#also it would be GREAT if women's sizing could be in any way consistent

[thebonerpit]

Oof nothing like trying on a dress in a store and breaking the zipper to smash your self esteem into the ground...

(TO BE FAIR, it actually was going to fit but the zipper was so fucking stiff that I yanked it up too hard I guess and it split. Side zips should be outlawed tbh. I feel like I sprain something in my ribs every time I try to do one up)

Anyway I got tacos to make myself feel better lol.

[henneseyhoe]

Devotion.

Lewis Hamilton x BLACK!FEM!Reader

WARNINGS: DARK THEMES, cult behavior, cult leader!Lewis, Idolizing, blasphemy(kinda?? idk girl), mentions of religion(no specifics), SMUT, unprotected (wrap it before ya smack it), mind broken reader, stockholm syndrome (not written in but kinda implied), breeding k*nk, short.

SUMMARY: Lewis chooses you.

✮✮✮✮

Was he really as sadistic as the papers said? How could he be when he was so sweet to me?

He nursed me back to health when iIl, when I was at my lowest, he lifted me in spirit. He gave me hope when I had none. He gave me something to believe in. He would never hurt me, he wouldn’t violently touch a hair on my head. He was consistently perfect. He was what all men should have been.

Dressed in black gowns, all of my sisters stood around with roses propped in their hands, veils on their heads and envy in their eyes. I’ve been there before. Envious of any woman that was next to him. Now I no longer remember what that felt like.

“You may kiss the bride”

I heard from beside me. My heart instantly swoll ten times it’s size. He took me by the hand and brought me closer to him before lifting the white veil over my head. His hand grazed my cheek and his lips hovered over mine. I could physically feel his breath over me. It confirmed that he was indeed real. He wasn’t just a vessel or embodiment of the purest form of a prophet, he was now also my partner. I was one step closer to heaven.

Hours later after dragged out sessions of meditation and eating food served on fine china, I found myself finally feeling solace.

I use to deeply craved to be with him at all times, not just to be in the same room to read or pray. Now he was touching me. Breathing the same air as me, taking my breath away with each stroke of his fingers. He told me he was getting me ready, his lips hovering above mine. He breathed in every sigh I made and the thought of my oxygen entering his lungs made me grateful.

He told me he would break me before making me whole again. He reminded me the entire time that this was just the beginning before I truly became the woman I was always supposed to be. His.

Yes, I was one of the many women, but I was the one. He told me.

“My beautiful, beautiful girl”

I kneeled before him, him only on one knee like when he proposed. A puddle of my own release was beneath me with his fingers still deep inside, pressing against the spongy part of my walls until I came again, my body slumping against his. My mouth had been wide open, unable to close for longer than a few seconds before another moan was exiting. Drool dripped from the sides of my mouth and he easily wiped it clean with his tongue like nothing, tasting the wine he offered earlier on me.

I was like that for what felt like hours until he allowed me to taste him. My mouth had never been on him like this before, before I couldn’t remember if he had ever touched me at all.

My jaw ached and my throat was sore, but he kept pushing and I took it just for the approval. I hear quiet sighs, moans that were almost whimpers above me, him looking down at the sight. His eyes were darker than before, pink lips parted to whisper out my name every time i’d take him completely, not coming up until I physically gagged and was forced to pull back.

When I disconnected from him there were strings of my spit still attached to him and he took the liberty to tap the tip of himself against my swollen lips, watching me flinch with the first few pops.

We transitioned for the third time that night and I began to wonder if the other women got the same treatment. He couldn’t be this great for all of them, I had to be special.

“You’re doing so good”

He breathed into my neck, arms wrapped around the front of my body as he rutted his hips into me. It felt as if I was on my knees all night, and I was tired, but he told me if I prayed with him on my knees, then everything else sacred needed to be done that way too.

His hand squeezed at the front of my throat and his other caressed up and down the side of my ribcage, tracing the tattoo of his name written into my skin with his fingers. I had his name symbols of him on multiple parts of my body, each place he had kissed tonight.

“You listen so much better than any of the other ones. That’s why I picked you. That’s why you’re my favorite”

He confessed into my ear, sharp teeth grazing the shell of it before they pressed onto the skin of my neck, his thrusts becoming more erratic.

I could feel the knocking of his tip inside of my stomach somehow, the spasms of my walls supplying him with just the amount of grip he needed to finish, the grip he claimed to have been thinking of since laying eyes on me.

My breathing hitched, then sped up and synched to each pound, pathetic whines leaving my mouth on impact. Every sensation felt so much more real now, I could feel everything. The wet skin of his chest pressed firmly against my back, the slapping of his hips against my ass which I was sure was slightly bruised by now, the scratching of his low cut nails against my curves.

Even if he broke skin, I knew not to fret. He’d lick me up again if I asked.

He lets me go and allows my weak body to fall flat on his bed, his hips still never stuttering as he follows after me, dipping his hips low while simultaneously lifting mine to meet him pound for pound.

My time was now. Now was the moment for me to prove that I was truly his, that I was ready to be saved for the rest of my mortal life, that I was in fact the best partner and the most devoted. That’s what he needed, what he deserved. Devotion.

With each question he managed to ask while somehow keeping his pace, I nod with no hesitation whatsoever as his hand slips down under and in between my wet thighs to rub at my sensitive bud, my body jerking so intensely that he slipped out of me mid stroke and his free hand wasted no time to help put himself back in and build up his momentum again.

“Would you give me a child, darling? Would you like to play a part in what greatness is to come?”

He already had babies. 10 of them and counting. But he asked me to carry the one he chose, and I was no one to tell him no and starve his desire.

✮✮✮✮

💌~ did yall like it? yes, no? 🥴 also i know yall TIRED of the short fics 😭 sorryyy lmfao

[junebugwriter]

I'm really struggling a lot today, and a great deal of it is internalized fatphobia.

I've talked on here before that I'm a fat trans woman. Self-acceptance is hard enough when you are trans, but it's even harder for trans fat people I find. All of the media, all of the people I see on social media, all the comics, and all the images of trans people get pushed by the algorithms to revolve around the image of the "waifish twink to trans girl" pipeline. That is about as far from my experience as possible. Add on top of that the primacy of young trans women, people who have known forever that they are trans, and it leaves someone like me feeling completely inadequate.

I've never been thin, or even average weight. The last time I was less than 200 pounds was probably in middle school. I've been fat since I was little, and even when I make the effort to eat right, work out consistently, and make good choices, the lowest I've ever weighed was... 235 pounds. That was my healthiest, when I was 21. I never stopped trying to eat right, never stopped working out for years after. Still, I got fatter and gained weight. Thyroid problems were the real source of it all, sadly. My body's metabolism doesn't work right. I was the most religiously dedicated person at grad school in terms of going to the gym. I was there every day, doing cardio, and lifting weights. It never stopped my weight gain.

Currently, I am over 300 pounds. I'm going to the gym again. I'm trying to eat healthier. I realize that going by weight is not exactly the healthiest way to focus one's attention. I try to self-correct constantly and say that I'd really just rather not die of a heart attack at age 40, and that's the reason I'm exercising.

But God, what I wouldn't give to just be under 300 pounds again.

When every image I see of trans folks is young, skinny, borderline unhealthily thin bodies, it's hard not to take being an old, fat trans woman as a personal failing.

I wish I didn't feel this way. I wish I could say that I'm better than that, that it's stupid to obsess about my image, but at the same time that's the whole problem. That's why I'm transitioning: I want to look more like how I feel on the inside. But what if that's never going to happen for me, realistically?

I also wish that we could broaden the image of what it means to be a trans woman. I wish it was okay to be fat and trans. I wish people wouldn't get so hung up on size and allow people to just be. I wish we found fat people appealing. I wish norms would expand to allow people of any gender or size to simply exist without constant criticism and comparison. Being a fat, disabled trans woman who's older than 35 is a nightmare of "not fitting into the right categories."

I'm grateful for the supportive people in my life. I wish I was as accepting of myself as others were of me.

[purplekiwis]

Hiiii 💖 I love your writing and I was wondering if you would ever consider writing something about H dating a plus sized model or something along those lines. It makes me sad that everyone here describes their characters as 'much smaller than H' or mention their size difference in a way that makes it look like H is so much bigger because that's not relatable to all of us 😔

hi babygirl 💞 as someone who is chubby as well, I understand the struggle. i know there are some great plus size Y/N stories out there (unfortunantly i don't remember the authors or the titles rn, but if anyone knows any i would love to share) but your ask actually inspired me and i wrote a little something something, which is not that great but i'm gonna post it for you anyway.

here is a very small blurb of CEO Harry having v big crush on his brand-new employee Y/N.

**

Harry is going insane.

And it’s all her fault.

He doesn’t know what it is about her.

In the least asshole-y way of saying it, she doesn't fit with his usual standards. No, not even close. From his younger years up until this point in his life, Harry has consistently gone for conventionally attractive, usually on the skinnier side, type girls in terms of who he wanted to date or fool around with. Mostly because dating such-like women went straight to his ego. There was nothing quite like walking into a room accompanied by yet another Karlie Kloss lookalike and watching as all the other men began to drool like starving beasts over what was his. He got off on it - the greedy eyes, the shameless glances, that were usually followed by indiscreet pats on his back that aimed to let him know he had it good, as if he didn’t know that already.

It made him feel great about himself – successful in a way. He was more than glad to let everyone in on the fact that he had the perfect life. The perfect business, the perfect car, the perfect girlfriends.

So, when did that stop being enough to make him happy?

The answer comes to him easy – Y/N.

She’s one of the company’s most recent hires - technically his hires. But he won’t take credit for it, after all he wasn’t the one who interviewed her or decided she got to have the job. That's what the human resources people are for -it’s why he’s paying them after all. Still, he had taken a brief look at her résumé. It was nothing too impressive… plain average for someone her age, but Margaret, who had conducted her job interview, insisted that she had showed great communication skills and seemed very eager to work for their magazine. Her résumé came with a good professional photo of her pretty face as well, what admittedly caught Harry's attention on the spot… although he later found out that the picture didn’t even do her justice compared to the whole package in person.

Y/N is curvy and plumpish everywhere.

The flesh on her thighs jiggles when she runs around the office in her adorable dresses and skirts, her soft tummy pudges whenever she sits down, and the pants she wears never seem to fit her body quite right. She's always fixing them, he had noticed. Either by pulling them up at the waist or pinching at the leg fabric so that it falls to its right place.

But never once has Harry thought she was lacking in some way for those things, or that she would be better not being exactly the way she is… in fact, he thinks she couldn’t be any more perfect.

He also likes her style a lot.

It's special and distinctive like her, and Harry would be lying if he claimed that he didnt purposefully look up from his computer every time he heard the hurried steps of her chunky loafers going around the corner just so he could catch a glimpse of her through the office’s glass partition.

Harry is a big fan of loafers too, but he believes she owns even more than he does. Cheaper ones too, but he thinks they’re cute none the less - and she likes to combine them with ankle socks sometimes, in a 50's collegial prep retro fashion, what truly doesn't help Harry’s fantasies of taking her over his desk the slightest if he’s honest.

Often times now, he finds himself scrolling through the women's section of the expensive designer boutiques he shops at, trying to make out which pairs she would like or dislike. Somewhere last month he had seen some unique-looking, square-toed black ones that he thought were right up her alley… so much that he struggled a bit to come up with reasons not to get them for her - she could use a new pair… her black ones were already a bit worn on the soles and wrinkled at the edges, as they were the pair she wore the most.

But no matter how much he wanted to, Harry couldn’t possibly justify getting a pair of $300 shoes for one of his employees – let alone one of the newest ones to whom he didn't owe anything aside from basic professional cordiality yet. He wouldn’t think twice about it if she were his girlfriend, or one of his regular fucks – but not even those last ones get to receive gifts from him, unless he is feeling particularly generous, or needy for that real cheesy relationship stuff.

But ever since he found Y/N, he only ever craves to experience cheesy relationship things with her.

It’s driving him mad.

He has to find a way to make her his girlfriend.

And definitely not just because he wants to get her those bloody loafers.

I did a PART 2 🐿️

[omegatheunknown]

AEW Revolution 2022

In which no titles change hands, yet the seeds of revolution continue to bloom. - To that point, nothing seems to have been hot potato'd for the sake of it being a "PPV" card, and sometimes that really is for the best, I certainly anticipated it might be time for Britt to drop her belt, but any other changes would've been... worth a rewrite, maybe. - No particular production notes, only to say it's quite funny when the show starts to run long into the evening that JR gets a little cranky, Tony gets a little loopy, and Excalibur has to keep them steady, and he's such a pro. - Don Callis, man. Legendary heater. He boomed me. - The arrival of Shane Strickland was not Schiavone's best work, and the scene was awkward by the conspicuous absence of Chaka Khan but then... Swerve spoke and you just know, this is a guy who's gonna be enormous. It felt like a huge tragedy that he went to NY at all (you release this man?!,) and now he's gonna get all this space in AEW and NJPW, and wherever. *Pre-Card Kris Statlander v Leyla Hirsch (**1/2) - Quite appreciative of the weird heat being brought to this match, a little atypical of the women's division and something they could stand to do more of, which is why it's a bit of a bummer there wasn't a little more to like in this matchup. Both are very talented and Stat got some real nice feats of strength tossing Leyla around, but going the other way I don't know there was enough coming out of Leyla to justify the pint-sized dynamo going over. Stat nearly did herself an injury on that step-up hurricanrana to the outside, which stuck out more than most of the match. - Heel!Stat gives Kris a little more to chew on as a character and I think that's a worthwhile development, if she can improve on the mic she's unquestionably a future champ. HOOK v QT Marshall (HOOK outta five) - Do you think HOOK knows that I love him? Is that what that little smirk is? - QT Marshall almost gets five minutes outta HOOK, which is hilarious in abstract but hey, let's see the kid bump a little, rally a little, and then just... take the trainer man apart. - Papa Taz on commentary remains a distinct delight.

