#Swords noblewoman

[aiza-luna]

Serena Hélène Josefina Cotoner-Artois Aesthetic

"Her hair was black as the darkness, her eyes blue as the sea... Her skin white and fair as the foam of the waves, glowing under the moonlight. A noble lady, sharp as the blade she weild. A surface of quietude that hid the currents within..."

"La letalidad de un arma depende de quien la utiliza, de sus técnicas y de sus conocimientos... ¿Nos tachan de inferiores? Porque es de esta falta de confianza de donde proviene nuestra mayor ventaja. Solange, mi hermana... Estaré a tu lado ayudándote en esta lucha. ¡Por nuestro pueblo y por el Credo!

A NEW AESTHETIC FOR ANOTHER CHARACTER OF MY SYNDICATE AU!!! 🥹🫶🏽🩵

Introducing Solange's younger sister and the other heir to the Cotoner-Artois household, Serena! Free-Spirited, Open-Minded and Opinative Ally of the Spanish Brotherhood of Assassins, like all of those who came before her! 🤲🏽

[vividblaze]

Quick scribbles of my touken joshi. She may have rbf but she's a good girl, I swearsies. (-ω-、)

[the-dendrophile-bookdragon]

Perfect Size

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: reader is described as short, name-calling, swearing, Daemon being a horny menace, soft!dom! Daemon, talk of impregnation, talk of pregnancy, pregnancy, smut

Summary: It was Daemon’s life mission to remind you of your size difference, in every aspect of your shared lives.

A/N: This is part of the wonderful @targaryen-dynasty 3K celebration, congrats by the way!!!! I had so much fun with this prompt. Enjoy everyone and enjoy the other wonderful and talented writers' fics. 3K Celebration Masterlist

My masterlist

The gods make humans in their image. They make them grow until they see them as perfect. Or so your Septa used to say whenever you were frustrated about your small stature. And it was no help that the greatest rake of the realm, Lord Flea Bottom, the Rouge Prince himself, made it his life’s mission to remind you of how small you were.

As children, you had been a bit taller than him. He had a problem with it. The need to be bigger than a stupid girl was great. His growth spurt came and he nearly towered over you, looking down at you with a smirk on his lips. “How is the weather down there?” He would often tease. “Just fine.” You would retort back. “I hope your small brain will get enough air up there. A shame if you lost more of it.” Was your sarcastic comeback.

The older the two of you got, the taller he would get and you would only grow a few inches if you even grew at all. First, he was slightly lanky. His muscles had yet to grow. He would remind you of a newborn horse whenever he would stumble over his two long feet as he trained with his sword. Often giggling to his dismay.

“I will cut your head off, and then you will be smaller!” He would shout in anger when he saw you snickering. Daemon’s temper seemed to grow with every inch he gained. You enjoyed it immensely when it would rise because of you.

As young adults, it was fairly certain that you would grow no more. If you stood behind one of the large dinner chairs you could easily hide behind them. Everything seemed to dwarf you.

Daemon prided himself in the knowledge that he was taller than you. Towering over you like the Hightower in Oldtown. And he never passed down the opportunity to remind you. “Shouldn’t you be with your nurse, little one? I think you got the wrong room. The nursery is that way.” Or other things.

You would glare at him. Often kicked his shin when no one was watching. He would yowl in pain. Jump around and hold his leg. “You little pest.” “Maybe you should get your head out of the clouds.” You teased back.

But there were the times he would call you more affectionate words associated with your small stature.

“Why the sour face, my little love?” He mumbled into your ear as he stepped out of the shadows. He had been hiding from his grandmother and her attempts to put boring and plain noblewoman under his nose.

A huff of annoyance escaped your throat. “Mother forced me to wear this ridiculous gown.” You seethed. Your teeth bared like a wolf snarling.

Daemon found your discomfort rather amusing. You looked like a pretty doll all dressed up. Your hair braided into the style of the land you came from. The gown so unmistakably the colours of your house, shining in the light of the candles.

"Oh, no - you're a lady and you have to wear pretty dresses and jewels and oh no, how horrible!" He teased you lightly. He leaned his head on top of yours. A habit he adopted quite recently. Loving the way you fit under him.

You snorted, very un-ladylike. But he was used to your characteristics. You were not one of those up-tied, boring wenches who tried to turn his head. He would rather gauge his eyes out before he gave them a second of his attention.

His attention was only worthy of one woman. And she was right literally under his nose.

He leaned down, just next to your ear. His hot breath fanned over the sensitive shell. “Do you think it would fit?” You could feel the smirk in his voice. You turned to him with a confused look on your pretty face.  It stayed that way until you felt something. You felt it, him. Hard as a rock, pocking you through the fabric of your wedding gown.

Your face grew hotter than the flames of Caraxes. Your body stiffened as you felt him softly rub against your buttocks. He only laughed lowly. His chest vibrates, sending chills up and down your spine. “You scoundrel!” You lowly scoffed. Your heart beating faster.

Not from his antics. Oh no, you were used to them by now. About the whole banquet finding out about Daemon’s little innuendo. “Oh, little love. I am your scoundrel now. It was ordered by the Queen herself.” He chuckled darkly.

She hit his shoulder lightly. “Stop it!” You tried to reprimand him. But your words fell on deaf ears. “Oh, my little love. How funny you will look with my seed growing inside you.” He began to whisper his lewd words. “You probably won’t be able to walk, so large your belly will grow.”

Your body grew hotter and hotter. It didn’t help that he had you pressed to his chest. His erection pressed against the cheeks of your perfect ass. His hands wander lazily over the front of your dress. Stopping over your belly before wandering further down.

“Oh my little love, will it even fit in your little tight hole? Or will I have to mould your little cunny so only my cock can fit inside?” Your breathing hitched at his dark, lustful words. Daemon’s predatory smile grew at your body's reaction to his scandalous words whispered so softly into your ear.

He often wondered if he was unfair to his wife. She was small, her body had nearly strained from the weight of the beautiful two children she had already given him.

He was right at their wedding feast. Her swollen stomach looked too large for her body. It hadn’t been long before the first signs of pregnancy made themselves known.

From the small bump only three moons after they conceived. He still can remember how his hands could cover it until she was seven moons pregnant. She had been ordered to rest. To not exhaust herself too much.

Daemon, looking at the image of her laying in their bed, their little one nestled in her belly. The sight did things to him. Things where his darkest desires seemed light in comparison. Oh, how he had spent his days behind her, driving himself into her tight cunt instead of sitting in a boring small council meeting. His wife and unborn child needed him, and he needed them.

“Another one?” You looked at him from where you stood. Children’s toys in your arms as you helped your daughters clean the room for the day.

Daemon just shrugged. “Why not? Add another one to our hoard. What about you girls? Do you want another sibling?” He crouched down so he was level with Alyssa and Visenya. Both girls looked away from their task to clean up the solar, screeching with joy as their father spoke to them.

“They are tots, Daemon.” You protested. Picking up more of the girls’ toys. “They will agree to anything if you say it with enough enthusiasm.” Daemon chuckled. “Oh, I think they know what I am saying, elillus (honey).” He smirks softly. His eyes roamed her body without shame.

“It has been so long.” “It has only been a few hours. You had me in the morrow.” You snapped back. Cleaning your daughters’ toys from the floor. Putting it into the chest designated for their toys. “I did not mean our coupling, prūmȳs ñuhus (my heart). I meant another child. The girls are six and four.” He mumbled gently.

She looked up at him sitting in the armchair at the edge of the carpet where the girls were playing moments ago. His violet eyes were dark as he watched her like the hunter his prey. “I don’t know, valzȳrys (husband). You heard the maester's words after Visenya’s birth.”

Daemon saw the change in demeanour. He nearly had you, only a small push. “It is your choice, ābrāzȳrys (wife). I do not want to force you.” He stood up, kissing your forehead before helping you with cleaning the toys up.

You were tossing and turning in bed. Nothing seemed right. Thoughts swirled through your head. So many voices at once.

You wanted to scream. But you would only wake up your family.

“Tell me what is keeping you from sleep, ābrāzȳrys (wife)” Daemon's gravel voice rang through the room. He sounded tired. His back turned to you.

“It’s nothing.” You whispered. “Bullshit!” Daemon groaned. Turning to face you. “It feels like I am sleeping next to a bloody sack of kittens. What is it.” He tiredly glared at her. Knowing full well what was going on.

“You’ve gotten into my head, you menace!” You growled out. Pouting at him. His usual smirk grew on his lips, a soft chuckle escaping. “Apologies for that, ābrāzȳrys (wife).“ „You are not sorry, Daemon.” His grin widened more. “You know me so well.”

A huff escaped your lips. “Why must you torment me so?” Daemon sat up on his forearm, looking down at you. Your hair was splayed out in a messy halo. A bright smile adorned his face as he saw the light, tired glare and the pout on your lips.

“Oh, little love, I vowed to be the bane of your existence since we played with the small dragon figurines our daughters’ play with now. And ever since it was announced you would be my dear lady wife I swore to torture you even more.” He softly nipped at your collarbone, his large hands coming to rest on your rips, just under your breasts.

“Let me help you with your decision-making. Let me enter your little cunny and stay there when I cum. Let my seed fill your womb once more.” His imposing frame loomed over you. Covering you like a blanket.

“What if the maester is right?” “The maesters are cunts who want to see me unhappy and you in doubt. They told you after Alyssa you could not carry another child. Two years later they said the same after Visenya.” He kissed your shoulder gently before his expressive violet eyes stared at you. “What is your body telling you?”

You bit your lip gently, A small rumble going through Daemon’s chest at your gesture. But he restrained himself. “I want another one.” You whispered gently.

A smile broke greater than before out on his lips, his dimples showing. “I will not let anything happen to you. The moment your body is resisting, I will get you moon tea or whatever is necessary.” You nodded gently.

His eyes darkened with lust. “Now before we can even discuss the pregnancy, we must make it happen.”

He lifted himself so his arms were on either side of your head. “Oh my sweet, I longed to fill up your little cunny. Seeing it overflow with my seed. Stuffing it back in.” He laughed gently as you shuddered.

With haste born of his pent-up desire, he ripped all of your clothes off your and his body. You gasped softly, scolding him for literally ripping your nightgown. “I never liked it anyway.” He mumbled against the skin between your breasts. Slowly moving down to your stomach.

He worshipped your body, caressing your thighs and hips. Squeezing the flesh around them, even gently nibbling on it.

He kissed each and every lightning-bold-like scar. Mumbling with every kiss a small thanks. These were the marks of his children. Evidence of your brave sacrifice.

He went further down. His lips ghosted over the soft locks, his eyes watching you heave out breaths of anticipation.

A loud scream ripped from your throat when you felt his tongue plunge deeply into your wet core. The eagerness of his lapping overwhelmed your senses. His nose ever so lightly brushed against your pearl. Teasing it to shoot lightning throughout your body.

You came undone. His tongue, nose and two of his digits working in tandem to torture you. And it worked. Your back arched off the bed. Loud cries of his name and pleas for him to stop accompanied your downward spiral into the abyss of your pleasure.

He stared down at you hungrily. His vibrant eyes were dark with lust. He looked every bit the dragon he ought to be. “Little rabbit.” He growled out. “Sweet, little rabbit. Trapped beneath the large dragon.”

He leaned down again. Like Caraxes would decent upon his pray, Daemon came down upon you. Devouring you once more.

He held your thighs wide open as he ploughed into you. The wet sound of skin slapping against skin rang through the room. His large hand wrapped around your delicate neck, softly pressing against it. Your breathing coming out in small pants.

“You should see yourself, little darling. My large hand is like a necklace on your throat. I can nearly wrap it around.” He chuckled darkly.

His words elicited shivers to run up and down your spine. This action causes your body to tense slightly. Daemon roared as he felt you squeeze his cock. “Seven fucking hells, woman! Do you want to kill me?!” He panted out. Driving his cock deeper inside you. The stretch is a familiar pain. But not too unpleasant. He had prepared you for him. And he would hate for you not to enjoy your coupling.

