halting the firebolt that would have landed on Hoseok’s back. 

Hoseok buries his face in your neck. 

‘Am I dead?’ he asks.

‘Not yet,’ you reply. 

‘Really?’ he asks. He lifts his head to smile at you. ‘Because it feels pretty fucking heavenly being on top of you like this.’ 

You don’t want to encourage his bad pick-up lines but you do find him pretty fucking funny, you’re not gonna lie. 

***

You’re helping Hoseok tend to the wounds he got in the fire demon attack, in a small brook near the clearing. 

He’s trying to convince you that you could have been injured too when he tackled you, and that he needs to check your ass. 

You laugh when he makes a big fuss over a small graze near your elbow. 

He runs a finger over it gently.

The late afternoon sun makes the water in the brook look like it’s liquid fire. It’s how your insides feel when Hoseok’s touching you like this. 

‘Can I see your mark?’ he asks quietly. 

You turn and he tugs gently at the neck of your loose top. His lips on your mark make you shiver. 

‘I want you,’ he says, simply. 

You turn in his arms for the kiss you’ve been waiting for since you started on this journey. 

He’s the royal prince of Daranthia, but even if he were just Hobi he’d still be everything you ever wanted. 

***

There’s something about Hoseok’s height when he’s got you like this, pinned against a tree, that makes you feel weak at the knees. He’s solid, strong, just tall enough that you have to look up at him to meet his eyes. 

You press a kiss to the line of his collarbone, and he huffs out a breath against your cheek. 

‘What if someone walks in on us?’ you ask, breathlessly because his lips are tracing your cheekbone, heading south to your mouth. 

‘Then they’ll get to see the crown jewels,’ Hoseok says, straight-faced. 

You burst out laughing and shove at him. He doesn’t budge an inch. 

‘When did you get so strong?’ you murmur. 

‘I was always this strong,’ he replies. ‘I just let you protect me because it’s cute.’ 

You want to slap the smirk off his face, but damn it to hellfire, you want to kiss him more. 

Hoseok’s lips are firm, warm like you remember them, and the feel of them on yours makes your toes curl. 

‘Hobi,’ you murmur, and he rolls his hips against yours, knowing, ready to give you what you’re asking for. 

He slips a hand under the waistband of your cotton breeches, cupping you, fingertips pressing against you. 

‘I’ve been thinking about you, like this,’ he tells you, voice raspy against your ear. 

‘Against a tree?’ you ask, trying not to moan as his fingers explore. 

‘I’ll get Yoongi to magic up a bed right now if you want one,’ he says, and you know he would if you asked, shameless freak that he is. 

‘But honestly, any surface will do as long as you’ll let me fuck you into it,’ he continues. 

‘Romantic,’ you tease. Your hand slides down his front, over his flat stomach, over the bulge in his breeches. He hisses as you stroke him over the soft material. 

‘I’m gonna make a mess if you don’t stop,’ he tells you, hand covering yours, making you still. 

His thumb circles your clit slowly, purposefully, like he has all the time in the world despite the urgency you can hear in his voice. 

‘Do you want romance?’ he asks, quietly, against your ear. ‘I’d give up my kingdom for you, my love. I would take you right now and run, abandon my people and my responsibilities, if I could guarantee you the life you deserve.’ 

His voice, low in your ear, raspy with want, coupled with his skillful fingers, makes the moan you’ve been holding back spill from your lips. 

‘Do you want that?’ he asks, and there’s a note in his voice now that makes you look at him closely. 

‘I want you, Hobi,’ you say, honestly, and he groans then. 

‘Stop looking at me like that, my love. It makes me want to give you the world.’ 

‘Why don’t we start with your cock?’ you ask. 

Hoseok’s still laughing as he enters you. He stops talking then, and for a long time, the world’s reduced to his body against yours, the feeling of his cock filling you, the touch of his lips against your skin. 

He picks up the pace as you sigh into his ear, body taut like a bow. You marvel over his control, the strength vibrating through him as he takes his pleasure from you and gives you yours. 

Afterward, he lays you on the ground with him. 

‘Did you mean what you said?’ you ask. 

‘That your cunt makes me believe in miracles?’ Hoseok asks, idly tracing a finger over your bare shoulder. 

‘Did you say that?’ you ask, horrified. 

‘It does,’ Hoseok affirms. ‘But I suspect you’re asking about me giving up the kingdom for you.’ 

You meet his gaze. 

‘In a heartbeat,’ he tells you. 

There’s footsteps in the brush, you sit up quickly as Jimin comes into view. 

‘We’ve got to go. They’ve got Jungkook.’ 

***

‘They’ are the treacherous Halians, who’d kidnapped Jungkook whilst you and Hoseok had been cannoodling in the woods. 

Namjoon eyes you and Hoseok as you approach but doesn’t say anything. 

‘If we take the dragons and fly all night we can be at Daranthia by first light,’ Jimin says. 

‘And then we fight?’ 

‘Then we fight,’ Namjoon says, grimly. He glances at Hoseok. ‘You’d better be ready to invoke the Flames.’ 

‘Don’t worry,’ Hoseok replies, determined. ‘I’ll do my part. Let’s get Jungkook.’ 

Namjoon and Jimin exchange a look. 

‘The dragons are up on the ridge, waiting,’ Namjoon tells you. 

Yoongi looks the most animated you’ve ever seen him. ‘Let’s get the kid back.’ 

You raise an eyebrow at him. 

‘What?’ Yoongi asks, defensive. ‘He’s too muscle-bound for his own good, but he’s a nice kid.’ 

You, Yoongi and Jimin climb onto one dragon whilst Hoseok and Namjoon mount the other. 

Jimin looks over his shoulder at you and Yoongi. ‘Ever ridden a dragon before?’ 

