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heich0e · 5 months

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(part 2 of emperor!sukuna)

It's dark, and so terribly silent.

It's not the kind of quiet you find comfort in. No peace, or tranquility, in the stillness. The silence is tense, like a breath you hold until your lungs begin to burn. Like time itself has frozen.

Two red eyes watch you from the shadows.

Vicious. Hungry.

You wake with a start.

"Noble guest!"

Your head whips to the side, only to find the young handmaid who had been assigned to serve you kneeling at the edge of your bed. Her hair is tied, as ever, into two neat knots on either side of her head, but her endearingly lopsided fringe still hangs down over her worried eyes.

"Miwa," you breathe, and perhaps it might be in relief if you had the right to feel any. You lift a hand to your chest and feel the way your heart is racing under your ribs.

"Are you quite well, Mistress?" she asks you in concern.

Miwa is a young girl, no more than twelve if you had to guess and, though occasionally her manners fail her, she's dutiful in your care. You're fond of her in your own way. Grateful for a face in your chambers that doesn't mean you harm, or reproach.

"Yes," you say quietly. Barely a whisper and even less truth. "I'm well."

Your eyes sweep around your quarters, and suddenly you have a thought.

"What's the hour?" you ask her. It's night time, you're sure of it. Late if you were put upon to wager. "What brings you here so late?"

Miwa's eyes slip away, like she suddenly has trouble meeting yours.

"Miwa?" you ask again, more insistent this time.

The young girl fists her robe in her small hands, her head hanging slightly.

"It's the Crown Prince, Mistress."

Your chest feels tight.

"Yuuji?" You sit yourself further up in your bed, your sheet slipping down to pool in your lap. "Is he well? Has something happened?"

Miwa looks up at you with eyes that glisten in the soft light of the lanterns around your room, her lips pulled into a tight line.

"I know you and the Crown Prince have become good friends, Mistress," she says to you quietly, and you're surprised. You didn't know that anyone was aware of the little Prince's visits to your quarters. The girl's nose scrunches up. "Which is why it upsets me that the head of household forbid the staff from telling you."

"What's happened to him?" You feel panic in your veins, hot and quickly spreading, in the wake of her words.

"He's ill, Mistress. Fevered. The poor thing has not had the strength to leave his bed for some two days now."

You rip your blankets from your lap, throwing your legs over the side of your bed. You stand quickly, ignoring the way your blood rushes to your head and makes you feel dizzy.

Miwa stares up at you in shock from where she kneels at your feet.

"Come," you tell her firmly, extending your hand down towards her to help her up. "Take me to him."

Miwa knows her way through the Emperor's palace in a way so familiar that you could never hope to memorize the paths similarly yourself. You wonder how long she's been serving in the royal household to be so intimately familiar with every corridor, path, and passageway. She manages to take you all the way across the expansive property, from your own court to the one in which he Prince resides, without being seen by another living soul.

The two of you pause, pressed close together in a narrow passage covered by a tapestry.

"Will there be guards inside?" you ask her, keeping your voice low.

She shakes her head emphatically.

"The guards are outside the door. This is an entry that the servants in the Prince's household use. I assure you he's quite alone in there—his maids are away to take tea since he's resting, and the court physician has left him for the night."

You nod slightly.

"If I hear anyone coming, I'll fetch you," Miwa assures you, and you know she is sincere.

You lift the edge of the silk that covers your small hiding place, and step into the Crown Prince's quarters.

His room is not wholly dissimilar to your own—a realization that only makes you feel a little ill as you realize just how out of place you are in the place you've been confined. On the other side of the wide room is an elevated bed, and there in the centre lies the small form of the Prince.

His round cheeks, though always somewhat rosy, are flushed a violent scarlet with fever. His skin is pale and waxy, and is dewy with perspiration though his little nose is ice to touch. His chest rises and falls in shaky exhales, and his lips—parted as he gasps for breath—are dry and cracking.

Your heart rends at the sight of him.

"Miwa," you call quietly towards where you know the passageway to be. When you get no response you dare to repeat yourself a little louder. "Miwa."

Her head pops out from behind the fine silk weave.

You wave her over to where you kneel at Yuuji's bedside.

"Mistress, what is it?" she asks as she approaches.

You look down towards Yuuji, brushing some of his soft blush-coloured hair back from his sticky forehead.

"How long do we have before the maids return?" you ask her.

"They often take longer than they should," she says, rolling her lip between her teeth. "They bring wine to the guards outside and overindulge in their company. The head maid of the household often scolds them for it."

You feel a pang of resentment towards the women who fall short in their care for the little boy before you. You ache upon the realization of his neglect.

"I'll need hot water, and cloths."

"Pardon, Mistress?" she squeaks, watching as you roll up your sleeves.

"Hurry, Miwa," you brush off her effort to clarify, peering up at her with resolution in your eyes. "We haven't much time."

You scoop the small boy up into your arms, carrying him over to a nearby window. You open it as quietly as you can with him in your grasp, and then settle in on the floor as the cold night's breeze rushes in. Miwa appears soon with a basin of warm water and the cloths you requested, her eyes wide as she sees the way you cradle Yuuji in your arms, smoothing your hand along his back.

"Bring it here," you instruct her, and she does as you say. She sets the steaming basin before you, and the cloths just at its side.

You shift Yuuji in your arms.

"He needs the steam to help clear his lungs and break his fever," you tell her carefully leaning the sleeping child face-first above the basin. "Place a cool cloth to the back of his neck, and drape another overtop to trap in the vapours."

Miwa doesn't argue, quickly doing as she's told.

After some time passes, you remove the cloths and shift Yuuji towards the window, his head cradled in the crook of your arm like a babe.

"He needs the dry, cool air now," you tell Miwa as she watches you curiously.

"Mistress, you know a great deal on how to treat a fever," she remarks quietly, ringing out another cool cloth in case it's needed.

You hum, eyes glued to Yuuji's sleeping face. He's breathing a little easier now, his skin a bit less sallow. You dip your finger in the cool clean water and dab it lightly upon his lips to moisten them.

"I have three little brothers," you tell her quietly.

"Really?" she gasps in surprise. "I had no idea!"

Of course she didn't. No one in this land knows anything about you. At least not anything true. They know only what hateful rumours have been circulated through the court, and nothing of your person nor your character.

"Do you have any siblings, Miwa?" you ask her in turn.

"Two older sisters, Mistress," she replies.

"And are they too employed by the royal household?"

"They work at a teahouse just outside the palace, the nicest one in the city!" she says proudly. "They have many noble customers who they attend to."

You smile a little, though it's feeble. You know the kind of teahouses, and the kind of customers, she speaks of. You also know just what attending to them means.

"They must be proud to see their little sister working at the palace," you remark.

She huffs a little. "They still treat me like a child."

You laugh a little, reaching out with the hand not holding Yuuji and ruffling her fringe. "You are a child, Miwa. But there's no harm in that, nor is there any question of your capability in spite of it."

Miwa's cheeks flush pink and she looks away shyly, though undeniably pleased.

"In any case," you note, "my older brothers are the same as your sisters, though I'm long grown. I suspect that treatment never changes."

Her eyes go wide. "You have older brothers too?"

"There are six of us in total," you tell her. "The two eldest sons above me, and then three more who are not yet taller than yourself. The youngest is around the Prince's age, in fact."

You stare down at the six year old in your arms. He looks so much like his father, a man you've come to so deeply resent, but you're helpless to the affection you feel for the little boy. You find yourself holding him a little tighter without thinking.

"Thank you for bringing me here," you say to Miwa quietly.

"You've taken excellent care of his majesty," the maid replies. "He looks much improved in such a short time."

You're grateful that you helped care for so many brothers that you have the kinds of skills needed to help in a time like this. Though the muscle memory seems to ache all the same.

"Come," you pick up Yuuji and move to return him to his bed. "The Prince's maids will return soon, shut the window and remove any trace of our having been here. We should depart."

Miwa hastens to erase any lingering evidence of your presence in the Prince's quarters, and you tuck Yuuji carefully back into bed. As you draw his blanket up to his chin, the little boy stirs for the first time. His eyes, bleary and unfocused, search unseeingly as they open. As though too heavy for his weary body to muster the strength to lift, his eyelids flutter closed again soon. His hand, clammy and small, finds yours.

"Mama?" his little voice croaks, though you know he's unaware of what he's said—too far from the periphery of proper consciousness to even remember this moment when he wakes, you're sure.

You place your hand gently on his forehead, over his eyes.

"Sleep, Yuuji," you whisper to him, and his body slackens as he obeys.

You and Miwa depart soundlessly, the beautiful silk tapestry over the servants passage slipping back into place behind you as you take your leave. The way it swings is the only evidence left behind in your wake.

