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d4yd4iry · 7 months

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Sweet Memories

Pairings: Kim Minji x fem!reader

Synopsis: When life gets too hard, you go down memory lane.

Genre: Fluff…?

Minji knew that she shouldn’t be overworking herself, but how could she not when there are thousands of people ready to critique her imperfections.

It didn’t help that she let them get to her head, making her focus too much on perfecting her moves rather than enjoying herself.

But no matter how perfect something is, people will always try to find flaws. That’s just human, but that doesn’t mean that it’s okay.

Due to the growing popularity of NewJeans, the group gained many fans but with fans, comes a bunch of jobless haters. Just a bunch of snakes, waiting for a victim to spit their venom at.

It so happened that Minji became one of their many targets. Endless of cruel words being said about her, words that are not true, words that have been exaggerated to fit the narrative that they view her as.

You would know, being in the same situation as her and as well as being her supporting pillar since your trainee days. You were one of the very few kind hearted people left, a pure soul who genuinely find beauty in everything.

These past few months have been stressful for the girls, but especially for Minji who’s the oldest of the 6. Because being the oldest means that she’ll always get more criticism from the public, even if she’s not the official leader.

You have seen how bad it gets on her bad days, she wouldn’t talk much, and keeps to herself a lot. And it hurts to see because your girlfriend have been hurting and you can’t do anything to stop the source of her sorrows.

“Minji, talk to me.”

Minji have been keeping to herself for way too long, she was like a ticking bomb just waiting to explode at any moment. Everyone was worried about her, especially you.

“Please, I don’t want to talk about it.” Minji whispered as she laid on your shared bed covering herself with a blanket, with her back facing you.

You bit your lips, genuinely frustrated that you weren’t able to make her feel better. “Min, I know how hard it is for you to talk about your feelings…just know that I’m here to listen, just like what you did for me.”

She wasn’t responding but you knew that she was listening. You took a deep breathe before continuing. “Remember that night? February, 5th, 2019”

You were a trainee long before she joined the company, being one of the best trainee in the whole company.

You were all of the teacher’s favorite and was very popular amongst the trainees and staffs as well.

Minji first thought that a fellow trainee was exaggerating when they said that you were like an angel sent to earth, but soon after she met you, she could understand fully why people admired you so much.

You’re the most beautiful person she have ever met, both beautiful in and out. Many people have said that perfection doesn’t exist, but clearly they’ve never met you.

You would always be surrounded by trainees who were desperate to share a conversation with you, even a glance would make them fall on their knees.

You were very well spoken and your voice was angelic, people couldn’t help but shut themselves up whenever you talk.

But they’re also the same people who make up their own version of you. Never really intrigued enough to want to know you, the real you, and for the longest time, Minji was one of those people too.

All until one night, the night that changed everything.

[February, 5th, 2019]

It was late at night, almost everyone was out of the company by then and Minji was preparing to go too, having practiced for 8 hours straight, she was dying to enjoy the warmth of her bed.

Humming to herself as she strolled down the dark halls, chills suddenly went down her spine, the company was undeniably creepy during those times. Minji was praying that the rumored company ghost wouldn’t appear in front of her.

As she was about halfway to the elevator, sounds of someone crying reached her ears. Minji eyes went wide, heart pounding as she stopped her steps.

No this will not be how I did she thought

Minji really wanted to sprint to the elevator, maybe even jump down the flight of stairs, all to get away from the crying sound that she was sure that it’s the ghost

But her body was betraying her, her feet moving towards the room and before she could comprehend what had happened, her hands were already pushing the door to get into the room.

Minji felt her breath hitched as her eyes wandered onto the girl whose face was covered by the palm of her hands, but also feeling relieved that it wasn’t a ghost.

It was you, she could recognize you from a mile away. Probably because she spends too much time looking at your figure from afar whenever you guys are in the same room.

She felt a magnetic force pulling her towards you. Minji kneeled down and put her hands on your shoulders, you were startled at first but then your eyes soften when you realized that it was only her.

She felt her heart stop beating for a moment as she scanned your face, gosh you still looked gorgeous even while crying.

“Yn, are you okay?” To say that Minji was concerned would be an understatement, she herself doesn’t even know why her heart ached at how sad you looked.

“I wish I could say that I am, but that would be untruthful.” Your eyes were watery, an overwhelming amount of worries wandered your mind.

Minji eyes soften even more if that’s even possible, she softly caressed your hand. “I know we’re not close, and we don’t talk much either but you can talk to me.”

You took a deep breathe, you don’t know why but after looking into her genuine eyes, you felt like you could tell her anything and everything.

“It’s just that everything and everyone have been so overwhelming, the teachers they are always expecting the best out of me and are always putting so much pressure, I mean I thrive in pressure but it’s always way too much whenever they bragged and compared me to other trainees, and the other trainees…they talk. I don’t understand why I care so much about what they discussed about me, but I do. I don’t think they know that I heard what they’ve been saying about me either…”

“What have they been saying about you?”

“They talk behind my back, saying that I’m a show off, that I’m doing too much, desperate for attention, they call me names, they mock me…but the thing that I don’t understand is how could they be so different when they’re in front of me, they act as if we are friends, almost had me fooled…sorry for ranting to you, I just needed to get this out of my chest and thank you for listening it means a lot.”

All of the things you’ve said surprised her, for the longest time she thought that everyone loved you. How could she not when on the surface they would do anything to try to impress you, but if only she knew how two faced those people are.

Minji wished that she could beat the crap out of whoever talked bad about you, it disgusted her that even for an angel like you, they would still be able to make up shit to talk about.

She still couldn’t understand why would they think that way about someone like you, a person who never talked back to anyone, always too kind that may be deemed as a pushover, soft spoken, you were just too perfect for them and it makes you a threat.

“People are cruel and we can’t do anything about that, but you did not deserve to receive their cruelty.” Minji softly muttered as she used her palm to lift your face up, her eyes stuck onto yours.

“Yn, you are genuinely the kindest person I’ve known and I do not understand why people think it’s a good reason to step on you for that. But take my word when I say that you’ll be far more successful than them, they can stay mad, jealous, and miserable. But you are a star, you shine wherever you go, even in the darkest room, you’ll be able to shine. So cheer up, I miss your smile!”

For the first time in very long time, you finally felt genuinely happy, a smile slowly making way onto your face. “Aha! Come on get up, let’s go do something fun!” Minji felt proud of herself as she got you to get up with a smile on your face, slowly forgetting your sadness.

“What is something you do when you want to feel like yourself again?”

“Hmm?” You pondered for a moment before a bigger smile appeared on your face. “I have something, come on I’ll show you!” Your voice and face were filled with excitement as you dragged the older girl with you.

The two of you laughed along the way, about nothing in particular, it was just the right mood to laugh.

“Ta-dah!”

“This is yours?!” Her jaw dropped as you both were standing in front of your precious motorcycle.

“Yeah, it used to be my dad’s but he doesn’t ride it anymore.” You informed before looking at Minji with a smirk on your face. “Surprised?”

“Yeah, I mean you don’t look like someone who ride motorcycles.”

“What does motorcycle riders look like exactly?” You looked at her with a teasing smile and then laughed once she couldn’t find the words to explain.

“Sorry that was stupid, I mean you look soft and well people who ride motorcycles at least in movies, are usually-“ As she was about to finish her sentence, you interrupted with a big and goofy grin. “Big and scary?”

“Yes! Gosh that is such a stereotype, maybe I should stop watching so much movies.” Minji laughed at herself.

“No, I get it. A lot of them are, my dad is one of them, he’s big and kinda scary. Anyways, wanna go for a ride?”

“It would be stupid to decline such offer!” Minji grinned as she hopped on the vehicle.

The two of you rode into the darkness of the night, worries fade away and replaced with laughters and unforgettable memories.

That was the night that changed everything.

[Present Time]

You forever felt grateful to Minji who listened to your ranting that night, if she weren’t there you would’ve given up your long life dreams.

“I was so upset that night but somehow you managed to cheer me up.”

“I don’t know if you remembered the things you’ve said but I will forever remember. Take my word when I say that you’ll be far more successful than them, they can stay mad, jealous, and miserable. But you are a star, you shine wherever you go, even in the darkest room, you’ll be able to shine.” You smiled as you recited her exact words before looking back at Minji who was still silent.

“I’ve never told you this but…if it weren’t for you that night, I would’ve left my dreams behind and never look back. You’re the most important person in my li-“ You were startled by the sudden hug you received, but soon melted into her embrace, caressing for back once you heard a sob.

“I-I am really sorry” she cried into your neck. “I know you are, but you shouldn’t be sorry.” You replied softly.

“No I should be sorry, sorry for not talking to you, for being distant, really sorry for being a bad girlfriend.”

“Hey! Don’t say that, you’re the best girlfriend and I’ll never find someone else like you.” You cupped her face with your hands and leaned in, softly placing a kiss on her forehead.

“You better not.” She frowned as she point a finger in front of your face threateningly, but you found it cute. “And I do remember that night, and everything about that night. How could I forget when it’s the reason why you’re mine.”

You gave her a teasing grin. “I’m yours?” She nodded and intertwined her hands with yours. “Mine.” Before leaning into your lips for a sweet kiss.

#newjeans imagines #newjeans scenarios #newjeans x reader #idol x reader #kpop gg x reader #newjeans fic #newjeans x fem!reader #Kim minji x reader #minji x reader

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fatehbaz · 1 year

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On the night of April 30, 1541, the Ming Ancestral Temple in Beijing was struck by lightning and burned to the ground. [...]

[T]he fires forced the Jiajing Emperor to resurrect one of the dynasty’s most expensive, difficult, and destructive projects: the logging of old-growth timber in the far southwest of China. Disaster struck again in 1556, when fires burned the Three Halls that form the central axis of the Forbidden City. The Three Halls burned yet again in 1584. Through the end of the sixteenth century, repeated damage to the imperial palaces forced reconstruction. Yet the lightning strikes in Beijing were also a disaster for the old-growth forests of the southwest, where the logs to build the palaces had first been cut in the early 1400s. As logging supervisors soon learned, ancient trees could not be felled on a regular basis. Officials pressed ever deeper into the gorges of southern Sichuan and northern Guizhou to find them, bringing massive transformations to the environment in the process.

---

The foundations of Beijing were laid between 1406 and 1421 by the Yongle emperor, a junior son of the Ming founder, who moved the court to his personal appanage in north China. [...] Grasping the sinews of power that connected his court to far-flung regions of the empire, Yongle pulled one million laborers to Beijing to build his palaces.

Because the weight of Chinese buildings is carried by their pillar-and-beam frameworks (liangzhu), monumental buildings required monumental trees (Figure 2). So Yongle also dispatched a similarly large labor force to the old-growth forests of the far southwest to cut the fir (Cunninghamia lanceolata) and nanmu (Phoebe zhennan) that grew straight and tall enough to be used for imperial construction.

We cannot be certain just how many logs were cut to build Beijing, but the figure must have been astounding. In 1441, two decades after the completion of the project, 380,000 large timbers were left over from the earlier construction. By 1500, these too were gone, used for repairs or too damaged by rot to be used for construction purposes.

---

In the sixteenth century, logging officials wondered how their predecessors had been able to obtain so many giant timbers. Li Xianqing, who supervised more than 40 logging sites in the 1540s, noted that large trees could still be found, but they could only be transported out with great difficulty and at great expense. The majority had to be discarded as hollow or insect-damaged.

Even when a quality log was found, it took five hundred workers to tow a log over mountain passes.

Skilled craftsmen were on hand to build “flying bridges” (fei qiao), stone-lined slip roads, and enormous capstans (tianche) to tow the logs up slopes (Figures 3 and 4). In the remote forests of the southwest, loggers faced attacks by snakes, tigers, and “barbarians” (manyi); “miasmatic vapors” (yanzhang, probably malaria); storms, forest fires, rockslides, and raging rivers (Figure 5). Labor teams had to carry their own food and often starved. At the rivers, logs were tied into massive rafts bound with bamboo for buoyancy, towed by teams of 40 men, and then launched on the three-year, three-thousand-kilometer journey to Beijing (Figure 6). Only a small fraction of the trees reached the capital in a condition where they could be used for palace building.

---

Expeditions exceeded their budgets up to fiftyfold.

One official remarked, “the labor force numbers in the thousands; the days number in the hundreds; the supply costs number in the tens of thousands each year.” Another saying held that “one thousand enter the mountains, but only five hundred leave” (rushan yiqian chu shan wubai). To make matters worse, logging mostly occurred within territory that was under only loose Ming control [...].

---

The Yongle Palaces were said to replicate the otherworldly atmosphere of the old-growth forests where their pillars originated. The presence of these timbers in Beijing linked the capital, materially and symbolically, to the southwestern landscape of cliffs and gorges where the trees had grown.

But ancient sentinel trees could not be reproduced on demand. The fifteenth-century logging project was a millennial event, removing the growth of hundreds or even thousands of years. Later officials were forced to come to terms with the transformations their predecessors had wrought in the ancient forests. Eventually builders had to switch to smaller, commercially available timber, using ornate artisanship and commercial efficiency to substitute for the austere majesty of the early Ming palaces, and the thousands of years of tree growth on which they rested.

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All text above by: Ian M. Miller. “The Distant Roots of Beijing’s Palaces.” Rachel Carson Center for Environment and Society, Environment & Society Portal, Arcadia no. 39. Autumn 2020. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me.]

#abolition #ecology #colonial #imperial #plantation

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asongoficeandfiresource · 9 months

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Nagga had been the first sea dragon, the mightiest ever to rise from the waves. She fed on krakens and leviathans and drowned whole islands in her wrath, yet the Grey King had slain her and the Drowned God had changed her bones to stone so that men might never cease to wonder at the courage of the first of kings. Nagga's ribs became the beams and pillars of his longhall, just as her jaws became his throne. For a thousand years and seven he reigned here, Aeron recalled. Here he took his mermaid wife and planned his wars against the Storm God. From here he ruled both stone and salt, wearing robes of woven seaweed and a tall pale crown made from Nagga's teeth. But that was in the dawn of days, when mighty men still dwelt on earth and sea. The hall had been warmed by Nagga's living fire, which the Grey King had made his thrall. On its walls hung tapestries woven from silver seaweed most pleasing to the eyes. The Grey King's warriors had feasted on the bounty of the sea at a table in the shape of a great starfish, whilst seated upon thrones carved from mother-of-pearl. Gone, all the glory gone. Men were smaller now. Their lives had grown short. The Storm God drowned Nagga's fire after the Grey King's death, the chairs and tapestries had been stolen, the roof and walls had rotted away. Even the Grey King's great throne of fangs had been swallowed by the sea. Only Nagga's bones endured to remind the ironborn of all the wonder that had been. -- AFFC

A Song of Ice and Fire Calendar 2024 || the Grey King by Justin Sweet

#grey king #house greyjoy #iron islands #asoiaf #asoiafedit #asoiaf art #justin sweet #official art

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thecampjuicebox · 6 months

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I got a request for this fic in my inbox and the message literally DISAPPEARED but I made a note of the topic so here it is. Hoping the person who originally requested this finds it because I feel so bad that I can't respond directly to their message :(

Worship you

Pairing: Gale x Tav(f)

Rating: 18+, Minors DNI

POV: 2nd person

Warnings: Smut, body worship, teasing, oral (f/m giving/receiving), piv sex, degradation, spitting, slapping, praise, dom Gale x sub Tav, fluff, aftercare

Warm steam billows up in large clouds around you, the hot bath water making your fingers tingle as you swirl your hand around to distribute the sweet smelling bubbles. Pillar candles flicker around you, adding to the calming atmosphere. Baths are a normal gesture of love in your little tower in Waterdeep. Gale usually being the giving party. Tonight is different. His studies have enveloped him, mountains of tomes and parchment filling his library, much to your dismay. Walking into that cursed room is an impossible feat lately. You're regularly spoiled by his acts of kindness and love, the thought of you doing the same for him often leaving him flustered. He turns you down so often that you're frightened by the notion of trying. However, his tight shoulders and many nights spent sleeping at his desk have proven just enough that he needs a night of pampering.

You sigh quietly to yourself and place his favorite book next to the bath, making sure it's at a safe distance from the water, lest you have to endure another lecture from Gale about "respecting the integrity of text" after your last debacle of wetting the pages of a book during your own bath. Your fingers trace over the gold inlayed words. "The Art of the Night." A novel detailing the first one thousand nights of a newlywed king and queen. Your first memory of the book floods your mind, Gale's gentle voice permeating the silence of the tower around you.

"They turned everything they did into an art. The art of conversation. The art of taste, time honored and newly acquired. The art of the body. The exploration and acceptance of the self and the other. The art of the night itself. I say we take a page from their book."

A shiver rattles your spine at the thought. The love between the two of you followed this book closely in the beginning, the new sensations and feelings needing a map to navigate. Gale's previous lover and goddess, Mystra, tainted the sweet taste of love. For Gale, and subsequently, for you. Everything felt so brand new. Fragile. Now, you would think you'd spent centuries in each others' arms. A bond so perfect, authors only dream of articulating it within their pages. You mumble a quiet incantation and the grand piano down the hall comes alive with a song. "The Lliirian Suites". The very song that played the first night you ever spent with Gale. You take a step back to examine your work, eyes flicking from bath, to book, to candles, to little plate of fruits and cheeses you'd spent entirely too long arranging on a silver plate. Perfect.

