#i have emerged from this winter with new art at last

[sighcomics]

[vxnuslogy]

╭──────     deliverance's right hand    ✦ ⸝⸝

            ✦   ⭑𓂃   honkai: star rail      ┆     phainon    .ᐟ                ──╯

𐔌  warnings. ooc-phainon ( written before pre-release ), very much word vomit        ♟      notes. phainon yearning so bad i made a fic when he first appeared during the last last livestream. 

           ━━━ art credits. hoyoverse        ♟         tags.  @starcharmed @mikashisus @https-sourlimes @dazaisms @powchakko @pneumosia ; if you'd like to be tagged please fill out the forms in my pinned post !!

                                 ౨ৎ the nameless king, phainon — historians can only wonder what your relationship was with amphoreus' king.

a nameless new king who ascended to the throne andbrought new heroes with him is sure to be written down in history. with a silver blade and its golden hilt shining under the sunlit battlefields, soldiers and enemies alike revel in his glory. even as the sky turned red and the black tides beckoned, deliverance was always there to keep them at bay. 

his mission was simple and sound, freeing this world of the darkness that consumed his home. one would say he was a foolish boy for daring to draw a sword against a god when he was only but a child, but his right hand man would argue it was his destiny to protect. with the attack so sudden and their heroes falling, people could not help but feel their hope flicker out and die. and you? you stayed close by the future king’s side, shaking hands clutching at his bloodstained shawl as he fought with a dull blade meant for training. but despite all the fear and red stained hopelessness, you still chose to remain by his side, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

even at his coronation, he dared to refuse the crown if you were not by his side. what a rude child he was to ask the king for a nobody like you to help him get dressed, but he made no complaint. this child, with white hair that glistened like snow in winter and eyes like the oceans reflecting a sunrise view, phainon was this world’s new king—their new hero. and you would be his trusted right hand.

the people cheered when he took the palace’s balcony. stretches upon stretches of miles filled with his now citizens as they cheered and chanted his name like a prayer. “all hail the new king!” “in the name of deliverance!” these words fell deaf in his ears when his eyes trailed off the side, eventually settling on your figure draped in clothing you were uncertain to wear. hidden by the dancing curtains and the afternoon sun hitting your skin while your hair was decorated with a golden laurel wreath. you were his right hand man. you were his. and phainon thought, “maybe being a king wasn’t too bad after all.”

and as the years went by and more wars emerged, people grew doubtful. but not you. no, never you. in spite of all the bloodshed, you were patient with your care and assistance. rubbing off the blood that stained his body, or how you tend to the sword he’s used recklessly, you were never once swayed with the masses questioning. you’d still greet him warmly by the palace gates, help him settle in bed and let you treat him as if he were a child. to you, maybe he was—he grew up too fast, putting the world’s responsibilities on a plate meant for childhood games and dreams.

“are you not afraid?” he ends up asking one night as he laid in his bed. one whole arm wrapped in tight bandages as you folded his clothes by the bed’s edge. you turn to him curiously, the innocence of your childhood still in the glimmers of your eyes but it never glazes with ignorance. phainon thinks you are an angel sent from above in this light—face half illuminated by the candle in his room, his cape at your lap, and the clothing that was distinctively made to match his. in this light you were utterly and wholly his.

“of what?” you asked in return. a soft smile tugging at your lips as you move closer to him. your hand brushed with his and phainon is struck with fear the enemy could ever place on him. 

the king wonders. quietly and introspectively. completely to himself but still bare to you. “are you not afraid of me?”

and to his surprise, you laugh. he’s bewildered beyond imagination as his mind races with thoughts he could not fully process. “why are you laughing?” he asked with a furrow of his brows. hand twitching under your hold as if you’ve held him captive against his will. but deep down in his heart, phainon would not mind to be your poor servant if it meant seeing you every second of the day.

“it was a silly question, that’s all.” 

something changed in the way you looked at him that night. because the following day, and the day after that, and until the end of the month, you looked at him gently. that he was far more valuable than any life on this planet. the look of what he assumed was love. and he replies by giving you the same look, but with actions instead. 

he is still a king—a soldier meant to fight in war and not a lover meant to be in your hold—but he wanted to be yours, too. phainon didn’t want to claim you as his because you wake him up with gentle humming, settle him on the dining table with meticulous meals to satiate his unusual pickiness, or because you treat the clothing he’s deemed a curse like a part of his being that needs to be cherished. no, no, that was unbefitting of your grace and level. 

you deserved to be drowned in your favorite flowers, a dance partner under the starry night, and a future monarch that his home already loves. without meaning to, you and the nameless king of heroes have eloped to becoming lovers outside prying eyes. anyone would notice how king phainon had stars in his eyes whenever you walked in the room, how he always reached for your hand like how he did with his sword, or whenever he sought you out first during every gala or ball. you were already each other’s without having to say it or even act on it—loving has become as easy as breathing.

some historians will argue that you were only the king’s right hand, always there to serve as a clear voice in his cloudy mind. but others would argue you were more his lover, partners for eternity with entwined souls. but to phainon, you were more than these two things—you were his deliverance, a sanctuary in this exhausting world.

© vxnuslogy 2024. do not plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my works without my knowledge or consent in other platforms or websites.

[nomi-c]

Pottery ventures

Professions (1/8) {San}

{San x Reader}

Wordcount: 7K

Genre: Strangers to Lovers, Smut, Pet names (sweetheart), cursing (fuck), Dominant San , Oral Female receiving, Protected intercourse, Fingering

A/n: as always with my ff's, this ff isn't meant to represent the artist in any way or form!

-Minors don't read-

With a last glance on your Phone, you cursed your best friend for cancelling on your monthly planned meet up in the very last second.

Are you sure you can't make it? You texted her, even though you already knew the answer. She spontaneously needs to stay longer at work because of some emergency at the ER.

If you would have known sooner you would've called the workshop owner and cancelled the appointment, but you were already in front of the little studio and the appointment would start in around 10 minutes.

The day was really calm and no one expected a emergency this size.... I'm sure you'll have fun at the workshop, we can still book another appointment at that shop for maybe next week?

You sighed and watched your breath form into tiny clouds as you took a sip of your coffee and pulled the scarf tighter around your neck and partly covered your nose and mouth from the biting snowy wind that caused you to shiver heavily.

I will ask him for another appointment after today, no worries. Stay strong! Love you xxx

Without waiting for another reply since you knew she was busy treating emergency patients, you took a deep breath to calm your nerves and gripped the door handle.

Staying a second longer outside wasn't ideal, seeing as in this part of the town not many people stayed outside after it got dark. It didn't matter that it was only 7pm on a Thursday, once it was dark people stayed at home. It wasn't like the area was criminally populated, it was more that the way the block was built gave off strange vibes and an eerie feeling once the sun set. Maybe it also had to do with the past of this exact block that gave you shivers whenever you thought about the mall tragedy years back.

They were in the middle of renovating the block and erasing the ugly past with new parks and buildings and incredible cafés but nonetheless people didn't forget things that easily and you were sure it would take a long while till people would be walking here carefree again.

The little Pottery studio you would visit today however had a owner who only moved here 6 months ago and probably didn’t know the history of this area before he opened the newly build studio here. When you and your best friend searched for a cool new hobby, you found his website and his rating was 5 stars through the bench.

You decided to give him a shot since the comments were good and some of the pieces you saw on his website were drop dead gorgeous. It wasnt the first workshop you both visited, seeing as you made it your adventure to try new workshops and courses every few meet ups. From photography to drawing, and from parkour lasertag. Every thing so far was awesome and a few things got stuck with you. Two of those things being Taekwondo and Art.

You smiled at the many memories that rotated in your inner eye. With a last look around you, you cautiously pushed the door open and a little bell above you ringed quietly. You instantly reveled in the warmth of the studio as you stepped in fully, you never were the biggest fan of winter and today was a particularly cold day.

Your eyes roamed over the beautifully black and white designed lobby with incredibly expensive looking modern art pieces and others that seemed like landscapes and some others like momentous of people you didn't recognize.

Walking a bit closer to it, you noted that every Individual piece was lit on by a over head lamp that gave each one its own stage and moment to shine and next to each painting you saw a little silver plate that described the painting and mentioned it's artist.

All of them were drawn by the same person, Park Seonghwa. The name didn't sound familiar to you, but whoever he is, he is a incredible painter.

You moved a bit more into the lobby and your gaze fell behind the counter, where you spotted a big lit up showcase with some of the crafted pieces you saw on the website, and with it you again saw little metal signs with the names of the people who crafted them.

You had to give it to the owner, he had a love for crediting every person he had pieces of and everyone who created art in his studio. You decided then and there that you already liked the guy.

To your left, you saw a small sitting corner which consisted of two white couches on opposite sites of one another, a black fluffy carpet and a rectangular glass table with art and crafting magazines stacked on one side of it.

On the wall next to the sitting area, you saw a makeshift bistro station with a fancy looking Barista coffee machine.

Without doubt the owner didn't only have taste in aesthetic but also in what he consumes, and what he offers his guests you thought to yourself as you saw the variety of pastries next to the coffee machine.

With a last longing look towards the sweet and probably incredibly delicious pastries, you turn back towards the front of the store.

Your eyes travel back towards the counter ahead of you, it is all black and neatly organised from what you could see behind the counter, once you reached the front of it.

Your eyes focused on the jumping screensaver on the computer on the right, that was partly turned into your direction.

You started hearing louder growing steps and focused your attention on the stack of business cards that laid out next to the blooming Poinsettia.

Only when he made his stance behind the counter, you looked up from the business card and your eyes locked with his.

Your breath however got lost along the way, he was around one head taller than you, had dark brown almost black hair, deep brown eyes and a set of adorable dimples that demanded your full attention right instantly.

He seemed to work out a lot, seeing as his frame was huge compared to you, and by huge you were talking about the fact that you could disappear behind his back fully. Looking a bit further down, the black tight shirt he wore revealed to you that his waist seemed pretty petit for his body.

You caught yourself staring at the man before you, so you quickly cleared your throat. Your cheeks burned from embarrassment and you averted your eyes on your gloved hands.

You set the cup of coffee on the counter quickly and started removing your scarf and glove, feeling unbearably warm all of a sudden. "Hello, I am the 7pm appointment. My best friend couldn't make it due to a emergency at work, so it will be just me today. I hope that's still okay with you?" You asked with a slightly shaky voice.

The guy who until now watched you with a slight smile on his lips, leaned down to his computer and typed something on his keyboard. His eyes roamed over the screen and a few seconds later he gave you a quick glance. "It's alright, I hope the emergency isn't too bad. Do you want to schedule a new appointment on top? I won't charge it extra, seeing as you still came here today instead of cancelling last minute."

Your eyes widened in surprise. "I would love that, that is really kind of you Mr. Choi. Would next week at the same time work for you?" You asked with a smile on your lips as you removed your beanie and put it into your bag with the scarf and gloves.

He clicked on his computer a few times, his eyes glued to the screen. "It works perfectly for me, I'll set the appointment. And please call me San, we seem to be around the same age."

You nodded and gave him a smile. "Thank you, San. I'm Y/n, it's nice to meet you." You said as your cautiously extended your hand towards him with a unsure smile on your lips.

Handshakes were mostly out of fashion, especially in winter and even more after the pandemic but you would feel rude to not greet another person that way. Especially someone as kind as him.

San eyed your hand for a second before his dimples reappeared and he laid his hand on yours for a firm handshake. You couldn't help but notice the two rings that adorned his fingers, one golden on his index finger, and a silver infinity looped ring on his middle finger. Odd combination you thought to yourself but didn't dare ask about it.

With anyone else you would say it's a fashion crime to mix gold and silver, but you felt like they had a special meaning and in all honesty you thought that little inconsistency fit with him.

If San noticed he didn't mention it, when he waved his hand towards the pasties to your left. "Can I offer you anything before we get started? A New coffee or maybe some Pastries?" He asked you with a kind smile and warm gaze.

You quickly shook your head. "No, thank you. I still have my coffee. But Thank you very much for the offer."

He nodded and gestured to the right where a big set of double milk glass doors was located. "Shall we?" He asked you with a smirk.

You once again felt your cheeks heat up, something about him made you jumpy but not in the creeped out way. No, he made you jumpy in a manner of your crush replied to your Text message where you ask him to date you kind of way.

You tried to calm your racing heart with a deep breath and focused on the flowers in the corner next to the double door, right beside these broad shoulders attractive shoulders of-

No. Don't go there- you curse yourself out as you follow San through the Glass doors avoiding his body with your hungry eyes as if your life depends on it.

You practically drool over your teacher for your pottery workshop right now, but could anyone actually blame you? San's proportions and looks should've been captured on old paintings cause he had the perfect proportions in any kind of way and form. You were sure artists would fight over him to be their muse, look wise as much as body wise.

You could blame your reaction on the fact that you didn't have a boyfriend or a date in years and your... well, last time feeling like this over a guy was even longer ago.

Feeling San's eyes on you, you slowly lifted your gaze from his shoulders to his eyes and felt exposed by the raw intensity of his stare.

With a smirk on his lips, he shook his head and turned left towards a little table that had a clay sack on top. He grabbed two blocks and placed them one after another on two of the workstations. "You can pick any seat you want."

You woke up from your trance and unholy thoughts about broad backs and muscular arms and set your bag next to the door on the black armchair before you picked the right seat and sat down eying the clay block with interest.

San grabbed two bowls from the side of the sink on the wall to your right and filled them both with water, before he set them next to your clay blocks on the work stations next to the rotation disk.

"Do you have knowledge in pottery?" He asked with his back on you, as he went towards his desk where a bunch of pottery goods sat which he carefully grabbed to place them in yet another showcase to fully dry unharmed.

You shook your head, even though you knew he couldn't see it right now. "I don't know anything about it, me and my best friend wanted to try it and make cute mugs for our reading weekends together."

He nodded, processing your words for a second or two before he turned to his left where a couple of aprons hung on the wall next to the burning oven.

You followed his movements as he picked 2 aprons one smaller and one bigger black one which you assumed was his personal one.

When he turned back around to make his way back to you he had a soft reassuring smile on his lips. "Pottery isn't as difficult as most think it is, you might take a few tries but you'll get the hang of it quickly."

Once he was seated next to you, he handed you the smaller apron slowly. "Did you already think about what you want to create today?" He asked you with a curious expression on his features. His prominent cheekbones slightly rosy from the warmth of the studio.

You quickly searched your mind for possible things you could create and that were easy enough for a absolute beginner as you laid on your apron, but you only came up with a total basic idea. "How about a vase?" You asked as you remembered the beautiful vase you knocked off the dinner table the other day. It was the only vase you had since the many years you lived all alone.

San tilted his head to the side, his indexfinger with the golden ring tapping on his lip absentmindedly. "It's a good choice, easy but with a good purpose."

You nodded in agreement. San's eyes focused on the clay block in front of him before he shot you a quick glance. "I'm sure you already noticed the clay block in front of you, so what we want to do with it to begin, is to loosen it up. We archive that by kneading the clay like a you would with a fresh dough."

He took the clay in his hands and started kneading it and made sure you copy his moves before he spoke again. "We knead or wedge the clay to remove any possible bubbles inside, to make sure our work will be stable and won't break as easily after or during it's getting burned."

You nodded and quickly made a messy bun, already annoyed by the hairs that kept on blocking your view as you kept on kneading the small clay bock thoroughly.

Minutes ticked by with neither of you saying anything, the only sounds in the atelier were your breathings and the faint melody that flowed out of the ceiling speakers quietly.

Your arms were already getting sore and you felt a small droplet of sweat making it's way down your forehead. "How long are we supposed to knead it exactly?" You asked a little out of breath.

San's quiet laugh made you stop your work and look at him instead. He was still kneading the clay, your eyes focused on the strong muscles on his arms and how they moved under every movement he made.

He formed a small clump with it and set it on the middle of the rotating disk. "The longer, the better. It's tiring at the beginning but try to see it as a workout instead with a nice new pottery good as reward." He told you with a smile on his lips.

