#might as well tag the other historical parts

[hyperions-light]

Someone was being a fucking hater on my explicitly positive DATV post AGAIN (u all know I can see your tags right. They get delivered to me express mail style) so here’s an essay about how I thought the Grey Warden plotline was great:

First, it was extremely lore-consistent. I don’t know how to tell people this, but the Grey Wardens simply are sort of shady— it’s part of their charm. In DAO alone we found out they:

- kill anyone who refuses the joining

- are definitely using a blood magic ritual to induct people

- tried to usurp the throne of Fereldan

In DA2 they:

-Forced Malcolm Hawke to perform a blood magic ritual against his will to contain Corypheus, by threatening to kill his family

- Built a giant prison in the mountains they didn’t tell anyone about and that someone could wander into and not be able to escape

- the entire Corypheus thing. They didn’t even tell the other Wardens like what he was or how dangerous he was.

DAI:

- the demon army thing was pretty bad

And that’s not even mentioning any stuff from the books or comics or shows! That’s just stuff in the games!

So they’re shady. It’s okay! They’re my little woobie guys, idc if they’re sort of shady!

But the plot in DATV is about all of those previously established issues coming back to bite them in the fucking ass, as they should! Knock knock, it’s the consequences of your actions, baby! The chickens are home to roost

(Which is just good storytelling. Like if you set up a bunch of issues and then never pay them off or anything that’s bad.)

Destroying Weisshaupt was inspired! Firstly bc Davrin is Weisshaupt, metaphorically (bulwark against the darkness, etc, I already made a post) so it serves his character arc. But also because it strips away the pageantry and the grandeur from them; no more castle for you! No more myth!

Davrin explicitly tells you that the First Warden is a traditionalist; he represents the historical attitudes of the Wardens. They do not accept help, they do not give up their secrets, they are standing alone against the dark. And it doesn’t work! He’s fucking wrong (and very punch-able). Being secretive and isolationist is a mistake that costs them nearly everything.

But also, and I’m not sure how many people experienced this on the first go-around, the game does ultimately come down on the side of the Wardens always trying to do the right thing. You CAN talk the First Warden down, because in the end he’s a Warden, and he might be stubborn and curmudgeonly and miserable but he CARES about the world. He came to do good. He admits he was wrong and he helps you. Because the heart of the Wardens is about selfless service to other people. In Death, Sacrifice.

Stripping away Weisshaupt and the glory and pageantry leaves the Wardens at their most vulnerable and forces them to return to their fundamental principles: helping people. That’s what Lavendel is about. Helping individual people and preserving every life possible even if it doesn’t feel that glamorous or heroic. Lavendel isn’t a significant place; it doesn’t matter, but it matters so much.

And then, the Cauldron.

First off, do not at me about Last Flight. I don’t think people should have to read external materials to play this game and understand it. If the information is vital it should be presented to the player in the text.

The Cauldron is the repository of the Wardens’ secrets; it’s where the keep the bones of the Archdemons, the secret to the Joining, ancient and dangerous weapons, as well as the bodies of the griffons, which represents their most shameful errors. Isseya is the avatar of the Wardens’ mistakes; she’s been hurt by what they made her do, and her pain was never acknowledged by them. They buried her story and her suffering like they bury everything they don’t want to deal with and are ashamed of. They left the bones of the griffons, whose deaths they directly caused, to rot because they were too sad to acknowledge them.

But it was wrong to walk away, it was wrong to bury it. Isseya makes sure that they can never do that again, that they have to own what they did and take responsibility. By discovering who she is and by restoring her personhood to her, by reminding her of her love which drove her to her anguish in the first place, Davrin saves her and he saves the griffons. He doesn’t do it using violence, because another sin of the Wardens is just assuming that they can kill their way out of their problems, which the game disproves by revealing the origin of the Blight. You can kill as many darkspawn as you want, you will never fix it! The Titans’ dreams do not need to be slain, they need to be healed.

Isseya is in so much pain because of her incredible love for both the griffons and the Wardens, and because of her guilt. Look what she builds! An alternate Weisshaupt, a distorted reflection of her home. She entreats both Davrin and Assan to join her, because she doesn’t think she’s trying to destroy anything. She’s trying to save them! She wants them to come home. “I am their mother,” she says, and she’s right. She saved them, then, and she ends up saving them now! Because she made Davrin and the other Wardens look, unflinchingly, at what they had done, it will never happen again. She was going about it wrong during the game, but she was ALWAYS trying to save them.

Davrin, Antoine and Evka represent the Wardens’ commitment to being different. They let Flynn undergo the Joining without becoming a Warden, they reveal secrets to non-Warden Rook, they offer to help the Viper without asking for anything in return. They ask for help and offer it freely. If the Wardens are going to persist into a world without Archdemons, they HAVE to change. They can’t be what they were anymore. The game is asking what a Warden is when they have to be more than their oath, when they have to live. It’s a great exploration of and expansion on previously established lore.

Anyway, my advice if you hated the plot and the game and the characters is to a) make your own post b) don’t bother me about it, because I have the time and I will be loudly positive in response!

[quibbs126]

You know, I’d love to take more classes that teach me about the historical context of certain books

I was watching some videos about Animal Farm today (mostly about the animated movie), and it reminded me of a book we went over in my World Literature class, Yevgeny Zamyatin’s “We”, since it was another book that criticized communist Russia during the days of Stalin (okay I think they had different points; Animal Farm seems to have been more a warning of what communism will do, while We was meant to actually criticize the Soviet Union, considering Zamyatin lived there). I remember going over the context in class, and it was legitimately so interesting to learn about. Admittedly, I don’t remember much about the actual book, in part because I never really read much of it (though I plan to since I still have it), but the history of the author and book itself was so interesting, and I would have never known about it had I not taken the class and my professor not talk about it, and it along with the other books we learned the context for really just makes me want to learn more historical contexts for books

By the way, if you want the history I’m talking about, I’ll give a summary based on what I was told in class, though I don’t remember all the details (I’ll pull out my notes from it). Basically Zamyatin was an avid supporter of the Bolsheviks and their revolution against the Tsar (Zamyatin was Russian if I didn’t make that clear), and being active in the movement, such as being an editor for a newspaper and writing editorials supporting the revolution. However, once the party started cracking down on human rights and dissenting voices, he became disillusioned with the party, and he starts writing critiques on it, as well as writing We. He finished it in 1920, and ended up sending to Europe to be published, so that the rest of the world could know what was going on in Russia (We doesn’t directly take place in the Soviet Union, it’s a sci fi dystopian novel set in the far future, but the society (the One State) takes obvious inspiration from it). Meanwhile he read manuscripts of his work in St Petersburg, and it became the first manuscript banned in the Soviet Union, with Zamyatin being marginalized for his work and losing his job. Zamyatin eventually becomes so disillusioned with the Soviets that he writes a letter to Stalin requesting he and his family be allowed to leave. The only reason Stalin allows this is because Zamyatin was good friends with another writer named Gorky (unfortunately I don’t remember what the significance of Gorky to Stalin was, I didn’t write that down in my notes). Zamyatin had hoped that the Soviet Union would collapse in a few years so that they could return, but unfortunately he didn’t get to live to see it, dying in 1937

Sorry, I went off on a bit of a history lesson there, but I think this stuff is pretty fascinating, and I would love to hear more of the history behind books (if I haven’t made that clear already)

[ak-vintage]

Work of Art

Pairing: General Marcus Acacius x f!reader

Prompt: Marcus Acacius & Nose

Summary: Your pregnancy brings out a vulnerability in Marcus you never would have expected. When he reluctantly shares his insecurities with you, you are more than happy to reaffirm your affection for each and every part of him.  

Tags/Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Second-person POV, no use of Y/N, established relationship, arranged marriage, POSSIBLE DUBCON (sex in an arranged marriage with a patriarchal power structure), hefty age gap, pregnant reader, inexperienced reader, insecurity, body worship, nose worship, face-sitting, oral (f! receiving), discovering that you’re in love with your spouse, SO MUCH FLUFF, high likelihood of historical inaccuracy (aiming for vibes, not perfection)

Written for @joelmillerisapunk PPCU Body Worship Writing Challenge

Dividers by @saradika-graphics <3

Read on AO3

It is barely sunrise when the messenger arrives at your door.

Coated in a layer of dust from the road, mounted on the back of a well-lathered horse, and bearing the colors of the empire, the young man demands your staff wake you to receive him – that he is under orders to accept no intermediary, that his message is intended for the lady of the house and no one else. The news of his arrival sends ice into your veins the moment you open your eyes; even as the wife of a general, you do not often receive messages from the front lines, and you could not resist fearing the worst. Curls loose and mussed with sleep, tunica tied almost haphazardly in your haste, you rush to the atrium as quickly as propriety will allow and take the messenger’s sealed scroll with trembling hands.

My dearest wife, it reads. The skirmish on the southern border has been quelled for the time being. In recognition of our efforts, and out of respect for our recent union, I have been granted leave to return to Rome for a period of respite. If the sea is calm and the road is easy, you can look to the horizon for my return in one month’s time. Prepare the household for my arrival. Faithfully yours, Marcus Acacius

The relief you feel at those words is so powerful that you sink into the nearest chair, weak-kneed. Thankfully, your staff are more than competent enough to manage offering food, a bath, and a fresh horse to the harried messenger without your guidance, for you have not the capacity to play hostess. It had been your greatest fear, you realize as you sit there reading and re-reading the general’s letter until your eyes begin to burn with fatigue. You had had such little time as husband and wife before Marcus had been shipped out to the border, and you dread nothing more than the prospect of joining the ranks of the widows of Rome before you even have the opportunity to fully know the man you had married. It would have been such a waste, you think, like a flower cut from the vine when it was barely a bud, cursed never to bloom for the rest of time.

The truth is that although yours had been an arranged marriage, one of convenience, you feel (perhaps naively) that it held great promise. The general had never married, choosing to prioritize his military ambitions over his personal life. However, now that he was getting older, he had determined that it would be wise to seek a wife who might give him an heir to the prestigious station he had earned for himself over the years. Your father, a wealthy, prominent senator, had brokered the match, and a mere fortnight after you had been introduced for the first time, you had been wed.

Marcus had proven to be a gentle husband, a great contrast to what you had believed based on the tales of his ferocity in battle. He had spoken kindly to you and listened patiently, giving weight to your words, treating you like a partner right from the start. He had given you free reign over the household and encouraged you to mold his domus and his staff to suit your tastes. You had had very little time in each other’s presence, but he nevertheless struck you as a man of honor, a man of principle. As a woman in your position, there was little else you could ask for in a match, and the thought had comforted you as you stood side-by-side with this near-stranger and signed your marriage contract.

On your wedding night, he had been as tender with you as he could. You had been able to tell that he was holding himself back, restraining himself from taking you as savagely as he might have wished, but for that, you thought him compassionate. Of course, there had been some pain to start; this you had anticipated. However, toward the end of your coupling, as the general had begun to growl muffled curses into the soft skin of your neck and thrust himself so deeply inside you, you swore you could feel his manhood in your belly, you thought perhaps that it might have begun to feel…good?

He had spilled his seed within you shortly thereafter, bringing your union to a sudden and dramatic end and leaving your tentative, blooming pleasure to fizzle and die in your veins.

You glance down at the swell of your belly at the recollection, feeling heat rise in your cheeks. The fruits of your union that night – and the nights that followed for the brief month he had been permitted to remain by your side – had made themselves apparent shortly after his departure. That had been five months ago now, and it had been an incredible relief to know that you had managed to fulfill your duty to the general so quickly. You had fully expected to give birth on your own, to share the joyous news with him via special messenger like so many other soldier’s wives. Now, to know that he is set to return so soon, that relief is compounded. Barring any emergencies on the front, he likely would be home long enough to be present for the birth.

Birthing was a woman’s business, of course. You knew there was little Marcus could truly do to aid you in your labors. But a part of you, perhaps a very foolish, girlish part of you, could not help but feel safer when he was near. You would sleep better at night knowing he was once again within the walls of your domus.

Easing yourself back onto your feet, you get the attention of the nearest member of your staff.

���Once our guest has been seen to, gather the others in the courtyard,” you command. “We have much to prepare. The general is coming home.”

General Marcus Acacius rides into Rome on a sunny afternoon astride a handsome black stallion. Escorted only by a small retinue of guards and vassals, he travels light, with the economy and efficiency of a man who has spent the majority of his adult life in an army camp. The servant boy you have stationed at the city walls every day for the last week eagerly tells you that he looks well, that he has been asked to report first to the emperors’ palace but that he expects to be home by nightfall.

The news of your husband’s imminent arrival has a riot of butterflies rising in your chest, and you feel the child you carry respond almost instantly, fluttering and twitching against the walls of your womb at your excitement. A smile pulls at your lips, and you smooth your palms over the rounded surface of your belly as if to say, “I understand. I feel it, too.”

You send a message to the kitchen staff with orders to ensure that the general’s favorite meal is prepared for this evening, as well as for his preferred wine to be brought up from the cellar. Perhaps it is a bit silly – this is his home even moreso than it is yours – but you have an odd desire to make him feel welcomed. You want him to know that you have given thought to his needs and his preferences, that you have managed and looked after his home with proficiency in his absence, that you have anticipated his return.

You want to make the general happy, you realize with a flush.  Not only for him to be happy, but you wish to be the cause of that happiness. Does that make you proud, you wonder? Or selfish? Perhaps. All you know for certain is that in the brief time spent by his side, all those months ago, you had begun to associate Marcus Acacius with feelings of comfort, of safety, of acceptance. Even perhaps…affection. You like him. Was it so wrong to wish for him to like you, too?

You are in the ostium waiting for him when the general arrives. The sun sets behind him as he approaches on horseback, still in full armor from his travels, and your first thought is that he is even larger than you remember. Blotting out the golden light with the incredible breadth of his shoulders, you think he looks almost otherworldly, like some mythical hero of old returned from a harrowing quest. You can feel your heart speed up behind your ribs, galloping like the hooves of his horse on the cobblestones, and you are thankful no one can hear it but you. You are a woman grown, wedded and bedded and carrying a child, the head of your own household, the wife of a prominent, respected officer of the grand army of Rome. The idea that you should become so flighty, so unmoored at the sight of your own husband is absurd.

When his gaze falls on you, your trembling hands find your stomach, a gesture that has become more and more instinctual as the bump has become more and more visible, and before he can even greet you, his eyes drop to where they rest.

Marcus pulls his horse up short, the soft expression in his dark irises sharpening, intensifying. You watch as his prominent brow draws up, something between shock and awe and hope washing over his face, and then he is swinging his leg up and over his mount, dropping to the ground, closing the distance between you in a handful of long, powerful strides. His eyes do not leave your stomach until he is a mere handful of inches from your body, and you catch sight of his broad, thick-fingered hands clenching at his sides as though resisting the urge to reach out and touch you.

“Dearest wife,” he rasps, his throat dry as he finally, finally flicks his eyes back up to meet yours. “Have you something to tell me?”

You swallow thickly, suddenly overcome with the intensity, the intimacy of his attention. “Welcome home…husband.” Your voice sounds tremulous to your own ears, but you do not allow yourself to dwell on it. Instead, you wrap both of your hands around one of his and bring his dry, scarred knuckles to your lips. Dropping a kiss onto the center ridge, you add, “It is a blessing from the gods to see you well after so many months apart.”

Your name is a sigh on his lips. “It is a blessing to be permitted to return home after so short a time,” he counters. “Now, if my eyes deceive me, I will beg your forgiveness and claim fatigue from the long journey as my excuse. But are you…”

He trails off, as though hesitant to speak the words aloud, and you could swear that someone had reached into your chest and taken hold of your heart for how tight it squeezes at the thread of hope woven into his words. Unable to bear it anymore, you finish his incomplete thought on your own.

“Yes…General Acacius – ”

“Marcus,” he interjects immediately, and you feel yourself flush at the familiarity.

“Marcus,” you echo. “I-I am with child. You are to be a father.”

The breath he releases is long and slow, his dark eyes shining in the setting sun, and if you did not know better, you might think that your revelation had rendered him speechless. However, it takes him only a moment to collect himself, and then he is reaching for your belly with both hands, palms outstretched almost pleadingly. “May I – ?”

You nod readily, feeling a grin split your face, and then his hands are on you, cupping your swelling bump with his sword-calloused touch. His skin catches on the fine material of your tunica, but you are unbothered. He is warm and vital against you, his touch more than welcome after so many months on your own, and as though the precious thing had been waiting for their cue, the child in your womb kicks against their father’s hands.

The general’s brows shoot up at that, his forehead crinkling beneath his dark, gray-streaked curls, and he lets out a rough, strained laugh. “By the gods. It’s true.” Keeping one hand on your bump, he brings the other to the side of your face, wrapping his fingers around the back of your neck, stroking your jaw with his thumb. It’s the most tender, intimate gesture he has ever shown you, and the heat of his palm has your knees weakening beneath you.

“You honor me, amica. Thank you,” he says, husky voice thick with emotion. He presses a brief, dry kiss to your forehead, and you cannot help but wish it had been to your lips instead.

Dinner passes in a blur of sumptuous foods and peppered questions, both from you about his time at the border and from him about how you are settling into your new home, your new role. This is one thing about your relationship that has been easy from the moment you met – it is clear to you that Marcus cares deeply about your perspective on the world. He never rushes you, never cuts in when you are speaking, never attempts to correct you in some demonstration of superiority. It’s a unique experience for you coming from a man, particularly one of his age and rank, and it makes you feel cherished in a way you never would have expected in a marriage like yours. You are under no illusions that yours was a love match, after all, but something about the intent way that Marcus holds your gaze, the way he nods along as you speak, the way he asks such thoughtful questions – it has you all but convinced that he cares for you as you are coming to care for him.

The two of you linger over dinner long past nightfall, but eventually, he stands from his chair at the head of the table, offers his hand to you, and leads you to the privacy of your shared chambers. He beds you that night, as you had expected he would after so long without the touch of a woman, and you go to him willingly. His touch burns with barely-restrained fervor, the expression on his handsome face twisted almost as if in pain, and just as you had on that first night, you feel something building within you as he takes you.

