#the whole idea behind it was that She was from a wealthy merchant family but she had a shitty relationship with them

[bragganhyl]

it's been 4 in-game days and I'm already scrapping Leonor's backstory lmao

[jiubilant]

please i would love to hear more of your thoughts on aduri and avrusa, if there’s any you’d like to share. i adore your interpretation of their story & personalities T—T <3

I'M GLAD... <3

the reason that i love those two so much is that they already have a fairly cohesive story that doesn't need much embroidering. but here's how i've filled in the gaps

avrusa was born and raised in vivec city in the last years of the blight. as a cousin of the eminent ald'ruhn sarethis (who at the time had a high seat in the redoran council) she was brought up in opulence and denied nothing but the affection of her busy mother and father (both wealthy merchant-speculators). she was a bright and impetuous scrib who made so much mischief at home in an effort to keep her parents' attention that they eventually threw up their hands and sent her abroad to study under the best tutors they could afford, the alchemist sinderion being one

(i imagine that sending her out of the country to study was her uncle athyn's idea; he spent his youth in rihad and what he learned there saved his life and his council seat later)

she spent her formative years in skingrad apprenticed to sinderion and looks back fondly on those years as some of the happiest of her life; she lived much more simply with him than she was accustomed to but for the first time in her life she was being treated like a person with ideas worth listening to instead of a novelty to trot out at fancy dinners. under his tutelage she published her first scholarly treatise on the properties of nirnroot. it was well-received. sinderion threw her a party

but as passionate as she was about studying alchemy she found the commercial side of the profession more practical than staying in academia and starving in a cellar her whole life. she was in her twenties when she came back to vivec for good (or so she thought) and opened her alchemy shop wholly on her own drake. by that time the sharmat had been vanquished and the nerevarine⁠—a family friend—was causing a stir in the city of light and magic. no one yet anticipated what would soon happen to vvardenfell so avrusa was very put out when her uncle, at the urging of an ominous letter from the nerevarine, ordered her to shut up shop and insisted that the entire sarethi clan go on "pilgrimage" to the mainland. avrusa tried to argue but athyn would hear none of it so off they went

then the red year happened

in the resulting panic avrusa's immediate family (minus her father, who refused to leave the country) fled to manage their small landholdings in eastmarch. in the wake of such disaster and upset avrusa was expected to set aside her studies and her dreams to help her family till strange soil in a strange land. and so she did. over the years the family dwindled in number and the fortunes of the farmstead fell until avrusa was left alone and impoverished and struggling stubbornly to keep her crops—watered with sarethi blood, sweat, and tears—alive

in an especially lonely and desperate year sinderion showed up on her doorstep. the sudden arrival of her beloved old teacher reminded avrusa of everything she'd given up and ALMOST convinced her to abandon the farm and gallivant off with him to who-knows-where...

...but then she received the news that her estranged father had died and left behind an illegitimate toddler that no one knew what to do with. avrusa took the news in stride and traveled to mournim (along with sinderion) to bring little aduri back home to the farm

this quashed avrusa's aspirations again for a time—raising a child required a steady income, and the farm guaranteed an income steadier than what she'd earn trekking across the country picking nirnroot—but brought joy and purpose back into her life. sinderion stuck around to help with both the farm and with little aduri which gave avrusa some time (and motivation; her old teacher was just as exacting as he'd always been) to pursue the studies she'd long neglected

aduri for her part was raised in a loving if somewhat eccentric home where her own eccentricities—she was a shy child and, like avrusa had been at her age, prone to tantrums and fits of impetuous mischief—were understood. avrusa always found it bitter that she couldn't afford to send aduri away for the sort of education that she herself had enjoyed, particularly when aduri started showing interest in painting, but any money they could spare went to buying pigments and brushes

sinderion left to conduct some "field research" when aduri was thirteen or so. he'd always intended to come back :( flash-forward ten years or so and that’s when i imagine that we meet the sarethi sisters in the game

[shepherds-of-haven]

In an alternate Blest where the Endarkened never returned thus there was never a need for the shepherds to form, what would the main cast be doing?🧐 Would any of their paths have crossed otherwise? For those who are not from Haven would they have any other reason to travel there?

Holy shit anon, this is such a great question that I've literally sat on it for six weeks thinking about it... Let's give this a try! 🤔💭

Beware! Heavy alpha build and overall spoilers below! Read at your own risk, or do not read if you haven't played the alpha fully!

Blade: well, if things had gone exactly the way they had, just without the need for the Shepherds in the mix, he'd be dead! But if we ignore that particular detail, he'd still be working as an assassin for the Ket Rebellion, and he'd probably be a colder, crueler person as a result of it. He would still be a frequent visitor to Haven, plotting you-know-what and taking on various jobs and assignments in the meantime; and he and Trouble were friends before the Shepherds were formed, so they'd still be merc buddies and occasional partners on bigger jobs where they'd need someone to watch their back! But they probably wouldn't be as close. He'd probably spend the rest of his life working as the tip of the spear for the Ket rebellion, the left hand and living weapon of his brother. It'd be an okay life, but he'd never truly be independent!

Trouble: he'd likely still be a mercenary or soldier-for-hire, sort of wandering around the Continent with Haven as his home base. For some reason, I could see him being talked into joining the Army of the Sun and becoming a military man once he was older and tired of the merc life; he'd probably like the order and structure and camaraderie of it for a time, but he'd clash with his superiors and the culture so much that he'd probably eventually wind up discharged! At that point, he'd probably leave it all behind and go West to start a new life... maybe he'd become the sheriff of some small town out there, or a farmer, or an airship mechanic in Lindell!

Tallys: she'd probably work as a hunter for hire, usually working for the farms out in the Sun's Embrace or guarding their livestock from wolves and predators, or possibly as a 'van guard for Elvish caravans. She volunteered at poorhouses and Elvish clinics in Ashtown before joining the Shepherds, so she'd probably still be doing that. I think her life would be a sort of haze of just... existing, looking for a purpose or some way to help people but feeling like it's all a bit futile. She'd probably do some self-destructive things to make her forget the emptiness inside of her, and if things reached a boiling point, perhaps she'd simply disappear into the wind one day...

Shery: hmmmm, this is an interesting question! Shery met up with the Shepherds because her parents sold her into an apprenticeship that she didn't want and she ran away, and by coincidence she happened to come across the group and Blade offered her a job as quartermaster because she was good at book-keeping. If that didn't happen, I don't know what would have happened to her?! She alludes in the game that she saw how prostitutes by the docks were living and was scared that that was the only option open to her if no one would hire her, but I like to think she would have found a job as like, a librarian or a bookshop clerk or a merchant's assistant. I almost feel like she could have somehow run into Riel and joined Merchants Guild as one of his assistants alongside Aerin! So I feel like she would have been okay, though her life would have been very quiet and domestic and humble, and unless she worked for Riel, she likely would have never earned enough to have more than a little dingy apartment all to herself (and some cats).

If things hadn't worked out so well, she likely would have returned home and faced her terrible parents, and probably would have lived under their thumbs for the rest of her life as atonement! :(

Riel: he'd still be master of Merchants Guild, and doing just fine! I think he'd just continue to garner wealth, power, and influence, and likely would have been made a minister or some sort of politician within the Consortium when he was older! Not sure yet if he would have taken that offer, though! If the Endarkened didn't exist, I wonder if Merchants Guild and Thieves Guild would have had any particular bone to pick with each other, as they largely ignored each other's existence... Chase's thieves typically targeted the aristocracy and the obscenely wealthy before the whole Black Sun thing, so they might never have crossed paths!

Chase: he'd still be master of Thieves Guild, also doing just fine! I can't really imagine anything about his life changing that much; he would have continued to steal, nettle, and harangue the denizens and criminal underworld of Haven until the ecosystem could no longer sustain it and the Thieves Guild would have to pack up and move elsewhere to elude capture (probably to Conte); or he would have developed such a monopoly on crime in Haven that he would have gotten bored of the power, handed control off to Ari and Kato, and peaced out to parts unknown... realistically, in that scenario, his luck would have to run out at some point, and he'd probably sleep with or double-cross the wrong person (probably both) and get himself into a corner he couldn't back out of alone...

Red: he'd still be Archmage of the Veiled Circle, and they probably would have remained at Capra for longer, since there wouldn't have been the Endarkened to draw attention to their activities as pointedly as Quiial did. Still, they would have had to leave to evade the Inquisitors eventually, and probably would have settled somewhere else; and Red probably would have passed off leadership of the Circle to someone else, maybe a promising instructor who joined later or Pan or someone. Basically when he'd felt he'd put in the time and wasn't abandoning the Circle to its fate, he'd leave and go off and do his Traveler stuff he'd always wanted to. But it'd be a lonelier, more solitary life, and his letters home or his jaunts back to the Circle would drop off as he became more and more engrossed in his research, and people would worry about him or his health, not having anyone to watch his back on the road. He has a 50/50 chance of marrying someone nice that his family set him up with after like a concerned intervention on their part, or he'd probably drop off the face of the earth and no one would know where he went!

Ayla: she'd still be working as a wilderness guide, taking rich people around on tours and guiding parties and caravans through dangerous stretches of wilderness. She would have gone to Haven to visit as a tourist, but probably wouldn't have stayed long; a handful of weeks, at the most. She'd spend her life scrapping, fighting to stay alive, and watching her own back, but it would be an empty life, pretty much devoid of meaningful connection or meaning. At some point she'd probably get fed up, return to Jalis, and launch a single-woman campaign against the warlords there, just because she could!

Briony: hmmm... okay, she'd still be in that shipwreck, but would slavers have found her if there was no gladiator arena, since there would be no Endarkened to have created it?? I feel like she would have woken up, still an amnesiac, and staggered to the nearest town eventually (which I think would have been Courtshore or one of its outlying, smaller towns/villages). After recovering a little, she probably would have put herself to work as a mercenary or as a street-fighter working for bets (so like a gladiator... but on the street!). She probably would have been taken in by a kind innkeeper or family and allowed to rent a small room with her bizarre story of not having a memory. Or she could have taken up something simpler, like working as a barmaid in the inn or something like that! She probably would have had a relatively happy, peaceful life once she got used to things and it all settled down... but given her proximity to the shipwreck, her past would have caught up to her way faster, and the fallout would have been... intense...

Lavinet: she'd still be in Lockwood, and the Elementals would still be an issue, since that wasn't tied to demonwork! What probably would have happened: things would have deteriorated, and the families of the besieged nobles in Lockwood would have grown impatient and would sent in their personal armies to deal with the situation, most likely without Lavinet's consent. The ensuing conflict would have been devastating, with the Elementals most likely winning. In response, the Autarchy would have mobilized the Army of the Sun and absolutely annihilated the Elementals--but Lockwood would have likely burned, caught in the crossfire. Lavinet would have to spend the rest of her life with that shadow looming over her, and while she'd still harbor ambitions to attend the Sun Court and rise in the ranks as a Sun Courtier, there would always be that stain on her reputation, or she wouldn't have been able to leave Lockwood, having to help it rebuild after its destruction. Or she would have gotten kidnapped by the Elementals far earlier and might have been killed then!

Halek: he would have stayed sol of the Reach, and I have no idea what would have happened... he probably would have married Moonsilk and just have been absolutely miserable... probably would have popped out a few kids and just... existed! Or maybe he might have run away and left Naolin holding the bag and become like a guilty drunkard in some random town, though it's hard to believe they wouldn't have tracked him down eventually...

[sonnet009]

Wilder: Jamal’s Story (Route Summary)

PROLOGUE:

MC decides to flee Ziya alone. A rotund wine merchant named Barlow offers her a timely rescue, smuggling her out in one of the wagons in his caravan. On their journey across the Shining Sands MC learns that Barlow is a wealthy and ambitious man who can afford not only a team of djinn guards but even a pleasure slave. It is this pleasure slave who warns MC that Barlow intends to ransom her back to Ziya and urges her to leave the caravan. Though afraid, MC chooses to stay rather than risk facing the desert alone. Jamal is not pleased at the prospect of continuing to share his wagon.

CHAPTER I:

The caravan stops so Barlow can take his dinner out under the stars. MC joins him and Jamal while the djinn guards keep watch. Barlow is very blatant about his sexual relationship with Jamal and Jamal for his part fawns over Barlow in return. MC has never seen anything like it. Left alone for a few moments, Jamal teases MC that she can't keep her eyes off him.

During the next day's travel the caravan is attacked by a raiding group of djinn come down from the Western Hills. The djinn guards rally around Barlow to protect him but change their minds when the leader of the wild djinn offers them a free life with the tribe. Barlow and MC are pushed onto their knees, faces in the sand, and Barlow is beheaded. MC hears Jamal's horrified gasp.

MC does not share Barlow's fate. She is restrained and brought back to the Hills with the tribe and their new recruits. She is not sure why, but feels in her heart that this is no salvation.

CHAPTER II:

While the new djinn are welcomed into the tribe, Jamal sneaks over to where MC has been tied. He probes her about her rich, important family and muses that she must have connections in Umar. Though he knew she was fleeing Ziya he doesn't seem to have the full story – he certainly doesn't know that MC is an accused murderer and therefore utterly without connections or power.

After a ritual in which each new djinn must eat a piece of a raw deer heart, the disgusted Jamal has had enough. In the dead of night he frees MC in return for her promise to take him to Umar. They catch their breath by the river but are soon discovered by one of the ex-guards whose disdain for Jamal the pleasure slave is obvious. He calls out for the rest of the tribe and MC and Jamal run.

The tribe pursues them far, all the way to the base of the mountainous Knives. With little other choice, MC and Jamal head up – away from the Hills but only into more danger.

CHAPTER III:

MC offers condolences for Barlow's death. Jamal is dismissive and MC realises that though he appeared to adore the man it was all just an act. He doesn't miss Barlow, just the security that being his personal slave offered. Jamal insists that MC is his master now, though MC insists that she is not. Jamal reveals his intention for MC to sell him to a famous pleasure house in Umar, and for that she has to be his master.

Jamal whines and gripes the whole way up the mountain path. In contrast, MC finds a fortitude within herself she never knew she had. In the night he attempts to seduce her though she rebuffs him, saying, “I told you, you don't need to do that.” The next day they stumble into the path of a mountain lion. Jamal hides behind MC while she scares it away.

They come across a hot spring and MC spends most of her time trying to avoid looking at Jamal's naked and shameless displays designed to get her attention. But when he asks her to wash his hair it is with genuine, vulnerable wanting so she does so. It is the most intimate moment MC has ever shared with anyone.

CHAPTER IV:

In the sprawling farmland on the other side of the mountains, MC and Jamal are caught in a sudden downpour. Sheltering in an old barn, they share a sweet, quiet moment that turns into an argument when she once again refuses to claim him as her slave. MC is secretly very drawn to Jamal, but fears that his affection is all a lie and that she will be taking advantage of their positions if she lets herself believe him. He accuses her of looking down on him and gives her the cold shoulder. This means that MC has missed another chance to confess that she is not the connected noblewoman he believes her to be.

As they continue on their journey in strained silence, a group of bandits appear and block their path. MC is afraid but not as afraid as Jamal. However, when one of the men grabs MC and makes lewd comments, Jamal exclaims, “Hey!” surprising no one more than himself. As the scene turns to violence, MC and Jamal learn that even a light slap from a djinn whose claws have been growing for weeks can be devastating to a human body. MC thanks Jamal for his protection while he desperately tries to get the blood out from under his nails.

They finally make it to Dijarah, a port town where MC intends to board a ship sailing for Umar. The one problem? She has no money.

CHAPTER V:

To earn money in Dijarah, an innkeeper agrees to hire MC and Jamal to work in the kitchen. Jamal is aghast at the prospect, especially when he meets the old battleaxe of a cook on whom his charms utterly fail. Jamal is terrible at every practical task put before him and, after only a few days, is utterly miserable.

MC is gentle and encouraging with Jamal, and he eventually is able to put aside his pride (a little) and improve. He finds it amusing to think of a world in which he worked here instead of as a pleasure slave. But when MC takes this question seriously he balks and insists that he would never want an unglamorous life like this. “I know what I am,” he says quietly.

As the two grow closer, Jamal tells MC the story of his life. Bred illegally and born sick, Jamal was passed under the table from master to master, role to role, failing at all of them. Finally dumped in a pleasure house as an insult, Jamal actually flourished there – able to put his natural charm and artistic talents to use. That is why he cannot even consider another life. MC asks if he would choose the same life if he were a free man. Jamal goes quiet and does not answer.

CHAPTER VI:

One day MC walks into the kitchen to see Jamal scrubbing pots with all his might then absent mindedly tidying up some things – not as part of his assigned task but just because it needs doing. MC announces herself and they compare their palm callouses and growing arm muscle. One night Jamal is asked to perform for the inn's patrons by playing the lute – he is giddy with excitement to be the centre of attention once more, though the audience is not his usual clientele. He plays and sings beautifully and MC sets off a standing ovation that nearly makes him cry.

An evening shift turns tense when a group of drunkards start causing trouble. Jamal shocks everyone by taking charge of the situation and intimidating them into leaving. Though, as soon as they are gone, his legs turn to liquid and he slides to the floor declaring how terrifying the whole thing was. The innkeeper draws him a hot bath in thanks. Jamal asks MC to wash his hair again. Though she won't join him in the tub – despite his persistence – Jamal does wash and style her hair for her in return.

Finally MC and Jamal have enough money to book passage on a ship. As they are boarding MC catches sight of Hamza in the crowded street. She drags Jamal away to avoid getting caught, though now she is less afraid of being arrested than she is being exposed to Jamal who still doesn't know that she is a fugitive. She resolves that she must tell him soon, even if it ruins the... friendship... that seems to finally be blossoming between them.

CHAPTER VII:

Hamza has also boarded so MC spends most of her time hiding in her cabin – and Jamal has no objections to passing the days relaxing on a soft bed. She tries many times to broach his misconceptions about her but is consistently thwarted by interruptions and her own cowardice. A rich passenger tries to buy some time with Jamal from MC but she staunchly refuses. Jamal is delighted by this, then confused as to why he is so delighted.

One night they lie side by side on the bed and MC asks Jamal why he is so set on being sold to this particular brothel. He explains that, not only is it a famous venue, but if they purchase him then by Umar’s laws he will no longer be a slave but an indentured servant. MC says that isn’t good enough – she wants to free him. Jamal is dismissive of such an impossible idea but MC insists that Lord Yasir, the most powerful man in Umar, could surely help them. Jamal asks why MC would be seeking Yasir’s help for herself and she prepares to finally tell him the truth when– the ship’s bell rings. They have arrived.

Hamza catches sight of MC at just the wrong moment. She drags Jamal off the ship, pushing past everyone else, and manages to lose Hamza in the moonlit streets of Umar. They come to Minerva’s Pleasure House. Inside is a whole new world to MC but Jamal is in his element. Then he goes quiet. “I don’t want you to leave me here. I want to stay with you. I want to be–”. The madam interrupts, realises exactly who MC is, and throws her and Jamal out of the place, calling MC a murderer and threatening to tell the authorities if either of them ever return.

CHAPTER VIII:

MC hurries to Yasir’s estate, a confused and suspicious Jamal with her, and fortunately finds the merchant-turned-lord to be very welcoming and willing to provide sanctuary. Jamal confronts MC and she finally admits everything. Jamal is devastated. He accuses her of using him, of dragging him through danger and hardship just for the amusement of it, of being just as rotten as Barlow and the others. “You think so little of me. You think nothing of me.” MC cannot explain her actions without admitting – to Jamal and to herself – that she has been falling in love with him. Jamal is stunned. Then he turns and leaves the manor.

He returns in the morning and apologises for leaving, kissing MC on the cheek and saying that he understands she was only doing what she had to do – she’s a survivor. He turns down MC’s attempts to make him a free man and instead asks Yasir to use his influence to place him in the pleasure house. “No more pretending,” he says in response to MC’s protestations. “I know what I am.” Yasir arranges for the madam to accept him as an indentured servant.

MC and Jamal say a fraught goodbye in the gaudy room that is to be Jamal’s from now on. Jamal kisses MC and, at his soft declaration that he has fallen in love with her too, she gives in to her passion and they come together in a tangle of flesh and emotion. After, as they lie in bed, the door is kicked down and in bursts Hamza to arrest MC. Jamal is remarkably unsurprised. “I should’ve known it was all a lie from the beginning. All those things you said about my potential. Trying to make me doubt who I am; what I am. But you know something, mistress?” There is nothing but cold resolve in his eyes. “I’m a survivor too.”

CHAPTER IX:

MC is transported back to Ziya to face her execution. She spends the journey thinking on Jamal. That night he left the manor he must have gone to Hamza to arrange the ambush. Anger and betrayal come in cycles but always give way to regret and the knowledge that she brought this on herself. MC’s execution is a public event on the steps of the shah’s palace, but the proceedings are suddenly interrupted by Jamal and Yasir’s right-hand-djinn Royo. Since MC was under Umar’s protection, Ziya’s actions in abducting her have been taken as a hostile act. Hamza takes justice into his own hands and attacks MC with his sword. Jamal tries to protect her but she pushes him away, taking the blade in her chest.

MC wakes in her old bedroom in her Aunt and Uncle’s villa. The blade missed her heart and, though badly wounded, she will live. Jamal is by her bedside. He asserts that he hasn’t forgiven her, and he’ll never forgive himself, but he wants her to know that Hamza was the one who caught and pressured him into the betrayal that night, and Jamal convinced himself that she deserved it. But he regretted it immediately and went running to Yasir for help. He confesses that he wasn’t lying when he said he’d fallen in love with her. He thinks that’s their shared fatal flaw – they’re dreamers.

When MC next wakes quite a lot of time has passed. This time it is Royo who comes to see her, informing her that the political pressure from Umar – and Yasir specifically – has worked. To avoid trouble between the two cities, Ziya has agreed not to execute MC but to exile her. Royo must return to Umar now but says that MC is welcome there once she is well enough to travel. MC asks after Jamal but Royo shakes her head. He is waiting by the carriage to leave and will not return to the villa. MC asks Royo to take something with her when she goes – a letter addressed to the madam of Minerva’s.

BITTER END:

Two years have passed since the almost-execution and MC has been travelling ever since, working tirelessly in whatever jobs she can in order to save money and send it periodically to Minerva’s to bit by bit pay off Jamal’s “debt” to the pleasure house. Finally with enough to complete the contract she returns to Umar.

When Jamal sees her in Minerva’s he covers his shock by asking if she is there to taste him once again. They go to his room and MC interrupts his cold, emotionless seduction with the last of the money he needs to truly be free. He insists at first to not want it then finally cracks open, tears spilling down his cheeks. “But where would I go?” MC says he can go with her if he likes. He doesn’t answer, conflicted, still so afraid to trust. MC backs off and says he can go wherever he wants to go; anywhere in the world. She leaves the pleasure house but lingers outside, hoping that when Jamal comes out a free man he will choose to go with her after all.

SWEET END:

Two years have passed since the almost-execution and MC has been travelling ever since, working tirelessly in whatever jobs she can in order to save money and send it periodically to Minerva’s to bit by bit pay off Jamal’s “debt” to the pleasure house. However when she journeys to Umar with the final payment she is informed by the madam that Jamal has already been freed from his contract and left months ago. MC turns to Royo for help, who informs her that Jamal had also been working hard to pay for his freedom – taking on extra chores and responsibilities at Minerva's – and that last she knew he was heading for Dijarah.

MC sets sail immediately. When she disembarks at Dijarah’s docks she is stunned to find Jamal waiting, Royo having sent word ahead. There is a tense moment of uncertainty then Jamal launches himself at her, catching her in a tight embrace. He thanks her for contributing so much to buying his freedom and says he’s never worked so hard for anything before – for the chance to live a free life. To stand before MC as an equal. To say he loves her and for it to be the simple truth. Hand-in-hand, Jamal escorts MC to his new place of employment – the inn in which they spent so much time before. He winks. “I hear they're hiring. I’ll put in a good word for you.”

[snarky-bee]

Dreams

Zevran was on watch. His back was silhouetted against the low burn of flames. He faced outward into the dark, with an ankle crossed underneath one leg. The stir of bushes and trees rustling in the wind and the occasional pop of wood crackling were the only sounds. It was late. The moon was a mere haze of white light obscured by clouds; a chill hung in the air.

Kallian wrapped her arms around herself, pulling the blanket tightly to her shoulders while a gust of wind tried to strip it from her.

Her footsteps rustled grass and crunchy leaves. She watched Zev’s ears twitch briefly but he didn’t turn. She plopped down on her knees behind him and wrapped her arms, blanket and all, around his shoulders. Her cheek pressed to his shoulder blade. He was warm from the fire.

“Up before dawn?” Zevran murmured. She could feel the rumble of his voice in her chest. It comforted her. “I heard you tossing back and forth.”

She was still groggy, but falling back asleep on her own sounded worse than seeking Zev out even in the cool autumn air. “Darkspawn shit,” she said by way of answer.

It was getting worse. Alistair had said it was worse for those who joined during a Blight, but for the first few months, she had dreams maybe once a week and always fell back asleep right away. Now it was strange if she went a night without the archdemon invading her mind. 

