#that armor on top of the robe is so.....woe

[first-blight]

tag game time! tagged by @shadowcursedballs (thank you!) to use this picrew (click here)

woe, rhidian be upon ye! without their neck tattoos and neck scar, but close enough :] i decided to have a little fun and do a beginning vs middle comparison (hair and clothes for end didn't quite satisfy me, unfortunately)

tagging @emeraldgroves @strixhaven @meowstarion @opaleyedprince @spiderslyre and whoever sees and wants to do it!!! <3

[yanderenightmare]

YANDERE ! CHISAKI KAI

goodiebag WARNINGS: dubcon/noncon, yandere, abuse, anxiety, eugenics, kidnapping, abduction, manipulation, stalking

BREAKING VASES

“How are you feeling?”

His voice was a blur of sound she fought no battles to make out. Annoying in some sense, antagonizing the base of her skull, poking and prodding at the back of her mind. Yet she managed to piece together what he’d asked after deciding it’d be unwise to leave his query unanswered.

Having broken through the thick haze she’d momentarily been lost in, she didn’t quite know what to make of his words. It was an impossible question. It was an impossible question due to the fact that it had infinite answers. There seemed to be no end to what she was feeling. Robbed, estranged, vulnerable. She was given a robe, but it acted as a weak replacement to the smoke-ridden garments she wore before. Those scented with herbs, dirt, sweat and blood and culture. Those with holes and rips painting a story of the past few years of her life. Granted, they’d probably pose as nothing more but mere rags to anyone else, but to her they posed as something, out of a select few things, that truly belonged to her. Her armor. The piercings that once acted as her weapons, her axes and spears and swords and arrows, were gone too, stolen away, leaving phantom remnants to fill what empty punctures should have been left, however who had miraculously grown shut as though never even there to begin with. Sentiments of those occasions where she’d gifted herself with the cheap jewels; memories she cherished beyond whatever more money could buy her. The feathers and string woven into her hair, her shield, had also been taken, untangled from her locks, letting the dull tresses fall unenthusiastically down around her shoulders. Her scars as well, the blooming bruises on her knuckles and knees and elbows; gone, and the stories of her victories gone with them. Gone, not healed; removed from existence. She even missed the grime that used to coat her skin, the smudged mascara she never bothered to wash away, the soil beneath her fingernails and stuffed between the ridges in her skin. They were as much part of her as the blood simmering through her veins.

She knew she was exaggerating, thinking of her bath in antibacterial as an acidic Armageddon. She’d merely been washed, but it felt as though her spirit and soul had gone down the drain as well. Her body scrubbed to the point where she could have sworn her skin had been torn away, leaving nothing but blood and bones in their wake. She felt raw. She felt lonely. No, worse. She felt left. Reborn but dead in the same moment, yet she was still alive and the fact felt forever unavoidable by the presence of the man sitting before her. The man who looked like some heathenistic God she might have worshipped once if it were not for his demeanor telling tales of what felt like the onset of destruction. The man who demanded to know, what now felt like ages ago, how she was feeling.

He felt he was being generous with his patience, but that generosity would soon shift if she were to keep on being unresponsive to him. Granted, it was a simple question, a question with a mere two answer option. But she seemed to be weighing the world in her pensiveness. She’d answer for her disobedience sooner rather than later, nothing good ever came from delaying the inevitable. But for now, he would kindly gift her with more of his patience, even though it was running thinner by each second spent of his eyes taking in her presence. Her spotless and cultivated purity. He’d shined away for hours on what would seem like coal to the naked eye, revealing what he knew to be a diamond in the rough once he finished. Chipping away at the edges to create the perfect symmetrical shape he knew she could inhabit.

Her shivering didn’t go unnoticed by him nor did the way she averted her eyes from his peering gaze. She had her knees tucked up under her chin, her position placed picture-perfectly in the middle of the bed; her whole being speaking volumes of how alienated she felt being surrounded by the ocean of silk and cotton and pillows as large as herself. Newly washed hair splaying in thick meanders down her shoulders, legs and spine. Not wet enough to be dripping but enough to damp her clothing. A few dry locks irritatingly dancing across her face, making her nose impulsively scrunch up every now and again.

She was cute, he’d give her that. But being cute wasn’t enough to quench his temper. In fact, it merely aided in his frustrating. Spit rising, pooling under his tongue which writhed and lurched at the sweetness of it. Mere seconds away from starting to drool, similar to how a hound would react upon eyeing a slab of meat, and despite him not wanting to act like a wild beast he found more and more just how hard it was going to be to resist the brute force he was in capacity to use.

He'd at some point removed the bejeweled plague-mask, as she saw it now repositioned on a counter-top. Not daring to face the male, letting his frame remain a blur in her peripheral vision. “Naked.” Her voice was tender… meek. It took him a while to understand that it had been her answer. It had come such a long time after he’d asked and the answer wasn’t exactly orthodox. However, as curious as it was, it was at least more candid than he would have hoped, which made him… not exactly satisfied, but… let’s say… less displeased.

Not sure what to make of it, he figured he’d more or less ignore her retort. Refraining from explaining why his remedies had to be done, as he’s sure it wouldn’t help ease any of the woes, worries and feelings of sentimental loss currently flagging behind her eyes. He was never prone to establishing such ridiculous attachments to anything himself, therefore having a hard time understanding her catatonic sorrow, but he could at the very least make an effort to understand their complications. Thinking perhaps replacements were in order. “Would you want more clothes?” He wasn’t dim. He knew that it wasn’t the same type of naked she meant, but more clothes in exchanged for the translucent kimono she was wearing couldn’t hurt. Perhaps she’d even realize that it all was for the better. She couldn’t possibly prefer the filth she wore before above what precious materials he’d bestow upon her now that she belonged to him.

He was wrong, evidently. “I’d like my clothes, please.” There was a hint, a weak hint, of scorn in the request, but it was rather drowned out in timid timber of her soft voice. He enjoyed the caution she spoke with, as though she’d already assessed the situation and come to terms with her new role. Yet, the shy inkling of ire still caused the hairs on his arms to rise in frustration. Not so much because of her meek defiance, but more so due to the fact that the request was based in such silly audacity. The reason as to why she would ever want those cheap rags back was beyond him, and would hopefully soon be beyond her as well.

His brows flatlined to a nonchalant expression as opposed to the low furrow they’d been held before. “I burnt them.” It was still spoken through grit teeth, unable to hide his annoyance completely. She noticed, scurrying her heels closer to herself, trying to better hold onto her frame, not wanting to slip outside the self-made confinement. Her knuckles turning ashen with how hard she was hugging her body. Trying to better balance her fear in hopes of not causing enough uproar as to make the male sitting a mere meter away suddenly pounce like any other predator might. The feeling of her heart in her throat was choking, making her swallow thickly even though her mouth felt dry.

She flinched when he moved, squeezing her eyes tightly shut, trying to find comfort in the blinding dark behind her eyelids, however failing. The sharp padding of his leather shoes across the floor were intimidating enough on their own, enough to make the image of the golden snake-like slits he had for eyes rise up in front of her. His presence was closer when she dared peek a glance through her lashes. Tears glued them together and it was upon seeing it she understood she’d been crying without noticing, but come to think of it, she did feel the salt rivers sting on her freshly scrubbed cheeks.

He’d come back with garments in his hands. Lace she noted; white, expensive, luxurious, revealing lace. And a dress, just as clinically white, yet far from resembling any of the lechery as the lingerie. No, it was rather something she’d expect you’d dress a doll in. Thin shoulder-straps met with a sweetheart neckline which eventually strutted out into a short airy skirt. The fabric detailed in enhancement of the textile, bumps and ridges forming a vague pattern of roses across. In fact, it was so lavish and occasional that, if the skirt had been floor-length, she’d guessed it to be a wedding dress.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d even worn a dress. She couldn’t even remember the last time she wore the color white. White, in its impracticality, stains too quickly, so granted if she ever even wore the color it wouldn’t remain that way for long. Nevertheless, she reached out. Dainty fingers, what should have been bruise-knuckled were it not for whatever procedure he’d put her through, stretched out in an ever so shy descent from its position atop her knees. But the movement was short-lived, killed with a gasp caught in her throat, for as soon as she brushed fingertips with the displayed fabrics was her wrist tightly snatched from its proceedings and brought forward in an action so rough it made her entire body tumble in the same direction. Promptly pressed firmly and snuggly into his chest as he made quick instalments to secure her new position in his lap. The roughness of his dress-buttons making abrasive contact through the silk of her robe, as the cool metal of his belt-buckle caused similar yet more intrusive discomfort to the place found in between her thighs.

“What do you want from me?” Was the only thing that made it past her quivering lips, granted it was the sole question that seemed to burn with a terror-fueled passion inside her.

“What good would come from stating the obvious?” He said as he cocked his chin to the side. Searing, golden eyes unmoved, or rather amused, by her prominent fear-stricken features. “All you need to know is that my name is Chisaki Kai, and how if you call me by anything but Kai, I will hurt you.” Her wrist felt cold in the pressure of his hold. Her other hand limply placed on his abs. “Do you understand?” Her chest seemed to tighten more and more with the knot tying itself in the pit of her gut, rendering her just barely able to even comprehend what he was saying. Unsatisfied with her blank expression, his eyes narrowed even further. “Let me make it a bit more clear.” His gloved hand rose from the position it had on her thigh and made contact with her face, pinching her chin in an effort to slant her head to the side. “You see that vase over there” He nodded in the direction he’d faced her in. The warm breath of his words tickling the shell of her ear as he spoke. “Watch closely.” She was too afraid to shut her terror-wide eyes, even with the sentiment he’d brought with his words, gently biting into her earlobe as he dropped her wrist. The hand repositioning, palm facing the vase he’d mentioned.

She wouldn’t have guessed it was a vase. Vases were for flowers, but this cauldron could roam at least three liters worth of water. She figured it must have been some ancient artifact, given its placement in the rich complex she found herself situated in. The texture decorating the shell of it resembling that of a toad’s back, bumpy and wriggly and swamp-colored. And it was because of the uneven appearance she didn’t quite catch the moment it all started moving. Ripples, waves, earthquakes seemed to run across the surface of it, before pieces started completely dislodging from the original assignment. Reanimating before his gloved fingers. The sight, acting as the onset of horror, had her guts in turmoil, her stomach folding in on itself, toppling in ways she hadn’t known were possible, as her tongue suddenly felt heavy and foreign in her mouth.

“Do you understand now?” His voice was soft; calculating, yet so very grave in its nature. Turning her head back to face him, fingers making a move to sharply cling to her cheeks yet again, keeping her chin in the palm of his hand. Wishing for a moment he’d removed his gloves, but the regret was too weak to battle the feeling of pleasure at the sight of seeing her lips puckered together between the force of his fingertips and the swimming look of hopelessness displayed so deliciously less than an inch from his face.

“Yes…” The word was only barely audible amidst her quivering, and the display, though brought him great pleasure, didn’t seem to satisfy him. Therefore, quickly adding his name to further her understanding of the rules she’d been giving. “Kai.” He felt his well-fitted pants tighten at that, his member growing hot and heavy, being sure she felt it too.

His hands sank from their endeavors of holding her face in place and of rearranging the vase, and, whence lowered, was placed back on her thighs, stroking a path upwards as to push the silk away from her skin, exposing the cooling soft skin. Soon pulling at the end of her belt, which easily fell away, opening the curtains so that he could peek more clearly at what was found inside. A chill wafted flush against her skin, goosebumps springing to the surface of her breasts; nipples perking as the soft material rubbed across them before being removed. His hand wandered further, inside the kimono to untangle the last tie found by her waists.

“Are you gonna kill me?” Her words lacked momentum, void of purpose, laced with defeat instead, as though she’d already answered the question herself. And if he at all heard what she’d said, he didn’t feel the need to show any indication of it. “Once you’re done with me?” She furthered the question, and at that the man seemed slightly shaken.

