virgocat

This girl probably. Medieval fantasy RPG protagonist.

From:

ifhebelievesenough

Woo! Sounds like fun!

William easily translates into a fighter class, with paladin tendencies. Maybe Tyr, or Mystra. One of those.

From:

Finrod had, at first, only meant to help Syeira with her hair. One of the benefits of having an elven prince around, after all, was that you always had an expert in braiding nearby.

That is what he had planned. But when he actually found himself sitting behind her, running his fingers through her hair, it was difficult not to become distracted. He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to the side of her neck.

From:

She could sit and let him play with her hair for hours. She'd already let her eyes drift shut, her head fall forward. She was so relaxed, the brush of warmth against her neck doesn't fully register for a moment or two.

She stirred, turning her head toward him. That's when it became clear what he had done. "Finrod?"

From:

He's not quite sure how to read that reaction and- well, it's nice to know that he can still get butterflies in his stomach.

"I trust I have not overstepped my bounds?" Oh, lord, if he had, he would backtrack so quickly it would make her head spin. Her friendship has become more important to him than he could express; he would not risk losing it for anything.

"You mean a great deal to me, Syeira."

From:

Her heart starts beating fast, like a bird in a cage. The air feels thick and tense with the moment, when only a second before, she'd been so relaxed. How quickly things could change. She at least can recognize similar nerves in him, and that's rather comforting.

"You mean as much to me." She turns a little more, searching his face. Her eyes fall onto his mouth, the lips that had been on her skin only moments ago, and feels a little light headed with a giddiness. "Are you sure?"

She wouldn't be Syeira if she didn't second guess her own appeal at least once. Even as she hopes for a 'yes'.

From:

"I'm sure." He's so relieved that his next breath comes out in a bit of a laugh. "Of course, I'm sure."

His eyes almost seem to sparkle as he answers, an extension of the smile that lights up the rest of his face. He's always bright, in some ways, but right now, it's easy to see why people say he shines.

"Are you? I can be a great deal of trouble, I am told."

He's teasing, of course, but he's also deliberately placing them on an equal level. He doesn't believe that he has any more reason to be unsure than she does- and he wants her to know it. He wants her to believe it too, but he's not under the illusion that that will happen easily or quickly.

From:

He's easily the most beautiful person she's ever met, inside and out. Watching him smile and shine at her like that is rather breathtaking. It might have left her speechless a moment, except for what he says. It makes her smile go wider, easier, a laugh startling out of her.

"I am far more troublesome than you are."

From:

"Oh, perhaps," he admits, placing a hand on her waist and drawing her closer, if she will allow it, "but you are well worth whatever trouble you may cause."

And, though he wasn't thinking of appearances at all when he said it, he can't help but notice how beautiful she is, how lovely her laugh is- so bright, vibrant, and full of life. And it's all the more astounding knowing her history She is Light- not untouched by Darkness, but unconquered.

With his free hand, he lightly brushes his fingers against her cheek, watching her reaction.

(no subject)

From:

child_of_bhaal - Date: 2016-07-08 02:27 am (UTC) - Expand

From:

dontthinkaboutelephants

Syeira died. She'd done what she always did; she was saving someone. It's what she'll always do. And it ended up getting her killed. It was just a huge metaphor for her. She always looked after others, but who looked after her?

He helped take care of her when she was too feverish to really notice, when she came back. This thing between them, the affection and sex... he's not sure what it means. Are they just friends having a good time? Are they dipping into something more? The questions plague him, and he decides to avoid Syeira for a while. She'll be too weak to seek him out, anyway.

A week passes, but it doesn't feel right to be ignoring her like this. It's quiet when he stops at her room, and the quiet helps breed his anxiety. He wasn't there for her when she came back. He was never there for people. But he's still upset about her dying. She was gone for two weeks. She died.

He takes a breath, and he knocks.

