#soon i will be the blacksmithing mutual

[bonewhiteglory]

starting next month I’m gonna be a blacksmith apprentice! :D I am thankfully starting super small - like, hammering very small things that someone else is holding - and I think that’s great. I took one (1) semester of woodshop in middle school, which remains the best class I’ve ever taken, and the main thing I learned from that is that there are so many ways to accidentally maim yourself. Haha. So I’m excite that these specific blacksmiths are keen on safety. They’re all hella nice and welcoming too. SO THAT’S FUN!

[prodkeiji]

so like. rwby volume 9 season finale

[lycheedr3ams]

Death's Angel

Part 6: Escape

royal!fem!reader x executioner!konig

Summary: It's 1554. You're one of the eight daughters of the Austrian royal family, and your parents do everything they can to ensure their kingdom is prosperous and peaceful. No royal court is complete without their hand-picked executioner, one who stands out against the sea of black, faceless bodies that make up the profession. It just so happens that your family's new executioner, one who has made a name for himself far and wide for his skill with the axe, has caught your eye and ruined you for good.

Warnings: MDNI! smut, mutual pining, forbidden love, death (konig is an executioner duh), mean sisters, mentions of medieval-type violence, overbearing parents, konig is brooding and a perv, some predator/prey dynamics, possessive!konig, maybe dark themes bc reader likes seeing him kill people and bc he's a perv?

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 7

IMPORTANT NOTE: the taglist is getting too long for me to manage, so this will be the last post that I will have a taglist for. i appreciate all the support!!! just be sure to check my blog for future updates. if you aren't on the taglist but asked to be here, either i missed you or tumblr won't let me @ you also, we are nearing the end! I think this is gonna have 8 parts. thank you for your support!!!!

.......

series inspired by the art below!

konig's promise of taking you away at any moment you asked him weighed on you for weeks. the more you grew attached to him, the harder it was to hide your relations with him. you couldn't exactly go on proper dates in his cold, dark room in the castle basement. he couldn't take you on picnics, take you on carriage rides, or anything that any normal couple would do. you weren't a normal couple. you were a princess, and he an executioner. you two were never supposed to even speak with one another.

the one thing, the one romantic thing that you could do in his room, was dance with him. konig didn't know how to dance. he only knew the dance of an axe over the chopping block and how to sharpen its edges with stone. he was hesitant at first, but loved how close to you he could be. he was quite clumsy, and he'd frequently step on your toes every now and then. but each time he did it, you smiled.

"it's okay, konig. you'll get the hang of it," you'd say as you smiled up at him sweetly. he would quietly nod and furrow his brow in concentration as he danced with you.

his hand would be so gently laid on your waist, and his large hand on your shoulder grounded you and kept you in the moment. it didn't matter what mean thing your sisters had said to you, or the fact that you couldn't care less about your provincial duties. when you were with konig, when he was touching you, you were there, and that was all you knew.

but his hood always remained on. you asked him, once, if you could see his face, and all he answered with was a quiet "no" and you never broached the subject again.

...

"konig," you said to him after you two had danced and then made love. truly, made love. it was so soft, and he pressed so many kisses on your neck and boobs and back. konig always grew a little soft after you two danced.

"ja, liebe?" he asked as he gently stroked your hair.

"do...do you think we could...leave, soon?" you whispered as you gently balled up your fist.

his hand stopped in your hair for a moment, but he quickly resumed his gentle caresses. he breathed deeply. "it's as i said. say the word, and we go."

"i...i want to go soon, konig. i don't know where. just far from here."

"how soon?" he asked.

"next week," you said before he could even finish his question. this had been on your mind for so long. konig changed you, the night he asked what you would do if you weren't a princess. you'd been fantasizing about having your own cottage with him, being able to garden and tend to your animals everyday while he was a blacksmith, maybe, or a mercenary. the cathedral ceilings and polished dinner plates of your castle no longer appealed to you.

konig kept caressing your hair. "and how far?"

you gulped. "could we...leave the country? just go to a neighboring one. right near the border."

konig thought for a moment. "ja, we can. i know of a village just beyond the mountains. you will like it. i will build a house for you."

you smiled against his bare chest. "i'll build it with you, konig."

he shook his head gently as he squeezed you. "nein. i will build a house for you, by myself."

"if you insist," you said as you pressed a gentle kiss to his chest. "a house for us, konig. us."

konig was silent for a little while. you were growing worried, but he finally replied. "a house for us, meine Engel. i will build a house for us."

"i've already begun to stow away some of my savings," you whispered as if you feared the stone walls had ears. "we will be set for life."

"do not worry about that, Engel," konig said confidently. "i will take care of you."

"i know you will," you said gently. "but you'll be giving up your profession for me. i want to repay you in anyway that i can."

"there is no need for that," he said quietly as he held you closer. "you are worth more to me than all the riches in the world."

your heart fluttered as you closed your eyes and relaxed against him. your cheeks grew warm and you smiled.

"i love you, konig," you whispered as if it were the most normal thing in the world to say. once you processed what you just said, your eyes shot open, but your face stayed glued to his chest so that he couldn't see. you held your breath.

"and I love you, meine schatz," he said as he gently pressed a kiss to your head through his hood. you looked up at him with gleaming eyes, and he lifted his hood up slightly to kiss you.

you made love again that night. the words that had lingered in silence for so long had finally been spoken. he put you in missionary, focused entirely on your face as he filled you so gently yet so fully. his hard, smooth cock dragged slowly along your slick walls, and you moaned into his mouth as he kissed you.

"i will do anything for you, Engel," he rasped into your ear as he filled you. "i will take care of you."

"konig!" you moaned. you looked up at him, cock-drunk and in love. "i'm yours. i'm yours." a few tears escaped your eyes.

you kissed him again, and your fate with him was sealed.

...

a few days had passed since that night. the day you and konig were planning to run away was quickly approaching. you had packed a few things in a spare backpack, including the trinkets he gave you through the course of your relationship. you hid the gold entitled to you interspersed through socks and underwear in your backpack. you looked out the window of your bedroom out over the castle grounds, and felt resolved. you were ready to leave this life behind, and just be. with konig.

you got dressed in your room as normal, and made your way down to the banquet hall for breakfast. but when you reached the banquet hall, you found three of your sisters shouting to your parents. your other sisters sat as still as statues at the dining table. all heads turned towards you as you stepped in.

"what's going on?" you asked nervously.

"you harlot!" one of your sisters exclaimed. your mother and father looked like they had seen a ghost. you looked around, and the room was spinning.

"you've been sleeping with the executioner!" another sister yelled as she held up a black executioner's hood. that was one of konig's gifts to you, and you thought it would be kept it safe in your bedside table.

"you went in my room!?" you yelled.

"guards! get the executioner at once!" your father yelled. time began to move slowly. your sisters were screaming, the guards' metal armor clinked and clacked as they ran down to search for the executioner, your mother hugged you tightly in fear. but all you could think, the one thing that managed to keep you grounded in the ensuing chaos, was konig.

you thrashed out of your mother's embrace and ran faster than you ever had in your life to find him. the guards could run, but not as fast as you in their armor. you ran to the only place he would be at this time in the morning.

you burst through the castle doors and ran, panting, up to konig, who was sharpening his axe in the blacksmith's hut. he looked up at you happily at first, but his expression changed when he saw the tears flowing from your eyes.

"konig! konig! they know! they know!" you yelled as you panted. konig looked over you and saw half a dozen guards running towards him with swords drawn.

you looked up at him, your eyes wet and puffy, your dress wrinkled and heels broken.

"come," he said as he picked you up in one motion. you yelped, but held onto him as he ran towards the stables. the alarm bell was ringing in the castle as all guards now saw the executioner running off carrying a princess towards the only escape. your siblings and parents watched from the great porch with horrified expressions.

"i'm so sorry konig," you cried into his shoulder as he ran.

"shh, shh," he soothed between breaths. "i told you i would take care of you, didn't i?"

you nodded and gently squeezed him. you finally reached the stables, which had been unattended momentarily during the chase, and konig threw you on top of the biggest horse before putting on its bridle and getting on in front of you. there was no time to put on a saddle.

"hold on, Engel!" he yelled before smacking the reins against the horse's neck. you held onto his hard, tree-like torso as he kicked the horse with his heels, and it shot off through the stables. the guards that had made it to the stable doors were swept back as your horse sprinted through.

you looked behind and saw that there were now three mounted guards following you. "konig!"

he spurred the horse on faster, but the main castle grounds gate was already closed. "hold on, this will be bumpy!" konig yelled. he sharply turned the horse around and you flew over the castle grounds as he guided the horse towards the hidden exit behind the grounds, past the gardens. the guards' horses were fast, but no match for the bestial horse konig had chosen.

you buried your face in his back as the wind whipped by you and the ground rolled under your feet like waves. the alarm bells sounded louder over the grounds as panic rose, echoing against the stone walls of the castle, and screaming could be heard from servants out in the fields as you passed.

your horse jumped over the hedge at the edge of the grounds, the guards far behind, and you fled with konig through uncharted wilderness with nothing but the clothes on your backs.

taglist: @kneelingshadowsalome, @plumdreadful, @dumb-dumb-idiot-girl, @elichisstuff, @konig-breedme, @tr4psta, @cutiecusp, @konigsleftkidney, @local-vampire-s1ut, @ihaveaproblematicbrain, @twice360noscope, @madzeesstuff, @crazy-phan-girl13, @babygirl-panda19, @warrior-of-justice, @eluffi, @mooniesthings, @elowynnlane, @zaxlrza, @red-bed-bug, @alexdoesntlikeyou, @helmipss, @11aplacesange11, @rouge-swears, @pasta-m1lk, @ghostinvenus

[forgeofthenine]

Sorry for adding to your pile of requests 😭 quick question: so like how many requests can one person give before it gets annoying 🙈🙈

What do you think of post-game Tav hyping up Dammon’s forge saying it’s the reason they could beat the absolute. OR OR some jealousy HCs but specifically for late Act 2 when Tav sees Dammon lowkey flirt with Karlach/mutual pining shit.

One or the other! IDK I can’t get this man out of my head.

When my requests are open? Absolutely fair game, especially for great requests like this. While I like the idea of the first one, the second prompt gave me more to work with and is similar to an idea I've had in mind since I first made this blog. I hope you enjoy and send in more requests when they open back up :)

When you get jealous of Dammon 'flirting' with Karlach

You'd been travelling with your group for a few months now, all of you growing closer and forming bonds in your own way with each other and the others you've run into

One person you feel you've had quite the connection with is the handsome tiefling blacksmith Dammon

Now you're all here in the shadow cursed lands it's the perfect time to reconnect with the charming man, particularly as you take Karlach and some infernal metal to him

He'd always been friendly with you, smiling and offering discounts on his wares, his calm and confident demeanor drawing you in

Soon you found yourself spending more time with Dammon, joining him for a drink once his work was done for the day or bringing him new materials you found while traversing the wilderness

It didn't take long for you to fall for the tiefling

What you didn't expect was the way he'd look at Karlach, the subtle flirting as he worked on fixing her infernal engine

You could feel your own heart break as the visit went on, even Karlachs endless excitement at being able to touch others didn't cheer you up after she held Dammons hand

However, Karlach was oblivious to the way you excused yourself as soon as you could, ducking out of the forge and leaving to go have space

And you were oblivious to the way Dammon asked Karlach if she knows how he might win you over

What you'd misconstrued as flirting was just a genuine sense of excitement on Dammons part to work with the rare substance again, and his stumbling over words was his failed attempt of trying to avoid flirting

There's no way for you to know that though, as you look out over the water and cuddle with Scratch

Things carry on much like normal from then, other than you avoiding Dammon and Karlachs endless excitement over being able to touch others

It only took a few days for the blacksmith to wonder what's keeping you, though initially he tried to brush it off as you being busy keeping everyone alive, and he must admit he misses you

After a week he left his forge to try and find you, however he found Karlach first and surely she'll know where you are

You come back to your campsite only to see the two speaking, stopping right in your tracks until Karlach waves to you, and you turn heel and leave

Dammon doesn't know what's going on in your mind, but he seems to realise part of what's happening by now, quickly taking chase and calling your name

You eventually find yourself stuck in a dead end, only you and Dammon around as he catches up and tries to catch his breath

It's a hard conversation for him to start, asking why you're avoiding him with the cutest frown on his face

His frown only deepens at any comments you might make about him preferring Karlach

It takes the both of you a short while to work through the miscommunication, neither of you realising the others feelings at first

Once Dammon does reveal his feelings to you, trying to assure you he doesn't want Karlach, it's easier to reveal your own in turn

Once you two resolve things though, it's easy to fall back into your old routine

Except this time it includes you and Dammon sneaking many more kisses when the others aren't looking

[lincolndjarin]

socials, etc. .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ao3 ☆ insta ☆ kofi mdni, my entire blog is 18+ please read all tags and warnings, dddne fics are tagged accordingly follow @lincolndjarinnotifs for fic updates

navigation :

I - series, completed & ongoing

II - one off's

III - drabbles

I - series (in order of release)

Best Kept Secret [ completed series ] .𖥔 ݁ ˖ 195k words

bodyguard!Din Djarin x princess!reader

summary : Married off to a prince on a planet that you hate? New husband doesn't know you, and doesn't want to know you? New husband gifts you a personal Mandalorian body guard as a wedding present? Mandalorian is a wiseass who won't leave you alone? Lucky you.

tags: : enemies to friends to lovers, arranged marriage, forbidden love, smut, angst, canon-typical violence, eventual happy ending

.𖥔 ݁ ˖

Oh Honey [ completed series] .𖥔 ݁ ˖ 56k words

monster!Joel Miller x mortician!reader

summary : you’ve been given a gift. a fresh start in a brand new place, the sleepy little town of Honey, WV. a distant aunt has passed away and left you a little plot of land and her camper, the stars must be aligning for you because the local mortician is looking for an assistant and you’re desperate for the work experience. your new employer even offers to set you up with her brother-in-law! things are looking up, you’ve got a brand new home, a new town, a hot date, (and thanks to a series of bear attacks that started immediately after your arrival) you have more than enough work to keep you busy!

tags: : horror/mystery, angst, monster fucker, soulmates au, graphic descriptions of violence, body horror, gore

.𖥔 ݁ ˖

Every Now and Then [ ongoing series]

Joel Miller x f!reader

summary : Joel Miller destroyed you. He loved you, then he left, leaving you in the New York City, QZ. But he's a good southern gentleman, so of course he didn't leave you without a reminder of the time you spent together. Four years later you're living in Jackson, in a lovely little ranch house. (With your reminder.) The last person you want to see is Joel Miller, unfortunately you've never been particularly lucky.

tags: : angst, toxic relationships, unplanned pregnancy, possessive behavior, healing, extremely complicated relationships

.𖥔 ݁ ˖

Sparrow's Spectacles [ ongoing anthology ]

summary : a series of horror one shots based around different pedro characters. be warned, the dead doves are going to be remarkably inedible. installments will be tagged accordingly, all stories will be 18+ and dddne.

tags: : dead dove do not eat, horror, dub/noncon

.𖥔 ݁ ˖

Venus [ coming soon ]

Din Djarin x cyborg!reader

summary : this may be your only chance to explore the galaxy, even if you aren't fond of the man who's been tasked with protecting you. leaving your chosen family of a crime lord and a master assassin to join a stranger on his run down razor crest. you've been guaranteed safe passage to any planet you can dream of, all you have to do is watch his kid while he's working. it wouldn't be that bad of a gig if it weren't for your arm. and your leg. and your stomach. turns out the man eternally covered in steel loathes the fact that parts of you are made of metal. one ship, one bunk, one green baby, and a man who refuses to see you as anything other than a monster. what could go wrong?

tags: : enemies to lovers, slow burn, the razor crest lives, canon typical violence, eventual smut

II - one off's (in order alphabetically)

A Little Mishap [francisco morales x f!reader]

tags : dead dove do not eat, noncon, bondage

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Bound in Beskar [din djarin x f!reader]

tags : armorer!mando, dom/sub vibes, pwp, blacksmith bondage

.𖥔 ݁ ˖

Constructive Criticisms [javier peña x f!reader]

tags : virginity loss, fluff, mutual masturbation

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the Dragonfly & the Moon [joel miller x f!witch!reader]

tags : ritualistic sex, knife play, blood

.𖥔 ݁ ˖

More & More & More [jack daniels x f!reader]

tags : dead dove do not eat, noncon, bondage

.𖥔 ݁ ˖

My Sister Lives in the Attic [joel miller x f!reader]

tags : grief, angst, child loss

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My Way [oberyn martell x wife!reader]

tags : married fluff, pegging

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Not So Secret Santa [javier peña x f!coworker!reader]

tags : enemies to lovers, semi-public sex, christmas

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Pretty in Pink [joel miller x f!reader]

tags : fluff, breeding kink, lingerie

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Ride Cowgirl! [jack daniels x f!reader]

tags : unprotected sex, bondage

.𖥔 ݁ ˖

Sweet Boy [din djarin x gn!reader]

tags : sub!din, pegging

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the Thing That Gives [ezra x f!reader]

tags : dead dove do not eat, noncon, tentacles

III - drabbles (under 1k words)

sub!din x f!reader

dieter bravo x f!reader

comandante veracruz x f!reader

[helluvaoutlaw]

My Striker's Background

I decided to write my canon divergent Striker's origins. Thank you @keenie-bopper and @ahhvernin (@grandma-susan) for the great help!