Earlier that afternoon you had sent Gale to the apothecary, a long list of various items and Tara in tow. You figured it best the Tressym accompanied him purely to make sure he didn't stray too far from his assigned task. A trait Gale possessed that was both incredibly infuriating and unbearably charming. The familiar sound of the heavy oak front door opening jolts you from your train of thought. They're home. Making quick work of your silk dress, you toss it over a small bench against the wall and sit on the edge of the tub, shivering from the mixture of cold air around you and warm steam at your nude back. Legs gracefully crossed, you wait. Gale's heavy footsteps ascend the stairs, a small chuckle breaking from his throat at the song choice. Hungry eyes fall upon you the moment he rounds the corner, basket of various herbs, potions, and salts falling from his hands and landing on the hardwood floor with a thud.

"Gods, look at you. No artist could capture this moment and do it proper justice. Come to me, my love."

Featherlight steps carry you to your lover, the exaggerated sway of your hips making his mouth water. Soft hands creep their way up your thighs to your sides and yank your small frame towards his. Gale nuzzles his nose into your warm neck, inhaling your familiar and comfortable scent deeply. His eyes fall on the scene behind you and he sighs quietly.

"Did you do all of this for me?"

You nod and back yourself up from him, hands clasping behind your back, ever so slightly pushing your exposed breasts forward. Gentle lips brush past your forehead. He moves to the side of you, fingers lingering against the sensitive skin of your stomach before coasting along the horizontal length of your ribcage and over your arm, you turn, following him as he walks toward the tub. A goofy grin plasters itself on his plush lips.

"You really are a treasure, my dear. Join me?"

Careful hands work his robe off of his torso, boots, leathers, and undergarments following soon after. He runs a hand through his chestnut hair and settles himself into the hot water with a joyous hiss, free hand extending to help you into the tub. You oblige, stepping into the hot, bubbly water and settling on his lap. He hugs your body tightly to his, pressing sweet little kisses up one shoulder, along the back of your neck, and down the other shoulder, one hand holding your hair up and out of his way. His free hand travels down your front, nonchalantly pressing your thighs apart. An intense shiver makes your body jolt in Gale's lap and he chuckles, holding you down against him. Gentle hands pry Gale's arms away from you and you turn towards him, fingers crawling their way up his bare chest.

"No no. Tonight is about you. Your pleasure."

"Pleasuring you gives me more pleasure than words could possibly describe. You know that."

Your eyebrows knit together in frustration. Gale is nothing if not incredibly stubborn. The obvious pout on your face makes Gale frown, hands floating at his sides now. You blink up at him sweetly and press gentle kisses around his beard, nuzzling your nose playfully into his cheek before whispering to him.

"Please let me do this.. I've wanted to for so long. You deserve it."

Gale captures your cheeks in his hands and stares down at you, deep eyes softening at your request. The warm water and bubbles shift around at the sudden movement, swirling together around your close bodies. The candles flicker, light dancing off of Gale's eyes and the single silver earring dangling from his lobe. You could drink him in like this forever. Spend eternity right here in his arms. Hours seem to pass around you, just staring at each other, filled with so much love you might explode like the Netherese Orb. Instinctively, you lean up and peck a kiss to his lips, lingering there for a moment, eyelids fluttering. He sighs happily against your lips and melts into the moment. His back and shoulders loosen their tightly wound posture as he releases your face and rests his elbows on the edge of the tub.

"What do you say we.. Move to a more comfortable location? One with much less of a drowning hazard."

The wizard chuckles loudly and stands, scooping you up swiftly into his arms. The chilly temperature of the tower assaults your naked frame and you cling to his warmth tightly, little bits of suds and bubbles fizzling away at the loss of contact with the water. He carries you to your shared bedchamber and sets you down, retrieving two large towels to dry yourselves off, the smooth fabric soothing the sudden sting of cold air. Once dry, you take a seat on the bed, right leg crossing over left, eyes watching Gale. He's blissfully unaware of your hungry stare as he dries off, back turned to you. His modestly toned back, hips, thighs, ass, the way his wet hair sticks to his shoulders, it all drives you wild. You crave him. Crave to worship him. Show him the love and devotion a willing follower shows to their God. Gale's attention turns to you, cheeks burning at the realization that you've been staring. Devouring him with your gaze. He saunters over to you and places his hands on your shoulders, fingers drumming against the bones there. You grin and stand, quickly spinning him and shoving him to the bed, the sudden movement earning a gasp.

"Gods, Tav.."

Your lips press to the side of his neck and rest there, sucking a little dark circle into the flesh. Gale groans, head falling back. The sound fuels you. Fuels the growing warmth between your thighs. Your lips curve into a devilish smirk against his skin and you settle yourself onto his lap, his already hardening cock pressed against his thigh. Eager hands find your hips, guiding them to grind back and forth against his throbbing length beneath you. You mewl, moving your lips down the side of his neck to his chest, mumbling quietly between each kiss.

"You're so beautiful, Gale. 'kiss' Every inch of you is perfection. 'kiss'"

Gale's hips buck up against you, a strained moan settling deep in his throat, hands grasping your thick hips hard enough to bruise the pale skin. Your lips move lower, tongue flicking out playfully against his nipple and he whimpers at the new, but not uninvited, sensation.

"You're a God. 'kiss' My God. 'kiss' I wish to worship you until the sun melts and the world goes dark. 'kiss'"

Shuddering breathes meld into full pants as Gale watches your lips move over his trembling body, cock twitching against your skin. He rests back on his hands to watch you work, fingers twisting and gripping at the silk sheets, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. Gale has never been worshipped. Especially not in his previous relationship with Mystra. Each word you speak is new. Tantalizing to the brain. Intoxicating. You allow your lips to trail further towards his stomach as you slide off of his lap and to your knees between his legs, hands finding purchase on his thick thighs. Sloppy placid kisses speckle Gale's ribcage, stomach, and hips, lips stopping to occasionally suck on the skin, leaving your mark. A giggle escapes you at the sudden jolt of Gale's hips towards your mouth.

"Mm, patience, my love."

A rough hand moves down to the back of your head, fist grabbing at your soft locks. Not pulling, just holding you there. The threat of being forcefully moved exactly to where Gale wants you making your cunt throb. Gale's cock weeps just next to your cheek, a shiny bead of precum resting in the small slit at the tip. You grin up at him and hold eye contact as the tip of your tongue darts out to collect the clear fluid, making a small circular motion around the aching head. His mouth falls open at the sight and sensation. A labored exhale heaves from his chest. You close your lips around the swollen head and bob up and down agonizingly slow. Eyelids fluttering closed, Gale guides your head, hand still firmly wrapped in your hair, his free hand reaching down to gather the stray strands into one neat ponytail. Eager hips buck up into your mouth, the tip of Gale's cock brushing the back of your throat ever so slightly. You allow one of your hands to travel down your abdomen and to the mess between your thighs. Trembling fingers dip into the wetness there. You moan against the throbbing length in your mouth, the vibrations earning a loud groan from your lover. He tugs your head upwards by your hair, cock slipping out of your lips with a pop, line of drool and precum connecting the two of you. You flick your tongue outwards to gather the rope of clear fluid, moaning at the taste.

Gale releases his grip on your hair to smooth the tangled mess down against the back of your head, a gentle kiss to your nose making your cheeks burn a deep shade of crimson. Even amongst the filthiest activities, Gale always finds a way to be sickeningly sweet. Your swooning is cut short by strong hands lifting you from your knees and slamming you onto your back into the mattress. A loud yelp forces itself from your lips.

"As much as I enjoy being worshipped.. I can't help myself. You're so filthy for me. Such a good little devotee. It would be a shame if I didn't get to watch you squirm."

Gale drops to his knees, large hands holding the backs of your thighs up and apart, the strain on your hips making you whine. Without hesitation, he buries his face into your sopping wet cunt. Little slurping and sucking sounds echo through the bedchamber. You bow your back off of the bed and move your fingers into Gale's still damp hair, tugging and yanking with each flick of his tongue against the painfully swollen bundle of nerves at your core. You whine loudly, head tilting back into the plush mattress, the wizard's tongue working you furiously towards an orgasm. Each pass of Gale's tongue sends electric shocks up your spine and down your legs, your hips wiggling and bucking to keep constant contact. He pulls away slowly, just the tip of his tongue trailing through your folds one last time before standing between your legs, hands coming down to press into the mattress on either side of your head. Your scent lingers on his lips. Beard soaked with your slick, he leans in to kiss you. Deeply. Passionately. Your heart thumps loudly in your chest and he chuckles at the obvious quickening of your breathing. A large hand wraps itself gently around your warm neck, thumb resting at your pulse, feeling it change beneath the digit as Gale presses the tip of your cock to your slit.

"Gale p-please.."

Grinding your hips upwards earns you no release, Gale backing his hips away from you teasingly. A loud whine erupts from your chest and Gale tuts quietly, the hand around your neck moving upwards to shove his thumb into your open mouth.

"Now now, love. Patience, remember? I know you're such a needy slut for me. You can wait a little bit longer."

Another whine sounds against Gale's prodding thumb and his eyebrows knit together, scowling down at you, pulling the thumb away from your desperate tongue. A firm slap lands against your cheek and you mewl in excitement, eyes lighting up. His hand gasps at your cheeks and squishes them together, your lips parting slightly at the pressure against your jaw. A thin rope of spit leaves Gale's mouth and drops into yours. You grin at the taste and swallow. A delicious mixture of your slick and Gale. He grunts down at you, shaking his head as he lines his cock up with your slit once more.

"So dirty for me. Gods, it's taking every ounce of decorum to not absolutely ruin this pretty little cunt of yours. I don't know if you deserve it. You're not being good. I should surely punish you for the way you're acting."

You quickly shake your head and part your thighs more for Gale, hands resting obediently at your sides as you wait for him to bury himself inside of you. You walls clench around the emptiness. Harsh nails leave deep indents in your plush thighs as Gale shoves your legs open even further, a familiarly painful burning sensation lingering in your hips. Your teeth catch your bottom lip to silence a whimper. The tip of your lover's cock dips just inside of your hole, resting there, the tightness making Gale's dizzy head fall back against his shoulders. The slow inching of his cock inside of you drives you absolutely mad, fingers grasping impatiently at the sheets beneath you. Temptation finally overcomes Gale's actions and he ruts into you harshly. The thumb slick with your spit finds it's way to your clit, rubbing back and forth quickly. Loud moans and whines melt together with the subtle slap of skin on skin contact.

Seconds turn to minutes turn to hours, your sweat covered body aching for release. Each time you climb to mountain and gaze over the precipice, Gale pulls away, tearing you down from your earth shattering climax. He loves to toy with you. Loves to watch you squirm underneath his hands. Loves to leave you a begging, sobbing, trembling mess. Tears flow freely down your cheeks as you cling to him, hips crashing together at a dangerously fast pace. He holds you steady against the wall you two have relocated to, one hand behind your head to shield you from hitting it against the brick. The friction of Gale's course bush against your overstimulated clit is enough to send you over the edge without warning, tired walls spasming around the throbbing cock inside of them. Gale groans loudly, the side of his fist pounding against the brick as he releases into you. Thick spews of hot cum make you shudder against Gale's sweaty frame. You sob loudly as he continues to fuck into you, back bowing off of the rough brick that's been scraping your flesh with each thrust. His movements finally slow, chest heaving from the effort, sweat dripping down his tired face. You mewl up at him as he slowly pulls his softening cock from your spent cunt, a mixture of your slick and his cum dripping down his leg. Gentle fingers sweep the sweaty tendrils of hair stuck to your forehead back into the rest of your hair.

"Mm, let's get you cleaned up, my love. I've made a proper mess of you."

Heavy lids obscure your vision and you slump sleepily into Gale's chest, head nuzzling into his sweaty neck. Featherlight fingers trace over the small scrapes on your back and he walks you to the tub, mumbling an incantation to warm the still sudsy water. He carefully steps into the water and lowers the two of you to the bottom of the tub. You hiss at the sting of the warm water against your fresh cuts, whining into Gale's neck. Gentle hands tug you away from him, spinning you in the water, and placing you on his lap, back facing him. Water sloshes behind you as Gale reaches for a cloth, dipping it in the water, and gently running it over your sore back. You wince in pain.

"I'm sorry, Tav. I know it smarts. It'll only last a moment, I promise."

You sigh and loosen your shoulders, leaning into his touch. Gale rubs the cloth carefully over your pale skin and peppers kisses along your shoulders. Sweet, sloppy kisses. The salty taste of your skin making his head spin. You grin at the sensation and lean into him further, forcing his hands away from your back so you can rest flush against his chest.

"Gale, my love.. I'm so sleepy.."

Your lids flutter uncontrollably, the threat of sleep closer than you realize.

"Sleep. I'll see you make it to bed when I'm through cleaning you up."

You grin and press a tired kiss to his cheek, drifting off into his arms for the night.

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic #gale fanfic #gale x tav #fic request

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lackadaisy-headcanon-supply-unit · 11 months

Note

Hello!

I would like to request a Rocky x reader (romantic) oneshot. A fluffy one with a bit of spice would be nice ;) I don't really have a specific plot in mind, but maybe something on the topic of affection? Whatever the story, i'm sure it will be amazing ❤

Thank u, and have a nice day/night!

Hello, Anon!! Thank you for dropping by!! Your request just so happened to align with an idea I've had, and... I got a bit carried away, I suppose. This is well over three thousand words.

Hope you'll find as much entertainment in reading as I did in writing, anyhow!! (I missed crafting dialogue for this silly cat, even if it's equal parts shameless purple prose fun and an absolute pain in the neck.)

“Absolutely not.”

The pose of cheerful enthusiasm he presented the idea with didn’t falter, although his grin seemed to by a sliver.

“Aww, why?”

“It’s not gonna work.”

“We can’t know that until we try!”

You’d come down before opening hour, when many of the lights framing the red-curtained stage and finely carved pillars hadn’t been ignited yet in order to lessen electricity bills, leaving the grandiose speakeasy hall to ruminate in a mellow, warm late afternoon dusk. Leaning against one of the pool tables webbed with gilded patterns on the sides, you glanced him up and down in half-lidded skepticism. It was brief, yet defeating.

“I say this with all the love in my heart,” you prefaced the ruthless confession with a teasing smile, “but you don’t look like you could lift a cornstalk.”

“And you have a point! But consider this,” he countered, gesturing passionately with his hands as if materializing a vision of success before the both of you, and that’s when you recognized this conversation was about to shimmy beyond the bounds of reality. “What wonders can be achieved through the power of love? It can avail you to weather a sea of infernal blazes, crumble ancient mounts to their innermost cores, compel the course of celestial bodies–”

“But it can’t give you muscles.”

The conjurations of poetic fancies promptly shattered, and he gave you a disheartened look.

“Oh, come on, dearest,” he pleaded, all gleaming blue eyes and droopy ears. “Have you no faith in your one and only chevalier?”

“Concerning any other situation… a hard maybe. Depends if anything flammable’s involved.”

You put a finger to your chin in lighthearted contemplation.

“But this… well, I trust you in pulling this off without either of us getting hurt about as far as I could throw you with one hand.”

“I don’t weigh much,” he perked up assuringly. “You could toss me a good few feet, I reckon.”

“So then we should try this the other way around.”

A glint of curiosity hinted he may not have been entirely opposed. Nonetheless, you could tell he wouldn’t let himself be so easily shot down in his steadfast ambitions, about which you happened to be right.

“Your suggestions are appreciated,” he placated upon your prompt sigh of disappointment, “but in the name of chivalry I must persist with my vision. Because I am certain that there is a way, as there is a will, to achieve it.”

He pondered aloud whilst leant against the pool table opposite to yours, tail swishing figure eights in the air as if stirring up the brainworks.

“Just let me think about it…”

A bit to the left, two of the local employment were spectating from their usual spots by the bar. Zib, who had draped himself half-across the counter while Viktor was cleaning it around him, regarded the scene from under his hat with a caustic glance. The smoke simmering from the cigarette he was languidly tasting occasionally wafted your way.

“Looks like chivalry’s not dead yet after all,” he grumbled, the corners of his lips teasing amusement, “but he’s about to be.”

The burly slovak continued with his somewhat menial task in dutiful disinterest, intimidating all unsightly dirt spots off the wooden surface with an effortless glare.

“Idiot vill break own spine vid effort,” he stated matter-of-factly, then after a thoughtful pause, shrugged. “Saves me the trouble.”

“Oh, such searing pessimism!”

Rocky turned to theatrically retort, rejoining your circles from the far reaches of whatever realms his mind had been venturing.

“Well I regret to inform you, gentlemen,” he gave an easygoing little smirk, “that the only sort of spectacle you’ll be getting today is the glorious display of romance’s incandescent triumph.”

“You should heed your sweetheart’s advice, kid,” Zib warned over his glassful of a somewhat suspicious golden beverage. “Artists like you and I just weren’t built for these kinds of strenuous feats. You’ll get a hernia and then the boss lady will be down one questionable bootlegger.”

“Pff… Nonsense talk!”

He waved off the notion as if swatting away a bug, and you pinched your brow in exasperation.

“Waste not such paltry concerns on me, my friend! You see, it might not leave that impression at first glance…” he flexed a bit to show off his bicep then stared at it with a blank expression once it failed to strengthen his argument, “nor perhaps second… but these spindly sinews are rife with untapped potential! Why, you think the Atlas of mythology had trained in advance to support the whole world on his shoulders? And yet, it still goes ‘round smoothly to this day. Which is to say that, hopefully helped by Fortuna’s favor, the release of a comparable innate strength shall aid me in this fated task of carrying mine.”