***

It’s first light when you land on the cliffs overlooking Daranthia. The dawn is stunning, the blanket of night giving way to the pinks and purples of early morning. 

To the west lies the sea of Arahi, and to the east, the mountains of Eosul. 

Sandwiched in between is Daranthia, the most beautiful city this side of heaven. 

Namjoon, now dressed in full battle gear, imposing and terrifying in his all-black armour, looks at you and Hobi. 

‘I’ll lead the first wave,’ he says, calm. 

The stillness of the air around you is broken by the arrival of the army of dragon-riders. 

Dozens of dragons, each topped by a dragon-rider in battle gear, get into formation above your heads. 

The thundering of wings is enough to strike fear into your heart, even though you know they’re not here for you. 

For the first time, you feel a modicum of pity for the treacherous Halians. 

They haven’t got a chance. 

‘I’ll see you on the other side,’ Namjoon says. 

He mounts his beast, and raises his arm above his head. And then they’re off, swooping towards Daranthia. 

Jimin’s already on his dragon. He tosses you a wave as he flies off, tasked with finding Jungkook. 

‘It’s just us left,’ you say quietly. 

Hoseok nods. ‘Time to invoke the Flames.’ 

‘In case you haven’t figured it out yet,’ Yoongi says. 

You both turn to him. 

‘The mark on your shoulder blade. It’s the brand of the royal family of Daranthia.’ 

Hoseok furrows his brow, perplexed. 

Yoongi tilts his head at you, almost exasperated. 

‘Invoking the Flames of Daranthia is an inherited talent passed on to those of the true royal family,’ Yoongi says, rolling his eyes. ‘That’s you, princess.’ 

Your head is spinning. 

‘What? Hoseok’s the royal prince.’ 

‘Call him whatever you want in the bedroom, I don’t care. But there’s only one person here of royal blood, and it’s not him,’ Yoongi tells you, gently. 

‘What’s my mark?’ Hoseok asks. 

‘It’s the mark of the one who serves the royal princess,’ Yoongi says. ‘It’s ingenious really, swapping you at birth like that.’ 

Hoseok’s nodding, and you’re struggling to keep up. 

‘It wasn’t me who invoked the Flame when I was sparring with Namjoon,’ Hoseok says, awed. ‘It was you.’ 

‘As much as I’d like to give you time to process,’ Yoongi says, sounding like he’s thinking the exact opposite, ‘there’s a war that’s just begun, and you’ve got the power to stop it before too much blood is shed.’ 

‘Come on, princess. Let’s get the kingdom back,’ Hoseok says. 

He takes your hand, and you repeat the words of the incantation after him. 

Moments later, the Flames of Daranthia scorch a path across your kingdom, laying waste to the treacherous villains within it. 

And then, the world implodes in the inferno. 

***

You, Yoongi and Hoseok have made it to the Daranthian palace. 

Jimin’s the first to arrive, landing gracefully in the courtyard with his beautiful, sleek dragon and a sweaty but unharmed Jungkook. 

He runs for a hug, and you swipe your thumb over the soot on his cheek. ‘You ok, Jungkook?’ 

‘I’m good,’ he replies, trying to pull Yoongi into a hug with you. Yoongi ducks under his heavy arm with a muttered, ‘no thank you.’ 

Next to arrive is Namjoon, sweeping into the courtyard like he belongs here. There’s blood trickling down his sweaty brow, but it only adds to his overall appeal. 

Damn, his arms. 

Hoseok nudges you. ‘Close your mouth, princess.’ 

You check to see if he’s bothered by this, but he just smiles. 

‘Good job, Hoseok,’ Namjoon says. 

‘It was Y/N, actually. Turns out she’s the real princess of Daranthia.’ 

Namjoon absorbs this and turns to you. 

He drops to one knee in front you, all six feet of him, and bows his head. ‘My queen.’ 

Hoseok rolls his eyes and steps in between you. ‘So fucking annoying,’ he mutters. 

Hoseok turns to you. ‘Now that it turns out I’m not the actual royal prince, all I have to offer you is my pretty face, my beautiful body and my cheeky but irreverent charm. Will you still have me, my love?’ 

You look up at Hoseok, the man you’ve always loved. His eyes are steady on yours. 

‘Yeah you’ll do,’ you say. 

His smile is bright like the sun. 

©hamsterclaw 2022

[dragon-chica]

Going to the Ren Faire with Jason Grace

Fandom: Heroes of Olympus

Mortal AU This does not have to be fem!Reader, there are male corsets, and they are sexy as fuck. Also if you have never worn a corset, I highly recommend. It is so much fun and not at all like movies portray.

This ended kind of weird but I'm feeling soft about Jason lately.

Dedicated to the only person who would answer my post and chose Jason! 😹

You were going to ren faires long before getting together with Jason, and other than possibly, possibly hearing the name in passing, he has no clue what it is.

You're talking with Piper about going and past faires and Jason's just sitting there completely lost, which isn't unusual with certain interests or media, but he has no clue what those words are.

After trying to explain a little he's even more confused at why a bunch of people would get together to dress up as peasants and medieval stuff, but nods along slowly.

Of course you want to take him with you.

You tell him it's fine if he doesn't dress up with you, plenty of people go 'naked'. And he is spluttering with your choice of words that he would never-!

You and Piper break down laughing before telling him it's just slang for normal clothes.

Now, Jason is a very respectful boyfriend and often doesn't get suggestive cues or attempts, but you were hoping to get a good reaction out of him seeing you in a corset for the first time.

Also because you were sure if you started changing in the parking lot he would be in conniptions trying to cover you up.

Hence getting changed at home before leaving.

Jason was ready bright and early, as requested. Sitting with his fingers threaded together in his lap just waiting for you to be ready to go, he kind of wondered if it was like an actual faire since you wanted to be there when it started.

