#she isn't one of my FAVORITE ags but she is one of the historicals i grew up with

[adelle-ein]

found my first ever american girl doll at a used doll sale for $35! had her school outfit and meet underwear/shoes, everything minus her bonnet and hair ribbon (gave her a new one, might make her a new hat.) her only issue is that her limbs are pretty floppy esp her legs, maybe one day i'll learn to restring her, but for now she can just sit nicely. i have weak hips too girl i get it. been wanting an 18 inch doll to sew and crochet for and just couldn't pass her up, from my rudimentary research i think she's the felicity that was being sold when i was a kid too

and yeah she has a little friendship bracelet from one of her old homes that i just had to leave on :')

[mermaidsirennikita]

"he reaches out to protect the heroine..."

:)

"... and the two small children in her care"

:(

[insipid-drivel]

Horses: Since There Seems To Be A Knowledge Gap

I'm going to go ahead and preface this with: I comment pretty regularly on clips and photos featuring horses and horseback riding, often answering questions or providing explanations for how or why certain things are done. I was a stable hand and barrel racer growing up, and during my 11 year tenure on tumblr, Professional Horse Commentary is a very niche, yet very necessary, subject that needs filling. Here are some of the literary and creative gaps I've noticed in well meaning (and very good!) creators trying to portray horses and riding realistically that... well, most of you don't seem to even be aware of, because you wouldn't know unless you worked with horses directly!

Some Of The Most Common Horse + Riding Mistakes I See:

-Anybody can ride any horse if you hold on tight enough/have ridden once before.

Nope. No, no, no, no, aaaaaaaand, no. Horseback riding has, historically, been treated as a life skill taught from surprisingly young ages. It wasn't unusual in the pre-vehicular eras to start teaching children as young as 4 to begin to ride, because horses don't come with airbags, and every horse is different. For most adults, it can take months or years of regular lessons to learn to ride well in the saddle, and that's just riding; not working or practicing a sport.

Furthermore, horses often reject riders they don't know. Unless a horse has been trained like a teaching horse, which is taught to tolerate riders of all skill and experience levels, it will take extreme issue with having some random person try to climb on their back. Royalty, nobility, and the knighted classes are commonly associated with the "having a favorite special horse" trope, because it's true! Just like you can have a particularly special bond with a pet or service animal that verges on parental, the same can apply with horses. Happy horses love their owners/riders, and will straight-up do their best to murder anyone that tries to ride them without permission.

-Horses are stupid/have no personality.

There isn't a more dangerous assumption to make than assuming a horse is stupid. Every horse has a unique personality, with traits that can be consistent between breeds (again, like cat and dog breeds often have distinct behavior traits associated with them), but those traits manifest differently from animal to animal.

My mother had an Arabian horse, Zipper, that hated being kicked as a signal to gallop. One day, her mom and stepdad had a particularly unpleasant visitor; an older gentleman that insisted on riding Zipper, but refused to listen to my mother's warnings never to kick him. "Kicking" constitutes hitting the horse's side(s) with your heels, whether you have spurs on or not. Most horses only need a gentle squeeze to know what you want them to do.

Anyway, Zipper made eye-contact with my mom, asking for permission. He understood what she meant when she nodded at him. He proceeded to give this asshole of a rider road rash on the side of the paddock fence and sent him to the emergency room. He wouldn't have done it if he didn't have the permission from the rider he respected, and was intelligent enough to ask, "mind if I teach this guy a lesson?" with his eyes, and understand, "Go for it, buddy," from my mom in return.

-Riding bareback is possible to do if you hold onto the horse's mane really tight.

Riding a horse bareback (with no saddle, stirrups, or traditional harness around the horse's head) is unbelievably difficult to learn, particularly have testicles and value keeping them. Even professional riders and equestrians find ourselves relying on tack (the stuff you put on a horse to ride it) to stay stable on our horses, even if we've been riding that particular horse for years and have a very positive, trusting relationship.

Horses sweat like people do. The more they run, the more their hair saturates with sweat and makes staying seated on them slippery. Hell, an overworked horse can sweat so heavily that the saddle slips off its back. It's also essential to brush and bathe a horse before it's ridden in order to keep it healthier, so their hair is often quite slick from either being very clean or very damp. In order to ride like that, you have to develop the ability to synchronize your entire body's rhythm's with the rhythm of the horse's body beneath you, and quite literally move as one. Without stirrups, most people can't do it, and some people can never master bareback riding no matter how many years they spend trying to learn.

-You can be distracted and make casual conversation while a horse is standing untethered in the middle of a barn or field.

At every barn I've ever worked at, it's been standard practice with every single horse, regardless of age or temperament, to secure their heads while they're being tacked up or tacked down. The secures for doing this are simple ropes with clips that are designed to attach to the horse's halter (the headwear for a horse that isn't being ridden; they have no bit that goes in the horse's mouth, and no reins for a rider to hold) on metal O rings on either side of the horse's head. This is not distressing to the horse, because we give them plenty of slack to turn their heads and look around comfortably.

The problem with trying to tack up an unrestrained horse while chatting with fellow stable hands or riders is that horses know when you're distracted! And they often try to get away with stuff when they know you're not looking! In a barn, a horse often knows where the food is stored, and will often try to tiptoe off to sneak into the feed room.

Horses that get into the feed room are often at a high risk of dying. While extremely intelligent, they don't have the ability to throw up, and they don't have the ability to tell that their stomach is full and should stop eating. Allowing a horse into a feed/grain room WILL allow it to eat itself to death.

Other common woes stable hands and riders deal with when trying to handle a horse with an unrestrained head is getting bitten! Horses express affection between members of their own herd, and those they consider friends and family, through nibbling and surprisingly rough biting. It's not called "horseplay" for nothing, because during my years working with horses out in the pasture, it wasn't uncommon at all for me to find individuals with bloody bite marks on their withers (that high part on the middle of the back of their shoulders most people instinctively reach for when they try to get up), and on their backsides. I've been love-bitten by horses before, and while flattering, they hurt like hell on fleshy human skin.

So, for the safety of the horse, and everybody else, always make a show of somehow controlling the animal's head when hands-on and on the ground with them.

-Big Horse = War Horse

Startlingly, the opposite is usually the case! Draft and carriage horses, like Percherons and Friesians, were never meant to be used in warfare. Draft horses are usually bred to be extremely even-tempered, hard to spook, and trustworthy around small children and animals. Historically, they're the tractors of the farm if you could afford to upgrade from oxen, and were never built to be fast or agile in a battlefield situation.

More importantly, just because a horse is imposing and huge doesn't make it a good candidate for carrying heavy weights. A real thing that I had to be part of enforcing when I worked at a teaching ranch was a weight limit. Yeah, it felt shitty to tell people they couldn't ride because we didn't have any horses strong enough to carry them due to their weight, but it's a matter of the animal's safety. A big/tall/chonky horse is more likely to be built to pull heavy loads, but not carry them flat on their spines. Horses' muscular power is predominantly in their ability to run and pull things, and too heavy a rider can literally break a horse's spine and force us to euthanize it.

Some of the best war horses out there are from the "hot blood" family. Hot blooded horses are often from dry, hot, arid climates, are very small and slight (such as Arabian horses), and are notoriously fickle and flighty. They're also a lot more likely to paw/bite/kick when spooked, and have even sometimes been historically trained to fight alongside their rider if their rider is dismounted in combat; kicking and rearing to keep other soldiers at a distance.

-Any horse can be ridden if it likes you enough.

Just like it can take a lifetime to learn to ride easily, it can take a lifetime of training for a horse to comfortably take to being ridden or taking part in a job, like pulling a carriage. Much like service animals, horses are typically trained from extremely young ages to be reared into the job that's given to them, and an adult horse with no experience carrying a rider is going to be just as scared as a rider who's never actually ridden a horse.

Just as well, the process of tacking up a horse isn't always the most comfortable experience for the horse. To keep the saddle centered on the horse's back when moving at rough or fast paces, it's essential to tighten the belly strap (cinch) of the saddle as tightly as possible around the horse's belly. For the horse, it's like wearing a tight corset, chafes, and even leaves indents in their skin afterward that they love having rinsed with water and scratched. Some horses will learn to inflate their bellies while you're tightening the cinch so you can't get it as tight as it needs to be, and then exhale when they think you're done tightening it.

When you're working with a horse wearing a bridle, especially one with a bit, it can be a shocking sensory experience to a horse that's never used a bit before. While they lack a set of teeth naturally, so the bit doesn't actually hurt them, imagine having a metal rod shoved in your mouth horizontally! Unless you understand why it's important for the person you care about not dying, you'd be pretty pissed about having to keep it in there!

-Horseback riding isn't exercise.

If you're not using every muscle in your body to ride with, you're not doing it right.

Riding requires every ounce of muscle control you have in your entire body - although this doesn't mean it wasn't realistic for people with fat bodies to stay their weight while also being avid riders; it doesn't mean the muscles aren't there. To stay on the horse, you need to learn how it feels when it moves at different gaits (walk, trot, canter, gallop), how to instruct it to switch leads (dominant legs; essential for precise turning and ease of communication between you and the horse), and not falling off. While good riders look like they're barely moving at all, that's only because they're good riders. They know how to move so seamlessly with the horse, feeling their movements like their own, that they can compensate with their legs and waists to not bounce out of the saddle altogether or slide off to one side. I guarantee if you ride a horse longer than 30 minutes for the first time, your legs alone will barely work and feel like rubber.

-Horses aren't affectionate.

Horses are extraordinarily affectionate toward the right people. As prey animals, they're usually wary of people they don't know, or have only recently met. They also - again, like service animals - have a "work mode" and a "casual mode" depending upon what they're doing at the time. Horses will give kisses like puppies, wiggle their upper lips on your hair/arms to groom you, lean into neck-hugs, and even cuddle in their pasture or stall if it's time to nap and you join them by leaning against their sides. If they see you coming up from afar and are excited to see you, they'll whinny and squeal while galloping to meet you at the gate. They'll deliberately swat you with their tails to tease you, and will often follow you around the pasture if they're allowed to regardless of what you're up to.

-Riding crops are cruel.

Only cruel people use riding crops to hurt their horses. Spurs? I personally object to, because any horse that knows you well doesn't need something sharp jabbing them in the side for emphasis when you're trying to tell them where you want them to go. Crops? Are genuinely harmless tools used for signalling a horse.

I mean, think about it. Why would crops be inherently cruel instruments if you need to trust a horse not to be afraid of you and throw you off when you're riding it?

Crops are best used just to lightly tap on the left or right flank of the horse, and aren't universally used with all forms of riding. You'll mainly see crops used with English riding, and they're just tools for communicating with the horse without needing to speak.

-There's only one way to ride a horse.

Not. At. All. At most teaching ranches, you'll get two options: Western, or English, because they tend to be the most popular for shows and also the most common to find equipment for. English riding uses a thinner, smaller saddle, narrower stirrups, and much thinner bridles. I, personally, didn't like English style riding because I never felt very stable in such a thin saddle with such small stirrups, and didn't start learning until my mid teens. English style riding tends to focus more on your posture and deportment in the saddle, and your ability to show off your stability and apparent immovability on the horse. It was generally just a bit too stiff and formal for me.

Western style riding utilizes heavier bridles, bigger saddles (with the iconic horn on the front), and broader stirrups. Like its name may suggest, Western riding is more about figuring out how to be steady in the saddle while going fast and being mobile with your upper body. Western style riding is generally the style preferred for working-type shows, such as horseback archery, gunning, barrel racing, and even rodeo riding.

-Wealthy horse owners have no relationship with their horses.

This is loosely untrue, but I've seen cases where it is. Basically, horses need to feel like they're working for someone that matters to them in order to behave well with a rider and not get impatient or bored. While it's common for people to board horses at off-property ranches (boarding ranches) for cost and space purposes, it's been historically the truth that having help is usually necessary with horses at some point. What matters is who spends the most time with the animal treating it like a living being, rather than a mode of transport or a tool. There's no harm in stable hands handling the daily upkeep; hay bales and water buckets are heavy, and we're there to profit off the labor you don't want or have the time to do. You get up early to go to work; we get up early to look after your horses. Good owners/boarders visit often and spend as much of their spare time as they can with spending quality work and playtime with their horses. Otherwise, the horses look to the stable hands for emotional support and care.

So, maybe you're writing a knight that doesn't really care much for looking after his horse, but his squire is really dedicated to keeping up with it? There's a better chance of the horse having a more affectionate relationship with the squire thanks to the time the squire spends on looking after it, while the horse is more likely to tolerate the knight that owns it as being a source of discipline if it misbehaves. That doesn't mean the knight is its favorite person. When it comes to horses, their love must be earned, and you can only earn it by spending time with them hands-on.

-Horses can graze anywhere without concern.

This is a mistake that results in a lot of premature deaths! A big part of the cost of owning a horse - even before you buy one - is having the property that will be its pasture assessed for poisonous plants, and having those plants removed from being within the animal's reach. This is an essential part of farm upkeep every year, because horses really can't tell what's toxic and what isn't. One of the reasons it's essential to secure a horse when you aren't riding it is to ensure it only has a very limited range to graze on, and it's your responsibility as the owner/rider to know how to identify dangerous plants and keep your horses away from them.

There's probably more. AMA in my askbox if you have any questions, but that's all for now. Happy writing.

[wordbunch]

dad Boromir headcanons

a/n: more specifically this is girl dad boromir!! purely self indulgent and based on my personal fantasies. oops. still hope u think it's cute and leave it a nice comment/reblog/sth... 🥰💌

for a few days after she is born, Boromir just walks around on the verge of happy tears

needless to say he is wrapped around her pinky finger from the very first second of knowing her

nobody except you, him, Faramir and your fellowship friends are allowed to hold her (maybe don't let Merry and Pippin babysit immediately)

his protectiveness grows tenfold, both of you and your daughter

"now i have two queens of my heart"

my headcanon is that Gondor hasn't had any princesses born in a loooong time so historically it would also be a very exciting occasion!

Boromir is 101% hands-on and very quickly catches onto many tips and tricks for caring for an infant, all courtly protocols be damned! that is his babygirl and his wife and just you try keeping him away!

no matter his obligations and plans, if she falls asleep on him, or clutching a strand of his hair, his finger, ear, clothes, anything, you can bet he isn't moving anywhere

he covers her tiny ears if he hears anyone nearby uttering what he deems inappropriate words (his standards for inappropriate words also changed significantly)

comes up with the best stories and changes his voice to fit different characters

if your daughter's first word is anything close to 'dad', he will all but proclaim a national holiday complete with a feast istg

aunties Éowyn and Arwen love love having their little girl time with her and will teach her different, but amazing things respectfully

Boromir does his very best to openly express love and affection towards your babygirl - lord knows how he grew up

you know sometimes he isn't sure what to do or how to say something, but your heart swells while watching him give his best

your love for each other deepened as you watched each other grow into the new phase of life

for real, he was nothing but loving towards you before, but now...

he becomes so attuned to your needs it blows your mind

little appreciation gifts are a very common occurence

while you try to keep the bath time relatively tidy and not cause a flood every time, Boromir makes it his mission to make it as fun and chaotic as possible

the little princess of Gondor has the cutest clothes and toys imaginable

especially when she starts to express her wishes, Boromir will do anything to make them come true

"my love, don't you think she is a little too young for a pony?"

