#the pale kingdom's pigeons

[writernopal]

Happy WBW! Talk creatures to me. Tell me about those little critters unique to your world your characters see or meet throughout the story.

Happy (very late) WBW, Wynne!

I LOVE creature questions! I've talked about a few critters in the past, ivishni here and Dwarven field mice here but for this one I'll talk about The Pale Kingdom's carrier pigeons!

They are briefly mentioned in AASOAF 1 and it was one of the rare times that I really wish AASOAF was like a webcomic or something because the way the scene was written just didn't lend itself very well to describing the pigeons in any detail. So I almost imagined a cutaway while the characters were talking so the audience could get an idea of what these dudes look like. Alas, it is not to be!

Anyway, the idea behind these birds is that they are somewhere between a pigeon and a raptor (like an osprey). The purpose of this design is two-fold: one to deliver messages and two, to intercept foreign communication. I mentioned before that the Pale Kings are kind of just assholes for sport and that definitely extends to the knights of The Order of Rameses who do their bidding and also handle raising and caring for these birds.

As you might imagine, they purposefully and regularly intercept and interrupt communications from other territories using these birds. Even though everyone can probably guess it was them, they don't ever really have the evidence to prove it since the Pale Kingdom's pigeon will typically make a meal of its victim. Perfect crime really lol. Despite their more intimidating appearance (they mostly take after raptor-like traits), they're pretty docile birds with people so many of the Human nobility will actually keep them as pets. They are known to be pretty protective of babies which usually causes a lot of problems for new parents if they happen to have both in the same household lol.

[fleurelinathehybrid]

💛[Chapter 3: A visit from the dream]💛

WARNING: Content +18. P.S. It's my best attempt at this part p0rn, so don't make fun of me.

The fatigue from university was nothing compared to the stress he had experienced at the New Inn a few hours ago. And it had all started with a stubborn customer who refused to leave.

Since he went for his third jar of beer, he realized that he would be long gone if he didn't give him the bill. The customer refused to pay and that's when the fight began. He and his waiters were forced to kick him out. Adding to the fact that he was accompanied by a teenager who was not looking for a fight and who did not even want to be in the bar with the guy, who was later revealed to be his father.

That situation led him to a state of deja vu when he remembered his son Robyn, after asking the minor how old he was. That poor boy who was the victim of a fight in a bar in the 40s.

That and a call to the police made his day a disaster.

Now he was in his apartment, freshly bathed and wearing shorts, leaving his chest almost marked and with body hair on his pectorals, arms and legs. Brushing his long brown hair so he could sleep comfortably.

Luckily, tomorrow would be the weekend and I didn't have much to do about college. So he could relax before going to sleep.

He turned off his cell phone, closed the curtain and prepared to try to rest. Which wouldn't be long, because he was very exhausted.

As soon as he could close his eyes, Hob let out a sigh that sent him into his dreamlike state like he did every night.

Hoping that his beautiful and endlessly boyfriend would receive him with open arms.

[💛💛💛]

He found himself wandering aimlessly in space. Perhaps in one of the habitats of the immense kingdom. Still wearing his pajama shorts, Hob set out to find his partner.

Which didn't take long, because he was waiting for him. That beautiful being whose appearance changes at will and pleasure. With his distinguished black hair with little stars in it. His pale porcelain skin and his eyes. Those eyes that contained one and thousands of constellations that he couldn't count.

Wearing as his only clothing, a robe that could be lost in the space around him.

—Hello, pigeon. —Hob spoke, with a crimson-tinged smile.

The response to his greeting was a smile, whose look was nothing more than mischief and flirtatiousness. Then he proceeds to approach and take his face with both hands, causing him to inertialy take hold of his small and fragile waist. The Endless looks at him, with a devotion that he had not expected to see since the first meeting they had after closing the hundred-year agreement.

—I was waiting for you, my love. I was looking forward to your arrival. —The voice of the king of dreams sounded serious but very sweet. Something that greatly surprised the immortal.

—I say the same thing, I wanted to see you. I had a shitty day. —he said trying to keep his anger inside.

The Endless, taking his cheek and gently caressing him, looks at him tenderly. —Aw, my love. Do you want me to help you relax?

The human nods, not resisting the urge to kiss him. —Okay, but first you have to wake up. Don't worry, you'll see when you do it.

He found that very strange, since it was very common for him that his meetings were in the Dreaming. However, I didn't see it as bad at all. Maybe, I wanted to change a little. He didn't think much about it and obeyed his lover's order.

[💛💛💛]

After waking up, he didn't expect to feel a little weight on him, something that was definitely unusual for him. It didn't take long to discover the reason.

He barely changed the direction of his sights and reacted: his beloved Endless, wearing a black robe, sitting on top of him.

And he was absolutely sure he wasn't wearing anything downstairs. He could feel it with his bulge.

—Oh, holy shit. —Hob murmured very astonished, with his face completely red.

—Do you see it? —spoke the god of dreams. —Now, you wanted to relax. Isn't it?

He nodded frantically, almost out of breath. Morpheus approaches, while their breaths and foreheads collide, and their gazes connect.

—Rest assured that you are going to enjoy it. —he says, and then proceeds to kiss him passionately.

Hob couldn't and wouldn't resist. His lover's touch was like a drug he couldn't refuse, and his kisses were too addictive to refuse.

Morpheus proceeds to kiss his neck and jaw, with the intention of leaving a path that would show evidence that that human already had an owner. Driving Hob crazy.

Sighs and low moans left the human's lips. Making Dream of Pride's chest grow. He didn't stop until he reached the edge of his shorts, the only item of clothing he was wearing. He probed the edge, while massaging the phallus over the fabric, causing Hob to suppress a grunt. Morpheus smiled, crinkling his eyes a little, sometimes he liked to be a little naughty.

He proceeds to remove Hob's shorts, revealing an astonishingly erect penis about to drip pre-cum. He would be lying if he said that didn't make him drool, feeling his private part get wet just by looking at it.

He didn't hesitate at all to massage it and run his tongue over it, while looking into his eyes. Lust and desire was what she could see in him. Hob felt like he would die at any moment.

However, if the pleasure did not leave him as blind as now, he would realize that Dream's eyes were not the same. Instead of having white stars, it had pink hearts as pupils. And the tiny stars in her hair were unlit.

Although of course, he wouldn't realize it. Less now that the eternal being was providing him with oral sex, putting his penis in and out of his mouth at a constant pace.

—Damn, Dream. —Hob gasps.

Morpheus proceeds to increase speed. Hob's grip on the blankets of his bed tightened as the pleasure welling up in him. Moans and gasps left his lips.

When he finally climaxed, Morpheus removed the phallus from his mouth and swallowed all traces of his lover's seed. He smiles, signaling that he's willing to keep this up for the rest of the night.

He stands up, at the same time removing the knot from his robe. He slowly proceeds to let it fall to the ground. He climbs back onto the bed on his knees, and after making sure he still has Hob's attention, Morpheus takes his phallus and begins to insert it into his vaginal cavity. Yes, for less problems, he decided to use female private parts.

Hob was stunned, he didn't know if because of the pleasure, or because of the initiative his beloved Endless was taking. What he did know was that it made him sexier for him.

When everything was finally completely inside, Morpheus tries to take the first jump. This is prevented by the immortal, who in a quick movement, leaves Morpheus beneath him, with his legs completely open and with his penis still inside his vagina.

— H-Hob? —That question is left incomplete when Gadling kisses him and places a pillow under his lower back. That makes Dream let out a high-pitched moan at the movement.

—You already gave me pleasure, my dove. Now it's my turn to give you pleasure. —His hoarse voice made Dream turn red with excitement.

As soon as the immortal made the first attack, Morpheus begins to tremble. Another thrust, his hands crumpling the blanket on the bed. Another one, his lips began to drool.

Hob couldn't help but show him a malicious smile, scaring Dream a little.

He began with the attacks, slow but accurate. Morpheus's high-pitched moans filled the room, they were like those of a cat in heat, ready to be mated.

—We haven't started yet and you're already about to cum? —he asked in a hoarse voice, making Morpheus blush. —Try to hold on a little longer, my pigeon.

He continued with the attacks, but little by little increasing the speed. The King of Nightmares moved his head from side to side while moaning and gasping, unable to withstand the wave of pleasure he felt at that moment. Hob proceeds to settle you with the pillow below his hips, making his G-spot in better reach for him. He would be very grateful to the colleague at the university where he work for giving him that advice.

—AH~!! —he let out a moan, along with a couple of tears in his beautiful blue eyes. Meaning a sign.

That was his sweet spot.

Hob couldn't help himself and moved closer to his Eternal's face to kiss and smell it, feeling the touch of his nose against his now flushed, sweaty pale cheek.

Morpheus held the back of his lover's neck with his left hand and his back with his right, waiting for more of his warmth. His ear was close and the lust was at its peak, he couldn't help it. Or rather, he didn't want to. Without thinking, he blurted out a phrase that would increase their libidos even more than they already were.

"Let me give you an heir"

Immediately, the thrusts became wild and uncontrolled. By way of inertia, Dream tightened his grip and hugged Hob's waist with his legs, for fear of becoming detached from him. While Hob distributed kisses, licks and bites on the Endless's neck.

—Don't stop, please. —Dream murmured, in the delirium of pleasure. —Aaahhh~ more, Hob. I need more~.

—I won't stop until all my seed is inside you. —Hob growled, blinded by lust and desire. Looking intensely at his lover who immediately begged for a kiss, which he did not deny.

He was very close to reaching climax, and he could feel that because of how hot his lower belly was. Morpheus couldn't resist it anymore.

Until Hob immediately decides to change positions. He leaves Morpheus' interior for a moment and, without asking, places the Endless face down with the same pillow under his belly. Hob pins Dream's legs under him, surprising him.

—Hob, what are you doing- NGK!! —He is interrupted again by a surprise attack at the same point.

He held Morpheus's hands in his own, marking the sweet spot that drove him crazy.

— Hob~ more~!! —His lips were drooling, and he couldn't even help but stick out his tongue in pleasure, as if leaving it out would help him get more air to breathe.

They continued to unleash blows, more and more accurate. Until...

—NGK!!/AAAHHH!!

That last grunt and moan made both beings ejaculate. Morpheus on the sheets and Hob inside his partner.

Gadling, panting and satisfied, kisses Dream's shoulder blades and his sweaty cheek. Carefully and without leaving his interior, he places his trembling Endless on his side. So that he can hug him from behind in a spoon position.

He inhaled his scent, and couldn't help but kiss his neck. Tentatively, he brought one of his hands to his clitoris to massage it.

—Nmmm~ Hob~

Gadling smiled. I was very anxious. —A second round?

Morpheus lets out a couple of tears, while giving him a smile.

—I beg you, my love.

An accurate attack was the response.

[seahagart]

politely submitting an application for drífa spouse ... i am a high elf prince . i have some funny health issues going on (cough . chronic illnesses . and pain .) but i am ginger and pale and short this is a funny contrast to drífa .

i make good pancakes and id be a very good house husband . and also i am chubby myself and id imagine we'd be like a pigeon and a bear in terms of cuddling .

you ever look at a lady and know that you have no chance whatsoever but youre going to politely ask anyways . i brought flowers . did any of you bring flowers . i didnt think so .

Aw this is so cute!!!! I will pass this on to her! Don't sell yourself short, she would like that. Would your kingdom be ok with you possibly living in the woods in a cozy cabin?

I will give her the flowers now :)

[shinraalpha]

15 Questions + 15 Friends

Thanks for the tag @stochastiz!

Are you named after anyone?

not even slightly. my first name has an unusual spelling which i think is 99% a mistake by my parents but oh well.

When was the last time you cried?

LMAO i have cried three times today because i had a panic attack this morning so that's left me emotionally Strung. Out. then the god of war dlc said it would take 2 hours to download and i cried over that because i am having a Hard Time lol.

Do you have kids?

none. i can't imagine having kids. i've worked with children and i write for children professionally but i am such a hermit with a need for space and isolation that i can't even the appeal in having a partner let alone children.

What sports do you play/have you played?

me and sports don't mix much anymore, but i used to swim a lot and i still love being in the water.

Do you use sarcasm?

does the pope shit in the woods?

What is the first thing you notice about people?

usually their clothing. I like people's style and the way they dress tends to signal fun little things about them, as well as potential common interests.

What's your eye color?

a pale blue-grey that gets me a lot of comments

Scary movies or happy endings?

happy endings bore me, i like a bleak as hell ending. and an unsettling middle.

Any talents?

i've been playing music since i was 12 and if i dare say i'm pretty good now. i play bass in a band called Pigeon Lips, we're on spotify and youtube and junk. i also love storytelling and i like to think i'm half-decent writer and dungeon master (though fatigue has taken that last one away from me).

Where were you born?

that beautiful tory cesspit known as the United Kingdom

What are your hobbies?

i read a lot, i play a lot of music, and i play a lot of ttrpgs and video games. i'm trying to get back into the cinema this year. i collect spores molds and fungus.

Do you have any petss

not yet but one day i will own a large grumpy old cat called Renfield

How tall are you?

i am 5ft 6in

Favorite subject in school?

i have always loved science - i find science endlessly fascinating, be it plants or chemical reactions or deep space or quantum mechanics. i also adored english, telling stories and picking apart how narratives work

Dream job?

i am lying on a rocky shore, the sound of the waves pulling through the pebbles is like white noise. it soothes me. i can feel the mycellium and roots of countless mushrooms and moss burrowing into my skin. i am returning to the Earth. i breathe out, and for the first time in my life, i feel calm.

Tagging?

@dreamalottie @voidspacecowboy @quasi-normalcy @bae-owyn @excitedrainbow and idk anyone else who wants to do it i'm not your mother

[shiningdesignersreflections]

Chapter 2: Night Bloom

Narrated by the telosma flower.

Narrator: The quiet garden was illuminated by the warm afterglow of the setting sun.

Narrator: The scent of sweet roses wafted through the air. Their fragrance, a prelude to the grand festival that was about to begin.

Narrator: A black car stopped at the gate of the Moonlight Garden.

Narrator: A man in a dark suit came out, with a sharp face as cold as an ice sculpture.

Narrator: I've never seen frost or snow in the winter, but I imagine they would give off a similar feeling to this man.

Steward: Mr. CEO.

Narrator: The butler bowed and led the man into the garden.

Narrator: Moonlight Garden finally welcomed its mysterious host, who would only visit once every two years.

Narrator: When the sun faded behind the mountains, the first rays of moonlight fell on the rose petals.

Narrator: From the terrace, Mercury gazed out into the night-caged garden.

Steward: A total of 121 guests had arrived, none of which were absent from the invitations list.

Narrator: Candidates from the royal city and the supporters who back them were in the garden below, all eagerly awaiting Mercury's choice.

Narrator: Mercury sat on the terrace with a cold expression, as if he were uninterested in the activities taking place below.

Narrator: The beautiful, powerful, and wealthy guests drank and danced while they vied for the attention of the man on the terrace.

