#quarter horse project
Text
Forbidden Hours
“Sounds like someone’s projecting,” he says, voice laced with honey.
“I’m not projecting anything.”
“Sounds like what you’re saying is that you’re jealous that I have the confidence to partake in intercourse and you’re a bumbling virgin-“
“I’ve read all of the volumes of the Kamasutra. I know my way around when I need to engage in coitus for reproduction,” she cuts him off.
“Oh, sweet sweet Princess,” he whispers, using her title condescendingly. “Sex is more than just reproduction.” He strides towards her.
PAIRING - spy!harry x princess!y/n
a/n - happy first day of 2023! this is my first time writing historical fiction. it’s loosely inspired by a movie, particularly this scene. it’s not historically accurate in the slightest. you can read more about the chola dynasty here. don’t know how many parts this would have but i’m hoping to write more of these two’s dynamic. if you have any ideas, let me know. as always, like and reblog. feed back is not only appreciated but much welcome. happy reading!
Word Count - 4.2k (not proofread)
MASTERPOST | PART TWO
….
நிழல். Shadow. That was his nickname among the royal heirs. He was quiet, swift, inconspicuous, and nimble - camouflaging himself in vast rooms and gathering intel. There wasn’t a room in the kingdom he couldn’t weasel himself in; whether that be up on the roof, scaling walls, or hidden in the dark - where candle lights don’t flicker.
Growing up as the son of a British sea merchant, Harry learned that there wasn’t much for a young boy to do in the cramped quarters of the ship. He’d lost his mother the moment he took his first breath. There wasn’t a lot of maternal warmth in his life but that wasn’t to say that he wasn’t loved. He was loved in a different way, his father kept him close during the wuthering nights at sea often pointing out constellations in the night sky to remind him that life had far more in store for him than the fervent passing waves of the sea. But he was also a man that did not believe in making mistakes, so whenever Harry got in trouble, he was asked to scrub the deck floor clean until his hands bled. He learnt his way around a sword from the crewmen. Travelling to different ports of the world also meant learning different forms of combat and gathering information from people of different cultures. Stewing in a ship with ten men for months meant no entertainment, so he began sifting for stories and used their weakness and strengths against them to gain favours.
He docked on Chozhamandalam when he was twenty and was greeted with a red swallowtail flag with a pouncing tiger on it. He grew to love the people of Kaveripattinam - the bustle of the markets, the chortle of the children running about, the welcoming people, and the way art was particularly celebrated in this small port town, and the princess he set his sights on his third day of being docked there. He’s heard of royalty. Lots of royalty. Cruel rulers. Compassionate rulers. Ostentatious rulers. Modest rulers. Heard. But he’s never seen one in the flesh. Until that day.
A crowd gathered near the temple, murmurs of visiting royals spread like wildfire, and when he’d caught wind of it, he couldn’t resist. Ten soldiers walked first clearing the path, two on horses and sheathed swords followed, then came ten men bearing the weight of a palanquin. It wasn’t an ordinary palanquin, this particular one was grandiose, shimmering in gold and stained glass but the insides were draped in silk to obstruct the view of the onlookers. The Queen Mother exited first, greeting the townspeople and that’s when Harry saw her - the Princess Regnant, the one third in line to the throne. He found himself unable to tear his eyes away from the way her lips curled up in an inviting smile. Harry has seen many a sight in his life but none would compare to the way the royal blue silk saree draped around her body made her skin shimmer; it reminded him of how the first light of the sun would glint and glimmer on the steady ocean water. Her eyes were dark, like the deepest part of the sea where light does not enter. She was adorned in gold, hair piled up into a tall bun that was decorated with jasmine flowers. Their temple visit was brief, the Princess joined her grandmother thanking people for their well wishes before being escorted into the temple premises. It was her eighteenth birthday, so a feast was prepared for everyone in town. As the crowd dissipated to head to the town hall for the royal lunch, Harry lingered wanting to catch sight of the Princess again. He managed to climb a peepal tree that towered over the south entrance of the temple. He saw her again, only this time being told off by the guard as she tried to reach over to pluck a blooming lotus from the temple pond. She huffed in response settling down on the step, so the water lapped at her feet, guiding a tadpole trapped in a water bubble on the lotus pad back into the water.
Three years later, he’d made himself a name in the kingdom. His path stumbled with the Crown Prince a month after arriving. He soon became his confidant, even earning a spot in his army. The Crown Prince, Vikram, was a skilled warrior often going off on conquests under the King’s orders to further expand the country. The youngest Prince, Karthi, was sent to the island of Lanka to study apothecary and healing. And the middle heir, Princess Y/N, was known for her wisdom and strategic wit. She often presided in important meetings with the King and his counsel and implemented many strategies that helped triple the wealth of the dynasty and the well-being of the people. The first battle Harry rode alongside the Crown Prince, he was tasked with bringing home a note sent by the prince to his father detailing his plans on the war spoils to the King. Harry was entrusted with carrying secrets and messages to royalty and trusted members of the Crown. His knack of gathering information also came in handy and now was a spy for the royal heirs three years later.
Soon enough the nickname Shadow was bestowed upon him by Prince Karthi. There wasn’t a single room he couldn’t get into - even the castle. But the tower he was currently scaling was one he never had before - Princess Y/N’s chamber. It was forbidden to talk to her without supervision but in the dark of the night, he supposed it did not matter. His job description came with breaking rules and this particular information needed for her to be in the know sans protocols.
He hitched his leg up over the stone bannister and lurched his torso up to the terrace. Princess Y/N’s tower was away from the main dome of the royal vacation castle and he chalked it up for safety but now standing at her balcony, he understands why. The view was unbelievable - the vast expanse of the ocean was at his feet, calm waters painted silver with the full moon; it also overlooked her personal garden filled with coral jasmine, hibiscus, marigolds, and wildflowers. The ocean breeze carried over the fragrance of the flora straight to her room. It was well known that the princess was an avid gardener; he heard through the grapevine that oftentimes she’d sketch out the garden’s landscape plans and sometimes even join the workers to tend to the flower beds. Princes who came to court her from neighbouring territories would almost always bring a sapling of a flowering plant to gain affection.
One could get used to the view, he thinks, as he leans against the bannister one more time - the sounds of tides crashing over the shore soothe his nerves from his climb up. Being born with the golden spoon ain’t that bad. If the burden of duty came with such lavish living quarters, someone sign me the fuck up, Harry takes in the scenery before him before pushing off from it. His body instinctively makes his way to her, like a moth being drawn to a frame, or in this case a spy being drawn to the lavish canopy bed bathed in the buttery glow of candlelight. He stops in his tracks for the second time by the sight of her, not by the opulent beauty that she radiated when he first laid eyes on her but with fondness.
It’s not the Princess Regnant who’s fast asleep on her bed but Y/N. The same Y/N who bristles every time he’s in the room with her siblings. The same Y/N who straightens up her back and holds her chin up high when he cracks a joke to try and force a smile on her face.The same Y/N who looks away when he catches her eyeing him up as he hands over the sealed scroll sent by one of her brothers. It’s almost as if Harry is seeing her for the first time without any filters - except for the sheer white netted fabric that hangs around. She looks small without all the jewellery and silks. Hair raven and straight and long - longer than what he had anticipated - now that her hair has not been pinned up in a bun or bushed away from her face with intricate braids. She looks vulnerable - almost her age - a twenty one year old with a bare face that is not made up immaculately. She has dark circles under her eyes, and Harry deduces that it’s from reading all the books she has strewn over - opened - beside her on the satin sheets. Her lips are curled downwards; she frowns in her sleep and Harry has to try and fight the urge to reach over and smooth out the crinkle between her eyebrows.
He clears his throat, hoping she’ll wake up before he ends up touching her and landing himself in prison. She twitches in response, her steady deep breaths interrupted by a sharp inhale. He clears his throat again, louder this time, followed by, “Your royal highness.”
Y/N’s eyes flutter open, and she jolts up when she sees a tall figure standing beside her. “Who?” She asks, voice hoarse, eyes darting up over his broad chest.
“It’s me, Princess Y/N,” Harry answers.
“Mr. Styles.” Hand coming over to rub the sleep from her eye. “What are you doing here? In my chamber? You’re not allowed,” she states.
“I apologise, your majesty. I’ve been riding for five hours, ma’am. From the estate in the hills. Couldn’t risk having someone overhearing this for the sake of protocol,” he explains.
“So, was I right?” Y/N questions, shuffling out of her bed. Harry moves behind so she has the space to stand upright. “Are the governors convening?”
She gets no reply, making her flit her eyes up at his jade embers to find him staring at her body. Harry could make out the full curves of her breasts and hips with the flimsy white gown Y/N was wearing. Her nipples pebbled from the cold winds from the sea and peaks out the cotton fabric. She rolls her eyes, and snaps her fingers in front of his face to catch his attention. “I could have your eyes gouged out this instant, Harry Edward Styles! There are guards on the other side of this door.”
“Apologies, Princ-“
“You’re full of apologies tonight, aren’t you?” Y/N folds her arms, shielding her chest from his gaze.
“Sorry, Prin-“
Y/N laughs. “It’s far too late for formalities, Mr. Styles. Plus, they only apply to people who follow protocols and walk in through there,” she cocks her head to the carved wooden door. Considering you broke into my room by climbing my balcony, I reckon you can give it a rest. Call me Y/N.”
“Yes,” Harry nods. “Y/N,” he adds. Testing out the way her name rolls out of his mouth. He can’t help the way his dimples carve in his cheeks as the corner of his lips tug upward. I like it, he decides. He likes the way saying her name feels on his tongue, it’s rich and velvety and he wants to keep saying it again and again. “Please call me Harry.”
“Harry, tell me what you saw. Don’t leave out any details,” she orders, walking over to her desk.
Fucking shit, Harry shakes his head. How was he supposed to concentrate when the candles she was lighting only made the silhouette of her body more prominent. She could clearly see the swell of her bum and he’ll bet his entire fortune that she wasn’t wearing anything underneath other than that flimsy gown. He shamelessly lets his eyes rake up over her and his heart flutters when he meets her expenatant eyes, quill hovering over a parchment, urging him to vomit out what he knows.
“Yes. The Hill estate,” he clears his throat. “You’re right. Five governors held a secret meeting at midnight at the Bull temple. You know, the one that was destroyed last monsoon by a landslide.”
Y/N scoffs and lets out a chuckle of disbelief. “Of course, they pick the most obvious spot. Were you able to get a good look at who these governors are?”
“Yes. Do you want me to list them out?”
“Please,” she says, writing down each of the names that Harry listed. He walks closer to where she was hunched over, writing. Harry’s not surprised to see the elegance in her script.
“Impressive. Nice handwriting,” he comments.
“Hardly something to be impressed by, Harry.”
“Well, Y/N, it’s better than mine.”
“If you had tutors from all over the world, I’m sure your script will look just as impressive,” she adds.
“Of course.” He nods. “The meeting. The governors are unhappy with the decree to build schools using the tax money they’re collecting.”
“Of course they are,” she mumbles. “They’re all for taxes when they can use it to fatten themselves up but ask them to spend it on the children of their districts, they are suddenly unhappy with the new system implemented.”
“That’s not all.” Harry opens a silver box and pops a date into his mouth.
“Help yourself,” Y/N comments, shaking her head at his lack of etiquette. Harry’s face flushes with pink and he can feel the tips of his ears getting hot.
“It’s a long journey back here,” he tells her, avoiding her eyes in embarrassment and on cue his stomach rumbles.
Y/N eyes soften. “There are fruits in the basket. And here.” She walks over pulling out a glass jar filled with jujubes from the drawer by her bedside and brings it over to him.
“You have gummies in your drawer,” he notes, smirking at the half eaten jar of sugar coated coloured candy.
“I have a bit of a sweet tooth,” she tells him with a shy smile. He props himself on the table and she makes her way to her desk, watching him eat.
“Harry,” she calls out. “You said that’s not all,” she prompts.
“Your Uncle was there,” he tells her quietly, not wanting anyone to hear.
“My Uncle?” She asks, alarmed. “Can’t be.”
“I saw him, Y/N. He came in shrouded in a black cloak. He’s sired an offspring he said. Claimed that his son had a right to the throne. That’s as much as what was said before they dispersed.”
“You’re positive?”
“Are you implying that I’m being dishonest?”
“I’m not implying anything,” Y/N snaps. “I just want you to be sure.”
“I saw him with my own two eyes, Y/N. I was taken aback too. Both Princes speak of him fondly.”
“Seems like there’s a conspiracy afoot,” Y/N says, almost to herself.
“I’ll let Prince Vikaram know immediately,” he informs.
“Don’t. He’s hot headed. God knows he’ll come charging to the capital and stick a knife in my Uncle’s throat. I’ll take care of it myself.”
“What are you going to do?”
“That’s below your pay grade, spy. I’ll handle this myself. I’m heading to the capital tomorrow for a meeting with my father and the court. How long would it take for you to sail to Lanka alone?”
“Almost a week,” Harry answers.
“Okay. I want you to set sail to Lanka five days from now. I’ll have a scroll delivered to you at noon by the docks. Hand it over to Karthi. Father will want him back in the capital. Keep mum about this and you’ll be rewarded handsomely.”
Harry nods. “Don’t want gold coins this time. I want a house. Close to the sea. One with space for a yard.”
“I’ll see to it.”
“Thank you, Y/N. I’ll set sail five days from now to Lanka. It’ll also be nice to pay the old man a visit too.”
“Your father’s there?”
Harry nods.
“How is Merchant Styles? I heard he’s retired” Y/N asks.
“He took to Buddhist teachings. Become a proper monk now,” Harry chuckles.
Y/N laughs, one that’s laced with mockery.
“What’s so funny?” Harry asks, standing up abandoning the food.
“Nothing,” she gets out between peels of laughter, wiping her the tears that threaten to spill.
“With all due respect, Princess. Spit it the fuck out,” he huffs out in annoyance.
“It’s just funny. Your father practises a faith that preaches restraint of the senses as one of its precepts and then there’s you.” She bites down on her bottom lip to stop herself from breaking out into a fit of laughter.
“I don’t quite follow,” he crosses her arms.
“Of course you don’t,” she chuckles, straightening up and tilting her chin up.
“You always do that,” he points out. “Pretend you're better than me. It’s obvious you hate me when I’ve been nothing but friendly.”
“You’re not my friend. You’re Vikram’s friend. And Karthi’s. I don’t know you. And I know for a fact that I’m better than you,” YN's eyebrow raises in arrogance.
“What makes you so sure?” Harry takes a step towards her.
“Because, Harry Styles, you’re the proverbial whore of the town. I don’t go around screwing everything with a pulse,” she smiles arrogantly at him.
“How did you come upon this piece of information?” He asks her.
“News travels fast, especially with handmaidens. So, that’s why it’s funny. Your father practises self-restraint and you are on a mission to contract a venereal disease.”
“Sounds like someone’s projecting,” he says, voice laced with honey.
“I’m not projecting anything.”
“Sounds like what you’re saying is that you’re jealous that I have the confidence to partake in intercourse and you’re a bumbling virgin-“
“I’ve read all of the volumes of the Kamasutra. I know my way around when I need to engage in coitus for reproduction,” she cuts him off.
“Oh, sweet sweet Princess,” he whispers, using her title condescendingly. “Sex is more than just reproduction.” He strides towards her.
“It is. That’s what the textbook says: It's a womanly duty to service the man and bear his children. It’s sacred,” she insists, taking a step back.
“I’m surprised for someone with such progressive morals… Your view on pleasure seems archaic,” he takes a step toward her again.
“Books do not lie, spy. They have the whole truth.” She steps back again, bumping into the edge of her teakwood desk, trapping herself.
“What do your precious books say about the way your body sparkles when you reach a satisfying end?” He goads, taking a final step forward and invading her personal space.
“You are forbidden to come this close to me, Harry.” Y/N reminds him in futility. Feeling his hard chest against her, thighs rubbing up against him, she can feel his hard muscles straining against her and his warmth radiate, crawling its way into her skin.
“Call out to the guards then,” he reminds her, dropping his head down to nose at her temple.
“I will,” her voice is feeble. “You’ll be cut into pieces and thrown in the ocean.”
“I’ll take my chances,” he smirks, as his lips circuit down the shell of her ear. “I don’t see you telling me to stop.” His tongue laves at her lobe, teeth coming to clamp down gently and tug.
