#not necessarily modern clothes even just

[saptaincwan]

"the disneyfied ouat characters never ever changing clothes is fucking hilarious" vs "the disneyfied arcs would've been improved if they had separated from those instances a bit, and if, by god, they'd gotten different clothes" FIGHT

[iamonlyhereforthefreefood]

The reason fashion designers and people who care about fashion trends can’t pull off grunge is because they’re scared to be ugly. They need want to be hot and fashionable at all times. They want to be casual and go against the norm but at the same time they need to be hot, they need get a good picture to post on Instagram. So you get this very watered down glamorous version of grunge that’s all about pre-ripped jeans and expensive flannels and fishnets paired with Doc Martens (which are no longer affordable) and a perfect winged eyeliner because you have to look perfect and hot and put together. You want to give off the air of not giving a shit but you don’t want to be ugly. They want to look edgy and gritty but how can you do that if you’re scared to be ugly?

[celestialtarot11]

what placements indicate having vampire beauty?

Vampiric beauty

—Scorpio placements, scorpio degrees (8, 20) on the big 3. I’ve noticed these placements have their eyes emphasized through eyeliner, kohl, or eyeshadow! They usually have eyeshadow, mascara, their brows are done or left natural which adds to their allure! Some may have beautiful thick brows!

—Libra placements/degrees add harmony to the facial structure. Vampires tend to have a soft charm to them that really grabs you by the scruff, something so subtle and it really helps to hide their ferocity. Even more allure! Libras’ can also have airbrushed skin from how much they care for it. Looks quite supernatural. Even the way they move is slow and gentle.

—Aquarius placements have a unique facial structure, their asymmetry is what makes them attractive. One brow might be raised more than the other giving them a very pointed, sharp look. Aquarius’s can have piercing eyes and a gaze so deep it sends shivers down your spine. They may prefer to outline their lips in liner, or something darker to add contrast to their face. May have a bolder stride, get out of my way kind of walk.

—Aquarius’s also may have a refined voice to them, something so grounded and sharp to it. You can tell it’s distinct. Something about it pulls you in like a calling. There is something real edgy to their eyes. Something you know you can’t trust. It also calls you in to the void, urging your body to jump.

—Gemini and Leo placements look amazing in voluminous hairstyles. With their powerful stride their hair bounces with every step and you know they’re on their way to eat your heart out.

—Gemini/Mercury dom placements may prefer having their nails done stiletto shape, giving them that vampiric appearance. Red nails. They love caring for their hands and may post pictures of then holding a mug, or if they’re feeling really confident, your shirt collar as they lean in for a bite <3

—Gemini’s also have lips that are prominent in nature. They can wear a lot of gloss to attract attention there, or have sharper thinner lips when they smile. Lifted cheeks to express their never ending youth of a vampire.

—I’d also see taurus placements having this, but only if they have a scorpio degree on their big 3, heavy mars aspect/placement, heavy Saturn influence. Most Taurean’s I know go for a simple put together style, not necessarily dark in nature unless paired with the aspects I mentioned.

—Taurus women/venus 1h have beautiful facial structure as well. Well defined and cheekbones sharp enough to cut paper. Even more emphasized when they dress sharply and its dark! With darker colored clothes, angular pieces like coats and knee length boots that clack heavily in the midst of the fog.

—Pluto-venus asp adds a touch of darkness to their outfits.

—Capricorn, saturn dom women just have that beautiful fine wine energy. They are so graceful. The thing is they may have had a baby face growing up and as they near their mid twenties to thirties, their bone structure pops. Vampiric of them all and timeless charm, and there is something visually nostalgic to them. A 90s fashion model vamp trapped in the modern day era <3

—They look great in long coats, leather motorcycle jackets, platform boots. Some may have a stout nose giving them a sharper appearance with softer cheeks (asp to neptune can add this) and some may have piercing eyes cutting into you like a knife. These women embody femme fatale with low neckline dresses.

They’ll eat you out and undress you with their eyes before they touch you.

[elucubrare]

What are your biggest turn-offs when reading/watching historical fiction or retellings of myths?

this is really complicated - i can put it in two boxes, both of which are packed very full.

disconnection from the material reality of the past

when characters display a very specifically modern mindset (about social issues especially, but other stuff too)

(I also get bothered by some kinds of modern language - I don't mind it when, idk, an author uses "sensible" with the modern connotation of "practical" and not the 18th century "emotional" or "empathetic", but "yeah" or "okay," or even, as i found out when someone used it in medieval fantasy, "holy shit" will get on my nerves.)

there are modern things where (made up example!) a character who's supposed to be a cook will talk about making caprese salad for a fancy restaurant in December, and someone snarking on the book will say "yeah, right, they should know better than to make something that depends on a fresh summer vegetable!" and even with greenhouses, that's pretty fair. and that's even more extreme in the past. it's 1650 in Verona, it's December, you cannot obtain fresh tomatoes. i don't think this means that people in the past were, necessarily, more emotionally or spiritually in tune with the cycle of the year, or the labor it took to get clothes, or furniture, or any other material item, and of course wealth can insulate people from some of that difficulty, but it does mean that the seasons had more direct impact on people's lives. It's possible to, for example, buy clothes ready-made, but for anything fancy, it's more likely that it'll be made to fit if it's new, or altered extensively and painstakingly if it's not. that means that tearing or staining a fancy dress isn't just an issue of looking bad - you can't just replace it, and you probably won't throw it out - you figure out how to reuse it. those concerns of access to material goods are just a lot closer to the surface of the world than they often are now.

my objections to modern attitudes about the world are not that people in the past 100% accepted the views of their contemporaries - there were always people who didn't, and it makes sense that a protagonist would be one of them. but people wouldn't phrase those objections in the same way that modern people would - say your main character doesn't want a woman accused of being a witch burned. "God's power is such that the Devil cannot give this woman the ability to sour milk" is most likely going to be more persuasive to the crowd than "witches aren't real." and sometimes that's rough - it's not super fun to read about a Roman with Roman attitudes about provincial wars, or slavery in the city, but I put something down because a Roman character said (in internal dialogue) that he was disgusted to see that a man had been tortured because "Romans simply didn't do that." Historical Romans did do that, routinely - a slave could not testify in a law court unless they had been tortured. Even with distasteful things like that, I'd much rather it just be glossed over than to have them say the "correct" modern thing. It just makes it feel too much like the theme park version of the culture.

Both of these are because of specific things I come to historical fiction for - I want that sense of alienation, the gulf of experience. I hate that most historical fiction (and fantasy set in semi-recognizable periods) characters don't really care about Honor, except as a joke, because I love when characters organize their lives around arcane rules and systems that cause tiny things to escalate into blood feud. I just think they're neat! I like it when people's worldviews are shaped by their lack of scientific certainty about what causes crops to fail! If I wanted to read about people who thought and acted like me, and had lives that were mostly similar to mine, only cooler, I'd just read contemporary fiction.

[staycait]

HAII sorry I'm not good at explaining but could you do enemy scaramouche x reader where reader was just talking to a boy classmate of hers and scara got jealous so he fucks reader in the schools bathroom ?? SORRY IF IT SOUNDS WEIFD :33 (handcuffs + vibrators if you want to)

- 💫

⊹ 　 ﹒ 　 ❝ 　pretend enemy ! ⠀⊹⠀˚⠀ ౨ৎ

𝜗𝜚 ┈ modern!au!scara x fem!readerㅤ ✦

𝐈. ──ㅤ you talk to your guy classmate to ask questions about the project you and him are doing, not noticing the fact that scaramouche was watching you two, until he pointed it. you shrugged and told him not to think too much about it. but should you really be underestimating your enemy’s jealousy.. ?

𝐈𝐈. ──ㅤ mentions of overstimulation , cream pie , raw sex , handcuffs (fluffy ones) , sex toys , some degradation , && praise .

𝐈𝐈𝐈. ──ㅤ nsfw , smut , english is not my first language, please forgive me , not proofread !!

﹒ thoughts ; HELLO STAR ANONN!!! (Is it ok to call u that?) Thank you so much for requesting 😭😭💕💕 I didn’t have any motivation and I didn’t have ideas either. HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS!! :D so sorry this was late btw 😔😔 BTW THIS IS STRAIGHT UP PORN LIKE FIRST SENTENCE BOOM BOOM POWW jk

ALSO IM SO SORRY THIS SUCKS SO BADDDDDDIDDHHSJW BF

> story right under the cut <

How could things lead to this? You were only talking to a guy classmate for a project, what was so wrong with that?

You tried to grasp on anything you could, the bathroom stall handle maybe, never mind. You had cuffs on. What the fuck has possessed Scaramouche to do this anyway?

This isn’t fair, the fact you were the only one drowning in absolute pain and pleasure while he was taking joy at how you reacted to his touch.

God, his dick was hitting spots inside you that made stars burst behind your eyelids. The way he pounded into you just felt so good that it hurt.

You were sobbing and drooling, where had your clothes done? You didn’t know, and you didn’t care either. His cock was flooding your mind.

How was he hitting inside you so fucking deep? So rough and quick at the same time as well. This should be illegal, you thought.

Where did he get handcuffs? The fur around it was your favorite color too. How did he even manage to bring a clit sucker and a dildo to your college?

You wanted to claw on him, dig your nails into his back and shoulders. He had you wrapped around his finger. You were against the bathroom stall door with your legs wrapped around his waist, he could reach deep inside you, and he knew you wouldn’t complain.

“P-Please.. Can’t take it.. Anymore..!” You manage to mumble out.

“Maybe don’t talk to other guys next time.”

You whine, throwing your head back once he takes off the clit pincher and starts rubbing it.

“It was for the.. Project, damn it!”

“Too bad, so sad. Just keep on taking my cock like the good little slut that you are.”