On the other side of the room, cloaked in the shadows away from the soft light of the lamps, a ruby-eyed stare narrows.

The emperor laughs, but there's no mirth in the sound.

#sukuna x reader #jjk writing #jjk drabble #writing #emperor!sukuna

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prinzgnomeovonchaos · 8 months

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You know those shen yuan gets transmigrated into one of the wifes AUs and usually it's either an OC or NYY/lmy?

I don't think I've ever seen a shen yuan as the little palace mistress au which would honestly be fitting AND hilarious! Like we still get the dilemma of "please don't make me whip people???" But he'd also have to navigate his supposed romance with gyx and deal with the fact that he'll marry lbh even though he's a man and totally nOT GAY, nu uh, and all those fun gender questions what with him now being AFAB.

Also Sy could figure out that something is deeply wrong with the OPM? Idk lol

Imagine the LPM at the sect Olympics tagging along lbh group to make sure her sect siblings don't weigh the protagonist down but also seemingly showing no romantic interest in him? Lbhs mind blown 🤯 what's going on with this whip touting girly?

Lmao Sy could totally start sqq's downfall, just think, he's freshly pushed binghe into the abyss, and is telling everyone he died, in comes this spoiled little princess and throws the biggest tantrum, accusing sqq to have done what he actually did! Blackened lbh would come back to a slightly different world at least.

#little palace mistress #luo binghe #wife shen yuan #svsss #scum villain #thinking about scum aus is like playing with dolls #you just make them do shit and noone can stop you

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tossawary · 1 year

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Scene from Shen Qingqiu’s time in the underground palace (talking about Shen Yuan’s little sister and her kinky choice of reading material):

Either way, if Luo Binghe continued to leave him alone, wasn’t this the exact “days spent idling away to a ripe old age” lifestyle he had been pursuing this whole time?

Furthermore, Luo Binghe didn’t act like the characters in the strange novels that Shen Qingqiu’s younger sister had liked to read in his previous life. He didn’t shackle Shen Qingqiu to the bed with iron chains, blindfolded and gagged, or strip him naked and beat him or anything.

- SVSSS, Volume 3, Chapter 14

This is the only thing I’ve learned about Shen Yuan’s younger sister so far. By the way that Shen Yuan is comparing these characters to Luo Binghe, after determining that Luo Binghe has feelings for him, and the use of the word “strange” by a guy who is very certain that he’s straight, it seems likely that these were gay romance and/or erotica novels. And whether they were gay or not, they were apparently intensely kinky novels. And either Sis was not good at hiding her tastes or didn’t care to hide them from Shen Yuan.

Sis, I think you accidentally gave your (probably ace-spectrum) brother a wildly specific vision of “what it means to be a gay man”. I don’t think I’ve read anything so far in SVSSS canon to suggest that the sex scenes that Airplane Bro was writing were quite so intensely kinky. I mean, there’s the Little Palace Mistress’ whip, passing mentions of harem drama, and a passing mention of blood parasites having a use in sex, yes, but given how Shen Yuan expects women to just fall over the protagonist as lovestruck, hardcore noncon/dubcon bondage with beatings doesn’t really seem like PIDW’s usual fare for sex scenes (though yeah, I do definitely think there were elements of dubcon, bondage, and pain-related kinks throughout PIDW). Shen Yuan’s favorite wife character is explicitly the one who didn’t have any detailed sex scenes, so... I wouldn’t be surprised if Shen Yuan was a little disturbed by his sister’s novels.

Sis, congrats on knowing your own taste in erotica, I guess? But if he read this because you were swapping novel recs or something (while his issues are totally not on you), I suspect that this did not help your bro’s internalized homophobia.

#tossawary svsss #tossawary rereads svsss #shen yuan #luo binghe #bingqiu #shen yuan's sister

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ijuststareatstuffhereok89 · 1 year

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Chapter 16: Into the Shadows

You cannot keep your secret to yourself for long, and you find yourself forced to survive on your wits as you wait for the wrath of Princess Ase to fall on your head. Meanwhile, as you flee for your life, Loki finally stands up for himself, and for his future family.

Pairing: Prince Loki x Concubine!Reader Rating: 18+ ONLY (Minors DNI) MASTERLIST HERE **Please reblog if you like it!**

Content Warning: Threat and mentions of assault, eventual smut, indentured servitude and sex slavery, mean people being mean, violence, executions, more warnings likely to come

“There you are, girl. You need to learn some sense of direction. You’ve been here longer than I have! Honestly, what the Prince found in you must have been purely physical,” said Ase as you re-entered her bedchamber hours later. Noma was brushing her mistress’ hair as Ase sat at her vanity: a nightly ritual that was typically reserved for you.

“As you can see, I’ve had to find an alternative,” she continued, lowering her voice. “But you can go to bed now, Noma. I need to have a word with this one anyway.”

Noma curtied silently, giving you a quick look of sympathy as she walked past you and to the dormitory. You immediately took the silver brush from the vanity and continued to gently stroke Ase’s fine, platinum hair with it.

“I’ve had a discussion with my intended,” Ase began. “And we are both in agreement that it would be best if you were relieved of duty and sent back to Vanaheim after our wedding.”

You nodded silently, trying not to betray yourself with any facial expression, especially as Ase could see your face perfectly in the mirror.

Ase raised an eyebrow. “If you go quietly, I will send you with a small pension to Capital City, and have an apartment arranged for you so that you won’t have to live in squalor. I will have some of my own servants tend you for as long as you like, and on my command.”

So she does mean to poison me. She wouldn’t send her own slaves away for my benefit.

“Mistress is kind,” you said softly.

“I know you were looking for him just now,” Ase warned. “I thought we had an agreement, Y/N.”

“Yes, my lady. It will not happen again.”

“I normally punish such blatant insubordination, but I understand that having you whipped would upset my groom, so I will agree to leave it at this admonishment, for now, as long as it is strictly understood that were there to be any further offenses, you won’t see the same mercy bestowed twice.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Good.”

As if she were covertly punishing you while making it look like kindness, Ase made you stay up very late that night and take supper with her while she talked about trivial things. She asked you details about Loki that she could use to curry favor with him. Meanwhile, your bladder was nearly bursting by the end of the night, full of tea from needing it to stay awake. You were certain that you and your Mistress were the only two left awake in the palace.

“I’m having a garden built,” Ase mentioned. “As a wedding present to the Prince, but I am not sure where it should go.”

Subconsciously, you were far away from Ase’s supper table. The words, the feelings, the moment of pure emotion you’d traded with Loki hours ago when he declared that he was happy about the little newcomer he’d sired, was giving you a sense of revitalization, and it made you feel a little stronger against your intimidating Mistress. It was a bond you would now always share with him that this glowing lamp post of a princess would never have. Even if your head ended up on the block, it was a small victory to hold close to you in the moment as a source of rejuvenation.

So much of this still seemed impossible to you. There was no way Loki could permanently leave Asgard to live with you. Not with being the literal Prince, about to be married to a literal Princess. Yet he seemed to be certain that you could be a family of three in spite of the star-crossed situation, but even if you successfully slipped away to Vanaheim, living there successfully with an Asgardian, especially the infamous Snake Prince, would not be easy, or comfortable, to execute.

Aunt Ing could hide us in the Temple with her, you thought. It would be difficult to conceal a Prince from the world, but not impossible, especially with my crafty aunt aiding us.

“You must be quite sickly,” Ase mumbled.

“My lady?” you asked, snapping back to the moment before you.

“You haven’t taken any wine,” she explained. “You’ve been ill since I brought you to my apartment. Don't think I’m incapable of noticing things in between wedding gown fittings and pondering table placements. You’re slow.”

You shrugged. “I’m still acclimating to the change in environment, my lady. Vanaheim’s air is much thinner.”

“Six months after arriving?” Ase narrowed her eyes, hyper-focusing on you, and it was all you could do not to touch your belly or indicate that anything was wrong at all.

Finally, Ase released you to bed, and after you saw to her comfort (the pampered palace brat), you crawled into you own little trundle, turned onto your side, and felt the tears come as you cradled your stomach, trying to feel any sort of connection to the growing princeling. It was remarkable to you how far along you already were, and yet you were only showing a small protrusion, and you couldn’t feel so much as a twitch within to indicate any sort of new life was present.

Perhaps the healer made a mistake, and this is all for naught?

No, you decided. Other parts of your body hurt too much. Your prenatal illness was undeniable, as well as the insatiable hunger that countered every moment when you weren’t retching. The baby was there, albeit too small to be detected.

Or, am I just imagining it being so small?

You hadn’t even looked at yourself in a mirror since getting the diagnosis. Perhaps you would in the morning…

…alas, sleep evaded you (unsurprisingly). You struggled for hours, tossing every which way, disturbing little Bruna on the pallet next to you and, at one point, causing her to wake and ask out of mild concern “Are you ill again, Y/N?”

