#he also burns the old corsets

[whatt-the]

Hypothesis: does stan wear a corset???

This isn't a joke.

Where does all of stanley's gut go when he wears a suit? What magic is infused into those suits? Here's the thing: there's none involved...

Whenever I imagine stan getting ready from the second I took note of the fact he gets snatched when he puts a suit on: I see him wearing a corset. He gets up every morning and puts a god damn corset on in my mind.

Matter of fact, have a look into my brain

It's the only valid explanation. This man bought a corset for himself.

Will add onto this dumpster fire of a mentality by drawing him in a pretty pink corset later

Happy spooky month everybody

[dollwrites]

𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐞 — 𝐝𝐢𝐨 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!reader, dark fic, noncon, fear kink, graphic depictions of death and gore, chasing, manhandling, threats against reader, degradation, virgin!reader, oral sex ( f!receiving ), size kink, blackout mention, Dio is very mean, all characters featured are 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ do not repost or translate. please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading <3

𝗻𝗼𝘄 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴 ∣ sugar on my tongue by the talking heads

you could hear his laugh— evil and taunting— booming through the abysmal corridor behind you, and the hissing and snarling of his undead army that was also in hot pursuit. “Where are you running off to, hmm?” he calls, and the baritone surrounds you. he’s not everywhere, you try to tell yourself, it’s just the echoes. “I won’t let you leave the castle grounds. However, by all means, go on and try, get your sweet blood pumping!” another morbid laugh like distant thunder, and you take the first new hallway that opens up to the left. “I can smell it from here, that lovely smell will lead me straight to you.”

you’d made a mistake coming here so late at night, with a boy you hardly even knew. you’d kissed him, and let him loosen your corset, even though you felt uneasy. even though you’d never kissed a boy before. even though the whole night felt wrong. then, the laughter started. from somewhere deep in the blackest shadows, a predator stalked, watched, and found amusement in your innocent fumbling and uncertainty, and stepped into the light. he named himself Dio right before he ripped the boy in half right in front of you. some of his blood was still seeping into the cotton of your dress. what he hadn’t seen, however, was the jagged stone you’d hidden underneath your skirt, clutching it tight in the palm of your fragile hand. so, whenever he scooped you into his arms, and leaned in to taunt you, or perhaps even kiss you, you’d swung the rock as hard as you could, making direct contact with his sculpted cheekbone, breaking the skin. it wasn’t much, but it was enough for his grip to loosen enough so that you could slip through his arms and run.

you were panting, your lungs burning in your chest, your eyes puffy and sore from crying. but one glance over your shoulder yielded the confirmation; the reason you couldn’t stop— hundreds of ghouls had crammed themselves into the hallway, some staggering after you, others chasing you on all fours. you turn your eyes forward again, ignoring the hem of your skirt that catches on a dilapidated and unrecognizable statue, ripping a slit all the way up to your thigh, and both hands hit a sturdy door when you hit the dead end of the corridor, slamming yourself into it with a pathetic huff. luckily, the door, like the rest of the manor, is old and crumbling, and it whines as it flies open and you stumble over the threshold, only to let out a blood curdling scream.

inches from your feet is a pile of innards, and what could’ve been a corpse at one time, but has since been devoured, piece by piece, by the monsters squatting down over it. they both look up and growl, clumps of half-eaten human flying from their bloodied mouths as you stumble back. you wanted to collapse, but didn’t have the time.

countless pairs of gruesome hands snatched at you, dragging you into a horde of them. you wailed and fought against them, half expecting to be shredded, too. you weren’t, however you could hear — and feel — your dress tearing as they snatched at you. your neckline ripped, one sleeve hanging loosely against your arm and the other chunk of fabric lost in the sea of rotting bodies as they tossed you back and forth. your throat is hoarse from screaming when you’re finally spit out the opposite end of the crowd, and flung right into Dio’s arms, which welcome you with a tight grip on one wrist and the other palm splayed over your midriff, pulling your back to his solid frame. “No!” you cry out, but he’s already twisting your wrist.

“Now, now,” he croons against your neck, wringing your wrist until the blood-stained stone falls from your grip and clatters against the floor, “listen to that heart thumping.” you felt sick to your stomach when you realized he could hear it. “Fragile, little thing is about to beat right out of your chest.” you squirm, trying desperately to pull away from him, but his lips have sought out the cuts on your palm, turning it over to expose them to his mouth. first, they graze over the wounds, and you wince. “You’re about as nervous and dangerous as a newborn kitten.” his tongue slithers out to prod at the scratches, urging more blood to the surface, and he smirks as he tastes it. his lips then travel, parted and dragging over your skin, up your arm, ignoring the sleeve that hangs in tatters, and he presses you back into him tighter when he reaches your throat. “So soft— I could rip your jugular out with one bite.”

“P—please—“ you rasp, the tips of his fangs tingling against your hypersensitive flesh.

“Such a meek, little plea,” he teases, the expanse of his massive hand careening upwards over your breast to rest against your heartbeat, his digit tips just barely touching your chin, “what are you begging for, kitten?” he allows their sharpness to scrape, and you whimper, melting against him and hoping to become so small he couldn’t reach you. it was impossible, as his face was buried in your neck already, but you tried nonetheless.

“I—I don’t want to die…”

he laughs at this, as does his minions, and you feel a burning humiliation creep upon your cheeks. “No? Are you afraid of dying?” he asks, feigning sympathy, and his fingers take hold of your face. he angles it towards him, and your tear-filled gems look up at his stone-cold countenance. you nod, the scratch on his cheek was healing as you watched, and your mountainous captor stared down at you. the crown of your head is pressed against his chest; you were just so damn small compared to him. “Are you afraid of me?” another nod, and his crimson eyes flicker over your petrified expression. you couldn’t catch your breath— your lips parted and hot puffs of air wheezing out, your chest rising and falling beneath the stretched fabric of what was left of your neckline. you avoided looking into his eyes, but you could tell he was drinking in every inch of you. “Smart decision for a very stupid girl.” he replies, dipping his head towards you. you start to pull away, recoil, but his grip on your cheeks hold you in place. that devious tongue of his skirts along his lower lip, tasting your broken breath as it lands on his tiers. then, his carmine eyes flicker up to yours, and his smile widens, “Tell me that you fear me.”

you couldn’t even think— you were staring, wide eyed and horrified into two, piercing rubies. he wanted to hear how scared you were, he wanted you to say it out loud, but there was a lump so big and dry in your throat that you didn’t think you could force the words past it.

“Come now, don’t keep me waiting.”

you gasp when he squeezes your cheeks together hard, forcing your lower lip to poke out in a childish pout, and you acquiesce to his will. “I’m afraid,” you whisper, each syllable hard pressed to slip into the air, “I’m— I’m afraid of you—“

Dio chortles, closing what was left of a gap between he and you, and his tongue ran along the shape of your lips. you flinch, and seal them tight, but he’d already gotten his taste. “Mm…” he moans, more to himself, and runs his tastebuds over his own mouth, and then flicks at his fangs. “I do love the taste of fear on those pretty lips, like sugar…” he croons and places a sloppy kiss on your mouth. regardless of how you wanted to reject it, he forces your lips to fit against his with a hard push, opening them wide so that he may shove his tongue inside. you squeal in protest against his mouth, wriggling and desperate to get free, but his strength too greatly outweighed your own. your own tongue bunches up in resistance, trying to push his out of your mouth, but you start to gag on it. you considered biting down on his, biting it off even, but ultimately decided against it.

you were in no position to fight back anymore.

when he’s drank his fill of your kiss, he pulls back, the lips that have battered your own dripping and shiny with your saliva and stretched over deadly fangs, and you pant, twisting in his grip. he watches you for a moment, amused. “I would wager you taste just as sweet everywhere, don’t you?” you shook your head, cheeks on fire and eyes closed tightly, pulling in the opposite direction, but his hand drops, grabbing the neckline of your dress in a powerful fist and tearing it with a swift yank. the force is enough to arch your back, the fabric screaming, and then your breasts are bare and exposed, rising with heavy, nervous breaths.

there’s a whooping from the horde of undead as they crowd closer around, licking and biting at the air as if they can taste your fear in it, and you recoil away from them, pushing you deeper into Dio’s wicked embrace, which wasn’t ideal, either.

“Look at this,” he purrs, sharp nails dragging over your otherwise unmarked skin. they trace his name, slowly, as he takes in your visage, “skin so fresh and supple.” his eyes twinkle, pure malevolence behind them as the tip of his nail traces your nipple, watching it harden as he does. “I could think of a hundred different ways to paint you crimson, my dear.” you shake your head, whimpering in soft protest, and he cocks his head to the side, “What? You don’t think red would look so pretty on you? The color of roses?” he chuckles, grabbing a fistful of your tender breast and squeezing until you mewl and sag into the rough treatment, “Timid, little thing, aren’t you? Frightened so easily.” his head dips, tongue dragging along your nipple, and when you gasped, your thighs clamping together to stop the feeling of his teasing flooding your core, he reads you like an open book. “I think you like this.” you start to shake your head yet again, but his hand has already abandoned your chest, hiking your skirt up to feel between your thighs. they were slick with sweat and… something else. your desire and shame. “You’re dripping, kitten. Do you enjoy my teasing that much?”

your thighs press harder into each other, but his fingers work to pry them apart, slipping in between to feel your bare sex. you choke back a gasp, your only free hand grasping at his wrist trying to pull it from your core as you jerk against his rubbing, but it was as effective as an ant trying to push a thumb away before it’s crushed beneath the force. “N—no…” but, much to your own dismay, you were soaking his fingertips and he was howling with amusement.

“Well, now, isn’t this cunt just so sensitive— I’ve hardly even touched you, and you’re all jitters already. Could I have caught a little virgin in my web?” humiliation floods your eyes, and you close them tight, turning your face away from him and digging your chin into your shoulder. he coos, leaning close enough for you to feel the chill or his skin against your cheek, and the ghastly drag of his lips as he spoke, “Good. The first and only cock you’ll ever wrap around will be Dio’s, your new master.”

“…I want to wake up…” you beg under your breath. surely, this had to be a terrible nightmare. so you kept biting down on your lip and repeating it. “I want… to wake up…”

“Eh?” he asks, grinning, “Stupid thing thinks she’s dreaming.” a wave of vicious cackling rolls through the corridor, and you shudder. a moment later, you feel him shifting, dropping to his knees in front of you. cautiously, you crack one eyelid and look down to see him ripping what was left of your skirt aside. there’s a flurry of cotton before it all settles on the floor. you shiver, stumbling back. Dio releases your wrist and grasps one ankle, hiking it up on to his shoulder. it threw your balance completely off; even on his knees, the man before you was still monstrous, and you were forced to stand on the tip toes of the opposite foot to stay upright. “Let’s find out if fear makes your cunt as sweet as your lips.”

both eyes opened wide, but you had no time to react before he was smashing his face against your sex, the bridge of his nose creating a solid cradle for your aching clit, and the thick muscle hiding in his mouth wiggled between your netherlips, gathering the taste of your essence on to his tastebuds. he growled, and the sound vibrated against you, sending every nerve into overdrive. both your hands dig into his golden locks, pulling hard to attempt to force his head back, but the scratching and scrambling didn’t phase him one bit. he didn’t budge, instead he laughed, then his words were slurred against you. “Don’t be so ungrateful,” his eyes glint in the dusky moonlight pouring through a broken window, and it seems so shameful and sinful to look down your naked torso at him. you could see the muscles in your own tummy contract when he nuzzled against your clit, and you clamped one hand over your mouth to keep your moans quiet. crying out for how good it felt would only make this all too real— and would give him the satisfaction of knowing that you couldn’t control it. “Your new god is on his knees for you, lapping at your trembling pussy. You should be singing my praises.” none too gently, he snags your clit with his teeth, creating a vice around it and rolling his tongue over the nub.

you bleat, and your knees buckle— the sole leg holding you up giving out. but Dio doesn’t let you crumble. with one hand fleeing, he wraps a massive fist around your throat to hold you in place, the furious muscles of his gargantuan arm hard and bulging against your torso. the pressure is enough to startle you, even though he doesn’t squeeze. you imagine the beast of a man could break your neck with little effort. this new grip occupies your mind, and your hands try to wrap themselves around his wrist instead, but it’s even too big for your fingertips to meet.

“You are a pathetic little kitty cat, aren’t you?” he teases, suckling on your clit until you see stars behind your eyelids, and your toes are curling, “You can’t even stand up on your own anymore. Just a few, easy flicks of my tongue and you’re putty in my hands. Makes my cock hard watching you lose this fight, knowing you know you’re fucked.”

you don’t want him to be right, but when he punctuates his statement by licking a fat stripe between your netherlips, you cry out, and your nails dig into his tough flesh. “Please!! Ha— have mercy…”

“Go on,” he urges, “cry for mercy. Scream for me. It won’t change a thing. You belong to me, now, and I’m going to break you in every way possible, starting with tongue fucking never ending orgasms out of your delicate, little body until it gives out. You’ll black out, and wake up to my big cock stretching you open.”