House of Black v Death Triangle (***) - Gave a lot of the rub to the debuting Redbeard, who put in a pretty good performance by his standards, he's been working a pretty light indie schedule and he isn't a world beater but as a giant in AEW's ecosystem of many regular sized dudes, he might have a bit of upside? He's no Buddy Matthews, who yes, may as well be Kenny Omega's stunt double, in every way a compliment. - The best of the pre-show multiman type matches give everybody a little shine and flash potential -- yes, Buddy and Brody King and Redbeard are new toys, but also I want so much more outta Penta and PAC and I hope this augurs well for them. - The foundations of the House of Black are quite important to establish here, neither Brody or Buddy should have trouble with this but with Black having had a pretty down the middle series of results thus far, the credibility of the stable rests in their ability to take people out, or (more radically) alter their alignment and trajectories, which is a fascinating prospect. Still waiting on Julia Black!Hart, for example. Suppose the next step is to demolish the tag champs. Or be the inaugural trios champs? *Main-Card Eddie KIngston v Chris Jericho (****) -Speaking of trios, Eddie's well-deserved rub coming off defeating the legendary Jericho could include running it back as a trio with the best version of LAX. - Great match. Jericho met Kingston on his level, which is something old man Jericho is pretty consistent on. It means a lot to beat the inaugural AEW champion, so Eddie should also benefit from beating Jericho fighting his way, looking as good as possible doing so. - I don't think anybody would hate seeing less of Jericho for various reasons not related to his wrestling, and maybe it is time for him to continue to head into the background, but after decades of reinventions I am a little curious about the next pivot. Jurassic Express (C) v the Young Bucks v reDRagon for the AEW Tag Team Championship (****) - KOR, in my mind, is one of the true heirs to the Kurt Angle lineage of being able to seamlessly transition between clown and killer, the body control required to be comedian and technician is so similar and yet not everyone can do it. To paraphrase Henri Bergson, O'Reilly's tapped into this ability to make his body seem mechanical, his best comedy spots are of course his unwitting self-inflicted chair shots, his unwitting falling all the way out of the ring, and in this match, the Bucks using him as an unwitting pile driving machine they then kick in the face. - The champs aren't even close to the best team in this ring but Jungle Boy continues to improve, all the reps he gets are hardly for naught, he had some excellent sequences in this match. Christian Cage v Wardlow v Powerhouse Hobbs v Ricky Starks v Keith Lee v Orange Cassidy in the Face of the Revolution Ladder Match (***1/2) - Wardlow has to be the least popular competitor here (though he did get a few big pops, he's not nobody,) so his victory is probably the most interesting outcome, or at least that's my working theory. I'd have given it to Pretty Ricky or Keith Lee or Hobbs, but given Wardlow's other major contribution this evening, I'm intrigued by face Mr Mayhem. - But he ain't Ricky Stahks. I don't know what to make of the rumours that Stroke Daddy is keeping his schedule light to manage a lingering back injury (similar to the tragedy of Dalton Castle,) but what else could possibly be holding him back? - Can't say enough about Christian Cage's understated value add to anything he touches. Such a classically Christian play, too, to not be the veteran who's getting in their spots and looking like a demigod -- he's here to work, and keep things flowing, and everyone benefits from working with him. Jade Cargill(C) v Tay Conti for the TBS Championship (**1/2) - Kingfish! Jade as Jade! 'Who gives a damn about that Karate shit?!' - Tay is such an interesting wrestler, she's got the look and the expressions and judo is not so overdone that her style is quite refreshing. Her footwork is still a work in

progress, striking and holds are getting there. - But you gotta go with Jade. Gotta go with Jade. She's figuring it out rapidly, the upside is unlimited given where she is already and how much even modest improvements in ring and on mic would take her over the top. Adding a frog splash? Sure! MJF v CM Punk in a Dog Collar Match (****1/2) - Um. Yep! Crowd could've been clued in more on Miseria Cantare but way to set the mood. This was the match we were promised, and in terms of gimmick matches with the competitors literally tethered together, the dog collar seems like the clear winner, or at least this seems conclusively true when Punk is involved. - Bloody and brutal and honestly... at times a bit of a slog, could see this not being to everyone's tastes, but in terms of this story and these competitors, what else could've worked? A cage? No, this is better. The chains that bind, the blood to blind. Best match of Punk's return thus far. No notes in particular. MJF really might be worth all the money in the world.

Dr Britt Baker DMD (C) v Thunder Rosa for the AEW Women's Championship (**1/2) - Oh, why wasn't this better? Simplistic answer would be to trust the spurious reports that Rosa was injured this last week and they pushed through anyway for seventeen minutes. Mark answer would be that it felt like time for Rosa to go over and Britt to have her goons desert her (especially Jamie, who is ready for anything better,) but that wasn't the call being made. That these two women have had vastly better matches against each other is even more annoying, in the abstract. - Doesn't help that it was in this cooler spot. Actually, the worst part was the classic/entirely overdone spot of the face challenger getting the audience to count a pin to like, five while Paul Turner is inexplicably concerned with Rebel. Also the belt shot didn't take. Basically... undone by booking choices. Overbooked? underbooked? badly booked. Bryan Danielson v Jon Moxley (****1/2) - Bryan 'Oops, all bangers!' Danielson continues his streak of not being in AEW to do anything but have fantastic wars. It's not a five star match because it wasn't really... for anything? I mean, it brought Regal out to slap the piss out of both his boys and now they're some kind of mega powers, but in terms of outcomes, it didn't super matter who went over other than I guess technically Mox needed to win, so he did, and... suspense minimal as a result, but hey. It was a really really good match. You can scoff and say oh, yeah, but Dean Ambrose and Daniel Bryan fought before-- context is key. In this arena for these fans, this is Hart v Austin levels of important. - Let's assume Regal is sticking around and making the boys play nice. And put together a stable of killers with some young bloods. The AHFO (Andrade, Isiah Kassidy, Matt Hardy) v Sting, Darby Allin & Sammy Guevara in a Tornado Trios Match (***1/2) - I don't readily recall how Sammy joined up with Sting & Darbs, I'm sure it's fine, head canon is it has something to do with Andrade attempting to purchase services. Feel like the AHFO remains in a holding pattern until Jeffrey shows up, and ultimately Andrade's business association with Matt is another one of the strange barriers that exist mostly so Andrade isn't just a dominant main eventer. It's a slow burn with him whenever he shows up somewhere new, I suppose. Kind of appreciate that, much as it's difficult to shout people down that he's being misused or something... you gotta remember when he was wearing suspenders and a pimp hat in NXT. It's a whole journey thing. - So this match is for Andrade, for Sting to do something a man of his age needn't do, and basically to cool for the main event. In that respect it was a lot of fun but not my favourite match of the night by any stretch. Hangman Adam Page (C) v Adam Cole for the AEW World Championship (****) - Let's go Adam, Adam sucks. Adam battle 2k22. Adam Cole is not at this point in his AEW career world championship material, and Page has a long road left to travel, and so while theoretically possible to see Page get snookered, it would've been a wiiiiiild result. - Page really was the 'Other Adam' just a short few years ago when Cole left ROH. Now he's our anxious millennial cowboy champion, coming into his own as a tremendously well rounded performer and owning Glenn Jacobs on twitter. There's hope for us all. - I know I just said Cole isn't there yet, or there's something under-baked about his presentation as a catchphrase guy with a signature pose and an overly telegraphed finisher, but he's still a hell of a worker and this was a very good tilt.

[bored-mumma]

Steve Rogers - Smut Alphabet - NSFW

MASTERLIST

18+ only. Very sexual nature. Swearing. 

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

He’s the king of aftercare. He’ll get warm cloths and clean you up, will grab you a glass of water and massage any place you ask him. If there’s anything you need after sex Steve will be more than happy to do it for you. Especially on the days your legs feel like jelly. 

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Favourite body part of his is his arms. The way they can just pick you up and carry you, no matter your size. Or how they can pin your down against the bed when his face is in between your legs. 

Steves favourite body part of yours is your thighs. The way they move when you walk, how soft they are in his hands or the feeling of them wrapped around his waist. He can’t get enough of all of your body, but your thighs are just something else.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

Inside of you nearly every time. Thanks to the super serum he can’t have children anyway so there’s no pregnancy fear for you. Though it’s mostly about the feeling. Being buried deep inside of you and bringing you to your orgasm as well, so he can feel you clench around him, is a feeling he can’t describe. It’s pure heaven to him. Although some days he ends up cumming in your mouth instead, not being able to resist your lips around him and watching you swallow everything he gives. 

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

There’s nothing he wants more than to fuck you in the compounds gym. Seeing you work out, getting all sweaty in your tight gym clothes does crazy stuff to him. It got to the point he’ll no longer work out with you, finding it too difficult to concentrate. 

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Not very experienced at all. He’s only been with a couple women, all but one of them was more than 80 years ago. 

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

The “upstanding citizen” ironically.  You straddle Steve, wrapping your legs around his body (he keeps his knees unlocked and thighs spread slightly). He then stands and supports you in their arms. You can start on the bed and have them pick you up without disengaging. (Or for the truly bold, you can hop aboard from standing position!)

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Most of the time he’s pretty serious. His number one priority being getting you off as many times as possible. However, occasionally when you’re both in more relaxed, silly moods, Steve can crack jokes and make you laugh as well as make you feel great. 

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

He doesn’t really do much down there. Which is fine, you’re not fussed about that and he’s not fussed about yours either. 

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

No matter what position or what mood he’s in, sex between you both is very intimate. Eye contact, loving whispers, moaning in each others ears and hands linked together. Its an act that brings two people to one.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Not very often since you are always usually up for it but sometimes he can’t help but get himself off in the shower. His sex drive is pretty high and he knows sometimes after a pretty rough night you may need a few days to recover before you can go another round. Although masturbation isn’t his favourite thing to do, he’ll still do it on the days he doesn’t get laid.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

He’s a slight masochist, loving the pain he feels when you pull his hair hard or drag your nails down his back. He always loves a bit of orgasm control too. You riding him and getting him so close to cumming but as soon as you hear his moans getting louder, you stop all movements. He’ll get his revenge though and the next time you two have sex he’ll edge you with his tongue.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

In the safety of your shared apartment. He doesn’t care where in it and has taken you on every surface but he doesn’t like to do anything outside of your home. He’s got a reputation to keep up but not only that, the thought of someone else seeing you in an intimate position makes him crazy jealous. 

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

If you sit on his lap then your night is instantly sorted. Especially if you lightly rock your hips as you straddle him. He could be in the middle of the most important paperwork but if you do that then he’s gone from your loving boyfriend to just an animal. 

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Two of the biggest things he would never do is humiliation play or breath play. He loves and adores you too much to ever even consider humiliation play and breath play feels far too risky for him. Especially when you count in his super serum strength - one mistake and you’ll lose all breath. 

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

He can’t get enough of your mouth. You knelt on your knees before him, head bobbing up and down as he grips your hair. Torn between throwing his head back in ecstasy or keeping his eyes fixed on you. Its now to a point where he gets excited every time he sees your hair up in a ponytail since thats what you do before giving him a blowjob.

He also loves to give you oral back too. Feeling you writhe against his face as he uses his arms to hold you down in place, hearing you cry out his name as he holds back your orgasm for the third time. Its his happy place. 

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Usually pretty rough but not overly fast. His  strong thrusts are one that some may consider to be at a fast pace but since you know how fast he could get, it didn’t seem so to you. However on the occasion, he’ll go more slow, more sensual. Usually those nights consist of oral on you and some plan missionary, him going deep but slow and whispering how much he loves you. 

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

He’ll take whatever you give him! A good few hours of fucking at night time or just a quick ride in the shower before the day starts works for him. As long as you both get off, he’s not fussed. 

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

He’ll try basically anything you want to do. To him, one of the most important part of sex is making sure you have an orgasm (or a good few!) and if you want to try different ways of doing that, he’s usually game. He also feels very comfortable in talking to you about things he’s heard about and is interested in trying and again, most of the time you say yes to them. You both only have one very strict rule. Before trying out any new kinks of play things, you have a conversation about it beforehand. 

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Neither of you really know how long he can last since it’s usually you who has to tap out first. After three or four rounds lasting at least an hour each, you can’t even walk. Thankfully Steve's aftercare game is strong and takes care of everything for you. 

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

You own a couple of toys for when Steve is away from you on work. But when Steve found them he couldn’t help but bring them into the bedroom together. Especially ones that vibrate. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Not very often as he loves the feeling of you having a wave of pleasure beneath him but every once in a while he’ll be in the mood to make you suffer. Orgasm control as he eats you out. Tongue going up and down your body but missing all the places you wanted it the most. Fingers circling your clit but refusing to give as much stimulation as you wanted. Anything to get you begging for him.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

He’s not loud in volume but very loud in words. He’ll deny it but you’re certain he has a praise kink. Always whispering in your ear about what a good girl you are, how well you take him. He never stops talking/moaning and it turns him on to full extent when you do it back.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

He can’t even tell you the amount of time he’s looked at you during an Avengers conference , eyes going over your body which is wrapped in your work suit - an outfit he has fucked you in so many times before. Instead of paying attention, he’ll sit there and think of all the ways he’ll play with your body later. To the other Avengers, he’s Americas man in blue, someone who is just a soldier and can do no wrong. But you and him knew his mind is one of the filthiest you’ve ever known.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

A good 9in.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

His sex drive never goes down. He’s ready wherever, whenever you are. It’s usually you who initiates sex since its just easier that way. After four years together, Steve has never turned you down.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He’s out like a light! As soon as the two of you are finished, cleaned up and started to cuddle, you can hear his gentle snores. He doesn’t mean to do it and always tries to wait for you to sleep first but never actually manages to.

[celestialgaea]

1. I LOVE your writing! You're amazing! 2. If it's not too much trouble, could I request something for brotherhood Ezio - either fluff or smut (maybe a hybrid if such a thing exists?)

These requests really make my heart soft :,) It’s definitly not troublesome at all, darling! a smut/fluff is coming your way :)) enjoy reading! 

btw, I always had the concept in mind of Ezio being a nude model for a painter/paintress so I used it as inspiration for this request, I hope you like it!

Pairings: Brotherhood!Ezio x Reader

warnings: smut, fluff, mature content

summary: Ezio convinces you of using his nude body as reference for your painting and that’s where things start to get heated.

A sound of raging growls left your throat as it was the sixth time you scratched away the slender torso that was sketched upon the parchment. It was slender, too slender for it to be still considered human. Ironic. The Greek gods were inhuman, but you were unable to project the divine muscles that roamed in your thoughts onto the piece of dried lamb skin. You missed Florence, dearly, and since the first week that you had left the vivid city to live in the unknown town of Monteriggioni you thought that the quiet farms, where trees of oranges grew, would help revive the inspiration to paint a Magnum Opus but it only dried the river of colour in your head. You couldn’t compare Florence to a third rate town as Monteriggioni. You could still recall the smell of paint and the dusty marmer that stained the Florentin air of the market, and the sight of novices carrying their painting supplies as they were on their way to class. You missed how you used to visit churches, not to pray, but rather to admire the fresco’s. Now it was all gone. No inspiration and the few churches that existed in this village were sober and only consisted of a giant crucifix and a statue of Madonna holding her child.

bang bang. Someone knocked on the door of your atelier. With a dissatisfied grunt you threw the charcoal pencil on the ground and shoved your seat back with a strong force, causing an abrasive sound to be heard from outside the small building.

‘Who is there?’ You asked sharply as you walked towards the wooden door. You tried to regain your patience and freshened your cheeks, which was red of annoyment, by pressing your abnormally cold palms against them. 

‘It’s me, Ezio.’ His voice was unclear due to the door that seperated you, but it did not spoil the low rumble that was always present in his speech. You pressed your eyelids together rather harshly and groaned in regret. How shameful musn’t it be to shoot invisible daggers towards Ezio as just the thought of his intimidting gaze locked on your face after your scene of lost temper made you wish you hid instead of confronting him. You weren’t scared of him, you were scared of embaressment.

You opened the door to the sight of Ezio leaning against the doorframe, one eyebrow arched in question. 

‘I came to check up on you, ragazza. It sounded as if you were fighting off pirates in there.’ You felt how your face heated up against your will and you tried to laugh it of with a breathless snicker. ‘The only thing I was fighting with were my sketches,’ You stepped aside, exposing a part of your artist studio. It was not big, as it was perfect to fit in a few tables and art easels with canvasses of variating sizes, but it was practical enough to be able to craft in peace. But it seems that the serene peace wasn’t present anymore these past weeks.

‘Where are my manners, come in.’ With a faint smile he swiftly entered and closed the door. 

‘Lack of inspiration?’ He asked. You nodded. ‘Not only that, It is impossible to find any references to bodies as muscled as those of the Greek Gods. Monteriggioni isn’t filled with art as in Firenze, thus making it difficult for me to find those references.’ As you looked at him from the side, you saw how perfect his body posture was to be used as reference; It was flexible and broad, yet it was intimidating and yet not graceful enough to be that of a dancer. 

Ezio hummed in understanding. He was slightly proud that he still had the ability to make you blush, even in his forties, when he caught your eyes wandering through his clothing.  ‘Why don’t you use models like Leonardo does? You could ask him to lend some to you,’ You grinned. ‘Ezio, my dear. The only references to human bodies that Leonardo uses are either dug up from their grave or strangers with the most inhuman facial complexion. Leonardo is fascinated by the misshapen, not the divine.’ 