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a soft, sensual kiss. It was so different from the way his hips moved. So slow and loving. “I am not hurting you, am I, my little darling?” He whispered. You shook your head. “Nothing I am not used to from you.” He grinned, nipping at your lower lip, “That’s my good girl.” He whispered.

He picked up his pace. His hands on your thighs clawing into your skin. His knuckles are white. He groaned and grunted, looking down at you with an intense stare. Your own moans and cries mingle with his. Creating a symphony of pleasure.

He came with a roar of your name, his face buried into your neck. Panting heavily next to your ear. Your own climax is triggered by the feeling of being filled with his potent seed. Both your eyes closed in bliss.

He stayed inside you even as his member softened inside you. The grip on your thigh remains tight. Like he needed to be grounded by you.

Your arms wrapped tighter around his neck, softly caressing his head. He hummed gently, letting you know he loved what you were doing. “Do not dare to stop.” He mumbled gently into your neck. You continued with your caress. Softly petting him like he was a dog.

He fell asleep like this. His spent cock inside you, keeping his precious seed inside you. His body acted like a blanket. Your hand in his hair.

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[ozzgin]

Yandere!Yokai Harem Character Guide

Introducing some of the characters Reader will encounter throughout the story. Get to know your monsters in this handy reference booklet!

Fun fact: The names of the characters are quite literally chapters from ‘The Tale of Genji’, one of the earliest existing novels written in the Heian period by noblewoman Murasaki Shibiku. Kiritsubo and Murasaki are your closest companions and bear the names of the main female characters of the story. (They’re men. A little irony.)

The list will be updated as more characters are revealed:

Abe no Nakamaro 阿倍 仲麻呂

Descendant of famous onmyōji Abe no Seimei, Nakamaro rapidly built his own reputation using the powers of yokai he'd captured across the country. His binding powers have yet to be deciphered. It is believed only his own blood can break the contract forged with the legendary beasts.

Known for his ruthlessness, Nakamaro was feared by humans and demons alike. His commissioned portraits often depict him surrounded by dark clouds - a signature detail - emphasizing his evil nature.

As you progress through your journey, you will be plagued by many flashbacks of his cruel deeds. It's almost as if your own hands are tainted by the blood of the yokai standing before you. You vow to free the beasts and prove you are nothing like the vile creature dwelling within your soul.

Kiritsubo 桐壺

The first yokai you encounter. Despite his intimidating appearance, he is the kindest of the group. He is tall and very muscular, with short, straight horns, long silver hair and glowing amber eyes. When he smiles you can spot his sharp, prominent fangs. He has multiple scars on his back, reminiscent of old punishments.

He is a dragon spirit, although his true powers remain unknown. Nakamaro always kept him close and was particularly strict with him, hoping to unlock his dormant potential, to no avail. He begins to show improvement once he embarks on his journey with you. It seems that his desire to protect his new owner was the secret all along.

Kiritsubo is extremely clingy once he gets to know you better. You're kind and patient and nothing like the famous onmyōji before you. He almost can't believe you're part of his reincarnation. He will follow you around everywhere, like a loyal dog, and might be overly touchy sometimes. He can't help it.

Murasaki 紫

Murasaki is the second yokai you meet. He is tall and slender, with long black hair and imposing horns. His deep crimson eyes hold a lot of resentment towards you, or rather whoever lies within you. Despite this, he always holds a disciplined posture and acts very well-mannered.

He used to be Nakamaro's right hand. He is considered to be the most skilled among the legendary yokai. A master of the sword and possessing unmatched intelligence, he served both as an advisor and bodyguard. Always cold and calculated, he rarely shows any hint of emotion. He seems to be quite sarcastic and arrogant.

He doesn't interact much with you in the beginning. In fact, he's most annoyed by the idea of partnering up with a weak human like you. He offers to train you with the sword and teaches you spells and prayers. Despite his complaints, he always protects you from any danger. As you spend more time together, he slowly opens up and might even show signs of attachment.

Suma 須磨

Suma is the biggest of the legendary yokai, towering over everyone with his gargantuan frame. He has bright red hair and large bull horns, with robust features and fierce eyes. He has many tattoos covering his body, going all the way up to his chin.

Suma is a worshipped guardian of war. He lives for battle and is said to reward bravery and courage. Despite this, he has a very approachable personality. He is loud and easygoing, rarely showing signs of distress. He uses a spear when fighting, although he prefers his bare hands. Brute strength is his specialty.

He finds it hilarious that the feared Abe no Nakamaro has been reincarnated into a small girl. He will often joke around with you and challenge you to playfights. When borrowing his powers, you are able to display impressive feats of physical strength. He likes watching you fight and encourages you to train.

Yuugiri 夕霧

Yuugiri is a mysterious yokai. He is pale with rather feminine features, appearing androgynous. He is very elegant and well spoken, although both Kiritsubo and Murasaki have warned you to be wary of him.

He is a serpent spirit, sly and manipulative. He is known for tricking humans and devouring their souls, yet very few can tell his true nature. He is incredibly charismatic and many people fall in love with him, meeting their early demise.

You cannot read him and therefore keep your distance. His twisted smile never leaves his face. He is very interested in you and while his reasoning might be superficial in the beginning, he does become rather attached and tries to prove his honest feelings to you.

Warning: Spoilers ahead!

Sekiya 関屋

One of the yokai that has remained by Abe no Nakamaro's side, in his resting tomb. He is the one that kept his presence concealed, casting a barrier around the temple for the entirety of his master's slumber.

His main power is casting barriers. Sekiya is the one that guards the entrance and guides you towards the onmyōji for your battle. Once you defeat Nakamaro, he joins your group.

He is very reserved, shy and insecure. He cannot fight properly and often bemoans his lack of purpose. Like Kiritsubo, he falls in love with your kind nature and clings to you, hoping to be of use.

Sakaki 榊

The other yokai to guard Nakamaro's tomb, Sakaki has been tasked to keep his master alive.

He has the ability to heal and even revive under certain circumstances. After your fight against Abe no Nakamaro, he offers to heal your fatal wounds and joins your group.

Sakaki is rather gloomy and depressed by nature. He has an unhealthy obsession with death and often makes grim or unusual remarks. He considers you his muse and will sometimes write unsettling poetry dedicated to you.

[khattikeri]

one of my favorite things about mdzs is that for how heavily its plot involves politics of classism and misogyny... even the characters most directly impacted by it can't and don't free themselves from it. literally the closest exception is mianmian.

meng yao being the "son of a whore" wasn't some sort of commie awakening for him that led him to wanting everyone to be socially equal. he played the political game, climbed the ladders, sucked up to and backstabbed and murdered people, including other prostitutes who actually had nothing to do with how he and his mother were treated at the brothel he grew up in.

he put in so much extra excessive effort for even a fraction of the same respect that members of gentry cultivation clans got. and he did deserve to be treated more humanely! but he feeds into the exact same system that created him, leading to his own undoing.

his efforts were for a fragile upward mobility that was never going to hold up. he never surpassed his origins nor did he empower others in similar stations, because the society he lives in is not one that would accept that.

the second he got caught and all those crimes exposed, he was scapegoated to hell and back, replacing wei wuxian as society's terrible one-sidedly evil boogeyman overnight.

speaking of not-quite male gentry, i think it's interesting that wei wuxian explicitly doesn't try to climb the ladders in BOTH lives, knowing full well that anything he does will be punished just for the sheer fact that he is wei wuxian.

wei wuxian is scolded for giving intelligent and correct answers in school. lan wangji does the same and is praised.

wei wuxian occasionally lounges around with fellow disciples and is punished. jiang cheng does the same and mostly escapes.

wei wuxian refuses to carry his sword around in public (after losing his golden core, which nobody knows) and is scorned as an arrogant upstart. nie huaisang has been doing the EXACT SAME THING for YEARS and nobody bats an eye.

unlike jin guangyao, wei wuxian knew subconsciously from the start that his acceptance was superficial and that he could be cast out any time. when he was 10 and recently taken in by the jiangs, he canonically would not eat or use "too much" food and water because he thought they'd find him a nuisance for "wasting their things" and kick him back out.

now away from just the classism, yu ziyuan is a proud and strong noblewoman in a society that belittles and derides women for everything they do. her strong cultivation doesn't matter. she's victim to the vicious rumors of her husband loving another woman who is strong like her but apparently had a more likeable personality.

it doesn't matter even if jiang fengmian didn't cheat or that wei wuxian is wei changze's son with cangse sanren; yu ziyuan can't bear with the humiliation of herself (and by extension her children) not being "good enough". she's ridiculed for "failing" in that one duty as a wife, mother, and woman.

she lashes out and takes out that anger on everyone present for years, giving her children lasting trauma and also being a key element in how the jiang family and yunmeng jiang sect are effectively wiped out at the hands of the wen clan.

madam jin doesn't even have a name outside of the fact that she's married to jin guangshan. i don't even remember reading anything that indicates if she's a strong or weak cultivator, or what, which in itself proves that to most people, it doesn't matter. she's "just" a woman.

of course she's angry at her husband's affairs and all the bastard children they bring in. but she also can't do anything about them, so she lashes out at the few people she can: servants. non-cultivators, probably. those very same bastard children.

shoutout to meng yao getting shoved down a flight of stairs at age fourteen, because if madam jin tried that move against her husband instead, it would make her lose even more face, which as a noblewoman she'd never do.

and that's not getting into how jiang yanli is consistently sidelined for being physically weak.

that's not getting into how mianmian was actually a good cultivator, but was mocked by everyone around her for trying to stand up for wei wuxian when everyone was turning on him. how everyone scoffed at luo qingyang's words as "just some lovesick woman" who "obviously wants to marry or bed him since he saved her".

luo qingyang is the only one of these characters who HASN'T died. she didn't play society's games like jin guangyao. she didn't dig her heels in confidence of her own abilities like wei wuxian.

she didn't bitterly lash out like yu ziyuan and madam jin. she didn't gently accept it like jiang yanli.

she just LEFT.

she married an ordinary merchant and cultivates separately from mainstream cultivation society, and therein found her own peace and happiness.

mxtx doesn't bother with particularly class conscious or feminist vocabulary to hand-hold readers into understanding these disparities, but that choice highlights them & the deeply entrenched politics of their society even more. i really love it.

[suzannahnatters]

Many people have asked me why I say THE RINGS OF POWER is far more faithful to the spirit of Tolkien’s work than the Peter Jackson films. Let me explain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up.

(Warning: if you deeply love the Jackson movies, feel free not to read this. I’ve been meditating on this for 20+ years. You are not going to argue me out of any of it.)

FIRST – Jackson is, how shall we put it, not sufficiently familiar with Tolkien or his influences. He repeatedly and stubbornly made mistakes both large and small. Tolkien was a master of medieval military tactics. Jackson... is not. Every military decision taken by the characters in Jackson’s TWO TOWERS is pure stupidity. In Jackson’s RETURN OF THE KING, Aragorn casually beheads the Mouth of Sauron, which is a war crime, since the Mouth is Sauron’s ambassador. Jackson’s Eowyn tries to flirt with Aragorn by cooking him stew, even though she is a noblewoman from the warrior class who was raised to act as a civil and military leader in a medieval-coded society where cooking is not intrinsically linked to femininity. Jackson’s Theoden, grieving over the death of his son, utters the words “No parent should have to grieve the death of their child,” which is the kind of sentiment only imaginable in a society where infant mortality and death in battle is a good deal rarer than among the Anglo-Saxon Cossacks during the War of the Rings. Jackson’s Dwarf women are reduced to a punchline; Tolkien’s were miners, craftspeople and adventurers in their own right.

I won’t go on. BUT I COULD.

