#peasant to mistress
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François-Hubert Drouais (French, 1727-1775) Madame du Barry, the last mistress of Versailles, 1770 Fabre museum
She was executed by guillotine during the French Revolution.
#François-Hubert Drouais#french#french art#fine art#Madame du barry#france#peasant to mistress#art#european art#classical art#europe#european#oil painting#fine arts#mediterranean#europa#french court
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since evidently this won't come up in DAV, my personal headcanon is that reconciled Celene and Briala were too busy fucking to show up in Trespasser specifically because they were having a sort of last hurrah before operationalizing the next necessary phase in Celene's rule: producing a legitimate heir
Celene avoided it for literal decades, but following the civil war and with the impending change in the Inquisition, and considering her age, it was just not something she could put off any longer if she wanted to preserve the Valmont line and her own legacy
(and it helps now that her relationship with Briala is more or less secure, so she doesn't feel as desperately clingy)
for her husband, I draft the late Duke Bastien's son, Laurent de Ghislain. As a Duke, the new head of the Council of Heralds, and a devout Andrastian, he's a suitably illustrious partner for an Empress but more importantly: the messiness. His elder sister, Calienne, was Gaspard's wife who murdered Celene's mother, and then took Celene's father out with her when Celene's father murdered her in retaliation. It feels very Orlesian and also makes Vivienne Celene's quasi mother-in-law, which is very fun for me
They manage to produce an heir in pretty short order and it's all Court Approval +10000 until - the second Celene finally fulfills her 'obligation' to the throne and is finally theoretically allowed to be publicly lesbian - Briala arrives at the child's christening with her hand on Celene's ass, pushing the pram, and the crier announces her as "Marquise of the Dales, Mistress to the Empress of Orlais" and it's like [Everyone disliked that]
#technically this is fanfic#celene valmont#briala#dragon age#I often contemplate how if Celene had fallen in love with a human servant/peasant her life would have turned out way different#by DAI her human mistress would have been throwing salons with Vivienne#but instead falling for an elf gave her such a complex that it derailed an entire empire#messy queen
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⸻ ᴛ ʜ ᴇ ᴛ ʏ ʀ ᴀ ɴ ᴛ ⸻
Pairing: Yandere HOTD x Targaryen Reader Part 4
Summary: after your conversion with your father, you just wanted to be in peace. Especially since your husband name day is close.
Warning: Y/n herself is a warning.
Notes: English is not my first language. Gifs don't belong to me, credit to the owner. Hope you enjoy!
The water was warm, steaming against her pale skin as she reclined in the tub, the scent of lavender and rose oil wafting through the air. Elira’s hands worked delicately, her touch soft as she poured water over her mistress’s shoulders, letting it cascade down in rivulets. The bath chamber was silent save for the occasional splash of water and the crackle of the fire in the hearth.
Elira hesitated, biting her lip as she wrung out a cloth. Her nerves were apparent, her usual timidness magnified in the face of what she wanted to ask. Y/n smirked to herself, already anticipating whatever foolish question the girl was about to utter.
“My lady… may I ask something?”
Y/n opened one eye, watching her through half-lowered lids, her expression languid and amused. “You may,” she said, her tone carrying a sharp edge of mockery, as if daring the girl to test her patience.
Elira hesitated again, then quickly stammered out, “Why… why did you choose to marry Prince Aegon? He’s just a child, my lady. If—if I were in your place… and a man like Lord Jason Lannister wanted to marry me…” She trailed off, her cheeks flushing red. “I would have accepted.”
For a moment, the room was silent. Then, Y/n laughed—a sharp, derisive sound that echoed off the stone walls. It was not a warm laugh but one laced with scorn. She turned her head slightly to look at Elira, her lips curling into a cruel smile.
“Of course you would,” she said, her voice dripping with contempt. “That’s the difference between us, Elira. You’re a peasant. A frightened little girl who would gladly sell herself for a crumb of comfort and a pat on the head from some bloated fool with a golden lion stitched to his chest.”
Elira’s head bowed, her hands trembling slightly as she dipped the cloth back into the water. Y/n continued, her tone growing sharper, each word a dagger aimed at the girl’s pride.
“But I am Y/n. I am a Targaryen, the blood of Old Valyria. I am the rider of Vermithor, the princess of dragon stone. I don’t need a man’s protection, nor his gold, nor his pathetic little affections. I don’t need anything from a husband save for two things: a pretty face to sit on and a hard cock to ride.”
Elira gasped softly, her eyes widening, but she said nothing. She knew better than to interrupt.
Y/n leaned back, stretching her arms along the edge of the tub, her smirk deepening. “But if you’re so curious about my decision, I’ll enlighten you.” She tilted her head, her voice softening into a conspiratorial tone, though the mockery remained. “I choose Aegon because he’s a child. A boy with no power to tell me what to do, no authority to make demands of me.”
She let her words sink in for a moment before continuing, her eyes gleaming with cold, calculating ambition. “And more importantly, he’s the firstborn son. He is father's heir, whether my father likes it or not. I may not have a chance at the throne, but Aegon does. And I will mold him. Raise him exactly as I wish, shape him into who I want him to be. And when that day comes, when he sits the Iron Throne…” Her voice dropped to a near-whisper, her lips curling into a wicked smile. “I will be the true power behind him. I will be queen.”
Elira’s hands faltered, the cloth slipping from her fingers and sinking into the water. She stared at Y/n, her face pale, clearly unsettled by her mistress’s words. But Y/n only laughed again, throwing her head back, her voice ringing with cruel amusement.
“Now,” she said, her tone suddenly light and airy, “be a good girl and fetch me more hot water. This bath is growing cold.”
The woods were unnervingly quiet, save for the occasional rustling of leaves underfoot and the distant cries of birds. Y/n walked beside Ser Criston, her irritation growing with every step. Hours had passed, and they’d yet to find anything worth hunting. So fucking annoying. She tightened her grip on the bow in her hand, the frustration threatening to bubble over.
She was about to complain when her ears picked up something—soft footsteps, the kind that didn’t belong to animals. Her gaze narrowed, her body tensing as she held up a hand to stop Criston. Then, she heard it: her sister’s voice, faint but unmistakable, carried on the wind.
Rhaenyra.
Y/n’s head snapped in the direction of the sound, her sharp violet eyes catching movement through the trees. She crept forward silently, motioning for Criston to follow. As they approached, the figures came into view: Rhaenyra, her silver hair gleaming even in the dappled light, and beside her, that hulking brute Harwin Strong. But it wasn’t the sight of them that made Y/n pause—it was the majestic white hart standing just a few feet ahead of her sister, its antlers rising like a crown from its head.
She grabbed Criston’s hand, holding him back before he could move. “Be quiet,” she hissed, her voice barely above a whisper. Her lips curved into a smirk as she watched her sister. “And don’t make a sound.”
Y/n crouched low, her eyes fixed on Rhaenyra. Come on, sister. Kill it. Her heart beat faster, anticipation coiling tightly in her chest. She waited, watching for the moment when Rhaenyra would draw her weapon, when she would finally prove herself capable of something more than riding her dragon and being a spoiled cunt. Show me you have the spine.
But Rhaenyra didn’t move. The hart stood before her, regal and unafraid, and Y/n saw her sister’s hand drop to her side. And then, Rhaenyra stepped back, letting the beast go.
Y/n’s smirk twisted into a sneer, her mind filling with sharp, cutting thoughts. Of course. Of course, you don’t, you stupid cunt. What did I expect, really? She shook her head, her contempt flaring as she silently drew an arrow from her quiver. The string of her bow stretched taut as she aimed, her eyes locking on the white hart’s elegant neck.
And then she let go.
The arrow flew true, piercing the hart’s neck with a satisfying thunk. The beast reared back, stumbling as blood gushed from the wound. Rhaenyra gasped, her shock written plainly across her face, but Y/n didn’t give her a second glance.
“Finish it,” she said coldly, tossing a glance over her shoulder at Criston.
Ser Criston moved quickly, drawing his blade and putting the hart out of its misery with a single, clean stroke. Y/n rose from her crouch, her movements smooth and graceful as she strode forward, stepping into the clearing. Her boots crunched softly against the ground as she approached Rhaenyra, whose wide eyes were still fixed on the fallen hart. Harwin stood beside her, his hand resting protectively on his sword hilt, though he didn’t move to stop Y/n.
“Well, well,” Y/n said, her voice light with mockery, “what a surprise to see you here, sister.”
Rhaenyra turned to face her, her expression a mix of anger and disbelief. “Why did you do that?” she demanded, her voice sharp. “I let it go.”
Y/n tilted her head, her lips curving into a sweet, venomous smile. “Why? Because I needed a new cloak, of course.” Her tone was dripping with false innocence. She gestured to the hart with a casual wave of her hand. “This beautiful creature is perfect for it. Don’t you think?”
Rhaenyra stared at her, speechless, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. Y/n took a step closer, her smile widening as she leaned in and pressed a kiss to her sister’s cheek, the gesture as mocking as it was intimate.