‘Well, if the ancient Greeks believed that women were the misshapen copies of men, then I confirm myself as being fascinated by the misshapen. My dear.’ He mocked. His lips curled into a sly smirk and he winked at you, but you merely scoffed playfully as you shook your head and walked towards the chaotic scene that played upon your desk; Scattered parchment with incomplete sketches, charcoal pencils and quills thrown all over the table and, at the moment, irrelevant attributes such as a skull and a terracotta bust of Bacchus -A marmer bust was way too expensive for the meager loan you had to live with-

‘Charmed.’ You said, not impressed. Maybe slightly impressed.

‘As I thought you would be,’ 

The open space of the studio behind you felt enclosed as the soft touch of Ezio’s breath caressed the nape of your neck. His eyes roamed over the table, observing every object -he even squatted down and stared into the dead eyes of Bacchus-, and trailed alongside the lines of your sketches with his middle and index finger pressed together, the two fingers levitating above the charcoal lines.

‘Why did you scratch them? It is beautiful. Well, I am not going to lie, it looks a bit...how should I word it?’ He mumbled. ‘Bad?’  ‘A bit out of proportion,’ He trailed alongside the torso with the same two fingers. ‘See,’ Ezio said. ‘The torso is a bit too long, and the muscles are too muscled.’

You scoffed, a small laugh plastered on your face. ‘Too muscly,’ You mumbled to yourself. ‘Ezio, I don’t know if you have noticed but I do not have any male models nor have I seen a man naked before. No, I mean, not that I am a virgin. But I just haven’t seen a naked man with the right size.’ Good Lord. Ezio grinned, not ashamed for the innapropriate phrase that kept resonating in his head, and locked eyes with you as he raised one eyebrow. You shivered. It was that one raised eyebrow that made his face so intimidating, so intense. ‘Not the right size, huh?’

‘You know what I mean, old man.’ He scoffed. His hand covered his breast and he pretended to be in pain. ‘You wound me with your words, bella.’ 

Oh Ezio. He was so entertaining. He was probably one of the very few reasons your stay in Monteriggioni will last for a very long time. Leaving him would make you feel empty. Ezio had a way of pulling women (and also men) towards him, chaining them with such a scorching desire that it would feel injust and even sinful to break the invisible attraction He brought those small moments of thrills and excitement with him whenever he just walked by making you want his attention to be focused on you and solely you.

‘I could send an apprentice of mine to model, but only if you’d like?’ ‘Are they quite muscled? I need a body that represents the gods and not 17 year old boys who are only interested in horses and girls.’ ‘No, judging by the statues I have seen in Florence they wouldn’t be a very great choice. And besides, I don’t think that they can stand still, naked, for a few hours while a beautiful lady has a clear view of their cazzo without, you know, the visuals showing their excitement.’

Your facial expressions showed slight disgust as you were imagining their erect member and face, reddened with shame, while they were posing as one of the Greek deities. Well, to be fair, you couldn’t expect less. They were boys with raging hormones, and you were a young adolescent that was not able to conceil her raging hormones from experienced and charming men. Or shortly said; Ezio. 

Speak of the devil. 

Ezio noticed the disgust on your face and emitted a low and rumbling snicker as he patted your back, the impact of his force causing your shoulder to be shoved forwards. ‘Keep your sneaky little mind away from my apprentices private parts will you?’

‘Ezio!’ You hit his arm, your mouth open and pretending to be shocked by his remark, but you couldn’t help but curl your mouth into a smile. ‘Back to our previous topic,’ You said, recovering from what just had happened. ‘I really need to find a male model for my project, Ezio.’  Ezio happened to show empathy with you as he began taking off his boots. 

‘Ezio, what in heaven are you doing? Put those back on! Ezio what are you thinking?’ Nailed to the floor you looked at ezio who was only wearing his trousers and chemise, its string loosened and showing the flesh upon his chest, and had his hands on the sides of the edge of his pants, ready to take them of and show the world what momma gave him. ‘I am sacrificing my pride for the sake of your painting.’

Your eyes widened. ‘Would you do that for me? Really?’ ‘Bella, what does it look like I am doing?’ He grinned, taking off the rest of his clothing as you had turned around to reorganize your table and prepared the small podium on which Ezio had to model.

‘And besides, what did you mean with Sacrificing your pride?’ You heard Ezio sigh while you sharpened your charcoal pencils. ‘All these men on Classical paintings have a...well, you know, a small penis, so you will have to reduce mine...a lot.’ You laughed, placing the pencils on the table. ‘Oh, Ezio, I don’t really think it will be necessary.’ You said teasingly. You sat down behind the desk when you heard his voice floating around your ears as he walked towards the small podium, every inch of his skin exposed for you and only you. ‘Prego?’ 

It was difficult to keep your gaze off his private part. It was just...hanging there,  minding its bussiness. It was as if your insulting remark about his member just spat back at you with double as much spit. You managed to clear your throat in a subtle way without choking on your saliva. ‘You’ll have to lay down.’ You said. You stood up to grasp a few layers of cloth to cover the small stage to save Ezio’s behind a bit from the harsh ground. It felt weird to be so near him; He was naked and you were clothed. 

You quickly smoothened the cloth onto the stage, fixating your disorientated eyes on it, and walked, almost ran, with rapid speed back to your desk.

It still felt like a fever dream. You were able to get the most skilled murderer fully naked in front of you, without asking once. As it felt surreal, it simutaniously felt forbidden too. He was way older, a teacher of a kind, how many women wouldn’t have killed for this chance. For seeing Ezio naked, almost vulnurable without his armour. Vulnurable for attack as told by the white lining of the remaining scars on his body. 

‘Lay down and lean on your elbows,’ And so he did. ‘Put one knee up. No the other knee, Ezio. Not so high, go a bit lower. Not that low. Yes, stay like that!’ Ezio grinned softly. ‘You are very demanding, aren’t you bella?’ ‘You iniated on being my model, Ezio,  so do as I say.’  Ezio raised an eyebrow as he tilted his head, sucking air through his teeth, sounding similar to scorching metal in cold water. ‘My apologies, maestro.’ 

His body was beautiful. Not too brawny and not fat. Broad muscles showing through his skin and simultaneously a layer of soft fat hugged around his torso, but it didn’t hang nor did it seem loose, It was tight and gave Ezio’s body comfortable for burning cuddles. 

You gave a last look at Ezio’s position, observing it, but something felt wrong. It felt plain, flat. It didn’t have your desired dimentions. 

‘Ezio,’ He turned his head towards you. ‘Could you touch the ground with your left hand and move your torso towards your lifted knee. Let your right arm rest upon that raised knee, yes, just like that.’ It was better. More rounded than flat. And the most beautiful of all was how above his pubic hair, which was trimmed, small layers of skin bundled upon each other, giving more dimention to his body.

You picked up the stylus - a metal pen- with satisfaction and began carving lines onto the parchment. Those lines slowly became basic shapes until more shade and more complexity was added to them. Ezio’s eyes kept sailing from around the room to your concentrated face. It must be intimidating for him whenever it took only fractions of seconds before you raised your eyes to look at him every single time. And every time he wondered how many seconds it would last this time before you watched him again. 

‘Do you do this a lot? Using nude models?’ Ezio asked. You stood halt in your drawing to look up at him. ‘Well, No. Back in Firenze I was too ashamed to ask for one. If the word would spread about a women making a carreer out of brush strokes instead of a man stroking her to let her bear him a son, they’d burn my paintings. And they may burn my paintings, but i’ll still use the ashes to draw a big cazzo on the front door of their homes.’  You said, slightly flinching at the thought of your face being tortured by the sweltering flames that are devouring your art works. Ezio laughed. His wide-opened mouth created deep curving lines next to it, sparkling eyes squinting at you. 

How did he do it? How was he capable of making you desire him with just a smile. A smile of confidence. A smile of which hundreds of women fell for. Let alone how his body would call for company as melancholy and charm hung like a perfume around him. 

‘Eccezionale,’ He grinned in a breath. ‘And in Monteriggioni?’ ‘The average male in this village is almost expired. They’re at least fifthy.’ 

‘You don’t older men?’ He asked teasingly. Yes you did, especially him. ‘There is a difference between older and old. Old men are almost expired. Older men, on the other hand, are more matured and experienced.’ 

With a last look at the sketch you laid down the stylus and motioned for Ezio to move again. You quickly added some shadows around the sillhouette around the body as you felt Ezio stand behind you. 

‘And what is “older” to you?’  ‘You ask a lot of Questions, Ezio. Aren’t you  Il mentore?’ His broad shoulders casted a shadow on your cheek that was turned to his side. ‘I’m curious. Isn’t a man allowed to ask questions? Especially if he’s as expired as me?’ You scoffed.

‘Ezio, you are not expired. You aren’t old.’

‘I’ll be turning fifthy in five years.’

‘That’s still ages away from now.’

‘Time flies, bella.’

‘Well, mentore, I don’t perceive you as old. In fact, you are mature and very sharp.’ You stole a quick glance of his private part before letting your gaze wander towards the floor. How was he able to keep himself so tame when the tension was creating a heated knot in your lower stomach? The knot kept contracting with every breath from Ezio’s soft lips that brushed against your neck and the radiating heat from his naked body caused by the Florentine sun that tortured his skin underneath the layers of his heavy assassin robes. 

You turned around, trapped in between the wooden desk and Ezio’s nudeness, and placed a hand on his bicep. ‘How aren’t you burned yet underneath all those layers of clothing.’ Your eyes locked with his. ‘I have very thick skin,’ He palmed your hand in his and lead it down his muscular arm, rubbing against its hot skin, let it follow the curves of his muscles back up to his chest. You didn’t even need to glance down to see that his good old friend has “awakened”. 

Ezio’s hand caressed your collarbone and slid down, only to stop at the cleavage of your gown. With his index finger he easily pulled the piece of fabric away from your chest, exposing your breasts that were visible through the thin night gown. 

He hummed in satisfaction.

Ezio disposed you of your clothes in a slow and agonizing manner until your naked body was hugged by the warm air that filled the art studio. His eyes, filled with passionate lust, wandered over your whole body, absorbing every inch of naked skin.  Ezio pressed his body close to you and you felt how his manhood, swollen with blood, was pressed against your stomach. Ezio kissed your lips. His lips covering your upper lip as you softly nibbled on his bottom lip. His tongue wetted the entrance of your mouth before the warmth of his saliva got mixed with yours. Ezio’s hands roamed your whole body, he wanted to take all of you, touch all of you, feel every piece of your hot skin lingering against his. His hands trailed back to your upper thighs and rubbed them as his fingers curled to grip the soft flesh of it. His warm hands felt rough and experienced against your inner thighs, it felt like everything that desire is. 

Ezio pulled your legs around his waist and carried you the the small improvised podium of layered blankets as his one hand held the fold at the backside of your knee and the other was pressed against your lower back. 

You couldn’t describe how overwhelmed you where with all these sensory feelings. Your contracting stomach, heating core and tickling neck, caused by Ezio’s lips and teasing nips, made you close your eyes and press your legs tighter around his torso. You pressed yourself against Ezio while you yearned for his body engulfing yours in this passionate warmth as Ezio’s hot breaths left humid spots on your neck. 

His lips kissed your collarbone and so he went down with smouldering and slow kisses down to the curve in between the mounds of your breasts. His hand cupped your breast and massaged your nipple with his thumb as his mouth place kisses on the side of your other breast before tracing to your nipple and holding it between his lips. 

your breathing became irregular, some were sharp and some were pitched. Your hands took a grip on Ezio’s broad back and you couldn’t help but groan in a breath. His body slid down on yours until he stopped above your pubic bone, a trail of saliva covered your torso. Ezio placed your legs on his shoulders, holding onto your thighs, and he breathed so softly against your humid entrance. 

It felt tingly and increased your need for him to touch you. Ezio’s fingers caressed your labia as his hot and humid tongue slid up your crease. Your breath hitched. His lips covered your clit, his beard tickling your inner thighs, kissing it before taking it between his lips and sucking on it. You groaned. Your clit was pusling and you felt how your entrance was filled with so much ecstasy. Ezio kept licking, nibbling and just making you feel on cloud nine until you felt how tension was layering and building up in your core and you felt how it was almost going to explode in bright colours of the sweet relieve. But Ezio stopped before you could taste that pure sweetness and how much you disliked it, the builded up tension slowly died down.

‘Why did you stop?’ You asked defeatedly. Ezio smirked. ‘I want us to finish together,’ You were surprised. ‘Because I can’t wait any longer to be inside of you.’  Ezio slid back up so his lips could reach your mouth again. You enveloped your leg around his waist and Ezio gripped the fold of your knee, slowly pressing your thigh against your chest. 

He groaned as the tip of his manhood entered slowly. He stopped after a few inches of his manhood had entered so you’d adapt to his lenght and width and began pumping slowly before he’d let his whole penis enter inside of you inch by inch. He filled you so good.

Ezio began pumping in and out between your slick walls and went rougher. The sweetness and lust of the moment made both of your groan in synch. But the more he motioned inside of you, the more your groans became heartfelt moans. You grabbed ezio’s back as you bit on his shoulder. With every push and every thrust of his body against yours the sinful sounds of hitting skin was like background music for the hymn of your moans. Ezio grabbed your thigh and pushed himself deeper, which you doubt was still possible, and the poor man was lost in deep groans. He kept you close to him as he filled you until the building up layers made you speed up, shortening the silence between every clap of skin. ‘Ezio,’ You whispered in lost sweetness. The more tension that build up, the more the yearning for that sweet relieve became. ‘(Y/N),’ He groaned in your ear, huskily. 

Only a few strokes and you were there, both of you. Oh, sweet Lord, how you were losing your mind in a blurr of white light. Just those few last strokes and you’d explode. You were almost there...almost...and ‘Ezio!’ The ball of squeezed tension exploded into a firework of sweetness and fire. Ezio came inside of you with squeezed eyes and a groan before he let himself relax onto you. Your chests were elevating in an irregular rythm. 

‘Mio Dio,’ You whispered in amazement. Ezio slid out of you and took the excess length of the cloth to cover both of you.

‘So when are you free to come back? To finish the painting?’ 

‘Very soon, Bella, very soon.’

[dwellordream]

“...Where the show had sensibly added yurts and merely forgot to have any way to move them, Martin has the Dothraki live in “palaces of woven grass” (AGoT, 83) which I assume the show did not replicate because the moment someone described doing that everyone realized what a bad idea it was and moved on to something more sensible like a yurt covered in leather. Grass and reeds, of course, can be woven. However, as anyone who has done so will tell you, the idea of trying to weave what is essentially a grass basket the size of a tent in a single day is not an enviable – or remotely possible – task.

Trying to move such a giant grass basket without it coming apart or developing tears and gaps is hardly better. And at the end, a woven-grass structure wouldn’t even really be particularly good at controlling temperature, which is its entire purpose! It is rather ironic, given that unlike the show’s Dothraki, Martin’s Dothraki do seem to use at least some carts, because Viserys is forced to ride in one (AGoT, 323) and so could bring yurts with them. They just don’t.

More to the point, it is very clear that Martin imagines the Dothraki subsistence system to consist almost entirely of horses. The Dothraki ride horses, they eat horses, they drink fermented mare’s milk. The Dothraki – as in the show – are presented as eating almost entirely horsemeat. They eat horsemeat at the wedding (AGoT, 84), and Daenerys’ attendants are surprised that she asks for any kind of meat other than horse (AGoT, 129), although Daenerys herself seems to have access to a more agrarian diet (AGoT, 198) and other characters observe that the Dothraki prefer horsemeat to anything else (AGoT, 272). There is no mention of herds of anything except people and horses moving with the khalasaar.