SECOND – One problem that by itself ought to have disqualified Jackson from adapting Tolkien, is that he is incapable of depicting or even understanding goodness the way Tolkien does. This deeply pervades all Jackson’s films. Jackson’s idea of goodness is ethereal, anaemic, and ineffective before gross and creepy evil. His Elves are not the vivid, passionate, hearty warriors Tolkien wrote: they pluck mistily at harps and feed on spinach. (TROP has Galadriel scaling frozen cliffs and Elrond splitting boulders. That’s FAR more like it).

Tolkien insisted on the concept of Faerie as being foundational to his work. This is a difficult concept to explain. It meant the beauty and glory of Valinor, yes. But it also meant an element of otherworldly, yet immanent, beauty and glory in Middle Earth itself. This is a good summary:

“Faerie may be roughly translated as Magic, but not the vulgar magic of the magician; it is rather magic "of a particular mood and power," and it does not have its end in itself but in its operations. Among these operations are "the satisfaction of certain primordial human desires" such as the desire "to survey the depths of space and time" and the desire "to hold communion with other living things."” (Source: https://www.ewtn.com/.../tolkien-and-the-fairy-story-4094)

When Lewis said of THE LORD OF THE RINGS, “here are beauties that pierce like swords”, that’s that he meant. Peter Jackson had no sense of Faerie. When, at the end of his trilogy, he has his characters get on a ship to go to the Undying Lands, he makes it a metaphor for death. Death! Tollkien’s Valinor isn’t the afterlife; it’s the earthly paradise of his world. Jackson cannot imagine an earthly or material locus of goodness.

This affects many of his narrative decisions. In the book Faramir resists the temptation of the Ring handily. Jackson’s Faramir succumbs to the power of the Ring and has to be scared straight. Jackson justified this by saying that Faramir needed to fall to the Ring’s temptation so that it remained an effective narrative threat. Basically, having failed to grasp the importance of Tolkien’s vision of powerful and present goodness and beauty in the first place, Jackson believed he needed to further degrade it for the sake of the story.

Obviously, THE RINGS OF POWER isn’t perfect, and still has plenty of time to betray its early promise. However, so far its showrunners appear to have a far better grasp of Faerie, beauty, and goodness than Jackson ever did. Its vision of Valinor is ineffably beautiful while still home to flawed living people. Its Elves are noble, ceremonious, dignified, warm, and grave. It is also actively pursuing Tolkien’s original themes. Elanor has a discussion of Providence that contains intentional echoes of “The Shadow of the Past” in LOTR, but there are also meditations on art and mortality that show an attempt to engage with themes Tolkien himself said were foundational to his entire work (Letter #131). These themes may yet be mishandled: but THE RINGS OF POWER has clearly at least READ the assignment. (Jackson’s films, by comparison, did dumb stuff like having Theoden, who in the books is simply dealing with depression, be literally possessed by Saruman and in need of exorcism “because exorcism is a Catholic thing and Tolkien was a Catholic, lol!”)

Jackson didn’t completely obscure the beauty and goodness of Tolkien, and I’m aware that THE RINGS OF POWER could not have happened without his pioneering and often sacrificial work in adapting the story to screen. I don’t want to discount the things that are good about his intentions, his work, and his love for the source material. But watching THE RINGS OF POWER was the moment when 20 years of frustration boiled over as I realised that, contrary to what I’d always told myself, it WAS possible to do Tolkien more justice than this. So far, I’m very pleased, and I’ll be waiting for future seasons with bated breath.

[amourcheol]

the great war | (teaser)

❝Because the greatest war Seungcheol had ever waged was against your heart.❞

historical! au | enemies to lovers! au | smut, fluff | approx. 30k words

s u m m a r y : there was only one thing you hated more than your restricted life, and that was choi seungcheol—the greatest venetian general who has ever lived. when a marriage is arranged between the two of you, you were sure it would end in bloodshed. however, as you and seungcheol are forced to attend balls and share a few hard truths, you realise you have more in common with the mysterious general than you thought.

c o n t e n t : military commander! seungcheol, noblewoman! artist! mc, artist! minghao, artist! soonyoung who are both annoying (affectionate), cheol and mc absolutely hate each other because i need to see proper e2l, cheol is the hottest man who ever lived, he also has a scar on his lip (yes this needs a separate warning), this is set in renaissance venice so there will be artist references, the doge = basically ruler of venice, themes of sexism, constant arguing between mc and cheol, there is fluff, also angst ofc mature warnings -> tons of sexual tension, making out fuelled by hatred, fingering, oral sex (f. receiving), unprotected sex (only because medieval contraception is vile), cheol says some very vile things during the deed, very slight corruption kink

p l a y l i s t : dangerous woman by ariana grande || war of the hearts by sade || love is stronger than pride by sade || i don’t understand but i luv u by seventeen

t a g l i s t : @hyuckworld​ @just-hear-to-read-01 @cherrycheolcoups @jeonwonwooscutie @i-dont-give-a-fok @mystikha @xcynthiaaa @ckline35 @enthralled-bandit @urfavtallgirl222 @swimmingkpopblog @areumyang @geniejunn @itsveronicaxxx @yoongischeeksluv @sojohns @capsiclesworld @hanniehoneyy @belladaises @listxn @cheolsbitch @atinycarat26 @moniece @foxdaisy @seventeensfave @yoozuku @hanicore @ishireads @kkooongie @huiiline @coralderae @deekayownsme @louvyves @writingsbybirdie @myjaeyunn @twogyuu @goldenhoney-cas @jonginstance @lurniere @vanishingboots @jub-jub @jjjzzzz @bee-beyond @ikeostormy @rubywonu @ncteez-replies @appt2235 @claireleem @ningwebs @gyuturn @sikebishes @antiv3nus @tyongff-ff @lxgus @forcoups @woozarts @smoooore @iwuzhere @asteriaskingdom @p-dwiddle @youre-on-your-ownkid @fragmentof-indifference @lilsafsafbooyah @9songbird19 @hibernatinghamster @norassimpingzone @parkchaeyoungsbish @foxinnie8 @idubutily @imatfrontrow @ellr07 @havetaeminforbreakfast @tacolombe @nomnom2001 @highkey-fangirling @nap-of-a-starr @pineartease @hwashiningstar @hybeboy @haoraecane @yestenano

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a u t h o r ’ s  n o t e :  hello everyone i died on this account but i am back and better than ever especially since cheol has the nerve to be the finest man alive. just a warning, this fic is going to be so horrendously self-indulgent </3

SEUNGCHEOL ENTERED THE ROOM, AND YOU STILLED.

He was also wearing his wedding attire, but his cravat had been loosened, revealing a sliver of his neck. His curls were wild, as if he had been raking his hands through them. Even as a groom his sword was strapped at his side, the weapon absent at the actual ritual. You could have laughed at him if you were not so nervous—even on an apparent intimate night, he had only thoughts of murdering you.

His expression, on the other hand, revealed no humour.

You heard him sigh sharply, locking the door. That instantly had your nerves heightening. “Unlock the door,” you commanded, getting up from the bed. “I need to run away if you try to do something.”

“I shall have no drunk cousin or lecherous relative spying on us,” he refuted, stepping closer into the room.

“Spying?” your senses perked up. “Seungcheol, we are not doing anything worth spying on, do you understand?”

“What the hell do you mean?” he demanded, propping his gloved hands on his hips. He made to step closer to you but you raised your hand to stop him.

“I know a man has expectations,” you started, backing away from him, “Everyone expects us to seal the marriage, and I know that is the tradition, but I do not care…” you paused, and even the thought of such an action frightened you.

“If you try to touch me, Seungcheol, I will not hesitate to take your sword and stab myself with it.”

He parted his mouth to sneer, but he caught the look in your gaze. He had never seen such a promise ready to be fulfilled should your worst fears occur.

The man could not help but step back.

“Did you really think I would do that, _____?”

You smiled, albeit without any humour. “Well, first you declare that you would rather die by the hands of a Turk before marrying me, and here you stand as my husband.” You shook your head. “I cannot trust you.”

The accusation on his honour stung. “I stand by what I said. I did not want—do not want to marry you.”

“Then why did you say yes?!” you screamed.

He stood silent for a time, gritting his teeth.

It was the truth. Choi Seungcheol was the last man on earth who wished for your hand.

He, too, wanted to escape as the ceremony progressed. Even as you came into the church, dolled up in the height of fashion, he wished nothing more than to run out of God’s holy building, jump upon a gondola and row away from the city.

Despite his prowess, his popularity, his apparent undeniable power, he was unable to escape this marriage. There were exterior forces, beyond his control.

He said it to you truthfully.  

“I was given no choice. I had to say yes.”

You did not believe him. “King of the Venetian military, the Republic’s favourite man and you could not control your choice of wife?” You almost wanted to laugh at him.

He could tell. “You would not understand,” he muttered, turning away from you. “All you have ever done is be a spoiled Doge’s daughter.”

That really ticked you off. “You have no idea what I have done for myself. You will never know of the burdens I carry for being a woman alone.” You crossed your arms, daring him to face you like a man. “All you have done is go to some foreign land and kill a few poor souls.”

Now that really ticked him off. “You speak of burdens as if I have none.” His voice dropping an octave had you blinking back. “You are not the only person who has struggled.”

You watched him as he finally deigned you a glance. There was something incredibly bleak in his usual stormy eyes. Not that you had never not seen him in a sour countenance, but this was possibly the first time you had seen him so hopeless.

“You are not the only person who has felt alone.”

A great part inside of you wished to cackle the ceiling down.

He should feel alone! You raged inside your mind, looking down at the ends of your wedding gown. He should feel something akin to loneliness so he could understand a fraction of your despair. The man was constantly surrounded by his men, his followers, hundreds of thousands of admirers from all over Europe.

You, on the other hand, had only yourself and your paint.

Even with that bitterness, no laughter spluttered from your lips.

You could only match his cruel stare, and hope he took you seriously.

A few more minutes passed before he sighed, taking off his loosened cravat from his neck, putting his sheathed sword on the set of drawers behind him. “We should sleep,” he said, stepping before the opposite side of the bed.

Watching his every move, you then shifted your gaze to the bed. “Yes…we should…”

His famous brow quirked inquisitively. “What are you thinking now?” he asked, clearly exasperated. He then continued dryly, “If you are still hesitant about the whole consummation, then I can assure you that I, too, would slice my head off if you suggested it.”

“Well, I am not suggesting it,” you muttered. “I am more puzzled about why you are getting into bed.”

His tiredness did not stop his stare turning sharp with sarcasm. “Because that is what a person does if they wish to sleep.”

“I am aware of that, thank you.” You put a hand to your chest. “But I wish to sleep as well, and I will be damned before I let you sleep in the same bed as me.”

Now his gaze turned mocking. “My God, you have some nerve saying such a thing.” He set the cravat down on the bedside table. “If you have a problem with me sleeping here, you can sleep somewhere else.”

“Excuse me!” you exclaimed, reaching out to clutch the bedsheets. “This is my bedroom. I have slept here my entire life!” You huffed, sitting on the plush mattress. “Besides, are you soldiers not accustomed to sleeping anywhere? I am sure my bedroom floor is a lavish upgrade from whatever hellsite you rested abroad.”

“Oh, you—” he brought his knee upon the bed, hands further placed as he leaned closer to you. “I care very little whether you have been sleeping here all your life. Your father brought me here, so I have a right to this space.”

You matched his vigour instantly, leaning just as close, sparking a fire in your expression. “And I care none if Papa brought you here—hell, if the Pope carried you to this very room.” His growing rage had no effect on your own. “Sleep. On. The. Floor.”

Mere inches away from each other, the general stared you down. Had the receiver of such a cruel eye been his soldiers, they would have run for the lakes, abandoned the army altogether. Seungcheol’s cold, calculating glares have had enemies shiver in their masses.

It irked him so ardently that his infamous tactics ceased to work on you.

He looked over your features: the manic, determined glint in your pupils, the flared nose, the pursed lips. No one, a woman, no less, had stood up to him like this.

Of course, he should not have been surprised. You had always been a sharp pain in his backside.

God, I cannot let her win, his voice rang, over and over in his head. She cannot have this over me.

