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i-mybrunettelady · 1 year ago

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scenes of an arson site

Summary: Pact airships go down, taken by Mordremoth's vines. Elandrin is on one of them. Content warnings: mentions of violence and all around bad times. Spoilers: HoT

It starts with a headache.

Then there’s screaming. Thorns, so much fucking screaming.

And then the airships go down.

It takes him a minute to realize he’s conscious again. His eyes refuse to see clearly, so he closes them. He’s not in this primordial darkness anymore - there’s light, so much light around him, flashes of color, sounds he can’t parse out. His mind feels heavy.

A thud of footsteps. A person comes close. “Is he awake?” He can’t say who asks the question. It’s all a jumbled mess.

“Looks like it. He isn’t still anymore.”

“Maybe he lost his marbles, like the rest of them.”

“Spirits, no! Shut it! Arcanist Elandrin, are you with us? Can you hear me?”

Elandrin.. Elandrin.. That’s a cool name. He opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. He squints at the all-consuming daylight and mouths the name again. Elandrin.. Elandrin..

Something in his mind tugs as realization sharply comes. Elandrin screams as he’s suddenly thrown back into his body that lays in his own sap, his ribs burn, and the tug holds for a bit until there’s a hand on his forehead and he slumps down again, panting like a sylvan hound.

“Told you he’s with us,” a norn woman voices. Elandrin looks at her. She has blood on her face. “Here, drink some water.” She makes a face. “Plants need water, don’t they?”

He swallows the cold liquid greedily and loudly. A bird screams above him. It smells like ash, blood, fire, and cooked meat. His hands scramble to get a hold of the flask as he downs the rest of it.

“What the fuck happened?” he croaks and frowns at how wretched his voice sounds. He’s covered in a blanket; he feels the remaining pieces of his torn homegrown clothes tickle his bare bark. He assumes the blanket is more for modesty than for warmth. Have these people never seen a dick before? He dares not laugh at their moral constraints, if only because he knows it’ll sound like he’s choking.

“Oh! You’re awake!” a human woman in Vigil gear turns with a disapproving face. “Are you one of them?”

“One of who, for fuck’s sake?”

“You planty fuckers all went insane on that ship and almost killed us all!” the human all but yells and Elandrin snickers.

“I am not fucking insane, you dimwit. I have no idea what’s going on, but I do know that my ribs hurt and that I need a mender.” He looks around and sees he’s the only sylvari in the camp. Aside from the yelling bitch, there’s a norn woman who gave him the flask, a bald asura with yellow eyes, and another norn, who’s cradling a broken arm.

“Go find one yourself, you wretched Mordrem,” she adds and Elandrin sits up harshly, only to bend forward as the sharp pain pierces his ribs. His mind aches with a new weight he knows hasn’t been there before. Part of him wants to be afraid, but he’s too offended to care about it.

Him, a Mordrem? Him, a sylvari, a Dreamer, secondborn of the Pale Tree, to serve Mordremoth of all things?! Him, an ugly monster?

“Juliana, stop,” the norn woman says wearily and extends her hands to help him lay down. He shakes his head and groans his way onto the ground. “He isn’t a Mordrem. He’s one of us. If he was, he would’ve killed us right away.” She laughs nervously. “Wouldn’t be an issue for an elementalist of his caliber.”

“What’s your name?” Elandrin asks the norn woman.

“Skadi. Skadi Runarskin.”

“Mm, and which order?”

“Priory, Arcanist. I.. I attended your classes on fire elemental magic techniques before the airships sailed.” He looks at her, and her big, wide eyes and the dark circles under them. Brown hair sticks to her forehead. Her face is utterly unmemorable.

“And where are the airships now?”

Skadi waves her hands. “Gone,” she says with a gravel in her voice. “Vines came from the sky and dragged us down. Sylvari on board, they.. They started screaming and attacking people. I don’t remember much.”

Neither does he. All he remembers is the falling and the screaming. “Huh,” he says. “Unless Juliana shuts her mouth up like a good little girl, I will start attacking too.”

Juliana growls. “If I ever see a sign, I’m killing you.”

“Just try.”

Oh, but his body’s tired. He lies back, feels his ribs throb, and blinks at the sun.

I can make it stop hurting.

The fact the voice isn’t his own should scare him. But he’s too tired to be scared. The tug lessens and he falls into a temporary, dreamless sleep.

III

The man with the broken hand is the first to go. His death was quick, or so Elandrin saw. They’d attracted a Mordrem ambush; thankfully, there were so few of them, now ashes on the sparkly, green grass, but they got the guy well before they could become so. All it took was one swing and he was gone.

He had no chances anyways.

They’re making a burial for him. Elandrin never really understood burials, the same way he doesn’t understand namedays or marriage. Or surnames. He chooses to sit while they recite some meaningless words for his soul, Skadi, Juliana and the asura, and watch. The dead norn’s gear is so ill-fitted that Elandrin can only steal the shirt that reaches his knees, but it’s solid gear. As solid as gear comes when you’re lost in the jungle, anyways.

“Raven guide your spirit, my friend,” Skadi whispers. Elandrin wonders why she’s sad. She hardly knew him. And even if she did, he’s a casualty of war. Grief has no place here. He thinks of Trahearne, and swallows a lump in his throat.

Where is his friend, anyway?

“They will find us here,” he says. Juliana looks at him. She looks like she wants to throw her helmet at him.

“This was our second ambush in a week,” she snaps. “You’re attracting them. You’re sending out pheromones, or whatever the fuck you plants have. They’re sensing you like a fucking dog.”

“Sylvari don’t have pheromones, not like you people do,” he replies and presses his hand on the ground to get up. His ribs haven’t stopped hurting, but he’ll be damned if he lets them see that. “Maybe they’re hunting you.”

I can make it stop hurting. Come to me.

The voice has been a constant, too. It came after the tug; he feels like it eats parts of his mind in morsels, like pieces of Elandrin-shaped fruit, a darkness he can’t shake off, no matter how hard he tries. It sends terror down his spine at night, when his glow is the only thing keeping him away from the darkness around him. It makes him curl in on himself, in spite of the pain, and breathe in the grass and the leaves and the blood to keep him from giving into it.

The voice promises freedom from that, too. But it doesn’t feel like his own, so he doesn’t trust it. He doesn’t trust Juliana, or Skadi, or the little armored rat. He doesn’t trust anything but the pain in his ribs, the pressure in his gut, the ache in his body, and what remains of his mind.

Get away from me, he says to the voice.

Then it roars and he has to bite down his hand to stop from screaming.

Mine, mine, mine, it roars, and he cries into the grass and the leaves and the grave of a dead norn.

“Go fuck yourself,” Juliana says.

I can kill her for you, if you’d let me.

Skadi cries later. Elandrin watches the light catch on her tears and feels the urge to lick them off her face. Does her blood taste sweet? His tastes like honey; his is a desert. Norn blood probably tastes like licking metal.

Be mine, Elandrin, and you won’t have to cry anymore. The world will be yours to burn.

He resists, and cries anyway.

The asura disappears next. Dead, alive, Elandrin doesn’t know; the fucking jungle wants to kill them, and they’re running for their lives, and his concentration is shamefully weak as is, so he’s too focused on the magical warmth on his fingertips to notice where small things are. It’s like a bug. He never bothered to learn their name either - asura names make him snarl as he’s saying them.

They’re irrelevant, just as the leaves he’s crunching beneath his feet are irrelevant. It’s getting harder to tell the difference anyways.

“We should go back for them,” Skadi says. Her voice sounds distorted, high, and her words are hard to make out. He’s squinting, trying to catch the features of her face. It reminds him of a tree - brown on brown on brown, like a sylvari he once knew. “They could need our help!”

“It’s no use,” Elandrin says. His voice sounds off to his own ears; he blinks himself awake from a stupor. Skadi’s face is long and scarred, she has overgrown eyebrows and dark circles around her bloodshot eyes. “The jungle has them already.”

“How do you know it, Arcanist?” Skadi cries, hitting her fist on the ground. “Eissa’s research isn’t yet finished! They studied dwarven magic. They had siblings back in Rata Sum. How are we supposed to go back to them and tell them Eissa is dead?”

Eissa can be reunited with their siblings when all is returned to me.

Elandrin digs his fingers in his ribs. The bark is dark, sensitive to touch and he growls - in pain, at the voice, he doesn’t know.

Go fuck yourself, I’m not becoming one of yours. He vaguely recalls that sylvari can become Mordrem. His chest tightens and he looks up at the sky, the clouds, the all powerful sun, and the endless expanse of tall trees and breathes.

He almost fits there. Those leaves up above look better than his foliage does now, decaying, half pulled out, struggling to glow the way it did. He wants to be a tree, he wants to not think, he wants to have beautiful leaves again. He catches sight of one half singed leaf and breathes out.

He wants to have beautiful leaves again.

“The same way we were supposed to go back to our siblings in the Grove and tell them our bodies are now their live experiment,” he says darkly. “They have to pay for that.”

Skadi swallows. Juliana sighs and pulls out a gun.

“I should shoot you,” she says. “You’re destroying yourself. You’re obviously deranged. Soon enough, you’ll be one of the Mordrem.”

Elandrin snarls. “Just try it.”

The asura can pay. Juliana can pay. Let me in, and they can all pay.

Elandrin gasps. Night spreads around them, big and tight and oppressive. His head feels like it’s about to burst. His mind feels like a half-eaten apple that’s home to a couple of worms. He bites his hand and cries when the pressure tightens and holds, and between the two sensations, he falls back into the refreshing pool of darkness beneath.

When he mercifully wakes up, he runs.

The jungle burns around him. The jungle burns, and his eyes prickle, and his skin feels like it’s on fire. He doesn’t know where he is, or what he’s doing; he watches the miserable, half-dead leaves on his head dangle before his eyes.

The struggle and the pain can stop, little one. All you have to do is let me in.

He roars and digs his nails into the ground. They break and he digs even harder, yells until his throat hurts, hurls sounds in the air as the dead remains of his enemies burn around him in a half-circle. Mordremoth screams, but Elandrin screams harder.

He’ll scream himself to death if he has to.

The ground shakes as someone approaches. Fire doesn’t seem to hurt them. There’s a hand on his face, and claws that don’t tear, and Elandrin stops screaming. His throat burns as he cries, and writhes in the corner, in the ashes of those that wanted to kill him, and he smells sap around him and is just aware enough to know it’s his own.

“Master has been looking for you,” the person says. “You’re still struggling.” They sound gentle and Elandrin sobs harder with as much breath as he has left.

“Please,” he rasps out. It all hurts. His head, his mind, his body, it’s all one big point of pain.

The person kneels down. Elandrin looks at them. Hands hold their face, and they’re big. It’s blurry, but it’s as if the fingers part and reveal the soft browns of what’s a sylvari eye.

“It can stop, the pain,” the person says softly. “Just let go.” And then, in a voice he thought long gone, “I hate seeing you in pain even now, El.”

He doesn’t know what it is. One last punch comes from deep within, from the memories he tries so hard to bury down, hazy in the smoke. He grasps it and holds onto it. The figure then leans in, licks his tears with his forked tongue, and presses his petal-soft lips to Elandrin’s forehead.

“Adryn,” Elandrin croaks. His whole body shakes. He loved Adryn, once. He loved their nights together. He loved the way Adryn laughed. He loved holding Adryn’s hand and making him fire constellations. He loved the way Adryn’s bark felt against his own, naked, his lips on Elandrin’s face, and the way he held him close, and he can almost hear himself laugh again the same way he did then. The sound comes distorted, off, and he can hear his own angry words and the tremble in Adryn’s voice.

He loved Adryn, once. But as he loves all things, himself included, that too ended up in flames.

“All you have to do is let go,” Adryn says.

Elandrin stares at the night sky, caught between death and life. The fire can’t catch him, but he hopes it will.

With one last push, he wishes the jungle would burn down with him.

“Arcanist Elandrin! We found him!”

“Is he dead?”

“Don’t think so! Come on, I need a hand over here! Hurry up! Do we have menders on the squad? I repeat, do we have menders on the squad?”

There are voices. Steps. Rustle of leaves. Pants of worry, and hurt. Metal against metal. Clinking of armor.

“Elandrin, are you with me?”

He struggles to locate the voice. His eyes might as well be sealed shut.

“I’m here. For fuck’s sake. Just listen to my voice, okay? I know you’re with us. Just listen to my voice, yeah. Good. Like that. I’m here. We have menders on the squad. We’ll get you up in no time. It’s just some healing magic. Feels a little invasive. Not much I can do about it. I’m sure you people have a better word for it.” There’s a hand on his face. He sighs as it guides him. The pain subsides. “Elandrin? Yeah, knew you were with us. Dwayna have fucking mercy on you. Who fucked you up like that?”

His eyes open slowly. There are claws on his face, but the face that greets him isn’t monstrous, nor the eye familiar. The face is pale, human, with bright, purple eyes.

“It’s me, Alysannyra. I know I’m not your favorite person, but who fucking cares right now. I’m healing you until the menders come. You’re not dying on me - you hear me? You’re not dying on the Pact. You’ll want to singe my eyebrows off later, but I’m not letting you die, you hear me?”

Alysannyra..?

“You’re coming to. Great. Glad to see you’re as destructive when you’re unconscious as you are when you’re awake. All this ash is very becoming of you.”

He raises a hand. It shakes but he holds it up. Alysannyra.. He can’t recall a single good thing about her, but right now, her body feels soft and safe. He touches her nose and his hand drops down again.

“Not a mordrem,” he says weakly, when someone else kneels down beside them.

“Good to hear. Thought I’d have to put you down if you suddenly go all monstrous on us.”

He shakes his head.

He made it. He’s alive. He could cry, if his body willed it.

Not a mordrem, he thinks to himself one last time before darkness takes him again.

But this time, the hands he falls into are safe.