Despite his conspicuous lack of visible musculature he gave a grin of such radiant certainty it could’ve powered the rest of the lights. Zib blinked slowly, unimpressed in his fermentative, cigarette-stink skepticism. Viktor kept cleaning.

“Albeit I suppose there’s more point in a show rather than tell.”

Rocky stretched his arms in a somewhat comically overstated manner.

“So the old-fashionated way it is!” He then took up a stance and spread them in anticipation. “Come hither, my darling love, let’s prove those naysayers wrong! Leap into the arms of your favorite bard!”

“I still don’t condone this idea.”

You crossed your arms, resolution as hard as the wood digging into your lower back. Unstoppable force smiling baffledly at the inmovable object.

“You don’t?”

“Not really.”

He pouted. Oh, how you couldn’t stand it when those gorgeous sapphires looked at you so coyly despondent. And of course, he was aware.

“You mean you won’t even give it a chance?” he implored, tail gingerly lowering. “Not even if I’ll sooner have my organs be crushed into a fine sludge than let one hair on your head bend the wrong way?”

“Especially not then.”

Patiently, you stood, the twitch of your ears and your own tail’s gentle whipping behind your legs and brushing up to the smooth block of wood being your only movement. You watched him deflate in a slowly progressing manner not unlike that of a balloon animal leaking from a small opening; you could even imagine the characteristic sound to go with.

You tried not to laugh.

“Not even if,” he attempted once more, “it could be a most passionful pageantry of courteousness?”

“More like foolishness.”

Irritated by his snark for a change, you tilted your head in Zib’s direction. When he earned both of your attention by extension the resident nicotine eater, chin resting on the heel of his palm, flicked a huge ear and leisurely presented his back to you as though he’d never cared.

“Just picture it for a second!” Rocky suggested, snapping back to the conversation and taking your hand in his to help transmit the mental imagery through skin-to-skin contact. “A most consummate culmination of chivalrous custom!”

“Certainly,” you rolled your eyes yet didn’t resist when he snuck up close to grab a hold of your waist with an almost imperceptible delicacy.

“I’d gather you in my arms,” he narrated, “a most beauteous royal rose, pooling in your eyes the glimmers of a star-speckled galaxy, a divine black ether brimming with a variegated, dazzling cavalcade of celestial hues… oh, what fair nobility of ephemeral grace, molded in the realms above from the finest marble and ambrosia by lilium-scented, angelic hands…”

His face was close to yours, and your gazes intertwined; you could be quite sure he was just describing what he saw. You averted your eyes, slightly flustered.

“You sure know your words,” you nipped without any real teeth to it.

“I try,” he acknowledged cheerfully, nonetheless keeping proximate. “And me, no more than a humbled troubadour, a mere mortal permitted by Providence to embrace salvation itself,” you made an inarticulate noise of incredulity, “gentle tethering of your mass serving to remind that this resplendent scene is no meager illusion, a cruel trick of the light, but bona fide reality…”

You squirmed half-heartedly away in your chagrin, yet each bit of distance you created between the two of you he kept closing just as effortlessly, drinking in your expressions.

“In rapt entrancement we’d behold each other’s countenance,” you could feel his words on your whiskers, “honey-glaze lusters dancing across our lips in nectareal beckoning, your arms entangling my nape with fervor as you pull me under to merge our souls by way of osculation in the heart of the Earth–”

“Enough rhapsodizing,” you entreated with a wide, mildly embarrassed smile you couldn’t fight, “you poetaster.”

“Now, don’t tell me you wouldn’t enjoy that.”

You exhaled in a burst, gripping the wooden brim you were leant on. Tail curling and uncurling in thought.

“It sounds fine,” you emphatically minced, “but I don’t require it. You know you can just talk sweet to me like that or give me a kiss when I’m still on my feet and you’ll just as easily sweep me off them.”

“But there’s no harm in experimenting, right?”

“That’s… a very dubious statement.”

“Well, if it does work, it shall surely be memorable.”

Across the way, over ornate red carpet and leather seats, Viktor had since taken to polishing glasses while Zib ever-industriously continued to metabolize the establishment’s embalming fluid reserves in spite of the hour.

“…And if it doesn’t,” Rocky proposed the possibility with great hesitation, “as far as I can recall, bone fractures actually heal a lot quicker than you’d expect.”

With the band backstage, that’d be only two direct witnesses to your loss of dignity.

“You’re not about to let this go until I oblige,” you observed with a heavy heart and patted his arm, “so go ahead. I’ll give you a chance to enter history records as the world’s first cooked pasta-based organism to princess carry a whole person.”

You adjusted yourself in front of him at a roughly ninety-degree angle and put your arm around his shoulders. Enthusiasm flawlessly rekindled he took swift hold of your back in return, biting his lip in anticipation like a giddy kid.

“But if you sprain a muscle, I’m not bringing you the ice,” you stated firmly to his face.

“You can’t sprain what’s scarcely there,” he beamed back like it was of any reassurance.

“Well, alright.”

That obnoxious smoke hit your nose again. Beneath the golden glow of red lampshades, Zib had unexpectedly honored your ambitions by sitting marginally more erect, pushing up the brim of his hat to ensure his sight wasn’t failing him.

“Wouldn’t you look at that,” he grunted, pointy eyebrows raised. “They’re doing it for real.”

Viktor stopped in his surprisingly gentle handiwork and fixed a sharp, singular eye on the pair of you. When your clumsy preparations and nervous fidgeting painted a confirmatory enough picture, he set the glass and rag down with a thud, leisurely slapping two huge paws on the clean oak counter to lean on it.

“Dis vill be amusing.”

You gulped at the audience, blooming in your chest a severe doubt. You squeezed Rocky’s shoulder and felt the pointed conjunction of bones digging into your palm without any real effort.

“Whenever you’re ready…”

He smiled at you with those sweet blue eyes that drew your attention like a magnet, adamant on dissolving your worries within themselves. It almost convinced you that what you were about to do wasn’t both ridiculously asinine and physically unsafe… albeit still rather mild by the standards of dating Rocky Rickaby.

You looked at one of the curling, wrought iron chandeliers and sucked in a resolute breath.

“…Here goes nothing.”

In clenched-fist concentration, you jumped and threw your legs in the air for him to catch. He grabbed after them in wide-eyed startlement and as the momentum flung you at him, you prayed.

There was a grunting noise. Something in-between the squeak of a strangled rubber chicken and the aghast chuff of a scuffed, abused bagpipe as every last square inch of air is violently crushed out of it; you’d heard naught of such a combination before yet were instantly able to identify it. Arms clasped tight around his neck you hung on for dear life whilst he gripped your side and thighs in a no less firm desperation, fingers unintendedly clawing into tense flesh. He stood taut as a bowstring, you could feel as much beneath the clothes, though unfortunately nowhere near as straight and with every slight tremble and corrective squirm you feared yourselves tipping over in his direction and giving the carpeted limestone a sore greeting.

Time collapsed to a halt under the weight of anticipation. Cautious in your breaths, wide-eyed and blatantly uncomforted by his palpable quaking, you watched as his rigid expression of concentration strained on a half-hearted grin for your sake to mask what very much still was mortal terror hatching from amongst the shards of hubris.

And then… nothing.

You blinked a few times. Other than your own heartbeat, and what amounted to the whimpers of a heavy wooden chair being dragged across the floor that you soon confirmed to be coming from him instead, all sounds of impending doom receded. You took a deep inhale of the stagnant cave air and held it in bewilderment, knees squished close to one another.

Well, you’d be damned.

Flush to his torso and clutching the cheap fabric of his shirt, you stared on, trying to comprehend the situation. As was he, evidently, with how amidst his tight-lipped yet valiant bearing of the ramifications his eyes darted around the room as if disaster was running unusually late. No gears turn at such a pace however, for when at last the ice in your tendons began to melt in contemplation of asking whether he could move enough to put you down safely or if you should just jump for it, he exerted a small huff of accomplishment and it changed something, because you began to dip rapidly forward. Some indiscernible profanity escaped your mouth.

At least he gallantly broke your fall… and a rib as well, by the sound of it.

The ground was about as soft as you’d imagined when it kissed your limbs and left you with your hands splayed on velvety carpet. You caught glimpse of your audience and, lo and behold, Viktor for a brief second appeared to possess something of a smile behind the bar. Of schadenfreude, naturally. Nonetheless the witnessing of such an evanescent miracle left you nothing short of humbled.

“Well, that surprised nobody,” Zib sneered, a whiff of smoke leaving his nostrils. “We’ll hold him a tasteful funeral.”

“He’s not dead,” you indignantly countered, blowing tousled locks of hair out of your face, then turned to your knight in shoddy armor just to be sure. “You’re not dead, right?”

With that, you recognized that the reason your posterior ached less than the rest of you was his organs still being smushed under it, so you hastily clambered off. Sweetly enough, he hadn’t mentioned, though it may have just been that he’d yet to recover from getting the wind knocked out of him enough to form a sentence.

“Never felt more alive,” he wheezed in affirmation, clutching his torso. “I’ve come to sense fibers of my physique I didn’t know existed.”

“No wonder. Did you dislocate something?”

Crouched over your boyfriend on all fours, you scrutinized him whilst your tail lashed back and forth in acute concern regarding his lack of attempts to get up despite having him practically caged under you. Considering his talent for looking pathetic while curled up on the floor, you couldn’t be blamed.

“Well, all of my bones are still inside,” he tilted his head without raising it to look over himself. “That’s their designated place, I believe.”

“You’re such a twit.”

Bright blue eyes flicked up at you innocently, arms clasped together in a protective self-embrace. Your features softened with a sigh.

“I heard a crack,” you explained, gaze lingering over his ribcage. “I thought I’d hurt you.”

“Oh, that was just my pride,” he dismissed jovially. “Nothing worth the bewailment. Poor thing wasn’t about to survive the winter anyhow.”

That restless, puffy tail of yours came to a tentative pause upon his knees, drawn only halfway up to accomodate your presence as he squirmed lightly in his restricted position. Though the barely lit murk of underground, his grin still shined as disarming as any other.

“You couldn’t hurt me if you tried.”

Whether he meant that remark as a pacification or a challenge, you preferred not to dispute. You let go of the tension in your shoulders however, easing off to settle down next to him and allow him some space to do the same.

“Well, this was just stupid,” you concluded, listlessly examining your bruised appendages. “I have no idea what drove you to something so pointless.”

He carefully rolled up off the ground then simply sat there, blinking at you in a way that betrayed neither any particular discomfort nor the absence of it. You observed him in ponderance. Due to the lack of any concrete signals from upstairs you decided you’d just have to assume the best.

“Unless,” you teased with a squint of suspicion, minding your volume, “you just wanted me on top of you that bad.”

Now that definitely reached the headquarters. When it did, he responded with one of those downright sinful grins that made the notion of punching him in the face sound vastly appealing.

“It wasn’t according to my plan, per se,” he gestured in a sly manner, “but it’s certainly not a development you’ll catch me complaining about.”

“You cad.”

You regarded him with a scolding glare you didn’t really mean but perhaps should’ve. He stood or, well, sat his ground, and it didn’t take a medium to guess anymore what newfound visions might’ve been stirring on behind that striped forehead of his; you only hoped he wouldn’t start waxing poetics about it.

“Could’ve just asked me nicely,” you murmured with a smirk.

You noted the proximity all of a sudden; his nose couldn’t have been two inches away from touching yours. He peered down at you in awareness, chuckling.

“Ah, but the overture's half the merriment.”

“This place has marvelous acoustics, by the way,” Zib spoke out of nowhere and made every bone in your body flinch, “so you might wanna consider taking this somewhere else before our sparse patronage arrives–”

“Oh, shut it, Zibowsky.”

You snapped at him, ears pinned, feeling rather deserving of some soap in your mouth. Rocky got over the interruption with a more careless ease and disregarded the air of awkwardness he helped create in favor of lighting up in triumph.

“But our labour for love wasn’t in vain, after all!” he exclaimed over your shoulder. “We all saw it, right? My romantically inspired exhibition of unprecedented prowress? I must’ve held on for a good minute there!”

“How long did it last, by the way?” you inquired, watching as Viktor continued cleaning glasses. “I was too busy panicking to count.”

“Two seconds.”

Your face stretched in astonishment. Zib took out a lighter.

“You’re pulling my leg.”

“No, really,” he reiterated, igniting another cigarette with a series of clicks while the previous butt laid crumpled beside him on the counter, “two seconds. I was just about to congratulate you.”

You stared on at the sprawling carpet, befuddled, yet the intricate patterns held no explanation for this anomaly. Time does simply happen to slow to a crawl when you’re fearing for your life, as it turned out. Rocky slumped in dejection.

“Ah well,” he lamented, bushy brows descending. “It would appear that my hopes to beguile you with a debonair display could not come true after all.”

His tail gingerly curled around him, saddened to an equal degree. You pouted along in playful endearment.

“You’re so silly,” you ascertained. “I don’t mind that you’re a weakling.”

You took his hand balled up on the ground, enveloping it with your own. He watched in slight trepidation.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

The two of you locked eyes amidst the magnificent cavern of bygone extravagance; the ‘heart of the Earth’, as he’d put it. Decked in hues of crimson and gold and marinating in a mystiqueful twilight, a regrettably vacant wonder of architectural design honoring the arts décoratifs, all the dazzling sights of the establishment couldn't have hoped to draw you away from the one instrictic extension of it you delighted in looking at the most.

“And I wouldn’t trade you in for the brawniest of gallants,” you pressed a tingling kiss on his cheek, “my noodle-limbed prince.”

#{💌 mod rory 💌}#{didn't remember my mod tag being so extra hahhah}#Oneshot On The Rocks #lackadaisy #lackadaisy x reader #lackadaisy reader insert #lackadaisy rocky #rocky lackadaisy #rocky rickaby #rocky rickaby x reader #{feels good to have made something for you all again. hope you enjoy <3}

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dostoyevsky-official · 2 years

Text

gorbachev’s funeral was a solemn affair kept purposefully small by an outsized police presence, ordered there by a regime that wants to distance itself as much as possible from his legacy but which cannot forsake something as momentous as the last general secretary of the ussr. at the same time, those in power hate the people who embrace gorbachev and what he stood for. therefore you have “elements of a state funeral,” a ridiculous amount of police, riot police, plainclothes police, military police, elaborate ways of making sure as few people show up as possible (gorbachev was supposed to lie in state until 2pm, but this was suddenly moved to noon; the burial was closed to the public, but it was actually open). one person was arrested for holding up an anti-war sign. surprisingly, many complained about putin snubbing the funeral due to “scheduling conflicts.” good riddance! who among those present really wanted to see him?

it was something of a quiet protest action against him and the war, even without posters. a pensioner at novodevichy cemetery told me as much: “this is the only way i can protest against what’s going on without getting arrested, and they know it. i couldn’t not take the opportunity.” but what is a protest if it’s sanctioned, quiet, and cordoned off?

at 9:30 am, crowds began to gather at the house of the unions in the city center, where all former soviet leaders were displayed in state. it was both larger than i’d expected and much smaller than i’d hoped for from moscow. from a city of 12 million, there were perhaps a few thousand people all together, many with red carnations. there were several gate systems to the memorial manned by cops who had orders not to let in more than 50 people at a time (i overheard one say so on his walkie-talkie). as with the the funeral procession later on, there was a good showing by the post-soviet generation and those who would’ve been too young to remember much of anything from the gorbachev years; there was also a fair amount of pensioners. the crowd moved fast—the cops didn’t want to let anyone linger for too long in any place—and after three security checkpoints and five gates, i was in the luxurious hall of pillars, though made austere for gorbachev. after seconds of looking at a man who embodied the twentieth century like few others, i was urged to move on as fast as possible. on the way out, a couple behind me, a man and a woman in their 50s, started crying. they were not the only ones.

across the street, a large “we will fulfill our mission” poster, written with the propaganda Zs and Vs, hangs on the scaffolding of the new bolshoi theatre, as if to put a period on what had already ended months, if not years ago. the crowds only became bigger when i left at half past ten. on my way to novodevichy cemetery, i ran into gennady zyuganov, head of russia’s communist party, and asked for a photo—why not. a smaller crowd of CPRF, left front, and other “left” parties gathered for some event near red square. later, i learned that he gave a speech celebrating the end of wwii with the victory over japan. zyuganov said that we must continue the fight and cleanse the earth of nazis, as russia is doing now. this, too, is part of gorby’s legacy, the shattered pieces of a massive, unfinished political project.

a few hours passed before gorbachev’s procession arrived to novodevichy, where the crowd was a bit thinner. i stood next to a young law student in his junior year who skipped his first day of classes to pay respects, chatting with him to pass the time. “how excellent that so many young people showed up,” he said. maybe a third of those gathered was under 30. “if we are here together, it means russia still has a future.” the police moved us around from time to time to “make space.” after finding my way to him again, i noticed he had two carnations instead of four: he gave two to a journalism student and exchanged numbers. a pensioner: “is she your sister? no? watch over her, keep each other safe.”

the procession was headed by a downcast dmitry muratov, a massive portrait of gorbachev in his hands: one nobel peace laureate parting with the other. among those present for the funeral service were ambassadors, including john sullivan from the US, the south korean, french, and german ambassadors, and suzanne massie, a historian who served as advisor to reagan and allegedly introduced him to the russian idiom “trust, but verify,” with pavel palazhchenko, gorbachev’s long-time translator.

after the service, a 21-gun salute, the crowds thronging to the burial by raisa gorbachev’s grave. alexei venediktov (editor-in-chief of the now-dissolved echo of moscow, another glasnost creation) recently talked about how he went to novodevichy with gorbachev around 2010. gorbachev started crying, telling him that all he wanted now was to be buried with raisa. the love he had for her was immense. out of all the biographies and gorbachev/perestroika studies i’ve read, it’s only taubman’s that covers how profoundly he loved her with the space that such a deep, lasting relationship merited.

during the burial: “who do you think is next,” from one pensioner to another, two strangers. “well... you know.” “yes, let’s hope it happens soon.”

a last opportunity to pay respects at a grave heaped, heaped, heaped on with roses and carnations, and then the throngs dissolved. it was the best of who and what you could see in moscow, or, russia’s conscience—what’s left of it—on public display. i have no doubt everyone at the memorial and the cemetery was anti-war. the palpable depression of this crowd was alleviated only by the reinforcing mutual presence of everyone there, a silent solidarity drawn from an organization that hasn’t been seen on the streets since march. you understand what people feel from what’s not said—the looks—the tears—the efforts of men and women in their 80s and 90s to stand for hours, so long as they could say farewell.

the possibility of such organization, reluctantly allowed for the funeral and which was widely admissible in years passed, was the legacy with which we parted today. the defining feature of gorbachev’s rule was openness, glasnost, a gust of fresh air blowing through a hot, humid room, more than economic ideas that were a halfway house for the conditions the soviet state found itself in, and which he didn’t fully understand. yet he opened windows and doors. he returned memory to the people, he allowed memorial to form, he brought sakharov from exile, and yes, he then turned off his microphone during the congress of people’s deputies. gorbachev was a complicated, flawed individual who rose through the ranks of a bloody, ruthless bureaucracy to lead an imperial superpower whose continued survival was his overarching political imperative. he couldn’t have been gandhi. at one point, he nearly killed yeltsin with nothing more than a prolonged party criticism session; he was, directly or indirectly, responsible for the deaths of those on the imperial periphery.

but what could have been instead? nothing is precisely inevitable. had andropov been healthier, the soviet union could’ve been held together to this day by sheer force, or perhaps by prolonged conflict in azerbaijan, or mass-scale repression in the baltics. set in this context, gorbachev leashed the security institutions of the ussr, but didn’t properly dispose of them. thirty years later, his failure is zyuganov’s gleeful speech on denazification, the descent into a fascist society waging genocidal war. his success was thirty years of lost opportunity.

where do we go from here? the feeling of helplessness predominates, resonating through the said and unsaid perception of what could have been and what we have had. the crowd goes home, the opposition stays in jail, the war continues.

