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wardenparker · 3 years

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Once Upon a Time... part 8

Zach Wellison x plus size f!Reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Zach’s life gets turned upside down when his visit to the local library sends him all the way back to Camelot - and he meets another time traveler who has made the kingdom their home.

Rating: Explicit. There is no turning back from the smut now that we have found it. Word Count: 13.1k Warnings: *This is a Zach fic so there WILL be discussion of homelessness.* Nobody is circumcised in Camelot so it’s a thing, discussion of various birth control methods, mentions of infidelity (taking a mistress), body image issues, insecurities, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected sex, vaginal sex, sex with an audience, cockwarming Summary: It’s time for a medieval wedding!!! Notes: It’s here! It’s time! It’s a glorious wedding day for all!

Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Part 5 ~ Part 6 ~ Part 7

You hold tight to Zach's hand as the crowd sweeps you along - down from the church on the peak of the cliff overlooking the ocean and down toward the castle with all the momentum of children who have been promised their favourite candy. A near herd of people had turned out to see you married, stuffing the little church on the cliff to the gills with children running around outside picking flower petals to toss in the air when you and Zach emerged again after the service. The self-important old priest had droned on and on, but you swear you barely heard him over the riotous beating of your own heart. Married. You're married now. To the best man you've ever known in your life. And the day isn't even half over yet.

True to his word, Gareth had been Zach’s best man. Stood beside him as Arthur escorted you towards him. Zach could tell there was a moment that the king feared that his nephew would jump forward and claim you as his own bride from the way that his brow furrowed and his shoulders tensed, but it was Zach who was unable to wait until you had fully met him on the step, coming forward and reaching for you.

Now, Gareth, Gawain, Tristan and Galahad all surround the couple while Lancelot and Percival flank the king and queen as they make their way back to the Great Hall were a feast Zach helped provide is being laid out. The roasted boar being the very one that Zach had brought down during the hunt and impressing all that had participated due to it large size.

The Great Hall has been strewn with so many flowers and garlands of Ivy that it looks like Guinevere ordered the forest be brought inside the castle. Candles stand by everywhere, ready to be lit when the sun starts to fall, and it is very clear that this party is meant to go on until the last person drops. There is a table along the wall strewn with chests, boxes, packages, and items of all kinds, and a beautiful, seemingly brand-new sword sits in front of the seats of honour at the head table. You squeeze Zach’s have a little tighter, smiling so hard it feels like your face might split. “I love you,” you murmur to him, taking in everything around you with a happy sigh.

The cheer and applause are thunderous in the hall, filled with nearly everyone from the castle and Zach smiles when he sees Ava standing by, it had been his request that the hardworking girl not have to serve and instead be a guest at the feast. "Before the casks of wine are opened and the celebration begins." Zach turns, hand firmly wrapped around yours, to where Arthur has commanded attention of the room. "There is one matter that needs to be dispatched." Arthur smirks and sends Zach a come hither motion. "Sir Zachariah, stand before me."

Exchanging matching looks of confusion, you let his hand go so he can stand in front of Arthur in the center of the hall. Guinevere appears at your other side, your similar statures making it easy for me her to wrap her arm around your shoulders and squeeze tight the way you now know she does when she is most excited about something.

"Camelot is a land that has endured much." Arthur announces over the crowd. "Now, however, we have a sense of peace that is kept only by the valiant men that serve as knights for Camelot."

It hits you like a ton of bricks - twisting in your stomach and lighting you up with sheer excitement when you watch Lancelot position himself behind the king’s right shoulder with Excalibur in his hands. “The knights of Camelot have come from many homes.” Arthur goes on, speaking to the assembled crowd though his eyes are trained squarely on Zach. “Whether humble or grand. Peasant or high born. The knights of Camelot are connected by honour, virtue, and courage. Three things that today’s groom has exhibited in spades.” The king extends his hand motioning to the young man before him. “Kneel, Sir Zachariah if you would join them.”

He nearly falls down to his knee, stumbling forward while he is humbled and overwhelmed when he realizes what is happening. Arthur is knighting him. Him, a stranger to his land and yet— he is taking Excalibur in his hands from Lancelot. The flash of a little boy's dreams flooding his mind. Zach's head tips forward as he presents his neck to the king. A show of fealty that has him blinking back tears of the multitude of emotions that are swimming in his veins. Wishing that he could look over and see your face, knowing that in this moment you are proud of him.

The entire hall falls silent, and for a split second you're sure everyone can hear how hard your proud heart is beating as your husband kneels in front of King Arthur to be knighted. "A vow to Camelot is one of loyalty." With Excalibur in his hands, Arthur looks every inch the medieval king of legend that he will comes to be known as. "Loyalty to the kingdom and its sovereign lord, renouncing all others before and to come. It is one of bravery: to accept adventure as an inevitable path and never shy from a dangerous path out of fear. To protect those who have no way to protect themselves, providing safe quarter for the weak and defense for the helpless. The knights of Camelot uphold truth and righteousness, never wavering in the face of an adversary. They are charitable and compassionate. They are the example of goodness for those around them." Unsheathing the great longsword, Arthur lays the tip of the blade to the younger man's right shoulder. "Do you swear to uphold these principles, putting the welfare of others before yourself as you pledge your sword to Camelot?"

The moment isn't lost on him, this oath being so different from the one that he had sworn to the United States and yet it was just as profound. Arthur had spoken the words that he had felt when he was raising his right hand years ago. "My sword and my honor are committed to Camelot." He tells Arthur, his voice steady much to his surprise.

"Then rise, Sir Zachariah." Excaliber's tip moves from his right shoulder to his left, crowning him as it goes. "Knight of the Round Table. And take Camelot with you wherever you go."

Lancelot steps forward to take Excaliber from the king and replace it with another sword. It's surreal and magical in itself. This moment. No matter what the future holds, Zach will never roll his shoulders in shame because one of the most famous kings and knights to have ever lived believes that he is worth to sit at the Round Table as an equal. "Yes, my king."

The sword that has been placed in his hands is what Arthur offers to his newly christened knight when he stands, and the expression of paternal pride is unmistakable. "Consider it a wedding present," he insists quietly, pressing the sword and sheath into Zachariah's hands. "And go rejoin your bride. I see proud tears in her eyes that deserve to be admired."

"Thank you." He murmurs softly, turning to the clapping of the hall, everyone celebrating but he only has eyes for you in this moment. He won't even been able to put into words what he is feeling until late that night with you, alone in your bed.

Your arms ring tight around him, pulling him into a tight hug in front of the roaring, applauding crowd shouting "HUZZAH!" all around you. "Congratulations, love." Simple words, whispered in his ear before you kiss him, and you grin again when you pull back. "Just a little bit different than oo-rah, isn't it?"

"Jesus Christ." He lunges forward and buries his face in your neck, needing a moment to compose himself and he is most at home in you. You are his safe harbor, amazing how that has happened so fast, but it's there and he sighs against your skin while he pulls back and gives you a watery smile. "You have your white knight as a husband."

“I already did,” you promise him, holding on to him like a lifeline. “But now it’s official.”

“Come.” Guinevere’s hand returns to your shoulder momentarily, bringing you back to the moment as she gestures for you to take your place at the banquet table. “You shall have the places of honour for your own feast, and let it be our privilege to sit beside you.”

Zach holds his sword in his left hand and guides you towards the table with his other. The feast is spectacular, covering nearly every inch of the large table, the boar that Zach had hunted is too big, hanging from a spit in front of it, on display for everyone to see what the groom had provided. "Is this better than any wedding we could have planned, or what?" He murmurs as you sit down.

“Who else in history has ever been knighted to the round table at their own wedding?” You beam at him as he puts his sword down. The congratulatory shouts from the crowd have morphed into an insistent cry for a kiss, and you couldn’t be happier to do just that.

He hums, quirking a brow in agreement and he tugs you closer at the urging of the crowd. "The kingdom demands a kiss, milady." He teases against your lips, reaching out and cupping your cheek. "We have no choice but to give the people what they want." He nudges his nose against yours. "I love you."

“I love you, too.” If you ever stop smiling, it will be far too soon. It is impossible to stop, even into the kiss - and you end up having to break away to laugh anyway when Zach’s fellow nights go wild at the act. Even Gareth is having a good time, and raises a glass toward the two of you when you look out over the room.

Zach picks up his wine goblet and lifts it up. "To my bride! The fairest in the kingdom save our queen!"

Guinevere raises her glass on your other side, smiling over at the two of you. “I think we can all agree that a joyful bride’s beauty outshines all others.”

“Only because of your Majesty’s kindness. Without which none of this would be possible.” It’s completely true and you’re not afraid to say it. This entire day is owed to her, and that is something you will never forget.

Smiling, Zach takes a sip of his wine. "This is your day, Dandelion, my love." He murmurs and leans over to kiss you again. "Our day."

“Ours. From now on, everything is shared.” For better or worse and for richer or poorer may not have been part of your wedding vows, but the philosophy of partnership and support is already a bedrock of your relationship and you wouldn’t have it any other way. “Now,” You grin as he fills the trencher between you. “Gossip says there was quite a chase to catch that boar and Lancelot almost got bitten?”

Zach laughs and nods, making many turn their heads to see what the amusement was. Everyone could tell that the two of you were completely enchanted with one another and Guinevere smiles into her own cup. "He was treed by it." Zach tells you. "Took three bolts to take that beast down." He shakes his head, still chuckling.

“And here I was worried that you wouldn’t have fun yesterday.” He had had an entire day of male bonding that was about as close to a medieval bachelor party as you could reckon, even going to a tavern in the village with the Pendragon boys so that you hadn’t seen him until this morning. It made you desperately wish for a cell phone so you could have said good night.

“It was interesting.” Zach muses, looking out over the hall. “I am extremely grateful for the time even if they could have warned me it was an initiation. No wonder they kept shoving drinks in my hand.”

“It wouldn’t have been any fun if they had warned you.” The idea of all of his fellow knights knowing what would happen today and wanting to surprise him warms your heart in an entirely different way and you take a sip of your wine. “My day was spent at the bathhouse getting pampered, which is about the most quintessential bachelorette party thing I can think of.” Guinevere had gathered the ladies of the court that she is closest to and you are fondest of, and the six of you had spent all day bathing and gossiping - a time that had revealed Merlin’s wife to have a hilariously dirty sense of humour and the legendary Isolde to be not-so-innocent at all.

"I did miss you last night." He admits easily. "Gawain and Tristain snore." He huffs and rolls his eyes good naturedly. "Although it was better than when Galahad started serenading one of the serving girls." He had a hard time calling them wenches, even if everyone else did, that modern mindset still too fresh.

“So I shouldn’t add Sweet Sir Galahad to my set?” You joke, even though you love the Joan Baez classic.

"He sounds like a dying chicken." He tells you with a grin.

“Charming.” Sending his grin right back at him, you shake your head a little. “You can’t claim to be the worst singer in the kingdom, then.” Not that he ever was, but he never takes compliments well - just like you.

******

Wine flows and he has to admit that this medieval feast might be the most delicious thing that he's ever eaten in his entire life. The boar is roasted perfectly and there are so many types of pies and pastries, jellies and puddings that there is no way he can try it all. "Oh god." He sits back after you offer him another morsel. "I don't know if I will be able to move." He groans appreciatively.

“Don’t let anyone hear you say that.” You laugh, cuddled comfortably into his side as you sit at the long banquet table. The music has begun and the party seems to be just getting started. “They’ll make you start dancing just to wake you up from the food coma.”

"While I want nothing more than to dance with my wife, " he grins happily at being able to say that. "I need a minute or twenty." His hand is on your thigh, stroking it over the find material of your dress. You are stunning and he cannot believe that this was made by the queen and the royal seamstress. His matching surcoat something that is almost too fine to wear. "I feel like I've seen this in a movie once." He teases quietly.

“You recognize it?” It shouldn’t surprise you, since you’re both movie buffs, but it still makes your smile spread wider. “It was my dream wedding dress when I was little. And since I was already getting my dream man, I figured why not.” You shrug like it doesn’t matter, despite your cheeks burning with that joyful happiness that never seems to end. “But Drew Barrymore never had a gown with embroidery done by hand by the queen.” Picking up his hand, you press a kiss to the back of it, grateful you don’t need to worry about smudging makeup or anything nearly as fussy.

"Very true." Zach threads his fingers through yours and looks at the still heavily burdened table. "We will have to have Aisling make us a tray for late night snacking." He tells you with a grin. "We have a long night ahead of us."

“Oh, are you suddenly thinking you’ll have energy again?” You throw him and wink, knowing that wedding night sex was never in danger of being taken off the schedule. “Because I bet anything your brothers in arms are going to be the ones outside our door making sure you do a good job.”

The cocky smirk on his face is well deserved, in his opinion. After all, he's pretty sure that he's memorized all the spots that make. you go wild. "Damn straight I'm going to have the energy." He promises you. "Have to make sure I can please my bride."

“I genuinely doubt there will be any problems with that.” Considering all he has to do is touch you to make you wet, the only thing that gives you pause is the fact that you’ll have an audience of sorts. But if anyone has the ability to make you forget everything else in the world, it’s Zach.

"Never know." He teases, leaning in and kissing your neck. He grins against your skin for a split second before he nips at it playfully.

“Why?” You hum, feeling your breath catch at the sensation of teeth toying with skin. He knows you shiver every time and isn’t being shy about exploiting that. “You shy about having an audience?”

He huffs, letting his tongue glide against your pulse. "I would fuck you right now, right here in front of everyone and not give a damn who watched." He boasts. "But I like having you to myself."

You barely manage to stifle the whimper bubbling behind your lips, and you pinch Zach’s thigh under the table in warning. “If you make me moan while I’m sitting next to the queen, so help me god.” You mumble, half wishing you could just disappear right now and let him do whatever he wants with you. But then - this is your wedding reception, and you wouldn’t miss it for the world.

He snickers and shoots you a wicked grin. "You'll do what?" He asks in challenge, lifting a brow at you. "You'll cum? Beg me to fuck you?" He keeps his voice low so no one else hears but his fingers slide along your own thigh. "Please do."

The absolute pout you send him is unmistakable as you try not to squirm in your seat while you whisper: “I will melt into the floor with embarrassment.” If he wants you to beg, you’ll gladly do that when there isn’t royalty sitting six inches away.

His chuckle is low, and he can see you shiver at the sound. "Maybe we clear the table and I'll have my second meal." He loves the way that you are squirming and yet you look so eager for just that.

“Zach!” You hiss under your breath, playfully swatting at his thigh before you give it a tight squeeze because honestly you would love that if you had any kind of exhibitionist tendencies. “You’re going to kill me, baby.”

"Death by orgasm." He teases, deciding that he is going to leave you alone for at least another few minutes. He doesn't want you to have a moment of being upset today. "What a way to go."

“We have two weeks of peace to try for it.” You waggle your eyebrows at him, feeling that perfect way your stomach flips when he laughs and his one deep dimple is on display.

The music strikes up and the queen turns towards you. "My dear, are you ready?" She asks you quietly as Arthur stands and makes his way around her to hold out his hand to you.

"Lady Wellison, dance with me." He isn't exactly asking, but this is already prearranged and he feels his chest puff out, proud that this celebration is going so well. "Before we eat too much, or I get too deep in my cup." He asks playfully with a wink, his spirits high.

It’s nothing fancy, just a basic waltz since that’s something that everyone at court seemed to grasp fairly easily and has enjoyed. You had taught the minstrels various songs over the last year that would work for this moment, but A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes was the one that sounded most beautiful in the other bard’s voice, and nothing quite said fairy tale to you like a Disney song in Camelot so you had agreed. The musicians strike up as the four of you take your places in the hall and you set your hand in the king’s as the bard begins to sing.

You are gorgeous, standing in the king's arms and dancing to the music. Zach looks down at the queen in his own arms, the pride on her face almost like she was the mother of the bride and his own emotions make him hum. "You have my gratitude, your highness." He murmurs. "This is incredible."

“It is a token of our gratitude.” Guinevere smiles softly, humming along with the song for a moment. It is one of her favourites of yours. “Your Dandelion has brought nothing but joy to our lives, and you have proven yourself a worthy member of our court. We are grateful for you both.”

“We are honored to be a part of your court.” Zach tells her honestly. “The Knights of the Round Table are known in America and highly respected. To become one is a dream come true.”

“I understand that you more than earned it with your prowess yesterday.” The gossip fluctuated about what had actually happened, but from what Arthur had told her, the young Knight’s persistence and fearlessness had simply proven to him that the decision was the correct one.

He flushes slightly, preening under the praise of the queen. It reminds him of when his mother would make him feel like he was really Superman when he was a child. “It was good to be able to contribute to the feast.”

“The first of many things you will provide for your bride.” She beams at him, so very proud and so very connected without ever being able to truly put her finger on how. Perhaps it is as simple as the fact that he resembles Arthur when the king was very young, and it makes it easier to imagine the newly christened knight as her own son, but she will likely never know.

The music is wonderful as he guides the queen around the floor, but soon the song is done and Arthur bows to you before he quickly exchanges places with Zach so you are in his arms.

“I hope you don’t mind…” you murmur, stepping in close to him as the minstrels begin a beautifully slow rendition of Can’t Help Falling in Love with You. “After last week I sort of felt like it was…our song.” It feels silly to say out loud, but a song about two people who fall head over heels in love with each other in no time at all is the two of you to a tee.

He couldn’t help his smile beam if he tried. “It’s perfect.” He promises, tugging you into his arms more securely. “It is our song. 100%.”

“It’s the only thing about our wedding we could ever tell anyone,” you joke quietly, letting him twirl you gently through the song.

“We can always say that our wedding was magical, and the stuff of childhood dreams.” He winks at you, absorbing the way that your eyes shine happily. “I had the most beautiful woman in the world marry me.”

“My husband is my literal knight in shining armor.” Leaning into him a little closer, you can feel how hard his heart is beating in his chest and you press a kiss to his shoulder where your head lies. “I’m the luckiest girl in the whole world.”

“I wasn’t expecting that at all.” He murmurs quietly, still feeling overwhelmed by the faith Arthur put in him.

“I was hoping.” It’s true, and you don’t mind admitting it at all. “If we stay here, it means we’ll always have family and friends and a home at court. If we get back, it means every time you look at a book of English history, you know your name belongs right alongside the legends.”

"We will know Arthur actually existed." Zach chuckles, imagining the annoyance of the scholars if the two of you ever tried to correct them on things they got wrong. "Hell, we would be able to show them exactly where the castle is. They've been searching in the wrong part of Wales."

“I still want to know how you know so much about Welsh geography.” He hadn’t offered much of an explanation on your last walk besides recognizing the ancient church where your wedding was just held, telling you he’d visited the area with his parents on vacation once when he was a teen. It was exactly the kind of quirky insight into his past and his family that you love hearing. “Americans vacationing in the UK usually just go to London or Stratford-upon-Avon.”

He continues to lead you around the stone floor, listening to the music. "Apparently we're Welsh?" Zach offers you with a grin. "My father loved ancestry and history. We couldn't trace our family tree back too far, but he wanted to visit when he was a boy, so he made sure he took his wife and son."

“I would say you’re extremely invested in Welsh history now.” You can perfectly imagine a younger version of your husband putting the same full dedication into learning sights and family history that you’ve seen him put into everything else. “Maybe Wellison is an evolution of Welsh-son over a few hundred years? That would be neat.”

"That would be interesting." That had been a theory his dad hadn't considered. The music ends and Zach pulls you close and takes your mouth with his in another kiss that has the hall cheering for the two of you.

It opens up the feast to become a full-fledged party, and the music picks up into something wholly more medieval for many more people to dance together at once. It doesn’t surprise you in the least when the knights are the first ones out into the makeshift dance floor, and a gaggle of unmarried ladies immediately appear to join them.

Zach leads you back to the table. "You can dance if you want to, but I want to sit down for a moment." He complains slightly. "Don't want to get sick at my own wedding feast."

“Don’t let your boys hear you say that, or you’ll never get me back,” you tease, tossing him a wink because it’s ludicrous to think you would ever leave his side for long.

"Oh yeah?" He chuckles because he knows you are joking, but he pats the sword that is sitting next to his seat when the two of you sit back down. "They shouldn't have given me this yet then."

“Planning in fighting for my honor?” Oh, that thought should not be so sexy…

"If I have to." He gives you his most charming smile, leaning against the armrest of his chair. "Would you like that milady?"

With your lip firmly between your teeth, you clear your throat gently so your voice stays low. “Is it incredibly caveman of me to say yes?” You’ve never denied the fact that you want to jump Zach as soon as he gets out of the sparring ring, and most of the time he’s glad to let you, as long as it includes a soak in the hot spring.

Winking at you, he gives a low, slightly dark chuckle. "Not at all, baby." He promises. "I could see you liking that. Although, I think that in your fantasizes, all of us are fighting in just our breeches."

“My fantasies are fully focused on you,” you promise him, but you can’t deny that he has you pretty well pegged. “Everybody else can be fully clothed. It’s sexier if you kick their asses all on your own.”

