#possibly made for a nobleman

[casualbluebirdmentality]

Arthur in 1x05: *says that he should've known about Lancelot's identity fraud because he "doesn't even look like a knight"*

Me, to Arthur:

...besides, es muy guapo, no? i thought that was the only requirement

#Lancelot may be too noble to just deck him #but good news! I Am Not #.......question tho: he was talking abt Lancelot being latino here right? #cuz he can't just be talking about his clothes #the only time Arthur saw Lancelot in anything but typical nobleman's armor was the broom handle fight scene #in which 1) Lancelot was in the middle of the many menial tasks Arthur had assigned him so it made sense for him to be dressed down #and 2) his and Arthur's outfits were pretty similar anyway so it seems likely that it's just typical daywear #he's also not talking about Lancelot's hair being long #cuz..... Leon #and it's easily within the realm of possibility given how Arthur's also pretty overtly sexist in his s1 bully phase #so i just can't think of anything else he could mean #to conclude: i am NOT an Arthur hater #i'm not saying he's Evil #just that i Do Very Much Want To Punch Him Here #(as a lot of people--including Merlin--probably did throughout s1 lol) #bbc merlin #merlin #bbc lancelot #lancelot #lancelot du lac

[bunny-yan]

can you write more about the yandere king pls

TW:non-con touching, imbalanced power dynamics, implied violence, mentions nudity, minors DNI

—

“Yes, your highness.”

He couldn’t resist the smile that tugged at the edges of his lips. 

An order given, command received, and your response?

“Yes, your highness.”

Sweet, sweet words that dripped like honey in his ears.

It didn’t matter that he’d heard those words from the day the goddess decided to bless his life givers with their only son. His birthright. Servants, nobles, and foreign royalty alike uttered the same words, but when they came from your lips they sounded like poetry. Obedience from lips that were his, head bowed, your subservience an oath. Your words, your vow. 

The order wasn’t important. 

He could tell you to crawl around on the floor, on your hands and knees and you would stay there until he was bored. He’d told you to remove that pesky clothing and although your hands were hesitant, your demeanor reluctant, you obeyed. 

“Yes, your highness.” would come your quiet reply. Movements methodical, clothes slowly fell into a heap around your feet until there was nothing left to remove.

He never did understand why you bothered to hide your nakedness. It was hard to believe that you were still shy knowing he’d already seen everything. Already experienced the taste of your skin, ingrained your smell into his memory. Maybe you didn’t like the way his eyes stared as if he was gazing into your very soul. Maybe you felt vulnerable, exposed and cold. Maybe you simply liked having him order you around, liked whispering the same words that had him crossing his legs and resting his head in his head. From his seat he observed you, lounging as if arrogance was his second skin. 

You wished he would get it over with. It was a usual undeserved punishment. You no longer bothered to guess what mistake landed you in this position, but that didn’t stop you from wondering if it was because you had taken too long to retrieve the pen from his study, lingering away from his presence longer than you should have, or if it was because you’d brushed across that nobleman the two of you passed when the two of you went on your daily walk. There were no obvious signs of his anger or irritation, so he could be doing this simply for his own amusement. It didn’t matter because the result would always be the same. This agonizing slow torture, meant to degrade you, to put you in your place, to show you just how little control you had in your own life. Sometimes it felt more painful than the bruises he would leave. 

The silence only made it more unbearable. 

You felt his eyes sweeping over your body, taking his time as they dissected you. 

Could he see the way you would tense, trying to remain as still as possible so his eyes wouldn’t be tempted to stare longer? Did he notice the goosebumps that spread like a plague lasting as long as you resisted the urge to shudder from the chill that gripped your spine?

Your back was locked straight, hands resisting the urge to clench into fists as they rested flat on your thighs, feet together. You didn’t hunch over, though it was hard to avoid when you were neglected the basic protection you could offer yourself. You stood straight, not giving him a chance to elicit that disgusting response. 

“Yes, Your Highness.”

The words were empty, coming from a doll rather than a person. 

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Reminding you time and time again of the words you couldn’t say. The orders you weren’t allowed to disobey. You never knew how much embarrassment, how much fear, how much resentment could build from three simple words. 

Your gaze snapped to his feet when he uncrossed his legs, body tensing before you could think of what he’d do. Of what he’d subject you to this time, but you felt an undeniable disgust at the fear he invoked in you and at the sight of one leg lifting over the other as he settled back into that comfortable position and continued to watch you without a word. You were thankful that your head was bowed, because you were unsure you would be able to properly maintain a plain expression. 

“Turn around.” he called, speaking as an intrigued spectator. 

The display obeyed. 

You couldn’t make it too quick or else he would make you do it over again. Goddess forbid you insinuate you want to get it over with. You would be standing in the same spot until your knees were ready to give out and even then, he would only be oh, so helpful to assist. If that meant you had to stand directly in front of him with your hands braced against the arms of his chair, feeling every breath he took, you would remain there until he was finished. 

You took small, shuffling steps, feelings of awkwardness and foolishness remaining as a tiny spark despite the many incidents you underwent to grow use to this treatment. You didn’t stumble as your feet tangled in the clothes beneath your feet, grateful to save yourself the embarrassment as you completed the rotation he asked for. You didn’t have a chance to settle before he was giving you another order. A gross hope that he was ready to end this filled you as quiet steps led you directly in front of him. 

You couldn’t avoid his eyes when you were so close. It’d always bothered you how collected he remained despite his callous treatment. 

Holding up a hand, he expended no effort as he said, “My glove.” 

You nodded, continuing to avoid the gaze drilling holes into your eyes. One hand landed on his wrist, his gaze broiling with something you tried to ignore as your other hand plucked at the cloth on each finger before slipping the accessory off of his hand. 

There was no acknowledgement other than the bare hand that rested itself on your hip. You gripped the glove in your hand, tensing before you could force yourself to remain relaxed. He didn’t notice or he didn’t care as his thumb kneaded into your hip.

“You’ve lost weight.” he commented, grateful that he didn’t look to you for a reply. It was difficult enough to mindlessly follow orders, having to think of a way to soften an explanation for your tormentor was hell. 

What would you say? Because of course it wasn’t his fault. He only wanted what was best for you, especially if that meant you would need to be disciplined. If you were locked in a room without food or water for a couple of days for shying away from his touch, it was your own fault. If your punishment continued because you didn’t beg and plead for forgiveness, content to endure instead of giving him the willing affection he so desperately craved, it was your own fault. What he asked for was not difficult to achieve. It was painfully simple. 

Do what he said, when he said it without any indication of rebellion and you would be fine. But those pesky little habits of avoiding his eyes and leaning away, that annoying flinching that you still had yet to shake only made him give more difficult orders. His demands growing with his frustration. 

His hand slid up the side of your body until it rested at the top of your ribs, sliding across your body and tracing patterns in the dips and curves he found.  

He couldn’t deny that a part of him that enjoyed the side of you that tried to resist him. 

It was a waste of time, but the lack of understanding you had created an unpredictability in your behavior that was enticing. 

How you would gamble and how he would punish you. It was a cycle he couldn’t get tired of. 

“Are you cold?” he asked, a small smile dancing across his lips.

It was a question with no right answer. 

“Yes, your highness.” His smile only grew. 

Drawing his hand away, he spread his arms, beckoning you to come closer. 

Again, you hesitated, aggravating his displeasure. He held back the urge to snatch you closer, needing to control himself if you were going to fully face your punishment. 

He was patient, noting the way you took your time, avoiding his touch until the very last moment until you were unsettled in his lap. 

Arm wrapping around your waist he gave you no time to prepare as a hand slid between your legs. You let out a gasp, your body instinctively jerking away, but he held you tighter, ordering you to be still. You turned your head, pushing your face past his shoulder so he wouldn’t see your flushed face. 

You tried to think about something else, anything else so you could get your mind off of his demanding fingers, and strangely enough an old memory surfaced, one you’d long since forgotten in your time of servicing your prince, now king. 

You’d rarely enter the King’s study. Not only were you responsible for his son, the prince who resided in the Eastern domain, you being the lowly servant that you were had no business being anywhere near the King’s palace. But today was different. You had documents that your father needed for his duties and as the King’s butler, the first place you went to look was where the King would naturally be. 

You were anxious at the thought that you had to appear if only a moment before the King, only growing more so at the lack of guards in front of the King’s door. With no one to announce your presence, you debated whether you should knock and after hearing muffled voices and noticing a crack in the door, curiosity and the lack of watchful eyes led you to peek in. 

A sense of pride overwhelmed you at the sight of your father serving the King. You’d always wanted to be like him when you were younger. But it froze, heavy in your gut when you watched your father bend to pour tea into his majesty’s cup. You thought nothing of the hand that came up, the same hand that brushed across your father’s cheek. 

You questioned what you’d seen. Maybe it was a mistake, but it was soft, gentle even and regardless of the excuses you came up with in your mind it didn’t sit right with you. You stared at your father’s undisturbed face, stolid as the King spoke words too soft for you to hear,but your father’s response melted the anxiety you felt into undeniable dread. 

“Yes, my King.”

You couldn’t remember if you’d given him the documents you needed. You don’t remember anything apart from leaving, nothing the prince doing or saying that day able to shake you out of your stupor. 

Despite the resentment you felt for your king, you couldn’t help but wonder if it was the goddesses blessing in disguise. 

#yandere #yandere oc #yandere x you #male yandere #yandere x gn reader #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #yandere male #ask #gn reader #king!yandere #yandere king x servant reader

[lyomeii]

the three of us

->warnings: yandere themes, death mentioned, blood, the Lapireon curse.

->request by anon! Reader in a relationship with terdeo AND pereshati (poly)

->a/n: good one, anon! I made reader gender neutral since you didn’t specify the gender. quite short for this one sorry, got too busy with my cats at home.

-> the news of terdeo marrying pereshati was already surprisingly and quite unexpected high society, but when the nobles heard that he got himself another spouse in less than a year, people got shocked.

-> could be that terdeo has having a case with another noble and plans to kick pereshati to the streets? some people theorize that. maybe she is infertile? there are many theories for that, but a few noblemen didn’t bet an eyes. regardless of what people might think, it’s quite common for a nobleman like him get another spouse.

-> the wedding with terdeo was simple, of course. the only guests were the lapireon themselves and your parents, who still surprised by the suddenly engagement between you and him and to make things even more strange to your parents is the fact that pereshati is present at the ceremony.

-> she looks happy with the fact you are married to terdeo, something that many women would be angry or even sad about it. her yellow eyes become soft after you left the church with terdeo at the carriage. pereshati can’t wait to finally have you and terdeo thinks the same.

-> now that you are officially married. the three of you start a marriage life, one is quite different from others.

-> instead of doing paper work, both terdeo and pereshati make you stay free from all possible duties that are considered hard to do. because of that, you just sit next to them while they do their job. sometimes, they will ask for some help and both of them are happy to see how enthusiastic you are to help them with such small things.

-> during free times, you prepare a small picnic for them, a way to show how much grateful you are. sitting with them under the tree at the garden, pereshati enjoy holding your hand while terdeo loves seeing the two people he loves being so close.

-> the others members of the family were quite skeptical at first. why would terdeo marry you? selphius didn’t like you in the beginning, thinking that you only the fortune, but slowly you gain the little boy’s trust and the others validation after a few months living there.

@lyomeii stuff || don’t repost

#yandere headcanon #yandere imagine #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere male #manhwa x reader #yandere manhwa #yandere manhwa x reader #terdeo lapireon x reader #yandere terdeo lapireon #my in laws are obsessed with me x reader #pereshati #pereshati x reader #pereshati lapireon x reader #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader #yandere x gender neutral reader

[skyeslittlecorner]

Little Foras headcanon based on nothing but my silliness

After CH5, I fell in love with Hades. Especially Foras. The Kings' closest nobles act like magnets on me, what can I do. 👀 There may be light spoilers, but I won't post any screenshots in case anyone wants to read it and hasn't finished CH5 yet.

So, for me Foras is one of the youngest nobles, and this thought lives in my mind rent-free. Of course, he's an adult. But he is closer to a twenty-year-old when both Barbatos and Glasyal seem much more mature.

I recently went through the comics again to see them after what we learned about in Hades and this caught my attention.

Poor Foras, to be pulled by the horns. You know what it means to the devil.

This is the moment Leviathan accepted Foras as his nobleman. It's obvious that Barbatos has been here for some time.

Let me remind you what we learned from the event at Avisos. Beel told Amon, when he accepted him as his noble, that some devils find their calling on their own, while others need a trigger. Amon had just come of age. This may suggest that it is younger rather than older devils who feel this calling, since such a young man was considered as somebody who need to get a trigger.

Of course, we don't know what happened earlier, but Foras doesn't look very traumatized in this comic. It's possible he found Leviathan himself.

I don't think anyone will deny the next one. He's such a fanboy.

He resembles a teenager totally in love with his idol.

Levi, you complained that you didn't like the undying loyalty of your nobles, so what is it, you little liar?

No explanation needed.

As I promised, there will be no screenshots here, so as not to reveal anything specific.

In CH5 we saw that Barbatos and Glasyal (especially Glasyal) can oppose Leviathan. They do it in a respectful, clever way, but they are able to suggest to him that he should consider other options, and in such a way that he will not hang them (okay, Glasyal is hanged, but tell me straight in my face that he didn't want it). Foras, on the other hand, had no hesitation. What Levi says is sacred.

And what's more, he boasts a lot that he is Leviathan's closest subject. Not like he was better than anyone. He's just happy, genuinely happy.

Another thing, his behavior towards other nobles. He complains about them all a lot. Nothing particularly bad, but he complains about little things and it reminds me of that teenage attitude "look, I'm younger and I act more mature than you". Especially when he admonished them in CH5. It was just so cute.

Plus, he's curious. Very. Too much. Foras, did you really have to taste- well, we all know what this silly man did in sub story. Yes, I know it was "to check if the white liquid was not poisonous", but come on. This sounds like a cheap excuse. He saw it being made. He is a devil. Can't he put two and two together? Please.

Additionally, his shyness and insecurities. Of course, he's as eager for sex as any devil. But although Leviathan himself envies his horns, he asks us if they are really so nice.

Okay, at the end he was smooth as fu- Yes my princess yes I do I want gimme this beautiful horns

Of course, as a devil from Hades, he can doubt. No one has ever said a bad word about his invisibility, but they still doubt himself.

Shy bby i love you

Generally speaking, apart from Leviathan, we are the only people Foras comes to and he is obviously happy. In his scene when he comes to apologize to us at the very end, he is really polite. I've already compared it here to Sitri. Instead of on the lips, he kissed us on the hand. Cute. I will just add that his entire behavior towards us is charming.

Seeing all this, I feel like his attitude is a little immature, but in a good way. He wants to be serious, he tries, but sometimes enthusiasm comes out of him.

And this whole train of thoughts came to me only because I thought it would be funny if Foras was the last to appear at Levi's court and was immediately promoted to his right-hand man because of what a fanboy he is.

#whb #what in hell is bad #what in 'hell' is bad #whb foras #ok maybe this is not that little #but now I am madly in love with him #i had to scream it out #ch5 did something to my brain #I still haven't forgiven him for holding us in his arms for such a short time

[mangoshorthand]

oh, and it was a guy who decided to tell me that as soon as all my clothes were off

Original request:

I have a really personal request of thats ok w u. my first time having sex i was called ugly and obese, and it still sticks with me nowadays so i shy away from being fully exposed/on top/having the lights on bc im scared they were right and its gonna happen again - so how would 5 deal w this in a partner? if this is too weird 4 u then just ignore

Thanks to @kaybreezy3000 for reading through this before I posted and making me sound less like a wildly-masturbating 19th century nobleman. Note for you at the end, anon.

Venus and Cupid | Five Hargreeves/ F Reader 4k words, Rated E

Five was an observant man: he had to be. If he hadn’t learned to pick up on the details then it's doubtful he could have even made it to adulthood.  

So he noticed that you had quite specific tendencies very early on, back when you were first seeing one another. The first time you had sex, he thought you leaving your clothes on was pretty hot - it seemed as if you were so desperate to have him inside you that you couldn’t delay it even the short time it would take to get undressed - but it quickly became apparent to him that this was something more.

You always seemed to leave as many clothes on as humanly possible, or else turn off the lights before undressing shyly, almost reluctantly, always keeping something clutched around you. 

His first reaction was to feel frustrated, (okay, frustrated and insecure, if you insisted on wheedling that out of him). Were you even into it? 

He loved the sex you had, and you certainly seemed to get something out of it, but all the while you were covering yourself from his lustful gaze like he was a lecherous drunk eyeing you from down an alley. 

He just didn’t understand it. Things were great outside the bedroom: you laughed together, you had intelligent, lively conversations…you even romanced him in a way nothing had taught him to expect. You anticipated his wants, you surprised him with dates and the occasional gift. You made him feel special and wanted in every way except this one way.

And he needed it that way too.

Maybe there was something about sex that brought home to you that he was old enough to be your father. Maybe you saw his hungry gaze as the leer of a dirty, predatory old man...and that thought hurt because it held too much truth.

He finally asked you about it after a session of sex in which you looked distinctly uncomfortable riding him, avoiding his gaze and keeping the bed sheets wrapped around you. 

He brought it up in a way typical to him: blunt antagonism as defense, masking his real insecurities. “Question: why are you with me?”

“Because I like you,” you replied, confused by his tone.

“Sure,” he said, the smallest trace of sarcasm in his voice, “but there’s a problem here, isn’t there?”

