#tried keeping their clothing period accurate

[zemi-noelle-art]

Came across another lps popular video essay so naturally I'm back on my bullshit again.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Do you think any of the OI characters could be convinced to put on a sexy nurse outfit, while taking care of their sick partner?

I am giggling! (I really tried not to just be like YES to all of them, but I am a weak, weak person.)

oscar isaac charcters x GN!Reader • Rating: 18+ •Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | requestinfo• ko-fi • ask-travaganza masterlist •

Warnings: silliness, references to sexy times

Word Count: 465

_____________________________________

Steven: Giggles the whole time, and puts on a fantastically over the top accent to go with the new character he’s created. You have to kiss him to shut him up when he starts quoting Carry On, Doctor.

Marc: Will put on the outfit and make you take your medicine and go to sleep. “I’m taking care of you, so you feel better, why did you want something else?” Is a little shit about it until you beg him for kisses.

Jake: No sooner than the words are out of your mouth, he’s already scrambling to get changed. Nurse Lockley is here with medicine (his dick) and to take care of you (fuck your brains out if you’re up to it.) 

Nathan: Nathan ‘I’m not putting that fucking thing on’ Bateman. Getting all grumpy and muttering under his breath. The second you are out of the room though and (preferably) laying down, he’s knocking on the door in the most outrageous outfit you’ve ever seen and telling you he’s ‘been hired by Dr Bateman to take care of you’.

Anselm: You never have to even bring up the idea, because Anselm has already dressed up for you in a nurse’s outfit many times. (He has several for different occasions, but tends to prefer a custom made latex one that is skin tight and crotchless.) 

Cecil: Thinks the idea is hilarious and gets a little too into character. Tries to wear a pair of very high heels and you just about manage to convince him to take them off before he falls over and gives himself a concussion. 

Club!Blue: Doesn’t mind dressing up at all and is far too into it. (If a guard knocks on his office door, he will be answering it in full costume and with his cock out.)

Orderly!Blue: Please do not encourage this man. 

Jack: Has a disturbingly realistic outfit with blood stains that you do NOT want to ask where they came from. 

Santiago: Takes some convincing because it makes him feel a little self conscious, but he wants to try to not only cheer you up but also to get over some insecurities and he knows he’s safe with you.

Shimmer!Kane: Puts it on without a second thought, clothes are clothes, right? However he does like that it makes you happy. 

King John: Even though this is not historically time period accurate, I can’t help myself - he’s gonna fuck you in a plague doctor mask. I’m sorry.

Rydal: Will be a brat about it, because he wants you to spank him in the outfit.

Laurent: Starts going on about how he’s a ‘wet nurse’ and keeps shoving his boobs in your face.

Poe: As if this man doesn’t have 400 outfits on hand at all times.

_________________

Thank you for reading!

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[streets-in-paradise]

His Weakness - Achilles x (Fem)Reader

Troy (2004) Oneshot

Warnings: Injury, brief description of healing practice.

Summary: Achilles is taking care of you after you injured your heel and the situation iniciates a talk on the legend about his only weakness.

Note: For the medical part, i tried to make it as accurate to the period as possible through what i remember of the descriptions of medicine found in the iliad.

Tags: @zoegarfield

Racing across the landscape of the myrmidons was so much fun, but it could be dangerous for reckless racers that didn't know the grounds as well. Phtia was a rocky territory, but you were so used to run carefreely on your old homeland that you didn't entirely acknowledged the difference. The result was a fall that put end to the amusement as Achilles rushed in aid of you before Patroclus could claim the victory. He felt very bad for challenging you despite the wise advice of his cousin, but you didn't allow the sweet lad to take any guilt.

Pain aside, being carried back by your beloved hero felt very nice. He held you in his arms to ease the scare of the fall and although you tried to play tough for him, it was evident that you had trouble with your left foot and he didn't let you take one more step.

Laying on his bed for further inspection later revealed that the source of stronger pain was a badly bruised heel hurting you whenever you tried to stand up. Used to see way worse in the wounded from battle, he probably knew it was something you would recover from giving healing time to the injury. With proper rest, you would be alright in a week. However, in the meantime you would be in pain and very bored, so he wanted to be the one in charge of making you feel better.

Achilles loved you too much to stand your great discomfort without trying every measures he had available to help to go through it. Keeping you company, playing the lyre to help you relax, or telling you stories while staying in bed with you so you would fall asleep to the sound of his voice and the heat of his body.

Despite you would insist in wanting to do it yourself, he allways ended up applying the wet cloth on the wound and giving you the calming drugs to ease the painfull inflamation. The lovefull respect for your temporary fragility would have shocked anyone among the people who didn't know him for real. Those who used to see him as a fighter beast wouldn't believe their eyes regarding his caregiver performance. His hands knew how to inflict and calm pain giving death or caresses with the same amount of skill.

After finishing the task, he was carefully drying your skin when an ironically cute thought occured to you that you simply couldn't keep to yourself.

" Can you believe that, from all the chances for damage, I had to hurt my heel? " You commented to him. " Now we share a weakness, no one can deny we are meant to be. "

Achilles chuckled and your glances briefly meet.

" Where did you got that from? Didn't you hear they call me the swift-footed? You are mine, but we aren't bonded by the heel. "

" There is a local legend that the myrmidons whisper to each other, a secret they believe to be protecting. " You recalled in a mysterious tone. " Eudorus told me about it, they say that when you were a baby your mother inmersed you in the waters of the river Styx and that made your skin invulnerable to the wounds of bronze. Given that she was supposedly holding you by the heel, this is the only spot of your body that remains mortal and your preference for closed footwear has fed that rumour. "

He should have guessed that it was going to be a matter of time untill you would bring that up.

" Each city you go, they have made up a different idea of what may kill me. " He answered in a mock. " I'm like the minotaur, or the hydra. The fear I inspire forces people to invent mystical ways of feeling in control of their fright. They all believe they have found my weak spot, but nobody trully knows of my true human weakness. "

" Can you please stop comparing yourself to monsters?" You interrupted him. " You frightening, beautifull man. In your hands I feel blessed even in sickness. "

Still delicately holding your exposed leg, he placed a soft kiss in the front of your ankle.

" I'm so weak for you … Can't you tell? " He purred, teasing you. " The messengers of Agamemnon could come ríght now asking me to follow them to war, and I wouldn't leave your side not even if I would be told to be paid with lands and a share of the treasure as big as his. No fighting untill you would be back on your feet, nothing can get me away from you when i know you need me. "

He made you giggle in pure enjoyment of his love.

" Very beautifull, but not compelling for the legends. " You sweetly corrected. " When people invent a hero, they wouldn't expect him to list his lady as his mythical weakness. It's not attractive in symbolic terms. "

Achilles wasn't very concerned about the observation.

" That's why they will never guess it. "

With that, he resumed his playfull kissing in a road going up over the skin of your leg. You could tell he guessed you were starting to feel better, or otherwise he wouldn't have seeked for that sort of intimacy so suddenly.

[bleedingoptimism]

The Stray

part two

Steve, blushingly furiously, asks Max to take over pancake duty so he can put on a shirt.

And Eddie is both thankful and devastated about it until Steve comes back… and he’s wearing one of Eddie’s shirts and fuck, that makes it so much worse.

He’s always had a thing for guys wearing his clothes and Steve looks so fucking pretty with an old and tattered shirt from his first tour.

Steve catches Eddie staring at him and blushes again, “Sorry, I'm wearing you aren’t I?” 