Born and raised in the Ring of Wrath, Striker always had a knack for getting what he wanted through less-than-legal means.

Growing up in the seedy underbelly of Hell's society, he quickly learned the art of manipulation and violence.

With a sharp wit and even sharper claws, he carved out a reputation for himself as a cunning and ruthless individual.

He soon honed his skills in stealth, combat, and marksmanship, becoming one of the most feared and sought-after assassins in Hell. Known for his efficiency and discretion, he never fails to deliver on his contracts, no matter how difficult or dangerous they might be.

Despite his cold exterior, Striker possesses a code of honor that he strictly adheres to. He never takes a job without thoroughly vetting the target, ensuring that they deserve their fate in his eyes. This moral ambiguity adds an intriguing layer to his character, as he navigates the murky waters of Hell's criminal underworld.

With his sharp mind and deadly precision, Striker is a force to be reckoned with, feared by every demon. But beneath his tough exterior lies a complex individual, driven by his own motivations and inner demons.

So let's find out how my version of Striker came to be.

Childhood:

In the heart of Wrath's relentless inferno, Striker's childhood unfolded under the watchful eyes of his parents, June and Anvil.

Anvil, a stoic, burly blacksmith of few words, did his best to instill in Striker the virtues of honesty and hard work, while June, with her vibrant, sassy spirit and skillful guitar playing, brought warmth and laughter to their modest home. Despite the harsh environment, Striker cherished his upbringing, admiring his father's integrity and strength more than anything.

His mother taught him how to play guitar.

Their life was humble, but serene, until the tragedy happened:

A flaming twister, much bigger and more dangerous than any other they've ever seen, destroyed their house and small farm.

Only Striker survived, because he wasn't home at that moment, having been around wandering.

He took shelter in a deep cave, and when he got back home, there was nothing but a pile of burnt ruins and what remained of his parents' corpses.

Striker was only seven years old when he lost his beloved parents.

The Mentor from the Desert:

After the tragic loss of his parents, Striker found guidance in Cole, a lone gunslinger wandering the desolate plains of Wrath. With his imposing frame, dark long hair and mustaches, and fiery resolve, Cole became both mentor and father figure to Striker, imparting the skills of a gunslinger and the ethos of a professional hitman. Under Cole's tutelage, Striker became one of the best shooters around.

Unfortunately, Cole was an outlaw and soon the law caught up with him: a pompous rich nobleman accused him of stealing something priceless from him.

In reality, the nobleman was one of Cole's clients, who didn't want to risk him blackmailing him about their deal.

The entire trial in court had been staged, with a corrupted judge and jury, and every proof was fabricated.

They did not listen to Cole trying to explain the truth.

They just hanged him at dawn.

Striker's last night with him was bittersweet, and a sense of hate against the law and its hypocrisy started blossoming in his young mind.

The only things Cole left him, were his hat...his holy guns and rope...and the mariachi band (poor things were out of a job, so they needed someone new to sing about).

Love and Loss:

In the midst of his tumultuous journey, Striker crossed paths with Ember, a spirited bounty huntress whose fiery demeanor mirrored her name. Despite their initial rivalry, a mutual respect blossomed into love, leading to marriage and the birth of their son, Jackson.

However, their happiness was shattered when a royal demon from the house of Ars Goetia, driven by arrogance and a sense of superiority, destroyed their home and claimed the lives of Ember and Jackson.

The Seed of Vengeance:

As the flames of tragedy engulfed his world, Striker's heart hardened with a burning desire for vengeance. Betrayed by those who wielded power without mercy, he embraced his role as a professional hitman with renewed purpose, each bullet and blade a testament to the memory of his fallen loved ones. With every contract fulfilled, Striker sought to bring his special brand of justice to the unjust, his journey fueled by the flames of grief and the resolve to never forget the ones he lost.

(I like imagining his dad being like this, actually...)

@umnokorito

Coming soon: headcanons for my Striker.

[the-possum-writes]

Link x Blacksmith!Reader Headcannons.

❥Character: Link (Legend of Zelda)

❥Tags: mutual pinning, suggestive but not explicit, slight angst, Gn!reader

❥A/n: I know legend of zelda content isn't a regular here (then again, a blonde boy welding a sword is totally in my brand) but I dreamed of this last night and I needed to write it down or I'll go feral.

❥You're a blacksmith who helps him fix his armor (chain mail) and/or other side arms like his grappling hook.

❥Mutual pinning so hard. Like, there's always these glances, these soft touches to the shoulder when explaining what finishing touches you did on his gear, long hugs when he's on his way.

❥But also angsty as hell cause he's the hero of Hyrule, he has all these responsibilities to everyone but there are times where he craves a normal life with you like he had back at his home village.

❥Everytime he comes to you with beaten gear, you're worried about how he managed to succumb such fatal blows that left his armor partially broken, but you're no medical healer to know about injuries. His safety becomes your main drive, making sure everything your make for him is the best quality it can be. And he values you for that, for worrying about him.

❥ But he doesn't want you worrying sick.

❥ Link visits you any window of time he has, if he happens to need to go somewhere that has your shop in range, he'll stop by to let you know he's still breathing. And hey, you could give him a free check up now that he's here.

❥ You're checking the metal plates on his boots one day, so invested in your work that you didn't realize the position you were in, looking up to see you were between Link's legs. You could've apologized for the intrusion, but he lowers his hand to your cheek, slowly raising yourself to your feet alongside his crotch, his navel, his chest, studying the body parts you've helped protect, wanting nothing more than to pepper it with kisses. This becomes more evident when you reach his face, the hand Link had on your cheek was back, lightly caressing your bottom lip.

❥ But both of you contain yourself. It's no easy task, it's like caging one of those wild monsters he fights.

❥ This is meant as a quick visit.

❥ You'll have your chance next time he comes to you, how long will it be? Who knows, it could take 2 weeks or 2 months. Link isn't the kind of person to purposely damage (or risk himself) his stuff just to come see you, so you bid him goodbye with this knowledge. Hoping the memory of him can keep you company til then.

❥ You're more than accepting of this (unbeknownst) cruel fate the goddesses placed on you two. That's why you weren't expecting to find Link outside your home late in the night. Not outside your workshop, but here at your personal doorstep, specifically coming to you.

❥ It's raining like crazy, and you dragged him inside leaving puddles with every step. He's also shivering like mad, needing to undress him and lead him to the fire place, you drape a wool blanket over him before leaving to fetch him some clothes but he stops you by grabbing your wrist.

❥ He's got eyes of a mad man. He's cold, naked and at the brink of hypothermia. But he only has eyes for you, longing and loving.

❥ "I've known you to be very calculating, but this recklessness... It's unacceptable, but it brought you to me. And I fully intend to take advantage of that." let yourself indulge for once, you told yourself. All these years you've focused on him, his gear, his efficiency for the sake of others in Hyrule. But tonight you want him all to yourself.

❥ Link doesn't seem to mind. He wouldn't be here if he did.

❥ You hug him from under the blanket, he's as cold as you'd expect, skin pricked up in goosebumps, but your body warmth soon changed that.

[bug-fics]

Nobility

Pairing: Stable boy! Eddie Munson x Fem! reader

Summery: Eddie was just a mere stable boy who yearned for adventure and a happy ending. Falling in love with a nobleman's daughter was never apart of the plan, nor was stealing her away from the life of luxury she was handed.

AN: This is set up to be a mini series, so depending on how this does ill knock out another part soon. This part is basically all world building, i would have just made it longer to include actual plot but its better this way.

Word count: 5.6k

Living as a stable boy was never a part of Eddie’s life plan. Being the son of a provincial farmer was discouraging enough for the young dreamer, his boyhood was full of work, and no time to be a kid. Generation after generation, the Munson family were victims of the working class. His uncle helped around the quaint farm, helping take care of the small selection of livestock while his father was able to tend to the small plot of land that held an assortment of crops. Farm work wasn't ideal, but at the end of the day, it was honest work. Following his written legacy, Eddie took on the job as a stable boy to provide stability to the small household.

The funds were good, excellent even, seeing as though he worked for the highest noble family in the diminutive village of Hawkins. Nonetheless, while money was generous, Eddie yearned for adventure, and making up stories wasn’t enough for his wandering mind. The young lad was always drawn to fairytales, ones about great wayfarers who got the pleasure of undergoing danger and heroics, and maybe even love if they were fortunate.

But Eddie wasn't a traveler, he's never come close to leaving his small town. The rumors of the edge scared most people from leaving. The woods were filled with trouble, magic, and dangerous beings. Only an idiot would go beyond the edge without proper protection. Hell, Eddie hasn't been to most of the places in his hometown, spending most of his time at the cottage helping around the farm or slaving away in the stables. If he found the time, he would spend his nights at the local pub, his tab growing through the night as he told made-up tales to the locals. Against the barmaid’s pleas, Eddie loved to stand on the long tables, shouting theatrics and acting out sword fights with anyone willing to join in on the fun.

Lucas Sinclair, the baker's son, who had a habit of burning everything he touched was one of the few people who've stuck by Eddie all his life. Mike Wheeler, a sarcastic barkeep who happened to work at the dingy hideout with the rest of his family. The teen did more talking than working, continuously getting told off by his elder sister. Lastly, there was Gareth Emerson, an apprentice for the local blacksmith. His mother was a lovely woman, a lady in waiting who worked alongside Eddie at Cambridge manor. The two had a mutual understanding of life, both families dependent on the only people who seemed to matter in this godforsaken town.

The elders of the village feared the small crowd was supplying the younger residents’ minds with stupidity, a few of them already endeavoring to leave in search of conquest. This never dwindled Eddie’s spirits, in fact, he wished he had the nerve to pull the same stunts, rejecting the cards handed to him for a real taste of freedom.

“I don't know why you won't just leave,” Dustin Henderson was one of Eddie's best friends, he was one of the only people who could keep up with the dramatics that the farmhand lived by. Being one of Eddie’s closest comrades, Dustin also experienced every yearning sigh, every rant of adventure, every sad glance at what could exist in the beyond. “God knows how badly you wish to leave, why force yourself to stick around? Even Wayne has told you to relish in new liberations. Why are you still here?”

“There are things keeping me in this stupid place, I don't know.”

Dustin rolled his eyes at this response, it was no secret that Eddie had eyes for his employer's eldest daughter, “And by things you mean a certain Cambridge who you've barely spoken to, ‘oh Dustin! She looked at me today like really looked at me. Dustin, you won't believe what she said to me today. Her laugh oh her laugh, can you believe I made her laugh’ honestly dude, it's getting kind of embarrassing.”

A deep blush flooded Eddie’s face, I mean yeah he thought you were pretty, and yeah he thought your laugh sounded better than any music he's ever heard. And I mean sure, he thought your eyes were rather fetching, and your hair always looked lovely, and when you wore those tight, tight, riding pants during your lessons near the stables he couldn't help but stare. 

But he didn't have a crush on you, Dustin's right, he's barely even spoken to you. It was an unspoken rule that nobles and the working class don’t clash. Your family was likable, but it was social suicide to even consider having a meaningful conversation with the long-haired man.

Shoving the young boy, Eddie fought with his brain to think of a rebuttal. “Listen, it's complicated. I can't just leave, the only thing that would make me leave is if I absolutely had to. Like a life or death situation, or maybe if I was kidnapped.”

Yeah, Eddie adored the fantasy of adventure, but as much as he would love to run away he had a job, responsibilities, and his uncle to take care of. He couldn't abandon all he loved just because he wanted to experience a rush of a crusade. Getting to watch you from afar was just the thing that made his life bearable. So he sat, drank, yelled, and laughed his nights away and in the morning he would suffer a day of hard work. It was his only option, adventure wasn't written in his cards unless an outside force made him have to run.

“You need to get out of here, we need to get out of here. This village is rotting from the inside out. Please, we could leave now it wouldn't be hard.”

“Dustin, we can't. You know we can't. Not now at least.” It was hard to deny the opportunity. If Eddie was a real adventurer he would agree as soon as Dustin asked. He’d run and gather his things and leave before the sun broke through the dark sky. But he wasn't a real adventurer. He was a coward, he was scared of the edge, he was scared of leaving his family, and he was scared of failing.

The night ended soon enough and the group of friends who littered the bar well past closing hours sluggishly swayed home, attempting to get just a little sleep before their day of work began again. This was the routine that was built.

Drink, sleep, work, repeat.

It was a disappointing loop, everyone was living to die. Money was tight, food was scarce, and no one was happy. Yet, Eddie and his crew seemed to be the only ones longing for an out. The poor grew weaker as the rich gained new opportunities.

Dawn broke in the sky bright and early, the roosters waking Eddie up, the natural alarm clock he needed to get on with his day. Dressing in his work linens, he rushed down the old wooden stairs, nearly tripping down the last few into the small kitchen of his dainty hut. Breakfast consisted of three large eggs from the barn, and a warmed slice of stale bread. It was the breakfast of an adventurer, Eddie liked to tell himself. This allowed him to play into his internal fantasy world when in reality, it was the breakfast of an impoverished rural family who could hardly make ends meet.

Eddie was the main source of income for the Munson household. The Cambridge family was a distinguished name in the village of Hawkins. They were the local emissaries for the kingdom of Demo, the family being the only contact people had with the sovereign when they needed resources. Many pleas went unheard, war was looming over the nation and the king believed he had more important duties than making sure his people survived the famish. The Cambridge family could only do so much.

Victor Cambridge was the head of the house. He was wealthy, awarded many luxuries from his position in the noble ranks. He had no time to help care for his lineage, it was no secret that he neglected his family’s needs, preferring to spend every waking hour he had working hard to keep the village from sinking further into filth than it already was. His wife, Virginia, was a kind woman, a lovely lady who had used to be a commoner in her youth. She spent most of her days in charge of the house staff, handing out workloads to the retinue of workers. She was a simple lady, a devotee to her husband and his love.

The couple had three children. The heir, Henry, was a young boy with the weight of the world on his shoulders. He was expected to fill in his father's position as every son for generations has. The stress already fueled the young boy's rage and internal anguish, with no time for play. He was forced to be a man. 

The youngest daughter, Alice, was a shy sprite of a girl. She was a mere child, easily influenceable, a small little field mouse who was rarely given the opportunity to flourish. She was tenacious and rotten, often using leverage over the staff to get what she asked for, a behavior often demonstrated by her father.

Lastly, there was you. As the family's Eldest daughter, you understood the politics of the town and the detrimental situation of those in the working class. Being a daughter of a nobleman, you were often ignored even when you tried to make your voice heard. Women had no place in the world of war. 

Eddie looked up to you, he’s overheard tales from other staff members of instances where you stood up for those who needed a voice; turning a blind eye when a break lasted too long, indulging the staff in royal gossip, and being one of the few members of the family to treat the staff as human. While you were headstrong, speaking out was still against the rules, and in fear of diminishing the Cambridge name, you slipped into the background most days. However, Eddie would never see you as a simple background character. You were the girl of his dreams, a kind spirit, a work of art.

