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claymoresword · 2 years

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The Queen And Her Knight | Chp: 2

Alicent Hightower x Knight Fem!Reader

Summary: Alicent Hightower against her better judgement, falls in love with her sworn protector. Can she bear to fight her feelings or will she finally just give in?

Pairing: Alicent Hightower x Reader

Wordcount: 3.6k

Warnings: Smut(?), Angst, Harsh language, Mention of abuse, Aegon ii targaryen sympathiser, Reader and Alicent can't stay away from each other if they tried

Note: Bare in mind that I am writing this with very surface level knowledge of the Greyjoys and asoiaf in general so apologies if i write anything wildly inaccurate its not my intention to offend! Also disclaimer: i aged dalton greyjoy up in the story to make the narrative more logical

As usual i hope you enjoy and let me know what u think!

Chapter 3

Alicent awakes from her restless slumber. Her body was exhausted beyond belief pleading for sleep to take over and yet her mind had other plans.

She had spent the entire hour of the wolf weeping. Recalling her encounter with y/n and everything she had said. Everything she wishes she could have said.

It was now dawn, only a few minutes until the sun rises. Moments until she will never have to see you again.

Alicent gets up from her bed, situating herself beside it. On her knees, she begins to pray. She prays for strength, she begs to the gods to make all of this bearable. She wants so badly for her feelings for you to be squandered. Alicent spent countless nights praying for the same, she quickly realised it doesn't work that way.

The Queen was prepared to spend the entire morning practicing her faith, asking for forgiveness as the events of last night haunted her. Looming over her like a dark cloud. She feels guilty for kissing you, even more guilty for enjoying it.

Alicent couldn't help but feel entirely responsible. Her status meant she had dominion over you. She blames herself for allowing you to grow fond of her. It is her fault for abusing her power, you are entitled to your own feelings but she is far from innocent.

Alicent recalls her mother's words, her father's abhorred gaze.

She had been through this with the Princess and now she had done it again with you.

Rhaenyra.

Tears flow out of the Queen's eyes again and she shuts them tightly. Her childhood companion threatening the forefront of her mind, demanding to be remembered.

Alicent begins to pray again, she recites loudly. A desperate attempt to silence her mind, her heart.

A knock at the door and the auburn haired woman lets out a sigh. She glances over at the window, the sun streaming in. Alicent feels relief and dread all the same.

She stands up and grabs her robe, covering herself up for modesty.

"Come." Alicent announces.

Her handmaiden Talya walks in and does a curtesy before speaking.

"Lady y/n has began her departure your grace. I came to see if you would like my help to get dressed, if her grace would like to see the lady off?" Talya asks earnestly.

"Yes, Talya thank you. Help me dress, but I will not be seeing lady y/n. I would like to attend to the King and get started on my duties for the day."

Talya doesn't not attempt to hide her confusion at the Queens words but decides to question her no further.

"Ofcourse, Your Grace."

Alicent had been at the sept for all hours that morning. She missed breakfast and hadn't greeted her children yet, a routine she rarely broken.

Alicent couldn't bare to face them, she had no desire to see anybody.

Heavy footsteps approach her, interrupting the Queen mid prayer.

"Mother!"

She recognised the voice immediately. Her son. His tone had quickly given him away but the look on his face solidified it. He was angry.

Alicent swiftly stands up and faces her son.

"Imagine my surprise mother, when I took to the field prepared to spar with my usual partner and yet Ser Criston was sent for me instead."

Alicent breaks her son's gaze and glances down but says nothing.

Aemond continues.

"Please allow me to understand dear mother, why did you send her away?"

The prince's tone now gentle, a rather abrupt shift of demeanor from just a moment ago.

"I no longer saw need for lady y/n services. I am perfectly content with Ser Criston as protector."

Alicent falsely admits, shocked at her own ability to sound poised while telling a blatant fib.

Aemond scoffs, he is no longer angry but in disbelief.

"Did you think to ask me for an opinion? Or even Helaena for that matter."

"You may no longer need her but we do. Cole is competent enough but he provides no real challenge, and he is certainly no confidant. I saw lady Y/n as an equal" Aemond pauses.

"She was my friend."

Alicent's heart shatters. She had been so caught up in her own problems with you that she had failed to considered her own children.

"I apologise Aemond, truly. I did not realise how much she meant to you." The queen admits rather sheepishly.

"Your Grace, I do not want your apology. Please just ask for her return." Aemond storms off quickly, as if incapable of bearing another second alone with his mother.

Tears well up in Alicent's eyes again, perhaps she had acted too rashly. She decides her children's needs far surpass her own, she will make things right.

You were in bed at home, two weeks since leaving King's Landing.

The moment you stepped foot in the Iron Islands you had reverted back to your old self. No longer a Knight of the Queensguard you decided nothing you do now will matter.

You took to the brothels, drinking all hours of the day. Sleeping with every and any whore who will have you. You couldn't allow yourself to think of the Queen, you felt you had to either numb the pain or die from it.

Your head pounding from the night before you reached over to your bedside to grab a cup of water, gulping it down.

Soon you realise you were not alone, another woman naked in your bed. You do not recognise her, you try your hardest to recall the events of last night but to no avail.

The woman turns over in her sleep and moves to wrap her arm around your torso.

Her touch felt repellent, wrong. A suffocating feeling overcoming you. You got out of bed and headed towards the door. You just needed to get out.

You found yourself by the sea, the smell of the saltwater had quickly calmed you. However, solitude forced your mind to wander. Inevitably your thoughts settled on Alicent. You did not bother to fight them this time. You found yourself wondering about her. Who she's been with today, if she had eaten, if she has slept. Was she truly content now that you were away?

Her absence, it weighs on you heavily. You feel it in your chest, your entire body aches to be around her, to feel her. The only solace left are your memories of the Queen. This fills you with an overwhelming dread, but you are strangely comforted by the knowledge that you still had the power of your mind to rely on.

"Y/n!" A voice breaks you out your thoughts.

You turn to see your brother, speedily walking towards you. A piece of parchment in his hand.

"Rodrik, what's wrong?"

Your brother doesn't respond but extends his arm to you urging you to grab the letter in his hand.

You looked down at it but didn't move, skeptical.

"Came for you from King's Landing" Rodrik explains.

You wasted not another moment and snatched the parchment from his hands. You tear it open and quickly skimmed its contents, you couldn't believe it. The Queen had written to you.

Dearest Y/n,

I would like to first, extend my apology. Sending you away was an act of impulse on my part. I claim to value duty above all, but I let my emotions guide my judgement and for that I am truly sorry. You have served me well and faithfully. I could not have asked for a more competent Knight. I write in hopes that you will find it in your heart to forgive me, as well as accept your previous post as my sworn guard. Prince Aemond has expressed his unhappiness with my decision to dismiss you. My Helaena has also refused to speak to me properly and grown entirely despondent. Prince Aegon may have not plainly stated his thoughts, however, his dejection is hard to miss. I realise now the grave mistake I have made. The children miss you dearly y/n. I miss you. I ask you to please return to King's Landing and serve me once more, I will do everything in my power to make it worth your while. Do consider my proposal. I anxiously await your reply.

Sincerely,

Your Queen Alicent.

'I miss you'.

You read the letter once more. The Queen's words ignited something deep inside you. You recognise how difficult it must've been for her to write to you. She was vulnerable and she let you see it through this letter.

You stood for a moment deliberating, you had so much love for the Queen's children, even Prince Aegon. He has acted disagreeable in more than one occasion but strangely enough you understood his intentions and he respected you the same.

You let out a sigh. To return to King's Landing is to open yourself up to her again. A great risk you are not sure you could bear to take.

You had entirely forgotten your brother was stood beside you, watching you the entire time until he spoke again.

"Go back to her y/n. You are clearly miserable here. I truly had not seen you half as happy as you were when I visited you serving under the Queen." Your brother expressed truthfully.

"Father will never let me go, Rodrik. He was already hesitant to welcome me back after all that time I spent away from home. If I disobey him again he might disown me entirely."

You were conflicted.

Your heart is asking you to return to your queen but logic and reason is telling you to stay.

"You are wise to worry but let me ask you this, has father once ever acted in your favour? We live our entire lives trying to please him but what has he truly done for us? Did you forget the way he treated our mother? You may be right to want to spare his feelings but I swear y/n, we owe him nothing."

There was truth what your brother said. Your father was a selfish man, never once asked what his children needed. Your mother was a kind woman, her fate doomed when she fell in love with him.

She deserved better.

You deserve better.

You decide you will return to King's Landing.

"Thank you brother, you speak the truth. I will begin my journey back to King's Landing come the morrow." You state genuinely.

A proud smile flashes across his face and you smile at him in return.

---

You found yourself in a screaming match with your father, Lord Dalton. You had just told him of your plans to resume your post as protector of the queen.

"Do think yourself above me, y/n? " Your father accuses.

"Now that you have the Queen asking after you, you think you are allowed to do as you please?" He raises his voice.

You suppress the urge to scoff, Lord Greyjoy and his never ending ability to underestimate you.

"I am a woman grown, father. Therefore entitled to my own decisions."

"I will not let you smother me the way you did my mother." You taunted, knowing the consequence that'll follow. You still couldn't deny how good it felt.

Your father moves to strike you but you quickly dodge it.

He tries to gather himself after failing to hit you, face reddened with anger.

You begin to walk away, no longer possessing the patience to be near him.

He grabs your arm harshly forcing you to stop walking and hear his next words.

"If you decide to leave y/n, do not bother coming back." Your father says before releasing your arm.

You look up at him with a scowl.

"You are no child of mine." He says, tone dripping with disdain.

Being a girl in a family that only consisted of boys, your father's rejection was nothing foreign. You were used to it. You had decided long ago to never seek any sort of validation from him as it only led to your disappointment.

He intended for his words to cut you but you stopped giving him the satisfaction long ago.

You storm off without another word and headed to your rooms.

Morning comes and you swiftly aboard the Greyjoy ship supplied by your brother. You were eternally thankful to have him in your life. Rodrik being the only person in your family who truly cared for you.

He grabs your shoulder, urging you to meet his gaze.

"What is dead may never die."

A saying you were all too familiar with.

You nod, understanding the true meaning behind his words.

"I love you, brother." You say before making your way onto the ship, finally setting sail for King's Landing.

You arrive at the Red Keep and were immediately greeted by Aemond and Helaena. The Queen stood by them, at a distance.

Helaena meets your gaze and a large smile flashes across your face. The Princess wasted no time, she runs up to you and pulls you into a tight embrace.

"Don't you ever abandon me like that again Y/n." Haelena exclaims.

You let out a chuckle, a true talent for dramatics. Much like her dear mother.

"I promise that was never my intention Princess. I had rather urgent business in the Iron Islands." You lie, hoping Helaena would lessen the blame on her mother and warm up to her again.

You look up at Alicent as she watches the entire interaction before her. She throws you a genuine smile as a silent 'thank you'. You return it.

Helaena releases you from her grip and you turn your attention to Aemond.

He surprises you by also pulling you into a hug. Albeit, the embrace ended quicker than his sister's but you could feel his sincerity.

"It is good to have you back my lady." Aemond's words were accompanied by a fond smile.

"I must admit I have missed your company my Prince."

"I hope your sparring skills have not waned in my abscene, that would be most dissapointing." You jest as Aemond's smile grows.

"Helaena, we seem to be missing your lord husband, where is he?"

"My best guess, he is still asleep in his chambers. I imagine a long night of whoring in the streets of silk can be terribly depleting" Aemond remarks and Haelena shifts uncomfortably.

"Ah, and here I thought the Prince missed me." You quip, at an attempt to lighten the mood.

"I almost forgot, I have something for you Princess." You watch Helaena's eyes light up immediately.

You pull out a book from your satchel. You came across it wandering the city one night and thought of her. You had plans to gift it to her by raven but circumstances allowed you to now hand it to her in person.

A book detailing all the organisms and insects that can be found in the Iron Islands. It was rather hefty and informational, not a book you'd personally enjoy but you knew the princess found joy in these things.

Helaena pulls you into an embrace once again and you let out a real laugh this time.

"Thank you. I love it." Heleana admits sincerely and it warms your heart.

Alicent finally walks up to you, a look on her face you can't quite read. Perhaps she's glad you are back but embarrassed she sent you away, you could not truly say for certain.

"Come, Lady y/n must be exhausted from her journey. Let us allow her to rest." Alicent says gesturing to her children.

---

You were laying in bed. You had managed to sleep off most of the journey but now that you are energized it was only hours past dinner time and your duties don't resume until the morrow. Right now, you are left with nothing to do.

Just as you turn over to try and resume your slumber there is a knock at your door. You assumed it to be Ser Criston or one of the handmaidens as nobody else visits you this late.

"Yes? Come in"

The door to your chambers open and the Queen walks in.

You stand up, scrambling to find something to cover up with. You were only in your small clothes and breeches. Eventually finding your robe, you put it on.

"Apologies for my lack of decency Your Grace, I was not expecting company."

The queen gestures for you to relax.

"I will only be here a moment."

"My reason for being here is- Well I wanted to say- I would like to just-". Alicent stutters and you fail to hide your amusement.

Your heart swells at the sight of her stumbling over her words before you. The queen has never seemed so ordinary, so human.

"I must admit, during your arrival earlier today I could not find the proper words. I thought to visit you here and try again but clearly, words are failing me still."

You didn't respond, allowing the auburn haired woman to continue.

"I just wanted to thank you. For coming back. I also wanted to again, extend my apology."

You walked towards the Queen, interrupting her mid sentence.

"I do not need your apology, Your Grace. If I truly held any ill feelings I would not be here."

You extend your hand, placing in on top of Alicent's.

It was indecent, but you needed her to know you truly meant what you were saying.

"I forgive you." You admit, maintaining eye contact with the queen.

You watch as tears well up in her eyes and her gaze softens.

She grabs your hand, intertwining your fingers. The feeling of her hand in yours making your heart skip a beat. You had spent countless nights yearning to touch her again. Now that you are, you feel the urge to pinch yourself just to make sure you weren't dreaming.

Your eyes shift to the Queens lips for a moment and you hear her breath hitch. The air in the room feels thick, your own chest heaving as breathing suddenly became difficult.

You knew you had to step away from her, terminate all physical contact.

Instead, you found yourself leaning in. Your lips crashing into hers.

Alicent lets out a noise in surprise but doesn't make an effort to push you away.

You took this as a sign to keep going. Your hands settling on her waist, you grip it harshly as her own hand grabs the back of your neck in response.

You make quick work of deepening the kiss, your tongue enters her mouth and a moan spills out of her lips.

The both of you now completely overtaken by desire. You walk Alicent backwards pushing her up against the wall next to the window. You disconnect the kiss, to move your attention to her neck, placing wet kisses against it.

Alicent chokes out another moan, one hand still grabbing your neck her other moves down to the hem of your breeches, roughly pulling you in closer to her. Your hips buck in response and you fight the urge to grind into her as you desperately needed the friction.

You lips finds Alicent's again and this time she takes the opportunity to enter her tongue into your mouth. This sends your body into overdrive. You needed to have her now.

"Y/n" Alicents says breathlessly as soon as your lips disconnected. She was asking you for something but you were unsure. Did Alicent want you to stop? Or did she want you to keep going?

As it seems you were not going to receive your answer as the door to your chambers suddenly flies opens.

You quickly stumble back away from the queen and Alicent pushes herself off the wall trying her best to steady herself.

"So it is true! You are back!" Aegon exclaims sauntering over to you.

You do not respond and instead glanced over at Alicent, she looked slightly dishevelled but otherwise a picture of grace. Her hands clasped over her abdomen, she stands up straight. To the untrained eye, absolutely nothing unseemly has taken place here tonight.

She truly is good at this. You were captivated.

"Oh, hello mother." Aegon says.

"I had only wished to get caught up with my dear friend y/n, it has been entirely too long since I have last seen her." The prince remarks.

Alicent smiles at her son, it does not reach her eyes.

"Ofcourse, I will leave you." Alicent says, stealing a glance at you before walking out.

Shit.

You definitely had gone too far once again. The queen may never want to be near you now.

"Y/n , what do you say? Fancy a walk with me around the city?" Aegon asks you joyfully.

"My prince, it is nearly the hour of the bat. I think its wise I rest before resuming my duties on the morrow."

The prince lets out a groan.

"I will not force you out till late, I promise."

You stare at him, genuinely deliberating.

"Come on, where is that sense of adventure?" He urged one last time.

"Fine. I ought to keep an eye on you anyway. I will meet you outside, I need to dress."

Accomplished smile on his lips, Aegon walks out of your chambers.

You sigh recalling what just happened between you and the queen. Anxiety overcoming you once again. You hated being apart from Alicent and yet entirely dreaded the thought of seeing her in the morning.

Pushing those thoughts aside you choose to focus on Aegon and the time you are about to spend with him. You will have to face the queen again soon enough. You decide there is no point in agonizing over it.

#alicent hightower #alicent x reader #alicent hightower x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #helaena targaryen #helaena x reader #aegon targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii x reader #team green #rhaenicent

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jackdawyt · 5 years

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We have a new comic book on the horizon from Dark Horse, as a direct continuation from Dragon Age: Deception's plot with fan-favourite Fenris taking the lead this time around!

The same creative team behind Knight Errant and Deception are returning with a novel by the name of Dragon Age: Blue Wraith! An amazing title, if I do say so!

We have Nunzio DeFilippis and Christina Weir on the writing front, artist Fernando Heinz Furukawa and colourist Michael Atiyeh with covers done by Sachin Teng. Each returning from previous Dragon Age comics!

Comicbook.com has the full scope with a small description of the newly announced graphic novel:

Dark Horse Comics is returning to the world of Dragon Age once again in the newly announced comic, Dragon Age: Blue Wraith. Blue Wraith follows other critically acclaimed series like Knight Errant and will feature a returning fan-favourite Dragon Age 2 character: Fenris, the former elf slave that hunts mages, set after the events of Dragon Age: Inquisition.

"Dragon Age: Blue Wraith starts off with the fanatical Qunari seeking to topple the Tevinter mageocracy. Caught in the middle, one powerful young mage’s desperate search for her father brings her face-to-face with a notorious mage hunter—Fenris, the Blue Wraith."

Regarding the nature of Fenris and his mage killing, Nunzio cleared something up for us:

"Fenris frees slaves. In doing so, he has killed a fair amount of mages, and the "Blue Wraith" is feared throughout the Imperium as a Mage-Killer as a result".

For anyone wondering who the mage is in Blue Wraith, both the lead writers Nunzio and Christina confirmed on Twitter that it is Francesca! The Venatori mage from Dragon Age: Deception, apparently "She's got a lot to figure out in this new mini."

In addition to Francesca, other previous comic characters will be returning too! Thanks to Caitie who was prompted by this reply from Nunzio - "While this is a story about Francesca and Fenris, Vaea and Autumn are huge parts of the story as well".

Regarding the creation of Blue Wraith's narrative, based on previous videos where I've created talking about the comics, there's a lot of things that are up in the air regarding the significance of the comic characters going forward for Dragon Age 4.

We know that Nunzio and Christina create new characters simply for the purpose of serving the novel's story. Of course, they'd love to see their characters transported into a game for a future narrative, but that's not their purpose.

At this time they exist to push the narrative since Inquisition forward, with no objective to appear in Dragon Age 4 yet. So, with that tidbit - how are the Dark Horse writers able to tackle characters like Dorian and Fenris? Characters who're already established in the franchise and seemingly have plenty of plot to go forward in the next game?

Well, Patrick Weekes has helped clarify this, he was asked how much of the narrative and character decisions came from the lead DA writers, and how much is up to the comic authors. He replied saying:

“Tricky question! Short version: - We at BW (me, Matt Goldman, Nick Thornborrow) give a high-level “Here’s what kind of story we’re interested in.” - Comic writers (Christina and Nunzio currently) propose a story based on that. - We at BW offer lore adjustments as needed."

"So the great folks at Dark Horse, and Christina and Nunzio specifically, are telling a story they own, and we are making sure it fits with where we want to take the franchise."

This gives me hope that we could not only see Fenris in the future, but other comic characters that we've grown to love like Vaea and Ser Aaron, even Calix and Francesca, and don't even forget Autumn! With that in mind, the comics are leading the way for Dragon Age 4's grand narrative issue by issue, paving the way!

So, I'm super pumped to read the comic book, delving into many things like Fenris and his lyrium manifestation, Derenius' Estate, the Red Lyruim idol/sword and of course, the returning comic book characters!

Dragon Age: Blue Wraith #1 is set to release on January 15, 2020, with the following two issues releasing after that. Judging my Dragon Age: Deception's release, each of the issues launched one month after the other. So, we can expect the narrative to finish around March.

The same month that Dragon Age: Tevinter Nights will launch! We're going to have a lot of Dragon Age reading material to talk about early 2020!

Tell me what you're thinking down below!

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virlath · 3 years

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Some details about the idol concept art

Concept art of the idol was posted on Twitter so of course, I had to do a quick breakdown because there are some new details which weren't in other versions of it.

The most obvious new detail is the snake-like creature on the right. I originally thought it was a tail of some sort, but if it is in fact a snake, it is a peculiar difference. It instantly reminded me of the Tevinter heraldry which features a dragon and snake/serpent.

Mythal is the embodiment of the dragon, and she has also been described as a serpent in the lore.

The snake detail in the concept art makes me wonder why exactly snake symbolism is so widely used in Tevinter when dragons are surely considered more powerful. There must be something about snakes we don't know about yet..? It could also just be a reference to the ourobouros, which has featured a few times in the games and art.

The central figure in the idol also looks like they have black tears running from their eyes. This corresponds to characters in the series who have used blight magic; their eyes form inky black tears.

Mythal stole the knowledge of the Void from Andruil so I have wondered what she did with that knowledge, and if that knowledge could be found within the Well of Sorrow's voices.

Could the Evanuris have killed her for access to that information, and destroyed her temple with hopes of finding that knowledge of the Void? Solas even makes a point of saying that he has never seen a group share their power equally, no matter how noble their intentions.

Then, there’s the vines.

Dark Fortress spoilers below.

In Dark Fortress, Francesca uses her vine magic to bury the sarcophagus deep underground where it can't be found. When I saw the concept art, the vines just reminded me of the panel below.

It could just be an uncanny resemblance...but still.