But then he saw a glint in your usual mischievous gaze, and he knew you were about to commit a crime.

He was not wrong.

Because you did have an idea, and you smirked, fingers rising to the thin bow on the top of your dress.

Slowly, you began to untie the lace.

Seungcheol watched with no small amount of horror as your rigid wedding gown began to loosen at the top, its flared arms drooping around your shoulders.

You made to untie the second lace when he raised his hands, twisting his lips into a scowl. “What the hell are you doing?!” he demanded, getting off the bed.

“What does it look like?” You untied the string, dress falling further down till you needed your hands to hold it steady.

A single drop, and everything would be revealed.

The greatest general in the peninsula nearly squirmed at the thought.

Your fingers toyed with the last lace.

His eyes darted to your movements. Then, to your face, and you noticed the change of expression—it was as if he was thinking of a military strategy, a last-minute decision on the battlefield.

Once again, you pulled at the string.

But before the knot was fully untied you heard a savage growl escape his mouth.

“Oh, for God’s sake!”

Before you even let the dress fall, he swerved around, grabbing hold of his sword from the drawers. “Fine! Have your room!” The muscles on his back flexed as he raked a hand in his hair. “You are truly ridiculous!”

You could only laugh at the scene of him thundering to the door, vigorously unlocking it and storming out.

The laughter did not stop as you changed into your nightgown, shaking your head.

You did not care if Choi Seungcheol had become your husband.

You were not going to let anything of your life change.

[lanabuckybarnes]

| Lady Blue |

Falling in love with your best friend wasn't something you ever anticipated, you had a role to fulfil and your hand was sold. Yet your heart longed for him.

✧Pairing✧ Knight!Steve Rogers x Princess!Reader (Fem)

✧Warnings✧ Fluff, A Little Angst, Talks of Arranged marriage, John Walker (ew), Name Calling, like the teeniest bit of violence, Hurt, Brief mention of injury, Sweet ending

✧Word Count✧ 2.1k

✧Author Note ✧ I WROTE SOMETHING THAT ISNT SMUT!! — happy birthday Stevie Rogers 🥳

You don’t know when it happened, when that little crush became something more, when the hugs became intimate and the kisses were on the lips rather than on the cheeks.

Steve Rogers, your best friend. You’d been born beds apart, your mother a queen and her best friend a noblewoman. You weren’t sure if they planned it or it was fate but they both ended up with child and gave birth almost exactly on the same day.

Steve was headstrong, and a leader. He always made sure you were safe and protected, it was cute how doting he was because ‘he was older’. You were quick to comment how it was only by a few hours.

You were inseparable as kids, spending most of your time in the fields of blue flowers that decorated the walk to the large castle. It’s how you earned the name, Lady Blue - a flower crown of blue atop your head always.

Your infatuation grew for him as you aged into a teen, you weren’t around each other as much because of duties taking up most of your time but you remembered something about absence making the heart grow fonder and you could attest to that.

Steve was away most of the time on the other end of the city, training in the ring to become a knight, his dream. You were stuck in the palace, studying history and languages to be a great queen although you spent much of your time staring out of the window and imagining you and Steve doing the same things you did as kids. Living.

You lied.

You remember exactly when it happened.

Steve's graduation, he finally wore his purple cloak and had his royal etched sword around his hip. Drinks flowed left and right, the night filled with laughter and singing, all muffled behind the thick glass doors leading out to the courtyard where you and Steve sat watching the birds bathe in the fountain.

“How was it?” You asked, both hands soothing over his larger, calloused one, running over each scar and healing wound he donned.

He breathed out slowly, as though you were one of the small birds that he had to tiptoe around so he didn’t scare them off. He knew that you would never be scared of him but he couldn’t shake that feeling, you were so dainty beside him. To think that once upon a time you were a head taller than him.

“It was fine, made some friends” he nodded off to a pair of iron-clad men clinging to each other singing an old folk tune. “Sam and Bucky, they’re wild but they are good guys.”

The air around you thickened if it were possible, something going unsaid between you two, a rope pulled taut that threatened to snap. Steve’s eyes studied you, thoroughly enjoying the sight of you by his side. You looked beautiful, eyes twinkling in the moonlight as your eyes returned to the fountain, your hair shining. You had grown up and become such a beautiful soul that he knew you were.

“I missed you.”

“Hm?” You looked up at him, confusion and curiosity carved onto your features.

“I thought of you all the time being out there, when it got tough and I needed some of those princess bear hugs you gave me” You giggled at his words, bringing about his chuckle. Your knees knocked as you leaned closer, resting your head against his shoulder.

“I missed you too Stevie.”

“Princess” he murmured after a moment, taking a few deep breaths to quieten his pounding heart, although when he looked down at you it skipped beat after beat anyway.

“Ser Rogers” you teased with a cheeky smirk, the sparkle in your hues growing as you almost challenged him to speak. I dare you, your eyes cried out to him.

Steve was never one to back down from a dare.

His lips were on yours before you could even think, embracing yours in a way that left you dizzy before shocking you into action and kissing back with the same ferocity.

Snap, that rope between you broke.

After that night you’d both chosen to keep your love a secret, your father was strict and unforgiving, he would not stand for his daughter dating someone lower than a future heir despite it not being your choice. Even years later, both of you adults still sneaked around like you did when you were teens.

Your door shook with heavy knocks, Ser Barnes’ voice booming from the other end.

“My Princess, the King wishes to see you at once.”

You groaned and let your eyes fall shut again until soft kisses trailing up your shoulder and neck brought a smile upon your face.

“Come on Lady Blue, can’t disappoint Father now” he joked, deep voice raspy from sleep, vibrating against your ear.

Even after all these years each moment you spent with him felt like you were falling in love with him for the first time, diving straight off the deep end and into your sheets with him.

You stood, helping him into his gear so he could slink off and allow your handmaidens in to help you dress.

“I love you” he whispered into the top of your head, placing a chaste kiss there before tilting your chin up to slant his lips against your own. Despite the shortness of it, you were left breathless when he parted, turning on his heel professionally and making his exit.

A ball of dread settled in your stomach at the thought of today’s meeting with your father. For months now he’d been adamant that you were to be married by the end of the year and set about finding suitors, each time you rejected them he’d bring up another. But you loved Steve too much.

You knew it wouldn’t last forever, it couldn’t. You were noble, bound to marry a prince and join two kingdoms in matrimony. He was a knight, he swore an oath to protect you from harm, nothing more.

All of that knowledge didn’t help it hurt any less when you stepped into the throne room, your eyes landing on potentially the worst prince your father had brought to you yet.

The king from the neighbouring place and his son, John Walker. A self-proclaimed prophet that was bound to rule all over the land.

“You will marry Prince John Walker” your father announced, the smug sneer on the prince’s face had you wishing you’d had breakfast before coming here so you could have something in your stomach to throw up.

You were bound to marry a pompous, arrogant, narcissistic man and leave the man who’d loved you since day dot.

You wouldn’t stand for it.

“I will not marry John” You challenged, something you’d only done a handful of times in your life. Your father’s nostrils flared, his jaw clenching and eyes wild.

“Excuse me?”

“I will not marry him” You repeated.

“You don’t have a choice young lady” he rose from his throne, stomping down the steps until his face was in yours. Your legs wobbled as you tried to stand your ground against your father's presence.

“You will marry Prince Walker, you will join our kingdoms and you will bear his heirs, I am sick of you rejecting everyone I introduce you to so I made the decision myself.”

“I won’t” you yelled this time, hurt and angry bubbling into rage “because I love another.”

The words slipped out your mouth, your hand slapping around your face far too slow to catch them.

The room fell silent. Pin drop silent. Steve stood at the entrance of the hall, head hung low to hide the reddening of his face, his hands clamping into fists at his side.

“Who?” Your father’s hand clamped onto your chin, your jaw throbbing in pain at the hold.

“Ser Rogers” you hissed, falling into a pile of clothes and pain when your father’s hand let you go.

“You wench!” he spat in disgust.

You tried to argue, tried to plead with your father but he shrugged you off.

“Ser Barnes, take my daughter back to her room, I want some time with Ser Rogers. Alone.”

You didn’t struggle as Ser Barnes picked you up from the floor, hoisting you over his shoulder. You couldn’t even look at Steve when you walked by.

Ser Barnes set you down on your bed softly, patting the top of your head as you stared off into space, tears rolling down your cheeks. He left and came back with a small glass of water and a muffin which you refused to eat.

Once Bucky left you crawled up to the head of your bed, stuffing your face into your pillow and staining it with black from your mascara. Your door was on constant watch in case you got any big ideas. The Blue Daisy’s had bloomed but you couldn’t leave, you weren’t allowed to leave.

As day turned into night you shifted to look out at the setting sun. Your dinner lay untouched on your table, your focus set firmly on the world outside, families rushing to pack up their markets before the evening rain.

“Lady Blue” you recognised the voice.

“Bucky?”

“Can I come in?” He asked. You hummed your confirmation and the huge brunette slipped in.

“Steve—he’s being shipped off. Tonight.” He explained his stormy eyes on you, watching you process the information.

“So what? It’s not like I can stop it” You answered bitterly, a shell of the woman you usually were. There was no hint of cheer or teasing in your tone like there once was, it had all been left in that throne room.

You took note of his heavy sigh before he inched further into the room, Only then did you gaze up at him. In his hands was a set of clothes, the kind commoners wore along with a large black cloak and a purple velvet pouch.

“Do you love him?” He asked, eyes searching yours.

“More than anything” you replied without hesitation.

“Then we better move.”

“W-what do you mean?” You stood, head tilted and brows furrowed. You just barely caught the clothes that Bucky threw at you.

“His ship leaves in an hour, if you don’t hurry and get changed we’ll miss it”.

You could’ve kissed Bucky.

The shipyards reeked of fish and shit, but you couldn’t care about that. Not now. Hopping off of Bucky’s white steed you pat its neck before looking up at him.

“Thank you, Buck, I don’t know how I can repay you.”

He smiled, taking your hand in his and kissing your knuckles.

“You can get on that ship and live your life Lady Blue. I’ll see you soon” he flashed you one of his pearly white smiles and turned the horse, setting off the way he’d come.

You darted onto the ship, eyes scanning the faces of workers and guests until they fell on the man that you were doing all of this for. Any doubt that boiled in your stomach melted away leaving only one thing remaining, that deep love that Steve gave you. He didn’t turn until you were standing in front of him.

“Princess?” his shocked voice sounded as he looked up at you. He looked tired, his skin pale and a nasty bruise was forming over his cheekbone. No doubt thanks to your father.

“I’m here” you squeaked as he pulled you down into his arms, his warm body and vanilla scent putting you at ease instantly despite the incessant rocking of the ship.

“You're here” he replied, words vibrating against your hairline before he tilted your chin up and stole your lips in a kiss. Just like he had stolen your heart.

“So you do that…yep and then you twist the stalk around…that’s it!!” You cheered as your son finally wrapped the flower correctly, his big blue eyes almost disappearing behind his lids as he squealed in excitement.

“What’s all the yelling about huh?” Steve emerged, tanned skin glowing, covered in a layer of sweat and dirt, an axe resting over his shoulder.

“Daddy look” your son preened, raising the bundle of blue flowers high in the air so the blonde could see.

“Ahhh is Mama teaching you her old tricks huh?” He smiled, kneeling to place a soft kiss on his forehead before doing the same to you.

“Mhmm gotta make sure he can help me every year, isn’t that right baby?” You plopped your finished flower crown onto Steve’s head before ruffling your son's curly locks.

Despite the running, the fighting and the endless struggle to get to where you were now, you could say you’d do it all again to be sat between your handsome husband and his doppelgänger son—in a field of blue daisies. You would do it all again to be home.

I DO NOT give permission to have my work copied, translated or reposted. If you see my work anywhere else except on this page I have not given consent for it to be used.

Comments, Reblogs, Likes & Asks are always appreciated, although if you liked this fic please consider reblogging so it can reach a wider audience. They let me know that you are enjoying what you read and give me motivation to write more.