She sighed and nuzzled her nose into Zev’s neck. Blond hairs tickled her face as the wind teased his loose hair. 

“You should go back to sleep, my warden,” he soothed. His hand fell on hers, rubbed the stretch of skin between thumb and pointer finger. He chuckled lightly and scoffed. “What a fool I am. Suffering here under this Fereldan cold and sending you and your warmth away from me.”

That dragged a smile from Kallian and she squeezed him tighter. “Only you would complain when you’re sitting next to the fire.”

“The fire is nothing compared to your body, mi amor,” he sighed dramatically. “While in your presence, the fire is mere sparks but you are the warmth of the sun.”

Her face warmed up. Pure flattery. She laughed it away nervously. “You’re so dramatic, Zev. It’s barely even dipped into fall. Wait til fucking winter comes. The very idea of undressing will make your balls shrink,” she cackled.

“What an appealing image,” he said with a frown clear in his voice. “Makes me want to escape to Antiva before it is too late. You are welcome to tag along of course.”

A heavy silence settled over them.

Neither could escape to anywhere. The Blight was in Ferelden. The Crows were in Antiva. 

“I hate being a fucking warden,” she mumbled.

“If you were not a Grey Warden, what would you do? Who would you be?” Zevran asked suddenly.

What would she do? “I was a thief before so… that?”

“As you have said. I imagine if circumstances were different, you would choose a different life, no? Or have you always aspired to pick unsuspecting patrons’ pockets?”

“When I was little I used to say dumb shit like I wanted to be a ship captain. Me, an elf, captain of a ship - or a pirate.”

Zevran cackled. “I have a certain fondness for pirates. Were I to meet you at a port I have no doubt we would have an exciting tryst. Imagine you and I, a dark tavern on the ports of Antiva city, mm? Wine flowing, shared looks across the room. I offer to buy you a drink, you flirt a little, I flirt back. One thing leads to another and your legs are wrapped around my hips as we tangle in the sheets.”

Kallian sucked in a deep breath. She could almost imagine it. Sea air, a sexy stranger in the dark with a handsome smile… 

“And you wouldn’t even have to try to kill me first.”

Zevran chuckled again. “True at that. I imagine getting you into bed would have taken far less effort on my part.”

“Hey!” Kallian flicked his chin. “I’m not that easy.”

He grabbed her wrist and nibbled on her finger with a playful bite. “Perhaps not, but I am incredibly handsome and charming. If we were strangers meeting for the first time?”

She bumped her forehead softly against him. “Fine, maybe if we were strangers looking for a spot of fun, yeah. And what are you in this then? Still an assassin? What did you dream of becoming when you were a kid?” 

“Like all Antivans, I dreamed of becoming a wealthy merchant. I imagined myself in a palace draped in gold, the finest silks and richest of brandy. I would want for nothing and have everything I ever desired.”

“Antivans aren’t the only ones who want nice things.” Kallian sighed a little wistfully. “I never kept any of the shit I stole. Someone would notice if I suddenly had a fancy necklace worth more than a year’s pay. An elf with pretty jewelry can only be two things: a thief, or a whore,” Kallian scowled.

“Ah, I know too well how it feels to not be allowed to keep the things you want. Truthfully, I once ran away to join the Dalish,” Zev said, uncharacteristically muted. “I told you before, that my mother was Dalish?”

Kallian nodded.

“I had nothing but a pair of gloves from her. I made up stories in my head as a child, of what she was like, of what my life could be if I were one of the feared Dalish hunters. Being the son of a Dalish whore made me special, or so I believed. It was a point of fascination for many years.”

“Did you find a clan?”

Zevran stared out into the moonless sky. “I did. When a clan came near Antiva city, I approached them. But as you can imagine, fantasy never quite matches up with reality. I did not fit in. I was too Antivan, you might say. Life in the woods, hunting for your next meal, I was poorly suited to it.”

“So… you left? Wasn’t it better than the Crows at least?”

Zevran chuckled wryly. “I came back with my tail between my legs like a properly chastised street dog. They had me convinced of course, after thorough punishment for my disloyalty, that my talents were best used for the Antivan Crows. Perhaps they were right… The gloves were missing from my belongings not too much later, but these were never lives meant for you and I, were they? It is best to accept my place and move on.”

Kallian felt a rush of affection towards him. A longing to protect Zev from more hurt. “I’m sorry they stole your gloves. I have so much from my mother: her boots, passed down clothes, but the one thing I wish we had was her dagger. It was passed down from her side of the family. Someone must have taken it when she was killed… It had an engraving in elvhen that means ‘Fang’ or so she said.”

“Like your mabari?”

“It’s a fitting name for a warhound, I thought,” Kallian pouted.

“Mmm, indeed.” 

Another pensive silence passed, his thumbs stroked the backs of her hands. “I suppose it does no good to dwell on dreams and wishes that may never come true now. People like you and I are not the product of happy lives of contentment, after all.”

Sorrow pierced her chest. Once she had been happy, happy enough at least for her lot in life. “I never really wondered what I might actually want when we’re all more worried about having a job at all. I fucking wish I knew what I wanted to do. I still don’t and I’m already roped into this whole warden for life deal.”

She hadn’t noticed her hands clenched into fists until Zevran was prying them off his shirt. 

“Being a warden is not what you hoped it would be?”

“I…” Kallian didn’t know how to answer that. “It’s not like it’s bad. Freedom, doing good, saving the world, right?”

Zevran’s shoulders shrugged and then he twisted in his spot, tugged Kallian to his side so he could look in her eyes. His thumb brushed against the skin beneath her eyes. She had bags and the beginnings of dark circles, she knew. She longed for his touch to linger on her skin. Her eyes closed, she leaned closer to him and sighed.

“The lack of sleep, constant darkspawn fighting, and I hear the severance package is utterly terrible,” Zevran teased knowingly. 

“Mmm,” Kallian agreed. Flashes of her dreams played in her mind’s eye - so much screeching, an endless marching and a black void. “I’m so tired.” She could hear it even in her voice, like her throat was parched of water.

“I will wake Wynne early,” Zev said abruptly, “Let us catch more sleep before the sun forces us to rise again.” 

[historic-old-guard-lover]

What are your thoughts on the old guards and literacy ( past and present ) ?

I've reblogged some posts here (on why anything goes for literacy in medieval Europe), here (which touches upon oral history), here (a heartwarming take on reading aloud), and here (a humorous take), but I'd love to go in depth for you! As usual, the mega-post with pictures and more detailed explanations is below the cut-off.

TL;DR Summary of Literacy for Each Member:

Lykon: never needed to read or write, probably did neither

Andy: we see her read in the film, but might have only picked up reading in the last few centuries; doesn’t necessarily know how to write but would also be a fairly recent skill*

Quynh: may read or write, but similar to Andy would have been “recent” in the terms of her lifespan*

Yusuf: likely can read and write Arabic before his death, values literacy

Nicolo: total wild-card for either reading or writing, but we see him reading silently in the film so he has learned to read at some point; unclear whether he values it

Booker: very background-dependent for reading and writing, but values literacy as a social status symbol and clearly enjoys books from the film

Nile: can read and write and views it as an essential skill, but likely knows people who are illiterate and understands the socio-economics behind US literacy

*This is based on the fact that they never needed literacy to go about their lives, but they could have learned to read and write by the time that Yusuf and Nicolo die if they enjoyed it.

First off, what is literacy? If you ask someone or google it, chances are you’ll encounter the definition along the lines of “you can read and write.” This is a definition of literacy. The United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) defines it as “ability to identify, understand, interpret, create, communicate and compute, using printed and written materials associated with varying contexts.” To summarize academic arguments, “literacy” could mean anything from “is able to read a newspaper” to “understands internet meme language” to “understands the doctor’s write-up after a visit.” For this post, I’ll broadly address the ability to read and the ability to write in an character system since that is what I imagine you are asking.

You can’t have someone read something if you don’t have someone to write in a mutually-intelligible language, so let’s start with the history of writing. The invention of writing has been awarded to Sumerian Cuneiform in ~3,100 BCE in southern Mesopotamia (modern day Iraq and Iran near the Persian Gulf). It was done on clay tablets by trained scribes, primarily for boring things like business and government. Below is a picture of a tablet so you can see what cuneiform looked like. They eventually settled on writing left-to-right and didn’t have any punctuation (not even spaces between words!).

[ID: “Sumerian cuneiform tablet, probably from Erech (Uruk), Mesopotamia, c. 3100–2900 BCE; in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York City” from here. The Met attributes it as “administrative account of barley distribution with cylinder seal impression of a male figure, hunting dogs, and boars.”]

Another notable old language is (Old) Egyptian. The first complete sentence dates back to 2690 BCE and was done using hieroglyphs (shown below). This language was used throughout Egypt and Nubia, which translates to modern-day Egypt and Sudan. The language didn’t really pick up, from what archaeologists can tell, until around 2600 BCE where writing starts proliferating...and then is soon replaced with Middle Egyptian. Fun fact: the word “hieroglyphs” comes from the Greeks, but the Egyptians referred to their script as (transliterated) “medu-netjer” or “the god's words” because it was a gift from Thoth (yes, that guy with the falcon head who may also be accredited as Thot).

[ID: picture of a seal impression from the tomb of Seth-Peribsen. It reads “The Ombite (i.e. Set) has given the Two Lands to his son, Dual King Peribsen.”]

Skipping over a few more writing systems developed in the Middle East and surrounding regions, we finally get to the first records of Old Chinese in 1250 BCE with the inscription on oracle bones shown below. From the get-go, there were at least three different scripts of Old Chinese: oracle bone, bronze, and seal. I’ve also added a bronze script so that you can see the differences.

[ID: ox scapula oracle bone from the reign of King Wu Din. The fragments read “ ...divined: in the next ten days there will be no disasters...  (day 40) Zheng divined: in the next ten days there will be no disasters. (day 41) ... cleaved to (day 42) ... fifth month, in Dun...  (day 50) Zheng divined: in the next ten days there will be no disasters. ...   (day 50) Zheng divined: in the next ten days there will be no disasters. Third day, (day 52) ... (day 54) ... The Gui will also have sickness ...” ]

[ID: Rubbing of an engraving found on multiple objects which notes the appointment of a man named Song as supervisor of the storehouses in Chengzhou.]

As you can see, early writing would not have interested the earliest members of the Old Guard. The things that were being written down were things that were important to those governing and those in business. I really don’t think that Lykon, Andy, or Quynh would have cared much about the barely distribution or who’s in charge of the storehouse, and they wouldn’t have been important enough to keep their own oracle on retainer. If we use the timeline I developed for my history of language asks (~8,000BCE - 7,000BCE Horn of Africa Lykon, ~5,000BCE - 4,000BCE Caucauses Andy, and ~3,500BCE - 2,500BCE Southeast Asia Quynh), then they all predate the invention of writing excluding the younger range of Quynh’s possible birth which places her after the invention but still culturally separated from it. Lykon could have died without ever having to learn how to read or write, Andy was old before it was invented let alone became popular, and Quynh is from a time where writing was not common. This is a hot take, but there is a non-zero chance that if Quynh disliked reading/writing and resisted learning it, she could have been locked in the coffin without being solidly literate. Imagine the first language you really have to read after 500 years now that literacy is a requisite for society is French, which doesn’t even sound how it looks (I’m looking at you, silent -ent at the end of most present-tense verbs). Painful.

This brings us to the next question we should answer for these older members: when would reading or writing have become useful and important to them? This is obviously much more difficult to answer. Because of oral history traditions, they wouldn’t need to read for entertainment (that whole concept must be mind-boggling). Because they probably didn’t do much large-scale trade coordination, they wouldn’t need to write for business. I can’t see any of them working for the government. As much as I love the joke about Quynh recognizing wanted posters, that wasn’t a thing until right before the 19th century in Europe. Quite frankly, I don’t think Andy or Quynh has a compelling interest in learning to read until the 1700s at the earliest unless they want to and enjoy the idea of writing (perhaps introduced by the younger immortal couple?).

Yusuf and Nicolo are a different story altogether, as they were both born after the invention of writing had become fairly common (ie. books were a thing and people used them, though they were rare and expensive). A longer and far better post than I could write explains that literacy in medieval Italy was in no way uniform: Nicolo is a total toss-up. He might have only known how to write, only known how to read, done both, or done neither even if he was a monastic priest or even a scribe who copied manuscripts. As a member of a merchant family, this still holds because 1) he might not have been the child raised to take over the business; and 2) you could pay people to do that pesky writing thing for you if it was absolutely necessary.

Yusuf came from a society which valued reading, especially in religious contexts. It’s called the Islamic Golden Age for a reason! Young children were schooled in Arabic and the Quran, though it might have been memorization-based. Older students would be taught to read and possibly to write as well in order to engage in scholarship around their sacred texts. He is from the beginning of the creation and popularity of madrasa (literally just “place of study”) as institutions of learning. He probably had an entire curriculum he studied, like modern schooling. Given that we can all agree that Yusuf comes from a wealthy background, it is a safe assumption that Yusuf can read Arabic and it is probably also safe to assume that he can write in it. I’d say that, if you are writing him as particularly wealthy or scholarly, he is probably even trained in the art of calligraphy (see an example below) which is to say he can write BEAUTIFULLY. The example picture is simply words on paper like we’d expect of a modern book, but calligraphy would be integrated into architecture and pictures. Don’t tempt me to make another post on this beautiful art form.

[ID: Maghrebi script from a 13th-century northern African Quran, thanks to Wikipedia.]

Moving on to 1770s France, literacy was becoming common but still varied with social class (especially before the Revolution) and it’s not clear whether Booker would have learned to read and write. It’s ironic that many areas of the country did not have had more than 40% MEN’S literacy while at the same time the country was considered a hub of the Enlightenment with it’s institutions of higher learning. The North/South cultural divide that I’ve hinted at here and here, shows up in the literacy rates as well. As a Southern sharecropper or laborer, he would be very likely illiterate. As a Southern peasant, we approach a 50/50 chance as he becomes more wealthy. As an artisan (if anyone headcannons this), he most likely is literate though the extent varies with wealth. Whether Booker knows how to read and write before his death is closely linked to class and wealth, but he would value literacy as a major social status signifier and be motivated to learn if he didn’t already.

[ID: four maps depicting “men” and “women” literacy rates for the period of 1686-1690 versus the period of 1786-1790. Adapted from "Reading and Writing: Literacy in France from Calvin to Jules Ferry, 1982."]

This brings us to modern history for Nile. Compulsory schooling for children is present in the US and being illiterate is (unfairly) associated with being unlearned. She was definitely taught to read and write in school, and literacy has been an essential skill throughout her entire life. This doesn’t mean that she is necessarily disrespectful of any illiteracy, because thirty percent of Chicago adults would “benefit” from literacy instruction. Literacy is still tied to class (and thus race) for a lot of Americans, though less strikingly for 1770s France. Nile probably knows some adults in her life who are illiterate or struggle with literacy and would understand that this is tied to socio-economics.

[legendsoffodlan]

Wild West AU (Yeehaw)

The town? Garreg Mach. A growing boomtown on the edge of the frontier. Life out here is tough, but the people are tougher. Between the sandstorms, the corrupt politicians and business moguls, and the weird magic shit going on behind the scenes, the people of Garreg Mach are gonna need all their wit and gumption to survive.

-

Golden Deer

Claude: A popular young lawyer, half Irish Immigrant and half Cheyenne Native American. Claude is well known as a bit of a celebrity about town, frequently challenging the government and protecting the rights of Native Americans and their claims to land. A bit ruthless and a lot charming, Claude is a leader among the townsfolk, particularly the poorer folk.

Hilda: While the Civil War ruined most southern folk, Hilda’s family made it rich by siding with the Union and fighting the Confederacy. Hilda, a southern belle who also happens to be as strong as an ox, came to Garreg Mach to get away from her overbearing brother. A rich girl, she frequently funds Claude’s efforts to protect Native and African American rights.

Lorenz: Born to an old-money New England family, Lorenz talks and acts like British nobility. He’s come to Garreg Mach to expand his family business, but he aims to do it the proper way, avoiding his father’s unsavory tactics. He pays all his employees a living wage, and insists on paid vacation and maternity leave. A reluctant ally of Claude, Lorenz truly has a heart of gold under the snobbery.

Marianne: Marianne's family worked on the Underground Railroad, shepherding slaves to freedom. That got them killed. Alone now, Marianne has come out west to try and get away from her past as the town doctor. But he inborn compassion proves too powerful for her, and she frequently finds herself fighting alongside Claude in his legal suits. She’s smart and she’s ind, but blames herself for her parents deaths.

Ignatz: The son of a merchant who hit it big during the Gold Rush, selling to miners, Ignatz has been sent out to the frontier to both expand his family business and try to make it big selling his art. Ignatz loves to paint murals upon the various buildings of Garreg Mach, bringing some much needed color and beauty to the town.

Leonie: A spitfire girl who was born and raised to ride ‘em, rope ‘em, and brand ‘em, Leonie is a cowgirl through and through. She’s been making a name for herself as a bounty hunter, bringing outlaws and the like to justice. She hates big business and “civilized softies”, but she’s got a place in her heart for her more “upper class” friends. She thinks this whole “Manifest Destiny” thing is stupid and works with Claude against heedless expansion.

Raphael: The son of Scottish immigrants, Raphael’s a big guy with a big heart and an even bigger appetite. With a sick grandpa and a little sister to look after, Raphael makes his money working as the local blacksmith and occasional head-thumper at the bar when fellas get too fresh with the dancing girls. He does his best to keep the town honest and he’s more than willing to throw down against any corrupt old men looking to take over his home.

Lysithea: Smart as a whip and just as stinging, Lysithea is a genius chemist and scientist. Diagnosed with a nasty disease early on in her life, she’s determined to make the most of the time she’s got. She bought herself an old farm which she’s converted into a “science paradise”, Lysithea is determined to make as many breakthroughs as possible, making money to leave her parents comfortable. Much to her chagrin, she finds herself sucked into Claude’s legal fights

-

Blue Lions

Dimitri: Dimitri was a boy, son of wealthy Russian immigrants, when he enlisted in the Civil War. Now traumatized and trying to move, he’s come out West to find a better life. But his wish for a quiet existence seems to be for naught, as he finds himself made Sheriff of Garreg Mach and charged with fighting criminals and the corrupt. Hoping that protecting the living will silence the screams of the dead in his head, Dimitri is determined to protect his people, no matter what form the threat takes.

Dedue: The son of an escaped slave, he and Dimitri met during the Civil War. Hoping to liberate the rest of his family, Dedue found that the slaves of the plantation his mother had fled from had been butchered by their master, whom Dedue and Dimitri killed in revenge. Disillusioned, Dedue now leads many former slaves here in Garreg Mach, helping them find their footing as farmers and ranchers. A part-time deputy for Dimitri, Dedue will let nothing stand in his way of fighting for a better future for his people.

Ingrid: A girl who disguised herself as a man to fight in the war, Ingrid is firecly loyal to Dimitri as his full-time deputy. A powerful voice of compassion and justice, Ingrid is a devotedly “by the book” woman. She’s been softened to new ideas by many of the folk in Garreg Mach, but she remains decidedly stubborn towards change. Nonetheless, you’ll never find a more devoted and steadfast soldier than Ingrid.

Sylvain: The local lothario and heartbreaker, Sylvain is the self-proclaimed “good for nothing” son of a wealthy rancher. Despite this, his kind heart frequently triumphs over his self-loathing and he stands as a permanent friend of Dimitri and enemy of the forces seeking to ruin Garreg Mach. A surprisingly good quickdraw, Sylvain also fights alongside Dedue for the rights of the African Americans in Garreg Mach.

Mercedes: The daughter of slave-owners, Mercedes ran away from that life, unwillingly leaving her brother behind. Working first on the Underground Railroad, and then as a medic during the war, Mercedes has come to Garreg Mach to devote her life to the Goddess and the less fortunate. A permanent fixture of compassion and healing, Mercedes is beloved by the everyone for her willingness to heal and work with everyone no matter their race, religion, or nationality.

Felix: The son of New England wealth, Felix is the fastest gun in the west and one of the best bounty hunters to boot. Sickened by civilization by the horrors he experienced in the war, Felix is determined to make his own way in the world as a running gun and part-time vigilante. Despite his “lone wolf” status, Felix finds himself frequently coming back to Garreg Mach and the friends he’s made there, frequently ridding with Sheriff Dimitri, grumbling all the way.

Annette: The local schoolteacher and historian, Annette is a slightly flighty girl who loves her friends, her charges, and books. Always trying her hardest, Annette is behind several charities trying to take care of veterans and former slaves, working closely with Dimitri and Dedue towards that end. She’s also a part-time singer at the local saloon, much to the town’s scandal.

Ashe: A former thief, then the adopted son of a Southern Abolitionist, Ashe lost everything during the war. Gathering up the remains of his adopted and blood-related family, he now seeks to build a new life for them in Garreg Mach. Despite trying to stay out of trouble, his strong sense of fairness and compassion frequently suck him into problems that are not his own, fighting for the weak and downtrodden. He’s one of the few people who can sometimes outdraw Felix.

-

Black Eagles

Edelgard: The mayor of Garreg Mach, Edelgard was the daughter of a powerful plantation owner before she gunned her father down and rallied her friends to take up arms against the Confederacy. Now she fights for the rights of the poor and oppressed as Mayor with the same ferocity and single-mindedness that she fought in the war. She frequently butts heads with Claude and Dimitri over methods, but she is determined to create a better future, and damn anyone who gets in her way.

Hubert: Edelgard’s closest friend and bodyguard, Hubert is also a chemist and mathematician, using his deadly intellect to devastating results. While absolutely devoted to Edelgard, Hubert is also determined to make a better future through whatever means necessary, no matter how unsavory they might be. There are rumors about what happened to Hubert’s father during the war, but nothing that could be proven.

Petra: The daughter of a Lakota Native American Chief, Petra is determined to make a better future for her tribe and fights for their rights at every turn. As such she works frequently with Claude and Edelgard to secure the rights of the Lakota. As deadly as she is beautiful, Petra makes her money by keeping the frontier safe and taking out Edelgard’s political enemies to pave the way for her people’s future.

Ferdinand: While Lorenz only acts like British nobility, Ferdinand actually is British Nobility, come across the pond to secure his family’s interests. He ended up sucked into Edelgard’s crusade and provides support and money to her designs. Despite his loud demeanor and arrogant tendencies, Ferdinand is a kind creature at heart who will always put his neck out for the little guy, much to his family’s chagrin. He’s also the owner of the local saloon, and as such everyone want to be on his good side.

Dorothea: The star-singer of the town saloon, Dorothea is the face of Edelgard’s political machine, earning support and favor with her charm and her voice. She has a love-hate relationship with her boss, Ferdinand that veers between attempted murder and true love. She spends most of her money on the poor and badly-off as she knows what its like to go without. Despite her pretty face and gentle demeanor, she’s no less vicious in her pursuit of what’s right than Edelgard.

Caspar: The former son of a plantation owner, Caspar fought alongside Edelgard against the Confederacy and his own father. Tough, brave, and true-hearted, no one knows what Caspar’s job actually is. He just seems to do a little bit of everything from manual labor to bounty-hunting. A permanent shield for “the little guy”, Caspar will never give-up the good fight. Never.

Linhardt: As smart as he is, Linhardt could take over the world if he had a mind to. Fortunately, he doesn’t. A scientist and researcher who frequently works alongside Lysithea, Linhardt seems more interested in taking naps and reading his books than anything else. Despite this, he maintains polite friendships with many of the townsfolk, including his dearest friend Caspar whom he lives with and shares a bed with. But totally just good friends!

Bernadetta: The local shut-in, Bernadetta was the victim of an abusive father and neglectful mother, who jumped at the chance to run away when Edelgard presented it. Despite her shyness and her borderline agoraphobia, Bernadetta runs a large farm outside of town, frequently hosting political get-together which she barely shows up at. Hidden reserves of courage drive her to help Petra and her people frequently providing aid whenever she can. From insider her room, of course.

[myfeetkeepdancing]

Royal Blood | Tom Holland x Male!Reader

Words: 3833

Request: This idea just came to me but like, a prince Tom x prince reader where Tom’s dated the reader before but both of their parents didn’t approve and forced them to split up. Times later, Tom went to another kingdom’s party/ ball and found out that reader was forced to be with someone else. They still love each other and they ended up running away with each either for the night. Eventually their parents found out about what happen but Tom decided to stay with the reader regardless.

A/N: Changed it a slight bit. Enjoy!

The carriage slowly slumbers down the cobblestone road. Past the curtains and through the small dirty windows, you watch the shape of the keep loom on the horizon.

"Darling, I know it pains you." Feeling the touch of a tender hand rest upon your knee. "But let us do this for your nephew and uncle." Her voice was so soothing and calm. Josephine had the best intentions for you. Good of heart, and always by your side. A listening ear and independent advisor you could trust. A wife that every man should have. Except you. For times are different.