You didn’t know if you wanted more or if you wanted him to slow down or stop fully.

You were forced to submit—force wasn’t necessarily needed, you’d submit anyway. You’ve forgotten how long you two were in the bathroom. Someone must’ve heard you two by now. Or earlier. Maybe a lot of people have already.

Despite the sounds of your lewd moans and skin slapping against skin being so loud, you could slightly hear it echoing around the bathroom, you hoped that no one heard you two, your dignity would be gone the moment anyone had stepped inside and heard you two.

“Please…” you sobbed.

“You’ll be fine, baby..” he cooed. “You’re about to cum, aren’t you?”

You hated his tone of voice, you hated that he was right even more.

“So fucking tight..” he chuckled.

He drove his cock deeper inside you, earning a loud moan from you. His movements were getting sloppy. So much for being cocky, he was cumming too anyway.

“I’ve to admit.. I hate seeing you with other guys.”

“H-Huh..?-“ Your own moan cut you off.

He leans against your ear to whisper, “I didn’t say anything.” This fucker.

You played along, you didn’t have any energy to say anything, you’d just be babbling incoherent, inaudible words. You tightly shut your eyes, you were so close. So, so, close.

“ ‘m so close..”

You felt the knot in your stomach getting tighter, and tighter. Until there was a ringing in your ears. A white noise.

You came, and you felt him cumming inside you as well.

You two stayed there for a good 3 minutes, maybe? Until he finally pulled out. White, thick liquid pouring out of you. And a string of cum connecting him and you together.

“You held up longer than I thought.”

You [playfully] hit him on the shoulder with the little strength you had left.

“What? It was a compliment.”

You rolled your eyes, but despite how you were acting, you let him clean you up and help you put your clothes back on.

You were pretty sure that he thinks you don’t know why he did this. You knew he was jealous.

You smiled unintentionally as you watched him put his pants back on. Maybe you were seeing him in a different light. :)

“Were you even.. Wearing a condom?”

“Hmm.. I wonder.”

As you were talking to your partner, the teacher walks up to the both of you with a sorry smile.

“Hello.. Sorry to interrupt, but [name], you have a new partner.” And come waves Scaramouche.

[marzipanandminutiae]

there is a reproduced 1909 magazine story in this book I read recently (The Female Economy by Wendy Gamber it is amazing oh my god) that just makes my soul depart my body

it's about a woman who decides to make her own new dress undersleeves to save money, and enlists a dressmaker to do the actual sewing. but she can Totally Cut The Sleeves Out Herself With This Paper Pattern So She's The One Making It Really

for reference as to why this is absolutely insane, cutting/fitting is the single hardest part of Victorian and Edwardian dressmaking. this is where all the Mathing and Thinking and Make Two-Dimensional Shapes Into Three-Dimensional Garments come into play. and contrary to popular belief, while most women at the time were accomplished seamstresses- in the sense of "putting fabric together using stitches, and likely also mending" -they didn't necessarily have a clue how to shape a garment. especially not the highly fitted bodices and imaginative sleeve shapes of the day. custom-made clothes from dressmakers were commonplace for most social strata in urban and suburban areas; even lower-middle and working-class women had "lesser" dressmakers they patronized

you do start seeing commercial patterns and home dressmaking manuals steadily increasing throughout the latter half of the 19th century and the early 20th, but in general there was no reason to assume that a random woman on the street could make herself a properly-fitted gown- or even just sleeves -from scratch. (not even with a pattern, which were notoriously scant on instructions back then)

a modern hobbyist historical costumer probably has more knowledge of how to actually make clothing from 1909 than the average woman living in 1909

so anyway this lady tells the professional dressmaker to stop giving her advice, she's got this, she's FINE HONEST. and then gets pissed at the dressmaker for not telling her she needed to include seam allowance in her pieces

for more reference, that is...

...the absolute most basic Day One sewing knowledge

[h0neylevi]

c/w: sort of hurt/comfort i guess??, modern au, fluff

If there is one thing Levi doesn’t do, it’s hover.

People like Hange had always been better at comforting others. Or Erwin, with his knack for always saying the right thing. They were always the first to come to someone’s side as a shoulder to cry on or a willing ear. Interfering with that system seemed like a bad idea, particularly since Levi was neither good at comforting people or always saying the right thing.

So he feels completely out of his element when you walk through the front door and make a beeline for the bedroom without so much as a hello.

At first, he thinks that maybe he’s just missed your greeting over the sound of washing dishes. That maybe you are eager to get changed into something comfortable after a long day of work and would join him in the kitchen.

But when a few minutes turns into fifteen and you haven’t shown up, he starts to wonder where you’ve gone. The shower isn’t running–that much he can tell when he shuts off the faucet–and there’s a distinct lack of movement that he’s come to recognize as the sound of your footsteps.

The entire apartment is so quiet that even the shuffle of his feet on the way to the bedroom feels too loud. 

When he finds you, you’re curled onto your side in the dark, facing away from the door. If he didn’t know you so well, he’d assume you were asleep. But your shoulders are tense, and a small, almost imperceptible twitch in them tells him that you’ve heard his approach.

But he doesn’t cross the threshold, torn between concern and the realization that you likely would have called for him if you wanted his company. He thinks of what Hange might do (barge in and fawn at your side) and immediately dismisses it. He’ll have to think of something else.

So he waits in the open doorway, staring at the back of your head like it might give him the answer to his problem. Would you want him to sit at your side? Pull you close? Should he ask what’s bothering you or distract you? 

Okay, so maybe he hovers a little.

Failing to come up with a solution, he finally asks, “Everything okay?”

You roll over slowly to face him like your limbs are made of lead.

“Yeah.” Your voice is thin and lifeless. Strike two. “M’just tired.”

In the dim light from the hall, he can see that you’re still in your day clothes, but at least you’ve had the decency to remove your shoes before climbing into bed.

Still, something about it irks him. You don’t ever lie around in regular clothes.

“Do you want me to get you something to sleep in?”

For a moment, he’s graced with a small upward curve of your mouth but it isn’t mirrored in your eyes. “No, it’s okay.”

You don’t ask him to stay or go, so he struggles with which to do. If it were anyone else, it wouldn’t be such an issue, but the absence of your usual bright and bubbly self is concerning.

Maybe you want him to make the decision.

He pushes off of the door frame. “I’ll be right back.”

He returns to the kitchen with an idea.

When he was a kid and he wasn’t feeling well, his mom would always make a casserole. It was cheap and quick—not necessarily the highest quality meal—but he’s come to associate the dish with comfort. So he does what he can in lieu of words and gets to work. Knowing your eating habits, you’re likely starving and either too worried about inconveniencing him to admit it or haven’t realized yet just how long it's been since your last meal.

It doesn’t take long before he’s returning to the bedroom carrying two hot mugs of tea.

You haven’t moved from your spot on the bed, but your clothes have been discarded in favor of a hoodie he wore earlier. He can see the pile of your things on the floor, and while he feels the urge to huff at the mess, he keeps the comment to himself just this once. You can (and likely will) get it in the morning.

“Are we stealing clothes now?” he asks, walking over to place one of the mugs on your bedside table.

Another barely-there grin curls over the corners of your mouth. “What’s yours is mine.”

“I don’t think that’s how the saying goes,” he replies, “It’s ‘what’s mine is yours’.”

“That’s what I just said.”

You don’t shift or say anything else as he returns to his side. At least not until he’s sat his own mug down and climbed into bed.

You watch him as if surprised. “What are you doing?”

He turns toward you. “Laying with you.” There’s a beat before he asks, “Is that okay?”

Instead of saying anything, you nod and he settles in, close but not quite touching you. Giving you space if you need it, but an opportunity to get closer if you want it.

Eventually, the desire to be close to him seems to override everything else.

Levi waits as you get closer, allowing you to get comfortable against his side before closing an arm around your back. You form together like two snug puzzle pieces. 

Once you’re settled, you sigh like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders, and Levi smiles to himself.

It’s nice. Levi allows the silence to continue, busying himself with a gentle massage to your scalp with his fingertips, and the only noise in the room is the slow sound of your breathing.

But eventually, he has to speak.

“Are you hungry?”

You think about it for a moment before replying, “I think?”

Levi stretches as far as your position will allow to glance at the clock. “Well, dinner is in the oven. It’ll be done in about twenty minutes.”

That gives you some time to decide at least.

You squeeze his torso slightly, a silent thank you he thinks, and he responds with a squeeze of his own around your shoulders.

You laugh lightly and burrow your face into his chest. Already he can feel your limbs beginning to relax a bit more. There’s more energy to your tone when you insist, “Just a few more minutes. I don’t want to move.”

His fingers return to the slow massaging motion to your scalp. Maybe he’ll ask you about it over dinner, but for now he’s content to wait however long you need.

“Take your time.”

[stabbythespaceroomba]

Okay here we go again! If tumblr deletes this I’m gonna scream

Aeron - easy to see what he’s wearing, underclothing can be speculated

Aeron’s layers include breeches, tunic you can barely see under gambeson, gambeson (over something with long sleeves), tabard, gauntlets, gloves and belts, then then cloak

I’d argue you might have another underlayer of an undershirt, but that might just be the tunic you can see. We have nothing canonical for that, but it would make sense!! we can’t see if he’s wearing a quilted gorge or how his gambeson connects around his neck, meaning we can’t see if it’s tied or pulled over his head.

You can see a bit of a dip in the collar though so I would Heavily argue that it is tied down the front

-

Davos is now easy to know! Kieran Burton fed us GOOD today! Living for the fact that it’s Not a woollen tunic!