“No…a nightmare,” you said quietly. “Go back to sleep, Bruna.”

By the time the pre-dawn light was peeking in through the linen curtains nearby, you’d given up nearly entirely, and got up, sneaking to the small washroom you shared with the two other lady’s maids. It was, of course, much simpler than Ase’s large, lavish bathroom (and Loki’s even larger bathing pool, which could easily fit fifty bodies with plenty of room for all), but it was still grander than anything you’d seen back in Vanaheim. The basins were still plated in silver, matching the trim climbing the corners. The bath was large enough for two of your frame, and a floor-to-ceiling mirror lined the wall by the sink.

You unwrapped your nightgown and let it fall to your ankles. Your eyes fell to your reflection, and then couldn’t be drawn away again.

Oh my Norns…

You were a little larger than you thought, but was it the mirror warping your perception, or reality? Your lower lip began to tremble with disbelief and fear as you ran your hands over yourself. The three fitters had been right. You’d already undergone noticeable weight gain, and it wasn’t from the “rich Asgardian food.” Your posture was a little taller as well, as if compensating for the new, heavier shape.

Loki actually finds this sexually attractive? you scoffed. I don’t understand. It’s clearly a “male thing.”

On the plus side, your hair was a little longer and thicker. Your skin had a healthy glow in spite of your repeated attacks of nausea, and even a little tint of pink that hadn’t manifested since you’d come to Asgard.

You’d never given thought to the idea of becoming a mother. Not really. You were attractive enough, but once the boys in Borgund got to adulthood, they always chose someone who had a bit more potential than a barmaid like yourself to cleave to. Lowly tavern wenches weren’t traditionally seen as marriage material, let alone parent material. Accepting your lot, you decided to never even entertain the idea.

As if seeing what your pregnancy truly looked like for the first time triggered some sort of dose of pessimism in your mind, you began crying softly. No. he can never be yours, even with his child inside you, you told yourself. He will marry Ase, and odds are, he will never meet this one.

Once you got home, you’d immediately need to find work and a place for you and the Little Loki to live.

Stieg could help me with--oh, no, he couldn’t. He lives and works in the palace!

No matter how the dice fell, it resulted in the same thing. No matter how easy or difficult it would prove to be to sneak out of Asgard undetected, and without Ase sending agents to poison you, you would be alone in this. Entirely alone.

So this was what “being in trouble” meant.

“Well, Lokisson,” you whispered, cradling your abandonment, sighing with sadness, “perhaps you’ll have his strength of will, and you will make it.”

“I see my suspicions were correct…”

Your heart immediately fell into your stomach as Ase’s voice called out behind you. Reflexively you dropped to your knees, gathering up your nightgown in a vain attempt to cover yourself.

“Lokisson, dear? I knew it,” Ase spat angrily. “I had my inkling last night, but decided against my suspicions. Pre-wedding paranoia, perhaps, but not this time! You little, stupid whore who couldn’t even take her tea! And now for your disgrace, you must die.”

Panic quickly set in, and your skin went cold. “My lady--”

“--I am tired of giving you chances and mercies, little girl!” Ase barked. “Even for the sake of my Prince, I am through! It isn’t as if I would have any choice in this matter to speak of, but even if it were my choice, I would gladly make the same decision!”

“MERCY ON THE CHILD, PLEASE!” you shrieked as Ase bent down beside you, grabbing a fistful of hair and using it to drag you to your feet as you screamed.

The elf stood at her full height, towering over you and exercising every inch to her advantage. “Filth! That creature is not worth my effort! It’s refuse, like you, and the Allfather will certainly agree!”

In that moment, something else overcame your humility. Something that made your blood run hot. Something that made sweat immediately bead onto your skin. Something that made you want to fight.

Have courage, little princess…

The moment you heard Stieg’s voice in your mind, your brief burst of adrenaline guided your arm as you swung it at Ase’s face, your hand in a fist. “NO!” you shrieked. “I am not refuse!”

As it made contact, you expected more pain from the blow to radiate back into your arm, but you only felt a momentary sting against your knuckles as Ase’s face took the hit, sending her spiraling to the side, barely able to stay on her feet.

In the single moment she was absorbing the punch, you took off like a shot, bolting away and out of the suite. I need to get to the garden…it’s my only sanctuary…

From not far behind you, you could hear Ase screaming. “GUARDS! GUARDS! SHE’S ATTACKED ME! SHE’S JEALOUS OF ME! GET HER!”

You picked up your pace, gripping a column for balance as you swung around the corner a little too quickly, nearly losing your footing. The occasional guard or noble looked to you as you dashed by, but as far as you could tell, only Ase was in pursuit.

In a momentary lapse of judgment, you’d made a wrong turn, and by the time you felt safe enough to duck into a corner to catch your breath, you realized you’d only moved further away from Loki’s apartments, and by now, there were bound to be sentries combing the busier hallways for you.

You couldn’t possibly get to your own old chamber, nor to the archives. Was there anywhere you could go?

The corner you sheltered in was deep in shadow, and you turned around only to realize it was a hallway, dusty and clearly out of use. You couldn’t see what was beyond the few feet in front of you, but as footsteps in the larger corridors became more frantic, you decided that taking your chances down this mysterious passage was less-threatening than exposing yourself to the light again.

Cautiously, with nothing but pure fear in your heart, you began walking further into the shadows.

“Ase, there are sentries everywhere, flooding the hallways,” Loki burst into his fiancee’s apartments, where she was pacing back and forth, her white skin reddening with the stress. “They’re all looking for her. What in Norns is this?”

“Your little breeding bitch assaulted me!” Ase growled, still holding her cheek.

Loki only raised an eyebrow in response, adding, “An impressive hit. My many physical activities with her have made her strong.”

“You knew,” she immediately accused, throwing a finger in his face, her eyes shooting invisible daggers. “About that girl’s baby!”

Loki gritted his teeth. “Of course I knew.”

Ase almost let out a laugh. “Oh, you surely didn’t think there’d be a way--did you? Were you hoping she was your way out of your destiny?”

“No,” he replied, his voice unfaltering, “She became my way into it.”

The angered Princess-to-be began to circle Loki, who refused to break eye contact with her, as if daring her to blink first.

“Loki, we are BOTH tethered to this fate,” Ase said, her words filled with bitterness. “Why do you blame me for doing what is expected of me?”

“Because I am through with it. All of it,” Loki sneered, finally stepping into Ase’s path, blocking her. “I am through with my Fathers unjust edicts and expectations. I am through being told that a drink and a fuck will solve my melancholia. I am a Prince, and I am finally going to get what I want. I want a life that is MINE!”

The Princess grabbed his arm. “You aren’t even thinking of the wider ramifications of this, Loki,” she hissed defensively. “Our kingdoms’ alliance will crumble. My family will look upon this as an insult to my honor, as well as theirs, and they will NOT settle for anything less than a war!”

This gave Loki pause for the first time.

Ase continued. “My father’s arsenal has grown tenfold since our contract was signed. You may think your Valkyries are fierce, but our soldiers outnumber them twenty-to-one! Thousands of Asgardian innocents will die.”

“Is that a dare, then?” The Prince, still steadfast in his resolve, was hiding the growing chill crawling through his veins.

She shook her head. “It’s a fact.”

“Well, then we can still solve this like rational beings: marry Thor. He would bring more honor to you, and I could leave you to your own devices!”

“Absolutely not,” Ase refused without missing a beat. “In fact, the way I see it, passing me off to that odious lout would be an equal affront.”

Loki let out a chuckle. “Do you not see that I care not one whit for you, nor your honor? Ase, if we marry, you will be worth less to me than the trinkets on my mantle. If we have a child, I will not be able to see it as anything more than another shackle you’ve put about my ankle. We would both be sentenced to thousands of years wallowing in pure misery. Now, that seems to be a life you are resigned to, but I will never ignore my heart’s rhythm again.”

“It doesn’t matter how many insults you throw in my face, or how many threats you offer. The fact remains, Loki, that we are to marry and Y/N is to die. Any other conclusion will result in destruction for Asgard.”

Turning away and opening the door, Loki decided that he was talking to a brick wall. “I will find her first,” he vowed. “And to Hel with Asgard!”

A small cupboard, barely big enough for you to lie on the floor, curled up, was all you could find in the musty old passageway, but when your life was at stake, and you had no other choices, you made yourself a nest out of your outer robes and some dish rags that you found hanging against the wall.

There also happened to be a box of candles, which kept the tiny room illuminated for the few bursts of time you were awake for the next twelve hours. However, most of the time, you found yourself dozing off, your daydreams infinitely more luxurious than your reality. Fortunately, as the adrenaline from the chase ebbed, combined with the influx of hormones your newcomer was pumping into your body, sleep was not as difficult to come by as you’d thought.

