#its supposed to be a friesian

[nightmares-2]

Once in Maglors gap

Version with a background i hate

[simplyzeeka]

Ruffian

Part.1

Summary: Ryan has been living a lonely life on her farm for a decade now. With no family to seek company from, she developed a routine with just her and her animals, something that soothed her loneliness. Until her happiness came back a little earlier than expected.

Warnings: MDNI!!! Cussing, chaotic animals, oral (m and f receiving), dirty talk, p in v(no protection), face sitting if you squint. They just missed each other y'all 😔

A/n: So, uhmm. This was supposed to be straight fluff, nothing nasty at all. But sometimes, characters have a mind of their own.

5k+

Ryan always believed life in the countryside was much more peaceful. Although she hasn't even licked the city streets, she hears enough to have a clear and unbiased opinion about it. But that did not mean that the countryside did not have its chaos. “Daisy… Daisy! Come back here girl, where you goin’?”

And most of this chaos came from her small little farm, especially her Great Dane. If it weren't her chickens causing a ruckus, her sheep and goats were raining ditsy havoc. Her only peace came from her Friesian stallion, Ferris, always chewing on a bunch of hay in his stable away from the blasting heat.

Despite all this, Ryan loved her little farm. It was a place with many stories. Tragic and happy alike. She inherited the small plot from her grandmother who raised her into the woman she was, her parents having moved to the city since she was young as a way to send money back into the farm.

Ryan shook her head at her dog’s antics before turning back to the task before her. “Okay, Ro. We’re all done girl, you get some rest.” She spoke quietly to her cow, applying a post-dipping solution on each teat when the spotted animal did not have any more milk to give. Ryan took off her gloves and offered the cow a batch of hay, then left the stable after checking on Ro’s calf.

It was a rather long day, helping a cow give birth was the least of her expectations, luckily her grandmother had always prepared Ryan for such a situation. She carried the bucket of colostrum filled milk that would be used to feed the calf, but stopped to check on her Stallion. “What’s up big guy? Your water still good?” Ryan checked the stable for any irregularities.

Once satisfied she left the stable, securing the lash before a smooth velvet voice caught her attention. “That sissy still standin’? Thought he woulda been long dead.”

Ryan whipped her head behind her, there occupying the entrance of the shed. Worn out timbs and a pair of denim jeans that matched in condition. White wife beaters and a denim jacket over his shoulder, his signature silver chain hanging around his neck. Terrence Richmond was still as handsome as he was all those years ago.

“You lyin’ to me.” Ryan shook her head, eyes blinking slowly, there was no way he stood in front of her currently. It was too early, he wasn't supposed to be back until a few weeks. See, Ryan knew that she should stop smoking the pre-rolls that Willow always brought, they tended to leave her more paranoid than relaxed.

The smile he let out from her quiet whisper was enough to spark a flamelet to her, he really was here. Years and years of being separated and finally, he was in front of her. , “I’m right here, baby.” He dropped the bags in his hand and opened his arms.

It took a while for Ryan to react, rendered speechless just by the mere fact that he was here… with her and near her. Next thing one step turned into two, then three before she was spriniting in his direction. Ryan wasted no time locking her body around his, legs around his waist and her arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Terry held her even tighter, his hands gripping at her thighs so he could hold her up. A soft scent of cinnamon and peaches invaded his nose so delicately that he brushed his nose against her neck to inhale more of the sweet scent.

“I thought you was gon’ be out in a few weeks. I aint even prepare nothin’ for you, coulda held a party or somet-.”

Terry didn't allow her to finish, “Ry baby, I dont need a party. This is good, this is perfect.” Terry protested, honestly so because there was no better way than for him to celebrate his return than with his fiancé.

Ryan held his face, a small pinch between her brows as she inspected his face. “I coulda bought you somethin’ nice at least.”

Terry laughed, knowing that Ryan always wanted nothing more than to please. Her heart plummeted at the sound, she missed it… thought she'd never hear it again, but Terry had a way of always coming back to her. “God, I missed you, like a fish outta water.”

Their noses nudged as she spoke, until the distance between their lips became a little too much to bear and Terry pressed their lips together. He swallowed the sound of her content sigh, felt her relax as she leisurely responded.

The small flame in her heart spread to the rest of her body, little embers flicking off her body when his hands grabbed at her supple flesh intentionally.

Ryan grew into her womanhood, everything about her screamed ‘grown’ and Terry loved every moment of that realisation. Ten years… he hasn't seen his woman for ten years, didn't watch her grow and grow with her. But he had time to spare now, and he would be damned if he didn't spend it on Ryan.

It took being placed on a block of hay and Terry stepping between her legs that made her push him away gently. “Mmm wait baby, we can't. Ro just calved.” She explained breathlessly while playing with the charm on his chain.

“Ro? As in little Ro?” Terry asked shocked, “She getting down and busy?” Ryan rolled her eyes and smacked his shoulder with a laugh.

“Ro ain't so little no more. And, she been gettin’ down and busy. This her third baby.”

Terry immediately moved his body away from Ryan, running her fingers through his short curls. “Somebody got my baby pregnant?” He frowned at the declaration, no longer in the mood to get acquainted with Ryan’s body. This was big.

Ryan huffed at his Oscar winning antics. “Terry, please. She damn near eleven years old, and also a cow. Breedin’ is what they do.” She explained, not that she thought they had to, he knew what it was when he bought Ro.

“Yeah, but not my Ro.”

Ryan cackled at that, he never failed to treat all the livestock on this farm like children… except her horse of course. She couldn't blame him, Terry and Ryan bought Ro off a cow breeder before he left for the military. They were only twenty years old, freshly engaged and had a dream to grow a farm together… their farm. Ro was their first cow, a big accomplishment because cows were expensive as hell.

“Okay, Soldier. Calm down.” Ryan got up from the hay and walked over to Terry. “How bout you help me carry the milk to the kitchen?” She suggested, pointing at the half full bucket of milk behind him.

Reluctantly, Terry obliged, he picked up the bucket and followed Ryan to the kitchen. She did some work to the small area, it looked different from the last time he saw it.

“You recolored?” He asked, placed the bucket on the floor before looking around. It smelled like freshly baked cookies, which didn't surprise Terry, he knew how much Ryan loved to bake.

“Mhm, got tired of the grey.” Ryan grabbed the bucket of milk and poured it in baby bottles for the calf when it woke up, she had fed it a while before it went into a deep sleep.

Terry couldn't help but to watch her, like really watch her. Her face, her hair, her skin. Everything about her. Dressed in a plain shirt, the front of it tied in a knot, showing a bit of her stomach. Flared jeans that hugged her thighs enticingly. As always, Ryan wore a low cut, stetson hat on her head, she wouldn't leave the house without one on.

She looked good, damn good and Terry found himself unable to keep composure again. A few tentative steps was all it took until he was behind her. His hands placed on her hips while his fingers dig into her belt loops as to pull her hips into his.

Ryan let out a soft laugh when she felt tickling kisses behind her ear travelling to her neck. He smelled like he always did. Honey and a hint of musk. “I'm tryna concentrate, Terrence.” Ryan began, not detering from her task, just as stubborn as Terry was on his because he didn't let up on her.

“You can do this later. Come on, Ry. I miss you.” Terry countered.

Ryan shook her head, this was important, the baby needed their milk. “And I got you later. Gon’ make you dinner and everythin’.” She turned to face him, arms wrapping around his neck, fingers playing with the little curls on the nape of his neck.

Terry sighed and looked down at her. She was so pretty. Her cheeks softly filled out, cheekbones lifting as she smiled. He bit his lower lip to stop himself from letting out a soft grunt of frustration, how was he supposed to hold off when she looked this good.

“Alright, I'ma hold you to that.” He nodded, sending a small smack to her ass and a kiss to her plump lips. “Anything you need me to help with?”

“Can you check on Ro?” Terry nodded in agreement, pecking her lips one more time before retreating from the kitchen.

“Yes ma'am.”

Time passed slowly, that when evening rolled in, Ryan was already spent from her day. She made sure that Ro and her calf were settled in for sleeping as all her other babies. As usual, her chickens gave her more of a run around, but Terry helped put them in their coop.

She had just finished with dinner, opted for a bit of a full plate as Terry's first proper meal since being back.

He was currently in the shower washing the day away while she got the table ready. She had Janet Jackson playing in the background, something she always did to decompress from a busy day of farm work.

“Terry! Come on now. The food gettin’ cold.” She called out, impatiently seated, waiting for him so they could eat.

“I'm here, I'm here.” He rushed down the stairs. His heavy steps creaked on loose floorboards. He marvelled at the effort that Ryan put into making such a vast dinner for him. Terry couldn't remember the last time he's had a proper meal straight out the pot.

“Smells good baby.” He complimented, landing a peck on her cheek before he took a seat in front of her. “Looks good too.”

Ryan smiled in appreciation, “Thank you, baby.” She did a little jiggle at the compliment, causing Terry to laugh endearingly. “Alright, let's eat. I'm hungrier than a tic on a teddy bear.”

And at that they dug in. Ryan and Terry caught up with everything they have missed together. Ten years, and Ryan still couldn't help but feel like a giddy school kid around Terry. He always had that effect on her, and something told her that he always would.

Terry ate like a man starved and Ryan used this time he was distracted to admire him. He gained muscle… a lot of muscle. While he wasn't necessarily a man of small stature, Terry came back with his clothes stretched out. She eyed his prominent veins pop out everytime he flexed his arm even the slightest.

He trimmed his beard out and kept his goatee. It was a small change, but a nice one. She remembered constantly calling him ‘patchy’ back when he was trying to fully grow it but it wouldn't grow the way he liked it.

Once dinner was done, Terry offered to wash the dishes since Ryan cooked. “You go get the bed ready, pretty. I'ma be up there in a few.”

Ryan nodded and her small feet pattered up the stairs to her bedroom. She made sure to turn the ceiling fan on, the heat making her a little irritated. “Hotter than satan’s crack.” She mumbled lowly, naive to the presence in the room.

“Wouldn't be feeling so hot if you got out those jeans.” Terry commented from behind her, arms wrapping around her torso. “You tryna get me out my clothes, Mr. Richmond?” She turned to face him, hands rested against his ripple chest.

Terry playfully shook his head, nudging his nose against hers. “Nah, I wouldn't dare, Mrs. Richmond.”

Fuck she loved that, she couldn't wait until she could become that formally. Ryan landed a kiss on his lips, missed that. Missed kissing him so much, touching him and loving him.

The kiss picked up pace. While Terry had always been an impatient man, the time they have spent apart left him with an insatiable hunger. Ryan breathed him in, cupping his lower jaw as to pull away slightly for some air. Terry chased her lips, not giving a damn about breathing with Ryan this close in his proximity.

They crashed together again, then stumbled everywhere in the room. Terry tapped her thigh twice, before he rested his hands on the underside of her thighs and picked her up with ease, and on the bed he laid Ryan gently.

Her hands fumbled with her belt buckle, not wanting to waste anymore time talking and laughing. She wanted him, in every way he came to her.

Terry took over, gently removing her hands and undid the buckle himself, except he took his time. Once the leather was gone, he unbuttoned her jeans with his teeth, sliding them down her thick thighs along with the orange lace panties that he wished he had taken the time to appreciate on her.

Ryan was breathing heavily, watching as Terry kissed on her exposed stomach. He was serenading her with his lips, silently telling her how much he missed her.

The pillows of his lips moved from her stomach, down to her pelvis. He kissed the visible scar on the soft skin, one she got when she tried shaving without any guidance for the first time.

By the feel of his lips moving lower, Ryan was too anticipated to let him do what he wanted. She wasn't in the mood for foreplay.

“Terry, I don't need that now.” She whispered as she rested on her elbows, looking down at the earthiness of his eyes. Fuck him for being so beautiful.

“Hm? What you need then?”

Ryan shook her head, she knew what he wanted. He wanted her to explicitly tell him what she wanted. But how could she so boldly tell him that she wanted to be stuffed with his dick.

“Closed mouths don't get fed, baby. Gotta let me know what you want so I can give it to you.”

“I can't, T.” She reasoned softly.

“Yes you can, I know you can. You know why? Cause you're my baby, and my baby listens.”

Ryan sighed heavily, unable to understand why he couldn't just fuck her and call it a night. Now he was bringing all this Military obedience bullshit to her at the worst of times. It frustrated her.

“Terry, come on. Please.”

He noted her frustration, sighed in disappointment before he stood to his full height. “Okay baby.”

“We'll fix that some other time.”

And she knew that was a promise he was going to keep. Ryan smiled in relief, gasped suddenly when he kissed her feverishly.

This kiss was sloppy. They nipped at each other's lips before Ryan granted him access into her mouth.

And inevitably, allowed entrance into her leaking folds as well.

It wasn't just his muscles that grew, his dick seemed to have gained an extra pound as well because it laid heavy inside her, stretching her out that she knew nobody would ever be able to fill his space, not that she wanted anybody to.

Ryan struggled to take it, regardless of the fact that he was going slow, she still couldn't take it. The mushroom of his tip brushed carelessly at the soft tissue of her spot at every thrust, it had her recoiling away everytime he pulled out.

“Don't piss me off, Ryan. You wanted this right?” Terry gritted out, his grip on her hips tight as she rolled his hips up into her yet again. Slow, deep strokes. Just as she liked. “Hm? Answer me, baby.”

Her pussy was gold. Always has been, always will be. Ryan had no right to grip at him like that and expect him to let her run. You couldn't offer somebody candy and expect them not to indulge, it was inhumane, at least to Terry it was.

He had her holding her legs, presenting herself to him so she could watch where their hips met without obstruction. Ryan's essence pooled around her thighs and Terry's, leaked out everytime he pulled out the piping heat of her pussy to where his tip is all that stayed, before he dove his heavy dick back inside her so he could kiss her insides.

“Fuck. Y-yes I did.” Ryan managed to respond, her brows drawn together, her eyes too stuck on where they connected. Watched as rings of cream coasted the thick base of his dick. “Fat fuckin’ dick. Oh my… yess.” She whispered softly, throwing her head back, her grip on her thighs tightened ever so oftenly.

“And you love me, hmm baby? You love me don't you?”

“Yes yes yes yesss. Love you so much. Oh my God.” Ryan looked up at him with teary eyes.

“So don't run from what you love baby, don't run from me. Take this dick, there you go, girl. Pretty fuckin’ pussy.”

He fucked like a grown man now too. Before he left, Terry and Ryan had good sex, she wouldn't dispute that. But it never felt like this, he definitely missed her, and he sure as fuck was showing her just how much.

“So deep, so fuckin’ deep, T. Just like that.”

“Yeah? In your stomach baby?” Terry watched where his dick poked out on her stomach.

But Ryan shook her head dumbly, he felt way beyond that. “In my- shittt. In my heart.”

“In your heart?” Terry laughed, the sound causing Ryan's walls to pulsate around as they clenched. That drew a hiss out of Terry before he continued. “Dick got you talkin’ dumb baby.”

Ryan moaned at that. Fuck she liked that, she liked that a lot. It made her ooze more of her juices, down her ass and onto the bed.

“Ease up mama, let me in.” Terry groaned, struggling to dig her out the way he wanted to because she gripped at his dick so tight, sucking him in with every thrust. “Open up, Ryan. Let Daddy in.”

“Shittt.” She creamed at that. Fuck he was so sexy, so so sexy she wanted to give him children. Ryan tried to open up more, but the heaviness of his dick made it hard. He was impaling her, and he expected her to make that easier for him?

Terry wrapped her legs around his waist, leaned lower, his elbows near either side of her head. Their foreheads touched and Ryan wasted no time touching on him.

He was angled so much deeper like this, but that wasn't what had her heart pumping. The way he looked at her, while slowly pumping her full of dick had her reciting her love for him all over again.

“I love you, love you so fuckin’ much, T.” She spoke with her eyes stuck on his, hands caressing his jaw as her mouth fell open at his pace. “Fuck yesss.”

“Fuck this pussy magic. Wanna die in it, wetting me up so good. Pretty baby, you so pretty Ry. You hear me? So so pretty. Love you, till death yeah?.”

And she believed him, believed that he would die for her because Terry has shown her his love, showed her that she deserves that kind of love, and that kind of love deserved her.

“Oh my God… I'ma cum. I'm cummin’ baby.”

“I know, I feel it baby, I feel you. Let it go, cum on your dick mama.” He coached her, leaving kisses on her face as he maintained the pace of his hips. He whispered profanities and sweet everything's in her ear as Ryan squeezed around him.

“Fuck fuck fuhhh. Oh my God, I love you.” She gasped when she gushed on him heavily. Her cum leaked out of her, damn near pushing Terry out of her walls. He fucked her through it, kissing her slightly sweaty skin.

He pulled away from her, rubbing her thighs lovingly and watched as she caught her breath. “Turn over, I ain't done.” Terry sent a small smack to the side of her thighs and laughed when he heard her whine but still as obedient as ever, oblige to his command.

On her elbows and knees, Ryan spread her legs slightly, earning an appreciative hum from Terry as he gripped at her plump ass.

“Look at you.” He said, eyeing the slick that covered her heat before blowing on her swollen bud. “She missed me, hmm?” he asked no one in particular, yet still, Ryan responded with a silent “Yes, Sir.” that had Terry grabbing the base of his dick. The sound of her accent didn't make this any better.

He sent a long stripe from her clit to her pulsating hole. Sucked her bud into his mouth and gave her pussy lazy kisses that left Ryan leaking again.

Ryan gripped at the sheets in front of her. This man was insatiable, and she knew that there was a long night ahead of her, if not a few days as well. “Shit shit shit, like that. Just like that.”

He hummed against her, the vibrations creating pressure waves inside of her, amplifying the pleasure that was being sent to her brain. “Taste so fucking good, look at this shit.” Terry said and spread her lips apart, before diving back in, slipping his pink muscle inside her and exploring more of her taste.

Ryan's thighs shook, almost causing her to fall out of the position. “Keep that fucking arch, Ryan. You hear me?”

She whined in response, pinched her eyes together from the slight overstimulation.

Terry was a noisy eater, slurping and slipping. Didn't even mind moaning at her taste, occasionally praising how much she got wet, how pretty her pussy looked, how much he loved her.

Once he was done with his oral loving, he teased Ryan's entrance with his tip. Slapped it against her clit a few times before sliding it between her folds.

Once he slowly plunged into her slowly, he threw his head back and whimpered shamelessly. The sound made Ryan smile to herself, loving how he expressed himself freely in that sense.

“Fuckk, not sure if I can hold off mama.” She muttered, pulled out then plunged back in again, the sight made his dick twitch. “Can't believe I went ten years without this pussy. Never again, okay baby?”