#here's the writeup people/mutuals wanted #lithuanian anon: consider this an answer #gorbachev

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warrioreowynofrohan · 18 days

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Silmarillion Daily - Of Menegroth

Today’s Silmarillion Daily contains two events - one is the building/carving of Menegroth and the other, happening around the same time in Valinor, is the births of Turgon and Finrod.

Here’s the part on Menegroth:

Now Melian had much foresight, after the manner of the Maiar; and when the second age of the captivity of Melkor had passed, she counselled Thingol that the Peace of Arda would not last forever. He took thought therefore how he should make for himself a kingly dwelling, and a place that should be strong, if evil were to awake again in Middle-earth; and he sought aid and counsel of the Dwarves of Belegost. They gave it willingly, for they were unwearied in those days and eager for new works; and though the Dwarves ever demanded a price for all that the did, whether with delight or with toil, at this time they held themselves paid. For Melian taught them much that they were eager to learn, and Thingol rewarded them with many fair pearls. These Círdan gave to him, for they were got in great number in the shallow waters about the Isle of Balar; but the Naugrim had not before seen their like, and they held them dear. One there was as great as a dove’s egg, and its sheen was as starlight on the foam of the sea; Nimphelos it is named, and the chieftain of the Dwarves of Belegost prized it above a mountain of wealth.

Therefore the Naugrim laboured long and gladly for Thingol, and devised for him mansions after the fashion of their people, delved deep in the earth. Where the Esgalduin flowed down, and parted Neldoreth from Region, there rose in the midst of the forest a rocky hill, and the river ran at its feet, There they made the gates of the hall of Thingol, and they built a bridge of stone over the river, by which alone the gates could be entered. Beyond the gates wide passages ran down to high halls and chambers far below that were hewn in the living stone, so many and so great that that dwelling was named Menegroth, the Thousand Caves.

But the Elves also had part in that labour, and Elves and Dwarves together, each with their own skill, there wrought out the visions of Melian, images of the wonder and beauty of Valinor beyond the Sea. The pillars of Menegroth were hewn in the lines of the beeches of Oromë, stock, bough, and leaf, and they were lit with lanterns of gold. The nightingales sang there as in the gardens of Lórien; and there were fountains of silver, and basins of marble, and floors of many-coloured stones. Carven figures of beasts and birds there ran upon the walls, or climbed upon the pillars, or peered among the branches entwined with many flowers. And as the years passed Melian and her maidens filled the halls with woven hangings wherein could be read the deeds of the Valar, and many things that had befallen in Arda since its beginning, and shadows of things that were yet to be. That was the fairest dwelling of any king that has ever been east of the Sea.

And when the building of Menegroth was achieved, and there was peace in the realm of Thingol and Melian, the Naugrim yet came ever and anon over the mountains and went in traffic about the lands; but they went seldom to the Falas, for they hated the sound of the sea and feared to look upon it. To Beleriand there came no other rumour or tidings of the world without.

There’s another tidbit about Menegroth in History of Middle-earth (The Peoples of Middle-earth, “The problem of Ros”):

…the great Hall of the Throne of Elwë in the midst of his stronghold of Menegroth…was called the Menelrond [heaven-dome], because by the arts and aid of Melian its high arched roof had been adorned with silver and gems set in the order and figures of the stars in the great Dome of Valmar in Aman, whence Melian came.

The section further states that Elwing named Elrond in memory of this place, and that this was held to be prophetic, as it foreshadowed Elrond choosing the kindred of the Eldar and “carrying on the lineage of King Elwë [Footnote: Also also that of Turgon; though he oreferred that of Elwë, who was not under the ban that was laid on the Exiles.]”, while Elros, named for water, crossed the seas and became King of Númenor.

I feel like Menegroth in the passage above comes about as close as anything else we see to Eru’s ideal for the Ainur and the Eruhíni: dwarves and elves and a Maia all working together in Middle-earth to make something beautiful with their different skills and knowledge. The decision to do it in incited by the awareness of danger, but that leads not to hostility but to cooperation and beauty. It’s not in Valinor, but it recalls much of Valinor and of the Valar: the carvings of trees and woodland creatures recall the forests of Oromë, the nightingales the gardens of Lórien, the tapestries of history (and visions of the future) the halls of Vairë and Mandos. Different peoples get a glimpse of things they don’t fully understand, but are drawn to: the dwarves can’t stand the sea, but they nonetheless love Círdan’s pearls.

This is what makes the way Menegroth ends such an absolute tragedy, and it is what makes Legolas and Gimli in The Lord of the Rings the redress of that tragedy: their visits to Aglarond and Fangorn, each understanding what the other loves, is a kind of echo of the unity of these caverns carved with trees and forest-creatures. They’re putting things right. (As, in a different way, Galadriel is putting Fëanor’s story right, and Elrond is putting Thingol’s specifically right.) Not putting things back exactly as they were, but healing them.

#i feel like this passage gets so overlooked #because “of the sindar” is a big flashback dropped in the middle of the return of the noldor #i like being able to see these sections in their chronological place #silmarillion daily #the silmarillion #tolkien #the lord of the rings #thingol #melian #dwarves #legolas #gimli #doriath

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annoyinglandmagazine · 8 months

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I have a very specific take on the first meetings of Elrond and Celebrian that I am very obsessed with. So picture this. Celebrian during the Last Alliance is a pretty senior commanding officer within some of her parents forces and when she accompanies her mother to Imladris for the White Council she’s still largely fulfilling some of those duties for most of her stay, she’s out for a lot of the official events on patrols and such. She also spends most of the time around Imladris in her uniform, she has status of her own thank you very much she doesn’t need to introduce herself as Galadriel’s daughter to garner respect (Galadriel herself of course approves of this very wholeheartedly).

So in general she’d appear fairly masculine ( this was definitely not deliberate butch presentation to signal to queer elleths what are you talking about?), it’s mainly ambiguous on her part but she got her mother’s tall genes and built up a decent bit of lean muscle so people will draw their own conclusions. And while she’s in the training yard she hears someone humming what sounds like a Song of Power to enhance the stock of healing herbs kept nearby. She spots a stunning raven elleth in the corner that she was relatively certain she would be able to lift off her feet with shocking ease by the size of her.

Her conclusions were correct, the elf maid had a healer’s apron fastened over her dress and was most likely come from the Healing Halls, she was surprised she hadn’t seen her before though she hadn’t now until she’d started singing so maybe she was just good at blending it the background. She most certainly did not flex her sweat soaked muscles a little more than necessary with the next thrust, though the elleth most certainly seemed to think she had because she snorted to herself. Celebrian threw her a wink as she strode over to lean against a pillar.

She gets the name of Elwen, though she does not give one herself to the other’s great amusement. They flirt rather outrageously over the following weeks when they run into each other, sparring on occasion (and for such a tiny thing, by the Valar that Elwen was vicious. She was only two victories off drawing even with her, not that she was keeping track). Elrond was always fond of the anonymity offered by indulging his femininity, it was frankly shocking how few people recognised him when he did so, it was a pleasant way to both fulfil the need for a change that could not be ignored for long stretches of time and to experience things (and people) without the constant expectations to be a thousand different things at once. The opportunity for affairs of every nature without sullying the propriety of his reputation too thoroughly was another advantage.

So this all culminates in the first proper banquet Celebrian attends. ‘Lord Elrond, oh there you are, I was wondering if you’ve met my daughter Celebrian?’

Queue Celebrian going ‘oh shit, oh shit, I’ve been absolutely scandalous to one of my mother’s friends, oh Valar she’s going to kill me.’

And Elrond going ‘fuck, of all people you had to pick Galadriel’s daughter? Galadriel’s going to kill me, they will never find the body. Was that indecent corset really necessary?’

Galadriel finds this whole story hilarious when they tell her several centuries later (she knew the whole time and was just stirring shit up). Elrond and Celebrian are both bi so it works out anyways once they figure out exactly what happened.

#silmarillion #tolkien #Celrond #genderfluid #genderfluid Elrond #celebrian #elrond #galadriel #How queer can I make them

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naisilla · 2 months

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The Emperor's New Muse Part .9

Odyssey Kayn x Reader

content: The exchange goes horribly wrong...

A/N: Thank you for supporting this story and thank you to those who motivated me to continue writing.

The Fractal Shear landed on the Royal Military Station, next to the Royal Palace. You were once again being walked through the palace port, passing by thousands of troops. No soldier paid you any attention, remaining stoic and ignoring your situation with one glance at the Ordinal leading your group.

You had to walk through the massive expanse. Lead past various subways of bullet trains that transported the military throughout the planet via an underground train system.

It didn't even feel like you had left the Fractal Shear. With how everything in Demaxia is made of cold, dark metal and sterile lighting, it felt like you were inside an expansion of the ship.

"So where is this exchange happening anyways?" you ask, unable to bear the deafening silence among your group.

It only felt fitting that Kayn continued his usual behavior during the most critical moment of your escape plan. His calm demeanor was unnerving, you were certain that he was just waiting for the right time to pull something cruel on you, to take away your hopes. The closer you got to the edge of the district the more nervous you became.

"We're taking you into the grand courtroom. The Morningstar will land on our military station and the ship will be confiscated until after the exchange. Wouldn't want your friends trying to leave too soon."

Crap Kayn had thought of everything. By having the exchange happen inside the palace, you and your team are in a lot of danger. You'd be trapped in an unfamiliar environment infested with demaxian soldiers overseeing everything. Plus with the Morningstar being so far from reach, it would be almost impossible to pull off a flawless escape.

As you continue to walk down the corridors of the Royal Palace the intensity of your emotions increases. You feel nervous about how your team might pull off this getaway. With how crucial this situation is, the entire scenario could go south.

Sometimes foreshadowing is relatively obvious.

You were brought into the Demaxian Palace and immediately your breath was taken away. The grand size of Demaxia's ships and cities could not prepare you for the Palace itself.

The sheer size and opulence of the Demaxian Palace was breathtaking. You have never seen such extravagant architecture before. The palace was imposing and dwarfed everything you have ever seen before. The grandeur of the rooms and the length of the halls make this entire structure seem more like an entire city, instead of just a place for the royalty to live.

The Demaxian Palace was a dramatic shift from the Military Station and subways leading toward it. Instead of the cold and dark metal scheme that you were so accustomed to, the Palace stood out in its contrasting palette of ivory and silver.

The grand courtroom lived up to its name. There was a balcony floor that overlooked everything similar to that of a theater room. Hundreds of executive chairs with elongated bodies were immaculately tucked into long lines of marble tables. Giant pillars arched above holding up the grand ceiling decorated with beautiful paintings depicting the galaxy.

Kayn and his soldiers waited at the center of the room, standing before the center table and staring at the adjacent entrance.

Eventually, you pick up on marching footsteps approaching, and the grand doors part open. A troop of soldiers enter, along with your friends Yasuo, Jinx, Malphite, and Sona. You immediately notice their lack of weapons. Yasuo was without his sword and Jinx was missing her barrage of weaponry.

It becomes apparent that your odds of survival are even slimmer than anticipated.

The moment your eyes meet, Jinx smiles and begins to wave excitedly "(y/n)! you're still alive!! How was rooming with Kayn?~"

You roll you're eyes, Jinx sure does have a weird way of saying things. Jinx waving her hands and trying to interact like nothing was wrong despite being escorted in was such a Jinx thing to do. It was both nerve racking and comforting to see that she seemed so normal despite being stripped of all her weapons and held by Demaxian soldiers. If there was one thing you knew about her, it was that you could count on her to always be herself no matter the situation that she was in.

"Absolute torture. How have you been?"

"You know, same old running away from Demaxian enforces. Yasuo was so stressed out- HEY!" Jinx protests as a soldier nudges her with his gun demanding her to shut up.

The group of soldiers escorting the Morningstar crew continues to usher everyone further into the courtroom. You stole a glance at Yasuo desperate to see the confidence of having a plan in his eyes. But there was no twinkle of hope or a smug smirk there was only fear.

Without his weapons and surrounded by armed Demaxian Soldiers he looked more vulnerable than you had ever seen him look before. The only thing you could hope for now was that the rest of the crew had some sort of plan because clearly Yasuo did not.

Your gaze desperately flicks over to Sona, the only member of the Morningstar you had faith in. But Sona merely looked directly at Kayn with a solemn look, she unlike the others (excluding Jinx because she's just insane) showed no fear toward the Ordinal.

Despite the circumstances Sona remained quiet and calm.

Kayn was solely focused on the Templar. "At last, Sona. The secrets of the Ora Gate will be mine!"

Yasuo steps infront of Sona, blocking her from Kayn with a stern glare. "Have you fulfilled the terms of our agreement?"

Kayn nods "Yes, the charges against you for your brothers gruesome murder have been dropped."

"And the bounty reward?"

"A sum of two hundred billion credits have been wired over." Kayn brings up a hologram projection from his wrist showing that indeed the money had been transferred.

"And your promises to my crew?."

"Malphite has been recommended and accepted into the Demaxian Academy Of Clinical Medicine." As proof an acceptance letter was put on display. "As for the loose canon, you'll find a shipping container of our weapons has been loaded onto your Morningstar. The hologram projection switches to live security feed from on board the Morningstar showing a team of Demaxian soldiers loading said container into the cargo port.

Even though Kayn had kept his promises so far Yasuo's gaze remained hard. "Now give (y/n) back."

You feel Kayn's hand latch onto your arm in a steel grip.

"The templar first".

It's not like Yasuo had much of a choice, they were surrounded by a few hundred soldiers all armed with plasma guns. The soldiers closest to your friends were nudging Yasuo to step aside so that Sona could freely walk over to where Kayn and you stood.

Sona takes initiative and begins to walk her way over to your side of the courtroom. Her strides were hidden under her dress giving the illusion of her gracefully floating across the floor. The dark visors of every soldier turning to follow her movement.

You realized you were holding your breath when she finally made it over to you. Yasuo's narrow eyes dart between Sona, Kayn, and yourself.

"Now let (y/n) go."

Kayn's grip releases from your arm and his boot makes contact with your back as he kicks you away forcing you to stumble forward. You scramble to your feet and look back at Sona.

You look at her desperately trying to find solace in her expression, for her to assure you this was all part of the plan. There was a plan, right? But Sonas eyes only stared back with the same solemn expression as before.

Your heart sank now that you'd come to the realization that there was no plan. Yasuo was actually going to give Sona up. You could feel tears of frustration welling in your eyes and you glared at Yasuo. How dare he actually let Kayn win, He just doomed the universe for some materialistic rewards.

All eyes were on you as you traded places with Sona, you had barely reached your spot next to Yasuo when Kayn speaks up. His green eye casts down on you. "Kill them."

Instantly all the guns in the courtroom train on you and your friends, the synchronized clicks and hums of hundreds of plasma riffles echoing in the giant room.

Everything happened so quickly, You were in an impossible situation and you had no chance to avoid a bloodbath. Everyone freezes in their tracks, unable to move an inch as you stare in terror at the sheer number of guns pointed right at you. Everyone there is now at the mercy of the Demaxian Soldiers who have no reason to hesitate to pull the trigger. It seems that this is the end of the line for all of you.

