#Sorry no I'm physically unable to have only white characters

[kurosmind]

(about last reblog), ah, yeah, like that one time I got anon hate for *spins wheel*

- having a gay man character when I, myself, am a ace woman

- having an east-asian looking fantasy character when I am Caucasian

[marzipanandminutiae]

ok but what are YOUR favorite and probably real victorian funfacts?

There genuinely were some doctors who thought riding in trains would cause uterine prolapse [uterus falling out], when trains were new. The concern was that the vibrations from travelling so fast would break the fibers connecting the uterus to the abdominal wall. Unsurprisingly, this did not stop women from riding in trains. Because fuck that noise- trains!!!

One time in the 1840s a bunch of doctors shellacked live horses and rabbits and concluded, when the animals died (probably from heat exhaustion after being unable to sweat), that they had suffocated and that mammals breathed partially through our skin.

Some beauty manuals of the era may have created accidental sunscreen. Occasionally you see advice to wear cold cream on your face when going out, to prevent sunburn. This probably mostly didn't work- but some cold cream recipes contained zinc oxide for a "white foundation" effect, due to beauty standards favoring very light skin, which may have created a low-level SPF. Other manuals also advocate sealing the cold cream in with powder...which even more frequently involved zinc oxide.

A dentist may have gotten away with a malpractice death by blaming tightlacing. A 23-year-old maid named Annie Budden, of Preston, England, went to have a tooth pulled in January of 1895 and suffocated after the procedure, during which she had been dosed with nitrous oxide. The dentist said she was tightlaced and therefore the coroner ruled that he was not at fault- however said dentist claimed that her natural waist was 23" and her corset measured 18". Presumably that's the closed measurement, and corsets were commonly worn with at least a 2" lacing gap at the time (one corset ad I've seen mentions that women liked to give the theoretical closed measurement of their corset as their waist measurement, to make it sound smaller, while actually wearing it with the customary gap). Ergo, she was only laced down about 2-3 inches, a difference unlikely to cause asphyxiation. The fact that she worked as a maid similarly calls the assessment into question- how could she have successfully done physical labor while laced down in a way that diminished her lung capacity so much? Her employer vouched for her good character and excessive tightlacing was seen as vanity- and would have been noticed by making Miss Budden look out-of-proportion physically. That doesn't add up either, to me. The dentist went on to become mayor of the town where this all happened.

That thing above started as a fun fact about the only credible death due to tightlacing and then I looked into it more and now I'm just mad.

Justice For Annie Budden

Sorry this has gotten off-track but I'm still mad about the whole Annie Budden thing

[wrayah]

GENSHIN + "their favourite position"

prompt: their favourite position(s) during sex characters: wriothesley, tartaglia, neuvillette, alhaitham x fem!reader

warnings: smut (mdni 🔞), unprotected sex w: size kink (only a little), breeding kink (i think), creampie t: marking, masturbation, choking, aftercare n: i'm soft for this man, affection kink, a lot of physical touch a: degrading names, ass apreciation, overstimulation, creampie

notes: this is just a bunch of random horny thoughts put together uuuh,,, they are wuite short, i'm sorry, i'll write longer stuff once i'm free from school ♡ (NOT PROOF-READ!!)

― ♡⸝⸝ WRIOTHESLEY + doggy, prone boning

He just loved taking you from behind, having the pleasure of admiring and gripping at your ass while pounding into you. He adored seeing you shake and squirm beneath him, your body trying to escape him as overwhelming sensations invaded it.

He had complete contorl over your body, his hands on your hips preventing you from getting away from him, pulling your body agaisnt his, sending your hips crashing into each other every time, making you see stars.

Seeing you tug the sheets, knuckles turning white, nails digging into the fabric, always made him chuckle. Your head would either be thrown back to let out loud moans and sometimes screams or be burried in the matress, small moans and whimpers being muffled agaisnt it. You looked so powerless and adorable, your smaller frame engufled by his bigger one, it's probably why he loved doing you like this.

The only downside was being unable to properly see your face, but it was easily solvable. He would occasionally grab fistfuls of your hair and pull it, sending your head falling backwards. With his chest pressed agaisnt your back, his lips would come crashing into yours, taking you into breathtaking and bruising kisses.

Your arms would grow tired, your body feeling weak from the waves of pleasure that would make it combust, before he was even close to finishing. Chest pressed agaisnt the matress, your upper body laying flat, butt propped up in the air for Wriothesley to abuse, the fun would continue this way.

His hand would come down on your ass, smacking it, leaving a red burning spot on the otherwise soft skin.

What he loved most though, was teasing you in this position. He would sometimes slow down, to your dismay, and lean back, watching how his dick would get swallowed up by your cunt, sliding in and out with ease thanks to your juices. He would pull almost all the way out, only leaving the tip of his head in, and then fuck your entrance with his head. Small, slow and yet powerful thursts. He loved hearing you whimper and beg, torn bewteen enjoying the current sensation or wanting him to continue destroying you.

"You like that, don't ya?"

Needless to say, he would toy with you until he was satisfied with your state; his pride was to always leave you a moaning mess, unable to form words, mind clouded from the sweet intoxicating bliss and limbs uselless. Once he deemed that your condition was humiliating enough, he would focus on himself, hips ramming into yours, fucking you into the matress. Feeling your walls clamping down on his dick, he would coax you into another climax along with him, sweet praises falling from his lips accompanied by frantic circles drawn on your clit with his fingers.

"Come for me, baby. Come with me." He would whisper into your ear, body pressing agaisnt yours, hugging you tightly with one arm while his other hand stayed between your legs. Moans and groans filling the room, uniting in a sweet cacophony as you reached your highs.

His hips stilled, his cock burried deep inside you. Filling you was his ultimate prize, being able to see his seed dripping from your cunt after pulling out exciting him even after release.

― ♡⸝⸝ TARTAGLIA + sideways

Chest agaisnt your back, one hand gripping your thigh, keeping your leg up, the other snaking around your neck, grabbing hold of it, keeping you exactly where and how he wanted. He loved physical contact, he loved being close to you. Your warm skin agaisnt his own making him want to become one with you.

His face burried into your shoulder, taking in your sweet odour, leaving him in a drunk-like state. He wanted you, all of you. He desired to feel all of your body, to leave his mark all over you, to make you all his. It's in moments like these where he had full control over you and your body that he felt most powerful, the thrill of battle not comparing to the mix of emotions he felt while he was intimate with you.

His nails digging into the tender flesh of your thighs as he thrust into you, curses flying from his lips and into your neck. His hand on your neck would tighten, leaving you breathless as he ground into you, pace slowing down, procuring pure intoxicating bliss for both of you.

The sounds that spilled fom your mouth as his head touched the deepest corners of your cunt sent him into a frenzy. He fucked you religiously, praying to hear more of that alluring harmony that could send him over the edge in an instant if he allowed it.

To stifle his own moans and growls, he would kiss your neck and shouleder, leaving trails of kisses and purple marks, his teeth imprinted onto your skin. You were his in that moment and forever, and it was no problem if the whole world knew it.

"Play with yourself for me, princess." He would ask you, wanting to feel you clench aorund him, to reach the pinnacle of pleasure together.

Watching you play with yourself shakily, every touch and rub of your nub making your whole body squirm and your walls squeeze around him, drove him crazy right into Celestia.

"Gimme all you got, girlie."

As you both reached your highs, your tight cunt milking him of his seed, he hugged you tightly, forehread pressed agaisnt your shoulder, continuing to thurst into you but slower, giving you every last drop of him, filling you with his love and desire.

Soft kisses would be placed on the fresh bruises, soothing the ache. He wouldn't let go of you until you had caught your breath, soothing you by caressing your aching boding and playing with your hair.

Of all his victories, you were his favourite.

― ♡⸝⸝ NEUVILLETTE + missionary

Sex with Neuvillette was mostly gentle, love-making to be exact. He took well care of you and your body, always making sure you were enjoying yourself; not that he needed to do, everything he did to your body was simply out of this world.

Spreading your thighs apart and lining himself with your entrance, he would kiss you, a kiss so passionate and so lustful it had some sort of hold on you. As your tongues engaged in a slow dance, he pushed inside slowly, stretching you out gently as to not inflict any pain upon you. As you flicnhed and whimpered beneath him, he would caress your cheek and press his forehead agaisnt yours, comforting you as you took his length in.

"You're doing good, sweetheart, as good as you feel."

Eyes locked, one little nod from you was all he needed to continue the deed. He held his body up with his forearm, his hand holding your head, fingers tangled in your hair. His other hand would hold your hip, grabbing and squeezing your soft skin. His touch was warm, filled with love, making both your heart and core flutter with every physical contact.

As he thrust into you, slow and steady, he trapped your lips in yet another langourous kiss. Your lips would never be apart, either him or you would pull the other into a kiss. It was basicly a need for you two to kiss while enjoying each other's bodies, engulfing in each other's love.

Your hands would be wrapped around his body or neck, hugging him, pulling him towards you, needing to feel his warmth. You would place kisses on his shoulders and cheeks, loving him, adoring him, encouraging him onwards.

Intimacy was very important to you, you needed to feel each other, your bodies needed to connect, to become one. You would always be grabbing the other's body in any way possible, desperately trying to give them all your love. You desired each other, evident by how you adored each other's bodies with butterfly kisses, marks and lustful looks.

Skin slapping agaisnt skin, the sound of his dick pushing into your wet hole,your bodies burning, ready to combust together; everything was guiding you, pushing you towards release.

As his mouvements become sloppier, his groans and moans growing louder along with yours, you took his face into your hands and pulled him into a kiss, your lips crashing together with force, forcing your breathes out of you. Such a feverous kiss was enough to send you both spiraling into bliss. As he felt his dick throb inside of you, he pulled out, grinding agaisnt your sensitive folds and clit, his cum spurting out onto your body. You swallowed each other's moans down, not letting go until everything was over.

Pulling you into a hug, you would lay there together, catching your breathes. You would caress his hair and face, admiring the flushed yet relaxed expression on his face. He would place kisses on your forehead, rubbing your back comfortingly.

"Je t'aime, ma chérie."

― ♡⸝⸝ ALHAITHAM + reverse cowgirl, sitting

With his new title of Acting Grand Sage, Alhaitham was always very busy, sitting on his desk, papers and scripts in hand. Thanks to his awful habit of overworking himself, you had foud yourself sitting on his lap on multiple occasions at late hours, including ones where your needy body screamed for attention. One thing led to another, and you'd discover the pleasure of riding him while he sat at his desk.

Hands resting on the desk before you, helping you keep your balance as you lifted your butt from his body only for it to come wiggling back down, his dick being entirely taken up into your pussy. Your feet on the ground, your body help up by the tips of your toes as you bounced on his dick. It was quite the exercise, that combined with the pleasure made your legs get shaky rapidly.

He would try to stay focused on his work as you satisfied yourself, used him for your pleasure, but he could never keep up the uninterested act and would end up replacing the papers in his hands with your hips, meddling the soft skin as you brought the both of you to heaven.

He loved sitting back and just enjoy you, guiding you with his hands up and down, head falling back as pleased sighs and moans escaped his throat. His eyes could intenly watch your ass bounce, the way it moved when your hips crashed down onto his. It mesmerized him; it's beauty, it's shape, it's softness, he loved everything about it and couldn't keep his hands off of it.

As much as he loved having you ride him, it was tiresome for your body, and you'd find yourself losing rythm, sometimes even stopping dead.

"Is that all you got?"

His fingers would snake aorund your body, coming around to rub circles into your clit, sending shockwaves throught all of your body as if he was powering you back up. With new found strength and adrenaline, you ignored your aching legs and continued bouncing, hips coming down onto him faster and harder, his dick hitting the furthest corners of your hole.

Not being totally selfish, he'd help you by thrusting up itno you as you came bakc down, enhacing the sensations and making the knot in your belly grow tighter with each perfect stroke.

With his nails sinking into your hips, he'd continue forcing your body up and down on his cock as you came, your head falling forwards as you moaned and cursed. Stilling not too far into your cunt, his cum shot out of his dick and onto your walls, your hole leaking from the amount.

He loved spreading your folds after he pulled out, watching you drip onto his thigh and floor.

"Such a good cumslut."

© wrayah, 2024

[angelic-wh0re]

FOR THE HEART ! >ᵥ_ᵥ< Jjk character bf headcanons

Characters: Gojo, Toji, Choso, x black fem reader

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁.𖥔

Satoru Gojo >ᵥ_ᵥ<

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ bae, sweetheart(condescending =_=), pookie

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ He hates cooking dates because you never let him do anything in fear of him buring your place down

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ gives you random gifts

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ he gets really petty when he’s jealous

"What round are you guys on?" he asked, his tone tinged with obvious sulking. "I told you, 'Toru," you replied, leaning casually against the kitchen door. "He was just a friend of mine." He hummed softly, rolling his eyes. " and He was just so funny, wasn't he?" he mumbled, turning away from you.You sighed softly, stepping closer until you were right behind him. Bending down, you whispered into his ear, "You know, 'Toru," and gently kissed his cheek, "you're the one and only man for me.” He hummed again, this time with a soft smile spreading across his face, a noticeable blush coloring his cheeks.

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ hyper bf + low energy gf

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ steals your bonnet all. the. TIME.

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ would start crying if you don’t say ‘I love you’ back

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ def would be one of those “don’t tell your mother 🤫” kinda dads

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ he LOVES physical touch but his love language is def gift giving and quality time.