#gw2 #inspo birb has come to town #elandrin aien #vague alysannyra #gw2 writing #gw2 fic #guild wars 2 #gw2 hot #heart of thorns #gw2 sylvari #gw2 mordrem #IT'S OUT IT'S OUTTT

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andsheoverthinks · 2 years ago

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it's up to us to normalize feminism

upon reflection, i learned something from the current drama.

there seems to be this disconnect/disagreement about whether women who call themselves radical 'deserve' (for lack of a better word) the term based on choices made in their personal life.

while, for example 'dating men' or 'wearing lip gloss' or 'shaving' are not 'radical' or 'feminist' actions, it's important in this discussion i think to take note of how low the bar is for normies in the post Me-Too era, including 'libfems' to designate you a Foaming At The Mouth Blue Haired Man Hater for Feminist Thoughtcrimes, therefore why the lib/rad dichotomy exists and women feel that they can only be one or the other.

furthermore, a woman doing a handful of not-feminist actions while holding feminist beliefs doesn't transform her into being a choice feminist. choice feminism explicitly means everything a woman does is actively feminist which is a different thing.

acceptable 'feminism' (aka MRA rhetoric the remix):

porn and sex work are net good, and only occasionally exploitative

all men are owed access to sex as a birthright, and must have access to young and beautiful prostitutes

everyone suffers equally under a nebulous force of uncertain origin called the patriarchy

institutional misandry exists

nobody cares about men's mental health

rapists can be reformed

i let my bf fuck other women because i'm a sex positive cool girl

examples of thoughtcrimes that will get you called a man-hater/taking feminism too far (IRL) or a radfem (online):

porn is bad for women and society

prostitution is the ultimate objection of women and doesn't belong in society

sexism is a unidirectional form of oppression

organized religion is not empowering to women

modesty culture is hypersexualization

onlyfans is not empowering to women

we should believe rape victims as a default and bringing up false accusations is always bad faith

the majority of rape perps are men

a frightening amount of men are potential rapists

men are not oppressed on the basis of gender/sex

male violence is an issue

men of color oppress women of color/poor men oppress poor women/etc

patriarchy exists, it benefits men, and must be abolished

rape and femicide are hate crimes

et cetera

the base issue here is that the above relatively tame ideas (acknowledging misogyny) are considered radical by normies.

we need to keep talking to people IRL about the existence of misogyny. we have to normalize the discussion. we have to make feminism normal again.

the reason so many women identify as radfems but don't 'qualify' for the label is because radblr is literally the only place on the internet where you can say 'men suck' and not receive a deluge of backlash.

#fourth wave feminism?

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anxiously-going · 2 years ago

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Just some disorganized thoughts.

I think I'm realizing that part of the reason I have such issues with the idea of a sense of identity or a sense of self is because of the way things were talked about in the church.

There was always warnings about "becoming like your friends so chose them carefully" or being warned about falling into "the world" and honestly I think more than I feared any kind of "punishment from God" I feared being used as one of those nameless examples of people who "went astray", I feared being perceived as anything but what I should be. I feared building out a sense of self because it didn't feel safe to.

A lot more went into it than just that, but it does make me think.

These last few days I've been listening to music that I love but that I wasn't allowed to listen to as a teen. And as a teen there was always ridicule for teens that were emo or goth because they stated that they had found their individuality or "their" style in those subcultures. I remember hearing about comments along the lines of "That's not 'your' style you look like everyone else that listens to that kind of music!" as if all the women didn't adhere to the same code of modesty and nearly all the men were in suites for a Sunday morning message.

There is something in all that that I am struggling to put into words.

But I think that there is an idea at the edge of my mind that individuality is unattainable, that trying to "create a sense of self" is...making things up. Because all of this is framed from my system.

Identity is complicated enough, but to add to it things like trauma, a disorder that causes disruptions in said identity and of which denial is a key component, and fear of freedom and other such things, has made this idea of "Identity" even more complicated.

This is definitely going to take more time to process will probably be easier to.word and focus on when Nine in the Afternoon isn't playing on a loop in my brain.

#screaming into the void #tw religious trauma

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marzipanandminutiae · 3 years ago

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The difference between Victorian prudery and 50's prudery is that Victorian prudery was a genuinely reasonable response to the situation women lived in, while 50's TV prudery actually was stupid.

I've let this percolate for a bit because I wanted to collect my thoughts on it. And they vary depending on what Anon meant.

What I think this is trying to say is that, given the emphasis placed on women's reputations back then re: sexuality, it made sense for them to behave in an extremely straitlaced manner. Because (for most women) their lives would quite literally be destroyed if their virtue were seriously called into question. They would struggle to find employment or a husband, might be cut off by parents or other supporting entities, and could find themselves alone in the world with no means of support. And with that general idea, I agree. Pretty logical to refuse to even kiss a man before marriage if your entire livelihood is on the line.

(Not to mention, a working-class white woman, a middle-class white woman, a white heiress, and a woman of color regardless of social status all had different standards for what they could get away with. While they all lived under similar unfair standards and systemic misogyny...intersecting axes of oppression and privilege definitely played a role here)

Except.

A. That was not the extent of extreme Victorian prudishness. While stories about table legs being covered for modesty are pure invention, you DO hear about some people in the 19th century going pretty far in the Prim and Proper department. I recall one 1870s issue of a fashion magazine by the renowned Madame Demorest where she cautioned her female readers about arraying their legs "like ballet dancers" in the wildly popular striped stockings. To do so, she implied, was to invite the stares of men when a lady lifted her skirt to go up steps.

And I honestly don't see any way that could be construed as reputation-ruining behavior, given that...well, like I said, the stockings in question were everywhere. I have two separate fashion dolls of the era who both wear their original striped hosiery. Clearly women weren't risking their means of support by wearing them, and yet at least one conservative writer considered them Improper. That, then, hardly seems justifiable prudishness to me- and that's just one example.

It leads well into my second point, namely:

B. Even the Victorians though some Victorians were too prudish. Etiquette manuals can tell us a lot about the ideals of an era, but they aren't a good record of real human behavior. Take, for example, the use of the word "limb" to substitute for "leg." Out of context, this seems like proof that our 19th-century ancestors were stuffy prudes who had the vapors at the slightest hint of anything remotely racy.

But if you actually look at sources from the era, most of them seem to be mocking rather than endorsing the practice (source)

That holds true for many other illogically prudish behaviors of the time- in my experience, many people seem to have rolled their eyes almost as hard as we do today at a lot of the "nice girls don't" edicts. The big one remained largely unquestioned: don't have sex outside of heterosexual wedlock and don't give anyone reason to think you have. And that latter part covered a lot of behaviors we- rightly -see as absurd and misogynistic today. But rules that got as minute as the appropriate number of times to dance with a specific man at a ball were often waived in reality- or at least, endorsed for reasons of potential rudeness rather than scandal.

Which is to say, not all Victorian prudishness can be justifiable if even they themselves thought some was ridiculous.

C. A lot of the pressures on women to remain chaste and morally unassailable remained- or had returned -in the 1950s.

I'm surprised I even have to say this, because I figured it was pretty common knowledge. But every reason a woman might shut down relatively tame amorous advances in 1850 was pretty much present in 1950: a woman known to be "ruined" could have a very hard time functioning in mainstream society. Things had loosened up a bit- although, to be honest, being caught in a kiss wouldn't even necessarily destroy a woman's reputation in the 19th century -but the central theme of Don't Let Anyone Suspect You've Had Extramarital Sex Or Your Reputation Is Toast persisted.

And as for things that were patently absurd in the 1950s- you mentioned "TV prudery," which I assume means things like married sitcom couples sleeping in twin beds -well. That sort of nonsense was present in the Victorian era, too. And as in the Victorian era, I expect plenty of people snickered at it in the 1950s.

TL;DR- To me, the idea of one period having Logical Prudishness and the other having Performative BS kind of falls apart because both eras had examples of both types. I can see a point of agreement here in the idea that some uptight behavior in women who wanted to do otherwise was a logical response to insanely rigorous moral standards, but the rest of your argument doesn't really hold water for me.

#long post #ask #anon #history #victorian #1950s #social history #women's history

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faroreswinds · 2 years ago

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I wrote this elsewhere but I figured I would share it here too because... Well, I can, that’s why.

Claude. Why his accusation of the Church make no sense.

Let's look at his claims closely. These are almost directly word for word from his mouth:

They use social status to justify prejudice

They have no tolerance for those who come from anywhere else. Or who don't believe in their teachings.

They steal your freedom and give you an endless list of duties and obligations because you have a Crest

They force people into unwanted marriages and positions of power

They forbid any official contact with outside regions.

These are his biggest claims against the Church of Seiros and Rhea. But even if we remove "player knowledge" from the equation and knowledge from other routes, and focus primarily on how his experiences in Foldan would shape these views, it doesn't really add up.

1) They use social status to justify prejudice

Claude interacts very little with Church individuals. How did he come to this conclusion?

The Central Church is, in fact, so far removed from the Alliance that people do not care about whether it dies or not. They follow the Eastern Church more, which is a very neutered and weak branch, weakened by the nobles themselves. It is outright stated in the game that the reason why the Eastern Church has no standing army of their own is because the nobles of the land of which they preach on do not allow it.

You could argue that because many of the nobles themselves are prejudice against commoners, and the doctrine of the Church claims that Crests are gifts from the Goddess, that this indirectly means the Church supports the prejudice expressed by those in positions of power.

However, the issue with this argument is that the Church also has in its doctrine that one must not abuse the privileges of a Crest, and when the people did the goddess grew so sad that she left the world.

Claude does come into contact with nobles who are truly awful to commoners. But he's also surrounded by nobles who are good leaders and do not see themselves above the common folk. Heck, Judith, a woman he admires, is a devote follower of the faith of Seiros and yet has no prejudice against commoners at all.

Furthermore, while Claude does not have access to the library of the Church for a year like he did in Houses, it's not like he was living in the boonies for 2 years instead. He could have done research at any time. Heck, you can actually find the Book of Seiros V in his route around the camp. This book clearly states this:

Dare not abuse the power gifted to you by the goddess.

The goddess cares for and protects all that is beautiful in this world. The goddess will never deny the splendors of love, affection, joy, peace, faith, kindness, temperance, modesty, or patience. Follower her example and, in doing so, abide her laws.

So I have no idea why Claude goes to such an extreme when surrounded by contradictory evidence.

2) They have no tolerance for those who come from anywhere else. Or who don't believe in their teachings.

In Claude's route, you are given Shamir. Just... for free. She is from Dagda who openly does not believe in the teachings of Seiros. And yet, she worked not only for the Church, but for Rhea directly for a while.

Furthermore, you can recruit Petra, who is also not from Foldan, who openly has a different faith than the teachings of Seiros. She was allowed to go to school, run by the Church. And while Claude wasn't in school for a year, he was in school for about two months or so. He would have known about Dedue, another man from outside Foldan who openly is not a follower of the faith of Seiros.

With three individuals that are all foreigners, who openly are not followers of the faith, that have crossed Claude's path at least once in his life in Foldan, you would think he would have noticed that they are surprisingly tolerant. We do see members of the cloth openly be racist or criticize people who aren't followers, but we also see the opposite, members of the cloth who preach love and acceptance to all.

Claude saying "they are intolerant and hate foreigners" when we have examples of the opposite in his very own route doesn't make it very convincing, and makes you wonder why he isn't making note of those people.

3) They steal your freedom and give you an endless list of duties and obligations because you have a Crest

This one particularly baffles me. There are plenty of individuals who actively chose or plan to chose to live a life of a commoner, despite having a Crest. Lysithea is one such individual. She plans to give up her title and go to live quietly with her parents so they can recover together from their trauma. I really can't point to a time where the Church specifically forces the Crested to work. Unless Claude is conflating that all nobles are people with Crests, and complaining that people who are supposed to be leaders are being held accountable for their positions of power and expected to work. Or unless he feels that every Crested person has been forced into nobility. Which... if you are supposed to be a leader, even if by hereditary means, then having a Crest wouldn't change that fact. But that doesn't occur to him. Which is even more bizarre because he comes from a nation with no Crests and yet there is still a King on the throne, and he is prince of that nation. He has obligations as prince there, and there is no Church of Seiros telling him he has obligations there. Same with Petra, whom you can recruit to his route. Her nation has no Crests. She's still princess with responsibilities. No Church of Seiros in Brigid. And look at Hilda! Between her and her brother, she is the one with the Crest. But she has absolutely no responsibilities, because her brother is the future leader of their land. Why would he claim Crested people have no freedoms when Hilda is right there?

And that’s even ignoring the reality of many other lords in other nations don’t have Crests despite being leaders of their house.

4) They force people into unwanted marriages and positions of power

Again, I feel like Claude is conflating that nobles marry each other for power, a very normal thing that was done in the real world, as if the Church was forcing them. We do see examples of nobles arranging marriages for their children (or in some extreme cases, people trying to force Crested people into marriages to get Crests in their bloodlines), but we never see the Church as the driving force behind it. We just... never see it. Not even the nobles surrounding Claude talk about it. Lorenz talks a lot about finding the perfect wife, but he's motivated by his own ideologies of what it means to be a noble, not because of some Church mandate. In fact, most of the people who talk about being forced into marriages are from different nations. Bernie was Ferdinand's betrothed at one point. Ingrid and Mercedes faced arranged (or forced) marriages. Unless he is considering what maybe his mother went through, and some other past nobles in the Alliance who do talk about s***ty arranged marriages. But... again, we never hear about the Church being the driving force behind it. So, how did he hear about it?

5) They forbid any official contact with outside regions.

We look back to point 2 for this point. Plenty of examples of people from outside Foldan actively living in Foldan. Nothing in their doctrine states you cannot engage with foreigners. And also, there are books you can find around the camp that directly talk about trades done with other nations that we actually don't get to interact with. From Allied Territories of Leicester: Book Two, Edmund territory is stated to be an active hub for trade due to naval ports. Most of Foldan is land-locked, so who are they trading with besides outside nations? The Empire and the Kingdom are also known to trade with continents from beyond the borders as well. Albinea is one such place that is actively traded with. How could Claude not know these things? He's the leader of a large nation. These should be part of his job to know. Yet he is seemingly either unaware of these things, or he doesn't count them because big ol' mean Foldan's Locket has been keeping his people out for a century. It never occurs to him that maybe the reason why Foldan isn't interested in engaging too much with outsiders, especially Almyra, is because the outsiders have been aggressive to them. Dagda invaded. Almyra invaded (for fun, might I add). Sreng invades in the regular. Nader even complains a bit that Claude isn't allowing his men to loot the Kingdom while they are actively invading them. It's no wonder the people of Foldan have major prejudice against them, when they only have bad memories of them and their culture for a generation. Not even Cyril likes his own people.