‘Uhg why would you phrase it like that? That sounds so good. Yes. Please. Wear me.’

Eddie shakes his head and smiles at their guest, “Nah, it’s fine dude, you can do me whene- Wear me! I mean- wear my clot- Stop laughing Max, you little shit! I slept like two hours, okay?”

The three of them share a laugh and then, with all of their plates full, Max starts telling Eddie how she met Steve and the circumstances that got her to invite him over.

Eddie listens and starts thinking, shit, maybe he shouldn’t trust Max to be alone for such long periods of time. He worries about her, always has. But Max has always been independent and so fucking stubborn, toeing the line between proving how responsible she was and disobedience.

He tries to keep an eye on her as much as she lets him, he trusts Max to commute to college alone, to hit the skate park at any hour of the day. She used to get into fights at high school but went to therapy for her anger issues and doesn’t do it anymore.

He trusts her with her boyfriend. Or more accurately, he trusts her boyfriend. It took Max two whole months to tell Eddie she was dating someone and another two months to finally introduce them. And not because she was worried about what Eddie might think of him, oh no. 

She was worried Eddie would think Lucas was too good for her. Too pure. That she would corrupt him. (She was right about Lucas being too pure but Eddie would never think someone could be too good for her. In his opinion, she deserved every bit of good that came her way.)

So really, befriending a street performer sounded like something right up her alley but, taking a homeless man in…

Not that he can blame her, he thinks as he watches Steve shyly biting a pancake and getting progressively redder as Max dives into an action-packed story of him beating up three men to save her.

He knows Max like the back of his hand and knows exactly where she’s going when she talks about how kind, smart, and talented her friend is so he’s not surprised when she asks, “Can he stay with us for a while?”

“No, absolutely not.”

It’s not him who answers, but Steve. He’s shaking his head and looking at Max with big eyes, “I couldn’t possibly. I can’t take advantage of your hospitality any longer, I-”

“Oh, shut up Steve, don’t play hard to get. You have nowhere else to go! Just say yes.”

Steve seems to shrink into himself and looks between Max and Eddie, who gives him a little encouraging smile.

“What are you going to do?” Max presses.

Steve blinks at them sadly and he looks so much like a kicked puppy Eddie wants to make Max back off and hold him, so he stuffs his mouth with pancakes before he says something stupid.

“...I don't know,” Steve answers after a second, and Max huffs as if she is dealing with a child.

“Do you have anyone you could call?” Eddie asks him curious.

Steve’s shoulders tense for a second before he smiles apologetically, “Not anyone I’d want to find out about my… Situation”

“That settles it then!” Max says and claps her hands loudly making Eddie jump, he really did sleep two hours and he wants to go to bed now. Maybe Steve would be up for cuddles? Okay, no. He needs to go to sleep right now before his brain gets any more dumb ideas.

“You can stay in the guest room Wayne and mom use when they come over, no biggie. And don’t worry I’m not gonna let you stay here for free! You’ll chaperone me to school and the skate park and can do the groceries and cook while you look for a proper job! If anything I’ll be taking advantage of you and not the other way around,” Max tells him in a tone that leaves no room for argument.

Steve looks between the both of them once more before sighing and nodding once, a small smile on his lips that makes his eyes shine prettily.

He blinks a couple of times, his eyes looking wetter with every blink and he clears his throat and excuses himself going to the living room where his beat-up duffle bag and guitar case are, pretending to be tying things up while clearly drying his tears.

Eddie’s heart clenches for him but he looks at Max and shakes his head at her, “You know, your mom warned me once about me getting home one day and finding you with a stray puppy but,” he lifts his hand and points in Steve’s general direction, “That’s a grown-ass man.”

Max smirks at him, “Nah,” she says, taking Eddie’s plate and hers and starting to clean up after Steve, “He’s a puppy.”

to be continued!

part 1: 🎸

part 2: you are here!

part 3: 📓

part 4: 💝

coffee?☕🥐💕

[the-s1lly-corner]

hello! it’s my first time requesting something, so please lmk if there is a problem with what i am requesting ;v; i was wondering if you could make a Laughing Jack x reader who is really into Victorian Era/classy stuff? e.g. they dress, talk, and own objects of that era. i hope this does not break your rule of no ocs- but other than that, thank you, and have a nice day/night! :)

Laughing Jack x Reader who loves the Victorian era

No need to worry! You're not breaking any rules at all!

Notes: Reader is GN... Admin knows very little about the Victorian era so a lot of this is based off of quick googling and observing themes! Whoops!

CWs: None

Laughing Jack is... old. Very old, actually. In fact he was around during the era in question!

I enjoy the idea that he still has some mannerisms from that era, it would make sense as he doesnt interact with many people all that often... it's a little jarring hearing him combine modern sayings and slang with what was common back then

He helps you with keeping things period accurate, if being.. well accurate... is important to you! From clothing to furniture, he has a sharp memory!

Looooves your fashion sense, it feels familiar..

Always offers to tie anything- laces, bows, ties, and so on! Sometimes gets carried away and makes the knot look really fancy and intricate

Bro makes the monkey knot from spongebob with your laces/j

Tries so hard to not get too rowdy, he doesnt want to accidentally break any of your belongings.. but alas, accidents do happen. Pretty apologetic and tries to make it right

Asks with genuine innocence if you want time period accurate makeup. Not just style wise, but.. ingredient wise as well

Does not understand why things like lead is bad for humans- you... might want to make sure Jack isn't using makeup containing lead or any other not good things

Not that it would mess with him, his body doesnt seem to react the same way a normal person's would but you'd like that peace of mind..

[magicxc]

Aunt Flo

Pairings: Survey Corps x Black!Reader

Word Count: 1052

Warnings: none

A/N: Because most of us have a very intimate experience with periods, it’s come to be a normal part of our lives; and in a sense something we’ve become desensitized to. The mood swings, the cramps, the pain, the heavy flows, the birth controls we take to stop it, etc. The list literally goes on. But disassociate, if you can, a life without periods and tell me really, which guy you’d be like if your partner had them.

Headcannons Masterlist

Eren - lowkey disgusted, but holds it together for your sake and gets better over time. 

Eren vocally gagged the first time he saw your stained underwear. He’s no stranger to blood but he’s found it quite tricky to wrap his head around vaginal bleeding. He’s patting you on your back with a broom in hopes that you’ll feel better because he’s just not that far on the emotional intelligence scale yet. But as time goes on, the more he gets used to the idea of it and while he’s still a bit iffy, he’s nowhere near as repulsed as he once was.

Levi - the clean freak is not having it. 

While he is an adult about the situation his efforts to ensure you, a heavy bleeder, doesn't stain anything can very easily cross over from comforting to annoying. In the beginning he’s lining your side of the bed with absorbent pads; like the ones you train your pets to pee on. But not just for sleep, you must use them for sitting as well. His hydrogen peroxide has since tripled considering he washes all the clothes for you both. But your last straw was him suggesting you wear a tampon with your pad. Levi had the physical part of things down packed. It was his sensitivity he needed training on. In time though, he becomes more considerate.

Erwin - understands that it's normal and is very neutral to it all. 

He isn’t rolling out the wagon with any treats or anything because it's human nature. It is literally another day for Erwin. To say he doesn’t care is an exaggeration and a bit unfair. He does care about your wellbeing, but he doesn't really view periods as a sickness or hindrance because, well, he is a realist and doesn’t think too much of it since, once again, it’s natural. So long as you’re not in any physical pain, he’s fucking off to work somewhere. The most you’ll get out of him is herbal tea and extra forehead kisses; a back massage if you’re lucky.

