#hair plantation for ladies

[minhosimthings]

Gods and Monsters

Symphony Smut Series Day 1: Lana del Rey's God's and Monsters

Lyric: In the land of gods and monsters, I was an angel, looking to get fucked hard.

Pairings: Cupid!Minho × fem!angel of heaven, includes Yuna from Itzy in a scene

Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), loss of virginity (reader), overstimulation, p in v, slight breeding kink, corruption kink, possesion kink, hair pulling, use of kitten and angel, Minho cumming in reader

A/N: alright, first day! I am saur excited for this series so we're starting off strong with my husba- I mean my bias Minho! This was heavily inspired by his WKorea photoshoot.

THE SYMPHONY SMUT SERIES MASTERLIST

Gods existed. And so did monsters. But monsters didn't have a particular description, in Minho's opinion.

There he was, an angel, with the brightest wings of them all, holding metal tipped arrows in his hand, shooting all those who he believed deserved love, or worse, rejected love.

And yet, sometimes Cupid falls in love too. High angel of God never mattered to him much. Why would it? When beautiful angels roam the gardens of Eden, stroking their frocks and picking berries and flowers all day.

You were one such beautiful angel.

The prettiest of them all, according to Minho.

"Minho has his eyes on you again Y/N." Yuna nudged your shoulder gently, accidentally making you drop the berries you had in your hand. You rolled your eyes and picked them up again, quickly throwing them into your basket.

"Let him. Why should I care?"

"He's a high ranking angel Y/n." Yuna mumbled, adjusting her skirt, "They say he serves God directly."

"Nobody has seen God Yuna." You smiled gently at her. Even though she was older than you, by a few years or so, she was always the more mischevious one, always keeping an eye out for spotting your admirers.

"He is handsome, but we all know I have probably zero chances with an angel like that."

"Suit yourself then." She huffed, her mystical eyes scouring the dirt below your feet for more berries.

"Why are we picking so many berries anyway?" You questioned, adjusting the basket on your hip. Yuna shrugged her shoulders and made a face which clearly screamed confusion.

"I've hear a rumour though." Yuna whispered excitedly to you, toying with a mulberry leaf she has accidentally plucked, "Apparently Minho needs them for his monthly ritual tonight."

"The ritual?" You asked, "The one where he..."

"Takes an angel for his own, yes." Yuna completed your sentence, removing a thorn stuck in her wickerwork basket, "Apparently if he falls in love with any of them, he shall be promoted to a higher position, one where he can actually see God."

"But that hasn't happened yet has it?" You chuckled, the scent of honeydew plantations tickling your nose, as you saw some angels tending to them with their bare hands all pricked with thorns, "He's a Cupid. Cupids can't fall in love. Even though, I admit, he is dashing."

"Angels, may I have a moment of your time?"

A cold voice sounded like a gong behind your ear drums as you spun around (your skirt spinning with you), to face a cat-like face with bunny teeth.

"Minho." Yuna perked up, brushing her hair out of her face. Gosh, she really did like him. Like you, and every other angel in Heaven and Hell.

"How are you today?" " Fine as ever, Yuna." His tone was condescending, a weird one to use for a casual conversation such as this one.

"Y/N." He bowed to you, the eclipses of his soft hair falling onto his face as he did. "Minho." You answered, the neckline of your frock falling down as you bowed, revealing your cleavage, which Minho tried hard not to stare at.

"You look beautiful today." He complemented, his white teeth on full display, "as always." His addition at the end made you blush.

Was he this nice to every pretty angel?

"I assume you ladies are picking these beautiful berries for my ritual tonight?" He bent over your basket, examining all the black and red berries stuffed into it.

"We are." You cleared your throat, noticing how close Minho was to your bosom, "aren't they delicious looking?"

"We'll see tonight." Minho toyed with a blackberry, "When I drink them up."

Something about his tone scared you, as Yuna bowed him out of the garden, leaving you, tucking your skirt in a little more secure, and looking at the berries all arranged neatly in your basket.

Unexpected things always happen to humans, as you had heard. But sometimes they can happen to angels too. They can happen to anyone really. They just need time.

"Y/N." Minho caressed your cheek gently. The smell of crushed blackberries filled the room, as a bowl of red berries lay beside you.

Being chosen by Minho, hearing your name fall from his lips like an ill forgotten name of a God was shocking, as Yuna nudged you forward to the stand. All the angels looked at you with pity, as if you were a lamb going off for slaughter.

But you hadn't expected him to treat you so kindly.

"My angel...." Minho whispered, tucking a stray hair back behind your ear. "Why me?" You whispered back, as he kissed your knuckles gently, his wings fluttering gently behind him, as he folded them into his back.

"Why not you?" He chuckled, looking at you with bedroom eyes. Reaching his hand behind you, he picked up a berry from the wooden bowl and held it in front of your mouth.

"Be a good angel and open for me." He imitated an opening mouth with his own, "ah there you go, good girl."

The cherry was sweet, running with juices as you tasted it in your mouth, it's bitterness not bothering you. Spitting the seed out quickly, you looked up meekly as Minho's naked figure.

His jaw, lined with heavy lust, his eyes darkened as the night, and his muscles throbbing into your skin. You were wearing a loose robe of reds and whites, a show of the corruption of the pure.

"Oh don't worry darling." Minho caressed your cheek again, his thighs rubbing against yours as he laid you back on the silk ridden bed, "You'll feel nothing but pleasure tonight." "Minho I-Im scared." You whimpered, unsure of what to do. What if he didn't fall in love with you? What if you became another wasted angel?

"Don't be." Minho chuckled, "A pretty angel like you shouldn't be."

You sunk back into the mattress, his body over yours, a hand cupping your cheek while the other rested on your waist, stroking the skin there, exposed from your ridden up robe. your hands were in his curls, and you revelled in the way that you could shamelessly touch them now. He paused for a second, nose brushing yours, breathless and grinning down at you, a knowing smile that was so beautiful that it rendered you speechless.

You leaned in to kiss him again, slower this time, relishing in the moment. you were lost in him, thinking back to the very first time you’d locked eyes and how you never thought it would come to this. this, the way he was holding you, was the best surprise.

"May I?" Minho asked gently, toying with your robe. You nodded your head in a weak attempt of saying yes. His face, mere inches from yours rendered you speechless again.

And with that, the air changed, charged with a different kind of tension. Minho pulled you on top of him, hands firm on your body, the action itself gentle. you steadied yourself, hands on his shoulders, his resting on your waist.

he smiled softly, slowly peeling the material off of your body, up over your head and tossed carelessly onto the floor. he kept his eyes on yours, despite the fact you were now left bare, aside from the white cotton panties that separated you both. he pawed at your sides, kneading gently at your soft hips.

“we’re gonna start slow, okay? gonna take my time with you.” he muttered, eyes on yours before they trailed slowly down, across your face, neck, collarbone, further and further until he was taking all of you in. he began to stroke the underside of your breast with his thumb, watching the way your body tensed under his feather-like touch.

His kiss trailed further down your body, peppered in the valley of your breasts, and then you stopped breathing, the air caught in your throat because he was looking at you, really, truly looking at you, as his tongue found your nipple. you couldn’t take your eyes off of him, not when he was looking at you like that, not when he was making you feel this good already.

“oh, kitten, you want me so badly, don’t you? should’ve asked me sooner. m’gonna make you feel so good.” His hands were on your hips, guiding you backwards and forwards on him.

“it feels so- oh, god.” you whimpered, fingers tangling in his curls, back arching further into him as your thighs clenched around his. He licked over your collarbone oh so slowly, a shiver running down your taut spine.

“i want you to come for me like this first, okay? can you do that for me, kitten?” he cooed, bouncing his leg ever so slightly. “look at me.” And you did, somehow mustering the strength to pull yourself back up and find his darkened eyes.

You were a mess of curses when you let go, your body convulsing, collapsing into him as you came. You were throbbing on his thigh, one glance down at where you were grinding against him displaying your slick. His arms went around your body, flipping you onto your back so that you were resting against the mattress.

“you did so well, angel.” Minho crooned, resting over you on his forearms. you stared up at him in awe, blinking away the haze. “do you want more?”

Minho's hand slid down your body, searching for the band of your underwear. when he reached his destination, he toyed with the lacy edges, letting them snap against the pudge of your belly, teasing you. you bucked your hips, frustrated, and he used the opportunity to cup your pussy, feeling where you’d soaked through the cotton. the groan he let out was carnal, animalistic, almost needy. he could feel all of you, how you ached and dripped, how you needed the everything that you’d requested.

“you’re so fucking good for me, God.” Minho almost slurred his words, voice lower than you’d ever heard it. you keened at the sound, pushing your hips further into him.

“you still want all of me?” he breathed, his shaky breath fanning your face. Minho was obsessed with hearing you say it, obsessed with how you wanted him as much as he needed you.

“You’re so fucking tight.” lando groaned, an edge of excitement in his voice, and then he unleashed everything that he’d held back.

“ahh,” you moaned, trying to tilt your hips so he stopped rutting against your clit, but he was too heavy for you to move beneath him. You could feel another orgasm brewing and you squeezed your eyes shut, your brain fogged. “M-minho” you cried, not knowing if you could keep going like this.

Minho's erratic hips never faulted, “shh,” he cooed unsteadily. “you can take it.” 

You shook your head back and forth and mewled in your throat. Minho tried to reassure you, “m’almost finished, kitten.”

As wild and deadly as he was in the battles of Heaven , he was just as primal in the bedroom. Thee softness of your skin felt heavenly against Minho's sore body and against his calloused hands. he slid a hand into your hair, his fist grasping tightly. “this is the last time. i promise.” His deep baritone sent you over the edge. you cried out loud, your legs squeezing against Minho's body, your body shaking as he pummeled you through another orgasm. 

You could barely hear the way he was grunting and moaning as you clenched down impossibly hard around him. “gah, fuck,” he groaned.

Minho spilled inside you, your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you felt him fill you once more that night. You weren’t even sure how he still had more to give at this point.

His thrusts turned slow but remained powerful when he bottomed out, hitting you as far back as he could. you gasped with every rut of his hips hitting yours. 

His seed leaked out around his cock as he rode out his orgasm. you weren’t sure you could go for another round, hoping Minho was true to his word and this actually was the last time.

His hand aimlessly stroked your hair. he pulled back to look at you, smiling at the sight of your flushed face and disheveled hair. “see. knew you could take it.” he kissed the tip of your nose, regretfully pulling out of you. you whined at the loss—you had got so used to the feeling of him inside you, it was almost painful for him to leave. he marveled at you as he sat back on his haunches, looking between your legs and watching his seed gush out of you. 

"You're mine now." Minho whispered into your ear, looking at your cum ridden tummy, "all mine for the eternity of heaven."

As if to seal a charm, Minho kissed you on your neck, wrapping your weak figure into his arms, and running his fingers through your hair to cradle you to sleep.

"My angel."

[twola]

you mentioned wanting some smutty prompts; how about the opposite of Seven Deadly Sins?

what about Seven Heavenly Virtues with a high honor!Arthur and an F!reader getting into all kinds of NSFW shenanigans, except filled with turmoil and drama as i imagine a high honor Arthur wouldn't want to impose at first... 👀

Oh! I have thought about this in the past - this isn’t going to be anywhere near as ambitious as that, but here is a drabble post with the seven capital virtues.

Virtuous

High-honor Arthur Morgan x Younger F!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

At least with you, he will try to be a good man. It doesn't come naturally, of course.

Chastity: the state or practice of refraining from extramarital, or especially from all, sexual intercourse.

You’re drunk. Rip-roaring drunk. Stumbling drunk. But on a night like tonight, you blend in. Tonight liquor is flowing and the mood is jovial: little Jack is back in his mother’s arms and for once in the past several months, everything seems like it’s going to be okay.

You aren’t as drunk as Karen, god, that’s a good thing, her drinking is getting a bit out of control.  But you’re drunk enough to be troublesome.

You’re drunk enough to sneak away and climb into Arthur Morgan’s bed. He’s important enough that he’s gotten his own room, and as Javier belts out another refrain in Spanish, you sneak away and creep upstairs in the old plantation house, into Arthur’s room. The oil lantern casts shadows in the room, over shelves of ammunition, knives, and a map stretched out on a table. 

You sway slightly, moving toward the bed. You’re not sure you’ve ever been this drunk before. 

What you do know is how you’ve been watching him for months, probably since you joined this gang, nursing an infatuation for Dutch’s top gun. You know he’s older - you’re not much past twenty yourself, but it is him you see when you shut your eyes and touch yourself on lonely nights.

Kicking off your shoes, you crawl into his bed, pulling the sheet over yourself. Somehow, the whiskey in your belly burns in a smoldering frustration - you want him, you want him, and damnit, you’re going to do something about it.