You turned to him on the pillow, and you were greeted by his expectant, irritated smile. He raised a brow, clearly prompting you to state this so-called ‘problem’. When you seemed none the wiser, he continued. 

“The problem seems to be that you hate having sex with me.” 

You looked at him, nonplussed.

“No I don’t. Why would you say that?”

He shook his head with the trace of a bitter laugh. 

“So you just hate me looking at you, is that it? You know, nobody’s forcing you to sleep with me. We could just end it if you can’t stand me ogling you.”

You turned away from him, folding your arms across your chest protectively, hugging yourself. You tried not to cry, but tears were already welling in your eyes, threatening to overspill and roll down your face. You could feel him slipping away; sense the rejection coming on the breeze.

At the sound of a sniffle, Five softened slightly 

“Why do you always cover yourself?” he said, finally.

You choked back the tears.

“B-because I’m self-conscious about my body, okay?”

Five sounded incredulous.

“You’re self-conscious about your body?”

You nodded, still not looking at him.

“Don’t bullshit me,” he said, suddenly irritated again, “You expect me to believe someone who looks like you is self conscious about her body? You’re beautiful, what the hell do you got to be self conscious about?”

His words, though spoken in a tone of irritated disbelief, gave you a warm feeling in your chest. In fact, it was his irritation that assured you of his honesty. That feeling of affirmation brought more tears at first, and it took a few moments to recover.

Five waited for you to begin patiently, able to tell by now that you’d been holding something back, and realizing for the first time that perhaps this wasn’t all about him.

You told him everything.

Your first sexual experience was with somebody who called you ‘ugly’ and ‘obese’ as soon as your clothes were removed. The first man to touch you in that way had used that privilege, not to lift you up and make you feel beautiful, but to tear you down, destroying your confidence in the process. Now, being in full view when having sex was almost unbearable to you, so you avoided Five seeing you completely naked and you avoided being on top as far as you could, lest it break the illusion and he see you for what you really were. 

You stopped occasionally to cry, unable to meet Five’s eyes. It was partially the memories, and partly the fact that you were bearing your soul to him in this way: totally vulnerable. You were giving power to him now; knowledge of how to hurt you worse than almost anything if he chose. 

As he listened, Five’s heavy brows lowered further and further, his lips becoming thinner and thinner, occasionally shaking his head as you unfolded the tale.

“Shit.” he said, after you finished your story, and then fell into silence. After almost a full minute, he spoke in a low, serious tone.

“What was his name?”

“It doesn’t matter,” you said, wiping your eyes.

“What was his name?”

You told him.

“Well he’s a fucking idiot, you know that right? A nasty little…you know where he lives?”

“No.”

“No problem, I can find him.”

“Five-”

“First I’ll pull out his fucking fingernails.”

“Five, no.”

“I’ll kill that cunt slow. Ignorant-”

“Five!” 

Your raised voice finally made him turn his head.

“What good would killing him do?”

He blinked. 

“It would make me feel better,” he said, though the murderous fantasies seemed to be fading from behind his eyes. 

Then, he shook his head, casting the thoughts away like a dog shaking off water. 

“....I  admit that making me feel better is low on our priority list right now.”

He held out his arms to you. When you didn’t immediately enter his embrace, he spoke in a voice so soft, and so caring that you couldn’t deny him. 

“Please, my love.” 

My love?

That was new. 

You leaned up against him, and he wrapped his arms tightly around you, one around your shoulders, the other around your waist. 

“You don’t have to feel self-conscious or…ashamed around me. You know I would never - you know that I…I worship you, for Chist’s sake. I’m desperate to see all of you. That guy was an ignorant, tasteless bastard. You don’t - surely you know that?”

You nodded uncertainly, another tear running down the side of your nose. 

“I guess,” you said, mouth against his firm pectoral, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart, “but I always get scared. Like you might…like one day you might see me and...get grossed out. Because…I know, I know I’m not sexy. I know I’m -”

“You think you aren’t sexy?” he said, speaking as if you’d just claimed that you were an organic cucumber, “are you crazy?” 

He pulled away from you, a hand on each shoulder so he could look you dead in the eye.

“Jesus, you think I’d be ‘grossed out’ if I saw you? I’m not blind, y'know; a bedsheet or a light switch can’t really hide your body from me. You’re so sexy, I can barely think straight sometimes - how in the hell can you not see that? I’d choose you for looks over any girl, every damn time. The other day when you were wearing that tight black dress- god, I pitched a tent big enough to sleep eight.”

And the way he looked down at your silhouette had you almost believing him.

You smiled, nevertheless self conscious of the idea of your black dress being more form-hugging than you’d thought. Five continued, sweeping his hair carelessly out of his eyes. 

“And it’s not just your face or your body, it’s the way you carry yourself. The way your hair falls, your smile, the color of your skin. It’s just attractive. It’s hot. End of story.”

The vehemence in his face made you smile a little more. He looked the way he did when he’d just completed a complex mathematical proof: buzzing with the knowledge of pure, objective truth. From his perspective, he had just conclusively proved an undeniable fact. 

“I know I’m biased because I love you, but anyone would say that you’re beautiful. When you met Klaus, he took me aside and told me I was punching way over my weight. I didn’t even argue-”

But you interrupted him.

“You love me?”

He fell silent abruptly, playing back his last words in his mind.

Yup, he’d definitely said it. 

He swallowed. He was an idiot.

“Well yes. Actually, I do.” 

Before you had time to do anything except gape, he rushed to fill the silence:

“I know it’s not been too long, and I don’t expect you to feel the same-”

“But I do.”

He fell silent again, his eyes on yours. 

They were strange eyes. Their shape and color, although beautiful, were normal enough, but there was a little something in their expression that always took you firmly by the throat. One might fall into those eyes and drown, yet his hand, coming to take yours, tethered you to the water’s edge. 

“You sure?”

“Never been more sure of anything,” you breathed.

His lips gave a spasm and, for a moment, you both thought he was going to cry too, but instead, he just smiled. He smiled for you a lot, but the clear, open love in this one was like being bathed in warm sunlight, and you luxuriated in it.

Then, he laughed. He giggled, in fact. It bubbled up his throat and out of his mouth before he could temper it into anything that sounded more sophisticated.

“We love each other,” he said, grinning in a dopey, infectious way.

When you smiled back, he cupped your chin gently, those eyes keeping your face upturned to his just as firmly as his hand did. He leaned into you.

At first, his kiss was tender, and your lips slid past and around one another like an embrace. But when he leaned forward, forcing you back onto your pillows, his tongue entered your mouth, and the kiss took on a more amorous character. He made a low noise as he deepened his tongue’s quest into your mouth, and you reciprocated with a soft bite to his lower lip. 

He growled, and heat spread through you as his kiss became rough and firm, pressing you into the pillows now with the weight of his body. All the tenderness had transferred from his lips to his hands, one stroking reassuringly through your hair, and the other at your waist, giving you feather-light, electric touches through the bedsheets.

Your hands came to his subtly muscled back, and cinched him closer to you. The heat was concentrating now, pooling in your lower stomach and swirling there as his unyielding lips let you know that resistance was futile. Your skin was alight with every gentle, loving touch from his fingers, now starting to work their way beneath the bedsheets.

He broke the kiss just long enough to speak. His voice matched the kiss: deep, rough and feral.

“Let me see you.”

Though it was a command, it had the sound of a request, so you took it as such.

Despite the desire now aching in your guts, your fears were still there: perhaps irrational in this situation, but no less real. Beneath the sheets, Five’s hand squeezed and massaged the flesh just above your hip. The touch spoke of his renewed need, but it spoke also of his restraint: his hand had stopped just shy of the area you’d usually hide.

“Please.”

And the word, in that husky voice, broke you. 

“Okay,” you said, arousal threatening to be overcome by nerves, “just…take it slowly.”

He nodded distractedly. His eyes were roaming your skin as he came to kneel between your legs. Both of his hands were now inching the bedsheets down, from your waist to the swell of your hips.

He made a low noise in his throat, and his soft hair fell onto the newly-exposed torso as he bent to kiss it, hot presses of his lips against sensitive skin. His hands skimmed you, feeling out your flesh.

“So beautiful,” he growled, looking up at you, fingers worming their way beneath the sheets again, “is this okay?”

You nodded as he pulled the sheets down another few inches, exposing your stomach to just below the navel. As the air met the newly-exposed skin, you felt gooseflesh prickle across your arms, your stomach tightening with the feeling of exposure. “Pretty girl.” Five cooed, running his hands across your tummy, his pressure gentle, but proprietary. 

With another slow shift of the sheets, and you were exposed to your pubic bone. He let out a breath and squeezed the skin of your hips, smiling at you broadly. It was the dangerous, toothy smile.

“I’m sorry, my love, but I’m afraid we’re going to have to get you over this. I’m going to have to make you realize how fucking hot you are, because I’m going to need to hold onto you just like this while you bounce on my cock. I need to watch these tits bounce while you ride me.”

He squeezed your flank harshly, making you gasp, and you arched your back into him as he leaned forward to take each nipple into his mouth. There was a low rumble in his throat as he first nibbled, and then soothed each tortured bud with his tongue. Your whines tailed off into moans, as arousal and the intensity of his desire once again overcame your fears. 

You felt his satisfied smile around your nipples, and then his hands left your hips to paw and knead your breasts, weighing and bouncing them in each hand. 

He gave you another kiss on the lips before straightening up, so that he was kneeling over you again, head tilted as he looked down on you, almost speculatively. The position made it obvious that he was hard again, his bulge stretching the fabric of his white boxer-briefs, leaning up against his stomach and beginning to put pressure on the elastic of his waistband. His pretty, curved cock was perfectly outlined by the material: 

“I’m going to make you feel so confident that you’ll push me onto the bed, trap me between your thighs and ride me so hard I get a concussion against the headboard.”

Though the idea made you feel another squirm of discomfort, the humor combined with the lust behind his eyes made you give a small smile.

“Not today,” you said, in a small voice.

The memories were still too close…the hurt from recalling them was only just over the horizon. 

“Not today.” he confirmed, eyes roving down to where the bedsheets still covered your sex, “but can I see your pussy, beautiful?”

“Yes.” you said, barely more than a whisper.

“Mm. Good girl,” he groaned, and pulled the bedsheets down to your knees. 

There you were, fully exposed to him…totally bared. Internally, you were fighting between the urge to cover up, and the urge to please him. You still felt exposed, like a turtle without its shell, vulnerable laid out in front of him. 

He was still taking it all in, eyes lingering on where your thighs were as close together as they could be with his body between your calves.

Part of you was still terrified it was coming. Perhaps he wouldn’t be cruel -  he’d probably try to be polite about it - but he was still about to reject you now that he’d finally got a real look. Perhaps it was okay when his imagination could fill in the blanks, but now he’d actually seen you - 

“Oh,” he said.

And in that syllable, all your fears were proved baseless. The sound was a moan of pure, wanton appreciation.

His tongue slid out to wet his lips, still pink and swollen from his hard kisses. His dominant left hand slid immediately into his underwear, and he began to pump himself vigorously. Apparently, he was more than ready for this evening’s second round. 

“Oh my god,” he groaned, speeding his strokes as his eyes roamed your exposed flesh, “you’re so hot.”

As his eyes came to your thighs and pussy again, he increased the frequency of his strokes, fist still out of sight down his underwear. 

“Five,” you said, anxiously, still feeling slightly uncomfortable. 

“Just a few minutes, baby.” he said, desperately, “Look what you’re doing to me.”

Beneath the material, he retracted his foreskin and pressed the head of his cock against the small, wet patch that had appeared there. The pink of his deeply-flushed cock tip was just visible through the fabric, rendered semi-transparent by his precome.

“I’m already leaking.” he said, agony creeping into his rough voice, “Just a few more minutes. Just until I finish.”

His eyes looked hazy, far away somehow, transported to a place where his body’s need ruled him with an iron fist. It was enchanting to behold, impossibly arousing: Five Hargreeves (the man of impeccably starched, pressed and tightly-buttoned dress shirts), was keening in front of you, totally undone with his hips gyrating into his own fist as he visually devoured your body.

“Let me eat you,” he said, begging now, “I want to jack myself off with my head between those thighs.”

And he groaned at the idea, throwing his head back and speeding his pumps.

Your body didn’t give you the opportunity to turn him down. Your pussy throbbed and slick wetness drooled onto your thighs as you looked up at him, all pale skin, latent strength and desperation.

You gave a small nod, and he bent, first to kiss your lips and then to press small pecks onto each thigh.

“That’s it, baby,” he whispered, “open your legs for me. Show me that pretty pussy.”

And that way, with small kisses progressively further up your thighs, he coaxed your legs wide.

“Good girl,” he crooned, his hand leaving his leaking cock only for the minute it would take to run his index finger up and down your slit. 

You shivered at the contact, too sensitive. He’d already fingered and fucked you to two orgasms tonight, and the feeling of his mouth replacing his finger made you buck immediately. 

“Nngh - Five.”

In response to your moan, he tasted you with a flat tongue. 

Your flavor, a potent honey, made his cock twitch in his hand, and he wrapped his free arm around your leg, drawing you even closer to him. Your soft folds soaked his lips, serving to excite him more.

“Fuck,” he whispered, still in that low growl. His exhale sent warm air dancing across your swollen clit, “you’re so perfect. I love you. I love you so fucking much.”

You had no time to glow with his praise, because he was sucking your clit too hard for you to do anything but gasp. As his mouth worked you, his tongue moved rapidly inside his mouth, flicking deliberately across your aching, needy nub. His tongue pulsed to the same beat as his hand inside his underwear, unconsciously matching the rhythm of your pleasure to his.

“God, Five!”

All the shame and discomfort was gone, washed away by the tide of swirling heat. The pleasure curled inside you, winding tighter and tighter. All that mattered now was Five’s clever mouth, pushing you inexorably towards another orgasm. 

Your conscious brain let go, and your hand gripped his hair tightly, not aware that you were pulling him even closer to you, forcing his nose into your mound. 

He grunted like a wounded bear, surprise causing his hand to falter around his cock. It was hard to concentrate, so preoccupied was he by the fact that you were taking control, pressing his face deeper into your folds. It was quite possibly the hottest thing he had ever experienced.

Recovering, he gripped himself even tighter, veins and tendons standing out in his left forearm as he worked himself almost violently. 

He was too close now, and it made him clumsy, completely losing the rhythm of his suckles and tonguing. 

“Nooo!” you whined, thighs tightening around his head, “Like before!”

Though lightheaded with the knowledge that your thighs were crushing his ears, (he was wrong earlier, this was definitely the hottest thing he had ever experienced), Five reluctantly let up on his protesting manhood and concentrated his efforts on your pussy. 

Soon, you were gasping and moaning, writhing, and taking him with you with the power of your thighs. 

“F-Five. Fuuuck. Oh fuck, that’s it!” 

Your cunt gushed onto his face as he brought you to orgasm. He groaned again as his chin and cheeks were soaked with sweet slickness. He strained to hear you scream his name, your thighs rendering him deaf as they clutched around his ears. While he couldn’t hear the individual words, he certainly heard enough to flatter his ego. 

Wave after wave of ecstasy was crashing through you, and you babbled meaninglessly: unconnected, incomprehensible syllables. Behind closed eyes, you were seeing stars, completely unaware of everything but the explosion going on in your lower body.

He withdrew, finally, when your thighs relaxed and your climax abated to spasms down your limbs. As you were still catching your breath, he rose to his knees, wiped his sodden mouth, and took himself in hand again, looking at you splayed, completely on display and too drunk on his sex to care.

It took him fewer than ten pumps to bring himself to orgasm. 

“Fucking gorgeous - cunt tastes so good. Mm - fucking perfect, so fucking hot. Oh shit!”

Eyebrows raised, mouth wide in a perfect ‘o’, he exploded into his underwear.

You could see his first shots of come soaking through the material before he was even finished painting their insides with spurts of his thick seed: an impressive load given the fact it was his second in under an hour. 

His throat ground out a low whine as he slowed his hand. 

He took four or five seconds to catch his breath, and in that time your conscious mind took a firmer hold. Though you pulled the bedsheets up and over you, it was more for physical comfort rather than mental. 

Five crawled beneath the sheets beside you, still breathing hard. When he collapsed on the pillow, he turned to you.

“Believe me now?” he asked, “you think I’d wank myself raw over someone I thought was ugly?”

You smiled and let out a small puff of air; a shy little laugh.

He propped himself up on one elbow while his other hand caressed your body beneath the sheets.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he said, firmly, “To me, you’re a renaissance painting, and I was there when Titian finished Venus and Cupid, okay?”

“Okay,” you murmured, eyes already heavy, “I’m sorry that I squeezed your head with my legs.”

“You kidding me?” he said, amused, “You could break my neck with your thighs and I’d die happy…what a way to go.”

“Well,” you said, a little discomfort returning, “I still feel bad.”

“Baby steps,” he said, voice as soft as his hand now stroking hair away from your eyes, “soon I’ll have you riding me fast and rough.”

You smiled and let his caresses close your tired eyes. After a few minutes, in which he looked lovingly down at your gentle doze, his voice sounded again.

“Can I at least beat the living shit out of that guy?”

You considered.

“...Maybe.”

Request masterlist >> HERE

NOTE: Dear sweet, anonymous girl, I see you. You did not deserve this, and this was never your problem. These formative experiences really do hurt us, and yours was such an extreme version that I'm not surprised it's given you these insecurities. I can promise you, it does get better. Feminism and loving yourself is at least half the battle, but nothing quite cements the truth like this: One day, you will be naked in front of a guy you trust completely. He'll look at you with that lustful, testosterone-fuelled glower and you'll know without a shadow of a doubt that, to him, you are venus. I take Five requests, I'm fairly versatile in what I write (fluff, smut, angst, psychological character study- I'll try it all) but I will consider them on a case by case basis. See masterlist for request status and more.