Connie - The learner; literally tell him everything there is to know.

The first time Connie saw you stain the sheets from your vag of all places, he thought you were dying. He was literally two thirds of the numbers in from dialing 911 when he woke up to such a scene. That was top three funniest reasons you ever woke up laughing, and on your period no less. Even though he’s unfamiliar about most things aunt flo, teaching him has been an absolute joy because he’s genuinely interested and keeps you cackling. You’ve taught Connie the ins and outs alongside your personal preferences for such a time. And with his piquing interest eventually the grasshopper became the master; oftentimes pre-empting your visit before you get the chance to - and accurately at that.

Jean - another neutral one who doesn’t too much care for the occasion. 

Jean carries on as usual in his daily activities. Periods don’t bother him and he understands that the only effective way he can help is gonna be followed by 18 years of child care. Therefore he lets you keep to yourself and tries his best to stay out the way to avoid making you any crankier. It isn't until he overhears Sasha and Mikasa talk about what a perfect period would look like for them does he get a light bulb moment to interfere a little. Jean still leaves you be for the most part, and he's still off doing whatever it is that he does, but he has made an effort to shower you in a few comfort items when the time comes. 

Onyankopon - the know it all. 

While you are grateful for such an intelligent man, you’ve come to dread the month for two reasons now. Ony, for whatever reason, actually knows more about the topic than you do, treating each month as a biology lesson on why the uterus sheds its lining “every 23-35 days” and the benefits behind it. That big beautiful brain of his is something that you wholeheartedly adore, but just not during aunt flo. In fact, it’s you who evades him. Eventually he comes to understand that it may not be the most appropriate time for in depth learning, but still comes prepared with a fun fact or two.

Reiner - moral support is the best he can offer you at this time. 

Reiner just about doubles over at the idea of blood shed, even if this one is quote on quote natural for you. He doesn't find it disgusting but after all the fighting he’s done, he simply cannot take it. That, coupled with the idea that it brings you pelvic pain, tender breasts, and ongoing headaches? The man is practically in agony right alongside you; bedridden and anxious. He may prove useless for the time being, but he tends to shower you with gifts and good loving afterwards to make up for his squeamish ways. 

Armin - he is the boyfriend these bitches can only dream of having. 

Armin literally tracks your period so that he can know exactly when to expect aunt flo. He’ll have movies, hot compresses, and snacks on standby. In fact he installed a shelf in the bedroom, chocked full of goodies and essentials you’re bound to need for that time of the month. You want a massage? Hot oils are on the lower left. You forgot to restock your pads, he’s got an emergency pack all the way to the bottom. Cramps are killing you? Middle right is where you’ll find a selection of pain meds to choose from depending on the level of aching you’re currently experiencing. He is the definition of prepared and is willing to wait on you hand and foot.

Floch - the complainer.

You have cramps and can't be touched? Suddenly you no longer love him. Sex is a no go for you at this time? Maybe he’ll just combust of blue balls instead. Cravings on an all time high? Well you ate his snacks too. The saying that men catch their pregnant wives' symptoms rings all the more true for Floch during your periods. He gets just as cranky, hungry, and even once complained of tender joints. Its safe to say you want to slap him most months.

[hyuwunjinie]

Blood in the Snow (pt.1)

Characters: Hyunjin x afab reader (ft other skz members)

Genre/warnings: Royalty AU, Arranged Marriage to Lovers, Romance, Smut, Angst & Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual pining, Toxic Parents, Misogyny (Period accurate)

Explicit sexual content. This work portrays elements/themes that may be triggering, proceed with caution. Minors DNI.

Word count: 1,157

Summary: You thought you were engaged for eternity, destined to live your princess' dreams in a grand castle. But the moment you close your eyes, all you can see is the blood in the snow.

—

Today the weather was absolutely wonderful, yet you were anxiously clutching the ruffles of your dress. Your mother sitting next to you had been trying her best to reassure you, to no avail, and your behavior earned you a light tap on the back of your right hand as she clicked her tongue. 

“y/n, I know you are impatient, but please, try to keep your dress in one piece, alright?”

Impatient wasn’t quite the right word. You were terrified. The carriage you were in was meant to bring you straight to the Great North to meet your betrothed, a Lord much higher in status than you were. You were already missing the golden fields of amber wheat that ruffled near your home’s stables.

You didn’t want to admit it, but you couldn’t call this place home anymore, really. Home was now wherever you were headed to, or it shall become home sooner or later, you tried to reassure yourself. You didn’t even know when you could come back, of if you’ll ever get the opportunity to. This realisation was breaking your heart, but the adrenaline rushing through your veins was keeping you from becoming too emotional. 

Your back was already hurting, and you wished you were horseriding instead of having to sit in a stupid carriage in a stupid ruffled dress. In your opinion, you looked like a porcelain doll. And this was not a compliment ; an overdone makeup with your skin way too fair and your cheeks way too pink, a dress that looked like it came straight from a six years old closet, and a painful hairstyle which took one hour to put in place. 

“Mom, I’m just stressed, okay? I am not looking forward to this anymore.” You admitted with bitterness.

“Oh Honey, don’t say this, please. You are gorgeous, there’s no way they won’t like you. give me your hands, they must be tense.”

You always admired your mother’s way to dodge a difficult subject by redirecting people’s attention on another, but this time you silently cursed the gods you were the victim of her stratagem. With a sigh, you gave your hands to your mother who dedicated herself to slowly massage them. Looking out the small window of the carriage, you contemplated the slow change of the scenery, the golden leaves of the south trees slowly giving up their spots for their green cousins. Reminiscing the past, you let yourself drift to sleep under the careful gaze of your mother.

—

“Mom, where does he live ?” You asked, your small frame holding onto her hand in front of the newest portrait in the hall. You were four or six years old, at most. 

“Way up north, sweetie.” Your mother answered, her voice calm and collected. Cold but warm, she gave you a reassuring press on your palm. 

“... Why can’t he come play here ?” You let out with a pout, puzzled at how distances worked still and scratching your brain to understand your mother’s words. 

“It’s too far. it would take him hours to reach this place.” She chuckled, mellowed by your cute face and visible dilemma. 

“That’s not fair. I want to play.” You were eyeing the portrait now. 

A youthful boy was sitting next to two adults. Their faces seemed warm and inviting, a welcoming sight for the viewer. But you learned fast enough that your focus should be on the other kid. He had short black hair, full lips and almond eyes. Dressed in expensive clothing, he sported a navy blue vest with shorts and dress shoes. 

Your mother sighed, a thoughtful gaze etched on her face. 

“Life is rarely fair, y/n.” Her sudden grave tone made you look up, and she met your gaze halfway. “See, this boy ? His name is Hwang Hyunjin. One day, you will be his wife. Like your mama and papa.” Silent tears rolled down her cheeks, contrasting with her small smile. “And you will have a happy, wonderful life with him.”

“...Mama, why are you crying ?” Confused, you could feel your own tears prickling your eyes, but you didn’t even know why you felt this way. 

Now at your level, your mother gently put back a strand of your hair behind your ear and embraced you closely. 

“... It’s nothing, sweetie. Mama is a little tired, alright ?” She sobbed in your shoulder. 

You remember it snowed, that day. 

—

“Y/n ! look !!” You were woken up in a rush by your mother who was gently rubbing your upper arm to get your attention. 

Barely processing your environment, you focused your brain on your mother who was pointing intently at the carriage window.

