#i think that i like the complexity in their relationship in wolf hall | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

unusual-raccoon · 1 year

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Wolves at the Door | by Unusual_Raccoon (JaceLuke)

@greeksorceress @livinginafantasysposts @theartificialintellect @lita-the-sissy

Warnings: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark Jacaerys Velaryon, Politically Savvy Jacaerys Velaryon, Possessive Jacaerys Velaryon, Jealous Lucerys Velaryon (Son of Rhaenyra), Codependency, Manipulation, Unhealthy Relationships, Dom/sub Undertones, Disturbing Themes, Breathplay, Implied/ Referenced Blow Jobs, Oral Fixation, Ball Sucking, Come Swallowing, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

Summary:

*Connected to The Benefit of Losing, Calm Before the Storm, & Higher Than Honor*

“Prince Lucerys,” the Lord greets, his voice deep and commanding, “Welcome to Winterfell. Forgive my absence, I-”

Another set of footsteps echoes against the stone and they are all he can hear, even as Lord Stark continues to speak; his words fall upon deaf ears. Lucerys knows those footsteps, the cadence more familiar than the beat of his own heart, he had chased after those footsteps his entire life…

He would follow it to the grave if needs must.

“Brother”

WC: 2,9K

Ao3 Link

___

Within a few short days of being hosted by Lady Jeyne Arryn, Lucerys tires of the Vale.

During his stay in the Eyrie, Lucerys informs the Queen of their gained allies in the Vale. He receives letters from his mother in turn informing him that Jacaerys had secured the support of Sisterton and White Harbor and had arrived safely in Winterfell, where he negotiated with Lord Stark.

The Lady of the Vale invites him to stay as long as he needs, though Lucerys only remains in her care for three days and three nights before departing upon the fourth morning.

Lady Jeyne and her companion, the Lady Jessamyn Redfort, who had joined them upon the second day of Lucerys’ stay, bid the prince farewell and safe passage.

And he flies North…

He imagined it would take longer to arrive, but Arrax is swift and he does not dawdle in his journey.

Luke’s eyes water fiercely in the brisk cold, but he is warmed yet by the knowledge that every moment he spends on dragonback brings him that much closer to his brother. To his Jace.

Winterfell is a sprawling complex - a huge and foreboding structure of icy gray granite.

“Naejot” Lucerys commands, leaning forward in his saddle, hands firm upon the reins as Arrax drops like a thrown spear towards the snow-dusted ground.

He beats his pearlescent wings to slow their descent, allowing his young dragon to land like a hawk, upon agile feet. Luke strokes fondly at his dragon’s neck when they land.

“State your business,” A guard demands before Luke can unfasten the chains holding him to his saddle.

Arrax warbles a curious sound, snout sniffing the air when a dark shadow passes over them and a leathery cry bellows through the clouds.

Lucerys tilts his head up, skin tingling.

Half of a dead elk splatters to the ground from between Vermax’s smiling jaws. Luke watches with a rapt fascination as his brother’s large green dragon lands, the ground trembles, the other half of his meal still hangs mangled between his teeth.

Arrax shrieks in delight.

The pale-faced guards seem to gather his business quickly then.

He is escorted through various courtyards and beyond indistinguishable buildings.

Tall doors of oak and iron are parted for him and his arrival is heralded to an almost empty great hall, much to the horror of the guard.

There is a massive stone seat with snarling large wolf heads chiseled into it. The sight makes Lucerys grimace.

The banners of great houses line the walls.

It is warmer inside than he imagined.

A serving girl flits in his periphery.

“Lord Stark will arrive shortly,” She informs the guard and Luke thanks her upon reflex.

“No doubt the news of another dragon landing before the keep has reached his ears.”

She offers a soft smile.

Another, he thinks. Luke’s pulse quickens.

He does not wait for very long before he hears the thunder of approaching footsteps upon the stone floors.

The man that stalks into the great hall is strapping and broad and tall. The young lord possessed a rather self-serious expression, all compounded by his somewhat frightening appearance, bearded and brooding. His eyes are reminiscent of a winter’s storm, when Lucerys meets them, a shiver cuts through him.

“Prince Lucerys,” the Lord greets, his voice deep and commanding, “Welcome to Winterfell. Forgive my absence, I-”

He would follow it to the grave if needs must.

“Brother” Jacaerys exhales as he steps through the open mouth of a corridor, firelight catching his sugar sweet eyes. War loomed ever closer as they rallied their mother’s loyalists and yet all felt right in the world.

It has been three days and yet Lucerys feels like it has been years, languishing in his brother’s absence. Wasting away. Bits of himself sloughing off like flesh from a corpse.

Jace is hale and hearty and Luke wants to weep with joy, he wants to laugh in triumph at every horror that had chased him from sleep over the past few nights. Jacaerys is alive and well and smiling; his heart sings.

He nearly sprints across the hall and leaps into his brother’s arms. Nearly binds himself to Jacaerys like a barnacle to a ship’s hull. Nearly melts to his knees.

There is a lift to Jacaerys’ brow that steadies him, a brief look that says ‘wait’.

He wishes to weep at the unending cruelty of the wordless command. He had waited for days, masturbated furiously for days and yet he is still tormented by this incurable illness…this love.

And Jace wants him to wait even longer.

Lucerys obeys his brother’s command.

There is more conversation to be had, simply not by Lucerys. His head feels stuffed with cotton as he watches his brother make nice with the wolfman, devoid of any thought but: want, want, want. He keeps an insipid, amiable smile on his lips as he stares at his brother in a daze. He feels sane once more.

“Sara,” Lord Cregan calls and the serving girl’s head perks up quickly, “Please show Prince Lucerys to the guest chambers where he will be staying.”

If Cregan’s eyes are a winter’s storm, the serving girl, Sara, has eyes as silver as freshly fallen snow. Similarly cold and unnerving, but oddly beautiful. It must be a common feature in northerners.

“At once Lord Stark,” She says dutifully.

Luke is led away, though his feet only move when Jace walks with him.

As they move through warm halls of granite and wood, he shivers at the discreet brush of a hand against his. The brief flick of a finger between his own. A blunt nail catches at the tender webbing of skin. His body burns.

They arrive at chambers with a large fur-lined bed and roaring hearth. The space is so warm, Lucerys feels dizzy. He licks his teeth, itches for the brush of a finger again.

The serving girl is speaking, but he isn’t listening. His spine throbs when he hears his brother laugh. Gods, that sounded nice, oozed sticky sweet like honey over his brain.

He wished to dine on the sounds his brother could make. To subsist on them alone.

But then his vision clears and he notices something. Jace is smiling…at her. That serving girl. He thinks of the girl from the Vale, the plain-faced thing from the kitchens that giggled and fawned over Jacaerys in passing.

Except this girl isn’t plain. She is a beauty. Her eyes are freshly fallen snow. Her hair dark as a raven’s feathers, stark against her pale skin. And when Jace smiles, she smiles back.

You were gone too long, you were gone too long, Jace’s voice in his head taunts. Luke’s temples throb. His blood screams.

Days, why had he waited days? Why had he waited at all?

He should’ve fought Jace harder, he should’ve-

He envisions melting the frigid fucking North. An ocean’s worth of water to drown her in…

She smiles that vapid smile and Luke nearly lunges at her, sword drawn. He squeezes hard at the flared fishtail pommel until his fingers ache.

The door to his chambers closes and being faced with his brother’s handsome face is an agony. Jace’s grin is Vermax’s. He wants that smile to eat him. A hand brushes his shoulder and Luke jumps.

“Do you fancy her?”

The words do not connect until Jace’s grip tightens and pain blossoms across his skin.

“What?” Luke balks at his brother, tongue feeling fat, inarticulate in his mouth.

“Sara?” His brother asks, wrath lurched - why did he know her name? “The girl,” Jace motions, grip loosening - the lack of touch, however brief, feels like losing him.

Hurt me, he begs in the safety of his mind.

“Do you fancy her?” Jace asks a second time, slowly, as though Lucerys were dumb or deaf.

“I fancy killing her,” He says without thinking, no midpoint to be found between the hate in his skull and the passage of his lips. The admission leaves his mouth sandy and dry. His palms are slick.

He blinks and sees the jagged expanse of his brother’s smile, it is Vermax’s smile and yet Lucerys envisions himself as the elk between his teeth. Something to be consumed. His knees weaken.

“I-”

“You wish to kill her?” Jace echoes and Lucerys nearly flinches for the words feel far too close to chastisement.

“No,” Lucerys lies, guilt swims molten in his stomach, nausea tickles his throat.

Make me sick, he thinks, we would both be happy if you make me sick.

His brother’s smile fades instantly, cruel fingers take hold of his face, jostles him like a miscreant in need of punishment. Jacaerys’ nostrils flare, his breath is hot, Lucerys longs for the brand of ownership the lingering violet sting of his brother’s touch will leave upon his skin. He swallows thickly, the power of Vermax’s roar pulses at the base of his skull.

“What have I told you of telling the truth?” Jacaerys asks sharply and Luke wishes to dangle from his brother’s fingers, a lifeless thing, a hanged man.

“T-that you would never use it against me…” Lucerys recites, pleased for the way his earnest response softens the anger in his brother’s eyes.

“Hm,” Jace hums in agreement, giving Luke’s head another shake, reorienting him; his jaw aches. There is pride in the blackness of his brother’s eyes.

“I’ll ask again: do you wish to kill her?”

“Yes,” he answers in a whisper, unabashed.

Jacaerys’ touch softens, fingers soothe over tender skin beginning to swell with fresh bruising.

“Why?” His brother asks, with a look that Luke knows - it is almost sympathetic.

A thumb perches upon the soft swell of Lucerys’ lower lip, his throat bobs. He can feel his good sense drip from his skull. How was he to think with Jace’s thumb on his lips?

“I don’t know,” he mumbles.

“Yes, you do,” Jace tells him and if his brother knows it to be true, then it must be true.

“I-” Lucerys pauses, wetting his lips, tongue catching upon the roughened skin of Jacaerys’ thumb, heat sparks in his stomach, “it is foolish.”

“Of that I have no doubt”

Luke whines, ears stinging hot with humiliation, he writhes in discomfort; a hooked trout suffocating, lips blathering, gills straining.

“Tell me,” His brother bade, a smug sort of amusement plain upon his handsome face.

“She…she appears rather fond of you.”

His cheeks catch fire, stinging with envy.

“She smiled at you.”

When Jace smiles it is a ravenous thing.

He is shoved abruptly, he yelps. Throat cinched shut, the impulse to apologize is quick to his lips. Fattened, useless lips that serve no purpose than to part for his brother’s cock.

His panic and delight froths white-hot when coarse fur scratches the sweat-slick skin of his nape. Lucerys is crushed beneath the press of his brother’s weight, pressed to his bed so suddenly he can hardly make sense of where he is.

He is in the North. He is with Jace. Under Jace. He is where he belongs.

Jace’s palm fits around his throat.

His brother’s breath washes warm over his skin.

A knee presses between splayed thighs; desire blisters his body.

Jace squeezes until Luke aches for oxygen, his head throbs and his chest burns. His brother takes and takes and takes.

When Lucerys feels his consciousness begin to wane with the tug of bittersweet blackness blurring his vision, the snarl of the hearth in his ears, Arrax’s delight shriek bouncing around his skull, the fleeting brush of warmth against his lips draws him back with a gasp.

Jace was kissing him.

His brother’s grip loosens and his cheeks flush hot with the blood that pulses to his emaciated brain and his lungs swell to the point of pain at the flood of oxygen that is nearly too much…

He presses back with clumsy, desperate lips.

He craves his brother’s affection more ardently than the need to breathe. Always, always.

Jace’s tongue flicks against the seam of his mouth.

“Oh” Luke murmurs, sweat gathering at his temples.

His brother smiles down at him and it is warmth incarnate. Lucerys wants to strip away his clothing, strip away his skin.

“You’re not angry with me?” he asks in his smallest voice, mouth opening when Jace dipped his head down to taste it again.

Luke’s toes curl.

“No,” Jace breathes into his mouth, “‘M not angry with you.”

“Oh,” Luke giggles, dizzy with relief, excited.

He squirms under his brother’s body, lathes kisses upon his chin and lips.

“Do you want my mouth?” Lucerys asks and his brother rumbles a mangled sound, torn between a laugh and a groan against his dark curls.

“Do you want me to want your mouth, brother?” Jacaerys counters with a coy slant of his lips that he wishes to kiss.

“Yes” Luke answers swiftly.

He feels the cage of his brother’s arm tighten around him, it robs him of breath and sanity.

“I have missed you, Luke.” And perhaps that is enough to make his mouth water. He prays, body supine to his deity made flesh, yearns for further benevolence in the form of wanting lips upon his.

He spends his evening between his brother’s parted thighs, head bobbing, lips plumped and wet with viscous, messy saliva. Thick dregs of it drip from his chin and darken the fresh linens. Jacaerys sat back against the bed’s headboard, Lucerys’ chin rested briefly upon his knee.

Luke rubs his fattened tongue over the roof of his mouth, savoring the salt-scorched state of his palate. He suckles at the flushed tip of his brother’s cock, moans at the sticky briny spill that aches his strained jaws.

Lucerys dips his head lower, lathes swollen lips over the heft of his brother’s balls. The darts his tongue over flesh tastes the musk of sweat. He slurps a testicle into the warmth of his mouth, kicking his feet happily as Jace’s cock gives an inspired twitch against Lucerys’ face.

“You have emptied them,” Jace hums, voice hoarse, fingers in Lucerys’ hair as he nuzzles his brother’s balls.

“Glutton,” Jacaerys adds with a flick to Luke’s ear.

He giggles in return, tastes acid in his throat.

Lucerys does not giggle when he hears a knock upon the door. He frowns and bats his lashes at his brother until Jacaerys pulls on trousers to match his unlaced tunic.

He strides upon bare feet to their oaken door.

“Oh-” Luke hears the serving girl, Sara, speak, “Apologies, my prince. I- Lord Cregan, did not wish to disturb your reunion with the young prince Lucerys and merely asked that supper be brought to you both-”

“Please thank your lord for his generosity.”

There is an inflection in his brother’s voice that Lucerys cannot place.

“Of course.” The girl replies, her steps echo upon the stone floors, growing more and more distant.

Jace enters Lucerys’ chambers, a covered platter containing their supper balanced in one hand.

“You should eat,” Jace hums as he rejoins Luke upon the bed, much to the young prince’s delight.

“I am not hungry,” Luke claims with a self-important tilt of his chin. Jacaerys laughs and it is nourishment enough.

Jace flicks his ear, smiles as he plucks a bit of pork smothered in a fragrant gravy between his fingers.

“Glutton” He chastises lovingly.

Jacaerys never does wander back to his own chambers. And when Lucerys drifts off to sleep, his mind is blissfully empty, head tucked against his brother’s shoulder. Their fingers laced just as they did when they were young…

Distantly, Luke is certain he can hear the mingled song of their dragons.

He rubs a hand over his sour stomach and smiles.

Sara attempts to will away the tremble from her fingers, navigating the halls to a keep she had never been allowed to call her home… until now.

She lingers before the lord’s chambers, raps a closed fist against the solid oak framed in the wrought iron images of wolves.

“Enter” She hears Cregan’s deep voice beckon.

The young wolf of Winterfell resides inside, seated in a stiff chair before the hearth.

“How are our guests?” He questions without averting his gaze from the fire as Sara gathers the remains of his own scavenged supper from his desk.

“Well,” She answers quietly at first, a smile spreads slowly upon her lips, “The prince Jacaerys expressed his gratitude for your…consideration.”

“I thought he might,” Cregan answered, something akin to fondness in his voice.

Sara wets her lips, gathers his plates and untouched goblet of strongwine.

“Is there anything else you should require of me, my lord?”

His chair groans, wood well-worn. Heat lashes down her nape. Rivulets of wine slosh over pale knuckles and she swallows a curse.

Sara lifts her gaze and finds herself pinned beneath fire-wreathed silver eyes so very like her own. Her core tightens.

“No,” He answers, honor-bound, dutiful Cregan. But his eyes speak the truth, the truth their young royal guests could commiserate in. There was no love like that of a brother.

___

A/N: If you saw the end and didn't approve of the POV change - no you didn't.