Eddie knew little to nothing about you, but he was head over heels. A small crush that plagued his thoughts and fueled his existence in a silly fantasy he could indulge in while going about his day. He had a sweet image of you fabricated in his creative mind. You were a delicate flower who’d love him eternally, even if he was a simple man who worked for your family.

He was lucky enough to secure a position under the Cambridge family, many wished to work in such a position, and being in the right place at the right time paid off. Eddie could still remember the day he was offered the job, walking past the luxurious manor just as the old stable boy was thrown to the curb. Rumor states he was stealing jewels from the family and was finally caught. When Victor noticed Eddie standing, watching the commotion go down, he was offered a job. Eddie would have been stupid to turn down the offer, and his small history of working on a farm for his family was enough to give him a confidence boost to accept.

Work was far from glamorous, many hours were spent shoveling horse manure and caring for the horses under the hot sun. However, some days Eddie was granted the opportunity to teach the Cambridge children their riding lessons. The family had a professional instructor to aid in classes but with the impending war, it wasn't rare for her to be called away, handing the torch over to the stableboy.

Teaching the younger children was always a low point of his day, but these instances were some of the only opportunities Eddie had to properly speak with you. Mumbling dumb jokes that forced you to stifle a laugh, listening to you softly rant about your morning, and discussing the duties he was forced to partake in for work. However, his favorite moments were those when he could slip in a small compliment in passing. The flustered look you'd shoot his way always made the risk of getting in trouble worth it.  

‘My lady, have I ever told you that you are the sunlight through a window in which I stand, warmed and welcoming.’

‘Edward, I don't appreciate flattery.’

‘Nonsense. Venus in her shell was never so lovely, and Diana in the forest never so graceful as you’

‘Shut up’ A soft smile graced your face as you made an attempt to shy away from him. The huge grin Eddie presented went unnoticed

His favorite memory was a recent one. A month or so ago the heel of your boot got caught against the stirrup of the saddle. Your shriek rang through his ears, fear in your voice as the ground rushed towards you, but Eddie was quick, as he managed to catch you in his arms. The smell of your floral perfume clouded his mind as you begged him not to drop you. ‘only a fool would drop a girl like you’. The shy expression that graced your face at his words as you let a soft smile slip through the elegant façade was enough to put Eddie in the best spirit for the rest of the day.

Eddie couldn’t help but think you were the prettiest thing he’s ever laid eyes on. Your passing conversation was enough to leave a smile on his face, he’d envision your laughter while he worked, and the gleam in your eyes would help to make time speed by faster. And most of the time Eddie would imagine what it would be like if you were in one of his stories, one where he was the hero who got to fall in love with the princess. But of course, he was just your average stable boy, none of him worthy of a maiden such as a nobleman’s daughter, especially not one as beautiful as yourself.

Today was no different, when Eddie rode in on his less-than-impressive family steed, you were already seated in the lush garden on an expensive blanket, enjoying your breakfast with a book in hand. The food on the cloth were commodities Eddie couldn't even dream of enjoying. Imported fruits, fresh bread still producing a soft steam from the cool morning air, sweet tarts from the king's baker himself, and small sandwiches that would look ridiculous between his calloused fingers. 

The dress that rested against your plush skin was expensive, everything about you and your family was expensive. Your gaze lifted from the crisp pages of your book to glance towards the stable boy as if you felt his lingering gaze taking in every detail of your being.

The breath Eddie was holding was sucked away when you beamed his way with a short wave. Your family was less than kind, a smile like that was rare, but being on the receiving end felt like heaven. You weren't supposed to converse with the commons who littered the grounds of the manor, your siblings had no trouble following that authority, but you were never a stickler for every rule. You were often found gossiping with the gardener, telling stories to the cooks, and being friendly with the cleaners. Eddie was internally grateful when he learned Gareth’s mother worked under your authority, a kind soul, rather than the evil that plagued your family.

That's one of the things Eddie was enamored with. You were beautiful, gorgeous, ethereal even, but your kindness even if rarely directed towards him was admirable. The smile Eddie's way was enough to kick him into gear, sending him straight to the barn with a flush of red gracing his cheeks.

The day was a slow day for the pair, Eddie’s daily chores were already complete and your lessons were cut short due to a small royal emergency. Deciding to make the most of your free time you snuck out around the distant barn to the stables, picnic basket resting in the crook of your elbow as you searched for your favorite boy. Of course, Eddie didn't know you felt that way, you've barely interacted, but he always treated you with such devotion and care without treating you like some princess. It was romantic, even if he was only being friendly.

“Sir Munson, it's awfully warm out today. Care to join me for lunch?”

The sound of your voice was enough to make Eddie jump. This was the most you'd spoken to him in a day, it was rare for your paths to cross. And yet you had put in the effort to seek him out. Your previous attire was replaced with a simple dress, one he’s never seen on someone with such high power. You were wearing a commoner’s dress.

“Oh, I don't think your father or mother would approve of such, don't you think my lady?” The soft words were spoken as Eddie dropped to a small bow, still able to make eye contact. His big puppy eyes stared into your soul as a small smirk graced his lips.

“Maybe I'm done following the rules?”

“All the rules? Lady Y/N, murder is a very serious commitment. Do you wish to be burned at the stake for this outrageous announcement?” A hand was sent to his chest, an exaggerated gasp slipped from his pink lips as he did his best to give you a serious look.

"You know that's not what I mean Sir Munson.”

“Oh no no no, I'm positive I heard you say all the rules. Are you here to convince me to be an accomplice for these heinous crimes you wish to commit? An aristocratic woman like yourself should know better.” As he initially sought to receive, you offer him a soft giggle. It filled Eddie’s mind with sweetness and sunshine.

“Okay, maybe not all the rules. But I think you deserve a lovely meal for all of your hard work, don't you?”

“As you wish.”

With a smile, Eddie swiped his arm in another bow, a silent lead the way hung in the air as he followed you through the wooden gate of the barn, down the grassy hill, towards a huge blooming willow tree. There was a river nearby, adding the soft sound of trickling water to the air. This was a spot many knew well by the staff. It was one of the only places that provided a sense of peace, especially during a hard day of work. The destination was far enough from wandering eyes, but near enough where if called you could rush back to the manor without much worry.

Offering you a soft glance, Eddie took the basket from your arms, opting to be a gentleman, and set out the picnic that you'd brought along. It was the least he could do, you were jeopardizing everything your family stood for by being near him, let alone offering him a small feast for his hard work. Your kindness would be thought about for months, anything you did lived in his mind for ages. A soft conversation lulled between the two of you, today was one of many firsts.

“What's it like working in the stables? I've always wondered what it was like to have a proper job.”

“It's a lot of work if I'm being honest. I've always lived on a farm so caring for horses is nothing new. I think the worst part of the job is the fear of messing up. If I mess up on my farm it's okay, my horses are cheap, if I don't braid their manes or something, everything is fine. But here? Here I feel the impending doom that one mistake will have my head on a spike. Don't get me wrong, your family has never threatened me, but there is always that fear that comes with working. I enjoy it though, it's good money.” Eddie was right, finger sandwiches looked hilarious held between his fingers. “I think you're lucky, god knows I wouldn't wish for a job if I got to live in luxury as you do. Being poor is the only thing the village is known for, a noble like you wouldn't fit in with the working class. Nice dress by the way.”

The silence between you two was deafening. Eddie didn’t mean to overstep, his mouth moving faster than his mind. It was no secret that no matter how kind nobles were to their people, everyone despised the rich. Especially in the villages with high poverty rates. 

However, implying you wanted to play dress up as an impoverished maiden wasn't the way to your heart, even if Eddie didn't mean to be crude. God, here you were providing him with a lunch fit for a king, better than the staff typically get, sitting with him under a gorgeous willow tree, asking him about his life, and he goes and blew it.

“I'm so sor-”

With a soft breathy laugh, you interrupt him, “You're right, wishing to be a commoner is ridiculous. I just hate it here so much you know? It's lonely. And I see all of the staff have a found family of sorts while I'm forced to keep to my bubble. I can't remember the last conversation I had with either of my parents. Nannies can only do so much, I'm tired of being prim and proper. I wish things were different, I think that's why I look up to you. You and everyone else in the town are dealt, pardon my French, shitty cards, and yet I've overheard you in the kitchens, talking about your nights in the tavern and it just makes me smile.” You risk a glance towards Eddie, offering a look of awe. There was no hurt behind your eyes, Eddie had not overstepped like he thought he had. You looked up to him.

All his life Eddie had assumed that a life of money provided enough stability to feel content no matter what problems were thrown your way. Nobles and kings didn’t have to work all day to afford a loaf of bread. They didn’t have to worry about cold winter nights harming a loved one when the temperature dropped too low, they should be happy. Yet, here you stood sharing your sorrows with the stable boy. Loneliness was a burden no one should carry. People always say money can’t buy happiness, and now Eddie had living breathing proof that statement was true.

You looked up to him.

“I’ll tell you what. Pick a day, I’ll risk everything to sneak you into the tavern. You can drink to your heart's content, stand on tables, yell and laugh as loud as you want. You can meet new people, I’ll introduce you to my friends, you can have people in your corner for once. It'll help to give you your freedom, you deserve it.”

“Promise?”

“Promise, I'd do anything for you, my lady.”

The conversation took a lighter turn, hope filling the air. Eddie told you all of the stories his friends have gone tired of listening to. He showed you how to sword fight using branches he ripped from the willow and he was able to make you laugh when he let you win, dropping to the ground in a dramatic defeat. The little bubble under the willow was enough to relish in this newfound fantasy. There were no nobles and commoners. No rich and poor, Just you and Eddie being able to enjoy a newfound friendship.

Eddie could still imagine the shocked look that fell onto your face when he made you laugh so hard that let out an unattractive snort. The action was quite unladylike, something that would get you in trouble within the manor walls, which only fueled the fire, making the pair double over in a fit of laughter once more.

 You told him of your favorite novels, ones quite similar to the stories Eddie loved to tell. You shared the new gossip that flittered throughout the manor recently. He even told you all about the time that he and his friends had gotten so drunk they barfed all over the floor, leaving the poor Wheeler family to care for the rowdy group in their state of intoxication.

The best part was the moment when you begged Eddie to teach you how to climb a tree for the first time. He showed you how to scale the thick branches of the willow tree, before climbing down to help you do the same. A dark blush erupted across his face when he accidentally got a glance up your dress.  In his humble opinion, the memory he will cherish forever was being able to watch you attempt to hang down from a thick branch. Your knees bent, attempting to keep hold while you laughed, begging him to make sure you didn’t fall.

‘Eddie! Please if I fall I'll kill you, I'll do it. I'm gonna die, holy- don't let me fall. Eddie! I’m gonna fall, don't drop me! Please! Please I'm begging’

The shrieking of your words masked by the laughter you slipped out. And as a true gentleman, he gave you the same response he gave you months ago.

‘Relax, only a fool would drop a girl like you.’

The sacred moments were over faster than either of you had hoped, the two of you stood barefoot in the river, splashing water and giggling together. Your hands reach out between you as you grasp tightly onto Eddie's fingertips, eyes disappearing from how wide your smile was. It was the happiest you had felt in a long while until your name was called from a distance. Your disappearance was finally noticed.

Eddie waved you off, offering to clean up so you didn’t get in more trouble for running off than you no doubt were already in. With one last grin, brighter than he's ever been offered before, you ran away leaving Eddie to marvel at the experience he had just lived. Not only did you offer to spend the afternoon with him under the hot sun, but you laughed with him, you talked to him, you showed him a new side of you he's never seen before, and you looked up to him.

He couldn't wait to share this moment with anyone who would listen. A new fantasy to fuel his day of work, one where you fell in love with him, one where you ran away from responsibility and expectations. One where he was your hero, giving you the life you yearned for.

One where it was just you and Eddie.

Being home was never something Eddie enjoyed. It was a reminder of the way the world worked. The doors of the cottage were rotting, mildew sprouted from the walls and the thatch on the roof had microscopic holes that allowed rainwater to dribble in during a storm. It was ugly and smelled awful, but it was home. Dinner had gone and passed, and as Eddie prepped for a night of rest, the thoughts of his afternoon danced through his mind. 

The way you looked at him like he was a person, a friend. It was new. Eddie wasn't stupid, today changed nothing, he was still just a mere stable boy, you would marry a wealthy man, a prince if you were lucky, and rule over a village just like Hawkins. It was written in your cards, just as working to survive was in Eddies.

Sleep was short-lived, Eddie barely drifted off into a slumber before the sound of pebbles hitting his window had awoken him. It wasn't rare for one of his friends to wake him in the middle of the night, the dark was the perfect time to do things that aren't acceptable to do during the day, but tonight Eddie wanted a night of rest. 

Deciding to ignore the sound, he closed his eyes in an attempt to seek the comfort he desired until the sound of something heavier hit his window. It was clear the perpetrator wasn't going to leave without a fight, and Eddie was forced to drag himself out of the straw mattress he called his bed. 

Throwing on a few layers of clothes, enough to hang out if his friends wouldn't take no for an answer, Eddie crept down the stairs, making as little noise as possible. The thought of waking his uncle wasn't something he wished to do.

Opening the door, Eddie came face to face with Dustin, who has a weary smile on his face. Behind him stood the rest of their shared friends. Gareth stared Eddie down with a deep unreadable stare as Mike and Lucas avoided eye contact, like two children being scorned by an angry parent. They all shared a skittish look, one that could only mean trouble. Eddie was used to solving their problems, especially after the many nights the group spent drinking away their sorrows at the hideout.

“What did you do Henderson?” His question was answered by a different voice. Not one he was used to hearing, a soft yet cheerful sound, one he recognized immediately.

“Eddie! Hello, wonderful night isn't it? It seems as though I've been taken for ransom,” There, thrown over the back of a horse, one of your horses, you shot Eddie a wide smile. You were tied by your wrists and ankles, dressed in a long satin slip that was made no doubt for sleep. The look you shot Eddie was one of amusement, as if this was the best thing to ever happen to you. Aggressively rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Eddie did a double take towards where you were draped, just behind a stuffed satchel, no doubt filled with supplies.

“Shush, you're supposed to be a hostage. Really, Eddie, she's been cracking jokes this whole time. I think she's perfect for you. You know, I thought you were crazy. I mean what poor man falls in love with royalty, but now I see why,” The young boy shot Eddie a wide smile before glancing your way.

“I'm sorry, what on earth is going on here? Why Is she tied up? Why are you all here? What the hell is happening?”

“You said you wanted an adventure, now we have one. You're looking at your adventure party!”

“That doesn't mean kidnapping a princess?”

You let out a quip in response even though no one seemed willing to acknowledge you at the moment, ‘for the record, not a princess.’

“You said you would leave this sad excuse for a village if it were life or death… your life is currently on the line. You also said you would leave if you were kidnapped. We kidnapped. This is literally what you asked of me!”

“Dustin, I swear to every higher being... you're insane. I aid if I was kidnapped, not just anyone? This is crazy, you’re all crazy.'' The exasperated look on Eddie's face made you stifle a giggle. In reality, this whole situation should be terrifying, but Eddie was nice. When Dustin appeared in your room that night he had mentioned being a friend of Eddie’s. Your conversation from the afternoon still stuck in your mind, you willingly followed out of the window, only to be tied up.

“Hey, I am doing you a favor, though we need to hurry, time is running out.”

“Time? We need to return her, what are you on about?”

“Well, when we took her we left a note. Well, we didn't really take her, it was easier than I thought. She was very willing when we mentioned your name. Anyways, we left her family a note and they think you, my dear friend, kidnapped her.”

“Me? Henderson I swe-”

“As I said, time is running short, get on her horse, I'll grab one from your barn and we can be on our way. We already have plenty of supplies, food, weapons, first aid, clothes. You don't really have a choice here do you?” The young boy shot Eddie one last smile before jogging towards the farmland behind the cottage.

With a frustrated cry, Eddie took a solemn glance toward his cottage before reflecting on the men standing in front of him. These were his closest friends, and they were jeopardizing everything to give him the one thing he's always yearned for. They were his family, his people. Each one stared back at him with the same look.