Since the invite arrived many moons ago, you felt disillusioned. Lost in thoughts and haunted by recollections of the past. Your keen mind wasn't what it used to be. Your strong will, sharp wit, and sense of justice had faded away. Hunting parties were called off. Royal banquets and meetings with the Lords and members of the Church were postponed. Public displays weren't happening as often. The people spoke about it. Your secret was known to the very few. And those who knew outside that circle didn't live long enough to tell the tale.

"It troubles me greatly. For it kept me awake so many nights." You sigh deeply, pained by the confrontation that was bound to happen. "I'm so sorry." Wiping your eyes clean. "I just can't..."

"I know you have. I have seen it, my good man." Her hand caressing up and down your spine. "But you can not be seen with him. It will complicate matters greatly." She was right. The last thing you would want in front of everyone. Even if you desired it most of all. For the greater good, you couldn't. Not tonight, at least. Not for your lands, but also not for your dynasty, and family name. Your parents already had made their mark on your lives. Now you were free of their tyranny, and you certainly don't want to give them another chance to reprimand you. "But I think he will be very happy with what you have brought him." She nudged you in your side, her kind smile radiating on you. "He will be so happy. I know he will." Helping you fit the last bits of armor on.

"What if-..." Her lips cut off your words. "I…" You stammer indifferent and unsure, you gaze falling to the floor, feeling a sense of defeat and sadness wash over you.

"Look at me." Turning your head with her soft fingers on your cheek. "If the time is right, my darling. The time is right. I don't blame you."

"You do know he is…"

"I know." She nodded with a reassuring smile. "As much I hate losing you, I want you to be happy."

"Thank you." You whisper to her, unable to keep your smile hidden by the simple thought of it even happening tonight. "Thank you…" Josephine helps further with suiting up. Tightening the last belts and running a cloth over your plating. Pulling yourself together as the carriage rolled across the bridge. Through the gate into the inner courtyard. The high walls of the keep surrounding the inner courtyard were lined with sentries. Every meter or so, a man stood readily. Sword and shield in hand. Archers atop the towers. You admired such grand armies. You would rather inspect those, then attend this dreadful party.

You force out your kindest smile, before stepping out the carriage. Shaking hands with the greeting party. A small army of housekeepers takes care of your luggage. Crates and chest full of gifts and clothing to spend the night. In the worst-case scenario, these parties tend to last a week. Shaking that horrible vision from your thought, you turn towards the Guard Captain. An old instructor from back in the days of your training. Before turning into the keep and avoiding unnecessary small talk with nobles and the like. You manage to get a short tour of the armory. But not for too long. Well aware that Josephine was waiting for you. With your following and personal Guard unloading the carriages. You catch up with your wife and link arms. She gives you a reassuring smile and a kiss. Before you tread into Lion's den. Literally and figuratively.

The pillars of the Grand Hall reach high into the sky. A marvelous feat of engineering. Its features came close to that of a cathedral. Pillars cut of the best marble originating from all across the Kingdom. And large granite slabs of stones. Enormous is the size and shining clearly. Through the large doors, you are greeted by a large mosaic round window above the King's seat. Now moved several places down. It now stood proudly at the head of the table. The sun illuminating those chairs in specific.

The voices of high standing officials and members of large families echoes throughout the hall. Accompanied by Josephine, you shake hands with many. Most of them familiar to you. Once upon a long ago, you probably had business with them. Either through the Merchants Guild or the Army. Although your age, you established a vast network of people in various places. You were renowned in many regions. Valued and praised. Your family name sure playing a part in that. In the back of your mind, the thought that he would be here made you slightly anxious. You were warm to the touch. Heart fluttering. Nervous.

Conversations with your uncle went without trouble. You were in high regard to him. In turn, making him a scapegoat for your parents. He knew. But wasn't moved by it. Everyone had their secrets. And he didn't bother. He knew very well how to handle your parents and their disdain. Your presents were well received. Receiving grand applause and much praise. Your nephew pleased with your presence. Strengthening your bond with him and their house.

But you wish you weren't here. Just stay in your own hold, with your own private banquet. But your advisors had pressed you. The wisest of them all, your wife. These moments were vital for your future alliances. And you couldn't put that at risk. Certainly not when the older generation was running at their end. The new generation was preparing itself.

The feast was truly something. All the wine and mead one could think of. The tastiest and most luxurious animals were prepared in honor. Brought in from all across the land. The most exquisite fruits and vegetables were served. And many more. One to write tales bout. A feast for the books. The seating of the night was in your favor. Josephine beside you and a fellow army commander sat beside you. Your parents luckily far away from you. Out of their reach. But not from their long talons. The later the evening, the more careful you had to be with your words. Their following was also present. They kept their distance up until now. But they closed in on you, bit by bit. A most unpleasurable way of keeping an eye on you.

There he was. Like fate had made it so. The crowd had dispersed a little as the evening progressed. He at first didn't notice. You stared at him. You couldn't help it. You try to blink the welling tears away. Heart racing in your chest. The air stocked in your throat. For many years, you hadn't seen him. You couldn't. Forced apart. Yet there he was. He was everything you remembered, and more. His hair combed gracefully. Broad shoulders, and muscular arms. It required little imagination to know what was underneath that plate mail. A dreamy sigh escapes your lips. Trying to compose yourself. But even drinking one of the best wines, couldn't quench your thirst. That moment of eye contact. His smile. His eyes. Burning deep into your soul. You raise your glasses to each other. Noticing the beautiful woman linked in his arm. You heard the rumors. Tom was also forced to marry a woman of nobility. A wealthy and influential family. Turning the game into one with incredibly high stakes. You have trouble to avert your eyes back to your own conversation. The thought that this could be the last time was heartbreaking. In all, you were conflicted by emotions and flooded by doubt. You swear you could melt the plate mail right of your body. You were boiling. Overwhelmed. What were you to do?

But they were watching. From every corner. You feel their eyes burning in the back of your head.

Josephine had witnessed the whole ordeal. It was quick, and nothing out of the ordinary. But too many eyes were on you. "Stay focused, my love." She whispered to you. "Stay strong."

The evening went on and on. Late into the night. You had passed on the wine after a few. You needed to stay sharp of mind. But the mood was right. The eyes had diverted after a good while. Music was played, and jesters were performing. A true spectacle to behold.

"M'Lord?" A follower of you grabs your attention as he leans into your ear. "An urgent matter needs your attention immediately." Excusing yourself, you slip from your entourage. Your personal guards awaiting you outside the Grand Hall, ready to escort you. All in full plate, a sight to behold. "This way." The commanding officers said with an icy tone. Leading you down the corridors of the castle. Its many passages sprawling with activity. Ascending a flight of stairs up, you end up in a more quiet place. Only the sound of rattling steel armor against the cobblestone. Marching behind you. The thought crossed your mind that Josephine was nowhere to be seen. For all you know, something terrible might have happened. Your expression grew grave at the thought of what kind of trouble the incompetent fools had managed to afflict during your time of absence.

The servant leads you further down the hall, around another corner. Halting at a particular door. Bowing deeply before you, as he opened the door. You march in, hand on the pommel of your sword. Trying to maintain your dominant and powerful posture as well as a calm attitude. As your mind was occupied by various situations.

But except for the furniture, there was no one there. Apart from the small dancing flames on top of the candles. The room was filled with emptiness and silence. Your eyes scour from left to right through the room. Your brown knitting together in an aggravated look. Until your eyes spot the rose. In the middle of the room stood a royal bed, big curtains hanging from either side. And in the center lay one red rose. "What kind of joke is this…?" You mutter with a hint of masculinity in your voice. You halt your pace as you hear the door fall shut behind you. But before you turn around, you're frozen to the spot, as a pair of hands close around your shoulders. "Time has aged you incredibly well." Whispered into your left ear. You recognize that voice out of a thousand. A voice that sends shivers down your spine. Make you all warm and fuzzy on the inside. So silky smooth and tender. His breath tickling your skin. You can't help but release a shuddering breath. Smiling as you feel his body move closer.

"T-Thomas..." You sputter. Biting down on your lower lip, stifling your smile.

"Not so formal, my love." He chuckled softly while drawing his body flush against yours. The cold steel of his breastplate obstructing you from any form of physical touch. Only his soft fingers grace on your skin.

"Tom…" You let out a soft moan, closing your eyes for a moment. The edges of your lips curving into a smile. "You know..." No more words come from your lips. As his warm lips connect with the side of your neck. Sucking on the skin as his fingers reached underneath your armor plating. You can't help but shudder at his touch. "If they find out-..." You groan heavily. Paralyzed by his heavenly caressing lips. Slow and passionate. Like a long lost kiss, finally finding its beloved skin.

"...-It's going to be war." His voice was soft and caring. "Yes, I do know." He was aware of the complications. The slightest suspicion could bring bad tidings for you and his house. Not to speak of the Kingdom. But he seemed unmoved by the thought. And frankly, you began to care less and less. His hands slowly trace down your back, while carefully leaving marks in the crook of your neck. You can't help but whimper under his touch. His fingers found the buckles, relieving you from your cuirass.

"Before or after…?" Hinting at the sexual tension between the two of you, while turning to face him. A loving smile greeting you. Kind and inviting. Full of adoration and love. His hands immediately cup your cheeks. A reunion long-awaited. Longed for. Tears of joy well in your eyes as you take in his features. But only for a brief moment, as he tilts his head, his lips connecting with yours. "But I think you've already made your choice." Slowly lowering your cuirass to the floor.

"I know you like that armor, but to me…" Caressing your cheek with his thumb. "...-you've always looked better without."

"The same goes for you." Pressing your lips on his cheek and work your way to his side, unlocking all the hinges and straps that kept the breastplate together around his torso. "But my imagination can only go so far." You tease him as you undo him of his armor. Underneath the ornately decorated plate, hang a tunic wrapped around its frame. Beautiful of color and with a certain style rarely seen. How he does it, you don't know. But it makes you smile, the moment your nostrils catch a whiff of his perfume. It takes a few secure straps to free him entirely of his armor.

"It's been so long." He beamed, looking at you with heart eyes. Pulling at the cord of your gambeson. You follow his lead and reveal his muscular body, broad shoulders, and well-rounded pecs.

 "How are the arr-...." Your question of worry and mind occupied by doubt, are silenced by his lips. This time pulling you flush against his warm, welcoming frame. His warm breath fanning down your body. All the hills and valleys of his muscles massaging you.

"It's taken care of, sweetheart." He smiled proudly. Leading you to the bed. Step by step. In the arms of the man you love. "Tonight is the night." You both can't help but smile out of happiness. "I told them… We.. needed to take care of something first." Discarding the last bit of linen from the both of you. Toppling you onto the large bed. No struggle. Only passion and lust. As Tom spreads his legs for you. Inviting your rod into his warm tight hole. And as the party downstairs went on. You made love to the man you've always desired. Pushing into him with the intensity of a lion. Tom's heavy groans sounded continuously throughout the quarter as you pound him. In the harmony of the sound of slapping flesh and pleasured moans. Together you had made plans to run away. A Safe haven. Somewhere far away. Distant and unknown. Just for the two of you. And tonight was the night.

Through a narrow passageway, you follow after Tom. Dressed in full armor again, the metal clinging and swaying side to side. Not very quietly. Your heart skips a beat for moment when you emerge in one of the hallways again. Either side guarded by heavy armored brutes. The very few light sources gave them a grim and terrifying sight. But with a flick of his finger. "Men." Tom commanded. And from darkness grew a small force together. There voices hushed and low. "Here, let's be extra cautious." Handing you pitch-black cloak with hood. "Your men are waiting in the courtyard." He assured you while gesturing to follow the escort through the dim castle hallways. You were slow and hesitant. This was it. But Tom helped you snap out of it. His fingers interlaced with yours, and together you walked down the corridors. This late in the evening, it was bound not to go unnoticed. The metal boots striking against the cold stone floors were unnerving at most. Your thoughts drifted to Josephine for a moment. She would understand.

Everything went fast. Your personal entourage waited outside in the shadows. A small cart packed with the necessary things you needed for the journey. The rest left behind. A new begin. It was exciting, yet slightly frightening.

A distant scream followed by a horn being blown. Chaos ensued. In the darkness you couldn't understand who was who. Which Guard belonged to whom. "That cart has to go with!" You order into the darkness. Left and right people run about. Bumping into each other. But the nonetheless, your orders where obeyed, the cart was towed with haste towards the gate. But in the corner of your eyes you spot guards running up the gatehouse. "Close the gate!" A familiar voice screamed from the top of their lungs. "Stop them whatever is necessary." Tom yanked on your arm, as you hear the metal chains and mechanism rolling into motion. Momentarily your numbed by rage of the persons standing here. On the balcony overlooking the courtyard. "You've forsaken us!" The voices echoed over the yard. Their shirl voices carrying far and wide. "Defiled our name!"

"We have to go!" Tom screamed, pulling you from your frozen spot again. Your parents stood there. Yelling and waving their arms around. Commanding unseen guards.

 "This is all your doing!" The word spat from your mouth. Jabbing a finger at them. Your blood boiled from anger and rage. Adrenaline racing through your system, shaking your every limb. "You did this! All of this! You drove us apart! Forced us…! Like cattle!" Tom's hand catches your shoulder, trying to turn you away from the confrontation. "And now you get what you want." Screaming from the top of your lungs. "Don't think of-..."

But the sudden bolt that dug itself deep into the dirt in front of you waked you from your frenzied speech. Taking a few steps back, slowly into the arms of Tom. The realizations hit you that they were actually trying to kill you. You turn on your heel and run after Tom. The gate wasn't far now. It's large cast-iron fence slowly lumbering towards the floor. Screams and commands were given all around. To your surprise, in the chaos a guard stops right in front of you. It's difficult to make out faces exactly. But he wasn't intent on letting you pass as his longsword was unsheathed.

"In the order of-..."The man ordered with a deep voice. But the light in his eyes dimmed as his words were cut short by a blade. The man stumbled to one knee, his hands clamped to his throat. You see Tom sheath his sword again. "Move!" He yelled while pulling you along. And as you ran by, the sound of blood gurgling from the man's throat faded away with a heavy thud. Sprinting the last meters as the gate was halfway closed. Ducking underneath it, you both discard the cloaks. Both sharing a look of relief and happiness. Panting as you try to regain your breath. In the distance, you see small lights cast outwards through the castle windows. Increasing in number one by one. The inhabitants and their guards slowly waking from the commotions.

"That wasn't as planned." Holding you by his shoulder. "Are you alright?" Soft and caring eyes staring into yours. You force out a smile in response.

"I will be. Give me some time." In the distance you see a row of flickering lights, torches and oil lamps. It's rays of golden light illuminating your path to freedom. And as you came close, you inspect the column of carts and carriages waiting to depart. While Tom takes the final notes and plans through with the riders, you carefully put the present in the carriage. Awaiting Tom's arrival. To your relief, the gate of the castle had stayed put, and no more further noise was coming from it.

"Ready?" Tom kissing you on the cheek as you gazed mindlessly into the stary night. "A ship is waiting for us in the harbor." You nod walking along with him to the carriages. "Our adventure is finally starting." Tom beamed of happiness, putting an arm around you as you walked along the column.

Seated from within the carriage, you watch the vague contours of the castle in the distance. Small shimmering lights dying out one by one. Except for one. She probably knows by now. You can't help but sigh a little at the feeling of guilt, leaving her behind like this. "Will she be alright?" Tom leaned in, holding your shoulders as he rested his head onto it. Both looking at that shimmering light. "She seemed nice."

"She is… I just hope she finds someone better than me."

 "Won't she get in trouble because of this?"

"No, I made sure of that. But I… I just… I wish I could have thanked her properly. She meant a lot to me." And as the carriage started rolling down the muddy roads. You feel a burden fall from your shoulder. Relieved. But also slightly conflicted, leaving her behind like this.

"I will make sure you can, darling." Kissing you softly down the back of your neck. "I will."

"There is one more thing." You turn to him. "I have something for you." The box standing opposite you moved slightly on the couch as you looked on. "One way or another, you would have gotten this." Tom's eyes sparkled with excitement as he watched you holding the box. "I'm just really happy that I'm able to give you… this… in person." In your hands you bring up this adorable black puppy, it's eyes all sleepy. It wasn't much older than two months. And it looked so fluffy. Small paws and beady little eyes. It looked almost the same as Tom's Tessa. Which he unfortunately lost. Getting it here was one thing, but keeping it a secret was thrice as problematic. Tom covered his gasping mouth, as his eyes started to water. "I know what Tessa meant to you." The welling tears rolled so easily down his cheeks. As a smile curved his lips again.

"I… I can't thank you enough." As he took the small puppy into his hands. Closing it into his embrace. "You made me the happiest man in the world (Y/N)."

"I feel the same, Tom." Closing in for a hug, puppy in between. The carriage taking you away from all the trouble in the world. Towards a new world. A new beginning. A new start.

[dreaming-about-fanfictions]

How to hold a sword - Geralt of Rivia x Reader - Part 1 of 2

Summary: You are bored with your life and want more. Luckily, Geralt of Rivia visits the town one day.

Requested by: @just-antiyou “could i request a geralt x reader where the reader is slightly wealthy but hates it and wants to be tougher than she looks so she hites geralt to teacher her and he slowly falls for her but she doesnt comprehend why HER? maybe this made no sense im so sorry i love ur writing pls an thank u stay safe” --> Hope you like it! I decided to make two parts out of the story! <3

Words: 2030 Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x fem!Reader Warnings: none

„Stop wasting my time. “

 „Come on! I can pay you!”

 “Sure you can.”

 “Yes! Don’t you believe me?”

 “Stop bothering me and go home.”

 “I have coin! Here!”

 Finally, the Witcher turned around when he heard the rattling of the coins in your small bag as you held it up. He quickly grabbed your hand, forcing it down. “Are you mad or do you enjoy the idea of being robbed,” he scolded you.

He was right. You were standing in the middle of a busy street, merchants and farmers passing you by as they made their way home from the market. The sun was already beginning to set and the first drunks stumbled out of the tavern to your right. Two working girls shrieked when a man fell against them, landing face down on one of the their bosoms, and angrily pushed him away.

 You let the small bag slip back into the pocket of your coat. “I have coin!”, you repeated yourself.

 “Where’d you get that?”, he demanded to know. “Did you steal it?”

 You snorted. Asshole. “My family owns half the town. Did you not recognize this?!” You pointed at your necklace with the family emblem brightly visible.

 His eyes only grazed shortly over it. “I’m not from here.”

 “Right, because you’re Geralt of Rivia, a Witcher, a famous one – so give me one reason why you would decline my offer?”

 “Teaching spoilt girls how to hold a sword is not in my job description.”

 “First of all,” this time you pointed your finger at him. “I’m not a girl, I’m a woman, so start treating me like one! And secondly, as far as I’m concerned, there is no monster to kill for you at the moment.”

 “There’s always monsters to kill.”

 “Witcher!” A frustrated sigh escaped your mouth. What was his problem?

 Geralt looked at you intensely, his eyes wandering from your face to your pocket, where the coins were stowed, back to your face. He pondered about what the offer would truly mean – letting another person come too close to him rarely resulted in anything good. People around him tend to end up hurt or heartbroken or dead. The last person to experience this had been Jaskier. Years of traveling together and it ended in Geralt chasing him away, blaming him for things that weren’t his fault. This happened a few years back and since then, the two of them had rekindled their friendship, but still. His point remained unchanged.

 However, this could be different. You didn’t seek him out to become friends. It was nothing more than a job. Not to mention that your comment about him not having anything better to do at the moment was true. He could really use the coin. Before Geralt was able to rethink this, he wiped his eyes in a tiring and annoyed matter. “Fine.”

 Your face lit up instantly and a big smile appeared on it. “Yes? Oh thank you!”

 “Ten days.”

 “That’s a good start!”, you exclaimed happily.

 “It’s not a start, it’s all I’m offering,” he corrected you. Were you always this cheerful or just when you got your way? “What do I get out of it?”

 “Three coins for each day.”

 The Witcher raised an eyebrow. There was far more in that bag of yours and you both knew it. “Eight.”

 “Four.”

 “Seven.”

 “Witcher!”

 “Six then.”

 “Five.”

“Deal,” he nodded.

 Your smile grew even wider. “Thank you! This is fantastic!”

 The only acknowledgment you got for that statement was a low grunt. He wasn’t so sure about it being a fantastic idea. “Meet me here tomorrow when the sun rises. Do you own a sword?”

 He let out a sigh when you shook your head. “Of course you don’t. Doesn’t matter. Tomorrow, when the sun rises! Understood?”

 “Understood!”

 ***

 You arrived early the next morning. The excitement for the days to come was too overwhelming so after hours of tossing and turning and occasionally falling into a half slumber, you decided to cut the night short.

 You nervously looked around you. Despite the late (or rather early) hour, the street was buzzing with people. Mostly drunks but no less intimidating. It was the second time you visit this part of the town as your mother would forbid you to come here. “It’s a dangerous place,” she always said, “nothing to find there except for criminals and whores.” Observing the people around you, she might had a point.

 Growing up in one of the richest families of the town was a blessing and a curse at the same time. Nothing seemed to be missing from your life – dresses and jewelry, parties and royal receptions – everything was there in arm’s reach. You never had to work a day in your life and never went to bed on an empty stomach. Still, you were unhappy. You were born into this world with no purpose. All you had to do was look pretty, agree to a beneficial marriage and produce heirs. Your father didn’t allow you to be something else, something more. You never asked for much, knowing he’d deny your requests, except for learning how to fight and defend yourself. It was a simple desire but you hoped it would give you something. What, you weren’t sure. A purpose maybe? Indubitably, he refused you.

 A sense of guilt and shame rushed through you. It happened every time as you were aware that the problems were nothing more than luxurary at best. After all, what gave you, a privileged girl with no troubles, the right to complain when there were people starving and dying?

 “Well, ‘ello there, aren’t you a pretty one.”

 You shrieked at the slurring words coming from your left. A man, smelling of beer and piss, reeled towards you. A disgusted look on your face, you took a step back.

 “What’s that face, pretty one? Don’t cha think I’m pretty too?”

 “Fuck off!”

 A second voice made you turn around in surprise. Geralt of Rivia was standing in the doorway of the tavern, glaring at the drunk. Even in his current state of mind, the man sensed that Geralt wasn’t someone he wanted to bother, so he spit out undefinable curses and stumbled away.

 “Thank you,” you said to the Witcher. He looked different this morning. Rested and bathed, you figured and realized his attractiveness for the first time since you met him. Last night you were more focused on convincing him to train you. Tall, broad, with his glooming golden eyes and white hair that fell loosely on his shoulders – only a blind person could deny his good looks.

 Geralt eyed you up and down. “Now why would you wear that?”

 You furrowed your brows in confusion and looked down at your blue dress and fine cloak that hugged your figure. “What?”

 “You want to learn how to fight, am I wrong?”

 “No, you’re not.”

 “And you’re gonna do that in a dress?”

 “I’ve seen women fight in dresses.”

 “But not in fucking ball gowns.”

 “This is not a ball gown!” You protested.

 He rolled his eyes and started walking. “Whatever, come on. We have a long day ahead.”

 You followed, struggling to keep up with him. He didn’t seem to care all that much. “Why do you sleep here?” You pointed back to the run-down pension.

 “What do you mean?”

 “With the money I’m paying, you can afford better … places.”

 “I like it here.”

 “You like sleeping around these creatures?”

 Geralt didn’t answer instead he shot you a glance that made your cheeks flush in embarrassment. You knew exactly what he thought in this moment – he probably regretted taking the job and dreaded the fact that he was stuck with a spoilt girl like you for the next days. You didn’t blame him.

 You couldn’t have known on this day but you were wrong. Geralt didn’t have any regrets – not yet however. He saw you as spoilt, yes. He also recognized your will to change – or else you wouldn’t have come to him in the first place.

 ***

 One hour later and Geralt finally stopped in his tracks. You were more than thankful as your feet already started to hurt. The two of you had left the town far behind and had now reached a small clearing in the woods.

 With a sigh you sat down and leaned against a tree. Geralt kept his gaze on the ground and walked around the clearing, looking for something.

 You watched him. There was certainly something about that Witcher with his tall figure, white-hair and brooding looks. Only a blind woman would deny that. For a brief moment, you wondered if he had a companion or a consort, so to speak. What kind of woman did he desire? You had heard rumors about a mage he had taken as his lover. So probably powerful woman, fighters, he didn’t need to worry about protecting.

 “Here,” a stick landing in front of you catapulted you back into reality.

 You looked at the stick and back at Geralt. “What am I supposed to do with it?”

 “Fight,” only then you noticed a second branch, resting in his hand.

 “With a stick?”

 “Yes.”

 You grabbed it and got up in the same movement. “I’m not a child, I won’t play with sticks,” putting some force behind your words, you looked at him intensely.

 His face didn’t falter. “What do you suggest instead?”

 “A sword. I want to learn how to fight with a sword.”

 “You’re not ready.”

 “We only have two weeks though, we need to speed up this whole process,” you argued.

 “You’re not ready.” He repeated sternly.

 You kept staring at him, realizing that you wouldn’t win this argument. A sigh left your lips. “Fine.”

 A small smile appeared on his face. “Great. Let’s get started.”

