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gainingfiction · 1 year

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King Size

I had a great time working on this project with @bee-wg! Working with such a talented artist was a phenomenal experience. It was amazing to see this story come to life! Make sure to check out their great art and give them a follow. Hope you enjoy!

(Note: colouring may appear a little off when viewing on mobile, clicking the image should correct)

Summary: Prince Leo grows into his new role as king.

Once upon a time, in a far away kingdom, there lived a handsome prince. With loose waves of chestnut-coloured hair and a jaw like carved stone, maids and knights alike swooned at every twinkle of his blue eyes. None could deny that Prince Leopold was the fairest in all the land.

Leo’s skills as an athlete were the stuff of legend. He was as able with a sword as he was on horseback, and though he was slender and lithe, his deadly aim made him the envy of even the finest archers. On each hunt he loosed arrow after piercing arrow, returning to the castle with braces of pheasant, quail, and grouse.

After the death of Leo’s father the king, the whole realm mourned, and none grieved more than Leo himself. His carefree life as prince was at an end, and now the weight of the crown sat heavy on his head. His idle days of sparring with knights, long rides through the forest, and week-long hunts were over. The burdens of his new role were many, and he knew that hard work lay ahead of him.

With little time to spend on his favourite pastimes, Leo soon discovered a new outlet for his energies: feasting. As prince, he often dreaded his father’s banquets, wishing he could be riding or hunting instead. Soon after taking the throne, Leo realized what his father had known all along, that the business of government is easier on a full belly.

Before long, Leo feasted often and enthusiastically. His brothers returned from their frequent hunts with game and fowl, and the kitchens bustled with activity. The cooks had never been busier, preparing dish after dish for their hungry new king.

And Leo ate. Plates of venison and lamb, roasted chicken and suckling pig, mince pies and rashers of bacon, Leo devoured it all, washed down with wine, ale, and mead. He feasted from dawn until dusk. By the end of the night, he had gorged himself into a stupor, his stomach stuffed and protesting by the time he made his way to bed.

It didn’t take long before the new king began to grow plump. As he filled his stomach relentlessly, pushing himself to the edges of his capacity and then beyond, his appetite grew. The roundness his midsection acquired after bouts of gluttony began to stick, until his stomach, once flat, swelled and softened into a fleshy orb. As the months passed, he was left with a fat belly and a pair of meaty love handles. Even his face changed, and he began to grow out his beard to cover his softening jawline.

Leo’s ass and hips grew, as well. Fat began to build around his slender thighs, and his buttocks bulged and ripened, struggling against the cloth of his breeches. Leo’s servants realized the problem before their king. Each morning they dressed Leo, and his clothes seemed to grow tighter by the day. Leo could see them exchanging meaningful glances as they tried to squeeze his added bulk into undersized clothes, afraid to tell him just how hard it was becoming to fit him into his garments.

Leo eventually capitulated. He spoke to the royal tailor, who soon became almost as busy as the cooks, constantly measuring the ever-expanding monarch for new shirts and pants to contain his ballooning poundage.

And so, Leo ate, and drank, and slept, and governed, and grew. The lords and ladies of court seemed shocked at just how fast their new overlord was gaining weight, at how unable he was to control his appetite.

None dared to question the king’s love of food. His wife, the queen, seemed unimpressed, but she had done her duty and given him a pair of twin boys. The realm had its heir. Now, the king ignored her, preferring the attention of handsome servants and dashing knights. This didn’t bother the queen, preoccupied as she was with her lady-in-waiting.

His belly swelled further, growing softer and heavier. By the anniversary of his coronation, it hung out in front of him, soft and round, drooping far over the waist of his pants. He often went shirtless, leaving his fattened torso exposed beneath a fine ermine cloak. That cloak had belonged to his father; it was too large when Leo took the throne, but now it fit him comfortably, and would soon become tight.

He was fatter all over, the small muscles of his chest now hidden under hearty slabs of fat. Below his breasts, his globular belly clung to his torso, flanked at the sides by thick handfuls of fat that projected over the top of his pants. His thighs were broad and hefty, and his rump had expanded to truly king-sized proportions.

A few years into his reign, the finest artist in the realm came to court. He had painted Leo before, and he stared in shock at the bearded, fat-bellied man Leo had become. In his fine cloak and glimmering crown, wearing a good-natured smile, Leo cut an image of a powerful but generous ruler.

He hardly resembled the strapping young knight he had so recently been. The painter looked back and forth between the old Leo and the new, his recent portrait of a slender prince and the overfed monarch now posed in front of him, seeming not to believe his eyes. The poor artist pleaded with his king to stay still, but Leo refused to stop eating and drinking, stretching his pendulous stomach to an ever-greater size. The buttons of his tunic were struggling by the end of the sitting, and hours on his feet had left him exhausted and sore-legged.

Over the years of King Leo’s reign, his girth only increased. His dimpled, rosy cheeks swelled rounder and plumper, and beneath his impressive beard, his jowls sagged and his double chin expanded. His chin grew so thick that it seemed to merge into his body, replacing his neck, and his shoulders broadened with soft fat. His chest billowed out atop his colossal stomach, a rack of teats to rival the bustiest milkmaid, and his stomach exploded in size, leading the way ahead of him and hanging low in front. He was a great bear of a man, as wide as a barge, large enough to intimidate anyone who crossed his path.

On his 26th birthday, after five years as king, he realized with annoyance that he had grown too fat for the throne, unable to squeeze his rear-end between its arms. It was an uncomfortable old chair, anyway, and Leo had no time for discomfort. So he commissioned a new one, and thereafter sat his humongous behind on a throne as wide as a bench, built of heavy, gold-painted wood but still seeming to sag at the middle beneath his towering weight.

Some say that Leo was the greatest king of all. What his ancestors had settled at war, Leo handled with diplomacy: nobles were brought together at the feasting table, where petty feuds were put to rest over food and drink. They knew that food, not scheming, was the way to secure the king’s trust. Any request was usually accompanied by generous gifts, and whenever the king held court, platters streamed from the kitchens and filled the great hall. According to legend, the people flocked to Leo with offerings of food, just to marvel at his enormous belly and its seemingly limitless capacity.

Few would recognize the bearded mammoth as the slender, fresh-faced prince he once was, but all would agree that Jolly King Leopold’s steady rule had brought prosperity to the realm. His subjects lived happily ever after in peace and plenty—with none more plentiful than their king.

#king size #collab story #wg art #wg story

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jinwoosungs · 1 month

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{ 145 }

the still doll; pinocchio’s version

original story

lies of p | au

pinocchio x fem.reader

ever since he was a little boy, pinocchio had always been a bit more on the introverted side-

perhaps introverted was a bit of an understatement, since any type of human interaction was enough to send the poor boy into fits of panic.

he recalls a particularly nightmarish memory from when he was around 5 years old, beginning his school life at a prestigious academy. so many eyes were peering at him, and the poor boy found that he was unable to even speak. his heart kept squeezing painfully from within his chest, finding it harder to breathe when the headmistress was thrown into a state of trepidation because of him-

needless to say, when word of his distress reached his parent's ears, he was immediately taken out of the academy, with his father promising to homeschool him so that he wouldn't feel the painful sensations that came with his anxieties.

so he spends the following years of his life in complete isolation, finding comfort within the safety of the manor he lived in with his aging parents. it may have seemed like a miserable existence to most people, but for pinocchio, he was just fine living in this tiny sandbox.

but that all changes the moment he meets you.

pinocchio was merely 10 years old at the time. he was done with his studies for the day and remained within his father's office, bored out of his mind as he read a book. his cerulean eyes trail over the printed pages of the leather bound tome, casually flipping the pages before suddenly losing interest within his novel when sounds of movement were heard coming from the ground floor of his mansion.

frowning at the sudden commotion, pinocchio was about to see what was going on when his chest began to seize up in response. he could hear two unfamiliar, but feminine, voices coming from the first floor, yet he wasn't brave enough to actually reveal himself.

the young boy closes the door, pouting while running his tiny hands across his chestnut hair. he looks around the study and sees a false opening within one of the walls-

something that his father had made for him whenever he wished to explore the manor when guests were around.

his parents were considered to be aristocrats within the city of krat. they were a part of various charities, and held many banquets for the citizens. knowing of pinocchio's agoraphobia and discomfort with being around other people, geppetto had made serval hidden passageways within the manor so that pinocchio could freely explore his home while avoiding any contact.

and he was using one of those many hidden passageways right now.

sliding open the wooden wall next to the grand bookshelf, pinocchio was met with a large hallway that ran beneath the walls of the mansion. taking advantage of the lights strewn throughout the path, he makes his way toward the general direction of the dining room, where he heard the voices of his mother and her guests become progressively louder.

standing in front of the wall where settled just a few feet away was his mother's dining area, he presses an ear against the wall, hearing the sounds of tea being served while his mother made casual conversation with another woman.

"oh, your daughter is lovely! i have a son just around her age, his name is pinocchio."

a series of soft laughter were heard as the unknown woman begins to speak, saying a name that he had never heard of before-

but found to be strangely beautiful and fitting.

"come now, don't be so shy, tell miss antonia thank you for her kind words."

"thank you miss antonia."

curious as to who that girl was, pinocchio continues his trek within the passage, his footsteps causing audible creaking sounds from within the walls.

"oh dear! what was that?" pinocchio freezes his movements, not daring to move as he held his breath in response.

"pay no mind to it, for this is an old mansion. it is simply settling due to the wind. now, would you like some more tea?" he lets out a sigh of relief, grateful for his mother's distraction as he took more careful steps to the next opening settled a few feet away from him.

reaching it, pinocchio presses down against the wood, allowing it to gently fall against the shelf filled with spices. using his hands, he moves away the various vials to catch a glimpse of his mother's guest-

only to feel a strange sense of warmth filling him at the sight of a beautiful girl sitting with her mother. as his mother spoke with the woman, pinocchio was drawn to the girl who was politely sipping at her cup of tea, her feet swinging back and forth as she was settled on the dining table.

pinocchio lets out a soft whisper of her name, not daring to blink or even try to look away from her. he was completely and utterly enchanted with her-

with his fate completely sealed the moment she walked into his life.

even after the kind woman and her daughter left, pinocchio was left in a daze, asking question after question to his mother as his own heart was slowly beginning to experience strange feelings of warmth at the memory of you.

according to his mother, the woman and her daughter came to the mansion, offering flowers for sale to raise a bit of extra money. with his mother's heart being touched by their sweet presence, she accepts their flowers and paid them handsomely for their meager blooms.

as proof of their meeting, antonia gives pinocchio the collection of daisies. and he cherished such precious flowers so much that he keeps the flowers pressed against the pages of his favorite book, opening the tome to that specific page each time he wished to recall that memory.

eight years have passed since that day, and pinocchio was determined to see you again. he tells his parents of his desires to 'meet the pretty flower girl' and take her as his wife.

knowing firsthand just how bad pinocchio's anxiety could become, they were ecstatic at the thought of their son falling in love. so, they laid out careful plans, placing an ad in the local paper as they prayed that you would see it, taking advantage of the strange rumors that surrounded him and the manor as pinocchio hoped that it would bring your heart closer to his-

and lucky for him, it did.

{ ... }

pinocchio couldn't believe it-

for you had only served to grow even lovelier as the years had passed.

you didn't seem to recall being here, in this manor, yet pinocchio could see the dark circles looming from beneath your eyelids. what had happened? were you working too much? and just who were you working so hard for?

pinocchio had to fight back his feelings of jealousy, hoping that you didn't have someone you were already in love with. that you weren't working hard to save up for a wedding gown-

such thoughts were enough to make pinocchio clench his fists in response, but he quickly reels in such emotions.

you couldn't possibly belong to someone else-

for he had already laid claim on you the moment he first saw you.

"welcome, dear girl. come, meet our son, pinocchio." he hears his father greet you as his mother gestures at you to follow them. "i must say, we are most delighted that it was you who took up on this offer to watch over our son while we are away."

"indeed, i'm afraid that with what all the little children has been saying about him, our pinocchio is even more reclusive than ever." pinocchio had to hide back the grin that threatened to form against his lips as he presses his ear against the wall, listening to every word that his parents were saying about him.

"so your son's name is pinocchio?"

pinocchio had to hold back his gasp, heart already pounding at the sound of your melodious voice. feeling a deep desire to see you, the young man begins to move even further from within the walls until he reached another hidden opening.