Toji Fushiguro >ᵥ_ᵥ<

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ hun, crazy, doll

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ thinks your absolutely crazy for loving him

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ loves when you sit on his lap and shave his face for him

"Ya know you don’t gotta do this," Toji mumbled as he patted his wet hair with a white towel. "It’s fun," you replied with a smile, settling yourself comfortably on his lap. He shrugged, setting the towel aside and leaning back against the lid of the toilet. "You outta take better care of your skin," you remarked teasingly as you applied a generous amount of shaving cream to his face. "Are you not doing it for me, hun?" he teased back, his eyes glinting mischievously. You rolled your eyes playfully, grabbed the razor, and began to carefully shave him, the rhythmic motions of "down, down, wipe, down, down, wipe" filling the quiet bathroom. A strange yet comforting silence enveloped you both, broken only by the occasional sound of the razor gliding smoothly over his skin. It was a moment that put Toji's restless heart at ease, his gaze softening as he watched you work with gentle concentration. "Hmm? Why are you so happy?" you asked, pausing to put the razor down for a moment. His smile widened, a warmth spreading through his features. "Oh, it's just... I realized that you have me completely wrapped around your pretty fingers, doll," he admitted softly, turning his face slightly away to hide the faint blush that colored his cheeks.

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ Has a sneeze that could cause an earthquake

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ He loves dates that involve food

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ Is always touching you

Choso Kamo >ᵥ_ᵥ<

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ my heart, lovebug, darling etc(has a billion nicknames for you)

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ always knows how to make you feel better

A deep sigh escaped your lips as you gazed down at the slightly burnt cake sitting on the countertop. "I'm so sorry, Cho. I messed it up..." you murmured, unable to meet his gaze. "No, no you didn't," Choso quickly responded, grabbing a fork and taking a big bite of the cake. "In fact," he continued with a mouthful, "it's delicious! And I like how it's kinda burnt, you are taking creative liberties." He reassured you, gently patting your head."Do you really like it?" you asked hopefully, your eyes lighting up with anticipation. "Yes, it's amazing darling. Good job!" Choso smiled softly, his words filling you with relief and a warm sense of accomplishment.

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ watches braiding tutorials because he wants to help you with your hair

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ I feel like Choso while also being a sweetheart, would be so cocky when he’s jealous. Like he’d walk up to the guy that was previously flirting and be all like, “you’re not her type. You don’t have abs😐”

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ is addicted to kissing

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ love language is definitely acts of service

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ is always holding your stuff.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁.𖥔

>ᵥ_ᵥ< a/n- should I make a pt.2 with more characters???

[kalpeavaris]

MD: Echo Info Post #1 (Character Edition)

So I reblogged this image about wanting to (over) share about OCs... and then I got a mysterious message telling me to speak about my OCs... 👀(*cough* @inkyprince I said I'd tag you hehe *cough*)

So I've decided to just do it, lmao. I love sharing stuff about my OCs, stories and whatnot and this is my blog, imma do what I want!

Gotta lay out some trivia & information about my Murder Drones AU, Echo! Wether it be characters or concepts, because maybe it'll get some people interested :D All of the info is below the cut, and for the first iteration of this I've chosen Kira, aka "ZWEI", for this!

Kira - "ZWEI" - White Witch

A lot of her information can also be viewed on her ToyHouse Profile (logged in user only, sorry!)

Playlist - Pinterest - Voice Claim - Theme Song

Content Warnings: Mentions of self-harm, suicidal thoughts (non-explicit), chronic (terminal) illness (in... robot-terms?)

(older art, but it does the trick lmao)

Kira was one of the Drones that were tested and infected with the Absolute Solver code back in the 3040s and 50s in the Cabin Fever Lab Cathedral with her number being 24.

As a Communication Drone the Solver's abilities affected her in a different way than her fellow Worker Drones, causing the humans to become aware of certain powers that she exhibited which weren't displayed in other Drones.

Her "exorcism" (or, well, patch) was botched as Kira's OS wasn't capable of adapting to the patch version, causing it to corrupt and allow for a vunerability that lead to Echo (a mutated version of the AS) planting it's own code inside of Kira's, which jump-started Echo's influence on Communication Drones.

Kira's Solver is always active - that's why her eye doesn't return to normal and only ever displays the emblem. She overheats extremely easily all the time and is prone to physical pain and tinnitus due to her being unable to block out inbound signals if she picks them up.

This has her health deteriorating quickly over the course of the MD: Echo story, slowly succumbing from it, though she keeps on pushing forward to stop ECHO and it's hosts. She needs actual medication to keep the pain at bay and constantly consumes Oil at a high rate to stop overheating. If her Solver was to deactivate she'd most likely pass away within a few days.

Her secondary name, "ZWEI" means "Two" (or could also be interpreted as "the second") in German. It is a reference to her part in the story, as well as her connection to ECHO. (won't be spoilered for now 8D) She associates alot of trauma with it and doesn't like being referred by it.

Personality wise Kira seems fairly withdrawn from everyone around her except her friends and partner/family. If she's in a good headspace she's fairly open and confident, almost fierce in the way she appears to others. Kira's keen on keeping up a strong facade to not show strangers her weaknesses or true condition.

"But what are Communication Drones?"

I'm glad you asked! Communication Drones look like normal Workers, though the one thing that sets them apart are the two antennas on their head which can vary in size & style depending on their desired function (short-range, long-range, ground signals, air signals etc.)

These antennas function as ears for them, so if they're removed, their hearing is damaged (not entirely deaf, but definitely worsened). So if a "normal" CD loses their antennas they're having a harder time adapting as their intake of sound is greatly reduced.

As an AS user/host, Kira's able to pick up on stronger signals from far away or even sending out signals to stun/manipulate others around her in a short radius. This effect doesn't stay though, it'll wear off over time and actively consume energy from the Drone using it.

Disassembly Drones can also have the subtype of a Communication Drone as shown in the sketch below (left DD) - their antennas are usually shorter and made for short-range and aerial signals as they're capable of flight, too.

(I almost made them a polycule not going to lie they all hot as fuck) wish that was me-)

--

(Kira on her way to cast 'gun, prepare to meet god' in the face of a fucking angel-robot-AI that believes to be god itself)

Kira plays a big part in the MD: Echo universe next to some minor characters & canon characters. Her main motivation is to help stop Echo, as it also tries to infect her via the unstable Solver code in her OS.

--

Crucifix Symbolism

(the power of christ compels you!)

Something very important to Kira is her botched patch / "exorcism". She's obsessed with crucifix looking symbolism which continues to haunt her almost 30 years later during MD: Echo's timeline.

She's desperate to break free from this, but cannot help herself. She compulsively collects cross-shaped imagery and in the first few months after her escape from the Lab she actively built crosses from all sorts of materials.

It's mainly coming from her OS being overwhelmed by the botched patch and the crucifix imagery of the USB burning itself in her memory files as some sort of "salvation" she has yet to achieve. Luckily, this started to fade out over the years, especially after meeting T who helped her to overcome the trauma of the incident.

--

(CW: Mentions of Self-Harm)

After being infected by the Absolute Solver, Kira desperatly tried more than once to remove her antennas to keep the voices from appearing. It talked to her from the inside, but she didn't realize this yet. Like almost all other AS Users however she kept on regenerating, unable to escape the inner turmoil of the Solver's possession and Echo trying to get inside of her OS as well.

--

Effects of the AS on her psyche

(holy shit have you ever seen a centipede that big? what is this? australia?)

Haunted by visions of the Solver, it's communications with the other Drones and later on the landing pods of the Disassembly Drones Kira had a hard time to tune out these visions she got from time to time. Similar to Nori in that regard Kira wrote everything down she heard through these intercepted signals, amassing hundreds of pages of logs she was able to get.

--

Meeting her partner

("Girl I swear I have normal hands too don't be distracted by my sexy claws")

In the 3060s, she stumbled upon one of the Disassembly Drone squads outside of the colony's Outpost she was seeking shelter in. She had intercepted their landing pods signals and was "curious" to seek out whoever had arrived, trying to solve the mystery of whatever the Solver had her experience.

That's when she found Serial Designation T - the navigator of the squad, who at first attempted to kill her like he'd been tasked to do. After all, Kira was a Solver Host that couldn't be fully mind-controlled anymore. But in the middle of him attacking her T's code was halted by Cyn herself, deactivating his executive task to kill the Host he had infront of him. He himself didn't know why exactly the Solver did this, but in hindsight it was due to the fact that Kira was still able to be of use to it later on.

(POV: you deleted system32 from your PC because some random kid on roblox told you to)

Now neutral, T got curious about Kira whom he tried to speak to with her Kira (driven by curiosity on why he had stopped being aggressive all of a sudden, being able to intercept the communication he had with Cyn) staying to talk to him.

Over the following weeks the two grew acustomed with each other, slowly building a friendship that later on evolved into a more romantic nature. Kira hid him in the Outpost and brought in food for the two of them as she constantly needed oil as well.

[sir-yeehaw-paws]

If you don't mind I'm going to be horribly demanding and request more delicious thoughts on Kaz and his female coded story. Sorry but I'm eating this all up!!

No sweat Anon! I will say it's a thought I kinda had offhandedly once and left alone for a long time, so I'm having to think way back a bit as I consider it.

As an obvious quick note too, it's sort of a random interpretation I had. It doesn't have any real bearing on canon anymore than my other random thoughts do. It was kind of like, at some point, I noticed that Kaz had a storyline and writing style I've gotten used to seeing but with women.

The jilted ex hellbent on revenge. Someone who is more well known in story for his emotional issues vs how physically imposing or strong he is or isn't. I don't know about everyone else, but when I first think of Kaz, the most memorable thing that comes to mind is his emotions. Being unable to manage ones anger is very 'masculine' a trait, but being beholden to those emotions is a 'feminine' quality.

I'll say too, revenge as a motivator is a common story theme. And its very present in films and the like. This is certainly not a 'female only' thing, and there's SO much nuance that has to be applied. And to be perfectly blunt, I can't fully articulate 100% why I especially have this feeling with him, but at some point in one of my nightly Kaz spirals, I had the thought of "Kaz is written the way I'm used to women being written", and, after mentioning it, I sat on it, never gave it really much expansion, and haven't given myself the chance to really put into words why I feel this way.

It's sort of like..

Kaz gets dismissed a lot. Kaz isn't taken seriously a lot because he lets his emotions get the better of him. (Which is largely his fault, if he could calm down for five seconds and take a breather, he'd be able to put his very honest, very intelligent thoughts into words). But he doesn't give himself that chance. He screams, shouts and acts impulsive instead.

Meaning he gets written off as being 'too hysterical' to take seriously. Which is something we see a lot in female characters. Who often get pushed aside in narratives despite being smart, or having a point, because "She's too hysterical right now don't listen to her."

Kaz is known for being jealous. Manipulative and 100% ruled by emotions and impulses. He makes extreme decisions at the drop of a hat, but places fall apart without him managing the books and the records. He tries to overcompensate, and get taken seriously, but it leaves him getting underestimated and written off. Because for every serious thing he says, for every legitimate point he makes, its either screamed or shouted.

Or, full of biting sarcasm and snide remarks. He's a 'playboy' in Peace Walker. The man with a full hair care routine in a jungle. He's been 'caught' and brought in by a man more powerful and more respected than himself, and while he tries again and again to be on equal footing with him-and fully believes he ought to be, it falls short.

(This isn't excusing Kaz either, his entrance into the MSF is a rabbit hole I've gone down before, because it's very hard to put into black and white territory and victim/abuser territory. It requires deeper thought and more critical thinking).

Anyway.

I think another way to look at it, is that if I imagine Kaz as a woman, his story..really does not change that much to me? It's got all the elements of the supporting/leading lady role. And as a retroactive character (as in, a character that was originally very much a one note they build backwards by making him more meaningful in the prequels) he gained importance in the narrative, but backwards.

(I'm aware this doesn't make much sense, it's so hard for me to articulate this one properly sorry).

To be a tad crueler about it, think of the stereotype 'nagging wife'. Its not hard to imagine Kaz like that. At all. In my head. At the end of the day, it's something I'd probably have to think about more, but it kinda sits in the back of my mind occasionally.

[butwhatifidothis]

Nice blog you have hear. Your VW rewrite is great and I adore the idea of a Claude-Rhea rapport, but there's one thing I'm struggling to understand.

How is Claude becoming tolerant of the church--an institution mostly run by white people--in VW any different to Nader being scolded by Lorenz about the Almyrans' behaviour in GW (from what I've seen--I have no intention of playing Hopes ew)? Especially since Rhea's need to hide her identity is a more abstract exploration of othering compared to Claude's which is more grounded in reality, thus running the risk of making their (personal) connection problematic.

(If you don't want to answer this publically, please make a post saying so and I will come off anon.)

Hm. I don’t think I quite understand the comparison being made here.

Claude becoming tolerant of the Church would be a result of the Church itself being tolerant to outsiders and foreigners, at least per my rewrite that you're referencing. He is accepting of a good institution doing good things that he already agrees are good things, with no requirement of the "mostly run by white people" institution telling him these are good things.

Meanwhile, in Hopes, you have it to where Nader - a POC man - is turned into someone who enjoys pillaging conquered lands, when that has never been established in his character before. Building onto that you have Claude - a man of the same POC race as Nader - saying nothing against him doing this; he is either enabling Nader, or is outright also fond of/okay with pillaging conquered lands. It is only Lorenz - a white man - who steps up and reels Nader back in a good moral line. It would have been one thing had Claude been the one reprimanding Nader, or even showing disappointment in specifically Nader doing this (which would indicate it's a pattern of behavior for specifically Nader), but him saying nothing at all speaks volumes on how Almyra's culture seems to be like. These are two out of a whopping four Almyran characters we ever see (when counting Cyril, even though he explicitly doesn't adhere to much of Almyra's culture), meaning that half of the game's known Almyran characters participate in or otherwise allow for pillaging.

