#Trifling Women

[monkeyssalad-blog]

Ramon Novarro and Barbara La Marr in Trifling Women (1922) by Truus, Bob & Jan too! Via Flickr: Swedish postcard by Axel Eliassons Konstförlag, Stockholm, no. 361. Barbara La Marr and Ramon Novarro in Trifling Women (Rex Ingram, 1922). Collection: Marlene Pilaete. On 28 January, EFSP presents a new post by La Collectionneuse on the 'Girl Who Is Too Beautiful', Barbara La Marr.

[lowrezbonuslevel]

i've played these games before!

just pretend i'm posting this on time okay

(continued under cut)

[ghoultrifle]

Ghoulettes at the playground!

Because while everyone is entitled to their opinion, sometimes it's best not to actively voice them on the internet!

Lots of pictures in this one so it's below the cut for the sake of your dashes <333

Cumulus forgets she isn't a kit anymore and gets stuck on the slide. It's one of these motherfuckers and even being one of the shortest ghoulettes, she still has to wiggle her way down all dejected, her legs too long to fit in the spiral shape.

Sunny treats the playground like a military training course. Fully pushing kids out her way so she can hurl herself over one of these

before she's running over the next obstacle, "Look, Cir, no hands!"

Famous last words, really, because she face plants several times in her attempts to impress the older ghoulettes. She's fine though, eating shit is her hobby and she's perfected the art of falling over so it doesn't hurt so much!

Mist absolutely adores the swings. They'd sit there for hours swinging if they could. The repetitive motion is just so soothing, mindlessly outstretching their legs to keep it going. Occasionally another ghoulette will sit in the swing next to them and they'll gossip about the latest ministry drama. They once tried to fit in the toddler swings for shits and giggles- that was a fun one to explain to Papa when they were 5 hours late back to the abbey because Mist got stuck and they had to call the fire brigade...

Aurora sits in one of these bad boys. In fact, anything that spins, she will play with. It boggles the other ghoulettes' minds how she can stomach it, they feel ill just watching her. She's still relatively young so she makes friends with the kits there, spinning them in exchange for being spun. The others refuse to let her go back on for a good while after lunch though, they don't want to have to clean that mess up.

Cirrus is absolutely jacked, she could easily carry both Mountain and Swiss if she chose to do so (and sometimes does if they're annoying her). Naturally, she loves the monkey bars. She's doing all kinds of tricks: pull-ups, flips, the whole nine yards. She'd be lying if she said she didn't love the way the kits look at her in awe and ask for help in becoming 'big and strong' like her.

[starkcregan]

.

[ozarkthedog]

𝐊𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐀𝐜𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬

summary: Declan introduces you to a friend.

pairing: Declan O’Hara x afab!reader / Rupert Campbell Black

warnings: 18+ mdni. filth. unspecified age gap. oral sex (m). Declan calls the shots. fingering. edging. no m/m. slight anal play. dirty talk. squirting. rough sex. Rupert pushing the boundaries aka he’s a menace. cuckhold of sorts. male masturbation. cream pie. light, barely there after care. ep 8 spoilers. w.c: 2.4k

author’s note: i'm a Declan girlie but I had to write something feat. Rupert.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋅ 𝐅𝐢𝐜 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐬 ⋅ 𝐑𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

Soft golden rays bleed through the aged windows of the O'Hara estate. Its owner, Declan, sits comfortably on a worn chair in the middle of his study. Books and papers litter the room, even on the small sofa adjacent to the chair. As the fireplace crackles, the bright orange flames warm your skin as you kneel naked between your employer's thighs.

Declan groans as he feeds you his cock. His thighs widen, as much as his unzipped trousers will allow, on the tattered chair, giving you more room to swallow him down. His heart beats steadily under his lush brown sweater as you suckle his cock while looking up at him under your lashes.

Declan enjoyed times like these when the house was empty, and he got you all to himself. With Maud gone, leaving everything to Taggie was unfair, so he caved and hired a housekeeper. Little did he realize he'd fall head over heels for you.

You both took your time dancing around one another like nervous teenagers at a school dance. Harmless flirting and late-night conversations over the meals you'd cook for him led to Declan taking matters into his own hands.

He was used to control. He enjoyed it, really. The power felt comfortable, and he had no issue wielding it.

Declan was still on edge one day after a trifling day at Coriniuim. His usual soak and cig in the tub wasn't helping. The radio was blasting ear-aching songs, and the water was getting too cold too fast, but that all changed when you walked in on him with an armful of fresh towels.

He took a chance, one that could've ended with him locked up, but you didn't run. You followed his dubious commands and let him exert his dominance, allowing him to reign over you.

Since then, you two have been inseparable.

"Ah, right on time," Declan notes, looking at the clock perched on the mantle in his study as the large front door creaks open.

Declan mentioned inviting a friend over earlier in the day, but you didn't think he meant now.

The sight of your wide doe eyes makes his gut fervently twist. He's always appreciated someone yearning after what was his, especially an individual so well-loved by the women of Rutshire.

"Don' stop, Love," Declan instructs. His Irish accent dips low as he curls a solid hand around your head when you start to draw back. Your wary, garbled sounds vibrate Declan's cock eliciting a hiss from his lips. He sends you a pensive look and keeps you locked as the steps draw near. "You know I like people ta watch, but I wan' to try somethin' new."

Your heart lodges in your throat. Declan had divulged this kink not long after the two of you began dating. It was harmless fun flirting with other men while Declan observed from the shadows like a deviant; the journalist grew feral until he could no longer hold himself back, scurrying off with you in his arms, leaving the poor target in a stupor.

No one could ever come close to Declan; you never want them to.

"I seem to have come at a rather inconvenient time, have I not?" A pondering English baritone fills the room.

Rupert Campbell Black.

With arms crossed, the affluent man leans on the rustic doorframe. He catches your uneasy gaze with a cheeky smile, prompting a wildfire in your belly.

Declan shakes his head, his thick mustache ticking excitedly, "Not at all. Come in."

You try to move again, but Declan doesn't budge an inch. Your brows knot in confusion as your hands fly to cover your exposed bits as best you can.

"Say hello, ta Rupert, Swee'heart," Declan instructs, his dark chestnut eyes alight with devilry.

Your gaze trails from the man's supple leather loafers and pressed lined slacks to the sepia colored dress shirt that exposes a svelte chest as the top two buttons are undone. Rupert oozes high society and overt confidence, the kind of man you'd go dumb even looking at.

"My, my, where has Declan been hiding you?" Rupert croons. His azure orbs fixate with dark intrigue at your naked, shivering form.

As you greet Declan's neighbor, a slight garbled noise barely registers to the men. Tauntingly, Rupert leans over and puts a hand behind his ear, "Sorry, Angel. What was that?"

Your belly flips, and butterflies flutter carelessly in the wake of being so degraded. Still, your cunt produces a wave of arousal and clenches around nothing.

Knowing he doesn't have much patience, you chance another look at Declan and wish you hadn't. His white teeth bared, and his lips pulled back into a light sneer, like a wolf facing down prey, waiting for you to heed his command.

Declan bites back a moan at the hedonic sensation of you stringing together a messy greeting for the affluent man.

Rupert snickers. "Aren't you cute."

"Thatta' girl." He praises before thrusting his length into your throat and cutting off your air.

He waits for a beat, relishing in the watery glaze that coats your eyes and how your chest heaves. Fidgety hands dig into his darkened slacks, knocking the loose ends of his belt. Drool spills down your chin and settles at the base of his cock.

"Ya know ya waited too long ta give Rupert a warm welcome." He fumes, his expression twisting lightly with displeasure.   

With a soft growl, Declan eases his grip. You fall back on your heels, a blight, coughing up spittle and trying to suck down fresh air at the same time.

"Might I say, you've got a real treasure here," Rupert leers down at your messy face and spit-soaked breasts that make your nipples shine in the light. "Lovely to meet your acquaintance."

"Though' you migh' like a taste." Declan offers, looking up at Rupert like you weren't perched at their feet, anxiously awaiting their next move.

"Would I ever." A Cheshire grin tugs at Rupert's lips. He makes a show of folding his button-down sleeves over his muscular forearms as he stalks around you.

Declan beckons you with the tilt of his head, "C'mere, Love. I ain't done wit' your mouth."

You sniffle before taking your place between his knees once more. Declan can sense your worry as Rupert traces a finger down your spine while he crouches behind you. "Don' worry abou' him. He won' do anythin' out of line."