You have no name for it, and yet it feels altering in its magnitude. You feel like lightning, like lava, like some elemental thing ablaze with fire and light, and just when you are certain that the feeling is about to consume you, just as you know in your bones that you cannot take any more or you will surely die –

Marcus spills himself inside you, withdraws, and collapses onto the bed next to you.

The feeling recedes. You catch your breath. Your husband plants a kiss on your hairline, and under his lips, he finds the sweat of your exertion, of your truncated pleasure. He whispers “good night, amica” against your curls, and then he rolls away.

Moments later, soft snores fill the room. The general is fast asleep, but you…

You are going mad.

It is many days later before this madness finally comes to a head.

Every night since his return, Marcus has sought his pleasure in your body. He never forces himself upon you or hurts you in any way; he asks before touching you, always. But as you approach a full week of night after night of thwarted pleasure, you cannot help but begin to find ways to…delay the inevitable question. You have taken to engaging him in conversation as you lay in bed, asking him about the many visitors he has received over the last several days, or about his journey home from the border, or about his favorite horse, Tempestas. He takes this in stride, seemingly happy to indulge you, and the two of you spend long minutes talking softly by candlelight, warm and close under soft, shared sheets.

This night, you decide to ask him about the baby and how he feels knowing that you carry his heir, that his legacy is secured.

You anticipate the smile he gives you, the fond look in his eyes as he reaches out to feel the curve of your belly, as he has done now hundreds of times over the last week. What you do not expect is the earnestness of his words as he tells you, “I have never been a father before. At my age, I did not expect that I would ever have the privilege. Now that you have made it possible, I find that I care much less for legacy or inheritance than I do for…safety. Stability. Peace.”

You soften at that, and on instinct, your hand goes to his hair, brushing his graying curls back from his forehead with gentle, soothing strokes. You have found that this is something he likes, and he leans into your touch like a barn cat in a sunbeam. He seems pensive, and you allow the silence between you to linger while he gathers his thoughts.

“I mourn that this child should have a general for a father,” he admits after a moment. “I will be absent for much of his life. I will disappear for stretches of time that could number in years, and when I return, I will be like a stranger to him. Were it in my control, I would be more present. I wish to know my child. And for him to know me.”

“Him?” you echo, a bit impishly, and Marcus smirks.

“Or her, of course. I cannot claim to know whom you carry in your womb. I shall leave that mystery for the gods.”

You grin back him, enjoying the good humor sparkling in his dark eyes. “I am sure that however much time you are permitted to spend with our child – be it months or weeks or days – it will be enough.”

Lifting himself up on one elbow, the general fixes you with a skeptical frown. “How can you be so certain?” he asks.

“Because it does not take long to see who you are, Marcus,” you reply earnestly. “To see your nobility, your strength, your power. Your kindness. These are all things I learned about you in the mere fortnight before we were wed. Your child shall know these things about you, as well.”  

Tucking your hands beneath your cheek, you stare up at him from your pillow. The warmth of the candlelight casts shadows across his golden skin, highlighting the soft crinkles around his eyes, the bridge of his nose, the plush fullness of his lower lip. “Besides, even when you are away, I shall be around to teach them,” you add with a shrug.

“Amica…” He seems a bit overcome at your sincerity, and his low voice rasps like a sword on a whetstone in the darkness. “You are very generous.”

That riot of butterflies returns to your belly as the intimacy of the moment stretches on. Gods, but he is so beautiful like this. No one has ever looked at you the way he does – not with base lust for your body, not with envy for your wealth, not with dismissal for your sex. Marcus looks at you like something precious, like something to be valued. That look makes you foolish, makes your cheeks hot and your tongue loose.

When you speak again, it is without thought.

“When I think about our child…I hope that they look like you, so that even when we are apart, I might have some comfort in seeing your face every day.”

At that, the general lets out a full-bodied laugh and rolls his eyes. Flipping over onto his back, he shakes his head fondly at you like one might a mischievous child. “Now I know for certain that you are flattering me, wife.”

Your brows nearly reach your hairline as a flush of embarrassment races up the back of your neck, darkening your cheeks in an instant. “Wh – No, sir, I would never!” you insist. “I am being entirely earnest.”

“My face? My face upon an innocent babe?” He says this with a scoffing laugh, sounding amused, but when you catch sight of the tightness in his jaw, the wrinkle between his brows, you think that there might be something…authentic beneath his jesting words. “No, my dear wife. It would be far better if the child were to share your visage. Then they might truly be comely to look upon.”

Is it possible…have you stumbled upon a true insecurity, you wonder? It seems unlikely. This is General Marcus Acacius, commander of the emperors’ armies, a man two decades your senior who fought wars on behalf of Rome before you could even walk on two feet. He exudes power and strength and intelligence, and he carries himself with the kind of confidence and self-assurance that comes along with experience. He is a skilled strategist, an indomitable warrior.

Does he truly not see…

Scooting closer to him on the bed, you allow yourself to cup his bearded jaw, to turn his face toward yours. “There would be no greater gift than a child with your eyes, Marcus,” you say softly. “Or perhaps your smile.”

“But not this nose, surely,” he replies, tapping the end of his prominent, hooked nose with one calloused finger. He shakes his head with a wry smile, as though the idea is too preposterous to consider. “I would not willingly inflict such an eyesore upon a child.”

By the gods. He means it, you realize. He has truly surprised you. To your knowledge, the general is not a vain or self-conscious man. You have never known him to care overmuch about how he looks; it was quite a contrast to the pampered upper-class boys you grew up alongside, something you had found refreshing when you had first met. Had you misunderstood? Misinterpreted his lack of self-regard as a lack of care?

You decide it does not matter. All you know for certain is that your husband appears to be under the impression that his appearance leaves something to be desired, and as his wife, you feel it is your duty to demonstrate to him just how wrong he is.

The thought has your heartrate picking up again.

“Do you know…what I thought,” you begin haltingly, forcing yourself to hold his gaze, “the first day I met you, at my father’s villa?”

His dark brows knit together in a small frown, as though your words have surprised him. “Tell me.”

Swallowing against the sudden dryness in your throat, you confess, “I thought you the most striking man I had ever seen.”

“You flatter me, dear heart.” His words are soft, as is his answering smile, but you can hear the platitude in his voice. He does not believe you.

“No, no, it is not flattery.” With some effort, you push yourself up off of the bed, too emphatic to remain lying down for this discussion. You haul your pregnant body up to kneel at his side, tucking your knees into the warmth of his thick waist, and your long hair dangles over his broad chest as you look into his eyes. “I know that…the circumstances of our union were not exactly romantic, and I know that we do not yet know each other well, but I hope you will heed my words when I tell you that…I count myself extremely fortunate to have been married to so handsome a man.” Glancing down at your hands, you fiddle with one of the many thin, gold rings on your fingers in self-consciousness. “My father could have selected anyone he liked. The fact that it is you who shares my bed, you whose child I carry… It is a blessing.”

It is silent between you for a time, your words hanging in the air like a declaration, but then Marcus’s body shifts against you. Curling up to sit at your side, one of his thick, broad hands comes into your line of vision and wraps itself around both of yours, stilling your fidgeting.

You risk a look up, meeting his gaze through the length of your lashes, and you feel your breath leave your body as you take in the softest, warmest, most tender expression you have ever seen on his handsome face.

“It pleases me to hear that you are happy,” he murmurs, running one of his thumbs along the back of your hand. “And that your affection for my look is genuine. It would not do for you to say such things in an attempt to…endear yourself to me. There is no need. I am already quite fond of you.”

You are quick to shake your head. “Not at all! If I have ever given you such an impression, you have my deepest apologies.”

Now that your true feelings for your husband have been revealed, you feel as though you can no longer contain them. Under the affectionate weight of his dark eyes, more comes spilling forth, unbidden. “The truth is that even in the short time that we have known one another, I have spent many hours at my easel attempting to recall your likeness in detail so that I might recreate it. Your nose in particular, I find to be most…attractive.”

Your hand moves of its own accord then, slipping from his grip to float across the narrow space between you as though possessed by some covetous spirit. The very tip of your middle finger lands in the space between his eyebrows, and although you make no conscious decision to do so, you trace down the steep curve of the bridge of his nose with a touch so delicate it might as well have been a breeze.

Your own voice sounds breathless and far away to your ears as you whisper, “You look like a sculpture, Marcus. Like the great marble warriors along the garden path. It makes you look stately and…masculine and…commanding.” Between your thighs, you feel your most intimate muscles clench. You have grown swollen and sensitive there, a feeling you have become increasingly familiar with since your husband’s return home. It’s sweet and delicious and utterly torturous, making you want to squirm in your seat, but you resist.

At least…until Marcus traps your hand in his and brings your wandering fingers to his mouth.

Your eyes snap to his, and you watch as he presses slow, lingering kisses across each of your fingertips. The sensation of his hot, moist breath on your sensitive skin has you trembling, and gods, but his lips are so soft. Turning your palm up to the heavens, the general places a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the tender center of your palm, and you feel yourself swaying toward him as though under a spell.

The plush of his lips dances gently across the thin skin of the inside of your wrist, and your pulse thrums beneath his touch as he growls, “There is perhaps…one advantage of such a face.”

“Tell me.” Your echo of his earlier words comes out like a whine, like you are pleading with him, though what you are pleading for, you cannot say.

Marcus appears to consider your request for a moment, his eyes going sharp and calculating, and then he says, “Perhaps it might be better if I showed you. Do you trust me, dear heart?”

You are quick to nod. “Yes. I trust you.”

Inclining his head at you in acknowledgment, he releases his grip on your hand and pulls away entirely. He lays back on the bed then, scooting down so that his head is flat on the padded surface rather than on his pillow. He adjusts himself a bit, shifting back and forth, but once he is comfortable, he looks back at you and pats his chest with both hands. The sound is muffled by his soft linen sleep tunic but nonetheless audible in the silence of your bedchamber.

“Mount me,” he says without preamble, and you swear you can hear the whirring gears in your brain grind to a halt.

“W-What?”

“I want you to sit astride my face, as you would a horse.” No matter how intensely your face burns at the wicked suggestion, you cannot seem to look away. His deep brown eyes are bottomless in the dark, the depths of them reflecting the candlelight like water at the bottom of a well. You can feel yourself falling into them, can feel something at the very core of you tugging toward him, answering his call. If you were to glance down at the rest of his body, you would see the evidence of the general’s own arousal tenting his tunic, but your gaze is trapped, held fast by the magnetism of him.

“Come, amica,” he says after a moment of your silent, scandalized staring. “You may rest your ass upon my chest, but I would have that sweet cunt on my mouth.”

You swallow audibly, still making no move to obey. Wetness begins to pool between your thighs, slicking your skin and staining the fabric of your sleep clothes, and you lose the battle against your urge to squirm. Your thighs clench together, and you shift upon your calves in search of friction, but you find none. You need his touch…but what he is suggesting is –

“M-Marcus, I couldn’t possibly – I shall smother you, how will you – ”

He cuts off your protests with a growl of your name, and in that moment, you see not your noble husband staring up at you. Instead, you see the Roman General Acacius – sharp jaw clenched, nostrils flared, dark eyes blazing.

“I shall not ask again, wife. No harm will come to you or to me. Now do as you’re told and sit on my face.”

You hesitate for another beat, then two, and then you shuffle forward on wobbly knees to obey. Your husband’s eyes burn a path across your body as you approach him, tracing from your parted, panting lips, to your heaving breasts, to your swollen, pregnant belly. You feel the look like a physical touch, and the sensation has your skin flushing, has sweat breaking out at the small of your back and the nape of your neck. With shaking, uncertain hands, you reach out and brace your palms against the gold-filigreed headboard for stability.

“That’s it, nearly there now,” Marcus sighs as you clumsily, awkwardly swing one of your legs over his body. Your knee lands on the other side of his shoulder, and you feel the heat of his touch on your naked thighs almost immediately. With slow, deliberate motions, he pushes the hem of your sleep tunic up to your hips, revealing your bare ass and cunt to the cool air of the bedroom.

You draw your lower lip between your teeth to stifle a whine, and gooseflesh breaks out across your skin. You’ve started to shake, though whether in fear or arousal, you couldn’t say. Gods, you’re so exposed now. The wetness between your thighs is fully on display, mere inches from your husband’s face. It’s mortifying; if you could melt into the bed and disappear forever, you know you would.

Marcus, however, clearly has no such compunctions. His thick fingers knead the soft, lush flesh of your hips and thighs, using his grip to draw your forward, to draw you down. The groan that oozes from his lips into the hot slip of atmosphere between you sounds exactly like the one he makes when he first slides inside you, and you feel yourself clench involuntarily at the tremor of it now sounding between your legs. He must catch sight of this, your body’s own betrayal happening right under that stately nose that started this whole ordeal, for one moment he appears to be watching you settle in with rapt attention, and the next, he is releasing a dark, sinister chuckle and yanking you closer.

You give a thought for resistance then, consider pulling yourself from his hold, but –

Oh, you can feel his breath on your cunt, can feel your dripping curls shift beneath the current of air as he laughs.  

You shift a bit on your knees, settling so that your weight rests just above each of his shoulders with his hands gripping your hips from behind you. The lower curve of your ass brushes the fine fabric of his tunic, and you are certain that if you could see his face, you would find his chin mere inches from the part of you that pulses and throbs for his attention. As it is, the roundness of your bump nearly eclipses his head, leaving only wisps of the thick, graying curls on the top of his head to peak out around the edges.

“Marcus?” Your voice trembles with nerves around his name, and beneath you, he sighs.

“Well done, amica, you are right where I want you,” he assures you with a groan. You feel the well-trimmed stubble of his silvered beard brush your lower lips; the feeling startles a gasp out of you, and on instinct, one of your hands flies from the headboard to the top of his head. “Mmm, yes, that’s it – sink your fingers into my hair. Hold yourself steady on me.”

You hardly recognize the sound of your own voice as you whimper, “Marcus – Marcus, please.”

“I know what you need.” His touch on your hips is warm, gentle, soothing. “Don’t be afraid. Now rest your weight on me and let me taste you.”

The joints in your limbs feel like water at the general’s words, at the hot wash of his breath across your swollen center. The embarrassment at your precarious position above his face still fizzes in your veins, making you lightheaded, but molten desire has begun to drown it out. Your mind doesn’t fully understand what is about to happen or what he is asking of you, but it seems that on some level, your body does, because it is absolutely thrumming for it.

There is nothing for it anymore. You cannot refuse him. You do not want to refuse him. Whatever he is about to do to you, your body needs it, craves it in the same way it does air or water or food. When you sink your cunt down onto your husband’s waiting mouth, it feels both like a surrender and like a victory.

“Oh – gods, Marcus – ”

Marcus groans deep in his chest the moment you touch his tongue, and then he is bracketing his arms around your thighs and forcibly seating you even more firmly against him. Dragging the slick, pink muscle of his tongue through your folds in one long, languorous stroke, it doesn’t take long before your thighs begin to tremble around his ears. He is focused, meticulous, thorough in his exploration of your most intimate flesh – sucking delicately at your lips, dipping the gentle tip of his tongue into your soft, quivering hole, using the flat of it to dance around that swollen nub at your apex that pulses with the thunderous beat of your heart. The thick arms locked around your thighs angle you this way and that, and through the sound of your own gasps and whines, you can hear the way your wetness drips at his touch.

Every lick, every suck, every swirl of his tongue serves to drive you higher, and you find yourself mindlessly running your hands over your body to ground yourself – stroking your belly, gripping your hips, cupping your breasts. The latter has you accidentally brushing your hardened nipples with your thumbs, and even muted as it is through your tunic, the sensation has you crying out into the dark room.

And that tongue never stops. Marcus is relentless – inexorable and yet unhurried. You can feel all of the tension in your hips and thighs melting away under the heat of his touch, and yet deep within you, something has begun to twist, to pulse, to squeeze. It feels like it does when Marcus beds you – pleasure stirring, burning, building within you as he grows more and more intent, more and more hungry, oh, gods…

It is miraculous. It is unbearable. It is tantamount to torture.

“Marcus,” you gasp helplessly, your fingers knotting in his hair, gripping the headboard. “I – I need – ”

The general pulls away from your cunt with a growl like an animal, and the sound rumbles through your body as he rasps, “That’s it, beautiful girl. Ride my face. Grind those hips into me and ride my face.”

You understand each of his words individually, but they do not coalesce in your mind. How does one “ride” a face? For a moment, you feel self-consciousness and shame begin to creep in at the edges of your thoughts. There are others who would understand the general’s instructions, surely. Others who would know what he wanted and would do it for him in an instant. For the first time, you allow yourself to consider the women that follow the army camps, the women whose services you were certain your husband had partaken of throughout his extensive career. They would know, certainly. Was there truly anything you could offer him that they could not?

Just as you begin to lose that delicious curl of pleasure in your core, as the fog of desire begins to clear from your brain, Marcus flexes those thick, strong arms around your legs and encourages your hips to thrust, dragging your tender flesh across the stubble of his beard, the plush of his lips, the slick of his tongue. That tongue, suddenly firm and pointed, thrusts into your sex, lapping at your wetness, filling the place that clenches for his cock. With the hitch of your hips, that swollen bundle of nerves just at the top glances across the bridge of your husband’s nose.

“Ah! Marcus!”

Beneath your cunt on his face, beneath your hand in his hair, you feel him nod emphatically, and understanding crashes over you like a wave. “Riding” his face. “Mounting” him, like a horse. This is what he wants. He wants you to thrust your hips against his face, as if in the saddle of a warhorse. To rub yourself against his nose and his tongue.

He wants you to find your pleasure with his body.

As though all your joints and muscles had been waiting on this realization, your hips begin to move of their own accord almost immediately, thrusting against that relentless, ever-present tongue, driving it deeper into the hot clutch of your cunt, and fuck…that nose, that big, strong, curved, perfect nose, glancing off of that most sensitive spot with every thrust. Head thrown back, hands on your breasts, fingers twisting and pulling your tender nipples through your tunic, you experiment with different speeds, different pressures, different depths, but if you are honest with yourself, you are so far gone that it has all begun to feel equally intense, equally delicious.

