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draconic-desire · 1 month

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A Dance With the Dragon IV — Escape

Yandere Neuvillette x Reader

[Part I] [Part II] [Part III] Part IV — You are here]

After four hundred years, the chance for escape finally presents itself—what will you choose?

Warnings: Yandere behavior, brief mentions of NSFW thoughts and past events, feral dragon Neuvillette

Your opportunity for escape came on a gray and dismal day.

The past week had been particularly grueling for the Chief Justice—or so he had panted into your ear while he pinned you to the bed, skin slick with sweat and his cock buried to the hilt inside you.

You’d initially took it as a thinly veiled excuse for the dragon to lash out, for him to lay claim to you once again, but you soon noticed his focus actually wavering. Just enough for it to slip his mind to tell your Melusine guards (or guides, as Neuvillette would insist) not to bring you to his office for your regular afternoon tea with him. Furina had insisted on his last-minute presence at the meeting between her and certain Snezhnayan diplomats, and his unwavering sense of responsibility to Fontaine prevented him from rejecting the order.

That was how you found yourself sitting alone in his office.

You were quite confused. Neuvillette never skipped tea with you. In fact, as the busiest man in Fontaine, he insisted on it. It was a new development, one he thought might bring the two of you closer and outside of a purely domestic setting.

You’d be grateful for the change of scenery if you didn’t end up bent over his desk half the time.

In the beginning you had fought him on it, but as time in his captivity stretched on you soon realized this was one of the only chances allotted to you beyond your shared abode, especially now that the Opera was off limits. You even got to chat with the Melusines who acted as your sweet, naive guards. They reminded you of Carole and your previous life, a bittersweet memory that you held onto like a fleeting dream.

Now, you couldn’t help but start to fidget in your seat. When one minute became two, and two became five, and five became ten, you couldn’t help the anxious tapping of your nails against his desk. Where was he? Had something happened to him? You knew the Chief Justice would never commit a crime, but the notion of him imprisoned forever in the Fortress or Meropide was one that brought you comfort during your unrequited relationship.

Particularly on nights he would remind you of whose sentence you were under, whose wife and mate you were.

Pushing both hands against the desk, you rose to your feet and stormed towards the door. You wouldn’t sit idly to stew in your own thoughts. You raised a fist, preparing to knock harshly to alert any Melusine or the Iudex himself whose inhuman perspectives misinterpreted this as some sort of sick joke—

Except the slightest force sent the door ajar, presenting you with an empty hallway.

It was unlocked.

You couldn’t help the quickening of your heart rate. It invaded your senses, your hearing, your feeling, until it drowned out all of your thoughts but one.

You could leave.

The absence of any other individual was unheard of. Logically, it didn’t make sense; there should have been a guard if Neuvillette expected to be late, or others working in the main office if they hadn’t been dismissed for break as usual (though you knew it was only to spare them of any ungentlemanly sounds that might be coming from his office after you entered).

It was then you realized: Neuvillette had made a mistake.

You didn’t spare a single glance back as you strode out the doors of the Palais Mermonia and onto the streets of Fontaine.

Navigating your way out of the Court was easier than expected. Although there was no mistaking who you were when Neuvillette dragged you out in public—whom else’s waist would he retain an iron grip on throughout an entire opera if not his loving partner—without him by your side, you appeared like any other resident.

Obtaining Mora for the ferry ride to Sumeru was also a breeze. You had no moral objections to pocketing a few coins from unsuspecting citizens along the docks. Why would you, when you had been serving a lifetime sentence of imprisonment anyway?

The ship wasn’t anything fancy and was mostly filled with traveling salesmen and local fishermen, but after centuries of being doted on and monitored constantly, you savored the feeling of being normal, of feigning the role of a traveling merchant. You truly never thought that pretending to be an average worker would feel so freeing.

Suddenly, the skin of your arm began to crawl, feeling like a thousand pinpricks were digging their claws under your skin. You hissed at the sharp pain, gasping at the brief flash of your draconic tattoo, and then…nothing. You could almost always feel it, but it seems that upon crossing a certain distance the leviathan decided to lie dormant. You thanked Barbados for your luck; in your certainty of escaping, you hadn’t even thought of the physical tie between you and Neuvillette.

As the boat pulled out of the dock, relief washed over you like the serenity after a storm. After months of the Iudex, the supposed upholder of Justice, violating every rule against you, you were finally free.

As you watched Fontaine’s massive cliffs fade into the waves, you briefly mourned your choice to leave your Hydro Vision behind; however, you reasoned that the risk in going back for it and wasting precious time was too great. Not to mention the fact that you were sure you’d never get away with slipping it out of Neuvillette’s grasp, and you certainly didn’t want to squander this chance by running back into his arms. Although you knew the rumors of what happened to bearers who lost their Visions, you were willing to take your chances if it meant securing your freedom.

A sudden splash against your cheek jerked you from your thoughts. Upon looking up, you found the previously azure sky to have darkened. Rain began steadily falling, soon fully soaking your frilly dress (another insistence of Neuvillette’s, that you always wear dresses for teatime…never again!). Thunder rolled across the waters, bringing a taste of pain, anger, and betrayal with it.

Ah, so he’s realized your absence. Good—let him rage. Let him experience the heartbreak of losing what you hold most dear.

Maybe that will serve as his atonement for his sins against you.

You noticed then that, like your draconic captor, you too were crying. Though not of sadness—no, yours were tears of joy.

~*~

Although you had originally planned to journey back to your homeland in the City of Wind—not that you had anyone left there to return to, it was more for your own comfort—you found Sumeru to be to your liking. It was Fontaine’s foil—hot, dry, intellectually driven yet full of untamed wilderness. Full of real, thriving flora and fauna that cold, inorganic meka could never match.

The presence of the Akademiya and Port Ormos even offered you a line to continue your photography and research. Due to the dark room Neuvillette had installed in the library, your skills with a camera hadn’t grown too rusty over the centuries. Now, you finally were able to photograph your true passions again—nature, the water, the animals around you. Their harmony and beauty together, their freedom.

It may seem as if you hadn’t gotten far, but with how vast the Nation of Wisdom was, you felt safe to start anew. For the first time in four hundred years, you felt at home.

Three months had passed since your escape, with no indication that the Iudex was on your trail. After enrolling in the Akademiya (which had required you to change your name, since posing as a four hundred year old would probably not go over well), you even found a group of fellow students that you worked and resided with in the city. You were still careful, of course—you never traveled alone, avoided looking flashy in public, and even altered your look by cutting your hair to suit the arid climate.

That is, until you weren’t.