“Goodbye, dear sister,” Y/n whispered, her voice a soft purr. “Enjoy the rest of your little walk.”
Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel, her crimson cloak swirling behind her as she walked back to Criston. “Bring it,” she ordered, gesturing to the hart’s body, and he obeyed without question.
As they disappeared into the woods, Y/n glanced over her shoulder one last time, catching the stunned, angry look on Rhaenyra’s face. Her smirk returned, satisfaction blooming in her chest.
Weak, little Rhaenyra, she thought. You’ll never understand. But don’t worry, sister—I’ll show you.
The ride back was slow, her mood as sour as the metallic scent of blood wafting from the stag’s severed head strapped to the back of her horse. The triumph of the kill had already faded, leaving her simmering irritation in its place. Criston walked beside her, one hand steady on the reins of her horse, his ever-watchful gaze scanning the path ahead. She barely acknowledged him, her thoughts consumed by the tedious pomp awaiting her return.
As they entered the camp, banners flapped in the wind, servants bustling about like ants beneath the royal pavilion. Y/n slid off the horse with practiced ease, her boots hitting the ground with a soft thud. “Take care of the stag’s body,” she ordered Criston sharply, tossing him a brief glance. “The head stays with me.”
Criston bowed slightly, his armor clinking. “As you command, princess.”
She didn’t wait for him to finish. Her sharp eyes scanned the camp until they landed on her brother, cradled in Alicent’s arms near the pavilion. Without a word of greeting, she strode toward them, her crimson cloak billowing behind her. Alicent looked up, startled, but before she could protest, Y/n reached out and plucked Aegon from her arms.
“Y/n,” Alicent began, her tone edged with concern, “he’s just—”
“I know,” Y/n cut her off, dismissing her with a glare. “Don’t fuss.”
Aegon, his little head still bandaged, squirmed briefly in her grasp before recognizing her. His tiny arms flung around her neck, hugging her tightly. “Si-ster!” he exclaimed, his small voice brimming with excitement.
Her irritation softened for a fleeting moment as she kissed his forehead, her lips brushing against the white cloth wrapped around his head. “There you are, my little husband,” she murmured, a rare tenderness in her voice.
But the moment didn’t last. She turned, gesturing for Criston to bring the stag’s head forward. The grotesque trophy swung slightly as it was presented, blood still dripping onto the dirt below. She held Aegon up slightly so he could see, her voice lilting with mock enthusiasm.
“Look,” Y/n said, holding him slightly away from her so he could see better. “This is yours. The white hart of the Kingswood, a beast worthy of a prince.”
But instead of the reaction she anticipated—delight, awe, perhaps even pride—Aegon’s lip began to quiver. His bright eyes welled with tears, and before Y/n could react, he burst into loud, pitiful sobs, his tiny body shaking in her arms.
Y/n froze, staring down at him in disbelief. “What… What is this?” she muttered, her irritation flaring. “Why are you crying? It’s a gift, you foolish boy.” She bounced him slightly, trying to quiet him, but it only made his wails louder.
Alicent rose from her seat, her expression a mixture of concern and anger. “He’s just a child,” she said, extending her arms. “He doesn’t understand.”
“Clearly, he doesn’t,” Y/n snapped, her patience wearing thin. She thrust Aegon back into Alicent’s arms, ignoring the boy’s desperate grip as he clung to her for a moment before being transferred. “Take him. If he can’t appreciate what I’ve done for him, then let him go back to you.”
Alicent cradled the sobbing boy, soothing him with soft words and gentle strokes of her hand. Y/n turned away, brushing her hands down her cloak as if to rid herself of the inconvenience. She cast one last glance at the stag’s head, her jaw tightening.
Ungrateful brat.
Part 1. Part 2. Part 3.
@ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ 2024. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ.
#ㅤㅤ⠀ㅤ 𓇼ㅤ ㅤ𓂂ㅤㅤ ˚ㅤㅤ ◌ㅤ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ㅤ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏#aegon targaryen x reader#hotd x reader#yandere hotd#aegon x reader#yandere x reader#aegon ii x reader#dark aegon targaryen#yandere aegon ii targaryen#aegon ii fanfic#yandere x you#rhaenyra x reader#rhaenyra targaryen x reader#dark daemon targaryen#daemon targaryen x reader#daemon x reader#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond x reader#dark aemond targeryan#dark aegon x reader#dark aemond x reader#dark aemond targaryen#yandere aemond targaryen#yandere aegon x reader#criston cole x reader#criston x reader#dark hotd#hotd#house of the dragon
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[SUMMARY: You are a new maid for General Marcus Acacius.]
Dubcon smut
“Are you married?”
“Widow” you whispered.
“Ah…I take you haven’t been touched in some time then..”
What you would give to have a different life…
Constantly sold to be placed as a maid for the different rich men of Rome, except this time you were placed with someone you didn’t expect.
General Marcus Acacius
The man was a well known respected gladiator yet it was the last place you wanted to be. He was constantly buying any woman he wanted for self pleasure, you hated the idea of it. Thankfully servants weren’t meant for that type of pleasure, still, you didn’t want to be anywhere near it.
Standing in a room alone you soon were met with an older gentleman who explained to you that the General would be out very soon. Why the hell were you nervous?
After what felt like forever the front door slowly opened and there he was, General Marcus Acacius. Wearing white and gold his presence made your heart skip a beat. Walking towards you he stopped just a foot before you, his eyes taking in everything he could as you looked away intimated by him.
“You must be the new servant”
You swallowed nervously looking back up at him.
“Yes”
His eyes trailed over you as if he was expecting something else..someone else.
“Is there a problem General-“
“Marcus” he quickly corrected you.
“Marcus” you whispered slightly hesitant, it wasn’t common to be on a first name basis as a servant.
“Nothing is wrong at all. You are just not what I expected..” not for a servant anyways, he thought.
Maybe a mistress, a prostitute but not a servant. Servants were usually much older women in their seventies who strictly were made to clean and cook.
“I apologize if-“
“Don’t apologize. I’m not disappointed” he assured you.
“One of the other servants will come find you and explain your duties and where you will be staying, I expect to see you bright and early in the morning”
“Yes, Marcus.” You nodded and quietly bowed before he took one last look at you and left the room.
Marcus went on to his duties for the evening and that night was welcomed in a room by a group of young women. The women bought for him as a gift from a man that felt he was in debt to him. Gifted with women was a usual thing for Marcus, yet was never spoken of.
Miriam was the servant who introduced herself to you and explained everything that would be needed from you. She warned you that you may encounter ‘certain female guests’ from time to time. It didn’t surprise you, that’s what these men did.
Miriam explained to you that Marcus liked his food a certain way, his room set up a certain way and his warm baths at a certain time.
She explained that some times when entering his room he might be with certain guests in view but she reminded you to ignore it.
“You do not look, you do not speak to him, you knock, you walk in and you walk out. Understood?”
“Yes” you nodded as she handed you things that you needed to leave in his room and patted your back before walking away.
Taking a deep breath you knocked on his door and anxiously waited to hear his voice.
“Come in!” He called out. Quickly you opened the door and just as you were warned, there he was on the bed with three women. Instantly you froze feeling awkward as you rushed to the other end of the room and placed his belongings down. Hearing the women laugh together you turned your back to them and continued your duties. Never had you been in a situation like this, the only time you had ever been sexual with a man was with your husband whom died years ago. You couldn’t understand how women enjoyed being sexual peasants to these men, of course the luxury that came with it must’ve been nice but you despised men for this. For a moment you turned, your gaze catching him sticking his finger in a woman’s mouth. Whatever he was doing you could tell he liked, the look on his face almost hypnotizing you. Something seemed so erotic about General Marcus when suddenly his eyes caught yours. Quickly you turned away ready to leave before accidentally tripping over your own foot and falling to your knees. Marcus quickly sat up slowly pushing the woman to the side as you gathered what you had dropped and quickly stood up walking towards the door. Yet, just before you could reach it, he caught up to you.
“Are you alright?” He tilted his head looking down at you.
“I apologize I was just-“
“Are you alright?” He repeated his question sternly.
“Yes” you answered without looking up at him.
“I didn’t mean to…interrupt”
“You didn’t interrupt anything” he assured you. Marcus could tell this wasn’t something you were familiar with in any way yet before you he could say another word you quickly excused yourself and bowed. Marcus watched as you ran out closing the door behind you while one of the women from the bed stood up and came up behind him.
“Aren’t you going to join us?” His attention elsewhere.
“Not tonight” his response taking them by surprise.
“Seek another” the women knew they couldn’t argue. Quickly grabbing their clothes they ran out of the room unaware of where to go.
Standing in the kitchen with Miriam you watched as the women whom were just naked in the Generals room came running down the hall and out the front door.
“That’s a first” she uttered under her breath when Marcus appeared at the door.