Narrator: All around, the slender telosma buds showered the garden with a nightly fragrance.

Narrator: Dazzling stars glimmered above as intoxicating breaths mingled below.

Narrator: The crowd quieted down for a moment, as their eyes turned to a girl.

Mercury: Who is she?

Narrator: Mercury obviously took notice of her, too.

Steward: She's on the candidate's list. Her name is Lilith, the winner of the Starheaven beauty pageant.

Narrator: Mercury's eyes followed her with a cold gaze.

Lilith: I'm sorry, I didn't know you wanted this drink, too...

Poet: It's all right. Please, take it. But in exchange, may I have your name?

Lilith: Thank you. My name is Lilith. From the way you're dressed, would you happen to be from Ninir?

Poet: No, I was born in Pigeon. I'm a bard traveling through the Seven Kingdoms.

Lilith: I see. I grew up in Ninir and have never been outside the country, so I'm not as familiar with the other kingdoms...

Narrator: Her image was pure and innocent, soft and harmless like a bird with a heavenly voice. Everyone was captivated by her charm.

Narrator: People praised her for being as elegant as a swan with the sweetness of a young girl.

Narrator: Lilith smiled sweetly into the crowd, and her eyes seemed to inadvertently skim over the windowsill to take in Mercury's form.

Narrator: She nodded slightly as she met his cold eyes.

Narrator: The scent of telosma continued to float in the evening breeze.

Narrator: The crowd took notice as Mercury finally made his way into the dinner party.

Lilith: I'm sorry, have I offended you?

Narrator: Turning to Mercury, who now stood beside her, Lilith looked up at him nervously, her neck as pale and slender as a swan's.

Narrator: Mercury didn't answer, but smiled faintly as he offered her a drinking glass.

Mercury: Would you like some drinks?

Lilith: Thank you, Mr. ... I was invited to this party, but I still don't know your name...

Mercury: I am Mercury. I am aware of your name, so there is no need to introduce yourself.

Narrator: She giggled shyly, as a simple girl would do. Her eyes were dark and hazy, like a cloud shrouded in a midnight sky.

Lilith: Why are you only talking to me?

Narrator: Mercury came closer and whispered into her ear.

Mercury: Because you need me.

Narrator: In addition to her impeccable beauty, she now had something else to brag about.

Narrator: She was invited by the owner of the Moonlight Garden and immediately received unprecedented attention.

Narrator: This girl of ordinary birth was shrouded in mystery and danger, like telosma flowers hidden in the fog.

Chapter 1

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

[stresslitzia]

🎶 ask game!!

Song rolled: Pigeon - Cavetown Themes: Contemplation, regret, and loneliness Character: Baldr (Kingdom Hearts) Setting: Post-DR 'Baldr kinda-Succeeded' AU Length: ~400 words

Fuzzy feeling and I miss you Why can nothing stay the same?

The quiet air around Scala felt eerie. For a town with so much life, it had seen quite its share of death recently, too. To the best of Baldr's knowledge, there were thirteen deaths over the past two weeks- though the Heart-shaped moon never appeared as he'd been told it should have. He must have made a mistake somewhere. Perhaps someone had survived, or someone hadn't counted. And now…?

Well, now he was left to face the realization of what he'd done.

The pale boy found himself near the edge of town often now- right where he and his former classmates often spent hours bantering. There were never any creatures in the area, and the locals avoided him like they feared they would be next on his list of targets. But today was different. As Baldr picked apart the sandwich he had made, tossing bits of his meal onto the cobblestone before him, a single creature finally deigned to visit. He watched the bird- a nearly solid black pigeon- pick up the discarded bread he had previously tossed.

…And so, he chose to continue his visits, if just for the feathered friend he'd made over his inability to properly eat. The weight of his deeds was still great, but he often found himself talking to this bird. He could relate, after all- being so absorbed by Darkness that others cast you aside. Needing to find another way to survive.

"They thought I was a beast," he'd once told his companion, "or a monster of some kind. But to have villains, you need a hero, right?" Of course, the bird hadn't responded to him. It was a bird. Baldr was left in silence when his companion fluttered away that day. Left to remember what he'd done in detail. The ones that stood out in his mind were those he had been so smug over. Urd, Hermod, Bragi… The pride he had felt the day he struck down Vor, Eraqus, and Xehanort was all but gone. The pride over all his classmates, really. Maybe he shouldn't have done it.

While Baldr persisted, the black pigeon had all but abandoned him. The locals of the isle he called home had all left. Perhaps it was time he did, too. But he couldn't. Not yet. And so he stayed there. He stopped returning home as the weather turned cold, ultimately deciding to just let the snowfall take him far, far away.

[xtruss]

Where Falconry is a Storied Sport, These Women are Writing a New Chapter

In the United Arab Emirates, One Photographer Sets Out to Document Unseen Figures in this Beloved National Tradition.

— Photographs By Vidhyaa Chandramohan | By Manar Al Hinai and Sharifa Al Hinai | March 1, 2023

Guardians of an ancient desert heritage, falconers pose with their birds in Abu Dhabi’s Al Wathba area. For women and girls in the United Arab Emirates, learning the national sport is increasingly becoming a rite of passage.

Abu Dhabi, United Arab Emirates — The irising sun spreads pale light over the desert sands, illuminating a scene at once common and unexpected: a solitary falcon, hooded and still atop its perch, ready for hunting practice.

While people in what is now the United Arab Emirates have trained falcons for more than 4,000 years, more surprising is the falconer—a woman, with a young daughter working beside her.

Historically used as hunting companions, falcons captured meat that couldn’t be killed with an arrow or trapped in a snare to augment the low-protein diet of the nomadic Bedouins on the Arabian Peninsula. Falcons are keen-eyed—they see eight times farther than a human—and capable of plummeting from the sky at over 200 miles an hour to catch small prey such as desert hares and houbara bustards.

Left: After French artist Horace Vernet visited Algeria in 1839 en route to the Middle East, he painted "An Algerian Lady Hawking." Wallace Collection, Bridgemam Images. Right: Map

Though no longer necessary as food suppliers, the raptors remain beloved by the people who own and train them, holding a revered perch in the country’s cultural heritage. Amid the fierce winds of globalization, falconry—which includes both racing and hunting exhibitions—has allowed practitioners to reconnect with their desert roots.

Another enduring fact: The prestigious national sport has been primarily associated with men, at least in the public eye. Yet photojournalist Vidhyaa Chandramohan knew women were there.

For centuries women have tamed and hunted with falcons in places ranging from Mongolia and Kazakhstan to the United States and the United Kingdom. And Emirati women are no less devoted, says Chandramohan, who has lived in the country for 16 years.

Top: The photographer sought out women falconers, who she describes as being "absent from the photographic records.” She focused on Ayesha al Mansoori (left), here teaching Mariam Al Hammadi and Iman Al Hammadi. Women falconers regularly come together in the evenings, developing friendships and sharing knowledge in the process. Carrying the bird so that it remains comfortable and calm is a basic skill in falconry.

Bottom Left: A member of Dubai's ruling family, Sheikha Mozah bint Marwan bin Mohammed bin Hasher Al Maktoum practices falconry. "I am trying to be disciplined and do it every weekend," she says. "But a true commitment to it is doing it every day, if not twice a day, as it’s important to establish a bond with the falcon.”

Bottom Right: Osha, 8, learns falconry from her mother, Ayesha al Mansoori, who has trained nearly 150 women and 70 girls. The first stage is learning how to care for the falcons, which takes about a year, followed by training the birds using lures. Osha uses a live pigeon lure here.

Top: Al Mansoori and her aunt drive with her falcon to a training session. Historically the birds were utilized for food gathering; today they're maintained as pets and regarded as family members. Bottom: The saluki breed is integral to falconry. The dog tracks and recovers prey struck down by the falcons. Al Mansouri is seen here with her friend's dog.

Revealing the Role of Women

Chandramohan began to search for female falconers to document their part in the tradition. She scoured social media for pictures and stories. When she came upon Ayesha al Mansouri, she knew she’d found a treasure.

Top Left: Al Mansouri owns seven falcons and spends most of each day with them. At home, she constructed a ventilated space with desert sands and access to water.

Top Right: Osha displays her falcon's passport. The United Arab Emirates created the passport system in the hopes of decreasing illegal falcon trafficking and regulating the sport. Bottom: During hunting and racing season, falconers often go out twice a day, at dawn and dusk, to train their birds. Women unwind after a session while falcons rest on perches.

Al Mansouri began to study falconry with her father when she was four. After her brother failed to wrestle a hood on a falcon and gave up, Al Mansouri tried—and eventually got it.

“’I just covered it,’ she recalls saying to her father. “He was stunned, and shot me glances showing he was proud and impressed.” The moment marked her entry into the world of falcons.

But in 2018, when Chandramohan approached the thirty-something falconer with a proposal to document her career, she was reluctant. Just as falconers must first earn a bird’s trust, Chandramohan realized she too needed to patiently gain Al Mansouri’s trust in order to tell her story in pictures.

Top: Al Mansouri during a training session with Osha. Falconry is traditionally handed down from father to son, but in Abu Dhabi more women and girls are entering the sport. “I often used to sit with my father, who would tell me stories about falconry," Al Mansouri says, "especially ones about the women who practiced the sport in the old days.”

Bottom Left: A vet files and shapes a falcon’s claws in an attempt to protect the bird’s owner from serious scratches.

Bottom Right: A falcon under anesthesia is checked by Margit Muller, a doctor and executive director of the Abu Dhabi Falcon Hospital, a leading center for raptor medicine.

Eventually she did. And when photographs of Al Mansouri and her daughter, Osha, now 8 and following in her mother’s footsteps, were published in media outlets and displayed as part of a photography festival, the public took note. Changing the perception of the sport would require a role model—Al Mansouri.

After that, “many women came to me and said that their grandmothers and aunts were practicing falconry,” says Chandramohan. “But my documenting this practice by capturing women as subjects was something new and unfamiliar to them.”

Top: Women have been engaged in falconry for centuries. In this circa 1780 painting, Indian ruler and warrior Chand Bibi hunts with hawks from her stallion. The British Library (ADD.OR.2894)

Bottom Left: A tile depicts a falconer and a musician from Iran's Qajar dynasty, circa 1850. The British Museum

Bottom Right: A circa 1750 Guler-style painting of a lady with a hawk, from India's Punjab region, is among the Victoria and Albert Museum's collection. HIP/Art Resource

Al Mansouri too says she was not the first woman from her family to break in. “My cousin, in her sixties, is an expert in falconry, and she learned her methods and secrets from two uncles,” she says. (One was Al Mansouri's father.) “She often took me with her on hunting trips.”

Woman on a Mission

But it wasn’t enough to be visible. Al Mansouri wanted to do more. Her mission became teaching falconry to girls, which she began in 2016 at the Abu Dhabi Falconers Club. When she offered classes, 50 women promptly signed up. So far, she's trained nearly 150 women and 70 girls.

Now “everyone wants to educate their daughters even before their sons in falconry,” she says, “and society has become more accepting of women’s participation in this ancient sport.”

Today women take part in competitions and festivals, including the International Festival of Falconry, which launched in 1976.

Top: Her Highness Sheikha Mozah bint Marwan bin Mohammed bin Hasher Al Maktoum and her cousin Sheikh Ahmed Saeed Mohammed Hasher Al Maktoum, also an experienced falconer, train a falcon to chase prey tied to the plane.

Bottoms Left: Sheikha Mozah bint Marwan bin Mohammed bin Hasher Al Maktoum attaches a GPS transmitter to the tail feathers of her falcon before releasing it for training. A GPS tag helps locate a bird if it is lost.

Bottom Right: Al Mansouri drives out to the desert with her falcon.

The legacy that Al Mansouri is keen to preserve goes beyond ensuring that women have a place in the sport. Conservation is integral to her work and to other equally committed falconers.

The UAE has made strides at a time when several falcon species face threats from habitat loss and illegal wildlife trading. (Read more about falcon conservation in the UAE.)

Preserving a Legacy

UAE falconers now fly only captive-bred birds for racing and hunting demonstrations, and hunting live prey with falcons is prohibited except by special permit in certain areas.

In 2002, to further discourage the trafficking of illegally captured birds, the UAE began issuing falcon “passports” detailing their origins. Several countries, including Saudi Arabia, followed suit.

The UAE reinforced its pivotal role with the 1999 opening of the largest falcon hospital in the world, whose training programs draw students from more than 42 countries. “The UAE is a global model for falconry, not only in terms of veterinary medicine related to the care of the birds but also in terms of conservation and population maintenance through breeding,” says Margit Muller, executive director of the Abu Dhabi Falcon Hospital.

In offering tours to local schools, “our goal is for the youth first to learn and love the sport, so that they’ll pass their knowledge on,” says Muller, who has been in the city since 2001.

The time-honored tradition has become a profitable engine sustained by annual competitions and festivals, such as the President’s Cup Falcon Competitions in Abu Dhabi and the Fazza Championship for Falconry in Dubai.

'Your Falcon Is Your Brother'

As dedicated as Al Mansouri is to her mission, she never forgets a lesson she learned at her father’s side. ��Your falcon is your brother,” she recalls. “He’s more than just a hunting bird; he is a being that should be appreciated.”

Rawan Hareb al Hammadi offers hot tea to friends after a training session.

In the desert twilight, Al Mansouri lights a campfire and soon the rich aroma of Arabic coffee fills the air. She finishes her cup, walks to her waiting falcon and lifts off its hood. She raises her hand for the bird to take its place on her arm, and in a moment the falcon takes flight.

The falconer swings a lure in a wide arc around her—a rope with a bustard wing tied at the end. The falcon takes aim and swoops in. At the last second Al Mansouri jerks the lure away. After a couple more tries, she allows the falcon to capture the lure and then quickly replaces it with meat—usually a quail or pigeon breast.

Osha’s piercing eyes watch all her mother does—both her movements and her stillness—as she handles her obedient falcon. They don’t need words to teach and learn the fundamentals of their ancient craft.

[chesterleprince]

Madonna Lily

//

Down to last haywire,

drown in grand Bayliner.

Brass high-wire, bolder pale fire.

Pasch, the Skyliner Passover, stay quiet.

Chicken wire, knife-fighter's knack, a humidifier.

If he'd just been a little wiser, the skill acquired just arisen prior,

the kitchen's diner'd eat the pigeon's eye up,

like they're sick and tired of the tyrannizer

Chickens counting 666.

Eclipsed your vicious sins,

dismiss my sickness swift,

I slit the vixen's wrist.

the whip's submission hits,

I drip of witnessed winks,

blink in this ripless skit.

Styx, I am swimming in.

May be brain surgery,

ungain and crazed internally.

Deranged eternity, straining my faith and urgency.

Disdain for burgundy, abstaining in vain of burglary.

Cain's perversity, the certain key to insurgency,

the murder he with purpose and deservedly

served with fervency, nurtured me, what the paternal observer sees.

Secretly accepting,

appealingly deceptive,

cerebrally complexing,

cheatingly, she crept in.

Beseechingly ascending,

endearingly injecting.