Declan taps his bulbous crown against your swollen lips, drawing your attention away from the blue-eyed beau. His sturdy thighs are a protective shield, enveloping you like a fortress from harm.

As curious fingers tickle your sticky thighs, your lips part with a gasp, allowing Declan to thrust into your warm, wet mouth.

"Jesus Christ, she's soaked." Rupert husks as he softly skims your glistening folds. Your cunt throbs from his unfamiliar touch, coursing a frightening spark of arousal up your spine.

"She's not 'ad much experience." Declan hisses as his crown breaches the tight confines of your throat. Your hand tugs at the thick base that's peppered with dark curls, fingers barely overlapping, pumping in time with his languid thrusts across your tongue.

"You don't say." The Englishman trails off, no doubt thinking of all the crude ways he could defile you.

As you start a slow rhythm, bouncing your head up and down Declan's cock, making the older man unashamedly moan, Rupert swipes his fingers across your seam and gathers all your shiny slick, drawing it up to your clit before lazily circling the tender bud.

Bright lights erupt under your eyelids. Blood rushes south, pooling in your core, heightening your suffocating lust as your body bends to his will.

"Ah ah, Angel." Rupert tsks, grabbing hold of your wriggling hips. His grasp keeps you stock still, unable to evade his voracious touch.

The pads of Declan's fingers press into your scalp as a soft warning. "Be good ta Rupert."

Being pushed and pulled between the two older men was agony of the luscious kind. You only knew of Declan's touch, the succulent highs and lows. The amorous sublime.

A gentle hand glides over your ass before massaging the plump cheek. Your frantic cries are a mumbled mess as you're pushed higher and higher into the pleasurable abyss from Rupert's caress.

He winds two fingers into your core, cursing from your tightness, and splays his dexterous digits along your walls. His thumb lands square on your clit, swiping back and forth with prowess. "So sweet and responsive. Such a good girl." he curls his fingers along your walls, drawing pathetic noises from your chest.

Your body rolls like waves, back and forth between the two men. Rupert's teeth sink into the tender skin of your ass before a gentle tongue soothes the marks and trails down the valley of your cheeks, causing you to choke around Declan's cock.

A wad of spit lands directly on your rosebud just before a wicked tongue ravishes the tight, untouched hole.

Your belly drops at his vulgar touch. No one ever touched you there before. A heavy wave of arousal slips from your cunt as you fight the urgent need for release. Rupert moans hungrily as he laps the rim of your ass.

Your incessant wriggling alerts Declan to Rupert's perverted actions.

"What'd I say, ya daft cunt?" Declan fumes. His mustache twitches as he shoots daggers at the man posed behind you.

Rupert swirls his tongue one final time before leaving your rosebud with a loud pop. "Sorry, chap. I forgot you haven't filled all her holes yet." The tug of his lips says otherwise.

Declan mumbles under his breath and leans back in his chair, focusing on you. "What'a fuckin' sight," he grunts, yanking your tear-coated face off his girth. His large hand completely cups the side of your face, making you feel like a doll with glossy, swollen lips as he stares at you like a man possessed.

Rupert twists his wrist, and your eyes grow wide as saucers. The need to come moves to the forefront of your mind. Declan can tell you're fighting, doing everything you can to hold back as you're slowly dragged to the edge.

Your jaw goes slack, and eyelids flutter; you're willing to endure any repercussions for coming without approval, but then Declan stamps your orgasm out just as quickly as it started.

"No, no, no. Don' be greedy," he tsks, shoving your dumbstruck face back down onto his length.

With Declan's cock stretching your lips and drooling pre cum over your taste buds and Rupert curling his fingers into the spongy spot behind your clit, your nerves scream for release.

The insides of your thighs are soaked, slick from want and a need held so close yet so far away. A soft cry falls from your spit-stained lips as Declan snatches your head off his cock and curves a large hand under your chin, holding you like a precious piece of art.

His opaque orbs sweep across your face, wild and feral; he's on the edge of breaking but holds steady like the stubborn man he is.

"Come on, Declan, let the girl come," Rupert implores to the stoic man holding captive your utmost pleasure.

The corner of Declan's lips tilts. He knows what'll happen. He can see it in your face, how truly gone you are, how nearly close the dam is to breaking.

"Go on, show 'im what he's missin', Swee'heart." Declan encourages, finally allowing you the taste you've wanted all this time.

Your body writhes in their combined hold with unkempt ecstasy as a ravenous cry fills the large study. You come like a geyser, locking like a vice around Rupert's fingers, forcing a curse from his lips as you coat his wrist and trousers with your creamy release.

"Jesus-" Rupert moans, dark and depraved, watching with rabid fascination as your core pulses in time to the beat of his heart.

Declan gathers you into his arms, away from the still man, propping your knees on either side of his thighs. "Sit on the couch and watch," he orders a dumbstruck Rupert before easing you down on his swollen cock.

A whimper catches in your throat from the obscene stretch as his girth widens your channel for the first time that day. Declan grabs your ass and steadily bounces you on his length, helping you rise and fall since your legs have turned to jelly.

"Gone so dumb, ya can' even move," Declan mocks. Coarse whiskers chafe your skin as he nibbles your chin, pouring filthy praises against your jaw, "Still so tight. Maybe two cocks'll do the trick," he drives his girth into your exhausted body. "Wan' your pretty cunt gapin' fa' me."

The seam of his brown sweater grazes your clit on every thrust; the fibers are soft yet overstimulating, your body boils, on the verge of combusting, and there's nothing you can do.  

A low moan catches your attention, dragging you from your frenzied state. As you turn your head to find the strange noise, you see Rupert with his swollen cock in his hand, barely out of his trousers. His cock weeps, the bulbous tip pulsing red, while he sucks your juices off his glistening fingers like a man starved for days.

His animalistic gaze bores into where you and Declan connect. You can imagine how obscene it is. Declan's sticky balls thwap immorally against your ass. Sticky sounds bounce off the walls as he draws more slick from your core, staining the base of his cock in a creamy ring.

Rupert's eyes flit to yours. You silently mouth his name, playing with the man who's used the women of Rutshire like a kid with infinite toys. The subtle action pushes the posh man over the edge.

Biting his knuckles, Rupert spills over his other set with a ragged string of grunts. The image sets off a chain reaction. You follow suit, crying as you come around Declan's cock, and dragging your other half with you. Declan's thick brows furrow, groaning his ecstasy as he fills you with ropes of white.

The three of you gradually come down from the hedonistic scene. Your hearts beat to their natural rhythm as the birds outside sing a dusk setting song.

"T'was lovely to meet you, Angel," Rupert flirts, cleaning his cock with a handkerchief before tucking himself into his trousers. "Hope to see you again real soon."

"Fuck off, Rupert," Declan quips, jutting his chin toward the door.

Rupert sends you a wink before rounding the couch and exits with the fattest smile you've ever seen.

Declan mumbles under his breath and curls his arms around you. He tucks your head under his chin, letting you unwind comfortably before the crackling fire.

"Was that okay, Swee'heart?" Declan's asks with softened eyes.

With a satisfied sigh, you snuggle deeper into his hold, seeking the warmth and protective embrace he can only give. "More than."

feel free to scream at me -> 💌

reblogs & comments are extremely appreciated! follow @ozzieslibrary for new fic updates!

[algae-tm]

B.A.S.

Max Verstappen x Model!Reader

Summary : Max has a girlfriend, you have a boyfriend… guess you both ain’t shit

Currently playing : B.A.S by Megan Thee Stallion

Warnings : toxic Max, toxic reader, toxic Daniel, everyone toxic (in a funny way), suggestive content, implied cheating (don’t cheat y’all), fade to black ending

this is so rushed but I couldn’t get the idea out of my head but I also have so much uni work to catch up on so here you go.

Blah blah blah please do not hate on Kelly Piquet I don’t know her and neither do you, this is fiction.

••••••

TWITTER

INSTAGRAM

kellypiquet just posted

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kellypiquet still riding the high ☄️

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user1 what a race

user4 17th to 1st I know that’s right

user7 patiently waiting for the comment from y/n

— user8 why do y’all always bring her up

— user7 her and max are fucking and you can’t convince me otherwise

— user8 you guys are actually deranged

yourusername so proud of our boy 💙🤎

— user7 you see what I’m seeing @/user8

— user8 okay our boy is insane work

— user9 oh my god

— user10 these are fighting words

— user11 our boy?? OUR?? O-U-R?? Kelly and y/n sister wives confirmed??