If Mythal was corrupted in some way, it makes sense that the ancient elves would attempt to bury her body underneath the stone, as this is a method that has been used in other events in the universe to prevent evil from escaping (veilfire rune in the deeproads / Horror of Hormak).

Francesca's magic is also supposed to be reminiscent of the magic the Emerald Knights used, and they had some rather interesting connections to the ancient elves if you go deeper down the rabbit hole.

For a moment, the scent of blood fills the air, and there is a vivid image of green vines growing and enveloping a sphere of fire. The vision grows dark. An aeon seems to pass. Then the runes crackle, as if filled with an angry energy. A new vision appears: elves collapsing caverns, sealing the Deep Roads with stone and magic. Terror, heart-pounding, ice-cold, as the last of the spells is cast. A voice whispers: "What the Evanuris in their greed could unleash would end us all. Let this place be forgotten. Let no one wake its anger. The People must rise before their false gods destroy them all."

Mythal's knowledge and power could have been used in an attempt to create a monster- something that made the earth afraid.

In Tevinter Nights, the dread wolf claims the idol is 'his', but is it Solas' or is it Mythal's?

Solas can turn people into stone, a sign of magic derived from the titans who we know Mythal defeated in a war. Solas can also affect people through their dreams, even dwarves who have no connection to the fade. This seems to confirm the note we found in the deep roads, the one that says Mythal gave dwarves dreams.

I am empty, filled with nothing(?), Mythal gives you dreams. It fills you, within you(?), Making our leaders proud. My little stones, Never yours the sun. Forever, forever.

When the dread wolf claims the idol is his, he could really be referring to Mythal's ownership of her being within the idol, because she is technically now a part of him.

The idol was found deep underground in the primeval thaig, which was untouched for centuries. It was also found on an altar, and was seemingly revered by the dwarves.

I have a theory the dwarves had access to a fragment of her, and this is how she oversaw the elves' lyrium mining operations. When the dwarves learned that Mythal was killed, they could have crafted the idol in an attempt to bring Mythal back.

So at this point I would be more surprised if Mythal wasn't involved in the origin of the blight, considering all of these weird connections.

#dragon age #da theories #red lyrium idol #bioware #drabble

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cloudycrystalkpop · 3 years

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SMOKY | Purgatory Within

Blind! Prince! Mingi x [unstated skin deformity] fem! Reader

words: almost 2k

warnings: abuse trauma, smut, death

au: crown royal au | moodboard

series masterlist: SMOKY

you became more and more concerned for your husband’s behavior as time went on. the young man who had once been so careful and gentle, now stood with a silent rage behind his empty eyes.

however, after you confronted him about his possessive behavior, you watched him break down at your feet.

“p-please... please don’t leave me...” his large frame was once again curled in on himself, shoulders shaking as he kneeled on the floor, hands fisted in your robe. his head was hung low as he begged you at your feet.

“Mingi, what has been going on with you?” you insisted, refusing to touch the man as he tried to bury his face in your lap.

“I can't- I can't let the Duke take you! or your whore of a knight! Please my queen please, take me instead, take everything I have!” the man let out a broken sob as you sighed at his words.

“enough.” you growled, grabbing a hand full of his hair and lifting his head. he yelped in shock, neck exposed to you as his Adams apple bobbed in fear.

“you are to be a king Mingi. you are a grown man, and I am your wife. you are not a little boy to be crying at the feet of his mother.” you pushed the man off your lap and stood. “and you will be a fool of a king if you let such foolish insecurity cloud your judgment!”

Mingi hid his head low, covering his face with his arms.

“I'm sorry! I'm sorry! p-please don't-” his normally deep voice cracked in terror. you stopped, anger at he man before you evaporated.

“Mingi...mingi I'm not going to hit you.” you spoke softly, gently falling to your knees on the floor. his body shook, arms still held to protect his face. “I hope you know, I would never do that.” your voice was sorrowful as you reached out a hand to his head.

he flinched when you touched his hair, but as you began to run your fingers through it, his muscles slowly relaxed. dropping his arms from his face you could finally see the puffiness around his eyes, the cloudiness of the dark pigment stared blankly back at you.

“...do you promise?” he hiccuped, turning his head to try and find the direction of your voice. you cupped the man’s cheeks, pulling his head to face yours. his eyes fluttered shut as he rested his head in your hands.

“oh my darling boy, who did this to you?”

Mingi found a small kitten in the garden. a runt, tiny thing. you had thought the bundle of orange fur was some nobles lost purse left out in the rain. he named her Daisy, saying her fur smelled of the flowers when she curled up in his big hands.

You rarely saw the man without her, the small kitten often purching on Mingi's large shoulders.

Your husband still held ribbons of his possessive behavior, however he began to distance himself from you. You rarely saw him now other then in passing on when the pair of you went to sleep at night. He also began neglecting pleasing you, but you assumed he was simply not interested as both of you often went to sleep without any contact.

Now you found yourself facing a different delema. You had always been a woman with a high sex drive, its one of the reasons you had chosen Seonghwa as a concort. However your poor knight had been frightened quite badly by yourself and your husband, and you knew he wouldnt return to you unless you seeked him out.

But you had also made Mingi a promis. One that was getting increasingly hard for you to keep.

"My lady, is everything alright? You seem lost in thought... If there is any responsibilities weighing heavy on you i am more then happy to help however i can!" the young Duke's voice was as sweet as ever.

You sighed, looking over to Yeosang, a man you had been trying not to look at for to long. His hair lay in soft curls around his face, lightened by the many years spent outside in the sunlight. Likewise his skin was warm in hue, tanner then the rest of your court.

You had heard some of the other ladies snickering about him. Yeosang surely didnt live up to some of the standards for desired beauty the royals had. A strange thought flashed in your mind. Is that why Mingi was chosen to be your husband over Yeosang? Mingi's frame was large, an incredibly masculine figure just looking at him, with dark hair and skin untouched by the sun.

Little Yeosang however, had small and dainty hands, with long thin fingers, his features were softer then Mingi's, even his skin looked soft to the touch. And the many years spent as a playmate for his sisters left him with an unthreatening demeanor.

Indeed it wasnt hard for you to imagine him, flowers in his hair, sat on a blanket in the valley, perhaps painting or writing for his own amusement. You shoved away such thoughts as you saw a line of concern crease in his brow.

"My lady..."

"I am sorry Yeosang. Truthfully ive been feeling a bit... Forgotten about in these last weeks. And its left me feeling distracted." you answered him.

"Forgotten... Ah, by your husband?" perceptive as always. You sighed, gase dropping to your tea once more, before nodding.

"Have you tried speaking to him? He has a shy nature, im sure-"

"Hes trying to help." you held up a hand to stop him. "He did not trust me, and hes trying to offer me space to show he does." you clarified.

"... I see." Yeosang chewed on his lip in thought. His lips were a pretty blush color, not as round as Mingi's but plump, they looked soft... Very soft.

You cursed yourself in your own head. His fingers, his lips, youd be lying to deny they hadnt crossed your mind when you bathed. Your hands wandering your own body, head leaned back and eyes closed. Imagining it was Yeosang's long fingers in place of your own as you gasped in pleasure.

You shooed away the maid who came to offer you more tea, informing her it wouldnt be needed. Lust was a vice that would only cause you harm as Mingi's wife. And yet, something stirred in your gut.

"Yeosang, will you come walk with me?" the Duke nodded quickly, standing to his feet to follow you deeping into the gardens.

Your husband would be furious. And yet, such a worry seemed to melt away as you let yourself become lost in his touch.

"My lady please, you must be quiet. Or else we shall scandalize some poor stable boy." Yeosang's voice purred in your ear, pressing soft kisses to your neck after speaking.

You bite your tongue as Yeosang let another finger slip inside you. You were right, his fingers were deliciously long, able to reach places within you your own faltered. His hand snaked up your skirts and inside your undergarments, the heel of his hand pressed against your clit, his wrist not forgetting such an important part as he rubbed it gently.

You could almost see stars as he began sucking on your neck, a third finger sliding within you.

"... I promised you, anything you ever needed, i will provide. If its council, wisdom, or even such sinful favors... I am at your service. Always." Yeosang's voice was honey on your skin. You pulled one of your hands up from where they were fisted in his jacket, tugging gently on his hair. He pulled away from your neck, eyes now staring into your own. A look of pride took his features, seeing the state of pleasure you were in at his hands.

Tugging his hair again, you let a small whine fall from your lips. He chuckled, increasing the pace of his hand, and before a moan could fall from your lips, he covered them with his own.

That night, cheeks finally faded with the glow of what yourself and the Duke had snuck away to do, you crossed paths with a guard.

“your highness! just who I was looking for~” dread pooled in your gut as you saw Hongjoong, cheerful grin on display, with a small kitten in his arms. Daisy shook like a leaf, eyes slit to spite the darkness of the hallway.

you opened your arms and Hongjoong placed the small cat in your hands. Daisy immediately pressed herself as far from Hongjoong as she could, a small hiss let out in his direction.

“how rude. if it wasn't for me she would have been stuck at the top of a lamp. ungrateful feline.” he huffed. you began to gently stroke the cat’s fur, in hopes of calming her down.

“an animal as small as this knows when it is in the jaws of a predator.” you stated. Hongjoong smiled, and your stomach dropped. humans are so stupid. Hongjoong is known as a cheerful and smiley person, but yet the cloud that follows him hides the nature of his grin. a wolf does not offer you a smile, he bares his teeth as a warning.

“and yet your little prince is so blissfully unaware of what he is toying with~” Hongjoong giggled. you simply blinked back at the creature before you. “you know, your fondness for that Duke will upset him. but if you wanted a straightforward solution-”

“I am not a fool like the other idiot humans that reside here.” you growled.

“oh no, absolutely not. but, witch, neither am i.” you narrow your eyes at him.

“I could have you hung for accusing the future queen of witchcraft.” you threatened. Hongjoong lay his head back and let out a hearty laugh.

“that would be a sight! do you really want to see what happened if you try and kill me?” Hongjoong stops himself before he begins laughing again. “actually I believe I know that answer. regardless, my offer still stands. just as our deal already does.”

“deal?” you feel panic rise in your throat.

“why yes, the silent one of course.” Hongjoong grins that same one that appears in your nightmares. the one that pulls his cheeks up and shows just a few to many teeth.

“you don't tell them what I am, and in exchange, I do the same.”

you awoke the next morning, without Mingi. his side of the bed was cold, and even Daisy had gone missing. you thought little of it as you rose to begin your day, however, you were not greeted by one of your handmaidens, but rather, a guard.

“your majesty, I come bearing news.” he swallowed nervously.

“oh? at this hour?” you inquired. you were then greeted by a sorrowful meow, Daisy crawling between the guards legs and hiding under your nightgown.

“your husband, Prince Mingi, was found dead in a poll of his own blood last night.”

who killed the king?

suspects : Yeosang | Seonghwa | Hongjoong

#smoky au #prince au #mingi x reader #mingi au #ateez x reader #Ateez au #yeosang x reader #Yeosang smut #royal au #fantasy au #demon au #knight au #Hongjoong au #Seonghwa au

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jadelotusflower · 3 years

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July 2021 Roundup

Discussed this month: The Once and Future King, The Good People, The Secret of Kells/Wolfwalkers/Song of the Sea (aka "Irish Folklore" Trilogy), The Matrix Trilogy, the John Wick Trilogy, Space Jam: A New Legacy

Reading

The Once and Future King (T.H. White) - I've actually read this before, but it was a long time ago and I remembered very little of it so it seemed time for a revisit. Written between 1936 and 1942, this is a surprisingly meta retelling of Arthur and Camelot, very obviously and heavily influenced by WWII, with much academic pondering on the concept of humanity and war and ongoing conflict against Might=Right - looking to the past to try and understand the present. Some familiarity with the legends is assumed, White occasionally making reference to Malory, and there is a strange anachronistic feel - Merlin lives time backwards and talks of Hitler and other 20th Century references, White frequently refers to Old England and the way things were "back then", but also calls Arthur's country Gramarye, the narrative taking place an a kind of alternate history/mythology where Uther was the Norman conqueror of 1066, and yet reference is also made to the Plantagenet kings.

Comprising five volumes (the first four published separately at the time, and the final posthumously), it struck me on this read how each of the first four are structured around the childhood of a major player -Arthur (The Sword in the Stone), Gawain and his brothers (The Witch in the Wood), Lancelot (The Ill-Made Knight), and Mordred (The Candle in the Wind), and how their upbringing played a part in the inevitable tragedy of Camelot. In the final volume, The Book of Merlyn, it comes full circle as Arthur on the eve of his death is taken to revisit the animals of his childhood for much philosophising (at one point Merlyn argues at length with a badger about Karl Marx and communism.)

The Sword in the Stone is the most engaging, with young Arthur (known as "the Wart") and his tutelage under Merlin, being turned into various animals like an ant, a goose, and a hawk to learn about each of their societies (political allegories), and meeting with Robin Wood (Hood) and Maid Marian to battle Morgan le Fay, and the climactic pulling of the sword from the stone. This was of course the source material for the Disney film, although missing the wizards duel with Madam Mim (appearing in the original publication, but removed for the revised version).

The Ill-Made Knight is the longest volume and was honestly a slog to get through, because honestly Lancelot is pretty dull/terrible, and the Lancelot/Guenever love affair less than compelling. Ultimately it's Lancelot's hubris that dooms them - he is warned that Mordred intends to catch him out in Guenever's room, but he goes anyway, and doesn't leave when he tells her to, because he is stupid.

It’s no surprise that the female characters are given the short shrift, but there’s an uncomfortable vein of misogyny running through the book. To wit:

Elaine had done the ungraceful thing as usual. Guenever, in similar circumstances, would have been sure to grow pale and interesting - but Elaine had only grown plump.

And then later:

Guenever had overdressed for the occasion. She had put on makeup which she did not need, and put it on badly. She was forty-two.

Morgause (the eponymous witch in the wood/queen of air and darkness) is a negligent mother whose sole motivation is revenge, Elaine rapes Lancelot by deception, Guenever is hypocritical and shrill (but achieves a sliver of nuance in Candle), Nimueh is a nonentity, and Morgan le Fey is a monstrous fairy. If only White had turned his academic pondering inward and in order to examine the role of women in his worldview other than as damsels or instigators.

But Arthur also gets the short shrift - after all the focus in his childhood, he becomes almost a peripheral figure in the rest of the story until the very end, and we're not actually given much to show why he is the once and future king, other than that he tries to institute a slightly less brutal system.

Ultimately, White is more interested in philosophy than character, and so Camelot's inevitable tragedy feels more clinical than visceral.

The Good People (Hannah Kent) - If the Irish Folklore Trilogy (discussed below) is the beauty and wonder of Irish myths and legends interacting with the human world, this book is the cold danger of superstition and the devastating affect of folklore used as an explanation for life's ills. Set in 1820's rural Ireland, Nora is widowed and left with the care of her young disabled grandson Michael, believed to be a changeling. The local wise woman Nance, who feels the touch of "the good people" sets about to drive out the fairy from the child, believing that the "real" Michael will return, much to the growing dread of Mary, the teenage girl Nora has hired to care for him.

Here fairies are seen as a malevolent force, "sweeping" away women and children, causing bad harvests, and bringing death to the village - to be respected and feared. And then there's Nance, bartering traditional cures for ailments and troubles - some work, some do not, and some pose great danger. On the other hand, this is a remote village where a doctor must be fetched from Killarney, and only one priest who is less than charitable. Neither provide any help or support to Nora.

SPOILERS It's an upsetting read dealing with dark subject matter - grief trauma, child abuse and accidental infanticide, a kind of slow burn horror. If it takes a village to to raise a child, it also takes one to kill a child, as mounting fear and superstition moves through the population like a contagion, heightening Nora's desperation for the "return" of her grandson, and Nance's to prove her knowledge. It's an impeccably researched novel (based in part on a true event) but very unsettling - poor Michael is never really given humanity, and I feel this book would be hugely triggering in its depiction of disability and neurodivergence.

Watching

The Secret of Kells/Song of the Sea/Wolfwalkers (dir. Tom Moore) - I've been meaning to watch these films for absolutely ages, and I finally got to them this month. I’m pleased to say that the many people who recommended them to me were absolutely correct, because they appear to have been made to specifically cater to my interests. Some mild spoilers ahead.

I watched these in internal chronological order as suggested by @ravenya003, starting with The Secret of Kells, set in 9th Century Ireland where the young monk Brendan helps illuminate the to-be famous manuscript and befriends a forest sprite Aisling, under the threat of a Viking raid. Next was Wolfwalkers, jumping forward to 1650 Kilkenny where the English girl Robyn, daughter of a hunter, is drawn into the world of the forest and Mebh, who turns into a wolf when she sleeps. And finally we go all the way to 1980's in Song of the Sea for the story of Ben, who must help his younger sister Saoirse (a selkie) find her voice and bring back the faeries who have been turned to stone by the owl witch Macha.

Although the stories are completely separate, they've been described as Moore's "Irish Folklore" trilogy, and it’s easy to read a through line from Kells to Wolfwalkers in particular - both deal with fae of the forest, and Aisling appears as a white wolf at the end of the film (having lost her ability to appear in human form). I like to think that Aisling is in some way the progenitor of the wolfwalkers - after all, Kells and Kilkenny are less than 200 kms apart.

Song of the Sea is distant from the other two in both time and subject matter, dealing with selkies, creatures of the water. In many ways, Kells and Wolfwalkers feels like a duology, with Song more its own thing. On the other hand, an argument could be made for common fae spirit/s in different forms across all three films - Aisling is a white sprite, Robyn takes the form of a white/grey wolf, and Saoirse a white seal.

The strength of these films other than the folklore is the visual style - I really love 2D animation, and while I appreciate the beauty of cg animation, I often find in the latter’s focus on hyper-realism the artistry can be left by the wayside. These films not just aesthetically beautiful, but the art is used to tell the story - from the sharp angles that represent the darker or harmful elements (Crom, Vikings, the Town), to the circles and rings that represent safety and harmony (the Abbey, the forest, Mebh and her mother/the wolves healing circle, the holy well). The exception is probably the home of Macha, the owl witch, where circles are also prominent and represent magic, and this is often the case in folklore (fairy rings, fairy forts, etc).

Kells is the most stylised, resembling tapestries or pages and triptychs from medieval manuscripts, playing with perspective. I actually saw pages from the real Book of Kells years ago in Dublin, and remember them being very beautiful. We only get glimpses of the Book and the stunning Chi Rho page at the very end of the film, but the style of art is present throughout the film and particularly in the forest where Brendan finds inspiration for his illumination, and on the flipside his encounter in the dark with Crom Cruach, represented as a chalk-drawn primordial serpent.

This style is also present in Wolfwalkers, particularly stark in the way the birds-eye grid of the town often looms over Robyn in the background and in her work at the castle. The depiction of the forest has more of a storybook quality however, as does Song, where almost every frame resembles a painting, particularly the sequences of Saoirse's selkie trip through the sea and Ben's fall through the holy well.

Rav points out in her review that there is the ebbing away of myth and magic in each successive film, contrasted with the rise of Christianity/modernity. But there's circles and rings again, because while the ultimate power of the faerie world is fading away, the interaction between our human protagonists and faerie actually increases with each film. In Kells, we have only Aisling and Crom, in Wolkwalkers, we have Mebh and her mother whose ranks grow to include Robyn and her father, and finally in Song we have Saoirse, Bronagh, Macha, the Na Daoine Sídhe, and the Great Seanachaí.

Watching in the order I did, it does give the impression of the mythological world opening up to the viewer, gaining a deeper understanding and exposure as time progressed. On the other hand, that is also because the human world is gradually encroaching on the world of Faerie, from isolated settlements like the Abbey of Kells, to growing town of Kilkenny and the logging of the surrounding forest, to a modern Ireland of motorways and power lines, and industrialised Dublin where the remaining fairies have moved underground. It makes the climax of Song, with the fairies restored but returning to the land of Tír na nÓg, rather bittersweet.

I also credit the strength of the voice acting - the adult roles are minor but with greats including the dulcet tones of Brendan Gleeson and Sean Bean, and the ethereal Maria Doyle Kennedy (who I wish had gotten to do more). But the child roles are all performed so well, particularly Honor Kneafsey as Robyn, whose growing desperation and distress is just heartbreakingly palpable.

The Matrix Trilogy (dir. The Wachowskis) - I usually don't post rewatches in the Roundup, but I really, really love these movies. I will never forget seeing The Matrix at the cinema as a young teen, knowing nothing other than the tease of the enigmatic trailers, and just being completely blown away by it, and then becoming completely obsessed a few years later in the leadup to Reloaded.

It wasn’t my first fandom, but it was probably the first time I took fandom seriously. I was very invested in Neo/Trinity in particular as well as all the mythological/literary references that fed directly into my interests. I haven’t however gone back and read the fic I wrote, for fear that it is very, very cringe. I know where is is though, so maybe one day before the ff.net is purged.

This is Keanu Reeves at his most handsome, and while he doesn't have the greatest range (as many actors don't, although they don't get as much grief for it), when he's in the zone there's no one else who could do it better. He just has a Presence, you know? A vibe, and it compels me.

This is particularly present in Neo, a character whose conflict is almost entirely internal, burdened by the weight of his responsibility and destiny, both before and after he learns it is a false prophesy. He’s not your typical quippy macho action hero, but much like my other fave Luke Skywalker, is a character who is ultimately driven by love and self-sacrifice. I definitely have a Type of male hero I adore, and Neo fits right in there.

I also really love the sequels, flaws and all, because you know what, the Wachowskis had Ideas and they weren't going to deliver Matrix 2: Electric Boogaloo. Each film goes in an unexpected direction, and not in a subverted expectations ha ha silly rabbits way, but one that does have an internal logic and pulls together a cohesive trilogy as a whole, and how often does that happen these days?

The sequels are so…earnest, with none of the cynical cool detachment perhaps some would have preferred - at its core a trilogy exploring philosophy and the nature of prophesy vs choice, determinism vs free will, and the power of love. Maybe it can be hokey, and some of the dialogue a bit overwritten, but I don't care, there's so much I still enjoy even having seen the trilogy many times over the years.