She had no doubt what she was there for. If his current actions weren’t any indication, the past hours certainly were. She’d been prepared for him. Groomed to fit his idea of perfection. It was all evident now. His eyes still trained over her body, never once showing any further acknowledgment for her words. “What makes you think I’ll ever be done with you?” It was as though he weren’t even speaking to her. It looked more as though he were speaking to himself, ignoring the growing terror he was increasing by the second. His hands exploring with his full attention at their disposal. Gloved fingers running over smooth skin, having the new foreign urge to remove the protective garments.

He moved slowly, controlled, yet she could see the fidgety urge he possessed to get the gloves off as quick and effortlessly as possible. Pulling each gloved finger halfway off. The act soon became a strange type of clumsy; childish, as if he couldn’t quite do it fast enough. However, despite his hurried movements, whence the gloves were fully removed he took the time to place them neatly beside him, as though they were of outmost importance, too good to be thrown on the floor in the fit of his impatience.

Momentarily mesmerized by the strange actions of the golden-eyed boy, she shook out of her stunned state. “Toys break… and broken toys are no longer fun to play with.” She didn’t know when she gained back her confidence, perhaps somewhere along perceiving him nearly trip at the mere strive to remove his gloves.

“That’s true.” He stated, naked fingers hesitantly making first contact with unresearched, untested skin. Yet, once his fingers only barely brushed past the thin peach-fuss found on her hips, unscathed in their venture, there seemed to be nothing keeping him at bay. “Only… you’re not a toy.” It was hard to believe the sentiment when he was poking and prodding and playing with her flesh as though she were some type of doll. Still and withal, despite it being unwanted, the touch wasn’t unpleasant… at least not for now as he went on with the tender cautious ticklish strokes of a child. As if in reverence or savory or relief or all of them at once. Though, it would soon turn into possessiveness.

His hands were soft, to her great surprise. Just as soft as the silk she wore before. His nails were long, sharp, groomed, manicured. The talons sinking into her skin more so than his fingertips, in an amateurish fashion, giving off the impression he hadn’t ever done such a thing before or that it had been a very long while since he had. He seemed confident despite it, or… any grain of angst was thoroughly outmaneuvered by his curiosity.

“What am I then?” She feared the answer as she eyed the growing lust in his starry irises, as his pupils seemed somehow a darker color than black beside the godly glow of gold.

He had half the mind to repeat the answer she’d first given him, given that it was now true in all its information, but decided against it. It would be wrong of him to mock her when he was the one nearly drooling at the sight of her in such a state. He took a breath, surprised to find it uneven. “Perfection.” It was only barely above a whisper. Frightening adoration and unwanted worship over-seasoned the one word.

Her brows furrowed at the endearment, it feeling so foreign an adjective to describe her of all people. Confusion wafting over her, nearly replacing the fear. “I think you’ve kidnapped the wrong person.” She didn’t exactly think he’d stop, yet the light-hearted smirk that soon quirked at the corner of his lips still came as a surprise, it serving as a convinced resolution, disagreeing with her foolish accusation. She guessed it was the certainty that surprised, or scared, her more than anything. The way he acted as though nothing was out of place, as though she was exactly where she belonged, just another relic, quite like that vase, he’d get to manipulate to his will without her having any more courage than ability to stop him. “I’ll disappoint you.” She said, more as a warning than a fact. He eyed her as though she were some sort of angel on earth, still with his entitled godlike gaze, yet she knew she was no less human than faults themselves. She was far from perfection, far from wanting to be either.

She sucked in a breath, her hands crinkling into the bedsheets as a thumb rubbed across the nib of her breast. “Impossible.” He spoke with resolution now, yet again eliminating her doubts with more grave timber added to his already gravelly tone. “Besides…” It was the first time in a while where he re-gifted her with his gaze. Sharp, golden eyes fixated onto her teary orbs. “I fix things just as easy as I break them.” She was reminded of the vase and how it so eerily represented her situation. Images of it being her demise spilling, flooding her mind, causing her brows to rumple. It was no question to it being a threat and if she’d been standing she was sure her knees would have given out under her. Especially as his chin prodded forward and hers was once again caught firmly between his fingers. The action stopped in its tracks upon her pouring words.

“I don’t understand, this makes no sense, you’re…” She shook her head as she spoke, words tumbling from her lips like speedy rain, as though she were shaking them from the confines of her mind, however pausing in her process, biting her lip as if what she was about to say were too insensitive, as though genuinely not wanting to hurt the feelings of the brute man before her. “Not to sound superficial, but…” She bowed her head in apology for her next words. “You’re…” She looked around, at the expense surrounding her. “Rich.” Her eyes found his again, as though searching for something her words had aggravated, but found nothing but attentive eyes staring back at her. “And you’ve pretty lashes.” She added, more on a spur than anything. Shaken out of her puzzlement for a brief second before finding her way back to it. “I don’t... I don’t understand… why go through all this trouble?” Her body shifted as she spoke, and the movements did not go unaccounted for by Chisaki. However, the current bewilderment strewn on the girl’s face called for more entertainment. “You can have as many girls as you wish, willing girls who’d love a rich guy like you-” She was stopped, her sentence caught in the air, unable to finish.

“It has nothing to do with quantity.” She had to think for a second to remember the meaning of the word, finding she felt uncertain by what she decided upon. ”But everything to do with quality.” That word she knew well enough, yet it left her even more puzzled than the confusion his previous statement gifted her with.

“If it’s the acid bath you’re talking about…” She queried cautiously. “You’d be surprised how much people will put up with for cash.” He wouldn’t, he knew very well of people’s adamant desperation. How often it made him sick.

His head tilted, giving her words more time than they needed to breathe. Yet, time he needed to evaluate and admire the freckle adorning her neck. “You possess something other people lack by lacking something everyone has.” His hands felt heavy on her thighs as she was once again left puzzled beyond comprehension, leaving room for the pressure in his grip to come to mind as she rummaged her brain for the meaning of his riddling words.

“A quirk?” She said it with too much enthusiasm, caught in her split-second satisfaction for cracking the mystery, before reeling herself back into reality. “You want me ‘cause I’m weak?” Her nose scrunched at the thought, gut winding like livid snakes. “That’s sick.” She hiccupped in her oncoming cry, feeling the desperate hopelessness of her situation hanging around her, the air itself becoming suffocating to take into her lungs.

His hands made a sharp stir at her words, nails briefly poking into her skin at how twisted her reality was. “I desire you because you’re pure.” He didn’t let his guilt shine through in his tone, making it sound ridiculing instead, as though she were stupid to question his intensions, despite her suspicion being nothing but unfounded and sound. “Quirks are a disease not a blessing, you’re spared from its corruption.” He spoke so matter-of-factly, lecturing her as though she were clouded by some ignorance he saw past. It was the tone more than the words that had an effect on her. The lump in her chest, resembling that of shame, rose in her throat. Though, she weren’t stupid; the undeserving condescension vanished once awareness of his manipulation came as a realization in her head. Clarity of the situation soon finding its footing in her mind, no longer feeling insecure in the clouds of his judgement.

She decided to play his game. Having a strong feeling that no amount of questions or arguments would have her leaving her current imprisonment in the house, let alone her position on his lap. “I have conditions.” She quipped quickly, trying to sound assertive in her command, however it playing off as what it actually was, which was insecurity.

A curious glint flashed in his golden orbs as well as a humored tug at the corner of his lips. “You have conditions?” He had half the mind to inform her she was in no such position to demand anything, but he figured there’d be no harm in hearing her out. “Amuse me.” A brief and terribly low chuckle erupted from somewhere deep in his throat, a noise similar to what she’d imagine an old heavy door creaking would sound like.

“I want a garden.” She said first and foremost and what would soon be revealed as last.

Although he didn’t enjoy the messy past-time of hers, some part of him had understood it was something more than that in his time stalking her. How he’d seen her treat her plants as though they were something precious above being mere dirt. “Already provided.”

“Really?” She looked astonished, happy even. “Well, uhm…” She skimmed her brain for more commands, more because of a yearning to exercise the power to command than actually having anything further to request.

“You have nothing else to ask for, do you?” He gave a knowing look. A look of content endearment. “Such a humble creature you are.” The smile, though rather flat, still exuded an inane amount of awe, so much so it made her feel even more exposed than what she already was.

“Don’t call me creature.” She said, more as an attempt to wipe whatever frenzied state he’d escaped to than from actual discomfort by the word itself.

Her attempt didn’t seem to do the trick. “Hmm, anything else?” He started leaning toward her again. Her lips trembling from his exhales. “No?” It would be wrong to say she had no more desires, however those which she had seemed out of reach or strangely punishable if mentioned. “Well, if there’s anything you might feel the need for, do not hesitate to ask.” She most certainly would hesitate before asking for anything from the man, however… she figured it was more or less a purposeful joke than a genuine sentiment.

He hesitated once again as he did when he first touched her, lips only barely brushing over each-other, hovering in the presence of one another’s breath, before primly pressed together. It felt like fire against her freshly scrubbed raw and swollen lips, but she made no effort to stop him as he pressed on. Teeth seemed like fangs as they tugged at the sensitive chunk of flesh, grinding it between them, his tongue soon accompanying her own inside the comfort of her mouth.

It was strange; foreign. She’d kissed, been kissed and shared kisses before, yet the sensation was always adorned with the scent of smoke in the air and on her breath, and the taste of bitter beer swirling and pooling on her tongues. But this, this transaction of something that was purely them, left her feeling barren and at a complete loss for words. With nothing else to cling to sept for the taste of him on her and the even stranger feeling of him desperately trying to taste her.

She felt like a rag-doll, a toy more or less, as she made no effort to move; limp and only barely lively as he laid her beneath him on the bed. Lips caught in each-other’s embrace all the while. His hesitance diluted quickly, turning rougher and painful in a sense, as though he were in some sort of hurry, or as though he couldn’t quite satisfy whatever yearning had awoken in him as fast as it was building. His large hand wrapping around her throat, squeezing to paint a clearer point of who it was that were in charge. “Look at me.” The talons made their presence known, digging crescent moons into the delicate flesh of her spine. Growling accompanying the act, beckoning whimpers from the small thing beneath him. His other hand helping him hunch over her, acting as a pillar for his weight to rest upon. One of his knees soon diving between her legs, prompting her thigh on top of his, preforming the same maneuvers with the parallel leg. Having her knees spread to either side of his hips, nuzzling between them. Her windpipe seemed to bend more than break beneath his viscous hold, yet the sensation felt no less painful.

As lips continued to clash and teeth started to do more than just graze, small hands made to push at his tough chest. Not in an effort to shove him away but to subdue whatever frenzy had taken ahold of him, as a weak attempt to get her discomfort across. He didn’t seem to notice how he’d started biting, or of her rather obvious distress, and if he did it would seem he’d elected to ignore it all, as his weight remained unmoved by her desperate actions.

He didn’t know what he was fussing about before. She clearly respected his authority. How could he ever think that a creature like her, quirkless and infinitely vulnerable, would ever have the heart to disobey him? The mere thought of it was laughable now, as she made such feeble attempts to simply soothe him and not at all in an effort to make him stop. Too kind in her nature to ever want to deliberately upset him. It would be cruel of him to not answer to her prayers of making the ordeal more comfortable, especially when she was being so sweet in her request, in her begging. She should be rewarded, not ignored, he resonated, deciding to go slower, softer.

His hand moved from cramping around her neck to cupping the side of her cheek instead, fingers spreading to either side of her ear. The hand keeping him in a menacing stance, towering over her petite frame, bent at the elbow, lowering him down to rest more intimately against her chest. Feeling her hands move instinctively away from his chest to grasp his shoulders instead, an inkling to perhaps tangle them behind his neck burning in her thoughts, but she was left at a loss for how far she was willing to sell her freewill, but also because she had no way of knowing if such an action would please him. The doubt was soon answered as he assisted in placing her hands above her head, one large hand securing her wrists in a firm yet strangely delicate lock.

Newly free of anything to do, his other hand repositioned to grasp her breast. Lips soon joining as he slobbered a wet path down to her exposed nipples. She fought the urge to scurry away, knowing there was nowhere to go and how nothing good would come out of it, or if it would at all change the events of what was currently in motion. She wasn’t sure just how far his temper reached, but she wasn’t at all that inclined to find out. Besides, he’d already installed the measures to keep her from doing anything of the same caliber of foolish, her position unmovable beneath the inescapable presence of him.