You followed her hand, and all you could see was white. Snow, you realised. Snow as far as you could see. It was the first time you witnessed a wintery landscape. In the south, it did snow some times, but it never stayed on ground, melting right away upon its contact. 

The light reflected so prettily upon the white mantle outside that you let out an audible gasp, mesmerized by this new sight. getting closer to the window, you could see your breath, and you shuddered, suddenly aware of the sudden drop of temperature you were experiencing. You were hurting still, but you suddenly felt glad to be inside the somewhat warm haven of the carriage. 

Reaching for the bag in front of your seat, your mother pulled up an ivory chawl that she put tightly around you. 

“I knitted this one myself, you know ?” She chuckled proudly.

“Wait, really ? I thought you hated knitting, mother.” You stared in disbelief at the skilled handiwork of the chawl and its flowery details. You slowly discerned patterns of sunflowers and lilies. You recognised the sunflowers to be you, as it was your favorite flower, and it didn’t took you long to remember lilies were Hyunjin’s favorites.

“Oh, I do, don’t get me wrong. But I wanted to surprise you. I was meant to give this to you after the wedding, but I suppose now is as good as ever, right?” She looked at you, gaze thoughtful and unreadable. You stared at each other for a second, before you finally broke the eye contact. 

“Thank you, mother. It’s a wonderful gift. I will treasure it greatly.” You stared at the mixed patterns of sunflowers and lilies. “I will use it a lot with these temperatures, I’m sure.” Reaching out for a hug, you suddenly felt as if something changed, in that instant. A realisation that, after the wedding, your parents will return to your- their home. You won’t see your mother every morning anymore, waiting for you at breakfast with eggs and toast and fresh orange juice. You won’t be able to go flower picking together anymore. You squeezed her more tightly. 

“...I will miss you, mother.”

“I will miss you too, y/n.”

In silence, you held onto these words for what seemed an eternity. 

[finnlongman]

Keep thinking about that one KJ Charles interview where she's talking about the challenges of being a historical romance novelist when you sort of believe the whole aristocracy should've been executed, and the delicate balancing act of writing historically accurate and interesting characters who don't have awful politics and values. And, crucially, she challenged the typical rich love interest idea by asking, "But where does the money come from?"

Once you think about it, you can't stop thinking about it. Every historical romance I read now, I can tell whether the author has thought about it. Sometimes they've thought about it but tried not to deal with it and hoped we wouldn't notice that the rich aristocrat probably owns a plantation. Sometimes they've actually dealt with it. And sometimes they have not considered it and It Shows.

But I also don't want historical novels where characters have modern sensibilities! I want them to feel historical... I just also want the "desirable" characters to not be, you know, involved in the slave trade or whatever, because that seriously undermines everything the book is doing to make them seem attractive. (One does not generally read this flavour of historical romance for morally grey antiheroes, and even if you did, that would be a fairly tasteless way of developing such a character, imo.)

I really enjoyed a detail in one of Cat Sebastian's books where the love interest is a Quaker, and he refuses dessert because he's boycotting sugar. It's a way of signalling to us that this character has particular values, but one that's rooted in the historical context and doesn't feel like a modern character wearing period clothing. His Quakerism also influences a few other details – his use of first names rather than titles, for example – but it's not a major plot point and he's no intense political campaigner. It's just one facet of his character, and one that made me like him more.

This sort of thing becomes a problem, too, with medieval settings and retellings and anything where you start having to deal with kings. A king of some tiny little pseudohistorical country whose major concerns revolve around not getting invaded and ensuring his people survive the winter is a very different prospect from a king intent on conquering his neighbours and expanding his glorious kingdom, of course. Still a king, though. What do you do with that, if you're someone who doesn't approve of kings?

I ran into this problem with a book I was working on a few years back, and it's one of the reasons I shelved it. I was trying to write a book about community and friendship. I was also trying to write an Arthurian retelling. And while a brotherhood of knights is a great starting point for a story about community and friendship, in order to have knights, you need to have a king for them to pledge fealty to. Problematic. My Arthur figure did not believe in hierarchy, but the story demanded that he perpetuated one anyway, because it was baked into the building blocks of story I was using to build mine. Eventually I realised I could not write that story as an Arthurian retelling without stripping it of everything recognisably Arthurian, and set it aside to be remade into something else.

I still think about this, though. I think about my Bisclavret retelling, which by necessity has a king in it. Bisclavret is a story about feudal loyalty, about oaths, about hierarchies. Take that away and you no longer have Bisclavret; it is a story that cannot exist without a king for the knight-wolf to be loyal to. Does that mean that as a story it always inherently supports a monarchist ideal, though? Or is its portrayal of kingship (a relationship that is, crucially, reciprocal) sufficiently detached from colonialist systems of monarchy to be distinct from those?

What systems and ideals form the assumptions a story is rested on? What happens once you start to question them? Can you still tell the same stories once you ask where the money comes from, or why the king is owed loyalty? Or does there come a point where you realise there are ideas woven into the very fabric of those narratives that you can't see past?

I don't have answers. I'm just thinking aloud. Thinking about having written a book with a king who isn't the bad guy, and what that means when I approve of neither kings nor hierarchies in general. Thinking about writing the past with the eyes of the present. Thinking about the unexamined assumptions in so many historical novels I've read, and how it feels as a reader not to be able to stop examining them.

(I have also read a number of contemporary romance novels where, after working my way through half an author's backlist, I've been forced to acknowledge that despite everything, the author does in fact think rich people are inherently attractive. Not sure what the solution to that one is, but it's certainly a different, if related, problem.)

[not-even-nostalgia]

Them

click for better quality why are you like this tumblr

ramble about designs and headcanons

All of them are a few years older than in canon cause I wanted to

As aforementioned I gave Mantha some bellbottoms swag because I imagine she grew up in the 70s before she died. Also just tried to make her look more zombie like while keeping the colour pallet.

Ra’s design didn’t change much I just added more detail. I used to imagine his skirt was made of denim as a neat modernisation but idk if it still works with the design now. Also I messed up his face but don’t look at it too hard. I’m not entirely sold on his design since I worry he looks like he’s in a costume compared to the rest of them. But idk maybe he’s just got a killer skin care routine.

I think it’d be funny if Casper despite wanting to be friendly actually looked more on the scary side so hence why he’s Like That. I wanted to give him period accurate clothing but it all sucks so I went back to the sweater and just gave him an undershirt with a large collar to vaguely allude to the 1800s. Also ik it doesn’t fit the movie but I hc that he froze to death hence the black frostbite-adjacent stuff.

Thatch’s canon design is acc so funny to me with his dress shirt and low rise jeans and chain so I just upped that. Dude wants to be punk so bad but he’s still got the rich kid mentality of needing his clothes to look neat and high quality. Anyway, Dummy Girl gave him the gloves. Also I had to change his hair I’m sorry even Thatch deserves better.

Dummy Girl’s design also didn’t change much but I gave her bigger platform shoes cause ya girl is short. She has the opposite problem to Casper (looks cute but would kill)

I didn’t draw it very well but Techwear Slither entered my head and wouldn’t leave me alone. So you get this. Added green to make him look more monster like. Also Slither in a skirt is necessary and iconic.

[yet-another-deanw-girl]

Chapter 4: The Order

||The Prophecy Series||

She knew for 15 years that this day would come. She knew her destiny had already been written. That her death had been foretold.