While he did google 'ren faires' and look up the specific one you were going to, seeing the different full outfits people wore, he was still unprepared for you to come out, mostly dressed, with your loose corset.

"Alright strong boyfriend, time to use you for your muscles."

You tell him to stand behind you, and he does so apprehensively, hands hovering.

"Closer Jason, I need your help." You roll your eyes fondly and back up towards him.

You tug the centered loops enough for him to see.

"Alright my big strong man," His face heats up and you know it even without seeing. "take these, and YANK."

You take a breath and suck in preparing for a good tug only for Jason to carefully pull there's a bit of resistance.

"Is this okay?"

He's so worried he'll hurt you.

You just deadpan and shoulders sag. Sweet as he is, he has a job to do here.

"Jason baby, you're not going to hurt me. Now pull those until the center is flush and I feel sexy."

Still so worried but eventually you get him to tighten you up correctly, watching appreciatively in the mirror as his arms strain.

He keeps asking if you're okay and if you can breathe and you tell him that his period dramas are not accurate.

"It actually feels good when it's on right, and after a day of wearing one, feels even better coming off."

Confused puppy boyfriend and you're making it worse.

If you have a bag besides what you're wearing for purchases, he gladly offers to carry it for you, always a gentleman.

Looking everywhere when you arrive but stays right by your side.

A lot of boyfriends 'dragged along' will wander off and you tell him it's okay if he wants to, but he doesn't want to leave you :( or possibly lose you in the crowd to go sit somewhere and wait :(

Very curious about all the little things in the stalls, lots of homemade jewelry and clothing and trinkets he's never seen before.

You keep an eye on what he really looks at and buy him a little gift for later without him noticing.

He's just kind of glancing around one of the 'weapon's vendor' tents until he sees the swords and wishes so much he could buy one.

A couple guys walk past announcing the sword fighting is about to start and he really wants to go see that.

Enamored watching. You take a sneaky side profile of him watching starry eyed at the fight.

Hold's your hand as you go back to walking around and asks if you can go watch the show later too.

You convince him to go challenge the guy sword fighting the little kids to a duel, he's skeptical but finally goes along with it because he trusts you.

Pleasantly surprised when his wooden sword is almost knocked from his hand immediately but quickly finds his footing and puts up a good fight for a few minutes, you have a video of him laughing before eventually landing on his butt in the grass.

Comes back to you sweaty and grinning telling you how much fun that was.

"I wonder if there's anywhere to take sword fighting lessons...?"

Insists on paying for dinner when it starts getting later, and thanks you for bringing him along with you.

He had a lot of fun and secretly kind of wants to try dressing up with you next time, but doesn't say anything about it.

Falls asleep as you drive home, a little bag with a necklace he thought would be pretty on you still clutched in his hand.

[humorisstoredinthetits]

More Headcannons

More Headcannons bc why not

Duke bought a nerf gun and started shooting Chandler

Why? Bc she's a chaos gremlin

She's super professional and helpful at her job, you have to be that way when you're working with kids, especially those who have gone through some stuff, but the second she comes home Ms. Duke is gone and chaos gremlin is back

After getting shot a few dozen times Chandler grabs Veronica and Mac and they go to the store and buy like $500 worth of nerf equipment

Seriously when they get back they look like the nerf SWAT team

A full on nerf war starts out around the house

It quickly becomes a free for all

Veronica breaks a lamp with her nerf sword

It was an ugly lamp anyway

After they've had their fun they're too lazy to pick up the darts

They're still finding darts lying around to this day

JD was upset they didn't invite him

Mac wanted to go to Disney World, she thought it would be fun and relaxing and even romantic maybe

Boy was she wrong

Chandler complains she has to wait in line like a peasant

She's also too afraid to go on any of the big rides

Duke and Veronica are adrenaline junkies while Chandler wont go on anything more thrilling than Dumbo

This unsurprisingly makes for a very poor combination of things

Gaston starts flirting with Mac when they see him and Duke and Veronica have to hold Chandler back from beating his ass

He shows off his muscles and then Mac rolls down her sleeves and flexes her strong cheerleader muscles all over him

Chandler gets legitimately scared in line for the Haunted Mansion and has to go through the chicken door

Duke and Chandler get into a fight after Toy Story Mania bc 'Duke cheated', 'No you cheated' and they wouldn't talk to each other for the rest of the day

Spoiler alert they both cheated

Chandler stepped on Dukes foot and Duke kissed Chandler during the final round, distracting her for a second

The Heathers get wasted when they go drinking around the world

This is an absolute nightmare for Veronica, especially bc they are acting like overgrown toddlers and won't listen to her

Next time they're going to the beach, Veronica is not dealing with this bullshit again

Veronica stays up to like 3am watching serial killer youtube videos

Mac hits her with a pillow until she puts the phone down

The Heathers+V are the most dysfunctional people but somehow together they make it work

Veronica owns like 2000 different pens and insists they are all necessary

They buy an Alaskan King Bed so they can all sleep together

This, like all other things is a disaster

Chandler is a blanket hog and will steal everyone's stuff

Duke snores, loudly

This makes Chandler want to smother her

Mac has had to stop that several times

Mac has a specific pillow and blanket she uses and if anyone steals it she gets upset

This pairs horribly with the blanket hog

Veronica's 3am youtube watching wakes up everyone with the bright ass screen

She is a heathen who uses light mode on everything

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ADWD: Reek III (Theon III) [Chapter 32]

The dogs were fond of Reek; he slept with them oft as not, and sometimes Ben Bones let him share their supper. 

[...]

Red Jeyne slammed into his chest and knocked him off his feet. She was lean, hard muscle, where Reek was loose, grey skin and brittle bones, a white-haired starveling.

[...]

The dogs enjoyed the run of the hall, however, and provided the night's best entertainment, when Maude and Grey Jeyne tore into one of Lord Stout's hounds over an especially meaty bone that Will Short had tossed them.

