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fayes-fics · 3 months ago

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Il Ballo del Doge

Pairings: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader, Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, modern AU (threesome)

Summary: At the most exclusive event during Carnevale di Venezia, you find yourself sat between two irresistible, handsome brothers…

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, MMF threesome, no incest. Modern AU with Regency masquerade roleplay. Sexual acts with strangers. Very light dom/sub undertones, dirty talk, praise kink, frottage, handjob through clothing. Mentions of cunnilingus, blow jobs, vaginal sex, exhibitionism, sex in front of a crowd.

Word Count: 3.7k

Author's note: An exercise to warm up my writing muse that spiralled into a dirty-talking threesome 🤷‍♀️😬 This is modern AU with the boys dressed in Regency masquerade ball garb. Fic title is the name of the most exclusive ball during Carnival. Thanks to @colettebronte for quickly wading through this utter filth. Err enjoy 🧡

Venice.

Carnivale.

A masquerade ball ripped from the pages of history - an opulent smorgasbord of cabaret, circus and epicurean feast, held in a sprawling Venetian palazzo. You are stunned as you arrive; grand architecture ablaze with countless fire torches, jugglers and semi-nude performers under heavy garlands of flowers and vines while champagne overflows into towers of coupe glasses: a modern bacchanalian celebration, a luxurious escape for the rich and connected.

You have saved for years to be here - a once-in-a-lifetime trip. This ball is one night of fantasy and sensual indulgence. Detached from reality, you are plunged into another world behind a Columbina demi mask and elaborate costume picked from an atelier.

So when you find yourself sitting for the banquet between two tall, broad-shouldered, strong-jawed men with aristocratic British accents a few hours into the event, it feels enthralling to flirt with them both. The over-the-top theatricality of the setting and the masks you all wear lend an air of anonymity that makes you unusually daring. They are dressed sharply in full Regency garb, a cut that emphasises their appealing physicality. One of them leans in close as you finish the final course of the night; the meal has been a perfect symphony of flavour building upon the last dish.

“Pray tell, my fair lady, what do you wish for tonight?”

“A night I will never forget.”

Your response is truthful but intentionally enigmatic, craning to whisper into his neck, inhaling his delicious, unique, custom-blended aftershave.

“May I assist with that?” He proposes, intent evident from the tone he invokes.

“Perhaps….” You coquette, revelling in the delicious array of possibilities before throwing down a daring gauntlet: “Can you promise to be memorable?”

He huffs a throaty laugh.

“I most certainly hope I can. But safety in numbers may be most prudent to ensure it. Perhaps my brother can assist in such endeavours?”

He nods to the man sitting on your other side, who turns towards you, smile crooked under his demi mask.��

“I am seated between two brothers?!”

“A Viscount and a renowned artist, no less,” the first man crows, a self-assurance there that speaks volumes to the veracity of his claim. And you can well believe it. Events such as this exclusive ball are the playground of the elite, after all.

“Which of you is the Viscount, and who is the artist?” You query, your gaze moving from one to the other and back again.

The other man leans in. “Now that would be telling, wouldn’t it? And where is the fun in that?” He hums, his breath ghosting through the tendrils of hair around the ribbon ties of your mask.

“I am Ant, and my brother here is Ben,” the first man explains, “and that is all you need to know.”

You offer your name before tilting your chin to the stage before you. “The evening's entertainment is about to recommence, though, gentlemen.”

“You will not need to miss a thing,” Ben answers blithely. “We can give you an experience like no other without you even having to leave the very chair you sit in.”

You can’t help the bubble of sceptical laughter at that bold statement. “How?”

“We will talk you through pleasure,” Ant intones, his voice dripping with a confidence that is skating the edges of arrogance. “We will not even need to touch you. In fact, I rather like the onus that we will not.”

You pull an incredulous face. “I’d like to see you try…”

“Oh, my fair lady, that attitude is just a red rag to the proverbial bull,” Ant cautions, voice like smooth velvet sliding over your skin.

Part of you wants to scoff and walk away, part of you wants to be stubborn and prove them wrong, but the biggest part of you, from your neck downwards really, wants them to do just that. Bring you pleasure. Here in public. In this loud, raucous, decadent room filled with hundreds of people.

“Go right ahead gentlemen,” you challenge, your tongue deciding for you as you raise an eyebrow to them each in turn.

Ant reaches around behind him and produces a long, black, polished walking cane. “Fortuitously, this came as a part of my costume,” he offers before pausing a beat to employ a clipped, brusque tone: “Open your legs.”

To your own astonishment, you obey reflexively. With a smirk, Ant slides the cane between your legs, still covered in voluminous skirt layers. He hooks its tip through the foot rung in your chair, then leans its ornate filigree round handle against the dining table in front of you. He rearranges the heavy tablecloth over it and around your lap to completely conceal the cane’s presence.

“Something for you to pleasure yourself against, subtly, of course,” Ant breezes as your head whips to look at him, startled by his matter-of-fact suggestion.

“Do not concern yourself,” Ben reassures. “There is far too much noise and distraction in this vast room for others to know or frankly care. Their attention will also be diverted to the stage and the performers. That is, if they are not themselves being pleasured. There are as many people to be found under these tables as people sitting around them, especially by the end of the night,” his opinion sounding very much based on experience rather than conjecture.

“Shuffle forward in your chair,” Ant encourages, and again you find yourself doing his bidding. The many layers of your costume scrunch between your legs as you close your thighs around the thin cane, a throb already in your silken underwear at how daring this is, allowing two virtual strangers to do this to you.

“Perfect,” Ben compliments just as the music pipes up loudly and a troupe of dancers take to the stage.

Ant places two napkins on the table before you.

“If either of us says or does something that you do not like, pick up the serviette closest to that person, and we shall desist,” he explains, a surge of pleasure that you are being given all the power to direct their behaviour.

“Men of honour,” you comment, impressed, as both men subtly shift their chairs closer, turning into your body slightly.

“We are gentlemen.”

“It is a privilege for us to do this.”

A spike of lust races through you at their dulcet tones, so close up now.

“And what should I do if I like what you are doing? For you not to desist?”

You feel more than see the matching smiles on either side of your face.

“Oh, believe me, we shall know…” Ben chuckles richly, “and we will keep doing so until you are satisfied.”

Something in that smoky promise makes your pulse all over, and you swallow heavily, a flush creeping over you at their proximity. You can tell no one is paying the three of you any heed, though, with all attention around you glued to the magnificent performers.

“You may touch us anywhere you wish,” Ant tempts, knowing your eyes have flitted down to the fit of their costumes a few times already, expensive wool wrapped tight around shapely thighs.

“But it doesn’t matter how much you beg; we shall not touch you,” Ben adds teasingly.

You bite your lip, already squirming in your cushioned seat. The tautness of the fabric between your legs due to the cane there has your clit swelling.

“Now, I rather suspect this fair lady likes a mental picture to be painted…” Ben begins.

“I think you might be right, brother,” Ant concurs. " You are the expert in such matters, after all.”

“So you must be the Viscount…” you crow, almost triumphant, turning fractionally towards Ant.

“Well, aren't you the clever girl?” he hums; that choice of words has a curl of heat unfurling in your gut.

“Of course she is,” Ben cuts in. “If there is one thing we can tell, it’s that you are an independent, smart woman. Who else would travel to Venice and attend such an event all alone? And yet… and yet…. secretly what you crave, what you would never admit to, is just how wet it gets you to be praised and told you are such a good girl, hmmm?”

You exhale shakily, slightly unnerved that he has been able to hit the bullseye so readily but so thrilled for the endless delicious prospects this could portend.

“But how good of a girl can she really be when what she most wants is for us to fuck her right here in public?” Ant piles in; his use of that phrase has you inhaling sharply, taken aback at how quickly it has escalated.

“Don't pretend you don't want that,” Ben clucks. “Your perfect little clit is throbbing right now at the idea, isn't it? Picturing these crowds of people watching, salivating and wishing it were them inside you. Watching as you claw at this table and take us both in turn….”