She knew she would have to stop him. She knew she would have to kill him. And she thought she was prepared for all of it. But the day she met him she realized how wrong she was…

Set in Season 10

Pairing: MoC!Dean x Female!OC

Warnings: the usual SPN, language

Episode mapping: After episode 4 of season 10 "Paper Moon"

Note: The events of this story are following season 10 of Supernatural and are taking place between October 2014 and July 2015. I tried to make sure that all the references to weapons, tech, etc. are accurate with the time period.

AN: This is my first time writing a fanfic but the story has been in my head for too long and it just needed to get out. I hope you like it.

AN: English is not my first language, I apologize for any mistakes.

"Checking biometric data…" a male voice comes from the car's speakers. "Identity confirmed. Hello, Emilia. Loading your last destination…" "Change the destination to mission location." I say to the computer. "Destination changed. 40 miles to the target, which is 64 kilometers" the computer announces. "Yeh, like I don't know that already." I mutter under my breath. "Seatbelt." I say to Sam. "What?" He is looking at the car's dashboard with astonishment. "Put the seatbelt on." I repeat and he looks at me, realizing that I already have mine in place. He puts his on and I start the car. After 10 minutes of driving in silence, Sam says. "When you said a car, I didn't imagine that. I have never seen anything like this." Well… I can not deny that the matt black Jeep Wrangler Unlimited Rubicon is kind of impressive and with all the customizations it is not something you can see every day.

Created with Microsoft Designer

"How is it that it recognizes your voice commands? And it shows everything in both miles and in kilometers." Despite everything Sam just can't hold back his curiosity. "It's a voice assistant. And I made some improvements before I came here. On top of everything else that was done to it." "What do you mean?" "Well… You don't think I have only one gun and a couple of knives, do you?" The pain is getting worse with every minute but I keep my focus on the Impala in front of me. "So… there are more weapons here? Is that why you so desperately wanted us to get it?" "No, damn it!" I'm starting to lose my temper. "I wanted you to get it, because there are things in this car that can not fall into the wrong hands. So they are protected. And if someone has the brilliant idea to try to steal that car it will protect itself. I stop for a second and when I see the look at Sam's face I know that he has no idea what I'm trying to say. I sigh and continue. "There is a self destruction mechanism… It will blow up." He is finally looking at me with understanding.

"So… What do you have?" "I suppose pretty much the same as you do in the Impala. For example…" I press several buttons on the dashboard and after a couple of seconds the console between the front seats opens, revealing a shotgun and 2 boxes with 12 rock salt buckshot each. "I'll have no problem handling a ghost." I push the buttons again and the shotgun disappears. "And what about that?" Sam looks at the bag in the back seat. "Those are my clothes." I smile.

I park the Jeep in front of the bunker. Dean is already out of his car and is coming to us. I take a breath and pull out the key from the ignition. I climb out of the vehicle without any grace and almost stumble on the ground. My legs are wobbly and the pain is making everything fuzzy. But I straighten my back and resume my stand with my hands clasped behind me. Sam grabs the bag from the backseat and emerges from the other side of the vehicle. The brothers start walking and I follow. Dean is in front of me, Sam is behind, never lowering his gun.

"So… talk!" Dean commands me and gives me two pills and a glass of water.  I take the pills and swallow them.  I'm sitting in a chair in the main area of the bunker. Sam had insisted on taking me to the devil's trap room, but Dean deemed it unnecessary, so, as a compromise, I was cuffed to the chair.

"In 1878, after significant changes in the geopolitics map of Europe, the Men of Letters desidet to drastically change too. There was the revolutionary idea to work side by side with the hunters and with the Witches' High Council. The British chapter, however, was strongly against this idea. They started a vicious campaign to stop it at any cost. There were massacres of witches and there was a real threat that the situation could escalate and restart the witch-hunts. So the British chapter of the Men of Letters was allowed to separate itself from the other parts. The leaders of the American chapter saw their opportunity and also negotiated their autonomy.  The Order was formed in Europe and Asia. The headquarters of The European Division of The Order is in Prague in a bunker just like this one. There are other smaller bunkers in other countries. The European Division is also responsible for the Middle East. The Asian Division's headquarters is situated in Japan. The British chapter of the Men of Letters isolated themselves and the Americans had their freedom too. An agreement was signed. The three separate organizations will not interfere with the work and the government of each other in fear of starting a new dark ages. However The Order and The American chapter of the Men of Letters continued to work together and exchange information, knowledge, and technologies. Until the Americans were wiped out overnight. A protocol was activated automatically and locked down all the bunkers in the States and an observation system was started so that The Order was notified if there was a threat to any of the facilities.  Over the years, members of The Order were sent to investigate different signals, but they were always insignificant events or nothing at all. There were a couple of demonic break in attempts but none of them were successful. About three weeks ago we received a signal that this bunker was attacked by demons. So I was sent here to investigate and, if needed, to neutralize the threat and secure and lock the bunker again. I never found what had triggered the alarm but I figured if you were here you had handled it." I finish my explanation. The boys exchange looks between themselves. They obviously know what has triggered the alarm. "Nice history lesson." Dean snorts. "What about the part about you killing Dean?" Sam asks. "Well... That's another history lesson." I declare and Dean rolls his eyes.  "My father's side of the family is something called 'Warriors of the Fates'. In every couple of generations, a member of my family line receives a prophecy predicting their lives and usually the task that they're given. In most cases, something that will change the course of history. I have received such a prophecy and everything it predicted had happened. The last part, the most important part, says that I will be the only one that will be able to kill some unstoppable dark monster." "And how do you know that that monster is Dean?" Sam asks. I look at Dean's arm and that's the only answer he needs. "He may never become like Cain! He may find a way to resist this mark and to control it." Sam protests but his brother doesn’t. I stay silent. How am I supposed to convince Sam that his brother will become something unspeakable? If I was in his place, I would never believe it. "Sammy, we both know that this is not true." Dean answers instead of me. "I already went down this path. And the fact that she is here just confirms the inevitable." "And I brought you back. And I'll do it again. As many times as I need to. We have no proof that you are the thing she is supposed to kill. It could be not related to us at all. We are talking about a prophecy for God's sake! A prophecy! It might not be real at all!" "Really? You believe that?" "And since when do you believe in prophecies? In destiny? In all this 'someone already decided it and we have no choice' bullshit?"

"I know it will all start when I'm bounded by 64 and four blood lines." I say softly and my words stop their argument. 

We are all silent for a long time after that.

Chapter 5: So many questions, so little answers >>

||The Prophecy Series||

[youthereader]

Near Zero part 3.

PAIRING: cillian murphy as j. robert oppenheimer x fem!reader

SUMMARY: 1.9k words. Brought on as part of the Manhattan Project, your old physics professor sees you in a new light.

RATING: E; explicit smut, barebacking, semi-public sex, vaginal fingering, age gap (10+ years), angst, infidelity, period-typical sexism

A/N: Though based on real life characters, this is J. Robert Oppenheimer as played by Cillian Murphy, a fictional character. This is not intended to be historically accurate, merely written as entertainment. Thank you to @indulgence-be-thy-name for being the best cheerleader. Not a lot of plot this time but I thought the first time smut deserved its own chapter. Enjoy! 🖤

masterlist

The shame you feel is like a nausea that soon morphs into a cold rage. So cold that it burns you, making you isolate yourself all over again, despite the mixer being a genuinely enjoyable experience.

You barely wave when you see Mary one morning two days after Dr. Oppenheimer looked straight through you. You physically recoil at the idea of speaking to her or Barb for any length of time, shaking your head as you speed down the street with your pocketbook.