#the umbrella academy #the umbrella academy imagine #umbrella academy x reader #the umbrella academy smut #the umbrella academy five #umbrella academy number five #umbrella academy five x reader #umbrella academy five x you #five hargreaves x you #five hargreaves x reader #number five imagine #five hargreeves imagine #number 5 imagine #number 5 x reader #number five x you

[vincentbriggs]

Good sir, I am hoping to pick your brain. I’m making an 18-century (“pirate”) shirt as a gift to my friend. He wants tie closures on the neck and cuffs instead of buttons. Might you have any insight or resources for this? I’ve seen the ties in at least one of the extant shirts I’ve viewed online. I’m still pretty new to the sewing gig and I’d like to minimize inventing metaphorical wheel as much as possible. Thanks in advance!

It's very unusual, but do know of one example! (Not that extant one though)

But first - Link to my most thorough shirt construction blog post. (It's a few years old and I've improved a few little things in my technique since then, and I mean to finish writing a new and better one before the year is over.)

Ok, ties on shirts! I'm assuming this is the extant one you're talking about? Tbh I'd discount this one entirely if you're looking for information on 18th century men's shirts because I don't think it is one.

Besides the attached ties, the sleeves are extremely weird. They're cut off and have no wristbands!! This would make it quite impossible to wear under a coat, the wristbands are an absolutely essential part of an 18th century shirt. I also don't see any reason to believe this is actually 18th century when it could just as easily be 19th century, and considering how short the slit is I think that more likely.

(Lots of auction sellers like to say "late 18th century" about things that are like... yeahh maaaaybe that's plausibly from a very fashion forward guy in the late 1790's but it's much more likely early 19th century. And with court dress they sometimes just straight up date it several decades too early. Look at lots of examples and always question everything, because museums don't always date things correctly either.)

I think I remember seeing someone mention once that it was a 19th century workman's garment of some sort, but I can't remember where, and all we've got to go on are a few pictures and a brief caption from a seller who doesn't know what they're talking about. It does look like it could have been worn over another layer though, and the fabric is very coarse. It could also have been altered at a later date for theatrical costume, which is something the Victorians did to A LOT of 18th century garments.

So just ignore that shirt!

The vast majority of 18th century mens shirts close with 2 or 3 buttons on the collar, but there is a style that uses ribbons. It appears to have been fairly common in the late 17th and early 18th century, and then slowly dwindles as the century goes on. I have a section for it on my shirts pinterest board with 64 examples. Ooh, wait, 65, just found a new one.

The collar is made with little to no overlap and one buttonhole on each end, and a ribbon is threaded through them.

Portrait of Carl Gustaf Tessin, 1728.

Sir Charles Howard, 1738.

I actually made one of these last year!

The collar doesn't sit as well with the ribbon as it does with 2 buttons, but once you put a stock over it it's fine.

Nearly every single depiction of an 18th century shirt I've ever seen (and I've spent a LOT of time looking) uses sleeve links on the wristbands. (Which I have a tutorial for! They're really easy to make!) I do sleeve links on most of my everyday shirts because I like them better than sewn on buttons. When the wristband is this narrow, sewn on buttons don't sit very nicely.

But! If your friend wants ties on the wrist in a historical way, I do know of one single example, and it's this guy!

Giovanni Maria delle Piane, Portrait of a nobleman. No date given, but if I had to guess I'd say 1680's or 90's. Very late 17th century looking fellow.

We can't see his collar closure, but I think it's very possible that he has a matching red ribbon holding that closed.

Personally I wouldn't want to try these, because they look like an absolute nightmare to tie by yourself one handed. But the good news is that you could make just regular wristband that take sleeve links and they'd work for this too, since both just have a buttonhole at each end! I aim for a finished wristband length that's 10-14mm longer than my wrist measurement, with the buttonhole being about 4 or 5mm in from the edge, which gives me enough ease to wear them comfortably with sleeve links, so if you do that then he'll be able to wear them both ways.

#ask #shirts #18th century #17th century #me

[popatochisssp]

The Court AU has me DEAD!!! If you’d be willing, what sort of outfits would they wear? I’d love to draw them!

Anon, I had so many tabs open looking up medieval-type fashion and armor, we're talking like 30+, felt super awesome finishing this and closing them all 😌

Anyway--

Sans (Undertale): What’s black and blue and white all over? Why, him of course! His jester’s motley features a black-and-white diamond pattern, offset by bright, rich, royal blue—a mark of his service to the king. He doesn’t wear one of those silly hats, though…because he wears a silly hood instead! Less chance of falling off, you see. When not in costume he tends toward simple tunics, of decent material and often still in blue.

Papyrus (Undertale): Almost never out of full plate armor, even in downtime, he has to dress for the job he wants and that means being a shining metal bastion of knightly glory at all times! …Though he does often remove his helmet and hold it by his sword at his hip, or fasten it to his steed’s side. He’s a very handsome skeleton, it would be cruel to deny the people the chance to see their hero’s face!

Sky (Underswap Sans): Soft blues and yellows, as a squire only lightly armored—greaves and pauldrons, a mail shirt beneath his tunic if he’s expected to go into battle—but he considers even that much armoring to be overkill for what he’s doing. Still, his Captain insists, and it makes his brother feel better, so he takes care protecting himself. He has some nicer finery to wear about court, as a nobleman, but tends simpler for anything that might be dirtied or torn in training.

Paps (Underswap Papyrus): Rich green and earthy browns, his clothing tends to be without ostentation—no embroidery, no gold buckles or buttons, or anything especially elaborate. He may be noble but he’s a scholar and a recluse and prefers not to stand out much. Still, the fabrics of which his clothing is made are always fine, as coarse or stiff materials quite put him off. Mostly cottes—long belted tunics—with the occasional robe over, if it's cold.

Jasper (Underfell Sans): Blacks and browns, sturdy plain clothes which can stand up to considerable wear and tear. Often wears a short diamond-quilted gambeson and some leather armor (vambraces and greaves), but always has a sword belted to his hip and a cloak made of dire-wolf’s fur draped over his shoulders. If ever he should need to acknowledge his denounced family name, he does have some finer clothing stored away somewhere—in red—and a shiny gold signet ring with his family crest on it.

Pyre (Underfell Papyrus): Usually in half plate armor, dark metal heavily scratched and scorched, dents meticulously hammered back out. He also wears a tattered red cape about his shoulders that billows quite majestically behind him when he rides or runs into battle. He will occasionally dress down in laced tunics and breeches, still in red and black, fine but not too fine as to raise suspicion about his heritage. Should all that ever come out, he does have a suit of pristine night-black armor he’s been dying to inherit and a silken cape to pin about it with a golden clasp of the family’s crest.

Mal (Swapfell Sans): Mostly black but flaunts his privilege and royal ties with purple accents wherever possible. Brigandine armor with a fine gold-plated gorget and pauldrons and a few other ornamental trappings—he is the Empress’ personal guard and must in some capacity be as elegant. Very fine doublets and tunics for his (rare) downtime, often with gold threading, but not fond of most jewelries.

Rus (Swapfell Papyrus): Dark colors and crisp whites, noble yet eccentric, he has a lot of fine doublets and other such court-wear but tends not to actually…wear them. He can mostly be found in loose-fitting cottes, baggy sleeves often penned up by leather armlets to keep them out of his paints. He has a fur-hooded cloak for travel or cold weather, but he rarely leaves his rooms, much less the castle, so he doesn’t don it often.

Slate (Horrortale Sans): Dark browns and off-white cream, simple rough-hewn clothing showing signs of wear and occasionally odd stains. He works in the stables, with animals, and being around animals so much makes it difficult to keep clean. He has a somewhat decent dark blue cloak that he’ll wear into town for errands, or in polite company—it has a hood to conceal the great jagged hole in his head that tends to make the squeamish or timid flinch away from him.

Papy (Horrortale Papyrus): Still hasn’t quite shaken the habit to be armored, even when it isn’t necessary, but he’s cut down from full plate to chain mail only, much lighter and easier to move around in—which is vital when hurrying to the training field for an accident, or running to meet a wounded knight at the gates. He wears a simple tabard over his mail, blue with red edging (the Queen’s colors), and keeps a pouch of bandages and other aid supplies belted to his waist instead of a sword.

Ash (Undergloom Sans): The livery of the king’s court, gray and gold, but dyed into fabrics suitable for common folk. He still wears gray when not performing at court, tunics so thickly woven they could pass as a gambeson and often paired with hooded cloaks, but he keeps his golds set aside until needed to keep them in good condition. He takes equal care of his shiny brass sackbut (it’s a horn, with a very funny name but an instrument nonetheless) so it always plays well.

Yrus (Undergloom Papyrus): Off-white and tan linens, loose and breathable for hot work in the kitchens, sleeves rolled up and pinned at the elbows to keep them from getting in the way. Always an apron about his waist, occasionally with food stains after a long day’s work but these he quickly tends to as soon as he’s able. He has nothing in the way of real finery but tries very hard to make sure what he has is clean and presentable.

Brick (Horrorfell Sans): Fine brocaded doublets of rich red and shining gold thread, as a duke and brother to a king, he does have to dress the part a bit. He wears more jewelry, especially rings, but nearly always still has his dire-wolf fur cloak over his shoulders. When called for executions, he dresses down quite a bit, in simple black cloth with only a leather pauldron over one shoulder to help brace the weight of his axe before he swings.

King (Horrorfell Papyrus): Half plate armor essentially at all times, even formal or polite occasions—he’s the owner of a stolen throne and all too aware that it could be stolen from him the same way he got it. His breastplate is scaled and his pauldrons are elaborately spiked, but it’s all black. The only pop of color on him is his crown, the same worn by Asgore and Undyne, gold and sharp, with rubies inlaid.

Merc (Horrorswap Sans): Chain mail over a finely-made kaftan and beneath a traveling cloak, the latter two with signs of wear from a long journey. His head is notably absent of a crown—left behind in the kingdom he fled—but a new one awaits him soon, of flashing silver and blue stone, depicting the phases of the moon. When fully established in his new kingdom, he may begin dressing as a proper king again, draping himself in the blue and silver finery of the land that sheltered him.

Ell (Horrorswap Papyrus): Browns, greens, and blacks, he wears light leather armor—really just a breastplate and vambraces—and a thick woolen cloak about his shoulders. He has no need of greaves for his shins, legs lost to an accident in the wilderness, but supplanted by magical prosthetics, living blackened wood provided by his land when he called upon it for aid. …Not that he’s fully accepted that it’s his land, keeping his crown of twisting copper and emerald tucked away in a saddlebag instead of on his brow. Maybe someday…

Pitch (Horrorswapfell Sans): Rich purple and verdant green, amidst a sea of black—he favors very fine fabrics with open lacing at the chest. Still not especially fond of jewelry, but wears considerably more decorative leather braces on forearms, shins, and even the occasional full-chest corset. (He has some chronic pain and the extra pressure and support in certain spots helps.) He wears considerably more plain clothes for knight-training purposes and when traveling wears a black cloak with a cowl that comes down over the hole in his face at a point, as the beak of a raven.

Nemo (Horrorswapfell Papyrus): Usually in half plate splint mail armor for his patrols along the wall, but favors rusty oranges, brown and black for the tunics and boots and breeches he wears out of it. Often carries a lantern, and always has tinder in a pouch on his hip. Beside his pouch is a war-horn in case an alert would need to be called, loud enough to make everyone come running if it’s ever sounded.

Sunny (Gastertale Sans): A cavalierly styled courtier, at first having made do with graciously lent clothing and now being able to buy his own in a whole variety of rich colors—yellow, blue, magenta, and on. His aim is to look at home in court, which means he must dress as other courtiers do, so he has doublets and fine tunics and many, many fashionable capelets with embroidery and stylish pins, as well as a few equally chic plumed hats. The other courtiers look to him now for the latest fashion trends and he couldn’t be happier.

Aster (Gastertale Papyrus): A bit more subdued in style than his brother…though only a bit. He favors black frocks, almost as a cleric would wear, but beneath them, elegant doublets in greens and yellows as vibrant as anything his twin wears, with fine silver filigree work in his buckles and pins and clasps. He’s the pinnacle of restrained class and taste and it’s no wonder at all that the king should respect him so highly if his care in thought is as his care in appearance.

Spectr (Transcendtale Sans): Deep, dark black from head to toe, most prominently a long hooded cloak with two eye-lights glowing in the darkness. He always wears gloves and never lets his hood down, as he’s not especially fond of his metal bones and doesn’t really wish to be seen. It’s difficult to see in the daytime, but at night he’s trailed by faint wisps of ghostly light in all colors of the rainbow, such a strange sight that many a drunkard who’s seen him has poured out their bottle presuming they’d had quite a bit too much.

PapAIrus (Transcendtale Papyrus): Full plate armor, of course, but as he’s now some sort of spectral entity, it (and he!) glows and is slightly see-through. Being ghostly has washed out his colors quite thoroughly which is unfortunate—mostly all white with hints of silvery blue—but on the up-side he seems able to change his appearance some by will alone, donning or discarding his helmet at will, manifesting a majestic cape for himself out of the ether, and so on. It seems a fair enough trade to him!

Xanth (Ascendswap Sans): A man at court now, he’s donned an eye-patch and abandoned the trappings of prospective knighthood, fully embraced courtier fashion…if a bit ‘eccentrically.’ He favors bright yellows and spring greens, flowing garments of fine cloth layered beneath and over leather vambraces, gorget, and tasset. All these are elaborately, intricately designed and certainly make the similarly intricate gold jewelry (with multicolored gems) that he wears at wrist and neck stand out, but it’s hardly in fashion… Still, the mystic’s thinking is often inscrutable.

Piper (Ascendswap Papyrus): Unlike his brother, very fashionable and eye-catching, in rich amaranths and brilliant turquoises, with even the occasional lavender. He has many fine embroidered doublets, threaded liberally with gold, and wears many pieces of gold jewelry as well—necklaces, bracelets, pins, and brooches. When showing the birds of the crown at court or bidding them on a royal hunt, he wears the livery of the crown-proper—royal purple and gold—and always has a thick leather falconer’s glove on his left hand.

Carmine (Underfell Fruition Sans): What’s black and white and red all over? Well, newspapers haven’t been invented yet, so it’s him, of course! He’s no jester so he hasn’t a motley to wear to work, but he is a performer and does dress in the livery of the king, which is red and black. The material is a bit finer than he’s used to, but being that he’s no longer wearing rags and rotting in a hole, he’s quite pleased with it and doesn’t mind the bright colors that help him attract the eyes of many comely nobles at court. Off-duty, he sticks to loose, somewhat open tunics—red still very much preferred.

Tank (Underfell Fruition Papyrus): Laced linen shirts, not especially loosely fitting due to his largeness in the chest and shoulders but he hasn’t burst any seams in awhile so the measurements must be somewhat correct. He’s fond of white and a true connoisseur of red, all shades from dark to very light. He keeps an array of small carpentry tools—hammers, chisels, things for measuring—in a roll on his hip, a dedicated apprentice to the core.

Vi (Swapfell Fruition Sans): All black, pourpoint armor beneath fine silk doublets but almost disappointingly plain otherwise—no embroidery, no ornament, or stitched pattern, or brocade. Over this he wears a cloak, equally fine and with at least some ostentation, a bit of silver stitched decoration that matches the intimidatingly clawed silver gauntlet he wears upon his left hand—a symbol of his wealth, if not his status. These flashy items are for matters of court only, as he has a much more nondescript hooded cloak and less identifiable sharp implement which he uses for matters of stealth and misdeeds when it is important that he not be recognized.

Hunter (Swapfell Frution Papyrus): A prince in princely attire…mostly. He happily flaunts the color purple but proudly wears it with the black of his old family name, and drapes himself in silk tunics, fine (mostly decorative) pauldrons, capes and capelets. He tends to show off a bit more of his chest than seems appropriate for a man of his station, and seems to wear his elegant silver jewelry in ways such that the eye is drawn there, and…other places, but few question the whims of royalty. His pewter crown is heavy and inelegant and he’s talked much with his brother about how angry people would be if he had it melted and recast into something more stylish.

Kohl (Descendtale Sans): Plain, rough tunics, in black and dark brown. He wears a heavy fur-lined gabardine as it gets quite cold in the dungeons, though it’s uncertain where he managed to get such a nice garment. He keeps a knife on his belt, large and jagged-toothed, and though he hasn’t had need to use it yet, the threat of it tends to keep most prisoners from attempting to bring him harm.

Bram (Descendtale Papyrus): He’s traded in his full plate armor for a comfortably fit leather jerkin, accompanied by matching gauntlets to protect his hands and torso (inasmuch as they need protection, without flesh) from the thorns he trims back every day. He mostly wears black and white and brown, all things closely fit to his body, less they snag overmuch and need to be replaced too often. His clothing is simple but well-suited to his work, and he wears it nicely.