— user17 Kelly I’ve never liked you but if you wanna deck her imma look the other way for 5 minutes

— user3 idgi she’s just being nice ???

— user4 being nice is saying well done… with this comment she may as well post a tape of her and max doing the devil’s dance in 69 different positions

— user5 now you know this just plain disrespectful 😭 😭

— user19 the girlies are fighting🤭🤭

— user21 ik max giggling and kicking his feet rn

danielricciardo so proud of our boy 💙🤎

— user7 now what you out here being messy for??

— user11 I know him and y/n are cackling to each other on FaceTime rn

— user15 not them tag teaming her… give her a min to get up 😭

— user25 danny pls spill the tea what do you know!

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yourusername brasil you’ve been so good to us, te amo 🇧🇷

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user5 the picture of you and max b4 the one of you and your man… can someone say messy

user6 te amo Brazil? Or te amo your boyfriend??? Or te amo Max????? like pls girl help us understand 😭

yourboyfriendsuser we need to come back for a baecation ♥️

— user7 lmao he’s fighting for his life 🤭 he rlly said let’s go back just us two

— user9 you just know he barely saw her all week

user12 I love toxic girls! Love to see women in male dominated fields fr fr

maxverstappen1 💙

— yourusername 🤎

— user7 naurrrrrrrr 😭 😭

— user8 Kelly Piquet found dead

— user12 okay but like actually what is going on??????? like genuinely??? does anyone know??

danielricciardo lmao

user27 after god fear women cause wtf is going on 😭

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yourusername some stills from the B.A.S music video, thanks for having me meg 💛💚

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theestallion I LOVE YOU! knew you’d be perfect 💛💚

— user8 you might as well have called her a trifling hoe

— user10 lmao a song about cheating and being toxic and you were just like I’ll call y/n, she’s perfect

user7 I don’t care that she’s a weirdo, your honour I love her!

— user16 the thing is I don’t think anyone actually dislikes her 😭 I think ppl are actually amused by her antics

— user14 keep in mind her antics are publically cheating on her boyfriend with a guy who has a partner and a step kid 😅😅😭

— user16 allegedly!

user28 me personally I would love to have a timeline of her and max’s situationship…. Cause like how do they even know eachother?

— user17 apparently she used to do karting??

— user24 yk childhood friends make so much sense as to why Kelly can’t get rid of her

maxverstappen1 😃😅

— user14 oh my god, this is basically confirmation right? RIGHT?!

— user12 max you may as well have commented yes we’re fucking

— user13 men are so stupid… cause y/n just pulled of the most amazing troll (is it still trolling if it’s true???) and now you wanna ruin it

user32 girl!!???? Oh my god!!?? I’m sorry??!! Like this deserves jail oh my god

— danielricciardo free my girl, she did it all but I support her!

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@callsignwidow

@a-beaverhausen

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@dontworryaboutitokie

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@silkenthusiasts

@ietss

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[bunny-jpeg]

hello! i stumbled upon your blog and i must admit i LOVE the bakery theme. can i get a berry trifle and coffee with oscar piastri please? thank you so much!!!

bakery menu

want to submit your own order! check the original post for all the information & prompts! as for this prompt, i am loving that people are into the whole rivals idea. i love writing rivals for f1, it's like the soap opera aspect of f1. it's very funny.

berry trifle ('wrong, try again') + coffee (rivals) served to you by oscar piastri (formula one!)

cw: smut/pwp, (failed) rivals au, driver!reader, driver!oscar, a dash of breeding kink, unprotected sex, references to masturbation, cowgirl position,

okay, oscar didn't hate you. despite what the press had been alluding to after hungary, oscar didn't hate you. in fact, he had respect for you, you were breaking barriers for women in the field.

but by god, did you light a fire in him.

when he first met you, you were in the semi-baggy driver's clothes. the fabric didn't give you much shape. so oscar just thought you were the cute new driver.

that was until you attended an event for ferrari with leclerc, the dress-code did not include the driver's suit. that was when oscar got a good look at your figure. there was a strength to your form that could clearly be seen by the lack of full sleeves on the dress you wore.

oscar didn't know he was attending the gun show!

but that only made his carnal craving for you grow deeper.

"she's turning a lot of heads." charles remarked before he took a sip of his drink, "i told her that if she really worked on it, she could get some hefty sponsors."

"or a date." lando remarked as the three men watched you talk your way through the room. eventually lando said, "i'd smash." before he downed his drink and got up to get another one.

charles looked to oscar and asked, "what are your thoughts on her, piastri?" he was genuinely curious, oscar was quiet about you.

oscar sighed and made a face, "i want to crush her on the track." he turned to the other man and shrugged, "i don't care if she's a woman, i'm here to win."

-

you beat him in belgium. you also beat norris, leclerc, and verstappen. you held that trophy over your head while the national anthem of your home country played. oscar swore that he saw tears in your eyes.

there was a buzz about you over the course of the summer break. oscar took it as an opportunity to invite you to england. all driver's ran in the same circles and oscar was just extending an offer for you to get out of monaco for a week!

"i promise, it does get sunny... sometimes." he said to you over the phone. he didn't admit but when he heard you beautiful voice on the other end of the line, his hand was already around his cock.

he was in anticipation for your visit and was more than happy to pick you up from the airport. you threw yourself at him and laughed.

"you were right, it is hot!" you were wearing a light sweatshirt, "i honestly thought you were fuckin' with me. you must be cold, mister australia!"

he scratched the back of his neck, and his eyes went wide when you hastily took off the sweatshirt, exposing more of your body to him. he didn't know that ferrari made such tight tank tops.

oscar's plans to really cement you as a rival failed upon impact. he thought this trip was going to be really getting to the core of you and cementing himself as you rival. but, instead you were helping him make breakfast because you 'felt bad' that he was doing 'everything'.

it was two eggs in a pain and couple of sausages.

you lingered around him, he noticed by the second day you smelt like his body wash when you got close enough to him. you were all bright smiles, soft gazes and tight little tops.

oscar ended every night with his cock in his hand, idly masturbating until his legs cramped up. the sick little kink he often let his mind wander about was the breeding kink.

his dream was two seasons with you at mclaren (sorry, lando). you in the bright orange across the paddock. then halfway through the second season, you start feeling unwell. you'd be too stubborn to take a pregnancy test, but with the amount of tests drivers have to take, it wouldn't be long before you were confronted by the fact that oscar got you pregnant! then you start a bright new future as mrs. piastri, and lando can come back (yay, lando!).

that was why his plan to make you his rival failed, because his need to get his cock wet overrode everything else.

it took a week before you two started sleeping together. you could only drink, laugh and play so many video games before you led him back to his bedroom like a siren.

it was met with giggles and bad jokes. hands touching skin and finally the clothes were shed.

oscar liked you on top, as did you. you liked having the control of your movements as your pussy was a vice around his leaky cock. you were on birth control (duh), but the other driver didn't need to know.

he honestly thought he was taking you raw.

"tell me who's going to win it all this year?" you asked as you rolled your hips. his cock was snug in you, you had to admit, the other driver was packing some heat between his legs.

and he wasn't afraid to use it.

oscar rubbed his thumb against your hip and said, "yeah, number eighty-eight for mclaren." he smiled cockily.

"wrong, try again." you said as you laughed and tapped him on the nose, which made him groan. you bent over himself as you rocked your hips and kissed at his face. he looked visibly relaxed.

"oh c'mon!" he laughed as he tried to set the pace himself. but you placed your hands on his chest and anchored yourself. you were not letting him take control.

you leaned in to kiss him again. the air conditioning in the room prevented it from getting too hot. but, oscar could see the slight sheen of sweat on your naked body in the afternoon light.

"you don't think i'll beat you?"

you shook your head and continued to move up and down on his cock. you pushed the hair out of your face, "oh, don't be silly, piastri." you playfully slapped his toned chest, "we all know i'm going to beat you." then flashed your press smile.

words like that made him want to breed you even more. but, he kept those thoughts to himself. he didn't want to risk losing such a sweet pussy in his close proximity.

it'd be hard to win championship when you were carrying the other driver's baby!

you rested up against his chest and rolled your hips. you had taken his cock to the root and it nudged against you with each thrust of your hips. you could feel his balls up against your pussy.

"shit, fuck. you feel so good."

"i bet you say that to all the girls you bring back to this place." you laughed as you really worked at riding him. you panted heavily as you moved against him.

he ran his fingers through your hair, "nah, nah. no girl's as pretty as you." oscar's plan slipped through his fingers, he wanted you more as a wife then a rival.