People into Davos-sexy times will be glad to know that the breeches are not just suspended but laced up (@benjicotblckwood thinking abt you lmaooo)(possible on both sides at the front, from the amount of string but I cannot see due to the shadow) . As is his under shirt, it laces at his neck

The next layer peeks out slightly!

It’s quilted and grey and I’d suggest it’s probably a quilted gorge maybe like

Or something more like that ^

Then comes the gambeson

Quilted and tied at the front, she looks lighter and is shorter than Aeron’s. The leather detailing would give extra protection and could easily be swapped with metal.

On top is his beautiful leather braided jerkin, woven leather gauntlets and cloak!

Everything seems to be tied together and nothing looks too heavy. This is a guy who prioritises moving fast

Layer check - breeches and undershirt, mystery quilted layer, gambeson, jerkin, cloak. 5 layers!!

-

So much work and thought have been put into these two, rather throw away outfits! They’re beautiful! I love how it shows Aeron in quite traditional knights wear. Aeron looks very proper for his station and yet is still underprepared! He doesn’t even have any mail on, bless him.

Davos on the other hand, his clothes are more of a wildcard and yet he’s clearly coming from money, he’s well protected himself and you can see that he’s well suited to fight with his knife. His clothing looks lighter but is no less unprotective (for border guarding, not necessarily a battle field 😬)

-

If anyone has any other idea or thinks I’ve named anything wrongly pls let me know! I’m a HEMA enthusiast and an medieval/early modern church historian not an armour expert!

[actuallysaiyan]

15 with Ganondorf as person B 👀👀👀👀

event here.

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, quickies, creampies, slight roughness, sort of modern AU kind of thing going on word count: 0.8k pairings: Ganondorf x Fem!Hylian!Reader prompt: Person B and Person A fucking in public and having to keep their voices down to avoid getting caught. Bonus: Person B has to cover Person A's mouth with their hand. Or their lips.

You wondered often to yourself how you managed to catch the eye of the king of Gerudo. But you were never complaining when he showed you this sweet side of him. You remind him of sweet days frolicking in the forest of Hyrule in his youth, and he reminds you of warm summer nights watching the stars. Somehow, you became a perfect match for Ganondorf. He had quickly become your lover, and the intimacy you two shared was nothing short of mindblowing and magical. He made every time with you feel like it was this sensual ritual.

Even though he was more a fan of making love in his bedroom or yours, sometimes he would surprise you with something quite spontaneous. Whenever he did that, you were always so excited. Having a quickie in somewhere new and with the potential of getting caught always gets your blood pumping and your heart racing like nothing else. So when he invites you out for a few drinks at this new tavern built in your town, you know that maybe this will be the night you two decide to have such a risky rendez-vous.

You wear a new dress, just begging to be pushed up over your hips. This is exactly what Ganondorf does as soon as he locks you both into the overly cramped restroom of the tavern. His eyes are full of fire as he kisses your neck, making you squirm in his grasp.

“You know the rules,” he whispers in a husky voice. “Don’t make too much noise and you need to let me finish inside.”

You don’t often let him finish inside, just because you aren’t necessarily ready for the commitment of a baby. But whenever you two indulge in these sorts of quickies, it’s just easier for him to finish inside of you so that he doesn’t need to clean up messes. You kiss him frantically, clinging to him as he pins you against the wall of the restroom.

“Gan…” you breathe out as he plays with your clothed cunt. He smirks as he notices how the fabric is clinging to your folds already.

“Naughty little princess,” he grunts as he pushes your panties aside. “You were just waiting for this to happen.”

It doesn’t take much longer for him to pull his own pants down and let his cock bounce free. It smacks against his abdomen, standing tall and leaking out the pearlescent fluids you usually love to taste so badly. He can see that look in your eyes, and he knows he doesn’t want to tease you for much longer. So he opens your legs a bit more, and he uses his cock to spread your wet folds.

“Fuck, you’re so damn wet.”

He doesn’t say anything more before sliding into you, making you squeak out from the intense feeling of being stretched. No Hylian man could ever fuck you the way this giant Gerudo does. He just makes you feel so full every time. You feel it all the way in your navel sometimes. It’s just the size of him that has you completely stretched out. His eyes narrow at you as he begins pumping into you.

“Be quiet, princess.”

You try your best, but it always feels so good. You grip onto him as his cock pistons into you, in and out and in and out… He’s slow with the rhythm at first, keeping it nice and deep. It doesn’t take much for him to pick up the pace and begin fucking you harder. Your nails dig into the meaty flesh of his biceps.

“Oh fuck, Gan!” You cry out, and he growls. He knows if he continues to let you be loud like this, you’ll surely get caught.

One of his hands comes up and smacks against your mouth, making sure you understand the warning he is trying to give you. The sounds of your cries of love are now muffled and they vibrate against his large hand. The way he keeps his hand on your mouth while fucking himself into you so fast and hard has your head spinning. It’s so sexy to have him have to shut you up like this.

“I warned you,” he growls into your ear. “You’re just begging to be punished huh?”

He removes his hand for a moment, allowing you to breathe and be able to respond. But at the very same time, the tip of his cock hits your sweet spot dead on and you let out a moan. Ganondorf leans in and kisses you roughly, fucking you harder and faster until you reach your peak. He grunts at the way your silky walls milk him so good, sending him over the edge along with him.

“Next time, you need to be more quiet…” He tells you as you straighten out your dress. “Or else I’ll shut you up myself.”

[thedragonagebigbang]

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[psychedelic-ink]

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐒 𝐆𝐎 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋.

DAY THREE OF HAUNTED HOEDOWN

prompt: priest au + “worship me. until i tell you to stop.”

pairing: priest!ezra x f!reader

genre: explicit smut, minors dni, dark content

summary: after a breakup, you find solaca at the local church. there, you meet father ezra.

word count: 3.4k

warnings: dubcon, manipulation, brief mention of reader going through a breakup, reader having a brief anxiety attack, reader having confidence issues, loneliness, messy blowjob, degradation, leg humping, dirty talk, facial, power imbalance, dumbification if you squint, use of whore, religious themes, this is written for horny purposes only, priest kink, a lot of 'yes father's and 'forgive me father's

Comfort is what leads you to your local church.  

You wouldn’t exactly say you’re a believer, but coming to the church and sticking wishing candles into the sandy surface was one of your finest memories from your childhood. You enjoy the chocolaty smell of the wooden benches, the stained large panes of the windows that cast vibrant rainbows upon the polished floor when the sun hits them just right. 

When you sit on the bench, surrounded by a calm dimness and silent prayers, you feel contented, like the world outside doesn’t exist. 

You feel lonely out there in the modern world, especially after your breakup, which was the turning point that led you to the adorned wooden doors of the church in the first place. It wasn’t a messy breakup, still, it left you in shambles. He’d moved on so quickly. Just picking up his clothes and throwing them into the bag before he left. It broke your heart if you’re being honest. He was never overly affectionate or necessarily cared about the things you cared about, but it was better than being utterly alone. 

Just a little bit of comfort. That’s all you want. Just a sense of belonging. 

Here at the church, the sense of commune affects you, even if you’re not exactly a part of it. 

Sitting at the edge of the bench, you look up. The church is empty today due to the heavy downpour, there’s only one more person other than you. They’re busy in prayer so you don’t stare at them for long, not wanting to be rude. 

Your eyes move away from the person, they linger on the confessionals. You always found the idea appealing in some twisted way. As if asking for forgiveness from some random man will solve all your problems. You never went it, always feeling too paranoid that someone might hear how stupid you sound. 

The person finishes their prayer, and as they walk down the middle, you notice it was a youngish man, his hair stuck to his forehead. His steps echo, a second later the sound of his departure rings dull against the cold walls. 

You rise slowly, eyes once again fixed on the booths. They’re barely noticeable thanks to how dimly lit the church is, and with no sun there’s little light to guide you. 

You’re not even sure a Father will assist you when you open the door to the small space. It creaks loudly and your skin crawls. You’re hesitant, yet you still climb inside and take a seat. It’s small, dark, and smells overwhelmingly of wood. It’s oddly comforting. 

You’re unsure what to do with yourself until you hear the door opening and closing from the other side of the booth. 

“Welcome. I am Father Ezra, and I am here to listen, guide, and offer you the grace of God's forgiveness. As sunlit moments blend with shadows, so too do our lives weave intricate tales of both frailty and strength. With open ears and an open heart, I beckon you to unburden your spirit. When you're ready, please share your thoughts, knowing that your words are heard in the spirit of compassion and understanding.” 

Your eyes widen at the sound of his voice. He doesn’t rush his speech, taking time as if every sentence is a story of its own. It’s so smooth, enticing, beckoning you to pour all the darkness that lingers around your heart. You’re surprised to find yourself wanting to hear more of that honey-dipped voice. 

Father Ezra, you’ve heard his name before and from afar, even laid eyes on him. You can barely remember what he looks like now though. You certainly never heard him during sermons, you would’ve definitely remembered his voice if you had. 

You’re pulled away from your thoughts when you hear a creak and a soft flutter of a robe. 

“Sorry,” you say, quick and silent. “This is my first time doing this and I didn’t really have a prepared thing in mind.” 

His soft chuckle echoes—god, why does he sound so good? 

“Sweet, lost, little bird, you do not need to rush it. You can start by introducing yourself. Tell me your name.” 

A shudder that starts from your toes claws all the way up to your spine. All he did was ask your name, yet, it feels like he’s asking for something drastic like your life. You swallow around the know in your throat, lowering your gaze even though there’s no one that can see you. 

You give him your name and something you can’t discern shifts in the air. 

“What a lovely name,” he hums. “Now tell me, what troubles you on this rainy day.” 

“Nothing specific,” a sigh parts your lips, and again, a creak comes through the other side. Your skin prickles. You can feel as if his eyes can see through the thin wall that separates you both. “I’m feeling a bit lonely. I—I went through a break up a couple of weeks ago and. . . I guess I can’t help but feel it’s my fault somehow.” 

