#doing the wife of baths prologue

[thepostburningash]

i love my medieval lit module bc in the hour so far we have called st. paul gay and talked about 3 separate heresies

[t4llhum4n]

I don't talk about what I'm reading for school much on here, but like the Wife of Bath's Prologue from the Canterbury Tales?? Pop off queen lmao.

[sttoru]

PARENTHOOD: THE SERIES !

[TOJI]: “DON’T KNOW HOW TO TAKE CARE OF YA KIDS? LET ME GIVE YOU SOME ADVICE.”

a brand new series which explains how you should approach new challenges including everything about parenthood.

a step by step guide made of drabbles & one shots, showing you personal experiences by none other than the (self-proclaimed best dad) toji fushiguro, his son megumi and his wife (you).

newly added advice every week! suggestions, questions or requests regarding any situation a parent could find themselves in are allowed. send them to this address and toji will try and answer them.

P.S do not ever take toji’s advice seriously and do not copy his behaviour. he doesn’t know what he’s doing since it’s his first child. plus, his way of parenting is extremely questionable).

MASS LIKING WILL GET YOU PERMANENTLY BLOCKED. PARENTING 101 — PROLOGUE

1. how to take care of your pregnant wife?

PART 1

THE BASICS !

1. how (not) to hold a baby?

2. how (not) to joke with your child?

3. how (not) to bathe your child?

4. how (not) to introduce your child to new foods?

5. how (not) to soothe your child after a nightmare?

6. how (not) to take care of your child while your wife sleeps?

7. how (not) to keep an eye on your child?

8. how (not) to flirt with your wife in front of your child?

9. how (not) to encourage your child to say his first word?

10. how (not) to ask your child for some help?

11. how (not) to measure the height of your child?

12. how (not) to react to your child’s first steps?

13. how (not) to react when your child can’t sleep?

14. how (not) to react when your child interrupts you and your wife?

15. how (not) to spend the day at the beach with your child and wife?

16. how (not) to tuck your child in bed?

more to be added. . .

STTORU © 2025. banner made by me.

[boizandgurlzinthehouse]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐰𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞.

pairing: coriolanus snow x toxic!fem!reader

summary: someone always throw a spanner in her works, to achieve her biggest dream —being coriolanus’ lover, wife and claiming power. luckily, y/n is not on the loser side when it comes to playing. 

trigger warnings (overall): mastermind!reader, toxic!reader (for real, she’s doing nasty things), reader’s family is a bit fucked up, reader is obsessed with coriolanus snow, lying, swearing, blood, violence, killing people, hunger games stuff, i just love volumnia gaul, reader hates lucy gray and everybody who’s around coriolanus, mental health problems mentioned such as psychotism, domestic violence mentioned, drugs, mention of sexual fantasies.

trigger warnings (in this part): mastermind!reader, toxic!reader (for real, she’s doing nasty things), reader’s family is a bit fucked up, reader is obsessed with coriolanus snow, lying, swearing, domestic violence mentioned, drugs, mention of sexual fantasies, mentions of gaining weight and wearing a corset (patrick bateman vibes), i really hope it doesn't seem like bodyshaming, reader has problems only with her own body.

prologue.

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈. 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐖𝐒.

another day. another chance to win him over. 

y/n could be named for many things: a filthy liar, a nepo-baby, a psychopath or simply a crazy girl, but she was never, ever lazy. waking up, she always had the same routine: getting out from the bed, changing into her underwear she wore the day before, making her hair up into a bun, spreading carbon on her teeth to be white as marble. working out, even if it hurt, because how could she be the best wife ever for coriolanus if she was lazy and out of shape? through workout, she thought about who she is. i am y/n y/l/n, youngest member of the house y/l/n. we are noble, i am noble, and i deserve everything what i have now. i am beautiful, clever and nobody can ever drag me down. the people who hate me are only envious of my life, my body and my mind, but they’re all going to soil. i love the life i have, and i will appreciate every single second of the life i will have when i achieve my goals. i have every tool i can use to win, and i will use them to be the woman i want to be. it’s not far away, and everyday is a chance to be closer to the woman i want to be.

after that, taking a bath, scrubbing her body with a sponge, so her skin would always be silky, using her razor to get rid of the unwanted, ugly hair on her body. smearing vanilla and rose oil onto her skin: vanilla for being gentle, and rose for coriolanus. brushing her teeth, washing down the charcoal, washing teeth with the regular toothpaste. sitting in front of her dressing table, picking her eyebrow, putting cosmetic oils and serums on her cleavage, her neck and her face. while letting it dry, picking out the outfit of the day, calling in her maid, hortense to help her with the corset if she felt that she gained too much weight because of the medicine, or was on her period. y/n hated so-called red days, and waited for the day when she could bear her husband’s children. putting her clothes on, sitting at the dressing table again, her maid helped her if she wanted a special hairstyle. checking her manicure, it was now soft pink, it’ll match with her clothes. making her hair, she did her makeup, curling her eyelashes, putting a little chili on her lips to be so full –it hurt like hell, but how could she be perfect if she didn’t put effort in it?, whilst repeating another list in her mind. this was for coriolanus. 

be kind with him, but never too kind. be kind and modest with everybody else, so they won’t notice it. agree with him in the things that are important, but also speak your mind if he seems doubtful. speak your feelings to convince him, you are important to him. always accept his help, but don’t make redundant situations, don’t look like the damsel in distress. make him feel special, let him be the man he is, make him feel that you support him and his plans, but never make too big promises. don’t look pathetic, don’t show your emotions too much. never talk about him to others, only if they mention him, talk good about him, and talk bad about others if it’s needed. don’t make a scene if something doesn’t work your way, it will sooner or later. take action when it’s the right time. 

applying lipstick as the last step, she was ready to step out from home. y/n knew she had a strict routine, but doing mornings on autopilot let her think about more important things, like her daily plans. first destination was the school where coriolanus was, but first, she needed to get her papers after graduating, after that they’re gonna have lunch together, and then, she’ll look for the letters to see if volumnia gaul accepted her application. probably she will, she knows her entire family, how great they are, and she probably heard about y/n herself too. 

“good morning ms. y/l/n, how are you?” lacy, her sister’s maid asked her as she carried the laundry in a big basket through the hallway on the ground floor. 

“i slept well, lacy, thank you. where is my sister?” 

“your sister, morphia went to arrange the flowers and the cake for her marriage. i am so happy for her, ms. y/l/n!” 

y/n couldn’t decide if lacy was truly happy or just acting. but she wasn’t a threat, so y/n didn’t care. 

“me too, lacy.” 

her father was sitting at the head of the table, reading the tabloids, her mother, lorelei was eating some eggs with meat, some gin in her glass on the side. 

“this pheasant is really good, cyril.” she mentioned, looking up to see her youngest child. “oh, my sweet, y/n! good morning.” 

“good morning, mommy.” she said, giving her a kiss on the cheek, going to her father, she waited until he stopped reading the tabloid and looked at her. her father, cyril y/l/n was really strict, but not as strict as crassus snow. once, after her father made her burn the flowers she tore off from their garden and beat her, her mother stroked her cheek, saying “oh, honey, don’t be sad. your father is a good man, not like crassus snow. i think you should be glad that you don’t have him as your father.” so this way, y/n was happy. or so her mother thought. 

“good morning, father.” she told him too, giving him a kiss on the cheek too. she could do that until she was eighteen, after that, only the greeting was acceptable. y/n saw once, when morphia tried to kiss her father when she passed eighteen, she got slapped across the face. but they were happy, weren’t they? 

“how’s your application with gaul?” he asked as y/n sat down. 

“i handed it in yesterday. probably a letter will wait for me in the afternoon.” 

“why, what will you do today?” 

“cyril, i already told you that! your butler even wrote it down for you!” her mother whined, looking at her daughter. y/n took a slice of bread, reaching for the butter and the knife. 

“don’t mind it, mother. i’m going to the school to get my graduating papers, then have lunch with coriolanus, and then–”

“coriolanus snow? that boy and his family are broke, his father was gullible and got killed by the rebellion. why are you humbling yourself in his presence?” 

control. control your face, your hands. y/n’s fist curled around the knife tighter, grabbing it with real force. 

“i know, but he has great talent. and he’s gonna be the next president of panem.” she replied calmly, looking at him. sometimes she fantasized about stabbing him there, at the head of the table. 

“president of panem? y/n, you are so amusing when you say things like this. but i truly hope your words will become reality someday. crassus wasn’t gullible, everybody was afraid through the first rebellion.” his face softened, just as he spoke to a three year old. 

“yes, honey! your father doesn’t doubt you, he’s just amazed at what you are saying.” her mother added, sipping on her gin, batting her lashes. it wasn’t even ten in the morning, as she was already wasted. after eating the slice of bread, y/n stood up, hiding the knife into her sleeve. 

“i’m going out, but i’m gonna be here for the letter. please don’t open up before me.” she asked, making her father look up. 

“hortense is going to bring it to your room.” 

“thank you, father.” 

“honey, you didn’t even touch the caviar and the honey, please eat some more!” 

kissing her mother’s cheek again, y/n looked at her. she got her eyes, her mother was truly beautiful when she was young, acrimonious lips talked cyril only married lorelei because of her looks. nevertheless, the creed family was also noble, y/n only had to bear festus’ horrible personality twice a year, christmas and the reaping. 

“don’t worry mommy, i’ll be fine.” 

she could work easily with an empty stomach, getting back to her room, preparing her bag. looking at the medicines, she put the bottle under her clothes. she didn’t need these pills that made her useless, slow and lazy anyway, she needed something else… and she knew her horrible cousin, festus got that white, powdery thing. grabbing the butterknife from under her sleeve, she touched it. it was the worst knife ever, blunt and short, like some of the fighters in the games. y/n loved her father, respected him and counted on his words, but questioning her and laughing at her, it was the exception if it came to love and respect. and if her father is doubting her again, she will–

funk! well, who thought that people could stick butter knives into the wall? 

arriving at the school, showing her papers that she was a private student, the secretary gave out her graduation stuff. nodding, the secretary told some things, but her mind was focused on finding festus. going to the main hall, everybody whore red, y/n was the only outstander with her black skirt, soft pink blouse and black blazer. every school uniform was truly awful, the capitol is the wealthiest in all panem, couldn’t they make it a little bit more… pleasant? it’s a shame that every fabric is on their hand, available, and still, they style it horrible. nevermind, festus was there, chatting with that bitch arachne and that fucker pliny harrington. 

“hey, festus, hey, everybody. can we talk for a minute?” she turned to her cousin. festus looked at her, smirked, then looked at the others. 

“of course. sorry, it’s only a minute.” he said to them, walking to one of the corners with y/n. leaning to one of the marble piles, he dug his hands into his pockets. “so, what do you want?”

“why are you asking me so pitiless?” y/n blinked at him. for some people, formality in family could seem heartless, but she was relieved that she didn't need to waste her time if she didn't want to.

“you talk to me only if you need something.” 

“me? don’t be ridiculous, i helped with all your assignments in school, what would your mother say if she heard that?” y/n couldn’t be a big gamer if she didn’t knew the connections in her environment perfectly well. seeing how festus’ face became a little bit rigid, she continued. “anyway, i want from that white dust you gave me last time.”

she couldn’t even carve a wider grin on his face, even if she wanted to.

“so you liked it? it’s better than your stupid pills.” y/n had a poker face, but she wondered how he got to know. “you’re not the only one who knows things in the family.” fucker, you don’t even know everything, yet you still play like you’re the most clever. the funny thing is that it ain't what you don't know that gets you into trouble, no. it's what you know for sure that just ain't so.

“i have business somewhere else soon, can i get it or not?”

