#lady lynet

[queer-ragnelle]

The Savage Damsel and The Dwarf by Gerald Morris | More quotes at Arthuriana Daily

[sabraeal]

We Seek That Which We Shall Not Find, Chapter 10

[Read on AO3]

Written for @itspotatobee, who won the first ticket of my 1000 Follower raffle!

Clean 2BR/1BA, the listing had said; recently renovated, convenient street parking.

Obi huffs, breath just barely starting to mist in the night air. There’s nothing convenient about having to park two blocks away from the door— oh, he gets his steps in, sure, but last winter the city plowed a drift right against the driver’s side and then charged him a fine for the pleasure, and this summer about half the street lamps blew along his route back— must be the heat, the super had said, old bulbs like that go when you sneeze on them— and three months later, not a single one’s been changed.

The only plus side tonight is that it gives him plenty of time to get up a good froth on his self-loathing. Like that latte machine from the coffee shop he’d worked at that one time— some corporate one trying to pass itself off as a mom and pop, calling the shit pastries mom’s secret recipe and charging an arm and a leg, all while never paying a dime over minimum wage. He’d only lasted two months at that place, shown the door after he let one of the regulars have the run of the back during close, right before taking them into the walk-in and—

Well, he hadn’t much of a leg to stand on when it came to protesting his pink slip. But even though he’d had to give back the apron— good riddance; sky blue had never been his color— they couldn’t take away the four different kinds of latte art he’d learned to seduce Ms Walk-in behind the counter. Or how to make the perfect espresso.

Just the kind of skills that would impress Little Miss Honor Roll, really. Nothing future doctors-slash-rocket-scientists like to think about more than where their coffee comes from. And whether it’s got a cute little cream heart poured into it. Seems like a real good use of their time.

Obi slams the door behind him, dropping his keys into the melted Hard Mike’s bottle that serves as their resting place. Not that he’s supposed to be showing off for Lady Lynet. That’s Beaumains’ job, after all. He’s supposed to keep his hands and smiles to himself, because even if this girl weren’t legal issues level of young, Shirayuki’s still so out of his league he might as well be playing in the pee-wees.

A fact which seems to slip right out of his head whenever there’s just the Honda’s center console to play chaperone. It’d be so easy to just lean over, to put himself right in her orbit and find out if she might lean back. To compress a foot worth of dead space to an inch and let her choose to close that last bit. Really make her grandparents wonder what she could get up to into an idling car for twenty minutes.

Or at least, that’s what he should be thinking— what he always had when it came to picking out the next notch in his bedpost. It’s what makes sense— everything boiling down to some animal attraction that rides rough-shod over common sense; the kind of horny-stupid makes him think that chasing a girl that looks like the larval stage of a librarian is going to lead anywhere besides heartbreak.

But instead, he keeps looking over the cup holders, wondering if her hands are as soft as they look. If her fingers would fit between his like a lock’s tumblers, or if they’d just be as mismatched as their heights made them look. If instead of leaning of leaning up to meet him, she might cup his hands between her palms, as if just him was enough, and—

The door groans beneath his back, matching the one that drags out of his throat. This is worse than wanting to fuck her, isn’t it? Like the start of a mental illness or something. Maybe he should just save them all some time and just—

The lights flick on, blinding him. Takes a minute for everything to resolve into the grin perched on the arm of his couch.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” Torou drawls, one bare foot swinging just above the balding rug. It’d been shag once, long before they’d picked it up from the curb. “A sad sack.”

“What are you doing?” The boots seemed like a great idea before he left, but now he’s stuck trying to untie his laces while the peanut gallery looks on. “Don’t tell me you waited up.”

“First off, it’s like, eleven. I’m not eighty.” She ticks her point off on her fingers, flashing nails that look more like a color blindness chart than art. “Second, what kind of sister would I be if I didn’t wait up for my dearest, sweetest little—”

“We are not related.”

“By some cosmic clerical error,” she sighs, one hand dramatically pressed to her tank top. “But what was I supposed to do after all those dire texts you sent me?”

Might be awkward to be bent over right in the doorway, all vulnerable and shit, but at least Torou can’t see his face when he mutters, “Those weren’t about me.”

“Uh-huh, sure. You can tell me ‘your friend’” —her fingers flash in a seriously improbable amount of quotes— “needs advice all you want, but I can read between the lines. Hell, I invented writing in the margins, okay, you can’t just— oh my god, did you dress up?”

God, he needs to finish his bachelor degree yesterday. At least then he might be able to afford a one bedroom. “I wear this all the time.”

Torou claps a hand over her mouth— an upgrade, in his opinion— and tilts her head.  “Please don’t tell me that’s what you’ve been saying all night.”

Obi frowns. “I’ve definitely worn all of these clothes before.”

“Together?”

Sure, maybe he picked up the button down at Goodwill like a week ago, after he knew he’d be swinging by Shirayuki’s before the game— but the T-shirt and jeans, definitely. “Don’t you have something better to do? Like I don’t know, binge Love Island until you figure out who you want to fuck the most?”

“Please, I can do that just by looking at the lineup. It’s not like any of those people get better when they open their mouths. Now, come on” —Torou tips off the arm, patting the cushion beside her— “What’s she like? Is she hot? Does she have an even hotter friend? Is she going to slash my tires?”

Impossible; that girl probably doesn’t even dog-ear pages on her own books. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Oh my god, there is a girl.” Torou’s on her feet now, dogging his heels all the way to their postage stamp of a kitchen, getting underfoot like all the worst cats he’s ever known. “Why didn’t you say anything? If I’d know you were trying to pull some ass, I would have cleared out! Listen, next week, just text and I’ll—”

“It’s fine.”

He throws open the fridge, less from any real need to stuff himself, and more to keep himself from picturing it— Shirayuki, here in his place. Shirayuki, letting him herd her back towards his bedroom, breath already coming in those thin, hiccuping gasps, fingers buried in his hair. Shirayuki, curled up on his couch, head resting on his shoulder, the light from the TV washing over her sleeping face forty minutes before the movie’s even over—

“I’m not bringing her here.” Ever. “You don’t need to get gone or whatever.”

“Oh, I get it.” The curl of her smirk says she doesn’t, not even a little. “I shouldn’t wait up. So what’s her place got? Hot tub? Sex dungeon? Memory foam? No roommates?”

“I wish this place had no roommates,” he grunts, grabbing the closest thing to the door. Just his luck, it’s one of Torou’s stupid diet drinks, some kind of carbonated water that has briefly been shown a picture of fruit and then had the flavored label slapped across it. “No, it’s not— we’re not like that. And I’m not trying to.”

“Oh?” Her arms fold across her chest, every angle completely unimpressed. “So, what? You just spent fifteen solid minutes blowing up my phone in a fucking panic about your moves because you want to stay friendly?”

“I wasn’t panicked.” Just doubting his ability to read a room. At least one filled with people whose whole personality couldn’t be summed up as DTF. “Just…wondering. About if I was coming off too, er…”

“Friendly?” His stomach rolls with every waggle of her eyebrows. “Yeah, I know all about coming on too friendly, and then you have to find somewhere to—”

“Cut it out.” It flies out of him, too sharp, too raw, and Torou must hear it too, since her smirk smooths into a line. “Seriously, that’s not…it’s not going to happen.”

“What? Why not?” There’s a defensive set to her arms now, a real stubborn angle in the way her head tilts. “You’re a catch.”

“Sure, as long as you’re fishing in industrial runoff.” Her mouth rucks up, fight ready to spill right out of her— should have known better than to say something like that when she’s already spoiling for one— but he holds her off with a wave and a generous sip of that flavorless diet stuff. “Nah, listen, it’s not like that. She’s just young. Like, way too young.”

That gets an eyebrow up, scrap traded for skepticism. “What? Is this how I’m gonna find out you’re hanging around a middle school or something?”

Diet drink goes down the entirely wrong pipe. “Jesus,” he coughs. “I didn’t say she was a baby.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She leans on the counter, a smirk already slanted across her smug face. “So how old is your fetus then, you cradle-robber?”

“She’s not my”— it’s terrible, watching her eyebrow tick higher, too knowing— “Seventeen.”

“What?” Torou stares at him, weirdly blank. “That’s it?”

“What do you mean ‘that’s it?’” He hasn’t been questioning his life and choices for whole a week just for this. “If we did anything— I mean, if I did anything—”

“Which clearly you’re thinking about.” The curl at the corner of her smirk digs deep into her cheek. “A lot.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Didn’t have to.” She leans back, shoulders rolling into a lazy shrug. “I don’t see what the big deal is. You’re what? Twenty? You guys could have been in high school together.”

Hah, wouldn’t that be something? Her, an over-achieving little freshman, well on her way to honor roll, and him, a senior who was only good enough at math to figure out how many days he could skip before they’d keep him back. Probably wouldn’t have even looked at each other twice if Wisteria didn’t find some way to put him in her orbit. But if he did…

Well, maybe he would have actually had a reason to show up to class, instead of barely eking out a diploma on a technicality. Maybe he would have even looked at that stupid flier for Senior Prom and thought—

“That’s not the point,” he mutters, scrubbing at a cheek, hoping she can’t see the heat flooding his face. “I’m not a senior and she’s not a freshman. She’s seventeen, and by the time she’s not…”

He’ll be a handful of months away from being able to legally buy that handle of Skol in their fridge.

