#isn't he suppose to be celibate

[freakyfreakz]

So why is no one talking about Olrox immediately taking his fine ass to the window to watch Mizrak walk away post-hookup? Also the fact the Mizrak put down that work and returned to work right after. The man satisfied a vampire and marched back and resumed his position. The power Mizrak holds to have a century plus old vampire sprung after one sex session?!

[kneelingshadowsalome]

What about princess reader who falls for Konig? He's a retired royal soldier (Bit of an age gap but I was thinking more like he was so good he was able to retire early) that she saw every once and a while and she does the typical "disguise myself as a commoner so i can sneak into town" routine and he pretends he doesn't know but he used to serve her family so ofc he fucking recognizes her

He tries to be gentle with her but honestly she should just be happy he isn't ratting her out to her family 🙄🙄🙄 (not that she minds)

CW: 18+ MDNI. Medieval AU, forbidden love, mutual pining, virgin!princess!reader x veteran!knight!König. Undefined age gap (reader is of legal age which means she’s "old" for an unmarried woman of this period). Reader is kinda coercive, König is implied to be a virgin too. Bittersweet romance vibes, brooding guy/gentle girl trope, ambiguous ending.

Word count: 6.4 k

You never thought you’d have the guts to slap a knight. 

Violence is unladylike, and even if you’re a princess, it doesn’t mean you should force your status down someone’s throat like that. Far less his, the man you were taught to respect and listen to because he’s a man, and older than you. 

The fact that he was also an anointed knight didn’t seem as important as the simple truth that he possessed a cock between his legs, and it always annoyed you to no end that this was the reason why men ruled the world. As a lady still unwed, you’re supposed to be afraid of cocks, especially if they’re old and gruff. 

But you never were afraid in the presence of your father’s most loyal knight. He was your sworn shield too, and the only time he had been away from your side was when he asked to go on a pilgrimage to some chapel nearby. Said he wanted to seek forgiveness for his sins.

A man like him must have a lot to pray forgiveness for, but knowing that he could split a man in half with that greatsword of his doesn’t stop you from sneaking out one night as you follow him outside the castle walls and into the local inn.

Dressed as a stable boy, you watch with wide eyes how he gulps down three pints of beer and doesn’t turn any dumber from it. His speech never slurs, his shoulders never slump, but when some kitchen wench sits down beside him, your breath gets caught in your throat. 

You look at the odd couple for a moment or two, watch how your father’s knight, the secret object of your silly daydreams, finally loosens the strings of his purse and offers the girl a copper coin. 

It’s more than you can take, so you shoot up from your bench and march to him. The woman looks up at you with lousy disinterest as you ask the man of your dreams if he’d like to have another pint of ale. Your knight recognizes you immediately, even in your too-big tunic and your uncomely hose, even with that dirty felt hat covering your hair.

And he’s mortified, from what you can tell.

Both your eyes are wide now, and the woman beside him is smart enough to leave. She slides herself off the bench and sneaks past your side, and your valiant knight just looks at you, looks at you, looks at you. 

You should be worried that he’ll snitch about your adventures to your father, but right now, all you can do is stare at him like he’s the thief, caught fresh and red-handed. Because he is a thief, and a devil, the worst man on earth when he was supposed to be the best. You snort to let him know how much you despise him—for coming here and bedding women for money when he’s supposed to be a sworn, celibate knight—but what truly hurts here is that he’s bedding someone else than you.

When you march out of the inn, he follows you, even dares to lay his hand on you by grabbing your arm outside. That’s when you turn on your heels and deliver a fat slap on his cheek, lightly stubbled and sweet, something you had hoped to plant a kiss on for many, many years.

“Your grace,” He grunts and rubs his chin, slightly amused. “Have I offended you?”

The slap couldn’t hurt that much, and this man never does amused. Even now, the mirth extends only to his eyes, never to his lips. 

“You know perfectly well that you have, sir,” you clasp your hands in front of you, now entirely his princess even though you’re dressed like a peasant.

“My lady,” he bows both in body and in voice. “I truly don’t know what crime I have committed.”

You’ve never seen him so… jovial.

Usually this knight looks like there’s a stick up his ass, that someone pissed in his porridge and shat in his stew, that there’s nothing but hailstorms and calamity in his life. 

Were you any more clever, you’d leave him be, but God has made it so that you’re drawn to battered and beaten animals. Of course you’re drawn to him too, lonely and spiteful as he is. This man broods so much you sometimes wonder if he’s the reason why it rains so violently up here in the hills. He probably summons dark clouds above the castle with those ponderous frowns alone – but now he’s looking at you as if he just woke up from the dead and walked into the shy sunshine after a long, harsh winter.

“You… You shouldn’t bed women,” you tell him, and he looks at you even more curiously.

“You shouldn’t pay for it,” you mumble next – unladylike, again, especially when your eyes turn to your shoes and away from that hawk-like, calm stare.

There’s a short silence after that, and you almost turn heel and walk back to the castle from the desire to escape the weight of his eyes. Eventually, he shifts his weight to the other leg and clears his throat.

“I sometimes pay for women to hold me. There’s nothing more to it.”

You raise your eyes to meet his, but the mirth is all gone now. It’s replaced by solemn acceptance, some sorrow you never even knew he had. Yes, he’s always silent and looks a bit pissed, but he’s not heartbroken, no, not your brave knight…

“To “hold you”, sir?”

The sorrow is covered with white lashes before you get to the bottom of it. Something tugs at the corner of his mouth—shame and frustration, probably.

“To hold me. Like a mother would. Is that a sin?”

His eyes search for yours from under dark brows, they beg for your consent as if it mattered to him. They’re quite catching, his eyes; enchanting in their intangibility. You know he doesn’t need your acceptance, nor is he threatened by your disgust. He’s unreachable, untouchable, forbidden—a mountain you can never climb because you wouldn't even find it among the mist. And those eyes see everything but feel nothing: they haven’t taken part in the troubles of this world in years.

…

He evades you for the whole of next week. 

Leaves the hall if you choose to dine there, walks away when he sees you at the stables, looks through you if you have the courage to address him. You stand watch by the window every night to see if he slips out of the castle, but it seems your knight has lost his interest in kitchen wenches and copper hugs. 

It burns like hot broth in your stomach, the thought of him in some other woman’s embrace. This mighty giant of a knight, kneeling in front of a girl, paying for her to simply put her arms around him. 

You’re not sure if you’re childish to believe him and his words. To trust that he truly goes to them just to be held. You’re not sure if you’re the worst lover of poor, crippled creatures for not wanting to let him have even that...

Because you wish to hold him yourself, here, in the softest of all beds. Just wrap your arms around him after you’ve unburdened him of that heavy mail and thick gambeson; you’d help him with anything he needs. Let him sigh against you and have those lines of worry on his brooding face smooth somewhat. Maybe sing a soft song for him to help him sleep...

The thought of him being so lonely that he spends his wage on girls just to have a hug is driving you to madness.

It’s tearing you to pieces because he would never, ever have to pay you to hold him. 

It’s forbidden, you know: this love you’ve harboured for years. He’s far below your rank, even as a bannerman, he’s far below you even if he’s taller than the tallest war horse in your father’s stables. He’s older than you too, but that’s hardly the biggest problem: your father took his second wife when he was five and thirty and the maid was seventeen. The match was considered perfectly normal, even healthy, but this would not. This would cause an outrage.

Oh yes, you’re to be wed far away to some sadistic young lord if your father has his way. You’re sure they’re already gossiping about it in the streets: how you should’ve been sold like a horse years ago. How is it that you’re still here, burdening the kingdom with your presence and swallowing up coin? 

If they only knew that you’ve fought against every match with tooth and nail, the townsfolk would work themselves into a small uprising. And you’re not against marriage because you like it here so much... You’re against it because the knight who dresses himself in black mail and makes the servants piss themselves with his heavy footsteps alone makes your heart flutter like never before.

Your father would kill both of you if he knew.

And you wonder… What would he do? Your pale, brooding knight?

Would he scoff and turn his head away if he knew you dreamed of him before sleep, would he be appalled to hear that you’ve touched yourself to the thoughts of him? Would he think you a whore…?

You dress differently that night, the night you catch him escape the dull horrors of the castle once more. Boredom oozes out of the walls here, a poison of nothingness and despair. The stones won’t offer warmth, not even during the height of spring, so it’s no wonder that your knight is headed elsewhere for warmth and a mug of ale. 

You dress accordingly to see what this toughest of knights is made of: with a brown woolen skirt and a white cotton blouse, you look the part of a kitchen maid who forgot half her garments at home. 

People look at you in the streets, but without your usual attire and with your hair styled differently, they wouldn’t know who they’re looking at even if they saw you frolic around like this in court. You know they’re looking at you because you're a half naked woman ripe for taking, stubbornly out at night and dressed so suggestively it’s a miracle no guard rapes you before you reach the inn. 

Maybe it’s the royal pride that keeps them away: you certainly look like you haven’t toiled in the fields or shoveled horse dung in your poor miserable life. There’s an air about you, and he notices it too, far before you’ve sat your pretty bum on the bench next to him.

“What are you doing,” he asks with a slightly alarmed voice.

He has that stick up his arse again, sits so straight that you’ve never seen such a ramrod back on anyone. When you set your hand over his, he only blinks.

“One silver to hold you, sir,” you lean to whisper on his skin, the shaved cheek you’ve wanted to kiss for so, so long. “What do you say...?”

He’s still breathing, even if there’s no sound to prove that he is. You can only see it from the rise and fall of his chest, covered by a stained, cream-white gambeson, that he’s breathing. He’s big, even without his armor, big and strong and intimidating, a tower of strength in one man.

“I cannot bed women,” he talks to the stout logs that make the walls of the inn, refusing to even look at you after one quick horrified glimpse.

“Who said anything about bedding?”

“This is a dangerous game, your grace,” he warns with a low purr when you won’t relent. 

His voice is parched but smooth, and you smell smoke; delicious smoke from the fire that sticks to the clothes of a person who spends too many hours staring into a fire. You smell ham and earth and leather and sweat, horses and metal, the rusty stench of mail gone bad.

You wonder how you smell to his nostrils – is it something sweet? Fresh herbs and lavender oil maybe, or soft, spun wool, some tangerines and summer wine?

“I’m not your grace,” you tell him, nose now touching the bridge of his ear. “Not in here.”

You see from the turned sleeve of his padded tunic that the hairs on his arm are standing on end. His eyes are closed, and you can finally hear his ragged breaths. Desire speaks in them, or then you’re in over your head... Why else would he sound like that, like he’s already making love?

“One silver, sir, and I’ll hold you all night,” you repeat softly, and he swallows with a dry, open mouth.

“I don’t have such money on me,” he rasps, voice drenched in slow, drowsy want. 