Seeing in me a fledgling,

fiendishly, I'm jesting.

Pleasing the gods,

yet I'm beating their swords.

Keenly absorbing,

their weakly enforced.

Briefly exploring,

some lenient support.

Freely airborne,

drag the phoenix along.

Sweepingly, stealing the stars,

breaching the guards,

gleaming of bronze.

Preaching, I plead for hurrahs,

steep are the odds,

reeling in psalms.

Hidden hope,

I've ridden home,

with chicken stricken to the bone.

Manila rope, a smidgen of this prison owned.

The villain known for this mixed approach.

In a different tone, grab the kingdoms throne.

My visions grown, the crimson throat, I drift alone, I killed my own.

[prussiasqueen]

Self insert babes~

Name: Admin Brii, Bridgette, Brii

Age: 30

Height: 5”4

Weight: 300

Hair color: black, sometimes seen with purple, half purple half black.

Eye color: pale blue eyes, they turn empty and grey when she’s broken mentally or extremely sad or pissed off. And when happy, they get more greenish hue.

Bra size: 40H

Pets: a Doberman dog named King Lucien the I, three cats named Apollo, Aphrodite and Noelle. A black mouse named Queen Mauschen.

Body structure: Has a large butt that’s bubbly and very curvy and thick, but has a big belly too. Big thighs, slightly pigeon toed. Extremely pale skin, like moon paste white. Her cheeks are always pink and flushed, her fupa is very meaty and large, and very pink. Her nipples are small and very pink. Her lips are also very pink and shaped Cupid bow lips.

Family: father is a polish-german Ashkenazi Jewish man, her mother is an Italian Ashkenazi jewish woman. Her grandparents, her Opa is a full blooded German man and her bubbe is a polish Ashkenazi Jewish woman. So her heritage is of Jewish and European descent.

Key personality traits: soft hearted, multifaceted, spacey, philosophical, tired a lot, emotional, stubborn, loving to an obsessive degree. Has a hard time understanding what’s considered “flirting” and what is just friendly interactions. Can be chaotic, sassy and straight up a brat at times.

Occupation: a janitor at the world meetings building. She also seems to do little side money taking pictures for people, photographer. She also does odd jobs and will pet sit. And she gardens and farms. (Loves to be outside and grow vegetables and herbs.)

Likes: chocolate, edm/electronic music, plushies, comfy clothes, purple, pink, black, German things, animals, history, castles, taking pictures of nature and architecture. Dancing and singing and drawing, sleeping. Being a masochist, perfume, make up, hair accessories, clothes, shoes. Cuddles and snuggles. Being a switch and teasing.

Dislikes: confrontation, mushrooms, clocks (has a fear of ticking noises, people making fun of her weight, people hating her for just about anything. Dead things (it freaks her out), rude people. Her mental health issues, being depressed and being lonely.

What is she exactly?:

A soul or spirit that is able to interdimensionally cross worlds. She has a past life of supposedly being the saint bridgitte. She has many past lives living as this particular entity.

Who had got a hold of her current life and flipped it upside down? A eldritch deity and entity from the void by the name of Dr.Prince, deity of science and time. He chose her through means of rumors of finding the “perfect” host that could handle many trials of ever last torture and have endurance of dealing with many encounters of demonic sand other otherworldly supernatural entities.

And when he had chosen the reincarnated saint, it was stars that aligned.

So now she’s considered “the admin of the void kingdom” a being that has connection and be able to alter and change it align with the current king and prince that resides there.

King of the void is a eldritch entity that’s lived thousands of years and lives and his current form he is depicted as a tall, dark handsome man of Egyptian/nubian descent. And the prince of the void is his son, also know as Dr.Prince.

Brii now had a soul contract with Dr.Prince since he has “chosen” her to be able to handle such a task as traveling across the universes and different realms.

He has given her and her parallel twin soul “Babalon/Burden” two devices called a databook, from there these two devices are soul and mentally connected to the user, think of it as a tablet that records all information that is correlated to the user and their soul.

Dr.Prince gave her this so she could go in between worlds and record all information about how each realm and universe works, for he is a deity that seeks to acclaim every single piece of data that he’s ever missed (if that’s possible) but also to gain insight of how the human perspective and emotions are in each situation they are put in.

And currently right now the dimension she is in, is the hetalia earth dimension. And is one of the few mortals that can see and interact with the countries.

She’s a 30 year old woman from a different dimension of earth and she somehow got crossed to the earth dimension of hetalia or aka commonly known was earth dimension APH-9119 in her realm. Because she has opened a portal to this dimension, her other entities that friends from her world can come and connect with Hetalia nations.

Bridgette’s wardrobe:

Default clothes-

Black hoodie

Black leggings (sometimes shorts)

Messy, wavy shoulder length dark purple/ black hair

Big thick cat eye glasses (but often misplaces them)

A black spiked choker (sometimes she’ll wear a ribbon instead with a random pendant or bell on it)

Miscellaneous hair accessories

Black high top converse

Black bra

Black panties

Plus sized

May wear a small side ponytail

Underneath her black hoodie, she may wear a black tank top or a random graphic tee, usually it has stuff related to Prussia on it (random chicks, or maybe a crown or his face)

Has a small gold crown on her head (no one knows why this keeps happening and why she has it but it stays)

Below ankle mismatch socks

Wears a couple of rings, usually a black band with rhinestones in it.

Nun outfit-

Thigh length custom nun outfit (shit sorta looks like Halloween but whatever)

Has a pew pew ���

Has a bunch of cards and poker chips (lol what? She secretly loves to gamble) and a dreidel that her friend Malka (Israel) gave her. So she plays with Israel sometimes different board games and whatnot.

A “Neko” form

Usually depicted wearing black lingerie

Has black cat ears and tail

Likes to pounce and nom people

Often acts like a black jaguar or a black domestic cat.

Her pupils might dilate when happy or pissed

Loves her head to be scratched and petted.

She will lay on your desk and roll it.

T B C /there’s so much to cover/

[tenderlywicked]

Word of Honor fanfiction rec list

Mostly angst and hurt/comfort with some fluff mixed in :)

All stories are in alphabetical order. I’ll mark the most recent ones as “NEW”.

Afloat by postcardssoul

Summary: "The principle of floating bodies states that, in order to stay afloat, a body has to move water with a strength that the water will give back, in full. Such was their love."

Zhou Zishu once had a career as an athlete. As good as he was, he had to let it go in order to stay alive. He ran away, and just when he thought he was going to drown his emotions into nothingness. Then he met Wen Ke Xing, a storm waiting for someone to calm it.

Warnings: implied self-harm, suicidal thoughts

All the Fires Faded and Were Quenched by elrohir

Summary: “I’m losing my senses, Lao Wen,” he said, with a hoarse bluntness that was perhaps a little cruel. He paused, and took a deep breath. Wen Kexing stared, still silent, black eyes wide with a distressed devotion that caused Zhou Zishu’s stomach to fill with hot shame. “I’m dying.”

---

Zhou Zishu can't smell Wen Kexing anymore.

Warnings: massive angst

NEW As The World Falls Down by StratsWrites, whiskeyandspite

Summary:

His eyes had adjusted to the dark enough that he could make out more details now; the man was dressed in white, or pale grey, in robes of all things, looking like he’d stepped out of a C-drama. He even had a goddamn fan that he was casually moving back and forth.

Seriously, what a day.

Exhausted single parent, chronic pain sufferer, and jaded writer Zhou Zishu has an argument with his son one evening and accidentally wishes him away to the Goblin Kingdom. And apparently it's against the rules to magic him back out again.

Flight Stories by sunromance

Summary:

Chengling, We have a pigeon now. I have trained it to fly between Four Seasons Manor and the mountain to deliver letters. When you wish to reply to this one, just put the letter in a tube, tie it around its ankle, and let it go; it will return to me.

-

The pigeon dies. Zhou Zishu attends a pigeon funeral with his family and remembers how to celebrate life.

A Good Bargain by Neery

Summary: The Window of Heaven captures the Ghost Valley's master. Zhou Zishu is put in charge of interrogating him. But Wen Kexing has a plan of his own…

Warnings: canon-typical torture.

Hold Still by Alipeeps

Summary: “Be still!”Wen Kexing’s breath hitches, his shoulders twitching. “Aiya, it hurts, A-Xu…”“Good.” Anger (fear) makes his words sharp. “Maybe it’ll teach you not to do something so stupid in future.”Wen Kexing flinches again and Zhou Zishu tightens his grip on his shoulder, holding him still as he carefully works the metal dart loose. It comes away with a slight jerk and a stifled gasp from Wen Kexing. Blood wells from the wound, a swelling bead that immediately bursts and trickles down Wen Kexing’s back. Zhou Zishu drops the dart into a bowl, metal clinking delicately against ceramic, and presses a cloth firmly to the wound, applying pressure, and a little push of qi, to slow the bleeding.

NEW Lao Wen's Moving Castle by bazemayonnaise

Summary:

He has known, of course, that his Ah-Xu is cursed, that he is not the crotchety old man he looks to be, but still: Wen Kexing feels his heart overflow at the sight of the young man asleep before him, so still, sleeping so soundly. Ah-Xu feels safe, here. Wen Kexing muffles his groan into his sleeve as he stands, glancing down to make sure he’s not roused his sleeping cleaner. Zhou Zishu feels safe here. He cannot wake to find his charming and innocuous Lao Wen bloodied and half-charred. His calves protest his weight, light as he is, but he forces himself to step away from the bed, half-dragging himself up wooden stair by wooden stair. Zhou Zishu feels safe here. Wen Kexing cannot ruin that.

Or, a Howl's Moving Castle Speedrun.

Like an Old Song I Sing Along by stardust_rust

Summary: Zhou Zishu turns to leave, trying to ignore the nagging feeling that he’s making yet another mistake, that there are still words left unsaid between them. It’s been nine years, they’ve both moved on with their lives; even if Zhou Zishu has held this sour coal of regret in his chest, Wen Kexing surely wouldn't -

“Did you marry her after all?”

Warnings: implied/referenced child abuse

Mooncake Rhapsody by chasiubao

Summary: Zhou Zishu loved this tiny corner of the city they’d carved out for themselves, loved the pathetic balcony garden they were struggling to keep alive and the way the orange yolk of the sunset poured in through their windows. He loved the pile of shoes by the door, his and Wen Kexing’s all jumbled together. Wasn’t that bliss? To see your things all mixed up together, because there was no need to keep things carefully organized, easy to pick out. Because nobody was leaving. Because this wasn’t temporary.

After a long week, Zhou Zishu and Wen Kexing go home for the Moon Festival. A story about bickering as an act of love, burnt out twentysomethings and (most importantly) mooncakes. Contains domestic vibes, morning sex, cuddling/squabbling after an exhausting week at work, Wen Kexing's maniacal driving, and CHINESE FOOD!

My Touch Magnifies by isozyme

Summary: “You idiot,” Ye Baiyi chuckles at Long Xiao. “He was already panting for someone to have him like a bitch before you poisoned him. You’re doing us a favor by encouraging these two soup-for-brains to go off into the woods and fuck their feelings out.”

Wen Kexing swears at Ye Baiyi, then threatens to pluck his eyebrows bald. Chengling blinks as he takes in the scene with round eyes. Long Xiao smiles, showing off his full set of adult teeth, eerily out of place in a child’s face. Zhou Zishu feels sick to his stomach; he wishes he could be drunk.

Wen Kexing gets hit with fuck-or-die sex pollen on the way to Longyuan cabinet. Everything would be fine, except Zhou Zishu’s been keeping an unfortunate secret: the nails in his chest mean he can’t get hard anymore.

Warnings: past sexual trauma/assault triggered during sex, dubious consent.

On the Moor, the Creeping Grass by etymologyplayground

Summary: "I'm not going to die of spoiled blood," Zhou Zishu groans, "Good heavens, Lao Wen ah."

"Indeed not! I won't let you," Wen Kexing agrees, and threads the needle. They fall silent as he stitches the wound closed. He can feel Zhou Zishu's eyes on his face, but he doesn't dare look up to meet his gaze; he doesn't want to prick him by accident. No, Zhou Zishu will not die of spoiled blood.

--

Evening, night, and morning at Four Seasons Manor.

NEW ours is a vast country by drifloon

Summary:

During the early 1930s in the Republic of China, Zhou Zishu is trying to get out of Jin Wang's employ by purposefully botching every job as badly as possible. When he's sent to retrieve a mysterious jade chest from the Zhang family, rumoured to have magical powers, he opens the chest before stealing it, intending to empty the contents out... instead, a man with pale hair and dark eyes steps out. Wen Kexing, the Chief of the Hidden, has been unleashed.

The longer Wen Kexing stays in the human realm, the more damage he does to Zhou Zishu; to prevent both of their deaths, the two of them travel across China, learning - in their own ways - what it might mean to be human.

Sacrifice by cytheriafalas

Summary: Zhou Zishu completed jobs however he had to, and sometimes that meant sacrificing himself, offering his body, his time, his skills to whoever had what he needed. He offered his body to Prince Jin for his Tian Chuang, and he was willing to offer his body to Ye Baiyi to save Wen Kexing. He hadn't expected it to be an easy sell, but he also hadn't expected to be goaded into spilling the stories to Wen Kexing and Ye Baiyi of what Prince Jin had used him for, either.

Warnings: past rape/non-con

Sanguine by jaemyun

Summary: Zhou Zishu is ready to be done with Tian Chuang. He's ready for his seventh nail, and ready to wander before facing his eighty one brothers with a bowed head in the afterlife. He will do this after, apparently, one last mission that's simply too intriguing to pass up.

The Ghost Valley has sent a letter past its borders, asking to attend the Heroes Conference of the Five Lakes Alliance. The Five Lakes Alliance, unbelievably, has accepted. Both no doubt have hidden intentions, and Prince Jin wants eyes and ears on the scene. Zhou Zishu can't quite bring himself to deny his own ravenous curiosity enough not to accept.

The stunning beauty that shows up with the girls of the Department of the Unfaithful, the one who introduces himself as Wen Kexing, is universally assumed to be a favorite plaything of the yet unseen Ghost Valley Master. His beauty and charm may be enough to captivate all the others into underestimating him, but Zhou Zishu knows a killer's eyes when he sees one. Wen Kexing is a puzzle he'd like to figure out, and Zishu himself can't say he isn't also captivated by dark eyes and a smile that wouldn't be out of place with blood in its teeth.

Smells Like… by Jin_Lings_Guncle

Summary:

Wen Kexing snorted and rolled his eyes. “Look, Ah Xu, why are you so eager to go now anyway?” His eyes narrowed. “Wait. Where are we moving to this time, Ah Xu?”

Zhou Zishu straightened from where he’d been shoving some of his stray clothes down into a bag without much concern for their structural integrity. “Ah…”

Wen Kexing sauntered into the room and stood across the bed from his husband, leaning down to catch his eye, the rhinestones on the sunglasses propped on top of his head glinting in the evening light pouring in the window. “Ah Xu, where are we moving this time?” he asked again, voice taking on a sing-song quality. His eyes tracked across Zhou Zishu’s still face, down his neck to his ratty t-shirt and the jeans with the holes in the knees. There was a battered red flannel shirt tied around his waist and a suspicion was growing.