Arthur returns to his room much later in the night, smelling like cigars and whiskey.  He pauses, for a moment, seeing a huddled form in his bed, but quickly relaxes, taking his hat from his head and placing it on the shelf atop a box of rifle cartridges.

“What are you doin’ up here, little lady?” He asks in a patient tone, unwinding his gunbelt from his hips, spreading it over the map on the table.

“Waitin’ fer you, Mister Morgan.”

Arthur sits on the edge of the bed, “What could you possibly be waitin’ for me for?”

You push yourself to sit up on your elbows. “How come you don’t have a lady, Arthur?”

He snorts, smirking slightly and shaking his head while pulling one of his boots off, “None would have me, Miss.”

“I would.”

Arthur stops, turning around and looking at you.

“Little lady, you’ve had quite a bit to drink tonight. Talkin’ all sorts of silliness.” 

You shake your head, your hair falling out of its messy braid, you reach over toward his arm, placing your small hand upon it, “I- I know I’m young, Arthur, but I could make y’so happy- ‘nd -”

A hiccup interrupts your confession. Arthur’s confidence is not inspired, as he turns back toward his other boot, sliding it off as it tumbles to the floor.

“ -’ nd, - and I know I could keep y’satisfied.” You punctuate the last word by running your hand from his forearm up his bicep to his shoulder, gently rubbing at it.

The liquor in your system has removed any sense of propriety from your mind. Every tawdry fantasy of Arthur Morgan you’ve had in the past months runs through your head, and now here you are, in his bed, practically propositioning him.

“Darlin’, this ain’t a good idea.”

You pull your hand back like you’ve touched a hot stove. “D’ya… d’ya not want me?”

He turns again, moving one of his legs onto the bed, and faces you fully as he takes a deep breath. “Sweetheart - I…that’s not…”

“I can go, I’m sorry, I’ll not bother-” You stumble over your words, trying to crawl out of bed.

His large hand on your thigh stops your forward motion. It also stops all coherent thought in your head.

“I ain’t gonna take advantage of you with you near fallin’ over drunk, little lady. But ‘course, course I want you - I don’t know why a pretty young thing like you would want an old man like me for.”

“Arthur-” You whine, and he blinks as seemingly all of his blood rushes to his groin at the needy sound of your voice.

“Y’need to get some sleep, then we can talk about this.”

“In the morning?” You ask, and he gently takes both of your shoulders and guides you down to lie in his bed.

“We can talk about it in the mornin’. After you’ve slept this off, alrigh’?” 

“Promise?”

“Yes, darlin’. I promise.”

You take that to be enough and settle down in his bed to sleep. Arthur sighs, watching as you quickly drift off, and stands up, pulling an old chair next to the bed and sitting down in it. He runs his hand down his beard and stares at the cracked and stained ceiling of the room.

Christ, the girl in his bed was close to fifteen years younger than him. He shouldn’t be entertaining this at all, for her sake. Dirty old man…

But still, he did have a soft spot for the smiles you give him. The sway of your narrow hips as you walk in camp, the shine of your long hair, the freckles that have developed on your face, and decolletage under the Lemoyne sun…

And here you were, in his bed, pleading with him to sleep together.

Arthur crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back in the chair, knowing that for your sake, he had to be a better man.

Temperance: the quality of moderation or self-restraint.

The sunlight on your eyelids makes you scrounge your nose, and your eyes slowly flutter open. Your head pounds, but you blink yourself into self-awareness, realizing everything you said and did last night was not, indeed, a dream.

Arthur is sleeping in the chair next to the bed and nods awake when he hears you moving.

“How’re you feeling, little lady? Seems like you had quite a bit to drink last night.”

You rub your forehead, avoiding eye contact with him, a vibrant blush settling on your cheeks as you sit up. 

“I c’n go get you some coffee.” Arthur stands up, moving toward the bed to put his boots on. At that moment, you decide to go for broke, reaching out to grab his arm.

“Mm?” Arthur hums, turning toward you. Your eyes flit from his, down to his lips, and you unconsciously lick your own. With the newfound courage of a woman with nothing to lose, you surge forward and press your lips against his. He is surprised and doesn’t respond for a moment, but after recollecting his wits, he turns fully toward you and wraps one of his arms around you.

You pull back, your eyes still looking downward. “I think we agreed that we was gonna talk.”

“We did,” Arthur says, but he leans in to press his lips against yours, his tongue brushing along the seam of your lips, demanding entrance. You sigh, leaning into him and allowing him so. His lips are chapped, but still soft, as his large arm winds around you.

It’s several moments like this, mouths moving against each other, until you maneuver yourself nearly into his lap, clutching at him desperately.

You pant into his mouth, reaching toward the button on his trousers. His hand catches yours, however, and a groan rumbles from deep in his chest.

“Arthur -” You whine, you feel your bloomers wet against your skin, and you’re sure that he’s hard in his trousers. 

“C’mon now, sweetheart.” He grits out, pressing you away from him in the bed.

You pout, “You said we would talk about this in the morning.”

“I reckon we better start talkin’ then. Don’t think we were doin’ much talkin’ there.” 

Patience: the capacity to accept or tolerate delay, trouble, or suffering without getting angry or upset.

Arthur was a busy man. As the lead enforcer of the gang, he was one of the men who brought in the most money - he could be very convincing at the end of a shotgun.

You knew Arthur did what he had to do: it kept you fed, clothed, cared for. 

You were also annoyed that you’d barely seen him for a week: frankly, since that morning after Jack’s return, he’s been in and out of camp at Dutch’s beck and call. Only around to give you sweet kisses behind crumbling columns or trees draped with Spanish moss. 

When you do get the chance, you clutch at him as if you could make him stay, pressing your tongue into his mouth, trying to pull him downward. It is really somewhat laughable, as he could toss you over his shoulder one-handed should he choose.

But he doesn’t choose.

He does pull you away after several moments, usually after the soft moan has escaped your mouth and you’ve pressed yourself against him.

“Patience, little lady. Ain’t no one ever tell you the best things come to those who wait?”

You pout back at him, deciding not to tell him how you’ve snuck into his room and touched yourself in his bed at night.

Diligence: having or showing care and conscientiousness in one's work or duties.

The afternoon heat hung low, sweat breaking out on the back of your neck as you rushed toward the back of the old plantation house, hiking up your skirts as you bound down the stairs of the back porch while no one is around. Bolting toward the old dockhouse, you grin as you see Arthur’s horse grazing in the fields at the back of the property.

He’s standing there, whisps of smoke drifting upward from the cigarette hanging from his lips. Leaning against a cypress tree eyes out on the horizon over the waters of the Lanaheechee.

He hears you coming, why wouldn’t he, you’re bowling through like a bull in a china shop. Arthur turns right as you come up to him, nearly launching yourself at him in delight.

“Whoa there, gonna run straight into the water now.” Arthur smiles, his hands on your shoulders.

You press forward into his embrace. “I knew you’d catch me.”

He snorts lightly, his arms moving to wrap around your small waist.

“Y’ready to get away for a bit?”

You look up at him, a head and a half taller than you, beaming, “Really?”

“Reckon I’ve done enough jobs to earn an afternoon off. C’mon, let's get out of here.”

He winds his arm around your shoulder and starts walking the two of you toward his horse. 

“Where we goin’?” You ask as you reach the mare, and Arthur swings you up to sit on the horse’s rump. He taps your leg lightly.

“You’ll see, little lady.”

Charity: aid given to those in need

The picnic in the meadow outside Bolger Glade did not last long. A few canned peaches were consumed before you crawled into Arthur’s lap and drew him into a kiss.

This time, finally, he does not push you away as you press against him. Indeed, he does the exact opposite. He rolls you beneath him, flat out on the blanket, and moves his lips from yours down your neck, suckling gently at the skin there, before his hand ducks downward to gather your skirts up, fingers trailing up your legs underneath the cotton.

“Y’want this?” He pants in your ear as his rough fingers press against your bloomers, and all you can do is whine needily in acquiescence. 

He pulls your bloomers down, down your thighs, down past your knees, and tosses them to the side before sliding his hand up your skirts again. You cling to his shoulders, eyes fluttering shut as a high moan as he touches your skin. 

Arthur rubs in gentle circles against your folds, and your breath loudly hitches as one of his fingers pauses near your opening for but a moment before sliding inside. 

Hopefully, you’re far enough from the road not to bring attention to the two of you, because you’re having an increasingly hard time keeping quiet, thrusting your face against his shoulder to muffle your sounds, especially when he slides another finger into your wet warmth.

It's only a few moments more before you keen, mewling into the linen of his shirt as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear: good girl, that’s it.

“Let me… let me make you feel good,” You pant, reaching for the buckle of his pants as you regain some of your wherewithal.

He gently swats your hand away.

“Hush, I ain’t done with you yet.”

You want to scream aloud when his head disappears under your skirts and you feel his tongue press against your cunt.

Humility:  a modest or low view of one's own importance; humbleness.

You moan into his neck as you roll your hips in his lap, his hands spread wide over the globes of your rear and he pants in return, grinding you against the hardness in his pants.

“Fuck,”  he swears, and lays you down on the blanket, looming over you, hands reaching to undo the buttons of his trousers. “Y’ready?”

“Y-yes.” You shiver, opening your legs for him and starting to pull your skirts up, uncovering inch by inch of your inner thighs up to the thatch of dark hair shrouding your cunt.

Your breath hitches as he fully opens his pants, about to pull his length from them.

Arthur stops, looking at you, studying your eyes, your face, before frowning. “You’ve never done this before.”

He leans back up onto his knees, shaking his head. You rocket up in concern, afraid he’s going to leave, god, that would break your damn heart.

“Tell me the truth.” He asks, his tone firm.

You shake your head and Arthur sighs, staring down at his hands in his lap, the swollen tenting of his half-opened trousers, his cock still steel hard.

“I - I ain’t worthy of this honor, darlin’. Y- you should have a far better person than me bein’ your first.” Arthur says, one hand moving to redo the buttons of his pants.

“No,” You cry out forcefully, grabbing his hand, “I want it to be you, Arthur.”

“Little lady-”

You interrupt, grasping his hand in your own and interlacing your fingers. “You’re kind, and you’re wonderful, and I know you ain’t gonna hurt me.”

You lay back on the blanket, your hair fanning out, and still holding his hand, you pull him toward you. Arthur closes his eyes, visibly struggling with himself.

“I-”

He trails off, and after several moments, his eyes flutter open again. You’re spread out beneath him, his knees framed by your open legs, your face flushed, your cunt wet and needy and ready for him.

“Arthur. I want it to be you.” You say, with more force behind your voice.

He breaks.

“Alright, sweetheart… Alright.”

Kindness: the quality of being friendly, generous, and considerate.

Arthur pulls his cock from his pants, stroking himself several times, and as you watch him, your hand moves down between your legs, touching your glistening folds as he grunts in approval. After several moments, he looks back at you, a serious heaviness in his eyes.

“You tell me if it hurts - you hear that?” “Yes,” you whine, gasping as he moves over you, placing his elbows on either side of your head, capturing your lips as he presses his length against your core, parting your folds, gently jutting his hips back and forth, covering himself with your slick. 

The head of his cock hits that bundle of nerves and you moan loudly into his mouth, and he jolts against you, pressing his length even harder against the seam of your body.

He curses against your lips, pressing himself up with one arm, balancing on his other forearm, as he reaches down between you to grasp the base of his cock. He slowly pulls it down, down the seam of you until the head catches at your weeping opening. He presses in slightly, enough so that he can move his hand, and immediately moves up to cradle your cheek. His thumb traces your jawline for a moment, his blue eyes flutter as he begins to press forward.

Your breath escapes you as you throw your arms around his neck, his flesh splitting you open - it does hurt, but god, if he were to stop, your heart might hurt even more. He’s about halfway in when he starts peppering kisses over your brow, his thumb drawing gentle circles over your cheek.

“Y’okay?” He asks, his voice not more than a whisper.

“Yes, please… please.” You plead, unable to articulate any further.

Arthur groans, pressing completely inside you, his girthy cock fully seated, and he remains still as your fingers dig into his shoulders, his work shirt saving his skin from your nails.

After a few moments, you unclench your hands, one moving up his neck to grasp the ends of his short hair. “Arthur,” you moan, in a high, flighty voice that gives him permission to move.

He slowly, gently, retracts his hips from yours, and then presses back forward, intently watching your face for any twinge of pain. When he sees none, he repeats the process a little faster. And again, a little faster.

You gasp and whine in tune with his thrusts, and finally, he lets out a groaning whimper after he’s sure you’re enjoying it. “God, you’re so tight, squeezin’ me like this-”

You mewl as he lowers himself completely over you, your ankles crossing over his lower back. The sounds coming from your mouth edge on obscene, as Arthur thrusts into your accepting body over and over again.

“That’s it, that’s it, c’mon, darlin’, let go.” He grunts into your ear, nuzzling against the side of your head.

You cry out, your back arching up as you convulse around him, crying his name in absolute adoration.