Your advisor appointed you to join an exclusive research project on the wildlife transition along the Sumeru/Fontaine border. Having experience with Fontaine’s biology, you were the clear candidate. Your initial trepidation almost won out, but you finally conceded at the encouragement of your peers. You’d even be traveling with your advisor and two of your roommates, so you chalked your nerves up to not having set foot in the direction of Fontaine in months. After all, you’d been meaning to explore the desert and its ecology—you just needed to take the plunge and face your fears.

Water was a rarity in the desert, after all.

Which is why, as your party was ascending the final dunes of the Desert of Hadramaveth, you believed the tall, blue-adorned figure approaching was a mirage. A result of dehydration after days of travel in these harsh conditions, a trick of the mind—

“Of all the places you could have escaped to, was it necessary to choose such a dry and barren place as this?” The last part was mumbled under his breath, his tone taking on a low growl, “I cannot help but feel that you bringing me here is some form of an assassination attempt…”

At the sound of his voice, just as deep and commanding as you remembered, your entire being came to a standstill. You despised how you had been conditioned for that tone to send a pangs of trepidation to your core.

Yet despite the Chief Justice’s presence right before you, a part of your brain refused to process it. He was the Hydro dragon, for Archon’s sake. What in all of Teyvat could drag him to the farthest place from the sea?

You, apparently.

At your silence, Neuvillette’s lips tightened. His expression was near unreadable, but you recognized the tumultuous mix of anger and longing storming under that stoic facade.

The other members of your group appeared confused and uneasy. Apparently Neuvillette’s reputation preceded him, even outside of Fontaine, for the common mumbling you picked up on was speculations of his role here.

“Is that the Chief Justice of Fontaine?” a professor whispered to your advisor nervously. “What is he doing here? Surely none of us have offended the court…” Her eyes flickered to you briefly. Due to the nature of the research, it was common knowledge among the group that you were the one with connections to Fontaine.

Said Justice took a step towards you, spurring you to take a larger step back. You knew running wasn’t an option, but you reasoned that he couldn’t just take you clawing and spitting for all your colleagues to witness. No, he would have to convince them of your guilt before he could act.

Well, two could play at that game; you lived with Neuvillette long enough to learn some of his ticks and tells, especially when it came to you. This would be a game of negotiation, a chess match of wits. Neuvillette’s intellect was near unmatched, but if you played your cards right, you could win.

The tide that is Fontaine’s Iudex may one day sweep you under his control, but it is not this day.

“Madame (L/n), by the authority of the Court of Fontaine and the Nation of Justice, I hereby place you under my custody for immediate detainment.”

Or not.

A few of the researchers around you gasped, tittering about your supposed false identity. The professor from earlier backed away from you with a sneer. Looking around, you noted that even your friends were eyeing you warily like some stranger.

All logic left you at the dragon’s announcement. The terror gripping your heart was replaced by blinding, bubbling rage. You would not concede to the man who took everything from you and would take it all again, washing away the life you had built again like a house of sand.

You practically hissed in response. Now this was familiar. “Under what charges?”

Lifting his cane, Neuvillette summoned a levitating tome from which he read, “Multiple accounts of theft, use of a fraudulent identity, desertion in court to be tried for said charges, and emotional damages to the residents of Fontaine affected by your careless and selfish actions.”

You scoffed, your lip curling in a snarl. “And I suppose that last ‘charge’ applies specifically to you?”

The draconic man merely narrowed his piercing purple eyes. Unlike your own, Neuvillette’s demeanor did not falter. He wanted you to lash out, to validate the accusations against you in front of the Sumerian researchers. His objective was solely to retrieve you—quelling your anger would come later.

The day you left Fontaine, Neuvillette had felt a piece of his soul shatter.

He could feel the very moment you crossed the border, when the draconic bond between mates and lovers was severed. It was a guillotine to his head, a rope around his neck, a bullet to his temple. Pain, raw and agonizing, enveloped his very being. The dragon beneath his skin raged, begging Neuvillette to fly to you and sink his claws so deep you could never leave again. The all-consuming panic over your loss, over your safety now that you were outside of his sight, had threatened to rise up and smother him, to drown him and sweep the fractured pieces away until he was nothing.

It had rained for weeks straight, so much so that the citizens of Fontaine brought back the old adage—Hydro Dragon, Hydro Dragon, don’t cry.

As much as he wanted, needed to find you, the Chief Justice could not simply abandon his post and his people. Going against his very nature, he quelled the dragon and settled on deploying Gardemeks to Sumeru and Liyue to search for you. It had been easy enough to program them with your photo and statement of your status as a fugitive. Surely you couldn’t have gotten any farther than the regions bordering Fontaine, and if so, the mekas would signal your location to him in no time.

So, after weeks on end of the Garde failing to locate you, Neuvillette’s anxiety swelled from a shower to a tempest, a storm of violent wind and flurrying emotion. He found himself in the library he had built you, clawed fingers clutching his face with labored breaths. Black danced across his vision.

Was he not enough for you? Had he not given you anything and everything you could desire? Had he not kept his mate safe?

Why did you abandon me, (Y/n)?

When he had come to, the room was in tatters, the carpet shredded with claw marks and the walls smoldering with blue energy.

Neuvillette decided then that he could not wait any longer.

Tracking you only fueled the dragon. It could sense you, the pull of your tattoo awakening with each step Neuvillette took to close the gap. It was one mate beckoning another, like the pull of the moon on the tide. Your light guided him straight into your path.

And when Neuvillette finally saw your figure, illuminated by the hottest desert sun, he had nearly fallen to his knees and wept in relief. You were so beautiful, yet the look of terror on your face ripped his soul apart all over again. Even now, even here, you wanted to reject him. Could you not see how far he would travel for you, how long his reach would extend just to keep you safe?

In that moment, the dragon roared, and Neuvillette listened.

After seemingly endless hours, days, and months to think about the reasons you left him, he realized that he must have been too lenient with you. He practically was the law in Fontaine, yet he had dismissed your transgressions time and time again, thinking your outbursts were simply a temporary response to your new life with him. Yes, the transition had been sudden and the charges against you quite ridiculous, but he truly believed you would fall for him as he did you.

He would tolerate your backlash no more. No longer would he spoil you with gifts, hoping, praying to every member of the Seven just for you to smile at him. Never again would he sigh in defeat when you spurned his touch, leaving him to fuck his hand to the mere idea of you initiating physical intimacy.

No, just like any other criminal in Fontaine, you would have to be imprisoned until you learned your place—in your case, by his side. And he would be lying if he said the idea of punishing you for your offenses, for leaving him, didn’t cause his cock to twitch in anticipation.

The dragon demanded to be satisfied, and it would have its fill.

“We have numerous reports of you stealing Mora from unsuspecting individuals, as well as the testimony from the ship’s captain that you claimed to be a merchant immigrating to Sumeru. Then, of course, comes the addition consequences for violating the authority of the court by leaving Fontaine. The latter makes you a fugitive.”