So You Became my Wound by northofallmusic (tofsla)

Summary: Anyone can make a mistake in a fight.

Wen Kexing gets himself hurt. Zhou Zishu cleans him up.

Warnings: wound care, gore, implied torture and self-harm, implied sexual violence. 

Strays by orange_crushed

Summary: Zishu's mind has been trained to this sort of work: to take in every meaningless detail and produce from that the truth. To assess danger and opportunity alike. Of course, this is a misuse of his talents. Kexing shouldn't concern him. He should be nothing to Zishu: just another foolish boy to mold into a useful weapon, or else to discard. But then, Zishu has seen what's really inside him, the pitiless tiger who lives in his guts. And he might be the only one who has. Kexing let the other boys off with bruises, didn't he?

He is Zishu's, somehow. As much as anything has ever been.

[AU timeline in which teenage runaway Wen Kexing meets career assassin Zhou Zishu and upends both their lives.]

Warnings: past sexual abuse, past child abuse, sex work (not between main pairing), slight age difference, suicidal thoughts, canon-typical violence.

Sweeter Now by sunromance

Summary: “Then, what? What’s so worrisome you can’t even look at me when you say it?” Zhou Zishu said.“He can’t move his arm,” Chengling repeated, then looked down into his eyes. “Shifu, you’re going to have to cook.”

Zhou Zishu cooks for the first time in years and remembers the meaning of caretaking.

This Harbored Deluge for You and I by gardencitymovements

Summary: Three months. He’ll stay three months. Just long enough for that shrimpy Zhang Chengling to wean into this new world, and then he’ll leave. Just three months he’ll allow himself that brassy, beautiful line cook, who barked the most flirtatious insult at Zhou Zishu as he charged down the cracked asphalt with a towering pallet jack of wholesale soy sauce boxes; his voice magnetic like an army general’s, clear above the rumbling gallop of his condiment fleet.

Chaperoning a new orphan across the Pacific runs into complications.

This Never-Ending Simple Tenderness by seagaze

Summary: As Zhou Zishu raises his head, his line of sight is tangled with Wen Kexing's gaze. Around them, the music playing in the background and sounds of people picking vegetables and pushing their carts drop away. It's enough for the both of them to break into smiles. Wen Kexing lifts a hand to rest on Zhou Zishu's left hand where it's draped over the handle of the shopping cart, and gives it a light squeeze.

"A-Xu," he says.

"Mm," Zhou Zishu responds.

A fic about the inherent romance of ambling through a supermarket on a Tuesday afternoon with the person you love.

Warmth by triedunture

Summary: Takes place at the end of episode 16 when they're spending the night in the cave.

This is not the first time they've lain together, but it is the first time Zhou Zishu has been able to be completely unclothed.

The Wind That Blows through the Pines by passingknightly

Summary: Zhou Zishu felt the familiar sensation of Wen Kexing's eyes upon him like a prickle on the back of his neck, before a hand settled over-familiar on his waist. He huffed in annoyance, more at the heat and his own exhaustion than at the presumption. He found that he was feigning annoyance at that more and more these days. Wen Kexing seemed to enjoy both his refusal and his acquiescence equally, so perhaps it was the same thing in the end.

NEW When the Darkness Comes by iluv2eat

Summary: "This light will guide you home."Though Qin Huaizhang had managed to rescue Wen Kexing from the Ghost Valley, a shadow still festers in Wen Kexing’s heart. Zhou Zishu knows he can be the window that brings the light into Kexing’s heart.

Within Us an Orchard by mintyfish (guckindieluft)

Summary:

“If you want to keep breathing, there are rules,” he said. “Don’t touch anything unless I give it to you, or tell you that you can touch it. Don’t leave this room without me. No talking to anyone else.”

“Is there anyone else?” Wen Kexing mused. Even if he had no family in this world, no man this wealthy should have an empty household, never mind the Master of a major sect. Where were the retainers, the servants and slaves, the runners, the guards? Where were his martial siblings?

“The one you should worry about is me.” Zhou Zishu’s eyes were very dark. In the thin afternoon light, they reflected back nothing.

+

On a visit to the capital, the Valley Master happens upon the garden of a man who has nothing left to live for.

Warnings: canon-typical violence and suicidal ideation.

NEW the world honey and golden by Silverofyou

Summary:

Zhou Zishu realized that, despite being the one being fucked, he had long taken the role of a mere observer.

(Or, Zhou Zishu, Helian Yi and Jing Beiyuan find themselves in a brothel and then things happen).

you're the trouble that i always find by sundiscus

Summary:

“Do you know him?” Jin Wang asks.

The ringing in Zhou Zishu's ears gets louder. “No, Wangye,” he says.

At Zhou Zishu’s voice, the prisoner freezes.

Or: Jin Wang tries another way to get Zhou Zishu back.

Warnings: canon-typical violence, angst (with a happy ending), minor character death, implied/referenced suicide, mind manipulation, temporary amnesia.

Your Flower Rain at the End of the Road by gardencitymovements

Summary: “What’s next?” Wen Kexing finds that he doesn't want to know, but he asks anyway.

“Scent, touch, hearing, and then sight.”

He pulls Zhou Zishu’s face down to his neck. “What’s this smell?”

“Um, the green bottle with the cork—no, the agate stopper—on the stool next to the bathtub.”

Wen Kexing lets him go, reassured at least by that. He thinks for a while, and needles out, “So all this time, I’ve been cooking for someone who can’t even taste the hard work I put in.”

-

cooking for a dying person in the shadow of his old home, until his self-destruct button can be safely turned off.

Warnings: mentions of blood/animal death.

Aaand you can find my fanfiction on AO3, too :) I’ve got only two WenZhou fanfics so far, but I suspect there will be more.

[vanderlindemangofarm]

The Scientist’s Way

Hi hi hi 

So

I know I don’t really do anything here anymore but I was so inspired by @markodragic​ and their headcanons for Marko Dragic x Charles Chatenay that I couldn’t resist writing this short piece. It’s niche. It’s a bit angsty, a bit steamy, a bit fluffy, a bit of all the things I love the most ft. two of my favourite strangers. So this is for you, Cara. I hope you like it! 

This is a short fic about Charles and Marko’s first time together. 

Pairing: Marko Dragic x Charles Chatenay 

Word count: 739

Category: mostly fluff, a bit angsty/smutty. 

It wasn’t yet noon. The pale sun shone sleepily through the rafters of the small attic room, the one that belonged to the artist. Pigeons cooed on the rooftop, their little feet tip-tapping a tuneless rhythm as somewhere a church bell chimed and horses whinnied in the street below. The scientist lay on the bed.

The bed, the scientist noted, wasn’t much bigger than the ugly cot he used at Doverhill. The artist, surely, was used to sharing the beds of others. The mattress was thin and it sagged in the middle, and the metal springs hung silent after chorusing their incessant creak, creak, creak. The scientist thumbed the white sheet, his eyes scanning every fibre. His back was turned to the artist, who had leapt of the bed triumphantly and was brewing a pot of coffee on the tiny stove. He hummed to himself as he arranged porcelain cups, offering to replace the coffee altogether with brandy, for today was such a marvelous day, indeed it was.

“You know,” the artist mused. “I don’t believe I have ever fucked someone like you before.”

He glanced over at the scientist, admiring the pale arches and shadows of his body. His freckled back, his hip bones that protruded slightly, just visible above the sheets. That glorious head of the darkest hair, now disheveled and shining in the sunlight. He'd meant what he'd said. The scientist intrigued him, despite the fact he'd just explored every inch of him.

It had been a morning straight from a book. The scientist had arrived early, his face set with purpose. The artist had accommodated him without hesitation, though he had murmured with surprise at how eagerly the other man had pushed him backwards against the kitchen table, their kisses racing to keep up with one another. He’d been so ripe, and it had been so easy, after so many weeks of waiting and missed suppers and unopened letters and ignored looks across the street. When the artist had entered him he’d bitten down into the pillow and moaned deliriously. Their bodies became one, a tangle of sweat and wordless panting and the ravenous slap of skin on skin. 

The scientist rolled onto his back, his thick brow furrowed as he studied the ceiling. He ran his tongue over his top lip and the artist smiled, marvelling at how this awful city still managed to give him the most sumptuous gifts.

“I’ve…” the scientist began. “…never fucked anyone before.” His words were said carefully, deliberately, a kingdom away from his usual babble.

The artist paused, his hand hovering above the coffee pot, suspended in time. He looked back at the other man, a grin finding its way onto his face.

“Well, then this calls for champagne, not mere brandy! A glorious day!”

The scientist didn’t smile, didn’t move at all. He looked at the artist with a look of pure hurt that made the smaller man’s stomach twist.

“Do not laugh at me.”

He rolled over again, pulling the sheets up to his shoulders. He was completely still. The artist went to his side.

He ran his hand along the horizon of the scientist, watched how his fingers dipped and rose with his body. He lay next to him, wrapping his arms around the rigid body and breathing in his peppermint scent, his lips on his pulse as he kissed his neck.  

“Mon cheri…I would never dare to laugh.”

The scientist simpered, turning his head to meet the artist’s lips. The kiss was deep, the neediness replaced with something else the scientist couldn’t place. The artist cupped his cheek, his eyes soft.

“Did I hurt you? When I…” he trailed off, his usual smirk returning as his hand travelled down the scientist’s body, causing him to shiver.

The scientist blushed crimson and the artist couldn’t help but chuckle, his eyebrow raised.

“Hurt isn’t the right word, I do not think. I have been excavated!” the scientist declared very seriously, and the artist laughed so hard and so suddenly he almost fell off the bed.

The scientist did not laugh, but he sat up slightly, leaning on one elbow. He took a deep breath, as if preparing to give a speech. The artist looked at him expectantly.

“I want…” said the scientist. “…I would like to do that again.” 

The artist grinned, his plans for the rest of the day melting away as the sheets were pulled over his head, the coffee and brandy long forgotten in the delirious hours in the small attic room. 

[bantarleton]

William of Orange, Hero of the Second World War

MI14 or British Military Intelligence, Section 14 was a department of the British Directorate of Military Intelligence. It was an intelligence agency of the War Office, which specialised in intelligence about Germany. Originally part of MI3, during the Second World War the German sub-department's expertise and analysis became so important to the war effort that it was spun off into its own Military Intelligence section.

One of MI14's most valuable sources, codenamed COLUMBA, consisted of reports returned by pigeons dropped over Nazi-occupied countries in packs containing a miniature spying kit.

William of Orange was a male war pigeon of British military intelligence service MI14. He was awarded the 21st Dickin Medal.

The PDSA Dickin Medal was instituted in 1943 in the United Kingdom by Maria Dickin to honour the work of animals in war. It is a bronze medallion, bearing the words "For Gallantry" and "We Also Serve" within a laurel wreath, carried on a ribbon of striped green, dark brown and pale blue.

It is awarded to animals that have displayed "conspicuous gallantry or devotion to duty while serving or associated with any branch of the Armed Forces or Civil Defence Units".

The award is commonly referred to as "the animals' Victoria Cross".

He was awarded the medal for delivering a message from the Arnhem Airborne Operation.

This message saved more than 2000 soldiers at the time of the Battle of Arnhem in September 1944. Its official name in military record is NPS.42.NS.15125.

He received the Dickin Medal in May 1945.

Communications in that battle were a problem for the Allied units; German troops had surrounded the airborne forces and the few radio sets present malfunctioned.

William of Orange was released by British soldiers at 10:30 on 19 September 1944 and arrived at his nest box in England at 14:55.

He flew over 250 miles and the message he carried was one of few to make their way back to the United Kingdom.

William of Orange was bred by Sir William Proctor Smith of Cheshire and trained by the Army Pigeon Service of the Royal Signals.

Smith bought him out of service for £185 and ten years later reported that William was "the grandfather of many outstanding racing pigeons".

[shyrose57]

How many of you know what Dress Up Niki is? Because I’m making a Dress Up Niki AU.

Tubbo:

A simple boy from Lilith, as far as the group is concerned. 

Prefers Warm and Pure styles. Typically with some sort of nature or animal theme.

His default outfit is a pale yellow sweater with three thick brown stripes, and scrunched sleeves, over a soft green button-up shirt that's collar pokes out, brown shorts with green thread and a single bee embroidered onto each side, pale green socks, brown sneakers with green accents, a braided yellow/green bracelet with a bee charm, and a yellow and brown bee-themed backpack that he carries his stuff in.

There's a strange bee plushie that he only uses in emergencies, style wise. It's very soft, and smallish. It's wings are gossamer, and it's eyes are amber. Sometimes, it seems to move on it's own, though nobody's been able to prove it. Seems to have very potent Pure and Cute attributes.

Skills are Smile, Charming, Picky Immune, and Cinderella.

Tommy:

An orphan from Apple Federal who ran away and now is traveling the world.

Prefers Simple and Lively styles. Usually something sporty, and easy to move in.

Default outfit is a white long sleeve, a red short-sleeved hoodie, light brown cargo pants, red and white sneakers, white socks, brown fingerless gloves, and a brown satchel that holds his stuff.

One-third dark elf-one third forest elf, and otherwise human. Due to this, he can see easily in the dark, has more energy at night, overall has high magic stores, and is really good with animals. 

Feels a strange draw to Phil, though he can't pinpoint why.

Skills are Picky Immune, Gift, Clock, and Charming.

Wilbur:

Hails from the Republic of Wasteland, Windvale Tribe. Having always longed to study the styles of other nations, he finally left to do so after an argument with his brother, Fundy.

Prefers Simple and Gorgeous styles. Usually something with an 'old-fashioned' flair.

Default outfit is a pin-striped button up shirt, with rolled up sleeves, brown trouser, suspenders, white socks, a pair of laced boots, an brown, yellow, and blue arm-band peeking out from under his shirt, and a golden bangle bracelet on his wrist. Carries a briefcase bag to hold his stuff.

Very good with music, and has an easier time directing magic through it. 

Always has his guitar on hand. It has very potent Lively and Gorgeous attributes.

Skills are Smile, Charming, Critical Eye, and Picky Immune.

Phil:

Comes from Cloud originally, but moved to the North Kingdom as a teen. Nowadays, he travels the world with Techno.

Prefers Elegant and Simple styles. His clothes will be influenced by the area, as he is a survivalist at heart.

Default outfit is dark green kimono top, with a red heart stitched into the breast, over a simple black shirt, black pants, sandals, a striped white and green hat, and a leather pouch around his waist that holds his items.

Part forest elf, and as such, has a pair of large bird wings on his back, which he uses to fly quite often.

Skills are Smile, Charming, Picky Bounce, and Sleeping. 

Technoblade:

Former general from the north, he went rogue and became a mercenary at seventeen.

Prefers Mature and Elegant styles. Regal, but not enough to hinder him in battle.

