bakerstreet | The Midsummer's Night Dream Meme

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The Midsummer's Night Dream Meme

The Midsummer's Night Dream Meme

It's a warm summer night in a lush forest and your chars are wandering in its shadows. But this forest has company of the faerie type. Perhaps your char is one of the mortals roaming the night, or perhaps your char is one of the faeries, out for a little mischief. Post your char name, their canon, your prefs in the subject line and perhaps a starter to raise the curtain. Need a little help? Here's a few prompts to get you started: feel free to use RNG.org to choose one, or you can make up your own bit of Midsummer madness!

1. Over hill, over dale,

Thorough bush, thorough brier,

Over park, over pale,

Thorough flood, thorough fire,

I do wander everywhere. You are a wandering faerie looking for a mortal to prank, or you might be an unsuspecting mortal roaming the woods. What happens next in the shadows of those flowering bushes??

2. Ill met by moonlight You've gotten into some scrape, and the last person you've wanted to see (an enemy? A rival in love? Your sweetheart whom you're fighting with?) has found you. What happens next??

3. I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,

Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,

Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,

With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine. You've found a cozy place in a flowering bower in which to rest, but so has someone else. What goes on when you make this discovery??

4. Bless thee, Bottom! bless thee! thou art translated. Uh oh, the faeries have turned you into something strange (maybe you've got the head of donkey in place of your own noggin, maybe it's something else??). What did you do to get into this scrape and how do you get out if it?

5. Lord, what fools these mortals be! You're a faery and you're up to mischief! Who's the lucky/unlucky mortal and what do you do to them??

6. Methought I was enamored of an ass The magic has worn off and you're in an embarassing situation. What happened? or are you not sure what just happened?

7. If we shadows have offended,

Think but this, and all is mended,

That you have but slumbered here

While these visions did appear. Wildcard! Some combination of things above, or some bit of madness you thought of.

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[...i mean how can i NOT]

[WHY HELLO 8D. Any preferences for prompt/scenario/...gender? heh]

{{Well, they're all lovely but I liked 1 and 3 best. I actually almost wrote out a starter for 3 of Eskel falling asleep somewhere normal and waking up next to Puck in something flowery and fae-manipulated but never can quite get up the nerve for cold starters ^^; Lady or gentleman Puck is fine! Though Esk won't recognize the latter, it wouldn't get in the way of any sweet nothings or what have you once he knows.}}

The woods are lovely, dark and deep. In the midsummer night, they smell of honeysuckle and primrose, and the murmuring of insects vibrates like an undertone in the air. Moonlight filters through the canopy and illuminates the undergrowth in splashes of silver. These trees keep their secrets in the shadowy quiet places, and Robin trusts them to keep her secrets, too. After all, she's made them herself, and if they have a certain dreamlike quality, a kind of softness at the edges, well... They aren't entirely real.

Dream magic isn't one of Robin's strongest abilities, despite her affinity for illusions. Even so, crafting the substance of a dreamscape has plenty of similarities with shaping glamour, and she allows herself a bit of pride for what she's created.

Still, the greater satisfaction is all about who she's succeeded in pulling into her dream. She has no idea at all where Eskel might be, out there in the great wide unreachable world, but nevertheless, she's managed to bring him here. Spirit or soul or whatever part of the self separates from the body to wander about during sleep, he's here with her. When she leans over him, tucking her hair behind one ear, she can't suppress her smile.

"Here you are," she says, pleased as the cat who got the cream and half a dozen mice besides.

[Decided to go with lady!Puck for now. Hopefully this works! Also starters are hard -_-]

This is not where he fell asleep. No, he's pretty sure he feel asleep slumped behind a barn somewhere, a bottle of cheap whisky in his arms instead of a woman to keep him warm.

But he's waking up in a soft, sweet place, his senses filling with the scent of flowers. Flowers and...