He wants this; wants, wants, wants….

“Really? Is my price too high?”

“Far too high for a man like me.”

You breathe a smile upon his skin, the place where his neck meets his jaw. Running your fingers across his wrist, you leave little to the imagination and you both know it.

“You can pay for the room and we’ll see how much you have left after that.”

“Princess, this is–”

“Hush.”

He’s in pain now, you can see it: the sharpness, the distant eagle gaze from his eyes is gone. He can barely keep his lids open, and when you peel the sleeve back with your hand, pet him like he’s one of your cats, press your lips on the spot you know is the most sensitive, he groans.

“You’re going too far,” he whispers, but won’t move. Breathless now, he can’t even speak with dignity. Gone are the distanced grunts and the composure, even the stick in his arse has melted away. 

If a touch of your lips and the softest caress can do this to him, what would happen if you straddled his lap? How would it feel to be pressed against him, naked and entwined in a mutual embrace?

“You didn’t say no to that other girl,” you breathe more kisses on his skin. “Am I so horrendous…?”

“You–” he starts, opens his eyes somewhat. “You are teasing me on purpose.”

“You never were the brightest of my father’s knights,” you smile a little laugh in his ear. 

He grabs his pint as if that could save him; out of fury or lust, you don’t know. And that’s when your little adventure gets interrupted: someone must’ve had enough of this disgusting display of seduction and whoring. 

“Pardon me, lovebirds. The room’s a copper, if it please you,” a tired voice says from somewhere above. “And the ale is–”

“Ja, ja. I’ll pay,” your knight grunts with such annoyance that you’re not sure if he’s mad at you or the poor soul who interrupted you two. 

Everyone here must think that you’re here to make some coin on a lonesome, desperate man. And he’s desperate, by God, he’s desperate… But when you walk upstairs and into your room, he takes a dip in cold waters without you knowing anything about it. When the door shuts behind you, your knight is back to the unbroken effigy he was last week, as he has always been. 

“You sleep there,” he points at the bed. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“There’s plenty of room on the–”

“One more word from that pretty mouth and I’ll tell your father what you’ve been up to.”

You’re sent to your bed without supper, in your silly clothes, and get to watch how he barely takes his boots off before setting himself down on the floor, back turned to you. The innocent question “You think my mouth is pretty?” only gets an irritated scoff for an answer.

From under the linens, you watch him sigh and slowly turn to stone on the cold floor. There’s a big rug there but it’s barely enough to keep the chill out, and the hearth is cold during late days of spring. You’re warm enough here under your sheet, but you would be warmer if your knight was here with you… Warm body against yours as you both hold each other through the night. 

If only he could be enticed here by lying that you’re freezing... His honor would force him to share the bed with you, and your poor knight wouldn’t have to wake up with sore joints. The more you listen to him let out those occasional sighs, the more you want to shake this man. This silly act of martyrdom has to come to an end, now.

Slipping out from the warmth of your bed, you tiptoe to him. You know he can hear you, probably cursing in his mind with that crude foreign tongue of his. Laying yourself down behind him, you snuggle close until your front is glued to his back. 

It must pain him to have a maiden leave the comfort of her bed and trade it for the dirty floor, but you wonder if there’s pleasure in the pain when your touch finds him once more. And it’s not just want and lust you feel when you place your arm around him. It’s not motherly love either, although you do feel like you’re embracing a giant child who doesn’t want to be comforted. You know nothing about how lovers touch or hold each other, you’ve never touched a man other than your father, and those touches were never affectionate and warm, those touches were barely there at all. 

You wonder if you should be scared: you were taught that men will fuck everything that moves when given the chance. If a man of his size chose to take you here on this floor, there would be nothing left of you. Such an outcome seems dubious, however, when your sworn shield acts like he would rather be anywhere but here.

“Let me hold you,” you whisper when he continues to be stiff as a rock in your embrace. “You don’t have to pay me. Surely you know that you don’t have to–”

He moves, and at first you fear he’s about to rise and dart to the door. Make a run for it and slam it shut because you pushed it too far, his dumb, danger seeking maiden. 

But he doesn’t. 

Instead, he turns around and buries his face somewhere in your neck. He does it so forcefully that you’re almost sent to lie on your back, and you barely catch the naked pain in his eyes before a rough arm snakes itself around your waist and pulls you close.

Warm breaths hit your skin, sending all the little hairs in your body shooting up – were he to move an inch further down, his face would be buried in your tits…

And then come the tears.

You’ve never heard a man cry like that – well, you’ve never heard a man cry at all. You didn’t even know they knew how to weep. It’s like all the tears in the world are reserved for women and children because there’s no wetness even now: your knight cries in thick, dry sobs, shudders that shake the both of you, years and years of suffering sighed through gritted teeth and into your hair.

Slowly, so slowly, you place your arm around him once more. Your hand barely reaches the middle of his back, so vast is this man, now only a crumbling mountain in your embrace. But when you won’t waver, when you refuse to turn your tail and run, he slowly melts in your arms like spring snow.

He still breathes as if in pain, the sounds that come out of his mouth heartbroken and strained. You’re not surprised to see that even his crying is an act of violence; he’s a man inconsolable. 

And yet, you console him. Comfort him. Like a mother, you stay and let him cry his fill in your ear as he clutches you, threatening to tear the back of your poor cotton blouse while doing it.

When he’s done, the shakes recede and his body is warm and calm, soft, almost. He pants and swallows, comes down from it with so much shame that you’re sure he has never done this with anyone, not ever before.

And then…

“I beg for your forgiveness, my lady,” he gruffs on your skin. “That was–”

“Shh... It’s alright.”

You caress the back of his neck, sweaty from the toil. He releases the fabric of your blouse only to grab it again in an even tighter fist. The face in your neck is buried deeper, his lips now pressed right over your throat.

“It has always been you, Geliebte... God knows it has always been you.”

You freeze in the middle of his confession, the panting on your skin intolerably thick now. When you swallow against his mouth, he pulls you against him, the body that used to be rigid and cold now like a hot, thick furnace, threatening to devour yours.

“You must know it too,” he whispers. “You must. You’ve seen my torment. Tell me you’ve seen it…”

He’s not demanding more than he is desperate, some dam suddenly being breached by a long-held flood.

If anything, you thought he hated you... You thought you were alone in your anguish, but it turns out he has carried the same soft secret all these years.

And it drowns you for a moment, his want and yours. Hands trying to touch whatever they can, mouth searching yours like he’s about to die if he can’t have a sip. You’ve heard what happens to women who allow themselves to get groped in dark hallways and winding steps; they hardly ever escape a man’s touch with their maidenhood still intact. And yet, this is what you’ve always dreamed of; a hot, blunt, forbidden encounter with this man. 

Now that he’s finally on fire for you, you’re not so sure though. What if you’re about to mate with a beast?

“Sir…” you whisper when he plants trembling kisses down your throat. He thinks you’re only moaning his title in the throes of pleasure, and squeezes you against him so hard that a tight little whimper is squished out of your mouth.

“I’m–I’m untouched,” you tell him before he sends his face between your tits, and it finally has the effect you feared and hoped for.

He freezes too, in the middle of tearing down your blouse. A shivering hand releases the fabric slowly, reverently; it rises to cup your face as your flushed knight meets your stare with shame.

“Of course you are,” he hushes upon your lips, strokes your cheek softly. “I cannot bed you. I know. But let me…”

He blushes while searching for the right words. That’s the moment when you start to suspect if he’s ever even been with a woman. What kind of a womanizer would blush when they’re about to make love to a lady?

“Let me make you feel good,” he finally suggests. “I’ve heard… of a way.”

He almost stutters when he says it, and you wonder if this is what he’s prayed forgiveness for. If he’s been thinking about different ways of wrecking you so much that it’s enough to send him to hell…

“And then,” he continues, “we’ll never speak of this again. You’ll become my lady, and I’ll become your sworn shield once more. We’ll be as we always were. As it always was...”

You’re not sure if you like that – returning to your status quo, becoming who you were before clutching each other on the floor like mad animals about to mate. But you nod. 

Whatever he wishes to do to you, it must be something good, and you trust him. Even after he showed you a side of him you’ve never seen before, you’d trust this man with your life.

Your valiant knight carries you back to bed, and delivers on his promise. He never undresses you, he never defiles you. He just lifts your ankle to his lips and gives it a soft, reverent kiss, grazes your shin with his mouth before starting to worship you like a pagan idol of old.

You don’t know where he heard about it–at the stables, or the kitchen, at the barracks or the taverns–but the way with which he makes you squirm doesn’t require a cock, not even a hand. His lips are gentle, but his mouth is hungry, and you don’t know how to feel shame when he’s buried under your dress like that. You can’t even see his face when he makes you his, claims you with his mouth alone. 

It must be a sin to not take you like a man takes a woman on a wedding night; it must be a sin that it does not hurt at all, what he wants to do to you. But you don’t care. Love is much better and far messier than how they depict it in the songs, and no one ever talks about the noises a man can make when they pleasure a woman.

He groans like a beast, but moans like a whore – it sends a flush of hot blood up your cheeks to hear him so utterly needy and vile. Your knight who barely gave you a grunt as a greeting in your father’s hall now whines with a broken pitch between your legs. His hot sighs drown your own, and you thank Saint Mary and all the angels that there’s loud music and booming laughter downstairs. It’s still there, the dirty tavern, even if you’re being sent to heaven on this bed...

He gives you mercy only after you break upon his mouth with a series of tight cries. Spends a lengthy amount of time under your dress too, licking and kissing you clean.

He doesn’t appear to be in any hurry to get out of there, but when he emerges, he looks like a drowned, happy puppy, this giant, brooding knight… The sight seizes your heart in a flaming hand that you know will never let go: it’s forever engraved in your heart, that drunken, devoted stare. You thought that men had the needs of an animal and that women were put on this earth just for them to have their fill, but when you look at your knight, it appears it’s the other way around... This man has finally found what he was looking for. Between your legs, he just found his Heaven on earth, his Holy Grail.

And so he returns from his quest with a devotion that leaves you breathless. Takes you in his arms like an injured bird, making you feel like it’s summer already, and the world is nothing but songs and tales and long nights of bliss.

“Know that I am yours,” he says. “Until my dying breath and even beyond, I’m yours.”

It’s a pledge, not a statement, and it’s said with so much weight that the vow he swore to your father pales in comparison. 

“Sir... You always say such silly things,” you whisper back while lying in a pool of shimmering love, a heaven on earth indeed. Not even anointed, true to their faith knights talk like this… And he just smiles languidly when you raise a hand to brush his cheek. 