Arthur presses his forehead against yours, gritting his teeth and screwing his eyes shut as he thrusts a handful of more times before pulling himself from you, reaching down and stroking his cock as he finishes, his spend coating his fingers and dripping to the blanket beneath you.

He pants, leaning on his side as he lowers his hip to lay beside you, your legs falling open. He kisses your forehead, one of his large hands pulling your skirts down over your knees and thighs as you catch your own breath.

“Good for ya?” He rumbles, his hand finding purchase on your soft belly.

You open your eyes, smiling up at him. The sunlight pours through the tree you rest under on the warm afternoon.

“You’re so good for me, Arthur.”

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Good afternoon! Can I request a fic with Claude Frollo x an albino!Fem!reader who is a very strict and prim aristocrat whom Frollo is madly in love with and is trying to win her over? thank you in advance!

My pale star

warning : kinda fluff, kiss, tiny comfort, implied obsession

Info : OMG I loveeee the concept of your request dear anon and the albino reader I had already an idea on what I want the outfit to look like. I really hope you like it and have fun reading ;)

cover by me

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

When the bells rang for morning mass, the metal clashed and the rich and poor rushed to the church to cleanse themselves of their sins, she was among the masses.

He had always seen her, his white flower, his star that stood out from the crowd and that he could only see at night when she shone so beautifully.

He himself on his horse, which rode like a shadow through the streets of Paris, made his way to the church, always sending his carriage. Snowball knew he had to gallop quickly to get there before the people arrived and the judge arrived.

He got off his horse in front of the wooden door and got there a minute before she did. In his hand was the mass-produced ring, which he put back into the kelien casket when he saw the carriage arrive from the dark wood.

The horses white as the clouds overhead, white as the moon and the stars, white and pale as his favorite. His darling, his love, she had him completely under her spell.

It had been like a witch ever since he had seen her when she had lifted her veil to wipe away the tears that seemed to be in her eyes like the stars ever since he had looked under the clothes of the fine veil it had been true for him she was the most beautiful thing on this planet, free from sin and taking him with her.

All she had to do was return his love and it would be perfect. Watching as the Kutcher brought the horses to a halt and the diner jumped from the back of the carriage and opened the door, the first thing he saw was her white gloves.

He had only ever seen the light-colored fabric except for one day, but it only added to her extraordinary beauty. The white dress with the reddish ruffles embroidered by hand.

The long sleeves and slippers and on her head the veil under the white hood which only gave a hint of what her hair might look like. ,,Greetings this morning, my lady, may the Lord have mercy on your soul," he greeted her as he dismounted his horse and walked over to her, luiefe saw that she only looked at him with her eyes and held her head high.

She was an aristocrat, her father owned several plantations and textile weavers, her mother died in childbirth and she was the only child who could dispose of her own money as she wished.

,,God bless you judge and this city" she said something for the first time one morning as she went to the statue of St. Mary and left him behind. Frollo knew breaking etiquette would be an insult to her and her family he had to do it differently he had to woo her.

His angel, his lovely star as he went to the rows of wood himself and said the prayer. But his eyes kept looking at her as she lowered her head, the veil covering her. But he had seen her pale reddish eyes under the embroidered fabric that hung over her face.

He wanted to understand what was "wrong" with her, that this sin was a punishment from God, which is why she always prayed. But what was sin to her was everything to him. He wanted her like the forbidden, desirable fruit of the apple tree.

The minutes passed, the sun rose over the city and the stained glass of the windows shone on her and he fell, looking at her in color instead of white.

He lit a candle, folded his hands, and felt the ring's box in the pocket of his robe before he watched her again as she slowly rose from her kneeling position, wiped the dust from her dress and walked to the exit.

Before the people came, the people of the normal lower population. ,,My lady please wait I have heard of the good news of your lord father's factory" he began and was pleased to see her pause and wait for him.

Her hands folded in front of her dress, she watched him as best he could see under the veil. ,,I had taken the liberty of contacting him...and asked for an invitation to hear your playing your harp," he explained, knowing that she played her harp in her family circles and among her closest confidants.

He couldn't quite tell if it was indignation or exasperation that flashed in her eyes as she stood to resume her posture as an aristocrat.

,,My lord father will make a decision in your favor, I presume. Please, if it is convenient for you Judge Frollo, come to my estate and I will play for you," she replied and was about to turn away from him when he brought a ,,Wait please" after her, she paused turning her head slightly and shaking her shoulders as he handed her the casket.

,,A gift as a token of my gratitude for your generosity," he said, smiling gently as her fingers brushed over her gloves, feeling her warmth for a moment before she tucked the small box into her long sleeves.

,,That...that's very kind of you Lord Frollo, thank you" she said quietly not full of conviction more like she was embarrassed as if this fire in him had caught her for a moment.

,,Please, for such a beautiful flower, it's the least you can do," he said as a matter of course and bowed slightly as she curtseyed and stepped out of the church first, the sun flashing as the wood was opened and disappearing again as it closed.

But Frollo stayed behind, knowing that he was one step closer to her heart, she was open, he had seen it, had felt its lovely warmth and fire. There was only one last thing to do that night and she would be his.

The evening couldn't come soon enough for him. The sun was slowly setting, bathing the city in gold, but he knew that once he visited her and listened to the sound of her harp, it was only a matter of time before he would use the ring he had given her.

Her apartment, though a little smaller than his own, was lined with magnificent stone, wood and statues, the entrance lined with pictures and books, and Frollo knew he would find her in the music room.

Knew as he walked through the front door that he would hear the sound of her unnaturally pale hands wiping the pages. Her singing soft and beguiling he felt his heart beat faster. He wanted her.

He wanted her when he saw that she had taken off her veil, her fingers were not covered by gloves and he saw the silver ring with a moonstone on it. ,,You're more beautiful than any star out there in the sky," he had flattered her for a moment, watching her stop crying as she turned her head away, not yet wanting to believe his words.

,,Please my lord enjoy the play...if my appearance disturbed you the Judge I can cover myself too" she said quietly almost whispering as if she was afraid that someone would hear them both. But he only shook his head in confusion as she stopped playing, rose from her seat and came to him.

,,Your look my pretty pale flower quite the opposite it's a pleasure to see you every day" he said and let his fingers run over her ring on her finger saw how she moved back to avoid the contact almost shco was too close.

But only almost, as it was true in the Bible Eve would give in to temptation and Adam would still love her more than anything. ,,Your body is my personal carnal pleasure...you are the most beautiful thing on this earth my love" he purred and his other hand brushed a white loose strand of hair behind her ear of her elaborate hairstyle.

He saw the shame in her reddish eyes at his words, but it was the shame that made her cheeks slightly flushed. ,,You-You don't know what you're saying, Frollo," she murmured, lowering her gaze to her dress, her fingers nervously playing with one of the bows.

But when he told her to look at him again, overcoming the last few moments between them, he felt it. He finally felt her warmth on his lips as he kissed her softly, holding her body gently with his hands.

Knowing that he had committed a sin for the first time but seeing that beautiful look of love in her face as she did not break away from him, her hands remained around his and something like devotion flashed in her eyes, the judge knew that his pale flower finally belonged to him forever until the last stars in the sky would fade away.

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

@ria-coolgirl , @nunezs-stuff , @magmabayvi , @aliensthegreat

[kemetic-dreams]

1938 - PAULINE JOHNSON and FELICE BOUDREAUX, sisters, were once slaves on the plantation of Dermat Martine, near Opelousas, Louisiana. As their owners were French, they are more inclined to use a Creole patois than English.

"Us was both slaves on de old plantation close to Opelousas," Pauline began. As the elder of the two sisters she carried most of the conversation, although often referring to Felice before making positive statements.

"I was 12 year old when freedom come and Felice was 'bout six. Us belonged to Massa Dermat Martine and the missy's name Mimi. They raise us both in the house and they love us so they spoil us. I never will forget that. The little white chillen was younger than me, 'bout Felice's age. They sho' had pretty li'l curly black hair.

"Us didn't have hard time. Never even knowed hard time. That old massa, he what you call a good man.

"Us daddy was Renee and he work in the field. The old massa give him a mud and log house and a plot of ground for he own. The rain sho' never get in that log house, it so tight. The furniture was homemake, but my daddy make it good and stout.

"Us daddy he work de ground he own on Sunday and sold the things to buy us shoes to put on us feet and clothes. The white folks didn't give us clothes but they let him have all the money he made in his own plot to get them.

"Us mama name Marguerite and she a field hand, too, so us chillen growed up in the white folks house mostly. 'Fore Felice get big enough to leave I stay in the big house and take care of her.

"One day us papa fall sick in the bed, just 'fore freedom, and he kep' callin' for the priest. Old massa call the priest and just 'fore us papa die the priest marry him and my mama. 'fore dat they just married by the massa's word.

"Felice and me, us have two brothers what was born and die in slavery, and one sister still livin' in Bolivar now. Us three uncles, Bruno and Pophrey and Zaphrey, they goes to the war. Them three dies too young. The Yankees stole them and make them boys fight for them.

"I never done much work but wash the dishes. They wasn't poor people and they uses good dishes. The missy real particular 'bout us shinin' them dishes nice, and the silver spoons and knives, too.

"Them white people was good Christian people and they christen us both in the old brick Catholic church in Opelousas. They done torn it down now. Missy give me pretty dress to get christen in. My godmother, she Mileen Nesaseau, but I call her 'Miran'. My godfather called 'Paran.'

"On Sunday mornin' us fix our dress and hair and go up to the missy's looking-glass to see if us pretty enough go to church. Us goes to Mass every Sunday mornin' and church holiday, and when the cullud folks sick massa send for the priest same's for the white folks.

"We wears them things on the strings round the neck for the good of the heart. They's nutmeg.

"The plantation was a big, grand place and they have lots of orange trees. The slaves pick them oranges and pack then down on the barrel with la mosse (Spanish moss) to keep them. They was plenty pecans and figs, too.

"In slavery time most everybody round Opelousas talk Creole. That make the words hard to come sometime. Us both talk that better way than English.

"Durin' the war, it were a sight. Every mornin' Capt. Jenerette Bank and he men go a hoss-back drillin' in the pasture and then have drill on foot. A white lady take all us chillen to the drill ground every mornin'. Us take the lunch food in the basket and stay till they done drill out.

"I can sing for you the song they used to sing:

"O, de Yankee come to put de nigger free,

Says I, says I, pas bonne;

In eighteen-sixty-three,

De Yankee get out they gun and say,

Hurrah! Let's put on the ball.

"When war over none the slaves wants leave the plantation. My mama and us chillen stays on till old massa and missy dies, and then goes live on the old Repridim place for a time.

"Both us get marry in that Catholic church in Opelousas. As for me, it most too long ago to talk about. His name Alfred Johnson and he dead 12 years. Our youngest boy, John, go to the World War. Two my nephews die in that war and one nephew can't walk now from that war.

"Felice marry Joseph Boudreaux and when he die she come here to stay with me. There's more hard time now than in the old day for us, but I hope things get better.

[omgthatdress]

Cécile and Marie-Grace were released alongside the best friends line of dolls, and are a pretty transparent gimmick to get people to buy two dolls at once. That being said, I actually kind of love their collection.

Their story is set in New Orleans in 1853, which is a pretty great way to represent the Antebellum South without having a Scarlett O’Hara doll. New Orleans was one of the few places in the south with a robust middle class. Everywhere else had tremendous wealth inequality with absurdly rich plantation-owners, barely surviving poor Whites, and slaves.

Cécile is of the gens de coleur libre, that is, the free people of color, a class of New Orleans citizens born out of the plaçage system in which White men would take women of color as informal second wives. Plaçees held a really interesting position, as they could legally claim inheritance once their patron died, and the children born of plaçage could be named heir of an estate. Plaçees were also allowed to develop assets and run small businesses. All of this created a level of generational wealth that was unique among African-Americans at the time. Today, their descendants are known as Creoles.

As far as Marie-Grace goes, I don’t think she’s Cajun, just French-American. Cajuns are a specific group, the Catholic descendants of the French colonizers of Acadia, now called Nova Scotia, who were forced by the British out of the home. They settled mostly in the fertile Mississippi delta, and maintained a rural, somewhat insular way of life. Marie-Grace is the city-dwelling daughter of a doctor, so probably just the descendant of regular French citizens who settled in New Orleans.

Hair-wise, this is the era when girls tied their hair up with rags at night to have fat sausage curls in the morning. Most photographs and paintings that I’ve seen of Black girls in the era show them with their hair tied up, but there are a few who had curls.

Marie-Grace’s face-framing curls are a little bit more Jan Brady than 1850s, but it’s cute on her, so I’ll give her credit for that. The long hair isn’t inaccurate.