[severedfromthesource]

Vampire’s Gift

Angelique lets Catarina play their favorite game with the unsuspecting Lucien. NSFW. Features M resus, F rescuer, CPR, conscious and unconscious mouth to mouth, precordial thumps, sex leading to cardiac arrest, sex acts on an unconscious person.

“Am I not enough plaything for you, chérie?”

Catarina playfully smacked her arm. “Don’t be so pathetic, love. You know my heart only belongs to you.” Angelique slid her long arms around her love and drew her in close against her body, staring out at the dark street of Paris. Lights burned everywhere, so Paris was never really dark, merely dimmed by night. The two of them were under the vampire’s shroud, for all intents and purposes invisible to the people of the city. They’d only be seen by those they wanted to see.

“I just think it would be fun to be the hero for once. And you don’t need a hero,” said Catarina, tapping at the beast’s chest and the long dead heart beneath. Angelique wanted to argue, but she also couldn’t be sure the organ hadn’t been eaten by worms before she returned as the undead. She went on, “You’ll take one for me, won’t you? I have one in mind.”

“How could I deny you anything?” replied Angelique.

So they walked through the nightlife in search of their damsel. Catarina adored her angel’s every form, when she took on the aspects of a man with a more rigid and bat like face, or a great black dog, or sometimes even when she was only a cloud of fog clinging to her naked skin and filing her lungs. Angelique had a better cock in some forms than any man she’d known, yet lately she had felt the ache for a living one. She missed taking a man in her hand and feeling it twitch with his heartbeat. Plus, if she got to be the hero for once, she thought it would be fun to ride someone in and out of the little deaths, the petit morte, that her beast had perfected. Their search brought them to the back alley of the perfumer’s shop.

“Lucien,” whispered Angelique, plucking the owners name from the ether, “Come down, Lucien, and let us in.” Catarina bounced a little on the balls of her toes. Ever since having seen this man on her last trip into the city, she’d thought about the older perfumer and what he would look like between her thighs, or with Angelique taking him in a masculine form from behind. Tonight though, she had something else in mind. She practically squealed with delight and clapped quickly as the bolt on the door audibly came undone and Lucien opened it for them.

Angelique could not fault her for her attraction. He was handsome and broad, old enough to be Catarina’s father, but he wore each line well. A little gray peppered his beard and temples, stark against his otherwise dark hair. His rich coffee colored eyes were dull under her spell, mouth slightly agape. The two of them entered with his permission and stood amidst his workshop.

“This is well enough,” Catarina announced. She shoved a few of his implements off his work table, which smelled of every oil and perfume which had ever soaked into its wood, and took him by the shoulder to sit on the edge. She hiked up her layers of skirts and petticoats and climbed so she sat astride him. She nodded to her beast and the beast rolled her long fingers in the air. Lucien sucked in a breath, eyes regaining their light. “Wh-What? Where…” He looked to find himself in his workshop. Upon seeing her he gasped and tried to scramble back, only to find himself pinned under her, and his strength oddly lacking. “I was sleeping, I- what’re you doing here?” Catarina pressed a finger to his lips. “Hush, dear one. You’re still asleep.”

He stared at her with wide, entranced eyes. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. With her mane of gold curls and the freckles going down her nose to the top of her breasts, rounded by her corset. Something whispered in his mind that she was right, he was still asleep. He had to be. She urged him down with his back against the workshop table and he went without complaint. He saw her eyes slide to the far corner, but he didn’t see the thing in the shadows.

“My mind has conjured a beauty,” he whispered in a sort of reverent tone. Catarina smiled, leaning over him to place her delicate fingers against his jawline and tilt his head up. Her mouth devoured his with a hunger, and she reveled in the feeling of his warm aliveness. She felt a pang of foreign sadness inside her the same moment she allowed herself to appreciate his body, and she sent a soothing pulse of thought back to her creature. ‘My heart only belongs to you’, it said without words. The shadows seemed to hum appreciatively, and the pitiful feeling melted away from her mind.

The dream woman, who felt all too solid and real to Lucien, slid her hand up over the soft down on his belly and trailed up to his chest. She shifted, and he moaned a little in his throat when he felt she wore no underthings, and her warmth and wetness soaked against him. She was already deeply excited, but he didn’t know the real reason why. He couldn’t have imagined what lay in store for him.

She coiled her hands in the hem of his nightshirt and with surprising strength, ripped the thing to the middle, then grabbed hold of it again to rip the rest of the way to the collar. Lucien tried to assure himself this was merely a dream, and the garment would be well when he woke up. Then she leaned over him and sealed her mouth over one of his nipples and he thought no more of the torn shirt.

“Slower.”

Something whispered in his mind and he jolted slightly. His heart, which had been speeding up and beginning to pound under the dream woman’s hands and warm mouth, suddenly stumbled as if at war with itself. It was as though some invisible hand had clutched the organ and held it still before it beat too fast.

Catarina smirked, still suckling at the hard bud of his nipple. She dug her teeth into it a little and rolled it between her jaws, winning a small hiss. She released it, laying her body across his to claim his mouth instead. He made a muffled noise of surprise when her tongue plumbed between his teeth, but relaxed after a moment and returned the kiss.

“Slower.”

Another stumble. This one hurt though. He felt the uneven beat in his temples and in his stomach, hissing in a breath. “Mmh,” he mumbled, pulling away slightly. “My heart… feels funny,” he told the dream woman.

Catarina circled one of his nipples with her index finger. “Oh? Poor thing. Maybe you’re dying in your sleep.” His eyes went wide and she giggled, tongue poking out between her teeth. She glanced at Angelique again, and again her angel whispered, “Slower” into the air and into Lucien’s heart. He groaned, clutching his chest with one hand. She slid down and freed him from his trousers, and despite his growing panic, he was still growing hard at her movements. His cock jumped when his heart tried to correct for another stumble and beat particularly hard.

“What is this?” he groaned, feeling the sluggish beat as his heart struggled seemingly without cause. It moved slow, he could practically feel each lapping wave of blood in his circulation. The growing spaces between tides was beginning to hurt, and more than that, they worried him.

Catarina sat back up astride him, her hands braced against his chest. She rolled her hips so her sex merely brushed against his hardness, teasing between her lips. Her aching clit throbbed with her pulse, and when she slid his shaft over the hood there, both of them moaned. Her head fell back as she continued to rut against him, feeling the flushed heat of him. Angelique, when she took on a man’s shape, would be kind enough to warm her dead flesh at the fireplace so she could mimic these sensations while inside her, but this was different. Real alive warmth. It was the only thing she really missed from human partners. That, and lying in the afterglow with an ear to their chest as they drifted back down from heaven.

Lucien was sprawled against the workshop table in a tug of war between panic and ecstasy. Her wet cunt slid up and down the length of him, and he wanted to grab her hips and spear her to stop this agonizingly slow game. But his limbs felt weak. His head was growing fuzzy. It didn’t feel like a dream, but some twisted and sinful nightmare. He expected to wake up and see a succubus draining the breath from his lungs. Maybe she was right. Maybe he really was dying in his sleep. Air was becoming harder to draw in, and his heart wasn’t contracting all the way.

Catarina tugged at the neckline of her dress, her ample breasts spilling over the hard ribbing of her corset. She lay down across the perfumer’s naked chest, her weight constricting his breathing all the more. “Shhh,” she soothed, cupping his face in her palm, her thumb tracing over his quivering lips. “You have nothing to fear, dear one.” Then she slid her hand up to pinch his nostrils, sealing her mouth over his to give him a breath. His chest rose under her and she felt his lungs expand with her air. He expelled the excess in a puff when she broke the life giving kiss. Reaching between them, she finally took hold of his stiff cock. The fear and adrenaline warring with her beast’s instructions to his heart had done little to soften him. She gave him another breath, and when she reached the end she gave him a little more than needed, his ribs rounding beneath her. Then she slid him inside her as she let go and he gave a breathy moan.

She felt amazing. Her tight, warm walls enveloped him and the aching need he’d felt waned. He bucked his hips once, twice, but his body was too weak to thrust up into her. Her arousal dripped down the crease of his thighs and cooled against his skin when it hit the air. The succubus, which he now was convinced she was, began to rock against him. His length tapped now and then against her cervix and she groaned, still holding his nose closed for respirations. He was not aware, but he was the largest cock she’d ever taken from a human. He wanted to moan and voice his pleasure the same as her. He wanted to grab her hips and drive himself into her again and again. But his breaths wouldn’t come, and his heart refused to speed up into that delirious, hammering bliss he’d always known during sex. The succubus was kind enough to give him breaths between thrusts, and all he could do was rumble in the back of his throat when he had the breath to make noise.

Catarina sat back, pressing her palm firmly against the apex of his heart. She slowed her gyrations to be in time with the slow beat she felt there. His fingers tightened against her hip, his mouth gaping without her breaths. He tapped a few times in a mute plea for her oxygen. She smirked down at him. “Angelique,” she called to the shadows. The corner of blackness chuckled as two eyes reflected in the sparse moonlight tilting from the nearby window.

The creature rolled her fingers in the air again and spoke her command to the poor trapped man. “Your lungs…” The perfumer looked towards her corner and finally saw, with wide and naked fear on his face, what lie there. “Do you feel the last wisp of air being squeezed from them?” As she said this, she rolled her fingers into her palm and tensed her hand. His chest spasmed. Then it went still as his lungs arrested.

Catarina began to buck her hips faster as his hand fell away from her leg. His head lay tilted to the side, his eyes wide and mouth hung open. His heart stumbled beneath her hand, and she kept one against his ribs and slid the other against his thigh to feel the weak swell of his femoral. Her stomach tightened, her breath quickening as her climax drew near. Hands appeared from behind and slid over the planes of her corset. Angelique took hold of the middle of her restrictive finery and tore it in one motion. Catarina sucked in a completely unobstructed breath and cried out. Arms encircled her as she slammed him into herself, smoothing over her exposed belly and dipping between her legs to her and Lucien’s joining. Her swollen clit was a raw bundle of nerves when the vampire’s claw glided across its surface. It took only a few moments of Angelique’s cool hand fingering her there before she came, screaming and bucking. She felt the perfumer’s heart, which had been locked in a sort of half death- beating, stopping for long moments, beating twice, shaking, lub… lubdublub… lub…- until finally it ceased at the moment of their shared orgasm. His warm seed spilled inside her and she collapsed back into Angelique’s waiting arms, bosom heaving. Lucien’s cock twitched inside her, the last movement of his body before he began to soften with the lack of blood flow.

Catarina swiped her hair back from her face and took a moment to catch her breath. “Ah,” she sighed, “Thank you, darling. You’ve given me quite a gift. I’ll grant you one in return.” She took his face by the chin and rolled his head back up to look at her, his eyes empty, his pupils blown wide. She chalked that up to his pleasure fueled heights before the drop into cardiac arrest. It would be a shame if he remained dead.

She laid across him again and gave him her breaths, his body pliable and yielding to her. She briefly rutted against the curve of his cock once more, shivering with sensitivity after being so thoroughly sated, then planting her hands in the middle of his chest. She shoved up into his heart, forcing his ribcage in. His shoulders shrugged inward and the force rippled out through his entire body. Her breath quickened and she grew excited all over again. She grunted as she drove another quick compression down into his sternum, watching how it rounded his toned, furry stomach, rocking his head back. Catarina had never been the one doing the saving. The rush was immediate and consuming as a wildfire. I am holding his life in my hands. I am the only thing between this man and oblivion. She found herself panting out little breaths as she started the compressions in earnest, rising up a little on her knees so she could use all the strength in her body for his sake.

Angelique slid to the head of the workbench, her eyes flickering between the dead man and her dove. There was a light in her love’s eyes that set the vampire alight. She truly was enjoying this. It gave her every sort of satisfaction to have given her this gift, something she knew her love had longed for so long. The jealousy she had harbored began to ebb as she watched her dutifully pound into the perfumer’s chest. She leaned down, her lips just brushing Lucien’s ear, her cold cheek pressed to his, which was growing paler. “My lady will be awfully disappointed if you do not live,” she whispered so only his barely tethered consciousness heard, “Your heart must beat again for her, Lucien. Come back.”

Cold lips brushed his ear. The succubus’ sex brushed warmly against his soft cock, jerking against her with every brutal pump against his heart. His heart had stopped. He really had died in his sleep, he thought. But he knew he wasn’t sleeping now. No corner of his imagination could conjure this up. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t even roll his eyes in their sockets. They were planted straight ahead where they had drifted at the moment of his death, staring up at some point between the ceiling and the succubus’s face. His vision bobbed with his head, every compression forcing it to swing her face in and out of his line of sight. She really was beautiful. A belle mort. He knew somehow she had been responsible for his death. Now, she was working desperately for his resurrection. It didn’t make sense. But he wanted to do as the voice commanded. He wanted to come back.