Heck, technically speaking the Empire and the Kingdom are foreign nations as well. Yes, they share a common language and common ancestory, but they have been separate nations for at least 300 years. Why does Claude, and the game in general, treat Foldan as if it’s a single monolith rather than three independent states with different cultures and identities? Sylvain got it right when the Alliance was invading the Kingdom’s capital:

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

So with all this in mind, Claude's words against the Church don't make sense. There are legitimate grievances to have with the Church, and with the way Foldan runs, but the ones he specifically blames on the Church are not supported by the evidence, even in his own route.

#Claude discourse #Three Hopes discourse #my thoughts

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the-soliloquies-of-sadists · 4 years ago

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#255

This is a direct follow up to #35.

“Glad to see you make it up here ok. I’m Robert, and you are?... Eddie. Good to meet you. Did you enjoy the drive? It really is nice. That’s part of the reason why I live up here. We don’t get many clients that come up here. Most order on line, but you are the first of the season. I reviewed your e-mail again and I think I have a selection of rimchairs for you. It would help me to narrow down your selections more if you answer some additional questions….

“Here, let’s go into the workshop. So, is this going to be a chair for you? Good. Are you the ass or the ass eater? Will you ever go underneath it?... No? Ok. Don’t worry, the only time I go under mine is to work on it.... Women, men, or both?... Women. Is this part of a S&M or kink situation?... That’s fine. It’s very rare for me to find someone willing to spend all this money for the sensual aspects of eating ass. Did you bring a slave woman with you? That’s fine. Most straight men don’t….

“No, I prefer fags under mine; is that going to be an issue here? I only ask because, I want to find the best rim chair for you, and I have a wealth of expertise I rely on. I don’t want to share my experiences with you and have it be awkward.

“Good! Good! Unless we need him, the faggot is up at the main house. That reminds me, will you be using the rim chair for full toilet activities? No… you would be surprised with just how many people are. Hell, every single dominatrix I have made a rim chair for is into it. And some of those women are fucking brutal to their slaves.

“So here let’s start with these three. The left two are designed primarily for rear entry and this third one is for the front. Me personally, I prefer my slave lying behind me when he’s attending to my shithole. His tongue seems to go in deeper and at a better angle. And I don’t have to spread my legs when he’s there. That’s one of the big difference between men and women is that women are narrower than men. It gets uncomfortable at times. For me it’s just easier with it behind me. Do you have a preference?... That’s fine. They will be designed for front and rear entries, but structurally it will be designed one way.

“It’s really all about comfort. Comfort was actually that reason that got me into making rimchairs. What I saw out there was horrible. They were rimseats. To me rimseats are different than what I make. Rimseats are essentially toilet seats on legs. The faggot lies underneath, and I would squat down. I’m a big guy and I can’t sit that low for a long time, before my legs start to cramp up, about fifteen to twenty minutes at most. The problem with making the legs longer is that the faggot underneath is then straining to keep his head buried in the crack of my ass. Either it is straining to keep its tongue buried deep, or its head can move all around. Either way, the faggot tires quickly and it’s a piss poor rimjob.

“That’s why I started with the idea of transforming regular chair designs into rimchairs. I have throne-like chairs, deck chairs, reclining chairs, dining chairs, and so on. Every one has support for the toilet lying underneath, so that multiple hour-long sessions are not a problem. I can customize it to a specific head size, as well as how far in you want the slave’s face when you sit down. Or, some of the chairs allow for adjustability. I personally like feeling my faggot’s face getting wedged in there, and then to have its mouth lined up to connect with my shithole. That is priceless. No other feeling of power compares with it. If you are into slaves that are reluctant, I can make the head spaces very restrictive. I can even create a box, measured exactly to your slave’s head where they can’t move an inch. My slave tells me that it gets very claustrophobic under it. I even designed is so that the slave places its head in the box and the hinged platform lowers with a piece going below the slave’s chin preventing the slave from pulling out from underneath until you get up off the chair and let it out.

“I see you like the casual desk chair. I have one just like it at my work desk. My faggot is under that one for hours. I can be doing work, surfing the internet, or jacking off to porn. I’m not even paying attention to the tongue fucking I’m getting. It’s just adding to the general euphoria of what I’m doing.

“You have a wife, girlfriend, bitch slave, or whatever?... Oh you have an out of state friend with benefits that likes to eat ass? From what I have learned through the years, it’s hard to find a woman into it. That’s fucking awesome.

“If you really love your butthole tongued for a long time, maybe you should get a fag, until you find the right bitch. Seriously. I had one client purchase a similar seat to that one, that he had installed in his playroom. It was up against a wall. He enclosed the sides of the chair. There was a hole in the wall that the ass eater would crawl through. It was an 18 year-old faggot from down the street, and that fag tongue fucked like no other I have ever tried out, and yeah I tried it out. The most interesting thing is that they had a set time each week when they did this. The kid came in through a dedicated entrance, and the client sat down, neither of them said a word to the other. Truly amazing.

“Go on, have a seat. I’ll have it customed to your ass and thighs so that when you are sitting, your cheeks are comfortably spread. You know, those Carhartt pants are restricting your ass and legs. You’re not getting the proper placement of your ass.

“Why don’t you take them off? Other than me and shithead up in the house, no one is going to see you. I get maybe, maybe one customer a week. When we go into the design room to take measurements, I will need you to have them off. Leaving your underwear on is better than this. Briefs, no briefs. We don’t care…. Commando? We don’t care about that either.

“Look, if you think this is my way of seducing you, let me say that I like faggot boys, not real men like yourself. I get turned on when I know a man—a real hard working man—is getting his dick, ass, and everything else taken care of at the expense of faggots. I’m not talking about gay boys. I mean faggots, boys who exist to serve a real man, to take care of that man’s needs including draining his balls, eating his ass, and so on. To a faggot, draining your cock and eating your shithole is the reason for its existence, even at the expense of its own needs. So no, I wouldn’t dream of sticking my cock in you. You can count on that.

“Don’t worry about my faggot; its tiny pecker is permanently locked away. It has been that way ever since he got here last fall. You remember that first snowstorm we had? Well right before the snowfall hit its car ran out of gas, and it got stuck. At least that was its story. I made it an offer, find someone else to help in the snowstorm, or submit to me. I’ve kept it naked, with its pecker painfully locked up in that device ever since. I’ve trained it to service my shithole for hours on end. It hasn’t cum in the five months it’s been serving me.

“Let me text it to come down here…. No, it’s no problem. Go ahead and get comfortable. Take the pants off, leave them on the table. It’s best to put your work boots back on.

“That’s a beautiful cock you have. I bet the women love it. Stop the modesty thing. You are a fucking hot man, you should relish in the adoration. Have a seat. Doesn’t that feel good on your ass? You can feel the spread, but it doesn’t feel like you are falling in? Now imagine a moist tongue darting in and out of your crack.

“And speaking of a moist tongue, here’s the fag…. Faggot! This is Sir Eddie. Get under the seat and get to work….

“No more protesting. I don’t care how dirty it is. I saw your skid marks in your pants, the fag will clean you up. He lives for shit like this. Its tongue feels good in there, doesn’t it? Don’t answer, I can see it on your face. Just relax.

“I will be over there in the design shop if you need me. Try out any of the other chairs. The faggot will do whatever you want or need to feel good. You can stay as long as you like. Even over night or throughout the rest of the weekend. The fag will take care of everything for you. It’ll eat your farts, drink your piss, throat your shaft, take a beating, or whatever. Just tell it what you want, and it will comply. By the end you will understand why a faggot is better than a bitch. Make me a good enough offer, and I may throw the faggot in.”

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oraclekleo · 3 years ago

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@hereismyloloverse + Christopher Bang (Stray Kids) - Sweet Romance Couple Reading

Hello and welcome!

I’m Kleo and I’m here to present some k-pop related tarot readings to you.

Disclaimer:

I would like to state that all these readings have a purely entertainment nature and their purpose is to bring some fun into my and hopefully yours lives. I have never ever met any of the idols / actors / celebrities in my readings, I don’t know them personally. Tarot reading isn’t an exact science and I can never guarantee any of it. Most of it is my intuition mixed with fantasy. Don’t take these readings seriously and don’t base any important decisions on tarot readings only, use your common sense.

If you wish to request a tarot reading, please read the pinned post on my profile first to see the instructions on how to request. I only do readings for idols / actors / celebrities of 18 years of age or older. Requests for readings including younger people will be automatically dismissed. If you feel uncomfortable with these tarot readings, do not engage in reading my posts. Thank you for understanding.

Reading Info:

Rating: 18+

Reading Type: Single - Couple

Requested: Yes - No

Requester: @hereismyloloverse

Deck: Tarot of the Divine

Spread: Sweet Romance

Questions:

The eyes meet across the room… (What captivates them about you)

Sweet scent lingering in the air… (What pulls them closer to you)

Only the brave ones… (What motivates them to approach you)

Words as sweet as honey… (What enchants them about you)

Lips like petals of a rose… (What makes them kiss you)

Love is a form of insanity… (What makes them fall in love with you)

Full Name: Christopher Bang

Stage Name: Bang Chan

Group: Stray Kids

Masterpost: Stray Kids

@hereismyloloverse + Bang Chan

Christopher Bang

Bang Chan (Stray Kids)

Deck: Tarot of the Divine

Spread: Sweet Romance

The eyes meet across the room… (What captivates them about you) [15] - Queen of Coins

I can’t possibly know much about you but the cards suggest that Bang Chan is likely to feel captivated by your feminine charms. You don’t have to be girly but you possess the famme fatale vibe and it’s very likely for Bang Chan to notice. You are likely to attract his eyes by being confident in your own skin and not letting anyone discourage or pointlessly criticise you.

Sweet scent lingering in the air… (What pulls them closer to you) [72] - Knight of Swords

Your sharp tongue and witty reason are likely to attract Bang Chan. The way you ask questions in order to truly understand the issue, the way you focus on conversation and the speaker, you listen, you reply meaningfully and your observations are deep and on point. You can probably also retort with sarcasm and merciless wit. Bang Chan finds it refreshing and amusing.

Only the brave ones… (What motivates them to approach you) [46] - 0 The Fool

Your open mindedness towards anything new and your friendliness are the qualities motivating Bang Chan to approach you. Despite your razor sharp reason, you don’t intimidate him, you don’t push people away. You are open to new friendships and new people entering your life. Bang Chan feels welcomed in your company because you respond quickly and with nearly childlike curiosity and what’s more, you truly listen to what he says.

Words as sweet as honey… (What enchants them about you) [18] - 5 of Coins

Bang Chan is likely to feel enchanted by your independence and ability to fight for yourself and stand on your own feet. If that’s not completely true as of now (maybe you are still studying and need your parent’s support), Bang Chan will appreciate your selfless and non-materialistic nature. You prefer to bond with people through thoughts and ideas rather than bribe them with gifts (or being bribed by others). You probably don’t really need a large budget to be happy. Your modesty and resourcefulness will leave Bang Chan stunned.

Lips like petals of a rose… (What makes them kiss you) [26] - King of Coins

The way you get so serious and engaged in something that interests you will likely make Bang Chan to kiss you. You are in the middle of a deeply educated and professional monologue on something you are into at the time, you present your ideas with all the seriousness and passion for the issue, you probably detour to details often, sometimes skipping words because your mind runs faster than your mouth. And suddenly Bang Chan goes forward and stops the waterfall with a kiss. It’s likely to be sweet, short and in a way innocent as he didn’t plan it beforehand, just felt so pulled towards you listening to you. It’s likely you will pull him back into another much deeper kiss after he pulled away and whispered sorry shyly.

Love is a form of insanity… (What makes them fall in love with you) [36] - Ace of Wands

Bang Chan is likely to fall in love with you for your everlasting passion and excitement. You are curious about many things, you have many interests and hobbies and you truly enjoy them with glee. Bang Chan is the same, he’s passionate about what he does and seeing you immersing into another subject of your interest, studying it and trying new skills simply to expand and enrich your life, that’s what he finds so adorable and attractive and proud of you. It’s very likely he won’t even notice the one specific moment, he fell in love with you. It’s likely to happen gradually and smoothly.

Thank you for reading!

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Comment! 💬

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mus1g4 · 3 years ago

Note

At Hampton jail what's the strip search like does it just happen when you first enter or can then happen at anytime during a stay there? Also are you frisked search often what's the procedure like? As a guard have you done strip searches or pat downs of other prisons and which is worse?

Hampton jail does search you thoroughly on intake just as a normal prison would. We do not do rectal or cavity searches. If you are wanting that, I will have to disappoint you! We have you complete a role play contract before any activity begins and you can decline any aspect of the intake process. (A lot of guys prefer no mugshots, or mugshots taken only on their personal cell phones), others prefer no fingerprints or no nudity or no outdoor time. No judgments are made about you based on your requests. This is YOUR roleplay.

I will say here that an enormous number of "clients" end up doing many of the things they don't want to do because they change their minds. We try to be meticulous about not sharing photographs or names (without specific permission). You are assured absolute privacy if that is your wish. I was always nervous during my first time here. I absolutely did not want to do yard time. Interestingly enough, it is now my FAVORITE thing to do. (Just a touch of humiliation is good for an ego maniac's soul!!)

An incoming inmate with no restrictions or a returning guest is usually stripped searched at intake and fully checked for contraband. They are subsequently issued a pair of orange boxer shorts for modesty and taken to the shower. We do not have smelly convicts in our jail at the outset. After a shower, the inmate is issued a uniform and intake bundle and taken to their assigned cell.

If a guard believes an inmate has contraband or the inmate has been out of the cell block, a pat down search at minimum is conducted. A strip search during a cell check or after a work detail is no unexpected, but again, this is within a vary narrow window and only at the approval of the inmate at the outset of play. Finally an inmate can use a safe word such as red or an activity seemed like a good idea at the beginning of play and now the inmate is having second thoughts.