I'm starting to think that's an important name!

+.+.+

Ramsay Bolton was attired as befit the lord of the Hornwood and heir to the Dreadfort. His mantle was stitched together from wolfskins and clasped against the autumn chill by the yellowed teeth of the wolf's head on his right shoulder. On one hip he wore a falchion, its blade as thick and heavy as a cleaver; on the other a long dagger and a small curved flaying knife with a hooked point and a razor-sharp edge. 

I think I'm going to pay attention to that dagger.

I am completely unfazed by Ramsay wearing wolfskins. Doesn't trouble me in the slightest.

The queen regarded him coolly. "I had not thought you so niggardly. The king I'd thought to wed would have laid a wolfskin across my bed before the sun went down." - Eddard III, AGOT

x

"Dogs," the big bald man said contemptuously. "Yet I'm told there's nothing like a wolfskin cloak to warm a man by night." He made a sharp gesture. "Take them." - Bran V, AGOT

x

"He'll set his wolf on you, cousin," warned Big Walder.

"Let him. I always wanted a wolfskin cloak." - Bran II, ACOK

x

"Come first light, I mean to bring them back." He hooked his thumbs through his swordbelt. "I need huntsmen. Who wants a nice warm wolfskin to see them through the winter? Gage?" - Theon IV, ACOK

+.+.+

Little Walder swung down from the saddle. "You can see to my horse too, Reek. And to my little cousin's."

"I can see to my own horse," said Big Walder. Little Walder had become Lord Ramsay's best boy and grew more like him every day, but the smaller Frey was made of different stuff and seldom took part in his cousin's games and cruelties.

I think I figured it out.

Little Walder is like Ramsay.

Big Walder is like Roose.

+.+.+

Big Walder pulled the saddle off his grey. "An old man we met on the road, is all. He was driving an old nanny goat and four kids."

"His lordship slew him for his goats?"

"His lordship slew him for calling him Lord Snow. The goats were good, though. We milked the mother and roasted up the kids."

Lord Snow. Reek nodded, his chains clinking as he wrestled with Blood's saddle straps. By any name, Ramsay's no man to be around when he is in a rage. 

We already know he rages at this, but it's an important reminder for later on.

+.+.+

"Did you find your cousins, my lord?"

"No. I never thought we would. They're dead. Lord Wyman had them killed. That's what I would have done if I was him."

Under what other circumstances would you kill a Frey?

Wyman's three Frey guests have gone missing. My heart breaks.

+.+.+

The dogs enjoyed the run of the hall, however, and provided the night's best entertainment, when Maude and Grey Jeyne tore into one of Lord Stout's hounds over an especially meaty bone that Will Short had tossed them.

The fight did not end until their host's dog was dead. Stout's old hound never stood a mummer's chance. He had been one against two, and Ramsay's bitches were young, strong, and savage. 

Shaggydog can take two hounds.

I'm not worried. I'm not concerned.

+.+.+

Ben Bones, who liked the dogs better than their master, had told Reek they were all named after peasant girls Ramsay had hunted, raped, and killed back when he'd still been a bastard, running with the first Reek. "The ones who give him good sport, anywise. The ones who weep and beg and won't run don't get to come back as bitches." 

Sometimes the dead come back to haunt you, Ramsay.

+.+.+

"He's trained 'em to kill wolves as well," Ben Bones had confided. Reek said nothing. He knew which wolves the girls were meant to kill, but he had no wish to watch the girls fighting over his severed toe.

I am unbothered. I am indifferent.

Most people are aware of the note that George included in The Lion and The Rose script.

[N.B. A note for future reference. A season or two down the line Ramsay’s pack of wolfhounds are going to be sent against the Stark direwolves, so we should build up the dogs as much as possible in this and subsequent episodes.]

I can't see Nymeria or Summer participating in these events, so it has to be Shaggydog and Ghost.

+.+.+

The Lord of the Dreadfort glanced idly at the remnants of the feast, at the dead dog, at the hangings on the walls, at Reek in his chains and fetters. "Out," he told the feasters, in a voice as soft as a murmur. "Now. The lot of you."

Somehow Roose is more terrifying than Ramsay.

+.+.+

Roose Bolton shrugged. "Lord Wyman's litter moves at a snail's pace … and of course his lordship's health and girth do not permit him to travel more than a few hours a day, with frequent stops for meals. The Freys were anxious to reach Barrowton and be reunited with their kin. Can you blame them for riding on ahead?"

"If that's what they did. Do you believe Manderly?"

His father's pale eyes glittered. "Did I give you that impression? Still. His lordship is most distraught."

Mr. Manderly, you are on thin ice.

+.+.+

"What I noticed was that he brought no hostages."

"I noticed that as well."

"What do you mean to do about it?"

"It is a quandary."

Bolton has sent forth ravens, summoning all the lords of the north to Barrowton. He demands homage and hostages … and witnesses to the wedding of Arya Stark and his bastard Ramsay Snow, by which match the Boltons mean to lay claim to Winterfell. - Davos IV, ADWD

Very very thin ice.

+.+.+

"Barrow Hall and its kitchens are not mine to dispose of," his father said mildly. "I am only a guest there. The castle and the town belong to Lady Dustin, and she cannot abide you."

Ramsay's face darkened. "If I cut off her teats and feed them to my girls, will she abide me then? Will she abide me if I strip off her skin to make myself a pair of boots?"

"Unlikely. And those boots would come dear. They would cost us Barrowton, House Dustin, and the Ryswells." Roose Bolton seated himself across the table from his son. "Barbrey Dustin is my second wife's younger sister, Rodrik Ryswell's daughter, sister to Roger, Rickard, and mine own namesake, Roose, cousin to the other Ryswells. She was fond of my late son and suspects you of having some part in his demise. Lady Barbrey is a woman who knows how to nurse a grievance. Be grateful for that. Barrowton is staunch for Bolton largely because she still holds Ned Stark to blame for her husband's death."