Truthfully, there was little left in Lucien’s life worth continuing it. His wife had died last spring of the fever sweeping the lower city. His daughters had died in their cradles the years before that. He had nothing but the stinking perfume shop to fill his days. If he had died, buried inside this beautiful demon sat astride him now, currently shoving her delicate hands against his chest, he wouldn’t have complained. He would have met the devil, for surely a succubus would have damned his soul to hell, and he would have accepted an afterlife of punishment for those few moments of bliss.

She paused her rhythmic pounding and leaned over, kissing him again. Her breath was so warm. It smelled sweet, and tasted of ambrosia when her tongue briefly flicked his own. He knew then that he wanted to come back. He wanted to please her. He would dedicate the rest of his life to this vision who had stolen it from him. Beat. Beat for her, useless thing. Bats pour elle, espèce de sac inutile.

Catarina was panting by now, sweat standing out on her skin and beading between her breasts. Dread had started to well up in the bottom of her stomach. Had she really killed him for good? “Angelique?” she asked, looking over at her beast, “Is it too late? Have I lost him?” The yellow discs of her eyes in the darkness turned towards the dead man’s chest and focused on the vanishing warmth within him. His heart struggled behind his ribs. It beat once, then stopped. Half the chambers moved, but the others wouldn’t pump. “Listen,” she told her. Catarina lay down on top of him and rested her ear against his chest.

“Poor dear,” she breathed out, “You really are trying to be strong, aren’t you?” She had no way of knowing how badly he was trying. Screaming in his mind for his heart to beat, trapped in a dying body. She pinched his nose shut again, tipping his head back as she rose once more. “Then I won’t give up either, dear one. Your heart is safe in my hands.” It was a contradiction to her actions, considering she had been the one to make it stop in the first place. But Lucien believed her. She didn’t want him to die. For the first time in so long, he didn’t want to die either.

She returned to her compressions with renewed vigor, throwing her whole weight behind each measured blow. It had been about twelve minutes of struggling cardiac activity, and her arms, her shoulders, the core of her stomach, were all getting sore. Angelique never tired when she played the hero, and Catarina was on the verge of asking her to help. “You’ve got this,” her beast purred. It wouldn’t be so sweet a victory if she wasn’t the one to claw him back. Angelique tipped her face against his once more and whispered again, “Come back, little one. Focus on those weak beats and make them strong again.” As she spoke, she skated her hand down his ribs and felt them bow to Catarina’s thrusts. Her preternatural eyes watched his heart struggle, and went from unevenly beating now and then to fluttering.

Catarina let out a frustrated growl when she felt his heart stop altogether, no longer even trying to beat. The quivering was too weak for her to detect. “Please, take a breath. I won’t be able to take if you really died,” she panted. Angelique moved to the side of the workbench, easing Catarina back a little. “Just a moment, dove.”

She raised her fist up and thumped him hard between the line of his nipples. The quivering heart, jolted by the kinetic force, beat once and then descended again into fibrillation. She struck him again. This time, it beat for a few seconds, then shook uselessly again. The third time, Catarina tried. She brought up both hands, clutched together in a fist, and beat the organ hard enough his entire body jolted from the force of the blow. But his eyes closed and he drew in a rasping breath as finally, it worked. Lucien was alive. She was giddy with endorphins as she sat back, breathing hard.

“Good show,” Angelique chuckled, wrapping an arm around her love and squeezing one of her breasts, soaking in the way her heart pounded from the exertion of resuscitation.

Catarina giggled, cupping Lucien’s face. “Apologies, dear one. That was more than you bargained for, wasn’t it?” She leaned down to give him a breath and ease his rasping. She startled a bit when he lunged up and, with what little strength was left in him, kissed her passionately and with great desperation and hunger. She pulled back, a little shocked. He propped himself halfway up on his elbows, looking up at her. His eyes were manic and round, black as a deep well given how blown out his pupils were.

“My lady,” he wheezed, “I am yours.”

[trofysisters]

Алешка

От скандалов и интриг, творившихся в общежитии, Алешка спасался в компании друзей на общественных участках. (Alyoshka escaped from the scandals and intrigues going on in the hostel in the company of friends in public areas)

Тем более, что в старом баре сделали ремонт, и желающи�� могли послушать выступления во время ужина либо в тишине насладиться бильярдом. (Moreover, the old bar was renovated, and those who wished could listen to performances during dinner or enjoy billiards in silence)

Но Алешка предпочитал играть в карты. И пусть ему не везло, зато он отлично проводил время. (But Alyoshka preferred to play cards. And even if he was unlucky, he had a great time)

Удручало его только существование в маленькой комнатке общежития и отсутствие денег, чтобы съехать. Поэтому у него родился план. (The only thing that depressed him was the existence in a small dorm room and the lack of money to move out. So he came up with a plan)

Красавица уже давно готова выйти за него замуж и отдать ему всё, что у нее есть. А есть у нее немалое приданное: 10 140 симолеонов и 3 дорогущие электросферы, которые можно продать. Алешка предложил красавице жить вместе, а она с радостью согласилась. (The beauty has long been ready to marry him and give him everything she has. And she has a considerable dowry: 10,140 Simoleons and 3 expensive electrospheres that can be sold. Alyoshka invited the beauty to live together, and she happily agreed)

После продажи части приданного, на счету появилось 24 000 симолеона, и Алешка с красавицей немедленно съехали, пока Надя и Ксан Ксаныч не потратили все их деньги. (After selling part of the dowry, 24,000 Simoleons appeared in the account, and Alyoshka and the beauty immediately moved out before Nadya and Ksan Ksanych spent all their money)

Едва пара купила квартиру, красавица ослабила корсет, и у нее обнаружились пышные формы. (As soon as the couple bought an apartment, the beauty loosened her corset, and she revealed her curvy figure)

Также выяснилось, что все эти годы она продвигалась по карьерной лестнице и теперь была акулой бизнеса. Повезло же Алешке с возлюбленной! (It also turned out that all these years she had been moving up the career ladder and was now a Business Tycoon. Alyosha is lucky to have his beloved!)

Сам же Алешка развлекался бы целыми днями, но сегодня его тоже ждала работа. (Alyoshka himself would have had fun all day long, but today he also had work to do)

Вернувшись домой, красавица захотела побаловать любимого гамбургерами собственного приготовления, вот только она не справилась с новой плитой, и случился пожар. Соседки вместо помощи сбежались просто посмотреть, как горит кухня. (Returning home, the beauty wanted to pamper her beloved with home-made hamburgers, but she couldn’t cope with the new stove, and a fire broke out. Instead of helping, neighbors came running just to watch the kitchen burn)

Хорошо, что возлюбленная Петра вызвала пожарного и руководила его действиями. (It’s good that Peter’s beloved called the fireman and supervised his actions)

С возлюбленной-карьеристкой Алешка и сам начал хорошо работать, за что получил повышение до внештатного веб-дизайнера. (Alyoshka himself began to work well with his careerist lover, for which he received a promotion to freelance web designer)

Глядя на красавицу, Алешка захотел ей соответствовать и достичь вершины карьеры в тусовке. (Looking at the beauty, Alyoshka wanted to match her and reach the top of his career in the party)

А их ночи, полные страсти, похоже, принесли свои плоды. (And their nights full of passion seem to have paid off)

Теперь у Алешки будет еще больше мотивации, чтобы развивать навыки для достижения цели. (Now Alyoshka will have even more motivation to develop skills to achieve his goal)

[canmargesimpson]

Idk just a weird story I got in the middle of the night

When Robin told Steve they were going to New York to see an old friend, the last thing on his mind was to end up in an underground queer bar with drag queens and prostitutes. I mean he’s not complaining, but why couldn’t they meet over coffee like friends, or just a regular bar, but no. It had to be a basement of a pizza restaurant where glitter and the sticky feeling was all around them. 

“Robin, are you sure this is the place?” he said as she moved through the crowd to a free table, in front of the small yet very illuminated stage “cuz i dont think… these are your type of friends?”

“Hey handsome” a transvestite placed a hand on his shoulder and let her long nail press along making him shiver “Want something to drink?”

Robin smiled, completely pleased with the situation his friend was it

“Give me a rum and coke, and for the gentleman�� get him a shirley temple please”

“What?! No!” steve shook his head “ a beer is fine please”

“A rum and coke and shirley temple on their way” she laughs as she walks away

Robin laughs too as she takes her purse and places it on the table. Steve just flips her off and looks around trying to understand where they were. The drinks were eventually served, and thankfully Steve got his beer, but also a phone number.

“Wet Wendy?” Steve reads “Her name is Wet wendy…”

“I have heard worst” robin scruggs, “and come on, have fun, you’re a fresh bisexual, and you're surrounded by everything you might like, no need to stress”

Steve breathes deeply and looks around, and before he can say something a loud music starts. It's a 80s like beat that is quite slow, and the lights started to go down while the stage curtains open

“Steve, it's starting,” Robin says as she hands him a 20 dollar bill. 

On the stage there's a chair and a woman with her back to the audience. She has long, vicious hair that is curly and puffy. The person turns around and starts to sing the song. 

“We broke up on a tuesday, 

kicked me out with the rent paid

Ruined my credit

Stole my cute aesthetic”

And oh boy was Steve hooked. Other than the amazing hair, she was wearing some small yet clear devil horns. On her face was drawn a big white heart on her face, with the rest being red. The face on her though made his jeans tight, but just a bit. I'm talking bright blue eyeshadow, with some jewels and some big lashes that made the eyes pop brighter than ever he thought it was possible. There was a red lip tainted on her lips that were glossy and shiny. And the outfit was the best part of it all. She was wearing black pleather heels with red and black lingerie that fit like a glove. No to add a thigh corset that shaped the body like an hourglass. Steve was drooling.

But when the bridge started steve was pretty sure he was in heaven

It’s hot

When you have a meltdown 

In the front of your house 

And you’re getting kicked out 

It’s hot

When you’re drinking downtown

And you’re getting called out 

Cause you’re running your mouth 

Oh god

The way she crawled on the floor while lip syncing the moans of the song made Steve's ears burn like a fever. She then layed on the floor on her back, to then arch it and show the red wine bra that had black jewels like nippels. She then got on her feet and got off the stage and walked around. People started to hand her dollars and she just grabbed them, stuffed them on her bra and then painties. Steve had to blink twice to make sure he was awake. 

The girl then noticed him. He cracked. He let out a sigh like a moan as she locked eyes with her. Her dark brown almost black eyes looked like those supernovae in Dustin space books. It just got him trapped voluntarily and it made him gulp. She started to strut to him and grabbed him by the jaw to look up at her. 

Ruin your life 

You losing you mind

You dying your hair 

People say I’m jealous but my kink is watching you

crashing your car 

You breaking your heart

You thinking I care

People say I’m jealous but my kink is karma 

She sang those words as she stared at him and smirked while taking a seat on his lap. God he was in trouble now. It took everything in him to stay still and not let his third leg rise up, but sometimes things just happen and it's inevitable. He looked up at her so ashamed and sorry for what he's doing, and for making her uncomfortable. She is trying to do her job and here is Steve with his willy hard. But it was as he looked up in awe at her, as she sang to the audience while dancing on him, that she enjoyed it of sorts. She then looked down at him, smirked and kissed him, hardly leaving a bright red stain on his lips that he would rather die than to take it off. 

She climbed off him and walked back to the stage to dance where she made it very clear that not only she loves the attention but also loves the feeling on the stage. She belongs there, with her hair flowing with her moves. The way she portrays the song made it feel like she was singing to him and only him. Steve felt like he was in a world with only him and her. It was crazy.

He didn't even realize she had left until robin was snapping her finger in front of him. He looked at her and blinked again quickly and looked around

“Where did she go?” 

“Her set finished 10 minutes ago, have you just been imagining her this entire time you perv?” she laughs, but steve just stares at her

“I need to meet her” he says

“Well you will”

“What!?”

“Yeah! In a few so go to the bathroom and get yourself together men, your friend joined the party, and that not really cute when meeting new people”

Steve stood up and ran to the bathroom that thank the lord was empty at the time. He washed his face and removed the lipstick stain from his lips  and tried to calm down whatever was happening with him and his body at the moment. God he's about to meet her! He need to make a great first impression because then he’s fucked. He moved his hair from one side to another till it looked great. He smiled to the mirror and winked hyping himself up. 

“Come on harrington, you got this' ' He said before leaving the bathroom.

Robin and him walked toward the back of the so-called bar to where a room with a star on the door hung where the word “dressing room” was written. Robin knocked twice before opening the door to find a bunch of men in makeup and robes running around changing wig and shoes. But on the very end, the dark curly mane stood up clearly. Steve swallowed and inhaled deeply as they walked into the dressing room towards her. She was wearing one of those 50s womens robes with the edge being fur. It was black with red fur and it was transparent enough for Steve to see some tattoos on her back that he didn't seem to see earlier. 