“it will cost some money, but i am always happy to help my family.” oh, fuck off. y/n reached her hand like she wanted to shake hands with him, and this way, demand and supply met. “if you drink some of it, it’ll be better. you are a crazy bitch y/n, but if snow really will be the president, remember me as one of your biggest supporters.” he smiled. “oh, and volumnia heard some of his great ideas about getting more audience for the games. if you’ll work for her, that ugly power couple thing can be really dangerous.” what ideas? she knew it was a problem that the game wasn't so popular, and he thought that coriolanus wasn’t so interested in that. of course, until now, because big money was at stake, and everybody was prowling around the corner. y/n curled the corner of her lips up under duress, bidding goodbye to festus. she wasn’t gonna take it now, she used it only for emergencies.

now, she could completely focus on coriolanus. where was he? walking to the other long hallway, looking around, he was nowhere despite that they stuck to eleven am yesterday. suddenly, she felt two hands on her shoulder, making her turn. 

“there you are!” there he was. y/n could look at him for an eternity, could he look better under eleven hours? everything about him was perfect, from the way he looked to the point he talked, and y/n almost tasted the sweetness when his mind was forming those clever, great thoughts. and his looks? she knew they could have the most precious children; angel blonde hair, blue eyes, chiseled jawline she could kiss a million times, his body was sculpted by the gods who were looking down on them, and she prayed every night to the deities so they could be each other’s one day. in y/n’s mind, coriolanus wasn’t just a boy or a soon-to-be-man. no, he was the base of everything, he had everything that y/n needed, and y/n was raised truly the best way. nobody else could get in the near of the perfection he formed, and y/n could see the future. the future, where they marry, she is in the longest, most beautiful white dress full with gemstones like rubies, sapphires, diamonds and emeralds, vowing endless loyalty to each other, the whole world is envious of the wealth they have. the future, where he becomes the president of panem, leading the nation with a strong hand and making decisions with a strong mind, while y/n helped to make the games more impressive, more dangerous, more cruel, but first of all, supporting him in everything, even if she has to get her hands dirty. the future, where she was pregnant with his children, naming them ancient names so they could mirror the same noble qualities those deities had, raising them the best way so they could even outgrow them, perfect people. “how was your morning?”

the future they could have. the future they WILL have. 

“hello, corio. mine was pretty good, got my graduating papers. how was your day so far?” 

“it was… good, i guess? this mentoring thing is new for everyone, i spent all night thinking how lucy gray could win.” 

that name, again. keep it cool. 

“i’m sure you will think it out. shall we go and eat lunch?” 

sitting in a gorgeous, golden restaurant, y/n chose a corner for them to sit in. when their food arrived, she waited for him to speak. it seemed like something was itching his mind, and she was one of his best friends, wasn't she? corio looked to the side, then at her, then took a bite from his lunch. let’s break the ice. 

“is everything okay, corio?”

“yes, yes, everything’s fine. is it… on my face?” 

“well, since i…” don’t make it too personal. “...since we know each other so well, i see worry on your face. you can tell me everything.” 

“it’s… it’s gonna be really, really embarrassing for me, but… so, y/n, it’d be my pleasure if… you’d come with me on a date?”

clawing on her thigh, was this reality? was coriolanus really, really asking her out in this glorious place? was she truly worthy of his love? moderating her grin to a smile, she looked at him. he was truly a love-child of an angel and a god, and while y/n was truly a masterpiece herself, it was the biggest honor for her to get into the grace of this guy. now, the idea of the wedding and the best imaginable life wasn’t so far away. did the gods hear her prayers above, and saw the list she created? 

“forget it, y/n, i know i’m not–” coriolanus tried to hush the previous idea with an embarrassed look on his face, but y/n shook her head. obviously, her mind wandered for too long. 

“no, no! of course i’d go on a date with you. with pleasure.” y/n smiled, slowly reaching for his hand that was on the table. they touched each other frequently before, but not like this. she hated a part of herself, the part that could melt under his touch and got dizzy from only his skin. but truly, she could eat it up if she could. 

“oh, okay, well… i just… thought that it’s embarrassing, because you pay for all of this, and–” never let a man’s pride falter. it’s the firewood for the campfire, the pressure for the diamond, the water for the plants. if you feed a man’s ego, he’ll trust and love you. 

“corio, dear, please. i’m not with you because of your money, we can’t do anything about our past and families. and you’re gonna win the plinth-prize, so what are we worrying about?” 

“but–” y/n hushed him gently, playing her finger in front of her lips. 

“i’m sure you will win that prize. why, who else would win it? the daughter of an energy secretary? or a rich, spoiled kid?”

“they are all rich and spoiled.” y/n totally let pass the fact that she was too. but what was the problem with it, really? they couldn’t do anything about it, you can’t decide where you were born. a person can change everything about itself, but not its origin. it always stays with you, clinging onto your ankle, to drag with yourself everywhere. in this life, they got on the winning side of the wheel. and who cares about the next life? 

“but no one’s father is a general, except you. and i know that you didn’t like him, but keep the mindset.” 

“you are so clever, y/n. thank you for always putting my mind into it’s place.”

“i’m just telling the truth. and… how are things with the game? is it hard?” 

“oh, it’s… i still need to figure out some things. but i had some ideas about ways to get people more engaged in the games, like getting them sponsors, or interviewing the tributes so the viewers can get closer to them, pick a favorite, some things like this.” 

“it sounds really interesting, did volumnia hear these things?” as much as she hated festus’ bragging, he also mentioned things that she could use. maybe that’s why everybody got rid of her so fast at a big gathering like the graduation two days ago. she never had ‘juicy tea’ or some things like that, only if she wanted to get something. and when she wanted to get something, the chamber of secrets instantly opened. 

“yeah, well she came in when we were discussing those things. she said that i need to write it down, and then clemensia interrupted that we’ve always worked and brainstormed together, so we can write that together, too.” 

totaling another pen, dovecote? being a tricky bitch, i wasn’t expecting less from you. 

“i think volumnia should know that the idea was yours. clemensia is your good friend, but why wasn’t she just cheering that you got the gamemaker’s attention?” plant the seed. maybe not with clemensia, she will do it for herself, but anyway. coriolanus needed to know the truth. 

“i will talk with her about this.” he won’t. he’s too kind-hearted for it. “and i’ll write down my ideas. anyway, how’s your application for volumnia gaul? did you hand it in?” y/n nodded at his question, chewing on the potatoes. 

“got handed it in yesterday. i really hope if i go home this afternoon, a letter will be waiting for me.” the smile on his face was worth everything. what could that mouth do if there were only the two of them? because she knew what her mouth could do. 

“i’m sure she’ll hire you. one of your thesis got onto her table, remember? the one you wrote about the possible content of venom in mono– and dicotyledons. and if she’s not, then she’s a dingbat.” y/n remembered that thesis, her brain always burned out from the three-day long insomnia. 

“careful, corio! i hope she doesn’t have ears everywhere.” that woman was the queen on her chess table, it was the side that could never be decided. 

all the way home, she thought about coriolanus. y/n gotta hide the grin she was forming with her lips when she was driving home with the chauffeur of the family. all the effort, all the pain… it was worth it. she almost teared up from the joy, but her mascara was really expensive, even her mother thought that it was too rich for their blood.

“is everything alright, miss y/l/n?” helius, their private driver asked, looking into the rear-view mirror. y/n nodded, exhaling and inhaling. big news like this always messed with her head. nodding, everything was perfect. 

stepping inside the house, she raced up to her room immediately. there was the letter, persephone slept beside it. picking it up, y/n used her nails to tear it up. she never waited for news like this. the sooner she knew, the sooner she could got suit in the new situation. 

dear y/n y/l/n, you got accepted…

throwing it away, she instantly picked up persephone, screaming into her fur. persephone meowed, already used to her owner’s insane habits. anyway, the food was tasty in the house, so why not bear it? 

“you hear this, persephone? the lucky star is shining on us.” she whispered to the cat, stroking her head. she couldn't sit back, not now. not when good things, the reward of the hard work could be felt. not when everything worked for her plans. “mother and father will be so happy. and we are happy too, aren't we?” 

y/n didn't know happiness, only when her heart got fast and drug-like feeling curled in her blood. but now, she got to be a predator. a predator who sat for hours, days to catch its prey. when news were coming in, things always changed. she had to be patient, but she couldn't get lazy, not now. not when strange news was coming up. news that didn’t match with her expectations, nowhere, never. news that bathed her soul with venom. news that raised her little game onto a new level. 

a/n: the prologue got so many notes like my tumblr literally BLEW UP thank you so much girliez 😭 i hope you liked this part, more focus will be on corio i just want to size up reader's mindset

take care of yourself babes, love y'all luisa

[donaweasley]

Promises to Keep

Pairing: Geralt x Fem!Reader

Plot:

Geralt is tasked with protecting a princess but his feelings keep poking at him, urging him to shed his tough armour and give in to his heart. But the witcher is a righteous man. He won’t succumb to his feelings so easily. Will he?

Some pining, some fluff that will lead to a “part 2” of this story.

Warnings: A bit of m.at.ure stuff. K.i.d.s better stay away!

Read time: ~15 mins

Note: This story has been based in a timeline before the fall of Cintra, and so, Geralt has not yet started his quest for Ciri. Oh, and he doesn’t fall in love with Yennefer. 😉

Prologue:

Geralt of Rivia has been tasked with many a difficult missions but the hardest of them all was probably not killing but protecting a person. That person was a princess whose parents had specifically called for Geralt to take their daughter under his wing as Nilfgaard marched towards their doorstep.

The princess could fight; she had been in battles but Nilfgaard had morphed into something entirely different from what the Continent had previously seen. It was as though Hell itself had poured into their army, leaving a trail of ash and blood wherever it went.

And so, turning all cries and protests from the said princess to deaf ears, her parents sent her away, in return of an assurance from her that, should their kingdom fall, she would come back and restore it to its glory, flying their banners from every nook and corner.

They knew she could, they had said.

The journey with Geralt had not been easy, moving from camp to camp, from inn to inn, not to mention the complications of his profession. But time gradually made things easier for them both, eventually bringing them to a point where they could comfortably pose as husband and wife so as to protect her identity, and avail a temporary shelter in a village.

And even though they were living a lie of being a married pair, their hearts often wished to forget reality, and enjoy the bliss of domestic life with one another. To be with each other unconditionally, forgetting all rules and boundaries.

But Geralt was a man of ethics, and she did not want him to bear the burden of guilt just because her stupid heart could not stop fluttering for this kind, brave gentleman with a heart of gold!

And thus, neither, for fear of straining what they already had, could ever utter their feelings to each other. After all, they had promises to keep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few months ago:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She hurt herself on the thick leather armour as she flung her arms around his neck. But she did not care. That was a pain she would happily endure if it meant seeing Geralt at her doorstep safe and sound.

He smelled of sweat and blood and the swamp. He probably tasted like it, too. Alright, so what? The man returned after three weeks from the edge of the Continent. And perhaps from the edge of life. She couldn't care less about what he smelled or tasted like. But did he really…? She was very close to confirming her assumption - almost there - when Geralt suddenly remembered his place: the protector of the princess, a mere witcher.

“Princess,” the rich baritone vibrating in her ear woke her up from her purple dream. She could not help but lean back when she found her “husband” doing the same.

Geralt spread his arms slightly, and smiled with that usual softness in his eyes that came to the forefront only when she was around. “Safe and sound. Just like I had promised.”

“I am honoured!” She jested, and stepped inside, making room for Geralt to do the same.

“Give me a minute. I'll draw a bath for you. And once you have cleaned that mess off you, you'll have a warm dinner waiting,” she smiled and turned to make her way to the bath when Geralt gently but firmly held her wrist.

Neither could deny the spark that coursed through their veins at the contact. But neither would confess. Involuntarily, the witcher’s thumb made faint circles over her veins. Once he realised what he was doing, he slowly released her but their fingers lingered over the other’s before finally making some room between them.

Geralt pleaded with her to stop fussing over it all but the woman was ecstatic! Who could stop her from doing everything she could for the man she was falling in love with! Not even the strongest witcher.

And so, she hopped away to prepare a warm bath for him while he busied himself with the relieving task of removing his armour and weapons.