I don't mean to be rude, but what you are trying to compare are two entirely different scenarios. Claude accepting an mostly-white-run institution being open to outsiders/foreigners is... not the same as him and Nader being used to paint Almyra as a pillaging bandit continent that have to be calmed down by the good white man. Not to be rude, but I'm having a hard time understanding the point trying to be made here.

Nor do I really understand what you mean by "Rhea's need to hide her identity is a more abstract exploration of othering compared to Claude's which is more grounded in reality, thus running the risk of making their (personal) connection problematic." Rhea's need to hide her identity is... absolutely not abstract. Like, at all? The most "abstract" thing about it is that she's a nonhuman entity, but pretty much every else aligns almost perfectly with Claude's need to hide his identity. They both experience the following:

A sense of being unable to truly trust/open up to those around them due to how they've been treated because of their race

A real, logical, physical danger that looms over them should their identities be revealed too callously and to the wrong people

Being seen as strange and untrustworthy in extremely large part due to how they come off because of them hiding their identities

While the depths of Rhea's trauma includes far more immediate tragedy than Claude's, both experience very similar feelings because of what they went through. I don't see what risk would be ran should they be written to have a personal connection to one another?

Again, sorry if I come off rude or standoffish, but I genuinely do not get what you're trying to say here

[franki-lew-yo]

old: How not to talk about representation

Stupid fish faces. Also gotta love the blatant sexism imposed. Women and girls like characters cuz "they look like me" and none of the personality they see in them while boys show real love and admiration. It's impossible for men and boys to have shallow or badfaith standards from fictional characters.

Apparently Stonetoss -in his infinite wisdom- just KNOWS that people are shallow and can only ever like a character that looks exactly like them because of validation. Y'know I wonder if HE practices what he preaches and can love a nonwhite character that doesn't look like him. No reason I'm asking. Apparently, BIPOC people are physically unable to like white/white coded characters at all and this new trend of making people specific races is inherently bad for us on principle. I guess.

Nuff' snark. The reason racelifting an originally white character is not the same thing as whitewashing an originally BIPOC character is that whitewashing was and still is a common practice and white supremacy is still oppressive. It's NOT comparable to racelifting and 'reverse racism' and yeah you are just being a megaracist by suggesting we "make Tiana white" out of 'revenge' for this kind of approach to representation. Making a white character into a BIPOC one is not a guarantee to making them 'fixed' or 'better'(see also: 'Rowling loves black Hermonie'. Shaun and Princess Weekes know their Potter-cred). It's really sh!tty of people to assume otherwise and that we, the audience wanting representation and new stories, have no taste and will eat up anything placed before us.

Velma and Santa Inc would never be hated as much as they are if they weren't genuinely terrible. If anything this kind of sacrificial trash is frustrating BECAUSE it would be nice representation if they didn't suck: they are. Velma and Shaggy being nonwhite in that show should even be on the list of things wrong with Velma, and, if it's on YOUR list, then you're a bad critic with bad priorities. No one wants or needs your opinions on anything.

As a fan of the original film I'll admit it hurts to hear so many people talk about the new Little Mermaid being 'innovative' and 'good actually when it's...not. I'm sorry but nothing I've seen of these movies ever makes me want to watch it. Peete's Dragon and Christopher Robin are highkey the only Disney remakes that appear to have some kind of a soul and that in itself is soul crushing. The problem with Disney remakes is that they are just ip dictation with no real vision behind them- NOT that they decided to be progressive or give og 'white' roles to BIPOC actors. Retelling new versions of a familiar story has been done for years- I've seen a black woman play Belle in a production of the BatB stage play. Get used to people of color existing. Also get used to people (however successfully) talking about societal issues that you think were invented yesterday. They've always been here, you just weren't paying attention. If anything; I'm mad on the part of Halle Baily. She does look like a good Ariel. Halle's Ariel deserved better but sadly everything else about the film, including how the character is written, shows me that Disney wasted her Ariel just as they did Alan Menken's new songs; they didn't care about them. They rushed the film and that doesn't make me want to give the film a chance. If anything that just makes me infuriated on their behalf. And, to take some words out of the 'anticriticisms' playbook, I'm not going to watch something that makes me mad the whole way through.

Anyway, Stonetoss- you deserve to have your identity leaked and also your art is garbage. I made the post months ago and am only now going over it myself because I forgot I even made it.

[surveilenceysystem]

「 THRESHOLD 」

Character(s): Kim Hongjoong, Park Seonghwa

Synopsis: Once a threshold has been opened, it tends to want to stay that way.

Trigger Warning: Angst. Mention of death.

That piano was always there.

In the corner, dusty from years of neglect. Those ashen jade-like keys. The Mahogany wood has lasted all these years with no maintenance. It reminded Hongjoong of his grandfather. It took him back to his childhood.

It reminded him of He'd look up to the piano, unable to reach its full height. How he'd raise both his hands to his grandfather, begging to be picked up so he could see those lovely black and white keys.

He remembered sitting on his grandfather's lap and playing the piano with him. How he came to respect the instrument. How he learned to appreciate music.

And maybe that's why it hurt. Because no one has ever loved him as much as his grandfather. That's why it hurt so much. His worst nightmare has come true. Death. It happened. It will always happen.

He was by himself. Yet again. In this godforsaken world, he was completely alone. He inherited his grandfather's house. It made him realize how lonely he was. No one. He had no one. In this empty house, there was nothing but him. It felt like he was staring into nothing, a void, when he'd stare into the house. It's hollow. It was no longer a home. It was nothing but a shell. A husk of what was once a happy home.

And now he has this goddamn place. An heirloom. One he didn't want. What's the point of having a house if you don't feel at home in it? It served as a sombering reminder to him that the only person he had ever cared about had died. Gone forever.

He wanted to cry. So he did.

He fell to his knees and let out all the emotions he'd been holding inside his heart. He wailed. Cries that burned his eyes and hurt his throat. As if it were a storm, tears streamed down his cheeks. It was. In his heart, it was storming. All the feelings he had pushed to the bottom of his soul, away from everything else, burst forth in an instant as tears and cries of utter pain and sadness.

He doesn't know how long he stayed like that. But he was aware that it was long enough for his leg to become numb. He was exhausted. Both physically and mentally. He did, however, feel lighter. He was much lighter than when he walked into the house this morning. He stood up, wiping his face with his sleeves, and exhaled deeply. He was dizzy, and a slight throbbing behind his eyes was becoming apparent.

He patted himself down until he felt his phone in his left pant pocket. He took it out and checked the time. It was 9 p.m. He'd been crying for over 4 hours on the floor. He sighed and sorted through all the messages that had accumulated in those hours. They were all filled with 'I'm sorry's and 'are you okay's. He replied to Seonghwa's text. Seonghwa was probably the only person he was willing to talk to.

He became aware of how dry his mouth was. Because of all the crying, he was dehydrated. He walked into the kitchen, leaving his phone on the couch. He switched on the lights in there. It was an incandescent light. The kind that made a gentle buzzing sound. It aggravated Hongjoong's headache. He needed to replace that stupid light with a regular LED light. He took one of the glasses on the faux marble counter top and rinsed it under the tap before filling it with tap water. Was it safe to drink? He didn't know, and frankly, he didn't care. He was exhausted and had had enough of everything.

Hongjoong turned off the light and made his way to the upstairs bedroom, where he had always stayed. It, the room, provided him with comfort at a time when he desperately needed it. He stepped into the bedroom and inhaled deeply. It had the same appearance as before. He was worn out. He didn't want to do anything but fall asleep in bed. So he did exactly that. He went to bed. He could deal with everything else later.

Hongjoong was startled awake by a sudden buzzing from the left side of his head. He sat up immediately and looked for the source of the buzzing, only to discover that it was coming from his phone. As he picked up the phone, he breathed a sigh of relief. Seonghwa had messaged him.

Hongjoong glanced at the clock. It was nearly 10:30 p.m. This means he slept for only 40 minutes. He stands up and walks down the hall to the front door. He opens the door to Seonghwa, who gives him a soft smile.

"Hey." says Hongjoong.

"Man, you look like shit."

Hongjoong chuckles and moves away so his friend can enter the house. When you're down, it's nice to have someone who cares about you nearby. Seonghwa had already begun to remove the tupperwares one by one, and Hongjoong's stomach grumbled as he saw them. Seonghwa motioned for him to take a seat and eat. He follows his friends orders.

"You've been crying, haven't you?" Seonghwa asked. His gaze filled with worry.

"Yes." Hongjoong's voices cracks midway through the word and he silently curses himself for it.

Everything went silent. Everything was quiet except for the sound of a spoon hitting a bowl. Seonghwa didn't like how disheveled his friend appeared. How his eyes had swollen and how pale his skin had turned. He despised seeing Hongjoong in that state.

"You knew you don't have to stay here right? My doors are always open for you. You can live with me if you want." Seonghwa said as he poured Hongjoong a glass of water.

"Yes. I know. But I want to stay here. This is the last thing my grandpa had and he left it to me. He wanted me to take care of it and I can't abandon this place. I can't abandon my grandpa's memories. That's the least I could do for him." Hongjoong said with firm voice. His grandfather had given this property to him for a reason and he'd never want to disappoint him.

"But it's taking a toll on you. Mentally." Seonghwa said.

"Everything take a toll. Sooner or later. This isn't something new. I can handle it Hwa." Hongjoong said with a smile.

The room became silent once more. Hongjoong stood up and walked to the kitchen sink to clean the tupperware, while Seonghwa wiped down the dining table.

"Why don't you renovate the house?" The sudden voice of Seonghwa startled Hongjoong as he accidentally dropped the bowl in the sink.

"What do you mean?" He recomposed himself and asked.

"Renovate. Re model the house to your taste. You get to keep the original layout while changing its appearance enough to look like how you want." Seonghwa said.

Hongjoong considered it. Keeping the original layout but changing some aspects of the house? He did need a larger storage room in any case, and a foyer would be a nice addition. His grandfather always wanted to do something but couldn't because of his age and financial constraints. Perhaps he could grant his grandfather's wish.

"I'll let you know tomorrow." Hongjoong said as he saw Seonghwa had already packed up his things.

"Alright. Goodnight then." Seonghwa said.

Hongjoong disliked skinship, but he never said no to his friends. Seonghwa made it a point to always hug his friends goodbye. Hongjoong had no idea why he did it, but he never questioned it, and as Seonghwa hugged him today, he was grateful that his friend was the way he was.

[leftdestiny-posts]

Love the "oc(s)" because it summarises them p well XD Anyways, I wanted to reblog this reblog because yes!!

//"#you did a good job at showing how kuro + shiro mix and match together through their appearance methinks. from their split-colored hair to th #white skirt. sorry idk how to articulate this xD"//

Not sure if this is because I showed you the designs of the two fragments (Shiro & Kuro) before but they ARE "split". While they're called unity, they are still two different people in one body.

^ V bare character design concepts but I am more focused on Unity anyways XD

So when you compare these designs and Unity's, you can see that Kuro's side (left) has her outfit incorporated (the shorts part, thigh high socks, the thing going over her chest-jacket, boobwindow (lmao), + the red and black) while Shiro's side her her outfit incorporated (the skirt, the corset, the flowy sleeves, the short boots, the jewels hanging from the corset, the lining of her dress, + the blue and white)

In reality, UNITY is not a new person. It's Shiro + Kuro united.

//"#back to what i said about kuro + shiro mixing and matching. one thing i love about the design is how their colors aren’t alway split in half#like with the black part of their top being diagonally split rather than limited to their right side"//

I can't go too deep into this, but their merging was a conscious choice. They WANT to be united, but they CANNOT. Hence you see them try to cross each other, but in the end, they still miss a part of themselves (In the lore of the two, they actually miss one more fragment of the original person they're from; hence why they're still 'Shiro' and 'Kuro'; not their original selves, always missing a part of themselves.)

Anyways, since I deleted my oc blog and I'm not sure where I shared my info, I'll dump some lore btc!! >:3

UNITY LORE COPIED FROM MY DOCS

“Once split, she could never fully unite again –. Unity is a wandering husk of what once was the powerful outlander; Emma, searching for the true meaning of existence and the missing piece of her being.”

>> PRE-TEYVAT

Emma is one of the few outlanders who remains satisfied even without the answers of the universe. 

She doesn’t need to find her 'final destination' nor 'the truth' and is satisfied living amongst the humans, blinded by ignorance, until their world reaches its end–dies–and she can move on to another ‘home’. 

Being an outlander (in her words: someone fated to have a better story than you'll ever have), Emma has seen the rise and fall of many worlds, or rather, STARS. She’s seen war, peace, hate, love, death, life, everything. 

Fate has a plan for all, and she will accept hers with grace when her time comes. 

☆ ㅤ

Emma's arrival on TEYVAT isn't without purpose. The star she previously called 'home' met its demise in a violent supernova, causing destruction lethal to even outlanders. 

In this newly born world called TEYVAT, she sought shelter but encountered death instead; arriving during the reign of the PRIMORDIAL ONE. 

As one era ends and a new one forms, she encounters Teyvat amid reformation. 

☆ ㅤ

Emma bore witness to Teyvat splitting into three realms. 

To escape the fracture in time and space, she decides to SPLIT her existence into THREE separate and independent beings. One part falls into the LIGHT REALM, one into the VOID REALM, and the last into the HUMAN REALM. 

Later, the FRAGMENT OF EMMA residing in the human realm perishes during the clash between the Primordial one and The Second who Came. Due to being unable to withstand the elemental energies collapsing in the human realm, the fragment loses its human form as its last life energy. 