He looks like another hug could save him, like a simple adoring stare from you is all that is needed to keep him going for another year. It irks you that he’s ready to settle for so little when you’re ready to give him everything he’s ever wanted and more. With what just happened, he’ll live on for a thousand, thousand years, he’ll survive even the coldest of nights – but you won’t.

“I want to make you feel good too,” you tell him, and a flash of fresh panic crosses his eyes.

“Süssling…”

He says it with worry, but does nothing when you send an exploring hand to his bulge. Drawing a sharp breath when you sweep your hand over it, he goes rigid again, this time for reasons other than just nervousness.

You’re younger and therefore more impatient, which means you’re at the strings of his pants in no time. He looks at your greed with a slack jaw and a set of furrowed brows, but never tries to prevent you. It only spurs you on that he’s acting so shy in front of an eager maiden when other men would already be bullying their cocks in your unexplored heat.

“This is madness,” he whispers when you pull out the heavy, hard cock that reminds you of the members you’ve seen on horses and bulls. 

Of course the man’s big down there when he’s practically a myth walking… And there must be a way to pleasure him too, some lovely devilry that will leave you a maiden. A virgin for him to take on your wedding night – because you will marry this man, no matter what anyone says. You’ll burn the whole kingdom down before giving yourself to any other man.

You wrap your fingers around him to punctuate it that he’s yours. If he feared you might mirror what he just did to you, he makes no comment about it when you don’t, only whines when his cock is snared by a frail but eager hand.

“Princess,” he warns, slightly out of breath. “I will stain your dress…” 

“Shh. Show me how to please you.”

The worry in his eyes is wild and bright, but the way your fingers mold around him leaves no space for arguments. A broken, stiff sigh is punched out of him when you begin to move: if he won’t show you how, it’s no trouble at all to try and find out yourself. 

But when your thumb sweeps over the weeping tip of him, he finally brings a trembling hand upon yours. He starts to guide you, adjusts your grip, huffs when you both apply pressure on it. The curious creature that you are, you look down to witness the ugly beauty of it all.

It’s intimidating and rough, the cock in your hand... It looks like a weapon, honestly, a battering ram that leaks heady liquid from the head. Smooth and heavy and ripped with veins, it’s like a too hard muscle about to bludgeon something, and your hand is making it drool profusely. Would that it were inside you, you would be in grave danger, and why is it that you find the prospect so seductive?

His hand is far bigger than yours, and it makes your heart run wild, the way he tries to be gentle while using your grip to get himself off. He can’t even keep his eyes open from the shame, just takes a quick glance at your enthralled face before squeezing his eyes shut once more. 

“Look at me,” you command softly, and he obeys – what else can a sworn knight do? – but you can see that the poor man is on the verge of tears. Shaking and panting, he stares at you while fucking himself with your hand, and when you close the small breath of air between you and kiss him, he melts.

The first thick spurt surprises you completely, you even mewl into his mouth when it shoots to stain your dress. You didn’t expect that to happen, at least not so fast… And because this is the first time you’ve seen a man come undone, you quickly leave the panting, moaning mouth and look down. 

There’s so much of it, and the release is so violent; it looks and sounds like it hurts because the man is shuddering and groaning as if stabbed. Thick, white pulses of seed coat the brown wool of your dress, but it soaks the semen gladly: there’s nothing left of his cum other than dark, damp stains after he’s done.

And there’s no end to his shame. He pries your hand away from his cock as soon as he’s somewhat composed. Does it with a shaky hand, wipes what little stains of hot, wet seed you have on your palm to his pants, and all you’re thinking about is what it would feel like to have this giant trembling and groaning like that above you, inside you… If you could even take all of that thick, brutal length. If he would be able to move away when inside your heat, if he’d let you hug him again, just hold him close so that he’d never ever leave anymore…

“I have soiled you,” he mutters while looking at your skirt.

“Nonsense. You have only claimed me... I’m yours now.”

“Princess… No amount of silver–”

“Don’t. Don’t you dare.”

You actually manage to kiss him silent. Tears begin to run down his face when you show him where he belongs. It’s the final surrender as he pulls you into his arms and finally drowns you in love – at last, you find yourself under him as he takes what's his. What seems like hours later, he breaks the kiss, only to look into your eyes with full-blown adoration.

“How am I to live without you after this?” 

“You don’t have to. Not ever,” you say.

“Princess. If there was any hope for me to have your hand, if there was any hope that your father would give it, I would have carried you away from this place years ago.”

For a while, you fear it’s the fear of sin that burns him. But then you realize it was always only just you. 

He looks so anguished now, even more in pain, when all you wanted to do was relieve his agonies. This was only a taste of what he can’t have. You both took a bite of the forbidden fruit but can’t eat the entire thing – no wonder he looks like he’s cast out of heaven he didn’t know even existed.

“Sir, I cannot do this,” you grab his face with both hands now. “Please don’t make me do this...”

He sighs and looks at the mess you just made. He’s broken every oath he’s ever taken, and the evidence is scattered right there between you. The only thing deadlier than this would’ve been if he pumped all of that hot, fluid sin inside you.

“Sweetling,” he laments. “Look at us. You’ve already ruined me. Ruined us both…”

“It’s called love, silly.”

He breathes a short, shy smile, the first you’ve ever seen on him. It’s cute and makes him look young, the quick flash of teeth between unruly lips, the almost bashful, downcast eyes that are not quite ready to meet the full brunt of your devotion.

“Ja,” he breathes. “Ich weiss.”

Then he brings his eyes back to yours, his smile slowly making way for a more serious expression. He lifts a hand to touch your cheek, and you find yourself soaring in the sky like a bird, a phoenix that has risen from the dead. It’s heavenly, the way you both caress each other, here on the lowly tavern’s bed, covered in salt, sweetness and sin.

“Your father will have both our heads if he finds out,” he tells you as if you needed the reminder.

“I pray our heads will never be separated then.”

He snorts a quick smile again. It makes you heady, that you’re apparently the only one who can make this gruesome giant laugh. 

“You’re dangerous, princess,” he gruffs. “I knew you were trouble… And yet I curse all the years I left you in peace.”

“I know,” you smile. “Never the brightest one, my love...”

When you lie in his arms that night and tell him about your silly little fantasies, he grows hard again. When you tell him you now have new ones—ones where you’d want to feel him inside you—he looks like a man condemned to death. 

The stares he shoots your way make it clear that he’s lost – no matter what he says, he can’t be kept away from you, not anymore. You suppose he’ll forsake even more secret promises and vows before forsaking the pledge he swore to you. Even at the cost of your lives, he’ll come scratching at your door, howling for some quick, hot love in the night, begging for you to give him everything he has denied himself. 

And eventually, you grow more serious too. While lying in his arms, safe and tucked away from all the horrors of this world, you play with the leather strings of his gambeson, tugging them and twisting them around your finger like a child.

“There will come a day when they promise me to another,” you whisper, wondering if he’s already asleep. 

He promised to never leave your side again, he promised. And still… What will happen when the carriage and horses take you to some distant, hostile kingdom, far away from him? What if you only get this summer together, and then nothing no more?

“They’ll take me away,” you tell him, almost without a voice. 

A soft, hearty grumble answers, a man who finally knows what he’s fighting for.

“No one will take you away, sweetling. Not as long as I live.”

[spnbabe67]

Fire Up The Night

Kinktober Day 30: Against The Wall (B.B.)

Pairing: Billy Butcher x Original Female Character

Warnings: Smut, Throw away character gets a little handsy, PiV, Sex in an Alley,

Summary: Butcher can't stand the sight of seeing Samarra flirt with someone else. But she isn't his, right?

Word Count: 2233

Authors Note: Title is the title of a song by New Medicine

I know I wrote something similar to this with my last Jake Seresin entry, but I what can I say? I'm a sucker for the possessive type, and I hopefully made this different enough to count. I also decided halfway through I could have written it another way, but by that point it was too late for me to go back and change it because I still had to study for an exam the next day.

Butcher was two seconds away from crushing the tumbler full of whiskey in his grasp. He didn’t know how long Samarra had been across the bar talking to a sleazy looking guy, a Supe high up in the Vought chain if the info they were given had any credibility. Not quite as god-like as one of the Seven, but definitely had enough clearance that if they managed to snatch the wanker, they could get some good intel off of him. But fuck, if he had to watch Samarra flirt with him for any longer, Butcher was gonna kill someone. The Supe, Steve or Tony or something, had her leaned back on her elbows against the bar, shooting her a thousand-watt grin, plying her with a seemingly endless supply of alcohol. Butcher could help the twinge of satisfaction he felt every time the Supe bought her some fruity little drink. At least I know what she likes.

Samarra, to her credit, seemed to hold her liquor well, holding out through the conversation like a champ. Maybe a little too well. Butcher gritted his teeth at the nagging thought. Her smile looked just a little too bright, laugh sounding a little too real for his liking. From his vantage point in the corner of the club, he could see the way Samarra didn’t balk from Tony/Steve’s hungry gaze devouring her body on display. Butcher had argued the dress made of gold-accented black gauzy material that hung off every curve and dip of her body was too damn revealing, but Annie had insisted, and Samarra had agreed with her. He knew she was stunning, but why choose that dress in particular; she could seduce a sworn celibate in a pair of week old sweats, she didn’t need all the makeup piled on her features or the glitz and glam. It was simply adding insult to injury.

The worst part was he knew he wasn’t supposed to feel like this. Wasn’t supposed to feel this raw and grating jealousy every time Samarra trailed her finger up the Supe’s arm. They were fuck buddies for fuck’s sake, not going steady. So all Butcher could do was watch on in silence, doing his best to keep his cool as she worked her magic, every tinkling laugh and featherlight touch on the poor sap’s arm, chest, shoulder, only pulling Tony/Steve further and further into her web of lies. Butcher should have been disturbed how easy this was for her, but instead it had the opposite effect. Maybe it was the atmosphere, the pounding music and flashing lights, mostly naked bodies grinding on the floors and poles, but he’d had to readjust his pants more than once watching her seduce Tony/Steve. 

After what Butcher deemed too damn long, Samarra’s gray eyes caught his, disappointment and anger ebbing over him at the subtlest shake of her head. Not necessarily at her, but at their informant for giving them wrong intel, wasting their time and needlessly putting them in danger. He’d definitely be killing somebody later. Maybe now, Butcher thought as Tony/Steve’s hand landed on Samarra’s waist. Way far past having enough, he downed the rest of his drink before weaving his way through the crowd.

Samarra kept the preformative smile plastered to her face, looking up at Steven beneath heavily lidded eyes, playing the drunken bimbo to a T. She had to stop herself from viscerally recoiling from his sweaty palm on her waist, feeling his humidity through the very delicate fabric of her dress. 

“Oi, cunt. You messin’ with me girl?”