Geralt lay in the bath, pondering over the unsaid things that have been passing between the princess and him. Especially the ones that happened that evening. They had never been this close before, and it only made his breath shallower every time he thought about it. His mind wandered away unleashed every time his drunken heart slipped into fantasies of what could have happened had he not pulled away from her embrace…or what might happen if he allowed himself a bit more liberty with his feelings…

A gentle knock on the door startled him, bringing him back to the reality of the small room lit by two candles, back to the fact that the woman living under the same roof with him was his mission, not his real wife, as the villagers knew her to be. There was no way a witcher could dream of having a wife and a family, let alone with a princess!

“Need anything?” The voice was gentle, happy…it was caring. It made Geralt smile to think that someone cared so deeply for him, that he was actually having a domestic life, even though a fake one.

“Your company would be nice,” he quipped.

Geralt grinned wickedly. He did not need to see her to know the blush creeping up her ears and cheek.

Over the months their relationship - real or fake, whatever that was - had built into a strong bond, one that was made of cares, banters, challenges, huffs (and not just from the witcher), puns of all kinds and fluttering heartbeats. And though neither backed down during the banters or the puns, either one of them definitely ended up with blood rushing up their cheeks.

(Y/N) bit her lip and rolled her eyes. Two could play this game. Taking a deep breath, she cracked the door open. It startled Geralt, and she could tell it without seeing his wide eyes and parted lips.

“I believe you have a lot to talk about from your adventure?” She slowly walked in, eyes straining to look anywhere but at him.

She did not receive an immediate response. How could she! Geralt was spellbound by the boldness of this woman! It was inspired by his own recent boldness, perhaps, he wondered.

He cleared his throat, “Indeed.”

She picked up a small wooden stool, and sat with her back to him. “You were saying?”

“I would detail everything but are you sure you can stomach all that? And before dinner?”

Glimpses from his previous tales crept back, and she gulped at the gory imaginations that his words had painted in her head. Perhaps she could not. But would she confess? No!

“I’m tougher than you think, witcher.”

This was their usual way of addressing each other: “Witcher”, with a sarcastic stress in the middle of the word, and “Princess”, with a vanity enveloping the word.

When they had set out for their journey, she had requested him not to call her “princess”. “I have a name, and I would like to be addressed by it,” she had insisted. But Geralt had decided on maintaining his propriety.

When asked whether he would like to be addressed as Geralt or Witcher, he had simply mumbled, “Whatever you like, Princess.”

“Witcher it is then.”

And that has ever been going on, until recently when some rare moments witnessed them addressing each other by their names, and not what they were to the world.

In the small bathroom now, she heard a slosh behind her, signalling the rise of the large man from his bath. She tried her best to stop her shameless mind from picturing his wet body, dripping with water as he stood and stepped out of the tub, as he reached for the towel nearby and dried himself with it before wrapping it low around his waist. But the quiet of the night made sure that every little sound and movement reached her ears, leaving her a slave to her unabashed imagination.

Geralt grunted, the sound coming from right above her head.

“I know you can’t take it…Princess,” the last word was practically breathed on the shell of her ear.

Leaving her a total mess, Geralt sauntered out of the bathroom with a promise to indulge her in his stories after dinner.

That night, in the faint light of the moon, nimble fingers traced the contours of the witcher’s face as he slept - brows slightly arched, lips parted, face as serene as a dawn in Spring. She watched him breathe peacefully, devoid of the cares of the world, until a small smile cracked at a corner of his mouth. With eyes still closed, he placed a hand on hers and brought it to his lips. A chaste kiss was all it was, and yet it had her heart thundering. He had never - ever - shown any affection other than soft looks and gentle smiles.

“Sleep princess,” he rasped in a sleepy voice.

He opened his eyes once, to watch her smile at him, before holding her hand snuggly and drifting back to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Present day:

The sound of the door cracking open brought her back to the present. Quickly slipping a little more below the soapy water, she gripped the hilt of her sword.

It was Geralt. The moment he set one foot inside, his eyes went wide. It took him hardly a second to swing on his heels, to look away, but the sinful image had planted itself in his head. Probably for eternity.

“Pardon me. I…I did not know… I thought you were done. I just returned from outside; I did not notice that you were not anywhere else. I…”

“Geralt!” His name. She spoke his name! That, along with her soothing tone put an abrupt end to his string of stammering apologies. “It’s alright. I know you had no ill intentions.”

Shifting uncomfortably on his feet for a couple of seconds, he asked, “Do you need anything?”

Her lips stretched into a smirk as she recalled an old conversation that had occurred under very similar circumstances.

“Your company would be nice,” she quipped, just like Geralt had a few months ago.

The witcher recognised the joke immediately. A small smile escaped his usual serious features.

“I believe you have a lot to talk about your first kill,” he jested just like she had back then.

The sigh that filled the room made Geralt wonder if he had said something uncalled for. She was shaken by the incident but if she was making jokes now, she must be recovering. Right?

“(Y/N),” Geralt called without looking at her, “are you alright?”

“No, if truth be told,” came the confession.

He understood. Keeping his gaze focused on the floor, he took a few large steps until he was standing near the foot of the tub. In one smooth move, he was sitting on the floor with his back to her.

There was something about Geralt that made her feel protected all the time. Even in her most exposed and vulnerable state, she felt safe and comfortable with him around. And it was not just the love she felt for him. It was something else. It was something…very “Geralt”.

“The monsters we kill haunt our minds till long after. You never get used to it no matter how many kills you have made,” he sighed.

(Y/N) listened quietly. He was a man of few words, and at most times it seemed as though he was not even listening. But he always understood every single unexpressed emotion, every single unsaid word that she carried within her.

“Every time I close my eyes or every time I hear something, fear grips me,” she shivered at the thought. “You are right. I'm haunted by its memory, and … I cannot seem to shake the thoughts off. No matter how hard I try! I cannot even be courageous enough to convince myself that it is all in my head!” She slapped the water in frustration.

Unlike the witcher, killing monsters was not her profession nor did she volunteer for it. But what she did volunteer for was accompanying Geralt to a trip to the river caves for some herbs. Despite the witcher’s efforts to shield her inside the safety of their home, she managed to argue her way out of the proverbial safety net. Which is what led to the unforeseen event of her first close encounter with one of the many monsters that had become part of Geralt’s life. It also led her to, for the first time, being at the receiving end of Geralt’s fury for risking her life .

‘You were very courageous back there,” Geralt smiled at the memory of her driving her sword through the neck of the drowner, thus saving his own neck in the process.

“I had to be! Couldn’t just stand there and watch my favourite grumpy fellow die!” She jested about it but a shiver ran up her spine as she spoke. “It was disgusting, you know? I can still feel all the blood and slime on my skin.”

“It was also very brave. You saved my life!”

He had thought that his statement would make her proud but he was met with silence.

She spoke after a while. “You do know that I shall not be able to live anymore if something happens to you, don’t you? I shall only survive.”

Geralt’s heart suddenly felt very heavy in his chest. What she said was known information to him. Somewhere in his soul, he knew that she loved him. But to hear it aloud was totally unexpected.

“I shall be fine, princess,” he used his most assuring voice. “Do not worry about me.”

Unseen by him, a smile formed on her countenance. “I know, witcher.”

“Maybe we could talk about something else?” He suggested. “Take your mind off the monster?”

“Hmm… How is Jaskier?” She suddenly asked.

Geralt almost turned his head towards her in surprise. Almost. She was naked, having a bath, and the first “something else” that came to her mind was the bard??

“Jaskier?” He asked. “You wish to talk about Jaskier now?”

“Well, you wanted to talk about something else!”

Was that jealousy that she was sensing in his huffs? She hoped it was.

“He must be fine. I do not know.” He ended the topic as quickly as it had begun.

“Hmm.”

The princess laid her head back on the tub and closed her eyes. There was a comfortable silence. So comfortable that she did want to leave, did not want to do anything that might disturb the moment. Even though it was getting late. Even though Geralt still had to wash himself.

Geralt still has to wash himself! Shit! He must be hungry!

Her eyes shot open. “I’m sorry, I forgot you have to wash up, too! I shall be quick.”

The sudden splash of water pulled Geralt out of his own reverie, inadvertently causing him to turn around so as to ask her not to hurry. But the sight before him left him speechless. It was fortunate that she was too busy to see him else he would never have been able to face her in shame. Geralt turned back and shut his eyes as soon as he snapped out of his trance. But that did nothing to erase the image imprinted in his mind. Not that he wanted to.

She had pulled herself up slightly, as she tried to reach for the towel on the nearby stool. In the light of the candles, her body glowed golden as water cascaded off every curve of her body… down the side of her neck, her shoulders, two perfect globes that highlighted particularly well in the candlelight, perky nipples that had hardened in the water, the beginning of a lustful waist…

He did not hear her step out of the tub, did not hear the rustle of clothes as she got dressed, no. His mind was replaying the same thing over and over again. There was an evident twitch somewhere down his body. He faintly heard something about dinner and changing the water. The creak of the door pulled him back.

“I shall…” His voice was hoarse. “I shall change the water. You may leave.”

The change in his mannerism surprised her but then both his voice and attitude were gravelly most of the time. With a small “alright”, she exited, leaving him to his thoughts.

Dinner was quiet as Geralt tried to suppress the feelings bubbling inside him. He wanted to look at her and lose himself in her eyes. He wanted to tell her how he felt. Wanted to show her what it meant to unleash months of bridled love that he had been carrying within his entire being. He wanted to…

Gods! There were so many things that he wanted to do. But every time he talked himself into taking one step forward, his reality made him take two steps back.

And so, once again, he retired to bed without telling her anything at all about the whirlwind in his heart.

Geralt woke up sometime in the middle of the night, sensing some movements near him. Once sleep stopped fogging his senses, he realised that it was (Y/N) tossing and turning beside him in her sleep. Not only was she being restless, she was mumbling something incoherent that only got louder with her movements. It hardly took him a couple of seconds to realise that she was having a nightmare!

Geralt tried to wake her up: called her name, shook her. But she was trapped deep in her own head. He thought he heard something like his name but could not be sure. Seeing his efforts go in vain, he took her face in both hands and shouted her name while shaking her once more. He wasn’t sure if it would work but luckily, it did. With wild eyes she stared at him, as if trying to figure out where she was, trying to put up a wall between her horrid imagination and sweet reality. When she finally came around, she threw her arms around Geralt’s neck, causing him to tumble to the mattress with her below. Once again, he fought with himself as a wave of relief washed over him, eventually crashing into a strong desire to keep her encased in his arms and caress her for the remainder of the night.

“I dreamt that you were…” she almost sobbed. “That I had…” She couldn’t bring those bitter words to her tongue.

Geralt understood.

“You will never lose me. I shall always be by your side. I promise.”

In the dark veil of the night, in those weak moments, he made her a promise that even he did not know how he would keep, for she would be married to some royalty some day; she would have to go away, leaving him with his solitude and monsters. He could not keep her to himself nor could he watch her be with somebody else.

But that was a worry for another day. Right then, she was in his arms, and no one else’s. Even if for a moment, she was his. He lay on his side and pulled her to his chest. A hand cradled her head, drawing soothing lines through her hair, until her warm breath on his skin had become stable.

Geralt never seeked help or answers from the gods; he did not believe in them. But as he kissed the crown of her head that night, his lips prayed for her safety and happiness, and if possible, for her to be bound to him for eternity.

He knew he was being selfish. He did not know who heard his prayers or even if there was someone who might hear them. But he whispered them anyway, believing that it was the only way to make his wishes come true.

***

[queer-ragnelle]

could you please elaborate on how anachronisms are a feature not a bug? It's probably an issue of "kill the cop in your head" but despite knowing others have done it I find it difficult to accept *I* can mix elements from 1200s france and 600s england (for example).

The Arthurian literary tradition has never been Historical Fiction. Ever. And for many, it's not a detriment, but part of the appeal!

Sure, there are some Arthurian books that set out to be Historical Fiction, that is, pinpoint the era during which their story takes place and sticking to it. They may include historical figures to help immerse the story in that era. That's all well and good. But those stories contain anachronisms. Arthurian Legend has always "mixed elements" of the author's current era with their limited understanding of the past, it has always contained magic, it has always contained characters firmly cemented in mythos that were never considered to have really existed. It's a literary tradition built upon the stories which came before, not a transcription of factual events because we frankly don't even know squat about who Arthur "really was," if he existed at all.

