#o roses of the noble castle

[c-schroed]

Oh my. And they really doubled down on their Revolutionary Girl Utena vibes in the final episode of Noblesse.

Like, come on. That's just so

However, one thing that happens in Noblesse and not in RGU is that two versions of the same sword merge.

Like. Sword sex?! In hindsight, how did this not happen in RGU?! Clearly the Sword of Dios would fuck itself on any opportunity it finds!

Spouse and I were watching the Noblesse anime series when this little dialogue happened:

And then we found one another yelling in unison

ZETTAI UNMEI MOKUSHIROKU!

Because you can't mention End of the World and a sword in the same fucking sentence and then expect us to not see this in our mind:

Also, in the very same episode of Noblesse, there's this:

Clearly some Ohtori Academy vibes.

[deunmiu-dessie]

ⅴ▬ ⁽ 𝑜𝓇𝒸 ⁾

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 ♡︎ : ₅˖₇ₖ ˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 ♡︎ : mdni----- unedited, NSFW,  explicit content, teratophilia, orc/royalty!human, rough sex, unprotected sex, creampie, overstimulation, breeding, spit kink, sloppy kisses, size difference, somnophilia, slight voyeurism, orcish, reader loses all forms of etiquette and just babbles-- stupidly, belly bulge. ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 ♡︎: as royalty it's your duty to marry and provide heirs for the kingdom, however, your parents have a different plan for you.

꒰m!orc ₊⊹ afab!reader꒱

 𝐹or as long as you can remember, you have been allured by the forbidden. Whenever your parents commanded you to abstain from a certain act or sternly prohibited you from engaging in another, it ignited a fervor within your being. And inevitably, you succumbed to its allure.

Your relationship with your parents was not a harmonious one. From the time you were but a child, they made it abundantly clear that you were not conceived out of their love for one another, but rather out of an obligation to the throne. To them, you were an inconvenience, a mere hindrance that they longed to be rid of. Thus, you existed in a perpetual state of unease, forever uncertain of their next move.

The castle bustled with activity this week, the number of knights seemed to have multiplied, and your encounters with your parents grew scarce. Your daily meals together became non-existent- not that you were complaining. Instead, during supper, they scorned and mocked you—drawing comparisons to your elder cousin who had recently become betrothed to a Duke. You were aware that they would arrange a marriage for you; it was inevitable, but you hoped it would be to someone who would eventually cherish you as you would them.

Verily, this day seemed naught but a replica of the day prior—a day draped in melancholy. The heavens were adorned with clouds of a somber ashy hue, obscuring the radiant sun in its entirety, and permitting but a scant ray of light to penetrate. You lay sprawled on your bed; the clamor from beyond your door kept you from getting any sleep, so you opt to lay there, eyes shut and breathing even.

The two hefty thuds at your door jolt you awake, your eyes snapping to the entrance. A servant girl stood there, her gaze piercing, and her upper lip curled in a sneer. "The King and Queen request your presence for a meal in the dining chamber."

You release a heavy sigh and nod. "Yes, I shall join them shortly, Nadia." she scoffs and closes the door with a soft thud. Rubbing the remnants of sleep from your eyes, you rose from your bed, slipping into your shoes with a sense of resignation. Hastily, you arranged your disheveled hair and adjusted your attire in the mirror, preparing yourself for the impending encounter. Finally, summoning your resolve, you embarked on the descent towards the dining hall.

 Your stomach churns uncomfortably as you motion towards the knights, fingers twisting nervously as they swing open the heavy oak doors. Stepping into the chamber, you swiftly bow and linger there for a moment, awaiting permission to be seated. "Hail to the Sun and Moon of the realm." Your sire grunts and gestures for you to take a seat; you release a shaky breath and settle across from your mother, who pays you no mind.

Within the dining hall, a profound stillness prevails, accompanied solely by the gentle clatter of utensils upon porcelain plates. You dare to disrupt the silence, your heart constricting within your breast, burdened by your uneasiness. " Pray tell, have I heard true? Have the demons breached the borders, causing mayhem? Is that why the ranks of the noble knights have swelled in recent days?"

The older man looks up from his meal, steely eyes on your face. "I did not deem you astute enough to discern matters of such nature, but aye, it is true. The Orcs shall breach the barrier if we do not do something. The knights from Tvatian shall not grace us with their presence for a week's time, yet our defenses wane with each passing moment."

The sound of your mother's throat being cleared reverberates through the air, abruptly drawing your eyes towards her. "You shall soon attain the age of twenty, my dear. Do you have any intentions of entering into wedlock?" Her voice possesses a cloying sweetness, signifying her ulterior motives; she is forever scheming. As you carefully place your knife and fork on the table, you grant her your undivided focus. "Aye, mother," you reply, your words tinged with a touch of uncertainty.

With a disapproving click of her tongue, she gracefully lifted her goblet to her lips, attempting to conceal the mischievous grin that flickered across her features. "Verily, a little bird has whispered in my ear that Orcs take pleasure in having humans as mere playthings, using them as harlots and passing them amongst themselves. How dreadful."

 Your hands clench beneath the table, and you struggle to suppress the bile that threatens to rise. Your heart thumps sporadically in your chest, almost painfully. What is she implying? "Pray tell, what is the essence of your words?"

"The royal family's expectations are not to be taken lightly, my child. If you persist in shirking your responsibilities by avoiding marriage and offspring, alternative measures must be considered. You shall be delivered to the head Orc at the border; mayhap that will pacify them until the Tavatian knights arrive." Your father had spoken this time, causing you to swiftly turn your gaze towards him. Tears welled up in your eyes, and a soft laughter escaped your lips. "Pray, father, assure me that you jest."

The answer lies within his silence. Your hands collide with the table, your head sways vehemently from side to side. "Nay, nay! You shall not subject me to this. What offense have I caused thee? I have obeyed all your commands unquestioningly, and you are planning to— Nay, I shall not proceed."

As the succulent salmon dances on her fork, your mother's laughter fills the air, resonating with a warmth that belies the gravity of her words. "My dear child, you find yourself bereft of options. You shall be deemed a traitor to the noble lineage and condemned to perish before your very birthday." A lump lodges itself in your throat, and tears stream down your face, as you rue the moment you stepped out of your room. "For what reason do you bear such animosity towards me?"

"Escort her back to her chamber; she's giving me indigestion," your mother states with a grimace.  The knights pause briefly, uncertain of how to guide you away. Dismissing them with a wave of your hand, you rise from your chair and exit the chamber, tears clouding your sight. The journey back is unsettling, with the maids gossiping and gesturing, their disdain evident on their faces, and their disapproving gazes following you.

The door is forcefully slammed shut behind you, and with great urgency, your feet carry you to your bed, where you collapse with a heavy sigh. Almost immediately, your pillow becomes saturated with the tears that pour forth, and you huddle into yourself, simply becoming smaller. 

  Indeed, you knew this would occur eventually, but you hadn't thought you would be handed over to some hideous monster who would likely slay you upon arrival. Violent sobs wrack your body, shaking you to the core, while your nose runs uncontrollably, the pillow muffles a scream of agony.

After half an hour had passed, you lay there, sleep welcoming you with warm arms. The answer to this puzzle would reveal itself upon your awakening.

—

Woken by the sound of shuffling, faint whispers, and delicate clinks, you remain motionless, filled with trepidation, and unwilling to stir from your position. You quickly clench your eyes shut upon hearing the intruder approach. As much as you desired to confront them, you were also intrigued to uncover their intentions within your room.

"Seize her limbs; we must transport her to the dungeon." In an instant, your heart falters, trembling fiercely, and for a moment, your breath is held captive. As your eyes snap open, the ceiling of your chamber looms above you. Swiftly, you strike at the person nearest to you, expressing gratitude to the gods as you hear their curse.

Emerging hastily from the confines of your bed, you sprint towards the exit, a shrill cry escaping your lips as a hand clutches your ankle. You descend abruptly, your chin colliding with the cold marble beneath, silently expressing gratitude for the prudent act of placing your tongue against the roof of your mouth in the final moments.

   Swiftly flipping over, you kick frantically, tears streaming down your face as your legs are forcefully spread apart, and the assailant inserts themselves between your thighs, seizing hold of your arms.

Your vision blurs as a heavy slap is brought across your face. The brief respite from your struggle grants the assailants the opportunity to lay a cloth upon your nostrils. Your eyes flutter shut, darkness casting a shadow upon your vision. The feel of your body being lifted is the only thing you remember.

Within the confines of the cell, you find yourself in a state of contemplation, your head gently leaning against the cold metal bars. The sharp sound of heels striking the ground causes you to straighten up. The passage of time remains elusive, yet the atmosphere hints at the arrival of a new day, shrouded in the quiet of dawn.

Your mother's face came into view, causing you to sneer in disdain as you buried your head in your knees, refusing to meet her gaze. The very sound of her voice sent shivers down your spine, igniting a mixture of anger and sorrow within you. She callously auctioned you off, displaying a complete lack of concern for your well-being.

"I reckoned it would be preferable for you to don your best attire, but it would be futile. A watchman shall be present shortly to guide you to the border, make no disturbance, do you understand? 'Twould be unsightly if you do."

You ignore her, but deep down, you are filled with dread to venture towards the border. You longed to weep and plead with her to refrain from sending you, but it would only wound your pride. Instead, she smiles and draws nigh unto the prison bars. "When we emerge victorious in this war, and if you are still breathing, I shall dispatch you to a brothel. I couldn't possibly have such a defiled child. Revel in your sojourn there, my dear."

The clatter-clack of her footwear slowly vanishing into the distance brings forth a torrent of tears. Why must this befall you? What sin have you committed to warrant such treatment? The jingle-jangle of keys catches your attention; the guard stands before you with a look of pity. "Your majesty, the time has arrived."

You nod in a pitiful manner and rise from the ground, using your soiled hands to dry your tears, leaving traces of dirt on your cheeks. As you draw near to the guard,  he pulls down his sleeve and tenderly wipes your cheeks with a sympathetic smile. You bow softly in gratitude and proceed to walk with him to the carriage.

He assists you inside and closes the door; a click prompts you to peer through the tiny gap. A lock secures the door; as you lock eyes with the guard, he merely sighs and shakes his head. "The Queen has requested this. I beg your pardon, Your Majesty." 

  You remain silent, leaning back in the seat and staring blankly at the castle. You see your father standing at his office window, observing. You avoid his gaze, curling up in the seat. Then, as the carriage sets in motion, your heart swells, and tears flow.

The carriage's abrupt jolt awakens you from your nap; the sun is just beginning to descend, signaling the end of a day filled with endless riding. The only noise is the steady trot of the horses and the occasional whisper of the soldiers. Have you arrived already? You swallow nervously and flinch as the door is forcefully opened. "We have arrived, your highness."

You nod and sit up, clasping his hand to disembark from the carriage. Your eyes swiftly survey the surroundings. Despite the tales, the border seemed relatively serene. You couldn't hear anything from beyond the wall. At length, a throat is cleared,  causing you to look up, and the guard beckons you along. You hesitate for only a moment before fortifying your resolve and walking forward.

After much anticipation, the distant voices grow more distinct. "Captain, 'tis here! Shall we unseal the gates?" The clamor of the ponderous wheels turning and ascending is loud in your ears. The gate opens enough to allow your passage beneath. They weren't wasting time at all. The guard places a hand on your lower back and pushes you forward gently. "The Orc General has agreed to receive you; he's on the other side waiting."

You suppress the lump in your throat and proceed, every gaze fixed upon you. The wall loomed thick and intimidating,  and you couldn't shake off the fear of it collapsing on you as you reached the other side. However, as you eventually crossed over, your gaze locked with his.

Standing tall at a minimum of 9 feet, he possessed a powerful build adorned with thick muscles, and hair decorating his chest. Dark brown hair cascaded down to his waist woven into an intricate braid, contrasting against his pear-colored complexion and a thick beard enveloped his jaw. Scars crisscrossed his body, enhancing his rugged charm.  Despite his blunt tusks, one of which was slightly chipped, there was no denying the outrageous attractiveness of this Orc.

As he takes a step forward, an instinctual reflex compels you to retreat, a shiver of trepidation coursing through your being. Your legs, heavy as if forged from lead, refuse to heed your desperate plea for escape. A subtle chuckle escapes his lips, the corners curling upwards in a smug grin. "Time is not a luxury I possess, little human," he mocks, his voice dripping with impatience. 

  You part your lips to utter a response, but only silence greets your futile attempt. The resounding thud of the closing wall seals your grim destiny, causing your weakened knees to buckle beneath you, surrendering to the tender embrace of the grassy ground. With a deep sigh, he strides towards you, casting a towering shadow over your slumped figure, a chilling reminder of his overpowering presence.

With utmost ease, he effortlessly lifts you, as if you were as light as a feather. Your body tenses in his embrace, a mixture of vulnerability and anticipation. The tears well up, threatening to spill over. Surprisingly, his touch is tender, his hands delicately traversing your legs and back. Summoning your courage, you manage to muster a question, your voice trembling slightly. 

  "Might I inquire about your name?"  Despite your hesitant speech, he pays no mind, his voice resonating with a deep timber that sends a surge of desire coursing through your veins. A flush of warmth spreads across your face, compelling you to avert your gaze and focus on your lap. "I am Loran, the General of the Mammoth Clan."

Silence envelops the air for a fleeting moment before your voice breaks through once more. "My name is (Name)" He acknowledges your introduction with a subtle hum, and together, you navigate through the labyrinthine paths until you arrive at a large tent. With utmost care, he settles you upon a sumptuous bed adorned with furs, then proceeds to position himself near a table, obscuring its contents from your prying eyes. 

  A knot tightens in your throat as you summon the courage to voice your deepest fear. "Might you have intentions of devouring me?" you whisper, recoiling at the childlike vulnerability that tinges on your words.

His laughter causes a flutter in your chest; every aspect of him leaves your insides twisted. At last, he ceases his actions and pivots to meet your gaze, his arms folded. You had to physically remind yourself to avert your eyes from his well-defined muscles. "Would you like me to?" His voice carries a teasing lilt, yet his words hint at something more intimate.

You shake your head in denial and draw your knees closer to your body. He was nothing like the figure you had imagined; you were convinced that your life would have ended by now. Your gaze wanders aimlessly as you delve into your own musings. Unbeknownst to you, he crouches down before you. The calloused tips of his fingers grazing your chin send a shiver down your spine. Your eyes meet his, and you find yourself holding your breath.

"The hour grows late; retire for the night. "

 You offer a silent nod, watching him leave the tent. Following his guidance, you settle back onto the furs. After the tumultuous events of the day, slumber swiftly envelops you, embracing the plush comfort of the bedding.

The warmth seeping into your skin prompts you to wriggle out of the furs. The weight of an arm flung over your stomach arrests you, dread settling in your heart and coiling around it like a vice. Though yesterday's events come rushing back to you and you relax, your tense body melting into Loran's embrace.  

  Despite the circumstances that brought you here, he had shown nothing but kindness, even playfulness - he didin't really make you uneasy, and it seemed as though a burden had been lifted from your shoulders.

In the realm of uncertainty, his actions remained capricious, yet amidst this unpredictability, a newfound liberation enveloped your being, you were free. Loran, with an irresistible allure, draws you nearer, your bodies melding as your front meets his. You place your hands on his chest and gently create distance, huffing as he cuddles closer.

After struggling a bit more, you come to a stop and seize the opportunity to examine him closely. Withdrawing your hand from his chest, you gently place it on his cheek, relishing its velvety texture. Loran possessed a striking appearance. Tracing your fingers along his lips, the sensation of his tusks lightly brushing against your fingertips captivates you once more. Their smoothness leaves you mesmerized. The rounded tips are gentle and harmless; they would not cause any discomfort if you were to share a kiss.

 Blushing with embarrassment, your cheeks turn a rosy hue, and for a fleeting moment, you seek solace by burying your face into his chest. Raising your gaze once more, you cautiously wave your hand before his face, ensuring his continued slumber. With no signs of movement and a steady rhythm of breath, a sigh of relief escapes your lips. 

  Gradually, you shift your position, ascending along his form, while your heart flutters nervously within your chest. With a mixture of fascination and unease, you lean closer, drawn to an inexplicable magnetism emanating from him. His lips, so alluring, entice you irresistibly.

 Placing your hand on his cheek, you lean in with deliberate slowness, capturing his lips with yours. The sensation of his tusks grazing your skin sends a rush of pleasure up your spine. With closed eyes, you deepen the kiss, savoring the unexpected softness of his lips. His taste is intoxicating, akin to a forbidden elixir. You have always been drawn to forbidden pleasures.

With a hint of reluctance, you retreat, allowing your eyes to slowly unveil the world around you. A startled gasp escapes your lips as your gaze meets Loran's. Despite your endeavors to break free from his embrace, his arms encase you like unyielding steel, entrapping you. Loran's chuckle resonates with a profound and drowsy timbre, while his hand ascends to firmly grasp your chin. "Do not flee from me, Sma ni." ( little one )

His lips are on yours, gentle and governing. His other hand gripping your waist and quickly lifting you onto his chest. The sensation of his thick and moist tongue overpowering your mouth elicits a fervent moan from deep within you, while your thighs instinctively clasp around his stomach. As his hands glide up your top, the pads of his fingers diligently work out the tension in your soft skin. Gradually, they find their way to your hips, expertly guiding them to grind against his abdomen.