And so you move with abandon – leaning heavily on the headboard for balance, gripping his hair, you grind your swollen, dripping cunt across your husband’s handsome face, fucking his tongue deep into your body, riding the hard curve of his perfect Roman nose. You feel yourself pulse and twitch and tremble with every thrust, feel him lap and slurp and suck at you with new fervor, feel his thick fingers dig into your hips so deeply you know you will bear his bruises in the morning. You had not known pleasure like this existed, had not known it was possible for you to achieve it. You feel drunk with it, the way it seeps into your veins like one too many glasses of wine, and Marcus drinks you down like the finest vintage.

Your clitoris drags across his nose once again, and you cannot smother your moan at the feeling. “Gods, Marcus, your nose – ”

Against your wetness, the general’s face vibrates with something like a chuckle. “I know, dear heart, I know – I told you, this face has one advantage.”

You shake your head fervently, feeling your long curls brush your back as you grind. “It’s perfect. Perfect, Marcus, I – oh, gods, I feel – ”

Another animalistic growl ripples through your husband’s chest, and you feel him nod beneath you. “Jus’ let it happen, amica. Take your pleasure,” he slurs, mouth full of you.

And you do. You take and take and take, clit grinding, hips thrusting, thighs shaking, lungs gasping, and with every pass, that bright, hot, vicious spiral in your abdomen winds tighter, tighter, tighter. Gods, it feels as though it is going to consume you – to swallow you whole and drag you under, to drown you in your own dripping sweetness, your own savage pleasure.

And then it plateaus, the sensations holding, holding, staying at precisely the same level, dangling you over the edge, and in a far away voice, you hear yourself whimper, “Marcus, please!”

Releasing his grip on one of your hips, the man beneath you lands a single, sharp smack to the meat of your ass, and over the edge you fall.

It’s everything you thought it could be – lightning in your veins, lava in your lungs, something primal and elemental and raw that rips through your body like a tidal wave that leaves you hiccuping whines and shaking like a leaf atop the general’s face. You spill your pleasure down his chin, into his mouth, along his jaw. It slips down his neck and dampens the embroidered collar of his tunic, and the way he groans into your twitching cunt, you would think that it had caused him pain. But no – he feels your ecstasy as though it is his own. You have left your body to soar among the clouds, and he joins you, overcome with the particular joy of being responsible for making his wife – the mother of his child – reach such heights.

When you come back to yourself, you are utterly spent – limp and boneless and sweating as though you had just run at top speed from here to the city gates. You start to collapse, and Marcus’s strong hands are there to catch you, to slide you down from his face to his lap. Gathering you into his arms, he brings you back down onto the mattress and tucks you into his side. His broad shoulder cushions your flushed cheek, and his fingers brush your disheveled hair back from your face as you catch your breath. Through bleary eyes, you catch the way his face shines in the candlelight. He’s covered in your slick.

For a few moments, you simply gaze at each other as the silence stretches between you. It is only punctuated by the sound of your labored breaths as each of you settle, but somehow it isn’t awkward, and you find yourself smiling in spite of yourself. He’s so perfect like this, your Marcus. Hair mussed, face pink, everything from his chin to his nose glowing with your pleasure.

There’s a softness around his eyes you’ve never seen before, an earnest warmth that burrows its way into your chest and makes a nest there dangerously close to your heart. It’s an emotion you have a name for, if you are brave enough to say it, and the thought has you gripping tight to his tunic.

You are in awe of him.

You…you love him.

“And what is your verdict, my wife?” he asks after a beat. His voice is a low rumble that travels through his chest and into your body, warming you inside. “Does this Roman nose still please you?”

A tired grin tugs at the corners of your lips, pulling you out of the seriousness of your thoughts, and you nod as enthusiastically as you can manage. “Indeed, I am not certain I have ever been quite so…pleased before, husband.”

“Hmm. Good.” Marcus tucks the arm around your body into your waist, pulling you even deeper into his embrace. “Then perhaps the thing may serve a purpose after all.”

You reach up and cup his cheek in your palm, feeling the stickiness of your spend in his beard on your skin. “The purpose it serves is that it is my husband’s nose, and as such, is a part of the dearest face in the world to me.” His dark eyes soften at that, and he turns to place a warm kiss on the heel of your hand.

“Though…should you find yourself forgetting,” you add with an impish grin, “I would not object to a…repeat demonstration of its value. If it would be of any help to you, of course.”

This startles a laugh from his chest, his dark eyes crinkling with mirth, and you cannot help but join in. Gods, he is gorgeous, you think to yourself as you chuckle together in the dark. Both in his soul and in his body, your husband is gorgeous.

A hand drops to the place where your child rests, safe and protected inside your womb, and you feel a little flutter against your palm.

You decide then that you care not whether your child bears your face or Marcus’s. Either way, they will be beautiful, for how could they not be, when they have come from this?

Latin Translation:

amica - darling, sweetheart

[aquasarsstuff]

Arrange Marriage ft. Lilia Vanrouge part. 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

Tags: Lilia teases you, fluff, historical au, there will be part two, reader is implied to be a woman, but no gender is mentioned, is it obvious I love teasing Lilia, twst what do you mean Lilia ain't a prince

Summary: Frustrated about your upcoming marriage, you ranted to your bestfriend who seems to be more than enthusiastic to listen.

Masterlist

---

Lilia bursted into a laugh — a loud one — as you continued dissing your fiancé, a man you never even once met or heard of. You weren't afraid to run your mouth about a powerful figure without a care, which amuses him greatly though slightly worried. He'd make sure to remind you to that walls have ears.

You grumbled at his reaction, clearly expecting to receive sympathy from him.

"Lilia!" You whined at him. "Stop laughing at my predicament! I'm about to be married off!

"My, such hostile reaction. You haven't even met the man fufufu," he chuckled and shook his head. His cheeks looking more fuller doing so. Looking at him, you'd never imagine in your life that you'd be this casual with a commoner, and a man at that. You met him while you snuck out of your household to enjoy the festival normally. Amidst the crowd, you accidentally bumped into your now cheeky companion. It was only one night, but both of you hit it so well. You remembered smiling on your way back, only to not be able to sleep when you were slapped with the reality that you might not see him again. Only for the devil to reappear in your room, apparently sneaking past security.

You didn't question how he was able to do that.

"This is no laughing matter, Lilia." You crossed your arms, a little bit annoyed at your best friend. "Because of this marriage — because of him, my parents have been stricter lately. One of these days, I might just wake up looking like a dried stick."

"All those efforts might be worthwhile once you laid your eyes upon his highness," he answered, sipping on his tea.

"Please, I'm not someone who is easily charmed," you huffed. "Stop pushing the idea. You're supposed to be on my side, not his. It's not like you know him well," you complained. He sighed and smiled at your already irritated form.

"It is a wise choice to side with him, no? A commoner have no chance against your prince. He might let you get away for badmouthing him. As for me however, he'd have no reason to spare me," he pouts. "By then, you will not ever see this adorable face you adore so much."

You rolled your eyes. "It's not like we will see each other as often once I married that prince."

"I have snuck in here without a problem sweetcheeks. That isn't going to be an issue for me." He winks at you.

"The palace is more secured, Lilia."

Lilia took note of the sudden change in your behavior. He was almost fooled into believing that you were affected by his teasing, for the first time when your cheeks were adorned with a soft hue of red. You turned your head away from him, curling your back against the chair.

"Besides, someone has my heart already. Prince charming wouldn't be able to charm me that easy," you confessed bashful. Gathering enough courage, you proceeded to look at him. You stared at his eyes searching for any signs of jealousy at those ruby orbs. His lips molded into a grin, and you swear you have never ever hated his smile before.

"Oh, and who was able to capture your picky heart?" He grinned, as if knowing the answer already.

"I knew it was a bad idea to tell you."

"You wound me sweetcheeks. Do you not trust me enough to confide with your secrets?"

You just grumbled a threw a pillow at his face, in which he was able to catch easily with no problem.

He watched you closely. Your fiancé might just forgive you for insulting him in front of his face, as long as you continued spoiling him with such cute reactions. The idea of shedding his disguise suddenly seemed more tempting to Lilia.

---

[zepskies]

Series Masterlist: The Honorable Choice

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC 

Summary: June 1872. Captain Dean Winchester of the U.S. Cavalry is tasked with one job: break a wild mustang. He just didn’t expect the woman who infiltrates his camp, intent on freeing her tribe’s horse.

AN: I got inspired after a recent rewatch of Spirit: The Stallion of the Cimarron (literally a perfect movie), as well as having Yellowstone in the back of my brain. I thought this idea might be a good fit for @jacklesversebingo.

**Disclaimer: I’ve done extensive research for this one, both on the American Indian Lakota tribe, and on American history during this time in the late 1800s (AKA: the Old West, during the American Indian Wars and the Sioux Wars). Of course, one of my main goals is to avoid inaccuracies, both historical and cultural.

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: Western AU

Series Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Racism, angst, violence, protective Dean, eventual smut, perilous situations, fluff and spice, along with other chapter-specific tags.

🎵 Listen While You Read: The Spirit Soundtrack

Chapters:

Part 1 - Pride & Prejudice

Part 2 - Death & Sacrifice

Part 3 - Worthy

Series Complete!

🎙️ Podcast Fics:

A “podfic” is where you can listen to the story narrated - in this case by my amazing friend Sandra - @talltalesandbedtimestories.

Listen to Part 1 -

Listen to Part 2 -

Listen to Part 3 -

Join My Patreon 🌟 For early access to new stories, bonus content, first looks at upcoming stories, send me requests, and more!

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Masterlist

Dean Winchester Series List

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Dean W. Tag List:

Comment below if you'd like to be tagged in this series! 💜

Or follow @zepskieswrites (with notifications on) to get notified every time I drop a new story or chapter.

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @iamsapphine

@roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @just-levyy

@samanddeaninatrenchcoat @lacilou @adoringanakin @midnightmadwoman @chriszgirl92

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@mimaria420 @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @waywardxwords @waynes-multiverse @twinkleinadiamondsky

@my-stories-vault @cevansbaby-dove @kayleighwinchester @rizlowwritessortof @syrma-sensei

@mrsjenniferwinchester @charmed-asylum @k-slla @jackles010378 @deanbrainrotwritings

@alwaystiredandconfused @deans-daydream @deanwinchestersgirl87 @rachiem4-blog @leigh70

@kmc1989 @ghostslillady @siampie @pieandmonsters @globetrotter28

@spnwoman @stoneyggirl2 @spnfamily-j2 @mostlymarvelgirl @artemys-ackles

@mrlonelycat @sanscas @spnexploration @tmb510 @fromcaintodean

[bibliophilea]

So... this isn't the first time I've seen people being incredibly mean to a whole section of the phandom. It's the first time in a while I've seen a post this bad in the main "danny phantom" tag, though. I have Thoughts™ that have been stewing for a while. Thoughts™ that shouldn't be put in the tags of someone else's post.

I'm not going to link anything. These are just my thoughts, raised to the forefront by recent posts in the main tag.

TLDR: I have two main Thoughts™:

No matter what you ship, I welcome you to this phandom. The folks who openly despise real people for shipping fictional things do not represent all of phandom. Y'all deserve better than being called shitty names. Your ships do not make you a bad person, and I personally welcome you.

To y'all who keep trying to draw a line in the sand to define who is "degenerate" or whose work is "degenerate": the moment you draw that line, you create a way for others to shove people behind that line. And the folks who usually get shoved behind that line and called "degenerate" are lgbtqia+ folks, and sa/csa survivors. It's happened before on LiveJournal and FFN, and it's happening now, irl, with book bannings across the USA (and especially in Florida). The only way to protect lgbtqia+ folks and sa/csa survivors from this abuse is to not draw a line in the sand at all. Don't call folks "degenerate" for any reason, unless you're ready to have that finger pointed back at you by a larger and more negative movement.

If you desire fuller context, it's below the cut.

First: no matter what you ship, I welcome you to this phandom.

The views of hatred and disgust that pop up in this phandom don't represent all of phandom. No fandom is perfect, and we'll always see some form of the "logic of disgust" from some folks in any fandom. But no matter what you ship, and whether or not I personally ship it, I welcome you. You will find no disgust from me as I am now.

If you dig backwards into my blog, you might find some anti sentiment. My introduction to fandom was first FFN, and then tumblr, back when I was more of a black-and-white thinker. I'm pretty sure I experienced some form of shock when I really started digging in to the Wild West that is fandom. I don't know if I ever expressed this shock online. But none of you deserve to be called "degenerates" over liking whatever fictional content you like. Y'all are a part of phandom, too, and any attempts to erase you or deride you are wrong.

We shouldn't be drawing lines in the sand and throwing people behind those lines. That's dangerous.

Second: to y'all who keep drawing lines in the sand, please consider the broader context around you.

The moment you draw a line in the sand to delineate between you and your group of people, and "them" and their group of "degenerates", people find ways to shove other folks, including you and your folks, behind that line. Historically, both in fandom and outside of fandom, the folks who get shoved ALWAYS include lgbtqia+ folks, and sa/csa survivors. We saw this with the purging of LiveJournal. We saw this with the multiple purges of FanFiction.Net. We haven't seen this with ao3, as far as I know; but their stance seems to be very anti-censorship for fandom-historical reasons.

Outside of fandom, we are seeing this now. I'm doing my senior capstone project on book bans. According to PEN America's data, over the past school year alone, 154 counties in 34 states have banned 1557 books 3362 times overall. Over 40% of those bans come from Florida counties. And much of the "reasoning" behind these bans is the same logic of disgust that fandom applies to "problematic ships": They call it pornographic and pedophilia. They call it harmful and age-inappropriate. They largely target books about lgbtqia+ people and people of color. And this year, they've also targeted "books on physical abuse, health and well-being, and themes of grief and death" - expanding their censorship to "protect the children".

Censorship doesn't protect anyone. Instead, it prevents people from holding genuine conversations with real people about the censored material.

And if you're not ready to have that conversation, that's fine! You do you! But don't create an environment where other people can't have that conversation. That only breeds the sort of black-and-white thinking that leads to 1406 book bannings in the state of Florida.

This is just speculation on my part: but I reckon every single person who supports those bans would love to ban the same content you want censored. And they'd call for you and the content you love to be lumped in with them.

We all deserve better than that. So please stop drawing lines in the sand.

[starryalpacasstuff]

Queer Indian Media: A Compilation

A couple of days ago, @impala124 sent @lurkingshan an ask about the lack of discussion about Queer Indian Media in fandom spaces. I wrote about it here, @neuroticbookworm here, and @waitmyturtles here (both of them have excellent points, I highly recommend you read their posts!). It's become quite apparent that people are willing to watch and engage in discourse about queer Indian media, it's just that the lack of popularity and accessibility makes it harder for people to start. So, I've decided to make a list tracking all of the queer Indian media I know of, and hopefully also any meta/discourse about it, which is an idea I've had floating in my head for months now.

This list is by no means comprehensive, so if you have recs, send them my way! Text me on DM, send an ask, tag me in your posts, whatever. And though it's not possible for me to watch everything on the list, I will be slowly going through as many of these as I can and writing about them, as well as hopefully finding more stuff and easier to access versions for the ones that are harder to access right now. This post is going to be a slow work in progress, but I'm hoping to update it regularly. So, if you'd like me to keep you updated, let me know through the tags/replies and I will tag you in future posts!

I've tagged the people who've recommended certain shows alongside each show. Everything on here is available online. The hyperlinked titles lead you to the media itself, meaning that it's available for free online with subtitles. Other details will be mentioned separately.

Disclaimer: The media I have watched/read have recommendation ratings (which will not always reflect my enjoyment of something, rather are based on how much I'd recommend it). While I did lightly screen everything on here, the criteria was 'has a trailer or otherwise showing queerness to be a central theme in the story' and 'is available online', so take that into account if you decide to pick something up, and definitely watch trailers and/or skim the wikipedia pages beforehand.

Movies

Fire | English | @neuroticbookworm 

Recommendation: 8.75/10 A 1996 movie surrounding a lesbian couple packed with commentary on religion, class, purity culture and more. Quick Pitch + Historical Context

Kapoor & Sons | Hindi | @neuroticbookworm

Available on Netflix, Prime, and paid on Youtube and Apple TV

Kaathal-The Core | Malayalam | @neuroticbookworm 

Officially on Prime, also available grey without subtitles

Super Deluxe | Tamil | @neuroticbookworm 

Officially on a paid streaming service called aha, grey on youtube

Dear Dad | Hindi | @neuroticbookworm 

Geeli Puchi (Ajeeb Dastaans) | Hindi | @blorbingqls @neuroticbookworm 

Available on Netflix

Cobalt Blue @blorbingqls

Officially on Netflix, also available grey without subtitles

Ek Ladki Ko Dekha Toh Aisa Laga | Hindi | @fallsouthwinter @usertoxicyaoi @neuroticbookworm

Available officially on Netflix, so watch there if you can, but can also be found grey in two parts without subtitles

Chitrangada: The Crowning Wish | Bengali | @silverquillsideas @neuroticbookworm 

I believe it's available on prime, but you might need to do some digging. Also available grey on youtube without subtitles (the movie is in part Bengali, part English)

Shubh Mangal Zyada Savdhan | Hindi | @silverquillsideas @twig-tea @neuroticbookworm

Officially on Amazon, grey on youtube without subtitles

Maja Ma | Hindi | @flyingrosebeetle @silverquillsideas 

Available on Amazon Prime

Badhaai Do | Hindi

Officially on Netflix, available grey without subtitles

Loev | Hindi

Available on youtube with Spanish (I think?) subtitles

Margarita With A Straw | Hindi

I believe this is a cut version, it is officially on Netflix which is likely the uncut version

Recommendation: 9/10

A self-discovery story about an Indian woman named Laila with cerebral palsy with great rep and beautiful execution.