“Uh-huh,” she hums, taking the gross diet water out of his hands and taking a swig. “So what’s the plan? You’re gonna wait around until she’s eighteen, and then—?”

“What? No. I don’t have some creepy countdown until she’s legal or whatever,” he squawks, hands waving between them. “Besides, it’s not like she’s suddenly not gonna be a high schooler.”

“I don’t know if you know this, but like, there’s this thing that most seniors do: it’s called graduating. It’s the thing where you suddenly aren’t a high schooler anymore.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.” God, this is why he didn’t want to talk to her about all this; Obi’s never had trouble making bad decisions, the last thing he needs is her helping him make another one. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter. She’s probably not even interested.”

“What, in you?” Torou snorts. “Did you forget to mention this girl is blind or something?”

“No, there’s just…” Wisteria Junior. “Someone else that’s a way better choice.”

“Yeah?” Her mouth twitches, and— god, she is finding this way too funny for his health. “How do you figure?”

He’s her age, for one. Good looking too, if you’re into that clean-cut prep type. Which, if the way she dresses is any indication, it definitely is. “He’s rich.”

“Oh.” Torou settles back with a sigh. “Sucks for you then.”

“Yeah,” he grunts, swiping the water and pouring the rest down the sink. “For real.”

*

Wisteria has a gift— well, many gifts if he believes the tabloids he flips through waiting in line at the grocery store, bestowed on him by a mix of sound generational investments and genetics— for always knowing when it’s Obi’s bucket squeaking down his hall, cleaning up his students’ shit. For a bunch of kids who are meant to be the linchpin of this country’s economy in the next decade or so, it doesn’t bode well that none of them can seem to walk their wrappers to the trash bin. Business majors? More like major pains in his ass.

“Obi.”

That GQ-worthy mug hangs outside of his office, not even a hand raised to flag him down, just relying on the authority in his voice. What’s obnoxious is that it works— Obi perks right up, like a dog to a whistle, head swiveling to where that asshole stands, all casual lean and cashmere. Guy might only be a TA right now, but a few more years of playing prodigal CEO and they’ll probably hand him a PhD for free.

“We should talk.” Now his fingers twitch, the laziest come-here curl. The sort of thing that would look stupid on anyone else, but for him— Obi’s already leaning his mop against the wall. “Come here.”

He turns his back, obedience not only demanded but expected, and well— that gets Obi’s boots to squeak up short, one eyebrow pitched to his hairline.

“Aren’t you rich?” he snorts, checking one hip against the wall. “Would have thought your mama would be able to afford you some manners.”

Now that gets His Majesty to draw up short, craning a neck so elegant it makes Obi wonder if people in his tax bracket breed for them like borzoi.

“Come here, please,” he manages after a long moment. “We should talk, thank you.”

Obi sighs. When it comes to people with more money than sense, sometimes you gotta take what you can get.

He ducks into the office, tugging off his work gloves and tucking them around the loop of his belt. It’s not a private one— even Izana Wisteria, CEO, MBA (almost), Esq (at least he assumes, that seems like the sort of thing people with money get for fun) can’t do better than one desk out of four, though the other ones are empty, cleared out for the king to hold court. Or at least office hours, though it’d take bigger balls than his to ask someone on Fortune’s “30 Under 30” for help on ECON 230.

“What’s the problem, my liege?” Obi grins, finding a new wall to lean insolently against. “Got another cute maiden for me to terrorize? Gotta say, I think my schedule’s filled up on that one.”

“No.” His mouth twitches, good as a laugh out of the ice prince — and probably at his expense. “But speaking of Shirayuki…”

Oh boy. Better batten down the hatches for this one. If he thought Torou roasted him, then Wisteria was going to practically cremate—

“I have been informed that I owe you a…apology.”

Well. That wasn’t on his rich boy bingo card today.

“Oh?” Obi shoves off from the wall, dropping into one of the seats across from him. “I didn’t think you were allowed to do that. Don’t you need at least three PR managers to sign off on any statement before you can—?”

“I know you’re under the misapprehension that you’re hilarious,” Wisteria informs him, his dulcet tones pinched as he picks through them. “But I am allowed to handle my own personal liaisons, thank you.”

“Oh,” he gasps, letting the word wallow around in his mouth before letting it loose, if only to see Wisteria flinch. “I’m a liaison. Should I sign an NDA?”

“You’re a liability, that’s what you are,” His Majesty mutters, finger drumming an impatient line on his desk. “And no. I can already tell that litigating you would be a nightmare.”

“Don’t worry, your lordship,” he hums. “If the paps ask, I’ll only give them glowing reviews of your—”

“That” —Wisteria tucks a pen violently into its holder— “is exactly what keeps me up at night.”

Obi gives him his most charming grin. “You know, since you’re allowed to handle liaisons” —he throws around a liberal amount of finger quotes, enough to get some good froth on His Majesty’s glare— “are you gonna try to liaise with that hot chick from the humanities department? You know, the one that’s always hanging around here, trying to get the dean to sign off on things. What’s her name, Ha—?”

“You really are quite practiced in being utterly intolerable, aren’t you.” Wisteria adjusts his glasses, and not for the first time, Obi wonders if they’re actually prescription. “Just because I am allowed to tender my own personal apologies does not mean I take joy in doing it. And I assume from the way you are acting like” —a clown, his frown practically shouts— “this, the feeling is mutual. So let us just forge through the rest of this matter as quickly as possible.”

“Or we could just not and say you did.”

“I have thought of that,” Wisteria admits with a breath light enough to take for a sigh. “But I’m almost certain that she would check.”

He’d almost pay to see that— Little Miss Honor Roll with her hands on her hips, gently hounding Izana Wisteria into acting like a decent human being. “Oh, definitely.”

“So, let’s get down to it shall we. An apology, after all, has three parts.” There’s something like a smile lingering at the corners of his mouth on that last bit, like he’s got fond memories of the scolding that earned him that little taste of manners, but it’s gone before Obi can really appreciate it. “I have come to understand that in asking you to interfere with the natural progression of plot in our current campaign, you were maneuvered into the direct path of my brother’s infatuation.”

Right, rich boy for, I asked you to fuck around, and we found out a little harder than expected.

“I mean, you told me to come run interference between your brother and his girlfriend.” Act as a disruptor, Wisteria had called it. A real nice way to say, be an asshole and we can call the whole thing square. “I knew what I was getting into.”

Long fingers knit, forming a bridge over a spray of unfinished paperwork, and Wisteria sighs. “I’m well aware. But I have been informed that this does not absolve me of your resultant discomfort. Should you have experienced any.”

Which you must have, he doesn’t say, because the whole table had to talk him down from choking you out.

“Well, yeah. Can’t say I love being hated or whatever, but it wasn’t like I was coming to make friends.” Though he somehow managed it anyway, considering how many texts he’s gotten from the Big Guy about properly leveled gear and suggested feats. “Besides, your brother is fun to fire up.”

Another twitch, this time aimed at someone else’s back. “That he is.”

There’s a strange kind of silence that settles in the air between them; not weird, like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, but almost…friendly. Just two dudes vibing, because they don’t need to talk to understand each other. The sort of thing that would feel good, if it wasn’t with a guy who wore sweaters worth more zeros than his bank account.

“I forgive you.” It’s a stupid thing to say— the last thing any Wisteria needs is absolution. Not from him at least. “If that’s what you need to hear. Even though I don’t really think there’s anything to apologize for.”

His mouth curls, the smallest flash of teeth peeking out of Wisteria’s smirk. “Thank you, regardless.”

“Anyway.” Obi’s hands itch, dying to do something— anything— besides just sit here and feel companionable toward a man with more letters tacked on to the end of his name than there is alphabet. “I should really—?”

“Of course.” His Majesty doesn’t stand, of course, content to watch the peasants scramble to please him. Or, right now, watch Obi plant his palms and mosey up to standing. “I’d hate to have your supervisor stroll past and take you to task when I’m the one who requested a chat.”

Obi lets a dry laugh saw out of him. “Don’t worry, your frostiness, I get fifteen minute breaks just like everyone else.”

There’s a tightness to his mouth now, a furrow digging itself right above that perfect nose— really, there’s got to be a program or something, people don’t look this good by accident— but it’s gone as quickly as it blew in, leaving only that still-lake smile behind. “Thank you for giving it to me, then.”

“No problem. Anytime, I guess.” He’s the most tolerable person in the department, funny enough. And that’s not just because he stuck his neck out to get Obi in the door in the first place— though he won’t lie: it helps.

“Obi…” The ice prince is on his feet now, one hand delicately braced on the corner of his desk, and Obi wouldn’t quite call this melting, but it’s certainly enough sweat to need a coaster. “Aside from my brother…you are enjoying the game, aren’t you?”

He blinks. “Yeah. It’s” —the most fun he’s ever had sober— “cool. I, uh, like it.”

For reasons that don’t entirely include a little red-headed alchemist and her insistence on handling him. Er, Beaumains.

“Ah. Good.” And just like that, his highness is solid ice again, no puddle to mark he’d ever perspired at all. “I had been under that impression. We’ll be expecting you this Saturday, I presume?”

Obi huffs out something just shy of a laugh. “And miss what trap you’ve set us all up for this week? You better believe it. Maybe this time I’ll take a page from my lady’s book and bring a bribe.”

There’s no missing that flash of teeth now, disappearing quick behind the drawn curtains of his smile. “Your mistress, as you call her, said much the same thing. Minus the bribery. Though she did ask how I felt about raisins.”