“Hey!!” Robin said excitedly and she turned around.

Steve’s smiles didn’t fall… but it definitely twitched.

“Hey robs” Eddie munson said with a cig on his lips. 

He looked better than Steve remembered from high school. He looked…. Amazing actually. The way his jaw was sharp and fine, his smirk was wider and flirtier than ever. He looked…. Even better than the stage.

“How are you feeling harrington?” he smirked “didn’t know you were one for underground bars, i thought you were more of a… 3 star michelin kind of guy”

The way he smoothed talked and slithered into Steve’s head made him literally stutter with his words

“I-i-i  I mean- You- wha- li-” he then gave up trying to speak and just nodded subtly “yep”

[ceask]

I made the outfit from my drawing

Nothing much changes at the back, you can already see it in the art and I'm way too lazy to flip the entire design backwards

The back of the cape has a crescent moon with an apple inside of it. It's burned on the side bc Nightmare has totally been in some shit and he's too attached to the cape to throw it away or fix the one of a kind fabric. It's like very old but durable if taken care of correctly, he's had it since he was a kid, matching with Dream's cape. Woa headcanon!!

Also if you look closely, the thing holding the cape together is a black apple pendant. But it's sort of in a heart shape. The same shapes can be seen in the corners of the corset, only the apple heart is broken.

No cape, tentacles, cape only

[uncannyoceanz]

day 6.draw one of the Crp clowns/jesters! + Headcanons! (Candy Pop)

He is 7’2

Loves eating candy.

Will have psychotic sugar rushes sometimes and then pass tf out.

Yk he has that man spread ass sit bro💀💀

Honestly really childish 

Long ass tongue…

Ayo what can that tongue do 🤨😏

Def likes Jason in that way.

Bisexual…AND BIPOLAR!!!!

ADHD. 

Likes to annoy, scare, and piss people off for fun.

Careless, reckless, ruthless and sadistic. 

Masochist?

Prankster + jokester 

Kind of narcissistic / over confident.

Kinda hard to offend/anger.

Doesn’t like people seeing him in his night terror form.

100% horny 80% of the time.

He doesn’t really care about gender. If he can fuck he will fuck.

Whore. absolute fucking slut. Cock slut. Loves pussy. Loves cock. Sluttiest thot in this motherfucking bitch. Cunty thotty slutty whore.💀💀💀💀💀 (I can’t take myself seriously bro)

Doesn’t wear make-up. That’s legit js his face.

Sharp ahh teeth like boy-

Waaaaayyyyy too over protective of his sister, Candy Cane.

One of the best bff’s you could ever have, Nathan is Lucky.

Ofc his bestie is Nathan, it’s literally Canon!!!!<3

Kinda gets jealous easily? Mostly when he doesn’t get attention or gets attention absolutely stolen from him.

Loves to be the center of attention 

He uses black magic, dark magic, demonic magic, voodoo, witchcraft, whatever cursed/dark magic you can think of, he does it or has done it.

List of things he loves: #3. Jason. #2. His sister. #1. His hair!!!!

He loves his hair more than anything, a bitch even think about touching his hair he will backhand them so motherfucking hard they forget how to speak.

He doesn’t really like judge angels. Why? Because most things related to a fucking angel, he hates. He has never really met her though so….He just always judges a book by its cover honestly. 

Him and LJ fight a lot, but they can get along together sometimes.

His father figure? Oh hell yeah, y’all know it’s Papa Grande. Fuck slenderman, ain’t nobody like that old bitch.

Upside down crosses everywhere. <3

He likes bright colors.

Jason will have this man in a corset sometimes like holy shit???!

He’s a mini fashionista and also Jason’s model/inspiration sometimes.

Coming in contact (touch) with some holy objects or angels will cause him 3rd degree burns😘🩷  and he just doesn’t really like holy water, but it won’t burn him.

Bibles and some holy shit makes him weaker, but in a more painful way. Which usually makes this man screech in pain<3333 I’m such a sadist 🥰😇

He doesn’t like angels or people in most religions 

He likes to play dress up/other games with sally, sometimes LJ and Jason will join too! 

Whenever playing Alice in wonderland with Sally, he’s the Cheshire Cat.

He’s a top obvi!!!

he can enter and exit through mirrors as he pleases. 

He can teleport

He/They/it

Likes to hang around the pasta kids because they lure in unsuspecting worried adults (aka free prey for Candy ;))

Candy, Pop, Poppy, Night, Poppyseed, C.pop, whore, Hatsune Miku, Raspberry fairy demon, Hatsune Miku demon jester, fairy princess jester demon, Slut, bestie, clown, raspberry, creepy blue clown bitch, night terror, night terrors, cluster demon, the collector, emperor of the dark, dark emperor, the dark omen, demon from the abyss, abyss demon.

He can steal other people’s powers, supernatural strength and speed, he can jump high, adapt to his environment quickly, really good sharp senses, enhanced visuality, and can phase through walls (ghosting)

Manipulation, teleportation, dark architect, power gifting, mind control, mastermind, nightmare manipulation, shapeshifting, magic (mentioned b4), levitation, invisibility, soul absorption

[mayajadewrites]

I Wish I Hated You (Levi Ackerman x Reader)

summary: You don't do second chances. Especially after you gave your heart to Levi Ackerman, and he decided to throw it away so the next person has to repair the damage. Will Levi put his ego aside and finally admit his feelings for you are far deeper than you imagined? Or is a second chance out of the question?

warnings: eventual smut, this is a slow burn

ao3

C H A P T E R F O U R : B E N E F I T S

It's been over 2 months now since your breakup. 2 months of trying to heal, 2 months of trying to rebuild yourself and the idea that you don't need Levi to survive.

You've started to get dressed again - making sure you spend time on self care and actually caring about your appearance. Work has been the same, the coffee shop has become one of your safe havens honestly. It's like your worries fade away when you walk through the door and you can live a different life than the one outside.

You're about to clock out from your opening shift when Hange strolls in.

"Hi my love!" Hange leaned on the counter, tapping her fingers. "I have someone I want to set you up with." 

"Hange..." You raised your eyebrow. "I don't need to be set up with anyone."

"You need to get laid." Hange doubled down. "If anything, you'll have a little fun. What's wrong with that!" 

You stare at Hange for a moment. You haven't thought of laying in a bed with anyone else besides Levi. You can't imagine someone else touching your skin, caressing your curves, taking care of you in every way to make sure you reach that high.

It has to happen eventually. 

"Fine. Who is it?"

"Great! It's this cute intern at my job. He seems fun and young." 

"I'm 29 years old Hange, please tell me he's old enough to drink." 

"Oh yes of course! He's 23." 

You press your palm to your forehead. "I don't want anything serious. I would want just something casual." 

"Well then hopefully he doesn't fall in love with you! Are you done with work?"

"I am." You slide your apron off, pressing buttons on the register to clock out. "Do you want something before I leave?"

"I'll never say no to coffee." 

- 

Hange has the intern text you, turns out his name is Jean. Hange sent a picture of him to you before he text you - he's not Levi, that's for sure. He's cute though. He has light brown hair with brown eyes to match. He's a lot taller than Levi, which means he's a lot taller than you. 

Jean seems to be on the same type of time as you. He doesn't want anything serious, only fun. He's funny and sends you good morning and good night texts. Seemingly the perfect friend with benefits. 

Jean invites you out to a club on Friday night with him and his friends, which includes Mikasa. This eases your anxiety since you'll know at least one person there. 

Jean: It's all my work friends. I'm sure you know most of them.

You: It'll be nice to see them. Is Hange going?

Jean: I don't think Hange ever says no to drinks. 

When Friday rolls around, you cause a tornado in your closet looking for an outfit. You pick out a lacy corset top with jeans that hug your curves, and a pair of square toe black heels. Your hair is styled half up, half down with some of your hair framing your face. You add glittery lipgloss as the cherry on top of the look, carefully tracing over your lips as you look in the mirror.

This is the first time you're actually hanging out with Jean. It's also the first time in a long time that you're going clubbing. 

You take a picture in your full length mirror and send it to Hange for approval.

Hange: Holy SHIT!! You look hot! Jean won't be able to keep his hands off you. Be prepared to take him home ;)

You: That's why I took an everything shower. Lol.

You grab your purse and call your uber to head to the club. It's 10:30 PM - Jean said he was going to be there around 10 and you wanted to be late but not too late to where he thinks he's being stood up. 

-

You walk into the club and immediately spot Hange at the bar dancing like no one is watching. You smile to yourself as you tap her on her shoulder. 

"You made it!!" Hange practically jumped on you to hug you. "Jean is right there." She pointed.

You make your way to where Jean was standing, which was in a circle with Mikasa, Eren, and a few others. 

"Hey!" Jean gave you a light hug, his eyes tracking your movements. "You look amazing." 

"Thank you." You smile before looking at Mikasa. "Hi you!" 

"You never come out!" Mikasa said. "I'm so happy Jean got you out. Eren's grabbing me a drink, he'll love to see you!"

Jean introduced you to the rest of the group: Armin, Connie, Sasha, Reiner and Annie.

Jean got you a drink and stood close to you as the music blared. The group talked about work projects coming up and how stressful they are. Jean's hand snaked around your waist, pulling you a bit closer to him. He smells good - he definitely bought a strong cologne for this occasion. You lean into him, letting your ass graze over his pelvis.

You both start to move to the beat, now Jean's face is in your neck. He kisses your skin gently as his hips move in time with yours. The liquor starts to course through your veins, giving you more courage. You spin yourself around to face Jean, planting a kiss on his lips. His right hand lays on your cheek as he continues kissing you, his pinky moving back and forth on your skin. 

You let your body mend with Jean's, letting yourself have this moment. You haven't kissed anyone but Levi in years and this new pair of lips are taking care of you. Jean is fun. Jean is happy. 

You pull away for a moment to take a sip of your drink, watching Jean's eyes trail over your curves. You smile at him until you hear a familiar voice.

"Where is she?" Guess who.

"You're such a cock block." Hange rolls her eyes. "She's having FUN. Leave her alone." 

"This was your idea wasn't it four eyes." His voice is getting closer. "Ah, my lovely staff." 

You turn to see Levi, dressed in a grey sweater, blank pants and a pair of brand new sneakers. Erwin isn't far behind him. 

"Oh, boss!" Jean waves and then puts his hand back on your hip.

Oh shit. He doesn't know you dated Levi. Did no one warn him?

Levi's eyes went straight to Jean's hand. If looks could kill, Jean would be dead. 

Mikasa and Eren looked at each other - the only two besides Erwin and Hange that know of yours and Levi's relationship. 

Levi's eyes fall to you and you swear you can see fire in them. You lean your ass back into Jean, letting your head fall on his chest. 

"Hi Levi." 

[wwane]

1.7 ch 6 brain dump

cognac has been cogged and nacked, beef jerky as been beefed and jerked; let's get these thoughts in order

spoilers for 1.7 main story and a minor one from 1.9

i have not played isolde's story yet so these are my impressions purely from the main story

so isolde is repressed repressed, like WOW

the little details i picked up in dialogue and descriptions paint the picture of an anxiety-ridden girl, walking on eggshells all day long, forcing herself to play her part perfectly, always one little thing away from a nervous breakdown or panic attack. at this point i think her corset is literally the only thing holding her up and keeping her from collapsing in on herself

the detail about how corsets aren't really in fashion anymore but she still wears them with a few more 'in-fashion' jewelry pieces: she's old money but she can't look like old news - she has to keep up with the trends otherwise the audience will leave

her whole life has been about repressing herself and shaping herself into what other wanted:

1) the bit about her remembering what it felt like to balance books atop her head to force a straight posture bc that's how people expect a noble lady to act, that's how people expect a Dittarsdorf should act (until they go crazy) 2) her mother snapped and killed her father and everyone else in the room and she's gotta carry that because she's the only one left - the one responsible one left 3) her sister died in childhood and she buried the pain and turmoil so deep inside her that she repressed the memory. if she remembers her sister dying, she'll remember that she's likely also going to end the same way, if not like her mother and she cannot allow herself to end up like her mother

which all leads to her hidden resentment of theopil and the way it leaked more and more as the story progressed. based off isolde's descriptions of him and marcus's 'reading' of his burnt paintings theophil comes off as an artsy fuckboy. whereas isolde is snapping herself in two to give off old-school noble gentlewoman vibes, theophil goes where he pleases and does what (and who) he wants.

personal theory is that isolde is a closeted, repressed lesbian who hates that her irresponsible brother is out mingling and seducing beautiful women in the way she won't allow herself to want. she's got stronger arcanum them him, she's a singer and a more talented artist, what does he have on her other than the fact that he's a man. and a 'man' at the time and place should be growing mustaches and challenging duels and joining the army and he won't even do that.

sweet songbird in a cage that hates the world around her so much. what has the world ever given her other than pain and loss and the reminder that she's next if she slips up. she's perfectly fine burning it down as long as she has her cavaradossi

there's so! much! about class disparity in here too! the difference in social hierarchy between: 1) old money isolde: still lives at the whims of human-ran society but can get away with it because she has money and connections like karl; 2) middle class kakania: whose family started out as small-time merchants but managed to attain enough wealth to send her to college but doesn't have the social-backing like isolde to avoid arrest; 3) lower class illich: street peddler and orphan with no way to climb up the social ladder. the story explicitly shows that even with her money and social network, at the end of the day isolde, kakania, and illich are essentially the same (there are other nuances though, since this is just about the 3 levels in a human society. in an arcanist society like the manus, they still care about separating between pureblooded and mixed-blood arcanists, ie: the way manus is perfectly fine with using illich and other poor arcanists as cannon fodder for chaos and leaving them to die in the storm)

kakania! i thought she was going to my fave but isolde stole the damn show. still love this baby idealist though. i love the speech she gave isolde at the end of their therapy session (ignoring the fallout of that lmaoooo) because it shows that she's genuinely wants to make the world a better place. i especially love the little bite of cynicism in her.

