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bellarkeselection · 10 months

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Giving Second Chances

Gifs above don't belong to me they belong to their rightful owner

Wattpad request from Silverose365 Reader is a trouble teen the state is having trouble with so after multiple failed foster families the state calls John. The reader accidentally messed up on a job and gets called out until Rip makes a different choice than her previous foster family's.

John and Rip followed Sheriff Haskell out into one of the barns on the ranch. The three stops in the entrance seeing someone peaking their head over one of the hay bails. John slowly walked forward trying to not scare the girl off that looked to be a young teenager reminding him of meeting young Rip. “Hey there, kid. I ain’t gonna hurt you. Do you wanna come talk with us?”

“Where’s the girl from?” Rip crossed his arms looking at Sheriff Haskell.

He responded to John’s right hand. “She’s been bounced from foster home to another. She’s got a bad streak of breaking the law. I got a call saying the foster system was sending her to him until she bolted. Thankfully she ended up where they we’re taking her. Bringing her to John.”

Lifting my gaze up to the older cowboy guy wearing a tan cowboy hat I watched him bend down to her level. “Are you going to send me back to foster care….I don’t do good in that place. They all say I’m too old and reckless.” I had been moved around where I just started running away every time they sent me back in the system.

“I ain’t sending ya back. My name is John Dutton, what’s your name darlin’?” The rancher asked me offering his hand and I allowed him to pull me to stand up with him seeing another guy by the sheriff that was dressed in black with dark hair and hard eyes staring at me.

I nervously responded back to him. “Y/n. My name is Y/n, sir…what are doing now?”

“You come work for me.” John said looking at the man calling his name so I could put it with his face before he left us in the barn together. “Rip, you’re gonna teach her the way I did you.”

It had been a few months since that day and this is the longest that I have ever been in compared to my other foster homes. Placing a dark brown hat on my head I slide my brown boots on heading to the Yellowstone barn. Throwing a saddle on Lioyd’s horse I started tying it on until I heard one of the bunkhouse cowboys coming over to me. I believe Walker was his name. “It looks like a a cowgirl doesn’t know how a saddle goes on a horse.”

“What…what did I do?” I panicked beginning to twist the sterups and the back sinch backwards before I ran my hands through my hair.

Walker came over on his horse. “You put the saddle on backwards kid.”

“Crap, crap.” I mumbled under my breath quickly fixing it until John came over to me seeing that I avoided his gaze mumbling to myself unknown that he could hear me. “How could I put the entire saddle on backwards. That was stupid. I should have known that.”

It wasn’t the first the older rancher had seen her be hard on herself after she made some mistakes or didn’t be s quick as what the cowboys had told her to do something. And she would end up beating herself up over failing. John just hoped the girl saw that she was a good hand like he did. Because she was almost the same way when he found Rip years ago.

Walking through the barn I nodded to my boss Rip Wheeler who was walking with his horse when he noticed me. He climbed up on his horse addressing in my direction. “Y/n, got saddle Mr. Dutton’s horse. You’ll be riding it today with us to learn how to ride.”

Running inside the barn I took the reins of the boss’s horse tying the rope on the side of the wooden fence. Tossing the saddle over the horse I quickly tied it together. Putting me foot in the stirrups up Rip called my name. “Woah you think you’re forgetting something kiddo.” Shifting my gaze down to the ground I hadn’t noticed my hat fell off during the process.

“Ah shit…sorry sir.” Snatching it up I placed it on my head quick climbing back on the horse knowing he didn’t like wasting daylight and I always followed his instructions as fast as he said them.

Rip had me following behind him where I griped the reins in my hands bouncing with the horse watching the others herding the cattle in front of us. Normally he was leading the pack but not today. “Go herd up the ones on the side that get loose. You got that?” He kicked his horse to go when I nodded in understanding.

Running down the valley I followed after one cafe that got loose leading it back to the group. Staying close to the group another one got loose where I grabbed my rope throwing it over it head trying to lead it back but it just picked up sped. I screamed when it managed to pull me off my horse and I fell into the dirt. “No, no,…ah fuck!”

“Woah girl, are you alright?” Lioyd came over on his horse holding the reins of mine since it ran off towards him so he brought my horse back over to me.

Holding my right wrist I winced when I tried to bend it a little. “I think I just tweaked my wrist a bit….I thought I roped it the right way.”

“You roped it around the neck when it should have been around the waist so he wouldn’t run on ya. Climb back on your horse and help us finish this out.” Rip responded sternly beside his older friend.

Scurring to my feet I put one foot in the stirrup using my left hand to support most of my weight than my right. I should have done better, sir.” I apologize when Rip glared at me watching me ride off with Lioyd figuring that she meant well.

Once nightfall had come and everyone had their horses up for the night I didn’t come down to the bunkhouse for dinner since I was staying in the spare room of Rip and Beth’s house. Brushing my hair away from my face I had banded my wrist as best as I could and put everything I had in the duffel bag foster care had given to me. I just needed to wait until everyone went to bed to run rather then wait till morning already knowing what would happen. I had messed up way more than someone my age should. “I’m too old to get adopted….I will be better off just waiting until I’m eighteen. Only two more years left being someone else’s problem..”

“When I said don’t think you deserve this. I meant it literally but I didn’t you’d run from it.” Whipping my head around I gasped through tears seeing Rip was leaning in the doorway of my bedroom.

Croaking through tears I scooted up against the pillow and headband avoiding his gaze. “How did you know I’d be here?”

“Cause you didn’t come down for dinner and you ain’t missed a meal since the day you came here. You want to tell me what’s going on with you?” He presses on with his tone being both stern but went softer when he could hear me lightly crying in front of him.

Hugging my knees to my chest I buried my face into them sobbing even more when I struggle to get the words out already sensing what he was going to say next. “I’m a screw up here, Mr. Wheeler. I can’t do half the jobs you give me right…I don’t have great confidence even when I put in as much effort as I can. You see me exactly like everyone else does…a reckless teenager who won’t make it any longer in getting adopted. Cause I don’t follow directions good….so you’re done with me. You’re going to send me back tomorrow.”

“Where the hell did you get an idea like that, sweetheart?” He blurted out raising his voice in shock.

Peaking over my knees with my hair in my eyes I whispered back to him. “That’s what every family I have been with does. Why would you be any different to me?”

“Because you are the hardest working foster kid I have seen. You’ve got good manners and put in almost more effort than any of those bunkhouse boys do. And you ain’t any reckless than most teenagers are.” He came over and sat beside me on the bed removing his black hat when he went to take something out of his jacket. He unfolded a paper and handed it to me. “You are a darn good kid, Y/n. I am hoping to help you improve your confidence in time being here.”

Scanning my eyes over the paper in my small hands I couldn’t hardly believe it. “You want to adopt me..but I….thank you Rip.” Flinging my arms around his neck he was taken back not used to seeing me giving any kind of emotion like this.

“You’re welcome, darling. But promise you will still work as hard as you would if you weren’t gonna be my kid.” He hugged me briefly until he made me look in his eyes when he barely broke the embrace.

Nodding through happy tears I grinned up at the cowboy and lead hand of John Dutton. “Don’t worry I will..uh dad.”

Footsteps came down the hallway where we both glanced over over shoulders noticing that it was his wife. “You better call me mom and come eat this hamburger helper otherwise you’ll face the bear.”

“Yes ma’am.” I jumped off his lap rushing down the hallway making it to the kitchen table almost shoving food into my mouth overjoyed to actually have a place to call home.

Beth smiled at her husband when he stood by her in the hallway watching you. “She’s our kid now, baby.”

“She’s our second change at one and I gotta say she’s a pretty good one.” He responded looping his hand with hers giving her a gentle and the pair joined you at the dinner table.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

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fishnets-fingers · 1 year

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Forbidden Hours

“Sounds like someone’s projecting,” he says, voice laced with honey.

“I’m not projecting anything.”

“Sounds like what you’re saying is that you’re jealous that I have the confidence to partake in intercourse and you’re a bumbling virgin-“

“I’ve read all of the volumes of the Kamasutra. I know my way around when I need to engage in coitus for reproduction,” she cuts him off.

“Oh, sweet sweet Princess,” he whispers, using her title condescendingly. “Sex is more than just reproduction.” He strides towards her.

PAIRING - spy!harry x princess!y/n

a/n - happy first day of 2023! this is my first time writing historical fiction. it’s loosely inspired by a movie, particularly this scene. it’s not historically accurate in the slightest. you can read more about the chola dynasty here. don’t know how many parts this would have but i’m hoping to write more of these two’s dynamic. if you have any ideas, let me know. as always, like and reblog. feed back is not only appreciated but much welcome. happy reading!

Word Count - 4.2k (not proofread)

MASTERPOST | PART TWO

….

நிழல். Shadow. That was his nickname among the royal heirs. He was quiet, swift, inconspicuous, and nimble - camouflaging himself in vast rooms and gathering intel. There wasn’t a room in the kingdom he couldn’t weasel himself in; whether that be up on the roof, scaling walls, or hidden in the dark - where candle lights don’t flicker.

Growing up as the son of a British sea merchant, Harry learned that there wasn’t much for a young boy to do in the cramped quarters of the ship. He’d lost his mother the moment he took his first breath. There wasn’t a lot of maternal warmth in his life but that wasn’t to say that he wasn’t loved. He was loved in a different way, his father kept him close during the wuthering nights at sea often pointing out constellations in the night sky to remind him that life had far more in store for him than the fervent passing waves of the sea. But he was also a man that did not believe in making mistakes, so whenever Harry got in trouble, he was asked to scrub the deck floor clean until his hands bled. He learnt his way around a sword from the crewmen. Travelling to different ports of the world also meant learning different forms of combat and gathering information from people of different cultures. Stewing in a ship with ten men for months meant no entertainment, so he began sifting for stories and used their weakness and strengths against them to gain favours.

He docked on Chozhamandalam when he was twenty and was greeted with a red swallowtail flag with a pouncing tiger on it. He grew to love the people of Kaveripattinam - the bustle of the markets, the chortle of the children running about, the welcoming people, and the way art was particularly celebrated in this small port town, and the princess he set his sights on his third day of being docked there. He’s heard of royalty. Lots of royalty. Cruel rulers. Compassionate rulers. Ostentatious rulers. Modest rulers. Heard. But he’s never seen one in the flesh. Until that day.