“O-oh?” He’d already been dragging out his saunter to the door, but now his boots scuff to a stop, leaning back to ask, so casual, “Did she?”

“Yes. She apparently— how did she put it? Looks forward to cutting through the knot you’ll be trying to convince us to untangle.” Wisteria doesn’t laugh, but he does let out a rusty hah for good measure. “She also inquired as to whether it would be all right to bring along another guest.”

His stomach takes a real tour of the space beneath his rib cage. “Another…guest?”

“Yes. A friend of hers, I gather.” His smile curls up at a corner, content as a cat. “It seems her post-session postmortems have convinced said friend to try their hand at tabletop.”

“Right. Cool.” He clears his throat, totally not desperate as he asks, “So like, is this a friend-friend, or, uh…?”

“Friend…friend?” One elegant eyebrow lifts. “I’m not quite sure what you’re driving at.”

“I mean”— he may not be Wisteria’s brother, blushing at every brush with embarrassment, but god, he’s pushing his tolerance to its limit— “like a lady friend? Or do you think—?”

“Sorry!” A curious head pops around the door, eyes darting between them— and then the hours posted on the door. A student— thankfully not anyone he knows. “Are you guys doing office hours?”

“I am,” Wisteria offers. “Apologies, Obi. It seems that we’ll have to continue this…riveting discussion later.”

“Ah…” He’d really rather die than try to talk about this after common sense has had time to come around. “Nah, don’t worry about it. I, ah, got it.”

His smile widens to an almost wolfish grin. “Do you?”

“Yeah.” Obi shrugs, casual. “Totally.”

*

He does not, actually, got this.

In fact, not only is he not in the same neighborhood of getting this, but Obi doubts he’s even in the same zip code. He’d have to get on a transcontinental flight to even get on the same continent as getting it, and even then, he probably couldn’t find it with a map and a mailing address.

It’d actually be kinda funny, if he wasn’t living it. Torou certainly seems to think so.

“Just text her already.” Torou flips the page on her Marie Claire, and oh, she might sound over it— might even look over it, sitting there as her toe nails set or whatever. But Obi can see her watching, spying on him from the corner of her eyes, not even bothering to read which nail trends everyone will be ‘rocking’ this holiday season or which easy fashion looks look best on the three same-bodied models they’ve found to wear them. “You’re driving her, aren’t you? It’s sort of your job to know who you’re picking up.”

“But what if it is a guy?” he moans, half muffled in the pillow. “What if it’s a guy and he’s driving her?”

“What if it’s a girl and they’re making out right now?” Torou deadpans. “What if it’s a girl and they’re making out right now and you’ll have to drive them?”

He’ll admit, that pulls him up a little short. “I mean…I guess that would be…uh…”

Fine, he wants to say. That’s what he would have said if one of his hookups pulled something like that. Hell, he probably would have been fine with a guy too, so long as they were both into it. But he thinks of anyone so much as putting an arm around Shirayuki, having her turn those big eyes up at them, and he—

“Ugh,” he moans. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

The magazine drops, louder than a gunshot. “Oh my god.” Torou stares at him, white all around her eyes. “You want to d-word her.”

Dick? “We’ve been over this, I’m not—”

“No, no.” Her head shakes, that thick mane of hair flying everywhere. “You want to d-word her because you l-word her!”

Date. She means date. He wants to date her, because he—

“W-what?” A cold sweat prickles just beneath his collar. “Which l-word?”

“Oh my god.” Torou stares at him like he should be behind plate glass and under terrarium lighting, like he’s a sideshow. “You have to ask? Wow, you’re really down bad.”

“No, I…” His teeth snap shut, one big clack that echoes through his ear canals. Yeah, he could deny it, throw out all kinds of protest about how just not happening this whole thing is, but—

Well, it’s not like it’s going to make him seem less down bad. “I’m gonna see if she needs that ride.”

Torou laughs, picking up her magazine. “Yeah, you do that, champ.”

hey, he picks out, giving her a glare over the horizon of his phone screen, u ned ride 2nite? HRM tol me u mite hav 1

A little check mark pops up nearly immediately— she’s read it, oh god— and Obi dies nearly a hundred deaths between then and when the little gray (…) pops up beneath it.

Yes, please! Is it alright if my friend comes with us? I’m sorry, I should have asked days ago.

A three-day old breath shudders out from his lungs, and it’s a good thing he’s already lounging on this chair, because the thing would have taken his knees with it if he’d been on them.

np mi casa es su casa w cars tho

Thank you!! She’s been hearing me talk about the game for weeks. This time she insisted she had to come with me.

She. Obi drops his forehead onto the edge of his screen. The friend is a she. Which isn’t a guarantee it’s all friendly and platonic or whatever, but it’s something. Elbow room, at least.

got it 2 see if were ax murders rite

I don’t think that was specifically a worry, no. She goes to school with Zen and Kiki too.

There’s a long pause before she adds, Though she certainly has an interest in checking some people out.

His fingers hover over the screen, and— just how is he supposed to take that? Anyone else and he’s think she mean him, but—

Also I know this is a little last minute, but… Would you mind coming a little early? Maybe…6?

Ya sure np. His forehead furrows, finger hesitantly adding, n e reason y?

Another one of those long pauses, the kind that leaves him wondering if maybe all this fluttering and  squeezing in his chest area might be the sign of a cardiac event rather than being down so bad it gives him palpitations.

Nothing big, she says, far too casual for the follow up of, My grandparents would like you to come to dinner. If that’s cool with you.

Oh. He presses a hand to his chest. This is what a cardiac feels like.

“TOROU.” Obi doesn’t even wait for her magazine to drop, just barrels straight into, “What does it mean that she wants me to come over?”

Her mouth tilts into that all-too knowing smirk. “Well well well, looks like your fetus doesn’t mind that you’re three steps from the grave, huh? Guess you won’t need me to clear out, unless you guys are going to do a tour of—”

“No, that’s not— that’s not it.” He tips the screen towards her, like somehow she might be able to read eight point font from across the room. “She wants me to have dinner with her grandparents.”

“What”—Torou’s eyes grow wide, pressing deeper into the couch like a cat trying to scramble out of a bath— “the fuck?”

“Oh cool,” he mumbles, numb. “So that was the right reaction.”

[ladyminaofcamelot]

The way Terence and Eileen keep their marriage secret by acting like everything they do is normal will never cease to make me laugh. He comes in through her window in front of Lynet and they just: “Pardon me my lady, I didn’t know you were entertaining,” And, “It’s fine, please come in.” Like, they act like he just strolled in the door and Lynet accepts it without question because they are the definition of act natural. They sprawl on the floor next to each other during Gawain’s late night drinking sessions and no one raises any concerns. Sarah asks if they’re married and they just stare at her blankly for a second before they admit it. No fumbling justifications, no struggling to hide when they get caught. Someone could see them kissing and they’d just be like, “hello, good afternoon, are we in the way? No, nevermind us. Kissing? What kissing? I don’t remember any kissing,” And then whoever saw them would walk away thinking they were hallucinating. It’s amazing. It’s hilarious. They’re secretly married but completely unconcerned. 

[rjalker]

Thus endeth this tale of syr Gareth of Orkeney that wedded dame Lyones of the castel peryllous. And also syr Gaheris wedded her syster dame Lynet, that was called the damoysel saueage. And syr Agrauayne wedded dame Laurel a fayr lady, and grete and myghty landes with grete rychesse gafe with them kyng Arthur, that ryally they myght lyue tyl their lyues ende. Here foloweth the viii.

but you didn't even explain the whole magical decapitation thing yet

[gaheriskinnie]

I'm writing a fic about a paranormal reincarnation au with Gaheris and Lynette as the main characters

Bonus:

[gellavonhamster]

me: I tried reading comics and realized it’s not my cup of tea unless it’s standalone graphic novels or limited series, because I find such amount of canon, even when sticking to specific characters, too extensive and difficult to follow, and different stories/series are often contradictory, which is confusing

also me: already thinking which Arthurian texts to read next having barely finished reading Le Morte 🤡

(the list below was intended for personal use - I obviously cannot recommend things I haven’t read - but then I realized that some of these works are available online/can be downloaded for free because they are public domain, so if I add links, someone else might also find this useful)

Medieval texts:

The Mabinogion. I think I’ve read some individual stories from it at some point and enjoyed them. in any case, excited to see the knights of the Round Table with magic powers

The Wedding of Sir Gawain and Dame Ragnelle. don’t know how I still haven’t read this one (even though I know what it is about in general), shame on me

The Romance of Morien. heard good things about this one, also curious to see an Arthurian text with a Black man as the main character

Sir Gawain and the Lady of Lys. honestly, no idea what this one is about, but the full text is on Wiki and it’s pretty short, so I might as well give it a try

not losing hope to find Les Prophéties de Merlin in English because I don’t think I’ll be able to handle it in French. please, internet, just let me read about Morgan and her girl gang

Modern texts:

The Idylls of the Queen by Phyllis Ann Karr. everyone seems to love this one, and “Sir Kay solving a murder mystery” sounds pretty awesome

The Ballad of Sir Dinadan by Gerald Morris. it is Book 5 of The Squire’s Tales, but the description seems like I would be able to understand it without reading the previous installments. if I like it, might read some other books from this series (there is a novel about Lynet and a novel about Lunette, not sure if they aren’t combined into a single character but I like both of them anyway)

Gawain and possibly Lancelot by Gwen Rowley. saw a post recommending them, sounds like something I might enjoy

Tristan and Isolde: Restoring Palamede by John Erskine. probably??? do it for him (Palomides)

Non-fiction: 

King Arthur's Enchantresses: Morgan and Her Sisters in Arthurian Tradition by Carolyne Larrington. looks extremely relevant to my interests

(to be continued?)