You shook out your arms, trying to ease some of the burning tension in your muscles and shaped your clay block almost the same. "Can I ask you something?" You asked San as your eyes darted through the artillier and you saw more framed photographies and art pieces on the walls, you even spotted a fallen angel stone figure in the far corner by the window which you didn't notice while entering the space earlier.

San turned in his twisting chair towards you and leaned his elbow on the workstation as he eyed you curiously. "Sure, ask all you want."

You turned towards him as well, glad to rest your arms a bit more as well as stilling your curiosity at the same time. You gestured towards the walls and the stone figure. "Are you interested in photography and art and stone sculpturing? I couldn't help but notice them right away." You said as you once again eyed everything in the room with adoration.

Seeing as you love art yourself you couldn't help yourself but standing up and inspecting it closer. It was like a invisible line pulled you towards the art he displayed and created. The color combinations and techniques the artist used drew you in, and the different vibes and auras each painting gave off seemed to tell a story you yet had to discover fully.

San who slowly walked up behind you, looked at the painting as well. You didn't see his face but could hear the pride in his voice when he spoke again.

"The paintings and sculptures and even the pictures are all from my best friends."

Your eyes went wide as you turned around and looked up at San's face with a dropped jaw. "These belong in big galleries and museums. They are masterpieces."

You saw a dimple form on his left cheek as he paced the room. You followed him, checking the art pieces with him with full attention. "Seonghwa is an artist, he draws everything that captures his interest, from people to objects, to abstract art. He wants to open a gallery in the future, but until then he asked if he could spotlight some paintings here. I loved the idea, it gives the studio flair and showcases his work at the same time."

When you guys reached another photography of what seemed to be a woman's back hugged by shadows and a industrial styled window front with San Francisco in the back, he stopped again as you took in the big framed photograph. "Wooyooung is a photographer, he always had a incredible eye for aesthetic and when he grabs his camera, you can be sure to see a masterpiece as result. He actually has his own gallery, but he gifted me some pieces as welcome present to my first own studio. He helped me a lot building this place."

Your eyes went even bigger as you continued listening to every word San said. He gestured to the angel stature and his smile got soft. "Yeosang is a Stone sculpturor, but if you ask me he should sculpture himself as well cause with his looks he doesn't stand the figures he creates behind in anything at all. I'm sure Michael Angelo would have taken him as student and muse if he would be alive still. His skills are impeccable, even if what he creates sometimes tends to be melancholic." He said as he grazed his hand softly over the broken wings of the crying angel.

You didn't take your eyes away from the stature, too much in awe about its raw beauty to look back at San. "Everything here is incredibly beautiful and has so much meaning behind it, this is breathtaking." You almost whispered as your finger softly touched the forever rolling tear of the angel.

You walked a bit further and carefully grazed your hand over one perfectly tailored mug, it resembled london as you quickly realized with the big ben in the background and a person that seemed to wait for something.

"What's your favorite style?" You asked him as you wondered if he drew the places on pottery that he visited or knew.

A soft smile appeared on your lips at a old memory of your trip there years back for your year abroad.

San sighed as he eyed the mug you softly cradled in your hand. "I don't think I have found my personal style yet, I'm relatively new with painting detailed pieces. I used to just glaze the pieces over in white. It's timeless and classic."

You nodded in agreement. "Does this one has a story? Looking at your work I would say you're a really talented painter as wellby the way."

San leaned against his desk in thought, thinking your words over in his mind as he looked around the office. "Isn't that what art of any kind is about? A purpose or a story that needs or should to be told? Like for example you chose a vase, is there a story behind it? Cause I could think there is one." He asked as he turned his attention on you with a raised brow and a twitch of his lips.

You felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. "Well, in my defense I really need a vase. Mine broke months back and since then I haven't been able to buy flowers anymore." You quickly blurted out.

San laughed quietly and opened his mouth to say something but you were faster. "Anyways, you don't need to talk about it when it's too personal. What I was trying to say was that your art is incredible. I'm glad I chose your studio to learn pottery." You followed up saying, trying to erase your embarrassment.

San's cheeks got a slight bit colored and you saw a hint of a dimple as he rubbed his neck awkwardly. "Thank you, shall we continue?"

You nodded and strolled back towards your work station, happy that he didn’t further commented on your choice of work for today.

Once you were seated again, he wet his hands and got the round plate of the workstation spinning. You watched him closely and imitated his movements, your eyes glued to his strong hands as he softly worked on the clay and managed to get the clay to part to a hole on the middle.

Surprisingly enough, you managed to do the same on the first try. A happy laugh bubbled up inside you, as you eyed his next movements like a hawke.

"For the next step, you have press from both the inside and the outside against the clay to thin it out while you also pull it slightly upwards to shape it to your liking." He explained as he wet his hands in the bowl a bit more and slowly did what he explained.

He made sure to place his hands and arms in a way that you would be able to see it perfectly from your seat.

When he was done with that part, he turned off the workstation and turned towards you.

You could easily make out the bigger body and slimmer neck of the vase, when the spinning lessened you had to say it already looked damn near perfect.

Your eyes connected with his for a second, and you saw nothing but kindness and patience in his eyes as he waited for you to start.

With a deep breath, you turned on the workstation with the button on the side, and wet your hands in the bowl with warm water.

You felt San move a bit closer, but paid no attention to him as you set your hands both on the inside and outside of the cool clay.

You recalled his instructions from ealier and started carefully molding the clay. At first it was a bit difficult because even after all the kneading, the clay felt a bit dense.

But easily enough you saw it get thinner and wobblier. It started to seem to spin out of control, and San quickly rolled his chair behind you.

His hands smoothed over yours as he pushed away your foot from the pedal to take control over the spinning speed of the table.

His warm hands engulfed yours easily, as he lessened the pressure you put on the vase. You watched it regain its composure almost immediately.

You felt his warm breath tickle the side of your neck as he leaned his head forward, at your back you softly felt his chest against you.

Your heart started racing as you watched him guide your hands over the body of the vase in an attempt to save it and to even out the thickness of it, seeing as it was pretty uneven. "The first attempts are always a bit out of control, that's totally fine and normal. When you feel it getting out of hand, you have to lessen the speed of the rotation disk. Otherwise you risk the clay to smack into your face."

He explained as you felt his thigh muscles contort and bump against your leg when he showed you how the speed would affect the rotation disk.

You felt your cheeks grow hot and you got unbearably warm. Your mind only seemed to care about his close proximity and his incredibly good smelling perfume. Of how his hands felt around yours and the breath of him that tickled your neck with each breath he took.

You watched as the clay induced liquid rushed over and between your hands as he started forming the neckline of the vase together with you. You caught yourself slightly glancing over towards his face that almost rested on your shoulder and noticed a few lose strands hanging close to his eyes, it was a effort to not automatically reach out and swipe them away.

You shook your head slightly to clear your thoughts, and averted your eyes back towards your forming Vase. He adjusted your fingers on the vase slightly and applied a bit of pressure to your grip before he spoke next. "When you use just about the right amount of pressure, it will turn out just how you want it. This is about the thickness it needs to ensure it's stable and won't break while burning." His voice was raspy and close to your which didn't help your current situation at all. You took a small breath as your legs pressed together Involuntarily.

You nodded, not trusting your voice to not betray you more than your body already did. He angled his arms a bit more to be able to guide you better and in the process his back was now flushed against your back and his arms were pressed against yours further which caused tiny goosebumps and a shiver through out your arms and the back of your neck.

You could swear you heard his breath hitch for a second but you wouldn't allow to let your mind travel to the possibility that he was reacting to you the same way as you reacted to him.

You watched as he guided your hands further up the neck to work on the top rim of the vase. He let go of your hands and dipped them into the bowl quickly and set his hands back on yours.

His head turned towards you slightly. "Do you like it like this? Or should we try out another Design?"

The air rushed out of your lungs as he accidentally grazed your ear while speaking, your back pressed against his chest slightly in response.

You quickly opened your eyes in mortification and quickly shot up from your seat, hitting yourself on the workstation hard enough to probably leave a bruise behind as you fumbled your way out from being wedged between San and the workstation.

You dipped your hands in the now tainted water and wiped your hands on the apron, before you removed your the cardigan and walked the few steps towards your bag to place it on top carefully.

You felt San's presence somewhere behind you vividly, which only worsened the throbbing inside of you. "I gotta use the restroom real quick." You all but blurted out as you quickly exited the room.

You had no clue where said toilet was but you needed distance before you would jump him.

"Second door on the right!" He called after you from where he stood as you barged through the door and almost ran into the restroom.

Once the door was locked, you rested your back against the cool wood and slid down to a crouch.

Deep breaths. In and out. Calm down. You can do this.

After collecting your thoughts for a second, you went up to the sink and splashed your face with ice cold water to get a grip.

Your hands gripped the edge of the marble sink tightly as you eyed yourself in the mirror. "Calm down and focus!" You told yourself with strict face before you patted your face dry and unlocked the door.

The temperature in the lobby felt significantly colder which you gladly welcomed as you walked up to the little table in the sitting area and poured yourself a glass of water from the pitcher.

You took a deep gulp to get rid of your dry mouth as you peaked inside the studio again. You didn’t see him immediately, but you spotted his work station empty.

You stepped inside quietly, scanning the room quickly and spotted leaning against his desk in thoughts.

He wasn't turned towards you, instead he seemed to watch the vase, his vase, do it's thing in the fire oven.

You creeped a bit closer towards him, gripping your water in a death grip as your heart was beating a thousand miles an hour. Once you caught up to him and only a few steps separated you, you cleared your throat to announce your presence without startling him.

His head snapped in your direction and he straightened, before you saw him made a step towards you. "I'm sorry." His voice sounded sincere, but his eyes seemed to hold that same barely contained restraining that you were sure would be mirrored on your own eyes as well. "I'm sorry if I acted unprofessionally towards you, I don't know what I was thinking."

He turned away from you and your had to strain your ears to hear his next words. "That's what I should say, right? Even if I don't mean it." He raked his hands through his hair frustratedly.

Your stomach tightened as you registered his words and saw his exquisite back muscles flex with his movement.

You made a step towards him, as you felt your need coursing through your body violently. That much for calming down.

You set the glass of water down on his desk, as he turned back towards you quickly. His gaze was wild and pure of need as he fixated your full lips and then your eyes. "You know what? I'm actually not sorry. Since you walked in, I can't think fucking straight. I should be professional, I know that, but all I can think about since you stepped into my studio are all the different ways I could fuck you senseless inside of this god damn place. I just want to-"

You didn't let him finish as you closed the distance between you in light speed and crashed your lips against his.

He caught you around your waist reflexively as he tensed up for a second, but then his restrain snapped as grabbed you by your neck and janked you flush against his chest.

A small moan left your lips when your hips connected with his and you felt him hard against your stomach.

You felt his tongue graze over your teeth, asking you for entrance and without thinking twice you let him in. Your tongues started a instant battle for dominance, as you moved your hands through his silken hair and tugged slightly.

You could feel him smirk against your lips as he pushed you back until your ass connected with the desk.

His hands wandered down your sides, setting every inch of clothed skin on fire until he reached your thighs, he gave you a little nudge and you jumped enough to up wrap your legs around his waist thightly.

His hips pushed you onto the table hard and another moan left you at the sensation. His mouth started traveling from your lips onto your neck where his tongue drew lazy circles over your sensitive spot. You felt the fabric of his shirt wrinkle under your tightly fisted hands on his chest as you moaned his name.

One of his hands rested flatly on the desk while his other sneaked over your shoulder in a feather light touch and pulled your straps down, fully in contrast to his wicked tongue. "Please." You bagged as you tugging on his shirt.

He sucked sharply on your neck in response, as your head fell back from the sensation. "Please, what sweetheart? Use your words."

Your back arched as he kissed his way further down your neck. He softly pushed down your tanktop until it pooled at your hips as he clasped open your Bra with his other hand. Out of the corner from your eye you saw your Bra flying to a random corner. "P-please touch me." You begged again as your hand went back to his hair and fisted it?

His indexfinger travelled from your bare right shoulder down onto your hard nipple, where he gave you a slight pinch. "That's what I'm doing right now, no?"

Before you could respond his mouth cupped your other boob and his teeth grazed your sensitive skin.

You pulled on his shirt frantically, desperate to feel his skin under your finger tips. As a whine left your lips, the feeling already overwhelming but at the same time not enough. He released your boob with a pop. "So responsive." He smirked and pulled the shirt over his head to give you a perfect view of his incredible physic.

You let your hand wander over his soft and muscular skin. A growl left his lips as he gripped your wrist and yanked you towards him, his lips crashing on yours in a devouring kiss again.

He unbuttoned your jeans in a swift move and linked his thumbs in the fabric of your jeans as he janked town both your pants and underwear down in one move.

His indexfinger with the golden ring travelled up your bare tigh before it disappeared between your legs where he raked a finger through your soaking folds. Your head fell back in bliss. "Gods"

San eyed your expressions like a hawk, as he cupped you and dipped a two fingers inside of you. Your walls tightened against him as he started pumping inside of you. Your hand gripped his biceps forcefully as your hips rocked against his fingers, taking everything you would get.

Endless moans echoed through the studio as he crashed his lips back on yours. He slightly bit your bottom lip as he curled his fingers inside of you which made you scream out his name.

You could feel your release rapidly build inside of you. "Please.... I'm..." You managed to say, but it was all to overwhelming.

San shook his head with a smirk as he removed his fingers from inside of you. "You're finished when I let you. And I'm dying for a taste." He all but purred before he settled between your legs and looked up at you directly.

It took all your left restrained to not come at that sight directly, and he seemed to notice it, because he grabbed your knees and spread you apart further before he placed your legs on his shoulders.

His smile was deadly as he eyed your bareness before him and dived in light speed.

His tongue laid flat against you as he swiped up your center, your head rolled back as a loud moan left your lips.

San's hands flexed around your thighs as he pulled you closer to wards him. He backed up enough to look back at you. "I want you to look at me, sweetheart."

Your eyes found him reflexively as he dived back in and dipped his tongue inside of you. A rumbling moan left his lips as he started devouring you like a starved man.

While your hips ground against his face shamelessly and greedily. You felt your climax build up in light speed as your legs started trembling. He sucked in your bundle of nerves once twice and your hands gripped his fair painfully. "Come." He ordered and thats all it took as you screamed his name and started seeing stars.

Your release washed over you in intense waves as he picked up every drop of you greedily. You were still shaking uncontrollably as he got up and pulled you flush against his bare chest. His lips found yours and you could taste yourself on him as he spinned you around and bend you down on the desk.

You heard him shuffle and open a condom behind you as your head laid on the side, eying the crying angel stature.

His hand trailed up your spine sensually as he wedged his bare leg between yours and spread your legs apart. You felt his chest against your back, and your ass instinctively pushed back against him.

You felt him twitch against your entrance, as his mouth nipped on your ear before he gave you another soft kiss on your neck.

Without another warning he gripped your hair in his hand and janked your head back as he slammed into you fully. A scream left your lips at the feel of him inside you.

San's voice sounded taut as he pounded into you with enough force to make the whole table move. "Fuck, you're tight."

You slammed your ass back against his hips in desperation as he pulled out of you almost fully and slammed back into you. "You're perfect." He groud out betwen his teeth before his lips found your shouder where he gave you a small kiss.

The glass you set on the table ealier, spilled more and more water on the table but you couldn't give less of a fuck as it just like you for the second time in a row edged closer to destruction.

His lips slammed back on yours as he picked up speed, a trail of moans left both your lips as he pounded in you mercilessly. The scandalous sound of smaking skin, moaning and harsh breathing almost overshadowed the scraping of the table as it moved further and further towards the wall opposite of you.

His movements grew slowly erratic, indicating you that he too was close. As his other hand wandered between your legs where his index finger drew lazy circles around your bud.

You screamed his name as you started shaking and saw blinding white light and stars. His other hand drew soothing circles against your back, much in contrast to his harsh thrusts that had his balls slamming against you with force repeatedly and said. "Let go."