“That’s insane! I only had to commit those so-called ‘crimes’ because you—”

“Ah, so you plead guilty.”

You blanched. No, not this again. He was riling you up, making you fumble with your argument like a child, just like your initial confrontation with him in the Opera Epiclese. But that was how he viewed you, wasn’t it? His centuries of experience would always trump your own.

“You know that’s not what I meant—

The sound of your advisor clearing his throat momentarily saved you. “Sir, with all due respect, we do not know whomever this Miss (L/n) you are referring to. This young lady here is Miss (Fake name), and she is one of my finest students. I highly doubt she is the one to have committed these acts.”

Neuvillete’s eyes flashed dangerously towards the researcher. He loomed over your advisor, casting them in shadow. “Shall I arrest you as well for conspiring with a criminal?”

You never thought silence could be so deafening.

The Iudex released a huff. “I didn’t think so.” With a flick of his hand, your wrists became bound together with bands of pure hydro. Your protestations did nothing to deter him as he motioned forward, causing you to be forcibly dragged forwards by an invisible force. You were no stranger to this procedure; Neuvillette had used his powers on you more than once in bed. Now that he had his hydro around you, he held all the authority.

Without the ability to control your movements, you tumbled into Neuvillette’s broad chest. To the others it appeared as if he were securing your bindings, but you shivered as he buried his nose in your hair. Softly, in a voice only meant for you, he sighed, “Oh, how I dreamed of this moment, my darling (Y/n). A valiant effort, to be sure, though your pursuit was always in vain. There is nowhere in all of Teyvat I won’t find you.” His hand ran down the length of your arm, where you knew your draconic tattoo was once more glowing under your tunic. “You are marked as mine, my wife. My mate.”

You jerked your head away despite his scent invading your being. “I will never stop running from you, husband,” you growled, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Dissolving into the Primordial Sea is preferable to lifetime with you.”

To your surprise, a low chuckle escaped the Chief Justice’s lips. “I think you’ll soon find that I can be quite persuasive.” He stood to his full height, face reverting to his usually stoicism. “I shall be taking my leave with the prisoner, then. If any of you wish to object to this ruling, you may submit a false claim report to the Court, and I will attend to it personally.”

Glancing around at your peers, those you believed to be your friends and colleagues, you knew that none of them would fight for you. News of your detainment would be spread through the Akademiya, forever tarnishing your reputation. It was over, and Neuvillette had emerged victorious once again.

The Iudex motioned you forward with a tip of his cane and an ominous spark in his eyes. “Come, my beloved. Let us return home.”

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downfalldestiny · 10 months

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The escape plan 🌧️🌱!.

#Plan #Escape #Life #magical world #magic destinations #magic places #Breathe #Run away #With you #Rain #Cabin #House #Woods #woods #lost in the woods #downfalldestiny #downfall #life

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gifs-of-puppets · 2 months

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Muppets Tonight (1996-1998)

#muppets tonight #prince #kermit the frog #alligator #run away #dr. bunsen honeydew #beaker #cows #spamala hamderson #country #muppet #muppets #the muppets #gif #muppet gif #muppets gif #gifs of puppets

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pink-evilette · 2 months

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Polyester (1981)

#my screencaps #80s #john waters #polyester 1981 #motel #run away #trash magic

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ijuststareatstuffhereok89 · 4 months

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“A Strange Little World”- Loki x Reader

As the walls of duty and destiny close in around you and your secret lover, Loki proposes that you wash your hands of it all and start your own palace of dreams out in the realms.

Pairing: Loki x Asgardian!F!Reader Content Warning: sexism, forced marriage, military conscription, Odin is a massive c**t, some lusty thoughts, mostly longing and comfort fluff Word Count: 5.1k

You liked to ‘play house’ with Loki, but it didn’t mean the same thing to you that it would to other couples.

Whereas the mere mention of the game for most would conjure images of naughty romping and playacting in the buff, for two good little citizens of Asgard’s elite, it was a bit more literal than that for you.

Your lives were already so chaotic, with expectations raining down upon you like hot stones, forcing you to duck one way and leap another every waking second. Loki, as a prince of the realm, was moved around by his family and tutors like a pawn on a chessboard. He was kept constantly on his feet with everything from physical training to seidr sessions, diplomacy lessons, holding court, touring the front lines, etc. Odin had even begun to parade possible brides before his second son, evidently refusing to accept your rank as worthy of the royal family.

For your part, you were also being tossed about the whipping winds of life as a courtier. Finishing school had been rough enough, but your quest to join the Valkyries had only just borne fruit. Alas, this was against your father’s wishes to marry you off instead. Your days were spent doing everything in your power to convince your family to release you from a marriage contract made to a distant cousin years ago in order to join the elite team of fighters.

Not to mention, Odin considered Valkyries to be worthy of a prince’s hand.

What you never understood was how Odin, in his supposedly infinity wisdom, couldn’t foresee that allowing two youths to run around as playmates in childhood could possibly lead to a romance as adulthood took hold. As children, you and Loki joked about what you would name your own sons and daughters. When you both began to realize the jokes were turning into sincere wishes for your future, it all changed forever. Odin began eyeing you with suspicion and disdain where he once smiled with fatherly affection. He’d outright rejected your suit when Loki brought it to proposal.

Once it became all but apparent that your affectionate interludes with Prince Loki were temporary at best, you refused to give in to it. Instead, you began meeting in secret, which was easier than imagined for a Prince and his muse, for behind the armoire in his bedchamber was a hidden door, which led to a small winding staircase. The hidden passage led to a cozy sitting room with only a few chairs, a table, and a fainting sofa over by the window. The room was trimmed in gold, the walls a faded, light green. Perhaps once it had been used for the same purpose it now was, but for one of Loki’s own ancestors (you only hoped they approved of you more than the Allfather did).

Nothing brought you or your princely lover more joy than to sit in his private parlor and regale one another about your stressful days bowing to the whims of the Allfather’s court. Thus, like a married pair, you chose to sneak away after supper each night to Loki’s chamber to have dessert and tea, and to pretend that the hard, demanding world outside his window wasn’t there, perhaps dissolved away in an after-storm fog. Perhaps his sitting room was flying through the clouds, up, up, and away from Asgard…

The lovemaking was always sublime, but even at your quietest, sipping tea and sharing a slice of pastry, you were in paradise as long as he was beside you. You hung on Loki’s every word, no matter what he was describing or how well you understood it. In return, he smiled and took your hand whenever you expressed your own fears for your future.

“Like a husband and wife,” Loki had tenderly whispered once, a grateful smile unrolling like a banner across his lips. “I cannot tell anyone else what I express to you every night with perfect ease.”