#my writing #jaceluke #jaceluke agenda #jacaerys velaryon #lucerys velaryon #jacaerys x lucerys #hotd fanfic

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ghouliquid · 1 year

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Hey, I noticed your fanart on some of the characters from Magical Diary:Horse Hall. I have to ask, since I don't really see many opinions and analysis' on his character; what do you think of Damien?

The first time I played Magical Diary when I was a teenager, man I was head over heels for him! Now at 26 years old, I still like him, but it's more of a love-hate sort of way. If I wasn't ace...let's just say him and I would probably be hate-screwing each other, if that makes sense. c:

hey! thanks for the question, i've never really gotten anything like this before so i'll try to answer best i can ^^

i initially discovered magical diary around a decade ago, and similarly i fell head over heels in love with him hahaha, and honestly...? probably not as intensely as when i was a kid, but i still absolutely love him. damien sparked my love for characters of his type, and he's consistently been my favorite character from magical diary. he's complex in the most agonizingly dramatic way, and i fucking LOVE him for that, he pisses me off yet pulls me in every time i find myself hyperfixating on the game again. both of his routes are equally as fun/amusing/spicy(?), really enjoyed the different take for a damien path in wolf hall bc i felt worried that it'd just be a replay of the horse hall path, but i was pleasantly surprised! but i think i lean more towards his horse hall path, i just love the idea of an all powerful demon willing to do anything for me in a toxic yet exhilarating fashion, though i might be somewhat of a hopeless romantic (dark romantic?).

i think when i was younger i was more into self-inserting, and liked to ship damien with myself/mary sue, though in recent years i've really been loving damien/william. no one has any idea how ECSTATIC i was when their relationship was expanded on more in wolf hall (god there is so many things they expanded on that i was happy about, but that was the MAIN thing) and it really just fueled the fire for me. i don't know if anyone out there actively likes this ship as well, but if there's someone, i'd love to hear thoughts. i'm not much of an analyst myself but love reading other peoples stuff! that also goes for both characters individually as well haha

again, thanks for the question!! basically, i'm just a damien enthusiast. i love everything about him because whats not to like? :3

#asks #isekai-empress #magical diary #damien ramsey

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mdhwrites · 1 year

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Magical Diary Wolf Hall: Spend a Year In Magical School But No More

Magical Diary: Wolf Hall is a visual novel that has a very simple pitch: You are an exchange student from... somewhere, living in America for one year in order to be a normal teenager and experience the new culture before your duties at home force you to say goodbye. You’ll take classes to determine what magic you know, test your capabilities in the dungeon, have fun with your hall mates and potentially find love in this land.

It does this exceptionally well though. The magical school has its Hogwarts flair with different halls, hence the name Wolf Hall as the game before this (which you don’t need to play as I didn’t) is called Horse Hall, but it has its own twists as the halls are more about personalities. This allows you to better match up with your roommate and have a partner in crime for the years ahead of you. In theory, it means leaving here you have at least one friend.

And that is kind of the angle taken with a lot of the lessons in the game. Besides just reveling in magic in general and rituals and customs, it’s all meant to make sure these young wizards both master their powers and learn how to use them responsibly. There’s many different angles with this, explored with different characters, etc. like that but magically that’d be my pitch.

And I do want to make something clear: I mentioned dungeon diving with the magic and that wasn’t me over exaggerating. Every month you do need to put your spells to the test and your skills are earned through light RPG mechanics where every week you have five slots with which to spend your time. At certain thresholds, you gain new spells which is charmingly simple and nostalgic for me as a kid who grew up with games where you had to help a young girl get by in life and try to make something of herself.

Admittedly, I shouldn’t be surprised as this is the same team who did Long Live the Queen which is a BRUTAL visual novel and evokes those old games even harder.

The real show stealer here though is the characters. I did three paths personally, two main and one side, and both of the main girls I did were delightful in their own ways with their own twists, turns and fun, flip sides to their personalities that I won’t spoil. What I will say is that the first girl I went after, Barbara, was so fascinating to me that I really want to use a character like her in my own writing someday. But in general, if you want characters who are still genuinely their archtype but with maybe a bit more depth and a bit more complexity than you may expect, just enough to make them feel a bit more human, this game delivers in spades.

I also think it handles its romance INCREDIBLY well. Though I also get that some people might find the bittersweet nature of the premise to be a bit of a turn off. You are going to leave and this is freshman year. That is an immutable fact and the conversations I saw about this dilemma were compelling and painful and sweet. After all, sometimes as kids you have to say goodbye because life simply tears you apart and though that maybe doesn’t mean goodbye forever, how optimistic each person is about that will vary.

One moment I want to highlight without too many specifics is that Barbara at one point did something that was deeply worrying as it seemed she was upset out of nowhere. I couldn’t talk to her until the next day when she explained that it was a test of sorts. When I explained that I almost failed the test because I was concerned about her, she paused and actually had to admit that maybe not talking to your friend was a bad idea and that the confusion was in fact her fault. It was a moment of push and pull in a relationship, the difficulty of wanting to check boundaries but also not knowing how, that I ADORED.

Not to say the writing is always amazing.The side path I did was REAL rough and a little offensive about bi stereotypes in my mind as they’re the only blatantly bi character I saw in the game. It also is absolutely a game set in America made by people who aren’t American so they don’t catch language that is... Awkward to put it mildly like when in the second week of the game, Seniors are ‘claiming’ freshman as their ‘property’ as part of a week long hazing ritual.

And no, this game never gets anywhere close to passing the PG-13 line so it’s not a kink thing.

There are other small oddities here and there, such as the fact that the freshman are 16 which makes the senior, two of whom you can pursue and are you main options if you want to date dudes, 20 because this is a four year school. They also bring up pregnancy on potentially more than two occasions and are NOWHERE near as adverse to the topic concerning teenagers as any staff member of an American school absolutely would be. It never gets to the point of fetishizing anything really, even the hazing is kept really tame, but it tows the line on more than one occasion.

If you can get past that though, you’ll find a charming game with a wonderful cast, some fun magic, genuinely compelling twists and romances that I don’t think I’ll immediately be forgetting. Not when they were as beautiful as a wolf’s howl.

#Magical Diary #Video Games

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tiffdawg · 4 years

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I’ll Be Your Princess Too | A Fennec Shand x Reader Story

Gif: @bestintheparsec

Pairing: Fennec Shand x Reader (fem; no y/n)

Word Count: 2.6k

Rated: E | Warnings: NSFW – explicit sexual content, Fennec gives the strap, cum as lube, squirting, oral sex (f receiving), dirty talk. Open relationships; reader is also involved with Boba Fett. Mild language. 18+ only.

A/N: I promise this isn’t Boba slander, but Fennec does get a couple good hits in. Also, the reader’s relationship with Boba is left undefined but I want to make it clear that she doesn’t cheat on him. They have an understanding of sorts that works for them. The reader is also bi/pan/whatever suits you best! I just know my little bi heart would want both of them.

Read on AO3

My Masterlist

... . ...

I’ll Be Your Princess Too

You tiptoed out of the quarters you shared with Tatooine’s newest king and through the dark halls of the underground complex. Boba was sound asleep after a particularly grueling day. You’d coaxed a few details out of him when he’d first retired for the night, but it was much the same as every other day. While he was a cunning and perceptive leader, he had little patience for the more diplomatic aspects of his position. He’d often remarked to you that some problems were better solved with a blaster. That night you’d suggested he vent with his own frustrations not with words but action. Reclining on his bed, you parted your legs and offered yourself to him. He accepted with a genuine smile.

Judging by the silence that had fallen over the old Hutt castle, that was hours ago.

Slipping into the commissary, you scoured the cabinets for something small to quell your midnight cravings. You selected a dish of muja fruit imported from Naboo. It was something of a delicacy in the Outer Rim. Biting into the ripe flesh, the sweet juices flooded your mouth and you hummed in delight. So lost in the flavor and the solitude offered by the late hour, you startled when the mechanical door behind you suddenly slid open.

Fennec Shand watched you from the threshold. The former mercenary was a woman to be feared across the galaxy and in your months at the palace, you’d quickly learned that nothing slipped past the sharpshooter’s perceptive gaze. What she was looking for in you, you had no idea.

“What are you still doing up, princess?” Chills erupted across your bare skin despite yourself at her subtle mocking. The endearment always felt different when it slipped past her lips. When Boba bestowed it upon you, it settled in your heart. When she said it… well, it struck something deeper. Something you didn’t understand.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you replied quietly. You cursed your voice for failing you. Around Shand, your confidence gave way to an uncertainty and hesitation that was unlike you. When she didn’t give so much as a shifting expression in response, you held out your plate of fruit in silent offering.

Unaffected, she moved deeper into the room to fetch her favorite spotchka, quickly uncorking it and drinking straight from the bottle. If history had any bearing, you figured that was the end of your interaction and you turned your attention back to your fruit. But after she’d taken a long pull, she spoke again.

“Then Fett didn’t fuck you properly.”

You gaped at her. You weren’t surprised at her cutting assessment or cool delivery. What confused you was the hint of a challenge lacing her tone and shining through her dark eyes. A challenge you returned.

“Think you could do better?” you asked, excitement stirring inside you.

Shand didn’t say anything for a drawn-out moment as she eyed you. Before you could even start to worry that you’d misread the situation, the corner of her mouth quirked upward in the smallest hint of a smile.

“Yes.”

… . …

From your position on your back, reclined against the single pillow on her small bunk, you watched Shand’s every move as she strapped on the harness. Wearing only a thin black tunic and a pair of sensible briefs, it was the most you’d ever seen of her and you catalogued every scar that marked her skin. They were signs not of her weakness but of her strength. Of her survival. Your eyes were drawn back to her hands as she turned to you. Anticipation swelled in your belly as she tightened the straps with a little more force than strictly necessary. She was showing off. For you.

Anticipation turned to pure arousal when you saw the size of the dildo she planned to fuck you with. “Oh, gods,” you sighed around a hysterical laugh. With the back of your hand thrown over your eyes, you attempted to compose yourself.

“Is my cock bigger than Fett’s, princess?” she asked. You peaked at her and found a smile fit for a Loth-wolf. The first real smile you’d seen on the woman and it was for you.

“Well,” you started as you searched for a diplomatic answer. You were not really one to talk about your lover’s prowess with others. Compared to her toy, what Boba lacked in length, he more than made up for in girth. “He is rather well-endowed, but I think you will satisfy me in an entirely different way.”

She nodded, apparently pleased with your answer. Kneeling on the bed, she hiked up your white silk shift and pulled your matching panties down your legs, knocking your knees apart in the process.

“You’re still dripping with his cum,” she observed, nonplused. She swiped a hand through your soaked folds. Locking eyes with you as she stroked her cock, Shand issued her final warning. “I’m going to make this messy little cunt mine.”

You clenched around nothing at her words and she laughed at your body’s reaction to her. Shand traced her tip through your folds and around your clit, teasing you until you writhed under her, whining in frustration. Her cockiness only turned you on. You felt her notch her tip at your entrance and you took a deep breath as you waited for her to enter you. Then, with a serious look and a raised brow, she asked for your permission.

“Fuck me,” you breathed, nodding your consent. “Show me you’re more than just talk.”

You got exactly what you’d asked for.

With a roll of her hips, Shand sheathed herself in you. You cried out, body arching off the bed and begging for more. Without waiting for you to adjust – not needing to you as you’d been properly stretched out and prepared by Boba earlier – she pulled out and slammed back in again and again, punching the very air out of your lungs. You glanced down between your bodies to where her body met yours. Every time she withdrew, you caught a glimpse of your arousal coating the dildo. It only made you wetter and you groaned at the sight as you fell back against the bed.

“Oh fuck,” you mewled, as you gasped for breath. “Yes, yes, yes!”

With each stroke, she went deeper and deeper inside you, filling your aching pussy like no one ever had before. You savored the slap of her thighs against the back of yours as she pounded into you. The first tears pearled at the corners of your eyes, but you didn’t wipe them away. You wanted her to see what she did to you and your whimpers only spurred her on.

“You like it when it hurts a little, don’t you?” Fennec asked. Her cool demeanor reflected the way she fucked you. She was in control.

You nodded against the pillow with a dizzy little smile. You lifted your slip, bunching up the fabric to reveal your chest to her. You keened under her gaze as she admired the way your tits bounced in time with her thrusts. Putting on a show for her, you squeezed and fondled your breasts, pinching your nipples until they were hard and perky. She wasn’t one to say much but when her hands gripped your hips tighter, hard enough to leave bruises Boba would see later, you knew she liked it.

And you… you liked her.

“Fennec,” you pleaded, speaking her name perhaps for the first time, “kiss me.”

Pushing your knees to your chest, she bent over you and slotted her mouth against yours. Her tongue licked at the seam of your lips, seeking entrance you granted easily. Her lips were surprisingly soft and moved perfectly with yours. Like you were made for each other. Your chest hollowed at the taste of her and you cupped her cheeks, unwilling to part for a moment. It was like you’d spent years wandering Tatooine’s dry desert and only her kiss could quench your thirst. By some miracle, she only deepened the kiss.

Even as she kissed you, Fennec’s hips never stopped their steady pace and you felt yourself cresting higher and higher at the deeper angle. You encircled your arms around her neck, wanting to hold her close. But when she shredded against something divine and you threw your head back in pleasure, lips parting from hers as desperate, breathy moans escaped you.

Eyes screwed shut, you focused on the sensation of her breath against your skin, her body moving with yours, her cock filling you deliciously. It was all too much. Then Fennec gripped your chin and forced you to look at her. You noticed the sweat on her brow and the few strands of hair slipped out of her perfect plait. She commanded you through gritted teeth. “Cum on my cock, princess.”

Without warning, she changed her tactic, abandoning her deep thrusts to focus the head of her cock on that spongy soft spot inside you. As you came, falling apart with a wail for the whole castle to hear, you soaked her and the sheets. Every nerve in your body burned as pleasure licked through your veins like wildfire. You willingly succumbed to the inferno, body and soul.

Eyes still shut and ears ringing, her name fell from your lips as a whisper. Fen, Fen, Fen. Your tight cunt squeezed her length as she fucked you through your orgasm, yet she kissed you with a gentleness you never knew she was capable of, breathing air back into your lungs.

When you finally slipped back into consciousness, Fennec pulled out carefully. Before she moved off the bed, she stopped to admire her work. Your pussy was still pulsing and you could feel the dampened sheets beneath you. She looked down at you with half lidded eyes and her head held high and you knew she was proud. She only had one word for you. “Mine.”

“Only if you can share.”

She shrugged and moved away from the bed to take off her harness. “Can he?”

“We have an understanding.” She didn’t say anything, but she was pleased with your answer. She must’ve expected it.

A moment later, she returned to you. She laid on her side with a bent arm propping up her head and watched you come down from your high with a satisfied smirk. You mirrored her position. Even the dim light failed to soften her as she relaxed next to you. Fennec looked as powerful as she did with a rifle in hand. But you were starting to see what laid beneath her hard exterior.

Reaching out carefully, you dared soothe a hand over the toned muscle of her arm, across her strong shoulder, and down her sweat-slicked chest. Cupping her breast, you squeezed the tender flesh through her tunic. Fennec’s lashes fluttered at the gesture though she resisted the temptation to let her eyes slip shut and give in to your touch. But you felt the way her breath hitched beneath your hand. Exhausted and perfectly sated, you were on the verge of sleep and yet you wanted more. You wanted her. “Fen,” you called to her softly, as you circled her hardening nipple through her shirt with the pad of your finger, “I want to make you feel good now.”

“Don’t worry, princess,” she smirked, “I’m not finished with you yet.”

“Then take your clothes off and spread your legs for me,” you suggested with a smile.

“No,” she replied tersely. You were confused for a moment before she continued. “I want to sit on this pretty face.”

You beamed at her. “You think I’m pretty?”

“I don’t know how Fett puts up with your mouth,” she mumbled. But there was no bite to her comment. You liked this new playful side.

“I’ll show you.” You licked your lips. “Let me taste you.”

Pushing you on your back, she kissed you soundly. Only when the two of you parted for air did you notice she’d wriggled out of her briefs. You tapped your finger on your lips, and she obliged you, quickly moving to straddle your face. The thought crossed your mind that she could probably crush you between her thighs if she was so inclined, but you decided that was the only way you’d want to go.