There is also no sense that the Dothraki are hunting big game like one would in the Great Plains; Drogo kills a hrakkar – a sort of lion, apparently – as a display of bravery (AGoT, 495) but there is nothing that would suggest the kind of bison-based subsistence system (at the very least, if that was the system, Daenerys would be well aware of it, because the camp would be awash in bison-products). I found no references to larger game and the Wiki only offers, “packs of wild dogs, herds of free-ranging horses, and rare hrakkar” which is, needless to say, not enough to make up for the absence of large herds of bison, especially for trying to feed Drogo’s camp of perhaps a hundred thousand people (or more!).

They clearly do not herd sheep. This becomes painfully obvious with the raid on the Lhazareen village. The Dothraki – Khal Ogo’s men – in raiding a sedentary pastoralist settlement, kill all of the sheep and leave them to rot. Dany sees them “thousands of them, black with flies, arrow shafts bristling from each carcass” and only knows that this isn’t Drogo’s work because he would have killed the shepherds first (AGoT, 555). And we are told that the people there “the Dothraki called them haesh rakhi, the Lamb Men….Khal Drogo said they belong south of the river bend. The grass of the Dothraki sea was not meant for sheep” (AGoT, 556).

We are told that the Dothraki have “vast herds” but this can only mean herds of horses, given that they apparently take offense at any other animal being grazed on the Dothraki and look down at shepherds in general (AGoT, 83). To be clear, for a nomadic people moving over vast grassland to spurn the opportunity to capture vast herds of sheep would be extraordinarily stupid. At the very least, thousands of sheep are valuable trade goods that can literally walk themselves to the point of sale (we’ll get to this idea that the Dothraki also don’t understand commerce a little later, but it is also intense rubbish; horse nomads in both the New World and the Old understood trade networks quite well and utilized them adroitly). But more broadly, as I hope we’ve laid out, sheep are extremely valuable for subsistence in Steppe terrain.

But Martin does not even do horse-string logistics right. While Daenerys eats cheese (AGoT, 198), we never hear of the Dothraki doing so. The Dothraki do have an equivalent to qumis, but no qulut, no yogurt. Even the frankly badass bit about drinking the horse’s blood as a source of nourishment does not appear. The horses themselves are also wrong. First, Daenerys and Drogo each have one horse they use, seemingly to the exclusion of all others. If you have been reading this long, you know that is nonsense: they ought to both (and Jorah too, if he intends to keep up) be shifting between multiple horses to avoid riding any of them into the ground. Moreover, Martin has imported a European custom about horses – that men ride stallions and women ride mares – into a context where it makes no sense. Drogo’s horse is clearly noted as a red stallion (AGoT, 88) while Daenerys’ horse is a silver filly (AGoT, 87). But of course the logistics of Steppe raiding revolves around mares; in trying to give Drogo the ultimate manly-man horse, he has actually given him the equivalent of a broken down beater – a horse only able to fulfill a slim parts of its role.

Finally, the group size here is wildly off. For comparison, Timothy May estimates that, in 1206, when Temujin he took the name Chinggis Khan and thus became the Great Khan, ruling the entire eastern half of the Eurasian Steppe, that the Mongol army “probably numbered less than a hundred thousand men” (May, The Mongols, (2019), 43), though by that point his army included not merely Mongols, but other ethnically distinct groups of steppe nomads, Merkits, Naimans, Keraites, Uyghurs and the Tatars (the last of which Chinggis had essentially exterminated – next time, we’ll get to the nonsense of the Dothraki being a single ethnic group).

That is, to be clear, compared to the armies of sedentary empires of similar size (which is to say, huge) a fairly small number! We’re going to come back to this next week, but the strength of Steppe nomads was never in numbers. Pastoralism is a low density subsistence strategy, so the steppe nomads were almost always outnumbered by their sedentary opponents (Chinggis himself overcomes this problem by folding sedentary armies into his own, giving him agrarian numbers, backed by the fearsome fighting skills of his steppe nomads).

Khal Drogo’s khalasaar, which moves as a single unit, supposedly has 40,000 riders (AGoT, 325-6); Drogo is perhaps the strongest Khal, but still only one of many. With 40,000 riders, we have to imagine an entire khalasaar of at least 120,000 Dothraki (plus all the slaves they seem to have – put a pin in that for later; also that number is a low-ball because violent mortality is clearly very high among the Dothraki, which would increase the proportion of women and children) and probably something like 300,000 horses. At least. Of course no grassland could support those numbers without herds of sheep or other cattle. As noted above, Isenberg’s figures suggest much lower density in the absence of herding – just under 70,000 nomadic Native Americans on the Great Plains in 1780 (and less than 40,000 in 1877), including women and children! But more to the point, no assemblage of animals and people that large could stay together for any length of time without depleting the grass stocks.

Even if we ignore that problem and even if we assume that the Dothraki have Mongol-style pastoral logistics to enable higher population density on the Dothraki Sea, my sense is that the numbers still don’t work. Even before Drogo dies, we meet quite a few other independent Khals with their on khalasaars – Moro, Jommo, Ogo, Zekko and Motho at least and it is implied that there are more. Drogo’s numbers suggests he should be roughly at the stage Chinggis Khan was in 1201 or so – with Chinggis controlling roughly half of the Mongolian Steppe, and his old friend and rival Jamukha the other half. But Khal Drogo has evidently at least a half-dozen rivals, probably more. It is hard to say with any certainty, but the numbers generally seem too high. Having that entire group concentrated, moving together for at least nine months (long enough for Daenerys to become pregnant and give birth) would be simply impossible inside of a grazing-based subsistence system, sheep or no sheep.

In short, no part of this subsistence system works, either from a North American or a Eurasian perspective. This isn’t actually much of a surprise. Martin has been pretty clear that he doesn’t like the kind of history we’re doing here. As he states: I am not looking for academic tomes about changing patterns of land use, but anecdotal history rich in details of battles, betrayals, love affairs, murders, and similar juicy stuff.

That’s an odd position for an author who critiques other authors for being insufficiently clear about their characters’ tax policy (what does he think they are taxing, other than agricultural land use?). Now, I won’t begrudge anyone their pleasure reading, whatever it may be. But what I hope the proceeding analysis has already made clear is that it simply isn’t possible to say any fictional culture is ‘an amalgam’ of a historical culture if you haven’t even bothered to understand how that culture functions. And it should also be very clear at this point that George R. R. Martin does not have a firm grasp on how any of these cultures function.”

- Bret Devereaux, “That Dothraki Horde, Part II: Subsistence on the Hoof.”

[razorblade180]

Interdimensional Moms: Bonus

Part 4 here<-

After many tears and tissue boxes, all members of team RWBY had finally stopped crying. Blake was the best off with her eyes a little red while Ruby was the complete opposite. The girl’s face was still rather red and her eyes were puffy. She hadn’t even completely stopped sniffling yet; much like tear marked partner. Yang on the other hand rested her head on the table. She had cried hard enough to giver herself a minor headache. She was completely drained.

Yang:Ugh, this blows! I thought this was gonna be a fun learning experience.

Blake:We definitely learned. It just so happens we had to poke at some.... extremely sensitive topics.

Weiss:I’m all for looking inward and self reflection but I’ve had my fill.

Ruby:Same. Should’ve kept the summary light.

Yang:No, I’m glad you got that off your chest. We just need a way to lighten the mood.

Blake:.....I kicked Weiss’s butt in a tournament.

RWY:......What?

Blake:During the time spent training for Salem, another tournament was held between the schools. It had team matches and singles. I kicked Weiss’s butt in my fourth round. It was a good day.

Weiss:How is that lightening mood!?

Blake:Listen, it was a big deal! I never thought I was gonna win the whole tournament but I really wanted to beat you. I love you but your head gets a little big when you’re on a roll for too long; plus I just really didn’t want to lose. I always felt a bit of rivalry between us.

Yang:Hehe, is that you’re way of saying “It would look bad to lose to a Schnee?”

Blake:Well it would!

Ruby:Hehehe.

Yang:Wait, does that mean we went back to school?

Blake:Yeah. It was pretty comforting. There was definitely a lot left to learn.

Yang:Weird. School kinda faded into the background.

Ruby:I went back to school. We all did actually. It was fast tracked by roughly a year but it was fun. We all got to pose in caps and gowns.

Weiss:Damn! I should’ve went back just for that. Unfortunately I was busy making rent and learning how to properly preheat a oven.

Yang:It’s like two buttons.

Weiss:Gas stove, and six years out of date.

Yang:Awww, you had to learn the hard way. I’m surprised and thankful you never left the gas on.

Weiss:There’s an alarm for that. Also I’m not irresponsible! Anyways, I mentioned similar tournaments earlier. I didn’t participate much but enough old videos of me in them were enough for to really light a fire under my kids. For awhile I was a bit concerned that they were just following a trend but they really love it. They used to always go around playing like knights when they were tiny.

Ruby:Carmine was a little different. She definitely always tried doing things I could but nothing got the girl jumping like seeing Yang’s horses or new ballet shoes. There wasn’t a morning when I didn’t hear a vase fall over or seeing her spin like a top. Carmine still hums some old routines when she isn’t paying attention.

Yang:Not too many memories of Yujin when she was pint size. But I do remember that wild child always loved using my bandannas for everything! Napkins, capes, ropes; anything but an actual bandanna. I used to get a bit upset with the napkin one but she’d always look at me with her big eyes and crazy hair. I never stayed mad.

Weiss:Softie.

Yang:She was like a pudgy puff ball! Fat cheeks and wholesome smiles. Ah! So adorable!

Weiss:I used to always have at least one of my kids on my hip when I was out and about. I think the media has a magazine amount of pictures of me at the park kissing my babies. Summer liked tummy rubs. She’d never go to sleep without one. Some nights I’d sing too but start to doze off so Jaune would have to take over.

Yang:*smiles* Speaking of Jaune.....

Ruby:No.

Yang:You don’t even know what I was-

Ruby:Were you about to suggest we compare our Jaune’s in the bedroom?

Yang:*red*......Well not just the bedroom! What’s the harm!? I just wanna know if he’s consistent across the board. No need to get detailed.

Weiss:You really never change no matter the world.

Yang:Can’t change greatness. It shows in any form!

Blake:He’s pretty compliant and accommodating. The benefits of being his first when I had prior knowledge I suppose.

Ruby:Don’t answer!

Blake:Why not? I’m comfortable with it.

Yang:Don’t listen to those two Blake. They’re just a bit more embarrassed since Jaune has literally been their one and only.

Blake:Huh, I never thought about it like that. Jaune would’ve been the first person you two opened up to on such a level; especially Weiss.

Yang:That’s still hilarious. All the protesting and somehow you found yourself stripping for the guy.

Weiss:Shut up! I already know! It was....I.... *blushing* emotions ran really high.

Ruby:An entire mental rollercoaster of thoughts and firsts happening all at once. Anxiety was high.

Yang:Heh, so you could say that Jaune Arc-

RW:Got through our walls. Hardy har har.

Yang:Shit, I am the same in every universe. Well I don’t have any reservations about it! *grinning* He makes me feel special every time!

Blake:Bottom.

Yang:I’m ignoring you.🎶

Ruby:Hehe, sounds about right. He...might make me feel a bit special as well.

Blake:Switch.

Ruby:How can you just guess off of that!?

Blake:It’s a gift.

Weiss:......

Blake:*smiling*

Weiss:Leave me alone.

Blake:I don’t know what has you embarrassed. You told us you’ve slept with everyone here except Ruby! I knew you were repressed but geez.

Weiss:For your information it wasn’t my idea! It was yours!

Blake:Not surprising. Let’s switch the topic. How is this other child of mine? Can’t picture me having a daughter.

Weiss:Veronica is very sensitive. Even if she tries to act like she isn’t. One time when she was tiny, a soccer ball hit her straight in the face and she sprung up saying “I’m fine!” Then you took her behind the bleachers to patch her up; tears all on her face. It both breaks my heart and very adorable to see her act fine while her ears are folded back.

Ruby:Your other son Kovu was a bit of cry baby. Partly my fault. Carmine kept beating him up and making fun of him.

Blake:What!?

Yang:Ha! Wait, that’s my kid too. How the heck!? Are you telling me you raised the rowdy child and I got the baby?

Ruby:Yang you’re a baby. I’m like twice as rowdy compared to you. A nevermore got worked day one at school.

Weiss:She has a point. You cry the most out of any of us.

Yang:Wha- that not- how....shut up! *pouts* I’m not that touchy.

Ruby:Kovu is a sweetie and not a cry baby. Carmine is just a little mean when she tries to care about others. She beat him up in an attempt to make Kovu give up dreaming about being a huntsman. That way he wouldn’t be in such a dangerous job. Reasonable logic but you know, a little over the top. Almost broke his arm. Boy did I chew her out. All it did was make him want to try harder.

Yang:Fantastic. I shouldn’t expect less from my own blood. I bet Yujin would like him. Which reminds me, anybody have kids in relationships?

RWB:We’re working on it.

The three women paused briefly before laughing at their meddling. Yang could only admire and fear her friends.

Yang:Should I be scared for your children?

Blake:Lucas needs someone to break up the routine in his life. I’m not saying he has to date her, but it would put a smile on my face.

Ruby:Carmine takes after me, not really thinking about stuff like relationships much. However, that doesn’t mean she doesn’t at all. Carmine tries her best to not act like she’s a teenaged girl with teenage wishes. But everyone sees right through it. I’m fine with her not being in one but I would like if she acknowledged that it’s okay to just....ugh, be normal! Why can nobody have normal knees in my life!?

Weiss:Nick likes Valerie who tries to deny she likes him by liking Summer, who doesn’t like her; while Veronica crushes on Nick who obviously has conflicting feelings.

RBY.....

Yang:Why is it always complicated with you?

Weiss:How is this my fau- okay it is a little bit.

Blake:Where do you stand?

Weiss:I think Valerie would be lovely for him.

Yang:What’s wrong with my baby girl!?

Blake:Yeah!?

Weiss:One, not yours. Two, have you met who I’m married to? Can’t really say he’s wasting his efforts. Though I wouldn’t be upset with Veronica. I think those two might be good for each other.

Blake:Any other bombshells people got?

Ruby:......

Ruby:Ilia is happily married.*sips coffee*

Blake:Oh that’s wonderful! I’m glad she found a loving wi-

Ruby:*smirks* To Sun.

Blake:....*stands up* I need, champagne!

A bottle of champagne poofs into existence with several glasses. Blake immediately pours everyone a glass before raising hers into the sky.

Blake:Ruby Rose, today you’ve erased guilt upon my conscious. I’m happy there’s one world where it seems all of my good exes get over me.

Ruby:Are the Ilia and Sun where you’re from miserable like Yang!?

Blake:No, but they kinda fumble in actually going for relationships. It just always makes me feel a little bad.

Yang:You can technically count two worlds. I’m fine, Ilia is dating a pretty secretary, and your one evil ex is now raising a morally good family.

Blake:You’re right! This calls for a double toast! To alternate universes! *puts glass down*

Weiss:Haha, aren’t you gonna drink it!?

Blake:No I’m still recovering; but how could I pass up the opportunity!? Man I wish I could attend that wedding! I don’t know if I’d be a bridesmaid or the best man!

Yang:You’re just gonna steal Neptune’s thunder like that?

Blake:Hey, Sun and I have taken bullets for each other and stab wounds. I think I deserve to be a little greedy and say I ride or die for that man just a little harder than Neptune.

Ruby:Geeeeeez Blake! Haha, I didn’t even tell you about the baby.

Blake:*visble excitement* Excuse me!?

RWY:*raises glass* Cheers.

Blake:CHEERS! What’s he like!?

xxxxx

Aero:AAAACHOOOO!

Carmine:Eugh! Cover your mouth! I don’t need to get sick.

Aero:Damn! What happened to uh I don’t know, “bless you!?”

Carmine:*pulls out tissues* Happy?

Aero:Where...why are those in you book bag?

Carmine:It’s flu season.

Aero:....I can’t tell if you’re the coolest person around or just a second mother.