You and Loki did what no one else in any of the nine realms bothered to do: you listened to one another. Loki wove a tapestry of emotion, conflict, and dreams whenever he spoke. Even describing the most mundane of daily activities was like listening to a sonnet. He observed the world differently from most people. His mind was beautiful (as was the rest of him). If only his wonderful thoughts weren’t wasted on unreceptive ears like the King’s.

Additionally, it was obvious that he found your own rambling monologue like the preface to a grand story in which he just had to immerse himself. Whether you were bemoaning your betrothal plans or how itchy your ceremonial robes were, he drank in your every word like a rich, intoxicating wine.

However, not every night was for unloading your troubles. Some nights, like the one you presently found yourself in, were for fantasy. You and Loki had just finished making love in his bed, and now you were wrapped only in his bedsheets and sitting in his secret room, waiting for dessert to be delivered. Loki had only covered his lap for the sake of the servant when he came with tea.

“Did you take the contraceptive I sent?” he asked once the servant left.

“Of course,” you replied, sighing to yourself. “I always do.” Of course precautions would be necessary if you were to continue sleeping with the Prince, but it sometimes drove home a fact that gave you great sorrow: one day soon, someone would be proudly carrying Loki’s heirs, and it wouldn’t be you.

He sat back in his chair and spread his legs apart, rendering the small lap blanket he’d halfheartedly covered himself with entirely useless. He looked out the window into the fading summer light with a dreamy gaze in his eye. “I’ve been thinking, and I don't like Henrik for a boy after all.”

You rolled your eyes and reached for the teapot, at least until Loki instantly sat up in order to get to it and pour your cup before you could do it yourself. “Thank you,” you said softly, taking a sip of the hot, floral tea, letting its mellow aroma settle your nerves for a moment before adding your thoughts. “And I told you before I won’t EVER allow a child of mine to be named…ergh…Henrik.”

Loki gave a hearty chortle as he reached for a handful of candied pecans from a small bowl. “Too common for my Princess’ babe, is it?”

“Too common for a stable raker,” you retorted. After a moment of silence, you added, “Out of curiosity, do you have anything better in mind?”

“There are hundreds of names worthy of a child of the royal family,” answered Loki, popping two nuts into his mouth and taking a moment to chew and swallow them before carrying on. “However, there are far fewer names worthy of a child of ours.”

You wanted to move forward with your scenario, naming your offspring, planning your household, raising your future higher than it could ever be in truth. However, you had something you needed to tell him now, before anything got too difficult for you to say.

“My father has summoned Birger for the official betrothal,” you blurted out, causing Loki to startle and put down his tea cup with a little too much force. “He says he shall arrive tomorrow.”

He scoffed, leaning back again in clear disapproval. “Does your dear father know that marrying one’s cousin is nothing short of repulsive?”

“You know he is of the old ways, he knows most disapprove of his plans,” you said sadly, looking at your reflection in the cup before you, a single tear falling suddenly from your eye and landing in the middle of the brown liquid. “But that still doesn’t save me from it!”

Loki grunted like a frustrated boy, biting his lip to keep from letting the entirety of his unflattering judgements loose on you. He was still your father, after all, and Asgardian custom always demanded respect from one’s children. But something was occurring to him: an idea slowly coming into focus behind his eyes.

You’d expected him to say something by now. “Loki? Darling? What is it?”

“It suddenly makes sense,” he answered, leaning over the table and extending his arms out to you, open-palmed hands asking for yours. “My dear, I’m afraid they’re plotting deliberately against us, your father and mine both.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, gasping with surprise as you folded your hands into his from the other side of the table.

“Odin informed me over breakfast today that I am to serve my military conscription, beginning four days hence.”

“No!” you nearly shouted. “Please at least say he’s sending you to Vanaheim or Alfheim--”

“--regrettably, Thor and I are both being shipped like common rats off to Svartalfheim. There’s rustling in the air of an invasion.” The bitterness in his voice was unmistakable.

For you, the tears came more freely now. “But it’s dangerous there! You could die on the front against the Dark Elves!”

Loki shrugged. “Even Odin wouldn’t sacrifice his sons so thoughtlessly. We will be fighting from the tents, my darling, please believe me.”

“So, the King is sending you away to fight at the same time I am to be formally engaged,” you realized. “Tearing us apart forever.”

Loki squeezed your hand as his skin turned cool. “A mandatory conscription is for ten moon cycles,” he reminded you. “You will be wed by the time I return.”

“And you can’t get out of your duty?” you asked frantically. “You’re a Prince! Use your privilege to revoke it!”

He shook his head and brought your right hand to his lips, where he placed a sweet, tender, sad kiss on your fingers. “Desertion is death, even for one such as I.”

“Then what are we to do?”

He shrugged, at a loss as much as you were. “I have no idea, I’m afraid.”

After a moment’s awkward pause as you contemplated your dilemma, Loki added, “And your cotillion, which I presume your father will hold with all the appropriate pomp?”

“The day after tomorrow.”

Loki looked over his shoulder, toward the setting sun in the window, which cast orange beams of light about the room behind your heads, giving the room a peaceful glow as night set in. “Truly, I thought Thor would have at least had his engagement gala by now with Sif. Meanwhile, I’d only imagined my own with you.”

You bit on your lower lip to keep it from trembling.

“However,” he went on, running his thumb casually over your knuckles, “I can imagine they are a rather dull affair. After all, every debutante ball I’ve been dragged by the ankles to witness has had the energy and excitement of an execution. A betrothal ceremony and celebration can hardly be better, can it?”

“As if that sentiment helps how I feel,” you mumbled.

You tore your hands from Loki’s grip, getting up from the chair and going over to the window, your back to Loki. After a moment, you sensed him moving in behind you before wrapping his arms around your belly, swinging you softly back and forth.

“You know it’s a crime to turn your back on your sovereign, Princess,” he said, his deep, gentle tone mismatching his words.

“Sadly, you aren’t my sovereign. Odin is,” you whispered, barely audible even to him. “And it seems to me that he has us like flies on his web.”

Loki’s mind was floating away the more he touched your warm body. “How lovely the sunset is tonight, chasing the fog away. Wouldn’t it be divine to walk down to the orchards on the edge of the city to watch it from the rolling knolls?”

You smiled and closed your eyes, losing yourself in fantasy. “I can almost hear Juni and Vali giggling and running around one of the fruit trees. Vali always tries to steal a lemon to throw around at her, the rascal!”

A moment of silence. “Juni?”

You turned your head, jerked out of your luxurious inner tableau. “Yes, Juni.”

“Vali is considerable,” Loki admitted, “But Juni? Is our daughter a cat?”