Y/N squeaks feeling his action go down straight to her core. “I know how to defend myself.”
“I don’t doubt it for a second.” He stops, pulling back to look at her. “You don’t need to fight me,” his voice rings with sincerity. “Just tell me to stop and I will, Y/N.” He looks at her, searching her face for an answer.
“What else?” She murmurs, after a few moments, looking up into his eyes.
“Hmm?”
“What else? Things that haven’t been mentioned in books,” she clarifies.
His eyes shine with mischief as he simpers, dimples dazzling. “Where do I start, Y/N…” he trails off, fully pressing himself against her chest. God, she’s so responsive, he marvels at the way her chest heaves against his, heart stammering a staccato against his own racing heart. She’s soft and warm and she smells heavenly. His lips find its way to the base of her jaw, dragging up and leaving open mouth kisses on her smooth skin. “When you find someone desirable, you feel the heat pool in your belly and spread like wildfire across every nerve ending of your body.” He kisses her cheek, a hand going to intertwine with hers.
“Have you felt that?” He asks, feeling hot puffs of her breath against his neck. Y/N shakes her head. “It’s not very noble to lie, Princess,” he whispers, lips moving against the column of her throat. “I see the way you fuck me with your eyes.”
“I do not-“ her voice cuts off as Harry suckles on her jugular, feeling her hammering pulse underneath his lips. She lets out a whimper that goes straight to his fattening cock. Y/N’s mouth falls open dragging in breaths of fresh air, her free hand bracing against the desk to hold herself upright. “I do not fuck you with my eyes.”
“Really?” He says popping off, his calloused fingers come to caress the agitated spot. He was careful not to leave a hickey but he loved the way her skin turned a baby pink in response to his ministrations. “I guess I must have imagined all those times you looked me up and down?”
“I guess you did, Harry,” her chest heaves as she tries to maintain composure. It wasn’t right to be doing this with Harry. It wasn’t right to be doing this with anyone outside the sanctity of a marital bed but it’s exhilarating, breaking rules. She’s not sure if it’s Harry or it’s just the thrill of doing something that might get her in trouble with her parents. They trust her. Trusted her enough to let her move out of the capital and to the port town with her grandmother because she wishes to live by the beach. And here she was enjoying herself with a plebian. A foreigner. A spy. She met him when she was eighteen as her brother’s friend and he was handsome. Chocolate brown curls, smatter of freckles on the bridge of his nose, a perfect smile, dimples, and an alluring set of mossy green irises. She’s heard stories and rumours of his sexual escapades and as much as she detested hearing those stories, she detested the fact that she’s been comparing the princes who had come to ask for her hand in marriage to him. But all she could think of was how strong his arm was wrapped around her waist, pulling her even closer to him.
“Stubborn,” he smirks up. “See what you do to me?” He presses his hard cock against her pelvic bone, watching the way her eyes darken as she realises, the sight smirk of hers doesn't go unnoticed by him. “You’ve been driving me insane since the day I saw you on your eighteenth birthday. Went back to my quarters and touched myself to the thought of you,” he confesses. “You’ve been in my dreams ever since.” He cups her cheek, thumb moving back and forth across her lips.
“Are you going to kiss me, Harry?” She asks, looking up at him.
“Have you kissed anyone before?” He questions.
She shakes her head. “My handmaidens have kissed the people who were courting them. They told me how to do it and helped me practise on fruit.”
“That so?” He smiles, lips ghosting her Cupid’s bow. “You know kissing is pretty easy, Y/N,” he declares. “But it’s also powerful” he tells her, lips moving against hers. “‘A kiss may ruin a human life.’”
“Oscar Wilde,” she says, recognising his quote, surprised by his knowledge of poetry. She gets on her toes, pulling her intertwined hand out of Harry’s, and running it down his chest, she can feel the way his muscles ripple underneath the fabric of his shirt. Her chest heaves, belly clenching in anticipation as he lowers tilts his head to the side, noses squished and her mouth opens in anticipation.
He presses his forehead against hers savouring the moment. “And I’m sure that if I start kissing you now, Princess… I might never be able to stop,” he tells her, breathing in her intoxicating sweet floral scent. He concedes by kissing her eyelids and he’s fighting the urge to not run his hands down her body and up her thighs to see if she’s wet for him, but he steps away wanting to be respectful.
Y/N can’t hide the disappointment in her face when backs away from her. His hands come to cup her cheeks, smearing a tender kiss on her forehead. “Never met anyone who has me on a chokehold, Y/N,” he confesses. “I shall bid my goodbye.” He brings her hand to his mouth and kisses her palm, pressing it to his cheek.
“See you Harry,” she smiles. “You’ll be given the scroll at the docks at noon five days from now,” she informs, standing upright; snapping back into the person she was before being pushed up against the desk by Harry.
“Princess Y/N,” he bows, popping a piece of jujube in his mouth before making his way to her balcony. He gives her a salute one last time before climbing down the tower during forbidden hours, like he always does. But this time, he’s rappelling down the side of the stone structure with butterflies in his tummy.
part two
LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK SO FAR!
#harry styles#harry styles imagine#harry styles one shot#harry styles x reader#harry styles fluff#harry styles smut#harry styles x y/n#harry styles y/n#harry styles yn#harry styles x you#spy!harry#princess!reader#princess!y/n#one direction#fishnets-fingers#come say hi#please leave tags if you reblog#harry styles angst#forbidden hours
790 notes
·
View notes
Text
So this is love?
I do not own the characters or art
Content: Yandere!Knight!Sebek Zigvolt x Princess!Yuu/F!Reader, mentions of Prince!Silver x Princess!Yuu/F!Reader
TW: Yandere themes of course and slight mentions of death
note: I wrote this for a class project so I was limited lol. I wish I had more time and could have put more gore in it, sad day. BTW it's in Sebek's POV
word count: 1429
Here I am, Sebek Zigvolt, a knight of the Bair Valley kingdom and lover to Princess Yuu, walking to her sleeping quarters. Oh, I just can’t wait to see her beautiful face! I clutch the flowers in my hand and smooth my green hair back before opening her door. “Yuu!~ I brought you a surprise!~” I pause as I look upon the empty room. I step inside inspecting the room, it seems like someone left in a hurry or was taken in a hurry with objects out of place and thrown on the ground. “No, no, no, no, she can’t be gone! Where is Yuu!?” My booming voice bounces off the walk as I rush through all the places she could be. I search the halls of the palace in a panic. My heart beats against my ribcage rapidly as I am unable to find my beloved Yuu.
I stop in my tracks when I overhear other knights talking of how Prince Silver of the Moonlight Kingdom had taken the princess on a trip. “Prince Silver sure is handsome, I bet the princess will pick him as her husband.” The knight speaks in such a casual tone, of course he doesn’t know how horrible Prince Silver is! He would never be a fit man to marry Princess Yuu! “I heard the reason the prince is named that is because of his silver hair-” I drown out the conversation as their talk continues of that horrible Prince Silver. It seems like I’ll have to take a trip to Moonlight kingdom myself.
At night I planned to sneak out and take my horse out of town. I saddle up Romeo and get on. I named my horse Romeo since Yuu’s personal horse was named Juliet, silly to name the horses after characters in a love story I know. I didn’t pack much since the Moonlight kingdom is only in a day of travel. I tug the reins and Romeo begins to move. “Don’t worry love, I'll be there soon.” I whisper to myself so the other knights wouldn’t hear me leaving.
It takes time but I finally arrive at one of the towns in Moonlight Kingdom. I pay for a room at an inn and put Romeo in the stables. This town didn’t seem that bad at night, of course there were those few drunken fools running around like any town would have at the dead of night. Though I didn’t see any shady folk I kept my hand on my sword just in case. For now I’ll rest in my bed and wait till morning to investigate where Yuu could be. “She can’t be far, she just left today….” I think out loud as I slowly drift into a slumber.
I wake up to birds singing at my window, groaning as I get up. “I hate those annoying chirps!” I grab my small dagger from my bag and slam the window open in an attempt to rid the small bird from the area. The small green feathers of the bird are stained with its red blood, the small screeches fill my ears. I flick the bird off my blade, the bird falling to the ground twitching. I wipe my dagger with my handkerchief. “What a shame, such a pretty green. Yuu would have loved it.” I throw on my tunic. I wouldn’t want to draw attention to myself with my armor, it clearly had the symbol of the Bair Valley kingdom.
Walking outside I look around at the people walking around. They all seemed quite cheery and excited. The streets were decorated and filled with singing and dancing people. Carts filled with food and crafted goods. I grab a man’s arm to stop him and ask him what’s going on. “You sir! What’s this festival for?” The man looks at me confused. “Don’t you know? It’s a festival for the prince and his soon to be wife!” I release the man’s arm in shock. The prince was forcing Yuu to marry him already! I have to move quickly! Before the man could say anything else I dash away.
I make my way to the grand castle, many guards roaming the area. I examine the tall wall blocking entry. The bricks didn’t seem too difficult to climb. Putting my foot in one of the cracks I begin to climb the stone wall. Putting my hand on the top of the wall I hoist myself up over the wall. I look into the small garden beyond the wall. My feet hit the soft grass with a thump. Perhaps I should pick some flowers for my darling? I lean down and pluck a few lilies. “These will be a perfect surprise for Yuu” I mumble to myself as I sneak towards one of the windows to the castle. Peering into the window I don’t spot any servants or guards walking the halls. I push the window up and carefully climb inside.
I creep up stairs and through hallways until I hear a familiar voice singing a small tune. “I’m coming, my love!” I whisper out to myself. I push the wooden door open silently so as not to be detected. There I finally see my Darling Yuu! I watch as she brushes her soft, long, black hair, gods I bet it smells delicious. I step forward. “Dear, is that you?” I hug her waist from behind. “Oh yes it is!” I squeak out happily, I’ve waited so long to hold her in my arms. I feel her freeze in my arms and I drop the lilies in concern. “Is everything okay, Darling?” I feel her push me away and my heart sinks.
“GET AWAY FROM ME YOU CREEP!” She looks so angry but scared, what happened to make her feel this way? “What do you mean darling? I came to save you!” I step forward but stop when I feel a stinging sensation on my cheek. I reach up and cradle the cheek. She had slapped me! Why would she slap me, her knight in shining armor! “Silver! Guards! Help! He followed us her-” Before she could continue screaming her head off I cover her mouth. “Stop yelling! They’re not here to save you, I am! Why can’t you understand I came here for you! I love you!” I tried but couldn’t hold back the tears from falling from my green eyes. Yuu started to fight against my grip. “This isn’t how it was supposed to go! I was meant to save you and you were meant to fall for me! Why can’t you get that! Just love me!” I feel my heart sink even more when Yuu’s bedroom door swings open revealing the man I despised.
I let go of Yuu and push her on the bed so she wouldn’t get hurt. “Get away from her, she obviously doesn't want you here.” Silver glares at me. “No! She loves me and I love her!” I draw my dagger from my pocket. “I do not want to fight you, old friend. We can still get you the help you need…just further away.” I clench my fist at the idea Silver proposes. “I can’t leave her! I won’t go anywhere!” I swing my dagger at Silver but he dodges. He grabs my hand trying to disarm me but I use the opportunity to knock him into the floor.
Though the dagger is knocked out of my hands I use them to choke him. “I can’t let you have her! I can’t, I can't, I can't!” My eyes widen as I feel a sharp pain in my chest. I look down to see blood dripping down my tunic, I look behind me to see Yuu holding my newly bloodied dagger. “D-darling, why?” My lips quiver as I let go of Silver and fall to the ground. “You were hurting him! I just-” My body starts to feel cold, everything seems to quiet now. I grab out to Yuu and smear my blood on her white dress as she falls to her knees. This isn’t such a bad ending for me, is it? I have my darling by my side as my life leaves my body. This is all I could have asked for when it came to my death. My vision starts to fade out. This is it for me, I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you Darling. “Goodbye, Darling….” My body goes limp as my vision goes black. I can’t hear anything anymore, my body no longer has warmth. So is this love?
================================================
Goodbye~! Drink lots of water and get lots of rest dear readers!
#twisted wonderland#disney twisted wonderland#twst#disney twst#sebek zigvolt#sebek zigvolt x reader#twst sebek#i live laugh love sebek#yandere sebek zigvolt#yandere sebek x reader#yandere twisted wonderland#twst silver x reader#silver x reader
85 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hi Jes!! I’m sorry to hear you’re not feeling well 🥺 if I could I would deliver soup to you!!! ✨💕
If you’re up for it, I’d love to hear your thoughts on ✿ ■ ♡ with Mephistopheles 🥹
You're so sweet! 💕 Thank you! :3
■ - Bedroom/house/living quarters headcanon
Mephisto's bedroom is on the second floor of his parent's large estate. In the house's left wing, he has a small cluster of rooms including his bedroom, private bathroom, and office/personal library. It's far enough away from his brother's rooms that they have their own space and privacy, but he's close enough that he can hear his brother call for him (a regular occurrence when he was younger and would have bad dreams). Mephisto's linens and décor encompass the dark, rich colours that remind him of the forest nearby where he likes to ride his horses: dark browns, greens and burgundy. For luxurious accents, he prefers onyx, crystal, or silver.
♡ - Romantic headcanon
He is eager to share his interests with his beloved. He would love to take you on a horse ride and have a picnic at one of the meadows near his home. If you're hesitant about the idea, he does everything he can to make it appealing to you: he has a custom set of riding equipment prepared for you including boots, jacket and breeches that look suspiciously like his own, and a helmet. He'll encourage you to ride your own horse, giving you as many lessons as necessary to ensure your safety and comfort, but if you can't be convinced, he'll place you on his horse instead and take the reins for both of you.
(the nsfw headcanon is below the read more link)
✿ - Sex headcanon
Mephisto enjoys the thrill of fucking you at RAD. The Newspaper Club office is one of his preferred locations when your alluring presence and enticing glances throughout the day are finally too much for him to ignore. Joining the club to be close to him, or simply visiting him when you know he'll be working late on a project by himself, provides many scandalous opportunities for him to indulge in a little depravity with you. He leans against the heavy wooden door after he pulls you inside, tendrils of loose hair falling over his forehead while his breath hitches, and watches as you sink to your knees and reach for his belt. Perhaps he swipes his work carelessly to the floor while he bends you over the desk where he grinds against you while his fingers dig into the soft plush of your hips and thighs. Better yet, maybe he guides you onto his lap while he sits back in one of the leather wingback chairs. He's merciless as he teases you with not-enough friction of his thigh rubbing between your legs. Your gasps and whimpered pleas for more are finally satisfied by his nimble fingers, warm and fragrant from the buttery leather gloves he wears, slipping beneath the waistband of your uniform.
random headcanon asks
52 notes
·
View notes
Text
“You bought a house?”
“Actually, I bought the land. I built the house.”
To call Zelda flabbergasted would be an understatement. After having been thrust backward in time, fighting and losing an entire war, and spending the last several thousand years in a dream-state as an immortal dragon, she had thought that nothing would be able to surprise her anymore.
But then, there’s Link.
The house is blocky in the style of Hudson construction, not unlike a set of childrens’ play bricks that have been assembled together neatly into two stories, and is painted a green that almost matches the lush grass on which it sits.
Her heart sinks in a way that it hasn’t since that day that Rauru made his sacrifice. Of course Link would want a home of his own, he’d technically gifted her the house in Hateno. They’d been in close quarters by necessity for a long time, never affording him his own space. It makes sense.
Still, she has to suppress the anxious quiver in her voice when she asks, “So, you intend to move here? It is lovely, although I didn’t realize you’d wanted to settle here.”
Link merely blinks at her. “You wanted to open another branch of the school in Tarrey Town.”
Wait.
What?
“You- I-” she stutters. Frantically, her mind tries in vain to piece together the evidence in front of her, the conclusion somewhat obvious, and yet strangely unknowable to her as her gaze darts back and forth from the house to Link. “You built this for…?”
Before she can formulate the rest of the words, he gestures for her to follow as he walks toward the front door. Dazed, she follows.
The inside is cozy, although certainly more spacious than their house in Hateno by a long shot. A fully-stocked kitchen and gallery sit just off the main room, which is furnished with a table and chair set. She notes that he’s taken up one of the walls as a weapons display, and finally her eyes fall on a short passage that leads to the bedroom, tucked away in the back corner. Just one, she tries not to observe. (After all, in Hateno, it had been necessary for them to bunk together due to the small size of the house. But here…)
She swallows and finds her mouth is dry. “Link… it’s lovely…”
“There’s more.”