That feeling of disdain and exasperation quickly faded as Butcher’s familiar accent came from her left. She had to bite her lip to keep from bursting into laughter as he muscled his way between her and Sleazen, as she’d named him in her head, Sleazen’s eyes going wide at the intimidating figure Butcher cut, immediately stepping off her. His familiar scent wafted over her, putting her nerves less on edge as they’d just been. She had full confidence she could drop Sleazen if she had to, but knowing she had back up only helped matters. 

“I’m alright, Baby.” Samarra turned to Butcher, feeling her heart pounding in her chest as she gave the quickest sidelong glance to the Not-Supe before passionately, and loudly, kissing Butcher, hoping he understood the angle she was playing.

He clearly got the message, big hands falling to her hips, replacing the same area where Sleazen had just had his own grip. After a second, Samarra peeked an eye open, checking to see if the coast was clear. When she saw Sleazen was nowhere to be seen, she pulled away taking a breath, giggling to herself.

“Holy shit was he a loser.” Samarra adjusted the strap of her dress, the satin strip having almost slipped off her shoulder. What she missed was the way Butcher’s dark gaze caught on the movement, pulling his attention back to her face. 

“I bet.” He guided her by the waist away from the bar and through the throng of people. “You can tell me and the others just as soon as we get back.” 

Samarra didn’t think too much about it when Billy led her out one of the side exits, the dark doorway leading into a small alleyway behind the club. The fresh air was welcomed, Samarra breathing it in deeply as the chill of the night sent a shiver down her spine. She damn near ran into Butcher’s back, her gaze skyward to look at the stars speckling the pitch black backdrop. 

“Butch, why’d you stop?” Samarra wrapped her arms around herself. “I’m freezin’ my tits off out here.”

Her brows furrowed as Butcher looked at her over his shoulder, turning around to face her. His pupils were blown wide and the way he was looking at her had heat pooling in her core. It was so different from the entitled gaze of Sleazen, this heated look was welcomed, encouraged even.

“What?” Samarra asked, laughing awkwardly as Butcher took a step towards her, making her step back. Or she would have had the cold stone of the brick wall hadn’t bit into her back, making her flinch at the harsh temperature contrast.

“Do you,” Butcher took another half step closer; if Samarra tilted her head up and leaned in just a little, their mouths would touch. “Have any idea, what you do to me.”

Samarra ran her tongue over her lips, her mouth parting open slightly as her breath hitched as he got closer. “I have an idea.”

All it took was Butcher dipping his head to capture her lips, kissing her deeply, sweeping his tongue into her mouth. Samarra let her eyes fall shut at the sensation of his mouth on hers, his body brushing up against her arms. He took hold of her wrist, unfurling her arms from around her body and a small noise escaped her as Butcher guided her hand down between their bodies to press her palm against the very obvious bulge in his jeans. 

“Alla that just from watchin ya work your magic on that sleazy cunt.” Butcher groaned against her skin, trailing his mouth down her jaw to her neck.

Samarra bit her lip, palming him through his jeans. “I think that says more about who you are as a man than it does about my skills.”

She felt him snort a laugh against her neck, nipping playfully at the junction of her neck and shoulder. Samarra tipped her head back against the wall, rolling her hips against the thigh he’d nudged between her legs, pinning her against the brick. Butcher’s hand slid up the outside of her thigh, teasing under the thin fabric of her dress, the hem having fallen about mid-thigh. A cheeky grin tipped the corners of her lips upward as Butcher cursed against her neck as his hands slid high enough on her thigh and hips to realize that she was not, in fact, wearing any panties. 

“Fuckin’ diabolical.” Butcher growled, kissing her harshly. “Gonna give this old man a heart attack pulling shit like this.” 

“Who said it was for you?” 

Butcher’s answering swat to the inside of her thigh had Samarra laughing breathily. The teasing was short lived as he palmed her ass, kneading the softness there before hoisting her upwards, wrapping her legs around his waist. The leather of his trench coat was cold against the bare skin of her legs, but the heat pooling between her legs more than made up for it, along with the warmth of his torso through his dress shirt

Samarra knew her arousal was soaking into the bottom of his shirt but she couldn’t find it in her to care as Butcher’s hip chased her hand as she deftly undid his belt and the button of his jeans. His beard chafed at the side of her neck as he worked to kiss and suck dark marks into her skin, his hand coming up to knead her breasts through her dress He groaned deeply, the sound reverberating into her body when as he went to kiss her, Samarra brought her hand to her mouth, licking her palm wrapping it around his length, pumping her hand up and down him loosely as she pulled him free from his clothes. He bucked his hips against her hand, rutting his cock through her fingers as she guided him to her center. 

They both groaned as the head of him slid inside of her. Butcher leaned in, reclaiming her mouth. Samarra’s desperate moans lived and died on his tongue as he slid in and in until his hips sat flush against her. Butcher slid back out, almost all the way, before slamming back in, making her cry out, the sound swallowed by his mouth. Again and again he rocked his hips back just to slam back in, driving her into the wall. Samarra could feel the roughness of the brick at her back digging into her skin, scraping and scratching every time he bottomed out with a sharp thrust. 

Samarra slid her hands up and down his torso, trying to find someplace to steady herself against the onslaught of harsh thrusts, ending up on his shoulders. She rolled her hips back against him, keeping up with his punishing rhythm the best she could. Her head goes hazy at his seemingly omnipresent existence; he’s around her, he's inside her, even as her breaths grew into ragged pants she breathed in his scent. Butcher’s lips migrated back down her jaw, ending up on her neck as he braced a hand on the wall beside her head. 

“Fuck, Mara.” Butcher mumbled, nearly inaudibly, and Samarra wondered if his utterance was meant to be incoherent as he continued. “I shouldn’t be jealous. You aren’t even mine.”

Samarra bit her lip hard as the revelation was punctuated with a harsh thrust, his movements becoming more uneven, snapping up into her harder and harder until she started to see stars behind her eyes. Samarra clung to him as that coil in her belly grew tighter, her thighs starting to go lazy around his waist. Butcher came with a string of curses into her shoulder, hips stuttering, gripping her thigh to keep it in place on his side. Samarra rolled her hips against him, garnering the friction of his still-on pants against his clit to supplement the change in rhythm. He continued to fuck into her until her inner walls squeezed around him, a keening moan falling from her lips as she came.

Butcher pulled away just enough as they both panted harshly in the post-climax high. He helped set her back down on her feet, holding onto his arm since her legs were still shaky. Samarra straightened the skirt of her dress back down her legs, running a thumb under her lip to swipe away her smeared lipstick. 

“You got-” Butcher gestured to her mouth as she did.

“Here?” She rubbed a different spot.

“No, a little more over-not that far.” Butcher huffed at her before grabbing her wrist. “Just, let me get it.”

Samarra stood still as Butcher reached up, dragging his thumb along the side of her lip, his minstations gentle as he removed her smudged lipstick before pulling his hand away. 

“Thanks.” She said quietly, suppressing a shiver as the loss of heat reminded her just how cold it was outside. “Shall we. I’m sure M.M. and the others are thinkin’ we got ourselves into trouble.”

Butcher nodded, gesturing for her to walk ahead of him around the back of the building. Samarra flinched when as they rounded the corner with the parking lot in sight, something warm encased her shoulders. Butcher’s cologne filled her nose as she realized it was his trench coat, patched many times over and warm, that he’d plunked down on her shoulders. She looked up at him with pinched brows, but his only reply was a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. Samarra opened her mouth to say something, anything. Maybe address what he’d muttered into her body minutes before. But in the end she shut it, chalking it up to the heat of the moment; it wasn’t like she knew how to broach the subject if it wasn’t anyway. Instead she stayed silent, sliding into Butcher’s car as he pointed the headlights back to the apartment.

[lady-byleth]

So I remembered that a criticism of Mononoke was that the first arc seemed to be pretty heavily anti-abortion and I actually went the same way, which I really didn't like cuz it seemed counter to the overall fairly feminist tone of the show

I mean, even the original bake neko arc dealt heavily with violence and sexual abuse against women specifically, and the show is quite vocal about what issues women face in society. Like, we have a woman breaking free from abuse, a woman being looked down on for the profession she chose by her male superior, a woman looked down on for not being celibate after losing her husband...and the show is very clear "the ones on the other side of that are the bad ones, not the women in those situations". In this context the anti-choice thing felt weird.

But I just rewatched the original bake neko arc of Ayakashi and realized something that actually changes the whole tone of the arc for me

The Medicine Seller, when investigating the mononoke, asks the Sakai household if they think Tamaki's regret possessed the cat, making it the vicious mononoke we see

It's explained fairly often that mononoke are ayakashi that are influenced by negative human emotions so what we can extrapolate is that the ayakashi can exist before and sort of evolve once they encounter emotions strong enough, though that's not always the case cuz we've seen humans (and a cat) become mononoke as well

That's not important though, what's important is the ayakashi part

In the bake neko's case it was that the cat itself died with regrets and Tamaki's suffering turned it into the mononoke. It's explicitly the human emotions that are the problem and they don't necessarily have to even be connected to the ayakashi itself. He says that the motivations don't have to make sense, because they don't think like we do.

What that means for the zashiki warashi arc is that the brothel must have been a regular beacon of despair with how many abortions were forced on women there (just look at the walls literally filled with dead babies), attracted the zashiki warashi, which are usually spirits of children that are supposed to bring good fortune, and the mothers' pain, grief and rage twisted them into what we see

Of course, the characters themselves wouldn't know that a fetus isn't capable of having such complex feelings, and the show is fairly good at keeping the characters time period accurate, so they think it's the babies themselves. But it's what the mothers felt and wished for, because it's those kinds of emotions that create mononoke

And Shino, who so desperately wants her baby to be born and thinks it does as well, would of course trigger the mononoke into the roaring rampage of revenge that calls the Medicine Seller to the Inn

Additionally, the zashiki warashi seem to have been steeped in those emotions so long they've made them their own, which ends up making them believe they are those babies and that in turn would be enough for the sword

This is convoluted and yet logical enough to be entirely in character for the show, so I really think this is what they were going for.

[melrosing]

also the argument that Jaime 'didn't join the KG intending to follow his oaths to a t because he hadn't specifically planned to be celibate' and what lol, like there is a moral good in following the rules to a 't' anyway?