You giggled as Loki’s silly ramble reached a climax. “Can you see her debut? ’Now announcing to the court and the Nine Realms…Her Royal Highness, Princess Juni of Asgard?!’” His mock horror nearly brought you to your knees in laughter. “I’d sooner name her Thora.”

You turned around, facing your Loki and slowly cupping his cheek with a gentle hand. “Maybe we should stop this. It doesn’t matter now, does it? Juni will never be. Nor will Vali or any other of our ghost-children.”

“Ghosts are dead,” Loki stopped you, leaning into your cheek and shutting his eyes. “Our children are merely yet-to-be.”

“Never to be,” you corrected him, leaving the pair of you in depressed silence for minutes until he broke it with a kiss and a sigh.

“I should leave you,” you said, your eyes flooding with hot tears again. “Maybe it will be better if we never see each other again.”

He looked hurt by your decision, even frightened. “I can’t do that. I want to spend our last hours together in your arms and weaving our false hopes together in this strange little world we’ve made together.”

“Tell that to your father, and mine,” you snapped back, turning away again, not wanting for him to see you break down entirely. “It would make the separation even more difficult for us if we don’t just ignore one another until you leave for the front lines.”

After yet another uncomfortable pause, you felt Loki put a hand on your shoulder. It felt cold.

“Perhaps so,” he finally agreed. “But if you ever need me, I’ll come to you before your heart beats again.”

With nothing to say that wasn’t an outpouring of pleas and love, you quickly abandoned him in his secret closet, crestfallen and lonely once more. You didn’t make it back to your rooms in the palace, needing to hide behind a statue of Allfather Bor to hide your sobs.

Your father, Njord, was descended from one of the lesser branches of the Asgardian elite families. No royal blood to speak of flowed through your veins, but just enough nobility to warrant membership of the highest social class, and some degree of access to the court and King.

There was also just enough prestige in your lineage to call for a formal debutante ball when you reached majority, as well as a formal engagement cotillion to acknowledge the arrival of your bridegroom, complete with a banquet barge that spent the day floating carelessly in circles around the palace moat.

Njord, social climber he was, spared no expense for the revelries in order to show off the little status he held, going so far as to dare to extend an invitation to the royal family themselves. The barge was decked in your family colors: sapphire blue and silver, in the form of perhaps a few too many banners and garlands. You thought the decorations were so many that the yacht could sink under the added weight.

You were arrayed in the finest sapphire silk your parents could find, which, as it turned out, was merely a gown borrowed from a relative who’d never worn it. Still, between the soft, clingy fabric and the shimmering silver family crest hanging at your throat, you were a radiant sight.

Traditionally, the barge made three laps around the palace without the bridegroom on board. On the third go-around, he would embark and make a presentation before you and your parents, after which the boat would continue circling all afternoon as everyone aboard flooded their minds with wine. Those first three laps took nearly an hour to complete, and each second that passed, each inch that was sailed, you grew more and more nauseated.

You may as well have jumped into the water. You were already drowning in a sea of insincerity, lost in waves of mindless chatter about dish patterns. Meanwhile, your soul floated above your head, looking for Loki in each window of the castle, wondering which room he sulked in. Was he watching as your yacht floated by? Was he trying to get a good look at you in your dress? Or did he turn away and flinch as you rode past?

Birger and his mother, a widow with a perpetually-puckered lip, boarded without incident as the barge made a temporary berth at the palace gate. He was dressed in matching color to yours, his shiny blonde hair swept back into a bun, a gold chain obscured by a few to many ruffles at the neck. He was handsome, but his big brown eyes looked somewhat vacant, as if he was only partially aware of his surroundings. Or perhaps, he was looking for you.

Led along a red carpet, Birger and his sour-faced mother bowed at the waist before you and your parents, beginning the formal engagement ceremony,

“My father-to-be,” mumbled the hapless groom, “I am here to present myself as a suitor for--”

Trumpets sounded suddenly from within the palace in the musical chord that always announced the approach of the Allfather. It was so well-known that everyone turned and bowed at the knee in reflex, aside from yourself and Birger, who was still standing dumbfoundedly in front of you.

“It can’t be!” exclaimed Njord excitedly. “Y/N! Bow! The Allfather is here!”

Odin sauntered regally to the barge with his usual entourage following adoringly behind. The King was flanked on each side by his sons. Thor wore his usual light armor and red cape, looking as dashing and prideful as he ever was.

Loki, of course, had dressed himself as formally as possible, wearing every piece of princely insignia he owned, flaunting his rank like a peacock’s tail. His dark green jacket was buttoned to the chin and had nary a wrinkle. He’d braided his hair in a rope down the back of his neck, a style he knew all too well that you adored. Over his chest laid a gold sash tied at the hip, and around his legs were black trousers lined at the hem with gold trim. He even wore the tiny gold earring studs you once gifted him with for Jol.

You wanted him. You needed him. And he knew this ceremonial outfit of his drove you wild.

You scoundrel, you thought to yourself, your eyes unable to detach from his image as he drew closer.

“Lord Njord of the Westlands,” Odin called out, his booming voice going against what would otherwise have been expected from his old man’s frame, “I greet you in jubilation at the engagement of your only daughter, and my sons and I hope to join you in your revelries this afternoon!”

Njord looked about to urinate. “I…ugh….YES YOUR HIGHN--”

“--we greet you most humbly and invite you to our feast!” interrupted your mother, much more calm. “We are honored by your attention, Allfather!”

“Then let the festivities continue!” Odin declared with joviality. A cheer rang up from everyone aside from yourself, your intended, and your soul mate. You and Loki were tense and sorrowful. Birger was nervous now that his presentation would be witnessed by the most powerful man in the Nine.

The royal procession moved onto the barge, and once the boat sailed once more, Birger was invited to continue his formal proposal. He had come with a poem of his own creation: a simple, four-lined stanza about marriage that didn’t even rhyme. Afterward, he took out a lyre and began stroking out a painfully simple song that was traditionally taught to children as a first assignment at a music lesson. Loki was cringing from the stern of the boat, near a door that led down into the hull. You tried hard to stifle a giggle, and the urge to reject the man right out only grew as the insipid ballad went into third and fourth reprises.

You were so distracted that Njord had to recite your line for you after the presentation was (finally!) finished: “My daughter accepts your suit, and four cycles hence, you will wed before the Allfather and share in your joys and sorrows until the end of time.”

Your sadness reached an apex when you realized that not only would Loki be away for ten cycles, but with your wedding so soon, you could be well into a pregnancy by the time he returned, and what image would that be with which to greet your soul mate?

Another cheer rang up, but your nausea was making your face turn hot, and you only had a moment to absorb the event before the world turned to watercolor before you, and you sank to your knees. In your stupor, you could hear a few gasps, your mother calling your name, and a few scuttling feet.