Your back arched and your ass slammed back against him with force as your hands gripped the edge of the desk so hard it was starting to hurt as another scream raked through your body and shattered you into sweet oblivion.

San cursed under his breath as you felt him twitch hard inside your spasming walls. He thrust in you a few more more times, before he too came apart inside of you with a curse of your name on his lips as he rode out both your highs.

Once your both caught your breath a bit he pulled out of you slowly but continued drawing soothing circles on your back. "You know, I've been dreaming of seeing you again from the moment I saw you that day by the namsan tower years back."

Your eyes snapped open in shock, that day you saw him, you realized now. Across the crowd you noticed him and his friends and already back then your breath caught in your lungs.

You've been staring at one another for few seconds when he made a step towards you, waving some of of the peddles from his view.

You were just about to make a step towards them too before your best friend pulled you with her towards the boarding bus.

It followed you for a while on vacation, but you eventually forgot about him. Hell, you didn't even trust yourself that you didn't make the whole thing up back then seeing as your best friend didn't see them at all and said you're crazy.

His Hand massaged the back of your neck under your hair softly. "You asked about the mug earlier, I made it as first art piece once I arrived back home. I was searching for you everywhere that day after you left with your friend, but I couldn't find you."

You set back up on the table as he went up to the sink to wet up a clean cloth, you didn't notice it before but you saw now that he was wearing his underwear again and a loose white shirt.

You pulled up your tanktop again but were still in shock about his recent words. "It's been you? I wasn't sure if I didn't make you up in my mind. My best friend didn't see you guys and said I'm delusional." You laughed to yourself as you already looked forward to clowning her about the whole thing.

After he carefully cleaned you up, he sat you back down on your feet and you quickly pulled up your pants as he did the same.

"Wooyoung never really stopped looking for your friend either by the way. He said she would be his perfect muse." He said with a smirk that highted his dimples even more.

A soft laugh escaped you as a thought formed in your mind. "You just gave me an idea for her next single workshop." San mirrored your knowing smirk as he laced your hand with his and led you towards the work station and your almost finished vase.

He turned towards you with a shy smile. "It might be a bit out of order, but would you like to go on a date with me? I would love to see where our story goes."

You gave him a big smile in return and nodded your head. "I would actually love that."

He took a seat on his spinning chair and pulled you onto his lap before he gave you a kiss on your temple and turned he workstation back on before wet his hands. "Let's start with finishing up your work first."

--

A/n: I tried to proofread this FF as best as I could, but English isn't my first language, and I'm dyslexic so I apologize for the eventual mistakes. I hope you liked this ff.

Little Bonus: I found this while looking for inspos for the thumbnail pic. ♡

[ya-zz]

A Battle of Dominance

Collab with: @t3chborb!! You can find their artwork here! You can also view their post here too! Ramattra x Reader (gen, no mentions of pronouns) [AFAB Reader - has female genitalia] Word Count: 5890 A/N: This was so fun to write, regardless of the writers block hitting me towards the end... It was absolutely a pleasure to work with you ♥ I love the art as always~ !! NSFW !!

In the heart of the Himalayan mountains, Nepal was renowned for its captivating beauty and distinct seasons. As winter descended, the air turned crisp and cold, creating a picturesque landscape; the mountain peaks, adorned with a thick blanket of snow, glistened under the clear blue sky and the cold, far from being a hindrance, became an integral part of the experience, bringing people closer together and fostering a sense of community.

In the quaint villages nestled among the towering mountains, life unfolded at a slower pace. The inhabitants, resilient and warm-hearted, found joy in the simple things. The houses, adorned with intricate carvings and colourful prayer flags added a vibrant touch to the snow-covered surroundings. Then there are the villagers, clad in traditional attire, who went about their daily tasks with a sense of contentment and harmony.

As the sun began its descent, casting a golden glow over the snow-covered landscape, a sense of tranquility descended upon the village. The stars emerged in the darkening sky, adding a celestial splendor to the wintry night. The villagers, with hearts filled with gratitude, retired to their homes, seeking comfort and warmth amidst the cold.

Inside of the monastery where the monks prayed and rested, several omnics roamed the ever dimming hallways, finishing up the last of their tasks. 

Ramattra was one of the few monks in the Monastery, listening to the teachings of Mondatta, meditating to finally feel true peace and harmony. He had been there for several months now, attempting to find a place for himself within the world.

Deep inside, though, he still hated humanity, and maybe that was where things were proving difficult to him. He couldn’t get past the discord he felt inside, no matter how hard he tried to rid the feeling. His programming wouldn’t let him feel peace. 

He hated humanity for everything they have done. 

The days turned into weeks, the weeks into those long months, and Ramattra still couldn’t work around it all. Eventually, he gave up and tried to keep his emotions at bay, not letting them seep through the ever growing cracks. While meditation was hit and miss some days, he did find that it helped keep him calm. With no humans running around the Monastery, he had nothing to worry about. 

Until you came along and changed the way he thought. Ramattra thought humans weren’t welcome within the monastery, having never seen any of them around before, but when you showed up and roamed the longing hallways, he felt uneasy. He learnt that while humans were welcome, they steered clear from the omnics.

That was then.

Eventually things began changing for him.

He grew to like you, never minding if you were in his way, or seated beside him when he was meditating. Your presence was welcome.

There was never a dull moment when he was with you and he found you to be quite enjoyable to be around. As time went on, he realised there was something more to you. He found that he was staring at you a little longer than normal, admiring the way you spoke or moved. Ramattra couldn’t stop thinking about you when he was no longer around you. 

He shook it off time and time again, he wasn’t falling for a human, no, he couldn’t. That would go against everything he believed in. Humans were unnecessary, evil beings that only sow chaos.

But not you. 

He knew you weren’t like them and gradually, through consistent reassurance, he began to realise his feelings towards you. It was foreign, as with anything new, but this… This felt like fire. 

His circuits would burn up whenever your hand brushed against his accidentally. The longing look in your eyes whenever he held contact with you spoke volumes at how much you liked him, too. 

It was slow and gradual, as most things should be. He never rushed, never went any further than what you were comfortable with. He made you feel seen. Human. Ramattra made you feel like you mattered.

As time went on, feelings developed between the two of you. Days roaming the monastery halls and meditating by each other's side only made the tension grow. Ramattra was the first to break, hands grabbing your hips and nearly slamming you against the nearest wall. His body pressed into yours as he murmured how much he wanted you. 

He nearly dragged you to his chambers before the door closed behind him softly. The tension was growing as his hands met your shoulders, thumbs pressing against your collar bone. He was rough, yet he was gentle. A startling contrast from what he was; a ravager unit.

Timid hands met his chest as his hands carefully undressed you, slipping off your shirt and pants before pushing you down on the bed. He was watching you carefully, making sure that he didn’t hurt you, that he didn’t go too far.

It was shocking to you when he slipped off the privacy plate and unveiled his member; never did you think that omnics came equipped with such appendages unless they were specifically made for pleasure. You ruled it down to him being curious, never questioning him on his choices. 

The size alone was nauseating, but the omnic above you assured that it wouldn’t hurt. He took every care imaginable to make sure that he was true to his word as he adjusted himself before sliding inside of you.

Pleasure was high, senses were heightened and moans filled the room. An omnic and a human. It wasn’t unheard of for a human and omnic to be intimate, but a ravager and a human? Most would scoff.

It wasn’t something that happened the one time either. Several days went by before it happened again. The monk and the human getting closer, intimate.

If only Ramattra knew that there was something you had in mind. Him being the dominant one in the relationship was always fun, you never said otherwise, but you wanted to switch things up, or at least try to. Confidence was holding you back greatly. Perhaps another day, was always the thought in your head after such an act took place.

Nobody ever found out, and even if they did, Ramattra didn’t care. All he cared about was you. 

Timid and quiet, friendly and trustworthy. Ramattra had found a friend, a partner. A lover. 

In the realm of your relationship, you and Ramattra found the perfect balance between individuality and togetherness; supporting each other's aspirations, offering encouragement and understanding along the way. When life's challenges arose, you stood side by side, providing unwavering strength and support. It was a partnership built on mutual respect, empathy, and the belief in each other's potential.

Ramattra's metal heart swelled with happiness as he contemplated the exceptional relationship he shared with you. It was as if the universe had conspired to bring you to him. With every passing moment, Ramattra felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the profound connection he had forged with you, cherishing the memories you and him created and eagerly anticipating the countless adventures that lay ahead.

As the nights grew longer, the air grew colder. You had been doing your duties in the monastery, away from Ramattra. There was nothing to it, no ill will intended, it’s just how it was some days.

When you had finally done what needed doing, you finally relaxed, fighting to not fall asleep on the stone floor.

Ramattra had found you curled up beside the crackling fire in one of the meditation rooms as he passed by. The winter air had settled upon the monastery, enveloping everything in a bone-chilling embrace. The thin clothing you wore seemed almost insignificant against the relentless cold, offering little solace against the icy grip of the season.

Your body, huddled and shivering, radiated a palpable sense of vulnerability. Ramattra paused, his optics narrowing as he observed your limited movements. Though his exterior was often perceived as cold and unyielding, there was a flicker of concern in his gaze.

With a deliberate step, he approaches, his movements silent and purposeful. The warmth from the fire cast a soft glow upon his form, creating an almost surreal spectacle. 

“There are warmer places to be.” He states, standing behind you. 

“Beside the fire is good enough.” You don’t look up at him, eyes focussing on the flickering flames. 

The omnic shakes his head, kneeling down and hooking his arms underneath yours, lifting you to your feet as you gasp. 

“Hey!” You look at him, the soft glow of the fire illuminating his faceplate. “What was that for?” 

“I want to take you somewhere warmer.” His head tilts to the side. 

His tone makes you hesitate before you nod, agreeing to his request. 

“Then let us go.” He takes your hand in his, walking by your side through the hallways within the monastery. A breeze passes through the open widows, sending a small shiver down your spine to which Ramattra catches on instantly. 

He removes his cowl, placing the heavy fabric over your shoulders with little effort as the walking doesn’t cease. The cloak trails on the floor behind you, luckily for the daily sweeping, Ramattra doesn’t mind this happening. 

“Thank you.” Moving your hands under the cowl, the warmth from his chassis still remained within the fabric, a breathy sigh escaping your lips. “You’re warm.”

“It is my internal heating.” He chuckles.

You nod, relishing in the warmth. “I like it.” 

“I am glad you do.” 

He places his hand on your back before opening the door to his room. You could feel the heat immediately on your cheeks. 

“Why is it warmer in here than anywhere else?” You ask, stepping inside. It wasn’t the first time being in his room, but this time, it felt different. You were close beside the fire earlier, but now, just a few feet into his room, the heat was significantly hotter… or perhaps it was the ever growing feeling of lust that bubbled inside of you.

"For an omnic, I suppose I do not like the cold, either." His words carry a hint of both amusement and resignation. Omnics, being artificial intelligences, robotic in form, were not typically known for experiencing physical sensations such as cold or heat. However, Ramattra seemed to possess a unique capacity for such emotions, a testament to his advanced programming and sentience.

As Ramattra spoke, he turns his gaze towards the fireplace situated on the opposite wall. A fire crackled merrily within the hearth, the flames dancing and casting a warm glow on the surrounding area. The wood burns with a gentle roar, sending wisps of smoke curling upwards towards the ceiling.

“It’s cosy.” Perhaps it was the heat doing something to you, but there was a strange feeling settling within your body. You had something planned for when you gained the confidence to be dominant, but you figured that was far ahead in the future… Not now.

All you knew was that Ramattra never looked in places he did not need, so he wouldn’t have noticed the box you had slid under his bed a week prior. Out of sight, out of mind. 

The omnic notices you staring off into nothingness, eyes distant before he places his hand on your shoulder. 

“Is everything okay?”

The question snaps you out of the daze instantly. “Yes, sorry.” 

“No apology is necessary.” He removes his hand, adjusting his cowl on your shoulders. “Is something on your mind?” 

You blink up at him twice before answering, a sudden surge of confidence flowing through you. “Can we try something new?”

“Something new?” He quotes.”What would you like to try?” Curiosity gets the better of him. You had never been the one to suggest new ideas, usually relying on him to make the decisions, especially when it came down to anything in the bedroom.

You don’t answer him at first as your hands start gliding down his metal forearms. Ramattra watches you, optics scanning you. There was a rise in heat and not just in your cheeks.

Your hands roam his chest, one moving under the fabric of his robe and slipping it down his left arm. It pools at his waist and from there you untie the knot of his sash, folding it neatly and placing it on the dresser. The rest of his attire falls to the floor and he’s unsure of what to do. He takes a small step back before you pick it up and place it on top of the beige material. 

“You are being careful.” He states, feeling somewhat nervous at the notion. 

“You have one set of robes, I do not wish to see them ruined.” As much as I would want to tear them off, you think. 

Hands trail across his chest, fingers dipping into the spaces between metal braces. Fingertips brush over the red lights causing him to shudder, an audible sigh escaping him. He looks so vulnerable right now, allowing you to have your way with him. 

You were gentle, not wanting to scare him off. He had never let a human be so close before, never let himself be in this state. He was the one in charge at all times. It was foreign to him and perhaps it always will be.

He feels you push him backwards, his feet clanking against the stone floor before he makes contact with the bed. He sits down, now looking up at you. 

“Lay back for me and put your arms above your head.” You say and he obeys. 

Ramattra lays back, the bed dipping as his entire weight rests against it.

As he does that, you undress what clothes you had on, slipping off the robe that he had gifted you a month prior, before reaching under his bed and pulling out that box you had saved for this moment. His cowl lay against your shoulders, barely hanging on with how large it was compared to your form.

At first, he wasn’t opposed to the idea of you being on top of him, but when you pull out some rope, something shifts in his systems. Fear? No, you wouldn’t harm him, so he dismissed it. Perhaps it was curiosity? He hums quietly as you place his arms above his head, forearms touching before the rope gradually wraps around the metal. He feels every gentle touch, the sliding of the scratchy material as his sensors pick up what he cannot see. Ramattra focuses on what he can see, albeit, not very much. Had the ceiling always had that crack? The room needs dusting, I can see the particles. Wait, where did you get that box, how long has it been in here, he thought to himself.

When his arms were tightly and properly bound, he hears you move around him, fumbling with something. He didn’t move, so he laid there, watching the dust float past his vision. 

Had you always been capable of something like this? Have you been planning this for days, weeks, maybe?

The confidence only rose within you as you straddle him, leaning down to press a kiss to his faceplate where white meets gold. He feels your fingers graze his neck before something foreign wraps around it, pushing against the protected wires that resided in his neck. 

He goes to speak but is cut off by a harsh squeeze. The metal of the buckle and prong clicks against each other before resting snugly against his neck. Ramattra looks through the slits of his faceplate, optics looking up at you as the whirring of his fans get audibly louder. When you snap a leash to it, he can’t help but let out a gasp.

“What is this?” 

“I told you, I wanted to be in charge for a change.” Your tone was unlike anything he had heard before. You wrap the leash around your hand, a firm grip to signal you were in control. “Be good and lay still.”

Ramattra nods, fingers flexing before relaxing. A small tug pulls his head and neck forward, a grunt escaping his vocaliser in the process. 

“Of course.” He mutters.

The power you had over him was daunting, but you knew he trusted you. If he would trust you with his cowl, he’d trust you with whatever you had planned. You had to adjust the cowl the more you moved, however, and Ramattra couldn’t help but chuckle at the way you held it around your shoulders to stop it from slipping down. It was far too big on you, but he won’t deny that it looks good on you. 

You lean over him, his cowl dropping to expose your chest, though Ramattra’s optics were on your face. He was studying you, trying to figure out what you had planned for him. 

Fingers trail his faceplate, the other hand pulling the leash taut to bring his face closer to yours. You could hear the hum of his inner workings emanating as you press a soft kiss to his forehead. 

“You’re heating up.” There was a slight mocking tone to your voice as you speak. “Are you nervous?”

“I do not get nervous.” He lies. He can feel it himself, the way a fuzzy feeling courses through his wires, an uncertainty that he cannot place. 