Luckily, no-one speaks to you, so you have no reason to speak, either. You wear your most non-descript clothes, not wanting any attention whatsoever. To be invisible on purpose is better than trying to be seen only to be rejected like the other day. He had made you feel important, and you, the idiot that you are, believed him.

If you thought about it long enough – and you have tried not to for years – you are lonely. You’re so lonely that it makes a unique kind of grief. You don’t recall a time when you didn’t feel like this. You can’t let yourself dwell too much, or you’ll combust. And you need to keep going. You need to work, to have a purpose. You can’t go home. It doesn’t feel like there’s a home to go to anymore.

Your guts churn every time you think Oppenheimer is about to walk into the laboratory. You consider faking illness, but you’re weak enough as it is to the men in your group; to give them more ammunition would be a mistake.

The cold rage stays there, and the work cannot get rid of it. You wait for your mind to clear, but it remains the same, equations forever swimming around, along with dark thoughts you would never name aloud. You stay at your desk many hours after everyone else calls it a day, and you walk home alone at night.

For three nights, it’s the same. The fourth night, you write basic chemistry equations to solve, ones you remember from high school, the movements so practiced that you don’t pause for minutes at a time, your hand hurting from how hard you grip the chalk. Your writing becomes less legible with effort, and you regret so many things when you step back, the board full. You should start again, write more neatly, empty the ashtray. You should leave, you should take a big sleeping pill and lie down.

You hear footsteps and know who it is before you turn around, your stomach dropping, your hands balling into fists at your sides.

“I hoped it wasn’t you.”

“No-one else here but me,” you reply, gaze slipping up to Oppenheimer’s face, and you swallow. “It’s always me.”

“The light was on, I-”

“Whatever you have to say,” you interrupt, turning back to the board, picking up the eraser. “I’m sure it can wait for tomorrow when you have a larger audience.”

You begin clearing it all away, hating that he saw your equations, your sloppy hand. You put the eraser back with an audible clatter. Your carelessness leads to it falling to the floor, but you don’t pick it up. You don’t care about whatever he has to say, either. It’s all just noise.

“Okay.”

He sounds defeated, and you shoot him a glance. It’s nighttime and he’s wearing his hat, like some kind of costume. He’s a phantom, prowling around his town. Of course he walked straight past you the other day, he has so much more to do.

“Why are you here?” you ask before you lose your nerve.

Your eyes lock and your heartbeat ricochets. He takes a couple steps, but you continue:

“I mean, you’re married, right?”

You haven’t met Kitty, but everyone knows her. You can’t avoid her if you know Dr. Oppenheimer. Mentioning her might be a mistake, but all of this already feels dangerous, bordering on idiotic. He could expel you, find some way to snuff out your career, too. You’re reckless, and you never have been before, so it’s hard to know when to stop.

“Yes,” he replies. His jaw tenses. “I came here because I was out walking. Again.”

“And you happened to see the light and decided to come up?” you throw back. It comes out as a petulant sneer.

“I was looking for you. I didn’t want to stay away anymore.”

Your face flushes. A week ago, his words would have made you swoon. Now, you grit your teeth.

“So you charm me, then you ignore me. And now you expect me to believe that you’re suffering some kind of… some kind of burden because of me? That you were sparing me?”

“We work together,” he says, and his tone is completely different.

He’s speaking to you like he does the men he argues with. You’ve seen it from a distance many times before. Even if you hadn’t, you’d heard stories.

“We… we work together?” you repeat, and you half-laugh. “So if I was someone’s wife, that would be preferable?”

“Yes, it would,” he says, and he watches you scoff.

His eyes never leave you. He’s determined.

“But you can’t say away?” you say.

“No.”

He takes the few last strides to meet you and reaches for your waist, hands catching you to bring you into a swift kiss. You close your eyes on impact, gasping, and he doesn’t let go, moving you both towards the desk. Your legs hit the wood and you take hold of his face, fingers splayed on his high cheekbones, opening your mouth to him as he conquers you with his hot tongue. You moan, the sound slipping out as his thigh presses between your thighs, pinning you.

He suddenly pulls back with a smack of your lips, his eyes searching you, his hands cradling your face like yours are his.

“You’re not seeing Richard?”

Your mind reels, his breath on your lips as you pant, screwing up your face in confusion.

“Feynman?” you say, and he nods. “That’s absurd-”

“You’re not?”

“No, I’m not,” you insist. You blink. “Were you jealous?”

You remember the mixer and how Feynman had joked around with you. He spent a lot of the night near you, but he was never friendly in that sense. You didn’t know if he was spoken for, but he never treated you like a potential target.

You are half-joking but see Oppenheimer’s eyes narrow ever so slightly.

“You were jealous…”

The thought of him being possessive of you is strange, and somehow flattering. It’s entirely foreign.

“You ignored me because you thought something happened,” you muse, and it doesn’t stop feeling bizarre. “You were that upset?”

“It was cowardly of me,” he says. “And it’s silly.”

“It’s so silly,” you agree, and he kisses you again.

He groans when you suck on his tongue, renewing your courage. The desire ignites in your belly, pulling you deeper down. His touch, beginning to show a kind of desperation, makes you wet, and you moan against his lips, feeling him press into the apex of your thighs.

He pushes you down, hands shifting up to your wrists, his whole front pressing into yours, his lips breaking contact to hover above you. His eyes are addictive in how they rove you beneath him.

“Are you still upset?” you tease, and he shakes his head, for the first time smiling.

“No.”

Your voices drop to whispers, and the intimacy of that makes you weak. You jut your chin at him.

“Can you take off your hat?”

He obliges, freeing your wrist for a second, before he’s back again, staring at you. You can feel how hard he is through his trousers that press into your crotch, your heart hammering. If someone were to walk in, there’d be no explaining this away.

“Come here,” you whisper.

He kisses you again, and you wrap your thighs around his narrow waist, your tongues tangling. He groans once more, and lets you slip out of his grip to help undo his belt, his fingers deftly pulling down his fly. You reach inside his pants to feel the hard length of his cock and he give a huff of a laugh against the corner of your mouth, pushing you back down, his hands slipping down your sides and then up under the bottom of your dress.

You shiver as his fingers glide up your thighs. Stockings are hard to come by, your bare skin breaking out in goose bumps all over.

It’s been a long time since a man touched you. It’s never been like this, so electrified. Your nerve endings alight when he meets the cut of you over your underwear, finding you soaking through the cotton. He grunts, pushing aside the offending material to reach your cunt, your gasp smothered by another rushed kiss. Your hands no longer attempt to stroke him, he’s distracting and precise, filling you with two fingers, as you ride his palm.

“Fuck…”

This isn’t a dream. If it were, you’d be awake already. When you fantasize about this, he never gets this far. You climb, his lips peppering your cheek as you rock, his thumb rubbing your clit, your body tightening. His teeth graze your jaw and your back bows.

“Come, my darling,” he whispers. “Come for me…”

You explode, vision whitening as he brings you off, your hands gripping his arms to keep you steady. You ride it out, thighs shaking as he pulls back to look you in the eye.

“How was that?” he murmurs, and he’s smiling again.

He’s so beautiful when he smiles. You kiss him instead of answering, still twitching deep inside. His fingers slip away, sticky on your thighs as he widens them.

In a rush, you lift your hips to pull your underwear down, while he rearranges his own to free his cock, and then he’s there, he’s right there –

He grunts as he pushes inside you, your arms wrapping around his neck to kiss him, to pull him back down. He rocks, filling you, and you both still, sighing.