Not to mention the great female characters - while I'm not sure any of the three strictly passes the Bechdel Test, we have Trinity and Niobe in particular who I love with all my heart. It does kind of annoy me that the Trinity Syndrome is so named, because it only applies in the most reductive reading possible, and Trinity expresses agency (and badassery) every step of the way, saving Neo just as much as he saves her. I mean..."dodge this"/"in five minutes I'll tear that whole goddamn building down"/"believe it"? Niobe piloting the Hammer through the mechanical line in Revolutions? Iconic. There are criticisms that can be made, sure, but the trilogy ultimately loves, respects, and appreciates its female characters (and important to note that the avatars of The System, the Architect and the Agents, are all white men).

Then we have the Oracle, who ultimately holds the most power and is the victor of the human/machine war. There's so much going on with the Oracle I could talk about it all day. It's that fate vs free will question again (“if you already know, how can I make a choice?”), but with the wrinkle of manipulation (“would you still have broken it if I hadn’t said anything?”). Choice is the foundation the Matrix is built on, the unconscious choice for humans to accept the system or reject it - the Architect can't control that, he can only manage it, and the Oracle can't force Neo onto the path she has set out for him, only predict the choices he will make based on her study of the human psyche ("did you always know?"/"No...but I believed"). But she plays with the concept of fate in a complicated web of prophesies for outcome she wants and trusting the nature of Morpheus, Trinity, and Neo to bring it about.

And then there's the visual storytelling - there is so much meaning in almost every frame and line of dialogue. The mirroring and ring cycles not only in the constant presence of reflective surfaces and central metaphor of the Matrix as a simulacrum, but the androgyny of Neo and Trinity, bringing each other back from the dead in successive films (and ultimately both ultimately dying in the third), Neo and Morpheus’ first and last meetings, Smith who is ultimately Neo’s dark mirror, the Oracle/the Architect, just to name a few. I just…really really love these movies? Maybe I’ll do a full post rewatch sometime.

I am however reserving judgement on the Matrix 4 - already there are a few things making me uneasy. Lana is the sole director for this one (Lilly is not involved), and Laurence Fishburne apparently wasn't even asked back, even though Morpheus actually survives the trilogy (as opposed to Neo and Trinity). But I’m interested, and don’t want to go in with any expectations, but rather ready to be surprised again like I was when I watched the first film (and hope I can stay away from spoilers).

John Wick Trilogy (dir. Chad Stahelski) - It was a trilogy kind of month! This genre is generally not my thing, as I don’t have a high tolerance for graphic violence and pure action bores me after a while, but I was in a Keanu kind of mood and I'm always hearing people go on about John Wick so I wanted to know what (if anything) I was missing. While still a bit too violent for my tastes, if nothing else I could appreciate the dance-like fight choreography, even if the worldbuulding is absolutely ridiculous - I mean, literally thousands of assassins across the world chilling in sanctuary hotels, supported by a vast network of weapon suppliers, tailors, surgeons, spy networks, etc? It’s silly, but hey, I was happy to go along with it.

What I do appreciate about Keanu Reeves, and this seems to be a common thread, is that even when in action hero mode (Matrix, Point Break, John Wick, and to a lesser extent Speed), he consistently plays a man who is completely in love with his partner/wife - like, completely, unapologetically devoted to them, and I think that is a big part of the appeal - it's that Keanu energy that is often the antithesis of toxic masculinity, even when in roles that would ordinarily rely on those tropes.

Wick is in many ways the spiritual successor to Neo - insular, taciturn, and even as he's dispatching death with clinical precision. Much like Neo, Wick is a character who is somehow Soft (tm) despite all the violence. I once listened to a podcast where they amusingly discussed the Reeves oeuvre as simulations of Neo still trapped in the Matrix, and it’s very easy to make the case here and imagine John Wick as Neo plugged back in after Revolutions, mourning Trinity and set on mission after mission to keep his mind active (and it would certainly explain why the guy hasn’t dropped dead after being stabbed, beaten up, strangled, hit by a car, shot, and falling off a building). It’s a fun little theory.

Stahelski was Reeves' stunt double and a stunt coordinator on The Matrix and there's plenty of homages in the visual style and reuniting Reeves with costars Laurence Fishburne and Randall Duk Kim (who played the Keymaker).

I did also find it amusing that Wick is also often referred to as babayaga (equated in the film to the bogeyman). Well, Wick is in many ways a witch who lives in the woods, just wanting to be left alone with his dog, and there is a supernatural energy to the character, so...I guess?

Space Jam: A New Legacy (dir. Malcolm D Lee) - I took my niece to see this at the cinema and it was…pretty much what you would expect. I thought it was fine for what it was, even if a bit slow in parts (it takes a looong time for the looneys to show up) and I wonder if they have the same cultural pull they had in the nineties (the age of Tweety Bird supremacy). But the kids seemed into it (my niece liked porky pig) and that's what counts I guess.

This time, the toon battle royale takes place on the WB servers, where evil A.I. Don Cheadle (having the time of his life chewing the cg scenery) wants to capture Lebron James for...reasons, idk. James and Bugs have to find the rest of the looneys scattered across the server-verse, a chance for WB to desperately remind people that they too, have media properties and a multiverse including DC comics world, Harry Potter world, Matrix world, Mad Max world, Casablanca world etc. Some of it feels very dated - there is I kid you not an Austin Powers reference, although it did make me smile that Trinity was on James’ list of most wanted players (skill: agility).

Unfortunately, nothing it really done with this multiverse concept except “hey, remember this movie? Now with looneys” six times, and the crowd for the game populated by WB denizens including the Iron Giant, Pennywise, the monkeys from the Wizard of Oz, Scooby Doo and the gang, etc. But still, it's fun, and hardly the tarnishing of a legacy or whatever nonsense is driving youtube clicks these days.

Writing

The Lady of the Lake - 2335 words.

Against the Dying of the Light - 2927 words, Chapter 13 posted.

Total: 5272 this month, 38,488 this year.

#roundup #reading watching writing #long post

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pikapeppa · 4 years

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Solavellan smut: Control

In which Nare Lavellan teases Solas into finding his big bad dread wolf. 👀😏♥ Mild kink warning: spanking, hair-pulling, and some dark!Solas coming out to play.

(I posted this earlier this week, but there were... ISSUES. Thanks Tumblr.)

~5778 words; read here on AO3 instead.

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

Nare was feeling cocky.

She was having a particularly good day at Skyhold. Earlier this afternoon, she’d finally mastered a tricky Knight-Enchanter move while training with Commander Helaine, and she’d actually managed to knock the commander off her feet. Then, during her war table meeting, Cullen had informed her — with a rare smile! — that the Inquisition soldiers she’d sent to Wycome were keeping both her clan and the city elves safe from hostile forces, and that her Keeper and an elf from the alienage had been elected as part of a newly-instated city council to run Wycome in the wake of the corrupt Duke’s death.

Two elves helping to run a human city-state, Nare thought happily. She sometimes had her doubts about her role as the Inquisitor, but on days like today, she couldn’t help but just feel good about what she was capable of doing in this rare position of power.

And so it was an unusually cocky-feeling Nare who sauntered into the rotunda late that evening to visit with Solas for the first time that day.

He was sitting at his desk and rubbing his chin as he studied an open tome, and Nare admired his handsome frown. She wandered around his desk so she was facing him and leaned her hip against the edge of the desk. “Hello,” she said.

He looked up. His eyes darted over her casual posture, and his preoccupied expression turned into a wry little smile. “Hello, vhenan,” he said. “You’ve been busy today.”

“I sure have,” she said with a grin. Solas’s smile was small but knowing, and she could tell that he was detecting the cheeky mood she was in.

He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap. “I trust you had a successful day of Inquisition business?”

“I sure did,” she said.

The corners of his lips twitched, but his tone was pleasant and neutral when he replied. “I would be interested in hearing what you did today.”

Nare smiled, but didn’t reply. Frankly, she hadn’t come here because she wanted to talk about what she’d done today. She was feeling cocky and in control, and when she was standing so close to Solas with his polite manners and the mischievous quirk at the corners of his lips, talking about the Inquisition was the last thing she wanted to do.

She slowly seated herself on the edge of his desk, making sure to arch her spine as she sat. “Why don’t you tell me what you’ve been up to instead?” she said innocently.

His eyes dropped to her bottom before rising back to her face, and a little thrill raced down her spine: his lovely slate-grey eyes were bright with interest. “All right,” he said mildly. “I regret to admit that I’m still in the process of translating this tome in Old Tevene. There is a particular phrase that I seem to be stuck on.”

“Why don’t you ask Dorian for help?” Nare asked.

Solas lifted one eyebrow. “Do you truly think that Dorian will be able to help with the translation of an archaic form of his native language?”

“Well, you’re able to help with translating Elvhen texts from thousands of years ago,” she reasoned.

He lifted his chin appraisingly. “I don’t believe that Dorian acquired his knowledge of Tevene from prolonged journeys in the Fade.”

“Hmm,” Nare said.

There was a brief pause while she and Solas sized each other up. Then Nare cocked her head. “Can I look at your tome?”

“Of course,” he said.

“Can I sit?” she asked, and she gestured at his lap.

Solas gave her a reproving look, but it was difficult to take him seriously when was clearly trying not to smile. “You’re already sitting, Nare,” he said dryly.

“I’m on the wrong side of the desk,” she pointed out. “I need a closer look.”

He glanced around the room. “Perhaps we can find you a chair.”

“Please?”

He looked at her once more, and Nare made sure to smile in the most beguiling manner possible. Finally he sighed and pushed his chair back. “Come, then.”

She bounced to her feet and hurried around to his side of the desk, then settled herself comfortably on his right thigh. “Can you show me the phrase you’re having trouble with?”

“Yes,” he said, and he pointed to the page. “This here. As I told you before, Old Tevene is written in… in, um…” He trailed off and cleared his throat, and Nare forced herself not to laugh. It would be mean to laugh at his lack of focus, given that it was her fault: she was slowly rubbing his cock through his trousers.

“Written in what?” she asked.

His eyes flicked up to the upper levels of the rotunda before returning to her face. “What are you doing?” he said in a very low voice.

She blinked innocently and smoothed her palm over the hardening ridge in his trousers. “What do you mean?”

He narrowed his eyes, and Nare brought her hand to a standstill. “Do you want me to stop?” she asked softly.

There was a loaded pause as he studied her face. Then he spoke in a very quiet voice. “No.”

She gave him a tiny secretive smile, then shifted her position on his lap so her one knee was bent and hiding her hand from view of the upper levels. “What were you saying about this Old Tevene writing?” she said at a normal volume.

“I…” Solas took a deep breath through his nose, and when he spoke again, he sounded perfectly composed. “This tome was written at an age when there were no consistent spellings yet. A single word could be written in a variety of ways.”

His hand was sliding around her back to settle on her waist. Nare smiled to herself, then nodded sagely and continued to run her palm over the bulge in his trousers. “Interesting.”

“And challenging,” he said. “Obnoxiously so, at times.” He shifted slightly on his chair, pushing his groin toward Nare’s hand in the process, and she rubbed her hand more firmly over his cock.

His eyelids fluttered briefly, but his voice was as calm as ever. “The orthography is also quite deep, which makes the inconsistent spellings even more challenging to decipher.”

“Deep?” she said.

He gave her a chiding smirk. “It means that the relationship between the letter and the sound it represents is not one-to-one.”

“I see,” she murmured. She didn’t really know what he meant, and at any other time she would have asked for clarification, but at this moment with Solas’s cock under her hand and his fingers gradually tightening on her hip, she really didn’t care.

She curved her fingers in a semi-grip over the hidden bulge of his shaft and stroked him more quickly than before. “You must be working really hard to translate this text, then.”

She watched the movement of his throat as he swallowed. “I am, yes,” he said calmly. “As you can see, there are… multiple reasons why the translation of such an old Tevene text is time-consuming. The inconsistency, the conventions that did exist being less than straightforward…” He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “It makes the translation process quite… frustrating.”

“I can imagine,” she said.

“Can you?” he said sharply.

She forced herself to keep a straight face. “I can,” she said.

He lifted his chin slightly. “You can imagine how frustrating it would be to be moving toward the… completion of a goal, only to have the mechanics of it placing barriers in your way?”

“I can imagine that really clearly,” she said, and she rubbed him more firmly still.

He let out a breathy little laugh. Nare tilted her head toward his ear and lowered her voice. “I can also imagine how satisfied you’ll be when you finally finish… translating.”

“Mm,” Solas murmured.

She smiled and continued petting his cock in a subtle but steady rhythm. A few seconds later, Solas made a very subtle grunt and flexed his hips slightly, and Nare inhaled sharply through her nose; his fingers were biting into her hip with a nearly-bruising force that lit a sudden bloom of lust in her belly.

She darted a look at him. His eyelids were fluttering slightly, but his face was otherwise perfectly composed, and she couldn’t help but admire how well he’d managed to keep his climax under control. The only obvious sign of how he was really feeling was the firm grip of his fingers digging into her hip.

A few heartbeats later, Solas let out a slow and quiet sigh, then turned his head to look at her. “Veraisa,” he breathed.

‘Vixen’, he’d called her. Well, he didn’t know the half of it. Nare was still feeling cocky, and she wasn’t nearly finished with him yet.

She smiled at him, then ran her finger along the strong line of his jaw before rising to her feet. “Thank you for showing me your text,” she said innocently. Then she walked away.

She was strolling through the Great Hall and halfway to the doors to her quarters when she felt his hand at the small of her back. “Inquisitor,” he said.

There was a subtle edge of tension to his voice, and a shiver of anticipation raced down her spine. She smiled at him. “Solas,” she said. “Can I help you with something?”

“Yes, in fact,” he said. “I would like to speak to you in private.”

“Of course,” she said politely, and she allowed him to lead her to her quarters. As soon as they were inside the door to her private quarters, he grabbed her and pushed her back against the door.

He lowered his face to hers, and her lips parted in anticipation. But instead of kissing her, he dropped his lips to her neck and nipped the side of her throat.

She gasped and tilted her head to the side, and Solas left a line of tiny tender bites along the edge her throat until his lips were at her ear. “You are testing my patience,” he whispered.

She smiled, then pushed him away. “Good,” she said. Usually Solas was the one to tease and coax her into a desperate frenzy. But Nare was in the teasing mood today, and if the feverish look on his face was any indication, she was doing a very good job of riling him up.

She dropped to her knees and pushed the hem of his tunic up, and he hastily grabbed the fabric to hold it out of her way. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“Seeing what a mess you made at your desk.” She started tugging on the laces of his trousers.

He huffed. “You can hardly blame that on me.”

She shot him a little grin. “That’s true. In that case, I’m cleaning up my own mess.” She peeled his trousers down over his hips, and a rush of saliva filled her mouth; the evidence of his climax was liberally smeared on the inside of his trousers and on his cock and his inner thighs.

She licked her lips, then leaned forward and ran her tongue slowly along his inner thigh, and he sighed. “Nare…”

She licked his skin a second time and savoured the floury-salty flavour of his release on her tongue, then shot him a cheeky smile. “Yes?”

He gave her a reproving look, but it was cancelled out by the blazing desire in his eyes. “You have a nefarious plan in mind, da’len. I can tell.”

Her groin pulsed instinctively at his use of the word ‘da’len’, but she blinked coyly at him. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said. Then she went back to licking his thighs, long slow strokes of her tongue that drew ever closer to the weight of his cock between his legs. By the time his thighs were clean, his cock was standing at half-mast and his hand was in her hair.

He sighed and flexed his hips toward her, and his fingers gently grazed her scalp. “Nare…”

She hummed happily, satisfied by the lustful sound of his voice, then angled her head so she could lick his balls. When his cock was once more a proud rod rising from the apex of his thighs, she eagerly took his length into her mouth.

He gasped and tightened his fingers in her hair, and Nare blissfully closed her eyes as he slid past her palate toward her throat. He tasted like his own pleasure, and Nare suckled him in deep slow strokes, slicking her tongue along his length as he drew in and out so she could clean the evidence of his previous climax from his cock before the next one came.

He groaned and pulled gently on her hair, and a wave of lust rippled from her scalp down to the juncture of her thighs. She suckled him more eagerly until he was thrusting into her mouth, and in the space of a few breathless minutes, he was breathing hard as his cock pulsed against her palate.

“Nare,” he breathed.

She moaned around his cock and angled her head to take him as deeply into her throat as she could. Then she suddenly pushed him away and rose to her feet.

His eyes were wide with surprise, his pupils blown wide with lust, and Nare smiled sweetly at him. “I’m going upstairs,” she said, and she ran up the stairs without waiting for a reply.

She burst into her room and waited breathlessly for Solas to catch up to her. A few seconds later, he slowly made his way up the final flight of stairs, and Nare couldn't help but grin; he must have run up the stairs after her, but his decorous pace as he stepped into her bedroom made it clear that he was trying to keep his cool.

Not a chance, she thought confidently. He could try all he liked, but Nare was feeling confident tonight, and she was determined to make him lose control. Judging from the flush of his cheeks and the wild look in his eyes, he was getting close to losing it.

He was standing perfectly still as he stared at her, though, and she lifted her chin. Not close enough, though, she thought in amusement. She clearly needed to try harder.

“You should take off your clothes,” she said. “They’re all messy.” She pulled her shirt off and dropped it on the floor.

Solas huffed, but didn’t move. “An interesting suggestion. May I ask why you’re removing yours?”

“I’m feeling hot,” she said, and she pushed her leggings down. She kicked her leggings away, then sashayed over to the bed as she removed her breastband. When she was down to just her underpants, she crawled slowly onto the bed — making sure to show off her bottom for Solas’s roaming eyes — then settled herself on her knees with her back to him and slowly pulled her long auburn hair over her shoulder.

A moment later, Solas’s fingers drifted lightly along the side of her neck, sending a spill of delicious goosebumps down her spine. Then he suddenly wound his fist in her hair and pulled her head back.

She gasped with shock and pleasure, but her gasp was cut short by his lips slanting over hers in a hard kiss. His other hand curved around her throat as his tongue stroked the inside of her mouth, for a moment, Nare melted into the incomparable bliss of his hands and his lips.

But only for a moment. She was on a mission, after all, and she wasn’t prepared to give in despite the greedy pulse of pleasure that his kiss was fostering deep in her core.

She pushed firmly on his shoulder, and he broke their kiss and released her. “Is something the matter?” he asked.

His voice was edgy and breathless and perfect, and Nare nearly gave in and asked him to fuck her like they both so clearly wanted. Instead, she shifted away from him on the bed. “There is something wrong, yes,” she said. “You’re still wearing your clothes.”

He raised his eyebrows, then shook his head before reaching down to unbuckle his belt. “I’m uncertain what you are playing at, but I will play along,” he said. He gave her a chiding look. “For now.”

She grinned at the implicit threat in his words, then coyly ran her fingers through her hair. “I don’t know what you mean. I’m not playing at anything. But you should lie down when you’re done stripping.”

He huffed and continued to strip, and Nare shamelessly admired his body as he divested himself of his clothes: the fine definition of his pecs and the delicate lines of his abs as they led down to the cut lines at the angles of his hips, and rising proud and hard between his legs, the thick temptation of his delicious hard cock.

“Do you see something that interests you?” he said.

She tore her eyes away from his cock to meet his gaze. His arms were folded and his expression was knowing and wry, and she couldn’t decide whether to be amused or frustrated at herself for being so obvious about her lust for him. If she couldn’t maintain her cocky façade, Solas wouldn’t lose control like she wanted him to.

She took a deep breath to master herself, then nodded. “I do, actually. I still see some come on your cock.”

He tilted his head. “Do you, now?” he said mildly.

“I do,” she said brightly. “I need a closer look.” She gestured for him to approach the bed, then slowly lowered herself onto her elbows so she was eye level with his cock.

She brushed her lips over the tip of his cock. When his breath hitched, she smiled up at him. “You’re still messy, all right. Don’t worry, I’ll clean you up. Come lie down.”

He did as she’d asked, and Nare swiftly straddled his face and bent over his body. Without preamble, she took his cock into her mouth.

He grunted and jerked his hips, driving his cock further into her throat, and Nare gripped his thighs and slid her lips up and down the length of his shaft. When Solas grabbed her hips and started pulling her back toward his face, she tensed her thighs and released his cock.

“Oh no you don’t,” she said.

“I beg your pardon?” he said incredulously.

“I said no,” she said firmly. “I’m still wearing my smalls for a reason.”

“And what reason is that?” he demanded. “To drive me into ripping them off?”

Creators, he sounded irritated, and for some reason, his irritation lifted a fresh dizzying pulse of desire through her body. He’s getting close, she thought excitedly. If he was getting riled enough to be snappish, that meant he was nearing the end of his patience.

She arched her spine to provoke him further. “Look, don’t touch,” she said.

“I can’t look. Your underpants are in the way,” he retorted.

She forced herself not to laugh at his peevishness. “Then pull them to the side,” she said.

He paused. Then his fingers brushed over the crotch of her smalls.

She gasped and arched her spine, and Solas continued to lightly pet the dampened crotch of her underpants. “Like so?” he said, and he hooked the tips of his fingers into the crotch of her smalls. As he pulled the fabric aside, he deliberately stroked his fingers over her slippery folds, and Nare couldn’t help herself; she twisted her hips and moaned.

Solas hummed softly. “Are you certain you only want me to look and not touch, da’len?”

His voice was silky and smooth and so perfectly arousing, and once again, Nare was on the verge of giving in. But he still sounded too damned controlled, and Nare wanted to strip that control away from him.

“I’m sure,” she said as firmly as she could. “Just look. Don’t touch.” Without waiting for an answer, she took his cock into her mouth once more.

He groaned with pleasure, the sound sent a hot ripple of longing through her body and straight down to her pussy as it was bared for his lustful gaze. His fingers tensed on the back of her thighs as he panted with pleasure, and Nare could imagine only too clearly what he was seeing: her slick and swollen folds glistening with lustful nectar, just within his reach but forbidden from his touch by Nare herself. His eager breaths wafted over her wetness, further encouraging the buzz of anticipation between her legs, and when Solas was fitfully lifting his hips toward her mouth, she suckled him more eagerly still.

Then she released him and crawled off of the bed.

Solas groaned and twisted restlessly on the mattress, and Nare stared at him in wonder. His beautiful face was twisted in a frustrated snarl and his fingers were clenching in her sheets, and when he reached down to grab his cock, the sound that left his throat was…gods, it was absolutely feral. He sounded hungry and primal and unhinged, and with a mind-numbing surge of excitement, she realized that she’d done it.

She’d teased him so much that he was finally losing control.

He arched his hips toward his own hand and made another gorgeous animalistic sound, and Nare took a step toward him. “Solas,” she said shakily.