Carmine:I can be both. My mom is arguably both but don’t tell her that. It’ll make her month and she’ll hug me too tight.

Aero:Bitch, you love hugs. Stop being difficult.

Carmine:Mmmm nah.

Aero:I feel bad for your mom.

Carmine:I feel bad for yours.

Aero:Hop off. You’re so childish.

Carmine:And yet you love me.

Aero:*red* In your dreams!

Carmine:It would make your day if I dreamed about you,wouldn’t it?

Aero:I hope you dream of spiders.

Carmine:We do not joke about that! *grabs him* Aero I will beat you up if I dream of them tonight! That’s just mean!

Aero:Stop crying ya baby. I could’ve said they were- ow!

Sun:*hitting him* Shut up and just kiss something! We’re trying to watch a game.

Aero and Carmine:We don’t like each other!

Jaune:With all do respect, that’s a lie. But please by all means Aero, continue not touching my daughter if you know what’s best for you. I don’t wanna have to fight you and your parents right afterwards.

Sun:Ilia would kill you.

Jaune:Yeah! That’s why I don’t want the fight! Much like Ruby, she’s short and terrifying. Her size holds the rage.

Ilia:*peeks in* Who’s talking shit?

JASC:Nobody, we love you!

Ilia:.....Got my eyes on you four. *holds Garnet up* and this one; the most well behaved in this bunch even with no nap.

Garnet:*fussy grumbling* I’m a ball of rage!

Ilia:You wanna nap?

Garnet:Yes!!!

Ilia:See, behaved. *walks away* don’t make me come back out here.

Carmine:....So do you like me because your mother is also imposing?

Aero:This is it, my evil origin story. It begins today.

xxxxx

Ruby:I admire his patience.

[omg-im-such-a-masochist]

BIRTHDAY SURPRISE

@ziasaph

Prompt: When Roman finds an note with an address from Y/N he will find himself with a “new woman” for his birthday night

Word count: Long-ish

Pairing: Roman Reigns x Reader

Warnings: +18, smut(implied),roleplay,sexual fantasy.

Notes: So this is my first POV fanfic(please let me know if I did a good job?) I was listening to one of my favorite big band bands (Devil Doll) and got inspired for this story. Y’all know the drill loves,sorry for misspellings,english isn’t my first language (bla bla bla),check out my other stories if you’d like to(it would make your girl here very happy 😊) and if you’re comfortable with it,please let me know what you think? Some feedback is always welcomed and appreciated ❤️You can check out my other stories typing ‘masochist writes’ on the search bar on my page and my newest story as a fixed post.Okay,now let’s get to the fun part,shall we? Hope you’ll enjoy 😉

Y/N’s POV

“What if he doesn’t like it?”

“Y/N,for the 6th time.... RELAX woman! You look like a bombshell, like a living breathing wet dream. I bet with you, he’s gonna get so turned on that he’s not going to even be able to wait ‘til you two get home!”

I couldn’t help but laugh at Cecile’s comment while she helped me finish my hair.

“I just hope you’re right Cece...the last thing that I want is to make a total fool out of myself...”

“And that will NOT happen Y/N.. I mean look at you! You’re every men’s wet dirty dream brought to life!Even I’m getting a boner, and I don’t even have a dick!”

We both laughed “Seriously,you look amazing,he’s not gonna be able to believe that this” She points at my figure up and down “Is all his” She winked at me through the mirror.

“Thank you for helping me with all this Cece”

“You’re welcome love!You know I’ll do anything for you...Now you just wait here, I’m gonna get your shoes really quick.”

Once I was left alone inside the little vintage dress room I admired my figure on the big mirror. My hair was perfectly done in beautiful vintage hairstyle,with soft brushed curls,that made my hair look shorter than it was,leaving my neck and collarbone at exposure. My makeup consisted in soft foxy eyes and a deep red lip. My lingerie was hand picked to flatter not only the complexion of my skin but also my body curves. The nude silk stockings gave to my legs a beautiful sheer glow,the midnight blue set (panties,bra and garter belt) were beautifully detailed with black lace.The bra size complemented my breasts perfectly,neither adding or retrieving volume but highlighting they’re natural size and shape.The panties molded my hips and ass fitting every curve like a glove.The garter belt was marking my waist at a very feminine sensual way,everything was paired up with a thin black silk cover-up and a black tule Louboutin scarpin.

I was beginning to feel confident,until Cecile entered the dressing room and said

“Y/N, he’s here!” With an excited smile on her face.

“Oh my God...Cece, I don’t wanna do this anymore.”

“Oh shut up!Here put your shoes and your cover-up on” I reluctantly did

“Now the last and most important detail” She said “Perfume!” And sprayed on the very expensive luxurious scent all over my body.

“I’m so proud of my creation!” She sighed and I laughed as she looked me up and down. “Now you go out there and get him tigress” She devilishly smiles

Roman’s POV

I arrived at the address Y/N left on her note with a curious look on my face. The place was elegant and looked like something retrieved from a 40’s Parisian movie. ‘Le Noir’ was written with classy black cursive letters that were placed upon a blood red background.

*Why would she bring me here?* was the only thing roaming my mind. I approached the door,that was soon opened by a short blond girl with a very thick French accent.

“Bonsoir,Mr.Reigns. Please come in.”

The place was lit only in dim lights,but I could tell that everything here was not only extremely elegant but also decorated to give an erotic forbidden feel to it.Like you know you’re not supposed to be there.

“Je m’appelle Cecile” She offered me a hand shake.

“I’m Roman”

“Oh, I’m aware of who you are Monsieur Reigns...”

“And what do you mean by that?” I asked with a curious voice

“Excusez-moi. I’ll be right back. Please make yourself comfortable”

She vanished through the red curtains before I could ask anything else.

There was only one chair in front of the stage,so I placed myself on it. As the minutes passed by I started to grow more and more nervous so I took my phone out of my jeans back pocket so I could text Y/N when suddenly everything went dark.

*What the fuck? Oh great! The power had t-* my thoughts were cut off by a low sensual big band tune and the sound of heels approaching the stage.

Y/N’s POV

The music started and that was my lead, I slowly made my way towards the stage,and the lights were slowly turning up. *Oh God, I really hope I don’t fuck this up!* I thought as I were slowly beginning to see that beautiful face of his.

Roman’s POV

The heels stopped and the lights were slowly turning up. I saw a woman at the center stage and I could smell her perfume from were I was sitted, it was a very sensual, erotic scent that I could tell was very expensive. Nothing sweet innocent smelling..but sexy,flirtatious and dangerous. As my eyes were getting used to the new lighting, I could see her features slowly revealing itself to me.

High heels,silk nude stockings that made her legs look pleasantly touchable,midnight blue panties that hugged her hips in a very malicious way, the garter belt accentuated her waist making a sinful contrast with her round delicious hips, her bra seemed to be designed to make a man go insane...perfect fit,nothing was adding nor taking volume or shape,but it was flattering her natural features in such a dreamy perfection.

I love Y/N, she’s the best thing that ever happened to me! But a man has eyes you know?! So I’m not gonna lie that,that vision gave me a semi-hard bulge. *Maybe I could ask that girl Cecile where they bought these things so I can buy one to Y/N..* I was lost in thoughts when my gaze stopped at her face,my jaw dropped and I swear to you, I could’ve died just then. I’ve never had in my life, such a rock hard fast boner as the one I was having right now.

“Fuck me!” I whispered

Y/N POV

*Oh fuck I knew it! I knew this was a bad idea! I’m gonna kill Cecile!* Was the only thing I could think of as he was seated there speechless just staring at my face. But since I was already there I figured I should just continue with this stupid roleplay.

I made my way down the stage and approached his chair. I stopped in front of him and said

“Good evening Mr. Reigns. Miss Cecile asked me to be your companion for the night. My name is Sapphire.” And I extended my hand to give him a light hand shake..but what I didn’t expect was for him to pull me towards his lap, so I could sit right on his rock hard bulge.

Roman’s POV

Y/N was a gorgeous breath taking woman, she always was. But the way she was dressed right now and the way she was “Sapphire” for tonight...she has officially ruined me for any other women! She looked like a fucking walking sin,one I was happy to commit! Everything about her made me crazy with primal need,her scent,her hairstyle perfectly leaving her neck at exposure, her makeup, those deep red lips that I couldn’t wait to see around my cock, her lingerie set, her stockings, the devilish high heels. Everything was planned to make me painfully hard(and it did). That’s why when I saw the look of doubt on her face due to my lack of words (How can you blame me? All of the blood of my body went straight to my cock once I saw her!) The only thing I could do was pull her to my lap, so she could FEEL what she had done to me,and the surprised look she gave me was suddenly replaced with relief and need.

“And what am I aloud to do with you as my companion?” My voice was as raspy as it could ever be

“Anything you want Sir...as long as you pay.” She spoke with a low sexy voice

“What if I want to fuck the life out of you,all night long?” I asked as I roamed my hand through one of her thighs and fuck the stockings felt better than I have thought.

“As long as you pay, I’m yours to do whatever you want Sir” She whispered in my ear “Happy birthday Mr.Reigns”

“Oh baby girl,happy indeed..” I replied as I picked her up in my arms and rushed to the car.

Fuck that woman is the best birthday present I’ll ever have!

[robininthelabyrinth]

the nie sect is known for strong, angry sect leaders and strong, angry women; nie mingjue is just the first to be both. she refuses to let this burden fall on her little brother, who is far too young for it (he's barely old enough to understand that their father is dead, and still sucks his thumb at night)--she can swing a saber like the best of them, and, well... it's not like there are many nie elders to object anyway

also on ao3

The stories said that Nie Mingjue’s mother was a goddess.

They said she descended down from the mountains, crisp as a winter breeze and tall as a temple statute; they said Lao Nie fell in love with her the first moment he saw her and married her the next; they said that the heavens were jealous of their love and summoned her to return –

It was a little nicer than saying that Nie Mingjue’s mother was a rogue cultivator that lingered in Qinghe just long enough for a marriage ceremony and a baby before remembering that she preferred living alone.

Still, as Nie Mingjue grew up – and she did grow up, up and up and up – people started passing around the old story more and more. Lao Nie rolled his eyes but didn’t stop the rumors, which Nie Mingjue interpreted to mean that he thought they were useful somehow, though she never quite figured out the reasoning there. What difference did it make if she were the child of a goddess or a mortal woman?

Either way, she was still a girl.

Oh, Qinghe was famous for its indifference to such things: in Qinghe they don’t care if you’re a man or woman, the story went, as long as you can swing a saber, and it was even mostly true. No one would raise an eyebrow if you shared your bed with a man one night and a woman the next, no one cared if you said you were one for a week and the other for a month…

Still, for all of Qinghe’s indifference, the Nie sect had never had a female sect leader.

At least, not officially – there were a number of sect leader’s wives who were terrifying enough to have deserved the title – and officially was what mattered, in this case. The sect leader was the fulcrum on which the sect turned, the core of their fearsome cultivation: if water ran downhill, then evil flowed up, and the sect leader’s saber spirit was always by far the fiercest in the sect.

That was why Nie Mingjue’s ancestors died so much more quickly than her cousins – why she had plenty of great-uncles and great-aunts, and a family consisting of only her father, herself, and her younger brother.

“Do you not want me to be sect leader?” she asked her father once, because he had deliberately gone out and gotten himself a new wife to have a child with, showing great relief when it turned out to be a boy. “Is it something I’ve done, or haven’t done?”

“It’s not that,” her father had said at once, with such surety that her fears of inadequacy had been relieved. “It’s only – there are sacrifices that must be made, if the sect leader is a woman. A saber spirit powerful enough to support the sect cannot be allowed to escape.”

She hadn’t understood it at the time, being too young, but then she got a little older and started bleeding, and an old auntie came and told her why the bleeding mattered.

The sect leader’s saber was too strong, too fierce, too alive: full of resentful energy, almost like a ghost, hateful and vicious, and their bond with their master was too close. Normal swords could be used by anyone; only the powerful refused any hand but their masters – the powerful, and the Nie sabers.

A sect leader who was a woman could never have a child, lest that child’s soul be stolen away in the womb and replaced with something else.

“So I won’t have children,” Nie Mingjue said, when her father died before his time. “Easy enough.”

There were elders enough in her sect, those that had been lucky enough not to be part of the main clan line and to escape the burden of being sect leader; they looked at each other with concern.

Nie Mingjue wasn’t about to let them put the title of sect leader on Huaisang, then only a child of seven, not when there was her father to avenge, and so she reached up behind her back and brought Baxia down on the table in front of them, cleaving the old wooden table in half.

“I have the bloodline, and my saber’s strong enough to bear the strain,” she said while they stared: that table had survived more than a few of her father and grandfather’s strikes, only to yield to hers as if it were nothing. “If you want to protest, challenge me now.”

In the end, they didn’t.

And so she became sect leader.

The sacrifice of any future children turned out to be the easy part.

Jin Guangshan stared at her breasts whenever she sat across from him, and tried to stumble into her to take advantage of the fact that the top of his head only reached her chin; she made sure never to accept any invitation to ever be alone with him, especially when he was drunk. His wife glared at her as if it were her fault that her chest and hips had grown proportionate with the rest of her, giving her curves that were relatively rare among her countrymen.

Jiang Fengmian might have been all right, she supposed, if his wife hadn’t hated her nearly as much: Madame Yu had been childhood friends with Madame Jin, Nie Mingjue vaguely recalled, but she suspected the real reason was the Jiang sect’s inclination to keep women away from politics no matter how high their cultivation.

“How are you supposed to ‘attempt the impossible’ if you refuse to let half of your population even try?” she asked Jiang Fengmian once, and he just shook his head and tried to pat her head (she glared death at him until he retracted the offending limb before it could be chopped off), and said she wouldn’t understand, that Qinghe was too idiosyncratic, too indiscriminate, that other places were different.

(His daughter gave Nie Mingjue a flower after that meeting, blushing red to her ears, and followed it up with a bowl of soup, and to this day Nie Mingjue still didn’t know if it was because of what she’d said or if everyone in Yunmeng was just as indiscriminate as Qinghe and they just didn’t admit it to themselves.)

Even the ever-polite Lan sect wasn’t friendly.

The irritating part was that she was sure they would have gotten on well if she had been born a man, or at least presented as one, as she would have if she’d been a misaligned reincarnation; alas, she wasn’t, she was a woman, and the Lan sect rules dictated that men and women could not grow too close or intimate. Lan Qiren guarded his nephews against her as if they were treasures, and it took quite a while before she finally met Lan Xichen face to face.

“Wow,” he said, blinking at her. “They weren’t kidding when they said you were a goddess.”

“No, that’s my mother,” Nie Mingjue said automatically.

Lan Xichen smiled, his eyes turning into crescents. “No,” he said. “I’m sure I meant what I said.”

Nie Mingjue felt something jump in her chest, which had never happened before. But she had fought long and hard to be taken seriously as a sect leader despite her youth and her gender, and she wasn’t willing to give that up by falling, like every other female cultivator her age, for the man ranked first on the list of most attractive young masters.

(Nie Mingjue was ranked seventh. She’s not even sure how she got on the list, but apparently there were plenty of female cultivators who were happy to vote for her no matter her gender.)

Besides, even if her heart did beat a little faster whenever Lan Xichen smiled at her, and even if he indicated through some hints that he might be inclined to feel the same, it didn’t matter. She knew, even if he didn’t, that she wouldn’t bear children in this life – she loved Baxia dearly, she did, but her willful, vicious saber would make a terrible child – and she couldn’t impose that on anyone else.

Anyway, she’d figured out pretty quickly that Lan Xichen’s younger brother was a cutsleeve – whatever Lan Qiren might think, pornography was a perfectly reasonable gift for a teenager, especially given how successful Nie Huaisang’s side business was – and that meant Lan Xichen had to be the one to have descendants.