A crowd gathered near the temple, murmurs of visiting royals spread like wildfire, and when he’d caught wind of it, he couldn’t resist. Ten soldiers walked first clearing the path, two on horses and sheathed swords followed, then came ten men bearing the weight of a palanquin. It wasn’t an ordinary palanquin, this particular one was grandiose, shimmering in gold and stained glass but the insides were draped in silk to obstruct the view of the onlookers. The Queen Mother exited first, greeting the townspeople and that’s when Harry saw her - the Princess Regnant, the one third in line to the throne. He found himself unable to tear his eyes away from the way her lips curled up in an inviting smile. Harry has seen many a sight in his life but none would compare to the way the royal blue silk saree draped around her body made her skin shimmer; it reminded him of how the first light of the sun would glint and glimmer on the steady ocean water. Her eyes were dark, like the deepest part of the sea where light does not enter. She was adorned in gold, hair piled up into a tall bun that was decorated with jasmine flowers. Their temple visit was brief, the Princess joined her grandmother thanking people for their well wishes before being escorted into the temple premises. It was her eighteenth birthday, so a feast was prepared for everyone in town. As the crowd dissipated to head to the town hall for the royal lunch, Harry lingered wanting to catch sight of the Princess again. He managed to climb a peepal tree that towered over the south entrance of the temple. He saw her again, only this time being told off by the guard as she tried to reach over to pluck a blooming lotus from the temple pond. She huffed in response settling down on the step, so the water lapped at her feet, guiding a tadpole trapped in a water bubble on the lotus pad back into the water.

Three years later, he’d made himself a name in the kingdom. His path stumbled with the Crown Prince a month after arriving. He soon became his confidant, even earning a spot in his army. The Crown Prince, Vikram, was a skilled warrior often going off on conquests under the King’s orders to further expand the country. The youngest Prince, Karthi, was sent to the island of Lanka to study apothecary and healing. And the middle heir, Princess Y/N, was known for her wisdom and strategic wit. She often presided in important meetings with the King and his counsel and implemented many strategies that helped triple the wealth of the dynasty and the well-being of the people. The first battle Harry rode alongside the Crown Prince, he was tasked with bringing home a note sent by the prince to his father detailing his plans on the war spoils to the King. Harry was entrusted with carrying secrets and messages to royalty and trusted members of the Crown. His knack of gathering information also came in handy and now was a spy for the royal heirs three years later.

Soon enough the nickname Shadow was bestowed upon him by Prince Karthi. There wasn’t a single room he couldn’t get into - even the castle. But the tower he was currently scaling was one he never had before - Princess Y/N’s chamber. It was forbidden to talk to her without supervision but in the dark of the night, he supposed it did not matter. His job description came with breaking rules and this particular information needed for her to be in the know sans protocols.

He hitched his leg up over the stone bannister and lurched his torso up to the terrace. Princess Y/N’s tower was away from the main dome of the royal vacation castle and he chalked it up for safety but now standing at her balcony, he understands why. The view was unbelievable - the vast expanse of the ocean was at his feet, calm waters painted silver with the full moon; it also overlooked her personal garden filled with coral jasmine, hibiscus, marigolds, and wildflowers. The ocean breeze carried over the fragrance of the flora straight to her room. It was well known that the princess was an avid gardener; he heard through the grapevine that oftentimes she’d sketch out the garden’s landscape plans and sometimes even join the workers to tend to the flower beds. Princes who came to court her from neighbouring territories would almost always bring a sapling of a flowering plant to gain affection.

One could get used to the view, he thinks, as he leans against the bannister one more time - the sounds of tides crashing over the shore soothe his nerves from his climb up. Being born with the golden spoon ain’t that bad. If the burden of duty came with such lavish living quarters, someone sign me the fuck up, Harry takes in the scenery before him before pushing off from it. His body instinctively makes his way to her, like a moth being drawn to a frame, or in this case a spy being drawn to the lavish canopy bed bathed in the buttery glow of candlelight. He stops in his tracks for the second time by the sight of her, not by the opulent beauty that she radiated when he first laid eyes on her but with fondness.

It’s not the Princess Regnant who’s fast asleep on her bed but Y/N. The same Y/N who bristles every time he’s in the room with her siblings. The same Y/N who straightens up her back and holds her chin up high when he cracks a joke to try and force a smile on her face.The same Y/N who looks away when he catches her eyeing him up as he hands over the sealed scroll sent by one of her brothers. It’s almost as if Harry is seeing her for the first time without any filters - except for the sheer white netted fabric that hangs around. She looks small without all the jewellery and silks. Hair raven and straight and long - longer than what he had anticipated - now that her hair has not been pinned up in a bun or bushed away from her face with intricate braids. She looks vulnerable - almost her age - a twenty one year old with a bare face that is not made up immaculately. She has dark circles under her eyes, and Harry deduces that it’s from reading all the books she has strewn over - opened - beside her on the satin sheets. Her lips are curled downwards; she frowns in her sleep and Harry has to try and fight the urge to reach over and smooth out the crinkle between her eyebrows.

He clears his throat, hoping she’ll wake up before he ends up touching her and landing himself in prison. She twitches in response, her steady deep breaths interrupted by a sharp inhale. He clears his throat again, louder this time, followed by, “Your royal highness.”

Y/N’s eyes flutter open, and she jolts up when she sees a tall figure standing beside her. “Who?” She asks, voice hoarse, eyes darting up over his broad chest.

“It’s me, Princess Y/N,” Harry answers.

“Mr. Styles.” Hand coming over to rub the sleep from her eye. “What are you doing here? In my chamber? You’re not allowed,” she states.

“I apologise, your majesty. I’ve been riding for five hours, ma’am. From the estate in the hills. Couldn’t risk having someone overhearing this for the sake of protocol,” he explains.

“So, was I right?” Y/N questions, shuffling out of her bed. Harry moves behind so she has the space to stand upright. “Are the governors convening?”

She gets no reply, making her flit her eyes up at his jade embers to find him staring at her body. Harry could make out the full curves of her breasts and hips with the flimsy white gown Y/N was wearing. Her nipples pebbled from the cold winds from the sea and peaks out the cotton fabric. She rolls her eyes, and snaps her fingers in front of his face to catch his attention. “I could have your eyes gouged out this instant, Harry Edward Styles! There are guards on the other side of this door.”

“Apologies, Princ-“

“You’re full of apologies tonight, aren’t you?” Y/N folds her arms, shielding her chest from his gaze.

“Sorry, Prin-“

Y/N laughs. “It’s far too late for formalities, Mr. Styles. Plus, they only apply to people who follow protocols and walk in through there,” she cocks her head to the carved wooden door. Considering you broke into my room by climbing my balcony, I reckon you can give it a rest. Call me Y/N.”

“Yes,” Harry nods. “Y/N,” he adds. Testing out the way her name rolls out of his mouth. He can’t help the way his dimples carve in his cheeks as the corner of his lips tug upward. I like it, he decides. He likes the way saying her name feels on his tongue, it’s rich and velvety and he wants to keep saying it again and again. “Please call me Harry.”

“Harry, tell me what you saw. Don’t leave out any details,” she orders, walking over to her desk.

Fucking shit, Harry shakes his head. How was he supposed to concentrate when the candles she was lighting only made the silhouette of her body more prominent. She could clearly see the swell of her bum and he’ll bet his entire fortune that she wasn’t wearing anything underneath other than that flimsy gown. He shamelessly lets his eyes rake up over her and his heart flutters when he meets her expenatant eyes, quill hovering over a parchment, urging him to vomit out what he knows.

“Yes. The Hill estate,” he clears his throat. “You’re right. Five governors held a secret meeting at midnight at the Bull temple. You know, the one that was destroyed last monsoon by a landslide.”

Y/N scoffs and lets out a chuckle of disbelief. “Of course, they pick the most obvious spot. Were you able to get a good look at who these governors are?”

“Yes. Do you want me to list them out?”

“Please,” she says, writing down each of the names that Harry listed. He walks closer to where she was hunched over, writing. Harry’s not surprised to see the elegance in her script.

“Impressive. Nice handwriting,” he comments.

“Hardly something to be impressed by, Harry.”

“Well, Y/N, it’s better than mine.”

“If you had tutors from all over the world, I’m sure your script will look just as impressive,” she adds.

“Of course.” He nods. “The meeting. The governors are unhappy with the decree to build schools using the tax money they’re collecting.”

“Of course they are,” she mumbles. “They’re all for taxes when they can use it to fatten themselves up but ask them to spend it on the children of their districts, they are suddenly unhappy with the new system implemented.”

“That’s not all.” Harry opens a silver box and pops a date into his mouth.

“Help yourself,” Y/N comments, shaking her head at his lack of etiquette. Harry’s face flushes with pink and he can feel the tips of his ears getting hot.

“It’s a long journey back here,” he tells her, avoiding her eyes in embarrassment and on cue his stomach rumbles.

Y/N eyes soften. “There are fruits in the basket. And here.” She walks over pulling out a glass jar filled with jujubes from the drawer by her bedside and brings it over to him.

“You have gummies in your drawer,” he notes, smirking at the half eaten jar of sugar coated coloured candy.

“I have a bit of a sweet tooth,” she tells him with a shy smile. He props himself on the table and she makes her way to her desk, watching him eat.

“Harry,” she calls out. “You said that’s not all,” she prompts.

“Your Uncle was there,” he tells her quietly, not wanting anyone to hear.

“My Uncle?” She asks, alarmed. “Can’t be.”

“I saw him, Y/N. He came in shrouded in a black cloak. He’s sired an offspring he said. Claimed that his son had a right to the throne. That’s as much as what was said before they dispersed.”

“You’re positive?”

“Are you implying that I’m being dishonest?”

“I’m not implying anything,” Y/N snaps. “I just want you to be sure.”

“I saw him with my own two eyes, Y/N. I was taken aback too. Both Princes speak of him fondly.”

“Seems like there’s a conspiracy afoot,” Y/N says, almost to herself.

“I’ll let Prince Vikaram know immediately,” he informs.

“Don’t. He’s hot headed. God knows he’ll come charging to the capital and stick a knife in my Uncle’s throat. I’ll take care of it myself.”

“What are you going to do?”

“That’s below your pay grade, spy. I’ll handle this myself. I’m heading to the capital tomorrow for a meeting with my father and the court. How long would it take for you to sail to Lanka alone?”

“Almost a week,” Harry answers.

“Okay. I want you to set sail to Lanka five days from now. I’ll have a scroll delivered to you at noon by the docks. Hand it over to Karthi. Father will want him back in the capital. Keep mum about this and you’ll be rewarded handsomely.”

Harry nods. “Don’t want gold coins this time. I want a house. Close to the sea. One with space for a yard.”

“I’ll see to it.”

“Thank you, Y/N. I’ll set sail five days from now to Lanka. It’ll also be nice to pay the old man a visit too.”

“Your father’s there?”

Harry nods.

“How is Merchant Styles? I heard he’s retired” Y/N asks.

“He took to Buddhist teachings. Become a proper monk now,” Harry chuckles.

Y/N laughs, one that’s laced with mockery.

“What’s so funny?” Harry asks, standing up abandoning the food.

“Nothing,” she gets out between peels of laughter, wiping her the tears that threaten to spill.