#anonymous #headcanons #court au #undertale #underswap #underfell #swapfell/fellswap #horrortale #undergloom #horrorfell #horrorswap #horrorswapfell #gastertale #transcendtale #ascendswap #underfell fruition #swapfell fruition #descendtale

[yamayuandadu]

Tamamizu Monogatari, a unique love story

This article, unlike most of my recent longer pieces, was not planned in advance. I learned about the subject very recently, and instantly realized I absolutely have to introduce it to more people, the previously posted schedule be damned. The Tale of Tamamizu (玉水物語, Tamamizu Monogatari) is a story about a fox turning into a human, but a rather unconventional one, filled with an unusual degree of sympathy for the eponymous protagonist and focused on a rather unique relationship. In addition to summarizing it in detail and explaining the possible inspirations behind it, I will also try to explain why the tale found a new life on social media as a, broadly speaking, lgbt narrative, and why I think there is a compelling case to be made for such an interpretation. Unless stated otherwise, all images used through the article are taken from the Kyoto University Rare Materials Digital Archive, on whose website you can view scans of the original Tamamizu Monogatari.

The Tale of Tamamizu, also known as The Contest of Autumn Leaves (Momiji Awase) is an example of otogi-zōshi, illustrated prose narrative. The story was presumably originally composed in the Muromachi period (1335-1573), and it survives in multiple copies dated either to the early Edo period or to the end of the Japanese “middle ages” directly preceding it. The identity of the author (or authors) is unknown. Despite its apparent popularity in the past, it seems no major studies of the tale of Tamamizu have ever been conducted. A streamlined translation (or rather an extensive summary) was published online by Kyoto University Library in 2001 and can be accessed here. In 2018, a full translation, as well as a brief introduction, were prepared for the anthology Monsters, Animals, and Other Worlds. A Collection of Short Medieval Japanese Tales. Still, it doesn't seem either sparked all that much interest in Tamamizu, despite the story’s obvious modern appeal. Since the tale of Tamamizu is not well known, I will start with a detailed summary. I am consistently using female pronouns for Tamamizu after she transforms, as does the older translation. The other English translation switches between female and male pronouns. I will explain in the final paragraph of the article why I made the decision to follow the former. The Tale of Tamamizu The story of Tamamizu does not start with the eponymous character, but rather with a certain mr. Takayanagi from Toba. He is troubled, as while he is already 30, he has no children. He decides the only choice is to pray to gods and buddhas. This actually does work, and his wife becomes pregnant, and after the expected period gives birth to a daughter. She doesn’t get a name at any point in the story. The girl’s birth is followed by a timeskip. As we learn, she was distinguished by twenty five features associated with beauty. This is apparently a reference to the belief that a buddha possessed thirty two specific physical traits; the number might have been altered to twenty five because of a popular group of twenty five bodhisattvas associated with Amida. By the time she reached the age of fifteen or so, she also developed great skill in composing poetry in both Japanese and Chinese. Her parents at some point decided that it would be ideal to send her to serve in the emperor’s court in the future. The girl spends most of the time in awe of the blooming of flowers, the wind and other similar phenomena, as one would expect from a literary character of similar status. She maintains her own flower garden, and spends much of her time there.

On one of the days when she visited it alongside her friend Tsukisae, the daughter of her nurse, she caught the attention of a fox. The fox is, at this point in time, not yet Tamamizu. He wishes he could introduce himself to the girl. He considers the standard method - transforming into a nobleman - but he realizes this would likely sadden the girl’s parents, and would tarnish her reputation. He falls into despair. It does not exactly help that his attempts at visiting the garden again end up poorly - on the way there, he gets pelted with stones and then, after trying again, shot with an arrow. Still, he continued to hope to meet with the girl. An opportunity finally arose through a lucky coincidence. Another family living in the same area had multiple sons, but no daughters, much to the parents chagrin. They loudly lamented that they wished they had at least one girl among the children. The fox overheard that and realized it might be an opportunity. He transformed himself into a teenage girl (curiously, the story specifically puts her at the exact same age as the unnamed second protagonist), and enters their house. She explains that she is an orphan, and while passing by she overheard the family’s woes. She offers to become their daughter. The couple instantly agrees.

The fox spends some time living with her adoptive family, though she gets sad easily and keeps bursting into tears. After some time, they offer that they will find her a husband in due time, but she reacts to that poorly, and eventually suggests she would prefer to become the servant of a noble lady. Her adoptive mother agrees this isn’t a bad idea, and reveals that her younger sister is a lady-in-waiting of the daughter of a local noble, mr. Takayanagi. She suggests the fox could become her attendant too. She is overjoyed at this prospect, and is soon sent to Takayanagi’s mansion to meet with his daughter. The girl receives her new attendant warmly, and gives her a nickname, Tamamizu-no-mae (Tamamizu for short). They get along really well, and Tamamizu gets to partake in her various activities, serves her food and drinks, and even sleeps in the same bed (Tsukisae does too, though). While Tamamizu does remarkably well as a human, some of her fox habits remain. Most notably, she is really afraid of dogs. Her lady sympathizes with her plight, and actually bans dogs from her household. This is a much welcome change from Tamamizu’s point of view, though apparently some other members of the staff start to view her as a coward because of this, and simultaneously resent her closeness with the girl. The bond between Tamamizu and the girl reaches a new level when on a moonlight night they spontaneously compose a poem together. It deals with longing. We are told it was followed up by multiple other poems, which are not quoted in the story. Eventually the girl gets tired and heads to her room. However, Tamamizu remains outside gazing at the moon and eventually starts crying, unsure what fate awaits her. Tsukisae, who was inside all along, actually becomes concerned about Tamamizu, and says she feels sorry for her, correctly identifying the cause of her sorrow as love for an unidentified party. She shares her thoughts with their lady (in the form of a poem, of course). The latter summons Tamamizu inside, and soon all three go to bed together. Tamamizu is still overwhelmed by her feelings and can’t fall asleep, though. Tamamizu continues to serve the girl for the next three years. She also remains in touch with her adoptive mother, who sends her letters and new clothes every now and then. One day, many visitors arrived in the house for a friendly competition. The winner will be the person with the most beautiful collection of autumn leaves. Tamamizu decides she must find some for her mistress to give her an advantage. To accomplish that, at night for the first time in years she turns back into a fox, and leaves to visit her siblings. Not the adoptive ones, though. As it turns out, she has two fox brothers, one younger and one older. She actually hasn’t visited them in so long they assumed she died and held funerary services for her in the meanwhile. They are overjoyed to learn that is not the case, and after learning about her current life agree to help her with finding unique leaves. She tells them to leave them on the veranda of her mistress’ mansion, and reassures them it’s safe for foxes to be there thanks to the earlier decision to not allow dogs on the premises. After the visit Tamamizu returns home in her human form. Tsukisae and her mistress ask her where she has been, and she jokes about meeting with a “dubious fellow” (which, to be fair, is not even a lie, given the typical folkloric portrayal of foxes). This in turn leads to more jokes, revolving around Tamamizu no longer thinking about her mistress. She feels distressed by this suggestion.

Tamamizu’s brothers in the meanwhile succeed in their search for thrilling leaves. One of them found a branch with five-colored leaves decorated with the Lotus Sutra (as you probably know, one of the main religious texts in the Mahayana Buddhist tradition). Tamamizu is overjoyed, and instantly brings them to her mistress. The girl received plenty of leaves from other people in the meanwhile, but all of them pale in comparison. She is so happy about the gift that she requests Tamamizu to also write poems meant to accompany the presentation of the collection. She protests that she is unsuitable, but eventually accepts this honor and gets down to work. The parents of the girl came along to watch her write, and both of them concluded she is exceptionally skilled. She ends up providing five poems, one for each color of leaves gathered. They are subsequently combined by these the girl wrote herself.

Obviously, the main characters’ joint entry wins the competition. This grants the girl such fame that the emperor declares she should come to his court. Since her father is not affluent enough to pay for traveling there, he bestows additional estates upon him to make that possible. Even Tamamizu gets her own estate, Kakuta in Settsu Province. However, she decides it will be for the best to give it to her adoptive parents. Shortly after that, Tamamizu’s adoptive mother falls sick. She leaves her mistress to attend to her, but it did not help much and her condition kept worsening. Therefore, her stay had to be extended over and over again. This predicament worries her mistress, who sends her a letter to let her know that it is boring and gloomy without her around, and implores her to return as soon as her mother’s condition improves. Tsukisae is similarly concerned. Both of them voice their concerns through poems, which at this point should not be surprising for the reader.

Tamamizu of course appreciates these displays of sympathy, but she cannot return, so in response she only reassures both of them that she will meet with them again as soon as possible.  Shortly after that, the mother’s condition worsened yet again. The entire family laments through the entire day, but eventually everyone manages to fall asleep - save for Tamamizu. In the middle of the night Tamamizu notices that an old, hairless fox entered the house. She quickly realizes that he was her paternal uncle (a fox uncle, that is. Not a relative of her adoptive parents). The illness was his doing, as she quickly realizes. Tamamizu requests him to leave her adoptive mother alone. However, the old fox says he cannot do that, as the illness is his act of revenge against her family, since her father killed his child. He concluded it is only right to make his daughter sick so that she dies too.

Tamamizu admits that this makes sense in theory, but she points out that acting upon desire for revenge will only bring bad karma, and bad karma from previous lives is why both of them were born as foxes in the first place. She offers the old fox a crash course in Buddhist ethics, and warns him that accumulating even more bad karma might lead to someone eventually killing him too, and to yet more rebirths in one of the three realms which are best to avoid (animals, hungry spirits, hell).

The old fox notes following buddhas is for humans, not for those born in other realms of rebirth (he’s not entirely wrong, humans are generally held to be in the optimal condition to seek enlightenment; animals must follow instinct and thus end up accumulating bad karma, devas are to preoccupied with celestial bliss), but eventually he relents and agrees that it would be wrong to kill the woman because of the actions of her father. He concludes that it would not even make him feel better, since his child would remain dead. He tells Tamamizu that evidently he was able to meet her because of good karma acquired in a past life, asks her to pray for his deceased child, and leaves, announcing he shall become a monk reciting nenbutsu from now on. Tamamizu did what he asked for, and even performed a funerary service for her late cousin. With the problem solved, her adoptive mother returned to good health. She was therefore free to meet with her mistress again. She was elevated to the rank of chujo no kimi, the foremost among servants. However, despite her mistress’ best efforts to make her feel appreciated, she was suffering from persistent bouts of melancholy. She wished she could confess her love and consummate the relationship, but she concluded that since she kept her identity secret for so long, it would be no longer possible to reveal it without losing the acceptance of the girl. She decides she must disappear. However, before that she prepares a long poem explaining her predicament.

She placed it in a box, and gave it to her mistress, explaining that it should only be opened if something happens to her. She then broke down in tears.

Tamamizu’s mistress does not fully understand what is happening, and asks if she perhaps is worried about their planned relocation to the imperial court. However, Tamamizu denies that and guarantees she will accompany her on the journey there. Her mistress starts crying too, and says she has hoped they will always be together. Shortly after, the day of the journey came. Tamamizu’s mistress and mr. Takayanagi, now recognized as a lord, were certain that she went with them, but as soon as they reached their destination it turned out she was nowhere to be found. Days upon days of grieving followed. Eventually, the girl realized that she had no choice but to open the box. From the poem contained within, she learned everything about Tamamizu, from the day they first met all the way up to the disappearance. It explained how she hoped to protect her mistress through her current life and beyond, but had to give up after realizing it was all in vain. In the final words of the poem, she firmly refers to her with the name she was given by the girl - Tamamizu.

The poem moves her deeply, but the story does not have a happy ending - we never learn what happened to Tamamizu afterwards.

Tamamizu’s forerunners

It is agreed that much like the considerably more famous Tamamo no Mae, Tamamizu in part depends on earlier Chinese literature about foxes. Not exactly on the same sort of stories, though - she is not exactly a malevolent seductress, to put it lightly. The key to finding her forerunners is the scene in the beginning when the still nameless fox considers transforming into a male suitor at first, before settling on the form of a female attendant, and the erudition she displays through the story. An argument can be made that this is conscious engagement with a very specific type of older fox story, largely forgotten today. In Tang China, fox stories enjoyed considerable popularity. You may remember that I mentioned this in passing a few months ago in another fox-themed article. One of the genres popular at the time was focused on fox suitors. There are many stories like that, but they largely follow a similar plot: a male fox falls in love with a human girl, takes the form of a dashing literatus and requests marriage. The girl’s family rejects the proposal, as despite charm and erudition the fox is ultimately an outsider with no family, and doesn’t depend on the well established institution of matchmaking. Afterwards, he typically tries to win the girl over with some sort of trick, and fails in the process, thus meeting his demise when his real identity is inevitably exposed.

In some cases, twists are introduced and the fox is effectively exploited by the family: for example, in the story about a certain mr. Hu (a common surname which is a homonym for the word for fox) and the granddaughter of the official Li Yuangong, the Li family agrees for the girl to be taught by the fox, and even asks him for advice on various matters, just to kill him once he outlived his usefulness.

Zhou Wenju's painting A Literary Garden (文苑图, Wenyuantu), showing a group of discouring Tang literati (wikimedia commons)

Many literati came from humble backgrounds, and only attained high positions thanks to success in the imperial examinations. However, their advances were often frowned upon by nobles, who saw them as upstarts. Therefore, faking a more notable origin was widespread to secure a better position in the high strata of society. All of this is reflected in the stories of the fox suitors. Xiaofei Kang, who wrote my favorite monograph about Chinese fox beliefs, notes that the stories might have effectively been a way to cope with everyday anxieties. In other words, perhaps the fox self insert fails so that the real person sharing his precarious status can succeed.

Another aspect of the Tale of Tamamizu which offers a clue about its origins is the focus on Buddhism, and its role in the lives of non-humans in particular. Tamamizu evidently attains a considerable familiarity with Buddhist doctrine, to the point the old fox basically seems to perceive her as thinking more like a human than a fox. Evidently, she doesn’t think being an animal should prevent one from seeking good karma. This seems to reflect a medieval Buddhist phenomenon. Roughly from the Insei period (1086-1185) up to the eighteenth century, and especially between the twelfth and fourteenth centuries, the dominant esoteric schools of Buddhism propagated the doctrine of hongaku (本覺), “original enlightenment”. This idea originates in an earlier Buddhis text, Awakening of Faith in the Mahāyāna. According to proponents of this idea all living beings, even plants, possessed an innate “Buddha nature”, as did natural features like mountains. They were innately capable of attaining enlightenment, or innately enlightened outright. Religion influences art, so it has been argued that the spread of new stories about animals behaving like people in the Muromachi period had a distinctly Buddhist dimension.

The modern reception of Tamamizu

Despite the fascinating themes of the story of Tamamizu, it only found a greater degree of modern recognition in 2019, outside of academic circles at that. I'm surprised it took so long, since when you think about it, the sensibilities of the author indeed seem surprisingly modern. The narrator even reassures us Tamamizu’s human form is the same age as the object of her affection, anticipating what sorts of shipping discourse could arise 700 years later. Anyway, in 2019 a fragment of the story was the subject of one of the classical Japanese literature questions from the National Center Test for University Admissions, a standardized university entrance exam held across Japan each January from 1990 to 2020. This obviously exposed an enormous number of people to it, not just exam-takers. Following this event, a Tamamizu fad seemingly swept social media and pixiv (curiously, there’s a single piece of art there which predates the phenomenon by six years; op actually updated the description in 2019 to say they are happy more people learned about the story). There’s even a Tamamizu Monogatari tag on Dynasty Scans as a result. It’s worth pointing out the wikipedia entry of the story was written in 2019 as well. Most curiously apparently a research project focused on Tamamizu, Kahoko Iguru’s Border transgression between species and gender as observed in “Tamamizu Monogatari”,  received a grant in the same year too (source; more info here). It doesn’t seem the results have been published yet. I will keep you updated if that changes, obviously. I am actually surprised I didn’t notice the Tamamizu phenomenon back then, even though 2019 Antonia was distinctly more terminally online than 2023 Antonia is. It’s worth noting that Tamamizu’s fame didn’t fade away. The online following the story gained was referenced in an Asahi Shimbun article a year later. A quick survey of social media will show you there are people still talking about Tamamizu today. People who aren’t me, that is. What made Tamamizu so unexpectedly popular - arguably more than the story has been in the past few centuries - in recent years? Most of the linked sources relatively neutrally state that people perceive it as a “unique love story”. Social media posts are often considerably more direct: for many people, the appeal lies in the realization the Tale of Tamamizu is probably the closest to a lesbian love story in the entire corpus of medieval Japanese literature. I won’t deny this is in no small part its appeal for me too. Note this is not an universal sentiment by any means, though. It is difficult to tell if this was the intent of the medieval author(s), of course. It is obviously impossible to deny that women attracted to women existed in medieval Japan, as is the case in every society since the dawn of history. However, they left little, if any, trace in textual sources. As pointed out by Bernard Faure, in Japan in the past as in many other historical societies “sexuality without men is properly unthinkable” and therefore received no coverage. While there is plenty of Japanese Buddhist literature dealing with male homosexuality (trust me though, you do not want to read it; I’ve included a brief explanation why in the bibliography), there is basically nothing when it comes to women. The only possible exception is what some authors argue might be a medieval depiction of a lesbian couple in Tengu Zōshi, a work I plan to discuss in more detail next month, but note that this would be only an example of condemnation, since this work is a religious polemic dealing with vices of the clergy. 

The supposed lesbian couple from Tengu Zōshi; image from Haruko Wakayabashi's The Seven Tengu Scrolls: Evil and the Rhetoric of Legitimacy in Medieval Japanese Buddhism; reproduced here for educational purposes only.