[hornet394]

squire’s galaxy worldbuilding - chapter 0

Each fiefdom is it’s own Temple on a separate planet. The Heads of the Temple only rule the temple, not the planet! (Though they might, in some cases, but rarely in the Republic.) So Gawain (and later Gaheris) is Head of the Temple of Orkney, which is situated on Naboo, but they only have advisory roles in the Naboo government. As a religious sect, they have some form of immunity and land. 

The Temple of Camelot, which is on Coruscant, is one of the larger Temples. Arthur does not rule over the Republic. I haven’t decided who does, but picture it to be someone wise and nice and steps down after their term is up because democracy ACTUALLY WORKS in this Republic. Many of the other Temples among Republic space send their best force-users to Camelot to learn from the Knights there.

The other large ones include the Temple of Athens, where Alexander, in fact, does rule over the Holy Roman Empire. Another one is the one meant to refer to France, which I cannot be bothered to go find the proper Head of the Order for. Obviously leaving this open so I can add more in.

On that note, each country in ST is it’s own little galactic republic/empire/confederation in this verse.

ST Temples have different traditions to the SW Order. More in line with ST canon, Master-Padawan relationships are more informal and can change anytime, there’s no real sanctity to it, until a Force bond is established. So while Tor and Plogrun was a Master-Padawan pair, no one would see them as a “pair” the same way they would see Gawain and Terence, who have a Force bond. However, both pairs would be referred to verbally as just Master-Padawan pairs. Most Master-Padawan pairs in ST Temples opt not to form Force bonds. Most other hierarchical structures also work more closely in line with ST canon as opposed to SW, so to justify why Dinadin and Griflet are still “Knights” even in this verse, and why they no longer kidnap babies. Knights can also get married and stuff in this verse! So the no attachment rule doesn’t really exist, except that your loyalty should be to your fellow Jedi and the main Temple aka Camelot before anything else.

All of the canonical ST knights are force-sensitive. In fact, everyone from ST is force-sensitive unless I say otherwise. This also means we get the ladies being Knights as well, because let’s face it most ST women can kick the butts of 99% of the men. In both ST and SW.

Jedi Knights = Knights. Jedi Master = Knights. Padawans = Squires. Initiates = Pages. Jedi = refers to all force-users as a whole. Sith = refers to people like Mordred, who use the dark side of the Force. The Seelie and Unseelie Court keep their ST titles - I cannot be bothered to come up with new ones. So while Lynet is a Jedi Knight to the regular Jedi, she is referred to as Enchantress by the inhabitants of the Otherworld. 

I’ll add to this as we go. 

What’s the Seelie Court in this equivalent then? Think the Father, Son, and Daughter from Mortis. So the inhabitants of the Seelie Court are beings so attuned to the Force that they basically are the Force in many ways. The rules of the Otherworld’s existence is the same as ST canon - so, no rules. It shows up anywhere and everywhere and the inhabitants of the Seelie Court can still pop in and out of various planets as long as there’s a doorway. They all have the capability of space/time-breaking travel, just like the loth-wolves from Rebels. Avalon itself is a distinct planet, but it’s on another level of existence just like Mortis - only those that the planet ordains can travel there or even see it.

Yes, this also means that Terence is Anakin in this equation - his father is the being closest to the Force itself, after all. To keep Terence’s distinct aura of mystery, in this verse most force-users are only more attuned to using the Force in combat and in meditation and discipline. In ST terms this would be a Knight knowing how to fight and also having a religious or personal moral code. Only those with Seelie parentage would get visions or connection to the Living Force the same way that SW Jedi do. Of course, you get people like Dinadin or Gaheris who are loved by the Force and gets flashes every now and then, but they cannot control or cultivate their abilities the same way SW Jedi can.

There are many rogue Jedi - so the recreant knights - and the Jedi sects also fight each other, similar to ST canon. Like I said, the dynamics and interactions and hierarchies will be like ST canon, I’m simply borrowing the Force and the galaxy setting from SW. The Force is something that’s way more common in this verse than in canon SW. 

Just like ST and SW, everyone has hand-wavy ages and intergalactic travel is also hand-wavy.

Probably sticking with all-canon ships, the way Gerald Morris (absolute fecking genius) writes these het couples makes me ship them??? Which is very rare???? Only exception will be Dinadin x Palomides but we all saw that a mile away as I am, despite my recent anidala bookmarks on ao3, a slash writer at heart.

I’ll try to incorporate ST canon events but obviously things won’t happen the same way. I don’t want to just rewrite canonical events into a Star Wars setting. And frankly speaking, I cannot be bothered to reread the series.... Or can I........... This will also be non-chronological because... eh...

This is not going to be angsty and definitely won’t end the same way SW does. I hope.

[talesfromtheenchantedforest]

ok since most ladies in arthurian literature don’t get names, and Lynete gets TWO, one of which is the iconic Damosel Savage, I propose all the other damosels get names off the list of ship names from the english royal navy, but only, like, the dope ones or the funny ones, not the lame ones.

by this system we could have a Damosel Malice, a Damosel Nimrod, and a Damosel Gay Bruiser, just sayin

[unsettledink]

Female Characters Tag Game

RULES: name 10 favorite female characters from 10 different fandoms and then tag 10 people.

I was tagged by the @heartbreak-now​

OH MY GOD THIS WAS HARD JUST TEN???

(Not in any order)

1. Esme Weatherwax, Nanny Ogg, Adora Dearteart, Susan Sto Helit, Lady Sybil, Agnes Nitt, Tiffany Aching, Cherry Littlebottom, Angua, Gytha Ogg, Magrat (Discworld) (LOOK YOU PICK JUST ONE OK??)

2. Aeyrn Sun (Farscape)

3. Vesper Holly (Lloyd Alexander)

4. Parker (Leverage)

5. Princess Cimorene (Dealing with Dragons, Patricia C. Wrede)

6. Sharon Raydor (Major Crimes)

7. Lady Lynet (Savage Damsel and the Dwarf, Gerald Morris)

8. Delilah (Tiger and Del)

9. Myka Bering, Claudia Donovan, Ms. Frederic, H.G. Wells (Warehouse 13)

10. Imperator Furiosa (Mad Max Fury Road)

And runners-up: Chiana, Zhaan, Jool, Sikozu (Farscape), Kathy Selden (Singing in the Rain), Chrisjen Avasarala (The Expanse), Roxanne Ritchie (Megamind), Maeve Millay (Westworld), Elphaba (Wicked), Guinevere Pettigrew (Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day), Princess Bubblegum (Adventure Time), Chloe Decker, Mazikeeen (Lucifer), Rosa Diaz (B99), Joss Carter (Person of Interest), Nita Callahan (So You Want to Be a Wizard, Diane Duane), Meliara Astiar (Crown Duel, Sherwood Smith), Jenny Waynest (Dragonsbane, Barbara Hambly), Princess Julia/Fisher (Forest Kingdom, Simon R. Green), Elora Danan (Shadow War, George Lucas/Chris Claremont), Sybel (Forgotten Beasts of Eld, Patricia McKillip), Mercedes Thompson ( Mercy Thompson, Patricia Briggs), Tarma & Kethry (Vows and Honor, Mercedes Lackey), Dian (Califa's Daughters, Leigh Richards), Jaenelle & Surreal & Cassidy & Marian (Black Jewels, Anne Bishop), Sandry & Tris & Daja (The Circle of Magic, Tamora Pierce)

Tagging: @the-me09 @celamity @fogdog1738 @taraljc and anyone else who wants to do it!

[fixaidea]

So because I’m a gremlin who can’t focus on one thing, right now, before I’ll have to get started on my Camp NaNo project I’m experiencing a resurgence of a completely different set of characters, so let me introduce them!

The setting is a sort of fantasy (there are magical elements, but few and far between, and kind of on the edge of reality - I think GoT is a good approximation) and culturally a kind of a mashup between the Hanza cities, pre-Ivan the Terrible Russia and Central Asia.

The basic story is that the High Prince of a small principality gets murdered along with his older son. The younger son escapes and with some luck finds a group of foreign knights willing to help him get his throne back. Political intrigue and some mild-to-stronger horror occours.

The cast:

The royals:

Prince Alexander: The murdered crown prince. He may be dead, but his person and legacy steers the plot and influences the actions of the rest of the cast. He was objectively a better person than any of the other characters (except Sergei), his ‘ghost’ is present throughout the whole story. He was eager to inherit the throne because he had a lot of reformist plans. Before he dies he bids his little brother to seek out the White Knight.

Prince Sergei: Ten years old autistic, on the run. He’s very very intelligent, but also left terribly traumatised by the events of the story.

Princess Jadviga: Sergei’s cousin. Has no claim for the throne and was thus left alive, but she’s on thin ice. Tries to bring down the ursurper from within.

The foreign aid:

They are a loosely affiliated group of knights from several countries away. In their culture there are always four Chosen knights, each of whom represent a set of knightly values. There posts are colour-coded and are passed down based on merit... or the whim of the predecessor.