He was broad. Not thick, but thick with muscle to a sense where her legs where thoroughly spread by the mere diameter of his torso. Her knees tightly hugging him because of it, unable to spread even further without it becoming an uncomfortable stretch.

She felt strange. So unavoidably naked. She’d done it before, shamelessly more times than she could count, proudly shared her body with past lovers and friends, yet this seemed a strange type of surrender more than an understanding. Perhaps because she was fully naked whereas he still wore his black suit-pants and matching black dress-shirt with the contrasting white tie. Or, perhaps being naked had nothing to do with it, and the explanation laid solely in the fact that he had taken her from her home without hindrance from both herself and the law it would seem, bathed her and groomed her and dressed her and taken claim of her as some type of belonging all without her being able to object. She was powerless. He was living proof of her hopelessness, helplessness, weakness. Weak and fragile and infinitely exposed beneath him. Inferior, but… it would seem… desirable to some unfounded extent as his golden attention locked on her where nothing else seemed to be worth any significance.

His lips again finding their way up to her throat, his gelled hair tickling her chin and cheek before his breath splayed across the tender skin of her ear. “I undressed you…” He whispered matter-of-factly in the seductive tone, lips brushing against her earlobe at the sentiment. “Time to return the favor.” He shuffled back and made to kneel between her legs, helping her prop herself up with both hands at her waist, pulling her so close she was made to sit on his lap again with her legs cradling him behind his back. His hands serving as the only leverage in keeping her position upright and from falling back onto the bed.

It was selfish and greedy of him to want to test her obedience, especially when she was shaking so violently like a leaf caught in a hurricane. Her head bowed, afraid to meet his height, yet her eyes still peered back up at him through the thick veil of lashes.

She felt his hands tighten around her waist, fingers and talons digging into soft plump flesh as large, glossy eyes stared at him for far too long without her acting on his command. For it was a command. “Need I remind you of what happens when you disobey me?” The belt-buckle seemed a frozen or electric type of cold against her clit as the threat boiled in the back of her mind. She shook her head, or… that was the intention, yet her whole body seemed to quake with the movement.

Hesitant hands and fingers that seemed far too frail for this world reached out to undo his tie. Once he reassured himself she knew what she was doing he tilted his head to lean in for another kiss. He was sure she didn’t do it on purpose, yet he needed to inform her of her mistakes as she seemed to use his tie as some sort of rope that would keep her from falling as she leaned backwards away from his antagonizing lips. His hands once again digging calloused fingertips into the doughy flesh of her waistline.

As though shocked from her transgression she did the opposite action of averting his kiss and came back to meet him. Sniffling as she loosened the tie, reciprocating the unwanted kiss. The realization of how hopeless her predicament coming down on her, as well as the impending events of violation and perhaps unwanted stimulation wracking through her with a vengeance. She couldn’t help but start crying, only this time she noticed the tears as they streamed hot and heavy like silent waterfalls down her face and neck, dripping from her chin onto her chest and falling down further in soundless rivulets, streaking her skin with reddened irritation. He must have tasted it on her lips, for soon his kisses turned sloppier, as though elevated and somehow frenzied by the display of her struggle. His tongue, flat and all-capturing, soon licking up her cheek to better taste her tears, making her cry with increasing fervor. Clutching onto his tie in false comfort as though it were some lifeline. “Put it on.” He demanded as she lifted it above and off his head, hesitating for a second, scanning his eyes for humor but finding nothing sept for lustful impatience. She complied and the once false lifeline turned into a very real noose. She whimpered as one of his hands left her waits to grab onto the tail of the tie, pulling her closer to his face in a choke-hold. “Come on.” He growled against her lips, referring to the still movement of her hands, the hands that were supposed to be halfway done with the unbuttoning of his shirt.

She hurriedly undid the buttons, nimble fingers working precisely despite it. And, although he was under no illusion her hurry was a product of his threat, he could fantasize the rush was of the same desperation he felt festering inside him. However, it was hard to imagine when she finished unbuttoning the shirt, her hands hovering above his pants, left yet again at a loss for what to do.

With his patience running thin, he let his temper get the best of him. The last hand leaving her waist to grab her face with a growl. However, upon seeing the tearful, terrified look displayed swimmingly in her orbs, his snarling features softened. He could pretend she didn’t know how to unbuckle his belt. He could pretend it were some inconceivable contraption you needed to be familiar with beforehand to ever hope understanding. He was good at pretending.

She yelped as he dropped her back onto the mattress, his weight quickly followed suit as he kissed a trail down the valley of her breasts, before rising back up and admiring the sight of her in his tie and the blooming love-bites that had formed from his teeth’s last encounter with her skin. He decided, in his constant growing impatience, to go back on his command, granting her one mercy by removing his belt on his own.

Not wanting to see or find out if she’d disobey more of his clear commands, he placed one careful yet firm hand around her throat, strong fingers pressing into the sides of her throat as so to keep her in her place. Feeling her precious little heartbeats drumming against his palm. Eyes locked with each other. Fearful, tearful, spiraling eyes seemed to take up half her face as she searched his business like, monotonous features in a desperate scramble for hope or escape. Blotchy, red, screaming skin surrounded those gorgeous round eyes of hers. Tear-slicked lashes seemed thicker, hugging each other close for comfort. Nose a blossom shade of pink, nostrils flaring in the meekest of flutters each time she sniffled. She didn’t mean to whimper as Chisaki stroked his middle finger over her neck. She was reminded yet again of the vase from earlier. The vase that was meters away, yet broke apart easily despite the distance and how she was infinitely closer to his destructive hands. How expensive that vase must have been and how priceless in the sense of carrying no expense she was. The possibility of him breaking apart her anatomy similar to the vase was uncertain, on purpose or even by accident.

He made no further moves, just feeling up her pulse beneath his fingertips and watching her eyes go rounder and wider with fear of what he might do. She had completely lost her composure now, and he knew the sight should have awoken some form of regret inside him, some form remorse or guilt, yet the only thing he seemed to think was about how pitifully beautiful she looked in her helplessness beneath him, how undeniable his ownership now was, and how victorious he felt.

To her it felt as though he were oblivious to her discomfort, as though he didn’t even register the tears streaming down her face or the ever-present tremble in her body. How her stomach toppled in on itself, how she was afraid to even as much as move her hands from their places on either side of her head, how she felt as though the sheets swallowed her whole and how the whole atmosphere seemed too strange, too foreign. How the smell of bleach in the air had all five of her senses in utter turmoil, how the cleanliness of everything made her skin crawl, how the silk tie around her neck was both the softest and roughest form of embrace she’d ever felt. How the love-bites on her body represented bullet-wounds, how he’d poked holes through her skin into her very core, how she felt as though the remnants of her soul seeped out through them, spilling onto the fresh bedsheets. How his eyes oddly looked like the eyes of God despite her not believing in such things, how even in her fear she found herself wondering why his lashes were so long and why his skin looked like porcelain and why on earth would a divine creature like him ever show such a devoting interest in the likes of her.

The sharp clashes of an unbuckling belt weren’t enough to shake her from her rambling thoughts, nor was the unbuttoning of his pants or the sound of the textile being thrown on the floor. Fingers however, fingers easily brought her out of her own mind. Fingertips grazing tender, unprotected, wet skin. Slender-veined, long, striking fingers that reached farther inside her to that spot she couldn’t ever hope reach on her own. Fingers that easily entered through the slick of building wetness, pooling with the rush of blood that had celebrated by the countless accidental, conditional and intentional feather-touches she’d received throughout the events of her time in his presence. It felt good. Undeniably so, in spite of her fear, maybe even in product of her fear. Two digits buried knuckle-deep inside her, slithering, bathing, curling, stretching, molding her walls to their liking.

With his face inches away from her, with the fingers of his hand dancing curious choreography inside her and his thumb drawing careful patterns onto her clit, she couldn’t help put moan past the hand tightening around her throat. His hot breath fanning over her face she felt him grow restless at the lewd sounds she made. There was a still present stretch in the outer ring of muscle despite her growing wetness, but her insides fluttered, happily and welcomingly sucking on the guests taking up space within her. Her knees pressing harder into his sides in an impulsive desperate attempt to rub her thighs together, hanging onto every precise move his fingers made, wanting more, needing more.

“Look at me.” Eyes wrenched shut at the unwanted yet much enjoyable pleasure, peeled open at the threat of his words and the tightening enclosure of pressure her vocal cords sustained beneath the grip of his hand.

She had at a point tangled her hands around his neck, despite her dilemma with the movement earlier. Teeth adamantly biting down into her bottom lip as she proceeded in getting lost in his eyes and at the pooling sensation of his fingers pumping in and out of her. Un-allowed to look any other place but his eyes, un-allowed to move when his digits disappeared and the soft velvety tip of his cock nuzzled at her entrance, feeling warm and much bigger than the expanse of his fingers.

He made a sound. A low, guttural moan which reverberated through his chest and erupted somewhere deep within his throat; hungry in its conviction and greedy in its quest, making the girl beneath him whimper as his swollen cockhead kissed past the lips of her pussy, beginning to push through into her plushy walls. His hand soon finding its way to cover her mouth, muffling each pathetic little whimper that came with his throbbing cock tearing through her constricting walls with its monstrous girth frustratingly slowly, the small sounds vibrating, tickling him in the palm of his hand. The frustrating slow move letting her feel every ridge, every vein, every prodding rift on his bulging cockhead.

Nails belonging to small hands dig into the back of his neck as he thrusts the remaining length of his cock inside her, his pillow-like tip bumping into her cervix, bottoming out in one quick movement of his hips furiously slamming up against the underside of her thighs. She gasped at the intrusion, her velvety walls fluttering around the size of his, moaning whence he pulled out ever so slowly. He groaned blissfully, lolling softly into her. Her eyes once again closing, falling into the back of her skull, but that couldn’t be allowed. “Look at me while I make you mine.” It was hard to bring herself back, it was hard to even open her eyes and even harder to focus on keeping eye-contact as he continuously buried himself inside her. However, the throaty growls and moans and croaks, that somehow deafened the wet creamy squelching of his shaft driving into her sopping folds, served as enough a wordless threat to keep her attention tethered to him.

The pace was slow, agonizingly so, but he drove deep. And as the speed picked up, she couldn’t help that her needy walls began clamping around the girth of his length, sucking his cock right back inside her warmth each time he reared his hips back, as if he belonged there. Her struggle was unnecessary as he eagerly slammed his pelvis back into her, creating an ear deafening smack with each bone-shattering thrust. Her back arching into him as her warm walls seized up around his cock rapidly pumping in and out of her, feeling the early building fluttering of her orgasm closing in, chasing her in her bliss. His hand still tightly enclosed around her neck, the space dividing their faces nearly nonexistent as his hot breath fell upon her face each time he grunted and groaned with the thrusts of his hips.

She moaned his name, trying to find the words to warn him of her upcoming release, but between his thrusts she had had to prioritize breathing above anything else and as the feelings inside her spurred violently she was rendered unable to even as much as think about anything but the bliss. Her legs cramped around his torso, bringing him close and holding him there as her body convulsed in earth-shattering spasms. Moans slipping past the fingers on her throat, forgetting they were there for a moment. All movements stilled before she opened her eyes to find those weighty eyes staring back at her, feeling an inclination to apologize but having the words choke in her throat by both his hand and once again picked up speed, as he slammed into her with a newfound vigor. Her orgasm still ricocheting, pulsating, crippling her body in warm heat and fuzzy shocks, the tingling contrasting with his sharp and angled thrusts into her swollen walls, riding her through the feeling. Her crying had partially subsided, however started returning. His pounding so crucial and stinging she sobbed at the brutality of it, her throat feeling sore beneath his fingers.