There’s something about Cécile’s dress that keeps saying “wrong” but I can’t quite put my finger on it. A more accurate dress would be more along the lines of something like this:

(The Victoria & Albert Museum)

(The Victoria & Albert Museum)

(New York Historical Society)

Marie-Grace’s dress seems to have been inspired by this portrait of Creole children:

(credit to @in-pleasant-company​ for finding it)

Cécile’s pillbox hat is a style that was adopted more in the late 1860s and 1870s. A more accurate hat would also have her in a “coal scoop” bonnet.

Her gloves, however, are accurate and adorable!

(The Met Museum)

Marie-Grace is wearing a kind of sun hat that was popular for children:

(The Met Museum)

Marie-Grace’s fan looks typical of the French fans that were popular at the time. They were usually painted with pretty pastoral scenes instead of flowers, however, although Chinese fans at the time frequently had floral themes.

(The Philadelphia Museum of Art)

(The Victoria & Albert Museum)

The shoes are definitely late Victorian rather than 1850s. Fine city ladies in the 1850s would be wearing boots made out of silk with leather soles:

(The Met Museum)

[murfpersonalblog]

The Vampire Lestat & Sir Percy Blakeney: Most Genius & Manly of Himbos

I want to discuss the "babygirl" discourse around Lestat's yaasification, and notions that he's the "woman/wife/mother" in Loustat's household.

YES, Sam Reid has been serving nothing but Charisma Uniqueness Nerve and Talent, but I think his play on gender norms has confused people into thinking he's playing into Lestat's femininity, when actually, I think Sam's playing up Lestat's masculinity instead.

But it's a VERY particular type of masculinity, that clashes with modern norms and tastes and perceptions/assumptions.

And it only recently struck me that the vampire Lestat AND Sir Percy Blakeney (AKA the Scarlet Pimpernel) have A LOT in common: They're both foppish prissy buffoons who are tougher than they look and seem a LOT dumber than they actually are--and it's INTENTIONAL.

Because Lestat and Sir Percy Blakeney lived during the French Revolution. The Rococo hellscape of extravagant hedonistic opulence, that caused the fall of the monarchy & rise of the nouveau riche & middle classes. They came at the Revolution from opposite sides--Lestat de Lioncourt as a penniless marquis' son forced to hunt for his own food or starve, and Sir Percy Blakeney as an English elite sympathizer & spy for the French monarchy. That environment heavily colored both of their outlooks on life and interactions with others.

Aesthetics were everything--don't get Lestat started on the Savage Garden!--and a man's whole reputation and life could be ruined by his public image alone. Outdated clothes at court!? Scandalous!

Society's fashions & tastes change. The wigs, high heels, lace, makeup, limp wrists, prancing walks, small waists, shapely calves--all the Old World beauty standards now associated with women actually used to be applied to men. Manly men!

As overdone and effeminate as they might seem to modern audiences, in the 1700s, that kind of man was considered HOT--the very pinnacle of fashion, taste and breeding.

Ladies wanted to be with them, and men wanted to BE them--the nouveau riche, social climbers, middle class, etc--this was the model.

How society's double standards affect the class/race/gender dynamics between Loustat are absolutely feral. Despite how silly Lestat looked in his clothes, this fish out of water with his weird foreign talk and obnoxious behavior, Lestat EASILY "emasculated" Louis, the established & respected tough local pimp (and we would see over & over how effortlessly he could one-up Louis, especially in Ep5 when he came out of that fight without a scratch).

EFF his snatched waist, sassy hands, and long hair--this MAN was on DEMON TIME. Sam said that AMC put Lestat in a whole Matador-inspired villain outfit. Now, I don't know anything about Spanish bullslaying, but one cursory search on Jstor had all kinds of interesting things to say:

Douglass, Carrie B. “‘toro Muerto, Vaca Es’: An Interpretation of the Spanish Bullfight.” American Ethnologist 11, no. 2 (1984): 242–58. http://www.jstor.org/stable/643849.

And Louis definitely saw red and was charging at him like a bull--and Lestat nearly killed him for it.

So y'all tell me who the MAN is in this relationship. 👀 Lestat didn't become his MOTHER, he became HIS FATHER. (Louis is the one who's similar to Gabrielle!)

Lestat's money & class is telling, too. But what's ironic is that although Lestat appears Old Money to everyone (as his inheritance from Magnus was VERY old, and bottomless), he's actually nouveau riche--LOUIS was the silver spoon Old Money elite, with the DPDL estate (inherited from his white ancestors' French colonial slavery & plantations in NOLA). But Lestat was called the Wolf Killer, cuz he hunted wolves & saved his broke family from starving (and his village from wolf attacks).

Lestat was SO cocky after his hunt, prancing around town in his wolf furs like little Lord Fauntleroy, PRINCE LESTAT, like the kind of aristocrat he wished he was, the kind his birthright would've afforded him, if only his broke AF FATHER could've afforded it (and Prince Lestat eventually renovated his father's Chateau for the vampire court). His beautiful braggadocio/machismo was what attracted the vampire Magnus to Lestat, and made him a worthy candidate for immortality. Likewise, Lestat's brazen & BALLSY antics were what attracted Akasha to Lestat in QotD, too.

"Lestat, if all the world were destroyed, I would not destroy you," [Akasha] said. "Your limitations are as radiant as your virtues for reasons I don't understand myself. But more truly perhaps, I love you because you are so perfectly what is wrong with all things male. Aggressive, full of hate and recklessness, and endlessly eloquent excuses for violence-you are the essence of masculinity; and there is a gorgeous quality to such purity. But only because it can now be controlled." "By you." "Yes, my darling. This is what I was born for. This is why I am here. And it does not matter if no one ratifies my purpose. I shall make it so. Right now the world burns with masculine fire; it is a conflagration. But when that is corrected, your fire shall burn ever more brightly-as a torch burns."

For Akasha (and Anne Rice lbr), Lestat represented the epitome--the essence--of (toxic) MASCULINITY. The same vain, supercilious, foppish dandy obsessed with his hair and nails and purple sunglasses, always going on and on about James Dean & Marlon Brando, etc etc--is still a MAN.

He's the silliest creature ever, and he REVELS in it, because he knows good and dang well that he's the most dangerous one in the room. Whatever he wanted, he took, and fought for, controlled & dominated, come hell or high water.

Sure, he burns brightly, with effervescent light; but he's also the thing that goes bump in the night, lurking in the shadows, hiding his TRUE nature, his real face.

And we see that darkness, that ugly mean streak, as soon as Lestat and Percy feel they've been betrayed & feel their most vulnerable.

On a DIME, this man can go from being a silly, vapid clown, to a cold and calculated evil genius, playing 4D chess with the best of them. And the best trick is that because Lestat & Percy are both the protagonists/heroes of their stories, we'll clap and cheer and hope that they triumph, all while making a thousand excuses for their red flags--the matador wins again!

But what are Lestat & Percy REALLY fighting for & protecting? The rights of vampires to be effing serial killers? The rights of the parasitic monarchy/rich to leech off the poor? Don't let the pretty smiles & fun personalities fool you--they're inherently KILLERS--apex predators, hunters, and aggressively male--gay or straight, butch or femme, he wants to emasculate, dominate, penetrate, and humiliate.

The Scarlet Pimpernel is still an assassin, and Lestat is still a vampire. The patriarchal layers run deep, but their supposed "girliness" is just on the surface; it's due to the time period they both grew up in, and the aesthetic ideals of the elite during the 1700s--a time when manly men were A LOT more effeminate than what we'd expect today. But underneath that cultured veneer, they're still dangerous animals. The whole point of gothic literature Anne Rice's book emulated is that it confronts that duality head on, to consider the underlying nature of MAN's beast within. That's what makes Lestat so interesting--because you know there's sooo much more going on.

[wordsvomit101]

Gehenna Worldbuilding Draft 1 (with some canon divergence)

Author Notes: this is for fun, don't mind me, I'm just having a spiraling from a hihi haha moment of thinking about Minhyeok's kink to writing this 4.2k words mess. Idk how I got here. ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

(At Gehenna's capital city, Malebolge - 8:40 AM IST - Time of Dawn's Embrace)

"So Minhyeok secretly stole your underwear, Miss Raon?" Ppyong needs to control himself. He shouldn't make assumptions about his best friend. Miss Raon only said that her underwear sometimes went missing before miraculously appearing in her cupboard again. At Minhyeok's house. Minhyeok is a super organized and charismatic guy. The cowardly pretty man who can't even show his best friend how those white juices are made. However—

If that is true? Minhyeok would have the worst teasing he ever had in his life from Ppyong and maybe a bit of bullying for his (possible) sneaky and perverted behaviors. Not that he has any ground to stand on, but he wouldn't miss that chance to make fun of Minhyeok. His idiot friend has been hard to read lately. It is hard to know what is going on in that guy's head anymore.

"W-Well! I wouldn't say he 'stole' it per se…" the lovely lady with violet hair who is sitting across from him, nestled between Sir Leraye and Sir Paimon, blushed in embarrassment and tried to think for her next words as the three men patiently waited for her. Until the waitress with curled pink horns on either side of her head and wide deer-like eyes with slits in them comes over to get their orders, her jovial voice as light and dulcet as usual.

"Good days to you all, esteemed patrons! What can I get you today?"

They're sitting in the most well-known bakery in Gehenna, called "Delights Bakery", which specializes in crafting decadent desserts and pastries inspired by the fiery landscape of Gehenna. It has been around for a long time; they still stand strong even in the midst of war. They offer a wide range of treats including Chimera Molten Cake, Vesuvius Tiramisu, Ojoshew Panna Cotta, Brimstone Biscotti, and Fairy Dust Cannoli Gelato.

The bakery provides a cozy and welcoming atmosphere where customers can enjoy freshly baked goods alongside a cup of fiendishly delicious coffee or tea. They also offer custom cake designs for special occasions like birthdays, weddings, and anniversaries, allowing customers to personalize their desserts to suit their tastes.

Ppyong's personal favorite from this place is Brimstone Biscotti, a devilishly delicious treat that pairs perfectly with a cup of the place's signature Infused Fire Coffee. These crispy almond biscotti are infused with the smoky aroma of brimstone from the eastern plantation of Gehenna and studded with common sparkling chili flakes, creating a bold and intense flavor profile that is sure to awaken anyone's senses.

"Alrighty! Your orders are coming right up, please be patient!" With a cheerful hum, the cute waitress walks back to her station with slightness in her hooves-like legs with blossom fur. A misleading appearance to a devil that ruthlessly stomped on several angels' heads yesterday and handled almost everything here before help came. She even asked to keep their bodies for new recipes.

Once they finished their orders, Sir Paimon reserved an order of Mystic Amaretto Affogato to give to Sir Astaroth since they would meet after this meet-up. They got back to the topic.

"I most likely forgot to wash them and... just left them around. He often does my laundry anyway when he comes over to visit, but…"

Sir Paimon's beautiful and cheerful voice adds, "There'sss stillll a possibilityyyy he isss usingg it forrrr his ownnn pleasureee withoutttt telling youuu, if sooo, don't youuu thinkkk he needed a bitttttt of a scoldinggg?", he ends his statement effortlessly cute with a wide playful smile, his heterochromia blinking innocently as if he didn't just accuse Minhyeok of wrongdoings, and his pretty long lashes flutter above his cheekbone like two pairs of Ethereal Emberwing to Miss Raon as if seducing her to agree.

"I- I mean he could be- No wait! He wouldn't! He never showed any signs that he would use them for anything other than washing them for me," Miss Raon said with a bright red face as she tried to defend her best friend's honor now that the conversation turned into this, unlike how she first brought it up.

"Then shouldn't he be more straightforward with you? I don't think it is a problem if you're ok with it. Shouldn't he be more honest with his temptation?" Sir Leraye innocently pulls the topic back where Paimon wants it, and his charming face frowns as he closes his eyes, deep in thought.

"Even I wouldn't say I wash his underwear for him in his face! It would be embarrassing! And it would be more believable if he said he liked women's fashion instead."

"Huh? Minhyeok do aye?" That is a surprising twist, though it seems more unexpected in Ppyong's opinion since he knows Minhyeok did ask for Miss Raon's panty for his white liquid creation process.

"Minhyeok doesn't seem like that kind of guy aye, I've never seen him show any interest in dresses and makeup too aye. If anything, I think he hugged his baseball bat in his sleep aye," like a good friend, he keeps that to himself and emphatically looks up to Miss Raon in consolation as the chance that her best friend is sniffing her panty in secret is more likely than ever.

"I'm telling you it's not like that!-", her sentence was again cut off by the bright voice of the waitress, "Sorry for the interruption! Here are your orders!" Without looking at the table, she still expertly set out their meals in the right order while smiling happily at them, "While I would love to listen to this lively conversation, I got more tables to serve. Enjoy yourselves, fellas!"