You are indeed clutching the side of the table already, nails digging into the wood through the cloth, breath stolen by just how explicit they are being. And yet, as promised, they do not lay a finger on you except the press of their clothed thighs against yours where they surround you on both sides. You rock further forward in your chair without even realising, needing to feel that hard rod against your slit, the relief that pushing yourself against it will bring.

“I rather think you would demand our tongues first, though,” Ant remarks casually.

“Oh, I wouldn't doubt it,” Ben agrees. “For us to throw your legs over our shoulders and feast upon you. Run our tongues over and over until you are shivering and pulling our hair, directing us just where you want us. I suspect you are the type who wants to taste yourself in the mouth of those who pleasure you. For them to kiss you with their tongue thick with your arousal, face glazed with your juices.”

You are breathing ragged, honestly spellbound by their ability.

“And I bet you taste delicious. Like ripe berries, sweet but tart,” Ant contends. “A flavour that bursts on the tongue like a fine wine.”

He reaches for his glass and waits for you to watch him take an indulgent sip, the bob of his Adam’s Apple as he swallows. But he allows a drop to escape around the corner of his mouth dribbling a line that you track covetously, tongue feeling heavy, wanting to lick it from his hint of chin stubble.

“Remember, you can touch. That includes with your tongue, sweet girl,” he goads before using the pad of his thumb to wipe away that tempting trickle provocatively.

You can’t help the light moan that escapes your lips, grinding against the pole he has placed between your legs; the spike of pleasure it causes as it crushes your clit has you shuddering.

“That’s it,” Ben gusts. “Treat that swollen little pearl just a little rough. I bet all those layers of fabric are just adding to the exquisite ache….”

His hand lands on the table next to yours, not touching but close enough that you can see how long and shapely his fingers are compared to your own. He swirls his pointer and middle finger slowly on the tablecloth in a circular motion. An intentional tease that you stare at, your hips somehow syncopating with the speed of his movements, imagining that very hand buried between your thighs.

“That’s it,” he repeats, “not too fast, not too slow.”

“Just enough to make you reckless with need,” Ant interjects. “You would do anything we told you to if we got you to that sweet spot, wouldn’t you?”

You nod without even realising it.

“Oh, I know it,” Ant gloats. “I would tease you for so long you forget your own name. Clit so swollen you can’t cross your legs. Begging and pleading for relief…”

These men use words like finely-honed weapons. Each phrase is seemingly expertly designed to take you apart at the seams. Your hands splay out on the table, and you grab each of theirs, clutching the back of their knuckles into your palm as you rub yourself shamelessly.

“You get the prettiest flush when you’re aroused,” Ben whispers, his eyes flitting down to your décolletage. “I wonder how far it goes? Does it keep going all the way to those pretty, puffy lips that are wrapped around that cane right now?”

The way he says it conjures the thought of your mouth wrapped around a cock; in no doubt that both of theirs are likely sizeable.

“I know what you’re thinking of,” Ant murmurs darkly as you keep writhing, a bead of sweat running down your spine into your underwear. “I know you are a dirty little thing who loves to be on your knees as well. I can tell how much you love the power. Having a man vulnerable in your mouth. Their rapt attention begging you to suck a little harder, a little deeper.”

“She loves to tease,” Ben surmises as they lean in closer, both lips dusting the shell of your ear. “Little strands of saliva roping from your lips as you pull off and look up goadingly through your lashes. You love to feel the tremble of thighs under your palms, don’t you? That feeling when your lips are all swollen and your cheeks aching from all that sucking. But most of all, you love to have a man come undone in your mouth. To swallow every drop you have earned…”

You are panting openly, harshly, your mouth filled with saliva as you imagine how tasty they likely are, a sweetness that makes it pleasant, addictive almost. A yearning for either to stand up, unzip right now and offer you their cock to suck upon. All around you, lights swirl, and the music swells louder, obscuring what is happening at this table. The most risqué you have ever behaved, wantonly frottaging yourself as two strangers, albeit handsome refined gentlemen, spout utter filth.

“Tell me how you’d fuck me,” you demand, gasping, rhythmically crushing your throbbing clit, wanting to come so bad your skin itches.

“I’d go first,” Ben huffs, his breathing uneven now too. “You’re already dripping down to your knees from our tongues; you can take me, can’t you, sweet girl?”

Again, you find yourself nodding; your lip darkened from your incisor tooth snagging upon it.

“I think what you might enjoy is being face down,” he rumbles dangerously. “So you can’t see everyone watching you at first. Just hear their shocked but approving noises. Your forehead on this tablecloth as I place a hand on your spine to quell your quivering from behind. Drag your hips over this table and plough right into your weeping little cunt.”

That word is the catalyst. You can no longer hold back. Your hands fly into both of their laps and grab their thighs forcefully, loving the feel of warm, latent muscle as your fingers curl into their quads.

“Oh, you like that…” Ant assesses correctly.

You hiss your assent as Ben continues.

“You are so perfect for me, aren’t you? Such a pretty pussy, all swollen and puffy and soaked as I split you open. I’m not going to go slow because that’s not what you want, is it? You want sharp thrusts, your toes leaving the ground with each snap, pressed hard into the table, your nipples rubbing just a little raw inside your corset. You want your entire body to jerk with each thrust, clit catching the table edge….”

Your responding yes is sibilant, as all around you, the frenzy of entertainment continues, spotlights swirling, performers contorting themselves in a seeming match for your fever.

“You want my hands clamped on your hips, tugging you back into my cock. Curled over you and praising how well you take it and what a good girl you are for me and for letting everyone watch. You feel so divine, squeezing my cock so tight that my eyes roll. Butttt…” he rolls that last letter in his mouth as if a tasty treat, his hand flexing on the table. “My poor sweet thing, just as you are babbling, clawing and moaning so beautifully, drooling onto this cloth right here, I'm going to pull out and leave you wanting, for we are not ready to have you come again. Not yet, my sweet girl. We want you mindless, to build you up so many times over that you are aching. The reward will be so much sweeter for you in the end that way, won't it?”

No one has ever talked to you in such precise, poetic detail before. Your hands grasp their thighs roughly, but they maintain their promise, even as you see the mutinous desire in the flex of their bodies, a muzzled yen to touch you back. It makes you need them more, how much control they can exert despite wanting the opposite. You are shameless in your motions now, pushing yourself towards that high; part of you wishes to plunge your fingers into yourself, and part of you wants to see if you can orgasm untouched, coming undone with just their words and friction.

“Don't stop,” Ant gasps. “Make yourself come, sweet girl.”

“I want to grab both of your cocks,” you confess rapidly, the truth tumbling from your lips as you ratchet higher.

“Do it…” Ant dares you, as out the corner of your eye you can see his are glittering darkly, pupils blown.

They both growl as you twist your wrists and slide your hands greedily up their laps, shamelessly palming their erections, straining against their trousers under the table. The heat and mass of them both has your pussy quivering, knowing from this touch alone just how satisfied you would be to feel either or, ideally, both of them fuck you. Their grip on the table has their knuckles turning white as Ant speaks anew, a tinge of desperation in his words that has you gleeful.

“My brother has had a little of his fun; now it's my turn. And I think you are ready to see all those gathered around you, even those onstage gazing down upon you. So I am going to flip you over, my sweet girl. Place your ankles upon my shoulders, that drenched little slit ruining my trousers before I tug open my fly and take you too. How prettily you howl my name as I slide into you. This sturdy table is going to squeak, isn't it? You are such a demanding thing, ordering me to fuck you harder, your hands clawing at my jacket, your heels clicking together behind my head. Perhaps my brother needs to be on the other side of the table, holding your shoulders down so all can see. Maybe even ripping open your dress, your beautiful breasts bouncing with each thrust I take, my good girl. You want this and so much more, don’t you? For me to fuck you endlessly right here, right now….”

And it's true. You yearn for what they promise. For them to bury their tongues between your thighs, for you to be on your knees before them, sucking the very life out of their cocks. For them to throw you onto this same table and fuck you so hard and thoroughly, you leave fingernail marks on the wood. To have the whole crowd watch as you near peak after peak until you are a swollen, fucked-out mess. Craving nothing but more, another orgasm, that mind-blowing pleasure that makes you soar high above as well as stay rooted so deep in your body you feel a weight in your bone that is pure rapture.