You wait for him to say something, but when he doesn’t, you continue. 

“This might sound dumb—” 

“There is no such thing,” you can almost hear the smile in his voice. “There’s no shame in asking for guidance and forgiveness.” 

“There were these things. . . that he said about me. Things like I was too needy, too dependent, and too much overall. And I feel like it’s true because no one ever seems to stay with me,” you let out a bitter chuckle as tears begin to well in your eyes. “I don’t know why I’m like this, maybe—maybe God is punishing me for a sin I don’t know and i-if that’s the case, Father, I seek forgiveness.” 

A breath. A low, violent exhale of breath. Your eyes flit to the grille, a pair of plush lips now visible through the tightly made slats. 

“You ask for forgiveness, atonement, yet do you actually believe?” he coos, voice low. 

“I don’t,” you answer a bit too quickly and blood boils under your nails. “I–I mean I don’t know.” 

“How do you expect me to help when you doubt the lord’s existence, little one?” Despite the provocative question, you see the faint curve of his smile through the darkness. “Are you desperate?” 

“I didn’t mean to offend,” you say quietly. The rain pour had begun again, drowning out the rest of the sound. “I’ve been coming here ever since the breakup. I enjoy watching people pray and smile, looking comforted. I just thought that if I did this, that comfort would extend to me as well. I’m sorry.” 

“The comfort is fleeting when you don’t believe it to be true,” he murmurs, ignoring your apology. “If you seek guidance, I can help you understand better and maybe then you’ll receive the comfort and the forgiveness that you crave oh so deeply.”

There’s a mocking lilt to his tone that you decide to ignore. It feels only right when you had outwardly said that you didn’t believe in the man’s religion. 

With an open heart, you accept his offer of guidance. 

You visit his office almost every night. 

You found yourself enjoying the church even more after hours. Ezra became a friend, which didn’t surprise you because that man had an essence about him that would charm the pants off of any devil that he might encounter. You guys did bible studies together and talked about other religions as well, and what it means to understand the words inscribed and given to the people. It was interesting to listen to. He would even give you assignments sometimes, telling you to read a specific paper or book. It felt like being at school again. He’d given you something you thought you had lost forever; A sense of purpose. 

It didn’t hurt that he was a sight to look at. His dark brown eyes always held a certain mischief to them, lighting up in amusement whenever you said anything peculiar. 

You knew it was cliche to have a crush on a priest, yet here you were, wagging an imaginary tail whenever he praised you for doing a good job. 

But tonight is not one of those days you feel all giddy and excited to see him. You enter the wide halls of the church and take a sharp turn towards his office, all you sense is impending doom, your insides riddled with anxiety. You’re shaking, barely able to feel your legs as you walk. 

When you enter, his eyes look up from the papers that lay in front of him, his gaze momentarily dropping to where your dress ends, then back up. His brows furrowing instantly at your heavy breathing, “Little bird, what’s wrong?” 

“Everything!” you exclaim, heaving a breath. “Everything is wrong—I’m wrong—I—fuck—” 

Ezra clears his throat in warning, “Language,” he says with a click of his tongue. 

“Sorry, Father.” you look down in shame, your hands balled into tight fists as you fight the urge to pace around his office. “I just—” 

He cuts you off, “Why don’t you take a seat and tell me what happened?” he smiles kindly. “And maybe you can stop shaking while you’re at it.” 

You nod as you take a seat. Your heart continuously rams against your ribcage and you can barely breathe, your throat convulsing in agony. Ezra gestures to you to look at him. When you do, he takes a deep inhale, making a demonstration in showing how his chest expands and contracts, his hand following the movement as if on waves. 

You breathe with him, the oxygen that fills your lungs calming you. 

“Good,” he hums. “Now tell me what happened.” 

“I saw him today. My—My ex,” you shook your head, reliving the moment. “He’s already seeing someone, which is fine if he was just honest about it. It’s some girl from work, the same girl I asked him about when he moved out,” a hiccup parts your sentence and you continue, your eyes dropping away from Ezra’s. “I said ‘is it her, do you like someone else’ and he said no. He pretended not to recognize me, even though his girlfriend did. I could see it in her eyes but he just walked past me, like I never existed.” 

A sole tear trickles down your cheek and you wipe it away with your sleeve, sniffling. When you feel another, you repeat the motion, finding solace in the softness of the fabric. “I’m an idiot,” you say, still not looking at him. “What am I even doing here? I should try to face reality not escape it in some—some church.” 

You hadn’t meant to sound so harsh. The church had helped you when you needed it most, it had given you Ezra, most of all. But you couldn’t help the words, you’re angry. Furious. You feel invisible out there, but here, here people recognize you, and ask where you’ve been when you came back the other day. It’s good to know that if you disappear some people would wonder about you. 

Ezra’s voice rings in your ear, and without even understanding the words he’s saying, you’re looking up. 

“Let’s try something,” he says probably again. “Come here.” 

You’re slightly confused but obliged. He pushes his chair slightly back, making some room between him and the desk. Your eyes drop to the end of his robes, two shiny shoes peaking from underneath. 

“Get on your knees.” 

You snort, “Excuse me?” 

“It’s going to calm you,” he says. “Do you trust me?” 

Your lips part with a faint gasp, you don’t blink as your eyes search his. There’s a tranquility in his expression that makes your heart throb. “Of course, Father,” you get on your knees. 

“Good girl,” he pats his thigh. “Now lay your head.” 

You do so without question this time, appreciating the firmness of muscle under your head. A moment passes, awkwardness starting to settle in, then you feel his fingers touching the back of your neck and gradually they move up to your scalp. Humming a gentle melody, he starts to stroke your hair, massaging your head as he went along. A deep sigh comes from the depths of your lungs, your nerves humming, your rigid muscles finally relax. 

“You’ve been doing so well these past couple of weeks,” he says, a hint of amusement lingering in his voice. “You’ve been learning, little bird, but you still have much to learn. The church is part of the real world, you haven’t been doing nothing.” 

Listening to him so intently, he sends shivers down your spine, the thickness of arousal pooling between your legs. He drags blunt nails down your scalp and comes down to your nape to squeeze from both sides. You’re embarrassed of the moan that rattles your throat but he doesn’t seem to mind it. You lean closer, pressing your cheek further against his leg. 

“Isn’t this nice?” he asks without needing the answer. “You, my obedient girl, listening and eager to please. You’ll always feel like this when you’re with me. No anxiety, no need to compete and try to accomplish something when all you want to do is. . . relax. . .” 

His voice had dropped to a whisper, every word a gentle caress to your skin. Eyes fluttering close, you only focus on the ups and downs of his voice, your body reacting to every stop and turn. The fabric of your underwear dampens, your folds becoming slicker the more you inch towards him. You ache for your fingers—or better yet his cock—but he isn’t allowed to touch you is he? 

You try to remember the lessons in celibacy but can’t seem to remember any of them. 

Your tighs instinctively press together, the brief friction doing little in dousing the wildfires between your legs. You wiggle a bit closer, his voice nothing but a siren song now. 

Ezra notices the constant movement, his fingers slip under your chin, and drags your eyes up to face him. Your breath hitches. The faint moonlight that trickles through the windows behind him cast his face in complete shadow, his features hardening with darkness. He slips his foot between your legs, the floor creaking under the sole of his shoe, “Now, why can’t you stay still when I’m trying so hard to soothe you, little bird?” 

He lifts the point of his shoe, the leather pressing directly against your throbbing clit. A surprised whimper rips from your throat, your body shaking as he drags the leather tip down. Your insides clench with want, with a primal need that you can’t seem to understand. 

You’re haunted by his words and the darkness that lurks in his eyes. Despite yourself, you press yourself up against his leg like some animal. You can’t seem to stop staring at him. And by the way he pushes his shoe further into you, borderline on almost being painful, you don’t think he minds either. 

Your eyes flutter as he parts his robe, your gaze immediately drops to the outline of his cock that’s visible. Your mouth waters. 

“Worship me,” he unbuttons himself with expertise but leaves it at that. “Until I tell you to stop.”

His leg still between your legs, you pull out his cock. The tip is an angry shade of red, precum dotting at the tip, without much thought you lean over and dip your tongue, tasting him for the first time. The taste of him coats the inside of your mouth and you swallow greedily, the blood rush to your ears muffling his voice. 

“Such a sweet whore,” he hums. “You like sucking cock, don’t you?” 

Dragging your lips down the length of him, you answer with him between your lips, “Yes, Father.” 

“I really do enjoy it when you call me that,” his thumb touches your cheek as you finally take him between your lips, you allow out your cheeks and flatten your tongue against the underside of his cock. “All you needed was a little encouragement and now you’re the perfect hole for me. There’s nothing wrong with you, all you need is someone to take care of you.” 

You hum in approval around him, taking him deeper while grinding against his leg, your dress rides up your thighs, your underwear nearly sheer in color.   

“I can feel how wet you are. So needy,” he lays back in his chair and spreads his legs. “I want to feel every inch of your mouth. I said worship, if this is how you think that works you’re mistaken, dove.” 

Your stomach churns at that. You want to make him happy—you truly do. You part from him, strings of saliva following the frame of your lips as you bend down closer to the floor, feeling the full shape of his shoe. You look up to him, the heft of his cock laying directly in the middle of your face, the scent of sex and him clinging to your nose. Opening your mouth, you lick between his balls, taking one into your mouth, you swirl your tongue around it. His eyes roll in pleasure, a thick drop of precome dripping to your forehead. 