“You feel incredible,” he whispers, and you grin up at him. “Are you alright?”

“Better than alright,” you whisper back.

He moves again, almost all the way out before slamming into you, both of you groaning. The delicious drag of him makes you tremble and moan, your head falling back against the desk as he picks up speed.

“Don’t finish in me,” you whisper, and he nods, his breaths turning to pants.

He buries his face in your neck, and you hold on for dear life, taking everything, feeling as if you are floating above your body with how reckless he becomes so quickly. He pulls back at the last second, kissing you, one hand gripping your jaw.

He comes, sweat on his forehead, and you pant along with him, dazed.

For several moments, you say nothing, resting together, still lying on the desk. He peels away, offering to help you up. You pull your underwear back on, and he tidies himself. You wait for the other shoe to drop, but he takes out two cigarettes, lighting them both and inhaling them before handing you one.

“Can I walk you home, now?” he whispers.

He’s so quiet, so utterly elsewhere in that moment that you stare at the side of his face, smoking, before he finally looks at you, hopeful.

“Yes,” you whisper back, exhaling.

Let me know if you like this one! Thank you for reading. 😘❤️

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓃮 Even the Sun Influences the Tide: Chapter Eight

Even the Sun Influences the Tide: After the death of your foster brother, King T’Challa, you had spent much of your year of mourning in isolation. When your mother gathers you and your sister to end your mourning period, you encounter the newest threat to Wakanda: Namor. You don’t know what to think of Namor, but you do know one thing: he probably shouldn’t be making trips to see you at your beach hut.

Warnings: None.

To Note: Namor/K’uk’ulkan x Fem!Reader, I Tried To Make The Yucatec Maya & Xhosa Translations/Traditions As Accurate As I Can Get.

Word Count: ~2.4k

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K’uk’ulkan had kissed you deeply one last time, not being able to help himself after staying away from you for so long. You thought you were going to pass out from the heat burning beneath your cheeks at the intensity of his kiss… but no, you were just left in a daze. Then he guided you out of the tent, eager and looking forward to seeing you in the traditional wedding attire of his people. He had only ever seen you in the simple clothes you wore while living in your hut, and dressed in the clothing Namora had prepared for you? He had an almost impossible time taking his eyes off your beautiful form, let alone keeping his hands from wandering. K’uk’ulkan could only imagine what you would look like dressed in the traditional ceremonial garb. Calling for Namora, he spoke a few quick sentences in his native tongue, informing her of what he needed her to do for you. Namora was shocked to say the least, but she was pleased that you were making an effort to end the violence between your people. So with a promise to take good care of you, Namora bowed her head and guided you back the way you both had come.

You didn’t speak Yucatec Maya and didn’t have Griot with you, so you had no idea what had transpired between Namora and K’uk’ulkan. At the very least when you were brought to the room you had woken, you were surrounded by more blue skinned women, and not hardened soldiers. That was a good sign, wasn’t it? More rapid fire illusive words were exchanged, the faces of the women soon glowing with excitement and happiness. You felt more reassured by their reactions and your shoulders relaxed. Then two of the women approached you, taking your hands and tugging you in the direction of another hall. You glanced back at Namora with wide eyes, but she only nodded her head at you.

You trusted Namora, so you would trust these women.

The women had led you to a hot springs that bubbled and gurgled with steam and mist, inviting and making your body ache. You needed a moment to relax. You were going to get one because the women, Zyanya and Tlalli as they had told you, were carefully stripping you out of the dress you wore and motioning for you to step down into the warm water.

You had long since gotten used to bathing naked around other women, it was a common practice at the hot springs in Wakanda… but you couldn’t hold back your nerves this time. Not when you were such an outsider. You felt self conscious of your body, of your skin, of your being. Neither Zyanya nor Tlalli made any inclination at being judgmental over what they saw, busying themselves around you as you submerged yourself into the water. Wrapping your arms around your folded knees, you closed your eyes and took several deep and calming breaths.

You were alone, surrounded by the enemy of Wakanda, whose leader you had just shared a very intimate kiss with, and without a plan. You had also just agreed to a ceremony you knew nothing about.You might as well have sold your soul to the devil… but it if prevented needless death, you would take it. Yet you had thoughts of doubt, you were the ordinary one in the family. The black sheep whom T’Chaka and Ramonda had welcomed with open arms years ago. You didn’t know the first thing about how to make an alliance or be diplomatic, you never had the need to learn despite it being your choice of action. It wasn’t like you were ever going to be an influential figure from the royal family. At least you were smoothing things over with K’uk’ulkan, that was good. You were doing something right.

Hands gently stroked your hair and began to run scoops of water over the strands, soaking them and combing them. You were reminded of the times Ramonda had lovingly washed your hair for you when you were but a child, combing your hair neatly before braiding the strands in one of the many traditional styles of your new home. For a moment, you felt a flicker of homesickness. You had spent so much time trying to get away from your family to lesson your hurt, only to start wanting their company the moment you had the space you desperately craved. Were they even looking for you? Or were you simply assumed to be running from confronting the pain you had been stewing in for an entire year?

Those thoughts made your lip wobble and you harshly pressed them together to stop yourself from being consumed the sadness you had battled for so long. You were stronger than this, you had burned your funeral clothing. It was time to let go. Fingers began combing something that smelled nice, into your hair, lovingly tending to your hair and overall treating you with respect and reverence. Then Tlalli began massaging perfumed oils into your skin and you loosened up, letting her maneuver your limbs and treat every inch of your skin with devotion. You let them. It was probably part of a ritual, such as cleansing your body for the ceremony, or preparing your spirit in one way or another.

By the time your skin was buttery soft and a pearlescent sheen for being massaged and treated so delicately, your hair was fully washed and combed and you were being helped out of the hot springs. A beautiful stitched and embroidered robe was held open and you happily allowed them to cover your naked, damp skin with it, relishing the softness of the material. Led back to the cavern full of women, your jaw went slack.

While you had been bathing, they had been very busy. There was now a space where several women were fussing over white fabric, needles and silver thread in hand. A corner now had a table with several jars and brushes, squabbling women standing in front of it with scrolls of symbols… your eyes then caught a few boxes of jewelry, all a bright and vibrant jade that matched the ones K’uk’ulkan wore. Your hand was taken and you were led over to the jewelry.

You curiously looked around at the beautiful pieces, wondering how you were to wear some of them as they were obviously body piercing pieces. Then a women turned around and brandished a needle. Your eyes went wide and you gulped, panic washing through your body. Apparently you had unconsciously stepped backward, as you backed right into Namora. She gave you a soft smile and gestured for you to sit down. You wanted to whimper but held it back as you reluctantly sat down and nervously eyed the woman with the needle.

Less than a minute later, after one of the women had demonstrated that they could, in fact, pierce your body with little to no pain, you were allowing them to pierce the places they wished. The Talokanil had created a compound that numbed the surrounding flesh almost instantly, enabling for fast and painless piercing. Your ears were the first to be done, an industrial bar, much like Namora’s being placed along with an orbital, several helix and cartilage ones. You were fairly sure most of the argument the ladies ended up embroiled in, were about what jewelry would look best on you. You took comfort in the fact that they cared about placement.