This Barbrey woman sounds important.

I couldn't be happier that Ramsay wants to kill her.

+.+.+

"Stark's little wolflings are dead," said Ramsay, sloshing some more ale into his cup, "and they'll stay dead. Let them show their ugly faces, and my girls will rip those wolves of theirs to pieces. The sooner they turn up, the sooner I kill them again."

The elder Bolton sighed. "Again? Surely you misspeak. You never slew Lord Eddard's sons, those two sweet boys we loved so well. That was Theon Turncloak's work, remember?

He keeps making this mistake.

+.+.+

How many of our grudging friends do you imagine we'd retain if the truth were known? Only Lady Barbrey, whom you would turn into a pair of boots … inferior boots. Human skin is not as tough as cowhide and will not wear as well. By the king's decree you are now a Bolton. Try and act like one. Tales are told of you, Ramsay. I hear them everywhere. People fear you."

"Good."

Yeah Roose, that's the problem with boots made of human skin. They're inferior to cowhide.

Weirdo.

+.+.+

"You are mistaken. It is not good. No tales were ever told of me. Do you think I would be sitting here if it were otherwise? Your amusements are your own, I will not chide you on that count, but you must be more discreet. A peaceful land, a quiet people. That has always been my rule. Make it yours."

"Is this why you left Lady Dustin and your fat pig wife? So you could come down here and tell me to be quiet?"

Normal relationship these two have.

Your amusements are your own, I will not chide you on that count

What the fuck dude.

+.+.+

"Now is the time to smash him [Stannis Baratheon]. Let me march on Deepwood."

"After you are wed."

Ramsay slammed down his cup, and the dregs of his ale erupted across the tablecloth. "I'm sick of waiting. We have a girl, we have a tree, and we have lords enough to witness. I'll wed her on the morrow, plant a son between her legs, and march before her maiden's blood has dried."

Ramsay is a lot more reckless and impulsive than his show version. What a disaster it would be if Roose were to die.

+.+.+

"You will plant a son in her," Roose Bolton said, "but not here. I've decided you shall wed the girl at Winterfell."

That prospect did not appear to please Lord Ramsay. "I laid waste to Winterfell, or had you forgotten?"

"No, but it appears you have … the ironmen laid waste to Winterfell, and butchered all its people. Theon Turncloak."

I wonder if Ramsay will make this mistake in front of the wrong person.

+.+.+

"Even ruined and broken, Winterfell remains Lady Arya's home. What better place to wed her, bed her, and stake your claim? That is only half of it, however. We would be fools to march on Stannis. Let Stannis march on us. He is too cautious to come to Barrowton … but he must come to Winterfell. His clansmen will not abandon the daughter of their precious Ned to such as you. Stannis must march or lose them … and being the careful commander that he is, he will summon all his friends and allies when he marches. He will summon Arnolf Karstark."

Arnolf Karstark is no friend of Stannis Baratheon's.

Stannis is too cautious to go to Barrowton, but he'll have to go to Winterfell. . . the more formidable castle. Okay George, sure.

+.+.+

The Lord of the Dreadfort glanced at Reek. "Oh, and unchain your pet. I am taking him."

"Taking him? Where? He's mine. You cannot have him."

Roose seemed amused by that. "All you have I gave you. You would do well to remember that, bastard. As for this … Reek … if you have not ruined him beyond redemption, he may yet be of some use to us. Get the keys and remove those chains from him, before you make me rue the day I raped your mother."

Reek saw the way Ramsay's mouth twisted, the spittle glistening between his lips. He feared he might leap the table with his dagger in his hand. Instead he flushed red, turned his pale eyes from his father's paler ones, and went to find the keys. 

Dagger!

+.+.+

But as he knelt to unlock the fetters around Reek's wrists and ankles, he leaned close and whispered, "Tell him nothing and remember every word he says. I'll have you back, no matter what that Dustin bitch may tell you. Who are you?"

I don't remember Theon sharing anything with Ramsay. Do we assume it happened?

+.+.+

Ramsay slapped his face. "Take him," he told his father. "He's not even a man. The way he smells disgusts me."

. . .

+.+.+

He did not understand. "My lord? I said—"

"—my lord, when you should have said m'lord. Your tongue betrays your birth with every word you say. If you want to sound a proper peasant, say it as if you had mud in your mouth, or were too stupid to realize it was two words, not just one."

Roose is bringing Theon to Barbrey Dustin. He will be introduced to Barbrey Dustin as Theon Greyjoy. Everyone knows he's Theon Greyjoy.

I don't understand why he has to use m'lord.

+.+.+

"I knew the first Reek. He stank, though not for want of washing. I have never known a cleaner creature, truth be told. He bathed thrice a day and wore flowers in his hair as if he were a maiden. Once, when my second wife was still alive, he was caught stealing scent from her bedchamber. I had him whipped for that, a dozen lashes. Even his blood smelled wrong. The next year he tried it again. This time he drank the perfume and almost died of it. It made no matter. The smell was something he was born with. A curse, the smallfolk said. The gods had made him stink so that men would know his soul was rotting. My old maester insisted it was a sign of sickness, yet the boy was otherwise as strong as a young bull. No one could stand to be near him, so he slept with the pigs … until the day that Ramsay's mother appeared at my gates to demand that I provide a servant for my bastard, who was growing up wild and unruly. I gave her Reek. It was meant to be amusing, but he and Ramsay became inseparable. I do wonder, though … was it Ramsay who corrupted Reek, or Reek Ramsay?"

Trimethylaminuria.

That moment you realize Ramsay keeps Theon smelly because he's being sentimental.