“That’s it,” he raps and guides you back up, lining the bulbous head of his cock against your lips. He pushes forward, cock filling your mouth then inching down your throat. Tears trickle down your cheeks, your throat convulsing as you try to accommodate to the width of him. You swallow and swallow, until your nose is buried into the dark curls that crown his length. You can barely breathe. “I knew you could take it all, little one. I know that mouth could do more than talk.” 

The heavy palm of his hand moves down your throat, he feels the shape of himself through the skin. His cock twitches when it feels his hand, straining your mouth further. 

He pulls out and you gasp for air, his grin is wide as he looks down at you. “I want to make a mess of that face,” with the rough pitch of his words, you roll your hips, your clit catches against his shoe and a loud moan spills from your damp lips. He clicks his tongue with annoyance. “Ask for forgiveness,” he growls, hand moving up and down his cock with hard strokes. 

“For what, Father?” your voice is barely above a whisper. And you’re not sure why you asked when you’re going to surrender to his wants regardless of what they are. 

“For being a whore,” he spits. “For talking about a past flame and for taking pleasure without permission.” 

He watches with heavy eyes as you straighten yourself, his cock aimed directly at your face. You watch him with parted lips. His nail gently traces the vein that curls around the length of him, slick sounds filling the normally silent office. He swipes a thumb over his head and thrusts into his fist. 

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” you begin. “It has been two weeks since my last confession. I have behaved like a whore, talked about another man in the presence of the clergy, and taken pleasure without permission. I come before you seeking God's forgiveness and guidance.” 

“Will you repeat your sins?” 

“No, Father. Not unless I have permission to do so.” 

His hand quickens, his grip tightening, “Do it then,” he snarls with a devilish smile. “Ask me permission to be a whore.” 

Instead of a verbal permission, you part your mouth wide and stick your tongue out. His eyes widen with shock momentarily before understanding. He seems pleased and in return, you feel genuine jot for finally doing something right. 

He grips your chin, pulling you away from his leg and directly between his thighs. It doesn’t take him long to go over the age—one, two more strokes and you feel the first string of white come spurting over your face. It drips down your forehead from your face. The sounds Ezra make are unhinged, his hips lifting from the seat as he moans openly into the air, defiling you and marking you as his. His seed feels heavy over your face and with your tongue, you catch a bit of it, moaning as you swallow. 

Ezra hunches over you and you feel his tongue on your cheek, taking himself into his mouth, he presses his tongue into your mouth, forcing more of himself inside of you. 

When he parts away, you’re dazed, all pretense of the life outside of this church gone. 

“My sweet bird, so dirty now,” he purrs, this time he collects more of himself over his fingers and stuffs it into your mouth. Your eyes rolling you swallow over and over. “What do you say?” he asks melodically. 

“Thank you, Father.” 

[yanderepuck]

I'M BACK BABY

The amount of time I restarted this fic is insane. It was going to be Isaac, realized Faust fit better, but Isaac deserves smut but he'd be so ooc. So here we are with Faust, it's still a little ooc but you can deal.

Anyway. It's a modern au. I don't wanna give away the plot twist but the ending is funny. Trust me

You lay in bed, swiping on your phone. Swiping left on guy after guy after guy. Why is there no one cute in your area? Where did they all go for summer break?

You finally get to a guy that makes you stop. You look through his pictures. Wow he's hot. A little older than you but you're looking for a hook up, so what does that matter. You barely think twice about swiping right. You don't match immediately and so you swipe through some more guys before eventually falling asleep.

The next morning when you wake up, you start going through your notifications. Most of them are unimportant and clear them. You see that you have a match and a message.

You open it to see that it's the guy you liked last night. Johann. He sent you a message, you're sure it's some cheesy pick up line and you aren't wrong.

'That outfit of yours is cute, but it would be much better on my floor.'

You can't help but chuckle a little. It might be early but you're okay with starting the day with some flirting.

'You'd look much better on me instead.'

You continue to go through your phone, seeing what you missed before you get out of bed and start going about your day.

It was a few hours later before you got a reply. You honestly weren't expecting anything in return. Most guys want something that night and by morning are over it and unmatched.

But instead you got a message.

'I know something else of mine that would look good on you~'

You think for a moment before figuring out what to send back.

'Your lips can go where they want. But I think your hands would make a pretty necklace'

Then the messages come faster and by late afternoon you are doing nothing but flirting with each other.

'Why don't you come over tonight so we can actually have some fun~'

You pause. Do you really want to go straight to his house? You know nothing about him. You can't even say you've talked to him for a day, you've just been flirting. Would that be safe?

That's what you would be thinking if the two of you didn't start exchanging nudes an hour ago. Seeing his erect cock got you feeling a type of way. A good type of way.

Damn you're so needy. You've been lonely for just a little too long to think of any consequences and agree to his offer. You couldn't have him come to your place. It's small.. and a disaster. You clearly look like a broke college student.

You look up the address he sent you to see what the area looked like. It seemed nice. It was a nice house, and pretty close to you.

'I'll be over soon~'

You change your clothes into something nicer looking and head over.

It didn't take long for you to be knocking on his front door. You are standing on the porch a little nervous. Hook ups are nothing new to you, but you really hope he's as hot as he is in his photos.

The door opens and a tall man opens the door. That's him alright. Wow he's hotter in real life.

"...damn you're hot."

"I could say the same thing about you," he pulls you inside, closing the door behind you. You can't believe you said that out loud.

"Did you find the place alright?" he already has an arm around you.

"Yeah," you slip your shoes off, immediately shrinking a few inches. You look back up at him. Damn. How is he hotter now that your shorter?

With your head up he kisses you. You came for a reason, and it wasn't to necessarily get to know each other. Maybe each other's bodies, but if you don't learn a thing about the other by the end of the night that's fine.

You kiss him back, which only causes him to kiss you harder. You moan and turn your body to face him. As your hands went up his shirt to feel him, his hands went behind you to grab your ass.

Encouraging him, you press your body against him. In a swift motion he picks you up, keeping a firm grip on your ass. Your arms move to hold onto him by his shoulders while your legs wrap around his waist.

As he carries you to his bedroom, you take the opportunity to try to get some moans out of him by kissing his neck.

Just as he started to moan for you he drops you on his bed, immediately taking his shirt off.

"Is there anything I shouldn't do to you?" He tossed his shirt to the side

You almost don't hear him. How did you luck out with a guy so hot. Since you don't answer he leans down, grabbing your jaw to make you look at him.

"If you don't answer I'll just use you how I like."

You feel your cheeks flush. Oh god. That's a dream. But maybe you shouldn't agree to that since you have just met him.

"Make me your personal fuck toy."

Definitely not what you should have said.

He smirks and lets you go. "That's what I like to hear."

You quickly start taking your shirt off. Once it's over your head he pushes you onto your back and starts to yank your pants down to your ankles. You move further back onto the bed and slip out of your underwear.

As you are taking your bra off you hear his belt being undone. Something about that sound gets you excited. With your bra to the side he gets on top of you, grabbing your hands so that he can tie your wrists together with his belt.

He does it so quickly that you swear he does this all the time. He sets his glasses to the side before going further down on the bed, almost laying down.

As your legs are being spread open you look down, seeing his face between your thighs. With your legs over his shoulders, you get a good glimpse of his bright green eyes before you shut yours with a gasp.

His tongue slid its way into you. You were already wet with anticipation but now you are leaking into your tongue. He's treating you as a meal, lapping you up and getting his tongue as deep in you as he possibly can.

It isn't long before you're squirming. His hands grip your hips tightly, keeping you down on the bed. He nibbles you a bit, teasing you with teeth. Feeling you jump only causes him to do it again. Your thighs try to close, as if you want him to stop, but you really don't want it to end.

Letting go with one hand, he starts to rub your clit, going in circles.

"Ahh-hh no!" You moan louder and squirm in a way that it seems like you are trying to roll over. Once he starts rubbing you, it doesn't take much to cover his tongue in your cum.

You try to look down at him, to catch a glimpse of his eyes. When you make contact with his, he looks like he's going to go feral. This is what you wanted after all.

"If you're going to be my fuck toy, let's flip you over."

He doesn't give you the option to roll over yourself. He sat up, grabbed you, and flipped you himself. You could help but moan. He even moved you so that your ass was in the air.

His hands grabbed your ass and rubbed it roughly, getting you to moan again. You could feel his hard tip pressed against you and whined. You've been waiting for this all day and now he's right there. You try to move back to get him to slip inside.

He chuckles. "Well I'd you're that eager."

He smirks and pushes his whole length inside you. He was going to ease himself in, but since you're so impatient.

"Ahh-!"

You bury your face into the bed and pull at your restraints.

"Don't be shy now."

He reaches up, grabbing a fist full of your hair and pulling it back.

"I want to hear what kinds of noises my new toy makes."

His voice is in a low growl, though your moans it can be hard to hear but each word gets you wetter.

His hips pull back before snapping back into you, getting you to yelp.

"Good girl," he praises you as he starts to thrust into you at a regular pace, making sure his full length enters you. "You're so tight and yet you can fit all of me," he pulls your hair more to hear you yell.

You try to prop yourself up on your tied up hands as he pulls your hair more and more.

"And you just keep getting wetter," he teased, his cock being able to slide in and out of you faster.

He doesn't seem to hold back with how hard he thrusts into you. One hand isn't enough to keep your hips in place and your legs start slipping.

Faust lets your hair go, making you fall forward. Without losing momentum, he fixes your hips and presses down on your upper back, forcing your face into the bed.

Your hair is in your face, your hot breath hitting you back. Your body is squirming again. With your hips at a new angle his cock is hitting a new spot, getting you to cum again nearly immediately.

"You're a perfect toy," he grunts a little, still going despite you tightening around him. "You take me with no complaints," he pushes you down harder as he pounds into you rougher.