He bit into her neck, stuffing her again and again with his cock, heavy balls hitting against her ass in wet slaps. He drove harder, making her hiccup and scream at the force of his shaft tearing a hole through her abdomen. She begged him to stop, but he was chasing his own form of release. Her hands slamming and pushing at his shoulder, but he was neatly and snuggly slotted against her, in no hopes of moving without wanting to himself. His hand descended to gripping the underside of her knees, spreading her further out for him to rut into. Face buried in her chest as he selfishly groaned and moaned and grunted like some animal, ignoring her spluttering cries. His noises grew louder, uncontrolled, building to one final croak, feeling his cock spur in warm twitches, ropes of white thickness sprouting from his pulsating tip into her, creaming up her walls and dripping out of her crammed hole.

He sighed contently, continuing to slot his cock inside her warmth however slowly, feeling his cum run down the length of his and she felt it smear her thighs in stickiness. Her hands shook, clinging to him for comfort from the relenting attacks, her entire body aching. He pulled out all the way only to fill her up again, his cock keeping its size and length without faltering in the slightest, she was afraid he wasn’t done, but he seemed content relaxing into her chest, eyes closed and resting. He lied there for a bit, cock going limp inside the comfort of her warm walls, before he rolled off. A large hand still left on her stomach.

Part of her told her to simply fall asleep. Her aching body begging to find rest in the soft sheets, yet the almost wild need to get as far away from the man at her side outgrew her need for comfort, as it usually did. She stirred from her position, slipping out from under his hand, yet the movement was quickly silenced with the hand coming to snatch her wrists instead. “Where do you think you’re going?” His voice was calculated despite groggy and tired, annoyed in some sense yet desperate in another. She opened her mouth to speak but the words fell stillborn on her tongue. “You’re not going anywhere.” He pulled her towards him again and she was sure he wanted to go another round, but found that instead of lining her up with his cock another time, she was instead firmly placed against his chest. One arm coming to wrap around her, whilst the other made to grab the duvet from its place at their feet, draping the both of them in sterile white cloth. “If you move during the night, expect to wake up to a punishment.” He added softly in her ear. His fingers delicately dancing across her cheek to brush a tress of hair behind her ear. His lidded eyes intently locked; admiring, the curves and slopes of her face, even as the red and teary confusion started back at him. He was glad to see no hints of hatred or scorn laced with her gaze, or perhaps he was just too tired to notice. Though, she did as commanded. Keeping her frame neatly placed where he’d positioned her. Her eyes scanning the man’s features until sleep as well soon brought her to her knees. And she would like to dispel the notion, but the truth wasn’t easily buried. Despite the burning swollen soreness found between her legs, the soft comfort of clean pillows and covers and sheets had her body relax more so than she knew she should. The smell of bleach accompanied by lavender and lilac soon aiding her in her relaxation as well. And when all was said and done, the warmth of Chisaki’s body was a strange type of welcoming consolation despite it also being the reason to her aches.

[dzamie-oc]

Smaugust 16 - Glaucus

A dragon finds himself the target of a shape change. He goes from an imposing, draconic body to one more resembling a human woman! (2015 words)

cw: death, transformation, vore (kinda), tftg (kinda??)

There once was a yellow-scaled dragon by the name of Glaucus. He passed his days collecting gold, gems, and other treasures, devouring foolish knights, and kidnapping princesses. Unfortunately, as is the eternal woe of princess-kidnapping dragons across space and throughout time, humans are fragile. Over the days and months, each kidnapped princess would fade in beauty, and thus, in worth to his hoard. Naturally, the women who fell to far to the deteriorating curse of existence soon found themselves a new, very temporary, home in Glaucus's stomach. Yet still, this brought him no joy, for his hunger could be sated just as well with knights or deer, and consuming a princess meant sacrificing a part of his hoard for the sake of its continued beauty and elegance.

One day, he was approached by a human sage, clothed in a brown robe. Glaucus peered down at the man from atop his pile of gold. "For what reason do you approach, human? If you seek my death or the release of one of my treasures, know your quest to be futile."

The human raised his hands; in them sat a plain-looking box. "This is a herb with powerful magic," the robed man explained, "if you were to feed even part of it to any of your princesses, they would remain forever beautiful. It would be as though they had never spent days and months wasting away in your cave. In fact, so potent is this plant, their lives would outlast even that of a dragon's, despite being born as humans."

Glaucus carefully took the box, opening it to reveal a broad leaf from an unknown plant. "From which town come you, o curious human?" the dragon rumbled, "I grant no treasure for your deed, but mercy is a fine reward."

"I am born of and reside in Hillsire, dragon Glaucus," replied the human. "Such a reward is invaluable, and I will be sure to tell of your mercy to my neighbors."

"See that you do," Glaucus said with a slight smile. He dismissed the human from his presence, and curled around the herb, inspecting it and thinking.

Eternal beauty, and eternal life? Surely, he thought, those were qualities the rest of his hoard had, and it would be fitting to finish off the rest of it as such. And yet, the herb was not infinite in itself; if he cut away a leaf, it would not grow back. No matter how thinly he sliced it, what tiny portions he meted out to the beautiful princesses in his hoard, it would eventually consume the last of the herb. When that day should come, Glaucus would be faced with an ultimatum: content himself with the beauties he had collected thus far, and no else, or return to his current predicament, yet with the tantalizing, false hope of an eternally beautiful hoard in front of his eyes every day.

No matter his strategy, whether he choose the first princesses, or the ones most beautiful of each decade, or some further method, the result was still the same: the herb of eternity brought with it naught but limitations. Two knights arrived and fell to his fangs and fire before Glaucus finally struck upon a plan.

Having judged the humanity of his hoard unsuitable, and with the herb itself lacking in the beauty he required of his hoard, Glaucus devoured the magical herb, snapping it up in his yellow-scaled jaws as though it were the heart of a sacrifice offered for clemency. A great, flowing energy rushed through his body, and Glaucus felt his dented scales become flawless once more, gleaming as though shined just that morning. The dragon yawned and settled down to sleep while his body consumed and used the herb.

As the morning broke, Glaucus stretched, his scaly arms sending a cascade of coins rolling down their pile. Groggy, he sat up, blinking the sleep from his eyes. A yawn, and another stretch, and he froze as his hand brushed the wall of his cave, knocking away the tip of a tall stalagmite, which skittered down a mountain of treasure. Confusion gripped him as he brought the hand in front of his face, brewing into horror as he realized that the scaly, yellow, yet human-shaped hand responded to his command.

He shook his head and inspected the rest of his body. His scales shone, the dim light of the cave bouncing off of them in the most appealing of ways, and an old scar along his forear- along his arm, from a lucky knight's gash with a spear, had vanished entirely. In its place was a flawless stretch of scales. However, as he turned his head elsewhere, he realized that his head, wings, and tail were all that escaped the magic of the herb. As he stood up, taking a moment to balance on two legs, he noticed, too, that he was smaller, though he let out a sigh of relief when he realized he still towered times the height any uppity human who might think to take advantage of his new body.

Glaucus's belly appeared thin and maidenish, yet a hand run over it belied the truth of powerful muscles just beyond his scales. Worse, however, were the massive scale-covered lumps on his chest. With a hand under each, he lifted and poked them, finding that they were not nearly so sensitive as he knew a human's could be, merely providing form without function. Inwardly, Glaucus sighed - lactating was such a... mammal thing to do, and he was glad to avoid it. His hands explored his head, feeling out a smoother, yet distinctly draconic head. He retained his horns, though long growths of hair extended from the top of his head to just above his wing joints. Glaucus craned his head around to look at his wings, and was elated to see that they still responded properly, flapping a few times.

Resolving to check matters of reproduction later, the dragon curled his tongue up in front of him: still long, slender, and forked. He let fire build up in his chest, drew it up through his throat, and spat it at the nearest wall. A ball of flame exited his parted jaws, slamming into the rock and scorching it. With a satisfied huff, Glaucus strode from his cave, filled with a desire to work out his frustration. He glared at nearby Hillshire, yet, as savage as he was at times, he was a dragon of his word, and had promised to spare them his wrath. Besides, he admitted, the human in robes had instructed him to feed the herb to his princesses; he did not have a hand in Glaucus's current body.

The sun shone on the transformed dragon's scales; true to the sage's promise of eternal beauty, Glaucus could not stop himself from pausing to admire his appearance, before the frustration boiled up within himself. He leapt into the sky, wings flapping automatically to keep him aloft. With strange ease, he soared past Hillshire, landing with a growl before Sylvanwood. His roar echoed across the land, before he boomed in a loud, unsurprisingly yet still jarring, feminine voice, "you who would face a dragon, face me and your death, or live to see your village razed!"

"Dragon!" shouted a helmeted knight, "not a twig of this town shall burn. Your own life is... for... feit..." He trailed off as he approached. He flicked up his visor, regarding the yellow-scaled body towering before him, then averted his gaze. "It would... not be proper to engage you, fair lady."

Glaucus growled. The minor irritation of having to use both hands to easily lift the knight was merely the spark to ignite the rage the knight had further fueled. And, as dragons do on ignition, the knight was engulfed in a billowing cloud of flame, his grunt of confusion giving way quickly to a horrible scream of agony. Smoke rose from his limp armor when Glaucus snapped his jaws shut.

A second challenge was shouted as a second human came at him, sword raised. Glaucus spun quickly, slamming the challenger across the ground. He raised his sword against him again, but a single, yellow-scaled foot held him in place, unable to lift his sword or even kick much. Glaucus smirked and lifted the cooked knight to his muzzle. It was a greater struggle than he had had in dozens or hundreds of years, but he managed to swallow the defeated foe, temporarily rounding out his magically-trim belly. He noted with a taste of satisfaction that the eternal beauty held through gorging himself, and his triumphant figure was just as pleasing to his eye as when he had first emerged from his cave.

He scuffed the trapped human underfoot, then sent him skidding several meters away. The man coughed, gritted his teeth, and charged once more; Glaucus crouched down to catch him in his hands. "Admirable, you hesitate not in your duty."

The human tried to swing his sword at Glaucus, but found his arms soon caught fast, as well. "I will not be swayed by your wiles! Be you Glaucus with a new trick, or some other beast with his scales, I am sworn to defend this village from any who would seek to destroy it!"

Glaucus regarded him dispassionately, then pushed him back, standing and taking a step back, himself. "Well, fortune favors you; the first fellow," he patted his belly, "was enough to sate my ire. But know that, had you not been so lucky, that conviction of yours would see you join him, in the afterlife if not my stomach." With that, he turned and left, taking flight and easily outpacing any who tried to follow.

He landed before Hillshire. "Show me to the man who delivered to me the herb yesterday," he commanded a nearby girl playing at the outskirts. She took a terrified step back, taking in the sight of the dragon, then nodded and bolted into the town. From his vantage point, Glaucus watched her go, and swiftly strode to a closer point around the town. The man in robes left his home and turned to greet him.

"Dragon Glaucus, did not you promise mercy to the town?" Glaucus could sense the fear in his voice, yet his actions betrayed none of it.

"I did, and thus all I have done yet was create footprints around the perimeter. Tell me, human, was this," he said, gesturing to his new body, "the intended outcome of your gift?"

The man squinted at him, holding a hand in front of his face to shield his eyes from the bright yellow scales. "Ah, I see. No, we merely sought the mercy you offered; I would have attempted to bargain for it, should you have offered a material reward. How find you such a form?"

Glaucus folded his arms - an unnatural gesture for him, yet one he knew well from his many princesses. "It is inferior to my majestic, prior form... yet, I would not describe it as a curse. I suspect my opinion will grow more nuanced through time."

"Ah, I am glad to hear that," the sage said, "and know that Hillshire is a friend to the unusual. Should you return in a friendly manner, it will be met in kind. And as your mercy shows you a dragon of your word, it is my hope that you do so."

"I will not be dissuaded from my diet nor my hobbies," Glaucus replied, cautious.

"That is not my intention, and I hope the same to be true of my neighbors as well."

Glaucus flicked his gaze over the town of Hillshire. In addition to the humans he often saw roaming towns, he spotted, too, several griffons, a few members of the beastfolk races, and even an elf conversing with a coiled naga. He looked back down at the robed man. "...consider me advised on the matter," he ventured, then crouched to take flight, springing up into the air before angling himself back towards his cave to think.