“With all due respect, Princess. Spit it the fuck out,” he huffs out in annoyance.

“It’s just funny. Your father practises a faith that preaches restraint of the senses as one of its precepts and then there’s you.” She bites down on her bottom lip to stop herself from breaking out into a fit of laughter.

“I don’t quite follow,” he crosses her arms.

“Of course you don’t,” she chuckles, straightening up and tilting her chin up.

“You always do that,” he points out. “Pretend you're better than me. It’s obvious you hate me when I’ve been nothing but friendly.”

“You’re not my friend. You’re Vikram’s friend. And Karthi’s. I don’t know you. And I know for a fact that I’m better than you,” YN's eyebrow raises in arrogance.

“What makes you so sure?” Harry takes a step towards her.

“Because, Harry Styles, you’re the proverbial whore of the town. I don’t go around screwing everything with a pulse,” she smiles arrogantly at him.

“How did you come upon this piece of information?” He asks her.

“News travels fast, especially with handmaidens. So, that’s why it’s funny. Your father practises self-restraint and you are on a mission to contract a venereal disease.”

“Sounds like someone’s projecting,” he says, voice laced with honey.

“I’m not projecting anything.”

“Sounds like what you’re saying is that you’re jealous that I have the confidence to partake in intercourse and you’re a bumbling virgin-“

“I’ve read all of the volumes of the Kamasutra. I know my way around when I need to engage in coitus for reproduction,” she cuts him off.

“Oh, sweet sweet Princess,” he whispers, using her title condescendingly. “Sex is more than just reproduction.” He strides towards her.

“It is. That’s what the textbook says: It's a womanly duty to service the man and bear his children. It’s sacred,” she insists, taking a step back.

“I’m surprised for someone with such progressive morals… Your view on pleasure seems archaic,” he takes a step toward her again.

“Books do not lie, spy. They have the whole truth.” She steps back again, bumping into the edge of her teakwood desk, trapping herself.

“What do your precious books say about the way your body sparkles when you reach a satisfying end?” He goads, taking a final step forward and invading her personal space.

“You are forbidden to come this close to me, Harry.” Y/N reminds him in futility. Feeling his hard chest against her, thighs rubbing up against him, she can feel his hard muscles straining against her and his warmth radiate, crawling its way into her skin.

“Call out to the guards then,” he reminds her, dropping his head down to nose at her temple.

“I will,” her voice is feeble. “You’ll be cut into pieces and thrown in the ocean.”

“I’ll take my chances,” he smirks, as his lips circuit down the shell of her ear. “I don’t see you telling me to stop.” His tongue laves at her lobe, teeth coming to clamp down gently and tug.

Y/N squeaks feeling his action go down straight to her core. “I know how to defend myself.”

“I don’t doubt it for a second.” He stops, pulling back to look at her. “You don’t need to fight me,” his voice rings with sincerity. “Just tell me to stop and I will, Y/N.” He looks at her, searching her face for an answer.

“What else?” She murmurs, after a few moments, looking up into his eyes.

“Hmm?”

“What else? Things that haven’t been mentioned in books,” she clarifies.

His eyes shine with mischief as he simpers, dimples dazzling. “Where do I start, Y/N…” he trails off, fully pressing himself against her chest. God, she’s so responsive, he marvels at the way her chest heaves against his, heart stammering a staccato against his own racing heart. She’s soft and warm and she smells heavenly. His lips find its way to the base of her jaw, dragging up and leaving open mouth kisses on her smooth skin. “When you find someone desirable, you feel the heat pool in your belly and spread like wildfire across every nerve ending of your body.” He kisses her cheek, a hand going to intertwine with hers.

“Have you felt that?” He asks, feeling hot puffs of her breath against his neck. Y/N shakes her head. “It’s not very noble to lie, Princess,” he whispers, lips moving against the column of her throat. “I see the way you fuck me with your eyes.”

“I do not-“ her voice cuts off as Harry suckles on her jugular, feeling her hammering pulse underneath his lips. She lets out a whimper that goes straight to his fattening cock. Y/N’s mouth falls open dragging in breaths of fresh air, her free hand bracing against the desk to hold herself upright. “I do not fuck you with my eyes.”

“Really?” He says popping off, his calloused fingers come to caress the agitated spot. He was careful not to leave a hickey but he loved the way her skin turned a baby pink in response to his ministrations. “I guess I must have imagined all those times you looked me up and down?”

“I guess you did, Harry,” her chest heaves as she tries to maintain composure. It wasn’t right to be doing this with Harry. It wasn’t right to be doing this with anyone outside the sanctity of a marital bed but it’s exhilarating, breaking rules. She’s not sure if it’s Harry or it’s just the thrill of doing something that might get her in trouble with her parents. They trust her. Trusted her enough to let her move out of the capital and to the port town with her grandmother because she wishes to live by the beach. And here she was enjoying herself with a plebian. A foreigner. A spy. She met him when she was eighteen as her brother’s friend and he was handsome. Chocolate brown curls, smatter of freckles on the bridge of his nose, a perfect smile, dimples, and an alluring set of mossy green irises. She’s heard stories and rumours of his sexual escapades and as much as she detested hearing those stories, she detested the fact that she’s been comparing the princes who had come to ask for her hand in marriage to him. But all she could think of was how strong his arm was wrapped around her waist, pulling her even closer to him.

“Stubborn,” he smirks up. “See what you do to me?” He presses his hard cock against her pelvic bone, watching the way her eyes darken as she realises, the sight smirk of hers doesn't go unnoticed by him. “You’ve been driving me insane since the day I saw you on your eighteenth birthday. Went back to my quarters and touched myself to the thought of you,” he confesses. “You’ve been in my dreams ever since.” He cups her cheek, thumb moving back and forth across her lips.

“Are you going to kiss me, Harry?” She asks, looking up at him.

“Have you kissed anyone before?” He questions.

She shakes her head. “My handmaidens have kissed the people who were courting them. They told me how to do it and helped me practise on fruit.”

“That so?” He smiles, lips ghosting her Cupid’s bow. “You know kissing is pretty easy, Y/N,” he declares. “But it’s also powerful” he tells her, lips moving against hers. “‘A kiss may ruin a human life.’”

“Oscar Wilde,” she says, recognising his quote, surprised by his knowledge of poetry. She gets on her toes, pulling her intertwined hand out of Harry’s, and running it down his chest, she can feel the way his muscles ripple underneath the fabric of his shirt. Her chest heaves, belly clenching in anticipation as he lowers tilts his head to the side, noses squished and her mouth opens in anticipation.

He presses his forehead against hers savouring the moment. “And I’m sure that if I start kissing you now, Princess… I might never be able to stop,” he tells her, breathing in her intoxicating sweet floral scent. He concedes by kissing her eyelids and he’s fighting the urge to not run his hands down her body and up her thighs to see if she’s wet for him, but he steps away wanting to be respectful.

Y/N can’t hide the disappointment in her face when backs away from her. His hands come to cup her cheeks, smearing a tender kiss on her forehead. “Never met anyone who has me on a chokehold, Y/N,” he confesses. “I shall bid my goodbye.” He brings her hand to his mouth and kisses her palm, pressing it to his cheek.

“See you Harry,” she smiles. “You’ll be given the scroll at the docks at noon five days from now,” she informs, standing upright; snapping back into the person she was before being pushed up against the desk by Harry.

“Princess Y/N,” he bows, popping a piece of jujube in his mouth before making his way to her balcony. He gives her a salute one last time before climbing down the tower during forbidden hours, like he always does. But this time, he’s rappelling down the side of the stone structure with butterflies in his tummy.

part two

LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK SO FAR!

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles x y/n #harry styles y/n #harry styles yn #harry styles x you #spy!harry #princess!reader #princess!y/n #one direction #fishnets-fingers #come say hi #please leave tags if you reblog #harry styles angst #forbidden hours

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kaiju-krew · 2 months

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Hey there! Firstly, big big fan of your art and headcanons, ty for your cool and awesome big brain ❤️ Now that you’ve seen the movie, I’m wondering what your thoughts are on Shimo??? I’ve just seen impressions of her so scattered. (I saw your post on how she will NOT be treated as a pet, and I so appreciate that.)

I will say, for me the ‘old gal’ vibes are so strong and I’m here for it. Like when Goji blasts his atomic breath into the sky at the end and she’s looking at it with such awe and her cute super gummy smile, it reminds me of when a grandma gets shown some common piece of technology that the rest of us are used to, but she just can’t heckin believe it because she lives in a damn cave??? I loved that.

hi hi! omg u think i have a big brain...... compliment of the century.... i must have ppl fooled bcuz i am viscerally dumb most of the time

anywAYS. gxk spoilers below (and a lot of ranting)

shimo my beloved💙 i appreciate most interpretations of her, besides people who are just straight up caling her a dog. and like, not in the way i’d compare goji to a cat? for me it's more mannerisms based, so for goji my main expression/mannerism inspirations are cats, wolves, and komodo dragons (obviously), and for mosu it's owls and cats, with a crumb of horses because of their 'ear' communication so i use that with her antennae.

sorry for tangent but anyways. i dont need someone barking at me that i call goji a cat/draw him acting like a cat so calling shimo ‘kong’s pet dog’ is fine. i think its the difference between goji having the personality i characterize him with + mannerisms inspired by other animals, vs. him having no personality besides Being A Cat. like, he’s a dumbfuck but he’s clearly an intelligent creature capable of communication and understanding. i make a lot of shitposts but truly in my personal hc i’d never reduce him to ‘pet level intelligence’

i think i’m extra touchy about people calling her ‘kong’s pet’ because like. dawg. did you watch the movie? she was JUST freed from being skar’s slave/beast of burden/abused pet whatever you wanna call it. why would you want her to become another creature’s pet again?(obviously minus the abuse) idk mannn it just feels…. reductive somehow. she clearly shows intelligence and understanding when she realizes what’s happening during the fight and helps to kill skar. i just refuse to reduce her entire character to kong’s pet status bcuz that makes me uncomfortable asf.

as a disclaimer, you’re welcome to have whatever hc you enjoy. me expressing my personal thoughts on the matter isn’t an attack on anyone who characterizes her that way, i’m just not interested in engaging with it in the slightest.