With a soft touch, you caressed her thighs, encouraging her to open up even further for you, and ran your hands up her body. As your fingers brushed the hem of her shirt, you hoped she’d take the hint and strip it off. Surprisingly, she listened. Now almost completely bare to you, your eyes darted across her body to take her in. She still wore a black band that covered the biomechanics in her midsection that allowed her to live. It was nothing short of a miracle that she was with you that night and you couldn't help but think that she was as beautiful as she was strong. You tucked that thought away for another time

“I like your perky tits, Fen,” you cooed instead as you kissed a hot trail across the inside of her thigh toward her center. For the first time since you’d met Fennec, her cheeks rouged, and a burst of confidence surged through you. Sliding your hands around to her ass, you pulled her cunt to your mouth and sealed your lips to her slick core. You hummed against her and pulled away just to tell her how sweet she tasted before diving back in. Her breathy little moan was reward enough.

You flattened your tongue against her folds a few times before swirling the tip of it around her clit. You suckled the little bundle of nerves and her thighs clenched around your head. As pleasure seemed to overtake her, she ground her core against your face, and you focused your attention there. You pulled delicious sighs from her, the like of which you didn’t know she was capable of, as you devoured her until she was shaking above you and coming on your tongue.

Before she could slip away from you, you kissed her clit. She rolled her eyes at you but smiled. A flustered Fennec was a sight to behold. As she moved off your face, you sat up, arms wrapping around her as you kissed her stomach, her tits, her neck, and then finally her lips, letting her taste herself. “See?” you murmured against her lips, “You’re actually very sweet.”

She sighed but relaxed into your hold for a moment.

“Let’s clean up,” she suggested eventually.

“I’ll be ready for round three after,” you said around a yawn as you stood on shaky legs.

Fennec looked puzzled over your tally for a moment before she scoffed. “So, Fett only lasted one round?”

“He was tired,” you defended.

“And so are you.”

You failed to hide your surprise when she guided you back to bed but you knew better than to question it. You prized your place in Boba’s bed and beside his throne, but he wouldn’t miss you that night. As the two of you slipped between the fresh sheets, a flash of uncertainty crossed her face.

“You’re his princess,” she said quietly, as if thinking out loud. But it was a needless worry.

“I’ll be your princess too,” you promised.

Perhaps in a rare moment of sentimentality, Fennec gathered you into her arms and kissed you. One kiss turned into two and then three. You couldn’t tell how long you lied there together, lips coming together and pulling apart again and again.

“Oh, my sweet Fen,” you whispered, “I’m going to fall in love with you.”

“Maybe I’ll let you,” she teased. But you knew what she really meant. Somehow, you’d slipped past her hard exterior. And somehow, this woman you’d hardly exchanged more than a few words with, only ever admired from afar, had a hold of your heart. You’d always known you were someone with too much love to give.

“Sleep, princess,” she commanded gently.

That time, your heart soared at the endearment.

... . ...

Thank you for reading!

Fennec Tags: @onfiretakemehigher @book-hoardingdragon @moonlit-djarin @ifimayhaveaword @fvriosa @leonieb @huliabitch @cinewhore @maythxthirstbxwithyou @mitchi-c @alexisinorbit @heresathreebee @gondowan @softskywalkcr @bellenuitcesoir @justanotherblonde23

#fennec shand #fennec shand x reader #fennec shand x you #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfic #fic: i'll be your princess too

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harrenhalyuri · 3 years

Text

for us, the wounds kissed long before the lips

23rd of Sun's Dawn, 1E 461, Alessian Empire.

During the coronation of Emperor Gorieus, the Hortator and the head of House Dagoth steal a moment for themselves.

tags: drinking & talking; angst; one-sided relationship; attempt at worldbuilding

ao3 version here

They stumbled forward laughing and shushing one another as the heavy oak doors closed behind them - the warmth and merry of the coronation feast left behind as the two stepped out into the garden.

Nerevar recalled walking the streets of Nirnbuldihr - the cyan glow of the giant mushrooms reflecting on the windows of several shops. One in particular caught his eye, and he crossed the cobblestone sidewalk to inspect it more closely. Blown glass sculptures, colorful and intricate in the way the dwemer favored.

His favorite had been a piece hidden in the back of the window, as if outshined by more complex, elaborate pieces upfront. It had been a white glass diorama, depicting a cottage surrounded by trees swaying in the breeze - the sort of simplicity the dwemer had no interest in.

The garden reminded him of that diorama - covered in a blanket of snow, completely undisturbed by the world around it.

Voryn pulled him under the arches that covered the path to the guest wing, but the Hortator held him back.

“No, let us stay for a bit.” He answered, arm still draped around the back of his friend’s neck as he stepped on the soft snow. Voryn sighed, yet allowed Nerevar to lead him.

“Frolicking amidst the cold? Do you plan on inviting the Nords to join us?” The head of House Dagoth said snidely as he crossed his arms to warm himself.

Nerevar laughed and shoved him away.

“The snow never belonged to those s’wits, you’re simply thin-blooded from living under the shadow of a volcano.”

“Perhaps, and rightly so.”

The snow softly crunched under their boots as they wandered near a tree - now completely stripped of leaves, its gnarled branches seemed to reach towards the sky.

“It always snows in Akamora.” Nerevar inhaled deeply, enjoying how his lungs burned as he took in the crisp, cool air. “In the mountains, at least. The paths are sharp and winding, and it freezes over during winter. No caravans may come or go, not until Sun’s Dawn.”

The Hortator grabbed a handful of snow, the ice leeching the warmth of his skin through the kagouti leather gloves. Absent-mindedly he shaped it until a white sphere rested on his palm. Secunda and Masser bore down on them - the moon glow glinting on the high windows of Skingrad’s castle.

Nerevar recalled the moon glow glinting on the tip of ice spikes, sharp enough to be spears, at the highest peak of Akamora.

Azura had come to him then, for the first time, to bestow Moon-and-Star upon the captain - his fingers had been so stiff from the cold that he could barely feel them anymore, the goddess’s touch as foreign as the ring she had slipped on his finger.

When he came down from the mountain, the first ashlanders had hailed him Hortator, and it had felt just as foreign as the ring on his finger.

“It must be rather grim.” Voryn commented, the cyrodilic brandy swirling inside the bottle as he brought it to his lips. The distaste in his face was plain to see - it couldn’t hold a candle to the Dagoth brandy.

Nerevar smiled, his short-lived melancholia forgotten.

“How can you say that? Short-tempered caravan masters, cheap mazte and all the comforts of a straw bed...” The captain delighted at Voryn’s growing distaste as he spoke. The head of House Dagoth was a creature of comfort and status, something that had made the duo different as the sun and the moon.

"Lovely, I'm sure." Voryn replied with a sour expression. Nerevar laughed.

"For a researcher, you spent far too much time cocooned up in Kogoruhn." The Hortator recalled several jars containing fungi species and creatures preserved in a strong alcoholic solution, one more outlandish than the other. In his curiosity, the captain had pestered Voryn with questions until he nearly dropped one of the jars. The head of House Dagoth had snapped at him to stop before he accidentally unleashed a deadly plague and got them both killed.

That had been many years ago, before the war, when Nerevar was still seeking support from the great houses. The somber, willowy lord that had greeted him in Kogoruhn had been the first to join him - his support had been won easily, but his friendship had not.

"And due to that, couriers are eternally indebted to House Dagoth. Why would I waste my precious time wandering through mud in a thrice-damned swamp?” The councilor huffed, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

Nerevar laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement.

“And what if your Hortator commanded you to?”

The previous distaste vanished in a second as the sharp, haughty aristocratic features softened; the ruby-colored gaze meeting his, warm as the liquor sloshing inside the bottle.

“I’d wander until time itself ceased to be if Muthsera willed so.” Despite the devotion, the lord councilor had steel in his voice; unwavering as the very core of Nirn.

Nerevar let the snow sphere fall to the ground, the reverence in those words overwhelming as he broke his gaze away, before joining the councilor on the stone bench. The orange glow of a candle reflected on the windows above; a small flickering flame moving as a servant crossed the corridor. The former captain followed it until the speckle of light vanished behind stone walls.

“I miss it.” He blurted out, seized by a deep longing as the world seemed to be reduced into that snow-covered, unperturbed garden; as if its two occupants were the only souls in Nirn.

“By the Three, how I miss it! To Oblivion with those titles and thrones and crowns; I miss the road, I miss the ache after a long day’s march and falling on the straw at night too tired to think.” Nerevar leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and covering his face with his hands. Azura had blessed him with the strength to carry the title of Hortator, yet he craved the simplicity of being nothing more than a captain, with no past nor future beyond the next town.

The Hortator missed walking through the crowded streets of the bazaars; the cramped food stalls with ill-tempered merchants that served meals with enough spices to burn his tongue; the shady cornerclubs where you had to watch both your tongue and your coin purse.

Now he signed papers, spoke with lords, and followed the proper etiquette befitting his rank; he watched the streets through the high windows of his palace, as if his brethren were tiny ants. The former captain pulled his hands away and felt a tear roll down the bridge of his nose; the liquor was truly getting to his head. He placed a hand on his councilor’s knee; the several layers of red wool soft under his glove.

“Let’s leave - just the two of us and the road ahead, like it was before the war. We’ll name ourselves whatever we wish, we’ll sleep under the stars and chew on marshmerrow pieces as we travel.”

“Where shall we go, sweet Nerevar?” The young lord played along; his voice soft as a whisper, as if afraid to disturb the stillness around them.

“Wherever you desire - do you still wonder about Hammerfell? I’ll take you to see the dunes that stretch as far as the sun, you’ll study their beetles and giant scorpions for as long as you wish, then we can drink qishr and break bread with the nomads.” Nerevar found himself smiling as he recalled the heat of the desert and the loose, colorful fabrics the natives wore.

He turned around and reached for the bottle, fingers brushing against his confidant’s. Only then, Nerevar realized his councilor had forgotten his gloves inside the hall; the golden skin contrasting against the snow, the long, elegant fingers trembling with the cold.

“Oh, Voryn.” The former captain frowned, quickly pulling his own gloves off and taking hold of the other’s wrist; the scarlet nails vanishing into the supple leather as he adjusted the glove.

“Remember when you fell sick, five days after we departed Kogoruhn? We had to-” The sentence fell on deaf ears, vanishing under the branches heavy with snow as lips met his, swallowing his words with hunger. A hand connected with his chest, closing into a fist as Voryn pulled him closer; as if it weren’t enough.

Distant and haughty Voryn, who ate sparingly and never smudged the red paint he wore on his lips, bit the Hortator’s lower lip before pulling back; eyes half-lidded as he brushed the tip of his nose against Nerevar’s in a silent plea.

The ink-colored hair contrasted against the pale golden skin; the black fur collar brushing against the captain’s chin; a pale pink blooming on his cheeks, either from cold, the brandy, or something else-

Heart hammering against his ribcage, blood drumming on his ears; it was the slightest tilt of his face that thrice-damned him as Voryn’s lips smashed against his; a devotion he was unworthy of every time their tongues met; muffled prayers in form of sighs and whimpers.

Unworthy, unworthy, unworthy. A voice whispered in his mind, taunting him; in his mind’s eye he saw peach-colored lips curled in derision, teeth bared like a wolf’s. Almalexia’s snarl.

Somewhere, a door groaned open and the sounds of the feast reached the garden, shattering their sanctuary; the weight of being Hortator came crashing down on his shoulders. Nerevar pulled back as if he had been burned, his palm on the young lord’s shoulder firmly holding the other back. He looked down, unable to face the confusion, the longing. Too much, it was too much. His hair was disheveled, pale strands falling against his face and he felt grateful for the cover.

“Nerevar-” The head of House Dagoth began, voice hoarse and breathless.

“Forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive, I’ve wanted-”

“It was a mistake.”

“Oh.” Voryn inhaled sharply as if his lungs had suddenly been emptied.

“I’ve...I drank more than I should have. We both have.” His words feel hollow, and he can no longer tell if the bitter taste on his tongue belonged to the brandy, or the shame. The silence stretched; neither dared to move.

“I see.” His voice is flat, devoid of emotion; the usual aloofness reserved for others. Out of the corner of his eye, Nerevar watched him straighten his posture; the dark hair falling like a curtain, obscuring half of his face.

Other guests left the feast; their chatter and laughter permeated the garden as they walked down the path to the other wing of the castle. Nerevar felt the red gaze pinned to his back, yet no words left his lips. He watched the snow under his boots; watery and muddy as it mixed with the dirt below.

At last, he heard the rustling of fabric as Voryn rose to his feet; impeccable posture as he towered over the Hortator.

“May this servant be excused, Muthsera?” The words rolled easily off his tongue; the sharp formality of it made Nerevar wince.

The Hortator forced himself to lift his head and face his long-time friend; clad in red wool and black fur, the snowflakes melting on the long, inky hair; the blank expression betraying nothing, except for his lips; the red paint had been smudged, contorting their shape.

“Yes.”

From the cradle, the heir of House Dagoth had been taught the games of persuasion and deceit; a master in concealing his thoughts behind a mask.

Nerevar took a hollow, cowardly comfort in it.

Voryn Dagoth bowed before him, as etiquette mandated, before vanishing into the corridor; the sound of his footsteps hammering inside the Hortator’s head until they vanished, leaving him with nothing but a headache and the cold.

After finishing the bottle by himself, the former captain laid in bed, watching the moons slowly crossing the sky through the windows; his dreams haunted by both his closest friend and his wife; one seeming to shift into the other as they pinned him against the sheets; ever-hungry as they sought out his lips.

It was late morning when he rose; mouth dry and head throbbing like it had been split open with an axe. The hearth had been tended to recently, the fire crackling as it consumed the logs. He turned in bed, still wrapped around the sheets.

Voryn will understand, he understands the importance of duty better than anyone. He reasoned with himself.

A single kagouti glove on the floor, as if someone had pushed it under the door.

Across the hallway, a lord painted his lips red; immaculately framing the natural shape of his lips. His unbalanced emotions shattered the mirror into a thousand pieces when his fingers trembled for a second and a smudge appeared.

Duty, he’s devoted to duty, the lord repeated mentally, as he collected the shards.

#voryn dagoth #indoril nerevar #nerevoryn #one writing tag to rule them all

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officerjennie · 3 years

Note

Hello can I please request hugging for a very long time as a platonic bonding prompt with any pair of witcher characters you fancy (characters from the witcher that is)

Hey so I’m feeling rather self-indulgent so I turned this into a trans!Eskel piece, with him coming out to his family and receiving nothing but love and support in return. Extended platonic hug bonding coming from Lambert.

CW: Trans!Eskel coming out to his family, brief descriptions of gender dysphoria over certain pronouns and other nouns (woman, female wolf, etc.), fears of not being accepted (but he ends up accepted anyway), Lambden mentioned (with potential relationship troubles). WC 3k+

Eskel had never been so nervous to see his youngest brother.

All things considered, everything had gone well so far. It had taken over a year to tell both Geralt and Vesemir - he hadn’t had the courage to tell the lot of them at the same time, the last winter coming and going without a whisper of who he really was, until he stayed behind and lingered in the keep even up until Lambert had taken his arse elsewhere.

In a lot of ways, Eskel had assumed Vesemir’s reaction would be the worst, simply because the wolf was old and Eskel had no way of knowing what the world had been like when he had been a pup. But his expression had been soft, his eyes alight with humor, and the only thing he’d said on the matter was “No female wolf after all, huh.”

Eskel had rolled his eyes, shoulders sagging with relief, leaving it at that. The lack of disappointment or flair had done well for him, and that had been one down.

Telling Geralt had...well, he hadn’t had time to really plan out when to tell him. One day he’d been on the path on his own, riding by a field of rather tempting goats and kids that just begged for their little heads to be scritched - and the next he found himself saddled up next to his brother, having ran into him near the coast and decided to hunt a rather nasty little group of cockatrices together.

It had slipped out by accident, a correction at the wrong noun used to describe him. Eskel had flushed and looked away quickly, knowing the question would come and not sure if he was ready to answer it. But he did, and though the silence was deafening the arms that soon wrapped around him showed him nothing but support and comfort.

Those two had been easy, even if his nerves had been fried. As he should have come to expect by now his family had shown him nothing but support, letting it be well known that it didn’t matter what name he went by or who he was - because he was theirs, their family, and now their brother.

Lambert, though...