 *** The first training was an absolute disaster. You were convinced that you spent the most time on the ground, face-down in the mud – the rest of the time you got your ass kicked. The exhaustion you felt when you were back in the tavern with torn clothes and leaves in your hair came close to nothing you ever experienced in your life.

 Geralt sat next to you, happily eating his piece of chicken, looking like he had just returned home from a lazy and relaxed day out of town.

 “You should eat something,” he said in between bites.

 You looked down at your plate where the food remained untouched. “I’m not hungry.”

 “Yes, you are.”

 As if your stomach wanted to agree, a low growl was heard.

 Geralt smirked but didn’t comment.

 “Fine,” you admitted. “I’m starving.”

 “But?”

 “Everything hurts.” It was true, you felt too exhausted to take one bite out of the meat.

 He shrugged. “Of course it does. You’ll get better though.”

 “I don’t think so,” you sighed. “Did you see me today?!”

 “I’ll tell you what,” Geralt said with a chuckle. “I promise that you’ll be able to fight and win against Jaskier by the end of this.”

 “Is he a good fighter?” You asked with narrowed eyes.

 “He’s not too bad.”

 “What if I lose against him?”

 “You’ll get your coin back.”

 “Deal.” You nodded in contently. Then you added after a brief moment: “Wait, who’s Jaskier?”

 “He’s traveling with me,” Geralt simply answered and took a sip from his beer mug. “You’ll meet him tomorrow. He knows people from this town.”

 Jaskier. You were curious about the kind of person a Witcher spent his time with when he wasn’t away, hunting beasts. Was he as calm and collected as Geralt? Always so serious?

 Another growl came from your stomach and you looked back at the plate. Well, maybe not eating at all would be a worse decision. After all, there were nine more days filled with exhaustion ahead of you. Slowly, you reached down to grab one of the chicken legs and bit into it.

 Geralt watched you carefully and a very small part of him began to like the idea of having to spend more dinners with you in the next days. Of course, he’d never admit it. Not even to himself.

***

My Masterlist

My Tag List: @just-antiyou​ , @sarah-midnight​ , @aspiring-ginger​ , @seb-owns-these-tatas​

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[kpopisthereasonihavenolife]

His Prophet

BTS

Kim Taehyung/Reader [F]

Genre: God AU, romance, fantasy, protective Taehyung, arranged marriage vibes (kinda), kingdoms and castles, and medieval aspects dotted around, royal au sorta 

Words: 9.8k 

Warning(s):(Y/n is pushed around in one scene, is that a warning?)

a/n: go ahead and blame the GDA for this (and I was listening to creepypastas during work and one particular story’s ending twist inspired me in a non-spooky way). Also, I’d like to say it took 20 minutes for me to find a photo that wasn’t rejected by my computer to make this godforsaken banner. 

summary: The royal Sun God of Navern is a complete recluse; the polar opposite of what one would immediately assume of the God of the Sun should be.  Being the only God in his kingdom, he stayed within his castle walls- or at least it is assumed.  Staff and servants of the palace only see him occasionally in the halls or peering out into the gardens. It was the dreams of one certain townswoman who worked in a small library that he happens to run into one night that changes everything. 

The Kingdom as Navern was a prosperous kingdom, even if smaller in comparison to other neighboring kingdoms. Of it’s few larger cities and small towns, the capital city and home of the Navern Palace was named Vicious. The city was home to all sorts- merchants, blacksmiths, traveling priests and devoted followers of the kingdoms single God; any occupation or profession one would think of, it would probably be found in Vicious. 

However, what one thing masses defined as unordinary was a woman who could read and write and who was just as intelligent as a man living in a run-down, two-story library.  

The bottom floor of the brick build and metal-framed building was filled with bookshelves upon bookshelves of books of all kinds.  Fantasy and children books, adult novels of fiction and non, and documentation of the kingdom’s history.  Encyclopedias and thick bricks books of words and information that- if it had the right reader- could suck them in with knowledge.

The top story was closed off from the public.  Small living space was where the family of the library lived when the store was closed. A small living room with only two rooms and the kitchen was right off the far wall of the living room, not even a wall to separate the two.  It was small, but cozy for the small family of three.

In the past, this small library with two small step stools for high shelves and one small ladder used to belong to an old man and his wife.  They had a small child, a little girl when the couple was early into their middle-aged years. As that little girl grew up, her father taught her to read and write and would often raise her as if she were a son.  She still wore the suffocating dresses and low heeled shoes of a child as a requirement of her mother.  Her father had her help him with broken shelves and squeaky doors, learning a good chunk of labor in her early years. 

On the other hand, her mother still pampered her and grew her into a proper young lady.  Manners and ideals of a woman and one-day future housewife.  Cooking, cleaning, chores, shopping, sewing and all the factors that lead to proper womanhood.  Oddly enough, that little girl didn’t mind all the things she was taught.  

All her talents in both ladylike behavior and otherwise was an opportunity to learn.  And if the girl had anything it was craving for knowledge. She greatly enjoyed reading on the downtime she had and would often recommend books to the boys in her grade school- something she would regret as it lead to years of ridicule.  She was simply too smart for a girl. 

At the age of 13, this little girl lost her mother to sickness.  Catching a cold was all it was, but she just got worse and worse and her father couldn’t keep up with doctor bills.  Eventually, the sickness claimed the girl’s mother and it was just her father and her in the apartment and the library.  5 years later, when the girl is 18, she loses her father next.  

He had been called to help damper out a raging fire in the Nothern part of the city.  Some criminals had started a fire in the small prison to try and mask his escape.  

The older man never came back to the library, only a messager did to tell the girl that her father had been killed pursuing the escapee. Leaving the 18-year-old young lady, leaving you, to inherit the library fully. 

Things from then got painfully stressful for the better part of half a year.  Managing the library and your personal life.  Trying to get accustomed to running everything by yourself and not letting the snarky remarks of young men behind your back as you hammered loose bricks back into the outside bricks. Working day in and day out and also having to run errands for families in need for extra money kept you busy and balancing your schedule wore you out. 

There were many times you thought about giving up the library, no matter how much you loved it.  You came close so many times to that decision, but the memories of you and your family always made you rethink and keep the building in your possession.  Many men had come along and tried to buy it from you to wreck it down and rebuild something else where it stood- you always declined.  

Years went by and as time passed, things slid into a certain pace of ease and you were finally able to live comfortably. You were 24 years old now.  Still managing your library and keeping your home in shape, you also stood as an independent woman. No man or person of romantic interest simply because you had no interest or time for a partner at the moment.  Besides, the men in the city, or at least your part of it, had no interest in a woman who threatened to be smarter than him.  Bruised egos are a lethal attack to men it seemed. 

However, there were a handful of women who respected you a great deal with your knowledge and ability to disregard the judgemental stares and comments from others.  It wasn’t just men who sneered, but the women who were a bit too rich in both money and unrealism gave you stink eyes.  Sometimes the rich women were even more threatened than the men were even when they couldn’t count anything other than bills. 

You were busy restacking the shelves with books that had been returned that morning from mostly children and a few older generations.  Your dress wrapped around your torso as you wore your corset, looser than a lady should, and the skirt hitting your ankles.  You dusted your hands off with each finished task on the white apron tied around your waist.  Small, brown, worn-out flats covering your feet.  Working all day with heels just would not suffice. Your hair wrapped around your head in tied upbraids. Uncomfortable, but out of the way. 

You were more tired than the day before from the dream you had last night.  The dream wasn’t frightful per se, but something about it made you jolt awake.  Each time you went back to sleep, the same dream came back and the same dream woke you up.  It was hours before dawn when you decided to forget any further sleep and just get up.  An early start to the day wouldn’t be so bad.  It gave you time to take books off shelves and clean them only to restock them- a task tedious but long overdue. 

The dream was one set in your city, the city of Vicious. In fact, in each dream you were outside, just walking around running some sort of errand for the local older woman or fetching medicine for the bedridden old gentleman for a small bit of money.  And in each new errand and each new dream, you kept seeing the same people and the same faces you had grown up knowing.  However, it’s one person’s stature that always caught you off guard. 

The wore a brown, long robe with the hood always flipped up.  Masking their face and hiding their body, just walking down the path like every other citizen of Vicious.  You would always unconsciously think of them as a traveling beggar from some other town in Navern.  It was when the hooded figure moved to seemingly lift their head to look towards you when you always jolted awake.  Perhaps it was your brain trying to tell you that you woke up because whatever person that hooded figure was, wasn’t someone you had seen before. Without a proper face to register, you just woke up to avoid it altogether. 

You never got a fearful or unsettling feeling in your dreams or afterward, so you didn’t think too much of it.  However, it wasn’t just that night you had that dream.  It was present the night after and further on.  Night after night it was all sorts of different dreams with different errands and different people, but that one cloaked beggar always was present.  Still not giving you a feeling of discomfort, but the reoccurrence of this dream made you halfway convince yourself to spend some saved up money on a doctor’s trip. 

It’s that night when you contemplate medical aid that you had a dream set in a doctor’s den.  Sat in his dinky little office, but instead of a face, the doctor had a long mask on.  In fact, the whole doctor wasn’t even human, but a giant, humanoid raven with black feathers and dressed in a tailcoat of the most wealthy bank owner. Waking from that dream with a shiver and a line of sweat down your spine, you might actually consider that one a nightmare.  

You decided at nearly midnight to go out and clear your head with a walk.  It was a late and dangerous time for a woman to be out, but the idea of sleep made you shiver. Maybe some time to clear your head in the quiet nighttime would help ease you. 

Changing from one of your father’s old shirts that you wore to bed every night into your least flattering skirt and small poet’s blouse, you threw a shawl over your shoulders.  Not even bothering to tie your hair back.  It wouldn’t be a long stroll, just one to breathe in the clean air and take in the silence. When you looked out your window, you smiled as you saw the moon shining brightly overhead- even though it was only halfway through the new moon cycle.  It would light your path along with the small patterns set outside homes for those who had late-night workers as part of their family. 

Inside Navern Palace dwelled the Sun God of Navern, Luos. Luos was a God who was revered and respected, even as a shut-in God.  He ruled and took care of his kingdom from the comfort of his palace walls.  Any word he needed to hear of, he’d turn to his Water Mirror, a vase with a wide mouth and filled with water.  A few taps of Luos’s fingertips against the water, causing ripples and he could see to the furthest reach of his precious kingdom. 

He did love him home.  Navern was were he grew up as a human with a different, human name when the kingdom was first birthed.  His devoting to his home was what caught another God’s eye- the supreme God of all that was known.  When he died as a young man due to his efforts in fighting in a long war, the Ruler God revived him as something far greater than human and giving him the new name of Luos and the insignia of a butterfly. Thought, he never forgot his original name- and he refused to abandon it altogether. It would be like throwing the long memories of his deceased parents away and he absolutely would not do that. His original name stayed solely with him as he lived as Luos.  

Luos was not always a shut-in, in fact, he used to be rather outgoing and always spoke and hopped around from town to town among his kingdom.  But, many years ago, something changed and all of a sudden he closed his doors for good.  He wouldn’t set foot outside palace walls and on some days his palace servants couldn’t even get him to go out into the gardens full of sunflowers he so much loved. 

He’d been this way for nearly 20 years now.  Only the oldest in Vicious have a vague memory of their royal God walking the streets.  

It was never announced as to why Luos locked himself away into his own prison.  There had been no wars, no famine.  Crime had been on the lower side of the scale and he had no negative reputation with his people that was noted. However, he still made the ironclad decision and his people could do nothing to change his mind.  

However, it was nearly two weeks ago that he started to question his seclusion.  He had grown quite accustomed to his reclusive past couple of decades, but for the past couple weeks, he’s had this feeling gnawing at the back of his mind. He’d stand at one of his many grand windows just staring over the castle’s main gates to the rooftops of town across the thin, brick bridge that connected the castle to town over the clear watered mote surrounding his palace. 

It had been a long time since he had the urge to go out and see his capital again, however recently it had been the hardest urge to suppress in his day to day, reclusive life. The Sun God himself had changed vastly from when he had first started his Godly duties.  The thin, childlike innocent he used to hold in his face had matured out into a sculpted jaw and eyes that had seen many things and consumed more knowledge than humans could take in. 

“Perhaps I should select a prophet,” was his constant reoccurring thought recently.  The thought poured into his head one night when sleep had been actively avoiding him. He had heard in an old wise tale that when one cannot sleep, it is because someone else is dreaming of them.  He questioned the truth behind that because he had not set foot outside in so long, no one had the reason to dream of him at all. He was even more confused as to why he suddenly had the compelling idea to suddenly rope in someone to be a chosen prophet. 

Even when he thought about the suggestion, he could never think of a face or name that would fit the title.  He felt a nagging in his chest and with each possible candidate he could choose to help spread his word and ideals, the nagging would worsen.  It was as if his subconsciousness was rejecting each person he knew within the castle- almost pressuring him to go outside the palace. Perhaps he truly should.  Perhaps he should go and venture out into his capital and try to see if a single one person could cure this nagging that had begun to irritate him. 

So, late at night when the castle was quiet, he dressed in slacks, shirt, and cloak before he left.  Walking out of his room and throw the abandoned halls to the back gates of the palace, rounding around the entire castle to avoid as many guards as possible.  If he were seen leaving, the guards would most definitely make a fuss about it and the gossip would spread from Navern’s farthest board lined town before dawn. As far as anyone else was concerned, he still hadn’t stepped foot outside the palace perimeter.  

The moment his feet hit the loose dirt from across the mote’s bridge, he took a sharp breath.  It was like his soul had missed this feeling of his cities roads.  He felt at home already, even after all this time. He flipped up his hood, hiding his pitch-black hair and smiled as he stepped onward once more, a joyous hop in his step. The moon named Selene, guiding his way forward.  He looked up at her bright surface and smiled a silent thanks for invisible guidance.  The moon was always motherly towards him. 

Selene says she doesn’t play favorites, but Luos was definitely a favorite- even if she denies it. 

Your stroll outside was a quick as you wished it to be.  You walked to the wishing well of stone of ice-cold water in the center of Vicious as you sat on the thick stone of it.  The sounds of the water calmed you and the area chilled your skin even beneath your shawl enough to raise your skin in gooseflesh. The wind blew slightly in small wisps, making you unattractively breathe in strands of your hair.  

Fed up with it, you took the loose tied around your wrist you carried with you everywhere and began to sloppily tie your hair back at the low of your neck. Not very tight, but enough to keep it from entering your mouth and causing you to gag or choke again. 

It was very bright out for it being the middle of the night.  Part of you regretting now bring a book out with you.  You could easily read a chapter or two with the moon’s brightness this night.  You half contemplated going back home only to come back to the fountain and do just that when a small gasp sounded behind you. 

Jumping to your feet and whipping around, you were met with a cloaked figure with their hood flipped up.  You gasped lightly yourself.  It was just like your dreams and now you half expected yourself to bolt awake at home in bed.  You clenched your eyes shut, expected your mattress to be pushed against your back any moment, but nothing happened. You still breathed the fresh air, still heard the fountain’s water, and still felt the chilly air of the nighttime.  

You squinted your eyes open just a sliver, still seeing that cloaked figure across the fountain.  You squeezed your eyes closed against and reached under your shawl to your shoulder and pinched your skin.  The top trick in the books, if you want to wake up from a dream, pinch yourself. 

“Why are you hurting yourself?” You gasped as your eyes shot open.  You had been so preoccupied with yourself that you didn’t even hear this cloaked stranger walk over to stand in front of you.  Their deep voice had a silky tone to it and it was most definitely a male’s voice.  He stood so close to you, nearly toe to toe and yet you still could not see him under his hood.  Just like the dreams, his cloaked figure had no fae you could see. However, you’d never heard them speak before, so perhaps this was some sort of lucid dream? “Miss?” He spoke again. 

“I, um, I’m trying to wake up,” you dumbly replied.  A reply which made his shoulders shift- the only physical thing you could see as a response to your words. You then heard a small, low chuckle from beneath his hood. 

“Are you trying to say that you’re sleepwalking?” 

“Perhaps, I’ve been known to do remarkable things before,” you unconsciously spoke back in a teasing manner.  You then remembered that to most, and almost all, you weren’t supposed to speak to men so highly.  You were a woman of independence and held your head high despite your differences of other women, but the lessons of manners from your mother flooded back into your head.  You quickly took a step backward, leaning back and away from the stranger and covered your mouth with your fingertips. “I apologize for my tone!” 

The stranger quickly lifted his hand to his chest, palm towards you.  His cloak opened to show what seemed like black pants and a white shirt beneath it.  Boots tucked into his trousers.  You partial hoped he wouldn’t raise his hand higher and demand more respect like many, entitled men would without hesitation. 

“There is no need to apologize!” He quickly dismissed.  He lowered his hand back down, his cloak closing back again at his front. His pushed forward chest straightened back down as he saw you relaxed slowly but surely. “Why are you running about the city so late at night, Miss?” 

You bit back the urge to ask him the same thing in return but knew better than to avoid your basic ladylike manners again.  You cleared your voice, straightening back up. 

“I’ve had trouble sleeping for a while now.  I thought that perhaps the night air would help clear my mind.” You didn’t hear the small gasp he took in. 

“Trouble… sleeping?” You nodded towards him, brow raised at his curious tone.  He cleared his throat. “When did your trouble begin? Perhaps if you talk about it, it would help.” You contemplated his offer.  A listening ear of a stranger who offered willingly was far easier and cheaper than visiting a local doctor. You just looked up at him, head tuning in curiosity. 

“Are you truly willing to listen to my late-night woes? Me, a stranger.” 

The strange man turned around, backing up to the edge of the fountain and took a seat.  He just looked up at you with his hidden face and offered you to take a seat beside him. You relented and even though you didn’t know who this man was and you didn’t recognize the voice as anyone you may have met before, you felt oddly calm.  You sat next to him before speaking. 

“I suppose it started at the beginning of the month’s moon cycle.  When the moon was dark and unseen, that’s when it all began. So, a couple of weeks ago.” You fiddled with your fingers, looking at your lap instead of up at his hidden features.  You missed the man’s chin drop as he suppressed the urge to push his palm against his mouth in shock. He just remained still and rotated his hand to silently tell you to continue, not trusting his voice. You sighed. “I normally sit and read before trying to sleep again, but the dreams just keep reappearing over and over again.” 

“You can read?” He asked inquisitively. It wasn’t said in a disgusted tone, not even condescending.  He was genuinely curious. 

“I… can.  My father taught me when I was young and it would be odd if a librarian lacked the skill to read her own books.” He could tell by the way he put his hands together in his lap and pushed his legs up to his toes and back down that he wanted to know more. “My father’s library in town was passed to me when he passed.  My mother had already died so I had to learn to manage it on my own, but that was nearly 5 years ago now. I’ve put it behind me and it isn’t so bad as it seemed at the time.” 

“I apologize for your losses,” the strange offered his condolences. “However, I’ve not known many women to read and write efficiently. Are you ridiculed for it?” He asked lightly as if trying to avoid any conversational landmines. He smiled lightly with a small huff and looked down at your hands. 

“I am, very often honestly.  Truth be told, I seem to provoke men and the wealthy women of the city because of my skills.  I’ve tried teaching children, but their parents berate me. I’ve become deaf to their insults now, however.”

“You’re a respectable woman,” the strange told you.  The compliment seemed so truthful it sent you into a small recoil.  He chuckled as your reaction. “A strong, intelligent woman shouldn’t be deemed unordinary, but revered as a genius.  You all weren’t’ just made for family expansion and chores. Or so, I believe.” 

You burst out into a fit of laughter. You pushed your hand over your mouth, knowing it was late and if you were to wake anyone, they’d stalk into the city center with a stick or ladle, shooing the noisemaker away. You missed the small smile the stranger hid under his hood. 

“I apologize,” you forced between stifled laughs.  He shook his head. 

“No need, I think your laugh is beautiful.” 

You calmed down as you took a breath to regained your breathing. “I’m not sure where you come from, stranger, but you are vastly different from any other man I’ve met.” He was silent for a moment. 

“Believe it or not, I’ve lived in Navern for many years. I’m a bit of a recluse and don’t get out much.  I work from home, in a sense.” 

“Is that right?” You asked, a teasing hint of skepticism. 

“I swear to Luos himself,” He said, cringing at his words.  You nodded. You both continued to sit and talk for a while longer before the moon had moved drastically in the sky.  The stranger was soon standing, taking your hand gently to help you to your feet.  His fingers seemed to linger on your skin as he let your hand go. “It’s getting far too late for a lady to be out. I’ll walk you home,” he offered with no room for rejection. 

When you both stood outside your home, the stranger looked through the dark windows.  The outlines of filled shelves sketching over his vision.  Looking up, he saw a window, probably to your room away from your shop.  You removed the thick, cooper key from around your neck that was on a rope of leather before slotting it into the door. Turning it to click it open. You turned back to the stranger. 

“Thank you for your company tonight. I really did appreciate being able to speak and be myself without being sneered.” Your voice was soft and filled with genuine happiness. 

“I can guarantee that your company and conversation pleased me far more than you.  It has been far too long since I spoke to someone.” His voice was soft and calm, you could hear the smile on his face. “Next time, let’s talk inside and in the daylight instead of sitting outside in the cold.” 

“You would come to visit me, wouldn’t you?” You teased lightly. You were shocked when he nodded immediately. “Well, if that’s the case, could I see your face?” You gently asked, not wanting to pressure him.  He was still a stranger, but you felt so calm and easy about him.  You just wanted to see him just once- but perhaps he would decline your request. He had his hood up this whole time without movement to lower it. 

“I don’t usually show my face outside of my home,” he started and your face started to fall, “however, I think I can make this exception.” Your fae jumped back up as you bit back a smile of victory. He lifted his hands to open his cloak and grip the sides of his hood.  Pushing the fabric back, your smile fell into the face of awe. 

He was gorgeous. Long, black hair that brushed passed his eyes.  His eyes dark but light reflected off them in specs of the most wondrous color. His hair was curled with waves and framed his face well.  His jaw is wide and sharp.  His voice seemed to fit his face a far better than you couldn’t have ever imagined.  He chuckled at your reaction to his face. He put his hands on either side of his neck before dropping them.  

“For the first time tonight, it seems you do not have any words left,” he jested. 

You just licked your dry lips and hid your face, trying not to let your cheek heat too much.  “May I ask one more request?” 

“I suppose,” he drawled. You picked at your fingers, nails tapping together. 

“May I ask your name if I offer mine back?” You gingerly looked up at him, eyes looking up first before your head lifted in follow. You could see a small jolt of hesitation at your question. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I’d recognize you anywhere even without your name.” He took that as a compliment of compelling looks. 

He faltered in his step as he moved to take your hand, raising it to push the back of your knuckles to his lips.  His eyes closed gently as he kissed your hand, your mouth opening and your cheek flaring in the cold night breeze.  He opened his eyes as you noticed that one eye had a monolid while the other was double eye lidded. He smiled widely, the purest and cutest smile you’d ever seen. 

“Call me Taehyung,” he cheered lightly. He dropped your hand, as you offered your name back with a small flustered stutter. Y/n was a wonderful name and fit you perfectly.  He watched you go inside and even saw your shadow trot up the back staircase to your apartment.  He looked at the top window and saw a dim light of a lantern you had just lit before he smiled.  

He did feel a bit guilty for not telling you the name he went by now was Luos, but Taehyung was the only name he felt he should give you.  His original name was much less intimidating than the Sun God Recluse, Luos. He flipped his hood back up and made quick work of his way back to the castle. Already impatient to see you again and without him really noticing, the nagging in his chest had subsided. 

It was two weeks ago when your dream started to subside. That night you spent talking with Taehyung for so long seemed to take your dreams away.  You were shocked when he showed up at dusk, knowing at your library door the very next night.  He claimed he couldn’t wait to see you again, so here he was.  You immediately let him inside without a hassle.  

You’ve been talking with Taehyung for two weeks and you greatly enjoyed everything about him.  His attitude was uplifting and even when he spoke about topics that angered him, his anger was justice and the points to support his rage were solid.  He was knowledgable and well versed in many things.  The conversation never died with him. 

You were comfortable with him, especially since he always marveled at your abilities.  He watched with awe as you caught you repaired a shelf once, and nearly ate enough for four men when you cooked for him the first time.  He could read well but preferred hearing you read to him, claiming to love hearing your voice.  

It was no mystery how fast you were falling for Taehyung. The romance was something you didn’t think was optional for you, but Taehyung waltzed into your life at night and wasn’t a creepy serial killer. Taehyung had seriously raised your bar of men’s standards and he probably had no idea how you inside turned into mush when he showed up at your home with his giant, wide smile. 

Taehyung also always only visited you when night was falling and always cloak. However, it was early in the morning once when he decided he couldn’t wait another long day to see you again.  Sneaking out of the castle was harder in the morning, but possible. Still cloaked and hooded, he hid his small smile from the sun’s shadow. His smile wilted when he saw the corner of your library-home come into view.  

You had just unlocked the library door and moved to put the hanging ‘open’ sign you had painted and decorated with Taehyung one night to symbolize for people to come and go as they please. He wanted to smile at the idea of you using it, but the young men around your age coming towards you made his teeth grind. 