"well, aren't you sweet, oscar."

the two of you continued to fuck in the afternoon light. the pleasure pumped through your body as you rode him. you knew you weren't going to last long, that was one thing you could admit about oscar.

he was a good fuck.

the bed squeaked a little bit under the both of you. oscar's orgasm hit him hard and he finished inside of you in a huff. his nails dug into your hips as you continued to ride him till you found your completion.

he looked in a bit of a daze as you continued to hump against him. you felt the sweat on your back and oscar's strong chest under your nails, your short nails scratching against the skin.

"shit, oscar." you groaned as you reached your climax.

you were both out of breath. you didn't know what to do after you stopped your movements besides just giving him a firm pat on the chest. you panted, "good. good."

he laughed, "excellent. now c'mere."

you soon laid out on his chest and linked your fingers with his. your legs tangled together as you laid there trying to catch your breath. it was almost intimate.

you kissed at the other's collarbones, "so what do you say, piastri? another round and then we can get some dinner?"

-

that evening you called charles up, you were seated on the balcony of the flat with your legs kicked out on the small table.

"leclerc residence, charles speaking." he yawned on the other end.

you replied, "it's barely eight o'clock. you're getting too old." with a hint of laughter in your voice. in all fairness you were a little tired too.

"glad to see you're alive in england. how's oscar?"

"good, good. our little mission is a success." you beamed on the other end, "oscar will be as docile as your little leo."

charles chuckled on the other end, "if he is, he's going to need more training. i don't get why you didn't start with lando? he was into you too."

"yeah, but oscar's accent got me first." you sighed, "i mean, eventually the two will tear each other apart." you shrugged.

"or tear you apart." charles remarked.

"i'm not too worried there, leclerc. you men are quite funny sometimes. i'll tell you everything when i get back."

your teammate replied, "whatever, just don't come crawling back to me when they both catch on and you've got cum coming out of your ears."

formula one was a man's world, but if you could keep a man like oscar piastri on his knees for you. then maybe you had a chance of winning the championship.

[thatscarletflycatcher]

The year is 1848. You are Anne Brontë, and you have written a cautionary tale for young women about the dangers of marriage and how you cannot reform a rake, and that the notion that "women's gentle influence" can do anything towards fixing corrupted and vicious men is a perverse lie. To get this point across you insert a conversation between two characters close to the beginning of the novel where you logically argue "You would have us encourage our sons to prove all things by their own experience, while our daughters must not even profit by the experience of others." and then you illustrate your point through how, despite loving her aunt dearly, your main character cannot understand the extent of the danger she's in because her aunt will only allude to it in vagueries. Surely nothing can be clearer and more forcibly expressed, right?

Reviewer at Sharpe's London Magazine:

"we cannot but express our deep regret that a book in many respects eminently calculated to advance the cause of religion and right feeling, the moral of which is unimpeachable and most powerfully wrought out, should be rendered unfit for the perusal of the very class of persons to whom it would be most useful, (namely, imaginative girls likely to risk their happiness on the forlorn hope of marrying and reforming a captivating rake), owing to the profane expressions, inconceivably coarse language, and revolting scenes and descriptions by which its pages are disfigured."

(now you can better understand the tone of the preface to the second edition)

Bonus:

"we consider the evils which render the work unfit for perusal (for we go that length in regard to it,) to arise from a perverted taste and an absence of mental refinement in the writer, together with a total ignorance of the usages of good society... despite reports to the contrary, we will not believe any woman could have written such a work... at the first glance we should say, none but a man could have known so intimately each vile, dark fold of the civilized brute's corrupted nature; none but a man could make so daring an exhibition as this book presents to us. On the other hand, no man, we should imagine, would have written a work in which all the women, even the worst, are so far superior in every quality, moral and intellectual, to all the men; no man would have made his sex appear at once coarse, brutal, and contemptibly weak, at once disgusting and ridiculous. There are, besides, a thousand trifles which indicate a woman's mind, and several more important things which show a woman's peculiar virtues. Still there is a bold coarseness, a reckless freedom of language, and an apparent familiarity with the sayings and doings of the worst style of fast men, in their worst moments, which would induce us to believe it impossible that a woman could have written it. A possible solution of the enigma is, that it may be the production of an authoress assisted by her husband, or some other male friend: if this be not the case, we would rather decide on the whole, that it is a man's writing."

We love a person who can read a book about how women, even high class women, do not and cannot escape horrifying scenes of abuse and degradation by men in Victorian society, and are, because of their special legal and economic vulnerability, most often the target of it, and go "this couldn't have possibly been written by a woman because ladies cannot have any experience whatsoever of such things."

[teastainedprose]

Too Sweet - Ch. 1 (Cooper Howard x Reader)

A settler selling wares in Filly catches The Ghoul's eye. Inspired by a Tumblr post asking for an angst fic to Hozier's Too Sweet. 1,753 words | [AO3] No warnings yet, only innocent flirting. Banner from @eupheme

The first time he spots you, Cooper thinks nothing of it. Sure, you look a little less worn down compared to the usual rabble roaming Filly. Certainly scrubbed a little cleaner than most but so were the rest of your companions. The lot of you are a curiosity for sure, but he's seen plenty of attractive women over the ages and known a handful carnally. He's not the sort of man to let a pretty face distract him. No, you don't get a second glance from the ghoul as he goes about his business. 

It's not until your laughter catches Cooper by the ear that he starts paying attention. Jerks his head right round at the sunny sound, attention diverting from the bounty board as he watches you engage with a customer. You laugh again, a merry delight that lights your face right up while the elderly woman you're chatting with laughs along. She's made brighter for being so close to you while you've suddenly become the sun in Cooper's eyes. A brightness he has to squint at when he looks over again to drink you in. His long-dead heart decides that it's about time to do a little flip.

That's a sensation he's not keen on feeling. Cooper hums under his breath, frown settling on his worn lips. He tugs the brim of his hat lower, turning away as he tries to focus on the task at hand. No good can come of fancying any sort of infatuation on a smoothie like you. You're not the sort of creature deserving of the trouble he could bring.

Yet Cooper finds he can't quite help himself. Wasteland life is full of little pleasures and looking at you sure counts as a bit of pleasure. Why not indulge?

The rest of the day as he sits waiting for a client to show, his eyes flicker over you. Wherever you're from, it's certainly kinder to you than what most folks in the Wasteland see. You almost look as soft as some fresh-faced Vaultie, but he can see that your hands are well-worn as you exchange produce for caps. A farmer of sorts. Homesteader.

He listens with a keener ear to the gossip swirling about you and those in your group. A little settler band situated out east, closer to the mountains and closer to what manages to grow green. He picks up that your lot wanders in every few weeks with produce to sell, or trade to stock up the settlement the collective group runs. 

Idly, he wonders what horseshit sort of ideology your commune might be sunk into, but if you're looking to spread a new sort of gospel none of your ilk seem keen on sharing it here. You're a welcome addition to the economy of Filly and it's clear that many enjoy the taste of hope this band of settlers bring in with their harvest. Cooper figures that's indoctrination enough from the harsh reality the Wasteland offers up.

Cooper finds himself wandering over to Ma June's place under the pretense of stocking up on supplies. There's suspicion in her eyes as he drops his intended purchases onto the counter but that's not out of the ordinary. There's always suspicion in the looks Ma June gives him, but she'll take his caps all the same.

"Say, now what's with that group of lil' farmers hauling in their produce like that? Can't imagine those soft-lookin' sorts making their way all the way here unmolested," he drawls out. His smile is crooked as Cooper counts through his caps to pay.

"Settlers, but the well-armed sort. No point in trifling with them. Too well-liked here for their fresh food supply they haul in," Ma June pulls the caps towards her, gaze fixed on the ghoul as she mutters. "They'll trade with ya, but keep out of their business. Ya hear?"

A hum escapes Cooper as he considers this, leaning onto the counter while glancing out the dusty window towards where you stand at the stall. He casually stashes his purchases into his saddlebag while going on conversationally.  "Well- Is that so? They a regular sort of fixture here in Filly now?"

"Have been setting up that stall going on half a year now. Surprised you've yet to come across 'em. Best cherry tomatoes you'll find in the Wasteland." Ma June eases back, arms crossing over her chest as a sour look settles in place on her worn face.

Another speculative hum escapes Cooper as he digests this information before he tips his hat to Ma June and goes on his way. Which happens to lead him straight to your stall.