DOUBLE ANYWAYS i just needed to get that outta my system. TIME FOR CUTE FUN IDEAS YAHOOO

i’m seeing mixed info about her age so idk where she actually sits there?? i remember seeing something like she’s the First Titan but i also think the novelization of the movie said she’s only 3 million years old?? when im p sure they’ve said goji is 250+ million years old so…. i have no clue there lol. personally she feels less jaded and grumpy than goji does to me so my brain automatically sees her as similar or younger bcuz of my Grumpy Old Man bias.

i’m still workin out my ideas for her but based on how the movie ends i like to think she helps kong with relocating the apes to a better home, and they mostly live in HE. her n kong venture up for surface dates bcuz she gets what she fucking deserves 💙

goji nearly has an aneurysm the first time they come up, since mosu literally takes them for a lil tour of monster island. bro standing there clenching his fist like the arthur meme, he begrudgingly knows she’s right and eventually he gets used to it

i got more ideas cookin for her but this post is already too damn long cuz of my ranting time to stfu

SHIMO BEST GIRL 10/10

#gxk spoilers #kai talks #KAI FKIN YAPS SOMEONE SHUT ME UP #godzilla #mothra #shimo #kong #didnt have time to spellcheck dont @ me

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madwomansapologist · 6 months

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Autumn Thunderstorm | Chapter 8 - A nightingale sang

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series synopsis: Thranduil thought the recent attack of spiders on a periphery village was the only thing deserving of his attencion. If he could've imagined what he would found there, who he would found there, the Elvenking would wait a millenia in front of that river so he could see her sooner. Or: how Gandalf managed to keep a secret for 14 months.

eigth chapter synopsis: A surprising invitation made you discover a different, incredible place hidden in Greenwood. You were glad that Thranduil showed you such a special place. But probably you were even more glad that he was there with you. [3K]

warnings: female!reader. pre-Smaug. cried writing this but this is apparently something that will happens with every chapter so... go hear a nightingale sang in berkeley square. look i am just a sensitive girl in a difficult world, this is straight up murdering you with love.

glossary: Idril: Treasure, sweetheart┆Ellon: Male elf┆

Forests are secrets in themselves. They hide things. That is what they do, their primordial essense. A forest without a secret is a human without a soul, a planet without a star, a mother without her child. That is the real language of the woods.

You knew all the meadow’s secrets in Rivendell. You knew where the sprouts flourished, where the clearing started, where the trees fall after storms. You knew all its secrets, until you did not.

Because in kind places a forest hides wisteria and sage sprouts. In cruel ones it hides wargs and warm blood. And for those who are lucky enough it hides suspended gardens.

Stone pillars, embedded on gold, supported all seven floors. It would already be a beautiful sight, light reflecting in waves of warmth through Greenwood, but the ascending series of tiered gardens above each floor turned it into a paradise. Each specimen from the wide variet of trees, flowers and vines were part of this mountain constructed of golden bricks.

“I got goosebumps,” you whispered. Even the air was different there. It smelled like honey and daisies. If Thranduil told you that daylight comes from that place, you would have believed him. “Why did you hide this place from me!?”

Strangers had been born and buried and their lifetime would be nothing compared to all the time the Elvenking spend on the suspended gardens. And still, looking into your moist eyes, Thranduil discovered a new sort of beauty in this place.

The green of the vines, more verdant. The gold of the pillars, more golden. The pink of the flowers, more rosy. The whole world was brighter. Wind whispering against the autumn leaves, birds flocking, river crashing against stones: the world became a song. Such a beautiful, intricate symphony. One that he never noticed before.

It must be fate. That was meant to be. Since the world was first created and the stars were put into place. For what other reason did he survived this far, if not to admire you admiring the world his ancestors build? For what reason did Thranduil endure this far, if not to be alone in this world with you?

Your eyes glowed, and Thranduil wondered if Varda put her light into them. Into you.

The Elvenking gestured towards the gardens. “Shall we, idril?”

Thranduil watched as you prepared a raspberry pie in silence, which was better than when he tried to make you let someone else finish it. As if it was offensive for you to get your hands dirty. Your last job was to take care of horses. What is a pie compared to that?

Cleaning your hands, you almost could not believe your ears when the invitation came. It was strange of him to have free time during the day. He never had before, not once since you first got in his realm. But you were not the one to remind a king of his duties.

Not when that can take him away from you.

So this time, when Thranduil suggest you to let someone else bake it, you accept it.

“You really should stop doing that,” you continued along the paved way, and Thranduil followed your eager steps. Turning to look at him instead of facing the path, a delicate smile showed you did not meant what you were saying. “Calling me words I do not know.”

“Yet,” Thranduil completed. “Do not know yet.”

On the first floor, you understood that the construction did not matter. Its halls were simple, with long open arches and practically empty except for the occasional sculptures. Anyone there would only have eyes for the gardens, and whoever built it knew that no amount of gold or jewels would ever compete with nature.

Quince flowers draped over the walls, pears were almost to the point of crop. Thranduil showed you almond flowers, his long fingers brushing against the tiny buds. You did not even knew almonds came from flowers.

Climbing the stairs to the second floor, you brushed your hands against the rough trunk of a pistachio tree. “Do you fear birds?” Thranduil looked concerned.

“Definitely no.”

Following throught the halls, you could see the garden suspended over the first floor. Butterflies and bees flew around the almond flowers, which made you speed up the pace. You heard Thranduil laughing, and he only did not heard you complaining because you were too scared that maybe a bee would enter your mouth.

A swallow landed on your hair, and you tried your best to not move so Thranduil would see it too. When he stopped in front of you, Thranduil’s eyes seemed so… calm.

You knew he was tired and worried. That he had much to do, to understand, to protect. In Rivendell people believe that Sauron is gone, but here they have more than faith to prove the contrary. But now Thranduil look so peaceful.

As if nothing bad had ever happened to him.

“A little one mistook you by a tree,” Thranduil stretched a finger towards your hair. You felt the swallow moving, pulling your hair along, and saw it on his ring finger. Such a small thing, with greenish down.

Your smile went wider when you looked into his face.

“And you by a flower.” In his wood crown, butterflies found a new home. “If you pay attention, you really look like a sunflower kind of person,” you used your hands to cover your laugh. “Always smiling, never yelling at anyone.”

Thranduil’s response was to roll his eyes.

On the third floor, you passed through ebony, cedar and rosewood. You told Thranduil how most of the trees surrounding Aerin’s inn are ash trees, and how sad it is that most of the stories you read use them as metaphor for dead things. Thranduil shared a poem about a willow tree.

It surprised you how he recited it from memory.

Junipers were new for you. Never before you heard about them. But myrrh was not. You told Thranduil that Luthien gave you a bottle of its oil and practically ordered you to use it on your shoulder. His peacefulness oscilated for a second, but it appeared again.

The floor with fruits were your favorite one. Thranduil split open a pomegranate, revealing clusters of seeds inside it. You both shared it, eating slowly while watching the sun reflecting upon Greenwood. You took a tangerine from its branch, and gave him half of it. With half of a fresh fig on your hands, you were more interest on plum flowers than on its fruit.

There is something about sharing a fruit with someone that just makes it feel holy. The way Thranduil cut the fig in half. How you cleaned the tangerine. Your fingers brushing against one another to take another seed. It just felt better than eating one alone.

You brushed your fingers against ferns and orchids. Cherry blossoms floated, washing you both upon pink petals. A few got stucked on your hair. A few that Thranduil did not warned you about.

On the last floor, there were tables and chairs made of wood, but what really mattered to you was the view. From up there, you could see everything. Greenwood, every floor and its suspended garden, a flowing river on distance. Once again, goosebumps explored your body.

“A step back,” said Thranduil when he saw you too close from the edge. It may have been a warning, it may have been an order, but you took one either. He sat, observing carefully. “Your fall is not worth the landscape.”

“Do not be affraid. That will not happen,” your eyes locked on a bird flying away. You think it was a nightingale. He was so small, and yet he knew a type of freedom you would never. How must it be to fly? It happened for you to fall from places that made you feel like you were flying, until you met the ground. Does it works the other way around? You imagine so. “You do not need to worry about me.”

“How could I not?” replied Thranduil. “You reign in my mind. It is my duty to worry about your safety and happiness.”

Your mouth went dry. “It was never my intention to make you worry about my safety or my happiness,” your voice was barely a whisper. “Or about me, at all.”

Words, when commonly used, tend to lose their initial meaning. It dissolves, disappears with each repetition, until the word is just a ghost of what it once was. Of what their meaning once was. So many man use love almost as a greeting, but not a ellon. Never a ellon.

Love for a elve is more than just a word. It is not something that happens several times. It happens once in a lifetime, and it last forever and evermore. Only one person can own a elve’s heart, just their half, and they will never trust it to someone else.

Thranduil never thought of himself as someone lucky, but now he knows he is. In such a dangerous world, Thranduil found you. His friend, his confidant, his love. His one and only. Your heart belong with his. Thranduil can wait however long it takes for you to believe in that too.

“I never said it was.”

The silence pierced your mind. His words… Why Thranduil keep on doing this? Why he keep on saying those sweet, toothaching sweet things? Thranduil is so beautiful, and everytime he opens his mouth you get more sure that his heart is just as pretty. If you could open his skull and study his brain, you would.

“Still,” you licked your lips. “I am not falling.”

Thranduil nodded. You came back to watch the sky, mostly because you did not knew what else to do. It was rosy. A breeze made chills go down your spine, and a petal fell from your hair right into your hands. Your caressed it, and moved it closer to your nose.

“Who created this place?” You sniffed it. “They must be so proud.”

Lost on you, Thranduil did not saw a reason to lie. “It was my father.”

That warm feeling spreading into you faded away. He never talked to you about his father before, but you knew that there was only one way for a prince to become a king. What you do not know is how much does it hurt. It must be a lot. Usually things that we love hurt way too much.

Without a ounce of shame, you walked towards Thranduil. The way he made your thoughts hazy did not matter anymore. You pulled yourself a chair, and dragged it until it was right beside him. Thranduil chuckled at the act.

“He must have been really creative,” you told him. “How was he?”

That surprised Thranduil. People never ask things about his father. They only say that they are sorry, that they feel so much, that it must be so difficult. They never talk about Oropher. They always remind Thranduil that he is dead, but they never talk about him.

“Wise,” said Thranduil. With just one word, he already felt that it was so easier to breath. Sometimes it feels like Oropher only lives on his memory. Like there is this unsurmountable weight on his shoulders, one that none can see or help to carry. It felt nice to share. “And ruthless. He was the strongest until the very end.”

You tried to picture Oropher. The king who died too soon. The warrior that led his people against Sauron, and saw his knights falling down. You picture someone that knew the weight of a sword dipped in blood, the sound of a last breath, the rotteness of a dying land. You pictured this person, and then imagined him daydreaming about suspended gardens. Architecting a palace, designing irrigation, choosing seeds.

Oropher sounds like someone that was worth knowing.

Your fingers dipped into your watery dress, and you bit back a smile. You imagine that Thranduil have the same effect on people. That they will heard how he protect his land and his people, and then get amazed about how he can recite poems about a willow tree. At least he has that effect on you.

“And how was him to you? Was he good?”