Meta by @wen-kexing-apologist

Chandigarh Kare Aashiqui | Hindi | anon

Available grey without subtitles, officially on Netflix

Amar Prem Ki Prem Kahani | Hindi | @flowerbeasblog @aneechan

Officially on Jio Cinema, also available grey without subtitles

Time Out | Hindi

Available on Netflix

My Brother…Nikhil | Hindi

My Son Is Gay | Tamil

Hindi dub available on youtube without subtitles

Shows

Romil and Jugal | Hindi | @anixknowsnothin

You do need a vpn if you're outside India to watch it with the above link, it's also grey on youtube without subtitles

Recommendation: 8.5/10 India's modern gay remake of Romeo and Juliet, five years before Bad Buddy Random thoughts

The Married Woman | Hindi | @a-not-knowing-bisexual-wizard

Dev DD Season 2 | Hindi

Legitimately no clue whether this and the prev are grey or official

Made in Heaven | Hindi | @flyingrosebeetle @non-beingnary @neuroticbookworm

Available on Prime

All About Section 377, Still About Section 377 | Hindi

The Story Tales S2 | Gujrati

Insomnia | Hindi

It's a streaming service I've never heard of before, not unlike Gaga, this is one of the darker shows on the list so please do check out the trailer beforehand

Amra 2GayTher | Bengali

Available on two streaming services here and here, both paid

Mini gls from @twig-tea (og post here)

Firsts S3 | @tinyreadinglifelight

Neverland

Maaya 2

Last two eps do not have subtitles but the story is followable

The ‘Other’ Love Story @/silverquillsideas 

Just Another Love Story

Books

Memory of Light

Recommendation: 5/10 A historical book set during the colonial era, the lesbian romance is mostly a subplot that loses it's way towards the end. It's kind of a drag, but the history component is somewhat interesting.

Don't Let Him Know

Recommendation Rating: 7.5/10 with serious trigger warnings including rape. It's a brutally honest book designed to make the reader uncomfortable, so proceed with caution. I personally liked it quite a lot, but that's majorly because of how authentic the book felt.

Falling Into Place

Recommendation Rating: 8/10 A modern lesbian romance that follows similar beats to the typical thai bl/gl. A little underdeveloped in some places, but overall quite good.

My Magical Palace

Cobalt Blue

The Paths Of Marriage

Marriage Of A Thousand Lies

[edenesth]

TWTHH Spinoff: Take Me Away [Teaser]

Pairing: private investigator!Wooyoung x courtesan!reader

AU: historical au (Joseon era)

Summary: While working on a new case in town, Wooyoung was captivated when he stumbled upon a beauty unlike any other. Just as he began to believe that he might have found a Lady Park of his own, word got out that she was merely the newest courtesan at the town's brothel. Disheartened by this revelation, he nearly abandons his pursuit of her until he hears whispers suggesting that she may not have been there of her own will.

Main Story | Spinoff Masterlist | Part 1

"Miss Han, you fortunate little thing! Congratulations on securing your very first client. This dashing young man seems utterly smitten by you, to have reserved your company for the entire evening."

You tightly clenched your trembling fists to your chest, suppressing a terrified whimper as you listened to the brothel madam's devious teasing. You had prayed fervently that nobody would request your services, doing everything you could to remain inconspicuous over the past week, hoping they might see you as more suitable for hard labour; you'd much rather be the lowest servant than do any of this.

Yet, here you were, already with your first client, and not just any client—this man had gone as far as to secure your companionship for the entire day. Such occurrences were rare, even for the most sought-after courtesans in this establishment. You couldn't fathom who this person might be, how he had learned of you, and why he'd spend so much to buy your time.

"Wh-who is it? This customer..."

"Wouldn't you like to know? It's none other than the famous private investigator Jung Wooyoung, known for his significant role in aiding General Park's capture of former Minister Jang. I suppose even men with a strong sense of justice are still susceptible to desire," The sly woman drawled, winking at you, "Don't disappoint us, girl. A client of his calibre could become a valuable long-term patron. Treat him well."

Surprise, my lovelies! I bet y'all thought Mingi would be the first spinoff I'd unveil, huh? TEEHEE! This will either be a oneshot or if it gets too long, I might break it into two parts!

Just a heads up tho, it's the last two weeks of my final semester (which means I won't have as much time to write) but as always, I'll do my best to get this out as soon as I can.

Tag list (1/2): @itstheghostofmypast @huachengsbestie01 @minghaoslatina @weedforthoughtz @minkiflwr @cheolliehugs @ho3-for-yunho @the-kpop-simp @writingwieny @stayatinykatsy @skzline @green-agent @stayinhellevator @vampzity @tinyteezer @evidive @vantediary @superbbananananana @kimyeolchan @chocolate-scoups @decadentstrangernacho @vic0921 @foxinnie8 @marievllr-abg @sunnyhokyu @seungmin-in-thebuilding @heyitsmetonid @sansaurora9904 @darkestacademiamindsx12-blog @pay13 @kpop17 @professormingisglasses @newworldwritings @chicken-fifi @thunderous-wolf @shythinggiver @madnpan @yandere-stories @anxiousskylar @frobin4ever @starssongs98 @kamabokogonpachro @chngbnwf @dollce-exe @jan-l @lovelyred2 @haven-cove @watermelon2319 @dreamingofyeo @akimkim @scuzmunkie @satsuri3su @mismatchfluffysocks @borntoshineateez @st4rhwa @ddaeing @tropicalsstuff @bts-army380 @skteezcursed @beauty143

All Rights Reserved © edenesth // DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, PLAGIARISE OR REPURPOSE.

[upat4amwiththemoon]

As free as an avis | 8

Summary: A princess and a commoner falling in love was a scandal on itself, but them both being women just adds fuel to the fire.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader

Warnings: this story will deal with homophobia and sexism, this story is mostly historically inaccurate, angst

Word count: 3024

a/n: the next chapter just might be the last one

Tags: @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @themagnificentmx @raven-reyes-wife @spongebobtentacles @friskyfisher @thought-of-you-and-me @rafecameronswhore @inarayofmoonlight @sayah13 @wandsmxmff @emsmultiverse @natashamaximoff69 @scarsw1fe

masterlists | guidelines

All parts: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8

Something is wrong.

Something has felt wrong since last night, when her and Wanda left their picnic. They didn't dare to touch each other or even speak when they went back to the castle. All Wanda did was escort Y/N back to her chambers, before going to her own.

The first thing to happen when Y/N woke up, was one of her mother's servants walking into her room, and demanding she do see her parents. So, that is what she does.

The servants are keeping their gazes strictly away from the Princess, only glancing down at her when they think she isn’t looking at them.

There’s a small frown on her face as she walks towards her parents’ office. Her hands are resting behind her back, unconsciously fidgeting with her rings due to the atmosphere. It’s not unheard of for the whole castle to be off when her parents’ aren’t in a good mood, but this is different. This feels worse.

Y/N looks around, noticing how the servants immediately turn away when their gazes meet. She pulls on the collar of her dress, suddenly feeling like the air is running out.

She stops in front of the office door, knocking on it softly, fearing her parents would be set off if she knocked any harder.

“Come in.”

Her body tenses as she hears her mother’s cold voice. She takes hold of the doorknob and twists it, opening the door just the slightest. She takes a moment, her chest heavy with a feeling of doom. Something in her gut is telling her to just turn back and run, never looking back.

Y/N swallows, opening the door properly and stepping inside the room, closing the door behind her.

“Lock the door.”

She hesitates. She can only see her parents’ backs, but their postures are too rigid. Something is wrong. Y/N locks the door with a soft click.

No one knows what is happening behind the locked door. No one can hear a whisper from the other side, even if they pretend to clean outside of the door, trying to eavesdrop. It somehow makes everyone more on edge, as all three of the royals tend to be very loud people, especially when fighting.

It has been hours since Y/N went inside the room. Wanda, Natasha, nor Yelena have been told anything, and everyone refuses to speak to them, especially to Wanda. The certain servants act the same around Wanda as they did around Y/N.

Once they realized no one would tell them anything, they decided to go wait in Y/N’s room, where they have been for the past hour now. The two sisters pacing, while Wanda sits on the bed.

“Go over it again.”

Wanda sighs, rubbing her face. “Natasha-“

“Go over it again.” Natasha’s voice is rough as she stops to glare at Wanda, before continuing her pacing again.

“Stop it.” Yelena intervenes before her sister goes even further. “She already told you everything they’ve done in the past week, she clearly doesn’t know what is going on. And whatever is going on, it’s not Wanda’s fault.”

“It’s clearly about them!” Natasha scoffs, shaking her head. “Whether she likes it or not, it’s partially her fault.”

Yelena slaps Natasha’s arm, not in a gentle way either. She may be younger, but she isn’t afraid to put Natasha in her place if the need be. “It is not her fault.” She and Wanda have become good friends during her time in the castle. “Y/N would hate to hear you say that.”

“Well, she isn’t here to hear me.” Natasha grumbles, rubbing the spot Yelena slapped. “We have no idea where she is or what is going on…” her voice turns softer, “we don’t know if they’re hurting her.”

Wanda fidgets with her hands, not wanting to think about the possibility of the King and Queen hurting Y/N because of their relationship.

“We’ll figure it out.” Yelena assures, having taken the role of voice of reason, which she doesn’t usually take. “She is still the future queen, they won’t do anything too bad.”

…hopefully. They’re all thinking about it, but no one dares to say it.

Yelena gives Natasha a look, making her sigh. “Wanda, I’m sorry for blaming you. I’m just worried about Y/N.”

“I don’t blame you.” Wanda gives Natasha a small smile, though it’s not entirely genuine due to the circumstances. “I’m really worried too.”

Natasha nods, not continuing the conversation. Sharing emotions and having deeper conversation with anyone else than her sister and Y/N is difficult to her, sometimes it’s a struggle even with the two people she is closest to.

The silence stretches on for a while before the door opens, causing all of them to stand and stare, hoping for Y/N to walk through. One of the castle servants peeks through, “miss Maximoff?”

Wanda’s eyes widen. “That’s me.” She takes a step forward.

“The Princess is asking to meet you in the garden. She said you would know where.” With that, the servant leaves.

Letting out a breath, she turns to look at Yelena and Natasha. Her mind is moving too fast to make sense. “This…this means she’s okay, right?”

“Yeah.” Yelena sets her hand on Wanda’s arm, squeezing it softly. “Go on, don’t make her wait.”

Wanda nods, turning around and walking out of the room. There’s still a strange feeling in the back of her mind.

Y/N can hear Wanda’s steps getting closer. Her lower lip trembles as she stares at the oak tree. The wind feels colder today.

“Y/N?”

She closes her eyes at the carefulness of Wanda’s voice. Letting out a shaky breath, she turns around and looks at her lover, though her gaze lacks the usual softness.

Wanda frowns. She’s relieved there’s no visible marks on the Princess’ body, but she still doesn’t look the same. “Is everything alright?”

“You’re freed of your position as my personal maid, you need to leave the castle before sundown.” Her voice cracks as she stares at Wanda, tears glazing her eyes, but she blinks them away. This is no time to cry.

Worry is clearly etched on Wanda’s face, she was never as good at holding her expressions back, especially around Y/N. It takes her a moment to process the words that reached her ears, not fully believing she heard her correctly. “What?”

“You will get your final payment from the steward before you leave, and a carriage will be provided to your desired destination.”

The words don’t clear any of Wanda’s confusion, she never asked to be freed from her position, she doesn’t want that. She wants to be at the castle with Y/N. “Why? Did I do something wrong?” She whispers and takes a step closer, but stops when Y/N takes a step back.

“You’ve put childish imagines and beliefs in my head.” Her voice wavers just the slightest, even when she tries to will it away. Wanda notices it right away, she knows her better than anyone else. “Your foolish talks of creating my own destiny and following my dreams have corrupted me and made me neglect my duties as the future queen. This is why I have made the decision to send you away.”

“No, Y/N-“

“You will address me as Your Highness, as everyone else in this castle does.” She interrupts Wanda, her voice colder and cutting, but not without a sliver of uncertainty. “Please leave immediately.”

“I’m not leaving, Y/N-“ Wanda stops herself, “Your Highness, please, this isn’t what you want. You never wanted to be the next queen, you want to be with the people. The castle has never been the right place for you and you know that. We have an opportunity to leave, together.” Her words are starting to become begs for the Princess to hear her.

“Silence!” Y/N’s voice echoes through the garden. “Miss Maximoff, you better leave before I call for the guard to take you to the executioner.”

Wanda holds her hands on her sides, they’re clenched into tight fists, her nails pressing against her palms. “Some people are worth dying for.” She whispers with a smile.

Y/N falters at her statement, her breath hitching and eyes widening. She knows Wanda is serious. “If you do not leave immediately, your family will be banished from their home.” The words come out hushed, filled with shame.

“You wouldn’t do that.” Wanda shakes her head, refusing to listen to her. “These are not your words, they are your parents’!”

“Wanda, I don’t love you!” Y/N shouts, shutting her up. There’s coldness in her eyes that Wanda has never seen before. “I never loved you and never will. You were merely a moment of weakness, a distraction from my duties. I am ashamed of the things we did. You are pathetic to think someone like me could love, or even care about, someone as low and dirty as you. You are a disgrace.”

Wanda stares at the Princess with silent tears falling down her face. She could see no love on her face, no warmth or gentleness…no Y/N. Quickly her sadness turns intro hatred and disgust. She wipes away her tears and betters her posture, a glare in her eyes. “You’ll be a terrible queen,” her voice trembles, “a devil just like the rest of them. The people will hate you, Your Highness.” Her words are like daggers in Y/N chest, but she doesn’t nothing to show it.

When it’s clear neither of them will speak, Wanda courtesies and turns around, walking towards the castle as fast her legs allow her.

Y/N stares at the now empty spots, letting the tears to finally fall. She drops down to her knees, not minding the pain or dirt. Her tears turn into sobs that she tries to muffle with the palm of her hand. She just lost the love of her life, for good.

By the time Yelena find Y/N in the garden, she has already stopped crying, now just staying on her knees, staring at the ground.

Yelena lowers herself to the ground next to her and sets her hand on the Princess’ shoulder. “We need to get you inside.” She speaks quietly, not wanting to upset her even more.

“What’s the point?”

“The point is,” Yelena pulls Y/N up by her arms, “that you’re still the Princess, and this isn’t your end.” She starts leading her towards the castle. Her pace is slow and she stays right by her as they walk.

Y/N stays quiet. There’s no point in words. There are no words to describe how much she is hurting, how much shame she feels for the things she had to say to Wanda. How much it took of her to actually make it seem like she meant every word spoken, like just yesterday they weren’t speaking of running away together.

“I’m sorry.” Yelena whispers, squeezing Y/N’s hand, her eyes constantly on her. “I’m so sorry.”

“Me too.”

The rest of the walk back to the castle goes in heavy silence.

As much as Y/N would like to go to her room and fall asleep for a very long time, her parents aren’t allowing it.

The King and Queen invited Lord James Barnes to the castle and dragged Y/N into a meeting with the three them to talk about the idea of marriage, and at the moment, she is not present enough to argue against it.

Y/N sits between her parents once again, Lord Barnes sitting opposite of them. She is staring at the table between them, a distance in her eyes. If anyone notices it, they don’t comment on it, they talk as if everything is normal.

“Lord Barnes, we thank you for coming on such short notice.” The Queen smiles, her hands resting on the table.

He bows his head slightly. “It’s no trouble, Your Majesty. I was rather pleased to get your letter, as your daughter caught my eye the first moment I saw her.”

Y/N is pretty sure she was only 15 years old when meeting Lord Barnes for the first time.

“That is great to hear.” The King comments. “As you may know, we are looking to find our daughter a husband, and a future king to our kingdom. We believe you may be the perfect man for this role.”

He said that to all the other candidates who came before him.

“I hope you don’t mind us asking you questions before we leave you alone with the Princess.”

“Not at all.”

The Queen smiles at his enthusiasm. She glances at Y/N, noticing how out of it she looks, but at this moment she doesn’t care. She won’t let the Princess’ mood disturb this joyous possibility. “What do you think of children?”

“Oh, I want many.” The Lord immediately states. “I especially want sons to pass on my name, but I wouldn’t mind daughters either. My eldest son would obviously be my heir to the throne, if you choose me to be the next King.”

“You want sons? How wonderful.” The King and Queen glance at each other. Their greatest sorrow was never getting a true heir.

James nods with a smile, his eyes staying on either the Queen or the King, mostly the latter, as he is the man in charge. He rarely looks at the Princess unless he is admiring her figure, knowing she is here just for show. "Yes, I am a rather determined man and will not rest until I have at least three sons."

Three sons. Y/N raises her eyes long enough to glance at the Lord. She does not wish to have even one child, let alone three sons. How is she supposed to raise boys who will think less of her when they are men.

"Three sons, oh, how wonderful." The Queen repeats, very much pleased by his words.

The King nods in agreement, he has always dreamed to have sons to teach and practice swording with, but grandsons would do. "And what do you think of the crown? Would you uphold our rulings as the next King?"

"Of course, Your Majesty." The Lord bows his head. "I believe in your rulings and wish to be even half as good of a king as you have been. If I am to be the future king, I would be honored to learn under your leadership."

"Ass kisser." Y/N whispers under her breath.

The Queen turns to look at her daughter, her brows raised. She heard what was said, but she hopes she'll cause no trouble. "What was that, my dearest?"

Clearing her throat, the Princess straightens her back and looks back at her mother. "I merely expressed my happiness." She mumbles. "My apologies for interrupting your conversation."

"No, it is quite alright." A silent conversation passes between the King and Queen. "I believe we are done with our conversation." They turn to look at Lord Barnes. "We think you are a rather fine man, who will make a great king. So...shall we go ahead and arrange the marriage, we would be rather pleased with the earliest date possible."

"I am ever the happiest to hear that."

They all stand up, though Y/N has to be pulled up by her arm. The Lord walks over to her, putting out his arm for her to take, which she does. The four of them walk out of the room, all the servants evading their gazes when they come across them.

"You are not against being married soon, are you, Lord Barnes?" The King speaks as they walk, him and the Queen in front of James and Y/N.

"I have nothing against marrying soon, I have been ready for marriage rather long."

"Wonderful." A pleased smile grows on the Queen's face. She is so close to getting what she wants. "Then the marriage will happen in two days time."