Once there, Cooper casually plucks up potatoes, a handful of cherry tomatoes, and okra. All of it looks as vegetables should, the sort he would have found at the grocery store before everything went to shit. 

"How much for this lot?" He sets the small bounty atop the open space on the stall. Cooper gives you his Hollywood smile that would charm the pants off of any woman in bygone days, except now his face is a leathery wreck and his teeth are yellowed with age. Most people instantly flinch away in disgust.

Not you.

You smile like the morning sun towards him as you step closer while dusting your hands off on your pants. The bit of dirt smeared on your face only seems to enhance your features in Cooper's eyes. The look you give him is almost shy once you meet his gaze, smiling warmly up to him. 

Cooper finds that curious. He's familiar with a scowl or grimace of disgust when anyone looks him in the face, but here you are gracing him with an easy smile. A customer is a customer, he figures, and he'll do well enough. Yet, your friendliness doesn't feel like an act. Even after all these years, Cooper Howard still can clock other actors.

"Fifteen caps for the whole lot, but I'll throw in an extra sweet potato for the smile." You wink. Wink right at him as your smile grows. "They're good for ya, handsome." You add casually, the smile tugging up further into a cheeky grin. Your expression shifts. Playful. Coy. Interested.

Ain't that something? Cooper doesn't falter at the full force of your attention. He's too old and worn for that, but he sure does grin right back with a twinkle in his eye. Even an old ghoul like him can enjoy a pretty thing like you openly flirting with him.

Now that he’s heard it, Cooper decides your voice is sweet as a silver bell. The sort of soothing tone that reminds him of rain softly pelting a windowpane. It's the sort of sound that makes him wish to stay and listen for a while, tucked into the warmth that he suddenly wants you to offer up. He wants to get you talking to hear more. Wonders how he can coax you into a conversation.

That’s a fucking stupid idea. Cooper mentally shakes himself free of the passing fancy, head tilting ever so slightly as he peers down at you from the shadow of his hat. "Mhm. Ain't trying to get me hooked now are you, sweetheart?

"Something like that." 

“Well now, reckon vegetables ain’t the worst sort of vice a man can get lost in.” Cooper still can’t help himself. He lets his eyes wander right down your body before flicking back up to your face, what sort of vice he’s pondering made clear.

That flush on your cheeks blooms all the hotter as you laugh for him, the sound an utter delight when directed his way. You smile, sweet and shy now as you pluck up a hefty sweet potato to set beside the rest of his purchases. 

“Oh, well-” You start, stop with a small shake of your head as you smile all the wider. Utterly disarmed.

Cooper counts out the requested coin with a speculative hum, mirth sparking in his eyes as it seems he’s rendered you speechless. It’s down-right adorable if he’s being honest with himself. You’re a right little temptation he’d like to play with further. A dangerous thought.

Setting the coins onto the counter, he's swift in sweeping up his new bounty and stowing it all away into a pouch within his saddle bag. This close you're too bright and Cooper knows he's in trouble. Best to break away before you pull him into your orbit in full.

“You take care of yourself now, sweetheart,” Cooper drawls. He tips his hat towards you and turns away with spurs clicking. You watch him go, cheeks still flaming.

You know who he is. The Ghoul, the most famous Bounty Hunter the radiated Wastelands has to offer. You've heard all the rumors and truer tales about him all your life but nothing could prepare you for seeing him in the flesh. A dangerous sort of creature. A man who always brings his bounty in. 

You'd been watching him all day, stealing glances as you work. Now that you've seen him up close and personal? You're down-right fascinated. He’s nothing like the monster the stories painted him out to be. At least, he certainly wasn’t monstrous to you. There’s something captivating about him. Charming, even. 

You’ve seen ghouls before, of course. You know their kind as some live on the settlement with you. The majority end up shambling and ungainly, limbs no longer listening as the radiation rot wars with their regeneration abilities. A confusion that makes most of them uncoordinated and awkward in their transformed bodies, but The Ghoul? He’s got a swagger to his step that reminds you of those cowboys you’ve seen on ancient holotapes. 

He’s been lurking at the edge of your awareness all day, your head cocking in his direction to listen to the cadence of his voice as he bartered for bullets and talked business outside of the bar over yonder.

A thrill had jolted through you the moment he started to move towards your stall. The nervous energy thrumming through you had been made all the worse when you met The Ghoul’s gaze for the first time. A woman could find herself lost in such eyes and you’d certainly tripped right into them. Boldly meeting this stranger’s gaze and enjoying every second his attention was on you.

Shame he left so quickly. You sigh, turning back to count out bottlecaps he’d left as you turn your attention back to work. Best not to think about it. You’re unlikely to see that legend ever again.

[tradgedyinwaves]

tw: sexual harassment, bullying, SA, beating someone up

Just a really nice little John Price x reader

_____________________________________________________________

You could handle the little jabs and taunts. You could handle the eyes staring daggers into your back or the not-so-subtle grazes of male hands against your ass. You were a big girl. You could handle it.

When you took the job on the base near your home, you'd thought you'd landed the best gig. 8am-5pm, Monday through Friday as an assistant to a task force captain. Free meals on base, full access to a gym, and surrounded by attractive men.

The first two weeks had gone by without a hitch, but everyone on base had been on leave. It was only when they'd all returned that things started to go south. Apparently being a civilian on a military base immediately meant you were the new target of their antics.

It started small, sneering and jokes whispered behind your back about the width of your hips or the jiggle of your stomach. You could handle the comments. Had been handling them since you were a kid.

Then they got handsy. Copping feels when they didn't think they'd get caught. Only smirking when you'd glare over your shoulder and blow off your requests for them to not touch you. The women stared at you like you'd personally offended them.

It was only when a random sergeant came up and full on groped your breasts that you finally broke. Running away to the safety of his friends, his buddies gave him high fives and started handing over bills while you stood stunned for a moment, the grip on your papers in your arms loosening.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John Price was not a man to be trifled with. As captain of the 141, people got out of his way when he walked down a hall or skittered away when his mood turned sour. It seemed you and the other members of the 141 were the only ones who didn't cower as his presence commanded attention around the base.

He never pointed his bad moods at you, though, only ever offering kind words and praise for your hard work. He'd initially insisted he didn't need an assistant when Laswell had put the idea out there. But he was happy to say he was wrong.

Your warm smile and soft eyes made even his worse moods just a little bit better. You were always so nice and it was a stark contrast to everyone else. The curve of your hips and the way your breasts bounced a little when you came to a stop by his desk only endeared him to you more, even if he was palming himself over his fatigues as you walked out of his office.

So, when you returned to your desk with bloodshot eyes, face all splotchy and sniffling, alarm bells were going off in his head. He knew the men on base could get wild, having not missed some of the comments made about you. Comments that he had quietly shut down in the form of sparring with Ghost and extra work, some he'd even snuffed out right there in the moment with his booming voice.

"Wassa' matter, dovie?" John asked, coming to squat next to your chair. Quickly wiping at your face, you heaved a big breath and gave him a weak smile. "Nothing wrong, sir. Just bad allergies," you mumbled, internally wincing at the blatant lie.

He wasn't accepting that as an answer. "Nope. Not taking that shite. What 'appened?" John insisted, curling his finger and tucking it under your chin to lift your eyes to meet his. "Come on, doll, out with it."

You sniffled, biting your lip before the words came spilling out. "I was in the mess getting lunch and one of the soldiers just came up and groped my breasts. Looked like it was a dare or something," you exclaimed, a new round of sobs wracking your body as you pulled your face away to bury it in your hands.

John stiffened as you told your story, a fire lighting in his eyes as he thought of the world of torment he was about to unleash. "Could you point them out if you saw them again?" He asked, keeping his face kind and soft, despite the raging wildfire in his eyes. You nodded in response.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once you were calmed down and cleaned up, John brought you to the hallway outside the mess, looking into the window with you. "Them," you stated simply, pointing to a group of five men laughing and pushing each other around in the corner.

With a nod of John's head, he began stalking into the hall. The entire room froze as they watched Captain John Price, suddenly flanked by his terrifying Lieutenant (where the hell had he come from?) and little ol' you.

John hauled the one that had groped you to his feet before winding his arm back and decking the man in the face. Ghost watched with a raised brow before turning his attention to the other four, keeping them from running.

A second punch resulted in a nasty crunching sound and John threw him down at the feet of his cohorts. "Who's your commanding officer?" He demanded, glaring at each of the men. "Captain Dawes, sir!" one of them managed to get out, shaking in his fatigues. "Get him to the med bay. Got a broken nose. Captain Dawes will be hearing about this."