“Not ruthless,” Thranduil smiled at the memories in hindsight. You could not help but to do the same. “He was gentle and… When I was just a little ellon, I used to not understand when it was time to shut up. Now I see how awful I was, but he always listened to me. He never made me feel like I should remain silent.”

You held his hand, it was so cold. Stroking his delicate skin, you felt a warmth inside you. Something different from anything you ever felt. You felt… not alone.

“I bet Oropher would be proud of you,” the words escaped your mouth. “I know I am. You are good. You are also great, but you are good.”

Somehow, Thranduil understood exactly what you meant. There are so many great people in this world. So many great poets, great warriors, great rulers. But good… Oh, it appears that the world is always lacking people that are good.

People who will discuss with dragons because their friends deserve their home back. People that will cross a continent to destroy a ring simply because someone needs to. People that will lit beacons without permission, that will use helmets to hide the fact that they are a woman, that will fight even as arrows pierce their chest.

“You think I am good?” Thranduil felt his eyes burning. “You really do?”

“Of course, my king.” You intertwined his fingers with yours. It felt right. Like they were made to complement eachother. A sly smirk replaced your genuine smile. “You think I would put up with you if I did not?

Thranduil looked at the horizon, hoping you would not notice the redness of his eyes. He reciprocated your touch, squeezing your hand lightly. Maybe it was the sunset, maybe it was the autumn leaves, but everything felt golden.

Everything felt just fine.

“You are good,” murmured Thranduil. “Is it because of your parents?”

You let go of his hand, and Thranduil felt the sky getting darker. Your colors also faded, as if it was robbed from your skin. “It is getting late,” you told him. You were quick to get up. Quick to lie. Badly. “I should come back.”

“I am sorry. I really am,” Thranduil ignored everything you said. There was no need for him to pretend to fall for your bad lies. He stand, just as fast as you. “But you are not a good liar, idril. I will not force you to say the truth, nor do I wish for you to speak when you do not want to, but you do not need to lie. Not to me. We are friends. You do not need to perform around me.”

You threw yourself onto the chair, without any energy to argue. You watched the horizon, the changing colors of the sky, and tried to ignore the pressure on your chest. “I am sorry.”

“No need to,” Thranduil sat too. He tried to be silent, but something told him that maybe you also had a unsurmountable weight on your shoulders. That maybe you also needed to share it. “Were they not good?”

“Maybe yes, maybe not,” you huffled. You responded right away, so Thranduil assumd he made the right decision. “That is the problem.”

With your eyelids closed, you turned your head to Thranduil. When courage made its way into your chest, you looked at him. Was he going to judge you? To see you as too much of a problem? A part of you feared that he would. The other half thought it was mean to think of him that way.

“I have no memories of them.”

He let you talk. About how you have no memories of parents, of any family, of growing or sharing meals or going to school or learning to read. About how for you it is like you were born during a thunderstorm, then wandered until you found Aerin. You told him everything.

After you rant, his silence came. He breathe in, and you could feel his body getting tense. “No one ever looked for you?” Thranduil finally said something.

You denied. “Do you think I am crazy?”

“I think…”

For Thranduil, now everything makes sense. The way you tend to pretend not to see when Aerin treated you badly. Or how people insisted on not calling you by your name. Why you would have felt bad if you did nothing. The gentleness of your heart. How your intelligence have a touch of naivety.

But it also made him even more intrigued about why you and Gandalf are friends. Does he have any interest on your memories coming back? Is he the reason why they faded? Can you really see him as a friend?

Thranduil never liked those pilgrim wizards, and Gandalf tend to be the one creating more problems for him. If he is right about who betrayed the free people, then maybe you have something to do with it.

He is glad you are away from him. Thranduil does not trust him.

Thranduil licked his lips. “I think you are so unlucky.”

That made you burst into laugh. For a whole minute. You belly hurt, your cheeks burned, your head spin. It was loud and ugly and true. “I… I agree.”

When silence came, it was natural. It was welcomed. You stared into his watery eyes, and decided that you would never try to hide things from Thranduil. It is just not worth the effort, now when he reacts this way. Not when he is so sweet.

“You still want to go back home?” Thranduil whispered. There was simply no need to, but he wanted to. It felt right to.

You inhale. “Not really,” you admitted. You turned your gaze to the sky, and it was on that marvelous moment when it is not day and it is not night. Thranduil did the same as you. “This place feels like a summer dream.”

A nightingale sang that night. Not that you both heard it, since your voices were louder. But it sang, and it still mattered.

AUTUMN THUNDERSTORM: @ferns-fics @notanalienindisguiseblink @rayrlupin @elvyshiarieko @graniairish @whore-of-many-hot-men @h0ly-fire

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

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#madwomansapologist #autumn thunderstorm #thranduil fanfiction #thranduil x reader #thranduil #thranduil fanfic #thrandaddy #thranduil oropherion #thranduil headcanon #thranduil of mirkwood #oropher #mirkwood #middle earth #the hobbit x you #the hobbit x reader #the hobbit fanfiction #the hobbit #gandalf

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comfortless · 3 months

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SYL remember the Ren fair blippet you posted of Konig and his dear??

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZPRTyaTXk/

This totally gave me flashbacks to it!! he probably completely forgets he's a human from the modern world when he puts his costume on and drags his partner into the festival, he just wants to be a knight in ye olden days with his love

oh my god Jane that is so cute ;;!!! heart is melting… we all deserve a dance with renfaire König…

The difference between König in and out of uniform is barely there, he’s still the same, albeit a bit more focused on the field; the difference between König in and out of costume though…?

It’s as if the single sip of ale he had at the beginning of the faire already had him drunk.

You had meticulously tightened each strap of his armor, cloaked him in the chainmail veil he wore just so, and spent more time than you would have liked preparing him rather than yourself.

He wanted to seat you in his lap whilst he polished the blunt sword, running his gloved fingers over the tip and making a quip about how he should sharpen it whilst your laces remained untied and your makeup was barely in place.

All of that preparation seemed for naught because König becomes someone else the moment you arrive.

He’s obnoxiously cocksure and giddy.

It’s as if some long forgotten knight has him possessed with the way he taunts the smaller men practicing the blade or throwing axes at shoddily painted targets. He has to beat them at every turn, making an entire spectacle of himself with a wild grin affixed upon his face.

There are rules to this: you try to remind him to be gentle, he doesn’t actually have to kill anyone here. Your warnings are met with feverish kisses and too handsy touches along your waist, up further until you detach from him with a laugh. Really, your soldier has become little more than an excitable hound.

You watch from the wooden fence as he readies for a joust. How they managed to find a horse that could seat him properly is beyond you, and from the looks upon their faces the men tending the stables are just as surprised.

The lance König wields looks almost puny in his large hand, and his opponent is more than a little shaken once presented with this giant on horseback. The other man ushers his horse to veer to the right once the joust begins, bypassing König entirely all to dramatically forfeit.

The men locked in duels are no better; no one wants this titan tackling them into the dust with a blade in hand. Everyone had already seen how König managed to bring a man to tears. It’s not much of a surprise that he’s proud of that. Look at how strong he is, princess! Aren’t you honored to have a man like that at your side?

Half of the budget he’s set for the faire is spent on food and ale. He wants you to try everything, hand feed him with a cute pout and that same annoyed yet adoring glare you’ve been shooting him all day. König had no qualms keeping you in his lap during the lavish feast, either. He strokes at your waist where the corset he helped you to fasten has been giving your side some grief after all this walking, plays with your hair until he reaches the nape of your neck and pulls you in to taste sugar on your tongue.

Maybe it’s a bit humiliating to play the role of this rowdy king’s beloved concubine, but it’s difficult not to feel contented when he’s so happy and free.

Not once does work come up.

The only weapons he toys with here are all for pretend. You know him well enough to detect when his team or a particularly gory mission are in mind, and with that rabid grin ever-present on his face it’s difficult to tell the difference, but… his eyes are more vibrant here. There is no tension in his shoulders when you pet him for missing a target with an arrow. The man who hates crowds seems to have been tucked away entirely, replaced by this König that eagerly initiates a duel and debates the time period certain weaponry was in use with a merchant.

He compares you to a fairy or a nymph when you lead him into the open field to dance, blades of grass so high you feel them tickle beneath your gown. His movement isn’t clumsy, though it’s near feverish as he tugs you close to sway, releases you to circle you like a starved wolf just to grasp at any part of your being within reach again.

He hasn’t a clue how to dance, but your hand remains joined with his the entire time, giving him just as much praise as he gives to you. Handsome when he mutters onward about your beauty, strong when he compares you to nimble forest creatures, lovely when he grasps at your hip to loom over you and press lengthy kisses against your exposed shoulder.

The dancing doesn’t end when others disperse either, when night takes the sky, when owls call, and the strumming of a lute plays on in the distance accompanied by shouts and laughter. There are still other events, someplace across the field… just ones the pair of you would not be in attendance for.

Away from envious eyes or drunken bards, König pulls you down to the grass to crowd over you, leaving a series of kisses from face to cleavage. He laughs against your breasts when you comment on how much fun he’s having. Your gown is lifted to fold carelessly above your hips; he mutters into your ear about showing you just how much before his face is pushed between your thighs.

He apologizes against your sex for dragging you out here, for embarrassing you by making that little knight cry, for being so uninhibited and himself that you force yourself to pull away from the sloppy licks altogether.

Your hands find his jaw and you cup his face as you tell him with sheer delight painted within your expression just how much you love seeing him like this. The little knight and all of the other people here are long forgotten in your mind at least, because all that matters is that crooked grin he flashes before helping himself to the millionth pleasure he’s had that day.

#König at a renfaire is so so so special to me #let him be boisterous and have his fun!

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artistsfuneral · 11 months

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The Road to Kaer Morhen - p.8

this turned out longer than expected so most of it, the fanart and the vote are under the read more so people don't have to scroll past this for 5min

✨🌿🌼✨

It was good that Cat Witchers were already considered a bunch of madmen, otherwise Aiden would've started to worry for his sanity as he watched Jaskier's blue eyes light up with joy. “Good, because I have already named them!” Of course he had.

Following the bard on wobbly legs to where the four horses grazed, Aiden almost forgot about all that had happened a couple of hours prior. Then he accidentally kicked his foot against a stray helmet and the clattering sound of metal reminded him of the fresh cuts across his chest and the awful ache in both his shoulders and he couldn't help but to stare at the back of the bard's head, wondering what exactly a protector was.