And just like that, you are breaking, burying your face into Ant’s neck as you wrap an arm around Ben’s. Shuddering violently as you crest that edge, febrile pleasure breaking over your skin, each cell of your body seeming to snap taut and then relax into waves of bliss, floating somewhere high above the sparkling chandeliers that hang from each beam. Dimly, you hear them murmuring your praises, but it's muffled by the rush of blood in your head. It seems to last forever, jerking and spasming against that cane, wanting instead to feel their weight on top of you, their cocks spurting deep within you as you reach that peak in harmony. When you come back to yourself, you realise your hands are still unconsciously squeezing their cocks through their clothing, and suddenly you snatch your hands from their laps.

“Don’t you dare come,” you snarl, as they groan enchantingly, so close and yet denied at the very last moment.

“Why?” Ant puffs, a vein on his forehead pulsing beguilingly.

“Because I need you to fuck me…” you grit out between your teeth. “Both of you,” you add, addressing Ben, his whole body quaking as you utter it.

Even though your knees feel like jelly, you push back your chair, the cane clattering to the floor and rolling under the table, forgotten, as you stand up and grab their hands, hauling them from their seats. You are uncaring if anyone stares at you, costumes dishevelled and askew, as you march towards the exit. Neither resists as you tug them out of the ballroom, down the long grand stairwell and outside to the gondolas lined up on the dock, ready to ferry people back to their hotels.

“I have one requirement…” you practically bark as you push them both down onto a seat, twisting to name your hotel to the gondolier behind you, his smirk unmistakable.

“Which is…?” Ant prompts, staring up at you as you tower over them, your eyes drawn inexorably to the unmistakable outline still nestled in both of their trousers.

You take a seat on the bench opposite them in the narrow boat. Wordlessly pulling up your layers of skirt and peeling down your ruined underwear, tossing them into the canal as they stare covetously, likely catching a glimpse between your legs before you roll your skirt back down.

“You had both better fucking touch me...” you finally reply.

They throw their heads back and laugh heartily, twisting to look at each other briefly, seeming to communicate silently before their gazes land back on you, almost predatory.

“You can bloody count on it,” they growl in unison.

masterlist • wips • taglist (must follow this blog to be tagged)

Anthony & Benedict taglist pt 1: @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @elizah99 @fictionalmenloversblog @debheart @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @amanda08319 @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @ferns-fics @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23

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rebelssvy · 2 months ago

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the head knight ✧.*

fantasy! kirishima x reader

*ೃ༄

summary: smuttyyyy kiri is an EATER. you work in a pleasure house and he comes to steal you away at one condition. he HAS to make you feel good.

this is my first take on the whole fantasy world. so far i have soooo many ideas. can’t wait to write more :))

you were nothing but a mere whore used up by random knights of passers by. the magic in your heart was drained and nothing could light the flame that was dim within you. war and war again took everyone you loved, the struggle for money left you with little options. you needed to live.

selling your soul to the whore house was the clear option. men loved you, no reason not to get paid for your actions. the ways they loved you though, it wasn’t love. you were used. time after time they would use your body and leave without second thought. it’s not that it bothered you, but you knew the feeling of love was fleeting from your body.

until he came along. one of the best knights your lonely kingdom has seen in years. wielding nothing but a sword he was known for killing with his hands. the sword was more of a accessory. his hair was on the longer side and scars were prominent along his body.

you treated him just like any other client. this was your job.

sporting a long lacey lingerie that resembled more to a dress. you lay in the bed plush with feather pillows. waiting for your soul to be taken apart yet again.

without a knock at the door a man the size of the frame walked through. you had seen in of course, on the day you spent away from the pleasure house. he stuck out among the crowed. no matter how tall you are, he towered above you.

he stumbled when he played his eyes upon you. a slight stagger on his feet that you noticed, you took it as soreness from his battles.

before you could say anything, his voice picked up just a whisper. “what’s your name..?” his deep voice was hushed.

“y/n. but you can call me anything you want here. my name is yours.” you said crawling to the foot of the bed.

he moved closer to you, standing above you almost inbetween your parted legs. “y/n…” he repeated. “that’s a beautiful name.” the slight blush on his face made you smile. he was sweeter than most.

“can i ask you your name?” you said looking up at him. you were certain you were truly stunning right now.

“kirishima ejjirou. call me eijirou, head knight of the academia.” he said bringing a hand up to your face. his calloused fingers were rough and they touched your push skin.

“well, ‘head knight of the academia’..,” you joked before finishing your reply. “i’m yours for as long as you want me, eijirou.”

you could here is breath stop for just a second. almost a gasp. you swear you also heard him praise the Gods before leaning down and pressing his lips to yours.

it wasn’t like the kisses you normally receive, it was loving, lacking of lust.

“if i make you feel good, genuinely in our moments together, be truthful, because i would spend the rest of my life with you.” he said after parting lips. you gasped at his words.

“you don’t know me, eijirou. you don’t want a life with me.” you said hushed, your body felt hot and tears pricked at your eyes. your whole nervous system felt like it had flipped on its head. “i am a lowly girl from a pleasure house. know that.” you said looking away from him.

he used his hand to tilt your face back to his, you had to look at him.

“you are the prettiest person i’ve ever seen. please y/n, i’ll beg even. please. i would fight a million wars for you if it meant i could come home to your face.” he had now dropped to his knees, his face lied on your thighs. “let me get to know you.”

instead of giving him a verbal answer, you moved slowly, picking up his head and gently standing him up. you both came to your feet. you moved his body onto the bed, his head resting on the pillows. stripping him of his clothing. he was truly huge.

“you want to please me? show me you can. and after wards you can make your choice on wanting to wife me or not.” you stood firm, deciding you shall give him your body. the catch was it was going to almost impossible for him to wife you, because you weren’t going to be pleased by him today. no whatever he did wasn’t going to be enough. could he please you? you didn’t think so.

“y/n. i will make you my wife.” the words sent shudders down your spine. why is he so perseverant to this?

before you knew it you were flipped on your back. the plush mattress hitting your skin. his lips were back on yours in no time. but this time there was somthing different about them. there was a passion, a certain type of yearning that could only be expressed through action. his wet tongue worked its way into your mouth. fighting dominance with yours.

his head worked its way down your neck, leaving hot open mouthed kisses on your skin. nipping and kissing you, like he was about to eat you whole. he kept kissing until he was right about your core. now suddenly away of how wet you were, you moved your legs together to set water on your fire. you couldn’t let him please you. he didn’t want to live with you, he was blinded by lust.

his head parted from your body slightly, his eyes boring up at you. just for a second. before his hands works fast and strong. parting your legs, right infront of his face. you could feel his warm breath on your core.

“so fucking wet..” he breathed. it was harsh and fast, his face pressed into your core. it was still clothed and yet the pleasure was overwhelming. taking sloppy breaths into your cunt he smelled everything. he was feeding off you. he parted slowly, almost like he was struggling to get away from your sent. “may i?” he said softly, looking at the undergarments. you shook your head yes.

once you were fully unclothed, the two of you stood on your knees on the bed. he kissed you hard, bringing his hands up to body.

“sit on my face.” he demanded, not in a mean way. but in a way that he craved you so badly he might die without you.

his head hit the bed and his body lay flat, sprawled out. his hands found your thighs guiding them to his body. “cmere…” he moaned, your body was above his now, almost cunt flat on his face. you slowly lowered your body over his, hesitating slightly. “fuckkk come on y/n, please” he begged. and so you did, you sat down on his face. his handsome face that was now lapping your slick up beneath you. your back arched and you moaned out.

at the sounds coming out of your mouth, the knights hips buckled up, jerking at the sound. his tongue licked and lapped your juices. he groaned into you. the vibration making your upper half buckle forward. falling down hands now resting on his thighs. you were now face to face with the biggest cock you had ever seen. and god, it was beautiful. his tip was red, looking like it needed to be touched.

you couldn’t help yourself, you picked his cock up. taking it into your hands. you gave him a good tug. gathering the spit in your mouth and drooling it over his member.

the noise he made from inbetween your legs was inhuman. he moaned loud, and his hands clamped down on your thighs. pushing your cunt farther on his face.