“General Marcus” Miriam quickly stood up straight nudging you with her elbow. With your chin up beside her you stood still as he walked towards the both of you, stopping right before you.
“May I have a moment alone with my dear new servant?” He looked at Miriam whom seemed rather shocked by his request but quickly she obliged and left the room.
“Is there anything I can do for you?” You asked anxiously. His eyes squinted as he stared down at you, a smirk slowly appearing on his lips.
“Did you want to join us?”
Your eyes widened by his question.
“I beg your pardon?!”
“I saw you looking-“
“And I-I apologize for that. I will never do that again, it was a mistake and-“
“You were curious” he sounded amused.
“No” you attempted to defend yourself but you didn’t even sound convincing to yourself. Marcus took another step closer, his body an inch away from touching yours.
“Tell me..” he slowly tilted your face up to him.
“Are you married?”
“Widow” you whispered.
“Ah…I take you haven’t been touched in some time then”
“Excuse me” you moved your face away from his hand.
“I’m sorry, I just can’t help but notice when a woman is lacking physical touch-“
“I am not” you lied. God, it was like he could see through you.
“Is that so?” His large hand took hold of your face again as you looked up at him. Your lips moved but you didn’t make a sound, yet you didn’t have to. Marcus smiled and slowly brushed his thumb along your bottom lip. Never had you experienced this in any other place as a servant, it wasn’t suppose to happen. You would be lying if you said you weren’t feeling a tingly sensation in between your thighs, a form of excitement you hadn’t felt in years and you couldn’t control it.
“Would you like me to make you cum?” His question snapping you out of your trance. You instantly took a step back and gasped.
“Excuse me- what do you think I’m here for?”
“To serve me, yet here I am asking to serve you” you shook your head in confusion. Confused that he spoke to you like if you were a mistress, more confused that part of you wanted to say yes.
“I have to go” you panted before running off to your bedroom not caring about any rules when leaving his presence. General Marcus was left with amusement and didn’t say a word.
The next day you woke up thinking over and over what Marcus had said to you the night before. You found yourself having a dream of him that you didn’t expect to have, a dream that left you…aroused. Why the hell were you so turned on by this man? This wasn’t like you in any way.
Meeting Miriam in the kitchen she looked over at you curiously as you prepped for the day.
“Good morning”
“Morning” you uttered softly.
“What happened last night?” She asked distracting you.
“Nothing, why?”
“I didn’t see you again after General Marcus spoke to you and he has specifically requested for you to prep his bath after he’s finished training in the evening”
“Isn’t it suppose to be you today?”
“Mhm” she nodded.
“Just don’t say too much, don’t look him in the eyes and make sure you always address him as the General” she whispered unaware that Marcus had already strictly approved you calling him by his first name.
“Yes, thank you” you whispered with a nod as you began your duties.
As the day went on you couldn’t stop thinking about the night before, you couldn’t stop thinking about what he could possibly want later on that evening. The thought of facing him made your heart race, were you suppose to act as if he hadn’t asked you such a vulgar direct question?
That evening you decided to get a head start and have his room prepped trying to find a way to avoid seeing him.
Of course, that didn’t work.
Humming to yourself you placed his freshly clean clothes on the bed as he walked in the room silently. Slowly walking towards you he waited until he was just a foot behind you and cleared his throat. With a loud gasp you jumped with your hand on your chest.
“Marcus!” You turned to him not expecting him to have been in the room let alone so close. He chuckled with his hands behind his back, moving closer, towering over you.
“Did I frighten you, my dear?” Your eyes tracing over his armor he wore ready to train.
“N-no…I just…I wasn’t expecting you just yet”
His tongue sliding slowly between his teeth as he looked down at you analyzing your every feature, taking in your every breath.
“Marcus…I believe there was a misunderstanding last night”
“Is that what you think?” He bit his bottom lip with a smirk.
“I am simply your servant, no more than that.”
You spoke hesitantly taking a step back.
“Then answer me this question” you took a deep breath wondering what his question would be.
“Did you feel something…between your legs when I spoke to you last night?” He moved closer, his question making it hard to catch your breath.
“Did you feel an ache to be touched..” his words somehow once again making that very same feeling form.
“Stop it” you whispered practically rolling your eyes back.
“I haven’t even begun” his lips brushed against your temple, searching for yours when he suddenly grabbed your face and kissed you. In shock you whimpered unable to push him away. Once he pulled away he left you gasping for air, a look of confusion as your heart raced.
“What are you doing?!”
He pulled you against him as you placed your hands on his chest attempting to push him away. The more he touched you the weaker you felt, he knew you wanted him just as much. But you couldn’t let this happen, the only man to ever kiss you and touch you was your husband. For seven years since he died, you had never wanted another. This wasn’t right to want this, let alone with a man who only wanted to use you. Once again you attempted to push him away but his hold was much stronger.
“I will not be one of your whores!” You yelled when he reached behind you and grabbed a chunk of your hair, with a hard tug he made you gasp. He didn’t say a word, forcing you to look up at him you felt his hand slowly make its way beneath your dress.
“What are you doing?!” You whispered as he parted your legs with his foot.
“I’m gonna make you cum-“
“No” your hands attempting to reach for his but he tugged at your hair harder making you scream. His hand brushing along your inner thighs until he slid his fingers beneath the fabric that covered your womanhood. His eyes focused deeply on yours as they widened feeling his finger slide between your folds. He moaned deeply once he felt how aroused you already were.
“Marcus..please-“
“Shhh” he slowly began to move his finger in a circular motion on your clit watching as you became hooked on the feeling he was giving you. A soft moan escaping your lips before you once again attempted to push his hand away but again he yanked at your hair making you whimper. Moving his hand faster he felt your legs grow weaker, his legs holding yours against the wall as you began to pant uncontrollably.
“Marcus wait-“ your hands now grabbing onto him as he stared down at you serious waiting for you to explode. He didn’t say a word, he didn’t have to, he breathed heavily moving his hand as fast as he could when your legs suddenly bent and gave out. A feeling you never thought you would feel again taking over your entire core, you moaned loudly as Marcus held you balanced between him and the wall.
“Oh my-“ your legs shaking not allowing you to stand straight as the electric waves of pleasure ran through your body down to your toes. Attempting to catch your breath Marcus unexpectedly picked you up and sat you on the near by windowsill immediately removing his armor.
“Wait, we’re not suppose to-“ aggressively he grabbed you by your legs and pulled you towards him.
“Marcus!” You gasped just as you felt him plunge into you. Both of his hands dug into your hair as he gritted his teeth and continued to slam himself into you. Locking eyes with you he made you take all of him deeply. You couldn’t speak, your mouth open as your body felt something it hadn’t felt in years.
But it was different.
Why did it feel so intense?
“Fuck!” Sweat beginning to form on his brow and the center of his chest, you found yourself wrapping your arms around him pulling him closer. His hands moving down your waist pulling your body to the edge as he kissed you erotically, you were about to cum again and he could feel it.
“You’re gonna cum again aren’t you?” He whispered roughly out of breath.
“Oh-oh-“ he grabbed your face watching as your eyes rolled back, your hips jerking against him as you felt as if your body was floating. You cried out in pleasure as he waited for it to move throughout your entire body before he’d let himself cum. And when he did he made sure he spilled every drop of himself inside you, with a groan he pushed your body against the window and held himself in place.
Out of breath you could feel him throbbing inside you, you hadn’t expected him to release himself in you yet you didn’t say a word at first.
Marcus slowly pulled himself as he grabbed a towel and dried his face. Slowly letting yourself down to your feet you grabbed onto the wall feeling how your legs felt like jello. Fixing your dress you watched as he wrapped a towel around his waist silently before you found the courage to speak.
“You…you finished inside me” your words making him look up at you.
“Of course I did” you looked down slightly disappointed making him slowly walk to you and tilt your face up to him.
“You didn’t like that?”
“No- I mean yes- I mean no- I…look I’ve only had sex with my husband, I’m not used to this. I never had children-“
“Are you afraid to be with child?”
Silently you swallowed nervously unsure how to answer his question, it was something you never thought of.
“We shouldn’t have done this” you whispered.
“May I be excused” Marcus stared down at you silently noticing the tears you held back, a hint of guilt forming in his chest. Without saying a word he moved aside motioning with his arm for you to pass and you quickly did…
#pedro pascal#general marcus acacius#gladiator 2#marcus acacius fan fiction#marcus acacius x female reader#marcus acacius x you#marcus acacius x reader#gladiator 2 fanfiction
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I’ve been plotting out a story that is either horror or comedy depending on which half of the main romance you’re following.
On one side, you have Shiloh, a profoundly awkward and unlucky young peasant woman. Considered too tall and ‘mannish’ to serve the lord’s beauty-obsessed daughter, she instead spent her teen years working for the groundskeeper. This was, of course, until she turned out to have a magical talent! Of changing the colors of things, and nothing else. However, given the price of dyes, stained glass, gemstones she can replicate with quartz, decorative stonework, paints that don’t have poison in them…. Well, that’s a good talent!