1) the trails grandma who describes what seems to be kakania's early circle days where she was describing her ideals and trying to get support has a line that's like, kakania is grinning and bearing through it even as she's aware her supporters are patronizing her and seemingly only there for entertainment rather than actually listening to what she's saying 2) her describing the origin of her alias to marcus and part of her speech to isolde has her revealing that she hates the hypocrisy that makes up their society: the freedom of expression and art and progressiveness all the while there are the underclass comprised of immigrants and poor arcanists forcibly kept out of sight. how much she hates prejudice hidden behind bureaucracy. she hates it but she wants to make it better!

i love that she admits when she's hypocritical!!!! kakania wanted a revolution because she knows things as they are aren't great, but when a revolution does happen and it doesn't happen in the way she wants, her beliefs are shaken. granted this is because of manus machinations and is one of the worst ways of changing their current society but still. the point being, UNLIKE HEINRICH: whose thing is that he hated how his friends were forced to fight in wwi and suffered immensely so he wants to erase wwi from existence by making it so the timeline never gets to wwi and if he's gotta have the current world as collateral damage so be it uwu.

other people have spoken more and better about greta and marcus so the only thing i'll add is i absolutely love marcus's voice-acting, especially after shit hits the fan. actually, all our mains (greta, marcus, kakania, isolde, heinrich, even karl - i had to listen to his 'oh. tragic.' line so many times lmao) are excellent!! i think this chapter has my favorite voice-acting and while the rest of the game is also phenomenal, the fact this chapter only had a few noticeable typos and grammar awkwardness kept from hindering the voice work. (also i think the 1.6 survey specifically had a translation question lol, bluepoch is learning)

speaking of heinrich: if i am to understand it correctly, he was recruited by the manus in the same storm that greta recruited marcus from. he got to live in the future for a bit, learned about the fate of his friends, and then returned to his era with the current storm. in essence, he got to see people who already died. (you following me here?) now the question is: if a storm happens to take us to before 1929, is there a chance to see schneider again? or, because heinrich's friends died in wwi he can see them but because schneider was sifted by the storm, she's gone no matter how far we go back?

additional thots:

i'm loving the idea of a kakania vs mesmer jr showdown. therapist who needs a therapist vs therapist who needs a therapist. need them to have tea and passive aggressively psychoanalyze each other.

so we know kakania started the circle and theophil and heinrich and others were part of it. did isolde join the circle herself or is this a 'theophil joined and brought his little sister to the hangout and she keeps showing up so now she's unofficially part of it too' situation?

so part of isolde's character is that she's hidden behind layers of repression and ghosts and playing the part of what her audience wants. is the sad lonely girl isolde just an act because that's what kakania wanted? because kakania wanted to prove her methods work, and isolde wanted kakania, this was the way to have her?

i love mesmer jr but i love putting her situations: i know realistically vertin would not put isolde and kakania's rooms anywhere near each other but i love the thought of mesmer's room being between isolde and kakania.

[saphira-artandoc]

C3 Swap AU

Fearne Calloway

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This post can contain spoilers!

If you wonder what the swap AU is, I recommend checking it out right here!

Major thanks to @theplatinumcritter and many members of the Dorym Nation discord server for helping me with this insane AU, you guys are the GOATS!

Character information

Title: Lady Fearne Calloway, Fey Heart of the First Spark

Age: 24 (born 819 P.D)

Class: Druid (Circle of the Moon)

EXU - Campaign 3

Fearne Calloway is a Ruidusborn satyr. She was raised and lived most of her life in Zephrah with her parents, Birdie and Ollie Calloway. They went to seek sanctuary when she was still a baby, trying to escape the Unseelies and The Sorrowlord Athion Zathuda, her biological father.

She was partially raised by Nell, who taught her about healing herbs and took the same classes as Maeve to become a druid. She wished to repay the kindness The Voice of the Tempest, Keyleth, granted them by giving her family sanctuary. She has a close bond with the triplets, Will and Orym.

By the time she got older, her parents became more absent, working with Ira Wendagoth and successfully stole the Moontide Crown from the Unseelies.

When the shadow assassins attacked, Fearne’s parent thought they were send by Zathuda to get back the crown, only to realize none of them were fey in nature. They were after their leader, The Voice of the Tempest, and almost succeeded in their task, killing Derrig and Will in the process.

Her parents left her to Nell’s care after the attack, believing she would be in good hands. They left Zephrah and work with the Nightmare King since then.

She left Zephrah 4 years later after the attack to find Orym and her parents. She managed to rejoin with the halfling in 842 P.D. and with her parents in 843 P.D. with the help of Bell’s Hells.

Despite sharing the same last name as Morrigan Calloway, the Fatestitcher, she has never stepped a hoof to the Feywild before joining with Bell’s Hells, and got close to it with the Crown Keepers. She also isn’t 112 years old, since she was born earlier in the timeline and lived in Exandria instead of the Feywild with Morrigan.

Because of her druid Circle, Fearne lacks the help of Little Mister, her canon self’s familiar.

She had a fling with Chetney Pock O’Pea and Deanna Leimert. She is currently in a relationship with Ashton Greymoore.

Masquerade ball

Fearne Calloway manage to steal the original gown from the Dreamscape Theatre costume set, and spruce it up with flowers, feathers and a beautiful pink sheer overcoat.

Her mask is matching her ball gown, with various feathers and flowers surrounding it.

She was Dorian’s plus one at the ball. He introduced her as Lady Fearne Calloway of the Air Ashari.

Uthodurn - Saviour of the Diarchy

With Uthodurn saved, she was able to change her clothes into something more Fey-like, and wear the Gloomscale breastplate and Deanna’s shawl. Her staff changed to match with beautiful flowers growing from it, matching her.

Vasselheim - Fey Heart of the First Spark

In Vasselheim she changed herself once more to be ready for battle… in style! Her dress was changed to a beautiful pink to coral flowy dress shirt and pants. She wears part of FCG’s jacket over her dress shirt, a black corset and the Gloomscale breastplate. She also kept Deanna’s shawl and wears one of Orym’s jade stone on her left leg in a makeshift leg brace. Her staff got even more flowers, following her theme.

Her pupils have an orange tint to them since swallowing Rau’shan’s shard. She has a mark of Asmodeus burning on her central knuckle, from her deal with Teven Klask.

Shard of Rau’shan - titan form

Pretty much the same as canon. The main difference is elements of the clothes are burning, including the Gloomscale breastplate. Every flowers on her also burned away in her transformation.

Feywild

When Fearne is near a gate or inside the Feywild itself, her form changes to a more elongated state and goat-like : her eyes are big and her entire body is covered in fur. Her nails turned into claws and those on her left hand, blackened by the Ciclet of Barbed vision with her time with the Crown Keepers, are longer and sharper.

Relationships:

The Crown Keepers : Fearne’s very first band of misfit. She cares for each of them, especially Opal whom she sees as a sister. When she left with Orym and Dorian, she was worried to leave Dariax and Opal behind but was reassured by the former that they would be fine, and they might even stick with Fy’ra Rai if they cross paths again.

Ashton Greymoore : current partner. Both have feelings for the other but have not labeled their relationship yet.

Orym of the Air Ashari : like an older brother. She knows his pain of losing Will and Derrig more than anyone else. She was worried about him the years following their death and decided to go and find him.

Berenie, Maeve, Lita and Will : they sees her as a little sister. She also sees them as her older siblings.

Dorian Storm : partners in crime. If Orym isn’t supervising them, they will cause chaos. She had a hard time saying goodbye to him, being one her closest friends. When he came back with Keyleth near the excavation site, she run up to him with Orym in tow to greet him back.

Chetney Pock O’Pea : she had a fling with him and Deanna Leimert back in Wildemount. She sees his wisdom and often confides with him, as seen when Ashton almost died following their decision of taking Rau’shan’s shard.

The Calloways : her relationship with Birdie and Ollie is a bit tense due to them leaving her in Zephrah after the death of Will and Derrig, but she still loves them. She got to spent more time with them than her canon counterpart.

Morrigan Calloway, The Fatestitcher : despite not knowing about Morrigan, the hag sees her as an extended granddaughter from Birdie. The hag still helps her and Bell’s Hells, since they are friends with Dorian, the hag’s protégé. If anything were to happen to him, Morrigan would not hesitate to put them all under The Loom.

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With that, our first character has been revealed! Next in line will be Chetney, who might come later this week.

[sisterprocrastinator]

MASTERLIST v2.0

Here is the up to date list of my work, including links to the stories on my AO3 page

All of my works are 18+ and most contain NSFW themes.

There is probably something for everyone here - epic sagas, small multi chapter fics, oneshots, ghouls, demons, witches, angels, Papas, smut, fluff, intricate world building, smut, heartbreak, tragedy, soul bonding, angst, smut...

You get the idea.

I've tried to put my own spin on the lore of the Ghost universe by mixing the ghouls and the Papas with my own original characters, and stitching it all together to create a huge multiverse.

Essence of Quinn is my main WIP right now. 600k words, 250+ chapters; the glue that binds all my worlds together (it's also the longest and most commented on fic on Ao3 under the Ghost Sweden Band tag).

Masterlist below:

ESSENCE OF QUINN

590k words (ongoing)

MxM, FxM

OC ghoul x OC ghoul

Secondo, original ghoul characters and actual ghoul characters

A child of Fate, a slave to destiny.

Quinn is a quintessence ghoul with a tragic and traumatic past who is cursed with visions. He's summoned to Earth to work with the Clergy. Epicness and spice ensues.

NAMELESS GHOUL

134k words (complete with occasional updates)

FxM

OC ghoul x Sunshine

Papa IV, Secondo, current ghouls

A ghoul is summoned illegally and enslaved by a rogue sect of the Clergy.

BLACKENED FEATHERS

92k words (complete)

FxM

Omega x OFC

Terzo, Alpha and the rest of the papas and ghouls along with some originals.

Heaven and Hell collide, but who will come out on top?

BURNING FOR YOU

16k words (ongoing)

FxM

Alpha ghoul x OC ghoulette

Papa IV, Terzo, Secondo and all of the ghouls and original character ghouls.

Fire ghoul Alpha has impulse control and anger issues. He finds himself falling for an off limits water ghoulette with scary guard dog bodyguards. Biker ghoul fun and smut ensues.

UNHOLY COMMUNION

20k words (complete)

FxM, FxMxM, FxMulti

OC fire ghoul x OC Sister of Sin

Evil Secondo AU, dark smut

Secondo and his ghouls pay a visit to a small rural abbey to perform mass. A Sister gets up close and very personal with his mysterious fire ghoul.

MUSHY MAY 2024

5.6k words (ongoing)

MxM, various

Secondo, Phantom ghoul, Aether ghoul, Dewdrop ghoul, Alpha ghoul, Omega ghoul, various originals

Ficlets using Forlorn-Crows' Mushy May challenge prompts

THE GLOVES STAY ON

2k words (ongoing)

FxMxM

Terzo x Omega x Sister of Sin

A Sister Of Sin is left hanging and at the mercy of Terzo and his ghoul.

Alternative title: Fucked by Terzomega.

KINKTOBER 2023/2024

18k words (complete)

FxM, MxM, Multi

Various characters

A collection of short fics based on Kinktober 2023 & 2024 prompts.

QUAIR ONESHOTS

15k words (ongoing)

MxM

Original ghoul Quinn x Original ghoul Air

Sometimes I get smut ideas that will have no context for the main story of Essence of Quinn, so I will put them here when the mood takes me.

Various spicy scenarios including edging, cock warming, overstimulation, phone sex, ghouls in corsets, idiots in love etc. etc.