[allisondraste]

Temperance 30/42

Pairing: Nathaniel Howe/ Female, Non-HoF Cousland

Story Summary: Nathaniel and Elissa were childhood friends, but time and distance tore them apart. In the aftermath of the Fifth Blight, and Ferelden’s Civil War, both Elissa and Nathaniel must attempt reconstruct their tattered lives. As a series of events lead them to be reunited, both are reminded of so many years ago when things were much simpler.

Chapter Summary:    The Grand Tourney defies Nathaniel’s expectations

Note: That’s right, y’all! We have a final chapter number (and the big 3 - 0)! I have a few notes that I wanted to make about this chapter as well.  Due to the amount of suggestion, innuendo, and things referenced in this chapter, I thought it warranted a note that there are some more mature and sexual themes explored in this chapter that I did not feel necessitated a rating change. However, I just wanted to give everyone a heads up! ^^   Also, shout out to the WoT V.2 for providing me with the excellent backdrop of this story (if you haven’t read Nate’s entry, I highly recommend) as well as to @daydreamingdragonage for coming up with the awesome tavern name featured here.  Finally, I just want to thank everyone for being so patient with me in updating!  November has been a hellish month with internship apps due, a draft of my dissertation due, a conference, and some personal/mental health woes that all just knocked me on my butt, but I’m back and so happy to be writing again.  I’m so grateful to all of my lovely, wonderful readers and friends.  Thanks from the bottom of my heart. 

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Tantervale, 9:26 Dragon

For all that Starkhaven made Ferelden seem like a small, dirty hovel filled with unrefined brutes and barbarians, Tantervale made it seem like a land of impious sinners.  Not only was the large marcher city-state pristine and orderly, but it’s people were quiet and mild mannered. On its own, it was not a particularly beautiful place. Plain, uniform buildings stood side by side for as far as the eye could see.  The Chantry was the only exception. Decorated with stained glass and golden filigree, the building was nothing like Nathaniel had ever seen, vibrant and large as the palace in Starkhaven and as imposing as Fort Drakon’s shadow.

Down every street and every corner, Andrastian icons and images could be found, accompanied by a fully armored Templar or two, who served as city guards and watched through the slits of their helmets with vigilant eyes.  Still, the city and it’s people seemed to revel in the presence of the Grand Tourney, decorating their plain buildings with pennants of blue and gold. Citizens and guests alike danced and sang in the street as wine flowed freely. Nathaniel wondered how the Chantry felt about the influx of pleasure-seeking outsiders pouring into Tantervale, bringing their sin with them.  Then again, it was likely a profitable venture. How else would they afford to feed their chancellors to excess or erect a fiftieth marble statue of the Holy Bride of the Maker?

The sheer opulence disgusted him, and yet he was in no position to complain.  He’d only ever read about the Grand Tourney in books, or heard about them from Liss who always enthusiastically rambled about her favorite contests and competitors.  Even her emphatic descriptions did not do it justice. He wished she could be there to see it. He imagined her face lighting up with excitement as she took everything in, and  laughed as he thought about how she might slap him on the arm repeatedly as she pointed at something she did not want him to miss. He had not seen her in four years, and yet there was a big hole at his side where she belonged.  At this point, he had no hope that it’d ever be filled.  

He shook his head, attempting to refocus on the present, where he stood in the center of the festivities in Tantervale, with a new pouch of coin resting heavily in his hand.  Ser Rodolphe had given it to him after watching him compete in the Grand Melee. Nathaniel had stubbornly entered the contest with a bow as his weapon, determined to prove to his mentor how archery could be useful in close-quarters combat.  He was faster than his opponents, and managed to duck under, dodge, and evade the many clumsy attacks against him. That is, until the end.

Nathaniel typically enjoyed irony, but the Orlesian bastard that finally managed to disarm him and force him to yield bore an uncanny resemblance to his own father.  He had piercing blue eyes and a cruel smirk, and seemed to take great pleasure in disarming Nathaniel, knocking him to the ground, and holding a sword just above his throat.  Nathaniel did not enjoy that one bit.  

To his surprise, Ser Rodolphe seemed pleased with his performance -- or at least as pleased as he’d ever seen him be.  He claimed it was “entertaining” to watch him outmaneuver his opponents, and even admitted that he might have underestimated Nathaniel’s abilities.  The knight handed him a purse of coin, gave him a good-natured clap on the shoulder, and went on his way. Nathaniel remained where he stood, dumbfounded, staring at the purse in his hand with a smirk twitching at the corner of his lips.

It was Ben who finally drew him from his pleasant stupor, running up and throwing his arms around Nathaniel, patting him on the back with some force.  His fellow squire had grown considerably over the past two years, and he did not yet know his own strength. It reminded Nathaniel of every young mabari he’d ever met.  Fully grown, with all the excitement of a pup. It was as uplifting as it was annoying.

“Nate,” Ben shouted right near Nathaniel’s ear, before releasing him from the smothering embrace, “You were fantastic!  I was on the edge of my seat the whole time. What did Rodolphe say?”

Nate grinned and held up the coin purse by its strings, letting it swing back and forth in front of Ben’s eyes. “He said to use it wisely.”

“That means ale, yes?”  Ben fidgeted eagerly. “And food?  One of the locals was telling me about this tavern--”

“Let’s go,” Nate said, laughing and putting an arm around Ben’s shoulder.  The younger man smiled in response, and they headed back toward the center of town.  

It was early in the afternoon and many merchants from around Thedas stood at kiosks that lined the streets and squares, bringing color and life to the city.  At one of the stands, Ben found a replica of Hessarian’s Sword of Mercy that caused his eyes to glitter with youthful excitement, and Nathaniel had no choice but to purchase it for him.  He swore he saw his friend’s eyes brim with tears as he thanked him profusely.  

They continued on, but Nathaniel stalled at the site of a stand owned by a Dwarven merchant with a thick, braided beard and a doublet of bright red and gold.  On the table beside him was a series of small, mechanical music boxes that the man claimed were hand-crafted. One, in particular, caught Nathaniel’s eye. It was a tiny, bronze bronto that sparkled in the sunlight.  Twisting its tail produced a tinkling, plucky sound, and a song that Nathaniel had never heard before. Liss would have loved it, he thought, remembering all the times she’d talked to him about Dwarven culture and brontos.  He wondered if she’d gotten to “meet” one yet.

Without giving it much of a thought, he bought it, and the merchant thanked him repeatedly for his business.  Apparently the people of Tantervale and the visiting Tourney attendees were tough customers when it came to mechanical, dwarven-made music boxes. Nathaniel was happy to oblige.

“Finally,” Ben said, and pointed in the direction of a tavern straight ahead of them.  The sign that hung above the doorway featured a humble templar kneeling in front of a curvy figure wearing the robes of a Revered Mother, whose face bore an unusual, shocked expression.

“The Kneeling Knight?” Nathaniel snorted and raised his eyebrows as he followed after his friend.

“Thought you’d like that,” Ben said, turning back and winking at him. “Apparently the locals aren’t as buttoned up as they pretend to be.”

“No one is as buttoned up as they pretend to be.”

“Including you?” Ben offered his typical mischievous smile as he opened the door, motioning for Nathaniel to go in first.

“Especially me,” Nathaniel answered with a shrug, and then entered the crowded tavern.

The Kneeling Knight was a spacious tavern, with a main floor filled with many wooden tables, as well as the bar area where several barmaids an a man who appeared to be the owner worked rapidly to fill mugs and flagons and carry them to guests.  A second floor housed a few more tables as well as a balcony where a minstrel stood, performing her songs and poems.  

They pushed their way past the dense crowd of people gathered chatting and celebrating to occupy one of the few vacant tables that sat against the back wall.  Several of the other patrons pointed and stared, whispering so loudly that it could hardly be called whispering. They’d watched the melee, or so it seemed, and Nathaniel was recognized as “that Fereldan dog who nearly won.” Nearly.  He huffed, and attempted to ignore the dozens of eyes that bore into him.

“What’ll you boys be havin’ today,” chirped one of the barmaids as she bumped her hip against Nathaniel’s shoulder.  He flinched, but did his best to not look as annoyed as he felt. Ben laughed into his hand.

Offering his most charming smile, he turned his head up to face the barmaid, whose lips were painted red as blood, and offered her his entire purse.  “Whatever this buys us.”

The woman grinned mischievously, taking the pouch and tucking it down safely into the top of her dress. “Say no more, sweet thing,” she said and bumped him with her hip again.  This time he rolled his eyes.

It was not long after she left that the propositions began. Handfuls of people, person after person, most of them at least twice Nathaniel’s age approached the table, batting their eyes at him, touching his arms, making completely inappropriate remarks involving his bow and their quivers.  If his face was not red, it was missing its chance. He declined each and every one of them politely, and when the barmaid returned with the first round of ale, Nathaniel could not have downed the first tankard any faster.

“I can’t believe you sent that last one away,” Ben said after they’d finished a few rounds, “He was right handsome.  That woman too! The one with the--” he made a lewd gesture with his hands.

“Ben.”

“What?”  He offered Nathaniel a bewildered expression, foam from his last sip hanging just over his upper lip.

“They’re people, not… play things.” He grimaced and Ben seemed to notice the froth on his lip, wiping it off with the back of his arm.

“Right. Sure,” Ben answered wiggling his eyebrows. “If I were you I’d really be playing up my second place finish.”

“Second place is just another way of saying that I lost the slowest,” Nathaniel mumbled as he stared at the music box he’d sat on the table as they came in.  He didn’t know why he thought the ale would make him forget about her. It never did anything except make him numb.

“You’re impossible,” Ben prodded good-naturedly, “You’re a young, decently good-looking man who just got himself some attention.  Enjoy it, man! Live a little. Unless, of course, you’d rather pine over that Fereldan lass for the rest of your life.”

“If I wanted to talk about Liss, I would have brought her up.”  He leaned back in his seat and sighed, forcing a smile he didn’t feel. “If you want me to enjoy myself, you’re doing a terrible job of helping me.”

Ben snorted.  “ You’re the one sitting in a tavern, with beautiful men and women throwing themselves at you, while you stare longingly at a toy bronto like it broke your heart.”

“Oh, piss off,” Nathaniel snapped, wishing he had something to throw at him.

“Fine, Fine,” he said, throwing up his hands.  He surrendered, but not before throwing Nathaniel a smug expression. “Here I thought that thing with the prince knocked you out of it.

“What ‘thing?’  There was no ‘thing.’”  He was lying, of course.  He and Sebastian had, in fact, had a thing.  He thought he’d been discreet enough that Ben did not know.  Clearly, he was mistaken.

Ben smirked, and shook his head. “RIght. ‘Course not.”

Nathaniel sighed and glared at the red-head, muttering. “Once.  It was one time.”

“Only because his parents forced him into the Chantry.”  His typically rosy cheeks were even rosier, as he teased.

“Ben.”

“A shame, that,” he continued, completely oblivious, “You seemed to really get on with him.”

“Ben,” Nathaniel hissed again, clenching his fists at his side.

“You could have tamed that wild boy prince for them.  No need to bother the Maker with it, really.”

Instead of speaking again, he stood and reached across the table to flick his friend forcefully right between his eyes. Ben flinched and reached up to touch the now reddened patch of skin on his forehead.  “Ow. Maker! Fine. I’ll stop.”

“Thank you,” Nathaniel muttered dryly, small smirk twitching at the corners of his mouth.  Suddenly, he felt much better.

Eventually, Ben got some attention of his own, a young woman with dark eyes and porcelain skin approaching, and whispering in his ear.  He blushed, and offered her a seat next to him. He widened his eyes at Nathaniel as she looked away briefly. They exchanged a few flirtations, and wasted no time making their lips acquainted with one another, hands moving where hands shouldn’t go in public.  He had to remind himself that Ben was barely more than a boy. Still, Nathaniel was not inclined to remain at the table and watch their publicly-displayed affection. He moved to stand quietly, but staggered a bit, vision swimming. He’d nearly forgotten how much he had to drink.  Once he steadied, he made his way to the door, and out of the tavern.