Thanks for reading~

[kikyoupdates]

Changing Plotlines ⭑˚💞⭑ 𝑠𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑎 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑚𝑝

yandere!ocs x f!reader

yandere, reverse harem, yandere reverse harem, original characters x fem!reader, slowburn, isekai

A desperate cry on your deathbed leads to you being given a fresh start at life. You're overjoyed at having finally obtained a healthy body and a real chance at living normally, only to discover that you've been transported into a yandere game, where danger lurks at every corner. Determined to protect your new life at any cost, you vow to stay as far away from the major characters of the game as possible. But things don't always go as planned.

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Sergei Garin. A major supporting character in Zodin’s Benevolence, and a man unfortunate enough to have fallen in love with the protagonist, unaware of how many twisted yanderes were pining for her affection.  

The game branched off from the main storyline after the player picked enough choices that would put them on a certain yandere’s route. Needless to say, regardless of whoever’s route it was, Sergei ended up dead in some shape or form. He wasn’t always killed off by one of the yanderes, but his self-sacrificial nature, especially towards the protagonist, sealed his fate no matter what. He would either protect the protagonist until his dying breath, or be killed off by a yandere when they discovered Sergei’s romantic feelings towards her.  

Put simply, he didn’t have any good endings. Which is why seeing him here, right in front of your very eyes, was something both awe-inducing and incredibly depressing. He didn’t even know it yet, but his days were numbered.  

Is it possible to keep him from dying? So long as he doesn’t meet the protagonist, then... 

You quickly shook your head. No, you couldn’t think like that. You’d already made up your mind not to interfere with the canon events of the game. If you tried to protect Sergei, you could unwittingly place yourself in danger. As upsetting as it was, you couldn’t risk interfering.  

“Er, my lady?” Sergei frowned. “Is everything alright? Were you perhaps expecting someone else...?”  

“Not at all!” you spluttered. “I’m very happy you’re here! Sorry, I’m just really eager to start training, so I guess I must look like I’m a bit out of it. It’s nice to meet you, Sergei. I’m [Name], as you already know. Thank you for making the effort to be here on such short notice.”  

“It would have been discourteous to refuse your family’s request. Although, it was certainly a rather strange request,” he said with a knit brow.  

You laughed. “Right. Sorry. It’s probably not every day a noblewoman decides to take up sword-fighting. But I’ve always been interested in it, and what’s the harm in learning to protect myself?”  

“It’s far from traditional,” he admitted, “but I’m not one to scorn a person looking to hone their strength. If this is truly what you want to do, I will do my best to facilitate the process for you.”  

“Great! So, can I try swinging a sword now?”  

“I’d say it’s a bit early for wielding a real blade, so you can start with a wooden sword first.” He removed the bag he’d been carrying over his shoulders and pulled out two wooden swords. One of them was noticeably bigger than the other. He handed you the smallest of the two. 

You weighed the object in your hands. “It’s a bit heavier than I was expecting. Aren’t these things usually hollow on the inside?”  

“They can be. But I thought it was better for you to get used to something with a bit more weight to it, especially since a real sword is quite heavy.”  

“Pfft, I’m sure I can handle it,” you waved off, grossly overconfident for some reason.  

Sergei gave you an unimpressed look. “And what makes you so sure?”  

“Uh... I’m optimistic?”  

“I see. So, no real reason, then.”  

“Ugh.” You obviously couldn’t tell him that you’d watched countless anime and were stupidly hoping that the moves you’d seen there could be somehow applied to real life.  

Sergei took a step back and crossed his arms. “Show me how you would swing that thing. Treat it as if it is a real sword. Go on, I’m curious to see what kind of approach you’ll have.”  

“Ready to be impressed?” you grinned.  

“No, not really.”  

“Hey!”  

Sergei looked like he wanted to crack a smile, but he maintained his stern, stoic expression. He wasn’t fooling you. You already knew full well from the game that despite his serious-looking face and rather blunt mannerisms, he was a real gentleman at heart.  

“Okay... here goes nothing!”  

You inhaled sharply, gathering up all your energy, then proceeded to lunge forward and slash the wooden sword through the air, in a downwards motion.  

“Ooh, that actually felt pretty powerful!” you enthused, turning towards Sergei with a bright smile. “Well? How was it? Amazing, huh?”  

Sergei’s expression hadn’t changed. “Definitely not amazing.”  

“But pretty good, though?”  

“Definitely not good.”  

“Uh... at least sort of okay?”  

He didn’t respond, which made you nervous. What was the big deal? It was just a wooden sword, for crying out loud! And it was your first time swinging one. For a total newbie, it couldn’t have been that bad. 

“Sort of okay,” Sergei hummed, pressing his forefinger against his lips. “I suppose that’s a reasonably accurate description. Then again, it’s only a wooden sword. If you were to replicate that same motion with a real sword, your score would drop considerably.”  

“You’re scoring me?” you gaped.  

He tapped on his head, smiling faintly. “In here, yes. But I’ll be keeping your scores to myself, so as not to discourage you.”  

“That just means I suck!”  

“There’s no point in getting worked up right at the start. Come on, try swinging it again. This time, adjust your grip so that it stays higher on the hilt. It’ll be easier for you to swing it that way. And make sure to keep your torso firm. A strong foundation is what determines how hard your attack will hit.”  

“Like this?” you asked, inadvertently arching your back. 

“What? No, that’s not—ah, I’ll just show you myself,” he sighed, picking up his own sword. “Look closely now. See how I hold the sword, and what angle I’m striking at. See how my body stays perfectly straight and doesn’t wobble around the way yours does.”  

It was only a wooden sword, but you could swear you felt the air in front of you being sliced in half. His motion left a distinct whipping noise behind, fierce enough that it rang in your ears.  

Sergei looked back towards you. “Do you understand now?”  

“Totally,” you nodded. “Basically, it’s all about how big your muscles are.”  

“I see you’ve understood nothing.”  

“I was just kidding! Look, I’ll do it again.” You took up your stance, tensing up just enough that your torse was nice and stable, just like Sergei had said. With even more strength than before, you stepped forward and swung downwards. “Hyah!”  

You were hoping to have been met with enthusiastic clapping, but Sergei was merely staring at you in disbelief.  

“What was that sound you just made?”  

“A battle cry, I think.”  

“I can assure you it was not a battle cry,” he frowned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And a lady like you shouldn’t be making such vocalizations anyways.”  

“But I thought a battle cry drastically enhances your physical prowess.”  

“...”   

“I'm getting the impression that you might not want to be here.”  

“You’re imagining it,” Sergei coughed into his hand. “Anyways. It was... better, I suppose. But you still need a lot more work. Keep repeating that same motion with your wooden sword, and I’ll be watching you to make sure you have proper form.”  

“But that’s boring,” you whined. “I want to move on to using a real sword. A wooden sword won’t be enough to protect myself with.”  

“I understand that you’re excited, but why do you keep stressing that you’ll need to protect yourself?” he frowned. “A lady like you should never have to fear for her safety. Is there something in particular you’re worried about?”  

Yes. The crazy bastards that live in this world.  

“Not really,” you lied. “But you never know what could go wrong, right? It’s best to be prepared for even the worst-case scenario. It’s a dangerous world out there for women, you know.”  

“That’s certainly true,” Sergei nodded. “I must say, you’re quite earnest, trying to prepare yourself for situations like that. It doesn’t exactly match your personality.”  

“Hey, what’s wrong with my personality?”  

“Nothing, of course.” He bit back a chuckle. “Forgive me. I just meant that of all the noblewomen I’ve ever met, you stand out quite a bit. You don’t seem anywhere near as concerned with etiquette, and you’re even treating someone like me as your equal. Perhaps that’s why I’ve gotten comfortable voicing my opinions.”  

“Well, that’s not surprising,” you said, proudly sticking your nose into the air. “I am pretty amazing.”

“And your boundless confidence leaves nothing to be desired, that’s for sure.”  

“I’m going to take that as a compliment.”  

“Yes, please do.”  

You rolled your eyes at him, though it was in a playful, well-intentioned way. Even if Sergei’s tale was a sad one, you were happy to be interacting with one of your favorite characters from the game. There were few genuinely good people in Zodin’s Benevolence, apart from the protagonist, and he was definitely one of them.  

“Just you wait,” you huffed. “I’m going to become so good at wielding a sword, I’ll surpass you in no time.”  

Although Sergei’s expression was stern, his eyes were filled with mirth.  

“I look forward to seeing it.”  

In the end, you hadn’t gotten to use a real sword even once during your training session with Sergei. It was a bit disappointing, but he was the instructor, so you had no choice but to trust in his judgment. It was probably for the best that you build up some skills and confidence first, before attempting the real deal. Plus, the plot had yet to officially begin, so you weren’t in any imminent danger.  

Your parents frantically approached you after your session was over, checking you all over for any cuts or bruises. When you told them you hadn’t even gotten to try out a proper sword yet, they exhaled loudly. Look at you, endlessly worrying your parents even in a different world. Some things never changed.  

Still, you felt confident about the way you were choosing to approach things. There was no reason to afraid so long as you never interacted with the yanderes or the protagonist. Although the initial revelation about being transported into a game had come as a massive shock, you could very well live out a happy life here, just like you’d always wanted.  

“You seem like you’re having a good time.”  

Sometime after your training had come to an end, and you were relaxing in a bubble bath, you began to hear an oddly familiar, distinctively masculine voice in your head.  

“Hello?” you jolted, glancing around. There was no one, as expected. You were all alone in the bathroom, and even your bedroom was empty since the servants had left to give you space to relax. 

No response came, so you sank deeper into the bath, knitting your brows together. Was it just your imagination? A lot of strange things had happened to you recently, so you wouldn’t be surprised if you were hearing the odd remark every now and then. But that voice... you knew you’d heard it somewhere before. It was practically on the tip of your tongue.  

“Hehe. It’s fun watching you get all worked up over nothing. Your reactions are so expressive.”  

“Um—?!” You glanced around for the second time, but there was nobody there again. The voice was definitely coming from your head, and based on what it was saying, it didn’t seem like it was just your imagination.  

You clutched your arms around your chest, though the bubbles concealed most of everything, because apparently, they could see you right now.  

“This isn’t cool,” you muttered. “Whoever you are, can you give it a rest? How are you even talking to me right now? You’re freaking me out.”  

“I’m afraid that’s a secret. You’ll find out soon enough, I’m sure.”  

Great. As if you didn’t already have enough things to worry about with yanderes dominating the major plot of this world, now you had some creepy voice that could talk to you whenever it liked. And why did it sound so familiar? 

Could it be...?  

You didn’t know for certain, since you’d literally been dying at the time, but a strange voice had called out to you back then too. That voice was the whole reason you’d been transported here in the first place. Was this that same voice? The higher power that had saved you and given you a new chance at life?  

“Are you the one that saved me when I was dying?” you asked.  

No response. Either they had no idea what you were talking about, or they really were the same being from before, and they were deliberating avoiding your question.  

“Fine, don’t respond,” you sighed, lathering bubbles and squishing them between your palms.  

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about, but I definitely didn’t save anyone who was dying.”  

Ah, so they were still here.  

“Who are you, then?”  

“Like I said—that’s a secret.”  

“Ugh. Great. Looks like I’m not going to be able to sleep tonight.” 

“I’m not here to hurt you, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m just here to observe. Don’t worry about me and just focus on what you’ve been doing up until now. It’s quite amusing.”  

You weren’t sure how you felt about someone calling your life amusing, but it wasn’t like you could do anything about it. At the very least, you knew whoever this was wasn’t one of the yanderes, because none of them had these kinds of strange powers. The owner of the voice had promised not to hurt you, still, you weren’t sure how much you could trust them, especially since you didn’t even know who they were.  

For the time being, you just had one simple request.

“Please don’t spy on me while I’m taking a bath from now on,” you said crossly.  