Nie Mingjue had heard all the stories about what happens when a man marries one woman who can’t give him children and another who can, and she wasn’t interested in that.

So they were friends.

She wasn’t sure if it got easier or harder when she met Meng Yao, who was small and delicate and scheming in a way that she found ridiculously endearing.

He wasn’t expecting her to be a woman, she thought: he’d set himself up on a mountain path, buckets of water at his side and a pitiful expression on his face as he chewed on hard bread without even taking a sip of the water right beside him to wet his throat, and when she’d stopped right in front of him to ask him about it he’d looked up at her and his eyes had gotten to be half the size of his face.

Nie Mingjue might’ve fallen for the gambit if it wasn’t for the way she could almost see the way he was rapidly reevaluating his entire strategy in real time – it almost made her nostalgic about listening to her cousins teach each other the warning signs of a white lotus seductress selling misery and purity.

Still, in the end it didn’t really matter if he was deliberately exaggerating his misery to sell it to her – the responsibility for good behavior was on the bully, not the victim, so she went and scolded the people inside the cave.

Afterwards, she took him out to walk with her.

“I’d already spoken with some people about you; it seems like you’ve established your merits in the battlefield and off,” she told him. “You don’t also need to be pitiful to get my attention.”

Meng Yao smiled self-depreciatingly. “I find that men have a soft spot for people they think need them.”

“Well, I’m not a man, am I?” she pointed out in return. She thought about it for a moment, then decided, as always, to be blunt. “I might spend most of my time now with men, but I spent my childhood with women; a woman’s tricks don’t work that well on me. What is it that you want?”

He looked at her with raised eyebrows.

“Do you want to be my deputy? I’m willing, since you seem competent enough,” she said. “But if your goal is to get back into your father’s good graces by reporting on me, don’t bother. He has spies enough for that – he doesn’t need a son to do it.”

“Perhaps I just want to show him what I’m capable of,” Meng Yao said.

Nie Mingjue laughed. “At my side? If you’d like to try, I’m not going to stop you, but I’ll tell you now that the merits that Jin Guangshan values may not be to your taste.”

She made him her deputy, and he lived up to her expectations – he was efficient, capable, competent. He was good at understanding people, which she wasn’t, and he could figure out within moments what any given person wanted.  Just as importantly, he lived up to the principles she prized, valuing the lives of the common folk as well as Nie cultivators; he did what she asked of him, and he did it well.

It would be a shame to lose him, she thought, but she still brought him with her to a wartime meeting with the Jin sect.

Afterwards, she made her excuses to leave early, as she always did, and when Meng Yao showed up later that evening to drop off the usual round of spies’ reports, Nie Mingjue could smell blood from where his nails had pierced his palms.

“He asked you if you were fucking me,” she said, accepting the papers. It wasn’t a guess. “You can tell him that you are, if you think it would help your standing with him.”

Meng Yao seemed repulsed by her suggestion, which amused her.

“Don’t you mind that half the camp thinks I got my position by climbing into your bed?” he asked her, a wrinkle in his brow suggesting that the question mattered to him. “Most of them can’t decide if I’m your boy-toy or merely stupid enough not to notice that I’m deliberately seducing you for my own ends, but either way the implication is highly unflattering. Don’t you care?”

“…not really?” Nie Mingjue said. “I’ve been sect leader since I was fifteen and more than half the sect leaders that currently report to me have been treating me like I’m a walking collection of fuckable female body parts since then; they get extremely irritable any time I open my mouth and remind them I’m not. Keeping a boy-toy is positively tame compared to the rest of it…you must have heard the one that says that I’m a frigid bitch that can only be satisfied by fucking my saber? That one’s a perennial.”

Meng Yao’s expression suggested he had, in fact, heard that one.

“My father always told me that the more people talk behind your back, the harder you have to work to leave them with nothing to say,” Nie Mingjue continued. “But I’ve found that they’ll find something to say, and if there isn’t anything, they’ll make something up. There’s no way to stop gossip.”

Meng Yao was frowning. “That seems unduly pessimistic. Not to borrow our enemies’ words, but if you shine like a sun in the heavens –”

“I’m the sect leader of one of the Great Sects,” Nie Mingjue said. “I’m a war hero. I have a reputation as a upright and righteous person. And yet between me and Wen Ruohan, who’s to say whose name is dragged through the mud more? They curse at him as the man who ordered the rape of their wives in one breath and talk eagerly about how much they’d like to rape me the next…Meng Yao, don’t take insult when I say this, but you could be as wise as a sage, as powerful as a landslide, as beneficent as a buddha and they’d still ask each other behind their sleeves what you learned from being a whore’s son.”

His expression was rather ugly – nothing at all like his usual calm smile.

“I usually get over it by associating myself with better people,” she added. “Have you met Lan Xichen yet?”

It turned out he had, and that they were rather fond of each other, too. Very fond, to judge by Meng Yao’s starry-eyed expression, and wouldn’t it be just her luck if the two men she was attracted to – and which she’d refused on the basis of not wanting to cut off their family lines – ended up pairing up together, which would also cut off their family lines?

Of course, Meng Yao was off limits for other reasons as well…

One day she overheard them talking about Meng Yao possibly leaving, probably intentionally on Meng Yao’s part, and she walked inside rolling her eyes already. “If you want to go, go,” she said. “I’ll write you a recommendation letter, for whatever it’s worth – he’s got a thick enough face that it might not do you any good, but he’s already noticed you, so hopefully that’ll be something.”

“Sect Leader Nie –”

“I didn’t promote you out of a sense of gratitude,” she said impatiently. “You’ve always wanted to get back to him, for whatever reason; I’m not going to hold you back.”

He smiled at that, and Lan Xichen smiled with him.

Really, there were limits to the sort of things you could expect a person to resist, even with willpower like hers.

“Have you decided that you will go?” she asked Meng Yao. “Is it your final decision? Let me know now.”

“It is.”

“Good,” she said. “You’re fired as my deputy. Also, I’d like to take the two of you to bed, if you’re similarly inclined.”

They gaped at her.

“What?” she said, crossing her arms. “He’s not my deputy anymore, there’s nothing immoral about it. Besides, nobody will get any stupid ideas about marriage if there’s three of us involved. It is only if you’re interested, though; I won’t be offended if you say no –”

Lan Xichen was kissing her before she even finished the sentence, so she assumed the answer was not, in fact, no, and Meng Yao’s reaction was equally enthusiastic – though perhaps equally wasn’t the right word, given how both she and Meng Yao ended up tied up in Lan Xichen’s forehead ribbon before the night was done.

“I knew it was a kink,” Meng Yao said, inspecting it with an expression of satisfaction, as if he hadn’t just demonstrated a fair share of his own. “Something so prominently displayed, Xichen-gege, for shame…”

Lan Xichen didn’t show so much as a hint of shame about it. “We’ll have to do this again,” he said. “I’m not even a fourth of the way down my list.”

“There’s a list?” Nie Mingjue asked, stretching out her legs to see how they felt after all that tossing around. “Tell me this is written down somewhere – no, tell me your uncle found it.”

Lan Xichen shuddered. “Thank you, da-jie. I didn’t need that mental image – it’d be like the time you gave Wangji pornography, only worse.”

Meng Yao decided the best way to muffle his laughter was in Nie Mingjue’s shoulder. With his teeth.

Nie Mingjue gave him a half-hearted shove. “Get off,” she grumbled. “I need to go drink some medicine to prevent contraception before we encounter disaster – this wasn’t planned, you know. I was intending on dying a virgin.”

“Da-jie, for you to die a virgin, that would mean – uh – that would – you were…? Mingjue!”

Nie Mingjue gave them both a glare. “Don’t tell me you two listened to those stupid rumors. I don’t take just anyone to my bed.”

“And you decided on two of us?” Meng Yao said, blinking at her. “Da-jie is very ambitious.”

“Not as much as you,” she said, rolling her eyes and pushing away their grasping hands. “What’s your real plan, anyway? You know Jin Guangshan won’t accept you as a son just because you show up and volunteer.”

“I don’t need to be his son, I just need to wear his colors,” Meng Yao said. “It’ll make for a better story when I defect to the Wen sect – as a spy, don’t look at me like that. You know I’d be good at it. And if I get close enough to Wen Ruohan, I can kill him. I’ll give you his head as a present, da-jie.”

“Unfair, A-Yao! I can’t compete with that,” Lan Xichen complained. “You have to let me help.”

‘Help’ turned out to be Lan Xichen allowing himself to be captured and Meng Yao stabbing Wen Ruohan in the back when he was about to start torturing the First Jade of Lan – Nie Mingjue had a headache and a strong desire to kill them both.

Even if they did bring her Wen Ruohan’s head.

“Stop looking so pleased with yourselves,” she scolded them – both Lan Xichen and Meng Yao, now officially Jin Guangyao (thanks to a bit of pointed haggling over which clan got what war merits and how that applied to the division of the spoils of war), looked positively smug. “What if you’d died?”

“But we didn’t,” Lan Xichen pointed out. “And now we’re here to claim our reward from our goddess.”

“Did I promise you a reward?”

Two sets of puppy dog eyes…and they did help her avenge her father.

“Fine. What do you want? If I can give it to you, it’s yours.”

They looked at each other, and Nie Mingjue immediately started to worry: they’d had time to think about it. That was dangerous.

“We want to marry you,” Lan Xichen said.

“Both of us,” Jin Guangyao said. “To avoid any jealousy.”

“That’s…not how that works,” Nie Mingjue said blankly. Men married multiple wives, not women multiple men: they had words for women who did that, none of them complimentary. Or legal, for that matter. “And anyway, I’ve already told you, I can’t have children. Huaisang’s my heir, and he always will be – you deserve to continue your family lines. Both of you.”

They exchanged looks again.

“That’s fine by me,” Jin Guangyao said. “Jin Zixuan’s the heir anyway.”

“I have plenty of cousins,” Lan Xichen said. “Can we go to bed now? I was injured in the line of duty –” He had a scraped knee and exactly three bruises, she’d counted. “– and I need some care and attention.”

“And an agreement of marriage from da-jie,” Jin Guangyao said, because he had a lawyer’s eye for such things.

This was almost certain to cause some sort of political disaster.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t settle for sworn brothers or something?” she tried.

They wouldn’t.

(The stories said that the leader of the Nie sect was a goddess – a war goddess, a goddess of the blade, sharp as the saber she carried and tall as a temple statute; they said that her two lovers fell in love with her the first moment they saw her and fought a war that upturned the entire cultivation world just to win the right to claim her hand; they said that they served as her right and left hands, and that when the three of them were together, the venerated triad, they could never be defeated.)

[chaiscentedcandle]

Like You (George Weasley x fem!reader)

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: George Weasley

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Y/n can’t find anybody else like George

𝐑��𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭: none

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: lil angsty, cursing, mentions of food, gets happy towards the end!

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2,461

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this is inspired by my all time freaking favorite Doja Catsong, Streets, omg I love it, I also had a different idea for this song but as I was writing it just took a turn so I might write another one but it’ll be different, but anyways if you guys haven’t listened to Streets you should omgggg but you don’t have too!! Anyways I hope you guys like it!💗💗 I ONLY USED KATIE BELL AS DRAMA NO KATIE BELL SLANDER🤚🏼

Like you, like you

Like you, ooh

I found it hard to find someone like you

To say Y/n love life was sad was kinda far behind it, sure he’s dated boys in the past before, but the feelings never stayed. She dated boys and not men because back then her judgement never got the best of her. She did feel bad that after only a few weeks of dating she questioned her feelings, they’d gone so soon but why?

Like you, like you

Send your location come through

I can’t sleep no more

In my head we belong

Y/n always felt like she was doing something wrong when she broke up with them, it wasn’t their fault she lost feelings she just....did. Dating is hard, it’s very hard and no one will tell you that, all these other people make it look easy and fun but it’s just the exact opposite.

And I can’t be without you

Why can’t I find no one like you?

I can’t sleep no more

In my head we belong

Maybe dating was hard because your soul knew the person your with is not the person you want to be with. Maybe it’s hard because deep down you know you won’t have a future with said person and it feels like waisted time. Maybe datings hard because the person you want to be with is with someone else.

These thoughts plagued Y/n and George at night. In each other’s head they belonged together.

And I can’t be without you

Why can’t I find no one like you?

Baby, we tried to fight it

We all been there some days

Sometimes it’s not just hard for one party, sometimes it’s hard for the other party as well. Because George has been in love with Y/n for as long as he could remember, his best friend, and it didn’t feel weird to be in love with her, he tried to push his feelings down, so far down that he couldn’t feel them, yet the feelings are too strong.

Thought I need something else

And acted like I was okay

We just had to work it out

And baby, I needed space

George thought maybe if he dated someone else things would be okay instead of acting like it was okay. He needed to work things out, he gave himself space from Y/n which not only left her confused but Fred as well, he tells everything to Fred so why is he distancing himself from her?.

So when he started dating Katie Bell, it didn’t feel right. Something in his gut told him it wasn’t right and he shouldn’t be doing it, but how could he tell his best friend he’s in love with her? She probably wasn’t even in love with him, he wasn’t even Katie’s first choice.

Ain't nobody 'round here wrong

You love all yours so far away

You're pouring your heart out

I'm acting like I knew

George and Katie’s relationship didn’t last long, he refused to kiss her and only wanted to hold her hand, anytime she’d try to find way to kiss him he’d make a silly excuse to slip away. After a few months they finally split, he couldn’t deny how he felt towards Y/n anymore, he’s been denying it too long.

Late at night he would create scenarios where he poured his heart out to Y/n and she acted like she knew already, his words were moving and he didn’t stumble over his words and they’d share a fiery kiss. Every night he wished something like that would happen.

You held me so down

So down I never grew, oh

I tried to find out

When none of them came through

Before George could confess his feelings for Y/n she also dated someone for a span of months, Adrian Pucey. Adrian Pucey was well known around the school, being on the Slytherin quidditch team had its perks, but Y/n never knew why he was well known for it, other people had been on the quidditch team.

Adrian Pucey put Y/n in a corner when he asked her to be his girlfriend in front of everyone at the great hall, Y/n was speechless for a moment, of course it had to be in front of everyone, if she said no she’d be seen as a heartless bitch. Y/n convinced herself that maybe since George had dated someone else she should too.

Their relationship lasted shorter then George and Katie’s. Adrian had no idea what to do with a relationship nor how to treat a women, he was cold and mean to Y/n, he always backed her into a corner and called her names when she didn’t agree with him, so in a flurry of emotions she broke up with him in front of a decent sized group of people. She felt like he had held her down, she’s a delicate flower who’s trying to blossom into a beautiful hibiscus but Adrian was a slug who was holding her down from growing.

And now I'm stuck in the middle

And baby had to pull me out, oh

Like you, like you

Like you, ooh

George was beyond aggravated when Adrian had asked Y/n out, his Y/n, Fred tried to talk to him later that day in the common room. “Y/n is her own person and can date whoever she wants” Fred told him, “yeah, but it’s angering too see her with some prat as Adrian Pucey”. Ron had butted into the conversation to joke and say that the twins roles had been reversed and one was acting like the other, alas he was told to shut up.

Before Y/n had broken up with Adrian he tried to figure out all the things wrong Adrian was doing, he could’ve made a bullet point list of a few pages from the things he picked up on. He brought them all to Y/n’s attention, she didn’t deny them because, well, she already knew. She had no idea why she was with him. She was more than grateful that George had helped pull her out from the middle.

I found it hard to find someone like you

Like you, like you

Send your location, come through (Yeah)

Damn papa, you a rare breed, no comparing

Now that they are both single George thought it would be a great time to tell Y/n how he feels, but it’s harder done than said. Anytime he’d find a lull in a conversation or comfortable silence he could feel his heart wanting to tell her, wearing to tell her but his mouth just wouldn’t move and his brain just wouldn’t function.