"Ungh-ahhh! F-fuck!" You pant, barely able to get out words.

He feels himself starting to get closer, but he stays in you for as long as he can. His thrusts are getting out of rhythm. Finally he pulls out of you, making a trail of cum down your back.

He tries to catch his breath for a moment before helping you lay your body flat on his bed so that he can grab something to clean you up.

As he steps away you try to push your hair out of your face. In a few moments your back is cleaned, your hands are freed, and you're laying there with your head on his chest.

~~

For the rest of the summer your hook ups became nearly a regular thing. You don't plan on keeping it once the summer ends so you don't end up getting to know each other much. You're there for a hook up, no strings attached.

Or so you thought.

Your college classes start again. It's the first week of the semester and you're looking over your schedule.

"Ugh. My schedule is awful. I already can't wait for this to be over."

You head to your next class. It's a lecture hall. You already know it's going to be one you're going to fall asleep in.

You walk into the class and look for a place to sit when you look at the front to get a look at the teacher.

Shit. No. He can't possibly be the teacher.

"Johann?"

Faust looks up from the papers he's looking at to see who called his name and makes eye contact with you.

"Shit."

~~~

@kissmetwicekissmedeadly @fang-and-feather @xalxtusxiao @namine-somebodies-nobody @ana-thedaydreamer @evil-quartett @ameyoruakiikemenseries @yrenesposts @tele86 @damekathearasi @lokis-laugh @candied-boys @breadmercury @aquagirl1978 @xenokiryu @nightghoul381 @vampiricpancake @lulu-the-smol-floof @tako-cafe @floydsteeth

[otaku553]

Can we ask why you’ve distanced from Genshin? I’m thinking about it bc of the representation issues but was wondering abt ur thoughts

It’s a bit difficult to put this succinctly!

I have a lot of thoughts on this, so I’ll sum up a few on the topic of character design.

I think when most people talk about representation in Genshin, the first thing they talk about is skin tone, which is fair and definitely valid. I think, as someone who has grown up with a lot of East Asian beauty standards around me, what Genshin does is cowardly but understandable from a viewpoint of marketability. I’m sure that they know their lack of representation is controversial overseas, but either this controversy is just giving them more attention and free promotion, or they’ve calculated that the controversy generated won’t actually deal any damage to their profits. That’s mostly why I’m not vocal about it: at best, they scroll past an extra opinion that they’ll probably ignore, and at worst, they’re getting free unintentional advertising out of me.

I will say, though I think plenty of people have made great posts about the representation issues, I think Genshin’s problems with character design and representation go much deeper than just skin color, and have been a growing issue even since Liyue; it’s just gotten exponentially worse with the introduction of Natlan.

I feel like Genshin is actively making regions more modern just to avoid historically accurate cultural representation, and nowhere is this clearer than in Natlan. To begin with, Genshin introduced itself as a historical fantasy, and that is, I think, why it worked so well compared to, say, Honkai— you can tell characters come from the same game due to unified elements such as the Knights of Favonius’s crest as a motif, and the central idea of history. Though the idea of “historical fantasy” is kind of nebulous, since they don’t actually claim to be trying to replicate any real world locations or cultures, you can infer some things about the time period and general location based on the existing technology and architecture and stuff.

But it feels like the moment you get to somewhere not European or East Asian, Genshin starts making designs from a far more modern approach. Some of the Natlan and Sumeru characters, I don’t think I’d be able to place as Genshin characters if I hadn’t played the game. I actually thought that one of the teased Genshin characters for Natlan that I’d seen around online, Citlali, was a Honkai Star Rail character, and was super surprised when I saw her in the Genshin 5.1 trailer. When you can’t even tell that a character belongs to the game you’re designing for, then what are you doing as a character designer?

This is more speculation than anything, but it’s almost as if they’re avoiding proper representation of cultural clothing by making things look modern, and it’s clashing terribly with what they established the game as from the beginning. For fuck’s sake, Mavuika, who’s the archon, meant to represent her nation, is wearing a leather biking suit. She looks so incredibly out of place in the fourth anniversary art of all the 5 archons together. They seem to be losing sight of what made them successful with character designs in the first place just out of a fear to do proper research or make something less than “conventionally aesthetic/attractive.” That’s my main issue, to be honest— not necessarily the skin colors, but the clear lack of thoughtfulness in character design, not only for representation but also for what suits their setting and premise best.

I have a lot more thoughts on Genshin Impact so feel free to send another ask if you’re curious!

[ghoularaki]

baby's breath | 9

↠  summary: Merely by coincidence, Erwin, your father's former friend had crossed paths with you again after nearly a decade. He offered solace once finding out you were struggling with not just school, but your home life as well. His home he shared with another one of your father's friends, Levi, became a sanctuary. Though, the more you came over for study sessions, the more they wiggled themselves into your private life. And like baby's breath, they weeded themselves in so deep you couldn't uproot them.

↠ word count: 3,057

↠ pairing: levi ackerman x reader x erwin smith

↠ genre/warnings: angst, smut, modern au, DARK CONTENT, yandere, daddy kink, forced infantilism, pet play, age gap, collars, slight shock torture

The neighbor’s must never be home. This you had deduced as you were sat outside soaking up the late July Sun. In the couple weeks following after Levi had spanked you over the tub, you had become docile. Well, as docile as you can be.

Out of self-preservation, you dialed down your abundant want to be anywhere but this damn house. Also Levi had kept the gag on even after your punishment was over and your jaw started to feel like it would fall off. So you listened.

It took two days before Levi trusted you enough to take the gag off besides when to eat and to brush your teeth. Trust would be a stretch since you both knew Levi didn’t believe an ounce of your obedient act. You weren’t necessarily trying to fool him or Erwin, you just needed time to recuperate.

If the shorter man of the two kept running you ragged you would never have enough energy to escape. Mustering up all your willpower, you bit your tongue and allowed them to treat you as lesser than. The routines were kept up.

Erwin would pick out your clothes in the morning as he took you out of the crate and kissed your forehead as a goodbye. An underlying threat in his sweet gesture when he told you to be good. Every single time he turned around you resisted the urge to throw the stupid pink, frilly clothes at his big head.

As if he sensed it every time, Levi would walk into the room and take the clothes. There he would lead you into the bathroom and help you—more so forcibly—get ready for the day. Nothing you did you were allowed to do on your own. The only luxury Levi offered was letting you eat without assistance. Other than that, he’s on you like a hawk.

They weren’t awful enough to only let you wear skirts or dresses, but the shorts bestowed upon you were still covered in lace and frills. You could only count your blessings, no matter how miniscule.

So there, you sat on the living room floor in a babydoll style shirt and short bloomers. Despite the hot weather, a shiver ran through your body. Today, Erwin had been home as it’s the weekend. On Sundays were the only days he allowed himself a break from work. So to your surprise, despite it being Saturday, he didn’t leave for his home office.

Mid-morning sunlight streamed in from the open curtains. After begrudgingly letting Erwin feed you, he guided you to the living room. Instead of leading you to the couch, he had you sit on the floor by his feet. Leaning on his knees, his form encased yours. Those deep sapphires bore into you.

“You have been so good lately,” The words were a statement, but his tone seemed questioning. “Good behavior must be rewarded, right, Levi?”

Erwin looked over your head to Levi who made his way to stand behind you. You were completely caged in. You did not like what those words meant.

“What do you mean?”

The huge man gave you a smile filled with mirth and something darker. He’s scheming. Two can play at that game.

“If you could have anything you want, what would it be?”

His words were a honey trap meant to lure you in with a sweet promise. The sticky nectar would only entangle you further if you weren’t careful or dared to move too far. You bit your lip in thought. Whatever you say had to be done precisely.

Not leaving his gaze, you meekly asked, “Anything?” He liked you small.

Teeth all on display, he grinned with chilling warmth, “Anything.”

Glancing to the Sun blaring through the window, you turned back to him, “I want to go outside.”

His face fell slightly before the skin jumped back up to mask his obvious discontent, but you continued. “Under your terms.”

Throughout this exchange, you dared not look at Levi. All confidence you had would vanish in an instant. He wore you down in all the worst ways. Your plan would shatter and disintegrate.

You longed to feel the Sun on you. This house grew boring quickly and each day you spent here, the more claustrophobic you felt. Desperation would be an understatement. Day in and day out were your rights as a human violated, treated as a pet or a toy or a child.

Those miniscule pings of trust they had in you, you were going to sap dry and leave this place. Whether it be in a ditch, body long since cold, or back in the warmth this merciless world offered.

“Our terms?” Erwin probed.

“I don’t even have to leave the front steps and I wouldn’t be alone either. All I ask is to go outside, just for a bit. Please?”

Both men are silent.

You vehemently refused to break eye contact with Erwin. At this point you are graveling, on your hands and knees to get your point across. You set up the board, and it is now their turn to move the pieces unknowingly in your favor.

Erwin did not speak more as he got up, knees cracking. You could only pathetically watch as he disregarded your proposition.

Levi still standing, never letting his focus on you waver. Finally, you rotate to him. His face didn’t portray anything. You were only left more confused than before. He said anything and you made sure to ask for something within reason. Should you have been more patient?

“Get off the floor, it’s dirty,” Levi broke you from your spiraling.

He did not offer a hand, but stayed close. Obeying, you got up and brushed the imaginary dust from your knees. You looked over to where Erwin retired to his office. You could only hope this didn’t set you back to square one.

The next day Erwin had returned to you, a little more chipper than you would like. He had his hand behind his back obviously hiding something from you. Breakfast spread across the table, Levi had gotten you up this morning instead of Erwin. The break in routine already had you on edge.