"Thank you!" they all said in unison at the preceding figure of the waitress before excitedly digging into their desserts. Ppyong's cartoonish eyes light up with anticipation, and he can feel the drool from his mouth. He reaches eagerly for the plate of Brimstone Biscotti. The aroma of roasted brimstone and dark chocolate wafts up to his nose, and he can't resist taking a bite immediately.

With a satisfied grin, Ppyong chews slowly, savoring the rich flavors dancing on his taste buds. "Mn! As delicious as always aye!" he remarks between bites, crumbs scattering on the table with each enthusiastic gesture.

Sir Paimon, the refined gentleman that he is, delicately lowers his spoon into the Ojoshew Panna Cotta. The creamy dessert yields with a gentle resistance before surrendering to his touch, letting him savor each scoop with a pleased and graceful smile.

"Mnhmmm, thisss is perfectttt forrr this fineee weatherrr, isn't itttt?"

On the other side of the table, Sir Leraye's enthusiasm knows no bounds as he plunges his spoon into the Fairy Dust Cannoli Gelato. His eyes sparkle with childlike delight as he unearths the hidden treasures within the velvety layers of frozen delight. His sunny expressions bring peace to the hearts of everyone who witnesses it.

"Yeah! It has been a while since we got to hang out like this and with Raon too! Oh! This is the first time for you isn't it Raon? What do you think?"

Between the two attractive devils, Miss Raon picks up her Vesuvius Tiramisu, her eyes marveling at its intricate presentation. The dessert resembles a miniature volcano, with layers of sponge cake and creamy mascarpone erupting from the center. She takes a tentative bite, and her eyes widen in surprise and delight as she savors the decadent dessert.

Her expression mirroring the awe of a child experiencing something magical for the first time. "This is incredible," she murmurs, her voice filled with genuine amazement. They all smile at her quiet joy and let her enjoy her meal as they begin to talk among themselves.

As Sir Leraye and Sir Paimon delved into their discussion about future assignments, their voices took on a bit more serious tone, yet their postures and actions felt relaxed and full of confidence.

Sir Leraye took a thoughtful bite of his dessert, savoring the creamy sweetness before chiming in, "You know, Paimon, after this, I'm thinking of heading over to Sulfur Springs. The streets are always lively there and my men have been struggling quite a bit recently. Do you want to join me after you meet up with Astaroth?" Sir Leraye seems sheepish as he subtly requests Sir Paimon's assistance.

Sir Paimon gently tilted his head, and a few strands of his silky blonde hair softly fell over his right eye, his gaze composed as he thought.

"Sulfurrr Springsss, huhhhh? Thattt doess sounddd enticingg. Buttt I've gottt myyy sights settt on Shadowspireee attt the Tailll of the Wolffff. I heardd there's hasss beennn some spewinggg commotionn undergrounddd in thattt nightt cityyy from Belialll"

With a false tired sign, he let his head fall gently on Miss Raon's head as he chewed on his spoon between his rosy lips. His pretty eyes are saddened as he looks at Sir Leraye.

"'mm soo innn trenddd latellyy. Evennn Hiss Majestyyy Satan calll for meee to thee southernnn provincess of Ashennn Citadelll tooo..."

Sir Leraye smiled in understanding and pat Paimon on the shoulder, "It's OK! It's just a suggestion! Don't worry Paimon, me and my men can handle it! So just focus on your work and enjoy spilling blood as usual!" the devil with the bright monocle said good-naturedly and lightened the mood with his light laugh at the last part.

"Awww~ Thankkk youuu Lerayeee~ You're a sweetthearttt as usualll~," Sir Paimon smiled sweetly back at Leraye and straightened himself up to look at Miss Raon, who had been drawn into the lively conversation between the two after she helped Ppyong slice the Brimstone Biscotti into a smaller size for him to eat.

"It'ss unfortunateee thattt we can'tt spenddd moreee timeee withhh youuu Raonnn. Don'ttt worryyy, we will droppp youuu with Zagan at Pitstoppp Plazaaa once we doneee, are youuu okkk with ittt?" Sir Paimon smiled kindly at Miss Raon as he asked her, and she smiled back in understanding.

"Of course! Please don't mind me and work hard. I also planned to ask for Zagan's help with my training today. Also," Miss Raon is now looking back at him, her face slightly red, "I will likely need, um, Minhyeok's 'thing' again. Ppyong, can you take the second portion of Vesuvius Tiramisu for him? He would like it."

A mix of eagerness and pride filled his heart. It wasn't just any task. It was a gesture of trust from someone he deeply respected. Despite doing so many times before, the simple thought of being chosen for such an errand brought a sense of validation, but also a touch of excitement to meet with his best friend!... and be rewarded with Fererere from the black-haired human.

"You can count on me aye!" With a proud grin and his chest puffed up, Ppyong determined to fulfill Raon's request with care and diligence. Also, Fererere is waiting for him!

Once they finished and dropped Miss Raon with Sir Zagan for their training, they parted ways and Ppyong made his way to the Teleportation Tower, or Nether Nexus Spire for fancy sake.

It didn't take long for Ppyong to see the towering building from miles away. The tower constructed from obsidian marble and adorned with intricate carvings of arcane symbols serves as the central hub for interdimensional travel within Gehenna. The tower is imposing and grand, with soaring spires reaching toward the sky of Hell. The exterior is adorned with flickering magic flaming bright chandeliers that dance along the edges of the tower, casting an eerie glow that illuminates the surrounding landscape.

Being a regular visitor, it doesn't take long for Ppyong to get past the inspection from the entrance and get in. At the heart of the tower lies a vast chamber filled with pulsating crystals of various hues, each one representing a different destination within Gehenna and beyond. These crystals serve as conduits for the teleportation magic that powers the gates, allowing travelers to journey to distant realms without getting themselves stuck somewhere in the void or getting wrecked from the torrent between spaces.

"Sir Ppyong! Good day to you!" a bright voice from the small goat-like devil rang over the hall before he saw the figure of Cock flying down from the third floor to greet him.

"To you too aye! Can you create a portal for me to Earth? I need to deliver something at Miss Raon's request aye," he said as they made their way to the vast ritual circle surface, etched into the polished obsidian marble floor. This circular platform serves as the focal point for the teleportation process, where technicians carefully select the appropriate crystal core to facilitate the journey to the desired destination.

"Oh? Another delivery? Miss Raon must cherish this human if she often sends him this many gifts!" Once the appropriate crystal is selected, Cock placed it in the center of the ritual circle, where it resonates with magical energy. The technician then channel his power, weaving intricate spells and incantations to activate the crystal and create the portal to the desired location.

"He is her best friend after all aye! Also, I should hurry too aye since Miss Raon will need his white liquid soon," he explained as the magic surged through the ritual circle, the air shimmered with otherworldly energy, and a swirling vortex of darkened hues materialized in the center of the circle. This portal serves as a gateway between realms, offering passage to those who seek to traverse the vast expanse of Gehenna and beyond.

"Of course, Sir Ppyong! Just a bit… Here you go! Have a good journey up there Sir!" With the portal open, Ppyong is free to step through and embark on his trip to Earth. Once he passes through, he is enveloped in a whirlwind of magical energy, his surroundings shifting and warping as he is transported to his chosen destination.

The boundaries between space and time blurred as he hurtled through the ethereal void, his body and soul becoming one with the primordial forces that governed the universe. Suddenly, the whirlwind dissipated, and Ppyong found himself facing the familiar sight of his best friend's room.

"Oomphf!"

The noise of his landing surprised the person sitting at the study table beside his bed. He lay there for a moment, gathering his bearings, and enjoyed the softness of the blanket. However, he could hear the faint sound of muffled laughter coming from the human, and when he picked himself up and was about to give Minhyeok a piece of his mind, he stopped in his tracks by the sight before him.

"Are you... Minhyeok's family Miss...?"

Seated before him is a vision of elegance and beauty, their presence commanding attention with every subtle movement. Cascading down their back like an ethereal waterfall, waves of lustrous black hair frame their delicate features with a natural allure, each strand glistening like strands of jet-black under the gentlest light.

A soft pink jacket, impeccably tailored to accentuate their statuesque frame, draped over the shoulders of their crisp white shirt. A meticulously tied white ribbon hair tie added a touch of sophistication to their ensemble. Beneath the jacket, a pretty pink sailor-style collar adorned with a dainty bow hinted subtly at femininity. Completing their attire was a soft beige-colored jean mini skirt, its hemline fluttering just above their knees, creating an image of effortless delicate playfulness.

Subtle touches of makeup enhance their natural beauty, accentuating doe-like black eyes framed by fluttering lashes that cast soft shadows against their flawless complexion and faintly blushing cheeks. Their lips, painted with a delicate hue of rosy pink, curve into a pleasant and serene smile, radiating warmth and charm.

Completing the ensemble are sleek white thigh-high boots, their glossy finish contrasting elegantly against the soft fabric of their alluring black socking. Warm clothing for the current cold weather on Earth.

A familiar snort of a man from the breathtaking beauty before him gave him a shock all over his red body. The man then averted his enchanting eyes from Ppyong, engrossed in his reflection in the mirror. The soft glow of the vanity lights illuminates his delicate features as he continues to meticulously apply his makeup with his slender hand.

The array of skincare and makeup products is meticulously arranged on the elegant desk before the man shows his progress. The room is filled with the light sweet scent of perfumes and creams, adding to the air of luxury and sophistication that surrounds his every movement. The soft rustle of brushes and the gentle click of compacts punctuated the air as the masculine voice rang out from the looker's fetching lips.

"How terrible, you couldn't even recognize your bestie?

"Hah?"

"Well, I wouldn't blame you. It's not every day people see this side of me. What do you think? You gave an eyeful earlier"

Ppyong's jaw practically hit the floor as he struggled to process the sight before him. His two black eyes widened in shock, and for a moment, he couldn't tear his gaze away from the breathtaking transformation of his best friend.

"What?!- What kind of shapeshifting sorcery is this?! Who are you and what have you done to Minhyeok aye?!"

He blinked rapidly as if trying to dispel the illusion before him, but Minhyeok remained seated before him, radiating an undeniable aura of grace and captivation. Gone was the familiar image of his friend in the casual and relaxed attire of a university student, replaced instead by this mesmerizing embodiment of a tall young attractive woman.

"I'm still me. This is just a practice for my friend's club drama performance. The leading lady's best friend role becomes empty because the girl has personal health issues and no one has time to take on another role. So I got the recommendation and the part"

Minhyeok explained as he gave his hair a fix-up and a once-over in the mirror. Minhyeok ran his fingers through his hair, flicking his wrist to fix a stubborn section that refused to sit properly. He peered at his reflection in the mirror, his dark eyes narrowed in concentration.

His fingers danced over his locks, deftly styling them into place. Each movement was precise and deliberate, like an artist working on a masterpiece. His face, usually relaxed and carefree, now held a touch of vanity as he admired his handiwork. The corners of his lips curved into a satisfied smirk as he gave his reflection one final once-over, the image of a spoiled young lady of a wealthy family getting ready for a night out reflected back at him.

"It's silly that they don't change the gender of the role and make me go around campus like this during the festival," he sighed, continuing, "but I do owe the club leader for that one time he helped me out." Ppyong didn't know what to think or feel now that he saw Minhyeok giving a cute little pout to himself.

"It's also best that I look like my own imaginary mute sister. A half-hearted effort would not help in the slightest"

At that moment, Ppyong couldn't help but marvel at the accuracy of Raon's suggestion to defend her friend, especially with how at ease Minhyeok was right now. They really knew each other like the back of their hands.

Yet Ppyong's mind raced with a whirlwind of emotions, ranging from disbelief to admiration. He couldn't help but admire the confidence with which Minhyeok carried himself, not bothered a bit by the girlish clothing he was wearing right now. It was beautiful and, for Ppyong, incredibly attractive.

Until he remembers what he's here for.

"Ah! That's right! The tiramisu, aye!" Opening the pocket of his stomach, Ppyong pulled out a box of Vesuvius Tiramisu that was bigger than himself and put it on the desk, sitting on it in front of Minhyeok, looking up and delighted as he got the attention from the gorgeous man above him. Though Minhyeok seemed to already guess who gave it to him.

"Miss Raon went out to have a snack with me and Sir Leraye and Sir Paimon today, aye! She bought a second portion for you and had me deliver it here!"

A radiant smile of pure joy illuminated his best friend's face, his captivating eyes brimming with tenderness and adoration. It was as if he were a devoted spouse receiving a long-awaited gift from his husband who is away from war, his cheeks flushing with a bashful delight as he attempted to conceal his beaming grin behind a delicate, carefully manicured hand.

Ppyong had to pat himself on the back as he marveled at the sight before him. His body shivered from a wave of longing washing over his entire being. Were there any other, lesser devils present to witness this scene, they would surely have shamelessly propositioned Minhyeok or openly leered at him. Perhaps the weakest of all would have boldly pounced on the ravishing man without a second thought.

"That girl, hehe, she should just worry for herself, risking her life down there but still has time for this? That dork, really..."