He was not certain how he wound up in the middle of the archery range, only that he did, and that a skillful arrow had brushed past him, nicking his cheek slightly.  He reached up, wiping a trickle of warm blood from his face, disoriented and searching for the direction from which the arrow came. One more step, and he’d have been dead, he thought.  Or perhaps, someone else said it. It was difficult to tell. There was shouting, a woman’s voice, and a string of profanity, and he looked down to see an elven woman, as angry as she was petite standing in front of him and glowering as if she, in fact, were his size.

“Are you mad,” she shouted, Antivan accent thick on her tongue. “You could have been killed!”

Nathaniel did not answer her immediately, completely disarmed.  She was lovely, with her deep green eyes beneath furrowed brows.  Her auburn hair was braided loosely over one shoulder, rustling slightly with the wind and her own agitated movement.  The fact that she looked at him so sternly did nothing to make her any less attractive.

“Hello,” she drawled, waving a hand emphatically in front of his face.  

He shook his head and straightened his posture, hoping to regain what little dignity he could muster in his current state. “You call yourself an archer?”  

The elf flinched, clearly offended.  “What does it look like, human?”

Nathaniel looked around dramatically and shrugged before returning his gaze to meet hers.  “No offense my lady, but you seem to be a terrible shot.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Well, first, you missed your target by quite a bit.  And second” he slurred, holding up two fingers for emphasis, “You nearly killed a man.”

“Because that man stumbled out onto the field like some sort of confused druffalo,” she spat, shaking her head in complete disbelief.  Nathaniel should not have enjoyed it as much as he did.

“Excuses,” he teased.

“You think that you could do better?”  She narrowed her eyes at him.

“I know I could,” he replied with a smirk.

The elven woman seemed to relax at his words, and offered him a smirk of her own.  Reaching behind her head, she took an arrow from its quiver, raised her bow, nocked, and fired in one smooth motion.  The arrow flew past his head and straight on into the bullseye of the target. Nathaniel observed the arrow for a moment before meeting her lovely eyes again.

“Prove it,” she said, thrusting her bow at him and handing him an arrow.

“Very well,” he answered, bowing playfully before turning around and shooting the borrowed bow, matching her shot exactly.  He was impressed with himself, considering how his head still swam. Though he was no longer certain how much of it was from the ale, and how much of it was the prospect of a beautiful woman testing his archery mettle.  He almost wanted her to beat him.  

They spent the better part of an hour taking turns making increasingly more difficult shots, each time matching one another perfectly.  A small crowd amassed watching them and cheering, and occasionally they looked at one another exchanging smiles. It was the most fun he could recall having in years.  Eventually, they tired, and decided to call it a draw. When they shook hands, Nathaniel found himself not wanting to let her go. Ridiculous, he knew, the workings of a disinhibited mind.  He did not even know her name.

“I am Erina,” she announced, as if reading his mind, “And that was… impressive.”

Nathaniel chuckled.  “It is nice to officially meet your acquaintance, Lady Erina.  I am Nathaniel.”

“You flatter me,” she answered with an embarrassed laugh.

“Is it working?”  He did not know what possessed him, nor did he care.

“Perhaps.” Erina grinned playfully, then scowled at him again. “I still think you are a fool who is lucky I did not shoot him.”

“I never said I wasn’t,” he began, “A fool, that is. I do, however, feel rather lucky.  It has been my pleasure not getting shot by such a lovely, competent woman.”

She laughed gently, darting her eyes away from his quickly and looking toward the ground where she kicked the toe of her boot into the soft, grassy dirt.  After several moments passed, she looked back up at him, embarrassment gone from her features. “What are you doing this evening?”

“Nothing,” he answered quickly, though he could not shake the feeling that he was forgetting something.  “Do you have something in mind?”

Erina grinned, eyes sparkling as she took his hand and led him away from the range, and toward the outskirts of the city.  They climbed the steps that led to the top of the battlements on the walls surrounding Tantervale, green grassland extending off into the horizon.  The sun had not yet begun to set, but it hung low in the sky, and the breeze had become cool with a hint of the approaching evening.  

“So, Nathaniel,” she said as she crawled up to perch on the parapet, legs dangling over the edge. “Tell me about yourself.”

Moving forward to rest his elbows beside her on the parapet, not trusting his current balancing abilities to keep him from falling to his death, he asked, “What would you like to know?”

“Everything,” she answered.

Nathaniel obliged.  They spent the next several hours talking, sharing stories of their troubled pasts.  He told her of his childhood and his strained relationship with Father, of the Couslands and their hospitality.  He explained how he’d been forced into a squireship in Starkhaven, but had not hated it as much as he expected. He even complained affectionately about Ben and Ser Rodolphe.  In turn, Erina told him her own story, about how she’d grown up in an Alienage in Antiva City, and trained to become a Crow, one of the infamous assassins known for their skill and ruthlessness.  She’d been disappointed when they turned her down, and so she left, hoping to find mercenary work to help her family get by.

“Why did the Crows reject you,” Nathaniel asked, “I can’t imagine that it was lack of skill.”

“They said that I was too headstrong and compassionate.” Erina chuckled. “Not exactly what one looks for in an assassin.”

“Perhaps not,” he said with a laugh of his own.  Thankfully, the effects of the ale had begun to dissipate, and his thoughts came more clearly. “But they are desirable qualities for...other things.”

Erina turned abruptly to face him, smirking. “Yes? Like what, exactly?”

Nathaniel could not bring himself to answer, instead holding her gaze for what could have been an eternity.  It was an odd sensation, he thought, to be so ridiculously attracted to someone he’d just met, so drawn to her that only a few hours left him hoping he could see her again.  Catching himself staring at her for entirely too long, noticing the knowing smile that continued to twitch on her lips, he shook his head and looked out over the city.

“It is starting to get dark,” he said, clearing his throat.

“Is the big brave archer afraid of the dark?” She elbowed him.

“Not exactly, but I am just unfamiliar enough with the area, and just drunk enough that I do not trust myself to find my way back to the inn in one piece.”

“Then, I shall escort you,” Erina remarked cheerfully.

“You don’t have to--”

“I do.”  Her words were serious as they left her lips, and he found himself unwilling to argue.  

By the time they made it to the inn where he had been staying, the sun had set completely, stars twinkling brightly against the dark sky above.  Erina entered with him, and he was glad to see that the inn was much more subdued than the tavern had been. He was grateful that Rodolphe and Ben still seemed to be absent as they would both no doubt tease him relentlessly for his drunken escapades.  He was not certain if he intended to tell them.  

“This is me,” Nathaniel stated softly, somberly as he pointed to his room.

“Oh,” Erina replied, tone resonating similarly to his. “Good.”

“I have had a lovely time,” he admitted, scratching the back of his head, “Much lovelier than I’ve been allowing myself to hope for.”

She smiled brightly.  “Me too.”

Silence stretched on for eternity between them, as Nathaniel searched for the proper words to say.  Finally, he found them. “Listen, I apologize for being so forward earlier. I was --”

He was not able to finish his apology, as Erina’s lips found their way to his, soft yet powerful, just as everything else about her seemed to be.  He stumbled, back bumping into the door so that he was flush against it. With as much force as she had given him, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into him more closely, bending down to deepen the kiss, breathing in sharply as their tongues met, as if it were his first breath in years.  Perhaps it was. Reaching behind him, Nathaniel turned the door knob and pushed open the door with his back, pulling Erina into the dark room with him. He caught a glimpse of her glittering smile in the light from the hallway just as she kicked the door closed behind her.

Nathaniel awoke to a pounding at the door, sunlight flickering directly through the closed curtains and into his eyes.  Ben’s voice was muffled through the wooden door, calling his name repeatedly, Nathaniel’s head throbbing with each word, and again with each knock.  He’d definitely had too much to drink, without question. Never again, he promised, massaging his temples as he turned to get out of bed. It was only then that he realized he was naked.  His pulse quickened as he could hear Ben fiddling with the door knob.

“Shit.  Erina,” He muttered and then turned over to where he expected her to be in the bed, but she was nowhere to be found.   Had he imagined the entire night before? Had it been some ridiculous drunken dream? His heart sank at the thought, but he did not have time to be sad, and rushed back into bed, pulling the coverlet and sheets up over his head just as been burst through the door.

“Nate,” he shouted and tugged the covers down from off his head, “There you are.  Rodolphe’s been looking all over the place for you. Said he wants to know what you thought of his joust.”

“What,” Nathaniel asked hoarsely, squinting his eyes in the still unwelcome light.

“You did go to his joust, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did,” he lied in his most annoyed tone.

“I didn’t,” Ben said, laughing mischievously, “Unlike you, I actually had a good time last night.”

Just as Ben finished his sentence, a petite figure emerged from the bath area of the room, auburn hair a disheveled mess, and clad in Nathaniel’s shirt.  “Hey, Nathaniel I --”

She froze as she saw Ben, eyes darting nervously between the red-headed stranger and Nathaniel.  A wide grin slowly stretched its way across the young man’s face, eyebrows raising so high up on his forehead they might as well have flown away.

“Ben,” Nathaniel snapped, pointing to the hallway, “Out.”

“Nate, you dog ,” Ben exclaimed excitedly, unmoving from his spot in the middle of the room.

Nathaniel glanced over at Erina, who smiled, and brought her hand up to cover her mouth.  Thank the Maker she did not seem embarrassed. “Ben. Out,” he repeated, “Now.”

“Oh, right.  Sorry,” he answered, flustered, clambering to leave the room and close the door behind him.

Once he was gone, Nathaniel sat up on the edge of the bed, so that his feet touched the cool stone floor, and brought his hands to his face.  He sighed as he attempted to scrub away the remnants of sleep and hide any evidence of his shame. The bed moved beneath him and there was a warmth at his side, a weight on his shoulder, and he dropped his hands and looked to see Erina, leaning against him.

“So that’s Ben,” she remarked cheerfully, turning her face up to look at him, smiling.

“That’s Ben,” he sighed again.

She shrugged.  “He seems… enthusiastic.”

“You have no idea.” Nathaniel laughed, trying his damndest to not stare at the woman.  She was even more beautiful than she’d seemed the night before. He was relieved he had not simply dreamed her up.

“I hope I get to know him better,” Erina stated, returning  her head to its spot on his shoulder.  

“Me too,” he said as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her more closely to him, his eyes fixated on the dresser at the far end of the room, where a small, bronze music box sat alone.  “Me, too.”

[mellieartcorner]

The Princess and The Prince Thief:Chapter Eight- A Miraculous Fanfiction

Summary: Princess Marinette of the Kingdom of Creaturae was very happy. Her reasons?-The notorious thief Chat Noir was locked up, her 21st birthday was soon, and she was going to become Queen. That is, until it was decided that she had to marry the mysterious Prince Adrien of the Kingdom of Mortem in order to become Queen. To make matters worse, Chat Noir escaped from jail and is visiting her almost every night. Having to run a kingdom is bad enough, but falling in love with a thief and a prince is the hardest part of all.

Genre: Fiction-Fantasy/Romance AU

Rated: T for Teen- Ages 15+

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Words: 2,323

Chapter Eight

Wrongfully Accused-

Marinette felt an uncertainty as she and Alya helped Nino and Adrien bring Queen Bulla inside the castle. Her instincts were screaming a warning that Marinette couldn’t quite grasp onto. What was that butterfly? What happened to Bulla to make her go crazy? And towards the end, how did Marinette knew that she could save her with a magickal touch? These power gifts from the Gods have always been mysterious, though these acts of new found strength and power were signs of something.. Dangerous.. on the horizon.

“Guards! Quickly!” Marinette cried, alerting the on patrol force of brute men that typically watched the doorways this time of night. The metal armor plated knights came in a rush, grabbing onto Bulla and lifting her unconscious body with ease. They placed her onto a wooden bench, laying her down gently with a small pillow to support her head. The Queen was completely dead asleep, her breathing even and shallow.