The day had slipped past him, his hands shaking every time he thought of seeking him out. It had been an early homecoming for the both of them, and this winter Lambert had come back alone, leaving his ‘kitty cat’ somewhere out in a fishing village for some reason he vagued out instead of explaining. A spat, no doubt; it happened every few years for them, but there was no question in his mind that they’d be fine. Two hot tempers in the same room sometimes just exploded despite their best efforts, and a bit of space and time between them would sweeten their reunion.

But it meant that Eskel was left in the keep with Vesemir, who knew, and Lambert, who didn’t. And he saw the questioning look Vesemir had sent him when Lambert obviously didn’t know, making the usual jokes that made Eskel’s stomach clench, calling him the name that made him question everything that he was and at times almost sending him mentally downwards.

It wasn’t his fault. Lambert didn’t know. But it made Eskel both want to avoid him and also go punch something, and neither of those would be good for him in the long run.

So, here he was. For the nth time already this winter, though the snow had yet to even reach their ankles outside. Standing outside of Lambert’s room, listening as the telltale sound of a sharpening stone ran across the blade of a sword on the other side, as Lambert hummed to himself like he loved to pretend he never did - and while Eskel tried desperately to get his hands to stop shaking and his heart to quit beating so quick.

He had to tell him. Needed him to know. Lambert was in a lot of ways the most loyal of the lot of them. Sure his temper got him in trouble, and yes he loved to be a little shit and make sure they all knew he was one, but there wasn’t another person better to have your back in any situation. It didn’t matter if you were in the right or wrong to Lambert if you were his family because he would fight teeth and nails for you either way.

But his temper. His bloody temper, and his trust issues. A breeze sent the curtains in the hall sussing against each other as Eskel raked a desperate hand through his own hair, thinking once again about putting this off and waiting another day, or week, or fuck, until next winter.

They all had their flaws. For many reasons, Lambert has issues with trusting others and had an inferiority complex that kicked up at the worst of times. Really, Eskel had no doubt that Lambert would accept him in the end, that he’d see him for the brother he’d always been and perhaps even manage to not make jokes about it (he never meant to be cruel but Lambert sometimes didn’t know where the line for cruelty was, and his head was thick).

What worried him was his initial reaction. How Lambert would feel knowing he was the last to learn, even though it had not really been intentional. How he might feel to have been kept out of the know for years even if he wasn’t the only who hadn’t known - and Eskel wasn’t sure how to even explain that he himself hadn’t known for decades, only knowing that certain words made his skin crawl, that being called a woman had always made him blank and feel...outside of himself. For so long he’d not had the words to describe it and for a long time after he’d been afraid to, even to himself, even within his own mind, and his throat had constricted around the confession every time he’d thought to bring it up.

The breeze was too cold, biting at his cheeks and nose. But it helped him breathe, that fresh air, helped ground him with the feel of ice cold in his lungs. He...wasn’t sure how to do this. After doing it twice already, he still wasn’t sure, wasn’t certain. Doubts still tried to eat at his mind and heart but he knew he deserved this - he deserved to be who he was around his family, around his brothers, and there was nothing wrong with wanting to share that with them.

It was terrifying nonetheless, and he’d faced down monsters over twice his size before. Alone.

Finally, he gathered up his courage and knocked on the damn door, rapping his knuckles twice out of habit. The humming stopped instantly but the rasp of rock against steel didn’t pause, Lambert’s grouchy tone snarking out “It’s about time, thought you stand out there all damn day.”

Despite how nervous he was, Eskel rolled his eyes, taking that as the invitation it was and entering his room. He shut the door up tight behind him to keep the chill out, the warmth from the fireplace slowly spreading over his chilled cheeks, pleasant enough an atmosphere for one of the most terrifying conversations he’d ever have to have.

“Finally gonna spit it out?”

Lambert was sitting on the edge of his bed, sharpening tools and a cleaning kit spread out haphazardly across the mussed up blanket around him. His armor was tossed on the floor about him, parts polished and parts still scuffed and dirty from the road, a few of his knives and his silver sword still in their sheathes at his feet, too.

It was a little irksome, how randomly he’d decided to go about his polishing and cleaning, but Eskel really couldn’t micromanage the cleaning and upkeep of his weapons. At least he was doing it; that’s all that mattered.

“Need any help with that?” Didn’t mean he couldn’t offer.

Lambert didn’t bite, though, a scowl showing just how unimpressed he was with Eskel’s deflection - even if it was a genuine offer. “Getting tired of you lurking out there every other day, so out with it. What do you want?” His eyes turned sharp for a second, stone pausing in its glide across the blade. “And this had better not have anything to do with the fucking cat, it’s fine, I’m fine, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Not about the fucking cat.” Eskel held up his hands in a placating manner, watching the tension instantly melt from Lambert when he did. Getting him to talk about his own issues was worse than pulling vampire teeth and he was really not in the mood for that. Not in the slightest. “I’ve got...well, my own shit to talk about.”

That caught Lambert’s interest, his face flashing in a complicated mess of emotion before it settled on something guarded. But Eskel knew him well enough to catch the hint of disbelief in his voice as he said, “Surprised you’re not waiting for Geralt then.”

Eskel shifted his weight to his right leg, actively making sure he didn’t look away. “No, this is something I’d like to discuss with you.”

“The fuck d’you think I did?”

“Not-” He was going to make a right mess of his hair at this rate, running his hands through it so much. “Not about you, Lambert, with you. Tell you something. Just...talking. If that’s alright.”

Lambert gestured towards a spare seat near Eskel with his sword, casual, as if both of them weren’t nervous now. It wasn’t like they never talked - they talked plenty, but serious conversations happened rarely if ever unless something was wrong. The last time they talked anything like this had been when Kaer Morhen had been ransacked, which had been so many years ago Eskel struggled to remember the exact amount.

He took the offered chair, slouching in it with his arms crossed and making himself as cozy as he could be. The heat from the fireplace was a bit too much for him now that the bite of winter was entirely gone; he’d always been the wolf that preferred the cold the most, or at least the one that could handle heat the least. It was one of the reasons he’d stayed here for so long to help Vesemir make the most out of the rubble and ashes, grumbling as much as the next over the snow but at least able to function in it.

The sound had returned. Scraping of stone against steel, a steady rhythm, one that helped steady Eskel’s heartbeat. It was mesmerizing in that way anything familiar and repetitive was, something that helped ground him when his mind wanted to panic with all of the ‘what ifs’ it could imagine. He was grateful for the otherwise quiet Lambert’s patience allowed them, though he knew it wouldn’t last, closing his eyes and breathing while he calmed his thoughts.

It wouldn’t be that hard. Couldn’t take that long. All he had to do was say it and it would be over with. Questions might come, hurt feelings might follow, but it would be done and they could move on. And better to do it before Lambert’s thin patience ran out on him.

“Lambert.” His mouth was a bit dry, words not coming easy to him. Eyes open now as he watched his brother’s hand glide across the flat of the blade resting in his lap, concentration written in the furrow of his brow but the twitch of his mouth told him Lambert was listening.

All he had to do was say it. That’s all. The rest would come after.

Stone against steel, grounding him. He breathed in as it ran down the blade, out as it reached the end and lifted once more.

“I’m not a woman, Lamb.”

His eyes flicked down to the armor and weapons that lay at his brothers feet, heart picking up as it no longer had a rhythm to try and match. The fire crackled to his left, popping and hissing, one of the pieces of wood getting ready to fall in on itself any minute.

“What are you, then?”

“A man.” He licked his lips, eyes blinking faster than normal, his heart not letting him look up to see what might be on his brother’s face. What emotions might be flashing there, what response he might have, delaying it as long as possible.

“Kitty cat had a sister, you know?” Eskel’s stomach clenched at the word, his arms squeezing tighter around himself. “Not by blood, but by school, or however you’d call it - he called her sister, s’my point. I met her once when the bastard dragged me all the way down south to the coast, worst fucking decision of my life. The journey, not meeting her.”

Lambert’s deep breath is what made Eskel finally look up, seeing his brother’s face flushed, his jaw clenching in that way it always did when he was forced to deal with sticky things like delicate conversations or emotions.

“Maybe it’s not my fucking place to say it, but he told me and she knows I know it. Doubt you’ll ever meet her anyway, but she’s- ya know, not- she wasn’t always a woman? Or, she was, but didn’t live like one, dressed and talked and walked like a man.”

Oh. Eskel swallowed, sitting up a little more in his seat, some of the tension easing from his shoulders.

“So, fuck, I get it. I mean, I don’t, I don’t get it, but I understand what you’re saying.” He huffed in frustration but Eskel knew him well enough to know what at; words had never been his strong suit. “Feel free to fucking deck me if I slip up. She certainly had no problem with that.”

“Knocked some sense into you?”

That earned him a grin, Lambert finally meeting his eyes again. “Bitch knew how to fight, too. Thought I might have been in love.”

“Surprised you didn’t stay then.”

“Turned out she’s gay, so.” Lambert shrugged, giving his sword a once over before reaching for the sheath that had been laying on the bed next to him. “Guess I’d be barking up the wrong tree on that one.”

“Have to stick with your own cat then.”

The humor flickered away for a moment, Lambert scowling as he placed his now sheathed sword down next to his armor. “Yeah, well. Yeah... Might have...fucked up a little bit on that one.” Before Eskel could say anything, Lambert’s head jerked to the side, his hand coming up to scratch at the back of his neck. “Can we just- can we not talk about that? I’d rather stick to the ‘supportive, loving, dashing, best brother’ thing.”

“Right, yeah. That’s fine.”

There was a pause between them, a tinge of awkwardness in the air as they both fidgeted, not entirely sure where to go from there. The fire fizzled and popped, sending some embers out that landed on the stone floor, thankfully no where close to anything that could catch fire. It was all that spoke in the room besides the sounds of their heartbeats and breathing.

Lambert was the one who broke first, something making his leg bounce where his arm rested on it. “You didn’t think, ya know, that I wouldn’t- that I’d, I don’t fucking know, not? Support you, I mean.”

“I...” Eskel swallowed hard, thinking. “I didn’t think you wouldn’t, Lamb, but I wasn’t sure how the conversation would go. Didn’t know if you’d think I had been hiding it or not telling you on purpose.”

“Fuck, like I’d have any room to talk.” He scowled as he bit one corner of his thumb, chewing at a hangnail for a second. “When have I ever talked to any of you about feelings or whatever.”

It was true, but Eskel knew better than to take it at face value. Lambert was sensitive in a way he loved to hide and pretend he wasn’t, but they all knew him better than that.

But there was no reason to think on all the ways the conversation could have gone poorly. It hadn’t, the air was clear between them, everything (or most everything) out in the open. But the hurt hadn’t left Lambert’s face since Aiden had been mentioned, by name or not, and that had Eskel’s chest hurting again.

What had his foolish Lamb done this time, he wondered.

There was no way Lambert would accept any sort of comfort, but as Eskel shifted in his seat some more, not quite yet feeling the relief he’d hoped he would after their conversation was over, he had an idea as to how they might get some together.

“Feel free to say no,” he started slow, staring down at his own fingers and picking the dirt out from underneath them. “But I, well. This has been a lot for me. Talking about this. You might if we maybe...hug? For a while?”

It was probably pushing it, to take on ‘for a while’, but Eskel honestly found himself hoping Lambert said yes even for himself.

The scoff was a bit expected, but the lack of a verbal ‘no’ was good. He looked up to find Lambert on the edge of an answer, confliction written all over his face, his hands clasped together and that one leg bouncing away as he started at nothing.

“Fine,” was the only answer he got, and Eskel took it quickly. And maybe it was pushing it a bit further when he wrapped Lambert up into his chest instead of the other way around but Lambert didn’t try to get away, tucking up under his chin and eventually relaxing into his brother’s arms the way he hadn’t since they were little and the nightmares had been too much.

He wasn’t sure how long Lambert would allow him this, would allow them both the comfort of each other, but he relaxed into it and decided to savor the physical touch as a reminder of their familial love for each other. However long Lambert would let him, he’d stay just like this, with the fire crackling on and the two brother’s embracing each other, the smell of home around them.

#eskel #lambert #the witcher #fanfiction #mywriting #crosspost later #platonic bonding #gen fic #resident-beekeeper #asks

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magnoliabloomfield · 3 years

Text

Possession Part 10

This one is super long, it got away from me, but i don't think any of you will mind lol. Expand for story time.

Gally sat in the gathering hall, his heel bouncing against the dirt floor. As everyone settled in, Newt gave him a glance that put most of his nerves at ease, and for good reason. Once the discussion started it was clear that Alby had already decided that she was to be a Keeper in her own right. Some confusion and groans went around the others but Alby put a fast stop to them, explaining it was the only way to uphold the one rule about her and everything else Gally had said to Newt. He was glad he wasn’t the one trying to convince anyone or having to take credit for the idea.

The only thing left to settle was what she would be a keeper of. They decided to go around to each keeper and see what they had observed about her.

“Gally, you worked with her first, what do you think?” Alby started off with him.

Gally crossed his arms and thought for a moment, forcing his mind to other things than when her eyes softened as she looked at him. “She’s good at following direction,” he started out and earned a nod from every other keeper who had worked with her as well. “If you don’t give her something to do she will just find something to do. When there was nothing left she could do on the building project she went around giving everyone water and wet rags to keep cool. So, she’s not lazy and she has a fair bit of common sense. Plus, being smaller she can help with things no one else can get to.”

“I bet you wish you could be her keeper then,” Zart spoke up out of turn, earning a furrowed glare from Gally that made him backpedal quickly. “Just because of how helpful she seems to be to the building team.”

Gally would never even hint that he wouldn't have minded being her keeper, that he was the only one he trusted to take care of her right. But those feelings were just another confirmation that she should be her own keeper.

“She did well in the medhut, but she admitted that she might not be able to handle some of the worse things that come through there,” Clint spoke up next. “But she is good at organizing, she transformed the storage and it’s totally easier to find things now. If possible I’d like to have her rewrite the notes we took on treating injuries because her hand writing is so much better than mine or Jeff’s, just throwing that out there.”

“She was good at the smaller tasks in the garden,” Zart said. “But she’s not so good at the more difficult physical tasks.”

“I think that’ll be a common thread, nothing heavily physical I should think,” Newt tacked on out of turn.

“I don’t have anything bad to say about her,” Fry started up. “But she just wasn’t fast enough in the kitchen. But to be fair, no one ever is on their first day. It takes a while to learn muscle memory and I just don’t have that kind of time when all of you are counting on me to get you fed day in and day out.”

Gally lightly gripped his chin in thought. There was something similar in everything they were saying, there was some common thread.

“You have an idea Gally?” Newt asked, breaking him from his trance.

“Well, it sounds like, in one way or another, everyone would agree her attention to detail is very good,” Gally mused aloud, not focusing on anyone just yet as he continued to think. “It’s like we all could use her help in certain situations but not necessarily all the time. So… maybe she could be the keeper of odd jobs? She could organize whatever needs organized, she can write down what needs written, she can assist whenever we need someone small, or whenever something intricate or tedious needs done and we can’t spare someone able bodied for it. She could help us all while not belonging to anyone.”

“The Keeper of Odd Jobs?” Shawn repeated incredulously. The Keeper of the baggers was never one to go with the flow. “Why don’t we just make her the Keeper of the Laundry?”

“Laundry is the slopper’s job and it takes more than one person to do,” Alby pointed out. “Unless you want to make her keeper of the sloppers. I don’t know if the little punks would hate answering to a girl or love it.”

“She needs to be the keeper of herself, and then any other girls who may or may not show up,” Gally dared to add.

“Well, let her go off and do whatever she feels like then, why does she have to be a keeper?” Shawn went on complaining.

“Because the keepers decide what happens in the glade,” Alby said with an edge to his voice. “Those decisions effect her now so she should get a say in them, she should have her perspective heard.”

Nikola was surprised when the gathering broke up and no one came to talk to her about her assignment. Even if Alby didn’t come and inform her she figured whoever it was would be excited enough to come tell her himself. Except for Gally. She felt a hopeful little jump in her chest that she was going to be a builder. She knew Gally would do right by her, protect her and be kind enough to her without being creepy. But he wouldn’t be bursting at the seams happy to tell her either.

As she was in line getting dinner that evening, still thinking about her assignment, she felt a presence looming up on her.

“Hey,” Gally’s voice called out to her as he came up from behind.

She felt another jolt, thinking this was finally it, he was coming to tell her he really was her keeper.

“You’ll want to stick around for this meal, Newt is saving a seat for you,” was all he said before walking off to his own table.