Ppyong could feel the love from Minhyeok's words as he opened the box and took a look inside, his smile pleased before closing the lids. Ppyong felt a surge of satisfaction knowing that he had managed to deliver Raon's thoughtful gesture to his friend.

"Thanks for having it delivered here, really, I appreciate it. It lets me know she's still well."

As Minhyeok expressed his gratitude, Ppyong's chest swelled with pride, his heart brimming with a new sense of joy knowing that he had brought a nice smile to Minhyeok's face.

"Hmph! Of course, this much is nothing for a great devil like this Ppyong, aye!" Despite his prideful words, he couldn't contain the childish giddiness swirling inside him at having the attention of this striking man, who often kept an invisible distance between them.

With a soft chuckle, Minhyeok put his face on his hand as he leaned on the desk. Ppyong couldn't help but take in the scent of light jasmine with a hint of soap and cotton underneath, and the proximity was making him tremble slightly.

"Sure, sure, you most likely came here for 'that'. I need to finish putting on the choker and earrings to take pictures in this. It will be quick, so just give me Raon's laundry and wait for me outside the bathroom."

"Can I help—?" His question was cut short before he could finish. "No," now the beautiful man coolly looked down at him and leaned back to open the drawer from his desk, taking out a black choker and silver heart-shaped earrings.

"Just be patient, or else I won't give you Fererere," the warning effectively shoved the protest back into Ppyong's mouth, and Minhyeok began to fiddle with the choker, trying to tie it around his pale neck.

"... Do you need help, aye?"

Minutes already ticked by as Minhyeok struggled in vain, on the verge of giving up in frustration. Suddenly, Ppyong's tiny crimson body darted over to Minhyeok's back. With an echoing pop, black smoke billowed from the point of contact, transforming into his high-ranking devil appearance. Surprising Minhyeok as his friend turned to look up at him.

"Just turn around, will you, aye? Come on, give that to me, aye."

Minhyeok reluctantly handed him the choker and Ppyong's hands deftly retrieved it from Minhyeok's grasp, his movements smooth and practiced. With a delicate touch, he began to gently secure the choker around his friend's elegant and seductive pale neck.

'Damn'

The choker rested against Minhyeok's skin, a dazzling accessory that added to his friend's already irresistible demeanor.

"See? You should just let me help, aye", before Minhyeok could argue, he quickly grabbed the earrings and stilled his friend's shoulder with his left hand. He let his gaze linger on the mirror before them, greedily taking in Minhyeok's flustered face as Ppyong towered over him.

As Ppyong delicately placed the shimmering earrings on Minhyeok's ears, a soft glow enveloped the room, accentuating the tension of the moment. Standing behind him, he caught a glimpse of his friend's reflection in the mirror, his features illuminated by the warm light. Minhyeok's black eyes met his crimson ones through the mirror, revealing a slight flush of pink spreading across his cheeks as he bit down on his lower lip in a gesture of bashful charm, unaware of the captivating allure he exuded at that moment.

'Fuck, he's lucky that it's me here and not other devils'

With a heavy gulp, Ppyong's muscles tensed as a wave of heat surged through his body, originating from the attractive man in front of him. Despite the tempting pull of desire, he resisted the urge and swiftly reverted to his usual Red Lump form once he was done, dispelling the charged atmosphere with the resounding volume of his voice.

"Ok! Here! Be done quickly and give me your white liquid and Fererere, aye!" he said quickly as he pulled out a bag of Miss Raon's laundry and threw it at Minhyeok's lap.

It broke Minhyeok from his daze, and he scowled beautifully at Ppyong before he gave an exasperated sigh and stood up from his seat. Ppyong expected everyone to understand his internal disappointment from not having the attention of the enticing man anymore. It didn't matter if it made him feel like those stuck-up devils from Hades.

"Fine, and wait for me to make some food for you to bring back"

"Sure! Hurry up then, aye!"

Minhyeok gave him a suspicious glance over his shoulder before retreating into his bathroom, the heels from his white boots clicking against the floor sensually, leaving Ppyong there on his bed. Once Minhyeok was out of sight, the red devil lay down tiredly as he dazedly looked up at the ceiling. The image of the vulnerable back of the pretty man lingered in his mind, wrecking him with arousal mixed with a good dose of guilt.

"...Crap, Miss Raon will not forgive me if she knows of this"

She would probably, very likely even without magic, squeeze him in her hands until he popped like confetti for even thinking of her friend like that.

[lyledebeast]

Voyeurism vs. Provocation: The Gaze in The Patriot

In my copious reading/video watching about The Patriot I've found very little interpretation focused on sexuality. Perhaps this should be unsurprising since the only characters who definitely have sex are Benjamin Martin and Charlotte Selton, as evidenced by the baby in her arms in the film's final scene. When commentors do address it, focus tends to be on the male gaze; the camera lingers on Charlotte's decolettage in times of danger and romance alike. It is hard to imagine a character who more fully exudes, to use Laura Mulvey's words in "Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema" (1975), "to be looked at ness." Apart from getting the Martin children to safety in a dragoon attack (which, to be fair, is more than their father could do!) that is her main purpose in this story. This is to be expected given the film's cardboard flat representation of women generally. but what is surprising is the insistence of some commentors that William Tavington's bare chest in the famed river scene serves the same purpose, only for a specifically female audience.

According to Mulvey, "Traditionally, the woman displayed has functioned on two levels: as erotic object for the characters within the screen story, and as erotic object for the spectators in the auditorium, with a shifting attention between the looks on either side of the screen" (2013 reprint in Feminism and Film Theory). All of this applies to Charlotte. Though Ben Martin can barely be bothered to glance her way early on, he has no problem allowing her to care for his current children and bear him future ones. Indeed, given that their first and only kiss happens after caring for his children costs her a plantation, the second appears to be a reward for the first. Lucky woman :/

The costume Charlotte wears after this encounter is her most revealing of all: her arms as well as her chest left bare. Now that the hero has deemed her worth looking at, the audience also gets a greater share of the bounty he has uncovered for us. Tavington, meanwhile, gets dressed down several times, but no one undresses him but himself.

Tavington is a significantly more active figure in the story, and he only appears thus improperly dressed here and the deleted scene in the DVD bonus features/extended cut when he advances on General Cornwallis, urging him not to withhold his reward (ok, whore). Not only are women notably absent from both of these scenes, but Tavington has no interaction with women in the film whatsoever. Anna shouts at him in the church he is about to burn, and he ignores her. Two women appear in the foreground when he shoots back champagne after the militia-engineered ship explosion, but it is as likely that they all wanted drinks at the same time as that they were engaged in conversation. The best opportunity for Tavington to engage with a woman is his surprise visit to Charlotte's plantation, but instead that honor goes to Martin's son, Nathan.

Not only is Tavington uninterested in women, and they in him for all we see, the film's female characters exist to do one of two things: have and/or care for men's babies or die for their motivation. But the filmmakers are getting the main villain out of his clothes exclusively to provide eye candy "for the ladies" . . . sure.

It is a little disorienting when he emerges from having washed the smoke out of his hair in the river like Venus rising from the sea. Every other British soldier is dressed to regulation in every scene (apart from one blink and you miss it glimpse of dragoons dining in their tent with their jackets off . . . ohh, scandalous!). Tavington, with his shirt open to the sternum and only his jacket over it, looks positively obscene in comparison. None of this was lost on the film's gay director, Roland Emmerich, who made the absolute most of it. But let's assume, just for a moment, that this wanton spectacle actually has some relevance to the plot and reveals something about this character.

This is the final scene of what I call the film's Golden Hour (you do not have to tell me it is significantly less than an hour!) that takes us from the prisoner exchange to Gabriel's death. These scenes also reveal a new strategy on Tavington's part. Up until this point, he has been bent on killing as many rebel soldiers and making examples of as many of their supporters as possible. Once he recognizes Martin, though, his tactic shifts from executing men to provoking attack by men.

Gloating about killing Martin's son: provocation

Targeting militia men's families: provocation

Collapsing with his back to his assailant and his ass in the air: provocation

Initially, Tavington appears to get more than he bargained for in the river scene. He seems to be caught unaware, at a distance from his weapons, vulnerable to attack. If he is, he gets over it quickly, running to arm himself while his men fight and casually dispatching the attacking rebels who get past them. Gabriel is able to wound Tavington not by outfighting him but because Tavinton's latest victim throws him a loaded musket before falling down dead. Handy.

Tavington puts himself in an extremely vulnerable position. Not only is his back to Gabriel, but he lying prone, which means he needs even greater speed and agility to flip over and stab Gabriel than Gabriel's father will need, while kneeling, to avenge him later. And it will be all for naught if Gabriel reloads and shoots him again like a sensible person. But he is not thinking sensibly; it is called bloodlust for a reason. Tavington is banking not only on his backside proving too tempting a target to resist but on Gabriel's desire to stick his weapon into him at close range. Even the roar Gabriel lets out as he raises his knife aids in Tavington's aims.

Bathing after burning someone's house down is a risk too, especially so soon after taking out several militia men's families in one swoop, but it is one Tavington is willing to take. Perhaps the way he looks is "for" someone here, but it is someone he is expecting, and it is not the Loyalist Ladies Sewing Society. He already knows Martin prefers to have the advantage of surprise when he attacks, so surprised is what he'll be.

Martin, however, is not only less susceptible to this tactic than his son, but he employs it himself. For a moment, it looks as though Tavington's goading in front of the fort is going to work, but once he is so close that only Tavington can hear him . . .

"Before this war is over I am going to kill you."

Tavington, without missing a beat: "Why wait?"

Martin, considering, looking Tavington over sultrily as he does so: "Soon."

(Ok, whore)

Tavington is skilled at using other men's dark desires to his advantage, but he is the subject of such desires too, and this proves to be his downfall. Martin's tactic of provoking a British attack works not because Cornwallis holds the militia in contempt but because he fears Tavington will steal his glory. Tavington charges into battle ahead of his men because he wants Martin.

Desire is not in short supply in The Patriot; it just mostly exists between men. The river scene provides perhaps the best example of this. Tavington is not like Charlotte, or the heroines Mulvey describes as passive objects of a controlling, sexualizing gaze. He knows what he's about. That does not mean women should not be tantalized by him--that would be ridiculous. But there is a big difference between enjoying something and believing it exists solely for the purpose of your enjoyment.

[max-clinic1]

Hair loss surgery is a permanent solution for women who want a more long-term fix for their hair loss. In this surgical method, hair follicles are transplanted from one area of the scalp where hair loss has occurred to another.

[phociian]

So yesterday (Dec. 14) was Alexander Hamilton and Elizabeth Schuyler's anniversary. They got married in 1780. It was also the anniversary of George Washington's death in 1799.

Washington died between 10 and 11 P.M. of a severe throat infection (though I will argue that the bloodletting his doctors did is what actually killed him) at his beloved plantation of Mount Vernon with his eternally devoted wife at his side. His final words were instructions to his secretary, Tobias Lear, that he was not to be buried immediately (he was terrified of being buried alive) and then he said "'Tis well," before his death.

Anyway, I wanted to make this post because I've been researching (like I said in my previous post) a lot lately and I fell down the Lafayette/Napoleon rabbit hole. (BTW, Napoleon was really good, I was not expecting it.) Anyway, I found out that they had a memorial service for Washington in France in February 1800 and everyone expected Lafayette (who if I'm not mistaken had his French citizenship taken away at this point, methinks, making him a man without a country) to give the eulogy, seeing as how, y'know... he knew the man and served under him??? Napoleon, asshole that he was, didn't invite him/allow him to attend. Poor Lafayette, who was always so loving and loyal to Washington, could not attend his funeral in Virginia, or his memorial in France. Though, during his tour of the United States in 1824, he visited Mount Vernon with his secretary and I think also Georges Washington de Lafayette and George Washington Parke Custis, who gifted him with a ring that contained locks of both General Washington and Lady Washington's hair and was engraved with the phrase "Pater Patriae" which means "Father of the Country." Lafayette visited the tomb where the Washingtons were buried(? entombed?) alone and came out with tears in his eyes. He then took the two Frenchmen by the hands, guided them inside where they knelt by the coffins and kissed it in respect. Also, Lafayette wrote Mrs. Washington after he found out about her husband's passing to give his condolences and that letter was one of the very few that Martha answered herself, instead of letting one of the secretaries doing it. She also sent him two pistols that Washington had left him in his will. They were British pistols taken from the enemy during the Revolutionary War.

Anyway, there's a handful of fun lil facts about Washington's death/his relationship with Lafayette.

[colourless-hydrangeas]

Of A Past Left Behind

Chapter-1

Tagging: @mynameiskan

POV: Hydrangeas

It was a bright day, and I was on my journey, to find a way back to my world. I had stupidly fallen for a human, but I had made up my mind about leaving everything behind and find a way back to where I truly belonged...