A small hum escapes your throat as your free hand trails down his metal braces, eyes still watching him, ears still listening. His fans pick up speed, whirring faster with each gentle touch and trace. You can feel the heat of his body on the palm of your hand and the further down you go, the hotter he seems to be. 

“What are you doing?” Ramattra chokes back a moan, vocaliser clicking and resetting as he feels your hand push against his privacy plate. 

“It’s a shame I cannot stop you from talking.” The confidence continues to rise as the omnic makes a noise similar to a scoff. 

He knows it’s possible, but he won’t indulge you this time. 

A sudden coldness embraces his pelvic area and he shudders before your hand wraps around his cock. Slow, languid motions draw out the lowest of moans from the omnic as his head tilts back. His hips buck into your hand, wanting more friction but you deny him. 

“So needy…” You coo, pressing your lips against his left receptor. 

Ramattra is bewildered at how confident you suddenly are. From the timid nature you show almost every day to this? Something must have happened for you to be in this mood. 

“Please.” He begs, moving his head to the side when you eventually pull back. When he notices the smug look, your hand stopping at the base of his cock, does he remember that you’re in control. 

“I am sorry.” His voice drops.

“Better.” 

It’s taking everything in his power to not break free from the restraints and turn this around, to have you underneath him and begging in place of him. He feels you shuffle back before your slicked entrance lines up with his cock, another temptation he has to fight; to not thrust up into you. 

Ramattra is used to being in control. In full control. 

A steady sigh escapes him as he feels you lower yourself down onto him, cock buried deep inside of you. 

He feels larger than you remember, or perhaps it was the confidence making him feel different, either way, he felt good. 

You settle on his cock, a small grind to adjust your position which sends a wave of pleasure throughout your body. He was rubbing against your sweet spot in just that small of a movement. It wasn’t intentional, but you made sure to tug at the leash. 

Ramattra grunts, optics flicking down to you as he tries to steady his thoughts. 

Lifting your hips slowly, you draw out a low moan from the omnic beneath you, relishing in the way you saw his fists clench, arms tensing despite the metal being solid. 

You hover in that position for a second longer before slamming your hips back down onto him. Biting your lip to stifle your own whimpers and moans, you continue to bounce slowly against his pelvic plates. His cock hits deep inside of you, walls clenching around him in response. 

Ramattra wants to break free, to grab your thighs and guide you, to make you go at his pace but the harsh tugging of the leash reminds him that he has no power right now. You control him and his pleasure. 

Though the winter air was cold against your chest, your nipples peaking from the frozen air, Ramattra’s cowl continues to provide some warmth across your body alongside the ever growing heat between your legs. The omnic’s chassis was also heating up, wires burning with lust at your newfound confidence. 

The rhythmic noises of your ass connecting with his metal body rings softly in the room. Ramattra’s chest hums in ecstasy, vocaliser clicking to reset after each moan or grunt. He wants to turn away from you but every time he tries, you pull him back to face you. 

He marvels in your beauty, the confidence radiating from you as you bounce against his lap. He feels your heat, the wetness that drips onto him and down his inner thighs. What he would give to grasp you, knead into your plump thighs and ass. It was almost torture for him. 

Your moans continuously flood his receptors as you lose yourself to the pleasure at long last. With his cock driving into you at a steady fast pace, he can’t help but admire the dedication. The sheen of sweat that covers your stomach, small beads dripping down your temple to your collarbone; the firelight illuminating you entirely. You look ethereal above him. 

The grinding of your hips when you tire out only teases him more. Humans and their stamina, the omnic thinks to himself. 

Ramattra’s vision suddenly gets blinded by cooling errors. His fans were whirring loudly but were luckily hidden behind the moaning coming from both you and him. He fears they might burn out if you continue to tease him like this so in between minor refreshes, he pumps cooling fluid through his chassis. 

When you take a moment to recollect yourself, you lean over to him, pulling the leash to bring his head a little closer before your hand catches his jaw. Your thumb gently rubs against the golden metal as you plant a kiss on his faceplate, your breath ghosting over the white. 

“You look pretty like this.” Your fingers stroke the edge of his faceplate which sends an unexpected shiver down the omnic’s back cable. 

Ramattra could feel a tingling sensation coursing through his body once again. Perhaps he was finally feeling that flustered emotion he makes you experience time and time again. A simple compliment makes such a difference and now he understands your emotions that little bit more. 

You loosen your grip on the leash as you place your hands on either side of his head, pulling up his cabled mane from under him, letting them clack against his arms above his head. 

He sighs, not realising that he had been feeling uncomfortable from those cables this entire time.

“I thank you.” His voice cracks before resetting. 

You smile as you slide backwards against him, his cock still inside of you. You draw out a guttural moan from Ramattra, one that you had never heard before which causes you to smirk. 

“Oh?” 

He turns his head to the side almost as if he was ashamed but that didn’t last long as your fingers and thumb grip his chin to make him face you. 

“Don’t turn away from me.”

He attempts to move his head away again just to see what you would do and when you sharply turn him back, grip tightening, he gives in. You were not letting him go no matter how hard he may try. 

Ramattra knows his strength; he knows how easy he could turn this entire scene around, but the look on your face as you sit back up and continue to ride his cock was the only thing stopping him. 

Why should he deny your pleasure? Perhaps he could aid you, despite your domination over him. 

He waits, focussing on your features; the scrunching of your face as you chase your high, the slipping of his cowl on your shoulders that you hold up with your free hand. Oh, those collarbones shining from the sweat and firelight, he wants to trace them with his fingers. Your hips that curved perfectly, he wants to grab them as he pounds you into the mattress. 

Ramattra’s restraint was waning, a coil burning up inside of him as he hides behind static. He wants to turn his head and avoid your gaze when you slip back into the moment and tug at the leash. 

“Fuck…” You head dipped before your body fell forward, hands grasping at his metal chest braces. Your hips didn’t stop slamming down onto his cock, hitting just that bit deeper that sent sparks flying. 

He could feel you clenching around him, the telltale sign that you were close. Your breathing hitches, whimpers escaping your throat as you bite down hard on one of the tubes that runs down his neck. 

Ramattra groans out, a mix of pain and pleasure as his head tilts back, system flaring with errors. 

Saliva mixed with contact oil drips from your lips and onto the leather collar, teeth sinking into the tubing that little bit further. 

The omnic stutters your name before involuntarily thrusting up into you, head lolling back before his systems crash. The sudden push inside of you causes you to slip over the edge, almost screaming his name as you came around him. 

Spasming walls eventually relax alongside your panting after you ride your high out, though Ramattra lay motionless beneath you. 

His systems take a minute or so before coming back online, his fans whirring softly alongside the crackling of the fire. 

The subtle sting of a bruise begins to form inside of you, but that does not deter you from seeking one more whilst the omnic is still in his booting up state. 

Slow, rhythmic rolls of your hips pull another static filled moan from Ramattra. His optics calibrate as he stares up at you, fingers flexing before relaxing. System errors clear, your face and body in view.

The cocky smirk on your face after he moans once more was all he needed to turn the tables. His hips buck into you, causing you to whimper and fall back to his chest and whilst you try to collect yourself, wanting to tug that leash and scold him for his movements, his arms were broken free from your restraints. 

Padded hands grab at your hips and squeeze, which in turn makes you yelp out. You turn your head to look at him, eyes wide.

“Playtime is over.” His tone was low as he moves his leg, hooking yours with it and rolling you over. With your head landing back on the pillow with a soft thud, you can’t help but admire the sight above you. 

Pulling down on the leash, you bring him close to your face, the shock quickly diminishing. 

“I won’t go down so easily.” You tilt your head forward in defiance and Ramattra scoffs, pushing deeper into you. 

Biting your lip to stifle a moan, Ramattra chuckles, his chest rumbling as his snakes his hand up your side. 

“Is that so, pet?” Just those words alone made you clench down on him and he feels it all too well. 

He watches you, almost like he’s waiting for a reaction. Slowly, almost torturously does he slip out of you, listening to the gasp you let out from being empty. 

“Not so confident now, are you?” You could hear the smirk in his tone as he thrusts back into you. One hand was on your side, trailing over your skin before gripping your hip tightly while the other hand moves down, padded thumb pressing gently against your clit. 

Small circular movements send sparks flying as you writhe underneath him, moaning and cussing under your breath. 

“Awh, look at you.” He hums, cock buried deep inside of you as he presses his faceplate against your neck. A small vibration is felt; a kiss. “So good for me.” 

Ramattra didn’t slow down as he fucks you rough, thumb moving at a faster pace to draw out your whimpers and pleas. 

“R-Ramattra…” Despite the dwindling confidence, you pull on the leash. “Do not cum.”

“Oh?” He chuckles. “I believe you are close. Are you able to hold out that long?” 

You glare up at him, that snarky tone of his fueling the fire. “Try me.” 

“Looks like my little pet still has some confidence.” 

A subtle smirk crosses your lips. “Are you forgetting something?” You press a hand against his tubing at his hips before tugging at it which causes his vocaliser to glitch mid moan and momentarily pause his movements. “That’s what I thought.” 

Ramattra scoffs when he regains control, thumb pressed against your clit but not moving. He feels the heat, the throbbing, the way you clench down on his cock. “Perhaps you do not quite understand.”

He doesn’t wait before he slams his hips back against your body, rough motions driving you closer to the edge once more. You retaliate, squeezing the tubing, any free cable you could find before sinking your teeth back down on his neck. 

His hand moves from your hip, settling down beside your shoulder for support as he stays atop of you. The slapping of metal and skin resonates within the room, the fire still burning bright and softly illuminating the two of you as you both get lost in pleasure and fighting for dominance. 

You knew you couldn’t flip him over, you just had to do what you could from below. Biting, scratching, tugging, whatever would rouse a reaction form the omnic. 

Ramattra enjoyed the struggle, watching you writhe underneath him as he continued to abuse your aching cunt. The way your face contorts in pleasure and then a single moment of defiance causes him to move faster, harder. 

It was taking everything in you to not fall, to not give him the satisfaction that he was in control. Ramattra will not win, not this time. 

Tugging the leash again, you bring him back down, fingers grazing the golden metal as you catch his head in your hands. You stare up at him, lust crazed eyes as you move your legs, wrapping them around his back to secure him in place.

“You do not give in, do you?” He smirks, pushing that little bit further inside of you. His body heats up at the moan you let out, receptors echoing it to his systems.

“Not tonight.” You pull him down, hands tangling within his cabled mane as you trace your tongue over the underside of his jaw before sliding back down his neck. You feel him shudder under your touch, though his thrusts don’t falter. 

He wants to fight back, push you deep against the mattress and fuck you mercilessly but there was something about tonight that holds him back. The defiance that you show makes him want to see how far you’ll push.

Ramattra feels you grab at the cable down his spine, a whimpered cuss escapes from your lips as you bury your head against his shoulder, teeth grazing his frame. 

You’re slipping and he knows it. 

He slows down his tormenting movements against your clit as he speaks, tone teasing. “How long can you last, pet?” 

“Shut up…” You whimper, eyes shut tight as you hold onto the omnic, moans and whimpers warming his receptors. Every thrust, every pinch and squeeze pushes you closer. It wasn’t going to take much, but you weren’t willing to let go just yet. 

Ramattra shuffles his arm under your back, holding you against his chassis and closing that small space between him and you. He feels you tense, stuttering your whines. 

He wants to speak, but the teeth that sink into his tubing causes him to do the same, stuttered and static moans breaking through. 

“Cum for me…” You moan, biting down once more as your hand tugs at the cable in his back. He hates how sensitive he can get around you, but he loves the way you make him feel. 

Ramattra’s hand gently scratches your back as he continues to thrust into you, eventually getting sloppy as his systems overheat. Errors cloud his vision but before he has chance to shut down from system overload, he hears your cries and feels you clench and spasm around him. 

—

When he finally reboots awhile later, seemingly longer than the last time, his hold on you loosens. He hears your soft breathing, the gentle rise and fall of your chest against his, the soft thumping of your heart. 

He speaks out, as he lifts himself away from you. “Are you okay?” 

You hum in response, the mattress suddenly feeling a lot more comfortable than before. “Are you?”

He shakes his head but not in response to your question, wanting you to answer him first as his cock slips out of you, a small whine from you makes him chuckle. “Are you okay?” 

“Yes.” You smile at him. “Yes, I’m fine.” You look at his neck and the teeth marks that are deep in his tubing before noticing a small droplet of oil seeping through. “Is it bad?” 

“No.” He speaks as he cleans up, gently pressing a towel against your bruised cunt. “A simple fix.”

You lets out a relieved sigh, jerking slightly as he cleans you up, still sensitive from your climax. 

“Your confidence was surprising, I will give you that.” He states as he pulls up a blanket and rests besides you, hand trailing your stomach in soothing motions. His cowl still rests against your shoulders as you cuddle up close to him, you own fingers trailing his metal braces. 

The warmth of his body was comfortable against your bare skin, the soft humming of his inner workings lulling you to sleep. “Thank you.” Your voice was soft, almost a mumble as you try to stay awake. 

Your hand gently holds onto the leash that was still situated around his neck. Maybe he forgot about removing it when cleaning up, or perhaps he was waiting for you to do the honours of taking it off, but either way, it served as a reminder for the night you had just spent. The fire stays burning on the other side of the room as the two of you lay together on the bed, wrapped up in the blanket and fighting the exhaustion that was slowly taking over. However, it was a losing battle as your body relaxes and sleep drags you under.

His arms pull you closer to him, hand brushing against your arm as he pulls the cowl up to cover your shoulder. “Perhaps next time you will not slip.” He chuckles. 

“Next time you will obey.” A sharp yet sleepy tug on the leash causes the omnic to squeeze your arm in a startled response. 

“We shall see about that.”

[amybizarre]

🎄✨𝓐𝓭𝓿𝓮𝓷𝓽 𝓢𝓮𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓼 𝓝𝓻. 𝓝𝓲𝓷𝓮✨🎄

𝓟𝓻𝓸𝓶𝓹𝓽: Snowed In

𝓐𝓵𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓷𝓪𝓽𝓮: All

𝓣𝔂𝓹𝓮: Headcanons

𝓞𝓹𝓮𝓷 𝓽𝓸𝓭𝓪𝔂'𝓼 𝓭𝓸𝓸𝓻!

You got snowed in with the different alternates! Here's what they want to do for the day!

OG

He just wants to paint and create art with you. It's a day full of creative progress. You ever teach each other new techniques!

Opposite

Not fond of the situation and avoids you at first. Gets bored quickly though and seeks your company anyway. You end up chatting about literature and read together.

RF

Oh boi! You can't leave? Time for overtime baby! :D He's catching up with you on all the experiments you two didn't have time for previously. And the paperwork of course.

Gray

He's super anxious about the whole situation. He doesn't want to bother you too much and is very quiet. You ask him if he's okay and he admits he's worried about being snowed in. Will it go away soon? How long will you be stuck? Do you have enough food to last? You reassure him everything was going to be fine. You two spend the day with cuddles and naps to pass the time.

Actor

Charms you into helping him rehearse for the next day of filming, pick outfits for photoshoots and create content for his social media. He somehow manages to keep you busy the entire day.

Reboot

Video games all day! Prepare for hourlong tournaments in Mario Kart or Wii Sports! He'll definitely make you play a horror game once it gets dark.

Hunter

Decides to teach you some self defense. He's a pretty good trainer. Also teaches you about the multiverse so you can help him in case of an emergency.

Priest

Somehow ropes you into participating in his religious practices. Nothing too shady, just a couple readings, prayers and a "cleansing" of his home. Makes it up to you in the afternoon by making you cookies and tea.

Mob

Keeps trying to convince (read: force) you to join his family. Goes on and on about how he could provide you with a much better and luxurious life. Since you're in his HQ you end up fleeing to the bar on the ground floor and mingle with the other family members instead. Mob luckily mistakes that as a positive development in his favor and leaves you alone.

Royal

Practices some magic with you. He performs a spell that temporarily transfers a fraction of his powers to you, so you get to play around with magic for the day. In the evening you were capale of performing basic spells like "Fireball".