Nikola was left standing there in confusion, not expecting that. She also felt a little miffed that he wasn’t saving a seat for her himself, but expected her to go sit with Newt. Nevertheless she followed his instruction and awkwardly sat beside Newt at a table with Zart and Alby himself.

“Hey,” she greeted them blandly. “I heard you were saving a seat for me here, what’s up?”

“We have a special announcement to make and it has to do with you,” Newt started explaining with an amused smirk. “We wanted to make sure you were around to hear it since you seem to get antisocial at meal times.”

Nikola couldn’t help the small furrow in her brow from confusion. She didn’t care about his jab at her not sticking around for meals and didn’t bother explaining that’s the only time she could hear herself think, she just wondered what this announcement was. She looked around, trying to spot Gally as if just seeing him would bring her some comfort. She didn’t manage to catch sight before Alby stood up and addressed the gladers.

“Now that everyone’s here, I want to announce what the council decided on for the latest greenie, Nikola,” he shouted and earned everyone’s attention as the chatter fell to a silence. However, when he mentioned Nikola a few whoops and wolf whistles were heard. “Shut up you shanks,” Alby chastised them. “Because she’s the newest Keeper.”

Nikola couldn’t keep the shock off her face, but her surprise turned sour rather quickly as the announcement was met with a silence that bubbled to a murmur around her.

“I know you might be confused by this,” Alby acknowledged them. “But you’re not going to put up a fuss about it, and you’re certainly not going to give Nikola any clunk about either. It was the council’s decision and she never asked for it. We made her a keeper so she can lead any other girls that might show up in the future, and now that we have girl living here and sharing our glade with us, her voice should be heard about what goes on here.”

Nikola started to think that made a lot of sense and definitely liked that they were willing to listen to her and let her have a say in what went on there. But Alby wasn’t done.

“Besides all that, it was the only way to make sure we didn’t break the new rule,” He added, making Nikola’s brows furrow in confusion. What new rule had they made about her?

“She doesn’t belong to anybody.”

Nikola felt the blood rush to her face. She felt angry, but she wasn’t sure why. It was actually ideal, she couldn’t be ordered around by one keeper, she wasn’t being treated like an object or property, but there was something alienating about it too. It was a very complex situation and so were her emotions about it.

“What does that mean?” she whispered to Newt as Alby said a few last words to cement the whole thing and draw the announcement to a conclusion. “That I don’t belong to anybody?”

Newt shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat. “Well, uh, you’re the first girl anyone here has seen for as long as they can remember. But there’s only one of you and dozens of them. We were afraid it would cause some problems if, uh…”

“I had some kind of… exclusive relationship with someone?” she pressed.

“Yeah,” Newt sighed in relief because he didn’t have to try and say it himself.

She turned away with a sigh of her own as she looked out on the grassy meadow of the glade shadowed from the setting sun and camp fires. “If all of them can’t have me, none of them shall. That kind of deal, huh?”

“If it makes you feel any better,” Alby cut in, having heard some of the conversation. “It’s not like anyone else has ever liked the living situation here-“

“And me being here just made it worse?” She cut in, staring him down with a deadened expression.

“That’s not it,” Newt leaned in, trying to smooth it over.

“Whose idea was it?” Nikola asked.

“What, the rule?” Newt asked.

“I came up with the rule the moment you arrived,” Alby admitted easily. “I’m doing my best to keep this place from falling into chaos every day, and I know you didn’t ask to be sent here, but you are here and that’s going to present new problems I have to work hard to overcome whether everyone likes it or not.”

Nikola understood where he was coming from but it didn’t make her feel very good. In fact, she was pretty sure she was going to cry. She hadn’t done that yet, she’d been too busy or had other things on her mind. She pressed her lips together and pushed back from the table.

“It was Gally,” Newt said quickly before she could get up and leave.

She looked at him, her tears put on temporary hold.

“Gally suggested you be a keeper so no one could act like they owned you and you’d have a voice on the council,” he elaborated.

That was a whole new thing to try and process, so she got up, leaving them and the rest of her dinner behind, and headed to her prison tower. As safe and kindly built as it was, it just further isolated her. The worst kind of isolation was not being alone, but being surrounded with people you either couldn’t trust or couldn’t get close to. She realized that’s the kind of isolation she was in. Sure, she didn’t want to belong to someone the way an animal or object belongs to a person, but she wanted to feel like she belonged in the world, even one as small and messed up as this one.

“Nikola,” a gruff voice called after her when she was halfway to her house.

She closed her eyes at having been caught, at having to interact with someone when she needed to go off and feel her feelings. As her eyes closed, she felt tears fall. She hadn't realized it had started already. She stayed there with her back turned to them and hoped they would just talk and make it quick.

“What’s wrong?” She recognized Gally’s voice drawing up cautiously behind her and it felt like a fist wrapped around her heart, and extra squeeze of sadness came over her that she wasn’t expecting. “Nikola?”

“Nothing,” she lied as she crossed her arms, trying to play off how thick her voice sounded from the held back tears.

But he had rounded her to her side and she looked at him. It was a bit of a surprise to see the biggest, toughest guy look like a deer in the headlights when he saw her face. She tried to hide her expression, but she couldn’t suck tears back into her eyes.

“Are you… crying?” he asked quietly.

“So what if I am?” she asked as she fiercely wiped her face. “Am I not allowed?”

He looked away and she thought she saw him ball up a fist.

“You can, I just…” he looked down and then changed his mind about finishing that sentence. “Is there something I can do?”

“I doubt it,” she said and took a step toward her house, toward her well deserved privacy to cry, but stopped. “Why did you want me to be a keeper?”

He seemed surprised that she knew that and his wide eyes quickly looked away from her again. “So you wouldn’t have to answer to anyone,” he said to his boots. “So they’d have to listen to you instead of making you listen to them. They don’t know what it’s like for a girl here, so you should get a say in the things that are going to affect your life. I thought that would be a good thing, I didn’t realize you’d be upset by it.”

“I’m not,” she blurted, not being able to take the kicked puppy act from the big guy. “It’s not that part, it was the part about not belonging to anyone.”

That caused him to lock eyes with her in confusion. “What?”

“No, I know. I know. It just,” she let out a frustrated sigh. “I get it, I’m not property or anything so I appreciate it, but there’s a whole other meaning to belonging and it feels like I’m never going to belong here in that sense when everyone can only get so close to me, you know?”

He just stared down at her like he didn’t know.

“Forget it,” she sighed as she started for her house again, somehow feeling even worse.

“No, wait a second,” he pressed, catching up to her. “I want to understand.”

Gally rarely met a problem within the Glade that he couldn’t fix. Nothing was as challenging as the girl, but he was confident that with proper effort he could do something useful.

“Do you have a best friend?” she spun on him and asked, her voice sounding different as her nose stuffed up a little from the crying. “There are some people that you’re just closer to than others, right?”

He thought of Newt and how he spent more time with him than Shawn who he didn’t like at tall. He wasn’t sure if that would qualify as being best friends though.

“Can I have a best friend here, or would that just make everyone else jealous? Is there anyone I can laugh with, is there a shoulder I’m allowed to cry on or do I have to rotate through everyone in the glade to keep it fair? I’m already the only girl which is a lonely enough thing but it feels like I’m not even- like, I’m not allowed to be human.”

Gally tried to process what she said even as the sight of her crying in front of him caused him unusual distress. He found it hard to keep his hands by his sides.

“Well, I’m here. Aren’t I?” he asked her.

Her eyes were glassy and surprised as she looked up at him, slightly hopeful.

“I don’t know if you’d think of me as best friend material, but I never walk away from people, especially the ones I can help,” he told her, his conviction in what he was saying let him hold her gaze.

She was the first one to shy away. Her head tilted down, her falling tear drops twinkling in the low light, but he thought he saw a small smile before she looked down.

“You’re right,” she nodded. “You’re not really best friend material.”

She looked up and a big grin cracked on her tear stained face, she was teasing him. He broke into a relieved grin of his own, glad she wasn’t serious, and she let out a little laugh, possibly her first one.

“I’m kidding of course,” she assured him. “You’ve been a pretty good friend so far.”

She pursed her lips as her eyes looked skyward, as if recounting all the things he’d done to earn him that commendation. She let out a heavy breath but she seemed to be feeling better than when he found her.

“Thank you, Gally. Goodnight,” she smiled softly, slightly turning toward her house again, but waiting on him.

“Goodnight,” it slipped from his lips before he could even think of restraining it, and he wasn’t upset about it when he saw her smile grow a little before she went off to her house for real that time.

He watched her go for a moment, turned to go, but looked back once more. She was on the bottom rung of her ladder taking a glance back at him as well.

Masterlist

Note about me: Hey yall! sorry for the long wait, I had Vertigo and headaches 24/7 for two weeks. They switched me to to 24 hour release Webutrin and I'm on 500mg of Salt Stick Vitasium for my POTS and that's doing the trick! I finally feel like a functioning human being again and brain can story again. I wanna keep brining you Gally fun, but I also want to get back into my original novel too, so anyone who might want to take a look at some of my own original writing and hype me up I'd appreciate it so much! let me know if you want to.

and now to make some people's notifications happy:

@gladerscake @quackquackbi @poulterjonas @crazysheeplyca @neilox @thesuitkovian @carp3d1em @cottoncandy-dreamxd @emilyhadenbaker

#thirsting over gally's thick ankles #gally imagine #tmr #the maze runner #fan fic #tmr gally #gally tmr #will poulter #will poulter protection squad

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r0zez-in-bl00m · 3 years

Text

~ 𝓒𝓻𝓾𝓮𝓵 𝓽𝓸 𝓫𝓮 𝓴𝓲𝓷𝓭 ~

Looking more like a boy

🍎 Epel x fem!reader (fluff) WORD COUNT : : 1.5k

Description- Epel loves his beloved very much, even though they look more manly than him. But what happens when he tries to become more manly himself?

Epel loved (y/n) more than anything he ever had loved before, not only him but his lover knew that too. The whole Pomefiore dorm did, Vil was very happy to see them together though he would comment on one flaw every time this topic was brought up in his presence.

Only one thing's wrong in their wild relationship, is the perplexity of finding out which one of them is a boy or a girl. God, (y/n) always had to assure him that not to get so overboard on these pathetic matters, but that guy wouldn't have it. Epel gets so angry when someone confuses him with a girl while he's somewhat embarrassed that his girlfriend was so strongly built.

Even Mr. Vargas sometimes gave an example of her to teach the students to build muscles, Vargas rarely compliments someone else other than his egocentric self on the concept of muscles. But (y/n) begs to differ on that matter. "Mr. Vargas is more female following, I guess."

Insecurity is highly available in the love market. Epel dragged, literally dragged, away (y/n) when some delinquent/ jock randomly flipped his arm on her during Magift practice. Be prepared for a long lecture in a very cute voice by the little apple, pun intended. Expecting a change in accent when he started talking was crucial.

"Why?! Out of all people . . ." "Ain't I enough for ya?! You don't like me because I ain't muscular?"

Then there were coddling moments, (y/n) crushed Epel into a hug," God, my idiot boyfriend . . . if I liked muscular guys would I go out with you in the first place?"

The girl teased him a lot though for his switch in accent. "You sound like a little lion sometimes. . . Kingscholar would be jealous." The apple boy blushed a lot with (y/n) whispering in his ear or touching his face.

To match her girlfriend in every way Epel tries a little too much than expected.

One day while experimenting in the laboratory along with Jack Howl for their assessment Epel was multi-tasking with another book hidden under his desk and reading the book which was based on magical pharmaceuticals for the second-year level.

By chance, Jack spotted the book and scolded him for cheating. Immediately Epel got a switch in his persona and was bomb-barding over the 192cm wolf with his southern comments while spilling his beans at the moment.

"You're trying to make a potion that will make you more muscular?" Jack muttered in disbelief, he couldn't fathom at first that why would a cute Pomefiore require such a potion in the first place.

Epel, being Epel, switched to his regular façade in an instant and was stammering like mad as a hatter. "Oh, !-! I-it's just . . . so t-that I can look a b-bit . . . more masculine... f-for her." It wasn't hidden from anyone that (y/n) (l/n) and Epel were dating but Jack never expected him to go this far to read and understand a high-level medicine book. Jack merely scratched his head, confused about what to say next, "I think Vil-Senpai once told me that taking a body development potion can cause a lot of strain to the body as well as the mind. . ." Epel had his head down, pressed against the desk, "I know that! It's just it's kinda weird that (y/n) looks more like a man than me."

Feeling like a good puppy that Jack is he decided to help Epel with the potion considering that it was of vast complexity (and we know that our Tsundere puppy would never admit that he is doing this by heart lol).

All afternoon Jack and Epel spent their time researching and putting all sorts of herbs and potions into the cauldron. "Epel, focus closely on how the color changes. We don't want to create trouble for ourselves." Jack instructed while putting another herb as designated in the book. Epel nodded," Understood."

Slowly the color started to fade into a vicious color of red, thick and rich. Jack and Epel both peered down to take a closer look. As the book said it would be welcoming at first glance yet the trick of the potion was to figure out which part was truthful. It hadn't yet been figured out that when was it best to consume the potion. Many theories were concocted for its usage; 'drink it when it turns out a bit bluish', 'it'll smell like rotten eggs at first,' 'don't drink if it's still milk-white,' such and such.

"How will we figure out that the potion is drinkable yet-"Jack said, he turned his head only to be at the verge of losing it. Epel was already gorging on the drink, the liquid falling on the floor at each gulp. "E-Epel?! What are you d-doing?" But by then it was already too late.

The potion was all gone and all was left was to see if their hard work bore any fruit. Laughter broke out a minute later. "Jack!! I can feel the power surging in me . . . . God, it's amazing!" Jack was baffled, then knowing that everything was alright smirked a little at their success. But then something struck him, Isn't potion supposed to make him taller? Then why is he shrinking...

His realization was as late as ever. A poof of purple smoke surrounded Epel and within the blink of an eye . . . vóila! The apple had turned into a cat; A pretty cute one to be exact.

His eyes were big with their same blue irises and were staring adoringly/in confusion at Jack. "Meow?" Jack took it as 'what the hell happened?' As much as he wanted to lecture Epel the Cat, he couldn't. Stan cuteness.

Jack cursed the time he decided to be a good puppy and help Epel out, now he was in big trouble than anyone could anticipate. The terrifying image of (y/n) wrathful face started to haunt him, he was sure that Epel had the same thoughts. With swift arms Epel was under Jack's protection, they both headed towards the hall of mirrors to the Pomefiore dorm.

But but but . . . the goddess of fate had taken a little vacation. In their hurried state they were spotted by the person they both least wanted to see right now.

"Hey, Jack!!!"

"Goddamn it!!" Jack muttered angrily, this couldn't have been the worst time to be killed right now. (y/n) approached him at an unprecedented speed Jack could've reciprocated. He was done for. "What up bro—oh who's this?" (y/n) gazed at Epel with the same affection she would give him when he, you know, is not busy as a cat.

The girl patted the cat's head, "Is this your pet, Jack?" (y/n) asked. His face flushed red at that question alone, so did Epel's, but in this case, it was his snout. "Uh . . . no . . . (y/n). It's not my pet. . ." Jack stammered, and hard. That day was no good for him. "It's not yours? Then maybe Ruggie's? I've seen him quite getting along with Lucius," the never-ending string of cat-related questions continued with Jack stammering like a fool and Epel losing his shit.

Finally, in anger, he leaped in (y/n)'s arms. The girl was taken back a bit but materialized because of Epel's soft purring. "It's strange. . . Epel does the same when he's having a rough time. Burying his face in my arms then falling asleep," (y/n) laughed. "Which reminds me . . . have you seen him anywhere?"

Be prepared to see a dying Jack any minute.

A guy, then, approached the group in a hurry, "(y/n)! Vice prez of Octavinelle is looking for you."

While being dragged away (y/n) called out to tell her if he gets to know anything about Epel do let her know. God bless the anonymous dude who unintentionally saved Jack Howl from being slaughtered. Epel looked relieved too, that and a little triumphant purr.

Then their venture towards Pomefiore continued. Upon reaching everyone in that glittering dorm showered Epel the Cat with love which was already less required but was, later on, were saved by Vil Schoenheit.

Jack ushered Vil into a corner with Epel still secured in his arms and narrated the story from top to bottom.