Taking off like a shot, Loki got to you first in spite of the distance between you, using his godlike speed to ensure that he would be the one scooping you up instead of your fiance.

No matter, he was still standing on the red carpet, dumbfounded, a string having snapped on his lyre.

Loki ran with you into the hull, slamming the door behind him and seeking out anything on which to lay you down. He came across a cushioned bench under a porthole, and as soon as he set you down, you came back, smiling at the view of his face.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t eat this morning out of nerves.”

“Understandable, Princess,” Loki muttered sweetly, taking your hand in both of his, closing them around yours as if they held a precious jewel inside that needed to be protected. “You should know that this was all Odin’s doing. He’s trying to motivate me to turn my back on you by bringing me here.”

“I thought so.”

He went on. “Yesterday, he tried to tell me that you were excitedly preparing for your wifely duties with your…cousin. When I didn’t believe him, he forced Thor and I to attend the party today, as if rubbing my nose in your engagement would rend my love from me!”

Loki leaned down to kiss your forehead. “Do you need water, love?”

You nodded, even as the haze around your vision faded and your senses returned.

“Have another fetch it then, and leave us.”

Odin’s darker, authoritative voice was enough to force Loki to stand at attention, conditioned to do so from the first day he toddled upright. He’d followed you below decks.

Loki looked at you with concern, but you replied by stubbornly shaking off his offered arm as you got to your feet. “It’s okay, love,” you said to Loki. “I presume the Allfather wishes to personally congratulate me on my engagement.”

“Indeed, and to see to your health, of course,” Odin replied with a frown, looking expectantly at Loki again. This time, upon hearing your release, Loki defiantly kissed your brow again before looking his father in the face, brushing past him angrily to go upstairs.

After he was certain that Loki was gone, Odin turned back to you. You did give him a small curtsy. “I am glad to see you on your feet again,” remarked Odin. “Tis a pity to see a bride fall ill at her own cotillion.”

You didn’t answer him with words, instead refusing to look him in the eye deliberately.

Odin went on. “Of course, it is the proper course of action for you to move forward with the marriage, and I am glad to see you obeying your call to be a wife.”

Again, you refused him a reply, shifting your feet uncomfortably, wishing Loki would return with water for you.

“You would have made a poor valkyrie,” he continued, musing as if it weren’t an insult but a mere fact, “You lack the discipline and swiftness. I’m unsure why Brunnhilde accepted your bid at all. Perhaps it was a kindness.”

“Because she knew after I was inducted, you’d have no further excuse to refuse my suit,” you finally replied. “She and I are friends enough that she knows my heart.”

“I am the King of Asgard, I need no excuse to refuse any suitors who wish to taint my son’s lineage with their common blood!”

You shrunk back a little, genuinely hurt.

“You will both come to realize in time that I am only doing what is right. Your cousin is a suitable husband. Perhaps if you agree to end this silly affair with my son, I will double the worth of your wedding gift in gratitude.”

You scoffed and ignored the bribe. “So tainting Loki’s lineage with my blood is a mortal sin, yet tainting my own with incest is not a crime?” you asked incredulously. “My King, your logic repulses me. Please execute me instead.”

Odin didn’t seem to expect this. “Well, being so rash would hardly be appropriate here.”

You nodded, rolling your eyes and completely losing your decorum. “I should have known a creature with no heart wouldn’t understand!”

In the heat of the moment, you put your life on the line to brush past Odin, turning your back on him and immediately running back into the open air.

Loki was not far from you, but you didn’t move toward him, instead running to the ship’s railing and looking over the side. The moat wasn’t particularly deep, but no one, not even your father, knew you could swim.

Maybe, I could--

Turning back to Loki, running toward you full-tilt, you winked at him before leaping over the railing in one move. Your sapphire silk flew up behind you like a banner as you dove headfirst into the moat, swimming around the bend and out of sight.

You didn’t hear the splash from behind as Loki executed a perfect swan-dive in after you.

Moving quickly, you were able to find a small portion of the moat’s edge where you could hoist your body onto the side without climbing. By then, the barge was on the other side of the palace and wouldn’t be due to double back for nearly an hour.

Still, you could hear the chaotic shouts for you calling out from behind, and you quickly snuck behind a bush in order to wring out your soaked dress. You didn’t want to wait too long, and you were able to sneak your way out of town without being noticed or taken for anyone other than a soaking-wet maid in a ruined ceremonial dress dashing toward the beach.

The shores of Asgard were littered with waterfalls that poured out into the open sea. You hid behind one, tucked in a small cavern in the rock, waiting for Loki to come to you. There, no one else would find you and drag you home. However, you’d been here with Loki before. He knew the significance of the spot. He only needed to bide his time until he could slip away from Odin’s attention.

Father will whip me for hours for this, and then move up the wedding to tomorrow, you thought woefully.

The sun began its afternoon descent, and while you could occasionally hear guards and search parties calling out from the sandy shore, no one thought to look behind any of the cascades for you, and by teatime, it sounded like they’d given up or moved on. You were beginning to get cold, wondering if you would have to find a room in an inn for the night. Hopefully, no one would recognize you…

Fortunately, when the faint green glow of seidr began to split the falls open from the middle outward, just before the sun dipped below the horizon, you knew Loki had found you, and just in time.

There he stood, about ten feet below you on the shore giving you a dry spot to climb down the cliffside. He held a horse’s reins in his free hand, and the huge white stallion he had in his captivity was saddled and antsy to run.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” he apologized as you fell into his arms. “I swam after you, but you try getting past an entire city of people when you're Prince. Plus, I had a few things to gather for our ride.”

“Ride?” you asked, wiping away a tear with your closed fist awkwardly.

He nodded with a wink and a sneaky grin that was laced with excitement. “I think after today, we’ve both had enough of this nonsense, haven’t you?”

You smiled and stepped up to pet the beautiful creature on the snout. It leaned into your hand with a gentle exhale, indicating his contentment.

“Indeed.”

He helped you onto the horse, and then took his place in front of you at the reins. You’d never ridden before, and so you wrapped your arms tightly around Loki’s waist, which made him chuckle.

“Normally, I would protest that this was too tight a grip. However, it being you…you may hold me even closer if you can manage it.”

At first, you maintained a death-grip on him as you began riding off along the beach, away from the palace. Quickly, however, your trust of Loki and relief that you were putting distance between yourself and your intended gave you confidence, and only after a few minutes, you began to relax.

“Loki, when will we return to Asgard? Tomorrow?”

He brought your hand up to his lips, where he took a moment to kiss every finger. Each touch of his soft lips against your skin sent tiny bolts of lightning up your arm and down your spine.