She turns. “More?”
Her knight has never been particularly expressive. It caused her grief in their younger years, her mind angsting away about what could be going on behind those passive blue eyes. But right now he looks… electrified. He smiles and she realizes his expression looks suspiciously like nervous excitement.
He gestures once more and she follows him out a back door, around a paddock that had been installed behind the house (“When did my horse get here? I’ve missed her!”) and eventually around to a set of stairs that lead up to what seems to be a detached second floor. She frowns at the oddity, curiosity only growing as they walk up the stairs.
Hand on the knob, he looks at her once more with that same electric expression, and seemingly psyches himself up before opening the upstairs door. She steps inside and hears her own tiny intake of breath as she lays eyes on the room.
160 notes
·
View notes
Text
The shapes a bright container can contain!
IV. “This is a carriage house?” Hermione asked after first standing silent for a good two minutes, a length of time that seemed far longer when a witch was known to hurl herself into a squid-infested loch in early winter.
“You speak as if you have an extensive experience of real estate,” Draco retorted.
“It’s quite a bit more house than I’d imagined,” she said. To exceed Hermione Granger’s imagination was a feat and Draco decided he’d follow the Muggle adage and begin as he meant to go on.
“Did you expect it to still contain carriages? Or horses? Tack?” Draco said. “Did you want a pony? That could be arranged, though I think an Arabian or an Abraxan hybrid—"
“No. Of course not,” she said. “But this is quite lovely. So thoughtfully appointed.”
“Thank you,” he said.
“Your wife had exquisite taste,” Hermione said.
“Yes, she did,” Draco replied. “You can see it in the main house. This was my project.”
“Oh, I see. I didn’t mean to imply,” she broke off. Somehow, this was what flustered her, this bit of gauche maladroitness, though she was staying in the home of a former Death Eater, a man who still bore the brand of a genocidal maniac on his forearm. She didn’t blush however; her eyes only widened and she seemed to lose what color she had. Draco decided he’d look after her well enough blushing became an option again.
“It’s all right. Why don’t I give you a tour of the place, get you settled,” he said. He wanted to offer her his arm, to feel her hand on him and keep her steady, but he suspected she would actually be as offended as she’d imagined he might just have been. He walked closer to her than would ordinarily be considered polite and kept the pace slow.
“This is the sitting room,” he said, gesturing around them. Two large chesterfields upholstered in dark green velvet sat on either side of a coffee-table strewn with periodicals and some art books, a bowl hewn from the base of a cypress at the center, filled with green apples. Squashy silk pillows in an array of jewel tones were tucked at either end of the sofas, a cashmere throw draped in a corner. A pair of club chairs bracketed the large fireplace, and an ancient Persian rug was underfoot. Long windows were surrounded by bookshelves, the bookshelves full of neatly arranged books that appeared much-handled.
“It’s lovely. Looks very comfortable,” Hermione said. He beckoned her to follow him as he walked across the space and miraculously, she followed, her wand-hand empty.
“This is the kitchen. The table seats six, though it’s easy enough to enlarge it if you wanted to have more people over. You should have as many people over as you like,” Draco said. The table was a generously sized oval made of beautifully patinaed mahogany and he thought she would have preferred something sturdy and practical, a scrubbed oak. She’d want to set it with mismatched plates, a potluck with dishes randomly assembled or better yet, Indian takeaway with plenty of samosas.
“Is there a Transfiguration spell that preserves the wood better?” Hermione asked.
“There’s a leaf. Though any standard Transfiguration you’d cast would be fine. It’s not a priceless antique,” Draco said.
“It looks like a Sheraton,” Hermione remarked. “I suppose that’s not priceless to you. It’s just Muggle.”
“It’s a fake. A fake Sheraton,” Draco said, shrugging, trying not to feel flustered and failing. “I like the look of Georgian furniture, but I didn’t want anything that would feel like a museum piece. I had enough of that, growing up. Except that that furniture was also cursed half the time.”
“Half, huh?”
“Closer to three-quarters in the North Wing. Dreadful place and you can’t even burn it to the ground,” he said.
“A pity. I guess. This is the kitchen proper?” she said, moving past him into the room with its soapstone worktops, slate floors, sage green painted cupboards fitted as neatly as a ship’s galley, though there was plenty of space. A marble slab for pastry, a great hulking Aga prepared to cook a roast and warm the whole house, and tucked behind—
“That’s a butler’s pantry,” Draco said, as she poked her head around to peer in the narrow space.
“You thought this place needed a butler’s pantry? Is there a butler?” she asked, then paused, a look of bemused horror on her face. “Good Lord, is there a butler?”
“There’s no butler and no House-elves either, before you get yourself worked into a tizzy,” Draco said. He’d have liked to have Tizzy herself serving, earning the ample wage they’d negotiated, but he’d known that no matter how comprehensive the benefits, Hermione would be distressed to be waited upon by a creature in a toweling jumpsuit, unable to convince herself she wasn’t taking advantage. “I thought butler’s pantry sounded better than glorified closet. I will now pause to allow you to make some comment along the lines of me being a posh git.”
“You’ve made that unnecessary now,” Hermione said, horror passed, smiling again.
“There’s a butler’s pantry because I needed a defined space I could configure for electricity to work. Neville said you have very strong opinions about the Panis tosti charm—”
“It’s shite,” she interrupted. “Utter bollocks. It’s a travesty to call what it does toast and everyone knows it and won’t admit it. Molly Weasley has five different toasting forks because the charm is such shite—”
“As I said, Very Strong Opinions, duly noted. Also, he said you have slightly less Strong Opinions on toasting forks, I believe they hearken too much to the Edwardian period for your taste, and so I had to make sure there was some part of the house where you could make a proper piece of toast in a toaster,” Draco explained. He opened the little hatch that concealed the toaster. “There’s also a charging station for any devices that need it.”
“Oh my goodness,” she said.
“You probably won’t short it all out if you cast a spell, but I’d try to keep it to a minimum and no wandless. When you channel magic through your hands directly, it warps the wards I put up,” he said.
“You did a lot of work,” she said. “Went to a lot of trouble.”
“What part of looking after properly was obscure to a witch of your erudition and exactitude?” Draco said. She’d think he was teasing and he was but he also meant it, especially the praise, which he’d been told to expect her to shrug off.
She shrugged.
“You didn’t have to,” she said.
“I only did what I thought I must. What I thought you would do, without a second thought, if you were the one taking care of someone,” Draco said.
“I’ve never gotten Harry a toaster,” she said.
“But he doesn’t ever seem to miss all the Mugglish equipment he grew up with. He was happy to leave it all behind,” Draco said.
“He does love everything Wizarding,” Hermione said. “Even Celestina Warbeck.”
Draco could not help his grimace then, but Hermione gave him a look of the purest camaraderie and appreciation, suggesting his expression had not put her off in the slightest.
“I shan’t say a word. About his taste in music at least,” he said. “There’s a water closet just at the back, before the conservatory. We might explore there a bit or would you rather see the sleeping quarters upstairs?”
He spent a considerable amount of time mulling over how he’d mention where she would sleep to minimize any awkwardness, knowing he didn’t want to utter the word bed but that she’d immediately pick up on any verbal contortions to avoid it.
“Did you have Neville to see to the conservatory?” she asked, prescient. Longbottom had spent a week and the entire budget Draco had given him, but the results were lovely and marvelously fragrant.
“Yes,” Draco answered.
“Then I’ll have an idea of what it’s like already and I’ll enjoy finding out how I’m wrong later,” she said. “Take me upstairs.”
#dramione#comfort fic#fluffy#angst#hermione x draco#draco POV#who doesn't love a house tour?#Hermione on Toast#chapter four#draco is very attentive to detail
18 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Firebird - Chapter 6
Pairing: Prince Paul (Catherine the Great) x OFC, Fairytale AU
Summary: When Paul, a spoiled young prince, spots a strange bird in the forest near his palace, he impulsively chases after it, hoping to both escape from and prove himself to his disapproving mother. Thus he is plunged into an exhilarating adventure across a magical realm populated by enchanted princesses, dangerous monsters, and powerful wizards, an adventure that may change him more than he can ever imagine.
Chapter warning: none
Chapter word count: 3.4k
Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5
Chapter 6 - The Tsar's Quest
At close quarters, Tsar Afron's castle was as sumptuous as it was from afar. Though it was constructed of wood like the rest of the town, the carvings were a lot more intricate, draping like lace along the roofs, running down columns and banisters, surrounding windows and doors like decorations on a marzipan cake, and painted so they stood out against the rich brown log walls and shone even in the twilight. Every roof peak was topped with a gilded weathervane or an ornament in the shape of a horse. The inside was even more resplendent, with walls and ceilings painted in the brightest shades or covered in the richest tapestries, all illuminated by the light from hundreds of gold chandeliers. And everywhere was the image of horses, in every configuration and pose, carved into the wood or painted in gold. Paul, used as he was to the splendor of the palaces of Saint Petersburg, had to remember to close his mouth lest he drooled at all this opulence and looked even more like a fool than he already did.
Not that he had much of a chance to take it in. After Zhara's demonstration on the pasture, the soldiers wasted no time bringing them to Tsar Afron, and now he had to scurry to keep up with their long strides down the many corridors of the castle. To make things worse, the soldiers had been too frightened to rebind Zhara's hands, but had neglected to untie him, so he was forced to march with his hands behind his back like a common criminal. He didn't dare complain. He could feel Zhara's anger coming off her like a heat wave, and he was afraid that wave would burn him to a crisp on the spot if he so much as opened his mouth.
He had been a fool, he knew. Yes, he could try to blame Zhara for not trying harder to warn him, or even blame the horse for moving toward him first, but at the end of the day, he was the one that had decided to steal the horse. He was the one that had gotten them into this mess. Somehow, in this strange land with its strange, bewildering rules, Paul was finding it increasingly difficult to ignore his own fault.
The commander stopped in front of a door covered in so much carving and gilding that it hurt Paul's eyes, and instructed them to wait. Zhara seemed to have simmered down a little, so Paul cleared his throat and turned to her, hoping to get back into her good graces with something he'd never uttered—an apology. "Listen, I'm—"
"No, you listen," she interrupted, a finger pressed into his chest, hot enough to burn through his shirt. "Once we are in front of the tsar, do not speak. Do not make a sound. I don't want to hear so much as a peep from you. I shall handle the talking, and if you still wish to see your precious Rus' again, you shall follow my lead. Do you understand?"
Paul was quite certain his shirt was starting to smoke and scorch. There was nothing else he could do but nod. At that moment, the door opened, and they were ushered into the throne room. It was more magnificent than the rest of the castle combined, all crimson walls painted with gold vines, gilded window frames, and, on a raised platform, framed by a red velvet tapestry, stood a pure gold throne flanked by two gold horses, where Tsar Afron was seated.
For all the equine imagery around the castle, Paul had expected the tsar to be something of a Tartar, but the man he saw was rather weedy and colorless, with pale skin, thin hair of an indeterminate shade, a downturned mouth that gave him the look of a sulky child, and eyes that were watery blue under one light and gray under another. Those eyes squinted inquisitively as Paul and Zhara were led into the room. Zhara dropped a curtsey. Paul, following her lead, sketched an awkward bow.
"Lady Zhara," Afron said in a wheezing voice. "Forgive me this rather unfortunate welcome, but I was told that you were a fugitive..."
"No, my lord, it is I that must beg forgiveness," Zhara said. "What you heard is not true"—and here she gave a brief summary of the story she'd told Paul and of their goal to find Baba Yaga. "We were on our way to ask for your help," she continued, "but my—companion here was worried that the horse would not take to us and decided to introduce himself." That was a rather clever way of explaining their presence in the pasture without admitting that they had been trying to steal the horse. "It was an honest mistake. We never meant to disrespect you."
Afron let out a deep sigh. "I, too, have heard disturbing reports from Arthania that match your story," he said. "Had you come to me first, I would have done my utmost to help you put an end to your brother's reign of terror." Paul could feel Zhara's glare boring a hole into the side of his head, and he hung his head in shame.
"But," the tsar continued, "the truth of the matter is, you did disrespect me, by entering my land and putting your hand on my most valuable property without permission. These trespasses ought to be severely punished."
Paul wanted to shout, The horse touched me first!, but he remembered Zhara's warning and kept his mouth shut.
"However, out of respect for your late honorable father, I shall excuse you, if you perform a certain service for me." The tsar said this in an oily voice that reminded Paul of the way the soldiers had leered at Zhara, causing him to bristle. Well, if Afron insisted on behaving the same way as his men, then Paul would have to speak up, regardless of Zhara's wrath. He would allow no one to talk to a lady that way.
Zhara asked warily, "And what service would that be, my lord?"
"Bring me back Tsarevna Elena the Fair."
Afron's request didn't come as a complete surprise to Paul. It was how it happened in the tale. The question was, did it happen this way because it was in the tale, or because he, knowing the tale, had inadvertently caused it to happen...? It hurt his head to think about it, so Paul stopped thinking about it.
Zhara frowned. "Tsarevna Elena of Bryansk, you mean?"
"Do you know of any other tsarevna of the same name?" Afron replied, his eyes turning dreamy as he looked at a spot somewhere in the distance. "For so long I have loved her with my whole body and soul, but her mother, Tsarina Kostroma, is proud and rejects my suit. The Horse with the Golden Mane will be yours, if you can bring me Elena's hand in marriage."
The lustful look on the tsar's face made Paul feel quite sick, and he saw Zhara's lips curl in barely concealed distaste. Then she set her mouth in a resigned line. "As you wish, my lord," she said, inclining her head. "If you would be so kind as to provide us with some supplies, we shall be on our way presently."
"Presently?" Afron said, surprised. Paul glanced at Zhara in dismay. It had been several long days, and he was rather hoping for some rest and proper food. Well, he supposed he should have thought of that before deciding to steal the horse.
"Time is of the essence, my lord," Zhara said. "We cannot delay."
"Very well," Afron said. "I shall have my servants prepare for your trip."
He clapped, and a string of servants appeared to replace the soldiers in leading Paul and Zhara out. Once they were safely away, Paul held Zhara back, out of the servants' earshot.
"What's the rush?" he asked. "I would've liked to sleep in a bed for one night at least."
"You don't deserve to sleep in a bed," she hissed, not looking at him. "You deserve to rot in Afron's dungeon!"
"Fine, leave me here then! I'm done trailing after you!"
"Perhaps I should."
She sounded rather serious, which made Paul stop short in his track. He hadn't considered the possibility that she might really leave him, and it filled him with trepidation. She was the only one who knew he was a stranger in this world; what would happen if he angered a leshy or a rusalka or one of the many strange creatures that roamed this land and she wasn't there to warn or shield him?
"You're not going to, are you?" he said plaintively. "I know I should have listened to you..."
She turned and examined his sheepish face for a moment or two, her eyes softening.
"Well, I guess someone ought to keep an eye on you," she said. Paul gave her an uncertain smile, which, strangely enough, seemed to fluster her. "Just so you wouldn't wander around trying to be a hero!" she snapped, before turning and following the servants down the corridor.
Despite Zhara's refusal to stay the night, Afron still insisted on treating them as honored guests. Paul soon found himself luxuriating in a hot bath in the tsar's personal bathhouse. It was heavenly, except for a startling moment when he again caught a glimpse of another green-skinned creature covered in birch leaves, but it quickly disappeared. He then had his shoulder wound redressed with some sort of herbal poultice and was given a new suit of clothes in the old style, before Peter the Great introduced European fashion to Russia, made of the finest fabric and beautifully embroidered. His own clothes were cleaned, and even his wig was carefully brushed and set aside for him. Paul hesitated to put it back on—it did not go with the old-fashioned clothes, making him look like the Fool of his mother's court—but he felt naked without it, so he wore it anyway.
"Wow" was all Zhara uttered when he rejoined her outside the dining room. The bath seemed to have lifted her mood. She had changed into nicer clothes as well—a snow-white chemise, a red sarafan embroidered in gold, a gold headdress studded with pearls and rubies, and a string of coral beads around her slender neck. But for all the regal air they gave her, her sarcastic, impish grin remained the same.
"Stop it," Paul said sullenly, tugging at the upstanding collar of his shirt. "I look like an imbecile."