"YOU WHAT?!" Nobody could understand why their simply composed dorm leader lost his cool all of a sudden.

Vil already made plans to clear out his afternoon to lecture Jack and Epel thoroughly tomorrow for causing this blunder, but Epel Felmier had to be saved. That night Jack again spent his entire time looking through the potions book with Vil brewing the antidote. Never in his life, Jack went through so much Alchemy and he swore that whatever happened next he wouldn't touch a single Alchemy book (unless it's a test then we can't sue the wolf).

But one thing was final that he was going to do something lurid to Epel as soon as he gets back to normal, or he isn't Savnnaclaw.

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#ツイステッドワンダーランド #twisted wonderland #twst epel #epel felmier #pomefiore #jack howl #vil schoenheit #twst fluff #disney #cruel to be kind #twst first years #female reader #twst imagines #twst oneshot

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charming-mage · 4 years

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The Ghost Zone’s Running Joke Part 2 (Lila Salt Fic)

I find it fitting to finish this in October. Fits the Halloween season.

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Vlad Masters is here to take on the role of Mayor of Amity Park. Lila’s sees her golden ticket in the billionaire. His money makes the Agrestes look like paupers. His wealth and the connections that can be made through him might just be enough for the A-Listers.

It’s not hard to notice the strained relationship between Danny and Vlad. Danny wants nothing to do with the man. No matter what Vlad does, the high schooler aggressively rejects it. Lila figures she can do for him what she did for Mr. Agreste: spying and giving reports. In return, pulling some strings for a good internship at city hall or one of his businesses. The status of an internship at a good place and future in making lots of money might just be enough.

Lila makes her move. She’s able to catch Vlad after another failed attempt. Far from the students’ prying eyes, an offer is made. She’ll help him keep an eye on Danny, and give Vlad information on the teenager. The offer is prettied up to sound nicer then saying it’ll involve spying and violating Danny’s privacy. There’s regret in not cozying up to Danny. Would’ve made things easier.

Vlad turns her down. Says some things about not wanting to violate his trust like that. Wants to win him over his own way. In reality, he doesn’t need her. There’s spy cameras in the Fenton home and ghosts on his payroll. Besides, why would he want the help of a human female minor? Not a good look.

Lila is disappointed, but is not ready to give up yet. Plots form in her head to arrange situations to her advantage. ‘Accidently’ bumping into him and just so happen to have some interesting information. Too bad for her, the plan doesn’t workout to well because of a new lie she’s telling Casper High students.

Plasmius spotted in Amity Park gives Lila inspiration for a new lie. She claims the ghost is kind to her. Implies he sees her as attractive. The teenager doesn’t have the life experience to understand why this is a problem. Thinks admiration like this from an adult means nothing.

Let’s just say it’s an understatement this doesn’t go down well with the adults. When the students tell their parents, there’s an uproar. A recent Plasmius and Phantom fight at the school adds fuel to the fire. The fight is now seen as the ghost hero protecting minors from a pedophile.

People demand city hall, the Fentons, and the Guys in White to prioritize hunting down the Wisconsin Ghost. Phantom is not a major threat compared to the older ghost. Heck, Phantom has been seen to reject advances from his fans.

Vlad is forced to go along with this. If he hesitated it’d look very bad. Only saving grace here is Lila is a known liar among the ghosts. Things would have gone very bad for him otherwise. After this catastrophe, Vlad is cold to Lila. Refuses to humor her much to her dismay. What a lovely introduction to the Ghost Zone’s running joke.

Meanwhile with Team Phantom, they’re having a group meeting on what to do about Lila. Danny catching Lila stalking him (as Fenton) is the last straw. Danny is all for calling her out. It irritates him to watch the liar being fawned over for a fake connection. The friendship lie is encouraging his fans to be bolder.

Sam, the voice of reason, vetoes this plan. Trying to disprove Lila’s lies as Fenton is a horrible idea. No one will believe the loser at the bottom of the social hierarchy. It also adds a target on his back. Who knows what Lila will do to keep a lid on this. That Lila is willing to stalk, snoop, and snitch to Vlad is not good. It shows the teenager won’t stop at small lies to get what she wants.

On the other hand, confronting her as Phantom will make people think there’s a grain of truth in Lila’s story. It’ll be easy to twist it as a falling out. Besides, they don’t want to bring more attention on the ghost attacks at the school then there already is. If people believe Phantom, then it’ll be obvious the hero is at the school often enough to hear it. Which means more scrutiny and surveillance.

Tucker has a plan. Simply pretend to have no idea who Lila is or haven’t heard the rumors. One day an Amity Park resident is going to point blank ask him. It’ll be easy to stick around long enough after a ghost fight at Casper High. A student will be sure to bring up the subject.

Luckily for Danny, an opportunity appears within a week. After capturing a ghost, he allows Paulina to catch up to him. Paulina does the usual gushing over him. When she brings up Lila, he sticks to the plan. “....Oh you’re talking about that long haired Brunette. Layla? Lie-la?” Let’s just say the popular girl is not happy to have been made a fool of in front of the entire school. It’s one thing to tell unimportant white lies. It’s another thing to make Paulina look stupid.

Paulina is not the only one finding out about Lila’s lies. Some Amity Park residents have noticed the ghosts reaction to Lila. Their interactions stand out as most ghosts don’t usually target an individual. If they do, it’s usually a one time thing. That this girl is well known to the ghosts and this drama hasn’t calmed down yet is suspicious.

Lance Thunder manages to get an on the scene interview with a ghost. He asks the burning question: “What’s so funny about this girl?” Other ghosts invite themselves to the interview when word spreads. It’s revealed Lila lied about knowing the ghost hero. It’s funny to them how hard the girl tries to be Phantom’s friend. Unknowingly, her actions cause him to keep his distance from her. Respecting Phantom, the ghosts don’t reveal his Halfa status. That doesn’t stop them from sharing stories. They just neglect to mention if it happened as Phantom or Fenton.

“I held her hostage and Phantom didn’t believe me when I said I had his friend. Told me all his friends are accounted for. He had no idea who this girl was.”

“She stalks him.”

“The child told me to my face Phantom will permanently end me if I harmed her. If she really knew him, she’d know Mr. Hero Complex would never cross that line.”

As the witnesses go on, it’s pretty clear Lila is a liar. This combined with Paulina’s revenge campaign, Lila’s rise as a future A-lister is finished. She never did manage to find a solution to rich requirement in time.

Lila is the social pariah at the school. Lower on the totem pole than Team Phantom and the nerds. There’s no escape to a new school this time. Mrs. Rossi is dealing with the aftermath of the ‘Ladybug is incompetent’ lies. (She finally got around to telling her boss about it.) Mr. Rossi is trying to transfer to another city, but Amity Park has a bad reputation. Outsiders view the ‘ghost believing fanatics’ lowly.

Mrs. Rossi doesn’t have any family to turn to. Her only family members left died years ago. Mr. Rossi is an orphan. It’s a hard choice, but Lila is staying in Amity Park. The uncertain future of Mrs. Rossi’s job is the deciding factor. There’s money to spare for anti-etco defenses. Unlike ghosts, there’s no products to deal with Akumas.

So Lila is stuck in Amity Park until her dad finds a new job in a different city. It’s not so fun being known as the town liar. Or the Ghost Zone’s laughing stock. No one believes her when the Box Ghost moves the packed boxes in the art room. Or Phantom calling her the girl who cried wolf.

The drama filled the ghosts’ boredom. Watching Phantom doing his best to tolerate her is a must see for visiting ghosts. They still for years tease him about his ‘dishonest friend.’

#lila salt #lila rossi #salt #crossover #lila gets exposed #lila exposed

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duchessofferia · 4 years

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Isn’t she just delightful?

Catherine of Aragon has one of the more fascinating media legacies of anyone in the Tudor period, not in terms of how her image has fluctuated over the years, but because of how notably it hasn’t. Other hardcore Catholics of the Henrician court are inevitably vilified in stories from Protestant perspectives - Thomas More, Cardinal Wolsey, Jane Seymour and above all else Mary I, to name a few. “Protestant perspectives” doesn’t just refer to reformation texts, it includes books from the perspective of Protestant figures; usually Anne Boleyn or Elizabeth I, and more recently Thomas Cromwell with Hilary Mantel’s Wolf Hall books. Despite her unwavering faith in both the Catholic Church and her own position, Catherine’s reputation has, up until the past twenty years or so, remained close to stellar; her marriage into the English monarchy at a young age did well to divorce her from her parent’s religious persecutions, and her death some fifteen years or so before her daughter took the throne kept her from being tarnished by association to Mary’s resurrection of medieval heresy laws.

As a Tudor queen, Catherine has largely gone down in history for her irreproachable conduct, even after that history began to tilt towards the side of a religion she opposed - she is known for her charity, her piety, and her belief in her husband’s good nature no matter how vile his behavior grew to be, even at the expense of her own self image. According to Chapuys (who in this case there is no reason to disbelieve) she went to her grave questioning wether Henry’s actions after their divorce was her fault, wondering wether, if she had given him what he wanted, he may not have felt the need to break from Rome, mistreat their daughter and execute two men - one a long term friend and one his own grandmother’s religious advisor. Catherine is a noble figure, she is a tragic figure, she is most of all a dignified figure, and in Tudor media she is always given at least a sympathetic nod if not a complex or three dimensional portrayal.

The key phrase there, though, is as a Tudor queen. Whatever else she was, Catherine was decidedly not a modern woman, just like all of her female peers living five hundred years ago were decidedly not modern women; her unflinching religious beliefs, her many attempts at producing a male heir and her devotion to her marriage are admirable traits of a female noble of the sixteenth century, less so of a twenty first century wife or businesswoman. She was a product of her time, and modernized or semi modernized Tudor media’s attempts to portray her - specifically the brand of modern Tudor media that sets out to depict Anne and Henry’s relationship as one of Sexy High Romance - always end up turning Catherine into a misogynistic caricature of herself, historical legacy be damned. The blog anneboleynnovels describes it best:

“Catherine’s greatest hurdle has been not Protestant novels, but modernized ones. These are the one subgenre in which her character at best is severely degraded and at worst is completely unrecognizable. It’s not surprising that it should be like this — finding modern corollaries to Anne and Henry, whether in an office, a Hollywood mansion, or a high school, is doable. As for most of the people who surrounded them, while some some people are harder to wrench into modern poses than others, it’s relatively easy to cut and alter those characters to make them work better in a modern setting. Catherine, however, is completely lost here. She needs to exist, or else the central conflict disappears — but she simply doesn’t have a real modern equivalent, at least not in the kinds of societies that modernizers write about; her determination that God had put her in her position and that she had to safeguard her daughter’s legitimacy, and thus her inheritance, is impossible to convey fully, especially since Henry’s historical behavior — taking a presumed inheritance from Mary, forcibly separating the two women, and confining them in residences of his choosing — can’t be precisely replicated in a modern novel without making him at best a creep and at worst a criminal. In neither case would that Henry be an appealing love object for a modern Anne, so his behavior is inevitably made more standard — he’s simply a wealthy man divorcing his wife of twenty years, and instead of taking her settlement and moving on, his wife just refuses to let go.”

As the post on Catherine’s fictionalized history points out, attempts to judge her through a modern lens, particularly in stories that center around that grand, not-at-all-murderous love affair of Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn inevitably fail to produce a balanced assesment. Susan Bordo’s highly modernized study the Creation of Anne Boleyn treats her like a footnote at best and a self righteous fool at worst, while the Catherine of Suzannah Dunn’s The Queen of Subtleties is disgustingly nicknamed “Fat Cath” (stupid cow, how could she let herself go like that after six pregnancies?) and features its leading lady, another ahead-of-her-time portrayal of Anne Boleyn, going out of her way to condescendingly paint Catherine to the reader as vengeful and delusional. Anne of Hollywood and Anne and Henry present the worst portrayals, one a hideous, deliberately unsympathetic drug addict and the other a teenage psychotic forced on Henry by his father, leading her poor, brow beaten boyfriend by the hand.

That’s not to say it would be impossible to write a well rounded modern Catherine of Aragon, but most modernized Tudor novels simply don’t care to try and make her well rounded; she exists solely to be the convenient road block to Anne and a whitewashed Henry’s happiness, a flat example of the Hysterical Woman trope rather than a Queen, a mother, or a politician. It isn’t Anne Boleyn’s fault that this happens (she can’t exactly object) but this version of Catherine never fails to rear its ugly head in Tudor media that aims to portray Anne, literally or figuratively, as a “woman of the future.” Since that reading of Anne has gained momentum over the years, this Catherine inevitably does so too.

What makes the Spanish Princess so unbearable is how blatantly Emma Frost is trying, and egregiously failing, to flip the script on this. Whatever her personal dislike of Anne Boleyn, she is very obviously trying to take this fictitious version of Anne Boleyn that has sprung up over the past few decades - that of the rebellious, sexy, pseudo feminist Modern Woman™ - and apply it to Catherine of Aragon, who was neither rebellious, a feminist or, after six pregnancies, five infant deaths and a battle with heart cancer, all that sexy. The intimacy and very real affection she and Henry shared in the early years of their marriage is stilted and unemotional, replaced by an absurd number of sex scenes and a very out of place “warrior kween” nickname. It isn’t enough for Catherine to organize a massive military campaign and give a speech to an assembly of soldiers while heavily pregnant, real life accomplishments of hers which have gone largely unacknowledged - no, the Catherine of the Spanish Princess needs to literally fight in battle, pregnant belly armor and all, subtly implying that her many miscarriages were the result of her own behavior, never mind the fact that Henry’s later wives had miscarriages as well. The deeply devoted friends Catherine actually had, one of whom served her for decades and risked royal punishment to be with her on her deathbed, are either erased entirely or put into invented conflicts with her. Her relationship with the only one of her children that survived infancy is perverted into a cold, uncaring motherhood, marked by disappointment and a refusal to even hold her daughter, let alone personally teach her Latin, commission scholars to write books for her, and request those same scholars take charge of her education.

In place of all these details, the things that make the historically minded audience love Catherine in the first place, several sordid aspects of Anne Boleyn’s fictional representations are assigned to Frost’s Catherine of The Upside Down: the ~unnatural~ blowjobs and poorly designed French hoods, the general air of cattiness, the excessive nudity, the hatred of her daughter, the inability to sexually please her husband, and the weird sense of anger at all the women in her life all stand out as hallmarks of Anne Boleyn’s less flattering portrayals, but so too do the clear attempts to pander to a feminist audience and sell itself as new age and progressive.

The fouler examples of Catherine as a modern woman aren’t yet the prevalent perception of her; a gaggle of misguided twenty first century books isn’t enough to erase the near spotless reputation she’s maintained for half a millennium. But the Spanish Princess fails to depict a more positive modernization of Catherine because it’s lazy in the attempt - it sees the habit of trying to turn sixteenth century queens into anything but sixteenth century queens and tries to replicate it by taking a handful of theatrical trends and having their protagonist perform them. Those trends have been apart of Anne Boleyn’s portrayal in the media for so long it wouldn’t be that strange to see her acting that way on screen, no matter how historically inaccurate they may be, but to assign them to someone with such a vastly different public history as Catherine is just jarring. She wasn’t like that, nobody thinks she was like that, Tudor media has always known her as being not like that, and the result is something that’s confusing at best and outright offensive at worst. It’s not fun to watch, but it’s interesting to examine, broader context in mind.

(Also credit to @queenmarytudor for that image of Meg and Mary, and seriously, check out anneboleynnovels. They’re great.)

#the spanish princess #Catherine of Aragon #the Tudors #henry viii #also I should say that I am not in any way a historian and you should take what I say with a massive grain of salt #this is just what I think

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lassostark · 4 years

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Day 7 Prompt for @geraltfluffweek: Established Relationship

Rating: Explicit Relationship/s: Geralt/Jaskier Warnings: None

Summary:

5 occasions the others accidentally walked in or overheard Geralt and Jaskier being disgusting and disgustingly in love, and 1 occasion they witnessed it together and it was okay.

Excerpt:

Eskel

He’s on his way to the library to return the books he brought with him on the Path when Eskel’s enhanced hearing picks up a peculiar sound. He slows his footsteps to be sure of what he heard, and —

Yes. Someone’s giggling, the pitch higher than normal, as if they’re being tickled. Then the giggling is followed by another voice. Lower, growlier.

Eskel’s eyes widen in realisation when he registers the voices belong to Jaskier and Geralt, respectively.