"Hello there, gorgeous." He rumbles sleepily, his eyes thin slits of liquid fire under his half-closed lids. His ruined mouth twitches into a smile. "Gonna be that kind of dream, huh?" He teases. He rolls over onto his back, looking up onto that pretty, curiously half-wild face of the faerie he had met under some very strange circumstances some time ago. It's a pretty vivid dream, he thinks, reaching to run his hand over the curve of her waist. He doesn't usually have dreams this clear-- probably something about the way witchers form emotions and do or do not hang onto memories-- or this pleasant. More often than not the woman he sees in his dreams is his cursed princess, the child of surprise he had betrayed, his blood sprayed across her wrathful face.

This is much nicer and he looks sheepish, sure he's not at all presentable to a lady: drunk and with monster blood still under his nails, hay in his hair from where he'd gone to sleep when a respectable inn wouldn't have a beast in their midst. He starts to apologize when he realizes he's not wearing his armor at all, just the soft crimson wool shirt he usually keeps in a cedar chest by his bed at home in Kaer Morhen. No hay or blood clings to him. Thoroughly presentable to a lady, thank fuck. Thinks he must still be kind of drunk though, the way everything is ever-so-slightly blurry and drowsy around him.

"Have you wandered into a lonely man's dream or have I wandered into yours?" He teases, tracing the shape of her collarbone.

Edited (A tag now presented when I myself am not half-asleep and getting ahead of myself.) 2021-06-26 18:35 (UTC)

"I'll admit I was hoping for that sort of dream," Robin says, baldly honest despite the playful curve of her grin. She leans into the touch of his hand. "I'm willing to try my best at convincing you, if necessary." True to her words, she's bothered to summon up clothing in only the most generous sense, and the long strips of green silk wrapped around her body reveal and conceal in equal measure. Given that she's pulled him here without his actual permission, she's not quite bold enough to show up wearing nothing at all.

Looking him over now, all that long muscle, the width of his shoulders and the strength of his hands, is nearly enough to make her reconsider. She runs her tongue along her lower lip and tries to behave herself.

His second question deserves an answer, anyway. She ponders the best way to explain while rearranging herself comfortably along one side of his body. "A little of both," she decides at last. "I've made it," she waves a hand in an arc, encompassing the trees and the sky and the softness of the grass beneath them, "but you should be able to manipulate it. If you like." He's done a bit of that subconsciously, already, since she doubts that wherever he is just now in the real world, he's dressed like this.

Then again, she has little idea what he gets up to when he isn't killing dangerous creatures or seeking recreational company. Perhaps she shouldn't make assumptions.

[Hahaha that is such a mood. ♥]

"Nah..." He says, looking around, but mostly at her, fingers skimming the delicate fabric. "This is plenty nice enough for me." He grins, rolling over to properly caress her curves. "Don't you look damn near good enough to eat." He rolls with her, settling her astride his hips. If she's hoping for a tumble, well...who is he to say no to that?

"Promises, promises," she says, arching into the warmth of his hands with a shiver of appreciation at the callouses on his palms, on his fingers. She's never minded a bit of rough skin in the right places. Then he rolls them and she laughs, settling to grin down at him with her thighs parting easily around his hips. She eases back just a bit to rest more weight, more warmth, against the responsive heat of him.

His eyes glint like liquid gold. They're brighter, warmer, than the manufactured moonlight. Robin leans over him, hair falling around them both in a curtain of long, loose waves. She tilts her head and presses her lips to the strong line of his throat.

She sighs against his skin. "I've thought about you. I've missed you," she admits.

"Missed you too." He says, caressing her hips and thighs. "You were real nice company. Some of the nicest, if I'm bein' honest." He squeezes one of her ass-cheeks playfully as he tips his head back to bare more of his throat to her. A gesture of trust as well as an expression of pleasure.

Robin makes a little squeak of pretended offense at the squeeze, but she doesn't bother hiding her wicked delight. With a hum of affection, she nips at the edge of Eskel's jaw before easing the tiny sting with her tongue. She recognizes that offer of trust, appreciates it all the more given that she, too, is a generally wary creature. "You're pretty nice company yourself," she says.