Y/N's face falls. Two days time is so soon. She doesn't even know Lord James Barnes. She holds no love or warmth towards him. Although, she has found herself with no feelings without Wanda by her side.

The Lord smiles, his hold of Y/N tightening as he smiles down at her. "That sounds perfect, Your Majesty."

"Perfect indeed, mother." Y/N whispers, her blank eyes stuck on the back of her mother.

James' arm around hers feels rough, even through his clothing. He looks ragged and cold under his smile. The expression on his face looks different when looking at the King and Queen, compared to when he looks at Y/N. It's more genuine towards her parents, more...transactional when it comes to her. It's the same with everyone, they all want to please the rulers, everyone wants the people in power to be on their side. No one cares about the Princess, woe is her.

Except Wanda.

Wanda loved her, Wanda cared about her. Her heart aches at the thought of her. She wishes she could rip her arm away from James' hold and run back into her true lover's arms. But she doesn't, she stays there, holding onto the man, like a good princess.

Her mother's voice brings her back to the present. "Oh, how I am excited for this union. It will be celebrated throughout the city, we will invite the highest of people to be your guests, and use all the money we need to. Y/N, Lord Barnes, feel free to tell all your wishes to the wedding planner, as long as you do it today."

They walk past Natasha, thought none of them notice her eyes on them. She hears them speak of a wedding, and she's able to guess the nothingness in her friend's eyes is due to this. As the four of them walk further along the corridor, Natasha starts walking the other way, a frown on her face. There's this deep need to do something filling her.

She needs to fix this.

[bbsmuts]

Field Trip Ft. BLACKPINK Jennie and Jeon Somi

A/N: This was another pitch by @xiaoondc, the Momo smut was his idea as well. I don’t know how long this will be, I’m just going off of the pitch. I finished my collab smut that I wrote for when I hit 1k followers, just waiting to reach it now. Enjoy!

Also, this contains sexual violence and a humiliation scene, so that might not suit everyone. 

Editing this a year and a half later, little did I know that this would blow up to be my biggest smut ever, more than 1,000 notes racked up over time. Can’ t thank you guys enough.   -상훈

Length: 4.83k

Possible TW: Whipping, spanking, rough gangbang, humiliation, etc

Tags: Gangbang, bondage, whipping, spanking, dub con, throatfuck, anal, humiliation

Field Trip Part 2

It was about ten in the morning when the plane landed in Kenya. After a not-so-good night of sleep on the plane, Jennie was ready to be off. 

It wasn’t as though she wasn’t looking forward to the trip, she had been anticipating that for ages. But she wasn’t used to the heat of Africa or being jetlagged from changing time zones. She would be glad to have some rest in the hotel before the tour started. They would be exploring the Kenyan savanna with the tour guide and passing through the village of an the Kikuyu tribe (real Kenyan tribe, by the way), then making a circle back to Nairobi. Her taxi took her to the hotel, and after giving him his pay she stepped out and cast an eye over the hotel. A large sign out front on the roof read ‘Radisson Blu’, along with another on the west wall. She could tell just looking at it that she had chosen the right one. When she entered and checked in, a bellhop showed her to her room. The lobby was one of the finest she had ever seen, and that way saying a lot. The interior had a white theme with dark colored armchairs. Plants dotted the room here and there, and twinkling lights hung from the ceiling. Even the hallway leading to her room was extravagantly decorated. She took her luggage off the rack and unlocked her room with her keycard. She would have a couple of hours before the tour started, enough to get a good rest in. She quickly undressed and fell into the immense bed, falling asleep within seconds.    

…

  When she woke, she realized she would need to move quickly, the tour was starting in fifteen minutes. She got up and slipped on her shorts and crop top, not wanting to be stuck in pants or anything warm while she was out in the hot Kenya sun. After a quick snack she headed out to her taxi and headed to the venue for the tour. She arrived shortly after, where a small group of other foreigners (foreigners to Kenya, not Kenyans themselves) were waiting for it to start. The tour guide introduced herself as Ngina Mwangi and shepherded them onto a large, open-windowed bus. Jennie sat down next to a friendly-looking Korean woman and introduced herself. “I’m Somi,” the woman said in response to Jennie. “Jeon Somi. How are you?” “Good.” Replied Jennie. “It’s really hot here, especially compared to Seoul.” “You live in Seoul too?”   “Yes! What district?”    “I’m in Gangnam-gu, what about you?”    “Ah, I’m in Insa-dong. Not that far from Gangnam-gu, though.”    The two of them hit it off, getting along well as the only two Koreans there. (Yes, I know Somi isn’t Korean, but give me a break, she moved when she was a year old. Besides, Somi wasn’t my idea.) Ngina pointed out various historical sites and landmarks along the way, and after a while they pulled up to the village boundary of the Kikuyu tribe. All of them disembarked the bus and walked into the village.    The tribe leader shook hands with Ngina, saying something in Swahili, and welcomed the group into the village.  “I guess these people know Ngina,” Jennie whispered to Somi.     “Probably from all the tours,” Somi replied. “I wonder what they do when they get to this village?”   “Mmm, I don’t know. Just have a look around, maybe? They’ll lead us around.” However, Jennie’s assumptions were incorrect. The tour guide invited them to look around themselves, as allowed by the tribe leader. Jennie noticed the leader’s gaze following them as they wandered off.    “So,” said Somi, once they were away from the village, “Ngina said to meet back at the village in three hours?”   “Yes, I expect they’ll want us back before the high heat of the afternoon. Liability issues, you know.”    “I guess. She gave us maps to get back, but they’re not easy to read. C’mon, let’s have a look around.”    The natives were very friendly, though they had trouble understanding what Jennie and Somi were saying. They got along it fine though, and ate up about an hour talking with the locals. Then they went to explore the surrounding savannah. It was already getting very hot, and Jennie could feel sweat gathering all over her. A group of men were trooping around the village and surrounding areas wielding spears and machetes, and they passed by Jennie and Somi. Jennie saw a few eyes follow her retreating ass as she walked. She thought of what they must be thinking. She and Somi were both hot, and they had good bodies. These men probably didn’t have sex much, so that was definitely on their minds. Despite herself, Jennie felt a pang of lust run through her at the thought.  “Did you see how they were looking at us?” Somi asked, a tinge of indignation in her voice.    “Can you blame them?” Jennie asked, completely unconcerned. “No offense to the locals, but they’re not exactly supermodels, are they? As for us, we’re probably the only really hot girls for miles. I wouldn’t be any different if I were one of them.”   “I know, but…” Somi gave a delicate shudder. “Pervs.”  “Hey, give them a break. Like I said, we’re probably the only super hot girls for miles around.”   They walked around for a while more, and by the third time the guard passed them by, Jennie started to suspect they were doing it deliberately. She didn’t mind, though. The men wore nothing but a loincloth made of parasol tree leaves, which didn’t leave much to Jennie’s wild imagination. She caught herself daydreaming about lewd things as she and Somi walked the fields together, and intentionally swaying her hips as they went by. She and Somi walked to the edge of a field and looked over a large lake. A large Mugumo tree sat by the bank closest to them, and they went to have a closer look. An altar had been built about five feet from the base of the tree. Jennie had read up on Kenyan rituals and such before she left Seoul, and she knew this altar would be for goat sacrificing rituals. Before long they spotted the guard making its way steadily towards them. Jennie wondered what they were doing. As far as she could see no one else was here, so they had no reason to be over here. “You are not allowed here,” said the leader in a thick accent, advancing towards them. “This is a forbidden area, for priests and spiritual leaders only. Come with us now.”   They were led unprotestingly back to the village. But when they got there, they were not taken back to Ngina. The guard split up when they reached the village. Somi was taken the opposite direction, while Jennie was taken to a smaller hut closer to the outskirts. Four members of the guard came in with her. Once the door was closed, they seized her by the arms.  “What the fu-”    Her indignant exclamation was cut short by a length of linen cloth being tied around her head and in her mouth, cutting back any cries.   The tribesmen grabbed ahold of her midriff shirt and tore it off, taking her bra with it. They yanked her shorts and panties to her ankles and took them off as well, leaving her naked on the floor. They bound her hands together behind her back and her feet together, rendering her incapable of movement.   She tried to scream for help but the gag muffled all noise from her, and they left her alone.        …

It must have been ten minutes she sat there, naked and bound on the packed clay of the floor, wondering what came next. Would she be raped, tortured, killed?  Her questions were answered as five tribesmen from the guard entered and removed their loincloths. Her breathing quickened as she saw five huge, erect cocks pointing back at her, and knew that she was about to experience her first BBC gangbang. Despite her misgivings, a burgeon of excitement shot through her, and she felt a bit of slick leak out of her.  She didn’t resist as they approached her and made her kneel. One of them slashed through the binds on her ankles and got under her, spreading her legs wide. She moaned against her gag as he entered her and started thrusting his hips. Two more advanced and knelt. One of them pushed his cock into her ass and the other went to her face, removed her gag, and drove his shaft roughly down her throat.  She moaned luxuriously into it. She had never been airtight like this, she had never felt so pleasured in her life, and most of all, she had never been gangbanged by hung tribesmen on a clay floored hut in a rural tribe village in the middle of Kenya. Their cocks reached points deep inside her she didn’t know existed, the sheer size driving her mad with lust and unobstructed pleasure.  “Jamani, inajisikia vizuri sana,” groaned the man under her as he fucked her pussy.  Vaguely she wondered whether Somi was receiving the same treatment. But the thought was pushed from her head by the pure bliss she was feeling and the orgasm building inside her.  No sooner had she realized this sensation than the man fucking her ass gave a loud groan and stopped thrusting, burying himself in her tight hole and spurting his load into her. The flood of warmth from this triggered Jennie’s own orgasm, which caused a chain reaction. Jennie let out a cry of intense pleasure and squirted hard onto the man under her, causing him to also cum. The second torrent of cum shot into her caused another orgasm from her. The pleasurable vibrations from her second squeal of bliss caused the man fucking her throat to cum as well. He released a roar and shoved his cock as far as he could in her throat, erupting in her and firing his cum down her throat. She gagged and choked on both his cock and the cum, overwhelmed with the simultaneous orgasms. His dick slid out of her throat as she slumped onto the man below her. But what came next took Jennie by surprise. The three of them got up, replaced the gag around her head, and took her by the arms. Two of them opened the door after putting back on their loincloths, and Jennie was dragged right into the middle of the street and dumped in full view of the entire village.  Despite her pleasure at being gangbanged, she felt her cheeks grow red and hot with humiliation. Here she was, naked and tied up in the middle of the street, a small crowd already gathering around her, pushing and clamoring to get a good look at her. She tried to shift her legs so as to hide her pussy from the stares of the crowd, but to no avail. Before anything else could happen, however, she was grabbed and pulled to her feet by the three guards. They led her to a tall baobab tree with branches extending horizontally over her head. Her eyes found another, familiar figure, whose hands were tied to a branch far above her head and recognized it as Somi, who had also been stripped naked. Though Jennie was in a rather perilous situation, she couldn’t help admiring Somi’s graceful, slim, curvy figure, from her chest to her hips to the round of her ass. She shot Jennie a fearful look as Jennie’s hands were seized. Another roped was tied around them and thrown up over another branch by someone she could not see. The rope was secured on the branch.  Jennie squeezed her eyes shut and tried to block out the jeers of the crowd. She had never been overly modest, but standing there completely naked before the large crowd of locals ignited a sense of strong humiliation. Then a deep, gravelly voice spoke out from behind her.  “Wanawake hawa walipatikana wakiingia kwa njia isiyo halali kwenye uwanja wa mti mtakatifu wa Mugumo, na kama adhabu watapokea kuchapwa viboko hadharani. Umati unapaswa kusimama nyuma.”  Jennie didn’t speak Swahili, but she could understand some. From what he said she understood ‘caught’, ‘trespassing’, ‘mugumo’, ‘punishment’, and ‘whipping’. A few in the crowd of onlookers jeered angrily at the mention of the trespassing on the mugumo tree. At the mention of a whipping she felt a dreadful and anxious anticipation, and the crowd gave a unified gasp at something she couldn’t see.  A sharp crack sounded and Somi gave a cry of pain beside her. Jennie’s dread intensified. Another crack sounded and she felt a searing pain on her back, making her gasp in both shock and pain. She looked around and saw two men, each of whom carried a long bullwhip with a tassel at the end.  She looked away as Somi was hit again, trying to ignore her shriek of torment.  Jennie was lashed again, this time lower down on her back. She gave a whimper, feeling the sharp sting in full. Ten lashes were given to both of them, leaving their backs stinging and aching. Then the two men approached and turned them around, so they were facing the crowd. Jennie hung her head in shame, trying not to meet the gazes that roved over her naked body. Another lash was given to Somi. Then the tip of the whip made contact with her breast, lashing her nipple directly. She yelled in pain as Somi was hit again. Then the man lashed her other breast, and she felt shock before pain. They were targeting areas that were sure to cause intense suffering, and it was working. They each got ten more lashes, and then the bullwhips were put away. Jennie breathed a sigh of relief before seeing what they brought out next. A full crate of whips was brought out. One guard removed a barbed cat-o-nine tailed whip and Jennie caught her breath, but the other shoved it back, shaking his head and muttering something in Swahili. Then he took out two long, thin wooden switches and handed one to the other man.  They approached Jennie and Somi once more and turned them around. No uniformity or pretense of professionalism was shown this time. The guards didn’t wait for one another, but immediately began striking their asses savagely.  Jennie, eyes watering with pain and mouth open in a continuous cry of agony, looked to Somi and saw each swat of the switch crack off of her ass, creating ripples on her skin. One particularly nasty smack made Jennie scream in pain.  Jennie lost count of how many times she was hit, but after a minute they backed off, leaving Jennie and Somi breathless.  Jennie truly thought it was over, until they took out riding crops.  The two of them were turned around again. One guard asked something in Swahili and the other nodded.  He raised the crop in front of Jennie and brought it down on her right breast, smacking her squarely on the nipple. She tensed up with a cry and then fell limp against her bonds, wishing it to be over. He whipped her breast again, and then once more. Then she looked up just in time to see the crop streaking towards her left breast. She cried out once more, still resolutely trying to ignore the gazes of the crowd. She felt shamed, humiliated. The guard whipped her breast twice more and then stepped back for a moment. She looked up optimistically, thinking it to be over, and then her hopes were dashed once more as he advanced again. He grabbed her thighs and wrenched them apart, baring her pussy to the crowd’s stares.  The next moment, he brought the lash up from the ground into her still-wet pussy with a smack that resounded around the square. The crowd took a collective inhale at this, and with a tremendous effort Jennie kept silent. The screams of torture from beside her were no longer audible. A sense of defiance had risen from the jumble of other feelings inside her, risen like a viper from a pit. She would keep silent, no matter how many times he struck her. At the same time she came to this conclusion, he realized it, and gave a vicious uppercut to her smarting lips, and her effort doubled as the sting seared through her. He gave her five more, ten more, twenty. She lost count as she shut her eyes and bore it. But at what she thought was number forty, he gave one particularly forceful stroke, and despite herself Jennie finally let out the wail of torment that had been longing to escape her.  The guard, satisfied, motioned for the other to stop and put away the crops and the crate. Jennie looked to Somi and saw that her entire front was covered in red marks from her beating.  Their arms were untied from the branches, but not untied from each other. Someone grabbed ahold of her and threw her off the dais that the tree sat on. She landed painfully on the ground, and when she looked up she saw that she had been thrown at the feet of the crowd. Then the man’s voice spoke again, and Jennie understood what he said perfectly.  “Do what you want to them.”  Hands, Jennie couldn’t tell how many, groped at her body. Her breasts were roughly squeezed and slapped, and more hands rubbed, smacked, and teased her pussy. She tried to cry for help, but the gag was still in her mouth and she couldn’t make a sound. She shut her eyes tightly as she was lifted into the air, also noticing the guards sitting back and watching. A few supported her and two forced her legs apart. More fingers teased her slit, and then someone forced three fingers inside her. She moaned in pleasure despite herself, bucking her hips when the fingers brushed her g-spot.  The person fingering her pulled his fingers out and shouted something to the crowd in which the words ‘whores’ and ‘parade’ were distinguishable, to general assent from the mob. Jennie knew nothing good could come of those words, and she was right. The mob set her down and someone came running to the man who had been fingering her with a collar. The collar was fastened around her neck and then yanked forward towards the town center. She didn’t even try to resist, there were too many of them, and in any case they were too unpredictably volatile to risk it. She was paraded around the town naked with Somi for a good ten minutes, and her cheeks were on fire by the time they returned to the square, her naked body having been on display for everyone in the area. After being informed of their heinous crime, the natives had spat on them, slapped them, beaten them with sticks, and whapped them with canes. Jennie was covered in red marks and spit, and once they returned to the square their hands were tied to the branches again. More countless hands groped her body and slapped her breasts, and then someone in the crowd started a chant of “Kuwatomba!”, which Jennie didn’t understand but figured out when she and Somi were forced onto the ground.  Immediately, she was surrounded, face to the ground, the side of her head collecting sand. A second later she gave a cry as she felt two cocks invade her ass and pussy. Someone yanked her head from the ground and stuffed his cock into her mouth. Hands landed on her ass and tits, slapping ferociously, and the crowd cheered the men fucking Jennie on. Jennie never suspected that such peaceful villagers would get so aggressive after finding out what Jennie and Somi did. It didn’t seem that serious, but now the crowd’s rage and lust was reaching fever pitch. As much as she tried to hold it in, she couldn’t stop herself moaning in pleasure at the huge cocks stretching her out. The men groaned and fucked her harder, and the feeling overwhelmed her. The pleasure took her over and she felt herself squirting hard onto them. The men backed up and then someone smacked her ass hard.  Their hands were tied to the tree again so that any passersby could see them. After a few more minutes of physical and verbal abuse the crowd dispersed and finally they were left alone there.  Passersby stopped, whispered, and pointed at them, but no questions were asked, and no help was offered. 