You were rudely awakened by one pair of footsteps slowly creeping towards the closet. Without lighting another candle, you put your ear against the door, hoping they would miss the room and go on.

“Come on…come on…”

Your heart leapt at the sound of Stieg seeking you. Immediately, you got up and jumped into the hallway. “Stieg! Stieg! Oh thank--”

You barely had time to react when you felt Stieg’s strong arms grapple you, and a large hand cup over your mouth.

“--I’ve found you!” he said, his voice abnormally deep and husky. “Don’t say a word. I’m not alone, but the others didn’t want to roam down here.”

You bit his finger, and it was all he could do not to yelp as he let go of your mouth. “You came with others?”

“To take you back to Ase to face your fate, Y/N,” he said quickly.

“Traitor!” you accused, right before Stieg was able to wrap a cloth around your mouth to keep you quiet.

Stieg shushed you. “Y/N, you are going to have to listen to me well, for this is the very last chance we have to spare your life, and it’s not going to be easy to execute.”

Ugh, execute is a poor choice of words, you thought.

“No matter what happens when we enter the Princess’ chambers, you must go along with what I do, like it’s a play. You understand?”

You tried to speak through your gag, but you couldn’t communicate your confusion properly. You could only shake your head and shrug.

“Fight me the entire way, but don’t escape,” Stieg instructed. “Then, as I said, respond to everything I say as if it isn’t artifice. I promise, if we can do this, you will be safe in Vanaheim by morning.”

You wanted to believe your companion, but something about the uncertainty in his voice wasn’t assuring you of anything.

@vickie5446 @thedistractedagglomeration @jonquilclegane @lonadane @lokisgoodgirl @just-someone11 @mcufan72 @hypergamer7744 @usagishira @silverfire475 @coleranchdorito @huntress-artemiss @elegantcheesecakecrown @lokixryss @25bohemianmoons @crimson25 @waywardsummoner46 @ladyjames78 @chantsdemarins @sorceresski @ladymischief11 @goblingirlsarah @fictive-sl0th @goldencherriess @marvel-fan24 @trickster-maiden @glitterylokislut @eleniblue @12-pm-510 @simplyholl @crimson25 @psychospore @wolfsmom1 @silverfire475 @coldnique @creationsbyme @random-crazy-things @peaches1958 @blog-the-lilly

#loki #fanfiction #mcu #mcu loki #loki fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #loki laufeyson #loki x reader #loki/reader #loki smut #LOKI ANGST #loki angst #loki fic #loki fanfic #asgard.

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alliechick · 2 years

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Shen Twins au part 7. Parts one, two, three, four, five, and six.

Qi-ge arrives quickly, to Shen Qingqiu’s summons.

“Where’s A-Yuan,” he asks.

Shen Qingqiu explains. He never told Yue Qingyuan about Luo Binghe’s identity. As far as the sect leader knows, Shen Yuan’s favorite student was just another casualty at the Immortal Alliance Conference.

Yue Qingyuan is not pleased to hear everything Shen Qingqiu kept from him, but that’s pushed aside for concern for Shen Yuan.

“What does Luo Binghe want with him?” he asks.

“The beast has always had an obsession with A-Yuan,” Shen Qingqiu explains. “Who knows what perverted reasons he has. Who knows what my idiot brother was thinking when he went with him.”

“Perhaps he means to protect you from Luo Binghe’s revenge,” Yue Qingyuan suggests.

If that idiot is sacrificing himself like that, Shen Qingqiu will never forgive him or himself. If anything happens to his didi...

Like in Scum Villain, Shen Qingqiu is framed for colluding with the sowers and accused of murder by Qiu Haitang. Unlike in Scum Villain, this is the work of Luo Binghe, not Zhuzhi-Lang. Binghe explained the setup to Shen Yuan and there’s nothing he could do to stop it.

Shen Yuan watches everything come down in shock. His brother willingly goes to the water dungeon. What is he thinking? Why is he walking right into Binghe’s trap?

Of course Shen Yuan immediately asks to see his brother.

“You don’t have to see him anymore. You have no obligation to him,” Luo Binghe says.

Shen Yuan pleads, Binghe relents.

The scene makes his heart plummet. His Jiu-ge in immortal binding cables, robes ripped with injuries from the Little Palace Mistress’s whip.

This is only the beginning of the torture, Shen Yuan realizes. Luo Binge has him in the water dungeons already. Binghe doesn’t yet have control of the sect, but once he does. His brother will soon be a human stick.

Shen Yuan has to get him out of here.

“A-Yuan, what are you doing?” Shen Qingqiu barks when he approaches.

“I’m gonna get you out,” Shen Yuan promises, taking off his outer robe and draping it over his brother.

“No! You need to get to Qi-ge and away from that beast!” Shen Qingqiu snaps.

“Still trying to control your brother, I see,” Luo Binghe says, stepping out of the shadows.

“You leave my brother out of this!” Shen Qingqiu snaps. “Your business is with me!”

“Oh Shen Yuan has everything to do with this.”

“Keep your perverted thoughts about my brother out of your head!”

Then several things finally snap into place for Shen Yuan.

This whole time, Luo Binghe has shown no interest, who is throwing herself at him. Or the Palace Mistress, or even Ning Ying Ying. He’s seemed content to spend all his time with Shen Yuan and treat him like a spoiled wife.

Oh.

Binghe wants him and thinks his revenge on Shen Qingqiu will help. But this blacked Binghe can’t be reasoned with. He’s too focused on his revenge to listen to Shen Yuan’s defense of his brother.

“What can I do to get you to release my brother,” he says suddenly, interrupting their posturing.

Luo Binghe looks at him with a smile.

“You still care about him, after all he’s done. Should have expected from my kind Laoshi.”

Shen Yuan’s heart is pounding.

“Fine. Marry me.”

He wants me to choose him over his brother, Shen Yuan realizes.

“I will,” he answers.

Shen Qingqiu snarls and jerks forward, even while constrained.

“Shen Yuan what the fuck are you doing?” he demands.

“Shen Yuan turns to him. “Paying you back for all the times you looked after me when we were younger.”

Luo Binghe leads his baby brother away, hand on his back, as Shen Qingqiu screams behind them.

This is his worst nightmare come true.

#shen twins #svsss #fic ideas

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iamwestiec · 1 year

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For a combination #FilthyFriday and @polyshipweek Day 6 yesterday, I solicited ships to write some filthy little drabbles for!

100 words each, all lighthearted E or M, ships and content warnings as noted below:

MDZS

Sanzun's Getalong Didi — E, Nie Huaisang/Nie Mingjue/Lan Xichen/Jin Guangyao, triple penetration [cw: incest]

In Tandem — E, Lan Wangji/Jiang Cheng/Wei Wuxian, jerk-off instructions

Flexible — E, Song Lan/Xiao Xingchen/Mo Xuanyu/Wen Zhuliu, autofellatio

Intimate Knowledge — E, Lan Sizhui/Lan Wangji/Lan Xichen, threesome [cw: incest, ambiguous age]

Satiated — M, Jiang Yanli/Luo Qingyang/Qin Su/Wen Qing, multiple orgasms

Pillow Talk — M, Su She/Jin Guangyao/Qin Su, post-coital snuggles [cw: incest]

Stop for Directions — E, Wen Zhuliu/Wen Ning/Mo Xuanyu, Dom Wen Ning

Somatosensation — E, Wen Qing/Jiang Cheng/Wei Wuxian, Pillow Princess Wen Qing

SVSSS

Whip it Good — M, Liu Mingyan/Ning Yingying/Sha Hualing/Little Palace Mistress, impact play

Castlevania

She Knows What She's Doing — M, Sypha Belnades/Alucard/Trevor Belmont, arguing as foreplay

#polyshipweek23 #mdzs #the untamed #svsss #castlevania #polyships #drabbles #polyshipweek23 day 6 #i got to christen four new ship tags for these #good work prompters

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web-novel-polls · 2 months

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Web Novel Weapon Tournament

[Please be courteous in the notes. Don’t make me block you.]

Little Palace Mistress’s Whip (SVSSS)

Submission: Shen Qingqiu is whipped, and not just for Luo Binghe?

Image Link

Zheng Yang - Luo Binghe’s sword (SVSSS)

Submission: Something about a childhood sword that was broken, then preserved, then restored, and in the end was the one that remained, instead of the more powerful one that brought only misery.

#little palace mistress's whip #zheng yang #svsss #mxtx #polls #wn weapon round 1 #wn weapon round 1 group B #web novel weapon tournament #queue

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angieloveshua · 2 years

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Luo Binghe gave her no answer and threw the shards of the destroyed whip into the lake. The hissing sounds as they corroded filling their ears, unending.