"yes. a wonderful name for a wonderful boy, if i may say so myself." he hears his mother coo at you.

his eyes snuck longing glances at you from each hidden crack and opening made for him, and pinocchio could feel his heart pound with each second that passes. as his parents lead you into the living room, pinocchio made sure to follow, remaining directly behind the chair that held his perfect doppelgänger.

pinocchio smiles at the sight of the life-sized puppet; a perfect replica made by his father. wanting to give you a reason to be here at the manor, pinocchio wanted his parents to play the part of a lonely couple tinged with melancholy and a hint of insanity. they wanted to fully embrace in the rumors of his death, further prompting his father to make a perfect puppet as his parents pretended that the still doll was their son.

"this is our precious boy, pinocchio."

he takes in the sight of you looking down at his replica, watching as your lips open up and close, as if confused at the sight of him.

"again, he's very shy, so we apologize for his silence."

pinocchio watches you, hearing short bursts of laughter bubble from within your throat. and truly, he couldn't blame you for wishing to laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. the young man doesn't follow when he sees his father take you off to the side, feeling caught beneath his mother's knowing smile as she winks at him from the living room.

"you must not judge my wife and i so harshly. what you see in that chair is indeed our son, and we have put our utmost trust in you when it comes to caring for him.

pinocchio closes his eyes and begins to recite the rules he had made for you to follow:

"always read to pinocchio a bedtime story of your choosing, but make sure you voice is loud and clear.

he enjoys listening to records on the record player; always play those records at a loud volume while in the library.

take pinocchio wherever you go when exploring the manor. if you are wanting to make a meal, take him with you into the dining room and always make a portion for him."

he was smirking, feeling proud and happy that his parents were playing their parts so well. a moment of silence was heard until his father speaks once more.

"it appears as though antonia and i must get going. i trust you, dear girl, so please, do take care of your precious son. i promise you, you shall be rewarded handsomely."

pinocchio could hear the hesitance in your voice when you made your promise to take good care of him-

and oddly enough, your promise was enough to send a plethora of butterflies to erupt across his chest.

"that's my girl. come, my love. everything has been settled."

pinocchio could feel his heart racing with anticipation once his father states the words for the sign of their departure. a heat was felt growing against his cheeks, and the excitement only served to strengthen upon hearing his parents' departure-

he was finally alone with you.

returning back to his spot behind his doppelgänger, watching as you came back into the living room. you stand before his replica, a soft expression painting your beautiful features while your hands went to gently frame at his face-

and the sight of you touching his puppet self so lovingly was enough to fill pinocchio with a jealous rage, his fists pounding against the wall as the impact was enough to make you gasp while taking a step backwards.

"who's there?!"

feeling upset and angry, pinocchio runs through the hidden hallway. he runs a hand through his hair, trying to fight back his jealousy all while his heart continued to pound immensely from beneath his chest.

this was going to be so much harder for him than he once expected-

because he wasn't sure if he could keep himself hidden as long as you kept treating his replica with such kindness and not him.

{ ... }

the carriage continues to carry the married couple to their destination, hearts filled with concern for their son and the woman he loved.

the father looks over at his wife and places a hand over hers.

"are you concerned about our son?"

he watches as she closes her eyes, shaking her head while taking a hold of her husband's hand in response. "no, of course not. after all, he's loved that girl for a very long time.

i can think of no other way to make him happy than by bringing her to him."

{ ... }

a few weeks had passed since you had come to pinocchio's mansion under the guise of taking care of him.

knowing of your fear and anxiety that pertained to his presence within the manor, pinocchio made sure to keep his footsteps quieter, yet still wished to interact with you.

he gave you several subtle hints of his presence, yet did it in such a way that would not startle you.

for starters, he would take advantage of the hidden passages his father had made for him, moving his replica as he placed the puppet in realistic poses.

from reading a book, to playing a record from within the library, pinocchio had so much fun seeing the suspicion shining from within your eyes.

with every meal that you had cooked, he was grateful that you followed the rules and always left him a portion. as always, the plate would disappear when pinocchio takes the food back into the walls with him. after he finished eating the delicious meal, then he would place the empty plate back in the kitchen without your knowledge.

he was just so happy to have you around.

currently, he remains hidden within the walls, watching you cooking a stew to ward off the chill that came with winter. his eyes were filled with a soft fondness for you, watching as you tasted the broth of the stew when you suddenly jumped.

several knocks were heard coming from the mansion's back entrance, and pinocchio could feel his fists becoming clenched in response. he tiptoes out of his hiding spot near the kitchen, taking an exit into the dining room when he sees his replica settled on one of the chairs.

"who's there?!"

he takes the heavy puppet in his arms, his silent footsteps reaching the kitchen when he settles his replica against the kitchen counter, hiding behind the wall to see what was going on and just who this intruder was.

"it's me, wick! your grocery delivery boy, remember?!"

he watches as you visibly relax, opening the door as pinocchio catches sight of the annoyingly tall and lanky boy-

romeo... also known by his stupid nickname, lampwick.

romeo and his family had worked for pinocchio's parents for as long as he could remember, and he felt smug seeing that it was the annoying boy's turn to serve him. he watches as romeo's brown eyes take in the sight of you, not liking the sudden glint within them one bit.

"whoa, i didn't think old man geppetto also had a daughter!"

"oh, i-i'm not his daughter, i'm just uhm- the hired help."

romeo gives you a questioning glance, all while pinocchio had to fight back his anger as he watched the boy interact with you.

"hired help? whatever would they need help for?"

you turn around just then, making pinocchio immediately hide behind the wall when you jumped at the sight of his puppet settled near the counter.

"ah! pinocchio, how do you keep doing that?!"

"aw geez, don't tell me that crazy old man made you watch over that doll?"

pinocchio could feel his anger growing when he looks back at romeo, glaring at him from his hiding spot.

"that's disrespectful of you to say. isn't this doll based on their son?"

a warmth fills pinocchio's chest when you defend him, making him calm down when romeo tells you, "not that i know of. listen, my folks and i have always been delivering our produces to geppetto and his wife, and i've never seen any sons- just that doll."

his admission makes you loosen your hold on the puppet, but you simply shake your head. "still, don't say that or else you'll upset him. you may not have seen anyone, but maybe they lost him at a young age. here. i'll take care of putting away the foods you graciously delivered."

pinocchio would have danced with triumph the moment you tried to get romeo out of the house, but the bastard manages to plant his weight down against he marble flooring, making it impossible for you to push him out.

"now wait a minute, it just doesn't feel right for me to leave such a pretty lady like you all alone like this."

"huh?!"

as you became confused over the bastard's poor attempts of wooing you, pinocchio could feel his fists becoming clenched in response.

"it seems like you've been stuck here for quite some time now, and i just wanted to give you a chance to get out of here and explore krat."

pinocchio swore that he was only mere seconds away from committing murder when he witnesses romeo take a hold of your hand while pressing a kiss against the back of it, making you incredibly flustered in response.

"the name's lampwick, m'lady, and i do hope that you give me a chance to take you out of the manor come tomorrow morning."

every single cell within the confines of pinocchio's body was screaming at you to say no to his offer-

only to have every single one of his hopes shatter the moment you agree to meet with romeo.

"alright, i'll explore the city with you, lampwick."

as you introduced your own name to him, pinocchio was settled behind the wall, startling blue eyes blazing with hatred as he dug his nails within the palm of his hands, causing painful, crescent shaped marks to appear against his skin.

{ ... }

night fell across the expanse of the manor as pinocchio takes his chance to come out of his hiding place within the passageways. knowing that you were pacing within your bedroom, pinocchio crept closer to your door.

with a slender key in his hand, pinocchio jams the key into the lock before turning it, locking you inside your room with no warning.

he takes a step back, hearing your panicked cries as you tried to jostle the doorknob, but to no avail.

it was locked shut.

"no no no no, please, let me out!" your screams made pinocchio wince in pain, feeling guilty as you kept on struggling to open the door.

he didn't fall asleep that night, listening to your sobs before hearing your body slump against the door. you had worn yourself out while trying to open the door, falling asleep as pinocchio could hear the soft sounds of your breathing.

exhaustion was felt coursing through pinocchio's veins, but he was determined to stay awake, not daring to rest until the morning passes, the afternoon sun now hanging bright within the sky.

knowing that you had missed your destined meeting time with romeo, pinocchio finally unlocks the door of your room while taking a folded piece of parchment from the pocket of his pants, with two words written on it.

he walks away, allowing the parchment to flutter on the floor, with a message meant for your eyes alone:

please stay.

{ ... }

pinocchio knew that your fears had taken new heights-

he knew that he should reveal himself to you; confess his feelings for you as he prayed that you would stay with him for good-

but his guilt kept choking him, preventing him from coming clean to you.

he knew that you had reached your limit, but was still too much of a coward to try and ease your fears.

and it all came to a boiling point this very night.

you were pacing around the living room while glaring at his puppet.

"i don't know what else to say other then i am terrified of you, pinocchio." he sees the way you shiver, filled with a yearning to take you in his arms to keep you safe and warm.

"regardless of how beautiful you are, i can't deny how all of this strangeness and mystery surrounding you scares me so much-"

his eyes go wide when the sudden sounds of glass shattering interrupt your words, your eyes going wide with fear as you tried to pinpoint the source of the sound.

realizing that it had come from the upper floors, pinocchio immediately uses the passages to try and reach it first before you did. his heart was pounding when he heard three distinct voices talking amongst themselves. he takes a quick detour to his father's collection of weapons, grabbing a hold of the rapier he kept within the room in case of emergencies like this.

with his weapon in hand, pinocchio goes back to the hidden passages, running at full speed as he made his way back to you.

"hehehe, this is going to be our easiest heist yet."

"oh, and i see our little princess is right where we want her, too."

"shut up and let's get rid of her already so we can get started!"

your sudden screams is what ultimately pushes him forward, hearing you begging for your life.

"please, stop, don't hurt me! you can take whatever is in this manor, just please-!"

the pounding sounds of his footsteps make the intruders back away from you.

"the hell? what is that?"

"i though you said the manor was empty, save for that girl and that stupid doll!"

"it WAS empty! so what is-"

they weren't given a chance to finish when pinocchio suddenly bursts through the walls, damaging it completely as he lands on the carpeted floors of the hallway, taking a protective stance in front of you. the masked intruders take a step back, clearly caught off guard by his presence.

"this is bad, why does he look exactly like that damn doll?!"

pinocchio clicks his tongue, softening his gaze when he looks down at you. he basks in your tears and trembling lips, gently framing at your face when he tells you, "cover your eyes and ears, my love."

he turns away from you, raising his rapier while you fall to your knees, huddled together in a fetal position.

they never stood a chance, with pinocchio's slender blade ripping through them with a terrifying accuracy. their splatters of blood were seen splattered against his features, yet they appeared as unassuming as the freckles that already dyed his pale cheeks, like constellations across his skin.

once all three of the intruders were dealt with, pinocchio allows their bodies to fall to the ground before making his way back toward you. he sees your body curled up on the floor and lets out a hum, taking you in his arms as he shields you from the sight of the fallen bodies.

"are you alright, my love?" pinocchio's voice comes out in a gentle coo, making you tremble when you manage to look up at him.

"w-who are you?"

he couldn't help but smile upon hearing your innocent question, "i am the same pinocchio you have been caring for, and now, i shall be your future husband."

pinocchio holds you even closer to him, wishing to comfort you as you were shivering. yet, at the same time, he could tell that you were just as mesmerized with him like he was with you. he watches as you swallow thickly before asking, "b-but, what about my family? my brother?"

he continues to carry you away from the wreckage seen with the intruders all while laughing, "not to worry, my love, for when you become my wife, i shall give you all of my riches. that shall be more than enough to provide for your family."

you continue to meet his gaze, making pinocchio admire the innocence felt wafting off of your form. feeling so enamored with you, he allows the pad of his thumb to caress at your bottom lip.

"please stay." he repeats the same words he had written for you when he spent the whole night keeping you away from romeo, and he felt a deep sense of happiness when your eyes go wide before a sheepish expression paints your features.

it was clear that you were enchanted by him when you give him a nod.

"i'll stay."

and pinocchio couldn't feel any happier the moment you sealed your fate as being tied to him, the still doll now come to life just to love you and you alone.

a.n. - it is so much harder writing for the love interest's perspective, especially when he spends 90% of his time hidden within the walls of his manor, lol. this is unedited, but i'll make any changes once this is posted.

all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.