"No, you look like you would fit right in with the Lukomorians," she said, her eyes twinkling. "Even with that ridiculous wig." Her teasing only made Paul scowl and ram the wig more tightly onto his head, out of contrariness.
They entered the dining room and sat down to a scrumptious supper. It was nothing like the feasts that Paul was used to in his mother's court—the food was simpler and heartier—but the taste was incomparable. He was so busy stuffing his face that it took him a while to notice Afron was asking him something. He looked up, bewildered.
"I say, are you a knight at the court of the late Tsar Artyom?" the tsar said.
Paul gave Zhara a panicked look, not knowing how to answer.
"No," she smoothly interjected. "He's—a court jester."
"A court jester!" Afron exclaimed, looking rather offended at having to share his table with a fool. Paul, too, stared daggers at Zhara and opened his mouth to protest. She gave his leg a swift kick under the table.
"Yes, my father's favorite," she said. "And he has been most loyal and attentive to me since my flight from Arthania, so I thank you, my lord, for rewarding him with your kindness and generosity."
Afron's thunderous expression dissipated, and once more, Paul had to reluctantly admit that Zhara's quick wit had saved them.
"That explains his outlandish dress and manners then," Afron said. "But, my lady, will you be safe traveling with a jester as your only companion? I am quite worried for your safety."
Though clearly not worried enough to offer your soldiers as protection, Paul noted.
"Oh no, I trust him with my life," Zhara was quick to say. Paul glanced at her to see if she was speaking in earnest or not, but her face was turned toward the tsar, and her side profile gave nothing away. He looked down again, feeling rather hollow. It was likely that she said that simply to avoid raising Afron's suspicion.
After supper, Zhara insisted on departing right away. Afron saw them to the castle's front door, where their mounts and supplies were waiting. Upon seeing the animals, Paul almost shouted out in indignation and had to bite his tongue to keep quiet. Zhara, who seemed to see nothing wrong with them, curtseyed to Afron, thanked him, and promised to return soon with Elena the Fair's hand in marriage. They then mounted the animals and rode out of the fortress, under the light of a full moon.
It was only when they had gone far enough that Paul made his displeasure known.
"Donkeys!" he exclaimed. "I bet he has a stable full of horses, and he gave us two donkeys! What a miserly little—"
"Donkeys are perfectly good animals," Zhara said calmly. "Besides, horses are no good for us where we're going."
That sounded ominous. "Why? Where are we going?"
"There." She nodded toward the mountain range in the distance. "Perun's Crown." Paul had only given it a passing glance that afternoon, and now, his stomach dropped to see how far it spread out, a veritable wall of silver and crystal under the moonlight, stretching as far as the eyes could see, with peaks so high they were lost in the clouds, and so steep they were like knives cutting through the night sky.
"Elena the Fair lives up those mountains?" Paul asked, his voice coming out squeakier than he'd intended.
"No, don't be silly. Her kingdom is behind those mountains. But the quickest way is to go through them. And these donkeys are experts in crossing mountains. So stop your complaining and keep up."
***
It took them three days to reach the mountains. By the second day, Paul realized that Zhara had been right about the donkeys. The ground was becoming rougher, with almost no discernible path, yet the donkeys picked their way through the rocks as surefooted as walking through a level field.
Though Zhara still took care to hide under Paul's cloak during the day, they met very few people on their way. During the first two days, they traveled with some convoys of merchants, but one by one, these convoys all turned right as they neared the mountains and followed the river instead, and they were on their own.
"It may be easier traveling along the river, but for us, it is safer this way," Zhara said when they stopped on the second night by a rock outcrop, the mountains looming above them like some giant, ancient god. "We don't want to draw more attention to ourselves than we already have." She had changed out of her finery and was back into a coarse linen chemise and dark blue sarafan.
"Do you think your brother is tracking you?" Paul asked.
"I don't know. He may use the victims he has transformed into animals, like poor Alyosha, but that takes a lot of strength from him, so he is going to focus on protecting his death. He knows he only has to bide his time; I shall have to confront him sooner or later." She wrapped her arms around her knees and hugged them close to her body, her eyes fixed on their fire. "Besides, I wasn't just talking about me." She nodded at Paul meaningfully. "I didn't wish to stay at Tsar Afron's castle for longer than necessary because I didn't want him to start asking about you."
That reminded Paul of a question that had been bothering him for some time. "About that—how come you know I'm from Rus, but others don't?"
"Those of us with magic in our blood can always tell," she replied. "I don't know how to explain it—we simply know. Be thankful that the rest of Lukomorye do not have such ability."
"Is that... bad?"
"Anything from Rus' is a great curiosity here. If they knew who you are, they would descend on you like a pack of wolves. How would you like to be paraded around like some exotic creature, to be ogled at?" She smiled at Paul's horrified look. "I suppose it would be the same if I ended up in your world."
"It might be worse," he said. "You might be burned as a witch, even though that practice had been outlawed for a century now." Now it was his turn to grin at her.
Zhara laid her head on her knees and regarded him with interest. "What is it like, your world?" she asked.
Paul thought about it for a while. "It's—like here, but different," he said lamely. He did not know how to put into words the otherworldly feeling that constantly coursed through him ever since he set foot in this land. "The trees, the mountains, the river, even the people... they're all similar, but back in my world, they're more—dull, solid, while here, there is this air about them... I can't describe it. It's the same with how you can tell me from a Lukomorian, I suppose. It's—"
"—magic?" Zhara prompted.
It wasn't quite what he had in mind, but it would have to do. "Yes, magic," he agreed. A strange little smile flitted across Zhara's face. She said nothing more and went back to watching the flames.
They arrived at the foot of the mountains on the third day. There was a stone-built shelter there, and Paul and Zhara found themselves in the company of an old man, who said his name was Simeon, and that he was placed there to aid travelers in their crossing. He gave the donkeys some hay and stoked the fire to make tea, while Zhara opened the supplies Afron had given them and shared their food with him.
"It's been months, nay, close to a year, since I had anyone passing through," Simeon said, biting into a hunk of cheese with relish. "They all follow the river these days. Even large groups avoid the mountains. It's odd that you two would take this route..."
"My mother lives in Bryansk," Zhara said. "She is very sick, and I must go to her as soon as possible." This was the story she and Paul had agreed on, should they meet another traveler.
"Well, you're traveling light, so I suppose you don't have much to worry about—except for those two donkeys—" The old man considered their packs and clothes with the eye of an expert.
"Worry about what?" Paul asked.
"Who, my lad, worry about who," Simeon corrected him. "Nightingale the Robber. You have heard of him, yes?"
Paul wracked his brain for the old stories. "The one with the deadly whistle?" he asked.
"The very one. He has staked out these mountains as his own. His nest is on Perun's Peak, and he perches there, whistling down mountain passes, blowing men and animals against the rock. Many merchants have had their entire stock of goods and their animals taken, so now they just avoid these mountains altogether. And even then, those that stray a little too close to them may still be in danger."
Paul looked at Zhara and met her worried returning glance.
"Perhaps we should—" he began, but she shook her head.
"No," she said firmly. "It's going to take months to go around, and who knows what my—what might have happened to my mother by then." She glared at Paul briefly, giving him a silent warning to say no more.
Later, after Zhara had settled down on the narrow bed in a corner of the hut, Simeon clapped Paul on the shoulder. "Listen to your missus, my lad," the old man said. Paul's cheeks flamed. Though he and Zhara had agreed to pose as husband and wife, the idea still made him feel oddly shy. "I know you're worried about Nightingale, but trust me, having a wife and a mother-in-law angry with you is worse," Simeon continued in a friendly tone. "Why do you think I stay out here in this stone hut even when there's no traveler?" Chuckling, the old man climbed on the stove to sleep, leaving Paul to make himself comfortable by the fire.
Chapter 7
Taglist: @ali-r3n
#prince paul#tsarevich paul#catherine the great#prince paul fic#prince paul x ofc#joseph quinn#joseph quinn fic
20 notes
·
View notes
Text
Prompted by @razzberrydazz- Lae'zel getting handsy whilst teaching Shadowheart to shoot. A quick cute one from me, about 1200 words, genfic no trigger warnings.
---
“As I said. You would have been far more effective from a distance when we came over the hill and spotted the gnolls.” Lae'zel shoved the bow in Shadowheart’s hands. It was of goblin make, one of the many looted off the corpses in the village.
“And you, vampire. We’re not skulking in the dark after all our enemies anymore. I understand you to be efficient in close quarters but I am not always going to be there to keep our foes from tearing your limb off.” Another bow abruptly thrust into pale hands. Astarion gave a small scoff and held the bow like it was coated in slime.
“Like it or not,” and from the squeeze of her narrow mouth, she was definitely in the “not” category, “we will be fighting as a team from now on. Effective combat is not just about how hard you can swing a crude hunk of metal.” Lae’zel eyed the mace slung at Shadowheart’s hip, and without thinking she fluttered her hand over it protectively. It had served her well so far, but it didn’t take genius acolyte to guess how Lae’zel felt about anything that couldn’t be sharpened to a lethal edge.
“It is simply wise strategy to have a secondary ranged weapon. Even better strategy would be to have you able to hit things with it.”
“What about the others?” Shadowheart asked, not liking the undercurrent of whine in her voice.
“Chk!” Lae'zel spat on the ground to underscore her scorn. “Mages, wizards and adepts need not the military training you do. And I have nothing to teach Karlach that her years in the hells haven’t already taught her. You two, however, are a different story.”
It had been a poor showing that day with the gnolls. A messy, scrappy fight that they’d been lucky to win, even though they’d spotted the creatures on the road well in advance. If it hadn’t been for Lae’zel, stunningly fast, divinely vicious, it may have been that none of them would need to worry about turning into mindflayers after all.
Horses couldn’t drag it out of her, but Lae’zel had been stunning to watch. An absolute maelstrom.
So when Lae’zel dragged Shadowheart and Astarion to a clearing near the camp, training dummies set and waiting, Shadowheart ignored the churn of shame and went.
“Fire upon the dummies. I am unable to train you if I do not first understand what you are capable of.”
Astarion twanged the string of the goblin bow, dubious.
“You first, istik.” Lae'zel jerked her chin at Shadowheart.
Shadowheart set her feet. There was a surge of pride, desire to prove herself to this arrogant gith, but the emotion immediately crashed upon the shore of knowledge. She’d never been a particularly gifted archer. The bow didn’t feel entirely unnatural to her, so she had to suppose she had been trained in the art to some extent, but it didn’t slot into her hands with the same unerring coherence that she felt with mace and shield.
She drew, and fired off the first arrow. It glanced off the side of the dummy, and her face burned. A second shot. This one hit, but the arrow drooped in the straw, having barely found purchase.
She glanced up at Lae’zel, braced for the scathing criticism, but she was merely watching the performance with an electric intensity, as though they were already in battle.
Shadowheart took a breath to steady herself, looking back to the dummy, feeling Lae’zel eyes boring through the back of her head. The shot went wide by at least a foot.
Lae’zel made another of those clicking sounds in her throat, and before Shadowheart could muster a mote of defence for her performance, there was a sinewy grip squeezing her waist. It was like the gith didn’t know how to approach touch with anything but force.
“Like this.” Lae'zel tugged her with implacable hands. “More side-on to your target. I know you are used to hiding behind your shield but think a little first.” The hands moved to her shoulders, and Shadowheart flinched at the feeling of those hands on her bare skin.
“Again.” The arrow landed more surely this time, penetrating at least an inch into the straw. She felt a silly little surge of pride. Since when do you care what this monster thinks of you, girl? A voice sounded inside her mind, the harsh cadence reminding her of Mother.
This time Lae'zel approached from the front, brusquely moving Shadowheart’s hands on the bow. She closed her fingers firmly over Shadowheart’s in the new position, and when those firm hands withdrew, Shadowheart felt hot all over. From shame? From- from being touched?
When last had she been touched? She couldn’t remember. Lae'zel withdrew and took position at Shadowheart’s back, standing so close that her breathing was loud in Shadowheart’s ears
“Again.” Shadowheart listened to that breathing. She closed her hands firmly on the bow, holding the feeling of Lae’zel hands over her own in the sense-memory of her body, and drew.
The arrow missed the target by at least two feet.
The noise that came out of Lae’zel could have punched a hole through Shadowheart’s gut. She crowded in again, yanking hands, twisting Shadowheart’s hips like a doll, then taking a knee and shoving her thighs slightly wider.
Where had all the wind in her lungs gone?
“This is even more disappointing than I was prepared for. You are supposed to be a warrior of some merit-” she stood as she spoke and glanced at Shadowheart’s face.
“What is wrong?” she asked sharply. “Are you unwell? There is a colour to your skin I have not seen before.”
Shadowheart fired off a quick prayer to Lady Shar to wrench the life out of her there and then.
Lae’zel didn’t wait for a reply, merely yanked the bow from her hands. “Go rest a moment.” Shadowheart obeyed. If Lady Shar wasn’t going to kill her, she could at least be out from under those hawk eyes.
“Elf. Take your turn and maybe this afternoon’s work will not have been a complete waste.”
Astarion made a show of stepping up, moving his hands uncertainly up and down the bow, almost fumbling as he nocked. Then, with a sly tightening of his shoulders, he turned to the target, and fired off three quick shots, thwap thwap thwap, neatly clustered on the dummy’s pockmarked face. He turned back to Lae’zel with a swagger.
Instead of the praise that he so clearly angled for, she sighed. “Why did you come out here if you were not in need of my instruction? Why not simply tell me you already knew how to shoot?”
“Oh, you know. I just wanted to see a little more of,” holding a spare arrow, he gestured, pointing first at Lae’zel and then to Shadowheart, where she had taken refuge on a rock, “whatever this is.” He finished with a smirk, drawing the arrow head in a circle encompassing the space between them.
Lae’zel merely frowned as he flourished. When he turned knowing eyes to Shadowheart, she stood up, too fast, and with a quick, “whatwasthatIthinkIheardTavcallingme,” she turned and fled the clearing.
#bg3#shadowzel#lae'zel#shadowheart#astarion#baldur's gate 3#bg3 fanfic#hank writes#hank plays bg3#hank talks
30 notes
·
View notes
Text
That One Time Tango and Jimmy Were Forced to Third-Wheel Their Friend (And His Maybe-Boyfriend?)
Summary:
“Doesn't the ruler, Scott, do anything about that?”
“Shush,” Tango’s hands come up to cover his mouth, his outburst loud enough that even Pixl is turning to look at them, a faintly amused expression on his face. “I swear, that man appears out of nowhere when you say his name. I don't want to see him today.”
“Aw,” a new voice, a heavily accented one that he’s definitely heard somewhere before, appears. “Didn't you want to see me today, Brimstone? I'm hurt, truly.”
-
Or, a deleted scene that had to get deleted because Pixl and Scott's flirting derailed the whole goddamn chapter
(AO3 Link)
(3,187 words)
this fic is related to adaptive nature and features a cut/deleted scene that some people wanted to see, so, here it is! reconstructed from the small snippets i still had saved. i apologise in advance for my very poor writing of flirting (and, as always, reblogs are appreciated if you liked it ;))
The building Tango makes a bee-line for is no less colourful than any of the other buildings, blending in amongst the surrounding buildings despite the offensively bright greens and yellows splashed across the front of it. The person at the counter leans forward as they approach, arms braced against the counter as they grin, eyes flashing.
“Brimstone,” the person greets easily. “Good to see you again.” It takes him a moment to realise they're addressing Tango. “And you, Archaeologist, though I must admit, it’s been a while since I've seen you in these parts. Find somewhere better?”
“I've recently picked up a habit of walking,” Pixl responds. “Though I don't see why it’s any concern of yours.”
“Losing a regular customer like that?” The person shakes their head, eyes widening. “Why, it took out at least a quarter of my monthly supply, I had to pick up another job on the side to make up for that loss of income.”
“You don't even take money, Sparrow.” Tango responds, digging around in his pockets. “How could that have an impact on your income?”
“A loss is a loss.” Sparrow, apparently, shrugs. “And you,” Sparrow turns to look at him now, “aren't you an interesting thing? You one of Brimstone’s new projects?”
“Quit bothering, Sparrow.” Tango says, dumping out a handful of various items on the counter, a few of them skittering across the wood and almost falling onto the ground. Sparrow catches them with a quick hand, fingers curling around the items as they bring them up to the light to inspect them.