I found none of my people in this world, though, I had seen only a part of it... Looking at a nearby tree, I place my hand on it's rough bark, thinking of my people, who I had once left behind.

And here I was, in a vast new world, even after my death... Perhaps, this was the result of my sins? Sometimes, I hear their screams ring in my ears, a maddening, awful hum, of my late siblings...

Snapping out of my thoughts, I look at the hills far away, spotting golden rice plantations on the gentle slopes. Perhaps, I was approaching yet another power-hungry fool's domain. But it did not matter to me, as long as I could make enough money to travel further.

It was the harvest season, and I could feel the chill of the coming winter. I was perhaps somewhere near the border of Echigo, though the boundaries of the map made no sense...

Walking some more, I happened to encounter a woman, picking herbs. I looked at her, and she at me. Perhaps, she was surprised to see a foreigner walking all alone in the woods. She had long black hair and brown eyes. Looking at her way of dressing and features, I presumed her to be a young noblewoman.

"What, pray tell, are you doing here?" I asked, looking at a certain herb in her basket.

"Picking herbs to make medicine," said the lady, bowing slightly at me.

"Oh? A noble princess making medicine?"

"Why, can I not, for some reason?" She looked slightly indignant.

"Of course you can. It is just that I have never met any such nobles before. What is this place called, anyway?"

"Shinano. Are you perhaps one of the Christian monks?"

How strange, I do not think that I ever looked like one.

"Is that so? I'm just a travelling doctor."

"Oh, good to hear, I need to go." The young lady turned and went on her way...

And that was how I got roped into all of this...

Thank you for reading! I hoped you enjoyed this. Just a lazy fic I wrote because I was feeling sad. If you have any ideas or suggestions, please do let me know. 💚

[pub-lius]