You had just hung your sign on the front window of the door on the small nail you had put on the door a few nights ago when you felt a small shove on your shoulder.  Your dress today hit the ground and you nearly toppled over by stepping on the fabric. Your corset of white pushed the dress against your stomach, pushing your chest up, and your torso felt pain as you nearly bent over in the course that was tight. 

You regained balance with a small huff as you adjusted your apron on your front. The two men were two fellow rude boys you had grown up with.  They had yet to outgrow their childish bullying, and you doubt they were would.  You figured they should just marry each other at this point. With rotten, toxic attitudes like theirs, there is no way they’d find wives. 

One man, a small sprout of bone was Lix. The other was a bit broader, but no looker for sure; he was named Horan. Lix was more a verbal fighter, not having much strength when it came to fist to fist confrontation. Horan was the opposite.  He was dead stupid, but his power balanced out what Lix didn’t have.  It was a poetically stupid match made in some twisted heave.  

Lix turned to your sign before taking it off the door and looking it over.  A small frown on his face as he’s eyes squinted.  

“What awful handwriting!” He crowed, even if your handwriting was a perfect script. “I knew it, women should stick to cleaning and looking after little rugrats,” he spits before he threw your sign with a flick to his right.  The wooden plack spun as it descended and hit the road with a puff of dirt.  You gasped lightly before you ran towards it. 

Kneeling in the dirt, you picked it up, the road sticking to your fingertips and filtering under your nails in grounded, small pieces.  Dirt would be pushed into your apron and you’re sure you’d have to dust it and wash it all out later. When you looked at the sign in your lap as you knelt on your knees, you recalled how happy Taehyung looked when it as down.  Your eyes began to tear. 

There was a small murmur of on-lookers who watched the two men push at you.  You knew you had no authority to act out, even if you wanted so badly to shout at them. You’d have no ally if you did, no one stood in your corner.  You were alone and the fact that everyone watching and gossiping you get pushed around didn’t move to help you, only proved your point. 

You could only stamp your feet and curl your fingers around the wooden, painted ‘open’ sign as you held your tears back.  Lix started marching up behind you, you could tell from the dainty footsteps he took.  Horan’s was much more heavy in terms of his weight. You could feel his presence right behind you, the looming feeling of this man looking down on you. He kicked dirt at your back, debris mixing into your hair and rolling down your dresses back from the collar as you shivered at the sensation.  

You felt pathetic as you just let it happen. You could feel him step closer and the shadow you saw from your side showed him reaching out towards you. You expected him to grab your hair and pull you to sit straight. You just shut your eyes in a panic to avoid anyone seeing your unshed tears. 

Lix’s nasty grip never came.  Instead, a near set of steps rushed from in front of  you and came to halt. A shadow of someone blocking the sun from you clouded your shut eyes as you peeked them open. A pair of black boots were in front of your down casted vision. You could vague hear Lix squawking in pain before the new arriver stepped around you and shoved Lix back.  You heard his ass his dirt as he whined.  Horan was soon stomping to defend his attacked friend, but soon the stomping stopped. 

You lifted your head, turning to your back to see who had interfered. You didn’t know of any townsfolk would who defend you. A woman who was so vastly different from others. Your mouth opened to a quivered form as your tears fell. That familiar cloak a blessing to your eyes. 

“Taehyung,” you whimpered. You weren’t shocked to see him, you were just relieved to see you had someone to help you.  You cried further when you realized you finally had someone in your corner.  Taehyung protected you and he had flipped down his hood.  His hair was even more beautiful shining off the sun.  You wanted to see his eyes in this light- it was probably more breathtaking than seeing them in the candlelight of lanterns. 

Horan remained still, frozen mid-charge. Taehyung glared at him and it was blood-chilling enough to freeze the unintelligent giant in his tracks and even silence the gossip of others.  Some even moved to remain their work, trying to play coy as if they hadn’t witnessed the assault without assistance. Lix had picked himself off the ground, not sure where to move to, Taehyung eyes burning them into place. 

“Make yourself scarce,” was all he seethed.  A threat underlined in his words.  Lix and Horan were quick to flee. Taehyung’s shoulders slackened as he turned to you, sitting in the dirt and holding the sign in your arms to your chest, hugging it as if it were some precious treasure. His eyebrows dipped, sad to see your tears.  He moved to you, kneeling to rub his palm against your wet cheek and push his fingertips into your hair, combing out bits of dirt. 

He raised his eyes over you, looking at the people still cocky enough to keep starring.  He glared again. “Return to your duties and mind your business!” He yelled, everyone obeying without hesitation and soon all eyes were off you. Taehyung looked softly back at you before he gently picked you off the ground. 

Walking you into your store, he took the sign and set it gently on the window sill. He locked the door once you both were inside. He rubbed your arm softly as you palmed at your eyes, trying to dry them. Taehyung moved to stand in front of you, grabbing your cheeks and bending to look into your glasses, red eyes.  He rubbed your skin with his thumb, his large hand holding your head. 

“Let’s not open up right now,” he whispered so softly to you. You nodded, not able to trust your voice yet. “He gently pushed his lips on your forehead, his brows crunching as he held his lips against your skin for several seconds, feeling pain in his chest from seeing your own pain. H epulled from your forehead before he grabbed your hand.  “Let’s go upstairs. You have tea? I’ll make you some” You just nodded again, following him upstairs. 

Taehyung spent that day with you. He cleaned your face and wiped your tears.  He reassured you and made you speak your frustrations. He took care of you in a way you didn’t think a man ever would.  He made you change out of your corset and set your apron in the wash bin to soak the dirt stains out. He brushed your hair out before he sloppily pinned it up. He stayed by you all day and far into the night.  When you fell asleep that night, you shocked to wake up the next morning without a single dream to plague you. Even more shocking, you gasped lightly when Taehyung was sleeping in front of you, eyes shut easy and arm under his head as a pillow.  

He never left your side. All that previous and all night, he was there.  You cupped your mouth as a wae of resh tears spilled over the side of your face.  You pushed your face into Taehyung’s neck, startling him awake as he rubbed your back.  

“What’s wrong/ Tell me? Did you have a nightmare?” You just shoo your head as you hiccup. “Y/n?” You cried tears of relief and realization as you finally attempted to yourself that you were in love with Taehyung. So very much in love with him. 

He left the night of day two he had been with you. He wanted to stay longer, stay forever if he could, but he knew he had to get back to the palace.  One day without his appearance wasn’t odd, many assumed he was probably locke din his room. However, any longer and he feared someone would grow nosey. 

He left you that night as you flushed at the kiss he pushed on your forehead. He held your hand softly before he flipped his hood up and ran off.  You went back upstairs, suddenly exhausted and fell into sleep. 

The next morning, you woke up to the murmur outside.  You rubbed your eyes, going to your window and opening it.  There were people whispering with cupped hands as they pointed to your library.  You assumed they were still talking about the debacle two days prior with Lix and Horan. It wasn’t until you came downstairs when you saw two people standing with their backs to the front windows of your library. 

Unlocking the door and opening it, the two people turned to you. They were both men and dressed in guard uniforms. They were from the palace and part of your blood froze. Why were castle guards standing at your storefront? You swallowed as you greeted them. 

“Good morning, gentlemen,” you greeted trying to remain calm. One stood forward, holding a spear in his arms as the tip pointed high to the sky. He seemed to be the higher rank of the duo. 

“Fine morning, Miss.  I do not wish to alarm you, but we have immediate orders to escort you into Navern Palace.” 

“What?” You choked. You took the time to look around again. You noticed that instead of all judgmental eyes, some gazes were envious or even respectable. They looked at you like you were some higher being or had some power over them. You crunched your brow. 

You were ready to talk to the guards when you felt someone run into your back, knocking you forward a step. You turned around and saw Lix, Horan in front of him his arms stretched out. The bigger man had pushed the smaller and the look Lix gave you when he saw it was you he rammed into was one of almost terror.  He straightened out as he stood beside Horan, both bowing deeply towards you. 

“We’re sorry!” He cried as they ran off like scared children.  Your brows flicked up higher.  What in the world was that? Were they scared Taehyung would show up again? You momentarily forgot about the guards until one cleared their throat to gain your attention back. The one who spoke to you scolded his underling. 

“Do not force her attention by force in such a rude manner!” He shouted as you quickly hushed him. 

“No! It’s fine! I’m not offended or anything.” You sighed when the higher-ranked guards only bowed to you and offered his thanks, the younger mirroring his actions. “So, I’m to go to the palace?” You asked, trying to restart the original conversation. The guards stood right up again. 

“Yes, Miss.  Luos has asked for you.” YOu gasped lightly. 

“God Luos asked to see me?!” The guards nodded.  Your mouth grew dry as you swallowed to try and find saliva.  You licked your dry lips.  “I- okay.” You relented.  If the God of your kingdom really did request you there, you had to go.  You hoped he didn’t mind librarian clothes and a slightly stained apron.  You had no time to change and get ready as the guards had begun to usher you off after you locked your library door. 

As you walked with the two men, you watched some children smile and wave you. Some women stared in awe at you as if they knew something you didn’t. Men looked at you in caution as if they were committing a crime if you met their gaze.  What possibly could’ve happened overnight to get gazes on you in a totally different light? 

The moment you crossed the brick bridge across the mote and stood at the giant gates of the palace, you looked in open-mouthed awe.  The castle was a gargantuan wonder up close.  It took your breath away. The sides of it were as beautiful as the Sun God it housed you were sure.  The idea of you probably meeting the God of the Sun, Luos made your stomach turn.  He had been silent for so long, what did he suddenly pop back into the public gossip for? And to summon you of all people in Navern?

You were lead to a wide, open, beautiful throne room. The throe at the back of the room at the end of the long, golden rug and up 4 steps of marble was empty. No God was there. You stood walking closer to the throne and taking in the fabric, patterns, and creation of it.  Itw as a wonderfully beautiful chair. You gasped with enough force to knock the breath out of you when the heavy, tall doors of the throne room wheezed open again and a voice echoed behind you. 

“Would you like to have a seat on my throne?” The voice so scarily familiar and you hesitated to turn around. Surely your mind was playing tricks on you. There was no way. You heard the echoing steps come closer to you as your back remained towards him. Luos was behind you, that you knew for sure- he addressed this throne you stared wide-eyed at as his after all. You felt him stop behind you, his loom presence burning at your back. “Will you not turn to look at me?” His voice was lower, quieter. You gripped your have stained apron as you took one step forward, putting distance between you and he as you then slowly stepped around to face him.  

Your eyes were focused at his feet.  He walked barefoot.  Golden anklets around his skin. His trousers were black as they were rolled at his shins.  Following his pant legs up, his white shirt was long and loose on his body. Following it up higher, you saw a golden robe of printed suns adorn his shoulders and you could vaguely see bracelets of gold wrap up his forearms like guards. A thick golden collar of jews around his neck and a crown of golden spikes sat on the crown of his head. Dramatic and much like the rays of the sun. 

This was Luos and as you looked into his eyes at his face, you gasped.  This was Taehyung.  

“I hope the sudden call to my home wasn’t too alarming, Y/n,” he told you softly. He could see the confusion in your eyes, but you weren’t screaming yet so he considered it progress.  You just stood there, gaping at him in silence. He reached out and brushed the back of his fingers against your cheek, making you flinch, but not back away from him.  He smiled softly. “Is who I am truly that shocking?” 

You didn’t know how to politely say ‘yes it fucking is shocking’, because the man you’ve been visiting with the past two weeks was a God.  You gasped, taking another step backward.  He rose his brow in confusion as his hand hovered in the air now. You had let the God of Navern into your rackety all home. You gazed at him in starstruck gazes for hours before. You had told him so many personal events and facts about yourself and you began to flush.  

Luos, God of Navern’s Sun had picked your pushed and bullies body off the dirt road just two days ago and had stayed at your home with you alone for over 24 hours. Your cheeks grew darker.  

You had fallen in love with Luos and you didn’t even know it. 

Was that wrong? You started to inwardly panic.  Was it against some scared law of Gods for a human woman who was clearly outcasted from her city to fall for a God? Even if it was unknown to you in the time you were falling, would it be punishable by some degree? Was that why he called you here?! Had he seen through your obvious red faces and stuttering and brought you heard to punish you for your feelings that you should or should’ve been feeling? 

Taehyung stepped forward, seeing your mind start to flip.  He grabbed your shoulders and pushed his lips against your forehead.  Just as he had before.  He closed his eyes, hoping and praying that you wouldn’t change just because of who he was.  He was guilty of hiding the ruth from you, but what choice did he have? He was a shut-in God only a couple of weeks ago, but now he was determined to change it all. And he’d need the help of a prophet for that. 

“Calm down, dear,” he soothed.  His warm hands pushed against your covered shoulders and you did start to calm. Trying to ignore your warming ears at the endearing name.  He felt you slacken after some time and moved to look at you again, stepping just a bit away from you. “Are you alright now?” You nodded.  He took his hand and pushed your hair from your face to see you clearly.  He smiled at your flushed cheeks. “Red is a color that suits you,” he teased. 

You were silent as you looked at your feet.  Biting back a ‘shut up’ because in all honesty, how do you talk to him now? Wasn’t it rude to be so direct to a Sun God. A royal God who lived in the royal palace of his own kingdom.  You had to watch what you say and say it all respectfully. Taehyugn seemed to know your thoughts as you felt his thumb rub beneath your ear, his hands dipping under your jaw to lift your head up to meet his gaze. 

“Do not change yourself because you see me as Luos. My name truly is Taehyung and everything I’ve told you about myself these past weeks is all truthful. I’ve never once lied and I never once will.” He dipped his eyelids, his eyes pleading with you to believe him. “I don’t want to appear different to you now, so don’t treat me any differently.” 

You raised your hand to push over his that held your jaw the other staying fisted loosely around your apron. Taehyung smiled at your palm’s warmth. He watched you take a deep breath through your nose before pushing it out of your lips. You looked up at him warily. 

“I won’t get punished for being blunt to a God?” You asked carefully. You were blunt, yes; but you were always careful of your words towards him. He smiled. 

“Of course not. Why would you be punished if the God you’re speaking to gave you pardon?” You finally smiled a small bit. One that made Taehyung break out into a smile so large he nearly let out a small giggle at you. The way he held your jaw and squished your cheek combined with your small smile, he almost pushed dimples into your cheeks. 

You both stood in silence for a while before Taehyung dropped his hands from your jaw and moved to hold your hands in his. Threading his fingers with yours.  He was affectionate before, sure.  He would often plop his head into your lap as you read to him and of course he slept beside you that one night he decided not to leave your side. However, his laced fingers with your brought warmth to your chest. 

“Do you remember when you talked to me about your dreams that first night we met?” You nodded. “You remember when you explained that the hooded figure would always appear and you’d wake up?” You nodded again, not sure where he was going with this. “Well, I think that actually was me.” You lightly breathed in an air of confusion. “Sometimes,” he began, “humans are born with something close to supernatural powers. Some can move objects without physical touch, some can see pasts and futures of people, others can even control the mind of others. Then, there are some like you, who are shown prophetic dreams of things to come.” 

“Come to think,” you started with a raising brow, “my dreams did stop after that first night we met. I just thought it was because I finally talked about them. However, you’re saying-”

“I believe you were meant to have those dreams and you were meant to meet me that night. That night I felt like I met someone I was always destined to. Prior to that, I had this nagging in my chest,” he lifted his hand to push against his torso, “and it compelled me to go out into town. It cannot be coincidental that I met you that and the nagging abandoned me.” 

Taehyung stopped his talking before he looked over your shoulder.  He took your intertwined hands and moved to drag you towards his throne. Helping you to not trip up the marble steps, he soon stood with you at his throne of gold. He held your hands tightly. 

“Navern is my precious kingdom I care so much for. I’ve had my time of being reclused and I need to go back into my kingdom and reclaim it with new eyes.  I cannot do that on my own. I need someone to help me and to help keep me balanced and straight. They will also help keep my words strong to my people who believe in me and my Sun.” He took a deep breath before he removed on hand from yours and took to his pocket, pulling a scarlet red sash from his trousers that had a hair comb wrapped inside of it.  

It was a beautiful piece. A golden frame with solid, silver teeth with gaps made to avoid severe tugging of the hair.  You slowly reached out with the hand not held by Taehyung as you ran your fingers over its heavy glory. 

“It’s beautiful,” you told him as he smiled. 

“I know. It belonged to my mother. A long, long time ago.” You looked up at him with a bit of sadness in your eyes.  You knew how he loved his parents, he had told you all about them one night and got a bit more emotional than he’d like to admit recalling so many memories. “I want you to have this now.” 

“What?” You breathed. 

“Y/n,” he put the comb and it’s scarlet fabric in your open palm before he brought your other hand up to sandwich the comb in your hands.  His hands around your own before he lifted them to his forehead. “I want you to help me regain the social regime I have let die. I want you to wake up in this palace day by day with me. I want you to stay here and use this comb as you stay with me as my chosen Prophet.” His voice cracked like he was going to cry admitting it all.  “I’ve never-,” he took a breath, “I’ve never been in love before. I died too young so long ago I never experienced it. However, I know now I’m positive that I’m falling in love with you.” 

Your breath was sucked out of your lungs like a vacuum because of his words.  “Do,” you started small, gaining his attention as he looked at you, lowering your hands back down, still holding them tightly. The comb’s cold material warming in your palms. “Do you really mean all of that?” You squeaked. 

He nodded so quickly as he took a step closer.  His nose was inches from you as he looked down at you. His feet stood between your shoes as he looked back and forth between your eyes.  He truly was a beautiful man. “Yes.  I swear, I-I mean everything.” He was so fearful you’d say no to him. What would he do if you left this palace and didn’t take his words with you? Would he still be able to visit you in town at the library? Would you avoid him? Shun him? He was scared of the negatives. 

“What would happen to the library?” You asked softly. He knew it was important to you. Rundown and aged, yes, but it’s the place you spent your life with your family before they were gone. Taehyung wouldn’t let anything happen to that small, cramped home of yours. He loved it just as much as you. It’s where he spent so much time with you and learned so much about you. Where he ate with you and comforted you and slept beside you. 

Taehyung loved that library. 

“I’d keep it safe. I don’t want anything to happen to that library or your apartment you claim. It’s so precious to me now. I’d make sure no one got inside it to vandalize or. Nothing would happen to it and I’d keep it safe from ruin. If something is weak, I’d work to rebuild and fix it.” 

“You’d do that for a small library when you have such a grand castle?” 

“In a heartbeat. That’s the place I got to spend so many memories with you,” he softly admitted out loud. “You don’t need to agree to my request,” he told you, heartbreak in his voice.  He wouldn’t force his wishes on you, no- never would he do that. 

You slowly pulled your hands from his, opening your palms to see the golden comb in all it’s beauty again.  You then handed it to Taehyung, having him hold it as you unraveled your messy, braided hair.  Holding locks of it ver your shoulder, you looked at him and smiled. 

“Can such a comb even brush such messy hair?” Taehyung’s face nearly split in two at the smile that erupted into his face.  He wrapped his arms around your shoulders, lifting you off your feet and toes to hold you so tightly.  YOu felt his chest breathe heave, relieved sighs.  He set you back down on your feet.

He moved to kiss you again, but not on the forehead.  No, this time his lips fell beneath your eye.  He kissed you and when he pulled his lips from your skin a small mark had begun to outline onto your skin. Shining with golden light before forming the shape of a butterfly, his insignia animal. He smiled again as he moved to sit you down into his throne.  

He then moved to kneel in front of you, taking your hand and kissing your knuckles much like the night he first met you when he left you for the first time.  He kissed your knuckles before he smiled up at you with his innocent, childlike smile. 

“We’ll have to get you accustomed to the castle, my dear,” he giggled.  He began to lead you to a room of seamstress servants to exchange your ordinary librarian clothes with fine, silk robes of the Sun’s golden glow. 

The only thing he kept secret from you now, was the fact that not only were you his Prophet, he also may have told the townspeople that if they mess with his fiance and future wife again, he, the God Luos would not be pleased. Of course, you didn’t have to know you were engaged quite yet.

a/n pt.2 - Tell me all what you think! I spent 5 hours writing this in one sitting and I’m pretty proud of it ngl. So lmk!!

[megalodont]

a stitch in time saves nine

Nie Huaisang was not an idiot, but sometimes he wished he was. 

“Sect Leader, you know meditation is essential for the conditioning of your golden core—”

“Are you my guard or my mother? Of course I know! But it’s so boring. I already told you I’m spending the afternoon painting, you can’t change my mind.”

“Sect Leader—” 

“Sect Leader, Sect Leader. If I am your leader why aren’t you listening to me?” Nie Huaisang pouted. “I’ll do it tomorrow. The light is only going to be this good for another hour, I don’t wanna waste it meditating. I refuse. Go switch with another guard if you don’t like it.” Nie Huaisang shooed the man with his fan and flounced into the pavilion in a swirl of embroidery and silk. As he settled in front of the desk he heard the man sigh, and then the dreaded call went out. 

“Someone fetch Hu Junhui!” 

“Don’t call her!” Nie Huaisang yelped.

“I am under specific orders to call her when the situation requires it,” the guard said steadily.

“I gave you those orders! Now I’m taking it back!”

“Sect Leader made it clear that his orders were incontrovertible, unable to be retracted even by himself.”

“I know that, I said it,” Nie Huaisang grumbled, but he knew he’d already lost. He never won this particular battle—heavens curse him for the machinations of his past self. 

“Sect Leader Nie,” came a gentle voice from behind the door. 

Nie Huaisang plonked his face into his palm, letting it squish his cheek. “Enter,” he grumbled.

The door slid open to reveal an older lady with a beatific smile. Though her face was lined and her hair shot with silver she was still beautiful. She bowed deeply. He hated her so much.

“If I may begin, Sect Leader?”

“No,” he told her, but he knew it was useless.

“Grey hair,” she said serenely, as if he had not spoken. “Crow’s feet. Liver spots. The loss of your figure. Hands too unsteady for calligraphy. Eyesight too poor to read poetry by moonlight. Ears that can no longer hear the highest, purest notes. Older people do not have the patience or conditioning to stalk birds for days on end. A guttering core will not keep you warm, and in the winter you will have to cover your elegant clothes with heavy, unflattering cloaks. Sect Leader Nie knows the most beautiful vistas are visible only by sword, and that only cultivators can paint with light. Older people cannot handle food that is too rich, nor excessive amounts of alcohol. As they age men sometimes lose their powers in bed—”

“Okay,” Nie Huaisang interupted. “Okay! I’ll go meditate! Ayi, why do you like this job?” He whined. “I’ll pay you double what you’re getting to just not do it. You can even still live here if you want!”

“Sect Leader Nie pays me very generously already,” the woman said pleasantly. “I am content with things as they are.”

“I could fire you, you know.”

“My contract with Sect Leader Nie ensures my employment in perpetuity,” came the placid reply. 

Nie Huaisang’s head hit the desk.

*

“Sect Leader Yao is not satisfied with the agreement. This treaty is essential to the continued prosperity of Qinghe. You cannot send him away until he signs.”

“Can’t I?” Nie Huaisang groused. “This is my keep. We’ve been talking for hours, the man just refuses to see sense! I won’t keep banging my head against that wall, I can literally feel myself breaking out. Kick him out.” His advisors did not move. Neither did the guards. “You guys,” Nie Huaisang moaned. “Who exactly is in charge here? Get that odious man out of my sight, hearing, and mind, I’m begging you. A whole day of meetings with Sect Leader Yao is too much, no one could be expected to withstand that!”

His advisors glanced at each other, and one gave a short nod to the guard by the door, who swiftly exited. Nie Huaisang’s heart sank. 

“Sect Leader Nie,” came that hateful voice a moment later, just as smooth and affable as it always was. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled, slumping on his throne. “Get on with it, I guess.”

“If an agreement with Sect Leader Yao cannot be reached today, Sect Leader Yao will have to stay the night. Even if ejected from the Unclean Realm he will return. Due to his offense at being rebuffed, Sect Leader Yao will doubtless become quarrelsome and inflexible—”

“He’s already quarrelsome and inflexible,” Nie Huaisung grumbled.

“—to an even greater degree than he was today. If an arrangement cannot be made in these meetings then the deal will fall through. The cost of raising sheep will rise, and with them the price of wool. Farmers will need financial support, which will require many hours of reading tedious production reports and meetings with aggrieved farm owners. New taxes will need to be devised, which will require much research and consideration. There will certainly be dissent as a result of this tax, and Sect Leader Nie will be required to listen to many complaints from wealthy merchants and other constituents. The amount of time Sect Leader has for leisure activities coming up to winter is already so small,” she said sweetly. “It would be a shame if it were diminished further.”  

“It would be a shame if you dropped dead,” Nie Huaisang muttered into his palms.

“I am afraid I could not make out what Sect Leader Nie has just said.”

He raised his head from his hands to scowl at her petulantly. “You’ve convinced me. I’ll suck it up for a few more hours, okay. Are you happy?”