“Protective, hm?” Sparrow’s eyes aren't on the object they're currently holding aloft, fixed on him instead. Their eyes are slitted, thin pupils barely visible against the bright-yellow. They flash with something close to amusement as they look between him and Tango, before winking.
“No,” Tango sighs. “Just busy. Is the payment sufficient?”
“I suppose so.” Sparrow drops the object back down to the counter, sweeping the items off and away from their eyes a moment later. “The usual ones are free, you know the ones I mean.”
“Thank you,” Tango drags out, giving a short bow as he backs away, before spinning on his heel. He lingers for a moment, staring at Sparrow, watching as they lean against the counter, blinking at him slowly, cat-like, before grinning sharply, sudden enough to almost startle him. He turns to follow behind Tango, finding Pixl still waiting for him, watching Sparrow with suspicious eyes.
Tango is already situating one of his horses inside the stable. He follows in Tango’s example, leading Arrow into the stable before turning her around. He finishes before both Tango and Pixl, and a moment of pity for Pixl has him helping the other man with a simple knot.
Tango appears to be taking his anger out on a piece of rope, when he leans over the stable door to find out what’s taking him so long. His tail flicks back and forth behind him, stiff with irritation as he picks at the knot, attempting to tug it loose.
“So,” Tango’s eyes flick over to him as he speaks, “Brimstone?”
“A name.” Tango reties the knot, lapsing into silence for a moment. “One of several.” The next knot seems to be one he’s at least halfway satisfied with, because he steps back and away from it, hands raised as though the rope is about to come alive and undo itself. Surprisingly, this doesn't happen.
“And Sparrow?” He finds himself asking. “A friend?”
“Something like that.” Tango says, and he steps back from the door to allow him outside, watching as he latches it shut. Pixl is already waiting for them, glancing around, as though he’s expecting something to happen.
Tango doesn't seem like he’s going to elaborate on the cryptic response, but his curiosity is killing him so he asks anyway. “Care to elaborate?”
“Not really.” Tango sighs, “But I will anyway.” He leans back against the wall of the stable, and he copies him, taking the weight off one leg. They still ache, so the break is appreciated, even if it’s only a sort-of break. Pixl seems content to wait a little longer too, turning around fully so his back is to them both, as he peers down a side street, craning his neck. It’s certainly odd behaviour for the archaeologist, but he’s far more interested in whatever Tango has to say.
“Sanctuary is known as the place you run to, you knew that, right?” Not what he expected to start with, but he nods anyway. “Well, it’s not the only one, but you’d only know Chromia is a city of runaways and fugitives if you asked around a bit.”
“Fugitives?”
“The fae are rarely forgiving.” Tango says, levelling him with an even stare. “I honestly thought you might be one, with the reluctance to give a name, and the incredibly vague details about where you came from. But,” he shrugs, “Guess not.”
“So, what, this whole place is just fae?”
“No. It’s a place for people to run to, people that truly have something to fear and wish to disappear among the colours of Chromia. Did you know, it’s really hard to recognise someone at a glance when they're wearing bright colours and have maybe dyed their hair? Because it is, they’ll recognise you, but you’ll simply see the swirl of colours first, and the blur of a face second. It’s a perfect place for hiding in plain sight.”
“How come you know this, then? Unless you're about to reveal you didn't actually grow up in the Guild.”
“I did grow up in the Guild,” Tango laughs, “But the people here are interesting. They bring news from overseas, of other areas of land, untouched by gods, or swarming with them.” He lowers his voice and leans closer, “I've heard there’s a land where the gods live, and those that step in there, and manage to escape with their lives intact, speak of massive buildings, glorious in every way and perfect in its strokes, in the way only the work of gods can be.”
“And do you believe in this place?” He asks, because he can't help himself, if only to have Tango’s face close to his own for a few moments longer.
“Maybe, I'm not quite sure yet.” He shrugs, “I've heard that the gods inhabiting the place keep to themselves. You only see them if they want you to, you only hear them if they want you to.”
“They don't sound particularly nice.” He frowns to himself, and Tango leans back, laughing.
“They don't sound particularly real, either.”
“I suppose not.” He sighs, “But it’s nice to speculate about, I suppose.”
“Speculating doesn't get us anywhere,” Tango pushes off the wall, and he follows, only wobbling slightly as his legs threaten to give out beneath him. “Now, where’s that list Alyssa gave you? I want to be out of here before sundown.”
“Any particular reason? Got something planned?” He knocks his shoulder into Tango's, waggling his eyebrows for further effect.
“No. I don't want to be in the City of Taverns, after dark, especially not anywhere near the central one.” He shudders, “Some of them have gotten being drunk down to an art, and manage it within minutes. It’s not something you want to see.”
“Doesn't the ruler, Scott, do anything about that?”
“Shush,” Tango’s hands come up to cover his mouth, his outburst loud enough that even Pixl is turning to look at them, a faintly amused expression on his face. “I swear, that man appears out of nowhere when you say his name. I don't want to see him today.”
“Aw,” a new voice, a heavily accented one that he’s definitely heard somewhere before, appears. “Didn't you want to see me today, Brimstone? I'm hurt, truly.”
“I don't want to see you on any day, Scott.” Tango growls, ears flattening back. He turns, taking a step back so he is no longer inbetween the two of them. Scott stands a few feet away, arms crossed and smirking at them, looking rather pleased with himself.
“Ouch,” Scott presses a hand to his chest. “I'm glad you and Pixl aren't the same in your attitude towards me, I don't think I’d be able to stand the rejection from such a beauty.” Scott winks over at Pixl, who…doesn't react. “Though I am interested as to what’s brought you and your favourite little Sheriff into my city, last I heard from you, you were vowing not to come back here?”
Pixl laughs a little at that, apparently choosing to come and stand a little closer. Tango scowls.
“Or did you drag him here again, Pix?” Scott tips his head to the side, a few chunks of hair falling forward. “C’mon, I thought we agreed after last time that it wasn't a repeat event?”
“I can think of several things we've discussed that weren't supposed to be repeat events.” Pixl says. And he’s still smiling, and it’s weird. It’s far too soft around the edges for someone as scary as Scott is. And yet’s he’s still looking at him with a weirdly soft air that doesn't suit him at all. “Such as the time I caught you in the Guild’s treasury? Hands buried amongst the various artefacts?”
“And that hasn't been a repeat event,” Scott frowns. “I'm pretty sure I’d know if I stole anything more.”
“And yet I continue to get complaints from the higher-ups about how that goddamn fae keeps stealing away all of my free time.”
Tango groans quietly next to him, and he can understand his frustration. He can't do anything but keep watching as Scott breaks out into a smile, something that is far softer than a smirk designed to wound someone before you even open your mouth to speak.
“Would you rather put our dinners on halt?” Scott asks, “Last I remember, you were quite-”
“Alright!” Tango shouts. “I don't want to hear that!”
“Aw,” Scott coos, “don't you want to hear about what your friend does in his free time?”
“Nope! I'm good!” Tango insists. His own cheeks are feeling a little warm, and he averts his eyes when Pixl looks at him. He doesn't know how else to describe the feeling other than complete second-hand embarrassment, warmth continuing to gather in his face as he steadfastly avoids Pixl’s eyes. “We have something to do here, and you're interrupting it.”
“Oh, please,” Scott smirks, smile sharp and dangerous again, “what are you doing? Shopping?” His eyes catch on the short list in his hand. “Oh! You are! What a waste of time,” he scoffs, “don't you have someone to do this for you while you do…whatever it is you do, Sheriff?”
“Every contribution is worth something. There’s no reason for me not to do this.” He protests. Scott tugs the list from his hand anyway, reading over it quickly and shaking his head. His ears sway with the movement, jewellery flashing as it catches the sun.
“I’ll have this sorted for you,” he says, tucking the list away into some pocket on his shirt. “Now, I have something far more pressing to ask you.”
“Uhm,” Scott’s eyes flash dangerously as he leans a little closer, far more in his personal space than he’s strictly comfortable with. “And what would that be?”
“Oh, nothing really,” Scott looks away, feigning disinterest, “I'm only curious as to why you bear the Dragon’s mark, really.” His breath catches in his throat at Scott’s words, feeling his own eyes widen as he tries to think of a suitable answer.
“Scott,” Pixl tugs him away, muttering in something that is definitely not Common, and also not any language he recognises. Scott frowns at Pixl, brushing some of his hair back, which only causes the historian to pause for a moment before continuing. Scott replies in that same language, frustration curling around his words.
He looks at Tango, curious as to whether he can understand what either of them are saying. Tango’s eyes are far away, staring into the distance, as though he’d rather be anywhere but here. He looks back at Scott and Pixl again, finds them almost nose-to-nose as they continue conversing, and looks away again.
It takes them several, long moments before they seem to come to an agreement, during which Scott brushes back Pixl’s hair several times, and Pixl brushes a hand down the front of Scott’s shirt no less than five times. Normally, he’s quite tolerant when it comes to displays of affection, but this is just embarrassing. For both him and for Pixl.
“Scott’s going to get that sorted for you.” Pixl says, returning to Common. Tango blinks, the faraway look in his eyes disappearing, instead lighting up with glee.
“Great!” He turns back around. “We can leave then, bye Scott, lovely seeing you, hope I never have to see you again!”
“And I've also invited you for drinks at the tavern,” Scott interrupts. “On the house.”
“No.” Tango says.
“Pixl’s already agreed on your behalf.” Scott grins. “Unless you want to indirectly break Pix’s deal with me?” He doesn't quite understand what it means, but it must hold more significance than he understands, because Tango turns back around, though not without several protests.
“Wonderful,” Scott smiles. “Just this way, then.”
Sparrow grins at them as they pass by their desk again, waving them off silently, winking at him once more. Maybe that’s just how they blink? He doesn't understand what the winking is for. Tango makes a rude gesture at them anyway, which doesn't succeed in very much but getting him a laugh from Scott and a reprimand from Pixl.
“Oh, dear, don't worry about that. Sparrow certainly deserves to be knocked down a few pegs. Which, why on earth would you stable your horses with them? You know my tavern has stables that are far nicer than that- they're far more comfortable too, don't you remember-”
“Oh my gods,” Tango hisses out, dropping his head into his hands. “I can't, I can't do this again. I can't.”
“It can't be that bad, can it?” He asks. “Right?”
Tango gives him a look that speaks volumes. He shuts his mouth with a small “ah”, nodding his head. He glances back at Scott and Pixl, watching as the former stretches his arms up, before allowing one to fall back around Pixl’s shoulder.
“It’s actually sickening.” Tango says, watching the two in front of them as well. “I hate them.”
“I don't see how this is that bad.” They move around a small group of friends travelling in the opposite direction to them. He ignores the few smothered laughs and the way they're glancing back at Pixl and Scott before laughing again. Several people greet Pixl, too, waving to him. Some even go so far as to nudge him, as though in encouragement.
He doesn't let his mind stray too far down the path of thinking what that encouragement might be.
“Pixl seems happy, at least.” He tries.
“Yeah, course he is.” Tango makes a sound in the back of his throat. “They've been sickeningly in love for-fucking-ever. And the Guild never lets Pix come here alone, so of course I have to come with him.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah.” Tango’s eyes glaze over. “All the walls here are thin.”
“Ew!” He gasps out. “I didn't need to know that.”
“Neither did I!” Tango shoves him. “How do you think I felt!”
The building, which he assumes to be the tavern, is already bustling with people, despite how early in the day it is. Scott steps neatly over someone passed out on the steps, extending a hand for Pixl, as though he couldn't make it over himself. Tango gags next to him, rather loudly.
The tavern is no less noisy inside, scraping against his already sensitive ears and making them ring. Scott doesn't pause, though, simply nodding to- is that a llama behind the bar? Apparently it is, and no one bats an eye at the llama serving them their drinks. Scott continues on his way through the bar, him and Pixl weaving through the clusters of people gathered around tables where there aren't enough seats as though it’s second-nature.
The room Scott leads them to is small, but well-decorated, with several plush seats scattered around, and even a small sofa tucked in the corner. Drinks are already laid out on the table.
“Did you know we were coming?” Tango regards the drinks with suspicion.
“How couldn't I know?” Scott smirks at Tango, directly, before turning back to Pixl. “It’s been so long since I last saw you, my heart was simply aching to be in your presence again; I couldn't help but notice when you entered Chromia, it was like a beacon I couldn't unsee.”
“It hasn't been that long,” Pixl tries to say, though the tips of his ears are turning red. He wishes, in that moment, for the ground to swallow him whole- just so he doesn't have to watch this.
“Every moment we spend apart is like an eon to me.” Scott says.
“You're awfully sappy today,” Pixl says. “Any particular reason for that?”
Scott doesn't respond, simply humming, settling himself a little further into his seat. He sits on it like a king upon his throne, sprawled and comfortable, legs wide as he watches him and Tango sit down too. The seat sinks below him far too much, and he has to grip onto the armrest to not feel like he’s about to be swallowed whole.
“Can I not simply miss you?” Scott turns to look at Pixl, chin resting in his hand. “Is a bird not allowed to miss the sky? Is a fish not allowed to miss the water? Am I not allowed to miss you, especially as you've been busy with your important project recently.”
“Quit it with the poetry.” Tango groans. “We get that you're old, you don't need to remind us with your shoddy flirting.”
“And has your flirting ever worked for you?” Scott asks. “Tell me, when was the last time you successfully flirted with someone?”
Tango remains silent.
“Thank you,” Scott smiles. “Besides, my flirting works. It may be old, but that just means it worked for a lot more people. More than you can say about your flirting.”
“Your flirting only works because Pixl’s a weirdo.” Tango scoffs. “It says nothing about your proficiency, just that he’s into older guys.”
“Brimstone.” Pixl says.
“It’s true,” Tango protests, sitting up a little straighter. “Am I not allowed to have an opinion?”
“No.”
“Well, I should get one,” Tango crosses his arms, slumping down in his seat. “Especially as I have to watch it.”
“Never thought you were into that kind of stuff, Brimstone. If I’d known, I’d have-”
“Nope!” Tango shoots up again. “Whatever you were about to say, I don't want to hear it. I don't care.”
“Okay,” Scott says, “if you change your mind…”
He sinks a little further into his seat, wondering how quickly he would be able to escape out of that window if needed.
#juno.writes#i KNOW im bad at writing flirting okay. but that was the few remnants of the original scene#adaptive nature universe#pixlriffs#scott smajor#dont even know the ship name. is it even a ship? i dont remember where the idea came from tbh#empires smp#empires smp fic#empiresshipping#empires scott#empires pixl#jimmy solidarity#tango tek#empires smp s2#empires smp season 2#found out their ship name:#weather husbands
81 notes
·
View notes
Text
@hetaberia-week
Day 2: summer
.
.
1544,
Lisbon
It was the end of summer and the branches of the trees lining the sides of the roads connecting their countries were heavy with fruit, the air warm and sweet as Spain rode at top speed through Badajoz and into Elvas, gripping the reigns tight and kicking back his horses’ sides to make him go even faster, ignoring the locals’ surprised and judgmental stares.
By the time he came into Lisbon the sun was hot and burning above him and there was a pang of hunger hollowing his stomach. He would deal with it later, the letter he brought with him from Madrid safely secured inside his doublet and he left his horse at the royal stables before climbing up the stairs of the Ribeira Palace two steps at a time, the guards opening the doors for their ally without question.
He looked around the antechamber while he waited, the palace’s high ceilings decorated with paintings of angels and saints, white and blue tiles depicting historical victories in battles long fought when Portugal had first ventured out into the north of Africa. Spain knew the stories, everyone knew the stories. No one knew exactly how Portugal had accomplished such deeds, but they had all heard about them. The long sieges, battles that went long into the night, city walls that crumbled under Portuguese cannons. Civilization conquering barbarism.
“It’s unlike you to come unannounced,” Portugal said as he came to greet him, and Spain spun on his axis to see him come into the antechamber, eyebrows furrowed slightly.
“I received a letter from a mutual acquaintance,” Spain answered in lieu of explanation, reaching into his pocket for the folded paper with the English seal, Portugal’s eyebrows furrowing further as he extended it to him. “I would like your opinion on it.”
Portugal’s eyes moved swiftly over the pages, his frown turning into amusement as he read, lips pressing together to hold in laughter, and Spain almost regretted coming to him in the first place if Portugal hadn’t looked up at him and asked, in the most serene of tones:
“Have you eaten yet?”