Instead of answering, the voice laughed.

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[aiza-luna]

Assassin's Creed Syndicate - Sanctity: Lady Serena Hélène Josefina Cotoner-Artois

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Portrait of Serena Cotoner in 1867. Member of the Cotoner Family of Assassins, Signora di Monteforte Irpino and one of the most talented Swordwoman of her country, some dare say even from her time.

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Youngest daughter of Carlos Rafael Cotoner y Moncada, Conde de Tortosa and his wife, Aimée Isabelle Henriette Artois. She was the younger sister of the Master Assassin Solange Cotoner and descendent of the Legendary Spanish Mentor Renato Valentino Cotoner.

HELLO EVERYONE!! I'M BACK!!

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This time around, I came back to show you all a drawing of my OC: Serena! Solange's younger sister and a member of the Spanish Brotherhood of Assassins (although she is not an Assassin herself yet).

Fiancé to Leopoldo di Sanseverino, a descendent of Ezio Auditore da Firenze himself, Serena had Assassins blood on her veins for generations, much like her sister! An active ally to the Spanish Brotherhood, she is a woman of inteligence, charisma, charms and fun.

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A proper lady that hides a fierce spirit and a call of adventure, she is good-humoured, up-spirited and bright, bringing attention to where she goes, like a gracious swan floating in a lake.

Jacob delights with his sister-in-law, both being the younger sibilings and being prone to chaos lol

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Despite everything, Serena is a great ally and support, a caring woman that cherishes her Family dearly, adores her fiancé and is her sister's best friend, both supporting each other and each other's quirks despite social pressure. 🦢🩵

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This art was made for an Art Trade, the part of my friend @gabmik ! She drew Serena and I drew her OC, my part being posted on my Instagram. 🫶🏽

Thank you so, so much dear, for being the first one to bring Serena to life!! She looks more than perfect in your style!! 🥹🩵

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That's all for today! Hope you guys like it! See you soon 🧜🏽‍♀️🩵

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Lady Serena Hélène Josefina Cotoner-Artois by @aiza-luna

Drawing by @gabmik

Assassin's Creed Syndicate by @/Ubisoft.

[sengardet]

Dark Desire

Rose ventured deeper into the castle ruins, her armored bra and skirt. She knew she shouldn't be here, seeking pleasures spoken of only in whispers. But Rose was nothing if not bold.

The witches emerged from the shadows; their eyes glimmering. Rose tensed, heart pounding beneath her metallic top. But to her surprise, their faces held no malice, only delight in her presence.

"Welcome, brave one," a witch purred, circling Rose, then pressing a hand to her chest. "What a strong desire... I already know what you want. Now let us please you."

Rose laid back on the plush velvet lining their altar, her blonde hair fanning around her. The witches descended upon her, their hands exploring her body with tantalizing touches. One straddled Rose's face and lowered herself onto Rose's waiting tongue. The noblewoman moaned into the witch's warm center as she tasted her arousal.

The other witches caressed and kissed Rose's curves reverently, paying special attention to her heaving chest as it rose and fell with each ragged breath. Rose's eager heart pounded beneath her metal brassiere, the rapid thudding clearly visible in her splayed chest. The witches traced their fingers over the hammering pulse point, utterly entranced by the vitality and desperation coursing through Rose's body.

"Such a strong, wild heartbeat," one purred. "All that power, that passion, just aching to be released..."

They teased Rose to a feverish state, stoking her desire higher and higher, savoring how her need made her mighty heart gallop and strain. Rose writhed and arched into their touch, silently begging for more. The throbbing of her chest drove the witches wild with lust.

Lips and tongues painted trails over Rose's trembling flesh, but always pulled away just shy of where she craved them most. Hands skimmed along the swell of her breasts, feeling her frantic heartbeat.

"Please," she gasped out between shaky breaths, "I need...I can't..."

"Shhh, our impatient flower," the witch said. "Not yet. Let us drink in your delicious desperation a while longer..."

Hands caressed her rib cage, feeling every shallow breath and the stressed heart within. Rose gasped as they ground against her, the pressure and friction stoking the desperate ache inside. Her body trembled with need, every nerve alight and yearning for release. But they denied her, drinking in her body's desperate responses with cruel satisfaction.

Sweat glistened over her skin as they continued to use her body, chasing their own climaxes while leaving her unsated. They shuddered and moaned above her, orgasming from her ragged breaths and hammering pulse alone. Rose's overworked heart felt ready to burst out of her chest, only to amuse them further.

The noblewoman could take no more, between shallow gasps, her heart’s rhythm became erratic, then more forceful to compensate. Her body’s tension overflowed. Every delicate teasing touch pushed her body to defy their intentions to deny her release.

An intense climax ripped through Rose's sweat-glistened body. Her heart hammered violently, its desperate fraught rhythm driving the witches wild with lust.

"Look at her heart straining, about to burst!" one said excitedly.

Rose's chest heaved with deep ragged breaths. Suddenly, a sharp pain. She looked down in shock to see a sword piercing her chest; her mighty heart ran through and shuddered around the blade. Crimson spurted from the wound with each frenzied beat.

The witch shook with orgasmic rapture, feeling Rose's impaled heart aggressively jerking the hilt. She withdrew the blade, letting the others take their turn. They plunged in eagerly, pushing the tip into Rose's gushing and wounded chest, piercing the straining organ over and over.

Rose gasped for air, transfixed by the obscene sight of her heart stabbed again and again as it beat with furious defiance. The coven reveled in every desperate contraction, each breath that sent fresh jets of scarlet spraying. Their hands explored Rose's quivering flesh as they worked themselves into a sexual delirium.

"Such a strong, stubborn heart! I can feel how badly it wants to keep beating!" the witch cried out, exploring the fatally wounded meat with the sword's edge.

Rose's vision blurred. Still, her resilient heart fought on, and the witches' passion only burned hotter...

Rose's mind reeled, overwhelmed by agony and perverse, feverish arousal as they defiled her most vital organ. Her hammering heart clenched around each invading blade, gushing her blood and pleasuring the witches with every squeeze.

[papasbaseball]

The Wizard x Reader (Wonderful Wonderful Girl) | Chapter 3

Pairing: Wizard x F!Reader

Rating: Teen (Rating to Increase)

Warnings: Power Imbalance, Boss/Employee Relationship

Summary: Being a maid in the Royal Palace of Oz is not half so bad. Despite the meager wages, everything else is provided for you for an honest day's work. It can be unnerving working for the most powerful man in Oz, but you are able to avoid him most of the time. This changes during Lurlinemas, your paths soon becoming inextricably intertwined.

Word Count: 2,306 of 7,390

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AO3 Link

Being dealt with consists of yanking me from my bed, having my nightstand ransacked, and being plucked like a chicken down at the most expensive salon in Oz. After thorough torment and torture via wax strips, I get tossed into a room that I have never seen before but was on the same level as the Wizard's apartments. The better to keep an eye on me, I think.

The room is small but fit for perhaps a noblewoman staying a night or two at the palace: plenty fanciful with sage-papered walls but bare enough to discourage overstaying one's welcome. It consists of a small fireplace, a grand wardrobe that almost reaches the ceiling, a brass bed that is twice the width of my old one, and a vanity with a little note on top. I ignore the note, heading for the wardrobe. It's well past noon, and I'm sure there are still chores to be done. As much fun as this little excursion has been, I would like to eat dinner tonight.

The wardrobe pours out a scent of fresh citrus and I have to turn my head as my eyes and lips pucker. As the burst of cleanliness subsides, I go through the wardrobe. There is an embroidered green floor-length dress, some clothes that are suited for summers that are too hot, and some risque lingerie that makes me slam the doors closed with a wooden clatter. This room was meant for a noble lady, but I didn't think that they would have stuck me into one that was already occupied. Obviously, there has been a mistake.

When they had stuffed me in here, they hadn't given me any instructions and refused to answer any of my questions. The only answer I was able to get out of them was “I am not able to share that with you”. I open the door to see if I can find some help and am met with two palace guards who bark some threats that cause me to stumble back into the room. I shut the door again. There's a thick metallic slotting, and when I go to try the handle, it doesn't budge, instead rattling in futility.

My lip curls and I bear my teeth. I have to fight the urge to slam my balled-up fists on the door and scream obscenities, but I know they'd probably just come in and hit me over the head with the end of one of their swords or do something worse to get me to shut up. The Royal Palace guards were not exactly known for their kindness and compassion. I add “intelligence” to their not-list for refusing to even listen to the fact that I am occupying someone else's room.

Making a closer assessment of the space, I look for any potential doors that might have been missed. There is a bathroom door with a peacock carved into it, but nothing else of note. The only other exit is a window. I approach the paned glass, flipping the latch, and am met with a dizzying drop. From up here, the stretched-out cotton balls that make up the clouds wrap around the jeweled spirals of the royal palace like heavenly moss.

"It's a long way down."

I yelp, my palms slipping from the window sill. The fear cuts up through me with the air as I fall, standing all of my hairs straight up. I'm jerked back and I tumble to the floor, scrambling back to the wardrobe as I try to catch my breath. The Wizard is there, standing in front of the window with a barely concealed smile on his face and a glint of amusement in his eyes. I want to scream as anger rips through me. It's not right to feel that way towards our Wonderful ruler, but I can't see what he finds funny about the fact that I almost just died. All I'm able to get out is a strangled cry that sounds nowhere near close to "thank you".

"Were you trying to get some fresh air?" he says, offering me a hand.

I try to still my face as I put my trembling hand in his. "I'm... I'm in the wrong room," I say.

"You were almost on the ground," he says, pulling me to my feet. I find myself way too close to him, too aware of the way the cotton of his shirt is rising and falling with each breath. My brush with death is causing me to lose my head because – even though I know he is all-powerful and a blessing to us all – I feel like the person standing before me is a normal man with a beating heart just like the rest of us lowly citizens of Oz.

I clear my throat, trying to get my voice back to normal. "I was trying to find a way out."

The Wizard laughs at this, deeply and heartily. Despite my trembling, I can't help but let out my own breathy laugh too. It was rather silly to think about escaping out of a window that was closer to the sun than the ground. My hands and arms are slowly getting some of their warmth back in them, only moments ago having felt so numb. I can't help but feel thankful that I can share this laugh with him, and that I am still alive.

Whether from the adrenaline or all of the laughing, my stomach grumbles, reminding me of the pressing issue that is earning my dinner. I'm breathless, but I tell him that I'm in the wrong room, again.

"What?" he says. "Is there something wrong with your room? I had it redecorated." He goes to the wardrobe, smoothing a hand over the glossy oak finish of the doors. "Used to be all cobwebs and dust in here." He swipes at the air as if to bring down one of these supposed cobwebs.

"Your Wonderfulness," I start, "There are some lady's clothes in here. I am sorry to say that I went through them, but I-"

"Did you think that you would find something good to steal?" he says.

My cheeks heat red at the reminder of yesterday. I throw open the wardrobe doors to show him the clothes that someone had obviously left here during their last summer. "See for yourself," I huff.

Those amber eyes lock onto mine, a warning about my tone, but they quickly land on the dresses as he swipes the hangers along the rod. "I don't see anything out of place."

"These are not my clothes," I protest. "How am I supposed to go about cleaning?"

His "Ah" is almost inaudible as he fishes all the way back into the wardrobe and pulls out the sea-green gossamer dress. It looks ridiculous, with great puffs of tulle across the breast and shoulders, the skirt clearly meant for summertime the way I can see through it. I snatch it from him and shove it back into the closet.

"That is someone else's!" I say, feeling guilty that we are still going through the poor woman's clothes.

"No," he says, "that is the price for stealing."

I scrunch my brow together, utterly confused. I did not steal any of the garments. I even showed them to him! They were all here, 100 percent accounted for, and they could be shipped back home to whatever unfortunate countess had left them here and was probably not missing them. And what did I care what they cost?