#lies of p x reader #pinocchio x reader #lop x reader #lies of p x you #pinocchio x you #.stories

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theologiedansleboudoir · 26 days

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The Banquet of Chestnuts

"On the evening of the last day of October, 1501, Cesare Borgia arranged a banquet in his chambers in the Vatican with 'fifty honest prostitutes,' called courtesans, who danced after dinner with the attendants and others who were present, at first in their garments, then naked. After dinner the candelabra with the burning candles were taken from the tables and placed on the floor, and chestnuts were strewn around, which the naked courtesans picked up, creeping on hands and knees between the chandeliers, while the Pope, Cesare, and his sister Lucretia looked on. Finally, prizes were announced for those who could perform the act most often with the courtesans, such as tunics of silk, shoes, barrets, and other things."

―Johann Burchard, Diary

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ancientorigins · 4 months

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A famous portrait of Cesare Borgia by an unknown artist (likely Bartolomeo Veneto). Cesare was the head host at the Banquet of Chestnuts. Perhaps the event was reported as being notorious and sinful, by one person, to slander the rising power of the Borgias?

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incorrectpizza · 7 months

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Hehehe know how I said literally 72 hours ago that I wouldn't be posting anything for @sabezraweek because of my concussion and general life chaos?

Fic also available under the cut for anyone who would prefer to read here on Tumblr. :)

Ezra’s cleaning up the tower when he finds the holoprojector.

He’s halfway through a drawer of seemingly sentimental junk - an old comm of his, one of Ursa’s hair clips, Sabine’s own paint sprayer - when he spies a puck he doesn’t recognize. Curious, he flicks it on

He’s greeted by a younger Sabine, not much older than when he’d left. Her hair is the same dull dark purple as when he’d left with Thrawn all those years ago. It’s a bit longer though. Sabine sighs and runs a hand through it.

“So, it’s been a while since I’ve dyed my hair. I haven’t been able to since- since you and Kanan. But, well, things go on. I hoped you would be back by now but still no leads. So, I decided today would be the day.” Holo-Sabine holds up a can, shaking it. Then the image flickers and she returns with flaming pink hair. “Not bad for my first dye job in a year.”

Ezra’s eyebrows scrunch A year ? Sabine Wren, Mandalorian artist extraordinaire who dyed her hair at least once every six months, if not more, had been so out of sorts she hadn’t dyed her hair for a year ?

In their brief reunion, he’d gotten the sense she’d missed him a lot. But not dying her hair?

Before his brain could come to any dramatic conclusions, the hologram glitched, faded, and returned. Sabine’s hair, a solid, shimmering lilac shifts into a gradient, the tips darkening to indigo. She tilts her head and spins to show all the angles before disappearing.

Holo-Sabine reappears with a full head of indigo holding a hair tie, a single odd lilac strand hanging down. A padawan braid?

“So, it’s been two years.”

She gathers her hair together as she speaks, knot nearly reaching the nape of her neck.

“I decided after the last dye job to let it grow out a bit. What do you think?”

Holo-Sabine smiles, but the expression is hollow.

“So much has happened. Hopefully you’ll be able to come see yourself soon.”

The image fades and for a few seconds there’s nothing before Indigo Sabine reappears.

“I’m going to try something new. I’ve never done any sort of red hair because I dyed Tristan’s red once and he looked hideous. It doesn’t mesh well with the Wren complexion, but I’m feeling creative and I think this shade might be just the ticket.”

She pulls out a box of chestnut dye and sits it directly in front of the holoprojector.

When she pulls it away, her hair is an odd shade of red slightly akin to the sky on Atollon.

“That was a very bad mistake.” She shakes her hair out of the ponytail.

“Unfortunately, I can’t fix it for at least a week, and there’s a big banquet coming up soon.”

A static image displays next. Red brick haired Sabine in a floor length gown unlike anything Ezra had ever seen her wear.

A meow from Murley alerts him to the fact his jaw is no longer aligned with the rest of his face. He clamps it shut, quickly, biting his lip in the process.

“Lesson learned.” A blissfully dark haired Sabine says. Hair the color of caf dangles past her chin, brushing against her shoulders, a few strands hitting her collarbone. “Worst two weeks of my life so far. I am never dying my hair anything close to red again."

The image shifts to Sabine sitting with a towel wrapped around her hair.

“I wish you were here.”

Sabine closes her eyes and yawns, leaning her head back against the back of the coach.

“Force, Ezra. I just don’t know what to do without you around sometimes. I don’t see much of Hera or Zeb these days, which doesn’t help. I’m not sure how much longer I can wait.

“I guess I have to, though. I can’t go anywhere or do anything until this dye is done. And there’s still so much to do here on Lothal.”

The hologram pauses and skips forward to Sabine unwrapping her freshly-dyed hair. It’s a damp teal blue fading into white.

The next image to appear is not Sabine, but Jacen. The little boy’s face takes up the entire span of the hologram, one lock of green hair brushing against the recorder for a moment before Sabine yanks him back.

“I told you to be careful, Jacen.” She scolds, teasingly, setting him on his lap.

“Do you want to tell your big brother what you did?”

“I helped Aunt ‘Bine dye her hair!” Jacen giggles, hands gathering some of her hair and tossing it in front of the projector. Her brilliant green hair. Then he scampers down to go find Murley.

“Don’t worry. It’s temporary,” Sabine laughs and tosses it around, too.

Her hair is blonde next - kriff , it looks so weird on her - and then purple again. She doesn’t say anything in these brief clips; Murley’s in the second one, playing with her padawan braid.

Then a Sabine with a purple and pink gradient comes into view.

“It’s been five years now.” She sighs, and Ezra can practically hear the weight she’s carrying. He has some idea what she was going to say next, from what first Sabine herself and then Hera had told him about what happened. It doesn’t make it any easier.

“The Empire’s gone. So that’s nice. Well, almost gone. A few stragglers but Hera and Zeb’s recruits will finish them off soon enough. And Jacen, if he has his way.” She smiles, slightly.

The fond expression quickly disappears and as she turns her head slightly Ezra notices her padawan braid is conspicuously absent.

“But the Empire struck one last blow. A retaliation against random worlds. Hera says one of the defectors called it Operation Cinder.

“They bombed Mandalore.”

“I haven’t heard anything from Krownest. I’m not sure if that’s good or bad. But still, millions. I wasn’t- I couldn’t save them. My people.”

The transmission cut out and stayed quiet for several seconds.

Sabine reappears with jet black hair, pinned up in a bun with the Clan Wren clip Ezra found earlier.

“Krownest’s gone.” She sniffles, wipes her nose on the back of her orange shirt. “Mom. Dad. Tristan.”

“I wish you were here. I don’t know- I don’t know how you did it.”

Seven more hairstyles appear in rapid succession, solid pictures, flicks of hair. Black with pink tips. Black with green tips. Black with blonde tips. Brown, the color of her brother’s hair. Her natural color? Ezra wonders, absently. The same brown, but faded into pale pink. Then a whole head of pink, slightly darker. Pink into orange.

And then purple faded into white, the reverse of the dye job she’d done after Malachor. The one she’d let him pick, that day she forced him to snap out of his trance with Maul and be himself again, if only for a few hours. It’s braided up into a severe bun, almost like the one Ezra remembers her mother wearing all those ages ago.

This Sabine sits still in front of the camera for a few seconds, then speaks.

“Ten years.” She said. “What are you like now, Ezra? Have you changed your hair at all? Does the Chimaera have any razors or do you have a scraggly beard?” Ezra scratches his chin, fingers deep in his magnificent beard, and he scoffs slightly at Sabine’s lack of faith in his ability to grow facial hair.

“I miss you.”

Then she shakes her head, letting it out. Hair spills past her shoulders, past her elbows, almost to her waist. Ezra gasps. Murley opens one eye and looks over at him, annoyed.

Ezra doesn’t care.

He’s transfixed, wondering what it would have been like to run his fingers through Sabine's long hair, and how much she’d experimented with that much canvas.

He doesn’t have to wonder long.

Sabine appears again with hair dyed four different colors: Orange into yellow into pink into purple.

“Pretty cool, huh?” She asks. “I think it’s getting a little too long, though.”

She chops it off, live, on screen. She doesn’t say much - just a bit about how she misses even Chopper but doesn’t get to see any of the old crew often.

“I miss you the most, though.” She confesses. “Hera told me that maybe recording would help, and I think it has. But I’m ready to start looking for you. Really looking. Not just researching and waiting on Ahsoka or Hera to find a lead.”

She finishes with her hair still well past her shoulders.

“Not yet, though. I still have a piece of artwork to finish.”

One last Sabine pops up, with freshly dyed purple-pink-orange hair. “Almost done.” She says.

Then a much more familiar Sabine pops up - shortly cropped, dark purple hair. A bit of makeup. And armor.

“It’s time. Ahsoka found something, just after I finished my mural in Capital City. I can't wait to bring you home."

The holo goes still, fades, and Ezra's sure it's done.

He bends down to pet Murley and nearly falls over when Sabine's voice came back a solid thirty seconds later. He scrambles back to his feet, grabbing the counter to pull himself up. He found himself staring right into Holo-Sabine’s eyes.

“If you’re seeing this, I guess I’m not there to hit pause and I owe you an explanation.

“I knew you were counting on me, and I knew you needed to come home. There’s so much in the galaxy you need to catch up on. And you have a little brother to meet.” Sabine smiles, a hint of sorrow lacing her expression.

“But most of all, I needed you. Whatever it took. If I’m not here…I don’t have any regrets. I’m just glad you’re home.”

She pauses a moment, runs a hand through her too-short hair, lets out a shaky breath.

“Ni kar’taylir darasuum, Ezra Bridger.”

Ni kar’taylir darasuum ?

Ezra furrows his brow as he pulls out a datapad and types in the best approximation of Sabine’s words. Murley jumps up and meows, and Ezra pushes him aside gently to reveal the confirmation of the hunch he's had she held him on Peridea like she never wanted to let him go.

“I hold you in my heart forever,” literally.

Or, in plain Galactic Basic, “I love you.”

#star wars #star wars rebels #star wars rebels fanfic #sabezra #sabezra week #sabezraweek #sabezraweek2023 #sabezra week 2023 #i am the worst ever at titles #oops

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cottoncandy-cult · 5 months

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Mitsuhide x Fem reader

"So, what's your favorite memory with Mitsuhide?" Nobunaga sipped his sake, looking to the drunk princess sat comfortably in his left-hand man's lap. Said man had been feeding her since she joined them, hoping that putting some food in her stomach would sober her up. At the start of the banquet, she had been sitting in the back of the room with Masamune and Keiji, out of Mitsuhide's view no one was aware of the one-eyed dragon's revenge plan. For too long Mitsuhide had been replacing his water with sake at events, and while he couldn't get Mitsuhide drunk, he could get the kitsune's lover drunk. He wanted to give the man a taste of his own medicine, and boy was it fun from the moment of the alcohol kicked.

(Y/n) giggled in her spot across from Masamune, by this point she was too tipsy to even taste the strong bite of the alcohol. Of course, the sweet buns Masamune kept giving her also helped, the sugary chestnut flavor basically coated her taste buds. Keiji had been mid-sentence when both males noticed her wandering gaze, which didn't stop until her (E/c) orbs landed on the silver fox she called her lover. A wide smile crept onto her face, she didn't even notice Nobunaga or Hideyoshi sitting with the male. She slowly stood up and made her way to the male, despite her swaying steps she didn't stumble and surprisingly he didn't look back. The other two had definitely noticed her, Nobunaga simply quirked an eyebrow and grinned. It was rare for Azuchi's princess to get drunk, and it often led to interesting conversations. Hideyoshi quirked an eyebrow but had quickly frowned, searching for the 2 men she had been talking to before her approach. But before Mitsuhide could question the right-hand's frown, she struck. Her arms wrapped around his neck loosely, her chest pressed to his back as she nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck with a giggle. Golden eyes went wide as Mitsuhide looked over his shoulder, surprised for many reasons and quickly understanding why Hideyoshi had been frowning. He struggled to hold his blush when she nuzzled her nose against his cheek, uttering soft I love yous to him. And though his pale cheeks managed to remain porcelain, the tips of his ears were growing warm and red. In his flustered state he frowned, though he was to enraptured by her loving display and it looked more like a pout to everyone's surprise. He opened his mouth to say something to her, but that thing was lost when she playfully bit his cheek. Giggling her little heart out at the surprised and flustered look on the man's face, though her giggles quickly turned to startled shrieks when Mitsuhide turned around and pulled her into his lap. He kept his arms firmly around her waist, nuzzling into her hair as he held her like a teddy bear. "Must you always be so troublesome little mouse?" Despite his question, the male's voice was affectionate and warm as he chuckled.