He snorts and shakes his head. "Baby, I'm a full supporter of look but don't touch." He tells you with a grin. "You want to watch a sexy movie and then jump me because the actor was hot and you need to recreate that scene, be my guest."

“Ditto.” It doesn’t take much at all to lean in to kiss him, and you love how close he is, especially today. “I also fully support pointing out hot girls in public. I might think they’re hot, too, you never know.”

He lifts a brow, remembering your comment about visiting the brothels and grins. "Yeah? So I can fantasize about that huh?" He teases.

“I might be persuaded to make it a very special birthday present.” It wouldn’t be the first time you had shared a partner, although you had never been fully committed to any of them before.

He bites his lip and gives you an apologetic look. "I – uh," he reaches for your hand. "Would you mind if we didn't?" He asks softly, realizing you might not like that now that you are married to him. Although your marriage in Camelot wasn't exactly binding in LA. "I like the idea of it, but I think I just want you to myself." He tells you quietly. "I'm greedy like that."

“Oh thank God.” You didn’t even realize you were holding your breath until you let it out, leaning into his side in relief. “If that was something you wanted, that would be a conversation to have. But…I think the fantasy might be more enjoyable than the reality.”

His own sigh of relief is quiet, but he knows you don't miss it. "Good." He hums, kissing your head. "I like the idea of sharing, but at the same time..." He wraps his arm around you. "I know I would get jealous and I don't want that."

“I’m all yours.” And that is a promise you know you will have no problem keeping. Whether you’re here, in LA, back east, or anywhere else. “I don’t ever want you to doubt that.”

"I believe that." He leans in and nudges his nose against yours. "I just want to make sure that I'm not keeping you from things you need."

“I only need you.” Curling into his side, it’s amazing all over again how he is the one thing in your life that you are completely sure of. The whole world could throw into chaos around you and as long as he is with you, everything will be okay.

"Well, considering if we get back to LA, you are the only thing I've got, that's a good thing." He chuckles ruefully before he picks up your hand. "Seriously, baby, I will make sure you have - we have - the life we deserve."

“If we ever get back…” You shrug, eyes focused on your fingers laced through his. “Baby, you’re all I have, too. I don’t have any siblings, my parents are gone, and I haven’t spoken to either of my godparents in years.” Your roommates in LA were just that - roommates. And you had never really had any friends outside work. Any college friends that didn’t severely judge you for your mistake had fallen off the map a while ago when they all got married and started having kids. “It’s just you and me no matter what happens.”

“Okay so our next song is I Got You Babe, right?” He teases, wanting to lighten the mood, but still he squeezes your hand and kisses it softly.

“It seems like it should be.” You huff slightly, but nothing in the world could stop you from smiling today.

"Yes it should." Zach leans in to kiss your neck but there is loud clapping that interrupts him and he pulls away to find Arthur grinning at the two of you. "Now!" Arthur speaks out as soon as the music stops. "There is the matter of the bedding ceremony!"

The shear embarrassment of having it announced has you wishing you could melt into the floor, but the queen is already making her way toward you with Lancelot’s wife Elaine in tow. Isolde and Percival’s sister Helizabel are mere feet away on the other side of you and all you can do is lean over to kiss Zach quickly before they descend on you to sweep you away. “See you in a bit,” you murmur quietly. There is the usual loud stamping of feet in the stone floor and rowdy applause, and Helizabel wraps both arms around you tightly. “Come, my dear.” She grins and throws Zach a wink. “The night is young, and you have much to enjoy.”

Gareth, Lancelot and the other knights are just as raucous as the celebrators as the scoop Zach up, making him yell out as they literally carry him of the call, calling for someone to bring one last mug of ale for all of them while they go.

Arthur disappears after them muttering something about getting “His own damn ale in his own damn castle.” But the four ladies you spent all day yesterday with are already sweeping you out the back stairs of the Great Hall to take a little short cut and beat the boys to your new home above Zach’s workshop. Aisling looks positively sour to be serving you one more night, but Guinevere and Elaine will have absolutely none of it - sending her ahead to stoke the fire so she won’t ruin the mood of the evening. You have a sneaking suspicion she’ll be knocked down to menial tasks now that the queen is more aware of the way she has been acting over the last year, but it is what it is.

The apartment above the workshop had been cleaned out. Zach, Gawain and surprisingly, Gareth had all gotten in there to air out the place - unused since the older carpenter’s passing. He had even told Ava to bring him cleaning supplies but had then sent the helpful girl back to the castle to help you and the queen however she could. He had wanted to make sure it was perfect for you.

“Now, my dear.” The amusement on Elaine’s face cannot be overstated, and she wraps her arm through yours on your way down the stairs. “Are you sure you don’t have any questions about what is going to happen tonight?” Helizabel, Isolde, and Guinevere snicker wildly while you at least have the decency to look a bit sheepish - yesterday had been full of much too raunchy topics of conversation for any of you to claim ignorance. “I believe I am prepared,” you tell Lancelot’s wife, with amused sarcasm dripping through your voice.

“I can imagine with a man as pleasing to the eyes as Sir Zachariah, you would be prepared.” Isolde teases. “He looks as if he is well capable of swinging his sword.”

“So to speak.” You smirk at the younger woman, married to her own knight just weeks before you had arrived in Camelot last year. “Though I am sure Sir Tristan is a more than worthy tree to climb.”

“I climb him as oft as possible.” She tells you with a smirk of her own. “As will you. I imagine you shall be expecting before winter. Especially if you keep going to the hot springs.”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.” The air of innocence is completely put on, and all of you laugh as you go. No one knows about the very quiet visit you made to Merlin’s apothecary to inquire about any ways to remain child free for at least the first year of your marriage (or at least that’s how you phrased it to him). What you were given was a pouch of herbs to steep a pinch of in water every day, and words to repeat when you drank the herbal tea concoction. A spell is what you were given, and you’re still not sure how you feel about it.

“His eyes follow you.” Helizabel insists. “Like you are his prey and he is a starving predator.” The other women giggle.

“I am not sure how starving he is.” Elaine raises an eyebrow at you and grins like the others. “Though Lancelot says he did not indulge last night.”

Zach had told you that the men would most likely end up with women around them but he wasn’t going to touch any of them. They had, but Zach had resisted, telling them it was an American custom to only sleep with their wife.

“It isn’t his disposition.” Or, if it had been when he was younger, it definitely isn’t anymore. The Zach you just married wouldn’t judge the others for their fun, but his fun is at home in your bed. “And I am most glad of it.”

"Most peculiar." Guinevere and the others are used to their husbands being free to indulge as long as they did their duty by their wives and were not publicly flaunting their dalliances. Guinevere's one rule that no servant that worked in the castle was to be used. They could go to the taverns if they needed to seek something other than their wife's bed. "However, I must confess it makes me admire your knight even more."

"And he is most worthy of admiration, your Majesty." The door that leads directly into the living space of your new home is open while the workshop remains locked, and you know that it is because Aisling is upstairs stoking the fire and laying a tray of food and drink for later in the night. It's been days since you've been here, having last seen it about halfway through the cleaning process when Gawain and Tristan had been appalled that you would even try to help with the heavy lifting. The apartment is spotless now: the large main room with its hearth burning brightly and comfortable chairs around a sturdy table giving way to a writing desk on the other end of the room, across from which stands the doorway to the bedroom. The chest that once stood in your chamber in the castle sits beside the writing desk with your instruments tucked safely inside, and the knowledge that your dresses are now safely stored in the same armoire as Zach's tunics has a beautiful kind of aura about it.

The bed is big. Beautifully carved from the former resident and Zach had made sure that it was taken out and aired before stuffed with more feathers. It was comfortable and he had made sure that clean linens were put on the bed and the warm furs had been spread over it.

"Beautiful." Guinevere nods approvingly at the way the room is set before dismissing Aisling, telling her to report to the kitchen in the morning for new work.

"Four ladies are more than sufficient to undress you," Isolde teases lightly, although her acute lack of height would make her much more helpful in helping with your slippers than your veil.

The women are gentle as they undress you and Guinevere is giddy when she reaches for the new chemise that had been specifically sewn for tonight. "I am still amazed at how lovely this turned out." She tells you breathlessly. You had recommended a few changes to the design to make it more appealing and she had to admit that it was positively striking. "He would have to be dead not to react to you in this."

"I hope you will not mind if I have one made like it?" Helizabel runs her fingers over the fabric of the short sleeves that you had suggested, and you shake your head. "Of course not." You eye her with a grin and decide to tease. "Perhaps you will one day tell us who you intend to wear it for?"

"Perhaps." She giggles and Guinevere clicks her tongue playfully. "Now, we much get you in bed, because I know your groom is anxious to come join you."

You resist the obvious pun about cum since the slang term doesn't even exist yet, instead surveying the room with a bitten back grin as Elaine and Helizabel light extra candles, and the queen and Isolde pull back the blankets and furs to let you settle on the plush mattress. It really is a ceremony, the way the ladies have everything laid out before they carefully lay the blankets and furs back around you, and if you actually were a virgin you'd be terrified with anticipation by now.

"Relax and your knight will be in here soon." As soon as the ladies step back, there is the sound of boots on the stairs announce the arrival of the knights and your groom.

Long minutes pass where you can hear indistinct shouts and cajoling from the workshop where Zach's brothers-in-arms have congregated, and you swear you're just about to get out of bed to find out what's taking him so long when you hear the scraping of the door on its hinges out in the main room. There's absolutely no reason to be nervous - it's not like you haven't had sex with Zach dozens of times at this point - yet here you are, sitting up in the furs on your bed shivering like a schoolgirl. Everything in your bedchamber is just so. The other ladies have seen to that. Right down to the goblets of wine the queen is currently pouring out to leave on your bedside table.

******

"Come on man, your bride is waiting." Gawain ribs him, grinning with a slightly tipsy manner. "You better be up for the task. We have a reputation to uphold."

"You have Bedivere's record to break." Percival leans against the nearest post with yet one more drink in hand. "His bride was with child within a week, according to the midwife."

Zach shakes his head. "I wish to have time with my wife before she is with child." He tells the men, ignoring their groans. He can't tell them that he can't have a child in this timeline because he's not supposed to be here.

"Let him enjoy it." Arthur insists, laughing at the grumbles of dissent from his knights. "The pleasures of the marriage bed lessen over time. Do not wish them diminished for our brother so quickly."

He ignores the teasing and they strip him down, making comments like all men do about each other's manhoods. Although the fact that Zachariah Wellison was cut had given them all pause for a moment, Lancelot looking a little green around the gills and Arthur asking if he had some kind of accident when he was a child. He had explained it was normal in America and they had just shaken their heads and cupped their own cocks through their breeches.

"That is usual?" Gawain is still moaning in dismay when Lancelot claps his American brother on the shoulder and urges him toward the stairs.

"Tarry no longer," he warns with a sly grin. "Lest you discover your bride has grown impatient and begun to celebrate without you."

"She wouldn't dare." Now that he is married to you, he can make a bit more public comments. "She enjoys my tongue too much."

The other men nearly combust with cheers and that raucous applause they are so well known for - loud and boisterous despite there only being a half dozen of them present. "Go." Lancelot shoves him forward again, laughing all the while. "But know we will not leave until we are satisfied you have risen to your task."

The door is thrown open by Gawain and Zach is practically shoved into the room, bare as the day that he was born only to be confronted with the sight of the queen and three other ladies. Swearing that he is about to combust in his tracks as the other men are in the doorway, snickering as Helizabel's eyes widen as she takes in the sight of his stirring cock. Zach swallows. "Ladies." He nods and gives them a rueful grin as he slowly covers himself with his hand.

"Everyone out!" Guinevere averts her eyes, ushering the other ladies through the door as quickly as she can to avoid being caught blushing. That would be a very unladylike position for the queen to find herself in, although she now completely understands why you flustered and demurred when Isolde had asked pointed questions about your groom's endowment yesterday. It would be even more impressive if part of it were not missing.

The door sweeps closed behind the queen. "Well, that was fun." He tells you with a nervous chuckle. His hand drops from his cock since they are gone, and he knows that there are ten people crowded around the door right now. "I can say I survived a bedding ceremony."

"And exactly who would you tell that to, baby?" With no one else in the room, you don't hesitate for a second before climbing out of bed again and going to wrap your arms around him. Still though, your nose has wrinkled in amusement as you smirk up at him. "I think Heli might have some serious fantasies staring you tonight, now that she's had a good look."

He rolls his eyes at you. "I felt like one of them was going to poke it." He mutters, grinning when you snort, and he presses his lips to yours. "Fuck baby," His hands slide along your back and he feels the silky material. "This is very sexy." He tells you, pulling back so he can see the entire thing, cock twitching and thickening even more at the sight of you in this nightgown.

"Guinevere missed her calling as a fashion designer." You take a step back, letting him look at the entire piece before he strips you down. "It's very different from the wedding night lingerie I would have picked out in LA, but honestly? I think I like this better."

"I love it." He groans, reaching out and cupping your tits, massaging them in his hands over the fabric. "But it's going to look even better on the floor."

"Off." The soft little moan on your lips completely belies how needy you feel. Two days of not being able to touch him has been torture. "Take it off and take me to bed, love."

"Oh, I can do that." Zach bunches up the material in his fists and starts sliding it up your body. "I love you and I'm about to show you." He promises, groaning when he lifts it up over your head and tosses it aside so he can see your nude body. "I told you I would get on my knees for you, milady." He grins, sliding down to his knees on the wooden floor and pressing his face against your belly, his hot breath on your cunt.

"I was expecting that to be hyperbole," you admit, reaching out to steady yourself with one hand on the bedpost to your side. The second his mouth is on you it will be a miracle if you can keep your balance on your own. "But fuck...you know you can have me however you want me."

He smirks up at you and bites the soft pooch above your pussy. Not enough to hurt you, but just to have you gasp out. "Consider this my proposal since I didn't get down on my knee at first." His hand pulls a thigh up and props it up on his shoulder and wastes no time lunging forward and sliding his tongue through your folds.

"Sort of hard to do when I was - fuck - straddling you in the hot spring." There's no point in stifling any sounds of pleasure for tonight, knowing that the group of your friends and temporary captors are down in his workshop listening in. "Oh my god." Every gorgeous thing Zach's tongue is capable of feels so different while you're standing up and even though there's no logic behind it, it is absolutely amazing.

His neck stretches up, desperate to pierce his tongue deep into your slick skin and taste you. His hands hold your hips steady, fingers spreading wide so he can squeeze your ass. Writing on your clit with his tongue. Spelling his name in his own personal brand on your sex.

The fingers of your free hand thread through his shaggy curls, loving that he didn’t cut them for today but left you plenty to hold on to while his tongue flicks across your swollen clit with the devastating accuracy of a sharpshooter. There’s nothing you can do but try to stay upright while your body quivers with need, grateful to have him home and between your legs again while your pussy slicks his chin without effort.

He’s not quiet, loving the fact that he doesn’t have to hide his pleasure at your taste and response to him. Groaning and grunting into your pussy, while his cock throbs between his legs as he kneels in front of you. He digs his fingers into your ass and tilts your hips up even more when he seals his lips over your clit and starts to suck.

The one foot you have planted on the floor curls, toes digging into the wooden planks as pleasure shakes through you for the first time tonight. Zach has learned your body quickly and oh so well, wrecking you with something as small as the angle his lips wrap around your clit and the bite of his fingernails into your skin. He moans when you gasp out his name loudly. Not pulling away, just like the first time he had gotten between your legs. Instead of decreasing the pressure, he doubles down, trying to suck your soul out through your clit and hopes that you see stars.

Your fingers tug at his scalp, nails practically scraping it as you scrabble for purchase when he pushes you through one orgasm and right to the edge of the next - still not stopping until the air is knocked out of you by a second flood of cum accompanied by that gasping cry of his name. “Fuck baby…” If you could do anything more than pant for air and soothe your fingers along his scalp, you would. “So good to me. You’re so fucking good to me. Love you so much.”

This is where he loves to see you. So incoherent you don't think about what you say, you don't care about how you look. Your hips roll forward shamelessly as you ride his tongue, milking every bit of the breathtaking pleasure he wants to give you. His goddess with your head thrown back and another loud cry being tossed into the air.

Zach on his knees is a beautiful sight, as you regain enough awareness to really take it in, but the place you want him right now is just so close. Carefully dropping your leg from his shoulder, you drop to your knees beside him on the floor to drag greedy kisses out of him. Wrapping your hand around his throbbing cock, you practically moan along with him to feel how hard he is as you pump his length a few times. “I went to Merlin yesterday,” you tell him quietly. This is one thing you don’t want overheard.

"Fuck." He knows he probably grabs your shoulders too hard, but your words combined with your hand wrapped so perfectly around his cock has him already about to spill into your hand. "Yeah?" His stomach clenches as he forces himself to calm down and open his lust blown eyes to find your amused orbs on his. "You— I can?" He manages, throbbing harshly and a spurt of pre-cum beads up on the tip again at the idea of filling you up, staying buried inside you while he cums.

“If you’re willing to trust an herbal tea and a magic spell, so am I.” You know Zach is the one with the most concerns, but you also know that he has been dying for this. It’s written right there in his eyes. “What do you say, handsome? You wanna cum inside me from now on?”

"Shit." He knocks your hand away from his cock and lurches up to his feet. "Get on the fucking bed." He orders you harshly. "I need to be inside you."

The way you giggle is absolutely filthy, and you tug him with you until you’re both falling down on the mattress together in a tangle of limbs and endless kisses.

"I. Love. You." He murmurs frantically between kisses, all while getting in position between your thighs and starting to rock his cock against you, sliding the length through your wet folds. "So. Much. Baby. Only. You." He groans when he feels himself get close but then his eagerness makes his cock push down instead of inside you. He's frantic to be inside you but the exquisite torture of having to aim for you is just going to make that moment even sweeter.

“I love you.” It can’t be said enough or too much, drowning in kisses and letting a strangled moan of protest be heard when he gets too eager and slips through your folds again rather than pushing inside you like you want. Need. Your hand comes between you again, stroking his hip to encourage him to hold steady before you line up the dripping head of his cock at your entrance.

He whines, needy and impatient when you put him at the soft, giving depression that is the entrance to that wonderful little hole. Where he seems to just fit inside like you were made for him. "My wife." He murmurs, pressing his lips against yours while he shows extreme restraint in the slow forward pitch of his hips.

“My h-husband.” The word stutters in your throat, overwhelmed by how right it feels to say and how perfect he feels as he bottoms out inside you. It’s like the best dream you’ve ever had, but no dream has ever been this good.

"Fuck, I love you saying that already." He huffs, head pressed against your shoulder as he tries to not just cum right then and there with how tight you are gripping him. He knows it's probably in his head, but just the knowledge that he can stay inside you has him feeling like you are even tighter than before.

“No names anymore,” you joke softly, winding your legs around his waist to keep him close. “Just husband and wife.”

He groans, like the sound of that. At least for now. Calling you his wife might wear off in twenty or twenty-five years. “God baby.” He pulls back a few inches only to plunge back into the silken walls of your body, unable to be out of you for too long. “Gonna fill you up.” He moans out.

"Do it." Your teeth nip at his neck, that tingling and curling in all your muscles telling you exactly how close you are to falling off the cliff of pleasure right along with him. "Want you to, baby, please."

"Not before – you cum." He hisses between his teeth, pushing deep inside you of you with a rough thrust and angling his hips so that the fine hairs on his body grinds against your clit.

"So - fuck, oh god - close already." Whimpering and begging is about all you're capable of right now, writhing beneath him while white sparks of pleasure start to burst behind your eyes. "Take me with you."

If he can be proud of one thing in his life, above all else, it’s the ability to make you cum. He moans out your name and reaches between you with his weight braced on his other arm to rub circles on your clit. It's stunning - the way he has every inch of you memorized already and has no trouble finding the exact rhythm with his fingers that will pull you over the edge of orgasm so easily that it seems effortless.

He knows, knows everyone outside your rooms can hear you when you start to wail his name. There's no denying it. Not when you are gasping it out so loudly and so beautifully. "That's it, baby."

It never seems to end, rolling through you in waves as Zach’s hips stutter and lose their tempo. “Come on, baby,” you croon, moaning again when his hips slam into you. “Cum inside your wife.”

Your words push him over the edge. Giving another half dozen sloppy thrusts before he is thrusting as deep as he can, ass muscles bunched under your fingertips while he growls out his pleasure loud enough to bounce around the room.

You knew it would feel different: the intimacy of it is nothing else, but actually feeling him paint your walls with his cum might be the single sexiest thing you’ve ever felt in your life. “Oh my god…” It feels a little silly, sure, but the endorphins and adrenaline have you giggle softly in his arms as you kiss along his shoulders, neck, and jaw to find his lips again. “That was…fuck, I love you so much.”

Speechless for a moment, all he can do is kiss you, his softening cock still throbbing inside you. He puffs against your lips for another moment before he giggles himself. "Love— love you too." He sighs happily and lowers his body onto yours, careful to keep his weight completely off of you, but happy to just stay right there.