His eyes snapped open, and Nare stopped breathing. His pupils were huge and dark, and she couldn’t quite decide if they were completely filled with lust or empty of anything at all.

He surged to his feet and stalked toward her, and she instinctively backed away from him. A tiny predatory smirk lifted the corner of his lips, but he didn’t slow in his approach. He reached out and took her throat in a firm grip, and Nare gasped with excitement and grabbed his wrist, but he didn’t slow down; he continued to walk her back towards the writing desk until she was trapped between the desk and the imposing stance of his body.

Without releasing her throat, he hooked his fingers into her smallclothes and impatiently dragged them down, and Nare panted erratically as the lust-soaked fabric peeled away from her pussy. Then Solas lifted her chin with his hand at her throat and kissed her hard, plunging his tongue ruthlessly into her mouth, and she was helpless to do anything but accept the smooth twisting of his tongue as it danced with hers.

He kissed her thoroughly, nipping her lips and licking her tongue and luring her tongue into his mouth in turn, and by the time he pulled away, she could feel her arousal dripping slowly down her thigh. Then he lowered his lips to her ear. “Vhenan,” he growled.

She gasped. The usual smooth cadence of his flawless voice was roughened with lust. “Yes,” she whimpered.

He nipped her earlobe before speaking again. “I am going to take you now. But I need you to remember something.”

“What’s that?” she said breathlessly.

He lessened his grip on her throat slightly and tenderly stroked her cheek with his thumb. “I need you to remember that I love you, because I am going to fuck you like I don’t.”

A throb of lust poured down her throat and straight down to the apex of her thighs. Solas only ever said ‘fuck’ when he was about to render her absolutely boneless. “Yes,” she mewled. “Yes, yes please–”

He turned her head to the side and bit her neck just hard enough to hurt. “Yes, what?” he demanded.

“Yes, hah’ren!” she blurted.

“Good,” he said. “Turn around.” He released her throat, and without giving her time to move, he roughly turned her around so she was facing the desk.

“Bend over,” he said, and he pushed her forward with a hand between her shoulder blades.

Her palms hit the desk and she gasped, but Solas was still pushing on her back, and the pressure of his palm didn’t lessen until her chest was flat on the surface of the desk. She clenched her fingers on the polished wood and arched her spine. “Please,” she begged. “Please, hah’ren...”

He laughed, and a fresh thrill of heat rippled down her spine; there was a very faint snarl to his voice that rendered the usual smoothness of his laugh to something much darker.

She heard the subtle creak of her desk chair as he sat down. Then the heat of his palm smoothed over her buttock. “Now you think to beg?” he said. “Now that you’ve put me through my paces?”

She nodded. “Yes,” she panted. “Please, hah’ren, I want–”

He suddenly spanked her, and she cried out with pleasure at the sting of his palm. Then he spoke again in a sharp tone. “You already did what you wanted, da’len. You made a mess of me, and you foiled me twice. Now it is my turn to do as I want.”

She whimpered and twisted her hips. His hand was smoothing gently over the smarting skin of her bottom, his thumb drifting close to her throbbing center without dipping into the wetness there, and with every rapid beat of her heart, she was growing more desperate.

She mewled wordlessly and clawed at the desk. Then Solas tapped the back of her thigh. “Lift your knee onto the desk.”

She instantly did as he said, spreading herself wider and arching her spine to accommodate the angle. Then Solas dragged his tongue along the length of her sex.

She cried out and instinctively lifted her head, and Solas spanked her. “Stay flat, da’len,” he ordered.

She sobbed with pleasure and nodded as she laid her cheek on the desk once more, and then Solas was licking her, lapping at her sensitive flesh in a ravenous way that was very different from the usual teasing rhythm that he started with when he went down on her. His tongue was usually gentle, a careful swirl around her clit as he coaxed her gradually toward her climax, but there was no gentleness in his mouth today; he lapped at her hungrily as though he was a starving animal and she was the only thirst-quenching thing for miles, and the ruthless rhythm of his tongue was lifting a sort of pleasure that was just as ruthless and rough, her rapture rising in fits in starts as he gripped her ass and ran his tongue in long firm strokes from her clit down along the length of her cleft.

She gasped fitfully and arched her spine, unable to move her hips but desperate to meet the rhythm of his mouth as her climax rose far more quickly than she thought it would. It was sharpening and building, growing like a thudding drumbeat of pleasure between her legs, and she was going to – his mouth, his tongue, gods, she was going to –

Solas sat back, and her climax abruptly stuttered and faded away. She sobbed in frustration and lifted her head, and Solas spanked her.

“Please!” she wailed. Then she yelped when he spanked her again.��

“Keep your head down, da’len,” he commanded.

She sobbed again and laid her head on the desk, and a tear trickled down her face toward the desk. “Please, please!” she whined, and she arched her spine and twisted her hips. Her bottom was smarting with just the right amount of pain from where he’d struck her, and her foiled orgasm was still tingling in her neglected clit and even deeper inside of her body where she needed him the most, and he was just sitting there in her chair with his palm slowly caressing her stinging skin and not doing anything to bring her any relief.

“Please,” she begged. “Fuck me!”

“Why should I?” he said lazily.

She whined and dug her nails into the desk. “Because I – I need you!”

He laughed again – that low, knowing, dark little laugh from before. “I needed you when you were pleasuring me with your mouth. But that wasn’t enough for you to finish what you had started.”

She sobbed and twisted her hips. “I’m… please, I’m empty without you!” In truth, this was exactly how she felt: like there was a lacune deep inside her body that was bearing down on nothing at all, and that only Solas’s cock could soothe and make complete.

There was a brief and loaded pause, then a creak as he rose from his chair. Then his fingers slid over her scalp toward her nape, and she mewled and twisted her spine as he started gathering her hair in his hand.

“Please, Solas,” she begged. “I need you to fuck me hard and fill me up, I can’t – I can’t think, I feel so… I need you!”

He didn’t reply, and his palm slowly caressed her upraised ass. Then, when her hair was gathered in his other fist, she felt the head of his cock pressing against her entrance.

She gasped, then gasped more sharply when he pulled her hair. “Oh fuck,” she whined. His hand in her hair, his cock pushing inside of her tense and waiting body, it was – oh gods, it was everything. With every inch that he eased inside of her, the quake of longing deep inside of her was throbbing more hotly and bearing down to meet him, and — oh fuck, oh fuck fuck fuck–

Solas sheathed himself completely inside of her, and Nare came so hard that her vision went black. She tried to cry out, but the importance of air was forgotten entirely as her whole body was held hostage by the nearly-unbearable pulsing of the pleasure he’d given her. Her climax was throbbing through her limbs all the way to her fingers and the tips of her toes, crashing through her in frenzied waves of incomparable bliss, and by the time she was able to see and breathe and speak again, the only sound she could make was a weak little whimper of pleasure.

Solas released her hair, then pulled on her shoulder. “Rise to your hands, da’len,” he said.

His tone was smoother than before but still commanding, and she was helpless to do anything but obey. She pushed herself upright on trembling arms until she was braced on her palms, and when Solas’s hand slid around her throat once more, she closed her eyes in bliss.

He leaned forward so his chest was flush to her back, then thrust into her hard, and she gasped with rapture at the sharpness of his thrust. Then his other hand was cupping her breast and his hips were pumping against her bottom, and it was all she could do to hold herself up under the carnal onslaught of his hands on her body and his cock driving inside of her.

He fucked her with a single-minded rhythm, and Nare gasped for breath and listened with a dreamlike sort of bliss as his breathing grew sharper and more erratic with every thrust. In the space of minutes, he dropped his lips to her shoulder and moaned, and then he was making the most beautiful needy sounds of pleasure that bled through his lips into the skin of her shoulder.

“Nare,” he breathed, and her heart flipped at the broken pleasured sound of his voice.

She reached up and clasped his wrist. “Fill me up, Solas,” she breathed. “I want it. I want you.”

He groaned and thrust into her hard, and a few heartbeats later, he cried out and bit her shoulder. She cried out as well and dug her nails into his wrist as he pulsed inside of her, and when his shuddering body fell still, he lifted his lips from her shoulder and pulled himself free.

His seed instantly trickled down the inside of her thigh, but Nare didn’t even have a chance to try and clean it up; Solas was turning her around far more gently than before, and as soon as she was facing him, he tilted her chin up and kissed her.

This time, his kiss was infinitely gentle and soft, a caress of the lips with none of the demanding thrust of his tongue, and Nare sank blissfully into the sweetness of his kiss. When he leaned back to look her in the eye, his slate-grey eyes were tender and soft.

He stroked her cheek with his thumb. “Did I scare you?”

She blinked in surprise. “How could you think you scared me?”

He sighed. “What I said to you before I bent you over the desk. I hope I did not sound cruel.”

She grinned. “Trust me, Solas, you were the opposite of cruel.” He’d told her he was going to fuck her like he didn’t love her, but everything about their sex spoke to her of his love. Even when she’d teased him to the edge of his patience, even when his calm and controlled façade was completely cast aside, he’d still given her everything she craved the most: pain and pleasure, his teasing words and his teasing tongue between her legs, and the peak – gods, the peak he brought her to: before Solas, she’d never known these kinds of mind-numbing orgasms even existed.

His brow was still creased in the faintest frown, and she fondly petted his chest. “You didn’t scare me,” she assured him. “Nothing you do could scare me.”

He raised his eyebrows slightly. “You sound very confident of that.”

She tilted her head. That was an odd comment to make. “Of course I’m confident,” she said. “I’m always safe with you.”

His eyebrows tilted slightly, and he cradled her neck in his palm. “Ar lath ma,” he murmured.

Her heart fluttered with pleasure. “I love you, too,” she said. Then she gave him a cheeky smile. “Especially when you’re bossing me around and bending me over the desk.”

He chuckled and wrapped his arms around her waist. “I will be certain to bend you over desks more often, then. Particularly when you tease me so mercilessly.”

She giggled. “I’ll have to tease you more often then, too.”

He smirked and pinched her bottom, and she yelped before breaking into laughter. It wasn’t often that Nare felt confident enough to provoke Solas like she’d done today, but if this was the result, she’d have to muster her courage more often to tease him.

If Nare wanted Solas to lose control more often, she’d have to work on being more cocky.

#solas #solavellan #solas/lavellan #solas x lavellan #one can only pray the tags work this time #pikapeppa writes

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sailorshadzter · 4 years

Text

the life of a king and queen.

@jonsa-creatives >> written for the queen sansa / jonsa event

i really meant to have this done in time lol

He watches her grieve, his own heart hardened to the pain of loss.

Instead, he feels empty, lost, wishing there was a right answer to all that they suffered, for all that was still yet to come. He spares the dragon queen a single glance, her silver hair falling down her back as she leans over the body of her dead Mormont companion, knowing it would not be long before she summons him away from Sansa once again. A hand clenches to a fist, thinking of the many more men that must die, all so this false queen can lay claim to a throne that will never be hers.

His gaze returns to Sansa as she steps back from Theon's pyre, where he can see the glint of the direwolf pin she'd slid into his doublet. From the angle he stands at, he cannot see her face, but he can only assume it's contorted with her grief, her blue eyes swollen as the tears streak her cheeks. He wishes he could take it away, he wishes he could fix it, but he recalls the soft words she had spoken to him only the night before, when she had been stitching one of his many wounds closed; he died to save Bran, he died a hero. While Jon could never forgive Theon for what he had done while he was alive, saving Sansa and Bran had earned him forgiveness, even if it had to be in death. Jon closes his eyes and lets out the breath he's been holding.

When he opens his eyes, it's to take a torch from the man beside him, watching as Sansa and Daenerys and even Arya takes one of their own. Then, one by one, they lay flame to those they loved, those who fell in the battle for the living, those who died so they, the survivors, could keep going.

And keep going they would do, somehow, someway.

[ x x x ]

She stares at him with that intense, blue-eyed gaze, stealing the breath from his lungs with just a look. The firelight frames her in such a way that he cannot stand it and so, he crosses the room to slip his hands into place on her face, fingertips just barely brushing the ends of hair that have fallen free from her pins. "I made your queen angry," she whispers, thinking back to their war room conversation from that morning. Thinking back to the angry glares she'd been given all night long during the feast.

Jon thinks of Daenerys, having just left his rooms minutes before Sansa had arrived, her violet eyes dark with suspicion, narrowed with anger. "You're not the first," he murmurs back, his lips dangerously close; so close, he can feel it when they curve with her amusement. "You won't be the last." He thinks of what he must do, of what he must prevent when Daenerys lays claim to the Iron Throne. He knows not what she will do when they get there, he knows he cannot stop her from what she's already made up her mind to do. But he can stop her, somehow, someway, he will ensure she will never hurt his family.

"I'll come to you, when it's time," she's leaning into him, breathing him in; he smells of fire smoke and ale, comforting scents that make her close her eyes. She can't imagine him not coming home from this war and so she won't think like that, she won't think of the what if's. Not this time. Unlike the first time he rode into battle, she trusted him entirely. Jon chuckles at her words and she snaps back, blue eyes meeting Stark gray. "I mean it."

He thinks of her then, riding into King's Landing with an army at her back, a wild warrior queen come to save him as no one ever came to save her. "When you come, it will be so I might marry you," he brings his lips to hers, a steady kiss, a warm kiss. One he hopes says everything he's not been able to put to words. When they break apart, she's breathless, smiling, radiant. "I love you," he whispers and she sinks into him.

[ x x x ]

"They don't get to choose."

Daenerys' soft words echo in his mind, their meaning taking root, spreading a cold sense of dread through his limbs. It was as he thought- there was no changing the outcome of this war. There had been a part of him that had hoped, that had wondered if just maybe... Just maybe in the end things could be different. That he wouldn't have to do what he intends to do. But their eyes meet and he knows... He knows. When her lips capture his, his fingers already curl around the hilt of his blade. He knows what he must do. He always has.

She slips from his grasp, the blade still embedded into her chest, her violet eyes wide as they stare up at him from the floor. Her lips move, but no words come. It takes several seconds more for her eyes to close and her head fall to the side, her final breath escaping her in what sounds more like a sigh than anything else.

When her soldiers come, she's already gone, taken by Drogon. He allows them to take him in chains, knowing it was only a matter of time before he would take his place as the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms, though in his case it will be six, for the North would belong to no one but her.

The North would be Sansa's, as it always should have been.

[ x x x ]

The day he is proclaimed the rightful king, he still sits in a jail cell.

It is Sansa that comes to him first, war braids twisted in her red hair, bringing a smile to his face at the sight. "I told you I would come," she says as she sinks to her knees, not in reverence, but to throw her arms around him. Jon chuckles, unable to hug her with the shackles around his wrists, but the warmth of her body pressed against his is enough. "Unchain him!" She commands a moment later, pulling back so she might turn back to the guards that hover in the door way.

The man is not one of theirs, but he springs to do her bidding anyways- from the fear in his eyes, Jon can only imagine what threats his precious she-wolf has issued. Once his limbs are free from their chains, Sansa helps him onto his feet and it's then that he embraces her, the momentum of it sweeping her off her feet. "I love you," he says, before all the eyes that watch them from the doorway, uncaring who hears him proclaim the truth of his heart. She smiles, tears shining in her eyes as she nods, leaning in so she might kiss him as she's wished to do all these weeks they've been apart. "You're safe," he thinks of all of their enemies- Cersei, Daenerys, the Night King, Littlefinger, Ramsay Bolton, Joffrey Baratheon... All dead, all nothing but a memory.

"We're safe," she clarifies, softly, her rosy lips curving with the smallest of smiles. "Our family is safe." It was all because of him that she stands where she stands now, it's because of him that she's alive at all. "All because of you." Jon shakes his head as if he means to argue, but she puts a hand to his lips, shaking her own head. "You're my hero." Like the knights from her fairy tales, Jon was the hero that came to save her, the hero she had been waiting for, the brave and gentle knight her father had once told her of.

This time when Jon pulls her into his embrace, he thinks he might never let her go.

[ x x x ]

Before Jon crowns himself king of anything, he stands watch as Sansa is crowned Queen in the North.

He is the first to unsheath his sword, held to the ceiling in reverence to the new Northern queen. His voice is the first to begin the chant in the hall as she sinks upon her throne, her crown of wolves perched perfectly atop her fiery hair. Her eyes find his from across the room and she smiles, a proud smile, a smile that speaks volumes to him. The journey to this moment had been a long one, a tiresome one, but now that they were there, Jon couldn't imagine himself anywhere else.

And so he steps forward, sinking to his knees before her on the throne; before anything else, he is a Northern man and this is his queen... This is the only woman he will ever again call queen, the only woman he will love for all of his life. "My queen," he says as he tilts his head back to look up at her from the floor, ignoring her gesture to rise up, a grin on his lips as he reaches for her hand to take. He presses it to his lips like a proper courtier might, rising up to his feet only then, hesitant to let go of the hand that he holds. "I give myself to you, heart and soul." She laughs, sweet and low, her blue eyes twinkling in the firelight that glows all around them. "I am yours to command." The room is full, but they are alone, lost in the moment, lost in one another's steady gaze.

"And I am yours," she smiles back, giving his hand a gentle squeeze, thinking of little else but the happiness she's found with him, wondering how she's deserving of the love he gives to her, but thankful for it all the same. When Jon smiles, it sends warmth throughout her body, the clutch of his fingers upon hers the only thing she ever wants to feel again.

He kisses her then and the Northern lords that watch know their young queen is happy and so they are, too.

[ x x x ]

It isn't until King's Landing is fully restored that Jon accepts his crown.

With Sansa and the rest of the world watching, he sits upon the new throne of the Six Kingdoms, made for him by Gendry as Sansa's had been. Like hers, it is carved with direwolves and weirwood trees, a perfect match for the throne she's left behind in the North. His crown feels heavy with burden, but when Sansa smiles upon him from where she stands in a beautiful gown of sage green, he's reminded of just why he's come this far. He's reminded of what's kept him going all this time, of the reason that he lives on.

And so the people of Westeros acknowledge their new king, half Targaryen, half Stark, but a man of honor, a man of truth. A good king, they will call him, Good King Jon, the White Wolf of Winterfell, the King that Saved Them All.

[ x x x ]

Several weeks after Jon's crowning, they finally marry.

Standing beneath the heart tree in the godswood of Winterfell, they exchange the quiet marriage vows of the old gods. Jon has never seen her more beautiful than she is right then, in a gown of dusky blue and white, the furs draped over her shoulders the perfect accent of gray and white. She is like a dream come to life, something too perfect to exist in a world such as this.

Later, when they retreat to the privacy of their shared chambers- ones that once belonged to only her- he laughs as she pulls the pins from her hair. "What is it?" She asks, swiveling on the stool, still dressed in her lovely gown, her eyes widening at the sound of his laughter. "What's funny?"

"I was only thinking how I once used to sneak into these rooms." He gestures towards the bed, one which they had shared in secret far too many times to count. Now it's her turn to laugh, rising up from the stool to cross the room to stand before him, her hair falling freely across her shoulders. When she's come close enough, he draws her into his arms, breathing in the sweet scent of her hair, yet again reminded just how lucky of a man he was. "Davos says we should marry again, in King's Landing." He thinks back to what his Hand had said only the day before, a conversation of how they might continue to encourage the strength of Jon's relationship with his people. The world had been through war and had come out scarred, there were wounds not yet healed for some. It would take work to find the true peace Westeros had not seen in centuries. "He says they remember you, they like you." It was true, Jon himself had seen the reaction of the people in the streets when Sansa was seen during her many trips to King's Landing since the end of the war. "I told him to plan it." He knows it to be for the good of the realm, but mostly he looks forward to having another wedding night with her. "And after that... I intend to crown you beside me." Together, they would rule the Seven Kingdoms and hope that they could bring about peace among them all.

[ x x x ]

When the stories are written, they laugh.

They can't help it, hearing the things that the bards and storytellers and historians come up with, trying to find ways to define the life they had lived to get where they were now. The Red Wolf of Winterfell, the Queen That Never Bent, Sansa says to him once, raising her still brilliantly colored eyes from the parchment she reads. The White Wolf of the North, Good King Jon. He had laughed at that, because despite it all, he still doesn't always feel so good.

But when his eyes meet hers, he knows what he has is good, no, what he has is the best. He thinks not just of her, but of the family they've built along the way... Robb, their first born, their heir, though his place will be in Winterfell. The next King Robb, named for the one that should have been. He is built like a Stark, somehow more like the uncle he's named for than anyone could have been prepared for. Sometimes the six-year-old's glare renders him speechless, sends him back to a time where he and Robb had once wrestled in the mud, back to a time when life had been different. Then of course there's Ned, who though quiet like his namesake, is easily persuaded to do wrong by his older brother. He too is more Stark, but he has a touch of Tully in his hair when the sunlight catches it. Some say he is quite like his uncle Bran and there isn't a day where the boy isn't happy in the broken man's lap. He will succeed Jon, if he wishes it, but something tells Jon that Ned will offer his crown to Lyanna, more suited to Hand of a King or Queen. That was who came third, their first daughter Lyanna, named for her grandmother and a spitfire like she was said to have been. She is Sansa's twin, a beauty of a girl even just at two, but she too is a child that Jon cannot deny. Her dark hair is never tidy, though it falls with the same gentle wave as Sansa's does. Lyanna is rambunctious and rowdy, often found tagging along behind her oldest brother. There's another one yet to come, though Sansa's day is to certainly come sooner than later, this one another girl Jon hopes. He hopes a redhead might still yet join their family.

Stepping into the rooms he's shared with Sansa for the last five years in King's Landing, he's stopped by the sight that even still, catches him off guard. She sits up, resting against the pillows, her swollen abdomen nearly hidden by the tangle of children that sleep against her. Robb has his head against her side, tucked into the warmth and safety of his mother's elbow. Lyanna sleeps curled up with her head on her mother's lap, one of Sansa's hands stroke the child's long hair, a faint smile on her lips. Ned sleeps at the foot of the bed, tucked against Ghost, who still yet sleeps beside Sansa as he had done all the years since their reunion. Though Ned sleeps away from the rest, his one hand is outstretched just enough that his little fingers curl into a fold of Sansa's gown. "Now this is a sight." Jon chuckles, carefully sinking down onto the tiny space beside her on the bed, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from Robb's forehead. "I thought Robb was too big for such things?" Their oldest son had only just recently declared himself to be old enough for a steel sword and far too old for his mother's kisses- but finding him this way brought a warm feeling to Jon's chest. Their first born was indeed growing up, but it seemed not as quickly as the boy might have thought.