You stood against the wall, watching with satisfaction as your boss dealt with the situation. The show of brute force had your thighs clenching together under your pencil skirt. And you knew just how you were going to thank him.

______________________________________________________________

Still not on my personal computer yet, but wanted to get this out. I'll fix the formatting once I'm not using my work computer.

Thank you for all the support and love! Comments, reblogs, and likes are always appreciated.

[loganwritesprobably]

Nerves

From @jintaka-hane: Smoker/F!Reader fic, with marine doctor reader and Smoker being shy around her Tags/Warnings: Smoker/F!Reader, Doctor!Reader, sick!Smoker, vice admiral Smoker, fluff, pre-relationship Word Count: 996

Regardless of what many members of the public, and even members of his own unit believed about him, Smoker was not a man that stopped or lingered to pursue women. It just wasn’t in his nature. He didn’t have the time, nor the emotional bandwidth for it - he had duties to attend to and they mattered far more than whatever woman was throwing herself at him this time. That, and he was harbouring much deeper feelings for someone that he couldn’t bear to look another woman’s way. 

It was utterly humiliating, the way that you made him feel.

Whenever he had to see you, and at this point he only ever visited you when absolutely necessary, he felt like a teenager all over again. You were the primary doctor on his ship when they sailed, and tended to his men on base too, which meant you were always around somewhere even if he wasn’t standing there beside you. He was very aware of that fact, that he could be doing anything and you could just round the corner and then you’d be able to see him. Most viewed him as stoic, serious, a man to not be trifled with - he’d defeated the Warlord Sir Crocodile after all - but he couldn’t be any of those things around you. It all melted away to reveal the little boy beneath that, that wanted to give you flowers and gentle kisses. He didn’t have time for women, but he had all the time in the world for you. 

Recently, he’d been coming down with a little cold. It was truly nothing, just that being stationed on a winter island for several weeks had fucked with his immune system and now he was a little stuffed up. But his stuffed nose became a head cold, became almost flu-like. He didn’t often get sick, and so this was bothering him more than it might bother the average person. The coughing in particular was starting to truly get on his nerves - he couldn’t stop. He’d not done anything concerning like cough up blood, but Tashigi was beyond done with his complaining. “Sir! Go to the doctor if it’s bothering you so much.”

“It’s fine, it’ll clear up.” “Go to the doctor, or I’ll bring her to you.” Tashigi replied with a raised brow. She’d grown a lot in the last few years, but a consequence of that was she was now far more comfortable talking to him, and being disrespectful. She was a good friend. Her bringing you to him was more daunting than someone might expect - you were forgiving and gentle with everyone who came to visit, but if someone avoids seeing you and gets worse? Well, that’s when you became scary.

Before the end of the day, Smoker was shuffling toward your office, preferring to talk to you directly rather than heading to the med bay to see one of the nurses. He knocked softly on the door, listening out for your ‘come in’ before he opened the door. He found you behind your desk, pouring over some paperwork with a pen in hand that you softly tapped against the wood surface while you thought.

“Vice Admiral, how can I help you?” You asked without looking up, which surprised Smoker. You knew who it was even without looking - he wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or concerned.

“Doctor. I uhm, I’ve just had a small bout of sickness. Tashigi, she uh, told me to come down and see you. She’s tired of me uh coughing.”

“Tired of you complaining, you mean?” You replied, finally looking up at him with a small smirk and a mischievous glint in your eyes. That didn’t look good.

“I don’t.. I don’t know what you mean.” Smoker felt as heat rose in his face, colouring his cheeks with a soft pink, quickly withering under your intense gaze. There was a long moment between you where neither of you said anything, and then Smoker sat himself on the examination table unprompted, choosing not to fight that battle. 

The examination passed mostly in silence, with you doing all the checks and tests that you needed to do, and asking questions when you needed to, but otherwise he just let you work. Also, Smoker wasn’t sure that it would come out coherent if he did try to speak, considering how close you were to his body. Too close, almost. He could feel the heat coming from your body when you leaned in, checking his temperature and looking in his ears for signs of concerning infection.

“Well, it looks like you’re right, it is just an unfortunately stubborn cold. But, it didn’t hurt to check, that’s what I’m here for.” You told him, pulling off your rubber gloves and tossing them into the bin beside your desk. Smoker nodded and slipped from the examination table, now unsure of what to say next. You really did just take all his coherent thought away.

“Thanks.” He managed eventually, but he didn’t sound so sure about it. 

Another extended, awkward pause followed where you scribbled away in his medical file to make note of the appointment and what you’d found. Smoker stood, staring at you, wanting to talk to you but not knowing how or what to say. If he were a better man he’d ask-

“Do you want to go out with me?” You asked, taking the words right from him as if you could read his mind.

“What?”

“Next time we dock. I’m sure we can find a restaurant to eat at. If you’re interested, that is.” He was utterly dumfounded. First of all, you were interested? Second of all, asking you out was his job!

“Yeah. I.. yeah. Sounds good.” He agreed rather than questioning you or complaining. A date with you sounded more than good really, it sounded perfect. Plus, if he were to be realistic with himself, he never would’ve asked you first, he was far too nervous.

Tag List: @claryeverlarkf @uselessboots @cainnoable @categoryace @frillsinadress

If you'd like to tip me and get exclusive ficlets, Kofi

[voxina]

Stop believing fandom trolls and giving them attention

The severe lack of critical thinking skills some people have in this fandom astounds me. Seriously, why do they even pay attention to this bunch of bored narcissists playing the victim card with a clear superiority complex? And if you try to point it out to them, we are the bitter arses ruining the fun for everyone. The audacity of this group who insists to insinuate that they are somehow connected to Louis' entourage is so annoying, frustrating and tiring.  

But the thing that irritates me the most, besides the fact that they are larries (as if people didn't hate us enough already and call us with all the derogatory terms that infer some level of mental illness) is the amount of fans - even quite adults - who will believe (or pretend to believe) anything regardless of how unreliable and obviously false it is, as long as it fits their narrative and fantasies. And I’m genuinely concerned to see how many people are ok with this behaviour. It’s insane to me.  

I will never tire of repeating that, as much as they try to say that their intentions were innocent, the fact that they never explicitly stated it but only said it once they were exposed, is a clear sign that their intentions were malicious. They intentionally deceived people. Their entertainment comes from making fun of other fans and misleading them. You can still make a fun and nice distraction without fooling people and engage with them with full transparency. But they are so intoxicated by their arrogance, that they fail to see how they have contributed to making this fandom a less safe space for everyone.  It brings nothing but stress and anxiety at the very last, and people certainly will think more than twice before approaching and interacting. This is the kind of shit that kills a fandom.  

Behind these trolls accounts, even when they say “but it’s just for fun, it’s not that deep”, the damage is done the minute they create them and don’t make it clear what’s what. Because when you see more and more fans genuinely believing and interacting hoping that Louis is behind it, or that is someone with “insider info”, or even just someone from his team to do promo and marketing, they have made a conscious choice to continue undaunted to keep quiet and prolong this charade. The fun they talk about is one-sided, the purpose is for their own amusement, only to entertain themselves, and sadly it’s done on the backs of others by taking advantage of their emotions. The damage they’ve done is no less dangerous than physical damage. And I am sorry if I appear intransigent, but some things are not to be trifled with.   

We have seen it all in this fandom, and there also have been really dangerous accounts in the past. The fandom is mostly made up of women, many are very young, teens or even underage who are easily persuaded by emotion without reasonable evidence. To always pass these behaviours off as goliardia remains morally unacceptable to me. It's not ok at all. These people wanted to do harm and even after they've been exposed and their evidences debunked (not doxxed as they falsely claim, literally no one from that account has been doxxed and that's another attempt of them playing the victim card and pushing their agenda), are back at it with their intentional deception. They're still misleading fans, and it’s so scary how easily people believe random accounts. They are not the first and most likely will not be the last either, but what is even sadder is that not only they hurt us fans, but also hurt Louis, and Harry. They see them only as fictional characters to be used for their own amusement, rather than as human beings like us. It’s unacceptable and there is no justification, and I’m sorry but if someone tries to say that all of this is normal or don’t see how much problematic is, then they too are part of the problem. 

[arinzechukwuture]

And some of you silly Negroes from Negroland are complaining because you are being asked to boycott the same companies who won’t even hire your trifling a*s.