I understand your perspective, I really do. I briefly had an editor who suggested female knights weren't Historically accurate so I should write them out. Gromer and Merlin both perform magic in the prologue, the events pertaining to the Green Knight are mentioned, but gender-neutral language when referring to knights (who this editor insisted should all be cis men) was a step too far. Around the same time, I had a sensitivity reader suggest that Gawain wasn't racist enough to Ragnelle (a Persian woman) and he should call her, his future wife, in my queer romance book, "a savage." Hand to my heart Anon that's a quote I had to read on my manuscript with my own two eyes. And I say to these people, "Are you lost?" Because even though I disclosed the nature of my books before letting these people read it, clearly it wasn't a good match. Literally kill the cop in your head and protect yourself from anyone who makes it more difficult by insinuating the Historical accuracies should be upheld, especially as it pertains to misogyny or racism. Excuse my French, fuck them and fuck that.

This hesitation to write "mixed elements" can come from the false idea a "true" or "objective" way to write within a Historical Era exists. There simply isn't. Unless you have a time machine, you will inevitably rely on anachronisms to bridge gaps both narratively and because the information simply doesn't exist.

Let's use your example to talk about narrative anachronisms first. Say you're writing in 600s Britain (since England didn't exist yet) but you want your character to stand in the stirrups. Ah nuts, they didn't have stirrups yet! That's okay. We're gonna borrow the stirrups from 1200s French version of the stories so your character can do what they need to do. Persia Woolley did this exact thing in her first book Child of the Northern Spring; she wrote Palomides into the story as a means for the Round Table to receive stirrups from the East and this upgrade is something which gave Arthur's knights an edge over others. Another instance could be women riding sidesaddle. Generally speaking, it was meant to keep women's knees together for the sake of modesty, but it also made sense from a practical standpoint as riding astride with ankle-length skirts was cumbersome and simply never done... or was it?

My good friend Alisoun from The Wife of Bath rides astride! Geoffrey Chaucer you madlad!! So while the general Historical fact, that women rode sidesaddle, still stands, they did so except when they didn't! Is this used to mark Alisoun, a fictional woman, as unconventional? Yeah, duh. So it would still be Historically accurate to have the majority of women riding sidesaddle. Alisoun can do things real women of this era weren't allowed to. But the point is this illumination casts doubt on the idea such a thing was unheard of. A woman riding astride wasn't automatically descended upon by a mob that stoned her to death. You can write her riding astride and no misogyny happens. The same could be said for female or transmasc knights, as I explained here. So you can write in a reason why this specific anachronism is present in your story, (Palomides brought the stirrups, Alisoun is a bad bitch who does what she wants, Marine and Silence are proof of GNC knights, etc). It might put you at ease about including it.

But you simply cannot do it for everything. You would spend more time reassuring the reader you're aware of the inaccuracies than you would be telling your story. Every Historical Fiction author in the world can corroborate this.

Even the most serious and intensely research heavy Historical Fiction will contain anachronisms. It's literally impossible to be 100% accurate. Let's say you scour contemporary sources like letters or writings, you're still forced to interpret those either through the inevitably biased author and/or whoever translated it (their word choice, what passages they omitted, etc). (I had to navigate this myself while researching Iranian Zoroastrians through Arabic-written sources, ie, the conquerors' interpretation of the people they sought to eradicate. On top of that, the text is then translated into English for me to read it. The document I end up researching from becomes many steps removed from authenticity, and yet it's all there is; the Avestan or Persian language texts with first hand accounts are scant to none, and also translated into English.)

Best case scenario: you have an artifact, in hand. You can still only glean so much from something that's degraded over many years, something that may be an outlier in and of itself, the authenticity of which could only be corroborated through the help of an expert, someone who is, just like you, living in the present and must make educated guesses with the resources available (carbon dating, context clues, chemical testing of materials, etc).

So sure, you could read in the documentation that this Historical figure had a mustache. A comb alleged to be used for facial grooming was found, which may lend weight to the supposed accuracy of the writings. But unless the documentation also says what color the mustache was, and the length, and the style, and during what point in this person's life they wore the mustache, and whether they also had side burns and beard, your interpretation is based on an inference and likely anachronistic. Even if you have a really detailed text, that's one source. That Medieval author could be a big liar! Maybe they got carried away embellishing their favorite king! Or they cut out the parts which made their favorite king look bad! Or they slanderously depicted their enemy king as depraved to make their favorite look even better by comparison! Every writer has their own agendas. We have no way of knowing the extent of it!

Now I want to circle back to anachronisms that aren't tied to a story element but perhaps something as simple as bridging cultural gaps or practical means in the story itself. By that I mean you cannot know every detail of their lives. What exactly did their Church services look like? How exactly did the nobles' spirituality differ from the lower class? We cannot know for certain and will inevitably fill in the blanks with what we understand of Christianity today. You will more than likely include foods they didn't eat out of necessity because the resources are so scarce or limited or for your own sanity. In book 2, I wrote Agravaine describing something to Ragnelle as "the color of a carrot." Well. They didn't have carrots back in 6th century Britain. They were imported through trade with the East which was a long time coming yet when Agravaine said this. Early Medieval people had other root vegetables, but what were they called? What color were they? Certainly not neon orange carrots thick as the hilt of a sword like we have today. But I left this in anyway because it's a single line. It's so brief as to be insignificant, it's meant to quickly call to mind a color the reader can identify easily. It works on a subtextual level as well since Ragnelle, a Persian woman, would know what a carrot is in the 6th century. So it's only half anachronistic. To me.

On the other hand, in book 1, Gawain and co are in Persia. There Owain and Gaheris eat peaches for the first time. They call them "stone fruit," as they've encountered other fruits with pits, but not these. Gromer, a native, explains they're called "peaches" and they come from China (a place he has personally visited, so he knows). None of these words would've been in Medieval dialogue, but the History of that fruit, which we now call a "peach," is sound. Because it's a moment of cultural connection, and Owain is shown carving peach pits for the rest of the book, and still doing so in book 2, grounding this in as close to Historically sound facts as I could was important.

Now if Owain wanted to bring that peach pit back to Britain and grow a peach tree for his wife Laudine, could that happen? Well, Britain's weather conditions are not at all appropriate for it and the soil probably isn't right and he's not exactly known to have a green thumb. But anachronisms are a feature, not a bug. It's not an "inaccuracy" to write this successful endeavor because I did it on purpose! It is "accurate" to my story! Not an oversight, but a creative choice made with intention. Now I've extended the use of the "prop" and maintained that cultural connection I went out of my way to include. Perhaps later, once Ragnelle has settled at Camelot, she would enjoy a piece of fruit from her homeland as a gift from Laudine. Now the whole thing has come full circle and become enmeshed with the story in such a way the readers won't say "Hey! How does Laudine have a functioning green house in 6th century Britain? That's absurd!" Yeah, well, not any more absurd than Owain's pet lion or his battle with a dragon.

I think this is perfectly okay to do even if you don't have the magical elements. Nothing in the exchange about carrots relies on fantasy. The peaches don't either, not until there's suddenly a functioning greenhouse made of perfect panes of glass. People did travel great distances even in that era. You're not obligated to point to a specific instance of this thing happening Historically for it to be valid in your story. Arthurian authors have literally never been concerned with that. More importantly, neither have the readers! But there are exceptions to many of the "rules" or preconceived notions Historically which can help support your narrative choices if you desire to seek them some of the time. You have a few Modern Arthurian authors writing Historical Fiction, but Bernard Cornwell also included magic and a ton of characters from the Mabinogion, Edward Frankland did the same with Gwalchmai and Olwen, and Henry Treece wrote Cuneglas so strong he could T-pose with two grown men standing on each arm as a display of his strength. Push those boundaries, everyone is! It's fun!

Reading more will help. You'll be able to see what your boundary of anachronisms are. What irks you while reading? What did you notice as inaccurate and not care about? What anachronisms did you enjoy best? Researching a lot will also help. Get a very thorough understanding of the era and location you intend to write in. Then you'll better understand where the gaps in knowledge lies and what you'll have to add anachronistically to fill them. I assure you no one is going to be angry if you write Gringolet as a big beautiful stallion instead of a more Historically accurate little fluffy pony. You'll drive yourself crazy if you get hung up on every detail.

That's all I got. Arthurian Legend frees you from this "Historically accurate" headache. If you're still having trouble, perhaps ask yourself if you what you actually want to be writing is Historical Fiction instead. That's totally cool too! But nobody who enjoys Arthurian Legend is concerned whatsoever with Historical accuracy and you shouldn't be either. So write whatever pleases you! Take care, I hope that helps clear things up a little. :^)

[noisycroissant]

Our Sweet Wife (Bonus chapter)

Nanami Kento x F!Reader x Toji Fushiguro

Prologue

********

Your head felt hazy. Breaths coming in small pants, you felt sweat bead and roll down your spine. You felt your hair sticking to your forehead, you think your legs will give away soon.

But Toji doesn't relent.

He keeps his pace. His hard cock driving into you at a staccato, his strong arms holding you up against the wall.

"You have the most perfect pussy, princess," he drawls in your ear, each word punctuated by a thrust and snap of his hips. You cling onto him, wrapping your legs around his waist, two people so impossibly close together that it was a miracle there was space for him to pull his cock out before driving it back in.

"Are you in here, my love?"

Your head snaps towards the door as Kento opens it, taking in the debauched scene happening in the bathing chamber of your shared quarters.

"Fucking hell, Kento. You wouldn't believe how she tightened up when she heard your voice," Toji says continuing to fuck his cock into you.

Kento holds your gaze as he asks, "Is that true, my love? Do I have that effect on you even though it's his cock giving you pleasure?"

You nod dumbly as Kento moves and kisses you deeply. Toji chooses that exact moment to swipe circles around your clit, leaving you undone in their arms.

"My turn, darling," Kento whispers against your lips before turning and leaving towards the bedroom. You can feel Toji's smirk against your neck as he says, "Let's get you cleaned up, princess."

*******

Twenty minutes later Toji carries you to your bedroom.

"Toji, sit back against the headboard and hold our sweetheart to your chest," Kento instructs.

"Oh you're in for fun, princess," Toji teases as he sets the both of you up as told.

"Now hold her open."

Toji hooks each of your legs over each of his and holds you open. You blush fiercely as you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror on the wall opposite your bed.

Spread open, your folds clearly seen, body held flush by strong arms with wandering fingers. You could feel yourself getting wetter.

Kento moves onto the bed, taking you by surprise as he kisses you fiercely. His hand moves to your pussy, thumb gently stroking along your folds, collecting your sweet juices. He breaks the kiss and holding your gaze, licks his thumb clean.

"Sweetest thing in our life," he murmurs before he dives down to devour your pussy. His tongue moves up and along the inner fold before licking a circle around your clit and following down to your opening.

You mean wantonly and arch into Toji's chest. Toji cups your plush tits, his fingers start rolling your puckered nipples expertly.

The room comes alive with the wet sounds of Kento eating you out, broken intermittently by the sounds of your moaning and pleading.

"Kento...I'm going to cum...Please I'm going to cum," you beg. Kento simply moves to suck your clit hard and you fill his mouth with your release, shuddering in Toji's arms.

You open your eyes to see Kento wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. "She's all yours, brother," says Toji as he moves to sit on the armchair near your bed.

In one move, Kento has you flipped onto your hands and knees. "You're ready for me, aren't you, princess?" You hum in approval as you feel Kento's cock, hot and thick, push into your wetness.

"So fucking tight, my love," Kento whispers in your ear, then moves to grip your hips tightly as he fucks you. You take each pounding thrust as it brings you closer and closer to another orgasm, when your eyes fall on Toji.

Toji, sitting spread out on the armchair, watching you get fucked. While his hand works his cock, his eyes never leave yours.

"You're right, Toji. She tightens up if she's being watched," Kento chuckles.

"C'mere sweetheart," Kento says as he moves to sit on the edge of the bed. He seats you onto his cock and holding your legs up, starts fucking into you.