‘This is how we get out.’

Call him a fool, but Eddie was handed the perfect opportunity to seek adventure. Granted this wasn't the tale he imagined. He was now the villain, but it was still a chance at freedom. Sighing he hopped on the horse you were draped across. This was it. Eddie wanted an adventure, now he had one. With a final glance towards the three other men that surrounded him, he took a deep breath before commanding the horse to ride towards the dark edge. 

Crossing over the threshold would mean no turning back, they would be fugitives for the rest of their lives. With one final glance towards the world, they once knew the party set off.

This was the only chance of newfound freedom.

[butterfrogmantis]

Archaeologist (Archie) Baines was the firstborn son of Curator and Cartographer Baines, and the older-by-three-years brother of Palaeontologist (Pal) Baines. Their father, Curator, was the owner of a large natural history museum in Yorkshire, England, where the boys grew up with a constant source of artefacts, minerals and bones to observe and learn about. It was through their parents and their childhood at the museum that the boys both discovered a mutual but separate love for history, with Archie wanting to know more about human civilisations and Pal being interested in prehistoric creatures.

Their mother, Cartographer (totally not inspired by king of seas …) had been quite the traveller in her younger days and had become accustomed to making her own maps as she went. Having retired to Yorkshire to raise her sons, she made a habit of creating treasure maps and hiding little things around the yard and in sandboxes to encourage both of her children’s passions as well as her own.

Archie attended a local Yorkshire university to gain his archaeology degree, which is where he meets Miner MacCarrick on campus, who had been pressured into academics by his family despite not wanting to attend. Miner did admit to enjoying digging, something he shared with archaeologists, and the two went from best friends to a relationship. And it was good for a while … their personalities genuinely clicked, they had shared interests, and when Archie got his first overseas assignment to work in the field in Belgium, both his brother and Miner followed. All three ended up enjoying the area so much they looked to stay, eventually moving into a small town village. Here, things start to break down for Miner and Archie. Archie is loving the place, so many cool European artefacts to uncover, so many new people, he’s started an archaeology blog and is going to meetings with others across Europe to discuss their finds. Miner is working bringing coal and metals back for the village and is happy where he is. He approaches Archie with the confession of wanting to start a family. Archie’s like ‘woah buddy I’m way too young for this I can’t be lugging a baby around excavation sites now can I and I’m not mean enough to let you to everything”. Miner puts up with it for a little while but after a couple more years Archie admits he REALLY isn’t sure the two are in the same place in life, despite being totally compatible in every other way. They decide with heavy hearts to break up and pursue their own things.

Miner and Archie continued to be best friends, but Miner went on to date German newcomer Blacksmith Schmidt for a short time before running into the same problem. Miner can’t pick em and that'll come back to haunt Blacksmith when Zinc arrives lmao. After that, Miner dated Canadian born Timber Boyce, the local bear- I mean lumberjack. Who, to his relief, was on the same page as him. The two soon have a daughter, Lapidary MacCarrick, and Miner anoints his bestie Archie as her godfather / fave non-relative uncle. Archie is happy to only babysit every once in a while and is kind of relieved both he and Miner are where they want to be in life.

Pal Baines and Clover Xun, and their daughter Onyx Baines. Unsure if they're gonna get married yet. Also despite being Humanverse, Onyx was probably made with whatever sorcery has been making all the other kids for reasons, dw about it.

Archie meanwhile stuck to carbon dating, something Skelly discovers he shares with his father the first time the Baines’ parents come over to visit their son's new home village. You should be flattered Skelly, they think you’re fascinating after all.

Archie, Pal, Miner and Clover (c) The Smurfs

Curator, Cartographer, Lapidary, Onyx and Skelly are mine

[vivacissimx]

Love doesnt live here has touched me so profoundly that it has been all i breathed for the past few days.

The story is pain, make no mistake, but the beautiful kind, if there is such a thing. Your writing has given this shriveled up jaded woman feelings again. For this, i thank you. I could sing neverending praises of your talent for words 🫶🏻

I loved how there was a planned story about them having a daughter. I feel so strongly for viserra having no one that she could truly call hers, and it’s haunted me throughout. I understand a large part of her growth and healing was her loving herself, but in a world where baelon was blessed in so many ways, i feel viserra got the short stick. (Though such is life, i suppose)

Would you happen to have also planned a spinoff about an alternate universe where viserra marries desmond, and lives happily? I love their relationship, and though it is like denial as a coping mechanism, i feel that our viserra deserves someone who can love her completely.

tysm for reading & for this message! i did (still do) believe that having a daughter would be the perfect culmination of everything viserra and baelon have worked to overcome throughout that fic. not as a reward, if only life worked that way, but as a future they've built together. alas irl life is just so busy rn that i don't have the time to really get into their story again, but i'd love to return to it one day. fingers crossed

desmond manderly is so 😪 i played myself with that man because he was just meant to be viserra's equal, someone she could learn to love alongside, who could help her forgive her own immaturity and learn what a relationship could offer her. what she could offer back. unfortunately i didn't realize how much space would be needed to mourn their relationship, because when people say you never forget your first they might have been onto something!

i haven't a whole spinoff with them being married, but i did write a desmond POV at one time that didn't make it in (just didn't fit, sadly). you can have it if you'd like!

--------------------------

Desmond knows what he likes in a woman.

It's inescapable fact, can be tracked through the faces and frames of every lass he chased in his youth. All there for the world to see, his very own lineage of lovers.

There was the cabin girl first, a Lyseni sailor his own age with roses branded up her arm. A whore kept by her ship’s captain, but she came willingly to Desmond over the moon they spent docked. She cursed loudly in six different tongues whenever he laid with her, and gave him a ribbon out of her hair the day she set sail once more, never to return. (He still has that ribbon, in a box of keepsakes somewhere.)

After her it was more of the same. Rough and tumble. Tavern wenches with wilding blood in them, bloodthirsty bitches who nary spoke sweetly and bit him til they tasted copper. There was a certain blacksmith’s daughter with cracked hands whom he called upon quite often in his seventeenth year, lovely girl who loved to leave him bruised, until his lord and grandsire summoned him to say his attentions had been noticed, and were becoming a nuisance. She married the castle’s cook as a last gesture of his affection, and at times still invited him to her bedroll.

Desmond never accepted of course. 

Two years later, he himself married.

At first, he thought his lady wife would please him well in several aspects, including, to his relief, bedsport. She was wild herself--too wild, he soon found. They were ill-suited even for a lover as generous as he liked to think himself.

For Minerva liked to hold his wrists and ride him as though it was her inside him. She hated his touch on her teats, didn’t even let him see them unless he begged for it. They compromise when they are together for the purpose of childing, his preferences one night, hers the next, but it remains mutually frustrating. He does not stray from her bed, though, takes no whores or mistresses.

The only woman he ever broke his vows with was Princess Viserra. Breaks. He is breaking his vows with Princess Viserra.

How can he explain that to his lady wife? Desmond cannot explain it even to himself. 

Viserra is… nothing he likes. She is beautiful, aye, beautiful as a Valyrian goddess, but also temperamental and haughty and so soft. Desmond cannot be rough with her; she would only scold him, or worse, send him on his way. He gives her no bruises save lovemarks, and only where she allows it. She likes to hold his hand while they make love. Would yelp angrily if he ripped her laces clean in two.

Which is not to say she is not a proficient lover. She is that and more. Fleshy where she should be, shameless in her pleasures. Whether she mounts him or lies beneath, her body moves so erotically it dizzies him. She rarely does it first, but her cunt goes so wet when he speaks words of affection and devotion to her, drowning his good senses away with her grip on his arse urging him deeper. She calls him darling and runs her hands all over his skin, as though it gives her joy just to touch him, and at times she is so inflamed that she enthralls him. Slave to her thighs and mouth and pout, that fucking pout that drives him mad. I need you, please hold me, stay in me, she moans at the end.

Holding him close. Filthy kisses full of spittle and whines that make him hard all over again. Obsessed; obscene.

The truth is this: any man would desire Princess Viserra.

The truth only Desmond knows is this: for the longest time, he didn’t.

Even at eight-and-ten, when he thought of her every time he couldn’t sleep at night, the version of her he imagined was outrageously foul-mouthed and violent. It wasn’t her. It was simple fantasy, and disrespectful at that. 

It was so unrealistic that it wasn’t until his bedding ceremony that he realized there was a problem. Desmond had twisted himself into a self-granted pardon, decided it was merely a matter of his mind being lazy, being bored, that his dreams were no reflection upon his waking hours. The two facets, the Viserra he parleyed with in the day and the Viserra who riled him in the night, were unconnected. It wasn’t her, it was her silver mane tumbling over her lovely shoulders, always causing a stir when she let them be exposed. 

She was the object of his desires yet he did not act on said desires, so what crime?

Desmond absolved himself of wrongdoing for as long as he could, made up lies just so he could touch her skin and repeated them until they felt like truth.

But then she’d smiled so happily when he came to dance with her. But then her soft palm had lain against his bare skin, her silver head sighing beneath his chin. Grasped onto him with the pampered hands of a princess, pressed herself close so that he could keep her safe from the crowd, her who hardly let anyone touch her.

I want you with me day and fucking night, he’d thought viciously, shoved up against the bedchamber doors, his new wife somewhere behind them or perhaps leagues away. I want you to feel how I feel.

She did share his feelings, as it turned out. A part of him had always suspected. Had felt her touches linger. Imagined it on his bare skin.

Viserra is not the sort of woman Desmond likes. She’s too spoiled, too exacting, too refined. She infuriates him, but becomes distraught if he displays annoyance. She refuses to listen to good sense. She vexes him and does not belong in his world and her alliance with Lord Theomore was the biggest miscalculation Desmond had ever had the unfortunate luck to witness. Desmond would do himself many favors by ending their dalliance here and now, walking away as unscathed as he could be by a woman who is fire made flesh…

Cannot, though. Would rather burn alive than sacrifice what little time he has of her, before she finds another man in another castle to care for her as Desmond does.

Viserra is not the sort of woman he likes, but she has never cared to be either. She holds a greater sway over him than mere affection because his she-demon cannot do anything by halves. No, Viserra is not a woman he would say he likes.

Does not hardly need to. For he loves her.

He just... loves her. Could not for the life of him say why.

[allsassnoclass]

hi hazel i'm late but if you're still in a chatty mood, what are your favourite 5sos/mashton headcanons? -taylor

@jbhmalumm omg sorry for the delay! i was unpacking stuff today

headcanons for rpf are fun because our "source material" doesn't provide a lot of detailed character information in the same way that a book or movie would and we're completely fictionalizing them anyway, so you can make basically everything up! so here are a few little tidbits, some of them more inspired by the actual boys than others

When on tour, Ashton loves going out to explore! He's gained a new appreciation for seeing the world after the pandemic locked everything down, and he tries to stop somewhere in every city they visit. Often, this is something as simple as going to breakfast with the boys and the crew. Michael, on the other hand, usually doesn't come with because he is the band homebody. He loves travelling too, but tour was a bigger adjustment for him and he needs time to be alone and chill. Calum will almost always go adventuring with Ashton, and while Luke does so more often than not, he's also more likely than the other two to stay back on the bus or hotel.

Ashton offers the boys massages whenever any of them have a knot in their muscles, and he's the most knowledgeable about how to take care of their bodies if they push them too far. He encourages all of them to take ice baths, although Luke is the only one who enjoys it

They're all decent cooks at this point, but Calum is amazing at cooking eggs. For some unknown reason, no one's eggs can match his, even though Ashton or Michael are a little bit better at cooking everything else. Luke has a specific type of cookie that he makes that the others love. The recipe is a very closely guarded secret to ensure that no one else learns how to make it better than him.

Michael and Ashton are wonderful at picking up exactly where they left off. The whole band is given how comfortable they are with each other (and how little time they spend apart) but Michael and Ashton might have less text or phone conversations when apart, but be able to pick up mid-conversation as soon as they get back in the room together. They also really enjoy doing two different things while in the same space together.

It's an inside joke that Michael was Ashton's original friend before the other two entered the picture. He uses it to win arguments even if it has absolutely nothing to do with the initial discussion.

my favorite romantic scenario for mashton is a slow and steady build where both of them are aware of it the entire time, but also scared of what could go wrong. both of them think it's just a little crush, then that their friendship and the band is too important to jeopardize and that the mutual attraction will shift to regular friendship, then after a few years they realize that the romantic feelings aren't going away and that they have nothing to worry about. once they're together, they're together. there's never a question of how permanent it is. they go from being friends directly to being life partners.

then because I'm going to the Renaissance Festival tomorrow, here are some ren fest headcanons!

Michael is the one who suggests that they go, because Michael absolutely loves the food and theatrics and fantasy elements.

Luke is the only one who dresses up at first in a simple shirt and trousers combo, but each year his costume gets more elaborate and the others slowly start to add costume pieces to their wardrobes, too

the first year they go, they stop by a hurdy gurdy performance and Calum becomes obsessed. all of them get the last song stuck in their head and hum it while walking around the fest, but calum finds a spotify playlist of hurdy gurdy music as soon as he gets home and saves it

They all spend an inordinate amount of time watching a blacksmith make a sword. Ashton says that he would love to learn something like that and asks the vendor about the blacksmithing process. Michael immediately googles blacksmithing classes near them and looks up how to build a home forge in the garage if Ashton enjoys the first class

Calum's favorite food at the fest is soup in a bread bowl. Ashton loves talking to all of the different vendors about their products. Luke really loves the street characters and pauses to watch as many little performances as possible. When they sit down for official shows, Michael somehow always gets picked for audience participation portions

Michael goes home absolutely sunburnt after every day at the festival. he also usually goes home with the most merch out of any of them, including a sword one year, some intricate maps, various leather pouches, dragon figurines, and other little trinkets, papers, and things collected from street performers

sleepover weekend

[crescentmoons-and-stardust]

Twisted Tales: Charity, the Fourth Sister

Charity and her sisters danced to the music that a woodland nymph played. It was the night of the full moon and Charity was at her happiest. Laughing she spun one of her sisters around and that’s when she spotted it.

Victor, the headless abomination that her sister Mercy had created. It stood among the trees, swaying to the music. Mercy had rejected the creature after it had served its purpose but it remained in the wooded glen. 

Charity felt bad for the thing. They had all helped give it life and had then discarded it like a broken toy. But the thing was alive and surely it could feel and long for companionship? That was how Charity first got the idea.

Sneaking into the village’s morgue was not something Charity looked forward to. Recently a thief had been beheaded and she searched the dark rooms for the discarded head. When she located it, she quickly put it in her bag, trying not to look at what she was doing. 

She did not tell her sisters as she wanted to do this alone. As she approached the wooded glen she wondered if she was doing the right thing. But then she came across the creature. It was alone in the clearing stumbling around in circles. She watched it curiously before it dawned on her that it was trying to dance. She felt an overwhelming compassion for the thing and knew what she was doing was right.

Attaching the head to the body was difficult work but it was worth it when he first opened his eyes.

He looked around in bewilderment, taking in the woods before finally locking eyes with Charity.

“Try and speak,” She told him.

He opened his mouth and made a croaking sound. “Charity?” It whispered. His voice was soft and she was surprised he could identify her.

“Yes, that’s me. Do you remember the name we gave you?”

“Victor,” He said with a smile that almost broke her heart. The thief, now Victor, had been handsome. It was almost enough to distract from the rest of him. But when Charity touched his hand, she felt the hard leather and twisted bones and remembered what he was. Still, she was happy to have given Victor a better life.

Her sisters were shocked when they next saw Victor but they soon welcomed him and the woodland nymphs cared for him when they were gone. Victor liked to dance. He was not very good with it, but his delight and spinning round and round with the sisters was infectious. His favorite dancing partner was Charity though.

Charity was fond of the pathetic Victor but not nearly as fond as she became with the town’s new blacksmith. She had met him by chance and it was mutual attraction at first sight. Soon she was spending as much time as she could at his forge and stealing kisses when she could.

When the next full moon came, Victor could see that his Charity was distracted by something.