Terry began the relentless thrusting. Pulled her hips back against him, watching the recoil of her ass in appreciation. “Never again. Gon’ die in this shit if I have to.” His bottom lip sank between his teeth, watching himself enter her with more and more cream decorating his veiny dick.

Ryan was at a loss of words, couldn't speak as tears filled her eyes. Dick couldn't be this good. She understood now why women often fought for their men, there was no way she's ever letting up on this. Terry would get fucked up for even doing something as stupid as think of getting with another woman.

Naturally, she threw her ass back on him, because she missed him. And he deserved this, deserved so much more. “Fuckkk that's it, show out mama. Take your dick, just like that. Taking me so good, it's yours ain't it?”

The sound of skin clapping and squelching could be heard in the room, accompanied by the sound of their persistent moans and whimpers. Their declarations of love and praises.

“So big, stretchin’ me so much. Fuck, let up Terry.” Ryan cried out, reached behind her to push against his stomach. Terry ignored that, instead, he just slid back in deeper. He angled his hips that made him kiss her cervix with so much pressure. Ryan opened her mouth agape and her arm fell forward to grip the sheets.

"Why you fucking me like this?" She moaned out elongated, using the leverage of her elbows to pull her hips away from him.

"Cause you deserve it. You deserve this nut, baby." Terry gritted out, so concentrated at the work he was putting between her thighs, watching the mesmerising waves on her ass every time their skin slapped.

"Working so hard every damn day, takin' care of the house, the farm. You don't gotta worry bout that no more though, cause Daddy's home. You hear me, Ry?" Terry angled his hip in a way that dug her out in a way that would have had her promising babies, but she held off.

All she could do was nod, grip the sheets harder. Her moans leaking out her mouth like the faucet between her legs. "Mh mh, say it. Say Daddy's home baby."

“Daddy’s home… fuckkk daddy's home. I'm bout to cum.”

“Right behind you baby, cum with me baby. Hold it just a little longer.”

Ryan tried, she tried so hard to listen but she couldn't hold it. She began squirming on him, yelling chants of ‘I love you's’.

The feel of her clenching sent Terry over the edge. “Fuck fuck fuckk, I'm cummin’.” He grunted before he spilled inside her then fucked his nut inside her.

The two gathered their breath, catching a sense of time and space while coming down their highs.

Once Terry pulled out, Ryan believed she was done. “Sit up baby.” Terry called out gently, rubbing her back gently as she moved around the bed.

Once she was sat on the bed, she was face to face-to-face with his slick covered dick. He definitely was bigger, and the sight of his cum mixed with hers had her mouth watering.

Ryan looked up at Terry, the corners of his lips lifted slightly. “You okay?” He asked for assurance to continue first, the ball was in her hands.

Ryan eagerly nodded. She wanted this, needed this even. “Clean me up then.” he ordered.

Hesitantly, she wrapped her hands around him. Even with both hands, his head still peaked out. The weight of it felt tantalising.

“Don't play around with that shit, Ry. Eat it up.”

Immediately, her lips wrap around his head, sucking gently. Her eyes met his when her tongue poked out to lick from her shaft to the base. They tasted good together, like a match made perfectly in heaven.

Ryan slid her mouth around him, sliding her lips lower as she inhaled. Her hands wrapped around what she couldn't fit into her mouth. He felt heavier on her tongue. “That's right, nice and slow. Ain't goin’ nowhere mama.” Terry watched with his lip caught between his teeth.

His brows furrowed as she took him with skill, just as he taught her all those years ago. Ryan began bobbing her head, her eyes already getting teary at the way he stretched her mouth open.

“Just like that. My baby getting me right. Take what you need.”

Ryan picked up the pace, slurping at his dick like it was her last meal, slowly easing him deeper in her throat, her nose slowly inching towards his pelvis.

“Look at you. Nasty ass, you love this dick Ryan?”

She nodded her head, hummed in response as well knowing that would drive him crazy. By now, she was damn near deep throating him, his tip kissing the back of her throat.

Ryan clenches her throat around his head which causes Terry to buck his hips forward. Ryan pulled away to get some air, breathing loudly as her hand twisted around the weight of the muscle.

She tapped the head against her tongue before sliding it back into her mouth.

Terry laughed, he wanted to be gentle, wanted to let her do her thing. But now she had him worked up, teasing him as if she wanted him to show out.

Gripping the back of her head, Terry pulled her away from him, before guiding her back towards his head.

“Breathe, baby. Breath.” He instructed, watching as Ryan nodded in understanding.

Terry slid into her mouth, watching her jaw relax as she breathed, right until her nose touched his pelvis. He heard her gag and relieved her by pulling out.

Tears adorned her eyelids, falling when she blinked up at him with spit running down her chin. “So good baby, you think you can do it?”

Ryan nodded her head. “Yeah, I can, promise. Please.”

“Mhm, ‘course you can.” He said before siding back into her mouth. “Love being slutted out, don't you mama. Mi get yuh, baby.”

The patois, fuck the patois. It wasn't often that she heard it before he left, only ever when he was angry. Then he spoke in patois, but during sex? Ryan has never heard it, and she's not sure she wanted him to stop.

Ryan hummed around his dick. He used her mouth for good measure. “You so pretty like this.” He praised as his thrusted into her mouth gently, loving the sight of her lips wrapping around him.

Ryan did a few tricks with her tongue, drawing him closer to his orgasm. “Fuckkk Ry. Fuck baby, I'm bout to nut. You gon catch it?” He asked breathlessly, brows pinched together as his grip on her head tightened.

Ryan moaned around him, her hands rested on top of his thighs. The room filled with sounds of gagging and Terry's moans.

It didn't fall unnoticed to Terry the hands that rested between Ryan's legs. She was playing with herself, smearing his nut between her fold as she rubbed leisure circles on her sensitive bud. Perhaps she liked Terry in her mouth more than she thought she did.

Terry laughed at that sight, pulled out of her mouth and heard as she gasped to take a breath. Ryan chased the head of his dick, clearly not happy with how soon it ended, he didn't even cum yet. Despite all the spit running down her chest and the tears that filled her eyes, she still wanted more.

Terry teased her, pulling her head back everytime she got close to having him back in her mouth. “Terry, come on.” She whispered desperately.

Hr knew she could get down and grimey if she wanted to. Terry knew that Ryan could fuck him to sleep if she wanted to, if only she could stop being so shy. They'd get there though, he'll make sure of it.

“It's right there baby, go head and take it.” He urged, tilting her head to see her face better. “Or you want me to give it to you?” Ryan immediately nodded her head, she liked him being rough, taking what he needed because he knew she would do nothing but give.

“You lazy as fuck Ryan. Daddy gon get you right, though.”

His hand let go of her hair, wrapped his hand around her neck instead, squeezed just enough to slow down the blood from going to her head.

Ryan felt a little lightheaded when Terry pulled her up to where she stood on her feet. Her hand wrap around his wrist, her eyes crossed eve so slightly when he squeezed tighter. “Fuck.” She whispered.

Terry pecked her lips. Once, twice, and a few more times. “You okay, baby?” He asked, releasing some tension on her neck but kept his hand there.

“Mhm, I'm fine. Thank you.” She smiled tiredly.

“Good. Cause I aint finished. Come sit on my face.”

“Terry. I'm tired, I got a lot of work tomorrow.” She shook her head incredulously. There was no way he could possible have that much energy. What water are they giving these men in the military?

“And ain't I say Daddy's home?. I'ma help with all that.” He tapped her thigh.

Ryan sighed and climbed over him on the bed, hovered over his face slightly, clearly worried about suffocating him.

“Don't play with me, Ryan. I said sit.”

Ryan rolled her eyes, happy he couldn't see her. “Sir, yes Sir.” She mumbled before lowering on his perfectly sculpted face, his eyes gazing up at her as he munched away between her thighs.

Taglist:

@blyffe @peachbutterfly-blog @browngirldominion @blackmoonchilee @megamindsecretlair @mogul93 @earthchica @nayaesworld

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[ezekielbhandarivalleros]

Learn to Ride

Paring: Austin Steele and Kit Jackson

Summary: A Teen Kit teaches his best friend Austin how to horse ride

This is a Fic made for @Choicesmlm (on Insta) for the Fandom Secret Pal Event

Taglist: @choicesficwriterscreations @princess-geek @aesthetic-aag

A young Austin Steel had always loved horses. Or, at least he had loved them in theory. He'd had books, yellowed, musty books with loose bindings and bent covers which had seemed to give them a sort of authority – that had depicted horses of all shapes and sizes, their manes trickling down past their shoulders and their coats glimmering like the stars. It hadn't taken long for him to become infatuated by them. Numerous afternoons he had been spent skipping through the halls and imagining a riding horse, or sketching them, or talking about them. He had been enchanted.

However, none of this had prepared him for the awe that came with meeting an actual horse, or having the chance to ride one.

"Are you ready?"

It took a moment for Austin to tear his gaze from Kit's horse – a Friesian mare – in order to meet his eyes. Austin nodded, his throat now dry.

It'd been Kit's idea, of course. He'd insisted that Austin would need some form of transportation that wasn't walking or driving and when Austin had realized what he'd been implying he'd been almost embarrassingly enthusiastic in agreeing with him.

However, as he eyed the horse's hooves, which were as large and round as dinner plates, and fringed by long black feathering, he started to wonder if he'd made a mistake. He'd known horses would be large in person, but Kit's mount was a beast. Kit who was nearly a head taller than he was already seemed dwarfed by the mare, though Austin seemed to take no notice Kit handled the horse with the ease as if like handling a sword.

"Yeah, of course," Austin said finally, suddenly becoming aware of the sweat that coated his palms, in spite of the cool air.

He swallowed, and then looked at the mare again, reaching out a hand shyly and feeling the horse's nose brush his palm, the feel of it surprisingly soft, like velvet.

"What's her name?"

"Betty," Kit said, glancing at the mare fondly, and then turning to scan around the field in which they stood. Austin followed the gaze. The area wasn't particularly large – perhaps an acre at most – but it was clear enough, with lengthy, golden grass carpeting it, and a throng of trees at its perimeter, forming something like an arena. Kit had told him that most of the people in the town such as his family learned there, since it was quiet enough to focus in, but still close to town.

Austin looked back at the mare, who flicked an ear in his direction, peering at her past her long, curling forelock.

"What's her name mean?" he asked, hoping it wasn't too obvious that he was stalling.

"Oath," Kit said, turning to meet his eyes. "It's not particularly imaginative, but it fits her."

Austin couldn't help but agree the mare's coat was as dark as coal, apart from the areas that caught the sunlight, where instead it shined like the surface of a lake, rippling as the mare shifted. He had seemed to move like a shadow, as well, as Kit had led her across the field earlier that day, her strides incredibly graceful for such a large animal.

Kit looked at Austin questioningly after a minute of silence had passed, with Austin remaining rooted where he stood in front of the mare.

"Is something wrong, Buddy?"

Austin quickly shook his head. "No, I just I haven't actually been around a horse before, you know?"

Kit lifted his chin, examining his best friend's face for a moment, and then nodded in understanding.

Taking a breath to steady himself, Austin took a step toward the horse, and then hesitated once more when he noticed that the mare's back was bare, only an expanse of dark, smooth coat where a saddle should have been.

"Isn't there supposed to be a…"

Austin hesitated, uncertain of what the grounders would call a saddle. It took a minute for Kit to catch his implication, but then he shook his head.

"When our cowboys learn to ride, they do so with nothing between them and their horse but their clothing. Proper balance is essential – once you have it, the rest will follow."

Though it didn't make him feel any better, Austin decided there was no point in arguing with Kit.

"Okay," he said, drawing in a deep breath. "That's fine. So, should I just… get on?"

"That is usually how one starts," Kit replied, his tone so utterly deadpan that Austin almost wondered if he was teasing him.

Biting back a sardonic remark, Austin strode up to the horse's right side and stared up at its back. He could just see over its withers, even when standing on her tiptoes.

"That's the wrong side, Austin," Kit commented from around the horse, his tone lacking judgment, though Austin's cheeks colored all the same. "You mount on the left side."

Austin groaned quietly, and then walked back around the horse's front to join Kit.

When he hesitated once more, Kit eyed him questioningly.

"Would you prefer it if I gave a demonstration first?"

Austin nodded, trying not to appear too relived. "Yeah, that'd be great, Kit."

Kit wordlessly stepped to the horse's side, and Austin moved back to give him room.

As Austin watched, Kit fisted a hand in the horse's mane and kicked off the ground, vaulting up onto the mare's back with ease. He straightened up immediately, taking up the slack from the reins, and then pressed his calves into its sides, encouraging the horse on.

Austin observed as Kit set Betty on a large circle around him. Though the posture was always proud on the ground, upon the horse Kit seemed even more regal, shoulders back and chest out, chin lifted, frame tall and poised, matching the horse's arched neck and forward stride in their elegance.

Austin didn't want to admit to how much the image stole his breath.

"You must remember to communicate with your horse," Kit called, distracting Austin from his admiration of his best friend temporarily. "A horse wants direction, not just a passenger."

Kit moved the mare forward into a trot with a firm press of his legs and a cluck, sitting easily as the mare sprung forward, legs moving in long, striding pairs as he continued to orbit around Austin.

"Once you've formed a connection with your horse, you'll only need to think what you want from them. They'll listen."

After trotting a few more increasingly large circles, Kit deepened his seat and encouraged the mare into a steady canter, his hips following the motion in a way that Austin found incredibly distracting.

The longer he observed Kit ride, the more he noticed just how connected to the horse he really was. He seemed to communicate with the mare with his whole being, hands in a constant, gentle game of give and take with the reins, controlling the horse's energy, while his legs seemed to bring it to the surface. Sometimes he would cluck to the mare, or speak to her in murmured whispers. His body seemed to play a role all its own with his frame tilting back when he went to collect the horse, or twisting with the horse's shoulders when he turned her. The whole thing seemed to be a dance between horse and rider, fluid, elegant, and controlled, a constant exchange of information and direction.

All of Austin's books had described riding in terms of a craft, talking of things to do and those to avoid. However, Austin thought, none of the books had ever described it as such an art.

Kit looked strangely at ease, Austin realized, as he observed the look of concentration and contentment on Kit's face. Though he rarely seemed truly nervous, he never seemed entirely comfortable either, tension seeming to simmer just beneath the surface of his skin, showing through in the way he held himself, in the subtle tightness of him expression. However, as he rode, he seemed entirely relaxed, hands soft on the reins, with motions fluid and graceful as he guided the mare around the field.

In Austin's eyes he looked almost beautiful.

Austin was so busy trying to understand where that thought had come from that he almost didn't notice where Kit was guiding the horse until the mare was suddenly going airborne, her knees tucked up to her chest as she cleared the trunk of a fallen oak, which was so large Austin doubted he could have wrapped his arms around it. Kit rode the jump with ease, holding himself up off the horse's back, hands pushing forward to give the mare the freedom she needed to clear it. Once over it, he pushed the horse into a controlled gallop around the edge of the field, his body tilted forward to encourage her on.

Show off, Austin thought. Kit was actually showing off.

Eventually, Kit collected the mare back down and brought her to Austin, drawing her to a halt beside him.

"Wow," Austin said, a breathless laugh escaping his throat. "That was impressive."

Kit tilted his head in acknowledgment. "You can learn. You'll only need practice."

Austin nodded, watching as Kit slipped from the horse's back and gathered the reins in his hand beneath its chin.

"Have you had her for long?" Austin asked, watching as Kit smoothed a hand down the mare's glistening neck.

"Not really," Kit said. "My parents were the ones who trained her."

The pride in Kit's voice caught Austin's attention, and he couldn't help but notice the small smile that lingered on his best friend's face as he stroked the mare's neck. There was so much affection in the small gesture, as understated as it was. It made something in Austin's body twist though he wasn't sure why.

"Would you like to try now?" Kit asked, turning to meet Austin's eye. His expression was soft, the absence of his normal dirt and dust leaving him looking younger than he normally did, and Austin held his gaze for a moment longer than necessary before responding.

"Yeah, alright, I'm ready. I just hope she listens to me as well as she does to you."

"She will," Kit reassured him.

When Austin went to mount, Kit cupped his hands beside the mare's side, offering Austin a leg up, and helped to push his up onto the mare's back.

"Remember to keep your knees relaxed," Kit told him as Austin straightened himself up, trying to adjust to the feel of the horse's back beneath him. "Keep them loose, like water. You don't pinch, just touch."

Kit touched Austin's calf, encouraging him to press it lightly into Betty's side. Austin swallowed, and then nodded.

Kit left him sitting on the horse while he strode to the tree line, returning a moment later with a length of rope with a clip tied to the end. This was attached this to the horse's bridle, and then stepped back a few yards, leaving the rope slack between them.

"I'm starting on a leash?" Austin asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"I learned by riding around a field like this entirely on my own for a week until I stopped falling. We don't have that sort of time, Austin," Kit replied sharply. Austin could tell that Kit didn't want to waste his time teaching him how to ride, but also didn't want him to feel left out.

Austin tried not gawk at him. "No one taught you?"

Kit hesitated. "My father explained the basics of it, but I was otherwise left to figure it out on my own."

"How old were you?"

Kit considered it. "Nine."

Austin had a sudden mental image of a even younger Kit astride one of the hulking horses they rode, dwarfed by it even more than he already was. He imagined him falling all that way to the ground again and again, and getting back on each time until finally mastering the art. The idea was somewhere between amusing and pitiful, and Austin snorted quietly, shaking her head dismissively when Kit raised an eyebrow.

"So, what do I do?" Austin asked.

Austin looked at him for a moment, his eyes thoughtful, and Austin realized he was going to be in for an interesting afternoon.

They started with walking. Austin had thought he couldn't screw that up, but he had been wrong.

"Soften your hands Austin," Kit called, Austin's name falling sharply from mouth, clicking at the 't.' "Think of it as talking to her with your hands, rather than shouting."

Five minutes later, Kit was telling him to pick up the slack from his reins.

Austin discovered that the trot was similar to the horseback equivalent of heavy turbulence. He spent a good twenty minutes desperately trying to avoid being bounced right off of the mare's back, Kit coaching him all the while, a hand resting on his hip while the other held the mare's rope, his brows furrowed in concentration as he observed.

Austin liked cantering much more, the motion of it akin to a swaying, rather than a jolting. However, the wind rushing past his ears made it hard to hear Kit's critiques from below.

Eventually, Kit took him off the lunge line and let Austin make his own circles around him, still calling out directions as Austin learned to master the new controls.

"Sit back if you want her to slow down, Austin. Use your weight."