Hu Junhui’s smile was as lovely and immovable as jade. “I am always happy, Sect Leader. This one thanks you for your concern.” She bowed deeply. “If that is all?” 

Nie Huaisang huffed. Yeah yeah. Send Sect Leader Yao in on your way out.”

*

“Sorry, I can’t read.” 

“Sect Leader, this documentation is essential to the understanding of that province’s geopolitical landscape. If the negotiations go poorly QingheNie might lose our longstanding—and mutually beneficial—alliance with them.”

“And that sounds terrible, but I’m afraid I can’t help you. I’ve lost the ability to read. It’s tragic, I’ll never be able to read a good novel again, let alone poetry. I’m inconsolable. How will I go on? Every day will be so pale and lifeless without the magic of the written word to bring me joy—”

“Hu Junhui!”

“—oh, dammit.” Nie Huaisang cursed his previous self so harshly he might well have offended his progenitors as well.

“Sect Leader,” Hu Junhui greeted calmly, arriving with suspicious speed from a side door.

“...who?”

“The mountains of our sister province are exquisite,” she began without acknowledging his deflection. “The larch trees are especially beautiful in the autumn time. They are the only place in the world where one can find the superb pheasant—but of course Sect Leader Nie is aware of this. He is renowned for his knowledge of rare and wonderful birdlife. What a shame it would be if their borders were no longer open to travel from Qinghe! The textiles that come from that region are also incredible, as Sect Leader Nie knows. The local breed of goat produced an unequalled fibre, so if trade were to be impacted in some way—”

“I know all this already!” Nie Huaisang whined. “I don’t care about that, I already own loads of stuff from there, I don’t care. We’ve been allies for generations anyway, our relationship isn’t going to break down because I couldn’t remember some historical fact in one meeting.”

“Sect Leader Nie is very wise,” Hu Junhui said, bowing. “He of course knows that the newly installed regent is a notorious traditionalist and will demand many hours of discourse regarding their ties to Qinghe if he is not satisfied with QingheNie’s acknowledgement of their shared history. Meetings with him have been known to drag out for weeks.”

“...you’re making that up.”

“This one heard it from Sect Leader Jiang’s senior disciple during their visit in the spring.”

“...weeks?”

“Several.”

Nie Huaisang pressed his fingers to the pain throbbing in his temple. 

“Would you look at that. My ability to read has miraculously returned. What’s this?” He picked up a piece of paper at random. “A resignation letter from Hu Junhui? Ah, what a shame, what a shame. Well, enjoy the rest of your life, ayi, take care, say hello to your family for me, so long, safe travels!”

“I’ll leave you to your reading, Sect Leader,” Hu Junhui said as if he had not spoken. She already knew she’d won.

*

“I don’t care how important the annual audit is, I already told you I’m allergic to mathematics!”

“Hu Junhui!”

*

“I don’t care who he is, this meteor shower won’t appear again for twenty years!”

“Hu Junhui!”

*

“One more jar. If I have to meet with these people I’m at least going to be drunk for it.”

“Hu Junhui!”

*

“What do you mean I need to do it myself, that’s literally why I have disciples.”

“Hu Junhui!”

*

“Another hour, for heaven’s sake, it’s far too early to be awake!”

“Hu Junhui!”

*

“It’s not a ‘frivolous excursion’, I saw a blue-tailed bee-eater! What does it matter if there’s a discussion conference on!”

“Hu Junhui!”

*

Nie Huaisang blinked blearily at the figure in the doorway, vision swimming with liquor and tears.

“Sect Leader Nie.”

Nie Huaisang put his head back down on the table. “Who called you, Hu Junhui,” he slurred, exhausted. “I told them I wasn’t to be disturbed.”

“No one called for me, Sect Leader. We are all aware of what day it is.”

Then why are you here? He wanted to howl, but he couldn’t find the energy. He took another swig of wine, spilling half of it down his chin. It didn’t make much difference—his face was wet anyway. 

The room had grown dark at some point. Nie Huaisang had no idea how long he’d been sitting there drinking. He’d lain in bed until well after lunch, and no one had bothered to offer him dinner, knowing it would be refused.  

“Chifeng-zun would never begrudge his cherished younger brother the need to grieve, but it would pain him to see him neglect his health in any way.” Nie Huaisang didn’t answer. “This one knows he used to bring Sect Leader Nie congee on the anniversary of his mother’s death, because Sect Leader Nie found it difficult to eat. Chifeng-zun never let his brother drink alone, or to excess, on such days. It brought him comfort that he could at least provide for Sect Leader’s body when his heart was suffering.” Nie Huaisang swallowed thickly, the sound loud in the silent room. The tears had never really stopped, but they flowed freely once more, soaking into his hair. “Chifeng-zun would rest easily indeed, knowing his brother was caring for himself.”

Nie Huaisang’s hand slipped off the wine jug to flop limply to the ground. He heard the rustle of Hu Junhui’s clothing, and then a servant was placing a bowl of fragrant congee and jug of water on the table next to him. Hu Junhui thanked the servant, stepping close enough to pick up the wine jug and replace it with a handkerchief. 

She returned to the door and her clothes rustled again as she bowed. “Sect Leader.”

“Hu Junhui,” Nie huaisang said before she could close the door behind her. 

“Yes, Sect Leader?”

“Whoever hired you was pretty smart.”

“I have always thought so,” she said, her calm voice betraying a hint of warmth. “It is my honour to help him to be his best self. Goodnight, Sect Leader.”

“Goodnight, ayi.”

*

btw this is also on ao3 here, bc i am new to posting fic on tumblr and feel weird about it

[mychemicalficrecs]

any good frerard fics that take place before the 2000s? so like anywhere from the 1990s-1600s or whatever it doesn’t matter to me :)

Hi Nonny!

There's a great variety of Historical AUs, have fun with these!

Frank/Gerard Historical AUs

You Sparkle Like My 6 Gun by jet6black6feeling6, 7k, Explicit. Gerard does drag at a prohibition era night club that mafia boss Frank owns. Duh.

The Heart I Left Behind by gloomboyz, 8k, Mature. Various scenes of how Gerard and Frank find each other throughout history.

Sincerely (Yours) by Tezy, 34k, Explicit. (Late 19th century AU) Frank is the son of a merchant, with no money, and no title. But he's smart, and he enjoys teaching, so when the opportunity arises for him to help with the two children of a particularly wealthy family, he decides it is worth the risk. The children are precocious, outspoken and they quickly become his favourite students. Their slightly peculiar uncle, however, is the real mystery for him.

timelines and sceneries by daydreamsago, 42k, Teen And Up Audiences. "My brain wants everything to be figured out so it can stop worrying about what life will be like in ten years or so," Frank admitted. "Time is such a weird thing, because one moment, you're young and dependent on your parents, then... boom. You're graduated and everything matters all at once. Time is consistent. It doesn't slow down, or speed up at all; our perception of it does."

Line-Crossing by orphan_account, 12k, Explicit. When Frank finally gets up on his feet, he finds a job taking care of the greenhouses in a manor house. He hopes this new beginning will help him forget and allow him to heal. Moving into the country, Gerard hopes he'll finally be left alone by all the people back home who can't seem to stop criticizing everything about him. He also hopes to find some peace and maybe even (yes, he actually dares to be that optimistic) happiness.

Shadows Fall Behind by anoceanmonster, 39k, Explicit. Just before the turn of the twentieth century, the Iero household experiences it’s second devastating loss. When Edward Iero, world renowned architect, replaces the recently deceased and much loved head of staff, Donald, with his eldest son, Gerard, no one knows if anything will work out. Frank is a book loving recluse who rarely sees the outside of his study, but when Gerard enters his house and his life, he gets a love story all of his own.

A Lovely Apparition (or, The One Where Gerard's A Crossdresser in the 1790s) by wordslinging, 22k, Mature. Michael didn’t seem particularly shocked when Gerard approached him with the idea, but then, Gerard had never seen his younger brother look particularly shocked at anything. He merely looked at Gerard, blinked once or twice, and repeated in a flat tone, “You want me to help you dress up like a woman.” “It’s the stays in particular I think I’ll need help with,” Gerard told him. “Well, and buttoning the dress, and perhaps the wig.”

A World So Small by wordslinging, 31k, Mature. When Frank, a sickly young man, is advised by his doctors to leave London for the country, he makes arrangements to stay with his friend Michael, who just so happens to be in possession of a large, old, and somewhat creepy manor house. What Frank has no idea of at the time is that Michael has an older brother, whose presence in the house he conceals. Gerard is an eccentric recluse who spends most of his time hiding in the attic and avoiding any kind of interaction with people, but he finds himself fascinated with Frank, who in turn realizes that the house has secrets, and becomes determined to uncover them. When he finally does discover Gerard, their first meeting is only the beginning of their story.

Vampire AU by Andromedas_Void, 26k, Explicit. Mister Francis Anthony Iero, Junior, Your presence is requested this evening at 221 Upper Birch Lane, North London. A carriage will be awaiting you at 3:00 pm sharp. Cordially yours, Gerard Arthur Way, Esq.

Riot Grrrl!Gee by my99centdreams, 7k, Explicit. It’s the fourth party she’s been to this week if the one Taylor Kennick threw for herself while her parents stayed in their room counts (it probably doesn’t but whatever, the point is she’s been far too social lately and is just about ready to revert back to her hermit ways). Seriously, if it gets to the point where Mikey breaks out the password they created for emergency situations, and by emergency situations she means their lives have turned into a body snatchers movie, then she knows it's time to put on her pajamas, lock herself in her room, and eat ice cream straight from the carton.

This Tornado Loves You by theopteryx, 44k, Mature. 1933. Frank's been on the run a long time and he's forced to stop in his old hometown. At first things are about what he expects - old friends, unpleasant memories, and a less-than-desirable home life. Everything changes one night when he stumbles on an old hedge maze hidden in the woods. It's not the hedge maze that intrigues him the most, though, but the secrets of the house hidden inside.

NASAverse by fleurdeliser, 22k, Explicit. The second basement of Building Six at the Kennedy Space Center is not, Frank reminds himself, straightening his shoulders and stepping out of the elevator, one of the more intimidating offices in the NASA compound. It is, in fact, just one workshop out of many, where fabricators test out designs that come from the engineers upstairs--where Frank works.

Variations on a Fugue by mrsronweasley, 36k, Explicit. Frank Iero is a young nobleman currently living with his parents in the Lake District, where he plans on leading a quiet life away from London and its temptations. However, temptation moves into his neighbourhood in the face of one Gerard Way. (Early Edwardian AU.)

Public Enemy by tabulaxrasa, 21k, Explicit. In 1932, Gerard Way has been making a name for himself robbing banks up and down New Jersey. Frank Iero, analyst for J. Edgar Hoover's Division of Investigation, is determined to catch him.

Against the Wind by theopteryx, 21k, Explicit. Frank is the tutor for the two young children of Michael and Alicia Way. He has always been sickly, but when he begins to fall seriously ill he tries to hide it from his employers, terrified he will lose his position and have nothing. When Michael’s older brother Gerard unexpectedly returns from the continent, however, his problems only grow.

Can Never Wrong this Right by theopteryx, 24k, Explicit. Written for the hc_bingo challenge, for the square of 'forced soul-bonding.' It's 1949 and Dr. Way is a professor of Archeology and Frank is his constantly exasperated (and secretly pining) assistant. When their latest trek takes them to South America to locate the fabled Blood Stone, however, they both find more than they bargained for.

Love and Other Cliches by two_ravens, xaritomene, 29k, Not Rated. Bob Bryar is the best witch in the whole damn scene, even if he does say so himself. Which is just as well, because he's got responsibilities, most of which involve his charge, Gerard. Mainly, Bob's supposed to keep Gerard from falling down a well, or losing his sketchpad - little things, but Bob is a conscientious guardian. But when it becomes obvious that Gerard and Frank are hopelessly, silently in love with each other, Bob suddenly has bigger things to worry about. Nothing he's tried has ended in the declarations of love he'd been aiming for (not the fireworks, not the sunsets, not even the four hours they'd spent in locked in a closet). In a last, ditch attempt, he resorts to real spellwork, the epic, Cinderella kind, and now Frank and Gerard are stuck in a romance novel... with only one way out.

What Ships Are For by mwestbelle, 22k, Explicit. A ship is safe in a harbor, but that's not what ships are for. -William Shedd Gerard is most concerned when he finds that, while away at university, his father has taken in a new ward of his own brother's age. But upon his return home, he finds the young man to be particularly enchanting; unfortunately, according to the High Society he lives in, not only is Frank entirely too poor to be considered, but they might as well be brothers.

Like a Horse and Carriage by mwestbelle, 9k, Mature. Frank was raised wild, on a merchant vessel that sailed all around the world. When he returns home, an orphan, he is wed to a man with money and name that he has never met. A Victorian AU.

Illyria (King and Country) by tabulaxrasa, 57k, Explicit. Today, they'd woken up and Gerard was King of Illyria. Frank hasn't really been a stable boy since he ended up in the archduke's bed, but now Gerard's exile is over and he's king. Frank has to survive court, politics, and scheming nobles to figure out exactly what he is now.

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Do you play dnd? How did you get into it? I want to but I don't know how

[Follow-on, I assume, from this post.]

Yes, I do play Dungeons & Dragons!  I currently have two characters going:

Lin is a Level 6 lawful half-orc bard with a folk hero backstory.

He’s a cheerful, outgoing lad who likes befriending new people and also killing them.  He grew up in a family of traveling half-orc butchers who moved from town to town, killing animals that the residents of those towns wanted to eat but were too squeamish to kill themselves.  The youngest of eight brothers, Lin exceeded everyone’s expectations the day he stood up in front of a corrupt mayor and demanded fair payment for his entire band regardless of the craven humans’ fondness for tofurky.  Convinced that this was the spark of a great warrior, Lin’s parents scraped together all their money and sent him off to the big city to go be a fighter... but it didn’t exactly work out that way.  Lin spent the next several months working in a bar and hoping to be discovered, until court troubadour Aelowylan discovered that Lin might not have the spark of a great warrior, but he can sing pretty well.  Now equipped with trusty drumsticks that can turn pretty much any surface into an improvised percussion instrument, a variety of throwing knives that range from tiny darts to hefty daggers, a magical opal in place of the left eye he lost in a pig-slaughtering accident, and a fondness for unfortunate heavy-metal covers of pop songs, Lin is off for a life of adventure.  He’s hoping to chronicle and assist the grand journeys of his companions in the tradition of his personal hero Ethyl the Erudite.

Lin is loosely inspired by my fascination with Ed Brubaker’s modernist recasting of Bucky “Winter Soldier” Barnes (a somewhat different character from the MCU interpretation).  Brubaker writes a Bucky who is boyish and optimistic but who has also been thoroughly indoctrinated by imperialist propaganda — first American, later Soviet — and exposed to military violence almost since infancy.  Bucky’s bright naïveté, casual bloodthirstiness, and low threshold for absolute loyalty intersect in ways that are sometimes hilarious and sometimes horrifying.  I stole that weird combination to interpret the ways that a bard’s tendency toward optimistic trust in others would combine with a half-orc’s brutality.

Lady Iris is a Level 4 chaotic human rogue with a performer backstory.

She’s a theater-nerd-cum-assassin in the tradition of the kuroko stagehands who inspired modern ninja tropes.  She wields dual swords and dresses in black or navy blue except for the iris-patterned kabuki mask she wears during political protests.  The daughter of wealthy merchants, Iris grew up as a privileged theater kid until the youngest son of a feudal lord saw one of her plays and fell in love.  They dated, married, had two children, and lived happily for about ten years.  Over that time, Iris became ever more uncomfortable with her father-in-law’s treatment of his serfs, until she eventually confronted him over his barbaric taxation policies.  When he persisted, Iris killed him and fled to go rob the rich and feed the poor.  Her romantic ideals have run into the unpleasant realities of bad food and hard beds, but she persists in her mission and remains hopeful that she will be reunited with her husband (now the feudal lord hunting her down, which makes it awkward that they’re still very much in love) and the children she left behind.

Lady Iris is the product of my frustration with the treatment of Lady Ursa (the original Blue Spirit, hence the name) in the Avatar: The Last Airbender tie-in comics.  I have written overlong academic essays on the ways that gender roles intersect with imperialism in Avatar, including the ways that the Fire Nation embraces the privilege of radical gender equality...  And then The Search and Smoke and Shadow transform the morally-ambiguous self-reliant Ursa into a helpless maiden who suffers through an arranged marriage for love of her children, kills her father-in-law for love of her children, self-exiles for love of her children, and abandons a perfectly lucrative life as a theater manager for love of her children.  Ursa gets held up as a pure, selfless paragon of womanhood with very little agency and no sexuality.  It strips the uncomfortable implication of her love for the morally-bankrupt Ozai from the equation, fails to question the idea that she “should” drop everything to move halfway across the world in order to mother her highly-independent adult son, and quite simply violates the continuity of Avatar itself.  I opted to talk back to the comics with an alternate read of the same character.

Also there’s a whole thing where we played Avengers (2012) as an RPG in the style of Film Reroll, but that’s GURPS not D&D.

Anyway, I was lucky in that my siblings decided to start a game and then invited me.  It’s the three of us plus our respective SOs in a group of six, so we’re all connected in RL.  In terms of finding one’s own group...  I’ve seen invites before on Tumblr and FanFictionNet forums, and I know that Discord is always full of people looking for RPGers.  If you don’t mind GURPS instead of D&D, the Film Reroll Subreddit is always full of people looking for players to fill out parties based on movies.  Most parties meet on Skype or Discord instead of in person these days, so adventure is definitely out there.

[kuningannasansa]

A musketeers rewatch (that nobody asked for) 1x07

Here we go, my least favorite episode of the whole show excluding season three which I didn’t watch! If you have even a passing fondness for Ninon, I suggest you look away :)

We start with a royal procession through the crowd and there are quite a lot of waving people there. If they can fill the streets with extras for scenes like that, why can those same extras not be used for the court scenes?

Priest whose name I have forgotten is being robbed. The musketeers rush in to help. 

Meanwhile, a crazy girl tries to get close to the queen and ends up being ran over by her carriage. If this is meant to be some Emily Davison analogy, it sucks!

The dead lunatic’s name is Therese and she wanted to give the Queen a note. Constance takes it and says “Fleur, what does this mean?” Am I supposed to take from that that she cannot read for herself? Cause a merchant’s wife definitely, definitely would know how to do that. 

Fleur is nowhere to be seen, however.

“This is an age of glorious discovery!” says Ninon. “Galileo observes the moons of Jupiter... But what is the role of women in this age of wonder?” - well, gee, i don’t know Ninon. Maybe you could have mentioned some female scientists of the era in addition to Galileo? Catherine de Parthenay, anyone? Or Marie Fouquet? Hell, Ninon de l'Enclos, my atheist queen, for whom this Ninon is doubtless named, was a notable woman in her own right! But no, we have to make women look more oppressed than they actually were to make this waste of space look more awesome. 

“My women of Paris, seek your own enlightenment!” - wrong era!

Therese, an orphan from a humble background, wanted to hand a petition to the queen about women’s education.  

“If she was an illiterate orphan she could not have written this. It is misguided but not unintelligent.” - says Richelieu. And indeed he turns out to be right. She didn’t write it. Which is fucking bizarre. 

Anne asks him if he doesn’t favor women’s education and he replies: “I admire learning wherever it is to be found, but this amounts to an attack on the authority of church and state.” Any French history buff know what the actual Richelieu’s thought of women’s education? @tatzelwyrm​? I’m gonna start a biography on him soon, but not until I’m done with this rewatch.

Ninon barges in past the guards and yells “stay out of my way, I will address the King!”. I’m sure this is meant to make her look badass, but she just comes across like a complete idiot who doesn’t understand that she would do better to follow court protocol, no matter how much she might dislike it, if she wants to achieve her goals.    

Luckily for her she’s pretty, so the king doesn’t mind.

“I want to know why this tragedy happened. If your guards are to blame I want them punished.” And then she gives Treville a dirty look! How dare you, you waste of skin and oxygen! Don’t you dare blame Treville for this mess! 

“You knew this lunatic?” - lmao, Richelieu!

Therese was the daughter of Ninon’s servant whom Ninon decided to educate. So she was educated, she COULD have written the petition herself. But she did not. Because when Richelieu says “she wrote this and was killed trying to give it to the Queen” Ninon screeches: “Don’t be ridiculous! She didn’t write it, I did!” And I mean, who exactly is looking down on servant girls here and saying it’s ridiculous to expect them to write something intelligent. It’s not Richelieu. 

But more importantly, WHY?? If Ninon wrote it, why couldn’t she hand it to the Queen? Why did this poor girl have to die? This is so, so stupid! I mean, okay, maybe Therese heard Ninon speak well of the queen and got the idea to hand her the petition on her own, without being told by Ninon to do so. But why did she have it in the first place, if it’s Ninon’s petition?

“Apparently the Comtesse de Laroque believes herself above the normal laws and conventions of society.” ´- well that’s an understatement.  

“The treasury is bankrupt and the country needs a new navy. Ninon has the wealth to provide it.” And that is why Richelieu sends Milady into the salon to find something to use against her. These two are so good in this, I love their scenes together! Pity about the rest of the episode. 

Richelieu is now freaking out about lesbians and Milady is just like “really, dude? really?”. I love her!

“Ninon must pay up or face destruction, I want every last penny from her!” - so it was not his intention to kill her, just to get the money. Interesting.

Fleur’s father is Bonacieux’s cousin. I love that, the commoners having family connections and support circles of their own.

The robbed priest is called Luca! Richelieu is “delighted to see him”, apparently, cause they’re old friends. And Louis isn’t, because he wrote a pamphlet arguing that Kings should bow down to the Pope’s authority. 

“We can’t have a comtesse abducting young women and spiriting them away to her boudoir!” - Oh, Richelieu! Do calm down.

It’s odd watching Richelieu try to use homosexuality to take Ninon down while shipping Trevilieu thou. 

Athos barges into Ninon’s salon, demanding to know where Fleur is and Milady very discreetly hides behind a pillar. Lol! 

And Ninon starts hitting on Athos immediately. She tells him that she’s often thought he’s handsome but the “melancholy aspect” to his looks is “probably only mental vacancy”. Who taught you how to flirt? Why must you be so abrasive and confrontational all the time? Like really, I get she’s meant to be a Strong Woman Who Don’t Take No Shit TM, but she just comes across like a loudmouth. 

Athos likes it thou!

“Forgive our intrusion-” “I will not forgive it!” - Jesus Ninon, it’s just a figure of speech, a polite gesture. People use these in conversation sometimes. She’s so unnecessarily rude smh.

Aramis says he “gladly acknowledges the superiority of the female sex” and I throw up in my mouth a little. That’s not feminism, that’s slimy!

D’artagnan: “If that wasn’t flirting, I don’t know what is.”  Porthos: “Rubbish! She can’t stand him.”  Aramis: “One day I’ll sit down and explain women to you.” - cause we’re all the same and no means yes, right writers?

Luca: “His holiness is concerned about the direction of French foreign policy.” Richelieu: “Well the pope is Spain’s performing monkey.” - he really is so funny! I know I keep saying that, but he is!

Also, YAY politics! Intelligent dialogue! I love this scene so much!

“In matters of religion I defer to Rome, in all else I am my country’s servant” - lol, Richelieu inventing the separation of church and state

Luca: “Is this your final word on the subject?” Richelieu: “It is.” - and that right there is where Luca decides to kill him. The actor plays it really well, knowing it’s coming I can see the briefest moment of regret in his eyes, but without hindsight I wouldn’t notice anything. And he gives Richelieu the poisoned gift. 

Also, isn't it the same guy who plays Margaret’s new man in Harlots? 

Athos says that Therese and Fleur were so far below Ninon in status that they were not in a position to make choices of their own free will. Which is fuckign stupid. But Ninon saying that she views all women as equal regardless of their birth is equally moronic. I mean, sure, they should be, but in reality they’re not and ignoring that doesn’t help anyone. And Athos does point out that Ninon’s money and position gives her certain privileges, but it sits wrong coming from him and not from Porthos or Milady or Constance, who are from poor/less wealthy backgrounds. That said, this is still one of the few semi intelligent scenes in this whole episode, so whatever. At least someone said it. 

Now she kisses him and invites him to dine! And he just looks sad.

Luca tells Richelieu to “deal with” Ninon “firmly”, cause the Pope is dying and Richelieu could be the next Pope if he shows himself a strong defender of the church against “heresy”. What heresy thou? Women learning to read? Lol, that’s so cartoonishly evil and ahistorical, but whatever. This at least explains where Richelieu’s desire to have her burned came from.

Richelieu: “I wouldn’t go so far as to call her a heretic.” Luca: “A woman who openly defies God's laws, what other word is there?” - what laws thou? what has she done, other than hold some salon meetings, as every other noblewoman was doing at the time?

Richelieu promises to consider his options and Luca tells him to pray to the poisoned bone for guidance, lol.

This right here is Richelieu letting personal feelings cloud his judgement, thou! Which he said he has learned no to do. But he allows himself to be carried away with visions of becoming Pope and honestly I don’t see how he can possibly believe that could happen with his foreign policy and how hated he is by the Vatican, as stated in this very scene.  