"but she said she wanted one!"

"...she was talking in her sleep, Boromir"

"see, it is her dream to have a pony!"

luckily you win and she doesn't get a pony at the ripe old age of barely 2, but you partially cave in and say she can feed and pet ponies when you visit your friends in the Shire

those family outings are always so much fun and some of your favorite memories

everytime your girl is being very stubborn, and your husband is exasperated, you like to remind him she's his daughter through and through

when she grows up she will take no shit but will be so kind and warm and interested in so many things

truly the best of combinations, Boromir and you almost congratulate each other on doing a splendid job

tagging some friends just because

@lady-of-imladris

@sotwk

@starladyy

@queenmeriadoc

@fenharel-enaste

@entishramblings

@coraleethroughthelookingglass

@shirefantasies

@asianbutnotjapanese

@ironmandeficiency

@glorf1ndel

@aidansloth

[marzipanandminutiae]

Historical Inaccuracies Of My Main Fandom and Favorite Movie, Crimson Peak

The costumes are EVERYTHING. That being said...Edith's daywear is a lot more 1895 than 1901. It's an amazing 1895! Truly glorious 1895! But it IS a bit behind, time-wise.

Especially for a woman, wearing clothing that was about 20 years out of date if you needed people to think you Respectable was just. Not done. It didn't have to be absolutely cutting-edge, but it had to be reasonably current in silhouette to not stand out in a bad way. Sorry, Lucille- I like Natural Form better than 1895 OR 1901, too.

The age of majority in the UK in the 19th century was 21, not 18. This wouldn't matter much EXCEPT THAT. If you look at the dates on various onscreen documents, the timeline works only if Thomas rescued Lucille from the asylum when he was 18. And would not have legally been able to do that.

Not mentioning the 1901 World's Fair in Buffalo isn't exactly wrong but considering the President of the United States got assassinated there...it's just a bit of an odd omission.

At the depot, Edith is shown wearing her skirt and petticoat over what looks like the top part of a chemise or combinations. Her skirts shouldn't fit properly without a corset on; even if she's not tightlacing (as most women didn't), the change in fat distribution and the fat that bodices and waistbands tended to be as tight as possible against one's corset means that this just wouldn't work. I'm not sure how it DID work given that both lead actresses were wearing corsets for the filming, actually...

This is a note for the character bios not the movie proper, but GDT mentions Carter's father fighting in the American Civil War. If Carter is 60 in 1901, he was born in 1841 and therefore more than old enough to fight himself. (Interestingly, that makes him 36 when Edith was born, and assuming he met Eleanor after the war and she was 18 when they eloped, as the bios state, he must be at least six years her senior- clearly Edith was following a family pattern in marrying a man 10 years older than her). Of course, the ages and years in the bios are all over the place anyway- that one just particularly stood out to me.

[annawayne]

Hi Anna!! I hope you're having a wonderful day!!! And that you have been well 🩷 I wanted to ask you about what your favorite AOT alternate universe is! And if you were to make your own, how would you write it? Sending you hugs!!

Oh, Stella, hello-hello!

Thank you so much for asking, and I had so much fun while answering and thinking about it, so I might accidentally wrote an outline for a fic...

You know, I really love canon-compliant and canon-divergent scenarios, but I have a very weak spot against the historical AUs or mythology AUs. In general, I really love AUs which take canon and transform into AU, without changing the main topic/character arcs too much, but adapting it into the new scneario. And I really love Medieval AU, Ancient Greece AU, 1900-1920's AU, but now, I want to stop on another AU which was sitting in my head for a while, and with your ask, I gave it more thought and structured all these ideas into something more proper, so here I present you -

Here, I want to make a quick disclaimer that I took as a base the whole period as a whole and in my AU, there's the fictional geography which is based on original AoT, but some events are inspired by real historical events and the whole vibe of the epoch. Plus, I focused on some general points of this plot without too much details and it's written more like the outline, rather than some fic (so sorry if it's not very good...)

Far away from home she never saw, Annie is raised by the man who is in slavery, among others people from the conquered lands - but there, in complete secret, they raise their children as Warriors - someone to give revenge for the King bloodline, who sent them there and who conquered their lands.

They worked from a very young age on the fields, and at night - they train, they are raised to be weapons and with the solo goal - to buy themselves freedom and then, to use for the killing. So when times comes, Bertholdt, Reiner and Annie are sent to Paradis Kingdom.

They know that the King is quite not sane - by age and illness he gained by various sexual connections, and he has three children: the oldest son, Erwin, twins Historia Armin, the youngest son. Erwin is an heir, a talented warrior and promised leader; meanwhile, Armin is much younger and not so strong, but his intelligence, bravery and the desire for knowledge is enormous. However, their father didn't really favor Armin, and always neglects him, sending him to battlefields, which are already meant to be lost. Erwin, on the contrary, recognizes Armin's talent and they are close; he, as an older brother, teaches him a lot and they like spending time together. Historia and Armin are close too, not only as twins but as allies: Historia isn't really loved by their father as she's a daughter and can't heir the throne, and by gossips. she has love affairs with one of her guardians, Ymir, which is also not approved by their father - but Armin always supports his sister and her lover, trying his best to cover Historia's missing for nights.

Annie, Reiner and Bert, when they arrive to Paradis Kingdom, they join the Warriors who didn't belong to any village, gathered only by desire of fight and war, the legendary order of Viking mercenaries. There, they meet Zeke, Pieck, Porco, Marcel, and many other people, who was informed of their arrival, and so starts the years of the battlefields. Endless, endless battlefields, full of blood to prepare themselves for the King killing.

Until one day they learn the news from their spies: Erwin, the heir, should be on the battlefield not so far away from their location, and they decide to capture him to manipulate the King, that will eventually lead to his death, but... Instead of Erwin, they find Armin and his army. Armin at the age of 17 is already an excellent strategist, however, his subordinates mocked him for being too merciful, kind and coming up with strategies that save lives, so commanders didn't obey his orders that led to almost his own capture. Annie, Reiner and Bert and their order used this situation, and they helped Armin to win, but... They caught him as a hostage. Not Erwin, but Armin is still an heir.

Firstly, there was an obvious tension, but Annie couldn't miss that Armin was different from what she imagined him to be, how... Royal should be. He is kind, smart, very attentive, and yet, he is manipulative and he never choose to opt to violence, only as a last resort when he could save someone important to him or when he realizes that there's no other choice. It's strange, Annie thinks, and she doesn't understand him. He is the first person in this cruel world who is so unconditionally kind - and yet, not without venom in him, and she couldn't just wrap up her mind how to understand him. She always thought she was nice at reading people. But with Armin, she realizes that she never was.

After some time, Armin and Annie start to speak with each other, and Annie hates that she starts craving these conversations. She hats that this boy should paint his hand - beautiful hand, maybe, more suitable for some crafter or painter - with blood. So when she hears Armin speaks with Marcel that he wants to train to become stronger and more capable in fight, Annie bursts in anger. At this moment, she was practicing with her daggers, and so she throws one of the daggers to the tree trunk, just a few inches away from Armin's face, cutting a few strands from his locks. She hopes it would scare him. She hops he would just step away and refuses to train to become a Viking. To become a Warrior.

She hopes.

But Armin looks directly at her, with his hazel eyes, so deep, like the autumn foliage in the sunset, and the determination in his gaze chokes her with the tight grip.

"Teach me.".

"Me? To teach you?" Annie snorts, trying her best to stay indifferent. "You're helpless. Don't even try."

"I know I am now," Armin nods, taking a step to her. "But with your help, I can become stronger."

"And? What benefit is it for me?"

"I'll teach you reading and writing. And I can also pay you. For you being my guard. When we come back to the capital, I can make you my guardian."

Annie looks at him, and she couldn't fight against his gaze. It's beneficial for her mission, isn't it? It is. And so-

She agrees.

Their training starts, they stay together, since she's now his guardian and his teacher. Armin struggles at first,, failing and failing miserable, but after every fall, he gets up with no complaints, the same determined fire in his irises, and... In one year, he really becomes stronger.

And they become closer. Annie learns about his twin-sister, how close they are, about Erwin, about their crazy father, about all the intrigues and horrors happening in the royal court. She learns that Armin loves to read, that his dreams - not to conquer lands but to see them, experience every single land with respect and admiration, that he never really wanted to be a King. She learns that he knows how to braid hair exactly thanks to Historia: she did it to him, and he did it for her, and now, he does it to Annie's hair too. She learns so many things about him, and she learns another thing, that braided hair by his hands looks so beautiful on her. So beautiful and she doesn't deserve this beauty.

One day, Armin cuts his hair, and Annie suddenly realizes that he grew up. And so she is, too.

And so grew up something in her heart she didn't know a name.

Reiner, Bert and other Warrior pressure her that she started losing her head and betraying them, but she always fight back., defending herself and always dismissing their accusations.

Until, one day, both she and Armin train on the cliff, the sea shimmers at the horizon with molten gold, and just at the very end, their bodies suddenly pressed so closed, caught between the daggers and their battle stances. Eye to eye, torso to torso, their jagged breathes wash each other with warm waves.

"Don't be so cocky," Annie says, her dagger stops inches away from his neck, . "If you think that you can win easily in the battlefield, someone will kill you faster that you can even imagine."

"I wouldn't be so sure," he whispers, and it sent shivers down her spine.

Confusion furrows her brows, and Armin nods down, somewhere to her abdomen. When she looks down, she sees Armin's dagger pointed right into her gut.

Something coils right in her abdomen - impression, surprise, pride and something else. Something she is afraid to name our loud.

"Not so bad for a dead man," Annie whispers, and instead, with the effortless maneuver of her hands, perfected by years and years of war, she flips him.

Armin falls on his back, right into the long grass, but instead of groaning or insults, he smiles, starting laughing.

"You're honestly amazing," he says and looks at her with so much joy and tenderness, and it just makes her blush intensely.

That day she realizes that she can't run away any more from her true feelings. She realizes that she really loves him. And it terrifies, and excites her at the same time.

Weeks later, their hands touch for the first time longer than a sudden brush, and decided to stay for a few minutes longer interwined. Months later, their first kiss happens. A few more - their first intimacy.

But time goes on, they're closer to the capital. And once they arrive in the capital, the King is not really happy to see Armin having his own subordinates. He feels that he's not safe anymore - and he plans to kill Armin after the celebration of his return.

Warriors plan to kill the King, some high-ranked vassals and King's advisors plan to kill Erwin because they see that Armin his more powerful army with him now, and King also has his own plans - none of the sides know what the other plan, so during the celebration, the total mess happens. Both the King and Erwin are killed: King when everything happens, he orders to kill Armin right away, and Annie protects him by killing the King; and Erwin - is killed by Zeke.

Armin becomes a King.

But since Annie killed the former King, she should be now executed, and it's Armin who should ordering since she killed the King in front of his vassals and subordinates. If he wouldn't do it - they wouldn't recognize him. She understands that she failed. She put her feelings first, and now, when she sees Armin in blood and with bloody crown, his eyes so terrified and so... Broken, she sees his heart broken in his gaze when she realizes that she was lying all this time, she just realized that she failed something that was more important than her mission.

She succeeded in her mission.

But she failed him.

"Since when... You... Started to look at me with these eyes, Armin?"

She mumbles, as the hands of soldiers dragged her away. Armin is devastated, but to save her life, he orders to sell her to slavery - he couldn't leave her with him, and he couldn't execute her either. He asks only for one condition - to find a farm where she can work with not so grave conditions.

Then, 4 years pass.

Armin was immediately dragged into wars and he won them, by his excellent mind and strategies. But all this time he was utterly depressed and totally alone, the weight of the crown and responsibility killing him bit by bit, and all this time he was searching for Annie - when he asked the farm of the slaves where he ordered to sell her, his vassals lied to him and told him that she died, not wanting to see her near the new King. Armin was devastated, but searched for her for 4 years, not leaving this hope that she was alive.

Until one day, they met again, on the random market place, when Armin was with his guardian Connie, eating a pie.

And so she was. Alive. And so beautiful, even with the stuffed cheeks and startled gaze, but for him, she was the most beautiful and strong woman he ever met.

And so... The new story begins. But, this is completely another story :D

[animasolaoriginal]

I n n o c e n c e L o s t 🟪 1

After a successful little heist, Ben finds himself in a brothel, where he comes across a girl he hasn't expected. Overwhelmed by her innocence (and a strange wave of long forgotten memories), he makes a decision that will change his life - and hers - forever, as he takes her away, unknowingly pulling her out of the clutches of an enemy he had no intention of ever confronting again.

lonely cowboy/outlaw ✖️ prostitute who's so much more than that

Chapter 1◻️2◻️3◻️4◻️5◻️6◻️7◻️8◻️9◻️10◻️11◻️12◻️13 ...

GENERAL TAGS: NSFW! Explicit! Size difference, age gap, slow burn romance. Cowboys, outlaws, prostitutes. Historical inaccuracy. Horses, guns, violence.

WORDS: 5.9k 🟪 READ ON AO3

A/N: This is a repost of the first chapter of my original story Innocence Lost. I decided to re-work the existing posts to fit my theme a bit better, so I needed a proper introduction post, I guess. Also: Ben may be an OC, but he is heavily inspired by both Arthur Morgan (and RDR2 in general) and Joel Miller, and somehow also fits the other guys I tagged. I know this is not about your favorite character, but I'd really appreciate it, if you'd give Ben's story a try!

1 🟪 2

Bourbon, rum, whiskey, anything that burns on his tongue, spilling liquid fire down his throat. It all blurs in the end. There's laughter, slurs, hands slapping backs, stumbling, murmurs, more laughter. That post-heist-haze sinking into his bones. Everything whirls inside his head as he makes it up the stairs. “Gimme your best...newest,” he hears himself mumble.

Last door on the right. Somehow he makes it there, leans heavy on the door knob, twists it, almost falls as the door swings open. There he stiffens, blinks slowly, his motions so heavy, frozen in time, slow as molasses. The door closes behind him, he stares ahead, blinks again, eyelids almost stuck to his eyeballs.

And yet he sees her.

The room is dark, small, a large bathtub in one corner, a four-poster bed in the other. An old armchair next to a fireplace, the fire roaring within, the only light source. And in front of it, between the flames and the chair, kneels a girl, pale legs illuminated by the orange glow next to her, skin, so much skin, not everywhere though. Her slender torso is covered by a loose blouse, unbuttoned in the front, falling off one slim shoulder, held together by a tight corset that pushes up her small breasts, creating a cleavage that doesn't suit her. Thin arms in wide cotton, or satin, he can't be sure, it doesn't matter.

He's fixated on her bare legs. The blouse barely covers the hint of hair between her legs, peeking out despite her kneeling position, thighs pressed tightly together as she sits on the heels of her feet. Her hands rest folded on her lap, the chest is moving up and down, and his eyes wander again, to her face. Pale. Soft edges on the jaw, high cheekbones, a small straight nose, lips... full lips, pink and shiny, a tongue darting out and wetting the bottom one.

And those eyes. Big eyes, glowing in the dim light, greenish, blue maybe, like the deep sea at midnight, a wave illuminated by the moon. They look both surprised and eager, but the flutter of her nostrils tells him she is more surprised and shocked by his sudden entrance, by the unsteadiness of his large body.

She looks so young.