Jaime regardless of his motivations in joining the KG, does so expecting to follow a knight's code of honour - and soon discovers that what he's actually sworn is to essentially give up his personhood and enable a violently tyrannical monarch. and he interrogates that from day one and is ultimately the only member of the KG who calls bullshit and puts an end to it. like sure he was naïve in conflating the KG with knighthood - most characters do unfortunately (you can hear it in how practically everyone talks of the honour of the KG EXCEPT adult Jaime).

we're not supposed to condemn Jaime for not reading the paperwork properly before he signs on for his job, but he should be lauded for starting to interrogate it as soon as he starts. like who cares if Jaime always hoped to continue a consensual relationship - we see that he did nonetheless take principles such as 'defending the innocent' seriously, and ultimately rebelled when his role proved irreconcilable with that principle - something older members of the KG didn't manage to do because they took their oaths too seriously.

so Jaime's arc isn't about 'learning to take oaths more seriously' - it's about committing to the right oaths, and balancing the 'paperwork' with a meaningful moral code. that's why he calls out to the other KG in ASOS that they shouldn't have blindly followed the 'do as the king says' clause when it meant brutalising a young girl. the 'too many oaths' speech is Jaime calling out how a list of rules =/= a moral code.

and like sure applaud Jon Snow for working through the 'can I fuck' quandary but Jaime was asking different questions in a different role with a substantially different relationship with sex no less. Jon, who has never had sex before swearing to celibacy, and understands himself to have been born of an unmarried coupling, was always going to have a bit of an arc with that one lmao

[ghostcathedrals]

// catholic guilt, sacrilege, nsfw, fluff (what), perversion, stalking, mention of blood, corruption

devil!toji vampire priest!toji do things to me actually

devil!toji who was supposed to possess and wreak havoc in a community church but ends up meeting a young nun/priest/celibate who is newly ordained or welcomed into solemnity. so entranced, he decided to stray away from his original plan and watched over them. of course this isn't fully domesticated or whatever. he watches their every move, their every prayer, his ghost stands before them, atop the altar they pray to. with his ghostly touch, he will thrust out his arms and let his hands cup their cheeks. moving closer, he pecks their lips.

they feel the cold sensation on their cheeks and lips, suddenly scrambling away from the altar. confused and nervous, they look around the room searching for something or someone, but toji only looks at them amusingly. he then falls to the floor and cages them with his legs and arms like a veil. his breath coldly against their ear, he whispers, "believe in me, and only me."

"w-what?" they ask, fear rising up to their mouth like bile. "w-who are you?"

the questions themselves give way for them to finally see the ghost ⎯ devil ⎯ who has been bothering them in the middle of their prayer. his sinister grin towering over them and blocking everything else brings tendrils of shiver down their spine. "you're pristine like flowers, but i can easily stain you like blood coating snow."

"whoever you are, my faith is stronger and i am not afraid of you."

"really?" he purrs, dropping lower so his slowly personifying figure is weighing them down further. "let me know if you're faith is stronger in two weeks, 'kay?" then he pulls away.

"whatever do you mean, two weeks?"

toji merely grins and response before disappearing into smoke.

so they carry burden of a devil always behind them, watching their every move, even when they are in the bathroom. oftentimes they get flustered when they can tell they're being watched. then they end up begging toji not to stalk them, but of course they have a price to pay for that. you can imagine what the price is.

but there are times when there are strict and mean superiors, or like churchgoers who gossip behind them, so when one time they got too sad/cried about it, toji made sure he went back to their plan and became the people's nightmare.

apparently, no one gets to hurt the devil's angel.

[shadowphoenixrider]

The Jedi and the Scoundrel

(Decided to write a little Halloween fic of my two idiots. There is a plot, I think, if you squint. It's more just some silliness and those two being nerds. Enjoy!)

"Well, well, well," the thick Cajun drawl rolled over me like a wave, "what's a pretty li'l Jedi like you doin' so far from the Temple?"

I arched my eyebrow as Gambit swaggered over to me, in a surprisingly faithful costume of Han Solo, and I tried not to stare at how flatteringly it wrapped around his body.

"I could ask you the same thing, Captain." I shot back, folding my arms. "Haven't you got more important things to do than chat up Jedi? Save princesses, perhaps?"

"Rather save ya from bein' lonely, Master Jedi." He grinned, and I rolled my eyes. "'Course, Gambit could go see what de others be wearin', but he mighta gotten a li'l distracted..." He leant against the same banister I was, his red-black eyes roving over me. "You're lookin' good, Shadow."

"Ah, thanks." I lifted a shoulder, pulling my dark brown cloak back so he could look at the pieces beneath. "Isn't anything special like yours, just stuff I picked up from fancy dress places." I tapped the bulky saber clipped onto my belt. "And a toy I had when I was younger. I suppose I could ask Hank to give me a hand making something a little more faithful next year, especially if you're gonna show me up like this."

"Aw, don't sell yaself short!" Gambit smiled. "Ain't no-one goin' around judgin' what we look like - it jus' a bit 'a fun." He smirked. "Logan goes as de same look every year."

"And what's that?"

"Grumpy ol' man." The Cajun grinned toothily.

"You be careful how loud you say that, or I'm gonna be sewing you back together again." I giggled, watching the others move through the main atrium of the mansion below, chattering excitedly.

A bear form Ber loped away from Jubilee, who was trying to playfully bite him with a pair of fake vampire fangs she'd found, whilst Kurt - a resplendent pirate captain of the seven seas - was giving a nervous Myst gentle encouragement to join the others, examining a piece of clothing he had grasped in his hands.

"Gonna be quite de party wit ya friends here." Gambit commented, sidling closer to me. "Excited?"

"Looking forward to it." I nodded. "Though I'm not one for big events. I think once I've seen who's dressed up and who's not, I won't be staying for too long."

"Sure we can find a nice quiet place to spend some time together, Master Jedi..." Gambit purred in my ear, looping his arm around my waist. I rolled my eyes again.

"You're just thinking of how to get me out of these robes, aren't you?"

"C'mon, don't tell Gambit you Jedi are celibate now, eh?" He pulled his head back to raise his own eyebrow at me, one I returned.

"The Code warns us against attachments, not celibacy, Captain." I replied.

"Gonna have to explain dat one to me." Gambit moved around to behind me, settling his chin onto the top of my head.

"It's a simplification." I said, letting him mould his body around me. "When the Code mentions attachments, it doesn't mean relationships outright, it means obsessive attachment." I leaned my head back to look up at him. "Putting that relationship above all other things, and being unable to let it go when the time comes. That's why Anakin fell to the Dark Side. Not because he loved Padme, but because he loved her so much he couldn't let her go when it was her time, and ended up being the cause of her death."

"So he shoulda let her die in childbirth?" Gambit asked, not unkindly.

"Of course, you should try not to let that happen, but it's prophecy, isn't it? The Force gave Anakin prophetic dreams of losing Padme in childbirth, and in his obsession to save her, he made the prophecy come true." I chuckled softly. "As how these things go. The more you try to escape destiny, the tighter it ensnares you."

"Hmm." Gambit hummed. "Dat a little sad, though. Dat nothin' he coulda done could've escaped what were gonna happen. Ain't fair to think everythin' already be written, dat we jus' followin' de strings dis world laid out for us."

"Yeah, but I don't think everything is set in stone. Maybe it's less 'this is how things will happen', but it's knowing how and what someone will choose to get there. The reason why Anakin fell to the Dark Side was because he was particularly vulnerable to losing those he loved, and he followed the exact choices that would be expected to lead him down that path. He could have chosen to deviate at any time, and stay off it, and it might not have happened."

"Better to try den jus' sleepwalk ya way into ya fate." Gambit agreed. "But how would dat be differen' than to what he did dat still led him to de Dark Side?"

I frowned.

"It's...difficult. I think there has to be a line where 'seeking a solution' goes too far. Although," I glanced up at the Cajun, smiling weakly, "I think perhaps he should have talked to Obi-Wan about it."

Gambit chuckled.

"Guess we don' have much room to judge on dat," he said, gently squeezing me close.

"No, I guess we don't. And it's very annoying that I can no longer talk shit about shows like that because of it." I folded my arms.

"Didn't expect to hear Jedi philosophy coming from you two." A voice from behind us made me turn, to see Ebak and his lopsided grin, one scarred eyebrow raised.

"Hey! Jus' 'cos I prefer Star Trek don't mean I don't enjoy discussin' de other one!" Gambit retorted.

"Sure, sure. You're definitely not dressing as Han Solo for any particular reason or anything." Ebak commented, his smirk widening.

"If Shadow an' Gambit gonna have a combo costume, Gambit would be Leia." The Cajun replied smoothly, his own grin appearing. Ebak's grin didn't budge, clearly thinking of Leia's space buns and her white dress from New Hope, and entertaining himself with that.

My thoughts, however, had gone to Return of the Jedi, and it was all I could do not to choke on my own breath. An effort failed when Ebak's dark brown eyes flicked to me and it took him about a nanosecond to put it all together. He gave Gambit a flat look.

"Oh. Right. Why am I not surprised."

Gambit grinned sharkishly.

"An' is de Great Ebak gonna come as anythin'?" He asked.

"Wouldn't you like to know, Cajun?" Was my sibling's cool reply.

"How about you stop following this line of inquiry before you wake up stripped down in a laundry basket?" I interjected, giving Gambit a Look.

"Don't threaten Gambit with a good time, chère." He grinned at me, and I rolled my eyes so hard I felt my soul try to escape through my skull.

"Do you want him, El?" I asked, slipping out of Gambit's embrace and striding past my brother down the stairs.

"No, you can keep him." Ebak replied. "You know I can't handle spicy food."

"You wouldn't know good food if it bit ya on de ass!" Gambit shot back. "Wait, chérie!" He cried down to me. "At least let me give ya a kiss!"

"Save it for later, Captain!" I called back, unable to restrain my grin. "The Force calls me towards other duties!"

---

The best thing about Jedi cloaks is not only are they surprisingly cosy and warm, the hoods let you slip out of social events with barely anyone seeing you.

Not that anyone in the mansion particularly minded when people drifted away for a break, especially since my friends had unofficially joined the menagerie of mutants here.

Yet sometimes it was better to drift away into the shadows like a smoky memory, dispersing in the breeze. It was a peaceful secrecy, hidden away out of mind from the others for just a moment.

I pulled my cloak tighter around me as I stepped out into the night, the cold chill of autumn giving way to winter nipping at me with its icy teeth. The swimming pool was long covered over - only Ber's Slavic skin could probably tolerate the cold water, and even he preferred to spend time talking shyly to Rogue, warmed by his blush and her Southern compliments.

I let the smile grow across my lips, shaking my head. Of all the people I expected to be drawn to the Southern belle, Ber had been fairly high on the list, yet I had been delighted to see the interest returned, even if Rogue was understandably tentative. And yet...

Low voices dragged me from my thoughts, and I glanced up to the roof - a pair had already made their roost up in that secret spot, and from the slight golden glow coming from a pair of eyes, I had a fairly good idea who they could be. I turned away, leaving them in peace.

Damn. Where'd that Cajun get to? I wondered, chewing my lip. He couldn't have gone all the way up to the lake, surely?