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riddlecrux · 4 years ago

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Miserable together, happy apart: a dive into Elain and Lucien's relationship

This meta is based solely on textual pieces of evidence that can be found through the whole ACTOAR series written by SJM. My observations come from the text and what was given to us, the audience, by the author of the book. Due to the fact that this topic is connected with a raging shipping war, I would like to make an important note at the beginning of this (probably) long comparison post. This meta will be touching subjects such as trauma, forced and unhealthy relationships, being uncomfortable around the other person, and enforced feeling of duty. On that note, it's anti Elain and Lucien relationship.

The starting point of the whole relationship and mating bond begins in ACOMAF, when Lucien contributes to Archeron sisters being kidnapped - leading to them being Made. I'm very concerned with the way how this fandom seems to collectively forget about the trauma that Elain went through when she was pushed inside the Cauldron. After ACOSF we are left with the idea that being Made wasn't pleasant - on the contrary, it was horrible and scary, it left Nesta with psychological scars and mental barriers. So why are people forgetting that, in fact, it was Elain who undergone the same terrifying experience first? SJM had described this whole situation very vividly and painfully detailed. It was there to show us that both Elain and Nesta went through something disturbing and traumatizing. That's why I would like to start with a notion of TRAUMA:

"Elain’s foot hit the water, and she screamed—screamed in terror that hit me so deep I began sobbing."

Feyre is there to witness her sisters being shoved into Cauldron and one can only imagine how terrifying it was to observe such a thing. However, there is no amount of words to describe how utterly frightening it was for Elain to be pushed into the unknown. She was the first one, an experiment for everyone to see.

"More water than seemed possible dumped out in a cascade. Black, smoke-coated water. And Elain, as if she’d been thrown by a wave, washed onto the stones facedown. Her legs were so pale—so delicate. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen them bare."

Elain was a proper lady. She was the one who went along with the prevailing etiquette and rules. Feyre notices Elain's bare skin and how she doesn't even remember when was the last time she saw so much of it in the broad daylight. Elain was modest, she followed the social obligations and we as readers are presented with the fact that all her principles are being violated in front of these strangers and people she knew from before.

"Elain was still shivering on the wet stones, her nightgown shoved up to her thighs, her small breasts fully visible beneath the soaked fabric. Guards snickered."

She was let out in the open after such a traumatizing event. Just after being Made, the first thing she experiences is another form of trauma. She is involuntary stripped bare in front of males, her proper upbringing and modesty ruined as they openly laugh at her nakedness. It's another traumatic event, not even a moment after her whole human life was taken away from her.

"As Lucien took off his jacket, kneeling before Elain. She cringed away from the coat, from him—"

It's not surprising that she acted that way. He is yet another male who appears out of nowhere, comes at her when she is in a very vulnerable position. Not to mention, that he is connected to the fact that she and Nesta were kidnapped and used as hostages. He plays a role in her trauma, a trauma that is still happening around her. Elain is subjected to watch her older sister going through the same thing she went through.

"Lucien’s hands slackened at his sides. His voice broke as he whispered to Elain, “You’re my mate.”"

I would say that it wasn't a good thing to say at that moment. It's yet another brick in the wall of traumas that Elain just went through. She lost her human life, she was Made, she lost her human fiance, was kidnapped and used as an experiment, ridiculed due to her nakedness and vulnerability, watched her sister being shoved into the Cauldron. Now she is presented with the fact that she was stripped off of her free will, and she still doesn't have freedom of choice. The lack of choice is evident, she just doesn't let it fall upon her as the trauma she had just endured was too great to even imagine how that declaration could shake her already broken heart.

“From my sister’s stories. Her friend.” “Yes.” But Elain blinked slowly. “You were in Hybern.” “Yes.” It was all he could say. “You betrayed us.”

Elain is aware of the fact that he was a part of her trauma. He was there when she got kidnapped and watched her being Made. She acknowledges the fact that he is partially responsible for what has happened to her and her sister. Not only Elain but Lucien as well. Lucien is also very much aware of the fact that he had contributed to her pain and hardship. Those feelings are also very prominent in the way he approaches her and behaves around her. The knowledge that she is that way because of his mistake.

FORCED RELATIONSHIP:

Both Elain and Lucien find themselves forced to "be" together. It wasn't a natural thing that happened between them, not a healthy type of bond snapping in its place. They were put together because of the Cauldron's decision.

She was nothing like Jesminda. Jesminda had been all laughter and mischief, too wild and free to be contained by the country life that she’d been born into. She had teased him, taunted him—seduced him so thoroughly that he hadn’t wanted anything but her. She’d seen him not as a High Lord’s seventh son, but as a male. Had loved him without question, without hesitation. She had chosen him. Elain had been … thrown at him.

Even Lucien, who had loved and lost his previous lover acknowledges the fact that it is something that both of them didn't want. Their bond essentially stripped both of them of their free will. They hadn't chosen each other, they were just put together in a fickle decision of The Cauldron. His previous love story signalizes that Lucien also wants to be chosen, wants to be loved by someone who decided that he is the man that the other person wants to love and spend their life with him.

“I am Lucien. Seventh son of the High Lord of the Autumn Court.” And a whole lot of nothing.

Lucien has also his own issues - family feud, the fact that his friend betrayed him and in the end, it was him who did the same. He has troubles on his mind that are concerning. He's self-conscious in front of Elain because as Lucien is a reminder of her trauma - she is a reminder of his biggest mistake and another painful ending on his part. She's a living proof of his betrayal, how he went against his common sense and stabbed his friend, Feyre, in the back by bringing her sister into the scene.

The words were a rasp as he instead said, “I know. I’m sorry.” She did not love him, want him, need him. Another male’s bride. A mortal man’s wife. Or she would have been.

He is aware of the fact that Elain doesn't feel anything for him, that she was promised to another and she had planned her life with that person. Just like him in the past - it was his choice to love, want, and need Jesminda. As he's trying to keep his composure the feelings of the bond swirl around, yet Lucien still understands that both of them ended up with something they didn't want.

“When I sleep,” she murmured, “I can hear your heart beating through the stone.” She angled her head, as if the city view held some answer. “Can you hear mine?” He wasn’t sure if she truly meant to address him, but he said, “No, lady. I cannot.”

Even though they were "blessed" with this bond, the thread of it is weak and very unlike the other ones in SJM universe. As if it wasn't working properly - they both do not complete each other. Few pages before Elain says that she can hear Feyre's and Nesta's heartbeat and yet her mate can't hear hers? How is that possible? Also Lucien doesn't understand Elain - he sees her as someone who is devastated by her ruined human life, which is true, but right we as readers know by now that Elain was suffering because nobody seemed to realize what was wrong with her. Their first meeting doesn't spark hope for their future. It only showcases how wrong they both are for each other, two wounds plastered against each other.

BEING UNCOMFORTABLE AROUND EACH OTHER: Sadly both Elain and Lucien are pushed together by Feyre and her little meddling - which isn't something that they both want to undergo.

It was the most uncomfortable thirty minutes I could recall. (...) Pretending, while Lucien and Elain sat in stilted silence by the dim fireplace, an untouched tea service between them.

Even Feyre admits that a previously arranged get-together was a mistake. Because Lucien and Elain are wary of their presence around each other, they constantly remind each other's traumas and painful memories. Elain can barely stand his presence and Lucien is aware of that fact - the only thing that keeps him trying to break that barrier is their bond.

She rose to her feet, and Lucien shot to his. “I’m sorry,” he blurted. “What—what was that?” Mor put a hand on my knee to keep me from rising, too. “It—it was a tug. On the bond.”

Even their mating bond isn't a thing of comfort. They can't navigate through it, both of them uncomfortable because of their proximity. Lucien feels as if he has to repay his debt towards Elain, however, neither of them wants to close the distance. Their wounds are still fresh, both of them not entirely healed. They are constantly rubbing their hurt on each other, meeting after meeting.

“Nothing,” he said, and again faced his mate. “I’m sorry—if that unsettled you.” Elain sidled toward Nesta, who seemed to be at a near-simmer. “It felt … strange,” Elain breathed. “Like you pulled on a thread tied to a rib.” Lucien exposed his palms to her. “I’m sorry“.

He feels guilty all the time he's around her. He can't navigate through the mating bond as it doesn't work properly. It's uncomfortable, hurtful, and tense. Just like the relationship between them, it is not a good thing. They are basically strangers thrown at each other after seeing the other person at their lowest. It's not a coincidence that the bond between them is a mirror to their rough, strained relation.

Lucien murmured to me, eye still fixed on Elain, “Should we—does she need …?”

Lucien just stared and stared at my sister, as if he’d never seen her before.

Even with the bond, Lucien can't understand what Elain needs. They are basically strangers, yet the bond doesn't do anything to him in regards to helping her. They are constantly uncomfortable around each other, they try to avoid each other throughout the series because of the fact that they both don't want to be in this forced relationship. Lucien feels obliged to keep persuading her due to the bond, whereas Elain wants nothing to do with the said bond. They are in a maze of constant avoidance and unbearable proximity, which is very soundly described in the text and I would like to present some very important passages:

He hadn’t mentioned Elain, or his proximity to her. Elain had not asked him to stay or to go. And whether she cared about the bruises on his face, she certainly hadn’t let on.

Elain, at least, would be too polite to send Lucien away when he wanted to help. She was too polite to send him away on a normal day. She just ignored him or barely spoke to him until he got the hint and left. As far as I knew, he hadn’t come within touching distance since the aftermath of that final battle.

No, as Elain took a step back, hand falling away from the doorknob, she revealed Lucien smiling tightly at us both. “Happy Solstice,” was all he said.

A sidelong glance toward Elain, swift and fleeting. “Both of you.” Elain said nothing, but at least she bowed her head in thanks.

“You’re welcome to stay for the night,” I said, since Elain certainly wasn’t going to. Lucien lowered his hands into his lap and leaned back in the armchair. “Thank you, but I have other plans.” I prayed he didn’t catch the slightly relieved glimmer on Elain’s face.

My sister rose to her feet. “I should get refreshments.” Lucien rose as well. “No need to trouble yourself. I’m—” But she was already out of the room.

I would love to bring attention to the fact that Lucien understands and realizes that their relationships will never work. He acknowledges it in the text, with his own words!

"Give her time to accept it.” “To accept a life shackled to me?”

“Spend time with her.” “I don’t think she’ll tolerate two minutes alone with me, so forget about two weeks.” His jaw worked as he studied the fire.

He shook off my grip and headed for the door. “I can’t stand to be in the same room as her for more than two minutes."

ELAIN'S AGENCY: Throughout ACOWAR, ACOFAS and ACOSF Elain tries to get away from the bond and in conclusion also from Lucien himself. She doesn't acknowledge their bond and time after time she runs away from the fact that they are bound to each other. The thing is, Elain, probably doesn't know how to break their bond - we as readers are reminded in Azriel's POV how important their mating bond is for the Night Court, which makes her a sort of political pawn. It is yet another thing that is taken away from her, which to be honest is a kind of a hypocritical thing coming from Rhys and Feyre. We know that Elain is timid, however after slowly recovering from her trauma she started to voice out her discomfort connected to Lucien and their forced relationship.

I knew I wasn’t truly angry with her, not angry with anyone but myself, but I said, “You couldn’t say a single word to him? A pleasant greeting?” Elain only stared at the steaming kettle as she set it on the stone counter. “He brought you a present.” Those doe-brown eyes turned toward me. Sharper than I’d ever seen them. “And that entitles him to my time, my affections?”

Lucien still makes her uncomfortable, he is a constant reminder of her trauma and lost life. Another thing is that Lucien doesn't even know her, doesn't see her which is something that is very important to her. Everything he does is based on the fact that he is connected to her via mating bond, not by his own free choice. Which, again, is presented to us in her own words in the text:

“No.” I blinked. “But he is a good male.” Despite our harsh words. Despite this Band of Exiles bullshit. “He cares for you.” “He doesn’t know me.” “You don’t give him the chance to even try to do so.” Her mouth tightened, the only sign of anger in her graceful countenance. “I don’t want a mate. I don’t want a male.”

It doesn't help that the one who pushes her forward into this spiral of unbearable proximity with someone she hadn't chosen and don't want to be around, is her own sister. Yet, she stands her ground and sets boundaries. She is her own person and she wants to get to chose. ELAIN AROUND LUCIEN:

I handed Elain the small box with her name on it. Her smile faded as she opened it. “Enchanted gloves,” she read from the card. “That won’t tear or become too sweaty while gardening.” She set aside the box without looking at it for longer than a moment.

I found my sister in the kitchen, watching the kettle scream. “He’s not staying for tea,” I said.

I said to Lucien when we’d settled in the armchairs before the fire, Elain perched silently on the couch nearby.

I found my sister in the kitchen, watching the kettle scream. “He’s not staying for tea,” I said.

I said to Lucien when we’d settled in the armchairs before the fire, Elain perched silently on the couch nearby.

Elain had picked up the teacup, and now sipped from it without so much as looking toward him.

Elain only stared at him for a long moment. And any lucidity faded away as she shook her head, blinking twice (...).

He glanced at Elain, who was again studying her lap.

Elain now watched Lucien warily. Blinking every now and then.

He only glanced at Elain, whose face was again a calm void while she traced a finger over the embroidery on the couch cushions.

Their gazes locked and held. But Elain said nothing. Did not so much as take one step downward.

Elain, the wretch, had taken the seat between Feyre and Varian, about as far from Lucien as she could get.

Elain only shrank further into herself, no trace of that newfound boldness to be seen.

As you can see Elain feels: - uncomfortable - on edge - withdrawn - wary - closed off - silenced (she always loses the will to speak around Lucien, going deeper inside of her) - melancholic (she watches as kettle boil without flinching as if she wandered in the maze of her mind). Elain loses her comfort and courage around Lucien, which is problematic and utterly sad to witness. He is a constant reminder for her of violation against her own free will, but also a living proof of her own trauma. LUCIEN AROUND ELAIN:

Lucien surveyed it all with cool indifference. What he felt about Elain, what he planned to do … I didn’t want to ask.