This sort of absence of evidence is a recurring pattern through history - you might recall my own attempts to find out what Bronze Age Mesopotamian sources have to say on this matter. Before the Meiji period, when the term dōseiai (同性愛) was coined as a calque of Charles Gilbert Chaddok’s freshly invented label “homosexual”, there wasn’t even a distinct Japanese term which could be applied to lesbian relationships. Once again, this does not indicate this phenomenon did not exist - but it does indicate that due to extreme levels of sexism in the perception of both sexuality and relationships it was difficult to even imagine for the average author. Faure suggests the prevailing attitude was presumably similar as in continental Buddhism, in which lesbian love “was at best perceived as a poor imitation of heterosexual relations—or a preparation for them—and as such condemned” at least in monastic rules. To put it bluntly, only penetrative sex was regarded as real.

And yet, in spite of this, I do not think it is wrong to wonder if perhaps what seems like subtext to a modern reader is actually intentional. This is obviously a reach, but given that relationships between women - not even romantic ones - were historically not a major concern of most authors, I would argue it is not impossible that a work which revolves virtually entirely around the relationships between female characters was written by a woman. Perhaps a woman romantically interested in other women, even. Even more boldly, I’d ponder if perhaps the ambiguous gender of the fox before transformation was meant to make the romance palatable to general audiences. Note that while foxes transforming is a mainstay of both Japanese and Chinese literature, the change of gender is actually quite uncommon in such stories, making this single reference all the more unusual. Granted, gender change is hardly a major focus in the story of Tamamizu. The only real indication the fox is male is the decision to take a male human form at first, but beyond that, things get muddy to the point the matter of gender in the story evidently warranted an actual study, as I pointed out earlier. As you’ve noticed, this matter was approached in different ways by translators too. I personally think the most important factor is the fact Tamamizu refers to herself with this name in the final poem. This name is intimately tied to the distinctly female identity she took. Whoever she was in the beginning, by the end of the story she is clearly Tamamizu. If one felt particularly bold a case perhaps even be made that Tamamizu can be read as a trans woman based on this, perhaps. I think simply disregarding the brief reference to a male form is valid too, though. Even if these arguments were to be refuted fully, I would argue that there is a further reason why at the very least reinterpreting the story as dealing with a gay relationship is not against the spirit of the original work. As I outlined, the tale of Tamamizu seems to draw inspiration from a very specific genre of fox stories, in which foxes are essentially a metaphor for people seeking relationships which were frowned upon. Obviously, the fact that Tamamizu is not a human by default makes any relationship she would be involved in somewhat unusual and frowned upon, but that does not assign a different metaphorical meaning to her struggle. Is Tamamizu even really fully a fox and not a human at all by the time she writes the confession of her love, though? The old fox seems to basically dispute if she still thinks like an animal. We also know that she maintained her human form for so long her biological relatives assumed she had passed away. She also found acceptance of virtually every single human character in the story - save for herself, that is. It’s also not like it’s hard to reinterpret her struggle specifically with the inability to consummate the relationship through the lens of the medieval Buddhist views of female sexuality, rather than through the lens of the general view that relationships between human and transformed foxes were doomed to failure. To paraphrase Cynthia Eller’s evergreen quote about futile search for nonexistent matriarchal prehistory in ancient texts, I do not think an invented wlw past can give anyone a future, but at the same time I do not think it means we should conclude that nobody ever had similar experiences in the past, or that we can relate with works even in ways their authors did not intend. For this reason, I would ultimately argue in favor of embracing the Tale of Tamamizu as a narrative which can be read as a lesbian love story.

Bibliography

Bernard Faure, The Red Thread. Buddhist Approaches to Sexuality (please note: read this book very cautiously since multiple content warnings apply. Faure is a remarkably progressive author, so it’s not about his personal attitude or anything. The problem is that it is not possible to deny much of the Japanese Buddhist discourse about homosexuality had little to do with modern notion of gay relationships, and essentially amounts to explaining when exploitation of children is a pious act)

Rania Huntington, Alien Kind. Foxes and Late Imperial Chinese Narrative (some sort of explicit content warning applies here too, though mostly because some of the discussed works are trashy Qing period erotica. More funny than anything.)

Xiaofei Kang, The Cult of the Fox: Power, Gender, and Popular Religion in Late Imperial and Modern China

Keller Kimbrough and Haruo Shirane (eds.), Monsters, Animals, and Other Worlds. A Collection of Short Medieval Japanese Tales

Jacqueline Stone, Medieval Tendai hongaku thought and the new Kamakura Buddhism: A reconsideration

#japanese literature #tamamizu monogatari #lgbt history

[dollvix]

The Beifong's drink their respect women juice

Let me elaborate, we know that the Beifongs are one of the richest and most powerful families for literally centuries and I doubt anyone else has stood as strong (except royalty but still) and what is the reason? their women.

Just look at their own dais, which in fact in the Kyoshi books in Spanish they even take it as their throne.

while all the other seats for the head of the family and especially the head of the state/kingdom only have one, you can say that it's because there is no known queen or fire lady or the title that would be in the water tribes (which It is actually rare but sadly not surprising) but even so we can say that if it exists they do not consider their role to be so important

And then there are the Beifong who maintain their partners' place as their equal even in their absence as the Kyoshi novels say.

Lu Beifong may have been an idiot but he made it clear that Lady Beifong's place was not just for decoration but that they genuinely treat their partner as their partner and everybody knows.

Which may be an isolated event but the years went on and then we get to Lao Beifong who at the time of separation and possible divorce just left and left Poppy everything because well, the things were hers too and I doubt another nobleman who wouldn't be a Beifong would do the same, these obviously love and respect their women fervently and passed it down for generations.

... ejem... Loppy supremacy @light-miracles

I clarify that I don't doubt that there is also sexism here in the established roles but the show never tried to hide it in the society of the avatar world (like Netflix) and yes, it is surely the least they can do but it is quite interesting to say how they simply adore their women and that they accept the help of their companions and presenting a strong unity has been what kept them firm for years.

It's a real shame that there are no Beifongs in Gaoling these days (my bets go to Lin) and that the comics butchered the visit to Gaoling in Ruins of the Empire, I'm still terribly upset about that and that coincidentally everyone except Lin went but I'll leave that for later.

#beifong family #lu beifong #lao beifong #poppy beifong #toph beifong #lin beifong #atla #avatar #avatar the last airbender #lok #the rise of kyoshi #the shadow of kyoshi #avatar the legend of korra #suyin beifong #omashu #earth kingdom #fire nation #water tribe #kyoshi novels #avatar comics

[ninadove]

Since I’ve seen the topic come up again, I thought I’d share a bit of history that might shed some light on the Graham de Vanily family’s weirdly French-sounding names! 🇫🇷

As y’all are probably aware, in 1789 we started chopping a massive amount of heads. So if you were a nobleman around that time and cared even slightly about your own neck (which is generally a thing people care about), your best bet was to book it to somewhere monarchy had not been #cancelled in a blood bath.

This forever vacation is referred to as l’Émigration, and one of the most popular destinations was, you guessed it, the UK.

So it’s totally possible that Felix and Adrien’s ancestors fled France centuries ago and made a life for themselves there, eventually mingling with the local nobility through good old ✨ arranged marriage ✨ (a tradition their family still upholds to this day!). Which would explain:

Why part of their family name sounds so French ("de Vanily")

The spelling of Emilie’s name

The accent in Félix’s name

Do with that headcanon what you will!

#miraculous ladybug #adrien agreste #felix graham de vanily #senticousins #amelie graham de vanily #graham de family #emilie agreste #frenchblr #random ramblings

[inchidentally]

Crown Prince Lando AU idea based entirely on his appearance today in Italy for his trophy and Lawrence writing about how every team is courting Lando

okay so I wrote this rly fast on the work laptop and you have to just ignore the weird interpretations of how royalty and inheritance etc works. and completely fucking with how things went down in F1 history. it's an absolute mess and possibly unreadable but I literally couldn't stop myself.

if you're a fic author then pleaaaaase have a look and see if you can take this and actually make anything out of it even if it needs a lot of changes.

Crown Prince Lando has been fought over by nations since he was seventeen years old. His parents had retired from royal duties to live quietly in the countryside but a series of deaths and lack of heirs resulted in Lando living most of his life being prepared for ascension to the throne. His parents did as good a job as they could to keep Lando humble and "normal" while having to live a kind of sequestered monastic existence.

As he grew so did his future subjects' love and adoration of him. They loved his humor and his cheeky treatment of the solemn institution surrounding him. As he grew into being a beauty the country took endless pride in him and watched his exploits as a touring royal closely.

Fernando Alonso was the first to pledge his troth to Prince Lando because he could see the promise in Lando of one day becoming a truly beloved ruler - a quality he himself had found wanting in his own slow gathering of power. However he was persuaded early on by his advisers and Lando's parents to withdraw due to his 'already advanced age'. Lando's debut at court was postponed by his parents to prevent any other establishment attempting to lay their claim before Lando felt comfortable and ready.

The powerful Sainz Vázquez de Castro family swooped in next and arranged a series of public meetings between Prince Lando and their wicked (meaning "experienced") and devastatingly handsome son Carlos Jr. His charisma and dark eyes charmed Prince Lando immediately and a wedding date was set for the following year. Lando's debut at court was hastily arranged to happen mere days prior. Probably should insert something here about Lando being made to live this period of life in a guarded tower and attendants being present whenever he was with Carlos because chastity being required for marriage. And the only way to keep Carlos' dick out of Lando was the threat of a priest's guard cutting it off. But lbr they manage to sneak around well enough to do everything else.

Unfortunately the royal courts of Europe were shaken by a quick series of upsets: Sovereign Prince Lorenzo of Monaco abdicated the throne in search of a quieter life - his heart had never been in it since his father, the former sovereign, had become ill and abdicated. This left Lorenzo's unwed brother Charles to be hastily crowned Prince Regent at the tender age of 22 (and unable to become sovereign himself due to being a second son, again my weird rules). As a result Charles suffered the loss of his long-time suitor, nobleman Sebastian Vettel, who couldn't bear the thought of being sovereign let alone of a land that wasn't even his own.

Enter the Sainz Vázquez de Castro elders siezing the opportunity and negotiating a deal with Monaco in private conclave with the Papal State (??) to wed their son Carlos to the Prince Regent. Carlos is ashamed at giving in to the temptation… to not just be King Consort but to be Sovereign Prince, to rule over the vast wealth of Monaco and by extension the Holy See, to have the coveted beauty Charles in his bed. So he agrees to be spirited away to Monaco and the ugly business of dissolving his betrothal to Lando is left to members of church and state.

But Carlos experiences a complete conversion when Charles is on his knees in the cathedral - looking up at him with docile green eyes as Carlos' fingertips touch the warm red roses of Charles' lips as he holds the chalice of holy wine for Charles to drink. Carlos was almost hard beneath the ermine and velvet robes in a house of God when the crown was on his head and Charles next to him - and slightly below - smiling up at him with filaments of gold hanging from pendants on his chaplet, framing his achingly beautiful face. If Carlos feels his immense happiness and prosperity darken whenever he sees Lando's picture or encounters him at one of the courts then no one need know.

Prince Lando is of course too heartbroken to consider other suitors and his court is demoralized by their own failure to seal his future. Only brash American tycoon Zak Brown keeps the faith that Lando's appeal as he grows will land him a better match than any Euro old money looking to aggrandize themselves and take advantage of Lando's youth to displace his rightful future as King.

A stroke of genius is the arrival of commoner Daniel Ricciardo whose rise up the ranks of society has hit more than a few speedbumps over the years. He's in the perfect position to act as placeholder and a sort of 'playmate' for the young Prince Regent. Daniel does the job of squiring Lando around and cheering him up beautifully. So beautifully that Daniel begins to see in his charge's wide eyes a future that he had only ever let himself dream of before. He begins to publicly push the boundaries of propriety with Lando like holding hands, embracing him from behind, dancing scandalously close together. The dam begins to break when Daniel opens a public social media account and begins posting adoring and fairly intimate videos of Lando that prove to be a massive hit with the public… and that fan rumours of the Crown Prince breaking with tradition and marrying a commoner.

Exeunt Daniel Ricciardo.

(Yes I know this isn't remotely his role but go with it) Newly appointed Lord Chancellor Andrea Stella proposes that only a candidate the same age as Lando - or ideally younger - should be considered to ensure that his claim to the throne be safeguarded. Because Lando hasn't spent the intervening years doing nothing but swooning over a succession of suitors, he's perfected his role and learned his court and won over the hearts of his people. He's effected harmonious relations with rival kingdoms seemingly effortlessly. The royal coffers have never been so full and trade is booming. Lando and his court all know that Lando could easily rule alone. But the fire that the now King of Monaco had lit inside him refused to go out. It begged to be fueled and to burn brighter.

Then one day Andrea hears a murmur of controversy happening in the middling levels of the aristocracy. The scoundrel Alonso had construed a match between one Oscar Piastri and Frenchman Esteban Ocon as a means of effecting his (Alonso's) escape and aggrandizing the Alpine dynasty. There were further details about a drama between Ocon and countryman Pierre Gasley but all that interested Andrea was that young Piastri had ordered a direct pronouncement be made against the match and any further association with Alpine. He had already rejected the opportunity of being presented at court and clearly had plans for his own future that would not depend on the protection or condescension of any other power but his own.

Imagine Andrea's surprise when Zak Brown announces at the next privy council meeting that preliminary arrangements had been made with young Piastri to be the Crown Prince's companion for the following season. A pretense at Piastri having an interest in royal politics was to be given to everyone, including Piastri himself. But Andrea and Zak shared a knowing look across the mote-stained light straining through the high windows of the old chamber. The Crown Prince barely even hears the details as he wearily signs off on the public notice along with the other endless papers at his elbow. He doesn't even dream that a wildcard is being played for his future happiness.

The eldest son of the prominent and noble Piastri family from Tuscany is suitably beautiful with the characteristic straight brow, fine pale features and soulful deep amber eyes of his people. He is tall and still growing with an effortless regal bearing despite his youth. The first few meetings between him and the Crown Prince are cordial and with a promising warmth. Andrea is encouraged by the pink that rises high on Piastri's pale cheeks whenever he shares smiles with Lando but he's even more encouraged by the steady intensity of his gaze when Lando isn't looking.

For the first few months, Piastri remains a faithful but distant part of Lando's royal retinue. They interact often enough and clearly like each other. But it also comes at a time of unrest in Lando's kingdom as a result of the ascension of an ambitious and possibly ruthless young King in the Netherlands. Lando proposes a visit to Castle Toro Rosso and asks Piastri to accompany them due to the Italian affiliation with the Dutch royal house. Something about Piastri's calm and quiet confidence helps stabilize Lando and he needs all the support he can get.

The visit is strained and the Dutch court is intimidating - and rather grating - in it's brash opulence and show of dominance. The young King is more of a mystery, seeming cold and aloof but flashing a wry smile at Lando's well-known charm and humor. The tide turns entirely in Lando's favor at the tourney. Lando has been barred from jousting following his formal presentation as crown prince due to some finicky archaic British law and it eats away at it him to have to sit and watch while the Dutch King was allowed to ride for himself. More than once Lando moodily pushes at the circlet that keeps slipping over his curls and can feel himself being increasingly bratty and short with his attendants.

Piastri was already reknowned for his prowess in jousting and was automatically given the seat to represent the Crown Prince. When he appeared mounted on a blood bay charger that gleamed almost golden and black in the hot sun (MCL colors kinda??) Lando has A Moment when Piastri tips his visor open and addresses him formally and those intense brown eyes behind the cold armor make him look so much older. Lando causes a stir when he descends from his seat and gives Piastri his favor in the form of a ribbon from one of his full sleeves. They have one of Those Looks between each other before Piastri turns to take his place. He bests every one of his opponents and isn't unseated once.

Then the Dutch King Max Emilian appears and strangely shuns any pageantry associated with a knight's entry, let alone a king's. His Lady sits in his place flanked by both her own and the King's powerful families and court. Lando finds himself suddenly flooded with fear because what would happen if Oscar lost? What would happen if Oscar won? When had he become 'Oscah' and not just Piastri?

The collision unseats both King Max Emilian and Oscar and they draw swords. The fight is precise and clinical and breathtaking. Perhaps it was because of having more to lose or perhaps it was the press of the Crown Prince's lips against the silk ribbon he gave as tribute but Oscar suddenly anticipates a step too far ahead for the young King and a unified gasp is heard when Max Emilian's body hits the dirt. It's instinct that has Oscar's sword held at the King's throat. But when Max Emilian throws his visor back his bloodied mouth is stretched in a wide toothy grin. He barks out a series of high cackles and ceremonially begs mercy. Oscar breathes out in a rush and claps his armored hand around the King's and helps him to his feet. Max Emilian flicks Oscar's visor open for him and lifts his hand declaring Oscar's well-earned victory. Lando forgets himself and leaps up yelling and cheering as his court smiles ruefully over at the stiff, formal "celebrations" coming from the stands opposite.

Holy god I've written way more than I meant to but let's have it finish off with Lando whispering to gain access to the tent where Oscar is undressing and cleaning his wounds. Perhaps his armor has been removed down to the hips the way driver's drop their race suits down after a race. Oscar startles when he sees Lando alone with him and rushes to kneel to him. Maybe Lando puts his hand under Oscar's chin and tells him to rise up and oh maybe seeing Oscar sweaty and dirtied with a cut to one cheek and a few bruises on his body makes him forget himself. Maybe he surges up and kisses Oscar and maybe Oscar is shocked but also feels exactly the same way and kisses him right back. Then probably Oscar decides to make his boldest move yet and says that if Lando doesn't want him then he'll quietly go away - but if Lando does want him then Oscar would welcome the title King Consort, would be proud of it in fact to be in service a king like Lando one day.