“I’ve met someone,” She confined in him. “I think I want to be his wife.”

“Why not be mine?” Victor asked boldly. She laughed in response.

“I can’t be your wife. You are not human.”

“I have a human head now,” He told her. “What else do you need?”

“You do Victor. But you do not have a human heart,” She said as gently as she could. She took his hand and pressed it against her chest. “Feel that? That is what I need from a man and I’m sorry Victor, you do not have one.”

She did not realize what she had set in motion. Victor staggered to the blacksmith’s forge late one night and took from him what he needed. Charity had snuck out that night to meet her blacksmith and when she found his body the scream that left her throat could have woken the dead. There was a hole in his chest where his heart should have been. As she sobbed over his body another came stumbling into view. Victor had blood around his mouth and looked quite pleased with himself.

“What have you done?” She screamed at him. He took her hand and placed it on his chest. She could feel the faint beat of a heart.

“You can be mine now,” He told her sweetly. “I have a heart just like you.”

“You took his heart? You swallowed it whole?” Her sadness turned into a blind rage. “It’s not yours Victor! Give it back!” And she began to claw at his chest. She took the heart from between the twisted bones but did not stop there. She tore at Victor, ripping him apart piece by piece. If it hurt him she did not know, but he pleaded with her to stop.

“Charity please, I love you, I love you.”

But she didn’t, and soon there were two bodies lying on the forge’s floor. The thief's head she took and threw down the well and the heart she placed lovingly back into her blacksmith’s body but it beat no more.

Charity did not speak of the blacksmith again and her sisters knew better than to ask her what had happened to Victor. 

But some of the villagers say if you stand near the well, you may hear a faint voice coming from the depths below. A sad voice, that pleads and if you listen very well, you may hear it say, “Charity.”

[admelioraii]

Al Andalus III: One of the world's greatest civilizations; The downfall and end, Part 2.

Previous parts:

Al Andalus I: The dawn of one of the world’s greatest civilizations.

Al Andalus II: One of the world’s greatest civilizations; Times of Glory, Part 1.

Al Andalus II: One of the world’s greatest civilizations; Times of Glory, Part 2.

Al Andalus III: One of the world’s greatest civilizations; The Downfall and end, Part 1.

Alhambra, Granada

II. The Nasaries.

The Nasaries.

The country was , as we said before, divided into 7 autonomies, which were; Seville (native Spanish Muslims), Granada (Berber), Córdoba (Arabs, beno Jahwar), Toledo (Berber), Valencia and the east of al Andalus (Arabs, Yemen ), Zaragoza (beni Hud ), Badajos (Berber).

The Nasaries soon realised that to assure their survival they needed a safe stronghold that could keep enemies out. Soon they found the perfect spot with the Sierra Nevada (mountains) on one side and a steep cliff on the other. Extremely difficult for enemies to reach! Here they built a hilltop fortress, with time every ruler came to contribute by building his part of the fortress until “Alhambra” became a palace complex with gardens, palaces, stables, etc.

Alhambra comes from Arabic and means “the red one” . The reason behind the name could be one of two or maybe both, as the earth where Alhambra stands is red, consequently the building itself has a reddish colour. The other reason is that the Berber tribe that ruled from Alhambra was called “al Ahmar”(meaning red in Arabic). The elevation of the palace complex is 738 meters above sea level and the total area is 88.02 km. The name Granada derives from Arabic “Karnata” or “Gharnatah” meaning “hill off strangers”.

Granada, Spain

Muhammad Yusef al Ahmar I.

When Muhammad I and the Nasaries arrived at the Sabina hill, there was already an old settlement there called Elibyrge, from the 5th century b.C.

Another reason this place was chosen was the confluence of four rivers the Darro, the Genil, the Monachil and the Beiro. Thus water in abundance! Alhamra is influenced by Almohad building style. Muhammad the first never saw his palace completed as he died before its finalazation, however his son Muhammad II concluded the construction.

In Muhammad I part of alhamra there are three towers; The broken tower, the Keep and the Watch tower. The Watchtower was used for receiving “mirror signals'' from nearby hills and mountains as an early warning if danger was approaching.

Yusef I.

The part of the palace complexes built by Yusef I is called “ the palace of Comares”. It is without any doubt the most beautiful part of alhamra, it was built to intimidate!

Here is where Yusef would receive Christian emissaries in the hall of ambassadors. What Yusef lacked in military strength he made up for it here intimidating, giving an impression of power.

Yusef's great architectural achievements came to an abrupt end when in October 1354 he was assassinated during his morning prayer, he was only 33 years old.

Court of the lions

Muhammad V.

Later on in the history of the Nasarids, Muhammad V constructed several amazing parts of al hamra but he is most famous for the “patio of the lions”.

He was extremely interested in architecture, as was his christian counterpart; Pedro I.

They had architectural competitions amongst themselves, they were best friends and as long as Pedro I was in power, the Nasarids had nothing to fear.

Nasaries summary:

One important reason the Nasaries cling to power for so long, was their ability to constantly come up with new and fresh strategies as alternatives to military power.

Their creativity reached from secret early warnings by mirror signals, intimidating and giving a false impression of power, to befriending the enemy and sharing their interests.

There were other strategies, not mentioned yet; were diplomatic strategies, confusing the enemies by giving the wrong impression, and possession of information etc.

A new country had emerged in Morocco called Beni Marine. They offered support to Granada in many different ways; military and economic support. This support was essential and prolonged their reign in Granada significantly.

But regrettably, Muhammad VI saw the fall of Alhambra and with it the collapse of the last refuge of the Moorish power in Spain.

The Castilla and Leóns conjugal duo; Isabella and Fernando, had claimed the entire country, and now we enter the aftermath of the fall of al andalus.

Alhambra, Spain

Times of Terror

With the christian advances the Muslims were gradually forced to the south of the country, eventually ending up in Granada. The Christians gave two choices to the Muslims and the Jews in their newly claimed territories, to be killed, or to be exiled. The Nasaries had made many agreements with the Christians, however, each time, the Christians broke their promises and agreements.

At one point, Beni Marine and Beni Ahmar merged their armies, and claimed back a few cities, such as Seville. Unfortunately, these advancements quickly came to an abrupt halt. It was not all futile however, as Yousef Beni Marine took back, and in turn, preserved many of the books in Córdoba, which can be found in a library in Morocco till this day.

The 2nd of February 1492, however, Granada capitulated. Shortly after, the Jews and the Muslims that originated from other countries were exiled; after 800 years they were now considered strangers in their own countries. Many Berber families that returned to Morocco, still have the keys to their forefathers' houses in al Andalus till this day. Their properties and wealth were taken from them.

Alhambra, Granada

The fate of the Moriscos

During the 801 years of Muslim rule, an enormous amount of native Christians had converted to Islam. Their fate was even darker, they were now called “moriscos”; a kind of second degree citizens. As they had nowhere else to go, exile was not an option, leaving them with only death.

A secret police force was set up, similar to Hitlers Gestapo. Their function was to secretly search for any Spanish people that were morisco. The people that were discovered were tortured to death.

They were burned, thrown in boiling water/oil alive, hammered with rusted nails, buried alive, or kept in a black cellar until they got blind, or got their tongues cut out.

Years later, when Napoleon’s army occupied Spain, they said that they were appalled to see how the Spaniards had tortured and killed their own people in such a horrifying way.

As the native Spanish Muslims had nowhere to go, they tried to hide from the secret police.

The terror they must have felt, trying to hide from the secret police in an attempt to avoid being discovered, tortured and killed must have been indescribable.

Many of these moriscos changed their names to “blend in” while trying to escape the horror.

Ex. someone called haddad (arabic for blacksmith), would have called himself Herrero (Castillian spanish for blacksmith). If he were in danger again, he would once more change his name to Ferrer (Catalan for blacksmith). Some of the moriscos that succeeded in escaping retribution, would hide their properties, such as books and identifiable items.

Some of these items have been discovered, while reconstructing old buildings in modern times. As was the case of a lady in Toledo a few years back.

Mosque-Cathedral of Córdoba, Spain

Reflection:

The doors of collectivism and mutual respect had now closed. These doors opened with the arrival of the Moorish 801 years ago.

The doors of a multicultural society with tolerance and acceptance of others. 801 years later, these doors were closed perpetually. Left was mono-cultural, mono-ethnic country. With acceptance of only one religion, a country full of fears with all the limitations brought with it.

The new Spain was looking to finance itself by taxes from the inside, and colonization from the outside. Al Andalus was now dead and Spain crippled.

Nasarís of Granada:

Muhammad I: Muhhamad Yusuf al Ahmar I, Died at 80 years old

(1231-1272)

Muhammed II

(1272-1303)

Isma’il I

(1313-1324)

Yusuf I: died at 33 years old

(1333-1354)

Muhammed V

(1354-1390)

Muhammed VI

(???? -1492)

*Inspiration and information taken from; Egyptian historian Ragheb el sergany, from the “instituto de estudios campogibraltareños”, and from professor Juan Vernet.

[guileheroine]

a sky full of song, chapter two

As her friendship with the Princess continues to deepen, a road trip to the Earth Kingdom compels Asami to reflect on her place in the world / Korrasami royalty AU / ao3 / chapter one

Asami exchanged eager glances with Miki and Khiem. Silaq stood by the door with his arms crossed casually, but they were all invested. As soon as the rickety panel separating them from the magic chamber slid aside and Korra emerged out, Miki caught her arm.

Asami caught the other one. "So what did she say?"

"Hey! That's between me and Mistress Meng." Korra winked, while Asami rolled her eyes. "Your turn, quick. She was meant to close fifteen minutes ago but I gave her a little extra so she'd do everyone. At the behest of the princess and all."

Asami almost expected her to wink again as she pushed her through the door. "We'll get dinner and head for the inn afterwards," she heard her say to the others.

Everyone meant the three waiting after Asami, so Korra must have paid the old woman handsomely indeed, and Asami expected to be rushed through the process. Instead she found herself in a smoky little tearoom, at the pointed end of a gaze glittering with curiosity.

"And who are you when the Princess isn't around?"

Asami coughed, eyes smarting in the smoke. "A blacksmith at the palace. One of her companions."

"I see. Married yet?" Mistress Meng posed the question as discreetly as possible, after her eyes had surreptitiously scanned Asami for any telltale glints of yellow gold.

"No, madam. I only wish." Asami bit the inside of her cheek and humoured the woman. This region of the Earth Kingdom was mighty superstitious, and the lady was smart to make a decades-long vocation of it. If Asami could see straight through it... well, Mistress Meng needn't know she was impervious to her airs.

"Very well." Mistress Meng pulled up her voluminous sleeve. "Drink of this vial and place your palm out for me."

Asami swallowed the sweet concoction she was handed and closed her eyes to protect them, while Mistress Meng put a papery hand under hers. She settled comfortably on the cushions, wondering what her fortune would hold.

Already life had taken a turn for the wondrous. They had been on the road for the better part of a week now, though it felt longer. The wedding of the Earth Prince was in another ten days, and Makapu Village here was one of their nightly stops on the great east road that would bring them to Ba Sing Se. Korra had convinced her to come along with her small hand-picked party, rebuffing the Lotus Guard that King Tonraq had offered. In the end, all Asami had to do was rush the final week of her apprentices' training and visit the palace dressmaker in between to have a couple of fancy gowns made—although Korra whispered in her ear, distractingly enough, that the finery was only for Ba Sing Se and they would wander free the rest of the time. So they had, riding down through the great forests of the north, crossing the choppy sea by ship, and camping in the mountains of the northern Earth Kingdom.

"My wisdom for you, dear," Mistress Meng pronounced dramatically, snapping Asami out of her reverie, "is that seeking true love is like asking for the moon…"

Asami's first faintly irritable thought was, that's not a fortune. The second, later that evening, quieter, would be, tell me something new.

"But," Meng drew the word out in a long croak, closing the other hand over Asami's, "it cannot come down from heaven, if you do not find the courage to ask."

Asami made a mental note, because the others would want to hear something as extravagant as that.

-

Early the next morning, they were dallying on the benches in the yard, mulling over whether to take a detour to the lake as they prepared to depart.

"Too cold to swim," said Miki dismissively, chewing on some berries she had brought out from the breakfast table, "even for me. And that one will freeze to death."

She had been chosen by Korra as part of the entourage for being one of the more intrepid and easygoing members of the staff, and they were good friends besides. She tossed a few nuts to Asami, who pulled her hand out from beneath her shawl just in time to catch them.

"You with the reflexes," Miki whistled, satisfied.

On the bench across from Asami, Silaq, bodyguard to the Princess (that was his official capacity), clasped his broad hands together over the map he had laid out. "Well, Mistress Meng did say I need to take some risks today." He winked at Asami, who scrunched her nose teasingly. He was a large and genial man, and had been kind to her since he was first tasked with helping haul her iron to the smithy from the ships that visited Agna Q'ela from the quarries.

"Wait, didn't she say that to everyone?" Korra piped loudly, directing her attention to the table and away from the innkeeper's son on her hip.

"She said that to everyone," Khiem said simultaneously. He had just finished saddling up their packs, and he stood tickling the reinmule's belly for a moment. Khiem took care of the Princess's dogs at home, and the pack animals on the road.

"Anyway, lake," Korra said with finality, and then softened it with a, "We're not in a rush, are we?"

It was settled. It wasn't that Korra was used to having the last word so much as everyone was generally in accord with her decision. Asami pulled the thick shawl around her, enjoying the crisp air. She had missed this—the kind of morning chill that made you shiver in relish rather than fright.

Korra had turned back to the innkeeper's son, who was being introduced to her mare. The child and the white-coated elk horse regarded one another with mutual caution. Asami sympathised with his wariness. It had taken her a while to warm up to the elk horses, who turned restless with cabin fever aboard the ship soon after Asami had first met them. But since then she had taken to the mount Korra and Khiem brought for her, a sable stallion who liked when Asami rested her face in the scoops of his ostentatious antlers.

"A show-off, like you," Korra said later, as they rode abreast, the lake behind them. "That's why I chose him."

Asami scoffed and laughed, not quite dismissively. She tugged the towel from her hair so that the midday sun could dry it. Asami had taken an inadvisable, yet irresistible, dip in the lake; her scream upon contact with the frigid waters had echoed through the forest bounding them, scattering the birds. Korra and Silaq, the resident waterbenders, had dove in without hesitation. It took a little extra effort to warm the waters as they swam, but polar people did it by instinct. Miki the non-bender had fought the cold valiantly, while Khiem abstained, laughing them off from the bank.

"I'm only moved by the spirit of adventure," Asami said, tossing her wet hair to her back.

The others rode a way ahead of them on the current path, a wide trail shrouded on either side by trees twice as tall as any at the north pole, strewn with their needles. The smell of spring came strong from the woods. Summer crept close on their tails.

"I wonder how they're doing back at the shop," Asami mused.

"You're not worried, are you?" Korra said, and before Asami could answer she corrected herself. "No, you're not. You've been having way too much fun this week."

Asami stared at her with a soundless laugh.

"And to think I had to drag you!"

"You didn't drag me! It's just that I was worried. But I didn't realise how much of a break I needed until we left." Over the week, Asami had provided some minor wheelwrighting services to those they met on the road, but for the most part she was blissfully free of strenuous work. Breathing in the clear air beyond the royal forge, she was sensible to sights and sensations she had largely been shut off from for a year, her escapades with Korra notwithstanding.

"Did you always know you wanted to be a blacksmith? I mean, did you choose such a gruelling trade?" Korra said.

"Oh," Asami said, staggering on the question while she caught up to Korra's thinking. "Um, actually, I'm not sure I ever thought about it—maybe I should have, huh? It's just what I was always supposed to do, growing up with my father."

"I know what that's like…" Korra sucked air through her teeth. Then she cocked her head. "For what it's worth, I'm sure there's a lot you'd be great at, if you ever wanted to switch things up."

Asami gave her a humble little mock curtsey, as far as possible on horseback. "And you? Have you wondered who you might be if you weren't the Princess of the North?" That was the title that always went before their company in these parts.

"Ah, not really." Korra sounded recalcitrant, like she didn't want to entertain the trail of thought for fear it might leave her wistful.