"She's not stopping—"

"Order her, Austin! Don't be afraid."

And later:

"Am I falling? I feel like I'm going to fall."

"Stop thinking about it, and think about relaxing."

And then:

"Wonderful, Austin. Keep doing that."

"What exactly am I doing—"

"Never mind. You just stopped. Square your shoulders."

And so on.

While he learned quite a lot that afternoon about horseback riding, he learned even more about Kit. For example, he learned his best friend was a strangely effective and patient teacher, who liked to using metaphors to explain things – "Imagine your hips are a pail of water. Keep them level and relaxed, so nothing jars and spills." – and who seemed to approach riding in the same way he approached everything, with a relaxed air of authority. He also learned that Kit chewed at his lip when he was focusing intently on something, and that he was terrible at hiding his exasperation when he did get impatient. And, finally, he learned that Kit was never satisfied until everything was perfect.

By the time Kit had decided that Austin's riding was satisfactory, the sun had sunk behind the trees, and twilight had descended on the field, bathing the world in a faded periwinkle, the crescent moon hanging in the sky like a sideways smile.

"How'd I do?" Austin asked breathlessly, as he slid down from the mare's back, landing on shaky legs on the ground beside him. His legs felt like lead, and sweat left his shirt clinging to his back – he hadn't realized staying on a horse would be such a workout.

"You did pretty well," Kit said, and when Austin met Kit's eyes he was certain he saw something there, and in the set of his mouth, that he thought just might have been pride.

They held each other's gazes for a moment, and then Kit glanced up, as if suddenly becoming aware of the time of day.

"We should head back," he said. "They should be expecting us."

Austin nodded in agreement, too exhausted to bother forming an actual sentence.

"You can ride with me," Kit said, remounting the Betty with ease, and then offering a hand down to Austin. Austin hesitated, the onset of soreness in his legs making him reluctant to get back on, but he eventually took Kit's hand and scrambled back on behind him.

"Thank you," Austin said suddenly, as he felt Kit move the mare forward into a trot. "I – your help means a lot."

He saw Kit nod. "It's fine… Clarke."

Kit sent the mare into a canter, and Austin wrapped his arms around Kit's waist loosely to keep balance. For a moment, he thought he felt Kit's breath hitch, but decided that he had imagined it.

As they traveled back to the ranch, the world silent around them apart from the rhythmic drumming of the mare's footfalls, Austin rested his chin on Kit's shoulder. Though it was dark, Austin could have sworn she saw Kit smile.

[sharkpupsblog]

😨 Lost Horse! 🐎 PART 14. Bad at keeping secrets.

Sabine x GN! Reader fanfic!

Hi hi hi!!! This part was actually supposed to come out Friday but life got . Horribly busy and then I shot for Monday and it just wasn’t a good day so it came out four days late I am so sorry y’all 😭 last part will hopefully be out Friday 😭💔 def gonna schedule it so it will come out when I want it to 😭😔 anyways that’s all! Enjoy! :D

EDIT IMPORTANT: a part in this got deleted! It has been fixed!

Summary: You continue your struggle to get out of the forest.

Warnings: bl33ding wounds, bl00d, description of the wounds and horses fighting.

Khaan let out a panicked neigh as you were pulled off of him. The Friesian dug his hooves into the dirt. He came to a hard stop. The steed almost fell forwards, but he managed to keep himself upright. Khaan spins on his back hooves trying to ride back to where you must have fallen. He lets out a snort as Anne’s horse comes crashing into him. The horse does not have a rider. Anne was pulled off her horse and she pulled you off with her.

Khaan noticed blood on Anne’s horse. Little dots of crimson covered the mane of Anne’s horse. The Friesian freaks out. He hopes you weren’t hurt. He tries to look for you, but Anne’s horse isn’t allowing him to move. The horse is freaking out in place. It bucked and threw its head back in the air. Khaan tried to use his body to move the other horse aside, but it didn’t budge. His patience was running thin. He tried again to move the horse. This time the horse kicked him during its freakout. Khaan lost his cool. He had no time for the freaked-out horse.

The Friesian let out an angry snort. He bit down on the other horse’s neck. Anne’s horse let out a shrill neigh. They looked to Khaan. Their ears pinned to the back of their head, and they tried to return the bite. While the two horses fought you struggled to get up. You tried to stand but your right leg sent a sharp pain through your whole body. It wasn’t broken you just landed on it wrong. You needed a few seconds to let your leg rest. Luckily for you, you landed in a huge bush. It covered you completely. The bush allowed you to rest safely.

You looked through little gaps in the leaves of the bush trying to see who pulled Anne off her horse. You did not see the culprit, but you did see the target. Anne was on the floor a few feet away from you and she was holding her arm. The girl was out in the open, she was not as lucky as you were. You could hear her cursing and hissing in pain. Her hissing and cursing was accompanied by the sounds of your horses fighting. Blood covered Anne’s sleeve at the forearm. At first you thought her arm was broken then you looked at it closely.

Bloody lines ran down her forearm to her elbow. Something had clawed her. The claw marks on her arm were huge. What clawed her? You heard a snort behind you. Fear pooled in your stomach. You had an idea of what could have clawed Anne. The snort sounded awfully close to the animal you thought had clawed her. You heard the snort again, and you went wide eyed. You did not want to look behind you. You stayed very still, maybe the animal would ignore you if you ignored it? You looked down at the ground. You tried to stay as still and as quiet possible.

You even slowed your breathing, so no movement could disturb the bush and give away your position. The sounds of your horses fighting gave you extra coverage. You hoped Anne would stay as still and as quiet as you. The girl was still busy with her arm. She was still cursing and hissing in pain loudly. Anne was your enemy right now but enemy or not you didn’t want her to get hurt again. You quietly tried to catch her attention. You pspsps’d at her like if she were a cat. Anne does not look at you. She doesn’t hear you. You do it again this time louder.

Anne looks to where you are, but she doesn’t do anything. She remains on the floor clutching her arm. You start to move out of the bush very slowly. You wanted to tell Anne to get away. To get on her horse and ride back to Valedale with Khaan. Pain shot through your right side as you slowly crawled your way out of the bush. You stop crawling for a second when you stop hearing the sounds of your horses fighting.

You start to move quicker. Did the animal get your horses too? You had to help them, you had to move quicker. Your vision became blurry as the pain in your leg started to get stronger. Before you can reach the edge of the bush something grabs the back of your shirt. Your heart drops all the way down to your stomach. You were definitely going to die. Your want to do a good deed ended up being your end.

You are quickly pulled out of the bush. You reach for it trying to hold onto a branch. The part of the bush you had tried to grab onto… Turned into green smoke? Suddenly the whole bush dissipated. It left you speechless. The bush shocked you enough to make you go completely still. It made the job of whatever was grabbing you easier. You remembered the danger you were in when you were sat down on something.

Being sat down made your leg hurt. The pain brought you back to reality. You looked down to where you had been seated. You were on a saddle. You looked up. You were back on Khaan. The Friesian whinnied, and you sobbed. You leaned forwards hugging the horse’s neck tightly. Quiet sobs came from you as you hugged Khaan. The horse had grabbed you, and he pulled you out of the bush. He whinnied again, and he gently nipped at your pant leg. He was trying to comfort you.

You kept holding him until you heard yelling coming your way. You let go of Khaan, and you quickly grabbed his reins getting ready to gallop again. Alex and Linda were coming. They were headed straight for you. You looked down at Khaan asking him to gallop. He doesn’t move. You start to freak out as you see the two Soul Rider’s get close to where you are. You ask Khaan to move again. The horse does nothing. You close your eyes covering your face with your arms trying your best to use your body to shield Khaan as Alex and Linda ride near where you were.

It seemed like they had planned to crash into you since they weren’t slowing down… Two seconds passed… Then four… then six… Ten long seconds passed. When no impact came you uncovered your face. Alex and Linda took a left turn, and they were riding down deeper into the forest. You were confused. Did they give up on chasing you? “Wha-“ you were about to talk to Khaan to ask him a rhetorical question, but you were interrupted “you’re terrible at keeping secrets you know that right?”

The question made you jump in the saddle. You looked to your left side where you heard the voice so quickly you felt like you had snapped your neck. A white Marwari paws at the ground and on his back a very fancily dressed rider sits. She wipes a hand on her pants. A barely seeable red stains the black suit pants. The snorts you heard weren’t from a bear they were from the Marwari. “We’re safe here I set up an illusion” the rider clicks her tongue her Marwari moves closer to Khaan’s side. “It won’t last forever so we have to be quick” she leans over to you putting a hand on your shoulder “you, okay?” You shake your head you want to keep it all in, but you fail. Jay’s small action of comfort makes everything fall apart. You burst into tears. The girl allows you to cry the illusion still has a few minutes before it fades.

Once you’re calm enough to talk and listen Jay explains to you how she found you. She talks while you rest your leg. She tells you that she was near the area looking for some of the plants you told her about. She happened to be in the right place at the right time. Sabine called her, told her you might need help, and that’s when the girl set out to look for you. Jay accidentally took longer than planned because the forest was a maze to her.

She hadn’t been in it as much as Sabine or Katja, so it took her a while to find you. Had she been more familiar with the forest you wouldn’t have gotten chased as long as you did. The girl was the one that clawed Anne, and pulled her off her horse. She didn’t mean to pull you off as well. The bush was made by her to cover you when you fell. That explained why it turned into smoke after you touched it. The current illusion you were in was made after she pulled you out of the bush. You would both be safe in the illusion for a while. It gave you enough time to rest your leg.

When you’re good enough to walk you and Jay begin to make your way out of the forest. Your horses walk calmly in the safety of Jay’s illusion. Khaan keeps his head low. His steps are shaky. It looks like every step he takes will lead to a fall. You walk by his right shoulder trying your best to support him as he walks. Arcebus walks by his left ready to be something for him to lean on.

The poor Friesian is tired. The whole walk out of the forest you thank him and praise him for all he did for you. By the time Jay’s illusion fades you both had already made it out of the forest and to Sabine and your Lipizzaner in Everwind. Thank you’s from you and Sabine are given to Jay. The girl gives you both a “you’re welcome” and a “you owe me one.” She doesn’t really mean the ‘you owe me one’ though. She just says it in hopes of lightening the mood.

Before Jay leaves her and Sabine talk privately. You stand with Khaan and your mare while you wait for them to finish talking. You can’t fully hear what they are saying but you do hear a whisper or two of an oil rig and a man named Sands. When their conversation ends Jay says she’ll meet you both back at the rig and that she’ll talk to Sands.

You had never heard of an oil rig before nor of a Mr. Sands. You want to ask Sabine about it, but you don’t want to seem nosy. You do not ask in hopes of her telling you. She doesn’t tell you about either thing, but she does drop some pretty heavy news on you. Heavy enough to make you start crying again.

You’re a traitor. The druids will now be after you and they won’t stop until you’re brought to justice.

TY FOR READING! :D

[horses-in-art-history]

Pure Mustangs are supposed to be under 14 hands high and a bit stocky, yet more streamlined than mongolian or icelandic horses.

Though any wild (excuse me, "feral") horse west of the Mississippi river in the continental united states is a mustang

That's interesting! I wasn't to sure on the definition so I focused on art that actually explicitly stated it was of mustangs for my main post also I'd read that they were of the western United States so I refferd to that too. In general I tend to be better with Northern European subjects though - as a Swede - so that made finding stuff about Friesians actually easier. I hope you still enjoyed what I posted despite its shortcomings.

[badaxefamily]

#‘oh my cod’ i hope that was a typo because god would that be cringe.

It wasn't, I often use altered or made-up expressions because it amuses me. Sorry you haven't yet learned the most important lesson of adulthood (which is that there's no such thing as "cringe", only people who understand having fun and people who haven't got there yet)

As for the horse, I don't know what the sentence "Who is the reason animals are put on this earth meant to suffer from the start?" was meant to mean. No one breeds dwarf horses on purpose, they don't live very long because the deformity isn't compatible with ungulate life. It's a mutation that occurs rarely in miniature horses, and also Friesians and some ponies. There are four basic forms of it, only one can lead a relatively normal life, and one is fatal and usually results in miscarriage.

A horse is its legs, if its legs don't work it will not be able to have a good quality of life, because it will be unable to pursue instinctive behavior. Putting painful braces on a dwarf will allow it to walk somewhat, but will not increase its lifespan or quality of life. It is not cute or inspiring to prolong the life of an animal whose quality of life has no chance of improvement. Horses are supposed to live 20-30 years, dwarfs come nowhere close.

While each owner must decide for themselves when to end an animal's life, don't mistake such efforts at prolonging life for kindness towards the animal. It's a kindness towards the humans alone, if even that. If you're going to own an animal you must understand what makes that animal happy. For most, it's primarily engaging in their instinctive behaviors, not the social and mental activities that are important to humans. Don't project human values onto an animal, it will not go well for either of you.

Here's some research for you, btw.

8-track to VHS converter, a statue and stack of those little kid farm things, movie poster, WIDE, no soul child, head, and apparently the Dodo makes kid books 🤢🤢

Value Village in Red Deer, AB.

[sebastianshaw]

Sketches today! Both of them have “head too big” problem whoops 1) tfw you want to stop someone from doing something fantastically dangerous/stupid in your very correct opinion but holding them back physically would be ungentlemanlike  2) Finally attempted to draw Haven sidesaddle. Look, this horse is awful but it is, for me, a very good horse. Mostly what’s driving me nuts here is that her heel is up and you’re supposed to point your heels DOWN in the stirrups. This was drilled into me SO HARD when I rode. But I didn’t want to change it because her foot looked GOOD like that so like I’m saying she just climbed on and is getting adjusted. I also realized while I was drawing that the bridle doesn’t have a bit but decided to leave it that way. Also the horse is a Friesian and that’s why its mane matches hers.

[disregardedscar]

Off the Beaten Path

Zuko closed his eyes briefly as an ache spread throughout his skull, the elevation increasing as they weaved along the mountain path. It had been a long time since he’d been up so high. 

He glanced over at Icio, riding the Arabian stallion while Zuko opted for the Friesian mare. The journey hadn’t been entirely on horseback, so far, but this particular stretch of Kazakhstan made it necessary. 

“Have you been this way before?” 

Icio, being as old as he was, probably had. He supposed the better question was where had he not been. 

“I lived on top of a mountain, once - well, a volcano.” 

It wasn’t nearly as high as this mountain was, and his family’s estate had been in its crater. His sister liked to worry him by saying that the volcano was due for its next eruption, which his mother frequently debunked. 

[rouiyan]

𝘋𝘌𝘈𝘙𝘓𝘠 𝘋𝘌𝘗𝘈𝘙𝘛𝘌𝘋 [ 𝘭.𝘫𝘯 ]

⧏ the third volume of rouiyan’s debut series, till death do us part ⧐

synopsis: “prince jeno looks for the man in the moon, he wonders if he's looking right back at him.”

✧ prince!lee jeno x crown princess!reader ✧ royalty au

✧ genres : angst ✧ word count : 5.0k ✧ disclaimers : childhood trauma, mental/emotional parental abuse, depictions of drowning, violence in the form of attempted assassination/murder, blood, gory scenes

✧ author’s note — i had this finished and drafted on sunday. i proofread it, fucking hated it, and deleted it. here's the much better version that was finished at 3:27 a.m.

read volume two here: overcast skies and those who die.

prince jeno is seated at the head of the dining hall among an array of immediate family, distant family, advisors and any other official that is deemed trustworthy enough to attend the second prince's fifth birthday. his seat is raised so that he's able to reach the table but even then, his short stature makes it seem as if his parents and sibling are still towering over him, still. instead of smiling over the platters of food that are all catered towards his taste, he's glowering and persistent, if anything, to return the gaze of anyone but his own reflection in the porcelain plate.

he looks up, for the briefest of seconds, and his mother is relieved, also for the briefest of seconds in the belief that he was to say something of importance, perhaps a 'thank you for coming,' would be the most appropriate for his age. she's disappointed to note that jeno's eyes are held in distaste on the boy seven seats down from him, smiling and talking to himself, or rather the food he's chasing around the plate with his fork. his mother is disappointed, to say the least, that jeno cannot get past that thick little head of his and be prince-like in any way. 

she wouldn't be surprised if it was in relation to the events that occurred a little over a fortnight ago.

jeno peaked his head into the throne room and, noting that it was empty, turned back to look at his friend since birth, na jaemin. "what do we do now?" jeno's shy his friend's height by a quarter of an inch, not that height matters all that much when you're only four years of age. jaemin looked into the prince's eyes, "we go in," he said with a mischievous glint. 

the kids were tiptoeing, for the dramatics, there really wasn't anyone who could notice them with the rest of both their families caught up in the schematics of a new trade war. the two of them excluded for obvious reasons, their age. prince jaemin at the age of four was already used to dominating in all aspects of royalty. jeno supposed that being the sole heir of the throne had its fair share of benefits, maybe not fair, definitely unfair. the two were friends because of family ties and if not for family ties, jeno wasn't sure he'd ever like to talk to the likes of jaemin, the royalty of royalty.

jeno's nose scrunches each time some adult would comment that he was 'cute' and jaemin 'handsome.' he wonders why his status as second prince would make him look different in any way. even now, looking over at jaemin's side profile, he doesn't think of him as any more 'handsome' than 'cute.' resolutely, his eyebrows knit as the two boys round up on the two elevated thrones at the back end of the extensive room. jeno peers at jaemin behind him for affirmation to do the deed. he only nods encouragingly.

taking a deep breath, jeno takes a step upwards, two, and looks back at jaemin again. he's a step below him now. three steps later and they’re at the platform on which the two royal seats are built into. jeno pads carefully to the more elaborate of the two effigies on the left. his steps were silent on the woven rug and he's reminded of his bare feet, he'd learned a great deal long ago in his etiquette of royalty lessons how hefty of an offense bare feet on the royal rug is, much less the trouble he was to make not a minute after. 

jeno checks but notes that jaemin's face was drawn in much more michievy than playfulness. he nods with the same look on his face and jeno doesn't think twice when he sits atop the throne, his father's throne. the room, from this angle, is spectacular. the vast carvings in the ceilings all seem to point to this exact spot, the way the murals trace up stories from the door and ending at the spot before him. the skylight that pours down light on this seat and this seat only. jeno wonders what it would be like to be sitting here on a daily, to have the room filled from front to back with advisors advising him and congressmen addressing to him and all his royal subjects addressing him as your majesty instead of just your highness.

the second prince is so caught up in the way the light cascades down, the way it reflects, the way it bends around the gold leaf pillars, that he doesn't notice jaemin mouthing at him, then whispering urgently to him, then screaming silently into his face. before he can even register the past seconds he's lost to the vastness of the throne room, his father, the king himself, is advancing towards him. he's advancing fast, angry, furious, at why his son would dare commit such heinous act, such disrespect towards his power. 

the king's throne is not a simple chair, not in any kingdom, nor is it just a symbol of the highest achievable royal. the throne represents the generations that built the most formidable lands in all the world, the ancestry that raised the most capable of rulers, the most honest of men and women. the throne, passed down from heir to heir, is the one thing that defines the history of the kingdom, the one thing that serves as the source of vitality for the one individual with enough power to sentence death, the king. and lee jeno, second prince of the southern kingdom, was certainly not the king. 

the true king now stood before his son, a yearning passion in his eyes to slit his throat right then and there. "now," the king's voice reverberates and ricochets off the walls in ways that jeno's four-year-old squeak toy of a voice could not. his tone increases in mockery as he speaks, "do you suppose i bow to you now? is that right, son?" jeno can't will himself to move his head for a nod, he simply cannot. his father's hands are behind his back, pleasant in stature, but his demeanor emanates a daunting power. when his son is silent, he reiterates, "are you my king?" 

jeno can't will himself to speak, he simply cannot. the king’s hands are drawn from behind his back, they unsheath dagger from his hip. it's brought to the prince's right ear. "must i remind you," the point of the knife is pressing into the lower tip of his lobe. "a man, unfit for the title of king, but found on the king's throne, is punishable by death." jeno winces now, the only thing he can offer in response as the knife threatens to cut deeper. as his father threatens to cut deeper. "but the death is a gift, is it not?" the king talks leisurely, as if his words were not directed in threat to his son, but to a class of schoolchildren.

but the king does not take disrespect lightly, and in his eyes you will find the rich amber color of muddy hatred. a textbook definition is rehearsed, "for a man, one who has beheld the sight of this very room from that very spot, assuming the rightful place of the most relevant man, he ought to have achieved everything to think he deserves the honor. everything except death, of course." a textbook definition, yet, the king's son is quivering before him, blood running down a cheek, the side of his neck, the ruffles of his pressed white shirt. jeno cannot speak, he cannot move, he believes he's losing his sight as well, maybe even his ability to think.

his father place two hands on the armrests on either side of his throne and leans so his face is mere millimeters away from his son's. the king lowers his voice for only him to hear, "now, son, is that not what you were taught?" 

he is met with silence.