Something stirs within him, and not just the strain in his pants, but something more like a knot in his stomach. This is wrong. He stumbles further anyway, watching her closely. She flinches when he comes closer, but doesn't move. Somehow he makes it to the armchair, flops down in it with a heavy grunt, his belt tilting even more on his hips. He shifts his holster away. Her eyes follow him.

He stares at the girl in front of him, immobile, waiting, patient and yet anxious. What is she waiting for? Why isn't she moving? Why is she here? When she eventually moves, only slightly, a little shift on her knees to face him, he lets out a groan, and she stops, eyes wide.

“How old are you?” he slurs, tongue heavy in his mouth.

She tilts her head, long brown waves falling over her shoulder, some strands gathering in the cleft between her pushed-up breasts. “Old enough to please you, mister,” she replies, her voice feeble and quiet, but there's a fire behind those words, uttered in confidence as if she's done it before, many times.

“Age,” he grunts again, staring at her. She holds his gaze, jaw clenching slightly.

“Eighteen,” she says quietly, her chin tilted up a bit.

He narrows his eyes, he's noticed the twitch in her folded hands, the tension in her slim shoulders. “Really?”

“Yes, sir,” she whispers, tilting her head. “Why does it matter?” she then asks, a little louder, batting those long eyelashes. “You're here to have some fun, aren't you?”

“You're young,” he simply states. Not too young, maybe, but young... young enough to make him think despite his drunken state. This is wrong. She shouldn't be here. “How long have you been here?” Done this?

“All my life, mister,” she answers, and he frowns, deep creases on his forehead that hurt inside his temples. “I was born here.” The ache grows. His head thumbs to the beat of his thundering heart, mirroring the throbbing behind stiff fabric.

He leans forwards then, causing her to flinch once more, as he rests his elbows on his thighs and stares at her, scrutinizing her, takes in her young face. Pretty, no, beautiful, in spite (or because) of the rounded edges of her face. She's slender, sharp collarbones visible in the wide opening of her blouse. Those soft mounds tease him, urge him to release them from their unnaturally squished state.

His hand twitches, itches to touch her, but something holds him back. She's young. And... weirdly familiar. His eyes narrow even further as he squints at her, her small frame dark in front of the crackling fire. She shifts under his intense gaze, body stiff, hands wringing in her lap.

“Sir?” she whispers, lips moving slightly, a sweet voice like honey falling from them. Lips... full, shiny, wet, and a sudden image presses into his hazy mind. Lips parted, closed around –

He clears his throat and leans back with a grunt, wiping at his face, the scrape of his beard against his calloused palm a rough noise in the quiet of the room. He sighs deeply, lowering his hand, resting it on his upper thigh as he watches the girl.

“You shouldn't be here,” he huffs out, wetting his dry lips.

“It's my job, mister,” she says, tilting her head to the other side.

He shakes his head. “This shouldn't be a job... not for a young girl like you...”

“I'm eighteen –”

“You're a child!” he grunts, louder, rougher than intended.

She flinches, inhaling sharply, lowering her big eyes. “Do you want somebody else?” she whispers quietly, almost disappointed.

Suddenly he is aware of the noises around them, bleeding through the walls from the other rooms. Moans and cries and squeaking wood and metal. They crawl over his spine like ants, making him shiver as he stares at the small figure in front of him. Why is he here?

She is still sitting on her knees, stiff and immobile, waiting. For what? Her eyes look up at him, chin tilted, the slender column of her neck visible between her silky hair, soft skin, untouched (really?), innocent. Why is she naked below the waist?

He waves a hand at her, his arm stiff, heavy, the alcohol making everything harder to do. “Shouldn't be here,” he growls, tongue twice its size in his mouth. Does he mean her? Or him? Or both? He doesn't know. His mind is fuzzy, spinning out of control. His cock strains against his tight jeans. But his heart is protesting.

“Sir?” she asks again, blinking slowly, dark lashes batting against pale skin.

He leans back into the chair, inhaling deeply, closing his eyes, relaxing. Big mistake. Suddenly there is a warm hand on his knee, a touch like a pistol shot. He jerks awake, stares down at the girl, who has shifted, kneeling between his spread legs now, the same position, just closer, frozen in time with her other hand hanging in mid-air, ready to touch his other knee.

“What are you doing?” he grunts.

“Giving you a good time,” she replies quietly, and a shy smile curves her full lips. Lips around – He groans, rubbing his face again, his tired eyes. “You paid for this, mister. You should get something for your money.”

He shakes his head, hands back on his thighs, staring down at her. She is closer in her new position, backlit by the fire behind her, features blurring. Both hands are on his knees now, warm and small, hesitant but eager. Her pushed-up breasts nearer, the cleft between them deeper. His hands itch.

“Do you like doing this?” he utters, the words spilling without being processed in his muddled brain.

There is a flinch, a wince, a visible reaction in her tense shoulders. She swallows, her throat moves, but the smile on her lips is there, the lie tangible. “Of course, sir,” she whispers. “Let me show you how much...”

She leans up then, lifting from her knees, her hands sliding up his thighs, almost brushing against his. Actress, he thinks. Nothing more. He can't imagine –

But then he does: full lips around a variety of different – He clenches one hand into a fist, presses it to his upper thigh, straining, ignoring the tension in his stomach. The image stays. Lips, a wide mouth, bulging cheeks, closed eyes, tears streaming down a pale face, slurping sounds, helpless gurgles, muffled gasps, rough hands in her hair as her head is pushed deeper onto –

A groan escapes him. “Fuck,” he growls, shaking his head. His eyes find hers, his breath heavy, his body on edge, the strain in his pants almost unbearable, and yet...

She is settled between his legs, shoulders pressed against his thighs, hands inching closer to his belt. “Don't,” he hisses, and his hands grab hers, making her gasp, her lips parting, eyes widening. His long fingers curl around her smaller ones, holding her, inches from the tent in his pants. She looks startled, then confused.

“But mister...” she whispers, letting him hold her hands, her wrists. His hands are large enough to wrap around it all. Lashes flutter, the tip of her tongue sliding over her upper lip. She trembles slightly.

And then he lets go, and his hands grab her face instead, careful, as careful as he can in his dazed state. She lets out a surprised yelp but stays perfectly still as he cups her cheeks with his big hands, his fingers slipping into her soft hair, his thumbs wiping at the corners of her mouth. She holds his gaze, holds her breath.

“You look like...” he starts, quiet, a low rumble in his chest as he stares at her, his mind spinning, new and old images whirling together.

Soft lips, wet, full, strained around –

Green eyes, sparkling in the sun, a smile, a laugh like honey on his scarred soul.

“Her,” he mumbles, tilting his head, leaning closer until his nose brushes against hers. She stiffens, but doesn't move, can't move with how he holds her face. She swallows slightly, lips trembling against his thumbs.

“Who, sir?” she breathes softly, warm and cautious against his dry lips. Her eyes are on his face, taking in every detail with how close he is. Scars, wrinkles, creases, his rough beard stretching along his jaw, up his cheeks, around his lips, fluttering slightly as he breathes through his nose.

“Keira,” he finally utters, the image clear in his dazed mind. The same woman. No, not the same, similar, and a woman, not a girl. The same hair, the same small nose, the same eyes. “You look like Keira.”

And that's why it feels wrong to use her like he wanted to when he first entered the room, to be here, in this house of moans and grunts and creaking wood and metal.

The girl stares at him, lips parted, face warming under his palms. There's recognition in her deep eyes, darkened by the fire glowing behind her, the only light source. “You... knew my mother?” she whispers, barely audible, shifting back onto her knees, bare legs folded beneath her, her hands straining against his thighs.

His heart sinks and swells at the same time. Mother. Her mother. She looks like her. Like Keira. But what is she doing here? I was born here, she has said. Bound to a life of... servitude. Pleasure for others. A slave, a body to use, for money. The moans and grunts of the other rooms flood his ears, louder than before as his mind clears up, as the shock settles in.

“No,” he says apprehensively, a low hum over his dry lips, and his hands tighten around her delicate face. The girl frowns, he notices his mistake. “I mean, yes, I knew her,” he utters quietly, staring at her, gently caressing the corners of her lips with his thumbs. “I didn't know... about you...”

She blinks slowly, watching him, curiosity in her big eyes. Her lips part, a flood of questions ready to spill over them, but he lets go of her face and leans back, shaking his head.

“What happened to her?” he asks, already afraid of the answer as he drives a big hand through his messy hair.

The small figure between his legs shrinks as she sits down further on her knees, her hands leaving his thighs, resting on her lap. She lowers her eyes, inhales sharply. “I don't know,” she whispers. “She... left me here.” There's a hint of resentment in her soft voice, and he can't blame her. Anger rises in his throat like bile.

“She did what?” he hisses, leaning closer again.

She flinches, looks up. “Madam Claire said she worked here, got pregnant from a customer, gave birth to me, and then left, ran away, without me...” Her voice breaks as she retells her story, and his gut clenches.

The tiny frame in front of him shrinks even more, falls into herself, and he can't stand it. He leans in, brings his hands under her arms and lifts her up, easy, as if she was a doll, her wavy hair bouncing slightly. She struggles in his grip, but then she's sitting sideways on his lap, her very bare bottom warm against the fabric of his jeans. She stiffens when he pulls his arms around her shoulders and her against his broad chest.

“I'm sorry,” he slurs, his tongue heavier than ever.

“What for?” she breathes against his collarbone, where the buttons of his black shirt are open, revealing weathered skin.

He sighs, his hand wide on her back as he holds her, his breath making strands of her hair fly before he presses his dry lips to her warm forehead. She lets out a strangled gasp, tenses in his embrace, her hands squished between his chest and her own. “If I'd known about you – I... wouldn't have left you to this – to endure this fate...” he mutters, his heart as heavy as his tongue.

“Why do you care?” she asks, her voice quiet but curious.

“I loved your mother once, many moons ago, twenty years it must be by now,” he says into her hair, his own voice a deep thrum in her ears. “She left me, one day, and I made the mistake of letting her go. Maybe I pushed her to end up here, maybe she wanted to work like this... she's always been a free spirit, couldn't stay long at one place. I guess... I learned that from her.”

He feels her fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt as she slowly relaxes on his lap, leaning against him, warm and tiny and frail. “What do you mean?”

“I travel a lot,” he says simply, sudden images of tents and horses and wagons filling his mind. But also of masks and guns and blood and shouts, and comically large bags filled with money, cowering people, screaming women, the rattle of a train, the silent squeak of metal doors, splintering wood. And pictures of him, drawn, some more flattering than others, and his name printed all over them. Dead or alive.

She tilts her chin up, big eyes looking at him, her lips parted slightly, long lashes grazing pale skin. He sees her better now, in the orange glow of the fire. She looks like Keira. But she's alone, left to her own devices, forced to work a profession she was born into, that she didn't choose. “What's your name, mister?”

He frowns at her innocent question, trying to forget the Wanted posters. “Ben,” he growls, a deep thrum in his throat. “And yours?”

“Nebbia,” she replies quietly, her eyes wandering over his face, her small body molded into him, warm on his lap, pointy bones digging into his thigh, pressing on his erection. Nebbia like Neigh-bee-ah, long e, more like ehh, short i, like an e, and the little ah at the end, like a soft moan. Rolls off her tongue like honey.

“Nebbia,” he repeats, her name rumbling out of him as he tries to figure out why Keira would name her daughter this. But then a smile crosses his lips. “Fog in Italian,” he whispers and watches how she nods, the same kind of smile curving her lips. He wonders if Keira has made it over the pond, finally seeing the country she always wanted to visit. But why did she leave her kid?

Free spirits can't have children pulling them down, grounding them to the earth, binding them to one place. The poor girl... If Keira knows what happened to her? What she has to do?

Full lips around –

He clears his throat, his big hands resting on her small waist. She still looks at him, somewhat hopeful, big eyes, there's innocence in them, but also something else. A shadow in her green irises. A stain.

“Why aren't you wearing any bottoms, Nebbia?” he asks quietly, his fingers teasing at the curve of her rear.

He sees her blushing, red spots dancing over her pale cheeks. She looks away, a shy smile tugging at her lips. “I figured it'd be easier for you...”

“Easier for me?”

“I heard you were drunk, very drunk,” she whispers into his neck, her fingers fidgeting with the buttons of his shirt. “And I thought –”

He stares at her. In his mind, he can see her lips straining around a variety of cocks, but he can't see her lying on her back with her legs wide open, taking any of those wretched members into her sweet little – “Have you ever...” he starts, furrowing his eyebrows. “Am I your first? Would I be your first?”

She licks her lips, then chews on them. A nod, short and jerky. Eyes dancing over his chest. The sigh that escapes his throat is both filled with anger and relief. She is young. Inexperienced, has never learned the reason why those women in the other rooms cry out in pleasure. She (her mouth) has only been used for the pleasure of others, and that fact only spurs his anger, makes the vein on his forehead pulse.

Why did they choose her to satisfy him? Gimme your best...newest, he hears himself mumble. Newest. Freshly eighteen, huh? Just come of age, open for business. (To think this filthy little brothel has actual rules and has given her time to develop is almost absurd.) He closes his eyes for a moment, relieved it was him who found her without bottoms.

Because he knows he will not soil her innocence.

“I'm gonna take you with me,” he mutters as he closes his arms a little tighter around her, holding her safely on his lap.

“What?” she breathes, trying to look up despite his bear hug.

“I can give you a better life,” he says softly, tilting his head to meet her gaze.

“Why?” Despite her innocent tone, there's doubt in her voice. Disbelief. Why would anyone want to be nice to her?

He laughs darkly. “Because you deserve it?” One of his hands moves up, caresses her warm cheek. “Unless you actually want to keep sucking dicks.”

His lewd words make her flinch, her face flushed as she looks away, takes a sharp breath, her fingers clawing at his shirt. She shifts on his thigh, her body tense. “I... don't...” she mutters under her breath.

“Do you want to come with me?” he asks, pressing his thumb under her chin to make her look up. Her eyes are wet, glistening, her lips trembling.

“Can I?” she whispers, a tiny flicker of hope in the green pools that stare at him.

He smiles, a genuine smile that lights up his rough face, deepening the dimple on his cheek. “If you want to. I can get you out of here, no one will notice anything...” he tells her quietly, watching her closely.

There's turmoil behind her eyes, shivers running down her body, her throat moves when she swallows hard. “They'll be angry with me,” she breathes, blinking, looking away, her eyebrows furrowed. “The women...”

“You don't owe them anything,” he says, the hand on her lower back applying soft pressure, fingers playing with the laces of her corset. “They may have raised you here, but they made you do heinous things that no girl your age should do! No respectable woman without her consent...”

“And the men? Some of them come here only for me...” He stiffens at her words, imagining those sleazy men, salivating at the thought of shoving their cocks down this poor girl's throat. “I bring good money...” He scoffs at that, shaking his head.

“And how much of that do you see, hm?” he asks her, tilting her chin back up so she looks at him. She inhales deeply, avoiding his gaze once more. “Yeah, that's what I thought...”

“I have a comfortable life –”

His hand closes around her throat, long fingers pressing into her skin. She stares at him, gasps, eyes wide. “Sweetheart, you're eighteen now, you're fair game. Men will do anything to you now, fill every single hole you have!” She gasps again, cheeks flushing at his blunt words. “You might have gotten used to sucking dick, but believe me, opening your legs will be a whole other ordeal.”