“I’ve…never done that before.” You hadn’t told him beforehand, not wanting to make him self-conscious about how excited he was to be able to stay connected to you. Fuck - you’d never even had sex with a man without a condom before Camelot. Making the conscious decision to ignore the cheering coming from his workshop, you nudge his nose with yours. “I really liked it, though.”

"Can I be honest?" He asks softly, giving you a sheepish grin. "I've never done that before either. Always used a - you know, before you." All of his other girlfriends were a strict-wrap it up policy. Never wanted to trust them for birth control or having to have his bore punched.

“We’re just full of firsts today.” It’s incredibly comforting to know you’re on more of an even playing field, and you snuggle against him. “Including inviting people to listen.”

He snorts, listening to the back slapping going on as the men and women file out of his workshop. "At least they can say the marriage is well consummated." He teases, leaning in and kissing you softly. "As soon as I'm sure they are gone, I'm barring the door."

“I’m surprised they’re leaving,” you admit. “I thought we were going to have to kick them out.”

He gives you another grin. "They are probably off to whisk their own ladies away for a wedding quickie."

“They shouldn’t be quick if they know what’s good for them.” Lord knows you and Zach aren’t leaving this bed except to stoke the fire and eat for at least a few days. “Isolde wants baby number two badly.”

"Tristan would be proud." He nudges his nose against yours and hums. "I told them we weren't planning on a baby right away." He confesses softly. "They will probably think I'm spilling outside of you, but I just didn't want— I didn't want questions if you don't come up pregnant."

“Yesterday Elaine told me I should get pregnant as soon as humanly possible so you don’t take a mistress.” You huff a little at the extremely outdated logic - except in the year 498 it’s actually fairly standard advice. “Apparently you’re much too handsome for your own good.” You grin at him. “But I knew that already.”

He huffs himself, rolling his eyes. “I know, Arthur pulled me aside and told me he knows that I will take a mistress, but to steer clear of the servants at the castle so there are no disturbances in daily life. Something about how the mistress might think herself above the wife.”

“The way everyone talks about it, you’d think every man in Camelot had a mistress, but I know for a fact that that isn’t true.” It doesn’t matter, though. Not for the two of you. Especially not in your bed, in your apartment - your own little home together. You sigh dramatically, giggling and wrinkling your nose at him. “I guess you’re just going to have to be the weird guy who’s totally faithful to his wife.”

Zach kisses your lips. “I have no issue with that.” He promises you, deciding that he does need to roll off of you now. “If anyone asks, you are woman enough to keep me satisfied. Which is true.” He pulls out of you gently, groaning before he cups your cheek. “I promise I did not cheat last night.”

“I didn’t either.” Not that you hadn’t been afforded the opportunity. Helizabel had offered to treat you to a trip to the brothel as a little wedding present from one bisexual woman to another, but you had declined easily. “I trust you, love. If I thought you were the kind of man to cheat, I would not have married you today.”

"I know." He holds his arm out so you can curl against his chest, something that he absolutely loves. "I just wanted you to know that even if we are in 5th century Wales, I'm keeping my modern outlook on fidelity."

“And I thoroughly appreciate that.” You snuggle into his warm skin immediately, loving the way that every inch of him always seems perfectly suited to having you fit against him.

Zach snorts and kisses the top of your head. “You are a modern woman baby.” He tells you. “You deserve respect and I’d prefer not to go into the history books as being on the receiving end of the Lorena Bobbitt special. Even if I do think he deserved it.”

“To be honest, I’m pretty old fashioned.” Inhaling deeply, the smells of woodsmoke and heather from your crown mixes with the smell of sex in the room perfectly, making you sigh happily. “I’d be happy staying here, but I know that’s not what you want.”

"I can't explain it." Zach murmurs. "I should be ecstatic to be here." He strokes your back and looks up at the wooden rafters and the thick thatch of the roof. It amazed him how they had made roofs of straw that were waterproof. "But I feel like we have a future in modern times. Even if I didn't believe it before I got here, something is telling me that we need to go back."

You tip your head back, looking up at him with soft eyes and that little smile that always seems to be on your lips when he’s around. “Can I propose a compromise?” It’s something you’ve been thinking about, and it seems so much more important now that Zach has been knighted and Guinevere has showed you so much favour.

"Baby you can always propose a compromise." He promises.

“I was thinking maybe we could just stay a few more months.” It’s been in your head, and you can’t shake it now - that feeling is wanting to enjoy every moment with him that you can. “Just for the summer. We can make a plan for how to handle things when we get back, and we get a beautiful, extended honeymoon.” With Zach’s complete confidence that Merlin’s real magic will have a way to make happen, you consider a matter of when, not if. But it doesn’t hurt to have a plan. “The worst thing that happens is we live our lives in Camelot. And baby, that’s not bad at all.”

Zach hums, thinking about it and he has to admit that he enjoys the idea of it. "We do need to roam more of the wild Welsh countryside." He concedes. "And my training is about to include horseback riding and jousting."

“Please don’t make me go back until after you’ve done an actual joust?” You beg, giving him the best pleading eyes you’re physically capable of. “That’s going to be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

"A Knight's Tale was one of your favorite movies, wasn't it?" He teases you playfully, grinning and hugging you tight.

“Yes it is.” You nod emphatically against his chest. “And I still say Heath Ledger has nothing on Zach Wellison.”

Zach snorts and shakes his head. "I think you are a little blinded by love." He tells you with a wink.

“Or have my eyes been fully opened?” You wink right back, giggling at the playfulness of it.

"Was your wedding day everything that you dreamed it would be when you were a little girl?" He asks softly, reaching over and caressing your cheek.

“It was better.” Though you will always wish your parents could have been there to share such a special moment with you, you have had twenty years of practice in reminding yourself that they’re with you every moment that you think of them - so to you, they were right there the whole time. “The idea of wedding cake made of lasagna and dancing to N*SYNC with Prince William was fun at the time, but today was definitely better.”

He chuckles and gives you a pleased look. "That's good to know." He tells you and gives a small groan. "I'll go bar the door downstairs; I know you have to pee." He nods over to the corner where a screen is set up. "I made you a wedding gift."

Curiosity gets you out of bed more than anything else, and Zach slips out of the room to set the beam across your door. Behind the privacy screen - an improvement over most chamber pot use to begin with - is an actual chair with the chamber pot set into it. "You made me a toilet!" You call back at him, laughing at the pure simplicity and comfort of it.

He chuckles as he comes back into your rooms and walks over to the fireplace so he can stoke the fire. "I know it's not the most romantic but I figured you might like a creature comfort of modern times."

“Taking care of me is the most romantic thing possible.” You tell him when you come out from behind the divider. “And now my wedding gift feels much less weird.”

He tilts his head at you curiously after adding another log. It still got fucking cold at night and he wasn't freezing his ass off while he's naked on his honeymoon. He had made sure they had stacked plenty of wood downstairs, so he doesn't even have to get dressed to bring up more. "You didn't have to do anything for me."

“You didn’t have to do anything for me, either.” You go out into the other room, quickly reappearing with a nearly tied cloth bundle in your arms. “I’m no good with my own two hands, but I guess we both had creature comforts in mind when it came to gifts.”

He takes the package and keeps your hand, lifting it to his lips. "Did you like your ring?" He asks softly, wanting to make sure that he had done well.

“Baby, it’s gorgeous. I love it.” The stunning gold band is carved with flowers and an intricate knot pattern around three small garnets on the outside, with the words Forever my love engraved on the inside of the band. “That must have been one hell of a crib you traded for it.”

"It was." His chest puffs out and he smirks at you. "I wish I could take a picture of it. It is beautiful."

“I’ll have to pay a visit to the metal smith’s wife so I can take a look.” Nudging the bundle into his arms, you lean over and kiss him softly. “Open up, baby.”

He smiles at you, honestly never expecting anything but he is curious. Opening the twine, he unfolds the cloth so he can see what's inside. "Baby...." He huffs, looking up at you. "Are these—"

“Medieval boxers?” You shrug a little, feeling extremely silly about the whole thing. “You said you hate going commando in leather pants, so I figured…why not?”

"I love them." He assures you with a grin, holding up the garment. "Do you want me to model them for you?" He asks playfully, holding them in front of his groin and wiggling his hips.

“I want you fully naked for at least another twenty-four hours.” You tell him honestly. “But after that I’ll be very excited to see you in your linen booty shorts.”

He snickers and nods, having no objections to your clothing ban. “Done. And then, when we do get dressed, I want to go back to the hot springs with you again.”

“Maybe we can head out there on horseback once you’re feeling okay with your riding lessons.” Climbing back under the blankets, you pull them to the side to invite him back in beside you.

“We can do that.” He smirks and doesn’t waste any time climbing back in the bed beside you. “So we learn how to ride and I learn how to joust, you learn all the ways of the 5th century and we see how well Merlin’s birth control works.”

“We have to hope it works pretty damn well.” Like a magnet, you tuck back into his side immediately. “Or else we’re going to end up accidentally adding another human to the timeline.”

Humming, he wraps his arm around you. “I am not even worrying about it right now.” He slides his hand down and squeezing your ass. “What I want right now if to watch my wife ride me.”

“Hmmm.” Pretending to think about it very hard, you end up giggling at the sweet, borderline pleading look on his face. “I can make that happen,” you promise, kissing along his chest.

It’s a testament to how comfortable you have gotten with him that you are even considering this. He feels like you would have balked if it were anyone else, but he has never been shy about telling you how much he loves your body. “Fuck yes. I’m definitely playing with your tits while you ride me like I’m your mount.” He teases, waggling his brows at you.

“Oh yeah?” His excitement is enough to relax you a little, and you end up sighing against him while you let your hands explore the planes of his body that you now know so well. “Does that turn you on? My tits bouncing in your face?”

“Fuck yes.” He groans and smirks at you, “Before we leave this bed, I will get you to sit that pretty pussy on my face too.”

“You’ll suffocate.” And you’re not about to give him up so quickly.

“Pfft.” He huffs and you and shakes his head. “Well, first of all, through God, all things are possible, so jot that down. Second, no I won’t. I can pick you up.”

“I’ll think about it…is that okay?” It’s not something that you foresee being comfortable with anytime too soon, but if it’s something he wants then you’re willing to try it. You’re just not ready yet.

“Okay.” The last thing he wants to do is upset you on your wedding night, so he decides to table it for now. He makes a mental note to start picking you up as often as possible, just to prove a point.

“I promise I’ll get there.” It won’t be the first time you’ve put a body image issue aside for the lover and it won’t be the last. The only difference is that, from now on, Zach is the only person any of this applies to.

“I want you to want it, baby.” He promises. “Until then, I’ll just dream of burying my face in your pussy while you suck my cock.” He leans in and kisses you. “No doing it just for me.”

You groan, squirming against him in anticipation. “You know that letting me suck your cock opens the door to pretty much everything.”

There is an evil grin on his face and he slaps your ass lightly. “Why do you think I mentioned it?” He chuckles at your pout and leans up to kiss you again “I love you, baby.”

“I love you, too.” Letting yourself sink against him is like floating on a cloud, even as you force yourself to remember that Zach is much stronger than you and having you straddle his lap will not hurt him in any way, shape, or form.

He can sense your hesitation. There is a part of him that wants to push you, force you out of your comfort zone, but right now, he just wants you to feel loved and adored. Instead of waiting for you to make up your mind, he rolls you over onto your side and pulls your leg back over his hip. His chest presses against your back and he cock slips between your thighs to slide along your folds.

“I’ll get there.” You hate how small your voice is, and how ridiculous it makes you feel, but the fact that Zach isn’t going to push you makes all the difference in the world.

“Don’t you worry about it baby.” His lips find your neck, kissing along your skin while he slides his arm under you to cup your tit in one hand while the other holds himself while he teases your pussy with his cock. “No judgement in our bed. No feeling bad. Nothing but love and lust.” He promises.

“I’ll get there.” You repeat it again like a mantra, turning your head back to push the worries away with a kiss. It’s just more evidence of how right Zach is for you, you think as your hips start to move in time with his, that he seems to have such infinite patience for your insecurities.

Humming against your lips, he pushes deeper inside you and groans when you clench down around him like a vice. “Love you.”

“Love. You.” Punctuated with kisses and a deep moan as every inch of him fills you to bursting, the rest of the world blissfully slips from your mind once more. “Fuck, baby… I’ll never get over how good you feel…”

“Yeah?” He scraps his teeth over your shoulder. “Only because of how well you take me.” The hand on your hip slides down, fingers deftly finding your clit and starting to rub in time with his thrusts.

“Like you were - oh fuck - made for me.” The extra stimulation has you whimpering, back arching to press your tits tighter into his hand and your hand reaches back to grab a handful of his ass in nonverbal encouragement.

“Was baby.” He huffs out, keeping that delicious pace up, loving the feeling of your walls scrubbing against his cock and squeezing it tight every time he thrusts deep. “Just for you.”

“Fuck, I love you.” No words will ever get close to describing how good he feels moving inside you, or how he sweeps away all the bullshit negativity just by kissing you. Love is the word that encompasses all of that - and maybe that’s why you’ve never loved anyone besides him.

"I love you baby, love you so much." He is starting to ramble, the rough thrusts of his hips starting to build up and his fingers are trying to keep up, to push you over the edge first. Needing you to feel pleasure first.

His devastating accuracy has you shaking in his arms, every stroke of his cock dragging increasingly incoherent sounds out of you. Your whole body seems to clamp down on his in every way, fingers digging into his skin, teeth nipping at his lip, velvet walls gripping his length right inside you while you drench him in another flood of cum when you cry out his name into the night.

His eyes close and he groans out you name like a prayer in church. He is prayer, to the altar that is your body. It's where he wants to worship every single day. "My heart." He pants, your orgasm bringing him over the edge right behind you. "It's yours."

Happy tears aren’t something you’re well-acquainted well. They haven’t been a part of your life and they’re not a part of how you express yourself. But the few tears escaping the corners of your eyes now are so full of love that when you twist in his arms to kiss him as he paints your womb with another burst of hot seed, the dampness finds his cheeks, as well.

"Don't cry, sweetheart." Zach tastes your tears in the kiss and his hand slides up to cup your cheek, brushing his thumb over the wetness. "Never want to see you cry." He murmurs and moves his mouth so he can kiss your eyelids.

“Happy tears.” You practically choke on the words since they’re so foreign. “Didn’t know that was possible…”

Zach hums, relieved that you are not upset, but he doesn't stop leaving tender kisses on your face. Wherever he can reach. "My love, my beautiful wife." He murmurs softly, "I am so happy I could cry too." He confesses. "I never thought I would have this - be worthy of this."

As much as you love feeling him inside you, it’s more important in this moment to be able to hold him in your arms, and you shift just enough to pout a little as his softening length slips out of you before turning around fully to wrap your arm around his body. “I don’t think either of us thought this could happen, love.” You tell him softly, in between gentle kisses dusted across his face. “But you never stopped being worthy of love.”

"Just like you have always been worthy of love, baby." He turns it on you and sighs when his own arms slot around your back and he gives you a starry-eyed look.

“Let me love you,” you insist, poking his side playfully. “You deserve every second of it.”

He squirms away from your ticklish poke and pouts at you. "I will let you love me for as long as you want." He promises.

“So forever, then.” There is not a single doubt in your mind that what you feel for him could ever fade or change.

"Forever." He agrees easily, giving you a genuine smile. He loves the idea of forever with you.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks

Once…: @raisonppascxl @skvatnavle @luminescentlily @lowlights @allthe-ships @ikinmahlen @girlwholoveswords

My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Zach Wellison #Zach Wellison x reader #Zach Wellison x you #Zach Wellison x female reader #plus size reader #Camelot #time travel au #Brothers and Sisters #celebration fic #idiots in love

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dudeshusband · 2 years

Text

Title: If Life Were Only Moments, Then You’d Never Know You Had One

Chapter: Seven of ? (One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six)

Ship: Mike of Clovelly x King Arthur

Words: 1.9k

Description: Arthur is struggling with his new position as king. After a chance enounter in the Camelot kitchen, he finds a worthy confidante.

Warnings: none

Before Arthur got the opportunity to see Mike again, he was invited once again to Castle Pendragon by Morgan. On the way, Kay warned him to be wary of her, as she had allied with King Lot, who had ensured the demise of their parents. Arthur wasn’t worried: Morgan had warned them about Lot’s attack and he had dined with her before. He was still alive. And anyway, Morgan was his sister. She was as welcome into his life as Kay was, even if he hadn’t known her very long.

Upon their arrival, she welcomed him as a king. He was flattered but reminded her that he was first and foremost her brother. Still, during the meal, she referred to Arthur as “our king” when she gave her speech. Arthur believed every word she said in it. He had no reason to believe she wasn’t sorry for her actions and didn’t intend to rectify things.

He raised a glass to her, and to the hope of a new and more unified beginning.

Morgan called in some very scantily clad female dancers as entertainment.

Arthur welcomed the distraction from the drama with Guinevere and his pining after Mike. This, and he was slightly inebriated from all the ale. Morgan seemed to be pulling it from thin air. He watched dancers amusedly, with a smile on his face.

Until, they pulled the knight’s swords from their sheaths.

His heart raced as he panicked. Even if he trusted Morgan, watching this dance with his own sword was beyond terrifying. He started to stand along with his knights.

As quickly as the dance had begun, it finished, with the swords being stabbed into the table in front of them.

As everything relaxed again, his knights took some of the dancers with them, with the exception of Leontes, who was married, and himself. For once in his life, he was not interested in the company of a naked woman, or truly, any woman at all.

His mind drifted to Mike. He wondered, foolishly, why he couldn’t have them here with them. Perhaps he should’ve brought them along, then he could have their company.

Morgan found his behavior suspicious. She suggested he should go off, as he had no queen, and he was a king, not a priest.

What she didn’t know was that his heart already belonged to someone else. Someone he wished could be at this table with him.

A shout from outside interrupted his thoughts. He rushed out to find the source of the commotion.

Somehow, the castle had caught fire. Everyone was rushing to put out the blaze.

A young girl had gotten trapped between the flames. Arthur knew they had to save her. They pushed a hay cart toward the girl, who was on a ledge. His knights catapulted him onto the ledge using the cart.

He had barely made it. He caught the ledge with his fingertips and pulled himself up and over the ledge, toward the girl. He grabbed her in his arms, and commanded his knights to spin the cart around.

He jumped off of the ledge and leapt into the hay cart below.

He rolled off of it and onto the ground.

Merlin and Gawain thought the action had been stupid. Arthur didn’t care. The girl was alive, and he was happy to be the reason why.

Another thought crept into his mind, Mike would think I was brave.

He shook it off. The castle was under attack. His heart could wait.

Who, everyone wondered, would attack Castle Pendragon?

There was a man after Bardon Pass, after the trade routes, Aldwulf. Arthur had never heard of him but according to Leontes and Merlin, he was a long standing enemy of Uther’s, one often defeated.

Now that Uther was dead, he likely thought he could take the castle, and the pass.

Warriors were sent out to check outside the castle, and return with the news of who was out there.

The others were sent to guard the castle at all ends.

Later on, one of Morgan’s guards came back with a deep gash in his arms. He told everyone about a large group of Aldwulf’s men that were hiding in the East.

Arthur maintained that they were prepared, and praised the scout for his efforts.

Gawain raged as men went out of Castle Pendragon on horseback, without command from Arthur or his men. Morgan revealed that the mistake was hers.

Arthur was angry but kept his cool. They would rework their plan, together. They would see this battle through, and they would be victorious. Then they would return home, stronger than before.

And Mike would be there. Arthur longed to see them. He hoped they would see his bravery and they would return to the way things were.

No, not quite. He wanted more with them than what had been. He wanted to be more than confidantes. He wanted to be their friend, their lover, and their king.

He returned inside before these thoughts could carry him away.

The plans he could come up with, with only twenty-five men, were practically useless. He knew this but he couldn’t let Castle Pendragon be taken.

Morgan suggested something he could not possibly accept: that she create a diversion so he could run home to Camelot. It would be a smart move but a cowardly one. What kind of king would he be, what kind of brother would he be, to leave his sister defenseless?

Guinevere suggested the women could fight too. Arthur’s knights scoffed at the thought of it. Arthur, on the other hand, listened. They could use the help, and if Guinevere wanted to risk her life to defend herself, and everyone else at the castle, Arthur would not stop her. He would applaud her, and accept her help. He would accept the help of any woman willing and able to defend the castle.

With what little time they had, they trained the women to wield bows and arrows.

Guinevere was skilled with a bow. Leontes was still wary of her fighting. Arthur did not suspect it was because he thought she was unable, only a fool would think that. He did not think he thought so low of women either. Leontes loved Guinevere, and felt it was his duty to protect her.

He was wrong. Guinevere could protect herself.

She was strong, level-headed, and kind. All the makings of a good friend, and advisor. No matter what had happened between them before, he hoped to keep her around.

Gawain had tried to leave. He had tried to fight Aldwulf alone. He was only stopped because Leontes stalled him with a battle. Arthur was annoyed as he broke the pair up, and questioned Gawain.

Gawain was reluctant to stay at the castle but as Arthur demanded he do so, for his own safety, and for the safety of everyone else, he resigned his fight to leave.