The lord of the house cheerfully sells her off to the capital to work for the royal family. Dressed a little better but deeply in over her head, her life becomes a comedy of errors where she never notices how many girls around her actually prefer a sincere butch girl with rough hands.
On the other hand is Colette, a beautiful maid working for the daughter of the original lord. She was extremely shy when she was young, and often bullied by her mistress. She often snuck out of the manor to get away from the mistreatment, where she would spend time with Shiloh, who was friendly and kind to her.
Shiloh being sold to the capital started with an incident where she used her magic to make Colette beautiful purple hair ribbons for her birthday. The lord’s daughter accused her of stealing them and was going to have her beaten, before Shiloh came forward to prove her story, exposing her magic.
Colette… does not handle it well.
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Salome!
"La Belle Dame sans Mercy" ("The Beautiful Lady Without Mercy") - A ballad by John Keats
"The poem is about a fairy who condemns a knight to an unpleasant fate after she seduces him with her eyes and singing." please
This screams Knight!König x Fairy!Reader to me.
I just know König would gladly die by the hand of such an ethereal being.
"She looked at me as she did love, and made a sweet moan."
"And sure in language strange she said—'I love thee true.'"
That’s it. Thank you.
I swear this artwork kills me everytime I see it....
Ok this became the silliest fairytale ever 🩷✨️
CW: Historical AU blending with mythical/supernatural AU. König being a dreamy mess of a knight who doesn't fit in "normal" society. Reader is part of faefolk. Heavy Arthurian Romance vibes.
König returns to the castle one day. The son of a great liege lord, a warrior through and through, but some people say he should’ve been a poet: so dreamily he looks beyond the battlements at times, sighs after drinking too much wine, stares off into dark corners of the room while tending to his sword and armour as if he can see little pixies dancing there.
His siblings sometimes hit him on the back of his head, or wave a hand over his eyes when he’s about to slip into the fairy world, a forgotten plane that is not supposed to reach the castle. But the castle stones were taken from the moors and the woods, the old land not bending to the priest’s will no matter how many crosses they brought here. Fragile souls are wanton prey for the elves and the fairies who would take them to their land the moment they drop down their guard, and only prayer and fasting hold them at bay. In the fairylands, there is no toil or sorrow; the food is golden honey and wine, the dance and love everlasting, and the fae girls more beautiful than any human maid.
It sounded too good to be true, and it was: God had created men to work and women to give birth, and all the land was theirs to use and cultivate, it was not made to simply run and frolic upon. Some say that these were just old tales and that Christ would banish these creatures away, turn the land to yielding crops and tame firewood.
But some still believed.
When he was a child, the mighty son of the feared lord took porridge and almonds to the woods. “For the fairy people,” he said with bright, trusting eyes. Stole food from under the mistress’s nose, and no one ever dared to say anything about it.
But when this nonsense carried on to adulthood, people had to intervene. There was work to be done, war, harvest and building, and no matter how many coins this man paid to the visiting bards, it would never turn their stories true.
His arm was strong and his strike was true, but his head seemed to be filled with dandelion wine, even when he hadn’t been drinking. Sighed after this maiden or that, wished to travel to foreign lands, courted every nobleman’s daughter who visited the castle, but no one ever took him seriously.
This man had to watch how lady after lady chose some other valiant knight as their husband, some men whose heads were not filled with fairytales and dreams. They did flirt with him, for who could’ve resisted the temptation of making this giant a little sweaty under all that armor? Armor that demanded plate for two people, and a smith who had the talent to forge such a beastly thing.
Nevertheless, he was always left without a warm embrace, and so he was usually found outside, looking at the full moon or spending time in taverns, choosing the company of thieves and rascals over his serious kin.
And now he has returned from the woods, having been gone for months.
People thought he had finally left to fight for some other lord, posing as a simple footsoldier, a disguise that would relieve him of his tedious duties as a knight. Or to court some “lovely peasant girl” he always talked about – such talks were usually crushed by his father, demanding him to be sensible for once in his life.
But he doesn’t prattle about peasant girls now, nor does he ramble about screaming ships at the bottom of the sea. He doesn’t hold a speech about forgotten stone circles in the forest, the ones that already grow moss. No, he has finally lost it completely.
His eyes are wild, as is his hair; his armour is nowhere to be seen, and his sword is without its sheath. He doesn’t talk about what he saw in that forest to anyone, nor is he willing to tell where he has even been these past few moons.
He seems very shaken when he’s told they were worried he wouldn’t make it to the May Day feast, and asks for how long he was gone, drives a hand through dishevelled hair when he hears that he was away for three full months.
“Three months…” he mutters to himself, then leaves to his room, the huge sword dragging against the stone floor as he goes. He has always, always made sure it wouldn’t dull, but now he’s treating it like it’s become a part of him, confused and lost.
He doesn’t eat, hardly speaks after that.
The food tastes like ash, he says, and the ale tastes like bile. But the following evening, when his mother orders someone to pour her poor son some more wine, he looks up helplessly like a child.
“I have to go back,” he says.
A clamour arises, huffed exclaims of “What on earth is he on about” and “Sir, you only just got back!” His father rises from his chair and orders him to stop this nonsense at once. But this time, there is no embarrassed sweep of hand through hair, no red colour that rises on this peculiar knight’s cheeks. His lips only make a thin line before he rises as well and leaves the hall with a weight on his shoulders and dark determination in his stare.
At the stables, a stout Moorland pony and poor stable boy get to witness the drunken bawls of a forlorn knight. The wine sack almost slips from his hands to the dirt as he slumps against the timber of the stall, distorted face coming to rest against a wide, shaky palm.
Luckily, a friend of his knows where to look, and the stable boy sneaks into the shadows, slightly scared of the sorrow of such a big, intimidating man.
But even the companion who always listened to every enthusiastic story since they were kids and ran across the moors, throwing little rocks at his father’s soldiers and laughing when their helmets made a funny clinky sound, can not understand the drunken babble that comes out of König’s mouth this time.
He starts from the middle, which is highly unusual, and talks in strings of sentences that don’t make sense. “She was real, I just know it,” he repeats, over and over again in the middle of confessions about how beautiful she was, how her hair was like the softest spun yarn, her body incredible, naked and wild when she came to him. That her laugh was like the chime of little bells or the sound of the loveliest harp, a song on its own when she walked to him.
She was fascinated with his sword, especially the pommel and the handle interested her, and the curve in the middle of the blade she brushed with her fingers as if it was an entire vale.
He had never seen a woman touch his sword like that… They were never interested in such things, but she was, and she asked him so many questions.
Had he ever felled a tree?
Did he like squirrels?
Were his thighs as hairy as his chest?
She took him down the river, or he followed her; he can’t remember. Her step was so light it didn’t make a sound, and the moss seemed to turn brighter every time her little foot stepped on it. Her hands were tiny too when she wrapped them around his neck, pressed her body against his, and kissed him until there was nothing left of him: no helmet, no sword, nothing but sun and her, her hands and her lips.
Her mouth was still on his when she whispered she didn’t like his armour because it was so hard and rigid and cold, oh, she wondered if there was a man inside there at all.
So of course he showed her.
She giggled at the sight of him, especially his thighs, knelt down on the moss to see how hairy they were.
And would you believe the way she touched him then? It makes him heady even now…
Yes, he took her. But not the way a man takes a woman. She came to straddle him and laughed again, and the things they did together… He can’t even speak about them, but he knows the sun always shined when they rolled on the grass. Her giggles and moans surrounded him, her soft little thighs were stronger than they looked, her breasts so round and soft, so perfect he swore he had gone to heaven.
He bathed in her, with her, all day long. And the nights… You wouldn’t believe the nights: there was song and dance and more giggling women, and also a man dressed all in leaves, so big and thick he first thought he was a tree. An old king, she said, nothing he should worry about. And the wine tasted like summer and honey and gold; it was red, perhaps, but also like sea amber and sun…
She fed him flowers and laughed, caressed his face and said he’s the biggest and hairiest human she had ever seen. She let him lick honey from her fingertips and caressed him with heather and ivy, opened her mouth before feeding him a soft, sweet piece of cake, showing him how he needed to open his mouth as well if he wanted it on his tongue.
She kissed the crumbs from his lips and trailed a finger down his chest, all the way down, until…
Oh, he can’t talk about it.
It was better than he ever even imagined: better than the stories they tell in the taverns. It was like his wedding night, over and over again, it was like he was Lancelot, and she was his Guinevere.
No, no, she was not an enchantress, although everything about her was enchanting... All the stories came alive with her, even the moon was bigger than anywhere he’d ever seen, the deers ran past them while they made love, and the birds sang even at night.
He told her he loved her, but she didn’t know what it meant. When he explained it to her, she looked at him gently, so gently…
He cried from joy then, but she never mocked him. She only said it’s a sign that he’s hers. That he will never forget her. She said he’ll always find her, even when he’s old: she will make him young again. He’s welcome here if he wants: she has so many places to show him.