Now, two fragments of the once-outlander Emma remain in existence.

>> VOID REALM [Kuro's existance]

In a mysterious region of endless darkness, something new is created. 

This new creature does not yet have a physical form. 

Only its name exists–a silent whisper. 

The name “Emma” is now long forgotten and replaced by sounds of the abyss.

☆ㅤ

For a few millennia, the fragment of “Emma” in the void realm drifts in the surrounding energies. The abyss' dark currents are the only source keeping it alive, sustaining it with its elemental energy. 

In other circumstances, the darkness would be harmful to all elemental beings. But the longer the fragment is cradled by the hands of the abyss, the more it takes on the shape of its creatures.

—the fragment becomes corrupted by the abyss.

☆ㅤ

When the void realm rips open and creatures crawl into the human realm; the fragment stirs from its slumber. 

Dark eyelashes flutter open and alert eyes scan the surrounding area. Darkness fills her vision as she takes her first steps in this new body. The sounds of her fellow abyssal creatures echo through the realm. It neither comforts nor unsettles the fragment for they hold no threat over her. Power surges through the newly formed body and after a short eternity she realises, she’s alive. 

If one saw this fragment of “Emma”, one would see how much she resembles the once-outlander in its prime. But to the people who looked closer and beyond the exterior, one would see how much the prolonged exposure to the abyss changed her. 

No longer do the stars reflect in her eyes. 

No longer does this fragment dream. 

After stretching her newly formed limbs and getting used to the weight of her new body, the fragment follows its fellow abyssal creatures out into the human realm.

When the fragment reaches the border between the void realm and the human realm, she realises that neither monsters nor humans pay mind to her. 

Similar to a newborn deer, the fragment takes her first steps with uncertainty and curiosity. In her eyes, Teyvat in its current state isn’t much different from the abyss. CHAOS and DESTRUCTION attract the fragment and the fragment attracts death in return. That’s how it’s always been,

–That is… until the fragment feels a pull. 

For the first time during her short-lived life, the fragment feels their heart skip a beat. It pulls and it hurts and for a moment the fragment is rendered paralysed. 

No longer certain of her previous steps into the new world, the fragment furiously scans the faces of the creatures that surround them. Some wear masks to hide their faces, others have fierce eyes and frowns, but many have open mouths and unblinking eyes.

The fragment looks down at its open hands. 

She closes and opens her fingers, trying to find purpose in them.

It doesn’t take much to realise something is missing, and she will have to find it to feel complete. 

>>LIGHT REALM [Shiro's existance]

Pure elemental energy gives life to a fragment of Emma’s soul in the light realm. Soft chimes lull them into a nearly endless slumber, white eyelashes flutter open only to fall close shortly after. Currently, the fragment is fighting the new feeling that’s forcing her awake—for the desire to stay in the embrace of the elemental energies surrounding her is much more desirable.

Ultimately the fragment loses to the feeling. 

The heavy weight of grief and loss is enough to force her eyes open. 

Something is missing and the fragment knows she won’t find it in the place she calls home. 

There is safety, comfort, all anyone could want, and yet the fragment decides to leave. 

Truly a stupid choice in her mind—.

Where the purest forms of the elements stretch beyond the horizons, it’s easy to navigate where the borders between the human and the light realm lay. A tiny rift, a small cut into time and space, and suddenly the fragment finds herself surrounded by a landscape of green. It’s below her, above her, at her sides—

—the fragment turns behind her and the green never stops. 

Life is growing everywhere, the fragment can feel the energy of the surrounding green pulse through her body but there’s more. A small entity seems to notice the lost creature fallen from the light realm and approaches it.

And as the trees will remember– so will light. 

☆ ㅤ

Some fun facts:

Emma was very colourful on purpose, meanwhile Shiro (blue) / Kuro (red) / dead fragment (yellow) are supposed to represent one of the three primary colors as a hint to Emma being split.

If the 'human realm fragment' ever gets a design, they'll have more similar 'human' traits. Likely soft brown colored hair and some warm yellow eyes. She'll still have the same hair style and such, but likely a style adjusted to Teyvat and its current era

I think I showed a wip of this a while back, but I wanted to share it again as I improved it by adding some more info / including some of the comms I got of her

[mhysa-leesi]

ᗷEᗯᗩᖇE TᕼE ᗯᕼITE ᗯOᒪᖴ

Pairing: Dark Viking!Bucky Barnes 𝒳 (femme) Reader ⚔.

Summary: "In an attempt to help pay off his many debts, your father makes a deal with a ruthless chieftain. When he is unable to hold up his end of the deal, the White Wolf comes to collect his prize."

Word Count: 4,951 (this is a longer one, babes, sowwy.)

TW: Non-Con, VERY Dub-Con, Smut, Loss of Virginity, Slight Breeding Kink (if you squint), Exhibitionism, "Forced" Marriage, Forced Pregnancy, (Inaccurate) Viking Themes, Mentions of Side Characters (Steve, Natasha), Use of Threats, EXTREME Physical Violence (I'm so sorry, Natasha bby I love you), Strong Language, and Questionable Old Norse (Beiskaldi=Bitch, I think), (Kisa=Kitten/Kitty), (Húsbóndi=Husband), (Kona=Wife), (Frue=Lady). 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI‼

ɴᴏᴛᴇ: *Sigh* here is another self-indulgent and unscheduled Bucky fic for yall... Enjoy! ;) **ALL GRAMMATICAL MISTAKES ARE MY OWN.

AN: This story contains adult and dark themes, please do not proceed if you are under the age of 18 or if ANY of these warnings upset you! I am not responsible for your media consumption–you and only you are. If you'd like to join my permanent taglist to stay updated on new and upcoming fics, please fill out this Google Form. 𝒯𝒽𝒶𝓃𝓀 𝓎𝑜𝓊.

AN Cont.: If you or anyone you know has been a victim of sexual violence, please reach out for help. I do not condone ANY of the actions described in this story, this is merely a work of FICTION.

Wands of reaching branches became dancing shadows in the moonlight as a cool night breeze blew in from the north. In the dead of night, along the starlit horizon and through the tangle, was flickering flamelight. In that growing light a silhouette of a man on horseback took shape from the shadows. He rode upon a stallion as black as the shadowy darkness that shrouded him, with a mane like spun silver under the starlight. The stirrups and bridle were inlaid with silver and gold.

Holding the horse’s reins was a man with dark hair on his head and stubbled chin. His blue eyes were smeared with black kohl and he wore an axe at his side and smelled of tobacco leaves, and cinnamon. The man dismounted, his cloak of snowy wolf’s pelt billowing around him as he came down. There was a sudden stillness, then. The dark, shadowed woods stood as noble warriors in the chieftain’s presence, and the amber and crimson leaves fell to his feet without so much as a whisper.

Your father bowed, kneeling before the chieftain until his beard touched the moonlit earth, “Thank you for meeting me this night, Chieftain.”

The path that your father led them down was bestrewed with fallen leaves of gold and deep green that rustled with life in the gentle wind. They moved silently across the sloping fields, silvered with moonlight to a dark wooden-walled cottage with carved furniture, and a firelit hearth. Bucky, the jarl, sat at the head of the table, with Steve, his guard, alongside him. The two men ate on goat’s cheese and stale bread with honey, and drank bitter ale until their bellies were full and satisfied. Your father stood beside the fireside on shaking legs, his walking stick tight in his grasp as he served the two Vikings.

“This meal was pathetic, Halfdan,” said Bucky as he swigged the last of the bitter ale.

Your father bowed his head to the jarl, “It is all my family and I can afford, my Jarl.”

Bucky sucked his teeth, “And that was what you wanted to discuss. What you can and cannot afford, hm?”

“Yes, my Jarl,”

“Then speak,” Bucky lazed.

Your father shifted his weight onto his stick as he poured the men another goblet of ale.

“I was injured during the Battle of Iyg many winters ago, and my leg hasn’t been the same since,” he began, “I’m a farmer, you see, and farmer’s need their legs to do good work. I cannot tend to my crops with one good leg, and if I cannot tend to my crops come time for harvest, I cannot repay the debts I owe.”

“And what of your family? Have you no sons? Thralls?” Steve asked from his seat with a quirked brow.

“No, I have no sons, and I cannot afford a thrall,” your father said, “I have only two daughters, and they can only do so much to help me.”

Your father paused as he looked to Bucky. His eyes were hard as he watched the flicking flames without expression, but his eyes followed the flame’s dance.

“What’s your proposal, bonde? I’m growing bored,” Bucky grumbled out.

Your father hung his head in shame as he spoke, “As I said, I have two daughters. If I cannot repay your debts, you can take one… O–or both, if you so desire.”

Bucky looked away from the flames, then. Your father shrunk under his gaze, shifting uncomfortably as Bucky intriguingly considered his offer. He tossed down a pouch of gold coin at him, “You have a deal.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Winter arrived on an icy wind. The rivers ran still under sheets of thin ice, and wintry twigs twisted as they bore ornamented crystals, and the once lush green fields were now sparkled with frost that cracked and crunched underfoot. Snow fell softly from a pearl grey sky, landing on your eyelashes as they pirouetted down without a breeze. The air was frozen lace latticed on your lungs as you breathed in the wintry morning air. Snowflakes kicked up in clouds of glittering ice as you ran among the naked winter trees, laughing as you and your sister raced through the drifts.

“Last one home has to shovel horse shit!” you yelled over your shoulder as you pumped your legs harder.

“Hope you like the smell!” your sister shouted back as she hurled a snowball your way.

The ball of snow hit the tree just beside you, “You dirty cheater!”

You ducked and dodged as your sister kept on her barrage of snowballs, never relenting her attack. Your laughter echoed throughout the morning as you came up the slope that led to your home. You shot down the path that was glittered with white, fresh snow, and leaped through the threshold of the front fence. You laughed triumphantly as you looked back at your sister, who was panting with her hands on her knees.

“I want a rematch,” she panted.

“I didn’t know you were such a sore loser Gro,” you said handing her the shovel, “Maybe I’ll let you win next time.”

“Beiskaldi,”

You feigned a hurt gasp, “I’ll tell father.”

Your sister scowled at you as she snatched the shovel from your frozen hands, grumbling as she stomped down to the stables. You went inside, kissed your father on the cheek and began your evening chore of preparing supper. You shelled the peas and boiled the stew and cabbage. The sun was beginning to set below the horizon when you finished cooking. You and your sister set the table as your father tended to the hearth.

You all supped your split pea soup in comfortable silence as the fire crackled on. You and your sister made faces at one another as you ate, challenging each other to keep your laughs in. You were about to crack when a loud knocking at the door startled you. Your sister’s face dropped as she looked out the window. You turned and saw a group of men dressed in furs, adorned with silver and iron.

“Stay here,” your father said as he struggled to his feet, his walking stick in hand as he went out to meet the men.

“Who do you think those men are?” you asked your sister as you both squished together to watch through the small window.

Your older sister frowned, “Probably debt collectors, you know how father is.”

You mirrored her frown as one of the men locked eyes with yours. Your heart began to pound as you watched your father drop to his knees for a man dressed in white furs, he was begging, and on the verge of tears. Gro, your older sister, pulled you from the window and behind her as a blonde man barged into your home. You couldn’t help the yelp that left you as he dragged you and your sister out into the snow. Above, the light of the full moon silvered the smoothed the harsh edges of the land, softening the hard features of the men before you.

“Father?” your sister spoke thickly through her tightening throat.

You pulled your sister closer by her arm as your father avoided her tearful gaze. The snow fell around you silently, dropping from the night sky like falling stars. Your breaths came out in puffs as you breathed in the icy air, your teeth chattering as the wintry bite tore through your thin tunic. Your eyes landed on the only man still mounted, his black stallion stomping the snow as streams of clouded breath left its flared nostrils. He caught your wandering eyes and dismounted with a softened thud.

Your sister hugged you tighter as the man in white wolf’s fur came closer, his icy blue eyes striking against the black kohl.

“Please,” your father begged once more, “I–I can pay. Next harvest season--I’ll pay you double--triple!”

The man stopped before you and your sister, looming down on your shivering forms. He turned and glared at your father, “We had a deal, Halfdan. You missed not only one, but two payments. Now,” he turned back to you and your sister, “I’ve come to collect.”

Your heart sank as you made sense of his words. It couldn’t be true, your father would never make such a deal… Would he?

Your sister gasped as she was pulled from you. The man looked down his nose at her, making a face as he shoved her away, “That one smells of horse shit.”

You froze as he made his way toward you. You wanted to run, to hide, but your body was ice. He stopped in front of you without a word. He touched you, then; moving wild strands of hair out of your face and behind your ear. You stiffened as you felt his fingers brush down your cheek to your lips, gently caressing the soft skin of your lower lip as he tilted your chin up.

He looked into your eyes for a moment before releasing you. You stood confused as he remounted his midnight-colored steed.

“Take her,” he commanded. Those words--just those two words were enough to ignite chaos.

Your sister fought against the men as they grabbed you. You sputtered and screamed for your father, begging him to rescue you, to not let these men take you away. You beat against the back of the blonde man as he threw you over his shoulder.

“Papa!” you cried. Your father limped after you, his heart shattering as the endearment echoed throughout the night. You hadn’t called him that since you were a girl. Now, as a woman, he was watching you being taken away from him. You reached out for him as he got closer, praying to the gods you’d be able to take his hand.

You cried out as your father stumbled and tripped in the snow, his walking stick flying from his hands. Your sister dropped next to your father, helping him to his feet. She looked at you with tears streaking down her cheeks. The blonde man set you atop the White Wolf’s horse and that was the last you saw of your family. You’d forever remember the look of mourning in your sister’s eyes as she and your father were forced to watch you being taken away.