With a resounding crescendo, your vision is abruptly blinded by a golden light. Everyone is shaken, the Demaxian soldiers have been briefly knocked down. At the center of it all stood Sona, who wields an orb of aura between her hands.

Using a fluid motion of her arms she sends out another wave of pure ora, the raw energy blasting everyone with the power of an extreme blizzard. From across the room, her eyes connect with yours and a single message is telepathically spoken.

"Run".

Yasuo grabs you by the arm in a desperate grip and everyone takes off towards the massive entrance. Along the way, Jinx swipes the guns of various soldiers still knocked out by the blast. She throws one for you to catch while she continues to sprint, wielding a riffle in each hand, a sinister cackle coming from her.

As you run you feel your body becoming lighter allowing you to speed up. You breathe a sigh of relief as Sona joins your side, her celerity spell boosting everyone towards and out the grand door. The moment everyone is out of the grand courtroom you turn to look at the mess in your wake.

Chairs had been blown to the ground, and many Demaxian soldiers remained limp, only a few were left moaning and twitching. That blast of Ora was powerful enough to incapacitate targets. But to your horror, standing in the center of it all was Kayn.

Unlike the sea of men slumped over, taken out by the ora. Kayn stands tall with his scythe planted firmly on the ground, its center growing large as it draws in the golden essence.

How was this possible? Everyone else got destroyed in the blast, there's no way he survived that. You could only watch on in horror at what Kayn did next.

Getting up from his kneeling position and straightening himself Kayn stood with a proud posture, his arms spread out. The palm of his right hand glows with ora. From the bodies of the fallen rise tendrils of golden essence that get pulled into his outstretched hand. Kayn was absorbing everyone's ora. His green eye sparkles and glows, becoming more golden.

You and your friends find yourself in a large hallway, in the distance is the sound of charging footsteps. It wouldn't be long until more Demaxian soldiers flooded the scene. Yasuo takes the lead, remembering the way that he and his crew were escorted through.

Jinx mounts herself onto Malphite's back holding onto his dorsal plates and begins to shoot up the palace interior, squealing in delight. More soldiers begin to emerge from the palace halls, flooding into view in giant waves.

They just keep coming, more come in to replace the few you can manage to take out. It's like an infestation of roaches emerging from a nest. You are forced to run, there was no time to try and take care of the imperials.

Kayn rushes through the wave chasing you from behind, The mass parts for the Ordinal who shoves everyone aside. His actions are rough and erratic, his teeth are bared in a permanent snarl, and his green eye glints.

With long and powerful strides, Kayn manages to catch up to you. He covered a large distance in an impossible display of speed. It was like a nightmare where no matter how hard you pushed your body to flee the monster was always faster.

In his left hand is Rhaast, glinting with each stride Kayn takes. It's center of Ora warps and shifts like an eyeball staring down its prey. Within the sea of noise, Rhaast's voice cuts through the sounds of yelling and gunfire.

"Rip out their organs Kayn!"

With a mighty leap, Kayn launches himself into the air. He flys above you looking down like a bird of prey. He swings Rhaast upwards preparing to bring down the scythe to slice your entire team down the middle.

"SONA! LOOK OUT!" You scream gesturing to the templar in with a single gesture. She nods understanding you and builds up a core of ora between her hands and lets it out in a radial blast just like earlier.

You expect Kayn to be blown away and knocked down by the force emitted but to your horror, he breaks through. While the rest of the imperials are instantly stunned and fall to the ground, Kayn remains untouched by the blast. And he continues to fall through with his downward strike attack.

There is no time to react, Kayn is hurtling toward you at a flat-out speed. You can't even brace for impact-

A golden shield instantly appears forming over you and your friends, you look up amazed as Kayn is slowed down. He was inches away from killing all of you, yet as he made contact with the ora shield he is effectively blocked. You turn to Sona relieved that she managed to stop Kayn, you were almost certain Kayn has outpowered her.

But Sona wasn't casting the shield, she looked back at you, her eyes wide in confusion. Her hands were not manifesting ora, she was frozen in a defensive stance using her arms to shield her body. Within these split seconds, your mind raced. If Sona wasn't shielding you, then who was?

You look to Kayn whose enraged state has vanished into an expression of shock. He stands next to the force field that protects you his eyes trained on something up and ahead of you. Following his gaze you look towards a grand balcony where a mysterious man stood.

A stoic man stood tall before you, shallow lines carved his face in a mature charm. Tufts of medium length dark hair peeked out from an elegantly decorated barbute helmet. His large frame was mantled with a set of sleek streamlined armor. In his right hand was a grand lance and his left hand was outstretched. He was the source of the ora shield.

It took a moment to notice the Demaxian colors of gold, white, and blue and how ornate the man's armor was that you figured out just who he was.

King Jarvan IV.

By how surprised Kayn seems by the King's presence you deduct he wasn't expecting Jarvan to be here in the palace.

"My King- I thought you were meeting with the High Priestess on High Silvermere." Your deduction was correct.

The King only stares back at the Ordinal sternly. "Why are there space pirates and a templar being chased in my palace?"

You watch as Kayn instantly switches from his enraged state to mirroring the same serious composure as the King.

"My King, this is Captain Yasuo. He's a fugitive murderer resisting his arrest and his crew are also fined with a plethora of crimes."

King Jarvan raises an eyebrow. "Why are they here in my palace? Shouldn't criminals be taken to the prison on Dawnhold?"

Kayn is quick to respond. "These fugitives in question have been evading my locus armada and have been a menace to the empire-"

You continued to watch Kayn talk to King Jarvan, the exchange between King Jarvan IV and Kayn makes you more curious about the relationship between these two individuals. The King seems to hold a position of authority over Kayn, yet Kayn doesn't seem to hold back in speaking his mind to him.

As King Jarvan talks back and forward with Kayn, you and King Jarvan lock eyes with each other. The King's eyes are soft and kind, he doesn't seem like the kind of man who would take pleasure in causing pain or suffering. As they continue to stare at each other, you can't help feeling like he's evaluating you in some way.

You decide to speak up and interrupt the two males. "Captain Yasuo is innocent!"

The conversation was broken by your interjection and now you had the attention of both men. King Jarvan speaks first.

"And who are you?"

You stare up at the King on his balcony with a sense of confidence. "I am (Y/N) of Navori. Your Empire invaded my home world and destroyed both my people and planet with your brutal expansionism. I was forced to live as an immigrant working class. Ever since I was wrongly treated by your loyal Ordinal I've been on the run with the Morningstar crew"

You speak with a fiery passion and the King's expression darkens as you speak. He listens to every word you say and never once does he interrupt you or try to change the subject. You notice that Kayn is staring at you in silence with a look of contempt and hatred. He's trying to hide his feelings but you can tell that he's annoyed at you.

A defeated sigh escapes from Jarvan's lips. "Yes I'm aware that there were a handful of countries that became barren wastelands after out attempts at colonisation went wrong."

Kayn's eyes narrow further into tiny slivers as if he can't believe that you would have the audacity to speak out against the Empire like that in front of the King.

Yet Jarvan's eyes showed remorse for the actions of his empire in the past. The King did not resemble the tyrant you imagined. For a brutal and merciless empire, the ruler seemed mellow and meek.

Perhaps he would understand. Maybe you should try talking to the King to stop Kayn from opening the ora gates.

"Please you majesty, hear us out. My team and I have been dawodhaowhdoawdad

Kayn interjects. "My King, do not believe these space pirates! They are criminals manipulating you with grandiose lies to avoid their sentencing and arrest!"

You snap back. "What kind of King lets his soldiers take over his empire, you've become an absent ruler unaware of the corruption abundant in your empire and how your loyal Ordinal threatens the universe!"

Jarvan is taken aback and turns to Kayn and calmly asks. "Shieda, What is she speaking of?"

You watch as Kayn grounds himself, he must remain equally calm to persuade Jarvan to ignore the Morningstar.

"They are space pirates. They only speak lies. Let me handle them my King". Kayn grips his scythe.

There is a pause for the King to contemplate, he lowers his arm deactivating the shield around you and the others.

Yasuo acts immediately grabbing you by the arm and making a sweeping dash forward, breaking through the soldiers who had gathered before you.

Jinx and Malphite also join in, the loose cannon firing at the guards who chase after you while Malphite pounds his fists into the ground sending out a shockwave that. Sona hesitates, looking at the King desperately before turning to also join the fleeing team assisting their getaway with a boost of her ora.

Kayn stands still staring between the escaping Morningstar crew and the King. An unamused scowl present on his face. "I think my point has been proven".

The Morningstar was quiet. You had managed to escape Kayn and the empire once again but it came at a cost. The ship had been badly damaged in the escape, it now operated at a much slower speed, barely getting away from Demaxia_Alpha. In fact, it should have been impossible to escape like you did. It was almost as if, Kayn had let you go, on purpose... Meanwhile, back at the palace, Kayn had a lot of explaining to do.

"Shieda. I have a lot of questions regarding what just happened". King Jarvan says, his tone low and serious as he paces about the room.

Kayn stands before him, tall and confident, masking the concern about where the King is going with this questioning.

Jarvan continues "Firstly I found it strange that you would arrange a hostage exchange here in the palace, it risks the security of the empire and of course" Jarvan pauses to gesture to the ruined grand courtroom. "Can lead to grand acts of destruction."

Jarvan's blue eyes look over the grand courtroom, while intact there were various sections where the marble erodes as a result of plasma and ora blasts. Most of the furniture had been obliterated and the once-polished floor had a massive ugly crack branching across.

The repairs towards this room alone would cost a grand fortune, let alone compensation for the hundreds of imperial soldiers who were injured or killed. Just thinking about the number of paperwork ahead of Jarvans day was giving the King a migraine.

"I also found these "space pirates" very peculiar. Even a formal bodyguard wanted for murder wouldn't require to be arrested here on Demaxia_Alpha."

Kayn shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his shoulders become loose, and his head hangs to the side as he adopts a more casual stance. By responding to Jarvan's serious demeanor with one of nonchalance Kayn has the potential of lowering the king's guard and lessening the tension.

"My King you know me, as an Ordinal I take my position seriously. What happened earlier was a failed sting operation. I wouldn't endanger the security of the palace if I didn't know what I was doing. I lured those space pirates in with a deal they could not refuse in order to get them somewhere they could not slip away."

"These are just space pirates, not high profile criminals. I fail to understand why they were treated as such." Jarvan was quick to continue his questions, Kayn was not going to change the topic and get off the hook so easily.

Alright, a casual approach was not the quick resolve Kayn was hoping for, time to switch his approach.

"These space pirates are a far greater threat to the empire than you could assume my King. The Captain, as you know. Brutally killed a soldier of mine, his own brother." Of course, Kayn was purposeful to leave out the details that Yone was not his soldier but in fact, a double agent who managed to free Sona from his interrogation cell. And of course, that he was the one who killed Yone. Ripped his body apart into bloody shreds with his newly acquired scythe at the time.

"I understand you must have had a personal vendetta against the Captain for murdering one of your men, but even so, arresting him here in the palace through a hostage exchange was not the right approach. You should've arrested him somewhere else that doesn't put the security of the palace in danger, you could've done so-"

"I've tried that already!" Kayn yells his voice suddenly booming, Jarvan looks at his friend slightly shocked, noticing how the Ordinal's fist clenches in frustration.

"I have been tracking the Morningstar for almost a year, and I have encountered them countless of times. In deep space, on alien planets, and on colonized market planets where they had stopped to restock. Every time they continue to evade me and my locus armada. With how dangerous Yasuo is I had to go to radical measures to ensure the safety of our empire."

Kayn was beginning to lose it, just his luck the King had hit a sore trigger spot of his. He needed to keep it together, and really convince Jarvan of how important it was to have the Morningstar crew taken down, even if he had to lie to him.

"Amongst them was a Templar, a powerful one with an affinity for ora from what I saw. What was she doing in the middle of all of this?"

"She was their hostage, she has been held captive against her will by these space pirates. Another reason as to why they are so dangerous." Kayn was instantly crafting lies to manipulate the King and staging the Morningstar as real threats that needed to be eliminated.

"But why?"

"You saw it for yourself, the Templar is powerful. She has the strongest of abilities to wield ora, what space pirate wouldn't want such power to themselves?"

Jarvan nods seemingly beginning to agree Kayn who was portraying the Morningstar as quite the threat to their empire.

So why was there doubt? Why was it that when Jarvan looked into Kayn's golden eye there was something dark lurking just beyond.

Golden...

Jarvan recalls the way the Templar looked at him so desperately, it was so odd that a hostage would be so willing to help her captors escape. She could've stayed behind and been rescued, but she choose to leave with the Morningstar.

Something wasn't right.

That other woman in their crew also tried warning him about Kayn, something about the universe being in danger...Jarvan sighs.

"Kayn I've noticed some concerning changes. I'm worried for you. You've grown distant and I can tell there is more going on here concerning this "Morningstar".

Kayn began to grow impatient, why couldn't Jarvan just leave this be? He had already forced Kayn to let them get away by staying here to talk, precious time catching up to them was getting wasted. The King has been so content in the past to let him take over to let the Ordinal enforce the law on his behalf, why now was this absent King being persistent?

"The man you follow is weak Kayn, you and I both know that he is only showing interest now because he senses something wrong. He senses your intention. He is catching on to your plan."

Rhaasts voice whispers in Kayns mind, dark and foreboding. A grim reminder to the Ordinal of the situation he is in. Stuck in a position he hates, performing duties for an overcautious king who refuses to have the clarity of mind that he does, the strength that he does. Rhaast was the sign that Kayn needed to pursue his ambitions of leading the empire toward the greatness it deserved, that Kayn deserved.

"I've grown sad, sad that we've become an oppressive and dominating symbol that outliers such as the Templars, Sundicate, and Subjugated alike kick against. I don't like being seen as a monolithic force, I hate being seen as an unyielding authoritarian. Your imperial policy has forced us to become less tolerant in recent years and I've grown to hate it."

"He rejects your strength Kayn. The King is still a bleeding heart full of delusional ideas of progression through peace. He is not like you, he is far weaker. The empire would benefit a ruler who isn't afraid of war, someone ruthless and pragmatic. Someone that is-"

"Me."

Jarvan looks at Kayn who suddenly spoke aloud. "What was that Kayn?"

Kayn merely stood tall and approached Jarvan with slow calculated steps, his boots crunching the rubble of the destroyed room. Then he lowers his scythe and his shoulders slouch, a pained expression appears on his face.

"I realize that we have differing opinions on how the empire should be ruled. My ideals were crude and radical compared to yours."

Jarvan notices how Kayn's body language has suddenly changed, his tone is a much more submissive one. Though his intentions remain hidden behind his words. Jarvan stares at Kayn who continues to look down with his shoulders lowered. He's showing his vulnerability to gain sympathy and trust from the King.

"While I can't say I always agreed with you, I can see how my way has driven the empire into an unstable state between it and its people."

Jarrvan nods, agreeing with Kayn.

"We've gone too far Kayn, we need to change. For the betterment of the Empire".

Jarvan turns away from Kayn and takes a step back. His eyes were no longer full of annoyance and suspicion but now filled with disappointment.

"If only I had taken charge sooner, I could've stopped the descent of our empire. I hope that it isn't too late, we've already laid claim to almost every planet in the universe. I feel like we've gone past the point of return."

Kayn walks over to Jarvan placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"As a Military tactician and as an Ordinal I have seen how war can affect a nation. In our empire's name, I have fought and killed. While we bring a great progressive future to our core worlds it came at the cost of forcefully imposing our empire onto them and spreading across planet systems creating a heavily separated class system between the metropolis capitals and the lower class trapped in endless poverty. It's time we changed that..."

Jarvan nods quietly once again, he's being won over by his friend's charisma that seems to be radiating from him with a newfound compassion and sense of reason. With his back turned to Kayn who stood slightly behind him Jarvan did not notice the way that Kayns scythe began to raise.

"Do it"

Suddenly looking down, Jarvans blue eyes transfix onto the curved neon blade that peaked through his ribs. The King gasps finding his lungs failing to take in breath. He lets out a pained scream as Kayn's scythe twists within his innards before slowly pulling out through his back dragging out the sound of wet ripping. His chest feels hollow and hot blood begins to cascade out splattering onto the cracked marble floor.

Jarvan falls to his knees, collapsing with a thud. His head felt light and his vision began to double and warp, everything was too bright. None of it distracted from the pain that ravaged his chest.

With eyes trembling Jarvan stared up at Kayn in awe. Kayn was close to him, in age and as a friend. They had grown up together, Jarvan as a royal monarch and Kayn as a promising knight. When Jarvan was crowned King after his father he entrusted Kayn to become the first Ordinal, his most loyal lapdog. Given the power to bring order to his empire, Jarvan was foolish. He was blind to the corruption Kayn brewed behind his back. As a law enforcer, Kayn was in charge of planning war strategies when invading new planet systems and protecting the growing empire from dangerous threats. Yet it seemed that the Morningstar was correct and that indeed Kayn was the worst threat of all.

He was suspicious, he grew concerned with Kayns violent ways of serving the empire but this was Kayn: charismatic, charming, nonchalant—a well-spoken man. He was fooled.

Was it from the beginning? Or throughout their friendship, Kayn had come to turn on him? How much of their history was a facade?

That would be a dying question left unanswered as finally Jarvan's body gave out and he slumped onto the floor his lance clattering against the marble, Jarvan was still and breathless.

"You let him bleed out a long and painful death...why?"