But then Jaskier turned and smiled at Aiden with such incredible warmth that his heart fluttered inside his chest and he found himself mimicking the smile without the all too familiar voice inside his head telling him, warning him not to and he suddenly understood that despite it all, despite the horrors of having seen what Jaskier could do if angered, despite not knowing and therefore not understanding how or what or why Jaskier was who he was- Aiden wasn't afraid of him. Aiden trusted him. Aiden, who – much like any other witcher – from the very first day of his training had been taught, no, had been drilled to never trust anyone on the path that wasn't one of his own brothers. He knew of the world's cruelty, had learned first hand not to seek comfort and friendship where he wouldn't find it, but Jaskier- Jaskier was different. How long had they been traveling together? A month? A month was a time hardly worth mentioning, passing in the blink of an eye for someone who would possibly live up to three, maybe four hundred years or longer. Sure, Aiden was on the younger side of the Cat school, only having followed the Call of the Path for around sixty or seventy years, but even compared to that a month was nothing. And yet-

“Are you alright, sunshine? Are you in pain? Should you have rested more before getting up? We can take it slow, you know, no pressure.”

Aiden chuckled, “I'm fine, Jask, no need to worry. Simply got lost in my thoughts for a moment.” Not so easily persuaded, the bard gave him a look that was eerily similar to Lambert's 'don't bullshit me' face. Thankfully Aiden knew how to deal with that. “You said you already have names for the horses?” Success. Jaskier's face lit up again and he took hold of Aiden's hand to gently pull the witcher along. “I have! Or at least for three of them, I'm not quite sure what to name the fourth one, but I still want to introduce you to them!”

The horses waited at the sidelines of the camp, heads rising curiously as the two men made their way over to them. Untacked except for their bridles they stood closely together, showing that they had been traveled together long enough to form a bond between them. Jaskier had been right, they were friends, given the way they bumped their heads together. Aiden hadn't owned a horse in some time now, so the prospects of riding again had him smiling, even if he still believed four horses to be excessive. Though, all complains he had went right out the window when they reached the small herd and almost immediately a soft nose bumped against his head, warm breath tickling against his skin. Jaskier laughed warmly and gently nudged the big horse head away from Aiden's face, so the witcher could properly look at it. “That's Sprout,” the bard dutifully introduced Aiden to the tricolored pinto. “I'd say he's the youngest, certainly acts like it, but from what I've seen today the others keep him in check quite well.” Aiden hummed, taking in the gelding's lively eyes. He was the smallest of the four, his mane and tail cut short like it was custom for military mounts. He was pretty, almost too pretty to be ridden by a soldier, not that that was the case anymore, but it still seemed a bit odd.

Next to them one of the two bay horses snorted at him, making Aiden turn towards it. Jaskier rolled his eyes fondly and petted her neck. “This feisty lady is Roachie.”

“You're kidding, right?” One truly had to be a fool these days to not know the name of the White Wolf's horse. Jaskier had written several songs about Roach after all. “Certainly not,” Jaskier grinned. “They share the same color, the same temperament and I think it is time I get a Roach of my own. Can't be the Witchers' Bard without a Roach now, can I?” Aiden hid his face in his hand and giggled like a child. It was so stupid, such a petty thing, but at the same time the most brilliant name Jaskier could've come up with. “Alright then,” he grinned at the bard, “Roachie and Sprout. Who's next?”

“Chicory!” Jaskier said and wiggled his finger in front of a sheer mountain of a horse. A kaedweni draft, if Aiden was correct. It had that distinct gray color that ranged somewhere between a dapple gray and a grulla silver. The soldiers must've obtained it somewhere along the border from a farm and used it as a carrier or cart horse afterwards. The name Jaskier had picked fitted the horse perfectly. “She's a mare too, definitely on the calmer side I'd say, but given her size she'll be able to handle the boys just fine.” Introducing himself to Chicory by softly petting her rosy nose Aiden was reminded of the horse he had learned to ride on. “Our caravans are pulled by draft horses, they're good animals, sturdy too. I always liked them better than other breeds,” Aiden admitted. Jaskier bumped their shoulders together in silent reassurance. The witcher hadn't told him yet what exactly was going on with the Cats, but from what he understood so far the school of the Cat was going through some disagreements concerning the leadership, fractioning it into two or three sides and a handful of witchers that preferred not to intervene and therefore split off with the rest of the Cats for now. Aiden was one of them.

Turning towards the fourth and last horse, the second bay that was almost identical to Roachie except for the missing blaze, Jaskier sighed. “And this is the little fella I couldn't seem to find a name for. He's a bit more careful than the others, needed some convincing before I could give him a treat, but nothing I came up with really fit him.” Aiden hummed in agreement, seeing the shyness Jaskier had spoken of, but also the strong legs and firm muscles underneath the gelding's timid character. Unlike the other three it was almost obvious that he was a military mount. The poor thing was, in a way, so horribly normal that he'd be entirely invisible surrounded by other horses and that thought made Aiden gasp. “He's Horse!” Jaskier slowly turned his head towards the other man and blinked in confusion. “Uh- yes? He's a horse, well done, Aiden.”

“No, listen, Jask. He's Horse, like Geralt's horse is Roach and Lambert's horse is Horse.”

“Lambert's horse-horse? Huh?”

Aiden slapped his hand against his forehead. “No, Lambert named his horse Horse,” he explained, over-pronouncing the name. Now it was the bard's turn to gasp for air. “That poor Horse!” The two men blinked at each other once, twice before bursting into a loud fit of giggles.

After taking their time to get to know their new horses, Jaskier and Aiden tacked them up, going for the simple brown reigns and saddles and avoiding anything that looked too much like the redanian horse armor. They hopefully wouldn't encounter anyone else on their way to Kaer Morhen, but better safe than sorry. For now, Jaskier and Aiden would ride on Roachie and Sprout, securing their packs on Horse and Chicory. The plan was to swap the animals' tasks every few days, the rotation hopefully keeping their spirits up and prevent any sores or strains.

Jaskier's little looting session was thankfully providing them with everything they needed to take care of the horses for weeks, if not two months. Not that they planned on taking so long to search for the Wolves' keep, but you never knew. Aside from that Jaskier had scraped together whatever bits and pieces of armor Aiden could use in the future, some additional food and water skins and miscellaneous items like a bigger cooking pot and a nice set of knifes that would do them good. They stored everything in the horses' saddle bags, keeping just a handful of their belongings in their own packs. Jaskier of course, kept his lute close to him, just like Aiden refused to remove the swords from his back.

For a while the two rode through the underbrush of the forest, leading the horses in a circle to hide any possible tracks, then followed a well used deer trail further east until it came to a natural stop next to a small, rocky stream. Allowing the horses to drink, Jaskier turned in his saddle to find Aiden's eye. “How are you holding up, sunshine?”

Aiden, who's shoulder's had been aching for quite some time now, sighed loudly. “I'll live. Think, I will drink another Swallow and fight through it. We lost a couple of hours because of me, so we should keep riding until night falls.”

“I will ignore the fact that you said it like it was your fault Vizimir's toadies caught up with us and remind you that the sun will not set for at least four or five hours.” Jaskier replied, while Aiden fetched the reddish potion out of his sea sack and proceeded to drown it in one go. The bad rolled his eyes, “I mean it's not like our arrival at Kaer Morhen is expected on a agreed upon day, since we – you know – aren't expected at all. If Vesemir is at the keep at all. As stingy as Geralt is with details, I at least know that his father still hears the Call from time to time. So really, we don't need to hurry.”

Aiden gave him a deadpan look. “Have you forgotten why we're trying to find Kaer Morhen in the first place? We aren't looking for a summer house, Jaskier, we are refugees hoping the grandmaster of the Wolves will hide us from the rest of the continent. If not for you being- well, you, I'd still be chained to that tree right now. So can we just ride on and get enough distance between us and everything that's trying to fucking murder us? Please?”

please like and reblog if you voted

✨🌿🌼✨

I gave up when it came to drawing the saddles, that shit just didn't want to be drawn, so use your imagination to make their tack more realistic pls 🤫

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sarnai4 · 1 month

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The Underworld

I cannot even express how excited I was to listen to the Underworld Saga. It did not disappoint at all (of course, I wanted more songs, but the trio was amazing). Spoilers ahead for Epic the Musical.

"The Underworld" was an amazing setup for what we had coming. There are just so many tiny details! There are callbacks with "Full speed ahead," "Open Arms," and of course, we also have the "Ruthlessness" callbacks with the army. That would be so horrifying. He's surrounded by the 500+ soldiers who relied on him and trusted him to bring them back home. He even stated back in the Ocean saga how he didn't lose a single soul in the war. It's when they leave that everyone starts dying. Then, we have the heart-breaking Polites cameo, reminding Odysseus of how he cost his best friend his life. Now, the part that got me a little choked up was when his mom showed up. I have read even the story, so I know that she's gone, but it hurt so much to hear him realize he'd been at war so long that he never got to see her alive again. Him saying "Bye, Mom," just tears my heart strings right out. I love the contrast too of the quiet sadness in his voice with this line, then immediately yelling "All I hear are screams!" There's so much rage and pain as he's forced to confront everything that's kept him away from his family--including those he'll never be reunited with in life.

Then, we have "No Longer You." When I say the snippet did not do this song justice...(sighs dreamily). I still enjoyed the snippet, but this is probably my favorite of the bunch to listen to. The melody, the vocals, it's all just so beautiful. The tune just seems to float like you could do a ballroom dance with someone. That's not to say that the lines aren't great too. I love how this one plays on Odysseus's fears and how his increased time away from home has jaded him. The prophet basically says, "I see you with your wife, but you're messed up from your time away" and our Ithaca king is just pissed that he saw someone with his wife. Uh, buddy...well, I guess you'll find out soon enough. It's also so fun to know the story and get reminded of what Odysseus will be doing when he returns to Ithaca, fighting subjects who just assumed he had died and don't have respect for anyone in his family now. Even this entire concept to me in fascinating since it considers an underlying theme of the play: how people change due to their experiences. Odysseus will return, but it'll never be the same Odysseus who left in the first place.

And we end with "Monster" which is such an awesome ending to a first act. I wish this was live, so the audience could erupt in applause. (Small detail, but I love the music at the beginning. It's so unique when compared to the other songs and is pretty cool, gradually growing when more instruments are added). A bigger detail is that you have the instrumental intro matching the intro for "The Horse and the Infant." It just shows how far they've come and calls back to the very first time Odysseus was responsible for a lost life in the musical. My favorite line in this song is "I'm the only one whose line I haven't crossed." That's saying something too because this song is full of amazing lines. I just love the implication since we know Odysseus has often had lines he thought were too far. He didn't want to kill the baby, chose to spare Polyphemus, didn't kill Circe when he won in the fight, etc. Still, as he finally admits in this song, he did kill the baby. Despite that, he hasn't crossed his line. Why? I think it's because he keeps pushing it back each time he's confronted with something he doesn't want to do but feels he has to. It ties into the end of this song where he considers everyone he's lost, fully understanding the scope of it now that he's seen the spirits of his loved ones. Turning into someone he never wanted to be doesn't matter anymore. If he's a monster who still has a living family and hasn't proven the faith people had in him was foolish, then it's fine. He might have even been a monster before by not going against their enemies with everything he had. It's all a matter of perspective. Was he a monster for killing the baby, one for causing so many in his fleet to never return to their families, or one for both of those choices? The ending going back to "The Horse and the Infant" with him calling out for Penelope and Telemachus AND pairing that with the repeat of "Ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves" is marvelous. It's almost like it's in the same sentence where he's explaining his actions to them, telling them that he has to become a monster because it'll make things alright for everyone they hold dear.