He held you close to him as you rode toward the outskirts of your village. You traveled for hours until a warm firelight came into view from the darkness. You felt hands roam your waist, pressing your hips flush against his. You squirmed in his grasp, wanting to fall from the horse rather than be subjected to his wandering hands; but instead of letting you go, he held you tighter. He breathed in your scent, his lips against your neck as he husked in your ear.

“You smell of sugared cranberries,” he said and you shivered as his warm breath tickled your neck. His hands reached up to cup your breasts, roughly pinching your hardened nipples from the cold. You wriggled against him, stopping when you felt his hardness grind into you. Arms snaked around your waist to keep you from escaping, you panicked as you felt his hand dip under the band of your skirt, cupping your sex with rough hands. He touched places that had you mewling, your face burning with shame as you rocked your hips into his hand.

He kept fueling that fire deep within your belly, humming in your ear as he coaxed the quietest of whimpers from you. Unfamiliar voices snapped you out of your pleasure, then. Your eyes snapped open and you clawed at his hands that were touching up your body. He hissed as you dug your nails into him, laughing as he easily wretched your hands away.

“You fight like a little kitten,” he taunted.

He dismounted as you rode through tall, torchlit gates; hauling you down with him. You pulled against his grasp, digging your heels into the snow as you fought. The men that had traveled with you all laughed at your feeble attempts to escape the man with the white wolf’s fur.

“You’ve always picked the feisty ones, Bucky,” said the blonde man as he stalked toward you, “This little kisa will be fun to tame,” he pinched your winter-bitten cheek and smirked as your lip began to tremble.

The man who held you by your arm, Bucky, grumbled a response that was lost on your ears as you looked around your new surroundings. You wanted to go home. You tried to tug your arm from his grasp in vain as he began to drag you toward his lodge. You were desperate, so desperate for rescue you started to scream for help. You felt stupid as you looked at the faces of the other villagers--his villagers.

Bucky threw you onto his bed of soft furs. You scooted back, kicking your legs at him, as he made way toward you. He caught your ankles and dragged you down to him, trapping your kicking legs under his as he began to tear away the laces of your tunic. You slapped, clawed, and punched at his hands as he fought to undress you. You caught his hand and bit down on him, sinking your teeth deeper and deeper, refusing to let go of your hold on him.

He ripped his hand from your mouth and glared down at you with fire in his blue eyes. He slapped you across your cheek hard enough to hurt and shock you. You lay there, your eyes and cheek burning as you swallowed thickly. You refused to cry in front of him. You were not some little kitten.

You fought harder as your legs were spread around him, your cunt exposed to him as he snatched up your skirts. You flail wildly, then. Your hands pushing and blindly hitting. In your chaotic struggle you punched him, landing a swift blow to his nose. He eased off you for a moment as he flinched back in surprise.

You jumped off the bed and grabbed a nearby axe that rested against the wall, pointing it toward him. Bucky checked his fingers for blood, laughing as they came back clean.

“Steve was right, kisa. I’m going to have so much fun taming you,” he said with dark eyes, “No matter, I’ve always liked it rough.”

You snarled at him, gripping the axe tighter as he stood, “I will not be tamed by the likes of you.”

His eyebrow quirked and mouth opened to reply, but closed it as the door swung open. A beautiful woman with flaming hair stormed in, stopping short as she looked at you.

“Húsbóndi, what is the meaning of this?” she growled. He ignored her as he snatched the axe from your weak and inexperienced grip, tossing it aside as he grabbed you by your wrists, “Bucky.”

He dragged you back to the bed and forced you to kneel on the furs before him. He ran his fingers over your bottom lip again, forcing you to wrap them around his thumb. You bit down, then. Glaring up at him as he hissed down at you.

“How dare you embarrass me this way?”

He looked at her, then. A dangerous darkness brewing in his icy eyes, “It is you who embarrasses me, Kona. Two winters have passed and a third one comes, and you have still yet to be with a child.”

The woman’s angry scowl fell, “I have tried--I am still trying.”

He looked back down at you, forcing your chin up to look into his eyes, “Perhaps the gods never intended for you to carry my child.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as the woman--his wife sputtered. She tugged on his arms as she pleaded with him to stop, to let her try again. Bucky pushed her off him and angrily rounded on her, you gasped as he slapped her, just as he had slapped you. She fell to her knees as she held her reddening cheek, tears glossing her eyes as she trembled before him. He looked down at her with a scowl.

“You will watch, Natasha. You will watch how a real woman takes my seed, and you will watch as she takes your place,” he growled. Bucky turned back to you, “And if the gods will it, my little kisa will bless me with a son.”

He grabbed you, then. Forcing you onto your back as he straddles you, holding your wrists above your head with one hand as he undresses you with the other. Natasha, his wife, tries to stop him. Once again tugging on his arms and shoulders, pleading with her husband to let her take your place as his wife. He calls for someone, and your heart sinks as you see the blonde man enter the room.

“Steve, make sure my wife’s eyes never leave us. And if she looks away, cut an eye out,”

Both you and Natasha begin to sob at his cruel words. Steve stood by Natasha, holding her by her fiery hair to force her eyes on you and her husband. You pushed against Bucky’s chest as he rid you of your clothes, and he stopped to whisper in your ear.

“If you resist me, kisa, I will cut out more than her eyes,” he threatened, “Or perhaps I’ll cut out your sister’s eyes rather? I can’t recall if they were the same color as yours or not. Maybe I should have Steve bring them to me, so that I may remember, hm?”

You shook your head as you fought back your tears.

“Then you’ll promise to be a good little kisa for me?” he husked as he trailed his lips down your neck.

“Yes, I promise…” you whimpered.

“Good girl,”

Your fight stopped as the thought of your sister kept you still and obedient. Bucky’s lips kissed up your neck and throat until he finally found your lips. You were still, at first, never having been kissed before, but you feared he’d be unpleased with you, so you mirrored his movements the best you could. His hands held the back of your head as he deepened the kiss, trying to build a forced connection with his lips and tongue. You let him explore your mouth as you tentatively explored his.

The kiss left you breathless as he pulled away from your lips to kiss down your body. He stopped at your breasts, taking one in each hand and squeezing.

“Soon, these will be swollen with milk,” he said. You swallowed and looked at the ceiling, wishing you were home.

You gasped as you felt his tongue twist around your nipple. He looked up at you with eyes that were all lust-blown pupils. You watched as he took your breast into his mouth, suckling. His hands roamed your body as he bit and sucked on your breasts, and you couldn’t help the sigh that left you as his tongue flicked and swirled around your hardened peaks. His mouth left your chest and roughly nibbled and kissed down to your navel.

He stopped to nip along your hip bones, then. Kissing dangerously close to your most intimate part. You tensed as you felt his hands on your thighs, spreading your legs to reveal your cunt to him. Your eyes fluttered as your eyelashes wetted with unshed tears and you bit down on your lip to keep yourself quiet as you felt him lick up your sex. Your breathing changed as Bucky flattened and flexed his tongue against you.

Your hands found their way to his hair, pulling as he tongued through your folds. Your eyes drifted to the corner of the room where Steve and Natasha sat. You pushed Bucky’s head away, embarrassed and full of shame as Natasha blinked away tears, her face emotionless. Bucky took your hands from his head and held them against the furs, entwining his fingers with yours as he continued to taste you. You writhed under him as he flicked and circled your clit, fast then slow, rough then softly.

You hated to admit it to yourself, but it felt good. You moaned as you arched into his mouth, your breath and heart skipping as he tongued your entrance. Bucky locked eyes with you as he licked a long, firm stripe up from your taint to circle your clit. The feel of him sparked something deep within your belly that made you cry out in ecstasy. You shook against him uncontrollably as that spark in your belly exploded.

Bucky shed himself of his tunic and took your hand in his as he kneeled above you, resting your hand on the front of his trousers. He rubbed himself with your hand and guided you to his laces.

“Take my cock out,” he told you.

Your eyes went wide and you looked to Natasha who’s stony facade was beginning to crack. Her jaw was ticked and her eyebrows twitched with emotion. Steve yanked her hair and forced her head straight. You didn’t miss the quick glare she shot at you.

“Don’t look at her, look at me,” Bucky said, and you looked back at him.

With shaky hands you undid the laces and let his trousers fall loose on his hips. You looked up at him again, unsure of what to do next. He looked down at you expectantly, and you swallowed nervously. You reached into the front of his trousers and hesitantly took out his hard cock. He held his hand over yours, squeezing, as he made you stroke him.

You watched your hand move up and down his shaft, your core fluttering as you listened to him hiss and groan above you. He stopped, releasing your hand as he shifted down the furs and between your legs. You felt the tip of his cock prod along your entrance and you panicked. You had known his intentions, but feeling him down there, was something you couldn’t mentally prepare for. You pushed against him and he pushed against you, but he was so much stronger than you were.

Tears stung your eyes as you felt his intrusion. You were wet for him--he had made sure of that, but you weren’t ready for the unfamiliar pressure of him entering you. Bucky pushed himself deep within your cunt, forcing himself past your barrier with a hard thrust. He moaned above you as he felt your tightness clenching around him. You whimpered as he began to languidly hump into you.

“Gods, you were made to take me,” he moaned as his hips snapped forward.

The pain melted to pleasure as Bucky reached new depths of your body. He wrapped your legs around his waist and angled your hips upward. You moaned underneath him as he kneaded your clit with his thumb in perfect time with his hard thrusts. You let yourself fall limp, no longer tense and unwelcoming. With every thrust he gave, you welcomed yourself to him, your cunt clenching around him as if to keep him buried within you.

“Open your eyes!” your eyes snapped open as the loud voice boomed above the noise of your and Bucky’s coupling. Bucky began to thrust harder and faster into you, setting a pace that had you yelping in pain and pleasure. In the corner of the room, Natasha, with closed eyes, fought against Steve as he yanked her by her fiery hair. The sounds of skin against skin, of your sloshing wet cunt around Bucky’s cock as he fucked you hard, would never have been loud enough to drown out the sounds of Natasha’s pained scream. Your face paled and your stomach hurled as you watched Steve pull a dagger from its sheath.

You fought against him, then. Scratching and slapping at him as her screams rang in your ears. You cried as you saw the blood flood from her empty socket. Bucky took hold of you by your neck and forced you to look at him.

“That will be your sister if you continue to deny me, kisa,” he warned, his strong, hard thrusts accentuating his every word. You sobbed and forced your body to go limp around him once more.

Bucky pulled back and thrust into you even harder this time, making you scream. His eyes met yours as he rutted into you like a wild animal. He bared his teeth as he fucked into you faster and faster, his grunts and moans growing louder with each thrust of his cock. You whined and moaned as you rocked against the furs as Bucky pounded into your cunt. And you felt that familiar build from within, that beginning spark that threatened to ignite a firestorm of exploding pleasure.

In a blur of color you were flipped as Bucky held you atop his lap, positioning you above him. He entered you again from below in one strong, hard, fluid thrust. Your breasts bounced with every thrust as you jounced on his cock. The new angle had you moaning and mewling as he rhythmically fucked you. You rode him as if he were a wild stallion, and you didn’t want to stop--you were close, too close to care.

Bucky’s pants soon turned to low moans as you bounced on him, meeting his thrusts with your own. His fingers dug into the soft skin of your hips as you forced yourself down onto him harder and faster.

“That’s it, kisa, ride your jarl,” he groaned through gritted teeth, “I’m going to fill you with my seed. I’m going to fuck an heir into you, and I’ll keep fucking you even then. You’ll never be without my seed in your tight cunt.”

Your body convulsed as you came, moaning lustily as you did. Underneath you, Bucky’s thrusts stuttered as he came with a howl. He kept his hips thrusting lazily as you both calmed from your erupting pleasure. Bucky flipped you again, caging you under his strong body. He pulled his cock from your pussy and pushed his leaking seed back inside of you with his fingers.

He fucked you three more times that night, each time coming deep inside of you with a lusted howl.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Four weeks have passed since your first night with Bucky. Lying with him had become easier, you quickly learned how to please him and he you. In those short days since then, you had wed him and you were now recognized by his village as his kona. Natasha was no longer his wife as he reduced her to nothing but a servant to be passed around his men. You were still getting used to it all, the fancy silks and furs, the gold, and the silver jewelry.

But it was more than a poor farm girl could ask for, you had no right to complain about the life forced upon you--at least that’s what you told yourself every night as Bucky fucked you against the furs.

“Frue (Y/N)?” a soft voice called.

You came out of your head and looked to the woman, Yrsa, your servant, “I’m sorry?”

The water of your bath was scalding hot with cranberry oils, as you liked it. Yrsa washed your hair with the sweet scented oil.

“I asked if you’d like your supper to be brought to you,”

You frowned at the thought of food, “No, thank you. I’m afraid I don’t have much of an appetite tonight.”

“The jarl will not be pleased, my Frue. A full moon has since passed since your last supper,”

“I nor my husband can force my appetite,” you sighed as she brushed through your tangled hair.

Bucky came into the room, then, bringing the winter cold in with him. The white fur of his cloak thick around his neck. You stood, the water dripping from your body as Yrsa dried you. Bucky eyed your naked body hungrily as he disrobed. You locked eyes with your husband as you stepped from the bath and into a thin cotton tunic.

“No,” Bucky spoke, “I want you undressed.”

You let the fabric fall to your ankles, the glow of the firelight bathing you in fiery gold. Yrsa moved your hair back as she rubbed oils down your arms. Bucky licked his lips as he eyed your breasts. Yrsa brushed the soft swell of your stomach as she oiled you and said,

“Frue, you are with child,”

Bucky stood over you, his eyes blackened and intense, fierce pride and lust. You touched the swell of your belly and your heart dropped. His hand rested atop of yours as he looked upon your swollen breasts and the growing curve of your belly. You felt the hardness of his manhood pressing against your thigh.