Arthur would let no one be so reckless as to fight alone. Not while he was still king.

Igraine told him he should rely on his men, let them love him. He would accept their love, and hers, but he would not hide behind them. He would fight with them, and hide from no one.

No one…

Leontes still did not know of Guinevere’s affair and Mike still did not know his feelings for them. He was hiding, not from an enemy, but from friends. He knew he couldn’t do it any longer but he was afraid of what would happen when the truth came out.

The kiss was supposed to be his closure. It wasn’t closure, it was a fool’s act. It was desperation, a hope that he could cling to Guinevere instead of moving forward. That was over and done with. They needed closure but another kiss, another intimate encounter, that wouldn’t be closure.

He needed to apologize to her.

He left his mother’s presence and went to speak to Guinevere, alone.

It was a long, dark night. There was a possibility he would die without telling Mike his feelings but he could not die without closing the door on Guinevere, without allowing her to fully love Leontes.

She stood in the glow of the moonlight, staring out into the sky. She turned as he came in, worried about what his presence might mean.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she told him.

“I need to tell you something,” he said. “Something that cannot be spoken publicly.”

“Then you shouldn’t say it at all.”

“I need to. I need this to be over.”

Guinevere looked up at him in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Leontes is my champion,” he said. “I never meant to do anything that would wreck your marriage. I should not have done any of it but most of all, I should not have kissed you on the way back from your aunt’s. That kiss, I didn’t mean it. I thought it would end everything. I know now what will. I’m sorry for everything, Guinevere.”

“You’re…sorry?”

Arthur nodded. “Yes. I pressured you into being unfaithful to Leontes. I regret every moment of it.”

“Why are you telling me this?” she asked.

“I want you to be free to love Leontes,” he said. “And-”

He hadn’t meant to start the next part out loud. He scolded himself for not catching the word before it fell from his lips.

“And what?”

“And-” Arthur began. “Guinevere, I need you to swear to me that you won’t tell a soul.”

She gave him a curious look, then nodded. “You have my word.”

“I met this wonderful person one night when I couldn’t sleep,” he said. “I went to the kitchen, expecting to be alone but there they were. I thought nothing of them at first. As we talked, I learned that they are kind, intelligent, and amusing. I couldn’t help but see them again and again. No one has made me feel lighter than they have. They are beautiful, in a way most wouldn’t appreciate. Their beauty is soft and not striking. It came over me less like a wave and more like the gentleness of a breeze. It took me some time but I’ve come to realize, I love them.”

Guinevere smiled, remembering the talk she had with Morgan. Arthur would move on, though faster than she expected. She was unsure how to feel but knew she was glad to see Arthur happy.

“Who is this lucky person?” she asked.

Arthur looked a bit lovestruck. It almost made her laugh.

“Mike,” he said. “Of Clovelly.”

“Hm. I don’t believe I know that name. Is he royal?”

Arthur shook his head. “No, they aren’t. They were a cook for Uther.”

“A cook?” Guinevere asked in shock.. “Oh, Arthur…”

“I know. I can’t help how I feel and I know I love them.”

Guinevere placed a hand on his shoulder. “Be careful. All of England is watching you.”

Arthur frowned. “I know.”

He turned to leave but Guinevere said softly, “I accept.”

He faced her. “What?”

“Your apology.”

He gave her a small smile and left her to be alone.

They survived the night and the next morning came peacefully.

Soon, a guard returned and announced a victory against Aldwulf. Everyone was relieved, except Merlin, who was as suspicious of this as he was of anything.

With their fears relieved, Arthur, his knights, his mother, and Guinevere rode back to Camelot.

tag list: @cozyships , @samsbeckett, @pucksfictionallovelife, @bee-ships , @glitched-ships , @jellyfish-ships , @thatslikesometaldude , @greghouse , @deanportmans

#self ship #self shipping community #⌜ ✒ ⌟

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iwannaseeyainakia · 3 years

Text

The Moonlight Circus

This was a story I was commissioned to write by an anonymous tumblr user. Thought it would be good to show my writing and see how it changes over time!

trigger warning: gore, smoking, religious and supernatural themes, death, minor profanity

The heel of Morgan’s boots clicked against the checkered flooring of the circus. She made her way to the center of the stage, her stride casual. She readjusted her gray beanie as she climbed up the steps. The plastic name tag below her collarbone wobbled with each step. The words “Moonlight Circus” in Courier New font rested above her first name. The floor of the stage was filthy; ash and soot smeared into the once pristine black and white pattern. Her pale green eyes followed a line of ash leading to a rusted cast-iron cannon. The smell of burnt flesh lingered in the air.

She exhaled softly, reached into the pocket of her ‘Metallica’ pullover, and pulled out a lavender lighter and a worn pack of Newport cigarettes. She yanked one out of the box and shoved it in her hoodie again. Her black bitten nails struggled to start a flame before she victoriously held it to her cigarette, finally lighting it. A pewter gray smog released from the very tip, emitting a bitter comforting scent. She lifted her hand to her face, the cig clenched between her middle and pointer finger. As the paper touched her pale lips, the once vermillion embers shifted to a startling violet and the musty gray smoke suddenly turned a mauve tone. Morgan took a long drag of the strange purple cigarette while taking in her surroundings.

The massive tent surrounding her was a striped pattern of burgundy and eggshell white. The fabric was contrastingly cleaner than the stage of the ‘Moonlight Circus.’ The seating for guests was discolored bleachers; the aluminum being stained and scratched away by years of usage and lack of cleanliness. Many hot dogs drenched in mustard and bags of popcorn must have been dropped on it. There were multiple stacked on either side of the tent. The elevated stage had an outer ring surrounded by dark crimson foam. A round indoor pool was 15 feet away from her, the bottom of the pool a dirty yellow tint. Scales and confetti floated at the surface of the tainted water.

Large LED stage lights were set up at the ceiling of the canvass. Each was about the size of a child and contained a lens of different hues. They dimly lit the stage white. The tent was held up by dozens of rods with a singular large black pole at the center. The fabric bunched together and pulled up; it looked almost as if the very top of the tent was a tunnel that led nowhere, the stripes creating a dizzying optical illusion.

The circus itself was located in a cheap amusement park; the locals treasured this place. It was affordable and held plenty of memories dear to their hearts. The Moonlight Circus was the main event, the park's pièce de résistance if you will.

They had crowds of people flood the show every day. Bright smiles beamed on the faces of children and content parents awaited a trip down memory lane, nostalgia a pleasant high. After all, who wouldn’t be entranced by real-life monsters?

Morgan released a puff of amethyst smoke, gently laying the cigarette between her lips again and keeping it there. She proceeded to stuff her hands in her pockets before an elegant voice called out to her, disrupting her daze.

“Are you ready for the next show Morgana?” The feminine voice was gentle and motherly. She spoke each word with a grace that held centuries of wisdom. Her thick French accent was gorgeous; her voice matched exactly how she appeared. Morgan casually turned around and sent the woman a closed smile. Guinevere was a being of beauty, a true spectacle to behold. She was a small woman, approximately 5’2, petite but with a stance that conveyed raw strength. Her billowing pitch-black gown strewn behind her as she sashayed her direction. Her arms gently swung at her hips, an opera-length cigarette holder between the dainty fingers of her left hand. The skin of said hand was a pale blue-gray. The center of the long pipe was a silver fading into an intense black; a cigarette burning blood red at the end of it. Morgan glanced at her long dark hair. It was bone straight and swung behind her waist. The fringe of her locks covered her right eye, but Morgan could still make out a piercing iris a startling shade of red.

“Hey, Gwen. Yeah, pretty much. Is everyone in the dressing room right now?” She inquired as the monster woman stood in front of her. Gwen gripped the edge of her large ebony sunhat, cigarette holder still between her fingers. The brim of the apparel was big enough to cover most of her hauntingly beautiful face. Lace hung half an inch off the seams and thin royal purple sticks of dynamite adorned the outer ring. While the entire hat was an eye-catcher; a nod to her part in the circus, the true emphasis of the hat was the large skull littered with cracks and yellow stains from tobacco.

“Yes, and they’re taking damn long if I do say so myself.” The skull quipped judgmentally. Morgan chuckled. Gwen was not so amused by her husband’s comment.

“Hush Pierre. No need to be snippy.” Guinevere jutted her hip out and placed her right hand on it to convey her sass. The skull instead, haughtily laughed at his wife. She rolled her eyes but could not contain the fond smile that grew on her lips, exposing her sharp fangs. Despite all the time that’s passed, she still couldn’t fight how easily Pierre made her grin ear to ear. “Don’t mind him, Morgana, we’d best be on our way to prepare.” Gwen gripped Morgan’s wrist and tugged her along in the direction of the dressing room.

Guinevere was the owner of the Moonlight Circus. A wonderful boss indeed, she felt more like a friend she’d known all her life than her superior. She also was a woman with a dream: to unite humans and monsters through entertainment. Humans used to fear the supernatural, loath it with their very being, but in this day and age, they take great pleasure in the abnormalities of the differing species. Harmony is built in this circus; humans come for entertainment and to admire the beautiful, violent specters, and the monster women give it to them. Gwen, a vampire, found joy in making others happy with her performance and her performers.

She often sat with Morgan under the night sky, gazing at the stars with a fond expression, spilling her life story to her.

As a young girl, Guinevere was dazzled by monster kind. Born human, she felt there was so much to be discovered in magic and mythology. She felt it a shame that humanity was so quick to turn a blind eye to something so beautiful due to its differences in appearance. Her inclination in performing arts made her dream of a world where she could use performance to change a deep-seeded ideal within the societal structure. She’d sit next to her window sill, eyes twinkling with delight, wishing upon stars that someday her dream would become reality.

For a woman such as herself, an objective of that nature was unheard of; impossible even. Nonetheless, she persevered. She wanted to tell the world that as a woman she would create art like no other and she would make a change for the supernatural of all origins. With a cigar between her lips, she rolled up the sleeves of her dress and got to work. She specifically sought out other women of mythological backgrounds for her acts. By 1890, she’d created the “Moonlight Circus” with the help of supernatural people she’d met along the way. In a small corner of Paris, France, it stayed. Given that monsters were still looked down upon by mankind, they’d been spit on, leered at, and dismissed by the public. As decades passed without much luck, her hope slowly began to dwindle.

Gwen spent many restless nights wandering the streets of Paris, desperately trying to spread word of the big top containing wonderous spectacles to no avail. Just as she was close to giving up an aspiration she’d clutched tight since childhood, an American traveling carnival approached her. The owner, a large man who was only ever seen adorning a velvet suit, believed there was promise in her bazaar. He saw something no one else but Guinevere considered possible: an opportunity for change. In a society where her family within the tent were nothing but social rejects, outcasts; they along with everyone like them could be so much more. The man, kinder than Gwen could have ever hoped, opened up about his beliefs and desire to have her circus as an attraction in his fair. And she accepted with insurmountable glee.

So, a new chapter for the big top began. With this foreign carnival, she traveled and built up her crew from nothing but sheer will. She continued her exploration and found many monstrous beings with the same ideology to join as performers. Word soon got out of the fantastical bazaar that made its way around the world. As opinions of the inhuman began to evolve with new generations, so too did their desire to know more. And eventually, they had a crowd; an adoring audience astounded by the display of otherworldly figures. Now, the carnival has made its permanent home in New Mexico, USA, and the circus by extension.

“Think it’ll be packed tonight, Gwen?” Morgan already knew the answer, but figured it would be polite to make small talk.

“Yes, absolutely my dear.” Guinevere continued to drag her to a slit in the circus tent. She placed her cigarette holder between her lips and used her palm to gently spread the opening, revealing a backstage area. It was renovated to be a dressing room; gothic aesthetic to match the theme, for all the performers pre-show. It was a much smaller canopy structure installed into the side of the main show tent. Despite the ground being grassy terrain, the room itself was well done. Dark oak vanities covered the walls, steampunk and alternative costumes littered any free space, and makeup laid atop every flat surface. The spherical bulbs lining the mirror of the vanities were all lit a dim white light, illuminating the room enough so it was not pitch black.

Light chatter and giggles filled the room as everyone who performed in the circus continued to get ready.

The first person to notice Morgan’s sudden appearance was Gwen’s daughter, Victoria. Her eyes instantly brightened and a large Cheshire grin grew to meet her eyes. Vicky’s poofy raven black dress bounced as she sprinted towards her. The ivory petticoat underneath made the lace skirt fuller and frilly. The undead theme seemed to run in the family; Vicky being the zombie to her mother's bloodsucker and her father's skeletal remains. Her skin and teeth were rotten and oozing. Her hair was almost floor-length, and unbelievably matted. The knots at the base of her skull were so large you could have mistaken them for golf balls wrapped inside her tresses. A pair of filthy copper goggles rested on her forehead, the lenses murky and caked in blood. Between her toothy smile was a large cigar. There was no way to pinpoint the brand, as it was only labeled with a strange rune Morgan had never seen before. Apparently, she had been taking a drag from the cigar, because smoke began to leak out of the holes in her skin.

Vicky launched her small form into Morgan’s arms. Morgan struggled to grip her as the foul stench her rotten flesh emanated was near unbearable. Swallowing down an audible gag, she smiled at the little girl before placing her gently back onto the grass.

“Morgan! You’re going to love my act tonight.” Victoria loudly claimed, holding her fists to her chest with a grin still plastered upon her lips. Morgan couldn’t help but return the expression. Vicky was a sweet girl. A demented undead one, but sweet nonetheless. “I’m sure I will, Vicky. You’ll kill it tonight.” She seemed to have chosen the right words, because Vicky’s grin only got wider as she bounced up and down, skirt floating with her movement. She made gestures referencing explosions and tried to explain how her act tonight would go, but her words were so jumbled they were not understandable in the slightest. Her enthusiasm continued to increase alongside her violent movements before her mother placed a hand on her small shoulder.

“Now, now Victoria, you’re talking so fast no one can understand you, dear. She’ll get to see your performance soon anyway, so let's keep it a surprise.” Gwen chided her daughter sweetly. “Ok, mommy.” Vicky heeded her mother's words and scurried to the side to search for her favorite lighter, cigar bouncing between her decayed teeth. Cigar smoke trailed behind her figure. Gwen shook her head at her daughter’s antics, gripping the cig holder between her lips to take in a puff of nicotine.

Victoria was the product of forbidden love between Guinevere and Pierre, a formerly vampiric man she’d encountered while searching for spectacles to join her circus. The traveling carnival had traversed Europe and decided to take camp for a while in the French countryside. Gwen had been overjoyed to be in her mother country again. She languished in the smell of the air and the sounds of nature like music to her ears. On a particularly stormy night, a vampire man with hair as light as wheat and skin as pale as snow knocked at the door of her bedroom within a quaint little inn. She opened the door to see him drenched in rain. The revenant, Pierre, gave her a goofy smile and asked for a part in her monstrous sideshow.

While puzzled, she wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity. Pierre and Guinevere grew close the more they worked at the fair together. They both had a passion for performing and magic. Romance blossomed; eventually, they eloped and she became pregnant. It was uncommon for vampires to conceive children, let alone with one of mankind. Guinevere was a woman of adventure and risk, so she took this new development in stride. In the excitement of her family growing larger, she decided to have Pierre turn her. Neither realized the possible problems that would arise from changing her into a vampire while bearing a child.

And so, when Victoria was born, she was sickly and frail in every sense. Her genetics were corrupted by the change her mother took on while carrying her. Her personality, though, could be described as nothing but robust. Vicky as a toddler would often act as if she were not terminally ill; watching the acts in her mother’s circus with enraptured eyes, even participating in the choreography herself from time to time.

Guinevere often spoke of a time in which Vicky had climbed into the cannon without anyone noticing and failed in trying to light it with one of her old cigars. She had rushed over in a panic, tearing her from the barrel before the flame grew closer. She checked over her body and, once assured she was not injured, inquired what she had been thinking. Victoria, the overzealous little girl she was, could only laugh with a large smile plastered on her face. “I wanted to fly mommy!”

As she grew older, her body deteriorated. By age five she could barely walk. By six she couldn’t at all. At seven, she no longer had the energy to speak. At the young age of eight, she could only watch the performing women with a blank smile before she passed. For days they grieved over her. They left her cadaver laying on her satin bed sheets as she was before her death, in anguished hopes they could find a way to bring her back to them. After tirelessly searching for any form of necromancy that could revive her, Guinevere entered Victoria’s bedroom to adjust her as she did every day. Only to be startled by her daughter sitting upright and speaking to her.

“Mommy, can I go play at the circus now?” Victoria bounced off the bed with newfound strength in her rotten limbs. Gwen could only rush to hug her baby who was with her once more. Undead, but with her despite everything. From that day on she allowed Victoria to become a full-time member of the bazaar. The human (zombie) cannonball. With a body that could be put back together, no working pain receptors, and a passion for explosives and theatrics, she fits the part flawlessly.

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The smaller tent was filled with a variety of supernatural women, the circus only having female staff. While most continued with their activities, some turned her direction and welcomed her. The parts in the circus were relatively small compared to most other acts, but the integration of monsters and mankind made up for it.

Every single person handpicked by Guinevere herself, the cosmetologists, background musicians, and stage crew were all fairies. They each had varying sizes and shades of iridescent butterfly wings, and tight thigh-length dresses made from leaves and spider silk. While not as small as fae are typically depicted in human literature, they reached only about 3 feet and hovered above ground with a light flap of their appendages; they had the grace of hummingbirds. Faes are known for their artistic and musical capabilities. There were twenty-three pixies on set, all of them being gentle girls with a heart of gold. Their love of all life made them a wonderful asset to this circus promoting coexistence. Currently, they fluttered around tidying the room and freshening up the faces of the main performers.

The ‘clowns’ of the act were all young shapeshifters. All fifteen of the women were from different cultures, shapeshifters being in a large majority of mythology; making them unique despite the similarities in capacities. Their abilities were used to shift them from playful clowns to dangerous animals to be used in other’s acts. While their personalities were all very different, each of them loved performing at the Moonlight Circus. Some spoke amongst themselves, shimmying into tight leotards and fixing their updos. A few of them, though, struggled to keep Victoria from swallowing handfuls of gunpowder. Especially with a lit cigar in her mouth.

“VICKY NO-” A wet splat hit the wall and a giggling head rolled at their feet. The shifters looked in disgust at their blood-stained clothes and scolded the decapitated head of the little girl. The others just laughed at the normally terrifying sight.

Morgana turned her eyes away, cringing internally, but knowing full well she’d be back on her feet in a few minutes.

The main acts were very typical of a circus; the women enacting them were anything but. The designated tight rope walker was an Arachne woman named Magnolia. Her form was that of a tall human, her body could only be described as pear-shaped. Despite her form being humanoid, she had skin that was a smooth charcoal black and a spider abdomen attached to her lower back. The abdomen was a sunshine yellow covered in symmetrical white spots on either side. The pedicel connecting it to her body was the same tone as her skin. She also had eight spindly appendages protruding from the middle of her spine, each striped black and yellow. Magnolia had shoulder-length wavy hair a banana color with frayed strands of spider webs tangled within. Despite the frightening six extra eyes lining her temples, she was a kind eccentric woman. As the aerialist, the tightrope she walked during each performance was a magnificent braided rope made of her webbing. Magnolia was sitting on a cushioned stool, twisting her thread into a complicated bracelet, only glancing up to grace Morgan with a polite smile and greeting.

Delane and Clio, however, wasted no time in rushing to make conversation with her.

“Yo, Morgan! We’ve been looking for ya. Can you help me into this wetsuit?” Clio loudly proclaimed, simultaneously carrying her lover, Delane, in her arms bridal style. The duo is the aquatic performers of the show. Clio is a water nymph with connections to the Greek god Poseidon. She willingly took on a human female’s appearance, but that could not hide the divine aura that radiated off her very being. She had a lean build but still held all the strength a creature with holy connections such as herself should have. Her head was bare of hair and her ears pointed in an elf-like fashion. She stumbled around in a limp bedazzled wetsuit pulled up her hips halfway, the skin of her upper half an olive tan.

“Seriously dude, I’m struggling here.”

Delane was a mermaid, a perfect match to Clio’s Nereid. Her Prussian blue scaled tail hung limply over her girlfriend’s arm. The trawl half of her body closely resembled a koi fish. The caudal fin was long and thin, like fine silk flowing with the movements of Clio’s jerks. A dorsal fin ran down the back of it, getting smaller as it reached the end of her tail. She also had multiple pelvic fins running down the sides; the fins at the top were much larger than the ones at the end. They were all light cyan. The scales from her tail ran up her stomach, becoming much more scattered as they reached the dark skin of her breasts. Her hair was a short black pixie cut with a shaggy top, ending at the gills just below her chin.

“Yeah, uh, maybe hurry before she drops me, please.” Delane nervously spoke. She wore a necklace composed of seashells and stones from the shore of her home, matching Clio’s own as a symbol of devotion between them. Together, they enacted a beautiful water-based act that captivated every audience we had.

Morgan laughed at Clio’s predicament before moving to help her into the suit. Just as she got a grip on the neoprene material a strong voice halted them.