She frowns at that. “Is sex really that bad?” she whispers, voice feeble, bashful, he's surprised she is able to get these words out at all.

A laugh rumbles through him as he eases his grip on her neck. “No, sex can be amazing, but with the wrong person, there can be a lot of pain and discomfort, and the consequences...” He looks at her, holds her nervous gaze. “You're so young, you deserve better than a drunken guy forcing his cock into your hole, leaving you either completely soiled and sore, or sick, or pregnant...”

She cringes and pulls a breath through her teeth, averting her eyes once more. “You talk so obscenely, mister,” she mumbles.

He breathes out another deep laugh. “It's the harsh truth, darling. That's how the world works, get used to it,” he says matter-of-factly.

“And you want me to go out into that world?” she whispers quietly.

“Trust me, out there you'll be better off than here, if you stay with the right people. I'd worry about your current world,” he mutters, listening to the noises from the other rooms, remembering, despite his haze, how run-down this building is, its clientele, and the state of the whole town.

She can't stay here. He won't leave her, now that he knows of her existence. She's Keira's kid, and unlike her mother, he will never abandon her.

Sighing deeply, he moves his hands along her body, encircling her waist, gripping her gently, before he picks her up and puts her on her feet next to the armchair. She stares at him startled, her hands immediately going down to cover her modesty. He grunts and stands up too, towering over her. She takes a cautious step back as he starts swaying, the alcohol still buzzing inside his head.

“I could really use a bath,” he growls, wiping at his eyes, trying to dispel the dizziness. The girl stands next to him, so tiny and frail, the gentle curves of her legs backlit by the fire, her soft face tilted up to look at him, her long hair cascading down her shoulders. For a moment he is mesmerized by the sight, by how naturally beautiful she is – how out of place she feels.

When he feels the strain in his jeans, he sighs again and turns away, stumbling past her towards the tub in the corner. There's already water in it, a thick layer of soapy foam even, and when he dips a few fingers into it, he notices that it's still a little warm. He can't remember it, but he must have left a good penny in this establishment, for booze, a hot bath, and the best...newest –

He turns back to her. She is still watching him, standing behind the armchair, her hands on the backrest, biting her lip. “Hey kid, you wanna join me?” he calls to her, his fingers already at the buttons of his shirt.

She inhales sharply, then walks around the armchair, her naked legs catching his eye for a moment. “I'm not a kid, mister.”

“Ben,” he corrects with a smirk, now working on undoing his belt. It creates a thud when it falls to the wooden floor, his holster and the heavy pistol pulling it down. Her eyes follow his movements as he undresses, kicks off his boots, steps out of his jeans, shrugs off his shirt. Then her feet tap over the ground as she rounds the tub and stands on the other side.

“Not a kid, Ben,” she whispers, chewing on her lips, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her blouse as she drags it lower to cover the hint of hair between her legs.

She doesn't look away once he is completely naked in front of her, his clothes, gun and bags discarded on a chair, but he can see the red in her cheeks when her eyes flick down to his hard cock, bouncing slightly when he raises a leg and steps into the tub. The semi-warm water lulls his muscles as he sinks into it with a groan, stretching his long legs, leaning back, placing his arms on the edge, before he looks up at her.

“I meant it, Nebbia,” he says softly, tilting his head. “Come join me. I promise you don't have to do anything but sit with me.”

“I... shouldn't...” she whispers, her eyes trailing over his naked chest, half-submerged in the tub, before she looks towards the door. “We're not allowed...”

“I paid for you, didn't I?” She looks back, meeting his gaze, and he smiles at her. “Technically I can do anything to you. But I just want you to enjoy a semi-hot bath. There's still enough room,” he adds and spreads his legs, creating a space between them on the other side of the tub.

She hesitates, and he wonders why. Moments ago she seemed content to give him a good time, as she has called it, but now she is strangely coy for a prostitute who's had her throat fucked countless times before. The image of her lips strained around a cock – his cock maybe? – comes back into his mind, and he has to clench his jaw tightly to fight the urge to grab her and pull her close, do all those things to her that he has warned her about. That he's promised not to do to her.

Eventually she turns around, presenting her well-formed rear to him, those plump little cheeks, well-rounded, squeezable, the cleft between them guiding his eyes between her legs, but when her hands move up to the string holding her corset, he sighs, nodding to himself when he sees her predicament. He reaches out and tugs on the bow with one finger, loosening the tight laces slowly, carefully, and she lets him do so.

The stiff thing falls down her hips once it's loose enough, and she steps out of it, slowly turning back to him as she unbuttons the rest of her blouse and shrugs it off her slender shoulders. He can't help himself, he stares at her naked form.

Keira's kid. Half his age. He's promised her a better life.

And still he can't look away, taking in every detail of her body. How her small breasts perk, nipples hard already, the gentle slope of those mounds he wants to weigh in his big hands. How her hair falls over her shoulders, soft springy waves, silky, the same color as her mother's. His eyes trail down her chest, over the shimmer of ribs under thin skin, the flat stomach and little indent of her belly button. And that small waist, the swell of her hips, soft pale legs, cushioned thighs, and between them, the hint of hair above her sex.

Her skin is pristine, pale like alabaster, unmarked, pure.

There's a blush on her face that slowly spreads down her shoulders and between her breasts, and he has to force himself to close his eyes as she steps closer and lifts a leg to step into the tub – even though he wants nothing more than to take a peek at her sweet little cunt. Unused and innocent. He has to keep it that way.

Water splashes against his stomach when she sits down opposite him, knees bent and pulled against her chest as she settles between his outstretched legs. He looks at her with a gentle smile, and she smiles back, her eyelids fluttering.

“Not bad, eh?” he laughs quietly, moving a fluff of foam towards him with his big hands, then lathers his arms with it. She just sits there on the other side of the tub, watching him.

“Do you really mean it?” she whispers after a moment of both of them just soaking in the water.

“What?” he grunts, leaning his head against the edge of the tub as he slides a little lower, using the space she's left to fully stretch his body.

“That you're going to take me with you,” she replies, her eyes scanning his face.

He sighs, his breath blowing a tuft of foam towards her. “Yes, I mean it. I won't let you stay here, objected to all these... things,” he says. “You're Keira's daughter, and even if she might not have wanted you, I will take care of you.”

She frowns, trying to ignore the sting in her heart, the flinch of her tense shoulders at his words. “But why? You don't know me! And I don't know you! Why should I go with you?”

“You wanna stay here? Rot away and die in ten years or sooner?” His voice is harsh, his eyes dark, his jaw tense. “There's no money to be made if you stay under your Madam's thumb. You'll just be another body with a bunch of holes, destined to take it all, if you want to or not. How is this a life you'd want to continue?”

She licks her lips, her arms hugging her knees tighter. “I have food and a roof above my head...” she says quietly, averting her eyes.

He scoffs. “If that's your standard, then I can assure you that you will never go hungry, always have a comfortable bed, be safe from the elements, when you come with me.”

“But why?” she asks again, finally looking back at him. “Why are you so... nice to me?” She takes a shuddering breath. “Just because I'm the kid of a love lost?”

“I thought you weren't a kid,” he teases, and she groans with a slightly exasperated smirk. “I know it's a rare thing for people to just be nice nowadays, but you can trust me. I'm a good guy,” he lies through his teeth, a glint in his eyes.

“And you expect me to believe that?” she says, shifting in the tub, extending her legs slightly, her feet brushing against his inner thighs. “I might not know how the world works, but I see the men coming here. I've seen all types. And you look like the type I might encounter on a Wanted poster.”

He raises his eyebrows, his lips twitching. “Interesting assessment, missy. And you can tell by just looking at a man's cock?”

She grunts in indignation and splashes water towards him. He laughs and shields his face with one arm. “A fine gentleman would never talk like that...” she mumbles.

His laughter gets even louder. “And you expect a fine gentleman to walk into this establishment? Do you know where you are?” She scoffs and crosses her arms in front of her chest, slowly stretching out her legs until he can feel the soles of her feet pressing right against his groin. “Careful now,” he warns.

Her cheeks are flushed, but that doesn't stop her from rubbing her foot upwards and along his hard shaft, pressing it into his lower stomach. He watches her closely, holding in a groan. And she looks right back, green eyes hard and a dark smile on her full lips. Lips around his cock. He leans back and lets out the noise he has been suppressing. Her toes curl around his tip, his breath hitches in his throat.

And he savors the moment, just a moment, a few seconds, because it feels good. She is good, doing what she does. Would be a shame to stop her now, hm? But then he leans in and lowers his hands into the water, grabbing her ankle, stopping her after all. She yelps quietly as he pulls her leg towards him, causing her to slip. Her hands squeak along the edge of the tub as she tries to hold onto it, but before her head submerges, he lets go of her, letting her leg rest on top of his thigh.

She scrambles back into a sitting position, her eyes on him, her lips parted. “I don't have a choice, do I?” she then whispers, allowing him to put his big hand on her shin, holding her there.

He smiles at her, his eyes twinkling. “Correct, sweetheart. I will force you to have a better life, no matter what,” he says quietly, rubbing his hand up her leg.

She inhales deeply and leans back, her arms resting on the edge, hands hanging off, as she relaxes in the water, under his touch, with her bare chest exposed to him. Trusting. “You're a strange man, mister... Ben,” she whispers, smiling softly as she watches him.

He grips her thigh gently, winking at her. The buzz from the alcohol is as good as gone, replaced with a different kind of vertigo. Ignoring the twitching of his cock under the water surface, he keeps his eyes on the girl in front of him, taking in her features, a strange warmth gathering in his stomach.

He came here to celebrate the successful heist, drink himself stupid and have a good fuck afterwards. He hasn't expected to meet Keira's kid here, to be this attracted to her, to tell her he wants to take her with him. But he has, is, does, all of it, he wants her by his side, wants to give her a chance at a different life, away from pleasuring strangers every night of the week.

Does he want her for himself? Maybe. But he still also genuinely wants her to be happier, be herself, have the freedom that he has. She deserves it. And he does too, selfishly so, to have her.

1 🟪 2

End notes: Welcome (and welcome back) to my first original story with real original characters who keep pestering me to continue their story.

Please note that I am no expert on anything wild west/western/horses/cowboys/brothels/etc. - I write silly little love/smut stories. This story, even though it's not mentioned, is set at the end of the 1800s somewhere in the west, I'm keeping it vague on purpose, this is about Ben and Nebbia.

Thank you for reading!

AO3 🟪 MASTERLIST 🟪 INSPIRATION POSTS

[coffe-book-club]

‧˚₊⋅ ୨ anima ୧ ⋅₊˚‧

info: husband tom kaulitz x wife fem! reader

disclaimers: historical setting ‘60 in the south of italy; sicily, age gap 30 - 34 agnst and smut, unromanticized mafia, mention of sex, blood, drugs and guns, sexism.

remember in this one-shot i'm absolutely not saying that tom kaulitz is a bad person, this is a figment of my imagination.

‘a dead look. that's what they say, right? lifeless, glassy, ​​empty. the dead gaze was now a constant companion, always following her, never further than a blink of an eye. it hid in the back of her brain and accompanied her in dreams. His dead look, the exact moment he went from alive to no longer alive. y/n saw it in the quickest glances and darkest shadows, sometimes even in the mirror, on her own face...’

as soon as i enter our bedroom, i notice my husband sitting at his desk. near our double bed, with a cigarette between his lips and only in boxers. his head is slightly bowed and his long wavy hair covering his face.

we have never sailed in gold, on the contrary. we live in a small remote village in the south of Italy, in the early sixties. crime is very high and having a husband who is part of it is equally scary. our house is too small for seven people, too old and ruined. but that's all we can afford.

i approach his chair, looking at my husband with a tired look. caressing my swollen belly, covered by an old blue dress.

we already have five children and now i'm in the fifth month, waiting for the sixth child. and despite everything, he always wants more children. because he doesn't care, because at the end of the day i'm the one who will have to take care of them. i have always been a very sweet and fragile woman, unlike my husband i cannot scold or hit our children...

“tom please... go talk to our children, they haven't listened to me. dinner is ready and eleonora didn't want to prepare the table, i've told her so many times, but she doesn't listen to me” his face, as well as his muscular body. he's covered with many old scars. caused by guns, batons and sharp weapons. his masculine smell is enticing. he has a dangerous aura. he glances at me briefly, but then looks back down at the gun in his hand and continues cleaning it.

“have no time for children. they don't listen to you, because they know you're too weak to do anything. they fear me, but they don't respect you. if you don't want to punish them, i will and i won't be gentle. make sure they're in line”

i observe how my husband carefully cleans his gun, a beretta 87. the old white cloth with some black and other slightly greyish stains, is in his large right hand, while the gun is in his left hand. even though tom isn't touching me right now, i feel the slight roughness of his hands and his firm grip on those two objects.

my heartbeat accelerates slowly, knowing full well that he will beat the children and especially eleonora. for not listening to me. a feeling of regret, slowly spreads in my heart. regretting that i had not remained silent and said nothing to my husband. “please tom, don't hit them”

“then do your job. i've told you a hundred times. they need to behave properly. i give them enough food, even though we don't make a lot of money. i keep this family together, while you do nothing all day, and now you aren't even capable of raising them properly. i've had enough”

his words are sharp blades to my poor heart, the feeling of not doing enough for my family returns and i once again feel like a completely useless mother and wife. tom and i don't even notice that little camilla, only four years old. she's watching us at the doorway, in the small space of the door lock, listening to our words. “i'm sorry... but i can't be strict with them”

“then leave it to me” camilla watches through the crack in the door, her face a picture of sadness and fear. she hugs her favorite teddy bear for comfort and tries to hold back her tears.

“it's really hard for me to handle five kids, tom. our sixth child will also be born in a few months and you still want to get me pregnant” my eyes show all my worry and fear. we don't live in gold and having little money it's really difficult to feed seven mouths. “that's your job. you are a woman, so you shouldn't be so weak. all you have to do is lie down a few times a month and keep the house clean. if my mother could manage with nine children, you also can” he shakes his head, his voice getting more and more annoyed. “and if i want another child, we will have another child” his tone of voice is cold, there's not the slightest hint of kindness or understanding in his words.

tom doesn't understand at this moment that i'm just scared of not being able to give a future. i look away from his face, breaking our eye-contact. and then lower my gaze further and observe my maternal womb. i gently caress my belly, as if i wanted to comfort our little son, not yet born. “i'm just scared, tom”

“how can you be scared about something completely normal. having children is the most natural thing in the world. and if i want another child, you will give birth to it, as many times as i want” he lights another cigarette and takes a deep drag. “is that understood? if i ask for another child, you have to fulfill my demand”

“tom, my only fear is for their future. i'm afraid that they won't have a comfortable future” i look up again, looking into my husband's eyes. his beautiful hazel eyes, which i had fallen in love with when we were only sixteen. my tone of voice is sweet, sweet like a freshly baked apple pie, with brown sugar and cinnamon on top. “the future of your children isn't my problem. i don't care what happens when they're old enough to take care of themselves. they have a roof over their heads and warm food on the table. what more do they need?” he looks back at me and shakes his head in disbelief. “do you know how many children in this country sleep on the street? how many don't have anything to eat? and you're whining, because you don't know if your children will be comfortable when they grow up. ridiculous...”

the strong smell of burnt tobacco, persists in our bedroom. the tanned skin of his powerful and muscular body shines softly in the light of the scorching mid-july sun. a soft sigh escapes my lips, as i look at my husband's handsome face and his words echo in my mind, like a broken cassette. “and this doesn't scare you? aren't you afraid that something similar could happen to our children too? then it is also useless for you to want many children, if you don't even care about their future”

his eyes sparkle for a moment and with the cigarette in his mouth, he gets up and takes a step towards me. “you don't get it, do you?” his rough hands grab mine upper arms and pull me close. his face is just a few inches away from mine and his voice is a whisper, laced with passion. “what i want is very important to me. we will have more children. not because of any concerns about the future, but because i want more children. and i will get what i want and i'm not afraid at all. you keep forgetting that i'll protect my family. i have no time for childish fears, i'm not scared of anything. my children grow up with my teaching, they already know how to behave. so there's nothing to worry about”

he takes another drag on the cigarette and keeps staring at me, as if wondering what's wrong with me. the silence between us remains for a few seconds, then he breaks it with a question. “are you really afraid that your children will become like me?”

his eyes sparkle for a moment and with the cigarette in his mouth he places his gun now polished and cleaned of oil and small blood stains that had remained encrusted on the barrel of the silver gun, he gets up and takes a step towards me. his rough hands grab mine upper arms and pull me close. he bends slightly to be at my height and be able to look me in the eyes.