-
“England is a jerk,” Spain complained sullenly, slouched on the couch of Portugal’s private quarters after a full and hearty meal, watching him lay out cards on a low table while sitting cross-legged from it, playing a hard game of solitaire against himself. “I told him I wanted to end the war against France, I finally had France agree to back me up on the church reform project I told you about, he finally agreed to break his alliance with the Ottomans—” Portugal grunted loudly, laying a queen of hearts on top of a king of clubs, “—but if England doesn’t stop hostilities against France and Scotland in the north it’ll be all for naught!”
Portugal listened, but didn’t comment, turning three cards from the pile and frowning at his game. Spain threw an arm melodramatically over his face.
“I don’t know how you can stand England,” he groaned with a pout, “He’s a bully and his breath stinks and his King is an idiot,” Spain mumbled, but Portugal merely hummed from his spot on the floor, continuing to stack cards on the table.
“He makes me laugh,” he said quietly, still too engrossed in his game to see the way Spain peeked at him from under his arm.
He huffed in mild disbelief. He found nothing funny about England. The air that came in through the open windows was warm, the afternoon sun glowing gold on the horizon with the end of summer.
“When is your next trip?” Spain asked, peeking at him again.
Portugal’s lips moved worriedly from side to side, searching for a card until he finally spotted a jack of spades and placed it on top of his queen of hearts. “I have to be in Japan in four months.”
“Can I come with you?” he piped up excitedly, lifting himself up from the couch on his elbows, looking at Portugal pleadingly. “I haven’t been out of Europe in years.”
But Portugal merely gave him a reproachful look before turning his eyes back down. “We agreed you’d stay on your side of the line,” he said before going back to his game, and Spain let his body fall back down with a defeated groan.
“I’m starting to think you’re a bully too,” he told him demurely.
Portugal snorted. He snorted, but didn’t disagree.
27 notes
·
View notes
Text
Just Monsterfucker!Steve getting railed by vampires, ghosts, and a variety of Eddie shaped creatures. Breakdown below since each one is so different.
Took a few tries to get through, just several little things that always built and turned me off enough to not finish it. Overall this one is alright, it's a unique take on vamp Eddie and I do respect that it's just not my fav.
Mmh, love that good ghostly sexytimes. Also rubbing my little gremlin hands together at the implications of what the Upside Down is capable of. Also also damn Mr. Clark, dark horse coming in over here.
I've actually read this one before, one of my favorite monsterfucker Steve fics out there. I am absolutely a Tommy and Carol have gotten (or at least tried to get) Steve to have a threesome truther so always happy to see another person acknowledge that.
I'm fucking feral over this one, pun unintended. There's something about New Orleans that just makes you feel like it's all real. That vampires are just around the corner and sirens sing in the Quarter.
Never saw this one coming but you know what I love that this author continues to surprise me in new ways. Every one of these stories has just gotten better and better the more unhinged and monstrous they've gotten and this one is no different.
Overall 9/10. There's a lot of vague blood kink stuff in the vampire way and also some 'I'm so obsessed with you I want to claw your ribcage open and live curled up around your heart' stuff. Brief 2 lines of untagged Daddy kink in the 4th one. Everything else mind the tags.
#stranger things#eddie munson#steve harrington#steddie#steve harrington x eddie munson#steve x eddie#monsterfucker!steve#vampire!eddie#werewolf!steve#monster!eddie
21 notes
·
View notes
Text
Skyrim Travel Times/Distances - City to Settlement
Other Travel Times
Solstheim
City to City
___
Got my game fixed and enough down time (and motivation) to get part 3 of this little project out. This time we're looking at traveling between major cities and the smaller settlements.
As before, some location have 2 or more plausible routes between them. I documented only the one which was the quickest/most direct or that made the most sense. For instance, the road through Labyrinthian is marked as a main road and is a faster route if your coming from, say, Morthal or Dawnstar and headed to Whiterun, but Labyrinthian is a known hazard and I'd assume the average traveler goes around.
Maps are included to show which routes I took, and I've included estimated travel times for on-foot, horse/carriage walking, and horse/carriage trotting.
About Ivarstead - the north road out of town is narrow, rocky, curvy, mostly uphill, and not paved. That north road is difficult to locate traveling TO Ivarstead, and the main paved road north of town is tricky to locate coming FROM Ivarstead.
NOTES:
1. These routes only follow main roads.
2. Times are rounded to the nearest quarter hour.
3. These times do not account for factors such as resting, party size/fitness, bad weather, road conditions, uphill travel, warzones, bandits, or other hazards that impede travel.
4. The road between Whiterun and Windhelm splits and then reconnects - the times/distances are very similar and therefore share a measurement.
5. There are two routes from Solitude to Helgen - one through Whiterun, and one through Falkreath. I included both because they both make sense (major stops along the way) and the times are close but not too close.
WHITERUN to . . .
Whiterun to Rorikstead
Miles: 30
On Foot: 11hrs 30min
Horse/Carriage Walking: 7hr 30min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 3hr 45min
Whiterun to Ivarstead
Miles: 80.22
On Foot: 1d 7hr
Horse/Carriage Walking: 20hr
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 9hr 30min
Whiterun to Karthwasten
Miles: 51.24
On Foot: 19hr 45min
Horse/Carriage Walking: 12hr 45min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 6hr
Whiterun to Dragon Bridge
Miles: 51.48
On Foot: 19hr 45min
Horse/Carriage Walking: 12hr 45min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 6hr 30min
Whiterun to Helgen
Miles: 25.32
On Foot: 9hr 45min
Horse/Carriage Walking: 6hr 15min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 3hr
Whiterun to Kynesgrove
Miles: 41.82
On Foot: 16hr 15min
Horse/Carriage Walking: 10hr 45min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 5hr 15min
Whiterun to Shor's Stone (white)
Miles: 63.14
On Foot: 1d 15min
Horse/Carriage Walking: 15hr 45min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 7hr 30min
Whiterun to Riverwood
Miles: 13.43
On Foot: 5hr 15min
Horse/Carriage Walking: 3hr 15min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 1hr 34min
SOLITUDE to . . .
Solitude to Rorikstead
Miles: 27.92
On Foot: 10hr 45min
Horse/Carriage Walking: 7hr
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 3hr 30min
Solitude to Ivarstead
Miles: 139.12
On Foot: 2d 5hr 45min
Horse/Carriage Walking: 1d 10hr 45min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 16hr 15min
Solitude to Karthwasten
Miles: 36.16
On Foot: 14hr
Horse/Carriage Walking: 9hr
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 4hr 30min
Solitude to Dragon Bridge
Miles: 10.2
On Foot: 4hr
Horse/Carriage Walking: 2hr 30min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 1hr 15min
Solitude to Helgen (through Whiterun)
Miles: 84.22
On Foot: 1d 8hr 30min
Horse/Carriage Walking: 21hr
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 10hr
Solitude to Helgen (through Falkreath)
Miles: 109.55
On Foot: 1d 18hr 15min
Horse/Carriage Walking: 1d 3hr 15min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 13hr
Solitude to Kynesgrove
Miles: 89.29
On Foot: 1d 10hr 30min
Horse/Carriage Walking: 22hr 15min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 10hr 30min
Solitude to Shor's Stone (white)
Miles: 111.08
On Foot: 1d 18hr 45min
Horse/Carriage Walking: 1d 3hr 45min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 13hr
Solitude to Riverwood
Miles: 73.38
On Foot: 1d 4hr 15min
Horse/Carriage Walking: 18hr 15min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 8hr 30min
MARKARTH to . . .
Markarth to Rorikstead
Miles: 31.92
On Foot: 12hr 19min
Horse/Carriage Walking: 8hr
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 3hr 45min
Markarth to Ivarstead
Miles: 129.34
On Foot: 2d 2hr
Horse/Carriage Walking: 1d 8hr 15min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 15hr 15min
Markarth to Karthwasten
Miles: 15.19
On Foot: 5hr 45min
Horse/Carriage Walking: 3hr 45min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 2hr
Markarth to Dragon Bridge
Miles: 39.34
On Foot: 15hr 15min
Horse/Carriage Walking: 9hr 45min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 2hr
Markarth to Helgen
Miles: 24.26
On Foot: 9hr 15min
Horse/Carriage Walking: 6hr
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 2hr 45min
Markarth to Kynesgrove
Miles: 94
On Foot: 1d 12hr 15min
Horse/Carriage Walking: 23hr 30min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 11hr
Markarth to Shor's Stone (white)
Miles: 111.08
On Foot: 1d 18hr 45min
Horse/Carriage Walking: 1d 3hr 45min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 13hr
Markarth to Riverwood
Miles: 25.44
On Foot: 9hr 45min
Horse/Carriage Walking: 6hr 15min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 3hr
MORTHAL to . . .
Morthal to Rorikstead
Miles: 27.09
On Foot: 10hr 30min
Horse/Carriage Walking: 6hr 45min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 3hr 30min
Morthal to Ivarstead
Miles: 143.12
On Foot: 2d 7hr 15min
Horse/Carriage Walking: 1d 11hr 45min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 3hr 30min
Morthal to Karthwasten
Miles: 43
On Foot: 16hr 30min
Horse/Carriage Walking: 10hr 45min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 5hr
Morthal to Dragon Bridge
Miles: 15.43
On Foot: 6hr
Horse/Carriage Walking: 3hr 45min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 2hr
Morthal to Helgen
Miles: 89.29
On Foot: 1d 10hr 30min
Horse/Carriage Walking: 22hr 15min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 10hr 30min
Morthal to Kynesgrove
Miles: 61.96
On Foot: 1 day
Horse/Carriage Walking: 15hr 30min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 7hr 15min
Morthal to Shor's Stone (white)
Miles: 85.52
On Foot: 1d 9hr
Horse/Carriage Walking: 21hr 15min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 10hr
Morthal to Riverwood
Miles: 77.74
On Foot: 1d 6hr
Horse/Carriage Walking: 19hr 30min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 9hr 15min
DAWNSTAR to . . .
Dawnstar to Rorikstead
Miles: 48.65
On Foot: 18hr 45min
Horse/Carriage Walking: 11hr 30min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 5hr 45min
Dawnstar to Ivarstead
Miles: 119.33
On Foot: 1d 22hr
Horse/Carriage Walking: 1d 5hr 45min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 14hr
Dawnstar to Karthwasten
Miles: 62.19
On Foot: 1 day
Horse/Carriage Walking: 15hr 30min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 7hr 15min
Dawnstar to Dragon Bridge
Miles: 37.1
On Foot: 14hr 15min
Horse/Carriage Walking: 9hr 15min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 4hr 21min
Dawnstar to Helgen
Miles: 65.73
On Foot: 1d 1hr 15min
Horse/Carriage Walking: 16hr 30min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 7hr 45min
Dawnstar to Kynesgrove
Miles: 39.11
On Foot: 15hr
Horse/Carriage Walking: 9hr 45min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 5hr
Dawnstar to Shor's Stone (white)
Miles: 64.67
On Foot: 1d 1hr
Horse/Carriage Walking: 16hr
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 8hr
Dawnstar to Riverwood
Miles: 54.89
On Foot: 21hr 11min
Horse/Carriage Walking: 13hr 45min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 6hr 30min
WINTERHOLD to . . .
Winterhold to Rorikstead
Miles: 82.22
On Foot: 1d 7hr 45min
Horse/Carriage Walking: 20hr 30min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 9hr
Winterhold to Ivarstead
Miles: 47.47
On Foot: 18hr 15min
Horse/Carriage Walking: 11hr 45min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 5hr 30min
Winterhold to Karthwasten
Miles: 107.55
On Foot: 1d 17hr 30min
Horse/Carriage Walking: 1d 2hr 45min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 12hr 45min
Winterhold to Dragon Bridge
Miles: 70.68
On Foot: 1d 3hr 15min
Horse/Carriage Walking: 17hr 45min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 8hr 15min
Winterhold to Helgen
Miles: 73.15
On Foot: 1d 4hr 15min
Horse/Carriage Walking: 18hr 15min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 8hr 30min
Winterhold to Kynesgrove
Miles: 35.69
On Foot: 13hr 45min
Horse/Carriage Walking: 8hr 55min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 4hr 15min
Winterhold to Shor's Stone (white)
Miles: 59.6
On Foot: 23hr
Horse/Carriage Walking: 15hr
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 7hr
Winterhold to Riverwood
Miles: 63.14
On Foot: 1d 15min
Horse/Carriage Walking: 15hr 45min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 7hr 30min
WINDHELM to . . .
Windhelm to Rorikstead
Miles: 76.57
On Foot: 1d 5hr 30min
Horse/Carriage Walking: 19hr 15min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 9hr
Windhelm to Ivarstead
Miles: 17.67
On Foot: 6hr 45min
Horse/Carriage Walking: 4hr 30min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 2hr
Windhelm to Karthwasten
Miles: 93.49
On Foot: 1d 12hr
Horse/Carriage Walking: 23hr 15min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 11hr
Windhelm to Dragon Bridge
Miles: 75.98
On Foot: 1d 5hr 15min
Horse/Carriage Walking: 19hr
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 9hr
Windhelm to Helgen
Miles: 67.49
On Foot: 1d 2hr
Horse/Carriage Walking: 16hr 45min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 8hr
Windhelm to Kynesgrove
Miles: 5.89
On Foot: 2hr 15min
Horse/Carriage Walking: 1hr 30min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 45min
Windhelm to Shor's Stone (white)
Miles: 29.8
On Foot: 11hr 30min
Horse/Carriage Walking: 7hr 30min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 3hr 30min
Windhelm to Riverwood
Miles: 56.66
On Foot: 21hr 45min
Horse/Carriage Walking: 14hr
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 6hr 45min
RIFTEN to . . .
Riften to Rorikstead
Miles: 86.7
On Foot: 1d 9hr 30min
Horse/Carriage Walking: 21hr 45min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 10hr 15min
Riften to Ivarstead
Miles: 26.97
On Foot: 10hr 30min
Horse/Carriage Walking: 6hr 45min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 3hr 30min
Riften to Karthwasten
Miles: 119.09
On Foot: 1d 22hr
Horse/Carriage Walking: 1d 5hr 45min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 14hr
Riften to Dragon Bridge
Miles: 122.27
On Foot: 1d 23hr 15min
Horse/Carriage Walking: 1d 6hr 30min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 14hr 15min
Riften to Helgen
Miles: 39.93
On Foot: 15hr 30min
Horse/Carriage Walking: 10hr
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 5hr
Riften to Kynesgrove
Miles: 37.22
On Foot: 14hr 15min
Horse/Carriage Walking: 9hr 15min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 4hr 45min
Riften to Shor's Stone (white)
Miles: 9.22
On Foot: 3hr 30min
Horse/Carriage Walking: 2hr 15min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 6hr 30min
Riften to Riverwood
Miles: 54.54
On Foot: 21hr
Horse/Carriage Walking: 13hr 30min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 6hr 30min
FALKREATH to . . .
Falkreath to Rorikstead
Miles: 31.57
On Foot: 12hr 15min
Horse/Carriage Walking: 8hr
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 3hr 45min
Falkreath to Ivarstead
Miles: 28.03
On Foot: 10hr 45min
Horse/Carriage Walking: 7hr
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 3hr 30min
Falkreath to Karthwasten
Miles: 48.29
On Foot: 10hr 45min
Horse/Carriage Walking: 12hr
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 5hr 45min
Falkreath to Dragon Bridge
Miles: 72.56
On Foot: 1d 4hr
Horse/Carriage Walking: 18hr 15min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 8hr 30min
Falkreath to Helgen
Miles: 12.01
On Foot: 4hr 30min
Horse/Carriage Walking: 3hr
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 1hr 30min
Falkreath to Kynesgrove
Miles: 34.75
On Foot: 13hr 30min
Horse/Carriage Walking: 8hr 45min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 4hr
Falkreath to Shor's Stone (white)
Miles: 64.31
On Foot: 1d 45min
Horse/Carriage Walking: 16hr
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 7hr 30min
Falkreath to Riverwood
Miles: 11.54
On Foot: 4hr 30min
Horse/Carriage Walking: 2hr 45min
Horse/Carriage Trotting: 1hr 15min
#skyrim#the elder scrolls#skyrim cities#skyrim travel#travel time#whiterun#markarth#morthal#falkreath#solitude#dawnstar#winterhold#windhelm#riften#maps#skyrim settlements
45 notes
·
View notes
Text
how much should my longings fall like snow by Sienne
attack on titan | ereri | 1,8k chap 1/4 | fluff, winter vibes, canon compliant, set in s3
written for Ererimas event by Ereri Nation
day 1, prompts used: [coming home] and ["I'm not kissing you" - "Too bad it's tradition"]
summary:
Winter is harsh this year, snow falling continuously and amassing tall enough to threaten to barricade the Survey Corps inside their quarters. Provisions need to be stocked before that happens, so Captain Levi sends himself out on a mission to Mitras.