The only thing that made me mad about this is that I have no clue when the next saga is coming out or what it's even called. So, I'll just be playing the songs on repeat until I can add however many more to the playlist.

#epic the musical #Odysseus #I wasn't prepared to need tissues #Didn't get teary-eyed for the entire musical until this saga #Darn you Epic #Darn you #Aggressively shaking fist #greek mythology

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bashfullove · 10 months

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❦I Died With You❦

❦Summary: the gang is over, Arthur has died, after finally arriving at John's and Abigail's doorstep, you realize how much you will now struggle without Arthur

❦Pairing: Arthur Morgan x F.Reader

❦Warnings: established relationship, no comfort what so ever, days after Arthur's death, mentions coughing of blood, character death

❦Notes: hehe >:) (we're acting like I didn't literally start crying while writing this, alright?) This is also fairly short I apologise

The crickets chirped their melody, the creakiness of the front door opening being barely heard over the never ending chirping. As quiet as a field mouse, you walk out of John's and Abigail's house on the farm. Uncle's snoring is heard even from outside but it's become white noise compared to the words in your head right now. The balled up piece of paper is tossed to the ground, a letter that you wished you could address but you never would.

You had once enjoyed the quiet and peacefulness of the night but now it was just a cold reminder of loneliness. The dry ground below you with the dead grass crunches, moths flying in the air, lured in by the lantern by the door. Looking up at the full moon, you used to love staring at it, knowing that he could see the same moon. It was special, a reminder that no matter how far, you could still be close with such a simply, maybe foolish, gesture.

Maybe living so close to someone who reminded you so much of him wasn't helping your grieving process, you could barely even utter his name without feeling yourself fall apart. The hat now on John's head the cruelest of reminders. The hat that once would be upon your head as a joke, the sound of his laughs when it would tip over your eyes.

Blaming yourself had been your worst trait lately, maybe if you did something better, or just done more. Spent more time with him or took the Thomas Downes job for him. He deserved to still be here, you wanted to take his place, you wanted to be the one who felt their lungs slowly start to fail, all if it meant that he would get one more day. One more ride, one more duel, one more sunrise...

"I'd rather die in the next hour than go a million lives never knowing you."

The words haunted you since the day you parted, the day you watched him get on the horse for his last ride. You never thought yourself important to anyone until he came into your life, he was the air that you breathed but now there is no air.

But you’d hold tightly onto those last grains of dust, desperate to keep any shred of his memory close to you. Even if most of the memories now were of his suffering, the days you spent just holding him as he suffered. Combing his hair from his sweat ridden forehead, rubbing his back when he would be coughing and wiping his mouth later of the blood, attempting to catch him before he could fall on the ground hunched over.

“What have you done to me, Arthur Morgan,” you said. The words were demanding but were hollow when paired with the sob that tore through your throat. You walked across the front yard of the house, eyes glued to the moon and the sky. You hadn't said his name since you parted from him on that mountain. Saying his name just meant more pain and more memories of the man that you once loved, and still did love.

“Have I truly lost it all? Is there any kind of up from all of this?” you whispered, a sad smile tugging on your lips and a whisper of a laugh leaving your mouth. You sniffled and cleared your voice, "I suppose not."

Unfinished conversations with Arthur still spoke words, letters that you wrote him daily now only a balled up corner in your room that he would never see. You couldn't even say your heart was breaking anymore, it didn't exist. His last breath took your heart with him to wherever he could even be now. You wished to believe that he had someone became better, that he would show up on the doorstep, that him dying was nothing but a cruel dream. But reality was cruel, he wouldn't ever come and surprise you, not anymore.

A part of you died with him that day, anyone who had known you before his death could see it.

❦Thank You For Reading❦

❦Taglist:

❦Bashfullove❦

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 x reader #roger clark #bashfullove writing

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luminous-letters · 2 years

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Um, i don't wanna be annoying but i kinda wanna see the results of Sebek's letter.

Like, how does the MC take it? I'd avoid him and the diasomnia gang like the plague after that hsksbsksb (sorry Tsunotaro 😞😞)

personally, if someone affectionately compared me to a rat, i would marry them instantly 💀

"Why haven't they replied to my love letter?"

"Sebek, you compared them to a rat. A wet one— wait, wait, not you Harold, sorry." Silver sighed. He feels like he might get an aneurysm anytime soon from Sebek's...exotic choice of words.

"But I followed Master Lilia's advice!"

"You followed it to the letter, now look at the outcome. You don't go around telling people they remind you of rats." Silver almost gave up. Almost.

"But they're not just a rat!"

You were a good rat.

Sebek hasn't heard from you for a few days after he sent that letter. Did he make a mistake somewhere along the way? Or were you merely taking your time to write a proper reply?

Either way, it made him anxious.

The fifth day of waiting patiently finally bore fruit. A simple letter arrived in Diasomnia, 'From MC, the Prefect of Ramshackle Dorm' it read.

Finally, he thought. His restless anticipation was finally quenched.

"Oh boy... er— good luck man," Silver offered him a pat on the back. Sebek didn't need it, mind you.

Dearly detested, Sebek,

Sebek, you atrociously affectionate man. You leather-for-brains, you intellectual numbskull. You absolute dimwit, buffoon, fool, and genius at the same time. Asshat and professional dragon kisser, if I may add.

You are an idiot, in more ways than one. But that is to be unpacked in another frame in time. For now, I am to give my response to your bittersweet praise.

"You can stop reading if you like," Silver tried to console his junior. "No, I can manage. This'll get better, I swear."

Insults aside, I am delighted to find you've taken a liking to me. For I too, feel the same way.

Your hair, the color of Weed, reminds me of the grass the horses eat. Your eyes, like moss on cobblestone, pulls me in like a vortex— so alluring and so welcoming. I could get lost in those lush irises for an eternity.

You have offered to be my knight, my sword and my shield. I believe in reciprocation, so I offer myself as well. I offer to be your pen and quill, to tell your woes. To spin prose and ballads of the journeys we are to take in the future.

I offer to be your wine and your bread, to quell your thirst and hunger. To be your lantern, your fire, your warmth to brave the darkest days. And I offer to be your stronghold and your shelter, your home.

Sebek Zigvolt, my knight in leather armor. I, your wet rat, wish to tell you. I love you.

"THEY LIKE ME TOO," Sebek almost leaped from joy, his cheeks dusted with a vibrant shade of pink.

"That was a real rollercoaster ride," Silver looked like he was having a headache.

"I agree, it was quite the sight to behold," Lilia chuckled, delighted that his advice managed to aid Sebek's quest for love. Even if it resulted in an unexpected of outcome.

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wayfayrr · 9 days

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I first have to say that since I’ve only played Botw, some of totk, and maybe half of twilight, idk the other Links except for how people write them in fanfics and LU, so if my reason for each one doesn’t make sense, sorry!

1. Twilight - calm country boy but won’t accept being taken advantage of, also deeply cares about his friends and family (of the Links, he reminds me most of one of my best friends)

2. Four - also calm, logical, in fanfics is usually the only one holding the group’s singular brain cell lol (I’m a very logical person as opposed to emotional)

3. Sky - mother of the group, very sweet and loving (reminds me of my other best friend, but both Sky and my best friend can be a little too serious bc of this trait, I like to make jokes and mess around sometimes)

4. Tears - I think he’s a little less chaotic than Wild, I say a LITTLE lol, but idk, he can drive things so that’d help with traveling because I don’t like walking too much, but seeing scenery while flying would be pretty cool

5. Hyrule - most of the fanfics portray him as a very shy timid follower, and while I don’t want someone to dominate me in r relationship, I also don’t want to dominate, I need to have someone who can take charge but doesn’t boss me around

6. Wild - kinda already explained this one, ik he also has horses we could ride but still

7. Legend - his sense of humor being sarcasm is the same as me, I love sarcasm, I once said to someone “my sarcasm makes up for the whole population”, but while r senses of humor would be the same, I can’t see us working that well in a relationship, his abrasiveness is a lot and I’d rather have someone who’s softer and can cuddle with me w/o having to pretend it’s the worst thing ever bc eww feelings

8. Warriors - ik he has a soft side but his very flirtatious and arrogant personality would absolutely clash w me, it would turn me off immediately

Time and Wind excluded bc of age

If u want/have the time, I’d love to hear ur reasons for each one!

🐰

sorry I didn't put up the reasons on the og post, I kinda completely missed that bit 😅 but yeah there are reasons for why I've ranked them as such

1 - sky (literally no matter what au) He's insanely caring about people that he's close to, but can also be pretty snarky and rude. He and I have pretty similar senses of humor plus he's really loyal and honest to people he wants to keep close. (also I see him the most as being ace and even if I hc the others as such it just fits him the best IMO and idk if I would want to date any more allos after my experiences fbvsbfbvs)

2 - Twilight soft! country! boy!!!!! He's loyal to a T and is just so warm cuddly and oh I do love him so - I think he'd be number one for compatibility if it wasn't for my fear of dogs lmao

3 - tears I mean, besides him being like wild but more interested in technology and with more ability to cook? also I wanna help him dye his hair because that would be so fun :3

4 - wild I often get told that I'm him irl (personality and action-wise), so I hope that'd translate into us getting along? I like being outdoors and we could probably bond over eating rocks tbh

5 - hyrule soft fae boyyyyyyy, he's so sweet but I don't think I could move around as much as he does, he's none stop compared to wild.

6 - warriors So, this is more for canon and how other people see him rather than my own hcs (my hcs actually bumping him up from dead last surprisingly) he's usually shown as a playboy and knowing people in most places he goes while flirting with people to get things for reduced prices and I have pretty bad trust issues! I would wouldn't want to date him if he was showing interest in others while with me <3 also his arrogance would make me shutdown and not interact with him sdvsf

7 - four So while I don't mind being with someone shorter than me, I would like to be with someone a close height to mine whether that be a bit shorter or taller. the line is drawn when he barely makes it to my elbow when we're both standing. Plus I think our personalities simply match better to be friends rather than romantically, I could see myself being good friends with him - just no romance

8 - legend Idk I just don't think I would ever want to date him tbh, I see him as more compatible with a friend of mine and that's partly why too - I wouldn't want to nab him from her <3

#sky often looses his snark in fics sadly #it's very prominent in his game!!!!#and I try to always make him a bit more of an ass #cause he deserves itttttt #also yeah these are basic so if you want more detail feel free to ask #moss✧rambles

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fluffypotatey · 9 months

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Hello there! I hope the month is treating you alright. Speaking of impending breakdowns, with a full guarantee of MK having one coming soon, aside from him who else do you think will be getting one amongst the Monkie crew, from earliest to the latest? Macaque is shockingly doing well comparatively because he's been having one the entire show and only started to wind down and process it s4 while the other two monkeys are just piling them up. I am fully biased towards SWK so I'd like to know your thoughts on what an SWK breakdown would look like and what would trigger it, and if we might see it any time soon.