Sir Mark, the Grey Knight: The Grey knight represents Charity and Protecting the Poor and the Voulnerable. Unlike the other Colour Knights, this one must always be a commoner. Mark is the one Prince Sergei runs into first - a lucky coincidence, but not a completely absurd one as Mark is constantly on the road. He’s cunning, willy, pragmatic and can’t be arsed to give a damn about the aristocracy. Often accused of being a coward - he’s not, his priorities are just wildly different from those of the others. Has a FWB style arrangement with Lady Lynet AND a gentleman who doesn’t appear in this story.

The White Knight (needs a name): The White Knight stands for Order and Honour. Excellent warrior, if a bit too Honourable to be practical. Also he’s kind of a pompous, holier-than thou, authoritarian asshole. Fancies himself the leader in a group that technically doesn’t have one. His only redeeming quality his deep love for the late Prince Alexander and how much he comes to care about Sergei - he more or less adopts him by the end of the story.

The Black Knight, Lady Lynet: Stands for Prowess in Battle. She’s basically a mercenary, and very good at it. Easily irritated and unfriendly but very brave. On par with the White Knight in prowess, but she couldn’t care less about duel etiquette. Has a soft spot for Mark... and little else.

The Blue Knight: Stands for Culture - he’s basically a Minneasänger. Always impeccably dressed, always in love with and inconsolably sad over a lovely Lady (a different one every second week). Very kind and smarter than he looks, but not a terribly good fighter. 

[lionel3350]

DEDICATED TO MY TWO ANGELS IN HEAVEN--LADY BELETA LYNNEE' RUSH AND LADY BARBARA LYNET MONICA RUSH. . . . https://www.instagram.com/p/CMi1RvJnc5Q/?igshid=1uctxmzczyzg

[sabraeal]

We Seek That Which We Shall Not Find, Chapter 7

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

Written for @k-itsmaywriting as her prize for winning the Trope Madness kitty last March! I’d make the usual groaning noises about how late I am, but honestly...this is about as good as I could do this year XD

“So let me get this straight.” Obi’s long fingers steeple over his character sheet. “Not only is homeslice the lord of this particular castle and its whole dealie--”

“Demense,” Kiki offers.

“--Right, demense. That sounds fancy enough. So he’s not only the big wig of this demense place, but also--” her stomach curls to match the trajectory of his smirk-- “my lady’s boyfriend.”

“Ah! It’s not like that!” Shirayuki waves her hands, attempting to scuttle this whole avenue of inquiry. “He’s not-- we’re not-- together.” She dares a glance at Izana. “I...think?”

His mouth twitches; no comment. This may be presumptuous of me, one of his first texts reads, burning a hole in her pocket, but would you be open to a potential failed betrothal in your backstory?

There was no way for her to know, not when her only image of Zen’s older brother was a blond man behind a backseat window, waiting in the school parking lot, but still, still--

I’m open to whatever you think would go best, should not have been her answer. Every poster on r/tabletop would have called her...well, nothing polite, that’s for one.

“I mean, maybe...technically?” She’s not entirely sure how fourth century betrothals work, especially fantasy ones. “Lynet is under the impression that this was all dissolved for, ah...” Izana offers her a beatific smile, like an angel before it sets fire to a city. “...reasons.”

“But officially,” Obi presses, “he has dibs.”

Her mouth pulls flat. “I guess if you’re the sort of person who thinks you can call dibs on a sentient being with free will, yes.”

“Right,” Obi bulldozes on, oblivious to the pothole he’s hurtling toward, “and now he’s throwing you this banquet--”

“The banquet’s for all of us,” Zen snaps, arms cross and cheeks flushed. “As a reward for saving Laxdo.”

“Oh, is that right? As I remember it--” Obi taps his chin, so thoughtful-- “Lynet was the one who figured out the whole compulsion thing. And who was it that broke the curse? Oh, right: Lynet.”

“No!” Shirayuki claps her hands to her cheeks. It would be nice if she could take even a fictional compliment without blushing. “You all helped!”

“See?” Zen cuts a hand toward her, smug. “It’s for all of us.“

“Oh yes,” Kiki deadpans, teeth peeking out from her smirk. “Moral support is just as important as actually solving the puzzle. I’m sure his lordship agrees.”

Mitsuhide rubs at his chin, stubble scraping over his palm. Four hours ago, he arrived clean shaven; now he’s sporting a five o’clock shadow. Shirayuki can only stare in wonder.

“I think...they might have a point.” He winces under Zen’s scowl. “Not that I think we weren’t important! But Lord Shuuka...”

He shrugs. It’s like watching mountains heave, but in a gentle, lovable way.

Kiki’s mouth twitches. “I have the distinct impression we were afterthoughts on that banquet invitation.”

“I’m the Prince of all the Britons and the Angles!” Zen shrills, slapping his hand on the table. “I’m not an afterthought.”

The room goes suddenly,awkwardly silent; the only noise the rattle of heating through the ducts. The exactly moment his words echo back to him is made painfully clear by the way he blushes, blotchy and red all up and down his neck, like he’s the one with a curse.

Kiki’s eyebrow nearly collides with her hairline. “You mean Arturius?”

“That’s what I said,” Zen grumbles, hunching down in his seat. “Or at least what I meant.”

“In any case,” Obi presses on, “what’s a king to a cute girl you’re gonna marry--?”

“We’re not engaged.” It’s pointless; Obi’s clearly concerned less about Lynet’s marital status and more about riling Zen up about it, but still. “I mean, not now.”

“Betrothed,” Izana interjects casually, tapping the end of his pen on his notebook. “It is different. Legally.”

Shirayuki nibbles on her lip, stomach wriggling in a concerned squirm. Nothing good comes of Izana getting pedantic.

“Sure, maybe you’re not now,” Obi allows with a shrug of his shoulder. “But come on, what better place is there to woo a medieval maiden than a banquet?”

“A ball,” Kiki offers, flat, at the same time Mitsuhide thoughtfully posits, “A stroll through the garden.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Zen snips, lifting his chin. “Shirayuki already said Lynet wasn’t interested.”

“Sure, sure. Hey, boss.” Obi pitches toward Izana with a smile that can only be described as looking for trouble. “How tall is this guy?”

For once, Izana seems flustered, eyelashes fluttering as he blinks down at his notes. “I’m sorry, come again?”

“This Shuuka dude. The lord here? The baron or whatever he is.” He rests his chin on his hand, smile sharpening into a feral grin. “How tall is he?”

“Ah...average, I suppose.” His brows knit, fingers shuffling through his papers. “There aren’t any good estimates of height for this era, but I suppose if you wanted a modern equivalent...five-ten? Five-eleven?”

“Really? You don’t say.” Obi cuts his smile toward Zen. “And just how tall are you, Your Highness?”

Shirayuki winces at the flush climbing Zen’s neck; if they’d been outside, she’d have suggested some aloe vera before the burn blistered. As it is...

Zen’s fingers crumple the edge of his sheet. “Arturius is six-one.”

Obi hums. “How interesting.”

It is a fine day at Laxdo; this autumn may still have a bite, but it’s crisp, refreshing after so many days in the confines of the great hall. A great hall that is now transformed, tables and benches populating it instead of the sick. Most of the afflicted now hobble about the grounds, slow and unsteady, but healing; the few still confined to their sickbeds are only the elderly and previously infirm, and your attentions are a boon to them still.

The manifest is in your hand now, the last few names in your care curling across the page. It is those men on your mind now as you sweep through Laxdo’s bright corridors, striding through the tiger stripes the sun leaves across the rushes. Your burden is light now that the castle’s healer is back on his feet, able to help with potions and poultices and whatever else you are able to fashion to ease the weakness in your patients, but logistics are ever the enemy. Supplies were depleted before you arrived and have only been brought lower. Winter is just around the corner, and--

Steel rings through the stone. Metal on metal-- blades meeting. Out in the courtyard.

Your heart flutters wildly in your chest, and your pace hurries to match it. Surely, surely it cannot be an attack; not now, when Laxdo is but a shade of its former glory.

The certainty of pragmatism grips you, your stomach roiling in its clutches. But of course it must be. What lord could suffer the sweet temptation of a neighbor brought low? It would be nothing to sweep in here and take the manor for a second son, something to placate him, to keep him complacent for another dozen years.

You steel yourself, wishing you had more than the bare pouch of herbs and water skein you carry on you, and step into the blinding light of the arcade--

Only to see a crowd of men gathered in the yard, conspicuously not fighting. Oh no, they are cheering instead.

Your mouth pulls thin, and ah, fortune favors you, for the crowd parts just so, and there are two of your recently healed patients, bare steel in hand, fighting each other in the yard.

Violence is not in your nature, but oh, you are contemplating a change of philosophy.

“Lady Lynet.”

You should startle; time and experience have taught you to shy when approached from behind, but strangely...you do not. Shuuka comes to stand beside you, a respectful distance as is due to your station, but closer than you have been used to these last few months, and it is-- easy. Familiar.

The lord of Laxdo has certainly seen better days; his shoulders stoop as if he expects to be smaller, and the circles beneath his eyes are quite deep still, but-- he smiles, and it is easy to see that time will heal his ills, even these.

“Shuuka,” you murmur in greeting, leaning against one of the arcade’s columns. “It is good to see you on your feet.”