"Pathetic beings incapable of acting aren't worthy of a Nobel execution."

With the King dead the empire was finally ready to be claimed. It was time Kayn finally got what he wanted, what he deserved. But becoming King could wait, he practically ran everything as an Ordinal already.

He didn't waste time, all it took was a simple order. All the palace guards who witnessed the Morningstar escape were dead. No one could contest Kayn who just announced that Captain Yasuo had just Murdered the King.

And now that Kayn had made a public announcement to all of Demaxia he now had the entire Empire on a manhunt for the Morningstar. Things were finally coming to an end.

Part ten: Here

#kayn shieda #shieda kayn #kayn league of legends #kayn x reader #league of legends x reader #kayn league of legends x reader #odyssey kayn

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santoschristos · 4 months

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The Cube Altar "Of the elements of the earth is this altar composed. It is the great cube of matter. On or in this altar bums a Flame. It is this Flame that is the spirit of all created things. Man, know thyself. Thou art the Flame, and thy bodies are the living altar." "It is well for us to understand that we ourselves are the cube altar upon which and in which burns the altar fire. For many centuries the Initiate of fire has been nourishing and guarding the Spiritual Flame within himself, as the ancient priests watched day and night the altar fires of Vesta’s temple. The ever burning lamp of the alchemist, which having burned thousands of years without fuel in the catacombs of Rome, is but a symbol of this same spiritual fire within himself. In the picture we see the ever burning lamp which was carried by the Initiate in his wandering. It represents the spinal column of man, at the top of which is flickering a little blue and red flame. As the lamp of the ancients was fed and kept burning by the purest of olive oil, so man is transmitting within himself and cleansing in the laver of purification the life essences, which, when turned upward, provide fuel for the ever burning lamp within himself." "The centering of thought or emotion upon higher or lower things, as the case may be, determines where thin life energy will be expended. If the lower emotions predominate, the flame upon the altar burns low and flickers out, because the forces which feed it have been concentrated upon the lower centers. But when altruism predominates, then the lower forces are raised upward and pass through the purification which makes possible their being used as fuel for the ever burning lamp. Thus we see why it was a great sin to let the lamp go out, for the pillar of flames which hovers over the Tabernacle, purified and prepared after the directions of the Most High, is the Spiritual Flame that, hovering above man, lights his way wherever he may go." -- Initiates of the Flame by Manly P. Hall

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seagull-energy · 2 months

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Just realized that now is a great time to post this piece from 2022!

(a couple days late but oh well)

"Treebeard strode up the slope, hardly slackening his pace. Suddenly before them the hobbits saw a wide opening. Two great trees stood there, one on either side, like living gate-posts; but there was no gate save their crossing and interwoven boughs. As the old Ent approached, the trees lifted up their branches, and all their leaves quivered and rustled. For they were evergreen trees, and their leaves were dark and polished, and gleamed in the twilight. Beyond them was a wide level space, as though the floor of a great hall had been cut in the side of the hill. On either hand the walls sloped upwards, until they were fifty feet high or more, and along each wall stood an aisle of trees that also increased in height as they marched inwards. At the far end the rock-wall was sheer, but at the bottom it had been hollowed back into a shallow bay with an arched roof: the only roof of the hall, save the branches of the trees, which at the inner end overshadowed all the ground leaving only a broad open path in the middle. A little stream escaped from the springs above, and leaving the main water, fell tinkling down the sheer face of the wall, pouring in silver drops, like a fine curtain in front of the arched bay. The water was gathered again into a stone basin in the floor between the trees, and thence it spilled and flowed away beside the open path, out to rejoin the Entwash in its journey through the forest. 'Hm! Here we are!' said Treebeard, breaking his long silence. 'I have brought you about seventy thousand ent-strides, but what that comes to in the measurement of your land I do not know. Anyhow we are near the roots of the Last Mountain. Part of the name of this place might be Wellinghall, if it were turned into your language. I like it. We will stay here tonight.' He set them down on the grass between the aisles of the trees, and they followed him towards the great arch. The hobbits now noticed that as he walked his knees hardly bent, but his legs opened in a great stride. He planted his big toes (and they were indeed big, and very broad) on the ground first, before any other part of his feet. For a moment Treebeard stood under the rain of the falling spring, and took a deep breath; then he laughed, and passed inside. A great stone table stood there, but no chairs. At the back of the bay it was already quite dark. Treebeard lifted two great vessels and stood them on the table. They seemed to be filled with water; but he held his hands over them, and immediately they began to glow, one with a golden and the other with a rich green light; and the blending of the two lights lit the bay, as if the sun of summer was shining through a roof of young leaves. Looking back, the hobbits saw that the trees in the court had also begun to glow, faintly at first, but steadily quickening, until every leaf was edged with light: some green, some gold, some red as copper; while the tree-trunks looked like pillars moulded out of luminous stone."

-- JRR Tolkien, The Two Towers

#lotr #lotr newsletter #seagull.art #merry brandybuck #pippin took #treebeard

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kallie-den · 3 months

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Rebellious Mind

Karteya Vall, a general plotting to overthrow the usurper to the Imperial Throne, submits to a ceremony to prove her loyalty. A simple, traditional - and above all, completely normal - ceremony…

This story was chosen by my patrons via a poll, and features some delicious, highly-ceremonial, unaware mind control~

If you like my writing, please consider supporting me on Patreon! For less than the price of a cup of coffee each month, you can get immediate, early access to everything I write - along with exclusive stories and the ability to vote on what I write next. Your support helps me keep writing and is greatly appreciated

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“General Karteya Vall! Warden of the Northern Commandery! Master of the Imperial Chariots! Conqueror over the Barbarians! Custodian of the Fifth Wall!”

The herald’s voice is clear and strong, but that doesn’t stop it from sounding small as it echoes around the cavernous space. The innermost sanctum of the Imperial Palace had been built a thousand years ago, by men who were determined to make a building that matched the magnitude of all their worldly ambitions. A thousand years later it’s still an unmatched architectural wonder, but the glory of the empire has far outstripped even their vision. Whoever rules here, rules over an unimaginable vastness of humanity and geography. It hosts diplomats and tributaries from lands its architects could not have imagined, and it’s decorated with treasures they would have considered impossible miracles. Our empire is the greatest power this world has ever known.

This place is the beating heart of it all. Decisions made here touched countless lives and had the power to reshape seas and mountains. It is the center of the world. The pillar that holds up Heaven. It is also the embodiment of the empire and order I have devoted twenty hard years of soldiering to serving.

Once, it would have brought me immeasurable pride to hear my titles and my achievements announced here by the herald. As a girl, I was raised on dreams of being permitted to set foot in these hallowed halls, even as the lowliest servant. Once, but no longer - just as the jade carvings and scarlet silks of the palace had once been beautiful to me, but now seem like an affront. This regal beauty no longer belongs here. It’s a remnant. A lie. For a spider has spun this place into Her web.

All the same, I rise from my seat and stand tall and proud as I answer:

“I am here!”

I was summoned, and so I am here. I may be one of the most powerful women in the empire, but that doesn’t mean I can ignore a summons from the palace. And She does so love issuing summons. Her appetite for prostration and ceremony is that of a tyrant, not a true ruler.

“Your request for an audience has been granted! Approach the Lion Door!”

My request. This charade grates on me to no end. But I keep my face serene and approach the colossal door that bars the way to the throne.

“Halt!”

I do. This is expected.

“You must relinquish your blade in the presence of the empress!”

The demand chafes. I’m a soldier. My sword is my arm. But it’s just as well. If I was allowed to carry it into the throne room, I’m not sure any force under Heaven could restrain my fury.

An unsheathing. A few sprinted steps. A single stroke. She has guards, of course. But it could be done.

When the usurper first seized the throne I was a thousand leagues distant, at my post on the frontier. The first I heard of the vile coup was news of its success, along with Her demand to come and bend the knee. I tore the scroll to pieces in my hands. My oath to the imperial dynasty was not some reed bending in the current. In the span of a heart heartbeat, I had decided to turn my armies inward and revenge myself upon the throne-stealer.

Only the calm heads of my advisors had saved the land from civil war. Though no less faithful than I, they had persuaded me that there was no undoing what had already been done. I had armies, but together the other generals had more, and they had already pledged new loyalties. If I raised my banner against the usurper, my vengeance would never find satisfaction.

Instead, they suggested, I could be a snake who hides her fangs. I could feign obedience and bide my time, and make my move only once every preparation had been made. Then, I could be successful - and all it would cost me is that I would have to go before Her and bow and scrape as She demanded, for a little while.

A bitter price. But one I had resolved to pay - although I might have decided differently if I’d known the usurper would call me back, time and time again, insisting on fresh oaths of loyalty.

Well. No matter. A thousand oaths couldn’t stop me from avenging the dynasty I’d been sworn to.

All I need to do is bide my time and wait.

“Here.” With the ease of long practice, I draw my sword and hand it to the perfumed servant who approaches. The way its weight surprises him makes me sneer. “If there’s a single nick on this bronze,” I warn him, “it will take your head.”

He pales. As well he should.

The herald nods as I turn back to him. “You may enter.”

With his words, the Lion Door begins to yawn open. Those carved gates are taller than any tree I’ve ever seen, and they move like twin glaciers. All the better to be awed by the space beyond. The throne room is even grander; taller, wider, more lavish. An impossible space. A humbling space. Once the gates come to a halt I begin to march, paraded on both sides by guards - an honor, supposedly, not a threat. The walk to the throne is long enough to make the legs of idle noblemen ache but I’m well used to worse, and I can spend the time contemplating the object of my loathing.

The usurper. Our empress.

The Pearl Throne is well-named. A tall, looming thing, its white-rainbow iridescence is said to represent the labor of ten thousand divers’ lifetimes. It’s meant to humble and devour even the anointed demigod who sits upon it. The cold, hard edges allow for no comfort and the severe, flat surfaces admit no luxury. The proportions are wrong; inhuman, such that a man full-grown sitting the throne looks somehow less and more. Towering, yes, but like a child rather than a king. Even the emperor is a child under Heaven.

The usurper makes it look like a reclining couch.

It must be the supreme ease with which She lies across the throne. It’s like it’s nothing to Her; like the empire that rests on Her shoulder has no more than a feather’s weight. There is no respect in Her. None at all. Not a single drop. She’s draped across the throne with the arrogance of a girl-queen who’s been there all Her life. You would never imagine that She’s been empress for mere months.

Oh, Her figure is regal enough. Bounteous. Like She’s tasted every pleasure under Heaven and taken them as Her birthright. She’s proud of Her fullness, and Her fulsome curves are so admired they have shifted trends among her courtiers. Her imperial silks are cut close to Her body. Too close, as a courtesan’s might be. But they’re layered, too, rather than thin, and unfathomably rich. She likes to display Herself. To be like the sun. And yes, She is remarkably beautiful.

How I hate Her.

By the time I reach the base of the throne, I’m trembling with loathing. But She can’t see it. I can make myself almost still, and for all Her inexplicable success in seizing the throne, She’s too much of an arrogant fool to see the viper She’s invited into Her bosom.

“My general, Karteya,” Empress announces. She takes pleasure in the music of my name under Her tongue. “Kneel.”

I do, of course. What choice is there? Though my limbs rebel against the gesture of submission, I place a foot forward and drop to one knee before the throne, an arm resting squarely across my body.

Empress is relaxed to be sure, but Her eyes are singularly focused on me. On the way I sink before Her. The rich, swelling pleasure in Her gaze is yet another challenge to my inhibitions. It’s like She’s daring me to cast Her down. There’s something piercing in Her gaze, too; it’s tempting to succumb to my bleak humors and imagine that She knows something of my designs. She doesn’t, of course. Empress outstretches one arm toward me and lets it hang off the throne.

“You may kiss my ring,” She says languidly.

Indignity after indignity. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

I reach out and take Her hand to guide it to my lips. On Her finger is a ring that has, I gather, produced endless discussion amongst the ladies of the imperial court. Into it is set a gem of unknown providence, so large as to be vulgar. The gem came into the usurper’s possession when she was just a beggar, so it’s said, and the poets love to wax lyrical about how there’s none other like it in any treasury in the world. Those courtly ladies whisper that sometimes it glows with strange, shimmering lights, like those that can be seen in the skies above the great northern snows, and that it can even ensnare the souls of men.

Ridiculous. It’s just a ring.

I bring it to my lips and kiss its surface, pointedly ignoring the garish way the light glints from within its depths.

“Good.” Empress nods and retracts Her hand. Her approval tastes like bile. “You have come to swear your loyalty and obedience.”

It’s not a question. “As my empress commands.”

“As I command.” Her voice dances with a cruel laugh. “Proceed, my general.”

I brace myself. I have to, or else I may choke on my words. The oath I swear to the throne is old indeed, the words dictated by proud tradition, but saying them to Her makes them sour. My honor revolts in my belly at the thought of pledging myself insincerely - but it must be done.

To tolerate it, I have to tell myself: they are just words. Just air. They mean as little as Empress’s throne. They’re empty, and any honor I lose by speaking them will be won back when I finally make my move. When I make Her pay. Until then, all I have to do is play the role of the simpering, obedient servant.

All I need to do is bide my time and wait.

But it’s strange. Over and over again, She commands my presence and my oath. I alone am subject to these incessant demands. The pleasure She takes in forcing me to pledge myself over and over again is evident. Why? It’s almost as if She knows. As if She can sense my inner hatred. As if She knows what I’m planning.

Those are my weak nerves talking and nothing more, I decide. She has no idea. She couldn’t possibly. My performance is perfect. All I need to do is stay the course. I part my lips and begin to recite the vow that has been sworn in this place since time immemorial.

“I, Karteya Vall, pledge my eternal faith, loyalty, and obedience to the Pearl Throne and She who sits upon it. On my honor, I offer Her my fealty and service to Empress, from this day until my dying day. I vow to take up my sword in Her service, to defend Her rule and Her realm, to make Her enemies my own, and to keep faith with Her descendants and Her dynasty forevermore.”

I keep my voice slow and measured. The words deserve respect, even if She doesn’t. The vow is long and exacting - as it should be - and immutable. The words have never changed, even as centuries and dynasties have gone and gone. It’s comforting that some things don’t change. Not in a thousand years.

“I vow to obey Her in all things, without limit, without question. I offer Her my faith and my skills, so that I may be Her sword. I offer Her my very soul, to twist, to spend, to debase, to profane as She wishes. I offer Her my mind, to twist and change. I offer Her my body, for Her delight and Her pleasure.”

I hate the way She's smiling as I speak. Almost grinning, really. It’s like She’s about to burst out laughing. Has She no sense of solemnity? Of respect? These words are ancient. It’s tradition.

“I offer Her my tongue, though I may be unworthy to lick Her pussy or kiss Her feet. I offer Her my tits, for Her to display or ogle however She wishes. I offer Her my lewd, fuckable cunt, should it bring any comfort to Her faithful soldiers. I offer Her my untrained ass, for I am nothing but a worthless hole for Her to enjoy. I offer Her my orgasms, whether She wishes to withhold them forever, or make me cum like a stupid mutt in heat in front of my own men. And I offer Her what little dignity I have left, as a stupid bitch who thinks she knows better than her Empress.”

I’m surprised it amuses Her so much. She seems like the type to find tradition boring, although She clearly never tires of making me recite the oath for Her. I know it off by heart, of course. Every good soldier does.

“Thank you, general,” Empress snickers. “I’m very moved by your fidelity.”

She’s mocking me, obviously. I just can’t quite figure out how. After all, She has no idea I’m plotting against Her.

“You may disrobe,” She says.

“Thank you.”

This is the next part of the ceremony, every bit as traditional and timeworn as the vow. I rise to my feet and begin to remove everything that I’m wearing. My dress armor is first - I wear it everywhere, as a general should. It takes a little time to manage all the clasps and fastenings.

“Tell me, Karteya,” Empress comments suddenly. She’s watching me with lurid interest in Her eyes. “Do you know why I summon you here to swear your faith, time and time again?”

I grit my teeth and focus on the task at hand. “It is your right, my Empress, to demand my vow as many times as it pleases you.”

“True, true!” Her laugh is musical. “But that doesn’t explain why. No; the reason is that every single time, I’m wondering if some part of you will notice what’s really going on. It seems almost too good to be true that even a powerful, strong-willed, oh-so-dignified woman like you could be so completely and totally unaware. But you really are, aren’t you?” She lifts Her hand. “I truly love this ring!”

More nonsense. She’s taunting me, no doubt, though I can’t fathom what She means. Better not to guess. I set my breastplate down and start unstrapping my vambraces.

“It’s such a rush that I can tell you, straight to your face, and it simply doesn’t matter,” Empress boasts. That stupid, high-handed grin on Her face just keeps getting wider. “I’m manipulating your thoughts, Karteya, and making you completely unable to tell. Because of me, you think that ridiculous, vulgar tirade I fed to you on a whim is some ancient, sacred vow. You think taking your clothes off now is just part of the ceremony. It isn’t.”

I decide to ignore Her. It’s better for my humors if I focus simply on getting through the ceremony. With all my armor removed, I begin to slip out of the long, hard, green robe I wear underneath.

“You think you’re plotting to overthrow me, but that isn’t true either,” Empress goes on. “Not really. I already have everyone you trust wrapped around my fingers in exactly the same way. Most of the time you think you’ve spent planning, you’ve actually spent plunging your sword hilt in and out of your cunt until you pass out from the orgasms. You will never have your revenge, General. You will never even make a move.”