After that Mitsuhide had taken advantage of her inebriated state to spoil his princess, she often got to flustered or over thought the situation when it came to his desire to spoil her senseless. Soon enough the other warlords had joined them, of course Hideyoshi took the chance to scold Masamune and Keiji for getting her drunk but both males were far to entertained watching Mitsuhide hold up some veggies to (Y/n) as she happily ate away at anything he offered her to really pay attention to Hideyoshi. It was then Nobunaga decided to start asking questions, after all the group had already figured out that the relationship didn't start until sometime during their hunt for Yoshiaki. They still didn't understand why the two lied about their relationship beforehand, but they let the two keep that secret since it ended up being true in the end. Chewing her veggies as she thought the young woman swallowed, tilting her head. "I got lotsa them, some are from before we were together." She nodded once more, as if going over a mental list as Mitsuhide offered her some water which she happily accepted. "Oh? So, you two were dancing around your feelings before you got together?" Masamune rested his chin on the palm of his hand, his elbow resting comfortably on his crossed legs. "mmmmmhm, my favorites when we pretended to be married." The (H/c) haired girl leaned back against the very man she spoke of, perfectly comfortable as she rested on his warm chest. "How many times did you pretend to be married? You make it sound like it was often." Hideyoshi tilted his head some, eating a rice ball as everyone focused on (Y/n). Even Mitsuhide listened, always curious about how she thinks and feels."Both a lot and not enough, there was the first time with that one daimyo. The one that was gonna marry that girl that ran away to be with the man she loved." She giggled at the memory, tilting her head to the side and nuzzling against Mitsuhide's neck. "Mitsuhide had found a different girl to replashe me in the fake wedding, but he dinn't tell me until we got to the shrine…It was only us, but still felt special. We were only married for the day, but it was one of the best days of my life." She giggled; her words were slurred but she was determined to tell her stories.

She loved talking about Mitsuhide, expressing her love for him and singing his praise. "So that's what happened, I was wondering who that woman was and where you two were. So, you got jealous and didn't want to see her marry another man, fake or not." Ieyasu sipped his tea, munching on a spicy meal Masamune had made just for him. "I've said it before and I'll say it again, I loved my little mouse long before anything had happened. She was so pure I wanted to protect her, for a long time I tried to simply love her from afar, but she made it so hard." Mitsuhide chuckled, he normally wouldn't be so open but seeing how happy his sweet lover was had him drunk in a different way. Besides, it wasn't like he was embarrassed about his love for her. If anyone ever questioned his love for the woman in his arms he'd set them straight, she was more than his princess, she was his goddess. Who else could possibly catch a kitsune? "So, what was the moment that sealed the deal for you?" Keiji leaned forward, interested in the conversation. Mitsuhide often hid away his feelings and was very conscious of his every behavior so none of the males were gonna pass up the chance to peak at the fox's soft side. "When he made that play to embarrass shark face, the way he scooped me up off the stage and fled to the horse… When he said that was what Yoshiaki got for making a kitsune's wife cry I just knew I couldn't let him go…Those days on our journey back we kept up the married couple act, even though it was just us. I almost wanted to beg him to run off with me…I didn't want to lose my husband…" She smiled but remembering how much it hurt knowing that their time together had been ending still got her, she never wanted to wake from that dream. She couldn't have been happier that things worked out the way she did, sure it took a lot of work, but it was worth it. Being held by the man she loved, enjoying food and drinks with her friends/found family made every tear and every ounce of pain worth it. "We had our bumps along the way, but I wouldn't change anything… Any pain and tears were worth it, because now after a long day of work I can lay with the man I love and sleep easy knowing that my dreams and reality were one in the same." Giggling a bit (Y/n) leaned up to kiss the male's cheek, making him blush finally and while he frowned, she playfully nipped at his jaw line before nuzzling him once more. "Careful now little mouse, if you keep acting so precious my heart just might stop." His tone was teasing, playfully biting the shell of her ear back and making the sensitive girl burst into giggles as she tried to hide her ears and ducked her face into the crook of his neck.

Though it had been tempting to continue questioning them, the group decided to let the couple remain in their little bubble of love. One drunk off far too much sake, and the other was absolutely wasted off his fiancé's love and affection. The group simply observed this new side of him, and while some of them wanted to tease the couple they ultimately held back in hopes that maybe Mitsuhide would ease up some and be more open with everyone. Of course, that was wishful thinking, after all he preferred to save those sides of himself for his sweet little firefly. His light in the darkness was the only one who truly understood him and that's how he liked it, the only reason they had been allowed to witness his current state was because he couldn't bring himself to stop (Y/n) from talking when she had been smiling so happy. What really got him love drunk though, was the fact the reason she was so happy about the conversation was because it was about him and her favorite memories with him. So, he'd relax this one time, but only because he wanted to see that smile for just a little while longer.

#fluff #candy cult vault #fem reader #x reader #ikemen sengoku mitsuhide #ikesen mitsuhide #ikesen #ikemen series

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st-just · 8 months

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Far be it from me to respect Catholicism, but like I do kind of have to hand it to the guys who go 'yeah we're the religion where sometimes the guy in the big hat is some rich nepobaby who does a Banquet of Chestnuts. Did you not know this when you joined?"

Don't understand the psychology at all, but it's very funny.

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myhauntedsalem · 5 months

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Hamilton Hall

Salem, Massachusetts

For over two hundred years Hamilton Hall on Salem’s scenic Chestnut Street has served as a gathering place for the community. The building dates to 1805, when Samuel McIntire was commissioned to design a meeting place for Salem’s Federalist Party. It was named to honor Federalist Party leader Alexander Hamilton.

As the 19th century progressed, the Hall became an ideal place for dance studios due to Samuel McIntire’s signature spring floors. Lorenzo Papanti, a master dance instructor from Boston regularly held classes at Hamilton Hall, attended by the children of Salem’s elite. The dance classes later gave way to grand debutante presentations and balls. In the 20th century, local instructors Henry O. Upton and Harriet James continued the tradition of providing lessons at the Hall, which lasted into the 1970s.

One of the Hall’s oldest traditions and its largest fundraiser is the annual Christmas Week Dance, which can be traced back to the 1880s. Money is also raised for the Hall through a lecture series sponsored by the Ladies Committee. The series has been in place for seventy years and features a variety of speakers, discussing domestic and foreign affairs.

In 1970, Hamilton Hall was designated as a National Historic Landmark and today is regularly rented for banquets, weddings and, as its original intention, a meeting place.

There have been claims of seeing an apparition of a male on the stairwell, then just disappear. Visitors have claimed to have felt unusual cold spots throughout the house.

#Hamilton Hall #ghost and hauntings #paranormal #ghost and spirits #haunted locations #haunted salem #myhauntedsalem #salem massachusetts

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beeblackburn · 11 months

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Top 5 favourite films?

Thank you, @hiddenlookingglass!

Before I continue, I have to give the obvious caveat that I haven't watched a ton of films, relatively speaking. I think most of these films were watched last year alone. And, making this list, I have to give honorable mentions, because, fuck me, originally this list was seven entries and, short of cheating this ask to write out top seven or ten, it was never going to happen without title-dropping the runner-ups, so here goes:

You Were Never Really Here: Take the premise of John Wick, drain it of all the orchestra and slickness, ground it in broken people, scarred by violence in childhood to adulthood, and polish it off with some of the tightest film editing and sound design in the industry, and you get my unquestionably favorite anti-violence film.

The Final Exit of the Disciples of Ascenscia: A lovely and tragic indie gem of an animated film about a cult, one that finally clicked the appeal of them without diminishing their harm, and one that breaks me in touching on my own questions of loneliness... and whether being in an unhealthy dynamic is better than being alone.

Paddington: The second one is undeniably an even better film, but this one's rain scenes and leisurely narrative feels cozier to me. Whenever I feel like complete dogshit, I rewatch this, because Paddington's charm and earnestness winning over the Browns before realizing he found his family and home with them is hrrgh.

The Green Knight: A visually sumptuous banquet of the senses, trippy and wondrous in how it depicts Gawain's knightly trials, with moral and literary themes that scratch my itches and a fantastic leading actor who carries the film, complete with an ending that brings it all home, landing with such an earned emotional punch.

The Witch: Eggers' mastery at inhabiting the psychological reality of his time periods is impeccable, and it all started with this horror tale of a family plagued by the supernatural outside their walls... and religious anguish and Puritan misogyny among its members. Paired with a hell of an ending and arresting last shot? Delicious.

And, now, onto the proper top five!

1. Everything Everywhere All at Once

Look, is the script overstuffed with exposition about how the multiverse works? Yes. Is it ultimately narratively unwieldly, even faking us out with a false climax, and increasingly uneven to the end? Yes. Are some of the jokes pretty juvenile in the "haha, dildos are funny" realm? Yes. Could it have been more queer? Yes. Is the conclusion a little too tidy and pat, especially for my Chinese childhood abused-ass? Yes, yes, yes. There are definitely fair criticisms that I can agree to, but...

Every time I revisit this film, it wrecks me a whole another way. I never escape this film emotionally unscathed, I philosophically and morally match to it like an alternate version of me jumped into my mind, slipped into my flesh. There are at least five scenes in it that crack me open like a chestnut and I'm left a blubbering mess and astonished at how it manages to tie together all the chaos at the end in such believable catharsis that I can still buy into.

It's still an amazingly-acted film that allows for a rough, unpleasant, and embittered middle-aged female protagonist to lead the events, quite a few ladies dictate and command the plot, and manages to juggle a ton of disparate tones, balancing genuine pathos with bathos, and emotional weight undergirding every bit of silliness and goofy concepts it throws at you. It's still a multiversal familial drama that, at the heart of it, is centered around the experience of what if our first-generation immigrant parents made different choices, that failure can be its own positive experience in a lifetime full of not living up to your parents-demanded potential, and that, in depressive ennui, loneliness, and intense nihilism, all we can do is love, embrace what little joys our speck of lives get, and be there for each other. That, despite the material hardships and pain of a life, our connections still matter enough to keep at it.

It throws the totality of everything beyond the universe at our minds and senses, even down to "talking" rocks and sausage-fingers people, calling to the sheer information overload that most everyone in 2022 felt keenly, acknowledging that it can be such a burden that threatens to hollow us out with existential indifference... and earnestly makes its own case against that. If nothing matters, if all we do and are is worthless in the grander scope of the universe, then these moments we're facing right now, the people in our lives, they matter.

We're not built to attend to everything everywhere all at once. We'll always feel the whisper of what-ifs, the weight of different paths not taken. We might even be useless alone. All we can really do, in the end, is be there for these moments and people around our present. I can't help, but cherish this film on those grounds, but it offered such an awe-inspiring, emotionally resonant experience that it jumps up to my favorite as a result.

2. Pig

How has this masterpiece of a debut, depicting grief, human connection, the heart and art being hollowed by loss and commercial concerns, and masculine vulnerability with such finesse, flown under the radar, nor been nominated for any major accolades? I'm genuinely asking, because, aside from maybe one particular scene that tries to fake us out into thinking it'll become a more conventional John Wickesque revenge thriller, I don't see any crucial flaws that wouldn't warrant it in the discussion as one of 2021's best films. If you haven't yet, treat yourself to one of the best films I've watched.

I watched one of its mid-section scenes, that speech, you know the one if you've watched it, on its own, and wept at the power of its acting, dialogue, and direction by itself. The fact that I still broke down, despite primed, when watching it in the context of the full film should tell you how good Sarnoski's hands are at his first try as director. He brings an intimacy and restraint to the camera in capturing the events in the film, often situating his central characters against the wider scope of his landscapes and environments through a wider lens, showing them as small people against the greater beasts of being scored by grief and loneliness.