SECOND CHANCES

2k words (ongoing)

FxM

Secondo x OFC

Secondo has been alone for many years since tragic events took the love of his life from him. He's spent a big chunk of that time living up to the playboy image that others have, but behind the persona he feels so, so lonely.

When one of his ghouls is badly injured, Secondo must work closely with the Abbey's head physician, Astrid, to try and save him. He enjoys the challenges set by her fierce intellect and finds himself reluctantly falling for her charms.

Can the old playboy find it in himself to give love a second chance? The only thing standing in his way is himself.

FIRE & WATER

12k words (ongoing)

MxM

Secondo's fire ghoul x Secondo's water ghoul

Secondo's fire ghoul surprises his mate with an unexpected and well deserved date night. Sweet smut ensues.

Spin off from Essence of Quinn, but it works as a standalone smut fic.

GO WITH THE FLOW

5.6k words, ongoing

FxM

OC earth ghoul x OFC

Secondo's earth ghoul has never been interested in humans before. He's the biggest ghoul at the Abbey and he steers clear of them because he's always been told how fragile they are.

Everything changes though when he meets Zoe, a human who supplies the Clergy with their ritual ingredients and supplies. His seer packmate lets slip that Zoe might just be his mate and it all goes downhill from there.

SPECIAL CIRCUMSTANCES

1.5k words, ongoing

Special ghoul x Mist ghoulette

Terzo's ghoulette Mist lost her potential mate Special thirteen years ago under tragic circumstances. Just lately though, she's convinced herself that she's seen him around the Abbey.

With the help of her packmate and good friend Alpha she tries to piece together what's going on.

It's All Hallows Eve and the veil between worlds is thin. Will Mist finally get to say goodbye to her lost love? Or will her heart get broken all over again? Anything can happen on Halloween 👻

Anyway, check out my page and see if anything catches your eye. As always, be mindful of the AO3 tags. Thanks for reading 🖤

[discount-shades]

Dead or Alive Chapter 5

Chapter 5: The Stagecoach

A/N: Again gold stars to those who get all the western references. 

Pairing: Jake Seresin/Reader 

Warning: Western themed violence. 

Word Count: 3500 ish

Summary: Some old fashioned robbery. 

Previous     Masterlist     Next  

“Here, try these on.” Natasha hands you a pair of blue jeans before flopping onto your bed to watch you pull them on. Never having worn pants before, it feels strange to have fabric clinging to your skin. “Hmm,” Natasha muses, “They will have to work.”

Nodding, you grab the men’s shirt she hands you, buttoning it over your corset and tuck it in. The borrowed clothing will have to do until you have enough money to buy your own. She hands you a beat up felt hat. With your hair tucked into it you could almost pass for a boy. Almost. 

You had asked Natasha to help you pick out what to wear for the robbery. Jake hadn’t shared what the plan was so she had just set you up with an outfit similar to hers. “Bob has an old duster coat that you can wear.” She cocks her head to the side with a mischievous grin. “It will hide the curves.” She makes an hourglass figure with her hands and heat floods your face.

Straightening the cuffs you look at yourself in the warped mirror above the vanity. It’s hard to recognize yourself. Taking a deep breath you smooth down the front of the shirt. “Thank you, Natasha.” Turning to her, you smile. “I don’t know what I would have done without you. 

She smiles and stands to hug you. The woman’s story had closely resembled your own, except she had burned down the brothel she had worked in before running off with Bob. The two of them were inseparable, and made an amazing team. “I’m just paying it forward like you will someday. Plus it’s nice to have another woman on jobs.”

The door opens with a loud crash and causes you to jump back from each other. “Sugar you are going to—“ Jake’s words trail off as he looks at you. His eyes are so intense you can feel them rake over your body and linger on your legs. A wave of self consciousness overwhelms you. 

“We’ve been over this Jacob, knock on the door.” You cross your arms and glare at the man who has been struck dumb at the sight of you. “Do you need me to teach you? I’m sure I can explain the concept with simple words.”

Jake gives himself a little shake before responding. “If you didn’t want me in your room you would lock the door, Sugar.” Your frown just deepens. “Also take those clothes off, you are going to wear this.” 

He tosses a simple yellow cotton dress at you. “You’re giving me a dress? How is a dress any good for robbing people?”

“Lending, I am lending you a dress. You are going to be the bait to get them to stop.” 

Wrinkling your nose, you look at the dress. “Why do you have a dress? And why can’t I just wear my blue dress?”

“Because of this.” Jake ignores your first question and pulls out a piece of paper he had folded in his pocket and hands it to you. Unfolding it you see that it is a wanted poster with your name and face on it. The likeness is not good, but the description of your blue dress is spot on. “No stagecoach driver will stop for any woman in a blue dress with this going around.” 

“They want me alive?” Your eyes scan the text. “They are just going to hang me when they catch me, what do they want me alive for?”

“You’re not that important.” Jake says with a casual shrug. “The only reason you get a poster is probably because you escaped with us.”

“It looks bad if they put a ‘Dead or Alive’ bounty on someone who just stole a horse and is only worth $100.” Natasha explains. “Come on, let's hang it up.” Natasha grabs the paper out of your hands and heads out the door. When you go to follow Jake stops you. 

“You can’t wear that out of here.” you glance down at your clothes, your outfit is almost identical to Natasha’s. 

“Why not?” You frown at him in confusion. 

“It’s indecent.” Jake's eyes are wandering the room, like he is trying to look everywhere but at you. It’s a change from the look he gave you when he walked in. 

“A lot more indecent things happen behind closed doors in this place,” you remind him.

“Yeah but…” He trails off motioning at your legs. Rolling your eyes you brush past him. He could tell you what to wear on the job, but not when you were hanging around The Hard Deck. 

He groans before you hear his steps following you into the back room you had entered that first night. In the daylight you can see that the back wall is covered in Wanted posters of the members of the gang as well as newspaper clipping of what you assume are reports of the jobs they have pulled. 

Natasha is tacking your poster off to the side under one of Jake’s from a few states over. “$5000 Dead or Alive,” you turn to Jake as he walks up behind you, “I guess that makes you important.” Your eyes travel over the murders listed under Jake’s name and the robberies he is listed as having committed.

“Or something.” He watches your eyes linger on his listed crimes. “I’ve never killed an innocent person, everyone I’ve shot dead was trying to kill me first.” His tone suddenly shifts as he points at poster of Bradley. “I’m worth more than Rooster at least.” Natasha groans at his answer and you feel like you have stumbled upon a long standing argument.

“Not for long!” Bradley bounds into the room brandishing his own poster. He slaps the paper into Jake’s chest with a grin. “Read it and weep, Hangman,” he taunts. You sidle up to Jake and read the poster. ‘Bradley Bradshaw Wanted Dead or Alive $5500’

“They got your nose wrong,” Jake holds up the poster to compare the picture to Bradley’s face. “At least I’m better looking on my poster.” A grin splits your face but you don’t say anything, not wanting to encourage Jake. You would never admit it but he was even better looking in real life. Too bad the man was insufferable. 

“You’re just jealous I’m winning.” He snatches the poster out of Jake’s hands and hangs it up on the wall. 

“I think Mav is winning,” Phoenix points to the poster with the older man on it, and you let out a low whistle. The man had a $15,000 bounty on his head. It was impressive that he was still alive and free. 

“We all can’t be Maverick,” Bradley says with an eye roll, throwing his arm around your shoulders. “Drinks tonight to celebrate our newfound notoriety.”

“She can’t.” Jake peels Bradley's arm off your shoulder and turns to you and Phoenix, “Be ready to go at dawn tomorrow.” His eyes meet yours. “Wear the dress.” 

“Yes, Sir.” You mockingly salute him as he stomps out of the room. 

– – – 

“What’s her name?” You stroke the nose of the pretty sorrel mare that you were going to be riding. 

Jake frowns at you, “The Sorrel Mare Bob Stole From The Card Cheat.” You snort in laughter. 

“I’m going to call you, Daisy.” You smile at the mare, smoothing her forelock and dropping a kiss on her nose. 

“Are you sure you can ride?” Jake asks with a worried frown, he had been reluctant to agree to let you ride your own horse. “We can double on Jet.”

“Is that worry I detect in your voice, Jake?” At your teasing his concerned expression shifts to a scowl. 

“I’m not worried,” he denies, “I just don’t want you falling off and slowing us down.” 

“I grew up riding horses.” You explain, “I’ll be fine.” He looks like he is going to say something else but decides against it and gives a jerky nod. 

“Mount up, let's go.” He commands. You fit your boot into the stirrup and swing your leg over Daisy. At Phoenix’s suggestion you wore the blue jeans under the cotton dress to protect your legs from the saddle. 

“Your stirrups are too long.” Jake's voice is gruff but his hands are surprisingly gentle as he adjusts the length and eases your boot back into the stirrup. “Good?” he asks. At your nod he trails his hand down your calf before going around to fix the other side. At his touch your heart thuds faster in your chest, and you take slow even breaths to hide what his touch is doing to your nerves. 

The man was infuriating. One minute he was rude and demanding, the next he was treating you like you were some fragile, innocent thing and it was making your head spin. If he was consistent you would be able to tell where you stand with him but with his constantly changing moods all you know is that he is usually irritated with you. 

It is over a two day ride to the place where you will be springing the trap for the stage. When you make camp the first night Jake grabs the bedroll tied to the back of Daisy’s saddle and throws it into his tent without looking at you. Natasha tries to hide her smile when you glance at her in confusion. 

The food is better than your last ride, the jerky joined with fruit and fresh bread, but the group goes to bed early. In the tent you strip down to your underthings and get in your bedroll next to Jake. “You knew I was going to be here and you packed me a bedroll.” You can't help the little grin on your face as you throw Jake’s words back at him. 

“You hog the covers.” 

“Yeah, Ok,” you respond. He just huffs and mumbles goodnight. You snuggle into your bedroll, grinning. 

– – –

The temperature drops during the night and as you grow colder you move closer to him in your sleep. Jake wakes as you begin to snuggle under his blanket. The thought of shoving you back to your side of the tent on principle briefly crosses his mind until he feels the cold brush of your fingers against his chest. 

Jake sighs and reluctantly pulls your cold body, bedroll and all, under his blanket. In the presence of his warmth you nestle closer and he suppresses a hiss when you bury your cold nose into his neck. He has to suppress a whole lot more at the gentle flutter of your breath on his skin. He tells himself that if you were warm at night it would keep him from listening to you complain, deliberately ignoring the fact that he has never heard you complain before. 

As a rule Jake liked to think of himself as a gentleman. He tried to uphold the morals that his mother taught him and he was determined to not end up like his father. But there was something about you that pushed his buttons. One minute he was furious at you and the next he wanted to kiss you. 

He loved seeing the fiery look you got in your eye when you fought with him. He loved the way you didn’t back down even when he could tell you were nervous. He loved the sight of your legs and ass in those blue jeans you got from Phoenix. It was scandalous and indecent and he hated that others got to see you dressed like that. 

Jake sighs. If he was going to survive this trip he had better get that memory out of his head. The feel of you curled up against him did nothing to make it any easier. 

– – – 

You reach the stretch of road that you had planned to rob the stage from mid morning on the third day. The road passes through a shallow ravine that is equal distance between the last stage station and the town of Pine Creek. The road is seldom used and only traveled on the weekly supply runs on Mondays and Thursdays, and by the stage on Fridays. If they got lucky, no one would be coming by and it was over a day's walk to the nearest town. 

You watched silently as, at Jake’s command, Jet lies down like a dog on the side of the road. Jake kneels down beside his head stroking the horse as he lets out a breath and closes his eyes. “Is he going to sleep?” You asked in surprise.

“Probably, he knows the drill.” Jake smiles fondly at the horse before standing and turning to you. “Now when you see the stage, you need to wave your arms and make sure you can get them to stop before they hit Jet.” You nod mutely. “Those stage horses are bred to run, they will run you over so don’t stand in front of them.”

You nod again, heart pounding. Jake looks like he is about to say something, but just gives your arm an awkward squeeze before mounting Daisy and joining Natasha and Bob out of sight.

You take a deep breath and kneel down next to Jet’s head. It had to look real for the driver and the man riding shotgun to stop. They would only stop for someone who looked weak and helpless. You need to cry. Slowly you allow your mind to fill with bad memories. 

Your parents' deaths, being forced to work in the dance halls and brothels. The gut wrenching realization that the good thing you thought you had at the Hanging Dog Ranch was an illusion, and that Roberts only wanted to use you like everyone else had. The fear of the trial and being hung, and your uncertainty of the future. If this job didn't go well you were not sure what you would do. 

Slowly you let the tears fall as you sobbed by Jet’s sleepy head. The wind blows dust into your face to leave streaks of dirt in the tear tracts. You hear a soft bird call. It’s the signal from Jake, letting you know that the stage was coming. Sniffling, you wipe your nose and glance up the ravine at the cloud of dust. It was too late to go back, too late to call it off. It was time to put your acting skills to the test.