“I would never hurt her.” A bleak sort of honesty in his words.

He tried to sound casual—comfortable. Even as his heart raced and raced, so swift he thought he might vomit on the very expensive, very old carpet.

He didn’t expect her to answer, and he gave himself all of one more minute before he’d rise from this chair and leave.

Betrayal, queasy and oily, slid through his veins. He’d said the same to Jesminda once.

He wished she’d shoved him out the window behind her.

He wasn’t sure how to respond, so he said nothing, and drained his tea, even as it burned his mouth.

“I think she went through something terrible,” Lucien countered carefully. “And it wouldn’t hurt to have your best healer do a thorough examination.”

Lucien looked to her, then over to me. A muscle feathered in his jaw. “Nothing,” he said, and again faced his mate. “I’m sorry—if that unsettled you.”

Lucien exposed his palms to her. “I’m sorry.”

Lucien murmured to me, eye still fixed on Elain, “Should we—does she need …?”

Lucien silently slid into one of the chairs, before the window, that metal eye whirring as it roved over my sister.

Lucien just stared and stared at my sister, as if he’d never seen her before.

Lucien inclined his head in a bow, the movement hiding the gleam in his eye —the longing and sadness.

“I am not always in this city to see my mate.” The last two words dripped with discomfort.

Lucien feels: - uncomfortable - guilty - uneasy - confused (especially in the moments where Elain is having visions and he doesn't understand what's happening with her) - apologetic (he is constantly saying sorry to her) - tense

The guilt eats him every time he is around Elain, he is constantly apologizing while battling his inner problems such as remembering his true love. He was stripped off of his choice and even if the mating bond is there, he isn't happy. He is in constant pain just like Elain because both of them are each other wounds, each other reminder of trauma. They can't heal together because they are only happy when they are apart - Elain blooms in the Night Court, as we have read in ACOSF she is coming up with terms of Fae life and her own powers, adjusting her life to the notion of immortality. She is content and courageous and yet everything vanishes when Lucien is around. The same thing goes for Lucien. Lucien was struggling with her around him - he didn't know her, he didn't know what was happening to her as well. They were both strangers thrown at each other without their own say in this whole situation. Not to mention that their meetings were always arranged and supervised by others. When he sets on the journey to find Vassa he finds freedom and belonging - which was something he was battling in ACOWAR, after betraying his friends and his court, after being at odds in Night Court, and after being uncomfortable around his mate. He didn't have that sense of belonging in any of those things.

Elain and Lucien aren't compatible nor perfect for each other. They are constant reminders of traumas they experienced. They will never work out because they make each other miserable while being together, and they feel free and content apart. Their happiness lies with free choice, free will both of them were looking for in their lives. They are bound together against their own, and the only key for them being happy in this farce is setting themselves free. A choice of freedom. I strongly believe that after their rejection of the bond both of them could, perhaps, form a friendship. It would have been some sort of catharsis - to dwell upon the fact that they overcame that obstacle. That they chose to be happy apart, and not be shackled by this miserable bond.

#anti elucien #pro elain #pro elain archeron #elain archeron #acotar #i mean technically this is pro elriel #elriel #anti forced bond #elain and lucien as friends #not mates #also pls be civil in the comments

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moon-light-jukebox · 5 years ago

Text

Our boy - [Reid x Reader]

Summary: Spencer Reid is anything but calm when his wife, reader, goes into labor.

Pairing: Spencer Reid / (Female) Reader

Rating: Wholesome AF

Word Count: 2.3k

Category: Pure fluff. Maybe some angst if you squint, just because childbirth is angsty.

Content Warning: None that I can think of.

A/n: This is just a quick little idea that popped into my head earlier. I wrote it all in one go. We don’t get enough Dad!Spencer. 😊 Reader’s labor was inspired by true events.

y/n = your name. italicized block of text is a flash back.

-- Our boy --

“Babe, you have got to calm down.” I didn’t even bother opening my eyes to look at my husband; I was too tired.

His voice was as close to a squawk as I have ever heard. “I am calm, y/n!” That had me cracking one eye open to stare at him, which caused him to huff out a short laugh. “Okay, maybe I’m not calm. But how can I be calm?” His beautiful brown eyes were swimming with worry. “This has taken such a long time, and you’re so tired. The doctor said things haven’t been progressing.”

“Oh, come on, doctor,” I said teasingly. “I’m sure that big brain of yours knows that it’s not uncommon for first time mothers to labor for a long time.”

“But it’s been thirty hours,” he protested.

“I’m aware. Talk to your son.” I pointed to my very large stomach. “This is his show.”

That caused him to smile, the first real smile I had seen on his face since he arrived here, about an hour after I did. We knew this was coming, I was overdue, our son choosing to stay inside my body for 41 weeks and 6 days. The doctors had said if I hit 42 weeks that we needed to discuss inducing labor. Because of that conversation, Spencer wasn’t with the rest of the team, they were on some case in god knows where, instead he was helping at headquarters with Penelope. The same woman I had called when my water broke. I wanted to call Spencer, I really did…but my husband is prone to overact, especially in situations like this.

Turns out calling Penelope wasn’t any better.

“Hello, Mrs. Dr. Reid!” she had chirped.

“Hi Penelope. Is my husband around?”

“He is with the second love of his life.”

Which meant he had made a coffee run. I laughed, despite the pain rippling across my stomach. “Okay, well, I need you to pull him away for the first love of his life. My water just broke.”

There was a beat of silence before the screaming started. “YOUR WHAT JUST WHAT?!”

Just at that moment I heard him in the background. “Garcia,” my husband said. “Who’s what did what?”

“Penelope, be-“

It was no use; she had already started screaming at him. “YOUR WIFE! YOUR SON IS TRYING TO EXIT HER LADY BUSINESS! WE HAVE TO GO!!”

They then promptly hung up, only to call back a few minutes later and ask which hospital I was at.

There was a knock on the door, drawing me out of my memories. “Mrs. Reid?” the doctor called before walking into the room. She was a short woman with curly grey hair; Spencer and I had never met her before, she was just the doctor on call, but something about her demeanor put me at ease.

I gave her a wan smile. “Hey Doc.”

She marched into the room them, no nonsense to be found; which was unfortunate, I was a very big fan of nonsense as perfectly highlighted by the man I chose to marry. “Mrs. Reid, I need to check to see where you’re at,” she said, already snapping on her gloves.

“Knock yourself out.” At a certain point during labor modesty just vanishes. I don’t even want to think about how many people have seen my vagina today.

I felt some pressure for a few seconds before she pulled back. “You’re still at 5 centimeters.”

This comment got a groan from my husband. “But she has to get to 10!”

“I’m aware, Dr. Reid.”

“She’s been in labor for 30 hours and 23 minutes and 16 seconds!”

“I am also aware of that, Dr. Reid,” she said, suppressing a smile. “Which is why we need to have a little chat.” She turned to me. “Mrs. Reid, I’m concerned about the baby.”

That caused mine and Spencer’s spines to stiffen. “What,” I asked. “Why? Is something wrong?”

“Not yet,” the doctor said hurriedly. “We have been monitoring your contractions and vitals…but we also monitor the baby’s heartrate. It’s nothing to be too alarmed about now, but his heartrate has slowed a bit.”

“But what does that mean? Is he in destress?” My husband asked; he sounded so afraid that I instinctively reached out to grasp his hand.

“It means he’s tired, Dr. Reid.” She offered us a small smile. “Mrs. Reid isn’t the only one going through this. The baby is too. Like I said, it’s not low enough to be an issue now, but if it drops much lower, we need to discuss other options.”

“…he’s tired?” my voice cracked on the last word, tears already pricking in the corners of my eyes.

“Baby,” Spencer whispered, leaning over to place a kiss on my temple. “It’s alright.”

I shook my head. “It’s not. It’s not alright. He’s my baby, Spencer. He’s our baby,” I all but bawled at him. “Our baby is tired.” I’m sure one day I’ll look back at this moment and feel silly for how upset I had become…but I was so tired, and while the epidural numbed the pain, I still felt it. All of that I could endure, but I couldn’t endure this.

“I know,” he soothed. “But he’s fine. He’s okay.”

“I want to discuss other options,” I said, meeting the doctor’s gaze. “What are they?”

The doctor nodded, “Well, we could start a Pitocin IV. That’s a medicine we use to-“

“Cause the uterus to contract and speed up or induce labor,” Spencer interrupted, causing me to laugh, despite my tears. Even in times like this he was still…Spencer.

The doctor did not share in my amusement. “Yes,” she huffed. “That is one option. It runs the same risks, if his heartrate drops, we’ll need to move you to the O.R.” I gulped and Spencer squeezed my hand. “The other option is to take you back to the O.R. now.”

I looked over at Spencer, his eyes were wide and frightened, his always messy, curly hair was in a worse state than usual, his clothes were wrinkled. “I want our boy, Spence.”

He just nodded, bringing our joined hands up to his mouth to press a kiss to my knuckles. “It’s up to you, y/n. You know I’ll support whatever you want.”

Spencer gave me the courage to turn to face the doctor. “Let’s do it.”

Things progressed very quickly and very slowly at the same time. The room started bustling with different people doing different things to get me ready. Spencer called Penelope, who called the rest of his team, who were now all in the waiting room. How much Spencer’s co-workers at the FBI cared about him made me smile; they were his family, and by extension my family. Our little boy was going to be the most well looked after child in history.

Before I knew it, I was laying on my back in the operating room, a blue sheet put up just below my boobies. Apparently, most people didn’t want to watch themselves have a c-section. I couldn’t but laugh at the absurdity of the moment.

“What is it, my love?”

I turned my head to look at Spencer. His clothes were covered by some sort of yellow outfit, his hair was stuffed in one of those blue hat’s hospitals make you wear, I’m sure he could tell me the proper name, even his shoes were covered. One of his hands was gripping mine, the other slowly stroking the top of my head.

“I was just thinking about everything. Remember when we met?”

I realized how silly it was to ask a man with an eidetic memory if he remembered something right after I said it, something with which he agreed, given the look on his face. “Yes, y/n, I remember.” His hand squeezed mine tightly. “It was a Tuesday morning, at 7:34 a.m. You had on black pants and a light blue top, you didn’t notice me, but I thought you were the most beautiful girl in the world.”

That caused a tear to slide down from the corner of my eye, only to be wiped away by my husband. “I didn’t notice you because you were in line behind me,” I teased.

“That’s no excuse,” he insisted. “I would notice you anywhere.”

That made my heart squeeze in my chest. “I must be pretty special,” I surmised. “I pulled your attention away from coffee.”

His voice was breathy, his eyes shimmering. “You’re the most special thing in the entire world, y/n. I don’t know what I did to deserve you. I don’t know how I got the courage to speak to you when you walked by me, but I’ll be grateful that I did it for the rest of my life.”

It was my turn to reach up and wipe a tear from his face. “I’m glad you stopped me,” I whispered. “Our little guy probably is too.”

Spencer didn’t laugh like I expected him to; instead he bit his lip, his eyes bouncing from my face to the blue curtain that separated us from the doctors.

“What is it, baby?”

He swallowed, letting out a shaky breath. “I’m scared, y/n,” he whispered. “I’m afraid that I won’t be any good at this. I never had a dad…What if I’m not everything he needs me to be?”

I felt my heart crack in half. “Spencer, that’s not possible,” I insisted, ignoring the way he started to shake his head. “You could never let anyone down, especially not your family. Especially not your son. You are going to be the most amazing father. You’re going to love our son so much; you already do love him that much, Spence.”

He was crying in earnest now. “But, y/n,”

Spencer never got to finish that sentence. The doctor suddenly interrupted our hushed conversation. “Okay, dad,” she called. “Here he comes!”

My husband placed a kiss on my forehead before he stood up, looking over the curtain. He had insisted beforehand that he wasn’t going to look; he said he didn’t want to see me like that, but I knew he’d end up looking. My husband was far too curious to do anything else.

A shrill cry cut through the air, causing my heart to stop. That was him. I had never heard him cry before, but I knew that sound as sure as I knew my own name; that was my son.

Spencer and I were crying when the doctor brought him around the curtain so I could see him. He was wrinkly, red, and looked positively furious. I had never loved anything more.

They took him to the examination room to make sure he was breathing okay. Spencer had told me after c-section births this was normal. “They don’t get squeezed when they’re born,” he had said. “So, the nurse checks them over, weighs them, all that.”

He looked down at me, tears streaming down his face, then back towards our son.

“Go,” I urged him. “Go get our boy, Spence. I’m fine.”

Spencer’s head poked through the door of my room. “Are you ready?” he asked.

“REID. If you don’t get the fuck out of my way and let me see my godson I swear to GOD.”

“Oh,” I groaned, giggling slightly, despite the pain. “Please don’t make me laugh.”

I don’t know if Spencer moved willingly or if Penelope had just had enough, but soon the door was thrown open and a parade of people poured inside.

“Oh, my god, Mrs. Dr. Reid,” Penelope gushed, her hands hovering over my son, then back up towards my face. “You look like an angel. How did you just have major surgery? How did you just give birth, because a c-section is giving birth-“

“Penelope,” I cut her off. “Do you want to see him?”

“Gimme.”

I pulled the blankets down around his body, staring at his little face before I handed him over.

“Oh, my mother effin god,” she whispered, looking around at everyone else in the room. “He is the most beautiful child I have ever seen. He even looks like a genius. I don’t know if you can look like a genius, but I think he does.”

“You don’t have to whisper, Garcia,” my husband said, coming to stand beside me, leaning over to kiss my forehead again. “She is right though, Mrs. Dr. Reid. You’re beautiful.”

“Quit hogging the baby,” JJ said, reaching for him. “I’m the co-god mother. Hand him over.”

Emily leaned over JJ’s shoulder, staring at him with a look of wonder. “What did you guys decide to name him?”

“Arthur,” I said quietly. “His name is Arthur Spencer Reid.”

The room was dark when I opened my eyes, my head turning towards the tiny cry that woke me up.