(Yes, Fireball is a refrence. XD)

Butcher

Is surprisingly nice to you. Offers to cook you a nice meal. With pork, poultry or beef! He swears on the love of his dead mother it's normal meat! He's just glad he has some company and a potential friend for once. He'd do almost anything you ask of him in order to make you like him.

Lovesick

Practically glued to your side. Follows you around like a puppy, adoring you shamelessly. He keeps rambling on and on about various topics, while you move around the house, trying to clean up a bit. It's a yapper & listener kind of deal. Eventually you're done with chores and it's time for mandatory cuddles. He tries to sneak a few kisses from you like usual. His yapping turns to complimenting you.

Jazzy

Time for your much needed exercise, baby! Or should I say... Jazzercise? >:3 Heh, bro tries his best to coax you into exercising with him offering the occasional break with healthy snacks and drinks.

Swan

It's winter and his wings are still molting. He asks if you could help him preen them, since they're sooo itchy and he can't see the ones on his head properly. You agree to help, which takes the majority of the day.

Killer

You seize the opportunity to trap him on a chair, so you can fix some new tears in his felt. After that you reward him for his compliance with an apple and a careful hug.

[mollyappreciationweek]

The Molly Hooper Appreciation Week Winter Prompt-A-Thon 2024 Is A Go!

So sorry this is late; I had a minor medical emergency this week with my mom (she's fine, just in pain) and I've had some sleep issues, but a week in, we're ready to go!

The Prompt-A-Thon rules are simple: send an ask with however many prompts you want (up to five) and the blog username you want your prompts sent to. You have from now, December 7th, to December 31st to request prompts. If you finish a prompt, you can request another. You have as long to answer these prompts as you want, as our 2024 round AO3 collection is always open to new fic.

The prompts are going to be made up by me and will be in the form of sentences, unless I can find my list of sentence prompts from last round. But please, feel free to partake1 If you plan on doing art instead of fic, let me know and I'll provide a simpler non-sentence prompt.

[fibula-rasa]

Cosplay the Classics: Nazimova in Salomé (1922)—Part 1

My cosplay of Nazimova as Salomé

The Importance of Being Peter: Nazimova’s Take on Wilde

With over two decades of professional acting experience behind her (six on the “shadow stage” of silent cinema), Alla Nazimova went independent. She was one of the highest paid stars in Hollywood at the start of 1922 when her contract with Metro ended. Almost exclusively using her own savings, Nazimova founded a new production company and immediately got to work on two films that reflected both a deep understanding of her own fan base and a faith in the American filmgoer’s appreciation for art.

Discourse around these films and their productions that have emerged in the century since their release are often peppered with over-simplifications or a lack of perspective. Focus is understandably placed on Salomé, as her first project, A Doll’s House (1922), has not survived. In part one of this series, I plan to contextualize Nazimova’s decision to commit Wilde’s drama to celluloid and examine the details of the adaptation. Then, in part two, I will cover how Salomé (and A Doll’s House) fits into the industry trends and the emergent studio system in the early 1920s.

While the full essay and more photos are available below the jump, you may find it easier to read (formatting-wise) on the wordpress site. Either way, I hope you enjoy the read!

Wilde’s Salomé: The Basics

Salomé was a one-act drama written by Oscar Wilde. In a creative challenge to himself, Salomé was one of Wilde’s first plays and he chose to write in French, which he did not have as complete a mastery of as of English. Wilde was directly inspired by the Flaubert story “Herodias,” which was, in turn, inspired by the short story which appears twice in the New Testament. The play was later translated into English and published with illustrations by artist Aubrey Beardsley. Wilde’s play was the basis of the opera of the same name by Richard Strauss. While both the opera and the play had been staged numerous times across Europe and in New York before Nazimova’s adaptation, Strauss’ opera was the main reference point for the story in the popular imagination of the time. The success of Strauss’ opera led to the popularization of the Dance of the Seven Veils and the accepted interpretation of the character as a classic femme fatale.

My cosplay of Nazimova as Salomé

Nazimova’s Salomé: The Basics

When Nazimova announced her production of Salomé, she did so assured that she and Natacha Rambova, her art director, had a unique and creatively compelling interpretation of the story to warrant adaptation. Nazimova was not only the star and producer of Salomé, she adapted it from its source herself under her pen name Peter M. Winters. (Cheekily, contemporary interviews and profiles joke that “Peter” is one of her common nicknames.) Charles Bryant, credited as director, was as much the director of the film as he was Nazimova’s husband, which is to say, he is not known to have contributed much at all. It’s now accepted fact that Bryant acted as a professional beard (Bryant and Nazimova were also never legally married). The choice to credit Bryant was to offset the heat Nazimova was getting in the press at the time for “taking on too much.” Having Bryant’s name in the credits was a protective measure. Charles Van Enger was a talented, up-and-coming cinematographer who had been recommended to Nazimova following the inadequate cinematography of her Metro films.

Rambova was in charge of the art direction, set designs, costumes, and makeup. Nazimova and Rambova had become close artistic collaborators after Nazimova hired Rambova to design the fantasy sequence for her film Billions (1920, presumed lost). [You can learn more about Rambova’s career here.] Both women valued their work above all else. Both were convinced that film could be art. Both had the gumption to believe that they could make a lasting mark on cinema’s recognition as a legitimate medium of artistic expression.* (Spoiler: even though Salomé was not an unqualified box-office success, they were right.)

Photo of the Salomé crew from Exhibitors Herald, 29 April 1922. Original caption: Nazimova ordered this picture taken that she might be reminded of the real pleasure encountered in every stage of the production of “Salome.” Top, left to right: Monroe Bennett, laboratory; Charles Bryant, director; Mildred Early, secretary; John DePalma, assistant director. Second row: Sam Zimbalist, cutter; Natacha Rambova, art director; Charles J. Van Enger, cameraman; the star; R. W. McFarland, manager. Front row: Neal Jack, electrician; Paul Ivano, cameraman; Lewis Wilson, cameraman.

Nazimova’s independence was at least partly spurred on by feeling creatively bereft from her work at Metro. In a 1926 interview with Adela Rogers St. Johns, Nazimova said:

“You asked me why I made ‘Salome.’ Well—’Salome’ was a purgative. […] It seems impossible now that I should ever have been asked to play such parts as ‘The Heart of a Child’ and ‘Billions.’ But I was. And instead of saying, ‘No. I will not play such trash. I will not play roles so wholely [sic] unsuited to me in every way,’ I went on and played them because of my contract, and they ruined me. “WORSE than that, they [made] me sick with myself. So I did ‘Salome’ as a purgative. I wanted something so different, so fanciful, so artistic, that it would take the taste out of my mouth. ‘Salome’ was my protest against cheap realism. Maybe it was a mistake. But—I had to do it. It was not a mistake for me, myself.”

Given that Nazimova now had full creative freedom, outside of the confines of the Hollywood film factory, why were A Doll’s House and Salomé the first works she gravitated towards?

Initially, Nazimova had conceived of a “repertoire” concept for her productions: one shorter production (A Doll’s House) and one feature-length production (Salomé), which could be distributed and exhibited together. Once production was underway for ADH, Nazimova instead chose to make it a feature. The reasons for this decision that I found in contemporary sources are purely creative, but I don’t think it’s too much of a presumption that this may have been a financial choice, as profits from ADH (which unfortunately wouldn’t materialize—more on that in part two!) could have been cycled into Salomé’s production.

Ibsen was not popular source material for the silent screen, but Nazimova’s name and career was forever tied to the playwright as she is considered the actress who brought Ibsen to the US. (Minnie Maddern Fiske starred in a production of Hedda Gabbler in the US before Nazimova, however it failed to raise the profile of the writer.) Nazimova’s stage productions of Ibsen’s work proved that there was an audience for it in the US—both in New York and on tour. Superficially, ADH might seem like a risky proposition, but Nazimova had good reason to believe it had both artistic and box office potential. (Again, I’ll delve into why it might not have found its audience in part two.)

Nazimova as Nora in A Doll’s House

Though ADH is now lost, we know from surviving materials that Nazimova understood that by 1922 The New Woman archetype was already becoming passé to the post-war/post-pandemic generation of young women. Nazimova endeavored to translate the play in a way that would resonate with 1920s American womanhood. (How well she succeeded is lost to time unless we are lucky enough to recover a copy of the film.) Likewise, Nazimova approached her adaptation of Salomé with a keen eye for the concerns of modern independent women.

——— ——— ———

*Incidentally, both women also had a personal connection to Wilde. Nazimova was a close friend and colleague of Elizabeth Marbury, who worked as Wilde’s agent. Rambova spent summers at her aunt’s (Elsie de Wolfe) villa in France where she lived with her longtime partner, Marbury.

My cosplay of Nazimova as Salomé

The Adolescence of Salome

In the decade following the end of the First World War, there was a great cultural shift for women in America, who experienced and pursued greater independence in society—particularly young and/or unmarried women. This quality was emblematized in the Flappers and the Jazz Babies, but even women who didn’t participate in these subcultures lived lifestyles removed from “home and family” ideals of the past. The lifestyle change was mirrored aesthetically. As Frederick Lewis Allen describes in Only Yesterday: An Informal History of the 1920s:

“These changes in fashion—the short skirt, the boyish form, the straight, long-waisted dresses, the frank use of paint—were signs of a real change in the American feminine ideal (as well, perhaps, as in men’s idea of what was the feminine ideal). […] the quest of slenderness, the flattening of the breasts, the vogue of short skirts (even when short skirts still suggested the appearance of a little girl), the juvenile effect of the long waist,—all were signs that, consciously or unconsciously, the women of this decade worshiped not merely youth, but unripened youth […] Youth was their pattern, but not youthful innocence: the adolescent whom they imitated was a hard-boiled adolescent, who thought not in terms of romantic love, but in terms of sex, and who made herself desirable not by that sly art that conceals art, but frankly and openly.”*

Allen’s summary of youthful womanhood in the 1920s resounds so clearly in the character design and performance of Nazimova’s Salomé, it’s apparent that she and Rambova were thoroughly informed by contemporary trends around young/independent women. Belén Ruiz Garrido puts it succinctly in her great essay on the film “Besare tu boca, Iokanaan. Arte y experiencia cinematografica en Salomé de Alla Nazimova:”

“Las concomitancias con la flapper o la it girl de los felices años veinte son evidentes. Se muestra mimosa, pero su seducción es como un juego de niña. / The similarities with the flapper or the it girl of the roaring twenties are obvious. She performs affection, but her seduction is like child’s play.” (translation mine)

Nazimova was also fully conscious that her fanbase was predominantly female and that she held significant appeal for younger women. From the moment she signed her first American theatrical contract with Lee Shubert, Nazimova’s status as a queer idol was already being established.

“The women… were enthusiastic about [Nazimova]… [At the hotel, the] ladies’ entrance was always crowded with women waiting for her to return from the theatre. It is much better that she should be exclusive and meet no one if possible. They regard her as a mystery. And there are other damned good reasons besides this one.”  – citation: A. H. Canby to Lee Shubert, December 29, 1908**

While women, particularly middle-class women, were emerging as a prominent consumer group in the US, Nazimova’s popularity peaked on stage and on screen. Arriving in Hollywood, Nazimova also continued her trend of surrounding herself socially and professionally with other queer women. Profiles and interviews of Nazimova in the Hollywood press often contained coded language about her queerness as a wink and nudge, usually but not always accompanied by mention of her “husband” Charles Bryant.

This well-developed understanding of her primary fanbase led her to break from popular presentations of the character as an embodiment of monstrous feminine sensuality. Instead, Nazimova chose to present the character as an adolescent. While Nazimova was the first to put this read on the character on film, Marcella Craft chose an adolescent interpretation in a production Strauss’ opera in Munich and Hedwig Reicher was a teenager when she assayed the role and played it accordingly (also in Germany). (Maybe not insignificantly, Reicher was also working in Hollywood at the time of Salomé’s production.)***

This is the American pop culture landscape we’re talking about here, so of course women’s independence was rapidly codified for capitalization. Young women were moralized at for not conforming to traditional gender roles while simultaneously being framed as sexually desirable in order to sell consumer goods (including motion pictures!). The American way. It’s hard to not see social commentary in Nazimova’s reworking of this icon of wanton femininity for a new generation.

This isn’t to suggest that Nazimova’s Salomé glorifies the character, but rather that making Salomé a teen adds layers of complexity to the production. Considering it in conversation with her predecessors, Salomé isn’t even named in the New Testament stories. Flaubert built out the character with 19th century concerns in mind (though his story is more about Herod & Herodias) and Wilde shifted even more focus to Salomé. Nazimova continued that trend with her version of Salomé—an impetuous child too young and ill-equipped to constructively deal with the horrible environment she was brought up in. (Might that resonate with a generation of young people disillusioned by a World War and a pandemic?)

As Nazimova/Peter wrote in the opening intertitles to the film:

“It is at this point that the drama opens, revealing Salome who yet remains an uncontaminated blossom in a wilderness of evil.

“Though still innocent, Salome is a true daughter of her day, heiress to its passions and its cruelties. She kills the thing she loves; she loves the thing she kills, yet in her soul there shines the glimmer of the Light and she sets forth gladly into the Unknown to solve the puzzle of her own words——”

My cosplay of Nazimova as Salomé

As Salomé was an experiment in pantomime for screen acting, it’s worthwhile to look at how Nazimova embodies this image of youth in her performance. In the first scenes, Salomé’s facial expressions are pouty and her movements like a bored child’s. Her wig emphasizes every movement she makes with a flurry of pearls and creates a neotenous silhouette for the character. When denied access to Jokanaan, her facial expressions are imperious, but the imperiousness of a spoiled child. She swings on the bars imprisoning Jokanaan as if they are a jungle gym. As she “charms” Narraboth, her expressions and body language shift toward a scheming energy with barely concealed artifice, displaying a distinct lack of sophistication—like she’s trying to angle a second serving of ice cream not exacting a favor of a servant that could cost his life.

Perhaps most crucially, Salomé’s adolescence emphasizes the inappropriateness of men’s gaze upon her. Wilde’s drama is built around rhythmic repetition in the dialogue—a key repetition being the act of looking. Though the play is only one act, some form of “regarder” in relation to Salomé is repeated nineteen times—most often in some form of “don’t look at her” or “you shouldn’t look at her that way.” As Salomé is a silent film, to repeat this in intertitles nineteen times in intertitles would be absurd. Throughout the film, frequent close ups are strategically employed to visually recreate the rhythmic emphasis on gazing. (The purpose of this device seems to have been lost on one reviewer for Exhibitors Herald who said in his review: ”too many close ups.”) Additionally, the motif is foregrounded by front-loading the mentions of looking. As soon as the opening narration ends, we’re introduced to Herod behaving lecherously toward Salomé and Herodias telling him not to look at her. The perversity of Herod is amplified here because Salomé is not only his niece and his step-daughter, but also a child. This scene is followed by Narraboth and the page having a similar interaction, albeit with a different tone.

As Nazimova put it herself in a profile in Close-Up magazine:

“The men about her are obnoxious; they cannot even look upon her decently. She loathes them all. Even the Syrian [Narraboth] whose approach is of all the most respectful and decorous, is of his times and his love is tempered with the alloy of lust.”

In the film, Salomé’s rage against Herod is justified, and her rage against Jokanaan is a raw confusion of emotions—she doesn’t have the capacity to act constructively. When the first unfortunate man commits suicide over her, she barely takes notice, establishing Salome’s blasé attitude toward death. When the second man takes his life this time directly in front of her, Salomé only notices after almost tripping on his body. Her response is giving the body an annoyed kick for tripping her! The key phrase of the drama is “The mystery of love is greater than the mystery of death.” Salomé is surrounded by death, enveloped by it, but love (of any kind) is unknown to her until Jokanaan. So, when her love of Jokanaan is rebuked, she reverts to the only response that has been nurtured into her: death.