– – – 

Jake had to stop himself from leaving his cover at the sound of your tears. He knew it was an act, at least he hoped it was, but the sound of your sobs caused an aching feeling in his chest. He had thought you would only try to look scared, but you had committed to the role better than any actress playing the role of damsel in the melodramas he had seen. He grits his teeth and pulls his bandanna up over his nose.

When the stage is in sight you stand up. “Help!” You sob brokenly, “Please help me!” He watches the driver take in your appearance and the sight of Jet laid out on the road behind you. The man mutters a curse and begins to saw on the reins, slowing the galloping team of four to a stop. 

This was your moment, you had their attention, you just had to keep it. “Oh, help me please!” Jake suppresses a snort as your voice takes on a southern twang when you beg for help.

“What seems to be the problem, Miss?” The man riding shotgun asks concern in his voice. 

“It’s my horse, Sir,” he can hear the tears in your voice. “I heard a rattler and it must have got him, he just collapsed as I was riding him!” 

The two men confer quietly before the man riding shotgun gets down, still holding his gun at the ready, as he goes to pass a large boulder you call out to him. “Stay away from that rock, that’s where I heard the snake!” The man quickly sidesteps the rock and his hold on the gun relaxes as he approaches the downed horse. Jake watches you step back, careful to keep out of the man's reach.

Jake takes that as his cue to move. With another bird call to Bob and Phoenix he creeps up on the stage. When you see him you begin to wail and clutch your hair, calling out to the driver, asking what you should do. The man is about to answer when Jake climbs into the shotgun seat pulling his revolver at the same time.

“Not a word.” He growls, shoving his gun into the man’s side and pulling the man's gun out of his holster. At Jake’s move Bob and Phoenix both crest the ravine on their horses, rifles pointed at the man with the shotgun. At your release word Jet lunges to his feet and trots a short distance away. 

The man with the shotgun goes to raise it but reconsiders when he sees he is outgunned. “Give the guns to the girl.” Bob orders and Jake’s heart pounds as you step forward to collect the guns. This is where it can all go wrong, one false step from you and you can quickly become a hostage. After covering your face with your own bandanna you quickly step forward to collect the man's side arms as well as the shotgun, with that task done Jake is able to focus on the driver. 

“Get down.” The man scowls but compiles. “Everybody on the stage come out with your hands raised and no one will be hurt. Jake hears a muffled sobbing from inside and two women step out. He throws them a length of rope and instructs them to tie up the driver. He knows you will be tying up the man riding shotgun and sure enough the man is marched into his line of sight with his hands bound behind him and Bob and Phoenix following with their guns trained. 

“Search the women for weapons,” Jake instructs you, as he jumps down to see if there are any other passengers who want to play hero, thankfully the stage is empty and after searching the women you bind their hands. “Search the stage, Sugar.” Jake is secretly surprised at how quick you are to follow his instructions considering how much you usually argue with him.

While you search Jake gets to work cutting the horses free from their harnesses and severing key lines in the rigging so even if they are able to catch the team they will be unable to pull the stage.

“You got them, Bob?” He hears Phoenix ask and she must get the confirmations she needs because he sees her begin to search the passengers. If they have any money hidden on their bodies she will find it. 

He finally frees the last horse and with a smack on its rump it gallops out into the wilderness. There is a good chance they will eventually return to one of their stables. Teams run back and forth on the same stretch of road for years. The horses know the way home better than the drivers.

With that taken care of he joins you in your search. He uses a lock breaker to pop the luggage compartment and begins throwing clothing out of trunks, he pockets some cash and finds more hidden in the lining of suitcases but no $10,000 payouts. You join him searching the luggage and he can tell that you haven’t found anything by how increasingly frantic you are getting in your search.

“Where is it.” The harshness in your voice startles him. You are facing the women and your whole body is tense. “The dowry you are bringing to Roberts. Where is it?”

The women cower in fear as you stalk toward them. 

“He sent it on with riders and an armed guard.” The older woman says between sobs. “It’s not here!” 

Jake watches you kick the stage cursing before you abruptly turn back to the younger woman. “This is the man you are marrying.” Your voice has lost its sharpness and is now filled with pity. “A man who would protect his money and not his wife.” 

Jake turns to Phoenix who had gone over the interior of the stage and she gives him a nod. “Well it was lovely meeting you all here today but I’m afraid we must be going.” Jake whistles and Jet comes trotting over. He mounts up and kicks his foot free of the stirrup for you to use and pulls you up behind him. The thread of worry that had been eating at his gut this whole robbery disappears when he feels your arms wrap around him. 

“You’ll never get away with this!” The older woman calls out. “William Roberts is a powerful man and you have made an enemy of him!” 

“Roberts is a bastard and I hope he rots in hell.” You snap back and he smirks at the women’s scandalized expressions. With a grin hidden behind his bandanna Jake digs his heels into Jet and takes off. 

[some-stars]

Did y'all know it's bizarrely and inexplicably difficult to find the full text of Dylan Thomas's "Altarwise by owl-light" online? A bunch of places have what they claim is that poem but it's only the first few stanzas. I eventually found one (1) PDF of his complete poems, and then I had to extract it from the PDF except I didn't have all the tools I use at work to make that take about three minutes total. FYI if you ever need to process a PDF thru your browser, the IT guys at my work (a very large, very risk-averse corporation) have us use ilovepdf for some tasks that acrobat can't do (but it can also replicate various adobe functions), so I'd recommend that as the least-likely-to-damage-your-computer free option.

ANYWAY the point is, this poem is SO good and SO important and SO cool, and it shouldn't be so incredibly hard to find, so here it is. It's long. I strongly suggest reading it aloud, and don't try to understand anything the first time through, just let it happen to you and really experience the words.

Altarwise by owl-light

I. Altarwise by owl-light in the half-way house The gentleman lay graveward with his furies; Abaddon in the hangnail cracked from Adam, And, from his fork, a dog among the fairies, The atlas-eater with a jaw for news, Bit out the mandrake with to-morrow’s scream. Then, penny-eyed, that gentleman of wounds, Old cock from nowheres and the heaven’s egg, With bones unbuttoned to the half-way winds, Hatched from the windy salvage on one leg, Scraped at my cradle in a walking word That night of time under the Christward shelter: I am the long world’s gentleman, he said, And share my bed with Capricorn and Cancer.

II. Death is all metaphors, shape in one history; The child that sucketh long is shooting up, The planet-ducted pelican of circles Weans on an artery the gender’s strip; Child of the short spark in a shapeless country Soon sets alight a long stick from the cradle; The horizontal cross-bones of Abaddon, You by the cavern over the black stairs, Rung bone and blade, the verticals of Adam, And, manned by midnight, Jacob to the stars. Hairs of your head, then said the hollow agent, Are but the roots of nettles and of feathers Over these groundworks thrusting through a pavement And hemlock-headed in the wood of weathers.

III. First there was the lamb on knocking knees And three dead seasons on a climbing grave That Adam’s wether in the flock of horns, Butt of the tree-tailed worm that mounted Eve, Horned down with skullfoot and the skull of toes On thunderous pavements in the garden time; Rip of the vaults, I took my marrow-ladle Out of the wrinkled undertaker’s van, And, Rip Van Winkle from a timeless cradle, Dipped me breast-deep in the descended bone; The black ram, shuffling of the year, old winter, Alone alive among his mutton fold, We rung our weathering changes on the ladder, Said the antipodes, and twice spring chimed,

IV. What is the metre of the dictionary? The size of genesis? the short spark’s gender? Shade without shape? the shape of Pharaoh’s echo? (My shape of age nagging the wounded whisper). Which sixth of wind blew out the burning gentry? (Questions are hunchbacks to the poker marrow). What of a bamboo man among your acres? Corset the boneyards for a crooked boy? Button your bodice on a hump of splinters, My camel’s eyes will needle through the shroud. Love’s reflection of the mushroom features, stills snapped by night in the bread-sided field, Once close-up smiling in the wall of pictures, Arc-lamped thrown back upon the cutting flood.

V. And from the windy West came two-gunned Gabriel, From Jesu’s sleeve trumped up the king of spots, The sheath-decked jacks, queen with a shuffled heart; Said the fake gentleman in suit of spades, Black-tongued and tipsy from salvation’s bottle. Rose my Byzantine Adam in the night. For loss of blood I fell on Ishmael’s plain, Under the milky mushroos slew my hunger, A climbing sea from Asia had me down And Jonah’s Moby snatched me by the hair, Cross-stroked salt Adam to the frozen angel Pin-legged on pole-hills with a black medusa By waste seas where the white bear quoted Virgil And sirens singing from our lady’s sea-straw.

VI. Cartoon of slashes on the tide-traced crater, He in a book of water tallow-eyed By lava’s light split through the oyster vowels And burned sea silence on a wick of words. Pluck, cock, my sea eye, said medusa’s scripture, Lop, love, my fork tongue, said the pin-hilled nettle; And love plucked out the stinging siren’s eye, Old cock from nowheres lopped the minstrel tongue Till tallow I blew from the wax’s tower The fats of midnight when the salt was singing; Adam, time’s joker, on a witch of cardboard Spelt out the seven seas, an evil index, The bagpipe-breasted ladies in the deadweed Blew out the blood gauze through the wound of manwax.

VII. Now stamp the Lord’s Prayer on a grain of rice, A Bible-leaved of all the written woods Strip to this tree: a rocking alphabet, Genesis in the root, the scarecrow word, And one light’s language in the book of trees. Doom on deniers at the wind-turned statement. Time’s tune my ladies with the teats of music, The scaled sea-sawers, fix in a naked sponge Who sucks the bell-voiced Adam out of magic, Time, milk, and magic, from the world beginning. Time is the tune my ladies lend their heartbreak, From bald pavilions and the house of bread Time tracks the sound of shape on man and cloud, On rose and icicle the ringing handprint.

VIII. This was the crucifixion on the mountain, Time’s nerve in vinegar, the gallow grave As tarred with blood as the bright thorns I wept; The world’s my wound, God’s Mary in her grief, Bent like three trees and bird-papped through her shift, With pins for teardrops is the long wound’s woman. This was the sky, Jack Christ, each minstrel angle Drove in the heaven-driven of the nails Till the three-coloured rainbow from my nipples From pole to pole leapt round the snail-waked world I by the tree of thieves, all glory’s sawbones, Unsex the skeleton this mountain minute, And by this blowclock witness of the sun Suffer the heaven’s children through my heartbeat.

IX. From the oracular archives and the parchment, Prophets and fibre kings in oil and letter, The lamped calligrapher, the queen in splints, Buckle to lint and cloth their natron footsteps, Draw on the glove of prints, dead Cairo’s henna Pour like a halo on the caps and serpents. This was the resurrection in the desert, Death from a bandage, rants the mask of scholars Gold on such features, and the linen spirit Weds my long gentleman to dusts and furies; With priest and pharaoh bed my gentle wound, World in the sand, on the triangle landscape, With stones of odyssey for ash and garland And rivers of the dead around my neck.

X. Let the tale’s sailor from a Christian voyage Atlaswise hold half-way off the dummy bay Time’s ship-racked gospel on the globe I balance: So shall winged harbours through the rockbirds’ eyes Spot the blown word, and on the seas I image December’s thorn screwed in a brow of holly. Let the first Peter from a rainbow’s quayrail Ask the tall fish swept from the bible east, What rhubarb man peeled in her foam-blue channel Has sown a flying garden round that sea-ghost? Green as beginning, let the garden diving Soar, with its two bark towers, to that Day When the worm builds with the gold straws of venom My nest of mercies in the rude, red tree.

-Dylan Thomas

[m-jelly]

Hi can I get an Erwin x reader fic? Reader is for the most part a civilian but someone who understands and accepts Erwin’s job, dedication and sacrifice. Reader was his date to a ball (Nile and Marie were in attendance too) and Marie is jealous as she isn’t over Erwin and did not know that Erwin has indeed dedicated his heart to both reader and the corps. She confronts Erwin about it, trying to get him to choose her but instead gets a declaration of love for reader

Real love

Pairing: Erwin x Fem!Reader

Genre and tags: Canon, fluff, becoming a couple, romance, public declarations of love.

Concept: Erwin asks you to be his date to a ball, which you happily accept because you have feelings for him. While at the ball, Erwin bumps into an old flame who is not happy he was willing to do everything for you and not for her. Erwin confesses his love for you in front of Marie and others.

Tagging @ladycheesington

Erwin was a little nervous about meeting you tonight, but he was also excited. Tonight he was going to tell you just how he felt about you. He made sure his hair was perfectly swept back and his bowtie looked good. He smiled when your front door opened.

A blush crept across his cheeks when you descended the stairs in your fitting dress. He had bought you the dress, but he didn't expect it to look so incredible. He offered his gloved hand to you and smiled as you took it and walked closer to him.