“The gods have blessed us,” he said against your hair, “Leave us.”

Yrsa bowed her head and ducked out of the room. You knew what your husband wanted as you unlaced him. He bent you over the bed and you balled the furs in your fists as he thrust himself inside of you.

“Let us pray you birth me a son, kisa,” he husked. You moaned as he fucked into you with wild lust-driven desire. Bucky gripped you by your hips as his hips quickened, his cock pounding into you harder and harder in the moment of his erupting pleasure. His seed filled you and trickled down the soft insides of your tender thighs. Bucky kissed along your shoulders as he rubbed your stomach almost lovingly.

Your eyes glossed with tears as you thought back to your family. You had always thought your sister would’ve been the first to have a child, yet here you were… Carrying the White Wolf’s heir.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*тαgℓιѕт*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧: @hoosier-daddi, @kuranes-12, @syrenavenger, @thehuntresswolf, @kriegersimp, @haleyheart0197

[archer3-13]

You just made me realize how I am still in the same fucking boat but with a different coat of paint. Suzaku and Dimitri are similar just like Edelgard and Lelouch. Like before, I'm still on the side of the character that gets a lot of misunderstanding and hate (Suzaku, Dimitri) because the edgier one is more popular. I can't believe it.

-snort-... sorry bout that. but yeah, their is a lot of overlap there, though i would note theres some important differences between them. namely that unlike edelgard and dimitri where one, dimitri, just definitively has the more heroic qualities and narrative function over the other, lelouch and suzaku are a lot more of a 'gray area' as the kids like to say these days by design. and thats because lelouch and suzaku are actual foils to each other, built from the ground up to compare and contrast in every aspect.

Lelouch is intellectual but physically weak, suzaku is physically adept but not intellectual [which is not to say hes dumb, just that hes not 'class smart' as it were]. lelouch is represented primarily by the colour black, black chess pieces, black knights, zero. suzaku is represented primarily by the colour white, white knightmare frame, white pilot suit, white devil. lelouch is reactive, prefers bold action well paradoxically hiding behind a mask, someone who believes the ends always justify the means. suzaku is proactive, prefers moderation despite the seeming inaction of adhering to that moderation, someone who believes the means always justify the ends. they are opposite ends effectively, and because lelouch and suzaku are both extremes the story stresses how when they're apart and especially when they're competing is when they are at their most self destructive and self sabotaging. but thats also because the story makes sure to stress that the two of them are equals in the narrative effectively, equally good and equally awful.

lelouch has his noble ideals but hes an awful bastard in his methods who only ever starts to feel regret or guilt over them when personally confronted with the consequences, and even then those consequences have to be directly framed in a manner of hurting someone he loves or cares for. see lelouch burying britannian soldiers and part of a city alive under mountain rubble to secure dubious strategic edges in a battle he lost anyways, and only really starting to feel guilty or bad over it when it turned out he accidentally buried Shirley's dad alive.

conversely suzaku is much more amical to people and conscious about his actions and making sure people dont die, buuut hes also rather aimless in what hes actually trying to do because a lot of his own idealism is coached in suicidal guilt which only intensifies with every mistake he makes and every tragedy that enters his life. someone mentioned it to me and i think its a good way to describe suzaku but hes effectively 'the conflict of shinto aesthetic against bushido spirit' personified. he kills his dad as a kid to prevent his dad from dragging the country into a death spiral defiantly fighting a war it cant win, and then spends the rest of his life looking for a place to die, especially in battle, because of the dishonor he perceives himself committing. he both greatly values and cherishes all life, well having no regard for his own. which is also why he gets sooo god damn depressed about seemingly being unable to die in r2 and why his seeming solution to the clear injustices side 11/japanese people face in code geass is to be the 'model citizen' and hope that changes peoples opinions well rigorously adhering to authority and order.

that went on longer then i thought and its very rambley and unedited/off the cuff.

but to drag that back to fire emblem, as i said theres an important difference to edelgard and dimitri that makes a comparison between them and lelouch and suzaku not as salient as it might be outside of a general comparison of how fandom often reacts to characters. namely that the two just... arent written as foils to each other, or atleast failed to be properly conveyed as foils to each other. And honestly i would put that at the fact that theres not really much actually going on there behind the curtain with edelgard as a character, which is why none of her relationships to other characters really seem to have substantive weight or gravitas to them.

like, why does she believe in a darwinist philosophy? how does that actually relate to her history or trauma? that she dislikes crests makes sense in relation to her trauma, but then why does she spend so much of her ire towards the central church when they had nothing to do with her trauma? well that would seemingly relate back to her darwinist philosophy... but why does she have that philosophy? its recursive and self feeding seemingly by accident because the game never comments on it [and i imagine if it did it would be very unflattering for her in the sense of 'because i survived and became stronger from the experiments people should pull themselves up by their bootstraps'].

and ya cant have a foil if one of your characters might as well be a paper cut out contrasting against a fully realized well rounded character.

[the-stage-manager]

The only thing I disagree with is the idea that Crowley's choice was "selfish". Specifically, I hate the word selfish because I feel like it implies a sort of judgment. We have, ingrained in us, this idea that it is wrong to be selfish, that altruism is the ultimate good.

Crowley's choice is not selfish. It was an extremely rational choice, as was Aziraphale's. I don't think they were miscommunicating in that scene, as much as people thought they were. Crowley would not be well received in heaven. He would not do well in that environment. The isolation, the lack of stimulation, the rules, the bureaucracy. Not only that, but he still carries some pretty deep scars from when he was cast out. The only thing Crowley would have in heaven would be Aziraphale. No car, no wine, no plants, no mischief, no fun. Just Aziraphale. That is not a healthy sacrifice to make—to abandon everything, hobbies, comforts, everything—for another person. He cannot go.

It's easy to judge a character when we know something that they don't. We know that heaven is toxic. We know that. Aziraphale doesn't. Why doesn't he just open his eyes? How could he be so cruel to ask Crowley to return to an abusive environment?

I think, unless you've been through it, it's really hard to understand just how difficult it can be to escape an abusive environment, when your abuser is somebody that you love. Austin, you find yourself in a constant state of fight or flight, without even realizing it. You've lived in that feeling for so long, you don't consciously notice when your heart starts to race, and your breath gets a little shallower. You've learned to ignore the uncomfortable feeling in your body. You grit your teeth and bear it. Neurologically, people in fight or flight, or other extreme distress, you become unable to make rational, logical choices, because blood is diverted away from the prefrontal cortex, where the thinking happens, and flows into the limbic system, the fight-or-flight parts of the brain. I really want to emphasize that this is not something you have control over.

My point is, Aziraphale physically does not have the capacity to see how toxic heaven is. The attachment is formed with heaven is deep and instinctual, and it goes back to the beginning of his life—they were his guardians, his protectors, his family, his home.

He's terrified of disappointing heaven. Terrified. He spent the last 3 years away from heaven, able to separate himself and establish a new identity. But during the separation, I imagine he starts considering the idea that heaven might really be as toxic as Crowley says, but he doesn't internalize it. So when Gabriel shows up, all of those old fears come rushing back with intensity. He reverts to Old patterns of thinking—emotional patterns. Being around his abusers turns on that fight or flight instinct.

Sorry, I'm buttering all of this up, and really trying to explain it, I just really want to emphasize that Im not trying to cast judgment on Aziraphale. He is not a bad person. It's easy for us to point and say that he made the Bad Choice and he is Wrong. But the reality is so much more nuanced than that. It was a bad choice, yes, because it will likely lead to suffering, rather than happiness. But it isn't necessarily wrong.

Again of the day I think I'm just trying to say that neither of their choices were wrong or bad and all of this is just a TV show, so there's nothing wrong with looking at it from a black and white perspective. But also I just think it's fun and interesting to see and speculate about why people think and behave the way that they do.

Say it with me now,

Crowley is the one who left, not Aziraphale.

Aziraphale wanted Crowley to go with him, not because he wanted to return to Heaven, not because he’s traumatized and being gaslit into going back to his abusers, and not because he’s naive. He wanted to go back BECAUSE he knows exactly how toxic Heaven is and if he ran away with Crowley instead of trying to dismantle that hierarchal structure of abuse, he would be a bystander. He would be choosing his own comfort above everyone else’s in the world and he WOULD NOT BE THE PERSON WHO CROWLEY FELL IN LOVE WITH!!!

What Aziraphale is doing does not make him a fool. It doesn’t make him a bad person and it DEFINITELY doesn’t give s3-era Crowley any right to reject/be furious with him given that Aziraphale asked, even BEGGED Crowley to go with him. Together. so they could help make sure no one else has to go through the trauma they both did. Crowley’s choice, while understandable, was the selfish one. Aziraphale was the one brave enough to risk his safety and eternal happiness because he knew it was the right thing to do. And he wasn’t the one to walk away from their relationship— Crowley was. So before we start hating on Aziraphale maybe we should reconsider what made us (and Crowley!) fall in love with him in the first place.

[taroclouds]

First Blog Post!

Hello Hello! It is I...the PonPon! I thought I'd start a blog as I thought itd be a nice substitute in case I'm unable to stream on a certain day or something! That way I can still chat with you guys, give a little insight on the goings on in my life and doggo brain haha and maybe share some of my artwork or writings I've been working on these past few months... although we'll have to see haha as I'm pretty shy when it comes to sharing art and things. So today I thought I'd start my first blog entry ,sharing my thoughts and concerns on Amazon's The Rings of Power tv series. Now I know I just streamed awhile ago with me talking about it, but when I went back to check my stream I noticed my mic was on the fritz and you guys probably could barely hear me haha So I'm really sorry about that! Windows thought it'd be a good time to update the moment I started streaming! My apologies! Anyways lets get down to my thoughts on Amazons take on Middle Earth! So I first stumbled upon the news while scrolling though twitter and read Vanity Fairs update on Amazons Rings of Power. Basically to summarize it for you guys, the article went on to describe how production was going, how the creators of the show loved J.R.R. Tolkien & how they felt the tremendous pressure of living up to the amazing Peter Jackson Trilogy as well as how much Amazon wants to get this series right. Now along with this article they included pictures of the characters from the show and so far I don't really have any complaints on casting. I think...my only criticism so far, would be costume design? and maybe the special effects make up. So the first few pics the showed were of young Galadriel! the boss queen herself!

Now the article didn't really give any details on these pictures, though being a tolkien fan I know Galadriel did fight Sauron multiple times. like she kicked his butt cheeks to mordor and back XD Although whether it was physically fighting or using magic I'm not quite sure? at least I can't remember off the top of my head haha @jellycreature if you know any details please let me know haha Anyways I don't really have any gripe with this costume design, I do love the armor!! reminds me very much of the armor seen in Gondor!! and not to mention I LUV how the chest armor is accurate and barrel chested! like its not booby armor- it actually looks practical & historically accurate! I think my only gripe would be I'd love for her to wear maybe some leather fingerless gloves, similar to Aragorn's! but thats just my smol little gripe haha Other than that so far this pic of Galadriel looks ok :3 Now the next three pictures they showed was of two dwarves and an elf. What specific characters they play im not really certain.

But so far! Ioving it!! I love how the dwarves look, the make up is well done!! although again my only gripe would be, is to have the female dwarf have more luscious facial hair-as tolkien did say they had beautiful beards! Also a huge thing that I loved, that was rumored and talked about on reddit was that Amazon would include a multicultural cast and as you can see. they did just that! Unfortunately right now there's a few....shitty tolkien fans out their who are whining about how they don't like Amazons choice to have a multicultural cast how 'there are no black elves, dwarves or hobbits in middle earth ect...' and im sitting here like.....gurl...stop XD whether or not tolkien stated there are 'non white elves, dwarves or hobbits' in middle earth - it really shouldn't be up for debate? like to me... it shouldnt even be a concern? As I feel like a man who wrote about a fellowship-literally a bunch of different races of middle earth coming together to stop an evil from spreading is pretty telling in itself don't you think? So to me...Amazons choice of having a multicultural cast....Chefs kiss! haha now there were a few pictures of some characters I wasn't too thrilled about-but again that has to do with costume design and make up design.

like this elf for example...personally when I saw it I was like 'bro thats an elf from dragon age! 'haha and I think its mostly his pidgeotto hairstyle XD it just looks... too modern for me? which kinda pulls me out of believing this is indeed an elf and not some guy cosplaying his dragon age OC. Again this is just a smol gripe, I know this isn't gonna be exactly like Peter Jacksons elves -just sort of wished they went with a better hairstyle for this character- as well as have his traveling clothes look just a little be worn ,you know?

Although I suppose my biggest beef would be this characters costume design...like when I first saw it I was like...is he....wearing a t shirt? why does it look so clean and ironed out ? XD also I wished they made him look just a tad grimey-r XD like where's my sweat and dirt? overall though I feel that Amazons The Rings of Power....seems...well I don't know really haha lets just say they took on a huge film making challenge....and hopefully they didn't go with the standard hollywood studio look, where everything is cgi or green screen, every actor is clean and looks like they just walked out of a spa XD and costume design/ make design is historically inaccurate and looks half assed. here's hoping they actually cared about Tolkien's stories and made this series with love! instead of just cashing in on the fandom. And.....that's all I got to say haha OH! but before I go.... if you're hankering for an amazing fantasy tv series that's just as good as Peter Jacksons LOTR trilogy....with practical effects and made with so much love and passion... Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance. Please Please Please give it a chance! It's absolutely inspiring!