“It is good to be on them,” he assures you with a laugh that brightens the day around you. “I see you are taking in this fine weather.”

“I am. And so are you men, it seems,” you add, wry. “Whether or not I told them to.”

“I know you told them to rest,” he says, lips struggling to rein in his smile, “but it has been a long season for my men. To be outside after such a long sickness, to be moving as one ought--” the longing on his face is plain to see and painful to witness-- “perhaps you might allow them this. Just this once.”

You watch the men dance around each other in the ring, laughing and shouting, breathless from both, and let your jaw ease. “Just this once.”

Shuuka smiles, a bright, earnest thing, and it is so hard to reconcile him to the boy you knew all those years ago. The small lord’s son who viewed the whole world through a veil of tears. He’s grown up better than you could have ever hoped.

He leans on the pillar across from yours, eyeing you with an eager sort of wariness. “I have set the night of the banquet.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.” His skitters away, back toward his men. “Tonight. If-- if you allow it.”

“Oh!” You had not-- this was not-- you are not even prepared--

“Hey, you!”

You both jump, heads swinging to where Arturius storms across the yard, looking as unrelenting as winter itself. “You and I must have words, Lord Shuuka!” He glances at you, mouth pulled thin. “Privately.”

Shirayuki considers herself well read.

An understatement, actually; a well-crafted cover for the amount of hours she’d spent curled up in the B&B’s window, devouring books Jaja bought by the box at a yard sale, or the amount she could carry in her arms from the library.

(The maximum was supposed to be five at any one time, but during on particularly slow summer in middle school, the librarian had made a special “all you can carry” policy, applied solely to Shirayuki. It had turned her daily trips into weekly ones, and saved her from slowing her pace to a crawl Saturday nights, so that she could have something to read on Sunday)

She doesn’t have a favorite book-- just thinking about culling the list to top ten makes her break out into a cold sweat, let alone one-- but she has formative ones. Ones that became annual re-reads or just stuck with her, claiming a stake in the back of her mind, ready to whisper the words she needs when she wants a laugh, or the rest of the world gets too hard to handle.

So it’s no surprise when she looks at Obi, his grin stretching impossibly, gleefully wide, and thinks Cheshire Cat. It only makes sense, since she’s fallen down the rabbit hole.

“Well now,” he drawls, far too pleased. “I think we all saw this coming.”

Kiki arches a brow. “What? Because you goaded him into it?”

“Princess,” he gasps, hand pressed against his chest. “Would I purposefully rile up the Prince of all the Briton and the Angles?”

“Absolutely.”

His retort is lost, cut off by the heavy tread of Zen clomping down the stairs. If Shirayuki thought some hallway time might help him cool off, well-- that notion is instantly disabused when he turns the corner on the landing. If anything, he’s more agitated, neck flushed and mouth flat, slouching over to his seat like he’s asking for someone to start a fight.

Izana is not much better, even if his annoyance is more subtle. He settles into his chair with lips pressed thin, the corners of his eyes crinkled in a way that does not suggest good humor.

“Now if no one else has any more business,” he says, voice a trembling thread of his patience, “I think we can skip right to the feast.”

Shirayuki shifts, biting her cheek. It’s not important, it really isn’t but still-- “Um...”

Izana peers up from his notes, brows raised with a shocking lack of sarcasm. “Did you want to do something, Shirayuki?”

“Oh, no, I just, um...” She rolls a corner of Lynet’s sheet, tight and neat under her stubby fingernail. “I just wanted a...clarification?”

He blinks, flipping a hand out in encouragement. “Go on...?”

“It’s only, ah....” It’s silly, she knows that, but she’s already started asking. “Is this an...informal feast?”

Izana’s mouth parts, just slightly. “I’m...sorry?”

“I thought I would ask since Lynet didn’t exactly pack her, um, fanciest gowns.” Her cheeks flare with heat, and ugh, she really just should have let the chips fall as they may on this one. At least if the stares she’s getting from the rest of the table are any indication. “She was traveling light.”

“I...” His mouth opens once, then shuts. Opens again, brows furrowed. “Lord Shuuka has seen fit to outfit you all accordingly if you did not have appropriate clothing for the evening.”

She means to thank him, maybe even ask what might qualify as proper dress for a celebration such as this, but--

“So what you’re saying,” Obi interjects, grin slanted and sly, “is that Beaumain’s got some sick new threads.”

Regret etches itself on every plane of Izana’s face. “...Yes. I suppose.”

“Ha.” Obi leans back, eyes tracing a searing trail up her from heels to hairline. “Then yeah, I got something I want to do before this shindig.”

Had the Lord Himself but asked you if there were women in Laxdo, you would have sworn upon the grave of your mother that you and Morgaine were the only two. Surely you had treated none when the castle was under its curse. But when you attempt to beg off the feast, explaining that you are not properly clad for such a celebration--

Well, Shuuka finds you a gown easily enough. Your fingers linger over the remarkable wool, woven thin and tight, dyed a rich indigo. Woad, you think, though your own forays with it never yielded a color so impressive. The linen kirtle is the same, so light it might as well be air, and oh, you may be born a lady, but never did the Castle Perilous have such luxury.

A knock lands lightly upon your door, a quick little ditty sketched on oak. You’ve heard it before, though you can’t remember the words, or even the tune, just the beat. Ba-ba-bum. Bum-bum. A song from a better time.

You shake yourself. Song it may be, but a summons it is still. And you are the one who must answer it.

The door is heavy beneath your hands, but you coax it open with little effort. Behind it is the evening’s shadows, thick in the growing dim, and the gold that shines from them.

“Ah Beaumains,” you murmur as his outline resolves into a man, one dressed as fine as you. His colors are more subdued, the black of the shadows and the deep blues of his skin, humbler than any words that have passed his lips. “I was not expecting that you would, um...?”

“I am your escort, my lady.” He bows over his arm, a gallant. His pose gives the distinct impression of mocking Bedwyr, though the man himself is not in evidence. “What sort of shield would I be if I let you walk into the fray alone?”

“Ah...” You stare at his sleeve as he holds it out to you, hesitant. “I suppose that would be...unseemly, yes.”

“And I, the height of propriety.” His teeth flash like a knife’s edge as you slip your hand around his elbow. “Lucky, too.”

Your brows raise. “Oh?”

“Of course.” He shrugs; every inch a siege. “I get to see how nice you look before everyone else.”

“Hey!” Zen directs the brunt of his scowl toward Izana, though the angle of his glare is easily wide enough to include Obi. “Why is Beaumains getting this scene?”

“This scene?” Izana drawls, utterly mild. “Do you mean the conversation he just had with Lynet in her chambers?”

“Yes!” Zen’s jaw sets into an ill-tempered jut. “If anyone, Arturius--”

“You mean the scene wherein Beaumains takes the opportunity afforded by his current occupation to further their flirtation,” Izana continues, “the flirtation in which both players have built upon from their character introductions?”

A flush licks flames up her jaw, threatening to blaze across her cheeks. It’s one thing for it to happen, it’s another thing for everyone to just talk about it.

“...Yes.”

Izana raises a brow. “Because he asked.”

And it’s a whole other thing to do it like she wasn’t even here.

“Well, I want one too!” Zen pushes, hands gripping at the table. “Arturius--”

“Is missing the point that the DM is making,” Kiki supplies, deadpan. “Which is that Lynet is also choosing to have this scene too.”

Zen sputters, red-faced. “I know that! Shirayuki wouldn’t have any problem if Arturius wanted to--”

“Arturius is having a very long, very pointed heart-to-heart with the lord of Laxdo,” Izana reminds him. “Or have you forgotten?”

“Well, it’s not like that took all day!” he protests. “I have time to do both.”

Izana pinches the bridge of his nose, letting a long, noise breath out. “The next half hour is not going to be all and sundry complimenting Lynet on her sartorial choices.”

“It’s not everyone, just Artur--”

“Why not?” Kiki tilts back her chair, wedging her knees against the table. “Morgaine wants to tell her she’s beautiful too. How about Bedwyr?”

Mitsuhide stares at her, slack-jawed, before darting a worried look toward Iana. “W-well,” he says finally, with a hard swallow, “he certainly wouldn’t be able to disagree.”

Izana stares at Kiki, nonplussed. “Well then,” he drawls, mouth settling into a disconcerting smile. “What do you think, Shirayuki?”

She’s already pink, but with everyone’s eyes on her, her skin burns to a painful red. “M-me?”

“Shall we allow Arturius--” he darts a quelling glance at Kiki-- “et al to have their moment with Lynet, or shall we press on to the feast?”

Zen smiles at her, so kind and warm, just like he did that first day at school, and she-- she wishes that this wasn’t up to her. It’s not as if she minds the compliments-- fictional as they are-- but Beamains’ had been spontaneous, inspired by the moment, and this--

--Zen settles back, his smile curling smugly at the corners. His gaze is no longer on her, oh no, it’s on Obi, the challenge written clear in his eyes--

--has nothing to do with the game, and everything to do with the people playing it.

“I think,” she begins without a tremor in her voice, “I’m fine with moving on.”

Zen’s jaw drops. “What?”

“You heard the lady.” Izana lips twitch behind his paper screen. “She is content with only Beaumains’ love making.”

Shirayuki jolts. “That’s not what I sa--”

“Anyway,” he continues, ignoring his brother’s glare and Obi’s grins in response, “it’s the feast now.”