Training his ears to hear more, he listens as the bard, who’s the one giggling, speaks up.

“G-Geralt, someone could show up any moment!”

His brother’s playful growl follows next.

“Let them. It’s not like they haven’t seen us fuck before.”

Jaskier snorts. “That’s not the point, my love. As much as I enjoy our escapades around here, I don’t think Vesemir would appreciate it if he caught us desecrating his poor books. Again.”

Eskel’s brows almost reach his hairline at that proclamation, mortification and amusement warring in him at the thought of those two fucking in the library and defiling the books. Books that are older than all of them.

Melitele preserve us, I hope they didn’t touch the poetry section, Eskel thinks despondently.

“Hmm,” Eskel hears Geralt hum then. Even from afar it’s easy to detect the smugness in his brother’s tone. “You weren’t complaining when Yen was here last time and I had to gag you at the back.”

Eskel groans to himself. Fuck, they fucked in the poetry section. Godsdamn their insatiable arses.

He quietly turns around and is about to leave when Eskel hears Jaskier giggle again.

“Yes, but you weren’t complaining when I was choking on your cock, darling. Admit it, you love it every time you come down my throat.”

There’s definitely a wolfish grin on Geralt’s face when he says, “Hmm, yes, I do. But not as much as I love you, my little lark.”

Oh gods, Eskel thinks with a whimper as he quickens his pace. They still have two more months of winter left, and who knows what else those two are planning to do.

Even though Eskel is thrilled for Geralt finally finding happiness in his bard, there’s no erasing the fact that the poetry section in the library will need be disinfected. Very thoroughly.

Come to that, probably the whole library needs a good cleaning. Eskel shakes his head with a long-suffering sigh, but the small smile on his face belies his amusement on the whole thing.

Lambert

One of the joys of being at Kaer Morhen is the hot springs, in Lambert’s not-so humble opinion. After spending the whole day doing repairs at the keep, or after spending the whole morning training with his brothers and training the pup, Lambert loves bathing at the springs. Other times, he doesn’t even have to wait to be filthy in order to take a bath. He just goes down at random hours of the day and spends at least an hour soaking in the steaming, sulfuric water.

Naturally, he doesn’t get to be the only one there. Sometimes his brothers and Jaskier are there, and sometimes it’s the violet-eyed sorceress, who makes Lambert’s skin crawl. They’ve been stuck at the keep for the better part of a month now and he has only started to get comfortable around her.

Godsdamn fucking sorceress, he thinks, so much pretense and they act as if you’re the shit at the bottom of their high-heeled shoes.

But Yennefer is different, apparently, according to Geralt. Lambert doesn’t fucking see it, but his brother’s Child Surprise adores the witch. Plus, there’s the bard — Geralt’s bard, his mind corrects — who has developed a somewhat love-hate relationship with her as well. Always exchanging barbed comments and thinly veined insults that makes Lambert’s head spin because why the fuck do these people need to speak in riddles? Just say what you mean to say and be fucking done with it. There’s no need to make conversations complicated. The world’s complex enough and fucked up as it is.

Ah well, Lambert thinks as he makes his make down the stairs one afternoon after doing repairs at the southern wall. He’s covered head to toe in grime and dust, his body itching to get cleaned up. Not my problem. Besides, it’s kinda nice to have a witch on-call in case anything shitty comes up.

That was Lambert’s last thought when he reaches the double doors to the hot springs. He comes to an abrupt halt when he hears something peculiar. Brows furrowed and head cocked, Lambert listens closely for the unusual sound.

“Oh, fuck, Jas — ah, ah — just like that, ah!”

“You’re so fucking gorgeous like this, my love. All spread out and stretched just for me— fuck. My cock feels so good inside you. So perfect for me.”

“Jas…” Geralt whimpers.

Lambert feels several emotions run through him in the span of two seconds.

Curiosity. Shock. Horror. Embarrassment. Annoyance. Nausea.

“I love you so much,” he hears Jaskier moan, the telltale sound of skin slapping on skin loud even to Lambert’s ears. “Fuck, you feel so good, darling.”

Geralt groans, and his voice is like gravel when he rasps out, “Love you too— nngh, fuck — you feel so fucking good, Jas.”

Melitele’s fucking tits, Lambert screams in his head, disappointment settling in his gut. Not a-fucking-gain! This is the fifth godsdamn fucking time this week!

Admittedly, Lambert should’ve gotten used to it by now. After all, they only get to be completely comfortable in the privacy and safety of the keep. So the fact that his brother is going all out in his newfound relationship with Jaskier should be old news. So in a way, he kind of is used to it.

Hell, he’s even happy for Geralt. He can barely recall the last time he’s seen his older brother look so… so content and relaxed.

But it’s one thing to see them be all disgustingly sweet, trading kisses and affectionate touches at all times of the day. And it’s entirely another thing to accidentally walk in on those arseholes fucking each other like horny rabbits or like it’s going to be the end of the fucking world tomorrow.

Lambert has no qualms with nudity. Hell, he’s seen his brothers naked loads of times before, and he’s had his fair share of threesomes. He’s no prude, but. But. It’s not the same if you see your brother, or your brother’s lover, balls deep in one another and moaning and howling like fucking wolves.

It’s this thing called public decency.

Melitele’s fucking tits.

With a frustrated growl, Lambert turns around and stomps back out the way he came from, ignoring the bard’s yelp of surprise and Geralt’s shameless chuckles in his wake.

Vesemir

Vesemir is on his way to the stables to check up on his horse when he hears it.

Rather, when he hears them.

“Oh fuck,” the bard, Jaskier, moans. “Geralt, fuck, how’d you—”

He hears Geralt growl, and Vesemir can’t help but wince at what sounds to be a particularly hard, and rough, plowing the bard is getting this early in the morning.

“Could tell you wanted to be taken here,” Geralt grunts in-between thrusts. “My insatiable, naughty bard. Love it when you just— fuck — can’t get enough of my cock.”

Even this far, Vesemir can see the wooden walls tremble from where the bard is likely pushed up against.

“Geralt, fuck, Geralt,” Jaskier moans, and Vesemir’s lips curl in distaste when he hears one of his pups snarl and quicken his pace. “S-so good. So fucking good, my darling. My wolf— ah! Want you to come in me.”

And I’m leaving, Vesemir shakes his head and turns around to go back to the entrance hall.

He spots Ciri skipping past the doors, an exuberant smile on the pup’s face. On any other day, Vesemir would be proud at the young girl’s dedication to her training. However, he wishes to spare her the horror of hearing or, Melitele preserve him, accidentally seeing her adopted parents in such compromising positions. Again.

“Breakfast first before training, pup,” Vesemir tells his adopted granddaughter. He chuckles at Ciri’s pout as he wraps an arm around her shoulders, guiding her back inside. “Perhaps I can teach you to how to cook, hm?”

“Not like how Uncle Lambert taught me, I hope,” Ciri quips with a small smirk.

Vesemir snorts and shakes his head. Only a month and a half with them and she’s already a spitfire. Ah, she’s going to be the best of them.

“Not at all, pup,” Vesemir reassures her with a pat on her ash-blonde head. “Your Uncle Lambert is now forbidden from cooking following that incident.”

(Read on AO3)

#geraltfluffweek #the witcher #the witcher fic #geraskier #geraskier fic #geralt x jaskier #5+1 #5+1 fic #wow can't believe it finished the whole week #IM SO PROUD OF MYSELF #wooooh!!!#my writing

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margridarnauds · 4 years

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XCalibur: My Review

So, it’s been a couple of weeks since XCalibur came out and, while I’m trying to sort out my own thoughts about this, I decided to do what I do best: Force everyone to read an overly long, barely coherent post.

First off: Let’s get this off the ground. The fact that we got to see this at ALL was phenomenal. This is really, really fantastic, as a step for KMusicals getting a wider western audience, and it’s something that I DESPERATELY hope that they will continue to repeat in the future. I’d have supported it if it was anything, simply because that would give a clear message that there IS an audience for this.

However...

[warning for spoilers, brief discussions of rape]

Overall Impressions: Look....it’s WILDHORN. Wildhorn and me....we go way, way back. Like, to 12 Year Old Rachel listening to Jekyll and Hyde. And the Scarlet Pimpernel. And....quite a few musicals after that. I CAN’T hate it. It’s WILDHORN + ARTHURIANA. Two of my favorite things in the world. But, that being said....this might very well be my fault, but I did find myself a little disappointed, in the sense that, listening to the cast album, I was expecting a much, much better musical than what I really got. Which was a huge order to fill, given that I’ve always considered Artus: Excalibur to be one of Wildhorn’s more problematic musicals. But, in all fairness, they DID kind of promise me more, given that they retitled the musical and said that this was the “World Premiere”™. The set is fantastic, the music is stunning, but it just felt a little hollow to me.

Sets/Costuming: I LOVED the Dark Ages aesthetic to it. The costumes really were great, Morgana’s in particular stole the show, but Guinevere, Merlin, Arthur, and Lancelot gets some nice looks as well, and it all serves to give this idea of the Middle Ages (albeit HEAVILY preying on the old stereotype that it was The Dark Ages, with a very dark color palette generally being observable throughout). This also serves to make it visually very distinct from the Korean production of La Legende du Roi Arthur, given the two of them showed VERY close to one another. (2019 was just the year of the Arthurian musical.) As a Celticist....it isn’t REALLY historically accurate, it’s still fantasy, albeit more Guy Ritchie’s Arthur VS The Crystal Cave Trilogy in terms of how MUCH fantasy it utilizes. LRA (and Artus: Excalibur) took the approach of it being PURELY fantasy, there is....nothing. Historical. In there. One thing that irked me about Artus was that it, in particular, had a CHEAP feeling, like it had roughly as much thought put into it as a 80s comic book idea of Camelot that they were going to slap on the back of a cereal box or something. (LRA, to its credit, was GLORIOUSLY anachronistic, but it was high budget and sleek. I loved it for that.) XCalibur is TRYING for a more historical feel, and, for the most part, it does succeed. Whether the set is a forest, a deserted hall, or Camelot in its prime, they SELL the medievalism. It’s a bit of a pity there’s no WELSHNESS to it, but that is me being nitpicky about my field not being in there. For an Arthurian adaptation, I’m not really going to ask for anything more; it gives what it promises and it does it well. (Though I will say that, every once in a while, one of those costumes would flash in the stage lighting and I would question whether I’d seen that gold fabric at a Ren Faire etsy. BUT in all fairness, those costumes weren’t designed to be viewed in close up like that, and this is probably me being needlessly mean. OVERALL, the effect was good.)

Music: It’s a Frank Wildhorn musical, so of COURSE I’m going to like the music. This is DEFINITELY a stronger musical than Artus, with several new songs (including “The Tempest”, “Let the Sword Make the Man”, and “If he were standing here”, both of which are highlights to me) that really stand out. Since settling himself firmly in the Asian market, Wildhorn’s stuff has developed a polish that wasn’t really there in his Broadway stuff. It sounds much more modern, much more streamlined, with Death Note, the Man Who Laughs, Robespierre, and Mata Hari all having a distinct SOUND that I’ve started to call Wildhorn 2.0. There’s this distinct energy that runs through this production that wasn’t really there in Artus, and I found that it makes the cast album REALLY a treat to listen to. As with Artus, “Celtic” (which, in this case, of course, means “Riverdance”) musical motifs are present in the instrumentals, but I found it MUCH less heavy handed than before, and it’s evenly balanced out by more traditional tunes. I didn’t feel like it was AS overloaded as before, where I routinely found myself napping in between swelling instrumentals.

As with all of Wildhorn’s stuff, there are certain songs that sound very similar to other musicals of his, if you know what to look for. “Why am I here?” for example is nearly a carbon copy of “Who do you Trust?” from Tears of Heaven and “Wenn das Shicksal dich ereilt” from Rudolf, which themselves form part of a distinct genre of his songs that can be traced back to “The Riddle” from The Scarlet Pimpernel and “You and I” from Svengali. “The Mark of the Wolf”, a new song, sounds very similar at points to “How Many devils?” from The Civil War. Etc. etc. I don't really consider this a BAD part, at least in the case of the former, since the songs in that genre, to me, represent the best of Wildhorn’s music. And, after all, with over 30 years on stage....the man can only come up with new music for so long until he starts producing SOMETHING that sounds similar.

Overall verdict? Strong music. Not my FAVORITE of Wildhorn’s stuff, but I’ve definitely spent a few hours listening to the cast album on its own merits, and definitely more energetic and polished than the German run to my ear.

Plot: So, a big draw for me was “Has the plot been fixed from the days of Artus: Excalibur?” and.....I have many mixed feelings. I DO feel like we got more of a solid musical, but I also feel like it had some really, really sour notes and, in some ways, the transition to a new musical feels only half-way done. Like, they HAD a new musical in mind, they went halfway through the process, and then they shrugged their shoulders, said “That’s good enough”, and left us with a Frankenstein’s Monster. (Oh, wait, wrong KMusical.)

One of the biggest casualties was Morgana. Morgan le Fay has been one of my favorite characters in anything, ever since I was 7 years old and developing one of my first crushes via The Magic Treehouse. Morgana is always the FIRST one I look to in an adaptation to see how they handle her, and her plotline in Artus always felt weak for me, ESPECIALLY her relationship with Merlin, which Wildhorn once described as something along the lines of a “bit of a romance” but that was painfully underdeveloped, especially on her end. We knew that he was weak for her, to his detriment, we knew that she wanted what he had, and that they do.....the do together, but there’s very little REAL development in there, and no sign, on my end, of that “little bit of romance” as opposed to just. Using one another. When I heard that that plotline had been revised, I was THRILLED. Now, I feel like it was a monkey’s paw situation.

(1) Morgana goes from more or less apathetic to Merlin’s situation to.......being totally obsessed with him, to the point where she says he’s the only man she ever loved? Like, she goes from someone HIGHLY motivated by what she believes is her rightful inheritance to being motivated by Merlin’s dick.

(2) The timeline. My God, the timeline. Making Morgana a child when she’s shipped off AND then doing the “Only man I ever loved” thing (and SEEMING to imply that Merlin did love her as well, but refused to say it) is.....it’s bad. No other way around it. They did NOT think that timeline through.

(3) I HATED Guinevere getting Morgana in the back with an arrow, but you know? That was yet another monkey’s paw situation, given that at least it wasn’t “Morgana falling for a very obvious ploy that she SHOULD have seen coming from a mile away if she wasn’t, as has been established, obsessed with Merlin’s dick.”

I will say that, reworking the plot so that Morgana’s obsessed with Merlin’s dick DID work out better in the sense that at least the Madonna/Whore complex with her and Guinevere isn’t really there: We no longer see Evil, Sexy Morgana VS Sweet Forest Maiden Guinevere, and Guinevere in this version of the musical is allowed to be much gutsier than her German counterpart. They did give her quite a bit of character as opposed to “Naive Girl who believes Arthur is The Best but finds out Wrong”. Now, that gutsiness flies out the window once she marries Arthur and is mainly confined to singing sad songs and stepping in between Arthur and Lancelot, but see above for Frankenstein’s Monster.

I will say that I did appreciate that this adaptation was willing to really give us a DEEPLY flawed Arthur; it’s something I’ve seen relatively little of post-White in terms of Arthurian adaptations, and it’s something I’ve missed. (Once Upon A Time’s Evil Arthur notwithstanding.) Arthur is really rarely allowed to BE a character in his own right, he has to be an Ideal™ or, if he’s a flawed character, flawed in an acceptable, palatable way; here, he’s an angry young man who’s shoved into a position that he’s not really qualified for and has to grow into it. He shoves people away, he shouts, he trusts Morgana too blindly, and he basically causes the Guinevere/Lancelot situation on his lonesome. It’s actually a little great to see.

BUT. But. Monkey’s paw. I LIKED seeing Arthur being a little bitch on occasion, but, for better or worse, he is our main character. And, outside of his bonding scenes with Guinevere and Lancelot early on, we really....don’t get to see that many scenes where he’s LIKABLE. There are a few moments (the scene where he tries to get Morgana to dance at his coronation is ADORABLE), but the first time we’re really introduced to him, he’s in a fight, he (understandably) snaps at Merlin, decides that, hey, being king might not be so bad, is fun for a little while, and then he spends a solid chunk of the second act being a dick because his father died. I don’t really know. I feel like this is going to be one of those things that I keep rolling over in my mind, as far as whether I REALLY like HIM as a main character, or whether I like those individual moments where he’s likable.