Though, given I brought up John Wick, one facet these two share, despite the bait-and-switch of premise, is that almost every character, no matter how minor, has a personality and some texture of history with the protagonist, by direction or sheer acting. Sarnoski just trusts us to infer the weight of history between our characters and, if you want to know how well that approach turns out, Cage's performance should be the clear-cut sign. If you have any doubts of how good Nicholas Cage could be, and trust me, I had a few, this is easily his subtlest, most restrained performance. No signs of a Cage hamfest, this is him at his best and minutely controlled, portraying a stoic man whose hardened demeanor and lack of social graces belies a painful past and years spent in intentional human disconnect.

And how we disconnect from other people bleeds into this narrative, permeates like an unspoken wound that won't scar and heal without proper treatment. Our central characters are haunted by ghosts in the narrative, unable to process what they've lost or reach out to others, for fear of surrendering to the totality of pain from that absence. But there's also disconnect from retreating to what others want, never showing ourselves and only what's acceptable to our social peers, our patrons, or our families, and it costs us piece-by-piece until there's slowly nothing left of us.

And it ends up on an unexpected climax and such a gentle note about masculinity, about how men suffer in trying to bear their griefs stoically, instead of permitting a chink of vulnerability. I dare not spoil more, you have to see it for yourself in how it succeeds in defining its own terms for masculinity and how much emotion cracks through the narrative. It's a film that divulges into the nature of art and food, and how they can bring forth an invitation of connection to others, and it deserves so much consideration and attention, given how much of a powerhouse it is.

3. A Ghost Story

Oh, this sleeper hit of heartache. I knew, going in, that the ending scene would cut to the emotional bone, having checked it out in a clip before, but the knife this slid between my ribs was unexpected in its depth and sharpness, especially given when I watched it. This was after I watched both Pig and The Green Knight, both stellar, emotional films, and while I think Lowery's later work there is better put-together in both pacing and visuals (A Ghost Story absolutely has scenes that drag, and I genuinely think one in particular suffered from overstaying its moment and not fitting Lowery's strengths as a visual/atmospheric director), this touched me so much more in its statement of grief and time.

I've watched enough films to get a decent grasp on my tastes, and its meandering, contemplative, more mundane fares that let scenes breathe in their silence without a quippy aside. This one suffused me in its haunting, contemplative atmosphere from the halfway point, lingering onwards and well after it ended. Lowery's direction is grounded in its intimacy, choosing to focus long stretches on mundanities other directors would've skipped past, as if to say these small moments, daily and common as they are, are what's most important in the grand scope of life and what we focus on, despite the vastness on time upon us all.

And the time spent during grief is where the film guts me in its first half. Going from cozier domesticity, full of lived-in marital discussions and intimacies, to the tangle of strangers sorting through the post-death ceremonies and the silences in the griever's life, booming from the absence of their beloved. Those long, uninterrupted shots, from then on, serve to point out how life persists after our bereavements. There is such attention and empathy to the camera, in how the director wants to show how people cope with grief, how it dogs our every movement, weighs down our limbs, loosens out the tears inside, and make us focus our energies on such simple things like eating food in the dark, to fill the hole our losses leave behind.

But if some trace of us survive as ghosts, upon death, then loss cuts both ways, and it's here that this film truly unmakes me in how it handles grief and remembrance on the ethereal side. Using ghosts as a speculative vehicle, it invites us to see how differently they experience the passage of time, as these beings are temporally untethered, but stay geographically tethered to a particular land. There's such a bitter loneliness to their existences, how being unravaged by time means they are unable to grieve being left alone themselves, they cannot move on by the temporal march by itself.

It's a beautiful, tender film, where centuries can pass by in the blink of a transition, but tiny affections take up whole minutes. A quiet narrative where snapshots of marriage and the tolls of grief take up uninterrupted stretches, letting them sit inside us and linger. A poignant story that ponders, sincerely, if something, anything survives of us after we are gone from this earth, or if we are doomed to have our impact on this mortal plane swept aside and forgotten after we pass away and time moves on from us.

4. The Last Duel

I have a confession: this is my first and, so far, only Ridley Scott joint for various reasons. I don't love R-rated films, I easily get squeamish over live-action gore, and his biggest film and the one most people remember him by was Alien, which wasn't The Thing graphic, but definitely still above my comfort level! So I never touched him for a decade and a half. Now, later, I watched some of the earlier grisly parts of Game of Thrones and found out he directed plenty of period dramas, which was more my speed, and I got the opportunity to check his The Last Duel out with a group viewing. Now, given that preamble, imagine how I felt at its opening scene: a slow-burn of an opening with a lady being dressed before a duel between two men, shot in the same way they are being armored, as if she bears her life as well on the line, and bears witness to two knights charging at each other, before they converge, both hoping to break bones and shed blood.

That, and the subsequent Battle of Limoges, would absolutely impressed onto me that holy shit, Scott directs action in two minutes unquestionably better than some directors do in entire films. He portrays the inherent viciousness, filth, and ferocity of battle in a way that immediately clicked to me as a fan of Joe Abercrombie and a lesser one of Miles Cameron. And armor matters! But that, by itself, wouldn't have made for a favorite of mine. No, it's how this is a proper medieval legal drama with three central, compelling characters at its heart, each explored through a Rashomon-style framing device, and a heartbreakingly timeless message of what a rape victim's choices are in the patriarchy. Does it have its flaws? A few admittedly key ones of editing and dialogue that give away its directorial intent, but nothing so critical to weigh it down from its vaulted highs.

What's amazing about this film, and one of the key things I respect about it as someone who wants to write in that age, is how much, for the majority of its narrative, it is grounded in its medieval realities without turning its characters into anachronic mouthpieces. It has a showcase of warriors scarred and visually worn down by the wars they waged, discusses how the Black Death affected medieval economics and taxes, deals with betrothals and the dowries involved, and how waning wartime fortunes in a lord can sour the pot there, and the turmoil of marriage life, especially how reproductive knowledge intersected with beliefs about rape and love at the time. It admirably enmeshes itself so utterly in the culture of that age, that it's depressing to consider just how much patriarchal culture hasn't changed since then.

And how it divulges into patriarchal culture with nuance, and how women become victimized by it, is so key to making the proceeding duel all the more impactful. Because, as the framing device shows, these men don't come from a vacuum of their medieval culture, their egos and entitlements and self-justifications were shaped by their sexual circumstances and chivalric tales, and there are countless others like them who've done just as bad, if not worse, to others. It's why, even before the duel's outcome is set in stone, the crushing truth of the matter is... no matter the result, at least one individual dies, but the patriarchal apparatus stands, grinding up women in the future as it did the one witnessing the duel.

It's unflinching in its depiction of medieval culture, it's brutal in its violence, both warfare and sexual, and it demands an expectation of ambiguity in the character psychologies and gives no easy answers on how to deal with the patriarchy, especially when, as a lady of the time, you were dependent on the men who uphold it, at the mercy of their actions for your justice. It's why the last third is so harrowing: before the duel, before the trial, even before the incident, countless women went through similar horrors without the spectacle of public scrutiny. The final emotional context leaches the initial excitement when we return to the opening, leaving behind only cold understanding and terrible tension, no matter how much thrilling combat clashes and clangs in the winter air. It's my favorite period drama so far, and I don't expect it to be beat anytime soon.

5. The Secret of Nimh

Another confession: I didn't watch this, front to back, until the 30th Anniversary screening at my local Cineplex theater last year. Not that I didn't love what I saw in clips and pictures, but when the full film was on Youtube when I was in my teens, I neglected to watch it all the way, then it got taken down for a long while. There were other animated films and I didn't relish checking it out in separated clips. So, I knew a bit of what to expect, but boy, this whole film on the big screen was a greater feast for the eyes than any recent Pixar film I checked out. Does it have its problems? Yes, it's definitely narratively uneven, even rushed at times. I do wish some characters got more fleshed out and more time was given to the runtime, as a result. And I can 100% get the criticism of that climax resolution being a deus ex machina, even if I don't agree with it.

But, also, it's fucking The Secret of Nimh. Every frame here feels like it was downloaded from my mind, every sketchy bit of animated linework like it was distilled from my meaty head pulp. Its gothic and dark sci-fi aesthetics are unimpeachable to me, no other animated film comes close to approaching how much I viscerally crave their visual trappings. Say what you will about Bluth, and I certainly have my opinions about his stinkers, but even in them, the man and his team can draw up gorgeous, magical backgrounds and artistry. They're fascinating, lovingly animated and/or goddamn horny messes, bless them. You get a consistent grainy sort of texture in the linework, in the animation models themselves, that I can't help, but always adore with my eyes, hitting a sweet spot with me in this particular feature animation of his.

Even through the more childish trappings like Jeremy and the simplicity of the quest structure, how it balances those with its more heady themes always intrigues me further as an adult, like how we'll uplift our lesser animals before disregarding them, leaving them with the alienation and consequences of those experiments, and how the arrogance and selfishness of humanity manifests in our creations as a result. There's also bits of understated worldbuilding one catches better as an adult, like the fact that the non-Nimh associated female animals have no first names and are surname-defined by species (Auntie Shrew) or by male partner (Mrs. Brisby), suggesting a patriarchal ecological system. And, even before all that, the poignancy of a mother's quest to suck in her fears to protect and save her child from death only enriches with age.

None of this would hit as well, if not for the characters, even the supporting cast being animated to give them such fluid energy and expressive body language in the best of Bluth fashion. Most are dimensional enough in script to make the overall cast a cut above the typical animated fare, even the one-offs or the minor ones that appear in one scene or two. But the crown that completes the jewel of this production is the lead herself, Mrs. Brisby. She's easily one of the best, if not straight-up so, animated protagonists ever. Female leads weren't unknown back then, but mother leads? Almost unheard of, back then. And a huge part of that best status, what cements her place as such is that she's vulnerable throughout the movie. She's just a small mouse in a world full of giants and monsters, and she never fails to be scared at the vastness of the obstacles in her path. Yet, she doesn't whine, nor cower when the chips are down. By all accounts, her storied husband should've been the hero here, carrying out this mission to help cure his child... but he's gone, and Mrs. Brisby has to rise up to the occasion, stir up her courage to go on this sprawling quest, face down horrors and ancients again and again, all for her child. No one expected this of her, and she's always fearful every step of the way, but her conduct always reminds me of the GRRM quote, that being afraid "is the only time a man can be brave," which Mrs. Brisby demonstrates so much, with such earnest vulnerability.

The Secret of Nimh is a lot of things. It's a story about the vastness of the world as a little person in it through the perspective of a mouse, with horrors and monsters beyond your comprehension and understanding. It's a cautionary tale about human hubris towards nature and how our creations risk being condemned by the same flaws we ourselves succumb to. It's a three-way struggle between nature, science, and the unknown beyond our knowing grasp. It's a beautiful series of nature and grotesque sci-fi backgrounds and animation work, through some of the most expressive body language, facial emotions, and voice acting with talking animals, worthy of being Disney's creative challenge at the time, and especially now. It's a dreamy fairy tale narrative, where the hero must undertake a quest for a reward at the end, except this protagonist dwells in the shadow of the hero that should've been. Deep down, at its very beating heart, it's a mother journeying to the ends of her earth to protect and save her child, with fierce fear and clear courage. It's my favorite animated film.

#everything everywhere all at once #pig #a ghost story #the last duel #the secret of nimh #pig 2021 #eeaao #you were never really here #The final exit of the disciples of ascenscia #the green knight #the witch #paddington

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merrickthemyth · 2 months

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Chapter One - Bloom of the Sun

His dark curls took me by storm. How, how could such a boy be that perfect? No, he was more than a boy, no boy was that perfect. He was considerably tall, no taller than I. His complexion reminded me of forest bark that had not been touched by light. His chestnut hair perfectly curved around his soft jaw and curled up from his neck. His personality mirrored that of a bee’s, striking yet curious, which evoked me with childlike wonder.

He looks at me and his lips draw up, a small smile. A smile that could bring me to my knees without hesitation. I start to snap out of my daydream, then I see his face, Thamyris. His red hair, and pasty white skin. His eyes frost with a green glaze. He stood taller than I. He is a lengthy and grown man, not worthy of Hyacinthus.

I can tell his eyes are filled with love for my Hyacinthus. Thamyris is a well-known musician, but more well-known than I? Never. My blood boiled at the thought of him coming close to Hyacinthus. My eyes fill with rage and I walk up to him without thinking.