[childrenofthenightt]

heart of gold (chapter three)

pairing: robert plant x florence bennett (oc)

warnings: domestic abuse (god sorry), jimmy bein’ a simp :)

words: 3.4k

summary: trapped in a loveless marriage to a powerful man, florence bennett lives every day in despair. after a chance encounter with a golden-haired actor, florence finds that her life will never be the same again.

author’s note: new oc alert!! this character was based off a little friend of mine... who’s helped me like. immensely. babe ily. also god this one hurt to write i'm sorry guys. hope you enjoy :)

chapters: 1 | 2

masterlist

playlist

------

The waning light of the late afternoon sun filters in through the grand windows, stained glass painting the room a myriad of colours. Polished maple shelves line the walls, packed to the brim with dusty tomes. Comfortable armchairs sit around a side table, the gilded siding gleaming. On its surface sits a dainty teacup, still steaming.

Florence strides through the aisles of the library, trailing a finger along the worn spines. The lady of the house divides her time most often between the beautiful music room and the library, as Allen leaves her to her devices, most of the day. Running a city, he always says, takes a lot of work, dear. She’s not complaining at all, if it puts her at a difference from the barbarian she is lucky enough to call a husband.

Stopping, finally, she pulls a book from the shelf, running her fingers across the letters decorating the cover, fingers catching lightly on the grooves. ‘Wuthering Heights’, the cover reads, and Florence nods, content with her choice. Drifting across the room, she settles comfortably into the plush chairs, reaching a hand out to grasp the handle of the teacup beside her. Soft spice settles over her tongue, and her chest fills with warmth, the steaming beverage warding away the slight chill in the room. Cracking open the cover, her eyes drift over the slightly yellowed pages of the novel.

“I have just returned from a visit to my landlord—the solitary neighbour that I shall be troubled with. This is certainly a beautiful country! In all England, I do not believe that I could have fixed on a situation so completely removed from the stir of society…”

The woman recites the words on the page, voice drifting high into the rafters as it flutters past her lips. Florence has always enjoyed reading aloud, as it made her feel as though she was not alone. That someone hears her, and cares to listen to the words that flow from her mouth. Allen hated it, in the beginning. When he had given her the time of day, and cared for her. Promises of forever tumbled from his lips then, instead of the insults and hurt that dripped, like a slow poison, from them now.

Shaking her head clear of those thoughts, she continues. An hour passes, then another, and Florence loses herself in the narrative. These characters, brutal and flawed, intrigued her. They enchanted her, and she was unable to put it down.

Until a set of heavy footsteps, thunderous against the polished floors, near the door to the library. She knows exactly who it is, spending as much time as she had training herself to recognize his gait. Shutting her novel with a loud snap, she looks around the room. Everything is in its place; the room is pristine, as always. Smoothing down her dress, a bright yellow with lace at the hem, she waits for the inevitable. The click of the door opening rings through the suffocating silence of the room, and Allen strolls in, perfect image maintained by his coiffed hair and expensive pinstripe suit.

“Florence, my dear. I knew I might find you here.”

“Allen, is there something wrong?” Florence replies, the hands that rest on her lap subtly trembling as she gazes at her husband. He seems to be in a good mood today. Florence only hopes it can stay that way.

“We will be putting on a ball in the coming weeks, to celebrate my proficiency as mayor. Now,” Allen slips closer to his wife, and brings a hand to her chin. Holding her in place, he presses closer, looking directly into her hazel eyes. “I hope I won’t need to reiterate this. Please do try and behave.”

“O-of course, Allen, I will—”

“We wouldn’t want a repeat performance of recent festivities, would we?”

His words make Florence’s blood boil. She sees the world in shades of angry red, and clenches her fists as tight as she can, hiding them from Allen’s view. Her knuckles are painted white with the strain of keeping her composure. A few weeks have passed since Allen rained pain and devastation upon his household, but the wounds both mental and physical are not so easily hidden, swept aside.

Pasting on an agreeable smile, cheeks straining with the effort, she nods her head. Florence knows that if she plays by his rules, she’ll remain unharmed. He’ll finally leave her alone.

“I will be on my best behaviour. Please, do not worry, dear.”

Allen tilts her head up further, to stare right into her eyes. Florence would love nothing more than to deal him the pain that he had dealt to her. To John, and to James. Instead, she raises her hand, laying it across Allen’s, as she gazes earnestly back. Touching him feels horrifyingly wrong, and it's as though fire laps at her palm.

“You will need a gown, no doubt.”

“I was planning to go into town with Ms. Weston. You remember, she—”

“I do not care who accompanies you. I care, darling, that you do not embarrass me,”  The man smiles at her, sharp canines glinting dangerously in the fading sunlight, and he presses his lips to her cheek. His scent, sharp and cloying, nauseates her. Allen stands up to his full height, which, admittedly, was not much, and moves for the door. Turning back to look at her once more, he takes her in almost hungrily. “I wonder, Florence, if you still look as lovely unclothed as you do in this dress. Perhaps tonight, we may find out?”

With a sneer and a chuckle, he walks out the door, closing it behind him.

Florence’s hands unclench, finally, as subtle pain rips through her palms. Gazing down at the skin of her hand, she sees deep pink crescents. One of them is streaked lightly with blood. She had broken the skin, it seems.

Trembling hands retrieve the book from the table it had been left on, and Florence opens the cover once more. Eyes drifting down to read, she can’t seem to make sense of the words, anymore. Florence is shaken, and she knows that it is precisely what Allen wants.

It is but a game for him; a battle of control. He’s winning.

---------

“You mean to tell me that he… Oh, Florence…”

The chime of nails against delicate china rings through the luxuriously decorated sitting room, as Florence passes a teacup, the steam wafting from the top following the scent of rich spices, to the woman sitting on the plush divan. Her dress, a pastel lavender, meets the floor in a stream of tulle. Dark tresses, pulled back in a small, loose braid, curl as they fall across her shoulders.

“Emma, I have no idea what to do.”

Emma Weston had known Florence longer than she could remember. They had met when they were young, and since then, they’ve been almost inseparable. That is, until Allen came along. Slowly, almost inch by inch, he had pushed Emma out of the picture, further isolating his wife. The women seemed to meet less and less over the years, now coming together a few times a month. Emma was unmarried, and rather educated, which almost seemed to scare the man. A favourite quote of his pops into Florence’s head, then: “Educated women, well, they’ll bring the downfall of humanity.” To the women, of course, it served as a nice bit of comedy.

“My dear friend, I… Is there anything I can do?” Emma lays a hand on Florence’s shoulder, earnest eyes locked on those of her friend. Florence meets her gaze then, and the glassy hazel eyes unnerve the woman. They look defeated. “Florence, we will fix this, somehow.”

“If that is possible…”

Emma shakes her head, eyes blazing with a incendiary anger she must keep hidden from the woman sitting next to her. Florence, naive as she might have been upon entering the relationship, has done nothing to warrant this treatment, this violence. Every mention of the horrors; the atrocities, that have been committed in this house makes the woman’s blood burn in her veins. Emma settles her hand over Florence’s, rubbing calming circles into it. She knows how the other woman ticks, after the years they’ve spent together, and she can see the slight tremors that pass through her. She’s scared. Why wouldn't she be, with a husband like that, Emma thinks.

“Florence,” The sentence almost tumbles out, but she catches herself. Florence has always disliked pity, felt that it was counterproductive and useless. It does nothing to help the situation, so there is no need for it. Emma changes the subject swiftly, a bright smile tilting up the corner of her painted lips. “What else have I missed? Surely you’ve gotten up to much, with your lovely husband gone so often.”

A moment of unusual silence passes, as a blush darkens Florence’s cheeks, pink shades dancing with the freckles that linger on her skin. “Well,” Florence starts, hands fidgeting in her lap as she looks anywhere but at her friend. With a fortifying sigh, she releases the words trapped in her throat. “I’ve… I’ve been writing to a man. An actor, from the theatre we frequent.”

“Oh? How long have the two of you been corresponding? Do tell me more!”

“A month, as of next weekend—”

“A month? Florence, it’s been a whole month, and you didn’t think it right to tell me? I thought we were friends… ”

“Emma,” Florence starts, scrambling to reassure her friend, until she glimpses the smirk that dangles from her lips. A relieved sigh fills the silence that had fallen over the two, and Emma’s giggle lights up the room. “You were joking…”

“Of course I was! Now, tell me more about this mysterious actor. What do you know of him?”

“Well, I do not know his name, unfortunately. This… this is my fault. If he knew who I was; if he knew Allen, he would never give me the time of day. Emma, he is beautiful, of mind, body, and soul.”

“How do you mean?”

“It was his appearance, initially, that attracted me. He was simply irresistible,” Florence’s cheeks flush deep scarlet, as an unconscious smile blossoms across her cheeks. Her hands slash through the air as she recounts her first sighting of the elusive actor. “…James and John, thankfully, had the mind to encourage me to contact him. Emma, he is poetic and charming, yet he isn't haughty in the slightest, like some who share these traits. He’s always been perfectly kind, and charisma drips from every pore. Every letter I receive from him… Goodness, Emma, it has the same effect on me that his performance had.”

“Perhaps you should invite him to the ball.”

It was a simple statement, yet those 8 words ring like sirens in Florence’s head. Her blush deepens, and she stammers out a response, nervous hands smoothing down nonexistent wrinkles on her gown. With a deep breath, she recovers, and locks eyes with Emma, who hides a smile behind a dainty hand.

“Have you gone completely mad?”

“Think about it,” Emma starts, revealing the amused smile that she had tried to hide. Taking in the way Florence’s mouth hangs open in shock, her eyes wider than saucers, Emma continues, a giggle fluttering in the air of the expensive room. “You could slip away from the other patrons, somewhere Allen would never find you, and meet the man that stole your heart.”

Florence remains frozen, as though she were a component of a still-life painting. Her blush-pink lips form an O, and her eyebrows creep close to her hairline. Her hands, the only thing in motion, are a flurry of movement as she fidgets under Emma’s watchful gaze.

“Florence, honestly, is it truly that preposterous of an idea?”

“O-of course it is! Emma,” The woman of the house shakes her head emphatically, mind racing to come up with the perfect excuse as to why this idea, although tempting, was utterly absurd. “Look, if Allen ever… I could never subject this… this angel to that.”

“If you think it’s best not to, then I will stand with you. This is, of course, common knowledge. What I will never do, however, is sit idly by and watch you throw away your happiness, again.”

Silence sits heavy over the two women, the only sound being the light slurping of tea gone cold. Emma, chancing a glance over at her long-time friend, takes in the quiver and shake of her hand. Florence sets the fragile china cup, painted a pale sky blue, on the wooden surface of the table that rests in front of them, and relaxes back into the comfortable settee.

“Is… Is James able to attend? The ball, I mean.” The relative quiet is broken by Emma, voice faltering as she curls into herself. For as long as Florence could remember, Emma has only had eyes for James. Whenever she came to the manor, her eyes would roam the chiseled marble hallways for even a short glimpse of him, and a deep blush seemed to dust her cheeks whenever he was in the room.

“I believe he and John are working that particular night, although… perhaps you could steal him away for some time alone?”

“Florence!”

The peals of laughter that fill the room muffle the hurried footsteps fast approaching, a choked gasp and the sound of falling papers finally making the two women look up. James stands by the door, shoulders hunched as he locks eyes with Emma across the room. A collection of envelopes litter the floor, and James, scrambling to his knees with a squeak, rushes to retrieve them.

A wordless glance passes between the two friends, and Florence nods, a subtle smile lighting up her face. Emma stands, flattening down her dress with clammy hands, walks up to the man, and he looks up at her under his eyelashes, hands stilled by her appearance.

“E-Emma! H-hello, I…”

“James, your face… are you alright?”

The man nods emphatically, almost thrumming with nerves as he replies, “it was nothing, Emma. You need not worry for me.”

Her hand, palm up, rests upon his cheek as she takes in the bruising, subtle now after the days that have passed, that mottles his pale skin. Florence can almost hear the rapid beating of his heart as he gazes up at her from his position on the floor.

“I can't help my worry for you, James,” Clearing her throat awkwardly, Emma shifts her gaze to the tiled floor, her eyes widening when she glances at the stationary strewn across the ground.“May I… or rather… Do you need help?”

The servant gulps audibly, and nods, cheeks an angry scarlet to compliment the fading tones of purple. The woman kneels next to him, and retrieves the fallen letters. Glancing at it briefly, her eyes light up excitedly, as she gazes at James.

“Are these invitations for the ball?”

“They are. I was to go around the town handing them out, just now.”

Two hands brush as they reach for the last envelope, and pull back, as if electricity had struck them upon contact. Florence hides a beaming smile beneath her hand as she watches her friends. They simply cannot look away from each other. James coughs, breaking the tension that had settled over the two, and they scramble back, each holding a portion of the letters. Two piles become one, and Emma steps back, the hand rubbing at her arm betraying the picture of calm she was trying to emulate.

“M-Miss Weston, always a pleasure. How are you?”

“I-I am well, James. And you?”

“Very well. May I say, you look… lovely.” The conversation peters out as their gazes flit to the ground, and Florence, from her perch behind them, can’t help but giggle. The sound propels the servant into action, and he thrusts an envelope into Emma’s hand, backing away as if he was burned by the feel of her hand on his.

“I was supposed to stop at your residence, but since you are already here…”

With that, he turns tail and rushes out of the room, leaving Emma standing, slack-jawed. Slowly, she turns around to meet Florence’s eyes, and the disbelief present on her face is almost comical.

“Perhaps you will be the one to slip away for a moonlit dance in the end, Emma.”