Y/n also wanted to tell George how she felt for so long but could never come to either, whenever they’d be apart from each other she’d have other students or friends come find her then tell her George was looking for her, he’s always looking for her. Y/n thought most of the guys at Hogwarts were just like Adrian, but when she left Adrian she realized there was many guys way different then Adrian, like George, he wasn’t like anyone she’s really seen and it took her this long to realize how rare he is.

And it's motherfuckin' scary

Tryna keep him 'cause I found him

Let a hoe know, I ain't motherfuckin' sharing

I could take you to the parents, then to Paris

Rumors began to spread that Katie was wanting George back, people said she was very sulky and quiet. Her friends said all she brought up was George and how annoying it was getting. “She spends most of her time talking about George, she’s had a few nights where all she talked about was him, it’s quite annoying actually” recalled one of her friends.

This made Y/n jealous. She tried to not get jealous but George had said he was done with Katie. Her mother always told her jealousy is bad medicine. Y/n couldn’t help the way she felt, she knows not to surprise feelings so she embraced it instead, she was jealous and she had a right to be. She waited this long, she didn’t want to share.

You the type I wanna marry (Yeah) and keep you merry

I'll put the ring on when you ready

We play our fantasies out in real life ways and

Y/n’s friend group who consisted of George, Fred, Lee, and Angelina had been talking about the situation in the Gryffindor common room, Y/n was slumped in a arm chair with her arms and legs crossed. She wasn’t pleased to hear the situation again, the students at Hogwarts grabbed onto any drama like a leech. “Are you okay, Y/n?” Angelina asked her, giving a glance to her then to the fire “I’m fine” she mumbled

No Final Fantasy, can we end these games though?

You give me energy, make me feel lightweight

Like the birds of a feather, baby

We real life made for each other

The drama started to disperse, people started to find other things to talk about. Y/n finally felt like she could breathe and she didn’t have to hear someone mumbling about Katie and George. Of course it couldn’t last forever, at lunch everyone chatted about something in the Great Hall. Katie and her friends sat more towards the front of the table while Y/n and her friends sat more towards the middle, Y/n noticed how Katie couldn’t keep her eyes from wandering. Soon Fred picked up on what was happening.

“Oi! George! Looks like a certain someone can’t take her eyes off you” as soon as it passed Fred’s lips, Y/n had tightly gripped a piece of bread she had been eating, crunching sound from the crust and crumps falling to her plate. George nudged her “are you alright?” He asked,Y/n didn’t even look up “I’m fine, do I not look fine?” She snapped. George hadn’t said another word.

Y/n felt like she was stuck in a game she’s meant to lose. To her luck, Katie came wondering over to their part of the table, you could tell she was nervous and she was playing with her fingers. She stopped in front of George “u-uhm, George?” She said quietly, almost to quiet. George looked up from his plate, meeting her eyes “yes?” He said confused. Katie played with her fingers more “i....I just wanted to say that, uhm....I miss you, quite a bit actually” she tucked her hair behind her ear and casted her gaze to the floor “and I was wondering if we could possibly....try again?” George was speechless, and shocked, sure Katie is a nice girl but she’s not his, not when his flower is sitting next to him, clearly seething. However, George didn’t want to embarrass her by saying no, he didn’t want to embarrass her like that. “Uhm...I’ll-I’ll think about it” Katie gave a silent “okay!” With a smile and walked back to her spot, a slight skip in her step.

This only aggravated Y/n more, why couldn’t George be the one to give her so much energy from just a single glance that made her head spin, why wouldn’t he make Y/n feel weightless. Why couldn’t they be birds of a feather?, maybe thinking they were made for each other didn’t really mean they were.

And it's hard to keep my cool

When other bitches tryna get with my dude and

When other chickens tryna get in my coop

'Cause you're a one in a million

There ain’t no man like you

Y/n didn’t want to cause a scene but it didn’t take a fool to notice how affected she was by what Katie had done, especially George’s response. Grabbing her bag, she stood up from her seat hastily and speed walked out of the Great Hall. Her cold and hard stare could send shivers down your spine, she looked like she was ready to exploded any second.

Maybe it was just her head telling her that George was hers, they hadn’t really talked about it for that matter. George had watched her leave the Great Hall, he kept his eyes in the direction she left still, his lips pressed into a fine line, his brain was running around with what he should do. He didn’t move until Hermione said something “well, what are you doing? Go after her!” He didn’t give it a second thought and was out the door.

It wasn’t long before George found Y/n at a spot over looking the Great Lake. Her elbow rested on a ledge with her chin in her hand, she looked a little more calm. George stood next to her, Y/n glanced at him then back to the lake. “What’s wrong?” George said, Y/n gave him another quick glance before she spoke “I thought you said you were done with Katie Bell” she had nothing against Katie, not really, she was just jealous. “I am” George said, Y/n rolled her eyes “didn’t look like it” she replied. Y/n didn’t want to hear it anymore, she turned on her heel to leave but only making a few steps before George grabbed her arms and turned her towards him “I don’t love her!” George said defensively “why are you so jealous anyways?” Y/n scoffed, she wasn’t going to admit she was jealous “I’m not jealous” she mumbled “yes, you are! Why are you jealous?” He repeated “because you’re one in a million! There’s no man like you! I want you for myself” Y/n spoke before she could think.

Like you, like you

Like you, ooh

I found it hard to find someone like you

Like you, like you

Y/n and George couldn’t believe what she had said, George often doubted himself but to hear that from someone he loves. It was refreshing. “I don’t love her” George said again “I love you” the tension was so thick you could cut it with a butcher knife. One was waiting for the other to do something. Y/n’s hands had been shaking a little, George was playing with his pointer finger and staring at his shoes, it was so unreal to them that they both were dumb enough to not see they both fancied each other.

Slowly Y/n took a few steps forward, she wrapped her arms around George’s neck and pulled him in. He buried his face in her neck “it was hard to find someone like you, and I don’t want to let you go” Y/n whispered “I don’t want to let you go either” George added. They both pulled away to look at each other, looking each other in the eyes to find something. George placed a soft kiss on Y/n’s forehead then placed his on hers. Finally they got to have each other.

[filmmakerdreamst]

Xena: Warrior Princess Review

During Pride Month 2020, I finally got around to watch ‘Xena’. A show that had been in my to-watch list for years, but never got around to start. And when I finally did, I was pleasantly surprised. It was not what I expected and it was everything I think my 11 year old self would have loved.

The one thing that surprised me about the show, was the lack of packaging. Even though it was a fantasy, it also played with different kinds of genres too. I’ve talked about this before in my other review - ‘Xena’ was made at a time when TV had very few rules/rarely had a set audience, since there were parts of the show that were clearly for kids and there were other parts that were clearly for adults (therefore had much more flexibility). I admired how they weren’t afraid to break barriers and touch on deep themes such as religion, morality, redemption, spirituality, motherhood, forgiveness etc - even more than shows of today are able. I also loved how they played into the idea of ‘murder’ and how much it can damage a person - not just the person who commits the act, but the many people affected afterwards. I wasn’t expecting it to be that extreme. It made me think that this must of been the inspiration for ‘Game of Thrones’. 

I see a lot of comments here and there, saying how ‘cheesy and terrible’ it was but to just accept it because its part of the fun. And while like any show it does suffer from the occasional spell of bad writing (the whole of season 5) but it was also shown to be very aware of that fact and never took itself too seriously - unlike some shows I could mention. 

And regarding the ‘cheese’ factor (what 90s show wasn’t) It definitely can be, but I would call it ‘camp’ and ‘experimental’ more than anything else. (Don’t diss the poor use of CGI - I’m personally sympathetic to what was avaliable to them at the time) The style of humour reminded me of Taika Waititi’s filmmaking. If you’ve watched any of his films such as ‘Hunt for The Wilderpeople’ or ‘Jojo Rabbit’, then you know what I’m talking about. I liked how little they cared about being accurate or logical, which added to the ‘bonkers’ element in the show - which you can see in all of Taika Waititi’s films.

In all seriousness, a show centered around two women in their late twenties, who are realistic sizes (not trying to play teenagers). One of whom is a reformed mass murderer, who has lived a life experience, trying to do good in the world for the first time, picking the other one up who has no life experience prior (after they bugged them until they said ‘ok fine’) in their path to redemption. Just two women who become friends travelling the world together, fighting crime, having a laff, learning from one another without any toxicity - when suddenly when the stakes are raised - they realise ‘oh I'm actually falling in love with this person’ I have watched a lot of badly written shows in my childhood enough to know that, that’s not ‘cheesy’. I’ve never seen a story like that in my entire life. I’m not at all surprised that Russel T Davis was inspired by it while writing the Doctor and Rose’s relationship in ‘Doctor Who’ since he’s gay himself.

What’s more amazing about their love story is how they’re both develop as separate people as well. There was this video essay explaining ‘Why you should watch Angel’ the spin off series to Buffy; how ‘Buffy The Vampire Slayer ‘was all about growing up and ‘Angel’ was all about being an adult. With Xena: Warrior Princess, you have both of those stories at the same time. 

Xena’s character was such a multifaceted experience to watch. And I can’t imagine anyone else who could play her as well as Lucy Lawless. What planet did they get that actress from? She's flawless! The amount of skill she has to put herself into a very physical role is astonishing. I personally had a love/hate relationship with her character all series long. Not in the way that I hated her, just that I couldn’t trust if she was all good or bad, which I know was intentional on the writers part. I haven’t seen a character quite like her before. She felt very much like a fallen angel; almost like the villain of her own story. Some of my favourite episodes come from fleshing out her character and dark past (‘Locked up and Tied Down’ is one of them) which reminds the audience that's she's not the stereotypical hero everyone expects. I loved her transformation from being this incredibly stoic warrior to being content and happy with who she is in season six, all because of a woman she fell in love with along the way. 

I’ve always thought of Gabrielle as the real hero and narrator of ‘Xena’. She’s the prime example of ‘a normal person becoming extrodinary’. Gabrielle’s coming of age story starting out as an innocent girl from a poor village dreaming of adventure, and ending as this vicious warrior who realises the ‘adventure’ wasn’t how she made it out to be is honestly the best character arc that I’ve ever seen. I loved how travelling with Xena made her realise her passion for writing (which was never going to happen in her home town, given the ‘sexist’ and ‘heteronormative’ ideas) and that she became a amazon princess like Xena. In regards to her sexuality, which is more up for debate than Xena’s (which I think we can all agree is bisexual) I personally interpret her as gay, just in terms of how she was written. Theres this moment in season 4 where she's being held up her hair, and Xena “symbolically” cuts it off ‘freeing her’. And she never really gets with a man afterwards, unless she’s being ‘possessed. It reminded me of a moment in one of Hayao Miyasaki’s films ‘Laputa, Castle in the Sky’ where the bad guy Moska shoots Sheeta’s ‘princess hair off’ which symbolises her transition from child to adult.

The cinematography was breathtaking. There was some great utilisation of New Zealand as the scenery. So was the soundtrack. You could tell it was made by experienced filmmakers. One of my favourite things about the show was the domestic elements - moments in the show where time seemed to stop - which made the world around the characters seem very real and magical. Even though it was a show that featured a lot of action/adventure, there was also this gentleness to it as well. For example, you could feel the wetness of the rain, the warmth of the sun and the clashing of the waves. This technique is used in Hayao Miayasaki’s work a lot .

The technique is referred to as ‘MA’ 空虚 meaning emptiness in Japanese. ‘Miyasaki describes this as the time between a clap’

“If you just have non stop action, with no breathing space at all, its just busyness. But if you take a moment, then the tension building in the film can grow into a wider dimension” - Hayao Miyasaki

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The episode ‘A Day in the Life’ in season two is a really good example of this technique being used.

To my understanding, they used a lot of the local actors in New Zealand, which according to Lucy Lawless, consisted of ‘African immigrants and other different ethnicites’. It was so refreshing to see such a diverse show (despite some slip ups) especially in the 90s. I appreciated the idea that if the actors or extras couldn’t do an ‘american accent’ people could just talk in their natural speech which was also very refreshing. 

The LGBT representation was surprisingly amazing. I never expected so many queer characters in one show - especially under the censors. There was this one episode where they had a trans woman - played by an actual trans actress - win a beauty contest. It made me cry. Not to mention the actress was an aids activist. It was actually Lucy Lawless’ idea to kiss her which was incredibly controversial at that time considering how everyone thought you could catch aids just by kissing. I can definitey see how it validated people back in the 90s.

When people told me that Xena: Warrior Princess was one of the greatest love stories, I thought they were exaggerating a little. But no, watching the show in context, I found out that it really is. Despite its obvious restrictions, It made me realise (regarding token gay couples today) how often television writers rely on physicality and drama to convey a ‘love story’ and how much of it is actually pandering the audience. One of the reasons why Xena and Gabrielle’s relationship felt so genuine is because it was built on mutual respect/compassion and they were also best friends. I felt like I was witnessing something very real and private. It didn’t need kissing scenes or drama to make it interesting. 

It really helped that most of the writers were queer also. There’s this opening scene in season 4, panning over to Gabrielle giving Xena a massage (metaphor for sex - because they weren’t able to show that on screen) which I consider to be one of the most iconic scenes in media - considering how I wanted to sick up my supper when I watched the 10 minute ‘empty’ explicit sex scene in ‘Blue in the Warmest Colour’. The difference when something is written by a queer women vs a straight man.

Because the creators weren’t allowed to write their love story in the normal way, due to the studio forbidding them to, they found creative ways to showcase that love on screen - which made for a very magical/sensual experience. And I can safely say, if anyone has doubts about watching ‘Xena’, whenever I expected to be queer baited at a few points in the show, I was proved wrong time and time again. It’s the most romantical show I’ve ever seen in my life!

[therobishow]

I think I'm done with podcasts made by men

I love listening to podcasts while I work. Especially ones related to history, film, and literature.

And damn near every time I try listening to ones that are made by men, I end up hitting a point where I have to stop listening and switch to something else. There's always a point where they say something that is so ignorant, blatantly sexist, etc., that I just can't take it.

Often times it's the host buying into a very male-centered lens of interpreting whatever it is they're discussing. And, you know, that's kind of expected. They're men. They're viewing things as men. I get that and I'm usually willing to just roll my eyes and move on. But then it keeps happening, or gets much worse than what can be excused by simple ignorance. And then I can't just roll my eyes anymore. I just want to start yelling. And that's not a good energy to have while I'm trying to do my job. So I switch over to something else.

A good example of this happened today. I was listening to a podcast called History by Hollywood. I found it because I'm a huge fan of History Buffs on Youtube. Comparing historical fiction to the actual history is fascinating to me. I love learning about the real event and how it's translated into fiction. But...it got bad. Real fucking bad.

Now, I can't place all the blame on the creators of HbH. They had guests who do a podcast that I think is called Green Screen, which discusses films through an environmental lens. And I definitely will not be listening to that podcast after hearing them today.

The episode was about Gorillas in the Mist, which is biopic about Dr. Dian Fossey. If you don't know who Dian Fossey is, look her up. She was one of the group known as the Trimates, sometimes called Leakey's Angels. The group consisted of three women who were expert primatologists: Birute Galdikas, who studied orangutans; Jane Goodall, possibly the most well known of the three, who studied chimpanzees; and Fossey herself, who studied gorillas. I would love to write hundreds of pages about how awesome and unbelievably badass these women are/were. Seriously, learn about these women if you haven't already. They are amazing.