Martha Washington for richie my beloved menace <3

sorry this is late, but we're in the final stretch of this where it's my Main Focuses (washington, lafayette, burr, and hamilton), so these posts are going to be a bit more separated and in multiple posts bc i just have so much information on them. all my sources for the Washingtons come from Mount Vernon and the Washington papers, other information comes from an assortment of biographies. anyway, enjoy these old white people @thereallvrb0y <3

~~~

Born as Martha Dandridge on June 2, 1731 at Chestnut Grove Plantation in New Kent County, Virginia, Martha was the eldest of eight children of John Dandridge and Frances Jones. John immigrated to America in 1714 and was the son of an English craftsman. Frances was the daughter of a member of the Virginia House of Burgesses. They got married in 1730 when Frances was 20 and John was 30 because all these men were creeps. John was a moderately successful planter, and came to enslave 15-20 people. Their family belonged to minor local gentry, so while not in the Virginia aristocracy as I like to call it, they were still known and respected.

Martha received a typical female education in housekeeping, religion, reading, writing, music, and dancing. She grew to be about five feet tall with brown hair and either brown or hazel eyes.

In her late teens, Daniel Parke Custis thought she was hot, and it was totally fine that he was 20 years older than her because he was a very eligible bachelor. No, like actually really eligible as in rich, because he was so rich that his dad didn't want him to marry Martha because she wasn't rich enough. But eventually he was "as much enamored with her character as [his son was] with her person." Creepy!

But, they didn't ask for my opinion, and got married in May 1750. They had four children, two who died as toddlers. These were Daniel Custis (1751-1754) who probably died of malaria, Frances Custis (1753-1757), John "Jacky" Parke Custis (1754-1781), and Martha "Patsy" Parke Custis (1756-1773). Funny story, their great-grandfather had a condition that only children with the name Parke would receive inheritance, so idk why Daniel and Frances were screwed over since birth, bc that seems a bit prejudiced.

Anyway, they moved into Custis' house called White House (foreshadowing) on the Pamunkey River. Side note, what the fuck is going on with Virginia's rivers and why are they all so... like that??? I guess I can't talk, since I know how to pronounce Natchitoches like it's an everyday term.

The death of Danny boy's dad made him one of the richest men in Virginia. Common Custis W. He exported tobacco and had immense holdings, over 300 enslaved people and over 17,500 acres of land. Get it Martha.

Martha became the mistress of her household, which was a really significant role for any upper class woman in Virginia, but also because women were expected to be "purveyors of sociability". In simple terms, they held the family's shit together. Martha presided over formal dinners, entertained guests, and hosted balls. She also furnished her house with the finest goods to make sure everyone knew how much of a bad bitch she was.

This job also included being the mistress of the enslaved people working in the household. She acted as the overall supervisor of the household which eventually included 12 enslaved people. And she was highkey racist, so fair warning for this quote.

"The Blacks are so bad in their nature that they have not the least grat[i]tude for the kindness that may be shewed to them." -Martha Washington, 1795

What the fuck, Martha??? I'm sure you wouldn't be very happy about your circumstances if you had some entitled white lady being pissy about everything you did all the time.

She never actually expressed her views on slavery, but she didn't question it, so like. yeah she was racist. Also she was really pissed when Ona Judge escaped enslavement, feeling like she was betrayed. Like bitch. Come on. Also she never freed any of the enslaved people who she had the legal ability to.

Oh yeah and she had motherly responsibilities, which is a whole job within itself on top of all the other shit. Luckily, she had experience raising her younger siblings bc yk. Eldest daughter syndrome.

Daniel died on July 8, 1757, and I wouldn't say I'm happy about it but like.................

This death kinda fucked her over. There's no evidence she really liked him that much, but she was left alone at 26 with two children, which really sucks. Other than that, she was popping her pussy bc like. She inherited a third of his property, nearly 300 enslaved people, over 17,500 acres of land and over £40,000 so.

She couldn't legally free or sell those enslaved people because they were already "owned" by the next generation (the whole legal aspect of this bullshit is so uselessly complicated, that's all you need to know to understand). Daniel didn't leave a will, so she was the executioner of his estate. When she died, the estate would automatically transfer to her descendants.

This gave her almost all the legal rights of a man. She could buy and sell property, make contracts, and be sued in court. However, she still considered financial matters to be a man's concern EVEN THOUGH SHE GIRLBOSSED THROUGH IT HERSELF whatever. She likely hoped for another relationship for companionship and also children. Missed opportunity.

Her status as a super fucking rich widow became known and a bunch of dudes wanted in on the marthussy (that is a direct quote from my notes and i just though you had to see that). Annnnnyway, because she didn't have a need for a financial advantage, it would be a love match.

Convenient! She met this dude named George Washington. He's pretty underground, but you might have heard of him.

He was traveling to Williamsburg in March 1758 during a break in the French and Indian War. We don't know when their first meeting was, but it could have been while Daniel was alive because they had mutual friends. Scandalous.

Washington paid a visit to her house on March 16, 1758, and left a generous tip to her enslaved household workers, probably to impress her. Fucking nerd. He visited again on the 25th, then returned to war like a real man.

However, they began to plan a future together within months. Washington started renovating Mount Vernon, and Martha made an order for wedding finery. They were both such dorks.

She trusted and loved George quickly, which is shown by the fact that, although some widows wrote contracts protecting their assets, Martha didn't. Washington would have use of her portion of land inherited from her previous husband until it was passed down to the Custis heirs, and he would also become her children's legal guardian, and she just trusted him with all that.

At the end of 1758, Washington resigned from the military, and on January 6, 1759, they got married at their new home in New Kent County.

They lived 16 years at Mount Vernon, referred to as "the golden years". They had no children of their own, but raised Jacky and Patsy, and lived typical Virginian planter lives. George oversaw lands and business while being involved in politics and society, while Martha supervised the education of the children, domestic operations, and the whole mistress of the household thing. She also oversaw the making of textiles and production of clothing for the entire household. These were pretty typical gender roles for the time.

The golden years ended with the death of Patsy from an epileptic seizure in the summer of 1773 at the age of 17. More information about the Custis kids and their deaths in this ask.

Martha strongly supported the Revolutionary War, and had a wild ride during it. She traveled all over the country to spend time with George at his winter encampments every year of the six that Washington served as Commander-in-Chief. She now had another role as a public figure and a figure of the Revolution.

She ended up being with him for almost half of the Revolution, and Washington regarded her presence as essential as she boosted morale across the Continental Army. Washington even sought reimbursement from Congress for her traveling expenses.

While at camp, she entertained visiting diplomats and officers' wives, assisted with secretarial duties, even being considered a part of Washington's staff. She was Washington's closest confidant.

She also made efforts to improve the lives of soldiers. She became the public face of a campaign to raise money for supplies in 1780, and was a symbol of the American people.

The Revolution ended in her life when Washington came home at the end of the war to have Christmas dinner with his wife.

They were chillin at Mount Vernon for six years after the war, raising their two grandchildren, this time paralleling the golden years. The main difference was the fact that Washington was an international celebrity, and they hosted hundreds of guests each year from around the world, dramatically increasing Martha's workload.

Then they fucking elected Washington as the president after the whole Constitution thing, and Martha was Reasonably Pissed.

She left Mount Vernon on May 16th with Washington's punk ass nephew and their grandchildren. The trip sucked and everything went to shit. They had bad horses, a broken carriage, and a shitty boat ride. They went through parades and receptions, and the kids learned social skills, but Martha was fucking exhausted.

Like her husband, she took criticism personally during his administration. However, the most important thing to her was having good entertainment as the first lady. She initiated weekly receptions on Friday evenings, receiving congressmen, dignitaries, and local community members at the President's House. Critics, however, complained that these events were too aristocratic, but they served as a sign that the new government would be close to the people. Washington also held events, but Martha's were more diverse.

Martha grew more comfortable in her role when the capital moved to Philadelphia in 1791. Her longing to return home was highlighted by the second fucking term. They eventually did go home in March 1797.

George only lived for two years after retiring, leaving Martha as a devastated widow. She burned 40 years of correspondence between them in order to preserve their privacy.

Martha died of illness on May 22, 1802 at her home, surrounded by grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

[terrorpenned]

DOSSIER : CAPTAIN GORE

studies in: the merciless captain, Mr. Rochester and Bertha, Heathcliff, Mr. de Winter, Le Barbe Bleue, colonial ascendancy, ill-gotten mansions, the revenge of the dead.

FULL NAME: Captain Gideon Gorelieu. alias Captain Bartholomew Gore, alias Roberts AGE: 44 BIRTH DATE: May 17, 1682 ETHNICITY: white, French and Welsh GENDER: cis man ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: biromantic, lean towards women SEXUAL ORIENTATION: bisexual, lean towards women RELIGION: largely agnostic, some spiritualism and sailor superstition SPOKEN LANGUAGE: English, Welsh, some Gaelic and Louisiana / Creole French CURRENT LIVING CONDITIONS: split between a mansion in French colonial Louisiana; his flagship, La Tuerie; or his schooner, La Petite Revenante OCCUPATION: pirate, smuggler, plantation owner

RELATIONSHIPS

PARENTS: Alain and Carys Gorelieu   SIBLINGS: a handful of brothers, deceased SIGNIFICANT OTHER: Miss Priscilla de Claire of New Orleans CHILDREN: none, that he knows of

PHYSICAL TRAITS

EYE COLOUR: blue-green HAIR COLOUR: red HEIGHT: 5'9″  BODY BUILD: bulky, athletic TATTOOS + PIERCINGS: small gold sailors hoops (permanent) in each ear, several nautical tattoos scattered across his chest and arms including an anchor, crossed canons, swallows, and a carrick bend knot NOTABLE PHYSICAL TRAITS: distinctive, flaming red hair; a pointed mustache and goatee, elegant clothing that is salt-stained and what suspiciously looks like blood; always heavily armed with a pair of pistols at the ready and a large broadsword, as well as grenades, daggers, and poisons

PERSONALITY

INTELLIGENCE: extremely smart when it comes to practical, battle maneuvers, sailing, and smuggling / spywork. can read and write as necessary for the ship's logs, and decent arithmetic, anything beyond that is a bit of a struggle and can be a little masochistic. tends to rely on natural intuition rather than planning, mostly to his success. LIKES: alcohol of all kinds: namely gin, rum, and red wine ( rumors persist that the Captain adds a little blood to his cabernet sauvignon ), the smell of black powder, oysters, catfish, gumbo, oxtail, pain de campagne, storms, nightfall, the smell of blood, oil paintings ( particularly the Dutch masters ), silver, bronze, brothels and seedy taverns, jewel-toned clothing, leather, the sound of the french language, sea chanteys and work songs, the scent of ladies' perfume, onions, lemons, brick, wood, the feel of velvet, the sound of the guitar and harpsichord, an intoxicated ballroom, working with his hands, wielding power, comprehensive control DISLIKES: democratic piracy, brassy women, colonial officials ( to the extent that he is not them and does not wield their power ), the English and their navy, gold accents, pearl accents, the feel of silk clothing ( on himself: on women it's delightful ), the sound of the violin and flute, sunny days, windless days, cowardice, surrender, macaroni fashion, the feeling of wigs ( he tolerates wearing it when he has to, but does not enjoy it ), hardtack + weevils, burgoo, salt pork – anything preserved and flavorless, bananas, strawberries, the Idea of love and its weakness, waiting, any perceived pretentiousness / academia ( decently enjoys reading/books/etc, but despises the european collegiate structure, the royal academy, etc ), structural Christianity, sand in his boots

Bio:

Gideon Gorelieu was born almost nothing to a pair of indentured servants in French Louisiana: his father repaired the local magnate's fishing fleet, his mother a maid in one of the minor sugar baron's households. he watched his two older brothers die in a hurricane that wreaked horror on their coastal community, and his younger brother never lived past childhood –– dead of sickness and starvation, and his mother died of grief soon after. with a decent knowledge of fishing boats and weather patterns, he took to sea on a merchant vessel as a green hand, but showed promise and eventually made his way up through the ranks. as an officer, he was instrumental in staging a mutiny against their captain, and the ship became a profitable smuggling operation rather than a legal merchant ship. with her dark grey sails and unique capacity for escaping the notice of the law amongst the sandbars and coves, the schooner took a new name: La Petite Revenante.

for a while, Gideon bent his head to the new captain, but in an outburst of his soon to be infamous temper, killed his only competition in a duel of honor. when they put to sea again, he raised the prospect of piracy: any dissenters had their throats slit and were tossed to the sharks, leaving only the most merciless, and callus, among them. after a few minor prizes, cutting their teeth as buccaneers and filling out their ranks, Captain Gorelieu set his sights on a Spanish frigate. the revenante's crew swarmed aboard, and slaughtered almost every single man, leaving only a few to swim ashore and tell the tale of the newly-named CAPTAIN BARTHOLOMEW GORE.

Gore rapidly became a successful pirate with his flagship, La Tuerie, in his command, taking several prizes that he allocated to the command of his officers and building out a sizeable fleet. the Louisiana governor, wishing to keep Gore as an ally rather than an enemy, offered him a commission as a privateer, a plot of land, and some political influence if in exchange he would show mercy to the colony and share his ill-gotten wealth with them instead of elsewhere. Gore could not refuse, and began construction on the place which put fear into the hearts of all those enslaved and indentured who worked on it: Bloodmere Manor. to separate the privateer who now lived in privilege and wealth ( and hard won fear and respect ) in New Orleans from the bloodthirsty pirate captain, Gore occasionally used the name Roberts in other ports like Nassau, Port Royal, and Havana, but the people of Louisiana always attributed the stories of bloodshed to their own captain.

on one of his returns to New Orleans to check on the progress of his new mansion, Gore dined with the governor and a few of the city's socialites and was introduced to Miss Priscilla de Claire, a lovely, innocent nineteen year old heiress who –– kept in the dark about Gore's piratical exploits –– was charmed by the older captain who could be most gentlemanlike when he wanted to be. he began courting her, swaying her with expensive gifts and endless attention, and the two were set to be married as soon as the manor was finished. Gorelieu began integrating himself more completely into landed society and into his role as a plantation owner, befriending the de Claire's and most of the other New Orleans families with a by-and-by more polished exterior. but by night, he drank heavily, and every time he closed his eyes began to be haunted by the faceless masses he had put to the sword.

on the very night they were wed, Gorelieu hosted the de Claire's and other prominent families in the richly-decorated mansion, but while he entertained his in-laws, Priscilla snuck off alone to explore her new home. in the basement, she discovered a chest full of relics of his pirate's life: weapons, and maps, and worst of all, the bones of his enemies, kept like souvenirs and not all of them cleaned. she confronted Gore, horrified, threatening to have their marriage annulled. Gore was incensed. ( alongside the loss of his love, he stood to lose her dowry, too ) in a fit of rage, he dashed his bride's head against the wall, and bricked her body up in it.

while the de Claire's searched the bayou endlessly for their missing daughter, assuming she had balked from married life and fled the obligations of becoming his bride, Priscilla ensured her husband could not enjoy his newfound wealth, or find any peace in the expansive house: her ghost tormented him to madness, until he fled again to sea ( hoping to escape some suspicion, as well ). but he found no respite from his bride, there, either, and the visions followed him until –– his ears filled with endless screams –– he hung himself from the yardarm, a ghostly specter on a ship of death, leaving the mansion empty of everything but ghosts.

[zealouscanonindeer]

The Return

Emily Cartwright:

I had just returned from the most marvelous trip to Sussex with Holmes and an even more marvelous turn of events subsequent to the said country visit. Holmes, at times absolutely baffled me, I slowly lost sight of his hansom rolling away to the station. I turned towards the house, clutching onto my physics book,indicating the cabbie to follow, hauling my luggage back to the establishment. Unfortunately Mrs Croft was alerted to my arrival and reprimanded me prior to having attained the comfort of safety behind my locked doors.

As per her inquisitive nature, she was full of questions.

"How was your stay? I choose to believe that your father is well aware of your recent endeavors?"

I had found Mrs Weaver to be insufferable, my chagrin at Mrs Croft, however was undoubtedly ineffable.

With practiced ease, I directed the conversation more to my liking.

"I am quite tired, shall I rest? My feet are killing me. Would you be so kind as to foresee the proper disposition of my bags." I waited only a moment before making my way up the stairs. I articulated my wish, which in retrospect wasn't completely untrue for, hardly had I slipped out of my dress, unnecessary petticoats and hose, thrown my weary body atop the covers than I almost instantly entered semi delirium.

It wasn't until the maid gently coaxed me around dinner time that I noticed my bruised knuckles and the slight scaring on my face. I was still regaining my strength and had no intentions of dubious looks at the dinner table. Forsaking food, I opted for a warm bath and in room service , the weekend had been a fairly athletic one. Battling in corsets itself puts one at a significant disadvantage. This was ,however not something I would confess to in Holmes's presence.

The maid insisted on brushing my hair as I ate and donning a pair of scissors snapped away at the edges refreshing them anew.

"Hair too pretty to be left likes this, my lady. "

" Thank you. " I indulged her satisfaction with a kind smile and handed her a shilling before she showed herself out.

I picked up my book and pulled the covers, shimming into the soft mattress, finally having earned respite, although I was fairly excited about the new adventure Holmes and I were to embark on. Complicated, that's what he had said, I believed it when I said that it wouldn't be a terrible thing.

I wondered whether he would now permit him to address him as Sherlock, the last time included defiant denial while hiding in a wardrobe with a false back. His peckish nature followed up by his innate ability to somehow be an impossible git at all times would definitely provide more than some resistance. Not if I could help it, I could provide plenty of stubborn it needed. My musings gradually succumbed to the advent of sleep and I blew out the candle, engulfing myself in the comforting night.

*****

The next morning was quite the mundane experience of daily living, it wasn't until the afternoon that I found myself amidst a new mystery. My father was to leave on one of his usual business trips to France and I was to bid him farewell. It was a sort of tradition for us and although we find ourselves at odds most of times, with his insistence on a chaperone and young men and such nonsense while I prefer the luxury of freedom,I still can't stay away from the estate too long.

The estate exuded a wave of nostalgia during this time of the year, the beautiful grounds verdant with orchids and the orange plantation was an epitome of vibrance. I only remember too well hiding amongst the trees, climbing them only stopping in hunger, which of course was sated by the ripe crop surrounding me. On such days, Leopold, bless his soul, would take the pains of amusing me with a game or two of hide and seek.

The cabbie helped me down, bowing as I paid him and excused him. I entered the familiar parlour, nodding almost unnoticeable at my mother's portrait, before Leopold greeted me.

" Miss Emily, it's wonderful to have you back. How was your getaway to Sussex? "

"How do you know about that? "

"Delivered a dozen of orchids, first flowering of the season while you were gone. "

"Ah." I answered. Hence, Mrs Croft's remark at father's attention to my happenings. After a moments silence, "Where is father? "

"He is in town."

" Very well. Fetch me on his arrival, will you. "

Leopold merely bowed in obedience as I made my way to my old rooms. They felt empty, the furniture had remained exactly as I had left it. The canopy bed, vanity and bare bookshelf all looked dull and lifeless. I gingerly sat onto the bed, dust rising from the sides. It had been days since anyone had ventured in here, I wondered why?

Just then a knock sounded against my door, indicating my fathers arrival as I took myself to his study. I quietly knocked, seeking permission to enter.

"Of course, Em. " The voice inside answered. As I entered and met my father's gaze, he further remarked. " I'm surprised you actually asked. "

"I have been trained,quite forcibly, in the etiquettes suitable for a proper lady in society. " I retorted back, slightly sticking out my tongue, completely overriding my remark with my action.He merely smiled, shaking his head in a sort of defeated acceptance as he so often did with me.

"Well,I came to kiss you goodbye. "

" Yes. I'm glad you did."

I walked over to him, he was standing behind the desk. He bent down to reach my level, gently holding onto my arm as I pecked him on the cheek.

"Safe travels, daddy. "

" Thank you, Em. Will you stay? "

"Just today I suppose. Mrs Croft somehow makes mere existence a cumbersome task. "

My father displayed no surprise at my rather rude remark, he was used to the rash truth on many a occasion slipping out of my mouth, labelling it impertinence was beyond him. Besides, he even enjoyed it sometimes, it reminded him of mama.

"My rooms haven't been opened in sometime." I looked at him questioningly, waiting for an explanation."

" I only wished to preserve my ignorance to your absence. It feels like loss to open the door and see you gone." I am not prone to overly displays of emotions and neither is he yet I felt tears pricking at the edges of my eyes at his sudden vulnerable admission.

"Perhaps I'll return, I miss it terribly too. " I admitted consolingly. He only squeezed my arm in response before ringing the bell and directing Leopold to arrangements of my stay.

Things, on all fronts seemed to be looking up.... Or so I thought.

[agent-sentinel-official]

Agent Sentinel Update

@the-roanoke-society

Name: Walter Vaughn 

Codename: Agent Sentinel 

Face Claim: Brett Farve

Age: 177

Birthday: June 9th, 1846

Height: 7'2"

Weight: 369 lbs 

Abilities: Superhuman Strength, Superhuman healing factor, Undying 

Past: Walter was born in Texas on his parent's plantation. They farmed and "owned" slaves, even though they paid them for their labor and treated them like family. He loved being on the farm and working with the workers.

Walter was the oldest of three children. His little brother Sam and his baby sister Elise. Sam was a year younger than Walter, while Elise was three years younger.

He loved his parents and siblings. Being the eldest, he had most of the hard labor chores, like chopping wood or cleaning the horse stalls. Walter didn't mind, he was built for hard labor, being very muscular and tall like his father.

Walter is very stoic yet kind, always being gentle with those smaller or younger than him. He has a solid sense of right and wrong, instilled in him by his mother. He was always labeled by his peers as a gentle giant. But if you anger him, you better be prepared for a pummeling.

When he turned 16, the Civil War was in full swing. So he decided to enlist in the Union. He fought many battles and became adept at shooting rifles. He was also a beast with a sword.

One day, near the end of the war, Walter was fighting a skirmish in Louisiana. While the battle raged, Walter saved a black man from a Confederate soldier who was beating him with a bat. The man thanked Walter and promised to return the favor. The man then ran off into the back alleys of the city.

Unfortunately, Walter was captured by Confederate troops in the area. He was then tortured for information, giving nothing. His captors became angry. Deciding to kill Walter, the troops tied his hands to one horse, and his feet to another. The two horses were sent in different directions, tearing Walter in half. He was then left in the street to bleed out and die.

When he awoke, he saw the black man that he saved. He was confused as to how he was alive, and apparently, in one piece, a huge scar was across his middle. The man said he was a Voodoo Doctor and he saved Walter's life. The Voodoo man also said he would bring justice to the downtrodden and would live as long as he was needed.

After his incident he ran away from the army, to go back home. Along his way he ran into a young lady who happened to be traveling the same way for a few days. They spent the days and nights together as they rode and fell in love. Walter asked if he could bring her to his family, but she refused, saying she had business in the Colorado territory. She gave him a locket and a photo of her family. Walter tore her picture out and placed it in the locket, placing it around his neck.

After they parted, Walter made his way to his home. What he saw when he arrived made his heart drop.

The ground was soaked in the blood of the workers. Everything was in disarray. He ran towards the house and saw his father and brother hanging from the large tree next to the house, dead. Running into the house he then saw his mother's body on the ground in a pool of blood. His little sister was upstairs in his room, in his closet, and was obviously shot.

He wandered for quite a while, fighting for justice as the Voodoo man said. Once he was about 60 years old, with silver hair, but still, in top physical shape, he stopped aging.

He fought in WWI and WWII, "dying" and finding a way to get back to the US. He has several fake IDs to circumvent any mishaps.

In 1952, he was found by former Agent Cherub and Agent Nephilim.

Find the file here 

He has been with Roanoke since then and doesn't plan to leave any time soon.