My legs began to start pacing back and forth as I thought, when a deep voice sounded out behind me:

"Lost, Master Jedi?"

I whirled around to see a pair of red eyes glowing faintly in the darkness, the tall, lithe form of the man they were attached to looming over me.

"Jesus, Gambit!" I breathed, pressing a hand to my chest as a wide, toothy grin grew over his lips. "Fuck, you don't need a spooky costume with those eyes of yours."

"Non, dey always make people jump dis time 'a year." He agreed, chuckling darkly. "Been spookin' any folks comin' through here."

"It's a miracle you're still in one piece!" I looked him up and down, not hearing a peep of distress from his body.

"Gambit been doin' dis enough to know who he can scare without gettin' taken out." He grinned, sidling closer to me. His voice dropped into a lower, darker register. "Now...I don't think you answered my question, Master Jedi." He leaned in, hot breath tickling my ear. "Are you lost?"

I couldn't help the shiver that ran up my spine, noticeable enough to make the Cajun's grin grow ever wider. I swallowed, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Not lost, Captain." I stared into those pools of ruby and black. "Just looking for you."

"An' why would an upstandin' Jedi like you be lookin' for a scoundrel like me?" He asked, leaning closer. "Maybe there ain't enough scoundrels in ya life, non?"

"I happen to like nice men." I replied, a grin flashing over my face as I realized what he was doing.

"I'm a nice man." Gambit purred, stepping even closer, his lips hovering alluringly close to mine.

"You...are not tempting me over to the Dark Side that easy." I grinned widely, pressing my hand against his face and pushing him back.

"Hey!" I darted away from his grab, giggling. "Didn't ya say dat Jedi can have partners?" His dark eyes narrowed. "An' you owe me a kiss."

"I did, and I think you'll find you wanted to give me that kiss!" I replied, sticking my tongue out at him. "But if you want it, Captain, you're gonna have to catch me!"

Gambit arched an eyebrow, before a wide grin spread across his face.

"Oh, dis how it gonna be, brigand?" He laughed. "Den by all means! But ya know what's gonna happen when I getcha!"

"If you get me!" I yelled back, my cloak billowing out behind me as I dashed back into the mansion, the sounds of his boots already close behind.

"Ya know Gambit always wins dese games, mon ombre!" He called back to me as I darted down the hallways.

Maybe. But they always made the nights one to remember, and the reward was always worth the chase...

[ladymidnight24]

Ok, so I know I'm totally just preaching to the choir on here, but I wanted to rant for a second and this is the only place I'm willing to do it, so-

Scrolling through the sad remains of Twitter today, I came across this post:

And I got super excited because I feel like I rarely see people flaunting their Asexuality like this (outside of the community here on Tumblr, that is), so I was just like "Oh fuck yeah, Ace rep!"

Then I made the mistake of scrolling through the comments... and that's really what this post is about, I just wanted a quick vent over some of the more repeated sentiments that I found.

(She responded to a few of them herself and I left in her responses, because yas queen, clap back at them!)

But anyway, quick tale of my experience as a bi-ace person: First and foremost, I think I look good/attractive/whatever and at times I do want to flaunt that because if I'm really feeling the way I look, why shouldn't I be encouraged to show off my muscles or wear a shirt that accentuates my boobs or pants that show off my ass? So yeah, I dress in a "sexual" manner from time to time, especially at pride where it lowkey feels like part of the point a lot of the time, and no, I'm not looking for any serial attention from that and yes, that is okay and normal and people need to stop acting like showing skin means you're some desperate whore (not that theres anything wrong with people who *are* hyper sexual in any way, Im just venting my own experience here).

Also, there were a lot of comments about why protection and rights matter for Ace people when at their most extreme they are A) not have sex and B) can basically go incognito in society and no one needs to know. But more complicated than that, isn't it? Because first of all, not all ace people are fully celibate (Im not) and all ace people I know personally still want to be in a relationship, just not necessarily a sexual one. In my case I got super lucky with my first major partner in that I was able to explain it to him and have him understand that I only get properly horny once in a blue moon, so if he wants sex, he needs to initiate and if Im really not feeling it at all, he needs to be okay with that. We were able to work out what the sexual part of our relationship would look like and things worked out, but, like I said, we were *lucky*.

And on the topic of commication and safety, that stuff is a two way street, it doesn't always help to be upfront about it. I have a friend who's fully non-sexual Ace and the first relationship they got into after feeling solid in that identity they *did* tell their partner right away that they're ace and explained that they're not interested in anything sexual at all and their partner responded by LYING and saying that he was fully non-sexual ace too, but then months into the relationship he tried to start shit and when she reminded him that she didn't want that he suddenly was talking about how they only think that because they've never had sex before, and they just need to change the medication they're taking because *thats* the cause and it's actually just religious trauma that makes her think she doesn't want it and he effectively tried to gaslight them into thinking they were straight when that is absolutley NOT the case and it's taken YEARS for them to feel solid in her identity again, not to mention start dating again (her current partner is lovely genuinely accepting and Im super happy for them)

So anyway, I just wanted to rant about this because it fucking SUCKS to constantly have people tell you that your too sexual to actually be ace or your unnatural for not wanting sex or your just confused or whatever and it can lead to genuinely horrifying situations of being forced into very uncomfortable situations because you're being gaslit by people who are supposed to and claim to love you.

[the1northlanderprincess]

Reylo and Oshamir: So similar, so different

Hello, fellow Reylos and Oshamirs! Man, it feels so nice to have an active ship tag on Tumblr again (it's been a while).

Anyway, so everyone seems to be saying that Reylo and Oshamir share many of the same qualities, for lack of a better term. I completely agree, and that's what's great about them. However, I would like to take the time to discuss my thoughts on how they're different, mainly with their emotions.

Rey: She seems to be a little naive, having been sheltered and stuck on the same planet for most of her life. She is also a loner, and has had little human contact. She seems very expressive, and upon meeting Kylo in his mask, she is absolutely terrified. When it comes to other things related to him, to me, I don't think she had been around a boy or seen one in an intimate situation; or perhaps she had and it was not a pleasant experience. Therefore, when she saw been with no shirt on, it embarrassed her. As for her views on Ben, she was incredibly hostile towards him during the first bonding. It isn't only until their third that she begins to let her guard down.

Osha: Osha, it appears, is a bit more worldly, having been trained as a jedi, and has gone on missions (probably) as a padawan with her master to all sorts of planets. She is more open among her peers and those around her. Now, as far as her emotions, she has them reigned in, because that is the way of a jedi. It really isn't until Qimir pushes her that she has an outburst of any kind. Speaking of, when Osha is confronted by The Stranger in his mask, she seems entranced after the primary fear passes. On the island, once she starts talking to him, she isn't as fiery as Rey was, and they fall into civil conversation almost immediately. Now for the important stuff...Osha was curious about her "captor", and followed him to see what he was doing. When she did, Osha didn't leave. Instead, she looked even more fascinated. So we all know that Jedi are supposed to be celibate, but what isn't certain is how Osha acted after leaving the order. But, in my opinion, she is completely acting like she has never seen a man's body before. In the least, she is probably wondering who this man is who is doing normal, simple human things.

The Men:

Ben: Okay, Ben's character is a study in the dichotomy of personalities. In TFA, and parts of TLJ, he has forgone all Jedi teachings of not being emotional. With Rey, he is more calm. When she denies him, he regresses and doesn't have control of his emotions until he faces some home truths, and is able to find inner peace. In terms of sensuality, Ben is like the model Jedi, and it doesn't even faze him when the bond opens the first time while he's in a state of undress.

Qimir: our main man is an interesting character, to say the least. He says he is a Sith, but doesn't exhibit the visible signs. Instead, he is, in most appearances, a normal man whose knowledge is vast. His emotions are pretty much in check. The only anger he truly exhibits is towards Sol, if you can even call it that; he's fighting someone who attacked him first. Next, we don't know enough about him to pin down whether or not he has a true moral code. It's evident that he was going to kill Mae for failing him, which is typical villain with a sidekick attitude. However, he showcases somewhat of a gentlemanly heart when he spots an unconscious Osha. He refrains from touching her wound, though he clearly wants to. Instead, he carefully places his robe over her and then places his hand softly on her covered arm. We know he cleans her wound later, but right then he probably thinks it wasn't the right time to give in. However, he grabs her arm later, twice. His love language is obviously touch 😄

Finally, the juicy part.....Unlike Ben, Qimir is very much in tune with his sensuality. Dude is shameless as he walks out of the water. He has a smolder, even. Yet he knows she is unlikely to cave. Thus, when she shoves him against the rock wall, he is genuinely taken aback a little, and his expression is delicious. Man, I can't wait until these two will no doubt spar. 😍😏🥵

All that said, I honestly can't believe this is a thing! I've been missing posting about Reylo, and had become nearly apathetic. So, I'm very thankful for Oshamir, and I hope to goodness we get more in both remaining episodes.

[triviareads]

What are your favorite Scottish romance novels?

I stuck to books that are mostly set in Scotland because I do have a few more favorites that have Scottish heroes and heroines but they don't have that Scottish setting that, imo, make a Scottish romance *Scottish*

Hannah and the Highlander by Sabrina York: This was recced to me by @jeanvanjer and it's one of my favorite underrated Scottish historicals; the hero Alexander aka THE WOLF OF DUNNET is this quiet, gruff laird who's so intimidating he just grunts at the man attempting to assault the heroine and he flees. Then Hannah tries to kiss Alexander as a thank you but then HE flees because he's wildly turned on and doesn't want to speak because he has a stutter, crippling Hannah's self-confidence and leaving Alexander with no doubt he's going to marry her without even knowing her name. He also misguidedly paints her bedroom walls brown because her eyes are brown and he thinks they're beautiful. And on TOP of all this, he houses orphans impacted by the Highland Clearances and quite frankly, idk how much better of a romance hero you can get.

In Bed with a Stranger by Mary Wine: Another gruff (but more rough) laird who's perpetually threatening to catch our English heroine every time she tries to run (including when she just steps out to fill her water bottle), but like, in a hot way. He also has a bit of a breeding kink. The plot itself is actually kind of bonkers— the heroine is illegitimate and her dad's wife devises a scheme to send her to marry the Scottish laird, and when she's preggo, she'll give the baby to her legitimate half-sister and the sister will take her place with the laird........ and he's just not supposed to notice??

Scandalous Passions by Nicola Davidson: A Scottish throuple consisting of James IV's ex mistress, a super repressed knight who's also a switch, and an innocent but horny debutante. Nicola isn't afraid to Go There when it comes to sex stuff, and her style is very earthy, bodice-ripper explicit, if that makes sense, and this is one of my favorites by her because of it.