“Hello, Thamyris.”

“Apollo, how is my favorite light god?”

“I am the only light god?”

“Yes, yes” He laughs, I grind my teeth.

“Thamyris, I have decided to hold a banquet for you to rejoice in your musical talent,” I say with false innocence, having no idea what I am thinking.

“A banquet you say? I shall be there.” He laughs.

“Great.”

“Will… Will he be there?” He asks, referring to Hyacinthus.

I pause. “Yes.”

“Good. I will see you later tonight then?”

“Yes, I suppose you will.”

I acknowledge him and walk off. Thamyris, the man not worth the boy.

I walk to see Hyacinthus. Perfect timing I say under my breath.

“Hm?” He smiles and giggles, his hair swaying in the wind.

“Sunflower, how are you?”

“Doing well, nothing new. Any news for you?”

“Yes actually,” I take a deep breath. “Hyacinthus… How would you like to accompany me to a banquet I’m hosting? Just a small one, will not last through the night.” I grab the cloth of my tunic, straightening it out.

He smiles once more. “I would love to. Who will be there?”

I take a breath of relief. “Anyone can come. I know Thamyris will be there, I am holding it for him.”

His smile fades.

“You are holding it for… Thamyris?”

“Yes, Hyacinthus, is that a problem?”

“No! No. It’s just that- Well you know how I feel about him.”

He is right. I do know. The way the fiery man lured Hyacinthus to his bed, and undressed him without his consent. A disgusting man, but not uncommon in Sparta.

I grab Hyacinthus’s cold, limp hand, and kiss his knuckle. I hold his hand to my chest, my tunic creasing around his soft hand.

“Trust me on this, I will not let him near you. I am throwing him a banquet for reasons I can not say just yet, but I promise, I do not like that man any more than you.”

“Alright, ‘Pello.” His eyes are stricken with worry, but I need him for this.

“Thank you, Sunflower. You won’t regret it.”

He walks off, and I feel guilty. Why am I feeling guilty? I vowed to protect him. I will make sure Thamyris never even glances in his direction again. It is the stars that swear to be there every night, they never break that promise and make even the darkest of nights bright, so, I won’t break mine either. Hyacinthus will never feel unsafe again.

Nothing more was to be said, so I walk away, a cloud of remorse forming above my head.

#Bloom of the Sun #BOTS #queer #greek myth retellings #apollo #hyacinthus #chapter one #indie writer

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violet-stormbringer · 1 month

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The Princess and The Thorne, Chapter Seven: Pep Assembly; The Birchmeier Society makes it’s move!

Night time. The carriages drew up outside Gallatin College, and the lights twinkled in the darkness. When Ras disembarked, the cold hit her like a ton of bricks. The prospectus had warned her that it’d be colder after Hearthlight, but gods if she didn’t underestimate it. Nothing quite like experiencing the cold through ones eyeballs, she supposed.

Hearthlight had lasted a month. A whole month, and in that time Ras had run away from home and made her way to Zaledo where she spent Hearthlight with Rosario and the Kings Mateo and Alejandro. A month since she’d worn her uniform.

It was still the same charcoal-colored trousers, stiff ivory shirt, and grey sweater, but now she was more familiar with it.

If anything, it was more Ras-like than most of her other clothes, the left sleeve tied permanently in a knot, and two pins added to the lapel, bearing the mark of Erdrick and the Thorne Family sigil both.

In addition, Ras had found Irwin’s Signet Ring, bearing the mark of the Westerlind-Zaledo Military Alliance, and she kept that on a thin gold necklace. Another keepsake of her Father.

Some of the students were grumbling about the cold, while just as many others were chattering about the holidays. There were some whispering about Ras and her disappearance, with many looking back at her with ominous expressions and murmuring about whether or not she was okay.

She seemed healthy enough, was the general consensus, though they still couldn’t help but wonder what happened; answers that would never come so long as they refused to approach her.

Suited her just fine.

Ras and the others were herded into the banquet hall and the warmth within, and Ras passed her wrappings to Karson at the door, offering her a smile.

The banquet hall was bright and noisy after the dark outside, but when Lady Renaldt waved for silence, quiet descended straightaway. Hartmann and Isabelle Favre, the captain of the Lacross team, were standing at her side.

“I’m sure you had a wonderful Hearthlight,” she said. “Nothing delights me more than seeing you all back here to learn and grow. In particular, we are overjoyed to learn of the safety and health of one Master Thorne.”

Ras ducked her head, avoiding the expectant gazes of everybody as they looked at her. Lady Renaldt had singled her out, and the onslaught of attention was almost too much to bear. Thankfully, Lady Renaldt continued, a smile on her face.

“Head Prefect Hartmann and Team Captain Favre have a small announcement.”

Hartmann cleared her throat. Like Ras, she looked pristine and well-kept, and could’ve just stepped out of the college prospectus. “The lacrosse season is starting this term, and the Gallatin Swans are hoping to win the cup this year.”

“We’re going to win the cup this year,” Isabelle corrected her. “The pep assembly’s this weekend! Be there!”

Scattered applause from the students, mostly from the lacrosse team. Everybody else, however, looked bored and hungry.

“Thank you, you two,” Lady Renaldt said, and then dinner was served.

Dinner consisted of oysters and lobster with chestnuts and sprouts, as well as hearty helpings of sourdough bread. Traditional springtime fare, though Ras really wishes for something warmer. A stew, of some kind.

With a wistful sigh, Ras soaked in her surroundings as she got familiar once again with Gallatin. She spotted Mr. Blanchard looking wistfully at the teachers’ table, working his way through his dinner without talking to anybody. Miss Dalca’s trilling laugh soared over the other diners, and even Mr. Griffith occasionally cracked a smile at whatever she was saying.

From the fifth-year table, Ras heard boasting.

“...so Blaise’s scarf’s officially mine, now, since she didn’t ask for it back.”

Ras frowned, trying to recall the woman’s name. Marguerite. She was one of Blaise’s old cronies. Part of the bully squad that tried to get her kicked out during her first week here. She was holding up an emerald-colored cashmere scarf, admiring it in the candlelight.

Ras got up from her table and carefully maneuvered her way to where Marguerite was sitting, sliding in next to her with ease and grace, like she belonged there the entire time.

“Say…” Ras spoke, her voice only audible to the table there, “have y’heard from Blaise since she left? If she didn’t say anything specific, might not be fair ‘ta keep th’scarf…”

Marguerite shifted uncomfortably. “I-I wrote to her asking for an address,” she protested. “And I didn’t hear back. So it’s practically like she gave it to me.”

Ras nodded, and Margeurite’s friends piped up to gossip more about Blaise and whether she’s on holiday. Ras stood up and returned to her table, turning her attention to her friends.

Max was sitting by herself, looking morose. Delacroix looked similar, wearing a stormy expression while Freddie tried to cheer her up. Closer to Ras, Gonzalez was talking at Hartmann about the pep assembly, asking about how it’d work and what the plans were, but Hartmann wasn’t quite in the mood for chatting.

"…so how will the prefects be involved?" Gonzalez asked. "I heard we were getting someone to come in to speak. Should the team write to them? Or—"

Hartmann's fingers clenched her fork, and she looked awfully close to attempting to snap the metal instrument in half. "Can you set up a meeting with the Prefect Committee?" she says through her teeth.

"Oh, yes," Gonzalez chattered away, ignoring Hartmann’s obvious signs of stress, "but I thought we could think about it in advance so it's properly organized."

Hartmann glowered at her plate as though the oysters had personally offended her, and Ras knew it was time to step in.

She slid right up next to Hartmann, wrapping her right arm around the other’s shoulders. “Hello hello hello, Hartmann and friend! I trust y’all had a wonderful Hearthlight?”

“Oh, sure!” Gonzalez nodded. “I was just asking Hartmann here about the pep assembly and–”

Ras shook her head, smiling. “Gonzalez! We just got back! Give her time ‘ta settle in, ask her how she’s feeling! Cop a feel if y’must, but give her a moment ‘ta breath!”

Gonzalez shook her head at that last suggestion, a wry smile on her lips. “I’ll pass. But you’re right, you’re right. I shouldn’t be bugging her about school stuff this soon into the night.”

Hartmann looked relieved, though a blush was on her face, still reeling from Ras’ suggestion. “Um, Ras?”

“Mmm?”

“Could you…” She looked pointedly to Ras’ hand.

“Oh! Sure thing.” She got the hint, pulling her arm away with a grin. “Sorry Hartmann, y’know how I am. Cain’t resist huggin’ a pal.”

Hartmann only offered a smile in return, still blushing from the obscenity of Ras’ suggestion. It wasn’t that she minded. It only caught her off guard.

Gonzalez and Hartmann eventually got on to talking about other things, mostly Hearthlight, and by the end of it, Hartmann seemed less frazzled. A win in Ras’ book.

While dessert was being cleared away, and younger students filing out of the banquet hall, a fifth-year separated from the pack and shyly sidled up to Gonzalez, clutching a piece of paper.

“This is you, isn’t it?” she asked, waving it at her. “Zuri Gonzalez? I wanted to say—second cousin’s at Archambault, and he read about you in the paper. My uncle wants to arrange an introduction!”

Gonzalez looked as though she wanted to bolt. “...Must be a different Zuri Gonzalez. It’s a common enough name.”

“No, no, it’s you! There’s a picture and everything!”

“Leave me alone!” Gonzalez surged to her feet, towering over the fifth-year. She grabbed the newspaper clipping and looked about ready to shove the poor girl.

To which Ras merely stood up and grabbed the fifth-year by her elbow, smiling.

“I think it’s time y’all got back to your fellows, yeah? Don’t wanna miss lights out…”

The fifth-year nodded, eyes widened. She sidled into the crowd of younger students before Gonzalez could say anything else. For her part, Gonzalez slipped out of the banquet hall and away from curious onlookers.

With the excitement, it took usual to finish up, and it was fully dark by the time Ras made her way towards the familiar shadow of Clemency Building.

As she crossed the darkened quad, she spotted Hartmann corralling a group of youngers into the Hope Building; she gave Ras a smile and broke off to meet with her.

“So much to do,” she said in a rushed tone. “Those Hope Building students are all over the place. B-But how was your Hearthlight? Besides the whole thing with your mother, I mean? Mine was wonderful! A pity I didn’t hear from Blaise, but there were so many others to talk to!”

Her eyes were a little wide, and her smile was too bright. Ras had a hard time believing Hartmann’s Hearthlight was as wonderful as she said.

“Hartmann.” Ras threw her arm around the other in a hug. “It would’ve been better with you around. I missed you.”

Hartmann returned the hug, sobbing into Ras’ shoulder. “I missed you too. I wish I had written to you, maybe we could’ve figured something out together.”

Ras shook her head as she pulled away, smiling. “Don’t worry about it. Th’fact that you and the others missed me so much means a lot, Hartmann. You’re a good friend.”

Hartmann smiled in return, and it was genuine this time. The pair shared another hug, and then Hartmann raced ahead of Ras and up the steps into the Clemancy Building.

As Ras entered and pass by the dimly-liy common room, she managed to spot Gonzalez lurking on one of the couches; she beckoned for Ras to join in. “Thanks for earlier,” she whispered. “That fifth-year and that stupid newspaper article…”

She trailed off.

“...I should’ve mentioned it before, really,” she said wretchedly. “But I didn’t know how to bring it up. It felt like bragging.”

She then went on to explain that during her trip to Zaledo, she rescued a child trapped on a sand dune with the approaching tide. Gonzalez’s family was delighted, a reporter got wind of it, and now Gonzalez was prime marriage material.

Many people would’ve loved to have such a problem, but apparently Gonzalez wouldn’t.

Ras waved her hand dismissively. “Please. Next time someone falls in th’lake, or drops their dinner, or hells, trips and lands on Lady Renaldt, everybody’ll forget about’cha.” She grinned. “I know it’s hard when it feels like everybody is lookin’ at’cha, but it’ll get better. Always does.”

Gonzalez gave a sympathetic grimace. “Shit…I suppose you’d know how it feels, hm? Even if this is technically a good thing…”

Silence stretched out between the pair for a few moments while Gonzalez scuffed her shoe on the carpet.

“The thing is,” she said, finally, “I don’t want to get married—not to anyone—or sleep with people. I’ve never been able to make myself interested in it. But this thing over Hearthlight—it just makes everyone put more pressure on me, and I hate it.”