Wake The F*ck up and Stand Up like The Men and Women who your ancestors were and that history is calling you to be!

[nightlyrequiem]

Hiii, so I have a request, would it be possible to make a story where Valeria is the evil queen in her kingdom but her fiancée is the sweetest person in the kingdom? Also I love your work, keep it up, kisses, kisses ❤️💋

Hiii!

Before I even started writing fanfiction for Valeria, I wanted to write something like a royal/regency AU! I never got around to it because I never knew what to do. This was fun and definitely more challenging then what I usually do thanks :3

Also thank you lots XX

Tags/Warnings: WLW, Royal!AU, Implied Time Period Misogyny (But Not A Lot.), Implied Time Period Homophobia (Barely), Wedding

Blue Blooded

Valeria is as cold and cruel as the unforgiving north. She's led her own army to many different battles over the course of her twenty-year reign. Uncommon for rulers and even less common for women. She caused quite the stir, many believing women were too delicate and weak for war. Valeria's name quickly became known and feared. Reina de la Muerte. She leaves a trail of bodies wherever she goes. The treatment of her servants is poor, and the treatment of her subjects is worse. She rejoices in the fear induces.

One of the duties of a ruler is to produce an heir. Her advisors have been pestering her about finding a husband since she was coronated at seventeen. Something they quickly learned to stop doing. Her patience for men has always been low. Not once has she ever looked at one and felt any sort of connection. Valeria knew it was likely that she never would. Not when she only felt something when looking at another woman. 

You were nothing more than a peasant. With a family who owned a failing farm. Cruelty breeds cruelty. Valeria's subjects have been forced into selfishness to survive. There's very little room for empathy when you're one day of work away from starvation. And yet, there you were. Dancing and laughing with a pack of filthy children. Despite the dullness to your skin and hair, you almost seemed to glow. Like there was a light inside of you strong enough to dispel the darkness Valeria had cast over the land. You were the most beautiful creature she had ever seen. It wasn't a one-time moment. Valeria had never noticed you before but one she did it's like she couldn't ever not see you. Using what little precious coins you have to buy food for the erratic beggar. Offering casual conversation to the local hag. Showing love to the mange-ridden strays prowling the cobble streets.

when Valeria was fourteen, her father had tried to set her up with princes of neighboring kingdoms. A political move to bring peace and potential allyship. Valeria fought tooth and nail. Refusing to even meet with the men. How she hated these traditions. Why should anyone but her decide who she marries? And yet, she found herself darkening your doorstep, nonetheless. Armed guards at her back. Your home was hardly more than a shack. Thatch roof coming loose at the ends and the smell of rot in the wood. The soil on your land was barren. Only cacti and weeds able to grow. A few sickly chickens ran loose around. Your father had answered the door, eyes yellowed from having one too many a drink. Asking for your hand in marriage was met with little resistance. His only trifle being that you were both women. Even that trepidation of course, was only told to her through his body language. Only the most stupidest of people would be willing to challenge the wants of Valeria. 

Though with her reputation and promises of a handsome dowry... it didn't take long to get his agreement. Not that it would have mattered. Valeria would have burned down your little farm down and taken you anyway.

The night sky is clear. A dark, inky, endless void. An infinity of stars stretches across its expanse. It's only a week until your wedding and with every day Valeria spends you, she only becomes more enamored. Valeria gently grasps your left hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles. There is no escort to keep watch over you two in the castle gardens. Just another rule and tradition Valeria has stomped on and discarded like nothing.

"You look lovely in the moonlight." She murmurs. you blink and look away nervously. You're as timid as a wood mouse. Something that both endears and irritates Valeria. She wants you to be comfortable. To bare your teeth in an uncontrolled smile, she longs to know what your laugh sounds like. 

"Thank you."

She sighs. Lowering her hand and yours into her lap. Her thumb brushes over the back of your hand.

"Tell me how you feel about the wedding." She says.

"I am looking forward to it." You reply politely. A cool breeze blows through the area, disturbing her dark hair.

"No," Valeria shakes her head. "be honest with me. Tell me how you feel about the wedding." She demands softly.

Valeria watches you hesitate, trying to decipher if this is a trap or not. That you'll suffer harsh consequences for your honesty. Valeria isn't playing mind games with you, nor will she punish you. There is no wrong answer. Just a lovestruck woman desperate to know her fiancée's true feelings.

"I'm... anxious." You admit, not looking at her. Your free hand picks up a stray leaf, moving your thumb over the lines and groves.

"And me? What are your feelings around me?" She asks quietly. Valeria is no fool. She knows you don't really love her yet. That you're wary of her.

"... I'm not sure how I feel about you." You sigh. Letting go of the leaf. It flutters to the ground. You raise your gaze and meet her eyes. "When I came home, and my father told me of my betrothment to you I cried. You are cruel and unjust."

All things true, Valeria knows. She even prides herself on it, but hearing you say it doesn't make her feel as good about it. Your eyes dart across her face, searching for any sign of anger. When you find none, you continue.

"I thought I may faint when you asked to meet for the first time. I was dreading it." You murmur. "But then you weren't like anything I expected."

"I am exactly like how you expected." She counters gently. Giving your hand a small squeeze. "I am mean, and selfish, and bad. Everything said about me is true and I regret nothing. But I promise you this, I will be none of those things to you."

Your eyes seem to dim in disappointment. You had assumed that perhaps she was misunderstood. Valeria hates to disappointment you, but she won't hide what she is. A monster in royal robes.

"Oh." 

"You're as precious as the crown." Valeria whispers. "An angel in the flesh. It's rare to meet someone not turned bitter by their circumstances. My - our - subjects will love you."

"But they don't love you." You reply. Frowning.

"I don't need their love, but they need yours." She sighs. She needs it too. Something that will soften her sharp edges.

Valeria sighs and leans towards you. Resting her forehead on your shoulder. For a second, she's a child again, not yet corrupted by her own cruelty. Like that inherit goodness inside of you is contagious.

Valeria seldom feels nervous, but waiting at the altar in her wedding gown, she can feel her palms growing clammy. Eyes are locked onto Valeria while she waits for her bride to be walked down the aisle. Subjects who silently disagree with how everything is progressing but hold no power to speak out. You and your father round the corner. Your extravagant white dress trailing behind you, an intricate lace veil hiding your face from view. The sight makes her heart swell. Your father walks you up to the altar and hands you off to Valeria. signifying the beginning of your new life.

Valeria takes your hands, catching the barest of glimpses of your face beneath the veil.

"We are gathered here today in the royal unification of these two individuals." The officiant begins. "Repeat these words after me before the lord, 'I promise to love you always, in sickness and in health, in poverty and in wealth, and to be true to you until death.'" You and Valeria both repeat his words. Valeria with a little more enthusiasm. You two say your 'I do's'. "Then by the power invested in me, I pronounce you... wife and... wife. You may now kiss the bride."

Without hesitation Valeria lifts your veil. Your eyes glint in the light. She grabs ahold of your face with all the gentleness she can muster and brings her lips to yours. Finally tasting you for the first time. Your lips are soft, moulding to hers with ease. The kiss is short lived, but it won't be the last. Valeria pulls away and smiles. Something small and genuine, reserved only for you. To her surprise, your lips twitch up ever so slightly. Returning that sweet smile for a moment. The public crowd rises and gives their reluctant cheers. A few sounding more genuine than the others. Perhaps hoping that your kind nature rubs off on her.

[mswyrr]

One of the most important bits of dialogue in hotd is from Viserys in 1x01:

"The idea that we control the dragons is an illusion. They're a power man should never have trifled with. One that brought Valyria its doom. If we don't mind our own histories, it will do the same to us."

This is a man who bonded with Balerion, The Black Dread, the oldest dragon who had actually hatched in Old Valyria. This was the same dragon who flew Princess Aerea, a 12-year-old girl who bonded with him, back to Valyria against her will - sickening and killing her in the process (Fire & Blood, p 263). The little girl was away from her home at the time and probably feeling "I want to go home" but what Balerion did with that feeling killed her. His will was strong and his memory was *deep*.

Viserys only rode him one time, his inaugural flight, and then never again. IMO he experienced something bonding with that ancient beast that--in addition to studying the family's history and Valyrian lore--convinced him of the danger and fundamentally uncontrollable nature of dragons.

It is totally in keeping with canon events that Vhagar, in the current timeline the most ancient dragon alive--a dragon who drank deep of bloodshed and war with Visenya during the Conquest and *likes* war--translated Aemond's anger at Lucerys into murder of the boy and his small dragon. It is perfectly in keeping with what the show has been saying since episode 1.