 "IS THAT NOT WHAT YOU WERE TAUGHT?"

the prince might as well be dead. 

it is the first, but not the last, time that prince jeno is thrown into the dungeons. not to die, but to barely live on the remnants of the pig trough and horse feed. the prince sleeps most the time, on the stone cold floor, in the middle of the winter, but when he wakes, he is a fitful of coughs and vomit. and when he has enough energy to sit up and stare through the barred window, to the left of his cell, he thinks of jaemin. jaemin playing in the fields, jaemin dining in the long halls, jaemin bathing in a rosewater bath, jaemin sleeping in his four-poster canopied bed.

prince jeno is four, almost five, when he conjures his belief that friends lie, they manipulate, they will never stand up for you if it means getting into trouble as well. friends are not companions, there is no such thing as a companion. there is no one to trust. at least, that's what the bleak ceilings of his cage tell him. they whisper it into his ear, his cut ear that's now crusted with dried blood. they whisper it when he sleeps, when he wakes, when he isn't aware of who he is anymore. and they chant it, lowly, and hauntingly, when he's willing to listen. it's all he hears for the sixteen days he spends in his lone company. the sixteen days before he is snatched up by a royal guard to get cleaned and dressed for his fifth birthday celebration.  

"the coal we mine. our lives on the line." the crowd chants. the crowd, the townspeople, the poor and the wealthy alike, they all chant. "the coal we mine. our lives on the line." prince jeno wants to cover his ears though he knows that's not princely of him. "the coal we mine. our lives on the line." he sees his father's arm, waving to the people, a little ways ahead on the grand horse-drawn carriage. the wood is painted a deep black, the embellishments are leafed in gold, and the upholstered seats draped in dark velvet. "the coal we mine. our lives on the line." jeno himself sits atop a black friesian horse, the mane glints in the piercing sunlight. his brother is beside him yet, as the concession draws away from the hundreds that line the streets on a dreary sunday morning and into the grounds of the palace, doyoung yanks his own friesian ahead of him.

the thundering choruses of the people wane in the departure of the royalty and the prince and his family are slowly trickling into the crowd that rests under umbrellaed lawns. they're dressed to their best, and their eyes pleasantly flick between the members of the royal family before them, in best efforts to conceal whatever judgements they have. the king dismounts first, and moves to greet his visitors, guests, from all over the region and of royal ancestry. the queen is next and doyoung and jeno himself are intended to follow suit. 

but it's the moment prince jeno's eyes rake upon the boy, the retched boy whose title ranks crown prince na jaemin, that he wrenches the reigns of his horse in such an unrestrained, unbridled way that the horse rises instinctively onto its hind legs. prince jeno's fall through air is neither graceful nor a sight for sore eyes. his delicate, six-year-old spine is thrust into an arch. his neck, his upright neck, is flung into a curve. his arms, lean though feeble, can only thrash in protest and a learned helplessness ensues immediately afterwards. his small hands grasp the thin twines of nothing. his eyes, the deep brown that shines honey in the sunlight at the exact angle at which he his forced from the earth, they meet his mother's. 

he had figured his death was imminent, and he had figured it'd be at the hand of his parents.

a shoulder, then an arm, the back, the legs, the heels, and finally, his head clunks onto the trodden turf. a horse crosses over his fallen body. there are people hovering about him in an instant. words that are no longer up for his comprehension are tossed his way. a hand is felt on his shoulder, the one he landed on, the one he can no longer feel. black spots begin to cloud his vision, his hold on reality is starting to become grainier as the seconds tick. 

the last image he is able to put together is the face of his mother. stone cold, void of sympathy, void of warmth, void of motherly affection, but congested, not with blood, but with apathy. when he wakes, and thinks of the scene, he can only hope it was a vicarious conjurance of the bleeding gape in his skull.

when he wakes, he is three weeks ahead of when he'd fallen. the memories of this period all blur together for the jeno in adulthood, he swears he can never remember much of it. but if he did, he would recall a girl by his side, of similar age. if he did, he would recall the girl's fingers carefully renewing his soiled bandages every six hours. he'd remember the way she smiled, called his name, kept him company. he'd remember the sympathy, warmth, affection that emanated from your every word, action, mannerism. if he remembered the happenings after his fall from grace, he'd remember the one who healed him, resurrected him. 

he would remember y/n, his first friend, companion, love. 

the air of the sea bites with salt, and offers little refreshment during the hours of daylight. it's in the evening when the skies clear, when the stars begin to show, aligning themselves like golden eyelets on a black satin fabric. prince jeno isn't nearly as tall as the grasses that spurt from the ground, in every direction and covering every viable piece of land. the stares up at the stalks as he walks, the ends flitting with the wind, bending down to tickle his forehead and over its back, motions repeating like one of a giant mass or swaying crowd.

he doesn't dare enter the fields, the prospect of becoming lost all too prominent even before stepping in, but the prince stands right in front of the first rows of tall grass, imagining what was beyond, what he would see when they crossed. at the simple age of seven, he'd already become accustomed to letting his thoughts rampage in his mind over voicing them aloud. voicing them aloud would do him now good, perhaps it was because a child's thought were nearly never as gentlemanly as his mother hoped him to voice, as his father expected of him.

prince jeno is seized by the back of his collar with his father's iron-tight fist. he's dragged, little feet barely reaching the floor as his neck is caught up within the confines of his cotton shirt. he's coughing and having a hard time breathing when he's thrown back into the carriage with a shove and a thud for a landing. his brother sits in front of him, posture straight, the bends of his pant knees clean, and a stern look adorning his face. jeno thinks of clawing the older's face with his finger, the inside of his nails laden with dirt, just to smother his perfect side profile he adores so much. jeno can only think.

the horses are set on a run again and as the family rattles along the unused path, further up the mid-sized hill they were crossing, the view just beyond those grasses come into view. a clean-cut, seaside cottage with shutters of cream and siding of beiges. the roofing, by the looks of it, was made by a thick thatch, though the chimney that stands tall upon it is tiled in white brick. the cottage is set on the shore in such a way that the sands of the beach it opens up to ride as high as the parkway permits and the ocean itself, the glittering ocean, emits the most lovely sea breeze. it's mint green with touches of turquoise and as you draw near, the sandy grounds gradually dissolve into bottomless depths. 

jeno thinks what it would feel like to be caught in a current and be swept into the middle of the glittering ocean. he wonders what it would feel like to be surrounded by nothing but the suffocating salts of the water and the beating of the sun's rays. jeno would like to know if it was better than being surrounded by his family. he hates the way his brother's face is still a pristine clean surface and the way his mother's legs are crossed pretentiously, for absolutely no one to see, and how his father can never see past his set furrowed brows.

the carriage stops before the cottage and it's enough to see it from afar but up close, the prince doubts anything could compare. it's small and quaint in the way he supposes most people's homes are and the air of the inside holds the bordered between musty and a tang of sea salt. jeno's four-year-old mind has yet to wrap its head around the concepts of familiarity and succor in tangible objects but the way that dusts settles on the kitchen counter, the edge of the bathtub, the posts of his bed frame, are oddly comforting in a way he could never describe. perhaps it's the simple fact that the dust will sit for awhile before being swept away, they get the chance to. jeno's four-year-old mind fails to notice that he finds solace in the four walls of his designated bedroom that he can see with one sight, the end of the hall visible from one end to another, the kitchen adjacent to the dining room. he fails to notice how he feels most at home in a home and not in a godforsaken palace. 

midnight strikes on the unaware prince as he ventures out the back end of the cottage, towards the lining of the beach. the screened storm door is left unhinged in his wake, flapping open and shut in correspondence with each gust of nightly wind. prince jeno's bare feet leave the shallowest of rifts in the soft sands, the sand itself blowing over and evening out the rupture in mere seconds. the midsummer humidity allows the boy to don only a pair of swimming trunks as he wades in the cool water, jumping as the tides roll in and kicking up at the pebbles that dig into the soles of his feet. gingerly, he braves himself for the chill that is inevitable when he lays himself gently on his back. the little prince shivers.

jeno names the stars in his head, he draws constellations, drones on about the zodiac signs he's learned of and makes up ones of his own. he conjures images of mythical creatures in his mind as he feels the water, now lukewarm and adjusted, lap over his bare torso. prince jeno looks for the man in the moon, he wonders if he's looking right back at him.

the moon draws its waters with force when the clock strikes one. it pushes them to shore, in the direction of the cottage, in the direction of the adrift prince. the first of the waves, slosh gently into him, sending him in unison with the fluctuation. the second only hits as high as the sides of his cheekbones but the third is strong, it submerges him. 

prince jeno no longer has to wonder what it would feel like to be caught in a current and be swept into the middle of the glittering ocean. like to be surrounded by nothing but the suffocating salts and the little moonlight that dwindles between the undulating water above him. it flits and when in darkness, the boy finds difficulty to decide which way is up, he's afraid he can only fall further downwards. that is the only thing he is afraid of. even when briny droplets begin to line the inner surfaces of his windpipes, even when the thrashes still, no longer supported by his weakened limbs, even when his vision spots, his eyelids shut, his ears clogged. prince jeno is afraid he can only fall further downwards. 

the sun is the next thing jeno sees, quite off-putting after having been under the sheets for the previous day and a half. it seems that though he's fully awaken at this point in time, his legs are not, his arms are not, and sure enough, every other part of his body reverberates in the only way the numbness of paralysis would give. prince jeno is not paralyzed but he hasn't been washed, fed, not even a sip of water has passed his lips since he was washed ashore and collected by a royal guard. 

he lays still for another minute or so, which may as well have been fifteen, forty, and hour, he isn't sure and he has no way to be sure but once he feels the slightest twitch of a toe, he's up and moving. moving to the kitchen, the source of all sounds he hears, of laughter, banter, spoons clinking in ceramic bowls. jeno's moving until he is not, but rather than the kitchen, he's in a fairly inaccessible hallway and at a foot of set of steps that spiral beneath the earth. prince jeno is seven and he is curious.

the biting brass of the stairwell against his sock-clad feet is silent but frigid to the touch, the rails, equally as brass, are ornate in detail with excess knobs and spindles for effect. it only comes in full picture when prince jeno reaches the bottom where a brass door is set, completing the sight. pupils shaking, he places a hand on the handle, then two, and pushes it open. 

the dust that rests in the room is certainly not something he finds comfort in. the thickness of it becomes suffocating the more he treads within and it isn't until he reaches the back end of the room, where a little barred window is perched, does he understand the purpose of the room. there's an underlying rumor that passes within the confines of the room, by the way of an apparition, a lost soul, a deceased soul. 

the prince shivers, he is standing in a cage, and he runs before it can encapsulate him once more.

panting, he is on the landing, in the obscure hallway, to the door to the right, the one straight ahead, until he's in the kitchen, voice quavering, "there is a dungeon, brother! there is a dungeon beneath us!" the kitschy tiling is starting to marble before his eyes as they brim with tears. they turn to look at the helpless boy of seven years, in pajamas, the scar on his left ankle showing, his hair upturned, eyes blown wide. 

bemused, it's rather his father who turns to look at him and speaks with a voice that could only denote belittlement, "ahh, yes, the one for the unruly children."

prince doyoung laughs because he is not an unruly child. prince jeno does not laugh because although he is not an unruly child, he is also not the crown prince. 

✧ PRESENT

second prince, lee jeno, draws himself straight, emerging from the black marbled carriage drawn by horses of black mane, he sets his sights on the scene that unfolds before him. the southern castle is fortified in pitch black; black footbridges, posterns, battlements, towers and pinnacles, and all that meets the eye upon first glance. in the moment, the moonlight is cascading down between passing clouds, reflecting across the rounds of the turrets like thick coils of smog. the castle itself, though, serves as a looming presence that rests above a barren forest which is then, set behind a pathed field of low blown and weeded grass. there’s a noticeable wind that courses through the hallowed glade, gurgling the water of the well he’d just passed and ruffling the dried leaves off their branches. jeno’s spirits dissipate as the stems of browned flowers uproot themselves, undulating with the chorus of the wind and wafting a fetid scent.

the prince is accompanied, on either side, by his guards dressed in black and gold accents, he himself, wearing an ensemble of white in contrast. there is no one to guide him home. 

it’s awfully difficult for jeno to forget the reason he is here in the first place, as much as he'd like.

he stands there, that night, his features casting lengthened shadows on the wall behind him, basked in the flickering light of a single candle. crown prince doyoung sits across from him. 

"i suppose the time has come for me to congratulate my younger brother." jeno wonders why he cannot take him with an ounce of sincerity.

"i hope that you have not called me, on such short notice, to give your feigned-hearted felicitations." jeno supposes it's because of the excessive mockery with which his brother speaks that he cannot bring himself to feel particularly fond for. the older clears his throat in an attempt to hide his incoming smile, "and why might you think my heart be feigned?"

scoffing, it's the second prince's turn to push forth mockery, "do you believe us brothers to be close? to be compassionate with each other?" his brother remains silent at that but his face is still drawn in amusement. jeno continues, "i do not believe i am in need of your congratulations on my marriage."

the smirk on his face only seems to grow, jeno could say his anger grows with it. sneering and in full anticipation of the younger's response, prince doyoung quips, "then i suppose i am to offer congratulations on the grounds that you have claimed a throne," jeno's face returns taut, "albeit not from your own will, or even your own silver blood, but congratulations on the throne, nonetheless."

it's years later and jeno can only think of grappling the stiff neck of his brother within the hold of his hands and juicing his blood in such a way that his veins run dry. jeno can only think of throwing him in the cell of their vacation villa, he can only think of slitting his ears. he can only think.

the room is gathered in silence. jeno pushes forth with his speech, "and i would like to thank the whole of this room on the basis of my livelihood, i could not have gone so far, done so much, grown to such lengths, without the support of my kingdom. now, it seems it is in my hands to recover the losses of the northern kingdom, their deceased king in reference-" he is cut off by the king.

"an unfortunate circumstance, might i add." jeno's father laughs, he laughs. his mother begins to hide a chuckle behind her hand, and the advisors and officials in the room all seem to share the same enjoyment. 

his brother. his brother is laughing as well. the room is sprung in gaiety and jeno can only allow his body to run autopilot as he processes the revelations, a sick feud between kings. one that, if not for your loving presence, he would be partaking in, willingly. but instead the world has the gall to mock him, rightfully so, for years of his life have been spent with the same thoughts plaguing his mind. 

"but, oh! our dear jeno, whom we'd never have thought more of, charming the wits out of a lass with golden blood!" his mother has removed her hand, no longer feeling the need of propriety, and exclaiming her heartfelt sins with pronounced fervor. by then, jeno's blood is already set to boiling, flames flickering and erupting in his irises but he has enough composure to soothe himself with thoughts of you. as it so happens, that is the extent of his composure.

"you never know, next perhaps, will be the princess herself." he gives it five seconds.

jeno launches himself at his father across the table, knife in hand, lodging the apparatus into the old man's abdomen with sleazy aim. jeno pulls his posture upright, now atop the table, gravy smothering the satin lining of his slacks. his eyes are in pursuit of his father's but the others in the room have eyes only for him. he attempts a kick to the damned git, when he's thrust back forcefully by a swarm of arms and trepidatious glowers. he responds in a fit of anger, as if his previous outburst had only served as a preamble, hand gripping the head of a bottle of wine as he crouches. with practiced stealth, he pummels the glass in such a way that sharp edges are formed and he storms again, the intent of death in his eyes. 

as the swish of a tranquilizing dart slits open air, lee jeno can see his father, the crimson substance leaking inside out. he can see the spray of wine red liquor as it sails without direction. he can see the scarlet veins in his brother's eyes, the scarlet rims of his mother's. and, when his eyes fall shut and he feels his knees hit the rufescent tablecloth, all he can see is you, drenched in red.

read volume four: and when i fall.

copyright © 2020 rouiyan all rights reserved.