Ras offered a smile. “I see. So that’s why you were so hesitant to, gods, how did I put it? ‘Cop a feel’ on Hartmann?”

Gonzalez let out a snort. “Exactly. Don’t get me wrong, she’s pretty, if you’re into that sort of thing. But I’m not. So…you know.”

Ras nodded. “Well, don’t sweat it! Really!”

Gonzalez raised an eyebrow.

“There are bound ‘ta be other people in your position, yeah? You’ll find ‘em, and you’ll work together on a solution that’ll find y’all happy ‘tagether.”

Gonzalez smiled, squeezing Ras’ shoulder. “That’s really sweet, Ras. Thank you.”

Footsteps, and Ras looked up to see Mr. Griffith knock pointedly at the door. “Lights-out in ten minutes!”

The pair nodded and got to their feet. They dragged themselves upstairs to the familiar crowd and bustle of the dorm. As soon as Ras’ head hit the pillow, she was out like a light.

Before the pep assembly arrived, Ras concentrated on catching up with her friends whenever she could. Her grades were fine enough to take the hit, and now she had plenty of people to write to next time she was stuck at home.

As the week of the assembly approached, all attention was on lacrosse, no matter how much Miss Dalca claimed it was a ridiculously aggressive sport and symbolic of cult mentality. The Birchmeier Society was the primary contingent of students entirely uninterested in lacrosse, but even they were excited when Hartmann broke the news that a special guest would attend.

“Beatrix Wahner,” Hartmann explained. “She was the team captain the last time the Swans won.”

Freddie squeaked, leaning against Ras and whispering. “She’s a paleontologist at Gessner University now! We have to talk to her!”

Lucien agreed. After a particularly strenuous study group meeting, he explained that he wanted to lure Beatrix from the assembly to talk to the Soceity about her work. “She’ll want to be known for her real skills, not throwing a ball around a field,” he said. “Ras. We need to set things up so we can have her speak to us. She was in the same year as Mr. Blanchard, so that might give us an in.”

Ras shook her head. She knew exactly what she had to do.

Ras strode into the room the Prefect Committee had just used as a meeting room, to find Hartmann sitting there, looking harassed and unusually ruffled; laden down with papers nearly piled to the ceiling.

“Ras,” she said. “What can I do for you?”

“I wanted to see if I could help!” She said, cheerfully. “I know you’ve got a lot going on right now, but I figured maybe there was something I could do. Maybe the seating plan?”

Hartmann looked like she wanted to argue, to refuse, but after staring at the piles of paperwork before her, she nodded.

The pair of them looked over the plans for the assembly, and with a few gentle pushes and very little coaxing on her part, Ras managed to convince Hartmann to convince herself that Ras should be sat next to Beatrix, centered around the pretext of showing her where she needed to go.

When it was done, and Ras relayed her progress to Lucien, he clasped her shoulder and expressed gratitude for the headway: they’d be in a prime position to talk to her.

And then, it was the night for the assembly.

The banquet hall, the corridors—even the front entrance—were all draped with Gallatin colors and coat of arms, as well as swan statues everywhere. Students had pinned swan-shaped badges to their lapels, and despite the strict dress code, none of the teachers seemed to care.

As for Ras, she was on high alert. Walking into the gymnasium with the rest of the Birchmeier Society, she spotted Beatrix talking to Hartmann as Freddie tugged on her sleeve and pointed. The blaring marching band mingled with the roar of excitement from the students, humming in Ras’ chest.

Beatrix was a broadly-built, round-faced woman with a strong, no-nonsense look that denoted her as a former team captain. As Ras approached, she gave a cheerful wave.

“As I was saying,” Hartmann said, “we need to go to the locker rooms to get ready.”

Ras took this as her chance, pushing the advantage she had now that she was directly in front of Beatrix.

“Ms. Wahner!” Ras exclaimed, grabbing Beatrix’s hand and shaking it vigorously, “I’m so happy you’re here! Can I say how excited the Society is? I think you’re goin’ ‘ta give us such a boost!”

Beatrix beamed. “Oh, I’m so pleased to hear it!”

“We would love to have more of a chat with you, given the chance. Do you think that could be arranged?”

“Of course!” Beatrix readily agreed, and Ras did her best to ignore the thunderous glare Hartmann was shooting at her.

“Excuse me,” she said, rather pointedly, “I think we’re ready for the speech.”

“Certainly.” Beatrix said comfortably, clapping Ras on the back with a grin. “I’ll see you later.”

Mr. Griffith beckoned Ras to her seat, where she took up beside a delighted looking Freddie. She whispered a quick congratulations before the marching badn struck up and the lacross team bounded out of the locker room.

The roar of applause and music was deafening. Freddie hunched in her seat, looking entirely unhappy with the noise. Led by Isabelle and Gonzalez, the team raced around the gymnasium floor while Beatrix gave a stirring speech about the Swans’ pas achievements and how she’s sure they’ll succeed this year.

In the middle of it all, however, Ras caught the scent of smoke.

“Fire!” A student shouted, and all hell broke loose.

Panic broke out, with students clambering up in their seats and the bandmembers clutching their instruments with wild and wide eyes.

Mr. Griffith shouted to Miss Dalca across the gymnasium, but his voice was lost in the noise of the crowd. The lacrosse team was paralyzed with panic; Isabelle open-mouthed and immobile. Hartmann is talking furiously to the Prefects, but there was no sign of action. Around Ras, the Birchmeier Society standing in shock. Freddy grabbed Ras’ arm, her face pale as snow. “Ras, what should we do?”

Ras took a deep breath. “We need to take control. Nobody is thinking straight.”

Freddie nodded, grabbing Lucien by the elbow and rousing him from his panic. Ras brought her hand around her mouth and shouted, as loud as she could.

“EVERYONE, QUIET DOWN!”

Despite the rising smoke and the visible flames, the noise dipped. Students turned to stare at Ras, eyes widened with terror, yet they were silent.

“The fire hasn’t reached the front entrance yet, calmly make your way to safety!” Ras ordered.

“Those closest to the fire, hold tightly to each other and guide one another towards the exit, those with breathing problems should make themselves known and be priority! If a student collapses, call out, and a teacher will be with you for assistance! DO NOT TRY TO LIFT A PERSON BY YOURSELF.”

Ras’ voice carried well across the quiet gymnasium, and the evacuation went off without a hitch. The mass of students obeyed her instructions, and she, along with Hartmann, Freddie, and the Birchmeier Society, were among the last out of the gymnasium.

Ras, with the help of the Birchmeier Society, the Prefects, and the Swans, managed to corral the students into the quad, where a nurse had arrived.

They were a jolly red-haired sort, named Vivien, going from student to student, checking their breathing and making sure everyone was healthy. When they were done with that, fear gave way to excitement, and the atmosphere grew more festive.

Mr. Griffith, however, yelled for silence, and quiet descended.

“This unfortunate incident,” he said, “doesn’t remove the fact that we’re extremely proud of our Gallatin Swans. But special thanks are due to the Birchmeier Society for their assistance, and to Master Thorne in particular for her quick thinking and concise orders under pressure.”

The applause was ragged at first, but it quickly grew more enthusiastic. Freddie beamed at the crowd, and Ras ducked behind her, not use to the praise.

“Tonight’s plan,” Mr. Griffith continued, “was for the final years to have some recreation time at the lake, but obviously that’s not—”

Miss Dalca stepped forward and murmured something to Mr. Griffith, who frowned at the interruption. “But, Cezara, I hardly think—”

More murmuring. He sighed. “Allright,” he said. “Since it’s been such an upheaval. Final years, you may all have an hour at the lake. When said hour is up, however, curfew rules apply as usual. Take care.”

With that, the final-years headed to the lake. Their uniforms were reeking of smoke, especially in the clean air, but there was a jovial air about the place. Gonzalez and the Swans built a bonfire—officially sanctioned, of course—and soon the flames were burning merrily and people were enjoying themselves.

Beside the beer crate, Max was laughing wildly with her Starlings, and, bizarrely, Hartmann.

Delacroix was picking at dry grass and throwing it into the fire with a morose expression. She wasn’t paying any attention to the scene.

Freddie had managed to rope Karson into hanging out with her and the Birchmeier Society. “It’s not a college event like the assembly was,” she said. “It’s an informal thing. Why shouldn’t you be allowed to relax?”

Karson looked surprise, and a bit stiff, but she perched beside Freddie nonetheless.

Ras took a deep breath and made her way to Gonzalez, who was waving at her from over at the edge of the lake. She was tying on her ice skates, and grinned. “You joinin’ me?”

Ras raised an eyebrow, eyeing the ice. What could possibly go wrong?

Ras didn’t have any skates, but she was balanced enough on her feet to twirl around with showmanship in her casual shoes, treating it like she was running or climbing; it was all about balance. Sure it was difficult, but she did her best.

From a short distance, Gonzalez cheered, shouting for more of the Swans to join as she continued to skate.

Then, she falls through the ice. She screamed, which brought Ras skidding to a halt. The ice had cracked, exposing black water beneath. Gonzalez was struggling in the water, choking for breath. A cluster of Swans and other students gathered around the edge of the lake, doing little to help.

The water was clearly freezing, and Ras knew Gonzalez had only a few minutes before she passed out.

Heart pounding in her ears, vision narrowed, and time slowed to a near standstill, Ras realized she was the only one close enough to help Gonzalez, even as the others panicked at the edge of the water. Her friend was in danger.

With shaking hand and labored breathing, Ras observed the situation before her. Nothing around to grab, teachers too far away to help if she yelled…Then she spotted Karson, who caught her eye.

Karson nodded to Ras, and she knew exactly what she had to do.

Ras gripped her hand shut, willing herself to stop shaking, and she took a deep breath. Then, she plunged forward, leaping into the water and making her way to Gonzalez. The icy water struck her skin like needles piercing into every inch of her flesh and she could feel her blood cooling and congealing within her veins.

Gonzalez had stopped thrashing around long enough for Ras to grab hold of her, and without any words, Ras pushed Gonzalez towards the edge of the lake, swimming even as her muscles were screaming and her body was shouting at her to give up.

When they reached the edge, the Swans had finally gathered themselves and grabbed the pair, pulling them onto the shore with shouts of worry.

Karson cleared her throat. “You lot! We need to get the two of them to Nurse Vivien.”

Without any further prompting, the pair were brought to their feet and were walked carefully to the nurses office where Nurse Vivien was still checking over the worst of the students from the gymnasium.

As soon as they entered the room, Vivien took one look at the pair and gave a ‘tsk’ before ordering the two of them into another room to get out of their soaked and freezing clothes.

Eventually, the two emerged dressed in Gallatin pajamas and wrapped in heavy blankets; Nurse Vivien told them to sit and pushed cups of tea towards the two of them.

“You wouldn’t have seen Blaise Marechal doing this sort of thing at a party,” Vivien scolded.”Miss Gonzalez, you can be a lacrosse star without throwing yourself into the lake! And you, Master Thorne! Surely the Birchmeier Society should’ve taught you some common sense!”

Ras ducked her head, coughing. “S-Sorry, Nurse Vivien. I was just tryin ‘ta save Gonzalez here…”

Vivien shook their head.

“Do you miss Blaise?” Ras frowned. “She did, y’know, try ‘ta get me kicked out…”

Nurse Vivien sighed. "Oh, all that," they say. "I know. I remember her when she was eleven, though, and it's such a shame."

They broke off, frowning at Gonzalez. “But let’s concentrate on the matter at hand.”

Gonzalez groaned. “I suppose you’ll have to tell my parents about this,” she said. “I just know they’re going to tell me off so badly for not being careful enough.”

“Of course we will,” Nurse Vivien said. “You could have died.”

Ras frowned. “W-Wait, tell parents?”

Nurse Vivien raised an eyebrow at Ras. “Is that a problem, Master Thorne?”

“Please don’t!” Ras’ heart was pounding, and she was about to begin panicking. The thought of Matilda knowing she’d returned to Gallatin, and being in reach of her Mother once more…it filled her with dread.

Nurse Vivien’s eyes narrowed. “Master Thorne, why are you so adamant about this?”

“Just, please! If you have to tell somebody, anybody, make sure word only gets to my Uncle Gerald. I…ran from home during Hearthlight, a-and I’m not ready to go back home. If you tell Mama, she’ll come get me and–”

Nurse Vivien sighed. “...I suppose I can keep this quiet. But you have to look after Gonzalez.”