Sansa smiles, turning to look at him as he takes his spot beside her. It feels like it's been eons since this bed was theirs and yet... The warm weight of her children, the feeling of the one growing within her... It was all the things she had always wanted. She would never trade what they had now for anything. "He was the first to fall asleep," Sansa chuckles as she returns her hand to Lyanna, who quietly shifts in her sleep, a hand tucked beneath her cheek just as Sansa sleeps. "We'll have to wake them soon," she goes on to say, the second labor pain hitting her, this one forcing her to wince. "But not... Yet." She longs to savor this moment, this single one, where they are as they are, before things must change again. Where Lyanna is still her youngest, where Ned is only a big brother to one, where Robb is not nearly almost seven-years-old and no longer a baby in need of his mother.

Suddenly, Jon is squeezing her hand.

Looking up, a smile curves upon her lips and she knows, she understands. Their family is not changing, it's becoming complete.

[ x x x ]

Westeros sings it's joy the day the youngest princess is born.

She is born with the Tully red hair of her grandmother and mother, named Cat in honor of that grandmother she will never meet. Sansa cries as she holds her close, burying her face in her sweet smelling skin, knowing well that this was the last missing piece of her heart.

After so many years, her heart was complete once again, as if it had been that day before she left Winterfell.

#jonsa #actuallyjonsa #queen sansa event #jonsa-creatives #jon x sansa #i wrote this #my writing

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let-your-chaos-explode · 4 years

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Stay With Me

Summary: Not long after the events of Bottled Appetites, Yennefer decides to confront Tissaia.

Yennefer surveyed the raucous party through masked eyes. The frivolities of minor nobles had grown tedious. It had been three months since she had lost her opportunity with the Djinn and destroyed the comfortable lifestyle she had grown accustomed to in Rhinde. Fuck it all. The Witcher had left her without so much as a backwards glance, and though she didn’t have such a deep yearning for the White Wolf, the abandonment still stung like a slap to the face. Much like every other person in her life had done. She supposed she should be used to it by now. Even if you were a beauty, still no one would love you. Yennefer snatched a goblet of wine from the tray of a passing servant and shot it back. Fuck Tissaia too. The thought of their exchange the night before the dreadful events still left her blood boiling. Funnily enough, the cold pit of guilt she felt in her gut did nothing to balance her rage. All the barbs that she carefully crafted and thrown at the other woman left a bitter taste in her mouth. She wanted her to hurt. She wanted her to hurt the same way that she did. Maybe then Yennefer might believe that even a small part of her cared for her. The woman didn’t even flinch and simply left when dismissed. And again Yennefer was left wanting and alone. Tissaia was good at that. She grabbed another glass and started drinking this one slightly slower. She had started to make herself comfortable in the castle of Denesle by charming the young aspiring knight. She had convinced them all of the wealth and power she would bring to their name in exchange for housing and coin. They had thrown a harvest ball in her honor, convinced her arrival was divine intervention that yielded a bountiful crop. Who was she to say otherwise? Yennefer snorted into her goblet. She had her eyes set on her own goals. Whispers of a golden dragon. And yet Tissaia’s words still haunted her. The seductive timber of her voice, the intoxicating smell of vanilla and sandalwood as she stood behind her, the smallest smile in the mirror... Yennefer clenched her teeth against the familiar desire that burned in her veins. Decades of nights spent with other as she pretended they were someone else. Decades of nights alone as her own fingers worked furiously to fantasies of slender fingers, a pale neck, a scathing tongue. This time she grabbed the bottle. How was it that she was always the one who was left so affected? Maybe she could pretend the fingers wrapped around the neck of the bottle were actually around her lying throat. Gods, she needed some air. Yennefer stumbled out into the gardens and nearly tripped on the train of her elegant gown. Growling in frustration, she collapsed in front of the estate’s well-manicured rose bush. The potent fragrance did nothing to quell the spinning of her head. Yennefer reaches out and snapped off a rose at the stem, pricking her fingers good on the angry thorns. This too reminded her of Tissaia and goddamn she couldn’t get the woman out of her head! How fitting. Her clumsy fingers smeared blood across the pure white petals of the flower. Did she have any idea of how shattered she left people? Did she even care? Yennefer took another swig from the rapidly draining bottle. Someone should tell her. Someone should tell her just how much of a bitch she is. I’m going to tell her. With unmatched drunken impulsivity, she stumbled through a portal.

Yennefer crashed through the other side and immediately started heaving.

“Yennefer?!” Came Tissaia’s startled gasp. “What, how did you get in here?” Yennefer ignored the loud shout of surprise and rested her forehead against the cool stone as she gathered her bearings. A splash of water and another annoying round of questions. “What are you doing here? How did you get past my security wards?” “Shut up!” Yennefer hissed through clenched teeth. “Can’t you just refrain from lecture for once in your miserable life?” “You’re drunk.” Tissaia surmised. “And you’re a bitch.” Yennefer answered. Yennefer had yet to open her eyes or ascend from her position sprawled out on the floor. Traveling via portal was never comfortable and now she couldn’t get her vision to stop swimming. “You’re a downright frigid bitch. Have you ever loved a day in your life? Or cared for something other than your precious Aretuza? Did you ever care for me?” She continued. Her words were slurred but she figured she got her point across. She heard another slosh of water and felt something solid collide violently with her temple, doing nothing to ease the pounding ache. “Get out.” Tissaia seethed. “Ow. What the fuck, Tissaia?” Yennefer rocked back on her hands and knees and settled on her haunches, cradling the spot where she had been assaulted. Finally, she opened her eyes. Was she in a bathroom? Yennefer scanned the room briefly before her eyes settled on Tissaia’s. The Rectoress lounged comfortably against the edge of a full, bubbly tub. Her hair was piled into a loose knot at the top of her head and her cheeks flushed with the heat. She was the picture of contentment, except for the fire in her eyes and the snarl on her lips. Yennefer dumbly took another look around to confirm her conclusion. “Are you saying these things to try to hurt me or to make yourself feel better?” Tissaia snaps. Yennefer is still reeling over the fact that she is standing in Tissaia’s bathroom with the woman naked before her. It was almost like she had died and gone to heaven. “Did I die?” The words tumble from her mouth before she can catch them. “How much have you had to drink tonight?” Tissaia asks her through narrowed eyes, anger receding in favor of vague concern. Yennefer shakily pulls herself to a stand using the edge of Tissaia’s tub. “Oh don’t act like you care!” She didn’t even attempt to hide a peek inside. Unfortunately, the bubbles did a well enough job of keeping things covered. That didn’t stop Tissaia from attempting to slap her away. “Well, you can’t blame a girl for trying!” “How much have you had, Yennefer?” Tissaia asks again as she pinches the bridge of her nose in frustration. Yennefer sways a bit on her feet and sarcastically makes a show of counting on her fingers before landing on a singular, vulgar one. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Grow up!” A snort. A giggle. “Did you just say fuck?” Tissaia does not deign to answer. “Is it for fuck sake or for fucks sake?” “It’s for fuck’s sake. Apostrophe as in for the sake of the fuck.” “Oh my god, Tissaia please go on. Say fuck again, you’re turning me on.” A dark blush climbs up from the cover of bubbles at her chest to her cheeks. Yennefer once again feels the surge of affection she had been trying so hard to replace with bitterness. “You’re so beautiful.” If Tissaia wasn’t caught off guard by any of the other surprises of the evening, Yennefer finally got her with this one. “Why are you here?” Yennefer swayed once more and stumbled closer to the tub, falling to her knees before the older sorceress. She said nothing for a moment, merely letting her fingers swirl wistfully in the water. “I needed you to know how much of a cold-hearted witch that you are.” She states simply. Yennefer does not see Tissaia bristle. Her eyes are transfixed on the shimmering rivers of the soap as they follow her fingertips. “I needed you to know how broken you manage to leave me feeling every time that you leave. How I can’t stand that I’ve never managed to mean a damn thing to you even after all these years. How, despite everything, I can’t get you out of my head.” Tissaia sucks in a shallow breath and Yennefer stills her hands. Slowly, she drags violet eyes up to meet blue. Tissaia had leaned forward and pressed her knees tightly against her chest, her arms crossed in front. For the first time ever, she seemed vulnerable... and not from her lack of clothing. “But most of all, I can’t stand that I think I’m in love with you.” Yennefer holds her gaze steadily. “You don’t mean that.” Tissaia argued, voice strained. “I am in love with you. And you don’t even see me! Hardly worth the four marks you wasted.” Tissaia grabs her chin and holds it firmly, not allowing Yennefer to escape from the drunken confession. “You are worth so much more.” She relaxes her grip only slightly and runs her thumb over the bottom of Yennefer’s lip. Yennefer can feel the gentle probe of her consciousness against her own walls and cannot bring herself to put up a fight. Instead, she lets all her emotions come rushing through like the waters of a broken dam. She doesn’t know what Tissaia was looking for, or if she found it. But the flood of emotions must have overwhelmed the sorceress who preached control. Tissaia pressed her forehead against Yennefer’s and let out a sob as hot tears leaked from behind clenched eyes. Tissaia pulled back and stroked her cheek gently. “I have always loved you Yennefer. It was you I never dreamed would ever love me. You never gave me one indication, one opening to show you more than I already have. Didn’t I give you any clue? I’ve given you so much of me! So much more than I have given anyone, ever. But you were too insecure to ever understand that!” Yennefer couldn’t control it. She was way past three sheets to the wind and so she just started laughing. Of course the universe would find it hilarious to throw her this curveball. Or she really was dead. That option was still entirely possible. She disentangled herself and once more tripped over gown in her haste to escape through the door. The handle wouldn’t budge and the torches around them grew with a rage. “You don’t get to run from this! Not this time!” Tissaia rose from the tub like a goddess rising from the sea. The propriety of her high-collared gowns betrayed her level of modesty, as she did nothing to hide from Yennefer’s hungry eyes. Eyes that followed every rivulet as it cascaded over luscious curves and planes that Yennefer wanted to follow with her tongue. Tissaia toweled off and, to Yennefer’s disappointment, covered herself with a black silken robe. Uncomfortable with the silent intensity of the moment, Yennefer began to fidget and found a particular stone in the floor to deeply inspect. She portaled in, she could portal out, right? Forget this mess ever happened. She stiffened slightly as the woman prowled behind her. “You stink of vomit and alcohol.” She said into her ear. The whisper of her breath against Yennefer’s neck beckoned gooseflesh to erupt over her skin. The sensation lingered as Tissaia’s clever fingers began to expertly undo the laces of her gown, tips ghosting across her shoulders and back. “You will bathe and get some rest.” Tissaia commanded. And whatever Tissaia wants, Tissaia gets. Yennefer swallowed thickly as the material of her gown slid down her arms. She could feel the gentle brush of the older women’s breasts against her back as she leaned forward to slide the gown completely off her wrists. Her own nipples pebbled in the humid air of the bath and in arousal as Tissaia kneeled before her. The Great Tissaia De Vries was on her knees, naked, except for a thin robe, and in prime position for all sorts of salacious activities. She looked up at her through dark lashes as she shimmied the fabric over Yennefer’s hips and let it fall to the floor. Slowly, seductively, she stood. Yennefer was never more thankful than now to have at least 4 inches on the older sorceress. “You’re thinking so loud, I can see what you want.” Tissaia whispers against her. Tissaia takes a step back and looks back toward the tub. With a wave of her hand, the water is refreshed and steaming. “You will not get that from me tonight, Piglet.” A solid punch to the gut. “You are far too inebriated. You would have regrets in the morning.” Yennefer takes a step toward her and Tissaia mirrors one step back. Yennefer reaches out to touch her, “I could never regret...” “You have already regretted me.” Tissaia interrupts. Yennefer may be drunk, but even she could hear the undercurrent of hurt. “Bathe. I trust you can manage that. You may sleep in my chambers tonight, I worry about the stability of your portals in your state. If you are still here come morning, we can discuss what has happened tonight.” With a nod of finality, she took a wide step around her and slipped quietly through the door into her bedroom. Well, this was not how she imagined this night going. Yennefer let out a long exhale and stepped carefully into the hot tub. The scent of lilac and gooseberries surrounded her and a smile stretched across her cheeks; Tissaia remembered. The warm, wetness that enveloped her did nothing to quell the throbbing between her legs. A devilish smirk pulled at the corner of her mouth. If Tissaia was going to leave her wanting, she would suffer the same fate. Yennefer dunked her head below the surface and made quick work of washing her hair. She surveyed the soaps and oils and settled on a sweet vanilla, a scent entirely Tissaia. She palmed the oil and slowly started massaging it into her arms and down her legs, lowering her mental barriers as she worked. Her fingers skimmed back up her thighs and ghosted over her breasts to work the kinks in her neck. The pressure in the juncture of her shoulder was just right, and she allowed herself a small moan. A sharp knock at the door followed. “Are you alright?” Tissaia asked behind the door with mild concern. “I’m doing quite fine, thanks! I haven’t managed to drown yet!” Yennefer called back, voice laced with sarcasm. She could almost see the Rectoress roll her eyes through the door. If she only knew what was coming. Yennefer let her presence expand and open up to Tissaia, should she reach out in curiosity. And she let her fingers continue. Gathering more oil, she liberally applied it to her belly. Practiced fingers swirled the viscous fluid up to her chest and around her erect nipples. She circled them slowly, grazing dusky peaks with her fingernails before giving firm tugs. She envisioned Tissaia over her, hair unpinned and flowing freely down her naked form. Her clever mouth sucking and biting at the sensitive flesh of her breast. Another pleasured moan escaped her lips. And the sound of something crashing to the floor. A book maybe? Yennefer didn’t let it stop her. Her fingers voyaged south and teased the outside of her folds. She pictured it clearly and pushed the images forcefully out: She threaded her fingers through chestnut locks and guided Tissaia downward. Licks, nips, and kisses in trails from her chest to her mound where she firmly held the sorceress right where she wanted her. Tissaia nuzzled the trimmed nest of curls before diving in. A slow, tantalizing lick from her base to her clit ending with a firm swirl of the tongue around her pearl. Yennefer’s fingers worked tirelessly to the images she conjured. Her breaths came in quick pants and she was already so close to the edge. “Oh, Tissaia!” She moaned once more. This time, the scandalized gasp was perfectly clear from behind the door. Yennefer slid a finger easily inside, and then another. A sigh, a gasp, a plea. ‘You are being entirely inappropriate.’ Tissaia interrupts in her head, breathless and strained. Yennefer pushes through more explicit images. She imagines taking all of the control from the rigid Rectoress. She shows her vivid images of binding her to the bed using silken scarves, blindfolding her, and pleasuring her with her mouth. She shows Tissaia visions of herself crashing into orgasm after orgasm and screaming Yennefer’s name. This was enough to push Yennefer over the edge and she came hard around her fingers, Tissaia’s name on her lips like a ringing hallelujah. ’Oh!’ Very well satisfied on all fronts, Yennefer drained the bath and walked out into Tissaia’s bedchamber. The older woman sat perched stiffly at the edge of her bed, cheeks blazing and shifting uncomfortably. Yennefer stood tall in front of her with a salacious smile wide across her face, nude, and dripping water all over the floor. Tissaia rose to the challenge and glared up at her with her chin jut out. “Are you proud of yourself?” Yennefer takes that final step forward and straddles her lap, wrapping her arms loosely around her neck and twirling the wispy hairs she finds at her nape. She can feel the heat radiating off of Tissaia through the thin fabric of her nightgown. Boldly, she thrusts her fingers into Tissaia’s chignon and with a quick pull, her long hair tumbles free. Tissaia fists the sheets in a white-knuckled grasp to keep her hands still as she drops her head against Yennefer’s shoulder. In a rare moment of vulnerability, she lets her hair fall in a curtain to shield her face. “Yennefer, please.” And even Tissaia is uncertain if she is begging her to stop or continue. Yennefer grinds her core against Tissaia’s thigh and forcefully pushes her back into the bed, pinning her wrists above her head. “Touch me Tissaia.” She commands as she nuzzles the column of her throat. She can feel her swallow hard before she is jolted backward with a conjured electric current. The shock is only mildly painful, and gives her enough of a hint to remove her person completely from above Tissaia. “If you don’t want me, all you have to do is say so.” Yennefer bites out with the sting of rejection quite clear. Yennefer turns her back and scoots to the very edge of the bed. Tissaia follows and gently rests her hand at her shoulder. “I will not be responsible for taking advantage of you. Please don’t put that on me.” She whispers. She is met with a brooding silence and she sighs. Tissaia conjures a black nightgown and passes it over wordlessly and Yennefer snatches it angrily from her hands. “I’m sorry.” Tissaia tries again as Yennefer yanks the fabric over her head. Again she is met with stubborn silence. “At least stay tonight. Tomorrow, you may leave if you wish. Yennefer, I just want you to be safe.” Yennefer huffs, but crawls into the bed and snuggles deep under the covers. Tissaia lets a small smile pull at the corner of her mouth at the childish antics. She returns to her designated side and begins the process of plaiting her hair when a hand at her elbow brings her to a halt. “Don’t.” Yennefer whispers. “I like it down.” Tissaia concedes the request and settles in next to Yennefer. The air between them is measurably tense. After what seemed like years, Yennefer closed the distance between them and wrapped her pinky around Tissaia’s. “I feel like steaming horse shit.” Tissaia rolls over to fully face her. “Come here.” Yennefer scoots in and snuggles deep into Tissaia’s open and waiting arms. Her much larger frame tucks under Tissaia’s chin and curls around her legs, enveloping Tissaia entirely. A contented smile graces her face as she feels slender fingers begin to scratch her scalp. Tissaia begins to hum a slow, calming melody beneath her and its effect is instantaneous. Yennefer feels her eyes grow heavy, and for once, she is happy in the arms that hold her. Just as she’s about to fall over the edge, the thinks she hears Tissaia whisper, “Stay with me, please. It’s time to stop running.” She thinks maybe this time she will.

#Yennaia #Yennefer of Vengerberg #tissaia de vries #Yennefer x tissaia #ao3 link #fanfiction #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher

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agentrouka-blog · 4 years

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GRRM sneaking in some Breakspear. Err, Shakespeare.

And when the bleak dawn broke over an empty horizon, Dany knew that he was truly lost to her. “When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east,” she said sadly. “When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. When my womb quickens again, and I bear a living child. Then you will return, my sun-and-stars, and not before.”

Never, the darkness cried, never never never.

Inside the tent Dany found a cushion, soft silk stuffed with feathers. She clutched it to her breasts as she walked back out to Drogo, to her sun-and-stars. If I look back I am lost. It hurt even to walk, and she wanted to sleep, to sleep and not to dream. She knelt, kissed Drogo on the lips, and pressed the cushion down across his face. (AGOT, Daenerys IX)

Wait a second….

To be, or not to be, that is the question: Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take Arms against a Sea of troubles, And by opposing end them: to die, to sleep; No more; and by a sleep, to say we end The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks That Flesh is heir to? 'Tis a consummation Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep, To sleep, perchance to Dream; aye, there's the rub, For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come, When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause. There's the respect That makes Calamity of so long life: For who would bear the Whips and Scorns of time, The Oppressor's wrong, the proud man's Contumely, The pangs of dispised Love, the Law’s delay, The insolence of Office, and the spurns That patient merit of the unworthy takes, When he himself might his Quietus make With a bare Bodkin? Who would Fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life, But that the dread of something after death, The undiscovered country, from whose bourn No traveller returns, puzzles the will, And makes us rather bear those ills we have, Than fly to others that we know not of. Thus conscience does make cowards of us all, And thus the native hue of Resolution Is sicklied o'er, with the pale cast of Thought, And enterprises of great pitch and moment, With this regard their Currents turn awry, And lose the name of Action. Soft you now, The fair Ophelia? Nymph, in thy Orisons Be all my sins remember'd.

(Hamlet)

I wouldn’t have made a post on this if I didn’t think this tied into the whole theme of escaping rage and bearing the pains of life along with the joys. That this is the center of the conflict that created the imbalance of the seasons. Someone pulled a Dany and dabbled in the darkest of magic because they couldn’t bear one of life’s heart-rending injustices. There is a reason that in moments of extreme wrath, faces start looking like heart trees with the red tears. (Catelyn at the Red Wedding is the prime example but far from the only.) This is the first time I’ve tried to make a literary connection, but it really works, doesn’t it? Who would bear all that if they didn’t have to? (There’s a whole other meta here that I can’t seem to finish.)

But the counter image to the face of sorrow, pain, horror and wrath in most Heart Trees is the image of the Laughing Tree, as born by the mystery Knight Lyanna Stark:

Much as he wished to have his vengeance, he feared he would only make a fool of himself and shame his people. The quiet wolf had offered the little crannogman a place in his tent that night, but before he slept he knelt on the lakeshore, looking across the water to where the Isle of Faces would be, and said a prayer to the old gods of north and Neck …” (……)

“No one knew,” said Meera, “but the mystery knight was short of stature, and clad in ill-fitting armor made up of bits and pieces. The device upon his shield was a heart tree of the old gods, a white weirwood with a laughing red face.” (…)

When his fallen foes sought to ransom horse and armor, the Knight of the Laughing Tree spoke in a booming voice through his helm, saying, ‘Teach your squires honor, that shall be ransom enough.’ Once the defeated knights chastised their squires sharply, their horses and armor were returned. And so the little crannogman’s prayer was answered … by the green men, or the old gods, or the children of the forest, who can say?” (ASOS, Bran II)

The answer is not vengeance, no. It is not eye for an eye, son for a son. It is not fire and blood. (Looking at you, Doran Martell.) That’s the path to chaos and dragons.

The answer is justice. It is a pay-it-forward: teach them to be better. Forgiveness. Mercy.

Ellaria’s cheeks were wet with tears, her dark eyes shining. Even weeping, she has a strength in her, the captain thought. “Oberyn wanted vengeance for Elia. Now the three of you want vengeance for him. I have four daughters, I remind you. Your sisters. My Elia is fourteen, almost a woman. Obella is twelve, on the brink of maidenhood. They worship you, as Dorea and Loreza worship them. If you should die, must El and Obella seek vengeance for you, then Dorea and Loree for them? Is that how it goes, round and round forever? I ask again, where does it end?” Ellaria Sand laid her hand on the Mountain’s head. “I saw your father die. Here is his killer. Can I take a skull to bed with me, to give me comfort in the night? Will it make me laugh, write me songs, care for me when I am old and sick?”