✧ end note — not much happens in this one, admittedly, but jeno's childhood and upbringing is something i really needed to touch on and this version really fleshes it out nicely. the original one that i scrapped felt super rushed, and though i developed more into the forefront storyline, i started to hate the use of a linear plotline for this piece because the main ideas on which it was built upon sounded so feeble when put in context of only the 'present.' but enough of me rambling, i love you, good day. <3

[ohlookitsthearkhamknight]

Me realizing that sso probably wont listen to us about the friesian and instead of fixing things like the eyes and other stuff were prob gonna get a fucked up andalusian/lusitano/marwari half breed horse that is suppose to be a friesian. At this point it looks so gd rushed. Gd and its my fav horse breed and all i want is my baby boy renegade (darkfire) back

[fortunatelyhauntedblackcherry]

Walking the tightrope - A "The Greatest Showman" Fanfiction 2

- Who am I kidding, she won't even come. - stated Constantine as he paced up and down in his room, constantly tugging on his shirt's sleevecuffs and twiddling with his rings. Lentini grunted dramatically and layed back on Constantine's bed with a thud. He facepalmed.

- Constantiiiiine stop iiiiittttt! - he sighed and removed his hands from his face. He lifted his head slightly to see his friend. - I'll tell you, again, for the fifth time: she👏invited👏YOU👏out👏on👏a👏date👏. - he sat up, pulled his third leg up to his side and opened up his arms in a questioning way. - Why would she ask you out if she didn't want to go out with you in the first place? - he put his elbow on his third knee and placed his chin in his palm. Constantine stopped in his tracks and pointed at his friend.

- Because... - he started deliberating but couldn't think of a possible explanation. So he just waved Frank off. - You know what, just shut up. - and with that, continued pacing up and down. Frank rolled his eyes.

- Okay, let's approach it from an another perspective. - Constantine stopped and looked at his friend with hands placed on his hips. - Why did you dress up so nicely... - Constantine looked down on himself, slightly adjusting his suit. He wore a red pair of pants, a red frock jacket, a burgundy waistcoat, a white shirt with an embroidered bird skull on each collar, a pair of black, embroidered suspenders and burgundy scotch tie shoes. He didn't wear a caravat, nor a tie; he didn't like the feeling of being tied up... That way. He cleared his throat. He really put on his best suit... - ...painted your eyes with kajal... - he looked sideways. That was true too... - ...fixed your mustache and hair with pomade... - Lentini stood up, grabbed him by the shoulders and twirled him around to face his bodysized mirror. Constantine touched his handlebar mustache. Frank pinched his face jokingly with a small laugh. - ...and poured at least half a bottle of cologne on your body if you don't belive that she'll come? - Constantine clicked his tongue annoyingly.

- I hate you so much. - Lentini shrugged with his hands held up.

- I am literally your best friend! You don't. - Constantine looked into his eyes in the mirror.

- But she's late! - Frank grunted.

- BY 10 GODDAMN MINUTES YOU IDIOT! - the tattoed greek almost shouted something back but was stopped by knocking. They both looked at his door as it opened. Charles was holding the door handle, still dressed in his costume. They didn't change between shows. He had a waggish little smile on his face.

- Knock knock Romeo. Someone's here to see you. - Constantine looked behind the small man's back but saw noone. Charles threw his head back. - Not here here, stupid, she's waiting for you by the backdoor. - he let go of the door and walked up to Constantine who started sweating profusely and bit his lips anxiously. Charles punched his knee jokingly. - Don't make her wait Casanova, or I'll steal her from you, 'cause let me tell ya... That girl is something else. - he immediately looked down at his colleague in terror. God he was nervous about this rendezvous.

- What do you mean?! - Charles shrugged with a shiteating grin in response.

- Oh you'll see. I won't spoil her fun. - Frank crossed his arms before his chest.

- Told you she would come. - Constantine closed his eyes for a second and breathed out to calm himself down.

- Phew. - when he opened his eyes, he looked at his best friend. - Frank, I'm having second thoughts.

- Calm down. Everything's going to be alright. - Constantine huffed, took a huge step, then spinned around to face his friends again.

- Okay... - he adjusted the collar of his shirt. - How do I look?

- Like a prince. - said Frank.

- Woo her, your majesty. - cheered Charles.

- And ask her if she has a sister or not! - said Frank with a laugh. Constantine nodded with a smile, turned around, put his wallet and keys in his pockets and ran off. Lentini just patted Charles's shoulders when he spotted something on Constantine's bedside table. He let out a huge sigh. - He's going to lose his head one day without me. - he grabbed the bouquet up and ran out to the hallway. - CONSTANTINE YOU DUMB FUCK YOU FORGOT HER FLOWERS! - he shouted. Fortunately, it did occur to the tattoed man that he forgot something so he was already on his way back to his room. Lentini gave him the flowers while shaking his head and saying: - Break a leg, brother. - Constantine flashed a mean little smile.

- Can I borrow one from you? - Lentini crossed his arms before his chest and looked angrily at his friend.

- I swear to the Holy Heavens that I'll slap the tattoes off your face. - Constantine shooed him off with a wave of the hand and ran off.

He didn't even reach the backdoor yet when he started hearing the sweet voice that lured him down to the circus ring just a day prior. And now that sweet voice was singing. As Constantine stepped closer and closer to the backdoor, his heart pounded faster and faster. Hazel was humming a lovely song he was sure he already heard somewhere, he just didn't know where. He closed his eyes for a second. Be brave, Constantine, he's just a young lady. He opened his eyes, gripped the flowers tighter and opened the door. You already met her, so you don't have to worry about first impressions. He stepped out into the streets of Manhattan. It was a rather warm evening, and the perfume of flowers filled the air. Wait, flowers? Here? Why would Manhattan smell like...

That was the moment he spotted her. Miss Hazel Munroe stood beside a huge Friesian black horse, petting its neck with a small smile on her face, still humming that lovely tune. Constantine couldn't help but let out a nearly inaudible "wow". But Hazel heard it. When she turned around, Constantine almost dropped the flowers he bought for her. She wore a red dress made from rich indian silk, with hundreds and hundreds of little black arabic style flowers painted on it. The dress twirled around her as she moved, revealing the 4 layers of petticoats she wore beneath her dress. Her tiny waist was hugged around by a pretty, embroidered black belt. The pleated design of her bodice made her cleavage really pop, and her shoulders were left barren as well. Her kind of puffy sleeves went all the way down to her wrists, with sleevecuffs that hugged her tiny wrists tightly. She wore 2 wide and tight golden bracelets wrapped around her sleevecuffs, a couple rings on her hands, all resembling either animals or stars, a beautiful black velvet choker with a golden star medallion on it, and earrings that were made in the shapes of stars and moons. Her long, luscious black locks of naturally wavy hair were half up half down and into the upper part of her hair she braided jasmine flowers. Wow. Constantine gulped. The girl giggled by the awe of her date. The tattooed man felt that this started getting awkward, but he couldn't help but stare. The young lady bit her lower lip and twirled around.

- Do you like it? - she asked in a voice that Constantine could only describe as angelic. It was so delicate and sweet. He couldn't help himself. Screw social norms.

- Do I like it? - he asked in a low voice. He walked up to his date and stopped right before her. He brushed the back of his hand against her caramel skin. Her red lips curled into a naughty little smile as the man stroked her face and inspected every little part of it with a light, loving smile. He smiled even harder when he realised that Hazel also put a good amount of kajal on her eyes, just like him. Thank god she's not that "natural is always better" type. He was way too close to her but Hazel didn't mind at all. Screw social norms. - My eyes never did behold such beauty! - he said, then looked deep into her hazel eyes and brushed his hand over to her chin. He playfully held it between his thumb and index finger. - I am sure you will be the last thing I see before I pass one day, because they say that people see angels before their deaths. And I'm pretty sure I'm standing right before one. - Hazel blushed and looked down at the ground to cover her red cheeks. Constantine let go of her face and pulled the bouquet from behind his back. - Oh, I bought this for you. - Hazel looked up and gasped.

- Dahlias! - her eyes twinkled and she smelled the flowers. - One of my favourites! - she took the flowers from Constantine with a wide smile. - Thank you! - the tattoed man flashed a naughty smile at his date.

- I'd love to spoil my date as much as I can. - Hazel batted her eyelashes innocently. But her gaze was everything but innocent.

- Many might say that's not a good idea, for I'll only meet you for the sake of receiving gifts. - Constantine rolled his eyes with a smoulder.

- Screw them, I will spoil you anyways. - Hazel giggled. She looked down at her flowers.

- So I suppose you're not a fan of societal norms? - she asked in a tiny voice while putting her weight from one leg to another.

- Not at all. Does that bother you? - he asked, anxiously waiting for the answer. Hazel smiled lightly, still not looking into Constantine's eyes.

- I wanted to ask the same thing. - she sighed and started twiddling with her flowers. - You see, I'm not exactly a proper lady in the manners of courtship, one might even say that I'm... profligate. - she looked up, but still didn't look straight into the Prince's eyes. She looked so troubled. - Look, Constantine, I'll be honest with you, I despise etiquette books, courtship and beauty standards. I am loud and obnoxious. So if you find yourself being uncomfortable around me, or I make you feel ashamed, or I make you think I'm a fallen woman...

Constantine couldn't hold it any longer and he started laughing. Loudly. Hazel looked at him, puzzled.

- What are you laughing about? - Constantine turned around, still laughing. He pushed his hair back with a smiley, relieved sigh.

- Do you have any idea about how happy I am... - he said as he turned back to Hazel with glistening eyes. - ...that you are not a prudish young lady that stays 6 feet away from her date? I mean, staying distant is just unromantic for me. Don't get me wrong, I don't want to rush anything, I just... - he looked down to the girl's hands and quickly grabbed them, as gentle as he could. - ...don't understand why couldn't I hold your hand or brush your hair away from your face or marvel at how absolutely gorgeous you are? - he let go of the woman's hand, who had a huge smile spread across her face, mixed with a look of surprise. - Hazel... - all of a sudden Constantine grabbed her waist and twirled her around in the air. Hazel let out a heartfelt little giggle as the tattoed Prince lifted her up in the air. - ...I cherish the fact that you are not like well-mannered women of your age. - he gently put her down, still keeping his palms wrapped around her waist. - And trust me, being with someone who acts unusually, just like me, will be a pleasure. - Hazel batted her eyelashes.

- Are you sure? - So she still won't believe me. Constantine stepped back and pointed at his date.

- Tell you what. Going out with the Tattoed Prince of Greece will be a relief for you, because of 3 reasons mainly. - he said while he bowed before Hazel theatrically. He held a finger up, which had a big seal-ring on it. It was shaped as a siren between the ocean's waves. - One, people will stare at me, not at your nonpowdered cheeks. - first he pointed at himself, then his date. - Which I really like, I have to say. - he gestured 👌 with a wink. - Seriously though, I just don't understand why women want to look like corpses. - he held up a second finger, which had no 3-dimensional ring on it, but had one tattoed on. - Two, I don't care if someone acts unusually because I've always been categorized as weird and unmannered myself. - he held up a third finger, his little one, which had a little ruby ring on it. - Three, people say I'm good company and I'll try my best to make you feel wonderful. - he straightened himself up fully and tilted his head sideways a bit, searching for his date's gaze, who were biting down on her lips. - Does that calm your anxious heart? - Hazel looked up at him, with lips curled into a cute little smile.

- Absolutely. I just hope you'll feel the same way by the end of the night. - Constantine booped her nose.

- I'm sure about that. - he said, then looked around. - So, shall we get going? - Hazel patted the black horse's large neck.

- Just a second, he didn't finish his treat yet. - Constantine raised an eyebrow.

- And that stops you from riding it because... - Hazel tilted her head and looked up to Constantine from below. Her gaze was so critical.

- Would you be happy if somebody made you run while chewing? - Constantine snapped his fingers and squinted.

- Touché. - Hazel smiled as a reply, completely making that critical little gaze disappear. The horse did a big gulp, which in response made the woman run her fingers through the horse's black, wavy mane.

- Okay, you're done. - the young woman stepped away from the horse and dramatically bowed towards her date. - Prince Constantine, let me introduce you to my most loyal friend, my stallion, Cosmos. - Constantine giggled. Hazel looked at the black horse. - Say hiiii! - but the horse just huffed and groaned. Hazel stood up and put her fists on her hips in a truly teacherly manner. - Oh come on you already swallowed the last bite, I saw it, don't be mean! - the stallion let out a little sigh, and rolled his eyes. Hazel cleaned her throat. The horse folded one of his front legs under him, kept his head down, and basically bowed. Constantine clapped and shouted a little "woo-hoo", which made the girl smile again. She looked back at her horse, who already got back up from the bow. - See, what was so hard about that? - she stepped next to the stallion and ruffled his mane. - You melodramatic baby. - she looked back at Constantine and tilted her head. - Come, pet him! He loves little neck scratches.

Constantine stepped next to the horse and stratched his neck. He looked at Hazel eagerly.

- No saddle? - the woman just shrugged her shoulders.

- No, that's not necessary for such a short ride. - and with that, she grabbed Cosmos's bridle and pulled herself up to the horse's back with a little jump... And sat down on his bareback pad in an astride position. To cover his surprise and slight shock, Constantine looked around, searching for something.

- Alright, and where's the horse I should ride? - Hazel looked down at the horse's neck. She started blushing a bit.

- I only have one horse and I didn't want to rent a carriage for the night. - she turned her gaze to the bewildered man's tattoed face. Hazel jotted with her head behind herself. - So, hop on behind me.

Constantine shook his head disbelievingly, looking more perplexed than he ever was. He blinked fast.

- We... - he stuttered. Hazel giggled with a closed mouth. Constantine pointed at her and him by turns, agily. - We're riding on the same horse? - Hazel shrugged.

- Another thing that's not so well-mannered. - she offered Constantine her hand with a courteous look on her face. The Prince scratched his neck. I can't believe I'm doing this. I can't believe she's doing this. Even more people will stare at me than normally, Jesus. He sighed and shrugged a little. Eh, what the heck. Screw what people think. With still a dubious look on his face, she grabbed the woman's tiny hand and hopped behind her. An astonished look crossed his face for a second; he got rather surprised by his date's upper body strength. She helped him up so easily... That's strange. She turned her head sideways to see him. - Would you like me to ride sidesaddled, like a lady? - Constantine shook his head.

- Not necessarily... - the girl was still looking at him sideways. Was his bewilderment so obvious? He laughed anxiously. - Pardon my unsettled look, this whole thing is just...

- Unusal? - cut in Hazel. Constantine let out a smiley sigh.

- Exactly.

- I thought you liked all things odd and unusual. - asked the lady, then puckered her lips. Constantine giggled anxiously. Wow she has a wonderful figure, he thought as he took a look at his date's body from the back. Her waist is so tiny, oh my God in Heavens. And she's so beautiful. With such delicate features. And those lips... Man I bet they're really soft... Fuck I have to calm myself down if I don't want an inconvenient moment while riding with this beauty...

- Okay... - he said, voice shaking a bit from the woman's closeness. He glanced down for a nanosecond at his crotch area. Calm. DOWN. GODDAMNIT. - And what should I do with my arms? - Hazel shrugged with a devilish little smile.

- I don't know, maybe you could put them round my waist... - Constantine gawped with a smile.

- You little vixen! - Hazel laughed.

- You know, just so you won't fall off. No other reason. - Constantine shook his head. Well, so much for avoiding inconvenient moments! God I have to learn how to behave myself already. He gently put his hands round the woman's waist. He was pretty sure he heard a little moan, but bundled the thought off quickly. Hazel stroked his hand with her thumb before gently squeezing Cosmos' sides with her legs, making him start walking.

After a short ride, they arrived at a nice restaurant. Constantine got off of the horseback, then reached for Hazel who already turned sideways on the bareback pad. The tattoed man, ignoring the strange looks from people passing by, gently held Hazel by the waist and lifted her off. She tenderly placed her hands on his shoulders, while taking really good care not to damage the bouquet she got from her sweetheart.

- Do I weigh anything to you? - she asked while Constantine was holding her in the air.

- Not really. - he said, placing her down on the ground. They both adjusted their clothes. - It's like holding a cluster of grapes. - he said in a sweet tone, watching the woman's every move while she tied her horse's bridle securely. She patted Cosmos' neck and turned back to her date.

- You are such a charmer. - the tattooed prince stepped aside so Hazel could lead the way with an adoring look on his face.

- Only in the company of effervescent young ladies such as your lovely self, Miss Munroe. - Hazel went ahead with a small awkward laugh.

- Oh my god please never use that name ever again! My kids call me Miss Munroe, please call me Hazel. - as soon as they reached the entrance of the restaurant, Constantine hopped ahead and opened the door before his date. He winked at her with a playful smile when she passed him.

- Alright, be as you wish, my dear. - Hazel stopped for a second, alluring little sparks glistening in her eyes. She stroked the man's beard with her thumb. Which was a near-swooning experience for him again.

- Hmm, I like that name, too.

The restaurant was undoubtedly lovely. Hazel booked a romantic little table in the corner, with a vase for flowers and candles. She explained that she insisted on booking that table, since she wanted to make The Tattoed Prince of Greece feel as relaxed as she could, and she thought being away from most watchful eyes would do the trick. Constantine cherished her for her compassion. After a couple minutes of pleasant chatting and ordering food, the waiter asked what kind of drink he could bring. Constantine found the whole situation rather humorous, since the waiter couldn't look in his eyes and was constantly checking out his tattooes, especially the naughty ones on his neck. He didn't mind these kind of looks anymore... Other kinds, well... Let's not even think about that. He shooed the thought away with a throat cleaning.

- Champagne? - offered the Prince but Hazel shook her head. Her gaze wandered off from the menu straight into the man's eyes in a pensive way.

- I'm not a fan of bubbly drinks, they make my head hurt. - she put the menu down, and crossed her fingers under her chin. The young woman tilted her head a bit, and changed her gaze into a rather seductive look. - Would you like to surprise me with something exotic, my dear foreign prince? - Constantine thought about it for a second, then bit his lower lip with a smile as an idea popped into his head. He whispered something to the waiter. As soon as he left, Hazel let one of her arms down and rested it on the table next to Constantine. She was still sitting on the edge of her seat. - So, what are we drinking? - Constantine smiled passionately. There was a certain glow of mischief in his eyes that just made Hazel get goosebumps. Oh little missy, you shouldn't toy with the devil if you don't want to get burnt, he thought. But the woman walked her fingers closer to the Prince, playfully brushing her index finger against his hand. So she really is the screw social norms kinda gal. And it looks like she really does like me... Well then. Time to grow a pair and start turning this little vanilla, Constantine. He reached down for her hand and held it up gently.

- Easy, darling. - he stroked her fingers with his thumb. His touch was delicate but his skin was rather rough. Like a sailor's. - Where's the surprise if I tell you now what I ordered? - he asked in a flirty tone, just before blowing a kiss on her fingers. - Where's the fun in that? - she gulped. That last sentence was said in such an arousing way that Hazel started thinking about how his whispering would sound... During the night... Right in her ear... After some heavy breathing. She bit her lower lip as the next kiss landed on her fingers. God she had a thing for husky voices like his.