“Alert the King,” stated one guard to the other, sending the messenger off to chime the emergency bell. The group of young adults waited patiently for the cavalry to arrive, King Tom leading the pack. He was dressed in uniform pajamas, with designs of croissants layering the clothes. Queen Sabine dashed beside him, her hair down and her white gown of silk as bright as the moon itself. Other staff members and even some delegates from other Kingdoms that were staying for the night ushered behind, keeping a safe distance.

“Someone please explain this. RIGHT .NOW. ” King Tom demanded, pointing at Marinette and her friends.

“Something attacked and possessed Bulla, father!” Marinette cried, “It looked like a small purple butterfly! Adrien, Nino, Alya, and I tried to fight her off from attacking us!”

A stiffness overtook some of the crowd, a feeling of uneasiness flowing like a wave across the faces of some of the delegates and even a few of the house staff.

Adrien stepped forward, sensing the growing fear, “I was heading back to my cottage to speak with Lord Nino, when I saw Queen Bulla searching for her bodyguards. She said that she had just left Nino’s, but now her bodyguards were nowhere to be found. She grew extremely scared and frightened, when suddenly a butterfly came from above and flew into her mouth.”

“Did anyone else see this happen?” Queen Sabine addressed, crossing her arms over her chest. Adrien was about to speak, when a familiar form walked closer from within the crowd.

“I saw something.”

Princess Chloe came into the light, her blonde hair completely straight and loose down her shoulders. She looked tired, dark rings forming under her eyes. A wool golden robe covered her form.

Everyone turned to her, Adrien and Nino with widened, surprised eyes; Marinette and Alya with hard narrow expressions.

Queen Sabine placed her hand onto Chloe’s shoulder in compassion, saying, “Tell us, child. What did you see?”

Chloe took in a deep breath; big, alligator sized tears swelling up in her eyes. “I-I was taking a stroll before bed, when-when suddenly, I saw Adrien make that-that thing! Out of magick and sent it towards Queen Bulla!” Her stuttering was a sad attempt at pity. She reeled it in though, by pointing a shaking finger at Adrien. “He and her began to fight so I ran back to my room in fear.” She turned to Queen Sabine, grabbing her into a massive hug, “I am sorry I didn’t report it sooner! I didn’t want to believe my dear friend Adriakins would do something like this!”

Anger rose inside Marinette’s body, the heat threatening to consume her.

“She is lying!” she screamed, stepping closer with a drawn fist. Alya gripped her friend’s arm hard and pull back, holding her from behind. “She wasn’t even there!”

“Marinette, calm down. We will get to the bottom of this,” Queen Sabine directed, rubbing Chloe’s back as the girl cried into the older woman’s shoulder. King Tom’s heavy and deep sigh redirected everyone to him. He looked solemn over at Adrien, regretful of the words he was about to say.

“I’m sorry Adrien, but our laws are clear. Because someone accused you of a crime, we must arrest and hold you till the next full moon rises. A jury of peers will look through your case, and you will be assigned a representative,” the King turned to the knights on duty, nodding for them to grab Adrien.

Adrien turned to stone, his head low in unwanted shame as the muscular guards grabbed him on either side.

Nino spoke up in defense, “I volunteer to be his representative, Your Highness. I also ask that I accompany them to the dungeon.”

“Very well,” King Tom replied, “Take them away.”

As the guards, Nino, and Adrien made their ways through the crowd towards the dungeon, Marinette stood there and gazed out. She couldn’t plead with her father, for the law was indisputable. But she had to do something. The crowd began to part back to their respectable chambers, and King Tom and Queen Sabine guided Princess Chloe back to hers. Max and the house doctor, Dr. Kim, took Bulla towards the nursing wing for treatment. With all of this though, Marinette thought it odd that her best friend was being extremely quiet. When they finally got to Marinette’s room, Alya quickly shut and locked the door behind them.

“What is going on, Alya?!” Marinette demanded, placing the book she had been holding on to this entire time down on her desk. Alya’s face morphed into extreme concern and woe, leading Marinette onto the bed as they both sat down.

“I will explain all what I know, and why we must stop Hawkmoth at all costs,” Alya began, divulging all information she learned while with Nino. Marinette took it all in, gasping and shaking her head in denial. Marinette also explained what she heard King Gabriel and Natalie say, leaving out the part about holding hands with Adrien and that she thought he was Chat Noir for a moment.

“I bet anything he made Chole tell those lies to separate you two!” Alya concluded, standing up now and pacing back and forth.

“We must tell my father and mother at once!” Marinette exclaimed, rising up only to be stopped abruptly.

“No, we don’t have enough proof. We know King Gabriel’s intentions, yes, but it is our word against his.”

Flopping down onto her desk chair, Marinette felt defeated. How are they suppose to prove anything and get her father and mother to see the truth? She glanced over at the fairytale book, flipping open one of it’s pages to reveal the Goddess Tikki smiling back at her. The lady in red and black was so beautiful and seemingly poise. Marinette ran her fingers across the page, brushing upon the picture of the earrings. An important thought crossed her mind, causing her to pull out her calendar and check the date.

“Adrien can’t stay in jail till the next full moon!” Marinette said excitedly, “We are getting married on that day!” Her heart skipped a beat the moment she turned to see a purple butterfly struggling to get outside through her balcony door.

“Alya!” she screamed, “Grab that creature!”

Suddenly, Alya dumped out the vase that held Chat Noir’s flowers and Adrien’s rose and snuck to capture the insect within. She guided the vase to the floor, sealing the bug between the carpet and the vase. The little butterfly kept hitting the top of the vase, making a small bumping noise.

“It’s the same thing that was inside Bulla,” Marinette whispered, crouching down to examine the ‘thing’ up close. Alya mirrored her, studying their options. A loud gasp escaped the young woman, and she grabbed her Princess’s shoulders.

“We can use this to prove Adrien is innocent! He couldn’t have made this if he was in the dungeon!”

A massive smile spread across Marinette’s face, “Alya! You’re a genius! Let’s go talk to Adrien first and show him!”

The girls worked together to find a large enough piece of fabric to cover the hole of the vase, keeping the creature trapped. They exited into the hallway, careful not to draw attention to themselves from the night patrol. The entrance to the dungeon was smelly, like old milky cheese, and brightly lit torches guided the way down a flight of stone stairs. Their shoes clicked with each step, until they reached the bottom. Rows of iron bars and a sleeping guard greeted them, making the girls sneak slowly on their toes. They dashed their heads into each cell, until they came to the last one.

Adrien was on the straw bed, his arm over his eyes. Nino was inside the cell with him, reading a book under the light of a candle. He was the first one to notice the girls, dropping his book and standing up to greet them. Adrien heard him and removed his arm to look up. The Prince quickly straightened himself out and smiled sweetly at Marinette.

“Alya! Princess! What are you doing here?”

“Shhh,” Alya commanded, pointing over at the sleeping guard, “We came to show you guys this.”

Marinette presented the vase through the bars, letting the boys come closer. Nino brought the candle with him, bringing the light so they could see better.

“It’s that butterfly from earlier,” Adrien remarked in hushed tones, “How did you get it?”

“It was struggling to get out of my room,” Marinette replied, her voice low. “We can use it to prove your innocent. I don’t want you in here on our wedding day.” She blushed a little and let a shy smile grace her lips towards the Prince.

Adrien let out a soft chuckle, returning the loving gesture.

Nino interrupted them with a cough, turning focus back to the object on hand.

“This has to be the work of Hawkmoth, but I have never seen magick like this before. Destruction magick can’t do this; make tangible objects that can possess people. He must have gained additional power somehow.”

The group all thought for a moment, the snoring of the guard echoing off of the walls.

“I think it has something to do with those magickal objects,” Alya finally said, placing a fist in her hand in determination, “If there are objects for creation and destruction, surely there must be objects for the other Gods as well.”

Nino nodded in agreement, “I agree with you. Additional research is needed to prove our theory correct.” He pulled away Adrien from the bars, blowing out the candle, “But for now, go get some sleep, ladies, and meet us here in the morning. I will stay here with Adrien through the night.”

Adrien smirked, placing a friendly hand on his retainer’s shoulder, “Thank you, Nino.”

Pulling the butterfly close to her, Marinette waved goodbye with the other hand to them both.

“Good night, Lord Nino. Good night...Adrien. Thank you for protecting me earlier.”

With her kind words left in the air, Marinette and Alya returned up from the dungeons and headed back to Marinette’s room for the rest of the night, deciding a sleepover was best for this situation.

The morning came, dawn arising through the sky in shades of blue, orange, and pink. Marinette was already up, standing outside on her balcony to watch the new day come. She couldn’t really sleep, knowing her feelings for Chat Noir were right and that Adrien was locked in a cell. The warmth she felt for both men made her head swirl, but really, why? Only a few days have passed since she met them both, and yet, she was sad when she realized Chat didn’t visit her last night. Maybe he realized Alya was with her. Maybe he already left town.

Maybe he was Adrien….

No, she shook the thought away. Prince Adrien seemed so proper, and Chat was so..wild. But really, could someone have two sides like that? Before Alya came to train her, Marinette was so super clumsy, not confident in herself, and felt unworthy to become Queen. Looking back, it seems like she also has two sides to her as well. Some moments, she reverts back to that child she was, feeling doubtful of her abilities. But she was born to become Queen, and that is what she plans to do. A tingling sensation through her fingers caused Marinette to look down, seeing a white light encase her hands. Trying to remain calm, she walked back inside through the open door to alert Alya who was sleeping in her big chair, when she passed by the vase with the butterfly. It wasn’t struggling as much now.

Marinette drew her hands closer to the creature, feeling the energy surrounding it. So much fear fueled this insect that Marinette had to close her eyes to try and block it out. She wrapped her hands around the containtor, letting the white light fill it to the brim. It receded to show just a white butterfly now, batting it’s wings softly.

[itsudemoyoshiwara]