It's a significant understatement. Most of her company is terrible indeed, and the contrast he made was both welcome and a little bittersweet. She must stay, he must go, but she still hopes he'll come back when his circumstances allow.

He'll come when he has a fat purse and a solution to her predicament, he's promised himself. But this is a very pleasant surprise in the meantime.

He knows her bar for pleasant company is probably set real low, but he does pride himself on at least making an effort to be good to the women he hires. Of course, it's not like that now. Robin's brought him here because she wants him here-- and he must have been missing her too, for some shared resonance or reaching to have aided in his sleeping travels-- and is under no obligations to please or flatter him.

But she does anyway.

"Tell me what part of me you missed most and it's all yours." He teases, to take the edge off the idea of being someone a lady would miss.

She understands the rationale behind joking as a distraction from ideas like that, too--compliments can be sharp-edged as weapons, sometimes, and just as liable to cut unless turned aside. "Cruel to make me choose," she says with a melodramatic sigh. She draws out the pretense a little more, shifting her weight back just a bit further so that she can tap one fingertip against her lower lip in consideration. "Well. I can't say I don't like this," she lifts her hips, grinding for just a moment before settling again, "but I hate to reduce someone to nothing but his cock, impressive as it may be."

And by her recollection, it is impressive, make no mistake.

"Besides, you have other talents." Her pensive smile widens into a grin. "I'm fond of your mouth, too, and not only because I enjoyed your conversation." Although she did, in fact, enjoy that, which is also something of a singularity given the company--or just as often, the solitude--she has to keep. She gives him a little shrug. "I suppose if I can't decide, you'll just have to make a case for every part of you all over again."

"Mmm." His smug face is disturbed slightly by the gasp she draws from him by shifting on his lap. His broad hand spreads over the small of her back, pushing gently at her to suggest she move upwards.

"Why don't I start in order then? Come on up here and make yourself comfortable." Look, he might not be the most inventive fellow in the bedroom he is good at his limited repertoire.

In Robin's admittedly lengthy experience, enthusiasm goes a long way toward making up for any lack in imagination. She won't discount his skill, either, since it was unquestionably memorable. In fact, a little shiver of anticipation starts in her stomach and spreads a wave of heat up her spine as she obeys the nudge of his hand. She should have mentioned his hands, too, in that list of what she missed, because the strength of them only tightens that quiver in her belly.

"Are you starting from the top down?" she teases, as she arranges herself on folded knees, thighs parted to either side of his head. "Very organized."

"Well, you know." He shrugs playfully, wrapping his arms around her thighs. "Witchers are the methodical type." His liquid gold eyes glitter with mirth as he looks up at her for a moment before he buries his face between her legs with all the enthusiasm she might recall from their previous encounter (and then some). He holds her steady and fast if she wriggles but he'll be careful to guage if it's too much, recalling her request to be mindful of how he held her last time. Wouldn't want playful torment to turn into actual torture for the fae, after all.

Robin does tremble a bit as his mouth brushes against her, but torture--the unpleasant sort, at least--is the very last thing on her mind. The only drawback to this particular position is that she can't look at him, but given his discomfort at being looked in the face, perhaps that's kinder. Maybe if they have the chance to know each other better outside the limitations of her current circumstances, she'll be able to convince him those scars are nothing when stacked against his other excellent qualities.

For now... She arches her back, trusting herself to his hands and mouth and tongue, Earth and Sky. Her hands cover his, fingernails stinging against his skin as a low whine works itself free of her throat.

His lips were torn, his teeth were cracked but thank all the gods that in her pettiness, the witch who had healed these wounds had considered preserving that clever tongue part of the bare minimum she had done to save his life (and nothing more than that, leaving him maimed as revenge for what he had stolen from her) both for the practical matter of not having to subsist on broth for the rest of his life and for the indulgent matter of inviting beautiful women to take their pleasure astride the face most of them couldn't stand to look at.