He's late coming back; Eren waits, impatient and pining.
His vigil is greatly rewarded. Or rather... he rewards himself.
full text under the cut since it would get long
It was way too cold. The stone floor felt freezing, not even his military issued boots with woolen lining could save his toes slowly going numb. But it was a false numbness, since he could still feel icy needles shocking them. His face felt stiff, like a mask of frost had settled over it. Some time ago Mikasa had come and bundled his neck in a scarf, but any warmth it used to generate had long since been greedily soaked up by Eren, and now there was nothing left. Even the initial softness had gone and now it only felt scratchy; all thick and heavy from soaking up not only air moisture, but also his snot and the tears he could not stop from the biting air.
His legs were killing him. He had been standing for what must have been hours, but he could not lean on the wall. Its coldness permeated his coat too quick, and any relief to his legs was not worth getting even closer to death by freezing than he already was.
Of course, no one was keeping him there. He was free to leave at any time. In fact, anyone who had come through the foyer (and had gone just as quickly) gave him looks - like they thought he had gone insane.
But no. He could not leave. This was a self-imposed mission, and everyone knew, Eren himself included, that there was nothing that could stop him once he was determined to do something. Especially if it involved Captain Levi. So Eren was stuck in the freezing foyer, legs and back aching as he peered through the frosty window into the snowy wasteland outside, waiting enduringly like a child awaiting their parent coming back from work.
Or perhaps like a wife waiting for her husband to come back from battle.
It was a more apt description, if Eren were to be honest. He had no illusion that what he was yearning for had nothing in common with the yearning of a child, even if his desires were still vague and muddled whenever he tried to focus on them. That didn’t matter, though. Everything will return into its proper place as soon as the Captain got back home. He should hurry, though. It was cold as balls, and Eren’s own might come off if he didn’t get somewhere warm soon.
It wasn’t like Levi had gone on a dangerous mission. He had only gone to Mitras, to get some permission slips signed and their provisions secured, a courier job that was usually left to lower ranked soldiers. Unfortunately, they had already dispatched two and neither had come back, and the Survey Corps couldn’t waste any more time if they wanted to survive the winter if the expected snow fell and barricaded them all inside. So Levi had clicked his tongue and announced that he would do it himself, in case any more delicate shits got lost.
He had taken a horse, so he should have been back two days ago at the very latest, even imagining all manner of high traffic, stubborn military police, snobby nobles and adoring civilians wanting the Captain’s attention.
They should get in line, Eren thought resentfully. He might not have been there for the Captain first, but he was the priority now. Maybe not by Levi’s own wish, but the regulations were clear, and both of them were equally beholden to them.
They had also grown closer. Maybe by necessity at first, drawn together by mutual remembrance of the Special Operations Squad; finally allowed to process and grieve their loss. Eren loved Mikasa and Armin, and he enjoyed the presence of the new Squad Levi —they were all (mostly) his friends and comrades— but no one here but him and Levi understood what they were going through. They hadn’t known Petra, Auruo, Gunther and Eld, they hadn’t been in a squad together with them, bound by the promise to protect and to kill, by trust grown despite of and through instinctual fear.
Eren missed them. He was sure the Captain did too, if the way he regaled him with many stories of their past together was any indication. They laughed (well, Eren did. The Captain only huffed), they cried (well, Eren did, but he cried enough for the both of them), and they reminisced. Each moment precious, growing something new out of the hollow loss.
They were at a precipice.
And then Levi had gone, and he hadn’t come back yet. Eren resented this sudden lack of Captain Levi. He had become accustomed to always seeing him, or at the very least to feeling aware of his presence nearby. It was strange, and like he had taken it for granted. Before, any moment not spent with Levi was spent sleeping or fulfilling orders. Or being kidnapped. Now, it was none of these things. The usual activities and training had been halted due to the weather, keeping everyone inside and in close quarters, giving the soldiers ample time to relax and socialize. And Eren’s soul kept seeking what it had grown used to, unsettled by this abrupt void where once Levi’s presence had been a constant, especially in down-time.
So Eren continued his vigil, because there was nothing else he could do to make himself feel better, even as he slowly turned into an ice statue. The frosty window was difficult enough to see through, but the tears filling his eyes from the cold air made it impossible to even guess at what was outside. He didn’t need to see to know, anyway.
Just snow, and snow, and more snow.
He must have fallen asleep standing, because he startled at the sudden croak of a door opening. For a moment he was awash with desolation, sure it was someone who came to check on him or was just passing through to get the wood for the fireplace.
But then he heard that low drawl filled with annoyance and suddenly all pain disappeared like magic.
“The fuck are you doing here, Eren? Do you want to give me more paperwork to wipe my shit with when you die as an icicle and I have to report that?”
Eren could barely make out Levi’s face from his own tears and how bundled up the Captain was; the furry hood of his winter coat fell well over his forehead, and a thick scarf was wrapped around his neck, up and over his mouth and nose. He more resembled one of those ugly garden gnomes than the highly revered Humanity’s Strongest Soldier.
He was still a welcome sight for sore eyes. Eren was so elated, so overcome with joy that Captain Levi was back safely, and relief that he could stop waiting and finally give his tired, aching body some rest, that he burst into crocodile tears. His mind was still sound enough that he did not throw himself into the Captain’s arms despite the insistent urge to do so.
Thankfully, or maybe regretfully for Eren’s pride, Levi knew him well enough to not be bothered by his tears, long since used to his crybaby of a soldier. He sighed heavily and reached up to pat Eren’s bowed head. Feeling that his comforting duty was done, he lowered the hood and began unwrapping his scarf.
“Is anyone dying? No? Then shut up already, god, do I smell so badly you need to wash me with your bodily liquids?”
Eren snorted despite himself, but that only made Levi recoil away in disgust as some of the dripping snot had flown his way.
“No one’s dying. Sir. I was just…” he trailed off uncertainly. He had not thought to prepare an excuse.
“Just?” Levi raised an eyebrow, grimacing when Eren sniffled what was coming out his nose back in. He reached into his pocket to take out a familiar white cloth.
Eren took the offered handkerchief and wiped his nose properly, finding Levi’s relief showing so visibly on his face rather amusing, considering how stone faced he usually was.
“Just waiting for you to come back,” he found the courage to say, gripping the kerchief tightly.
He raised his head up to avoid Levi’s probing gaze and froze so still like he had finally become an ice statue after all these hours of waiting in the cold.
“I missed you too, brat,” the Captain said reading between the lines. His voice was deadpan and teasing, but there was also a glimmer of sincerity hiding in there.
When Eren didn’t deign to respond —very unusual but especially so when Levi was being somewhat candid and generous with his… affections— Levi scowled, stormy eyes promising pain for the slight if there was no good excuse coming, and soon.
“What’s wrong with you now,” he demanded.
“Um,” Eren answered, eyes still glued to the ceiling.
Levi’s eyes followed, and the sight of mistletoe hanging above them was explanation enough.
It didn’t change anything, though. Levi did not hesitate to kick Eren in the shin, once for being insubordinate and ignoring his superior instead of responding with effusive exclamations of being happy Levi was back and having missed him, then a second time for, yes, being insubordinate again and having impudent thoughts about his superior.
Eren need not say anything, Levi knew anyway. The sparkle in his bright, green eyes and the pink of his cheeks blooming from its pale color to a deeper hue like a most beloved rose, and clearly not from the cold, told the Captain everything anyway.
“I am not kissing you,” he informed the boy matter-of-factly.
It was preposterous that Eren even needed a warning. Levi must have grown complacent in discipline. He will rectify that tomorrow, he was sure his brats would enjoy the training after all these days of languishing they had surely indulged in during his absence.
“Too bad it’s tradition,” was all Eren said, somehow managing to sound both playful and wistful.
They stood there in silence, Levi looking at Eren and Eren still looking up at that inconvenient weed. Slowly his gaze turned from yearning to contemplative; he darted a quick look at the Captain from the corner of his eye, and before Levi could realize that the air between them had changed, grown charged and what it meant— the boy descended, giving Levi’s cheek a short peck.
It was warm, and unbearably sweet. Definitely not what he would have expected from a hormonal boy, but then again, Eren had always been full of surprises. Just the fact that he had gone for it even after being warned off was evidence enough of that.
And of his determination in pursuit of the things he wanted.
No matter how nice the kiss was, the titan menace still deserved the harsh kick in the butt he got for it, though.
7 notes
·
View notes
Text
WIP WEDNESDAY
Tagged by @derelictheretic @socially-awkward-skeleton @direwombat @kyber-infinitygems @captastra
Tagging: @sstewyhosseini @baldurrs @jinfromyarikawa @confidentandgood @marivenah @poisonedtruth @aceghosts @phillipsgraves @simonxriley @lavinet @risingsh0t @nightbloodraelle @newknife @strangefable @voidika @fourlittleseedlings @josephslittledeputy @funkypoacher @clicheantagonist @madparadoxum
I don’t have much, but I have a little bit of a rough draftI was inspired to write of the family having a nice little day together amidst the chaos of the reaping.
It was a brisk and sunny day when the recently healed Berger-Seed family was able to make their first trek outside of both their bunker and the valley; a time Charlie had never thought would come. After John’s failed dogfight and the fatal brawl she got into that opened up stitches she received from being shot in the chest, the two were kept in their quarters under doctor’s orders.
It wasn’t all that bad, of course. Unlike the other families who have taken up residence at Black Horse Peak, they have their own version of an apartment tucked away into the corner of the bunker where John’s office resides. For three weeks they were given the privacy they needed for a full recovery, but that didn’t stop the feeling of claustrophobia that slowly crept in day by day.
Their luck turns around on day twenty three of their bed rest when Jacob radios in with urgent news. Her brother-in-law was ecstatic, his usually gruff voice dripping with what sounded like his own version of joy. He, alongside his chosen and hunters, had managed to overpower Eli’s Whitetails and other resistance members while the deputy was out in the Henbane recovering from a particularly nasty bliss trip. With her allies either dead or wounded, the mountains fell back into the rightful hands of the project.
John had wanted to congratulate his brother on his success in person, of course. So, with two SUVs full of their best chosen, the family commenced on their trip up north.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?,” Charlie asks, her green eyes looking up and into the rear view mirror to check on Sloane; the toddler currently babbling to herself in the backseat as she watches out the window. “That fucking deputy always seems to be lurking in the shadows.”
John briefly takes his eyes off the road to shoot her a small smile. “Don’t worry about them, darling. Faith has been having her fun with our little deputy friend so we can have this little day to ourselves.”
#I’m still going through notifications#but I wanted to post this on a Wednesday#also working on a breeding kink prompt but I’m too scared to share it#wip tag
40 notes
·
View notes
Text
maybe i do: ch 6 lover's lullaby
read ch 5 here ♡ read ch 7 here
Yona giggled as Sidon recounted his time with Link. He had gushed about how kind and thoughtful Link was. Sidon may or may not have let slip that he thought Link was stunning. That made Yona squeal with joy, he had no idea why this made her so happy. It’s objectively true, Link was incredibly handsome.
The more Sidon talked with Yona about Link the happier he became. Yona and Sidon loved to gossip together at the end of a long day. They had separate bedrooms within their Royal quarters. Fortunately the rooms were meant for family so there were plenty of rooms to choose from for the two of them to sleep in away from each other. Sidon didn’t mind this arrangement but sometimes when he had a bad night he would ask to sleep on the sofa in Yona’s bedroom just so he would have another breathing body closer to him.
Sidon didn’t often have nightmares but when he did, they were of Mipha. His sister had died when he was still young and despite over 100 years passing he felt as though her death had just happened. It was the noises that truly got to him, the screams and panicked breathing he imagined his sister making as she fought to her death in the beast that became her grave. It was the noises of his people dying on the day the divine beasts were overtaken by the Blights.
It was fine. He was fine, everything was over now that Link had defeated and killed Calamity Ganon. The world was safe, he was safe, the people he loved were safe.
For now. That dreaded thought, the gnawing fear that something bad was going to happen. It didn’t matter if it was to him, he could deal with it, but for the sake of his loved ones he feared for what might awaken in the future. Yona always told him to think of the now, and how he has to take care of his people in the present. They could prepare for the future but not predict it. Sidon knew he had a habit of catastrophizing but how could he not when the absolute worst childhood fear of his had come true.
⟡ ⟡ ⟡
Link had felt so much lighter since coming out as trans to Sidon. He still didn’t know what possessed him to come out. Just because he had been thinking about his past shouldn’t have given him the audacity to come out to a man he technically didn’t know. Technically. Link did feel that warming trust that radiated off Sidon like an aura. It’s true what Link had told Sidon, Link really did feel safe in his presence. He wasn’t sure if that was due to his apparent past with Sidon or if he was just generally a trustworthy person. Although, both could be true at once. He had seen Sidon interact with his people around the Domain, everyone seemed to adore him and he adored them in turn.
Link knew there was something he felt about Sidon that was escaping his grasp. Probably something to do with their past together. That ate away at Link. What had happened at the reservoir? More importantly, why did he have this song stuck in his head? It had popped up after he had woken up after his disaster flashback moment. The melody was calming, almost mimicking the ebb and flow of waves washing over the shore. It was only a couple notes, not a full song.
That song followed him everywhere for the rest of the day. He so badly wanted to hear the rest of it. He hummed as he brushed Epona, who whinnied happily at both the humming and the brushing.
“I thought I might find you here!” Link jumped and instinctively dropped into a fighting stance, he whipped around to the source of the voice. He let out a sigh, it was just Sidon. “Is this the famed horse who ran off with your clothing?” Sidon chuckled apologetically, he must’ve noticed how badly he startled Link.
Link nodded, relaxing his stance, “Yep this is my Epona, she’s always like this.” Link rolled his eyes, patting Epona’s side. “Once she stole Zelda’s ceremonial crown and wouldn’t give it back without exchanging it for treats.” Link’s expression saddened at his own mention of Zelda.
Sidon frowned, he hated seeing Link like this. Link had been staying in the inner Domain with the royal family for just a few days, but he had begun to relax around Sidon a little more than when he first had arrived. Sidon recalled Link being easily startled from before his disappearance but this was much more extreme. Every little noise or movement someone made around him that he didn’t immediately recognize as not a threat sent him into the same tense fighting stance Sidon remembered him taking only during a fight. This wasn’t good at all. If Sidon knew Link, he knew that Link wouldn’t be able to admit he was struggling. Let alone even acknowledge himself that he was struggling. Link wasn’t self absorbed in the slightest but if there was one thing his pride got in the way of was being the perfect chosen hero. He was adamant he had to be absolutely perfect in every way.
Link began to collect Epona’s grooming tools and put them back, not completely aware that Sidon was still standing there. He moved stiffly, clearly bothered by something upsetting.
“Hey Link?” Sidon asked gingerly, “Are you alright? It’s ok if you don’t wanna talk about it, I’m just getting a little worried.” Link looked at Sidon with the most heartbreaking look in his eyes. It made Sidon want to pull him into the tightest hug and make everything ok again.
Link slowly finger spelled that word again, “O-C-A-R-I-N-A” which twisted and squeezed Sidon’s heart, ripping it in two. He had no idea what an ocarina is but it was clearly so very important to Link, who’s hands had dropped to his sides hanging almost limp. Sidon took a gamble and grabbed hold of both of Link’s hands. Link didn’t flinch but instead leaned forward, stumbling into Sidon’s arms. He hugged Link, he hugged him tightly not ever wanting to let him go. He wanted to hug away Link’s pain and make everything feel better for the traumatized Hylian.
“What’s an ocarina?” Sidon asked softly, as if speaking to a frightened animal. Which Link was beginning to look more and more akin to.
“Instrument… Zelda remade. It’s gone.” Link signed against Sidon and sobbed, harder than he ever had. He clung to Sidon, sobbing into the Zora king’s chest no longer caring that the man holding him was a king. There it was again, the song. But it wasn’t coming from his head, Sidon was humming the same song Link had gotten stuck in his head. Why did he know the song that Sidon was humming? Link didn’t have the energy nor the mental capacity to care and allowed himself to just absorb Sidon’s warmth and comfort.