He thanked all the saints for having found her, Saint George and Saint Mary first, but stopped when her little brows furrowed with sorrow. Her eyes, filled with starlight and love, turned so sad that his heart couldn’t bear it, not for one beat.
The sea is far wilder here: he should come and see the ocean as it was at the dawn of time. The ivy is so strong you can use it to climb the trees and see the whole world from atop the tree, the whole land, covered in forest, such as it was before humans came. There’s no smoke or fire or war: just green everywhere, wild rippling streams and honey bees and berries and fish for everyone who ever feels hungry... They can make love day and night, and she’ll teach him all the songs of old. Humans only remember bits and pieces, but she knows how things really happened, she can tell him everything about heroes, kings and queens.
She said she wanted to sleep, and so he took her from the feast and laid her on the grass… She might’ve sung to him, he can’t remember, but it was like an angel’s caress all over him, somber and sweet before the dreams took him, a dream within a dream.
He slept for ages, it seemed, saw so many dreams, each more beautiful than the last until he woke up and saw that the forest had turned grey.
There was no maiden in his lap, no dance and song in the distance, no scent of flowers and dreams and springs to be found. The sun was up in the sky, but it didn’t paint all the colours with gold or fill the streams with light. The forest was half dead to him, just old, thick trees around him, a green-grey forest floor and a shaggy squirrel who chirped and squeaked at him as if it was his fault that the fae folk were gone.
He searched for her, called for her, but she didn’t answer, and how could she have? He didn’t even know her name. He only knew how lovely she felt, how soft her hair was when it fell to cover him like a veil, how adorable her sighs and tiny little gasps were when he filled her, over and over again.
His armour was nowhere to be found, and his sword was somewhere downstream, half covered with leaves and dirt, rusty and beaten by the wind. It was early spring when he came here; the land was still barren and grey, but now, everything was green. Still, it was not the green he wanted. It was not the green that filled his vision entirely, bright, blooming green that pulsed with lush joy. It was just… earth and grass and dirt.
So you see, he has to go back. He has to find her, whatever it takes. She promised he could always come back… She promised…
He cries once more, head bowed and mighty shoulders trembling from the force of his sorrow, and it is no use to tell him that the fae folk are evil. That they’re from the Devil and only want to make good, decent men like them forget. Forget their duty, their laws, their Christ.
It’s no use to tell him that it is not natural, the place he has seen. No doubt he has been somewhere, but it cannot be anything good… No man can survive on flowers and spring water for three months; they cannot frolic with the faeries for days on end without losing their mind and soul.
And König is already lost; he was lost since he was a child, rambling about how he received flowers, sticks and stones as tokens of the faefolk’s gratitude because he brought them food.
He tries to tell the boy who never grew up, the mightiest man in this kingdom, the dreamiest knight there ever was, that he needs to return to the real world. No fae woman would have him as a husband, they are only after his soul. But surely some human lady would take him into her bed, think about it, for God’s sake, please... He has duties here, people who love him, his father would make him a lord if he only put himself together. What kind of knight would abandon his sword, helmet and armour for the sake of an elf who despises the saints...?
But in the morn, König is gone.
His rusty sword is on the floor, the wooden cross taken off the wall. There lies a honeycomb and a flower on his window, a blossom so sweet it cannot be plucked from any field around here. Too exotic and bright, especially when placed atop the rough, grey stones, it looks like it could never wither from how beautifully it blooms.
The peasants now tell a tale of a man that haunts the woods: a huge giant dressed all in green, donning a leaf cloak of some sort and a beard that grows ivy. But they say he is not evil: he only shows himself to hunters who are about to fall a deer, or children who remember the land with little gifts.
Old men say they saw a green man when they were kids and brought bread and milk to the faeries, they swear to this day they saw a man who greeted them with a smile. And when they looked again, there was nothing but a tree where this giant stook, a young oak, sighing with the wind...
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The vampire stands silently in the doorway of my study.
She waits for my invitation, though she does not require it. She is inside my lair already, comes and goes to do my bidding. I know not why she hesitates, why she watches me work from a distance. Perhaps she plots my downfall?
Many a necromancer has met their end between the jaws of a vampiric servant. The vampire is far craftier than the mindless zombie, the puppet skeleton. The vampire is prideful, scheming- has goals and desires all its own. The autonomy that makes one useful also makes them a threat.
"Come in."
She glides across the room soundlessly, kneels beside my desk chair, head down. Her subservient demeanor is- excessive, she lays it on much too thick. I'm not fool enough to question if it might be sincere, only if it's meant to hide that she's using me or that she simply wants me dead.
"I have quelled the villagers as you asked, my penumbral Mistress."
~Penumbral Mistress~, feh, who falls for such simpering acts?
"Their newly dead are being carted to your mausoleum, and the excavation of their graveyards is back underway. All is as you desire."
Suspicions aside, she does good work. Such uprisings used to set me back weeks, now she settles them in a few nights at most. Whatever she plans, she's useful enough to be worth it.
Besides, I am no neophyte, playing with forces beyond her control. I am a necromancer, and she is undead. The moment she lifts a hand against me will be the moment she is flayed from within, her unbeating heart exposed to the light of the sun for her treachery.
"Excellent," I say. "What do I owe you for your services?"
She deigns to lift her head, to look at me.
"I wish to taste you, my Mistress."
Ugh, vampires, predictable.
"Very well. Open."
I take her chin with one hand as she opens her jaws. My other hand I rest on her cheek, placing my thumb into her open mouth. I swipe it across her teeth, trace it up a sharp fang and press the pad into the needle-tip until it punctures the skin. I pull off the fang and press my now-bloodied thumb into her tongue, holding it to the floor of her mouth.
Through it all she doesn't move an inch. She watches me wide-eyed, unblinking, unbreathing. I am of course warded against the hypnotic gaze of her kind, though- I don't feel her trying to use it. Perhaps she does this to lower my guard, in the hopes that one of these feedings I'll forget, I'll trust her enough not to bother. Perhaps she is so beneath me it doesn't register.
Perhaps she is simply stupid, and doesn't even think to try.
She swallows softly as I hold her there, the tiny amount of blood enough to bring color to her cheeks.
"Enough," I say, removing my thumb from her mouth. The vampire whimpers softly, but I am far too important to be made a meal. "Slake your thirst on some peasant, I have work to do."
She swallows again, her eyes pleading before she casts them back to the stone floor.
"Of course, Mistress."
#spectre writes#vampires#I decided none of my existing vampires are pathetic enough and i need a new one
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Does this orc romance journey mean we might get orc 141 and reader thoughts???
See now I think the way the 141 lures in a nice human woman to fuck would be that not all of them are orcs.
Ghost and Soap are and they are mean looking fuckers. Ghost is covered in battle scars and is just unimaginably huge, Soap is so clearly a warrior with how his hair is shaved at the side with the top braided in a fighter's style.
But Price is a rough yet regal looking human man, the kind that is contracted to act as a guard for nice, noble women. Elven Gaz had thought it would be how they'd find a woman for all of them, that one of these nobles would take Price's eye and they could steal her away. After all he may enjoy how rough his three companions are, but part of him still misses a gentler touch, a more feminine energy to balance it all out.
It is not a noble woman in the end. There is one Price thinks to test, to introduce to his orcs. He doesn't love her, but she certainly is pretty to look at and perhaps the haughty arrogance might please his elf (it would not, Gaz is not much like his kin in taste).
Imagine Soap's surprise when he goes to grab this woman as Price is making a show of fighting off Ghost to see her reaction and he ends up with a knitting needle jammed into his side by her quiet mouse of a ladies maid. He is in love just from that, even as Ghost drags him away so Price can look the conquering hero he is twitterpated entirely, holding the bleeding wound in his side in a lovers caress.
Price pays attention to this maid afterwards having never truly looked her way before. He finds her clever, witty and scrappy as all hell. She is not the delicate beauty of her mistress but he comes to find his heart starts to race at the sight of her anyway. He discovers she grew up the eldest of 10 children to a poor family and that this position was one she clawed her way up to in order to support them as best she could. She makes such a good ladies maid because she can more or less do everything. It's her resourcefulness he falls for, how any task she is given she will find a way to deliver and not expect praise or adulation.
Gaz can't help but be curious when Price talks about her and decides to verify these claims, visiting the family home to find she was truthful. Her younger siblings are fascinated by his ears while her parents try to do their best to be worthy hosts of a visiting elf. They are crude peasants, their hovel small and messy and the food they serve not fit for even the lowest elf. But somehow he cannot help but feel such a pang of warmth from how they treat him like family even though he is only a stranger who was passing by and asked for shelter. He does not need to meet the girl to fall in love with her, he only needs to hear how her family talks about her.