It wasn't a mood Asami wanted to encourage. "Well, then let me. First of all, it's quite easy to imagine the improvement on your personality we'd have if you weren't highborn—"

Korra wasn't hard to rile. "You're awful!"

Distraction achieved, Asami backed down. "And luckily, you really aren't," she countered without a beat, smiling her deference. She felt her own eyes soften when Korra returned the smile, disarmed and placated. Then Asami was humbled in sincerity, at the instant enhancement she had made on Korra's mood.

"You'd make a good princess," Korra said. "Better than me."

"No," Asami returned, "that's not true."

Though she meant it, she sounded less convincing to her own ears this time, because she was willing the bittersweetness out of her voice. "Your people love you," she added. "They don't see the slow parts. They see a warrior, passionate and big-hearted. And I know their trust means the world to you, even if you get impatient sometimes."

Some of the levity had dissipated, the air with all its scents was heavy now, and Asami wondered if she had overstepped. "Me," she continued, "I can't talk to someone on the street like I've known them my whole life."

After a long second, Korra said, "You could do the three hour round tables." It wasn't a counter to Asami's statement but a submission; and in responding so, Korra was gently accepting her kindnesses as well.

Asami concurred with a sigh. They would make a good team, then. They did .

The path was widening out now, but so were the trees, prickly branches curving into their way. A pleasant breeze rustled in them, softening the hard sunlight into an ideal haze. They both closed their eyes against it for a while.

"Well," Korra said, snapping off some needles from the branches pushing against her, "enjoy this while it lasts, because we'll probably have to sneak out at night if we want any freedom in Ba Sing Se."

"Uh-huh." Asami eyed her, brow arched. "Could it be that that's why we're taking the long route?"

Korra's eyes crinkled. "It's not a secret, Asami."

"Shh."

Korra threw her clump of twigs and needles at her, and they both laughed.

"You're kind of dreading it, aren't you?" Asami said. "Why… You'll be a great envoy for the tribes regardless of whatever the Earth elite think of us. And the King can't be too concerned if he let the council delegate to you... I mean, how hard can it be to attend a wedding?"

"You know, my mother's hoping it's going to provoke something in me."

"The mission?" Asami shielded her eyes as she gazed ahead to see where the others were. Accustomed to trips with Korra alone, she had forgotten to keep them in account.

"The wedding."

Asami turned back to Korra. "Is that right?" She pouted sympathetically. "She says that all the time. She's hoping everyone you meet with will magically infuse you with dreams of courtship."

"Well, this time, it's my dad, too."

"Oh… "

Korra gave her an exasperated look; Asami laughed, shaking her head.

"I mean, it's a funny thing to tell you when you're literally about to run away."

"That's what I thought! But I guess at least it means he thinks my sense of diplomatic responsibility has improved."

Asami got the impression that it wasn't that much of a bright side to Korra, and it coloured the air strangely again, but then she was startled into distraction. A butterfly had alighted on her nose, appearing from nowhere. It had been a long time indeed since she had seen one. Korra turned sharply at her gasp of delight. Gently, Asami coaxed it to crawl onto her hand, which she held out to Korra.

"These were my favourite! I used to plant flowers just to attract them."

"I see. So was that hard for you? Not being attractive enough for them all on your own?"

It took Asami a moment to understand her meaning, and then she sniggered. The butterfly wove around Korra and her stallion before flying off, and once they had watched it go, she said, "Hey, why are you in such a mood today?" She waited for Korra to return her pointed glance. "Tired of me already?"

Korra shook her head, sweeping her hand through the stallion's fur. "What? I adore you."

They did not look at each other then. Asami's knuckles tightened on the reins while the thrill of the words rose and abated. It was just a second in their familiar repartee, a long and blistering second. Korra fiddled with the bridle on her mount.

"Alright, well, since you're feeling so belligerent, why don't you race me?" Asami shifted on her mount. "We should catch up to the others."

It was for the best, because the farther they traveled from the Water Kingdoms, the keener the sense of possibility became, and the softer and more yielding the boundaries Asami knew, which meant all the more that she couldn't risk prodding them. And since the excitement she felt was for the fresh and familiar landscapes, not just from them, Asami directed her mind to that. Korra's spirits had been high and easy, too, from the advent of their journey—until today, it seemed. It occurred to Asami that Korra had never actually mentioned what Mistress Meng had divined for her.

-

In the town of Tenduk, it had been arranged for Princess Korra to open a new museum. Asami knew that cutting ribbons wasn't one of Korra's favourite activities, as it usually preceded a lot of sitting through—or worse, making—formal speeches. But the palace had arranged it upon request by the town, after the mayor learnt that they would likely be passing through that part of the kingdom when the museum was scheduled to open.

The night before, they arrived at the town's finest guesthouse. It was jam-packed, owing to the impending ceremony, but they offered Korra the final single room. Miki, however, was nursing the final strains of a back injury from a snowshoeing accident in the winter, and Korra insisted she take it with its softer bed. It left her to accompany Asami in the shared room. When they sat on the plentiful cushions over a nightcap of strong tea, they agreed it recalled Korra's apartments at home. Except the night outside was darker than it ever got with snow and ice around, and beyond was a foreign land that held them to no account, far from any castle, the room they lodged in belonging to neither of them. That made it different in a way they couldn't quite discuss aloud.

Once Korra was ready for bed, Asami shut the window, where she had been listening to the cicadas chirp in the moonless night. Korra turned out the smelly lamp. It was cool inside now, and the dark almost too eerie to sleep in. From the other side of the bed, she heard Korra sigh.

"Excited for tomorrow?"

"Sure. Asami?"

She was about to say princess, into the dark and thrumming night, but the circumstances might have carried it to an unfamiliar place, so she bit her tongue. "Hm?"

"Would you stay here, if you could?"

Here? Asami thought, before it dawned.

There was a beat before Korra spoke again. "In the Earth Kingdom. You miss it, don't you?"

"It's been a long time since I lived here. It was a long time before the war, even."

But it was a notion Asami hadn't realised she was nurturing, until Korra put it to words. It was true that the north was not the only place she could have made her post-war life—she'd simply taken the first chance that befell her to escape her father's legacy. In any case, the future certainly held other options, if the future looked the way she thought it might.

Korra didn't push, though Asami waited to see if she would ask again. Instead all there was was the dim whir of the cicadas, and the space on the bed between them.

"Maybe one day," Asami said finally. "Who can say?"

"Of course," Korra replied softly. The way she said it made Asami wonder, and suppress the immediate urge she had to reach out for her.

Korra cleared her throat. "Are you sleepy? I'm not."

"No." Asami sprang on the word, overhasty.

"Let's walk in the garden." Korra was out of bed no sooner than Asami had heard her words. "It looked so nice, and we probably won't have time tomorrow."

After a breakfast that included the fried cicadas Korra had begun to inquire about not five minutes into their stroll, they were led to the museum. Streamers hung from the building with the banners of all four kingdoms on them—it was the first public collection to open that brought cultural displays from across the world, a gesture of harmony after the war. After Korra cut the ribbon on the flagstones in front of a politely buzzing crowd, Asami and the others hung behind while she led the first patrons that had queued up inside. The impromptu tour that ensued, they later heard, had not been a part of the plan, but it proved a hit with the audience, who hadn't expected to hear the Northern Princess regale them firsthand.

"It must have been nice to put your royal history education to use for the first time ever," Miki commented, while they sat together picnicking afterwards. Korra spluttered her agreement, laying back on the mats they had loaned from the guesthouse.

"I just did the Water wing," she said, "so, um, the other hundred books could have been more useful."

"You can put some more of it to the test for the Earth Queen," Khiem said dourly, "impress her a little."

Korra struggled up and reached to steal some flatbread from his plate. "You want to feed me to the wolves!"

Asami giggled and followed suit, tearing some bread. Korra had done well, made the event her own. She was skilful now at knowing when to put her touch on things, how the line should be toed; a sense that served a figure such as herself well. Her mood, in turn, was vibrant today. Asami took the effort to gaze up at the sunset, away from Korra reclining in its glow.

Silaq was cutting persimmons from the trees around them, with permission from the warden that had scouted this spot outside the town for them. Some of the surrounding trees were blooming, while others were fat with fruit.

"Shake them!" Asami called. "You just have to shake them, and they'll fall."

Some of the fruit hit their heads on the way down. Asami took one of the blossoms in her lap and put it in Korra's hair as a token of congratulation, and Korra caught her hand for a moment as it left, beaming. As Korra stood to join Silaq in gathering the fruit, Asami thought that perhaps their moods had switched today. Korra's words last night had imparted an itch in the back of her mind. She bit into a persimmon and the silky cinnamon taste only intensified the nostalgic pang.

She turned to Khiem, who was a rare earthbender who had been born at the North Pole. "Khiem, how did you end up in Agna Q'ela? Did I ever ask?" She offered him the fruit.

"Same as you, I suppose," he laughed.

What did that mean? At Asami's creasing brow, he took a bite from the persimmon and continued.

"My father moved there from Yousheng prefecture to breed elk horses. The wild elk horses in the north… They're not suitable as mounts. When the King wanted elk horses for riding, my father was hired to take animals from the continent to breed with them so they could be domesticated, and to teach the royal stables how to keep them."

"Wow," Asami said. "I see—"

"Like your foundry."

"Yes, I got it," she laughed. "So he never came back?"

Khiem shook his head. "He fell in love with a northern girl." He handed the persimmon back; it was Asami's turn. "Are you planning to return? I hear your apprentices are shaping up."

"I haven't thought about it," Asami admitted. "But I think that thought will be due soon."

"Well, it's not an easy place to settle unless you grew up there. I doubt you have everything you want in the Water Kingdoms…"

No, indeed.

It was midday when they arrived in Ba Sing Se, sweaty and hungry. At the east gates of the Lower Ring, they were met by a representative of the Earth Queen, and another from the Water consulate here in the city, who took them up into the palace and housed them like all the other guests that had been filtering in from all four kingdoms. The wedding was tomorrow, and tonight they would soiree with the other guests, but they took their lunch with the Water consul in the Upper Ring.

The consul received them eagerly, and served them fresh seasonal fare, introducing the latest goings-on in the city.

"All the festivities down there are beautiful," Korra enthused. The party was already in full swing in Ba Sing Se; they only had one prince, after all.

"Wait until you see the fire show tonight," the consul said. "There's more than just gold in the Earth Queen's coffers. Gunpowder! They have the finest technicians working on it. That will be something to behold for us northerners."

Korra's face lit up at the mention of fireworks. Asami was ready to return her grin when she sought her gaze, as she passed her the bowl of sauteed greens. She smiled behind her cup as Korra told the consul all about her pyrotechnics.

"Your Highness," he said, when they sat in the veranda office and rested afterwards, "there is the matter of the wedding gift, and venue, and the list of attendees for the ball tonight with the Queen and the Prince… There are a number you should definitely meet with, the others I will leave to your discretion. The wedding itself will be at the Summer Palace in the morning... doubtless the Earth royals will be preoccupied, so make your acquaintances tonight and then enjoy the day, I say..."

While the consul engaged Korra on these matters, Asami turned to Silaq. "Will we all go tonight?"

"Yes, I think so. It's a party, not a meeting. Remember your titles, though."

"Titles? How will I know—"

He patted her shoulder. "For Korra, I mean. In the palace, in company, it will be your highness —or my lady, or miss if you're feeling brave… And we'll be her household, since we're all in the employ of the palace."

"That's kind of fun," Asami said, and they shared a quiet laugh.

Their rooms at the Royal Palace were lavish. Asami and Miki hurried through the halls once they were clear of any staff, admiring the thick tapestries and the ornaments of silver, jade, and cinnabar. Each object and surface seemed to heave with ancient grandeur. They slipped into their second finest dresses, the Water folk in shades of stunning and patriotic blue. Asami kept her hair down. She had been taking every chance to, since it was an impossibility when she was at work. The gathering commenced in a series of massive drawing rooms, the largest boasting a high, golden vault carved with star maps and scenes from legend. Asami could have spent all evening gazing up. While Korra met with various nobles, she and the others clung close to one another, drinking careful amounts and milling with the looser guests. After a while, they fell into a game of hunting the aristocrats, pointing and guessing discreetly from the seating map who each of the fanciest guests were. When it was time, however, they all had to be introduced to the man whose wedding they had come for.

"Princess Korra! You , my lady, look ravishing ."

Korra and Prince Wu bowed to one other; a shallower and stiffer movement than the one Asami was used to seeing in Agna Q'ela. He had removed the tasselled crown he first entered in, leaving his mantle of green silks to shine, which he wore over a matching tunic lined with gold brocade. If not for the top-notch tailoring, they would have swallowed him.

Korra held her hand out for him to kiss, and then when she kissed his cheek as customary, a look of daze befell the Prince that made Miki clinch Asami's arm and snort. In fact, Prince Wu kissed the hands of all the ladies once Korra had named them to step forward and bow—decorum be damned—and he even offered Silaq a rather shy pat on his solid arm. Korra's eyes were narrowed, lips pressed tight, caught between irritation and laughter. Korra didn't like the Earth Prince. Asami didn't think she would either, but he was certainly a character.

The prince's betrothed, on the other hand, while he did not turn heads, left a more curious impression. He was modestly but finely dressed—the seemingly plain cut shirt clearly made from the finest weave upon a second glance—but he spoke little and did not seem to capture any of the guests for long. Naturally, he was the first topic of conversation when they sat for a bite. Korra's party shared their table with a couple chatty ladies, daughters from some southern freehold, who seemed to know all there was to know.

"That man is a commoner," one of them hiccupped over her sweetmeats. "Nothing but a beautiful, common commoner."

Korra's head rose instantly and she set her chopsticks down halfway to her mouth. "Oh, really?"

"Rumour has it," her sister to her left leaned in with a conspiratorial tone, "he was born in the slums in the Lower Ring and abandoned by his hussy mother. He would have died if one of the maidservants here didn't rescue him and raise him as her own."

The final southern woman, clearly the elder, cast them both reproving looks, as if she was disappointed that they would relay this gossip before the Princess of the North..

"One of the staff I was chatting to in our foyer said he used to be the Prince's bodyguard," Miki said. "Far to go, huh?"

"Or close, I guess," Khiem said, next to Asami, elbowing Silaq suggestively. Korra scoffed at him.

"I wonder what the Earth Queen thought of that," she said.

The older woman answered cautiously. "I'd wager the Prince just pitched a fit until she relented. Love him or hate him, not having his way is a foreign concept to His Highness."

The youngest girl was bored of this now. She turned to Asami, who had noticed her hawkish gaze on her once or twice. "Are you from the Fire Empire, Miss? You have a look."

"I am," Asami said. "Though I was born here in the Earth Kingdom. But I'm a blacksmith in the north now."

"A blacksmith." The girl repeated. She looked ahead, and her chin turned up a fraction as she sipped. "My sifu defeated the master arrowsmith for the Yuyan Archers during the war, and he says Fire Empire smiths are deadly warmongers."

Asami's heart sank in a flare of regret. From the corner of each eye, she saw the girl's sister shooting her a warning glance, and Korra clenching her jaw. Korra, of course, was not above invoking her station to put an enemy in their place.

"It's alright," Asami said quickly. "He's correct, unfortunately. But I haven't been with them a long time. I'm making amends."

Korra grazed her arm under the table. She already felt guarded here and she knew that Asami felt doubly conspicuous in these grand halls. At least the young lady had the good sense to look contrite.

"You look like... a goddess of the forge," Korra said, her cheek in her palm, leaning back to assess the gown.

Asami snorted, her sharp stance before the mirror failing. They had risen early and were mostly ready by the time the sun was fully up. It would take a half hour by rickshaw to reach the Summer Palace, and they would need to get there long before the prince in his palanquin.

"Nooo, don't go all red. See, it's gone now."

"Well, it's warm in the forge," she retorted. "Are the others ready?"

"Almost. Khiem's shining his shoes." Korra rose up onto her elbow reluctantly, yawning. She turned to the little box of jewelry she had brought, which lay open on the bed. "Hey, come here. Do you want to wear some of this?" She held up an elaborate necklace of pearl and pink ruby. I think this matches you better… And you know, they like seeing this stuff, at least the Earth Queen does."