“I was thinking, perhaps, my sweet Princess, that we would never return to Asgard. Let us find a new plot of land and make ourselves the King and Queen of it!”

“But your conscription!” you protested. “You cannot submit yourself to the axe on my account.”

“I won’t,” he insisted. “My projection will, however, be most glad to lose his head on our behalf.”

You rode vigorously along the coastline for a few miles until the sun was setting over the watery horizon, when you slowed to a trot, convinced that you weren’t being pursued by Odin or your father and Birger. Asgard itself was no longer visible behind you, and only the faint glow of the city’s hazy aura polluting the indigo sky indicated its continued existence.

“Loki, my love?”

“Yes, Princess?” he cooed back, squeezing your hand affectionately before returning it to the reigns.

There was nothing but the beach and sky before you for as far as you could see. “Do you…do you know where we’re going?”

A brief pause. You couldn’t see it from behind him on the saddle, but you knew Loki was grinning.

“Of course not, my dear. But isn’t that the best part of all?”

I'm back and revitalized (and married)! :D I hope you enjoyed my little return fic! HAPPY NEW YEAR!

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#loki #fanfiction #mcu #mcu loki #loki fanfiction #loki x reader #mcu fanfiction #loki laufeyson #loki/reader #loki fluff #fluff/comfort #asgard #elopement #loki x reader comfort #run away #bittersweet ending #odin sucks #arranged married

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vintage-tigre · 10 days

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#same #run away #aesthetic #vintage #retro comics #old school cool #calvin and hobbes #style #travel #wanderlust

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official-yunan-longclaw · 5 months

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Ladies if he's.

Tall

Large

Supreme head of the Church of England

Globally reverierd although you wouldn't know it by the look of that beard.

He is not your man he is King Henry the eighth of England and you should run away

#six the musical #six musical #run away #henry the eighth

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fuzzyghost · 2 months

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#vhs #blue aesthetic #beach #silhouette #vaporwave #aesthetic #run away #gif #flashing

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lovelesslittleloser · 2 years

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Alien: what are human’s instinctive reactions to danger?

Human 1: fight or flight!

Human 2, deadpan: run, hit, talk shit

Alien:

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drconstellation · 6 months

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Once and Future Royalty

Just, stay with me on this one. I know its going to look crazy at the start, but trust me, I know where I'm going.

It all started with the 537AD scene in Wessex in the opening montage of "Hard Times," S1E3. Yeah, the one where Aziraphale is supposed to be a knight of the Round Table and Crowley is role-playing the Black Knight, and they are both so super-squeaky shiny clean - not a speck of dirt or mud on them. wtf! It looks out of place, unrealistic, and was bugging the crap out of me, like a stone in your shoe. It just didn't fit. I mean, why put a myth, a legend, into that sequence? Oh, OK, yeah, the preceding stories from the Bible, like the Garden of Eden and the Flood, aren't "myths" as well, you say? Hmm. In the context of the Good Omens AU, being a biblical based story, they belong there far more than the legend of King Arthur.

King Arthur, who supposedly united Britain under his rule during the late 5th century and early 6th century, was shown to have the divine right to rule by wielding the mighty sword Excalibur. Some stories tell of Arthur pulling Excalibur from a stone. Some tell of him receiving Excalibur from the Lady of the Lake. Either way, it was bestowed upon him by divine grace. Despite his triumph in battle, he left no heirs, as his queen, the fair Guinevere, was barren. She had a long-running love affair with the greatest knight of the court, Sir Lancelot, but despite this being an open secret in court Arthur would not put her aside. The knights of the Round Table in the court of Camelot were near-paragons of Christian virtue, and there are many tales of their search for the Holy Grail, the cup from the Last Supper of Jesus Christ.

In the end, mortally wounded in battle, Arthur was taken away for healing, and never seen again. It was said he would return when Britain was at it most direst hour to save the day once more. A "messianic" return.

The Once and Future King.

Now, I'm no Arthurian novice; I drank up all of T. H. White as a teenager, read the Dark is Rising multiple times, Marion Zimmer Bradley's interpretation and what ever else I could lay my hands on for a good couple of decades. And there is LOTS of King Arthur stuff around. You are not left wanting for anything new to read or consume. And I'll bet there are a fair few of you also out there who know a quite bit about the legend as well. Oh, and I can't tell you how many times I have watched Monty Python and the Holy Grail. I still walk around quoting it day-to-day, like the good little Gen-Xer I am, having grown up on that stuff. So I really should have listened to my intuition when bits of Monty Python kept popping up in my brain in response to other parts of GO I was thinking about. (Staaay, I said, stay with me here....)

I kept chewing away furiously on the Wessex problem, growling in feral frustration at it, but also kept reading and sorting out some other ideas and metas at the same time. Eventually I found the key in a tiny little post, about a small detail in the 1941 Blitz episode S2E4, of all places. I wanted to slap myself with how much was staring me in the face so obviously once the door opened. And the damn beauty of it is, that I already written about some it, out of context, without knowing the why.

OK. Where to start this journey...hmmm, back to Monty Python, because, guess what - the Wessex scene is actually riffing off one the more famous skits out the the Holy Grail. The scene is a masterpiece of political satire, from start to finish, but the relevant part here is this sequence:

In case you missed the salient points: Arthur claims he is king by divine providence, because he was given Excalibur by the Lady of the Lake. Dennis the peasant protests this waterlogged method of determination, mentioning ponds, watery tarts and a moistened... well, I hope you get the idea about where this is going.

Meanwhile, in 537AD, Wessex, as the mist swirls around them:

"It is a bit damp," complains a shiny silver Aziraphale.

Yes, Excalibur would be a bit damp after it emerged from the Lake. (vidavalor! Get your mind out of the gutter! I'm trying to have a serious discussion here! Please! And I wasn't even going to go anywhere near what the sword in the stone is really meant to be referring to...it's not even relevant to the discussion at hand, I swear! Well, there is going to be sexual relations mentioned but - oh, never mind...)

Right. Where were we. Lets leave those super-clean elite pretendy knights to swim off through the swirling mist back to their dry homes to write and file reports to head office, along with Patsy and the hired Igors, and Dennis can keep playing in his lovely muddy filth after he finishes protesting being repressed by the divinely-deluded Arthur. I've got a bit more to say about what Aziraphale and Crowley might represent here later but you need some more context first, so lets move on. I just needed to show you the first bit so you can see the Arthurian theme stretches across both S1 and S2, and will likely appear in S3 as well. More about that towards the end.

Ah, before I forget...another ref from the Holy Grail we need to cover:

This GIF, unfortunately, doesn't have the full exchange between the peasants, which is this:

P1: "Who's that then?" P2: "I don't know. Must be a king." P1: "How can you tell?" P2: "Because he doesn't have any shit on him."