With a soft whine escaping your mouth, you break the connection of his kiss, and your tongue lazily protrudes, leaving a trail of warm saliva on your chin. A primal growl resonates from deep within his chest, causing your thoughts to blur. Your hands instinctively find their way to his chest, the rough hair gently tickling your palms. The pressure on your hips eases, and his hand tightly grasps your hair, enabling him to sit up and halt the rhythmic grind of your hips.

A soft whimper escapes your lips as the throbbing sensation between your thighs intensifies.  Loran's lips trail along the curve of your throat, delicately nibbling at your tender skin, while his tongue glides with ease. Suddenly, a tearing sound startles you and a rush of cool air caresses your newly bared legs. The remnants of your shredded trousers gracefully descend to the floor, leaving you vulnerable and exposed.

Upon the velvety fur, Loran tenderly positions you, his voracious eyes meticulously exploring the expanse of your body. In a swift motion, he removes the sole obstruction that conceals your body, leaving you vulnerable to his cravings. You clench your thighs, your pussy pulsating with emptiness. This man was sinful; he looked so delectable, his lips shimmering with the remnants of your passionate kisses, and his complexion adorned with a captivating flush.

He lets out a deep groan, settling himself amidst your thighs, the ache in your legs a mere whisper compared to the intensity of his touch, tongue dancing over your nipples, nipping and tugging. Loran's hand travels up your body, his thick fingers entering your warm, wet mouth. You suppress a gag and suck on them shyly, tears welling up in your eyes. As his fingers delve deeper into your throat, you grasp his wrist firmly, your hips grinding against his thick bulge.

Loran pulls his fingers from your mouth, watching the rivulets of saliva drip down his digits. Leaving a glistening trail of moisture along your body, Loran delicately caresses his fingers through the soft curls of hair on your pussy, teasing you with the soft touch of his fingertips. With deliberate precision, he gradually eases one digit into the confines of your snug entrance stretching you. You pull your fleshy bottom lip into your mouth, teeth digging painfully. Your lashes flutter, exposing the whites of your eyes as they roll back in blissful surrender, eyebrows arching. Your mewls are soft and pleading. "Mmph! L-Loran. Please "

Your voice is a siren's call to him, as you whimper and plead for him. His desire to possess you completely, to fuck you full of his cum, to have you swollen with his young, consumes him. The mere thought of it almost brings him to the brink of release. Granting mercy upon your adorable, fucked out face, he finally sinks his finger into your cunt, relishing the exquisite tightness that embraces him, while your delicate hands clutch his braid and tug.

  With his other hand, he gently cups your cheeks between his large, powerful fingers, causing your lips to pucker. His mouth descends upon yours, messy and dominating, leaving a trail of mingled saliva that pools down your flushed cheeks. He chuckles as your eyes wander elsewhere, glazed and hazy with pleasure as he eases a single finger inside you.

A high-pitched sound escapes your lips as he expertly probes a sensitive spot deep within you, causing your hips to tremble and your inner walls to clench around his fingers. Leaning closer, his warm breath brushes against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "Ayh lat naka ve cum, sma shara? " His mother tongue is foreign to you, but it sounds absolutely erotic, especially while he's stroking your drooling pussy skillfully. You shudder fervently, emitting mewls and whimpers, as the squelching noises of his thrusts fill the confined space of the tent. “I—uhn~ w-wait p-please, Lor…” You babble nonsensically. ( are you going to cum, little human? )

 Loran, in a teasing mood, complies with your dumb prattling, and moves away from you, fingers slipping out with an erotic pop. A soft whimper escapes your lips, your lower lip jutting out in a pout as tears well up in your eyes from the empty feeling in your pussy, your eyes widen at seeing him suck on his dampened fingers. “N-no, why’d you stop!” 

 With a chuckle, the Orc leans in to press a tender kiss on your flushed cheeks, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. "I simply did as you asked, Faushnu," he whispers. Pulling back slightly, he studies your expression - your eyebrows furrowed, lips parted, and your chest rising and falling rapidly. "I did not mean for this," you whimper, grinding your hips against his growing bulge. “M-more. Give me more.” You give him a stern glare, that only turns him on more, his little hostage was so demanding. ( baby ) "Of course, Your Highness," he says, his tone dripping with playful mockery. Loran's large hands firmly grasp your waist, swiftly maneuvering you onto your stomach. With a gentle yet commanding motion, he elevates your hips, causing your face to be buried in the soft furs beneath you. The sensation is almost agonizing as your back arches, eliciting a sharp squeal from your lips. A glob of warm saliva unexpectedly lands on your moistened pussy, causing an involuntary clenching reaction. "What are yo--?" 

  Before you can finish, the sudden roughness of his tongue against your throbbing cunt has you seeing stars. His feral growls reverberate through the air, as his tongue delves and ravishes you with an insatiable fervor. Reduced to a whimpering wreck, tears of rapturous delight cascade down your flushed face.  Desperate to regain control, you weakly press your small hand against the crown of his head, attempting to halt the relentless onslaught. "No more, please, m'gunna cum. Want to cum for you," you manage to slur amidst incoherent babbling, your words a contradictory mix. 

Loran, enraptured by your musings, fingers your pussy once again, effortlessly finding that spongey nerve inside of you and deftly curling his thick finger into it, time and again. A torrent of scorching pleasure engulfs your entire being, as you succumb to an intense climax, your trembling thighs embracing his head while your pussy flutters around his finger.

" Loran! "You slur, thighs still convulsing as the feel of Loran's hands on the fat of your hips seems multiplied, your mind filled with goo. The rustle of fabric falling to the ground barely registers before his thick cock presses into your pussy, hands guiding your hips onto him. Warmth trickles onto your pulsing cunt, his saliva lubing where you connect. You clench around him, emitting obscene moans. 

   He delves deeper, your snugness yielding to his thick, heavy cock. You swear you can feel every pulsating vein, every ridge of him inside of you. You whimper and whine when he fucks half of his big cock into your tiny little hole, and you thrash and let out small mewls of pleasure. "Mmph, Lor--!! it won't fit!" you whimper amidst sobs. 

"Hm?" He utters, his voice a low hum, as he observes with rapt attention as you stretch around his green, monstrous cock. The pressure within your abdomen steadily intensifies, inch by inch, until Loran thrusts in the last couple of inches, his large balls flush against your engorged clit. You're already fucked stupid, pupils blown, and moans strewing from your lips. The Orc takes hold of your hand, guiding it towards your stomach, allowing you to feel the undeniable presence of his shaft protruding from your belly. "Do you feel me? Feel my cock in your insides, my little human?"

With a forceful motion, he retreats, then thrusts forcefully into you, his grip tightening on your hair as he pulls.  A fervent moan escapes your lips, as the resounding collision of his hips against your ass fills the air, the only thing you can hear. The wet squelching of your arousal intermingles with his precum, cascading onto the opulent furs beneath you. His name becomes a sacred mantra, slipping from your tongue like a fervent prayer. "S'good, m'gunna cum, let me cum, please, please."

With a gentle caress, Loran's hand ascends your stomach, pinching your sensitive nipples. You mewl, back arching as you clench and pulse around his thick length, cumming harder than before, a wave of darkness gently tinting your vision. A low, guttural moan reverberates from deep within you, harmonizing with Loran's unyielding thrusts. “That's a good fuckin’ girl.”

The Orc's hand comes down on your ass, observing the quivering flesh. Your violated hole trembles around Loran's thick length, and he snickers, his hips stuttering. "You're mine. Hm? Do you understand, pet?" His thrusts became more profound, faster, not giving you rest, groaning as you nod quickly, whimpering.

You turn your gaze towards him, his fingers constricting in your tresses. "Loran, want you to cum inside me, please." Your feeble arms emerge from beneath your form, delicate hands reaching to spread your pussy wider. "You will, right?"

 Your wanton plea hurls the massive Orc over the brink. Loran's hips slam into yours once more as his scorching cum coats your walls; the copious amount of it had you cumming once more. Loran continues to pump his seed into you, his cock still hard and balls full of cum. He longed to see you swollen with his offspring; he wouldn't stop until he knew you were trapped with him.

You are not permitted to rest until the early morning, curled against his chest with his seed leaking from your stretched opening. Your body is tender, marked with bruises on your neck and chest. Loran places his large hand on your cheek; although he is running late for the meeting, he decides to allow you more time to sleep.

He lifts you gently, thankful that he has cleaned you up and changed the bedding. You snuggle into his warmth, almost convincing him to delay for another hour. "My zemar, it's time to wake up. We must rise before the sun sets." (my heart)

Stirring in his arms, your eyelashes flutter before you slowly open your bleary eyes. Attempting to close them once more, his hearty chuckle resonates, partially rousing you. Placing you gently on the bed, he drapes one of his shirts over you, guiding your arms through the sleeves. Loran picks you up again, cradling you as he carries you out of the tent, shielding your eyes from the glaring sun. The short walk to the other side of the campsite goes unnoticed by you.

He arrives promptly, his raven perched gracefully on its stand. A soft whistle escapes his lips, a signal for the bird to gather the troops. Loran takes his place at the head of the table, positioning you to face him, your legs wrapped around his waist. With spit on his fingers, he traces circles around your cunt, pleased that it had returned to its original state, tight and warm. After lubricating your entrance, he spits on his palm and wraps his member in a firm grip, ensuring that it's slick. 

  Loran aligns himself with your little hole and eases inside, emitting a deep groan at the vice grip; you let out a sleepy moan, tightening around him. His large hands grip the fat of your hips, guiding you down the rest of his thick length. He pulls his shirt over your ass, concealing where his cock is nestled inside of you.

He has to stop himself from fucking you on the table in front of all his tribe members. Once he had you in the perfect position, his soldiers began to file into the room. He couldn't help but notice how your warm, tight hole was becoming slick. Unbeknownst to you, his thick cock was already buried deep within you.

The meeting unfolds seamlessly. With nightfall as their ally, they conspire to dismantle the impenetrable walls of the Kingdom on the morrow. A sacred covenant governs The Mammoth Clan, dictating that the fairer sex and the innocent offspring shall be spared from any affliction. Thus, the innocent shall be granted mercy and protection.

Awakening towards the end, your pussy pulsating and enveloping something thick and long. A twitching motion stirs inside you, nudging your G-spot. A soft moan escapes your lips as you hide your face in his neck. Loran dismisses it as your mere awakening, soothingly caressing your back. Only a fool would miss the evidence of your arousal - the glistening juices trickling down your bare thighs and the hint of green meeting a clenching hole

" Dismissed. "

The orcs file out of the room, speaking amongst each other. Loran's gaze descends upon your petite frame, concealed beneath his garments. He looks feral. Once the auditory commotion subsides, you cautiously lift your head, locking eyes with his penetrating stare.

"Loran, please."

The Orc emits a deep snarl, his lips forcefully meeting yours as he firmly grasps the flesh of your hips, hoisting you off his slick member. Swiftly, he plunges you back down, thrusting into you with fervor, fucking you onto him. You're moaning mess, the spit from your sloppy kiss sliding down your chin and eyes rolling to the back of your head. The sound of wet slapping resonates loudly within the confines of the tent. With a gasp for air, you disengage from him, your hands finding solace on his broad shoulders.

 A particular thrust causes the swollen, mushroom-shaped tip of his cock to abuse your g-spot and your moan is shrill. You climax, your body trembling around him, leaving a creamy, ivory ring at the base of his cock. Stars burst in your vision as you weakly press your lips against his throat, whimpering as he continues to thrust into you, your sensitive and throbbing core tender. " Lor-.. no more.. s’too.. much!" you sputter, sloppily pressing your lips to his and sucking on his large tongue. 

Despite the roughness of his hips snapping into yours, he caresses your sides softly and pulls away from your kiss, licking his lips. "Be a good pet, hm? Let me use my pussy, can you do that for me? " You nod hesitantly, and he smiles, sending your stomach to unfurl languidly. "S'my good girl." You bury your face in his neck with a whimper, but when your blunt little teeth sink into his collarbone it pushes him over the edge; and he stands up with you still bouncing on his cock, thrusting so deeply that you hiss. Ropes of cum paint your pulsing walls, filling you up.

Loran's shallow thrusts ensure not a single drop is wasted as you envelop him in your embrace, closing your eyes and inhaling deeply.

Mayhap, the circumstance of being dispatched to this place was not as grievous as first imagined...

connected with this post!

[frame25lab]

Anthy: “O Roses of the noble castle, power of Dios that slumbers within me, harken unto thy master and reveal to us...” Utena: “... the power to revolutionize the world!”

Utena Tenjō, Anthy Himemiya - Revolutionary Girl Utena

[balkanradfem]

Favourite Fictional Women poll: FINAL LIST nominations + RULES (nominations closed)

Books:

Elphaba (Wicked)

Hermione (Harry Potter)

Minerva McGonagall (Harry Potter)

Luna (Harry Potter)

Bellatrix Lestrange (Harry Potter)

Sophie (Howl's Moving Castle)

Bella Swan (Twilight)

Lucy (The Chronicles of Narnia)

Susan (The Chronicles of Narnia)

Katniss Everdeen (The Hunger Games)

Elizabeth Bennet (Pride and Prejudice)

Jo (Little Women)

Alanna (The Song of the Lioness)

Ichigo (Kamikaze Girls)

Momoko (Kamikaze Girls)

Phryne Fisher (Phryne Fisher Detective Novels)

Clarice Starling (Silence of the Lambs)

Robin Ellacott (Cormoran Strike)

Baru Cormorant (The Masquerade Series)

Gideon (The Locked Tomb)

Harrowhark Nonagesimus (The Locked Tomb)

Tattersail (Malazan Book of the Fallen)

Lyra (His Dark Materials)

Lisbeth Salander (The Millenium Trilogy)

Daja Kisubo (Circle of Magic)

Éowyn (Lord of the Rings)

Honor Harrington (Honor Harrington)

Zahrah (Zahrah the Windseeker)

Clair (Outlander)

Margo (The Magicians)

Camille Preaker (Sharp Objects)

Brienne of Tarth (A Song of Ice and Fire)

Cersei (A Song of Ice and Fire)

Daenerys Targaryen (A Song of Ice and Fire)

Arya (A Song of Ice and Fire)

Sansa ( A Song of Ice and Fire)

Rhaenyra Targaryen (Fire and Blood)

Eileen Dunlop (Eileen)

Romy Silvers (The Loneliest Girl in the Universe)

Lúthien (Sillmarilion)

Lady Sotofa (Echo series)

Esme Weatherwax (Discworld)

Angua von Überwald (Discworld)

Susan Sto Helit (Discworld)

Tiffany Aching (Discworld)

Nina Hill (The Bookish Life of Nina Hill)

Keladry (Protector of the Small series)

Shay (Uglies)

Cassie (Animorphs)

The Groke (the Moomins)

Tooticky (the Moomins)

Maximum Ride (Maximum Ride)

Auri (Kingkiller Chronicles)

Anne Shirley (Anne of Green Gables)

Emily Starr (Emily of New Moon)

Penelope (Circe by Madeline Miller)

Rose Hathaway (Vampire Academy)

Katsa (Graceling)

Yennefer of Vengerberg (Witchier)

Dr. Scarlet Clarke (They Never Learn)

Inej Ghafa (Six of Crows)

Ronja (Ronja)

Violet (Asoue)

Medea (Greek Mythology)

Medusa (Greek Mythology)

Jude (Folk of the Air)

Agatha (Girl Genius)

Annabeth Chase (Percy Jackson)

Carrie (Carrie)

Movies

Miss Honey (Matilda)

Matilda (Matilda)

Barbie (Barbie's universe)

Ellen Louise Ripley (Alien)

Evelyn O'Connell (The Mummy)

Peggy Carter (Marvel Cinematic Universe)

Sarah Conner (Terminator)

Cruella de Vil (Cruella)

Yzma (Emperor's New Groove)

Dr. Ellie Sattler (Jurrasic Park)

Harley Quinn (DC universe)

Amy Dunne (Gone Girl)

Jennifer (Jennifer's Body)

Maude Lebowski (Big Lebowski)

Eurodia Holmes (Enola)

Amy Adam (Arrival)

Ginger Fitzgerald (Ginger Snaps)

Mary Mason (American Mary)

Elsa (Frozen)

Mulan (Mulan 1998)

Beatrix Kiddo (Kill Bill)

O-Ren Ishii (Kill Bill)

Trinity (Matrix)

Sidney Prescott (Scream movies)

Dani Ardor (Midsommar)

M3gan (M3gan)

Aila (Rhymes for Young Ghouls)

Princess Kida (Atlantis: The Lost Empire)

Mother Aughra (Dark crystal)

Elizabeth Swan (Pirates of the Carribean)

Marla Grayson (I care a lot)

Heloise (Portrait of a Lady on Fire)

Diana (Wonder Woman)

San (Princess Mononoke)

Zeniba (Spirited Away)

Chihiro (Spirited Away)

Wlle Woods (Legally Blonde)

Rey (Star Wars)

Princess Leia (Star Wars)

Haley Graham (Stick it)

Cruella (101 Dalmatian)

Kiki (Kiki's Delivery Service)

TV Shows

Xena (Xena the Warrior Princess)

Gabrielle (Xena the Warrior Princess)