Eventually six men came. They took Jennie and Somi’s hands down from the tree and gave them some water, asking where they came from and how they found themselves in such a situation. Jennie answered their questions, and when she got to the part about having accidentally tresspassed, one of them shook his head. “They are always going bananas about that tree, I tell you.” He said. “Whenever someone will get near that tree, it’s always a public whipping. You two are lucky,” he added, “that they didn’t take out the cat-o-nine tails.”  “Yes, one was going to,” said another, “but since you are tourists the other refused, on the grounds that you couldn’t have known.” “Exactly!” Jennie exploded. “We had no idea! We were walking along the field, we stopped to have a closer look at the stupid tree, and the next thing I know I’m naked and tied to a tree, having my backside thrashed off!”  Somi shook her head.  “It’s not right, what they did,” she said hollowly. “Even before they whipped us. We were stripped naked, bound, and fucked. Raped.”  Privately, Jennie speculated that for her it wasn’t really rape; she hadn’t objected at all, but the men looked disgusted.  “Well, I’m glad some people around here have some decency, at least,” said Jennie wearily. After this the men left, promising to bring back food and clothes.  A few minutes later they returned with a few blankets and bowls full of Nyama Choma. Jennie and Somi accepted the blankets and food and covered themselves as best as they could (though it didn’t really matter at this point, the entire town had seen every part of them), thanking the men for their help. Jennie’s wary eye noticed the guards still hanging back over by the hut Jennie had been abducted to. Her eyes followed them as they approached again, the other men having walked off.  One started talking to Jennie and Somi in Swahili, talking rapidly.  “I can’t understand you,” Jennie said tiredly. “I don’t speak Swa-”    The guards bent down as quick as lightning and grabbed Jennie and Somi by the arms. Somi tried to scream but the guard clapped a hand over her mouth, and Jennie’s guard followed suit. The guards strapped gags into their mouths again and Jennie had a feeling that their troubles weren’t over.    …      It wasn’t long until Jennie found herself naked and tied up on the clay floor again. The guards entered once more, but they didn’t immediately commence fucking her. They took her to the post supporting the tent and tied her hands above her head and her feet to the bottom of the post. Her sensitive nipples grated against the wood. A moment later she felt a strap make contact with her already sore ass.  Her voice was already hoarse from screaming in pain, moaning in pleasure and other sounds, and her cry was broken and hoarse.  The strap hit her again and she cried out again. They weren’t hitting her hard, but hard enough to cause pain. They struck her ten more times and then she collapsed as they untied her.  She mentally wondered what was next. They had beaten her into complete submission, now what? She would let them fuck her, no issues. Tired and sore as she was, she was not going to say no to another gangbang. In fact, that’s what they were about to do, Jennie noticed.  They were removing their loincloths again, and despite her anger at being beaten, she spread her legs eagerly. One looked taken aback but advanced anyway. In a matter of moments they were on her.  She felt one enter her pussy, which was already wet from arousal, one in her ass, and one man tip her head back and slide into her throat.  She moaned as she felt the cock rub against her g-spot. He fucked her harder, making her scream in pleasure into her facefucking. She loved it, she didn’t want it to stop.  The man fucking her throat couldn’t last any longer and slammed his hips into her face, burying himself in her throat and shooting his cum into her.She moaned as he pulled out, trying valiantly to swallow it all. At last she managed it, and her toes curled with pleasure.  “Oh god yes, fuck me harder!” She yelled. Her hand reached down to her clit and rubbed furiously, pushing her towards her peak. “Feels so good, fuck, I’m gonna cum!”  One of them slapped her tit hard and squeezed roughly, only heightening her bliss.   “Harder!” Jennie cried, other hand massaging her other breast. “Yes, yes, yes, fuck! Harder, pound my pussy! Shit, I’m cumming! I’m cumming, OH FUCK!” Her last scream of pleasure reverberated in the very timber of the house as she experienced a very intense orgasm and squirted hard onto the man’s cock. He in turn groaned loudly and exploded in her pussy, flooding her with hot cum. The man under her fucking her ass orgasmed as well, pumping her ass full of his seed. “Oh, fuck,” she moaned, feeling the warmth inside her. The men got up and reattached their loincloths. After retying her hands and feet, they went out, leaving her tied, naked, and alone once more. They returned with who Jennie recognized as the tribe leader with them. He took a moment to admire Jennie’s flawless naked body before speaking to her. “I have been informed of your position as a criminal and a trespasser.” He said. “I have decided to give you a choice; Either you disobey and go to prison, or you obey, submit yourself and your body to our village, and become our breeding queen.” Jennie saw the potential to either live in prison forever or live in pleasure forever. But what about Korea? She was only going on vacation, but she didn’t want to stay here forever, not at all. Maybe they could negotiate. “But I don’t live here,” Jennie said. “I will become your breeding queen, hell, even your fucktoy. I’ll let you use me whenever you want, I’ll be your sex slave. But I only request that I be able to return to my home and come here once a year instead of living here.” The guards and leader talked among themselves and then turned back to her. “Yes, that would be acceptable,” said the leader. “So long as you return every year to fulfill your role as breeding queen, we will allow you to leave.” Privately, Jennie speculated that she would be searched for if she wasn’t back when she was supposed to be, but she went with it. She was untied, given her clothes (which had been sitting in a corner) back, but Jennie noticed that they kept her panties. Not surprising. Then she was shown back to Ngina, who certainly had some questions.Had someone told her she would be agreeing to be the cockslave of a Kenyan tribe ten days ago, she would have called the straightjacket patrol. But the pleasure had been too much to handle, she was addicted. With much resignation she answered all the questions. The following discussion sucked away a lot of time, and then the bus was clumsily loaded back up. Most of the passengers cast Jennie fervent looks but avoided her gaze. After about ten minutes of waiting, Somi boarded and flung herself into the seat next to Jennie. Her entire face was burning red and she was clearly livid. “Unbelievable,” she said quietly. “Those stupid, perverted scumbags forced me into being their slave.” “What happened?”  “I refused at first. They threatened my life, they held spears to my neck. I had no choice. They’re savages, I had no doubt they would kill me on the spot.” 

“Are you ever coming back?” Somi looked at Jennie like she had two heads. “Are you insane? Never! Not once in my entire life! Surely you’re not either?”“Never.” Jennie lied. “They did the same to me, I never want it to happen again.” The bus took them back to Nairobi, where Somi gave Jennie a terse “see you later” and departed. Exhausted, Jennie headed back to the hotel and fell asleep.  It wouldn’t be the last time she went to that village.

[the-kr8tor]

Hi, could you do domestic fluff Hobie x reader where they stargaze on his boat and the artist reader shows off their sketchbook, maybe even draws him!🥹

Hi hun! I have a similar fic that I've been working on (the reader showing Hobie her sketchbook) so I added in your prompt (stargazing part) since we had the same idea (great minds think alike 😏), hope you don't mind! Thank you for requesting ❤️

Pairing: Hobie brown x gn! Reader/ Spider-Punk x gn! Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, lovestruck Hobie, FLUFF.

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There's a city-wide brownout, the usual lights in historic London are all off, the entire city enjoys a rare sight in the night sky. Without the light pollution that usually presides over the city, the stars in the sky shine brightly, blanketing the dark sky in twinkling star lights. There's no cloud in sight, therefore nothing could cover the magnificent view.

Hobie's houseboat is littered with candles, providing a romantic light on his 'porch'.

You sigh longingly for the fifth time that night, neck craning up, staring at Orion's belt. You lift your eyes off the constellation for a second to finish your sketch of Orion, pointing your little torch on the page. Your hand expertly shade in the drawing. The well loved sketchbook is filled to the brim with various drawings– some landscapes, food, dogs you encounter and an embarrassing amount of Hobie.

The pages are covered with him, whether he's sitting with a guitar in his lap, strumming away, or Hobie in his suit, sometimes with his mask on but mostly without it, and so many portraits of Hobie, you just love sketching him.

You'd die of embarrassment if he ever sees them, he might think you're obsessed with him (you are) or tease you into oblivion.

You can't help it though, accidentally making him your muse. There's just something about his perfect jawline, how his lips curve into a sly smile, or how his eyes light up whenever he's passionate about something, he gives you so much inspiration to make art.

You sigh, absolutely whipped for him. A breeze sends shivers through you, hugging your thin jacket closer to your torso.

Suddenly a heavy weight drops on your head, Hobie laughs loudly as you make a sound from the back of your throat.

"Hey!" You lift the heavy cloth away from your face, Looking closer at the heavy material, you see Hobie's familiar leather jacket, your heart swells.

" 'm sorry" he pecks the top of your head, his hands full, holding two steaming mugs, Hobie puts the mugs down on the table, the contents sloshing a bit to the sides. "Here let me"

Hobie reaches for the jacket, at first you thought he's gonna take it from you, but once he drapes the jacket behind you, your heart soars, thumping hard on your chest. You're sure he can feel it when he gets closer to you, so he could help you slot in your arms inside the jacket. You feel giddy, you smell like him now.

"There, warm enough?" Hobie rubs your arms, sneaking a look at you wearing his jacket, a smile creeping to the corner of his lips. Your cheeks heat up from his stare.

There's something in the air tonight, making the atmosphere romantic. Maybe because you're floating on the river in his houseboat currently stargazing in the dark?

"Mmhm" you nod with a shy smile, unable to form the correct words, eyes practically shaped like hearts, Hobie mirrors your expression.

Yeah, there's something in the air. It's definitely not because you're both absolutely lovestruck for each other.

He sits down, cringing when his knees creak. Damn his joints, he's trying to act cool in front of you.

You think it's endearing, adorable, even.

You give him a knowing (teasing) smile, putting your chin in your hand, while your elbow rests on the arm of the chair.

He rolls his eyes at you, but his smile betrays his true emotion. Hobie grabs his drink to hide his grin.

"Softie" you murmur.

"Drink your bloody tea, don't want you freezing to death while you're in my boat" he moves the mug closer to you.

You notice him sitting farther from you, you mentally shake your head, that won't do. So you place your opened sketchbook on your lap. Putting both hands on the back of his chair, you try to pull him towards you. But alas he's too heavy for you, your movement causes you to almost topple over.

Hobie's senses warn him before you could fall, with a strong grip on your chair, he stabilizes you. "What are you doing, love?" Words dripping in fondness.

"You're too far" you struggle as you continue to pull him towards you.

Instead of Hobie pulling your chair towards him, he slightly lifts himself off the chair, lessening the weight off it. You don't notice this, smiling triumphantly when you finally move his chair closer to you. The metal scraping against metal, makes your ears ring, but you mentally high five yourself for a job well done.

"Nice, you hitting the gym?" He places his arm on the arm rest of your chair, he's a lot closer now, breath mixing in with yours. Your cheeks heat up, you should've thought this through.

Knowing that you're too flustered to make a coherent sentence, you just nod "mmhm"

"Mmhm" he mimics you, teasing. "Right, just don't replace me with a gym bro, yeah?"

Your eyebrows knit together, taking his joke seriously "never"

He glimpses your opened sketchbook, that's miraculously still in your lap. Without thinking, he grabs it, whistling when he sees your drawing of mighty Orion.

"You drew this? Just now?"

Nodding, You try to reach for it back, please don't flip through it, you thought, embarrassment creeping up to you.

Hobie, being Hobie raises it higher away from your hands. He pretends to compare the constellation in the sky to your drawing. "Can't believe you drew this the whole ten minutes while I was making tea"

"Yeah, the stars inspired me, can I have it back, please?"

" 'm not done admiring it" he holds it with both hands, thankfully staying on the same page.

You grit your teeth, hoping, praying he doesn't move to another page.

Mother nature has a different idea though, a strong wind rushes past, rocking the boat slightly, the candles you meticulously lit up, blow out in the wind; the pages of your book flips widely, conveniently (unfortunately for you) stopping at a sketch of Hobie.

Oh, fuck. You internally curse. Nope that's it he's gonna get weirded out, and he's gonna break up with me. You keep catastrophizing.

"Is that me?" Hobie moves the book closer for inspection, his eyes roam to the perfect copy of him on the page, his heart skips a beat. "When was this?"

You put your face in your hands, you groan out, "I'm sorry, I should've asked for permission"

He's confused, Hobie closes the book, placing it carefully on the table. He grabs your hands carefully, you can feel the calluses on his fingertips.

"Nothing to be sorry about, look at me" he waits for you to remove your hands from your face. "I liked it, hey," he rubs the back of your hand with his thumb, "you don't need to apologize"

You sneak a peek through your fingers, "you must think I'm a weirdo"

Hobie ducks his head to meet your eyes "yeah, because you are, knew that before I dated you, but you're my weirdo, yeah?"

You close your fingers together, hiding your flustered state from him, he called me his? You completely forget the part where he called you a weirdo.

"Enough of this, yeah?" He shakes you slightly "you don't need to ask permission to sketch me," he shakes you again, trying to make you laugh,

"I like" shake "it" shake "and I" shake "fancy you" Hobie shakes you harder, you smile behind your hands.

You bravely remove your hands away from your face.

"There you are" Hobie grins, while you look at him through your lashes, bashfully.

"You mean it?"

"We're literally together" he says through his laughs, Hobie cups your jaw affectionately "we're stargazing, even though it's bloody freezing, you think I'll do something like this if I didn't fancy you?"

"And you made me tea," you point out.

"And I made you tea, which you haven't even taken a sip yet, you ungrateful shit" Hobie smiles through his swearing, even with him cursing at you, you smile widely at him, knowing that's how he shows his affection.

You gather all your courage "you wanna see the rest?"

He taps your cheek "you sure?"

"Mmhm" you nod.

Hobie searches your face for any doubt, but finds none. He grabs your sketchbook, opening it to the first page. His own face greets him.

He whistles "who's that handsome man? I like his piercings"

"You dork," you laugh, pushing your face closer to his bicep, feeling his warmth through his hoodie.

Hobie releases his bicep from your hold, you pout, but he places his arm behind you, bringing you closer, a flustered smile replaces your pout.

He flips a page, a sketch of the planet saturn.

"You can actually see saturn from here" you say softly, content in his arms.

"Yeah? Point it to me" Hobie whispers against your hair.

You both crane your neck up, Hobie follows your pointing finger.

"Right there"

"Yeah?" He buries his face closer to your hair, muffling his voice.

"You're not even paying attention," you say softly, noticing his relaxed state.

"Nah, continue, I'm listening" Hobie cuddles to your side closer.

You let him relax in your hold as you point out more planets and constellations.

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Thanks for reading! Consider reblogging if you enjoyed it ❤️

[notadreamurr]

The Amazing Digital Transylvania Masterpost!

FAQ:

What is the Amazing Digital Transylvania?

Well, that is an amazing question, TADT is going to be a grimdark TADC au! It's gonna take place in New York in the 1860s. We'll follow pomni as she tries to become human again. It'll be heavily story driven. It's be about supernaturals such as vampires, werewolves, etc!

Shipping?

You can ship whatever you want, Idc. The only thing is that buttonblossom will be cannon. But you can still ship those 2 with others (ex: caine x pomni. Ragatha x jax), so go crazy!

Fanart?

YES!! IS THAT EVEN A QUESTION?! I'd LOVE to see fanworks!! If you do make any PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE TAG ME!!

NSFW?

I mean, go to town ig. I don't rlly care. The only thing is please tag it properly. I can't monitor everything, and I don't want to make others uncomfortable, so please label correctly.

Is this for everyone?

This probably isn't going to be for everyone. Like I said, it is grimdark, but there will be blood and violence. Also, this story will take place in the 1860s, right after the american Civil War. I do plan on making this historically accurate. So that will include homophobia, racism, and sexism. I am NOT glorifying any of these things. I myself am a part of the LGBTQ+ community. I am just trying to make this accurate to history. These topics will not be the main focus of the story, but they will be present. So, if any of this makes you uncomfortable, this might not be for you.

Does this take place in the "real" world?

Kinda? This will take place in America, but it won't be like our world. It'll still be a little wacky. So I guess it's kinda a combo of the real world and the digital world.

Art!:

Designs pt 1

Designs pt 2

Designs pt 3

Designs pt 4

Lineup

Pomni concept art

[sukunasdirtylaugh]

tags: satoru gojo x f!reader, bridgerton!au, reader and gojo are acquaintances, brief mention of satoru's mom passing when he was young. also please don't come at me if I got the garter belt/stocking thing wrong (I did a quick google search) so may not be historically accurate. (this could be a part two to this story that is also bridgerton gojo based).

“my lord,"

"please," he says, "gojo is fine."

"mr. gojo," you say, because frankly gojo feels too personal though it had been the last name his friends, such as lord nanami, have refered to him by. he stands at a respectable distance from you, watching over as you sit on a stone bench around the garden of lord kusakabe's home. your family visit had served to wish him congratulations after recuperating from a terrible cold this past winter. now, lord kusakabe stands as he used to, laughs as he holds a cigar between his lips as guests enjoy tea and play outdoor games.

though a lady like you, having a wardrobe malfunction, thinks it's best to hide behind a maze as you fail to adjust the garter belt that pulls up your warm stockings that keep the cold air from entering your skin. lord gojo stands at a respectable distance, towards your right as he attempts to look over your shoulder. your cling onto your left garter, saving any decency you can maintain.

you had met gojo through the first spring dance of the season, right after you had danced with higuruma. taken aback by his intial comments on how lord higuruma was a terrible choice for a satoru, and by your naivety by speaking your mind (respectably, of course) in front of someone so.... well of. regarded as royalty by even the queen herself. lord gojo did not hold your behavior against you, and to that you were partially thankful of. your honor must remain impeccable as your mother's. everyone has a standard to uphold, no?

what set you apart, nearly three weeks into the season from most, was lady whistledown's kind and praiseful remarks during the ball. it would be later made aware that perhaps you could be the diamond of the season. who knew as meeting the queen was only a week away.

so you had to keep your reputation as clean as possible.

"my lady, are you alright?" your jaw tightened at his words. you guessed perhaps your body tightened as well since the man approaches you carefully, slowly. waiting to see if you put a stop to him.

"yes, quite alright thank you." you laugh nervously, "just... a bit worn out from today's activities." he noticies you hold your leg.

"is your... leg alright?" he asks. you don't know how you do it, but when he suggests to get help, you stop him. it would be far worse for him to get help from others while you're here, with an intimate wardrobe malfunction.

"no! just... leave me be," he eyes you.