“god! ah-eiji-ah!!” you screamed out. the pleasure was too much. it was too good. he was about to win a war he didn’t know he was fighting.

you tried to get off him, but he was too strong. his head moved with your spasms. every time your body jerked he moved with you. there was no running away from him.

“i’m-i’m gonna cum! ah-!” your body racked as you orgasmed. your cunt rubbed back and fourth on his face. you could feel his tongue lay flat on you, your folds being spread apart by his mouth. he didn’t stop eating you out, infact, you felt his hands move. his fingers prodded at your entrance. the pleasure couldn’t get better, until his fat fingers started pumping in and out of you and a relentless pace. his mouth suctioned its way onto your clit. you saw stars. every sound in the world wiped away at your pleasure.

your body trembled. there was more to your orgasm. somthing new. you spasmed on his face, his hands working in and out of your body. a clear liquid sprayed on his face. you watched him, open his mouth and take everything you squirted out into his mouth. even when you were rang dry, he kissed and kissed your soaked folds.

you fel onto your back aside him now. the most tired you had ever felt. you knew your couldn’t give him more because he had just taken everything from you.

he turned on his side facing you now. “you liked that? because fuck. if i could come home to that every night i would die a happy man.”

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:··:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:··:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

nghhhhhh ya ok

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lavandulawrites · 9 months ago

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Still Waters

Yandere Nøkken/Nicker (water elf) x reader

Authors note: listening to Grieg while writing this was definitely an experience<3This is my first time writing an x reader with one of my ocs and I had a lot of fun:) If you have any requests or questions about Nøkken or Eilif as my original character’s name is, please let me know!<3

Nøkken/nicker is a Norwegian urban legend. He is a water creature that drags his victims under water. He is known to take many forms, a horse and a beautiful man some of them. (More info at the bottom)

Synopsis: you find yourself by a lake in search of water for your village after your well has run dry. By the door of the lake you met a mysterious man with long black hair playing the fiddle.

Masterlist

Eilif’s (yandere water elf) Character Profile

Warnings: mentions of drowning, manipulation, mention of previous murders, original character, Norwegian folklore,

Word count: 2478

The water in the stream was unruly as you came out onto the lush clearing. The sun was getting low and you regretted going out so late. The well by your small village had run dry, so you were forced to go out and gather water yourself.

A crow cawed in one of the treetops before it took off. As you watched the majestic bird soar over the orange sky, the hair in the back of your neck rose. You knew all too well that venturing outside at dusk was dangerous. Your grandmother had told you tales about beings that resided deep in the forest that lusted for human blood. You had long refused to believe in such stories, but tonight you couldn’t stop your fantasy from running wild.

The sound of a twig snapping pulled you out from your thoughts. Your eyes scanned the stream. It was empty. You sighed in relief as you began your trek up the stream and towards the little lake.

In contrast to the stream the lake was completely still. The beautiful colours from the sky reflected onto the surface. A warm summer breeze gently ruffled your hair as you put your two buckets down on the soft grass.

The gentle melody of a fiddle filled the air. Your heart hammered in your chest as you slowly rose your head.

There on a moss grown stone sat a man. His eyes closed as he played. He had long, slightly wavy hair that reached a little below his elbows. He was truly beautiful.

His eyes slowly opened as his melody came to an end. He tilted his head slightly as he smiled.

“Hello” his voice deep. He shifted his position on the stone and leaned slightly back in a relaxed manner.

“Hello. Beautiful playing” you answered with a shaky voice. The air around him seemed otherworldly. Your intuition told you to run. To run as far away as humanly possible, but something made you determined to stay.

“Thank you” he smiled. “Enjoying the view?” he asked. His green-yellow eyes studied you intensely.

“Umm… I suppose so” you shifted on your feet.

He nodded towards your buckets. “Are you from the village nearby? I have seen you multiple times here. Your well has dried up, if I remember correctly?” he leaned forward slightly.

“Yeah…” your voice low. “It’s my turn to get water” you forced a smile that looked more like a grimace.

He hummed. “I see…” He rose from the stone and slowly walked towards you.

In a blink of an eye he was a few centimetres away from you. His tall stature towering over you. His thin hand gently raised and twisted a strand of your hair around thin fingers. “You are beautiful” he whispered.

You swallowed at his closeness. “Thank you” you smiled slightly back at him. His eyes shone through the dusk light.

“It’s rather rude how your village let you go out here all by yourself. It’s dangerous, plus those buckets are going to be extremely heavy and difficult to carry” his voice was laced with concern.

A shiver ran down your back at his words. He was of course right. It was dangerous, but you didn’t have any choice. You shook your head “Thank you for your concern, but I will be alright. Now if you would excuse me. I need to fill my buckets.”

He blinked slightly before he regained his composure. “Of course” he nodded. He turned and walked towards the stone to pick up his fiddle. His black hair gently rustled in the wind.

You turned your attention to your buckets. You cursed yourself for not bringing the iron buckets as those where much easier to carry than the wooden ones. The water rippled as you brought your first bucket down. A lily pad almost got caught in it. Its white flower petals broke off and got caught underwater. You watched in silence as the flower disappeared.

You sat your full bucket behind you before you started to fill the next one. Water slowly filled the bucket as you stared out into the horizon. The landscape around the lake was beautiful and reminded you of the beautiful paintings you had seen hung in the village church. The trees were lush with green leafs that reached high up towards the sky.

You were about to set your bucket down behind you when you saw a small ripple in the still lake. Your senses were on alert as you scanned the waters. All you could see was beautiful waterlilies. You were about to stand up when something pulled you underwater.

You screamed as something grabbed your right hand. You tried to resist with wriggling and kicking against its hold, but to no avail. It was way too strong. It dragged you further down the dark and chilly lake. You were grateful you automatically took a deep breath when it started pulling you down.

A few light rays shone through the surface and aided your eyes.

With the light you were able to fully open your eyes and see what had dragged you down. The first thing you noticed was a pale hand that tightly held your wrist. The next thing you noticed was long wavy black hair that danced as the creature dove. You suddenly regained the control over your body and you clawed at the hand.

The creature only tightened its hold as it swam faster.

It didn’t take long before you started to choke at the lack of air. You screamed through a closed mouth in fear. Drowning had always seemed extremely terrifying and now as it was happening you had never been more afraid.

The last thing you saw before darkness enveloped you was a cave that lead up to the surface.

Your eyes snapped open and you coughed up water. Whit each couch your lungs protested. Your lungs were on fire and it hurt.

Your eyes darted up towards the sky and you blinked hard as a way to clear your foggy vision. The sight that met your eyes was the sky that was almost completely dark and a face more beautiful than every prince you had ever seen the portraits of. Back started a pair of green-yellow eyes accompanied by long black lashes.

“You’re awake” his voice gentle and filled with relief. “I was getting worried” your eyes shifted to his mouth were you could see four sharp fangs.

You swallowed as your chest heaved up and down. Your nostrils flared as you tried to control your rapid breathing.

The man above you cup you face gently. He stroked his thumbs over your cheekbones and you could feel the ghost of claw-like nails. “Shushhhh….. It’s okay. You’re okay” he shushed you gently.

“Who are you? What happened? Where am I?” your voice was loud and panicked as you looked around. You were by a lake you had never seen surrounded by beautiful wild flowers and the greenest grass.

“Do you really not know? I am sure you must have an inkling feeling of who I am? Right?” he rose his brow as he leaned back. He was straddling you, but he didn’t put his full weight in you. His lips widened slightly up into a little smile.

“I don’t…” you shook your head.

“I see…” he nodded. “It doesn’t matter. Not when you are here. Oh, you have no idea how long I have waited” he grinned. He stroked your cheek with the back of his hand. He sat up, causing his black blouse to slid slightly off his shoulder revealing pale skin and some of his lean body.

He stood up and offered you his hand. His hand was cold as you took it. His hand was dry despite him just recently being underwater. He dragged you up with ease and he supported your wobbly knees by holding onto your shoulders as to stabilise you.

“Let me show you my home. The one on the surface that is” he gestured towards a house at the foot of the lake. It was in medium size decorated with fishing nets and bones of various species. Some flowerpots were hanging underneath some of the windows creating a stark contrast between the different aesthetics.