- Did anyone ever tell you how pleasant it is to listen to your voice? - Constantine chuckled and put Hazel's hand back on the table.

- No, never, as far as I can recall. - Hazel put her hands back under her chin.

- Well, I could listen to it for hours. I bet that if you read poetry out loud, it's like listening to the gods of Greece. - Constantine rolled his eyes jokingly, trying to cover up the fact that he started blushing. He was good at flirting, but actually receiving something back, without paying for it, was rather new. The woman sat back on her chair. - Echo and Aoede truly blessed you. - the Prince gasped.

- You know the greek gods! - the young lady chuckled.

- I'm a history teacher, of course I do! Plus, what can I say, I read a lot. - the tattooed man put his elbow on the table and rested his head in his palm. A totally enamored look found its way to his face.

- More radiant than Hebe, more charming than Aphrodite, wiser than Athene... - he sighed. - I'm truly blessed by your company.

The flirtatious chat got stopped by the waiter, who arrived with a tray, on which there were 2 stemmed wine glasses, both containing a small amount of green liquid; on top of them, some kind of flat spoon with a cube of sugar; and a carafe of ice cold water. He placed the things down on the table, and reached for the carafe. Constantine held up his hand, stopping him in his movement.

- Thank you, I'll take it from here. - as soon as the waiter left, Hazel moved her chair closer, stooping in the tattooed man's direction.

- What's this? - inquired the woman, inquisitive by the limegreen liquid that sat in front of her. Constantine smirked and reached for the carafe.

- Absinthe. Have you never heard of it? - Hazel shook her head. Constantine adjusted the sugarcubes on the slotted spoons. - Many say it's an aphrodisiac. - he reached for the carafe. The bottle perspired tiny little drops of water, it was so cold. - Others say it's an addictive poison. - he poured the ice cold water over the sugarcube rested on Hazel's glass. She watched his fingers move with admiration. As water diluted the spirit, the green substance quickly turned cloudy, then changed into a light mint green colored, milky opalescent liquid. - But there is one thing that is certain, and one thing that everybody knows. - he did the same thing with his drink too, then put the carafe and the slotted spoons away. He held up his drink, ready to clink glasses with Hazel, who looked at him as adoringly as she was looking at a perfect painting. - The green fairy who lives in the absinthe, wants your soul. - Hazel held her drink up as well, and they clanked glasses. The Tattoed Prince's gaze was irresistibly alluring. She couldn't look away from it. Those dark brown eyes captivated her and didn't let her go. - But fear not, I will protect you from her. - he moved the glass to his lips. To those perfectly shaped, luscious lips, framed by that magnificent mustache and beard... Hazel moved the glass to her lips as well, and before taking a sip, in the sweetest tone Constantine ever heard she said:

- I've never felt more safe.

As she took a sip, a cacophony of tastes filled her mouth. It felt like anise and other herbs were blooming on her tongue. It was rather scrumptious. When she put her glass down, she was faced with that seductive gaze that made her weak in the knees. Her Tattooed Prince wiggled his eyebrows in a mischievous, playful manner. Covering her invoking blushing, she looked sideways with a smile. As she did so, she noticed that an elderly couple, wo were sitting at the next table, was practically staring at them, without a single sign of shame. So Hazel looked the staring man straight in his eyes, flashed an adorable smile, and waved. He got so frustrated that he immediately looked away and dropped his fork. Constantine laughed out loud and shook his head with a wide smile.

- You really are something else, my darling. - he said when his date turned back to him. She reached across the table and stroked his hand with her thumb, while having a sweet yet flirtatious smile spread out on her cherry lips.

- Fear not, I will protect you.

[kusunogatari]

[ Naruto OC x Canon Ship Week 2020 - In Love and War ] [ @naruto-ocxcanon-ship-week​ || @uchiha-madara​ ] [ Suigin Ryū, Uchiha Madara, Uchiha Izuna, Terumi Mei, Senju Tobirama ] [ Verse: To Rule Them All ] [ Trope: Arranged Marriage ]

Standing along the edge of her chamber balcony, a lone woman rests marless hands along its railing. From the lofty perch, she gazes down into the valley that twists and winds between snow-capped peaks. Moonlight paints the scene in soft greys and shadows.

She should be sleeping...but she can’t begin to find rest.

A soft sigh plumes in the chilled night air. Like the fog that often blankets her homeland, it drifts slowly, unhurriedly out from the cliffside castle. Carved from the very mountain face, it watches over the vale unblinkingly, waterfalls cascading out past its windows to join the river below.

The rumbling of the water is usually enough to lull her to sleep. But tonight, too much weighs on her mind.

Far, far too much.

Her eyes don’t see what lies before them, flickering in thought in their sockets. The eddying news and arising conflicts won’t stop flowing, keeping her conscious.

What should she do…?

It’s now more than ever she wishes for her mother’s guidance. Someone older, wiser, to help steer her in the right direction.

But she’s alone...and with war on the horizon, her kingdom surrounded on all sides.

Since the first recordings of history, they’ve remained detached from the other nations and their squabbles. With their world’s holy sites all contained within her borders, that influence of faith has allowed them to stand alone, untouched, for centuries. A careful balance maintained between the other lands to avoid overstepping and claiming too much influence over a place that - in truth - belongs to them all.

But now…? War once again threatens to rise. And the balance is crumbling. Rather than seeking to protect her lands, the others now seek to conquer it.

And without an army, a neutral place of peace...Ryū fears they will fall like wheat to a scythe. Unless the gods themselves intervene...they have no defense beyond the walls of the mountains. The chosen people of the valley do not fight. They’ve never had to.

To spill blood on the sacred land was to invite the wrath of the gods.

But that fear seems to be waning in the other nations. And their lack of restraint may be the end of the valley people chosen by the pantheon.

And she fears there is nothing she can do but pray.

Fingers curl against the railing, nails trying to dig into the stone and threatening to snap. Her people look to her for guidance: both a priestess and a queen. But now…? She feels utterly unprepared to lead them. Protect them. Without the perilous balance outside their borders...how can she keep war at bay?

Her head bows, heavy with every life depending on her. There has to be something she can do...something to stave off their slaughter.

...wait��

Like a beetle boring into wood, a thought worms its way into her mind. One that goes against centuries of tradition. At first, she flinches from it by reflex. And yet it lingers, tempting and luring.

...what if she were to tame one of the warhounds? Offer it what it wants...and in return, turn its teeth against the others? Marry a warlord...and position his army at their gates?

Never has her line tied itself to another. Never have they broken the careful neutrality maintained to ensure equality for the others in the eyes of the gods. If she does this...if she shows a bias to one land over the others...will it be enough to save them?

Or will it bring only ruin?

...what choice does she have?

To give another influence over her lands...is that the price she’s willing to pay to protect it? Are shackles preferable to gravestones?

In silence she weighs her odds...before turning to retreat inside.

She has letters to pen.

"My king!”

Gloved palms braced against the table that bears his maps, Madara turns at the voice of a messenger. “This best be important.”

“A message, my liege.”

“...from?”

“The priestess of the mountain valley.”

Immediately, dark brows furrow. What could she want with him? An expectant hand raises to accept the parchment, unfurling it and proceeding to read.

The further he goes, the more his face slackens.

Around him, everyone stills, awaiting his reaction.

“...prepare my horse.”

“Sire…?”

“I have a meeting to attend. Izuna!”

Stepping up beside his brother, the younger man replies, “Shall I hold the fort?”

“Yes. Await my orders. Until then...consider us at ease. But be ready at a moment’s notice.”

“Of course.” He eyes his brother thoughtfully. “...that must have been some letter.”

As he straps on his armor, a mischievous smirk curls Madara’s lips. “I may have just been handed victory on a silver platter.”

Izuna’s brows lift. “...that simply?”

“Oh, there will be obstacles. But none I cannot handle. Especially if it means avoiding this war altogether.”

“You? Eager to avoid bloodshed?”

“...as much as I enjoy the fire in my veins at a proper battle...I’m not so easily consumed as not to realize it costs the lives of my men. Besides...victory is what tastes sweetest. And one I can take single handedly will be ambrosia itself.”

“...then I wish you luck.”

“Luck will have nothing to do with it, brother. It’s all a matter of will.”

Watching Madara leave the chamber, Izuna folds his arms with a sigh. Curiosity burns at the letter’s contents, but he knows he’ll be made aware in due time. A meeting, and skipping a war…?

...that alone gives him some idea.

“...spread the word that our armies are to remain on alert. Until the king returns or sends word, we remain here at the ready.”

“Aye!”

Astride his Friesian, Madara wastes no time, digging heels to the beast’s sides and heading inland. Nor does he bother himself with escorts. They’ll only slow him down, and he wants to be prompt. The sooner he arrives, the sooner he’ll settle this matter himself.

So, the queen’s decided to take things into her own hands, has she? Allay war by holding a council that will serve in its stead. Let the kings, queens, and generals do the fighting themselves for once rather than hide behind their armies. Let one emerge a victor, claim the spoils...and put to rest this silly balancing act.

And Madara knows, in a contest of will and limits, none will stand in his way. The only thorn he can foresee is that bastard Tobirama now that Hashirama is gone. But he’ll handle that too when he must.

To lay claim to the holy lands of their continent will be to grip every heart that follows the gods. In his goals to make all equal and loyal to one ideal...such a position is paramount. No more wars. No more squabbling. He’ll make sure the lines drawn between men will finally fade into one unity.

No matter how far he must go.

Like any gods-fearing man, he’s made the pilgrimage himself more than once. The way is already familiar. But there’s still a moment taken upon cresting the lip of the valley to appreciate its majesty.

...it really is a beautiful place. No wonder the gods call it their cradle. In all his travels, he’s never seen a place more fitting for them to consider setting foot upon the soil. The thought of bringing war here is indeed distasteful.

No wonder she’s willing to bow her head to protect it.

Easily marked an outsider, he ignores the stares as he makes his way up to the castle. He understands and respects their suspicions. Besides, it won’t be long before he can put to rest their fears and earn their admiration. If he’s to be the first king of this reclusive land, he’ll do it the right way.

Presenting his letter, he allows his mount to be stabled as he’s led inside. The palace carved from the white stone of the cliff face has always impressed him, looking birthed from the mountain itself. With the forested lip crowning it and the waterfalls that curtain its face, it looks much like a fairy queen’s domain.

Speaking of which...he’s never individually spoken to the priestess queen of the valley. She who both rules and shepherds. Her sermons have always been impassioned, and he won’t deny her ethereal beauty: the ghostly-white countenance that’s said to be a mark of the gods’ blessings to her lineage. But until now, he’s had no reason to approach her directly. Almost like an idol herself, kept behind a wall no outsider could pass.

...but that’s all set to change.

To his annoyance, several of the other monarchs have already arrived. Though it can’t be helped, given proximities. The land of his people lies mostly along a coast compared to the valley at the heart of their landmass, pushed to the edges over time. They all give him the same sour, upturned-nose glances, clearly displeased at the presence of the warlord.

His reputation is no secret: willing to carve through anything to get what he wants. Spilling blood like others pour wine. Claimed to be a monster masquerading as human, more likely to kill a man than embrace him.

While his bloodlust is indeed true, born from a line used to fending for itself...he still remembers the talks of old with another princeling. Another soul that, in truth, wished for peace. While their methods were always different...Madara did - and still does - desire a stop to be brought to wars.

He’s just more willing to be...absolute.

But this might be just the break he’s looking for. A new angle to bring all men into line. Surely between the lady of faith and the lord of power, there will be little standing in their way of finally putting the marches of wars to rest.

...but first, he’ll have to take care of the competition.

“And here I thought this was to be a peace council. Yet here prowls the dog of war.”

Dark eyes sliding to their corners, Madara aloofly considers one of the other land’s queens: a woman of flaming hair and even more flaming temper. “Dog or not, I was beckoned just as you were. Any other judgments, I’m sure, will be made by our hostess. Until then, I’ve little need or want of yours.”

Arms tucked into voluminous sleeves, Mei considers him with equal parts disdain and intrigue. “And are the rest of us supposed to accept your presence without hesitation, pretending you’ve not wounded us in the past?”

“Any I’ve wounded have done so to me in turn. Perhaps not as successfully,” he adds with a smirk, earning a glower, “but don’t paint yourselves as guiltless martyrs. Any who spill blood are equally guilty. Lost life is lost life, no matter what banner or slogan you hide behind. I protect my people as you do yours.”

“And yet none will deny your barbarity. Not even you.”

“I’ll not bother to call a rose by any other name in an attempt to hide its thorns. But my brutality is necessary. Nothing more or less. It is only with teeth I can bite back choking fingers.”

“They’d not choke if you didn’t bite first.”

Immediately, a flare of temper seems to climb Madara’s spine like a flame along a trail of tinder. But he doesn’t reveal his hatred, only turning to Tobirama with a mock air of surprise. “I think by now there’s little point in which came first...only that it continues. And must end.”

“A continuation in which you are just as guilty,” the Senju retorts without pause.

“Well, perhaps a second opinion is just what we need, then. Let the true neutral decide what will become of us warmongering heathens. Don’t act as if you’ve never wielded a blade out of spite, Tobirama. In the eyes of the gods, we are all guilty.”

“And yet, some more than others. I look forward to them striking you down at last.”

“...we’ll see about that.”

“Your majesties…?”

At the timid cut-in, the regals turn to an attendant who wastes no time in bowing under their gazes. “The last of the expected parties have arrived, and...her holiness will see you now. Please, follow me.”

After no small number of distrustful glances, the gathered royals follow in the young woman’s wake. While the display of weakness irks Madara slightly, he also can’t blame her. Surely there’s been no assembly like this in their land before, nor for such a purpose. Being exposed to so much power at once must be quite the shock for any below their rank. Anyone in her shoes would be hard-pressed not to panic.

But in this land, all who serve their lady are absolute. Fear is nothing in the face of their devotion. While the priestess queen may serve the gods, it’s the people who in turn serve her. Long have rumors circulated of the valley people being so blindly loyal as to throw themselves on pikes for their monarch. She is the vessel through which the gods speak. To allow her to come to harm is to commit the ultimate blasphemy.

Already, he thinks of how this will be useful.

A short walk later, the lot of them are led into an expansive sitting room. “Her ladyship wishes for you all to remain here, and to attend an audience with her individually. Her impressions are to be unbiased by the others and their opinions, so...while any of you are within her chamber, the rest are kindly asked to wait patiently here.”

“Is this simply to be a contest of our most tactical liars, then?” Tobirama dares to ask, teeth gritting. “Are we not allowed to vet one another?”

“Within each of you is inherent bias depending on friends or foes,” the little servant in turn refutes, and Madara can’t help a lift of his brow as she stares the king down. “Her ladyship, in line with our lands, wishes to remain neutral. The gods will guide her. Mortal opinions can never be pure.”

The Senju’s lip lifts in a snarl, but before he can refute, Mei steps in. “Please tell your ladyship we will be patient and obliging. We all wish to avoid war. If this is what it takes, so be it. The rest of us won’t let temper lead us astray.”

For that, she’s given a venomous look...but other leaders murmur in agreement, and Tobirama begrudgingly concedes.

Wordlessly, the woman nods, and turns into another room.

“...best make yourselves comfortable,” Mei then sniffs, finding herself a perch as others do the same.

Always pleased to see the Senju put in his place, Madara offers a hint of an appreciative smirk in her direction, lounging in a plush chair tucked in a corner. An elbow rests on its arm, chin braced along his knuckles.

A few minutes later, one of the monarchs is asked inside.

And so it begins.

“Have you need of anything, my lady?”

Pouring herself a goblet of water, Ryū gives the attendant a glance, and then a smile. “For now, no - thank you, dear. Twice over for bringing the others here. I trust they were obliging…?”

The tick of hesitation is telling. “M...mostly, my lady.”

“Tell me no more. We’ll see how their conduct fares. You may go.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Left to her own devices for a moment, the priestess draws a long, calming breath. Time to see if her plan will bear fruit...and not the sort to poison the starving masses. Another handmaid tends to the door, calling in each of the other monarchs to stand their trials.

Her interviews are simple, yet extensive. All manner of aspects of their rule - their platoons, their policies, their positions and their people - are peered into with the highest scrutiny. And all throughout, Ryū places her trust in a sense that has never failed her. One she remains convinced comes from the insight of the gods.

Never has she been lied to and the falsehood gone unnoticed.

It’s a feeling that follows her always. And with varying intensity, it reveals to her just who is willing to be truthful...and who thinks it wise to lie to the mouthpiece of the gods. None of the remarks are challenged until each conversation is over, the priestess calmly laying out her accusations. All rebuke and fluster and give flashes of temper, but she cannot be convinced otherwise.

As each monarch reemerges with varying degrees of disgruntlement, the rest clearly become wary.

And she saves the best for last.

“King Madara, of the Uchiha.”

Realizing his position and having done his best to remain patient, the Uchiha takes to his feet and makes his way toward the side chamber. He’d suspected he’d be reserved for the tail end given his reputation, but it was worth seeing Tobirama come out with a clenched jaw and scarlet neck of temper.

Well worth it.

Approaching the door, he gives yet another mousey serf a glance. Does she employ no one but nervous handmaids? Putting the thought aside (it’s hardly of any use), he steps inside and gives the room a curious once-over.

It’s a simple study, lined with shelves of scrolls and tomes. At the rear is a stained glass window, out which he can see one of the falls. Behind a desk of solid wood sits his hostess, and another moment is taken to observe her.

Her dress, unlike that worn for her sermons, is simple: plain white fabric with light hints of gold embroidery. Prim and modest, she looks far more the role of a priestess than a queen. Likely intentional.

“Would you care for some water?”

“...I would,” he replies shortly, accepting a goblet she pours him. Once quenched, he offers, “I must admit, it’s been too long since I’ve visited the valley. I hope that bears no weight on my qualifications?”

“Your lands are far, and your people often troubled. I cannot fault you for remaining where you are needed most by those that follow you. Though they may reside here, the gods can hear us no matter how distant our call.”

“Hm…” He considers her thoughtfully. “...may I also be frank in my surprise at this...decision. But in the same breath, I’ll put forth I think it wise.”

A hint of surprise lifts her brows. “...do you?”

“Relying on the wills of others for your safety puts your fate in their hands. While the other nations were willing, for a time, to be considerate of you...it seems the time has come where they put their own interests over the gods.”

“...do you do the same?”