"I can assure you, leaving a lady in distress goes against my honor code. tell me, is there anything I can do?"

you hesitantly bite your bottom lip.

"it's... it's a wardrobe, malfunction, my lord." your eyes don't meet his as your cheeks burn under the sun. he looks at your figure, not sensing anything wrong at first glance.

"underneath."

"oh," he remains quiet for several seconds. "may I... may I know what it is?"

"my garter belt."

"what do you need to do?"

"I need to hook the end of the belt to the opening of the stocking, but..." you sigh, "it won't work."

"may I have a glance?" he asks, and you guess he senses the panic in your eyes and silence as he holds his hands up. "I promise I won't do anything, in fact, I'm sure your family might suspect your absence relatively soon if you don't return." but that isn't what worries you.

"I can't have a man that isn't my husband to do something like that," you try your best to not snap, "if anyone were to see or hear about this, my reputation would be ruined."

"not with me it won't." he says, "if you allow me to help, neither one would speak of this, and we can return back to the estate as if nothing happened. I don't wish to ruin the life of someone so...."

"so....?"

"someone honorary," he swallows, "respectable. most women your age enjoy ruining other people's lives, spreading misinformation to cause harm, and do anything as selfish as one can imagine."

"how would you know that?" you question almost bluntly, "you... you don't know me."

"I'm afraid you yourself aren't quite aware of the impression you have made on others, miss." he says as he slowly approaches, getting as far as to his knees to assist. "now please, allow me to assist you."

your lungs paused for what felt like an eternity. you didn't know what was more intimate, either his soft spoken words or his delicate fingers on your belt, causing your heart to beat loudly it would possibly errupt from your chest.

"how do you know how to do this?" you find yourself whispering. the lord looks up at you for what you can finally see up close are mesmerizing blue eyes, bluer than anything you've seen or dreamed of before he says.

"I used to watch my mother dress herself when I was a boy," he clarifies, "she passed before I turned 7."

[lizzy-bonnet]

I love Jane Austen's work and I love podcasts, so naturally I follow several JA podcasts (please drop recs in the tags). I'm enjoying Live from Pemberley from Hot and Bothered, but a comment from literally the first episode of the series has been circulating in my brain since I listened to it several months ago: one of the hosts expressed surprise (and disappointment?) in the fact that when we first meet Lizzy, she is "employed in trimming a hat". This comment literally comes right after a conversation about how Austen tells us so much in the very short space of Chapter 1; without wasting any words, we know exactly who Mr. and Mrs. Bennet are (lightly toxic relationship), understand their family situation (need to marry well), meet the main driver of the first act (rich man in the neighbourhood), and understand a social dilemma (girls can't meet him if Mr. Bennet does not make the first overture). So what is Austen telling us when we meet Lizzy in the employment of trimming a hat?

We so often read a sort of modern girlboss feminism into Lizzy because she is smart and stands up for herself, but I think that's something that really gets embroidered on to the text. Lizzy trimming a bonnet is telling us several things about her:

She is frugal - new hats and bonnets are really expensive (my casual hobby is shopping for reproduction bonnets and this remains true), because the straw is braided by hand, the bonnet shape is assembled and blocked by hand, feathers have to be gathered from real (living or dead) birds, ribbons and flowers are hand-finished, the whole situation is fuck expensive. Lizzy is most likely putting new trim on a straw or wool bonnet she already owns to make it work better for this season's fashions, or a new dress, and possibly recycling trimmings from other hats. Contrast this with Lydia's spending all her pocket money on an ugly hat in Chapter 39, just so she can reduce it to parts, even though she acknowledges she'll also have to buy some extra satin too, to finish the project.

She cares about fashion - we don't get a lot of information on sartorial choices in Austen's work, and when characters are discussing fashion, it tends to be a framework for explaining something about their characters; Miss Steele's need to know how much Marianne's dresses cost (rude, crass); Mrs. Bennet's loving description of the lace on Mrs. Hurst's gown (shallow); Catherine Moreland's agonizing over what to wear to the Assembly (young, a bit flighty); Bingley wears a blue coat (has probably read The Sorrows of Young Werther, is fashionable). The fact that Lizzy is trimming a hat tells us she is fashionable, but paired with the fact that she will get a petticoat muddy in order to see her sister, and does not spend a lot of time worrying after fashion like Lydia tells us that she does not live and die on fashion.

She is creative - I've trimmed various hats and bonnets over my years of interest in historical fashion and honestly it's not easy. It's quite fiddly to get a nice ribbon edge, a ruched lining takes forever, and getting sprays of florals and feathers to be nicely shaped and all in a complementary palette is quite fussy. Getting a nice looking bonnet requires some thinking and planning. But it's also great fun! The Regency era is, in my opinion, a particularly good period for hats.

She is normal - I think Austen wants the reader to understand that Lizzy is a young woman with normal cares and concerns. She doesn't have cash for a new bonnet, she wants to look nice, she knows how to put an outfit together, she's not frivolous like her sisters, and she engages in the typical pursuits of someone who is not yet one and twenty who does not have a specific occupation.

A lot of modern readers are expecting Lizzy to be striding around the countryside unconcerned with "girly" things, or reading a clever book because we have come to think of her as proto-feminist in a way that suggests she might be a bra (corset) burner, but I think that comes from an outdated feminist lens that still wants to tell us that girly things are bad, or at least, a bit weak, and I don't see that in the text at all (I think some of this trickles over from the adaptations). Lizzy walks enthusiastically, she enjoys reading (but not to the exclusion of other employments), she dances very well and plays with mediocrity, she cares deeply about her friends and family, she has excellent manners, and dammit, she trims hats.

[spaceorphan18]

The Lady Whistledown Papers : 1x01 - A Diamond of the First Water (Part 1)

An Introduction

Dearest Gentle Reader... ;)

Well, okay, looks like there a good handful of you for this idea! Yay!

I did want to preface this with a couple of notes first, though if you want to skip to the show meta, head straight for the 'read more' below...

My intention with this project is to explore the individual stories as well as the romantic relationship between Penelope Featherington (who is my favorite character on the show) and Colin Bridgerton. So, I'll be looking at every episode of the entire show and kind of go through their character arcs with a fine tooth comb. The first two seasons I plan on batching scenes together while Season 3 might end up almost scene by scene because it is so rich and dense with story.

The whole point is that I enjoy meta and media analysis and breaking down stories and looking at stories from every angle possible. I am usually pretty positive, but that doesn't mean even my favorites are not exempt from a critical eye from time to time. And I'm not hesitant to explore character, story, and production flaws when discussing things. I do, however, try to remain respectful.

While this is primarily Pen and Colin focused, I'll probably still end up opinioning on other things I like as well (and do have respect for other characters and ships on the show).

The only book I've read is The Duke and I. I don't plan on doing any book to tv analysis, but I do hope to get through Romancing Mister Bridgerton before I get to Season 3 so I can point out Easter Eggs.

I'm also no historical scholar. So, probably won't be doing any kind of historical analysis either. Sorry.

I'm a multi-fandom blog, and have lots of projects I'm working on, so I plan on rotating through them. Plus, I have a full time job and family and friends, which means please be patient as I work on the project. It's a labor of love! But maybe a slower one. <3

Not here to discuss the actors', creators', crew, etc's personal lives. While I may put in a tiny BTS tidbit I've picked up, I have no intention or desire to talk about anything but the story.

I always enjoy talking with you guys about things, my meta is only one interpretation of what's going on, and I'm always open to discussions! However, I block or ignore any kind of wank, so please be civil. :)

Tag : the lady whistledown papers (in case you want to follow along or black list it away)

Okay, let's dig into some meta!!

Episode 1 : A Diamond of the First Water (Part 1)

So, it may be something that's easily forgotten or overlooked, but the very first thing we hear when we open the show is Lady Whistledown's voice -- which of course, is really Penelope. Since it's the delightful Julie Andrews doing the voice, it doesn't really feel like it's an 18yo girl's commentary about life in the rich part of London society in the early 1800s, but here we are. It's all done to build a bit of mystery around Lady Whistledown.

But what I think is more fascinating is the fact that the show opens -- not with the Bridgertons but the Featheringtons. They are our starting point. They are our dysfunctional family unit that we may closer resemble in our own lives that we get to peek in on before heading over to the esteemed, charming, and seemingly perfect Bridgertons.

The Bridgertons might be the protagonists of the show -- but Lady Whistledown and (by extension) Penelope Featherington is our framing device. She sets up the world, gives us the expository layout of the land and gives us an insight into the world. So it makes sense that we're starting in Penelope's home -- the person, like the audience, who gets to look into the Bridgerton home, but not actually be a part of it (yet).

When we open, we get a great introduction to the Featheringtons, and in a quick few shots - learn a lot about of them.

First of all, the narration -- while I'm not going to take note of every single narration throughout the whole show, it is important to remember that it's Penelope who is ultimately speaking. And when we open the show -- the first thing she does is blast her own family.

Why? Because it's her only way to push back. Look at what's happening in this scene? Prudence is being forced into the tightest corset ever imaginable as Penelope (and Phillipa) look on in horror. Penelope is still young (she is 18yo) and is being thrust into the market earlier than she wants so that her mother can have all of her daughters out in society at the same time.

Unlike what we'll find over at the Bridgerton family household, the Featheringtons are ruled by a seemingly iron fisted mother who only wants her daughters to marry rich so she can retain her lifestyle and place in society while her father is uninterested in anything other than himself.

Later in season 3, she'll mention that this particular issue is her first issue. So, it's no surprise that she starts writing just as she's coming into society. It's her way of coping and her way of expressing herself. But, I'll also remind everyone, while she is incredibly savvy at her craft, she's also still so young, and not entirely aware of the power she's going to wield.

As for Pen herself -- she's genuinely concerned about her older sister. We don't get a sense of their dynamic yet, but at least we get to see Penelope's kind hearted nature. Prudence looks like she's being down right tortured by her 'tasteless, tactless' mama. And nothing about this is appealing to Penelope.

(As an aside -- this also sets up a couple of things for the show -- for one, throwing us into the historical nature of the show, as well as adding a slight bit of comedy to the over-the-topness of Portia's insistence. The show is telling us that, yeah, there are crude and unpleasant things going on, but we're not taking ourselves too seriously, so neither should you.)

Next, we shift over to the Bridgerton household, but I want to point out something first... Notice how the Featherington door knocker from earlier was much more adorned and intricate? The Featheringtons are more concerned with status and money and appearing as if they're better off than they really are, while the Bridgertons don't need nor want to show off in the same way. It's a neat little detail.

Also, the bee imagery for the Bridgertons always is amusing. Symbol of death there ;) In case you were wondering - the Featherington symbol is the butterfly.

So, it's important to note that the Featheringtons are the next door neighbors of the Bridgertons, and it's of no surprise that Penelope would, after disparaging her own family, turn her attention to the family that has captivated her most of her life.

Okay, I kind of love these paintings as an introduction to the Bridgertons. (Are there ones for Gregory and Hyacinth?) I think it's a fun touch to the whole historical setting of the show. And it makes them look as if they're these frozen, idyllic pictures and who are not exactly real. Which is great when combined with the Lady Whistledown dialogue going on how wonderfully attractive they are - because it sets us just slightly apart from them.

Like I said above - Penelope is on the outside, and as we move in, so are we, but we get to finally move in to see real people behind the paintings. (Also - omg, the look on Eloise's face is priceless and I love it)

Also. A+ casting, guys. I really believe they're all related. ;)

I also love the juxtaposition that when we first hear the Bridgertons talking, unlike their perfect, picture-esque counterparts in the paintings, we get Eloise complaining. (Look, I love Eloise a lot -- and she's the third in this crazy triangle, so we'll be talking a bit about her, too.) We also get a bit of chaos as the camera descends the stairs, with Gregory running around them and the banter between the sisters.

It's all great, quick character set up as each of the Bridgerton siblings gets a little beat in this sequence.

And... we get our first glimpse at Colin!

And here's the thing about Colin. He's the third son. Anthony may not be around at the very moment, but he's very much a father figure to a lot of them and is in a different place being the oldest and actual Lord of the Estate. His role is much different. And then there's Benedict - who is that second in command while Anthony is away. Benedict, though is the artsy one and the experimental one and is a bit more aloof in nature. Which brings us to Colin... Who doesn't have the same set in stone sense of purpose Anthony does nor the happiness of just floating through life the way Benedict does.

And so, this scene has a couple of tidbits to kind of illustrate his place in this huge household. He's says he'll go get Daphne (who is currently hiding out in her room, and whom everyone has been arguing about). Colin does like having purpose, and does like to help whenever he can.

And then there's his banter with Benedict about how he's better liked by Daphne than him. It's a great little moment, not only the show again allowing to us to know that we should not be taking this historical show too seriously, not only showing us the beloved sibling antics (which -- i really love all the sibling dynamics in this show), but also showing that Colin has a bit of a cheeky side, and isn't afraid to bring a bit a levity to the situation when he can.

Also, a tiny tidbit in relation to the book, Colin and Daphne (being close in age) are rather close in the book. We don't necessarily see it in the show due to the nature of wanting to highlight Anthony more, but I feel like these lines are a little nod to that, too.

Of course, then, Eloise screams at the top of her lungs, which is a moment I still laugh at. I love that while Benedict's jaw is dropped, Colin is entirely amused by her, as I'm sure she livens the entire household up.

We get both households coming out of their houses, and we get this sweet little moment where we see that, not only are they neighbors, but Penelope and Eloise know each other and are friends.

I love that Penelope is so overjoyed to be looking over to the Bridgertons that she kind of freezes in excitement and has to be ushered along.

Also as the camera pulls back, we see Eloise reading a Lady Whistledown pamphlet! The first time we see someone do so!

You guys remember Disney's Sleeping Beauty? There's a moment when they enter the castle the three good fairies are announced. The dude who announces the Featherington sisters reminds me of that -- introducing Flora, Fauna, and Merriweather! (Don't even come at me, it's my favorite Disney movie)

Anyway... we get LW's narration that this is a pivotal moment for London society at the time -- when the girls are presented to the Queen and enter the marriage mart. Basically, it's a coming of age for young women. And while Prudence might have the most embarrassing moment by fainting (I mean - who's to blame her, really) Penelope looks so awkward going out there -- before her time, really not emotionally ready, and just not graceful in the way that the other girls, including even her sisters, just are.

Okay, so it's not really our first Polin moment, but there is a pseudo moment buried in here.

But first - I want to acknowledge that Penelope, feeling out of place, and at ill-ease with her surroundings, throws a glance over to Eloise. I love Eloise's truly perplexed look as she watches her friend go through something that neither of them really want -- as if trying to grapple how any of this is real. Penelope and Eloise's bond is incredibly important to both their characters and the show (and is something I enjoy as much as I love all the Polin).

As for Colin standing over there in the corner... No, there's not really anything to pull out here. But! There is going to be a moment in season 3, when Colin is writing in his journal, where it's clear that he's thinking about this moment, and describing watching her as she heads towards the queen. It's a cute callback to this moment, and even if we don't really see it -- it's still there. He's still noticing her, even if it's very, very subtly.

LW continues her narration about how important the Queen's opinion is of the ladies of society, and how important it is to make a good impression. But fascinatingly, Penelope is too busy looking at the ceilings and being in awe of her surroundings to really take notice of what the Queen is doing. She's a bit, understandably, shocked. (and another great comedic moment as Portia kind of knocks her back into focusing.)

It's great for setting the atmosphere of the show, but also allowing us, through Penelope, to take in our surroundings and be in awe of what we're witnessing.

It's also, I'll add, to be an awkward contrast to when Daphne comes in and is completely flawless in her entrance. Penelope is our side character. She's not our main character. And main characters are supposed to have a level of perfection to them. (Or so we're been accustomed to believe.) I think one thing I'm happy to see on the show is that, while we're still going to get a lot of romance story tropes, the show does try to dismantle a few of the stereotypes as we go along.

Also, two quick smaller notes... we don't really get to see Colin's reaction to Daphne -- Anthony and the sister are too in the way, and he doesn't have much of a discernable reaction when we do see him. And, the narration makes note that Daphne is going to burn quickly, which honestly made me laugh a little.

And.... that takes us up to the credits! Which is where I'll be stopping for now. Since this is the first episode and an introduction to the world, there's actually lot of both Penelope and Colin in it, so there's a lot to go through... stay tuned ;)

[thepersonperson]

Sukuna's You Pronouns

Someone pointed out that Sukuna doesn't exclusively use the you pronoun Kisama for Gojo in the tags as a response to this post. Sukuna also uses it for Kashimo.

This prompted me to go back and double-check his you pronoun usage with everyone since I focused on people he openly likes (Gojo, Higurama, Jogo, Megumi, Maki, Uraume).

And that, of course, spiraled out of control. Please enjoy my findings. (Someone made a formal response to this post if you want an alternate perspective.)

-Written as of JJK 262.5.

-Mangareader(.)to for the raws.

-TCBscans for everything else.

(Click images for captions/citations.)

Preface

Here's a shorthand for how Sukuna addresses characters with you pronouns. Not when he's speaking about them to other people, but when talking to them directly.

No You Pronouns: Haruta, Higurama, Kenjaku, Kusakabe, Mahito, Miguel, Ui Ui, Uraume

Omae: Finger Bearer, Gojo, Jogo, Mahoraga, Maki, Mimiko/Nanako, Megumi, Ryu, Yorozu, Yuji, Yuta

Kisama: Gojo, Kashimo, Yorozu

What does 'no you pronouns' mean?

Not using you pronouns or someone's name is the most polite and formal way to go about addressing someone in Japanese. Using you pronouns invites certain assumptions about the relationship between the speaker and the addressee. In most cases it's informal or rude. Sukuna going out of his way not to use pronouns for someone suggests he views them with some amount of respect. (Except for Haruta. To this day, this is the only character Sukuna has called trash.)

What does Omae and Kisama mean?

お前 (Omae), often written as オマエ in JJK, is a masculine, informal, and indicates the speaker's higher status to the addressee. It can also be used as a causal you between peers of equal standing (Gojo, Yuji, and Megumi use Omae for everyone in this way).