Then Lando either passes out because he's been in blue ball hell since Carlos and years worth of arousal hit him all at once or maybe he just whimpers a little and starts wondering how fast a royal wedding can get planned so he can Get That Dick ASAP.

Fin.

#landoscar #this is also carlando and dando and charlos in passing #fic prompt #mine #crown prince lando #prince charming lando #f1 royalty au

[omkookie]

♡ Suitors ♡ · Silvio, Clavis Nokto and Luke. 🩷

⌈ ⚠️ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ⌉ Yandere themes, slightly suggestive, Murder. Fluffy yanderes 15+ ☺️

Silvio

He hates the man from the moment he sees him. How dare he approach you? It was very fucking obvious that you were HIS woman. You were covered in HIS Jewellery, wearing HIS fancy collar. It was clear as day that you were Silvio Ricci's possession.

No one should be approaching you. Especially not that sneaky cunt of a nobleman who has a reputation of being a womanizer. After he sees the nobleman put his hand on your waist, Silvio snaps and is by your side in a split second, his hands grabbing the guy so hard that his rings leave imprints on his skin. He shoves him away from you, and you take Silvio’s hand to immediately calm him down. You just know that Silvio will turn this into a fight if you don’t. Silvio huffs, still very fucking annoyed by the nobleman as nobleman dismisses himself, coming up with an excuse to leave, and apologizing profusely as he does so.

When he leaves, you pull Silvio in for a hug, Telling your sweet boy how happy you are of the progress he’s made, and how he didn’t do something like dumping the man in the sea. Silvio nestles his head into the crook of your neck and listens to you, feeling somewhat content with your praise as you give him your affection.

He’s still beyond jealous. How could a scummy little nobleman touch you? Especially when he knows that you belong to Silvio. HIs mere audacity was enough to land him dead in the sea behind the palace. If it weren’t for you, Silvio would have the man tied and then drowned. It’s only because of your kindness and your ability to deal with his yandere tendencies that he got away… That doesn’t fully mean that he gets off the hook though. Silvio is hateful, Very hateful and possessive. He’ll make sure that the man’s business turns into a living hell. May that be a lesson to the scummy nobleman never touch you again.

Oh, But Silivo’s jealousy will get toned down after you give him some kisses! Just don’t surprise him, and make sure that you give him a warning before you smooch him. You don’t want his face to turn the same color as a tomato’s while there are still other people around.

Or do you?

Clavis

“………”

A very long moment of silence, and cue to Clavis looking at the man with murderous intent. Ooh, what will he do to that man? He’ll dig a pitfall so deep for him, that he can fall in and possibly break a leg. He’ll fill it with poison ivy so that he gets problems with his respiratory system, and–

You notice your lover’s salty frown from across the room, then immediately know what’s up. You dismiss yourself and walk over to Clavis, enveloping your lover in your arms to hold him close. Clavis pouts, but hugs you in return before resting his cheek on your shoulder. “All he did was greet me. Clavis.” You tell him while snuggling against his chest.“

Clavis somewhat calms down, For now… And it’s only because you look so cute when snuggling against him. Still, In his head he schemes what he’ll do with the man late at night, before he returns home to you. He knows who the man is, and he knows how infatuated the man is with you.

That’s why he’ll deal with the matter later.

Now, Is it wrong, or is it right? Taking a person’s life just because they touched something that’s his? Was it immoral to be protective of what you hold dearest to you? Was it okay to stab someone, and then watch as the blood gushes out of them?

Clavis watches the blood seep out of the nobleman’s wound, and although he knows that he should feel guilt he feels nothing. In his eyes, he simply did what was right. The man shouldn’t have touched you. He shouldn’t have tried getting close to you, and it was his own damn fault that he was dead. Clavis kicks his body off of the cliff and watches as it plunges into the depths of a thick fog. The cold night air chills his skin, and the coppery smell of blood still lingers in the air. Letting out a resigned sigh, He decides to finally go back home to you. You’ll surely be waiting for him in bed, and he can’t wait to shower you in his hugs.

He’ll never hold another ball in his territory though.

Nokto

Oh. He’s mad alright.

He hates the man from the bottom of his heart. How could a disgusting insect like him kiss the back of YOUR hand? Nokto appears behind you and makes a show out of pulling you close to him by your waist, and then kissing your neck to show off that you’re his. Jealousy easily bubbles up within him when another man does as little as look at you. You are beautiful. Gorgeous, clad in one of the nicest looking dresses which he picked out for you. Other men getting to look at you was bad enough, But, having the audacity to touch you was foul. His display of affection, of course, makes the guy who kissed you leave awkwardly.

Nokto watches in annoyance as the man leaves, and then he pouts, looking like an annoyed little fox. He takes your arm to lead you toward the rose garden.

“Don’t go seducing other guys besides me now.” He teases you, trying to sound as unaffected as possible while you leave the ballroom together. But of course, you can see right through his facade.

In the garden, his lips are all over your body. His hands roam over your skin, and he sucks and kisses every inch of your chest. He loves you. He loves you so much, Your body, mind and soul. You’re perfect, and he adores you. So, don’t leave him no matter what, and don’t look at any other man. He’ll love you sweetly, and he’ll hold you even closer until his jealousy melts away… His jealousy of course, quickly dissipates when you cup his cheeks and kiss him. Your sweet words of reassurance make his heart melt, and he sighs in bliss as he rests his head onto your shoulder.

You coddle him all evening long, giving him your undivided attention and sweet affection. Needless to say, This wild fox is tamed and cuddly on your lap, absorbing all of the love that he can like a sponge.

Luke

Your protective boyfriend doesn’t leave you alone. That’s why, It comes as a surprise to both of you when a rather audacious man starts hitting on you right in front of him. You chuckle, clearly not fazed by the man’s flirty demeanor, and obviously finding him rather ridiculous. Luke, on the other hand, just watches as you reject his advances and laugh at him. You don’t waste any time entertaining the man, and simply hug your boyfriend closer. He wraps a protective arm around you, and shoots a piercing glare at the man so that he finally leaves.

Once left alone, you go back to munching on your honey’d snacks, and enjoying the theatre’s play. You have a nice day with Luke and forget all about the man from earlier,  

Luke on the other hand hasn’t. He knows that the man who followed you to the theatre was a nobleman who was deeply in love with you, and thinking about how the guy must have been stalking you to get here was insufferable. He decides to take things in his own hands that evening so that the nobleman wouldn’t stalk you again. He waits for the man to appear behind a bar before grabbing him by the collar of his neck and slamming him against the building. Before he knows it, He strangles the nobleman to death– and then looking down at his hands, he feels guilty. 

He let his obsession get the better of him, and allowed his impulsive decision to take control of him.

Luke comes home looking like a kicked puppy and confesses what has happened, expecting you to immediately berate him for what he did… But you don’t. He’s surprised when you sigh in exasperation but still comfort him, and tell him everything will be okay. You snuggle against your gentle giant and pet his head until he feels better, and his heart flutters when you run your fingers through his hair. Even after finding out about something like that, you were still so king. Even though he killed someone, you didn’t look at him like he was a murderer. 

You still looked at him like he was your lover.

Luke hugs you tightly, then he kisses your forehead to thank you for not hating him. <3

@ala-rossi

#ikemen prince #ikepri #ikemen prince x reader #ikemen prince fanfiction #silvio ikemen prince #ikemen silvio #silvio ricci #clavis ikemen prince #clavis lelouch #ikepri clavis #ikemen prince nokto #ikepri nokto #nokto klein #luke ikemen prince #ikepri luke #luke randolph #requests #yandere fanfiction #yandere ikemen prince #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere male #fluff #cw;yandere❤️ #yandere fluff #yandere x you #yandere x willing reader

[ikeromantic]

Hello!

Wanted to send a fun a little ask from the prompts you posted!

Clavis

Pit trap

Black licorice

A little thought I had.

( nothing SUPER specific bit thought I'd share anyway) But please, do whatever you feel would fit the choices and scenario best!!

-----

MC is mad at clavis for who knows what, like REALLY mad and clavis just wants to fix it as soon as possible. He can't have his lovely MC mad at him forever after all!

So maybe after trying desperately to talk to her, they both accidentally end up in one of his traps that he had forgotten about. Certainly, I would give them time and space (lol) to talk things out, however upsetting the conversations may be. But it's necessary, and they get through it

You know I adore Clavis ^_^ Here is approx 1300 words of Clavis in a pit trap of his own making . . . a little angsty, a little sweet, a little salty. IkePri New Years Event story!

“I’m not your toy.” She stomped her foot, fists clenched at her sides. Despite her fearsome stance, her eyes were damp with unshed tears.

Clavis chuckled. “My dear, of course you’re my toy. Why else would I play with you, hm? Think about it.” He hoped to tease her out of this snit, and in the meantime, her reaction was simply adorable. Such ferocity!

She let out a long, slow breath, and her shoulders slumped. “You know what? I’m not doing this tonight. I’m tired and I’ve had too much to drink.” Her hand swiped at her eyes, wiping away a tear before it fell. “Goodnight, Prince Lelouch.”

“Lelouch? Since when are we on - hey! Where are you - wait!” Clavis chased after her as she rushed away, down an empty hall. She turned left, then right, trying to lose him. Which was ridiculous. This was his manor, afterall and he knew every nook and cranny. Including - “Don’t go that way! There’s a -”

His warning came too late. His lover tumbled down the hole and landed at the bottom of a pit trap. This one wasn’t too deep, but the walls were angled in and slick. Impossible to climb out of without help. 

Clavis leaned over the edge of the hole and peered down. “Are you alright?”

“Would you just leave me alone?” Her voice was full of hurt, and he though he couldn’t see her face, he was fairly sure she was crying.

He sighed, shrugged, and hopped down after her. The landing hurt a bit more than expected, and he made a mental note to add more padding to the bottom. It wouldn’t do to injure a guest, afterall. 

She looked at him, her eyes wide and her mouth open. “You have got to be kidding me. You followed me into the pit? Seriously?”

“Of course. I’m a gentleman. I can’t let my beloved fall into a pit trap by herself.” He ignored her frown and rolled eyes. 

“Great. So now I’m stuck with you.” She crossed her arms and slumped to the floor where she could rest her head against her knees. 

The position reminded Clavis of a hedgehog, all rolled up, every angle warning him not to touch. Which, of course, made him want to touch even more. Besides, he felt . . . unsettled. She was truly upset with him and it was a bit like having a pebble in your shoe. If the pebble was a hot knife and the shoe in question was your heart. 

“Just until morning. Cyran always does a full check of all operational traps. He’ll find us.”

“Great,” she muttered. 

“It really is! Now I have you in a place where you can’t run away.” Clavis knelt down beside her. 

She peeked at him over her knees. “What do you want, Prince Lelouch?” She said his name and title like an insult, and from her it really did hurt. 

“I want to know why you’re so - so -” his mind ran through possible words. Hurt. Angry. Sad. “bad at taking a joke.” Clavis seized on that one, the one that didn’t make his chest tight and his eyes ache. The one that didn’t whisper, she will leave you too, in the quiet parts of his mind. 

“A joke?” She raised an eyebrow. “You told that nobleman I’m your plaything. Your words! And I . . .” she took a deep breath, wiping furiously at her face as the tears began to fall in earnest. “I thought I meant more than that to you.”

You do. The words didn’t come out aloud though. “I did say favorite plaything. You see? You’re very important to me.”

“See? That. Right there.” She stopped trying to erase the tears and just let them fall. “I like your sense of humor. Your adventurousness. I like that I never know what to expect from you. You upend everything. Turn all the rules on their heads.”

“Yes. I am a very amazing and wonderful prince . . .” Clavis cocked his head. He hadn’t expected compliments. Didn’t understand where she was going with this.

“I love you. I love all those things about you.”

He nodded. “And I love you.”

She gave an exasperated sigh. “But you act like I’m just a toy you own. Replaceable. Something you’ll play with until it breaks and then go out and get a new one. And even if - if you don’t mean it -” Her tears turned into heart rending sobs and the words, whatever they might have been, were lost.

“But . . . there is only one you.” Clavis set a hand on her leg and was surprised when she brushed it away.

“Th-that nobleman doesn’t think so!” Her eyes were red-rimmed, cheeks flushed with emotion. “H-he thinks you can go to town and p-pick up any common girl. I’m j-just some worthless piece of p-pretty trash!” 

Clavis felt his heart clench in his chest. Was this what she thought he meant? Was this how she felt? Her words cut into him, a wound that bled like fire. “I . . .”

“I can’t do this anymore,” she added quietly. 

That calm statement froze his insides. Ice and fire together, burning him. Clavis didn’t care what some nobleman thought of his lover. But her hurt was real. He wondered how long this sorrow and anger had been eating at her. And he hadn’t noticed. He felt dumbstruck. A fool, just as Chev always said. 

“W-when Cyran comes . . . I’m just going t-to take my things. And go.” She sniffled. 

The air left his lungs, and for a moment Clavis was truly struck dumb. He struggled to breathe, to speak. Everyone he loved, left. He would be alone again. “No.”

She pushed the hair out of her face. “What?”

“No.” Clavis reached out and grabbed her hands, ignoring the way she tried to pull back. “I won’t let you go.”

“What are you going to do, tie me up?” A rebellious smile appeared under her tears. 

He smiled back, his heart thudding in his chest. “If I have to.” Clavis swallowed. He hated showing his genuine emotion, his soft heart, but for her . . . anything. “But first, I - I’m sorry.”

Her eyebrows shot up. 

“I’m sorry for calling you my plaything in front of someone too ignorant to understand what that means to me.” He squeezed her hands gently in his. “You are my toy, my most favorite diversion. My very own, irreplaceable, priceless, one of a kind, beautiful, smart, silly, amazing -”

“Clavis, you’re being excessive.” She frowned at him but he noticed her tears were drying up.

“I am never excessive. As I was saying - amazing, wonderful, sweet -” he cleared his throat, “woman, that I love. And I can’t -” he coughed again, “I can’t imagine doing without you.”

Her gaze softened, the anger and sadness in her eyes wavering. 

“Please. Stay by my side?”

“I . . . I don’t know. People are always going to think I’m only in it because of who you are. For the money and privilege.”

Clavis snorted. “No one who knows me will think that. Besides, who cares what idiots say? We’ll just sic Chev on them. Tell him they dog-eared a book page or something.”

She laughed then, and he knew he had her. Relief flowed through him like warm honey, sweet and thick and golden. “I don’t know if I’d want them to die like that,” she mused.

Her smile was everything, he thought. “Well, maybe not dog-eared then. Perhaps . . . cracked the spine a bit? Dropped some coffee on it? No?”

“Pretty sure all of those are a Chevalier death sentence.” She paused and took a shaky breath. “This is why you’re so bad for me, you know? I can be rightly pissed off at you, and you still make me smile.” She shook her head. “It’s bad for my heart.”

“Well. I like your smile. And you are cute when you’re angry so . . . I’m not sorry. I can’t ever be sorry.” Clavis smiled at her. “As long as I get to keep you by my side.”

#ikemen prince #ikepri #ikepri clavis #clavis lelouch #fanfiction #fanfic #otome #otome guys #fluff #light angst

[faerietells]

Just like any other noble ladies, you’re perfectly aware that you would never marry for love. Not even your older brother did, so why would you? This is your duty, after all— while your eldest brother would be the Lord of your House and your younger brother would take the cloak as a knight, your duty is to forge powerful alliance with another noble House, possibly a stronger House than your own. Marrying for love is wonderful, but love might not be there forever. You might be happy, yes, but for how long? Your House’s legacy, on the other hand, would outlast you and nothing is more important than that. So as much as you have complaints about the arrangements your parents had made with the King, you spoke nothing of it, knowing that this not only will give your House a powerful ally, but also would secure your position in history if you play your cards right.

Your betrothed, King Kaius, had been crowned not even a year ago but as far as royals go, you could confidently say that he’s one of the most infamous Kings in history. The Kingdoms are divided after the war between him and the late King Galen— some thought he did what was needed to be done as his brother was too weak of a King while the other deemed him dishonorable for even thinking of doing such thing. But truth be told, although public opinion does matter to you, at this moment you find yourself caring about something else.

Everyone knows about the war between the two brothers and how it ended, but what remains a mystery is the motives behind your betrothed’s decision to start his rebellion. That’s what truly interests you as it might tell you what kind of man Kaius truly is.

As far as your research went, there are a lot of conflicting accounts regarding his motives. However, most people believe that he did what he did simply because he wanted the throne as he is the eldest son. All of your friends believe that was the case as well; even now, each of them is giving you this sympathetic look as you are seated next to your future husband. But if they are right, then why does he not look as though he enjoys his current position?

You let out a soft, faint sigh before you take a sip of the wine in your glass, trying your best to ignore that gnawing feeling on your stomach. You don’t like this. As much as you like the fact that you’d be the Queen of one of the most powerful King in history, you’d also wished to be married off to someone that’s easy to figure out, not a man full of mystery like him. How can you be sure that you’d be able to work well with him when you don’t even know the first thing about him? A marriage where the couple ignored each other’s presence after producing an heir is not unheard of, but you’d hoped that although your marriage wouldn’t be one built from love, but at least it’d be a strong partnership and you can’t have that if you can’t even begin to understand him.

“Are you displeased, my Lady?”

You nearly choked, not expecting your future husband to speak to you at all. As you turned your head to him, you realized that he’s looking at you intently. How long has he been staring? You offered him a small smile in attempt to be polite, but his face remains neutral, his haunting, serpent-like icy blue eyes offer you no insight to what he might be thinking or feeling.