“You could’ve just asked me, Clio. Here I got you.” Large calloused hands assisted her in her efforts. Morgan turned her head to Anastalia. Anastalia was the strong woman act of the circus. Like many of those hired here, a part of her resembled that of mankind, but she was very obviously not human. Her upper half was the build of a shredded woman: pulsing muscles, large bulging breasts, defined abs, intimidating biceps. She looked as if she was carved by the gods themselves. Her bottom half, while just as muscular, was that of a black stallion. Her four large hooves clapped against the ground in a deafening display and her dark tail broke the sound barrier like a whip. The hair atop her head was a dark brown with a sheen that made it glint in the light. Her long straight locks cascaded down the flesh of her shoulders a similar shade, reaching the small of her back.

Anastalia peers up from the suit to bicker teasingly with Clio. She galloped gracefully in circles around them, admiring her handy work. “Eh, to be honest, I think it needs to be a bit bluer at the hips.” She quipped thoughtfully. Clio and Delane exchanged a glance and giggled in unison. Clio responded, “You’re one for detail, but let me tell ya, you don’t look it.” She lets out a boisterous laugh, keeling over slightly, causing Delane to screech in fear of being dropped and grip her shoulders tighter. Anastalia only rolled her eyes.

“Har har, laugh it up, I’m not just a brute. I’m also an artist.” She struck a pose that had Clio cackling harder and Delane protesting louder. Morgan shared a laugh with them, her sides aching. Loud footsteps behind her turned her attention away for a moment. “C’mon Lanira, hurry!” Vicky, seemingly back to normal after spontaneously combusting, ran and jumped in a very abstract dance with her friend. Lanira, an incorporeal little girl resembling that of a cartoon witch floated around her at a much slower pace. “I’m going as fast as I can Vicky.” Lanira’s tone was much less enthusiastic. She had a slight cockney accent.

Her dark flowing gown had no shape to it, more like a sack made of cotton. Her sleeves puffed out and tightened below her palms that gripped onto a translucent 19th-century broomstick underneath her. She twirled around with Victoria, who was still jumping around and flailing in her interpretative art form. Her wide-brimmed hat had a large peak at the top that dipped down at the very point. It was navy blue and held a wide variety of jewelry and trinkets that dangled down. Bits of cloth hung off the edge with pearls woven into it.

Lanira had become a ghost after a ‘mishap’ with one of her spells backfiring. As the magician of the big top, she experimented with plenty of dangerous enchantments. One moment she was but a mangled corpse of a girl with crippling insomnia, and the next she was a spirit with large eyebags, continuing with her act as if death had not just occurred before everyone’s eyes. As the specter of a young talented sorceress, she must have expected this possible outcome and kept a few “tricks” up her sleeve. She kept with her act even after her untimely demise, even increasing the intensity now that death was no longer a possibility.

Morgan took a long drag of her cigarette and continued to gaze in amusement. Lanira half-heartedly attempted to keep up with Victoria, the zombie child still lost in her own little world.

“Alright, everyone! It’s time to get this show on the road once more, as they say.” Gwen chuckled at herself lightly. The room erupted in conversation and scrambling to get in costume in time. The pale woman approached her once more. “Will you please start allowing entry, dear?” She nodded at her, cig between her lips bobbing. “Of course.” She smiled and made her way out of the dressing room.

The flap quietly closed behind her form as she made her way to her ticket booth. She could still hear the loud conversations and shuffling from inside the room. Her steps echoed throughout the stage. The entrance to the inside of the show floor was a large rectangular cut-out with a flap hanging to the side that could be zipped up. The outside of the tent was the same striped colors as the inside, illuminated by the setting sun. The tent performed almost all day, but their largest and most spectacular show was always right after the sunset. It was also the most packed of all their performances.

The ticket booth was a wooden structure painted red and white. A gigantic sign in the shape of a ticket was placed on the roof displaying the name of the circus. It sat in front of a zig-zagging gate that led to the entrance. She opened the door and stepped inside, admiring the long line that had already formed. The crowd was a diverse amount of people. Some were singular people showing up alone for the show. Some were human couples on a date or parents with their ecstatic children bouncing with joy. There were even some couples that were interspecies; a human and a not-so-human person lovingly interlocked their hands.

She opened the window of the booth and started accepting tickets from each person. One by one they approached the stall, handing in their crisp voucher, and making their way through the gates to pick up snack food and be seated. The sound of kids giggling and adults speaking with a grin in their voice was heartwarming. Memories were being made here time and time again; the atmosphere never changed. She never got tired of seeing happy faces coming to experience the wonders of the Moonlight Circus. A small crescent moon adorned each ticket that she received and stashed away in a box beside her.

It took a good long while before each person who had previously bought a ticket was granted entry. She let out a sigh and sucked in some more smoke. She released a lilac cloud into the evening air. The sky was a dusty orange making way for the black of night. She continued to smoke while idly wondering if a storm was brewing. It seemed as if their best shows were when it was pouring rain and thunder broke through the cheers. The sound of Guinevere’s muffled voice over a speaker broke through the silence she’d been basking in.

“Ladies and gentlemen! I thank you for coming to see our fantastical performers tonight! We hope to amaze you just as every crowd before.” Her words were a cue for Morgana. She laid the cigarette between her lips once more and strode her way into the tent. The tips of her fingers graced over the edge of the tent fabric for a split second. The control panels for the lighting were tucked into another miniature tent attached to the side of the main structure. She could see the sprites flying above and moving the large spotlight from the cameras beside the panels to follow Gwen’s moving figure. The stark white luminescence made her look more ethereal than before. She continued on, cigarette holder still wedged between her thin lips.

“We have an awe-inspiring act for you all!”

“This beautiful lady here did most of the work.”

Her husband quickly added to her dialogue. “Hush my love.” The crowd quietly chuckled.

“It’s true.”

“Pierre!”

“Sorry, sorry!”

The audience roared with more laughter.

Under the dim lighting of the rest of the stage, she could make out the two fluffy skirts of the little girls waiting for their first part in the choreography. One was fidgeting and prancing around in the dark, not only disguised by the lack of light but the cloud from her cigar. The other floated just above the ground, flying around the other body in circles. Morgan placed her fingertips on the switches and pushed them up very slightly. The area brightened enough for the stage to be somewhat visible but kept the two hidden from their awaiting audience.

“Each of our performers is a woman with grace, power, and most of all, a love for their part here.”

Recovering from her husband's unethical interruption, she made her way up to the round platform on the stage. The spotlight followed in sync. She turned suddenly to face the stands, her skirt twirling above her feet.

“We give you our best and only our best!” Gwen spoke into the microphone with glee, her visible scarlet eye piercing the crowd. “The Moonlight Circus has been our pride and joy for many decades. Tonight, we strive to show you exactly why!” She gave them a beautiful motherly smile.

“Now please.”

“Stay seated and enjoy the show!” She and the skull of her husband atop her head spoke in unison. She extended one arm behind her, bent the other in front of her middle and bowed.

“Hey, hey! Careful please!” Pierre screamed as he slipped down slightly. The audience responded with laughter as before. The spotlight shut off and the stage was dim once again, other than the shine of Guinevere’s red cigarette. The crowd went silent. Her footsteps echoed on a different part of the stage. She could very faintly make out dainty shoes running up the steps and hopping into the cannon. One of the two figures was missing from their spot to the side.

Morgan’s fingers danced on the panel, letting excitement coarse through her. She couldn’t fight the adrenaline rush before each performance commenced. She hadn’t been working there for more than two years, but this circus had become her family. Her home. Each person here has proven to her that the impossible is only so if you believe it is. And each show was a testament to how far they’d come. This circus act alone has been a large part of the progression that’s been made between the supernatural world and human society. They’re more than just a tent of sideshow freaks; they’re artists embracing their bodies and talents to better their lives, and many others.

She grips the lever with resolve. She knows that to an outsider they may be passing entertainment. But that was progress by itself. This place is a part of her now. And she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Morgana pushed the handle forward. It clicked in place. The stage lights flicked on in a magnificent spectrum of colors. Gwen’s right hand is extended to the wick of the cannon, holder lighting the end. Her daughter’s tangled mane of hair is just barely visible from the lip. A deafening boom shatters the atmosphere and the show begins.

#original fiction #commisionwork #oc commission #oc #commission #short story #short stories #writing #fiction #gothic #circus #supernatural #monsters #gore

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lucky-sevens · 4 years

Text

mechanisms fiction!

also known as: i read all the fiction so you don’t have to!

under the cut: summaries of each fiction, word count, and content warnings! the summaries are of my own writing, and unlike the ones on the website, i’ve opted for useful rather than intriguing. i’ve also ordered the list to make a bit more sense/fit better timeline-wise!

some of the fiction has an audio version; i’ve included links to TheVoidSings’ lyric videos of said audio where applicable!

i’ve put the ones with relevant lore in bold, the ones i personally like in italics, and i’ve put a * after all the ones that include the mechs!

AURORA AND THE CREW

breakup*

summary: nastya and aurora have an argument and then both go off to sulk. mostly focuses on nastya. interesting thing: scuzz is in this one!

word count: 707

content warnings: implied nsfw

the story of the toy soldier*

summary: it’s the toy soldier’s backstory! covers what’s probably at least a decade and has a lot of lore! also has illustrations, most likely courtesy of ts!

word count: 605

content warnings: murder, images of choking, implied rape

who killed doctor carmilla?*

summary: carmilla’s just been pushed out an airlock and various mechanisms are going around trying to get an alibi out of everyone.

word count: 647

content warnings: n/a

interview transcript 34/08/7012*

summary: a police officer attempts to interview jonny when he’s in prison. includes a lot of information about him that’s nice to have for characterization!

word count: 782

content warnings: discussed murder, including child murder; attempted suicide

archive footage*

summary: an ivy character study, pretty much! goes into her fucked up brain and how it works. one of my personal favorites, as it’s very well written.

word count: 1390

content warnings: death, minor blood/gore

octokittens*

summary: a short one-off featuring some ashes and jonny banter!

word count: 208

content warnings: guns, animal death

feeding the octokittens*

summary: another one-off: this one has some quality tim, ivy, and nastya content. very fun!

word count: 455

content warnings: animal death

tales of the blogbot*

summary: comes off as an odd fiction, addressing the ‘blogbot’, the thing that used to send out the updates on the mechs mailing list (among other things) and makes passive-aggressive comments about them occasionally. goes through a few answers to what the bot is, and comes to no conclusion, but directly links to the next fiction in my list, ‘ghost in the machine’.

word count: 988

content warnings: referenced mass murder, implied nsfw

ghost in the machine*

summary: what happened to aurora’s programmer when jonny and carmilla took over ‘her’ ship (which is explained/expanded on in ‘how the aurora was won’); lots of aurora lore, as well as a more close view into the actual atrocities the mechanisms commit.

word count: 1152

content warnings: death

how the aurora was won*

jonny steals the aurora from the cyberian navy, in the most unsettling way possible!

word count: 631

content warnings: suicide, graphic depictions of violence

a bedtime story*

some fluffy nastyaurora for the soul!

word count: 326

content warnings: n/a

drive the cold winter away*

part of a group with cyberian demons and nomadic spacers! i think i’ve arranged them chronologically, but might have messed it up.

nastya visits the ruins of cyberia. jonny and ashes are there.

word count: 432

content warnings: n/a

cyberian demons*

a nastya character study- reflections on her memories, as she works on destroying what is left of cyberia.

word count: 1699

content warnings: blood, violence

nomadic spacers*

an outsider pov on the events of ‘drive the cold winter away’ and ‘cyberian demons’.

word count: 1120

content warnings: death

out*

nastya leaves the mechanisms for good after she finds her love, aurora, is no longer who she once was; presumably, this is her death.

word count: 1210

content warnings: suicide

ONCE UPON A TIME [IN SPACE]

gingerbread

hansel and gretal’s villain origin story! (they were the scientists speaking in ‘the twins’)

word count: 609

content warnings: child neglect, murder, needles/syringes

midnight

a bit of a cinders character study/some more of her backstory!

word count: 628

content warnings: n/a

mirror, mirror (audio version here!)

post-pump shanty/snow’s flight. the beginning of snow’s descent into a worse person, and how it overlaps with the myth of snow white/how she begins to take on the role of the evil queen.

word count: 860

content warnings: smoking

a fireside chat

a radio broadcast by scheherazade, king cole’s chief propaganda minister.

word count: 842

content warnings: mentions of concentration camps, death, and bombings

a rebel yell (audio version here!)

counter to ‘a fireside chat’- a radio broadcast by tom thumb, the voice of the rebellion! one of my personal favorites, as it’s very funny.

word count: 574

content warnings: mentions of mass murder

chapter’s end*

mad jack spratt and jonny d’ville play cards.

word count: 790

content warnings: discussions of death

by any other name

basically all the lore around briar rose, in a form of a report by hood, the rebellion’s hacker!

word count: 2023

content warnings: murder, graphic depictions of violence

this little piggy

all of the (incredibly fucked up) lore around the three little pigs!

word count: 993

content warnings: child abuse, brainwashing, non-consensual body modification, medical abuse (it’s a very intense one, please stay safe!)

what big eyes

all the lore we have on hood, in the form of king cole’s intelligence officers trying to figure it out.

word count: 1946

content warnings: mentions of war crimes and death

in the army*

the toy soldier and a group of rose reds hang out in a bar together! it’s a very fun one, with lots of banter! presumably takes place before the toy soldier met the mechanisms, but we don’t know that for sure. lots of lore about the rose reds, as well!

word count: 707

content warnings: mentions of war crimes and death

true love

colonel belle’s report on her efforts to manipulate adam ‘the beast’ bete into joining the resistance. (the mechs’ take on beauty and the beast). also a small bit of lore about rose!

word count: 1151

content warnings: manipulation, torture, unhealthy relationships

one thousand and two

a character study of scheherazade- the thoughts running through her head as rebels are about to find and kill her.

word count: 2236

content warnings: suicide; mentions of torture, concentration camps, and child death

ever after*

you know how jonny was being annoyingly cryptic about what happened to briar rose! well, they have a fiction that says!

word count: 680

content warnings: graphic depictions of violence

ULYSSES DIES AT DAWN

you’ll have to tell us the story sometime*

the mechanisms explore the ruins of the city, thousands of years after the events of ulysses dies at dawn!

word count: 469

content warnings: n/a

death in the metropolis

not anything super relevant- a news article about gang violence and the increased shifts for acheron workers as a result, setting a bit of a mood for the city as a whole. establishes hermes’ role in olympus.

word count: 547

content warnings: nothing to note, but there’s the background fucked-up-ness of the city going on and mentioned!

how not to die

another news article, this one focused on a group of people (’helljumpers’) trying to escape the acheron.

word count: 926

content warnings: suicide

fao: hermes – not urgent

a bit of a followup to the previous two fictions! the editor, herodotus, gets in trouble for discussing the helljumpers.

word count: 453

content warnings: n/a

orpheus, dionysus, muriatic acid and the strange whirring thing*

a look into orpheus’ character and how he ended up in the ulysses job! (mechs don’t heavily feature- just a note of the role brian took on, as well as mentions of ashes of course)

word count: 5017

content warnings: addiction, suicidal thoughts, police; implied nsfw, but only in the context of orpheus being a sex worker

orpheus and narcissus go to the seaside

i personally really love this one! it’s low-key the mechanisms’ take on the great gatsby- takes place a few years prior to the above fiction, and explores orpheus and narcissus’ friendship! it’s morbidly funny, with lots of very good banter/interaction!

word count: 6300

content warnings: eating disorders, addiction, implied nsfw (again in the context of sex work), suicidal thoughts, mental institutions (even if that’s not normally a problem for you, they get very dark and graphic, so be careful), non-consensual drugging; technically self-harm, but it’s a lighthearted joke

in the madness of war

how ulysses was forced into the war (a darker take on the story about him attempting to avoid it at first).

word count: 817

content warnings: n/a

the hacker’s mistake (a fiction to accompany prometheus)

prometheus is revealed as corrupt, but that doesn’t stop people from believing in him, so he is made an example of.

word count: 903

content warnings: torture

one of the chosen

another low-lore worldbuilding piece- this one about a teenage girl who gets conscripted to the acheron early.

word count: 824

content warnings: n/a (it’s fairly dark, though, so be careful).

eskhatos*

after the events of ulysses dies at dawn, the mechanisms leave, but not without causing a bit of chaos first.

word count: 464

content warnings: cannibalism

HIGH NOON OVER CAMELOT

the fastest shot

guinevere’s backstory!

word count: 792

content warnings: murder, child abuse, alcoholism

the sharpest aim

a western-style tall tale, starring lancelot!

word count: 1667

content warnings: relationship abuse, murder, violence

i will rule this town*

another personal favorite! expanding on ‘ten caliber railgun he got off a bandit in the flooded sectors’, it deals with arthur’s attempts to bring down nimue, the lady of the lake, and gain control! also has some lancelot/arthur/guinevere fluff, and a bit of an insight into his friendship with brian- as well as his original hopeful mindset, and how that diminished.

word count: 1488

content warnings: murder, drowning

the wake

morgan le fay (mordred’s surrogate mother)’s funeral, and mordred’s decision to go seek out camelot.

word count: 1045

content warnings: death (but only in the context of it being a funeral), cultural cannibalism

pellinore and the beast (audio version here)

this one’s a bit of an odd one- i’ve included it for the sake of completion, as it’s on the fiction list, but it’s just the lyrics to the mechs song pellinore and the beast? i’ve excluded the word count and content warnings for this one, as it’s literally just the lyrics. unsure of what to do here.

OTHER

the prisoner of dorian gray

the mechanisms’ take on the story of dorian grey! this one is part fiction, part song lyrics with a note of the tune they should be sung to.

word count: 1746

content warnings: suicide, torture

and that’s it! the fiction is all very good and well written, and i’d highly recommend reading at least a few of these!

#the mechanisms #the mechs #my posts #compiliation post #reference

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alyvialannister · 4 years

Photo

name: alyvia lannister neé rowan

nickname: livia

age: twenty eight years old

birthdate: april 28th, 112

house: rowan / lannister

native region: the reach

��𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒚.

father: thaddeus rowan ( deceased )

mother: ayeleen oakheart ( deceased )

brothers: two older, two younger

sister: two younger

best friend: guinevere lannister ( estranged )

husband: ruling lord of lannisport

𝑯𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚.

the eldest born daughter of the noble house of rowan of the reach, alyvia had an upbringing similar to most highborn women. consisting of studies in literature, history, and etiquette. when she was young following the passing of her mother alyvia was sent to reside with the lannisters of casterly rock in the company of the lannister princesses as a ward of the house, as her father was quite overtaken with grief and she had begun to grow weary with the company of just her elder brothers, and maids. with her studies and temperament suffering for it. and furthermore her father had a strong friendship with tymond lannister.

in casterly rock alyvia grew close to guinevere as the girls were nearly the same age. their friendship was widely known and even when her father sought to have her return to golden grove once he’d remarried she resisted. livia would only return to the reach a few years later when she was betrothed to cedric tyrell. their engagement was pleasant, and now having grown into herself her separation from her friend was more bearable. she was becoming reacquainted with her homeland, and planning a future in highgarden alongside cedric.

the worsening war to some extent lead to the upheaval of the future she was envisioning for herself. with allegiances quickly shifting all around them, her wedding to cedric was understandably postponed. not long after, news of tymond lannister’s death reached them and her father was summoned to kings landing to take his place as hand to aegon. however, his appointment was cause of some tension with the tyrells and hightowers, and also opposed by two members of the small council. though he would go on to take the position for a short term the following year despite how unfavorable the position might be in aegons court. the politics at play had already begun to change the course of her future.

when her father decided that her engagement to cedric would be dissolved due to growing political tensions with highgarden, she was told she would instead be marrying the newly titled lord of lannisport, tymonds eldest nephew, so she could be secure in the westerlands where she spent most of her formative years. and on this matter she wasn’t given much of a choice, her usual sway over her father no longer holding. with her fathers shifting positions and responsibilities in kings landing the wedding was rushed, and her new husband was just as embroiled in the conflict following the death of his own father in the battles waged, thus they had little time to get aquatinted with one another at the start of their relationship.

when livia learned her best friend had been the one to suggest the marriage to her cousin to her brother, despite knowing her word likely had little sway over the men and that she was well-intentioned alyvia could not help but feel a bit betrayed. thus despite her return to the westerlands there was a noticeable rift between the old friends. the rift only grew when her father was disgraced in kings landing and her houses' allegiances shifted to the blacks. things further escalated following the lannisport raid at the hands of the greyjoys, during which gwyn chose to leave her maid locked out of the room they’d found shelter in. while gwyn choose to prioritize the safety of the six of them, alyvia could not move past them having left even one person behind no matter the consequences they may have faced in form of the advancing greyjoys.

following the end of the dance of the dragons, as everyone returns to a sense of normalcy alyvia feels unsettled still. unable to keep her thoughts from wandering to what could’ve been, and feeling estranged from her husband whom she never got a chance to know before their sudden marriage. there was a time when the westerlands were nearly more dear to her than her own birthplace, however she now only feels mild contempt towards it, feeling as though she can longer trust those around her.