The harmless but white-hot score of her nails on his hands makes him growl deep in his chest, a visceral sound of pure pleasure.

At some point he's not content to just hold her, one hand wandering upwards to toy with one of her breasts.

That growl is a vibration that makes her shudder, breath catching and hips jerking against his hold, but he doesn't let up and he doesn't ease his grip, either. She tries to roll her hips, groaning in appreciation when she can't. Even when he palms her breast, the strength of the other hand around her upper thigh is more than enough to keep her firmly in place, and the muscles of her abdomen flutter with uneven waves of building tension.

"Oh gods," she breathes, a little impressed that even amidst the surreality of a dream, he remembers what she likes. She makes a little keen as his tongue works against her, as his fingers roll and stroke at her nipple.

How could he forget, when he's consoled himself of a lonesome evening to the memory of her body more than once since he left her? Dreamt of her of his own accord, waking to find his cock spent in his needful grasp.

She might be able to feel his satisfied smile where he's pressed against her so intimately, merciless in his application of lips and tongue, eager to feel her writhe against his face, to feel, to taste her release.

He gets his wish in moments--quicker than Robin wants, almost fast enough to make her blush, had she any shame left--but she can't resist that kind of overwhelming dedication and she doesn't particularly want to try. She comes with a shout, pleasure washing through her like a rising wave. Her hands scratch down her own thighs to catch and tug at the loose ends of his hair. She needs to hold onto something; she's going to shake apart otherwise.

The wave gradually ebbs, little aftershocks of hypersensitivity shivering through her thighs and clenching deep in her belly at the strokes of his tongue. "Kind of thought I might be misremembering how good you are at that," she chuckles, when she can breathe again. "But no. Definitely not."

He tips his chin back, kissing the inside of her thigh and looking very pleased with himself.

"No, I'd have to say I'm pretty goddamn good at it. Glad to remind you." He gives her backside an affectionate, playful smack, like he might a spent racehorse and stretches his aching jaw. "I can refresh your memory as much as you'd like."

Robin gives a little yelp, half offense and half delight, but she can't quite get enough starch into her limbs to manage more than a clumsy swat at his shoulder in return. She breathes a laugh. "Don't think I won't take you up on that," she says, a warm purr, before she collapses back onto his chest with a sigh. Spent is the definitive word, for certain, but she takes pride in her recovery time, too. "Maybe you'll let me return the favor, this time."

Sliding a hand backwards, over the muscles of his abdomen, she cups her fingers over the insistent heat of his cock through his trousers. Clothes are thoroughly unnecessary at this point. Maybe it counts as a minor abuse of power, but it started as her dream, after all, so the barest effort makes all the fabric still between them dissipate like so much smoke. She wraps her hand around the base with the gentlest squeeze.

Whatever he's going to say dies in a hoarse groan as the momentary tease turns suddenly into the soft, solid warmth of her deft fingers and he's naked beneath her, the warm night air moving over scars, ruffling the dark hair, stoking his heated flesh. His huge hands knead her thighs as he thrusts shamelessly into the curl of her fingers. He pants her name softly.

She strokes him slowly, base to tip and back again, a lazy movement of her hand that lets her palm drag against the heat of his skin. Her grin turns just a little savage, because there's an unquestionable power in this--in bringing so powerful a man metaphorically to his knees. She won't deny the exhilaration that runs swift and sharp as quicksilver up her spine. But that's only a side benefit. The real rush is touching Eskel again, and the drive to do for him what he's done for her.

To that end, she releases him just long enough to roll to his side. She stretches out along the length of his body and tilts her head, spilling her hair over the opposite shoulder, giving him an unobstructed view when she slides her hand around him again.

Puck/Robin Goodfellow | ...uh | ota

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*shows up five years late with Starbucks* -_-

I would wait literally forever & you know it 💖

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shows up five years late with Starbucks -_-