"Right, the heavier the gold, the more highly she'll think of you," Asami said, bungling a mantra someone at the party last night had mentioned. She smoothed her dress one last time, glancing at Korra. Korra was arrayed in deep and regal teals, stretching the dress code a little only as a comely and commanding young princess could. The code for the wedding was simple: green, the colour of the Earth Kingdom, the colour of spring. Asami's own jade gown was embellished with pink spring blossoms. It was oddly exhilarating for them to be in summer garb, and Asami, for her part, couldn't recall the last time her arms had seen the sun.

She knelt on the bed and examined the jewels in Korra's hand. Asami's own gold had been paid in reparations, along with most of the other assets her family had held, after the war. All she kept were a few pieces that had belonged to her mother. Asami cleared her throat.

"Is it alright for me to wear this?"

Korra nodded mildly no sooner than she'd asked. "Of course. It's mine. Turn around."

She climbed to her knees behind Asami and unclasped the necklace, pausing first to sweep her hair from her shoulder. Asami's skin pebbled before the cold metal touched it, and she made her exhale soft. Though she said nothing, Korra must have noticed because she placed a hand over Asami's shoulder while the other straightened the chain at the back of her neck.

"You wear it really well." Korra placed her other hand on her too now, almost down at her own hand. "You look beautiful."

Asami didn't dare look up into the mirror; instead she felt the cove of Korra's shoulders, tucked around her own, close. When she had rescued her voice, she managed, "Thank you." She knew what she had to say next— which one are you going to wear? —but it was impossible not to defer it another second, two seconds—

There was a pointed cough at the doorway. Korra's hands dropped; Asami turned and sat on the bed, retracting to one corner.

It was one of the palace staff; wearing the doormen's colours, albeit in what looked like a special silk for the occasion. She gazed in the middle distance and rattled off, flustered. "Your Highness and our esteemed guests are expected in the reception rooms in twenty minutes for departure." Before they knew it, she had bowed vaguely and scampered.

Miki materialised where had been. "Oh, good. We're almost done, no?"

"Yes," Korra said, searching for Asami's eye, and Asami nodded blankly.

"I'll—go put on my shoes then."

Korra put on a necklace and a glimmering silver coronet. Asami picked up the shawl that matched her dress. They were finished in minutes, ready to head for the foyer. Asami shut the door of her suite firmly behind her as they left.

[inamindfarfaraway]

How To Train Your Dragon: A Soaring Success

[Note: I wrote this review as a persuasive writing assignment for GCSE English Language.]

Being a childhood fan of the book series by Cressida Cowell and formerly a staunch hater of the film adaptation on grounds of unfaithfulness, I was pleasantly surprised to find my unreasoning “But in the book -” bluster didn’t hold up. The basic premise is the same: a nerdy Viking boy named Hiccup befriends a dragon he calls Toothless; (mis)adventure ensues. The film does seem to have a more serious tone than I remember in the books, with genuine heart and realistic drama to offset the comedic antics. But what won me over was that it took inspiration from the books, yes, but never tried to stick to them fanatically or maliciously disrespected them, instead making the absolute most of its different medium and tackling the premise with its own unique flare.

You’ll see it how it makes the most of being an animated movie right from the start. True to Dreamworks’s reputation, the animation is gorgeous. Lush greenery in the forests; chilly, choppy, practically photorealistic ocean; weathered wood and stone surfaces making up the Viking village of Berk; intricate fabric; and spellbinding lighting effects all help to immerse you in the world - even the dragons themselves, especially the irresistibly cute Toothless, have as plausible proportions and anatomy as possible borrowing physical and behavioural traits from many real creatures while maintaining a cartoonish uniqueness. They actually felt like dragons to me for the first time in a long time, not just horses/dogs/etc. with a fantasy filter. The classic ‘fire-breathing winged vertebrate quadruped’ formula and aforementioned animal traits keep their creative designs grounded, but generic dragons these are not. Oh, and the humans’ designs and movements radiate personality and charm too. The voice acting, sound effects, and John Powell’s soundtrack are equally breathtaking. You’ll be humming the themes for days. Standout scenes of these two aspects harmonizing beautifully are the sequence of Hiccup and Toothless slowly building mutual trust (backed by the touching instrumental track “Forbidden Friendship”, aka the point the abundance of good reviews clicked), Hiccup’s exhilarating first proper flight on Toothless (backed by “Test Drive”, which I can only describe as the pure terror, wonder and majesty of flying in musical form), and his later “A Whole New World”-esque ride with his love interest Astrid (backed by “Romantic Flight”). In a bold choice they have barely any dialogue between them. If you want to know what flying feels like, watch this movie.

Hiccup and Toothless really carry the story, their personalities and unlikely friendship instantly compelling. Apprentice smith Hiccup is a witty, intelligent, mechanically inclined, somehow both wise and naive teenage outcast whose warlike society - his well-intentioned, but stubborn and overprotective father Stoick the Vast in particular - dismisses his lack of grace and physical ability, leaving him yearning to prove himself. Killing a dragon is considered a rite of passage, since the fearsome beats conduct regular raids of food on Berk and destroy property. A war has raged between the species as long as anyone can remember. So he manages to capture the fastest, scariest dragon known to the Vikings: a Night Fury. Nobody’s ever seen one up close, or at least done so and lived to tell the tale. Except the Night Fury is discovered to be no more intrinsically evil than any other animal and expresses his curious, clever, friendly personality to the extent that Hiccup can’t stand to take such a humanlike life. Toothless is not only a lovable pet, he soon becomes the boy’s best friend. Guilty about disabling the draconic deuteragonist’s flight when his invention captured him, Hiccup works to restore it through science and stumbles upon the art of dragon riding and revolutionary idea of actually understanding dragons in the process. The rest of Berk... does not take this well. Especially anti-dragon hardliner Stoick, who embodies everything Hiccup isn’t. Did I mention Stoick’s the chief of the tribe?

I’ll admit, the plot can be predictable at times. You know Hiccup’s secret will come out. You know he and his dad will have a big falling out and then reconcile. You know the skills he was mocked for at the start will allow him to succeed. Astrid as a character was interesting, a cool, confident foil to Hiccup, yet refreshingly openminded and astute compared to the other Vikings. But her romantic suplot seemed rushed and a little tacked on for the sake of it.

There were still enough twists to keep me engaged. Blacksmith and dragon defence trainer Gobber’s markedly more likeable than his book counterpart and genuinely entertaining. I didn’t think I would like Stoick, but he did have moments of sincerity and vulnerability that made all the difference. His relationship with Hiccup was a realistic one of ultimately unconditional love and care strained by poor communication; conflicting views and interests; disappointment and disrespect on Stoick’s side; and insecurities clouding Hiccup’s judgement, exacerbated by societal pressure; culminating in a heartbreaking rejection that gravely hurts both of them. They echo each other throughout the film, showing their similarities. In one scene they attempt a hilariously/painfully awkward heart-to-heart where neither is able to just be a normal human being. Every scene felt perfectly paced, neither too long too too short, and little parallels like that tied all the character arcs together into a cohesive character-driven story.

The human and dragon war turns out to have human and dragon aggressors. Although peace and understanding is great, sometimes violence is unavoidable. To my infinite relief the final message is not another easy repeat of ‘Be yourself’: Hiccup already knew that, he wanted to defeat dragons with brains, not brawn, and have his individual strengths celebrated. Instead it’s more along the lines of ‘Compassion and a progressive mindset can be more beneficial than irrational traditionalism and fear’, plus a dash of the real meaning of courage and power of friendship thrown in. And Toothless and Gobber’s prosthetics demonstrate a mature approach to disability poignantly brought to the fore in the denouement.

In conclusion, if you can suspend your disbelief and accept a little unoriginal storytelling, go ahead and enjoy the vibrant characters, entrancing world, gripping action, emotional rollercoaster (or should that be dragon ride?) and royal feast for your senses that is How To Train Your Dragon.

[foxofthedesert]

So I just finished my 3rd watch thru of Merlin, and yet again am brokenhearted. Not only by Arthur's death and Merlin's grief, but by Morgana's tragic descent into madness. Though I loathed the choice, I always understood why the writers went the direction they did with Morgana. What I did not understand was the way they handled her relationship with Gwen. It just never made any sense to me that Morgana could be so cruel to someone she clearly loved very deeply - even if only in the platonic sense. To me, it seemed like the Morgana that existed at the end of season 2 was replaced by a totally different, inexplicably cruel and insufferably smirky one by the start of season 3.

Still, prophecies need fulfilled and such, and after all it is a fantasy series based on a complicated mythology where Morgana sometimes is portrayed as evil. I just wish it was handled better.

Be that as it may, as a writer I tend to gravitate toward the untold stories within canon. That being the case, Gwen and Morgana's relationship is a natural attraction. I adore their chemistry, which makes them so easy to pair up. Since I am also not necessarily beholden to canon, that means I can imagine whatever the hell I want for them. Such an AU where their potential is realized before Morgause enters the picture to warp Morgana into her father's daughter.

This little piece is part of that. I may or may not add more entries in the future.

As a side note, this was initially supposed to be much shorter, but my fingers wouldn't stop typing words. Silly digits.

Ficlet below the line!

Morgana awoke giggling in an entirely unrefined manner. Her uncharacteristic bubbly mirth, she discovered, was due to a gentle tickling sensation all across her face. Once the wispy haze of sleep was blinked out of her blurry eyes, a familiar shape resolved into an entirely too handsome face wearing such a love-sick expression that her chest reflexively suffused with an affectionate warmth that quickly seeped into her very bones.

“What time is it?” she asked to the person hovering above her, voice still gravelly and slightly slurred from having been roused out of such a deep, blessedly dreamless repose. The pleasant tickling sensation began anew immediately after her half-slurred inquiry, and when she lifted her gaze she was greeted by rich brown eyes she would swear on her life she could live and die in.

“Just after dawn.” The utterly enchanting creature paying her such lovely attention continued to delicately and reverently brush calloused fingertips across the expanse of her jaw. “Sorry I woke you. I meant to let you sleep in a bit longer, I just really couldn’t help myself.”

A pause allowed a full, dusky lip to be pulled rather invitingly between pearly white teeth before her beloved added, “It seems I never can where you are concerned.”

Morgana smiled. A genuine smile, too. Nothing like the false ones she graced her guardian with, full of barely suppressed loathing and rage. Lately she had been consumed by disgust for the man who so many times proclaimed to cherish her, a man who would see her burnt at the stake if he knew who she truly was. Uther Pendragon claimed to be a fair and just king, yet he waged unlawful wars against territories that dared stand up against his brutish rule and relentlessly persecuted innocents whose only crime was to be born different. People like her. People with magic.

Coming to terms with her gifts had cost Morgana both countless nights spent in wakeful torment over horrific visions that plagued her dreams and untold days spent wrestling with throat-clogging anxiety over the possibility of discovery. There were many occasions during that frightening period in which she felt as though tottering precariously over a dark, abyssal chasm at the bottom of which lie only inescapable madness. Every second spent at court was an exhausting exercise in choking down a nauseating terror of the tyrant who held the power of life and death over her and would surely decide upon the latter should he learn the truth about her magic. Meals were a unique form of torture due to the perpetual knot residing in her stomach and every event she would normally revel in was transformed into a dreaded affair during which she could scarcely breathe for the crushing weight resting upon her chest.

Frankly, if it hadn’t been for Guinevere and Merlin she is sure she would have already plummeted headlong into those foreboding depths, right into the waiting arms of a hatred no human heart could withstand without incurring irreparable damage.

If Merlin hadn’t told her the truth about his magic as he lead her to Aglain’s druid camp, the pervasive sense of isolation and desperation worming insidiously through her mind would have inevitably forced her into drastic choices. Even before her magic manifested she had silently nursed treasonous thoughts toward Camelot’s cruel monarch. What might she have done if the walls closed in so tightly on her she felt there was no avenue of escape outside of acting upon those unsavory impulses? It hardly bears thinking about for risk of inviting such evil desires back in to her heart when of all her attributes, it is her heart which makes her most special – or at least that is what Guinevere insists to be the case.

Thankfully, finding a steadfast friend and ally in Merlin had done much to ameliorate the suffocating feeling of helplessness she felt as a member of the court harboring so deadly a secret. With much diligence and patience he was teaching her to control her powers, to harness them for good, and to have faith that better days were ahead for their kind. It was also mostly due to the Merlin’s deceptive wisdom and boundless optimism – and to be fair what reasonable person could resist that impish, dimpled smile? – that she began to view Arthur through a fresh lens.

If she bothered to look deeply, as Merlin insisted, to ignore the chauvinistic bravado and infuriating superiority complex, it was not difficult to recognize Arthur’s innate nobility and compassion that existed despite his monstrous father. And seeing as Merlin was as stubborn as he was convincing, it did not take long for Morgana to accept with a cautiously hopeful heart that with the aid of loyal friends, Arthur had it in him to become to the greatest sovereign Camelot had ever seen, a king who might actually prove himself worthy of the people both common and magical to whom he would be sworn to serve. Of course, she and Arthur still had their mundane squabbles and butted heads frequently over political and legal matters, but in the months since Merlin began her training, Morgana had acquired a new appreciation for the young man who was to her as good as a sibling.

As much as Merlin had done for her, however, it paled in comparison to Gwen’s contributions to her health and happiness.

For as long as Morgana had known Gwen she had held the blacksmith’s daughter in esteem far higher than any Lady should their maidservant. What started out as mutual respect born from shared grief over the loss of a parent soon flowered into genuine friendship. For many years they were the best of friends, each providing for the other a refuge from the storms of life and a confidante more reliable and wise and loyal than could be hired with all of Midas’ gold.

By the time Morgana entered womanhood, her fondness for Gwen had only swelled to become boundless as it was profound. In her eyes, Gwen was the most wonderful person in all the world; none could hope to be her equal in breathtaking beauty, charitable kindness, seemingly endless stores of patience, altogether praiseworthy meekness, a silent strength surpassing steel, or in nearly saintly levels of graciousness. Gwen was the unfailing light to Morgana’s rapidly encroaching darkness, the quickening sun to her deathly pale moon, the Aurora to her Luna. She neither trusted any more deeply as she did Gwen, nor did she desire the company of another so keenly. As a result, they were rarely parted until retiring for bed, and then only by necessity of station. So inextricably attached were they Gwen’s friends often jested that she must have accidentally stitched herself to her lady’s garments at the hip. The noblewomen were not nearly so kind. Some of the more prominent Ladies in the castle questioned the innocence of their arrangement, going so far as to exchange idle speculation which painted them as clandestine devotees of Sappho.

If Morgana could be bothered to care about the rumors, she would have confronted the useless busybodies long ago. But quite frankly, their opinions on her relationship with Gwen mattered for naught seeing as Arthur dismissed them as absurd upon reaching his ears and, beyond even that, Morgana would rather die than provide the snide gossipers ammunition that might serve as tacit confirmation that their unwelcome conjecture was not without merit – which was in fact the case.

All the same, though, she took great pains to prevent them from reaching the ears of the king. Uther already disapproved of their unusual bond and reminded her of such every time she treated Gwen with an ounce of basic human dignity while in his presence. Rather than censure the prejudice as she might have no long ago, Morgana now bore the chastisement with pride. Were it required, she would gladly wear forty stripes upon her skin if that be the price of Gwen’s love. The haughty bigotry of her guardian could never dissuade her from the path her heart had chosen to travel. Gwen was far too precious to ever surrender without a fight, to death if she must.

For what felt like ages, Morgana had believed her feelings would never be reciprocated. And that was perfectly acceptable to her, so long as Gwen remained an integral part of her life. The constant yearning that caused her chest to ache, sometimes almost painfully, was something she could endure so long as Gwen was happy.

That perspective radically transformed the night Gwen’s father died.

The midnight bells sounded in the citadel as Morgana slipped out into the upper town. Her intentions were pure at the time. She had only meant to visit her friend and offer what support she could, no matter the reckless impropriety of her visiting the her maidservant’s home so late at night. Instead, one glimpse of Gwen’s devastation over the pointless tragedy reignited her rage. All too quickly it boiled over, allowing those old, bitter feelings to spill out as impetuous threats of vengeance, and not only on Gwen’s behalf but for all those wronged by the merciless hand of Uther Pendragon. For what felt like hours she railed, heedless of the effect her malicious speech was having on the distraught girl she was supposed to be comforting.