“our children are yours too, this means that part of your dna is in their bodies. they will most likely follow in your footsteps and that scares me, they will do very bad things and they will have to constantly hide from the authorities”

i winces in slight pain when he grabs my arms. he's so strong, so aggressive. the mere touch of his hands makes her tremble like a leaf in a storm. and he's so tall that my head barely reaches his shoulders. a shiver runs down my spine, the feeling of being so exposed and defenseless before him. “why are you so worried that the children will end up like me? you should be proud. and besides, as i said, i'll protect them from the authorities. i will do anything to protect my family”

i observe his face with fear, while his grip on my arms becomes more and more iron and his nails dig slightly into my pale skin covered with a light layer of sweat, forming small reddish crescents. “about what exactly? drug dealing or arms trafficking or human organ trafficking or to kill innocent people? would you want this for our children?” little camilla continues to observe in silence, from the small lock of the old wooden door. holding her teddy bear close to her chest, not understanding what is happening, between her mother and father.

“whatever. if that's what's necessary to gain money and keep the family together, i wouldn't rule out anything. my work is dirty, but it helps to feed the children and keep them safe. and as long as people keep buying my goods, nothing will change.” he lets go of my arms and takes a step back, but despite this, he still looks at me with a serious look that causes me to tremble. his words are full of coldness and indifference. and his facial expression is like that of someone who has no fear of anything...

during the night the sultry heat does not fade, but continues to persist. our bedroom windows are open, as are our children's windows. the light of the moonlight penetrates our room. gently illuminating our completely naked bodies, after spending a night of pure passion.

my husband tom, is lying on his back. a light layer of sweat illuminates his skin and his muscular body. making it juicier and even more desirable than before. his big penis, is still completely hard and erect. it's gently resting on his lower abdomen, while his big balls are still full. the fat pink mushroom tip glistens slightly, leaking a bit of pre-cum. his long hair is slightly wet with sweat and one arm is resting under his head, flexing his bicep. i too, like him, am completely naked. the body of a pregnant woman, with abundant breasts full of milk. “thank you, my beloved tom”

he stares at me, lying next to him. my long hair covering lightly my face and my body still dripping with sweat and other bodily fluids of our last night of passion. one of his hands caresses my shoulder and his voice is full of passion. “you did well. really well. maybe you shouldn't complain so much all the time” he smiles and his other hand moves the hair out of my face. “if you keep being a good wife, i'm sure we will have many more nights like this in the months to come”

my head rests on his muscular chest. the moonlight softly illuminates our bodies, reflecting our shadows on the wall behind me. dancing sweetly. it's good scent of leather, burnt tobacco and white musk invades my nostrils, clouding my mind. I gently and slowly caress his lightly tanned skin with my fingertips, the small tattoo on his left pectoral at heart level catches my gaze. my name written in cursive, etched into his skin. brings back many sweet memories.

my heartbeat slowly accelerates as i take in his small tattoo and the multiple scars adorning his body. scars caused by a difficult life and a violent and loveless childhood and adolescence. “do you remember when we were in our early twenties? we had been married a few months ago and i remember that one night you came home with your shoulder completely bloody. i remember that they put three bullets in your left shoulder, and i took all three off you with my bare hands. i still remember your screams of pain and all my cries, i was terrified of losing you. when i disinfected your wound and sewed it up myself, because you didn't want to go to the hospital. and i remember changing your bandages every day” i speak to him softly, stroking the small divot on his left shoulder. “two opposites linked for eternity, our souls belong to each other as well as our hearts”

a smile appears on his lips. “i remember. you're so strong, my love. and we really are a good match” he caresses my hair and my face, his movements slow and gentle. “we're like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that can't be separated from each other...”

his sweet caresses, mixed with his words of love which are not always present in our marriage. they are like warm honey to my heart. i slowly close my eyes, abandoning myself to his fingers that tangle in my long wavy blonde hair, now loose. that fall onto the green sheets of our mattress.

“you have to understand, my love” his hands move to my hips, caressing my body and moving my hair away from my face. “you are the mother of my children, you take care of the house. so i can build a future for us. you are everything to me. the most important thing in my life...” his eyes are warm and kind, looking right at me. the light from the night shines gently on his broad chest and my swollen belly.

06.30 of the morning.

i slowly go down the creaking wooden stairs, which lead to the small kitchen along with the living room. the house is particularly quiet, everyone is still sleeping.

from the old wooden door, with opaque glass. i notice the light on and the slight noise of the box television turned on to the news. as soon as i open the door i notice michele, sitting on the dining table slightly bent over with a bowl of hot milk and stale bread. his brown hair is slightly disheveled and his eyes are tired. michele is the oldest of his brothers, he is ten years old and is a carbon copy of tom. both aesthetically and temperamentally. i slowly approach him, with my left hand resting on my maternal womb, covered by the old green dress, caressing it gently.

“good morning michele, why are you already awake?” i ask him softly, bringing my right hand closer to his head, to stroke his messy hair. leaning slightly to give him a sweet kiss on his hair.

he looks up as if he's surprised and then smiles. “hello, mama. i woke up because i was hungry, so i turned on the television and made myself some breakfast... are the little ones still asleep? they usually sleep a lot” he takes a bite from the bread and sips his milk. his brown hair is still disheveled and a few crumbs are stuck on his small white pajamas. “what are you going to do now, mama?”

a sweet smile forms on my lips at his words, i gently caress her soft hair, combing it lightly with my fingers. “very good, michele. yes, everyone is still sleeping” i whisper to him, so as not to wake the children and my husband, who are all still sleeping.

“i have to prepare breakfast. there's apricot jam tart in the oven, why didn't you get it?” i ask him, moving away from michele to approach the kitchen, and open the pot cupboard where the moka is located, to prepare coffee for tom.

the old wooden glass door is opened again. the strong smell of burnt tobacco invades the entire small living room and kitchen. i turn slightly, noticing my husband's tired look. his wavy brown hair gently caresses his broad, muscular shoulders. he is only wearing a pair of white underwear, his big morning erection, despite being covered, is still visible. the hand-rolled cigarette is only half-smoked, hanging from his soft lips. “buongiorno amore”

“buongiorno, amore mio” tom's voice is low and rough, his tired eyes still fixed on me. he takes a drag from his cigarette and smiles at me, his lips full of desire. “i'm really hungry, what have you prepared for me? there's only bread and jam this morning...” his body is a masterpiece of male power and raw sexiness. the white briefs covering his morning erection give his body a touch of male dominance and strength.

his voice is even lower and hoarse in the morning. the eyes cold and fixed on my body, despite my abundant breasts full of milk, after having given birth to five children and waiting for the sixth, with the swollen belly of a visibly pregnant mother. tom is still strongly attracted to me, i can feel it in his gaze, which burns softly and slowly on my body. “uhm... if you want there is some fruit left in the fridge, in the oven there is the apricot jam tart that i prepared yesterday afternoon and the coffee will be ready in a few minutes” he smiles, the desire in his eyes slowly turning into anger and annoyance.

“i don't want to eat cold tart and a piece of fruit, after how much i had to work yesterday i deserve something better” he gets up from the chair, his hands on his hips and takes a step towards me. “or are you too lazy to make me a proper breakfast? and you should know it's not just for me. the kids need breakfast, too” his body and his voice are full of testosterone and anger. his firm, cold voice sends a shiver of worry down my spine. the little one inside me kicks immediately at the sound of his voice. as if he realized something was wrong.

i briefly shift my gaze to michele, his face lowered as he continues to soak the stale bread in hot milk, without daring to look up. but he observes the whole situation from the corner of his eye and i can sense all the hatred that michele feels for his father. and it breaks my heart. i immediately turn my gaze back to my husband, letting a small sigh of sadness leave my lips.

“if you want i can prepare you some hard-boiled eggs, some cured meats and cheeses. but children don't eat much in the morning...”

“so, you have time to bake stupid tarts, but you don't have enough time to make a proper, nutritious breakfast for your family?” he takes a step closer and looks into my eyes, his anger still present in his voice. “as if i'd believe you that the children don't eat much in the morning. you don't even want to make the effort, do you? you don't really care for our sons and daughters” his voice is loud, full of anger and annoyance, but his body still looks masculine and attractive.

little michele's face slowly becomes redder and redder. his hands clenched into two fists, the way his father is talking to his mother. causing him enormous discomfort. i immediately look down at his words, bringing both my hands to my womb, caressing it gently. the little one inside me, not yet born, begins to kick insistently, as if he wanted to protect me from his father. “uhm but... it's the truth tom, i know very well what children prefer to eat for breakfast, and it's something very light. would you like some eggs, with some cured meats and tomatoes, with coffee?”

he sighs deeply and shakes his head. the anger in him slowly turns into a mixture of disappointment and sadness. his voice becomes softer, almost as if he felt guilty for shouting at me in front of the children. “yes, alright fine” he turns around and sits back down next to michele. he takes a long drag of his cigarette and doesn't say anything for a long time. the anger doesn't disappear, but is hidden under a deep sadness. he looks at his son out of the corner of his eye.

in the afternoon the sun is even more scorching, the shutters are closed completely to prevent the heat from entering the house, as is the entrance door which is semi-closed. the sun ruins the vegetables in the garden, it makes the centrioles small and hard, the tomatoes dry without a minimum of juice. michele, eleonora, leonardo and edoardo are out playing with the neighbors. little camilla is currently taking her afternoon nap, in her bedroom shared with eleonora. while i'm standing, in the middle of the small living room, ironing clothes. tom went to town with some associates, to transact some 'business'.

in the afternoon, the house looks peaceful and almost deserted. tom's car is missing from the driveway and our children, except for the little one sleeping in her room, are outside playing with the neighbors. i can feel the warm air through the thin curtains and the sunlight creates delicate patterns of light and shade on the wooden floor. i carefully iron a pile of tom's shirts, before starting with the children's socks and underwear. the television and radio are turned off, focusing on the sound of the irons and the warm breeze coming through the windows. the house is particularly quiet, the only noise present is that of the steam from the hot iron. i spent the last two hours cleaning the house and ironing in complete peace of mind.

the little one inside me is also particularly calm at this moment, as if he too has fallen asleep. he kicks gently from time to time, to make me feel his presence.

as the afternoon wears on, i feel the tiredness slowly creeping into my body. i'm sweating from the summer heat and the exertion from cleaning the house and ironing. my back starts to hurt and my muscles are tired from standing and bending all the time. then the sound of the front door opening breaks the peace of mind and the sound of tom's heavy steps reverberate throughout the house. he has the same tired voice as this morning and his face reflects a mixture of annoyance and anger. the old solid wood entrance door opens slowly. i look up from camilla's little blue t-shirt, noticing my husband entering the house and closing the door behind him, without saying anything. his eyebrows are furrowed and an annoyed frown is present on his handsome masculine face. his well-defined body is hidden by his clothes, but you can feel the roughness and hardness of his body.

“hi love... be quiet please, camilla is taking her nap. everything went fine?”

“do you want me to be quiet in my own damn house?” tom's voice doesn't hide the annoyance and anger in him. he takes off his jacket and t-shirt and throws them next to his bag on the back of a chair. he's only wearing his boxers and black socks, displaying his masculine and hard physique. his skin is tanned and dark in tone, his hair is still messy and filled with sweat.

a loud sigh leaves his lips as he strides towards the bathroom. i lower my gaze again to continue with what i was doing a few moments ago. tom hasn't closed the bathroom door and i can hear him urinating and coughing, due to the many cigarettes he smokes.

a few moments later, the sound of his loud footsteps echo again. tom is back in the living room and heads straight for the fridge. he takes a beer out and opens it without a word. ge takes a few sips and looks into the distance. he speaks slowly after some time and his voice looks a lot softer and even a bit regretful. “sorry, i had a bad day, honey. i know i shouldn't be taking it all out on you” i don't take my eyes off my white t-shirt with yellow stripes, while the steam from the iron slowly flares up in the small living room, a sweet smile forms on my lips at his words.

“don't worry love, what happened?” tom's eyes remain on the white t-shirt i been ironing, as if he wants to make sure i'm not looking at his face. “there's been a problem with a shipment. a large batch of my goods was stolen yesterday during delivery” he looks at you for a moment and takes a sip of his beer. “this month's earning will be very small” afrown appears on his face and his voice is full of worry. my husband's words cloud my thoughts, right now the only thing i think about are our five children and soon to be six. i think about the future of each of them and my heartbeat slowly accelerates. i stop what i was doing and look up to look at my husband. his light blue shirt is slightly unbuttoned and i can glimpse his toned pecs and some short hair.

“my god... as if we already had so much money. and this is exactly why i'm telling you that i wouldn't want to have any more children, tom. we don't have money, i'm telling you this for their own good” tom's mood immediately changes and he looks at me in a more serious manner. as if a huge stone was placed in his stomach.

“listen here little woman. you're pregnant and it's time for you to stop moaning and complaining. i decide how many children we're going to have, not you” he takes a step toward you and speaks with more force in his voice. “i'm trying to do my best to provide for my whole family, and yet you complain as if everything isn't enough for you” i follow my husband with my gaze, raising my head when he comes closer to me so i can look better at his handsome masculine face. his jaw is clenched and i can tell just from the way he looks at me that he is very angry with me right now.

“i have never complained. in fact i have always tried to adapt to your needs, always obeying you. the problem is that you are too selfish, and you are not interested in the well-being of our children” my voice is firm, i don't take my eyes off my husband. observing her dark hazel orbs, which i fell madly in love with and still am in love with.

“i'm scared for their future, tom” his eyes remain on mine, as if he wants to intimidate me. “of course i'm interested in the well-being of my children. i work every day to give them the best life possible. i just feel like you're never satisfied with anything i do” his voice is loud and full of indignation, as he takes a step closer to me. “do you think it's easy to provide for a family with five children? and soon there'll be six...” he gestures to my swollen belly, with disdain. “and if you didn't want to have children, you had to keep your legs closed”

a small sigh escapes my lips. i shift my gaze slightly, looking at the open window near the refrigerator, the sky is still blue and there isn't even a cloud. a few birds fly towards the horizon and in the background you can hear chickens croaking. “i'm not so naïve as to not know that supporting seven people is difficult, and I'm not saying that. but if you had promised me, after i had graduated with top marks, we could have moved to milan and led a better life, with two salaries. but you didn't want to because you kept telling me that career women are whores”

he clenches his jaw, his voice becoming even louder and more aggressive toward me with every word i speak. “you need to accept your role as a mother and wife! i work hard every day to provide for this family, and yet you're out there with your feminist bullcrap, thinking that you can lead a better life somewhere else with your career” he takes another step closer to me. “if you keep criticizing me like that, i'll throw you, and the little whore inside you, out of my house”

my eyebrows furrow slightly at his sharp words, as if they were a thousand sharp blades piercing my heart countless times. i cross both my arms over my chest, forgetting for a moment that the iron is still on. “besides the fact that you're extremely rude, it's not just you who works. i also work hard to take care of you and our children, to keep the house clean and make food for our family, but above all to educate our children and help them with their homework, comfort them and support them, i have to take care of them when they are sick... the only problem is your machismo, i only expressed my opinion but it's you who continues to criticize me for everything i do”

his face becomes even more filled with anger as he looks at me. “oh... you're trying to tell me what you do is similar to what I'm doing for this family, is that it?” he laughs in a sarcastic way and approaches me even more. “aww... poor you, you have to take care of my children and cook some food. you also want to call that 'work'? that's just a normal duty of a woman. a normal woman shouldn't have to work outside of the house like a hooker”

for a moment i shift my gaze slightly to make sure that rom and i haven't woken up little camilla from her afternoon nap, and then look him in the eyes again. at his words i shake my head in negative, not agreeing with him.

my heartbeat slowly accelerates, as does my breathing which slowly becomes heavier. “i don't agree with you at all, just as a man works outside of his home, a woman should too. the only thing i bitterly regret is that i gave up everything for love. i gave up my career as a teacher, i gave up so many things for you, because you didn't want”

tom is more close to me now and can smell the pheromones of my body and my heated skin. he laughs again, in a more mocking and arrogant way, looking at me. “oh, you don't agree with me? then i guess i should kick you out of the house, you feminist whore. it's my house and it's my rules. if i say you're a stay at home wife, then you're a stay at home wife. if i say you're just supposed to have children for me, then that's what you're going to do...”

our faces are a few centimeters apart, my husband's tall and powerful body is slightly bent forward, the protruding vein on the left side of his neck is clearly visible. the tension in the air is palpable, my arms are still folded and the small frown doesn't leave my face. “this is also my home and just as you have your opinions, i have mine and i have the same right as you to express them”

he smiles at me and moves a tiny little bit closer, so that his body is pressed against mine. he's only wearing his boxers, and i can feel the warmth coming from his hard muscles and the heat and sweat in his body. “so you think i'm going to be like all those weak men who are dominated by their women?” he laughs at me in a rough and arrogant way and puts his hand on my waist, while looking into my eyes. i can feel the strength and masculine power coming in waves coming from his body and his breath. the little one i carry in my womb kicks slightly, as if he can feel all the tension between me and his father. his large right hand lightly squeezes my left hip, even through the light fabric of my dress i can feel the roughness of his hand. his breathing is heavy and slightly stresses my face, while my heartbeat accelerates more and more. “i'm not saying this, i don't want to dominate anyone... but we have the same rights and the same priorities”

“oh really?” his voice becomes low and i realize he's smiling at me again. the strength of his grip on my left hip becomes even more intense, as his fingertips dig into my skin a little. i can't help but feel the masculine and dominating presence of his body, and at the same time feel the passion and lust in his voice. “you have to accept what your place is. you're my wife and as a wife, your duty is to take care of my family. so don't you dare talk back to me again...”

the sun is slowly setting, the sky has turned a pale orange and pale pink. the birds fly high in the sky and the cicadas have just started their monotonous song. all seven of us are sitting at the table, having dinner in complete tranquility. the television is on and the journalist's voice fills the small kitchen together with the small living room. the metal forks tap lightly on the ceramic plates, while we dine in religious silence.

the family dinner is quiet and calm. everyone is eating their food in complete silence, only occasionally accompanied by the sound of forks and knives on plates. the television is on and the journalist's voice is the only thing being heard in the kitchen and small living room. tom's daughter camilla, who is the younger of the two girls, is sitting on her little feet on the chair. she takes some bites from her plate and looks at her father with a slight smile on her face. her blonde hair is curled up and her light brown eyes are filled with youth and innocence. little camilla moves her toes slightly, then taps them gently on the wooden chair and happily chews her morsels of meat with tomato and white onion. his gaze is on his father, while tom is focused on the news on television.

michele, eleonora, leonardo and edoardo eat their dinner in religious silence. occasionally looking up to watch television. “what did you four do with the neighbors, today?” i ask sweetly to michele, eleonora, leonardo and edoardo.

leonardo looks at me with a little smile and answers. “we played outside. we chased each other and made up some small games” tom is still eating his food in silence and looks at the television. once again, the only sound heard is the eating of food. his expression is neutral and his eyes continue to look at the television. he's still thinking about the theft of the goods this morning.

hii 🥨 how are you? i'm so so happy that december has started, i can't wait for december 8th to put up the christmas tree and i should also start making gifts for christmas 🙃 even though i will be swamped with work and driving school, i will still try to post once a week. i'm so sorry for the grammatical and spelling errors, but english is not my native language. xoxo flo.

[seungs]

every month of 2024 🥳 / most popular vs favorite set of each month in 2024. for once i am the one to initiate this because i enjoy looking back on sets at the end of the year 🤓 as always no pressure and sorry if you've been tagged already 🤍

tagging: @meongppangz @yangjeongin @hyunsung @huiracha @hyunpic

january / popular + favorite. i did not gif much for a lot of these months, but this was really great i am with the people 👍

februrary / popular. because of course it is. favorite. omg i always love these sets in the end no matter how much we fight in the middle. cover suho jeongin. honorable mention because i must...

march / popular. the people love hampster². favorite. okay this is like top 3 mv concept set i ever made probably. but loewe tanktop personal dear favorite of mine. so.

april / popular. i am pretty sure this is the most popular set i ever made 😭 but i also like him. favorite has to be this historical moment in time. honorable mention only because this took me ages to finish even tho it isn't my best i'm just glad she's out there.

may / popular. this guy again. another historical moment in more ways than one. favorite. me and my partner saw you across the bar etc.

june / popular + favorite. @ttathinker you did this. shoutout to my thesis that got me accepted to my master🫰

july / popular. biggest deserve ever. perfect styling. very grateful. favorite. i looooove nature .....they should shoot stuff outside more. with good cameras.

august / popular. ah yes. this was a shirt alright! favorite. tiny cutie babies :(

september / popular. omggg .. the last gif he's so cute silly. favorite. as expected. wouldn't be september otherwise.

october / popular. to many more barely teas 🍻. favorite. wouldn't be october... also set i am very happy is out there. and when i email jype to demand the real thing.

november / popular + favorite. i love everything about this mv. but i actually only made 2 sets this entire month so. honorable mention. #2min.

december / popular. very happy with this and it was very fun to gif 8 dif mvs 👍 in spirit includes all the other solo sets i made or wanted to make but never got around to. favorite. this stage makes me undesrtand how hyunjin feels when he has cuteness aggression about jeongin. i'm no better.

aaaaand that's that. until next year 😸

[thedragonagebigbang]

Bang Creator Interview: Tumblr: @vivispec | AO3: Vivispec

The Collaboration period has begun! In these quiet months before works are due, we want to foster a sense of excitement, camaraderie, and celebration among our participants. To that end, all participants were given the option of a formal interview by our mod, Dema, or an informal “ask-game” survey. We hope you enjoy getting to know our phenomenal creators as much as we have!

Top 10 Reasons You Should Actually Contact The Ex Whose Life You Ruined– Number 1 Will Shock You!

Vivi and Dema talk OCs, Whumptober, and how to write while driving

Dema: Good morning! It is I, Dema, here for our interview.

Vivi: Good morning!

Dema: Since this is a fandom event I'd like to start there! How long have you been involved in the Dragon Age fandom? What drew you to it?

Vivi: I've been into Dragon Age since Origins came out-- I actually have fanfic I wrote for it when I was 12 on my Grandmother's computer, it's very bad-- but I didn't actually start getting involved in the fandom until much more recently. I'm kind of a fandom lurker in general, and didn't start posting fanfic or really engaging in the fandom until about 2022.

As for what drew me to it, the series has held a special place in my heart for a very long time, but playing Inquisition for the first time in 2020 kinda broke my brain (affectionate). I went into a Solasmance blind and have never been the same since

Dema: Oh, I too have the Solasmance hooks in me, I understand. Does that make DA:O and DA:I roughly tied for your favorite? Or do you have a strong favorite?

Vivi: This question is honestly the bane of my existence, because I have so much trouble choosing. DA:O definitely has more nostalgia, but DA:I is the one I engage with and write about the most. I think, if I had to choose at gunpoint, I'd actually say DA:2 is my favorite, but that's by the thinnest and blurriest margin.

Dema: Haha, yes. It's a bit of a "choose your favorite child" question. I will not hold you at gunpoint.

Vivi: Much appreciated.

Dema: Is it Solas in particular that inspires you to write in the DA:I timeline the most?

Vivi: He's definitely a contributing factor, and what started me down that road, but I think my love for writing DA:I is mostly tied to my Inquisitor, actually. She's maybe one of my favorite OCs I've ever made.

Dema: DA is such a great sandbox for OCs. Tell me about your Inquisitor! What makes her a favorite?

Vivi: Her name is Viera'vun, a Dalish hunter. She's a pathfinder more than anything else, incredibly observant, and very down-to-earth once she's settled in as Herald. I love figuring out how a Dalish elf with no exposure to this world she's been suddenly thrust into would react, and how she would keep herself safe-- in Viera's case, she becomes really good at picking up on the little things and using them to her advantage, and standing her ground. One of my favorite things about her is actually the dynamic she has with her hunting partner, Iloniyn-- they're platonic soulmates, one of my favorite tropes to write, and having him there as her rock once he joins her at Skyhold definitely gives her stable footing as she tackles becoming the Inquisitor.

Dema: She sounds lovely, and I can see how those themes would provide a lot of creative inspiration! Dalish Inquisitors in particular have such an interesting dynamic. How do Viera'vun and Iloniyn navigate the religious affiliations of the Inquisition?

Vivi: Viera uses it to her advantage, as best that she can. She doesn't believe in it of course and isn't shy to say so, but when holding her tongue and letting others make their own assumptions would help her out, she's not opposed to begrudgingly doing so. I think the biggest thing is that she knows how, historically, elves have been treated by the Chantry, and that she likely won't be immune to being killed or erased by them. Still, as long as she's around and has power, she's going to use it for her and her people.

Dema: Oh, she sounds so savvy! I love her already. Since we've been discussing OCs, especially in the context of the Dragon Age universe, I'm curious how you go about creating them. For example, was Viera an in-game Inquisitor? Or did you make her specifically for writing with? And was she typical of your process?

Vivi: In general, my OCs start in-game. Even Iloniyn was originally an alt Inquisitor that I fell in love with, and wanted to use in writing! When I replay roleplaying games with some element of character creation, I tend to give my PCs a gimmick so they don't all play the same-- Iloniyn's whole shtick was he didn't want to be there and was very vocal about it, and one of my Warden's always chooses the lie option if it's available to her. Viera was my first playthrough of the game so she didn't have a gimmick. I let the game shape who she was as I played it and tweaked it in post, adding more backstory and personality once I knew the general arc of the story, and where she was going to end up. Then, I did what I do with all of my OCs to flesh them out: drop them into increasingly terrible situations to figure out how they tick! She got the worst of it, I did Whumptober the year I started writing her. 31 days of horror for that poor lady

Dema: Hey, the meat grinder tells us what they're made of!

Vivi: Exactly! You get it.

Dema: Were those mostly one-shots?

Vivi: Yes they were! 60k worth of one-shots. Most were about her, but she definitely wasn't the only one. I even dipped my toes into Ancient Elvhenan for that event, it was a lot of fun filling those prompts!

Dema: Oh wow, 60k in 31 days! So you are no stranger to writing a lot of words in a set timeframe.

Vivi: No stranger at all, though I don't think I have that sort of stamina any longer. Still not entirely sure how I did it. I've done three other Big Bangs since as well, finishing four pieces across them.

Dema: What keeps you coming back to Bangs?

Vivi: I wouldn't finish pieces otherwise. I'm a notorious WIP collector, so having incentive to finish my pieces is always nice. Plus, I love getting to work alongside artists, and see how they interpret what I write! Collaborations make it all feel so much more official.

Dema: Having only participated in Bangs as an artist, I'm so impressed and inspired by the dedication you have to the challenge. It's a big number!

Vivi: Aw thank you, on the opposite side of the event I'm always impressed by the artists and their illustrations! It's amazing what we both are able to do in the timeframe given, thank you for your service.

Dema: I love it! From the artist's perspective, it's an interesting way to engage with a fic as a prompt, and the inspiration comes from the story and the collaborative effort. As a writer, is there anything in particular you're drawing inspiration from as you develop your idea for a long fic like this? Without being too specific about this idea, of course.

Vivi: Honestly, ideas just kinda hit me during my morning commute, while I stare aimlessly at the road ahead of me. Because of that, I tend to record myself talking in the car, despite the fact that I probably look like I've lost it just a little bit. Just talking through my thoughts on where my OCs and the companion characters are or what they're doing during specific times generally gives me a lot to think and write about, but mostly I pull my inspiration from their interpersonal relationships. That is what this series is built off of, and what I love about it!

Dema: I think that is a brilliant strategy. In the last minutes, and just for fun: can you come up with a click-bait title for your fic? Without giving anything major away, of course.

Vivi: Top 10 Reasons You Should Actually Contact The Ex Whose Life You Ruined-- Number 1 Will Shock You!

Dema: HAHA, Perfect. Thank you so much for your time, Vivi!

Vivi: Thank you! This was a lot of fun.

[otomegamesandme]

Em's Personal Favorite Shoujo and Josei manga!

Since one (1) person mentioned they would like a recommendation list of shoujo and josei mangas, I decided to throw one together of my personal favorites! Some of these are well known, some aren't. I also kept it short, so it's more a sample of my tastes. Future lists will probably revolve around themes/genres, but for now here's this!

My Lovesick Life as a 90s Otaku

Demo: Josei

Genre: Romance, Slice-of-Life, Historical

This is a short four volume series about a middle aged mother who reflects back on her teen years and being a big otaku in the 90s. I honestly loved this? There were so many cameos of classic series, and I enjoyed the characters and themes in this a lot. It did make me cringe, just because it reminded me how me and my friends used to be as teens in all the good and bad ways. That relatability is also the reason I was a big fan. It does wrap up pretty quickly at the end, but for a short series, it's one of the josei series I've read that left an impression on me!

Magic Knight Rayearth

Demo: Shoujo

Genre: Fantasy, Isekai

It feels like a crime to not mention Clamp when talking about any of my favorite manga (Tsubasa Chronicles is my favorite Shonen and Chobits is my favorite Seinen, so they're really just winning). Choosing between this and RG Veda was difficult, but this is such a classic. I loved the characters, the world, and how the story reveals itself to be a gut punch at the end. If you still haven't read it, here's yet another rec post telling you to check it out.

Children of the Whales

Demo: Shoujo

Genre: Science Fantasy, Tragedy

This follows a group of people on a floating island, the Mud Whale, which is trapped in a sea of sand. One day, when they send people out to search one of the sunken islands in the sand for resources, they find another human, and through meeting her, learn the truth about their home.

The story telling in this is gorgeous. The mangaka said she was inspired by a lost journal she found, and you really get that feeling while reading it. This is also a series to read if you just feel like being Really Sad. It's one of my all time favorite series, but I did have to read it with breaks between volumes (for reference, I normally binge like five volumes a day when I'm really into a series). There's a rich world and history in this, and each detail feels so carefully considered and thought out. This is one of the series I wished more people talked about.

Dokuhime

Demo: Josei

Genre: Fantasy, Romance, Tragedy

A group of orphan girls are raised to be living weapons by consuming poison. They're then sent out to enemy countries to seduce and kill the men in charge, as their bodies are all poisonous.

This doesn't have any official English translations and I came across it randomly one day and just fell in love. It's an older series, and there's plenty of triggering content here (violence and SA being major). But I loved this world and characters so much? My summary does not do it justice, but the dynamics with the main character and the three princes in the country she's infiltrating is so interesting. It also reads very much like a dark fairy tale, especially with how it's structured and the way it goes through each scene and chapter. I know this is likely too old and unknown to ever get picked up officially, but maybe if I get more people to read it, we can all bother seven seas via their licensing survey or something-

A Condition Called Love

Demo: Shoujo

Genre: Romance, Slice-of-Life

I don't think this needs a summary since it's a recent popular one lol, but I love messy characters who face consequences for their messy actions and are forced to grow as people!! I love when bad habits in a relationship get challenged, and it doesn't automatically lead to breaking up but trying to fix things. Hotaru and Hananoi just have my favorite relationship in any modern shoujo series I've read, and while the series isn't over yet, I can imagine them remaining a favorite for a long time.

Chihayafuru

Demo: Josei

Genre: Sports, Slice-of-Life (and romance in the background)

If you know about Chihayafuru, it's that everyone who talks about it is Not Normal about it lol I have never encountered a series with such a large cast where each one is given such weight and brevity as this series. I know it's about such a niche Japanese sport, but listen, the growth and story arch of these three main characters, and how they're affected by the people they meet and how they affect others and grow is just...so good. You want God Tier character work, this is the series you read.

Prince Freya

Demo: Shoujo

Genre: Fantasy, Adventure (and romance if you squint)

I love brutal shoujo. The first chapter of this was not what I was expecting, and it's probably because I went in blind. Anyway, this follows the story of Freya who lives in a kingdom trying not to get conquered by an Empire taking over the continent. The only person keeping the kingdom standing was the Prince, who was poisoned and killed. Since Freya looks almost exactly like him, she's forced to pretend to be the Prince of this country in hopes the kingdom won't fall to the empire.

Freya's character growth in this is a lot of fun to witness play out. I also really have been enjoying seeing the way the world keeps expanding and growing with each volume. I will say, the first few volumes have pacing issues, but by volume 3/4 it was all smooth sailing. I also really enjoy how unflinching it can be, and it doesn't shy away from death or violence when needed, but it also doesn't overdue it either. It's just a solid shoujo fantasy series, and the only bad part about it is waiting for the next volume to drop (Viz it's been 6 months, please-).

[kaylinalexanderbooks]

Writeblr Questionnaire

Thanks @illarian-rambling here, @paeliae-occasionally here, @willtheweaver here, @honeybewrites here, @urnumber1star here,

And @leahnardo-da-veggie here!

About You:

When did you start writing?

Genuinely I'm not sure, but I do have physical evidence that it's been a while. The first story I wrote was called "In the Dark." I was at the age where I drew several pictures with one color of marker with stick figures and my mom wrote the words for me. I'd say preschool-aged. I think I was three.

Are the genres/themes you enjoy reading different from the ones you write?

I am a person with a huge bias toward fantasy in the things I write and consume. However, I'm not picky with genres, it just happens to be a pattern. I really do love plenty of realistic fiction books. It just so happens that I have exactly one realistic fiction story in my WIP ideas. One. And even then, it needed a gimmick to be interesting for me to write. I have no interest in writing realistic fiction other than that. But I really do love plenty of realistic fiction books!

I want to write a mystery one day, but it'll have to be a fantasy mystery. I do love plenty of realistic fiction mystery books and shows and stuff. I could never write historical fiction, although that isn't a frequented genre to begin with.

Theme-wise, I couldn't say. I don't really care.

Is there an author (or just a fellow writer!) you want to emulate, or one to whom you’re often compared?

Nope. I think people will make their own comparisons, but there's no one in particular I am trying to emulate. I'm just me.

Can you tell me a little about your writing space(s)? (Room, coffee shop, desk, etc.)

Sometimes I just write on the couch or at a random place at school, but I've been going to my desk a lot more. It's just in my room, I'm on a swivel chair, and my laptop is on top of it. Nothing special.

What’s your most effective way to muster up some muse?

Read my old writing or my notes! I see stuff I forgot about or I get ideas from the details. Occasionally I'll check out a video or something if I'm truly stuck.

Did the place(s) you grew up in influence the people and places you write about?

Uh, yes. Why do you think I set the "real world" in a middle-class intermediate school in the greater Houston area on a six-lane FM road with a Sonic, Walgreens, and apartment complex nearby? It's a lot easier to describe things that way. Everywhere else I have to make up a floor plan for interiors and use Google Maps for the surrounding scenery.

Are there any recurring themes in your writing, and if so, do they surprise you at all?

A lot of queer and neurodivergent people. No, that does not surprise me. It me. It accident.

Friends-to-lovers is my most common romantic relationship, but there's also a lot of platonic and queerplatonic relationships.

Interpersonal relationships in general are huge themes of mine and appear in almost everything I write.

Since I write YA, there's a lot of coming of age.

None surprise me.

Your Characters:

Would you please tell me about your current favorite character? (Current WIP, past WIP, never used, etc.)

Oof that's hard. For TSP... I love talking about Carmen. She's such an asshole, but she's super interesting. I want to put her under a microscope and study her. She's a character I'm constantly thinking about. I like seeing why she does the things she does. She's developed into a character I originally didn't think much about, and now I can't stop! She's also funny. She doesn't mean to be, but she's so high-strung and angry that she is fun to write for.

For SOTL, it's Tierney. I have one chapter with him, but that doesn't matter. He's amazing and I love talking about him. He's a mess. He's a nerd. He's awkward. I love him.

Which of your characters do you think you’d be friends with in real life?

Well, the characters closest to my age are Liam and George, and I think I'd be friends with them! Liam may occasionally get on my nerves in the debate side of him, but I think I'd get used to it, especially because his part of the grilled cheese debate is based on someone I actually know and am friends with.

I'm not sure about being friends with the kids, but I do hang out with plenty due to being an educator, and I remember how I was at that age. Out of everyone, Robbie and Akash feel like they'd perfectly fit into my friend group, which may be why I love writing them so much. Individually I think Gwen is the one I'd be most likely to get along with.

I haven't written enough of SOTL, but I'd get along with Jill. Also Ritchie and their group of friends.

Which of your characters would you dislike the most if you met them?

Carmen, I'm so sorry, I would not like you. Gabriel also can get rude and boring. Noelle constantly mentioning her mom would get on my nerves, if I'm being honest. I feel like I could only take Parker in small doses, even if I really like Wade.

I'm not far enough in SOTL to make a decision except for the purposefully antagonistic characters.

Tell me about the process of coming up with of one, all, or any of your characters.

Well, TSP it really depends. Here are all the characters I think are worth mentioning for the entire series.

Originally based on someone I knew before developing a completely different personality: Lexi, Maddie, Ash, Gwen, Noelle, Rose, Kelsey, Carla, George, Hye-Jin, Atsila

They started out as someone completely different in previous drafts and then in the process of developing them I got attached: Jedi, Carmen

I created them for Draft Four as a love interests and then I got attached: Robbie, Akash

I created them in Draft Four to fill up the background: Liam, Ewan, Jazlyn, Wade, Parker, Tyler, Niri, Gabriel, Sam

I needed a name for a prominent figure and then I kept using it and they became important: Raissa

I needed characters for the AU didn't I?: Alex, Issa, CJ, Wendy

Background characters I had no intention of making important: Teo, Xitlali, Anathi

For SOTL, it's simple. Get a character from a fairy tale, nursery rhyme, fable, legend, other public domain work, etc and make them my own!

Do you notice any recurring themes/traits among your characters?

Most of them are queer and neurodivergent. Most are in the 11-25 range given the demographic I write in.

How do you picture them? (As real people you imagined, as models/actors who exist in real life, as imaginary artwork, as artwork you made or commissioned, anime style, etc.)

I want TSP and SOTL to both be in hand-drawn animation, so I imagine them like that. Western animation with anime inspiration like ATLA, Teen Titans, etc is what I typically imagine it in.

Your Writing:

What’s your reason for writing?

I love it!! And also I'd go insane. It's also why I write reviews and analyses of stuff. I've stayed up until 2 am before thinking thoughts on TV shows and I legit can't sleep until I've written an essay.

Is there a specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating coming from your readers?

I've gotten "oh I like this little detail" or "wow good dialogue" or "realistic friendship!!" And that always makes me happy.

How do you want to be thought of by those who read your work? (For example: as a literary genius, or as a writer who “gets” the human condition; as a talented worldbuilder, as a role model, etc.)

I just want people to like my characters, is that too much to ask?

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

I really like character building and details around their lives. I think I'm good at writing consistent characters because I've put so much work behind them.

What have you been frequently told your greatest writing strength is by others?

Dialogue! So many people comment on the realism of my dialogue, and I really like that!

How do you feel about your own writing? (Answer in whatever way you interpret this question.)

If it's at 1 am I think it's awful. When I read my old writing I cringe. Sometimes if I'm in a bad mood my self esteem plummets. But overall, when I look back, I see how far I've come. When I make a revision, even a small one, I smile because I know my writing is getting better. I just get excited about improvement!

If you were the last person on earth and knew your writing would never be read by another human, would you still write?

Yes because it helps me sleep. Were you not paying attention lol

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely what you enjoy? If it’s a mix of the two, which holds the most influence?

No. I write for ME.

Tagging @mk-writes-stuff @elsie-writes @eccaiia @mysticstarlightduck @chauceryfairytales

+ ANYONE ELSE

TSP intro

TSP tag list (ask to be +/-): @thepeculiarbird @illarian-rambling @televisionjester @finchwrites

@nebula--nix @literarynecromancy @honeybewrites @the-golden-comet

SOTL intro

SOTL tag list (ask to be +/-): @illarian-rambling @katwritesshit @wyked-ao3

Under the cut are the blank questions put together for easy copy/paste

About You: When did you start writing? Are the genres/themes you enjoy reading different from the ones you write? Is there an author (or just a fellow writer!) you want to emulate, or one to whom you’re often compared? Can you tell me a little about your writing space(s)? (Room, coffee shop, desk, etc.) What’s your most effective way to muster up some muse? Did the place(s) you grew up in influence the people and places you write about? Are there any recurring themes in your writing, and if so, do they surprise you at all? Your Characters: Would you please tell me about your current favorite character? (Current WIP, past WIP, never used, etc.) Which of your characters do you think you’d be friends with in real life? Which of your characters would you dislike the most if you met them? Tell me about the process of coming up with of one, all, or any of your characters. Do you notice any recurring themes/traits among your characters? How do you picture them? (As real people you imagined, as models/actors who exist in real life, as imaginary artwork, as artwork you made or commissioned, anime style, etc.) Your Writing: What’s your reason for writing? Is there a specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating coming from your readers? How do you want to be thought of by those who read your work? (For example: as a literary genius, or as a writer who “gets” the human condition; as a talented worldbuilder, as a role model, etc.) What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer? What have you been frequently told your greatest writing strength is by others? How do you feel about your own writing? (Answer in whatever way you interpret this question.) If you were the last person on earth and knew your writing would never be read by another human, would you still write? When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely what you enjoy? If it’s a mix of the two, which holds the most influence?

[mermaidsirennikita]

Hi, sorry if this has been asked before but, regardless of trope, your favourite historicals of all time???? I was gonna say top10 or something but I read and love literally every one of your recs so top100 would work just as well <3

First off, thank you so much, you're too kind. I don't know if I can give you my Top 100 just yet (though I wish I could lol) but I CAN give you a good cluster ;).

It's been a whiiiile since I've thought of this, and it changes, so I'm happy to answer! I'm going to have some repeats, because I'm true my heart and some authors just write a good few bangers.

My top... 28, I think? In no particular order.

Dreaming of You by Lisa Kleypas—Easy answer, I adore this book, it changed the way I look at romance and it's so, so definitive re: my taste. Beautifully written, angsty (and kinda funny too), made me realize one of my core couple dynamics is "somewhat crazy woman and stern man who just doesn't know what the FUCK she's doing and is totally thrown off by her shit".

Thief of Shadows by Elizabeth Hoyt—Another easy one, virgin hero (which I love) who's nonetheless quite stern, jaded older heroine (another thing I love—a jaded heroine), it has the Zorro masked man vibes, the high stakes, INSANELY good sex scenes that only Elizabeth Hoyt can write... And perfectly written angst that isn't magically resolved. Gorgeous gorgeous GORGEOUS.

Waking Up with the Duke by Lorraine Heath—Another angst machine, has a scene that never fails to make emotional, a crazy setup that turns out to be deeply emotional. Icy proper woman/secretly deeply pining rake. AINSLEY!!!!

Princess by Gaelen Foley—A recent favorite; supremely angsty, supremely sexy, supremely BONKERS. He feels unworthy, which, please, is crack to me. She's a literal princess, giggly and flirty and horny to the max. He's a good bit older, they've known each other for YEEEEARS (... literally all her life), he works for her father. It's very ILLICIT AFFAIRS. Everything I love.

The Duke's Perfect Wife by Jennifer Ashley—Every single one of the first four Mackenzie books is a bANGER and this is the best one for me. I love a second chance romance. I love a growly hero and a heroine who absolutely owns him. I love that they've both been around the block (and have had sex before, three times, as he reminds her). Hart needed a woman who could MANAGE him and match his freak, and Eleanor is that. She boops his nose and he growls! He does a striptease for her! Perfection, even better if you've read the first three books.

A Rogue by Any Other Name by Sarah MacLean—Another one I read early in my return to romance, and I adore it. Bourne is the most dickish hero MacLean has written (imo) and Penelope is such a a sweet heroine who nonetheless doesn't put up with it. He has to work so hard to earn her love, as he should. I adore the childhood friends to at odds vibe, another thing I'm sooo into.

Shadowheart by Laura Kinsale—A pretty dark historical? Allegreto is CRAZY, Elena manages him perfectly. I love a good kinky romance, and this one is so, so sexy? The femdom is perfect, but it's also beautifully written and has a lot of deep themes. The fact that he thinks he's going to hell and she's like "Whatever, I'll go there with you". It has both corruption and redemption vibes.

The Duke Gets Even by Joanna Shupe—One of the books I hyped to a ridiculous degree before it came out, and somehow it delivered on everything. Has a touch of kink (mostly through rough sex, biting, etc) but it's honestly so soft in many ways. Lockwood isn't a pushover or a cinnamon roll, but he does have so much heart and he falls so hard. Nellie being the resistant, rakish one delights me. It has a great world (we need more Gilded Age books). It's another one where everything isn't resolved PERFECTLY, and I love that bit of realism. Just a big sigh ROMANCE romance. "I'm keeping you, Eleanor" PLEEEEASE.

Something Spectacular by Alexis Hall—Definitely tonally an unconventional historical, but my God, I love it. It's so funny. It's one of the only nb/nb romances I've read, and I love that it's a historical. Definitely the only one that has a castrato soprano lead, and we should honestly have more because they FUCKED. Like. Read it up. Castrati FUUUUUUUUUCKED. It's really tender and it has one of my favorite climactic moments. A very unconventional ending that made me smile so hard.

What I Did for a Duke by Julie Anne Long. Just a classic, perfectly written age gap romance. This one doesn't reinvent the wheel, but it hits everything it needs to hit perfectly. Has a great mix of humor, emotion, and heat.

Seduce Me at Sunrise by Lisa Kleypas—While there are the classic Kleypas issues with depicting the Romani people and I do dock this book a little for that... Look. The romance aspects are perfect for me. I know that Kev is too angsty for some people, but I love angst and I love the childhood friend devotion and the feeling of unworthiness and Win being ridiculous horny and determined to have her own happiness. Has one of the greatest love confessions of all time. One of the best "the dam has broken and they are FUCKIN'" moments. Just GORGEOUS.

When the Duke Was Wicked by Lorraine Heath—Another one that gets me super emotional. I love the horrified realization Lovingdon has as he realizes that he's so attracted to Grace. The intense desire. The denial of his feelings soooo far into the book, even when it's painfully clear to everyone that he's madly in love with her. This book also is one of the best when it comes to dealing with the Dead Wife Question. Of course Lorraine pulls it off.

A Lady for a Duke by Alexis Hall—Another one that's so unique and great and has amazing trans representation (at least to me, as a cis person, I could be wrong). It has this AMAZINGLY romantic moment that I always find SO FUCKING SWOONY. A great mix of old school vibes and modern sensibilities.

Duke of Midnight by Elizabeth Hoyt—Truly bonkers. Maximus is my ultimate alpha hero; a dick, aggressive, super stern, super resistant to love. Artemis just isn't intimidated. There's a lot of angst in this book, and honestly? I find the fact that he is a dick and Hoyt isn't afraid of embracing that really admirable, from a writing perspective.

Between the Devil and Desire by Lorraine Heath—JACK DODGER I LOVE YOUR WORK. A perfect "rogue meets uptight lady" book (I hesitate to call Jack a rake because he pays for sex pretty much exclusively, but he's definitely roguish). There's a wonderful dynamic here, Olivia being in denial of her attraction.

A Kingdom of Dreams by Judith McNaught—A gorgeously written book! You can see the groundwork being laid for other historicals here. A fabulous setting. The way the romance becomes so vicious at points, in a frankly hilarious way. Royce dragging Jennifer to the altar like "I DON'T WANNA BE HERE ANYMORE THAN YOU DO" is amazing.

Devil in Winter by Lisa Kleypas. Classic, everyone loves this book (well... not everyone) but with good reason. It's so very good. The perfectly executed rake/virgin book, with iconic moments, iconic characters, iconic SPIELS. The moment when Sebastian staggers out of bed trembling after the first time they have sex lives rent-free in my brain.

Indigo by Beverly Jenkins. Just a fucking knockout of a book. Another "rake/practical virgin" book, backed by beautiful prose and impeccable historical research (nobody does it like Ms. Bev). There's so much seduction in this book. A great rooomance, but then it has a fun bonkers villain situation (I know some people don't like this... I do, I'm kind of a sucker for this type of controversial and perhaps dated villain). The ending makes me cry a lot.

Scandal's Bride by Stephanie Laurens—Kind of a new one for me, and it's here because it's so fucking bonkers. Constantly entertaining, Catriona is such a difficult heroine who... crosses the line a lot. Has a scene where Richard draws a sketch of her ass birthmark to be like "I WILL SHOW EVERYONE THIS TO PROVE THAT I HIT IT FROM THE BACK IF YOU DON'T MARRY ME". A delightfully fucking weird book and I loved every minute.

Hyacinth by S.M. LaViolette—The more I think about this book, the more I love it. One that I loved originally, and it rose in my regard over time. A scarred hero (who likes it rough). They're both switches. Hyacinth is neurodivergent and very much unconventional, and doesn't even think herself capable of love because of what society has told her she is. The climax of this book? Incredible.

Again the Magic by Lisa Kleypas. A gorgeously done book, so ambitious, has an iconically HORRID hero (in the best way), executes the rare feat of offering both an amazing primary romance and an absolutely fabulous, emotionally affecting secondary romance. It just hits so hard, dude. It's so good. It's probably Kleypas's BEST book in terms of general quality (though DoY will probably always be my favorite).

Lady Isabella's Scandalous Marriage by Jennifer Ashley—A great marriage in trouble book! That's also super horny! I love so much that though there was a big breaking point in Mac and Isabella's marriage, there were very normal issues beforehand that had less to do with horrible behavior or ridiculous tragedy, but... Like... Them just not being ready for marriage? Especially him. The passion was always there, but passion and great sex isn't enough for a good marriage, and I love that in this book they do have the passion and great sex but also have to build a stronger relationship on an emotional level.

Regarding the Duke by Grace Callaway—Another delightfully bonkers romance. I love that they've been married eight years and she thinks it's enough but learns that it ISN'T. He has to open to her emotionally. There's amnesia. There's VILLAINY. I also love that the hero in this one has to. not only become a better husband, but a better father? I haven't read a lot of historicals where the hero and heroine aren't just married, but have kids.

A Shore Thing by Joanna Lowell—Ummmm I read this very recently but it's been sticking in my heart? It's more lighthearted than a lot of the romances I've loved. But i just love this story of a hero and heroine going on a bicycle race lmao. I love how funny it is, and how the villain kind of... grows? I love that the hero is a rake and trans. I love that the heroine is a widow who decides to like, have good sex for the first time ever and go with it (and suddenly there are feelings). It's just really good.

Sweetest Scoundrel by Elizabeth Hoyt—Helloooooooo emotion. This is one of the best "healing from trauma" books I've ever read. Asa Makepeace is just a perfect rake who's secretly so deep and so gentle. The way he introduces Eve to sex is fucking gorgeous. His patience, his tenderness, his love of what SHE'S okay with it.

A Rose at Midnight by Lisa Kleypas Anne Stuart—This is what I'd call a dark historical. It's true enemies to lovers. The hero is a rat bastard for most of the book. The sex... is very dubcon for much of the book. But man. I think it's so bold, the writing is so good, the story is so different from what I've read in the genre. It just hit a lot of buttons for me. And it has a great secondary romance, something Stuart excels at. Ummm also the fact that the secondary romance is fueled by the secondary heroine wanting to save the primary heroine, her best friend? LOVE THAT.

Scandalous Desires by Elizabeth Hoyt—Sorry dude, Mickey and Silence are just for Me. He's a ridiculous rake. She's a Quaker widow. There's that element of like "I'VE GOT YOU MY PRETTY". I actually love the baby in this book, and that can be a hard sell for me. (Several of these books include kids lol, but man, it's just this thing where you need to get it right.) It has one of my bad boy/good girl books.

The Earl Takes All by Lorraine Heath—Lol sorry, Gorilla Twins is a banger all the way. It's fucking insane. It's super romantic. It has one of the best "angst horizons" I've ever read. It does that Lorraine Heat Thing where you're like how THE FUCK is this gonna work. And then it does! It's just everything, for me. Edward Alcott, you beautiful idiot.

[copiouscouples]

Bridgerton - A Dissertation

Chemistry is subjective and that's why I love Bridgerton. If one couple isn't your bag, then there are others to choose from.

Personally, I've enjoyed all the seasons. I just love to see love unfold.

Season 1 was such a new animal. It was the novelty of it all. Nothing had been done like this before. You either had the adulterous, explicit, and/or violent sex scenes of Outlander or Game of Thrones or you had chaste Austen (which j'adore but still). There is no other show (even though there have been attempts) that combines the sweet romantic side of love with sexy times. And on top of that you have the costumes and the humor and the diversity.

Simon and Daphne's love story for me was so beautiful watching it simply because it was like they'd turned the historical romances I love reading so much into a tv show.

Season 2 I was so pumped for. The first 4 episodes were delicious. The looks, the stares, the verbal sparring, the passionate declarations, and almost kisses. Be still my heart. The wedding episode was a giant buzzkill. It ground all that momentum to a halt. Edwina deciding not to marry Anthony should've been a 5 minute scene max. That episode took up time when we could've seen them make progress on their relationship. After that, the plot did bounce back. Then, we got their love scene in the garden. I think the most apt description I've seen of that is that it was like a hot music video. It was fine and all, but I was wanting more. It wasn't rewatchable like the Simon and Daphne scenes.

Then Queen Charlotte came along and wowzers did I love that show on so many levels. It was gorgeously done, funny, sweet, heartbreaking, and sexy. George and Charlotte were a good couple but knowing their ending wasn't so happy definitely put an asterisk next to it.

Season 3 came along and at first I was a little indifferent about it for multiple reasons.

1) I hadn't been fully sold on Luke and Nicola's chemistry. It seemed too friend-like (which I know is the point but still). On top of that, there's their real life age gap. Luke N. is super attractive but I was envisioning someone older and more mature (because I know the books have Pen and Colin as older).

2) Friends to lovers isn't a favorite trope of mine.

3) I really wanted Eloise or Benedict's season to be next.

But oh my word, guys, I am really digging this season. Probably more so than even Queen Charlotte.

Things I Love:

Colin being the pursuer and driver of the relationship instead of Daphne in season 1 or Daphne/Edwina/circumstances in season 2. It's delicious to see Colin chasing Penelope. And yeah, she did ask him to kiss her but home skillet didn't ask him to show up at her house for a late night rendezvous. That was all him.

A less angry/bitter male lead. Colin likely has daddy issues too, but he is just more emotionally in-tune (when he allows himself to be) and doesn't take it out on others. He's sweet and lovable and a perfect cinnamon roll when he's not posing.

The Sexy times are back! That carriage scene was 10/10 - no notes. And it was sexy because of the feelings component. And we're getting more! I'm gonna pass out!

Even though I wish they'd hurry a bit and get them back to being friends, I do enjoy seeing the Eloise and Penelope friendship aftermath. I love seeing how much they care about each other despite being angry/hurt by one another.

That height difference, tho!

I feel like we can all take enjoyment from different couples and different seasons. We're all different and different tropes resonate with us. There is something to be enjoyed by all with Bridgerton.

[redheadgleek]

Finishing off the year with a bang.

The Rose Code by Kate Quinn. Friend recommendation. I loved this book. I loved the historical aspect and I loved the characters.

The Wedding People by Alison Espach. I had seen this floating around and picked it up on a whim. One, do not date your patients and two, do not date your doctor. I loved the premise - I'm digging this "middle-age reexamination of the life you thought you had, but I wish that the bride character had just been a touch more developed. 

Just Mercy by Bryan Stevenson. I mean, I've already been against the death penalty, but this certainly gave even more light to innocent people caught up in the system. Highly recommended. 

Finding Me by Viola Davis. Friend recommendation. Audiobook. I knew very little about Viola Davis before reading this book, just that she was in a TV show that I hadn't watched. Boy did she have a rough life. Her voice was awesome to listen to.

The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho. Friend recommendation. I don't think it knew what kind of story it was supposed to be - as an obvious parable, it overall works, but I can't say that it was my favorite. 

Killers of the Flower Moon by David Grann. Friend recommendation. I haven't seen the movie, so I don't know how it relates. I think the author could have used a Native editor or coauthor, as there were some stereotypical depictions, but it really was an engrossing read.

The Wood at Midwinter by Susanna Clarke. It was lovely to get a glimpse back into the Jonathan Strange world and the illustrations were lovely but I needed more - I needed a stronger tie in to the universe and it could have been longer. Still, I'm glad to see that she's still percolating on the 'verse and I hope that means eventually we might get the Raven King prequel I'm dying for.

The Carrying by Ada Limon. She was the 24th Poet Laureate and it's a well deserved award because her poetry is stunning.

The Phone Booth at the Edge of the World by Laura Imai Messina. A beautiful book exploring and living through unimaginable grief. 

The Jane Austen Society by Natalie Jenner. Audiobook. A slow blossoming book (it took until half way through before you were introduced to all of the characters). I loved all of characters, although I wish the book had focused on all of them more equally. And RIchard Armitage's voice is so sexy. 

What Walks These Halls by Amy Clarkin. Friend recommendation. A pretty solid YA debut book - there were definitely scenes that were intense. 

You Are Here: Poetry in the Natural World, compiled by Ada Limon. Overall, a really solid collection of verse - there were poems that grabbed me more than others. It also isn't a comforting book of poems - these were verses that examined climate change and neglect, as well as beauty and rebirth. 

Gideon the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir. Friend recommendation. Honestly, this may be my biggest disappointment of the year as I have been wanting to read this series for years. I couldn't keep any of the characters apart and I couldn't visualize the setting at all. About 30% in, I went searching for a summary because I was getting so frustrated (when the secondary characters have at least 4 different names and honorifics it gets pretty challenging), and even reading the spoilers didn't help. It got a little better around the 60% mark, but I was still dragging to finish it. I've been so looking forward to the second book because I heard it was in second person, but I don't know if I'm going to be able to read more.

[starlightpixels]

List 5 facts about a favourite sim of yours, and send this to simblrs whose sims you adore ʚ♡ɞ

Going to go with my pride and joy, Juan

Loves all animals, so much he volunteers at the animal shelter in his free time

Is a big gamer, he wishes he could be a big time streamer but he just doesn't want to put himself out there

Has a difficult relationship with his mom, he loves her but it's much easier to love her at a distance

Hopes to get a new apartment soon that allows dogs. he'd name it gus, short for asparagus.

has big commitment issues, when things get a bit too serious in his love life, he tends to sabotage the relationship.

I'll give some more love to my bby Rosalie ❤️

Rosalie's father died when she was a young girl. She's set to inherit a large fortune from his estate upon her marriage or when she reaches the age of 22(?? I think it was 22? I have to look at my notes again lol)

She is very fond of sweets. Her favorite flavors are strawberry and lemon desserts.

Despite being a Regency Heroine, if put in the modern day she would really dislike regency romances and Jane Austen novels. I just don't think that the historical setting would appeal to her. She'd probably love Colleen Hoover and Sarah J Maas and roll her eyes at any and all discourse surrounding those authors and their books

She is a skilled piano and harp player

Her family isn't particularly religious however if she was to go to church she'd probably attend services for the Sun God of this world- since she's a member of the nobility and the Sun God is considered the patron of the imperial family he is the one most often given consideration and worship by nobles.