[12/07/2016] Virtual Reality MMORPG

"Yes. Good boy. Staring is bad." Her tone was light, and a chuckle soon followed as she began to walk away. With a glance over her shoulder to make sure her new acquaintance was in tow, she steer them towards a large gate made of a large stone archway and heft brick and mortar.. Over the rhythmic clip-clop of her heels against the cobblestones under their feet, the distant metallic clings and clangs of battle drifted in through the large archway. The gate led out to an area referred to by many terms, but they all meant more or less one thing -- The newbie grounds. It was a low level area perfect for players of all experience levels to start their long, slow grind towards level cap from. Even the monsters weren't that challenging until you got involved with the Beastmen races, the game's intelligent monster races that were the bane to all things human-ish. Still, it was the perfect place to learn the basics of the game's combat system, and with a mage like herself around, the learning curve would likely be lesser. "Just how new are you though dear? Have you even been outside the city gates yet?" She doubted it. Their armor seemed to still have that 'fresh from the box' feel to it, as it hadn't even been sullied. It still seemed to the glint of freshness to the armor, and she doubted how given how the man had been acting earlier that he had any idea of how to actually polish and maintain his kit just yet. Her player couldn't help but chuckle at that notion, though it came out through Salaea's mouth as a giggle. Flushing a bit from the embarrassment of hearing such a dainty and feminine sound coming from what amounted to 'his' own mouth, Salaea's shoulders shrugged, and a hand pulled on her cloak to tidy it up. It was meant to obscure her gear underneath, and if it wasn't being a bulky, concealing mass of cloth then it wasn't doing its job. "Go ahead and grab your sword, and whack a few things. I'll keep you a live with some magic. I'm a support class you see?" Lifting her arm she indicated her staff that was now off the ground. Bejeweled towards the top and lined with gold inlay along its length, a single transparent gem sat atop the polished wooden staff. The game was known for its detail, and even now as her hand rubbed against the inlaid runes and decorative scripts she couldn't help but admire it a bit. Yukimura's eyes were following a sprite that looked dangerously like "Kakashi-sensei" when a glimpse of white caught their eye. A hood? They glanced down to find a rather short woman in a white robe with a dour expression plastered across her face. The sun made her apparel a bit too bright. Yukimura squinted. "S'cuse me, but you're making some of the other players a bit uncomfortable." the small woman began. Yukimura tilted their head to the side, still squinting. "Eh?" Had they been that bad? She continued, "At least you're not stalking them, but let me tell ya a small but of info that might just come in handy for ya: You're giving off the weirdo vibes, big time bud." Yukimura--despite the other party's "glowing" white robe--frowned, eyes wide, the blush returning to their face and snapped their head upright to attention. Their eyes darted from face to face, confirming her observation. Whoops. In a defensive gesture, Yukimura raised their hands chest-high and shook their head. "Oh, no-no-no. I did not mean to, uh..." Their words came out slowly, as if they didn't speak English primarily, but were trying to anyway. They hadn't really given much thought to the possibility of translation software. "Sorry?" they finished meekly, still grimacing. With a muffled grunt, the door to his apartment swung open and Brian Larsen threw his things to one side. It was an otherwise sparse, small but upscale apartment in the better section of the town he lived in. The living room was sparse, save for a small couch against one corner, a well worn leather, single seat sofa, and a large flat screen TV and entertainment center. Dust hung to its edges though, showing the level of neglect its owner took with it. To Brian though, these weren't something to be treasured and used every day like so many others would. For many still across the world, the TV and an entertainment center. Instead of actually taking care of the pack slung across his arm and setting it down neatly, with a flick of his wrist he flung it off to the side of the door and kicked his shoes off with as much disdain. There was work to be done after all, and this weekend had been cleared up ahead of time, especially so he could enjoy a nice long weekend of gaming. With a hint of fatigue apparent to his stride, Brian trundled into his bedroom and crashed down atop the bed. He'd eaten a simple meal earlier today of non-flavored noodles in chicken broth, and was hydrated but not overly so. While the device he was now slipping over his head monitored bodily needs, it was always an annoyance to have to AFK in the game to deal with a real life bladder. The device that now sat on his forehead and covering his eyes was a high tech brain interface device, capable of intercepting the body's signals and cancelling them out to a certain extent, while wirelessly feeding the wearer's brains with all five of the senses that their virtual avatars would experience while in game. With a small inset button pressed on the side of it, the device hummed to life, and with a simple verbally cued phrase, the device activated completely and Brian's physical body went completely slack. A moment later he opened his eyes with a soft flutter, as he looked through the eyes of his virtual character, an alternate named Salaea that he used on occasion. It was always strange slipping into this body though and while Brian was used to it somewhat now, there were some things that he could never really grow accustomed to. The first to immediately hit him was the physical difference. Salaea had long, curling black locks of hair, and thick eyelashes. Then of course was the lack of something between her legs, and instead a weight on her chest. There were other things of course. This character was smaller than his male body, and weighed significantly less. Then of course there were the clothes she wore, which were hidden beneath a long white hooded cloak. He might be able to hide them from the world, but the difference in how soft the materials were against his skin was a sensation that he'd never gotten used to. While Brian wasn't a cross dresser in real life, something he never really talked to anyone about was the time he spent online effectively in the body of a woman, and how he could sympathize easily with woman about the woes of the uncomfortable clothing they sometimes wore. Blowing at a particularly annoying lock that hung consummately at the corner of his vision, he took a step and almost fell before he caught himself. Right. She might have gotten used to this body's center of gravity, but heels were another matter. Softly Salaea cursed her choice in gear as she made her way towards the large gates that led to the near by starting zones. Maybe she could get lucky and make some money while she waited for something to do by power leveling someone on their lower level class. He was bored enough to do it. ..That was another annoyance when it came to online games. Personal gender pronouns could sometimes become confusing, even for the user, when they swapped between bodies and genders with little effort. Right. Now though he was really a she, in all but mind.

The thing about virtual reality is that unless it fits the motif of the area you're currently loitering in, the weather is always superb. Currently that meant a mild day in Summer, or... maybe it was some sort of personal preference? No point in thinking about it much. Either way, the sun was shining and with every passerby meant more shiny, glinting armor. "Yukimura" was currently having a sensory overload, and it definitely was no fault of the interface's equipment. While they had always enjoyed video games, this VRMMO stuff was on a whole other level. Had graphics always been so advanced? Although they probably looked quite ridiculous, Yukimura had been standing in the newbie spawn area for about two hours now, a dark crimson upon their cheeks, just staring at all of the other player sprites without a word -- the male ones in particular. Their avatar being male itself, it was quite a sight. Other players had begun to back away or stare, the passerby and newly spawned looking a bit uncomfortable. It wasn't as though Yukimura was doing anything, really, but the prolonged staring had gotten old a while ago and it was unanimously decided to be creepy. "Is that guy AFK?" one pugilist asked a conjurer. "God no, he's been turning his head as more of them pass by," their partymate responded. For as attractive as Yukimura blatantly found the other avatars, their own appearance wasn't too bad. As their namesake implied, they'd modeled themself after Yukimura Sanada from the once popular Samurai Warriors games, all the way down to the gaudy red samurai-style armor pieces, polearm and flowing hachimaki. They even managed to keep their balance pretty well despite the character's canon height of six foot one. Whoever had been behind this avatar must be a pretty passionate fan... though, others might argue that their slack jawed bewilderment and burning cheeks might suggest a degree of inaccuracy to the character. Why did everyone have to make their avatars so attractive? they thought, their eyes following the third rouge they'd seen today. The sprite gave off the "mature, older man" look. Then again, hadn't all of them?

Salaea made her way to the newbie area, the general place that new players started their life in this game at. It was a high traffic area though, and many other sorts filtered through the large open expanse that led to the near by starter areas. People on personal mounts, mostly giant colored chicken like ostriches called chocobos or special mounts they'd earned from quests or raids, zoomed or stomped by, often getting a shriek or curse hurled their way by a shocked new player. Not everyone in low level gear though was a newbie, as sometimes a veteran or experienced player would simply be leveling a new role up and the starting areas were perfect for that. It was easy to tell them apart though, the newbies from the experienced. A VRMMO literally was like stepping into a new world, and if it was your first time you were often struck with a sparkling, wide-eyed, child look on your face. Everything was new and you actually got to experience it yourself with all five scenes. For veterans though, that child-like wonder at the new world had long since faded...But Salaea's eyes narrowed as she took in one person's toon in particular that was busy gawking at others as they passed by. Great, these sorts. They were always the most annoying.. With a casual stride she walked up and stood in front of the gawking toon, casually crossing her arms over her cloak. “S'cuse me, but you're making some of the other players a bit uncomfortable. At least you're not stalking them, but let me tell ya a small but of info that might just come in handy for ya: You're giving off the weirdo vibes, big time bud.”

Yukimura's eyes were following a sprite that looked dangerously like "Kakashi-sensei" when a glimpse of white caught their eye. A hood? They glanced down to find a rather short woman in a white robe with a dour expression plastered across her face. The sun made her apparel a bit too bright. Yukimura squinted. "S'cuse me, but you're making some of the other players a bit uncomfortable." the small woman began. Yukimura tilted their head to the side, still squinting. "Eh?" Had they been that bad? She continued, "At least you're not stalking them, but let me tell ya a small but of info that might just come in handy for ya: You're giving off the weirdo vibes, big time bud." Yukimura--despite the other party's "glowing" white robe--frowned, eyes wide, the blush returning to their face and snapped their head upright to attention. Their eyes darted from face to face, confirming her observation. Whoops. In a defensive gesture, Yukimura raised their hands chest-high and shook their head. "Oh, no-no-no. I did not mean to, uh..." Their words came out slowly, as if they didn't speak English primarily, but were trying to anyway. They hadn't really given much thought to the possibility of translation software. "Sorry?" they finished meekly, still grimacing.

Slowly she blinked in non-amusement, standing there just taking in his palpable awkwardness. Slowly she nodded, looking up at him with an askance, side long look. “R-igghtt..” With a small clicking sound the white mage's arm shifted underneath her cloak to cross over her chest, tugging the cloak's hem line upward several inches to reveal the hint of high-heeled boots. Fixing her gaze upon the avatar, she gave him a quick once over with a slight nod of approval. The gear was decent and he hadn't made stupid choices on what to equip, though at his apparent level there wasn't much in the way of selection. At least he could equip his items, that much he had going for himself, the player behind the female white mage wagered. Like thats something at all.. “Okay. So basic etiquette 101, part 1 complete,” she couldn't help but grin at her own snark and she quickly synopsized the lesson for him - “Staring. Is. Bad. Apology for being an awkward good, equals, good.” With a light sniff she nodded towards him, motioning with one hand as if waiting for something. After several seconds of dead air and no reply, she continued on. “...Allright then. Continuing with part two of etiquette 101 -when meeting people for the first time its considered polite to exchange the names of your avatar. Just keep your real life name to yourself. Its considered rude to drag real life into the game world when its unnecessary.” Keeping her tone as light as possible, she lectured him briefly and remembered to smile through out so as not to come across as rude. A newb this player might be, but even a newb could be a source of lucrative income or a handy contact to have in the future if they turned out to be a capable player. A little bit of honey always attracts more flies, after all. “Like this. My name is Salaea, and I was going to offer to help you out a bit. You..” she held a hand up to mask a spreading grin at her next comment. “You seemed like you could use it more than anyone else around here. You're still pretty new, aren't you?

Yukimura continued to grimace as she lectured the confused, armored giant. Had I been so bad? They flinched when the woman thrust her hand forward. They stared for a while before she took it away and continued again. Yikes. She was speaking so quickly that Yukimura had trouble following, but she was smiling, so that was good... Right? "My name is Salaea and I was going to offer to help you out a bit. You..." The caster had her hand to her face, and Yukimura squinted as they struggled once more to comprehend her words -- as if it would help. "You seemed like you could use it more than anyone else around here. You're still pretty new, aren't you?" They caught the word "new" and nodded once. Hopefully Salaea would think that they understood, even if they didn't really. Yukimura bowed, replying with a recitation of their own name and an "I am in your care, Miss Salaea." They looked down at their new companion and smiled, once again hoping they'd done well enough. English wasn't their strong suit, and neither were online games. Games, sure, but not ones played with hundreds of other people. In the back of their mind, they cursed their lack of attention during classes. Although they might not fully understand it, they waited further instruction... as another attractive male sprite passed by. Their eyes followed it for a moment before Salaea's, "Staring. Is. Bad" ran through their head. Their eyes shot immediately downward and they muttered an apology before they could be chided again.

"Yes. Good boy. Staring is bad." Her tone was light, and a chuckle soon followed as she began to walk away. With a glance over her shoulder to make sure her new acquaintance was in tow, she steer them towards a large gate made of a large stone archway and heft brick and mortar.. Over the rhythmic clip-clop of her heels against the cobblestones under their feet, the distant metallic clings and clangs of battle drifted in through the large archway. The gate led out to an area referred to by many terms, but they all meant more or less one thing -- The newbie grounds. It was a low level area perfect for players of all experience levels to start their long, slow grind towards level cap from. Even the monsters weren't that challenging until you got involved with the Beastmen races, the game's intelligent monster races that were the bane to all things human-ish. Still, it was the perfect place to learn the basics of the game's combat system, and with a mage like herself around, the learning curve would likely be lesser. "Just how new are you though dear? Have you even been outside the city gates yet?" She doubted it. Their armor seemed to still have that 'fresh from the box' feel to it, as it hadn't even been sullied. It still seemed to the glint of freshness to the armor, and she doubted how given how the man had been acting earlier that he had any idea of how to actually polish and maintain his kit just yet. Her player couldn't help but chuckle at that notion, though it came out through Salaea's mouth as a giggle. Flushing a bit from the embarrassment of hearing such a dainty and feminine sound coming from what amounted to 'his' own mouth, Salaea's shoulders shrugged, and a hand pulled on her cloak to tidy it up. It was meant to obscure her gear underneath, and if it wasn't being a bulky, concealing mass of cloth then it wasn't doing its job. "Go ahead and grab your sword, and whack a few things. I'll keep you a live with some magic. I'm a support class you see?" Lifting her arm she indicated her staff that was now off the ground. Bejeweled towards the top and lined with gold inlay along its length, a single transparent gem sat atop the polished wooden staff. The game was known for its detail, and even now as her hand rubbed against the inlaid runes and decorative scripts she couldn't help but admire it a bit.