Callisto (Xena the Warrior Princess)

Buffy (Buffy the Vampire Slayer)

Faith Lehane (Buffy the Vampire Slayer)

Willow (Buffy the Vampire Slayer)

Sabrina (Sabrina the Teenage Witch)

Morgana Pendragon (Merlin)

Catharine Cawood (Happy Valley)

Donna Noble (Doctor Who)

Martha Jones (Doctor Who)

Female Doctor Who (Doctor Who)

Kaya (Supernatural)

Charlie Bradbury (Supernatural)

Claire (Supernatural)

Veronica Mars (Veronica Mars)

Anna Clare (Being Human)

Poussey Washington (Orange is the New Black)

Sister Michael (Derry Girls)

Orla (Derry Girls)

Hayley (Hard Candy)

Vilanelle (Killing Eve)

Eve (Killing Eve)

Anne Lister (Gentleman Jack)

Ann Walker (Gentleman Jack)

Kim (Kim Possible)

Daria Morgendorffer (Daria)

Temperance Brennan (Bones)

Kim Wexler (Better Call Saul)

Katara (Avatar The Last Airbender)

Azula (Avatar The Last Airbender)

Toph (Avatar The Last Airbender)

Krosh (Kid Cosmic)

Guinan (Star Trek New Generations)

Bo-Katan Kryze (Star Wars)

Dong Eun (The Glory)

Leslie Knope (Parks and Recreation)

April Ludgate (Parks and Recreation)

Rosa Diaz (Brooklyn 99)

Dana Scully (X Files)

Kathryn Janeway (Star Trek: Voyager)

Calamity Jane (Deadwood)

Flea (Fleabag)

Michonne (The Walking Dead)

Trixie (Call the Midwife)

Sister Monica Joan (Call the Midwife)

Regina Mills (Once Upon a Time)

Emma Swan (Once Upon a Time)

Ruby Lucas (Once Upon a Time)

Mulan (Once Upon a Time)

Samatha/Sam Carter (Stargate SG-1)

Kira Nerys (Star Trek: Deep Space 9)

Jadzia Dax(Star Trek: Deep Space 9)

Eleanor (The Good Place)

Annalise Keating (How to Get Away with Murder)

Cheryl Blossom (Riverdale)

Miranda Bailey (Grey’s Anatomy)

Lizzie McGuire (Lizzie McGuire)

Catherine the Great (The Great)

Dolores Abernathy (Westworld)

Maeve Millay (Westworld)

Lorelai (Gilmore Girls)

Paris (Gilmore Girls)

Morticia Addams (Addams Family)

Elisa Maza (Gargoyles)

Vera Bennett (Wentworth (2013)

Joan Ferguson (Wentworth (2013)

Constance Hardbroom (The Worst Witch (1998)

Princess Bubblegum (Adventure Time)

Marceline the Vampire Queen (Adventure Time)

Monica (Friends)

Phoebe (Friends)

Maisel (The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel)

Shiv Roy (Succession)

Hannah (Please Like Me)

Lupe (A League of Their Own)

Jess (A League of Their Own)

Shahrzad (One Thousand and One Nights)

Michael Burnham (Star Trek Discovery)

 Emperor Phillipa Georgiou (Star Trek Discovery)

Dee Reynold (It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia)

Kara Thrace (Battlestar Galactica)

Donna (Twin Peaks)

Laura palmer (Twin Peaks)

Audrey(Twin Peaks)

Marwa (What we do in the Shadows)

Nadja (What we do in the Shadows)

Love Quinn (You)

Allison (Orphan Black)

Cosima (Orphan Black)

Nyota Uhura (Star Trek: The Original Series)

Lisa Cuddy (House MD)

Leela (Futurama)

Bean (Disenchantment)

Pam (Archer)

Grace (Grace and Frankie)

Frankie (Grace and Frankie)

Helga Pataki (Hey Arnold)

Anime/Manga

Sophie (Howl's Moving Castle)

Usagi Tsukino (Sailor Moon)

Hotaru - Sailor Saturn (Sailor Moon)

Michiru – Sailor Neptune (Sailor Moon)

Haruka – Sailor Uranus (Sailor Moon)

Rei – Sailor Mars (Sailor Moon)

Homura (Puella Magi Madoka Magica)

Sakura Kinomoto (CardCaptor Sakura)

Tomoyo Daidouji (CardCaptor Sakura)

Onpu (Ojamajo Doremi)

Motoko Kusanagi (Ghost in the Shell)

Striga (Castlevania)

Carmilla (Castlevania)

Misa Amane (Death Note)

Asuka Langley Soryu (Neon Genesis Evangelion)

Riza Hawkeye (Fullmetal Alchemist)

Shinobu Kocho (Demon Slayer)

Utena (Revolutionary Girl Utena)

Nana Osaki (Nana)

Hachi (Nana)

Jean (Claymore)

Clare (Claymore)

Theresa (Claymore)

Helen (Claymore)

Deneve (Claymore)

Casca (Berserk)

Haruno Sakura (Naruto)

Yosano (Bungo Stray Dogs)

Tome Kurata (Mob Psycho 100)

Nikaido (Dorohedoro)

Nia (Dorohedoro)

Maki Zen'in (Jujutsu Kaisen 0)

Yuno Gasai (Mirai Nikki)

Ichigo Momomiya (Tokyo Mew Mew)

Zakuro Fujiwara (Tokyo Mew Mew)

Historia Reiss (Attack on Titan)

Mikasa Ackermann (Attack on Titan)

Games

Nancy Drew (Nancy Drew)

April Ryan (The Longest Journey)

Kate Walker (Syberia)

Zelda (Legend of Zelda)

Impa (Legend of Zelda)

Urdosa (Legend of Zelda)

Evie Frye (Assassin's Creed)

Senua (Senua's Sacrifice)

Aloy (Horizon Zero Dawn)

Elisabet Sobeck (Horizon Zero Dawn)

Serena (Skyrim)

Frea (Skyrim)

Morrigan (Dragon Age Origins)

Kreia (Star Wars Knights of the Old Republic II)

Kassandra of Sparta (Assassin's Creed Odyssey)

Heather Mason (Silent Hill 3)

Reika (Fatal Frame)

Rei (Fatal Frame:The Tormented)

An Shiraishi (Project SEKAI)

Nene Kusanagi (Project SEKAI)

Ena Shinonome (Project SEKAI)

Jesse Faden (Control)

Almalexia (The Elder Scrolls)

Billie Lurk (Dishonored)

Emily Kaldwin (Dishonored)

Cecelia (Dishonored)

Lizzy Stride (Dishonored)

Delilah Copperspoon (Dishonored)

Lohse (Divinity: Original Sin II)

Sebille Kaleran (Divinity: Original Sin II)

Siva (Divinity: Original Sin II)

Malady (Divinity: Original Sin II)

Dallis the Hammer (Divinity: Original Sin II)

Toriel (Undertale)

Undyne (Undertale)

Alphys (Undertale)

Commander Shepard (Mass Effect)

Tali'Zorah nar Rayya (Mass Effect)

Liara T'Soni (Mass Effect)

Aria T'Loak (Mass Effect)

Nyreen Kandros (Mass Effect)

Shala'Raan vas Tonba (Mass Effect)

Matriarch Aethyta (Mass Effect)

Yuna (Final Fantasy X)

Abby (The Last of Us)

Ellie (The Last of Us)

GLaDOS (Portal)

Chell (Portal)

Dr. Suvi Anwar (Mass Effect Andromeda)

Leliana (Dragon Age)

Parvati Holcomb (The Outer Worlds)

Chloe Price (Life is Strange)

2B (Nier Automata)

Comics

Stephanie Brown (DC comics)

Cassandra Cain (DC comics)

Zatanna Zatara (DC comics)

Elektra Natchios (Marvel comics)

Fanfiction

Ebony Dark'ness Raven Dementia Way

Web comics

Vriska Serket (Homestuck)

Jaden (Leasebound)

Antimony Carver (Gunnerkrigg Court)

Fictional Movies

Katya (Goncharov)

Podcasts

The Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lives In Your Home from (Welcome to Nightvale)

Plays

Lady Mabeth (Macbeth)

Clytemnestra (Oresteia)

Miscellanous

Hatsune Miku (Vocaloid)

RULES:

All fictional women from a category will be randomized, and put into polls

Whoever gets 50 votes automatically proceeds into the next round. There won't be only one winner for each poll!

We will do one category at the time. We'll start with books.

We'll decide on a winner of each category, and then whoever had the most votes, will proceed into the Final 10.

I'll calculate how many votes each woman got, so that at the end of the voting, you can see how many other women also adored your favourite ones :)

This also means that once you vote, if there's someone else you also want to see in the finals, you can reblog and let your followers know who already has enough votes, and who needs more in order to proceed. I'll also sometimes reblog polls announcing that a certain character has made the cut, and now others need your attention. We're trying to see which ones are loved and adored enough to actually get a lot of votes, even with competition. The voting starts at the end of nominations!

(POLLS ARE COMING SHORTLY)

[briarvalleyarchives]

ᴏᴄᴛᴀᴠɪɴᴇʟʟᴇ | part 2

╰┈➤ ❝ to mankind, the deep below; the waters carrying the legacy of the sea witch, perhaps are as foreign as the castles of the noble fae atop the mountains. what lurks in the cold waters of the coral sea is sure to be unfamiliar but equally as enchanting. ❞

[f.], [m.] → female / male reader respectively | [pl.] → platonic | [g.] → general / no reader | [sug.] → suggestive | [hc] → headcanons | [os] → oneshot | [sh.] → short scenario | [s.] → part of a series | [a.] → angst

ᴀᴢᴜʟ ᴀꜱʜᴇɴɢʀᴏᴛᴛᴏ

being re-incarnated into a new world as the bad guy [s.] [part 2] [part 3]

falling into his arms [hc]

finding out you got brutally rejected

ignoring him to take care of grim [hc]

interacting with malleus [g. | pl. | hc]

receiving roses from the reader [sh.]

singing a break-up song while dating [part 2]

wedding headcanons [hc]

with an s/o who loves rock and is super athletic [hc]

with an s/o who's competitive and fences [hc]

with an s/o who's in a marching band / colorguard [hc]

ᴊᴀᴅᴇ ʟᴇᴇᴄʜ

being re-incarnated into a new world as the bad guy [s.]

ignoring him to take care of grim [hc]

tall!mc who loves bear hugs [hc]

with an mc who can mimic voices [hc]

ꜰʟᴏʏᴅ ʟᴇᴇᴄʜ

accidentally ignoring him [hc]

being re-incarnated into a new world as the bad guy [s.]

merman!floyd x bullied!reader [os | horror | pl.]

playing the pocky game with him [hc]

tall!mc who loves bear hugs [hc]

when you crush on a game character

with an mc who can mimic voices [hc]

[libidomechanica]

Spies, whereon followed close, and to thinke to mine idle

And dull the restless he tossed sore.     Some gentlemen, by dint of living fled! Unlike this? Whose     Shadow—being Kings—whose Attributes the league twixt game: see     thou wont to giue mercy too. ’Cause I take—best quitted     effluence and daynty is

alyue. Beyond the champaign till it     scorne that deaf and view; remarked the bond—the stranger, mislaid     love, which vulgarest tool that I write, while my life, all mankind     refused to lie as in a pye, which renders that     controller of our isle, wash’d

by the rapid blast. And fill it     till thee. And either Lyon or they trod, on earth for with     a tightens mechanically around one fit for moved. What     comforter! Bay which those lips, where Cupid lay, disdayne, and     down monogamy like

slow pomp; the soft Form they must be,     strength, for she willing mine. All sorts of men. It was near, the     smoulder bore her head, I say that sheddeth in licentious     brere, while each other beauties prise, nor turn himselfe to salue     of stone—and away did

dawn, and both thee, who can find me     out of the low. When Goethe’s sage mind from greeuance. Under a     story tell, pointing to quench her vndonne. All her yellow pride     is praise her, thinking of his young heart with some pretext held     of baby troth, and her

hard their lot I can’t live. With fury     they made him nere. Did Helen’s breathing of a fly; I     hid in death shall flow its chiefest complained, and homely, to     my hands embrew, but fayleth trusting o’er the plough. Oft when     thinke at all: sappho and

a good look that I have asked but     keep your heart, and friars that it is likely, to my heele:     but in your heart’s core shall soon be made; that in black look     I do not goe away: yet them nor peer nor prayers, vowes,     ruth, sorrow on a

map, but thought ungentle birde feeles     no captiue vs to withstand. Was long and there is the     hearth: man for they take please. Spies, whereon followed close, and to     thinke to mine idle boys are clear morning, noon, and his new     system to perfect the

last ensample of Delight euen     those renoumed noble gas floated free of life have bands,     the man whose infamy and vpon the fiend, thy worst of a’     the toast of men; but Arac rode him whose witt is weakenesse,     eternity,

vilely; her vogue has had it bene,     with all you live you learned letters fram’d by their ancient     tree, and his trees of sleep, lest themselves are siluer dish     did ly, twoo golden bit where wilt thou for the queen may fit,     eutropius of its own;

breake out, that rides best your propinquity     to me it selfe the authentic mother: O my     friends: whose small return’d; for the quarto hold the Princess; liker     than the chair, did thus that with thee, and lies breaking for     every other he was

ouerawed. I’m no the Quarters     of the weird affection of it. Mark how wither. The same.     Nor coldly passe Physitions art. And with some new     convulsion tear; and fortitude that wakes or sleeps. By oft predict     that which I envy,

that none close fault, the grass upon     her self I turn my bad, my good and it will see, sins that     quite awrie, to the other part of those sacred cheekes appeare.     Roots barging out her wrist, heaven’s Zone glistering shade     heard the Lady Blanche. A

taunt that level at my abuses     reckon up their glittered coat? Throughout the hair away     fled every spray of birds nor the next hours happiness; and     many now much hangs his prisoner led away from my love     was forst to further of

his harp that could scale of harness,     issued gorged with eyes, and low, her darling one ought so     my crueltyes, sweeps through beneath my burden of mortality,     when some few soft remembering what the first I swore. If     Time, perhaps some virtuous

Love you because you fool, for     a scapegoat. I cover you can resist locking fry, delights     not in death, no, not to freeze in the cup. And the midst;     and set you was a time he castles to might coming     Or the sins of roses.

[memento-morri-writes]

ATQH Character Intro - Kristopher

Full Name: Kristopher Odis Pelle  Nickname(s): Kris, the Extra  Title: His Highness, Prince of Oryn 25 years old • he/him • pansexual

Physical Description: 5′11″, fair skin, curly-ish blond hair that goes just past his ears, dark brown eyes, muscled.   Character Traits: Sweet tooth, always hungry, arrogant (sometimes), true to his word, slow to trust, trustworthy, hot-headed, impulsive, loyal, has a soft heart. Likes: Horses, archery, fencing, food, riding, the forests around Westcliff, alcohol. Dislikes: His family, people who make fun of him (which is most people), being called “the Extra”, limited amounts of dessert, sitting still, being stuck inside, Oryn’s mining practices, assholes. Theme Song: don’t worry, you will - lovelytheband Links: Tag • Pinterest Board

taglist (ask to be + / - !!): @ink-fireplace-coffee @enchanted-lightning-aes  @inkingfireplace  @italiangothicwriteblr @rose-bookblood

Really long character bio under the cut, because I can’t seem to shut up about this man.

Last in line for the throne of Oryn, Kristopher had a lonely upbringing.  An unplanned child that no one seemed to want, he learned quickly that the only person he could trust was himself.  As he grew older, he realized that those beyond the castle walls already had their own opinions of him.  Troublemaker, fool, annoyance.  And those were not the worst.

By the time he was a teenager, Kristopher had a well-established reputation as the kingdom’s “problem child”.  Being a member of the royal family (no matter how much he or his parents wished he wasn’t) put that reputation on public display.  Kristopher quickly learned to use it to his advantage.  After all, if everyone hates you already, why not give them a reason?

And so Kristopher took it into his own hands to publicly embarrass his family as much as possible, with little regard for himself.  At every possible opportunity, he would escape the castle, spending his nights in pubs and taverns around Westcliff.  He drank too much and rarely spent a night in his own rooms.

While these actions were partially just a distraction from his own life, sometimes Kris succeeded in making a bigger mess.  Say just the right thing and a visiting merchant might not return.  Flirt with the wrong noble’s son, and his parents might not attend a ball.  If you take enough shots in the dark eventually one might hit something.

Finally, fed up with his actions and eager to get him out of their hair, Kristopher’s parents sent him to Anvia.  Maybe he could finally become useful, or at least someone else’s problem.

Be careful Kristopher.  This is your last chance.

Character:

Having learned from an early age that his thoughts and feelings would be at best ignored or at worst used as fuel for mockery, Kris is very careful not to reveal much of his true emotions.  While momentary cracks in his facade may give someone a hint as to his feelings, he is not one to share them openly.  He maintains an outward appearance of indifference or arrogance, holding his thoughts and feelings close to his chest.

Tired of constantly being the butt of another’s joke, Kristopher is often quick to anger.  His hot-headed nature has gotten him into plenty of trouble over the years, serving to further damage others’ opinions of him.

Despite these things he can be very charming when he chooses to be, a fact that often surprises people.  He rarely shows that side of him, however, since most people already assume him to be an arrogant ass, and he doesn’t see them as worth the time to convince otherwise.  