I think the reason on why an MK vs SWK fight makes me full of nervous dread is because i worry it might mean full rejection of MK towards SWK, after all the trials they have been through, and that SWK haven't had someone fully believing in him for so long so i worry he might interpret it as MK finally giving up on him, like the others did. But I'm holding on to the hope that it's not entirely the case, MK still believes in him, he just wants SWK to actually use his words and TALK to him, extreme force needed. But that might just be me.

Regarding the Samadhi Fire incident, do you think the other pilgrims ever find out about the fourth ring, or did Ao Lie and SWK kept it a secret between them only? I've read Dr. Chalk's comic on twitter, and one of their comics headcanon that Ao Lie didn't tell the rest of the pilgrims about the Samadhi fire in him because he's afraid they'll blame SWK for it. What do you think?

That's it for now. Sleep early, eat your meals regularly, and drink plenty of water!

ok 1) lmao true, Macky's spent most of s3 on the brink and s1&2 is just him projecting so yeah lmao (love him tho). and aside from MK, i think Mei is a huge contender for the breakdown category. Or Tang bc he was super anxious throughout s4. (imma go more in-depth about MK & SWK at the end of this post tho)

imma answer your Samadhi Fire question first: tbh i was originally inclined to believe that Ao Lie did try to keep the knowledge of the 4th ring underwraps for a long time (bc the angst is very fun). if he told SWK, he knew the monkey would blame himself. if he told the jttw crew, it would upset all of them. it's like how @lunar-wandering said in their post that Ao Lie is probably someone who would hide his injuries and troubles because if it is known, it is viewed as a weakness others can target.

then again, i doubt Ao Lie would withhold his physical injuries to the jttw gang because he trusts them, so it could be possible that he did tell them, but they all agreed to keep that secret between themselves. the AGAIN, i highly doubt Ao Lie would share his reasons for being exiled by his family, so he never told them until he felt he could no longer keep it together.

however, keep in mind that Wukong was aware of the 4th ring even in his amnesiac state. he was still with the jttw gang by this point, it was after the journey, and Wukong was aware. tbh, he sounded like he thought Pigsy was also aware, like he was reminding his companion that there are 4 rings not 3.

and, with that....imma have to go with Ao Lie did inform his friends but only his friends. was it immediately after the ritual? i doubt that. my opinion is that Ao Lie informed only after everyone in the group noticed a key change in their dragon-horse friend.

now, my beloved sunburst duo <3

i'm going to have to disagree with you, bestie. i don't think the MK vs SWK fight will to any full rejection. rather, i believe it will give both characters some form of understanding for the other. MK, as we have seen, has trouble separating Wukong from the hero pedestal he placed his mentor on. while he is more aware of the fact that Wukong has flaws and isn't perfect, he is still struggling with acknowledging the fact that his mentor did very bad things in his past, that he hurt people, that he is still hurting people (tho not intentionally). we see it with how he fought Ink!MK who unveiled those very dark and reclusive anxieties of his that he never wishes to acknowledge. we even saw it with how defensive MK can be over Wukong with Macaque and Azure.

on the flip side, SWK did not begin their mentorship with the intention of getting attached. he started this because he knew MK's potential and power, and it is very likely that he was aware that MK was a possible replacement for himself. Wukong keeps his distance in s1, only training the kid and taking his time to do so because he while he doesn't want to get close, he does want to ensure that MK will not fall into the same mistakes he did. unfortunately (for Wukong), the monkey grows attached.

Wukong sees MK's drive to train and be better and sees his own self reflected in it. but, again, he doesn't want MK to be like him. he wants MK to be a better version. a version that never thought to extend his life out of fear of losing his usefulness, a version that never tries to push his friends into situations they may not feel comfortable with, a version that does not feel the need to prove himself to Heaven.

honestly, my concept of their fight/breakdown will come to the fact that both MK and SWK fail to communicate their exact fears, anxieties, and intentions towards the other. MK feels like he can't even talk or vent to Wukong because that's his idol, and Wukong has brushed aside MK's anxieties in the past (MK's worries about Spider Queen for example. also i'm not saying Wukong does this with any malice intent; rather, it's his own way of trying to be optimistic. it just doesn't land well for MK unfortunately). Wukong feels like he can't open up because he sees the way MK looks up to him, he is very aware of his public image and reputation because...you know, he's immortal and has seen his and his friend's stories be told over centuries :)

and while Wukong has attempted to open up to MK post-s3, it's very slow and (more irritatingly) the plot isn't allowing them to have those private talks where they can hash out their shit.

(noooOOOOoooooOOO, swk had to be sucked into a cursed scroll and live through his worst memories, distorted or not, and MK had to be told by another old friend of his mentor that Wukong doesn't care enough about his friends to stay)

therefore, it looks like the only way both characters will even get a chance to air-out their issues will be shouting at each other, throwing physical blows, and maybe crying at each other (i hope so :3 i wanna see swk cry on screen please!)

HOWEVER: while this could lead to the 2 of them needing space with each other (which could lead to both or either of them spiraling about how the other person's rejected them and doesn't want them in their lives anymore), i highly doubt that this fight will be the end of their relationship. frankly, i think it will help give both characters some perspective on the other, work on themselves, and come back with new outlooks & healthier minds (maybe)

so yeah, those are my thoughts :)

#think i repeated myself 3 times but it's fine #dw bestie i'm eating the best sandwich rn #it's so good T^T #lmk #sunburst duo #lmk sunburst duo #lmk sun wukong #lmk mk #lmk qi xiaotian #lego monkie kid

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iamprchung · 3 months

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Just in time for Easter: The Dead Horse that is Biblical X-Files Simile

I need to vehemently preface this post by stating that I'm not an overly religious person. But unfortunately, a rewatch of 'Requiem' once again stirred up my dabbling in theology... Yes, yes, you're about to bear witness to an audacious deployment of simile and metaphor.

You're welcome to keep scrolling. 😁

Behold, the infamous "Last Supper" scene in 'Requiem.' Albeit, we have here only eight out of twelve persons present. However, it's been recognized, that two characters here are placed in the positions held by specific apostles in Leonardo di Vinci's "Last Supper."

Reminder: You're welcome to keep scrolling. 😆

Hey, I didn't start this, I'm just sticking my nose in to renew a haggard subject... 🤔😆 The author, Michelle Bush, apparently explored this in her book Myth-X. And of course, a perusing of Wikipedia led me down the rabbit hole... *See "Themes" in the wiki article.

Do I need to add a spoiler alert here? I'm not sure, so I'm doing it anyway. If you haven't seen 'Requiem' - get caught up! The rest of us are waiting on you. 🤣 (j/k!)

These two characters would be Walter Skinner, in the position of Simon Peter (St. Peter, Cephas) and Dana Scully, in the position of Judas - right there I'm like "meh, what?" and it's a real stretch.

However, the simile between Skinner and Simon Peter (Saint Peter, Cephas) is interesting.

The comparisons highlight how the relationships between Simon Peter and Jesus and between Walter Skinner and Fox Mulder share themes of authority, support, challenge, redemption, and moral guidance, despite belonging to vastly different narratives and contexts.

Authority Figures: Both Simon Peter and Walter Skinner hold positions of authority in their respective contexts. Simon Peter is one of the twelve apostles of Jesus, chosen as a leader among them. Walter Skinner is an FBI Assistant Director, overseeing Mulder's work in The X-Files.

Supportive Figures: Both Peter and Skinner often provide support and guidance to the central character, Mulder. Peter supports Jesus throughout his ministry, serving as a confidant and disciple. Similarly, Skinner supports Mulder's investigations, often backing him up against bureaucratic obstacles.

Challenges and Tests: Both relationships face challenges and tests. Peter's faith in Jesus is tested multiple times, notably when he denies knowing Jesus three times before his crucifixion. Skinner faces professional and personal challenges in supporting Mulder's unorthodox investigations, often clashing with higher authorities in the FBI.

Complex Dynamics: The dynamics between Peter and Jesus and between Skinner and Mulder are multifaceted. There are moments of trust, conflict, loyalty, and doubt in both relationships, reflecting the complexities of human interaction.

Redemption Themes: Both Peter and Skinner experience arcs of redemption or growth. Peter, despite his initial denial of Jesus, becomes a central figure in the early Christian church, demonstrating repentance and devotion. Skinner evolves from a skeptical and authoritarian figure to someone who trusts and supports Mulder's pursuit of the truth, showing growth in his character over the series.

Moral Guidance: Both Peter and Skinner offer moral guidance to the central character. Peter advises Jesus and the other disciples on matters of faith and conduct. Skinner provides counsel to Mulder, often cautioning him against recklessness and urging him to consider the consequences of his actions.

Now this business about Scully being compared to, of all biblical figures, Judas!

While drawing parallels between Judas and Scully might seem unconventional at first glance, exploring the complexities of their relationships and character dynamics can offer fresh insights into their respective narratives and themes.

Betrayal: Judas is infamous for his act of betrayal, which involved identifying Jesus to the religious authorities with a kiss, leading to Jesus's arrest and subsequent crucifixion.

Critical: Judas is sometimes portrayed as critical or skeptical of Jesus's actions or teachings. In the Gospel of John, for example, Judas questions Jesus's decision to allow a woman to anoint him with expensive perfume.

Complexity: Like many biblical figures, Judas is a complex character. His motivations and actions are subject to interpretation and debate among scholars and theologians. Some argue that his betrayal was part of God's plan for salvation, while others view it as a result of his own moral failings.

The conclusion drawn from the analysis of "Requiem" and the comparisons between the characters is that the episode explores themes of sacrifice, betrayal, and the consequences of individual actions within the context of The X-Files narrative.

Overall, "Requiem" and the comparisons drawn between characters such as Scully, Mulder, and Skinner offer insights into the moral dilemmas, sacrifices, and consequences inherent in the pursuit of truth and the exploration of existential themes within The X-Files universe.

But did I really need to go into any of that? We all already knew this, but maybe just didn't see the not so subtle imagery and allusion.

#xfiles #the xfiles #XF Requiem #XFiles Biblical Simile #Dead Horse Subject Being Between Relentlessly #walter skinner #dana scully #fox mulder #the last supper

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