Ah. Er. OH!

Have you made the connection?

Who have I been emphasizing as being unusually clean in their Arthurian setting? That's right, Aziraphale and Crowley.

What's this implying? That they are royalty. Celestial royalty. Maybe not kings, but how about princes? You know how we've been discussing whether Crowley was a once at least an Archangel, and there is even a hint that he was a fallen prince of Heaven given during the replay of Gabriel's trial? (Not the prince, but a prince - a seraphim) And that Aziraphale may have once been Raphael, and may be again in the future? Once and future royalty. To me it adds weight to the past discussion, and helps to explain the assumed authority expressed in these two scenes here: On the left, Aziraphale takes control inside the book shop as the angels and demons argue who is going to punish Gabriel and Beelzebub (finally found it after several months!) and on the right, Crowley is shouting at the assembling demons in the street that they are "out of order."

Onward, Patsy. (I hope you're still with me.)

1941, the Blitz part 2, minisode.

We've found Excalibur! On to Camelot!

[Edit note: I've added a few GIFs and screen shots into the sequence of parallels above because I was thinking over a few things since I posted and felt this actually sat better. To try and explain, as they don't exactly match as I would like, in the Holy Grail movie, King Arthur and the knights he has gathered rock up at the foot of Camelot and gaze up in awe at it. "Camelot!" Arthur declares to the party. "Camelot!" Galahad echoes in excitement. And a third "Camelot!" comes from Lancelot. What do we get in GO? Aziraphale leaps out of the Bentley (Crowley's black horse) and declares "The theater! Sophocles! Shakespeare!" I swear, if you put the two side by side, they would match. It's not just a reminder of how much time Aziraphale has seen pass by, or that we are seeing a tragedy play out. But damn it, I could so just see Aziraphale attending a Sophocles performance in Athens back in the day...]

Camelot was King Arthur's castle and home of his court. In S2 of GO the Windmill Theater is established as our court of Camelot where our 1941 Blitz-era Arthurian drama is to play out, involving Furfur and the zombies.

Yes, poor old Furfur. Two's company, three's a crowd, as they say. Now we know we're in Camelot, we need to be reminded of the central tragedy of the Arthurian story, that ultimately led to the golden kingdom's fall. Lady Guinevere, Arthur's queen, famously loved Sir Lancelot, and the two were passionate lovers. It was essentially a love-triangle at the top, with Arthur being jilted, but he wouldn't/couldn't discard his queen. Where do we see this playing out in 1941?

Furfur, pleased with himself for catching an angel and a demon in the act of consorting together (with the help of the zombies,) barges into the backstage dressing room, and confronts the lovers with their crime. But who is playing who in the Arthurian love triangle? I would say Furfur is clearly caught in the role of Arthur here. Consider the following exchange:

FURFUR: Hmm, well, well, well… What have we here? AZIRAPHALE: Sorry, have we met? FURFUR: Oh, no, you never had the pleasure, but… we have, haven't we? CROWLEY: Have we? FURFUR: What do you mean "have we?" You know we have. We were in the same legion. Just before the Fall. Doing dubious battle on the plains of Heaven. Remember? CROWLEY: I remember going into battle, I don't remember being there with you. Sorry. FURFUR: I was right next to you. We did loads together. You use to jump on me back, little monkey in the waistcoat. Anyway, whether you do or whether you don't, it doesn't matter. I'm here to inform you, as a representative of the Higher Powers of Hell, that you, Crowley, are in breach of the Infernal Code. Consulting and collaborating with an angel, Fell the Marvelous, aka… [opens book] Azirapalala. Azirapapap. Aziphapalala. AZIRAPHALE: [annoyed] Aziraphale

Furfur claims a past intimate relationship with Crowley, which Crowley spurns offhandedly. Crowley is playing Guinevere here, jilting Furfur/Arthur, which leaves the demon-smiting Aziraphale standing in for the handsome hero Lancelot (with his French connections, no less), and doesn't he make us weak at the knees when he drops his voice an octave in dominating disgust. (Is it suddenly getting hot in here...? Phew!)

Interestingly, looking back in S1 at 537AD Wessex, though, I would say that Crowley was Lancelot as the Black Knight, a role that Lancelot sometimes played in the legends, and Aziraphale would then be the fair maiden Guinevere. It certainly plays into Crowley's long term role of playing the knight who comes to the rescue of Aziraphale's princess in distress. Excalibur was no where in sight, perhaps still beneath the waters of the lake. Nor Arthur. Perhaps it was still too early in the story then...

I had originally suggested in my very first post that Furfur was given a stag as his demon avatar because he was wearing horns for being cuckolded by Crowley. But I wasn't quite thinking about it in context with the Arthurian legend! The stag is also often associated with royalty, plus while wandering around the medieval bestiary website that someone linked to, it interestingly notes that the enemy of the snake is the stag and the stork (Shax's avatar.) Ah ha!

So how can we extrapolate this knowledge into a possible appearance of the Arthurian theme in S3?

Will we see the love triangle of Arthur/Guinevere/Lancelot come back into play and cause more chaos? I'm wondering if it might have something to do with the Fall.

Or will our lovers bring down a divinely-appointed ruler via their committed behind-the-back defiance of expected propriety?

Will Excalibur appear from beneath the waters, perhaps in another form, to declare a new king?

Could it even be a combination Jesus/Arthur, King of the World, returned? And they turn out to be a very naughty boy, disappearing into the night clubs of Times Square, New York, and that's how they lose him? (Social media viral sensation, anyone?)

I wouldn't be half-surprised if Greasy Johnson's name turns out to be Arthur, actually.

And no, I haven't forgotten that Adam's dad was named Arthur as well.

Bring on S3!

**Bonus**

If you've made it this far and you're thinking:

Let me leave you with this last connection.

In the back stage change room, remember Furfur delivers these lines:

FURFUR: What do you mean "have we?" You know we have. We were in the same legion. Just before the Fall. Doing dubious battle on the plains of Heaven. Remember?

On the first level, he is referring the Great War in the Good Omens AU.

On the second level, Furfur is paraphrasing Milton's Paradise Lost.

On a third level, I can (and will in a future meta) connect this back to the training initiative paintball fight at Tadfield Manor in S1.

And even deeper on a fourth level, if you do know the Holy Grail movie well, you'll remember there is an odd little subplot in it, that infers that the whole King Arthur and his knights thing is merely a full-on violent cosplay that is murderously rampaging across the countryside in the present day with the police in hot pursuit. It's a strange juxtaposition between reality and dream, and you aren't quite sure what it is real or not. The ending is bizarrely and abruptly surreal as the two story lines collide in the heat of battle, as the police turn up and arrest the combatants. A bit like this:

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