(…)

The prince gave her a curious look. “She understood more than you ever will, Nymeria. And she made your father happy. In the end a gentle heart may be worth more than pride or valor. Be that as it may, there are things Ellaria does not know and should not know. This war has already begun.” (ADWD, The Watcher)

Ellaria Sand, lady of my heart. You tried. You tried so hard. Some pains you simply have to bear. Some wrongs you simply have to let go. Not all, not to the point of further injustice. But there has to be an end to the wrath. Sometimes you just have to wade through the pain in order to emerge on the other side and be able to see the brightness, the future, the joys.

Lyanna made it happen for a moment. I think the Starklings will make it happen again.

I am willing to bet the value of a sizable cake that the heart trees on the Isle of Faces are smiling.

#asioaf #asoiaf speculation #daenerys targaryen #ellaria sand #lyanna stark

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begitalarcos · 5 years

Text

100+ Years of Horror

This is not a definitive list. These are just the films I believe every Horror fan should see at least once. I’ve excluded any sequels that I didn’t feel needed including. I hope you enjoy.

For @mechamag

1922 – Nosferatu

1925 – The Phantom of the Opera

1927 – The Cat and the Canary

1931 – Dracula, Frankenstein

1932 – Freaks

1933 – The Invisible Man

1934 – The Black Cat

1935 – The Bride of Frankenstein

1939 – The Cat and the Canary

1941 – The Black Cat, The Wolfman

1942 – Cat People

1945 - Dead of Night

1953 – House of Wax

1954 – Creature from the Black Lagoon

1955 – Night of the Hunter, Les Diaboliques

1956 – Invasion of the Body Snatchers, The Bad Seed

1958 – The Blob, Macabre, The Fly

1959 – House on Haunted Hill, The Tingler, The Killer Shrews

1960 – 13 Ghosts , Black Sunday, Eyes without a face, Peeping Tom, Psycho, Village of the Damned

1961 – The Pit and the Pendulum

1962 – What ever happened To Baby Jane?

1963 – The Birds, Black Sabbath, The Haunting

1965 – Repulsion

1966 – Island of Terror

1967 – Wait until Dark

1968 – Night of the Living Dead, Rosemary’s Baby, Spider Baby

1970 – Mark of the Devil, The Bird with the Crystal Plumage

1971 – The Cat O’ Nine Tails, Let’s scare Jessica to Death, What’s the matter with Helen? A Bay of Blood, Play Misty for Me

1972 – Ben, Children shouldn’t play with dead things, Deathdream, Don’t torture a Duckling, The last house on the left, Night of the Lepus, What have you done to Solange?

1973 – The Crazies, The Exorcist, The Legend of Hell House, Sisters, The Wicker Man, Don’t look now

1974 – Black Christmas, Deranged, It’s Alive, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Vampyres

1975 – Shivers, Trilogy of Terror, Jaws, Deep Red, The Stepford Wives

1976 – Alice Sweet Alice, Burnt Offerings, Carrie, Eaten Alive, The Omen, Squirm, To the devil a daughter, The town that dreaded sundown, The Tenant

1977 – Audrey Rose, Day of the Animals, Demon Seed, Eraserhead, Exorcist 2: The Heretic, The Hills have Eyes, Rabid, The Sentinel, Shock, Suspiria

1978 – Damien: Omen 2, Dawn of the Dead, Halloween, I Spit on your Grave, Invasion of the Body Snatchers, Jaws 2, The Legacy, Magic, Martin, Piranha

1979 – Alien, The Amityville Horror, The Brood, Phantasm, Prophecy, Tourist Trap, When a Stranger Calls, Zombi2, Nosferatu the Vampyre, Salem’s Lot

1980 – Alligator, Altered States, The Changeling, City of the Living Dead, Fade to Black, The Fog, Friday the 13th, Hell of the Living Dead, The House on the Edge of the Park, Humanoids form the Deep, Inferno, Maniac, Motel Hell, Prom Night, The Shining

1981 – An American Werewolf in London, The Beyond, The Black Cat, The Burning, Dead and Buried, The Entity, The Evil Dead, Friday the 13th Part 2, The Funhouse, Galaxy of Terror, Halloween 2, Happy Birthday to Me, Hell Night, The House by the Cemetery, The Howling, My Bloody Valentine, Omen 3: The Final Conflict, The Pit, Possession, The Prowler, Wolfen, Scanners, Blow Out, Ghost Story

1982 – Alone in the Dark, Basket Case, The Beast Within, Cat People, Creepshow, Friday the 13th Part 3, Halloween 3: Season of the Witch, Madman, Pieces, Poltergeist, Q: The Winged Serpent, Tenebrae, The Thing, Visiting Hours

1983 – A Blade in the Dark, Christine, Cujo, Curtains, The Deadly Spawn, Eyes of Fire, The House on Sorority Row, The Hunger, Mortuary, Nightmares, Sleepaway Camp, Videodrome, The Dead Zone, Twilight Zone: The Movie

1984 – C.H.U.D., Children of the Corn, The Company of Wolves, Gremlins, Night of the Comet, A Nightmare on Elm Street, Razorback, Silent Night Deadly Night, Firestarter, Starman, Ghostbusters

1985 – Cat’s Eye, Day of the Dead, Demons, Fright Night, Ghoulies, LifeForce, Phenomena, Re-Animator, The Return of the Living Dead, Silver Bullet, The Stuff, Cut and Run, The New Kids

1986 – Aliens, April Fools Day, Chopping Mall, Critters, Deadly Friend, The Fly, From Beyond, Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer, The Hitcher, House, Invaders from Mars, Little Shop of Horrors, Maximum Overdrive, Monster Dog, Night of the Creeps, Poltergeist 2: The Other Side, Rawhead Rex, Terrorvision, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2, Trick or Treat, Troll, Vamp, The Wraith

1987 – Angel Heart, Bad Taste, Creepshow 2, Dolls, Evil Dead 2, The Gate, Hello Mary Lou: Prom Night 2, Hellraiser, The Hidden, House 2: The Second Story, The Outing, The Lost Boys, The Monster Squad, Near Dark, A Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors, Opera, Prince of Darkness, Predator, Stage Fright, The Stepfather, Street Trash, The Witches of Eastwick, Lady Beware, Fatal Attraction

1988 – Bad Dreams, The Blob, Child's Play, Dead Heat, Elvira Mistress of the Dark, Fright Night Part 2, Hellbound: Hellraiser 2, Killer Klowns from Outer Space, The Lair of the White Worm, Maniac Cop, Night of the Demons, Phantasm 2, Pin, Prison, Pumpkinhead, Return of the Living Dead Part 2, The Serpent and the Rainbow, Uninvited, Watchers, Waxwork, They Live

1989 – 976-Evil, The Church, Grim Prairie Tales, The Horror Show, Intruder, Leviathan, Night Life, Pet Sematary, Shocker, Society, Warlock, Dead Calm, The Forgotten One, DeepStar Six

1990 – Braindead, Bride of Re-Animator, Child’s Play 2, The Exorcist 3, Frankenhooker, Graveyard Shift, The Guardian, Hardware, IT, Jacob’s Ladder, Misery, Night of the Living Dead, Nightbreed, Predator 2, The Reflecting Skin, Sundown: The Vampire in Retreat, Tales from the Darkside: The Movie, Tremors, Two Evil Eyes, Arachnophobia

1991 – Body Parts, Cape Fear, The People under the Stairs, The Pit and the Pendulum, Popcorn, Scanners 2: The New Order, The Silence of the Lambs, Sometimes they Come Back

1992 – Army of Darkness, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Candyman, Demonic Toys, Dolly Dearest, Bram Stoker’s Dracula, Innocent Blood, Sleepwalkers, Spilt Second, Man Bites Dog

1993 – Body Bags, Carnosaur, Cronos, The Dark Half, Leprechaun, Return of the Living Dead 3, Trauma, Kalifornia, Man’s Best Friend

1994 – Brainscan, Cemetery Man, The Crow, Death Machine, Hellbound, In The Mouth of Madness, Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, The Stand, Wes Cravens New Nightmare, Wolf, Interview with the Vampire

1995 – Castle Freak, Demon Knight, Lord of Illusions, The Mangler, Mosquito, The Prophecy, Species, Village of the Damned, Screamers, Dolores Claiborne

1996 – Bad Moon, The Craft, The Frighteners, From Dusk till Dawn, Jack Frost, Scream, Tremors 2: Aftershocks, Mary Reilly

1997 – An American Werewolf in Paris, Anaconda, Campfire Tales, Cube, The Devils’ Advocate, Event Horizon, I know what you did last Summer, Mimic, The Night Flier, Nightwatch, The Relic, Quicksilver Highway, The Ugly, Wishmaster, Kiss the Girls, Se7en, Perfect Blue

1998 – Blade, Deep Rising, The Faculty, Ringu, Strangeland, Urban Legend, Vampires, Sphere

1999 – Audition, The Blair Witch Project, Deep Blue Sea, The Haunting, House on Haunted Hill, Lake Placid, The Mummy, Ravenous, Sleepy Hollow, Stigmata, Virus, The Sixth Sense, Idle Hands

2000 – American Psycho, Bless the Child, Blood: The Last Vampire, Cherry Falls, Final Destination, Ginger Snaps, Hollow Man, Ju-On, Pitch Black, Python, Versus, What Lies Beneath, The Gift, The Cell, Shadow of the Vampire

2001 – The Attic Expeditions, Brotherhood of the Wolf, Dagon, Jeepers Creepers, Mulholland Drive, The Others, Session 9, Thir13en Ghosts, The Devil’s Backbone, Frailty, From Hell, Hannibal

2002 – 28 Days Later, Blade 2, Bubba Ho-Tep, Cabin Fever, Dog Soldiers, Eight Legged Freaks, Ghost Ship, May, Queen of the Damned, Resident Evil, The Ring, They, The Mothman Prophecies, Red Dragon

2003 – Darkness Falls, Dream Catcher, Final Destination 2, Freddy Vs. Jason, Haute Tension, House of 1000 Corpses, A Tale of Two Sisters, Undead, Underwold, Willard, Wrong Turn

2004 – Alien Vs Predator, Club Dread, Dawn of the Dead, Dead & Breakfast, Exorcist: The Beginning, Ginger Snaps 2: Unleashed, Godsend, Saw, Shaun of the Dead, The Village, Taking Lives, The Forgotten, Enduring Love

2005 – 2001 Maniacs, The Amityville Horror, Constantine, Dark Water, The Descent, The Devils’ Rejects, The Exorcism of Emily Rose, Land of the Dead, Wolf Creek, Hard Candy

2006 – Abominable, All the boys love Many Lane, Black Sheep, Fido, Final Destination 3, Hatchet, The Hills have Eyes, Slither, The Woods, The Host, Silent Hill, The Tripper, Wild Country

2007 – 28 Weeks Later, 30 Days of Night, 1408, Grindhouse, I am Legend, The Mist, My Name is Bruce, Nature of the Beast, Paranormal Activity, Primeval, REC, Skinwalkers, Teeth, Trick r’ Treat, An American Crime, Rogue, Funny Games

2008 – Book of Blood, Cloverfield, Deadgirl, Diary of the Dead, Let the right one in, The Midnight Meat Train, Mirrors, Quarantine, The Ruins, Splinter, The Strangers, Eden Lake, Outlander

2009 – Case 39, Grace, The Haunting in Connecticut, Heartless, The House of the Devil, Jennifer’s Body, The Loved Ones, Orphan, Pandorum, Splice, Triangle, Zombieland, Carriers, Dread

2010 – Black Swan, The Crazies, Exorcismus, Frozen, Insidious, The Last Exorcism, Let me in, Primal, Tucker & Dale Vs Evil, The Wolfman, Troll Hunter, Devil

2011 – The Awakening, Don’t be afraid of the Dark, The Innkeepers, Livid, The Thing, The Woman, The Rite

2012 – American Mary, Bait, The Cabin in the Woods, The Devil Inside, The Possession, Prometheus, Sinister, Byzantium, Compliance

2013 – The Conjuring, Evil Dead, Jug Face, Mama, Under the Skin, Only Lovers Left Alive, Warm Bodies, Horns, Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunters, Contracted, Stoker

2014 – Annabelle, As Above So Below, The Babadook, Deliver us from Evil, A Girl walk home alone at Night, Life after Beth, Starry Eyes, Tusk, It Follows, Goodnight Mommy, The Voices, Digging up the Marrow, When Animals Dream, Gone Girl ,The Remaining, Late Phases, Cub

2015 – Crimson Peak, Krampus, The Lazarus Effect, Maggie, The Visit, The Witch, Bone Tomahawk, Green Room, Regression, The Devil’s Candy, The Lure

2016 – The Autopsy of Jane Doe, The Belko Experiment, The Boy, The Conjuring 2, Don’t Breathe, The Eyes of my Mother, Split, The Forest, The Love Witch, The Neon Demon, Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, Raw, Train to Busan, The Void, What We Become, 10 Cloverfield Lane, A Cure for Wellness, The Shallows, Pet, Hounds of Love

2017 – IT, Get Out, Mother!, The Killing of a Sacred Deer, The Ritual, Thelma, Veronica, It comes at Night, Life, Gerald’s Game, Revenge, 1922

2018 – Annihilation, Halloween, Hereditary, Mandy, Mom and Dad, The Nun, Overlord, Possum, A Quiet Place, Suspiria, The House that Jack Built, Bird Box, Apostle, The Meg

2019 – Brightburn, IT Chapter 2, Midsommar, Ready or Not, Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark, Us, I am Mother, Crawl, The Dead Don’t Die, Extremely Wicked Shockingly Evil and Vile, Glass

#begita #Horror #I'll probably add more #but these are the ones that come to mind first off

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words-writ-in-starlight · 4 years

Note

ohh, angst asks! Gotta Stay Quiet To Avoid Discovery for songxiao and/or Desperate Hand-Holding for jame/tori. (also 98% of those prompts have happened onscreen or been heavily implied to have happened in the kencyrath and i've gotta say... it good, it very good) (but kindrie is not given enough emotional support in response for him having to deal with it)

THIS IS SO UNFAIR HOW CAN YOU MAKE ME CHOOSE BETWEEN THESE actually never mind I fixed it, I wrote both, the other one will go into the queue. Have a much-compressed AU where Jame gets to be the rescued party for a change. For this ask meme!

Jame doesn’t let her fingers shake as she braids bells into her horse’s mane. She rides with the Hunt every year, and every year she hates it, hates the rising blood-song of the magic, hates the horses, hates the moment where she becomes the crest of the wave and brings the Master’s strength crashing down on anyone in their path, but that is what the Mortal Knight is for. A focus. A spearpoint. Her mother was the Mortal Knight before her, until the power was too much and sent Jamethiel shattering, and now--

Now Jame is not letting her fingers shake, and it’s not out of dread. Jame doesn’t believe in dread. She hasn’t in a long time, not since she ran from her father’s hall straight into the arms of the Hunt as a child. Dread is only a way to prolong the suffering of a bad moment, so Jame deals with bad moments as they come and tries to ride them out as best she can, and this Hunt will be another in a series, but there’s no point dreading it.

Jame is good at not feeling dread. But hope--that’s another thing entirely.

“Still scared of horses, little dreamer?” Keral croons, and she snarls at him. He reaches out to brush his fingers through her hair, where it’s loose around her masked face, tiny plaits woven with ribbons of silver and scarlet hidden in the curls.

“I’ll break your hand,” Jame says. She could, too. The Hunt is rising, the magic is boiling up, and she is the focus, the harbinger, and tonight she could break Keral’s laughing smile into pieces and scatter them at her feet.

“Keral,” Tyrandis interrupts, melting out of the shadows. He’s like that. “Go and prepare.”

Keral tugs on one of Jame’s plaits and smirks at his half-brother, but he goes. Tyrandis watches him go, and then turns back to Jame, where she’s checking her saddle. She hesitates over the buckles. She could loosen them, just one notch, or try to hide some damage to the straps--but no. They might come loose at the wrong moment, and her horse be traded out.

And she told Tori that she would be on the only white horse, is the thing. She’s not allowing herself to count on him. She won’t. But by God, she’s going to start and end this Hunt on a white horse, one way or another.

“Jamie,” Tyrandis says. She snaps around to look at him, and manages a small smile. He knows how she feels about the Hunt, but he’s smiling back at her, although his eyes are sad and his fingers linger on her cheek when he brushes her hair out of her eyes. “I’m proud of you, Jamie. Keep it in mind, hm?”

Jame trusts Tyrandis implicitly. She trusts that he loves her. She trusts that he will always do his duty to his Master. She trusts that he is smart enough to know something is amiss, and she trusts that he knows that asking any questions would force him to betray her.

“I will, Senethari.”

“Good. Mount up, we’re riding out.”

The crossroads is glowing with moonlight when the Hunt sweeps down on it, and Jame’s heart would be in her mouth if not for the fact that all she can hear is hunting horns, all she can taste is foreign blood, thick and iron-bright. Her hands are tangled in her horse’s mane, without reins, and she is at the head of the Hunt, a creature made for killing, glittering in silver and scarlet and black, and everything is wonderful. This, this is how she should always be, magic flowing through her like blood, and she does not remember why she hated this, when it is so clearly all that she was born for.

They slow at the crossroads, the Hunt piling up behind Jame like a wave, calling out to each other like a pack of hounds belling in the dark, and she tips her head back to the moon and tries to remember why she has stopped.

The moonlight falls on her like wine and honey, sinking into her skin, and Jame opens her mouth, takes a breath to say onward, and--

The figure in black is slight-boned and as quick as a whip, and his hands are like iron when they close into her hunting coat and wrench her to the ground.

Jame hits the packed dirt hard, and the magic of the Hunt cracks like glass with the impact, leaving her shaking and weak and gasping. The man--Tori, it’s Tori, he came for her, after all this fucking time he actually came for her--is above her, pinning her down, and he’s haloed in moonlight that glows on his silver-shot hair when he says, “Jame?”

“Yes,” Jame wheezes, breathless. “Hold--hold me tight, brother.”

“I have you,” Tori says. She thinks he says it, anyway. She hopes so. She told him not to be afraid, among the roses.

She hears the Master’s voice, distant and terrible, speak a word from amidst the Hunt.

The magic crashes back down onto her, the sky falling in shards and ripping into her fragile mortal skin, and she’s screaming, trying to fight her way out of her bones, out of Tori’s arms. She claws at his hands, snaps at him with a wolf’s teeth, and he doesn’t let go. Tori buries his face in her thick-furred ruff, where she can’t get purchase on him, and clings to her until Jame is panting and still underneath him, and then--

The magic surges, and another scream fights its way out of her throat, a hunting cat’s screech, and she twists like water until she can sink a paw full of lethal claws into Tori’s shoulder, through his coat and shirt and skin and muscle until she scrapes bone. He doesn’t let go. He fists his hands in her sleek short fur and presses himself close without regard for his blood coursing over her paw, and then--

A third rush of power and pain, and armor is growing from Jame’s skin, ivory-white and stronger than steel, barbed at her joints so that it tears into Tori’s coat as she fights to her feet, a half-grown rathorn colt screaming in the bone-shaking register of her kind. Tori tightens both hands in her mane and twists, and brings her down. She bites him--she can taste blood on her fangs, his blood, real and rich--and he doesn’t let go. He doesn’t let go. He doesn’t let go.

The magic falls away like bursting out of ice-cold water, and Jame is left shivering on the ground, her brother’s blood and the dirt of the road on her skin, and Tori’s face is still pressed into her shoulder, his arms tight around her ribs and his chest pressed to hers.

“Were you afraid?” Jame rasps, hugging him close and meeting Tyrandis’ eyes over his shoulder. Tyrandis nods to her.

“Yes,” Tori says, raising his head to look at her. He’s bruised, but his silver eyes are fierce, and when he unwinds his arms, he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he pulls his torn coat off and drapes it over Jame’s naked shoulders, and puts his hand into hers, and doesn’t let go. He pulls her to her feet without regard for the wound in his shoulder, the blood on his arm, and says, “Let’s go home.”

#kencyrath #chronicles of the kencyrath #jame priest's bane #torisen black lord #tam lin au #starlight writes stuff #ask meme #fic meme #so i'm thinking that jame kind of dread pirate robert-ed her brother here #she found him in the roses and spoke to him and told him that she was a mortal knight of the hunt #that she had been a nobleman's daughter and had gotten lost and been taken (not quite a lie--not quite all the truth either)#and torisen felt for her and missed his sister and listened when she told him how to free a mortal knight #and the knight who called herself willow kissed him in the rose field the last night she met him there #and they have a fight about it later but it's not so much about the half-truths that jame told and much more about.....#well. jame didn't think tori would come for her. not for his twin sister. and tori doesn't know if he's angrier that she thought so #or that he's worried she might have been right #a queue we will keep and our honor someday avenge #seirnarei #asked and answered

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jackdawyt · 4 years

Video

youtube

Solas: “I walk the dinan’shiral. There is only death on this journey. I would not have you see what I become.”

Lord of Tricksters and He who Hunts alone, kin to His People. He who could walk on both sides of Gods without fear, they all trusted him, and all of them were betrayed. He told the Creators that a blade was forged in the heavens and the Forgotten Ones that it was hidden in the abyss, and when they went searching for it, he sealed them both in their realms forever, paying the ultimate price. He comes in humble guises but strikes those who are vulnerable, Thedas has never been in more peril than ever before, Fen'Harel will rise again.

Hey guys, Jackdaw here! Given the many revelations of Tevinter Nights, we have a lot of plot threads and teases hinting at what Solas may do next in his grand scheme to destroy the Veil and restore the Elven Kingdom. Indeed, the Dread Wolf has risen, and we’ve got a lot of theorising to do!

So, with that said, I ask that you don your tinfoil hats, respectively, as we examine the Dread Wolf rising, and the next stages of Solas’s scheme that will inevitably destroy Thedas.

Sandal: “When he rises, everyone will see!”

Fen’Harel has risen as a beastly and ill-natured creature held from within, mantled in the disguise of an elven mage.

Discovered in “Callback”, the final Fresco that Solas drafted out in Skyhold’s Rotunda before leaving the Inquisition, revealed an outline of a beast stood over a stabbed dragon; two figures painted on either side of a pane of glass with confused forms. The beast is shown to be a horrifying wolf, having absorbed the dragon’s power, stood crooked over all.