“I know, I know,” my husband whispered to the tiny bundle in his arms. “I miss your mom too; she’s the best person in the world and I wish she could be awake all the time too.” I bit my lip, trying to suppress my laugh. “But you have to let her sleep some, little man.” My son gave another cry. “I know, believe me.”

“What are you doing?” I asked, my voice thick with sleep.

“Talking to Arthur,” he said simply. “You know, speaking to a child whenever they reach the babbling stage of their cognitive development is actually very important. It encourages them to learn the language they’re hearing. You know, children are actually experts at learning languages. Studies have shown that children that become fluent in a language before the age of 13 are often able to fool native speakers into thinking they’re native speakers themselves.”

“Huh,” I said, smiling like a dope. That was my Spencer. “Did you hear that, Arthur? It sounds like your dad wants to teach you some languages.”

“Only a couple,” he whispered to our boy. Then he looked up at me, his eyes bright, despite the dark circles under them.

“You’re tired, babe,” I said, moving to sit up. “Give him here, you can get some rest.”

He just shook his head. “No, I’m alright. You rest.” Spencer looked down at his son again, who was already back to sleep. “No dream I have could be better than this.”

As usual, Dr. Spencer Reid was absolutely right.

Taglist: @rachelxwayne @pinkdiamond1016 @sickeninglyshoujo @justagirllookingforherplace

#Spencer Reid #Dr. Spencer Reid #Spencer Reid x Reader #Spencer Reid x y/n #Spencer Reid x you #Spencer Reid fluff #Reid fluff #Criminal minds fluff #Criminal minds imagine

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immerlein · 4 years ago

Note

I see that some Christian women like to cover their hair, particularly the Orthodox women on your page, what is the significance of this? I find it beautiful and I’m thinking of wearing my headscarves like that as well.

Hi there! Thank you very much for this question; this is probably my favourite thing to talk about (if my #headscarf tag didn’t give that away, haha). Wearing a headscarf/headcovering in church and in prayer is an ancient and traditional Christian practice. It is mentioned throughout the Bible:

1.) The priest shall stand the woman before the Lord, uncover the woman’s head, and put the offering for remembering in her hands (Numbers 5:18) (her head must have been covered for this to make sense) 2.) Then Rebekah lifted her eyes, and when she saw Isaac she dismounted from her camel; for she had said to the servant, “Who is this man walking in the field to meet us?” The servant said, “It is my master.” So she took a veil and covered herself. (Genesis 24:64-65) 3.) Now Susanna was exceeding delicate, and beautiful to behold. But those wicked men commanded that her face should be uncovered, (for she was covered,) that so at least they might be satisfied with her beauty. Therefore her friends and all her acquaintance wept. (The Story of Susanna / Daniel 13:31-33)

And, most famously:

4.) Now I praise you, brethren, that you remember me in all things and keep the traditions just as I delivered them to you. But I want you to know that the head of every man is Christ, the head of woman is man, and the head of Christ is God. Every man praying or prophesying, having his head covered, dishonors his head. But every woman who prays or prophesies with her head uncovered dishonors her head, for that is one and the same as if her head were shaved. For if a woman is not covered, let her also be shorn. But if it is shameful for a woman to be shorn or shaved, let her be covered. For a man indeed ought not to cover his head, since he is the image and glory of God; but woman is the glory of man. For man is not from woman, but woman from man. Nor was man created for the woman, but woman for the man. For this reason the woman ought to have a symbol of authority on her head, because of the angels. Nevertheless, neither is man independent of woman, nor woman independent of man, in the Lord. For as woman came from man, even so man also comes through woman; but all things are from God. (1 Corinthians 11)

Our Church Fathers write of headcovering, saying: “The angels are present here... Open the eyes of faith and look upon this sight. For if the very air is filled with angels, how much more so the Church! ...Hear the Apostle teaching this, when he bids the women to cover their heads with a veil because of the presence of the angels.” - St John Chrysostom, referring to St Paul’s writing in Corinthians. Origen said, “There are angels in the midst of our assembly...we have here a twofold Church, one of men, the other of angels...And since there are angels present...women, when they pray, are ordered to have a covering upon their heads because of those angels. They assist the saints and rejoice in the Church.” Instructions for catechumens in The Apostolic Tradition, by St. Hippolytus of Rome, include this: “Moreover, let all the women have their heads veiled with a scarf...” And St. Cyril of Alexandria, commenting on I Corinthians, wrote: “The angels find it extremely hard to bear if this law [that women cover their heads] is disregarded.”

I should probably mention now how this passage in Corinthians can be taken to mean that women are ‘inferior’ to men in some way, and that is what the covering represents. I won’t pretend that there aren’t people who might think this is the case, however, if we look at the Greek translation of “for this reason, the woman should have a symbol of authority of her head, because of the angels” we find the word “exousia”, which means “right/power/authority”. “Exousia” is also used in John 1:12: “As many as received Him, to them He gave exousia to become children of God, to those who believe in His name.” The headcovering is not a sign of a man’s authority over the woman, rather it is an outward sign of her own authority/right/power as a woman. Another question you might be asking yourself is “why would angels care???” To borrow from orthodoxinfo.com: “In her book, The Holy Angels, Mother Alexandra writes: “The Celestial hierarchies are the spiritual reality of ordered creation, the stable patterns in which disruption is unknown...” Obedience is characteristic of the angelic realm.”

In Orthodoxy we recognise nine orders/ hierarchies of celestial beings, arranged in three choirs.

“Seraphim and cherubim are in the first, archangels and angels in the third choir, closest to us. Without obedience there is chaos and disorder. St. John Chrysostom, in a sermon on I Corinthians, speaks of how distinction in male and female dress—and particularly the veiling of women—“ministers effectively to good order among mankind.” Taking off the veil was “no small error,” said St. John; ”...it is disobedience.” It “disturbs all things and betrays the gifts of God, and casts to the ground the honor bestowed...For to [the woman] it is the greatest of honor to preserve her own rank.” To some who argued that a woman, by taking off her covering, “mounts up to the glory of man,” Chrysostom answers: “She doth not mount up, but rather falls from her own proper honor...Since not to abide within our own limits and the laws of God, but to go beyond, is not an addition, but a diminution...” Always emphasizing the equality between man and woman, Chrysostom admonishes the man “not to dishonor her who governs next to thyself.” The issue was order, not superiority or inferiority. At Matins for Orthodoxy Sunday, we sing, “Come and let us celebrate a day of joy: Now heaven makes glad! Earth with all the hosts of angels and the companies of mortal men, each in their varied order, keeps the feast.” “ - from orthodoxinfo.com

Fr. Basil Rhodes wrote in his Master of Divinity thesis in 1977 on the veiling of women in I Cor. 11 “Man is the head of the woman, according to Genesis and to St. Paul who compares the relationship of man and woman with that of the Son to the Father: ‘And the head of Christ is God’ (I Cor. 2:3). It would be a grave error to say that Christ is inferior to His Father.” (it would be heresy!)

Timothy McFadden writes: “Members of the Godhead—and His image—are not interchangeable. As God Father and Son are equal and One in nature, so also they are unique and not interchangeable. Similarly, though equal in nature, man is not woman, woman is not man. They are distinguishable.” - from orthodoxinfo.com

I posted about it a little while ago, but I also heard another interpretation of “because of the angels” on the Ancient Faith radio podcast called The Lord of Spirits. They linked it back to sexual immortality between humanity and spiritual beings, so not only do you need to cover to be modest among human beings, you also need to because angels might, I don’t know, be tempted by you? (The context of the passage was essentially around pagan converts to Christianity and explaining how Christian worship was not sexual/did and does not contain ritualistic sex.) @hymnsofheresy added some additional commentary from her classes: “1 Corinthians 11:4 specifies that covering is especially required when a woman is prophesying. In Hellenistic temples, it was understood that prophecy could result in a sexual encounter with spiritual beings. Veiling in church while prophesying was a way of preventing women from having sexual intercourse with (or being raped by) an angel. Angel theology at the time was heavily influenced by the Book of Enoch, and it was likely that many people saw angels as sexually capable beings who desired human women.” I have absolutely zero idea how much this (if at all) influenced the continued practice of Christian women covering their heads in church/during prayer, but it is certainly fascinating to think about nevertheless.

For me, on a personal level, I wear a headscarf as an outward sign of respect for holy spaces and holy practices, to help myself focus on prayer, as an imitation of the Theotokos (and other women saints), for modesty, because I respect the tradition, and largely simply because I like them! At my parish, they’re required if you want to partake of the Holy Mysteries (communion, confession, etc) but I’ve also been in Orthodox parishes that don’t require it (though perhaps encourage it). An old friend of mine once told me how his priest said that women are lucky to have a covering/protection to be sheltered by as they approach the Holy Chalice for communion, because it is SO holy and men have no such shroud. I thought that was pretty interesting too!

I hope this is helpful to you! Please feel free to ask more if you need to :)

#ask #headscarf

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p---ink · 5 years ago

Text

Stark Contrasts: Chapter One

Author’s Note PLEASE READ: Hi, this is my very first published fan fiction, and I wrote it because its so rare to find Tony Smut. Everyone wants him as a dad, while I want him as a daddy. Please give this story a chance, and if there are any grammar errors let me know. I proofread the shit out of this, but there's always the chance that I missed something. When you write something it could make perfect sense to yourself, but 0 sense to the next person. Anyway, I hope you enjoy my story, I really enjoyed writing it! Also as aforementioned (hope I’m using that word right), this is my first story so go easy on me! I only have room to improve. PLEASE DON’T REPOST MY WORK!

Summary: AU where you're dating Tony Stark’s son, even though it’s Tony you really want. He isn't ironman in this one guys sorry.

Warnings: Smut, cheating, daddy kink, some other shit I already forgot about. :)

Song: The song I listened to while writing this was Kiss it Off Me by Cigarettes After Sex.

Word Count: 7.4K

Parts: one | two | three | four | five

Disclaimer: Gif is not mine.

You and Edward James Stark had been dating for a solid six months before you both declared your undying love for one another. Had you known he was lying through his teeth you would have never said those three words. Not even a month after that, you found him in bed with another girl. You see, he was a serial cheater who didn’t know how to keep his dick in his pants. You can’t say you didn’t see this coming though, you weren’t the best at picking them.

Edward was not the first, and he would not be the last to break your heart. Blame it on your daddy issues, or maybe blame it on the shit-head men who insist on eating their cake and having it to. Of course he gave you every bullshit excuse in the book to keep you from leaving. “We were really drunk” is what he came up with when you first caught him cheating. “Those are my cousin's”, was what he said when you found a pair of panties that weren’t yours in his penthouse. Your favorite excuse though, was the one where he blamed your all-night study sessions on his latest fuck-up due to the lack of attention you were giving him.

You didn’t know why Edward was still with you, especially since he could have relatively any woman he wanted. Perhaps it was because you were great for his brand; you were a good girl, straight-A student who made everyone around you fall in love. You could charm the pants off of your professors and peers, and you were one of the nicest people anyone would ever meet. It didn’t hurt that you were easy on the eyes either. Above all however, was your modesty and selflessness. You always put others happiness above your own, which made you completely different to Edward’s arrogance and narcism.

You and others often questioned how you even fell for him. You had a theory that he only dated you, because you were what the other guys wanted.

Whatever the reason he chose to stay, could not matter any less than it did to you…because the reason you stayed, was because you were hopelessly in love with his dad.

Tony Stark—girl, did God take his time with this one, was a more seasoned, mature version of his son. Don’t get me wrong because he was just as cocky, but in a more attractive way. And the apple didn’t fall far from the tree, because the billionaire playboy had just reached a divorce settlement due to his infidelity. In other words, he was just as much of a piece of shit as his son, the only difference was that he was trying to change. He was older than any of the men you had ever been with, but maybe, like him, you needed a change of pace.

You met Tony seven months into your relationship with Edward. He had hoped if you saw how rich his family was, you would want to stick around. If he knew you were still with him because you wanted to fuck his dad he would have lost his shit. Yea, Edward was the type of guy to throw a bitch-fit if you so much as blinked at a guy in the wrong way, yet he wouldn’t hesitate to fuck a bitch for breathing.

Though Tony had a notorious reputation for being cruel to the women he either slept with or wanted to sleep with, he was good as gold to you. He appreciated your love and passion for your studies and crafts. He thought it was refreshing that you spoke your mind with no fear of repercussions, most people kissed his ass with the hope that he would give them a handout or put in a good word in terms of life-changing opportunities. What he loved most about you, was the faraway look you had when you were thinking. He thought that your carefree spirit was the secret to your beauty.

It was not lost on you that Tony at least felt some of the same feelings towards you that you did to him. You’d be an idiot to not notice the long trips his eyes would take across your body, or the fact that he insisted on doing menial tasks for you that you could easily do for yourself. The sexual tension and flirty conversations with hidden meanings were enough to have the two of you in a bedroom for hours, but you both would never act on your feelings. He didn’t want to hurt his son, and while you couldn’t care less about Edward’s feelings, you didn’t want people to think you were that kind of girl. That being said it really surprised you when he offered for you and Edward to move in with him.

You had known each other for several months now, and up until then you two avoided each other when you could, due to your feelings, but Tony claimed his house was too big for just him since Pepper, Edward’s mom, was now gone. Edward was on board with the idea, because it meant more time to kiss his father’s ass in hopes of him eventually letting him inherit Stark Industries.

“..anyway, I think it’s a good idea.” Tony explained, ripping you out of your daze. You all were currently sitting in his dining room drinking coffee and discussing the move. “I have plenty of room, and all I ask is that you pull your own weight. Your mother took the housekeeper along with–“Edward interrupts.

“Yes dad I know, along with–“ Tony cuts him off.

“Hush Eddy, daddy is speaking. Along with my beloved corgi Jarvis who was like the son I never had”. Edward rolls his eyes, while you stifle a chuckle that earns a glare from Eddy, and a wink from Tony.

“Anyway,” Eddy starts, “We think it's a great idea dad, we’ll do it.” You internally groan at his use of we. What the hell does he mean we, you weren’t that out of it to not remember if he had asked you how you felt. There he goes again thinking about himself.