Gonzalez gave a mournful sigh. Though her color had returned to normal, her dark hair hangs in hanks around her face, and she looked sorry for herself.

Ras nodded, then she looked over to Gonzalez. “It could’ve been worse…” She said, quietly, only for Gonzalez to bristle.

“I didn’t do it on purpose. I just wanted to have fun…” She muttered.

“Aw, don’t be like that. C’mon Gonzalez, next time, come to me! We’ll figure out some other fun!”

Nurse Vivien nodded. “Master Thorne is right, you know.”

Gonzalez sighed and sipped her tea. “I hope the next assembly’s this interesting,” she said. “Though I could’ve done without the fire.”

Nurse Vivien clicked their teeth. “Two life-threatening situations before the first game of the season, and you say it’s interesting! Well, I’ve heard it all now! What’ll be next—a tornado?”

“That’d definitely be exciting…” Ras said, causing Gonzalez to snort and Nurse Vivien to glare at her.

With that, it was time to retire for the night, and Ras found her thoughts drifting back to Rosario even as sleep took her.

#Crème de la Crème #Harris Powell-Smith #Choice of Games #The Princess and The Thorne #Tales of the Divine (Writing)#The Girl who became a Dragon (Ras Thorne)

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magpie-to-the-morning · 2 years

Text

Forbidden Fruit

RATING: Explicit (18+ ONLY)

Pairing: The Thief x Fem!Reader

Word count: 2.2k

Tags: Public nudity, explicit consent, breast worship, voice kink, fingering (female receiving)

Author’s Note: This story wouldn’t exist without two Kinktober requests! Thank you to @massivecolorspygiant for requesting Table Sex with the Thief, and @nolanell for requesting Voice Kink with him. You are my muses and I’m very grateful.

Thank you also to @radiowallet , who not only betaed this fic and contributed one of my favorite lines (hint: 🎁), but inspired me to attempt the Thief in the first place. If you haven’t read Radiant with Thief!Marcus and his Little Ghost, what are you even doing??

My Masterlist | Kinktober Masterlist

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?”

A richly timbred male voice curls around you like smoke, the subtle smirk sending skitters down your spine. It’s difficult to see him from your prone position on the polished mahogany table, and if you move or lift your head, you run the risk of tipping the artfully arranged forest fruits and delicate pastries laid over you, exposing your naked body to the guests thronging the banquet hall. You steal glimpses through the slits in your exquisitely molded black lace mask: broad shoulders swathed in silk. Softly curling chestnut hair shot through with strands of silver. Plush, smiling lips, made for secrets - although telling or keeping, you can’t quite decide. Dark, hooded eyes amused with what they see, even through a mask.

His is more daring than any you’ve seen so far. Black leather tooled to resemble scales, the features artfully twisted into an amused smirk, the whole piece adorned with two twisting horns, the very picture of a storybook demon.

Your attention drifts to him again and again, drawn unerringly and unbidden like a moth to a jeweled lantern’s flame. You’re forbidden to have any contact with the guests at this party but as you aren’t moving or speaking, surely it won’t hurt to brush your wings against the tinted glass.

By the time the talk is winding down and the guests have begun to take their seats, you are trembling so hard with suppressed desire that the crystal wine glasses begin to rattle. No one seems to notice. No one except the man in the embroidered silk coat. His lips curve behind the single finger he raises to them as you exchange a furtive glance.

Quiet, he seems to urge. Don’t give the game away.

When you give a barely perceptible nod, his eyes light with mischief, sending a thrill straight to your aching center.

After that, the game is well and truly on.

Some of the bolder guests have begun to lift food from the serving platter of your body, but with such tentative giggles that you nearly roll your eyes at them, something not even your shapely mask would disguise.

Not your demon.

While the others count themselves brave for lifting a vol-au-vent from the crook of your elbow, he is far bolder. One by one, the slices of fruit adoring your chest disappear past his lips with evident relish, his fingers lingering longer with every touch. With an upraised eyebrow, his hand pauses over the final two berries capping your nipples. When you flash him a small, secret smile of encouragement, he swipes them both away with a featherlight touch that has you gasping. When your lips part, he slips one into your waiting mouth. Not to be outdone, you wrap your tongue around his fingers before they depart and watch the darkening flicker in his eyes with satisfaction.

Emboldened, the other guests follow his example. A woman in shimmering beetle green delights in feeding you tidbits from her hand. Someone in a plain black tuxedo comments loudly about how he’d prefer you to any of the dishes on display - though you’re more offended at his inability to dress to the evening’s theme (“Forbidden Pleasures: A Fae Feast”) than his remarks.

Your dark-eyed demon is far, far subtler. No one notices the brush of his fingers against your inner thigh, or the way your legs part, just a little, in silent invitation. By the time you’re nearly bare, the delicacies hiding your nakedness snatched away by greedy hands, his eyes are burning coals beneath his mask.

You were supposed to leave.

The masquerade ball following the dinner party was not for you. You were supposed to wash away the crushed berry juices from your skin, brush off the clinging flakes of pastry, collect your wages, and go.

Instead, you’ve changed into the ball gown that has valiantly resisted wrinkling despite being crammed into a garment bag. Its pomegranate silk glides over your skin like a caress, seemingly willing to forgive your rough treatment in exchange for a night out. You arrange your hair in an artful twist and slide a new mask over your features. You scarcely recognize yourself in the baroque gilt mirror before you, and it seems impossible that any of the overfed, self-satisfied guests with pockets deep enough to be here will recognize you.

Well, with one possible exception.

Hope thrums in your chest, mothwing soft but heartbeat strong and with a final glance in the mirror for courage, you set out to find your demon.

“There you are.”

The velvet tones of his rich voice settle around you like a cloak even before you turn to face him. His eyes dance as he takes you in, from the six garnet drops at your throat to the ruby colored gown shading to black by the time it pools at your fight like liquid darkness. A knowing smile kindles on his features not hidden beneath black leather.

“Hello, Persephone.”

A delighted laugh catches in your throat. “I didn't think anyone would notice.”

“Oh, I noticed.” He’s closer now, his breath fanning across your cheek. The embers you’ve scarcely managed to bank flare to life in your belly and it’s all you can do not to reach out and pull him into a dark alcove then and there. “I haven’t been able to stop noticing. What are you doing, slumming with these people?”

With a jerk of his artfully tousled head, he dismisses the glitterati around you, already half wasted on champagne and designer drugs, utterly blind to the wonders of their own riches. With a thrill, you realize the man standing before you doesn’t count himself as one of them, not even aspirationally.

Curiouser and curiouser.

“I’m working,” you tell him, savoring the vagueness of the explanation.

With a roguish wink, he answers “So am I.”

Intrigued, you arch an eyebrow. “Oh? And what do you do, Sir Demon?”

Leaning in so close you’re enveloped in his scent (tobacco and clove, amber and spice), he whispers “I’m a thief.”

Startled, you pull back to search his gaze. There’s humor there, but you don’t think he’s joking, not about this. If anything he’s… waiting. Curious to see how you’ll respond, urging you to play along.

For a moment, you wonder if mingling in crowds like this to steal from them is as lonely as serving them can be.

Coming to a decision, you put your lips almost to his ear and murmur “And what is it you intend to take tonight, Thief?”

Holding out one gloved hand, he says “Let me show you.”

He draws you into the hushed stillness of a library, empty aside from the sleeping books lining the walls, their gilt titles all but glowing in the starlight shining through an enormous plate glass window. It’s a massive space, all vaulted ceilings and shadowy stacks, an abundance of a different kind of wealth on full display.

The Thief looks on as you run a hand over the spines of the books in a gentle caress.

“Take one.”

Your fingers falter over a midnight blue spine stamped with silver stars but you shake your head, your throat suddenly thick with longing.

“I’m pretty sure they’d throw me into a literal dungeon for even trying.” The smile you attempt doesn’t quite reach your eyes but you shake it off, not wanting to spoil the magic of this one, stolen night with him.

“Well?” You prompt, the lightness back in your tone once you’ve turned to face him. “You haven’t told me what you’re here to steal. Is there a safe in here, or, ohh, is there treasure in a -“

He muffles your words with a kiss. It’s light at first, the brush of his mouth against yours, one palm cradling your jaw.

“You,” he breathes when you come up for air, starry-eyed and wondering, though not completely surprised. His thumb traces a line down your lower lip and comes to rest at your chin. He holds you in a terribly gentle grasp, his eyes searching yours as he asks “Will you let me?”

“Yes.” You both smile when your answer nearly trips over his questions in your rush to get his mouth back on yours. You’ve been aching for him for hours and oh, his kiss is as deliciously decadent as you’d hoped, rich and heady as rich red wine.

You don’t even try to suppress your moan when his tongue slips past your lips, grazing yours in a hungry glide that sends you gasping for more. He obliges, one broad hand at your hip, the other settling at the nape of your neck, the better to tip your mouth to his so he can drink you down. He licks into your mouth, drawing moans from you with a passion that leaves you trembling.

For all his evident skill, his is a barely controlled hunger and you wonder at his restraint in keeping it leashed this far. You’re not faring much better, truth be told. Your arms are wound around his neck, your chest straining against the confines of your corset. His warmth seeps into you but it isn’t enough. Your body screams to be closer, to press skin to skin and let him ravage you completely.

“I wanted to take you right there on that table,” he groans, the curve of his nose pressed to your cheek. You didn’t even see him remove the mask, it’s simply gone, leaving his face bared to you. “And now I can’t decide if I liked you better naked and on display for me or wrapped up so pretty like a perfect little present.”

His fingers trail down the laces at the back of your gown and drift until he’s cupping your backside, pulling you close enough to feel how badly he wants you. When you hitch one leg up to grind closer, he’s quick to run his palm up your thigh, holding you at his hip and groaning when you roll against him.

“Unwrap me, then.” You barely recognize the sultry sound of your own voice, but the Thief rewards your boldness. With a flick of his wrist, your laces are undone and with a conjuror’s flourish, he tugs your bodice down, exposing your straining breasts to his wicked mouth.

“I’ve wanted to do this all night,” he purrs, laying you down on a solid oak table. With one broad hand splayed across your collarbones, he lowers his head. Already burning for his touch, the scorching heat of his tongue, you tangle your fingers in his hair and tug, urging him on.

But oh, he makes you wait.

He trails light, teasing kisses over your breasts, chuckling when you whine and clutch at him, greedy for more.

“Patience,” he tuts. “I want you as ravenous for me as I am for you. Do you have any idea how badly I want you? Getting my hands on you, stealing you away - it’s all I’ve been able to think about tonight.”

His low voice throbs between your legs, the throaty purr enough to leave you soaking for him. You score a momentary reprieve when he finally wraps his lips around your peaked nipple and sucks hard, all the while kneading and pinching your other breast beneath his agile fingers. You gasp and shudder for him, your breath hitching when he mirrors the actions on the opposite sides. But as exquisite as his mouth is, you need more.

“I do want you,” you whimper helplessly. “This is all I’ve wanted since I heard you in that banquet hall.”

This earns you an amused glance as he pauses, his chin between the valley of your breasts. “Oh? You like my voice?”

The strangled noise you make at that ridiculous question is enough to give him his answer.

“Alright, treasure,” he soothes, and you can feel him grinning in the dark, his jawline scraping against your heated flesh. He’s already standing between your legs but he nudges them wider, pushing your skirts up around your waist in one smooth motion, the better to stroke one hand up your quivering thigh. He sighs with pleasure when his fingers reach the dampened scrap of silk between your legs and he pushes it aside to cup your wet heat, parting your folds and rubbing circles around and around your swollen clit with practiced ease.

“I’m going to make you come telling you all the filthy things I’ve been going out of my damn mind thinking about.”

He bends over you then, his broad form covering yours, his hand trapped between your bodies as you clutch desperately at his shoulders, his fingers working furiously to drive you to a fevered state of need.

Bringing his lips to your ear, he drops his voice to a subterranean rumble that rolls through you like thunder and says,

“And then… I’m going to do them.”

—

#The Thief x Reader #The Thief x F!Reader #The Thief x Fem!Reader #Casillero del Diablo #if marketing people are seeing this #yes I do indeed buy this wine bc of Pedro and I am not alone 🤣#but also please look away #Emma does Kinktober 2022 #Fic #My fic

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