There is a third use in the context of love. It's the male equivalent of あなた (Anata aka the wife pronoun you could translate as "You, Dear") when used by a man to their lover. This usage seems to have conflicted usage irl. It might be too intimate or informal depending on the relationship. (Basically it pisses some people off or is a massive turn on.)

貴様 (Kisama) is historically formal and respectful, and modernly an extremely informal and hostile insult that is far more rude than Omae.

Which way does Sukuna mean his Omaes and Kisamas? Well, context is everything. He is 1,000 years old, rude as hell, and a hater. In most instances, he means the rude version. Trying to figure out when he's not being a bastard is the hard part and what I'm interested in.

Why does this matter?

Pronouns in Japanese indicate how the speaker views themself and how they view their relationship to the addressee. In other words, pronoun usage in Japanese carries characterization that gets lost in translation. I'm trying to figure out Sukuna's internal logic and his particular brand of communication so this is a helpful thing to consider.

For example, when Gojo first trash talks Sukuna out of the box, Uraume gets pissed and insults him. And guess what they use as the insult—Kisama.

I put this side by side with an English translation for context. If you noticed, there is no kanji for "Swine" in the raws. That was added in by the localization to carry over the tone of the original. Since English doesn't have a you (derogatory), this is where localizations will vary the greatest. To get across the hostility of Kisama, translators will add extra things with or without the creator's direction for their language's audience.

Uraume is extremely polite to Sukuna and uses high level vocabulary in Japanese. The only time their politeness drops is when they're being hostile (especially with Kenjaku), but their elegant manner of speech doesn't deteriorate with their mood. In my opinion, "Swine" is a great word to pick that carries that insulting, yet dignified pattern of speech. Someone less snobby might use pig.

Gojo replies by referring to Uraume with てめえ (Temee) which is even more rude than Kisama. (Sometimes this you is spelled as てまえ (Temae) instead.)

This stands out because Gojo either uses Omae (friends and enemies), no you pronouns (everyone), or 君 Kimi (students—this one is cute because it's an affectionate way to dote on your juniors). (Gojo also exclusively uses アンタ Anta with Toji but that deserves its own post.) Not just that, but he ends his sentence with だよ (Dayo). This is a combination of the particles だ (Da) and よ (Yo) that emphasizes what ever the speaker is saying without respect.

Both TCBsans and Viz localize this as "Who are you?" That's a direct translation that in my opinion doesn't get across how pissed Gojo is. If it were up to me, I think it would be better as "Who the FUCK are you?"

Anyways I hope this explains why I'm so obsessed with how Sukuna uses you pronouns. There's characterization and tone that translators may or may not pick up on. Figuring out why Sukuna uses certain yous helps with understanding how he views others.

Omae

As you saw in the list, Sukuna uses Omae for just about everyone. It ranges from people he openly hates (Yuji) to characters he massively respects (Mahoraga). The easy way to resolve this is to assume that Sukuna looks down on everyone so that's what he means at all times.

I don't think that's the case. Sukuna is a very complex character with weird motivations that don't fit neatly into black/white boxes. Reading his words a single way at all times seems to be a disservice to him. So I'll be presenting my theories on what determines the meaning of Sukuna's Omae.

Omae (Deragatory)

Itadori Yuji

When Sukuna uses Omae for Yuji, it's coupled by insults. That's not surprising, Sukuna despises Yuji so much that he's devoted a good deal of his time to making his poor little nephew suffer. I can confidently say the Omaes are derogatory. Here is one of many instances.

No matter how angry Sukuna gets at Yuji, he has never deviated from Omae. This is interesting to me because the more hostile and ruder you pronouns Kisama and Temae/Temee exist. In fact, Yuji uses Temee for Sukuna most of the time. And he uses Temee for no one else, not even Mahito, who gets Omae like Yuji’s friends. This special pronoun usage for Sukuna shows how much Yuji hates him compared to any other character.

Anyways, this is a good starting point for determining how he means Omae. When Sukuna means Omae in a rude way, it'll be combined with an insult and/or accompanied by an aggravated facial expression. He also will avoid addressing the character by name and instead use nomers (such as Brat) externally and internally.

Finger Bearer

Despite trying to befriend this curse for the sole purpose of bullying children, Sukuna doesn’t show the Finger Bearer a lot of respect. He tries to kill it, insults it at every turn, and gives it a few nasty faces for attacking him. It’s no surprise he uses Omae for this thing.

He treats this curse like he treats Yuji, which is a pretty good sign that the Omae usage is disrespectful. This is also helps establish a pattern for Sukuna’s behavior when he chooses to engage with other beings. It should be noted that he calls the Finger Bearer an insect and refuses to address it by anything that's dignified.

Hasaba Mimiko & Nanako

Sukuna addresses Mimiko and Nanako as you kids and with Omae for bringing him a finger. He also demands they bow before him to acknowledge just how far beneath him they are.

He doesn’t ask for their names and he kills them the second he finds them too annoying. There’s a clear lack of respect for the twins here that makes the Omae appear to be very deragatory.

Jogo

Jogo starts in the same category as Mimiko wnd Nanako. That much is obvious with Sukuna cutting off the top of his head for mot bowing low enough. Sukuna uses Omae to both address and insult him, so it can be assumed he’s being deragatory.

But what separates Jogo from everyone on this Derogatory Omae list, was his fight changing how Sukuna viewed him and therefore the usage of Omae.

Omae (Complimentary)

Jogo

Jogo is never addressed by name, Sukuna never asks for it and refers to him as Cursed Spirit throughout their interactions. This seems more in line with something Sukuna does to someone he dislikes, however, he bothered with seeing Jogo off into the afterlife to gain a better understanding of him.

When Sukuna learns that Jogo and his friends wanted to become human, he doesn’t mock their dream but their methodology. The criticisms he levies at Jogo are constructive. If Jogo wanted to obtain his goals he should’ve been more like Gojo and burned everything to the ground, etc.

Sukuna goes onto complimenting Jogo using Omae, ending on the iconic, “Stand proud, you’re strong.”

If this is enough to move Jogo to tears, the Omae here unlikely to be meant as something rude. This shows that Sukuna is capable of using Omae in a friendly manner and that the intent behind it can change with the same character over time.

Fushiguro Megumi

Before Sukuna realizes Megumi's potential with Mahoraga he is still quite friendly with him compared to other characters. (As friendly as you can get beating the life out of someone that is.) He compliments his Cursed Technique (CT) and shows interest in his internal logical as he tries to teach him how to be a better sorcerer. Omae is used as he does this.

When he senses Mahoraga, he starts calling Megumi by his full name, which is the most respectful way to directly address someone in Japanese. I'm pretty sure the Omae he uses from the start is well-meaning. It should be noted that he stops using you pronouns for Megumi after this, upping the ante when it comes to showing respect for him. (Outside of murdering his sister and caretaker with his body you know.)

Mahoraga

When Sukuna first fights Mahoraga, he avoids using you pronouns entirely. He has fun and very much values its strength so this is definitely a show of respect. The only time Sukuna uses a you pronoun for Mahoraga is during his fight with Gojo. He uses Omae after addressing Mahoraga by name. "You (Omae) are not Fushiguro Megumi's shadow, you're mine."

I'm pretty confident the Omae is friendly here, albeit very possessive. It almost reads like Sukuna's composure slightly breaking to show his excitement. His manner of speech does seem to get rougher the more into a fight he gets, and so far the wildest we've seen him is with Mahoraga and Maki.

Zenin Maki

Sukuna has yet to address Maki by name. He calls her The Woman when thinks about her or speaks of her to other people. However, since meeting her in Ch 215, he has always been impressed with her. Sukuna has not once insulted her prowess and has exclusively complimented her, just like Mahoraga. He dodges using you pronouns with her, a sign of respect, until he starts flipping out over her in Ch 253.

Similar to Mahoraga, his excitement appears to have made his manner of speech deteriorate. Combined with those expressions, the Omae usage here can’t possibly be coming from a place of hatred. Sukuna seems to like people similar to himself and Maki did “eat” her twin to gain power. She rejected her fate as a twin to survive. I think Sukuna recognizes that and admires it immensely.

Omae (Unknown)

Ishigori Ryu

When Sukuna first tries to kill Ryu, he doesn’t die. This impresses him so much that he apologizes for taking him lightly. The Omae he uses while doing this is probably complimentary.

However, Sukuna is kind of a dick and not above sarcasm. He doesn’t ask for Ryu’s name and doesn’t bother watching him die like he does with most other named characters. And if you noticed, he tried cutting him into 3 pieces like he did with the Finger Bearer to gauge his strength. That cursed spirit is barely above Yuji on Sukuna’s tolerance scale. I’m not sure if he’s being genuine here.

Okkotsu Yuta

Before Yuta takes over Gojo’s body, Sukuna doesn’t seem impressed with him. He doesn’t address him by name and uses the nomer Cursed Brat when thinking of him. Being called a Brat puts him on the same level as Yuji. I think the Omae here is derogatory.

He does seem to enjoy fighting Rika so there’s a little more respect than what he has for Yuji. But prior to Ch 261? I think he means it in a rude way.

Similar to Ryu, Yuta got Sukuna to apologize to him after impressing him. But unlike Ryu, Sukuna makes direct eye contact with Yuta and addresses him by name. The excitement on his face is almost identical to what he had for Maki. If Sukuna continues to use Omae for Yuta, it will be complementary. Especially since his internal dialogue now uses Okkotsu Yuta in the same way he uses Fushiguro Megumi.

For reasons I’ll get into, there’s also a strong chance Sukuna might swap to Kisama for Yuta. And if he does, it’ll be very significant.

Kisama

In a different post, I proposed that because Sukuna is old and hates Yuji the most, who he exclusively uses Omae with, that his usage of Kisama with Gojo is the formal version. But after learning that Sukuna uses Kisama with Yorozu and Kashimo, I want to reevaluate that interpretation.

Uraume using Kisama as an insult towards Gojo means that Sukuna is aware of and therefore capable of using the polite and hostile versions. If this is because of vessel memories or both meanings being present in Heian era I don't know. Regardless, just like Omae, additional context will be needed to determine which way he means it.

Yorozu

That's surprising, Sukuna is using Kisama with Yorozu when he has otherwise demonstrated that his usage of it with Gojo is formal. Does that mean he secretly likes her? Sukuna outwardly despises Yorozu, so it wouldn't be wrong to read his Kisama with her as hostile. Does that mean he hates her more than Yuji? Does that mean he hates Gojo?

Let's start with how he greets her. Sukuna initially uses Omae and addresses Yorozu by her name with a slight smile. All signs that his Omae is further towards friendliness than hostility even though he's here to kill her. (Sukuna communicates with violence this is normal for him.)

But the moment she brings up love? Sukuna swaps to Kisama. He uses it to insult her love too.

Sukuna is not showing respect here, he is actively being hostile with this use of Kisama. Of all characters, Yorozu would be the one who reads into Sukuna's words the most if it would frame things more romantically. The fact she sees this pronoun change as a part of the rejection and pursues him harder further supports this reading.

As she's dying Sukuna switches back to Omae. This can be read as him believing he's effectively told Yorozu to piss off with the love talk and is being a little nicer as she passes. It wouldn't be out of character for him to do this.

Still, he's insulting her CT and lack of battle intellect. She's definitely not amongst the likes of Jogo. Yorozu reads into his parting words as affection anyways and this is how Sukuna feels about that.

I'm comfortable marking down Sukuna's use of Kisama with Yorozu as one of disrespect, and Omae as slightly derogatory.

Kashimo

For Kashimo, Sukuna exclusively uses Kisama when addressing him. Now that would seem a bit sus given the exclusivity, but once again, context is everything. What separates Kashimo from everyone else he uses Kisama with is Sukuna's refusal to know or even speak his name. And if he checked Culling Game player names prior as a participant, this is pretty significant.

When Sukuna really likes someone, he addresses them by their full name, if possible. In fact, he pauses his fight with Higuruma to ensure he got his name correctly.

No such thing occurs for Kashimo. Additionally, he brings up love, which Yorozu has established as something that makes Sukuna more hostile. His entire love speech uses nothing but Kisama and Sukuna goes from cordial to visibly irritated. There's a strong chance he meant it in the piss off way.

As an aside, Kashimo first addresses Sukuna with Omae at the start of their battle and switches to あんた (Anta) when they discuss love and satisfaction 満足 (Manzoku).

Now this fascinates me because Anta is a contraction of Anata. It usually indicates the lack of class in the speaker, but is otherwise used just like Anata. Since Kashimo is talking about love and uses Omae for everyone else, this reads as Kashimo hitting on Sukuna. (In other words: Are you, dear, satisfied?)

And this is Sukuna's response to that.

Rejection.

I'm mostly comfortable marking this down as a hostile use of Kisama. Not sure if this means Sukuna hates Kashimo more than Yuji though. They did have a civilized conversation that wasn't exclusively insults. The worst Sukuna called him was greedy, and he briefly expressed annoyance with the loudness of his CT. It’s not like Yorozu where he mocked every aspect of it and her love to the end. He humored the loved talk even though it seemed to make him miserable. Not really sure what to do with this.

Gojo Satoru

Well, now that I know Sukuna is aware of the hostile meaning, there is a good chance when he promised to kill Gojo he meant it in the piss off way for humiliating him earlier. He didn't bother addressing Gojo by his full name despite knowing it at that point.

If Jogo showed us that Sukuna’s use of Omae can change over time, this means that his use of Kisama is capable of evolving too. That being said, it is still pretty confusing when it comes to Gojo because Sukuna combines his hostile and friendly mannerisms at the same time.

The Gojo fish speech showcases this frankly bizarre contradiction the best. He addresses Gojo by his full name and then insults him for being a nameless fish with the use of Kisama.

Prior to this scene, Sukuna has been thinking of him and speaking to other characters of him as Gojo Satoru. When Sukuna thinks about Yuji? His inner dialogue keeps calling him Brat. Maki, who he likes, is just The Woman (so far). If someone is nameless to Sukuna, they stay just that—nameless. He’s blatantly lying about how he views Gojo here and I have no idea why.

What’s even weirder is that for a single instance, Sukuna swaps to Omae for Gojo during their fight. The usage of Omae appears to be playful in this context as Sukuna uses an English word alongside it.

If you didn't know, it's cool to use English words in Japanese. Randomly sprinkling them in is something youths like to do a lot. Gojo himself is one of the people who does this. Not just in normal speech, but specifically when he’s engaging in “play” with other sorcerers.

What’s weird about Sukuna doing this to Gojo is the fact that English didn’t make it to Japan until the 1600s. Sukuna very much speaks like a weird out of touch old man from the wrong century. To my knowledge, (correct me if I’m wrong) he hasn’t used English like this prior.

Omae is the go-to you pronoun Gojo uses for most people. He also uses English when engaging in sorcery “play”. This almost seems like Sukuna is mimicking Gojo’s style of speech as either a form of flattery or as an insult (most likely flattery given that he is still copying Gojo's moves obsessively). Regardless, Gojo seems to pick up on Sukuna being playful since this is his response.

From his perspective, the guy calling him Kisama (aka you bastard) has started calling him Omae (you, but neutral), which would come across as Sukuna deliberately being more respectful towards him. It seems to put Gojo in such a good mood that loverboy Kashimo looks at this and goes:

Which starts to make me wonder. Did Sukuna mean Omae in the Anata way? After all, the previous chapter ended on this:

It ended on Sukuna thinking of Gojo as Anata. This fight can be framed as a date too, so it’s really sus that Sukuna swapped to Omae for an event that can be read as romantic.

The only reason I'm looking so closely at this usage is because it's sandwiched between Kisamas. It stands out enough for Gojo of all people to notice. To him it signified that Sukuna’s view of him had changed. That probably means this Omae is telling us something about Sukuna’s character.

Surrounding this Omae is the use of Kisama in the kill context a total of 8 times. Either as "I'm going to kill you." or "This is how I killed you." (Fish speech not included in this collage.)

What stands out to me compared to other characters is how happy Sukuna looks while describing how he’ll get past Infinity. It’s so persistent and detailed sometimes... (To be fair he did spend 6 months on this.)

The use of Kisama with "You cleared my skies." is definitely the respectful way. He addresses Gojo by name with a happy expression while showering him in praise.

The rest of the Kisamas? I don’t know. You could read it either way and it's not being used in the same way for Yorozu and Kashimo. The takeaway here is that Sukuna doesn’t usually use this pronoun, which means it’s significant when he does.

What did Sukuna mean by this?

The problem, once again, is Sukuna priming others to read him a certain way. Way back when Sukuna and Gojo first met? Probably hostile. During their rematch? Kisama was coupled with contradictory insults and/or death threats up until the very last second. And that still doesn’t explain the Omae.

He only used Kisama for Kashimo. Why did he briefly swap to Omae for Gojo? He swapped to Omae for Yorozu as she died. Why did he swap in the middle of their fight instead of the end for Gojo?

And this still doesn't address the massive elephant in the room—Sukuna only using Kisama for Yorozu and Kashimo because they had the audacity to bring up love to him. Gojo didn't try to do that. Not once. The only time the word "love" has explicitly come out of his mouth to another character was when he told Yuta love was the most twisted curse of all. What does this mean? Is this implying Sukuna has associated Gojo with love from the start? Am I reading too much into this pronoun usage?

One of the most prominent themes of JJK is love being a curse. Whether its Yuji's love for other people driving him forward after they die or Gojo's love for Geto screwing everything up. Yuta's entire deal is him cursing a loved one into a semi-immortal monster creature. It would not be out of the ballpark to have the main antagonist motivated by a very fudged up obsessive love in the same way Kenjaku's parental love speedruns Mommy and Daddy issues at the same time.

Yuta fighting Sukuna in Gojo’s body is significant for all these reasons. Sukuna is either going to stick to Omae, or he’s going to start using Kisama. With how happy he is at seeing Yugo, it’ll be meant positively.

If he keeps using Omae that’s not too weird. That’s normal Sukuna behavior. If he swaps to Kisama when it has been strongly suggested that in 2/3 instances it’s in relation to love… I’m going to be sus on why he’s using it for The Love is the Most Twisted Curse of All Poster Child, Yuta, who is piloting Gojo’s body.