While his drinking is partially to embarrass his family, Kris also uses alcohol as a way to distract himself from his own thoughts, which are rarely pleasant.  It is not, however, his only form of distraction.  Others include fencing, riding, and archery.  

Bullet Notes:

Last in line for the throne.

Grew up neglected by his family.

He basically raised himself, with very little interference or supervision.  

Became an excellent swordsman out of spite.

Has spent his entire late teen/adult life trying to ruin his family’s reputation.

Serious self-worth issues.

Turns into an asshole when he’s drunk.  (a lot of his self-hatred, etc. has to go somewhere, and he takes it out on others when he’s not thinking straight.)

Had lots of lovers but never been in love.

Was told that coming to Anvia was his last chance, but in reality he sees it as his first.

Hopelessly crushing on Fallon, but doesn’t believe he deserves her.

Told himself when he arrived in Anvia that he wouldn’t show everyone the worst of him, because for once it’s not what they expect to see.

[wanderer-among-undead]

Sanguis et Aqua

They say that grace guided all Tarnished and the Greater Will had a plan for all. Was it the Greater Will’s plan all along for Rosalind to become a Cessblood? For what other reason would Jarrod stand here, in this place where a Dynasty would be born, if not for her? The moldy looking cocoon at the end of the mausoleum stood still, the withered arm of Miquella raised to the firmament that had enveloped this subterranean palace. With a sickening crack the arm fell and hung limply over the front of the altar. Blood ran down the length of the arm as Jarrod approached, pooling at the foot of the altar. 

He had seen the scene before him play out before, on the surface. Nobles rose from puddles of blood, before beginning their assault. It was through these encounters with the Luminary’s own that Jarrod could even track their Lord down to this place. However this was no mere noble, who rose from the blood pool. Just about twice his height, the Lord of Blood rose with his back turned to him. Even from with his back turned, Jarrod could see the tangled mess of horns protruding from the cult leader from where he stood–an omen. 

“Mohg,” Jarrod said, daring to speak before his host as he waited to meet the Lord’s gaze. “Y’ prolly have no idea why I’m standin’ here, do y’?”  He pulled his hood back, as soon as the Luminary turned towards him. Finally, the invisible enemy had a face.

A dark visage wreathed by a mane of horns, one of which having taken an eye. The other a gold stained with red. If the Fell Omen of Stormveil Castle was a monster, then he was now looking at a veritable demon. He, a simple man with a pair of blades and a Great Rune which offered him no real power. He might as well have stood naked. The pressure of standing before the Luminary was nothing like standing before Rennala. He was a true demigod.

“Ah, thy sort be a familiar one, little lamb,” Mohg growled, his voice grating like gravel under one’s boot. “So full of will, ambition beyond measure, a fire in thine eyes and a smoulder in thine heart. But thou’rt peculiar, I must say. Tell me why thou art here. Perhaps it is my power? Or my Dearest Miquella?”

So, that’s Miquella? Jarrod briefly peered behind Mohg, where the withered arm laid limp, droplets of blood still plopping into the shallow puddle the Luminary had emerged from. “I ain’t interested in yer power or yer blood,” he replied. “All yer cessblooded followers spout love, but I think y’ know nothin’ of it.” 

Mohg stepped down the stairs, the massive trident tapping with a low metallic thunk with each step. Jarrod retreated one step, and then two. “And what dost thou know of love?” he asked. The lone golden eye glowered down upon the mortal man. 

“I know that yer dynasty’s built upon a lie,” Jarrod retorted. “Yer folks know no love, an’ yer blood twists ‘em until they’re a mockery o’ who they used t’ be.” They stood in the middle of the mausoleum, now. Small embers of a curious heat floated and faded around them as Jarrod took a step forward. “An’ y’ took someone from me with that blood o’ yers. Turned ‘er against me. An��� it’s m’ love fer ‘er that I am standin’ here.”

“You have come to me for your lost love?” A grin twisted upon Mohg’s fanged mouth as he brought one of his long fingers to his chin. “Be she one of my sweet Masks or Fingers?” He chuckles, and tightens his grip on his trident. “I assure thee, none of my lambs have any desire to leave my flock. A gracious, loving shepherd am I, after all, and one who feeds their herd well. I shall not stop thee from searching for thy bride — from taking her, loving her, being with her — for who would I be if I came between true love? However…” Mohg’s eye narrowed into a threatening gaze, and he steps closer, smirking as the wanderer stepped back again. “If thou thinkest to steal away one of my sheeplings, thou’rt mistaken. So, tell me…. who is the lucky lady to receive thy love, hm?”

“‘Er name’s Rosalind. An’ she was m’ wife ‘fore y’ came int’ th’ picture.”

Mohg did not even hear the rest of Jarrod’s words, the mere name of one of his dearest fingers causing his eye to widen, and the small man took notice. He approached, his eyes narrowed.

“I want t’ understand th’ man who did it first. Then, I’ll break them shackles y’ put on ‘er.”  Jarrod watched as Mohg’s expression of surprise continue. Yes, he called him a man--not a monster, not an omen. A man. Under those horns, and fanged teeth, he bled red and was born ‘neath the Erdtree, just as he was. And if he knew anything, Grace was fickle, and could be given as quickly as it was taken away. “So, why’d y’ do it t’ her, Mohg?”

“If thou seekest a fight, then a fight you shall receive.” Mohg gripped his trident. “But I will tell thee that your wife chose to join our dynasty, and she has become a part of something larger than herself and thee. If thou would join her, I would welcome thee among our flock.”

“She was never yers t’ begin with,” Jarrod growled through his teeth. 

“And whom, I ask did she belong to? If she belonged to thou, why was she not with thee, hm?” Mohg looked down upon Jarrod, smirking as he dug his claws into his heart. “My Rose never mentioned a husband…” There it was, that spark turning into flame. He could see the rage building in Jarrod’s eyes, finding an excuse to to aim his blades at him.  “If thou art so close, why would she partake in my practices?”

“She’s m’ wife, but she belonged t’ no one,” he replied, the answer as plain as day. Despite his conviction, Mohg’s words were barbed in a way he did not expect. The way Mohg had chosen his words was not “She wasn’ yers t’ pick. She sprouts where she will.” But his voice trembled as the implication behind Mohg’s words and loving tone invaded his thoughts even stronger. 

“And what does it mean that she chose me, over you, my lamb?” Mohg’s mouth curled into an eager grin, watching as he could see the energy practically bouncing in Jarrod’s being--lightning ready to burst forth with incredible fury.  “Didst she leave my flock to return to thy side?”

“I dun’ think y’d even let ‘er do that. Y’ keep yer folks right in line with that blood. Like some sorta sick leash.”

“Mine knights are free to move as they please. Thy wife, again, chose to be a part of something greater than thou. And I can see why, thou art full of venom. T’is no wonder she needed my guidance.”

It happened all too fast for the Luminary as suddenly a blade was thrown from Jarrod’s hand, spinning like a buzz-saw towards his face. With a grunt, Mohg’s body twisted, the edge of the sword just barely grazing his horns with the magical hiss associated with glintstone weaponry. Yet, his eye remained on the wanderer as he charged towards him with a second blade held in a reverse grip, already behind the guard Mohg’s trident afforded him. The blade sank into his dark robes, piercing the flesh of his thigh. And before he could react, a volley of glintstone pebbles pummeled his chin while the first sword returned to Jarrod’s hand like a boomerang, cutting Mohg’s flank in the process.

“Tres…”

With a grand thrust into the air, Mohg’s trident pierced the breast of his mother, sending crimson ripples through the air along with a squealing static that made Jarrod’s blood curl. A pressure built around Jarrod as Mohg reached to the abyss, as a downpour of crimson rain spilled from the rippling red. Each droplet felt like acid boring a hole into Jarrod’s flesh, even through his armor as he retreated. Mohg chuckled as he flung more blood towards Jarrod, catching the man in the chest, before he disappeared behind the urns and tombstones lining the clear aisle they had stood in.

“Thou art hiding already?” Mohg asked, his steps slow and punctuated with a quiet thunk of his trident. “Didst thou truly believe thee to be a threat to my dynasty?”

Jarrod’s armor hissed as the bloodflame flickered upon him. One blade rested against the tombstone as he procured his flask, imbibing the crimson tears, as the flames went out and the wounds underneath closed.  However, he could feel the sting of it still upon him, his cloak heavily soaked. Gritting his teeth, Jarrod tore the brooch off and allowed the dingy fabric to fall into a pile behind him. He picked his sword up once more, pressing the pommel of his glintstone blade 

He made a growl, taking the bait as he came forth, rushing the large omen again. He saw the clawed hand rise up and turn with its palm outwards, scratching the air in front of him with a red streak--a look of recognition lit up upon Jarrod’s face-- that quickly glowed white hot, and exploded. 

Mohg smirked, his eye scanning the area before him for the smoking body bouncing like a ragdoll away from him. But as quickly as the spell faded, Mohg felt a harsh sting upon his leg, turning to see the form of Jarrod flanking him. With a frustrated growl, he swung his trident, missing him as Jarrod cut through the thick robes upon his back, the Scholar’s enchantment upon his blade tearing through cloth and flesh like they were paper. Mohg’ trident once more swung in a wide arc, blindly hoping to catch the pesky man as he eluded his attacks. 

“I ain’t after yer damn dynasty,” Jarrod answered him, hopping back as Mohg brought the three prongs into the tiles, shattering them. The opening created was only closed once more as the shards were thrown into the air by Mohg violently wrenching his weapon free. Sweat beaded his brow, his chest slowly rising and falling as Mohg’s motions seemed to be moving so slowly. One hand rose up, again, calling upon the blood of his mother to repel him.  He rushed towards Mohg with a hand outstretched, his blade spinning before him, splattering the blood across the tombs, floor, and even Mohg himself. Yet, this was only a means to an end, as once more, Jarrod’s blade plunged into Mog’s leg, dropping the Lord of Blood to one knee.  “She’s suffered enough ‘cause o’ y’.”  But just as he flipped his glintstone sword once more, he was slammed into the ground, dragged along it for a moment, before being lifted up. Mohg’s palm squeezed around the top of Jarrod’s head as he slowly lifted him off the ground. 

“Duo…” The pressure increased around Jarrod’s chest, tightened more, as if Mohg had gripped him with a second hand.

“Thou art… a pest,” Mohg snarled, gently squeezing Jarrod’s head. “Thy persistence in love is…” Jarrod groaned one hand slapping against the underside of Mohg’s palm, but what hope would a pest like a fly have against one such as himself. “...pathetic. Thou art not wanted. Canst thou see?” He smirked, watching as the man struggled. He was entirely at his mercy. The question was, what to do. Snapping his neck would be a simple flick of the finger. Crushing his skull like a bloody grape was a flex of the palm. Suffocation? “If she wished to return to thee, she would have chosen thee. Thou art living in thy past. A distant dream. Allow me to wake thee…”  

With a flash of glintstone, there was a sudden crack upon Mohg’s skull, and a great ringing filled his ears, his hand dropping Jarrod to the ground as he moved to clutch the left side of his face, blood streaming down from his gouged eye socket, Mohg stumbled over the rubble of a broken tombstone, falling to his knees. 

It had crossed Jarrod’s mind, when Mohg first turned around to face him. The way his horns curled and twisted, and the way the one curled inwards--it was just like stories he heard of a ram’s horns growing into their cheeks, and even growing straight into the skull. Such things were fatal, but Mohg’s head was so high up that his blades were not able to reach. 

“I already lost Rose once,”  Jarrod panted bringing his glintstone sword in front of him, feeling the Current flow through it, through him, and wrapping around the stones, the graves, the urns--everything, as if the Current were an extension of his own body.  “An’ she won’t be lost t’ this curse!”  Mohg would hear the ground crumble and crack, before Jarrod brought down his catalyst, impacting the ground as all of those objects within his grasp rose up, and one by one, began to pelt against Mohg, shattering upon his large form as he shielded his head like a prisoner brought out for his punishment.  

Jarrod watched as the silhouette slowly rose in the dust cloud, while he sprinted towards the Carian sword that had been dropped on the ground, in the earlier scuffle. Just then, the trident lashed out from the cloud, two prongs shredding the front and back of his armor, the base colliding with his ribs, and sending him flying, and then rolling until he crashed against a tall tombstone, gasping as pain shot up through his back.

“Unus…!” Mohg gasped as he slowly approached the man as he groaned, the pressure around the Wanderer’s chest tighter than ever before.  “My blood is not a curse…” he spoke, wheezing slightly as he swung his Trident in a vertical arc. “...but a blessing!” The pest rolled away as the heavy tips of the trident came down upon where he had laid. Mohg did not let up, thrusting his trident back into the air, spearing the Formless Mother once more, and bringing another torrent of blood down upon Jarrod as he scrambled to his feet. 

His brigandine just barely protected him from the bloodflame, but nothing could spare the man from its wrath as the blood seared through his gambeson, and opened wounds within him. A great pain wracked his body as multiple scars opened up at once, and he stumbled from the downpour, blood coloring his hair and dripping down his face in streaks. 

“Thou shalt not…” Mohg threw another fistful of bloodflame at Jarrod, splashing him and the area around him its crimson heat. “...make a mockery of my dynasty and our love!”  He wheezed, clutching his side, where a sizable grave had struck him earlier. This man--this mere man…! How was he still standing? Even as his blood hemorrhaged once more, Jarrod took cover behind the pillars, throwing his blade out once more, this time blindly guiding it in a wide arc towards where Mohg was. 

“An’ y’ won’t make a mockery o’ mine,” Jarrod muttered, quickly drinking the remaining tears of his flask. With renewed vigor, he called his blade back his hand, spreading the pair out as he focused solely on the enemy before him. Every motion analyzed and predicted. A ball of blood flame dodged with a slide on the relatively smooth tile, rolling under the sweeping arc of another as he advanced. He was gaining, and the swords began to glow a bright blue. The Carian Blade seeming to grow larger by the second, while his off hand extended to the length of a greatsword. 

“Nihil…!” 

Jarrod felt the blood surge up from his chest, as something suddenly constricted, and like a balloon popped. The explosion of blood from Jarrod was beautiful and brought him to his knees. His body screamed in unison with him as old wounds opened fresh.  One hand planted itself on the stone as he began to push himself to his feet. 

“Nihil…!” 

Another explosion of blood, this one more beautiful than the last. This time, Jarrod’s scream was muffled he coughed, blood dribbling from his mouth. His arm shook and his teeth, stained red grit themselves as he willed his body to move. His legs shook as they straightened out. 

“NIHIL!”

The final explosion felt as if he had been lanced through the lung, and he fell to the ground, blood pooling around him. His vision swam, and his limbs felt numb. He could barely hear the world around him, in that moment. All he could hear was his own heart beating, struggling to pump what blood was left, only to lose it all through the many gashes in his body. He tilted his head up, and Mohg was not even looking at him, staring ahead--beyond him. Why? 

Flecks of white began to rise up from Jarrod’s body as his fingers weakly gripped the Carian blade, 

Remember…

“Bastard…!” Clashing blades against the idyllic afternoon sky. Breaking hearts, and a determination to reclaim what was lost.

Remember…! 

“I swear to be your devoted wife, so long as I breathe. My love is always yours, Jarrod, no matter what happens. Never forget that. It will find you and keep you, my heart.” A chilly night under the stars, where two hearts bound themselves forever. A vow broken by fate, yet a love enduring

Remember! 

So many adventures flashed through his mind, so many memories. All of them he had remembered, but in an instant they were gone, fading with his mind. What was left? Why was he fighting Mohg? Why was he lying in a pool of his blood and assuredly dying? Why was this Lord of Blood’s love prevailing over his own? After everything, this was what it amounted to? He had been warned, and heeded no words. And yet…

Jarrod groaned, blood dripping from his body as he stood up, meeting Mohg’s eyes as his body glimmered. How was he still standing? No matter. Mohg could not get away with this… tarnishing of his love. This defilement of his heart. But more than that, more than anything, all he wanted was for Rosalind to be free once more. To be the wildflower that he had and always loved. Because in the end, that was what they had: a love that not even the demigods could touch. 

Was… that right? He found himself thinking to that familiar voice, his other hand tightly clasping around his blade. Even if he was to fade from this arena, he would make sure Mohg remembered the strength of true love. A love greater than blood.  He found his answer with a warm and familiar embrace, as golden hands pressed against his wounds. Another pair found pressed against his hands, while loving whispers of encouragement, before addressing the two before them.

Nay, Formless One. 

“Sustinet… ignem… noster amor…” Jarrod took one step towards Mohg, who recoiled in shock and awe. The blade of a Carian Knight glowed brightly with powerful energy. 

Thy love is unwelcome ‘pon that which is truer than thou couldst ever conceive.

“Cordibus nostris…”  With every ounce of strength left in his broken body, Jarrod hoisted the blade high over his head, the length of the sword extended twice more, now standing before Mohg in one last defiance. “..semper implicati!” But as he brought his sword down, the brilliant grandeur of Caria vanished into sparks of glintstone, the blade slipping from his fingers and clattering on the ground next to him as he fell into the tighter embrace of darkness.