It drives Ghost into a foul mood as the months go on and all his mates can fucking talk about is some useless human girl. He never wanted a woman with them, was rather hoping they'd get over this notion eventually. He means to ruin her, breaking into her room by cover of night and holding her to the bed while he undoes his trousers. He tries to shove himself down her throat and she damn near bites his prick off. Bloody mouthed and scowling she fights her fear and will not submit as he assumed she would so easily. He barks at her about how he will bloody her cunt with his now bloody cock. He does not in the end, only because he falls for her the moment she barks back that she will bite his bloody cock clean off even while he can scent the flood of arousal between her legs from the idea of him taking her. He decides then that he will have this human woman only when she begs for him and he will do whatever he damn well must to make that happen.
#mhairidrabbles#mhairianswers#I just like the idea of this rejected pack of creatures#like any orc or elf would find them deplorable for touching someone of the other race#and even worse they take orders from a human? it is unthinkable to their kin
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When the Princess bumped into an old classmate, a girl who She had cruelly bullied throughout their school years, She promptly informed her that if she and her family didn't agree to become Her slaves, She would have them all arrested and thrown in jail.
The poor girl knew that this was not some idle threat and convinced her family to join her in service to the evil Princess.
Here they are helping Her Highness get ready for a date with Her boyfriend. The girl (The Princess couldn't remember her name!) carefully brushed her new Mistress' hair, while her mother was made to lick the Royal shoes, and her sister's face made an excellent stool.
Not wanting the girl's father to perve on Her as She got ready, he was sent to wash and polish Her collection of priceless cars - a job that would take him several days without a break.
She couldn't wait for Her boyfriend to arrive, so that She could show off Her new possessions. It always turned him on when She was mean to peasants, and She decided that She would make the three women kneel and watch with jealousy, while she rode his huge cock.
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iiiiii want to know Caius' peasant-lover's name so badly (if allowed, im not entitled, just excited), you said that's part of how he and Isolde bonded right?? that is very fascinating to me specifically lol
You're right, anon, Caius and Isolde did find kinship in loving and fumbling peasant women. I also have no issue with sharing some info about Caius' old flame :)
Her name was Emery. She was a servant who worked in the capital when Caius was still a prince. She saved his life, and from then on earned his eternal gratitude. As he tried to repay her, they fell in love. Well, more like he fell in love and she was like "Why tf is this spoiled princeling following me like a puppy," and eventually she fell for him too XD.
They had made plans to marry, but then Caius' cousin died, and suddenly he was the Crown Prince of Taras. He couldn't marry Emery, not after that. He offered to make her his official mistress, but she rejected this offer. He was shattered but accepted her choice and gave her money to start a life outside the capital.
Emery might have been the only woman Caius was both romantically involved with and actually respected. She's also one of the few women he didn't screw over. Ymeric is named after her.
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Women warriors in Chinese history - Part 2
(Part 1)
"However, court confessions, unofficial histories, and local gazetteers do reveal a host of women warriors during the Qing dynasty when patriarchal structures were supposedly most influential. Women in marginal groups were apparently not as observant of mainstream societal gender rules. Daughters and wives of “peasant rebels,” that is, autonomous or bandit stockades, were frequently skilled warriors. Miss Cai 蔡†(Ts’ai) of the Nian (Nien) “army,” for example, “fought better than a man, and she was especially fine on horseback. She was always at the front line, fighting fearlessly despite the large number of government troops.” According to a folktale, she managed to rout an invading government force of several thousand with a hundred men and one cannonball after her husband led most of the Nian off to forage for food.
Related to the female bandits were the women pirates among whom Zheng I Sao 鄭一嫂†(literally, Wife of Zheng I; 1775–1844) is the best researched. “A former prostitute … Cheng [Zheng] I Sao could truly be called the real ‘Dragon Lady’ of the South China Sea.” Consolidating her authority swiftly after the death of her husband, “she was able to win so much support that the pirates openly acclaimed her as the one person capable of holding the confederation together. As its leader she demonstrated her ability to take command by issuing orders, planning military campaigns, and proving that there were profits to be made in piracy. When the time came to dismantle the confederation, it was her negotiating skills above all that allowed her followers to cross the bridge from outlawry to officialdom.”
We know slightly more about some of the women warriors involved in sectarian revolts. Folk stories passed down orally are one of the sources. Tales that proliferated in northern Sichuan on the battle exploits of cult rebels of the White Lotus Religion uprising in Sichuan, Hunan, and Shaanxi beginning in the late eighteenth century glorify several women warriors. The tall and beautiful Big Feet Lan (Lan Dazhu 籃大足) and the smart and skillful Big Feet Xie (Xie Dazhu 謝大足) vanquished a stockade together; the young and attractive Woman He 何氏 could kill within a hundred feet by throwing daggers from horseback. The absence of bound feet in Big Feet Lan and Big Feet Xie suggests their backgrounds were either very poor, unconventional, or non-Han.
Sectarian groups accepted female membership readily, and many of these women trained in the martial arts. Qiu Ersao 邱二嫂†(ca. 1822–53), leader of a Heaven and Earth Society (Tiandihui 天地會) uprising in Guangxi, joined the sect because of poverty and perfected herself in the martial arts. Some women came to the sects with skills. Su Sanniang 蘇三娘, rebel leader of another sect of the Heaven and Earth Society, was the daughter of a martial arts instructor. Such sectarian rebel bands are frequently regarded as bandit groups. A history of the Taiping Revolutionary Movement refers to these two cult leaders as female bandit chiefs before they joined the Taipings.
Male leaders of religious rebellions frequently married women from families skilled in acrobatic, martial, and magic arts. These women tended to be both beautiful and charismatic. Wang Lun 王倫, who rebelled in 1774 in Shandong, had an “adopted daughter in name, mistress in fact,” by the name of Wu Sanniang 烏三娘 who was one of Wang’s most powerful warriors. Originally an itinerant performer highly skilled in boxing, tightrope walking, and acrobatics, she terrified the enemy with spellbinding magic. She brought a dozen associates from her old life to the sect, and they all became fearsome warriors known as “female immortals” (xiannü 仙女); three of them, including Wu Sanniang, lived with Wang Lun as “adopted wives” (ifu 義婦). A tall, white-haired woman at least sixty years old, possibly the mother of one of these acrobat-turned women warriors, wielded one sword with ease and two almost as effortlessly. Dressed in yellow astride a horse, hair loose and flying, she was feared as much for her sorcery as for her military skills. Her presence indicates that some of the women came from female-dominated itinerant performing families. Woman Zhang 張氏and Woman Zhao 趙氏, wives of Lin Zhe 林哲, another leader of the cult, were also known for being able to brandish a pair of broadswords on horseback.
Hong Xuanjiao 洪宣嬌†(mid nineteenth century), also known as Queen Xiao (xiaohou 蕭后), wife of the West King of the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom (taiping tianguo 太平天國), was so stunningly beautiful and impressive in swordsmanship that she mesmerized the entire army during battles. The link between early immortality beliefs and shamanism also suggests that these women warrior “immortals” of sectarian cults may represent surviving relics of the female shamans who occupied high positions during high antiquity.
During the White Lotus Religion rebellion in Sichuan, Hunan, and Shaanxi beginning in 1796, five of the generals were at once leaders and wives of other leaders of the cult. They were Woman Qi née Wang (Qiwangshi 齊王氏; Wang Cong’er 王聰兒), Woman Zhang née Wang (Zhangwangshi 張王氏), Woman Xu née Li (Xulishi 徐李氏), Woman Fan née Zhang (Fanzhangshi 范張氏), and Woman Wang 王†née Li 李 (Wanglishi 王李氏). In the Heavenly Principle Religion (tianlijiao 天理教) rebellion that began in Beijing during 1713, the wife of its leader, Li Wencheng 李文成, led three invasions into the city. There was even a “Female Army” (niangzijun 娘子軍) within the Eight Trigrams (baguajiao 八卦教) uprising in Shandong during the Daoguang 道光† reign (1821–51). The female generals, Cheng Sijie 程四姐†and Yang Wujie 楊五姐, were particularly impressive when they wove among enemy forces in the style of “butterflies flitting among flowers,” wielding broadswords on horseback, their hairpins glittering in the light.
A number of female rebel leaders used religion and magic to buttress their power. Many claimed to be celestials and were leaders of sectarian cults (...). Chen Shuozhen 陳碩貞†(?–653) mobilized a peasants’ uprising by declaring that she had ascended to heaven and become an immortal. Tang Sai’er (ca.1403–20), a head of the White Lotus Religion (bailianjiao 白蓮教), designated herself as a “Buddhist Mother” (fuomu 佛母). The spellbinding old woman warrior in Wang Lun’s Clear Water Religion (qingshuijiao 清水教) sect was known to the rebel community as a reincarnation of the highest White Lotus deity, the Eternal Venerable Mother (wusheng laomu 無生老母). Wang Lun relied on her for performing magic and the rituals for calling on their supreme deity. Woman Wang née Liu (wangliushi 王劉氏), one of the numerous female leaders of the White Lotus Religion revolt, also titled herself the Eternal Venerable Mother. Wang Cong’er (1777–98), originally an itinerant entertainer, became the commander in chief of the rebel army she launched with her husband, a master in the White Lotus Religion.