Nazimova’s Salomé is a perfect surviving example of a quality of her acting described in an uncredited review of Nazimova’s theatrical work:

“If the actress you’re seeing knows what she’s saying but you don’t, it’s Mrs. [Minnie Maddern] Fiske. But if the actress doesn’t know what she is saying and you do, it’s Alla Nazimova.”****

We as viewers understand what Salomé is going through, but she is being psychologically buffeted by fate and circumstance without ever comprehending the nature of it. The tumultuous feelings brought on by Salomé’s first brush with the spiritual (rather than the sexual), launches her into an accelerated ripening of her cruelty. This is masterfully communicated by Nazimova through facial expression and body language and accentuated by Rambova’s costuming.

As Herman Weinberg put it in his essay “The Function of the Actor:”

“The true film crystalizes action for us. ‘To see eternity in a grain of sand,’ the poet said. ‘To see a life cycle in an hour and a half’ is the modern screen parallel.”

Because of the emotional scale of Nazimova’s performance in Salomé, it has been variously described as “bizarre” or “grotesque”—though not always said derogatorily. That’s on point, as Nazimova’s performance is only one expression of her protest against realism in the film.

——— ——— ———

*If you’re interested in the 1920s at all, I highly recommend Allen’s book. The section this quote is from has a detailed survey of changes in American women’s lifestyles throughout the 1920s.

**as quoted in “Alla Nazimova: ‘The Witch of Makeup’” by Robert A. Schanke

***Gavin Lambert’s biography of Nazimova intimates that she referenced the 1917 Tairov production of Wilde’s Salomé, which she reportedly had a detailed description of. Reading about the production for myself in Mark Slonim’s Russian Theatre: from the Empire to the Soviets, I’m not sure what precisely she would have drawn from this production. It doesn’t seem to have much in common with the ‘22 film at all. That said, in a 1923 interview with Malcolm H. Oettinger in Picture-Play Magazine, Nazimova admits that in preparing for the film, she compiled a large scrapbook of previous productions and artistic interpretations of the story and character. Unfortunately, though Lambert clearly did voluminous research for his biography, his presentation and interpretation leaves a lot to be desired. Most of the things I tried to verify or try to find more information on from the book proved to be misrepresentations or were factually incorrect. So, I’m avoiding quoting Lambert without verification, unless what I’m citing is directly taken from a primary source; like a quote from Nazimova’s correspondence.

****quotation is from an uncredited clipping held by the Nazimova archive in Columbus, Georgia as quoted in Gavin Lambert’s biography

Illustration of Nazimova as Salomé by F. Corral from The Story World, March 1923

Nazimova and Rambova’s Modernist Phantasy

The assurance that Rambova and Nazimova felt that they had something new to bring to Salomé was obviously not solely founded in a character interpretation updated for the screen and for the decade. The two crafted a singular work born of pastiche in a manner that genuinely had not been done before in the American film industry. It’s often repeated that Salomé is America’s first art film. This may have its origin in promotional materials* made for the initial release of the film. Before the film’s official release, Bryant, Nazimova, and Paul Ivano (assistant camera & Nazimova’s on-again-off-again lover) arranged preview screenings and a few reviews from those screenings mention in some form that Salomé was a direct retort to the notion that art cannot be made with a camera.

What constituted the Nazimova/Rambova strategy to elevate film to the status of art? Both women had around six years of experience working in film (twelve collectively), but both came from a live performance background—theatrical acting and ballet respectively. Salomé is a film based on a stage play (though not strictly based on any one production of that play). Salomé inherits its symbology (first and foremost the moon) from its source material, but the filmmakers found creative ways of communicating and remixing symbols for the camera. The art design is inspired by Aubrey Beardsley’s illustrations for a printed edition of the play, though Rambova pulled more broadly from art-nouveau to devise designs that are in no way unoriginal.

As for the much discussed Dance of the Seven Veils, in my opinion, Nazimova’s execution is inspired by the dance described in Flaubert’s “Herodias” rather than a previous live performance.

“Again the dancer paused; then, like a flash, she threw herself upon the palms of her hands, while her feet rose straight up into the air. In this bizarre pose she moved about upon the floor like a gigantic beetle; then stood motionless.

“The nape of her neck formed a right angle with her vertebrae. The full silken skirts of pale hues that enveloped her limbs when she stood erect, now fell to her shoulders and surrounded her face like a rainbow. Her lips were tinted a deep crimson, her arched eyebrows were black as jet, her glowing eyes had an almost terrible radiance; and the tiny drops of perspiration on her forehead looked like dew upon white marble.”

Clearly, I’m not implying that what’s described above is exactly what we see on screen. My thought instead is that Nazimova may have drawn inspiration for the dance to be provocative in an uncanny way instead of provocative in a conventionally sensuous way. What we do see on screen is a distinct lack of practiced sensuality and an element of menace. The former comes both from Salomé’s youthfulness and from the logic that, as Salomé has already gotten Herod to give her his word in front of dignitaries, there’s no need for seduction. The latter is brought on by the expression of Salomé’s fractured emotional state and feelings about Herod. In execution, the use of close-ups again serves a major purpose. Intercutting close-up reactions from those gathered at the court provides a crescendo to the motif of looking, which is then pivotally reversed in the kiss scene. Cutting to close-ups of Salomé’s face accents the ecstatic and maniacal quality of the dance. Together this variation of shots creates an effect that could only work on film.

Salomé has a significant appreciation for its non-cinematic antecedents, but filtered through the prism of Nazimova’s and Rambova’s own creative strengths and sensibilities—a melding of theater and graphic art into something not only fresh but also totally cinematic.

It speaks to their filmmaking skill that all of these ideas and influences do in fact come together as a cohesive yet wholly unconventional film. Some critics of Salomé (both contemporary and modern) will cite vague notions of theatricality, or state that the film is only a series of tableaux, or that the limited sets don’t depart enough from a stage presentation. Art is in the eye of the beholder, but I think whether those specific elements preclude Salomé from being cinematic is a matter of perspective.

The oversized, stylized nature of Salomé’ssets might at first register as theatrical, but those same sets also serve to amp up the anti-real nature of the film. It’s uncharitable to Rambova to suggest that this artificiality was not a conscious artistic decision. If you have seen the sequences she designed with Mitchell Leisen for De Mille’s Forbidden Fruit (1921) then you have seen her demonstrated understanding of how designs register on camera. The gorgeously executed lighting effects in Salomé that are employed to to sublimate tone shifts could feasibly be recreated in a theatrical setting, here, filtered through the camera of Van Enger, register as thoroughly cinematic.

To once again quote “The Function of the Actor” by Weinberg:

“In nine movies out of ten (most particularly those emanating from the film factories of Hollywood), the actors stand around and talk to each other, relieved only by periodic bursts of someone going in or out of a doorway. (Sixty percent of the action in the average Hollywood movie consists of people going in and out of doors.) […] 

“The actor going through a doorway may be a necessary device on the stage, to get him on and off. But Pudovkin has made a neat distinction between the realities of stage and screen: ‘The film assembles the elements of reality to build from them a new reality proper to itself; and the laws of time and space that, in sets and footage of the stage are fixed and fast, are in the film entirely altered.’ On the stage, that is, an event seems to occur in the same length of time it would occupy in life. On the screen, however, the camera records only the significant parts of the event, and so the filmic time is shorter than the real time of the event.”

Weinberg cites Pudovkin in an amusing but illustrative way here. People may throw “overly theatrical” or “stagey” casually, but more often than not the distinction between theatrical/cinematic comes down to how space and time is traversed. Even if the base material, a narrative drama for example, is shared between stage and screen, there should be a thoughtful construction of geography and chronology. Could Salomé have played more creatively with space? Perhaps. But, for a film made in early 1922, its creative geography isn’t all that uninventive. The majority of the action in Salomé takes place exclusively on one set, so it does rely a lot on the types of comings and goings that Weinberg identifies with theatre. That said, there are some comings and goings that forcefully pull the audience away from the feeling of stagey-ness. The most consequential occurs in the scene with the first suicide, which I previously mentioned in the context of developing Salomé‘s character and environment. The man runs to the ledge of the courtyard, beholds the moon, and leaps. Cut to a wide, back-lit shot of the figure plunging to nowhere, establishing that the city above the clouds depicted in the art titles and opening credits is the actual physical location that film is taking place in. It’s a genuinely startling moment in the film and Salomé’s most evocative use of creative geography.

The majority of legitimate critical appraisal at the time of Salomé’s release recognize it as an achievement in film art, even highlighting artsiness as a potential selling point. As art cinemas started popping up in the US, Salomé stayed in circulation. Appreciation grew. Legends emerged around its production. And, now one hundred years later, it’s safe to say that Salomé has earned and kept its place as a fixture of the history of film art. As we are lucky enough to have the complete film to watch, assess, reassess, and debate its qualities as a work of cinematic art, I’m positive that conversation on Salomé will continue. 

So, if Salomé was appreciated in its time, why did it ruin and bankrupt Nazimova? What was going on in the American film industry at the time? Find out in part two!

“If we have made something fine, something lasting, it is enough. The commercial end of it does not interest me at all. I hate it. This I do know: we must live, and I must live well. I have suffered—enough. Never again shall I suffer. But most of all am I concerned in creating something that will lift us all above this petty level of earthly things. My work is my god. I want to build what I know is fine, what I feel calling for expression. I must be true to my ideals—” — Nazimova on Salomé quoted in “The Complete Artiste” by Malcolm Oettinger

——— ——— ———

*As of the time of writing, I haven’t been able to track down a complete copy for the campaign book for the film, so I’m relying on fragments, quotes, and second-hand references to its content.

——— ——— ———

Read Part Two Here

——— ——— ———

☕Appreciate my work? Buy me a coffee! ☕

——— ——— ———

Bibliography/Further Reading

(This isn’t an exhaustive list, but covers what’s most relevant to the essay above!)

Salomé by Oscar Wilde [French/English]

“Herodias” by Gustave Flaubert [English]

Cosplay the Classics: Natacha Rambova

Lost, but Not Forgotten: A Doll’s House (1922)

“Temperament? Certainly, says Nazimova” by Adela Rogers St. Johns in Photoplay, October 1926

“Newspaper Opinions” in The Film Daily, 3 January 1923

“Splendid Production Values But No Kick in Nazimova’s “Salome” in The Film Daily, 7 January 1923

“SALOME” in The Story World, March 1923

“SALOME’ —Class AA” from Screen Opinions, 15 February 1923

“The Complete Artiste” by Malcolm H. Oettinger in Picture-Play Magazine, April 1923

“Famous Salomes” by Willard H. Wright in Motion Picture Classic, October 1922

“Nazimova’s ‘Salome’” by Walter Anthony in Closeup, 5 January 1923

“Alla Nazimova: ‘The Witch of Makeup’” by Robert A. Schanke in Passing Performances: Queer Readings of Leading Players in American Theater History

“Besare tu boca, Iokanaan. Arte y experiencia cinematografica en Salome de Alla Nazimova” by Belén Ruiz Garrido (Wish I had read this at the beginning of my research and writing instead of near the end as it touches upon a few of the same points as my essay! Highly recommended!)

“The Function of the Actor” by Herman Weinberg

“‘Out Salomeing Salome’: Dance, The New Woman, and Fan Magazine Orientalism” by Gaylyn Studlar in Visions of the East: Orientalism in Film

Nazimova: A Biography by Gavin Lambert (Note: I do not recommend this without caveat even though it’s the only monograph biography of Nazimova. Lambert did a commendable amount of research but his presentation of that research is ruined by misrepresentations, factual errors, and a general tendency to make unfounded assumptions about Nazimova’s motivations and personal feelings.)

Only Yesterday: An Informal History of the 1920s by Frederick Lewis Allen

Russian Theatre: from the Empire to the Soviets by Mark Slonim

[decaflondonfog]

in a past life we were both blessed to share, my beloved friend bee used to post a little weekly/monthly list of fics. well. it's been a very long time since then but i think bee is very cool, so i'm stealing their idea :) sorry/thank u, bee! ily!!!!!!

here's what i read this week, in case you're feeling uninspired, overwhelmed by choice or just too tired to scroll through your marked for later/many opened tabs!

[❣️ marks a personal favourite, 💦 a particularly hot one, ⚡ is for when you want your heart kicked, and ☁️ for a soft and gentle hug]

a full feast (over 40k)

❣️💦⚡ out to get you (to get you) by iliacquer [mdzs, wangxian, E, 41k]

In order to kill the Demon of Yiling, assassin Lan Wangji pretends to be courtesan. Falling in love with Wei Wuxian is an unfortunate complication. (Or: the courtesan-but-actually-assassin!LWJ fic)

☁️ Emergency Contact by @justlookfrightened [omgcp, zimbits, T, 49k]

Bitty had not spoken to or heard from Jack since they had broken up six months earlier. Until he got hurt, and discovered that he had never updated his emergency contact form ...

a nice long meal (over 10k)

💦 Pivot Tables by rainbowninja167 [9-1-1, buddie, E, 26k]

“You think we should have sex?” Eddie clarified — still in that slow, deliberate tone, like any sudden movement would cause the ceiling to cave in around them. Buck rolled his eyes. “I mean…not for real.” “Okay. So you think we should have fake sex." “Yeah, like reading Our Bodies, Ourselves isn’t the same as watching porn, right? It’d be educational sex.” “Well if it’s educational sex...” Or: Buck learns that Eddie's never had a prostate orgasm. Clipboard sex ensues.

💦 sloppy seconds by @nanatsuyu [aftg, kandrew, E, 12k]

"Will it wipe that frown off your face?" "Will what?" Kevin grunts. "Will you stop pouting if I blow you?" (Or: Kevin's never been on a good date, but Andrew is always there to clean up somebody else's mess.)

tea and a handful of biscuits (over 1k)

❣️☁️ the last rewind by @annawrites [aftg, jeanrenee, T, 3k]

Jean works at the world's last surviving video rental store with his cryptid coworker and maybe-friend Neil, suffers the presence of customers, and nurses a terrible, horrible, no-good crush on aquarium store employee Renee, all under the watchful eye of the Kevin Day standee in the corner, a box of dubious Halloween decorations, and, unfortunately, Andrew Minyard.

⚡ chapters 1 to 7 of Little Gods by @the-starryknight [hp, drarry, M, 4k]

The Ministry claimed that the restrictions on magical education were for the good of wizard-kind, but it doesn't feel like that when Harry works his dull machinist job. With a new mission and the advent of a snowy winter season, Harry and his compatriots might find a way to keep their underground organization alive and plan for future teachings one banned artifact at a time.

☁️ Wardrobe Strategy: A Scattered Showers Story by @mrskrementz [carry on, snowbaz, E, 5k]

This work was inspired by Cutekilla's hot Baz-in-a-turtleneck artwork, as well as the cover art for Snow for Christmas, the Snowbaz short story in Rainbow Rowell's short story compilation, Scattered Showers. Simon is spending Christmas with Baz's family and things (turtlenecks, too much wine, stolen specs) happen!

bitesized nibbles (micros and drabbles)

☁️ days 1 to 8 of kevaaronmas by @billdenbrough [aftg, kevaaron, ratings vary, 100 words a day]

☁️ days 1 to 6 of kevaaronmas by @vykio [aftg, kevaaron, ratings vary, 100 words a day]

just dessert (art)

❣️ lemongrass and sleep, apple juice and peach by @emry-stars-art [aftg, kateaaron, G]

💦 d/s by @/picabutts [trc, pynch, M]

⚡ yi city arc papercraft by @yutaan [mdzs, songxuexiao, T]

[whencyclopedia]

Interview: French Fashion during the German Occupation (1940-1944)

In 2024, France is celebrating the 80th anniversary of the Liberation (1944), and as part of a series of conferences organised by the Société archéologique et historique de Beaugency, Catherine Join-Dieterle, Doctor in History of Art and General Curator of Cultural Heritage, gave a fascinating talk titled Fashion in France under the German Occupation. In this exclusive interview, Ms Join-Dieterle talks more on this subject to Babeth Étiève-Cartwright, revealing a subject that really is a lot less frivolous than it seems.