The Little Palace Mistress's lip trembled. In that instant, she suddenly felt that what Luo Binghe actually wanted to crush mote by mote, until he threw it into the corrosive lake... was her. And this was not remotely a joke.

That was so hot of him. 🔥 🔥 🔥

#svsss #the scum villain's self saving system #人渣反派自救系统 #墨香铜臭 #mxtx #luo binghe #my husband

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theartofruling · 2 years

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Who: Skai + Jakovan ( @gvldntrbl )

Where: Westland Palace

Politics were a renewed effort for Skai, since her husband had been trying to do things legitimately instead of murdering their way to what they want. So for her, she had to play the role of a Queen. The Mistress of Mayhem would have to drag out the niceties and the decorum she learned being a former spy. Often times she could assert herself in places as a Lady when she was anything but.

She awaited her meeting with the High Priest in the meeting room assigned, and she stood, never trusting the vulnerability of laying in wait by sitting. At least then she could whip out her blades from their strategic hiding places and pounce if need be. Though from what she heard of if the High Priest wanted to play, they would be fairly evenly matched with abilities.

When he did arrive she stood up straighter, one hand on her hip. “Strategic power move to keep a Mistress waiting. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were flirting with me. A little foreplay before we get down to business. But I come in peace to discuss politics. I hope you and your wife, and the little ones, and the not so little ones are well. My husband speaks highly of...” she paused for a moment of recollection. “Amias and Jasmine. Your son does good work for those currently and formerly exiled.”

#[Skai]#[Skai:jakovan]

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othercat2 · 2 years

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The fuck are you talking about, peaches?

A recent comment on molasses dark as pitch:

Why is Sha Hualing gaslighting Ning Yingying?

Which was very confusing! Sha Hualing isn't gaslighting anyone, least of all Ning Yingying. There IS a part in chapter one where Sha Hualing pretends she doesn't remember Little Palace Mistress name (which I made up because there is no canonical name for LPM) but it is clearly because Sha Hualing does not like LPM, who has just made Life Much Harder for Sha Hualing.

This is the bit:

"Shouldn't we wait for Liqin?" Ning Yingying asks tentatively.

Sha Hualing blinks "who?"

"Little Palace Mistress?"

"She's going to marry our husband and you can't be bothered to remember her name?" Liu Mingyan asks.

Sha Hualing refused to remember the name of a sneaky little brat who wasn't nearly as clever as she thought she was. "She might not be able to remember her name after Binghe caught her 'questioning' Shen Qinqiu. He struck her in the head with the handle of that whip of hers."

The other women are silenced by this, pale and horrified by the violence. (They were possibly rethinking their relationship with a half-demon. As if a human man might not be equally violent.) "She's in the infirmary but that's not the problem."

Sha Hualing refusing the name Little Palace Mistress is not gaslighting Ning Yingying. The actual gaslighting (mostly accidental due to distorted reality--the gaslighting parties are assuming things and don't have or believe the facts) is coming from Luo Mingyan and Qiu Haitang who are Just Horrified that Ning Yingying cares about Shen Qingqiu Despite The Horrible Things He Did to Her, so they feel they need to "help" by telling Ning Yingying that she's "obviously" not right in the head, and I detail this more clearly in the next few chapters. Which I apparently was too subtle in indicating?

The term "gaslighting" comes from a play where a man deliberately tries to make his wife think she is crazy. In real life, it is generally a deliberate abuse tactic to control the victim. The abuser want's to control the victim's behavior and access to information, and does this by telling them they are wrong/don't remember things correctly and inserting their own version of what heppened. It is deliberate brainwashing, as far as I know. I feel that if an abuser literally does not remember or remembers things vastly differently from what you remember, that is not gaslighting. The abuser edited their personal reality to conform to what they wish was true, instead of what actually happened. (Example: Like a bully literally not remembering that you were not actually friends with them, so they greet you cheerfully years later and literally don't understand why you're looking at them like they were Freddy Krueger.)

Sha Hualing's bratty behavior does not qualify as gaslighting because a) she is not trying to control Ning Yingying's behavior or information by lying to her b) she is being a snide bitch about someone she has a low opinion of. c) Why the fuck would Ning Yingying be bothered that Sha Hualing apparently couldn't remember LPM's name? No, seriously, why?

Anyway, I sometimes get baffling and confusing comments. Then I write about them.

#writing #svsss #my fic

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drwcn · 3 years

Note

I loved your fem lwj take on things. How would thibgs go if WWX was the lady? Other than ppl assuming she stood up for the Wens bcs she jad feelings for WN ( and that Yuan was hers)

Heyyy friend, I think I’ve seen a couple of girl!wwx fics floating around in ao3 so i certainly won’t be the first :P.

Also I completely misread your ask initially, I thought you were asking me what I think would happen if A-Yuan was WWX’s kid, and I was like oh?? But then I realize wait... I can make it worse.

Today, I decided that my mortal soul doesn’t matter, so here we go. Let’s see how accursed I can make this idea:

[1]

It started with Jiang Cheng. Jiang Wanyin had set out for the Burial Mount with the explicit goal of throttling speaking with Wei Wuxian, but what greeted him at the entrance of the “Demon Subduing Palace” — more of a cave than anything really — was not his martial sister, but Wen Ning. Well, what had once been Wen Ning.

Black veins ran across his pale, ashen face, down his equally ashen neck , and into the major veins beneath his clavicles covered by the collars of his black threadbare robes. Lifeless eyes, white as his skin, stared into a void the living could not see. There were talismans littering his body, and Jiang Cheng knew that when he spoke to this fierce corpse, he was not speaking to the young Wen boy, but to his mistress who controlled him with her demonic cultivation.

Wei Wuxian refused to face him. Refused him explanation. Refused him closure.

“Er-jie!” Jiang Cheng screamed into the stony expressionless face of Wen Qionglin. “If you continue to protect them, then I can’t protect you!!”

There was no response.

Suddenly, just as Jiang Cheng was about to kick and fight his way into the cave, Wen Ning thrusted out his right fist, and in his grasp was a piece of purple silk. Jiang Cheng unfolded the silk, vaguely recognizing that it had been cut from someone’s robe, and saw what was wrapped within was a slip of parchment.

割袍断义*, the paper read. Tell the world that I, Wei Wuxian, first disciple of Yunmeng Jiang has forever defected (Note: 割袍断义- to rip one's robe as a sign of repudiating a sworn brotherhood (idiom)).

With this, there was nothing left to say. Hurt and furious, Jiang Wanyin threw the piece of parchment onto the dirt ground, grinded his heel down on it, and left the Burial Mount without ever having drawn Sandu.

Inside the cave, Wen Qing held Wei Wuxian’s hand. “Why won’t you just tell him? He’s your brother; he can help you, you can —”

Wei Wuxian’s mile long stare seemed to be gazing at something — someone — very far away. Slowly, she placed her other palm over her belly, which horrifically was already starting to round out. “Nobody can help me now, Qing-jie.”

“I can,” said Wen Qing, blunt as ever. “I can make it go away, if you want.”

“No.” A droplet of tear escaped pass long lashes. “No.”

[2]

It continued with Jiang Cheng.

On a snowy night, the first winter after Wei Wuxian escaped with the Wen remnants to the Burial Mount, Jiang Cheng was rudely awakened from his slumber by a less-than-stealthy intruder breaking and entering into his bed chamber.

Zidian whipped through the air, lighting the room with her eerie violet glow, before the intruder could think to take one more step. It was a man, judging from his silhouette colliding against the wall and the pained groan he made in response. The very next second, the tail of Zidian coiled tightly around his neck and dragged him across the floor towards beneath Jiang Cheng’s waiting foot.

The Sect Master of Yunmeng Jiang summoned Sandu, ready to deliver the final strike, but just as his blade sailed towards the intruder’s chest, a pale arm jutted upwards, blocking Sandu’s descent and revealing a pale hand holding a … a...

Even in the dark, Jiang Cheng immediately recognized the mahogany comb.

“Jiang — ! Zongzhu —!” The man croaked out urgently, throat still stomped on by Jiang Cheng’s foot. It was - it was Wen Ning?!

Jiang Cheng looked him over. He was pale, yes, but his eyes appeared human. His hair was brushed and haphazardly done up in a farmer’s top knot. He was wearing farmer’s clothing too, probably more inconspicuous for travel than his Ghost General getup.

“Jiang-zongzhu! P—please!!”

No, impossible.

“Wei — Wei-guniang—”

Jiang Cheng lifted his foot and dragged Wen Ning up in a split second. “What’s wrong with Wei Wuxian?!” Wen Ning coughed and shook his head desperately. “No time to explain. My sister asked me to fetch you. Please, you have to come! Wei-guniang’s life is in danger! If you won’t come, I’ll...I’ll have to go to Gusu, and I don’t know if - if -”

Jiang Cheng followed Wen Ning.