“There you go again thinking about yourself.” Tony mocks, once again pulling you out of your thoughts, as if he could hear them. “You didn’t even ask poor Y/N how she felt about all of this.” He turns his attention to you and starts, “Now I know your university is further away from my place, but I could provide you with a car–“ This time you interrupt.

“Hold on Mr. Stark, this is too much. We’re only three months into our lease, I don’t want to impose on you, and you shouldn’t be just giving cars out like its noth–“

“Y/N” Tony starts, holding eye contact with you, “…daddy is speaking”. You felt small because of what he just said, but in a good way. Your panties were getting wetter the longer he looked at you so you broke eye contact. Tony relished in your submissiveness. Eddy, as clueless as always brushed off his dad’s comment and decided it was just another one of his eccentric quirks, but you knew and Tony knew what he was doing. This is why you didn’t think it was a good idea to move in.

“And for the one thousandth time, you can call me Tony. Now where was I? Ah, you didn’t let me finish” he continues, “I could provide you with a car, or a driver, as long as you’re comfortable with it. I’ll never do something without running it by you to make sure its okay”. That there was the reason you loved Tony more than you would ever love Edward. Eddy rushed into things with no regards for your feelings, and when you voiced your worries or concerns he’d blame it on you for not telling him or guilt-trip you into just going with it.

Tony took his time with you. He was patient, and he tuned into how you perceived things. He was a real man. And if this was how he was with you now you could only imagine how attentive he would be to your other needs.

“Maybe we can work something out with your lease. I can continue paying your bills. That way if you guys need an escape away from me to fuck your brains out, its still there”. You cringed at that last part, which didn’t go unnoticed by Tony, who was always watching you.

You don’t sleep with Edward. Besides the fact that he was a cheater, he never made you cum. He was the type to chase his own nut at the sake of your own.

“I really think having young people around here would liven the place up.” Tony finished. “So what do you say kid, you wanna move in so we can have some fun?” Tony asked briefly raising an eyebrow.

His hands were clasped together on the table, while his long pointer finger taped his closed fist absentmindedly. His mouth was tucked in a firm smile and his honey brown eyes, which were focused on yours, were gleaming with hope. You smile back and brace yourself. How could you say no to this?

♡♡♥︎♡♡

Three months had passed since you and Ed moved in with his dad. While your relationship with Edward began to decay more than it already had, the one you had with Tony only blossomed.

You became more comfortable around him. The two of you would watch movies together, go grocery shopping with each other, cook, bake and sing embarrassing songs out loud without a care in the world. Your favorite part of your relationship however, was the late night conversations the two of you would have when you couldn’t sleep. They happened more often than sometimes. How in the world could you sleep, when the two of you were in such close proximity.

Naturally, your feelings for each other only grew stronger, which was exactly what you were afraid of. Though the two of you still had Edward to worry about, he never seemed to care about your budding relationship. He was too involved with himself or one of his latest escapades to notice the events unfolding in front of him. And if he did notice, he thought it was innocent. It was just his girlfriend and dad bonding.

Tony and you never discussed how you felt about the other, but it wasn’t hard to figure out that he wanted you just as much as you wanted him. The only thing in your way was his son, but that was about to change since Edward’s ass-kissing began to work. His dad was finally about to give him a feel for how to run the company.

This of course meant more responsibilities, more control, and more time away from home. Tony couldn’t take it anymore. Part of him wanted to remain faithful to his son, but the other part couldn’t sleep peacefully knowing you were just a wall away. At least with Eddy being gone, he could see if the two of you could resist each other. He wanted to test himself, and see if he had really changed. And if he hadn’t, at least he would get you out of it. This was a good thing, he would tell himself. While Edward worked hard to prove he was worthy to his dad,Tony would work even harder to prove that he changed by forcing himself to resist you. If only you would make it that easy for him.

You were innocent enough, but that’s what drove him crazy. The way your knee would brush against him when you guys were sitting close watching a movie. Or when you would accidentally tap your foot on his when you sat across from each other at the dinner table. Don’t get him started on the way you’d look away from him, when you realize you said something that may have crossed the line. Anything you did would set him off, and he was beginning to regret sending Edward away.

“Y/N”, Tony shouts, trying to find out exactly where you were in the house. It was 2 p.m. and he had just got home from training Eddy. The car he brought you was still in the driveway so he knew you were home. “Y/N, could you come here for a second.”

“I’ll be there in a minute” You shouted back. You had just had a workout, as you usually spent your mornings in his home gym to relieve stress. You jogged into the kitchen where you had heard his voice earlier. Tony heard you bouncing through the hallways, but his focus was on the trash that you failed to take out this morning.

“I thought it was your turn to take care of the waste” He states, taking his glasses off before turning his attention to you. “Kid, we had an agree–“ He stops his rant when he realizes your risky attire. You had on a sports bra that accentuated your full breasts perfectly, and your track shorts didn’t leave much to the imagination. Your curly afro sat on your head like a crown, while a few stray pieces fell into your eyes like bangs. Your pecan-tan skin was currently glowing with a sheen of sweat from your previous workout. You looked like the Goddess Aphrodite hand-sculpted you herself.

“I can take care of it now, I’m sorry. I just got a bit distracted” You apologize.

“N-No, I can do it, besides these old bones need the exercise from the walk anyway” Tony stutters, patting his arms and averting his eyes. “You can continue whatever it was you were doing”. He excuses himself from the kitchen, but not without giving you one more lingered glance.

You smile to yourself, knowing you were the reason he was so flustered. Sweaty from your morning activities you decide to grab a shower. You jog upstairs, grab a towel and head into you and Eddy’s shared room to prep. Grabbing your bathroom essentials you quickly get naked, and wrap the towel around yourself. While reading a text, you walk towards the bathroom.

Not paying attention to where you were going, you crashed into Tony who was heading in from taking out the trash. The sudden contact was so hard that you had to catch your towel from falling and exposing your naked person.

“I'm so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going” you apologize, but when you look up at him, his expression is blank, only his eyes were a darker shade of brown than his usual soft honey.

A moment passed before he held you upright and patted your shoulders, “Just be more careful next time” he simply states. On that note he walks off towards his room, leaving you alone to be the one who’s flustered this time.

♡♡♥︎♡♡

About twenty minutes had passed since your little hallway accident. Tony had tried throwing himself into a book, but he couldn’t stop thinking about how soft you felt in his arms for the split second he got to hold you. Being so enthralled in his thoughts, the loud thud and the yelp that followed caused him to jump out of his skin.

Immediately running to your aid, he rushed to towards the bathroom to investigate the noise. Flinging the door open, expecting to find you bleeding out on the tub’s floor, he is surprised to see you on top of the counter, eyes wide in terror. The thud came from a fallen bathroom organizer. All of its contents were sprawled across the floor. Tony looked from you, to the mess, then back to you, silently demanding an explanation.

“I thought I saw a spider…but it was just a clump of my hair, I’m so sorry” You cried. He looked at you with tired eyes, a sigh of relief escaping his lips. You imagined what he must think of you.

How could such a smart girl, be so dumb, you thought. You felt so embarrassed. The circumstances almost made you forget the position you were in. Like before, nothing but a tiny towel to cover your soaking wet body. Tony didn’t know if he believed in God, but if there was one, he was testing him.

“It’s okay,” he began,

“Go put some clothes on, while I clean up this mess.”

“Tony I did it, so I should handle it” you try to argue, but like always he cut you off and insisted,

“This is my house, and you’re a guest. Now go do as I said.” He was firm with his words. So you hopped off the counter, and went to do as he said, face and neck hot from the embarrassment you just endured. You just wanted to lock yourself in your room until you gained the courage to face him again. Which is exactly what you did.

♡♡♥︎♡♡

Hours later, you woke up from a nap and found yourself growing hungry. Figuring that around this time of night Tony would be in his study, you venture downstairs in hopes of finding some food.

After eating, you fix yourself a snack and choose a movie. As of lately living with Tony, made you feel sexually frustrated, so you chose Fifty Shades of Gray thinking nothing of it. Edward would likely not be coming home tonight, since he usually blew off steam with a whore or two after work, and Tony was most likely settled in for the night. You would be all alone with your thoughts and fantasies. That was until Tony plopped himself down on the couch next to you.

“Watcha watching?” He teased in a childish manner, eyes glued to the screen.

“Um, Fifty Shades of Gray” you replied, immediately regretting your choice of entertainment. I mean it was a shitty movie, why were you watching it in the first place?

“Hmm interesting. You know believe it or not, I’ve never seen it. Mind if I watch it with you?” He asks, looking at you briefly before back to the screen.

“Well you can watch it, but I was just about to do some cleaning” you answer, standing to your feet.

“Are you kidding, that can wait. We always watch movies together, besides they’re better with company. Sit down.” He commanded, though he said it in a playful manner, his eyes challenged your own. You sit back down.

“Maybe we should watch something else, this movie is pretty terrible” you suggest.

“Silly girl, I just told you I haven’t seen it. Let me be the judge of that.” He insists. How the fuck were you supposed to escape this awkward ass situation?

“If you were mine, you wouldn’t be able to sit down for a week” Christian declares to Anastasia, before leaning down to take a bite of her toast.

“I like the way this Gray thinks” Tony whispered.

You heard, him but you elected to ignore him. The two of you had tested the waters way too much today.

Shifting in your seat to make yourself more comfortable, your thigh brushes against his warm hand. You slightly jump further away, the gesture making you realize just how close the two of you were. Tony chuckles at your actions. He always loved making you squirm. You think he got off at how worked up you’d get.

“What’s funny?” You challenge, eyeing him because you were getting a little agitated at this point.

“Nothing” he simply replies, eyes never leaving the screen. The hand that you brushed against was now hanging over the edge of the couch, he had crossed his legs so that his foot rest on his knee, and there was smug look on the bastard’s face. He looked too comfortable with this shit.

You thought about all of the seats in the room. You even thought about all of the tv’s he had in his house. Why was this smug son-of-a-bitch sitting so close to you after everything that happened today? Did today’s events mean nothing to him? Did it only bother you? Maybe you only imagined that Tony had feelings for you.

“Look kitten, I know how sexy I am, but would you mind watching the screen instead of me?” Tony states, finally meeting your gaze. You hadn’t realized you were still staring, so you apologized, fell back in your seat and began browsing apps on your phone to distract yourself from your growing shame.

Fast-forward into the movie, and you guys come across your first sex scene. No matter who you were watching them with, sex scenes always felt uncomfortable to you. You thought of ways to escape the room. You reached into your popcorn bowl, and immediately found your way out. “I’m gonna go and get some more snacks.” You yell, jumping up to remove yourself.

“But there’s plenty of popcorn, how much do you need?” Tony argues, startled from your outburst.

“Well we could always use more, my stomach is like a black void.” You state before taking the half empty bowl, and running towards the kitchen.

Finally away from him and that wretched movie, you had minute to collect your thoughts. While you act like you’re doing something, you fail to notice the footsteps slowly approaching.

“What are you doing to me?” Tony questions, his sudden presence making you jolt away from the task at hand.

“Tony, you scared me” you sigh, grasping your chest. Thinking about his choice of words, you quirk your eyebrow and ask, “What does that question mean?” You’re genuinely confused about his random interrogation. He was leaning against the doorway on the other side of the kitchen. His gaze was currently fixated on your figure, eyeing you up and down. His dark hair looked like he had just ran a hand through it, and his arms were crossed forcing his muscles to bulge. He pushed himself off the wall and started towards you slowly, the closer he got the further you backed away.

“It means, why are you running around here half-naked one minute, then acting innocent the next? Hmm? Are you trying to test me?” He accuses.

“I don’t know what you–“

“Don’t act stupid Y/N.” Tony warns. “You’re a smart girl, and you know what you’re doing”. His voice is raised slightly, and though he isn’t the tallest, his height towers yours at the moment. “Do you know how hard it is to control myself around you? You didn’t make it easy today.” At this point he had you backed in between the kitchen island and himself. He was close enough that you could smell his skin. A mixture of sandalwood and citrus assaulted your nostrils, and sent your mind into a blissful haze. He wasn’t lying, you knew exactly what you were doing. Even if it wasn’t intentional, your body craved him. It was as if the two of you were being pulled by a gravitational force towards each other. You just couldn’t help not being around him.

You stayed silent. Your only form of communication was the look you were giving him. As your doe-like eyes bore into his, your lips quivered with anticipation.

“Kid, you shouldn’t look at me like that.” He warned. Straightening himself, to appear more intimidating, he asks, “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I’m sorry, Daddy” was all that you could say. You swear you didn’t mean to, but your body betrayed your better judgement. Would he believe you if you told him that?

“Oh fuck” he sighed, before throwing his self-control out of the window. His hands were on your face pulling your lips to his in a fevered manner. He licked your lips begging for entrance, and you immediately obeyed his request. Although his lips were softer than any you’d ever felt, they were rough against you, desperate to show you the months of pent-up sexual tension in one heated session. Without breaking the kiss, he grabbed the area beneath your thighs, and lifted you on the island. You reached your hands up to his hair, to tangle your fingers in the almond strands pulling him closer in the process. You wrapped your legs around his waist to feel his hardening bulge against your entrance. He groaned at the gesture, holding your waist in his hands.

He pulled back for air, but it wasn’t long before he attached his lips to your neck. You tried to bite back a moan, but Tony being the arrogant prick he was sensed that, and took it as a challenge. He dug his fingers into your thighs, and slowly dragged them closer to the hem of your shorts tugging at them while simultaneously sucking hard on your neck. This action produced a whole slew of moans from you. Between the burn from the trails his nails made, and the spots he licked on your neck, you were in shambles. You placed one hand on the back of his neck, and used the other to claw at the fabric of his dress shirt. But then, he suddenly stopped.

You opened your eyes to figure out what had distracted him, when you saw he was focused on the phone beside you. It was vibrating and lit up to reveal a notification from a close friend. But the text wasn’t what Tony focused on. It was the lock-screen that Edward made you save of the two of you. Son of a bitch, you thought. Suddenly consumed with guilt, Tony removed your hands from his neck and shoulder.