Default outfit is a white poet’s shirt, dark red sash around his waist, black pants, knee-high Cavalier boots, a dark red hooded cloak that reaches his knees, numerous golden accessories, a leather pouch attached to his thigh to hold his stuff, as well as a dagger beneath it, and a sword sheath at his hip.

Immune to the Curse of Blood, for reasons unknown-possible descendant of Nikki.

Skills are Charming, Critical Eye, Cinderella, and Gift Bounce.

Plot:

Prince Tobias is the third prince of Pigeon, after Prince Dream, and Prince Eret. As the eldest, Dream has taken the throne in wake of their mother's passing.

Shortly before her death, the Queen gave her children each a special gift to aid them in the times to come.

Dream was granted a special mask, made of porcelain, and baring a simple smiley-face on it's surface. The mask is enchanted, hiding the wearer's emotions and weaknesses from everyone around them. Perfect for diplomacy.

Eret was given a coat, of deep red and golden thread. It granted it's wearer confidence, drawing attention to them, and giving them the strength of leadership. Perfect for leading.

And Tobias was given a bee plushie, warm and soft, that gave it's holder hope, and reminded them of memories of joy and childhood. Perfect for a boy who'd have to be a hero.

When Dream took the throne, he started changing. Acting colder, and more power hungry. Uncaring for his people. His siblings soon realized that the mask had become corrupted, not merely hiding emotions and weaknesses, but making them vanish all together, turning their brother into an unfeeling tyrant.

After failing to get the mask off of him, Tobias fled the kingdom, desperate to find the mask's maker, or anything to tell him how to fix it and save his brother. Eret remained, determined to help the kingdom as much as they could, and do damage control. Though reluctant to allow her little brother out alone, he realized it would be safer out there than in the kingdom at the moment, and helped him flee.

Very few had seen Tobias’s face, due to the late queen's insistence upon not dragging her children into kingdom affairs until they were of age, so it wasn't too hard for him to vanish. Eret sent a family friend his way, Jordan Sparklez, who helped him into Lilith, and established a cover story.

Tubbo Sparklez, a Lilith student returning home after traveling abroad to learn more about himself, just as his father had.

He soon meets Tommy Innit, a runaway from Apple Federal.

Tommy had always been an easy target for the other kids. He was always a bit too loud for the caretakers, and annoying to the other children. Not to mention his strange habits. Needless to say, Tommy often found himself being blamed for things he didn't do, and punished for them. At fourteen, he was fed up with it.

So he ran. Packed his few things and bolted. Eventually found himself in Lilith, where he quite literally crashed into Tubbo, and despite the rough start, the two became quick friends.

Though Tommy still planned to travel, he decided to relax for a bit, and hang out with his new friend. Those plans were thrown astray when Pigeon attacked the town, and the two fled together.

The terrifying experience led to them agreeing to stick together and protect each other. Tubbo confesses he was searching for something, because his brother was in trouble, and Tommy decided to help him out. After some deliberation, they decided to head to Cloud, hoping to find some clues there.

From there, they meet Wilbur Soot, and eventually, Philza and Techno. The three end up sticking with them, all soon wrapped up in a complicated adventure as Tubbo searches for a way to save his brother, and the rest of the group find themselves facing things about themselves they never knew, and learning where they belong in this vast world.

[tothemeadow]

Serendipity [Chapter 1]

When the kingdom of Ainamoryp falls, a motley crew of unlikely allies must come together to save the country. 

warnings: swearing, mentions of death, mentions of blood

words: 3.8k

(a/n): All characters range from 19-20. Reader insert, reverse harem.

Dinton Keep, Ainamoryp, May 3rd, 492, 00:43

“The king! The king is dead!”

As soon as the declaration is shouted, there’s a growl of pain, then the unceremonious thump as a body hits the ground.

All around, flames lick at the stone walls, set the sky ablaze. The inky hue of the night is abruptly ruined by a brilliant orange, the smell of burning wood and bodies drifting along with the night’s breeze. The clamoring of swords crashing against each other rings throughout the air, seemingly traveling for miles. Horrified screams and blood-thirsty growls make for a gruesome, twisted melody, one that imprints itself on the brain and promises itself its unholy stay.

Heavy pants, cloudy eyes, a desire for murder.

This is what keeps Prince Shouto pressing forward.

Flanked by two guards, the three scramble through the narrow halls – the hidden passageways hidden behind the castle walls. A mere torch is their only source of light, a pitiful flame compared to the hellstorm raging through the city’s streets. Their movements are rushed, silent; there’s no time to be discussing the finer details of the invasion when the only thing playing on their minds it escaping. Gods be damned if more royal blood be spilt on the stone, seeping through and leaving a burgundy scar.

Despite the silence cloaking them, Shouto grits his teeth, the urge to turn back and fight ever present and growing. That’s his kingdom who’s suffering, hundreds of innocent people dying, suffering. And for what? Power? Wealth? If it were up to him, he’d go back and slaughter those intruding the lands, planting their flags and proclaiming their victory.

This isn’t how things were supposed to go.

“Please, my prince, we must keep moving,” the guard in front throws over his shoulder, as if sensing Shouto’s inner turmoil. “We have to get you away immediately.”

Funny how this works, how simple guards think they can control their prince, a member of the royal family. He could easily rip them a new one, put them in their place and insist they stand their ground, but he knows they’re right. There are too many enemies, even by Shouto’s standards. Even if he stayed around and fought, there isn’t a doubt in his mind that he would be slain right there on the spot.

Up ahead, a rickety wooden door comes into view, a heavy bolt holding it shut. The metal creaks as the frontmost guard slides it loose and opens the door. Heavy smoke hangs in the air, slowly spreading towards the surrounding woods and farmlands. Shouto’s heart clenches at the sight, at the putrid odor of death, the sounds of petrified screams. Closing his eyes, he tries to calm his rapidly beating heart, the anger boiling in his blood twinging the outlines of his vision red.

He’s a complete and utter fool for abandoning those who need him most.

Still, he allows the guards to lead him to an awaiting horse, a brilliant beast the color of ivory. Swinging up and onto the saddle with graceful ease, his cloak flutters behind him.

“Go! Now!” the guard with the torch bellows, eyes latching onto a group of enemy soldiers scaling a wall. “Get out of here!”

“You’ll be killed, dammit!” Shouto proclaims, his anger finally boiling over. “I refuse to have anybody else shed their blood!”

“You’re the prince, your highness,” the guard shoots back, both he and the other one drawing their swords. “There’s a watchpoint south of here, hidden away in the woods. Get there, seek for help. The soldiers there will lead you to safety.”

“Bastards, the lot of them,” Shouto hisses, “I can stay and fight.”

“No! You must go!” Before Shouto is given a chance to say anything in return, the guard strikes the horses rear. Letting out a shrill whinny, the horse rears up, landing back down heavily and taking off at a breakneck speed.

Cursing under his breath, Shouto watches over his shoulder as the two guards confront the enemy soldiers. They soon disappear from sight, leaving only the smoldering haze and raging fires encompassing the silhouette of Shouto’s childhood home. As the castle and surrounding city grow smaller and smaller with each impounding trollop of the horse, he can’t tear his eyes away, even long after it disappears from the horizon.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Levalon, Ainamoryp, May 3rd, 492, 10:14

Easy does it now, easy does it… Don’t get too close… And… Gotcha!

Snatching his hand away, Zenitsu quickly stashes the pigskin coin purse underneath his cloak. Heh, suckers, the lot of them. Most of them couldn’t tell the difference between their right hand and a horse’s ass, much less when someone steals their coinage. Briskly turning on his heel, he walks away, whistling casually.

It’s so easy.

On the market streets of the town, a large sea of people roam from stall to stall, buying smoked meats, freshly baked breads, the farmers’ latest pickings. It’s a jolly scene, the constant chatter of patrons and high-pitched yelps of young boys trying to direct potential customers to their father’s stalls. Zenitsu grew up on these streets, raised right alongside other peasant boys with no home or family to call their own. Perhaps it’s a sad story, one meant for lonely nights and listening ears, but it’s Zenitsu’s lineage. It’s what made him into what he is today, a thief with deft fingers and a pair of legs that could challenge a horse in a race.

An easy smile comes to his face. He’s long since grown used to the smell of piss and sweat clinging to the cobbled street, the hollow-eyed children staring long after the people carrying baskets and sacks of food. Everything is so horribly imperfect, but this is home. Hell, although he’s making his living in a dishonest way, it’s enough to keep a roof over his head and food in his tummy. And maybe, if he saves up enough coin, roll around in a bed of hay with a large breasted whore.

Sidestepping the crowd, he makes way towards the local tavern (Ye Olde Wife, can you believe that?), breakfast and busty barmaids on the mind. If possible, the patrons inside the tavern are nearly as loud as the ones outside. Kicking the door shut, Zenitsu heads for his usual spot at the bar, sliding onto the wobbly stool and shucking his hood down. Ale and body odor permeate his nose, the smell foul yet welcoming. Nothing is more greeting than sweaty men and alcohol.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” the owner’s crackly voice says.  A stout old man with wild hair and a bushy mustache, he’s about as rough as they come, but to Zenitsu, he’s probably the closest thing to family that he’s ever had.

“Oh, come on, Gramps,” Zenitsu says, tapping the bar top with his fingertips. “You love seeing me, eh? I bring you plenty of service-“

“You flirt with the girls in here more than you order anything,” Gramps spits. Even so, he starts to step away, already heading to the kitchen to fetch Zenitsu something to eat. “Ungrateful bastard – it’s a wonder you’re not a father yet.”

“Yet!” Zenitsu calls after him. “Don’t jinx me, Gramps!” Easing back, he turns around, resting his elbows on top of the bar. Now that he’s closer to the kitchens, the smell of succulent meat turning on a spit makes his mouth water and his stomach growl. Gods, he is hungry. While he could easily steal something from the stalls lining the market street, he normally comes to Gramps’ tavern for a proper meal. And yeah, maybe he ogles the barmaids while he’s at it, but it’s merely a dinner and a show for him.

“Oh, shit,” some random man sitting at a nearby table says. “You mean you haven’t heard about the capital?” Along with him sits another man – they’re most likely miners, if their builds and dirty fingernails say anything. Knocking back his cup, the other merely shakes his head. “Them bastards from the north – Nialliv – they stormed it. Took Dinton Keep as their own.”

Now, it’s usually polite to not listen in on others’ conversations, but this is Zenitsu here. For as long as he can remember, his sense of hearing is astronomically better than the average human’s, and it’s actually quite a useful tool when it comes to his particular jobs. But this… The capital city being taken over? How come he hasn’t heard anything before?

“You’re telling me that Dinton Keep isn’t ours? Watch the shite spilling from your mouth,” the other man grumbles.

“Aye, it’s true. Took in the wee hours of this morning, I tell you. Apparently, the king is dead.”

At that, Zenitsu stiffens. The king? Dead?

“Fuck,” the companion curses. “And they haven’t said anything yet?”

The first one shakes his meaty head. “Only a few know, I guess. The messengers probably all got their throats slit. Gods bless their souls. It’d be a miracle if we’re all not dead by the end of the month.”

“How many are dead?”

“Hundreds, I take it. Mostly guards and members of the royal court, probably. No point in killing civilians if you don’t want to clean up the mess.”

“And the prince?”

“Disappeared. Haven’t heard if they found his body or not.”

“Oi,” Gramps barks, slamming a plate down on the bar before Zenitsu.

With a jolt, Zenitsu yelps. Whipping back around, he flashes Gramps with wide eyes. “Gramps,” he whisper-yells, “is it true?”

Cocking a bushy brow, Gramps leans forward, arms crossed over his chest. “Is what true?”

“That the king is dead,” Zenitsu says, slowly. He can hardly believe the words are coming out of his own mouth.

Pointing a thick finger at him, Gramps flashes him a warning look. “It’s not your damn business spreading the news around. People are gonna be in a panic when it goes public.”

Zenitsu pales. “No way…”

“I had a carrier pigeon come in this morning,” Gramps continues, voice tight. “Unless they kick them bastards out of Dinton Keep, Ainamoryp can kiss its ass goodbye.”

Glancing down at the steaming meat and eggs in front of him, Zenitsu’s body immediately says that his appetite is gone.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Roman Sea, off the coast of Ainamoryp, May 3rd, 492, 12:39

“Captain! Land clear up ahead!”

“Well, what the fuck you waiting for? This ship isn’t going to dock itself!” you screech.

The sky above is a limitless blue, not a hint of a cloud in the sky. The sun itself seems in a good mood, as does the waters. Your ship heads towards your homeland gracefully, the waves slapping against the sides in a hello, welcome back. As much as you love sailing and exploring new lands, home forever beckons for you, calls you back with welcoming arms. There’s nothing as relieving as setting foot on familiar land.

Although you’re young, you’re powerful. Already a captain of your own crew, the proud owner of The Pearl Lady, you’re meant to go places and the gods are surely smiling down at you. Granted, the overexposure of sun and salt water may have left your skin permanently freckled and mind scrambled, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. You’re a force to be trifled with, and all be damned if they dare challenge you.

Hands settled on the wooden railing, you watch as the rest of your crew scrambles to prepare for docking, lowering the sails and readying the anchor. The coast of Ainanomyrp glimmers under the afternoon sun, truly a sight to behold, but something feels… off. Normally, other boats come to and from the mouth of inland, the capital city of Endeavor being a major port. However, there’s not another boat on the water, not even the small dingeys for fishing.

Your ship glides in smoothly, coming to a gradual stop by an open dock. Your crew pushes the anchor overboard, the salty water giving a final splash as your boat jolts to a stop. Hell, even the docks are unnaturally silent, not even a single ship hand or merchant in sight. All other vessels are docked, their decks bare of any people. Your crew shifts uneasily, clearly noticing the strange lack of other human beings.

“Uh, Captain?” the quartermaster asks you, hand instinctively landing on the butt of his pistol as he glances around, “Should we lift anchor and sail to another port?”

“Like hell we are,” you grunt, narrowing your eyes. Something’s coming. You can feel it.

Stepping away from the railing, you saunter down to the main deck, heading to the side where your crew set the bridge down. The clunk of wood striking wood echoes into the air; instead of it being a relieving sound – a sign that you’re truly home – it’s ominous. It’s only a matter of time before disaster hits.

“Keep your eyes peeled,” you tell your crew, “Something isn’t right.”

“Halt!” an unknown voice calls. Straining your neck forward, you catch sight of a small patrol of guards in dark gray armor clamber down the cobblestone steps leading from the streets to docks. While it’s somewhat of a relief to see actual human beings, you’re immediately on edge, body stiffening. Those are not the given uniforms of Ainamorypan soldiers.

“Fuck,” you grumble, biting the inside of your cheek.

Metal clanking against wooden boards fills the tense atmosphere as the patrol comes up to your ship. The group stands ramrod-straight, faces stoic, eyes sharp. The leader steps forward, neck craning as he looks up at you. “Who goes there?” he barks.