“It not like the royal castle, but it isn’t so bad” he chuckled softly. “I’ll prepare some supper for you.”

You froze in your tracks as you let your eyes fully scan your surroundings. Now that you were standing, you were able to see that you really weren’t near the lake he had dragged you under.

“Aren’t you coming?” he tilted his head.

You nodded slightly. You decided it was better to do as he said rather than getting drowned in the deep lake.

His house was surprisingly cozy. It was decorated in various dark greens and dark blues. Rosemaling in green and blue littered the walls and cabinets.

“Take a seat” he pulled out one of the kitchen chairs.

You did as he said. The chair groaned slightly underneath your weight. And you almost felt guilty dripping water all over his chair. Your gaze trained on his back as he lit the stove and began preparing the fish. He was seemingly skilled in the kitchen as his movements were as fluid as waves.

In a blink of an eye were a plate of fish and steaming potatoes sat in front of you. It smelled heavenly and you sighed.

He chuckled at your reaction. “It will taste even better”. “Do you want some water?” he sat a glass of water in front of you.

You hesitated as you stared the glass of water down. Your heart rate quickened as cold sweat ran down your back. You could see your reflection on the surface.

He took a seat before you. The chair legs scraped against the floor. “Are you alright?”

When you failed to answer him, his eyes widened slightly. “Oh” he stifled a laughter. “You finally realised who I am then” he nodded.

You didn’t take your eyes away from the glass. “If I drink this I’m dead” your voice quiet.

“Why would you be dead? It’s just water.”

“Because I didn’t drown when you dragged me under. If I drink this, I will drown when I swallow” your eyes rose and met his. His expression was unreadable as he stared back at you.

“And why is that? Why would you drown?” his voice devoid of emotion.

“Because… because you are… Nøkken” your voice a mere whisper that was more fragile than a crisp autumn leaf.

He leaned back in his chair. “Nøkken… not many dare say that name” his lips curled up in a small smile.

You gulped. You adverted your gaze from his intense eyes. You were filled with hopelessness and you couldn’t help the crystal tears that fell from your eyes.

“I didn’t try to drown you. I just wanted to bring you here” his voice broke the silence.

You looked back up at him. Confusion clearly written on your face.

“Why would I kill you? You really have no idea about all the effort I went through. Drying that well was no easy task, I tell you that. Not when it was as deep as it was. But I did indeed enjoy luring those crudes you call neighbours, to my lake. Those pitiful screams surly made my day” he sighed in delight. “No, I would never in my wildest dreams kill you, [Name]” he reached for your hand. His long fingers gently wrapped around your hand. “Besides, you didn’t feel thirsty when you woke up did you?” he smiled.

You blinked as you shook your head. No, you had not been thirsty at all. The tales your grandmother had told you said that the victim that was saved from drowning would be thirsty afterwards. When they drank, they would drown on their drink. For such is the power of Nøkken.

“But why?” you asked.

“Because I love you” his smiled widely and his eyes were filled with emotion deeper than the lake he had dragged you under.

You suddenly stood up, causing the chair to fall. “I want to go home” you tried your best to not show fear. It suddenly hit you that he knew your name even though you had never told him. Were you really safe at home? Most likely not.

“No” his voice quiet. He slowly rose to his feet. He stalked towards you like the predator he was.

You backed away from him. Your back hit the wall as you cowered in on yourself. His steps was slow as his eyes looked into yours with determination. “You belong to me. You have belonged to me since the moment I saw you. When you listened to my playing and bared your soul for me by complimenting me, your fate was sealed” his voice was eerie quiet.

He slammed his hands on either side of your head and leaned down. “There is no fighting it. You humans are nothing compared to non-humans. But don’t be afraid. I will never hurt you. Never” he cupped your face. “Since I know your name, it is only fair that I give you mine. That should show you how deep my love for you runs” he looked you deep into your eyes. His eyes more vibrant than ever before. “My name is Eilif.”

“Eilif…” you tasted it on your tongue out loud. A beautiful name which meant alone or immortal. Your face lit up. You knew his name. You knew Nøkken’s name. “Eilif” you said with such determination like ever before.

The man in front of you froze before he lifted an eyebrow. “You thought by calling my name out, I would be forced to let you go. Which is true has it not been for two things”. He raised one finger “Firstly you already let me take a hold of your soul when you gave me your sincere compliments”. He lifted a second finger “Secondly, I didn’t try to drown you. Had I tried just that, then maybe saying my name would have worked.”

You looked at him like a gapping fish. He cooed as he closed your mouth with a thin finger. “Don’t be so surprised darling. Don’t you for one second doubt my devotion to you” he smiled wildly, showing his sharp fangs. He pulled you into a tight embrace. He rested his head on top of your head as he sighed in glee. “You and I will be by each other’s side for eternity. I cannot describe the joy I feel. All my work finally paid off. A man can’t ask for anything better” he kissed the top of your head with his soft lips.

As the Eilif hugged you, you knew that all hope was lost. For how could a mere human compared with the urban legend himself?

Dictionary

Nøkken (nicker in English) explanation: Nøkken is a Norwegian urban legend about a creature that lures people down the depths of waters and wells. He is described to take many forms, a beautiful man one of them. If you hear him playing the fiddle you can learn from him and become exceptionally good, but you would then have sold your soul to the devil. I have made my own version of Nøkken in this fic.

Rosemaling/rose painting: A traditional Norwegian painting technique which consists of rose like motives which is often painted on walled, shelves, cabinets, doors, bowls, spoons and etc.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere male #male yandere #yandere male x reader #male yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x female reader #yandere fic #yandere original character #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere nøkken #yandere eilif #x reader #original character #original character x reader #yandere elf

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thevoidscreams · 1 month ago

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i come forth to shyly ask if you'd ever consider writing something between Ushotan and a fem reader? much like Valdor, i too want to be a thunderfucker!

Day 14 Year 2: Warnings: Degrading language, rough sex, violent sex fantasies, mentions of death and killing, biting, blood, possessive language and of course breeding.

Word count:1987

You needed a break from the lab and its sterile restrictions. Day in and day out it was work, adjusting this and that, so that the beings you'd been tasked with helping to manufacture would be perfect. It dragged at you. And you needed something else. Something unrefined and coarse, something dirty and gritty. And you knew just where to find it. The trek had been long, taking multiple hours of your time and a chunk of the brief time you'd have away from the labs. You didn't much care though, given your pursuit was anything but the plain walls of the lab and the seeming endless lines of genetic code.

The thunder warriors were a large bunch, earlier creations, an unrefined iteration of what you were creating now.

You stopped in their camp, heart hammering in your chest as you looked around. "Pardon me, sir?" You asked a passing warrior, he barely stopped to give you a second thought. "What?" He grunted, looking you up and down as if trying to decide something. "Where is the primarch Ushotan?" The warrior raised an armored fist, pointing off where a large cluster of tents were staked, their fabric rippling in the morning breeze. "Thank you." You spoke up and the warrior grunted, plodding off once more to go about whatever business he'd originally been focused on.

It wasn't recommended to come down into the camps alone as a woman, those that did were mostly coming to offer services to them behemoths.

In a way you weren't any different, but there was only one individual you'd take to bed. You could hear the moans and cries of others as the towering men took their pleasure from said women, and even a few men.

The tent was open, and you saw him sitting, drinking something with several of his fellow warriors. They were laughing as they went about a game of some sort. Evidently enjoying a day off as well.

Stopping in the entry of the tent you tried to find your voice to speak up, but in the end you didn't have to. "Well Ushotan, looks like your little mouse has returned." The collective group of men turned to look at you. It was like being stared down by wolves.

"Good morning, Primarch Ushotan. May I have some of your time?" The armored warrior raised his hand and motioned you over.

You came over to him eagerly as he pulled you down into his lap. "Once I win this round you're all getting the fuck out." He growled with a feral sort of grin. No one had to ask why. Not around here, you understood that this was all part of it. Coming to Ushotan to fulfill your needs. He'd never turned you away, and you let him do as he pleased with your body.

Sex with him was more like riding out a storm, often you returned to the lab hiding bruises and stiff muscles. But the ride was worth it.