#❛ ･ﾟ✧ ( ᴀʟʏᴠɪᴀ ʟᴀɴɴɪsᴛᴇʀ ɴᴇᴇ ʀᴏᴡᴀɴ )#❛ ･ﾟ✧ ( development › ᴀʟʏᴠɪᴀ )

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maaaddiexo · 4 years

Text

Chapter Three

Arthur Pendragon

Series: The Black Spear

Mainlist | Serieslist

A land lost to fire and magic but never forgotten.

A girl once of noble blood.

A boy blind to his own luxury.

---

Controlled chaos ensued for the next five minutes. Guards and Knights scrambled for extra weapons as the warning bell was rung from the highest tower. Arthur stood off to the side speaking with his father and Morgana. Merlin spoke with Gaius by the bushes urgently. With everybody distracted by something, Y/N pulled Clarice off to the side.

“I want you to leave. Get out of the castle and get to the others. Take them back to the camp.”

“What about you?”

“You look like a servant. I’ll get too much attention wearing this. You have more of a chance if you go alone.”

“We took an oath, Y/N. I won’t break it and leave you behind.”

“You have to.”

“You’re sitting ducks here. The guards will never get in position in time.”

“Clarice, today is not the day to be stubborn. If this is the day I die then it has been an honour to serve with you all. You have made my life amazing and exciting. Something a noble life could never be. Now go!” Y/N could tell Clarice didn’t want to leave her behind, but the blue-eyed girl turned her back and ran towards the maze. Once she was out of sight, Y/N turned and searched the crowd for a familiar face. It was Arthur she spotted first. He wasn’t necessarily tall, but he was taller than a lot of the people there.

“What’s going to happen?”

“The guards will form a circle around us. They’ve barricaded the castle doors already. We won’t be able to get in but if they think we’re in the castle when we’re out here we might be able to buy ourselves a little more time.”

“And if it doesn’t work?”

Arthur didn’t have an answer for her. “Look, just do what I tell you to, okay? It’s for your own safety.”

“Are Suron’s men good fighters?”

“They’re a well-trained army,” Arthur admitted and then gave Y/N a small smirk that didn’t seem entirely real. “But mine is better.”

The warning bell mixed in the air with shouts and war cries. The battle had begun. Y/N heard as swords clanged and men screamed in the distancce. She heard the sound of the castle doors being broken down and wondered how long they would be in the castle before they realized nobody was there.

She stood between Gwen and Arthur silently. In front of them, a row of knights stood in position, waiting for the garden doors to be broken down. Y/N covered her mouth with her hand to silence her heavy breathing. Somebody grabbed her hand in the darkness and she realized it was Gwen. The girl inched forward so that she was slightly in front of Y/N. When Y/N realized Gwen was protecting her, she felt her heart tighten. These weren’t her people and she owed them nothing yet they were willing to lay down their lives for her. In that moment – looking at the back of Gwen’s hair – she decided that when the gardens doors burst open and all hell broke loose, she wouldn’t stand idly by. She took an oath; not that of a princess but of a Protector.

When the garden doors finally fell, there wasn’t an immediate onslaught of invaders into the garden. They walked calmly and slowly over the doors and stopped on the other side. A man at the front with a receding hairline and a large scar running down the majority of his face sneered.

“Uther Pendragon. You’re looking pretty rough these days.”

“Yes. That happens when I’m constantly having people break into my castle,” the man responded wittily. “Leave now and we will not fight you.”

“That’s too bad,” the man chuckled. He tightened his grip on his sword. “I was kind of hoping for a fight.” And then he swung.

A guard met his blow with a block but stumbled under his force. As the other invaders rushed forward, so did the rest of the Camelot guards and knights. There were louder cries of war and pain as men from both sides fell and rose. And unlike last time, Y/N could see who it was crying out in pain and that was somehow worse. Y/N felt herself back up further and further until her back brushed the large hedge.

“It’s fine,” Gwen said over the sound of metal on metal. “Arthur has trained his men well. They’ll hold Suron’s men off until the rest can get here.”

“Arthur looks like he’s itching for a sword,” Y/N breathed, staring at the boy beside her. He was practically vibrating with adrenaline, shifting his feet and fisting his hands. He smiled at every step forward his men took and felt every blow his men felt. When one fell, he instinctively reached for a sword that wasn’t there. Y/n felt for him and had to look away.

“He might need one. We’re severely outnumbered- wait. Who’s that? Up on the balcony.”

Y/N followed Gwen’s line of sight and spotted a figure running along the balcony above the garden towards a banner that hung down. They were dressed in shades of black with a ripped jacket and worn boots. A mask covered the lower half of their face but when they turned, Y/N saw the glimpse of braided fire red hair and wild blue eyes.

Y/N smiled and shook her head as she watched her friend disarm an invader and frisk him for his weapons. “Should’ve known she’d never leave me behind.”

“What?” Gwen asked.

“I said could you hold this for me?” Y/N handed the borrowed crown to Gwen without waiting for a response. “Thanks.”

“Wait? Where are you going?”

Y/N didn’t answer. Clarice was already bringing her hand behind her head to throw a sword and Y/N had to be there to catch it. She was happy her dress was light and billowy as it was light when she ran and both Arthur and Gwen failed to grab it and hold her back.

As the sword summersaulted through the air, Y/N ran for the table covered with delicious foods. She stepped on a chair and then the table before jumping into the air to grab the sword. When she had it firmly in her grasp, she felt the power and confidence flood her body and smiled up at Clarice just as her friend repelled down the blood-red banner.

“You’re stupider than I thought if you actually thought – even for a second – that I was going to leave you behind.”

Y/N smiled and to the onlookers, it looked out of place. The two girls held swords comfortably – as if familiar with wielding them – and were surrounding by battling and fallen soldiers. But had they been dressed like the rest of fighters, nobody would have been able to pick them out of the crowd. They fought just like the men but were more graceful and with Y/N’s billowing dress, Arthur thought she looked like a goddess.

“Where did they learn to fight like that?” Arthur asked nobody in particular.

“They look like rebels,” Uther replied.

“Look!” Morgana yelled and pointed to the same balcony Clarice had come from. More female rebels flooded the balcony and repelled down the banners and made quick work of cutting down the enemy. They didn’t stop to cry when they sustained an injury and they didn’t grimace when they were splattered with blood.

“I’ve never seen such talented rebels,” Arthur told his father.

Uther was in complete awe and admiration as he spoke. “I don’t think they are.”

“But you said-”

“I-I was wrong.”

When Arthur focused on all the girls and not just Y/N’s graceful fighting style, he realized his father was right. They fought much like his own soldiers – the same techniques and moves – but with more grace and efficiency. They were dressed like rebels but no rebel he knew of fought like a knight.

There were only a handful of Suron’s men left and they were quickly surrounded by both of the other parties. Still, they went down fighting but were slaughtered within minutes. Arthur watched Y/N fight with the elegance of a princess and the fierceness of a knight. She was unstoppable and she knew it. When the last invader had fallen, there was a moment of silence before one of the knights sheathed his sword and began to clap. Slowly but surely, everyone still standing in the garden began to clap and Y/N smiled, walking over to the group of royalty. All were shocked into silence except for Uther, who had seen this sight once before.

“You’re Keepers of the Black Spear.” It wasn’t a question. Y/N smiled.

“Yes.” She gestured to another girl who stepped up beside her – no older than she – and pointed to the insignia stitched into the shoulder. “You recognized our mark?”

“No…no. I’ve seen this once before. When I was a boy.”

“Who are the Keepers of the Black Spear?” Morgana asked.

“It’s believed they fell into myth long ago,” Uther said. He still couldn’t take his eyes off the girls in front of him. “The Black Spear was the alias of a man long ago. He was good but did bad to achieve it and thus gained many enemies. According to legend, he hired only the best of fighters which happened to all be women. They were the best-trained fighters in the world. But they were also guardians. Protectors. It is said they keep the world mostly at peace, eliminating threats and creatures of magic.”

“Actually, just those who perform bad acts. Human or magical, we have no quarrel with those who do good.”

“How did you come to be a part of this…organization?” Arthur asked.

“They were the ones who found me and the few survivors after Coventry was attacked. The men were taken to nearby towns and the women to the Black Spear’s camp. They’ve raised me and have become my family.”

Arthur pursed his lips and stared at the crown in Guinevere’s hands. He tapped it. “I guess you won’t be wanting this back?”

“I appreciate all that you have done for me, but I am a Keeper now. My royal life is in the past, and that is where it is meant to stay.”

Arthur nodded firmly and stepped forward. He looked at Y/N once again and took in her appearance for he knew this was where they parted. Her hair was now a mess and covered in blood, which had run down her face like rain down a window. Her dress was ripped and Arthur spotted a few cuts on her arms. By all definition, Y/N was a mess, but she was still beautiful. Fierce and beautiful.

“Thank you for coming to our aid. I see you have no loyalty to anybody and yet you risked your lives for Camelot. Thank you. Camelot owes you a debt.” Someone in the background muttered, ‘Oou. The Prince owes us one. Fancy’.

“Maybe I’ll come collect it one day but for now, I think it best if me and the girls get as far away from Suron as soon as possible.”

Arthur laughed. “Good idea. It was an honour to meet you, My Lady.”

Y/N stuck out her hand for a shake but Arthur treated her like the princess she once was and not the commoner she currently was and kissed the back of her hand. Y/N rolled her eyes but let it happen. When Arthur stood up and rolled his shoulders back, Y/N leaned forward and kissed his cheek.

“If you ever want to play damsel in distress again, head north and travel beyond the mountain ridge.”

Arthur gave a humourless laugh. “Right, okay.” Like he would need help from a girl ever again. This was the one and only time a girl would save him.

Y/N gave him a brilliant smile. “See you around, Art.”

#camelot #merlin #the adventures of merlin #arthur pendragon #prince arthur #king arthur #arthur pendragon imagine #arthur pendragon fanfiction #merlin imagine #merlin fanfiction #camelot imagine #camelot fanfiction #love #romance #fantasy #adventure

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swanqueeneverafter · 4 years

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The Once & Future Queen Pt.15

Forest. (Morgana rides deep into the forest. She pulls her horse to a stop once reaching a cave which sits beneath a large tree. Dismounting, Morgana looks around for a moment before entering the mouth of the cave.) Storybrooke. The Dragon’s Lair. (In a quiet corner of the bar, Drizella tells Emma and Regina what she knows.) Drizella: "I overheard Morgana talking in her sleep and then she hauled me out of that pit to ask me questions about him." Regina: "Merlin? You're sure of it?" Drizella: "Yeah, she wanted to know everything I knew about him. Apparently Merlin's the one guy Morgana didn't do her research on." Emma: "And what did you tell her?" Drizella: "Just stuff that everyone knows. He's the father of magic, that you guys released him from his confinement and then put him back inside the tree." Regina: "Wait, you didn't tell her how we released Merlin from the tree, did you?" Drizella: "Well nothing specific, I mean I might have mentioned something to do with Henry's tear. But I read about that in the storybook." Regina: (To Emma:) "If Morgana knows about the tear then that could be why she sent Will after Henry. She needed a tear of heartbreak from him." Emma: "Yeah well, compromised or not, remind me to kick Will's ass sometime." Regina: "No, Emma think. If Morgana wanted the tear that means she wants to release Merlin." Drizella: "But if Merlin means her doom, why not leave him where he is?" Regina: (Shrugs:) "Presumably she doesn't like the idea of there being someone out there who's destined to stop her." Emma: "So Morgana wants to release Merlin so she can kill him once and for all?" Regina: "But she never got the tear because we got to Will first. So with a bit of luck..." Emma: "Will still might have the tear on him." Regina: "It's worth a shot at least." Emma: "Yeah, and I can kick his ass while we're there." Regina: "First things first, let's just get that tear." Drizella: (As Emma and Regina stand:) "So I did good, right? By telling you all this?" Emma: "Yeah, you did good." Regina: "Now all you have to do is prove you can keep your hands away from my son, and we might just begin to get along." Drizella: (Nods:) "Got it." Regina: "Make sure you do. (To Emma:) Come on, let's go."

Cave. Continued. (Morgana enters the cave. As she passes by, a figure rises up behind her. Morgana turns to face the eyeless Dochraid.) Morgana: “I come in peace.” (Morgana steps forward and the Dochraid grabs her hand and sniffs it. Morgana is startled and confused, but doesn’t move.) Dochraid: “Ah, Morgana Pendragon. You are destined to bring back the old ways. (The Dochraid releases her hand:) I hope to live to see that day.”

Morgana: “You are one of the few people who remember the time of the Old Religion. I need your help. (Morgana takes the Dochraid’s hand and places the coin in it:) It was a gift from my sister.” (The Dochraid inspects the coin.) Dochraid: “Ah, a most interesting present.” Morgana: “The price of a soul.” Dochraid: “But you do not know how to release it. (The Dochraid holds the coin to herself:) I should like to keep it. (Morgana holds out her hand to get it back and gently forces the Dochraid to return the coin:) The gift is indeed a powerful one, but there’s only one way to wield that power. You must travel to the last of the five gateways that separate our world from the world of the dead.” The Land of Oz. Past. Forest. (Zelena and Stanum walk past an ominous pile of bones.) Stanum: “We must be near the monster's den.” Zelena: “Well, then let's get on with it. There's a village full of Munchkins I still need to terrorize tonight.” Stanum: “You know, it's just the two of us, Zelena. You don't have to pretend anymore.” Zelena: “Pretend what?” Stanum: “That you'd rather be doing something else.” Zelena: “All right, Stanum, tell me why am I out here helping you?” Stanum: “Because you have nothing better to do. And you'd rather be out in the woods with an old friend than sitting alone in that Emerald Castle of yours.” Zelena: (Scoffs:) “That couldn't be further from the truth. I've got lots of important work to do back at my chambers.” Stanum: “Such as?” Zelena: “Creating one of the most powerful spells ever to exist, one that will allow me to travel back in time.” Stanum: “Ah. And where exactly do you plan on going with this time-travel spell?” Zelena: “Back to the beginning, to when my mother gave me up, to show her I'm more powerful than my sister, that I'm the one she should have kept.” Stanum: “Seems like you're going to an awful lot of trouble to be with someone who didn't want you to begin with.” Zelena: “Careful. The last person to speak so freely to me is now peeling bananas with their feet.” Stanum: “Yeah. Well, you wouldn't be so upset unless what I was saying was true.” Zelena: “Well do you have a better idea of how I can get what I want?” Stanum: “As a matter of fact, I do.” (Before Stanum can say more however, he is tackled by the beast in the woods.)

Zelena: (The Lion roars:) “No!” Stanum: “Ahh!” Zelena: (Conjures a fireball:) “I'm the only one who hurts people in these woods.” (Zelena stalks towards the beast while Stanum screams for help.) Storybrooke. Present. Library. (Will Scarlett browses through the book shelves in the personal help section of the library. Seeing a book that catches his attention, Will takes it off the shelf, flips through a few pages, then attempts to smuggle the book down his trousers.) Belle: "Will!" Will: "Oh, I was just joking. I knew you were watching me." Emma: "Will." Will: (Spins around to see Regina and Emma. To Belle:) "Bloody hell, there was no need to call the Sheriff. (To Emma:) Response times have improved I see." Regina: (Standing between them, her hand raised cautiously:) "We're not here for that." Emma: "Although I do suggest you take that book out of your pants and, if you're not gonna check it out, preferably wipe it and put it back." Will: (Sheepishly removes the book from his trousers:) "No harm in improving oneself is there ladies? (Puts the book back:) Now, how may I help you?" Regina: "We think we know what Morgana ordered you to do while you were under the Fomorroh's influence." Will: "Oh aye? And you realise I had no say in the matter? That the last thing I'd ever want to do is upset your darling son?" Emma: (Giving Regina a look:) "He remembers. (To Will:) How long have you known what you did?" Will: "Memory came back this morning. I figured now that Henry and Ella have patched things up, there was no use in mentioning it again." Regina: "Do you still have it?" Will: "Have what?" Regina & Emma: "The tear!" Will: "Oh, that. Yeah, hang on. (Will reaches into his jacket, pulls out the napkin and hands it to Regina:) Now is there anything else or am I free to go?" Emma: "Just watch your step. I still owe you for knocking me on my ass in the street." (Will nods and as Regina and Emma turn to speak with Belle, he grabs the book back off the shelf, tucks it in his jacket and walks casually towards the door.) Pool of Nemhain. (Morgana walks to the edge of a lake and continues walking straight into the water.) Dochraid: (V.O.) “Find the pool of Nemhain, whose waters are as black as night and as still as death itself. Cast the coin into its depths and your wish will be granted.”

(Morgana runs her fingers over the coin and tosses it into the water. It sinks into the lake and she waits. The water bubbles where the coin landed and a dark head and pair of muscular shoulders rise up out of the water. The man walks toward Morgana. It is Arthur.) Arthur: “I am yours to command, my lady.” (Arthur bows to her and Morgana smirks.) Morgana’s Hovel. (Morgana regards Arthur while he sits on her bed, eyes closed. He wakes.) Morgana: “You must be tired. You’ve been on a journey few have ever dreamed of.” Arthur: “I know not where I have been, my lady, only that I am yours.” (Arthur reaches for his sword, but Morgana stops him.) Morgana: “Slow down. You won’t be needing that. Not yet. We have work to do, but it’s not your sword I require so much as your heart. There is a woman, a former serving girl, a lowly peasant called Guinevere. Or Guin, as she’s known to her friends. She is honest and straightforward, and a simple soul. Before she was Lancelot’s, she was yours, Arthur. You were her first love. And you will be her last.” The Land of Oz. Past. (Zelena hurries through the woods in search of Stanum. Hearing the Lion's roar, she turns and faces it.) Zelena: (Lion snarling:) “These are my woods, so I think it's time you learned who's really king of this forest. (The Lion growls and stalks toward her. Conjures a fireball:) Me. (She hurls the fireball at the beast but the Lion dodges it. Roaring, the Lion pounces upon her:) Unh!”

(The Lion growls in Zelena’s face as he stands on top of her. An axe spins through the air but again, the Lion is able to avoid injury. Now returning its attention to Stanum, the Lion roars as it closes in on the man.) Stanum: (Backing away:) “Zelena!” (Getting to her feet, Zelena conjures yet another fireball and hurls it at the Lion, finally making contact with the animal. Immediately the beast begins to cower and whimper before turning tail and leaving through the trees.) Zelena: (Chuckles:) “And here I thought lions were supposed to be brave. Coward.” Stanum: “You saved me.” Zelena: “You're lucky I did.” Stanum: (Groaning as his hand turns to tin:) “Wow.” Zelena: “What's happening to you?” Stanum: “I don't have much time. This way.” (They continue on their journey, with Stanum making slow progress.) Pool of Nemhain. Present. (Xena, Gabrielle and Merida are joined by Anastasia on their hunt for Morgana.) Anastasia: "Her trail leads here." Merida: "Aye, we can all read tracks." (Anastasia ignores this and continues forward to the water's edge. Xena and Gabrielle meanwhile meander leisurely behind, enjoying the calm before the storm.) Xena: "You know, this will only lead to trouble." Gabrielle: "No doubt about it." Xena: "I thought we were out of the trouble finding business?" Gabrielle: (Scoffs:) "Come on, Xena. I saw how you were during our so-called retirement. You couldn't settle to anything and you were disappointed that others were having all the fun." Xena: "That doesn't mean I wouldn't have eased into it eventually. It takes time for a warrior to lay down her weapons willingly." Gabrielle: "Uh huh. In other words, you weren't ready and that's fine. Part of me wasn't ready either. Besides, we didn't ask for this fight. Morgana's dangerous and has to be stopped." Xena: "All right, well you just remember that if things go wrong." Gabrielle: (Smirks:) "I'm sure you'll remind me."