Clicking your tongue, you lean over the side of the ship, elbows resting on the weathered wood. “A bunch of merchants returning home. Everybody’s got to make a living somehow, eh? Now, if you’d kindly fuck off, I’d like to step on some actual dirt for once.”

The guard sneers, expression turning ugly as he flashes yellow teeth. “All incoming and outgoing ships are to be registered. And, as far as I’m concerned, your shitty dingey isn’t on the list.” With a metallic snap of his fingers, one of his followers hands him a clipboard and a hunk of charcoal. “Ship name, captain’s name, date of arrival and planned dismissal.”

At that, you bark out an incredulous laugh. “Are you fucking kidding me? When was this instilled?”

“Just this morning, actually,” the guard snips. “Since I’m feeling merciful, I’ll let you off with a warning just this once. Follow these orders or we’ll have no other option than to imprison you.”

Prison? Seriously? Just who did this dickhead think he’s talking to?

Scoffing, you draw yourself to a full stand, placing your hands on your hips. You could easily pull out your pistol and try to shoot one of the damned guards, but lead balls aren’t going to do much against a full suit of armor. “And I’m pretty sure I told you to fuck off.”

The same guard who gave the leader the clipboard and charcoal steps close and leans in, whispering something into the leader’s ear. The leader spares you a single glance, his eyebrow cocking in interest. With a wave of his hand, the rest of the patrol storm the ship, drawing their blades. Your crew readies their own blades and brandishes their pistols, murmuring unsure words.

“Captain (l/n) of The Pearl Lady,” the lead guard says, scribbling it onto his parchment. “Such a pleasure to meet a wanted criminal.”

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Dinton Keep’s dungeons, Ainamoryp, 492, May 3rd, 13:00

“Oi, oi! Keep your grubby hands off of me!” you bark, shoving yourself against the guards holding you by the biceps.

“Shut your damn trap, you filthy pirate,” the guard on your right seethes, his putrid breath clogging your nostrils. “Thinking you can just waltz right into Endeavor? What are you, an idiot?”

“Far as I was concerned, Endeavor used to be leagues more friendly than this horse shit.”

“I told you to shut up,” the guard barks. Lifting a hand, he cracks up alongside the back of your skull, leaving a thrumming ache. The other guard merely stays silent as he shoves you into the other’s arms, fishing a set of keys from his side and opening the door to a cell. “Fucking rot for all I care,” the guard spits, pushing you into the dingy space.

You sputter as you crash onto the jagged rock, your palms scraping against the surface. You hiss in pain as the guards slam the gate shut and lock it. The one who mocked you takes off with a bark of laughter as the other simply follows behind. “Bloody bastards,” you grunt as they disappear from sight. “I oughta wring their necks and hang them from the bow.”

“Are you alright?” a new voice speaks.

With a screech, you fling yourself to the side, your hip screaming in pain as a sharp rock digs into the flesh. You instinctively reach for your sword, only to be left blubbering curse after curse after remembering that the guards confiscated all of your weapons. Perched on the windowsill sits a boy no older than you, head topped with messy green curls and a face adorned with a sea of freckles.

“Oh, sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you!” the stranger proclaims, waving his hands frantically before him. Hopping down from the wall, he holds his hands in front of him, much like he’s encountering a vicious wild beast. Which isn’t totally wrong, but still.

“Bullshit you didn’t! I’ll kick your ass, mate!” Scrambling onto your feet, your press your back against the cold stone wall, bloody hand clutching your bruised hip.

“I swear it! It’s just… Well…. Look, your hands are bleeding,” the stranger says, turning his hands so his palms are facing upwards. “Let me treat them.”

Your face curls into a snarl. “And why would I do that?”

“I’m a healer,” he continues, stepping forward and snatching your wrist. You yelp at the sudden contact and try to rip your hand away, but his grip is strong. Now that he’s up close and personal, you can’t deny the fact that he’s tall and muscular, the sleeves of his tunic rolled up and exposing the veins and scars riddling his forearms.  

Holding your wrist with one hand, the other hovers above your scraped, bloody palm. A golden light emits from his hand, casting a warm glow over your own. Ah, so this guy is a magic wielder. While it isn’t uncommon for people to practice magic, you yourself have never taken an interest in it. Magic can be a finnicky force to deal with, and one who cannot rein in its power may be subjected to a world full of hurt.

With a sigh, you keep your emotions under control and allow this stranger to continue his treatment. For one, this guy is healing you for free, and secondly, he appears as though he can easily throw you through the stone wall with little effort.

“There,” he says once he’s finished, gingerly retracting his hands and flashing you a tiny smile. “It’s all better now, see?”

Staring down at your hands, you flex them into fists, noticing how whatever tension that was in them had disappeared along with the scrapes. Magic can truly be a wonderous thing, but in the wrong hands… Well, things don’t turn out as pretty.

“I don’t get it,” you say, sidestepping the stranger and planting yourself on the pile of dirty hay strewn about the floor, “why is a healer in a dungeon, of all places?”

At your question, the stranger visibly perks up. He follows your movements, getting onto the floor and sitting across from you. “I guess a proper introduction is needed, huh?” he says, scratching his cheek in embarrassment. “My name is Izuku. Izuku Midoriya. It’s a pleasure!”

“I didn’t ask for your name,” you snap. “I asked you why you’re here, not who you are.”

At that, Izuku huffs and physically deflates. “You remind me a lot of Kacchan…”

“By the gods, do you know how to answer a simple question? You know what, don’t even answer that-“

“The king is dead,” Izuku says, cutting you off. His large eyes don’t hold their friendly glow anymore, but rather one of determination and anger. “He was killed last night.”

You blink rapidly at him, your mind throwing itself in for a loop. Wait, wait, the king is dead? How is that even possible? The king isn’t a weakling, and you’ve heard stories of him being a powerful fire sorcerer. But now that you think about it, it would explain the change in guards, the lack of people filling the once busy docks and streets…

You inhale sharply. “How?” you ask, voice small.

“Forces from Nialliv intruded the country last night and took Dinton Keep by force. People were…” Izuku stops, wets his lips. “People are gone,” he finally forces out. “The king is dead, the prince is nowhere to be seen, and all of Ainamoryp is going to lose hope.” Wringing his hands, his gaze drops. “I was here when the intrusion happened. I was fighting off enemy soldiers with all my might, but I couldn’t save the city. People are dead because I didn’t work hard enough.”

“And then you were captured,” you say. “But why not killed?”

“They found out I was a healer – well, I specialize in herbology, but the point still stands. They had men and women on their side who needed medical attention, and I was simply another pair of hands to them,” Izuku answers dryly. “They threw me in here once everybody was treated.”

“Then why’d you help them? They’re the enemy, you fool. You wanna know what I would’ve done? Slit every single last one of their throats.” Shaking your head, you lean back against the wall and laugh, but there’s no humor to it. “When you have the opportunity to fuck your opponent over, you take it.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Izuku snaps, clenching his fists in his lap. “I can’t stand seeing others hurt. I’m a healer, for gods’ sakes. Not everyone is some filthy, selfish pirate like you.”

Snapping your attention back to him, you send him a steely glare.

“Wait, wait,” Izuku hastily says, reaching up and smacking himself on the forehead, “I didn’t mean that-“

“You said what you said,” you interject. “And you know what? You’re right. I’m so fucking filthy and selfish that I’m the captain of The Pearl Lady. I bathe in blood and gold, you pathetic little twat. And I like it. So, do us both a favor, shut your damn trap, and leave me the hell alone.”

Izuku audibly gulps, his hands falling limp in his lap. You almost want to laugh at him; whenever somebody hears of your infamous title, their reactions are all the same. Despite the stigma towards pirates, you’re still pretty damn powerful, and your crew voted you as captain for a reason. Turning away from Izuku, you settle onto your side, willing for either sleep to take over or for Izuku to magically disappear.

Your quartermaster was right – you should’ve lifted anchor and docked somewhere else.

Anywhere else.

[planesofduality]

Dragon Age: Origins companion descriptions and dev notes from the game files

Just pulled this from the game’s character files. Gives some ages for characters (probably rough estimates, potentially retconned ), archetypes, writer-defined flaws, etc

Morrigan

Description

Morrigan lacks the will to care about most things enough to excite herself over them. Her primary concern is her survival. She has a difficult time relating to other people, and feels extremely vulnerable outside of the marsh. Her sense of humor is dark and twisted, and she finds the most morbid things amusing.

Her primary goal is to gain skills and knowledge and become a powerful sorceress in her own right. She believes that having a child with the PC's blood will give her access to this power.

Phonetic

More'-rah-genn

Age

30

Occupation

Witch

Morals

None at all. Morrigan learned morality from her abomination mother in the marshes where she grew up.

Appearance

A svelte, exotic-looking young woman with long black hair and large eyes. Her body is relatively thin and not strong.

Flaws

Morrigan has a difficult time relating to other people, and feels extremely vulnerable outside of the marsh

Skills

Is an accomplished witch; is skilled at wilderness survival.

Speech Patterns

Morrigan does not use contractions and speaks in what almost sounds like poetic verse.

Accent

None

Purpose

Companion and possible romance for the player

Relationship to Player

Party Member

Archetype

(Maybe change to "Cultural Background"?)

Demeanor

Morrigan is usually calm, collected, and fairly confident. Her charisma is fairly low--she prefers to remain in the background.

Personal Background

Morrigan was raised in the marshes by her sorceress mother, Flemeth, and had little contact with society proper.

She and Flemeth have a relationship more like servant and master than like mother and daughter.

She fears being rendered powerless (magically or personally).

Alistair

Description

A stern-looking young man with a strong chin. Very handsome. Some resemblance to King Cailan.

Phonetic

Al'-iss-ter

Age

32

Occupation

Grey Warden, bastard son of the king's father

Morals

Alistair has a strong moral sense that was taught to him in the church, but his bitterness makes him struggle with it.

Flaws

Alistair struggles with the resentment he feels over his birthright.

Skills

Trained as a paladin, Alistair can fight and has the ability to dispel magic.

Speech Patterns

His voice is deep but quiet. His tone sharpens into steel when required, but more often he is conciliatory.

Relationship to Player

NPC, companion, one of the only fellow Grey Wardens left after Loghain's betrayal

Demeanor

Generally self-depricating and conciliatory. Retreats into broody silence rather than raise his voice to be heard.

Shale

Description

Shale was created centuries ago, a female dwarven warrior who volunteered to undergo the magical process created by the master smith Caridin to become a golem -- literally her soul was put into a creature of stone, turning her into an unstoppable warrior. The process of creation is a grueling and agonizing one that uses forbidden blood magic, and the torture of it convinced Caridin that creating golems was morally wrong even if it involved volunteers. He refused to make more, and when the dwarven king attempted to force him he destroyed his forge -- or so everyone thought.

Most dwarves like Shale were lost in the wars against the darkspawn, and Shale was lucky to be found and reactivated by a human mage that brought her to the surface world. During his magical tinkering, however, he accidentally restored the memory of her creation, causing her to go berserk and killing him. This resulted in her becoming inert -- meaning she stood in the center of the village where the mage brought her, watching the villagers for thirty years as they thought her nothing more than a dead statue. When the player reanimates her, she realizes she is free-willed but remembers little else of her past.

Phonetic

as in "pale"

Age

500

Occupation

None -- formerly an inert yet aware statue

Morals

She is basically a good person, though she has little regard for the value of life and much prefers that the most direct action is taken in any given circumstance. Things like honor and love tend to complicate matters and irritate her, and she will seldom be understanding when they are given preference.

Appearance

A giant stone creature with crystals and runes all over his body. Shale is large enough that she must crouch to get through most doorways.

Flaws

She has lost touch with the fact that she was once a living thing herself -- and thus her value for life in general has eroded. She dislikes things that are frail and weak and tends to assume that all people she meets are flawed. Not that she believes herself to be perfect -- she is simply pessimistic about people in general, yet at the same time unconvinced that anything can be done to improve the matter. She has the perspective of a passive observer in this: having been an observer for so long, Shale has no idea what to do once the player reactivates her. She has no history and no purpose, and is thus lost.

Skills

Skilled warrior, also possesses the ability to augment magical energies around her (a buff for mages)

Speech Patterns

While Shale is technically female, her voice shouldn't be particularly feminine (the fact that she was once female actually comes as revelation partway through her plot) -- as a golem, the sound should be deepened and will require some processing to make it sound a bit unearthly (she does, after all, speak via magical means). As far as how she speaks, Shale tends to be somewhat sarcastic and pessimistic as a rule. When she banters, it is with a bit of bite and acidity to it, and she generally doesn't seem to care deeply about anything -- when she does, however, her voice should get a powerful and booming resonance to it.

Accent

Indiscernible

Purpose

comedic relief, party member

Relationship to Player

Companion

Archetype

Wizard of Oz-like Creature in Search of a Purpose

Demeanor

Shale has spent the last thirty years forced to helplessly watch a village as an inert statue, while the villagers want on with their lives around her unaware that they were being watched. This has made her quite cynical on the nature of humanity in general, and she tends to point out the flaws of others with acidity -- having been forced to watch quietly for so many years she has developed no "filter" and thus often says whatever is on her mind. She has free will now and is not afraid to use it, and thus will come across as independant and even precocious at times. It is important to note, however, that Shale is not malicious -- she was once a noble warrior and if anything her sarcasm and pessimism are come by honestly. The only things she truly reserves hatred for are birds. Forced to endure assaults by pigeons for decades she now plots revenge against them in almost comic book villain-like fashion.

Personal Background

Prior to being found by the player, Shale was a golem that was forced to serve anyone who held her control rod. Her last master died after experimenting on her magically, however -- which resulted in her becoming inert and forced to watch the village she stood in for 30 years. When activated, she discovered that her control rod no longer functioned and she had free will -- but had no idea what to do with it, and no purpose or history that she could remember. She accompanies the player out of a lack for better things to do, hoping to find something that is recognizeable and attempting to find a purpose to her existence -- which, from the player's perspective, will be to spend her time mocking everything around her and being pessimistic about their chances for success. Thankfully, she is excellent at battle and quite eager to leap into any fray. Shale doesn't care much for folks, after all, so laying into them with stony fists doesn't much bother her.

Cultural Background

Although Shale was once a dwarf from centuries ago, before the dwarven kingdoms fell to the darkspawn, her memories prior to the last thirty years is hazy at best. She is familiar with modern life, although she feels very much as an outsider amongst it and has no traditions of her own. Indeed, she is not even aware she is a dwarf (or female) until the player encounters Caridin.

Oghren

Description

Once a warrior of considerable reputation, Oghren fell apart when his wife -- the Paragon smith, Branka -- abandoned him to go chasing after her obsessions in the Deep Roads. Oghren became a drunkard, and his normal irreverence became a foulness that managed to alienate almost everyone he knew. Oghren is foul-mouthed, contentious and completely inappropriate even at the best of times. Indeed, he acts like this knowingly and no longer cares whom he upsets. He remains obsessed with mounting an expedition to find Branka, but has almost given up on the idea since no-one will pay any attention to him any longer.