Next, my smallclothes. I remove them and feel all the small hairs on my body stiffen from the cool palace air on my naked skin. That’s not all, though. The ceremony also requires that I present myself appropriately. I begin carefully folding and stacking my clothes along with my armor, presenting them as a soldier would for an inspection in their barracks.

“I could stop you altogether, obviously,” Empress muses. “I could make you as obedient as a dog, just like everyone else I used as a tool when I took the throne. I could even make you love me. But I think this is much, much more entertaining. I can even get into your head and make you think of me as ‘Empress’, make your thoughts tremble with reverence and worship for me, and you will never once notice.”

With all my clothing and belongings neatly folded and presented before the throne, I sink back down to my knees in front of the usurper.

“You can keep thinking of me as ‘the usurper’, though,” She adds. “Every time you do, it makes me laugh.”

I place both hands in front of me, palms down, and then bend forward slowly, lowering my head as I do until my forehead is pressed to the ground in a gesture of absolute, unmistakable submission.

It’s just part of the ceremony.

Now that I’ve finished undressing, Empress shuts up. It’s just as well. I’ve become skilled at tuning out Her senseless prattling, but Her voice still grates on me after a time. Silence is preferable, even when it stretches on for so long that my knees and back start to ache. The usurper must be enjoying looking down at me. I can feel Her gaze on me, even if I can’t raise my head to look. It would be an unspeakable breach of etiquette to break this pose without Her permission.

She doesn’t deserve the respect. But my pride is at stake, and it certainly does.

I remind myself again. All I need to do is bide my time and wait.

Empress stands. I can hear Her clothes shifting as She moves, and Her footsteps as She descends the throne. She stops just inches away from me. The usurper is barefoot, of course. The Daughter of Heaven need never touch the filthy ground outside of the palace, and the ground here is kept fastidiously clean. She lifts one foot. I brace myself.

Empress brings Her foot down and stamps on the back of my head.

Not hard, but certainly hard enough to force my face down into the ground. She takes pleasure in it, I can tell. In grinding my face into the floor as I simply kneel and accept it. With the usurper, this part of the ceremony is particularly distasteful. The lowest part of Her body atop the highest part of mine, as I struggle to force out the right words.

“Empress,” I manage, although my voice is clearly strained and distorted by the way She’s stepping on me and smearing my lips against the ground. “Please accept this stupid, impudent cunt’s humble apology for daring to imagine I could ever deceive or outsmart you.”

It’s just another part of the ceremony. It’s tradition.

“Hmm.” Once She’s had Her fill, She steps back. “Apology accepted.”

I sigh. Being done with that is a relief, but the ceremony isn’t over yet. Empress raises a hand and snaps Her fingers, and a servant springs into motion. She hurries to Empress’s side and kneels, holding out a large, golden tray. On it are two objects. One is a bubbling cauldron of molten wax, lit from beneath by a small flame. The other is a large, metal seal.

“Prepare yourself, General,” She tells me.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

My body is grateful for the permission to move, but only briefly. The next position I must hold is even less comfortable. I raise my torso and then bend it backward, extending my legs ahead of me to form a bridge with my hands behind me, as I arch my spine and present my body upward towards Her.

I painstakingly removed all of my body hair this morning. Yet more tradition.

“Stay still,” Empress chides, as She lifts the cauldron of wax, positions it above my body, and tips.

The wax falls on my skin perfectly; on my lower abdomen, directly above my womb. It cools in the air, but only a little, and the scalding pain makes me grunt. I do stay still, though. It’s a matter of pride. She can chide all She likes, as if I’m a child who doesn’t know proper etiquette. I’ll show Her. I won’t give Her the pleasure of watching me humiliate myself. She can’t take away my dignity.

Once enough molten wax has pooled on my skin, Empress sets down the cauldron and lifts the seal. She bends down over me and presses it to my skin in the same spot, imprinting the reverse of its shape on the wax. The cold metal is a salving balm. The pain recedes, and I’m able to breathe normally again.

Empress lifts the seal. I can’t help but crane my neck to look. Sure enough, it’s there. Her symbol. Her personal mark, raised on my skin like a brand. It’ll only last a day or two, which I take to be a mercy, even if it gives Her an excuse to summon me back and apply the wax anew.

“Very impressive,” She says, staring down at me. “I’m glad you’re a soldier, General Karteya. You’re so very good at taking whatever I give you.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” If She thinks a few sincere compliments here and there will engender any love for Her, She’s sorely mistaken.

“Let’s see if you can make it through the next part this time,” She comments and snaps Her fingers again.

The servant bearing the tray retreats. Another appears in her place, and she’s holding another of the ceremonial relics: a large phallus, shaped lovingly out of bronze. Meanwhile, I’m trying to puzzle out Her words. This time? I would never display improper form during the ceremony. She’s mistaken, clearly.

It is challenging, though. My muscles are screaming complaints at me, and it’s an active effort to keep them from shaking and spasming. My entire body is covered in a sheen of sweat from the exertion. And the worst is yet to come. I need to save my strength.

“Enjoy, General,” Empress says with a sneer, as She takes the metal cock from Her servant and rams it all the way into my pussy.

The sound that forces its way out of my lips is something between a scream and a moan. She is not gentle, and having something so hard and cold forced inside me hurts. But I cannot help the other half of how my body reacts, with treasonous shocks of pleasure radiating from between my legs as I begin to drip eager wetness onto the ground.

A lesser woman could easily have collapsed. I won’t. I hold firm. I can be proud of that.

“My!” Empress raises an eyebrow, Her lips curled with amusement. “You really are getting better at this.”

More nonsense. I can reply only with a grunt. I’m reaching my limits.

“You may go ahead and stand up,” She adds when She notices how much I’m struggling. “You’ve earned it.”

I have indeed. Somehow, I manage to fold my body forward without collapsing and rise to my feet - and crucially, I keep the muscles in the core of my body engaged the entire time, so the bronze cock inside me doesn’t slip free. It wouldn’t do to make a spectacle of myself by dropping it. Not here, at the very end of the ceremony.

“I suppose we’re done here,” Empress says, sighing theatrically as if dismayed. Then the smirk returns. “For this time, at least. You put your clothes back-“

She pauses. Something’s occurred to Her, clearly, although I can’t imagine what. All that’s left is for me to dress myself and leave. But the malevolent, gleeful grin that suddenly splits Her face from ear to ear is truly unsettling.

“Actually,” Empress tells me as She climbs back onto the Pearl Throne. “Leave them. You can walk out of here naked.”

“What?” I say sharply. I didn’t know She still had the power to shock me - but clearly, She does. There are some traditions even an empress can’t alter. She doesn’t have the right to dictate these things on a whim. They’re older than Her by many centuries, and if She tries, the people will surely turn against Her. She’s gifted me a perfect opportunity, and my anger is righteous. “How dare you? That is not… n-not…”

Somehow, at that moment, Her ring catches my eye. The light glints off it in a way that seems impossible, and I am briefly captivated. Before I know it, my eyes have unfocused completely. The whole world is a blur. I have to struggle to recenter myself. It’s like I’m a dancer who has stumbled and lost the rhythm. What was I saying?

“That’s not…” I continue uncertainly. Not what? I was… arguing with Her? Suddenly, the context comes flooding back, and it brings with it a sense of complete and total humiliation. My cheeks are tinted red with shame. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I must have forgotten.”

How? How had I forgotten? I pride myself on my respect for tradition, and this is an error only an unruly schoolchild could make. All the court will be laughing at me. What had come over me?

Leaving naked is simply part of the ceremony.

“It’s been a long day, I’m sure,” Empress says. Her eyes glint with amusement, and I inwardly scold myself for providing Her with it. “We can overlook a small indiscretion. You’re dismissed, General.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty!”

To make up for my grievous error, I offer Her the crispest salute I possibly can. Then, as She nods, I turn and begin to walk - leaving all my belongings set neatly before Her, as is only proper. The walk back to the Lion Door is long, and feels longer still thanks to the awkward, bandy-legged gait I’m forced to use to keep the ceremonial bronze cock inside my cunt.

But that’s fine. The long, difficult walk is simply an opportunity to contemplate the depths of my loathing for Her, and the satisfaction that my revenge will bring.

The preparations are being made. All my plans will come together - and the best part is that She will never see it coming. She has no idea.

All I need to do is bide my time and wait.

---

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feeblescholarmyass · 1 year

Text

Chapter One: Tighnari

cw: panic attack/extreme anxiety, y/n is not in their bad bitch era yet so ignore how awkward they are, originally written in 3rd person so there may be some pronoun and grammatical mistakes

Sumeru boys x GN!reader

this was posted super fast because it was prewritten. I am not going to be posting daily!!!

masterlist | next

Chat: Amurta

"To be honest, I'm not all that interested in studying medicine. I think that people should also prioritize mental well-being more than the current culture in Sumeru allows. My professors don't really get that, so I just say I like flowers."

"Are you okay?"

It took you a few seconds to understand what he'd said. You opened your mouth to answer, but snapped it back shut when you felt tears start falling.

He frowned and crouched next to you, tilting his head. He took your wrist and felt your pulse, then sighed. "Oh, I see. You're alright now, don't worry."

You nodded, gulping down a whimper. "I'm s-sorry. I didn't... realize... someone else was in here." You wiped away your tears and took a shaky breath.

Are you kidding me?! We almost made it, stupid! Now you're crying again. You've cried every time you started going to a new school. That's so pathetic, you thought.

"You're fine, don't worry about me. Let me guess, first year?" He tilted his head at you, a small smile making you feel less embarrassed.

"Yeah. This place is so big... I was a little overwhelmed. A lot, actually." You shook your head, steadying your breathing.

"What's your name?" He dropped your wrist and placed his arm on his knee, resting his cheek on his palm.

"I'm Y/n." You tugged at a strand of hair.

"Alright, Y/n. What does your schedule look like? I can help show you around before classes start. You are an Amurta student, yes?" He stood, holding out a hand for you.

You looked up at him and met his eyes. Now that you weren't so nervous, you took more notice of him. He had pretty hazel-green eyes and light green streaks in his dark hair that reminded you of your aunt's hair. A golden earring hung from one of his ears. You remembered his pretty friend from before and felt a small twinge of jealousy.

What in Teyvat are all these boys so pretty for? If everyone at the Akademiya looks as pretty as them, I'll really have to up my game.

"My first class is Honors Phytology II. Here, you can look." You pulled a small notepad from a hidden crevice within the folds of your clothes. You turned to a page with your schedule written out in a neat, color-coded print.

"Hm. Honors II? Impressive, first year." He nodded appreciatively. "Come on, I don't want to cut off our tour because of class."

He opened the door of the copy room, revealing a less crowded common area than before.

You slid some of the fabric of your scarf between your fingers reassuringly. The cold material provided the necessary sensory to keep your mind from spiraling like it had before.

You looked around the room, admiring the architectural work. Sconces formed to look like blossoming vines held the small light sources that made the room practically glow. A miniature fountain surrounded by a concrete sitting area sat in the middle of the room directly underneath a fantastical chandelier. The light from the candles reflected off of the thousands of tiny crystals that drooped from the chandelier in a gravity-defying spectacle. Swirling patterns reached out from the center of the room towards the green pillars that held up the vaulted ceiling and bordered the different hallways labelled alphabetically for the subject and numerically for the floor.

"All classes that have to do with plants are normally done in the greenhouse or the lab in hallway F, which is the only hall that only has one floor. During the first semester, you're largely in the greenhouse." Tighnari motioned towards the hall. "You'll be able to find that pretty easily. As long as you know how to make it back here, you won't have to worry about any shortcuts. Those you can learn later."

"Okay," you said, trying your hardest to pay attention. Processing his words was difficult when you was still fawning over the detail put into the room. You weren't an architect, but you were an artist, so it was only natural that you appreciated something so beautiful.

You lagged further and further behind Tighnari before finally realizing how far ahead he was and hurrying to catch up.

"For the rest of your science classes, you'll be in hallway A, which is just over here. Medicinal classes are upstairs, while other sciences are on the main floor."

"Which stairway should I take? Normally one tends to have more traffic than the other, if it's at all like my old schools." You asked, finally comfortable enough to let your hands fall from their protective position by your neck.

"I'd recommend the first one during most hours, but around the end of the day, the second is probably your best bet. It's a weird phenomena that probably has to do with exhaustion and impatience."

"Hm..." You hummed to yourself, sparing a glance at the boy next to you. If only you had a photographic memory you could sketch his expression.

He stopped in his tracks, noticing your shift in attention. "What is it?"

A rush of heat climbed up your neck. "Oh, um, nothing important. Sorry if I distracted you."

He chuckled, meeting eyes with you. "If anything, I'd say I'm the one distracting you." He had a playful glimmer in his eyes, and you cursed your stomach for the summersaults it insisted on performing.

"Whaaat..? Nooo... I'd never be distracted. Never happened." You rolled your eyes and smiled.

Tighnari laughed. It was a warm sort of sound, one that made your stomach swirl and pulled your lips into a bigger grin.

He really is pretty for no good reason, isn't he? Sigh.

"We should continue our tour. Come along," he motioned them forward. He continued to explain each hallway and what classes it housed, then finally led you towards the lunch room.

It was a room even larger than the one before it. Two floors of open space with a large variety of food available to anyone who was able to pay. You felt terribly small in the huge emptiness. Imagining it being filled with people made you even more nervous.

"For anyone who wants a little more space, there is a small section for eating in the upstairs library. It's a lot quieter, and much less people go in there. Most people are there to continue studying. When do you have lunch?" He asked, leading you in a circle back to the hall.

"I've got a long break between psych and elements. My friend and I both have long enough to eat and take a break."

"Oh? A friend?"

"I do have friends, regardless of what you may think of me." You crossed your arms over your chest. Tighnari paused, conflicted between teasing you and being a welcoming upperclassman. "Her name is Layla. She's a Rhawatist student."

"Rhawatist? That must be an interesting friendship dynamic. One who studies the stars, and another who studies the earth." He let out a breath, relieved that you weren't offended by his words.

You paused and thought about it for a second. "No, I don't think it's all that strange. If anything, I think the combination of our studies would make a great research topic. Hm, maybe I should bring it up with her sometime."

Tighnari checked the time and found himself frowning. He had enjoyed talking with you once you had started to get comfortable.

"We should head to class. If you ever need anything, let me know. I am a TA, so it's my job to help students in need."

"I will. Thank you, Tighnari. I enjoyed talking with you."

"And I-" he paused, realizing he had never told you what his name was. "How did you know my name?"

"Oh," You felt a flush of heat again. You hadn't realized he didn't say it. "W-well, Layla and I were getting breakfast this morning, and we ran into you and some of your friends at a cafe. She told me your names." You tried to sink into your scarf, for once cursing the sheerness of the fabric. If you revealed the reason why you had been asking you just might die right there and then.

He laughed, the sound tickling your senses. "Sometimes I forget how curious you first years are. If you ever want me to introduce them to you, I can."

"Really?" You looked up a little too eagerly. "Oh, I mean, that would be nice. Thank you."

"Don't worry about it, I understand. See you around, Y/n. Enjoy your Phytology class. I think you'll like the teacher."

"You enjoy classes too!" You waved goodbye awkwardly before finally heading towards your classroom. The silent hallway felt oddly stifling without Tighnari's calm commentary filling the space.

"No way, really?" Layla yawned, listening as hard as she could. The poor girl looked about to fall asleep in her lunch.

"Yeah. He was super nice and even offered to introduce me to his friends we saw at the cafe. Would that be weird?" You asked. You had been going back and forth on what to do since the first day of school nerves had calmed down.

You had spent your classes so far writing down necessary materials and little notes to yourself based on first impressions. However, you had found your mind drifting elsewhere. Evidence of your thoughts were left in sketches in the margins of your paper. Rough outlines of Tighnari's hair and ears littered the back of the page you had been writing on.

"Hm, I think it would be fun. Maybe you could get Cyno to let you do a portrait of him." Layla teased. You rolled your eyes and huffed.

"At least I actually took one of the few art classes this school even offers. We don't even have a choir. If I wasn't so sure of what I wanted to do, I might regret my school choice." You tugged at an unruly lock of hair, taking a bite of you lunch.

"Speaking of Tighnari and his friends..." Layla yawned and pointed across the lunch room, where the four boys had just entered from the Kshahrewar entryway.

You glanced up and nearly spat out your food. HE!! IT'S HIM!!! PRETTY BOY!!! Well, pretty boys. Archons, please tell me I'm not making eye contact. I am making eye contact, aren't I? Shit.

You were, in fact, making eye contact. Tighnari smiled and said something to the other three. Then, to your horror, they started walking towards you and Layla.

"Layla. Layla, wake up. Layla. Fuck me, I'm on my own. I'll kill you for this, Layla." You muttered, trying to act like you hadn't been caught staring. I probably look like an idiot, she thought.

When they stopped next to the table you were sitting at, you pretended to be surprised. You looked up and smiled, hoping your nervousness wasn't as obvious as it felt. You couldn't tell if you were just paranoid or if people really were watching.

"Oh, hello again, Tighnari." You wiggled her fingers at him and glanced desperately at Layla. She was out.

"So this is the underclassman you've been going on about?" Cyno asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Yes, this is Y/n. Y/n, meet Cyno, Kaveh, and Alhaitham." Tighnari motioned to the group behind him. "Mind if we sit with you?"

Technically, yes, you did mind. Having people watching you was one of your least favorite feelings. However, you couldn't really say that you would hate being surrounded with pretty men. On the other hand, there was Layla to worry about. She was asleep, and this was a rare opportunity where she had time to rest.