“I concern myself foremost with my people. Whatever I can do for them to better their lives, I will do. No questions asked. I am their sword, and their shield. For them I will weather any storm, and I will cut down any threat.” His chin declines. “...I know this land’s distaste for violence. But I won’t attempt to hide what I have done. The gods may choose to smite me for it, but I will not stand idle and allow my people to come to harm rather than take any measure to protect them. Until I come to my judgment day, it is my people I answer to. Not gods.”

To his honest surprise, her lips curl into a coy smile. “...I commend you for your honesty and your dedication,” she murmurs. “Many have attempted to conceal their actions, seeking to tilt my favor. But there’s no hiding truth from the gods.” A knee lifts to crest the other, the long skirt of her gown rustling quietly. “Do you recognize the weight of the lives you take to protect another?”

“Of course. Any other man breathes and dreams as those under my banner do. Any life lost - no matter what side of a line - is one that should be mourned. If I could snap my fingers and draw all under one crest so that such lines could not be crossed, no reason given to kill what could in fact be a brother because of one loyalty over another, then I would do so. But until then...I protect what is entrusted to me. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“And if those within the valley were to be taken under that banner?”

“Then they would receive every ounce of my dedication as those born beneath it. An alliance is a promise. And I keep my promises. So long as I drew breath, it would be drawn for them all.”

A long moment passes of her silent consideration before continuing with her interview. Further and further she needles him, digging into the psychology and methodology of his leadership. And at each inquiry, he answers honestly, bearing all and refusing to feel shame for it.

Not once does she feel him lie.

By now, the day has begun to slip into evening, and a small respite is taken to light the sconces in the study. “We’re nearly finished. A supper is being prepared for you all.”

“How long are we expected to remain? I have a standing army to return to.”

“A few days at best, if my expectations are met. While my impressions are mostly made and there’s likely little else to glean...I am not one to rush important decisions. But so too do I respect the time and obligations of you and the others. I beg your patience.”

“And you’ll have it. I’m simply curious. My brother maintains the ranks in my stead, and I trust his judgment.”

“I didn’t know you had a brother.”

“...I once had four,” Madara eventually replies after a small pause. “But life is brutal, and war the paramount. Now...we are the two left of five. He is my right hand. I rely on him heavily.”

“I see…” Ryū lets her chin rest in a hand. “I’m without siblings. My father is unknown to me, my mother long dead. While I consider every person within my lands to be my family, my flock...I realize it is not the same. I envy you, in a way.”

“I’m sure he would be delighted to have a sister.”

The rather obvious nudge snaps her eyes to him, expression unreadable. “...I have one last question for you.”

“And I will do my best to answer.”

Silvers stare at him, unblinking. “...my intentions, I’m sure, are plain. To resist destruction by a flood of new war, I intend to ally myself with one of the other nations. That alliance will grant me an army, and hopefully give pause to the others before they consider bringing battles here. However...I know that, beyond my lands, the webs of friends and foes are complicated, and ever-changing. Depending on my choice, prior brothers in arms may be forced to become enemies. So my question is this: have you any reason - any at all - to possibly falter should this position become yours? Would you ever hesitate in raising your swords and your shields to defend this valley, and the people in it?”

“No.”

The blunt reply earns a blink, especially as no hint of a lie bleeds through his tone. “...just that easily?”

“Just that easily.” Shifting his posture, Madara leans inward, expression completely unwavering. “My people have been betrayed more times than I could count. We’ve not held an alliance since I was a boy...perhaps even longer. For generations we have been marked as nothing more than war-hungry dogs. And while we will never back down from a fight...it is not what we want. We fight for one reason only: necessity. Survival. The world has turned its back on us, declared us untrustworthy and forever drunk on blood. So perhaps that is something you should consider, priestess.”

Watching him warily, Ryū nonetheless holds her ground as he approaches, shrinking the gap between them to a breath.

“...is this what you want to anchor in your harbor? A man called a monster, a killer? Someone willing to go to any length, no matter what ire it will earn him?”

“...that’s precisely what I want.”

...it’s his turn to be taken aback.

She stares up at him, just as calm. “...I am all out of options, Madara,” she murmurs, dropping all other pretense. “My people face annihilation. We are sheep circled on all sides by wolves. Which is why I don’t want just a wolf. I want someone with nothing to lose. Because that is exactly what I have become. I want someone who, when the inevitable comes, will fight with no holds barred. Someone the other wolves fear. Because that fear will be what keeps us safe until the swords swing.”

Eyes flickering over her face, he lingers a long moment before conceding back to his seat. “...I see. Surely you already knew, then, what you were really looking for. These interviews weren’t to find who you wanted...but to gauge the standings of what will be left.”

She gives a grave nod. “To know who will be possible allies, who can be swayed...and who will see my declaration as one of war.”

“I’ve already a fair idea of those,” he assures her.

“I did not...but now I do. Which leaves only one last formality.” Reclining in her seat, Ryū crosses a knee, hands folding atop her lap. “...will you accept my proposal of an arranged marriage, Madara of the Uchiha? And with it, accept the position of army general, and the duty of protecting my people, my lands, and the cradle of the gods?”

“Is ‘king’ not one of my titles?”

“You are the king of your people. I am the queen of mine. I am unsure how either will view the other. And we have never had a king before.” Her lips flicker into a smile. “...both sides will surely need to do their own...adjusting. You will have every right and privilege that comes with a marriage to my line. Just, I’m sure, as I will inherit those of one to yours.”

...she’s avoiding the answer directly, he muses, considering her carefully. She doesn’t want foreign influence over her people...I can understand. Especially given the vast cultural differences. Surely such details will be determinable later. For now...best we settle the basics. I can whittle at the rest as we go. Leaning back with a sigh, he replies, “...then yes. I accept.”

“...good. We can discuss the rest tomorrow. For now...we have a dinner to attend.”

“Nothing works up an appetite like politics.”

     All righty, day three! And I'm officially out of buffered posts :'D BUT I'm determined to do more, so hopefully I'll have some time between now and...tomorrow to get something else done.      But for now, THIS post! So this is for Phoenix, the mun behind @uchiha-madara​, and is our ship between her Madara and my OC Ryū. We've had a verse with her in the founders era and a concept...somewhat similar to this? But this setting is a bit different, and with far different context, so...hopefully it was still interesting to read xD I haven't gotten to write this verse much yet so a lot of it was experimental. But overall I really like how it turned out, and hopefully Phoenix does too!      I love the dynamic between these two...there's almost always drama and tension and hhhhh I live for it xD      Anyway, I've got irl things to handle now, so I best skedaddle. But I'll do my best to be back tomorrow with another piece for another ship! Until then, thanks for reading!

[swisssadge]

The Sagittarius Saints as horse breeds

So yeah, this idea was the result of a conversation over on twitter, based on that scene in the Netflix Saint Seiya where Aiolos kicks Shura. I wondered: What horse races would the four Sagittarius Saints be? And here's what I came up with.

Before you start, a couple of things. Firstly, Seiya's turn might come later. I know he's a Sagittarius Saint in Omega, but first and foremost, he was the Pegasus Saint. So he'll have his turn in an occasional second part to this. And secondly, it was really, really hard to choose. After all, I don't have the same amount of information about either the Saints or the horses. So, my choices are a mixture of being based on looks and characteristics of the different breeds. Alright, here goes.

Aiolos – Arravani

The Arravani is actually a Greek breed of horses. But that is not the only reason it's a perfect fit for Aiolos. They are very versatile, and even naturals at canter and pace, with some even mastering both of them. It reminds me of the supposed talent and strength of Aiolos. It's calm and takes a liking to humans, has a high stamina and is sure in its steps, which further reminds me of our first Sagittarius Saint.

Sisyphus – Andalusian

I was actually torn between the Andalusian and the Edelbluthaflinger, a mix breed between Arabian and the German breed Haflinger. The latter would have fit Sisyphus very well with their personality. But the Andalusian does as well, and it has a nobility and elegance befitting the Sagittarius Saint from Lost Canvas. The Edelbluthaflinger is a beautiful horse too, don't get me wrong – seriously, look it up. But The Andalusian just has that certain edge of majesty and reputation that makes it fit Sisyphus a touch more.

Gestalt - Arabofriesian

Alas, not very much is known as of yet about Gestalt's personality. Gosh darn, I am a native German speaker, I still can't get around his name, which is in fact the German word for shape or figure (really hard to get it across in English). Hrm hrm, but back to topic… A pure Friesian seemed to bulky for Gestalt, which is why I settled on its crossbreed with the Arabian.

Aeras – Shagyan Arabian

Between Gestalt and Aeras, it's hard to say about whom we know less. However, Aeras clearly has less of an appearance. So, he's a rather obscure Saint, as is the Shagyan Arabian breed. Most people probably know only the proper Arabian horse, as did I before researching for this. And while Aeras is described as kind and – do I remember correctly? – gentle, the natural hot-bloodedness of the Arabians somehow reminds me of him under mind control.

 So, to all Saint Seiya fans and horse connoisseurs out there, what do you say to this list? Did I choose well, or do you know a breed that would fit one of them even better? Is your interest woken to see more similar lists? Let me know! n.n Also, I have already a Pegasus/Equeelus/Unicorn list in mind to follow this one...

[haythamswhore]

Dance With Me! - Part 1 (John Seed/Reader)

Sleeping Beauty AU where John is the prince and the reader is Aurora.

Word Count: 1339

Warnings: None, but get ready to fall in love

Author’s Note: Hey it’s Li Ling, coming attcha with a smol trilogy of ficlets! In this smol series I will be writing about the reader dancing with the Seed brothers to a specific song. This one is based off of the “Once Upon a Dream” cover by Lana Del Lana Del Rey (you can listen to it here (x)) where the female reader is Aurora and John is the prince. I hope you enjoy!

...I know you…I walked with you once upon a dream

His eyes. Those deep blue eyes. They were so deep...and so familiar? It was like you’ve seen them before. Perhaps in a dream? The eyes you lost yourself in belonged to a tall man--lean with swept back brown hair and a neatly trimmed beard.

 ...I know you, that look in your eyes so familiar a gleam

This man was was seated on his black horse; a Friesian horse with its powerful muscles and matching tack, a blue bridle, flowing reins, and a blue pad. But the beauty of this horse seemed inferior in comparison to this stunning man in his suit of glittering armor and sword.

He must have noticed you staring, because he mirrored your starstruck expression. His Friesian nickered a hello towards your direction while the handsome man dismounted his stead. Your breath caught in your throat as you watched him quickly saunter over to you. At first, you were startled. Who the hell was this drop dead gorgeous man and why was he coming at you like you were his wife he hadn’t seen after years of war? 

“You…” he whispered breathlessly. “I...know you?” By the fluctuation of his voice, he couldn’t believe it either. 

This had to be a dream! The strange gut feeling surfaced in your chest. You had no idea on earth who this man was, but you knew in your heart, you knew this man--knew him better than the back of your hand. 

“There must be a mistake!” you cried as his broad, gleaming armored chest came closer to your rising one. “I have never seen you in my life.”

He gave you a face, as if he believed you, but then it returned to its original lovestruck gaze. “No...I’ve seen you somewhere,” he paused to check with himself to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. “You look exactly like the Queen...are you two related?”

This man was definitely out of it. Maybe his horse had ran him into a tree branch and as result is being delusional. You asked yourself if you should slap this man for being so presumptuous. He was awfully close to you and you could practically smell the iron from his chest plate. “You should just slap him, girl,” your left shoulder devil appeared then whispered to you,“I mean, look at him! He’s covered in riches. He’s probably some entitled, Duke’s son.” The little devil-you poked her pitch fork in your face.

Then, the loveliest little angel-you poofed onto your right shoulder. “He seems to be genuine,” angel-you chimed in. “You know you’ve seen him, right, in a dream? Maybe, but you should talk to him. He is so handsome!” 

Before you could agree with either version of you, the man’s voice chimed in, “Miss, are you alright?” And then you realized that you were staring at this man like a drunken fool. You turned your head to your left shoulder, but little devil-you had vanished and so had little angel-you. 

“Uh...no we are not related,” you stammered. “I live in the small cottage over there with my godmothers.” 

The man furrowed his brows, then you could see it in his face that he realized he had been extremely up front with you. “O-Oh, I’m awfully sorry...I didn’t mean to frighten you. That was so rude of me to ask. I don’t know what came over me.” His hand ran through his hair awkwardly.

“No need to apologize,” you consoled him. “I feel the same way for some reason...like I’ve met you somewhere before.”

...And I know it's true that visions are seldom all they seem.

His lips tugged into a smile, comforted that you felt the same way. “It’s weird isn’t it?” You noticed him swallow. Why was he so nervous? “I don’t mean to be so forward, but your beauty is what captivated me, as if I’ve seen you in a dream.”

You gave him a bright smile. “I was thinking that as well! This can’t be some huge coincidence.”

“It can’t be…” 

Then there was the long pause of silence. But in this silence, your thoughts brought you back to the present. The tall pine trees that surrounded you two whistled in the gentle breeze and the birds sang happily as they went about their day. The birds appeared to observe you and the man. They chirped as if to say, “Take a look at these losers. They should just kiss and get it done with.”

 And as if your prediction was correct, they softly broke into a sweet song.

 But if I know you, I know what you'll do…

“What a beautiful song…” The man commented thoughtlessly.

“You know, I’m not really supposed to speak to strangers,” you started, “but I am certain we’ve met before…”

The man grinned, happy to see you playing along. He decided to play along too. He gently took hold of your hand and held you in an embrace--offering you a dance. 

“I know you. I’ve walked with you once upon a dream,” you sang sweetly to him.

“I know you. The gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam.” He guided you in a waltz as he responded with the next part of the song. 

You were surprised. Not only was he singing with you, but he already knew the lyrics. You waited for the little angel and devil to reappear, but they didn’t and you went along gracefully with his movements. 

“Yet I know it’s true…”

“That visions are seldom all they seem.” He continued the song as you and him danced among the birds, who were fluttering by while harmonizing with the two of you.

And together you sang, “But if I know you, I know what you’ll do...you’ll love me at once, the way you did once,” he spun you around, “upon a dream…” and caught you in his strong arms. 

You could hear your brain click, as if the universe was telling you, “Yes, he’s the one!” Both of you smiled and became lost in each others eyes, the pace of your heart matching his. Should you just kiss him? Should you just run away with him? Your brain felt like it was about to implode with all the questions and thoughts that were jumbling around. 

He may have read your mind, because before you could decide, he cupped your chin and embraced you in a warm kiss. Boom, boom, boom! And the mental fireworks screamed and crackled in your brain as you placed your hand on his chest plate and deepened the kiss.  

You didn’t even get to properly break away from the kiss, when the both of you heard his black horse’s whiny get carried away from the wind. And from behind you, the call of the oldest of your godmothers, “Where is that girl? She should have been home by now…”

“She must have gotten sidetracked, “ the second oldest responded.

“She will be home, don’t worry,” the youngest assured the oldest. 

“Oh, no…” your lament made the man knit his brows in worry. “I need to go!” You politely pushed the dream man out of the way and dashed toward the cottage.

You could practically hear his heart sink in his voice, “Where are you going?”

“I have to get back home. My godmothers must be worried sick.”

He lunged forward in a sad attempt to catch your arm, but you were determined to follow the sound of you godmothers’ pleas. “Wait, will I ever see you again?” your dream man asked as he mounted his horse to follow you.

You turned around to respond, “You will. In your dreams!”

He just sat on his horse in a daze, watching as you giggled and ran off, your hair shining in the patch of sunshine that broke through the trees. He let out a sigh of bewilderment. “In my dreams…” he repeated to himself and then spurred his horse to leave. 

[tearlessrain]

time to subject myself to Dracula: The Dark Prince, aka another bad movie starring another dude from black sails. this time with 100% less horny on main because my only real motivation for watching it is it truly looks to be a whole new caliber of horrible and I have to see it.

witness my standards for incomprehensibly bad movies being raised prohibitively high in every way imaginable under the cut

I seriously doubt that.

this was made in 2013 by the way, not 1994 as the graphic design of that logo might suggest

oh good, once again we’re opening with an exposition narrator. except this time it’s a woman and she has less vocal inflection and emotional investment than an amazon echo.

I feel like she’s gonna tell me to turn left in 800ft

it feels like a dragon age epilogue, but just. worse.

WE ARE WATCHING A TRULY HIGH QUALITY MOVIE TONIGHT MY FRIENDS

I can’t even describe how bad this is, you really need the sound. that’s where the true lack of quality shines through. siri’s depressed sister is talking about pre-vampire dracula’s epic feats in battle to more weird sepia dioramas and the dying soldiers sound like they hired muppets to voice them

HOLY WIG BATMAN

also this dude is obnoxiously jovial considering he’s supposed to be dracula, even if this is pre-vampire

oh no dracula’s advisors, who all wear black hooded robes and scowl ominously, have betrayed him and killed his wife, how unexpected

someone drew these, looked at them, and thought “yeah that’s good enough to go in the final movie”

the characters are speaking both english and what I assume is... romanian or something? transylvanian? it’s not spanish or welsh I can tell you that much. anyway there are no subtitles and also no rhyme or reason to which they’re speaking at any given time so I hope I’m not missing anything important. probably not.

so like... they killed his wife, yes. and he went on a murderfest in what appears to be a church in revenge, makes sense. now a dude who... I think maybe he’s supposed to be a priest or something? but he wasn’t speaking english so I can’t be sure, then a voice over said “I have killed for god, the hand that fought for him will now be turned against him” but I’m unclear on who was speaking. this movie is an absolute clusterfuck and we aren’t even five minutes in yet. this is still the prologue.

now zombie alexa claims dracula was cursed with immortality “in punishment for his defiance” but I’m still not sure... what defiance. he killed the dudes who murdered his wife and that’s somehow not okay despite his apparent status as a war hero, a designation that implies a LOT of killing has already happened?

fucking finally, the title screen. usually a prologue clarifies what a movie is about but I went in thinking I knew and now have absolutely no idea what I’m watching.

a carriage drawn by friesians is rolling through a misty forest with wolf howling sound bites playing at random in the background to vaguely urgent music, now this is what I’m here to see.

nevermind the carriage is too slow so they’re leaving it because that’s a thing people do (?????)