Bed Me, Duke by Felicity Niven: The rare Scottish HEROINE rep! Helen is a Scottish countess in her own right and her land is in super dire straits so she asks for sex lessons from this random rake guy she comes across so she can seduce the local duke into getting money for her people, but she doesn't realize the guy is the duke.

The Chief by Monica McCarty: This takes place in medieval Scotland during the time of Robert the Bruce; Tor is the leader of a secret group of *elite* soldiers serving Bruce. The heroine Christina is forced to compromise him so they're hastily wed and while the chemistry is great, he's hiding his extracurricular soldier activities from her.

The Saint by Monica McCarty: So every title in the Highland Guard series refers to the hero's nickname and Magnus is nicknamed the Saint basically because everyone thinks he's tragically celibate and I'm pretty sure he is after being rejected by childhood sweetheart Helen, who is now betrothed to one of his fellow comrades. The vibes are very King Arthur/Guinevere/Lancelot with a side of Persuasion.

The Recruit by Monica McCarty: The hero is Helen's brother Kenneth who did the most for me early on when the heroine Mary caught him having sex in the stables with another lady and he MAINTAINED EYECONTACT while finishing. Mary is a widow but basically hasn't had good sex before until Kenneth arrives on the scene.

[bonefall]

What do you think of cannon Half Moon?

Not a fan!

I don't like any of the cats that are introduced in Jayfeather's time travel mission. All of them felt completely pointless. I don't care for Fallen Leaves either, not the random shipping with Hollyleaf or the implication that the loss of this (all things considered) completely random Softpaw caused the Sharpclaws of the lake to consider leaving their ancestral homeland.

So on the subject of shipping, I can't bring myself to care about Jay's relationship with her even at face-value. There's no chemistry. I don't care about their dynamic when they're on-screen because it's not unique in any way.

But unlike the others, Half Moon isn't JUST relegated to Jayfeather's distracting subplot.

She gets to show up in DotC-related books too, as an ancestor in StarClan. I've already mentioned my distaste for the entire arc and my intent to not be faithful to it, so I won't get into it here...

But it'll help understand where my distaste for Half Moon comes from; so much of the ancient culture is poofed into existence by StarClan, and Half Moon is always present when it happens. So in my head she feels like the emblem of that.

God, not to mention Moth Flight's Vision, where she and a bunch of other StarClan cats dogpile and condescend Acorn Fur when Moth Flight comes up with that ridiculous, spiteful rule. It reads like the authorial intent is that these 'wise and noble' cats are finally calling out a woman who's entitled and backing up Moth Flight, who's been disrespected and talked over in the entire book

BUT. IF THAT WAS THEIR INTENT THEY DID A REALLY BAD JOB.

Because instead it just looks like Acorn Fur being forced into celibacy or else leaving SkyClan without a medic because Moth Flight doesn't want this child she was jealous of to be happy with Red Claw, the person she blames for Micah's death.

(conveniently clear sky doesn't catch consequences despite ordering the stupid tree battle. nor is he blamed later when his xenophobia gets his child killed horribly. """Redemption Arc")

And Half Moon is here, joining in on this extremely frustrating dogpile, which you could interpret as being because Jayfeather taught her that medics are supposed to be celibate... but it's not on the page. It's just Half Moon joining in to dunk on this poor woman who has the GALL to suggest that maybe Moth Flight is making a bad rule.

TL;DR Moth Flight and Half Moon should hold hands and take a long walk off a short pier

[blackjackkent]

Hi hi! For the OC ask meme - you pick who you're jonesing to write for! <3

🍒: Has Your OC had their first kiss yet? If so, with who?

🍆: Does your OC have any favourite form of affection, physical or otherwise?

🌽: How does this OC feel about acts of affection? What's their favourite act of affection, physical or emotional?

🍰: What's something your OC counts as unforgivable?

🍩: What's a crime your OC is most likely to commit? What's a crime they're most likely to get arrested for?

Oooh, lotsa prompts. :D Thank you!

(Odd OC Asks)

I'm gonna stick with Hector again bc as I said, he's on my mind tonight. XD (Rakha is too - looking forward to getting her liveblog back up and running - but she's still in Act 1 and I don't have strong answers for some of these questions just yet because she's still figuring herself out. :P )

🍒: Has Your OC had their first kiss yet? If so, with who?

Indeed! I don't actually think it was Karlach, either, though she is his first relationship/sex. I think I established at one point that Hector had a brief flirtation with a girl in the village near the monastery when he was in his late teens; it didn't get tremendously far but they definitely had a few secret rendezvous to make out.

However - his order isn't celibate but it was sort of frowned upon to get caught up in that kind of thing and so the whole thing got stomped out by the then-Abbot and after that Hector buried himself in his studies and didn't really come out again until the Nautiloid caught him.

🍆: Does your OC have any favourite form of affection, physical or otherwise?

This kind of relates to the above - Hector has been pretty touch-starved his whole life and also knows that Karlach ALSO has, so their relationship is VERY touch-heavy and he's sort of fascinated by it, by just being able to reach out and feel her near him any time he likes and get that same gesture in return. Any time he's near her and his hands aren't otherwise occupied he almost always has a hand on her arm or around her waist or shoulders, and she is the same way; it's not really even a deliberate thing on either of their parts, just instinctive, automatic.

With friends, he's less touchy-feely (although he got more so over time - there were a lot of hugs during the epilogue party), and I think his biggest gesture of affection comes around discussing each others' interests. He's always very actively interested in the things that are important to his friends (looking back, he absolutely first started to fall for Karlach when she infodumped about demons at him :P ), and super excited when someone (often Gale and Shadowheart) bring up something he's interested in and let him ramble in return.

🌽: How does this OC feel about acts of affection? What's their favourite act of affection, physical or emotional?

Oops. I guess the above answer was supposed to be just about receiving affection, and this one is about giving affection? I sort of answered both at once, lol.

🍰: What's something your OC counts as unforgivable?

My initial instinct was to say blasphemy but that's actually super untrue; he got close to Shadowheart even before she gave up on Shar, he was ready to throw hands with Mystra for Gale, etc. So his relationship with religion got very complicated very fast as soon as he left the monastery actually, which is interesting to think about.

Looking at the moments where Hector got the most angry/upset during the game, the answer seems more likely to be cruelty or indifference to those in need and unable to defend themselves. His biggest snap moments were 1) his temper tantrum at Shadowheart in the House of Healing, which was really at Malus Thorm except he was already dead, 2) Arfur Gregorio and the gunpowder in the refugees' toys, 3) Valeria not giving a shit about the outcome of her investigation, 4) seeing the Steel Watcher killing a little girl through the brains in the Foundry, 5) Wulbren Bongle, nuff said, and 6) the asshole running the dog kennel. (And, of course, everything to do with Gortash, Orin, Cazador, Raphael, Viconia, and Mystra.)

🍩: What's a crime your OC is most likely to commit? What's a crime they're most likely to get arrested for?

Hm. There isn't a TON of criminal activity Hector would be involved in. In a lot of ways he is the guy from that Club Penguin meme ("They can't do that, that's illegal!") - he got, for instance, super incensed about the djinn rigging the carnival game in Rivington. XD

However - he has definitely killed and will kill again, albeit for self-defense and/or civic duty reasons, so y'know there's that.

The real answer here, however, is that by Act 3 he was SUPER willing to steal all the shit from anyone who was a jerk to him/his friends/those in need (see previous question). It was for the most part a very Robin Hood-esque instinct (he didn't really want the money/goods for himself particularly and definitely paid it forward). But yeah the answer here is definitely petty burglary against jerks. :P

[carnivoraformes]

//OKAY BUT I AM NOT EVEN JOKING OR TRYING TO BE IRONIC WHEN I SAY THIS: But if anyone wanted to know where Jing Yuan's head is at at any point in his life all they would have to do is pay attention to his sexual preferences and knowledge of his own sexuality and his own willingness for experimentation with sex.

And before anyone yells at me, no he isn't a sex driven dog. His feelings towards sex and what he likes/wants/needs fluctuated over time and directly mirror where he was mentally. It's just that he likes to hide behind the lazy genius attitude in every other part of his life to keep people from really looking deeper into him and his own thoughts and feelings.

It's partly so no one ever stops to wonder how he is doing because emotional vulnerability from the perspective of not only a boy that became a man but Jingliu's student was an incredibly daunting thing for him. By the time he became comfortable with it he couldn't let the mask slip because he had hundreds of thousands of lives in his hands.

That said two things remained consistent about his life:

Being absolutely lazy.

Always going out of his way to not talk about his own feelings and fears.

"Teen years"/Training years: He was a teenage boy. He was both smart and stupid at the same time. Mostly stupid. Next.

Adult Years In The Quintet: He thought he had wanted to a long term partner, and was vaguely becoming aware that he fell on the bisexual/pansexual spectrum. He understood he was sexually attracted to people regardless of their sex or gender and was busy meeting people.

But at this point he had yet to learn that sacrificing his own happiness to be with a person was not worth it.

This was about the time when he ended up in several polyamorous and open relationships with various people because those he had surrounded himself outside of the quintet were doing it and he thought because they wanted it he was supposed to to.

He wasn't happy but he had deluded himself into believing he was and nothing anyone with way more experience with relationships could have changed his mind. He deluded himself into believing his own discomfort and insecurities were just him being dramatic and selfish.

And that translating to him believing his own feelings both in and outside of his romantic relationships didn't really matter.

End Of The Quintet: After the quintet fell apart, so did he. He effectively lost some of the closest ties he had and as a result he became almost emotionally numb. This lasted for years with him just not being able to form emotional ties with people and those relationships he had he mostly neglected outside of the relationship with his immediate family, because he believed he was being selfish by being so broken about it.

Naturally that entailed him refusing to talk about it with anyone outside of what would be considered polite or was mission necessary.

This actually ended up making him very sex averse, his mind before hand believing sex = romantic relationship = emotional intimacy = literally caring about another person and because he was so closed to off to having personal relationships (romantic and platonic) at the time the idea of sex made him anxious, sometimes to the point of feeling sick.

Roughly A Decade After The Disbanding of the Quintet: EVENTUALLY he managed to process why he was so put off by sex (but not why he was so emotionally numb) and not wanting to remain celibate for the rest of his life because of something he knew should have been totally unrelated to why he was feeling the way he was he kind of eased back into one night stands and the like.

After that he somehow ended up going from one end of the spectrum to the other as a means of coping with the other myriad of feelings he didn't want to think about by experimenting with all kinds of sexual acts.

This was about the point in his life when he was basically open to try everything at least once (and I do mean everything) when it came to sex. It during this time he realized that he was far more open minded than he ever realized.

Side fact: He actually learned so much about the the anatomy of humans, foxians and long lived species through his own sexual exploration. He can't necessarily use alot of this information anymore but he knows them.