From:

Dying had been terrifying. She couldn't regret it, wouldn't. She had to protect her friends, this new family she'd forged in the fleet. But having done it, made the sacrifice, chosen the end to save those she cared for, she can't say she's eager to go through it again.

And things had changed. She hadn't stayed dead. She'd been revived. Something that was supposed to be impossible. It changed everything.

For two weeks she'd been in and out of consciousness, feverish, sick, but steadily healing. She hadn't been alone. Her friends had given overwhelming support. But she'd noticed an absence. She had cautiously asked after Arthur. If he was well, if he was still there and not vanished. The fact that he'd been there, on the ship and not come to see her had made worry bubble inside her. But what could she do?

The knock is surprising. No one really knocks these days. She makes the effort to rise, walk across the small space to answer the door. It's an effort, she needs the exercise.

"Arthur!" Her voice is a surprised, husky rasp, when she sees it's him. Pleased and relieved too. "You're here."

From:

dontthinkaboutelephants

She opens the door, and his steely, reserved gaze melts into something softer, sadder, but relieved. There's so much he wants to say, to do. He doesn't know what to do to make it up to her. He doesn't know what he wants from her.

He's hurt and confused and all he really wants to do is what he's surging forward to do now: hold her. His hold on her is desperate. He tucks his head against hers, holding on tight, his breathing short.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, pressing his lips to the side of her head. "I'm sorry, I-... I've been such an asshole."

From:

It's like a dam breaking. Suddenly, he's holding her and she's clinging right back. She hears his hushed apologies, and it hurts her inside.

"No, no it's my fault." She turns her head, and without thought, kisses him. It's a rushed, almost forceful thing. The kind of kiss you give to someone you nearly lost. And she repeats it, again and again, on his lips, his cheeks. "Forgive me."

From:

dontthinkaboutelephants

He kisses her back just as forcefully, with a ferocity, a desperateness to his touches. "You were gone. I thought I'd really lost you-"

His voice catches, so he leads her backwards into the room, kicking the door shut.

"It's not your fault. It's not. I'm just... I'm so selfish, I'm sorry," he pants against her cheek.

From:

"I would think you would know me well enough by now to guess that the potential of danger will only keep me close to your side." It's one of the ways they are so very much alike- he would never abandon anyone he cared about when they were in need.

That deep blush doesn't escape his notice, of course. In a way, it's endearing, but, at the same time, it's making him a little nervous. He tries to ignore the way his heart is pounding in his chest (though he does briefly wonder if she can feel it, as close as she is). But he does gather himself, despite his nerves, and when he speaks again, his voice is softer, almost a murmur.

"I am very much afraid that you are stuck with me." He leans in, his eyes half closing, and slowly, gently, he catches her lips in a kiss.

From:

Thorfinn sometimes wondered if he had done something to offend the gods... okay, maybe he knew he had hundreds of times over but the gods were meant to smile upon warriors. He didn't feel so very smiled upon at the moment.

Thorkell and his troops had arrived on the Ketil farm two months before buying his freedom and in exchange for his agreement, they paid for Einar and Arneis as well, Garnar had been killed before they could save him so the two were together now heading to Norway, they were not allowed to join Thorfinn as he was being taken to Jomsburg to replace his grandfather as Chieftain of the Jomsviking.

What did this have to do with anything? Well, Thorkell had known the boy was as pure as snow through the king of Denmark. The boy king who had once and still called himself Thorfinn's friend despite selling him into slavery. He had known from a drunken talk in Merica that Thorfinn had never wanted to sleep with anyone, and when Thorkell poked fun he realized the same was still true.

His great nephew was nearing his twentieth year and was still a virgin. That great blood was never meant to be preserved for sacrifice, no it was to be sewed and passed on. "Just fucking stay here boy." Thorkell pointed at him slamming the door, he was in a chamber of a strange room. They stopped in London, it was on the way. Though he was nervous, knowing both what was supposed to happen and that Canute was somewhere in england still. He couldn't face the king.