The recognition on my face as the wheels turn in my head turns his benevolent features into a hellish delight, a grin that seems too sharp, the way he stands a little too comfortably. He takes the dress back out and puts the hanger into my hand. "I almost thought I was going to have to beat some sense into you," he says.

There is a knock at the door. I shove the see-through dress back into the closet just in time for the guards to open the door. It’s Emily on the other side of the threshold.

"Ah, yes!" he says. "Come, come in!" He pushes past me to usher in the unsure girl. I can see that there are charcoal stains on her apron from today's work, her palms ruddy and cracked with a dried trickle of blood creeping up her wrist. My stomach twists in a knot, wondering if I might be able to take the window exit after all. Here I was complaining about everything, but hadn't I been excused from the hard work of washing the floor and changing sheets? Hadn't I been getting primped and preened like a fanciful cockatoo in the finest salon in Oz? Emily seems to have the same idea, her mouth set in a hard line that tells me she is not happy about having to pick up my slack.

"I got you your little friend to help out," he beams, pushing her forward. "Not with your work, of course, but for dressing." He goes back to the closet and pulls out the offensive dress for what seems like the billionth time today. When he's not looking, I think, I'm going to burn it. He hands the wisp of a garment to Emily.

"Our friend here is confused," he tells Emily, "she had a little run-in with the window. Just make sure that she gets dressed. When you're done, set some wood on the hearth for a fire for later."

Emily's face scrunched up at the last part, "Your Wonderfulness, I'm afraid I can’t do that. Receiving has put a limit on firewood for the whole palace. They said something about a shortage? I'm not sure."

His eyes narrow and he knits his brow. He says, "Just get her dressed and bring her to my room when you're done." He leaves the room, checking his pocket watch as he steps out the door.

When the door shuts, any politeness Emily might have had leaves her features. She tosses the dress onto the bed, looking for a zipper. "So how'd you do it?" she bites.

"What?" I ask.

"Did you sleep with him?"

The suggestion knocks the wind out of me and I can't help but scoff for breath.

"Is he any good in bed?" she asks.

"That is our Wizard you are talking about!" I protest in a whisper, afraid that he will hear us if I speak any louder. "I did not sleep with him. I was at the market with you and then-" I stop myself, not wanting to admit that I got arrested for stealing. That would surely go over well with her that somehow I got all of this for trying to shoplift. "and then I ended up here, okay? I don't know."

Emily finds the zipper and slides it down, taking the dress off the hanger. She comes over to me and sneers. "Come on, off with it. Or are you too lazy to undress yourself too?"

I hesitate, but the need to prove that I'm not some layabout wins over any shame I might have at her seeing me naked; we had shared a bed after all and she had seen me dress in the common room before. I pull off the simple but warm shift they had given me at the salon, and she slips the dress over my head. I have to stop myself from running my hands over the airy ruffles and puffs that cover my chest and shoulders. The fabric was softer than any of the sheets I'd ever put on the Wizard's bed, and so light that I wondered if it was woven from the room’s old cobwebs.

"I saw you getting hauled off yesterday. When I came back you were in bed. What happened?" Emily asks again.

"I can't say," I lie. "They told me it was a secret." No, that's not true either. But I can hear his wails so far removed from this little and polite room. The wails of the boy that Emily had pranked and bullied and set up and framed because he was good at his job. I don't know why she did it. We all got paid the same, but if I had to guess, I'd say that she was afraid that he was going to make her look bad. "I don't want to be here," I add as an afterthought.

"Yeah, right," she says, zipping the dress up. I yelp as the zipper pinches a bit of skin on my side. If my arms weren't turning into gooseflesh from the cold, they were now.

"Well, what do you want me to do?" I almost genuinely want to know. Maybe she had some ideas that could get me out of this dress and room, and back into the comfort of my own clothes and our shared bed.

"Try throwing yourself out the window again," she says, hanging the hanger back up. "At least you won't have to worry about anything after you go splat. Try to aim for the officer's balcony. I don't want to be called to scrape up your puffy remains." She flicks a puff on my shoulder to emphasize her point.

I slam the door to the wardrobe and she locks eyes with me. She walks to the door in silence, never breaking eye contact, and quickly knocks on it. "You're not the first dummy to try and sleep her way to head maid," she says. The door opens. "Come on, let's go. I need to take you to his room." I follow after her, the gown doing nothing to protect me from the cold hallways of the palace. "Plus, that dress is offensive to the eyes. I don’t want to look at it any longer than I have to."

[n0vazsq]

Eternal | LS2 x Reader

pairing . . . immortal!logan sargeant x time!traveller!reader

summary . . . Every era you went, you could never shake off the weird feeling of forgetting something, that is until you met Logan on one of your trips

request . . . no!!

word count . . . 1.4k+

warnings . . . none!

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . ok whyd this make me tear up a bit?? ALSO NOT MY LAPTOP FINISHING BATTERY WHILE I WAS MID EDITING

. . . The world spins differently when you travel through time. Everything blurs, twisting and contorting until all that’s left are distant moments, fragments of memories that slip through your fingers like sand.

You’ve never been sure why or how it happens, why you can’t remember where you’ve been or who you’ve been with. But one thing is always certain; no matter where you go, no matter what time you fall into, you’re always drawn to him.

Logan.

You’ve seen him before, in so many lives, in so many eras. In one, he was a gladiator; rough and fierce, blood staining his skin as he fought for his life.

In another, he was a knight, riding through the misty hills of the medieval countryside, his eyes full of honor and determination.

And in each of those lives, he was the same. Yet, you never remembered him, not truly. You met him again and again, but each time, you forgot. And it hurt.

The first time you saw him, he was standing in a gladiator’s arena, towering and proud, his muscles flexing with every swing of his sword. You were just a noblewoman, standing in the crowd, your heart caught in your throat as you watched the fight unfold.

There was something about him, something magnetic, that pulled you in. Your gaze never wavered from him, even when the crowd cheered and screamed. And when the battle ended, when his opponent lay defeated at his feet, your eyes met. There was a flicker, an unspoken recognition.

But by the time you saw him again, in another life, you had no memory of that first meeting. You had no memory of the way his smile made your heart race or the way his presence seemed to calm the storm inside you.

All you knew was that you were drawn to him, inexplicably and irrevocably, like a moth to a flame.

And so it went, through every era, every life you lived. In each new world, you forgot him, but he never forgot you.

It was in a quiet little town during the early 1900s that you met him again. The fog had rolled in from the sea, clinging to the cobblestone streets like a heavy blanket.

You had come to this town searching for something you couldn’t quite name, as you always did. Maybe it was peace, or love, or the pieces of your past that you had forgotten in the chaos of time. But when you stepped into that small coffee shop, you saw him.

He was sitting by the window, a cup of coffee in his hands, his fingers curled around the warm porcelain cup. He looked out at the street, his gaze distant, like he was waiting for something.

Or someone.

You walked in, and when your eyes met his, a jolt shot through your chest. There was something about him, something familiar, but you couldn’t place it. He stood up as you walked toward him, his expression softening as if he had been waiting for this moment, this exact moment.

"Hello," he said, his voice warm and inviting, his eyes studying you carefully. "You look… familiar."

"I do?" you asked, your voice hesitant, unsure.

He smiled then, a gentle, knowing smile. "Yes. I don’t know how, but I feel like I’ve known you for a long time."

You tilted your head, trying to make sense of it. His words, his presence, they felt like pieces of a puzzle you hadn’t yet solved. But you couldn’t deny the pull, the magnetic force that seemed to draw you toward him.

And so, you sat with him. The conversation flowed effortlessly between you two, as though you had known each other for years. You laughed together, spoke of dreams and desires, the hopes that flickered inside your hearts. You could feel yourself falling for him, even though you didn’t fully understand why.

But there was something in his eyes, something that hinted at a secret; a hidden truth he hadn’t shared with you. You wanted to know more, to learn what it was that tied you to him, but you couldn’t. He was always so careful, so guarded.

It wasn’t until that night, under the soft glow of the moonlight, when he pulled you into his arms, that he finally spoke the words you had been waiting to hear.

"I’ve been looking for you for so long," Logan whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I’ve lived for centuries, hoping that one day, I’d find you again. And now, here you are."

You pulled back slightly, searching his face for any sign of doubt. "Centuries?" you asked, your heart pounding in your chest. "What do you mean?"

His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing gently over your skin. "I’m not like other people," he said, his eyes darkening with a weight of unspoken words. "I’ve been alive for longer than I can remember, and each time we meet, you forget me. But I never forget you."

The statement hit you like a wave crashing against the shore. Your heart raced, a whirlwind of emotions tearing through you. He had known you all this time, across every life, and you had never remembered him.

"I-I forget?" you whispered, your voice trembling.

He nodded, his gaze soft and filled with longing. "Every time you travel, you lose your memories of me. But I never forget you. I can’t. I’ve loved you in every life, in every world, and I will keep loving you, no matter how many times we meet."

Tears welled up in your eyes, a mixture of sorrow and joy, of love that spanned across the endless expanse of time. "Logan," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I don’t understand… how is this possible?"

"I don’t know," he admitted, his voice raw with emotion. "But I know one thing for sure. I love you. And I will love you for as long as I can."

You closed your eyes, allowing his words to wash over you, to fill the empty spaces in your heart that you hadn’t even known were there.

You leaned into his touch, the warmth of his hand grounding you, reminding you that, despite the distance between your lives, you were never truly apart.

And then, without another word, Logan leaned in. His lips brushed against yours, soft at first, tentative, as if he was afraid that you might disappear the moment he touched you. But you kissed him back, deepening the kiss, letting the world fall away as you lost yourself in him.

His hands tangled in your hair, pulling you closer, as if trying to erase the years of separation between you. His kiss was hungry, desperate, as if he had waited lifetimes to be with you.

And in that moment, you understood; understood the gravity of his love, the depth of his soul’s yearning.

When the kiss finally broke, both of you were breathless, your hearts racing. Logan rested his forehead against yours, his breath shaky.

"I don’t know how much time we have," he murmured. "But I’ll take whatever moments we can have together."

You nodded, your fingers gently tracing the lines of his face, memorizing every detail, as if you might forget again. "I don’t care about time," you whispered. "I care about this. I care about you."

For a long moment, neither of you said anything. There was nothing left to say. The silence between you was comforting, like the calm after a storm, as you both allowed the weight of your love to settle over you.

But just as quickly as the peace came, it was broken by the familiar pull of time. You felt it; the tug in your chest, the sensation of everything shifting. You looked up at Logan, your eyes wide with panic.

"No," you whispered, as if the very word could stop it from happening. But it didn’t.

He pulled you into his arms one last time, kissing you deeply, desperately, before the world around you began to blur.

"I will find you again," he whispered, his voice barely audible as the world twisted, and you were torn from him once more. "I promise."

But even as the world spun out of focus, you could feel the warmth of his love, the promise he had made. And no matter where you went, no matter how far time took you, you knew that Logan would always find you.

Because love, true love, couldn’t be lost to the currents of time.

It was eternal.

 taglist . . . @barcapix ,, @f1lover55 ,, @ilovebarcaaa ,, @httpsdana ,, @paucubarsisimp ,, @justaf1girl ,, @awritingtree (lmk if you want to join the taglist!)

[harlequinfrog]

went a little crazy makeing guys. here is a few

i love being an artist i can just make up a guy whenever i feel like it and then produce as many pictures of her as i want

[winged-void]

Here's the story yall asked me to post

Hello! I am posting this short little story, which is the first of a number of short stories I have written about these two characters, a delusional noblewoman and her deranged maid. By clicking the readmore you agree that both characters contained within, regardless of what the text says, are girls.

In some forgotten corner of some forgotten city, a forgotten noble of a forgotten family sits in petty agony. 

Protected from the onslaught of acidic rain only by a hastily constructed sheet metal roof, he imagines Mother's pain at the tears in his coat, and the scion of the Branche family considers weeping. 

What would it cost? 

Too much. 

Elan Branche pushes it down. At twelve, one puts such childishness behind them. 