"Oh, please do. I'm Layla, Y/n's friend." Layla spoke, startling you. You shot her a glare that was met with a cheeky grin.

"I see you're awake now. Eat your lunch. I'm not going to make you extra dinner because you slept through lunch again." You prodded Layla's stomach before scooting over to make more room for the boys.

The boys joined them at the circular table. Tighnari sat next to you, and Cyno next to him. The blond one, Kaveh, sat next to Layla, and Alhaitham left. You decided it was best to not question it.

The boys chatted amongst the three of them, and Layla drifted in and out of exhaustion, sometimes lucid enough to come up with a witty response. You stuck to observing the dynamic, committing their mannerisms and speech patterns to memory for future reference.

Listening to Kaveh talk reminded you of reading a romance novel. His prose was lengthy with impressive vocabulary. He brought to mind maple syrup, with his sweet words and lofty ideals. He tended to ramble on about something or other, enjoying the act of talking along with the sound of his own voice.

Cyno's dry commentary was waved off and even discouraged by Tighnari and Kaveh, but sometimes the combination of his dad jokes and blank serious expressions made you chuckle. His sense of humor reminded you of your dad. Every time he made you laugh, it boosted his ego just a little bit. The visible way he puffed up his chest and let an almost-grin pull at his lips reaffirmed your suspicions that he would make an excellent subject of an art piece.

Best of all was Tighnari. From their interaction earlier, you could never have guessed the extent of his sarcasm. For a TA, he seemed remarkably rebellious. In your head, he had been a strange piece in the puzzle of their group. Now, however, you could see he fit in perfectly.

The only remaining mystery was Alhaitham, the boy from before.

Much too soon for your liking, your break between classes came to an end. You bid farewell to your new friends after giving them your contact information, then went on your way.

You entered the hall towards the Haravatat building, excited for your language class. Throughout school, your language classes had always been your favorite. The challenge of translating back and forth until you fell into an easy familiarity with the words and sounds of a language brought you almost as much comfort as your art class did.

This year, you were finishing the available classes for Fontaine's ancient language. Names from Fontaine had confused you to no end until she started taking the class. It wasn't the most sensible language, and your pronunciation was finicky at best, but it was a welcome difficulty. In comparison to some of your Amurta classes, it was much less dull and required a lot less group work. It was perfect for a chance to relax after lunch.

You made note of the architecture in Haravatat just as you had in Amurta with Tighnari earlier. Where the accents had been green in Amurta, here they were a dark grey. There was much less living greenery ornamenting the halls, and the lights had to be brighter to make up for the lack of brightening decorum. The harsh shine of the fluorescent lights gave you a headache.

Students here carried more textbooks than anything. The lack of precarious experiments allowed you to be less cautious while wandering in an attempt to find your classroom.

You waved your way between students who were gossiping in various languages, and finally saw the right number for your class on the wall. You let out a sigh, relieved that you weren't late.

You opened the door and slipped inside, glancing around to take note of the amount of students in the class. There weren't many, and you didn't recognize those who were there. In one of the back corners, a group of a few people stood and chatted. You made sure to choose a seat across the room from them. You sat more towards the front, but not too close for comfort.

You placed down your bag and grabbed at your scarf. You smoothed it down and checked for any loose strings. When you had assured yourself that everything was in its place, you let yourself relax.

The classroom itself had very little decoration. There was a painting of Fontaine on the front wall, but that was about it.

You sighed sadly, longing to return to Layla and your new acquaintances. At least, at the end of the day, you would be able to go home and eat the congratulatory dinner you had been planning for weeks.

You drifted off into a daydream about the foods you would be able to eat, and how amazing your sleep would be after the day's exhaustion.

Your fantasy was interrupted by a harsh voice from behind you.

"You're not from Haravatat," the voice said. It took you a moment to register what had been said. You turned to look behind you to figure out who had spoken.

You twisted around to get a good look at the person, and felt your heart leap. Fucking hell, fate is surrounding me by pretty men on purpose. I can't tell if it's a blessing or a curse.

There, placing his books on the seat behind her, was the boy that had silently left the group during lunch and never returned. His pretty blue-hazel eyes bored into your own, and you watched a strand of silver hair brush against his cheek before settling against his ear.

You swallowed, hard.

"Oh, Alhaitham, it's you."

taglist: @em-asian @hypernovaxx

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#Alhaitham #tighnari #cyno #kaveh #alhaitham x reader #tighnari x reader #cyno x reader #kaveh x reader #x reader #genshin impact #fanfic #🪻ash writes

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shawty-writes-a-little · 2 years

Note

Can you write a Ser Criston x reader where during the chaos of the end of episode 5 (they are secret lovers and she can be Rhaenyra younger sister o someone else important for the Targaryen family) she get stabbed/attacked at the cerimony of Rhaenyra wedding?You can add prompt 10 for angst and fluff list.

Feel free to ignore this if you don’t like it or don’t feel like writing it🥰

Sake of conversation

Hi I wrote this literally today for the entire evening I hope you like it anon ily :)

Word count: 2.8k+

Summary: the request + a happy ending //there’s slight difference from the canon bc oh well

Warnings: Major ANGST, stab wounds, I haven’t read the books

Ser criston cole x fem!targareyn reader

—

Shimmers of the moonlight that danced as the shadows moved fast on the pillars along the passage of godswood as y/n walked through the palace hastily with her hand firmly on the sides of her abdomen blocking the blood spill from the stab wound she got from the events of the wedding. She didn’t see who it was it happened quickly as she moved past the crowd to get to her older sister at first, until grunting of fights created a new hustle amongst everyone. Y/n dropped to the ground as her body acknowledged her about the stab wound. Nobody in the utter disorder took a notice of the princess on the ground, crawling to the pillars she supported herself up but the next thing she saw was Ser Criston Cole being the centre of mayhem. Almost everyone got in the middle for her make out what was happening but she saw rivers of blood flow out from the centre and it did not come from the knight suit.

All her thoughts regarding what she saw Ser Criston do clouded the sharp pain she felt. Him on top of whoever the royal guest might be striking them repeatedly, the sight didn’t leave her mind. He must’ve had his reason. She wanted to believe that, still leaning on the pillar unable to move she hoped Ser Criston would reason her some way. Assure her that her lover is not a violent man who at his breaking point would commit something so gruesome.

For now as she forced herself to walk in order to find him. Her beloved Criston she spent nights under the starry sky, the secret glances shared during gatherings, the jokes they shared among them and the laughs they had was when she felt the most unconfined, felt loved. That was the Criston she knew and wanted held on to before she confronted him.

Walking outside the great hall was a task itself, ignoring the throbbing pain by her wound was getting difficult. Getting out of the halls without getting Ser Harwin to notice was even more difficult but cautiously she managed to. Cirston wasn’t by the gates or the hallway, next place she decided to look was the godswoods.

The celebration and the havoc of what happened might be bright and loud on the front but this part of the palace was sound. The dead of the night never felt more silent but the thousand thoughts were loud to cloud y/n’s vision. Regardless she finally found him. As he walked from across the passage of godswood towards her.

It was dark from that farther for him to distinguish who might be coming his way, the silhouette became more familiar as he came closer. Y/n. He remained silent, at lost of words as they were both face to face for the first time that night, quite a while ago this would’ve been the only face he wanted to be with for the sense of comfort and familiarity y/n held, just as right now but he felt rather lost at words. What happened made him question the gravity of his honour.

Y/n though, bold as anytime even with a stab wound which seemed trivial for now “What happened in there?” She asked him with shaky voice, Criston could tell her any lie right now and she would believe him. Very so badly she wanted to for their sake. The downside of him saying what would not end well for the two of them scared y/n to even think of it, yet it felt like a painful pill having to go through “Criston…what happened in there?” She asked him again. Tears pricked her eyes as his silence made it harder for her to hold onto the merry picture of their relationship and it drew her closer to believing he was capable of doing such a thing, “Answer me” she pleaded this time as tears welled up her eyes and a sob left escaped her overwhelmed by the pain on her sides and the downfall for the two of them. For having to loose him.

“Princess” Criston said which is far worse for her, y/n had established for no titles between them when they were alone and yet that was all he could bring himself to tell her.

“Say something!” wailing she tugged on his armour as cirston had a downcast look. He wanted to tell her what happened, what Joffrey Lonmouth said if he could ever even bring himself to repeat those words. What was he to tell her right now? He was a lost cause, long gone until she felt like the only sunlight of a hope and he had managed to be at lost of words with his actions. The line between his honour and his love for her so grey that he held no regard for the circumstances. His silence was getting more and more hurtful for her to bare.

Y/n drops to the ground as her hand moves from her wound and the blood spills faster soaking through her dress, at the same time Ser Criston has his arms supporting her fall gently kneeling beside her. It is now that he notices her wound as the moonlight spills through some area, he couldn’t have made that out within the darkness of the passage earlier. “Y/n? Y/n! Look at me-“ he tells her as he’s supporting the back of her head while holding her in his arms. “How did this happen to you? Y/n? Look at me-“ he kept talking to her in order to maintain her consciousness.

“Th-The wedding—I don’t know I didn’t see-“ she managed to get out stumbling over her words and her voice faint as a whisper. Barely being able to keep her eyes open she could hear Ser Criston talk to her but she couldn’t focus. Tears kept flowing her eyes at the knowledge of everything she pieced together and yet being in Criston’s arms.

“Is this perhaps the last time I’ll be in your arms?” Y/n asked with a shaky breath not sure if she managed to get that out or was it still a thought in her head as Criston was suppressing the blood on her wound lifting her further.

“I won’t let anything happen to you the Maesters are going to tend to you as soon as-“

“And you?” She asked sleepily as he carried her with her legs dangling over his arms and her hands weakly held onto his neck. With the unpleasant numbing feeling that ran through her entire body y/n was so sure she was breathing her final moments. As she stared at him she couldn’t be more glad than to have to spend them with him, the extremity of what happened would’ve changed things between them had she not been stabbed. But what’s a dying person got to worry for? With the occasional shutter of her eyes she looked at him, thinking any time could be her last time. Every moment spent with him from the clandestine meetings at midnights, the countless letters, their time in the woods, the petty fights-everything played in her head over and over. From their first meeting to this being their last. He felt like the one favour the gods grant you your entire life, thinking of what they’d do to him for what happened—threatened more tears to spill from her eyes but at least she won’t be here to witness it she thought.

“Criston-“ she spoke “You’ll be alright.” Even if it were false, For their last goodbye the didn’t want to say the word so for the sake of their last conversation she wanted to tell him to be alright.

“Don’t say that we’re almost there-“ he sped up the stairs getting to the maesters the red keep had never never felt larger to him “Stay with me please y/n keep your eyes open.”

—

The maester and the healers worked on the princess right after Ser Criston brought her to them telling them he found her by the gates of the great hall. The wedding celebrations were put to an end with what went down the night of the feast and the princess’ condition as well. The first day she was brought in was the most difficult since the Maesters reported excessive case of blood loss but she made into a stable phase nonetheless. The family kept checking in on her repeatedly when the maesters weren’t working but Rahaenyra didn’t leave her side the entire time. Y/n was out for about two nightfalls until the sun rays on the third one lifted with her eyelids.

Rahaenyra rushed to her side as y/n shifted in her bed, “Sister” she cooed getting y/n’s attention out of her slumber. Not yet able to answer her exactly but y/n heard her older sister call her. Fluttering her eyelids her vision finally cleared to find herself very much alive and in her own bed.

“Rahaenyra?” She responded to make sure it was her sister present by her side and it wasnt some sort of trickery her brain pulled on her.

“Y/n!” Standing up by her bedside with a sigh of relief “I’ll go call the maesters!” Rahaenyra said rushing out of her chambers before y/n could ask her anything or get used to the surroundings again.

The Maesters did the usual checking up on her wound, changing the linen placed on the stab wound and advised her for her diet and the what nots. Y/n was to disregard them either ways. Sadly she could not sit up without help yet, though the maesters advised not to do so y/n asked her maids to help her up. I’ve been lying in bed for years it seems she reasoned.

Later Rahaenyra sat by her bedside across her, stress less after days. She told y/n about their father visiting her often and his given condition worsened as well but he refused to sleep without checking up on her once. Rahaenyra kept telling y/n the most overlooking details of what followed after her wedding but it pained y/n to not ask the obvious. From what she remembered she considered looking into Ser Criston’s dark eyes was her last sight of the world.

She didn’t know the right words to ask Rahaenyra about Ser cirston without being obvious, she was her older sister after all “How did father react to the wedding turmoil?” Y/n asked plainly, trying to come off subtle.

“Father has been rather ill and occupied since what happened to you, Laenor’s well…grieving what happened with Ser Joffrey was quite unfortunate.” Rahaenyra stated fidgeting through her fingers, y/n knew of Laenor’s preferences she was the one who suggested for Rahaenyra to propose the deal within their marriage.

“Ser Joffrey?”

“Ser Criston and him got into some sort of disagreement it is believed that’s what caused the chaos on the wedding day-father pardoned Ser Criston since the maesters said it would’ve been impossible to save you had it not been Ser Criston who rushed you here.” As Rahaenyra told her about him y/n’s heart felt a lot lighter, with the relief that rushed through her she had to act unbothered to her sister. Y/n wished to tell her about the two of them eventually and she was going to, she trusted Rahaenyra more than anyone she had ever known. At first it was a secretive thing just for her and Ser Criston to share later her sister seemed to have bigger responsibilities and y/n didn’t feel like adding to hers, at least for a while.“Oh?” Y/n cleared her throat nodding uninterestingly. “And where might everyone else be?”

“Ser Criston hasn’t left the doors of your bedchambers ever since the wedding, You were stabbed quite badly it seems do you recall who it was?” Rahaenyra hated the last two days having to spend them between the constant clash of her y/n’s life. Even if it was a commoner or a royal escort she wanted them to pay for what almost thundered upon her dear sister’s life.

“There were so many people running around all I can remember is trying to get away apparently I can’t even recall a distinct face in the crowd!” Y/n said catching her forehead in her hands facepalming. She was in recovery for the stab wound in her torso yet it hurt even to function thinking.

“Don’t fret sister Daemon’s on the committee to find whoever might be responsible.” Her older sister offered her a smile as y/n let out a grunt.

“Uncle doesn’t have rather civil ways does he?” Y/n joked letting out a small huff as Rahaenyra stood from her side.

“I suppose so—since you are doing better I’ve to go inform father if he’s awake this early but you rest till then.” She said as she already strolled across the room “If you need anyth-“

“Could you perhaps send Ser Criston in I would like to thank him for saving my life?” Y/n asked with a more typical manner than usual in order to maintain the secret quite secret.

Rahaenyra nodded as she walked past the door, in a few moments Ser Criston stepped inside as y/n shifted in her place. All of his prayers were answered earlier that morning when Rahaenyra asked for the maesters because y/n was awake. Two days he thought of y/n’s state and now when she’s finally awake in front of him he was lost at words again. “Princess” he greeted forcing his posture to look away from her.

For a while y/n stared at him the same way, not lost at words but unsure where to begin “What happened the night of the wedding Ser Criston?” She asked him again with the same calm tone she had that night but a brisk unsureness lingered her voice.

“I was on duty princess-“ he hesitated to say more, he didn’t want to repeat the inappropriate exchange with Ser Joffrey. The agitating vulgarity his words held for y/n, Criston wished not to acknowledge those to her.

“And?” Y/n asked again on the verge of tears, her father might have pardoned Ser Criston but it was yet to see for her if he would confront her. Tell her the truth, on the basis that the pair always trusted one another to share everything. Had he done that irrevocable damage that he could not even tell her? “Is it that you can’t tell me or you don’t wish to?”

Yet unmoved Criston said nothing. He couldn’t even bring himself to look her in the eyes. Y/n felt as though her words didn’t even reach him, he neglected all her pleas to be enlightened. With the will to be heard in any way she chose to walk up to him, getting out of her bed as she tried standing up the linen by her stab wound shifted and the throbbing pain from the wound waved through her body. Wincing at the pain, y/n lost her balance yet close to the bed. Almost instinctively Ser Criston rushed to her side helping her settle back into the bed.

“Be careful y/n” he told her worriedly checking if the the placed linens on the wounds hadn’t misplaced. Kneeling next to her bedside he realised how close they were again. Finally looking up at her face that was facing away from him it reminded him of the night where he held her in his arms as her blood pooled through her dress, rushing as she’d made up her mind of it being their last goodbye. He remembered how much he thought of never wanting to loose her, if the choice given he would make the selfish choice and choose to leave the world before her. Because that’s how painfully miserable it was to imagine ever loosing her. And now that he did have her well and right in front of him he had caused to upset her he thought. “Y/n” he asked her to face him but she sniffled looking right away from him. Given that didn’t work he gently held her hands in his, “I have sworn to protect the honour of your house, as a knight of your Kingsguard causing the havoc that I did at the wedding is not advised of me. I crossed a line with what happened with Joffrey Lonmouth-I’m aware in other circumstances I would’ve been stripped off my titles but if someone were to ever question your honour, speak of you in an ill manner I wouldn’t think twice to disregard my duties or virtues-for you.” He told her as their intent gaze matched each other’s. Tears still prickled y/n’s eyes but this time with the love he’d shown to her, she wanted to hold the love his words and his eyes held for her forever.

Closing the gap between the two of them y/n leaned in brushing her lips against his. He caressed the sides of her face smiling into the kiss hoping that this remains for always.

“I love you.” Y/n told him pulling away from there kiss as their foreheads touched.

“And I you.”

—

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