With well wishes, and an earnest promise to find dresses for the ball, Emma departs, stepping into her own carriage. The flush on her cheeks was still visible.

---------

“Of all the times to run out… Just my luck.”

Soft footsteps spatter like rain across the staircase, as Florence mutters to herself. Dashing into her bedroom, she searches every nook and cranny, pulling back with a grunt dripping with frustration. The supply that had sat on the desk against the wall was usurped, and there were no traces of any sheets in the rest of the mansion’s many rooms. Except for one.

Rushing across the hall, Florence stops in front of a pinewood door, intricately carved as most things within the manor happen to be.

Allen’s study, as she’s been told time and time again, was never to be entered, by anyone except the man himself. It’s rarely ever locked, though his intimidation serves as enough of a barrier from entering, until today.

All she needs is paper, after all. About to pen yet another letter to her nameless angel, she lacked the most important element: the paper itself. Where better to find a much-needed slip, than in a study, Florence thinks as she turns the gold-gilded knob. She opens the door only to be greeted with beautiful, wide windows of stained glass, which turn the sunlight into vibrant shades of red and green. Against the wall, a bookshelf stands tall, books of every genre imaginable lining it. Against the far wall, a well-polished mahogany desk, complete with winding embellishments around the edge, sits before an elegant leather armchair.

No paper in sight, of course.

A sigh reverberates off of the maroon walls, as Florence pulls open a drawer, careful to leave things as proper as possible so as to not alert Allen. Shuffling through the first, she finds a variety of legal forms and journals, and her frustration simmers inside of her. Moving on to the second drawer, she tugs on the wood-furnished handle, and her heart shatters.

Sitting prim and proper, face up in the drawer, was a letter addressed to Allen. In a curling script that, distinctly, was not hers, reads: “To my beloved, Allen.” This one note, this blasted letter, lays on a bed of dozens of others, all addressed in the same way, in the same sprawling hand. Florence can feel streams of crystalline tears trickle down the flaming apple of her cheeks, and a violent scream catches in her throat. Her insides burn in rage, in fury, in betrayal, and if not for her grip on the desk, she would have crumpled to the floor. There were no dates printed upon the envelopes, though, judging by the sheer amount, it is safe to say that this had been going on for quite a while. Long before she had laid eyes upon her actor.

Under the pile of deceitful notes, almost mocking her, sat the coveted paper. Ripping it out of the drawer, Florence turns, eyes sweeping the room for anything out of the ordinary. Seeing perfection, she tears out of the room, crossing the hall into her chambers. She sits herself down, defeated, on the chair adjacent to the small desk. Her head falls forward into her palms, resting there until, suddenly, she slams a hand down onto the lacquered tabletop.

Allen Bennett has stolen her livelihood. He has stolen her happiness; stolen everything that he saw worth taking. Greed seeps from every pore, and there are no consequences. Allen Bennett is a foul, demonic man, and Florence must play the role of the angel. The perfect wife. She must act as Allen’s toy, only of use to him when he needs a night of pleasure.

Curling her hands into rigid fists, the woman nods resolutely, and lunges across the desk. Trusty fountain pen in a clenched hand, Florence seizes the newfound sheets, and soon enough, a river of ink flows across the page. Teardrops that trickle down the slope of her nose serve as the signature.

------

taglist: @jimmys-zeppelin @salixfragilis @timetraveller4 @earthfire-75 @thatiloveyouso @jonesyjonesyjonesy @jimmypages @kyunisixx @sophiazeppelinchick @reincarnated70sbaby @grxtsch @rebel-without-a-zeppelin @thebeatlesuniverse @dreamersdrowse (let me know if you want to be added!)

[honeygingergemini]

Hey bb I'm here for two things! If you do taglists can I be added to all your cevans characters? And to request a daddy Steve and princess reader. Maybe her innocence and sweetness turning soft daddy on? Or anything you'd like. Thank you❤❤

Hello :))) First I’m so sorry that I took so long to get this put a lot of stuff happened in a short amount of time but its finally finished and I hope you love it!<3

I’ve read this a thousand time but I know there’s still typos please ignore them <3

warnings: innocent reader, fingering, attempts at dirty talk and praise kink

word count: 1.9k 

My Little Princess

As much as you try, your mind keeps replaying the conversations from work. You and the other ladies of the office always eat lunch together and gossip about office drama. Today was no different. The trending topic of the office today was Michelle and her engagement. The dialogue quickly changed from how big Michelle's ring is to what she had to do to get that ring. Or better yet, what she had to suck. 

“I bet she blows him off every night.” Kim spills between bites. 

“Blows?” All five heads turn in unison eyeing you with suspicion. 

“Uh yeah babe, blow job.” Tina mutters in a condescending tone you don’t catch. 

“What’s a blow job?” 

You squirm from embarrassment. Hours later and you can still feel the twinge of humiliation bubbling in your chest. Of course it would be you, of course it had to be you. The only woman in the world who’s never given a blown job. It’s not like you didn’t know what a blow job was, because you did! You just hadn’t known it had different names. You shuffle again, blowing out air from your nose. 

“You okay, princess?” 

“Hmm, yeah yeah, i’m fine.” You tuck yourself closer into Steve’s arm trying to focus on the movie infront of you, but you can’t. 

“You’ve never given Steve a blow job?” Amanda asks, genuinely curious. 

“W-Well uh- no.” You fumble with your shirt, not wanting to meet anyone’s gaze. 

“Wow, true love actually exists, he looks at you like you’ve hung the moon and stars and you’ve never blown him off.” Kim touches your shoulders. “My dear you’ve won the jackpot, whatever you do, do not let him go!”

Your mind begins to wonder. Thoughts of uncertainty creeping in to fuck with the foundation of your relationship. Have I been doing enough? You and Steve have been together for a year and you thought everything was going well, but now you’re not so sure. You thought your sexual life was moving perfectly, up until today. You two haven’t slept together but you’ve done other things to satisfy the primal needs. Heavy petting, hunching, intense kisses that leave you dizzy. Never once in any of those moments did you feel they may have not been enough for Steve but now that's all you can think of. What if he’s bored of me?

“Hm.” You turn again causing Steve to pause the flick you two are watching. 

“What’s wrong, doll? You can’t keep still today.” You untangle yourself from Steve and turn around to face him. Your knees press into the couch, putting you in a comfortable kneeling position. 

“Steve.” You begin fumbling with your fingers. “Are you… bored?” Your voice is small but your heart is loud. 

“Of?...” 

“Are…. are you bored of… like of... of me?” You peer up at Steve through shy lashes. 

“No.” His face twists with disgust and confusion. “Why would I be bored of you, we’re just watching a movie” 

“No,” You cut off the clueless man spread out before you. “Do I… satisfy you?” Steve’s face remains blank through three blinks then his boisterous laugh appears, sending tiny swords through your center and brings you to a death by embarrassment. 

“Steve, I’m serious.” But that only fuels his laughter more. “Steven!” Your whine pulls Steve from his laugh and he sees you’re physically uncomfortable. 

“Baby? Doll, come on…” Steve’s large hands grip your head to face him but you shuffle out of his hold. “Hey, where is this coming from?” You chew your bottom lip contemplating whether or not you should reveal the conversations plaguing your mind. 

“If you didn’t satisfy me, I wouldn’t be with you.” Steve grips your waist and pulls you onto his lap straddling his thighs. “Hey.” His head dips down to meet your low eyes. “You please me, you always do.” 

“So it doesn’t matter that i’ve never given you a blowjob?” Your mouth moves faster than your mind, further embarrassing you. Your question is met with a deafening silence. 

His face is full of concern and now you're upset with yourself for even bringing this shame home with you. “Princess, where is this from? Seriously.” 

“Well, the ladies and I were at work and Michelle got engaged so then we started talking about blowjobs and i didnt know what one was, well I do know what a blowjob is i just didn't know it’s formal name and-” 

“Hey!” Steve cuts off your soft rambles causing you to breath. “Look at me?” Hie large fingers cup your chin and bring your eyes to focus on his warm blues. “You’re enough for me.” He seals his words with a kiss. The kiss was sweet. Affirming to my insecure soul. The next kiss was less noble but just as passionate. The familiar burn sets in your chest as the kiss grows more heated. Steve’s skillful tongue wraps around yours in a way that is profane. A soft whimper escapes you as your boyfriend pulls away from you. 

“Stand up for me baby.” Steve commands through hasty breaths. You quickly stand before him, chest rising with anticipation. Steve’s sizable hands familiarize themselves with your body like they've done time before. He takes his time squeezing your breast. Even through the thick material of your top you can feel Steve's hands radiating heat into your skin. His hands then find your midriff rubbing his calloused hands into you making you squirm. 

“Steve,” You cooed impatiently. 

“Yes pretty girl?” His hands are placed on your hips now, working your jeans down your legs. His lips find the trimmings of your lace panties, placing soft microscopic kisses along the ‘v’ of the material. You intake sharply when Steve's lips meet your clothed mound. 

“Turn around for me sweetness.” you spin slowly moving on a form of autopilot. “Sit back.” He holds your waist guiding you to sit back down on his lap. He brings his knees between your legs before widening his stance, leaving you unable to close your legs on your own. 

“Baby?” His hands trail up your midsection, to tweak your beaded nipples through the thick material of your top. “You know how much i love you, right?” With each word warm air caresses the skin behind your ears. You feel amazing, he hasn't done much and you feel over the moon. A light pinch brings you to reality. “Hmm baby?” 

“I’m sorry,” You apologize for your hesitation “Yes I know how you love me.” 

“How much.” His colossal hands continue their assault on your chest. He gently pulls a nipple between his index and middle finger. A soft moan leaves you barely audible. 

“A whole-” Your answer is cut off when you feel heat separate from your own grazing your pussy. Unbenounced to you, Steve's hand had made his way to your slit and began to slowly circle the area. Another soft call leaves your silk lips. 

“Answer baby” 

“You love me a whole lot, to the moon and all the stars and back” 

“That’s right baby,” He pushes his finger into your clit with a little more pressure than before. “To the moon,” He pulls your panties up wrapping the moistened core around his thick fingers “To every single star.” His fists tighten as he prepares for destruction “And back.” he pops the fabric of your under garments and you gasp. His lips meet your neck again and place more kisses to your pulse points. 

“You know how much I love you,”His fingers introduce themselves to your slick folds. The sounds of light sloshing make you aware of just how turned on you are. Your head falls back unable to maintain even breathing. “You know, so how could you let one conversation mess with your mind?” The conversation that once brought you immense embarrassment was now a complete after thought. Steve's fingers were torturing you sweetly. Your clit vibrates against his tough skin as his warm slick lips meet your juggler leaving open ended kisses. 

“You’re so pretty baby.” kiss. “My little princess.” kiss. “You gonna let me make you feel good?” Instead of a kiss Steve licks down towards your collarbone. 

“Yes.” You hiss unsure of how to react. You’ve had intimate moments with Steve before but nothing like this. “Yes Stevie, please make me feel good.” Steve pushes his nose into the back of your neck inhaling deeply, 

“You're so sweet honey, so polite.” His left hand is firmly pressed against your core while his right hand runs underneath your top lifting it to reveal one breast. He presses down on your clit causing you to whimper. 

“Stevie.” you whine. Your body begins to wither on top of him. “Please baby, I need more” Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you grind into Steve’s stiffness. Steve dips his middle finger into you. “Mmhhmm” you cry out from the pleasure. Your skin is hot and your ears hear a slight ringing. 

“You see how you make me feel, doll?” and you do. Your hips gyrate over his in a circular motion. You feel his hard stomach against your back then his well built member pressing firmly into his denim causing you to moan. Your music only fuels Steve more. 

“One day,” His ring finger joins the middle one and he speeds up his violation. “Instead of my fingers it’ll be my dick in you.” Steve’s control is admirable. With every dip of his digits a wet click follows as a response. The once light sloshing is now replaced by intense leaking. You can't remember a time you've ever been this wet. Your arousal is overflowing. “I’m gonna fill you up baby, I’m gonna make you feel so good.” 

“I love this sweet pussy.” He whispers more so to himself rather than to you. All you can do is moan. 

“You’re gripping me so tight baby girl… you like me playing with your pussy?” Your head is spinning, Steve’s voice is the only thing cutting through the white noise of your mind. Steve has never spoken to you this way. His words ignite a fire in your core as the familiar build of an orgasm approaches. He takes notice of your approaching release. 

“I want to see you squirt pretty girl,” Your hips jolt forward as Steve curls his fingers within you. “Come on, be a good girl and squirt for Captain.” He’s now slamming his fingers into creating a vulgar splashing everytime his palm meets your mound. 

“Oh my god oh my god oh my god.” Your voice raises higher with each connection. Your right nipple is exposed to Steve taunting him. His lips wrap around the nub causing you to arch closer to him. He swirled the muscle in his mouth around your nipple in a way that was heinous. 

“Please Stevie, please.” You sink your nails into his high attempting you bring your bodies closer, if that was even possible. 

“Come on, I want my sweet girl to feel good.” The combination of Steve’s lengthy fingers continue their manipulation to your internal walls, his right hand presses firm semi circles into your pleasure button and you see white. Your orgasm ripples through you like an intense wave. Your literal wave splashes across Steve’s thigh and he chuckles. You’re faintly aware of him licking your arousal off his fingers. 

“Stevie…” You sobbed from the stimulation. “Stevie.” His name is the only thing coherent in your mind. 

“I know, I know pretty girl.” Steve coos. His hands slow pace calming you down through the aftershocks of release. “You look so beautiful when cum.” He smiles widely as he smacks your thigh. 

“I can’t wait to see you do that on my dick.”