All the while facing Toji who'd started stroking his cock faster.

"You like being watched? You like us taking turns to use this sweet cun?" Answer me, princess, or you don't get to cum," Kento warns as his bounces get sloppier and sloppier.

"Yes YES PLEASE... Kento, I love it... Please I need you to use me," you beg incoherently as you feel the coil snap, body trembling as the orgasm takes you.

You feel Kento's pants get harsher as he spills himself inside you and open your eyes just in time to see Toji standing in front of you, ropes of cum spurting from his cockhead to splash onto your chest.

"If you wish to be used by us, princess, all you had to do was ask," says the green-eyed man, the scar across his lips stretching with his smile.

*******

[azrielslightintheshadows]

Princess

Azriel x Reader

One of the series I'm currently working on, hope you enjoy it.

Princess masterlist

General masterlist

Summary; Reader is Mor’s new friend that she found in the winter court while she was away for business. Y/n has been raised as a princess since her parents wanted to wed her to a noble fae in order to climb the social ranks. When her parents are brutally murdered y/n is left alone without a clue about the harsh reality or the brutality of the world. Mor finds her and takes her back to Velaris afraid of what might happen to her if she was left to live on her own. Will y/n survive the hate she will receive from certain members of the inner circle -including her mate- regarding the way she grew up?

Warnings; angst, mentions of abuse and death, description of reader.

Prologue

Y/n felt like she would pass out any moment now, the iron smell of blood filled her senses, her stomach twisting and the tears pouring down her face like a stream.

She couldn’t see the bodies, the guards of the winter court were standing in front of her shielding the view, she didn’t know if she wanted to thank them or curse them out for keeping her from seeing her parents one last time. A lady doesn’t curse. Her mother’s words ringed in her ears. A lady is polite.

She closed her eyes and took a few steps back exiting the house.

“We will take them now” a guard told her, and she nodded in response.

She was shopping dresses for the ball her cousin had invited her to. It was the perfect opportunity to meet high ranked faes her mother had told her. Guilt filled her body, she should’ve been there, with them. Who would do that? Enter a small cottage to steal… everyone knew that her family was poor, and when her father managed to sell some of the vegetables they grew in the covered part of their garden -so snow wouldn’t ruin them-, all the money would be used to buy clothes for her. Her parents always called her their saviour. She was beautiful, almost black hair, eyes sweet and brown like honey, gold in the sun. High cheekbones and full lips. She was a stunning female and that meant they could wed her to a noble fae thus she was their saviour. Ever since she was a little girl, she was trained to be a good wife, her only skills were keeping the house clean, cooking and being gentle and obedient. What would she do now? She wasn’t trained for anything else. She smoothed her dress and turned her back when the guards carried her parent’s bodies away from the house. The females of her street entered her house, rugs in their hands and buckets filled with water and essential oils to clean and take care of the smell. She always helped everyone in need and now it was time for them to pay her back for her kindness.

She didn’t know how long she stayed outside, snowflakes landing on her face leaving a rosy shade as they melted. She was used to the cold, it was even comforting for her. When the females were done cleaning, she walked inside nodding her head at the looks of pity she received. Her house was spotless, not a hint of the brutal act that took place there a few hours ago. She noticed that someone had even baked a pie for her. Her mouth watered but as she approached the pie she only felt nauseous, how could she eat right now? She shook her head and sat on the couch staring at the snow outside from the window there.

The next morning found her in the same spot, her tears had dried. She stood up and walked to the kitchen. You need to eat; males prefer healthy females who can carry their heirs. Her mother’s words again.  She stared at the cold pie and ignoring her nausea she took a bite. She finished her food and cleaned the kitchen. She had to get to the ball, that’s what her parents wanted. So, with a deep breath she walked to the bathing room and stripped her clothes, the water was cold but she didn’t mind, she was numb. When she was done, she walked into her room, the dress she bought was laying on her bed, probably one of the females found it where she dropped it and left it here. After getting dressed and pulling her hair in a high bun she stared her reflection in the small mirror of her room. She looked good, only her eyes were dull, but she was sure no one would notice, males didn’t care about those things as long as she had a smile plastered on her face.

It would take a few hours to get to the big house where the ball was held. Her cousin was waiting for her outside in her small carriage. She smoothed the dress and left the house not looking back. No one was standing back there waving goodbye and wishing her luck anymore. As she climbed into the carriage her cousin had a sad smile on her face, she ignored her and made herself comfortable. The ride was filled with silence and after a few hours they arrived. Y/n was staring the house in awe, it was a beautiful three-story building with a huge garden. They were in the middle of the forest, the snowy trees only making the scene more magical.

The inside of the house was just as magnificent, everything decorated with gold ornaments, the floor so shiny someone could think it was a mirror. Blending in wasn’t that hard for y/n after all she was trained to be anything a male would want, a glass of wine in her hand, a sweet smile on her face and….as she turned to walk around she was met with a hard body, spilling her wine on the male’s feet.

“Watch where you’re fucking going” he hissed. He looked the same age as her, blond hair, blue eyes but filled with spite.

“I’m so sorry” she stuttered.

“Clean the mess you created. Now.” He ordered and she quickly grabbed the nearest cloth she could find, kneeling in front of him to clean his shoes.

“What the hell are you doing” a female voice said from behind. Y/n turned around slowly. Relief filled her face when she noticed the blonde female staring at him and not her.

“Why do you care” he growled.

The female grabbed y/n hand and pulled her so she was standing.

“Next time I see you treating a woman like that it will be your last day on this world” she said in a calm voice that sent shivers down y/n’s spine. The male paled and hurried off to his friends.

“Girl what was that?” the blonde asked her wide eyed.

“I spilled my wine on him…. It was my fault” y/n muttered.

“He would get over it, just an apology was enough” she scoffed. “I’m Mor by the way”

“Y/n. And I just wanted to please him, he could be a nice husband”.

Mor blinked. A look of horror when she realized that y/n was one of the girls trained to be perfect wives. Kallias had informed her about those types of girls and how he was planning to stop it.

“Cauldron boil me, who trained you like that?”

“My parents” y/n replied, her bottom lip trembled. “They were murdered yesterday” she continued.

Mor stared at y/n, her heart filled with rage.

“Do you have anyone else?”

“No… but I’m trying to find a husband like my parents wanted me to.”

“Okay, you’re coming with me. I’m not leaving you here alone with all these brutes” Mor replied making y/n gasp.

“Where?” she asked bitting her bottom lip. She was nervous but her eyes flashed with excitement.

“To the night court” and with that Mor grabbed her hand and darkness swallowed them.

When the darkness disappeared, they fell into a big balcony.

“Sorry I forgot to tell you about the drop” Mor smiled apologetically.

“It’s okay” y/n replied and turned to see the view. A beautiful city laid beneath them, buildings crafted out of white marbles and townhouses with green copper roofs and white chimneys. A river that started from the top of the hills and ended in the sea. The city was full of light and noise, y/n didn’t think that a city could be this beautiful without snow. She kept staring not daring to blink in case she missed anything. Mesmerizing. The only word that came into her mind. Mor was grinning next to her, amused by the way the young female was frozen in her spot, her eyes wide and a small smile on her face.

“By the way, stop being so okay with everything” Y/n snapped her head to Mor caught off guard when the blonde spoke. “You were okay with leaving with a stranger, and also okay when said stranger dropped you on a balcony endangering your life since you weren’t ready” Mor continued.

“I’m just being polite” y/n responded frowning. The blonde female just shook her head and started walking. They were met with glass doors that led into a dining room where several faeries were sitting enjoying their food and wine. All eyes were on y/n in an instant.

Mor cleared her throat. “Hello everyone, I brought some company” Y/n immediately felt uncomfortable, everyone was dressed so casually and here she stood in a pink dress of tulle, the skirt floating around her like a tent.

“This is y/n” Mor spoke again, and the female straightened her posture not sure if anyone spoke in the meantime when she was lost in her thoughts.

“I’m Rhysand” one of the males spoke and Y/n almost choked on air.

“The high lord of the night court Rhysand?” her hands were shaking, and she now regretted the choice to follow Mor here. Everyone burst into laughter by her reaction.

Rhysand smiled “And this is my high lady Feyre, her sisters Nesta and Elain, Cassian the General and commander of my armies, Amren my second in command and Azriel my spymaster.”

Y/n’s eyes were frantic from one face to another but what finally caught her attention was the hazel eyes of the spymaster, she studied him, her eyes moving from his face to his wings and hands -scarred hands. He caught her and removed his hands from the table, her face burned in embarrassment, and she moved her gaze back to Rhysand who kept staring at her waiting for what she had to say.

“Uhm my name is y/n, I’m from the winter court” she stuttered.

Rhysand’s gaze turned to Mor who finally spoke again “She was raised to be a good wife and her parents were murdered yesterday so you can understand why I think she needs protection.” Azriel snorted and Nesta gave him a questioning look “That means she was raised like a princess the worst thing she ever did was washing a dish probably and she has no idea about the world outside her pink bubble” he explained. Nesta’s face hardened and y/n stared at her shoes. “And dear Mor decided to bring her here to protect her without asking anyone first” he continued and stood up abandoning his food as he disappeared into the hall.

“Please excuse Azriel” Feyre spoke “He has been through a lot, you are welcome to stay here as long as you wish for, let me show you the guest rooms”

“Thank you” she replied and followed Feyre. The last thing she heard was Mor reassuring Rhysand that she wasn’t a threat.

Now she entirely regretted following a stranger, but she knew that in order to survive in this world she needed to stay here even if Azriel and Nesta made her life a nightmare.

Just a thought I had yesterday. Do you think I should continue this story?

[hysteria-things]

༄ PROLOGUE ☼

ʚ♡ɞ 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 | 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 ʚ♡ɞ

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: matt x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: greece is your family’s number one vacation destination. you meet a boy there, being oblivious to what your future holds with him.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: TOOTH ROTTING FLUFF, crying

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 631

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: GUYS I’M SO EXCITED FOR THIS SERIES YOU HAVE NO IDEA

the heat from the sun beams down on your skin. your family goes on a vacation to greece every year in the summer, and you must say, it’s your favorite time of year.

to be more specific, the island is called skopelos.

the three of you stay in the same hotel each year. it looks a bit run down, but in reality, it’s beautiful.

it’s owned by an older woman, who your parents befriended for how many times you’ve been to this place.

hotel villa donna is made full of white brick, with a blue roof and green vines with more gorgeous flowers decorating the walls.

it has a big courtyard and a handful of rooms surrounding it. despite it being smaller than an average hotel, it’s perfect.

the view of the beach and the main dock is breathtaking, the water traveling far and wide. at night, the fairy lights make it look dimly lit and calm.

currently, you’re laying on that same beach in your bathing suit with your eyes closed, getting a nice tan.

the waves and the conversations of other people flood your ears, the squawking of seagulls above you.

“oomph!” you huff out when an object lands hard on your stomach.

“way to go, chris. you hit the poor girl.” a voice yells in the distance.

“oh, shut up, nick.” another voice, who you’re assuming is chris, argues back.

a shuffling of sand gets more intense as if it’s moving close to you.

you take off your sunglasses, squinting your eyes at the boy hovering above and grabbing the soccer ball.

“i am so sorry for my idiot brother. are you okay?” he asks worriedly, his blue orbs widening in concern.

his damp brunette hair blows in the wind, cheeks red from a little sunburn. he’s handsome.

“it’s all good.” you giggle, sitting up. “it didn’t hurt me or anything.”

he sighs of relief. “thank god. i’m matt, by the way.”

you smile. “y/n.”

“isn’t it crazy that we’ve been together for six years?” matt says, swinging your hand in his as you walk to… wherever.

matt said he had a surprise for you, but insisted you’d be blindfolded for it. you know you’re outside because the grass tickles your ankles.