Phonetic

Ogh'-rinn

Age

35

Occupation

Warrior-caste dwarf, meant to serve as a guard or as a soldier to protect Orzammar. He's essentially exiled or "fired" from that role when the player arrives.

Morals

He kills and loves and drinks and farts and insults at will and likes to put forward an image that he doesn't care about morals -- truly, however, he has a sense of decency and wouldn't do anything that was truly wrong except by accident.

Appearance

Dirty, mighty, possibly gross. Long natty beard.

Flaws

He says whatever's on his mind, which is usually the worst possible thing to say. He also has a temper that can get him into trouble.

Skills

Fighting. Lots and lots of fighting.

Speech Patterns

Quick to anger, Oghren is often losing his temper over something. He is just as quick to laugh boisterously or to tell a rude joke at the most inappropriate time. He adores poking people's buttons, and the easier they are to upset the more he will enjoy doing it. He the crude, salt of the earth type, though it should always be in a good-natured way. No matter how foul he gets, he should always ultimately be likeable.

Accent

Dwarven

Purpose

Comedic relief and party member

Relationship to Player

party member

Archetype

Boisterous Drunken Warrior

Demeanor

Drunken, aggressive, and innappropriate. Usually rude, sometimes sad.

Personal Background

Oghren married the brilliant smith Branka, and when she was elevated to the status of Paragon her entire family was made into a new clan. Oghren proudly headed the clan at her side, but eventually Branka took her entire clan and headed into the Deep Roads in search of ancient dwarven treasures despite his objection. Oghren angrily remained behind and after hearing nothing of Branka has tried many times to get a search party put together -- despite the fact that is marriage to Branka was already over. He has since had the right to bear arms stripped from him and become a drunken loser, so when he encounters the player this is his first chance at actual redemption (though he is far too proud to admit this).

Cultural Background

Dwarf from Orzammar, member of the Warrior caste

Wynne

Description

Wynne is a spirit healer from the Circle of the Magi. She has served the Circle for most of her life and is a well-respected mentor and mage. Wynne has very strong morals and sense of duty. She believes wholeheartedly in what the Circle does and believes that through discipline, learning, and wisdom, mages can learn to control and use their gifts to serve Ferelden.

She believes that fear of magic stems from a lack of understanding. She is careful in her speech and carries herself with dignity because she knows that she will be judged as a mage firstly, and wants to present herself as someone who is to be respected, but not feared or reviled. Wynne was saved from death by a Spirit of Faith which has now bonded to her and sustains her. The spirit is weakening and when it can no longer sustain her, Wynne will die. She knows this and has made peace with it.

Phonetic

win

Age

55

Occupation

Circle Mage

Morals

A noble person. Compassionate. Believes in the goodness of humans in general, thinks everyone can be good, if they are just given a chance and shown the way.

Appearance

Older woman with grey hair. Neat and well-groomed. Has aged gracefully, good-looking in a mature way.

Flaws

Tendency to mother everyone. Lectures. May be disapproving and cold to those she doesn't agree with.

Skills

Wynne is sustained a Spirit of Faith, which she may summon to help the party, or meld with completely to become a warrior form.

Speech Patterns

A quiet voice with warm tones. Speaks thoughtfully, never raises her voice. Sounds very learned, almost noble.

Accent

Standard accent, possibly British-sounding. Educated.

Purpose

Follower, Plot Giver - Save the mages in the Broken Circle.

Relationship to Player

Mentor

Archetype

Wise old wizard advisor

Demeanor

Calm, a voice of reason. Does not lose temper easily. Genuinely warm and friendly. Proper and polite.

Personal Background

Taken to the Circle at a very young age. Excelled at magic, especially healing magic. Very sensitive to the spirits of the Fade. Because of her talent, she was given the role of mentor at fairly young age. She accepted this role but bungled the job due to hot-headedness and an inability to empathize with the student who was assigned to her. The student finally escaped the Circle and Wynne believed him dead and blamed his death on her treatment of him. This guilt has informed her actions ever since and she has become a very warm, caring and empathic person, always able to see things from another's point of view.

Some time in the past, Wynne also had a son. However, because mages are technically not allowed to marry or have children, her son was taken from her and given to the Chantry to raise. She does not speak of this often and only reveals this to Alistair.

Cultural Background

Circle Mage from Ferelden

Dog

Description

Dog is a mabari dog, a highly intelligent wardog. The player will get to name Dog.

Phonetic

dawg

Age

3

Occupation

Wardog. Fetches things.

Speech Patterns

Barks

Purpose

Loyal companion

Relationship to Player

Loyal companion.

Cultural Background

Ferelden Mabari Dog

Leliana

Description

Leliana spent much of her life in the service of the Orlesian court as a bard -- an entertainer who traveled the land and doubled as a spy and sometimes assassin. Over time, her deeds left her with the feeling that she was not built for such a life. She felt guilty about the wrongs she had done, and eventually fled her masters in court. This meant secretly fleeing to the east and hiding out in a small convent in the Ferelden town of Lothering. There she found her calling, entering the sisterhood and beginning what she thought would be a life of religious contemplation and -- she hoped -- some measure of peace with her past. While there is a deeper side to her, a very spiritual side where she tries earnestly to look for meaning in even the most mundane things, on the surface she comes across as cheerful and witty and perhaps even a little flighty. Ultimately she is a voice of good and will try her best to steer others around her in the right direction.

Phonetic

LEL-ee-AH-nah

Age

26

Occupation

Bard, spy

Morals

Her concept of good is more 'nice' than 'good' (e.g. would let one seemingly penitent bandit go to be nice, rather than turn him in for his crimes)

Appearance

Red hair, pale, slender

Flaws

Has flights of fancy, hard to take her seriously. Sometimes a little too whimsical for her own good.

Skills

Singing: Leliana will sing several songs throughout the game. She should have a sweet voice, suited to folk songs.

Speech Patterns

Melodic, warm, maybe a little husky. There should be a slight lilt to her speech.

Accent

A hint of a French accent, but not to the point of caricature.

Purpose

Companion, Romance

Relationship to Player

Party member and potential romance interest

Archetype

Good Girl With a Past

Demeanor

Cheerful, sassy, charming. Flighty, loves making up stories about things and people.

Personal Background

Leliana is originally from Ferelden, but spent most of her youth as a companion to a noblewoman in Orlais. As a young lady she was brought under the wing of a bard-master called Marjolaine, who groomed her to be a bard and spy. Leliana's charm and her disarming manner made her extremely successful in her work in the noble courts of Orlais. She enjoyed her life as a spy, but something went wrong and Leliana was forced to flee to Ferelden. She took refuge in a cloister in Lothering, hiding for years and becoming Affirmed in that time. Also, she has begun to believe that the Maker has not left the world and that he in fact speaks to her through signs and omens. Her beliefs put her at odds with the Chantry but she clings to them nonetheless.

Cultural Background

Fereldan, brought up in Orlais.

Teyrn Loghain mac Tir

Description

Loghain was born a farmer during a time when his country was under foreign occupation. When he was still a boy, he joined the resistance, where his considerable tactical genius quickly became apparent. He became close friends with Prince Maric, the last true heir to the Ferelden throne, and together they led the rebells to drive out the invading forces of the Orlesian Empire. Maric raised his friend to the nobility, and Loghain is almost more of a symbol to his people than a man: He represents the Ferelden ideals of hard work and independance.

But the war has never truly ended for him. He sees Orlais waiting in the shadows for a chance to strike again. And now, with his friend's death, he's left to defend their land all alone. Fearing King Cailan's plan to ask for Orlesian aid against the Blight, Loghain leaves the young king to die on the field at Ostagar. Now he's trapped in a downward spiral as he struggles to save his kingdom, but every action he takes only brings it closer to ruin.

Phonetic

Tay'-ern Lo'-gayn mac teer'

Age

50

Occupation

Regent of Ferelden

Morals

To save Ferelden, at any cost

Appearance

Regal, manly, intelligent, mighty

Flaws

Obsessive, believes too firmly that his way is the only way

Skills

Strategy, a fine warrior in his own right

Speech Patterns

Loghain is a gentleman farmer-turned-general and hero. He's charismatic, down-to-earth, and radiates a confidence that draws others to follow him. His lifetime as a soldier has given him a guarded demeanor that's easy to mistake for being callous.

Accent

Ferelden

Purpose

Villain for much of the game, possible follower

Archetype

Conniving hero-turned-villain

Demeanor

Cunning, sly, charismatic

Personal Background

A farmer's son, Former war hero, strategic counsel to Kings Maric and Cailan, betrays Cailan in battle

Cultural Background

Ferelden

Sten

Description

The platoon he led to investigate the Blight was ambushed by darkspawn, and he alone survived, badly wounded. Looters found him and stole his belongings. He was rescued by farmers and when he awoke alone and without his sword (equivalent to a Spartan losing his shield) he panicked, killing the entire family. He then gave himself up to the villagers. He joins the player only because he hopes to regain some measure of his lost honor by dying in battle against the darkspawn that slew his men.

Phonetic

stehn'

Age

30

Occupation

Warrior. He wants to regain the honor he lost in killing the family by fighting the Blight.

Morals

Very strong

Appearance

A giant of a man with white hair and golden skin, very muscled and with unusual eyes. This is fairly typical of the qunari -- they are the bronze giants, great philosophers and scientists.

Skills

An excellent fighter.

Speech Patterns

He is a man of few words -- literally, as he is unlikely to respond to questioning from a "lesser" being with anything but terse sentences. He will use qunari words sparsely in his lines without necessarily explaining them, and speaks in rather clipped tones as if speaking is unpleasant for him. He actually just isn't very confident speaking languages other than qunari.

Accent

Qunari

Purpose

Follower

Relationship to Player

Party member.

Archetype

the Philosophical Alien

Demeanor

Sten is a laconic smartass, he presents a stoic, practical face to the world, and speaks as if he has only so many words allotted for his entire lifetime, yet he can't resist the chance to say something sarcastic. He's actually somewhat soft-hearted, though he hates if anyone notices this, and typically expresses affection for his companions by needling them. For the most part he gets by appearing gruff and unfriendly.

Personal Background

He spent most of his life fighting in the island's perpetual three-way war between the Imperium, the qunari, and the Tal-Vashoth. When he was sent with a small group of qunari warriors to evaluate the rumored Blight in Ferelden, they were ambushed by a group of darkspawn, which killed most of the party in the attack. Pillagers then stripped them of their valuables, thinking they were all dead. Some farmers found him and nursed him back to health. When he awoke, his sword was missing. Since Qunari warriors can't return to their kith without their sword (it’s assumed that a warrior who comes back alive without it discarded it to run faster in deserting the battlefield), he panicked. Thinking the farmers had robbed him, he killed the entire family. The player finds him in a cage outside Lothering, waiting to die.

Cultural Background

Sten is a Qunari, a member of a race that is foreign to this part of the world and whose people were at war with the human races for over a century before agreeing to a peace which has turned into an almost permanent détente. Still, the Qunari live quite a distance away from the part of the world where this game takes place… so someone like Sten is a curiosity more than an object of hatred. The Qunari are fanatical devotees to their religion, which compels them to dominate other races in order to improve them and bring them order. They are technologically advanced and hold magic in contempt, and this lends Sten an air of superiority over the other races around him. He is snide and superior – even while at the same time he is grim and subdued due to the fact that he has failed at the mission he was given. His failure, however, is between him and his conscience. It is not the place of lesser beings to speak with him about it.

Zevran Arainai

Description

Zevran is a member of the infamous Calabrian guild of assassins known as the Crows, though not by choice -- he was sold as a young slave to the Crows and trained to become one of their operatives. While he has worked as an assassin in Calabria, his first major assignment was to come to Ferelden and hunt down a surviving Grey Warden -- who just happens to be the player. Upon being defeated by the player, Zevran leaps at the opportunity to offer the player his allegiance in exchange for a chance to escape from the Crows once and for all.

Phonetic

ZEV-ran' AIR-ah-nye

Age

24

Occupation

Assassin

Morals

Few -- Zevran was raised in a whorehouse and trained from a young age to become an assassin. The only morals he possesses are those that lead to less complication for his job.

Appearance

Pale, slicked-back hair, has many tattoos (a feature of the Calabrian Crows), quite handsome and roguish.

Flaws

Hides his true feelings behind his bravado, doesn't believe in personal attachments. He is ultimately loyal only to himself.

Skills

An excellent thief, incredible agility, very knowledgeable with poisons.

Speech Patterns

Zevran is a suave, smooth operator. He tends to speak in a seductive and playful manner, playing the lothario whenever possible, and rarely gets upset -- if need be, he will become a silent, efficient killer but never lets his emotions get the better of him. Always practical and easy-going, he enjoys keeping others off-balance and on their guard.

Accent

Calabrian -- slightly Spanish, but not thick

Purpose

Romance for a female (or male). He is a pragmatic companion who is fine with immoral deeds and will betray the player late in the game unless the player has taken time to befriend him.

Relationship to Player

captured by the player and sworn into service in exchange for his life

Archetype

the smart-mouthed expert; the gigolo with a heart of gold

Demeanor

Often amused and light-hearted, rarely takes anything seriously except his job.

Personal Background

An orphan to a prostitute elven mother, raised poor and then sold to the Crows to become an assassin. He is virtually a slave to the Crows and eager to find a way to leave them without being killed.

Cultural Background

Calabrian (roughly equivalent of Spanish)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Long Live the King

Warnings: noncon/dubcon (rough sex).

This is dark!Thranduil and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The king shows you who is in charge.

Note: It’s been over a year since I wrote Tolkien so I decided that to kinda take the pressure off I would try it again and return to my roots. This is my first (official) dark!Thranduil fic and it just flowed so I’m hoping you all enjoy it. As usual, pay attention to the warnings! Thank you. Love you guys!

Leave some feedback, like and reblog, especially as it’s a little different than my usual fare <3

You always enjoyed the banquets in Mirkwood. Not because of the dancing or the food; as a servant, you did not indulge in the like. You preferred them because they made the nights pass quicker. They weren’t so tedious as sweeping the corridors or making beds. 

The music, the cheer, the sense of carelessness released you and your fellow servants from the bonds of propriety. Any slip in your manners or oversight in your work was barely noticed by the drunken and distracted lords and ladies. Little messes could be attended to later and so long as you kept the wine flowing, remonstrance was lost to the bottles.

You stood in the corner with Ilane as you watched the elves in their swaths of silk and satin. Their voices were abuzz throughout the hall as they stepped and spun in time with the music; or tried to. Many were clumsy from imbibing; others careless in their raucousness. You cradled an ewer against your stomach as you awaited a signal and watched the guests cavort.

“Oh, Eru, would you look at the prince?” Siena remarked as she neared with a pair of empty steins. She swept around to gaze out across the hall. “Isn’t he so… handsome?”

“Yes indeed,” Ilane agreed as she smiled at the pale prince. Legolas was himself entranced with a scarlet-haired partner. “Isn’t he?”

Ilane elbowed you and you shook yourself from your trance. You blinked and cleared your throat. You shrugged and glanced over to the younger royal once more. 