Milady and Ninon! I love that scene! Ninon clearly thinks she’s super special because she “takes the initiative” by kissing men instead of waiting to be kissed. She’s so damn smug about it! And Milady is just like “oh I could never be so bold” and I swear I can hear her laughing internally! 

And she very cleverly charms Fleur’s location out of Ninon!

Athos’s idea of a first date is the morgue. Charming.

Athos saying that Ninon is responsible for what happened to Therese because she gave a lowborn girl an education doesn’t sit well with me. Classist ass! But she is responsible for not thinking of Therese beyond how daring and adventurous and fun and positively scandalous it would be to educate a servant girl and then not bothering to care for her when she got bored. Cause if she had done, Therese could have come to her with her plan and she could have prevented her death. Because yes, regardless of her education, her background predisposed Therese to be naive about the King and Queen and how petitions work. Where was Ninon in all this, when a girl under her charge decided to do this foolish thing that cost her her life? Because if you want to be someone’s teacher you do have a duty of care. In short, Ninon is a classist ass as well! They’re perfect for each other!

So Luca’s stolen bag is in the morgue with the body of the thief who stole it. And Athos promises to send for it in the morning. I know it’s CSI: Musketeers and all, but why was it not delivered to Luca the moment it was found, lol? He’s a pretty important guest at the palace and it’s his property. 

Athos agrees with Ninon that marriage is a curse. LOL!

Ninon’s reason for not marrying is that she does not want a husband to own her wealth and body. Makes sense and that’s why many independently wealthy women chose to stay unmarried. Just pointing out the few things that make sense.

“You are a rebellious woman” - oh good, we managed to squeeze the title of the episode into the dialogue! 

Aramis just tossed a red guard out of Ninon’s house. Can’t tell if he’s dead or not, but certainly unconscious. 

There’s fighting. The red guards have swords, the musketeers have books. Athos screams “where is your authority for this!?!” - well, the Cardinal, I’d assume, since they are his guards. Oh bear of very little brain!

Fleur and some other runaway girls are found sleeping in a secret chamber and Ninon is arrested for abducting them.

Athos is all like “you said she wasn’t here” and Ninon tries to explain that Fleur did not want to be found and begs “make them stop” to which Athos replies “sorry, I can’t”, his voice and face making it very clear that he doesn’t want to. Because a woman lied to him! This is the worst crime! Really Ninon is lucky she’s being arrested right now, otherwise she’d end up swinging from a tree.

“Four young women! In their nightwear! I can only speculate as to the horrors they have endured!” - Richelieu really has a bee in his bonnet about lesbians. The days before p*rnhub must have been hard for a catholic cardinal. 

Luca is even worse thou! “Your majesty is joking but Satan is real! And his female familiars are everywhere amongst us.” Jesus christ guys, calm down! Have a wank or something!

“She had the girls, she lied, she brought her fate on herself.” - Oh shut up Athos! Not everything is about you and your relationship issues! As Aramis points out. Thank you, Aramis! And I never believed I’d ever say that.

Ninon/Aramis  > > > > > > > > > > Ninon/Athos

Aramis gives Ninon the cross Anne gave him. This is quite sweet!

“It’s not so easy when you don’t have money” Constance says and she is right. But it’s like the show is saying that the only way women can be independant is if they are independently wealthy like Ninon. But that’s not really true, Fleur could get a job such as a seamstress or pharmacist or grain merchant or actress or even as a secretary now that she knows latin and greek thanks to Ninon. Women did have jobs in 17th century France and even belonged to guilds etc. Not saying that Fleur would not be more financially secure still with a husband, but if she really doesn’t want that she has options and I don’t like how this supposed “feminist” episode constantly erases women’s actual history. 

Fleur’s father rages “what does she need an education for? She’ll be a seamstress until she’s married and then she’ll be a dutiful wife and mother.” But if he is Bonacieux’s cousin then they are in the same social class, that is to say, the merchant class. And merchant women had to keep their husbands’ shops when their husbands were away. They needed to know how to read and write and do sums. They needed this to be an attractive marriage prospect to a husband of their own social class! 

And the father wants to hit Fleur and D’artagnan all heroically threatens him. How boring!

Richelieu: “Many of our young women are educated. It’s not something we’re ashamed of.” Fleur: “Not just embroidery and sewing.”  Me: “WELL OF COURSE NOT!!!”

Then Fleur says Ninon taught them the “secrets of our bodies” and Richelieu is a hound on the scent!

“Be quiet or you’ll be gagged!” - Again Armand, this is neither the time nor the place to indulge your kinks. 

ENTER MILADY! 

She does such a brilliant job of her testimony! This is again her lying about rape and I talked about before why that is bad, but in this case I don’t mind cause it’s for state reasons and doesn’t in any way invalidate her own story the way the thing with D’artagnan does.

Athos completely LOSES HIS SHIT!! Not doing the defence any good there, buddy!

The look she gives him as she walks out is priceless!

Queen Anne to the rescue, bringing clemency from Louis! Clever girl, must have manipulated it out of him! Season 1 Anne was intelligent.

And Ninon ruins it by saying: “I have never consorted with the devil until this moment. I am looking at him.” To which Richelieu replies: “Condemned from her own mouth.” As any person with half a brain would. Jesus christ Ninon, you should have been gagged! For your own safety! 

And then Richelieu stops breathing! And we get Treville’s reaction to it, thank you camera people! Thou Treville mostly just looks confused, like “what is that drama queen doing now?” 

Now he’s twitching! And I’m sorry but it looks hilarious.

Aramis carries him to bed on his back and puts a hand over his mouth. I’m not sure that helps with the breathing issues... 

Louis pushes Aramis out of the way and cries “please don’t die! please don’t die!” aawwwwwwwwwww!

Aramis really saves his life here, huh.

Anne is briefly jealous about the cross and asks Aramis if Ninon is his lover. Lol! She never expected him to stalk her for the rest of her life, she fully expected him to keep lovers.  

Luca: “Satan turned his blood to acid at her command!” Porthos: “We’ll add Satan to the list of suspects.”

Fleur: “You think I poisoned him?” Constance: “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard even by musketeer standards.” - THANK YOU CONSTANCE!

Fleur is to be married to a 40 year old butcher. Poor girl!

“Was it you?” - LOL!

“Half the doctors say you’re doomed, the other half claim you’ll make a full recovery. There’s a lot of professional pride at stake.” - Milady is very funny too! But I’ve always known that! 

“Whatever happens to me, I want you to extract this confession from Ninon.” - translation: it doesn’t matter if I die, the main thing is that France gets that navy. For France, always. I’m amazed by how much he trusts Milady here thou.

Milady thinks the kneebone of St. Anthony is gross and “as much use as the doctors”. Bless her!

Constance very sweetly talks Fleur’s father out of forcing her to marry. Go Constance!

Ninon: “There is nothing worse than a woman who betrays her own sex” Milady: “I can think of a few things, but let’s not argue.” - THIS!! This is my favorite part of this whole miserable episode, because yes, with her background she can think of things Ninon couldn’t possibly imagine. It’s also a fuck you to that “don’t encourage girl on girl hate” line terfs and white feminists always hide behind when they get called out on their bullshit, though this wasn’t the point here. I love how she doesn’t even explain, too. Let’s not argue, cause what’s the point. You’ll never get it.

I do want to stress that Ninon is not wrong for educating other women and she has been unjustly condemned (althou I would argue that she might not have drawn Richelieu’s ire if she went about it in a more subtle, less smug way, for the safety of the girls she teaches if not for her own). But Milady is employed by the First Minister of France and is doing her job here, a job which she depends upon for her own independence and safety. As she says, Ninon didn’t do anything to her, she’s just a victim of circumstance. 

“If you don’t confess, the women of your salon will burn in your place. Surely you wish to save the lives of your accomplices in Satan?” - Milady does a good job of selling it, but if you think about it, that makes no sense. These women have already been publicly proclaimed Ninon’s victims. And if they have legal trouble with burning her alone, how would they manage a whole bunch of them, most of whom are also high ranking noblewomen?

Ninon falls for it thou. Fail!

Richelieu orders Ninon burned and Milady says that the Queen and King won’t like it. Richelieu replies that: “she’s irrelevant and a new navy will soothe his dismay.” He’s really underestimating season 1 Anne here. But season 2 will prove him right, sadly.

“The kingdom of heaven is a dream. Our only life is here.” - Go Milady!

Richelieu says he won’t burn her for heresy but to be careful cause “one day someone else might” and idk, but it comes across like pretty friendly advice, considering what he’s currently doing with Ninon. 

Now he worries he might go to hell! And Milady says he’s already there, lmaoo! I LOVE THIS SCENE!!

They go to the morgue to retrieve Luca’s bag and discover that the thief was poisoned in the same manner as the Cardinal. Thus the plot is uncovered.

“Open his mouth!” “You open his mouth!”

Luca kills a red guard and is about to kill Richelieu (who fights him with a fork!) when the musketeers burst in. And Richelieu curses them for being late!

Richelieu had apparently worked out that it was Luca who was trying to kill him at some point during the night. No idea how. 

Athos begs for Ninon’s life while the pire is already burning. And Richelieu agrees cause burning her is all very “dark ages”, like he said to begin with. He says he’s not a cruel man, just a practical one. But practicality sometimes requires cruelty. He’s not a sadist thou, that’s what he meant and that’s true. 

Athos drags Ninon off the burning pire. So the great feminist character got duped by Milady and then had to be rescued by her love interest. So good, much feminist. 

“As far as the world is concerned, Comtesse Ninon de Laroque died on that pire today.” Richelieu takes her lands, her property and her money and sends her into exile. Then he threatens to execute her if she ever tells anyone the truth of what happened.

“My voice will never be silenced, but I promise you will never hear it.” - the stupidest line of the whole episode and that’s saying something. Seriously, what does this mean? Your voice was silenced! Richelieu got your wealth which you could have used to educate more women. You were completely defeated. Like really, who is the idiot who wrote this? And what made them think this is in any way empowering or even just a satisfactory conclusion to Ninon’s acr?? Ughhhh!!

I do love Richelieu and Milady getting a rare victory thou! 

“Nothing, no person, no nation, no god will stand in my way.” - HOT!

Aramis gets his cross back lol. Otherwise it would have burned. 

Lmao, Richelieu sends Luca’s ashes to rome with a threat to the Pope.

And Capaldi pronounces “Richelieu” in a very strange way. 

Milady: “You do realise you’ll never be Pope?” Richelieu: “It’s an Italian club and largely a clerical position. I prefer something with a little more influence.” - L! O! L!

Ninon plans to open a school for poor girls and be a teacher. Well, idk, I hope she does a better job of it than she did with Therese.

Athos asks Ninon if “Madame de la Chapelle” ever told her anything about herself. And Ninon is like “so you did know her after all?” and he says “in another life” and she warns him to be careful because she has the cardinal’s protection so “a blow against her is a blow against him” and idk, does she realize that Milady was Athos’s wife here? Is that how I’m supposed to read it? He did tell her before that he used to be married.

Then she kisses him and tells him she could have loved a man like him. And she’s just way more into him than he is into her.

Lmaooo, Fleur is not forced to marry and can continue with her education and she’s “sure” that the woman who convinced her father was Ninon. And Constance doesn’t correct her and doesn’t even want the credit, but I’m mad lol, as if Ninon even remembers you exist Fleur!

D’artagnan gives Constance the credit, at least! And then comes his declaration of love, which is actually very sweet and I really liked them together in season 1! Constance is so beautiful in this scene too! It’s very well lit and she’s wearing that lovely dress!

Aaaaand we fade to black on some PG13 kissing and groping! Sorry, this was very long, but there was a lot to complain about.

In conclusion, awful! Like, the thing that bothers me the most is that this token girl power episode would not even have been radical in 1970, never mind today. The message is simply that women should have an education, which no sane person today would disagree with. It’s very safe and bland. And erases women’s real history in the process. It’s almost as if these male writers are congratulating themselves “weren’t things ever so bad Back Then, we are so much more progressive now”, instead of doing the truly radical thing and showing women’s real history, showing women in positions of power running their literary salons and not getting burned for it, showing women as independent businesswomen with an education! Why not give Bonacieux a female rival in the cloth business? Why not go deeper than “women are human beings” and give the episode a truly radical message that still resonates today. After all, we might be ever so educated now but it’s not like women have achieved equality. More on that in this old post: https://kuningannasansa.tumblr.com/post/126434697304/the-problem-of-ninon 

Anyway, I really hope the next episode will be better! 

Red Guards killed: 1 or 2, impossible to really tell

Ladies killed: Therese

Best Dressed: Ninon. She did have some pretty dresses. 

[mxliv-oftheendless]

Ruining KISStory: A Filthy, Filthy Story About Benjamin Franklin

So in celebration of surviving my French midterm (my anxiety over it was through the roof for some damn reason), I decided I would post this crazy little thing for y’all! So in like, actual real life, Shane for a while did his own show called Ruining History, which I totally recommend for you guys to actually watch. So this is a spinoff of my KISS Unsolved AU, appropriately named Ruining KISStory (a name I’m super fucking proud of actually XD), in which our resident Queen of the Trolls Paul Stanley gives us his own creative spin on historical events. And yes, it’s going to be just as chaotic as Unsolved lol. Here’s the link to the original episode if you want to watch that first. 

And now, without further ado, enjoy!

Tag list: @cosmicrealmofkissteria​  @ashestoashesvvi​  @kategwidt​  @retronova​

[camera opens on Paul, who is sitting at a panel. A map of the world is hung up behind him. The sound of tuning violins plays in the background]

PAUL: Some people think history is boring. But I think Benjamin Franklin might have been in some weird sex parties!

[intro, then title card. Grand orchestra music plays in the background]

[cuts back to the panel; the shot has been widened so the entire panel is visible. From left to right: Vinnie, Gene, Paul, Eric C., Tommy. Labels showing their names come up on screen]

PAUL: So what do you guys know about Ben Franklin?

VINNIE: … Kites!

ERIC: Ethics?

TOMMY: Oh! He used the kite and a key and discovered electricity!

GENE: Oh yeah, we learned about that in school.

PAUL: Pretty sure every school tells that story.

GENE: He also helped Nicholas Cage find treasure.

PAUL: [gives him a withering look before turning away] Okay. [Tommy laughs]

[screen cuts away to a title card:

CHAPTER I:

THE AMERICAN OVERACHIEVER

screen then cuts to animations as Paul narrates, while inspiring music you would hear in a film set during the American Revolution plays in the background]

PAUL [voiceover]: Born in 1706, Benjamin Franklin is often thought of as the model American citizen. Throughout his life, he was… well, he was a lot of things. Seriously, a lot of things.

[a list of text boxes appears on screen next to a picture of a statue of Benjamin Franklin:

POLITICIAN

AUTHOR

SCIENTIST

CIVIC LEADER

POSTMASTER

MEDIA MOGUL

INVENTOR

DIPLOMAT

I COULD KEEP GOING BUT YOU GET IT]

PAUL [voiceover]: Beyond all that, though, he seems like the kind of guy you wouldn’t mind having a drink with. But, if you did spend some quality time with Ben Franklin, things might get weird.

[cuts back to panel; Vinnie looks intrigued]

VINNIE: By weird, do you mean [waggles his eyebrows] weird or just eccentric-weird?

PAUL: I mean [waggles his eyebrows] weird.

ERIC: [looks a little nervous] Oh no… I really liked Ben Franklin as a kid.

GENE: Well, he’s gonna ruin the history books for ya, Eric.

TOMMY: Oh is that why it’s called Ruining History?

PAUL: Yep!

TOMMY: Nice, I like that.

PAUL: Thank you. [cuts back to animation sequence]

PAUL [voiceover]: In the years during and after America’s fight for independence, Franklin spent much of his time serving as a diplomat in Europe. And it’s a good thing he did. Author Walter Isaacson has argued that America wouldn’t have won the war without Franklin’s excellent diplomacy in France. It wasn’t all politics, though. At the time, Paris was regarded as one of the most cosmopolitan cities at that time in history. And a wave of cultural enlightenment paired with a strong economy gave the upper class the means to… well… [music intensifies] have many crazy, crazy, crazy… crazy nights…

But we’ll get to that in a second! Franklin seemed to find himself right at home in this environment. To give an idea of his bohemian life abroad, here’s a curious morning routine he picked up during his time in France.

GENE: I bet it was, powder on the balls. [Eric laughs]

PAUL: [snickering] Powder the wig, powder the balls.

TOMMY: Powder the balls, get out on the street, and do something! [Vinnie laughs]

PAUL [voiceover]: While writing to a friend of his, Franklin described his habit of taking what he called “air baths.” Quote, “I rise almost every morning and sit in my chamber without any clothes whatever, half an hour or an hour, according to the season, either reading or writing. The practice is not in the least bit painful, but on the contrary, agreeable.”

[cuts to the left side of the panel. Gene looks uncomfortable, while Vinnie just gives a raised eyebrow]

GENE: I don’t know what it was about how people wrote during this time, but describing sexual acts in this kinda language makes it dirtier than it actually is.

PAUL: There’s nothing sexual about this.

VINNIE: There’s no sexuality here, Genie, your mind is just dirty.

TOMMY: Yeah, he’s just sitting around his house naked.

VINNIE: I mean if the hand just happens to fall…

GENE: Vinnie, I can’t believe I’m saying this to you, but guys—we don’t just jerk off on accident!

ERIC: I mean… I have no idea how to respond to that.

PAUL: I think some guys do.

TOMMY: Peter does.

PAUL: [raises an eyebrow at him while they all turn to stare at Tommy] … How do you know that?

ERIC: I could’ve gone my whole life without hearing that. [cuts back to the animation sequence]

PAUL [voiceover]: Franklin’s social calendar in Europe was full of invites to gluttonous but incredibly classy all-night ragers, where his status as an American statesmen made him a pretty interesting guy. The women of France allegedly couldn’t get enough of him. One account describes hundreds of women surrounding him, placing a beautiful wreath upon his head, and lining up to kiss him.

ERIC: That didn’t happen… right?

PAUL: [shrugs] I dunno, it could have happened.

VINNIE: That sounds like something you would do to your old grandpa, though.

[silence. Everyone on the panel turns to stare at Vinnie in confusion]

TOMMY: What?

GENE: So you’re saying, at family gatherings—

VINNIE: No! I’m just saying, that doesn’t seem like something you’d do to someone you wanna get with. Like, would you put a funny hat on them? No. [silence] I’m just saying, you guys!

[cuts back to animation sequence]

PAUL [voiceover]: Ben’s home life was, according to accounts, equally spicy. When famous painter Charles Willson Peale paid Franklin a surprise visit one afternoon, he spied the elderly diplomat with a young woman seated on his lap. [cuts to a sketch showing a man with a woman on his lap] This sketch of his is believed to depict the two. Kinda weird that he would sketch that, but hey.

[cuts to the panel; everyone is looking at their own copies of the sketch]

GENE: She seems to have a pretty good grip on his balls.

TOMMY: That’s a, a vice-like grip there.

VINNIE: They’re still wearing pretty much everything.

ERIC: Did you guys notice their eyes? Their eyes are open and they’re just staring at each other.

PAUL: Yeah, their eyes are pretty striking.

VINNIE: Yeah…

ERIC: They’re kissing, but it’s, it’s a little unnerving. Wonder why the guy would sketch this…

PAUL [voiceover]: Some historians have evaluated Ben Franklin’s habit of charming the elite women of Europe as a strategic ploy, suspecting that he hoped that they would speak favorably of Franklin and his case for American liberty to their policy-making husbands. But many others argue that he was just a vulgar old man. Author Albert Henry Smith wrote that Franklin’s, quote, “animal instincts and passions were strong and rank.”

VINNIE: [looks mildly disgusted] Well that’s descriptive.

GENE: [snickering]: Y’know, good old animal Ben.

PAUL: An animal…

GENE: Hey, hey: I’m an animal.

PAUL: [stares for a second, then smiles] Ah!

GENE: Ah! [high-fives Paul]

ERIC: Wait, if he was born in… when was he born?

PAUL: 1706.

ERIC: If he was born in 1706… then how old was he when all this was happening?

PAUL: He would have been… probably between his late 60s and early 70s.

[Eric’s face looks very shocked, slowly contorting into disgust]

TOMMY: Oh man, he was as old as my grandpa!

GENE: [shrugs] Hey, if it still works… [cuts back to animation sequence]

PAUL [voiceover]: Based on Franklin’s party-animal-rock-star lifestyle, it makes sense that he would be in the same social circles as some of Europe’s more notorious scoundrels; and so he was. So let us now turn our attention to a man whose life would soon intersect with Franklin’s: Sir Francis Dashwood.

VINNIE: [snickering] Very English name. [mock British accent] Sir Francis Dashwood!

[screen cuts away to a title card:

CHAPTER II

THE FANCY ENGLISH SEX MAN

lighthearted music plays]

PAUL [voiceover]: Born in 1708, Sir Francis Dashwood was the only heir of a wealthy merchant. He’s perhaps best summed up by one author’s description: “An enormously rich man with a genius for obscenity.” Dashwood’s primary interests were seemingly set in stone when in his formative years, he embarked on his Grand Tour, a traditional rite of passage during which wealthy young men traveled through Europe on a cultural odyssey. As Dashwood’s tutor put it, he, quote, “fornicated his way across Europe.” In one instance, he even seduced the Empress of Russia while claiming to be Charles the Twelfth of Sweden, a man who was, at that point, dead.

TOMMY: Wait, did she not know Charles the Twelfth was dead?

PAUL: I mean, if she got fooled by this guy, I’m pretty sure she had no idea.

VINNIE: This was the era before email and the Internet, so word traveled pretty slowly. Also, [laughs] I love how his tutor says he pretty much fucked his way across Europe.

GENE: Wonder how he got her to sleep with him…

ERIC: I don’t think we need to know the details, Gene.

GENE: Maybe you don’t.

PAUL [voiceover; tense music plays]: These travels also inspired Dashwood’s fascination with sacred rituals of the past. He wasn’t really a fan of the religious institutions of his day, but he was simultaneously fascinated with Europe’s rich history. So when he wasn’t womanizing, he was sauntering through dusty catacombs lined with mummified corpses, or sitting in old Roman ruins imagining the orgies of the past. So it’s this odd mutual appreciation for debauchery and sacred history that would lead to Dashwood’s crowning achievement and ultimately his friendship with Ben Franklin: the Friars of St. Francis of Wycombe. Or, as it was more popularly known…

[music reaches a climactic peak as the name appears on screen over burning flames. Paul reads the name]

THE HELLFIRE CLUB!

GENE: Oh shit.

VINNIE: That sounds awesome.

PAUL [voiceover]: Dashwood’s Hellfire Club was meant to attract the most depraved and intellectual men of the time. And over the course of its history, its lineup would allegedly include such notable men as the Prime Minister of England, the Lord Mayor of London, several of England’s greatest artists and poets, the Prince of Wales, and possibly, as evidence would strongly suggest, Ben Franklin. See, Dashwood was publicly known to sympathize with the cause of the American rebels, and he had exchanged letters with Franklin many times. Furthermore, Franklin actually visited Dashwood’s estate at West Wycombe for an extended period in July of 1772, and during his stay, there is a record of a club meeting taking place. According to one author, quote, “there seems to be no reason why Franklin should have gone to Wycombe at this special time unless he was a member. Only club members were allowed at Dashwood’s estate during club meetings.” So, keeping in mind Franklin’s likely involvement, let’s look at what he would have encountered during his visits with the Friars of St. Francis of Wycombe.

The members of the club reportedly donned white monk’s robes, and were each allowed to invite along, quote, “a lady of a cheerful, lively disposition, to improve the general hilarity.” These women also dressed up, wearing nun’s robes and masks to avoid an embarrassing run-in with a husband or acquaintance.

GENE: This is some freaky stuff.

VINNIE: [looks enthralled] This is awesome.

TOMMY: Eyes Wide Shut…

PAUL: [nods] Yep.

PAUL [voiceover]: The first location of the Hellfire Club was on the shores of an island in the Thames River. Shrouded in a thick grove of elm trees, the island was the perfect location for the not-monks to spend an evening with their dates away from the prying eyes of the public. It was also ideal because it was home to the crumbling remnants of an old medieval ruin built in 1160 known as Medmenham Abbey. Dashwood actually set about reconstructing the site, but since he had a flair for the dramatic, he asked that it still resemble a creepy old ruin. But he did install a few upgrades:

A series of stained glass windows depicting the club members in, quote, “indecent poses.”

A brilliant pornographic fresco that John Wilkes, who wasn’t known to shy away from vulgarity himself, described as, quote, “unspeakable.”

And an expansive library stocked with classical literature as well as, quote, “the finest collection of pornographic books in Great Britain.”

PAUL: So to help us get more immersed in what went down at a club meeting, I’ve provided for all of you the proper tools.

[everyone looks under the table and takes out boxes. In the boxes are black robes, 1700s-style hats, some with feathers sticking out, and Venetian masquerade masks that are black and a different color. Vinnie has black and gold, Gene has black and red, Paul has black and purple, Eric has black and orange, and Tommy has black and blue]

GENE: [as they’re all putting on their costumes] Man, you really went all out, didn’t you?