+.+.+

His lordship glanced at the new Reek with eyes as pale and strange as two white moons. "What was he whispering whilst he unchained you?"

"He … he said …" He said to tell you nothing. The words caught in his throat, and he began to cough and choke.

"Breathe deep. I know what he said. You're to spy on me and keep his secrets." Bolton chuckled. "As if he had secrets. Sour Alyn, Luton, Skinner, and the rest, where does he think they came from? Can he truly believe they are his men?"

I'm not sure why you would volunteer that information to someone you know is spying on you, but okay.

+.+.+

"Smitten?" Bolton laughed. "Did he use that word? Why, the boy has a singer's soul … though if you believe that song, you may well be dimmer than the first Reek. Even the riding part is wrong. I was hunting a fox along the Weeping Water when I chanced upon a mill and saw a young woman washing clothes in the stream. The old miller had gotten himself a new young wife, a girl not half his age. She was a tall, willowy creature, very healthy-looking. Long legs and small firm breasts, like two ripe plums. Pretty, in a common sort of way. The moment that I set eyes on her I wanted her. Such was my due. The maesters will tell you that King Jaehaerys abolished the lord's right to the first night to appease his shrewish queen, but where the old gods rule, old customs linger. The Umbers keep the first night too, deny it as they may. Certain of the mountain clans as well, and on Skagos … well, only heart trees ever see half of what they do on Skagos.

"This miller's marriage had been performed without my leave or knowledge. The man had cheated me. So I had him hanged, and claimed my rights beneath the tree where he was swaying. If truth be told, the wench was hardly worth the rope. The fox escaped as well, and on our way back to the Dreadfort my favorite courser came up lame, so all in all it was a dismal day.

where the old gods rule, old customs linger.

Like what? Blood sacrifice?

+.+.+

"The woman disobeyed me, though. You see what Ramsay is. She made him, her and Reek, always whispering in his ear about his rights. He should have been content to grind corn. Does he truly think that he can ever rule the north?"

He slipped! Get it together, Roose.

+.+.+

"He's not afraid of anyone, m'lord."

"He should be. Fear is what keeps a man alive in this world of treachery and deceit. Even here in Barrowton the crows are circling, waiting to feast upon our flesh. The Cerwyns and the Tallharts are not to be relied on, my fat friend Lord Wyman plots betrayal, and Whoresbane … the Umbers may seem simple, but they are not without a certain low cunning. Ramsay should fear them all, as I do. The next time you see him, tell him that."

All of these names go to Team Stark.

+.+.+

"He is your only son."

"For the moment. I had another, once. Domeric. A quiet boy, but most accomplished. He served four years as Lady Dustin's page, and three in the Vale as a squire to Lord Redfort. He played the high harp, read histories, and rode like the wind. Horses … the boy was mad for horses, Lady Dustin will tell you. Not even Lord Rickard's daughter could outrace him, and that one was half a horse herself. Redfort said he showed great promise in the lists. A great jouster must be a great horseman first."

I was not expecting to find more Knight of the Laughing Tree evidence in a Theon ADWD chapter.

+.+.+

"Ramsay killed him. A sickness of the bowels, Maester Uthor says, but I say poison. In the Vale, Domeric had enjoyed the company of Redfort's sons. He wanted a brother by his side, so he rode up the Weeping Water to seek my bastard out. I forbade it, but Domeric was a man grown and thought that he knew better than his father. Now his bones lie beneath the Dreadfort with the bones of his brothers, who died still in the cradle, and I am left with Ramsay. Tell me, my lord … if the kinslayer is accursed, what is a father to do when one son slays another?"

Anything other than whatever it is you're doing.

+.+.+

He could be wrong. Brothers die sometimes, it does not mean that they were killed. My brothers died, and I never killed them. 

Which brothers?

The old gods, he thought. They know me. They know my name. I was Theon of House Greyjoy. I was a ward of Eddard Stark, a friend and brother to his children. - A Ghost in Winterfell, ADWD

+.+.+

"My lord has a new wife to give him sons."

"And won't my bastard love that? Lady Walda is a Frey, and she has a fertile feel to her. I have become oddly fond of my fat little wife. The two before her never made a sound in bed, but this one squeals and shudders. I find that quite endearing. If she pops out sons the way she pops in tarts, the Dreadfort will soon be overrun with Boltons. Ramsay will kill them all, of course. That's for the best. I will not live long enough to see new sons to manhood, and boy lords are the bane of any House. Walda will grieve to see them die, though."

He's lying to the spy. What's the point of marrying a fertile woman if you don't care if your sons survive?

Too bad he already goofed.

Does he truly think that he can ever rule the north?

+.+.+

"M'lord. If I might ask … why did you want me? I'm no use to anyone, I'm not even a man, I'm broken, and … the smell …"

. . .

+.+.+

"A bath and change of clothes will make you smell sweeter."

"A bath?" Reek felt a clenching in his guts. "I … I would sooner not, m'lord. Please. I have … wounds, I … and these clothes, Lord Ramsay gave them to me, he … he said that I was never to take them off, save at his command …"

"You are wearing rags," Lord Bolton said, quite patiently. "Filthy things, torn and stained and stinking of blood and urine. And thin. You must be cold. We'll put you in lambswool, soft and warm. Perhaps a fur-lined cloak. Would you like that?"

"No." He could not let them take the clothes Lord Ramsay gave him. He could not let them see him.

Why don't you want to be naked?

+.+.+

Some part of him was screaming, This is a trap, he is playing with you, the son is just the shadow of the father. Lord Ramsay played with his hopes all the time. "What … what do you owe me, m'lord?"

"The north. The Starks were done and doomed the night that you took Winterfell." He waved a pale hand, dismissive. "All this is only squabbling over spoils."

Thanks for that, Theon.