Erwin hummed a laugh. "You look ravishing."

You blushed a little. "Thank you and thank you for inviting me tonight. I've never been to something like this before."

"Don't worry, I will stay by your side and help you out as much as possible."

You hugged his arm and walked through the street with him. "Thank you."

Erwin felt proud walking with you. His heart was full of love and adoration for you. Erwin's love for you was so deep and strong that he could imagine growing old with you. He could envision his life with you. He wanted the simple life and to leave the scouts so he could dedicate his heart to you and you alone.

Erwin handed over the tickets for the ball and led you inside. He picked up a drink for you and him before taking you to a nice quiet spot. "I will have to do my rounds, but let's have a moment together for now."

You fiddled with your cup and looked around. "Thank you."

Erwin took you all in again while you were distracted. His cheeks burned at how your corset and dress gripped your body. He admired how your lush hair was up so he could see your neck and shoulders that he was desperate to run his lips along. He eyed your pressed breasts heaving as you breathed in and out. His eyes dragged up to your kissable lips and your light-filled eyes.

Erwin smiled softly. "You're beautiful."

You turned and gazed at Erwin with your bright eyes. "Thank you."

He reached over and played with your earring. "It was caught."

"Oh, the hanging ones do sometimes."

He leaned closer and kissed your forehead. "You are truly wonderful."

You looked up at Erwin and smiled. "So are you."

He held your hands and leaned down towards you as his lips tingled. He mumbled your name. "I have something to tell you."

You leaned up. "Yes, Erwin?"

"Erwin!"

Erwin froze at hearing someone call his name. He pulled up and looked over to see Marie with Nile. "Marie, Nile, good evening." He put his arm around you. "How are you enjoying tonight?"

Nile hummed. "It is okay. Do you mind if I leave my wife with you? I have a meeting to go to."

"Of course. How are you Marie?"

Marie looked over at you. "I'm okay. It's been a while."

Erwin gave a small smile. "It has."

You shrugged your shoulders and smiled. "Hello, Marie. Lovely to meet you. How do you know Erwin?"

Marie locked eyes with you. "He didn't tell you about me?"

You looked up at Erwin. "He did not." You looked back at her. "Are you an old friend?"

Marie stared at Erwin. "He used to come to the bar I worked at all the time with Nile. He flirted a lot and I thought he was going to ask me out, but he didn't. He couldn't dedicate himself to me. I didn't mind you were Commander of the Scouts, Erwin. I would have loved you even when you were out there risking your life. I wanted you."

You nodded and looked at Erwin. "How come you didn't become a couple?"

Erwin sighed. "I didn't love her the way Nile did. I cared for you Marie, but I didn't love you so deeply that I saw us growing old together and having kids." He tugged you closer. "However, I can see myself growing old with this one." He looked down at you and said your name. "I love you. I'm deeply in love with you and I have been for so long. I was going to confess nicely tonight." He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a little box. "But I have been rushed."

Your eyes widened. "You love me?"

"I do, so very much." He opened the box to show a ring. "You're everything to me. Say you'll be mine."

You nodded and let him put the ring on your right hand. "Yes."

"This is a promise ring to you. A promise of my love and dedication." He cupped your face and kissed you. "I love you."

"I love you too." You kissed Erwin and smiled as people chatted and cheered. "I bet people are surprised by this all."

Erwin held you close and walked with you. "How about a dance?"

"Please."

He pulled you close on the dancefloor and glided you across the ballroom with you. He twirled with you as he said your name. "I promise that ring you wear will turn into an engagement ring."

You giggled. "I can't wait."

[lilbluebastard]

Clara’s re-design and more about her! Sorry I got carried away :< (also she’s not bald I just didn’t give her a lot of hair so that I could draw her face! I hope everyone likes her 😭 okay I’m done for a bit my fingers and wrist hurt for, drawing

-personality

She’s a snobby up tight rich girl, she’s a whiney crybaby and a absolute bitch at times, but she can be generous and sweet (if your not paparazzi) she’s old school and classy , her anger and sass comes from her mother and her gentle nature she gets from her father, loves attention

-face

Has brown eyes and dirty blonde hair, a large burn on the right side of her face (missing an eye do to infection) a long scar across her nose ending at her left cheek , wears a lot of make up on the left side of her face to hopefully distract other from her injury (injure caused by ex-husband)

-body

Is originally slightly curvy but her tummy is being tucked in underneath a very tight black and red dress corset, wears a tan button up shirt with red bows covering her dress (took heavy inspiration from gooseberry) wears tan stockings that are cut and sliced open by her knife, her thigh is littered in scars from accidentally cutting herself when she uses her knife, walks with a limp do to missing a heel (she’s still looking for it)

-bit of backstory

she was a daddy’s girl but her mother didn’t want her “princess” working on her grandparents icky farm so, her mother Lilith signed her 3 year old daughter up for pageants!…..her Mike (her father) wasnt cool with the idea, he wanted his daughter to make her own choices and do what makes her happy not what makes her mother happy, soon as Clara got older her mother got stricter and stricter watching Clara’s diet calling her 11 year old daughter a pig if she had one sweet treat, by the time Clara turned 13 Clara was extremely sick from her mother starving her, so Mike took her away to hopefully save her at his mothers farm but Lilith called the cops telling the, her daughter had been kidnapped by a strange man on a horse (her family lived on the outskirts of New York her grandparents farm was only a couple of miles away, they owned a horse that Clara named jammy toast when she was 4), Mike wanted his daughter away from that mad woman he called his wife but sadly the cops caught up to them, shoot jammy toast and her father making the horse trip and throw them, Clara only had broken a rib but her father had been shot in the chest and had broken his neck, the horse survived but had to be sent back to her grandparents farm. Clara watched the life drain for her fathers eyes as he gagged on his own blood, Clara had to go to therapy for years but! As soon as she turned 18 she was offered a job at her favorite jazz club to sing and perform and as years and years went on, she turned freshly 23 and was the biggest star in the show! Everyone loved her and she loved them! (Well except for the creepy ones) but then she met her husband Luther and they got married perhaps to fast at the wedding her grandmother gave her a gift….it was a hand made knife made by her father. A beautifully decorated wooden body and the knife was perfect, gorgeous sharpened silver fluffy animal hide on the hand and a thick blue leather handle to help with grip, she loved the knife she took it everywhere showed it to her bouncer Henry but dare she never used it! Oh no no but on night she didn’t have a choice, Luther was pissed him and Clara weren’t intimate anymore, she tired to explain she wasn’t feeling it…she really wasn’t….she had felt off after seeing people mysterious going missing, she felt sad no one cared…why did no one care?, but her mother had passed away not to long ago she felt bad because she didn’t go to her funeral and it was eating at her these past two week, stalling her and Luther’s intimacy. Luther did the unthinkable and smashed a burning hot pan against her face ripped off her skin and blinding her right eye. She in a fit of hurt rage and fear grabbing the knife her father gave her, shoved it in his throat twisted it around and tearing his head clean off…….then things only got worse people were disgusted by her and she ended anything that didn’t love her, Henry despite putting himself at risk stayed with her to protect her, she was like his sister and cared to much to leave her alone. One night at a bar Clara was drinking herself away when a simple man appeared beside her, claiming he noticed her from her performing days, he told her how much he loved her work and her singer. They chatted and chatted and he finally convinced her to join the charity……to help criminals become better people, but the now she works for murkoff.

I wrote a lot I’m so sorry 😭

[orlissa]

hi! sorry if this is out of the blue but can your write a drabble based this on lucife59 drawing

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30982610/chapters/81993070#workskin

it's probably one my favorites bc of how Aleksander throne is facing Alina and also she need a step bc she smalll

It took some time (sorry!), and I'm not even sure if I'm completely happy with it (damn you, writer's block!), but at least see, I wrote something post-worthy after two months of silence. It's just just over 1K words, too!

Artwork added to the post with the artist, @lucife56's permission

The Lantsov thrones, those garish, golden, monstrous things, were burned on a pyre right at the Grand Palace steps on the night of the Great Rebellion—the symbolic end of the Lantsov dynasty, a long awaited bonfire. They never even learned if it were Grisha or disgruntled otkazat'sya who dragged them out of the throne room—not that it mattered.

Afterwards, for a week or so, there was just something apt, something poetic about simply standing in front of their people as Ravka's new Tsar and Tsaritsa—as conquers, victors, leaders chosen by the people and by the heavens—, and talk about the dawn of a new era and the end of the wars, about not returning to some never-was greatness but forging their way into a brilliant future, about their service to the people. It was empowering. It was right.

Then it all quickly got old as Alina—through speeches and audiences and other different appearances—learned how taxing it can be to stand for hours in high heels, heavy skirts, tightly corseted, and with an overly ornamental headdress on her coiffed hair. Then she understood the absolute necessity of having a throne. Thankfully, Aleksander seemed to be on the same page regarding this issue.

“I’ve spoken to David about our thrones,” he told her one night as they were just about to snuff out the lights. “I presented him with some pointers about the general designs, but gave him free reign beyond that—I find his genius shines the brightest when he is unrestrained. I hope his work will be to your liking.”

Alina let out a relieved sigh as her head hit the sinfully soft down pillow. “As long as it allows me to rest my legs and won't have me picking splinters from my bum, I'll be more than happy with his work."

And she was, because David, like always, outdid himself, and the new thrones, finished in less than a week, were beyond gorgeous: made of lacquered ebony, inlaid with gold and decorated with intricate carvings, they commanded respect without being overly ostentatious. They were also rather comfortable—not an insignificant factor, given how much time they were likely to spend on them—, and, maybe most importantly, the same size.

Which was an admirable, symbolic gesture, a way to reassure everyone that she was not some consort like Tatiana used to be, there to be seen, but not heard, but a co-monarch, an equal. Someone who wielded power, someone who made decisions. And in theory, Alina loved it, and let Aleksander know it as well, in the privacy of their bedchamber. Enthusiastically.

But in practice—well, that was a different question.

Because in practice two same-sized thrones meant two Aleksander-sized thrones, who was… how to put it nicely? Of slightly greater dimensions than she was. Not in the girth, like Pyotr was, so it wasn't like she was swimming in the throne, but in… well. Let's just say that he was tall enough that, when standing, she had difficulties kissing him without his active cooperation. And that he could easily tuck her under his chin—which was, admittedly, rather nice. But because of this difference in height, while Aleksander sat regally in his black-and-gold throne, soles of his feet steadily on the floor, while hers dangled a good four inches above it.

And it was terrible—maybe not from the outside, but in her mind? Sitting there, listening to military commanders giving reports and the old nobility begging for their new Tsar and Tsaritsa’s favor while her feet didn’t even scrape the floor… It made her self-conscious, feeling like a child playing dress-up—deep down she was sure that the people around her would catch up on it too soon enough, realizing that she was nothing but a fraud, an impostor, a symbol with a pretty face, nothing more.

By the time the audience ended, she was struggling to keep her tears at bay.

They were to appear again to hear their people in a couple of days, but she was already trying to come up with some excuse to avoid it, and the whole throne room altogether. After all, Aleksander could handle it well enough alone, couldn’t he?

She should have known that her discomfort would not escape Aleksander’s attention, though.

It was only two days later that he sought her out in the middle of the day—when she retreated to her new little studio, nonetheless, to avoid all the curious eyes—, with an oddly secretive smile on his lips.

“Come with me, milaya,” he said, his voice more pleading than commanding.

She reluctantly lifted her gaze from the canvas. “Where?”

“To the throne room.”

She almost winced. “I really can’t, not now.” She made a half-hearted gesture towards her paints. “These will all dry up…”

“Then I’ll get you new ones. And it’ll be just a couple of minutes.” He caught her hand and started gently pulling her towards the door. “There is a surprise waiting for you there, if that’s enough of an incentive.”

It was, but just barely. Still, she let out a slow breath and let herself be pulled out of the room.

At first, she saw nothing out of the ordinary in the throne room—the same high windows, the same banners, the same thrones, the same…

And then she spotted it.

Right in front of her throne stood a low stool, more of a step, really, made of the same glossy ebony as the throne itself. Biting into her lip in excitement, she stole a glance at Aleksander—he beamed—, then walked up the dais to the thrones. There, she stepped on the stool, turned like a ballerina in the Imperial Opera House—or she would have liked to believe—, then sat down, her feet resting comfortably on the stool. Not dangling, like a child’s—resting, regally, like a queen’s.

Perfect.

Aleksander went to her, sat on his own thorne, and, turning it slightly towards hers, leaned in. “So?” he asked, his voice just a tad smug.

She could have told him how grateful she was for his thoughtfulness, for noticing her discomfort even when she herself was reluctant to admit to it. She could have admonished him for bothering David with such trivial matters. She could have teased him, telling him that he was impossible. Instead, Alina straightened her spine and looked at him almost coquettishly. “I feel like the empress of the world.”

Aleksander’s smile widened slightly. “That’s what you are.”