“Of course not. Why should I be displeased?” you asked, feigning ignorance in hope he would just nod and move on. Unfortunately to you, he doesn’t seem to be interested to do any of that.

“Because you’d be married to me.”

The contrast between the two of you is hard to miss as soon as those words left his mouth. You’re absolutely flustered, the bluntness of his words had caught you off guard as you’re not used to such honesty, especially from a nobleman you barely even know while he just looks indifferent, seemingly thinking that he’s only stating facts and thus there’s no reason to make a big deal out of it. If anything, his eyebrows furrowed slightly in confusion when he sees how you silently scrambled to find a proper response to what he said.

“Am I mistaken?” he questioned, his head tilted slightly like a confused puppy. “You were sighing, so I assumed—”

“No, no,” you said quickly to stop him from jumping to any conclusions. He’s not entirely wrong, of course, but you were taught not to express dismay openly, especially when it comes to situation like this. So, instead of telling him what you’re truly thinking, honeyed words left your mouth in hope that it’d appease him. “I am merely tired, my King. It’s been a long day, but I do enjoy spending time with you,” you lied smoothly, adding a sweet smile by the end of your sentence to make it seem truthful.

He said nothing else, but he still stares at you and the confusion in his eyes is slowly replaced by this cold, displeased look that chilled you to your bone. Only after that did he look away, leaving you wondering if you had said something wrong. Is he displeased by this arrangement? Perhaps the reason why he’d asked you that question was because he was trying to see if you feel the same, but how can you be sure? He’s so hard to read for you. It’d honestly be better if he’d boasted about his many exploits because then at least you’d figure out a thing or two about him but he’s so quiet and curt with his words that it doesn’t offer you much insight about him as a person and so you have no clue how to handle this properly. You know one thing for sure, though; your father would definitely kill you if this betrothal falls through so you need to do something about this.

“Do you not enjoy parties, Your Majesty?” you decided to start another conversation with him, hoping to salvage your betrothal before he decided to cancel it. You don’t know if he actually would, but you’d be a fool if you don’t consider that as a possibility, especially after he’d looked at you with such disdain.

“No,” he replied without even looking at you. In fact, he’s not even looking anywhere, he just stares off to the distance while he rests his chin on his knuckles as if bored by this entire celebration. Perhaps small talk isn’t the way, then, you noted in your mind.

“Do you not wish to be married to me?” you decided to ask a bolder question, ignoring how your own heart sank to the deepest pit of your stomach as the question left your mouth. It’s against what you’ve been taught— you were always taught to figure out and charm others, not ask questions that could possibly jeopardize your betrothal. If he said no, what then? But you’re at your wits’ end and he clearly doesn’t respond well to flattery or small talks so you figured that perhaps he’d respond better to bold questions like these.

Luckily for you, it seems that you were right.

Although his expression is still hard to read, he gives you his full attention as he turns his head to you. He didn’t answer the question right away, instead he stares at you for a moment, his fingers tapped against the table in a certain rhythm while he observes you. “What do you think? Do you think I disagree with this betrothal?” he questioned calmly and yet it still caught you off guard as you don’t expect him to respond with another question.

“I think…” you hesitated, feeling conflicted whether you should answer bluntly or not. You’ve gone this far and judging from how your question seems to really intrigue him, perhaps being straightforward is the best way to go when talking to him. “Yes, I think you’re displeased by this arrangement.”

“Hmm,” he hummed thoughtfully, nodding slowly as he contemplates you answer.

“Are you?”

“I am neither pleased nor displeased by the arrangement,” he tells you honestly to answer your initial question. “But it is our duty so what I think or feel doesn’t matter, does it?”

You stare at him in disbelief, taken aback by his words. When you heard about him from the rumors, you’d think he’s the power hungry, self-serving type of man and yet here he is, showing you that he’s someone that puts duty first before even his own happiness. Why did he take the throne from his own brother, then? Was he made to do it? His answer somehow left you with more questions than before and you’re not sure how to feel about that.

However, despite the fact that he’s still an enigma to you, you also can’t deny that his answer really resonated with you. You think the same way, as you were raised to put duty before all else, even at the cost of your own happiness. Perhaps the two of you have more in common than you had previously thought and even if your marriage would not be a loving one, there might be a chance to at least have an understanding between the two of you. That thought alone comforts you more than all else and for the first time since your betrothal was decided, you feel at ease.

“My answer seems to really please you,” he noted, the way you seemed to be more relaxed didn’t miss his attention.

“You are a mystery to me, my King—” you paused, noticing how the corner of his mouth twitched slightly as he tries to stifle a smile. Huh. Perhaps he does like it better when you speak plainly to him rather than attempting to flatter him. “But” you continued, “I have hopes that perhaps we could understand each other. So perhaps even if our marriage will not be a loving one, we could still be partners?”

“That sounds lovely. I’d like nothing more,” he said with nothing but sincerity in his voice.

A delighted smile formed on your face when he gently clinked his glass to yours, signifying the beginning of your partnership with him. You still have a lot of questions about him, but for now, you couldn’t be more pleased by how things turn out.

Perhaps this arranged marriage wouldn’t be such a disaster, after all.

#monster x reader #monster boyfriend #monster lover #monster romance #faerie x reader #fae x reader #fae #faerie #drabbles #self insert reader #female reader #teratophillia #terato #exophilia

[tired-biscuit]

Imagine giving General Kiba a handjob during an important meeting- 👀👀

18+ fem!reader / cw: mentions of alcohol and risk of getting caught. royalty AU. there's tension between kiba and shino in this one!!

series masterlist

mead tastes better than you thought it would.

absent-mindedly staring at the dancing flames of the fireplace that's situated right across the great table you currently sit at, you consume the honeyed drink from your glass in small sips.

fine ladies such as yourself usually don't drink alcohol in order to obtain their graceful poise and elegant speech, you know this, however ever since your father had married - sold - you off to a war general instead of a duke, or at least a nobleman who'd know how to dance and use his utensils properly, you've since abandoned that particular idea.

so you sit there; in your 'i carry my own knife strapped to my belt like some heathen, instead of using normal silverware' husband's study. the study, which he lets you in only as of late, and which you've just realized looks absolutely divine, even if its visual does come off a tad bit blurry around the edges of your sight whenever you blink.

readjusting in your chair, you drag your gaze from one end to the other. the walls are decorated with tasteful art which he definitely did not pick or hang. the furniture, made out of wood that you suspect is surely walnut, pleasantly compliments the suave style of the entire space. incense burns in one corner, smelling prominently of sandalwood. it fills your lungs with warm hints of amber and worn leather.

it's all very male, the atmosphere, and as the minutes pass, the heaviness of it turns you somewhat dozy. truth be told, you could fall asleep right then and there, with your cheek laying flat against the table, dreams riddling your thoughts in no time. especially when you'd have thickly sweet mead warming your veins throughout the entire night, and you'd already managed to slip off your shoes just a moment prior.

wiggling your toes deeper into the carpet, you let out an appreciative sigh at how the rich material brushing against your bare soles feels astoundingly more intense than usual. being tipsy is great, you discover, and the carpet is thick and in the colour of a deep maroon red; its purpose only meant to add further to the already overly-sophisticated ambience of the room that doesn't suit the wildish personality of the general at all. you suppose that it's because he hasn't been using the study for long enough yet, but who knows?

still, you don't pay much mind to the thought as the feverish shade plays with your drunken brain the moment you dip your chin down to inspect it more closely. toes tightly curling, it's like your feet are touching molten steel from how warm and soft they've suddenly gotten, and it doesn't take you long to realize that you have no way of cooling them down.

the heat sits not on your skin; it instead brings your blood to a simmer.

your husband doesn't address the weight of your foot when you rest it on top of his boot underneath the table. with his nose nearly buried in copious stacks of maps and documents all representing your thriving nation that's ruled by the iron fist of your father, kiba has been ignoring you completely for the last three hours or so in order to strategize and prepare for his next campaign.

the war is over, he's won it - that is why you're here, after all - and yet he still works and plans ahead of time to foresee the next challenge that could possibly be thrown his way. it's a trait you catch yourself feeling slightly surprised by, perhaps even fond over; one that you wouldn't necessarily appoint to a careless brute like him.

he's all different kinds of clever than what you're normally used to, you realize. when he focuses, it's rather on anticipating attacks and finding ways to efficiently counter their assisting blows, than on poetry and music and the arts and just plain literature.

you've never seen him read a book, even if there are plenty in the library downstairs and inside this study alone. much less encountered him drawing something other than charts to place his platoons and battalions of soldiers on, and the childish-looking rabbits he sometimes scribbles for you to make you smile. philosophy is almost surely a foreign term to him, all he cares about is the bite of the fight.

so perhaps that, along with all the scheming and planning he does with his stoic advisor now, proves to be the reason as to why he hadn't fussed at all and had merely brushed you off with a quick wave of his hand when you'd whispered to him that you intend to pour yourself a drink. and a second. and later, a third.

either that, or he's slowly getting used to you actually having a mind of your own, and is letting you do whatever you please with it just so that you'd let him do his job in return.

but alas, your mind is bored. terribly so.

and standing next to your chair, with his arms spread out firmly on the table and his broad shoulders slumped, he looks mighty appealing as well.

applying further pressure to his boot, you watch as the bridge of his nose scrunches slightly at the contact. he doesn't say or do anything besides knitting his brows together, but by the time you repeat the action for a second time, way more persistently at that, he finally lifts his gaze from the group of small figurines he's been obsessively rearranging all across the map, and turns to look at you instead.

the moment your husband's attention moves onto you, his military advisor clamps his mouth shut; finally ceasing his seemingly-endless assessment of the area they've chosen to put the phantom-soldiers on, and that you've been forced to listen to for the last aeon or so.

well, not exactly forced, per se. you're in here by your own decision; because you've nagged kiba about wanting to see what his line of work looks like.

so whilst you're still trying to get used to the sudden silence to fall upon the room, you give a fleeting glance to the soldier that stands across from you, now. he's tall, fair-skinned and lean. handsome but guarded, as far as you can tell, since he doesn't even look at you, much less acknowledges your presence despite that you're of noble blood.

privilege doesn't seem to matter to military men. to him, you're just another woman amongst many. a mere breeding mare, as disgusting as that sounds.

your husband used to be just like that.

"yes, princess?" the man in question asks, putting your train of thought to an abrupt halt. when you whip your head to the side so that you can look up at him, you're able to tell that he's tired almost straight away. you can hear it in the prominent drawl of his voice and see it in his eyes. he's fed-up even if he loves to work, and it makes your brow furrow with concern.

"i-i... uhm," your tongue stumbles and you fall silent for a moment as heat steadily begins to creep up your neck. if it's because of the alcohol or the sudden racing that the sugary pet name invokes in your heart, you do not know. still, you swallow hard and calm your pulse down just enough to say, "i'm sorry, i just wanted to suggest if we'd call it a night...? you seem tired and it's getting quite late anyway, and-"

your voice fades into nothing for a second time around when he chooses to move. he's slow but everlastingly robust as he sighs and plops down onto the chair that's right on your left. his body slumps against the finely-carved details in the backrest and you try to pretend that you don't notice the visible cord that pushes against his neck when he moves to stretch it from side to side. try to play ignorant at how he spreads his legs underneath the edge of the table and sits as if he comandeers the entire room.

it's probably because he does.

he rubs at his eye now, all sleepy and laggard, and uses the other one to look at you. "let me just figure out if the terrain we chose is passable, and then i promise you that we'll head straight to bed." he blinks, then. fights back a yawn because he hasn't been sleeping well for nearly a week straight. "does that sound all right?"

a blush sears your face at his words, its warmth making your cheeks feel like they're tingling as you turn away and indulge in your sudden bashfulness. he might be a smooth talker or maybe you're just drunk, but goddammit; the fact that he's actually willing to put in the effort to settle on an agreement almost regularly now, lights your entire body on fire.

you're changing him for the better day by day and your lips keep tugging upward at the corners because of it, especially when you say, "yes, that's fine by me."

"good," he mumbles, taking note of the beam before he turns his attention back towards his aloof-looking subordinate. "now, where were we, shino?"

shino, as you've just learned is the advisor's name, quirks a dark, inquisitive brow at the exchange he's just witnessed. the man before you doesn't remember his general ever acting this considerate around anyone, much less a woman.

it makes his eyes dance between you as he clears his throat. "if i may suggest," his gaze goes back and forth again, "that if the lady wishes to retire for the evening, she should be free to do so? we've still got a lot of material to go through, and disturbances like these aren't of any help when it comes to making a decision, i'm sure."

disturbances.

your heart drops right down to the pit of your stomach. the fact that the word affects you is hard to hide; embarrassment makes your face burn once more, because now you've got your husband's thigh firmly pressing against the side of yours underneath the table. his knee bounces in a quick rhythm that doesn't help calming you down, but one bump to your leg reminds you to keep your spine ramrod straight and your chin held high.

when you look at him from the corner of your eye, there's a small smile playing on his lips. and yet, his voice sounds like it's being grit out through clenched teeth as he says, "i don't know what kind of wife you've got back at home, but mine sure isn't a disturbance; as you've so kindly put it."

"i understand that, sir," shino says, his voice remaining perfectly flat, "but she-"

"the lady suggested that we should perhaps put a halt on this thing, because she can tell that i'm fed up and fucking tired," the other man cuts in, pinching the bridge of his nose with his scarred fingers. "and as far as i can tell, that's not a disturbance; it's rather affection coming from a caring spouse. besides, she has a point. what fruitful decision had ever been made by an exhausted general?"

the advisor's eyes narrow as your own shoot wide open. your heart insists on fluttering back up towards its rightful place, even as shino says, "i don't seem to recall you ever being this careful during the planning of a campaign before... usually you're more than eager to run headfirst into battle and i have to be the one stopping you."

"well, i've got more important things to consider and worry about now. much larger things are at stake," the general replies, brushing him off with a simple gesture of his hand. "now, go fetch me that book you were talking about earlier; i think i saw it in the bookcase over there by the window. after we skim it, we can call it a night so that we're all happy."

he makes it sound like an order, not a request. and sure enough, his advisor is still a soldier, so he quietly obeys as he pushes away from the table and turns his back towards you both whilst heading towards the bookcase at the other side of the room. you don't miss the subtle albeit frustrated tick in his jaw as he does so. it makes you muse.

meanwhile, kiba uses the chance to press a hasty kiss to your still-warm cheek. the sudden affection nearly makes you audibly gasp, but you're fast to stifle it down even if the mead in your belly tells you not to.

instead, you place your hand on his thigh and don't dare look into his big brown eyes as you mutter a meek, "i'm sorry."

"eh? what on earth are you sorry for, princess? you were just looking out for me, were you not?" he rasps, his voice no longer sharp, but playful. "besides, shino should be the one apologizing for acting like a stuck-up cunt towards my goddamn wife."

"oh, you can't just-" a small giggle bubbles up your throat at his blatant cursing. you're quick to cover your mouth with your other palm, but a fraction of it still manages to slip out. he can't deny it anymore; the sound jumpstarts kiba's very heart.

he doesn't tell you this, but he's growing more fond of you with each passing day. you bring sunshine and warmth into his existence by merely existing yourself. slowly figuring out a functioning dynamic that works well between you, sharing a bed and sometimes a bath, having someone to talk to late at night, receiving little signs of affection; it all makes him feel like life is worth living. like he's worth living for.

so it's no wonder why his hand cups your chin and he whispers, "so... could i perhaps get a little kiss? as a reward for being such a good husband?"

you're clearly flustered, because now you're looking at him from underneath your lashes as you mumble, "now?"

"mhmm," he purrs, draping his free arm over the backrest of your chair. "right now."

"but what if your advisor-"

"you know that book i mentioned earlier?" he interrupts, leaning in even closer. he smells like a forest; deep and rich, earthy. it titillates your senses.

"mm," is all you offer in answer. god, you're so drunk that the heat between your legs is pulsating in his presence. it's becoming almost unbearable, you feel like a whore despite that he's your husband.

he glances towards the other man in the room, whose back is still turned towards you as he keeps searching the bookshelves. "...well, i might have forgotten to mention that it's up in my bedroom because i'd been reading it just last night."

you blink, clearly surprised. "you read?"

"only when i have to." he glances across the room again before he licks his lips and says, "but the point i'm trying to make is that he's gonna be searching for it for a long while, so i think it's safe to say that a kiss would go entirely unnoticed."

you sigh at this, but succumb rather quickly. it might be because of the alcohol that's still coursing your system or because of his coaxing and urging, but by the time your lips press against his own softly, aiming for a simple peck, he's quick to immediately turn it into something deeper.

he just likes you so much. and can you blame him that he wants a little bit of loving from the person he admires, after the tough, absolutely draining week he's had? he's just so needy.

and he's also a messy kisser. your whimper is silenced when he pushes his tongue inside your mouth and licks your teeth with the swift arrogance of an assured male. he angles your head by pressing his thumb underneath your chin and sucks on your bottom lip until it starts to feel awfully tender and bruised. you can feel the slight grazing of his unnaturally sharp incisor every once in a while as he continues to taste you. it's enough to drive a woman completely mad.

especially because you can feel him hardening just underneath your palm, now. it seems that your treacherous hand had decided to act upon its own selfish desires whilst you were too busy handling his tongue in your mouth, and had inched higher up his leg until it'd finally settled on the now-prominent bulge that resides in his pants.

by the time you pull apart for air, his cock is already pushing against the buttons and there's a string of saliva connecting your panting mouths. his cheeks are flushed, brown eyes glazed as he releases his hold on your chin and swipes his thumb across your lip to get rid of the spit there.