For speed, they travelled by sword, but even so, dawn was breaking by the time they arrived. The crowd of Burial Mount’s villagers huddling anxiously outside of the Demon Subduing Palace parted for them upon their arrival. Jiang Cheng took a moment to gather himself and square his shoulders. Whatever it was; he was ready.

He was wrong. None of the dozens of scenario he had agonized over on the flight here could have prepared him for what awaited him inside.

Wen Qing, pale and drenched in sweat, was near complete spiritual collapse, and without Wen Qing’s spiritual energy sustaining her, the single tenuous thread by which Wei Wuxian’s life hung on would have undoubtedly snapped under the toil and devastation her body had been put through.

There was so much blood, so, so much blood everywhere, and amidst the blood, there was a baby.

Fuck.

Jiang Cheng transfused his sister half of his total spiritual reserve over the course of a day, while an exhausted but unrelenting Wen Qing worked diligently under blood-soaked sheets.

Then at dusk, when the storm finally passed, Jiang Cheng sat at the mouth of the cave with a tiny, perfect little human — a girl, a niece! — in his arms and cursed Lan Wangji’s name.

Wen Qing was extremely clear with them: 孩子要是留在这里，养不活。

If the newborn was left to be raised at the Burial Mount, she would not live. And so, because parting was inevitable from the start, Wei Wuxian adamantly refused to hold or nurse the child. Her child.

I can’t. If I do, I won’t be able to let her go. Those dark eyes burned with more than just the delirium of her childbed fever. For once, Jiang Cheng could not find it in himself to argue.

Thus, he took his niece home and named her Jiang Yan 江曕. The name was not his doing. His foolish, misguided, stubborn sister had stroked her daughter’s soft, baby cheek and whispered it to her as a farewell gift.

Yan - to be bathed in daylight. In the end, when given a choice, Wei Wuxian still opted for her child to walk on broad sunny road.

It made Jiang Cheng wonder why, then, she would choose the dark twisted path for herself instead.

[3]

It ended with Jiang Cheng.

The truth was simple: Jiang Wanyin killed his shijie Wei Wuxian. He did. He meant to.

He killed her. But that did not mean he wanted her dead.

In one day, he had lost both of his sisters, leaving two orphans in their wake. Jiang Cheng could not ignore the cruel irony of their fate: one’s father murdered by his aunt, and other’s mother murdered by her uncle.

This was the kind of tragedy fairytales were made of, and if there were anything left in him to shed tears over it, he would. Standing amongst Nevernight’s carnage, he could not dredge up even a single drop of tear.

Jiang Cheng didn’t know how he could return home to Lotus Pier to face that cherub face, always so happy, so sweet, so utterly untainted by the world. She had her mother’s smile. Yan'er was starting to learn how to speak. Her first words were da-da.

Da-da. Die-die. Father.

He was standing beside her father now.

Lan Wangji. Devastated. Destroyed. …Deceived.

Jiang Cheng hated him so much, so fucking much that for one insane second, he thought about telling Lan Wangji the truth just to see what would happen. Maybe he would run Jiang Cheng through with his Bichen - that would be a relief now, wouldn’t it? - or maybe he would jump after Wei Wuxian.

Truly, if he knew, he would. Jump, that is. Jiang Cheng was almost entirely sure. Oh the utter melodrama that would inspire indeed!

But then...

Wei Ying birthed you a daughter, a lovely, perfect, blessed little girl, and she carried that secret to her grave. I may be damned by my actions, but you, who have done nothing for her and taken everything, why should you deserve something as sacred as the truth?

Jiang Cheng turned away.

He was acutely aware that one day Jiang Yan may very well be the literal death of him. After all — 杀母之仇不共戴天 — one cannot tolerate living under the same sky as the murderer of one’s mother.

Be that as it may, he would raise Jiang Yan well, just as he promised. Unlike his sister, he would not break his word. Jiang Yan was of Lotus Pier, of Yunmeng, like her mother and grandfather before her. That for him, was enough.

Jiang Cheng clutched Sandu and gripped Zidian. Whatever his fate, he already made peace with it, and the rest was inconsequential.

One day, he may die, but today he lives, and so as long as he lives, Jiang Yan and all of Yunmeng Jiang will be protected . So as long as he lives, they will flourish.

[...and in between]

On the streets of Yiling, Lan Wangji tilted his head inquisitively at Wei Wuxian and the little boy at her side and asked, “This child, he...”

In response, Wei Wuxian patted her chest in a self-declarative kind of way and announced, “Oh this child, I birthed him!”

He stared at her in shell-shocked silence, his mind racing with panicked thoughts of but that’s impossible — that was just once — even if — the boy is too old to be —

“怎么，蓝湛，不要我们娘儿俩了？” What, Lan Zhan, you don’t want the child and I?

“Wei— Wei Ying—”

Then of course, she had laughed, and Lan Wangji thought no more of it.

Just a joke. A silly joke.