The primarch did as he said he would, beating the other players handily and set them away as he crowed his victory after them. "Another time men, maybe you'll get lucky." They left you and the Iron Lord's commander alone in the tent, the flap falling shut behind them.

Ushotan's hand had been on your thigh since he pulled you into his lap. "I have not seen you in weeks, little mouse. I had thought you might have run off with one of the smaller men in your labs and left me to fend for myself with only my hand and the memory of your tight cunt." He laughed. Lifting your chin, he pressed his mouth to yours in a domineering kiss.

"I could never." You breathed as he lifted you up and set you on your feet, rising to his own to begin pulling off his armor. You joined him, tugging off your clothes as he looked you over hungrily. "Never?" He snorted. "Given how rarely I am able to see you I don't quite believe it."

"Work and my loyalty to the emperor keeps me away, I know. I would see you every day if I could."

Ushotan set aside the last piece of armor and reached for you. "You would not survive if you did. I would just fuck you into oblivion." You let him pull you in and you kissed him first this time. He groaned in deep satisfaction at the gesture. Altered as he was Ushotan was still a human man. He had needs that war could not satisfy and needs he could not express. It was not his place to ask for such things as love or devotion. Not from a woman, but if he could have. His cock twitched, and your hand reached for it. Stroking the length. "I don't know, I believe that is a death I could face happily."

Ushotan breathed a laugh, it was a deep rough sound, but you treasured it. "I am not trying to kill you, woman. Only fuck you." "The please, my lord, fuck me." You returned and he groaned. "Don't call me that. Not when we are alone. Call me by my name." You nodded. "Of course Ushotan." "Mmm, that's better." He lifted you up, holding you by the thighs as he lined up his cock with your entrance. You trembled in anticipation, knowing that you were finally going to get off properly since the last time you saw him.

"You're shaking like a leaf." He observed, rolling his hips to brush the tip of his cock against your entrance. Teasing you with what you wanted so badly.

"I haven't cum since the last time I left your tent." You told him, body burning with need for the thunder warrior.

He grinned and nipped at the soft skin at the side of your throat. "What? Can't your fellow lab rats get you off?" He asked condescendingly, as he began to push into your cunt. "I wouldn't know, I can't even look at them that way." You panted as he pushed in inch by agonizing inch. "I can't even get myself to finish properly anymore. You've ruined me Ush, for any man other than you, and even my own self."

Ushotan pulled you down fully, groaning as he was seated in your burning heat. "Good," he hissed, lifting your weight and letting it drop you back down, spearing you on his cock. "Your body knows who it belongs to, I would kill any other man who touched you," He growled as he followed that pattern getting more forceful each time. "Crush their skulls like eggs and watch their brains ooze out between my fingers. Then fuck you in their blood." He grabbed your thighs harder, kissing you hard and forcing his tongue in your mouth.

You should have been repulsed by the mere thought of him killing someone in such a manner and then fucking you. But you were no saint and it wasn't far off from some of the fantasies you had. Late at night when you desperately fucked your own fingers chasing a high you might not even get as you pictured him storming the lab and taking you, stealing you away out into the world to keep you. He would fuck you every night until you were round and full with his children inside you, growing strong like their father.

How often had you bitten your own pillow and cried out for him as you edged yourself near to passing out desperately trying to cum.

"Fuck, Ushotan." You whined, pressing your face into his shoulder. You'd missed him as well, his dark humor and forthwith attitude. He never lied to you or played mind games. What happened between the two of you was an honest exchange. One that made you want to be near him more. "Come now you can do better than that. Scream my name, let every person in this camp know who's whore you are." He held you closer, jacking his hips up with enough force to bruise. "Ushotan!" You cried body shaking with need as he built you up faster than you'd ever been able to. "Again!" He snarled as he grit his teeth, making an effort to hold back, if he didn't he might crush your bones, rupture something internally. "USHOTAN!" You screamed his name not caring if anyone else heard. It wasn't like it was a secret that you sought him out for sex. "That's a good girl, screaming my name like a bitch in heat." He rutted into you. It was a serious effort not to cause irreversible damage. The thunder warrior had been dreaming of you since he last saw you, despite his often critical or derogatory language he still wanted you around, he wanted to have you again and again for whatever time was allotted to him, he would falter and fail eventually but he would have you as many times as possible before then. He would give you all of the pleasure that he could bestow. "Who's my good bitch? Who's my sweet little whore?" Ushotan growled as he lowered down to the ground, kneeling where he could better hold you. "Me, I am." You moaned wantonly, "I'm your whore Ushotan." "That's right." He locked his teeth around your shoulder and squeezed, feeling hot blood splash his tongue and tasted the sweet iron. You screamed under him, body bowing up into his as he forced an earth shattering orgasm from you. He drew up to admire his handiwork, your blood dripping down his chin.

"What a beautiful sight." He licked up the blood still wetting your shoulder. It wasn't terribly deep, but it would probably scar. He hoped it did.

Your fingers dug into his shoulder as he kept fucking you, he needed to cum. His fist hadn't been sufficient the night before and when he went out to look for a woman all he saw were pale imitations of you. None of them had even made him hard and he'd gone back to his tent completely out of the mood.

"I'm gonna cum." He growled, "Gonna mark up your insides just like your outsides." He leaned forward until his arms touched the ground, even as his orgasm built he made sure his arms were under you, keeping you from the hard ground. He pressed his face into your hair and was bathed in the smell of your sweat and natural scent. It sent him over the edge, filling you so much and so hard his balls ached. He could feel you tighten around him as your body gave one more climax to him and he smiled. "That's it, cumming for me like a good girl." He kissed your forehead and stayed still there until he felt the blood drip onto his arm. He got up, holding you close as he fetched the hemostat powder he kept in case he ever hurt you accidentally. He poured it onto the wound and you groaned. "Hurts." You hissed. "Might have gone a bit deeper than intended." He pecked your lips and began cleaning the wound and wrapping it with the powder in place. "I'm off till the day after tomorrow." You told him, he gave you a look of surprise. "Reward for making a breakthrough." He nodded. "You'll stay then?" "If you are okay with that." You moved to his lap and he held you. "Always, little mouse." He buried his face in your hair and breathed, imagining what his life might have been like if he had been an ordinary man, having you as his wife. He wasn't sure he could even have children as he was now, altered and made into a machine of war. Either way, he had you here with him, cuddled up in his lap and that was more than a man like him could ask for.

#warhammer #my writing #warhammer 40k x reader #mating press march #primarch #reader insert #primarch x reader #Ushotan #Ushotan x Reader

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cougheemedicine · 9 months ago

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Twisted Fairytales; Twisted Wonderland Fantasy!au - Prologue

Will include all main cast x GN!Reader

Summary: A nameless adventurer with an incredible amount of friends in high places. Each more infamous and conniving than the last. The things those friends are willing to do for you is only a glimpse of how a so-called "Nobody" ensnared the most powerful in the continent.

A/n: A little au I'm cooking up. Not entirely sure where this will go so I'm not going to put any warnings/specific content until I get the individual chapters out. If this goes anywhere I'll probably add Neige, Che’nya, Rollo, etc. I already have come ideas cooking up for them. Have fun, dear adventurer~ 〜(￣▽￣〜)

˜”*°•.•°*”˜

Night Raven College. An incredibly prestigious academy, whose history goes so far back in time that only the oldest Fae of the Briar Valley can even begin to fathom the legacy that such a renowned institute holds, and whose reputation reaches even the darkest corners of the kingdom. Aristocratic families from all over the continent vie to send their children to study the art of magic in its' hallowed halls.

You had attended such a college, once upon a time, though you are far from noble. You met the esteemed headmaster by chance one day, but you didn't know at the time. You had sold him a newspaper, and he grinned at you from under the beak of his mask and patted you on the head. He flipped a single gold coin into your shaking hands, it was the most money you had ever seen at the time. When you had turned around to thank him, more than ready to drop onto your knees and praise the dirt he walked on, he was gone. Leaving only a lone, ink-black feather in his wake.