"we shouldn't-" you start, but he silences you by wedging his thumb between your plush lips and pushing it into your mouth, right to the knuckle. you can see his pupils dilate when your first instinct is to suck on it.

"fuck, you've got such a good-lookin' mouth; but i can't... just..." he mumbles somewhat dazedly now, his voice hoarse in that appealing way that tells you he's horny out of his fucking mind, and so quick, too. he inhales a sharp breath, shaking his head as if he's trying to gather his thoughts before he focuses on you again and rasps, "just stroke it. over my pants."

when you give his advisor a sidelong glance, you're relieved to find out that he's still stubbornly searching for the book in hopes of not disappointing his superior. but unfortunately for you, your husband isn't pleased with you directing your attention on another man at a crucial time like this.

"hey... look at me, princess," he taps his fingers against your cheekbone and presses his thumb onto the flat of your tongue, making you wince in surprise when your throat tightens in answer. "i need you to stroke my cock, all right?"

all you do is grunt in response. the sound comes out muffled.

"it'll just look like we're whispering to each other. you know, as a married couple does from time to time," he inches closer, his way of speaking urgent. "i promise he won't notice a thing."

he's gotten so desperate now that he's even wrapped his hand around your own and started moving it up and down his length. when your grip tightens around his clothed cock, you watch in awe as he bites his lip to suppress a groan.

his arm is still resting on your chair's backrest when he pushes forward again and nearly covers your body from sight with his own. hunching his back, he tries to hide the way his ribcage expands whenever he sucks in breaths that grow deeper by the second. you can feel the film of sweat on his forehead when he rests it against your own.

"sir? i can't seem to find the book," shino starts. your heart nearly gives out at the sound of his voice, it's like lightning flashes throughout your every cell.

"keep lookin', i'm sure it's in there somewhere," kiba bites out immediately. all polite talk has ceased to exist.

"but-"

"that's an order, soldier."

you push his thumb out of your mouth with the help of your tongue to chide, "that doesn't seem really convincing! if he turns around, it'll-"

"look like we're gossiping," kiba persists. you nearly squeak when his fingers dig into your gown and rest on your thigh. "like a married couple; just like i've said."

"h-hey-"

"just keep going," he hisses. his eyes are so dark that it makes you fear they'll swallow you whole, and as if he can sense your growing anxiety, he forces his gaze to soften a bit before he adds, "please. you're doing such a good job and i really want this."

you're scared of getting caught because you're supposed to be representing the image of innocence, but truth be told; you're also impeccably thrilled at the same time. he feels big in your hand; fat and heavy and warm between your fingers even over the layer of fabric. every time you squeeze him over his pants, he twitches and bucks his hips right into your touch just to gain more friction.

"fuck yes, princess." every breath is ragged. "that's it... gonna make me cum so fast."

"shh! keep quiet."

it's kind of sweet, how evidently he needs you. but it's also lewd.

the things this man's libido makes him do is unbelievable. it's only been a couple of days since he's last made love to you, and here he is; with his sanity nearly crumbling down to its pillars whilst teaching you how to give him a not at all subtle, under-the-table handjob even if there's an audience nearby. you can't believe he's willing to risk his rank or fall subject to despicable rumours for just a mere touch of your hand.

either he's absolutely delirious, or he's a fool in love. but nevertheless, by the time shino at long last admits defeat and confesses he's unable to find the book; he's also sated.

and as for you; well, let's just say it's hard not to laugh at the knowledge that your husband's pants are sticky with cum when you excuse yourself from the table and he's stuck in the study, rearranging his little toy soldiers.

#this turned out way more detailed than i anticipated but oh well jdjdjdjdj #i love him ur honour #kiba smut #kiba x reader #naruto smut #biscuit's royalty au #biscuit drabbles

[onegianthotmess]

It’s Teatime!

Summary: Faust’s reject experimental elixir somehow made its way into Amelia’s sleepytime tea one night and she woke up as a little girl! And, being the only resident with any free time to watch the maid-turned-child, Isaac got roped into shenanigans by an Amelia that is ten times more chaotic than normal!

You guys can thank @natimiles for this! This is mostly for them and for my little wormy brain, but I hope you enjoy regardless!!!

“Why do I have to look after her?” Isaac asked Comte, uncomfortable with the small pair of eyes on him. Amelia, who was now about the age of five or six, hadn’t stopped staring at Isaac since he walked into the room and it really made the scientist rather uncomfortable and tense. “Couldn’t Napoleon just take her when he goes to teach the children in town? Or maybe Sebastian could watch over her?”

“Well, Napoleon already left, Sebastian has some pretty big chores and shopping for dinner to handle, and everyone else is too busy. And even if some of the others were free, I don’t trust some of them with looking after a child, especially a small girl who’s practically an evil genius as an adult,” Comte sighed apologetically. “And I have a few things to sort out today, so you’re really the only one who can look after her, Isaac. And, if this predicament doesn’t disappear tomorrow, I’ll have Leonardo look after her so you won’t have to. So, could you please do this just for today?”

Even though a small part of him wanted to, Isaac knew he couldn’t really argue with Comte. The only real plans he’d had for his day were to catch up on some reading and possibly start reading the new encyclopedia Comte had bought last month since Leonardo finished it last week. So, with a small nod of understanding and agreement, Isaac led Amelia out of the nobleman’s room and into the hallway.

Once out in the hall, Isaac couldn’t help but stare back at Amelia, who hadn’t looked away from him for even a second, out of nervousness. Had Amelia blinked even once since she’d begun to stare? The scientist couldn’t be sure.

“Uh-Uhm…Wh-Wha-What would you like t-to do?” Isaac stuttered out awkwardly, hoping that the question would divert Amelia’s complete attention from him, if just a little.

To Isaac’s relief and surprise, Amelia looked of to the side in thought. The thought of giving Amelia too many options and too much power in this situation briefly crossed Isaac’s mind, but it was far too late now. And it was especially too late when Amelia perked up and grabbed Isaac’s hand and began to pull him down the hall towards her room.

And, despite being five years old now, Amelia pulled Isaac along quite easily. He may not have been a very big man, being the shortest in the mansion and not the most physically powerful out of the residents, but he still naturally had quite a lot of strength as a vampire. And yet, here he was, being pulled down the hall by a five year old Amelia as if she still had the same amount of strength she did as an adult.

Before Isaac could internally question Amelia’s peculiar strength any further, he felt a tug on his sleeve. Cherry blossom colored eyes looked down to see Amelia gripping onto his sleeve and pointing at the door. Isaac then looked to the door to see the problem; Amelia was just a bit too short to reach the knob. The doors in the mansion were definitely custom designed and the knobs were a bit higher than a standard door design, so it made sense that Amelia couldn’t quite reach well enough to get a good enough grip to actually turn the knob and open the door to her room.

Isaac waited for the child to nod her head before he opened the door to her room only for her to pull him inside and pull him to one of the plush chairs. Taking the hint, Isaac sat down and looked down at the brunette girl who looked at him a moment to make sure he’d stay put before she smiled…and ran off.

Isaac’s first instinct was to go after her, but he wouldn’t even know where to look. It was hard enough to understand Amelia as an adult, but he couldn’t even begin to understand the woman as a child! So, the physicist stayed put so he wouldn’t be wandering around aimlessly and possibly worry the brunette girl if she came back and he wasn’t there.

Isaac didn’t have to wait long, however, as Amelia quickly returned with a basket in tow. And it was definitely quite heavy for her, seeing as her body was almost pulled down by it when she set it down. But, after a few moments catching her breath, Amelia perked up once more and pushed the basket over by Isaac’s feet before she opened it.

And the physicist watched with shock, and the question of where the brunette girl got her supplies so quickly in his mind, as Amelia quickly spread what looked to be a small spare tablecloth on the coffee table in front of Isaac and began to set things on the now covered table, including a tea set with three cups, three plates and three forks, serving utensils, and an entire apple pie. Where and how Amelia got those things and put them in that basket without breaking anything or making a mess, Isaac would never know the answer to that particular question no matter how much he’d ask or how long he’d stay up at night pondering it.

When Amelia finished setting up the table, she quickly moved to tug on Isaac’s hand, signaling for him to stand. The physicist did as he was silently told and let Amelia pull him to her closet before she stopped and turned to look up at the cherry blossom eyed man with a smile.

Seeing the confusion on the man’s face, Amelia explained her intentions. “You have to be dressed right to have tea,” she said, making the physicist tense up.

“D-Dressed right?” Isaac asked, now getting nervous.

He knew that he was small enough to fit Amelia’s adult clothes, with them being a bit long and loose on him due to Amelia being taller than him and quite a curvy woman as an adult. But, the idea of wearing those clothes, made Isaac shy and internally panic.

What if someone came home and walked in, seeing him in women’s clothes? What if he messed up one of Amelia’s favorite pieces that Comte had bought her? What if it was something expensive?

The physicist was pulled out of his panicked thoughts when he felt a tug on his pant leg. Isaac looked down to see the small brunette girl giving him puppy eyes.

“Please, Isaac?” Amelia asked. “I’ll make sure you’re very pretty and you can have a big piece of pie, too.”

Amelia always had a knack for convincing Isaac to do something. She never asked for anything big, but it was still impressive how easy it was for her to convince Isaac to do something for her. Maybe it was how patient she’s always been, or how she babied Isaac in a sort of motherly way.

Either way, Amelia’s convincing skills were ten times more affective when she was a child with some of the biggest and cutest eyes Isaac had ever seen.

Isaac sighed, “O-Okay. You can d-dress me up.”

Amelia beamed up at him and immediately began to look for something to put Isaac in, pulling aside dresses by their bottoms to get as good of a look as she could get of them. When she found one, the brunette’s peach colored eyes lit up and she looked to Isaac with a silent request, which the physicist understood and immediately took out a cream colored sundress, clearly from the 21st century from the style of it, with a print of peach-pink lily of the valley flowers printed at the bottom. It was simple and it would most definitely fit Isaac, even if it would be a bit loose and long on him, especially in the chest.

Amelia clapped her hands in pure joy as she fully saw the dress. It was perfect, especially with the peach-pink colored flowers at the bottom, and all she had to do was get things to put in Isaac’s hair and he’d be ready to have tea. The brunette girl quickly pulled Isaac to the changing screen in the room and left him there to rush to the vanity to try and find any hair accessories that would match the dress Isaac would wear.

Meanwhile, Isaac’s cheeks went as pink as his hair and eyes as he stripped out of his usual clothes, save for his underwear, and placing them on the stool that was also behind the screen. Once his regular clothes were off, Isaac looked to the dress that he’d hung up on a hook on the screen and his cheeks went a slightly darker shade of pink as what he was about to do was really hitting him. It wasn’t that he loathed the idea, as he’d rather see Amelia happy than feel guilty for making her cry, it was just the embarrassing idea of being caught dressed in women’s clothing that made him apprehensive about putting on the dress.

After a moment, Isaac was able to not think about those embarrassing thoughts for a little bit and he began to focus on how to put the dress on. Stepping into it and pulling it up would probably pop a few stitches and ruin it a bit, so the only other option was to pull it over his head. It took the physicist a moment, but when he figured out which way was the front, he managed to slip it onto his body.

The dress was loose on Isaac, as he expected, but it gave him anxiety as he felt it would slip off at any given moment. Then he noticed the pink ribbon that looked like it could tie around the front of the dress. Isaac quickly put two and two together and tied the ribbon comfortably around his front into a secure bow, making sure it looked nice so Amelia would be pleased and so that he wouldn’t have a crying girl on his hands.

Once he was sure he was done, Isaac quietly stepped out from behind the screen and walked over to Amelia, who was digging through a drawer full of what looked to be hair accessories. After a moment, the brunette perked up when she found something that pleased her and took it out of the drawer before turning to be met with Isaac in the dress she’d picked out for him. Amelia’s mouth stretched as wide as it could as she beamed in awe at Isaac, clearly very happy with the dress she’d chosen.

Amelia took another short moment to admire Isaac in the dress before making a motion signaling the physicist to crouch down to eye level with her. Once Isaac had followed the silent instruction, the brunette girl gently placed a white headband on his head. It was soft and didn’t hurt the sides of his head, thankfully, most likely being something that Amelia had with her when she’d first arrived through the door from the twenty first century.

Her peach colored eyes sparkled up at the man before she pulled him behind her so he could look at himself in the mirror. And Isaac didn’t want to admit it, but he couldn’t really be mad at what he saw reflected back at him.

The dress fit nicely with the bow secured around the front, the pink accents brought out his eyes and hair, it suited his complexion as well, and the headband was sort of like the cherry on top of it all. Isaac really didn’t mind how he looked in the mirror, not that he’d wear these clothes outside or around the mansion for everyone to see, even if it would be very embarrassing to be caught dressed like this.

“You’re so pretty!” Amelia beamed. “And now we can have tea and pie!”

The brunette hopped down from the bench she was standing on and led Isaac back over to the coffee table by the hand. She pulled him to where she wanted him to sit before she rushed away to the closet as Isaac sat down on the floor to pull out what looked to be a stuffed animal. But, it could really be called an animal, due to the fact that it had the word “MILK” embroidered on the front and had strawberries on the front as well, thus implying it was most likely strawberry milk. But why did it have two black eyes and a smile then? Why did the eyes stare into his soul as well?

“Amelia,” Isaac asked, “what is that, exactly?”

“Hm?” Amelia hummed with a smile as she gently set the plush across the table from where the physicist sat cross legged on the carpeted floor. The brunette then looked to the tag attached to the plush and smiled. “It’s a Squishmallow, silly! Her name is Amelie and she’s a carton of strawberry milk! Isn’t she cute?”

“Where did you even get it?” Isaac asked, still a bit uneasy from the big eyes of the plush sitting in front of him. “And ‘squishmallow’ isn’t even a real word.”

“Well, if I remember right, I’m pretty sure the nice Comte man went through the big door at the end of the hall to get some of my things for me a month or two after I started living here,” Amelia replied, squinting as the thought hard. “At least I’m pretty sure that’s what he told me. He went over everything when he went back to get me and told me where everything was, too. But he did say this is my room, so I should know where things are to make it a bit easier to live here.”

“I see,” Isaac murmured, figuring it best to just be satisfied with the answer he was given rather than press for more. Amelia was forgetful of important things enough as an adult, even worse as a child.

Amelia moved to the tea pot on the table and picked it up, holding the lid down as she tipped it and a white liquid poured out from the spout and into the cup in front of the “Squishmallow” that sat across from Isaac. It took the physicist a moment to put two and two together, but he eventually realized that it was just milk in the tea pot. It made sense after all, considering Amelia wasn’t a big fan of tea and found the tea at the mansion was particularly too bitter for her tastes, even with plenty of sugar in it.

Amelia poured milk into two of the three cups on the table, switching out the full cup of milk on front of her plush for the empty one, before she set the tea pot down and sat down, looking to Isaac.

“Would you cut the pie, please?” Amelia asked, thankfully knowing she was too small to handle cutting a pie by herself. She’d probably end up cutting off a finger or something if Isaac didn’t do it.

Isaac simply nodded and cut two pieces of pie, handing one to Amelia. The rest of the little “tea party” was spent in comfortable silence as the physicist and the maid-turned-child ate their pieces of pie and enjoyed each other’s company. The two even managed to finish off the pie, which wasn’t too bad as it was only a couple inches and more of a small desert that even one person could easily finish by themselves. The two continued to enjoy each other’s company as they played simple card games and Isaac continued to play dress-up with a very happy Amelia.

Eventually, both of them fell asleep on Amelia’s bed, the brunette girl curled in the arms of the physicist as they both slept peacefully through the night.

However, the next morning, Isaac was met with panic as Amelia was gone. He looked in every corner of the bedroom, only to find that he was alone and the brunette was missing. But, before Isaac could panic, the door to the room opened and the physicist was met with the sight of Amelia leading Leonardo into her room, the Renaissance man still looking quite drowsy. That drowsiness quickly melted away, however, when Leonardo locked eyes with Isaac dressed in one of Amelia’s sundresses and a headband.

“Cara mia, did you dress him up?” Leonardo asked, looking down at a very proud looking Amelia.

The brunette nodded with a smile, “I made him even prettier!”

“I see,” Leonardo replied before looking to the mortified physicist. “She didn’t force you into it or threaten you to do it, did she?”

“I didn’t want to make her cry and that possibility was the only threat I needed,” Isaac replied quickly.

Leonardo nodded, “I can see that. Well, I can take things from here, Isaac. You can change and I’ll watch the bambina for now.”

Isaac nodded and quickly went behind the changing screen where he left his clothes. He shortly came back into view of the Italian man and the brunette girl with the dress he was wearing folded neatly and the headband placed on top. He placed them down on the coffee table away from the dirty dishes that still needed to be taken care of before he went to the door to leave, only to stop and look back.

“I- uhm…Have fun?” Isaac offered with a shy wave before he left the room and disappeared down the hall.

“Wasn’t he so pretty?” Amelia asked with a smile.

Leonardo chuckled, ruffling the brunette’s hair before smiling, “Si, cara mia, he was so very pretty.”

Well, there you have it! I’m very sorry it took so long, but at least it’s done! Now I can work on Jane and Theo! PREPARE TO HAVE YOUR HEARTS BROKEN AND MENDED!!! MUAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAH!!!

#someone draw isaac in this dress and headband please- #you can even add little shoes and lace tights if you want #i just wanna see isaac in this dress #or draw the scene of him sitting down to ‘tea’ and pie with me and a squishmallow #because why the fuck not #ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikemen vampire isaac #ikevamp isaac