In time, he would come to realize his mistake.

~~~

[A/N]: I’m not even a little bit sorry.

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mrs-gucci · 3 years

Text

Lady Of Ren: Prologue {King Kylo Ren x noblewoman!Reader}

table of contents Prologue (1.4k) * [1] New & Improved (1.5k) [2] Revenge of the Husband the full masterlist for this series is linked here.

hello, hello! here’s the prologue for my newest multi-chap, “Lady of Ren”!

warnings: none, other than some historical inaccuracies, taking creative liberties with historical events/settings, and some french swear words.

word count: 1.4k

(!!) This story will include graphic, explicit and potentially triggering subject matters such as murder, poison, love potions (leading to non-consensual manipulation of feelings), extramarital affairs, torture, violence, executions, and fighting. All individual warnings will be listed on each chapter and darker chapters will be indicated as such, but please do not read if any of these subject matters could be triggering to you. (!!)

terms to know

Imbécile means “stupid”. Connasse means “asshole”. Sac à merde means “bag of shit”. Ma petite agneau means “my little lamb”.

17th Century France The Palace of Alderaan --

You rise early, dressing and making your escape before Armitage even wakes, tacking up your mount quickly but skillfully. She knows not to whinny at this early hour for fear of waking your dreadful husband, which she’s done on several occasions. Instead, she simply trots down the stony road towards the palace as she’s instructed to every morning. By now, she could do this ride with her eyes shut.

You’re determined to secure your wealthy and plentiful future with a spot right next to the King of France. But, you have no desire to sit atop the throne as his Queen, oh no; you have your eyes set on becoming his newest mistress, his newest Lady of Ren.

Marrying Armitage De Montespan was simply a way to gain more power in the Court of King Ren. But unfortunately, marriage had turned Armitage into an unambitious, hot-headed imbécile.

who got himself temporarily banished from the palace by angering the King. He’s lucky he didn’t get sliced in half, if any of what you’ve heard about the King’s temper is true, he should certainly be grateful to be alive.

Villagers wave as you pass by and you return the gesture with a smile and a nod, trotting through the busy streets on your way up to the palace. You dismount and put your horse in the stables, then arrive at the Court just as the King emerges.

The Queen strides along next to him in an extravagant gown of blood red and gold. Lady Phasma, the current Lady of Ren, spots you in the crowd and motions you over. Over time, you’ve become her trusted ally, her apprentice, of sorts. You absolutely loathe the Lady, but you need this connection in order to achieve your goal.

“You are late again. Shall I purchase you a pocketwatch for you to have a chance of being on time.”

You have to physically prevent yourself from rolling your eyes.

“I am not late, mademoiselle. You told me to come at eight.”

She stops dead in her tracks, whipping around to glare down at you. Of course, she chooses to make a scene out of it all, drawing everyone’s attention.

“It would serve you well not to question me, connasse.” Phasma raises her hand to you, ready to strike--

“Gwendolyn.”

Your eyes widen and the whole onlooking crowd, Phasma included, falls pin-drop silent. In just a few long, swift strides, the King stands beside you and Lady Phasma. You feel utterly insignificant standing next to him, his tall and broad frame towering over you.

“Don’t. She’s just a petite one, leave her alone.”

For a moment, you swear you see his eyes flicker over your figure, but perhaps it’s just the fear of the situation toying with your mind. A small smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth as he turns away and walks through the castle doors without another word muttered.

Phasma narrows her eyes, giving you nothing more than a small huff through her nose before spinning on her heel and beginning her catch-up to the King and Queen. You trail behind, in a sort of trance, a daydream as you replay the memory of him looking down at you. His eyes are so beautiful; a dark, deep brown laced with mystery and hidden pain.

“Hurry up, would you?”

You quicken your strides to keep up, annoyance pertinent. “Sac à merde.”

Hm, perhaps you should break ground on your plan a bit sooner than anticipated.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wooden carts roll by, horses hooves clacking against the stone as you walk down the side of the street. Chamber pots are dumped out of windows willy-nilly and you narrowly avoid a particularly nasty lot, looking back to see it stream down the street. You cringe at the pungent smell of bodily fluids and animal stool that seems nearly inescapable in this village, holding the sleeve of your black cape over your nose and only lowering it when you duck into a narrow side street. You take a lungful of the fresh air, or at least the fresher air, before beginning to walk.

The dim glow of your oil lantern is the only thing lighting your way as you cautiously make your way down the small slope downwards. You hold the skirts of your dress up as best you can in order to preserve them from the filthy remnants washed up by last night’s rainfall. You startle each time your shoe slips on the smoothed cobblestone, having to pause and take a breath before continuing your descent.

Soon, the narrow path widens and you’re deposited neath the city into the catacombs of Naboo. It’s quite dark here and devoid of any sort of activity, no hustle and bustle as you’re used to and no other lamps to accompany yours; it’s a peculiar feeling and one you didn’t particularly care for. You’re hoping not to get accustomed to it.

Muffle sounds of footsteps, both human and equine, shake the stone above your head. You’re already beginning to tremble from the damp, cold darkness that surrounds you as you walk down the tunnel. A sharp stench of mold and the constant sound of water dripping from above brings little ease to your worry, still shivering beneath your heavy cloak.

As you walk, your lantern shines onto rows and rows of the deceased, whose skulls line the walls of the catacombs. A shiver runs down your spine and a cold sweat breaks out along your hairline as you look at the poor fellows whose heads were perverted in such a way as this. You can just feel the misery here, each of the spirits who once inhabited these remains screaming into your ears, begging to be returned to their proper resting place.

Even as you walk next to the various Holy crosses that accompany the remains, you can still hear the unruly unrest as if the souls were walking right alongside you. You’re close to covering your ears, now, the voices of the undead making your head ache and throb.

But then, everything falls silent. You look up, petrified at what you might find, preparing yourself for the worst of circumstances--

“The spirits whispered of your arrival, ma petite agneau.” A weak, hoarse voice says.

You hold your lantern up, shining light on the figure that approaches you. Although she’s wearing a hooded cloak, you can still see that she is well aged, deep ridges and creases of time are etched into her sagging alabaster skin.

“Are you the La Voisin they speak of?”

“Indeed.” Her wooden stick taps in time with her soft strides, sounding almost as if she has three legs. She lifts a crooked, wrinkled finger and curls it, summoning you to come closer. You do. “Remove your hood, I wish to see your face for myself.”

She puts a decrepit, shaky hand on your cheek, holding your chin and turning it side to side to inspect you. Then, after a moment or so, she lets you go.

“Mm, you have too many worries for a woman so young. No need to fear any longer, petite agneau, for I can mend your troubles. I can eliminate your fire-haired husband, take out the boarish mistress, and make the handsome King fall for you.”

Your eyes widen. “But I haven’t even told you--”

“No need. I am a fortune teller, first and foremost; I can only see the ails that riddle your life. I know just what to brew for you.”

“Brew?” You ask, following behind her as she walks down the corridor.

“Yes, agneau, brew. I shall stir up a potion for you to use on your King and then I shall whip up a batch of poison to get rid of your husband and the mistress.”

She says simply, then suddenly stops and turns around slowly. “Do not follow, for you will witness things that you cannot unsee. I will have the viles and garment ready for you in three days time. Come back here as you did today and bring a sack of coin.”

You nod, then turn back around and walk at a brisk pace back up the dreary corridor as the chirps of the undead begin to ring in your ears as they did when you came down here.

Au revoir, mademoiselle Phasma.

{----------------------------------------------------------------------------------} NEXT

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histoireettralala · 3 years

Text

Fouché and Napoleon

" Between these two men, there is no friendly atmosphere. Just as Fouché isn't for Napoleon an agreeable servant, Napoleon isn't for Fouché an agreeable master: not once does he trustingly and quietly accept a police report. He probes, hawk-eyed, every line to spot the smallest inaccuracy, the least little mistake; then he rants and raves, scolding his minister like a schoolboy, letting himself be completely carried away by the extreme of his Corsican temper. The ushers, those who look by the keyholes, his coworkers on the Council of Ministers, unanimously notice how much, precisely by contrast, Fouché's composure, in his resistance, irritated the emperor. But, even without their testimony (because one must only read the Memories of this time with intense scrutiny), one would be informed, because we can hear even in the letters the harsh and tough command voice: "I find that the police don't monitor the press with the necessary vigor", Napoleon writes, lecturing the old seasoned master; or he cracks the whip: "One could believe that nobody can read at the Ministry of the Police; nothing is ever foreseen." Or again: "I invite you to confine yourself to the framework of your duties, and to keep away from the matters of foreign policy." Napoleon, we know it by a hundred recounts, reprimands him in front of witnesses, in front of the aides-de-camp and of the State Council, bluntly, and when anger frothes over his lips, he doesn't even hesitate to mention Lyon, his terrorist period, and to call him a regicide and a traitor. But Fouché, icy observer who, since ten years, knows the whole range of these fits of anger, and knows that sometimes this is only an unintentional burst brought by hot blood, and also that sometimes Napoleon is just acting, doesn't allow himself to be intimidated by those storms, whether they are genuine or theatrical, unlike, for example, the Austrian minister Cobenzl, who trembled in fright when the emperor threw at his feet a vase of precious porcelain; he doesn't let himself be sidetracked by the emperor's apparent anger or his actual wrath. With his colorless face, which looks like a plaster cast, without any eye movement, without any nerve betraying an emotion, he calmly stands under this downpour of words; just, maybe, when he leaves the room, a wry or wicked smile ripples across his thin lips. He doesn't even shiver when the emperor shouts at him: "You are a traitor, Duke of Otrante, I should have you beheaded"; but he answers, without changing the tone of his voice, and as though it was a mundane matter: " I do not share this view". A hundred times he hears dismissals, threats of proscription and destitution, and he still leaves the room calmly, knowing perfectly that tomorrow the emperor will call him back. And every time he is right. For in spite of his distrust, his anger, and his covert hatred, for ten years, until the last hour, Napoleon absolutely cannot dispense with him.