This is no longer the great hall you remember.

Or perhaps it is if you search your earliest memories; if you allow yourself to remember being seated upon the dais, a cushion placed beneath you so that you might reach the table and impress the court with your grace. You did not-- you sister would have, were she allowed, but it was you who would be sent to marry at Laxdo, not her, practically an infant still. It was no disaster; it was not your beauty that had brought the lord of Laxdo to break bread with your father.

“Lady Lynet!” Shuuka rises on the dais, holding up a hand. “Please, come here!”

It is perhaps a different tale now.

Still, this no longer resembles the hall in which you have been toiling in these long weeks. That was a dark, stifling place, the miasma of curse and compulsion lingering for days after you had dispelled them. But this--

This is a new country entirely. Candles twinkle in their holder overhead, the ceilings so high they seem as distant as the stars themselves. Bodies no longer line the hall but instead pack benches, the men dressed bright and boisterous, ale already flowing from their cups.

“Surveying your domain?”

You blink, eyes blurring as they settle on the shadow beside you. His teeth flash white against the indigo of his lips, too amused. “N-no! I was only thinking of how changed this place is. Only days ago man laid head to toe, and now...”

He tilts his heads, horns glimmering in the candlelight. “Now they are all hidden away, and we play at heroes.”

It is only the rough wool beneath your fingers, wrapped around the hard curve of his shoulder, that tells you once again you have acted without thinking. You cheeks burn as you pull away-- to think, you raised a hand to him as if he were one of the tenants’ children chasing you around the courtyard, as if you had known him all your life.

“Oh, my lady,” he clucks. “How rough you are with your servant--”

“You were unkind,” you murmur heatedly. “There are few enough that are still ailing, and they would be better served in their rooms. There is no harm in Laxdo’s lord wanting to celebrate their good fortune.”

“Mayhaps.” His nose wrinkles. “A little ridiculous, you must admit.”

You snorts, unladylike. “Says the one who polished his horns.”

Ah, now the shoe is on the other foot. His gaze is quick to drop from yours, expression rumpled with annoyance. Beaumains may be eager to ridicule the pageantry of the nobles, but he enjoys it as well.

“Come on then.” His arm tugs at yours, not gentle. “Let’s see what your skill has won you, my lady.”

You sputter, feet stumbling as you attempt to keep pace. “As I said, I am not--”

“Ah.” Beaumains mouth curves slyly, eyeing the tables he leads you past. “You may not be taking their measure, but it seems tonight they will take yours.”

It is only his words that make you notice; conversations quiet as you pass, the men’s eyes following you not with hunger, but with curiosity. For the first time, you prefer the former more than the latter.

“I cannot see why.” You take pains to place your feet more carefully, to strive for that ladylike bearing your sister achieves so easily. “They know me already.”

“But tonight is different.” He nods to the empty place beside Shuuka. You stomach drops when you see it is to his right. “Tonight they find out if you fit into the lady’s seat.”

You gut clenches. You did not come so far for this to dog your heels once again. “That-- that cannot be. I have been clear--”

“Lady Lynet!” Shuuka waves again, though more subtly. No need for grand gestures when you are already so close. “Come, take your place by me.”

Beaumains’ brows raise. “Are you sure?”

You thought you were, but the smile the lord gives you as you approach gives you doubts. Beaumains pulls out your chair, chin tucked respectfully, but you do not miss his amused smirk or his knowing look. Fine. He may think what he likes but this is not-- not that. Your betrothal is long in the past for both you and Laxdo’s lord.

“My women did well,” Shuuka tells you, friendly and bright, no hint of romance. “You look radiant, my lady.”

Well...not much of one, at least. “They have my thanks,” you reply, “I truly had nothing for a feast such as this.”

His smile widens, and it does him credit that he keeps it as he turns to Beaumains. “Thank you as well, for escorting my lady.”

To his other side, Arturius scowls, glaring as your shadow performs a polite bow, no respect spared. The same he categorically refused to show the prince. “My pleasure, your lordship.”

“You honor us with your actions, Sir Beaumains.” Shuuka gestured past her, hand open in generosity. “Please, take the seat next to the Lady Lynet, I--”

A chair scrapes across the dais, and Arturius stands, as thunderous as any storm. “That man is no sir.”

The room is so quiet it practically has its own crickets. Or at least it would, if the atmosphere hadn’t suffocated them all. Shirayuki has admit, she’s feeling a little stifled herself

Mitsuhide shifts, chair creaking, mouth grim. “Zen...”

“No,” he snaps, still on his feet, red-faced and tense as he squares off with his brother. “It’s ridiculous! He’s a commoner.”

Izana peers up from his notes, raising a mild brow. “Is this really something you think is appropriate to pursue right now?”

Speaking fluent teacher like she does, Shirayuki hears the warning loud and clear: back down. But of course, Zen doesn’t.

“Beaumains doesn’t belong on the dais,” he reasons angrily. “He should be down at the tables with the vassals and retainers.”

Izana’s expression doesn’t betray a single thought, smooth as still water. “I must concede the point, technically, but as he is a member of your party, it would make sense if--”

Zen barks out a laugh. “Oh, you’re such a stickler for accuracy, but now you’re going to break a simple rule of hospitality--”

“It’s for ease of play--”

“It’s meta gaming.”

If she’d thought the room was quiet before, she’s disabused of the notion now. All motion has ceased; even Kiki holds her breath, eyes fixed on Izana who-- who--

Stands. Or rather, unfurls; every inch is a journey as his long limbs draw straight. It’s hard to remember when Mitsuhide can hardly fit both his thighs on a dining chair, but Izana is tall, a good ten inches above her perfectly respectable 5′4. He uses every bit of that to his advantage as he looms over his brother, eyes cool and steady. “I think--”

“It’s fine.”

Obi lounges in his chair, ankle cross over knee without a care in the word. Big Dick Energy, Kihal would tell her, and wow, she really does not need to be thinking about that right now, in the middle of all this.

His lips slowly spread into a grin that does not help her brain stay on the straight and narrow, not one little bit. “Beaumains can sit among the masses.”

“Obi...” His head swivels to her, and oh, she really hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but-- it’s too late to turn back now. “You don’t need to--”

“Nah, nah, it’s no big deal,” he laughs, waving her off. “Let’s be real, given a choice between being in the box seats or getting trashed with the smallfolk, we all know which one he’d pick.”

Izana frowns, brow knitting. “As much as I appreciate your rationality in the face of the irrational, Obi, it isn’t necessary. It makes more narrative sense for Beaumains to be treated the same as the rest of the party--”

“Seriously, don’t worry about it, boss man. I can tank a hit for historical accuracy.” His gaze cuts to Zen. “In our fantasy roleplaying game where I play a demon and half the party does magic.”

Zen has the grace to look abashed, at least.

Izana lowers himself back into his chair, mouth set in faint disapproval. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah, no prob.” Obi grins, sending her stomach into a tailspin. “Don’t worry, my lady, Beaumains knows how to keep himself entertained.”

You may sit at the lord of Laxdo’s right hand, but it is Morgaine who sits at yours, as radiant as any song. By all rights, she should be in your place; base-born she may be, but king’s daughter outranks a count’s, even born on the wrong side of the sheets. Still, she makes no protest when she takes her seat, only curling her lips in one of her mysterious smiles.

Shuuka is an attentive host, selecting the choicest cuts from the trays and laying them upon your plate. He chooses well for you, each morsel a delightful burst of flavor upon your tongue, but still--

Beaumains’ teasing spoils your every bite. It does not escape you that your host is not paying Arturius the same diligent attention but-- one does not feed a king. Or, rather, a prince. And you, well-- you would be the first to say that the curse was ended by the efforts of your whole party, but you know the men of Laxdo hold a different opinion.

(And for that matter, so does Beaumains, which he shares loudly and without prompting whenever possible, much to Arturius’ ire. It is flattering, but oh, you would much rather not be a needle used to provoke, no matter who holds it)

It is kind of Shuuka to pay you such an honor, but still, it leaves you feeling awkward, as if you were born with two left hands. You cast helpless looks to your right, but Morgaine only replies with sly smiles, ones that make your skin itch with expectation.

With no safe place to look on the dais, your gaze fans out over the press below. Lady you may be, but it’s the benches you are used to; your father had never stood much on ceremony, preferring to eat and be merry among his men, rather than make himself a proper lord. Even now you long to be among them; the talk may be bawdy and the drink more sour, but you would not suffer so many eyes upon you, measuring the curve of you breast and speculating on the red of your hair.

You do not look long before your eye catches on midnight blue and glistening horns; even dressed as a shadow, Beaumains is hard to miss among the lord’s men. He laughs, tossing his head back, hand pressed to his belly-- a truer one on him than any you have seen. To think, you had pitied him when Shuuka did not tender an invitation to the dais, but now--

Well, he’s certainly enjoying himself more than you are.

A sharp prod to your ribs sets you upright, your mind snapping back to the present, reminding you sharply that you are being watched and weighed by the same men you long to join. Morgaine pulls back her elbow, sending a pointed look over your shoulder. To Shuuka.

Shuuka, who is staring at you expectantly. Shuuka, who has almost certainly asked you a question that you did not hear.

Morgaine reaches for the wine pitcher, bumping your shoulder. “He’s asking if all this is to you liking.”

“Oh!” You stitch a smile to you face. “Yes. The fest is, ah...lovely. You do me a great honor. Ah, us a great honor.”