(Merida joins Anastasia at the water's edge.) Merida: "I suppose it's too much to hope that the bitch drowned herself?" Anastasia: "Not quite. Look. (Anastasia uses her magic and Morgana's footsteps begin to glow:) She backtracked over her own footsteps." Merida: "Almost as if she knew we were following her." Xena: "Clever girl." Anastasia: "But not clever enough. (Anastasia uses her magic again and a second set of footprints are revealed:) It appears Morgana caught herself something other than a fish for supper." Gabrielle: (Calls out, having followed the glowing footprints:) "They lead a few paces back into the forest and then vanish." Merida: "Great. So not only does Morgana know how to cover her tracks, but she has a new ally with her." Xena: "A dead one at that. (At Merida's look:) Morgana's no stranger at dealing with the spirit world. Bodies of water like this were how Gabrielle and I used to visit the Underworld." Gabrielle: (Joining them:) "Not that we made a habit of that or anything." Xena: "Nah, just once or twice." Merida: "Wonderful." Anastasia: "Not to dampen your mood any further but, once we do catch up with Morgana, what were you planning to do with her?" Merida: (Raising her bow:) "Let's just say I won't be wasting my words." Anastasia: "So you plan to shoot Morgana with one of your arrows? Charming thought. Other than the fact that no mortal blade can kill her, it sounds like a solid plan. Lucky I came along, I’d say. (Smiles:) Now come on, we're losing the daylight." (Anastasia casually brushes past Merida who turns to see Xena staring at her.) Xena: "That was an important piece of information, don't you think?" Merida: (Gruffly:) "I'll think of something." Xena: (Folds her arms:) "Sure you will." Storybrooke. (Robin and Alice react to Zelena's words.) Robin: "You're going where?" Zelena: "We are taking a quick trip to Oz. There's something I need to retrieve from my vault." Robin: "Mom, I can't. What about the bar?" Zelena: "Well Remy can handle the kitchen like he always does and Ella can handle the bar. Lucky you hired her I'd say. It'll only take us a few hours, don't worry. We can use this time to get some proper mother-daughter bonding in. You coming, Alice?" Alice: "Er... no, sorry I can't. I promised Tiana that I'd help out at the Rollin' Bayou tonight." Zelena: "Please yourself. (To Robin:) Well come on then, slow coach. Give Alice a kiss and then get your bum in this car." (Robin sighs then turns to Alice.) Robin: "Honestly, sometimes..." Alice: "I think it's a lovely idea. I know I'd love to spend time with my mum, if I could." Robin: "Don't take her side." Alice: (Smiles:) "Sorry." (They kiss.) Zelena: (Watching:) "Ah, young love." Robin: "Mom! (Stomping towards the car:) God you are so embarrassing." (Robin opens the passenger side door, enters and slams it behind her.) Zelena: (To herself:) "Oh you haven't heard the playlist I've prepared for the drive yet."

Morgana’s Hovel. Night. (Arthur sits on Morgana’s bed, sleeping. Agravaine enters and closes the door.) Agravaine: “How is it with Uther’s bastard?” Morgana: “He’s learning fast. Soon he will know enough to convince everyone he’s the Arthur we all knew. I thought it would please me, molding his mind. Instead, I feel curiously sad. He was once so mighty, and now he’s nothing but a shade. I shall be sorry to see him go.” Storybrooke. Swan-Mills House. (With Maria fast asleep, Regina stands watching over her while holding the napkin which holds Henry's tear in her hand. Unsure as to what troubles her most - Morgana's next move or the seemingly inevitable return of Merlin - Regina resolves to put such thoughts from her mind and kisses Maria on the cheek before leaving the room. Moving quietly down the hall, Regina pushes open the bedroom door expecting to find Emma already sleeping. To her surprise however, Regina sees that the bed has been turned down, but is currently unoccupied. Reaching for the light switch, Regina is stopped by a voice coming from the darkness.) Emma: "Wait. Leave the lights off. Come and find me." Regina: "Emma, I can barely see my hand in front of my face." Emma: "Use your other senses. Listen to my voice, feel your way to me." Regina: (Smiles at this new game:) "Do I get to taste and breathe you in too?" Emma: "After you find me, I'm all yours." Regina: "Mm well that's quite the prize. Although I'd prefer not to sustain a broken toe while stumbling around in the dark." Emma: (Chuckles:) "You won't, trust me. Just close your eyes and follow the sound of my voice." Regina: (Closes her eyes:) "I'd follow you anywhere." Emma: "That’s very sweet, but just to where I'm standing will do for now." Regina: "Ah, so you're standing. Interesting." (Taking care to check her surroundings thoroughly, Regina ever so slowly makes her way across the room. When her hand sweeps low and makes contact with a scantily clad thigh, Regina's eyes spring open.) Emma: "Hey there." Regina: "Hey yourself. Nice game." Emma: "Thanks. Do you want the light on now?" Regina: (Running her hands over her wife's hips:) "Hm, well it would be a shame not to see what I've won." Emma: (A smile in her voice:) "True." (Emma flicks the switch on the lamp beside her and Regina takes a step backwards to admire the curves of Emma's body in all their glory.) Regina: "I'm not sure I'm worthy of such a prize." Emma: (Watching Regina through the mirror:) "Oh, you're worthy, believe me." Regina: "Well, if you insist." Emma: "I do." Regina: (Closes the distance between them again, returning her hands to Emma's hips:) "Then perhaps... (Runs her hand over Emma's arm and covers her hand with her own:) when it comes to claiming my prize... (Breathing into her ear:) I should be the one who keeps you guessing." (Emma lets out an involuntary gasp as Regina turns out the light. Feeling her wife's body slide down her own, Emma grips the side of the dresser she's been leaning against while Regina's hands lower her underwear to the floor.)

#sq #swan queen #swanqueen

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theimpossiblescheme · 4 years

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A Very Palpable Hit

That long thread with @nonchalantdanger about Roxanne’s skill with a sword and where it could possibly come from finally made me decide to dip my pen (or my keyboard, rather) back into the tiny, but dedicated fandom of Cyrano de Bergerac. Writing these characters is still quite a challenge, but quite a fun challenge, I think, and this was a fun kinda-sorta prompt to do. I hope I did them justice, and I hope everyone enjoys this little piece!

Roxanne was pacing frantically to and fro in front of the fireplace in her villa, casting a long pink shadow across the red flames as she turned across the carpet so vigorously she might strikes flames behind her own feet and wear a hole in it. Cyrano had grown restless just looking at her and was now standing behind the chair he’d been previously sitting in, arms folded over the back and chin propped pensively on his hands as he watched. All of the Robin family maids, including her Duenna, had been sent away for the evening—it was only the two of them. And the anxiety in the air could have been cut with a knife.

“I mean, I know it’s considered some sort of—of romantic custom for a man to fight for the honor of his lady love, but we are hardly living in the dark ages anymore, are we?” Roxanne was saying on her fourth lap back and forth, wringing her twisted hands demonstratively as she spoke. “And besides, I would hardly call it romantic. No, I would call it barbaric—I mean, at what point does it become less about the lady in question and more about some—some pompous popinjay proving his ego is larger than his opponent’s? It seems ridiculous that the other preciuses allow themselves as prizes to be one in such a monstrous game, and I refuse to be the reason some poor feckless idiot gets skewered like a prize goose or a bunch of innocent bystanders are slashed to ribbons… I know it’s hardly ladylike, but I say it’s hardly manly to act so childishly on a lady’s behalf…”

“What exactly are you proposing?” Cyrano cut in as gently as he could. The poor girl was working herself into a sweat, and she hadn’t even come to her point yet.

Stopping in her tracks, Roxanne turned to face him, fully silhouetted in front of the fire… beautiful and terrible, like a vision of Beatrice in the Inferno. “I propose… no, I demand that you teach me everything you know about swordplay. I do not wish to debut into society a defenseless woman.”

Cyrano was taken aback… and it occurred to him in the same moment that maybe he shouldn’t be. The girl who had been Roxanne—Madeleine, actually, once upon a time—had always been spirited, proud, and independent. But she was also fearful, hiding behind him at the first sight of bullies. Timid and shy at the idea of anything beyond those wide, empty Gascony fields. Now here she was in the city. Now here she was… unafraid. Bold. Determined to make her way with grace and, dare he say it, panache.

Now she was a woman. He’d known that before, he supposed, and not been nearly so surprised. But not until now had his heart fluttered so in his chest at the thought.

But he quickly hid it under a smile—not a mocking one, but an understanding one—as he straightened. “So this is your solution. Not content with the role of Guinevere, you instead intend to fashion yourself as Joan of Arc, a one-woman divine army against these… boastful infidels.” Painting the image in the air before him with his hands, he wandered forward closer to Roxanne. “Does that not seem a bit extreme, though?”

“Well, you’ve said so yourself, there are things one does well to carry to extremes! Besides… you…” She rushed forward and seemed less divine, but more human as she squeezed his hands pleadingly. “You have made yourself a hero. The finest swordsman in your regiment, everyone says so. And even before then… you were the hero of my childhood. My knight of the riverbanks. If I were to ask anyone, it would be you and only you.” She gave his hands another tight squeeze. “Will you?”

The words dried in his mouth for a moment, but he managed to find them again. “How could I possibly refuse?” Cyrano gave her hands a gentle squeeze in return and was relieved to find his own still dry. “My princess turned page of the corn-silk hair.” He said it with a joking air, but there was a tender sincerity lingering underneath.

And Roxanne’s face lit up with a smile of her own. “Oh, thank you!” She leaned up to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “You won’t regret it I promise… oh, I shall need a sword.”

“Here, take mine.” Cyrano unsheathed his rapier and handed it to her before laying his scabbard on a nearby table and reaching for one of the Duenna’s walking sticks from a small rack beside the front door. “This is a bit heavier, but it shall suffice. But let us take this outside—no use in skewering any innocent inanimate bystanders.” The maids might collectively pin him to the wall like a butterfly if they damaged any of the family’s valuables. Opening the door, he bowed her outside before following into the front yard. Fortunately for them, there was a gorgeous full moon out tonight, and there was still enough light from the nearby streetlamps to see in case of sudden clouds. He hung his cloak on the rose trellis and tested the walking stick a bit, weighing it in his hand as he tried a few lunges and basic maneuvers. Not exactly the finest Italian steel, but it would work just fine. This wasn’t exactly going to be the sort of rigorous training the cadets went through—with any luck, the worst Roxanne would have to do was smack away an errant hand.

A little ways behind him, Roxanne was doing the same thing, twirling the rapier over in her hand and swishing the blade back and forth like a machete in the jungle. “It’s much lighter than I thought it would be.”

“It needs to be—it’s a weapon of grace and agility, not necessarily of brute force. Keep that in mind as you wield it. And now…” Cyrano lowered into a crouch, makeshift blade at the ready in front of him.

Roxanne’s eyebrows shot up. “You intend to throw me into the deep end so quickly?”

“A fish learns to swim by the same principle. Advance, mermaid of Orleans, and let us see how much you already know.” Swinging the stick up in a salute then down to his side, he waited for Roxanne to copy his movements before waiting… waiting for her to strike first.

Eventually she did, dramatically lunging forward toward his shoulder, but Cyrano deftly blocked her. Roxanne backed away to try again with the other shoulder, but met the same result. “You’ve learned to thrust, to disengage, and to re-engage well enough, I see… let us see how you deal with this.” Swinging his stick around again, he feinted toward her free arm, then raised up to land a hit on her opposite shoulder. The whole time, Roxanne followed his hand with her eyes, her sword bobbing vaguely in that general direction, but not raising it quick enough to fend him off. As she stumbled back, startled, Cyrano lowered his stick again. “That was called a feint—a maneuver designed to mislead. You anticipated the feint so much that you missed the hit.”

“But how am I to keep up?” she asked, holding her shoulder even though Cyrano had barely tapped her. “You move so fast, I can hardly see.”

“For a start, try not to watch my hand. The hand can deceive, as you’ve just seen… look here instead.” He tapped his chest. “Then let your eyes unfocus a bit—it will allow you to see your opponent as a whole, not just the nearest moving parts. Now… shall we begin again?”

Roxanne nodded, sinking into her best crouch to mirror Cyrano, her body leaned forward instead of back. “Do not try to go easy on me.”

“Oh, perish the thought, my dear.” And this time he moved first, moving toward her shoulder and then to her arm in a reverse of his last maneuver. This time she caught on, catching his stick on her blade and trying to push him back, but he was quick with a riposte, pulling back just far enough to tap the side of her hand. Unfazed, she pressed forward again—a breach of the rules of engagement, but he’d allow it for now—trying in vain to land just the slightest touch on him each time he parried. At one point, Cyrano dropped his stance the slightest bit lower and thrust toward her shoulder. When Roxanne lifted her guard up to parry in turn, he dropped his posture even lower to level his stick just at her collarbone.

Falling back a step, the sword almost dropped from Roxanne’s hand as she stared tremulously down at the hit he’d scored. “Well, I… I did tell you not to go easy on me,” she said with an uneasily flickering smile.

It was all he could do to keep firm, not to dissolve instantly in the face of her fear. He’d regretted the hit as soon as it landed, and yet… “That may be a worse case scenario. God willing, you will never meet a man with such cruel intentions. But make it a lesson as well.” Taking her hand and tightening it around the pommel of her sword, he raised it up again at the level of her chest. “Keep your guard level for as long as you can. Too high or too low, and you may end up with a terrible cut to show for it.” Straightening to his full height again, Cyrano gave what he hoped was an encouraging look. “Shall we try again?”

Nodding resolutely—more to reassure herself than him, he suspected—Roxanne took her stance once more. Cyrano struck first again in a quick lunge, but she caught it flat and spun it away in a bit of a flourish. A grin flashed across her face before she was back to business once more and they fell into their slow, but steady routine of thrust-parry-riposte, thrust-parry-riposte, with an occasional respite of some new maneuver that he would patiently guide her through. Roxanne was sent retreating more often than not, but every so often she would gain some ground. If she got too cocky, however, and started bouncing back and forth like an excited puppy, Cyrano quickly put a stop to that, flicking his stick down to her waist in a light hit. “Your footwork is merely a steady tempo, not meant to ornament the passage. Keep yourself even and upright—small steps, but never so many in a row.” His own form didn’t stick so strictly to those guidelines, heaven knew, but it was very good advice for a beginner. Instantly chastened, Roxanne nodded, and they started again.

This time, Cyrano squared his chest toward her, hoping she would take the bait. As she went for the attack, he stepped to the side and almost caught her square on the inside of one shoulder… but to his amazement, she saw the feint and dropped her arm in that spare split second, blocking his blade within inches of her sleeve. Pushing him back a few steps, their routine continued—thrust-parry-riposte, thrust-parry-riposte, thrust-parry-disengage this time-parry-riposte. Thrust-parry-disengage… Roxanne swung her sword forward in a broad cut, Cyrano waited for the right moment to press his attack… and she stepped to the side and fairly jabbed at his shoulder in a triumphant shove.

“Ha!” She lifted her sword over her head like a gladiator expecting cheers from the Coliseum. “Victory at last! I hope that was… oh—oh, no…”

Cyrano tried to smile even as he muffled the newly bleeding cut under his hand. “Yes… true blades tend to elicit this sort of reaction. It’s very shallow, you needn’t worry—”

“But I am worried! Oh, Cyrano…” Dropping the sword in the grass, Roxanne rushed forward and urged him to sit down next to her. “I ask you to teach me to fight, and I thank you by stabbing you… let me see it, please…”

“It’s barely a scratch, Roxanne, not worth so much fuss… call it well-deserved revenge for my earlier hit, I suppose.” But Cyrano obliged, loosening his doublet just enough to lower the shoulder of the shirt underneath. It was indeed a relatively shallow cut, but long and already deep red, like the nick of a shaving blade. Roxanne immediately pulled out her handkerchief to try and staunch the blood, and Cyrano could only hope and pray she couldn’t feel how warm his skin had suddenly grown there under her touch. He almost made a comment to lighten the mood about her old fits of motherly sternness, where she would scold him for earning cuts and scrapes like these in fights against the big boys… but the words dried in his mouth again. They didn’t feel right. Not now. This… felt different.

“I am so sorry,” Roxanne was saying, alternating between keeping pressure on the cut and wiping away the blood. “You told me to be so careful, and I’ve been such a reckless oaf, and you’ve been so patient… can you forgive me?”

“There is nothing to forgive.” Catching her hand, he lowered the handkerchief away before quickly letting go. “This… unforgivable sin in your mind is merely an accident in mine. And this accident may be taken as a sign of improvement. It was, after all, the first hit you landed upon me.” No, not the first… but he didn’t dare say that out loud.

Her response was a very strained, guilty smile. “I suppose so… I only wish I hadn’t been so rough.” She raised her eyes to meet his, and her smile became a little more genuine. “Thank you… if for nothing else, for being so patient with me. I know I shall never be as good as you.”

“In a single evening? Impossible. But good enough to defend yourself against the common ruffians of Paris and prevent a glorified cockfight on your behalf?” He offered a new smile of his own, something finally approaching those lightning flashes of audacity that often struck him. “Undoubtedly.” Offering Roxanne a hand, he climbed back to his feet and picked his makeshift blade back up. “And while we still have moonlight to spend, we might as well make the most of it… shall we continue?”

“Are you sure?” she inquired, picking up her sword again. “With your shoulder?”

“My shoulder has withstood much crueler and more purposeful assaults—I shall survive.” Sweeping the stick up in a new salute, Cyrano angled his body toward Roxanne’s once more as he sank into his stance. “Lay on, good saint, and show me God’s wrath within your woman’s fury.”

With a salute of her own, erect and self-assured, Roxanne pressed on.

#I spent a cumulative hour and a half looking at Wikipedia pages and YouTube videos to make it sound like I know anything about fencing. XD #I only hope it even halfway paid off...#cyrano de bergerac #my fanfic #Roxane madeleine robin #I also rewatched the Kevin Kline production for the third time... I remain Very Much Not Okay.#And you know as much as Jennifer Garner is the weakest link in the cast (I agree that she plays Roxanne far too broad)#I *adore* the chemistry she and Kline have together.#I can absolutely buy them as childhood friends--there's a sweet and easy affection between them every time they're onstage together.#She's always *touching him*--holding his hand and hugging him and putting her hands on his face all the while blissfully ignorant...#And he always looks so *proud* of her especially when she's explaining how she snuck into the Cadets' camp at Arras to see Christian.#It's both adorable and maddening because it would take *so little* to shove them together and say NOW KISS *and yet...*#Okay I'm done--I'm standing back now. XD

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devourer--of--books · 4 years

Text

Remember that one time I wrote a Tangled AU?

Context

During 2016, I submitted a few stories for Tagatha Ship Week. Not my best work, but some of my most known works nonetheless. Amongst those, I had a Tangled AU that was originally meant to be a one shot (which has been deleted because sweet lord that was bad), then turned into a draft for a multichapter story and then turned into this cursed WIP I completely forgot about, which you can find on both Ao3 and FF.net under the name of ‘blinking in the starlight’.

Every once in a while someone comes across it, as it was the case with ‘if you’re not the bride’ and it would remind me of its existence. But unlike IYNTB, I have no interest in rewriting it or continuing this story.

A few weeks ago I found the original draft for ‘blinking in the starlight’ in my dad’s old computer, so I thought I might do a post no one asked for (some people did, you guys are great, humoring me like that) on what the plot was supposed to be.

But after sitting with it I wasn’t fully satisfied (as usual, fml). So, like the clown that I am, I decided that since we are already here, might as well make it into an actual AU post, mind my language, I’m frustrated.

Blinking In The Starlight: Tangled AU

Okay, so I’m gonna presume that you read the WIP, so if you didn’t, maybe check that out first and then come back to this post. Or don’t, it’s not like it’s a very complex narrative anyway.

Many, many years before this story starts, there was a cruel sorcerer named Rafal.

He tormented the Endless Woods for centuries, extorting kingdoms and stuff, you know, very much a two-dimensional character whose motivations I definitely did not think through. Being evil I guess?

No one could defeat him, because he always somehow ended up knowing the traps were coming and was two steps ahead. No one knew how, so they just like, presumed it was because he was psychic or something.

Until one day, a young vain prince named Arthur of Camelot decides to order a hunt to the big blue falcons, to get their feathers as a present to the girl he was courting, one Lady Guinevere.

Would you believe those birds were Rafal’s spies? Now that everyone was hunting them, they could no longer listen in as easily.

So when Prince Arthur campaigns against Rafal’s evilness and challenges him to a duel in which he tricks the sorcerer and defeats him, stripping him of most his powers (and therefore his immortality), everyone was shook

Don’t ask me how he did it, I honestly do not know

But instead of killing Rafal, Arthur agrees to spare his mortal life as long as he gives him a powerful love potion for Guinevere and never shows his face around Camelot ever again.

Rafal is pissed, but says sure why not, because he knew Arthur would be crushed once the potion effects wore off and Guinevere left him anyway

So yeah, they became King and Queen, everyone thinks Rafal is dead, Camelot became known as the guardian kingdom of the Endless Woods alliance, yada yada.

Meanwhile, Rafal, now mortal and still pissed af, looks for a way to get his immortality back, because he is now old and tired all the time.He goes to one of his oldest allies and they tell him a rumor about a woman named Vanessa who found a way to stay young forever using a bird.

It takes a few years for him to track her down, but when he does, he tries to convince her to show him the bird. Vanessa is like that sounds like a you problem, so he threatens her and she tells him she ate it to save her life during her pregnancy (do not ask me how this works, why she couldn’t have healed herself like usual, I don’t know okay)

Rafal is pissed again, because Vanessa was still looking young, so either she lied or she was omitting something and decides you know what, screw you and murders everyone, trying to find the damned bird.

But then he hears soft singing from the closet. A little girl named Sophie, who apparently had inherited the bird’s ability to restore youth.

First, he thinks of raising her as his daughter. But then, one day she’d try to leave him for a boy, so he decides to trick her into thinking he was that boy, so she’d never want to leave him.

He sells her this bullshit story about everything being a fairytale like the ones her books, makes himself look like a teenager and tells her he is now going to take care of her because they are true loves and whatnot

Using the money from his previous evilness (why am I like this), he builds a tower and gaslights the hell out of her telling her is was to keep the danger outside, when actually he was caging her in. Her guards are all mercenaries and her maids are kidnaped slaves so, hm, that’s nice

He keeps visiting her to restore his youth, but he needs the macguffin Arthur used to take away his immortality (I didn’t specify what it was in my draft, so let’s say its Excalibur, for the sake of storytelling) to restore his full greatness, so he starts a long-long-plan to overthrow Camelot once he gets him hands on the sword.