PAUL: Oh, just wait.

ERIC: I will say, I do feel more immersed in the experience now.

TOMMY: This is pretty awesome.

PAUL: Okay, now that we’re all dressed up, let’s get into the juicy stuff!

VINNIE: [looks incredibly excited] I can’t wait.

GENE: [laughs] You look so excited.

VINNIE: Because I am. [bangs rhythmically on the table] Get to the juicy stuff, Paulie!

[screen cuts to a title card:

CHAPTER III

THE DEBAUCHERY BEGINS

slow, tense music plays and animations show events as Paul narrates]

PAUL [voiceover]: In the cover of night, the hooded monks and their dates would arrive to the island on a red gondola. Stepping ashore, they were greeted by the far-off drone of the abbey’s organ and the ringing of a ghostly church bell. Outside the abbey, they’d come upon an ominous statue of Harpocrates, the Egyptian god of silence. [a statue of Harpocrates is shown with a finger over his lips, and a voice that sounds like Paul’s whispers “Shhhhhhut the fuck uuuup…”]

Once inside the abbey, Dashwood would pour his guests a special cocktail of brandy and brimstone, and they’d all raise their glasses in a toast to the powers of darkness.

VINNIE: This sounds fucking a-ma-zing! I love theme parties, and this is just, just fucking amazing. I wouldn’t stay for the sex, though.

GENE: You’d just be there for the theme part?

VINNIE: Yeah, I’d do all this, then when they start doin’ it, I’d just duck out.

PAUL: Also, before we continue, I was actually able to, to make this more immersive… [reaches under the table and pulls out a bottle of wine]

VINNIE: Ooooh, nice!

TOMMY: Is it the brandy and brimstone cocktail?

PAUL: [laughs] Heh, no, it’s not, it’s just wine. I also have… [reaches under the table and pulls out five silver ornate goblets] these babies! [passes them out]

ERIC: [looks over his in fascination] Wow, these are awesome! Where’d you get these?

PAUL: [laughs] The Wizarding World of Harry Potter. [Eric laughs]

GENE: Oh yeah, you took Erin there for her birthday a while ago.

PAUL: Yep, and I got these. [they all pour wine into their goblets and raise them in a toast] To Ben Franklin and the Hellfire Club!

PAUL [voiceover]: With the striking of a gong, the monks would move further into the abbey and file into the chapel. Here, it is suspected they practiced a black mass, in which a woman laid naked on the altar and the monks proceeded to drink sacrificial wine from her navel.

ERIC: We’re not doing that, are we?

PAUL: Oh no, we’re not doing that.

ERIC: Okay…

GENE: [laughs] Disappointed, Eric?

ERIC: No, I just—fuck you, man.

TOMMY: Would’ve been interesting.

PAUL [voiceover]: Now I should say, since I know you’re all wondering, it’s generally thought that the members weren’t actual Satanists, despite all these weird rituals. Some members actually found this aspect pretty boring. John Wilkes actually found the rituals so dull, that he once dressed up a baboon as a demon… bear with me… he locked it in a trunk, and he stowed it in the abbey. Then, when the members called upon Lord Satan to appear, Wilkes pulled a string to release the frightened animal. For a moment, the members stared in disbelief…

… And then they lost their minds.

[music grows chaotic as the animation shows the baboon leaping over terrified figures while screams are heard] The terrified baboon leapt onto Lord Sandwich—yes, that Lord Sandwich, the guy who invented the sandwich—causing him to allegedly shout, “Spare me, gracious devil! I never knew that you’d really come or I’d never have invoked thee!”

[cuts back to the panel, all of them laughing]

VINNIE: I love how, even among this weird society, there was that one guy who was like, “This society is dull!”

PAUL: Also, after this happened, the baboon jumped out the window, and they weren’t able to catch it.

GENE: [laughing] That’s hilarious.

ERIC: [laughs and waves] Bye, suckers!

TOMMY: Bye, Felicia!

PAUL [voiceover]: As the alcohol continued to flow, the monks and their guests might share dirty stories, or read from the era’s more popular works of pornographic literature.

PAUL: I’ve provided you all with a piece of pornography. These are all from a piece published in 1740 called, “A Dialogue Between a Married Lady and a Maid.” So without further ado, [gestures to Vinnie for him to begin] Vinnie?

[dramatic piano music plays as Vinnie starts to read, looking like he wants to laugh]

VINNIE: “There is between the thighs, just at the bottom of the belly, a piece of flesh… Underneath, hangs in a bag, or purse, two little balls, pretty hard, and the harder the better. They call them stones, and in them is contained that white thick liquor.” [he wheezes, then bursts out laughing, joined by Tommy]

GENE: “He took hold of that place which distinguishes us from men. At the same time he cried out, ‘O! I have a maid! A virgin to my share!’”

VINNIE: I love that they seemed to not know the exact words. [laughs]

PAUL: Well, it was a different time. They were more prudish, I think.

VINNIE: True. I’ve seen some stuff online that’s pretty vulgar. There’s this one person online who likes pugs that writes some naughty, naughty stuff. [looks at the camera smirking] You know who you are. I see you.

ERIC: Okay, my turn. “His member was stiff and hard as a horn. Just as he had finished…” oh God, why? “… my mother, who had heard me shriek, came into the room.”

TOMMY: “‘What a happy girl you are!’ said she. ‘Pluck off this smock, which I will keep for a relick, since it is stained with thy virgin’s blood.’”

GENE: [to Vinnie] I feel like we got the lesser of the four passages.

VINNIE: I dunno…

ERIC: You did! Mine and Tommy’s were pretty explicit. You just got a playful description of balls!

VINNIE: Hey, that’s pretty tame compared to some of the smut that’s out there today.

GENE: Fifty Shades of Grey? [Paul frowns and glares at Gene as the rest of the panel silently stares at him] … What?

PAUL: How dare you. [Tommy laughs] How dare you bring that crap into my show. [cuts back to the animations]

PAUL [voiceover]: With bellies full of drinks and minds full of smut, guests would start to pair off and retreat to any of the private cells, which were prepared and stocked with the, quote, “proper objects for lascivious activities.”

[cut back to the panel. Eric is slumped over the desk]

PAUL: [looks over in slight amusement] You okay there, Eric?

ERIC: I just… I don’t even want to know what they got up to.

VINNIE: [grinning and trying not to laugh] It seems pretty obvious to me what they got up to.

ERIC: I don’t want to—

VINNIE: [still grinning] They got some of that dirty rhythm.

GENE: [also grinning] They indulged in some sweet pain.

ERIC: Gene, no—

TOMMY: [just assume everyone is grinning widely] They went for a rocket ride.

PAUL: They rocked hard all night.

GENE: Took each other down below.

ERIC: Guys, c’mon—

VINNIE: Got some tough love.

TOMMY: Pulled the triggers of their love guns.

PAUL: Put the X in—

ERIC: STOOOP!

PAUL [voiceover]: After operating in secret for many years, the details of the Hellfire Club at Medmenham Abbey were recounted in a popular novel in 1760. It captivated the public’s imagination, to the point that tourists would line the shores to try and spot the sex monks arriving. But, not wanting to give up his elaborate sex parties, Dashwood bounced back by having an elaborate system of caves dug on his own private property a few miles away from the abbey, and it was here that the monks of the Hellfire Club continued to have their parties in total privacy. This new location, and the fact that it was gated from the public and accessible only to club members, lends further plausibility to Ben Franklin’s participation. As he once wrote in a letter, “The exquisite sense of classical design, charmingly reproduced at West Wycombe, is as evident below the earth as above it.” Author Daniel Mannix argues that Franklin’s letter must be referring to the underground caves, and also adds that, quote, “Franklin would have been shortsighted if he hadn’t joined the club. He was a diplomat trying to help his country, and the club gave him the entrée to some of the most influential men in England.”

But as the guest lists for secret societies are kind of hard to figure out, we will never know for sure if Ben Franklin really did attend the Hellfire Club. But his documented friendship with Dashwood and his time spent at the estate puts it well within the realm of possibility. And, if you’re left wondering if a sex club fits with Franklin’s moral compass, then let’s take one last look at the man’s true character with some passages from an infamous piece penned by Franklin himself titled, “Advice to a Young Man on the Choice of a Mistress.” This is a letter in which Ben Franklin encourages his friend to go after older women. It was written in 1745, a copy of it sits in the Library of Congress, and it’s kind of gross.

PAUL: And here to read us the letter, through the magic of theatre… [he turns and gestures off camera] Mr. Benjamin Franklin!

[the panel applauds and whoops, then they all start laughing as Ace walks in with a chair, dressed in 1700s style clothing with a wig that is long grey hair sewn to a bald patch, but we can still clearly see his real hair underneath. A text box appears on him as he sits down between Paul and Eric:

NOT A LICENSED BEN FRANKLIN IMPERSONATOR]

ACE/BEN: Tis I, Benjamin Franklin! Who by some extraordinary means, has come to a strange future time!

VINNIE: [has a hand over his mouth while he’s laughing] This is amazing.

PAUL: So, Ben, we’ve learned a lot about you and some possible details concerning your personal life.

ACE/BEN: Okay.

PAUL: But we still have a few questions. Guys?

VINNIE: Why did you enjoy the company of older women?

ACE/BEN: [reads from his paper] “Because as they have more knowledge of the world and their minds are better stor’d with observations, their conversation is more improving, and more lastingly agreeable.” Wouldn’t you say?

VINNIE: [shrugs and nods] Yeah, I guess.

GENE: Wasn’t he like, 70 years old when he wrote this later? How is he so young right now?

ACE/BEN: “Because the sin is less—”

PAUL: No, wait—

ERIC: [bursts out laughing]

PAUL: You have to ask him. He’s—He’s an old man.

ACE/BEN: I’m old.

GENE: Ben?

ACE/BEN: Go ahead, son.

GENE: Why do you prefer the company of older women?

ACE/BEN: “Because the sin is less,” my dear boy. “The debauching a virgin may be her ruin, and make her for life unhappy.”

ERIC: Huh.

GENE: Deep.

TOMMY: Do you have any more reasons?

ACE/BEN: Uh, yeah. [takes out another sheet of paper while Tommy and Eric silently laugh] “Because in every animal that walks upright, the deficiency of the fluids that fill the muscles appears first in the highest part. The face first grows lank and wrinkled; [cut to the left side: Gene is doubled over silently laughing while Vinnie is listening thoughtfully] then the neck; then the breast and arms; the lower parts continuing to the last as plump as ever. So that covering all above with a basket, and regarding only what is below the girdle, it is impossible of two women to know an old from a young one.”

PAUL: So… you’re saying, when you put a basket over their heads…

ACE/BEN: Yeah. I don’t know. [panel bursts out laughing]

VINNIE: You don’t know?! You wrote it!

ACE/BEN: History will tell. History will tell.

PAUL: I, uh, I think history has told. Do you have any final thoughts?

VINNIE: It was a different time, maybe stuff happened that you couldn’t do nowadays.

TOMMY: He got pretty freaky.

ERIC: I mean, it would be a pretty cool movie, but I wouldn’t really want to hang out with him.

PAUL [voiceover]: Well, there you have it, people! Ben Franklin; a surprisingly multi-faceted individual. History: it’s never that boring if you know where to look. That’s been Ruining History. Thanks for learning with us!

[happy-haunts]

The Redhead

WARNING THIS POST IS LONG.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

“Where These Legs Have Been”

I wouldn’t say I had the worst life growing up in the American Colonies but I also wouldn’t say I had the best life either. You see my mother and father still believed there was wealth in Britain, so they urged me to marry a wealthy merchant when I was of age, even though I had a younger sister (Scarlet) who was more than willing to marry a wealthy man. And you can imagine the shock they had when they found me tasting the lips of one of the girl’s whom parents often socialized with mother and father.

I didn’t hate the company of a man but I didn’t hate the company of a woman either, I understood that my parents saw this as some kind of sin - but how much could they count my actions as a sin when they were planning to have me wed to some wealthy British man? And to me that should count as a sin, forcing someone to do something they don’t want to … If I had it my way I would be the ultimate sinner, I would show my legs to anyone who wanted a peek, I would explore other countries, I would flaunt all of my fine silks, I would have an adventure.

As one could probably guess my eighteenth birthday arrived sooner rather than later and without hesitation my parents, sister, and I sailed to Britain, the smell of the salt water air was intoxicating on our voyage and if I had to choose a place to die well I would hope it would be on a boat in the water.

Once we docked in a boring port of Britain my parents had decided upon going to find somewhere to stay the night - my sister and I on the other hand went about trying to find something to do in this town. Which was when we found the Drunkin’ Boar - most of the men entering the bar were either the usual sloppy drunks or whole crews of sailors.

Scarlet was interested to have a go at some of the sailors while they were in a drunken stupor, she had such a tomboy nature about her - wanting to wrestle the boys at home all the time and urging father to teach her how to shoot a gun. And you would think that mother and father would scold her for being so bold, instead she was commended for her feminism - why shouldn’t a girl be able to out-wrestle a boy? A woman should be required to shoot a gun just like a man! Heaven forbid if I want to make-out all day and wear my dresses a little shorter.

But I’m getting carried away, we had decided to head into the bar and see if it was worth our time. Scarlet noticed a few men arm wrestling ,and decided to go see if she could get them all worked up over losing to a girl. I on the other hand wanted to see if I could work up a crowd in another way - so I walked over to the bar and held out my hand to the man on the stool beside it, he gawked at me and took my hand to help me up onto the end of the bar where I took my seat. Once I was seated at a higher level then more of the patrons were starting to spot me, the place was getting silent now as if these slobs had never seen a woman before in their lives! So I sat up straight and proud and said “You boys keep your mouths hanging open like that they’re sure to collect dust.” a couple guys chuckled while another handful shut their mouths and quickly wiped away any kind of drool.

“Hey Red, what brings you to this dump - a fine lady like yourself?” The man beside me asked.

“Well my sister and I just got into town and while my parents look for a place to stay for the night we decided to see what this place had to offer, while we were walking we got so thirsty and our legs were so sore …” I lifted my red cotton dress to expose my fine smooth legs, rubbing my muscles and giving a depressed sigh. “I don’t suppose any of you fine gentleman could help?”

It was a riot in seconds, as soon as they all started trying to throw their money at the bartender- one man stepped on another man who punched him and caused him to run into another man … Basically it was a whole mess. And while that mess was going on I decided to slip behind the bar and grab two bottles of rum and walk right outside where my sister was already standing, oddly enough? She introduced me to a gentleman whom she had won her arm wrestle against- the Captain of one of the British ships which were currently taking down any Spanish ship they came across due to the disagreements with … part of Spain at the moment.

“I see he bartender has taken a liking to you.” He commented and gestured his head towards my bottles.

“Ah- Yes! I have that effect on people sometimes.”

The Captain had looked back to the bar with a confused look on his face, then back to me. “Is everything alright in there? It sounds like a brawl.” ”Oh well, you know how men can be with the Devil’s poison in their system!” I turned away from the two of them and began to start for the main street, but my sister kept the conversation alive even when I was trying to let it die!

“You know Captain I’m sure my parents would love to meet you.”

“I’m not so sure I could impose on your family if you have all just gotten into port like this.”

“Oh no they wouldn’t mind at all, right Red?”

I shrugged in response.

“...Eh… Right.” Scarlet sighed and grabbed onto the Captain’s arm. “Lets call it my prize for winning at arm wrestling.”

“Well when you say it like that how can I say no?” He chuckled and that was that, we were taking some strange man home to our parents, like finding a purebred stray and asking mother and father if we could keep it.

My parents of course loved him, he was British blood and he was wealthy from plundering all those Spanish vessels. And if no one has guessed by now - yes he did ask me for my hand in marriage as arranged by my mother and father, but I made a deal with my fiancee that I knew would enrage my parents once they found out. I asked my fiancee to take me aboard his ship because I must first know him as a Captain before I can know him as a husband, and what do you know.. He agreed, that is as long as I would bring my sister along for … “safety reasons”.

After that most of the time we spent on the ship together was basically me being his trophy, he told me about how much he despised working under the crown since he had to always look a certain way or act a certain way because as the Captain of this ship which is sailing Britain’s flag then he is representing the people of Britain and her King. It sounded boring, after awhile looting the Spanish ships got boring as well … Because it was all about “the king” this and “the king” that.

Thankfully the dispute with Spain had ended and we could go back to port where my parents were waiting for us, but my fiancee had a better idea. He proposed that we forget the King, forget the navy, forget all of their rules and plunder other ships instead - we would wave a black flag and take what we wanted without anyone telling us how we could act or what ships we could touch.

I loved it.

They were fighting off British ships one day and the next they were in the Caribbean, we would take their food and their drink, take their gold and their pearls, and I would get to be more than just a trophy! I lounged in the crows nest with my skirts up to my knees, I strutted across the deck with my heels clicking on the floorboards, and my sister learned how to sword fight.

Yes, scarlet was still on board when the Captain decided to leave Britain but it wasn’t as if my sister was a total bore- she would join the crew and the Captain in fighting and plundering, and I never needed to worry about my sweet little fiancee because she was already talking his ear off and keeping him occupied.

Years went by and our days of piracy would start to grow repetitive, we had begun to ransack ports and towns to try and show some variety but in the end a pirate’s life was starting to not be for me. So maybe I was starting to want to settle down? Maybe to go back to something more permanent, but every time I considered this I laughed at myself - settle down? Me? Of course not!

But the Captain was considering something like this as well, he was getting old and fighting through ports was starting to tax him, but before he wanted to retire he wanted one last great theft. The theft of his crew.

He had confided in me about this and told me he would split the treasure with me so we could go off to an island and live forever surrounded by our gold. And while it wasn’t my ideal way to sped the rest of my life it surely was better than baring his children and cleaning his suits.

The plan was to raid a port and distract the crew with something while we loaded all their loot onto the ship and sailed away into the dead of night, I was prepared with a distraction already because I knew exactly what at least %90 of these men wanted and that was a woman.

So we had an auction, I talked to the women of the town and had them play along with me as the auction took place - none of them would be going home with the crew since I had their finest iron pans, rolling pins, and brooms tucked away under their dresses so they could cause a commotion after the auction and after the Captain loaded the ship so I could sneak onto the ship as well. You can be sure that I was flattered how the crew shouted “We wants the redhead!” as I exposed my superstructure so to speak.

Once the women began to fight back I started running back to the ship in my fine silk red dress, only to stop as I saw Scarlet standing by the row boat to the ship with the Captain.

“Are you coming with us?” I asked, but Scarlet didn’t say anything in response, she was clenching and un-clenching her hands like she was on edge. “What’s wrong? Has something happened?”

“Your sister and I are engaged.” The Captain spoke with his voice low, almost as if he was disappointed in himself.

“Alright… That’s fantastic but we can celebrate after we get along with the loot.”

“No, Red …” The Captain sighed, “We’re not getting along with the loot, your sister has confessed she has loved me since we met in the bar, and since we started fighting side by side she wishes to do this until she dies by the blade.”

“Fantastic then let me at least be off with my half of the loot.”

“No. Red. You know of the betrayal against the crew …”

“Yes but it’s not like I’ll tell, I’ll be on an island!” ”We can’t take that chance, harlot.” Scarlet spoke now, “You think you can just hypnotize man after man with your body and your words but how does it feel, how does it feel to have your prize taken from you?” I was almost sorry I didn’t have more of a reaction for her to feel proud that she might have broken me.

“Prize? He is hardly my prize, none of those drooling animals in this crew is my prize, none of the idiots we had stolen from were my prize, I was told if I had a prize it was a sin … So I apologize sister but I’ve never had the chance.”

“You SLUT!” she shrieked, she became even more enraged at my indifferent shrug and beat me unconscious.

The next thing I knew my head was covered by a sack and I heard whispers while we rocked in a boat.

“Why do we have to dump her here?” it was the Captain’s voice.

“Because she is still my sister and it is only right that we dump her at our hometown.”

“This has been an inconvenience to the whole crew to do this.”

“They’ll get over it, I can’t believe how many of them actually got choked up over hearing about her death! She didn’t even care about them.” the rowing seemed to stop then and I felt hands on my back as well as behind my knees, then a grunt and I was engulfed in cold water only to be plunged downwards by something heavy right afterwards.

My hands were bound together behind my back as well as my ankles tied together to whatever was keeping me below, I struggled to try and grab the rope at my ankles but with the bag tied around my head I was fighting a loosing battle.

And then the cold water filled my lungs, and then there was nothing.

Bad Love

I was surprised to open my eyes again and to be on the grassy bank of a river, it was then I put together the river was where my sister and her fiancee dumped my body to die. But if I was dumped to die then how am I alive right now? I looked at my hands and screamed, they were glowing with a red light and I could see the grass through them, I could feel my body- I felt solid … I took in my surroundings, it seemed like I was in a graveyard…? A graveyard that surrounded a rather dark intimidating mansion.

“Well… Might as well ask for help.” I made my way to the front doors and walked through, inside was just as macabre. Everything was covered in cobwebs, bats were the decorations of choice for most of their furniture and candelabras, and a dark feeling seemed to settle upon me.

I heard talking from behind two grand doors, walking through them I saw a tiny little ghost (I presumed) and she was being put down by several other “dancing” ghosts apparently. It was all about how she was a handicapped ghost with no legs, and I am not the nicest person but I am not so cruel to discriminate someone who has no legs … And she was kind of cute.

So I decided to take the dancing ghosts down a notch and leave with this little cutie - whom I found out was named Emily.

We started a tour which turned into a mission to deliver a key chain to some murderess in the attic from the Ghost Hostess of this mansion, I was mainly on board with going to the attic because Emily was so small and she seemed terrified of this hatchet woman.

Once we got to the attic was when I knew I was staying in this mansion for the rest of my undying days.

Her ghostly aura was the color of a deathly blue hue, her yellow eyes sparked with murder, and her smile was so sinister that I knew she was up to no good. The way that Constance Hatchaway spoke about her husbands that she killed sounded like everyday of my living life- her parents telling her who she could and couldn’t court and they were only allowed to be a man. This was also when I realized how many years had gone by and metal inventions were ruling this world and if I wanted to I could have as many women as I wanted.

I could have Constance if she would have me.

Thus began my attempts at courting her.

Courting Constance was maddening! She was intelligent and knew that I was hopelessly in love with her ever since we met in the attic. I brought her books from the library - since the disembodied voice told me that they have the worlds most famous ghost writers in their collection, but she seemed to giggle at the books as if my attempt was childish! Another time I brought flowers to her with all the heads snipped off, and upon her asking where the flower part was I said “They’re your axe-husbands!” She placed her head in her palm and shook her head.

I confided in Emily for help trying to win Constance’s heart, since Emily was obsessed with romance.

And what she suggested was … Something only Emily would suggest.

“Oh, well she is still a woman so she wouldn’t want anything from you, she would want to know how you feel about her! Tell her how beautiful you think she is, not a pick up line but actually how you see her, tell her how you really feel about her - about how your love makes you feel, and be your long legged self.” She placed her rather tiny hand on my upper arm since she struggled to actually reach my shoulder.

“Feelings are pointless.” I had stated, which seemed to break Emily- if her glowing heart wasn’t showing through her chest I swear it would have actually shattered.

“If you don’t tell her your feelings then she will never know how you feel about her, no about of headless flowers are going to do you any good.”

I rolled my eyes in response and sighed, I might as well try it at least once.

And so I made my way up to the attic to Constance and pushed open the door, she was standing by the window as always and watching the graveyard below where the ghosts were drinking, singing, and doing things that only dead people could do. (removing heads, shooting each other in the face, and ect.)

“Come with more gifts?” Constance laughed lightly and looked at me but was puzzled when there was nothing in my hands.

“No, I just came with … me.” I could feel myself getting warm, could ghosts blush? If they could then I was sure that I was doing it right now. “You’re beautiful.” I blurted out as fast as I could, this felt as if I was taking off all my clothes in front of her - as if I was even more transparent than I already was, I walked through my life completely closed off to anything outside of me, but at this moment I was so willing to show her in my heart where no one has touched me since I was a child.

“Red?” Constance was stepping towards me and took my hand, “What did you say?”

“You’re beautiful, like sea-glass reflecting against the bluest ocean - your words dance out of your mouth like a ballet and they have dance through my head even now, but even if I went mad from hearing you speak everyday of my life- er … death, I would be glad to have gone mad by your doing.” She was blinking as if not expecting what was happening, but I couldn’t stop now. “I love you, Constance Hatchaway, and if loving you means I must have my head removed then so be it, I will part with any of my limbs if you’ll love me as well-”

“Oh! Yes!” It was my turn to be surprised then, she was so quick about her answer.

“Y-yes?”

“Of course Red! What? Did you think that I wouldn’t?”

“You never seemed to respond to any of my other attempts at courting is all.”

“It was charming! You were always charming!” She threw her arms around my neck and I tasted her lips- softer than any lips I had kissed when I was human, and even more alive.

If this was a sin then I was sure I was sinning just right.