You had barely begun to eat when Erwin’s lumbering form emerged from the doorway and crossed over to you. Your eyes followed him as he came closer. He knelt before you, a hand grabbing one of your knees so your legs began the swivel of your body being turned towards him. Shoulder leaning against the back of the chair, you stared down at him in question.

“I gave it some thought about your request,” He paused to analyze every and any indication to what you were thinking, “It has been a while since you’ve been outside.”

His words were too good to be true. There was a catch. There was always a catch.

That same grin crept back onto his handsome face. From behind him, he pulled out a collar. The type you would put onto a dog. You stared at the pink, webbed nylon sat in his palm. The material was thick along with the width of the collar—it would easily encompass most of your neck. It seemed almost too bulky, but you didn’t question it. The front buckle had a lock on it. Its cutesy, heart shape mocked you.

“I also have a proposition to make. You can go outside and accompany Levi as he does yardwork, but you must be collared.” Erwin chuckled at your twitching lip. He knew you did not want that thing around your neck. “… Or you can stay inside.”

The with me stayed silent, but heavily implicated.

Your hands laid in your lap, right where his almost brushed against yours. You pondered what to do. Erwin knew you wanted so bad to go outside, but the thought of being collared like a dog disgusted you. Though this isn’t what held you back. It's you sneakily being tested to which man you would prefer. Of course, it would be neither, but Erwin’s a man of mind games.

Not caring how much this would offend the man before you, you muttered from your place above him, “Outside.”

At that, he stood to his full height, establishing the power once more. Your head followed his motion. Gently, he moved your hair from your neck and brought the thick collar around your neck. You flinched from the cold metal biting your skin. His deft fingers threaded the nylon together until the collar sat firm on your throat but not enough to constrict your breathing.

Stubbornly, you stared at his stomach and not up. Two of his fingers went under the collar and tugged on it. Glancing up instinctively, Erwin nodded to himself in satisfaction and then stepped back.

From behind you, Levi cleared his throat. You jumped as he grabbed his plate and set it into the sink.

“Come. Put your shit away and follow. We are wasting daylight.”

Eager to get out of this stuffy house, you rinsed off your plate, the rushing water sharp in your ears. Cutting it off, you stepped in tow with Levi. In his hands were a leash, a contrasting black leather to the pink entangling your throat.

As Levi stepped into his work boots, you stared at your socked feet. You didn’t have any shoes.

You expressed this to the man crouched down, tying his laces together.

“You don’t need them.”

“But then my socks will get dirty,” You argued.

His eyes sharpened into a scowl. Muttering under his breath, he opened the closet keeping the coats and bent down. He emerged with a pair of old slippers, and tossed them at your feet.

“There, spoiled brat.”

You opened your mouth to counter that you didn’t care about dirt, but you knew he would kick up a fuss like the grouchy old man he was, though decided to clack your teeth together. Getting the last word wasn’t worth whatever he dished out.

So you slipped your feet into the flimsy shoes and waited for Levi to finish unlocking the door. He swung the door open. Sun kissed your dull skin. You closed your eyes and took in the humid air from the summer light. A stray, white butterfly fluttered by you. You smiled. Somewhere someone had been thinking of you—or at least that’s how the superstition went.

Shuffling off the porch, you didn’t wonder too far from Levi. He didn’t give an instruction you were allowed to free roam and the leash clutched in his finger didn’t give any indication he wanted to. Across the plush, green grass, he brought you back to where he had drowned you with the hose.

The pavement suffocated both you and the grass begging to creep from under its oppressive weight. Your skin crawled as cold flooded your veins. Soon your blood ran a clear, icy water. The thin liquid filled you to the brim until you tilted your chin up to avoid the impending flood.

Levi snapped his fingers. “Hey, Hey! Brat, wake the fuck up.”

Shaking out the water from your ears, you stared blankly at the man. “Huh?”

He jabbed a finger into your forehead, “Are you listening?”

Your confused expression must have given away you indeed hadn’t been listening. He sighed, and stepped further into your space. Hooking the latch on the leash into the ring on the collar, he gave it a small tug. You stumbled closer, a hand gripping his sturdy forearm for balance.

“Sit.”

Shoving you down, your knees landed on the soft ground. To the side of you was a hook emerging from the grass. Stuck into the dirt sat a stake perfect for your leash to be threaded through.

Levi crouched right next to the hoop and tied the leash tight so there was no way for you to tug it free. You observed intently about how good Levi’s at tying knots. It made you shutter.

Still close to you, he pulled his fingers through the collar as Erwin did, but with more force. He tugged you to him so you collapsed on your hands.

“Don’t ruin this for yourself.”

You said nothing. Those steely irises pierced into your psyche. It scared you shitless how easily he read you. Stupidly you would forget how intelligent this man was.

Releasing the collar, he pushed you from him and walked over to the basement door. With ease he hauled the left door open. Your shoulders hunched at the screeching metal. From over the door, he gave another threat.

“I will be out faster than your shit brains can think of an idiotic plan. Stay. Put.”

God, did he grate your nerves. Maybe you could find a rock to chuck at his head, then he’ll see how fast he can give snarky remarks. But with how he is, he would simply catch it and then bash your brains out of your skull.

Despite his warnings, you scanned the area for what you desired. Levi’s soft foot-falls dimmed with each step he took further into the basement. Scrambling, you tugged at the stake to no avail. Instantly giving up, you glanced around for anything else. You looked up at the window to see if Erwin’s watching. The coast’s clear.

Crawling to the loop, you desperately clawed at the leash to unravel it. Growing more frustrated in your time crunch, you unhook the leash and more easily untie it from the stake. Just in time you are able to free the leash.

Clambering over to the basement door, you don’t even peer over it to make sure you don’t hit Levi, you push it down. It slammed shut with an audible rattle. Levi’s shout is muffled.

Working quickly, you sat on both doors while you looped it over and over the leash through the handle. Tripling knotting it, you ignore Levi pounding against the metal. His pushes lift you off the door for a mere moment, but it’s enough.

Trusting the knots were secure, you scampered off the doors and ran full force into the woods. The leash would only stop Levi for so long as he would surely give up and go through the other doors. All you needed was to get to the neighbors who couldn’t be more than a mile away considering you could see their house lights.

Ten minutes. Ten minutes was all you needed to escape this hellhole.

Erwin must have seen you too at this point, but you weren’t too worried about him. He would never do the dirty work himself.

The treeline just broke when searing pain coursed through you. Crumpling to the ground with a piercing screech, you clawed at your throat. Your fingers scrambled to get the collar on your throat off you as it sent more electric shocks through your body. You could barely take in the trees surrounding you. Writhing in the dirt and broken twigs, you cried and pleaded for anyone, anything to stop the pain.

Your legs pathetically kicked out as your eyes rolled in the back of your head. As the oxygen rapidly left your lungs—choking on your own foaming spit—you gasped when it returned. You couldn’t even turn over to breathe in properly. Only twitch and cough on your own saliva.

Your flickering lids peer upwards to Levi standing over, visibly annoyed. A remote sat in his shaking fist. His shoulders heaved from both anger and exertion. Glancing at the basement doors still tied up, he must have run through the whole house just to get to you.

He dug his heel in your stomach, “Didn’t I say to stay put.”

You couldn’t even rebuttal or try to get him off you. All you could do was accept his cruel treatment, how his foot went upwards to crush your rib cage.

Relief filled you as he took off his foot, but it’s short-lived. Leaning down, he grabbed the back of the collar and lugged you through the dirt. Coughing, you frantically gripped behind to offer some sort of reprieve. The collar dug into your larynx and the raw skin.

Weakly your heels scraped against the ground to stop him from hauling you to wherever you were going. Along the way, you lose one of the slippers. Crossing the yard, you gagged at him shoving you further up. Your nails tilled the grass beneath you. You grunted as you went up the step on the porch. Bruises would definitely litter your back after today.

Kicking open the door, Levi dragged you through the mud room and into the living room to where Erwin sat patiently. The shorter man dumped you at his feet.

Growling, he pointed at you, “You deal with her or else I’m going to slaughter your little princess.”

Stomping back out the house, he slammed the door so loud the house shuttered. Erwin paid him no mind as he stared down at your gasping form. You wanted this damn collar off, off, off.

He gripped the hand that tugged at the lock, he tutted, “Uh uh, bad girl.”

With your hand still clutched in his palm, he pulled you up to sit in his lap. Sagging further into the recliner, he hugged you close to his chest. Too strained to resist, you let yourself be cradled. Ever so doting, Erwin slipped the slipper still attached to your foot off and dropped it somewhere on the floor.

The heavy hand on your hip stroked up and down. He kept his hand over the clothes, his touch never straying.

Your body knew the danger you were in, but your brain had been fried, scrambled to bits. Tense in understanding, you couldn’t completely fall into his embrace. Your tendons awaited the next shock. You don’t think you could ever be able to relax again until the collar came off.

Your breath brushed against the skin of Erwin’s exposed collarbone. “Am I- am I in trouble?”

“I think you learned your lesson already…” His words hung in the air.

“But?”

“Sleep. You need the rest.”

Tears softly spilled, staining his shirt. He may think you were disciplined enough, but did Levi?

Erwin smiled when you curled further into his embrace. Just for a moment, naively believing the words he was a passive bystander of your punishment, and not the executioner.

[mars-ipan]

ok priest au kinda . got a lot more attention than i expected. so here's a little ref so i can generally keep their designs organized in the future lmao

some design notes:

NAGITO:

this guy is pale as FUCK. almost scarily pale.

the little tufts of hair that fall to the sides of his face... reminiscent of goat ears

while the vestments are simple in color (almost entirely black (actually a very dark green)), they make up for it with interesting shapes and flowing pieces of fabric-- use these to create visual intrigue