“yeah, i know.” you start, following his guidance. “all because chris hit me with a soccer ball.”

he laughs, letting go of your hand. “matt? where’d you go?” you call out.

then, the sound of ‘i have a dream’ plays softly on a harp. what the hell?

you feel his fingers lift the fabric over your eyes, removing it. you gasp.

both of you are standing under a cherry blossom tree, the petals falling around you two. he knows how much you love the outdoors and nature.

you finally look at matt, who’s tearing up and grinning widely. “matt—”

“i love you so much.” he sniffles, putting his hands into his pockets. he doesn’t like to get all sappy, but for you, he has no problem doing it. “as i look into your eyes, i see a future brighter than i could have ever imagined. every day spent by your side feels like a gift, and i am endlessly grateful for your love and companionship.”

“shut up,” you say, your hands covering your mouth as tears start to spill from your eyes.

“y/n.” he gets on one knee, taking a velvet box out of his jacket. “will you do the incredible honor and be my wife?”

now, here you are, gushing widely at the remaining envelopes in your hands. you read off the names as you slide them into the slit of the mailbox. “chris, nick, nate, clem, and madi.”

this is it. you are officially going to get married to the love of your life.

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @mattsneezing @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @hearts4chris @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @mayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @txssvx @sttzee @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @matthewsspecial @sturnolio-luvs @sturniolho @suga-daddy-69 @tworosesblackthorn @luckistar-posts @gnxosblog @junnniiieee07 @sturnioloslurps @tylerthecreatorsrealwife @flowerxbunnie @imaslut4kehlani @sturniolosandmoree @hertvgirl @whoreforchrissturniolo @sturniolotriplettoplover @stars4matt @freshsturns @loverrsposts @sturnlcvr @elliesturniolo1 @tpvmz @user283926392 @lalalands86 @sukiipjs @sturniologirl813 @leahrab @chrissturniolosslut @h3arts4harry @sturnioloblogs @creamoncreamoncream2 @luv4kozume @ivyyyyyysposts @mirxcle1 @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @catalina-island @mbsbaby @mattsdollie @pinkfarts @slut4mattsturn @thesturniolos @vickeyzloserz @nononopenono1 @bitchydragonparadise @gdsvhtwa @hrt-attack @bellasfavbisexual @dwntwn-strnlo @venusbabysblog @meerkatzthings @crazychrisl0v3r @maggieflms @strtuniolo @mutualsafe @riasturns @sturniolowhore @antpile00 @ashley9282828

[sam-keeper]

Halloween Film: Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1978)

I always loved the ending of the 1956 Invasion of the Body Snatchers, the classic sci fi film about replicant humans being grown from strange alien plant pods and taking over society. Well, I loved what was the ending, before the nervous studio tacked on a prologue and epilogue giving the film an optimistic (and contrived) conclusion. You know, where the main character runs out onto the road, desperately trying to halt oncoming traffic, to get anyone to listen as he cries, into the night, and finally directly into the camera at the audience, "They're here! You're next! YOU'RE NEXT!" For all the film's been interpreted as expressing red scare paranoia about communist infiltration (and even that's contested--others see it as a cry against McCarthyite witch hunts), the sheer manic shrieking energy of that finale lodged itself in my brain ever since I watched the film as a teenager. It was fearful, but it also was relatable, almost a kind of perverse power fantasy. Imagine, just imagine, screaming out from every theater screen and tv set: don't you see what's happening all around you? Look away from the screen if you like--they're already here!

The 1978 remake is actually a weird kind of precursor to our new phenomenon of the rebootquel: a short ways into the film, the main character of the original (literally--it's Kevin McCarthy, the original's star) slams into the car of our protagonists, ranting that blood curdling monologue. In this version, however, the pod people swiftly dispatch him off screen, and we get a creepy shot of a crowd of them standing silently, dispassionately, over his bloody broken body. That sums up the film's sense, contra the original, that it will already be too late by the time anyone notices anything wrong.

What a creepy film this is. It's astonishingly shot, full of striking images and brilliant camera work. Like, if you want reflections and shadows and distorted views of characters to feel fresh again, like they're more than hackneyed metaphor but really, viscerally unsettling, this is the film for you. There's a pervasive sense throughout that the worst has already happened, the world already gone strange when you turned your back. Instead of zombified mania and violence, there's a flatness to everything, a cool impassivity. The cast enhances this impassive flatness through contrast: it's a film full of brilliant weirdos as heroes. Scope Jeff Goldblum in this, for example, as a self absorbed neurotic owner of a mud bath house, and Veronica Cartwright as his Star Child wife. Even the relatively well adjusted main couple has their oddities: early in the film Brooke Adams as Elizabeth has a moment where she does this, fuckin, crazy thing with her eyes to make her friend Matthew laugh that's genuinely very funny and unsettling, and it immediately lends her character so much off beat humanity. These are people who have dedicated their lives to the department of health and they've got the zealotry that comes from being genuinely a bit of a weirdo for both bureaucracy and science. Indeed, Elizabeth's husband gets replaced early in the film by a pod she brings home to study out of pure curiosity about the world.

Elizabeth, soon after realizing there is something fundamentally wrong and alien about her husband, remarks to Michael that San Francisco feels suddenly strange to her, like an alien environment full of alien people. I feel this sometimes in Seattle. Oh, everywhere, but pronouncedly here, interacting with boomer or gen xer artists in my area who casually talk about the homeless like they're subhuman, with people on the street who will freely monologue about who we need to cleanse from the city, with our repulsive mayor and city council who verifiably think I and queers like me are disgusting. You get to thinking, or at least I do, that surely people don't have that much cruelty in their heart, and then you run up against the flat casual way a stranger will condemn a fellow human to oblivion, simply for the crime of being an unpleasant reminder of poverty. Every supposed red line gets crossed--local leaders pump money into already bloated police budgets, people shed their masks, politicians race to be the most xenophobic and border-paranoid, and the state department and media shovel dirt on the fire of each exploded Gazan hospital or butchered aid convoy. Am I supposed to feel secure in this tough new environment? All I hear is the panicked cry: YOU'RE IN DANGER! YOU'RE NEXT!

Donald Sutherland's character Matthew has a belief in institutions that's at once charming and completely exasperating. He's a health inspector who clearly cares deeply about doing his job and doing it well, and so is almost totally unequipped to respond when every social system transforms into a weapon to hunt and replace him. The number of times this man calls the police, often seemingly out of civic duty!! Meanwhile Leonard Nimoy plays a psychiatrist who manipulates and shepherds the cast. He's a pod person, of course, but it's totally unclear whether he was one the whole time or became one late in the film. The suggestion seems to be that it doesn't matter: his role as a professional is to smooth over social ruptures and keep the state of things running as stress free as possible, so he seamlessly adopts his role in the new dispassionate world order. I can't stop thinking, too, about a scene where Matthew and Elizabeth are caught out pretending to be pod people because they react with terrified revulsion to a homeless man who's accidentally been grotesquely fused with his pet dog. The pod people, of course, do not react to this sight, but go about their business. All that seems to have changed in pod person world is that the whole machinery of society carries on without emotion or meaning. The horror is that instead of ending, the world just keeps going.

Sarah and I discovered after watching that there's two other takes on The Body Snatchers, one in the 90s and one late in the Bush era 2000s. I guess that means we're about due for a new generational interpretation of the story. It's not quite like clockwork; maybe it's more like a seasonal bloom. Every 10-20 years, someone feels a compulsion to run to the cinemas and shout, to anyone who will listen, that they're already here, the pod people have already taken over while we were sleeping. And maybe they already have.

Check out more short reviews on my Patreon

[nerdieforpedro]

Weekend Update 03/10/2024

Made it another week Nerdie.

That I did. I believe today is Sunday. Too much time in this chair. I think I slept in it before. Too many times.

Nerdie, don't you have a bed?

I do, I don't always make it there. I've usually zoned out and nodded off, the wake up when my neck hurts. 👀 I'm not always writing either, just thinking sometimes.

Couldn't you think in bed Nerdie?

I could, but I don't. That sounds like a good idea. My ideas aren't always great. But I did have a few this week.

My March Spring Prompts continue. I was able to do ten of them without repeating a character! 🤗 This upcoming week we'll see some Pedro peeps come back. Key words: gas station sushi, angst, oil and bath. Remember this is Nerdie 😎, it could be any and everything, but my prompts are mature and not explicit. I do write about some heavy subjects, fluff, a few giggles, and have some innuendos, but my main masterlist is 78% smut so just go there.

The WIP I’d been mentioning for the last few weeks or months (could be either) is finished and posted : Diddle your Dieter to Disco. My first Dieter smut actually which is hilarious at least to me. 🤣 The rest of his Masterlist is fairly fluffy. I would check the warnings on it, I put a lot in it. 👀

Part Two of my series The Lake Between Us is up. Make sure to read the warnings. Ezra introduction has a lot going on. It's an AU so he has both arms but that doesn't mean I didn't torture him other ways. 👀 I do love that ya'll love the taglist name "Taste-testers of Ezra's gumbo." 😆

I finally wrote the follow up to He told me his name called She made me feel. I think I enjoy mentally torturing Pedro characters at this point. Poor Din is so anxious and touch-starved. As always with Din = HANDS. A Nerdie staple. This is The Way.

Now for everyone's favorite (and mine): Fic recommendations!!! (Yes I did type and do a little yell, fanfics are serious. Pfft.) 😄

Confetti by @secretelephanttattoo (Marcus Pike x f reader) The Quiet Moments Collection

Adrift with you by @morallyinept (Frankie Morales x Jude OFC) The Prologue “I’m behind”’😭

A Real Man by @pedroshotwifey (Frankie Morales x female plus size reader) my request - stay self indulgent everyone! 🥰

Tick by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin (Frankie Morales x wife reader) The Mistress of Angst!

A Bronx Tale: Part Deux - A Chicago Tale by @justabovewater20 (SydCarmy)

Love’s a weed:  just ripe by @tinytinymenace (Frankie Morales x ofc - Ruby) Fruits are essential.

Second Chances part 2 by @pedroscurls (Marcus Pike x fem reader) Such a cute series 💕

Cigarettes After Sex by @immarocketman (Awesome artist I follow. 💜)

Promise by @criticallyacclaimedstranger (Ezra - dragon x fem reader) The only Pedro character that can pull off being a dragon. 🐉

Please Mister Please by @grogusmum (Joel Miller x fem reader) The fluff 🥹💕

Unconventional Location by @winniethewife (Abel Morales x fem reader)

Personal Shopper by @huntingingoodwill (Dieter Bravo x reader)

Enjoy the Silence by @strang3lov3 (Joel Miller x fem reader)

Spicy Ask #68 by @kewwrites (Din Djarin x reader) Say it with me: HANDS 🙌🏼!!!!

Reminder by @criticallyacclaimedstranger (Tim Rockford x fem reader) Sometimes good things happen in Tim’s office.

Forever Starts With You Masterlist (Frankie Morales x chubby fem reader) @criticallyacclaimedstranger I loved all three parts I read 🥰🥰 (A Good Start, A Strong Finish and A New Beginning). It looks like there more to their story so much more reading for me. ❤️

some good friend by @covetyou (Tim Rockford x fem reader) TIM DESERVED THIS ❤️ That is all.

Sanctuary by @thefrogdalorian (Din Djarin x GN reader) Din fluff forever. 🤗

We got your back chapter 1 by @softpascalito (Javier Peña x fem reader)

The Sweetest Melody by @noisynaia (Din Djarin x afab reader)

Rise by @sp00kymulderr (Joel Miller x afab reader) ALL THE FEELS 😭

Falling for you by @fhatbhabie (Joel Miller x plus size reader) Part One - The drama!

Just look at You by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin (Poe Dameron x fem reader) The Poe Dameron smut we deserve. 🍆

Chapter 3 - Here’s a health to the company… and one to my Boss… by @inept-the-magnificent (Tim Rockford x ofc Jane Nebbie) I just think about this series and I start giggling. Sunshine Nebbie and grump Tim - he is a super grump. But he is also me. 🤣

To the Flame chapter 6.5 by @pedroshotwifey (Dark Javier Peña x fem reader) So sweet out of context.

To the Flame chapter 9 by @pedroshotwifey (Dark Javier Peña x fem reader) The slow decent begins...we're just at the start of the ride. 😈

Between the Sheets by @saturn-rings-writes (William Tell x fem reader) Reminded me of an Isley Brothers song. I feel like we're headed toward that song. Please with this direction.