You can only assume he took pity on you. Some unclaimed, nameless child, too old to be taken in by an orphanage but too young to be sent off to the mines. In a village so small and far North it didn’t even have a name. The old crones of your small village would wax poetic about his benevolence and graciousness (only after they prattled on about his villainously handsome face). You couldn't even read, let alone weave illusions from incantations or summon a beast from a bubbling brew.

But he appeared before you nonetheless, with a flurry of his feathered cape. He offered you his hand, that which dripped in gold, and swept you off to Night Raven College. Over the years he taught you everything you know now. He taught you how to paint and juggle, how to fluently read and speak every language used on the continent, even some more eccentric practices like how to identify cursed objects, how to weave certain sprigs of herbs together to create the most powerful warding charm, even which nerve to pinch to have any assailant drop unconscious instantly.

While under the roof of Night Raven College, you met creatures from every walk of life. One could say you were popular, even. Everyone wanted to get to know the charge of the infamous headmaster Crowley. You grew close to many, some you would even call your friends. Some others, maybe more. But they led very different lives than you. Friendships fade, it's simply a way of life. Even if waving goodbye to them as they graduated and left you behind stung in a way you don't really wish to name.

You stayed at the college longer than most. Not taking classes, simply acting as an errand runner for the headmaster as a way to repay him for guiding you to a much better path in life. But even he, past his grandeur and games, could see that you wished to spread your wings farther than the astronomy tower and botanical garden.

With a final pat on your head, he sent you away to pave your own path. His name and the beautifully detailed dagger on your hip, an ivory crow head for the hilt, as your only weapons. On your own you ventured for more years, gaining wisdom from those you met on the way. You had all but forgotten your old friends from your school days. All until one fateful day.

Sat on the edge of the cliff, you gazed down at the view below you. The sun was setting, painting the sky in vibrant hues. You were in your own world, leaning back on your arms and kicking your feet over the edge of the cliff. Until a shrill meow drew your attention elsewhere. A scruffy grey cat emerged from the undergrowth. Eyes too blue to be a normal feline blinking up at you. A black and white bow tied neatly around his neck. In his mouth was a letter, the envelope only the most ornate of finery. The crest on the wax stamp was that of a noble house.

The cat curled up in your lap as you used your dagger to cut the envelop open. The parchment inside just as luxurious as what housed it. You scanned the words on the page, language so flowery and formal it may as well have been another language of it's own, but you got the message.

˜”*°•.•°*”˜

Where will you go first, dear adventurer?

Heartslabyul Manor, the home of the ruthlessly strict Grand Duke Riddle Rosehearts and his cronies. They say he bows to nobody but the queen himself.

Savanaclaw tavern, the home base of a ragtag group of mercenaries. Rumor has it their roguish leader, Leona, isn't of this land, and that his reputation is far from good where he’s from.

Octavinelle Gambling Den, a house of luxury and debauchery. The head, Master Azul, is said to be incredibly kind and benevolent. For the small price of your darkest secrets.

Scarabia Merchant's Guild, a travelling guild with gold flooding from every crack in their coffers. The ever-so-kind Master Kalim is said to only be the face of the guild. His servant is who really runs things.

Pomefiore palace, the main residence of the illustrious Queen of the region, Vil Schoenheit. His past is stained red, as is the story of how he managed to sit on the throne. But the people adore him, so what is there to see if not perfection?

Ignihyde tower, the hiding spot of the forsaken Lord Idia Shroud. Head chair of the Magic Council. His brilliance is said to be unparalleled, but people talk... and sources say he hid himself from society after committing a sin to magic itself.

Diasomnia castle, skeptics say that centuries ago, the old castle at the northern border was occupied by Fae royalty. Now it seems there's life in those haunted halls once more, for an air of regality hangs heavy in the fog surrounding the grand castle.

Many a path to choose, and you have all the time in the world. But, even still, do you think it wise to keep them waiting?

I wish you luck,

Choose wisely, my dear adventurer~

˜”*°•.•°*”˜

work belongs to @cougheemedicine, all forms of plagiarism, modifying, translating, reposting are not allowed.

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georgescitadel · 1 year ago

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George R.R. Martin on the process of creating A Game Of Thrones

You hold in your hands the second volume of A Song of Ice and Fire… but not the second volume as originally intended. Although I wrote the opening of A Game of Thrones back in the summer of 1991, as related in my introduction to the Meisha Merlin edition of that volume, it was not until October of 1993 that I drew up a proposal for my agents to take to publishers. There is no mention of any book titled A Clash of Kings in that proposal. In 1993, I was under the impression that I was writing a trilogy.

Trilogies had been the dominant form in epic fantasy ever since J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings had been broken apart by publishers and released in three volumes. And the story that I wanted to tell divided quite naturally into three parts; much more so, in fact, than The Lord of the Rings, which is actually one fairly seamless narrative, and not a trilogy at all. I planned to title the books A Game of Thrones, A Dance with Dragons, and The Winds of Winter. I knew right from the start that they would all be large books. Huge books, even. But there were to be only three of them, and…and none were to be called A Clash of Kings. Sometimes the author is the last to know.

As I write this, I am halfway through the writing of A Feast for Crows, the fourth volume of my ‘trilogy.’ There is no mention of that title in my 1993 proposal either. These days, when pressed, I confidently assert that A Song of Ice and Fire will ultimately run to six books… but behind my back I know my lady Parris is smiling knowingly and holding up seven fingers. She may be right. Though I may dream of six books, plan for six books, work toward six books, the only thing that truly matters is the story. And the story needs to be as long as the story needs to be.

In Hollywood, the suits will tell you how long that is. A television show has to fit within its allotted time slot, of course, and you cannot beg, borrow, or steal an extra minute, no matter how much the story needs it. Running times are somewhat more flexible for films, though not as much as one might think. For the most part, the studios still want movies to run about two hours, so they look for screenplays of 120 pages or less, and demand cuts in any scripts that come in longer. My own screenplays and teleplays were almost always too long and too expensive in first draft, so in my later drafts, along with addressing the inevitable notes from studio, network, and producers, I was constantly trimming. In the end, I would deliver a shooting script that was the right length and under budget, but it was never a happy process… and I often went away feeling that the earlier drafts were the better ones.

The size of A Song of Ice and Fire was in no small part a reaction to ten years of trimming. I wanted to do something epic in scale, something at once grand and sprawling and complex and subtle, with a cast of thousands, huge battles, mighty castles, gorgeous costume, lavish feast, great rivers, towering mountains, vast fields… all the things I could not do in television. In short. I wanted to make a world. And for that you need a bit of room.

In my original proposal, I estimated that each volume of the trilogy might run as long as 800 pages in manuscript. The novels that I had written during the 70's and 80's, before Hollywood, had generally come in at 400 or 500 pages or thereabouts, so an 800 pages book seemed very lengthy indeed. The three books of the trilogy would be structured around the long, slow seasons of Westeros. A Game of Thrones would be summer’s book, A Dance with Dragons would take us through autumn, and The Winds of Winter… well, the title says it all. Even in the Seven Kingdoms, where a season can last for years, 800 pages ought to give me enough room to reach the end of summer and conclude the part of my tale, I reasoned.

‘Twas a lovely plan of battle… but no plan of battle ever survives contact with the enemy, it has been said. Writers know the truth of that as well as any general, though our wars are fought on blank white sheets of paper and empty computer screens. For the map is not the territory, the blueprint is not the house, the recipe is not the dinner… and the outline is never ever the book.

- George R.R. Martin, A Clash of Kings Limited Edition Introduction (2002)

#The Outline #A Game Of Thrones #George R.R. Martin #ValyrianScrolls #ASOIAF

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sabine-smitten-obviously · 8 months ago

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and now i have to find myself a tower in a forest near a wall ...

... and look for a black, dark sorcerer !

You love fairy tales? You love Good Omens? You loved Aziraphale and Crowley in medieval clothes? Then you will love this not so little fanfic i dearly recommend to you!

Villainous by @ineffablepenguin

What it is about:

Once Upon A Time…

There was a red-haired sorcerer who lived alone in a high tower, and a blond prince who lived in a palace full of people. And they were both of them desperately lonely.