Dimanches de la femme, 24 April 1938

Dorvyne - Bibliothèque nationale de France (Public Domain)

BEC: Catherine Join-Dieterle, on behalf of World History Encyclopedia, I would like to thank you for agreeing to conduct this interview. When we hear about the German Occupation, we conjure up images that are far removed from the world of fashion and yet, fashion being a reflection of society, it played a sizeable role in those difficult years. Could you start by giving us some examples of how fashion evolved in France in the 1930s?

CJD: At the dawn of the 1930s, fashion had abandoned the short dress that had so marked the Roaring Twenties. Dresses and coats now reached mid-calf and the feminine figure, which had previously been suppressed, was now emphasised. Long, flowing dresses were worn in the evening, while suits and ensembles emphasised the waist. However, as the sound of boots grew more insistent, some designs were influenced by army outfits, with square shoulders, shako-inspired hats and the use of khaki. But there was also a much more optimistic trend, with designers such as Elsa Schiaparelli (1890-1973) and Christian Dior (1905-1957) proposing much more romantic and even surrealist outfits, influenced by artists such as Salvador Dali (1904-1989). We then saw the emergence of the shoe hat and fuller long dresses with vaporous sleeves were the order of the day.

BEC: So, what happened once the German Occupation was firmly established? The new political reality of course had many dramatic consequences on the lives of the French people, but what about fashion?

CJD: The German Occupation had many repercussions on fashion in France because of the conditions imposed on the French people. The occupying forces decided to take three-quarters of the country's production, so the French had to make do with what the Germans would be willing to let them have. Rationing was introduced, and the French were obliged to use ration coupons to buy supplies, including clothes. For example, this is what a woman was entitled to at the time:

two dresses

two aprons or blouses

one mackintosh

two pairs of winter gloves

one winter coat

three blouses

two overalls

three pairs of underpants

six pairs of stockings

six handkerchiefs

one pair of flat shoes (which had to last four years).

Fashion Poster, Costumes-Manteau, 1941

Nordiska museet (Public Domain)

Most women turned to sewing, their own resourcefulness (taking old jumpers apart), upcycling (believe it or not, this is not a recent innovation), and even the black market. With certain materials being extremely difficult to find (leather, for example), French creativity adapted by using new materials: wood for shoes, rayon (a textile fibre made from wood cellulose) for clothes and parachute fabric, which is extremely strong, to make men's shirts. Old fabrics lying around in stocks or attics were also reused (the tartan so popular in previous years made a remarkable comeback), and many outfits were in fact made up of different types of elegantly coordinated fabric.

From a stylistic point of view, fashion had to follow a new path; models became utilitarian, strict and responded to the harshness of living conditions. Outfits were therefore warmer (it was difficult to keep warm, and winters were particularly cold), quilted with cotton wool and more innovative to cope with scarcity. As it was difficult, if not impossible, to obtain leather, handbags became rare and we then saw the emergence of large pockets that made it possible to do without them. These could be sewn directly onto the garment or added using a separate belt. There was also a need for all-purpose clothing that could be used in all circumstances, and so the suit made its appearance, with a shorter skirt and a slit at the front to make it easier to ride a bicycle (petrol being a rare commodity, the bicycle experienced a remarkable boom at that time).

BEC: What about men's fashion?

CJD: There were also a lot of restrictions imposed on men. In 1942, suits and overcoats were no longer allowed to have gussets, box pleats or half-belts, and double-breasted waistcoats and knickerbockers were banned. Trousers were allowed only one pocket, and trouser cuffs were absolutely forbidden. All this to save fabric. Boys were no longer allowed to wear sailor collars and were obliged to wear short trousers until the age of 15.

1940s Utility Fashion

Laura Loveday (CC BY-NC-SA)

BEC: All repression eventually has a reaction. Did the French rebel against these rules? Knowing the contesting nature of the French people, I can't bring myself to believe that they accepted all this without batting an eyelid!

CJD: Definitely! The French were quick to get round the rules! You can only buy one pair of flat shoes every four years? Whatever! We'll make wooden shoes with platform soles! Can't find stockings in the shops? No problem, women could resort to stitching or dyeing their legs with walnut oil (not forgetting the thin black line for the seam) ... there were even ready-made kits for this. Large bags were theoretically forbidden; however, carrier bags (some made from the superb cashmere scarves so many had inherited) were worn across the shoulders, very useful for stuffing products bought in shops whenever supplies came in, and if possible, double-bottomed bags, so that documents or other secret messages could be safely transported.

Fashion would also become a means of taunting the occupying Germans as well as a means of propaganda: hats, even though banned, would rise, to keep heads held high, patterns of blue, white and red fabric with words or slogans like travail, famille, patrie ("work, family, homeland") here and there for good measure, buttons in the shape of patriotic Gallic roosters. And then there were the zazous. This French term was used to describe those young people who had "an immoderate passion for American jazz music and who made a name for themselves with their eccentric dress" (Trésor de la langue française informatisé). It was, in fact, an international movement (they were called ‘zooters’ in the United States). The young men would wear baggy trousers (in the face of restrictions on fabric), wear their hair medium-length in reaction to short military haircuts, and the girls, who wore excessive make-up, would have short skirts and puffy hairdos. Needless to say, these young people were frowned upon by Marshal Pétain's moralistic regime!

BEC: So far, we've mainly talked about everyday fashion, the fashion of ordinary people. What about haute couture? Did designers have the right to work in their ateliers, but above all did they have the necessary means to do so?

CJD: Unfortunately, at the start of the Occupation, some major fashion houses had to close down, such as Vionnet (1876-1975) and Schiaparelli. Chanel (1883-1971) moved to the South of France before closing her house too. Young designers who had not yet opened their own houses, such as Pierre Balmain (1914-1982) and Christian Dior, were drafted in. From 1941 onwards, however, there was a resurgence of haute couture work, and French excellence became perceived by many as a form of resistance. Haute couture was also a key sector for the French economy because of the number of people involved. France was providing fashionable outfits for the beautiful ladies of the whole world! People bought their clothes in Paris or copied Parisian models! Unfortunately, shortages and bans made it impossible to publish photos of models in magazines, so we had to resort to illustrations in fashion magazines such as Mode du Jour, Silhouettes, and Marie-Claire.

Post-WWII Paris Fashion Doll Display, Maryhill Museum

Glen Bledsoe (CC BY)

However, if there is one name to remember in connection with haute couture during the German Occupation, it is that of Lucien Lelong (1889-1958), president of the Chambre syndicale de la haute couture (Haute Couture Trade Union Chamber), who did everything in his power to prevent the Germans from moving this economic sector to Germany. At the end of the war, to ensure that France regained its position as champion of fashion, Lelong and Robert Ricci (1905-1988, co-founder of the Fashion house Nina Ricci) initiated a travelling exhibition of miniature mannequins (70 cm or 27.5 in high) dressed by the top designers. This ‘theatre of fashion’ would travel the world for a whole year, signalling the return of French stylists and proving that, thanks to the incredible talent of many artists, French haute couture still deserved its place at the top of the international fashion league.

BEC: Of course, much more could be said on this subject, including the infamous yellow star imposed on French Jews, some of the designers who publicly flaunted their support for the German occupiers, and Coco Chanel's controversial stance, but perhaps all that will be the subject of a future conversation.

Thank you, Ms Join-Dieterle, for sharing your expertise with our readers. It is a fascinating topic and we are very grateful to you for providing us with the opportunity to learn so much about French fashion during the German Occupation. On behalf of everyone at World History Encyclopedia and our readers, thank you again for your valuable contribution.

Catherine Join-Dieterle has a doctorate in History of Art and is General Curator of Cultural Heritage. A leading fashion specialist, she was head of the Objets d'Art department at the Petit Palais from 1974 to 1988 and was later appointed Director of the Palais Galliera - Musée de la Mode de la Ville de Paris from 1989 to 2010. She has curated numerous exhibitions devoted to fashion, including ‘Robes du soir’ (1990), ‘Givenchy’ (1991), and ‘Marlene Dietrich’ (2003), among many others.

Continue reading...

[shamelessliarkickapow]

Arrvatarr! The Last Arrbender!

Just a little WIP

Zutara pirate AU inspired by THIS FUN ART by singswan-springswan and also THIS SWEET PIECE from the Zutara coloring book by fabdante

I have this whole story outlined at about 8 chapters. (*desperate promises to self* This definitely won't be another 100k word story, definitely. I'm aiming for 40k this time. Max.) I'm gonna try a new thing and post parts of chapters here as I go - no backward glances. Chapters will go on AO3 and ffn as they're completed.

Rating: M for violence and sexual content

Summary:

Set four years later than the show in an AU where the Avatar never returned. Instead of finding Aang, Katara and Sokka went looking for Hakoda and had lots of adventures. Fast forward to now, they’ve gathered a few motley friends into their life of piracy. Hey, it’s a living! After seven years circling the globe in search of the Avatar, Prince Zuko finds himself beset by weird pirates. They mean to ransom him, but the waterbender is distracting and Uncle Iroh seems to have some kind of plan so, if Zuko's lucky, this could all turn out okay... But when is Zuko ever lucky? A silly but pretty grown-up story with real swears and some sex stuff. Here be knavish pirate jokes and most ignoble puns - avast ye bilge-rat-vipers! yarrr

Chapter 1, part 1/3:

It was a junky little steamer, but beggars couldn’t be choosers and pirates loved junk.

They struck when the fat waning moon was still high, sparkling off the sea. Katara brought their little ship up from the depths alongside and raised it up on a mighty platform of ice to put their decks at a level for boarding. The wave of their emergence shook the steamer like a can of bees - but that hardly mattered when Sokka swung aboard and Toph dropped off his back. All the soldiers who came running half-dressed onto the deck wound up trapped, bound with strips of steel torn from the very vessel they sought to defend.

“Surrender, ya scabby seal-dogs!” Toph cried, striking a pose and really hamming up the drama. “Or I’ll paint this tub with yer stinkin’ guts before I sink ‘er!”

Most of the time, as soon as Toph broke out the metalbending, the fight was pretty much over. Suki was quick, so she could usually knock out a couple of soldiers before they realized how incredibly out-classed they were. Sokka had drawn his sword and found himself without an opponent so many times now that he usually just posed with it while he demanded surrender. Which was a shame - because it was such a nice sword.

Katara, always watching everybody’s backs, locked the ships together with thick bonds of ice and boarded last to come down hard on any remaining resistance. Tonight, though, she was still on the deck of their vessel, reassuring their new swab that nobody was going to get seriously hurt.

“She doesn’t mean it about the guts, Aang,” she said with a shrug and a crooked smile. “Toph just misses those earthbender tournaments she was telling you about. Remember, we do this to feed our villages through the winter. The Fire Nation can afford to be plundered a little after everything they’ve taken from us.”

This last she said with the faintest measure more steel. But the little monk didn’t notice. He only smiled trustingly up at her, his lemur clinging to his head with a grip on his bandanna.

“Aye aye, Cap’n,” he growled, a kid fully sold on the game.

“And what’s the rule?”

“No airbending - yarr!”

Katara grinned. “Great, now let’s go loot the boots off these guys.”

She took a few running steps and surfed the short distance up to the other ship’s deck, landing in a ready crouch with a tight stream of water looped through the air around her. There was no sound as Aang alighted behind her, but even if there had been, she would not have noticed.

Most of the time, these fights ended quickly. Firebenders weren’t at their best at night to start with. Soldiers rushed out, found themselves overwhelmed, and surrendered. The captain made an appearance and perhaps fought briefly, perhaps tried to rally his subordinates, but ultimately admitted defeat and gave up the goods.

But tonight was apparently a special night, because when Katara landed aboard the steamer, there was one firebender shouting and persistently unleashing all manner of fury in a three-on-one match against her friends.

He didn’t wear a uniform or even a shirt, just a pair of loose sleep pants as if he’d fallen from his bed into battle. And he seemed entirely ready for that battle, based on the way he spun and leapt and kicked unrelentingly in the air, dodging a chunk of metal from Toph even as he kept Suki and Sokka back with athletic moves and bright crests of flame.

Katara noticed at once that he didn’t look like a regular Fire Nation officer. His bared torso was all taut muscle - not that that was unusual, as many officers maintained their conditioning, it was more just… interesting. Drew the eye. No, it was his hair that marked him as peculiar. It was grown long past his shoulders and it fell loose and very straight around his scarred, snarling face. Most officers only kept their hair long enough for their military topknot. It might have occurred to Katara to wonder just what kind of captain this was, but presently, she was more interested in putting a stop to him.

Her water whip cut the air with only a chilling hiss for warning.

.

.

Zuko woke when he flopped hard off the edge of his bed onto the floor. A floor, he quickly realized through the fading disorientation of sleep, that was still swaying from some massive disturbance. He scrambled to his feet and craned his head to get a look out the wide, high window.

On the deck below, something was going on in the dark - but the strange ice that jutted up around his ship shone brilliant and deadly in the moonlight.

“Uncle!” he shouted as he slammed through his door into the hallway. “Uncle Iroh! We’re under attack!”

The old man was already emerging from his quarters, rubbing his bleary eyes. “What, did we hit something?”

“They have a waterbender,” Zuko snarled on his way to the stairs. “It must be pirates.”

“Pirates!” Iroh exclaimed, following at a sedate trot. “How terribly exciting!”

Zuko had leapt far enough down the stairs that he could pretend not to hear that last bit. Uncle had grown increasingly… whiny in recent years. He complained largely of the boredom of their life at sea, constantly trying to get Zuko to do something - anything else.

Hey, maybe we take a little break from searching for the Avatar and visit the colonies! I know a most pleasant spa where the masseuses could work the tension out of a stone. I think it might really change your perspective on things, my nephew. A man needs to release his tension every now and then, you know?

It was insufferable and uncomfortable and Zuko always dismissed the notion and stormed off to scan the horizon… but the old man had a point about the tedium. Zuko had circled the globe in his hunt for the Avatar - and then did it again, and again, until what he was doing was less hunting for the Avatar and more hunting for any kind of purpose or meaning in his life.

Because the Avatar was never going to return. That much had become obvious over the course of seven years spent searching ruins and sniffing out half-baked stories. What had not become obvious was what Zuko could possibly do instead, what other path to honor might remain open to him.

He was confident, however, that such a path would not be found in some thinly-veiled whorehouse in the colonies.

In truth, Zuko was no longer entirely sure he wanted to capture the Avatar even if one did appear. The chance to return home to his scheming, ruthless family no longer inspired in him the driving desperation he had felt when his banishment began. His sister was set to inherit the crown, presumably in half a century when Ozai succumbed to the inevitable fate of the terminally evil-and-wealthy and died peacefully in his sleep.

Meanwhile, Zuko had grown into a man in exile. A bitter and angry yet philosophical man deeply schooled in the arts of firebending, Pai Sho, and longing. Because what else was there to do?

Except, thankfully, finally, thrash a pack of pirates?

The only warning Zuko had about what awaited him on the deck was Lieutenant Jee, hanging by a strap of steel that had certainly not been affixed to the exterior door last night. “Prince Zuko,” he gasped against the pressure of the band, “it’s a metalbender.”

“Impossible,” Zuko managed - but the evidence was there before his eyes.

Beyond the open door, a girlish voice was cackling.

Zuko hurriedly kicked the restraint off his Lieutenant so the man fell free to the deck, then sent him off to rally the rest of the crew. “And get my uncle down here. Now!”

Then, bold and furious, Prince Zuko leapt out the door and reignited the lost fight.

The cackler turned out to be the metalbender, a muscular but petite girl - a teenager - whose smirk and hard postures bespoke unshakable confidence. At the instant of his appearance - almost as if she had sensed him coming and was waiting to do it - she moved through a sequence and ripped a sheet of the deck out from under Zuko’s bare feet. Or she would have, if he hadn’t hurled himself forward into a flip and come down in a roaring kick that crashed down a huge gout of flames. The metalbender blocked with another chunk of the deck.

“Stop tearing holes in my ship!” Zuko shouted, punching more blasts at her to try and flush her out of her shelter. While she was under cover, he blasted the restraints off a couple of his firebenders, then quickly went back on the offensive to cover their rise and return to combat.