“Lady Arwen, we cannot delay”

seriously though everyone’s mumbling so much I can’t understand them much better than when they were speaking whatever the other language was

BOOTLEG XENA RIDES AGAIN

but this time she’s accompanied by esme. we don’t know who esme is yet either.

there she goes

and now the knights are being attacked by hilarious squeaky goblin things? who I guess are led by this power rangers villain with, again, an unintentionally hilarious voice. it’s like a bad batman impression.

with every minute that passes I become less certain of what I’m actually watching.

they’re looking for the “light bringer” and telepathically overseen by the world’s most halfassed lestat dracula

they’ve also got some random prisoners in a cage wagon

okay the prisoners are being taken to dracula’s castle and I’m sorry for such an image-heavy post but I NEED you to understand the community theater level of set design/quality we’re dealing with here

“what is that?” cardboard and mod podge is my guess

so far the only thing esme has done is fall off her horse and be knocked unconscious, and now a Roving Band of Misogynists has appeared to harass Bootleg Xena 3.0 in the most generic way possible (the words “what ‘ave we got ‘ere” accompanied by a chorus of malicious cackling and some whistles have been spoken)

oooh no the ringleader of the Roving Misogynists has been given a name, and it’s ~Lucien~. I have a horrible feeling that I’m about to bear witness to the worst romantic subplot in the history of cinema.

oh for... I thought at least bootleg xena 3.0 would be a Strong Female Character and fight them off, but she just rapped lucien on the head with her sword and then they stole her very important box and left as obnoxiously as they came

OH NO SHE’S ASKING TO GO WITH THEM, SOMEHOW THAT’S HER PLAN I THINK I’M RIGHT SHE’S GONNA HOOK UP WITH LUCIEN AND IT’S GOING TO BE HORRIBLE.

“trust me” she says to esme, who, wisely, obviously does not.

I appreciate the timely thunderclap every single time the castle comes on screen

who the fuck are you, did you wander onto the wrong movie set

nope okay they’re not gonna explain that shot at all we’re just moving on to a shot of a weird angel shadow doing slow flamenco moves on the ceiling while ominously gurgling, and the prisoners being led into the throne room

“what’s happening to us?” I WOULD LIKE TO KNOW THE SAME THING, PRISONER #3

oh never mind that guy from before wasn’t a priest, he is remfield, chancellor of this kingdom, which means the last scene he was in makes even less sense

AKSLDGHJFGAKDLFJGHKAJGHFDKLFDS;GJokay so. remfield introduced himself then said “I will see that your needs are tended to.” then dracula in his new white contacts gets up from his shadowy throne, circumnavigates the cluster of prisoners, sniffs them dramatically, and walks back to his throne. remfield then says, “come, I will see that your needs are tended to” because proofreading is for COWARDS

now remfield is... literally giving the prisoners a tour of the castle and going on the “oh you’re our guests and many pleasures and adventures await you” speech and somehow the prisoners are accepting this despite the fact that they were just carted in on a barred wagon in shackles and got sniffed by a bad alucard cosplayer. they have a fucking harpist.

seriously, who the fuck are you

she’s just been twirling around in the background of this entire scene for no discernible reason no matter what rooms they go into

what the hell am I watching

yeah they’re just going for that incredibly suspicious food and also seem weirdly okay with the ambient clusters of scantily clad lesbians no one will explain okay they deserve whatever happens to them

WHOA TITS apparently this movie is a different rating than I thought

remfield: the newcomers have settled in

dracula: I  d o n ‘ t  l i k e  s t r a n g e r s

then why pray tell have you brought them directly into your home in chains. I cannot stress enough how avoidable this situation was for you my dude

“just think sire, once the light bringer is in your possession no one need die again” “except those who defy me” [ominous chime as the angel shadow on the ceiling continues its sensuous flamenco dance]

meanwhile in the misty blue filter forest of eternal night, some guy in a tricorn finds a gold amulet that I think bootleg xena 3.0 dropped, and the power ranger villain rides menacingly in a random direction for a few seconds

I’m still waiting on whether this masterful display of cinematic calvinball has any cohesive story to it.

ah joy and we’re back to The Non-Adventures of Xena 3.0, Esme, and the Roving Misogynists

as an aside, I’m not calling her that just to be dumb, I’m calling her that because they still haven’t given her a name even though her sidekick got one in the first five minutes

they’ve opened the box and revealed... the light bringer, which is a wooden staff. because it is not shiny gold, the roving misogynists regard it with confounded disgrunglement and scoff at xena 3.0′s insistence that it can defeat dracula

these guys sound like what an eleven year old thinks gangs of ne’er-do-wells sound like. like cartoon weasels, if the weasels were also mediocre pirates who have heard of women, conceptually, but never seen one. like goblins in a pre-written D&D campaign run by a slightly overwhelmed first time DM.

HUR DUR WALKING STICK NOT TREASURE, WOMAN DUMB

it’s what cain used to slay abel, apparently. given that zombie alexa mentioned that dracula is the descendent of abel, this leaves us with the terrifying implication that someone did put at least some vestige of effort into writing this movie.

oh good she’s finally gonna fight lucien

no she failed again. please someone just punch the shit out of lucien so he’ll stop.

NO WHY ARE YOU MAKING OUT STOP IT GOD HAVE SOME STANDARDS WOMAN. STOP PLAYING FLOATY ROMANTIC MUSIC IN THE BACKGROUND THEY ARE LITERALLY STILL STANDING IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ENTIRE BAND OF ROVING MISOGYNISTS

I thought it might at least be a trick but no she is actually, genuinely starstruck over this profoundly mediocre olde-timey frat boy who called her “sweetheart” while she was trying to explain to him why the ancient dracula-defeating relic was important.

this guy.

we did it boys, we found a worse love story than twilight

also I just. I wish I could convey with words the way the roving misogynists react to every single thing lucien and sometimes xena 3.0 says like the world’s worst greek chorus in a literally neverending stream

lucien (post makeout and xena 3.0 explaining again that the relic is ancient and powerful and they’ve searched for ages to find it): well we may not be knights but we can respect that

[cacophony of rowdy but understated agreement]

lucien: what do you think boys, should we give it back?

[assorted grumbles of assent]

xena 3.0: hm, a thief with a conscience

[gruff mercenary-esque chuckling]

lucien: maybe even a heart

[chorus of “ooooooOOOooh”s and some whistles]

it just goes on like that in every scene they happen to be physically adjacent to, they never shut up but also never actually contribute or say anything meaningful

ah, the mysterious leonardo has appeared. I think he was the one they were trying to take the light bringer to so that’s handy

“what is happening here? what is this flirtation?? is this the people to share your sacred secrets with???” - leonardo, the only remotely rational person in the entire movie

oh he is schooling these idiots, finally someone with sense. it’s bouncing right off of lucien, but at least he’s saying it.

“the scourge” - leonardo

“scourge!” “scourge!?” “scourge?” “hrgghhg??” “hrrm...” - the roving misogynists

power ranger villain and his squeaking goblins vs leonardo, the most useless female leads of all time, and the roving misogynists. who will win.

not the people watching this movie, I can tell you that much.

oh no, the lightbringer isn’t working. this will do nothing to convince the roving misogynists that it isn’t a walking stick

oop, wilhelm scream

oh no lucien has picked up the light bringer

goddamn it he’s the chosen one isn’t he

yep he activated the stick and now we all have to suffer

oh xena 3.0′s coming for power ranger villain maybe she’ll actually do something

nope she bounced off him and now he’s grabbed her and hauled her onto his horse

“you’re coming with me” he says in his weird batman voice, to make sure the audience can tell that he is in fact taking her with him

and esme has yelled “no” to make sure we remember that she’s in the movie

wait what the. did lucien just yell “xena” is that her actual name what the fuck. what the fuck. I had to have misheard that. okay I can’t tell what he’s saying for sure but someone’s bound to say her name again at some point in the movie so I’ll revisit that.

and on that note, I think I’ll end here, because there ended up being a LOT more to unpack in this movie than I expected, it’s after midnight, and I’m tired.

tomorrow, we follow lucien as he presumably goes to save some lady he wildly disrespected and then made out with one time whose name may or may not actually be xena, and hopefully figure out what the hell is even going on with dracula, remfield, and their castle full of artfully strewn half naked harpist lesbians and dancing ceiling shadows. because right now I really don’t have time to unpack all that, and I have a feeling it will only get worse.

[vintyvanora]

☁ = being caught in the middle a storm with them . (legit tho, there are SEVERAL i wanted to send)

It felt like years had passed since Vanora had left Skyhold with Maretus. She knew the journey would be long, but time seemed to move strangely now that the day to day routine she had established was thrown out the window. With time, however, they developed a new routine. They woke up, usually before the sun, and tended to the horses. Both Titus and the chestnut mare Vanora had convinced the stable master to part with got along well, which made traveling much easier.

Once they’d handled the horses they had their morning meal. Their food was standard fare for travelers: cured meats, hard cheeses, and bread. Sometimes they could find something to supplement their meals with, fresh meat that Maretus had hunted or fresh fruit that they came across. Mostly it was just plain and boring, particularly with Maretus’ spice box nearly empty, but it was food that kept them alive and would simply have to do. There would be plenty of good food to eat once they were back home.

From Skyhold they had gone North to the shore of the Waking Sea, then chartered a boat across. Vanora didn’t particularly want to go to the Free Marches, but it was a more practical route than going West to circumnavigate the Waking Sea entirely. Alas, Kirkwall was about as charming as she had expected it to be. Although they had rebuilt much of the city that had been destroyed when the rebellion began, it was clear that the people of Kirkwall were not yet healed. Then again, who had fully moved on after the rebellion? The Civil War? The hole in the sky? It took time for such wounds to heal.

When they finally landed in Kirkwall they found a place near the docks to stable the horses before entering the city proper.

     “I heard about this place,” Maretus muttered as they slowed to a stop, “The Gallows.”

Staring up at the statues of chained slaves Vanora frowned. It was horrifying, a testament to the darker side of Tevinter.

     “How disgusting, to celebrate the atrocities endured by slaves.”

Of course, Tevinter still had slaves, Vanora was no fool. Her family owned several to staff and tend to the manor and its inhabitants. All their slaves were treated well. They lived comfortably in the manor and had nothing more severe than stern words from the heads of the household to fear. Not all families were so generous with their slaves, and while Vanora had every conclusively that any of her family’s acquaintances and friends did so, she knew that there were some families who still used slaves for blood magic. Returning her attention to the area around them, she set a hand on Maretus’ upper arm to get his attention.

     “Come. Let us find a place to stay and rest for the night.”

She was eager to leave the Gallows and all its ghosts behind. If Maretus had any inclination to stay, he says nothing, glancing down at her hand on his arm with an almost distant look before nodding his assent.

     “We should keep to Lowtown. We’ll draw no attention there.”

Vanora nodded, removing her hand from his arm, and followed at his side as he wove through the people of Kirkwall. The inn they settled on is slightly less repulsive than the two they passed initially, but the room they ended up with was nearly bare and the squalid common area they had passed through left Vanora yearning for her little room back in Skyhold.

Biting her tongue to keep from complaining, Vanora set her bags down on one of the beds, pushing on the mattress experimentally with her hand. At least there weren’t bugs crawling out from it.

     “Would you like me to get some food from downstairs?”

Maretus watched her carefully, setting his own things down as he spoke, but the only reply he received was a noncommittal noise from Vanora.

     “I’ve lost my appetite. I think I would rather not risk food poisoning.”

Nodding solemnly, Maretus took to unpacking some of the cured meats and cheese from their journey to eat instead.

     “It is a lucky thing we still have food from our travels.”

“A lucky thing indeed,” she agreed.

The pair only spent a night in Kirkwall, only staying long enough to restock their supplies. From there they traveled West, circumnavigating the Vinmark Mountains rather than crossing them. It only took a few days for the two to arrive at the edge of the Planasene Forest, but Vanora knew that forests could be tricky to navigate. She knew for a fact that in his travels Maretus himself had gotten lost in the Emerald Graves, though she had luckily had no such trouble. With any luck, they would navigate the forest easily enough, and the brush wouldn’t be dense enough to hinder the horses.

They made camp at the edge of the treelike that night, in far enough to be out of sight without delving too far into the forest. Once the horses were settled, Vanora gathered wood and started a fire while Maretus put up the tent. By the time everything was set up it was too late to go hunting, so dinner was their basic long-distance travel fare. They ate in comfortable silence, both of them tired from a long day of travel.

Checking once more on the horses, Vanora changed quickly into her sleeping attire before joining Maretus in the tent. He had already removed his boots and leather jerkin, setting them aside until the next morning dawned. Stifling a yawn, Vanora sat down on one of the bedrolls, slipping on an extra pair of socks to keep her feet from freezing overnight. Even now that they were back at sea level it still got chilly at night. Maretus, who had already checked over and reorganized his bag, had already settled into his own bedroll, waited patiently for Vanora to extinguish the small lamp they carried with them. Pulling her hair down from its usual bun, she finger-combed it before braiding it quickly.

Maretus, who had watched her from the corner of his eye as she finished her nighttime routine, faced her, “Ready for bed?”

“Mhmm,” she responded, laying down and pulling the blankets tight around her, “Sleep well, Maretus.”

     “Likewise, Vanora.”

As per usual, the sun woke the pair of travelers from their slumber. Reluctant to leave the warmth of her bedroll, Vanora buried her face in her pillow and tried to ignore the sun. It didn’t sound as though Maretus was awake yet, though he was nearly silent when he got ready if she was still asleep. It took a few moments, her mind still groggy from sleep, to realize that she could feel the ground beneath her, cold and hard and very much not cushioned by her bedroll. Mumbling incoherently she rolled towards her pillow, assuming that she had turned over too far in her sleep. Her pillow, however, didn’t budge, only shifting slightly against her side.

     “If you push me anymore I’ll end up knocking the tent over.”

Vanora’s eyes shot open, immediately recognizing Maretus’ voice, still gravelly from sleep. Sure enough, she had rolled over too far in her sleep. Far enough that she had ended up on Maretus’ bedroll, snuggled tightly against his side, her arm slung over his chest to keep herself in place. Ever the gentleman, whether he was conscious of it or not, he had moved over to give her more room, the two barely fitting onto the cushioned mat. It wasn’t the first time it had happened, Vanora somehow managing to take over the entire tent in a subconscious quest for warmth, and the embarrassment it caused, at least on her part, had subsided greatly since the first morning it happened. It wasn’t as though she meant to cling to him all night, it simply happened.

Burying her face against his chest to stifle a laugh, Vanora shook her head, “Five more minutes? I slept so well, and it’s still cold out,” she mumbled, words muffled against his shirt. He seemed to have heard her well enough, grunting quietly and shifting his weight.

     “We ought to get up and check on the horses. The sooner we get on      the road the better,” he replied, ever the practical person, “…but I don’t      think five more minutes will ruin the day.”

Humming contentedly, she yawned once more, shifting to get comfortable again, and dozing off. When she opened her eyes next, Maretus was still there, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“I think you slept more than five minutes,” he commented when her breathing changed, indicating she’d woken up again.

     “You should have woken me up, then. I don’t want to…what did you say? Ruin our day.”

He didn’t respond immediately, Vanora drawing her arm back and rubbing her eyes, rolling onto her back with another yawn.

     “…you looked peaceful. A little more sleep couldn’t hurt.      We’ve been making good progress, after all.”

Glancing over to Maretus, who was staring, somewhat unfocused, at the top of the tent, Vanora smiled, “Well, it was kind of you nonetheless. I suppose we better get moving, though. I’m sure Titus is hungry.”

Sitting up, she stretched her arms over her head, back popping satisfactorily, she pushed at the pieces of hair that had escaped her braid overnight. Beside her, Maretus sat up as well, rubbing a hand over his face as though to wake himself up. She scooted over, back to her own bedroll to unbraid her hair, watching Maretus from the corner of her eye as he stretched out and started to redress for the day. He was always ready first, perhaps intentionally, so that Vanora had the tent to change inside of before they packed up camp.

By the time she was dressed and ready for the day, Maretus had already tended to his mare and was retrieving breakfast from one of the saddlebags. Vanora made a beeline for Titus, the black Friesian huffing as she approached. It didn’t take her long to feed him, talking to him as she finger-combed through his mane. Maretus and Vanora ate and packed up camp quickly, back on the road West within the hour.

Their days were a mixture of intermittent conversation punctuated by comfortable silences. The sun was out, a good portion of it filtering through the dense canopy of the forest to light their way. To their great relief, the road they followed was well traveled and easy to navigate. Rarely did they need to consult a map. By midday, they found a nice place to stop and eat and let the horses have a break.

     “I think I see berries over there,” Vanora commented, pointing to the edge of      the clearing they had discovered, “let’s hope they aren’t poisonous.”

Satisfied that they were, indeed, not poisonous, Vanora picked as many as she could before returning to Maretus who, as usual, had already retrieved their food. The weather turned suddenly, halfway through their meal, and the sun disappeared behind clouds. Before they could manage to pack up, the heavens opened and it began to pour. It was no gentle rain, no drizzle or small droplets, but a veritable deluge. As they scrambled to pick up their things and get them into the saddlebags, Maretus nearly slipped in the mud, Vanora reaching out to steady him and succeedingly only to send them both into the mud. Blinking in surprise, her dress now coated in mud, Vanora broke out into a fit of laughter. Maretus had gotten splashes of mud all the way up to his face, a few spots on his cheeks and beard. He looked shocked, as though he couldn’t believe they’d actually managed to fall over and that Vanora was laughing about it, and made no attempt to get up right away. Vanora reached over, glad that they hadn’t fallen directly on top of one another, to wipe some of the mud off his face.

     “We shall make quite a sight on the road like this, all        caked in mud. You’ve got it in your beard!”

Although he didn’t laugh out loud, Vanora could see the amusement in Maretus’ eyes, his lips curling up in a smile as he gave in and chuckled, reaching over to wipe some mud off of her cheek.

     “You look as messy as I do,” he replied, running a hand over the pieces      of hair that had fallen out of her bun, “and your hair is muddy too.”

His commentary only caused Vanora to start laughing again, imagining what a pair they made all covered in mud.

     “I suppose,” she said, gradually composing herself, “that it is a      good thing we are so far from civilization.”

Shaking his head, a smirk still on his lips, Maretus managed to get to his feet, reaching down to help Vanora up. Once they were both steady, they headed back to the horses, salvaging what was left of their lunch and glad that the rest was safely stashed in the saddlebags. They returned to the road only after Vanora had done her best to clean them off, managing at least to get the mud out of Maretus’ beard and hair. She had abandoned trying to remove the mud from her hair, unbraiding it and letting the rain do its work to wash the mud out. Satisfied that everything was safely away, they set out again, resigned to an uncomfortable day of travel and an impending evening of trying to clean up before bed. Despite the discomfort of being wet and muddy, Vanora was in high spirits and certain that the day would be an amusing tale to tell friends back home, smiling already in anticipation of the horrified looks she was sure to receive. In the end, all the travel and discomfort would be worth it, she reminded herself, glancing over to Maretus as they rode. Yes, it would certainly be worth it.