+.+.+

As he climbed a wide flight of wooden steps to the hall, Reek's legs began to shake. He had to stop to steady them, staring up at the grassy slopes of the Great Barrow. Some claimed it was the grave of the First King, who had led the First Men to Westeros. Others argued that it must be some King of the Giants who was buried there, to account for its size. A few had even been known to say it was no barrow, just a hill, but if so it was a lonely hill, for most of the barrowlands were flat and windswept.

Is this worldbuilding or important?

+.+.+

"He has been with Ramsay. Lady Barbrey, allow me to present the rightful Lord of the Iron Islands, Theon of House Greyjoy."

[...]

"What did your bastard do to him?"

"Removed some skin, I would imagine. A few small parts. Nothing too essential."

I wouldn't be too sure of that.

+.+.+

"Is he mad?"

"He may be. Does it matter?"

Reek could hear no more. "Please, m'lord, m'lady, there's been some mistake." He fell to his knees, trembling like a leaf in a winter storm, tears streaming down his ravaged cheeks. "I'm not him, I'm not the turncloak, he died at Winterfell. My name is Reek." He had to remember his name. "It rhymes with freak."

Seems like it.

Final thoughts:

TEAM HOUSE STARK

House Cerwyn & House Tallhart

The Cerwyns and the Tallharts are not to be relied on - Reek III, ADWD

House Glover

Lord Stannis has taken Deepwood Motte from the ironmen and restored it to House Glover. - Reek III, ADWD

First Flints, Wull, Norrey, Liddle, Burleys, Harclays, Knotts

"How many clans are you speaking of?"

"Two score, small and large. Flint, Wull, Norrey, Liddle … win Old Flint and Big Bucket, the rest will follow." - Jon IV, ADWD

House Locke

"The maid tells it true," declared a stocky man in white and purple, whose cloak was fastened with a pair of crossed bronze keys. "Roose Bolton's cold and cunning, aye, but a man can deal with Roose. We've all known worse. But this bastard son of his … they say he's mad and cruel, a monster." - Davos III, ADWD

x

Farther down the table Wyman Manderly sat wolfing down sausages and boiled eggs, whilst old Lord Locke beside him spooned gruel into his toothless mouth. - Theon I, ADWD

House Manderly

The north remembers, Lord Davos. The north remembers, and the mummer's farce is almost done.  - Davos IV, ADWD

House Mormont

Stannis read from the letter. "Bear Island knows no king but the King in the North, whose name is STARK. A girl of ten, you say, and she presumes to scold her lawful king." - Jon I, ADWD

House Reed

We don't need evidence.

House Umber

"A fine plan if what you want is every hand in the north raised against you. Half is more than none. The Umbers have no love for the Boltons. If Whoresbane has joined the Bastard, it can only be because the Lannisters hold the Greatjon captive." - Jon IV, ADWD

x

The Cerwyns and the Tallharts are not to be relied on, my fat friend Lord Wyman plots betrayal, and Whoresbane … the Umbers may seem simple, but they are not without a certain low cunning. - Reek III, ADWD

Alys Karstark & House Thenn

TEAM HOUSE BOLTON

House Karstark

Because Arnolf Karstark awaits only a sign from Lord Bolton before he turns his cloak, thought Theon, as other lords began to shout out counsel. - The Prince of Winterfell, ADWD

House Ryswell

"The Ryswells and Dustins are tied to House Bolton by marriage," Jon informed him. - Jon IV, ADWD

House Hornwood

House Lannister

House Frey

X FACTOR

Queen in the North Barbrey Dustin of House Dustin

"Unlikely. And those boots would come dear. They would cost us Barrowton, House Dustin, and the Ryswells." Roose Bolton seated himself across the table from his son. "Barbrey Dustin is my second wife's younger sister, Rodrik Ryswell's daughter, sister to Roger, Rickard, and mine own namesake, Roose, cousin to the other Ryswells. She was fond of my late son and suspects you of having some part in his demise. Lady Barbrey is a woman who knows how to nurse a grievance. Be grateful for that. Barrowton is staunch for Bolton largely because she still holds Ned Stark to blame for her husband's death." - Reek III, ADWD

I will continue to update as we go.

Expect me to change my mind on Queen in the North Barbrey Dustin half a dozen times.

-> return to menu <-

[kumamoto-division]

Kunio's thoughts on Aoyama Division

Tomi Chōten

Kunio see the photo of his older brother with indecipherable eyes for a second and later he smiles but his eyes have something...sadic

"My dear Big Bro.. i'm conscious that you know that i'm in the DRB and i'm know that you noticed quickly after hear the rumors about the new and sudden division of kumamoto tell me ¿You still are the obedient dog of our parents? traitor...you don't think that i forget how you betrayed me the weird of it is the fact that i still love you"-after say it Kunio change is voice's tone to a calmer and happier

"don't worry big brother,you and me not are the same and i gonna to prove it when i beat you..why i said it? Well,my brother don't have inerest in the rap or hiphop but i was rapping since before to be exiliade... isn't little obvious?"