This power of Fouché over Napoleon, which was an enigma for all his contemporaries, doesn't owe anything to magic or to hypnotism. It is a power acquired with science and secured by work, ability, and systematic surveillance. Fouché knows a lot,- he even knows too much. Not only through the emperor's confidences, but also against the master's will; he knows all the imperial secrets, and he keeps in check the emperor, - as, besides, the whole empire,- by his perfect and almost eerie informations [...] When Napoleon, at eleven in the evening, shrouded in a strange coat and almost completely disguised, gets out of the Tuileries by a secret door to go to a mistress, Fouché knows on the next morning where the carriage went, how long the emperor stayed in the house, when he came back; he can even, someday, shame the sovereign of the world by telling him that this woman he chose is cheating on him, Napoleon, with a poorly chosen comedy actor. A copy of every important writing out of the emperor's office is given to Fouché by a bribed secretary, and more than one servant, of high or little rank, gets a monthly stipend on the Police Minister's secret funds to bring him back exactly everything which is said in the Palace: by day or by night, at the table and in bed, Napoleon is monitored by his overzealous minister. Impossible to hide a secret from him: thus the emperor is forced, willy-nilly, to confide in him. And this knowledge of everything and everyone provides Fouché with this unique power over men which Balzac so admired.

With the same care he puts to oversee every affair, idea or thought of the emperor, Fouché endeavours to conceal his own from him. Fouché never entrusts to the emperor or to anybody his actual goal, his works; he only imparts from his gigantic intelligence exactly what he wants to. The rest stays sealed in the drawer of the Police minister; Fouché doesn't allow anybody to have a look at this ultimate citadel; he even puts his passion, all his passion, his only passion, into the magnificent luxury to remain inscrutable and to form an element nobody can take into account with absolute accuracy. In vain does Napoleon attach to Fouché some spies; he mocks them or even uses them to send back, through them, to their duped sender, completely false and ridiculous reports. With the years, this game of espionage and counter-espionage between the two fellows will become always more insidious and hateful, and they almost openly lack sincerity toward one another. No, really, there is no clear and limpid atmosphere between these two men, among whom one wants too much to be the master, and the other doesn't want to be enough the servant. The more powerful Napoleon becomes, the more Fouché inconveniences him. The stronger Fouché becomes, the more he hates Napoleon."

Stefan Zweig- Fouché

Note- If you have this book in English, you probably have a better translation. This is mine, and I'm really not a professional. I hope you enjoyed it! Tell me your thoughts in your tags and reblogs :^)

#napoleonic #stefan zweig #fouché #napoléon bonaparte #joseph fouché #to be fair everything napoléon says about fouché being a former terrorist and a regicide is absolutely true and they both know it #i just love how unfazed fouché is #oh how it must have galled napoleon to see him so cool and calm #and to know fouché knew everything about him and there was no way to escape him #and fouché enjoys this power so much #in a cool and amused way #their dynamic is fascinating

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sweettodo · 3 years

Text

Lady Boss ⟿ Levi Ackerman x reader

Vanilla, somewhat of a quicky, consensual, office fucking, boss.

1,722 words

Strutting down the halls with the upmost frustration, blood boiling, your veins pulsating through your angry fists. You couldn’t fathom how you were getting blamed for something you didn’t do.

Being the ‘mistress’ or in other words overseer for these excuses of men who all thought they deserved to be at a higher- scratch that; they were too fucking stupid to be as good as me.

So what if my brother - Jean, put me in the position I’m in today, but he didn’t just let me sit on my high horse, I needed to do work. ‘Who’d she sleep with to get that promotion?’

SMACK!

“That’s what you get for being a fucking peon. Go make yourself useful like cleaning the bottom of my feet.” The group of men cease speaking. You shake off your hand, you were not afraid to discipline these fuckups.

“So-”

“Sorry what was that? Speak up!” I shout. They sigh in defeat. ‘Someone put her in a mood today’ they simultaneously think in their heads. They hated your attitude, especially on these days.

“Sorry...damn.” That’s right, you thought to yourself, you let out a sigh and continue walking quickly down the large hallway of offices, our ... business was more or less a money laundering business, we were discreet and powerful. We racked in tons of cash and had plenty of allies.

You reach the large double door, slamming your fist against them a few times, you tapped your foot in anticipation.

“Well if it isn’t the biggest fuckup of the day, actually; month.” Chairman Levi scoffs, slowly letting you into the office. He moves back to his desk and you slam the door.

“You act like this was my fault. Your men are fucking stupid.”

“Your men actually, fun fact, you’re in charge of them. Therefore my hands are clean of this mess.”

“You act like I can babysit 25 men to hold a few wads of cash.” You snort, slamming paperwork onto his desk.

“And I’ll say it again, it is not my problem.” He crosses his arms, his body leaning against the windowsill, he was too cocky. You hated him, but you knew you needed to get out of this.

“It was actually twenty five thousand... hey, what do you think you’re in here for? To yell at me for your wrongdoings? I should demote you. I might as well make that call now-”

“Wait- uh.” I didn’t think before speaking, sounding weak on the spot, he stuffs his phone back in his slacks.

“How do you intend on fixing this mess?” He stands, slowly unbuttoning his black blazer, he was so toned.

“I’m a smart woman; I’ll figure this out without your input thank you.” Such a nasty attitude, on days where you two could cut the tension with a knife, days like this where his disgust towards you strengthened. How your hateful words spewed from your mouth. You’re a woman for god’s sake, act like it.

He drops his blazer so it hangs off his chair, he wanted you to feel intimidated of what he could do to you at anytime.

“Here’s the deal-” his finger points at you lazily and it taunts you, he drops his crossed arm stance and sits in his tall leather chair, “you can come here and I’ll help you, or I’ll let Jean now how much of an incompetent bitch you are, your choice.”

You pondered, you could possible wiggle your way out of Jean finding out; Levi reaches for the desk phone and begins dialing Jeans extension to his office, your heart drops, I quickly move towards him and grab his wrist and the neck of the phone, hanging it up before it could ring.

“See, you are a smart girl, I love it when you actually listen to me.” He chuckles, I mock him and wait to be dismissed, “take that off.”

What? What the fuck was he doing, your mouth drops open in utter shock, it was a mix of a dream come true and something ripped out of an erotic novel.

“Take what off?-”

“Your shirt.” He says matter of factly, the lump in your throat freezes while he does it himself, tired of him waiting for you to strip and get down on your knees.

Painfully, he looks down at you while he unbuttons each and every blouse button, your heart pounded; he was not close enough. You shoved the dirty thoughts to the back of your head, you needed to regain power.

“What are you going to do for me Mr. Ackerman?” You hold back his hands, he smirks.

“I’ll loan you the twenty five, you just gotta remember to pay me back babe.” ‘Oh fuck yes’ you secretly became excited to his words, this meant no Jean.

You shrug off your blouse, revealing the pinkish-nude lace bra you had on, he stares in awe at your perky boobs, they sat so nice. Countless thoughts ran his head, labeling every part of your body... ‘I’ll do this, and this’

“Liking what you see Lev-”

“You think just because I’m going to fuck you; that you can call me by my first name?”

“Sorry sir.” He turned you around, forcibly holding down the side of your head against the cold desk while he took his time once again, staring at every part of your body, he was in fucking love.

His body hot, you wanted to stand up and rip his clothes off him like the feral slut you were for him. You wanted to be his little toy, do whatever you want to me sir.

“You should keep wearing skirts to work, easy access.” He rubs your butt with his tough hands, he pushes up your skirt and the matching panties gave it away.

“Sir, let me help you.” You stand quickly and he takes a tiny step back, allowing you to speedily unbutton and you practically rip it off him, god he was so incredibly sculpted. As they say, god spent extra time on this one.

“Stop drooling,” you snap out of your trance and fiddle with his belt, unhooking it. He throbbed, his meme er begged to be fucked by you and Levi was too excited to see you.. and hear you, and taste you.

He doesn’t allow you to drop to your knees, ‘you’re too good for that’ he told himself, he wanted to see you fall apart beneath him.

“Just hurry up and fuck me then.” His eyes widen, his smirk grows as he pushes you back over onto the desk, bending you in half while he quickly moved your panties to the side. He was about to indulge.

You let out a squeal the moment he pushes himself into you, you sucked him in, he knew it was all too dangerous to fuck you now, you were going to have him pussy whipped.

It seems as if he has more and more to stuff you with; reaching spots previous men couldn’t reach, surpassing all nerves that you even knew existed.

“Wow- Sir.” You’re taken aback, you gasp when his hips finally clap against your ass and thighs, he was in all the way, you were fucking stuffed.

Swears fly from Levi’s mouth as he takes time with the first few thrusts, pumping out and back in; in and out in and out.

“I could be in this pussy ass day, my god, you’re clenching so hard.” He groans, he picks up the pace as he pulls apart your ass cheeks to fill you up as much as possible. Your spongey walls contacted and gushed around his big cock while your eyes rolled tot he back of your head in complete pleasure.

“Hmm it feels so good sir, please keep fucking me like this, I need it.” You moan, he follows your orders, he needed to move your position, he needed easier access to this goddess of a body, goddess of a pussy.

You both went into the office separate days of the week, rarely seeing each other.

“You know-” Levi pounds into you, “if our deal upholds, I need to be able to fuck you anytime I want.” His breathing ragged.

“Yes sir I understand.” You moan, mouth jammed open, your legs slowly wanting to give out as he takes you to different heights, this was gonna be a earth shattering orgasm.

He bit onto his bottom lip to stop himself from sounding like a moaning mess under your spell, you were dripping wet, it felt like a palace between your walls, silk sheets, sliding in and out, not easily. You were so tight he didn’t know what to do with you.

“S-sir I’m about to come.” You whine, pushing yourself against his cock, he lets out a tense breath of air, not expecting you to do the work for him.

“Then come.” Levi grabs the other hip, kicking apart your legs further and fucking you senselessly, you were a drooling mess.

Your body contacts once again, he slows down slightly while still fucking you hard with those powerful thrusts. You cream all over his dick, he’s starstruck by feeling those spasms and seeing your helpless body grasp behind her onto your wrist, it was enough to send you flying over the edge.

You release your seed into her, holding still for a few moments and pulling out making sure it seeps into every crevice in her pussy. Seeing both her and your come drip from her beautiful cat. It was a sight to see alright.

Levi’s muscles are weak, he needs to catch his breath, sit down. You wore him out so good just from those ten minutes of him tearing you apart. The same goes for you, you relax your body and breathe heavily whilst slowly picking up your panties from your ankles and pulling them up, tugging down your skirt and trying to limit your leg movement, afraid of not being able to walk.

You two stood in silence, redressing and regaining composure, “you have a very nice dick sir.” You purr in his ear, he thinks about other things to prevent him from getting hard again.

Glancing at his watch, he knows he’s off the clock, “come on, you’re coming home with me.” He grabs his belongings and you do the same. You were absolutely thrilled.

“Yes boss.” Giggling, you follow behind him closely, halls empty so no one would suspect a thing.

#levi aot #shingeki no kyoujin levi #levi x reader #smut #office #levi ackerman #boss

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