Indeed, itinerant performers such as Wu Sanniang mentioned above were frequently trained in the martial arts since childhood and must have been skilled at performing magic tricks as well. Lin Hei’er 林黑兒†(?–1900), leader of Red Lanterns (hongdengzhao 紅燈照), the young women’s branch of the Boxer’s Movement (yihetuan 義和團), was also originally an itinerant entertainer (her husband was a boatman). Designating herself the Holy Mother of the Yellow Lotus (huanglian shengmu 黃蓮聖母), she taught her followers the skills of wielding swords and waving fans as well as magic to defeat their enemies. Wang Nangxian 王囊仙†(literally, Goddess Nang, 1778–97), an ethnic minority of the Miao tribe, was worshipped as a goddess by her tribesmen before she led them in revolt against the Chinese government."
Chinese shadow theatre: history, popular religion, and women warriors, Fan Pen Li Chen
#history#women in history#women warriors#warriors#warrior women#china#chinese history#asian history#historyblr#qing dynasty#19 century#18th century#Wang Cong’er#hong xuanjiao#su sanniang#qiu ersao#tang sai'er#asia#Zheng Yi Sao
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Non-Exhaustive List of Soulmate Fics: Merthur
Okay, I'm bored so I'm compiling my favorite soulmate fics. Here's the Merthur edition:
True Love by platonic_boner
Summary:
AU where soulmates can’t lie to each other. (That’s okay, Merlin wasn’t planning to lie to Arthur anyways! Haha.. ha.. ha…)
Don't Know You by platonic_boner
Summary:
Arthur can't wait to meet the voice inside his head.
Sharing is Caring by platonic_boner
Summary:
Arthur hadn't really given his soulmate much thought, until he beat a peasant with a broomstick and every blow hurt like he was hitting himself.
Thousand Times Worse. Or Better? by elirwen
Summary:
Forced by Morgana's nagging, Arthur visits soulbond guidance office. Merlin Emrys is asigned to be his guide. That's where the simple ends and complicated begins.
Deeds by the5leggedCricket
Summary:
Arthur is coming of age, and that means he’s about to get Deeds—marks on his body telling him of his soulmate’s greatest accomplishments. But as he tries to find his soulmate, he also makes some worrying discoveries about the kind of person his soulmate is.
Take Your Pain Away by BlueGrassSax
Summary:
Merlin was young when he came to realise that his soulmate was either really clumsy or lived a chaotic existence. Being able to take on the injuries of your soulmate is just a fact of life, a fact that Merlin happily accepts as he learns the ins and outs of his healing magic. But coming to Camelot has disrupted his long held trust in the Fates, for how can someone as bull-headed and arrogant as the prince wear his mark?
Now I Will Unsettle the Ground Beneath You by nu_breed
Summary:
Merlin's dreams have always fuelled his art, but they've always been abstract and removed from reality. Soon after he meets Gwaine, he starts to see vivid images of a past full of death and magic and love for a King who was ripped from him. Things only escalate further when he spends a weekend in the country with Gwaine and meets his group of friends, which includes aristocrat and It Boy, Arthur Pendragon. Merlin soon realises that no matter how hard you try, one thing is certain, you can't fuck with destiny.
Heart Lines by PeaceHeather
Summary:
Everyone is born with a heart line, a pigmented mark running from the heart down the left arm to the palm, which turns color when the person comes of age, telling them when it is time to seek their soulmate. Red indicates a romantic love, while blue is for platonic "heart-friends", as the minstrels called it. Uther had always told Arthur to ignore his heart line, that it wouldn't matter who his soulmate was; princes did not marry for love, after all. If was lucky, he'd be able to keep her as a mistress, so long as he did not get any children with her. Uther hated magic and would have urged Arthur to ignore the heart line anyway, if he could. Arthur wasn't sure his soulmate was really a woman despite Uther's assumptions. But Arthur's heart line hadn't even come into its full color yet, which meant he hadn't come of age in the eyes of the gods, despite being named crown prince by Uther. So it really didn't matter: whoever his soulmate was, he wasn't yet ready to meet them. Then one day his heart line comes in, and it's neither red nor blue.
the gold of you that can't be seen by Fleetling
Summary:
Arthur grins at him, waves his chubby hand. "Father!" he says, because he knows he should be formal with his father. There is no Pa here, no Dad or Da. There's something shiny on his father's head. He points to it. "What's that?" "Prince Arthur!" hisses the woman holding him, but his father only chuckles. The woman relaxes, just slightly. "It's a crown, my son. One day, you will wear one just like it." Arthur tilts his head, curiously. "What colour is it?" He thinks it's grey, just a shade off of the silver of the swords. It's the same silver-grey as half of the household's shiny jewelry, a not quite true silver. He doesn't think he likes it. "It's gold," says his father. "There's a lot of gold here in Camelot, my son." Arthur nods his head, and labels that silver-ish colour gold in his mind. (Or: in a world where you can't see the colour of your soulmate's eyes until you meet them, Arthur can't see gold, and it makes his life as a prince much more difficult.)
Of All The Planets In All The Galaxies, He Walked Into Mine. by supercalvin
Summary:
On Camelot, the base planet of the Albion Intergalactic Alliance, the people have a unique gift where the name of their soulmate appears on their arm. Finding one’s soulmate could be as easy as taking a shuttle over to the next planet or it could take years for destiny to find its way to their side of the galaxy. Ten years ago, Ambassador Arthur Pendragon found out the name on his arm wasn’t from any known language in the galaxy. He hadn’t had much faith in love ever since.
The Druid Consort by bluevalentine69
Summary:
27-year-old Alpha Prince Arthur has been married off to 16-year-old Druid Prince Merlin to unite their kingdoms. Meeting for the first time at dawn to be handfasted by the customs of Merlin’s druid people - and expected to mate that night by the customs of Arthur's wolf-people - neither prince is best pleased by the situation. Tomorrow they will belong to each other in body and soul. Turns out, married life's not so bad ...
Four Days To Fall In Love. by CupCakezys
Summary:
In a world where everyone has a soulmate (or two or three), Arthur Pendragon knows he is destined to be alone. For Arthur can see his heartstring, could follow it to where his soulmate lived, and that could only mean one thing. His soulmate had magic, and should they ever meet, Arthur would have to kill them.
the world entire by schweet_heart
Summary:
The world is very still, and it occurs to Arthur suddenly how quiet it is. The bells don’t toll for dead manservants, only for princes and kings, but that just makes the clamour of his heart seem louder. “Very well,” he says, pushing himself to his feet. “Then I’m going to have to save him.” Episode 1x13 AU. Nimueh accepts Merlin’s offer to exchange his life for Arthur’s. Arthur does not.
Hear Your Heart Sing (Love, Love, Love) by schweet_heart
Summary:
Merlin used to like the idea of finding The One – until he fell in love with Arthur Pendragon. Now he has a boss he can't date (but can't stop thinking about), a soulmate he can't find (who has terrible taste in music), and a best friend who can't believe he still hasn't got his act together (even though it's seriously not his fault). Sometimes, life is unfairly complicated, even without your soulmate singing painfully catchy tunes in the back of your head.
Dreams Don't Turn To Dust by goodluckgettingtosleep
Summary:
In a world where every person starts dreaming about their soulmate on the day of their 16th birthday, Prince Arthur is expected to be the soulmate of a beautiful princess. But when the big day finally rolls around, it turns out that his true soulmate is as far from a beautiful princess as one could get... a peasant boy with magic.
Let it be you by amithia
Summary:
This is all Gwen's fault. Merlin never wanted a stupid smartphone in the first place. Now, he has a smartphone and a supercilious, posh git bullying him on Whatsapp. He really should block the prat. or The one where Merlin doesn't block the prat and finds out that, maybe, smartphones aren't so bad after all.
Feather and Fang by 0hHeyThereBigBadWolf
Summary:
Everyone knows that magic users have magic dæmons. Creatures of myth and legend. Some appear normal but have hides in unnatural colours. It's a way to pick them out of a crowd, find them, even when they try to hide in plain sight.
The Worst Wizard by bluevalentine69
Summary:
Merlin is the worst wizard in wizarding school: his spells are accident prone and he is generally a walking disaster. When the time comes for his class to summon their familiars for the first time, many of the students summon powerful magical creatures. However, upon Merlin's turn, he summons a very unamused, regular human as a familiar: Arthur. Based on this prompt: https://kinksofcamelot.livejournal.com/1806.html?thread=557070#t557070. Now with original artwork!