Karada Kessaku

"i hear about this guy,he is a bodybuiler and apparently a personal trainer but i don't know abou the last,sound more of a manner to have dates with the womans of aoyama and that him and my brother are friends... sound weird if i say it because i never thoght of Tomi can have friends

But out of it he looks like the tipic atletic guy from the high school with muscles but not much brain...i would't be surprised if Aoba throws a book at his head if those two meet. Kessaku don't look very smart and Aoba hates that kind of people"

Luis kōkyū

"this guy is possibily the only on this team that understand the truly value of money and the only for i don't have any trouble,his restaurant have good reviews and although i don't wanna return never to aoyama i'm thinking of taking Natsume for our anniversary,he his a quiet guy but maybe that's part of why him and Aoba get along well

And Aoba,he is in love for him maybe i need start to thinking in the shovel talk"

Jet set trio

"i'm very excited to face this team will be a amazing show,i know that Aoba don't want face againts Luis but sorry,when this battle happen it will be me againts my brother

And for my dear Big Bro"-Kunio looks at the photos of his brother's divison and rise the eyes that glows with fun and sadism-

"i will win why? Because while you are with the upper class i'm with th "low-class" and i'm proud of that,make fun of me all wou want for it but that will be you downfall,you never cared of people think or say about you,i admire that but...the more you see the "peasants" from above with every act of arrogance and condescencion you're just urging them more and more to the rebellion and when that day will come i'm going to look at you and say "i told you" besides...-Kunio stretched extended his hand shows a feather ring-"we have something that no other division has"-Kunio stand up with his ring on a finger and his hypnosis mic on hand-"and this is for you and our parents

To all the Chōten family and the arrogante upper class Pay Back time"

[boombambaby]

Drabble; The ENTRANCE. (pt.1)

This is the big one, folks! I apologize in advance for the literal novel this drabble turned in to; but this is always how I pictured Kuzco making his 'grand' entrance to Kuzco Academy, and why everyone was immediately so unimpressed with him. So; for those who read? Enjoy!

“There are despots and dictators, political manipulators. There are blue bloods with the intellects of fleas.– There are kings and petty tyrants, who are so lacking in refinements– they’d be better suited swinging from the trees!” As far as first days of school go, this particular morning would definitely be considered quiet and uneventful. 

Students mill around on the school campus in small groups and cliques, with some standing around or sitting at the outdoor cafeteria tables, some reclining against the edge of the llama fountain– all of them catching up on what they missed over the break, and the new idle gossip. “He was born and raised to rule, no one has ever been this cool– in a thousand years of aristocracy!– An enigma and a mystery, in Mesoamerican history– the quintessence of perfection, that is HE!” Amongst the popular topics today are who’s dating who now, which extracurriculars everyone will be joining for the year and who’s coming back, or newly attending Kuzco Academy. There’s rumors going around that Kronk is enrolled, which is big considering what an athlete he is. Coach Sweety is already making plans for him to join just about every varsity team they have. Rumors swirl that Kuzco will be attending as well, though that’s admittedly far less gossip worthy. For the most part, it’s confusing. He is their Emperor, and has been in the public eye for as long as any of them can remember– what reason would he ever have to attend a public school, even one with his name on it? Secondary to that, it’s well known around the Kingdom what an egomaniac the Emperor is. If the stories are true, Kuzco will be hard pressed to fit in with any of them; not that he’ll want to speak with the ‘peasant’ class he’s supposed to be ruling over. That’s gossip for you, though. It’s all pretty boring, really. “Did you hear about Kronk? He’s starting this year for continuing education– “ “Oh I know! Oh, Kronk. He’s so dreamy, and those muscles!” A cacophony of noise in the form of blaring trumpets breaks the quiet of the early morning, so startling in the intensity of their sound that it causes several of the students standing around the fountain to drop their books in favor of covering their ears. In the next moment, guards rush up the stairs of the school, unceremoniously shoving students out of the way to clear room for the entourage making its way through. The students not in the way stare, dumbfounded at the spectacle, looking at one another as if making absolute sure this is really happening. It is. “OHH YEAH!– “ When the golden litter and the guards carrying it finally clear the final few steps to reach the landing, Kuzco is already standing in the middle of it with the curtains drawn to the side around him and his hands on his hips. Theme Song Guy chooses that moment to slide in on his knees from underneath the litter, microphone in hand as he swings his arm around to the students standing in front of them. 

“HE’S THE SOVEREIGN LORD OF THE NATION, HE’S THE HIPPEST DUDE IN CREATION. HE’S THE HEP CAT IN THE EMPEROR’S NEW CLOTHES!” Kuzco jumps down from the litter, flexing his arms and grinning wildly as the guards carrying the litter head back down the stairs, so the guards who know the dance routine can come up behind him in a row. “YEARS OF SUCH SELECTIVE BREEDING, GENERATIONS HAVE BEEN LEADING– – TO THIS MIRACLE OF LIFE THAT WE ALL KNOW! WHAT’S HIS NAME?” Theme Song Guy points at the students closest to him once he pops back up onto his feet, who stare blankly back at him in return. If it weren’t for the music, you could almost certainly hear crickets in the background– until a lone voice behind the crowd pipes up with a ‘KUZZZCOOOOOOO!’ (Thank you, Guaka.) With an exaggerated hip thrust, Kuzco breaks into his dance, flouncing all over the landing at the top of the stairs as he goes through the routine with his guards river-dancing in the background. It’s exactly what he had been hoping for– a GRAND entrance, for his adoring public. He is the EMPEROR, after all. He deserves nothing less! And they all deserve to know who it is they’ll be dealing with for the next few years! “HE’S THE SOVEREIGN LORD OF THE NATION, HE’S THE HIPPEST CAT IN CREATION! HE’S THE ALPHA THE OMEGA A TO Z! – AND HIS PERFECT WORLD WILL SPIN, AROUND HIS EVERY LITTLE WHIM. ‘CAUSE HIS PERFECT WORLD BEGINS AND ENDS WITH– “ Kuzco cuts him off with a spin in which he throws his arms out to the side, leg kicking out as he lands the spin and his hands moving back in to point at his own face. “ME!” Guaka’s voice carries as he sings along with the refrain ‘KUUUUZZZCOOOO’ and Kuzco continues his dance routine, oblivious to the wide eyed, incredulous stares and the laughter bubbling up from the students around him. Before he can finish entirely they’re all cut off by a loud, shrill voice that resonates over the campus from the entrance to the school; “KUZCO! ENOUGH!” If anyone would recognize both the music and the dance routine, it would be none other than; you guessed it! . . .