Anyway, the episode was about Dr. Fossey. My first issue is that, despite her PhD, they never once referred to her with her proper title. This is upsettingly common with women who have earned doctorates. Men never want to call them Doctor. It frustrates me to no end. But that's not nearly the worst of it. They went on to discuss how she became pregnant twice during her time in Rwanda. She chose to abort both pregnancies because she did not want pregnancy or motherhood to interfere with her work with the gorillas. One of the GS guys commented on this saying "I suppose her reasons could be considered valid." Um, excuse me? First of all, why do you think that you get to decide whether or not she had valid reasons? You don't. Second, of course her reasons are valid. Whatever a woman's reasons are for having an abortion are valid. She's the only one who gets to make that decision. So fuck right off with that. Sorry for getting a bit heated here, but that really pissed me off. There was no need for a comment like that. Especially since it makes it sound like he doesn't actually think her reasons are valid, but is scared of catching heat so tried to sugarcoat it.

Moving on, TW: rape, they also got into the fact that Dr. Fossey stated that she was repeatedly raped by soldiers in 1966 over the course of two weeks. People freaking love to claim that this is "disputed" or "exaggerated" and some go as far as to claim that it was an outright lie. Why? Because she originally claimed that she was treated well and then escorted to the border. Later on, she admitted that she was actually beaten and raped. I'm not going to delve too far into this because a) this post is already way longer than I intended, and b) I will get SO MAD. For the sake of brevity, I'm just going to say that I believe that she was raped, and that she initially lied because she was not ready for this information to become public. The hosts however...well, they'd like to claim that they didn't come down on either side of this "debate" and simply presented facts. But they totally don't think she was raped. They went on and on about all the reasons that she would have lied about being raped, such as political clout, publicity, propaganda, and other dumb reasons. But just couldn't seem to think of any reason that she would have lied about not being raped. Gotta love how men are always able to come up with fifty million reasons why women would make false accusations. It's absolutely not in any way revealing how they think of women.

They also got into the admittedly shitty things that Dr. Fossey did during her time in Rwanda. She wasn't perfect, and she did do some rather bad things. Her approach to conservation work was very much steeped in a colonialist mindset. I'm not about to deny that. And they did do a good job of explaining some of the more overlooked facts of poaching--most African poachers aren't cartoon villains who want to destroy nature. Many are farmers who are killing animals that threaten their crops and/or livestock. And then they get offered lots of money to do it. It's not a simple issue, and doesn't have a simple solution. I don't have a problem with them addressing this, and I'm glad that they did. However, and this is a pretty big HOWEVER, they also didn't discuss any of the great things she did. She saved a huge number of gorillas. She helped improve the Rwandan economy. She fought against multiple colonialist organizations trying to exploit Rwanda and it's wildlife. She helped to revolutionize the field of primatology. There's so much that we know now that we only know because of her. They also decided that the fact that she's a heavily revered and respected figure in Rwanda was worth a few sentences and that was it.

They referred to her as cold and unfeeling multiple times, largely due to her relationship with Bob Campbell, who was married when they met. Apparently the fact that she didn't stick with him for her whole life means that she's cold and uncaring. Ugh. I just fucking can't with this.

And the cherry on top, they made jokes about her murder. Yep. Dr. Fossey was horribly and brutally murdered with a machete in December of 1985. And they apparently think that's funny. Now, I know that some of the people who were close to Dr. Fossey have also made jokes regarding her death. However, there are several Grand Canyon-sized differences between someone using humor to cope with the death of someone they loved, and some assholes with a podcast making jokes about the brutal murder of a woman they never met. They also said that it doesn't matter who killed her or if they're ever caught. Which...no? It very much matters who snuck into this woman's home in the middle of the night and used a machete to brutally murder her. It very much matters if this person is caught. I can't even imagine trying to say that it doesn't matter if an actual murderer is ever caught.

All of this goes into a huge problem when it comes to studying history, especially the history of science. Women are always scrutinized more heavily, always criticized with more vitriol, and always have their enormous accomplishments either left out entirely or pushed to side. I almost never see male scientists given this treatment. Edison comes close, but he always gets quite a bit of "Yeah, he was awful, but let's not forget all the awesome things he did!" Women however get "Yeah, she did a few cool things for science, but let's not forget that she had an abortion!"

I just can't handle this shit anymore. If you managed to get all the way to the end of this wall of text (yay) please recommend me some good history/literature podcasts created by women. I will love you so much.

[radical-desiderium]

The Myth of Brain Sex

There have been many small studies which claimed to have finally and decisively located a concrete sexual dimorphism in brains. In 1995, a Nature study confidently concluded that language-processing in women occurred more diffusely across the hemispheres of the brain than in men (Shaywitz, 1995). The study’s sample base was 38 right-handed people, 19 male and 19 female, making “small” a highly apt descriptor. In 2008, a meta-analysis of previous studies on sex differences in language lateralization refuted the results of the 1995 study, finding no difference in the execution of language tasks or the structure of the Planum Temporale involved therin, but interestingly enough, did conclude that males are more likely to be left handed (Sommer, 2008).

The rise of Magnetic Resonance Imaging, or MRI, has brought about a whole new avenue for studying the brain and subsequently reinvigorated the search for brain gender. One particular 2005 MRI study of 21 men and 27 women done by the University of California looked at correlations between IQ and grey matter in different areas of the brain (Haier, 2005). This study was, and I believe still is, particularly influential on the prevalence of brain dimorphism as a popular belief; it gained a great deal of public recognition, despite it having a small sample size that makes any results far less significant. A small study such as this could have some level of merit, but its conclusions would have to be confirmed by much larger studies, and the fact is that much of the public’s conclusions about the meaning of the study reach far further than the study justifies. A further 2021 meta-analysis of 3 decades of MRI and post-mortem data attributes the difference in the ratio of grey matter observed in the 2005 study to the difference in brain size between males and females, which is about an 11% average difference between an adult male and an adult female, with male brains being larger (Eliot, 2021). The difference in brain size can also explain differences in regional cortical volumes and inter- or intra-hemispheric connectivity. When comparing across populations, the study found minimal consistent differences in male and female brains other than brain size. In her article discussing the idea of brain sex, which she refers to as neurosexism, neuroscientist Lise Eliot points out that many neurological studies similarly do not control for brain size, thereby unconsciously increasing apparent male-female difference (Eliot, 2019).

In her 2019 book the Gendered Brain, neuroscientist Gina Rippon likens the process of the publishing and refuting of studies claiming brain dimorphism to a game of whack-a-mole. I find this to be a highly fitting metaphor. The idea of brain sex is not new, and the concept has plagued science for centuries. A new study always rears its head, claiming to have succeeded where all previous studies have failed, and it shortly proceeds to become obsolete, but not before it gets misconstrued and twisted by public misinterpretations which are then perpetuated long past the study. So if the evidence has never been strong for brain sex, why does the myth persist? In my humble opinion, it persists regardless of the evidence stacking against it because people want to believe it. They want to believe that there’s something inherent to it, that gender resides in the brain, that you’re born liking pink or liking blue, because they want to justify the society in which they live and the way they live as simply natural. If you believe in brain sex, you don’t have to fix existing societal inequalities. Instead of addressing the prejudices and biases that prevent women from seeking careers in STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering, and Mathematics), you can simply say that women are just not as mathematically-minded and the disparity results from that. Instead of confronting the idea that gender roles are enforced on children from birth, you can say that women inherently like pink and all that follows. There’s no need to challenge any existing beliefs or examine your own actions. Believing in brain sex is easier than acknowledging the omnipresent influence of culture. Psychologist Cordelia Fine put it most succinctly:

“Popular neurosexism permits us to sit back and relax, with its seemingly neat explanation of our social structure and personal lives. The answer, ‘Oh, it’s the brain,’ offers a tidy justification for accepting the status quo with clear conscience (Fine, 2008).”

Works Cited under the cut:

Eliot, L., Ahmed, A., Khan, H. et al. Dump the “dimorphism”: Comprehensive synthesis of human brain studies reveals few male-female differences beyond size. Neuroscience and Biobehavioral Reviews 125, 667-697 (2021). https://doi.org/10.1016/j.neubiorev.2021.02.026

Eliot, L. Neurosexism: the myth that men and women have different brains. Nature, 566, 453–454 (2019). https://doi.org/https://doi.org/10.1038/d41586-019-00677-x

Fine, C. Will Working Mothers’ Brains Explode? The Popular New Genre of Neurosexism. Neuroethics 1, 69–72 (2008). https://doi.org/10.1007/s12152-007-9004-2

Haier, R., Jung, R., Yeo, R. et al. The neuroanatomy of general intelligence: sex matters. NeuroImage 25, 320-327 (2005). https://doi.org/10.1016/j.neuroimage.2004.11.019

Shaywitz, B., Shaywltz, S., Pugh, K. et al. Sex differences in the functional organization of the brain for language. Nature 373, 607–609 (1995). https://doi.org/10.1038/373607a0

Sommer, I., Aleman, A., Somers, M. et al. Sex differences in handedness, asymmetry of the Planum Temporale and functional language lateralization. Brain Research 1206, 76-88 (2008). https://doi.org/10.1016/j.brainres.2008.01.003

[chubbyheroesworthyheroes]

This was a request I got before even getting into 3H, and I never forgot about it! Just finally got around to writing it up. Anon didn’t give another character for the prompt, so I tried to do a fun solo thing for Sylvain here. Hopefully it came out okay!

---

There were many things you could call Sylvain -- and many people did, whether to his face or behind his back -- but one couldn’t really call him personally vain. Towards women he held fleeting interest in, he could be, but towards himself? Not too much. He was perfectly content with who he was, and had no trouble being himself, even if it wasn’t particularly favorable to be so in certain situations. He stayed out late most nights, chasing women and having fun, and despite his great potential, tended to shirk non-mandatory training. Put these two things together with the free food at the monastery, as well as a few students in the Blue Lions that either enjoyed to cook or practically came up with reasons to give snacks away, and it all led up to one thing…

Personal growth. 

Just...not in the way most people likely thought he needed to grow.

Sylvain had always been attractive -- certainly to himself, but clearly to the fairer sex as well, considering his track record. He was above average in height, had a perfectly charming physique that was fit but not overly muscled. He was fair of face and styled his hair to have that slightly roguish look that caught certain ladies’ eyes.

To his estimations, he was a prime specimen of the male variety.

And he continued to think so, even when muscle definition started to melt away from a lack of consistent exercise and clothing became too tight due to helping Dedue out one too many times in the kitchens. It was also frequent for Felix to foist unwanted sweets on him, and even Dimitri gifted him certain foods, knowing that Sylvain enjoyed them and not wanting to “waste” them on his own compromised sense of taste.

With so many enablers around when it came to food, it was only a matter of time before weight really started to pile up. For someone with far less confidence in themselves, this would have been the point at which to change bad habits. But if there was one thing Sylvain had in spades, it was self confidence. He didn’t think anything of it. Sure, he was aware of it -- hard not to be, besides, he wasn’t a dunce! -- but nothing had really changed in his life on account of it. He still went out to have fun and pick up girls, he was still fairly able on the battlefield. Truly, the only thing that had changed in his life was that he had to constantly up the size of his wardrobe.

Examining himself in the mirror, Sylvain liked what he saw -- as always.

His face was cherubic now; round, rosy cheeks and the soft outline of a double chin. His shoulders and waist weren’t as sharp and tapered anymore; shoulders slightly rounded with padding, and his waist bulged out with a pleasantly plump roll from the love handles that had settled in there rather early on. His arms weren’t all that flabby, some definition still there to give a bit of hard substance to the chub. His chest was soft with a pair of perky moobs that were starting to give in to the pull of gravity, only just able to rest against his stomach when he was sitting down or slouching while standing. A lot of the weight he’d put on had gone to his middle, giving it a pillowy give that he’d found some girls just went absolutely nuts for -- they simply couldn’t keep their hands off, rubbing or squishing and squeezing at the girth of his gut.

Shifting around, his body jiggling lightly as he did, Sylvain smirked as he took a gander at his rear. Really, even if it had gotten him near to being stuck in some chairs recently, it was worth it to catch peoples’ attention with an ass as fat as this. It was a firm sort of fat, wobbling weightily when given a hard slap. His thighs, too, had gone sort of the same way, the pudge there bolstered by muscles from his horseback riding.

He was thick, and frankly, it was delicious.

Sylvain rubbed a palm over the chubby curve of his stomach, making a faint “oh!” sound as an idea struck him. Pacing away with an excited pep in his step, he went rummaging around in his clothes drawers for a bit. He was pretty certain he still had-- Aha! There it was! Yanking the uniform out from its shoved-in-the-back prison, Sylvain held it up for inspection for a moment before padding back to the mirror.

His old uniform. 

He had long since outgrown it, but now, he was really curious to see by just how much he’d gotten larger since he’d come to the monastery. 

Dropping the bundle of clothes on the floor, Sylvain figured he’d start with the shirt first. It was a bit of a struggle to get his pudgy arms through the long, white sleeves of the formal shirt, but he did manage it. It pulled tightly across his shoulders and squeezed his upper arms. It was on, but actually buttoning it up was going to be the real challenge here. He started from the top, the button near his collarbone coming together without much of a hitch; it wasn’t abhorrently tight, but it sort of constricted his breathing as he was forced to tuck his soft chin to his chest in order to look down at what his fingers were doing. He made it one and then two buttons down, his puffy chest causing the space in between the buttons to gap open and reveal plush flesh.

Grunting, Sylvain struggled with the next button. He pulled and yanked, sucking in his tummy as much as he could; the pearlescent smoothness of the button almost slipped from his fingers, but he eventually managed to slot it into its buttonhole. The fabric stretched as far as it could, a deep crease in the material cutting into the soft crest of his belly, and then -- rip, ping! -- the shirt button gave way, tearing away from the crisp fabric and rocketing to one of the corners of his room.

Sylvain let out an involuntary sigh of relief as the pressure was immediately removed from his stomach, chubby face gone a soft pink from excitement over popping a button off the shirt so easily. He reveled in the moment a bit, before taking the shirt off and tossing it to the floor, opposite the pile of yet-to-be-tried clothing.

Next would be the jacket, but as he bent to pick it up, ass slightly in the air and the weight of his belly hanging off his round frame, he had his doubts on even getting it on.

The sleeves were awfully tight, and while he squirmed and wiggled a pudgy arm through as far as he could, he gave up after not making much headway past his elbow. The jacket quickly joined its shirt brother, Sylvain giving it a mock salute before turning his attention to the trousers.

Now these...these were the big breakthrough. There wasn’t anything quite as satisfying to him than outgrowing a pair of pants. It held weight, pun possibly intended. Even back when he wasn’t as heavy, these pants were form fitting -- bordering on tight, but not uncomfortably so. Giving them a look over, Sylvain grinned, “Time to test your endurance, old friend.”

Holding them open, Sylvain daintily stepped into one leg, then -- with only some awkwardness -- plopped his other leg into the remaining one. With the black material pooled at his ankles, he made sure to get a good angle in the mirror before starting to pull the trousers up. Ankles? Cleared. Calves? Not too much resistance, until he got further down the leg of the pants, but he could still keep going without much fuss. He got the fabric up past his knees and was heading towards his thighs, and that is when he met an immediate roadblock.

He yanked and tugged, wiggled himself back and forth, trying to gain any ground. He won maybe a quarter inch before the waist of the pants slipped from his hands in another attempt to pull them higher up. The black trousers stayed exactly put, stuck on the circumference of his thighs with the waist tightly molded to the underside of his thick rear.

Sylvain almost squeaked with the pleasure of it, panting from the exertion. He couldn’t get the damned things past his thighs, let alone even try to get it up beyond the swell of his ass. He moved a hand up to grope at his chest, the other coming down to squeeze at the bulge of his middle as he watched himself in the mirror; face a bright scarlet, excitement and pleasure coiling in his lower stomach.

“Fuck, I’m hot…,” Sylvain moaned, body wobbling as he tried to quickly shimmy out of his pants enough to get a hand on his stiffening cock.

There really was no sweeter treat.