“Sweetheart, we can’t do this. I’m sorry for coming on to you like that” He sighed, upset that he let things get this far.

“Tony please don’t stop, I’ll do anything you want,” You beg, grabbing at his shirt and tightening your legs around his waist “please just stay.” You plead.

“Maybe if you were never with my son, we could make this work, but you know that we cant. I’m sorry princess.” He unwraps your legs, and kisses your fingers before bringing your hands down to your sides. As he walks away, you shout,

“I don’t let him touch me.” He stops in his tracks, “You’re the only man I want inside of me. Please don’t go.” You pleaded one last time. It takes every bone in his body not to turn around and take you right there, but he continues walking, grabbing his keys and heading out the door, leaving you all alone.

♡♡♥︎♡♡

When he had left, Tony originally planned on going to a bar to drink his problems away, but he just couldn’t start the damn car. He opted on sitting in the driveway for two hours instead. He contemplated going on vacation for a few days to get himself together. Or maybe he could spend his days at the company like Edward did. He even thought about packing you up to run away with him to the Poconos. That way you’d be away from Edward, and away from judgmental eyes. But alas, the best thing to do would be to go inside, talk out your issues, and decide from there. So that’s what he would do.

When he entered the foyer, he immediately noticed the packed luggage in the entryway. It was yours. Oh hell no, he thought, she doesn’t just get to leave.

More determined than before, he marches upstairs ready to confront you and beg you to stay. If anyone was gonna leave, it’d be him since he started the situation. Just before he knocked on your door to speak with you, he stopped due to the faint noises he heard on the other side. Were you already talking to someone? No.

What he heard were needy pants and moans, and what he thought was his own name. Carefully opening the door slightly ajar, he peeked in to see you lying in bed. Your eyes were closed, and you had changed into an over-sized tee. Your hair was sprawled across your pillow, and your hands were busy at their own tasks. You had one underneath your shirt, toying with your nipples, and the other was underneath your panties finger fucking your hole.

This. This was his breaking point. A man could only take so much.

He burst into your room, alarming you so bad you leap out of your skin and sit up on your elbows. He began loosening his tie while he continued his stalk towards. He wasted no time crawling on top of the bed to hover above your face. He placed a hand beside your head to hold himself up, and then he ripped your drenched fingers out of your panties to examine them. Eyeing your slick digits, he pushed them into his mouth and slowly removed them, groaning from the taste.

“Is this all for me?” He whispers, loud enough for you to hear.

You didn’t answer him because you were still stunned from his unexpected appearance. Growing impatient from your silence, Tony slaps your pussy, causing you to whimper. “When daddy asks you a question, he expects an answer, okay kitten?”

“Yes daddy” you choke out in a strangled moan.

“Mmm, good girl” Tony praises. He grabs your hips , and positions you so that you're face down while your bare legs dangle off of his lap.

“You know Y/N, you’ve been a very bad girl” Tony starts, as he takes off his tie. “Maybe I should teach you a lesson for being such a tease” As he says this, he wraps the fabric around your wrists, tightly securing it. He then proceeds to remove your panties. You can feel his dick getting harder. You squirm, placing your heat over his. “Don’t move.” He commands, before he places a hand on your ass, rubbing circles on it. “Now, be a good girl and count em for me.” Before you could protest, Tony delivers a harsh smack to your left cheek, you try to stifle the squeal that escapes your throat, which just makes him even more aggressive.

“Fucking count, and if you hold in another sound, it's only gonna get much worse.” He cautions.

“One” you cry. Smack, “T-two” the second blow was much harder than the last.

Eight smacks later, and you can finally end this torment. “Ten!” you cry out, voice shaking, and tears streaming down your face. By the time he got to ten, you were sure he’d left a handprint. Your tears stained the sheets, but he wasn’t done with you yet. He soothes the areas he smacked earlier with his hands. He leans down and begins to place kisses on your throbbing skin. You whine at the feel of warm lips, yearning for more, “I’m sorry about today Tony. Just please…no more teasing.” You beg, already dreading what he has in store.

Tony pauses to respond, “You’ve been saying sorry quite a bit today, kitten. But it’s not gonna work this time.” He soothes, ignoring your pleas.

When he’s done planting kisses, he takes two of his thick fingers to run between your sopping wet lips. He lightly brushes a finger against your clit, causing you to wiggle. “Look at daddy’s girl. So nice and wet, just for me.” He moves you both so that he’s face to face with your ass. “Such a pretty pussy.” he praises, in awe of how beautiful the sight before him is, dick growing harder by the minute. Fed up with waiting, he inserts his tongue into you. You taste even better than he had imagined. You fist the sheets underneath you, crying in bliss. You could feel the hair from his beard ticking the inside of your thighs. That, paired with the thick tongue inside of you, made you a moaning, writhing mess.

He’s biting and sucking on your lips, carefully making sure to collect all of your juices. His tongue occasionally darts between your folds, causing you to yelp and squirm. You can’t help bucking your hips backwards to relieve some of the tension. To focus better on your clit, he reaches one of his arms under your leg, and plants his hand on the area above your ass to hold you steady. He uses the other hand to finger fuck you while his tongue toyed with your clit.

Pushing yourself against his tongue was all that you could do since your hands were still tied, but Tony had a death-grip around your waist now.“Please untie me daddy, please I can’t take this anymore”, you whine, getting overwhelmed from the pleasure.

He comes up for air, and says “Since you asked so nicely princess.”, and with that, he flips you over so that you’re on your back, unties your wrists, then trails kisses down your body until he reaches your pussy again. He was hungry, and you were the only one who could satisfy him.

You tangle your hands in his hair, pull him closer to your mound, and start to grind yourself against his face.You were chasing your orgasm at this point and any kind of friction helped you get closer, but he didn’t seem to mind; it just turned him on even more. Tony begins sucking on your clit like his life depended on it. He used his fingers to stretch you open. First it was just one, then two, and now a third had you feeling full. Unable to stand the pleasure any longer, you began pushing him away. He placed an arm over your waist to restrain you. Still fingering you, he looked up to say, “Stay still. I’m just trying to make you feel good”. You throw your head back in response, moans roaring from your chest.

Even though you were just lying there, the sounds you made, and the way you tasted were setting him off. He wasn’t eating your pussy just to please you, he was doing it to please himself too. He started to hum into you, and the vibrations sent you over the edge. “Tony I’m so close” you cry, as you try to push him away one last time. The feeling was too new and foreign to you, “Fuck daddy, I’m cumming!” you screamed, just before you came all over his face.

He continues licking and sucking to help you ride out your high. Tears were clouding your vision. He finally comes up, meeting your eyes. He sits on his knees in between your legs, and begins to wipe away your tears. “You see the mess you made?” He questions, referring to his wet lips and fingers. You take the long appendages into both hands, and without breaking eye contact, place them in your mouth only to slowly remove them, repeating his actions from earlier.

“What am I gonna do with you?” he says more to himself than to you.

“Anything you want.” You reply.

He doesn’t say anything, just stares at you in awe. You take advantage of his silence, to get up and meet his level. You both just stare at each other for a moment. He’s the one to make the first move. You two share a slow and passionate kiss. He fights for dominance, and you obey him.

Your hands are placed on his shoulders to steady yourself. He rubs his hands up and down your sides, contemplating whether or not he wants to get rid of your baggy t-shirt. He decides he does. He breaks the kiss to pull the material over your head. He’s instantly met with your perky brown breasts, and the chocolate buds that grace the middle of them.

Grabbing your neck to pull you back in for a kiss, he begins palming at your chest. You move away from his lips to attack his neck. You slowly lick a stripe up towards his ear, biting the lobe when you meet it. Tony growls at the gesture, tugging your hair and making you whimper in the process. You continue endeavors, sucking and biting. You blow cold air over the bruises you make, which drives him crazy. He starts tugging at one of your nipples with and brings his free hand down to play with your clit again. You kiss your way passed his neck, to meet his collarbone. Before you can go any lower, he stops you.

“Not this time princess. Tonight is about you.” He coos, grabbing your chin up to meet your face. “Trust me we’ll have plenty of time for that in the future.” You can’t help the small smile that comes to your face at the mention of this happening again.

“Look at that pretty smile, I can never get enough of that.” He returns a smile to you, and begins unbuttoning his dress shirt. He stands up to pull the fabric off his shoulders, and tosses it to the other side of the room. You crawl over to him, and begin unbuckling his pants. “Impatient are we” he chuckles, cupping your chin. He bites his lip, turned on by how eager you are.

When you finish unbuckling, he pushes you back on the bed to finish releasing himself. His member is bigger than you imagined and you wonder if it will even fit.

“Get over here” he commands. You do as he says. He pulls you to the edge of the bed and lines himself up with your entrance. He teases you both by pushing himself between your folds to gather some lubricate. His head was big, so even that felt a little uncomfortable.

When he felt he collected enough wetness, he pulled back so that his tip aligned with your opening. “Do you want me stop?” He asks, sensing your uneasiness.

“No. Keep going” you respond, you’ve wanted this for so long, a little pain wasn’t going to stop you.

He eases his head into you, causing you both to let a string of obscenities. “Fuck, Y/N, you’re so tight.” He growls, hunched over trying to ease the rest of himself in. Your mouth was wide open, and you didn’t breathe out of fear that you were gonna pop. Tears began to well up in your eyes. For one, you hadn’t been fucked in so long it felt like you were a virgin, and two, Tony had the biggest dick you’d ever taken.

“Sweetheart just relax for me” he urges, the veins in his dick were pulsating against the walls of your pussy. He would explode if he didn’t fuck you within the next two minutes. You try to do as he says. He reaches between the two of you, to apply pressure to your clit, which immediately makes you welcome him. He waits for you to adjust to his size. When he feels you clench around him, he pins your hands above your head, and starts to fuck you into the mattress. His strokes start off slow, but hard. He’s rolling his hips into yours, and his grunts and your moans are filling your ears. You shut your eyes, the pleasure beginning to overtake you. Tony reaches between you to pinch your clit. You yelp and fling your eyes open. “Don’t take your eyes off of me baby.”

He picks up the pace, and starts to fuck you faster. His hips are smashing into yours, but he doesn’t take his eyes off of you. “You look so pretty with my cock stuffed inside of you.” He growls, “Who else fucks you like this, hmm?” He questions.

“No one, Tony” you whimper, relishing in his dirty talk.

“Better not be” , he warns before delivering a particularly hard thrust that makes you cry out in pain. “You look so good underneath me. Fuck!” He grunts. “Say my name, princess.”

“Tony” you whimper, which was apparently the wrong answer because now he’s fucking you at an inhuman speed.

He pinches your clit again, “Silly girl, thats not it. What’s my name?”

“Daddy!” you scream,

“Good girl” he grunts, before burying himself into your neck claiming your skin. He doesn’t give a fuck about Edward at this point. He’s fucking you in his son’s bed, and he wouldn’t even care if he caught the two of you right now. That would be his punishment for the way he treated you.

His hand still on your clit, his throbbing dick inside you, and even his bare chest rubbing against your nipples is enough to make you explode. “D-daddy I’m gonna cu-umm.” You stutter, your words becoming incoherent. The pleasure was so intense you couldn’t think straight.

“Cum on Daddy’s cock, kitten.” He whispers into your ear, sending you over the edge.

“Fuck!”, you screamed, when he kept fucking you even after you came. Tony was close too, his thrusts were becoming more inaccurate, and he began to pull out before you stopped him.

“Cum inside of me.” You begged, wrapping yourself around him.

And that’s when you see something in him snap. You didn't have to tell him twice. He kicks up the pace sending your body up and down against the mattress as he urges himself to give you what you both want.

And after one more thrust, he lets out a sound so animalistic, and spurts his seed into your sex. All you can feel is his hot cum filling you up, as you both come down from your highs.

Staying put for a moment, he looks down at you, both of you covered in sweat, and tired from tonight’s activities. You both are gasping for air, trying to catch your breath. Tony was usually a man who kept his composure, so to see him before you now, sweat rolling down his body, disheveled hair, gasping for air, completely fucked out, was a memory you hoped to never forget.

He finally decided to remove himself from you, and you instantly felt empty. He left the room for a moment, only to return in a pair of sweatpants. He also had a damp washcloth, that he used to clean you with. “Who knew you could be so sweet” you murmur grabbing your t-shirt off the floor to pull it over your head, before you push yourself under the covers of your bed.

“You’re right. Now I have to kill you.” He responds, making you giggle. He smiles, “That’s such a sweet sound.” He whispers. You stop smiling and avert your gaze.

“You don’t get to be shy now.” He says before crawling into bed next to you. You’re positioned so that your back is against his chest. He wraps his arms around you, and you intertwine your legs with his. He nuzzles his face into your neck, and plants a kiss.

“Can I ask you a question?” He asks, while playing with your hair.

“You just did, but I guess that’s not what you meant” you say, earning a nip to the ear. “Ow! What’s your question, stupid?” you ask, chuckling.

“Where were you gonna go? I saw your bags packed downstairs.” He asks.

“I was gonna go back to my old apartment.”

‘I need to stop paying for that right away’, he thought. “ Well what stopped you?” He pushes.

“I saw your car in the driveway and didn’t want you to try to stop me, so I just went back upstairs until you were gone. I guess I was still pretty horny from earlier.” you admit.

God, did he love this girl.

“I’ve wanted this for so long. Don’t ever think about leaving” he cautions.

“Me too…and I won’t” You start. Changing the subject you say, “You know…i’ve never done that before.”

“Done what?” He prods.

“Ive never came before.” You confess.

“Are you serious?” He half yells, making you jump slightly.

“Well yea, not even by myself.”

“So you mean to tell me, Edward never made you cum? I thought I raised him better than that.” He states, making you laugh.

“Well you two are completely different.”

“One could say, that it's a Stark contrast.” He jokes, laughing to himself.

“Remind me to never fuck a dad again.” You sigh, before turning around to give him one last kiss goodnight.

A/N: Please tell me what you think if you've gotten this far ;)! Like, reblog, comment. Also do not repost.

#Tony Stark Smut #Tony Stark x reader #Tony Stark x black reader #Marvel smut #black writer #new writers on tumblr #new writing blog

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