A part of me liked that we had, instead of the two siblings fighting during “Was Will Ich Hier”, we have Morgana and Arthur bonding. That sibling bond was, in my opinion, one of the more interesting possible dynamics in the show. But, unfortunately, the resulting conflict with Merlin felt very “been there, done that.” It’s more PLAUSIBLE than in cases where, say, the Enemy of the Week poses as a little girl and suddenly the main cast, who have known one another for twenty years, are suddenly slinging accusations against one another, but it STILL felt rather forced and predictable.

I was actually really grateful that we didn’t have the Morgana/Lot relationship in this particular production--Making Morgana an actual domestic abuse victim and then killing her off NEVER sat well with me, but as a result of that, now we have this situation where we have two more or less unconnected villains: Morgana and Wulfstan, and the plot only really needed one. Wulfstan, as a character, just....isn’t interesting. He’s a more or less generic “Barbarian Warlord” type who’s pissed Arthur killed his son and creeps on Morgana. I can’t REALLY say anything more there. Their plotlines intersect in the very beginning, when they capture Morgana and she guides them to Uther’s old castle, but other than that, there’s a general disconnect between them, and there’s no real PAYOFF to that. Instead, it just feels like it makes the plot needlessly busy.

One thing I’ve noticed, with both La Legende du Roi Arthur and XCalibur, is this pressure to fit as MUCH Arthurian in as possible, and as a result, the final musicals become rather crowded, so there’s no real time for DEVELOPMENT or substance.

“Okay, we have to have the pulling from the sword here!” “Right!” “Hm, Morgana le Fay is one of the most iconic antagonists, we probably need her there.” “Saxons?” “Sure!” “Everyone’s expecting Lancelot and Guinevere, we can’t not have them in there.”

I FEEL like XCalibur is LESS bogged down than LRA with regards to that factor, since the latter also threw in Maleagant as a secondary antagonist to Morgana and the Grail quest, but I still feel like XCalibur bit off more than it could really chew. Which is a pity, because there are Arthurian plot lines that have gotten comparatively little attention in recent days that you could include instead of going the “Paint By Numbers” route.

This also really shows in how it deals with certain plot lines, which are either dropped (Wulfstan V. Morgana), or come out of nowhere. This is REALLY obvious with Lancelot/Guinevere, which is a pity because I found myself, against my own will, rooting for them more than any other pairing in the show. Lancelot goes from a cocky lady’s man to...suddenly being smitten with Guinevere.....and then suddenly, after Guinevere is sad about Arthur being a dick, the two of them are fucking. Now, it would be NATURAL, as far as “Guinevere goes to Lancelot when she feels like Arthur’s being cold to her”, but we don’t SEE that. We literally cut from her in the forest, singing a sad song, and the next time we see them, they’re postcoital. It feels like it comes out of NOWHERE. My investment in them, as a couple, is more due to the strength of the two actors involved than the actual WRITING, which thinks that because the BEDROCK for something is there (”Oh, Guinevere beat Lancelot in combat! Oh, she feels neglected!”) that that means the house is there as well (”Oh, Guinevere beat Lancelot in common....so NOW he’s totally in love with her and is never going to flirt with another woman again. Oh, Guinevere is feeling abandoned by Arthur.......so we don’t NEED to see her going to Lancelot.”) They jump from Point A to point D and the audience is left with a sense of whiplash.

Some things, like Merlin’s actions re: Igraine and Uther, as well as Morgana, are just not explored to a depth that I would really find is satisfactory. “Oh, I did all these terrible things....because of Fate!” is something that we’re REALLY supposed to pull behind, but, given the pain to everyone involved, ESPECIALLY the women (Igraine, Morgana, and Guinevere ALL suffer from Destiny™), you have to REALLY wonder if there was literally anyone else who could have done it.

...so, really. BBC Merlin. BBC Merlin.

MOVING ON FROM MY SALT...as a medievalist, I was actually relatively happy that for ONCE in an Arthurian adaptation, the conflict between Christianity and paganism (WHICH HONESTLY WASN’T EVEN THAT MUCH OF A CONFLICT IN TERMS OF THE CELTIC WORLD, BUT MOVING ON) was presented as being pro-Christian. I’ve dealt with WAY too much media, in my time, that treats, say, 8th century Catholicism in Ireland the same as 16th century Catholicism in Spain, and NO. They were VERY distinct. I am saying this as a confirmed, happy atheist. They were distinct. I do not need or want The Mists of Avalon 10.0 on my screen, no thank you.

That being said...Monkey’s Paw. Monkey’s Paw. I was NOT happy to see the conflict presented as “Christianity taking over is Destined and Good, the Old Ways™ have had their time.” There’s this rather ugly fatalism that runs through it, along with the idea that followers of the pagan tradition HAD to die for Christianity to take its place. It’s...not my favorite thing in the world. Perhaps I’m simply unpleasable in this aspect, but there has GOT to be some medium between the two. Maybe this is my Medieval Irish Bias seeping through here, given that, with what I’m used to, the druids were mentioned in law books through the 8th century. I own this. (”But Rachel,” you might say, reasonably, “This isn’t 8th century Ireland”, to which I would of course say, “BUT IT SURE AS HELL ISN’T 6TH CENTURY WALES OR CORNWALL EITHER.”) Medieval people, historically, while they didn’t REALLY have religious tolerance as we know it, didn’t always see it in stark terms of “PAGANISM IN ONE CORNER, CHRISTIANITY IN ANOTHER”: They were, as a whole, FAIRLY good at integrating aspects of both in, even when they didn’t really mean to. The entire thing is just mangled horribly.

Anyway. Celtic Studies Salt Over.

Actors/Actresses: I’ll be honest, I was expecting, primarily, Morgana, Arthur, and Lancelot to pull the plot along, mainly because they get, together, most of the primary numbers, and because, in the German, Sabrina Weckerlin essentially carried the show on her back. As it was, Kim So Hyang’s Guinevere was the one who REALLY, in my opinion, ended up carrying the show. She had a wonderful voice, strong voice, and her Guinevere was able to make a full, smooth journey between a young, bold girl to the troubled wife of a troubled king to a woman wracked with regret. I’ve seen her in a lot of things, but I don’t think I really NOTICED her until now. She did some truly phenomenal work here, I was really glad, actually, that I got to see and appreciate her Guinevere. (Though, as a Min Kyung Ah fan....I would have LOVED to have seen her Guinevere.) She had great chemistry with both of her leads, lending credibility to both relationships, more than the script itself might really give.

Kai isn’t really an actor I ever really LOOK for in a musical, I wouldn’t say that I’m a MASSIVE fan, but that’s only because I don’t actively search for his stuff. Every time I’ve seen him in something, he’s been solid, and I did very much like him in the press calls. It does seem a little unfair that he got both the press calls AND the pro-shot, but c’est la vie. I did like his Arthur, he had a steady voice to back up the role, his acting was solid. Arthur, as a character, doesn’t REALLY stick out for me, but that isn’t HIS fault so much as the script’s, really, and my pre-built in bias towards Morgana. I didn’t find him to be REALLY likable in the role, very angry and sullen, but.....well. See above for my take on Arthur’s general likability here. I do think the man did the best with what he had, though I also feel like he’s more natural in Arthur’s dorkier, more relatable moments, especially with, say, Guinevere, Morgana, and Lancelot. (Though I’m not sure if that’s because I like Arthur as a CHARACTER more there or if I’m reacting to his ACTING in the role. This is one of those times where I’d have really liked to see Do Kyum or Junsu’s take on the role, since that would help me iron out what parts are the WRITING and what are the actor, but, lacking that, I’m going to err on the side of generosity.)

Shin Young Sook....I WANTED to like her Morgana. I did. But, I’ll be blunt, even as far back as the press call, I was feeling Jang Eun Ah’s Morgana more, I was, definitely, feeling a little disappointed when the proshot cast list was announced. So, in some ways, the poor woman would have had to have done miracles to get me to REALLY warm up to her. And I didn’t really see miracles on the stage. Her voice remains reliable, she is a belter like few others on the Korean stage. I give her that. But her acting basically totally ruined the character for me. My issues with the role, as detailed in the “Plot” section, aside, I believe that the overall character COULD be salvaged, from an audience perspective, with a nuanced enough portrayal. But, when I saw this particular take on Morgana...I didn’t see MORGANA. I saw Shin Young Sook, Having Fun, instead of Morgana, as portrayed by Shin Young Sook. An actress having fun in a role can definitely be GREAT (Park Hye Na as Eva in Frankenstein is one role of hers I will cherish forever), but in this case, which required a lot of nuance to pull it off and make the villain sympathetic....it does clash when you can tell that she’s one step away from evilly cackling and releasing a final belt before running off the stage. There is a time to ham and there is a time to not, and this was one of the “not” roles. There came some point, perhaps during the song “Desire”, perhaps before it, that I actively started DREADING Morgana appearing on stage. I don’t KNOW that Jang Eun Ah would have done it better. She could have done it worse. But it is a tragedy of only having a single cast available that I will always wonder. I was disappointed here. I was really, really disappointed.

Kim Jun Hyun as Merlin was solid. It’s well known at this point that I have a soft spot for him, but for what it’s worth, on a comparative level, I feel like this role suited him much better than, say, Orléans in Marie Antoinette (where, personally, though still liking him, I found him a little too cold for my taste). He is appropriately distant and otherworldly, showing a human side and conflict as the musical continues. Is he enough to make me LIKE Merlin, as a character? Not really, given how many people suffer because of him and how little the narrative actually QUESTIONS it, but damned if he doesn’t try, and he does lend a subdued charisma to the character, to the point where I know that at least some people noticed him more than they did Arthur or Lancelot. I did think he had -40 chemistry with Shin Young Sook, but that could be because I was ALREADY attached to him and Jang Eun Ah’s chemistry in the press call, and that is not so much a failing on one actor’s side or the other’s (I want to emphasize this, because I do NOT have anything against Shin Young Sook SPECIFICALLY on this point), rather it’s something that can’t really be qualified. (And is entirely subjective, I’m sure that plenty of viewers saw NOTHING wrong.) For me, it did cause me to actively cringe at certain scenes, such as the “This is where your Arthur came from”......”seduction”.....scene.

“Lord....I actually have fewer problems saying no to this than you might think, nvmind.”

It COULD be that that’s the look of conflicting desire, but to me, personally, watching it, it rather looks like Merlin just realized that he forgot to turn the stove off at home. Which is a pity, because I was REALLY going in here expecting to like Merlin/Morgana more than the love triangle and instead found it to be very awkwardly handled. I haven’t ENTIRELY given up on it as a ship, in some abstract way that would involve another rewrite of the entire musical, but I can’t REALLY say that there’s. Anything I like about it either. And I think that if I was less stubbornly determined to find SOMETHING in it to like, I’m fairly certain I would be even more uncomfortable with it.

My final verdict: Watching this, despite some impressive visuals (though not QUITE to the same level as fellow Wildhorn musicals The Man Who Laughs, Dracula, and Mata Hari) and performances, I found myself continually wanting to go back to the cast album rather than actually WATCH the musical. Changes have been made since the German production, but I found that, while some of the changes definitely served to make a stronger musical, some of them actively weakened the show, and it's still a little too busy for its own good. I’m also not REALLY sure that the changes made really justified it being given the label World Premiere™, given the hype around it. If it was available for streaming again, would I do it? Yes, because it IS worth at least one watch and the industry NEEDS to do this more. If it was available to buy, even, for $20 or so, I would probably get it. But I’m not sure that, if it was for the~ $100 price that Toho musicals tend to sell for, I would seriously be able to say “Yes, get this”, and I’m not sure that, if an American/European tour of it was miraculously announced, I would REALLY bend over backwards to get tickets.

6/10

Tl;dr: “WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO MY SISTER?”

#xcalibur #artus: excalibur #arthuriana #excalibur crit #(For anyone who doesn't want this in the tags)#long post

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lxmcs · 4 years

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･ﾟﾟ･｡ ( charlie rowe, cis-male, he/him ) — 𝒉𝒐𝒈𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒉𝒐𝒎𝒆 REMUS LUPIN, the TENTH year GRYFFINDOR student ! i hear that the TWENTY year old is known to be CONSIDERATE and WITTY and also very SELF-ISOLATING and PESSIMISTIC. however, if you ask me, the fact that they are a HALF-BLOOD and leaning towards the side of the ORDER is a lot more telling.

pinterest | full bio

tldr; bio: remus james lupin, born to wizard lyall and muggle hope lupin on march 10. his bright, curious childhood was cut short after an attack by werewolf fenrir greyback, which turned young remus into a werewolf as well. plagued by the curse of his transformation, the boy was forced into a life of isolation and solitude. it was the kindness of albus dumbledore, who reached out to young remus when he turned eleven and offered him a chance at a "normal" school education, and the resilient loyalty of his first friends that brought the life back to this little lone wolf.

HEADCANONS —

he’s lowkey an asshole, but like a lovable asshole

sometimes the conscious of his friend group

but also? catch him calling someone out on their prejudiced bullshit?

zero chill when it comes to defending his friends

has Mom Friend energy but also Disaster Dad Friend energy

equally patient and impatient

so sweet and patient with tutoring and explaining things

except to people who can just push his buttons

prides himself on not having a temper

but he absolutely does

it’s just so hard to reach, but i guarantee his friends know how to push his buttons and get him there so fast

he’s a Bitch without his morning coffee

absolutely not a morning person, i pray for anyone who wakes him

especially after a full moon

has a bad habit of self-isolating and brooding after a bad full moon

even though he has very accepting friends he’s still ashamed of the damage he causes

but for the most part he’s better with them around

seems super mature and like he has his life together

is absolutely neither of those things

but enjoys that he comes off that way at face value

the best bullshitter you’ll ever meet

sophisticated puns? sophisticated puns

mcgonagall at some point: “you’re late” remus: “i’m aware” (read: a-were)

is constantly at war with himself between feeling grateful for his friends and like he doesn’t deserve them

it’s only by the grace of how stubborn those who care about them are that he hasn’t been able to successfully push them away

but he’s definitely tried

has the biggest fucking guilt complex

also a major bitter, resentful streak?

also i’ll be honest even though he seems like the type to admonish swearing, he actually swears way too much

especially when he’s impatient or frustrated

really fantastic at dueling

has a really good “i’m judging you” face

and KILLER puppy dog eyes

it’s the bags under his eyes and the constant guilt clouding his gaze

it makes his puppy eyes irresistible

just has that tired, kicked puppy aura

you’d think his morals are too high for him to use that to his advantage

but you would be wrong

he slouches when he stands because he’s so abnormally tall and lanky

makes dad noises™ when he stands

it’s because of how sore he is from his transformations and injuries he’s had during full moons, but no one comments on it

so painfully awkward with crushes

you either can’t tell that he likes someone at all

or he’s so agonizingly obvious it’s almost pathetic

WANTED CONNECTIONS —

(friends) — they’re there for him, whether they know about his condition or not, and he’s eternally grateful (and guilt-ridden) for all that they’ve done for him. whether they’re old friends he’s tried to push away “for their own protection” in the past or they’re new friends that he’s just getting to know, they add value and a richness to his life that he never had before hogwarts

(ex-friends) — they were close once, and now they’re not. it hurts remus, especially because he most likely blames himself. it could be because he successfully pushed them away “for their own good”, or because of a falling out they had. either way, he can’t help but look at them with those sad puppy eyes when they pass in the hall and kick himself for whatever he knows he must have done (even if he didn’t.)

(romance) — it’s rare, but sometimes he’ll date. very rarely does it last long (usually at his doing) but it’s not as if he doesn’t want love. he likes the idea of it, but doesn’t think he has it in him to maintain anything because of his condition. he’ll often start to distance himself during that first full moon. relationships that last longer than a month eventually taper off one way or another. whether they dated in the past, almost dated, or are crushing now (requited or unrequited), remus either will or has handled it badly.

(long-lost childhood friend) — before he was bitten, they used to be friends. they were young, remus was only four the last time he saw them, but he sometimes catches their eye when they pass in the hallway. maybe they’re trying to reconnect, maybe they don’t care to know him now, or maybe they don’t remember at all. either way remus certainly does, and he often wonders if he should make some conversation beyond anything school-related.

#fd.intro #me? have my tag system worked out already?#that's the dream

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