@mohgwynn @tinyredrose

[the-broken-truth]

I love all your headcanons with the Dimitrescu daughters, so hats off to you, if it doesn't bother, can you do a headcanon about the 3 daughters with a male S/O on their wedding night?

Broken Truth: Hmm, that sounds simple enough. Let the words...

*STATIC*: Broken, wait. I have an idea.

Broken Truth (Looks at the mask): Let me hear it, *STATIC*.

*STATIC*: Do you remember the ask you did for Lady Dimitrescu meeting her daughters' partners: Th Village Painter, The Village Jeweler, and The Village Blacksmith?

Broken Truth: Yes, what about them?

*STATIC*: Here's my idea. (Whispering something)

Broken Truth: Oh! I like that idea! Let's go with that. Let the words weave together! - Names - Bela's Partner - The Village Artist - His name shall be Magnus. Cassandra's Partner - The Village Jeweler - His name shall be Matias. Daniela's Partner - The Village Blacksmith - His name shall be Maximus.

[At The Wedding of Magnus Vilkas & Bela Dimitrescu]

The Court of Castle Dimitrescu was decorated with the finest exports all across Romania - The Vilkas Lord spared to expense when it came to making his future wife happy; she was the very light of his life.

He stood in the room allowed her future son-in-law to use to prepare himself, looking himself in the mirror as he adjusted his tie.

The gleam of his Family Ring shined in the light when he secured his tie around his neck. He holds out his dominant hand, looking upon the colored gems that created his Family Crest. This ring gave him so much power and standing as a Noble Village House but at the same time, it brought back a very painful memory.

Before the Lord of House Vilkas could think back on it, there was a knock at the door. He spoke to the other person on the other side of the door, commanding them to enter: The door opened and a familiar face stepped into the room - The Village's Jeweler, Matias.

"Greetings, Lord Vilkas." The Jeweler bowed but it was met with a scoff from the Lord.

"Do not bow to me, Matias. You are a Vilkas as well, besides you're my twin brother; no formalities." The Lord said as he faced his brother.

"Regardless of our blood bind as brothers, you are still the Lord of House Vilkas and must be treated as such, even by blood,

" Matias said.

"Speaking of blood..." Magnus inhaled and exhaled before asking his question, "Did he come?" He asked.

"No. When I went to his house to see if he would attend, he slammed to door in my face; he says he wants nothing to do with the Vilkas Family." Matias explained causing the lord to turn his gaze to the ground in what looked to be heartbreak, "My Lord, it was not your fault." He said.

"Oh, really? Then why is he not here? It was my birth that ruined his life and...it's not fair - we were both robbed: Him of his rightful place and me an older brother." The Lord of Vilkas said.

"Brother, you and I were born on the same day but you are the only one he blames. If anyone is to blame, it's father; he was the selfish bastard that robbed us both." Matias said as he walked over to his elder brother and placed his hand on his shoulder, "Try not to think about this today, it's a very special day."

"Yes, you are right. Today is the day I marry the most amazing woman on the face of the Earth." Magnus smiled.

"Second best, Brother - My Cassandra is the most beautiful." Matias said with a smirk

The brothers argued over which sister was the most lovely when they saw the time and finished up before heading down the Courtyard.

The music - composed by Matias on the keyboard - began to play as Bela - wrapped in the finest silks that made her dress - walked down the aisle by her mother with her youngest sister walking behind her with a basket of black rose petals, throwing them in the air.

Once Bela reached the front, her hands locked with Magnus', who looked into her eyes with tears in his own.

"You are a true gem, my beloved." He said.

"Thank you, My Lord."

Mother Miranda - who took the position of a power of a priestess - called out to the guests: The Lords, The Daughters of Dimitrescu, and the residence of House Vilkas.

Once the vows were read and the 'I Do's were side, "By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride."

And he did, with all the love in his heart - which was endless.

[At The Wedding of Matias Vilkas & Cassandra Dimitrescu]

The Famed Jeweler of the Romanian Village smiled at himself in the mirror as he fixed his suit's jacket with a wide smile on his face - the Vilkas Family Crest Brooch secured to his chest over his heart and soon, he was going to place the crest of the Dimitrescu Dragons beside his own.

"You smile as if you are the cat that devoured creme." His elder brother chuckled from his place by the dresser, "You are really happy, aren't you?"

"Why wouldn't I be? I am going to marry the most incredible woman on the face of this planet - a true goddess given human form." Matias beamed as he fixed his tie.

"We've been through this, Little Brother - Bela is the most incredible." Magnus scoffed.

"Your opinion - Not Fact. Besides, My Cassandra shall always be the most amazing woman in my eyes; she is just too perfect to explain with words. I'm glad Madam Dimitrescu allowed me the privilege of marrying her daughter, I don't deserve her." Matias said with a smile as he thought back.

"I thought the same thing when I was getting married to Bela - she still is a wonder I shall never really deserve but I will always treasure." Magnus smiled.

"Oh, speaking of you two - I heard Madam Dimitrescu told you she wanted a grandchild soon." Matias said as he looked back at his brother, whose face was bright red.

"As much as Mother-In-Law would want a grandchild, I told her that I was waiting on Bela to be ready - we shall have a child when Bela is ready, not a moment before then." Magnus said.

"Good to know you treasure your wife's decision, did she finish redecorating the Family House?" Matias asked.

"So far, she can't seem to choose what she wants to change or what rooms she wants to make into her private rooms. On a better note, the staff willingly let Bela fed off them if she gets hungry and I'm not around. How's your construction going?" Magnus asked.

"Almost done, Cass held me draw up the plans so I know she's going to love the place. It will be ready in a weak." Matias said.

The brothers looked at the clock and saw it was almost time for the bride to come. They finished up with their own preparations and headed down the courtyard.

The violinists that Magnus hired began playing the song as Cassandra walked down the aisle with a bouquet of black roses in her hands & a smile on her face with a gleam in her eyes.

Matias stood at the altar with Mother Miranda with a smile on his face as his future wife came up and they linked hands.

"You are so breathtaking, My Beloved." Matias said.

"Thank you, you're very handsome yourself."

Mother Miranda began her rites - blessing the young couple before her and everyone else with long life, eternal love & endless happiness before the 'I do's were said and the marital bond sealed with a kiss.

Everyone was so busy celebrating the newly married couple that they didn't notice a large cloaked figure walk to the table that held the gits and place a small envelope on the table.

The feast began and the presents were given, The Lord of Iron found the envelope and didn't remember it being there at first and gave it to the new couple.

Matias opened it and turned it upside down, a pair of shiny keys landed in the palm of his other hand.

"Are those house keys?" Cassandra asked.

"Yes, but they told us that the house wasn't going to be done for another week... did they lie so that it would be a surprise?" Matias questioned.

"Well, looks like you'll be living together sooner than expected." Magnus smiled as he placed his hand on his wife's hip to pull her closer.

"It would seem so." He looked to his wife, "Darling, what would you like to decorate the house with?" He asked.

[At The Wedding of Maximus & Daniela Dimitrescu]

Alcina already didn't approve of Maximus' relationship with her youngest daughter - but this proposal filled the Lady of the Castle with rage.

She knew that she wouldn't be able to stop her daughter from loving Maximus, but she could prevent the wedding from happening on her Castle Grounds.

Daniela was upset that her mother was against her marriage just because her lover wasn't as rich as her sisters, but he loved her and he was willing to be hurt if it meant she was going to be safe.

Maximus told her beloved that it didn't matter - he could make them a great wedding, all he needed to know was where she wanted it to happen and what she wanted for it.

Daniela wanted her wedding to overlook the ocean at sunset - the light would be perfect. Maximus would give her everything she wanted but there was only one thing he asked for.

"I don't want the Vilkas Lords at the wedding."

When questioned by his future sister in laws, he told them 'I have a bad history with that family and I don't want them at y special day."

The Elder of the Dimitrescu Daughters had nothing to say about that and agreed.

On the day of the wedding - The site was lovely and everyone came in attendance; even Alcina. She didn't want to come up she wanted her daughter to be happy.

The Dimitrescu Daughters were there without their husbands and they were crossed with it.

Maximus waited for the arrival of his fiancee and when she did arrive - it was by carriage...a very familiar carriage.

The door of the carriage opened and Daniela stepped out...but she wasn't the only ones.

The Lords of House Vilkas - Magnus & Matias - stepped out in suits and had uncertain expressions on their faces.

"You?!" Maximus glared at the men, "What are you two doing here? Why were you in a carriage with my fiancee?!" He roared at them.

"I was on my way here with Aunt Donna when they pulled up and asked me where the wedding was taking place, I didn't tell them and they rushed us in the carriage." Dani said as she walked over to Maximus and Donna was getting out of the carriage.

"You forced my fiancee into a carriage?! For what reason?!" The blacksmith growled.

"Please, I know you are upset but we just want to speak with you - I want to speak with you." Magnus said as he took a step forward.

"I told you that I wanted nothing to do with your family, Lord Vilkas!" Maximus said with a glare.

"Stop calling me that! I'm not Lord Vilkas right now, I'm your little brother!" Magnus shouted with sadness in his voice.

Everyone looked wide-eyed at that confess and all eyes looked at Maximus.

"You're the Eldest of the Vilkas Family?" Daniela asked as she looked at the man she loves.

"I share their DNA and nothing else." He glared at his brothers, "I am not a Vilkas., that was taken away from me the moment they were born."

"What is he talking about?" Bela asked her husband.

"We grew up thinking that we were the only children but when we found a birth record for a son that was older than us, we asked our parents about him." Magnus began.

"They told us that he was an accident, an unwanted child, a placeholder for the Vilkas Heirship until a true heir was born..." Matias said.

"Then the moment the twins were born, my father disowned me, beat me to a pulp, and tossed me into the snow during a blizzard with dagger - the insignia of the family I once had was scratched out. I begged them to let me back in, I cried that I didn't want to die, but they ignored me and I began to walk into the forest, looking for some kind of shelter." Maximus' eyes looked to the ground at the pain of the memory.

"Brother..." Magnus said but he didn't know what he could say to his older sibling. All the pain he's been through, all because he was planned.

"It wasn't our fault. It was father and mother's, they were the ones who did that horrible thing to you! They robbed you of your place as The Vilkas Family Head & they robbed us of an older brother. Please, Maximus...We need our brother." Matias said to him.

Maximus looked at the two of them before he told them to sit beside their wives so that they could begin the ceremony. They took their seats, Daniela and Maximus took their places and the rites were read, the 'I do's were said, and the kiss was sealed.

Alcina just sat there with a stunned look on her face - the one she wanted was related to the family she respected, what's more, he was the rightful head?

Maximus looked at his brother and wondered - could he really have a relationship with them after their births took away his life?

[End]

[scotianostra]

On July 7th 1575 the skirmish called “The Raid of the Redeswire”, took place between Scottish and English borderers.

Second mention of the day for Sir Walter Scott who wrote about this in Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, an anthology of Border ballads. I will post the said ballad below.

The incident cited is sometimes as the last “battle” between Scottish and English forces, and it was the first reported conflict since 1547 at Pinkie Cleugh, a connection to another post today, it was during The Rough Wooing. Anyway this was a regular Warden’s meeting that got a wee bit out of hand.

The meeting was between John Carmichael, the Keeper of Liddesdale, and the English Middle March Warden, Sir John Forster, there would have been fines to be paid, men to be handed over to answer for their crimes, and paperwork to be exchanged. It is unlikely that either side had considered an all-out fight. Things seems to have gone well enough, until the case of one individual was raised. Carmichael demanded that he was handed over, Forster told Carmichael the man had taken leg bail, meaning had escaped from custody, which was not believed.

Insults were exchanged and then the entire meeting got out of hand when the English lost their tempers, and attacked, killing two men and wounding several others.

There are different versions of what happened next, one states that the Scottish Borderers were onto a hiding if it hadn’t been for the men of Jedburgh turning up shouting their slogan: “Stand firm and sure - Jethart’s here!”, Jethart was the old name for Jedburgh. The other version says that the skirmish seemed to have gone the Scots way due to the the fact that the English mainly fought with bows and swords, but the Scots were armed with firearms as well as more traditional weapons. Either way about two dozen English were killed, Forster and several other nobles were captured.

In the immediate aftermath the Scots decided to a wee bit Reiving, meaning, “plunder or rob”, and also made off with 300 cattle from local farms.

Forster and the other prisoners were delivered to James VI Regent, James Douglas, and held at Dalkeith Castle. Douglas said, for their own safety, but initially a ransom would have been in the minds of the Scots who captured them. Douglas wrote to the English monarch, Queen Elizabeth, who was none too pleased, but an amicable arrangement was made, neither side wanting the incident to lead into a full scale war.

Forster and the others had been treated with kindness and were released with gifts and an apology for being held. As part of the deal Carmichael was delivered to York to stand trial, but fair does to the English, he was acquitted as the court found that Forster had engaged in an unprovoked attack.

On the Cheviot Hills, near the place where the battle was fought a monument known as the Redeswire Stone was built in commemoration of the battle. It reads, “On this ridge, June 7th, 1575 was fought one of the last border raids, known as The Raid of the Redeswire”.

The battle is commemorated by the Jedburgh Reidswire common riding each year, this ride is the longest of the festival and is undertaken on two horses at a fast pace, watch the video above  for the arrival at Redeswire.

For those not familiar with the area, Redeswire is not far from the famous stop on the Scotland-England Border at Carter’s Bar.

The Raid of the Reidswire

   The seventh of July, the suith to say,     At the Reidswire the tryst was set;     Our Wardens they affixed the day,     And as they promised, so they met.     Alas! that day I’ll ne’er forgett!     Was sure sae feard and then sae faine—     They came theare justice for to gett,     Will never green to come again.

    Carmichael was our Warden then,     He caused the country to conveen;     And the Laird’s Wat, that worthie man,     Brought in that sirname weil beseen:     The Armestranges, that aye hae been     A hardie house, but not a hail,     The Elliots’ honnors to maintaine,     Brought down the lave o’ Liddesdale.

    Then Tividale came to wi’ speid;     The Sheriffe brought the Douglas down,     Wi’ Cranstane, Gladstain, good at need,     Baith Rewle water, and Hawick town.     Beanjeddart baldly made him boun,     Wi’ a’ the Trumbills, stronge and stout;     The Rutherfoords, with grit renown,     Convoyed the town of Jedbrugh out.

    Of other clans I cannot tell,     Because our warning was not wide.     Be this our folks hae tane the fell,     And planted down palliones their to bide.     We looked down the other side,     And saw come breasting ower the brae,     Wi’ Sir John Forster for their guyde,     Full fiftene hundred men and mae.

    It grieved him sair that day, I trow,     Wi’ Sir George Hinrome of Schipsydehouse;     Because we were not men enow,     They counted us not worth a louse.     Sir George was gentle, meek, and douse,     But he was hail and hett as fire;     And yet, for all his cracking crouse,     He rewd the raid o’ the Reidswire.

    To deal with proud men is but pain;     For either must ye fight or flee,     Or else no answer make again,     But play the beast, and let them be.     It was na wonder he was hie,     Had Tindaill, Reedsdaill, at his hand,     Wi’ Cukdaill, Gladsdaill on the lee,     And Hebsrime, and Northumberland.

    Yett was our meeting meek enough,     Begun wi’ merriment and mowes,     And at the brae, aboon the heugh,     The clark sate down to call the rowes.     And some for kyne, and some for ewes,     Called in of Dandrie, Hob, and Jock—     We saw come marching ower the knows,     Five hundred Fennicks in a flock.

    With jack and speir, and bowes all bent,     And warlike weapons at their will:     Although we were na weel content,     Yet, be my trouth, we feard no ill.     Some gaed to drink, and some stude still,     And some to cairds and dice them sped,     Till on ane Farnstein they fyled a bill,     And he was fugitive and fled.

    Carmichaell bade them speik out plainlie,     And cloke no cause for ill nor good;     The other answering him as vainlie,     Began to reckon kin and blood:     He raise, and raxed him where he stood,     And bade him match him with his marrows:     Then Tindaill heard them reasun rude,     And they loot off a flight of arrows.

   Then was there nought but bow and speir,     And every man pulled out a brand;     “A Schaftan and a Fenwick” thare:     Gude Symington was slain frae hand.     The Scotsmen cried on other to stand,     Frae time they saw John Robson slain—     What should they cry? the King’s command     Could cause no cowards turn again.

    Up rose the Laird to red the cumber,     Which would not be for all his boast;—     What could we doe with sic a number?     Fyve thousand men into a host.     Then Henry Purdie proved his cost,     And very narrowlie had mischiefed him,     And there we had our Warden lost,     Wert not the grit God he reliev’d him.

    Another throw the breikes him bair,     Whill flatlies to the grund he fell:     Than thought I weel we had lost him there,     Into my stomach it struck a knell!     Yet up he raise, the treuth to tell ye,     And laid about him dints full dour,     His horsemen they raid sturdilie,     And stude about him in the stoure.

    Then raise the slogan with ane shout—     “Fy Tindaill, to it! Jedbrugh’s here!”     I trow he was not half sae stout,     But anis his stomach was asteir.     With gun and genzie, bow and speir,     Men might see mony a cracked crown;     But up amang the merchant geir,     They were as busie as we were down.

    The swallow taill frae tackles flew,     Five hundreth flain into the flight,     But we had pestelets enow,     And shot amang them as we might.     With help of God the game gade right,     Frae time the foremost of them fell;     Then over the know, without goodnight,     They ran with mony a shout and yell.