Decades After The Disbanding of the Quintet:

Eventually after being around so many people in the various 'sexual deviant' communities he began to make friends and finding people that he formed bonds with. He never really got as close to most of these people as he did to the people he met as part of the Quintet but it did manage to get him on the right track.

After a long time he did end up in romantic relationships here and there but as he was working through his own thoughts he learned more about himself and what he wanted.

He still had a few one night stands and plenty of friends with benefits but eventually he drifted away from many of those people as he began to get the mind set of a future general and for probably the first time in his life he started actually to become genuinely confident in himself, which led to him being confident enough to be upfront with others about what he did and did not want.

After that he started having no problem cutting ties with anyone that didn't want the same things he did or couldn't handle his priorities.

Becoming The General To Current Time: During his early years he dove hard into being a General and it consumed so much of his time that very few personal relationships managed to last. In time though he learned how to lead far more effectively leaving him much more time to form bonds with others and it showed in his occasional flings and a few long term relationships but mostly by how he became known mostly for being lazy.

He kept that up for centuries until Yanqing came around and caring for Yanqing took up so much of his time that being with anyone just kind of fell to the backburner until Yanqing was old enough to be shooed off for a couple hours for him to have a quick tryst with someone then go back to be the general and Yanqing's mentor.

To the right person he would admit ever since Yanqing came around he never really had any serious romantic relationships, simply trysts and the like and he was satisfied with that because being the general and a surrogate father made him happier than he had been in a long time.

[k-odyssey]

Thoughts on The Matchmakers | ep10

Given how underwhelmed I was by ep 8, it was a surprise how much I enjoyed ep 9, and even more so ep 10!! It's not that my good opinion of a drama, once gone, is gone forever... but kinda.

I think it's really hard to come back from a boring (to me) ep. It's usually a sign that the plot's going in the wrong direction. But I guess in this drama's case, what I found dull was all stuff that was supposed to help the plot moving forward. It just felt like the wrong ratio of fun/engaging stuff and politics/side plots I didn't care for.

Anyway ep 10. That fox rain confession. I love that he asked "why did you lie about not liking me" and listed the clues. He was confident but not demanding. Like he just wanted to hear her point of view. And she admitted that she liked him, and told him the truth. That the thought of her late husband was holding her back.

Then we move on to the unexpected tragic gay love story. It honestly makes me wanna watch (utopian) period & happy gay romance (if only). I was pleasantly surprised by the acknowledgement/existence of homosexuality in the drama...but it's also giving "bury your gays" so idk. They share one on-screen hug and get murdered/injured. They're also mostly here to get the main characters to think about their feelings about their dead spouses.

FL's orabeoni is.... he has a charming side when he's with 3rd sister. But he's such a terrible brother, like wow! Not only was he incapable of recognizing her, he also just assumed she was forced into a marriage? Never noticed she loved the man?? And made himself celibate over that lol. And when he admits that to her and she's upset, he looks 100% unable to deal with her sadness.

But I think his future wife will cure him of his patriarchal ways what with her novel writing and cross-dressing. And she proposed first.

It was fun how Mr Prince turned out to be/ accepted his role as a matchmaker. Saw the officer jump in the river, felt the usual heartache, and thought, ha! So that's what it was. They belong together.

The way he said "Mr Officer will take responsibility" and the man was like "fine, yes, I guess I have no other choice" and his sister stood there like??? I guess they're both blind when it comes to family.

Also how 3rd sister ran the fuck away from him at first, and then ran back!!

Anyway the leads' emotional journey was an interesting one this ep. We start with feelings admitted on both sides but no prospects of a future, since FL feels she must remain single for her husband's sake. They meet the gay monk who's decided to stay close to his lover in whatever small way he could. We get to hear that ML actually did like his wife. Which I wouldn't have guessed!! And he really thinks about it, and decides that neither of them have to forget their first loves. And he says it very eloquently with a promise of a future together.

That being said, are we really setting up the child prince and a grown woman? Please tell me it isn't so. I feel weird about this. I'm fine with all the other pairings but what is this?

Re: political intrigues, I might need to make my own red string conspiracy board. I keep missing and forgetting key plot points. Like oh the dead gay scholar was FL's brother in law!! So the man who murdered him was her father in law!! And her mother in law is attempting to seize power, was she also involved in the princess' death? All of these characters are connected somehow. I hope I get it when they unravel the whole thing.

[carcharsaur]

(sticking to your rearview window) 3, 15, 34 for both caranar and kozu please...

3. Does their Echo function like it does in the MSQ? Or is there a twist to it? 

kozu doesn't have the echo at all! he's a RELATIVELY normal guy... not being able to help the 'real' wol fight did bother him more and more as time went on so endwalker finally letting him participate was gratifying for him (guy who has a guilt complex about inaction. smiles) for caranar, he gets flashes of the future similar to mikoto from ivalice/bozja quests and... it's a big thing for him, from the moment he got it he and the people around him labeled it as a curse and portent of doom. it was the start of a lot of bad shit happening to him genuinely. it haunted him for the longest time, and before meeting minfillia he refused to even speak about it or admit it was a thing anymore out of fear of it. after meeting her and other echo-bearers it was a huge weight lifted from him, but it took him a long time to begin to accept and come to terms with it. even when it was framed as a loving blessing from hydaelyn he still fell ill at ease about it. the things he sees always happen without fail, but they lack a lot of context that the canon in-game echo scenes have so the devil is in the details etc. but even still very rarely does it not fill him with dread to get one. meeting mikoto really helped him cope too though I imagine they are besties based on JUST that cause he is not scholarly but they can firmly shake hands about this.

ok good lordt I'm gonna readmore the rest

15. Is your WoL promiscuous? Celibate? Or just waiting for the right person? 

caranar hypothetically has no problem sleeping around, but in the context of like ARR-late HW he is way too insecure and scared (both of being hurt and hurting someone. bodily) to be vulnerable with people like that really. so he flirts then pulls back before he has to really show his underbelly etc you'd have to chase him and get his trust. hard sell. in my main canon for caranar by the time uuuh 4.1 rolls around he has a wife but in my multitudinous AUs SB would be the prime caranar slut era (especially when he's riding the high of the nadaam arc), shb too but in a more unhealthy "we might die tomorrow so fuck it" way. post endwalker though he'd be very well adjusted and free to indulge. the thing with him though is that if he catches real feelings for someone he'd pursue that singlemindedly and get overprotective of it. and fall deep fast. so partially waiting for right person but not going to hold himself back either I suppose? kozu... well he's a whore and I love him for that. (in my perfect world where transphobia isn't a thing to worry about on etheirys). as soon as he got remotely settled in dalmasca he just had a full hedonist era. caranar was his roommate and was sick of his shit but didn't care enough at the time to intervene. the events at the end of their time there though lead to kozu withdrawing a lot and focusing on himself rather than relationships, by the time we get to ARR though he'd just have regular flings. dropping anything as soon as he got scared of the expectation, inclination, echo, of any real emotional intimacy and commitment. genuinely kind of a big problem with him until fucking shadowbringers where in the face of "we might die here for real" and being away from the source he pulled some skeletons out of his closet and faced them for real. still a bit flighty but he's trying. also he's polyam and if a partner wanted exclusivity it'd be over right away, but he's very clear about that before getting real with anyone. oh btw caranar is bi/pan and kozu is very very gay

34. Would you say your WoL is fundamentally a good person? Or are they a bad person that's been persuaded to do the right things? 

well I think if you directly asked them, caranar would legitimately think he's a bad person despite his every effort to try and do good. and kozu would just say they're trying to be a good person out of their own selfish desire, undermining how good they could truly be. I think they're both fundamentally good people though, especially caranar... he's just been abused and used enough that he blames himself for it rather than those who inflicted it on him. (other than the empire. and ishgardian inquisitors. he wants to tear through them. his righteous rage is focused more of injust structures of power and ppl that willfully enforce them vs. individual people) he really just wants to do right by common people though. kozu is a bit more complicated, but not enough for me to say he was ever "bad" just he genuinely didn't understand the weight of his own actions when killing people as a warder in golmore and felt more and more personally sickened by himself the more of the world he saw, and thinks he can never make up for a hundred years of that no matter how many lives he saves now.

[jazzafterhours]

the more i think about merrill and sebastian, the more intense i'm feeling about them too, because i feel like sebastian has been abused by the chantry to some extent. i get the sense that a lot of his stances are genuine--he strongly debates whether or not to stay with the chantry and does walk away from it once no matter what, twice if hawke convinces him to retake his position in starkhaven, so i don't feel like he's been entirely twisted up and blinded, at least on the matter of religion and mages, he seems to really believe.

but. i do think the chantry (and his parents) messed up his understanding of morals, and what is good vs bad, and why. sebastian slept around in his youth and wasted money on mind-altering substances, presumably, and his parents considered it disgraceful, so they sent him to the chantry against his will to "straighten him out". (this post will focus on sex, mainly, but i could so go on about his broken moral compass re: mage rights and how he responds to anders at the end of the game, how he instantly flips into a much more harmful portrayal of justice/vengeance than he thinks anders is, imo. anyway)

now, the kinds of things he got up to could be harmful in excess or if not doing it safely, yes, but of course having sex or using substances isn't inherently wrong / immoral, you just need to be careful and understand your boundaries and all that. maybe he did need someone to tell him to slow down, be safer, and evaluate his needs / if these things were really good for him or if he was using them as an escape or something like that, but he didn't need to be told he was a disgrace or that it was wrong to do x and y. classic case of condemning the action instead of treating the root cause of them, which likely is that he felt sidelined as the youngest, "less important" of his siblings, while still feeling the pressure of being royalty. he probably didn't get the kind of nurturing he needed. probably didn't get the opportunity for positive, genuine relationships.

and then in the chantry, he's having that idea of "disgrace" solidified. he's meant to be chaste. he's meant to set aside all personal pleasure. he has to let go of such "base" things to dedicate himself to the maker & andraste. i don't know for sure if all chantry clergy are supposed to be celibate because it's the case for sebastian, while it seems very much not the case in dai (at the very least, a sister has sex with the iron bull lol and i feel like it's mentioned elsewhere but i cant remember off the top of my head). regardless, sebastian has had his sexual desires repressed.

enter merrill, as i've been writing her lately. sex knowledgeable and sex-positive, and so down to casually enjoy others without it being a big deal. sebastian noticing that she's having sex with half their friends at this point, maybe more, and his internalized sex-negativity making him think badly of her. she's "deviant", and "frivolous" like he once was. not only could she give him the fucking he really needs, she could unravel the knots his family and the chantry tied in his mind. she could remind him that sex can be good and fun, and there's nothing wrong with that. sex can be beautiful, and deeply satisfying, and he is not dirty and disgraceful for liking sex.

she could fix him