“The eighth and final panel of the fresco, meant to commemorate the battle against the blighted magister Corypheus, was unfinished. It showed only rough shapes, outlines that the mass of color crawling around the room now rushed to fill. And as detail and depth emerged, something was wrong.” (Callback, Page 121).

The depiction of the unfinished fresco relates to Solas’s embrace with Mythal at the end of Dragon Age: Inquisition. For many years, we’ve been scratching our heads about this exchange between Mythal and Solas. Thanks to Tevinter Nights, and more aptly, Solas. We have the truth.

“But here, unfinished, was the outline of a beast that stood over both dragon and sword. This was not the battle, or the victory. This was after. And the beast was not a dragon. The outline alone might have allowed that assumption, but now, filling with black and red, it was something other. The creature was reptilian, but also canine. The snout was blunted and toothy, but edges came to a point in houndlike ears. As the mass of plaster filled the shape, it began to rise, revealing scales and tail, and paws with talons. It looked like two figures painted on either side of a pane of glass, then viewed together, their forms confused. A wolf that had absorbed a dragon, and now stood crooked over all.” (Callback, Page 122).

This fresco uncovers that Solas absorbed an unknown quantity of Mythal’s power, with her essence he can rise as the Dread Wolf. For what purpose, we’ll discuss later. However, an essence of Mythal, somewhat lives on, as she seemingly placed a piece of herself into an eluivan before Solas took the majority of her power, in order to rise.

Mythal: “It was only a piece, but that’s all I needed”.

I certainly don’t think that’s the end of Mythal. I believe quite the contrary, I think Solas’s scheme that has been set in motion was Mythal’s idea in the first place. Without her power, Solas wouldn’t be able to rise as the Dread Wolf. It’s only because of her immolation, he can rise! I think Mythal too will rise in the future, perhaps in another body.

Regardless, the fact that Solas engraved rising as the Dread Wolf with Mythal’s power in Skyhold, before the orb broke, proves that Solas always intended on meeting Mythal, to take an aspect of her power.

Mythal’s sacrifice was never a backup plan to Solas, regardless of his orb’s destruction. Solas always planned on paying her a visit, with or without the orb, having the same intention of absorbing her power so he could rise.

The orb would only fulfil one purpose, and that’s to rip a hole in the Veil. Whereas taking Mythal’s power had a different purpose – to prepare for Solas’s transformation into the Dread Wolf. And, so with that power now invested, the Dread Wolf has risen. But only willingly on Mythal’s part.

Solas: “I would have entered the Fade, using the mark you now bear. Then I would have torn down the Veil. As this world burned in the raw chaos, I would have restored the world of my time…the world of the elves.”

With the orb’s destruction, Solas will be looking for a new way to destroy the Veil. Perhaps the Red Lyrium Idol is his backup attempt, and tracking down the Idol is his current quest, so he can successfully destroy the Veil with it, as intended.

If that solves how Solas could destroy the Veil, then what’s Solas’s plan behind rising as the Dread Wolf? He’s not rising as the Dread Wolf to destroy the Veil, so, what is the Dread Wolf’s purpose?

Perhaps Solas needs to rise as the malicious Dread Wolf so he can vengefully deal with the many hostile forces after the veil is destroyed.

Although there will be plenty of opposition against Solas destroying the Veil, like the Executors, Qunari, Inquisition and so on. Nothing in Thedas today can equal what lies beyond the Veil, lingering in many places like the Void and the darkest depths of the Fade.

Ancient beings, things left forgotten, and The Evanuris.

Solas is rising as the Dread Wolf to slay his ultimate adversaries. The next protagonist may think that we fall among that category, but nothing can measure against the insane, wicked powers of those who dwell across the Veil, and will soon be released from their shackles if Solas succeeds, and destroys the barrier protecting Thedas against the Fade.

Inquisitor: “If you destroyed the veil, wouldn't the false gods be freed?”

Solas: “I had plans.”

Solas: “They killed Mythal. A crime for which an eternity of torment is the only fitting punishment.”

Mythal was murdered by her own people, the Evanuris, in their lust for power, they betrayed her. When the Veil is destroyed, Solas will rise as the Dread Wolf, seeking justice for Mythal’s murder, he will find and kill each member of the Elven Pantheon that wronged his queen. The deaths of the False Gods will bring forth a new elven empire ruling over Thedas, with Solas and Mythal at the top.

Flemeth: ”Mythal clawed and crawled her way through the ages to me and I will see her avenged!"

I believe that Mythal exchanged the majority of her power to Solas, so he could follow her scheme of vengeance/justice against the Evanuris. Through the ages, Mythal seeks her own reckoning against those who betrayed her, her one aim has always vengeance. With Solas waking from his long slumber, the two have since schemed an ending against the Pantheon. Solas, using Mythal’s power, and rising as the Dread Wolf will be the False God’s demise.

Solas and Mythal will have their vengeance, and a new world for the Elven people. However, the Veil hasn’t been destroyed yet, and there’s still time to stop Solas from reaching that reality. The best lead on Solas’s plan regards the Red Lyrium Idol.

"The Dread Wolf wants that idol, and he’s not afraid to get his hands bloody to get it." (TDWTY, Page 490).

“He intends something for the Fade, and if he wants the idol, then whatever he intends will be terrible.” (TDWTY, Page 498).

The Red Lyrium Idol is still a mystery, and I say that with exasperated lungs, because I’ve talked about this blasted relic in every lore video I’ve created since The Dread Wolf Rises trailer back in 2018. Because of that, I’m going to rush through the details on this Idol.

It’s been described as: “a couple hugging, too thin to be dwarves”, or “a god mourning their sacrifice.” However, disregarding what it supposedly looks like, this idol belongs to Solas. It’s his, and he wants it back, he has a purpose for it.

“YOU USE MY IDOL CARELESSLY TO VANDALIZE THE SEA OF DREAMS. NOW FEEL THE PAIN OF WHAT YOU HAVE CREATED.” (TDWTY, Page 496).

For what? Well, Red lyrium is known to thin the Veil, and this idol has magical properties too. It’d be a pretty good catalyst for the Veil’s destruction.

Secondly, when the Idol was used in a blood and binding ritual, it revealed a most intriguing ritual blade, perhaps Solas wants or needs this blade. Could this be the blade to end all wars? Does he need it to finish his ritual? Or is it just a nice sharp dagger to cut Lavellan’s heart out again?

“It was not merely an idol, but a ritual blade. He slashed his own hand, and a wave of power pulsed through the cavern.” (TDWTY, page 495).

And my final reason for justifying Solas’s genocidal actions.... In “The Hunt of The Fell Wolf” codex, Ameridan killed a great canine beast with a mysterious ‘fade touched’ Idol. This Idol was the only thing that ‘could prove the monster’s doom.’

“The wounded knight in darkness

Found within the cavern's gloom

An idol of fade-touched stone,

Which could prove the monster's doom.”

(The Hunt of the Fell Wolf, Stanza 15)

Perhaps this Idol from Ameridan’s story is the very same Red Lyrium Idol, and Solas is looking for it because the Idol is one of the only things that can stop and kill Solas, just like the beast in the codex. So, if Solas finds the Idol before anyone else, he’s got full security over his own victory, and no one can stand against him.

The Red Lyrium Idol belongs to him, perhaps it’s like a ‘Horcrux’, you destroy the Idol, you destroy an aspect of Solas? If that’s too far-fetched, then perhaps the Idol is just very strong with its magical properties, and Red Lyrium compound, and that’s what can defeat Solas. Or, potentially, the ritual blade released from the Idol is the ultimate blow against him? It’s really a matter of tinfoil at the moment.

What’s unknown is the Idol’s location. Does Solas already possess the Idol? If not where is it? More apropos, who has it?

This seemingly pre-veil artefact found in the Primeval Thaig by Hawke, which was then stolen by Varric’s Brother, Bartrand. And then sold to Knight Commander Meredith, who crafted it into a greatsword, that granted her, and the sword magically capabilities. Apparently when Meredith went boom and almost destroyed half of Kirkwall, the sword made from the idol was also destroyed, however, the idol stayed with Meredith as she transformed into a red lyrium statue. It lingered for a while, until the Carta extracted the idol using a potion created by a Dalish Elf. It was then sold to House Qintara in Tevinter, the house traded it to House Danarius for information, then a Magister from House Danarius took it to the Grand Necropolis for a ritual. The ritual ended in chaos and flames as the Dread Wolf was summoned, however, the idol escaped Fen’Harel’s grasp, as a noble’s son grabbed it and fled into Tevinter lands. At this point, the idol’s location gets a tad fuzzy, apparently the idol somehow made its way to an auction, off the coast of Rivian, on the Island Llomerynn. Supposedly, the Dread Wolf made a physical appearance and took his idol back, and that’s the end of it. However, it seems that this could’ve been framed as a lie, or bluff, so Solas could retrieve the Idol, and stop those who seek it from getting it. (TDWTY, paraphrased a lot lol)

In short, the Idol’s whereabouts are set up for interpretation in “The Dread Wolf Take You”, by the end of the story, we don’t quite know where exactly this idol is, and even if we take a guess, it doesn’t feel concrete... Did Solas actually take the idol from an overbearing auction, with quite the hysterical crowd located off the coast of Rivian? (doubt face) Or did a Noble’s son smuggle the Idol safely back into Tevinter war-torn territory?

While, I lean to the side; Solas lied throughout the story, so therefore he doesn’t have it, and it’s somewhere in Tevinter, in the occupancy of Maker-knows who.... That still doesn’t give us any clues.

Fortunately, we have some new information, so we don’t have to continually guess, like a dog chasing its tail. Thanks to Dark Horse, Dragon Age comic writer Nunzio DeFilippis, we have an understanding of where this idol was originally supposed to go, before the comics were reworked with Dragon Age 4’s iteration reboot.

Nunzio recently mentioned in the Unofficial BioWare Forum that the comic characters from Deception were originally chasing the Red Lyrium Idol. The original plan for the comics would've had the characters retrieve the Idol. Only to have Solas take it back. Eluding to the idol's planned whereabouts before the plot changed.

So, regardless of where the idol may be right now, is Solas’s retrieval of the blasted thing inevitable considering the comics would’ve had this plot solved before the next games launch? Is it a matter of time before Solas finds his idol? Or has the plot changed a lot since then? Maybe we’ll have a shot at grabbing this idol before Solas gets his hands on it in the next game?

With that, we don’t have a solid placement for where the Idol is, but we can assume that it will end up in Solas’s hands soon enough. However, regardless of the Idol, Solas already has set-out an ominous ritual to destroy the Veil.

Solas {He} sighed. “It was a moment of weakness. I told myself that it was because you all deserved to know, to live a few years in peace before my ritual was complete. Before this world ended.” (TDWTY Page 506).

Whatever this ritual is, beats me. Solas mentions that it’s going to take a few years until it’s complete. And then boom, it’ll be down with the Veil, and the Dread Wolf shall rise.

This once more begs the question, if Solas had made plans to destroy the Veil, then why does he need the Red Lyrium Idol? But again, like I said, perhaps he needs to retrieve the Idol because it’s his greatest weakness if used against him. Once he has it, he can destroy it, or throw it in the rubbish, so no one can stop his plan.

Back to Solas’s ritual. The Dread Wolf has taken residency in the Fade, where his ritual has started to affect.

“But whatever fear the name Dread Wolf carries, he has earned. While we might visit the Fade, it is his natural home, and the spirits there serve him gladly.” (TDWTY, Page 498).

The Mortalitasi organised their own ritual to push the Qunari back home, using blood magic and binding spells. These types of magic are undoing the work Solas has set in motion, they’re a hinderance to his ritual. Therefore, the Dread Wolf made his presence known at the Grand Necropolis, in Nevarra, forbidding both types of magic, if anyone dare binds a spirit, or uses blood magic, your life is his for the taking.

“And as clear as the Dread Wolf’s anger at what we had done— the Mortalitasi binding spirits he considered his own, the Tevinter mage using forbidden blood magic— was the feeling that we had disrupted his own work.” (TDWTY, Page 498).

“FROM THIS MOMENT, SHOULD YOU EVER BIND A SPIRIT, THEN YOUR LIFE IS MINE.” (The Dread Wolf Take You, Page 496).

So, clearly any magic that requires demons and spirits, or changes a spirit’s original purpose, is undoing Solas’s ritual. Most likely because the spirits of the Fade serve Solas willingly, they’re probably required in his ritual. Taking them away from that purpose, is undoing Solas’s work. Spirits and demons want the Veil to come down so many of them can pursue their desires to enter the physical world, so it’s no surprise they serve Solas freely.

Regardless, what exactly is this ritual doing? It’s already affected the Fade.... So, is Solas slowly decaying the Veil over time? Is he reaching into the Black City? Does this ritual have something to do with the Old Gods? Is it in preparation for killing the Pantheon? Is Solas’s ritual going to take him back in time to restore the Elven Kingdom? So many ideas, very few answers.

Also, to change the pace from the ritual. Let's say Solas is successful and the Veil is destroyed, how are the elves going to survive the Veil’s destruction? When talking to Charter, Solas tells her that the world will be better off for the remaining elves that survive. But how can anyone survive the Fade crashing into Thedas?

“I have no choice. What I am doing will save this world, and those like you— the elves who still remain— may even find it better, when it is done.” (TDWTY, Page 506).

Is Solas taking those he deems worthy to a safe place, so they can rebuild the elven empire once the Veil is no more? Is he building a metaphorical ark, gathering the elves, as his flood destroys all of Thedas? How can he guarantee safety to the elves? Surely, he has a plan for them to survive this calamity?

Ultimately, more questions that we’ll need to answer for ourselves when Dragon Age 4 arrives. Although we still clueless on Solas’s ritual and the Red Lyrium Idol’s purpose, I can say; without doubt, that Solas has risen as the Dread Wolf. A lupin, evil creature that seeks the end of the Evanuris, and Thedas as we know it.

Solas may think that his plan is for the greater good of his people, but I believe he’s naïve to the one who’s fundamentally been pulling the strings of his scheme all along. The one who has set his very purpose in motion, and that is Mythal. A Queen he would not see go unavenged, and someone he’d do anything to achieve justice for in her name.

I believe this trust Solas has for Mythal will be the end of him, that he is nothing but a puppet to Mythal’s plan for vengeance. I believe this conquest for justice, will send Solas down a path of anger, decay, and ultimately death.

The biggest threat against Solas is himself, as he admits, he’s foolish, prideful and doing what he must. Will we be the one to stop him before it’s too late, changing his mind? Or will we grant him a finishing blow, silencing our once beloved friend?

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space-blue · 4 years

Text

The Exorcist

This was my first win in the competition. The theme was to use a well known title and write an unrelated story using it.

Assencard could not believe his misfortune.

He had not worried at first, when his subordinate had come to him, wings stiffly folded and hands trembling. He had thought the demon came to report a mission failure.

Nothing unexpected.

Freshly promoted to the head of a legion of spirits, Assencard had been given a tight agenda. All new members of the Order of The Fly had to prove their worth, or risk demotion. An idea that gave a terrible itch to his fresh scarifications, sign of his rank and carved in broad gouges across his chest.

But the underling had come to report worse than failure : something as outrageous as it was unprecedented. Upon returning from a simple possession assignment that had taken an entire squad to an orphanage, one of the spirits had fallen ill. The concept in itself was ludicrous, and it soon appeared that the demon was actually controlled by someone else. A human, of all things.

Assencard had needed to see it to believe it. The spirit had been locked in a dark room, as it had started to spew lines from the bible that lesser demons could not bear to hear.

Now Assencard was forced to seek help with his Master. The fact that a human had breached the doors of Hell through a spirit possession was so bewildering that it required a full report anyway. Out of a choice, his bowels in knots and his scars burning from dread, he had made his way to Hell's capital.

Pandemonium.

Ebony fumes rose languidly from the lake of blood that puddled at the feet of the city's spires. Carved in obsidian, home to the Princes and Dukes of Hell, the towers and temples shone in somber hues that lent false life to the countless statues carved in their flanks.

Assencard presented himself to a lesser household familiar and followed it through the pillars of the Roman domus that was the home of his Master - the Marquis Marchosias - all the way to a wide atrium wherein the Marquis sat, playing cards with two infernal guests.

The heat rose to scorching as three pairs of flaming eyes fixated on him.

"What can my newly promoted Captain of my twenty-second legion possibly want from Me?"

"I come in to report a grave anomaly, my Lord."

Silence buzzed like a corpse-fly through the room. The smaller man sitting across from the imposing warrior figure of the Marquis laughed, and in his excitement his appearance wavered, revealing a hart's skull and flaming antlers. Earl Furfur, Assencard realised. Still the third character's identity escaped him. The man looked like an old knight of the Order, but the red snake coiled around his arm suggested deception.

"Tell your tale, Captain Assencard," the Marquis ordered.

Assencard swallowed hard and went straight to the point. "I believe a priest has taken possession of one of my legion's spirit."

That new silence was lethal to the hardiest fly that dared cross the atrium.

"I saw it myself, my Lord. The demon is restless and cannot direct his body. He started with random curses but later turned to latin spells. I had him locked up."

The Marquis' face started to boil. Hair sprang out above sharp canines. Yellow eyes spurt sparks as his human body dissolved into the monstrous form that was Marchosias' true nature : that of a winged black wolf, with a serpent's tail. Earl Furfur jumped back on hoofed legs, avoiding the thrashing body of the Marquis and addressed Assencard directly.

"Are you sure, dog, that it is a priest? And why not a sorcerer? A master of the black arts, emboldened in his practice? Maybe a conjuring through a Black Mirror gone wrong?"

"No, Earl, my Lord, it is very puzzling as the spirit is too lowly, it is nameless and cannot be conjured." Assencard anxiously edged toward the Earl and away from his Master. "Besides, no sorcerer would spit "Crux sacra sit mihi lux" at the sight of me."

With that the Marquis exploded, his jaws spread beyond rupture with a harrowing howl.

"Who dares?! Where is he, the impudent human insect who ventures to breach the walls of Hell through the body of one of my legions?"

Sulfuric spit came flying and furniture shattered under the strikes of the scaly tail.

"Attacking Me, Marchosias, a Great Marquis of Hell, leader of thirty legions? Imbecile! I shall teach him and hex his rotten soul! Where is he?"

The Marquis turned toward Assencard, now huddled in a corner with the Earl and the still silent knight.

"Lead me to him!" the Marquis ordered, "and come with us Eligos, if you will. If humans care to wage a war on our grounds, you could envision their intent."

The knight bowed his head in answer, and Assencard broke in yet another sweat as he realised who stood by him. There was but one Eligos in Hell, and he was a mighty Duke, a divinatory demon who led twice as many legions as the Marquis did. Deuce, if this turned sour, Assencard could kiss goodbye to any chance of promotion or transfer, and likely to his hide as well.

The spirit started screeching the moment the door opened. As the trio of infernal nobility stepped in after Assencard, the parched, bloody lips of the thing curled in a grin.

"In nomini et virtute Domini nostri Jesu Christi, eradicare..."

"Shut the fuck up!" The Marquis barked, waving a black paw in a spell of silence. The demon's teeth ground shut, his eyes bulging out of his skull.

"Hmm... it looks like your captain was right, as impossible as it seems," Earl Furfur said, approaching the lesser spirit. "What could he mean, Marquis? Spying on us? Striking back?"

"Vengeance is hardly in the priest's handbook."

"Well, neither are revolutionary spells of the black Arts."

"Could it be a scout, a test before a bigger strike?" Assencard said, and felt temperature rise again as stares focused on him. The Marquis turned to the Duke who had remained by the entrance, propped against a wall.

"What say you, Eligos?"

"I see no plans," the Duke answered in a whisper, "there is no war looming, other than the one the church of men always leads in vain against us."

All turned back toward the bound spirit.

"Are you a loner then?" The Marquis asked him. "Do you have grief with Me? Why sneak in a lowly servant, and not try to invoke me through my famous and powerful name?"

The demon's skin turned black and blotched, nostrils flaring and sweat dripping abundantly. "Your spell, Marchosias," Earl Furfur said.

The Marquis waved another command. "Answer me worm, what are you trying to achieve here?"

"I... don't... talk with demons! Vade retro, spiritus immundi!"

"A priest indeed," Furfur snorted.

Marchosias growled and signed a triangular symbol over the demon's head, that Assencard recognised as one used by skilled sorcerers to force spirits to speak the truth. The demon's eyes started bleeding, his teeth clattering.

"Let's start again," the Marquis said, "what is your name, priest?"

"Fa... father Nager."

"What is your purpose here?"

The demon resisted, yet the answer was torn from his lips.

"Watch... and learn."

"Who gave you your orders?"

"Nooo.. no one!"

Earl Furfur whistled and elbowed Assencard playfully.

"Looks like we have an ambitious careerist on our arms."

"How did you arrive here, where did you learn the way?"

"The Vatican's library has an annotated copy of... the Liber Juratus. There is one spell, for tracking. A simple spell. But the notes... I decrypted them. They were to turn it... to... into a hunting spell. To follow the trail the demon leaves in... the mind. Like a burnt road... in the victim's mind. The spell worked... I took over my prey's body."

"One last question," Marchosias said, belching a small ball of fire, "who else, father Nager, knows about this spell?"

Panic sent the demon thrashing desperately against its invisible bonds, but the answer came again, unstoppable :

"Nobodyyyy..."

"Great!" The Marquis barked, rising on his hind legs.

His coarse voice droned with power, his tongue wreathed along the black breath of a hideous curse.

"Amon Ra - et em fillissit Ra - essit etem ossun hem."

His paws elongated and split in a mimicry of hands, twisted fingers danced, carving the air with the symbol of death entwined in tortured destiny with the pattern of a cyclic life.

"You shall leave this vessel only to return to the body of a vermin. You are never to die, never to return to your God. Forever a rat or cockroach to the eyes of men, undying, you'll learn with time to curse your curiosity. Now begone."

And it was - gone. Exorcised by Evil.

It looked to Assencard like he might well survive another day in Hell. A raspy laugh came from the entrance. There Duke Eligos stood smiling.

"Well Furfur, Marchosias," he said, "looks like we have a library to burn down."