Back straight. Assess the damage. Find the solution. 

The coat was heavy. Too large, and far too decorated with old and meaningless signifiers of unearned and forgotten glory, weighed down further still by the damp of rain and blood (hidden at least by the deep red color of the fabric), he takes it off and hangs it on a bit of exposed rebar. 

It was old and beautiful; burgundy and torn to shreds. The sleeves and the tail had cuts and rips that Elan knew he could never fix. He thought of a picture he'd found of the family's old staff, and the dedicated tailor among them. All gone now, gone since before his birth. This burden, like all before it, must be borne alone. 

Put it out of mind for now. 

He turned away from the coat to inspect his blade. Sharpening the noble edge sharpens the noble mind, he thought, and began to clean. His adventures to these parts were proving more expensive than he thought, but the rabble must know the Branche Family. Their petty vassals and pettier commoners had forgotten and darkness had come to them. 

By sword and torch and pistol he would bring light and flame back. He would polish the old blazonry with the blood of those foolish and cruel enough to have taken advantage of the weakness of his family. No longer would commoner merchant thugs an-

Hold. A sound. 

Elan jumped and turned, blade pointed at his empty coat, hanged and swinging in the breeze. 

Foolish. Too easily startled. Undignified. Waving your sword around at an empty coat. 

But then another sound, like the whimper of a kicked dog. 

“N-Nothing gets by you, milord….”

A hunched and crouching pathetic figure emerged from behind the rebar, raising its hands, but holding onto what seemed to be an especially short thin piece of scrap metal, bent at the end such that a thread could pass through it. 

Elan's mind raced. First, relief, then recognition. Figure was a boy. No older than thirteen or fourteen. Thin, so thin, tall and dressed in rags. 

“You. You're that kid from the other day. The mugging victim, yes?”

Wasn't that mugging four towns over? 

He left it unsaid. He continued. 

“What are you doing with my coat?”

The figure squirmed, and tried to stand up straight. 

“I-I-I saw. The state of your coat. And I thought I might be useful, milord…” It paused, and jumped as though shocked, “My lord.”

It gestured towards the left sleeve, and Elan's eyes traced the crimson thread from the needle in its scarred hand to the sleeve of the coat, partially sewed with baffling skill. 

Elan considered the boy. His hair gray (common in these chemically stained regions), his form clearly starved, his body shaking but his hands so very steady. 

Potential and possibility, all of it. Solutions to problems named and those he refused to name. 

“How useful,” Elan lowered his sword and allowed himself to smile, “would you like to be?”

[merlingenrecs]

The truth comes out—and Merlin doesn't end up on the pyre! Perhaps there is anger, a heated conversation or some temporary distrust, but ultimately all goes well. Perhaps we even get a glimpse of what a Golden Age might look like?

Today's gen fic rec theme: Magic Reveal Gone Well!

↓ Find the list of fanfic recs under the cut! ↓

⚬ A Better Man by TheActualAuthor, 3k, rated G https://archiveofourown.org/works/43646655 summary: Arthur’s cursed by a witch to experience his worst fear.

⚬ Almost, but not quite by Marti1297, 2k, rated G https://archiveofourown.org/works/39236688 summary: Finally, Arthur starts to realize strange things happen around him, and he comes to an unexpected conclusion.

⚬ a drop of truth by WinglessCrows, 6k, rated G https://archiveofourown.org/works/15636450 summary: Arthur has a truth serum, Merlin lies more than he tells the truth. Who else would Arthur use it on?

⚬ Allow One To ‘See’ by mollrach13, 30k, unrated https://archiveofourown.org/works/16729350 summary: When the King is attacked in his tent on patrol and falls into an unending sleep everyone is worried. What they don't know is that Arthur is fine. In fact he is standing right here next to them, watching them all fret over his prone body. To stave off the boredom whilst a cure is found Arthur takes to wandering the castle and soon discovered a hidden side of Camelot he never knew about.

⚬ Truths Emerge by s0mmerspr0ssen, 22k, rated T https://archiveofourown.org/works/52211941 summary: When Caerleon attacks Camelot, more than one secret is uncovered. In the face of a hopeless battle, will Arthur make the right choice?

⚬ Crown of Light by s0mmerspr0ssen, 3k, rated G https://archiveofourown.org/works/42482379 summary: About four weeks after he had married Gwen, Arthur awoke with a strange, golden light around his head. Naturally, it freaked Merlin out.

⚬ darkest before dawn by merlinemrys, 1k, rated G https://archiveofourown.org/works/48216928 summary: Arthur: I never knew my mother because of it. My father died because of it. I lost my sister to it. So tell me, Merlin, what has magic ever done for me? Merlin: What haven't I done for you? – In the hours before Mordred's execution for using sorcery to save Arthur, Merlin finally snaps.

⚬ I’d Die For You by Fulgance, 4k, rated T https://archiveofourown.org/works/934552 summary: "You know I'd die for you, yeah?" – "It certainly looks like we're headed that way," Arthur says dryly.

⚬ The Reveal byArgentNoelle, 1k, rated T https://archiveofourown.org/works/6645151 summary: How long, Merlin wondered, had Arthur known? He hadn’t seemed surprised at all.

⚬ How Water by LadyAJ_13, 3k, rated G https://archiveofourown.org/works/20817572 summary: Leon shuffles, a move so unlike him that Arthur is immediately concerned. “It's about Merlin, sire.” He wonders what he's done now. Something stupid no doubt, insulted a noblewoman or broken something valuable. A day in the stocks might be required to make the aggrieved party happy. But then, that's not unusual enough for his most capable knight to be fiddling with his sword scabbard. “I believe he has magic.”

⚬ Just a Hint of Magic by Drag0nst0rm, 1k, rated G https://archiveofourown.org/works/28462047 summary: The thing was, most sorcerers didn't know enough spells to actually put up much of a fight. So when Arthur first noticed Merlin had magic, he wasn't too worried about it.

⚬ The Truths He Can’t Deny by N16, 10k, rated T https://archiveofourown.org/works/33923860 summary: Merlin had always known this day would come. An innocent girl. An arrest for sorcery. Except now it's Arthur sitting on the throne in judgment, not Uther. It was always going to happen, but it wasn't supposed to happen like this.

⚬ Treason by N16, 10k, rated T https://archiveofourown.org/works/27763306 summary: Arthur knows four things: Merlin committed treason. Merlin is loyal to him. Merlin wants to tell Arthur the truth. Merlin is scared Arthur will kill him. All he needs to figure out now is what on earth his servant has actually done.

⚬ Greater Love Hath No Man by N16, 8k, rated T https://archiveofourown.org/works/37562236 summary: Once upon a time, Merlin had been so in love with Gwen that he'd confessed to sorcery to save her from the pyre. That moment seemed like a million years and a million lies ago. But that one lie was a loose thread, and now one tug might unravel Merlin's entire tapestry of deceit. Fortunately, Merlin can always count on Gwen.

⚬ A Scar Like a Vision of Grace by nsowlwrites97, VikingSong, 3k, rated T http://archiveofourown.org/works/56321101 summary: “Please,” Arthur tried. “Let him go. If you want the book–”The man holding the sword to Merlin’s neck smirked. “Oh, that? That’s just a bonus. No, king. We’re here for this.” And without another word, he slid the sword across Merlin’s throat.

⚬ The Hand of the Enemy by N16, 45k, rated G https://archiveofourown.org/works/27567688 summary: When Arthur accepts an invitation to a nearby kingdom where magic is free, he hopes to establish an alliance despite their differences. Instead, he and his knights find they’ve been invited under false pretenses, and the queen may succeed in turning friend against friend to accomplish her own aims.

⚬ Who I’ve Been by TheActualAuthor, 3k, rated G https://archiveofourown.org/works/41350509 summary: Arthur glances at him, but doesn’t stop to reprimand, “I told him I didn’t know what he meant. Then he spoke of many things. Said I was a figure of prophecy and legend.” His voice twists around the words, mocking them, “Said I was to rule all Albion. I was about to call him out as some sort of sorcerer’s trick, trying to trap me into oaths or pride, when he began to speak of another. A man I knew well, supposedly, who walked in my inner circle.” The king takes a sharp breath and raps his knuckles on the table, making Merlin jerk his head up, “I have little doubt he meant those who stood with me at the table. When the others come, I am going to eat with them, my men and my favored. And when we are done, I will speak to them of this, and I will know who has been lying to me all this time.”

⚬ Stains Unseen by reelin_writer, 2k, rated T https://archiveofourown.org/works/33212869 summary: During the routine bandit ambush, Gwaine is mortally wounded. Merlin saves him with magic, and instead of exploding at the reveal, Arthur is overcome with guilt. Merlin has been dealing with the trauma of taking a life--alone. Nothing, not even the new powers Merlin has, can keep Arthur from wanting to protect the younger man.

⚬ Behind Me, Beside You by TheActualAuthor, 3k, rated G https://archiveofourown.org/works/37246459 summary: Arthur glares at him, “I have no love for magic, they will not help me.” His eyes narrow, “How do you know the way to their camps? We’ve been searching for their borders for years.” “I have friends among them.” He hedges. The king stares at him a moment, then sits down with a weary air, “So you also have betrayed me.”

⚬ A Moment of Truth by sakarrie, 5k, rated T https://archiveofourown.org/works/35432824 summary: Even though Merlin knows it's finally time to tell Arthur the truth, he can't stop his hands from shaking. He knows being a sorcerer is a death sentence, yet here he is—about to tell the King of Camelot. But Arthur deserves to know, and Merlin can't keep hiding from his best friend.

⚬ Stay by wryter501, 13k, rated T https://archiveofourown.org/works/39378669 summary: A different direction for episode 4.7 "The Secret Sharer". Alator goes to Camelot not to find Emrys for Morgana, but with another plan in mind... Why has Emrys failed so long in his prophetic task of restoring magic to Camelot, in guiding and instructing Arthur Pendragon, the Once and Future King? Fate seems to have handed Alator the chance to right the course of history gone awry - and he's going to take it. He's going to use Gaius to find Emrys - and then they're going to have a serious conversation. But even the best-laid plans of a canny warrior-sorcerer can be diverted... Alator finds more than he anticipated, plotting ambush in iron mines of Kemeray...

⚬ The Serving of Servants by CaffeinatedFlumadiddle, 80k, rated T https://archiveofourown.org/works/20239129 summary: When a new position is made in the royal household to oversee the servants, Arthur didn’t think much of it. It was only days later when he noticed the mysterious injuries appearing on frightened servants that the prince decided to go undercover and to find out what is going on. Meanwhile, Merlin thinks the newest servant is a mess. Or: Arthur learns what it is like to be a servant and learns some interesting thing about his own servant.

⚬ Golden Is The Dawn by TrekScribbles, 9k, rated T https://archiveofourown.org/works/54962341 summary: When Arthur finds out that Merlin is hiding a baby dragon, he devises a plan to get rid of it. But when Merlin is captured by a band of slavers, the dragon might be Arthur's only hope of getting him back.

⚬ Faithful Are The Wounds of a Friend by VikingSong, 5k, rated T https://archiveofourown.org/works/33734425 summary: Arthur catches sight of a scar on Merlin’s back which he can’t explain, so he asks each of the members of the Round Table if they’ve seen it, too. They have...but it wasn’t the same scar.

⚬ Curiouser and Curiouser by VikingSong, 12k, rated T https://archiveofourown.org/works/28588263 summary: Gwen knew Merlin wasn’t in the tavern each time Arthur thought he was...but it was Merlin, so she’d never worried about her friend’s harmless lies of omission. That is, she'd never worried until the day Merlin disappeared to ‘the tavern’ with a freshly-paralyzed fomorroh still lodged in his neck. With the threat of the dormant serpent hanging over their heads, suddenly those lies didn't seem so harmless anymore. Or: Gwen is the primary keeper of the one (1) brain cell in Camelot, which she wields to great effect in missing-scenes-turned-canon-divergence in 4x06, "A Servant of Two Masters."