Hiccup by @morallyinept (Javier Gutierrez x fem reader) A whimpering Javi G. What an evening. 😘

A New Home by @charethcutestory02 (Frankie Morales x Benny Miller) Budding feelings. 🤗

Special shout out to Ms. Payday - Le Poet and lover of da words: @maggiemayhemnj They seek her out, have brunches and nightcaps. It's what all writers long for. She checked in on me along with @megamindsecretlair @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @magpiepills @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin and @lady-bess

I've been not as active - mainly due to work, school, and the insomnia. But still writing. 😄 priorities. lol

New appreciation for Javier Pena. well not new, re-newed. Maybe am working on a few things. None are good, none are final. Still need polishing. Also need to give Javi G's outline another look. I might...👀 have a chapter for him this week. I hope. @goodwithcheese was pleased with this. @undercoverpena was Luke-warm. I think she thought I was taking something, but if Javi P has shown us anything, sharing is caring. 😘

Stay well, sleep in your bed (unless you're planning not to) and be hydrated,

Love Nerdie 💕

[princess-of-thebes-1995]

Odd ball prologue

Yandere navi miles quaritch x Female human Mutant Reader

It was odd that Commander Miles Quaritch fell in love with an oddball like you.

You were an advanced human being sent to the planet and allied with Jake Sully and his wife.

Quaritch heard how you do not need a mask to breathe on the planet. You can walk and run around with ease and that is it.

But, since Quaritch is no longer human but another damn blue animal, he wondered why he was infatuated with a human.

"I'll fuck her to get her out of my head." Quaritch grumbled to himself and slipped under the covers of his bed and went to sleep.

After seeing your photos, he was always thinking of your beautiful face. Your cheekbones. He wanted to rub his balls on them.

And then your eyes. So innocent and ethereal. He wanted to kiss those eyelids. But, he didn't want to look weak or sappy so he will have to do it when you are knocked out.

Fuck. What have you done to him? He cannot believe this little traitorous tramp got him on his knees.

You will have to suck his dick as punishment for plaguing his mind 

Months after being captured…

"Baby, I am back." Quaritch held out his hands in expectancy.

Getting up from your ironed luxurious bed, you ran to his muscular arms. You didn't want to be putty under his touch but the last time you defied him, he took away your food for three days.

He rubbed the back of your long hair and kissed you hard.

He craned your neck back and tried to swallow your lips.

You didn't resist. Quaritch then let go of you before he led you to the bed.

After he would finish himself, he would cook dinner and hand feed you himself.

Then you two would bathe together and sleep. The boring ass routine since he kidnapped you 

"Don't worry, baby." Quaritch nibble your ear as he held you close. "I will fill you with so much fetuses that you will be busy as fuck *

[berryhobii]

Thread(pjm x reader) Prologue

Pairing: Ares!Park Jimin x Goddess!Black!Female Reader, Reincarnation AU, Greek Mythology AU

Synopsis: You were his oasis where the water never ran dry. He was the garden where blooms shone like diamonds. His lips were of the sweetest ambrosia that made you forget your sour past, your embrace a blanket that shielded him from the nightmare that was his life. Your souls were safe in the hands of one another. Nothing could ever separate you, the daisy chain you’ve woven entwining your fate and destinies until the end of time.

Even when the blade cuts the vine and the petals fall into the fire, he will always find you.

A/N: Hi!! I’m back with the prologue for my first ever mini series! This is the GreekGod!Jimin story I was talking about a little while ago. I actually changed the story a lot after new inspiration struck me. A new detail that I hope a lot of people will like is that reader has Vitiligo. I was inspired by this woman I saw the other day. She was so beautiful and poised and she told me that she absolutely loves BTS after seeing my RJ bag charm. So this is dedicated to her! I also hope my reader’s with vitiligo like this! I tried to describe reader’s skin as beautifully and respectfully as possible. I even asked an old coworker of mine how he would describe his wife who also has vitiligo. I’m always open to criticism though and if anyone is offended, please let me know. I’ll be posting the first chapter along with my Taehyung x NudeModel!Reader story as well by the end of the day. Hope you guys enjoy!

~

“Please! I’m begging you! Don’t do this!”

“Ares, for treason and insubordination, I sentence you to death.”

Tears streamed down your cheeks, gorgeous face twisted in anguish. He hated to see you cry. Your tears should never fall, not for him and not for others.

This was all his fault. Your grief and distress were due to him. He broke the promise he made to you all those centuries ago. He promised he’d never make you sad, to always fill your days with his love and joy, to walk beside you until the day the world ends.

He was such a fool.

And as he knelt on the floor, body sore from battle and ears ringing from the thundering boom of the God above him, all he could focus on was you. Even in tears, you were the most beautiful goddess he’s ever laid his eyes upon.

Before he met you, his life was lackluster, monotone…..lonely. Days spent bathed in the blood of the fallen, his blade his only companion, the screams of the wounded the sound that lulled him to restless slumber. He didn’t care for anything else except fulfilling his duty and satisfying his bloodlust.

Then he stumbled across a cool stream, the sound of the rushing water doing nothing drown out the noises in his head. The most it could do was quench his thirst and clean his bloodied cape. After he had his fill and had less than successfully cleaned a little blood out of his cape, he draped it over a rock before plopping down on the grass with a huff. He was so tired. He just wanted to close his eyes for a bit.

The sound of singing startled him, his body immediately going into attack mode. He unsheathed his sword with practiced grace, ready to slice down any threat.

But there was none.

There was only you sitting at the edge of the stream, a small sewing kit in your lap, your hands working on what he recognized as his cape.

He didn’t know how to process what was happening, his brain still moving a little slowly from his short nap. Where did you come from? When did you get here? His instincts were always on guard. He should have heard you coming.

Why…..?

Your singing suddenly stopped. You lifted the cape up, surveying the now patched tear to make sure it looked nice. After humming to yourself in content, you turned to face him and the sight of your face almost made him fall to his knees.

You were positively ethereal.

Your robes were a light pink color, the delicate fabric wrapped around your body flowed around you as if the wind followed you, desperate to grace your skin. Your clothing allowed him to appreciate the beauty of your lustrous skin—an expanse of dark brown with lighter spots that looked like paint splotches on your divine canvas. But each one was placed so carefully, as if whatever God that sculpted you had intentionally taken their passion out on your already lavish complexion. Eyes kind and gentle, and your hair full and huge with flowers and butterflies decorating it.

“Oh, you’re awake? You’ve been sleeping for a couple hours. I can only imagine how tired you must have been.”

Hours? That was impossible! He didn’t sleep that long. And certainly not when he wasn’t in the safety of his home. Even then, he was lucky to get 4 hours before waking from the nightmares.

How had you managed to sneak up on him?

Realizing he had yet to respond to you, he said, “who are you? Where did you come from?”

You didn’t falter at his hostility or harsh tone. You had just shown up and started touching his belongings. You’d be defensive too.

“My apologies. I didn’t mean to startle you. I came to be alone but then I saw your torn cape and thought I’d mend it for you.” You stood to your feet, dusting off your robes before folding his cape. “Here you are. It was torn in a weird place so the stitch is noticeable but you can still wear it.”

He hesitated for a moment but he didn’t feel like you were a threat so he lowered his weapon. You noticed how he didn’t sheath it again but said nothing.

He shuffled closer to you, keeping his eyes on your hands. Once he was close enough, he grabbed the cape from you before backing away again.

“Well, I’ll leave you be. Try not to tear it again, okay? It’s such a beautiful cape.” Your smile was soft but so inviting. It made his heart stutter, a block forming in his throat at your gaze. Why did you look at him that way?

And then you left him there, a weird feeling settling over him at your absence. He shook it off.

He sheathed his weapon, holding his cape with both hands. It was still covered in blood and a little damp.

He found the spot where the tear had once been, only to find it closed and bound tight by a bright pink string. It stood out as stark as day against the grey fabric. He ran his fingers over the stitch, a gasp coming from his throat when a sudden surge of emotion struck him.

And he still felt that as he watched you fall to your knees, screaming his name and pleading for his retribution.

Yearning.

He yearned for your touch right now, for you to hold him tightly in your arms like you never wanted to let him go. He yearned for your smile, your laughter, your affection, your kiss.

He yearned for you. He loved you. He adored you.

“Ares! No! Please!”

The blade lifted, a glint shining on its sharp edge but he wasn’t afraid. He didn’t even focus on the person holding the weapon. All he could see was you.

His eyes squinted in the adorable way they did when he smiled, his teeth showing themselves, including the slightly crooked one you loved so much. You loved him so much.

“I love you, my oasis.”

[positivelybeastly]

If you could make movies about Hank, how many would you do and what could we see in them? Like an origin story, specific storyline etc. Would it be live action or a cartoon/animation, if live action who would you cast as Beast?

Now this is a fun thought experiment!

So, I actually think that if I was going to focus specifically on Hank, I would want multiple series, each separated according to decade or periods of his life, as it were, and we're going to mix media a little bit. Bear with me. This is probably going to be a multi-part series, so, here's the first part.

60s/First Class

So, we start off with a live action series that begins in medias res - alarms are blaring, people are rushing through corridors, klaxons are bathing corridors in red light. Through it all, a young man with a frightened but determined look on his face fights through the tide until he reaches a room full of radiation suits. He pulls one on, takes a few deep breaths, and then pushes through into a reactor room that's clearly going critical.

No music. No dialogue. No sound, except for the thumping of a heart beat and the sounds of this intricate mechanism being cajoled, being calmed, being put right again, until eventually the alarm lifts. Now it's just the sound of heavy, panicked breathing, and the man keels over at the railing nearest to him as a group of men in identical radiation suits rush to him. He blacks out.

When he comes to, he smiles at the woman sitting beside his bed, and moves as if to kiss her, but she smacks his arm, before embracing him and kissing him. A doctor moves in to talk, but there's still no dialogue, just soft music. A small montage of people in suits, offering the man in the bed a lot of paperwork that he signs. Before long, he's well enough to leave the hospital, and he and his wife drive to a farm. They stand on the outskirts, arms wrapped around one another. Camera pulls back, revealing the name on the mailbox.

McCoy.

Cut to the intro, which is nuclear flames, genomes shattering, a mysterious, animalistic figure gazing out of shadow with yellow eyes that turn into spotlights, revealing the title of the show.

'X-MEN: BEAST - FIRST CLASS'

17 YEARS LATER

A young man who's the spitting image of the man we saw in this prologue sequence is being harassed by a young woman with blonde hair. They're talking about the last quiz they just had to take in Biology, and the young woman tells the young man that he needs to stop hiding who he is. How brilliant he is. He tells her that he's on the high end of normal, and she scoffs. They walk by a football tryout, where the coach is harassing his team, telling them that any old nerd could do better than them.

"You, McKay - over here, show 'em what I mean."

"It's McCoy, sir, and I don't know quite what you mean?"

The coach becomes ever more insistent. McCoy shrugs, shaking his head. He kicks the ball. It sails clean, hits the goal - at the other end of the pitch. The coach is flabbergasted. He wants McCoy for the team, but McCoy is uncertain - until the team kicks off, saying they don't want this gorilla on their team. One of them, identified as Janssen by his jersey, is particularly venomous, and McCoy gives him a coldly furious look.

"Coach, what position does Janssen play?"

Smash cut to the same number on the team, but with MCCOY on the back. Sports montage, naturally, with MCCOY as star player, intercut with the occasional side-eyed look from a parent or onlooker whenever he does something a little too amazing.

Jen is the love interest of the movie. She's great.

Final game of the season. Crowds are roaring, full football Americana experience. MCCOY is in full swing, but we aren't seeing things from his perspective, we're seeing things from somewhere up in the bleachers - from some kind of scope. It zooms in hard on MCCOY, a finger tenses, squeezes - misses. Screaming, hysteria. The scope view panics as MCCOY comes charging towards it, and we zoom out to see Janssen as McCoy clambers up the side of the bleachers with unnatural ease.