~~ October 2015

#original work #original story #competition #win #fantasy

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ocean-in-my-rebel-soul · 5 years

Text

[Untitled] [Solas & Lavellan]

For @buttsonthebeach and @dadrunkwriting

Tags/Tw: blood, injury, graphic injury, major character death, harm to Solas, post-Trespasser

Words: 2.6k

Rating: Mature

===

“Hahren.”

Elara’s voice is clear, if tired–and far too close. Solas turns and slips, falls to his knees in the mingled mud and gore of the battlefield. Fire ratchets up his wounded leg, a bespelled arrowhead still embedded deep into his thigh from an earlier injury. It festers without his permission and pays his objection–and spells–no mind.

“Solas, it’s time for this all to stop.”

“Is it, Inquisitor?”

He bows with exhaustion over his knees, hand straying to the wound. A myriad of others pepper his skin–a crossbow bolt that grazed his shoulder and tore off the pauldron on its way, a bloody gash across his cheek where a lucky knife had struck. Solas can count four broken ribs on one side alone and knows the ligaments in his left knee have been torn beyond repair. His vision swims without focus in a way that only heralds head injury.

He takes an aching breath in and breathes out a healing spell whose cool mana plays over his skin to little effect. The only thing he can do now is to ignore the injuries, to focus on anything else.

She comes, sword in hand. Her vallaslin glows an unearthly green-gold from her face, the light straying down her throat. Elara bears the evidence of heavy battle; her flesh arm runs red from the elbow, blood seeping through the seams of her vambrace and gauntlet to drip down her fingers. Her chest-plate is covered in dents and abrasions beneath the mud and viscera that clings to the metal. Elara tears off her helmet and tosses it between them. Her hair, matted with blood, sticks sickly down her brow and cheek. Solas can smell death on her, following her footsteps.

Elara stops before him, a scant thirty feet separating them.

“Hahren,” Elara says again, and only this time does he hear her desperation.

Ichor drips from her sword’s fine edge. Falon’din’s grace wreathes through her aura; the geas has seeped into her skin like a puppet’s strings pulled by an invisible hand. Solas has no doubt that it is Falon’din’s compulsion that propels her forward with jerky, halting steps.

“Elara.” Her name falls from his lips on a sigh. “We’re too late, I’m afraid.” Solas sweeps his gaze toward the heavens; the scars of the Veil are hardly visible here, on this no-name plain in some human empire, but they’re there. Solas can feel them in the way his heart beats erratically in his chest, in the way his shoulders are the lightest they’ve been in thousands of years.

The Veil has fallen. The freed Fade permeates every rock and tree and creature of this world anew, casting the old world aside.

Solas coughs, covering his mouth with belated politeness, and is unsurprised when his palm comes back stained an angry, wrathful red.

“You can stop this.”

She always believed in him, despite the coolness that grew between them, verging on distrust. Elara had trusted him, once, tentative and wary. Solas barks out a wheezing flash of laughter. What good had it done either of them?

“I don’t think I can,” he murmurs. “Though I will admit to wishing for just that.”

She’s closer now, an arm’s length, maybe two, away. Elara’s hand is clutched tight around the hilt of her ironbark sword. Her arms shake–all of her shakes. Solas can briefly see the child panicking beneath her stoic, blank-faced mask.

Something in him folds like leaves in a storm and Solas buckles, an intangible gale battering against him to rend him immobile.

“Calm, now, Fen’Harel,” Elara says, but it is not her voice, they are not her words. “The time for reaping is at hand.”

His eyes shut for but a moment. “Lethanivir.” Solas huffs, and everything in him aches. He would not be surprised if he were actively consumed by an invisible fire; every inch of him burns from the inside out. “It’s been some time. Tell me, how is life in the Blackened City?”

Falon’din’s smile curves across Elara’s face, sinister despite her own warmth. It’s gentler here, on mortal lips. “She trusted you, you know,” Falon’din says casually, “in the beginning. But you never warmed to her, not as you did to the others, even as you stuck by her side.”

He closes the distance and crouches at Solas’ flank, the creak of Elara’s armor barely heard above the din of the fighting around them. He drops her sword to the ground without a care. The way he tilts their head is so quintessentially him, but the motion is foreign, alien on Elara’s frame. It’s jarring in the worst ways.

“That’s simply the way of it, isn’t it?” Falon’din sighs, brows pinched with feigned concern. “Who could trust the Dread Wolf? You never were a good friend, Pride. Not before, and not now.”

“If being such meant allowing the continued subjugation of our people, then no,” Solas wheezes. “I am glad to have never been a good friend.”

Falon’din only regards him, Elara’s dark eyes glowing with the same green-gold of Falon’din’s magic. Their mouth twists. “We could have had it all,” Falon’din says lowly. His gaze softens. He brushes their fingers errantly over the torn edges of what remains of Solas’ blood-streaked fur mantle. “We were meant to rule. We still can, the two of us,” he says, like a secret, like an oath.

In his peripheral vision, Solas sees the ocean-blue glow of power at his fingertips. “That we did was an accident of fate, nothing more,” he grits out. His voice booms through the plain. “No one desiring power deserves it–us least of all.”

“The great and powerful Fen’Harel, so self-loathing.” Falon’din’s lip curls with disgust and he pulls away. “You were created to rule. You are a God, called to this world to lead. Come, Pride, rise from the muck. We will take our rightful places, you and I. Think of what we could do together.”

Solas shakes his head. “You know I cannot.” He looks up to Elara’s face, the mortal mask of his immortal kin. “Is she still there?” he asks. “The Inquisitor?”

They smirk, sick and thin. “She is,” Falon’din says with a gleeful nod. He flexes their fingers and studies their hand with exaggerated fascination. “This one is mine, completely.”

“She didn’t know what it meant when she chose your sigil, Reaper–you could have been any of us. Your being here is an accident, not an act of fate.”

“And the results would have been the same, would they not? You still would have cast down your precious Veil, and we still would strike the moment you sundered the chains you had wrought. No matter whose symbol this one wears, she will always be your doom.” Falon’din pauses. “You always did have a soft spot for the broken ones, but you rarely broke your own toys.” He flicks the fingers of their prosthetic hand idly.

Solas snorts, and Falon’din’s smile slips. “You know what happens next,” Solas says. His blood pulses with magic and the immortal poison that corrupts it as he struggles to his knees. “I killed your last avatar. I will destroy this one, as well.”

“You always did like wrecking my things.” Falon’din sighs, heavy and put-upon. He shrugs their shoulders. “But I think, dear Wolf, that this time will be different. Even now, even with the Mother’s grace, you wane–and when you finally fall, I shall be the one to take you.”

Falon’din’s magic flutters erratically around Elara’s frame, just out of mortal sight, and Solas sharpens his gaze on her face, past the veneer of the god that wears her visage. “Elara,” he says, quickly. “You are Elara Virenehn, of clan Lavellan. You are Lavellan’s knight. You are–you are the pride of your people. You must remember.”

Their aura lights in bursts of magic. “What–what are you doing?”

Solas leans forward, reaching for her, hands scrabbling at Elara’s vambrace and the enchanted prosthetic that rebuilt her left arm–the hand he had to take, the hand he had unwittingly poisoned with his plans, her hand the symbol of his continued failure.

He can’t give her much, but he must try.

“Remember your clan. The lessons of your Keeper. You can fight him, Elara. You must.”

Their hands spasm. Their flesh arm twitches, clenches, as if pulling against an unseen force. Sweat begins to bead along their shared brow.

“Good,” Solas whispers. “You’re strong. Remember that, Elara–you are strong, stronger than most. You must close your mind to him. He is but a spirit, twisted by his delusions of godhood.”

Falon’din screeches. Their sword-hand opens, agonizing in the slow-motion movement, and he stretches to reach Elara’s discarded sword. “She is mine, Pride! You will not take her!”

Solas grits his teeth, hands sinking into the edges of Elara’s vambrace to hold her back, but Falon’din shoves him back with a backlash of magic, strong enough to bring Solas to his knees in the muck.

With a pained, drawn-out groan, Falon’din drives their hand to the earth and finds purchase around the leather-wrapped handle of her sword. He rises to their knees clumsily, as if fighting for every inch. The oppressive compulsion for stillness temporarily lifted, Solas comes to his feet with a clatter of his own armor.

“My friend,” Solas whispers. Falon’din fights for control beneath his gaze, rising to their feet, hand gripped so tight around the handle of Elara’s sword that it bleeds. Solas trails his fingers over Elara’s temples, fingers glowing with the weight of the spell that would break her bindings.

His mouth has barely shaped the first syllable of the blessing when the sword drags through his armor to pierce him. It digs into his ribcage as it passes.

“Pride,” Falon’din pants. Sweat drips freely down their face, clinging to Elara’s dark lashes, drawing clear tracks in the dirt that mars their cheeks. “You always thought–ngk–that you had the upper–upper hand.”

Solas’ hands flutter. He reaches deep within himself as blood wells in his mouth. Mythal’s grace lay dormant in his chest; she was the better healer of the two of them, and her storm-tossed ocean of power is as calm as a dead sea where it beat in time with his own heart just a moment before.

But, as loathe as he is to claim it, Fen’Harel is his own god.

His dwindled power courses through him, a wellspring quickly running dry as it races to pour out from his fingers. The world falls away and still, with trembling lips, he shapes the spell. Solas brushes the holy fire over Elara’s face, tracing the brand that tethers her to the fallen Evanuris, and watches as the thick, black lines of her vallaslin begin to evaporate into smoke. The scream that tears from her throat is a deafening, multilayered chorus.

Her poisoned blade rips through Solas’ gut as Falon’din flails in his attempts to escape.

Solas fights to keep his hands on her, scrabbles for every point of contact. It’s not complete, not yet. If any mark of her brand remains she could stay tied to the god for as long as he wishes, unable to counter his commands. Solas repeats the blessing and wrings more of himself out with the spell even as his blood falls freely to color the earth beneath them.

Falon’din’s shrieks echo over the land and buffet against Solas and his magic like a great storm. He kicks and punches and slaps at whatever he can reach with Elara’s hands, leaving her blood upon the dirty, worn metal of Solas’ armor.

Solas dips his hands along the column of her throat, the little of it that lay exposed by her armor. He’s close, he knows; Elara’s vallaslin drips from her brow to her collarbones, and it’s almost burnt from her face. Solas grunts when Falon’din pulls the sword out only to slice into him again, and again, the enchanted ironbark bolstered further by Falon’din’s magic.

Solas falters. Falon’din’s compulsion sweeps over him once more, demanding his submission. It floods his mind and bears down enough to break his concentration, and in his fumbling, Falon’din stabs him once more.

“If you will not yield, Pride,” Falon’din pants, “I will tear out your heart and scatter your form to the winds. I will rend your power from your bones!”

“No–nnnng–need.” Solas grips Elara’s shoulders and pulls himself up the blade of her sword. There’s not much left–he must be quick, he must–he must—

Solas curls himself into her in a mockery of a lover’s embrace and lets the spell burn through him. Holy fire courses through every cell of his being; it scalds like the lava fires of the Deep Roads, bursting from his chest. Falon’din screams in his ear.

The world whites out, and Falon’din’s voice fades.

“Solas. Hahren, Solas, please. Wake up, please wake up.”

He wavers in and out. The Fade colors the edges of his vision when he blinks his eyes open. Elara hovers over him, her face blotting out the sky.

Elara is free of the vallaslin. She is bloody and torn, but she is free.

“Inquis—” A wracking cough interrupts him; his hand comes back covered with blood and spittle.

She shifts where she kneels beside him. “Don’t talk. By the— Don’t talk.”

“There is… so much… to say.”

“No,” Elara says. Panic rises in her voice. “Stay, please. You’re a god, one of the Creators.” She traces her fingertips over the mangled wolf’s head on his chestplate; he watches her expression morph to dismayed grief when they are stained red with his blood. “You–you can heal yourself.”

“Too powerful, Lethanivir… But not for you.” Solas chuckles weakly. “Surprised me again.”

Elara keens and bends forward, covering him with a curtain of dark curls. “I have to save you. I have to. If I cannot fulfill my duty to my people, then what good am I?”

“That path… leads to destruction. I… should know.” He coughs and something in him snaps. Solas sags, boneless, into the biting edges of his mangled armor. It will be soon, he knows. Will the Fade recognize him in his true form? Will he be remembered?

“What happens now?” Her voice lies muffled against his armor. “If the gods aren’t truly gods, then where do we go? What happens when we die?”

“I am not sure,” Solas admits, “but… I go knowing you are here… and that is enough.”

“Solas—”

“Pride of the Elvhenan. Elara of the Dalish.” His laugh is barely a stuttered breath. “I had broken our people… and you brought them together… once more… to fight me.”

“To save the world,” she says fiercely. Elara mutters under her breath, a prayer or curse or both, her voice shaking. “Solas… He called you Pride…”

“Yes.”

“Does… Does that mean you were a spirit of wisdom once, or of pride? In the days of Arlathan?”

“The distinction… is not so simple,” he grits out. “Pride and wisdom… friend and enemy… many are both and–and neither.” His vision swims, and he closes his eyes with a sigh. “Before, when the Song… was everywhere… the Mother called me. She gave me gifts… asked for my counsel.” Blood foams at the corner of his mouth and drips down his chin.

Elara’s hand is blazing hot against the cold of his cheeks. “I forbid it, Solas,” she says, the long-dormant authority strong as silverite in her words. Her tone offers no argument but her own. “You must stay. I order you to stay, Creator or not. You bound yourself to my Inquisition.”

And see where it got us, he thinks, chuckling inwardly. “Don’t cry, lethallin,” he says, though he’s not sure it comes out as such. “Spirits are… never truly gone.”

The green of the Fade spins merrily in his mind’s eye, and he can feel the Song flooding over his skin, sinking into his bones with a soothing familiarity.

“Ar lasa mala revas,” Elara whispers. “Be free, Solas.”

Ma serannas, Elara, Pride of the People. Solas sighs and lets the Song lull him to sleep.

#Solas #Lavellan #Solas & Lavellan #not shippy #Elara Lavellan #series: Lavellan's Knight #post-game #post-trespasser #fen'harel #falon'din #cw: blood #cw: injury #cw: major character death

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thaneirstaer · 5 years

Text

Broken Promises

Long post under the read more. Enjoy folks, the story of Thane’s greatest failure.

The priest of Messane began speaking their ritual, prophetic words of the future as Thane leaned down low, washing his sword, chipped and damaged, clean of the caked-on blood from his fallen adversary, the wolf chosen for him to face. He wipes away mingled blood of his own and the beast from his gauntlets, where it's claws had try to drag Thane to the ground. From his bicep he winces as he wipes clean his blood, the deathblow of the beast had been it leaping at the aspiring knight, his sword arm drove deep down it's throat as fangs clamped down on Thane. His shield's Lion emblem was worn and torn as he ensured it was clean of spittle from the beast's maw as it tried to clamp down dozens of times upon it. His back ached and shoulders trembled after he lifted the beast onto them to carry it back to the gates of Ondolathom. His arms hung low, exhaustion long took hold of him, so sore and clenched were his hands that they felt as if they were made of stone, having to use one hand to open and close the other. As the prophet continued he approached the alter, a silent pray upon his lips to Teneras for guiding him to this moment. He swore his own oath to her, to defend those in need, to prevent what pain he could, to fight for those who could not defend themselves, that he was ready to serve her devotedly.

He removed his helmet and left it to the bottom of steps, he ascended, hands obediently behind his back, the chalice offered out to him. Thane lowered his head in thanks as he took it, what felt like an eternity passed as he looked into its waters, like liquid silver it seemed to Thane, hands trembling he took a breath, raising the chalice to his lips, he drank until he had emptied it. His mind began to travel on its own, limbs already losing their own control he lowered himself to his knees and closed his eyes. His heart raced as he prepared himself, to take every detail of this vision, to ensure he could carry every single request of his Mortal Goddess. There was naught but darkness, he assured himself this must just be the transition, that soon he would see his destiny, his fate as a champion of Teneras. Nervousness gave way to paranoia, paranoia crumbled to doubt, doubt was drowned by dread until he felt a hand upon his shoulder. It was the prophet of Messane, the candles of the temple had gone low, for how long Thane was there he could not say, but his body ached ever more as confusion filled him. Words filled his ears, but only as if they were behind glass or under water to him, echoed, quiet, afar.

"What did you see, my son?"

"N...nothing...only darkness filled my mind. I saw nothing before me, no words filled my ears, no message. I felt....cold?"

The prophet called upon his high priestess, and many other worshippers of the Fate Keeper and discussed amongst themselves, the younger members proposed infinitive thoughts and possibilities to this. "He was rejected" The high priestess' voice was heavy and sorrowful, she said none had gotten this far to fail, but this was the only possibility. The world fell out from underneath Thane, he felt confused and numb, everything happened around him, like years passed by his moments as adrenaline hit him and his breathe went heavy, all vision went smaller, more precise as he moved to his helmet, hands shaking he placed it back on, lowering his visor so none could see his shame, he picked back up his armaments as the priest stepped back outside, moments followed before his family stepped in, parents and grandparents, Markus was even there, his mother held him as his father stayed quiet, stern and grim in this moment, Thane glanced as Lairge seemed to be moving to speak until Leoncroi raised a hand to stop him, eyes cold and cruel to his son. The day continued, his head never raised up he never took off his equipment, only standing or sitting, he ate nothing, drank nothing, said nothing, the high priestess's words clung to his throat and nothing could make it past them.

"He was rejected."

Thane sat himself in the garden of his home, out the back upon a long stone couch, his mind itself tore into him in this time, quiet as his exterior was a voice in his mind berated him, insulted him, mocked him, screamed at him. How could he have failed, how could even he fail this, with the greatest teachers, with the books to study, with the believe he was loyal to Teneras, how could he have failed her, why did he fail her. All he ever wanted was to please her, to please his family too, to make everyone proud, and he failed. His body jolted as a hand came to rest on his shoulder, a soft familiar voice met his ears, and like the words of undoing to a spell, Thane seemed to stir from his lethargic state, his head turned to the side and up to her. Lucille, eyes a soft hazel and hair pulled back into a long pony tail, cloak clasped over her shoulders. There were no words of mockery nor teasing, eyes filled with concern and sadness she sat next to him, hand over his with a thumb rubbing against gauntlet. Even through steel, leather and padding he could feel it, feel her. He did not speak, neither did she, there were no words of comfort that could serve for this moment. Tears fell quickly, like a dam breached as he held her hand, another hand over his face, elbow against his knee, she took his helmet off, holding Thane close she knew this was all he had ever dreamed of, and it fell apart in front of him. From the home, onlooking then, Markus nodded to Leoncroi before leaving, little did Thane nor Lucille know but they were being watched by a diligent mentor and a concerned grandfather, who clung to the notion that this was punishment, for his own crimes and for those of Lairge too, punishment for falling from her graces perhaps. Never did he vocalize them, for no good would they do.

Days turned to weeks and the first rumblings of war in the Rustlinglands were heard, a place in need of knights to bring justice to evil, defend the innocent and fight the good fight. Thane had not told Lucille he intended on enlisting, only after did she discover, rushing to him after he had agreed to join. Her hand was warm and with a sharp pain he recoiled as she planted it across his cheek. In the darkness of an Ondathian night, cobblestone street empty, save them and the occasional cat or mouse, she stepped close, anger in her heart, anger born of fear.

"What the fuck, since when are you allowed to just go join in a war in a country that's across the sea to us?!"

He kept his composure as best he could, little did he know his voice was trembling as she shouted, he tried to keep his own voice quiet but could not and it returned back to her with as much emotion.

"Since there's innocence there that need help, since there's been a bloody coup and I am not going to sit here while others go off to war without me. I...I'm sorry I didn't tell you, you and I know you'd have tried to talk me out of it. But it is done now."

She paced in front of him in frustration, feeling betrayed in this moment, her hands by the side of her head, fingers curled inward as she threw her arms down to her sides, she turned to face him, finger pushed against his chest, eyes locked with his. Thunder rolled in over them as rain began to pour, the two stood silent, looking intently at one another as Thane lifted his shoulder, raising his cloak over her head.

"Go home, out of the rain Eirstaer, I'll...I talk to you again...hopefully...."

Thane's dreams were plagued with sights and sensations that tore at him, the world fell from under him, he struck against bodies, screams of the dying rang in his ears as darkness took his vision. His sleep, uneasy, he prepared to set out, the ships were already preparing to set off, holy warriors saying farewell to lovers, wives and children. His own family had said their goodbyes at the home, he left alone, bag slung over his shoulder, heavy with rations, dried fruits and breads, his mother ensured he had everything he needed. Salt sea air filled his nostrils and lungs as he made a final check of everything he would need.

"Got everything you need to leave us, Thane?"

He turned to see her, Lucille, standing alone, hazel eyes filled with concern and sorrow. He stepped close to her, closing up his bag and hoisting it over his shoulder. She was the one thing he knew he would regret leaving behind.

"Lucille, I have to do this, I cannot stay here knowing people need he-"

"Are you sure that's why you're going, Thane?"

Her eyes pierced him and he felt any bravado fall away, any disguise was pointless against her and Thane was reminded in this moment of that truth. He could not express truly why he was going or what he hoped to gain, maybe he hoped he would never return, as much as that thought made his gourd rise. Lucille does not wait for him to respond as her hand grabs the top of his armor and pulls him in, a kiss, and Thane has to struggle not to collapse with weak knees at the sudden display, neither wanted to pull away until Lucille shoved Thane back out to arm's length, flicking his nose as she did.

"There, now you have a reason to come back, swear to me that you will."

"I..I promise I wi-" "Nanana, none of that, swear by Teneras you'll come back to Ondolathom......back to me"

Thane paused for a long moment, his hands over hers as he held them tight.

"So long as there is breath in my body I will return to you, Lucille, I promise you this, with that which you own; all of my heart."

A whistle was blown from the ship as he turned, the final call for everyone to come aboard was sounded as he turned back to here, both of them had tears in their eyes as she nodded at him.

"I'll be so mad with you if you don't Eistaer, I'm warning you..."

Her half-attempted threats fell way as she stepped back from Thane, hands holding eachother until it was just finger tips, he turned and stepped up on the ship, once he was up he stood and looked to her and she to him, her hand raised up in a wave to him as he smiled to her and waved back, and so they kept eyes locked long after the ship was over the horizon and Lucille stepped away back to Ondolathom as Thane set out towards the Rustlinglands, and to an entirely new adventure awaiting him.

#Thane and Lucille #Broken Promises #Thane #Lucille #my writing #long post

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