The two stood there embracing as Link sobbed until he couldn’t anymore, until he didn’t even have the energy to stand unsupported. What was he doing? He was the fucking chosen hero!! He didn’t even have the energy to beat himself up for finally reaching his breaking point over losing Zelda again. He definitely didn’t have the energy to protest as he was scooped up bridal style by Sidon and taken back to his guest rooms.
Sidon had taken the fastest, most discreet path to Link’s guest rooms; he didn’t want to think about the gossip that might go around if people saw him carrying around the Hylian like he was a fairytale princess. That wasn’t the main concern, simply an afterthought as he pulled a comforter over Link. He had fallen asleep halfway to his rooms as Sidon had pulled him closer pretending this could shelter him from his own awful thoughts. Link’s face was still scrunched together, he must not be having pleasant dreams either. The poor man couldn’t catch a break.
⟡ ⟡ ⟡
Sidon, not wanting to leave Link just in case he was needed, stayed the rest of the afternoon inside on Link’s couch. He had asked one of the attendants, Nele, if she could bring him some of his paperwork and parts of the presentation he needed to finish so he was able to work while keeping an eye on Link. Nele smiled, “Of course sire! I’ll be right back.” She eyed Sidon in a motion he would view as suspicion but her expression was pleasant, no ill will towards him. If anything, she seemed pleased?
Afternoon passed, Sidon was all but finished with the paperwork and had started on his presentation. Link had stayed sound asleep despite the occasional violent thrashing and groans of distress. Another nightmare. Having experienced vivid nightmares himself, Sidon knew the worst thing someone could do was wake the person up. It still pained him to hear his friend be in such distress. The song. Sidon began humming, this time the full song. He had finally remembered the entirety of it and swayed as he hummed and trilled.
⟡ ⟡ ⟡
“This is called ‘Song of Storms’ the stories claim it has the power to summon water and cause rainstorms. But only with a special instrument and played by a special person. Now it’s used as a lullaby for hatchlings and guppies to soothe them to sleep.” Mipha had told him before she pulled out a flute from a drawer in her desk. She played the first couple chords before motioning for little Sidon to hum along. Mipha was right, it was soothing. He continued to hum along but felt his eyes growing heavy and soon he drifted to sleep resting his head on Mipha’s lap as she finished the song.
⟡ ⟡ ⟡
Sidon looked over at Link, he had stopped moving, save but the rise and fall of his chest followed by light snores. Praise the gods! The song Mipha had taught him seemed to work just as well on Link as it did on Sidon. It still didn’t feel right to leave Link even though his dreams seem to have calmed. When did he get this attached to Link? He brushed the question off, he was just concerned about him. Sidon knew how the trauma of war can get into your mind. Rotting it from the inside, filling it with horrid thoughts and memories. How you can never really escape witnessing the bloodshed, not really.
Link looked so peaceful now, his blond hair was splayed out on the pillows almost creating a halo around his head. Was there nothing about this man that wasn’t beautiful? In only a way that could come from this specific Hylian. Sidon loved his impish grin when he told an awful joke. He loved Link’s bravery and kindness, his cheerful ability to make anyone feel wanted and appreciated when they asked him for help. Sidon loved that Link’s ears were just as expressive as his face. How animated he got when he talked about Epona or his travels and cooking.
Sidon loved.
Link.
#legend of zelda#the legend of zelda#tloz#maybe i do#sidlink#tears of the kingdom#breath of the wild#link#link has ptsd and surviors guilt#link is nonspeaking and uses hylian version of sign language#sidon x link#sidon#nonspeaking link#mute link#mew fics
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
Humanity Is Stupid & Contagious
I wish humanity could just admit that we dont work as a species on this planet.
We dont work as a species period.
We dont.
As a species, we are social creatures.
Therefore, as macro as it gets, we are engineered in the Upside Down (our current "reality" aka "life") to social climb, to be competitive, to be political, to try to get ahead, to use force might and violence to win, to want to accumulate wealth social capital land resources assets, to want to be the best, to acquire power.
I want to be the only 7 star general other than Lord Washington.
I want to be Trump, The Art of the Deal.
I want to be Napoleon, Bezos, Cook & Elon.
I want to be Ford.
I want to be Bill Gates.
I want to be President.
I want to be Commander In Chief.
Everything bigger faster stronger.
The smartest.
VP.
CEO.
Clout privilege wealth social capital.
Starfucker.
Sucking dick for clout.
This is all embedded in the very fabric of the Upside Down but in the dreamscape we are naturally one and harmonious.
Everything is flipped upside down here in the Upside Down.
Our differences in the dreamscape -- and the dreamscape is made up of untold trillions of separate dreamscapes that make up a kaleidoscopic explosion of thoughts dream imagination love knowledge philosophy esotericism energy meditation -- are what created and creates unfolding ever evolving ever mutating (the real X-Men) DNA hybrid dualism but down here in the Upside Down, the differences are used to falsely create division, tear us apart, make us afraid, make us prejudge, make us hate, make us ostracize, haze, bully, assault, kill, rape, murder, beat, torture, ethnically cleanse, arrest, jail, mass graves, death camps, death squads, rape rooms, mass incarcerations, hangings, lynchings, beheadings, burnings at the stake, capital punishments, executions, make an example of, mass hysteria, scapegoats, fall guys, columbine shooters, false gods, false heros, false kings, false crowns, false idols, world religions aka cults, brainwashing, conditioning centers, reprogramming, human experimentation, cloning, DNA splicing, genetic mutations, lab experimentations, synthetic chemicals and toxins, lethal injections, the electric chair, drawn and quartered, dragged by horses, decapitations, slavery.
Its like, it just doesnt work.
Human nature is rewarded in the Upside Down for being cheap, dirty, low, cutting corners, being the fastest, quickest, least expensive, best technology, most scientifically advanced, most destructive weapons, most deadly chemical warfare, more black label projects, more government secrets, more undercover agents, more guns, Gatling, AK-47, multiple rounds, multiple clips, multiple magazines, rat a tat tat, more badges, more stripes, more chevrons, more ranks, more insignias, more titles, more letters before and after your name on LinkedIn, more zeros in your bank account, more friends on Facebook, more followers on Instagram, more views on TikTok, more retweets on Twitter, more subs on Youtube & Twitch.
More Napoleon Bonapartes, more let them eat cake, more off with their heads, more they dont want to work, more welfare queens, more get a job, more Funquishas and Watermelondras.
More campaigns, more slogans, more supermans.
We never learn from our collective atrocities.
Why would any time ever be different much less the next time?
What war did WWI stop?
WWII?
Korean War?
Vietnam War?
US Mexico War?
Hundred Years War?
Cold War?
Gulf War?
Operation Iraqi Freedom?
Holocaust?
Cultural Revolution?
Khmer Rouge?
Stalin?
Lenin?
Franco?
Mussollini?
Mao?
Hitler?
Hirohito?
Rape of Nanking?
Trail of Tears?
Idi Amin?
Rwanda?
Serbia?
Congo?
Sudan?
Tigray?
Palestine?
Gaza Strip?
Slavery?
18k killed in Chile in 1 day?
9/11 inside job?
Napalm?
Nerve gas
Phosphorous?
Hiroshima & Nagasaki?
Atomic bomb?
D-Day?
10k dead Americans in Normandy?
666k dead in Civil War?
Weve never collectively as a species learned from any past war, atrocity, crime against humanity, war crime, genocide or ethnic cleansing.
Its been hundreds of thousands of years.
Why would anything ever change if it hasnt already?
The track record is abysmal and speaks for itself.
Why, as a species, do we blindly and ignorantly choose to continue to procreate, replicate and propagate our human race when the end result has always been untold human suffering?
There is no amount of joy that can cancel out the amount of suffering that has been needlessly caused and experienced in the Upside Down.
Its time to end the human experiment and we have not had a good run.
Millions upon millions killed, raped, starved, gassed, beaten, tortured, hazed, humiliated, mocked, imprisoned, jailed, assaulted, exterminated, exploited, traumatized, gaslit, intimidated, ethnically cleansed, used.
Abused, overworked, harrassed, trafficked, groomed, conditioned, brainwashed, broken, violated, fetishized, objectified, commodified, consumed, dehumanized, retconned, manipulated, overmedicalized, pathologized, drugged, indoctrinated, molested, institutionalized.
There is no amount of good, joy, happiness or anything else that can even come close to equaling out these endless and ongoing atrocities, forget cancelling them out.
Humanity is a virus that has been allowed to endlessly replicate itself and it has to stop.
We are causing catastrophic human suffering to our own species because we wont stop reproducing ourselves for no fucking reason at all.
Once you add in the ecocide, ecological and environmental destruction, hundreds of thousands of animal species that have been made extinct, climate change, climate crisis, climate emergency, deforestation, the destruction of rainforests, landfills, nuclear waste, oceanic pollution, overfishing, factory farming, industrial waste, toxins, pollutants, synthetic and lab made chemicals, GMOs, pesticides, overextraction of earths resources, raping & pillaging mother earth, sewage, food waste, fast fashion, big box retail, air pollution, air toxicity, non biodegradable waste taking tens of thousands of years to break down in landfills, oil spills, drilling for oil, coal, endless construction, endless Amazon warehouses, endless delivery drones, methane emissions from factory farming, greenhouse gas emissions, millions of cars clogging the highways...
The answer is we need to subtract the human race from the equation.
If all 7.8 billion of us currently alive on the planet made the conscious decision not to procreate, we could end all this suffering in this generation.
Weigh the reasons to procreate: continue bloodline and current family lineage, have a little mini-me, fullfill narcisstic fantasies of having a living breathing extension of your own ego, looking for something to give you your identity and a reason to live, looking for purpose, the social rewards that come with being a parent, the social pressures to procreate, making your mom & dad happy, keeping up with your friends that are popping out babies, an unexamined need and desire to fit in, unquestioningly accepting society's pronatalist stance and adopting it as your own without examining it, desire to create heirs, egotistical fantasy of living forever and trying to accomplish this by having children, wanting miniaturized versions of yourself who will endlessly kiss your ass stroke your ego and hero worship you, to build your own myth aura and mystique, narcisstic desire to be a matriarch/patriarch, societal insistence that feminity equates to motherhood, believing the lie that motherhood is a womans highest calling, believing the lie that not having children is selfish, succumbing without thinking to the non-stop societal programming, conditioning and brainwashing to procreate and create bodies for the capitalist machine, spouse is pressuring or demanding or coercing you to have kids, wanting to play dress up with your doll aka daughter, wanting to be an adult and parenthood is tied with adulthood in our society, unexamined fear of old age and dying alone and becoming old sick and infirm without children, believing the lie that you are incomplete and somehow defective as a woman until you shit a fetus out of your cervix, wanting to prove your worth and adopting parenthood as part of an ultracompetitive persona that can do and be and crush everything crossfit marathons pilates keto school grades corporate promotions salaries the house the car the spouse and now kids further bolsters your superman/superwoman persona, falling for the societally peddled lie that holidays are incomplete without little kids running around, incorrectly and inadequately trying to address childhood and generational trauma experienced in family while growing up by having your own kids vs doing the necessary self reflection, introspection, shadow & somatic work, reiki & therapy, wanting a daughter who is your BFF, wanting a child for nothing but fantasy & wish fulfillment, obsessive martydom complex leads to desire to martyr oneself by sublimating your identity, body, sexuality, career, income, social life and freedom for the all-consuming and obliterative identity of motherhood, desire for people to take you seriously, to compete with or keep up with siblings or best friends who already have kids, believing the carefully crafted and packaged lies that overly romanticize parenthood and wanting the Hallmark fantasy, slavishly following cultish and pathetic religious dictates and never questioning the religious indoctrination and brainwashing of your youth which commanded you to be fruitful and multiply, a desire to be respected through becoming a parent, a fear of appearing like an outsider if you are in a long term relationship or marriage for decades and never have kids, an irrational fear of missing out where you believe the propaganda that nothing is worse than reaching old age realizing you actually wanted kids and not being able to have them when in reality absolutely nothing is worse than having kids realizing you absolutely despise being a parent, regretting having them, being stuck with them for 18+ years and never being able to publicly voice your opinions although while quite commonplace are societally taboo especially from mothers who must always be docile, happy, pleasant, energetic, cheerful, full of vigor and most importantly never tired or complaining at all times.
Okay. Now, go reread this post and look at all the reasons not to procreate.
Like, its not close.
Humanity is stupid and contagious but you dont have to be.
End the endless cycle of human suffering.
Choose to not procreate.
#pro abortion#abortion rights#abortion#reproductive freedom#reproductive justice#reproductive rights#pro choice#feminism#antinatalist#antinatalism#anti capitalism#socialist#socialism#green party#voluntary human extinction movement#population control#ecocide#ecoconscious#climate change#climate action#climate crisis#climate emergency#landfills#deforestation#pollution#carbon footprint#food waste#genocide#war machine#militarism
6 notes
·
View notes
Note
Oh what about Farmer with a horse girl? Does he have horses. My dream is to basically be a hometeader so I keep wondering what his farm has.
Oh yeah, he has horses!! Ok, so this is how I view his farm. He has the homestead of cause, which is this pale yellow colour (for some reason? it's not even a colour I like, but it's what I imagined it as when I wrote the first one). It's two stories with a wrap-around porch and has big white shutters with those pretty shaped cut-outs.
Then the infamous barn is the stereotypical red and white barn. But it's seen better days. The red is more of a dull/brownish red and the white has chipped away and now it's more wood than paint.
I see him having a few fields of wheat/barley. This is more of a way to feed his animals rather than a profit. But if he has enough left over he will sell.
His main profit is his bulls. I don't see him being able to sell cattle for meat or anything too intensive. It's mostly just him and he only gets seasonal workers to help with the harvest or just when he needs them. So instead he runs a bull stud. Breeding the best bulls in the state. It's a small operation but he charges a hefty price for quality so it works. He has about 2 bulls he keeps for 4-5 years before replacing them, and about 30-50 cows/heifers depending on the season.
Then he has his pigs, thats how his father made his money breeding boars, but pigs are noisy as all hell, so the farmer has it more as a side project rather than the main source of income. He has a pair he keeps and he then sells the litter.
Then he has his chickens, a good 20 of them. One big red rooster and all the rest hens. He sells the eggs he doesn't want either as produce or as incubator eggs. He has this huge chicken coop he built himself.
Then he has one or two dairy cows. He breeds them with his bulls and shares the milk with the calf. Or sells the calf depending on if it's a bull calf. Doesn't sell the milk, but uses it for himself (after pasteurisation of course). He'll most likely sell the heifer calf later on.
Then there are the horses. He doesn't have many. Maybe one or two and they're used as transport mainly through his fields or to round up the cattle. They aren't anything special either just quarter horses, but they get the job done. I can see the horse girl reader just falling in love with them and getting mad when they find out he calls them Horse, and Also Horse. Reader will braid their hair and beg farmer to let them go for rides. He agrees as long as he's with them.
Then he's got a cat that just roams around. He doesn't even own it really. It just showed up and never left.
Then there are his working dogs. If I hadn't implied he was from the Us south/Texas, I would have given him kelpies. They are the best working dogs! At least in my biased australian opinion. I was thinking of giving him cattle dogs (blue/red heelers), cause they are recognised in the States but cause his cattle are breeding stock he won't want the dogs to be overly aggressive and bite their heels (they can be trained out of them but easier to get another breed).
Ok, I did some googling and cause I have three kelpies myself, I'm giving him some. I don't care if the us doesn't recognise the breed (rude) but it's not unheard of for them to be used in the States. So yay! Anyway, he only has two cause he has such a small herd. They aren't inside dogs cause they are primarily working dogs so they get this nice kennel outside. And cause I love country music and by extension, he does too, they are called Pancho and Lefty.
He also has a veggie garden and grows most of his own food. If you are a vego/vegan DO NOT go into the small shed out the back. That chicken he took in there does not come back out alive.
Anyway! Hope you liked it. I got a bit over the top
tag list: @floraroselaughter @psyche-entwined-in-love
35 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
miyabie-blog1
표어진 : 雅
hugobbq
Hugo BBQ
ponyxaviors
Supernatural and Thangs
beamclaws
I NEVER LEARNED HOW TO READ-
fbionion-blog
Jo Baumgartner