“I suppose…” You said. “I would be amiss and dishonest to disagree. The prince is rather fetching.”

The girls giggled and you looked from one to the other. Your smile died on your lips and you never joined their mirth. You felt the shadow behind you and turned to step away from the mouth of the passageway that opened to the labyrinthine corridors. Ilane and Siena followed your gaze and mimicked you as you carefully curtsied with the ewer balanced against you.

“Your majesty,” You greeted the king. “Pardon us, we do stand in your way.”

“You do,” He agreed as you backed up against the wall to let him pass. “And you do tarry in your duties.”

Thranduil’s silver eyes flashed and the others bowed their heads and mumbled apologies. You echoed them more firmly as the king narrowed his sights on you. His eyes fell to the wine in your hands and he flicked to fingers towards the hall.

“My goblet is empty,” He declared. “You shall fill it.”

“Your majesty,” You ceded and lowered your head. 

He finally stepped past you and the other girls sent you a look. The king was known for his temper and his ill-founded grudges in the slightest of offences, even in none at all. You followed him dutifully as he strode up the stairs of the platform to the high table. He reached across and turned back to you with his grand silver goblet. The sapphires shone in the lantern light as you poured.

You bent again and slowly backed away. He sipped as you neared the end of the table. 

“Wait,” He called to you. “Stay. I shall require more as the night wears on me.”

“I shall be around, your majesty, I must attend to other guests.” You replied.

“You must attend to me,” He argued. “Your little friends can see to the rest of my guests.”

“As you wish,” You recited.

“Surely, as I wish,” He assured you and he swept away from you. He marched along to the end and around the other side of the table. “Up here,” He pointed behind his chair as he pulled it out from the table. “No use standing down there like a statue.”

You followed his path and stopped just behind him. You stood at his shoulder with the half-spent pitcher. His long fingers tapped along the side of his goblet between swigs and he looked out across the dance floor. He never joined in, not since his wife’s demise. That was long ago but the scars still marked the kingdom. And him.

He drained the last mouthful and held up his goblet for you to refill it. You did so diligently and he drank without pause. His thumb ran over a teardrop sapphire as he admired the cup.

“My son is rather… princely, isn’t he?” He mused. “The very essence of the elvish heir…”

“Surely, your majesty.” You agreed. “He does take after you.”

He scoffed and took another gulp. “Do not tell me as you think I want you to. Speak as you think…” He swirled the wine, “You think him handsome… fetching?”

“He is not unsightly,” You returned.

“I shall not ask for your honesty again,” He sneered. “As a king, I ask for nothing.”

“I do think he is handsome, your majesty, but I see not how the opinion of a maid should matter.” You said.

“Oh, it matters not,” He tilted his head and you saw the hint of a smirk. “You must have fancies that it could. You and your little pigeons titter so and dream of it, hmmm? That any lord could see a sliver of worth in you.”

You were silent. You’d heard of his malice but never were so unfortunate to be at the mercy of it. You stared ahead and he took another drink.

“More wine, your majesty?” You gestured with the ewer.

“Very well,” He said but withheld his cup. “I tire of the white. I wish for red.” He twirled the goblet, “Fetch it, will you?”

🍷

Your night was spent as such; filling Thranduil’s cup until he was yawning and so uncouth that you could barely withhold your own tongue. He stood and clapped his hands to signal the feast’s end. You noticed the waver in his stance. He’d finished more than an ewer on his own. Even he could not resist the vimor of Elvish wine.

He leaned on his chair as he watched his guests disperse in pairs and trios, chattering even as they yawned and longed for a pillow. You were silent as you backed into the shadows and he turned. His lashes flicked as he saw you, as if recalling your presence, and his lips curled slightly.

“Shall I fetch your footman, your majesty?” You asked.

“You…” He raised his finger at you, “Shall await my orders.” He declared. “You… can be my footman for the night.” His hand fell on your shoulder and he shoved you. “Come on.”

You swallowed and led him along the table. You were unsure what to say though you could not disobey his command. As you reached the end, he stopped you, his hand on your shoulder again. You turned slightly and he grabbed the handle of the ewer. He ripped it away and slammed it on the table.

“Go on,” He waved past you. “You should know where my chamber lies.”

As any servant, you did. You continued down the stairs as he traipsed behind you. He was like your shadow as he loomed closer and closer. His usual graceful stride was uneven as you wove along the bridges and twisted walkways.

When you came upon his doors, he reached over your shoulder and held out a single golden key on a blue ribbon. You took it without further prompting. You were swift to unlock the door and open it for him. He entered lithely and his fingers worked at unbuttoning his robe. You stayed by the door, clinging to the handle.

“Close it,” He demanded. “You will help me retire for the night.”

Your chest rattled but you closed the door. He faced you as you neared him and his hands took yours. He lifted them to the front of his robe. “You may hang it by the door,” He smirked. “My boots are to be placed beside the wardrobe.”

You finished loosing the rest of the buttons and he dropped the robe from his shoulders. You pulled it free from his arms and his silver eyes followed your every move. You hung it as he bid and returned to him as he sat heavily on the bed. He splayed his feet out and you knelt to unlace them. He leaned back on his hands, still focused upon your work.

You slipped the boots from his feet and tucked the laces in. You looked up but took pause at the bulge in his lap. You blinked and quickly stood. You went to the wardrobe and placed the boots on the rack beside it. You returned to him as he sat forward. He caught your hand again and tugged you close.

He led your hand to his crotch and pressed it to the hardness within his trousers. You blanched and tried to pull away. He held you there and snickered.

“You think that’s for you?” He spat. “Oh, dear, you think highly of yourself, don’t you?”

“No, your majesty,” You stilled and looked him in the eye. “I know not what you mean. Shall I continue in readying you for bed?”

His lip curled and he pushed away your hand.

“Go on,” His nostrils flared. “I can finish on my own. I needn’t a wench to help me.”

You bowed and gave a measured ‘your majesty’. He let out a dark breath and you backed away to the door. You reached behind you and let yourself out. His fingers gripped the waist of his trousers as you pulled the door closed behind you. You were quick to flit away the moment the wood met the frame.

🍷

You weren’t the first servant to be humiliated by the king. You’d heard tales of his rants and ravings so it was no surprise when he quickly forgot about you. It was truly a relief. You were just another in a line of those he felt to be ungrateful and impertinent. He had undoubtedly found another in the week since to turn his wrath upon.

Your life was as it was. There was no sudden ejection or demotion, as you feared. You swept, mopped, wiped the walls, polished the silver, tidied chambers. Your duties were as banal as before. 

Well, Thranduil’s words had proven true. A maid mattered little to those above her.

That day, the king had held a dinner for his son and his favoured nobles. A close affair in a dining room close to the feast hall. These meals weren’t unusual. Some offhand celebration of a council declaration or diplomatic victory. You were among several who were to tidy up after them.

Ilane and Siena gathered the empty dishes and Tonia took the dirtied tablecloth to the laundries. You were left to wipe the table and sweep the floor. Simple enough. You took a cloth and set to cleaning the long trestle. You neared the door as you came around the end and bent over the wood to reach as far as you could. The hinges whispered behind you unexpectedly but you assumed one of the girls had returned for something they’d overlooked.

“Forgive me,” The prince’s voice had you straight as a stalk and you turned to greet him with a bow. You realized how vulgar you must’ve looked with your rear in the air. “I believe I did leave my ring behind.”

“Your highness,” You bent your knee and balled the cloth in your hand. “I haven’t seen it but I might help you look to see if it has fallen.”

“Very well,” He smiled kindly. He was much nicer than his father and you had to agree with Siena; he was very handsome.

He neared the table and you mirrored him on the other side. You pushed between the chair and the table and got down to search the floor. He did the same and you saw the pale amethyst upon the band of white gold. You reached for it as he did too and his hand closed around yours. You flinched and tried to pull away.

“Apologies, your highness,” You gasped.

His grip lingered but he let your hand slip from his. He took the ring and held it up between you. He was awfully close as he looked over at you. 

“Quick eye,” He praised. “No need to apologize.” He turned the ring in his fingers as you began to back out. “Wait,” He beamed at you as you paused. “Do you like it?”

“What?” You blinked.

“The ring? Do you like it?” He asked again.

“I think it is very fine, your highness.” You said.

“Well, I should agree but I think it would look finer…” He held it out. “On you.”

Your eyes rounded and you kept from laughing aloud. “Your highness, with all respect, you should keep it. It is yours.”

“I have many. I should want such a… fetching lady as yourself to have it.” He looked at the ring and stretched his arm towards you. “Won’t you honour me by wearing it?”

“I… cannot,” You felt your cheeks burn. “Really, it’s… rather foolish, your highness. I’m a maid and…”

“A pretty maid,” He said. “A pretty maid I would have wear my ring…” He came forward on his knees, his neck bent beneath the table, and took your hand. He turned it palm up and pressed the ring to it. “And nothing else.” He winked.

You pulled away in shock. The ring bobbled from your hand and fell back to the wood. “Your highness, I…”

He began to laugh. You gaped at him and he picked up the ring. He looked up at you with a grin as his guffaws died. 

“You really think I would have any interest in you?” He chided. “Oh, you maids are so easy.”

Your brow wrinkled in disgust. You hung your head as you sat back on your heels and folded your hands over your skirt. You wanted to cry at his tone; his repulsion, his mockery. He tucked the ring in his pocket and sighed.

“To think…” His voice was deeper and you slowly looked up. His hair paled just a little as his brows grew thicker and his features sharpened. Thranduil smirked back at you. “A prince and a maid.”

“Your highness.” You reeled and balled your skirts in your fists. “I--”

“A prince…” He scoffed. “Let me show you what makes a king.”

You yelped as he grabbed your wrist and wrenched you forward. “Ow, let go!”

“Are you telling your king what to do?” He asked as he released you and his hand flew up to your throat. He drew you closer so your noses were almost touching. “You and your trite little tongue.”

“St-o-op,” You gulped out as you grabbed his wrist. “Why--”

“A king cannot stand for such insolence,” He squeezed and forced you down onto your back. You kicked as you clawed at him. “Do you think I forgot, my pigeon?”

“I did not-- You’re-- I can’t breathe,” You gasped as you tried to pry his fingers away.

“All the better for I tire of your words,” He climbed over you and pressed his body to yours, pinning you to the floor. “I tire of your arrogance. You must…” He leaned in, his breath hot on your cheek, “Recall your place. Recall mine.” His grip tightened. “Recall who is king.”

“Please,” You rasped as you pushed against his chest. “Pl--”

He silenced you with his lips. It was as if he meant to devour you. His kiss was rough, hungry, and sour with wine. He rolled his hips and you felt the same hardness in his trousers. His fingers loosened and slipped down between you. He spread his hand over your bodice and cupped your tit. He pulled back and the tip of his nose tickled yours.

“I can be the prince,” He taunted. “But you’ll be begging for me by the time we’re done.”

You shook your head as his appearance flickered. It was Legolas over you for a split second before the king appeared once more. He leaned in again, this time his lips were on your throat as you writhed beneath him. He sank his teeth into your neck and you cried out. He only bit harder as he delighted in your pain.

His other hand snaked between you and he lifted his pelvis as he tugged up your skirts. You continued to kick as he forced his knee between your legs and inched the fabric above it. Your heart pounded loudly in your ears as you pushed on his shoulders desperately. His fingers hooked under your bodice and a loud tear added to the tempo.

You whined as you felt his fingers along your knee and shuddered as he tickled your thigh.

“Your majesty, what are you-- I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please don’t--”

His hand shot up from your chest and he covered your mouth. “Shhhh,” He pulled back again. “You must learn to obey.” He growled. “It is what got you into this mess, my pigeon.”

You trembled as he rescinded his hand and lifted himself on his knees, your left leg between his as he held you in place. He parted your torn bodice and his pupils grew as he groped you. He held your tits and flicked your nipples with his thumb. You were ashamed as you body twitched in response and your nipples hardened.

He bent over you again, this time he buried his face in your chest as he held himself up on an elbow. He nibbled along your tits and stopped to take a nipple in his mouth and suck. You let out a long breath as he pushed both his legs between yours and forced them apart. He pushed your skirts up to your waist and the cool air sent a shiver through you.

His fingers brushed along your thigh and traced your vee. You closed your eyes and turned your head away. You bit your lip as the flutter within sickened you. Why did you feel this way? You grabbed his shoulders and tried to move him; he easily ignored you. Your nails sank into the brocade as he dragged his finger between your folds. You squeaked.

“That’s it,” He lifted his head from your chest. “You see what a king can do…”

He pressed another finger to your clit and rubbed slowly. You kept your eyes on the table above as you squirmed. You didn’t want to like it. He began to circle your bud and your thighs tensed against his. He pushed your legs even wider and slowly drew his hand away. You swallowed through your dry throat as you felt him fumbling around.

You felt another pressure along your clit. You inhaled through clenched teeth as he rubbed his tip along your folds. He spread your arousal over your clit and you tried to wiggle away from him. He slid his arm beneath yours and his fingers clung to your shoulder as he held you still.

“Look at me,” He ordered as he guided his cock along your entrance. “Look at your king!”

Your eyes snapped to his and your lips formed an o as he pushed inside of you. You dug your nails into his shoulders and sobbed as he impaled you entirely. You slapped at his chest and tried to shove him off of you. He began to thrust as he lowered his weight onto you and trapped your arms beneath him.

“Your majesty,” You quavered, “Please…”

“Say it again.” He said as he continued to rock his hips. “Say it.” 

“Your majesty,” You gritted.

“Again.” He commanded.

You repeated yourself and he sped up. His pelvis rubbed against your clit with each thrust. He pushed his other arm beneath your shoulder and grasped your head between his large hands. He gaze down at you as he fucked you harder and harder, delighting in the pain as it contorted your face.

“I am still the king,” He growled as he jerked into you. “Still your king.”

You nodded and your eyes rolled back as the sparks began to swirl around your core. You bent your legs and arched your feet as you felt the sudden rise. Your orgasm erupted from you in a series of agonized moans. You shook beneath him as you came and your tortured ecstasy only seemed to encourage him.

He pushed himself up and grabbed onto your hips as he hunched beneath the shelter of the table. He rammed into you over and over as he jerked your body over the floor. His grunts mingled with your pathetic whimpers. You were sore and throbbing as he pounded into you without relent, his fervour building with each thrust.

He sank into you with a spasm and came. He swore as his grip tightened on your hips and he bucked as he emptied himself in you. You covered your face as you felt his pleasure seeping into you and his shaky breaths enshrined you beneath the table.

He was slow, reluctant even, to pull out of you. His cum dripped out of you and onto the wood as your hands fell from your face. You looked down weakly as he tucked his cock away and laced up his trousers. He chest rose and fell as he smooth out the front of his robe.

“You should clean up this mess,” He dragged his finger along your slick thigh before he slowly back out from under the table. “I shall call on you when I require your duties, ” His boots strode to the door and he paused, “And you will fly to me, won’t you, my pigeon?”