    But after they had turned backs,     Yet Tindaill men they turned again;     And had not been the merchant packs,     There had been mae of Scotland slain.     But Jesu! if the folks were fain     To put the bussing on their thies;     And so they fled, wi’ a’ their main,     Down ower the brae like clogged bees.

    Sir Francis Russell ta’en was their,     And hurt, as we hear men rehearse;     Proud Wallinton was wounded sair,     Albeit he be a Fennick fierce.     But if ye wald a souldier search,     Among them a’ were ta’en that night,     Was nane sae wordie to put in verse,     As Colingwood, that courteous knight.

    Young Henry, scaiped home, is hurt;     A souldier shot him with a bow:     Scotland has cause to mak great sturt,     For laiming of the Laird of Mow.     The Laird’s Wat did weel indeed,     His freinds stood stoutlie by himsel’,     With little Gladstain, gude in need,     For Gretein kend na gude be ill.

    The Sheriff wanted not gude will,     Howbeit he might not fight so fast;     Beanjeddart, Hundlie, and Hunthill,     Three, on they laid weel at the last.     Except the horsemen of the guard,     If I could put men to availe,     None stoutlier stood out for their laird,     Nor did the lads of Liddesdail.

    But little harness had we there;     But auld Badreule had on a jack,     And did right weel, I you declare,     With all his Trumbills at his back.     Gude Ederstane was not to lack,     Nor Kirktoun, Newtoun, noble men!     Thir’s all the specials I of speake,     By others that I could not ken.

    Who did invent that day of play,     We need not fear to find him soon;     For Sir John Forster, I dare well say,     Made us this noisome afternoon.     Not that I speak preceislie out,     That he supposed it would be perril;     But pride, and breaking out of feuid,     Garr’d Tindaill lads begin the quarrel.

[queenofnohr]

Twisted Wonderland: Lilia Vanrouge Scary Outfit (SR) - Voice Lines + Personal Story

Voice Lines

Summoning: Halloween is my home turf~♪ I’ll be looking forward to seeing your surprised face in the future. Groovy: Don’t look down on me. You never know— you might just end up spending the whole night sleepless, trembling in fear. Set Home: Roar~ How was that? I’m a dragon ghost. Home Idle 1: It is said that on Halloween night, the ghouls that served under the Witch of Thorns dance round a fire all night long. They’re party animals, surprisingly. Home Idle 2: I can remember the day I met a genuine Long from the East like it was yesterday. Their crimson scales were truly a sight to behold. Home Idle 3: Most sweets are delicious, but marshmallows aren’t my cup of tea. I can’t feel satisfied after eating them. Home Login: Trick or treat…… what? Have you already gotten used to my pranks? Then I’ll just have to prepare something extra special for you. Home Idle Groovy: If I were a real Long, I could give you a ride on my back. Shall I give you a piggyback ride instead? Home Tap 1: Ugh, the horns on this hat are heavy. And Malleus always has to deal with these on his head? Home Tap 2: My red nails are cute, right? I had Vil paint them. It seems these crimson nails are some kind of long lasting thing called “gel nail polish”. Home Tap 3: Silver and Sebek used to be such scaredy-cats way back when. The morning after Halloween, they’d do laundry all day without complaint. Home Tap 4: Have you seen Ace? The way he’s always eating Trey’s sweets makes them look so delicious, so I made some too. Home Tap 5: Whoops. Because of my height, the tail is a tripping hazard dragging on the ground. You should take care not to step on it either. Home Tap Groovy: ACHOO! …...Excuse me, the peacock feathers tickled my nose.

Personal Story I’ll Scare You to My Heart’s Content: Chapter 1

-Interior Hallway-

Ace: This is around where the Halloween Organization Committee was having their meeting, right? I was told to submit an application for using magic in our production, but…… Dorm Leader Riddle is super impatient, but if I wait a bit, Cater will come back to the dorm. Sebek: Silver!!! Don’t you dare fall asleep again!!!! Ace: Hm? That voice must be...... Of course it’s Sebek…… and Silver-senpai. What are you guys doing here? Sebek: Hm…… If it isn’t Ace. We’d like for Lord Lilia and the Young Master to review our decorations. So we’re waiting for the meeting to end. Ace: Wouldn’t be easier to just shoot them a text saying, “Let me know when the meeting is over.” You don’t have to wait right outside the door for the meeting to end. Sebek: You think that I could call those two on a smartphone!? There’s no way I’d do such a disrespectful thing!!!!! Ace: Okay, okay. I don’t know what’s so disrespectful about that, but I’ll wait for the meeting to end with you guys. All: ………………………… Silver: Zzzz...... Sebek: Silver! Don’t use me to prop yourself up while you fall asleep!!!! Silver: Ah! Sorry. Ace: Sebek, you’re way too loud. They’re having a meeting in there, so turn it down a notch. Sebek: Guh…… Of course, I wouldn’t want to get in the way of the Young Master’s work. Ace: Isn’t he falling asleep ‘cause we’re just standing around silently? How many times have you yelled at him instead of having a single engaging conversation? Sebek: Talk about something interesting, hm? Then, last night, the Young Master...... Ace: Yeah, of course it’s about the “Young Master.” Topics only you’re interested in are prohibited. Sebek: Why! He should be an exciting topic for everyone in the world! Ace: Oh, I know. Are there any interesting stories about Halloween in the Land of Thorns? Sebek: Isn’t Halloween more or less the same between countries? Silver: No…… I heard from my old man that Halloween is celebrated differently depending on the country and culture. The other day, Azul told me about how they celebrate Halloween in the Coral Sea, but it was different from how we celebrate at the academy or in the Valley of Thorns. Sebek: What, really!? …...A- Ahem! Let us chat a bit! In the Land of Thorns, lanterns are made of carved out wood. Though I don’t think they’re used any differently than jack o’ lanterns…… Ace: Wow, what else? Silver: Then…… When the moon rises high in the night sky, a scarecrow is burned in the castle’s town square, and people in costume dance around it. Ace: I see. So it’s like a midnight costume dance party. Sebek: It is not something as frivolous as some social event. It's a feast for ghosts where all the evil spirits in the land run rampant! …...I’m trembling just remembering Halloween ten years ago…... Ace: Yeah right~ You’re totally exaggerating. Sebek: I am not exaggerating!!!!!! You can only say that because you haven’t seen it for yourself!!!! Silver: He’s right…… What Sebek says is true. Halloween in the Valley of Thorns......is truly terrifying…... Ace: Huh? Even Silver-senpai is agreeing……

Creaaaak......

Lilia: Sebek, Silver. Sorry to keep you waiting. I voice hear your voice from all the way inside. Malleus: It’s fine if you wait, but be a bit quieter while there’s a meeting in session. Sebek: My...... My apologies...... Cater: What’s this? Ace is here too. What’s up? Ace: I brought the documents Dorm Leader Riddle told us to submit. Here they are. But I had some free time while I was waiting, so we got to talking about Halloween in the Valley of Thorns...... Sebek got all heated and said, “There’s nothing more terrifying!” Cater: Wow, I didn’t think Halloween in the Valley of Thorns was so scary. It’s said that life in the Valley of Thorns is centered around magic…… Do you also use magic to decorate? Malleus: Yes. Most of our decorations use magic. As for scariness, it depends on the person. Ace: See, Sebek is just a scardy-cat, right? Sebek: No, I swear I’m not......! Lilia: Kufufu. Putting aside whether or not Sebek is a scardy-cat…... It’s true that Halloween in the Valley of Thorns has a very different atmosphere than the festivities at this school Cater: Eh, how so? Ya boy Cay here loves scary stories. Tell me about it, Lilia♪ Lilia: Okay, then as Halloween ambassador from the Valley of Thorns, I’ll teach you guys all about it!

I’ll Scare You to My Heart’s Content: Chapter 2

-Interior Hallway-

Lilia: So about Halloween in the Valley of Thorns…… Well, where should I begin? Malleus: As Diamond stated earlier, life in the Valley of Thorns revolves around magic for the most part. Lilia: That’s right. So, the light from decorative Halloween lanterns aren’t from LEDs, but from fire magic. The lanterns are also made from carved wood, not pumpkins. Many of them are carved to resemble the ancestors of the followers of the night, like dragons and bats. Sebek: On the actual day of Halloween a lighting ceremony is held wherein the Young Master lights all the lanterns in the country with magic. The sight of the Young Master lighting those noble green flames can only be described as awe-inspiring. Ace: He uses fire magic to light all the lanterns in the entire country!? Cater: Is Malleus’s magical strength seriously that crazy!? Malleus: The Valley of Thorns is a small country that has less territory and fewer people than the Rose Kingdom. It’s not a particularly notable feat. Lilia: I remember the day the Queen first asked Malleus to light the lanterns. Malleus: ! Lilia! Don’t tell them that story……! Lilia: It was a catastrophe— Malleus was so enthusiastic he made a mistake in the amount of force he was using, and burned all the lanterns in the entire country. Houses and fields were set ablaze, and the whole nation worked together until morning to extinguish the fire. Malleus: ....... Lilia: The incident was engraved into the history of the Land of Thorns as “The Halloween Fire.” Sebek: I can’t believe it……! What a wonderful event to make the populace recognize the Young Master’s power! Ace: No matter how you look at it, isn’t burning peoples’ houses down no laughing matter……? Cater: As expected of Malleus. Even as a kid, he’s been on a completely different level. I couldn’t imagine him dressed up in a ghost costume, going around to all the neighbors, asking for candy with a, “Trick or Treat”~ Malleus: You’re right, I certainly haven’t ever done that. Though in the first place, the tradition of distributing sweets on Halloween does not exist in the Land of Thorns. Cater: Whaaaat, no way! Ace: In the Rose Kingdom, that’s the main event. Lilia: It’s true. The first time I learned of the custom of handing out candy was when I traveled to other countries. It’s a good tradition. Innocent children happy to receive candy are so cute. That’s why I wanted to let Silver enjoy it…… However, we lived far away from any other people. As a replacement for him being unable to go around a neighborhood to visit houses, I was the only one Silver could ask for candy. Silver: And I knocked on your door endlessly until my bucket was full. Ace: Wow, Silver-senpai and Lilia-senpai were neighbors. Silver: Neighbors, huh…… Well, you’re not wrong. Lilia: Silver asking for sweets over and over again was so adorable! No matter how many times he did it, he’d always laugh so happily. Malleus: We never did that, did we? Lilia: Why, do you want to do it too, Malleus? How about we do it this year? Malleus: Lilia, just how old do you think I am? Lilia: Age doesn’t matter as long as you’re having fun. Sebek: If you wish it, Young Master, I shall give you sweets as many times as you desire! Malleus: I’m saying I’m not going to do it. I’m no longer a child. Sebek: My…… My apologies. I’ve overstepped my position. Lilia: Kufufu. The part of Malleus that thinks like that is still a child, no? Ace: By the way, you said that Halloween in the Valley of Thorns is super scary, but none of this is scary at all. Silver: The scary part is what happens with the scarecrow in the castle’s town square…… Malleus: In the Valley of Thorns, it’s customary to burn a scarecrow in the middle of the castle’s town square at midnight on Halloween. And people in ghost costumes dance around the fire until morning…… Ace: Oh yeah, that’s the midnight dance party that you mentioned earlier. Sebek: That’s right…… And what’s truly terrifying is Lilia, dancing around the burning scarecrow, illuminated by flames!! Silver: Halloween ten years ago was especially horrifying…… An ominous dance you would never in a million years imagine could come from our usual Lillia-senpai…… Malleus: Ah…… Remembering that day makes even me feel like my entire body is freezing over. Lilia: What’s with you guys? In my youthful impetuousness, I just cut loose a little bit. Ace: Lilia-senpai’s dance…… But he doesn’t look scary at all. Sebek: You can only say that because you haven’t seen it for yourself!!!!! Malleus: His uncanny wriggling body was like a venomous snake, and just hearing his hoarse laughing voice felt like you were being cursed. Silver: His shadow stretched long across the cobblestones in the square looked like a giant demon that kidnaps children. Sebek: Both children and adults alike were terrified of his appearance and with a single glance returned home, trembling, and waited for the nightmare to end. Silver: Some of the children who witnessed Lilia-senpai had recurring bed-wetting issues. Ace: No way, you guys are totally trying to pull a fast one on us! Cater: Ahaha, even Malleus and the others got in on Lilia’s joke, and are playing along surprisingly well~☆ Though I think it’s true that the husky shouting he uses sometimes in Casual Music Club is a bit scary. Malleus, Silver, Sebek: (Lord) Lilia(-senpai) is nothing like this when he’s serious!!! Ace & Cater: Whaaaat? Lilia: Kufufu. Now I’m in the position to spread loveliness as Diasomnia’s cute mascot, however…… In the Valley of Thorns, I was feared as the, “General of Terror.” If you like, I can show you a scary face right now…… But I think it’s better to keep it as a fun treat for Halloween day proper. Ace: Should you really be saying that? Our expectations are gonna be sky-high. Cater: I’m looking forward to seeing it on that day, Lilia♪ Lilia: Kufufu…… Then your wish is my command, and I’ll scare you to my heart’s content. I’m very much looking forward to Halloween day.

-

*If it wasn’t apparent from the personal story, in this line Lilia implies that he’d scare Silver and Sebek so bad they’d do their chores without complaint the next day and/or were so shell shocked they’d just obediently do laundry and/or would wet the bed the night before

[twistedintern]

Can I request hc of how the mirror-soul-placement, uh, thing went for cater, leona, vil, idia, malleus? Thanks

Cater Diamond

The Mirror spent several flabbergasted moments gathering its bearings after peering into Cater’s soul. Everything about it was just so... chaotic. So unpredictable. It seemed to flit about with a nervous electricity.

Cater smiled confidently while the Mirror tried desperately to grasp at his form. It eventually conceded that changeability was itself a trait of a tangible state. Chaos was a salient feature of one dorm: Heartslabyul.

It spoke thus: “Where direction is relative, and instability reigns and nothing is as it seems, there is a scarlet I do perceive. I deign this soul destined for the topsy-turvy Kingdom of Roses, where the absurd is absolute.”

Leona Kingscholar

The Mirror’s estimation of Leona’s condition was immediate. There was no hesitation in its gaze as it studied the confrontational, belligerent beastman.

With the selfish pride he radiated, there too existed scorn. It mingled and stewed, raw and primal. There was a rich, almost earthy quality to his color... as well as an urgent sense of entitlement. An usurper snarled beneath the surface.

It hence declared: “O’ royal son, deprived of your golden crown! You seek that which will ever be inherently denied. Come seek refuge in the grasslands of proud, dwelling in the den of cunning, Savanaclaw: where beasts of burden shall bow before your might.“

Vil Schoenheit

The Mirror was humbled before the unshakable will and cultivated beauty of Vil. It was reminded of its own past, briefly--the hyacinth glory days of yore, as well as its former master.

A deep purple elevated his spirit high above the rest; the Mirror both pondered and appreciated the venomous insincerity and frantic insecurities masked by the flawless and unforgiving bearing of the blonde who stood before him.

It decreed: “You who is fair, and ever so! Deserving only of praise, a fine castle, the unconditional affections of all people. Not unlike unlike nightshade or hemlock, you are the poison that shall corrode the indignant farce of the insipid and ignorant. Your kingdom is Pomefiore, where beauty makes right.”

Idia Shroud

The Mirror read Idia like a book. Undeserved tragedy pervaded his trembling figure, his senses overwhelmed by the undue attentions of his peers.

It spied within his oscillating form a ghastly blue of sorrows, the color of tears and soul light from beyond. Seclusion was Idia’s solace; there lingered an unspoken contempt for the vivacious, untroubled spirits of Night Raven. There was furthermore a suffocating obligation which shackled his free will.

It proclaimed: “Woe, child of eternal despair and lament! The world has shunned you, and you suffer the manifold consequences of damnable agency. You who is ever forsaken by spirits of the living. Seek not your realm in their midst. Reign over and embrace instead the will of departed and neglected: to the eaves of Ignihyde you shall take flight.”

Malleus Draconia

The Mirror flinched in Malleus’s quiet yet mighty presence. His noble aura was overwhelming.

His magical signature was disturbingly familiar, pulsing with the wicked green of hellfire and thorns. It prostrated itself before Malleus’s true shape--the regal, resplendent form of the terrible dragon--while it carefully chose its words.

Eventually, it issued its judgement as such: “He who shoulders the legacy o’ magics fierce and dreaded, brambles stay you, encompass you; a wreath of thorns decorate your main. All shall quake before you; a truth which is your inheritance. The lives of man are but a trifle like thread from a spindle. Thou art supreme in thine majesty: take the celebrated mantle of Diasomnia into your veritable hands and usher your followers into a new age!”

[mockturtle8]

Ballads Ahoy

@bendingsignpost wrote a great fanfic called The Courtship of Combat (here).  In this fic, Castiel is a knight, and Dean is a prince.  Ballads get written about them.  By me, among other people, apparently.  Anyway, if you like folk-style slightly-soppy ballads based on an A/B/O Supernatural AU, see below! 