However, Sophie is a person of her own, even being manipulated and gaslighted. She wants to go outside and see the world. Obviously Rafal won’t let her, and even gives her a ring to summon him and stuff, so she won’t think about going anywhere out of his sight.

But she ends up doing it anyway because she’s Sophie

Now hold on a minute.

Back in Camelot, Arthur has already died, Guinevere ran off with Lancelot and Tedros is a brat, walking around with Excalibur (not knowing how powerful it actually is) playing glorified police officer for the royal guard as a way to prove he’ll be a good king someday.

Festival season is approaching and prince Teddy is on a man-hunt (woman-hunt?) for the thief that has been ambushing noble carriages.

They have some good banter, but the thief always manages to distract him and get away.

Guess who is the thief

It’s Agatha, leave me alone, I was 15 and loved cliches, shut up

Yes, I know I’m now almost 19 and still love cliches, moving on

Agatha is stealing money from the rich like a robin hood pro, because festival season is expensive and poor people need to eat okay

But prince-holier-than-thou keeps showing up so she decides to be petty and steal directly from him. Girl just wanted some gold, but ends up with Excalibur because Tedros is an idiot

So he chases her through the woods for days on end, hot on her trail, and Aric gets caught on the crossfire between them. Agatha presumes from his uniform that there is a castle near and decides to hide there.

Tagatha ends up in Sophie’s tower, and she hides Excalibur to bargain with them.

She strikes a deal with Tedros to show her the festival in exchange for Excalibur.

Agatha is just f this shit im out, she didn’t want the sword in the first place and last thing she needs is going to Camelot with a pseudo-police-officer.

But then Tedros realizes he doesn't know how to go back to Camelot and Sophie makes him promise not to turn Agatha in. Agatha is still skeptical, so he promises to lift taxes for the lower classes and she agrees to be their unofficial guide back to Camelot.

Princes can't break promises, don’t ask

The three of them escape the tower.

Shenanigans ensue.

There’s a scene of Agatha helping people in a tavern and Tedros is like???? she nice????

Sophie finding out that the old wizard from her story was the guy King Arthur supposedly killed and doubting Rafal’s lies.

There’s Tedros explaining his need to be just and abide by the laws all the time due to the pressure of his father’s rep after the three of them nearly die of hypothermia (?)

Sophie telling them about her talent.

Very wholesome really.

Meanwhile tho, Aric finally manages to alert Rafal that Sophie left, and Rafal summons his birds to look for her, figuring out that she had Excalibur (how? Idk)

When the trio reaches Camelot, it’s still a few days before the festival. Agatha says she is done and needs to be on her way, but Tedros (softly, may I add) asks her to stay, at least until the lantern scene/day/tradition/thingy

Their unspoken feelings are all over the place and Sophie decides to play matchmaker.

They stay in an inn (why did Tedros not sneak them into the castle, you ask? I don’t know, don’t ask) and Sophie makes the guy tell them there is only two rooms. She then makes up some balloney about wanting to be by herself, so Agatha and Tedros share a room.

Yeah, you know what I’m doing, don’t you: there’s only one bed.

Some other tropes for a very fluffy chapter equivalent of the score of Kingdom Dance, which is my favorite song in the Tangled Soundtrack, fight me, is such a good ‘falling in love montage’ song

But the fluff doesn’t last long, because the very night of the festival, just as you can almost hear Tagatha singing ‘and at last I see the light’, Rafal’s birds find Sophie and take off her ring by force.

Rafal crashes the festival, stealing Excalibur from Sophie and unleashing his coupe against Camelot, back to being immortal and super over-powered.

He throws Sophie back in her tower, and when she doesn't comply and asks him to stop we have a ‘I never loved you’ ‘you were always just a bird to me, a dumb bird’ moment and Sophie is just destroyed because aside from her new friends (whom she believed were dead) Rafal is all she has.

Back in Camelot, complete mayhem is being wrecked, bloodshed and stuff. Agatha manages to rescue Tedros before his execution and they figure out that they need to rescue Sophie and get Excalibur to kill Rafal for good.

“Insert part one of TLEA here”, bitch, I kid you not, that’s exactly what I wrote wtf even is this draft

Somehow it all leads into this big confrontation, in which Sophie strips Rafal of his immortality using the sword but can’t bring herself to kill him. So she asks Tedros to do it, so he can prove himself to his kingdom.

I do not know where Agatha is during this, but I’m pretty sure she’s like, fatally wounded or something

Rafal reveals to Tedros why Arthur spared his life the first time and offers him a potion to make Agatha return his (already mutual, you idiot) feelings.

Tedros is like, nah, I’m gonna kill you, and Rafal is like are you sure she won’t just ride off and leave you like your mama?

And Tedros is just, honestly, man, I’m not, but I’m not gonna force her. Then some analogy about caging birds and Rafal is dead.

Yey, happy ending.

So Tedros and Agatha are left in this limbo, because she poor and she a criminal and he a prince.

Tedros decides to have Agatha take the glory of killing Rafal to redeem her in the public eye, grants her a title, she makes Sophie her lady-in-waiting and they all live happily ever after the end.

#school for good and evil #The School for Good and Evil #school for good and evil series #blinking in the starlight #sge #Sophie of Woods Beyond #Agatha of Woods Beyond #tedros of camelot #Tagatha #tagatha ship week 2016 #Rafal

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for-peace-war · 5 years

Photo

art by @idrawbuffgirls

This is the final part to the Great Winged One series I did. Last night the heroes entered the mountain and after defeating the sleipnir Vanjir and the valkyrie Aesera, may have allowed an ancient evil back into the world, but... also prevented an apocalyptic joining of worlds. It was a lot! So again, I want to thank: @lordcaliginous, @i-am-guinevere, @scowlet, @perfectperfidy, @diermina and @that-green-nut for sticking through my attempt at pathfinder/conaning a story out of thin air.

Also thanks @mcsars for introducing me to the setting and giving such a good place to start with an AU. So again, thanks to everyone and when I start my next series up I’ll get back to these hour writes! Cheers.

OH and @idrawbuffgirls FOR THIS ART. YOU ROCK!

THE GREAT WINGED ONE.

Follows Part I.

Follows Part II.

Follows Part III

Follows Part IV.

Follows Part V.

Follows Part VI.

Finale.

CHLORIS THE CORINTHIAN quietly collected the clothing of those convalescing within the chilled cabin. A gentle fire warded what cold it dared from the interior, but from the shivers that ran along the men about her there was little doubt in it—the wintry frost had found its way into them, and only the strongest of those gathered would survive. That sentiment, one of strength and those that possessed it in its zenith, followed her as she moved sightlessly from one of her convalescents to the next. How had she come to safeguard so many, she wondered, when only days before she had not been able to protect even herself?

Mindful as she was of her condition, it was the lack of her hand rather than the absence of her sight that dogged her in those waking moments. She could still feel the phantasmal pain of the arrow piercing the white raven she had imbued with her sight—still feel that arrow lance through her eyes and cast to the ground crimson tears that she would never see. The magicks she had been expected to use were old and dark, and though her better judgment would have warned her against them, there were few things that could motivate a decision more rapidly than the ire of a Ymirish lord. Even more so, the ire of the Jarl Grimtor, whose barbarity was second only to the delight he drew from the cries of his victims. Sightless or not, she would never be able to forget what she had seen within captivity—she would never forget what it meant, truly, to be without power.

But sight—sight was something taken for granted. She could hear those she tended to and through that, knew where they were. The smell of their wounds had not yet soured and so she could see those as well; she knew the number of them, had patched and bandaged them to the best of her ability. In the absence of sight her senses had gained a preternatural edge, compensating in ways that no human would have been capable of were they not blessed by The Great Mother and the secrets that the woods whispered when frosts melted and spring’s breath was fresh within the air. It was within the northern climes of the Pictish Wildlands, not the decaying fyli of the Karpasha Mountains, that she had learned the most important lessons of magic—true, terrifying magic.

The Pictish Wildlands were a savage wasteland to some, yet the very ground that had been seeded in the blood of generations spoke with such fervent admonishment of mankind and expectation for that which would follow, that she knew far better than to consider any part of it a waste. The very skies above hungered there, and that hunger bred within its bowels such true and raw power that even a woman blinded such as she, could yet see the beauty manifested within the awakening might that was come of its mounting urges. Yet for all of this, she had not been captured for her knowledge of those untamed wilds—and she had not been named for them, either.

She was but Chloris the Corinthian. And she wasn’t even from Corinthia.

Had she ever truly seen, though? The eyes were deceptive and the faces that she had known did little to tell her of what she saw when a person was before her. It was not until they were freed to show what was beneath the mask of their existence that the truth was known and by then, was it not always too late? She had scars to remind her of that—upon her back, and forever straining against her heart where her trust should have been. Even before she was without sight, she realized, she was sightless. Had she ever seen anyone? Could anyone?

A cough came from the man to her left, whose body she had found curled up beneath a tree and nearing a death that would take him from the lands of his ancestors, into the frozen hell that swirled about them. Even had she not, with the white raven, seen their lot emerge from the snow then she still would have known he was a Zingaran: she could smell the salt of the sea in their blood and hear the crashing of waves when they breathed. The man’s cough was stronger than it had been the day before, and promised to discharge some of that which coated his lungs and forced his ragged breathing to hasten.

“Where am I?” The man asked. She had not expected him to awaken so suddenly. His voice was weak, yet there was the virile lust for life within it that the swarthy men of the Zingaran coast braced life with. “You—”

“You are safe,” Chloris answered. She felt her way from where she stood, to the table nearest them, and from there moved with a warmed cup of broth to offer him something to drink. His breathing resounded throughout the air for her; his motions became faint lines that were traced in her mind a thousand times. No, she could not see the dusky Zingarana, but she could feel him—she knew where he was, even if he did not.

From the opposite corner in the room, another voice rose. “Marioso, yer aliv-ed. Gods be damned, I tho’ I were due fer’a promotin’.”

“Darmino, you live?”

“Yer damn’t right I is.”

“Ah, what good news. The captain—”

“The witch’rn’t sayin’ nothin’a the cap’n.”

“The witch? Madam—”

She began to speak. “My name is—”

“It dern’t matter what she am say ‘a her name, Marioso. She be a witch’r frost’n fell magicks, cullin’ yer ‘fore ya’ spake ill’r her dark gods.”

The man, whose name must have been Marioso, took in a quiet breath. Chloris could feel his patience returning to him, like a hound that had been long without its master. Once he had wrestled it into submission, she supposed, he might be free to speak more earnestly. Until then, she remained quiet—and the other spoke in her place.

“Have you offended our hostess in some way, Darmino?”

“Gods damn’t truth ain’ done a thing t’er!” His protest caused her to wince, though she tried her best to conceal it. Loud voices—anger, were things she had learned to avoid or endure. Perhaps her attempt to conceal that had not been as successful as she wished though, for the man that had been harassing her—Darmino—found a somewhat softer tone. “When I wok-ed up and she’s there with’r crow teats all in me face, I tol’t her true—‘I’ma man’a fair haired asternations, I din want any a wha’ yer offerin’,’ and she said—”

“I am shocked she said anything to you after that, you cantankerous scab. Where are your manners, Mr. Marachino?”

“Ain’ never held ‘rm.”

“Mitra be praised,” Marioso said. At long last he seemed to remember that she was standing there, for he reached for the broth and drank of it steadily with a shaking hand. “Forgive my companion his indelicacies, madam. We are indebted to you—and men of the Cavallo repay their debts, on our captain’s honor.”

“Maybe if yer the cap’n there’s honor,” Darmino said. “If Valensi’s dead, anyroad.”

“If he has died in pursuit of—”

Chloris interjected. “ He hasn’t.”

“Hasn’t?”

“He hasn’t died.” She drew her arm back and set the emptied cup down, then felt her way to the wall and removed the poker from it. The fire had to be tended once more, for of the three men she had retrieved only two had awakened—and the third trembled now more than ever. The smell of death was upon him, but she had seen it turned back before. She had seen it turned back, many, many times before.

From both men, sounds of joined relief flooded the erstwhile tense cabin. “Oh, what joyous news,” Marioso said. “It was a damnably bold plan he had, and when our trap failed! Oh, but we have prevailed. I—ah, my ribs.”

“You are much wounded,” Chloris said. “Please, do not move.” She wished she had her other hand then, so that she might move her hair from her face as she tended the fire, but the stub wiped at ineffectively, and her hold on the poker felt suddenly hollowed for that reminder. Was she not much wounded? And yet, she could not stop moving—if she did, then they were all ended that evening when the cold came and the darkness with it.

“What of the battle, then?” Marioso asked her. She could imagine his eyes, seafoam green and sweltering with delight, cast upon a body that had been broken and beaten more times than there were days to the year. She felt flustered by that attention, and continued to stir the fire for whatever traces of warmth it might have provided. “How did we come to be here—how did any of it come to pass?”

At that, she spoke a single word. “Treachery.”

“Madam?”

“The girl—of the Wolflands,” Chloris went on to say. She had seen Caethe through the eyes of the white raven, and done all she might to alert her that she had. Jarl Grimtor was no great thinker and by saying she used the snow to alert him to where she was, she also gave the girl a chance to flee—which she had. The Zingarans had done their good service, certainly, but the girl and her wolves had been considerable in setting into motion the events that followed. Even as she thought of them, they seemed too fantastic—it all seemed too unreal.

“Caethe,” Marioso said. “We occasioned upon her on the way up. As I recall, the captain had a desire to see her informed of our plan to aid her, but the Stygian—Tsekani, was it? She said it would be a better ploy if she did not know. That a cornered wolf fought thrice as hard as one that knew it could escape.”

Chloris believed she concealed her revulsion at the mention of the Stygian’s tactics. It was true, a cornered animal did fight to the end, but the Pict was a member of a pack—and the presence of her friends, she had seen, was what pressed her beyond the point others would have endured alone. As Marioso made no mention of her response, she assumed her deception had prevailed.

Or else, the Zingaran was merely too nice to show otherwise.

Outside of the cabin, stalking about it protectively, the dire wolf that had shattered her arm so that she might slip free Jarl Grimtor’s chain, howled but once. He had found something. Chloris had taken to calling him Vigo, and he responded kindly to it—never so much as to seem tamed but answer her if she needed him at any moment. Had the Child of Wolves known that she had not meant to harm her? Was Vigo’s presence a reminder that their shared blood mattered more than the sides they had been on in the battle? She did not know. But she knew that she could vividly imagine what he must have been feeling then, rushing about the snowy battlefield and consuming whatever had not yet been taken by the elements or the wild.

She could feel in her blood—the blood that had dripped down her cheeks after the white raven fell—that she was as free as he.

Marioso politely clearing his throat called her back to the present.

“You spoke of treachery, madam?”

“After the Wolfchild—Caethe—was rescued by her companions upon the winged wyvern and Vigo had pulled me to safety—”

“I’m sorry, madam. Vigo?”

“It be thar devil wolf she is nightly fuck’t by in the shade of—”

“Mr. Marachino!”

“Well, I ain’t tellin’ a fib!”

“I am certain that whatever relationship our hostess has with this creature is a consensual endeavor in husbandry.” As he worked through that sentence, Marioso seemed to stumble more than his companion had when he tried to stand.

Despite herself, Chloris could not but bashfully smile and blush.

“I do not couple with the wolf,” she said.

Marioso’s relief was audible. “Oh, well. If you had—and I do not mean to imply that you had—but had that been the case, no gentleman of the sea ought inquire or conspire against you on that account, madam. I assure you—”

“Oi! ‘m well glad yer nay be our cap’n, Mariosi! Y’r talkin’ more’n a preddy har what know’t I wan’r somethin’ bad.”

“I’ll never understand your turns of phrase, Mr. Marachino.”

“Aye, well, anyroad—go back to talkin’ wi’ yer lady.”

Marioso, as if given leave to actually speak, went on. “My lady, please do continue.”

“You do not need to call me that,” Chloris said, but went on. “After we were safe, the others realized that Jarl Grimtor was injured. Ymirish lords are not loyal—they respect strength because they fear pain. Two of them—Joratun the Mighty and Thoramun Blooddrinker, broke away from the offensive and pressed in upon Jarl Grimtor. I believe they felt that in his weakened state they could fell him.”

Joratun, Son of Brator, had been as close to a right hand as Jarl Grimtor may have known, excepting his son—who he had, in a stroke of genius motivated by her entrapment—seen sent to the interior of Glacimar itself. With Grimthor Jarlblood no longer at his father’s side, Joratun and Thoramun made their move—and discovered why the jarl stood where he did.

“Scurrilous dogs,” Marioso breathed under his breath. “Have these creatures no honor?”

“Not them,” she concluded. “But another.” At that, she was reminded of what had been lost to that point and spoke more directly. “Jarl Grimtor struck both down, but his injuries forced him from the field. They say that the Nordheimers were able to defeat the lone Ymirish lord, Morfund the Breaker, and that—well, the mountains now call for a new thane. They say this woman, Aesileif the Aesir, will conquer the mountain and that her brother, Torman the Vanir, who was slain in felling the Great Winged One Aesera will be the hero to ordain her ascent.”

She understood very little of how Nordheimer culture operated, though the title seemed to imply that one person would bestride both Vanaheim and Asgard, joining them together and uniting a legacy of hatred under one fist. A hero would be needed to preside over the joining of the mountains, and if they had indeed slain a Valkyrie then a great deed had been accomplished to merit their challenge to the heavens. It seemed that a new thane may come of the savages of the north, as dangerous a thought as that may have been.

But she also knew that so long as Jarl Grimtor lived, that title would be a meaningless one.

“I cannot believe we prevailed,” Marioso said. “I mean—I knew we would, but what luck. What honor—oh, how can we repay you, indeed?”

He may have meant it as a general courtesy, but she took him at it. “There is a man among the captured, Grimthor Jarlblood. He and I were as one for a time, and I would see him granted the freedom he was promised.”

She did not mean to seem desperate, but she knew her words left her with more alacrity than civility mandated. These were not the words of Chloris of Corinthia, she knew. They were of the woman that had bandaged that poor half-giant, and seen him back to strength countless times. They were the words of a woman that knew what love meant, and knew that the only reason he had not died was because of it. Not carnal love and its brutality, but something more resplendent—something that did not take, but only gave and surrendered willingly to the strength of the moment.

“I do not know what it will take to see such done, but I will give my all for that endeavor.”

“An’ me,” Darmino said. “Since yer hair too dark fer a proper thank-fuck, least I can’der is see this Grimthorn soaks’s sword back in yer. If ol’ Garibaldi don’ go dyin’ on us, I’m speakin’ fer’m too.” The sickly man’s cough could have been an assent—or his soul leaving him.

Chloris thought to speak more of the matter, but the howl that she had heard before was joined by a sudden growling. Outside, Vigo had found something indeed—and that something had found them. “Stay here,” she told them, and without considering how defenseless she was against the world without, she ventured into it.

The snow as cold under her bare feet and yet it did not stop her stride as she moved in the direction of Vigo’s growling. Under it she could hear a voice calmly speaking, and for the time being preventing him from advancing from his place. What was she doing? Why? Even if she were to summon any spells in the cold, what chance did she have of defeating someone that she couldn’t see? And to what end? To protect Zingaran sailors that surely were as false as everyone else? Logic, reason—sheer self-preservation told her to trust for once in something other than the good of the world, and to take back to her own path as she had denied herself for so long.

But she was not a solitary creature, she knew.

A crow would always need its murder.

She allowed her feet to see for her—to guide her, until finally she felt Vigo’s back, bristling with raised fur, against her hand. The chilled air was heavy upon her, but she knew that she had within her enough strength to forge from the prevailing winds a blade to severe the limbs of any monster daring to challenge her friend—or those she protected under her wing. Yet when she looked to the one that had so agitated Vigo and threatened her home, she was dumbfounded.

She could not see him—and yet she could.

For the briefest moment, a golden light illuminated the darkness that had become her world. This man was wounded—injured in a battle she could not comprehend, and yet the force of his existence fluctuated with a radiance that faded with each palpitation.

“I do not wish to kill your companion,” the man said. “But I must go to Jokullgard.”

“He will not harm you,” she said. “If you do not harm him.”

The man was quiet. The light upon him faded further until it was but a whisper—though no longer did Vigo growl.

“I am Keleos the Kothian,” he said. “You have my word that no harm will come to you.”

For but a moment, Chloris thought of saying what she had always had—that she was Chloris the Corinthian, a scholar of ancient texts that had been abducted by Jarl Grimtor and forced into service. There was truth in that lie—more truth, in fact, than lie. But that which had bound her to it; that which had for so long shackled her into place, was no longer there. She was free—as free as the savage lands from which she had come.

“I am Qali the Crow,” she said. “It is good to see you.”

#conan #qali the crow #writing exercise #the great winged one

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