It was only when Gwen – sweet Gwen, kind and thoughtful and selfless to a fault – had been pushed to her limits that Morgana’s perilous vitriol was interrupted.

Casting aside station, Gwen grasped her by the face and made her swear to never utter such dangerous words again.

“My brother has already abandoned me and now both my parents are dead,” Gwen had said, lips quivering and cheeks stained by tears. “I can’t lose you, too. I can’t. I won’t survive it.”

“Of course you would, Gwen. You’re the strongest person I know,” Morgana had replied, grasping reflexively at lean wrists, Gwen’s hands having migrated to the back of Morgana’s neck, thumbs cupped round the front of her ears. It was the first time she had been embraced so intimately, and if it weren’t for her anger she most certainly would have shivered with excitement at the surprisingly welcome contact.

“I’m not,” Gwen had half-sobbed, voice hoarse from hours surrendered to grief. “I’m only standing at all right now because the person I love most in all the world is here with me.”

Morgana hadn’t understood the nature of that declaration at first. Not until Gwen tucked her lip between her teeth, her nostrils flared with what could not be misinterpreted as anything but raw want, and her eyes went impossibly dark. A sharp gasp of realization was all Morgana could manage as a response, so stunned was she that her most secretive and treasured wish was being fulfilled.

But when Gwen nodded, chest heaving with emotion, despair and fear warring with adoration in her eyes, Morgana could no longer contain herself. Suddenly all the pieces of the puzzle fused together, revealing the explanation as to why a simple smile from Gwen was able to chase away the storm clouds gathering above her head, or why Gwen’s chiming laughter kicked up butterflies in her stomach and a captivating warmth in her chest, or why even the most airy of touches from Gwen left a wake of goose-flesh in her skin. It wasn’t just love. It was destiny.

In retrospect, Morgana probably should have been as if not more terrified of crossing that final, socially forbidden line between mistress and servant, friend and lover, than she was of being magical. The thing of it was, the only relevant factors in that moment was Gwen willingly offering of herself more than she probably should and Morgana being selfish enough to accept.

They made love that night beneath Gwen’s threadbare sheets, and it was glorious, just as Morgana had imagined it would be.

All of their sorrows and anxieties and animosities drifted away like dandelion seeds upon a crisp summer breeze. Cliches regarding such unions suddenly made sense. Somewhere along the journey that began by laving the stiffened peak of a pert breast then languidly progressed into nestling her face into the delicate, aromatic flower situated between smooth bronze legs, she lost all sense of self. It was as if with each bruising kiss, playful nibble, and greedy draw with open mouth, she and Gwen were merging into one being. Gwen’s throaty noises and keening pleas reverberated through her every muscle fiber, down even into the very marrow of her bones. Gwen’s intoxicating flavor permeated her senses until it was all she could taste or smell. And Gwen’s gratification became hers as her hand slipped beneath her ridiculously extravagant undergarments to relieve the desperate pressure upon a mound so slick with arousal that the sound of her feverish rubbing was positively obscene.

Mere heartbeats after Gwen went taut with a silent scream, stars exploded behind Morgana’s eyes as the most exquisite mixture of pleasure and pain engulfed her mind and set her nether regions aflame. Spent and unable to control her trembling limbs, she collapsed across Gwen’s heaving chest. Strong arms immediately wrapped around underneath her arms to pull her in tight, and as she buried her nose in the damp curls at Gwen’s neck, all she could do was weep, utterly overcome by an unspeakable joy she understood without needing to ask was fully mutual. They fell asleep like that, Morgana stretched across Gwen, encased in an embrace that felt like a subconscious announcement of a claim upon her, heart and soul and body, something she not only welcomed but reveled in.

Wonderful thoughts about publicly belonging to Gwen lulled Morgana into a peaceful sleep that went markedly undisturbed.

In the pale light of morning she was still so drunken upon pure, heady, all consuming bliss to realize she would be missed if she did make an appearance in the castle. Had Gwen not pointed that out, she would have been more than glad to spend the entire day wrapped around her new lover, discovering every last spot that made Gwen’s toes curl ‘til the girl was too exhausted to move the tiniest muscle.

Alas, the constraints of reality marshaled both of them to action, and so once they had dressed, they sneaked carefully into the castle by auxiliary corridors during the changing of the guard. By only the slimmest of margins, they slipped into her chambers just as the fresh patrol rounded the corner in their direction. Once inside, the thrill of the close call and euphoria over their consummated love invigorated Morgana into a passion she could not ignore. Overcome by a need – more like an almost maddening hunger really – to touch, smell, and taste every delicious inch of the skin she had feasted upon last night, she unceremoniously dragged a breathless, ruddy cheeked Gwen straight over to her bed.

After that thorough christening, they lingered together in a tangle of limbs, both sated and happy. At least until the sound of Camelot’s awakening resounded through the chambers from the courtyard below and with it the first doubts crept in. Morgana could recall the subsequent conversation as though it had just happened.

***************

“I should see to my duties directly,” Gwen had said, immediately rustling to exit the bed upon hearing Arthur’s booming voice rattle down the hallway, clearly a response to the latest in an endless string of mistakes by his loyal yet tragically clumsy manservant.

Morgana hadn’t wanted to turn loose quite yet, so she tightened hold around Gwen’s waist, halting the undesired escape.

“They can wait,” she replied between leisurely kisses trailed up a shapely arm. “The laundry isn’t going anywhere, nor is the evening gown that needs mending. Stay with me a while longer.” She paused to nuzzle into Gwen’s shoulder. “Stay with me forever.”

Rather than struggle, Gwen melted the embrace. “You know that is all I wish for. I love you, Morgana. More than anything. But…”

“But what?”

“What if someone catches us?”

Morgana scoffed, having missed the long term nature of the question in addition to the concern pouring off of Gwen in waves she should not have missed. It was not her finest moment. She hadn’t meant to be insensitive, though. The idea had just seemed so preposterous at the time because she had thought Gwen was only speaking about the present.

“Who would be so bold as to enter my chambers without permission?” she had said. “Not even Uther at his most disrespectful would dare venture such a trespass. We are entirely safe here. No need to worry your pretty head.”

Gwen shifted in Morgana’s arms then so that they were face to face. “I do, though. Worry that is. And I have to ask: why aren’t you?”

“Why should I be? For that matter why should you be?” Morgana replied. And then she met Gwen’s eyes. Large, and impossibly dark, and unmistakably upset.

All of the sudden it was impossible for Morgana to ignore how frightened Gwen really was. In response, her stomach twisted almost painfully and her heart fell as the happy bubble she had been floating in abruptly burst.

What in all the world, she wondered in a moment of regrettable obliviousness, had Gwen afraid of them being caught? Her brow furrowed as deeply as it ever had as she mulled around potential causes.

Certainly they were going to have to be careful in the future to avoid exposure, she reckoned, but Gwen was as fully cognizant that there were more perilous secrets both were currently keeping. Morgana’s ability to pull the wool over Uther’s eyes was well established, and no one else besides the two of them had unfettered access to her chambers. Besides all that, Morgana knew every nook and cranny of the citadel and was able to slip out and into the upper town undetected at will, of which Gwen was also very well aware. So there had to be more to it. But what?

Only one other possibility occurred to her, and it was the one she least wanted to entertain. And yet...

“Unless you regret what has transpired between us?” she asked at length, unable to disguise her own fear, which manifested through a faint trembling in her voice. “No!” Shaking her head fervently, Gwen grasped Morgana’s face much as she did the night before. “Not even for a second. I’ve lost so much, and I have much to regret, but not this. This is the best thing to ever happen to me. I just…”

Again Gwen trailed off, her hands retreating to clasp together against her mouth. And although Morgana’s anxiety had quieted with Gwen’s reassurance, there was clearly something still bothering her.

“Just what?” Morgana prompted, then reached out to stroke Gwen’s hair. “I hate seeing you so twisted up. Tell me. Please.”

A single, contrite nibble of a kiss-stung lip later, Gwen averted her eyes and gave her answer, “Don’t you wonder, even just for a second in the back of your mind, if what we did was wrong?”

Morgana very nearly sighed in relief. This was a problem she could easily remedy, as it was a one she had wrestled with for years only for Merlin’s simple yet profound worldview to unexpectedly resolve.

During the incident where Gwen was accused of using sorcery to heal her father, he had stumbled upon Morgana beside herself after a visit to Gwen’s cell. In her anxiety and grief she had confessed to having feelings for her handmaiden that although unseemly nonetheless had taken hold of her. Where she had expected disgust, she was instead given only understanding and compassion. In that endearingly provincial way of his, Merlin ensured her that love – if true and pure and unselfish, which he insisted hers for Gwen surely was – could never be wrong.

Morgana had felt something turn loose inside her at Merlin’s easy acceptance, as if her heart had been tied into a knot being slowly and perpetually tightened. Breathing became a relief once again. And as she learned to accept herself the way Merlin did, she began to hope that perhaps one day in the future a door would open for her to act upon her feelings without destroying what she and Gwen already shared. She could not have anticipated Tom’s death being the impetus for her to do so. Yet as awful as his tragic death was, it birthed something so infinitely precious that Morgana would never cease being grateful. And if only for the memory of that kind, thoughtful, patient man, she would never stop fighting for the love she shared with her beloved Guinevere.

“Gwen,” she had said, unsuccessfully vying for her conflicted love’s attention. Twice more she called Gwen’s name, and after receiving no response pushed up slightly on her elbow. “Look at me, Guinevere.” When large, uncertain eyes, brimming with tears, met hers, she leaned over so that she could press her forehead against Gwen’s. “We have done nothing wrong. Do you hear me? If you trust me, if you love me as you assert to, believe me when I say this. Something so wonderful and beautiful and perfect could never be anything less than rightly divine.”

***************

That phrase that swiftly became Morgana’s favorite answer to Gwen’s occasional concerns. The world at large, and most definitely those housed within the vaunted halls of Camelot’s citadel, would most certainly view their relationship as wicked and immoral and perverse. If that was indeed the case, Morgana did not believe she ever wanted to be either innocent or righteous. Their love was wonderful, and beautiful, and perfectly divine; an immutable fact which Morgana was determined to never allow either of them to forget.

No doubt lurked within Gwen’s eyes this morning, however, only unadulterated affection. And that made Morgana exceedingly joyful indeed.

“I understand what you mean,” Morgana at last said after escaping that precious memory. She sighed contentedly and shuttered her eyelids as yet another reverent brush of fingers smoothed along the crest of her chin. And while the diligent attention felt incredible, she grew increasingly curious why Gwen’s focus appeared to have narrowly fixated on that one specific region of her face.

“What’s the matter?” Gwen said after a bit of easy silence.

“What makes you think something’s the matter?” Morgana replied, still basking in the glow of Gwen’s magical touch.

“You have that telltale crease between your brow which means something is bothering you.”

This time Morgana opened her eyes. “I’m not bothered, merely at a loss as to why you suddenly find my chin so hypnotizing.”

Gwen sucked at her lip momentarily as if weighing whether to answer before a crooked smile bloomed across her handsome features.

“Well, not just your chin, but if you must know it’s all these little hairs…” And then she stroked Morgana’s chin again, this time allowing her fingers to feather over said hairs all the way down her jawline.

“Are you saying my face is hairy, Gwen?” Morgana asked, frowning as a thread of hurt pulled taut.

As should be obvious, she didn’t appreciate it pointed out that her alabaster skin failed to conceal what otherwise would have been a nearly invisible coat of fine hairs that covered all humans male and female alike. Arthur teased her about it relentlessly when she was a blossoming teenager, and even now some of the noble ladies who envied her would snidely comment upon how it clearly indicated that she was a witch destined for a life of barren unhappiness.

Up til now, Gwen had made no mention of that peculiar feature and Morgana would be lying if she claimed she wasn’t wounded that it would be brought up only now that they were in an intimate situation.

“No!” Gwen’s eyes went wide as the full moon. “No, not at all! I mean...well, yes, it sort of is.” A huffed breath of remorse followed Morgana’s gasp of offense. “Not that it’s a bad thing! I swear I meant no insult. I have some too, after all. It’s just less visible because of my skin tone probably. And don’t worry! It’s nothing like Lady Johanna’s fledgling beard. Not even close. On the contrary, they’re so tiny and delicate and wispy and soft, and I really am utterly obsessed with them because they are part of you and you are perfect, so they are also perfect by extension, and I just can’t get over how adorable they are, and I am currently babbling like a lunatic with zero manners. I am so sorry, milady.”

At the end of that adorable ramble, Gwen’s shoulders hunched in as her cheeks darkened and she yet again sucked her bottom lip between her teeth. Any insult Morgana felt evaporated as quickly as it formed. How could she be upset with such an enchanting creature?

Reaching across Gwen’s waist, she pulled her abashed lover down until they were flush, skin to skin from shoulders to hips.

“Oh, Gwen, there is nothing to be sorry for,” she said, legs instinctively parting as Gwen’s familiar weight settled against her. “My reaction is habit, I’m afraid, due to Arthur’s derisive mocking. It’s actually quite nice to hear a compliment for a change.”

“Are you sure you’re not cross with me? I’d understand if you were…”

No one with a functioning soul could be cross with those doe eyes staring at them, Morgana decided. She danced her fingers with lighthearted mirth across Gwen’s cheeks and over the ridge of her nose.

“Nonsense, sweetling. It’s no different than me admiring your freckles.”

Gwen’s features relaxed into a flattered smile. “You like my freckles?”

“Like them? I love them! How could I not? It’s like you said, they are a part of you, and you are perfect, therefore they are perfect by extension.”

In response, Gwen gave her an appreciative little smile before arresting her hand to place a kiss upon the inside of her wrist.

“So you won’t mind to be awakened like that again should I fail to curb my weird fascination?”

“Only if you won’t should I wake you by mapping the stars written across your cheeks,” Morgana said, then returned Gwen’s tactile affection with some of her own by again acting out her words with her own fingers. She was pleased when Gwen leaned in to the touch.

“I promise I won’t. I think I’d quite fancy that, actually.”

“Then I promise, too. And if you’re a good girl today, perhaps I will indulge your fancy tomorrow morning.”

“Well, then, I’d better get to work, hadn’t I?”

Eyes flashing with eager anticipation, Gwen threw the covers aside and made to get out of bed – a development Morgana was not prepared to authorize. Not only was she of a mind to lounge abed and cuddle away another hour or two, all of Camelot was blanketed in snow and she was loathe to be deprived of Gwen’s heavenly body...heat.

“Now, now,” Morgana tugged at Gwen, almost desperate with a need to curl right back into Gwen’s warmth and never move again while hoping she sounded at least somewhat the dignified noblewoman she was supposed to be. “Don’t be so hasty. Have you forgotten yourself and your duties to your lady? I haven’t yet had my good morning kiss.”

Gwen tumbled back into bed giggling merrily. “For shame! I have failed my lady most unforgivably. I shall rectify the trespass immediately.”

“See that you do, Guinevere, and promptly,” Morgana said, her eyes twinkling as her own merriment curved her lips into a smile. “As you know, your lady does not appreciate being made to wait.”

After a deliberately silly half-curtsy, Gwen draped herself across Morgana’s body, and once settled whispered her reply against Morgana’s already tingling lips.

“My lady’s wish is my command.”

The brief peck that followed was not enough for Morgana. Fingers winding into dark curls, she pulled Gwen into a much more passionate kiss, which lead to another, and another, until the embrace quickly evolved into tangling tongues and undulating hips. Soon enough, Gwen’s head was disappearing beneath the sheets and Morgana was having to recall how to breathe due to the magnificently excruciating pleasure coursing through her loins.

And that was how she came to be late for her first appointment of the morning, where she was relentlessly lectured about the importance of punctuality over manchet, eggs, sausage, and apples sprinkled with cinnamon. It was worth it, though. Her giddy grin throughout breakfast only made Arthur more bewildered and Uther more angry.