His own smile widens, sore pleased. “I am glad to hear it, Lady Lynet. It was my greatest hope that you would find Laxdo pleasing.”

You nod, awkward, before turning back to your meal. It is hardly touched, only a single bite from each dish, and you suffer a pang of chagrin to think you have so obviously ignored his generosity-- save that you notice everyone else’s plate remains untouched as well.

Shuuka’s chair scrapes across the dais as he stands, holding his arms wide. “Before we partake of this feast--”

Oh, Lord in Heaven, the blessing. You had forgotten it entirely. Your gaze darts guiltily across the table, trying to see whether the lord’s chaplain has caught your petty sin, but the only man of the cloth at the table is Bedwyr.

“--We must all give thanks to Our Lord in heaven, from whom all our bounty flows.”

A murmur of agreement shuffles out from the men at the tables, heads bowed with lips mouthing an impassioned amen--

Ah, right. Bowed heads. What she should be doing now, in this place of honor.

“I would be remiss if I also did not offer our gratitude to the Lady Lynet.” Your head snaps up, gaze tangling helplessly with his. “If it was not for her cleverness and diligence, not a single man would be standing here today.”

This is-- this is not the toast you thought he would make, not when he spoke of the feast this morning. Not when he had told you it would be in honor of those who saved Laxdo.

“We are blessed that the angels guided her back to us after so many years away,” he continues, every word adding to the pit of dread growing in your belly. “It can only be the provenance of Our Heavenly Father that she has returned, and in returning, removed the blight from our land. I would be turning my back upon God Himself and all His angels if I did not receive what blessing he has given us.”

You heart pounds loudly in your chest, rattling the drums of war. You had been so clear. You had said--

Not enough. Nothing short of an explicit refusal ever stuck in a man’s ear. you know this all too well.

It galls you that Beaumains knew it better.

“My father has passed, but his will has always been my guide.” Shuuka showers praises down on you, oblivious to how you wither beneath it. “It had been his wish to seen our houses joined, along with your father’s, my lady. I am eager to tread the path they left for us.”

You want to protest, you mean to protest. But all of the eyes of Laxdo are upon you, and-- and your hands clench helplessly in your skirt. For a man to be refused after such a speech, after such feeling, in front of all his men--

It would be kinder to leave a blade in him. At least that he might recover from.

Your gaze swivels to your left, to your right, but Arturius sits, stunned, and his sister is much the same. The moment for an objection has passed for them, for all those who sit on this dais, but on the floor--

You cast your gaze out, searching, hoping, but--

Beaumains is not among the tables, not anymore.

The chair squeals across the floorboards as Izana stands, smoothing down his pants.

“Wha-- where are you going?” Zen stares at him, jaw slack. “We’re in the middle of a feast. This jerk just proposed!”

Izana flips his phone, screen out, and there is Obi’s name, right at the top of his messages. hey boss can b get himself some quality hallway time

It buzzes, followed up by a long string of hot lips emojis, double hearts, and what looks like an eggplant..

“Well,” Kiki drawls, “now I know too much.”

Izana glances at his screen before swinging to glare at Obi. “Really?”

He shrugs, gleefully pocketing his cellphone. “Hey, you set it up. I just took the shot.”

“Well, I suppose I can’t argue that.” Izana sighs, gathering up his dice. “Give us a moment.”

“Don’t rush on our account,” Kiki hums, mouth twitching at a corner.

Izana groans, shaking his head. “At least pretend you’re going to behave.”

[ladyminaofcamelot]

Lynet: you had to seduce another woman?

Gaheris: No. No, I had... I just had drinks with her. Nothing happened, lass, I swear.

Gaheris: ... Are you laughing? You're laughing!

Lynet: You had to flirt? You hate flirting.

Gaheris: I know, and now I remember why

Lynet: what did you say to her?

Gaheris: I said she looked thirsty

Lynet: Please tell me Morgan recorded this. I gotta see it

[newscheckz]

one week to Christmas, my hubby requested we go to their shags

New Post has been published on https://newscheckz.com/one-week-to-christmas-my-hubby-requested-we-go-to-their-shags/

one week to Christmas, my hubby requested we go to their shags

Hi, sorry for coming to your inbox, but kindly post for me this and hide my identity.

So I need your advice peoples, if it were you what you do in this scenario, one week to Christmas, my hubby requested we go to their shags, since we had not planned for it I thought he had the budget because no way you can go empty handed.

So in the morning, he tells me, you will do shopping with your money and I will fuel the car, well I was abit surprised but anyway; I did and we went and came back.

Two days to Christmas, I asked him which plan do you have for Christmas? I was told we will go shags again. I told him I won’t, that doesn’t make sense to me but it’s okay, he can go.

Every year since they have young siblings, I usually buy clothes for them and to mother-in-law and shosh. I buy for them bags which I did.

So here comes the funny thing, I told him can we please go for shopping with you, I would like you to choose a gift for yourself and I will pay, he said tomorrow is a busy day business ,will be good I can’t miss work, and was I like that’s fine.

So Thursday, I went shopping alone, bought stuff for him and the siblings and bought nothing for myself.

When I got home, the guy shows up with new clothes and he told me they went to shop with his friend for a party we were invited.

Remember I had asked him we go shopping akasema he is not available, not only that, he bought nothing for me, neither did he give me hata 100 bob I buy anything.

So after Christmas we went for the party with my old clothes and him and his friends all had new clothes.

Now the thing is I had planned to gift him with 20k on 1st because I was paid double this Dec and was gifted with 20k plus from friends and my family but with all this: if you were me would you dare?

  ANNOYMOUS COMMENT FROM THE GROUPS

  Ogidy – INVESTMENT SCAMS IN MY DM, BLOCKING YOU ASAP.: If I was in your Position, I won’t dare at all.

I dodn’t know why he can see how lucky he is to have a responsible woman like you.

ruru mukubwa: Spoil yourself, take yourself out , gift yourself and don’t give him even a cent of the money. If he got no time for you, have all the time for yourself

Nana 8034: Girl go to msa and spoil yourself silly. Your husband does not deserve you or your money.

Rosalia: First you are a queen 👑 .. don’t forget to put ur head high coz ur crown is falling . Spoil urself gal u deserve the world . Utajisahau on someone who cares less about u

Mzito mwenyewe: Go spoil your first. Dnt even give him anything

FM: Most people are not getting the point…

TIN: You are an amazing woman. Stop feeding a cow you cant milk. Be selfish.

Jk: Spoil your self. That is true

FM: Seems you and your husband are from different backgrounds. You value gifts maybe from your upbringing but seems your hubby doesn’t.

Secondly, when he suggested you go back to shaggz a second time and your response was you don’t see ‘sense’ his ego was hurt and that was disrespect to him.

I don’t know if you have kids with him, coz if you have, you would give more attention to them that petty things between yourself. Get pregnant and mind your kids business. You are kinder nagging.

man Nakool: Surprise him so that he will also do the same during Christmas holiday this year.

Boss Lady: I wouldn’t mama learn to save your money for yourself and kids …..you priotizing him and he can’t do the same to you…

Ranger: Where do people get such ladies😳😳🧐🙄 I always buy gifts,take them for holidays ,hakuna place hawaja wai enda na sijawai pewa ata lollipop kama present🤣🤣🤣

sein: Weka pesa yako my dearest

lynet -: Date your type you’ll know ladies have money to buy gift, they call and even come to your place with thier own money😂😂😂we ng’ang’ana tu na rib ya mwingine

Kagai Kibaki: Maybe he is afraid utakuwa na kiherehere mara ni Mimi nilkununulia hii otherwise save ka something for your futur…

            Report Content

Issue: * Content not Loading Boring Copyright Infringement Spam Invalid Contents Broken Links

Your Name: *

Your Email: *

Details: *

Submit Report

[sauntervaguelydown]

@mothlissa Oh hey, no, I wouldn’t say anything bad! I just wanted to put it on record that I cried twice (once at the peaches-memory, once when Lynet said “didn’t you see how much I loved you?”) . I just LOVE the huntsman, I’m super weak for non-humans learning how to love and falling for humans. I love that you let him be in love! I was scared at first that the narrative was going to pull back there, because he was set up as not being “real”, but of course it never was because the whole point of the story was that Gregory didn’t know shit. Gregory never gave any of his creations a CHANCE to develop a life of their own, but I bet that they could have, if he had bothered to love them and give them freedom to make their own choices. Like the Felix finally became his own person when he made a decision that went against what he thought his orders were.

By the way I love the power that Mina has, I’m so struck by this image of her pulling stained glass down from the walls to build a legion of artificial people. I guess it has more to do with what each of them is /doing/ in the plot, but I don’t think it’s insignificant that aside from a corpse what Lynet makes is all inanimate objects and what Mina makes are all people. Boy, she’s a lonely lady. I'm sure you're gonna hear a lot of this too, but I was super excited when I started getting vibes off Nadia and Lynet! I didn't really know anything about the book except that you were writing it and we're mutuals once removed, so I was jazzed, you can imagine. Really enjoyed the brief moment with the two peasant girlfriends. I got the sense that queer relationships are regarded as a kind of low class thing, possibly because of the line of inheritance for nobility? Might be reading into that a little too far though ^_^'

[rosie-posies-blog]

Jane Austen's Closet

Jane Austen's Closet by savagedamsel ❤ liked on polyvore.com