An ancient, powerful and wilful dragon overcoming the will of its rider is *literally canon*. Princess Aerea must have been terrified during the whole, long flight to Valyria, and yet all her protests couldn't stop the dragon she'd bonded to.

I would also say that the Valyrians turned magical creatures, dragons, into weapons of warfare - that the dragons, in that sense, represent war. And the show is imo fundamentally antiwar - so here war is something you cannot control. GRRM has said the dragons are "nukes," which fits with this reading:

“Dragons are the nuclear deterrent, and only [Daenerys Targaryen, one of the series’ heroines] has them, which in some ways makes her the most powerful person in the world,” Martin said in 2011. “But is that sufficient? These are the kind of issues I’m trying to explore. The United States right now has the ability to destroy the world with our nuclear arsenal, but that doesn’t mean we can achieve specific geopolitical goals. Power is more subtle than that. You can have the power to destroy, but it doesn’t give you the power to reform, or improve, or build.” (source)

War and nukes - you cannot aim them only at the guilty, only at those you hate; you cannot prevent them from consuming the innocent as well. They a raging fire that consumes, that is all. And so, on that level, I just adore what they're doing and how it all fits together.

Aemond's domestic violence fits too - boys go to war thinking it will be honorable and manly and they'll protect "their women" but instead come home and hurt those very women. This thing burns and burns until it is exhausted, and it doesn't stay contained, not within you or outside you. "So it goes," to steal a phrase from antiwar writer Kurt Vonnegut.

The reason I keep coming back to my antiwar reading of the show is that things that people dismiss as "bad" or mock actually come together beautifully if you don't expect to war to be glorious and masterful and heroic. If you take the text seriously, in terms of what the dragons are metaphorically and what characters have outright said about their fundamentally uncontrollable nature. The lore supports what Vhagar did! That she could overcome a teenaged human's will with her century old bloodlust.

[bunny-jpeg]

Hi, may I have a beery trifle with champagne, delivered by Phillip Graves please? Thanks!

the bakery menu!

the bakery is still open with lots of delicious treats still available on the menu!

berry trifle ("wrong. try again.") + champagne (sugar daddy situation) and your server today will be phillip graves (call of duty!)

cw: smut/pwp, sugar daddy au, punishments (spanking) & rules, implied age gap, brat taming, naked woman/clothed man, couch sex, power dynamic

graves liked pretty things. he liked them young, dumb and full of cum. to toss some bills at their pretty faces and be on his way to the next pretty things.

but he liked you, he liked you a lot. normally he got tired of his toys and went in search of another one, but you stayed. you had even moved some of your things into his nice house in houston. mascara on the counter, body cream on the nightstand, you even had some of your favourite snacks in the cupboard.

you were almost wife material.

but he didn't want to get ahead of himself. you were still a fair bit younger than him. before he married you, he had to train the brat out of you. that was what he liked about you.

to an extent.

that was how you ended up in the position you were in.

it was sunny in july when you acted out, you and graves had gone into the city to do a little shopping. halfway through the trip you had gotten all pout-y because you didn't want to carry the shopping bags.

"if you buy them, darlin', you have to carry them." graves said as he pulled you towards him and kissed your cheek, "now stop poutin' or daddy is gonna be mad."

the pout never ceased, and soon after the whining started. now graves hated whiners, he didn't accept it with the shadows, he sure as hell wasn't going to accept it from a little girl who tasted like bubblegum.

he sighed and slung an arm around you. he tipped his sunglasses down, those beautiful eyes gazed at you. but his expression was stern, "behave."

you leaned up against him and said, "can you carry the bags?"

he shook his head, "i think i've been spoilin' you and little too much there, darlin'. i think it's time for a little bit of reform."

he thought that the idea of punishment would be enough to settle you down into the passive little kitten he knew you could be. but that wasn't the case, so something had to be done about it.

after you two got home, graves left the bags in the car and took you out of the car by your arm. you struggled to meet his stride. he was mumbling to himself about something as you felt a familiar twist in your gut. you reap what you sow, he once told you.

he didn't even get you into the bedroom, instead having you thrown onto the couch. as a result your pretty pink skirt got hiked up as you sat there like a girl about to be scolded.

graves could see your pretty striped panties under the skirt, but had to keep himself composed. he couldn't just crumble at the sight of your clothed pussy.

"do you know what you did?" he asked, giving you a chance to redeem yourself. he knew he couldn't stay mad at you forever, but he had to set you on a proper course. women your age had a habit of being bratty.

you shook your head, "i did nothing wrong, phillip."

he made a face, "wrong. try again. and if you call me phillip one more time, i'll be makin' you shine my boots with your tongue. now get naked before i cut it all off of you."

you pouted, "well, maybe if you helped me carry all those bags then maybe i wouldn't have been so pissy!" you crossed your arms.

graves raised his eyebrows at the sudden behaviour issues you having. he was a little impressed by the outburst, but it was a behaviour he had to correct. he grabbed you by the face and said, "strip. now. slut."

you slowly took off the t-shirt you wore, followed by the provocative pink skirt. you felt heat in your cheeks as you were left only in a pair of panties and bra. you looked up at graves' once more.

graves eyed you, "still the prettiest thing on the lot." he patted your cheek a little harder than most out, "now, get fully naked. i want to see those pretty tits and that soaked pussy."

you slipped off your undergarments and sat on the leather of the couch, the coolness of it felt odd against your bare pussy as you gazed up at graves like an innocent little deer. but graves couldn't be deceived by your innocent looks.

you were a girl who needed to be put on the right path.

graves grabbed you by the arm and got you over the back of the couch with your bottom half fully exposed to him. this is how graves liked you, bent over a surface and ready for him.

your naked body was for him to enjoy. you were his little slut. he took off his belt and got behind you. his cock was at a perfect level to sink in and properly fuck you.

you anticipated his cock, but instead you got his hand slamming down onto your bare ass cheek. you jolted, your heat in your stomach grew. graves dug his palm into where he slapped which only made the pain more intense. "daddy!"

"i know, darlin'. but i can't have you thinkin' you can misbehave. actions have consequences and you have rules. one of them is to not be a whiny little bitch when you don't get your way." he laid down another hard smack, then another and then another.

you gripped onto the back of the couch and flinched when his smacks came raining down. but graves used his other hand to pin you down onto the surface.

"stay still, or it's gonna hurt me." he groped your ass for a moment, letting you feel the pain before he went back to slapping. you were a mess by the time he was finished and his cock was painfully erect. it was drooling pre-cum all over the bottom of his white t-shirt.

your ass felt hot and a bit of a bruise was forming, hopefully that'll be a stark reminder of the rules of your agreement. you barely had time to think before graves sank his cock into you.

you gripped onto the couch tighter and whimpered, "daddy!"

he chuckled, "that's better. see, isn't like better when you're like this? when you're a pretty little thing for daddy to fuck? you can be a good girl, that's why daddy spoils you. you just needed a little guidance."

his pace was brutal, you could feel your insides being rearranged by the man's heavy cock inside of you. you panted heavily and held on tightly as graves' moved up into you.

"pretty girl."

"daddy."

"i know, just lay there all pretty for me." his voice was a low growl as he bucked up into you. he did adore you, even if you did misbehave at times.

you felt like a toy under his control, your heart fluttered at the feeling of his heavy cock inside of you. the sex was hot and left heat in your cheeks. the slapping sounds of you two fucking made you gasp.

his words were slurred and hot. he was so domineering that it made you flushed all over. your core throbbed and you felt closer to orgasm. you panted heavily between moans and felt a rush through you.

"please, daddy!" you panted, your cunt tightened around his cock. sweat down your back as you felt so close to orgasm. with a few more heavy thrusts, you came around his cock.

the tightness around his length took the breath out of him and his pace became more aggressive. his heart hammered in his chest as with a few more thrusts he finished inside of you. he painted your pretty pussy white with his cum as he slowed down his heavy thrusts.

he panted heavily. his polo shirt clung to his back as he felt the wind get taken out of him. he held onto you for a moment before he slid his softened cock out of your soaked pussy. he wiped the sweat from his forehead and said, "that's it, that's a good girl." then gave you a half-hearted slap across both ass cheeks, "now you be good, or daddy won't go so easy on your next time."

as if your ass cheeks were bruised, but instead you arched your back and whimpered, "yes, daddy. thank you, daddy."

graves loved the sound of that. his sweet girl.