the sash rests just above his hips, and ends about 2/3rds of the way down his thighs

his cross sits directly in front of his sternum

the sleeves of his priest outfit come all the way down to his wrists, and the bottom of his robe rests right over his toes

with the exception of his ahoges, komaeda's general silhouette is completely symmetrical. symmetry is holy!

komaeda is someone who appears non-threatening, but still has a frighteningly intimidating aura about him. he will make you want to listen to him, not necessarily out of fear, but out of the respect he seems to passively command. you wouldn't want to disappoint everyone's favorite priest, would you? he's so soft-spoken and kind, "an angel on earth," people call him! you'd hate to see him frown. keep this in mind with posing and facial expression. he is calm, welcoming, and subtly powerful.

i will always give komaeda a halo of some kind. its design may deviate depending on what an individual illustration may demand, but in most drawings it will consist of two concentric circles with lines radiating out from its center. these lines will follow the angle/tilt of komaeda's head- if he tilts his head to the side, the halo "tilts" with him. most of the time, 7 lines will be visible in his halo. 7 is a holy number!

he's taller than in canon partially because i've always headcanoned komaeda as taller, just with a slouch (although priest!maeda has perfect posture) and partially because i like the physical power it gives him over hinata.

komaeda's proportions are thin and spindly-- he's almost frail under the robes. when in doubt, make him Longer.

while not visible in the image. komaeda's shoes are essentially just dress shoes, albiet a little rounder in the toes. i just google "priest shoes" and draw the most modern looking result lmao

HAJIME:

almost always going to be blushing pretty heavily due to shame and Horny-- he blushes with his entire face. it starts in his cheeks, then spreads up his nose and into his forehead and ears. after that, it will go down his neck

hinata has more outfit variation due to just. being Regular Townsfolk. however his standard fit is a wool-lined flannel over a dark t-shirt, with a standard pair of jeans and sneakers. i just let him keep his canon sneakers bc sure whatever :] this au takes place in Tha Midwest so he for sure has heavier clothes for winter and may forgo the wearing the flannel in the summer. he has several colors of flannels, but the one he wears most often is orange with red and yellow stripes (fire!)

hinata's flannels are cuffed-- he flips his sleeves inside out until the wool lining is at the outer edge. he got this habit doing work with his hands-- long sleeves are good protection and cuffing them keeps them out of the way.

that's right i decided farmboy hinata was the best route for this au. this also means he's pretty buff! he grew up doing manual labor. i'm not Very Good at drawing people with a lot of muscle (even under fat) but the only way to learn is thru practice right

unlike komaeda, hinata has a very reserved and nervous demeanor. this is a guy whose every thought is steeped in a deep self-hatred. keep that in mind with his poses and expressions-- he will often try to take up as little space as possible, or flinch away from people. his brow is often furrowed and he is often frowning. despite being physically strong, hinata is emotionally weak, so he carries himself much more tensely than the average person would expect. those who talk to him all seem to like him, but he visibly doesn't like himself. since he's new in town, maybe town gossip will spread about what may have caused him to move here. after all, he seems to have some sort of secret...

hinata's proportions are broad and stocky-- years' worth of farmwork will do that to ya. when in doubt, make him Wider.

both of hinata's eyes are an olive sort of green. i considered making them fully brown but i wanted to connect his colors to komaeda's a little more so they stayed green

[feralbutfluffy]

Give a Man a Mask

The man who caught Aziraphale’s eye was lounging rather indecorously on one of the many benches lining the walls of the ballroom. He (because despite every inch of them being covered, Aziraphale was sure it was a he) wore a well-tailored black velvet suit jacket that fit snuggly over a black waistcoat intricately embroidered with gunmetal filigree. Underneath the waistcoat, Aziraphale could just make out a black shirt and a flash of burgundy lace at the man’s throat. Black leather gloves laced up around his wrists, and matching knee-high boots fit snuggly over the man's fitted black trousers.

Aziraphale sighed with envy. He could never pull off something like that.

Of course - he told himself - it wasn’t the man necessarily that had caught his eye. It was the clothing; he had always noticed and admired fine clothing, and his outfit really was exquisitely made.

Besides, it was hard not to notice someone who had dressed in such stark contrast to the rest of the guests. It seemed everyone else was dressed to excess, resplendent in feathers and lace, gemstones and pearls. This man’s costume, by contrast, was downright modern; minimal but striking, yet still in keeping with Carnivale. The handstitched leather Plague Doctor mask beneath a black tricorn hat completed the look. It should have looked offputting, really...

It did not.

The man looked less like a man, Aziraphale thought, and more like a long black shadow curving against the wall. Aziraphale popped a fritelle into his mouth and chewed it slowly before swallowing. 

If he was honest with himself (which he would prefer not to be, all things considered) he knew what had really attracted his attention; there was something about him - the lazy confidence evident in the way he was sitting, or the dark clothing perhaps - that made him think of Crowley. He hadn’t seen the demon in a few years, and although he was absolutely loathe to admit it even within the privacy of his own mind, he did rather miss him.

Well. He missed him and worried about him in equal parts. Handing over the thermos of Holy Water a few years before had certainly ramped up his anxiety.

He was extremely glad of his full-face volto mask as he watched the figure out of the corner of his eye. He popped another fritelle into his mouth under the mask, chewed, and swallowed with a little groan of pleasure. They really were delicious.

The Plague Doctor swiveled to face him as if he had heard him, and although there was no possible way the stranger could have heard anything of the sort from across the crowded ballroom, Aziraphale blushed ferociously. The heat of it was almost unbearable behind his full-face mask.

He turned his body away from the man, staring down at the sweet delights laid out on the banquet table, and tried very hard to ignore what felt like a heated stare. He gazed down at the galani, his mouth suddenly dry.

Although he was almost expecting it, the dark presence at his elbow a moment later made him start.

“Buonasera, come sta?” said the Plague Doctor in perfect Italian, tipping his hat in a quick formal bow.

Aziraphale had been right about it being a man.

He jerked back at the greeting, startled by the man’s sudden proximity, and scrambled for a reply. 

“Oh! Buonasera!” Aziraphale could think of nothing else to say. He cringed behind his mask and wondered if he could miracle his way out of a conversation that was embarrassing before it had even begun.

The Plague Doctor was wearing a zendale beneath his tricorn, and the silk hood concealed every part of his head not covered by mask or hat. He tilted his head, looking like a curious raven, and rested both his gloved hands on top of a cane Aziraphale hadn’t noticed before. His tight grip - Aziraphale could see his knuckles straining against the leather of his gloves - obscured most of what looked like a beautifully carved gunmetal handle.

He looked up. The large eyesockets of the mask were filled with dark glass lenses, revealing absolutely nothing. Aziraphale smoothed down his more traditional costume. The cream and white concoction with gold embroidery and an abundance of lace ruffles had rather delighted him when he’d stepped out this morning, but it felt quite indulgent next to this austere creature.

“I trust you are enjoying yourself?” said the Plague Doctor in an extremely thick Italian accent, leaning forward on his cane so that the beak of his mask almost punctured his bubble of personal space.

“Oh yes, very much so!” Aziraphale nodded, wondering what had drawn this man to his side and how he could possibly reverse it. For all that he had been intrigued before, he hadn’t intended to actually engage the stranger in conversation. There was something extremely unsettling about him up close. Perhaps it was the costume, or the way he was standing; it was patient, watchful, almost… predatory.

Aziraphale shuddered, and the Plague Doctor’s head tilted the other way, making it clear he had noticed. 

“Va bene, Signore?” Are you well?

Aziraphale nodded quickly. “Oh yes… Sto bene!” I am well. There was a brief pause while he summoned up formal Italian and hurriedly added a thank you. “La ringrazio!”

The Plague Doctor nodded. “How did you come to be here?” The words came low and slow, and Aziraphale felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up, his skin prickling with awareness.

He had always had a bit of a weakness for the Italian accent. 

“It was suggested to me by the concierge at my hotel,” he smiled, even though the man couldn’t see it. “He thought I might enjoy it, and he was right! I am enjoying it tremendously! The food alone...!" He made an appreciative noise. "How did you…? Are you local to the area?”

A slight tilt of the head as if the Plague Doctor were considering his question. It was surprising how demonstrative he was able to be without a single facial expression.

“Not exactly,” he said, and Aziraphale thought he could hear a smile in his voice, “Although for tonight... Certo. If you like.” 

The man swept into a much deeper, more theatrical bow than before. The black feather in his hat almost grazed Aziraphale’s chest. “This is my palazzo - my festa - and I am your host for the evening. You are…” he said, and straightened, holding out his hand. When Aziraphale hesitated, the man crooked his fingers impatiently and for some reason Aziraphale obeyed, quickly placing his white silk-gloved hand in the man’s leather-clad grip. 

“... You are extremely welcome here,” the man finished, bringing Aziraphale's knuckles to his mask.

It didn’t seem to matter that there were no lips there to brush against his hand; Aziraphale felt it as if the man had kissed his knuckles open-mouthed. A dart of something hot and unutterable shot through him, flared up and burnt out, thankfully vanishing before Aziraphale had time to recognise it and panic.

“Yes. Well. Thank you. La ringrazio,” he said, feeling flustered.

“No need for such formality, Signore,” the Plague Doctor said warmly, tugging his hand without warning to bring them shoulder to shoulder. He tucked Aziraphale’s arm into the crook of his elbow and patted his hand as if to reassure him that it was alright.

Aziraphale thought that it was probably not alright.

Surely it was not alright to walk arm in arm with a total stranger? Surely there was something morally grey about taking a turn with a mortal Italian dandy who apparently owned a palazzo and, by extension, the many sweet treats Aziraphale had been helping himself to throughout the evening?

If nothing else, surely he should feel some guilt or shame about enjoying the closeness of a stranger who reminded him so much of Crowley?

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