Thorkell himself all of seven foot four and all muscle walked down to meet the men who went to get the girl. Thorkell was the Earl of Jelling, he wouldn't sent anyone less than lovely to deflower his great nephew.

Thus left Thorfinn picking at his nails nervously, this was so stupid. he wanted nothing to do with any of it.

From:

thenicestnobody

The thing about brothels is that more often than not, the girls working there are usually not very happy about it. They're either desperate, or forced into the work. Lucy is a little bit of both. At turns, she's defiant and docile. But the latter is usually an effort of will. In the end, she stays because where else could she go? What else could she do?

And The Spider -the owner of the brothel- would likely never let her leave. Lucy was his crown jewel. Her hair is long and black as a raven's wing. Her skin smooth and pale as fresh milk, a blush in her cheeks, lips the color of wild berries. She comes into the room -her boudoir- dressed in her nicest dressing gown. It's white, pristine, like something befitting innocence she doesn't actually have anymore. It hugs her curves, highlighting her bosom and small waist. Her feet are bare, as she goes to light the sconces with her candle.

"Good evening, sir." She hasn't actually looked directly at him yet. She knows only that she's expected to please him, and do it thoroughly and well. Time is not a factor. "I hope I didn't keep you waiting long."

From:

Thorfinn didn't want to be there, he was uncomfortable and he didn't like the idea in the least. He knew if he didn't do what Thorkell wanted though the man would likely take it out on everyone in the building then bitch and whine at him till he finally did. It was just easier to give Thorkell what he wanted. He didn't see a problem with being innocent in some way. Odin knew he wasn't innocent in much else if anything else.

When the woman walked in he offered a shy smile. A strange look on a seasoned warrior. Many knew him by the name other warriors called him, Karlsefni, but he had asked Thorkell to please not tell anyone thats who he was here. Last thing he needed was more undo attention. He looked the woman over. Long hair, a beautiful body and polite. He thanked the gods she wasn't blonde. He was attracted to blondes, yes, but he'd just think of Arneis and that wouldn't do. "Not at all, I am sorry to trouble you like this." his eyes went back down to his shoes. "I'm sure you've been informed of who your employer is and such, there is no rush."

From:

thenicestnobody

She chuckles softly. He seems sincere in his apology, and that makes this easier. She's better when she's taking care of a client rather than servicing them.

"No fear, sir. You haven't troubled nobody." The room is lit to a study glow now, and she finally approaches him. Her smile freezes and vanishes when she finally sees his face. She's stunned. She's never seen such a man in all her life. He's so...so- "-beautiful."

Yeah she just said that out loud, her voice soft, but audible, and clearly in awe.

From:

As soon as Thorkell had him off the island he had made some maids of a tavern clean him up and find some proper clothes. he hadn't looked as good as he did now in ... well years. Nearly 15 years. He had no idea just how beautiful he had grown.

"Don't say that," he spoke serenely. A few years before and he may have been cruel, but slavery had opened his eyes. Everyone was someone. "My name is Thorfinn. May I know your name?" He was norse, he didn't really do last names. He even called honest royalty, by their first names. he remained sitting. "What is beautiful?" he asked finally her word digging at his mind enough to ask. His soulful brown eyes giving her his full attention.

From:

thenicestnobody

It's been a long time since she'd last blushed. Far too much real life had stolen away much of her innocence, but having been faced with the loveliest ma'am she'll likely ever met, it's hard not to feel a little flustered.

And then he asks her what she means. It's surreal. She swallows, embarrassed at herself. She needs to remember herself. She probably upset him by calling beautiful. "My apologies, sir. I didn't mean anything by it."

She comes closer, sitting down beside him. She sets aside her candle, giving him her full attention. And in that instant of looking into his brown eyes, she realizes that this is going to be a difficult evening. He's so lovely she just wants to look at him. "Lucy. My name's Lucy."

From: