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siriusleee · 1 year

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Like Blood on Iron | Part 4

Historical Executioner AU

Summary: The executioner has always been an enigma to you - drawing you in. His sword drawing a line in the dirt as he made his way to the village center, and leaving back to his cottage on the outskirts of town. However, your curiosity can't stop the future your family has planned for you.

Warnings: smut, female x male sex, blood, death, decapitation

Word Count: 5.6k

A/N: Three very important updates for you guys, please read:

My tag list has gotten way longer than I'd ever expected it to get. Honestly, I thought I'd have like 3 readers and that's it. It is taking me almost an hour to get everyone tagged, update the tag list, and go back to old posts and comment to people who Tumblr won't let me tag. Because of this I will no longer be doing a tag list. In an effort to make this easier on myself and get these posts out faster, please subscribe to my Ko-fi page OR enable notifications for when I post. Subscribing to Ko-fi costs nothing, and I do not expect you to send me any money. It's just the one page I have that I can send out quick updates.

However, I am currently super poor. For anyone that doesn't know, I am an English Literature teacher. This year I moved from middle school to high school, and buying all the supplies that I need for this new grade level is killing me. I am working at a part-time job to afford it, but if you can and want to, I'd love it if you donated. I just bought $40 worth of glue sticks; it's very expensive. You can donate through my Ko-fi. Thank you to @gazs-blue-hat and @devcica for donating to my wisdom teeth surgery - I just made the first payment; I love you guys.

I did not edit this. I literally finished and am hitting post; school starts tomorrow and the first 3 weeks are so exhausting, I will be going to bed at 4 p.m. each day. So I wanted to get this out to you. Adamantine Chains will have a new chapter posted tomorrow. If you see any egregious errors, please point them out and I will fix them. previous chapters + future preview: - one - two - three - preview

The sound of Lily's soft breath in your ear tries to lull you to sleep, tries to force your jaw to relax but you can't. For the first time since your outburst with Jonathan, Lily had crept into the bedroom the two of you used to share. She had curled into your side; her breathing wasn't even before the door cracked open again and Maggie snuck in to sandwich Lily between yourself and her.

Lily's hair tickles your shoulder as you keep your eye on the window - the warmth is fading faster each night, but when you tried to close it before you went to bed you couldn't bring yourself to do it. You needed the feeling of the cool air in the room.

"Are you going to watch?"

Maggie's voice is so quiet it seems to get carried away by the wind. The bed shifts as she turns to look at you over the crown of Lily's head peeking above the covers. You turn, fingers brushing Lily's hair out of your way. In the darkness, Maggie's eyes gleam at you.

"I don't know. He told me not to, but I think Father will make us."

Maggie breathes in sharply - once - just enough for you to know whatever she's about to say angers her.

"I think Father is making everyone go. Why did he tell you not to go?"

You want to tell her his name - as much as you know - is Ghost. To call him by his name, but you keep that information tucked close to your chest.

"I don't know; he didn't say."

The conversation hangs in the air between the two of you, floating with the dust that blows in from the windowsill. Maggie's eyes burn across to you before she rolls back away from you, her hair dark against the pillow, curling down her neck. Mirroring her you roll away, eyes focused on the silver starlight you can see out the window.

You awake to soft hands shaking you awake; through your sleep you see Mother pressing one finger to her lip. Her eyes say it all to you - it's time. You slip out of bed leaving the warmth of Lily behind as the cool morning washes over the bare skin that shows from your nightgown. Mother hands you a dress, a thick black one. The same one you knew Maggie wore two years ago when Father's mother died.

You pad out the room behind her, trying not to wake Lily up. You let the bedroom door shut softly behind you before you speak.

"I have to go?"

"Lily is staying behind with the Morris girls. Your father expects the rest of us to be there." Mother's voice is tight; she's already dressed in a black dress, simple and loose fitting. She refuses to make eye contact with you as she speaks. "I will be downstairs. You have to be dressed soon."

You dress quickly, ducking back into the room to grab your boots and underdress. Back in the hallway, Maggie crosses you, dark purple shadowing under her eyes - you expect the same exhaustion to be painted across your face.

The temperature feels twenty degrees colder downstairs; you wrap your arms around yourself. Father is absent from his place at the table. A single slice of toast sits in front of Maggie, the neatest nibble taken from one corner. You drop down across from her and neither of you speak.

A knock at the door jolts your heart - you shove away from the table before Maggie can. On the other side stands Mrs. Morris and her two daughters, still in their sleeping clothes and barely awake. Without her having to ask, you take one of the girls from her; Mrs. Morris follows you quietly to your bedroom where you tuck both girls in beside Lily. They fall asleep almost immediately.

On your way out of the room, you shut the window, pulling the latch down so that they can't see outside.

You wait at the dining table with Maggie; Mother and Mrs. Morris speak quietly in the kitchen. When the morning bell tolls, the two of them emerge out of the kitchen. You and Maggie follow behind them, pulling your cloaks off the hook by the front door when you pass by. You wish instead to have Ghost's cloak, the heavy and warm scent of him enveloping you instead of the cold wool you wrap around your shoulders.

The four of you fall in line with the rest of the village, letting the wave of bodies push you toward the town center. Each step you take is heavier, harder to take than the one before. Ghost's voice, warning you not to come, not to watch, rings in your ear with a high-pitched drone that grows louder with each moment. The square is almost full whenever you arrive; you let yourself get pushed away from your Mother and Maggie until you're situated near the far side of the square, right where Ghost will first walk in.

The crowd tries to situate themselves as the council shuffles onto the platform. Your father stands at the back, face pale and empty. Even from this distance, you can see the tremor in his hands as he walks. Behind him, shackled in heavy iron chains, Uncle Henry walks up the platform escorted by two men you've never seen before. His face is gaunt and slack, his lip torn and blood dripping onto his chin.

The abject horror of it hits you all at once and you realize why Ghost had warned you not to come. All at once you think about the executions you had sat in your bedroom trying to strain to see, all the times you watched Ghost come up the street eager to get a glimpse of him and all the families that had been in the same place as yours is now. You think of all the times Father left his boots outside after execution and wonder if blood had splashed on them. You feel sick, horrified. You want to search out the families who had been ripped apart by the executions and beg for their forgiveness.

A hush falls over the crowd like a velvet blanket pulled up too high. You strain past the ringing in your ears to try to hear the heavy sound of boots that you've gotten used to hearing in the midnight light. The sound is different now, leadened and sinister. Drawing your hood over your head you keep your eyes fixed on the point you know Ghost will emerge from.

He seems to dwarf everyone in the crowd when he arrives, sword glinting in the early morning sunlight. You're torn between trying to press closer to him and pulling away as the thought of what he's about to do courses through you. He walks slowly, regret heavy in each of his steps as he mounts the platform.

The head councilman speaks, but you can't hear him above the roar in your ears as you watch Ghost situate himself to the side of Uncle Henry. He turns his face towards the crowd and his eyes search through every person before they land on you. He shakes his head just a fraction of an inch, and you know he's telling you to look away - to walk away before he swings his sword.

But you're rooted to the spot - you can't move as the councilman stops speaking and Ghost raises his sword, his eyes still locked on yours.

There's a moment's pause when his sword reaches its apex - a moment where you hope he'll lower it down and walk away. But the sword falls heavy; you manage to clench your eyes shut at the right second, but you still hear the heavy sound of Uncle Henry's head hitting the wood, and your mother's scream.

When darkness falls, no one stops you from walking out the front door. Father had not come home - you knew he was burying Uncle Henry somewhere, and Mother had to be carried to bed by you and Maggie. Upstairs you'd heard Lily sobbing; Maggie was the only one to witness you slip out the front door.

The red that dripped off of Ghost's sword as he walked back home is long gone in the dust and daytime; even so, you imagine that you can see it trailing in front of you as you walk, tripping over stones in the dirt. There's betrayal here, you know, running away to the home of the man who executed your uncle, but you don't know anywhere else to go.

Eyes peer down at you from their windows as you pass through the village, but for once you don't care if anyone runs home to tell on you. You're not sure Mother or Father would even be able to comprehend what you were doing anyway.

Like he knew you were coming, Ghost sits on the step, hands folded neatly in front of him. He doesn't look up at you, doesn't rise until you're within touching distance. An empty glass sits at his side; without speaking, he pushes himself to a standing position, glass snagged up in his large hand. You don't wait for him to beckon you as he walks inside.

You grimace at the warmth of the whiskey as it goes down your throat. You had never liked the taste of alcohol, but when Ghost sat it down in front of you you had reached for it without hesitation. The glass is heavy in your hand.

"I told you not to come," Ghost says, lowering himself down into the seat across from you. His voice is stern, but without any judgment for you attending the execution.

"I didn't have an option." You speak so quietly, you're not sure if he hears you over the wind and the crackle of the fire.

"You always have a choice."

"No, you always have a choice. You are a man; you don't understand what it's like to have someone dictate your entire life to you. I had no choice because my father said I had to go. And soon it won't be my father telling me what to do, but Jonathan. And I'll be shackled to a life of listening and obeying."

You shove the glass you'd drained towards Ghost, shaking your head at him when Ghost moves to fill it again.

"I'm sorry your father forced you to watch."

"My father," you pull your tangled hair over your shoulder, running your fingers through it to distract you from Ghost's eye burning at you over his mask, "thought that if we didn't come, it would show some level of guilt. I should be thankful that he let Lily stay home, but-"

"But what?"

"But I saw what the execution did to my mother. My mother is not a weak woman, but she didn't want to go. She can't do blood - it makes her sick for days. My father told me once it had to do with something she saw as a child, but wouldn't tell me more. She never attends the executions. But he forced her, knowing she's going to be regulated to the bed for the rest of the week. And I-"

You can't get the thought out - that you are a horrible person for how excited you used to be for the executions. Ghost waits patiently, leaning back in his chair, the wood creaking underneath him. You study the patterns of scarring on his fingers as they splay across the table. They're clean, no blood and dirt crusted beneath them.

"I am a horrible person," you finally sob out, fingers pressing into your eyes to try to press the tears that threaten to come out, "I have spent months waiting for an execution to come around; all I wanted to do was see you - I didn't think about everyone that was losing their life. Or their families, or you."

"Or me?" Ghost's voice is rough; you pull your fingers away from your eyes to look into his; they're dark and unreadable.

"I've never thought about what you must experience - doing the bidding of the council."

"I think you'll find I know more about being forced into doing things I don't want to do than you think."

The wind increases outside, the sound of leaves and sticks hitting the sides of Ghost's cabin. You wonder if it's Uncle Henry, angry with the town and determined to tear it apart.

"How did you end up here?" The question tumbles out of your mouth, and you feel ashamed as soon as you say it. Ghost's eyes flash, his nails dig into the wood of the table. You expect him to ignore you, but he pushes his hands into the collar of his tunic, and pulls out a necklace. With a flick of his wrist, he pulls it from around his neck and flings it to you. It lands a tangled mess in front of you.

"Read it." His voice is a solid command you follow, fingers tracing the edge of the cross as you pick it up; the metal chain snakes across the grain.

"Lieutenant Simon Riley - King's Guard 141st Division - you were in the King's army?"

"I was a part of the King's Guard; we were tasked with protecting the king when he traveled or during battle. There were four of us."

"What happened to the others?"

"I'm all that remains of the 141. We were-" his voice is whiskey thick, and when he swallows, you hear the heaviness of it, "ambushed. I was not able to save them. And so my punishment for not dying with my brothers was to live out my days as an executioner."

The metal is warm against your fingers, as you trace the engraved letters of his name. Simon Riley. Thoughts swirl in your head, and he seems to read them as you reach across the table to pass the necklace back.

"In this house you can call me Simon. Outside only Ghost."

The weight of the day - of Simon's background pushes against you. The small patterings of rain begin to hit the windows as you stand, taking your glass off of the table. You leave Simon as you refill the glass, bringing an extra for him. You drink yours in one go, refilling it again before you pass Simon his.

The corners of his eyes are tight as you step beside him, the glass held out to him. His hand wraps around your wrist, warm and electric. A stone settles in the pit of your stomach as a fire spreads across your skin from where he grabs you.

"You drink much more and you won't be able to make it up the path home."

"Just put me under the table then."

The corners of his eyes relax, and then turn up just slightly as he takes the glass from you with the hand not holding your wrist. He keeps you close to his side as he uses the hand with the glass to push his mask up just over his nose; the edge of a ragged scar peaking out on his cheek. He downs the drink in one go and grabs the glass you'd intended for yourself before finally letting you go.

You'd never enjoyed the way being drunk had made you feel, but as the world outside Simon's cabin swirls around you, you feel nothing but the warmth of the whiskey in your veins. The rain falls slow and heavy, warm despite the cool wind that had taken over the village. You reach one hand out to let the droplets pool into your palm, the rest of you shielded by the small awning above you.

The door opens behind you, the dim firelight spilling onto the rain soaked ground in front of you. The shape of Simon wraps its shadow around you along with the musky smell of him. You watch his shadow as he leans against the doorframe.

"We could run away together."

You had thought about it for a few weeks now. It had started out as a ridiculous fantasy - the two of you riding out on horse in the middle of the night and disappearing into the forest together. It had started out innocently enough, just the two of you escaping with each other, but now -

"Where would we even go?"

Simon's voice is soft, rolling through the rain drops as it passes by you. The timbre of it makes your mouth dry, or maybe it's the whiskey.

"Anywhere. Across the sea. Somewhere just far enough that know one would know who we are."

Simon's shadow ripples; you watch his shadow as he reaches to his chest, to where you know the cross hangs.

"You could go," he says, "but I will always be marked."

You don't know what he means, can't remember if he's told you something or not. But you let the reckless abandon that started building at you so much earlier in the day take over you. Simon's figure backed by the firelight makes your fingers itch to reach out and tangle them in the front of his tunic.

"But would you go?" You ask, voice rising and falling. "If you could, would you go with me?"

The silence stretches thin. Simon chews on the inside of his lip; the doorway groans beneath his fingers as they dig into the wood.

"You're drunk," he finally says, the words falling from him. "And you're not happy. I should take you home." His warm hand wraps around your elbow; you jerk it back and in your drunken state stumble. You try to catch yourself, but your feet slip. Simon tries to catch you, his hands wrapping around your elbow, but your feet tangle together and the two of you fall. Simon twists, getting his body halfway underneath yours.

The two of you land hard in the mud, your forehead clipping his chin. The two of you lay awkwardly, one of your hands on Simon's chest and the other buried in the mud. You try to push yourself up, hand slipping, to peer down at Simon lying beneath you. Mud is splattered across the exposed skin around his eyes. He reaches the hand that had wrapped around your back - the only part of him that has escaped the mud- to your forehead, fingers gently wiping away the warmth that had started to form there.

"You're bleeding."

"Is it deathly?

"I think you'll live."

He pulls his hand away, covered in your blood, and the rain washes it away slowly - the red tinge traveling down his wrist and disappearing into the hem of his tunic. You feel his heartbeat quicken in his chest as you shift so that you're straddling one of his legs.

"Can I ask for a favor Simon?" You swallow heavily, trying to swallow down the nervousness and embarrassment that's threatening to explode out of you.

"Anything."

A red blush starts to creep up your chest as you speak, each word measured and bitten off carefully - worried that if you speak too fast, Simon will disappear.

"I won't lie and say I haven't kissed my fair share of boys. But I've never - I've always been too worried to - to do anything more."

You feel Simon's thigh tense between your legs, and the feeling tightens the knot inside of you.

"If I'm going to be forced to give myself to someone I don't want to, I want to keep something for myself. I-"

Simon's hands tighten painfully around your waist; you hadn't even realized he'd grabbed you or that your hands had snuck down so that they framed his face, your wet hair creating a curtain between the two of you and the rest of the world.

"There are some things you can never take back - that you may regret."

"Why would I regret you?"

Your question cracks the tension between the two of you for weeks. You collide together, the kiss frenetic, your teeth clicking against each other as Simon tangles his hands in your hair and pulling you closer to him.

He pushes the two of you up, grabbing you beneath your thighs as he rolls and stands, pulling you up effortlessly. You wrap your legs around his waist as Simon stumbles back into the cabin. Your fingers tease the edge of his mask; Simon shakes his head and you pull them away, still worried that at any second he's going to tell you to go home.

Your shoulder hits the doorway of his bedroom, but you barely feel it as Simon kicks the door shut behind you, darkness enveloping the two of you. This time when you reach for his mask, Simon doesn't stop you from sliding it off of him. His hair is warm and wet; your fingers catch on the tangles there.

Simon presses your back against the doorway as he lowers yourself to your feet. You pull away from him, unable to catch your breath as your hands slide beneath his tunic. His skin is soft and scarred; you trace your fingers across a jagged one that bisects his chest. Simon's breath hitches when you trace it to his nipple, your fingers ghosting across the sensitive skin there.

Simon lets you pull his tunic off of him, his fingers tracing the lacing on the front of your dress. He hesitates there, waiting for you to say no, to push him away.

"You've seen me naked before," you whisper, trying to loosen the tension, your fingers curling around the waistband of his pants. "No reason to be nervous now."

"It's different," Simon says, pressing a kiss to the base of your neck, tongue trailing upwards to the shell of your ear, "to think about what it would be like to touch you, and actually doing it."

His admission that he's thought about you like that - the same way you had shamefully thought of him on nights alone in your bed - sends a spear of want through you. You pull him closer, straining to reach up and kiss him again, but Simon keeps himself away.

"You can go home," he whispers in your ear, teeth nipping the sensitive flesh, "I wouldn't be angry with you. I would find no fault with you at all."

And you know he's telling the truth - if you said so at any point, he'd let you leave and wouldn't hold it against you. But you can't even entertain the idea - the instinct to wrap yourself around him, to claw at him and at yourself until the two of you are open for each other, is too much.

You reach up and place your hands over his, guiding them so that they pull at the laces of your dress, the bodice falling open. You shrug out of it, letting it pool at your feet as you kick it away. Simon's hands linger chastely at your side, fingers barely skimming your skin.

"I'm not breakable Simon."

"Of course you are," Simon sighs as you trace your fingers softly up his neck and to his cheek. His breath hitches as your fingers tease the edge of the scar you'd caught a glimpse of earlier when the two of you were drinking. You trace it, trying to map the features of his face. It ends at his hairline, a second scar bisecting it.

"It's my cross to bear." Simon's voice rumbles deep; you can feel it in your chest. "It's my mark as an executioner - the righteous hand of God."

I will always be marked, he had said earlier and you realize what he'd meant.

Simon wraps his hands around the back of your knees; he pulls you up until you're forced to wrap your legs around his waist to keep from falling. He kisses you again, clumsy - you can feel him shaking beneath the soft skin of your hands. He pulls your hair so that your neck is exposed to him; Simon trails kisses down, nipping at your collarbone.

He's hot, his skin and mouth burning you up. You try to grind yourself against him, to get some sort of friction, but Simon's hands keep you just far enough away from him to drive you crazy. His knees hit the side of the bed and buckle; he drops you gently to the bed. The dark scent of him, and the whiskey that still pulls at you makes your head swim.

Simon's hands are firm on your knees as he pushes them apart and pinning you down.

"If I start to hurt you-"

"Simon, please."

He presses your thighs down harder to the bed, stopping your squirming.

"It can hurt. If I start to hurt you, I need you to say something; I need you to promise that you will."

His fingers have inched upwards and you try to buck your hips and make the connection; Simon digs his nails into the sensitive skin of your thighs and the feeling makes you gasp - more electric than anything you've experienced before.

"I," you swallow hard, Simon's nails scratching down you lightly pulling all the air from your chest, "I promise."

You're ashamed of the moan that you let out when his mouth finds your core, your back arching off of the bed. Simon's tongue is velvet on you, lapping at your wetness with a gentleness you wouldn't have expected from his size.

You'd listened to other girls in the village talk about this - about their quick trysts with the boys in the village and how it felt to be pawed at. But this - this was like nothing you'd ever imagined it could be, and nothing like the girls described it as.

Simon's hands keep your knees apart as his tongue swirls your sensitive spot; your back arching off of the bed as you grind down onto him. His fingers trace patterns in the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. When his fingers reach your wetness, you can't help but clench your knees around him, nervousness and embarrassment filling you. You had never let any of the boys you'd kissed touch you - the thought of their fingers inside of you disgusting, but the want for Simon to stretch you out is enough to make you pull away - not sure how to react.

Simon's tongue slows as he pushes your knees back down with one arm, his mouth pulling off of you with a pop. In the absence of him you buck your hips, but he doesn't move. He presses a kiss to the inside of your knee, and when he speaks, the brush of his lips on your skin makes you shiver.

"We don't-," he swallows, heavy in the darkness, "we can stop if you want."

"No." It's a pathetic whine. You can feel his smile against your thigh, teeth nipping at your skin.

"You're going to want me to stretch you out a little."

His words pull a gasp out of you; you clench around nothing at the thought of him filling you up. Simon's hand traces your wetness gently, before he pushes in one thick finger. It burns as he pumps in and out of you; you're so tight he can barely move in and out of you. You can't tell how long it takes before the burn starts to dissipate; like he can read your body, Simon slips another finger in.

Simon works you until you're comfortable; the sounds you make are filthy. You're so wet you feel yourself dripping onto Simon's wrist. He latches onto your apex, and the feeling sends you over the edge. You come with a choked sob; you try to reach down and stop his hand, but he pushes you away and continues until you can't take it anymore.

He pulls his fingers out of you, as you beg incoherently - but you're not sure what you're begging for.

Even in the darkness, Simon's a shadow when he crawls up your body, lips skimming your hip bone, your stomach, your collarbone. A muscle twitches in your thigh; you can't catch your breath in the heat that radiates off of Simon as he dips his head down to kiss you. You dig your nails into his side, and buck your hips up, but he pushes them back down gently with one hand.

Simon pulls away just enough to speak, lips brushing against your as he does.

"If you want me to stop-"

You feel crazed - the way you claw into him, trying to pull him into yourself, the way your lips crash against his, teeth clicking together in a way that would be painful any other time. Simon snakes his hand between the two of you; you jump when it brushes past your clit. You can feel yourself dripping already - wetter than you'd thought you could get.

Simon lines himself up with your entrance, and pauses, resting his hand on your chest. His fingers stretch across the expanse of skin, calluses raising gooseflesh.

"You're shaking."

And you are; it's overwhelming - the smell of him enveloping you, the expanse of his body, hard muscle under a layer of soft downy, and being broken down by him. The thick feeling of being stretched out.

"I'm alright."

It comes out whispered and broken, but you are. You've never felt like this; never thought that you would. You wrap one hand around this wrist at your chest and beg.

"Simon please. I can't - I," you can't get the words out, can't explain that you can't take the feeling of being empty; of being without him.

Simon presses into you, just barely, but it's enough to make your back arch and your nails to scratch down his arm. He hisses at the feeling, teeth nipping at your earlobe. He moves slowly; the sharp feeling of him is enough to cause you to hyperventilate. On instinct, you press your hands to his chest; you can feel his desire to move faster in the way his muscles bunches beneath your touch.

"Do I need to stop?"

"No - it's just - you're too much."

You can feel his smile, brief and small, as he presses his face into your shoulder before he bites down. Hands finding his hair, you grip tight enough that you're sure it must hurt him, but he doesn't say anything.

You can feel every inch of him stretching you out; Simon's voice is soft in your ear as he whispers to you to relax - that you're doing so well. One of his hands trace down your side, trying to soften the gooseflesh. The other pushes your hair away from your forehead, fingers pausing at your temple.

The world pauses when he bottoms out; you can feel him in your throat - he's burning you up from the inside, his skin fire against your own. Simon's mouth his hot against your skin as he trails kissed across your neck. You know there will be marks there tomorrow - something you'll have to hide - but you don't ask him to stop; you beg him to keep going.

"I need you to relax, my love." His soft voice in your ear makes your fingers curl against the blanket bunched beneath you. "You're too tight."

You try to relax beneath him, but you can't - you can't.

"I can't."

"Just breathe love."

You focus on the movement of his chest against yours, and try to synch your breathing with his. Simon lays his hand against your throat, your pulse slowing beneath the pads of his fingers. His tongue snakes out to trace the shell of your ear, and he rocks himself against you.

You're ashamed of the sounds that escape you, you press your hand to your mouth to try to muffle yourself, but Simon pries your hand away and places it on his shoulder.

"Don't try to be quiet."

His words cut into you, and you grind yourself against him trying to match the rhythm he's setting.

Sweat and slick mix between your thighs; Simon pushes your knees towards your chest and the shift in angle tugs at something inside of you; you can feel yourself unraveling faster than you did earlier. Simon's nails dig into your skin as he moves faster. Your hands press on his chest, his stomach, trying to find some space to breathe, but his grip on your waist doesn't let you move.

Simon finds a brutal pace. You dip your fingers between the two of you until you can feel him pumping in and out of you; Simon moans at the feeling, nails piercing your skin hard enough to make you gasp.

He grabs the hand you have between the two of you and guides your fingers to your apex, forcing you to swirl your fingers around yourself.

You try to commit the feeling of him to memory: the texture of his skin, the sound of him panting in your ear, the feeling of his thumb tracing the contours of your nipple. Your second orgasm starts to break around you, and in the haze, you realize that you will never have this kind of moment with someone else.

The thought puts a knot in your throat; you pull Simon down to kiss him; he must sense your desperation as he slows down, hand wrapping around the back of your neck to pull you closer.

His body shudders once and he pulls out; you feel the heat of him spill out across your stomach. The wild thought of reaching down, and taking some onto your finger to taste possesses you, but your fingers are still clutching at Simon. You can't figure out how to loosen your grip.

Simon pants between your thighs, one hand still wrapped around your neck as he shifts so that he's laying down beside you. You shuffle, kicking the blanket down beneath you until you're able to pull it up around you.

You want to say something, anything to dissipate the air that stills around the two of you. But as Simon pulls you into his chest, anything you could think of is washed away.

Tag List:

tag list: @silverianni, @milfs4lifee, @koi-feish, @shirabeastly, @pookie90, @ghostlythot, @hearts4sky, @crystallizedtime, @the-worlds-tempest, @myconglomerateromance, @elena-ph, @chaoticgoblindev, @pipocfamily, @canadianmilkbag, @caspertheassholeghost, @2512121morningstar, @glitterypirateduck, @elli0t3r, @clairdelunelove, @captainprice4life, @generaldestinychild, @crowsjourney, @c0pernicus, @wistfullyhypomanic, @arbesa-mind, @ray-rook, @daisyfrubies, @september-22-1996

If you are on my tag list - please read my author's note!

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #my fics #ghost cod #simon riley smut #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x you #simon ghost x reader #ghost cod x reader #cod fanfic #cod x reader #ghost call of duty #call of duty fanfic #call of duty mwii

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smiggles · 9 months

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I have a genuine question, I hope I haven't made an egregious error.

What makes an artist's OC different from any other character, in your mind?

From my perspective, if people make fanfic of large despite writers not wanting that, which is common around here, that shouldn't be different from people making fanart or fanfics of another peer's work.

Unless you are talking about profiting off or stealing somebody's work, in which case I am so sorry for my Tumblr level reading comprehension.

I'm not literate or educated enough to speak on corporate owned designs however If someone says Hey dont make fan content of my characters (or dont do it without asking) And you do it anyway Youre rude. And youre mean. Drawing or writing about another artists characters against their wishes is still stealing. Many artists OCs are VERY dear to them and just because they share it online doesnt make it okay for strangers to take them no matter how flattering it may seem

#smigglesask #just?? dont?? like idk how to nicely word that #and im shocked at how many dms and asks im getting about this #it should be common sense #if someone asks you not to eat their food #and you do it anyway #youre a dick!

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bluespring864 · 10 months

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"They tell me I'm mentally strong. I'd say: not yet."

From the latest Sky Sport hour long interview with Jannik (Jannik oltre il tennis: Sinner un anno dopo)

- talks about how it always feels special to play Carlos, how he feels a different energy when playing him and how it feels different to see his name in the draw

- talks about how fortunate he feels to be a tennis player, and puts his job into perspective ("not like a doctor who can't make mistakes during an operation")

- talks about how it's probably not possible to be "happy" on court but how he strives to be cheerful/joyful

- analyses how competitiveness is something you have inside yourself and describes how it manifested itself when he was a child (he is 22, how in god's name is he so self aware?)

- gets asked about critics, e.g. people saying "he's never going to be as good as Alcaraz" and how he feels about it, says criticism is a positive thing because it shows he's at a level where people are interested in what he does, and it's usually something that will make him go "I'll show you" but that he also tries not to put too much stock in it because he knows best how hard he works ("and of course I'm a bit happier when people compliment me instead" *cute little grin*)

- when asked about it says the match point against Carlos at last year's US Open was very painful and it took a few nights to get over it and that during this year's US Open loss the cramps he had must have been a mental issue "a bit like what happened to Carlos with Nole at Roland Garros"

- playing in Italy is the most beautiful thing for him "because I feel at home"

- tennis is an individual sport but you have your team and when you practice, you practice WITH the other player, you have to in order for practice to work, so there is a certain team aspect there as well, it's only when you are on court for the match that you're truly alone

- "the best feeling for a tennis player is when you feel that it's a beautiful match and that you're part of a beautiful match"

- "respect is the most important thing in sport and I respect a player whether he's the No.1 or the No. 2000, because respect isn't based on ranking or strength"

- when asked about maturity levels and how grown up he feels he talks about leaving the dishes in the sink for three days, which is just about the sweetest most relatable thing he could have said (I don't have a dishwasher either, Jan and I still leave the dishes in the sink, don't beat yourself up about it)

There was lots and lots more in there, go watch it if you can! [And disclaimer that I don't speak a word of Italian and my Italian comprehension stems from hearing it a lot at work and speaking related languages, if I've made an egregious translation error please correct me!]

The interview is here (VPN set to Italy needed if outside of Italy)

And I also recommend watching the first interview done a year ago, also on YT (Jannik oltre il tennis: Sinner si racconta)

#jannik sinner #sinner mania #this man is taking over the (tennis) world #as he should #tennis #long post

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burnt-to-cynders · 7 months

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Okay, I’m gonna stick to the raw evidence I’ve seen, so here’s the facts that I have available to me.

I have barely ever even seen predstrogen post pictures, period, let alone seen a mistagged nsfw picture on her blog. That doesn’t mean it hasn’t happened, but I can’t find it so I can’t assume it’s there.

On the other hand, I have seen examples of several anonymous asks, sent both to her and other tumblr users about her, that would definitely constitute harassment.

A few of those asks were sent by non-anonymous users and all the one’s I have seen have been banned

I have seen the cars and hammers post.

The cars and hammers post is so hilariously not a threat I’d be laughing if the subject of the post were not taking it as an excuse to ban a trans woman for life from the platform he executives.

Several different tumblr users have pointed out that there is an ongoing harassment campaign against predstrogen, presumably referring to the asks I mentioned in 2.

@photomatt answered an ask last night about the growing sentiment among trans women on tumblr that staff is transphobic, in which he claimed that she had made multiple TOS violations, including posting unlabeled nsfw pictures, threatening people, and harassing them. He also misgendered her initially, but edited the post after several people pointed it out(although first he changed the wording to refer to “the account”)

When pressed to show these tos violations, Matt provided a screenshot of (initially url-less, later shown to be) predstrogen commenting on how she thought posting about her death wishes about Matt would get her banned, which he later added the context of the above post being the cars and hammers post.

Predstrogen’s account was banned, as well as the second account(apparently she has had to make new accounts a few times due to getting banned for similar issues, but I’ve only followed her for less than a year) she made to document most of the things that happened to her.

Specifcslly, her first account was banned after posting a completely sfw transition timeline photo, and her second account was banned right after posting a screenshot of the above mentioned reply, with more or less incredulity at the fact that the ask response referenced contacting the police and fbi.

Matt seems to be taking the backlash personally, publicly apologizing for the perceptions of transphobia on his personal blog and lamenting the initial ask reply. He has not done anything to indicate a reversal on the predstrogen decision, and insists that there are many more examples of harassment from her. He has answered several more asks and repeatedly encouraged people to “not patronize a business you think is transphobic”

SO, what can we draw from these facts? Well, one thing I can say, for sure, is that with what I currently know and what I have seen, predstrogen should not have been banned. Unless Matt has some significantly more egregious examples of threats, or examples of harrassment(people calling you transphobic isn’t harassment), or any examples of an unlabeled mature post(hell I don’t think I’ve even seen a labeled mature posts on her blog), then I think any bans applied to her accounts are in error and if staff are sitting on a big pile of nothing and not doing that, that is gonna draw their morality and ability to effectively moderate this site into even further question than it has been.

The terfs I’ve seen harassing Rita, at least when they’re stupid enough to leave their names visible, have been banned. I can’t follow the thread to see if claims about them being able to easily remake accounts and continue doing terf shit because i don’t run in terf circles enough to know who they were and what happened afterward. Assuming they aren’t back, this is a good thing, and I’ll give that point of credit where it’s due. However, it is worth noting that while Rita remains banned, this still looks like transphobia and deplatforming and threatening a trans woman(actually threatening her. With, y’know, the fbi). If I wanted to be extremely uncharitable, I could point out that banning terfs and trans women doesn’t make a space safe for trans women, and in fact makes it look like you’re only banning the terfs so you can say “well we don’t allow terfs so we can’t be transphobic!”

Conclusión: Im really disappointed with staff and with tumblr’s ceo in particular. It’s not hard to see why a lot of popular trans blogs are considering moving off platform and tons more are expressing general frustration. In particular, what has happened to predstrogen demonstrates a terrifying cycle that scares me and makes me worried for my own safety if I ever attract a large following on here. She has been targeted by terfs, apparently for years, in an open harassment campaign and has been threatened multiple times. She has referenced having stalkers. She is repeatedly suspended for community violations that are later referred to as “bugs”, but then suddenly one day she’s banned permanently for a post that doesn’t violate tos at all, and when she makes another account to call attention to this wrongful ban, she is banned again and threats about bringing in law enforcement are made by the ceo of the website. A woman that is the subject of years of harassment and credible threats to her safety is being gaslit about being the perpetrator of those very same things, and nothing is being brought to light to verify those claims.

#cynposting #predstrogen #🚗 🔨 💥

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preggydump · 2 years

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Long time lurker, first time poster. I never really post anything here, I usually just reblog but I've actually been drawing some mpreg art lately and I even typed up a thing, so I figured I'd share it!

Warning: mentions of religion (but in like a these awful people who used religion to justify their shitty view are in Hell for eternity type of way :) )

This is surely a mistake! And I am going to make whoever made this egregious error sincerely regret this outrageous mistake that they’ve made, there must be somebody around here that I can speak to get to the bottom of how this error is going to be resolved. And if they can’t help me, then I’ll find someone else who can! I’m a devout man! I’ve never sinned a day in my life! In fact I detested blasphemers and sinners, and I let them know the error of their ways! I’m not one of them! And I deserve to be treated as a man loyal to his church and family should!

“Heh yeah, that’s what they all say!” The burly demon interrupted Darien’s thoughts, his voice deep and even more unsettling than the fact that he’d seemingly read his thoughts. He’d never been inside an active volcano, but somehow he knew that’s what it reminded him of. “To be honest with you though, the ones who claim they’ve ‘never sinned a day in their life’ 99% of the time end up down here.” The demons sharp laugh of amusement brought up an image of volcanic rock crashing down of the roof of a wooden house. Another moment which Darien had never experience, but the memory sprang unbidden to his mind all the same. Shaking the false memories and the uncomfortable feeling that his thoughts could be heard in… this place… out of his head, Darien regained his composure. He would have to remain stronger than ever if he wanted his soul to remain intact while this mistake was being sorted out.

“Hmph! Then what of the 1%! Surely I belong with them, the other 99% are obviously liars and sinners.” He proclaimed as he stuck out his chin and crossed his arms in a futile attempt at establishing some sort of authoritative air. It was somewhat ruined by the fact that his feet would no longer listen to him, and followed the demon of seemingly their own accord. Not to mention, he could feel his new ear piercing jingle a bit against his cheek. It was a disgusting thing, not just because it was an unseemly ear piercing, but in the brief glimpse he’d seen of it before the demons used a device to insert it in his ear lobe, it looked like a tag of some sort, like those used for cattle or livestock. Darien tried not to shiver at the thought of what that may mean for his eternal future. Or at least his future until this mix-up was fixed, and he hoped and prayed that it would be fixed as soon as possible. The demon burst into howling laughter, which filled him with a deep primal instinctual fear that shook his resolve and memories of earth shattering and breaking that Darien, or no living thing for that matter, could have ever experienced in their lifetime.

“They were being sarcastic! Oh man, the 1%! Whew, the irony!” The demon wiped a tear of laughter away from his eye, a droplet of molten lava which flew a few feet away and sizzled where it landed. Darien’s jaw moved up and down as he tried to put on a brave face and argue, but he couldn’t think of anything to say. “And thoughts and prayers will do ya even less good down here than it did when you were up there, not that it even does anything up on Earth.”

“But I- Surely there must be a mistake…” Darien quietly said again, feeling smaller and more vulnerable than he ever had when he was a living man on Earth. The hulking demon gave him what appeared to be a sympathetic glance, which had the opposite effect of making Darien feel even worse.

“It’s not so bad once you get used it! There’s a bit of adjustment period, but that’s always how it is when something changes! Once I get you to your assigned sector there will be a team of expert demons to help you settle in-“

“Pastor Joseph?!” The demons attempt at consoling one of Hell’s newest residents was interrupted by Darien’s shout. They had just come across a gathering of demons and humans, conversing together in little groups. Darien instinctually began to sneer at the lot, obviously they deserved whatever fated torture they had been brought down here for. Much, much more than Darien himself did! But at the glimpse of a somewhat familiar face in the crowd, made Darien stop in his tracks. So shocked was he, at the sight of a long-time pastor of his church, in fact one of the best pastors they’ve ever had in his opinion, that he didn’t even notice his feet had suddenly decided to listen to him. The demon escorting him to his destination looked around confused for a moment but found who had caught Darien’s attention.

“Oh! You know Joey?”

“Joey?!” Darien asked incredulously. But sure enough, at the call of Pastor Joseph, the familiar face had barely paid the call any mind, not even to react as if to the buzzing of a bug. But at the mention of ‘Joey,’ he looked around for whoever had called, as if that was his real name, instead a taunting nickname these demons had obviously implemented as part of some undeserved torture. As his head turned, and their eyes met Dariens stomach twisted in shock. The pastor now sported a large pair of demonic horns, his eyes still a bright blue but now more serpentine in nature, and long tail ending in a spade protruded from his spine. But as Joey moved in the direction his name was called, Darien couldn’t help but gasp in horror as the most prominent change in his previous pastor’s appearance made itself visible.

Joey waddled towards them, his enormous belly swaying with his movement. So firm and round and heavy that he moved with one hand at the base of it to support it’s girth, the short jean shorts he wore doing nothing to provide any support at all. His short shorts were in fact completely unbuttoned, unzipped, and looked like they might rip apart at the seams at any moment with how they seemed to strain around his plump thighs and ass. From the front it looked like he was wearing nothing at all, except for the cropped, much too cropped, top. Even then, as Joey moved closer Darien realized even that small strip of cloth left nothing at all to the imagination. Not only was the top an extremely see-through sheer black mesh, but it in no way whatsoever hid the breasts that lightly bounced on his bloated belly as he walked, no- waddled. With the way it ended right on his swollen puffy nipples, the hem tenting out over them, that the top made them stand out even more. The bright red letters DILF embroidered on what little space the shirt had left, if it could even be called a shirt, was the only part that could be considered ‘covering’ anything.

Darien tried to step back as he recoiled in disgust and horror, but his feet had stopped listening to him again. Just when he believed the situation couldn’t be worse, that this must be some sort of horrible nightmare, for how could the holiest, most virtuous, pious man he’d ever known be down here of all places! And… and in such a state! He did not think he could feel more disgusted, more horrified, more repelled; he noticed that in Joe- no, Pastor Joseph’s ear was a tag, similar to one he’d briefly seen before it was forced through his very own earlobe. It was only a small comfort that at least they were not the same color, Joseph’s being an orangey-red, while Darien could just see the green glow of his out of the corner of his eye.

“Hey Gozomaal! It feels like it’s been forever since we’ve seen you here!” Joey-Joseph’s face lit up in a way Darien had never seen before, as he recognized the large demon whose name was apparently Gozomaal. Then he looked at Darien, an unabashedly confused look on his face. “And you, hmm I feel like I recognize from somewhere… have we met before?”

“P-pastor Joseph? I- Is that really you? It can’t be. There truly must… There truly must be something wrong here, there has to be some mistake now! Don’t you remember I was one of your parish, I followed your teachings, attended your mass every Sunday!”

“Oooooh.” A tiny spark of recognition had been ignited, but Joseph was obviously still confused. Darien tried to ignore how the priests’ hand roamed over the over-swollen dome of his belly, how a small bump appeared, the movement of whatever monstrous creature nested inside, and he rubbed circles over it as if to soothe it. “I sorta remember now, what was your name again? Derek? Erick? Mick?”

“N-no! My name is Darien! Please! You have to remember!” The human who was surely having the worst nightmare in his life, pleaded.

“Oooooh yeah! Silly me was gonna guess Dick next, but I think I was getting distracted with having this big hunk around. It’s been a while since you volunteered.” Joey winked and coyly pawed at Gozoma- no, the demon- as he swayed his hips to the side which made his chest and belly shift in a way that Darien felt obscene was too tame of a word to use to describe it. The demon gave a low chuckle of amusement.

“Nice try cutie, but I can tell you’re too close to your quota already,” Gozomaal playfully flicked Joey’s reddish-orange ear tag, who pouted in disappointment. “and nowhere near due. Besides, I’m at work, bringing this newcomer here to BB Intake.”

“Oh, you’re new!” Joey lit up in excitement again, disappointment quickly forgotten. “And we’re going to be in the same sector! Since I knew you from before, I can show you the ropes, where they hide the good snacks, which of the handlers give the best d-“

“But-but I don’t want to know the ropes! I don’t want to be here! I don’t belong here! A-and neither do you! You were a man of the faith! Where is your devotion? Where is your faith? Where is your cross?” Darien burst out in an angry desperate plea, no longer sure who he was trying to convince that he did not belong burning in the pits of Hell for all eternity. Joey blinked, his expression simultaneously blank and startled at the same time.

“My what?” His face contorted in pure confusion for only a moment, but for Darien’s hopes and fears felt like an eternity, before coming to a realization. “Oh, that old thing? I can’t remember why I decided to keep it around, I honestly forget it’s there!” Joey began to search and pat down his rounded form as if searching for some lost keys, at last spotting what he was looking for around his side and turning as if to display it. Darien felt tears of dawning horror, realization, and oddly enough, acceptance begin to pool in the corner of his eyes. He had somehow missed tucked under the mesh DILF crop top, the silver chain wrapping from behind his neck, around his right breast, one side of the chain completely disappearing where his belly pressed up against it, leading down to an old silver cross dangling over to his side.

“Sometimes it gives me a really nice, like, hot sensation though, like a burn? But in a good way, like a really good way, like in a really really really good way.” Joey winked and giggled. Though Darien hated to make himself look, sure enough there were faint red marks, roughly shaped like his cross, spotted along the side of his swollen belly and even on the underside of his… ‘boob.’

“But…But we don’t belong here…” Darien said quietly, somehow feeling more defeated and smaller than he had before they had come across Pastor Jos-Joey.

“It’s not so bad! I remember being scared too when I first got here, but everyone was so nice about helping me get settled in!” Where before he had tried to look away and ignore it happening, Darien found himself staring as Joey rubbing a soothing circle over a bump that had appeared right under his navel, his other hand still low on his ripened belly for support in holding his grotesque unholy passengers.

“Actually, the biggest change I had to get used to were the horns!” Joey cheerily proclaimed gestured to the not just one, but two sets of deep red horns growing out of his forehead, pushing back his still golden blonde hair. “The only punishment around here is that they never let you go past quota.” Joey put on an exaggerated pout and batted his eyelashes at the large demon Darien had almost forgot was standing there. He numbly nodded in shock, not sure of how else to respond.

“Alright, I think it’s time we get you to BB Intake, so you two can hang out together again soon, okay?” Gozomaal gently put a hand on Darien’s back and started to guide him the way they had been going. Above his head they winked at Joey “And I’ll try to volunteer again soon, but you know quota exceptions are out of my control. Nice shirt by the way!”

“Thanks, Trazron got it for me! And bye-bye Dari! We’ll have to hang out once you’re done with Orientation!” Joey cheerfully waved and contentedly waddled back to the group he had previously been talking to, most of whom were sporting bellies almost as rotund and full as his. There were even a few whose bellies were somehow even larger, a feat Darien had a hard time believing was possible.

Darien remained in shock until they reached their destination. Which didn’t actually take long at all, it was a much shorter distance than he might have hoped. Maybe if the rest of the journey had been a bit longer, he would have broken out of his reverie long enough to ask the demon, Gozomaal, some questions. For example, what did he mean by quota? What were those… creatures growing inside of Joey? What did they mean by ‘Intake’ and ‘Orientation?’ What were the earring tags about? What did BB stand for? In fact, no one had told him yet what his eternal punishment was going to be. Was this it? To see a devout holy man he’d looked up to and admired so debased and made up to be some slutty bimbo?

When they arrived at the building that was to be their destination, his mind begin to rapidly flip between glad and mad that he hadn’t thought to ask anything. And, as the deepest despair he’d ever felt in his existence overwhelmed all of his senses and sank deep into his bones, he read the sign painted over the door:

69TH UNHOLY ETERNAL BREEDING BITCH INTAKE and ACCLIMATION CENTER

#I have changed joey's design a bit since making this #i drew this a while ago and I have made way more art of joey and dari lol #mpreg #my art

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violetren · 1 year

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Just watched Superheroes and Huntsmen Part One and as a RWBY fan and someone who likes DC heroes in general, I had a great time.

I really loved how they used the fact that everyone knew it was a crossover to their advantage to create a kinda slow boil effect around RWBY details not being quite right. Like a lot of it isn't even subtle (Yang having her prosthetic but being in Volume 1 gear, Grimm glitching immediately, the absence of Blake and Weiss in a pre-fall setting and so on) and yet you're so caught up in the action and in Clark's frantic confusion and the fact that it's a weird ass multiversal cross over that you just sorta rationalise it.

"Of course things are unnatural and weird Clark literally just said that he wasn't supposed to be here and his presence probably fucked up reality somehow. I wonder what time and space shenanigans the JL were involved in to digitise Grimm."

But the weird keeps piling on and by the time you're watching Jaques Schnee be little more than aggrieved and dismissive of Weiss yelling at him at a party, or "volume 1" Weiss having the confidence to do so without fear of retribution you're like "Oh shit is fucked up fucked up, we aren't in Atlas as sure as Clark ain't in Kansas."

From there it's what I can only really call lowstakes Remnant/classic superhero fair. Lots of cool combat, fun, quippy super dialogue, just a touch of personal pain and struggle but hardly enough to register for someone who just finished RWBY volume 9. It was fun.

There were some tiny characterisation things with the RWBY cast that all fell easily within the scope of the fact that they were actively force-fed a false reality and so didn't really strain at suspension of disbelief.

And then there was the DC cast.

I went in expecting to leave wondering why they didn't just use one of their several canon groups of teen heroes, which seems to be a common complaint. After watching it I'm not wondering and I don't think they made some egregious error in judgement using the Justice League.

I might revise my opinion by a great deal if in the next movie the Justice League are still teenagers but honestly I'm curious as hell to see the Huntsmen interact with grown versions of the heroes who haven't had all their insecurities pulled to the forefront, and seeing the Justice League react to the fact that the Huntsmen, while clearly more experienced and steady in their proper ages, are still barely more than children.

I know Doyalist logic for choosing the Justice League probably heavily relates to cold hard cash and someone upstairs incorrectly assuming that it wouldn't be as much of a draw without the Trinity and their current league headliners, and while it's sorta disappointing it's not surprising in the least. I'm choosing to be glad the writers landed on such a cool way to work with the restrictions on rights uses that they were given.

From a Watsonian perspective the idea of forcing them all back to a time where they weren't as good as emotional regulation but keeping them stacked with their big adult emotions to be dealt with in that compromised state while in a facsimile of a world where too much negative emotion makes you bait for murderous monsters is about as solid as most super-villain plans get. It's a plan that would have been even more fucked up and fatal in enacted against teens and turning them to kidlets which circles back into a Doyalist POV in that Of Fucking Course they couldn't have team RWBY fighting alongside prepubescent superheroes. Kids looking after tots is a story for in universe, in fandom, or at least for much more strongly connected multiverses. Sure they could have picked a different plot, but at that point they knew they weren't gonna be able to use teen titans and why not use a cool idea if you have it?

In comparison to my love of RWBY I'm a much more casual comics fan and so while I recognised all the characters in play for half of them I only had broad strokes type knowledge of them learned from fandom and advertising of some of their more popular runs.

To that end the characters I got felt like they hit the broad strokes a casual fan might know and then put them through the same funhouse mirror that teams RWBY and JNR went through being forced into a fake world where nothing was familiar and yet seemed unavoidably real AND needing to readjust to being teens and all the fucked up brain chemistry that comes with that All Over Again. For RWBY and JNR the effect was a little less pronounced due to teenagedom really not being that long ago (and still a reality for Ruby), but of course it showed more obviously in the Justice League members making choices and saying shit their adult counterparts straight up just wouldn't say or do. That was flat out stated in text as the whole point of making them teens again!

I do sorta get why die hard fans of specific characters might feel that those characters weren't done justice but like, that's comics babes. Why would you expect them to do better in an outside of continuity crossover with an anime? Like it's hard enough in any medium to get good properly explored characterisation after a cast has more than like 2 people in their own world nevermind in a massive ensemble multiversal crossover.

As I said before I reserve judgement on hating teeny bopper justice league until I see what state they're in for Part 2. As a stand alone though I think they did fine but that is heavily influenced by the fact that at the end of the day I care more about RWBY than any of the dc characters they included and I was probably quite lucky in that respect.

If I were to register a complaint it would probably be the Weiss and Bruce of it all but it was actually really really easy to just step back and ignore any weak romantic subplot vibes when ultimately it was obvious they were never going to build to anything and when you paused to look at it through the lens of Two Smart Lonely Uber-Rich Kids Who Forged Themselves Into Weapons To Fight For Justice Having Empathy For One Another.

Also it gave us "scientifically minded and highly computer literate Weiss" in what was at least an official story even if it wasn't mainline canon continuity and I love that for her.

#rwby #the justice league #justice league x rwby #super heroes and huntsmen part one #chirping wren

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angry-geese · 3 years

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For Myself

Sukuna x Reader

Warnings: nsfw mention. mention of violence, blood, injury, and cannibalism. implied murder. starts off kind of dark but gets fluffier towards the end. gn!reader.

obligatory warning for my poor editing skills. if theres any egregious errors i'll get to them when i get home from work

Summary: some fluff where Sukuna comforts the reader while they're sick

Word Count: 2.4k

He's certain you would be more comfortable in his lap than on the floor. Even as he beckons you to sit, you refuse, turning your gaze away. You adjust your position to a more comfortable spot on your knees. The floor is hard and cold, but you don't have much longer to wait anyway. Sukuna has grown bored of the man standing in front of him. A peace offering, in exchange for not razing their village. A young woman, brought here against her own will. Her life to replace yours. It's nothing Sukuna wants, nor can he make use of her. She’s no sorcerer, likely no good in a fight, and too frail to be worth eating.

Worst of all, it insults you.

An insult to you, is an insult to Sukuna himself.

The man was only delaying the inevitable. Humans have a habit of doing that. They’re resilient, like cockroaches. You can squash, poison, trap, or drop a nuke on as many as you want to, but they’ll always come back.

He planned on killing him from the moment he stepped foot in the door.

And when he kills him, he makes sure to have the woman watch. She lays curled at your feet as you regard them both with cold eyes. Not a scream passes her lips. She’s either frozen with fear, or knows that moving is the worst thing she can do.

She begs for her life.

Sukuna leaves it up to you to decide.

It was an insult to you, after all. In a past life you could see yourself letting her go. There's many things in life you used to do that are no longer habits of yours. You were in her shoes years ago. Time has hardened you, made you cruel. If a past version of you could look at you now, you don't know if you’d recognize yourself. Not all change is bad. People are meant to change, and they’re going to do so.

You give her a minute to start running. After that, it's up to Sukuna with what he wants to do with her.

She takes the opportunity, thinking she has a chance to survive, and flees. The guards and servants let her. Your word is second to Sukuna’s. The only person who could overturn an order put in place by you is Sukuna himself. He usually doesn't. The resulting chaos from anything you do is good entertainment. And he has all the time in the world. Being immortal leads to a lot of boredom.

Sukuna would hunt her down before she could escape the estate.

Nobody got away from him. Not even you. Nowadays you’re much less serious about leaving but you still threaten it if he dares piss you off.

He'd never let you go. You know that. Try as you will, you're never getting free.

Not that you have anything to go back to. And you're rather comfortable here. Comfortable may be a bit of a stretch, but you're housed, fed, and protected. The basic human needs are taken care of. Sukuna cares about you in his own, twisted way. You may have first been just a plaything to keep his stomach full and his balls empty—a toy to be discarded after a day or two—but you've earned a place by his side. He wakes up next to you, he goes to sleep next to you. He's grown used to having you around. And you to him.

You're just as much his, as he is yours.

Everything about the man is selfish, and all-consuming. But when he is with you, he finds himself giving for the first time in his life.

He gets a servant to draw him a bath. He has the decency to scrub the blood off before finding you, and asking you to join him. His bloodied kimono is replaced with a clean one. It's black, the sleeves are wide enough to accommodate his four arms. Blood doesn't bother you, but he doesn't want to track it all over his house.

Something is wrong.

He doesn't remember you getting hurt, but you’re acting like you’re injured. He thinks back to this morning, how he had to drag you out of bed. How sluggish you acted.

Worry creases itself between his eyebrows.

Your mortality was something he knew of, but never gave much thought. There was no need to. The mortality of others was something he didn't care about. You weren't supposed to be kept long. You were merely a sacrifice, meant to appease Sukuna, and in turn he wouldn't raze your village. While young, and pretty, not good enough to save your people. He planned on fucking you, burning your village to the ground, then eating you. Not necessarily in that order, but that was the plan.

He's taken everything from you. Your home, your life, your family. Even as you were forced to face your fate, you never gave in, never lost your bite. You defied him and lived. You had a malicious streak in you. You were never as sweet and as innocent as the people of your village first played you up to be. Years later you still put up the same fight. It's a constant back and forth between you two.

You’d never be able to hurt him. As much as you'd scratch and bite, you'd never so much as draw blood. Harming the King of Curses was not an easy task.

His 'love' was much more material at first. As you got settled down, survived more than a week, gifts appeared. Jeweled hair pins and beautiful, expensive kimonos appeared. All made just for you. He'd never admit to being behind it. You were not complacent, but you were comfortable. You were his spoiled pet. That didn't stop you from clawing at his eyes whenever he picked you up when you didn't want to be touched. Being spoiled didn't make you nice.

None of his pets have lasted quite as long as you have. At least eight times the trees of his estate have shriveled and turned brown in winter, and the ground has hardened with frost. At least eight times they've bloomed and have had the life of spring breathed back into them, and the ground has thawed and turned muddy. You just did what you had to in order to survive. You've more than just survived. Some would say you’ve thrived. You would beg to differ. If you were the begging type.

He still views you as a pet. You’re human after all. Though sometimes it feels like you’re becoming more curse than human. Being viewed as an equal to him is impossible, but he values you. You're not something that can easily be replaced.

His hand touches your shoulder from behind. You don't flinch. You used to flinch. Then you started swinging. You're never able to hurt him. You're strong, but not that strong.

"She was far too frail to eat," you say, "I assumed you didn't want to keep her for that."

You don't eat human meat. Or try not to. Early on in your stay, before you knew better… It wasn't pork. Uraume was a wonderful cook, but not for anything you ate. Personally it's not your thing. Non-human meat is hard to come by around here, so you’ve stopped eating the stuff altogether. If you wanted it, Sukuna would make a servant get it for you, but you are content without it.

"You made the right call." He says. You always do.

He slips beside you, watching as you remove the intricate pins from your hair. You always loved your hair. Even at your darkest moment you took great care of it. It was a source of pride for you.

A wave of nausea rolls over you. Sweat beads in your hairline, rolling down your back, under the thin fabric of your—his—robe. You have little need for clothes. It doesn't get that cold here. Sukuna tears them off you anyway. Covering yourself up isn't necessary, but you do it out of modesty, and a sense of normalcy. You protest as he pulls at the fastenings of your robe, the flimsy fabric pooling at your feet. You have no plans on getting wet, you’d much rather go to bed. You’re tired, and you don't want to be bothered.

The tub is large enough to fit several of you. You guess it's fitting. The man is huge. He settles into the water behind you, pulling you to his chest. Try as you will, you’re not going to be able to struggle out of his grip. You’re too tired to put up much of a fight, though you do complain.

One of his sets of arms wraps around you, effectively trapping you in place. The other pulls a washcloth from the side of the tub, into the water with you. As much as you hate to admit it, the warm water feels nice against your sore muscles.

Sukuna is not a sentimental man. But with the way his hands trace across your skin, soft, lovingly, like he’s reading a book of braille, makes you think otherwise. He doesn't leer at the curves of your body like he normally does. His eyes scan across your body, looking for any sign of injury.

When he deems you clean enough, and your skin has turned a nice shade of pink from the hot water, he lets you go. You're the first to get out, drying yourself off. You never realized how cold the room was before.

He hauls you into his arms. You do little to protest, which worries him.

The King of Curses has no need for sleep. The bed mostly serves for asthetic purposes, though he's not opposed to fucking you across any flat surface, you seem to favor softer ones.

Much like the tub, his bed is large enough to fit several of you. You feel dwarfed by its size. The man is huge, he needs a bed to fit. You could sprawl out as wide as possible and never have any of your limbs hanging over the sides.

He follows you, silent.

He can't recall ever letting any of his pets share his bed before. Some have tried. Tried. He can't recall any of them surviving as long as you have, either. He finds himself irritated at the thought of anything bad ever happening to you.

He doesn't join you in bed.

He doesn't need sleep the same way humans do. He can, but if he were to decide not to, it would bring no harm to him. He used to never dream. It was something he did, back when he was human, but that time has long passed. But whenever he dreamed, he’d wake up next to you. Experiences like that made him realize just why humans like to sleep so much. Before he never woke up rested; he was never tired in the first place.

You shove the covers aside and crawl underneath. They smell like him. He snubs out the candle burning on the side table with his index finger and thumb. Though it's dark, there’s enough light in the room to make out his much-larger form.

You shiver, although sweat forms along your skin in a thin sheen. Sukuna knows it's not cold. He sits on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. The back of his hand presses to your forehead. You’re burning up.

You were warm before, but he thought it was because of the bath. He’s not really sure what to do. It's rare moments like these that he's forced to face your mortality. He knows you're fragile—compared to him—but he can't bear the thought of something bad happening to you.

One of his large hands moves to cup your cheek. It's just as warm as your forehead. The pad of his thumb runs across your cheekbone.

"Stay with me." You say. You stretch your arms out towards him, making grabbing motions with your hands.

You’re not one to beg. Even when faced with death, you look it straight in the eyes. Call it bravery, or lack of self preservation. He admired that about you. You ignored your mortality because it did not matter to you.

“What's the matter, pet?”

“I don't feel too good.” You say.

Though he doesn't say it, he can tell.

“I’ll get Uraume-”

“No,” your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him back towards your chest, “no. I’m okay.”

He settles down beside you in bed, on top of the covers. When he opens his arms, you go right into them. He makes sure to keep the blankets tucked around you. Sukuna runs warm naturally. You huddle close to him, trying to steal his warmth. Though your face feels abnormally warm, you shiver. His much larger body lays partially on top of yours, his head resting on your chest, ear pressed to your skin. He can hear your heartbeat. Steady, and alive. Something low in your chest rattles when you breathe.

He should get a servant to bring you water, or some tea. It occurs to him how little he knows about the mundane things humans do to make themselves feel better. Not that he ever needed to care. In all the years you’ve been by his side, he’s never seen anything like this happen. He can't decide, and instead calls for both. If you need medicine, he’ll get that too, but you don't seem to be at that point. Uraume knows more about humans than he does. He’s no doctor, but he’ll work. If he asks you, you’ll just say you’re fine.

He holds the cup up to you, beckoning you to drink. The glass is cold against your lips. Even as your hands wrap around it, he doesn't let it go. He sets the empty glass on the side table with a soft thunk.

His large hand smoothes over your head, brushing your hair out of your eyes. His nails feel nice against your scalp. Nothing about the man is soft, but when he’s left alone with you, moments like this are bound to happen. You allow yourself to be pet. The heat, combined with the weight of his body, threatens to lull you off to sleep. The ache in your joints keeps you from doing so.

When he kisses you, you taste like a curse.

#jjk x reader #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fluff

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hockey-fics · 4 years

Note

2 from the kissing prompt list and 5 from the smutty prompt list with Crosby or Tito please!

This is 2 from the kissing prompt list with Crosby. I’ll add 5 with Tito to my list!

Prompt: Kiss in the middle of a fight

A/N: never used someone else’s gif before but huge thank you to the person who made that one, I know how much effort goes into making gifs

Warnings: argument (obviously), language, and an age gap.

Four years.

Four years since your first date.

When he took you for dinner at a restaurant that was way out of your budget and your comfort zone. Because you were barely 20, a college student living in a rundown apartment with bars on the window and three locks on the front door. And he was almost 30, making more money than you could even wrap your head around, living in an apartment on the side of town you only fantasized about living in.

But as soon as you were with him that night all your worries subsided. And when you saw the drink menu, hesitating at the prices, Sidney made a casual comment to order whatever you wanted. And when you excused yourself to the bathroom towards the end of the night Sidney paid for the bill while you were gone, not even giving you the chance to have to worry about splitting it. He drove you home that night and parked his car, walking you to your door and waiting till you were securely in your apartment before leaving.

You never would have admitted it then but you fell in love with him that night.

But it wasn’t always easy. Because he was almost a full ten years older than you. You were at different points in your life. For the most part it wasn’t an issue, you were mature for your age and he was accepting of the fact that occasionally you did just want to go out and party with your friends. But there were comments, from your family, from his family, from your friends, hell, even the media seemed to have an opinion on your relationship. You saw the tweets, the Instagram comments. You tried your best to pretend you didn’t, but even though he tried to avoid it as much as he could he was in the spotlight and it was inevitable.

You moved in together three years after you got together, you settled in with him easily. And in the beginning you thought maybe the flood of happiness you felt waking up every morning in a bed that the two of you shared would fade, but it didn’t. You figured at some point cooking dinner together in your kitchen would become routine, but every time he wrapped his arms around your waist while you were preparing dinner or he would step between your legs while you sat on the counter placing his large hands on your thighs, you were just as overcome with joy as the very first time.

Your whole life you never believed in soulmates. People just found someone they clicked with and made it work. But when you met Sid all those thoughts changed. Because you never met anyone who made you feel the way he did, not a single friend or ex could compete with the overwhelming happiness and comfort that Sid brought you.

When your family was having a reunion there wasn’t any hesitation in your mind over Sidney coming. Sure, you weren’t married, he wasn’t technically a part of the family. But it really only felt like a formality at this point, that piece of paper.

So you and Sid packed a suitcase for the three nights you were going to be away, giddy with excitement at getting to introduce Sid to your entire family. He had met your close family on so many occasions, but it was the distant relatives, cousins you yourself had only met a few times, that could get to meet him now.

Of course Sid splurged, getting a suite in one of the nicest hotels in the area. You told him it wasn’t necessary, that the two of you would be busy, wouldn’t be there that often anyway. But he insisted.

The second night you two got ready for an afternoon barbecue with your entire family. Your aunt and uncle had rented space at a local country club, a large outdoor gazebo, lawn space for the younger kids to play on. It was all gearing up to be a great afternoon.

“What if I can’t remember someone’s name? Should we have a codeword or something?” Sid asks, voice hushed and panicked as you walk along beside him, hand in hand towards where your parents had told you to meet everyone.

Coming to a stop you tug him to face you. “Stop worrying. This is supposed to be fun. Everyone is going to love you.”

And perhaps you shouldn’t have been so confident, an egregious error in assuming you knew your distant family well enough to make that statement. Because by the time dinner is over and a few drinks have been poured the conversations seemed to be taking a turn you weren’t expecting.

“So, Sid,” your uncle Max says, drawing the attention of you and Sid along with the rest of the group that was sitting around one of the large outdoor tables. “How old are you again?”

Sid clears his throat and you reach over, grasping for his hand beneath the table. “Thirty-three,” he tells him with a nervous formality of being interrogated by the police.

“And Y/N, darling, correct me if I’m wrong but you’re twenty-two?” You Aunt chimes in.

“Twenty-three,” you correct, with a force smile. “Almost twenty-four,” you add quickly, immediately regretting it, cringing internally at the childish way it had come across, trying to prove yourself to be older.

“Sid, you’ve never had any kids? No ex-wives?” Max asks, prodding questions he had no right to be asking when he had barely even asked about the mundane facts of Sid’s life.

“No,” Sid replies, a defensive edge to his tone.

“Hm,” Max hums, picking up his drink and taking a rather large swig. “Didn’t want any…or?”

“I…uh,” Sid stammers, rarely at a loss for words but now unable to form a simple sentence.

“We’re thinking about it,” you suddenly chime in. You feel Sid’s eyes on you, wide and confused. It wasn’t like you two hadn’t talked about it before. In fact, you had talked about it on a number of occasions. Early on in the relationship it came up as a general question ‘do you want kids?’. As things got more serious is became more clear that when you two were picturing having kids it was together. Discussing how you wanted to raise your kids, how many you wanted. And you had been thinking about it, just hadn’t brought it up to Sid that you were starting to think maybe you were getting close to being ready.

“Oh, hunny, you’re so young and he-,” you aunt begins, trailing off as she glances over at Sid.

You can feel your emotions building, rage coursing through your veins. “Like I said, we’re thinking about it. I know it’s a big decision.” With that you shut down the conversation, pushing your chair back and watching Sid follow suit, walking with you away from the table. Neither of you say anything till you get back to the car you were renting for the weekend, needing to get away from it all for a few minutes. Hot, angry tears filling your eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

You stare up at Sid, blinking away your tears as you try to put together what he was talking about. “You’re sorry? Sorry for what? That’s my asshole family, I’m the one who needs to be apologizing to you.”

“But this wouldn’t be happening with another guy,” Sid says, holding both your hands in his. “You shouldn’t need to be standing up for me like that. They’re also your family and I can’t put you in the position of needing to be at odds with them for a relationship.”

“What are you saying?” You ask, shaking your head as you pull your hands back from his, using one to wipe away a few tears before crossing them over your chest.

“I don’t know,” Sid admits, looking around as he takes a deep breath. “Maybe we…you and I-.”

“No,” you interject, shaking your head. “If you think my family’s opinions are going to change how I feel about you, about us, then you’re a fucking idiot, Sidney. I love you…so much. I know that I want to spend the rest of my life with you because you make me happier than anyone has ever made me, I’m the best version of myself when I’m with you and I’m never going to let that go because someone thinks you’re a few years too old for me or whatever other bullshit people will criticize us about. And I really thought you felt as sure about this as I do, so-.”

Suddenly Sid is stepping closer, leaning down and pressing his lips to yours. It’s soft and tender and filled with a thousand words he hadn’t spoken out loud. Your arms fall from across your chest to around his shoulders, letting him pull you closer. “Marry me,” he whispers against your lips.

You’re silent for a second, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. “What?”

“Marry me,” he repeats. “I have the ring already, I’ve been thinking about asking you for months but it never felt like the perfect moment and this sure as hell isn’t the perfect moment either but I can’t wait any longer. Because I do feel as sure about this as you do and you need to know that now.”

You have tears in your eyes again as you stare up at Sid, only able to nod in response for a minute. “Of course I want to marry you,” you finally whisper, your arms wrapped tight around him.

#sidney crosby #nhl imagines #sidney crosby imagine #sidney crosby blurb #sidney crosby one shot #nhl blurb #nhl one shot

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canichangemyblogname · 3 years

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I've had something brewing in my head and I'd like your opinion.

I want to preface this by saying I think (among the belligerent and numerous issues with The Bad Batch) that Echo's character has been poorly handled, to put it in a gross understatement and my question isn't being asked as a defense for any of the creative decisions Disney has made. I'm asking objectively.

I have a cousin who had a lazy eye as a baby. Not to go into detail, but after an exhaustive diagnostic process, it was finally discovered when she was around 5 that she needed surgery to correct the medical problem. She had been in and out of doctor's offices, specialists, tests, scans, blood draws, etc., etc., etc for her entire life. The medical problem was successfully corrected, but she was left with a cosmetic issue: a lazy eye and heavily drooped eyelid. Her parents made it clear, as she entered adolescence that if she wanted cosmetic surgery, they would happily pay for it if that's what she wanted.

She didn't. She made the decision that "this is who I am, this is my face, there's nothing 'wrong' that needs to be 'fixed'".

Taking the lense of her childhood experiences with doctor's poking and proding and looking at Echo his having a scomp arm vs a prosthetic hand (as Anaking and Luke do), do you think it's possible (as a character/person) he could have made a similar decision as my cousin? That he'd had enough of procedures, poking, proding, and taking and felt "this is my arm, it doesn't need 'fixing'"? I know this a fictional character and I'm not trying to build a head canon around this to justify the character deaign.

I don't for a minute believe any of this was part of the creative thought process, because when know that The House of Mouse doesn't think that deep, so please don't interpret this question that way. I'm not defending TBB many errors, but trying to think in the character's head.

I could be completely painting the situation with my own observations, which is why I'd like your objective opinion. Or does it even matter with the cumulative, egregious problems with the show as a whole?

Anon-- I think this would be a really cool head canon, but I don't think Disney has actually put as much thought into it as you, I and other fans have.

I will say this:

Echo knew, the moment Rex lifted him out of that stasis chamber on Skako Minor, that things were never going to go back to the way they were. He knew this despite trying to lighten up the atmosphere.

When Rex makes a suggestion about the "good ol'times," we see the sorrow on Echo's face. That Echo is long gone and 'dead.' Eventually Rex comes to understand this and lets him go to find his own place and make his own way.

But... if I'm not mistaken, Echo had the scomp already on Skako Minor. It was a Techno Union 'addition.' I don't really think he had much choice on being given a replacement hand (like Anakin or Luke) in the first place.

I'm sure he was none to fond of being poked and prodded and altered after being held captive on Skako Minor, either. We see that he does not enjoy being put under medical or droid examination in TBB. This can factor into his decision to just keep the scomp.

(But most of this is conjecture seen as we never actually get inside Echo's head)

That doesn't mean that he doesn't then choose to keep the scomp later. We start to see him study it and poke around with using it as he gets used to it. He might come to find that it comes in handy on missions later on. Maybe he comes to find that it represents the "New Echo™️."

The Clone Wars and The Bad Batch frequently parallel Clones and Droids to highlight how human the Clones are and to reveal how, despite their humanity, they were treated no different from machines of war.

Robotics, which we don't consider biologically human, contrasts with flesh. I feel this serves to highlight his humanity and how his whole will always be metaphysically a person. He is not two separate entities: robot and human (as Tech suggested). He is one man--a person.

I said in my essay Machines or Slaves: Moral Questions Regarding the Clones in Disney’s Star Wars the following about this:

[Clones] were treated simply as genetic material sold to create weapons of war. They were owned as property by the Army of the Grand Republic, not unlike any other weapon of war. This parallel also helps drive home the idea that the Clones had no free-will. The parallel additionally makes an interesting commentary on the nature of military indoctrination and how said conditioning within the military machine impacts the human body and mind, making soldiers war machines.

I also said the following about Echo in that essay:

...despite losing much of his body to the war, Echo spends little of the Bad Batch being a machine of war. Echo represents Cut’s idea that Clones can have choices and that they can forge their own path...

Echo represents our association of choice with free will and personhood as well as the physical and psychological toll war can have on survivors.

He gets to find life outside of war and being owned by the GAR. He survives the explosion and the war and gets to forge his own path afterwards and be his own person. He gets to embrace the individuality that Clones have always striven for.

Does this mean that TBB should write off Echo's traumas and the concerns and anxieties that stem from these traumas? No. Does that mean they should continue to comment on just what "percentage" of his body they consider to be a person? Especially when he seems not to like said comments about his body? Also no. Doing those things just comes across as ableism (as does the way they disparage their brothers who have fallen under the control of the chip).

I think it would be awesome if he comes to love his body. I'd love to see a little bit of actual radical body acceptance, because all bodies and all body types are real and legitimate. It'd be cool to see a plot about how he comes to embrace and become content with his own body, "This is me and I don't need fixing." However... would Disney do this? No.

#Star Wars #The Bad Batch #Corporal Echo #Arch Trooper Echo #Echo #Echo The Bad Batch #Look at Rex looking all confident and shi in that pic #Helping save his baby brother #listening intently to whatever Echo is saying #Echo means so much to him #Their brotherhood bond brings me a bitter sweet smile

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yeonchi · 3 years

Text

The Sea Princesses Iceberg Part 2: Adventures in horny jail

Well, some real developments have happened since I posted the first part of the Sea Princesses Iceberg. Aside from posting the wallpapers, releasing the Brazilian Portuguese dub and stating my intentions to refresh my translations and reviews, two YouTubers I mentioned in the first part reciprocated my mention, namely MJZD Gaming and Liamasterink, the latter of whom made the iceberg video that inspired said post and also got me wanting to give my own take on it. Now I have no reason to delay writing the second part any longer. By the way, I’ve also seen myself being mentioned in their comment sections, so thanks for the shoutouts and acknowledgments.

Without any further ado, here is the video:

youtube

Before I go on, I want to talk a little bit about how production of the video has changed since the first part. Liam now represents himself with a picture of his channel logo on Hugo’s head and the video also adds two text-to-speech narrators (as if he wasn’t using one already) to represent Marli and Marcello. This comes after he did a similar thing in a video representing a kind of “rap battle” between Marli and Delfi (after a 7-minute prelude, no less). At least the auto-transcription is working on the second part so it’s not killing me this time.

Here is Liam’s second iceberg. He’s kind of improved a bit from the first one even though that’s not how iceberg memes are done, but the errors aren’t egregious:

As always, this is my translation:

Let’s get into it.

Tier 1

So as you can see, Liam has dropped the aspect-per-tier system from the first part, which is an improvement in and of itself. Incidentally, Liam narrates this tier to start off the video.

Fabio Yabu existing in Salacia - I mean, he’s never put a self-insert into the series like Ume Aoki did in Hidamari Sketch, but the author introduction pages at the end of the first four literacy series books and The Ballad of the Forgotten Princess does say “He likes to draw himself as an octopus with a boy on his head, but, in fact, he is an adult with a boy’s head.” Talk about literally making yourself into a crown lol.

Liam then talks about some underwater logic like how Salacians can use electronics and how Polvina’s birthday cake in The Makeover doesn’t have the candles lit given that they are underwater. I don’t have much to say on that, but this gives me an excuse to attach this video:

youtube

He also covers the school cook from The World of Salacia and Mr Chain from The Windy Letters. In regards to the latter, he mentions Mr Chain doing “unspeakable things to Tata” when he kidnapped her. This is one of the things I’m not a big fan of in this part and it contributes to the reason why this part is subtitled the way it is.

In the Spanish Wikipedia page for the series, Bia is mentioned to be 12 years old, which is obviously fake news when you look at the official sources and yet Liam found it an important topic to cover. This is why I don’t (fully) trust Wikipedia on niche things like this series. For the record, Bia is 7 years old, same age as the main girls.

Liam then poses a theory that the Drylander boy from The Boy and the Drylander baby from The Rescue are related as brothers since they have similarities in design. Involving an older version of the baby (but not necessarily having him be related to the boy) in my personal project did occur to me at one point, but I brushed it off because the baby wasn’t that important compared to the boy.

By the way, I want to go off on a tangent here to address something I’ve seen in his videos; Liam names the boy Giovanny [sic], while in my personal project, I named him Daniel Camielez. Later on, he also named “Jaune” and “Goldina” as Valeria and Alexia. Personally, I’m waiting to see what name he will give “Flourison”, but my point here is that the names for these officially unnamed characters are NOT set in stone, meaning that fans can give whatever names they want for them. The names I gave on the wiki are only there as placeholders, so if Fabio Yabu wishes to invoke the Word of God and announce their actual names and/or character descriptions, then the wiki will be updated accordingly and I’ll give a grand announcement on Facebook and Tumblr.

Liam then joins the cacophony of theories regarding the girl from The New Princess, stating that the girl may not be the Barracuda Princess, but rather a distant relative. Check out Kisekae Insights #20 for my answer to that theory.

After segueing into a segment where Marcello interjects with his dance from Ester’s Fear, Liam talks about the shark from Shark Love and calls him a “lolicon shark” due to his infatuation with Tubarina as shown in the episode. By the way, he also addressed the topic of Tubarina’s spare crown, which was a missed opportunity for us to see what her hair looked like, but whatever.

Finally, Liam poses a theory that Hugo and Tata will get married because their character descriptions state that they are the heirs of the Turtle Kingdom. Either nobody knows how royal succession works or we’re just incest baiting here. I never got that kind of vibe from seeing them, though given how Hugo never interacts with turtles, or even his twin sister, in the series, I’m inclined to believe that Tata is the older sibling and thus the heir apparent.

I know that Hugo and Tata barely have any interaction with each other throughout the series (and any shots of them together are just as rare), but I recently noticed this one shot in Lunch Power where Hugo has his arm on Tata’s head (and I can’t believe it took me a week to realise that I forgot to replace the placeholder text I had for this before publishing this post):

Tier 2

Oh boy, here we go. This tier is the main reason why this part is subtitled the way it is. Marcello and Liam take turns being the narrator in this tier and spoiler alert, everyone involved in this needs to go to horny jail, like immediately.

This tier starts off with a sequence of dialogue-laden screenshots featuring Leia with bedroom eyes. Translating this would go against everything I stand for regarding this series, so instead, I want to talk about a little observation regarding Liam’s Sea Princesses content.

At the time of writing, Liam has almost drawn every Sea Princesses character at least once and I can say that because he even drew Marcela, Jaune, Goldina, Matilda, Caramelo and the Drylander boy. However, I won’t say that he equals or surpasses Rainbow’s Network because he does more group drawings than character portraits. While Liam can be rather imaginative in his content, whether it be in regards to his shippings, costumes or OCs, there are some drawings that are a bit too suggestive or questionable to my liking, particularly given that the characters in this series are children. I would have less of an issue with it if the characters were aged up, but then the art style becomes an issue because in my opinion, you can’t just put adult parts on children and call it “aging them up”. I dunno, maybe my expectations on art are different to everyone else’s, but that’s just my opinion. Look at the top banner on Kisekae Insights #13 and you’ll see some examples of good age-up art.

After that problematic segment, we briefly switch back to Liam as he poses a theory about whether Marcello and Elektra could be dating given their interaction in The Return. Marcello cuts in and denies this, insisting that they are just friends, then it goes just as well as you expect a denial to go. I support the Marcello/Elektra ship by the way even though we never see them interact with each other after that episode.

With Elektra already covered in regards to love interests or shipping possibilities, the question of Socita remains. So Liam suggests that something else happened during Marcello’s piano lessons with Socita in The Piano Lesson given how he had four lessons in a week and the way he expresses to Tubarina how he “likes” Socita. I say he’s reading into it a bit too much to get that observation. Yet again, Marcello is never seen interacting with Socita again because we know how this series treats character focuses, interactions and development.

Marcello then gives some dirty interpretations regarding Miss Marla and the Whale Queen, which is already strange enough if it weren’t for the “Leia is horny” segment. After a segment briefly covering Isa and her fantasies (which she barely has any), footage from the start of The Party is used for a comedic scene between Marli and Marcello about pink being their favourite colour (which Marcello denies).

According to Polvina the Teacher, Angelica is theorised to have ADHD due to her inability to pay attention and I would have to agree with Marcello’s observation here. However, as I stated in my review of the animated series, Angelica’s apparent ADHD doesn’t quite fit with her character description; Elektra or any of the background characters could have easily taken her place in the episode.

Tier 3

Marli takes over as the narrator in this tier.

Marli theorises that the Starfish King is Doctor Eggman, which is too much of a stretch in itself, before theorising that Caton/Saulo/Carlos from The Crush is related to the Salmon Queen and Salmon Princess from The Doll, therefore the Salmon Princess is Caton’s little sister. This is very plausible. I’ve theorised that Caton could be the Salmon Prince given his design, but maybe he lives in the Farlands due to his duties or maybe the Salmon Palace is in the Farlands as it is never explicitly stated. As a side note, I named the Salmon Princess Saula in Soulbound Series 4 (see the link to Kisekae Insights #20).

After talking about the differences in Maurico’s name in the Brazilian Portuguese and Latin American Spanish dubs, Marli then theorises that Polvina and the Drylander boy could be dating and I obviously agree with that. I developed that relationship in my personal project after eight years of having Salacians fight Drylanders. Check out Kisekae Insights #13 for that.

Marli goes on to talk about how Agostinha appears Asian given that her character designs show her with her eyes closed; I’ve said as such in my review of the sticker albums. She does appear in the animated series with her eyes open, though any detailed and unobscured shots of her are blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moments because she’s a background character.

The next two topics are related to people who are more well-known in Latin America. Marli theorises that Marcello faking an injury in The Silence was a prediction for YouTuber Yao Cabrera faking a drug stabbing as a social experiment in 2016 (that was when the concept of social experiment videos were a meme that criticised the YouTube culture back then) and that the Drylander boy resembles singer Galante “El Emperador” (The Emperor). These couldn’t have been any more of a stretch if they tried, though I did say that The Gift predicted the RiceGum Content Cop with the ghostwriter situation, so I guess I’m one to talk here.

Tier 4

Returning as the narrator for this tier, Liam poses a question about what would have happened to Gummy if the lolicon shark got him. He then theorises that Marli and Leia could be dating given how to clung onto each other in Rumours and their interactions in The Race and The Dingleberry Mystery. This is another stretch because they have very little meaningful interaction with each other. On that note, it would have been nice to have more scenes of characters interacting with other characters and not just Polvina, Ester and Tubarina.

Liam then theorises that Hugo and Tata are related to Ester of their brown hair compared to their parents’ red hair. I haven’t said this until now, but that’s not how you make theories. A theory needs to be plausible in order for it to make sense, and this theory is barely even plausible. Speaking of which, I decided to check Tata’s character design in the books and animated series; while the back of Tata’s head is covered by the shell of her helmet-like crown in the books, she is shown to have light brown hair in the animated series as her crown doesn’t cover the back of her head. I don’t think I need to put any examples here; Tata is a regular character in the series with multiple focus episodes, so you can easily find a shot of her and compare the designs.

He then goes on to talk about Naimo’s interaction with the Drylander baby and how they somehow managed to understand each other. Either it’s the innocence coming out of the mouths of babes or the Salacian language isn’t so much different to any of the languages of Dryland.

Liam repeats a point from the first part about the prospect of a third season of Sea Princesses. Face it, it’s not going to happen, so don’t get your hopes up.

Finally, Liam talks about how Marli and Marcello are his favourite characters (what happened to Delfi lol). Honestly, I think this is only the case because of how much prominence is given to those two characters; he’d probably have a different answer if other characters were featured more. Also, is it just a coincidence or do I just find it weird that Liam’s favourite characters happen to be the biggest dick and the biggest bitch in the series (aside from Ester and Tubarina)?

So yeah, here’s my verdict for this second iceberg:

That’s it for my reaction to Liam’s second video on the Sea Princesses Iceberg. I don’t know if I’ll make another Sea Princesses post before I work on the refresh, but I look forward to seeing what the renaissance continues to offer, even if it leans a bit on the suggestive side.

#sea princesses #princesas do mar #princesas del mar #el reino de acuatica

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uma1ra · 3 years

Text

Surah Mulk Translation in English

In the name of Allah, Most Gracious, Most Merciful.

Blessed be He in Whose hands is Dominion; and He over all things hath Power;-

He Who created Death and Life, that He may try which of you is best in deed: and He is the Exalted in Might, Oft-Forgiving;-

He Who created the seven heavens one above another: No want of proportion wilt thou see in the Creation of (Allah) Most Gracious. So turn thy vision again: seest thou any flaw?

Again turn thy vision a second time: (thy) vision will come back to thee dull and discomfited, in a state worn out.

And we have, (from of old), adorned the lowest heaven with Lamps, and We have made such (Lamps) (as) missiles to drive away the Evil Ones, and have prepared for them the Penalty of the Blazing Fire.

For those who reject their Lord (and Cherisher) is the Penalty of Hell: and evil is (such), Destination.

When they are cast therein, they will hear the (terrible) drawing in of its breath even as it blazes forth,

Almost bursting with fury: Every time a Group is cast therein, its Keepers will ask, “Did no Warner come to you?”

They will say: “Yes indeed; a Warner did come to us, but we rejected him and said, ´Allah never sent down any (Message): ye are nothing but an egregious delusion!´”

They will further say: “Had we but listened or used our intelligence, we should not (now) be among the Companions of the Blazing Fire!”

They will then confess their sins: but far will be (Forgiveness) from the Companions of the Blazing Fire!

As for those who fear their Lord unseen, for them is Forgiveness and a great Reward.

And whether ye hide your word or publish it, He certainly has (full) knowledge, of the secrets of (all) hearts.

Should He not know,- He that created? and He is the One that understands the finest mysteries (and) is well-acquainted (with them).

It is He Who has made the earth manageable for you, so traverse ye through its tracts and enjoy of the Sustenance which He furnishes: but unto Him is the Resurrection.

Do ye feel secure that He Who is in heaven will not cause you to be swallowed up by the earth when it shakes (as in an earthquake)?

Or do ye feel secure that He Who is in Heaven will not send against you a violent tornado (with showers of stones), so that ye shall know how (terrible) was My warning?

But indeed men before them rejected (My warning): then how (terrible) was My rejection (of them)?

Do they not observe the birds above them, spreading their wings and folding them in? None can uphold them except (Allah) Most Gracious: Truly (Allah) Most Gracious: Truly it is He that watches over all things.

Nay, who is there that can help you, (even as) an army, besides (Allah) Most Merciful? In nothing but delusion are the Unbelievers.

Or who is there that can provide you with Sustenance if He were to withhold His provision? Nay, they obstinately persist in insolent impiety and flight (from the Truth).

Is then one who walks headlong, with his face grovelling, better guided,- or one who walks evenly on a Straight Way?

Say: “It is He Who has created you (and made you grow), and made for you the faculties of hearing, seeing, feeling and understanding: little thanks it is ye give.

Say: “It is He Who has multiplied you through the earth, and to Him shall ye be gathered together.”

They ask: When will this promise be (fulfilled)? – If ye are telling the truth.

Say: “As to the knowledge of the time, it is with Allah alone: I am (sent) only to warn plainly in public.”

At length, when they see it close at hand, grieved will be the faces of the Unbelievers, and it will be said (to them): “This is (the promise fulfilled), which ye were calling for!”

Say: “See ye?- If Allah were to destroy me, and those with me, or if He bestows His Mercy on us,- yet who can deliver the Unbelievers from a grievous Penalty?”

Say: “He is (Allah) Most Gracious: We have believed in Him, and on Him have we put our trust: So, soon will ye know which (of us) it is that is in manifest error.”

Say: See ye?- If your stream be some morning lost (in the underground earth), who then can supply you with clear-flowing water?

#islam #islamic #quran #muslim #islamicquotes #pakistan #islamic group #muslim community #muslim countries #istanbul

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blackestnight · 4 years

Text

familial nomenclature

aymeric, confronted with the memories of both the father who raised him and the father who cast him aside, faces a quandary. hanami, as always, is extremely helpful.

be warned: this is very silly.

Aymeric was well aware of the unflattering gossip that followed in Hanami’s wake, not only in the Pillars but in Ishgard at large (and, if he had to guess, their southern sister-states)—never directly in his hearing, of course, but so pervasive and persistent that they trickled into the periphery of his awareness. Heartless was, he gathered, one of the more popular adjectives that came attached to her name in such cruel contexts; plainly absurd, as she seemed to him sometimes to be overflowing with care, with a deep, ferocious love. He assumed the rumors to be the result of a phenomenon akin to blindness after staring into the sun.

(While he occasionally succumbed to indignant irritation at such slander, Hanami herself seemed to draw a sort of vindictive pleasure from it, if she commented at all. If they are too scared of me to ignore petty rumors, she’d said, eyes lit up in the evening dim of the Forgotten Knight, tucked into a corner of the bar counter, they are not worth my time. It was a particular brand of hilarious hypocrisy that reminded him sharply of Estinien, given both their tendencies to ignore insults to their own persons but rage against any slight to Aymeric himself.)

One of the other falsehoods he heard of most frequently—and, frankly, the kindest one by comparison—was that Hanami was a woman utterly without humor, dry and straightforward and with neither use nor patience for jokes or double-meanings. That one, he almost understood, even if it was as untrue as the claim that she was without a heart: rather, Hanami’s sense of humor was sly, sparing, and placed with such precision that one often didn’t notice the setup until they had walked straight into it. It evoked the sensation of failing to spot a sinkhole covered by snowfall until he had taken one step too far and found himself tumbling.

And, helpless fool that she made him, Aymeric kept falling for it.

“That,” Hanami said, with a wrinkle to her nose that pinched the skin around the scales on her brow, “is the ugliest thing I have ever seen.”

Aymeric hid his answering smile behind the rim of his teacup. The offending ornament was, in a mild word, tacky: a miniature figure of Halone, spear raised aloft and held ready to strike down Her foes, no more than a fulm tall from the tip of the lance to the sandaled feel at the base. A common enough sight in any Ishgardian house, but the true fright lay in the details: rather than a simple statuette, the figure was, inexplicably, a vase, designed to hold floral arrangements so that the blooms sprayed out from the top of Halone’s winged helm. When it stood empty, it left the impression of the helm being caved in. Perhaps a more egregious error was in the finish; it was painted a brilliant sky blue, which by itself wasn’t unusual, but the paint in question was metallic and had a tendency to shed glitter wherever it was laid to rest. All this combined with the pose—Halone’s foot raised in preparation for righteous retribution, Her face contorted in comically exaggerated holy fury—had made it his father’s least favorite nameday gift he had ever received from his since-estranged uncle.

(She looks like She is trying to take a shit, his maman had whispered in quiet horror at its unwrapping, while Aymeric had giggled at the vulgarity and his father had sighed in resignation.)

The light in the parlor caught the vase in an unflattering fashion; Aymeric wasn’t even sure why it was out—perhaps set aside in a cleaning spree and forgotten—but Hanami’s assessment was sound, and he found himself amused by the memories it brought with it.

“It was a gift to my father,” he said, reaching for the teapot to top off his cup. Then he hesitated, just for a heartbeat, his fingers brushing the porcelain of the handle as his words caught up with him. “The late Lord Borel, that is,” he added, rather more somber as he poured. “My foster father.”

He held the teapot toward Hanami in offering, who shook her head, tipping her own cup just enough to show the liquid remaining. “I knew what you meant,” she said, tilting her head as he set the pot back in its place. Her eyes took on an indulgent crinkle. “You were smiling.”

“Apologies.” He took a steadying sip of his tea, searching past the near-scalding steam for the flavor; this was a fruit blend, sweeter than his norm, and he found it needed neither sugar nor syrup. “I find it has been necessary to make the distinction, of late, to avoid confusion.”

The subject of his parentage had never been a secret, exactly, not for as long as he could remember, but neither had it been something to be openly discussed. Rumors only, and the Archbishop had never debased himself to acknowledge them: Aymeric had known, from a very young age, that he shared no blood with the man and woman who raised him, but it had taken a number of years and several schoolyard taunts before he had thought to ask them the identity of his true sire. Since the Archbishop's death, though, the veil of feigned ignorance that had shrouded his heritage had fallen away from the city: now, often, he heard mention of his father, and how very noble Aymeric was for standing against him, or how very cruel he was for seeing him killed. In the more inventively back-handed insults, he was both.

Hanami, ever-impatient, had rejected his claim to guilt at Zenith, her hiss of displeasure audible even over Hraesvelgr’s tempest. That he did not die by your hand does not matter, she had snapped, radiant and incensed as the winds tossed her hair around her like a halo. He did not die on your order, either. I am not your soldier—he was dead the moment he raised a hand against you. I do not allow men like him to live.

Now, equally sharp-tongued but far more gentle-eyed, she gave him a flat look over her own cup. “Yes,” she said, deadpan. “Very confusing to have two fathers. I do not know how you deal with it.”

Aymeric offered a deep exhale and an apologetic smile in return. She had not suffered his wallowing, as she put it, at Zenith, and it seemed she had no intention to start today.

“You,” he said, with a nod to acknowledge the rebuttal, “have different names by which you refer to your mothers. The circumstances are hardly comparable, besides.”

Hanami shrugged, lifting her cup. “So call him Thordan,” she said. “Or something else. There is no reason to call him your father if you do not want to.”

If only it were that simple, he thought. Denying a thing its name did not make it any less true; rescinding the title of father would, ultimately, change nothing, for it did not undo the fact that Thordan’s traitorous blood and the blood of his forebears stained Aymeric’s own veins, nor that the knowledge had not been enough to save him from torment at the hands of the Archbishops’ chosen sons.

Then again, Aymeric was a chosen son too. And sullying the name by which he had called Célestinaux for so long with Thordan’s association seemed an insult to his memory.

Rather than argue, he blew a gentle exhale across his own cup, sending the steam sputtering away. “If you have suggestions for an alternative,” he said, “I am all ears.”

Hanami’s hands and the rim of her cup still obscured the lower half of her face, but he watched as her brow wrinkled in thought. The perfect smooth lines of her white face paint cracked where it had set against her skin, and he fought the urge to reach across the table and smooth his thumb across her forehead, charmed as he was. “There is a word,” she said, slow with her speech in the way she only was when uncertainty made her stumble. “I heard it in Limsa Lominsa. We do not have a word like it in Doman.” She shook her head, hunched her shoulders, the curve of her hands still pressed to her mouth. “I do not know if I would use it right. You know my Eorzean is not very good.”

“I daresay it is worth a try,” he offered; the Fury knew he was hardly one to mock her for a misfired phrase, especially when it lacked an equivalent in her native tongue. Besides which, from what he could tell through the filter of her Echo, her grasp of Eorzean Common was not nearly as weak as she made it out to be.

Which, he reflected later, ought to have tipped him off.

“I think,” Hanami said, a gentle lilt of confusion to her voice, rising and falling in time with the slow flutter of her eyelashes, luminous and lovely— “You could call him ‘that motherfucker?’”

Aymeric promptly spit his tea clear across the tablecloth.

“You,” he wheezed, once he had finished coughing his airway clear, Hanami setting her own cup down to reveal her absolutely diabolical grin amidst her high-pitched, hiccupping cackle, “mean to kill me.”

Hanami’s laughter was precious, all the more so for its rarity; Aymeric thought on occasion that if she sang she might have a slight fry to her voice, and he heard it now in the gentle squeaks at the height of her amusement. “If I wanted to kill you,” she managed, fanning her face with one hand and retrieving her napkin from her lap with the other, “I have better ways. Clean your face.”

She lobbed the napkin at him, and he barely caught it, blurry as his vision still was at the edges. He muffled a final cough into it first, then wiped the stray drops from his chin while he leveled her with a half-hearted glare. “How long have you been holding onto that one, pray tell?” he asked.

Hanami shook her head again, unfolding herself from her chair to make her way around the table and take the napkin back from him to daub at the soaked tablecloth. “A while. I think it paid off.” She turned her head just enough to offer him another slanted grin, her eyes glimmering through the fringe of her hair.

“For one of us, at the very least,” he said, eyeing the trail of destruction, and inspecting his coat for collateral damage—and then snorting, in spite of himself, at the fresh memory of her over-careful enunciation of the insult.

“But you are smiling again,” she said, warm and pleased, and leaned down to press a kiss to his temple.

—

Upon recounting the story to Lucia and Hilda—at what was ostensibly a meeting regarding the city watch, but which had devolved into a light-hearted luncheon with the arrival of Handeloup and a tray of finger sandwiches—Hilda’s quip of ‘bleached arserag’ had brought a smile to his face, but on the whole Aymeric still thought that Lucia’s deadpan suggestion of ‘sperm donor’ was his favorite.

#final fantasy xiv #oc: hanami hagane #s: a minor justice #inspired by real-life events!#aymeric de borel #writing - mine

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