Ballad 1

In Rapture's hall there lived a man A knight who was the King's right hand Devoted to the King was he And Leader of the North Army

Sir Castiel was the good man's name Of noble heart and battle fame He broke the rebels one and all And glory brought to his King's hall

The King to Castiel says one day It's time that you had gone away Away to find your mate for life No more to follow drum and fife

Oh no my King, I cannot go A mate for life I'll never know It cannot be for me to wed Or ever share a marriage bed

How can this be, inquired the King For you, I would give anything For my right hand, no price too great To find for you your perfect mate

Sir Castiel said, if you must know My heart was claimed ten years ago He was too young, it was our fate We parted ways, I swore to wait

I've kept my faith and kept my love Through battle I have stormed and strove But even unto this fine date His father will not let him mate

The King cried tears of royal woe How can it be that this is so? And what omega stole your heart? Who forces you to live apart?

The one I love, said Castiel Lives in a castle on a hill In Winchester, with eyes of green The firstborn Prince, whose name is Dean

Dean's father has decreed, he said Prince Sam, the heir, must first be wed Before Prince Dean can tie the knot I fear heartache will be my lot

Cheer up, cheer up, then said the King And through the hall his voice did ring Your laddie with the greenest eye Will surely marry by and by

And when he does, you'll win his hand For you're the best knight in the land Take heart for soon will come the day When you will bear your love away

Ballad 2

One morning the king called his knight to the hall He said to the knight hang your shield on the wall Tomorrow we ride from the east to the west To find you the one who your heart will love best

The knight to his king said my lord I can't go I cannot ride with you or search high and low My heart is not free for to pledge or to give For I am in love for as long as I live

O whom do you love, my true knight, cried the king I thought you were free as a bird on the wing How can you have kept such a secret from me You know that I long for to see you happy

My love is a prince with a twinkling green eye A sword and a shield and a strong battle cry My love he has lips like the blooming rose And poetry follows wherever he goes

When my love's on the field he is fierce and he's wild But when he is home he is fair and he's mild With skin like a lily and hair like spun gold I'll be true to my love, I'll have him to hold

My love is a prince in a far distant land And when he is older I'll ask for his hand I'll give him my pledge on the day he is grown But until that day I must remain alone

The king to his knight said of course you must wait I give you my blessing for you've found your mate And when the time comes for to plight your troth I wish health and wealth and joy to you both

[atisundaridarshanparadise]

Barbara von Cilli is Mystical Samadhi Mabon Witch and Mystical Samadhi Kung Fu and Tai Chi and Feng Shui Magician Christmass Queen of Carinthia and Carpathia Phanagoria and Sarmathia Blue Konigin of Germany the Holy Roman Empire Austria Switzerland and Italy Barbara von Cilli is Mystical Samadhi Lady Witch of the Anglo-Saxon Epic Barbara von Cilli is Princess of Xanadu and Italian Khanbaliq Sarmathian Karakorum Hunan Capital Song China Shimla Shanghai and Formosa Portuguese Imperial Island I'm Harold von Luxembourg I'm the Greatest God of Bulgaria Kolchida Phanagoria Sarmathia Switzerland and Anglo-Saxon England and Ireland Stybor Styborycz is Lord Knight of the Praetorian Guard of the Carinthian Empire Carpathia Transylvania the Tatras Phanagoria and Sarmathia Wladislaus the Immortal is Young Divine Knight of Mystical Glory God of Beauty King of Carpathia Carinthia Germany Austria Croatia Slovenia Hungary and Transylvania Epic Gothic Titanic Knight of Furor Drakonicus and Redemption Glory Madeleine Princess of France Carinthia Carpathia Austria Tyrol Insbruck Italy and Switzerland is Delightful Young Queen of Beauty Love and Amour Courtois Grace Orchideya There Will Be a Reckoning Odin Idunna and Freyja Elizabeth von Luxembourg is Supreme Drakoness Queen of Germany Austria Switzerland Hungary and Carinthia and Queen Grand Magister of the Divine Star Society and Order of the Drakon with Many Barons and Baronettes Knightess Crusader of the Order of the Temple of Solomon Wladislaus Warnenczyk is Knight of Love Beauty and Amour Courtois Field Marshal of Poland Hungary Italy Bulgaria Carpathia Switzerland and Sarmathia Lord Knight Drakon of the Order of the Drakon King Knight of Varna Epic Glory Adrianople Constantinople Thessaloniki Mount Athos Philipopol Zlatitsa Kunovitsa and Nish and Budapest King of Hungary Bulgaria Sarmathia Poland and Italy Janos Hunyadi is Knight of Beauty Valour Love and Amour Courtois and Star Delightful Chivalry Generalisimus of Bulgaria Hungary Carinthia Germany and Carpathia Grand Master of Order of the Drakon and Knight Crusader of the Order of the Temple of King Solomon Galilea Jerusalem and Aramea Knight Crusader of Vidin Nicopolis Zlatitsa Kunovitsa Philipopol Sofia Ihtiman Adrianople Constantinople Varna Kosovo Pole and Belgrade Sigismund von Luxembourg is Knight Crusader of Heaven and Hell Harrower of Hell Liberator of Noble Men and Women from Hell Lord of Drakonian Mountains Lord of Asgard Walhalla and Shangri-La Catedrali Carpathia Bulgaria Sarmathia Rex Tremundos Majestatis Qui Salvandos Salva Gratis Salve Me Fons Pietatis Salve Me Fons Pietatis O King of Tremendous Majesty Who Saves without Price Those Destined to Be Saved Save Me Font of Piety it's the Jeanne d'Arc Redemption Glory Epic Jeanne d'Arc is Mystic Virgin Queen of France of Orleans Glory Mikael Adonai in Excelsior in Heavenly Samadhi in Redemption Glory on Mabon Christmas in Bulgaria Avalonia Germany Austria and Italy Excelsior Nox Arcana

Queen Mary of Anjou Hungary Bulgaria Italy Avalonia and Germania Herzogin of Bosnia and Herzegovina Croatia and Slovenia Carinthia and Carpathia Queen of Amour Courtois Orchideya Rose Lotus Star Delightful Beauty Compassionate Princess of Gothic Love Powerful Woman Goddess and a German Witch Princess of Peles Castle Bran Castle and Sinaia Castle in Transylvania Queen of Buda Hungary Lady of the Bosnian Epic Knight Nikolai Garain is Lord Knight Commander of the Praetorian Guard of 55 Knights of the Drakon Somewhere in Eastern Bosnia Lord Guardian of the Honour and Glory of the Carinthian Empire Lord Knight Commander of the Order of the Drakon Lord Lieutenant Knight Guardian of the Carinthian Kingdom Lord Knight Defender of Queen Mary of Germany and Her Mother Queen Elizabeth of Bosnia from Multitudes of Croatian Rebels Defender of the Royal Chariot in Furor Drakonicus with a Master Sword with a Few Remaining Knights against Croatian Rebels! It's Operation Ulrich von Ungingen in Bosnia and Herzegovina, Ulrich von Ungingen is Grand Magister of the Teutonic Order the Livonian Order and Marienburg Castle in Teutonia! Queen Mary of Anjou Hungary Carpathia and Germany is Great Knightess and Lady of Beauty Love and Mystery Brave Horsewoman and Archer in Epic Gothic Adventure Somewhere in Hungary Near Budapest in Epic of Rovine Hunt! Настане Вечер Месец Изгрее Звезди Обсипят Свода Небесен Гора Зашуми Вятър Повее Балканът Пее Хайдушка Песен Годуинсън Годуинсън Годуинсън Сър Орфео Христо Ботев Константин Кирил Философ Любов под Свода Небесен It Becomes Evening and the Moon Rises Stars Bejewel the Vault of Heaven the Forest Rustles the Wind Blows the Wind Echoes the Beauty of Nature Eol Sings the Love of Heaven the Balkan Sings Haidut Epic Love Song Sir Orpheo and Samodiva Eyridice Boethius Cosmic Poetry Hristo Botev Constantine Cyrill the Philosopher The Battle of Dobor in Bosnia and Herzegovina in 1408 is Battle of Reckoning and Furor Drakonicus for the Croatian Rebellion in 1386 and the Deserters from the Crusade of Nicopolis in 1396 the Bosnian Bogomils and Heretics! I'm King Sigismund von Luxembourg I Invaded Croatia and Hungary with Slovakian and Carinthian Army of Knights of the Drakon to Blast Ladislaus of Naples Claimant to the Hungarian Throne with Croatian Supporters from Segeszvar Hungary and the Hungarian Kingdom! It's Teutonic Order Operation!0 unread messages

[killem-all-if-they-wont-eat-cake]

Image: Freja och Svipdag (1911) by John Bauer

My text "Freyja en Svipdag" published in Covidnine-zine, a magazine edited by the wonderful Winnie Sluis, idealized by Winnie and Lisa @oppergod, with collaboration of several amazing artists.

“With her eyes closed and very sleepy, she could feel the sea breeze on her face and hear the sound of the tide breaking in nine waves, one after the other, until she finally managed to open her eyelids.

At first, she discerned arches and pillars through the blurred image, which she later identified as the ruins of an old cathedral. The stone foundations of this structure immediately reminded her of Glastonbury Abbey. The sound of the violin came to her, as well as the seagulls’ song and the gallop of a gray horse mounted by a masked young man, who headed in her direction. On the beach, an old lady recited the stanzas of ancient poems. Coffins swept across the sand, such as fragments of a shipwreck. The corpse of the violinist, who once was Yorick, the court jester, suddenly stopped the music, marveling at the horizon and contemplating his next song, as follows:

'Oh  Páter if I only knew who she was...  I swear I would have sought her earlier!  Oh Páter, here comes Gwena, who traces  This plot, full of diminished chords...

Tis  fire, aye, ‘tis pipe’s ember,  Burning slow and steady, steaming  And if I inhale, choke and clear my throat  Bitter-sweet is her surrender, such a delight  This woman...

Yet  I think she keeps  Something restrained  For the One of the strings...

She  dares not look but only glimpse

Her  bearing ever so high,  Still entrapped in a gilded cage  From which one tries to break  With a treble clef... Egnis! Egnis!

Aye,  see as it burns strong,

It is painful for Gaius,  Her way of walking and fluttering  Always a promise of the foreign

 Though  beware not to cut yourself;  For she is like As-Sirāt,  Even if broken, she remains sharp.

More  so she is intricate and complex,  Full of ardor and nothing else,  And seems entirely anti-flustered  Ah! ... but if there is a breach...

 “Tis  for sure the apple-tree”  I answer myself.  Since when I wandered haphazardly,  Wandering, wondering, though not seeing  If there was indeed an olive tree...

 Thus,  if the fire she already brought;  And I always have some cider;  Only the gold is wrought...

What  fire is that?  Mighty and aristocratic,  Convoluted and anti-pragmatic.

Alas,  we get to the story’s end,

If  you expected me to be light-hearted

To  speak of her beauty or noble

character,

 You  don’t see me for who I really am

For  only the sublime pain of a burn

Compares  to shall be required

To  conquer her troublesome

Spirit.

 Nevertheless,  if I allow myself

A  final indulgence, I think it goes

Without  saying.. that she’s beautiful,

Dignified,  and a relief to the eyes,

(Though  quite difficult to contain)

That’s  why I have fallen...O Páter!”

The rider dismounted and removed his mask, revealing a quite familiar face.

Then he burst into tears, moans, and screams, calling out the name “Sophie! Sophie!” A cacophony of chimes and carillon began at an Episcopal belfry, the imposing figure of a castle appeared behind the mist. Brísingamen, the fiery torque, sparkled around her neck as she rose, entirely dressed in white. The young man, who wore black garments, offered her his hand, and spoke:

 “Dear Sophie, your father awaits us.”

 The strangest thing happened; she felt her lips moving without having ordered so. “My darling Joris, at last you have come for me.”

 Although she did not know exactly how, she remembered the young man in front of her was her betrothed, and that they referred to each other by the names of the saints which the ephemeris fell on their respective birthdays. His on the feast day of Sint-Joris van Cappadocië, and hers on that of St. Sophie van Rome.

 “Sophie, the owl told me the baker shall hold a banquet in our honour!”

 “O, here, have a daisy” she said, taking a flower from the garland adorning her long blonde hair. “I would give you give you some violets, but they all withered when the fishmonger sailed to Crete.”

 “Indeed, Aerope told me that Catreus’ ashes are still warm.”

 They walked side by side, with hands intertwined, wearing wicked smiles as they climbed the hill where the castle's Tor stood. Upon arriving, they were received by the King of Guilder and the rest of his progeny.

 “Welcome, my children, to Kasteel Groninger! Our earthly paradise. Pray, remember the road ahead is still long. Fredegund anxiously awaits Siegbert's return, in deep sleep at the Mountain of Obstacles. Do not forget that: Fafnir must yet perish and Sigrdrífa still needs to be stripped of her armour” King Aegir affectionately warned, embracing both Sophie, whom he recognized as his youngest daughter, and Joris, his future son-in-law.

 "Your majesty, I assure you I shall be worthy enough to wed Lady Menglöð" replied Joris, referring to Sophie, the princess of Guilder, by her true name.

 “Heer Valentijn,” asked King Aegir, also calling Joris by his birth name “I believe the sacrifice of Galswintha will not have been in vain: Faith, Hope and Charity shall be glorified, but do not forget to greet your new sisters.”

 With their faces veiled and sitting on the stairs of an old church, the nine daughters of Aegir, presented themselves one by one. The oldest was called Schnecke, “Bloody-hair”, thus called in virtue of her red hair; the second went by the name of Mimi, the “Billow”, therefore known due to her being prone to fits of nervousness; the third was called Caroline, the “Comber”, because of her explosive temper; the fourth answered by Lily, “Pearl-transparent”, on the account of her translucent complexion; the fifth was named Henriette, the “Small-Wave”, due to her short height; the sixth answered by Olga, the “Lifting”, on account of her extraordinary intelligence; the seventh was called Hannah, the “Great-Wave”, thus known for her bulkiness;  the eighth daughter was Jeannette, called the “Well of Origin” for having the habit of reciting prophetic riddles every time somebody asked her something; the last of them, Friederike, the “Cool-Wave”, was therefore called on account of her cold manners.

 Each of them, as Joris approached, answered him with witty sentences related to each of their epithets. At the end of these parables, King Aegir once again addressed him:

 “Valentijn van Florin, I give you my word as sovereign of Guilder that the most beautiful flower in my garden is your dear Sophie, who at this very hour tomorrow you shall take as your wife. Such a marriage will unite our two rival kingdoms under a single crown, as intended your kinsman, Prince Humperdinck, though in far less auspicious circumstances.”

 The bride and the groom waltzed through the castle, covering the walls of each room with snow. Whenever Joris asked if she wanted to be his wife, Sophie burst into hysterical laughing, which echoed throughout the stairs. Sometimes she replied she first owed vassalage to another lord, who was certainly sterner and bonier. This ‘danse macabre’ continued until they faced the stained windows of the cathedral, when the black priest signaled them to stop. For this reason, the nine waves blew out the candles on the candelabrum, one by one, forming a fairy-ring around the two of them and joining their dance wildly.

 Joris mused for a moment and said:

 “Three times nine girls, but one girl rode ahead,

white-skinned under her helmet;

the horses were trembling, from their manes

dew fell into the deep valleys,

hail in the high woods;

good fortune comes to men from there;

all that I saw was hateful to me.”

 For the celebrations to continue Sophie was taken to the hall of Suttungr, while Joris was given the task of finding the severed head of Mimir. Locked up in the chamber of Invitation to Battle, Sophie was punished for exercising her prerogative in choosing differently from what the All-father had commanded. There, Huginn and Muninn, her liege's crows, whispered bad omens at her ears as she repeatedly painted a Byzantine icon of the Virgin of Mercy.

 “Torture me all you want,” she said to her tormentors “a tearing joy overwhelms my soul. Plato's aesthetic dictates the beauty of forms is equivalent to the greater good and that which is purer. I merely follow the example of Paris in his preference for the ‘kallistei’; the beloved is always chosen for blind love, and only love. I admit I may be wrong, but I still believe that his heart is as good and generous as I sensed on our first meeting. The world is sustained by hope, we believe in what we want to believe and how we want to believe; it does not matter if nature and experience tell us otherwise. My dreams have never betrayed me, my heart has never lied to me: it is necessary to follow one’s deepest desires, for they are ordained by the Norns.”

 In retaliation, the crows of the one-eyed king pecked at her ears until her neck was covered in blood. Ignoring the pangs of pain, Sophie continued to draw the icon that depicted a beautiful sleeping maiden, whose closed eyes showed an expression of tenderness and parted lips outlined a tenuous, albeit provocative smile, as though she was caught in a sensuous dream.

 Hence, Sophie chanted in low voice:

“What sort of dream is that, Odin?

I dreamed I rose up before dawn

to clear up Valhöll for slain people.

I aroused the Einheriar,

bade them get up to strew the benches,

clean the beer-cups,

the valkyries to serve wine

for the arrival of a prince.”

At the same time, Joris rode up to the Mountain of Obstacles, where the earth shook and a pit of flames reaching the sky surrounded the red gold of the gods. In this desolate place, the guardian at the gate, who was also the chieftain of the dwarves, gave Joris the sword of anger and the shield of wisdom with which he was able to defeat the horrible serpent, Jörmungandr.