“Get a real ship!” the little brat shouted from behind her shield. She shot a chunk of steel at him and he was forced to dodge even though she couldn’t possibly have seen him to aim. “This clunker’s more rust and barnacles than metal anyways!”

“Rrah!”

“Finally!” A lean man with a sword darted in to beset one of the freed firebenders. Zuko didn’t see the fight, but he saw the moment his soldier toppled over the gunwale with a cry. The swordsman grinned and shouted back toward the rigging of the pirate vessel Zuko only then realized was locked in alongside - that’s what all the ice was for. “Katara, you’re missing it! Captain’s out-! Woah!”

He went staggering back from the low arc of flame Zuko kicked in his direction. Zuko turned his whole attention back to bearing down with a sustained blaze on his first opponent. The metalbender was strong, but her technique was a little slow and, if Zuko hit her shield with enough heat, he suspected she might-

“Ow!” She tumbled out of the way, holding one hand close to her chest. “Why you bilge-sucking biscuit-burner! I’m gonna mash you good for that one!”

It happened as if in slow motion. Zuko had drawn back for a knock-out blow and was initiating the punch, but from the corner of his eye, he saw a golden flash and another figure moving rapidly toward him. He redirected his punch but was too late to do more than block the fan that had been about to strike him in the side of the head. The pale, painted face of a Kyoshi Warrior was suddenly there, looming like a specter out of the night.

She was much faster than the metalbender, and came at him with a lightning-quick sequence of jabs and slashes with her fans. For a moment, Zuko was hard-pressed to evade her attacks. She drove him a few steps until he stumbled over one of the torn places in the deck and went sprawling on his back. The warrior darted in-

-but Zuko wheeled his legs around in a dazzling circle of fire that sent her leaping back, blocking with those fans. He rode the kick to his feet and took the offensive, laying down a hard, quick series of blasts that had her backing up toward the pirate vessel, where the metalbender was one-handedly locking the last of his firebenders back down.

Zuko might have been annoyed, had he not been so busy almost getting skewered. The lean guy with the sword came up from his flank. If he had led with a stab, he might have ended the fight right there, but he tried to brain his enemy with the flat of his blade instead.

Zuko didn’t give it much thought as he ducked, darted in close to grab the guy’s sword-hand, and, with a grip on the front of his vaguely Water Tribey pirate jacket, pitched him bodily at the warrior. She was charging him with her fans out to either side and barely managed to dodge out of the way as the lean guy came hurtling past.

“Waugh-!”

Zuko kicked fire to keep her diverted and simultaneously ducked out of the way of another chunk of his ship that came hurtling toward him. He was about to press the advantage when a hissing sound cut the air, he felt a hard jolt of impact, and pain bloomed from his left pectoral like he’d been stung by a buzzard-wasp. He fell a couple steps back and took in this new opponent.

“The waterbender,” he growled, momentarily stunned.

TBC

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Dancing monk icon by Marcy Hall Art

* * * *

Blessings on this eve of the Feast of St. Brigid!

I feel especially blessed to have had the joy of joining with a group of dancing monks online last Monday to celebrate Brigid's call to us as midwife, muse, and transforming fire.

February 1st-2nd marks a confluence of several feasts and occasions including: the Celtic feast of Imbolc, St. Brigid’s Day, Candlemas, Feast of the Presentation, and Groundhog Day in the northern hemisphere! (Imbolc is August 1st in the southern hemisphere).

Imbolc is a Celtic feast that is a cross-quarter day, meaning it is the midway point between the winter solstice and spring equinox. The sun marks the four Quarter Days of the year (the Solstices and Equinoxes) and the midpoints are the cross-quarter days. In some cultures, like Ireland, February 2nd is the official beginning of spring.

As the days slowly lengthen in the northern hemisphere and the sun makes her way higher in the sky, the ground beneath our feet begins to thaw. The earth softens and the seeds deep below stir in the darkness. The word “imbolc” means “in the belly.” The earth’s belly is beginning to awaken, new life is stirring, seeds are sprouting forth.

In many places the ground is still frozen or covered with snow, but the call now is tend to those very first signs of movement beneath the fertile ground. What happens when you listen ever so closely in the stillness? What do you hear beginning to emerge?

St. Brigid is said to bring the first sign of life after the long dark nights of winter. She breathes into the landscape so that it begins to awaken. Snowdrops, the first flowers of spring are one of her symbols.

On the eve of January 31st it is traditional to leave a piece of cloth or ribbon outside the house. It was believed that St Brigid’s spirit traveled across the land and left her curative powers in the brat Bride (Brigid’s Mantle or cloth). It was then used throughout the year as a healing from sickness and protection from harm.

Often in Ireland, I have heard Brigid described as a bridge between the pre-Christian and Christian traditions, between the other world and this one. She bridges the natural and human world. Brigid sees the face of Christ in all persons and creatures, and overcomes the division between rich and poor. Our practice of inner hospitality as monks in the world is essentially about healing all of places we feel fragmented, scattered, and shamed. One of her symbols is her cloak which becomes a symbol of unity. All can dwell under her mantle.

[Thanks to Christine Valters Paintner and to the dancing monks]

[acacia-may]

Hi Acacia! Can I have cactus and abelia for the ask game?

Hi Greta! Thank you so much for the ask! 🥰

Questions from this "Get to Know Me" Ask Game

cactus ⇢ something you’re currently learning (about)?

I wasn't sure if this question was asking about skills or information I'm learning so I've decided to answer both.

In terms of information that I'm learning, I feel like I'm always picking up random facts and tidbits and falling down the research rabbit hole without meaning to. The most recent thing I learned was about the history of wedding rings around the world. (To tell you the absolute truth, I was researching for a fanfiction and ultimately learned that, no, these characters would not have had rings 😅).

In terms of skills that I'm learning, my sister has been teaching me about digital art, and we have a bit of an art club. I'm not very good at it, but I'm learning...😅 I think I'm much more comfortable with writing as a creative medium, than with drawing, but I always try to pick up a new creative hobby in the winter. In the past, I've picked up clay sculpting, scrapbooking, knitting, old school paper and pencil sketching, and (last year) writing fanfiction on AO3, so digital art is the newest in a long line of artistic hobbies I've tried. I liked writing the best by far though and actually kept up with it. 😁

abelia ⇢ do you have a particular piece of jewelry you always wear or can’t part with?

I don't wear a lot of jewelry usually (mainly because I forget to put it on 🙈), but I do have a couple of rings I like to wear, and I always wear a golden medical bangle (which tells first responders I have a bleeding disorder in case of an emergency). Since I have to wear that one, I spent a lot of time trying to find one that I actually liked and that wasn't too "medical" (if that makes sense?), and it makes me super happy when I get compliments on it from people who don't catch the Rod of Asclepius on the side and think it's just regular jewelry. 😊

In terms of fun jewelry or jewelry that is important to me, I inherited a set of earrings from each of my great grandmothers before they passed away so those are very special to me. (I rarely ever wear them, however, because of sentimental value and fear of losing them). I have quite a few necklaces, but the three I wear most often all have butterflies on them. One has a silver butterfly with open wings, and another has four golden butterflies (I wore that one today actually). The one in the picture below, however, is my favourite because the body of the butterfly is (very subtly) a semi colon for mental health awareness. The necklace is actually tarnishing because I've worn it so much, so I’m afraid I might have to try to replace it someday. I've always loved butterflies and, to me, they have always really symbolized hope so I really like my butterfly jewelry. 🦋

[life-in-providence-ri]

Apartments Near Brown University

I would like to live in an apartment near Brown University because I have to be at the university from Monday to Friday. I looked for nice apartments, and I found 257 Thayer to be the most convenient and comfortable living space that is tailored to the requirements of Brown University students, both undergraduate and graduate. These student apartments in Providence are designed to fit your needs for a home. You take advantage of the amenities that the apartment offers and the community amenities available. Plus, the cost of this apartment is very affordable. If you're a student who needs to economize in all aspects without compromising your home living situation, then this is a perfect location. For more information about this home, call (401) 592-2979.

Providence, RI - A Vibrant City

One thing that makes Providence, RI, interesting is that it's a vibrant city with various attractions, including the Roger Williams Park, which is home to the Museum of Natural History, as well as the Roger Williams Zoo. Also, Rhode Island's only planetarium and the RISD Museum of Art are also interesting locations. The zoo, one of the oldest in the country, is 40 acres large and showcases various animals from around the world, so it's also a must-visit in Providence. You can also take the children to the Providence Children's Museum, which offers creative experiences for children. Then, during summer, Providence hosts WaterFire nights, where torches are lit along the Providence River and attract locals and visitors to shops and food and drink stalls.

Roger Williams Park Zoo

You should never fail to visit the Roger Williams Park Zoo with your children. The zoo is a famous destination for visitors. It has features of having over 100 rare species from around the world. Visitors can enjoy activities like petting an armadillo, seeing New England's only Komodo dragon, and experiencing a zip ride. The Jack-O-Lantern Spectacular, a popular fall tradition, takes place from September 27 to November 3, 2024. The Jack-O-Lantern Spectacular – Trivia Edition, Food Truck Day, and breakfast with rainforest residents are also available.

New Specie at William Park Zoo

Roger Williams Park Zoo in Providence has welcomed Velma the serval, one of 75 felines rescued from a private breeding facility in California. Velma is the first serval at the zoo, which is known for its slender, medium-sized wild cats native to sub-Saharan Africa. The zoo had planned to add servals to its 20-year plan, but Velma arrived earlier than expected. To build her home, the zoo has been raising emergency funds. The serval, known for its spotted and striped fur and large, rounded ears, can grow to over 3 feet long and weigh between 20 and 40 pounds. The zoo has been raising money for Velma's exhibit over the last two months and hopes to have a permanent home built for her by winter.

Link to Map Driving Direction

Roger Williams Park Zoo 1000 Elmwood Ave, Providence, RI 02907, United States

Continue to Broad St 4 min (0.6 mi)

Take Aldrich St to Pavilion Ave 2 min (0.5 mi)

Take Blundell St to Thurbers Ave 47 sec (0.2 mi)

Take Allens Ave and Brook St to Thayer St 11 min (2.6 mi)

257 Thayer 257 Thayer St, Providence, RI 02906, United States

[roleplayfinder]

Rules

    1.    Age Requirement: All participants must be 18 years of age or older. This role-play contains mature themes and is designed for an adult audience.

    2.    Writing Standards: Participants should exhibit good command of grammar and spelling. Replies are expected to be thoughtful and descriptive, consisting of at least a couple of paragraphs. Longer, more detailed posts are welcome and encouraged to enrich the storytelling experience.

Far Cry 5 Plot (double-up):

The bunker ending of Far Cry unfolds with a twist – not only do the Deputy (Dep) and Joseph Seed survive the apocalypse, but Jacob and John Seed also find refuge in the same bunker. Trapped together in a nuclear winter, these four individuals navigate a tense and complex dynamic in the confined space of their shelter. As they struggle to cope with the harsh realities of their new world and confront their personal demons, an unexpected and intricate web of emotions begins to develop. The Deputy, caught in a whirlwind of conflicting feelings, finds themselves drawn to each of the Seed brothers in different ways. The role-play delves into the psychological exploration of whether these emerging bonds are a result of the intense situation, a case of Stockholm syndrome, or genuine affection born from being the last known survivors.

  GANGSTA. Plot (double-up):

In this role-play, set in the gritty and crime-ridden city of Ergastulum, you and your partner will dive into the lives of its inhabitants, where the lines between right and wrong are blurred. I would like my roleplay partner to play Worick Arcangelo and their OC, and I will play any character you’d like along with my OC. The role-play will follow the manga’s storyline, focusing on the partnership between mercenaries, their dealings with the city’s mafia, and the personal demons they face.  

  Pokemon Plot (double-up):Inspired by Monster Musume and art by Kinkymation. Set several years before the modern events of the main Pokemon storyline, when genetics is still a new science among academia. Pokemon have been suddenly turning into half-human versions of themselves! It’s a virus that’s going around that only affects Pokemon. As new scientists in the genetic field, our OCs find themselves working together to collect the genetic information of each Pokemon, while also working to find a cure. 

[roleplay-today]

Rules

    1.    Age Requirement: All participants must be 18 years of age or older. This role-play contains mature themes and is designed for an adult audience.

    2.    Writing Standards: Participants should exhibit good command of grammar and spelling. Replies are expected to be thoughtful and descriptive, consisting of at least a couple of paragraphs. Longer, more detailed posts are welcome and encouraged to enrich the storytelling experience.

Far Cry 5 Plot (double-up):

The bunker ending of Far Cry unfolds with a twist – not only do the Deputy (Dep) and Joseph Seed survive the apocalypse, but Jacob and John Seed also find refuge in the same bunker. Trapped together in a nuclear winter, these four individuals navigate a tense and complex dynamic in the confined space of their shelter. As they struggle to cope with the harsh realities of their new world and confront their personal demons, an unexpected and intricate web of emotions begins to develop. The Deputy, caught in a whirlwind of conflicting feelings, finds themselves drawn to each of the Seed brothers in different ways. The role-play delves into the psychological exploration of whether these emerging bonds are a result of the intense situation, a case of Stockholm syndrome, or genuine affection born from being the last known survivors.

GANGSTA. Plot (double-up):

In this role-play, set in the gritty and crime-ridden city of Ergastulum, you and your partner will dive into the lives of its inhabitants, where the lines between right and wrong are blurred. I would like my roleplay partner to play Worick Arcangelo and their OC, and I will play any character you’d like along with my OC. The role-play will follow the manga's storyline, focusing on the partnership between mercenaries, their dealings with the city's mafia, and the personal demons they face.  

Pokemon Plot (double-up):Inspired by Monster Musume and art by Kinkymation. Set several years before the modern events of the main Pokemon storyline, when genetics is still a new science among academia. Pokemon have been suddenly turning into half-human versions of themselves! It’s a virus that’s going around that only affects Pokemon. As new scientists in the genetic field, our OCs find themselves working together to collect the genetic information of each Pokemon, while also working to find a cure. 

-

[findyourrp]

❤️

Rules

    1.    Age Requirement: All participants must be 18 years of age or older. This role-play contains mature themes and is designed for an adult audience.

    2.    Writing Standards: Participants should exhibit good command of grammar and spelling. Replies are expected to be thoughtful and descriptive, consisting of at least a couple of paragraphs. Longer, more detailed posts are welcome and encouraged to enrich the storytelling experience.

Far Cry 5 Plot (double-up):

The bunker ending of Far Cry unfolds with a twist – not only do the Deputy (Dep) and Joseph Seed survive the apocalypse, but Jacob and John Seed also find refuge in the same bunker. Trapped together in a nuclear winter, these four individuals navigate a tense and complex dynamic in the confined space of their shelter. As they struggle to cope with the harsh realities of their new world and confront their personal demons, an unexpected and intricate web of emotions begins to develop. The Deputy, caught in a whirlwind of conflicting feelings, finds themselves drawn to each of the Seed brothers in different ways. The role-play delves into the psychological exploration of whether these emerging bonds are a result of the intense situation, a case of Stockholm syndrome, or genuine affection born from being the last known survivors.

GANGSTA. Plot (double-up):

In this role-play, set in the gritty and crime-ridden city of Ergastulum, you and your partner will dive into the lives of its inhabitants, where the lines between right and wrong are blurred. I would like my roleplay partner to play Worick Arcangelo and their OC, and I will play any character you’d like along with my OC. The role-play will follow the manga's storyline, focusing on the partnership between mercenaries, their dealings with the city's mafia, and the personal demons they face.  

Pokemon Plot (double-up):Inspired by Monster Musume and art by Kinkymation. Set several years before the modern events of the main Pokemon storyline, when genetics is still a new science among academia. Pokemon have been suddenly turning into half-human versions of themselves! It’s a virus that’s going around that only affects Pokemon. As new scientists in the genetic field, our OCs find themselves working together to collect the genetic information of each Pokemon, while also working to find a cure. 

.