Strangled by the Red String of Fate by idlestories
Summary:
“It has its roots in a legend from the east, sire. I believe it’s called the red string of fate.” “Fate?” Arthur said incredulously. “What, is he going to be the one to kill me?” “Getting more likely by the minute,” Merlin supplied. “Shut up, Merlin.” Gaius held up a weary hand. “Legend has it that the string connects people to the person with whom they are most compatible.” There was a beat of silence. “You have got to be kidding me.”
octarine by schweet_heart
Summary:
Merlin isn't Arthur's soulmate, and Arthur isn't Merlin's, yet somehow in spite of themselves they're everything to one another. Which is why, when Arthur finally starts seeing in colour, he isn't willing to let Merlin go without a fight. Written for Merlin_Holidays Fest 2016.
you are my favorite mistake (it can only be fate) by muItifandomjess
Summary:
When Merlin accidentally creates a mental link between himself and Arthur, they discover far more about each other than they could ever have imagined.
#merlin bbc#bbc merlin#merlin emrys#arthur pendragon#merthur#merlin x arthur#merlin/arthur#rec list#soulmate aus#fandom soulmates#browneyes shares fanfic#recs
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Queer Adult SFF Books Bracket: Round 1
Book summaries below:
The Radiant Emperor series (She Who Became the Sun, He Who Drowned the World) by Shelley Parker-Chan
In a famine-stricken village on a dusty yellow plain, two children are given two fates. A boy, greatness. A girl, nothingness…
In 1345, China lies under harsh Mongol rule. For the starving peasants of the Central Plains, greatness is something found only in stories. When the Zhu family’s eighth-born son, Zhu Chongba, is given a fate of greatness, everyone is mystified as to how it will come to pass. The fate of nothingness received by the family’s clever and capable second daughter, on the other hand, is only as expected.
When a bandit attack orphans the two children, though, it is Zhu Chongba who succumbs to despair and dies. Desperate to escape her own fated death, the girl uses her brother’s identity to enter a monastery as a young male novice. There, propelled by her burning desire to survive, Zhu learns she is capable of doing whatever it takes, no matter how callous, to stay hidden from her fate.
After her sanctuary is destroyed for supporting the rebellion against Mongol rule, Zhu takes the chance to claim another future her brother’s abandoned greatness.
Fantasy, historical fiction, alternate history, epic fantasy, series, adult
House of Hunger by Alexis Henderson
WANTED - Bloodmaid of exceptional taste. Must have a keen proclivity for life's finer pleasures. Girls of weak will need not apply. A young woman is drawn into the upper echelons of a society where blood is power, in this dark and enthralling gothic novel from the author of The Year of the Witching. Marion Shaw has been raised in the slums, where want and deprivation is all she knows. Despite longing to leave the city and its miseries, she has no real hope of escape until the day she spots a peculiar listing in the newspaper, seeking a bloodmaid.
Though she knows little about the far north--where wealthy nobles live in luxury and drink the blood of those in their service--Marion applies to the position. In a matter of days, she finds herself the newest bloodmaid at the notorious House of Hunger. There, Marion is swept into a world of dark debauchery--and at the center of it all is her.
Countess Lisavet, who presides over this hedonistic court, is loved and feared in equal measure. She takes a special interest in Marion. Lisavet is magnetic, and Marion is eager to please her new mistress. But when her fellow bloodmaids begin to go missing in the night, Marion is thrust into a vicious game of cat and mouse. She'll need to learn the rules of her new home--and fast--or its halls will soon become her grave.
Horror, fantasy, gothic, secondary world, adult
#polls#queer adult sff#the radiant emperor#shelley parker chan#she who became the sun#house of hunger#alexis henderson#marion shaw#he who drowned the world#radiant emperor#swbts#hwdtw#tre#the radiant emperor duology#radiant emperor duology#books#booklr#lgbtqia#tumblr polls#bookblr#book#lgbt books#queer books#poll#sff#sff books#queer sff#book polls#queer lit#queer literature
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hello everyone! it's been long enough that we can do round two of good videos from me to you, where i list good youtube videos i've watched recently ^_^ there's essays and music and funnies and more beisdes, and the blue ones are ones i especially enjoyed. feel free to drop any recs in my comments and i hope you find something fun!
how feminism turns into fasc*sm
This Broadcast Gave Viewers Clinical PTSD
Our Houses of Lies
that time To Catch A Predator kinda killed a guy.
What is FASCISM?
The Myth of the Great Male Genius Needs to Die.
How to Perform an Exorcism
2021 '시카고' 프레스콜 We Both Reached For the Gun 민경아 최재림
Birds Do Not Sing in Caves
RASPUTIN: The Devil in the Palace
LOLITA: The Worst Masterpiece
Why Lolita is Impossible to Adapt into Film
Cycles of Violence in Sharp Objects
Frankenstein's Lobotomized Mistress: Dissecting the Poor Things Discourse
Why American Psycho is More Relevant Than Ever (And Why Women Love It)
The Mysterious Death No One Can Solve
A Deep Dive into the Horror-filled Production of The Wizard of Oz (1939)
The Scandalous Films of Pre-Code Hollywood
What Happened at Roopkund Lake?
"The Most Mysterious Finds Science Cant Explain"
Unmasking a Killer Serial Arsonist
The Hike That Killed Five Schoolboys
YouTube’s Oldest Horrors
The Story of Seahenge
The Island of WITCHES
The Unending Violence of Vincent van Gogh
Was Merlin a Real Person?
The Philosophy of Robin Hood
bumpin that
Song of Storms on an old-ass organ.
James Baldwin — I'm writing for people, baby (Meeting the man)
Rebuilt Antler Flute
There Are Mountains in the Clouds
phil ochs - the highwayman
EDGAR ALLAN POE: The Most Mysterious Death
Is the Myth of the Genius Director finally dying?
Why Are AI Generated Videos So Terrifying?
Shira Utagai - so faint reflection of you
It really is that damn phone
crime & punishment (animation)
What is Gothic? The Historical and Philosophical Origins of Goth and Gothic Horror
GUESS | animation meme
Going Out of Bounds in Google Street View
phoenix's OBJECTION but gently... (ft. edgeworth's "*hoho*")
Thelonious Monk - Live In Paris 1967
Great, now none of us can watch TV
GENGHIS KHAN: The Peasant Who Conquered the World
Cannibalism & Witchcraft: The True Story of "Hansel and Gretel"
Nero: The Monster of Rome
Sweet Sue - Paul Whiteman and His Orchestra - 1928
Wikipedia's King who Doesn't Exist
Advice for time traveling to medieval Europe (+ qna)
MACHIAVELLI: Be the Wolf Among Sheep
The Search For D. B. Cooper
#good videos from me 2 u#there's a lot of horses (the channel) in this one sorry i discovered him in mid-sept and he's maybe#one of my fav channels ever now#txt
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13 days of witches: Alys Rivers
"She seem’d, at once, some penanced lady elf / Some demon’s mistress, or the demon���s self." — John Keats
Alys Rivers-- the name is heavy with mystique, wedged from the first between honest fact and wild invention. The figure history has carried down to us is more myth than flesh, a shifting, patchwork creature dancing to whatever tune the storyteller plays. Who-- or what-- was she truly? Speculation clings fast to any mention of her, but little truth. By all accounts she should be the picture of insignificance-- a peasant of illegitimate birth, an unassuming servant on the dusty periphery of the world-- and yet for a moment she burns across the record in a flash of scarlet importance. Like her fate, her identity is obscured beyond recall beneath the patina of subterfuge and sensationalism, pitted with the lacunae of time. She is a clouded gem, but one rich and many-faceted; to turn it in the light is to reveal angle upon angle, self upon self. Servant, witch, bastard, victim, wet-nurse, mistress, mother, queen-- light and shadow throw up a stage's worth of characters and destinies, falling in conflicting lines one over the other. Perhaps, perhaps, we say, if we could only look long enough those facets might refract a mote of truth. But we are ever beguiled-- a thousand glimpses give us only more contradictions, more possibilities. And what must she make of us, looking out from beyond the bounds of mortal time? Does she wonder at the attention history has given her-- and gives her still? Does she shake her head at our foolishness? Or does she laugh at us and conjure another lie with which to ornament her legacy?
#13 days of witches#god this one was a pain in the ass#inspired by interluxetumbra's moodboard challenge#moodboard#witch#witch aesthetic#alys rivers#a song of ice and fire#asoiaf#house of the dragon#asoiafedit#hotd#the princess and the queen#image credits:#P. J. Lynch / Agnès Sorel by unknown painter / Laura Petresc / Sleepy Hollow 1999 / Morgan Le Fay by Hannah Flowers /#Madonna of the Pilgrims by Caravaggio / Black Sunday 1960 / kissthemgoodbye.net
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You wish you were here. What are you willing to do to get my address, you peasant. You willing to suck on the fairy mistress stella toes?🧚♀️🔮💧
#beta sissy#humiliated sissy#panty sissy#sissi femboi#sissy caged#sissy ferminization#humili sissi#bootie peach#faggot sissy#feminine sissy#cagedcock#locked in caged#caged foot slave#caged chastity
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