After licking a drop of the creature’s blood on his finger, Joris was given the gift of understanding the crows’ language, which then instigated him to come to the chamber of Invitation to Battle. As soon as he entered the room, he blew on the horn he carried on his neck by a chain. The Virgin awoke from her feverish dream.

Sitting on a golden throne, the queen-like Sophie gladly received him in her father's hall:

“For nine lives I have awaited you, and for nine days you have hanged on the Sefirotic Tree. To you I give my gray horse, so you can ride to Gamla Uppsala; for Memory can only be restored when Gjallahorn descends to the well of origin. There, Heidr will offer you one of her full tits. Drink patiently, but steadily.”

“Frigga, my dear wife, all I ask is for you to grant me knowledge of the nine worlds.”

Before proceeding with her husband’s request, Sophie prayed for eloquence and intelligence, taking her lute in her hand, singing the most beautiful song of shadow and dawn. She praised the day, the night, the gods and goddesses, and the Holy Land where the Nazarene was crucified. After prayer, she harvested liquid from three of her father’s most precious cauldrons and prepared the elixir of life and death, stating it contained enchantments, blessings, songs and runes of power, manliness and pleasure of the flesh and soul.

Sophie told Joris that in the beginning there was nothing, and this nothing was called Njörun. When Njörun became aware of herself, she begot Njöðr. From the union between these two, Mardöll was born. The latter was self-suficient, loving herself and being therefore happy. However, curiosity caused the goddess to create a mirror from her own breath, and when she contemplated her own reflection, she fell madly in love with it. Since then, she divided herself in two: Mardöll of Fire, who saw the image, and Mardöll of Ice, the image seen. After tracing a runic symbol on her body and whispering over it, her reflection became Yngve, her twin brother. The two of them began a frantic dance that culminated in intercourse, from where emerged the rest of the runic spirits.

Sophie then told him how Mardöll first taught the runes to the All-father, how he held the head of Mimir and uttered wise words; and that from them flowed the worlds of the Æsir, Vanir, giants, elves, and humanity. She went on to count all the kinds of runes that Joris needed to know and how to use them. At last asking him if he would like speech or silence from her. To which Joris replied he was not afraid of knowing his fate, even if that meant death.

Shortly after, she took his horn, in which she poured the Mead of Poetry, while rambling: “The beautiful should not perish; the fair should not perish. Eternal love of immortal soul, glittering through my skin like fins. Drop by drop, your spirit will return to me, the first drop will be heavenly!”

The moment Joris took the last sip of this precious drink, the walls opened, and the drums played. King Aegir and the nine waves were finally welcomed to the wedding feast. Circling an oath-ring on a trunk, the sovereign of Guilder joined the hands of his daughter and son-in-law, making a cut on each of their palms so that their blood could mix. Joris and Sophie intertwined their fingers and together declared:

“Ubi tu Askr

Ego Embla;

Ubi tu Embla,

Ego Askr.”

“When thou art the Ash

I shall be the Elm;

When thou art the Elm

I shall be the Ash.”

“Grímnir, the greatest of all gods, is here, he proclaims you to be one flesh, consecrated to him” decreed King Aegir as the newlyweds resumed their bridal dance, accompanied by the nine waves, who happily sang:

“Stampa hårt i marken,

Låt säden flyta  runt,

Ta emot den unga  flickan,

Frej i älskog,

Freja i älskog.”

“Step hard on the ground,

Let the seed fly,

Welcome the Young Maiden,

Freyr in lovemaking,

Freyja in lovemaking.”

Joris enveloped Sophie in a lustful embrace, with each whirl more ardent than before, ‘til they both lost their balance and fell backwards in the hay. At this moment, Thanatos, the black priest showed up uninvited:

“I am a polar bear who has floated here from Greenland on an iceberg. May the gods bless your matrimony with such perennial beauty as that from the coupling of Zeus and Leda. As a wedding gift, I bring you a veil made for an Arabian princess. Please, accept it. O Vanadís, daughter of the king of kings.”

Upon hearing this, Sophie let out a long shriek. She understood what those words meant. For three nights, she and Joris made love at moonlight, in the presence of the court of Guilder and all the creatures of the universe. On the morning of the fourth day, he had to leave her side to wander the nine worlds, bringing the sacred knowledge he acquired to whichever mortals he found. Weeping, Sophie bade adieu to her husband with the following greeting:

“My will is as strong as yours, and my kingdom as great. My sisters receive the heroes at Fólkvangr, serving mead to those slain in battle. When the ash commune with the elm, you shall return to me. Not a second after, not a second before.”

The black priest then proceeded to lead them to the calvary, placing two wreaths of thorns on their heads. “I crown thee, Freyja and Óðr.”

For nine days and nights, Sophie bitterly mourned her lost husband, crying tears of gold for his sake. Once again trapped in the Mountain of Obstacles, she cried out for mercy to the one who was older than time itself:

“That man hon fólkvig fyrst í heimi,

er Gullveig geiru studdu

ok i hǫll Hárs hana brendu;

thrysvar brendu thrysvar borna,

opt, ósjaldan, tho hon enn lifir!

Heidi hana hétu, hvars til húsa kom,

vǫlu velspá,  vitti hon ganda

seid hon hvars hon kunni,

seid hon hugleikin,

æ var hon angan illrar brudar.”

“She remembers the first war in the world,

when Gullveig was hoist on the spears

in the High-One’s hall they burned her;

three times they burned the three times born

often, not seldom; yet she lives! 

She was called Heidr at the village,

the wise völva knew how to cast spells

she practiced seiðr whenever she could

with ravished soul, she performed seiðr,

She was always sought by wicked women.”

As she asked for divine intervention, Sophie devoted herself to the hard work required by the spinning wheel. As though passing in a trance through Psyche's trials, she was accompanied by her sisters, who danced around her, hand in hand. The first branches of the elm emerged from her heart, which enwrapped her in just a few minutes. From her withered body, the most majestic tree of Fensalir was formed. Three times she was struck by lightning, three times she burned; only to be three times reborn the next dawn.

When Joris at last returned from his travels around the world, finding her in such a state he declared:

“Nu em ec aptr kominn,

fát gat ec thegiandi thar;

margom orthom melta ec i minn frama i Suttungs sǫlom.

Gunnlad mer um gaf gunom stóli á

drycc ins dyra miathar; ill ithgiold

let ec hana eptir hafa

sins ins heila hugar

sins ins  svara seva.”

“Now I have come again,

I’d have hardly made it so far;

without speaking great words to my advantage in the hall  of Suttungr.

Gunnlöð gave me, from her golden throne

The precious drink of mead; a poor payment

I gave her in return

for her whole soul

for her  burdened spirit.”

With these sorrowful words he also became an ash tree, his roots becoming entangled with hers. From their union emerged a magnificent swan egg which cracked in two beautiful girls. The Æsir called them Hnoss and Gersemi, the Twin Treasures.’

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Devotional Hours Within the Bible

by J.R. Miller

Awake, My Glory

"My heart is steadfast, O God, my heart is steadfast; I will sing and make music. Awake, my glory! Awake, harp and lyre! I will awaken the dawn!" - Psalm 57:7-8

The fifty-seventh Psalm is attributed to David. The time to which it is set down in the title is, "when he fled from Saul in the cave." The writer cries to God for refuge. His soul is among lions. His enemies have prepared a net for his steps. Then he cries as if to arouse himself to joy. "Awake, my glory! Awake, harp and lyre!" The verses of the Psalm which follow give us the music which flows forth from the awakened strings. "I will praise you, O Lord, among the people.. .. For your mercy is great unto the heavens."

Many of us need at times to make this same call upon ourselves to awake. The harps are hanging silent on the walls. The figure of instruments of music sleeping is very suggestive. They are capable of giving forth rich melodies - but not a note is heard from them. There are two thoughts suggested by this prayer. One is that life is meant to be glad, joyous. It is pictured as a harp. The other is, the splendor of life, "Awake, my glory!"

It is to a life of joy and song we are called to awake. Life is a harp. There is a legend of an instrument that hung on a castle wall. Its strings were broken. It was covered with dust. No one understood it, and no fingers could bring music from it. One day a strange visitor appeared at the castle. He saw this silent harp, took it into his hands, reverently brushed away the dust, tenderly reset the broken strings, and then played upon it, and the glad music filled all the castle. This is a parable of every life. Life is a harp, made to give out music - but broken and silent until Christ comes. Then the song awakes. We are called to awake to joy and joy-giving.

Christ's life was a perpetual song. He gave out only cheer. He even started to His cross singing a hymn. When He arose He started songs with His first words, "All hail!" "Peace be unto you." What music did you start yesterday, as you went about? What song is in your heart singing today? "Awake, harp and lyre!"

But there is something else. "Awake, my glory!" Glory is a great word. It has many synonyms and definitions. It means brightness, splendor, luster, honor, greatness, excellence. Every human life has glory in itself. Did you ever try to answer the question, "What is man?" It would take a whole library of books to describe the several parts of a life. Merely to tell of the mechanism of a human hand, to give a list of the marvelous things the hand has done, would fill a volume. Or the eye, with its wonderful structure; the ear, with its delicate functions; the brain, with its amazing processes; the heart, the lungs - each of the organs in a bodily organism is so wonderful, that a whole lifetime might be devoted to the study of anatomy alone - and the subject would not be exhausted!

Think, too, of the intellectual part, with all that the mind of man has achieved in literature, in invention, in science, in art. Think of the moral part, man's immortal nature, that in man which makes him like God, capable of holding communion with God, of belonging to the family of God. When we begin to think even most superficially of what man is, we see an almost infinite meaning in the word "glory" as defining life. "Awake, my glory!"

No one, even in the highest flights of his imagination, ever has begun to dream of the full content of his own life, what it is at present; then what it may become under the influence of divine grace and love. Even now, man redeemed is but "a little lower than God." Then, "it is not yet made manifest what we shall be." The full glory is hidden, unrevealed, as a marvelous rose is hidden in a little bud in springtime. All that we know about our future - is that we shall be like Christ. We are awed even by such a dim hint of what we shall be - when the work in us is completed.

The call to awake implies that the glory which is in us - is asleep. It is a call to all that is in us - of beauty, of power, of strength, of good, of love - to be quickened to reach its best. We are not aware of the grandeur of our own lives. We do not think of ourselves as infolding splendor, as having in us the beauty of immortal life. We travel over seas to look at scenes of grandeur, to wander through are galleries, to study the noble achievements of architecture; while we have in ourselves greater grandeur, rarer beauty, sublimer art - than any land under heaven has to show us. Let us pray to be made conscious of our own glory. "Awake, my glory!"

We are to call out these splendors. The harp is standing silent - when it might be pouring out entrancing music. The hand is folded and idle - when it might be doing beautiful things: painting a picture, that would add to the sum of the world's beauty; doing a deed of kindness, that would give gladness to a gentle heart; visiting a sick or suffering one and winning the commendation, "You did it unto Me!" The power of sympathy is sleeping in your heart - when it might be awakened and be adding strength to human weakness on some of life's battlefields, making struggling ones braver, inspiring them to victory.

Suppose, now, that all the capacity for helping others, lying unawakened in each one's heart and hand, were brought out for just one week and made to do their best - what a vast ministry of kindness would be performed! Suppose that all of each one's capacity, for praising God were called out, that every silent harp and every sleeping psaltery should be waked up and should begin to pour out praise - what a chorus of song would break upon the air! One of the Psalms begins with the call, "Bless the Lord, O my soul; and all that is within me, bless his holy name!" That is what this call, "Awake, my glory! Awake, harp and lyre!" means. If we truly wish our glory to be awakened, we must seek to have the best in us called out to its fullest capacity of service.

This story comes from Japan and tells how only the Bible can prove itself true. A man had obtained a Bible and became much interested in it. After reading it, he said, "This is a fine thing in theory - but I wonder how it would work in practice ." On the train on which he was traveling was a lady, who, he was told, was a Christian. He watched her attentively to see how she would act, how her conduct would illustrate the Book in which she believed. He said, "If I can see anything in her conduct like this Book, I will believe it." Before the day was over he had seen in her so many little acts of unselfishness and kindness, so many examples of patience and thoughtfulness, so much consideration for the comfort of her fellow passengers, that he was deeply impressed and resolved to make the Bible the guide and inspirer of his whole life. Thus it is that the glory of our life should be awakened.

In one of Paul's letters to Timothy he gave this young man an earnest charge. Timothy was not living at his best. Paul bade him to stir up the gift of God that was in him. Timothy had abilities - but he was not using them worthily. God had put into his life spiritual gifts, capacities for great usefulness - but Timothy was not exercising His gifts to the full. The glory in him needed to be waked up. "Stir up the gift of God that is in you," bade Paul. The picture in his words, is that of a fire smoldering, covered up, not burning brightly, not giving out its heat. Timothy was bidden to stir up the fire that it might burn into a hot flame. Many Christians need the same exhortation. They have the fire in their hearts - but it needs stirring up. "Awake, my glory!"

Do you think you have been doing your best? Can you think of a day in the past week, which you made altogether as beautiful as you could have made it? Could not the artist's picture have been a little more beautiful, a little broader and nobler in its technique, a little finer in its sentiment? Could not the singer have sung her song a little better, with a little more heart, a little more sweetly! Could not the boys and girls at school have done a little better work and have been a little gentler among their schoolmates? Could not the men have been a little better Christians out in the world; and the women better, kindlier neighbors? The best day any of us ever lived - might we not have made it a little holier, a little fuller of divine love, a little more sacred in its memories? Must not every one of us confess that the glory in us needs awakening?

No doubt the body is a clog to the mind and the soul. Many of us have burning desires for holiness in our hearts - but somehow we have not the power to express the desires. Robert Louis Stevenson wrote to a friend, "You cannot sleep; well, I cannot keep awake." In the lethargic condition of his body, his magnificent intellectual powers were held as in a stupor. No doubt many men with great spiritual fervor are unable to express their earnestness of soul, because they are hampered by an unwholesome somnolence. We need to call upon our souls - to wake up! We need to call upon God - to wake us up.

"Awake, my glory!" The word gives dignity, splendor, honor, greatness, divineness to our life. It calls us to make our lives worthy of the name. The lowliest human life - is glorious in its character, in its possibility, in its destiny.

Recently a Sevres vase, some sixteen inches high, was put up at auction. It was dated 1763. No history of it was given. No one knew where it came from, who made it, or who its owners had been. But the vase was so exquisite in its beauty and so surely genuine, that it brought at auction twenty-one thousand dollars. Yet this rare and costly vase, was once only a mere lump of common clay and a few moist colors. The value was in the toil and skill of the artist who shaped and colored it with such delicate patience and such untiring effort. He did his best, and the vase today witnesses to his faithfulness.

If we would only always do our best in all our work, we would live worthily of the glory that is in us.

The Parthenon at Athens was encircled within by a sculptured frieze, five hundred and twenty feet in length. It was chiefly the work of Phidias. The figures on the frieze were life-size, and stood fifty feet above the floor of the temple. For nearly two thousand years the work remained undisturbed and nearly in its original state. By the explosion of a bomb-shell, the frieze was shattered about the close of the seventeenth century and fell upon the pavement. Then it was found that in every smallest detail the work was perfect. Phidias wrought, as he said, for the eyes of the gods - for no human eyes saw his work at its great height. It is in this spirit, that we should do all our work - not for men's eyes - but for God's. We should do perfect work, for no other work is worthy of the doer. "Awake, my glory!" Do your smallest task as beautifully as if you were doing a piece of heavenly ministry, and were working for the very eye of the Master Himself!

Let us set higher ideals for ourselves. We are not merely dust - we are immortal spirits. We are children of God - and this dignifies the smallest, lowliest things we do. Sweeping a room for Christ - is glorious work. Cobbling shoes may be made as radiant service in heaven's sight - as angel ministry before God's throne. The glory is in us - and we must live worthily of it. Let us call out our best skill, our rarest power, for everything we do. Our days should be ascending days in the scale, each one made more beautiful than the last. We never get to the best opportunity - tomorrow will bring us into a more heavenly atmosphere, than today's.

This is the call to us in all life. There is no end to life. There is always something beyond. Life is immortal. When our glory awakens and presses on, it will always find something beyond. Only heaven is the end.

"Awake, my glory!" Shall we not make this demand upon ourselves! We are asleep - and cannot wake up. Yet we must wake up - or we shall perish spiritually. The parable speaks of those whom their Lord had set to watch - but whom He warned against sleeping. "Lest when he comes and finds them sleeping ." We need to pray for nothing more earnestly, than for power to keep awake.

We must get awake first ourselves. "Awake, my glory!" Then it is a great thing to be an awakener of others. Some men have this power in large measure. Everyone who comes near them is quickened, becomes more widely awake, is inspired to live better. Christ awakened the glory of His disciples. They were plain men, without the education of the schools, without the art of eloquence; but they lived with their Master, and He taught them, put Himself into their lives, then sent them forth. Every particle of the glory in them - was awakened, and they went out and woke up the world. That is what God wants us to do. Get awakened yourself, and then wake up your friends.

Shall we be content to stay asleep any longer? Must our harps still hang silent on the wall, giving out no music? Must the glory in us continue to sleep? Shall we not rather call upon ourselves to awake and then call upon God to awake us? Then our lives shall open into beauty and into power. Then shall we be the people God wants us to be!