They fight. McCoy knocks the rifle away, but he's a little too strong, and Janssen nearly falls over the edge, and it's quite the drop. McCoy grabs him and stops him from going over, but he can't use his other hand to hold on to the bleachers and Janssen at the same time. He knocks off his shoe, and we get our first look at an oversized foot that looks to be as dextrous as a hand. McCoy moves to use this odd limb to help Janssen up.

Janssen hisses. Says he'd rather die than get help from a filthy stinking mutant that crawls all over human girls like he's a real man. He smacks McCoy's hand away, drops. We don't see the impact, but McCoy does. His eyes widen. He yanks off the football helmet and throws up, staggering as he climbs back up, just in time for the officials to come storming in. He looks red-faced, shaking. He looks guilty.

We cut to the farm. The McCoy family are quiet, withdrawn - worried. The parents keep looking outside, where their son has taken to disassembling and reassembling every piece of farm equipment available to him, as if that's going to make him feel any better. Edna and Norton talk, and they feel guilty, Norton especially, about the legacy they've given poor Hank, as we pan up over the kitchen counter and see a newspaper headline exclaiming about the mutant panic taking over the nation.

A knock at the door. Norton looks pale, so Edna answers - to a man dressed like some kind of Conquistador, which he identifies himself as. He brings out a sword and seems to cast some form of electricity with it, striking down Edna and Norton, drawing their son back to the house with a speed that defies thought, and it's only this lightning sword that stops him from bowling the man over right there and then.

The Conquistador wants this young man, Hank, to do him a favour - use his father's ID card to steal some specific components from the nuclear power plant he works at. He looks basically identical to him, he shouldn't even be questioned. His sword twitches in the direction of Hank's parents, and his jaw sets. He agrees.

A short, tense sequence at the power plant. Hank does the deed, but it's dangerous and it goes wrong, the alarms are sounded - but he gets away. He escapes to a warehouse where his parents are being held by the Conquistador's men, and the man is raving, rambling.

Hank trounces them, effortlessly. It's superhuman to watch, and Edna and Norton are wide eyed as Hank frees them, all of them silent. Norton opens his mouth, apologises. Hank doesn't understand, apologising for what? Norton gestures at Hank's obviously overgrown hands and feet. For that. That's his fault. Hank's expression darkens, and Norton realises what he's said without thinking, and he looks to Edna, but she doesn't know what to say. Behind them, the Conquistador is getting back up, pulling up his sword, aiming it at Hank's back.

A ruby red beam comes out of nowhere, blasting it away, and Hank turns around, to see . . .

The Professor explains who he is. What the people with him are, what Hank is - a mutant. Hank already knows, and the Professor smiles a little, because of course Hank does. The conversation continues, and Hank is interested, intrigued, even - he keeps glancing back at his parents, but they look very uncertain, even as they do their best to give him smiles and make sure he knows they're okay.

"There will be sacrifices, Hank. This won't be an easy life. But it will be a worthy one."

Hank agrees, but before he walks off with Xavier and the other X-Men, he embraces his parents one more time. He's holding them tighter than they are him when he lets go.

The series then adapts some 60s X-Men, some First Class stories - I'd definitely want to pull in the story where Hank and Bobby first becomes friends during a vacation road trip across the US; the Unus the Untouchable arc, where Hank becomes a wrestler; a momentary flirtation with Jean Grey, before he realises who she's pretty much destined to end up with; the beatnik foot cult; Magneto.

Costumes change, villains go by, and Hank is enjoying himself, growing, but as he grows older, he seems less satisfied.

Especially since we find out that Xavier wiped Jen's mind, and she no longer remembers Hank. For their safety. Hank is. Not pleased. It's the first wedge between him and the Professor, and they paper over it, but. It sticks.

Towards the end of the series, he receives a letter in the mail, and when it comes time to do Danger Room exercises, he's conspicuously absent. Xavier is oddly reticent to talk to him, and instead suggests that Scott, Bobby, Warren and Jean talk to him instead. Hank is in his room, the letter in his hands, and seeming torn. They all talk.

Hank wants to leave the X-Men. The very concept shakes them a little - the last time this happened, Unus attacked and they were nearly defeated - but the newfound confidence of having done this for a few years now means that they understand why Hank wants to move on. Everyone's been thinking about it, actually, Hank's just the first one to have a place he wants to go to rather than just 'not the school.'

They embrace. Bobby in particular takes a little longer than everyone else to let go, and it's clear it's killing him a little that Hank is going, but he does let go.

The final scene of the series is Hank in civilian clothes saying his final goodbyes. There's not a dry eye in the house. Jean kisses him on the cheek, Bobby hugs him way too hard, Scott clasps his shoulder, Warren gives him a fistbump. The Professor shakes his hand. They're all sad to see him go, but this is for the best.

Hank gets into his car, and starts it up. He looks back at the Mansion, the X-Men, wistfully, thinking, for a moment, that he should stop and go back. But in the end, he puts the car in gear and drives. As he leaves the Mansion, he adjusts the rear view mirror.

For the audience, Hank is replaced by something wearing his clothes. Dark furred. Monstrous. Unfamiliar. Familiar. Yellow eyed.

End credits. End of the series.

To be continued.

I actually have no idea who I'd want to play a young Hank, I'm not as up to date on young actors as I'd like, but I've been recommended someone called Noah Centino for a 17-20 year old Hank, so, sure? Whoever they are, they need to be able to pull off Hank's distinctive Superman curl.

I'd definitely want an almost sort of 'The Incredibles' tone to the X-Men sections of this series, where it's all deathly dangerous but the X-Men almost don't seem to realise until they do. Michael Giacchino does the score, because the man can do no wrong.

[ladyravenjadethe2nd]

Spoilers for If Wishes were Kisses Part 6

So I've told you about the prologue. I'd like to make it one huge chapter and have only one other chapter in part 6 that being the epilogue.

The Epilogue would be in Alluka's point of view. She's old. She doesn't have much time left, but she thinks about her friends and family. We see glimpses of happy moments of her life and as she lay their dying she talks to Nanika about her few regrets....right before she passes she makes a wish....

This will be set up in a way to make sequel although I may let others make their own sequels if they would like. This is a very long story after all so I may not be ready to do it all over again, but if I do have the interest and motivation left I may add one more chapter to this story. I may write the first chapter of the sequel here.

It opens with Zeno Zoldyck's death in the Dark Continent. Only days after the death of his grandson all of his other grandchildren, the future of the Zoldyck family, disappears in a flash of light.

Zeno, Silva and Kikyo searched the world over for them, but they could find no trace.

In desperation to keep the family Kikyo tried to have another baby. She was over her childbearing years so the treatment she needed to carry to term was dangerous.

She refused easier ways and insisted on giving birth to the next Zoldyck heir herself. She died in childbirth and the child did not survive either.

Level headed Silva did not take the lose well. He had been angry, but rational when they could not find his children. His wife's death however led him to being reckless.

He went against what Zeno had so carefully taught him and started a pointless fight. It led to his own death.

Zeno was an old man now. The Zoldyck family could not die with him. His grandchildren were not dead they were only lost at least most of them were.

Zigg was the one that gave him hope. Another doomed venture to the Dark Continent was in order. There he could find a being to grant his wish. Zeno knew he would not make it out alive, but that didn't matter.

Zeno dies in failure. Another corpse consumed by the Dark Continent, but perhaps something was there. Perhaps an Aye did here the wish of his soul.

Zeno wakes up.

If I made a sequel Alluka's biggest regret would be that her birth parents never loved her so her wish would give them a second chance to do so.

I'm leaning towards a Naruto world with the Zoldycks being a Konoha ninja family. Zeno being being the father of both Silva and Kakashi's dad. Kakashi's dad would take his wife's last name and therefore be disowned, but Kakashi would be a Zoldyck cousin now.

Kikyo would be a Uchiha that gets blinded therefore giving her another reason to blindfold her eyes and makes the Uchiha family drama the Zoldyck drama.

I think I would give Silva and Kikyo a proper Adams style love story. Meeting for the first time in this new life on the battlefield bathed in blood. They would make Illumi on the corpse pile of their enemies and laugh at her clan wanting to keep them apart or have her not become a Zoldyck.

I actually like the idea of her clan tries to marry her off to someone in clan and she keeps killing them. They try to accuse Silva and he's just like I was on a mission at the time, but it would be a shame if more of your clan member kept dying wouldn't it? How many of your men do you think my wife is worth.

She gets her way, but the the clan whines until they agree that any kid of theirs that unlocks the Uchiha's magic eyeballs has to go to the Uchiha clan. They are like LOL K.

Illumi gets magic eyeballs at 8, goes to magic eyeball land, gets fast tracked into graduating, becomes a genin, turns around and goes I'm an adult now so I disown myself. I'm going home. In roughly two days at most.

I don't know if I would have all the kids or only some of the kids remember.

Either way Milluki is a fat genius that makes genin only to go straight to RnD where he is the best seal master that ever lived and jumps everybody into a full new tech age with his impressiveness.

He does secretly have the magic eyeballs, but he is smart enough to know they should be used to memorize books and read papers quickly instead of being on the battlefield. He finds a way to safely hide them and tells only his family.

Killua has the special white charka which is now a Zoldyck thing instead of just a Kakashi's dad thing. Zeno and Silva and even Kikyo are a bit unsure about how to raise their perfect child that must be heir to the family, considering how it ended last time.

They consider the fact that they are part of Konoha that focuses on teamwork and painfully deiced that while he will be trained like a Zoldyck he will go to the academy for the regular amount of time and he will be allowed to bond with his genin team.

Only his genin team will be acceptable friends as in Konoha genin teams are often called family.

By the way Gon is here as Guy's kid and it's hilarious. Of course they are a team. Don't know what I'd with Leorio and Kurapika.

Not sure about Alluka either. If she's trans I don't think there is much hope of her family besides Killua being nice about it. One of her regrets could be never fully transitioning so she is born a girl this time, but I don't know how well that would sit with me.

You know what could be kind of crazy? Naruto only had half of the tailed best sealed in him. What if the other half went to Nanika? Or because of Mulika's seals they are able to catch a different tailed beast or demon of some sort and seal in it in her?

If not that then I suppose Nanika would just be a crazy new bloodline limit. I'd like some thing where Nanika acts out and Silva handles it impressively.

Anyway that's all I have for that idea so far and it's a very big maybe on if I would ever try to write it. Such a big maybe I would allow people to take my ideas for a Naruto Zoldyck family to write their own fics about.

[belechoseyou]

Svabinsky, Max (1873-1962) - 1896 The Soul Mate

Torture Him

"There was no person who knew it, save God and he, In many a way, how painfully I tortured him" - Chaucer, The Wife of Bath's Prologue (lines 493-494).

- Love must afflict a man. Torment him in his pursuit and keep him ever seeking your delight. Men will claim they will be satisfied with a virtuous wife who never argues or causes problems yet their wandering eyes tell other tales. There is no satisfying a man through monotony, predictability, and total security. Sons of Mars-- they burn for conquest and continued acquisition. They celebrate the most when they have won hard battles and do not value what they get for free. A woman must be in tune with the mind of Mars while she embodies the Venusian dream. Tips:

Never confess love before a man demonstrates and professes his own. He should identify you publicly as the woman he loves.

If there is never conflict, create one. ** Be careful of the degree: too much fighting makes you a migraine but too little, a bore.

Do not reveal too much about your sexual past. As the beautiful SheraSeven said, if he asks for your body count ask to see his bank account.

Never have sex with a man who doesn't expend his resources on you if are interested in dating him. He must invest in you to have access to your bed.

A boyfriend is not a husband- quietly keep your options open and don't put all your eggs in one basket.

If he shows red flags leave him. A bad boyfriend is a horrible husband. And if he is to become a good boyfriend, you must leave him. Staying is consenting to being treated like a fool. A man becomes passionate about a woman he cannot keep without effort.

Do not be too visible. Make him miss you.

Be beautiful and attractive to other men. He must be aware that you can always find someone else. Don't say it --be so stunning that the eyes of men turn to you and provoke pride and anxiety within him.