The Kingdoms of Empyrion and the Sorcerers of Apollyon have hated each other for hundreds of years, ever since the Great War. They do not interact, other than to occasionally try to kill one another. And they certainly do not make friends.

Crow is an exhausted sorcerer who just wants everyone to leave him the hell alone: for the Sorcerer’s Council to stop harassing him to live up to his potential, and for wannabe Empyrion Heroes to stop attacking his tower to try and kill him. Until one day when he meets Prince Azra of the High Fells, who doesn’t behave anything like he’s supposed to…

Part fairy tale, part fantasy, all love story. There’s magic, and grand romantic gestures, and Heroes and a handsome Prince, and a Villain. There are even some wild heroics, though not necessarily from who you would expect. At its core it’s simply about two (relatively) sane people living in a mad world who find each other.

What i love about it:

🫅🏼 I mean - fairytales? And a lot of them? I found it very nice to guess all the tales when stumbling upon a hint. Nice touch: in the epilogue there is a list of all the fairytales which have kind of flown into this fanfic and i am quite proud that i only missed 1 i actually know (and of course those i dont know).

👑 This story is RICH - and i mean really rich. It goes into details over everything and sometimes it reminded me of books written bei Hermann Hesse because of all the little things that kept coming and being mentioned. On my e-reader it was 566 pages! And yes, it took them about 200 pages for their first kiss 😅 That said, its always drawing a picture and reading the story is kind of seeing in your imagination. Obviously nothing is ineffable for @ineffablepenguin 😉

💪 The action scenes: oh my, its like a Schwarzenegger-movie, you cant stop reading, its fast, its furiuos ... oh, thats another movie, ngk.

🩷 The character development: both of our beloved angels start out being insecure of their roles, their place and their worth. But - this is the first fanfic i ever read, where both of them get to be BAMF !!!!

🩷 The plot: i love being suprised - i mean we do know a lot already, diving into a GO-fanfic with the tag "happy ending", right? So there were some really interesting turns and sometimes i wondered "ok, just how will this play out? How will the author get to unknot THIS?" And i have to admit, sometimes i really didn't see it coming. Very nice!

🩷 The healing: i dont know if it was on purpose or the author just felt like our ineffables needed to hear and think stuff, but actually the way their characters develop and how they help each other with it, what they are thinking etc ... reminded me a lot of trauma-therapy. So as one of those few (ähem) people who really spiraled after the big 15 of S2, this was such a nice feeling.

💫 the epilogue - this story doesnt end at happily ever after. Instead we get to know, how they make a living for themselves and sneak a little into their daily lifes. I truly appreciate that, its a nice way of comforting the Reader out of the story.

This wonderful art is from @pinkpiggy93! 🩷

Most beloved quote:

"And i love you too, my dear," he said firmly. "You are so very easy to love."

And isnt this quite a sentence, we all need to hear?

So if you are into good omens, fairytales, long fanfics to really dive in to for several hundred pages, some surprises and of course a happy ending - this is quite the story for you.

🩷🤗

Reading is not a hobby, its an attitude.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #fanfic #crowley #good omens fandom #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfic rec #i read too much fanfiction #aziraphale loves crowley #crowly x aziraphale #fanfic rec #fanfic review #fanfiction #fanfiction review #slow burn #bamf #bamf crowley #bamf aziraphale

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keijis-hairdye · 2 years ago

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that time crow greeted me on my birthday

#crow #tower of fantasy #bun.games

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aalinaaaaaa · 2 months ago

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A Healing for the Birds — An Introduction

"How would you like to be the one to uncover it? To rain revenge for all their slander and worse they will do to your name?"

Helinda's Treaty started with the Allaitri Chalice, a prized relic capable of healing all spells and ailments, missing for thousands of years.

Alycja entered the temple to complete her Morja Durzjet, a ceremony for all young Seldaikan teens to confirm their maturity and competence in magic. But when a giant skeleton crashes it, she takes the Chalice into her own hands.

Meanwhile, Eshani sought it for own purposes; freedom. With each day passed another day spent in a court that those south of the border fear most, she knows the clock is ticking.

Pipped to the post by thieves of great ambition, Eshani finds herself caught between her desires and her obligations. The line between freedom and treason grows ever more perilous. Conspiracies come to the forefront of the zeitgeist, as Alycja must now contend with her religion's society trying to condemn and slander her at every turn. In her struggle for innocence, others stand up in search for the Chalice, leaving her to decide who to trust while the country spirals to tear itself apart...

—

Genre: high fantasy, a touch of romance

Perspective: third-person limited (dual protagonists)

Themes: The ethics of potent healing water, is power best kept or used, the weight of communal and familiar expectations, the price of peace, do the ends of love justify the means to seek it

Aesthetic: the perfection of divine metal, the euphoria of healing water, towering door carvings, portraits in the stone, branches for walls, hanging wisteria, flowing silks, birds in sunlit glass, crows on the rooftops, shards of stained glass, a giant, wandering skeleton, sharp words uttered in magic, notes scattered in a book, memories of what could’ve been, shrieks in the night, eyes in places that don’t belong, cloaks made of crow feathers, cherry blossoms for the dead, fairytales come to life (yet in aberration), the grounding of prayers, stars engraved in the ground, the comfort of a conduit, whispers in side corridors, wishes made in haste, tension closing in from afar, notes of cinnamon teas and paprika-blessed cuts of meat, the flapping of wings, feeling of air rushing against the face, the taste of freedom, the cracking of bones, the inherent history of magical tattoos.

Content: occasional swearing, religious themes/imagery, burns, violence, vivid descriptions of body transformation (in a violent/painful sense) [there is scope for this to be updated]

—

Dramatis Personae

— to be updated; they'll get their own post at some stage...

THE AMBASSADOR — Alycja Cartovierta: A bright student with a future in magic, now dealing with the fallout of her good intentions. She has a joyful, sassy personality, though her decisions on the fly don't always land well.

ANOINTED OF THE LAKE — Eshani Faison: One of the High Councillors of the Court of Morilast, she specialises in making deals and causing chaos for people. She has a delightful charm and intelligence that draws people in, but don't expect any personal secrets from her.

HIGH PRIEST — Jersk Rhesjan: The head meshai (priest) of Arobyre's branch of the Raikaliçian Society, is determined to seek justice for Alycja's theft of the Allaitri Chalice to the bitter end. A proud man with a strong sense of passion and morality, and he leaves no stone unturned in his affairs.

LADY OF THE MURDER — Claudia Emar: Another of the Court of Morilast's High Councillors, she's responsible for managing a sizeable murder of crows and leading the Court's espionage efforts, in addition to all the other strings in her hand. She exudes a cold, calm demeanour, sharp as a knife and brutal for those who get on the wrong side of her.

—

Excerpts

[Probably will feature in the draft]

The current state of things between Eshani and Cerigo

The angsty pining scene (parts of it, anyway)

Alycja's first meeting with 'the blonde lady'

A moment of waiting before the questioning

[Character studies, plot planning, deleted scenes, etc.]

Merik asking a few questions

Prelude to the interrogations

A moment of symbolism

A Broken Seal

Short Stories

On Death's Windowsill

A Sacrifice Made Twice

Cycle of Life

A Shot At Love

Sparks After Sunset

Star-Crossed

A Choir in the Woods

Tainted Orchestrations

These Vows Renewed

Lore Posts, Worldbuilding, etc:

The summary of Helinda

A note on Helindian death rituals

Summary of the magic system

How fire messages work

Some creatures that exist/are mentioned in the wider world

A small ask about potions!

The crows! (Well, the difference between two groups of them that is)

A short overview of the main setting

—

Spotify playlist 💙

—

Taglist (let me know if you wish to be added or subtracted): @mr-orion @the-ellia-west @guessillcallitart @thereadingfoz @glassstardust22124 @honeybewrites @ashirisu @drowsy-quill @oliolioxenfreewrites @theglitchywriterboi @seastarblue @gioia-writes-and-others @rae-butter @corinneglass @midnight-and-his-melodiverse @outpost51 @oros-ash3s @fourwingedwriter @oddcryptidwrites @jacqueswriteblrlibrary @rainbowsnowflake

#writeblr #writeblr community #fantasy #wip introduction #wip intro #a healing for the birds

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