Then they had wanted to pierce your septum. You had to resist screaming when the needle drew close to your face, but again, you felt no pain, and a beautiful vibranium ring had been placed. You had to admit that you liked the look in the mirror. The patterns in the metal reminded you of those you saw in the mayan murals and upon the fabrics around you. Shuri was going to like your new look, that you knew. Your mother? She was going to do a double take and possibly balk at your appearance. That wasn’t to say she would hate them, but she would probably want you to have piercings from Wakanda, not from the people who she was convinced were a threat to both you and her people. But what had you on edge the most, was when they moved to pierce your lip.

You panicked once more and Namora had come over, soothing you and reassuring you in the language you didn’t understand. You hated that you needed to hold her hand as they pierced your lip, adding a lip ring that divided your lower lip in half. When it was done, with no pain which you once again felt silly about, you were left staring into a handheld mirror in wonder. You looked like a completely other woman, with a tribal elegance. You looked different, more mature, regal, elegant in an ancestral way… but you felt that you now looked more like yourself than you ever had.

Someone took your hand, and you were tugged to your feet. Brought over to the women who had been arguing over markings on several scrolls, you were sat down once more, only this time, you were confronted with paint brushes. Your right foot was grabbed and held out, and then you watched with wide eyes as they started painting swirls of crimson on your body. You didn’t understand what the purpose of the symbols were, but you could figure out that they were probably a part of their culture, so you let them paint to their hearts content. Even when they tugged at your robe to get to your upper thighs, back, and stomach. They wouldn’t put so much time and effort into it if it wasn’t important.

You were perfectly fine with the paint, it just itched as it dried on your skin and you had to force yourself not to scratch the flesh where beautiful lines of red had been artistically drawn. Before they moved onto your back, your hair was once again brushed out before being braided back from your face. Once your hair was out of the way, the paintbrushes descended onto your back, and it tickled. You found yourself biting down on your lip, which only made you remember that you had a lip piercing now. Your mother was going to do a double take when she saw you, you were now certain. You also entertained the idea that she wouldn’t take kindly to you going off and doing some ceremony you didn’t know anything about, just for the sake of peace. But at the same time, hadn’t she lost enough family, enough people, already? Someone had to do something.

That happened to be you. 

While you were staring off into space, wondering what your mother would think about what you were about to do, the Talokanil finished up their work and began fussing over the outfit you were to wear. It was a handmaid of course, embroidered with equally white thread to accentuate the red and green adorning your body. When it came time to dress you, you were herded behind a screen and the robe tugged from your body. Your cheeks blazed with fire while you cradled your arms to your painted chest. The moment you saw white fabric you were relieved to be dressed in something.

The white gossamer material was dropped over your head and blue fingers were quickly holding onto your arms while they tied the sleeves and the neckline of the fluttering fabric against your skin. While they were fussing over the ties and plucking at white fabric, you came to a realization: undo the ties resting off your shoulders, and the dress could very easily be pulled from your body… you weren’t going to have to do anything naked… were you? You might draw the line at that.

“Really should have thought this through,” You fretted to yourself. Desperation for peace had convinced you to jump the gun so to speak, but if this worked, you would have no regrets. So you let them fuss over you until they were happy and chittering in Yucatec Mayan. The screen was pushed to the side and you picked at the cuticles of your left hand.

“In reina,”(My queen) You took in a deep breath, realizing that you could no longer stall. You twisted on the ball of your foot to see Namora standing next two others holding a large mirror. Your reflection caught your breath. You recognized yourself, your reflection, but this was the first time you had felt like you were someone. Not necessarily someone important, but someone. You didn’t feel like you were going to fade into the background, forgotten like so many times before. Between your plentiful new piercings, the pure white gossamer of the off the shoulder dress, and the red markings upon your skin, you found yourself staring at your reflection with a faraway expression.

“Ki'ichpanech,”(You are beautiful) One of the women murmured, the others nodded. Your skin prickled from the chill in the air and you finally looked to Namora.

“K’uk’ulkan?” You asked softly, knowing that she would at least know what you were indicating with his name.

“Chukpaxten, In reina,” (Follow me) She responded with a nod. The women who had helped you made the hand gesture you were now associating with a sign of respect. You felt compelled to return the gesture and did so, carefully raising your hands and copying their actions. Bright smiles appeared not heir faces and you turned to follow Namora, grabbing the skirt of your dress so you didn’t trip. As you walked, you saw flashes of red from your legs, bright and vibrant compared to the white skirts you held away from them. You hoped that you didn’t get any of the paint on the dress. It’d look like a bloody mess.

The path that Namora followed led back to the cavern where K’uk’ulkan was working on murals, that you knew… but there was a change of scent in the air. As if someone had burned incense. It tickled your nose and you forced yourself not to sneeze. Upon entering the cavern with the murals, you stopped short, your eyes widening. The space was clouded with the smoke from what had to be incense. There was now what looked like an alter set up with several items placed on a table. Colored flowers were placed at four points, red, yellow, purple, and white.

“Mayor,” (Elder) Namora spoke, bowing to an older looking Talokanil who stood draped in traditional garb.

“What am I getting myself into,” You whispered as the eyes of elder Talokanil gazed upon you. This all looked very… official. Fear crept into your veins.  Of course it did. This was a serious alliance you were negotiating/commencing, you had to respect their traditions. If you screwed this up, you felt like you were dooming your nation to certain war.

Date Published: 4/23/23

Last Edit: 4/2/23

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[wanderinghedgehog]

Another high school Les Mis. Live reaction:

Oooo they got actors in the aisles. I like that.

Good singing so far.

This Javert seems oddly timid. Like even as a prison guard, he’s not especially scary. He does seems to be rather tall though.

Valjean seems good. I wish they let him sing that one verse from his soliloquy but, alas, it’s cut from the school versions.

This ensemble seems more coordinated than others I’ve seen. That might be because there’s not quite so many of them. This doesn’t seem like a very large cast for a Les Mis production.

Fantine is very sweet and her voice is lovely.

I like that her dress is decently period accurate. They gave her a modesty cloth and everything.

She also doesn’t seem to have a jarringly awful wig like usual.

I think they brought Javert in a little early during Fantine’s arrest. It was a little odd.

There’s some guy in the ensemble with a lovely red waistcoat.

Amazing runaway cart scene. Javert was so embarrassed on “forgive me sir I would dare” that he tried to just leave. He did skip a line though. But I’ll forgive :)

Valjean putting his heart and soul into Who Am I.

Awwwww they gave Champmathieu a friend or something who gave him a hug when he was let go. I like that they didn’t just leave him to stand there.

FANTIIIIIIINE 😭😭😭😭😭😭

HOLY SHIT THE CONFRONTATION WAS AMAZING!!!!! Okay the last fight section was a bit disappointing, but the rest of it was fucking phenomenal. I’m screaming! Javert was such a fucking drama queen too. Fantastic.

Lil’ Cosette :)

I think this Madame T could do to spice up her vocals a little. She sounds a little too pretty maybe. Go nuts, babe!

Red waistcoat guy is back!!!!

This Thenardier couple is kinda all over each other. It’s goofy

Don’t throw the child!!!!!

I love this stage setup. Very versatile.

Living for these background actors.

Eponine should keep Marius’s hat. It’s a good look.

They need to stop making Javert show up from one of the side entrances. It’s awkward staging.

Thernardier gets all obnoxious during “in the absence of a victim…” and Javert just lightly shoved him. I’m dead. You really just have to see it.

This Javert is kinda… doing to much I guess. He just doesn’t show quite enough restraint in my opinion.

Stars was cute. He could’ve done more on the line “and so it must be.” But it was good otherwise.

This Grantaire has stolen my heart. Adorable guy.

I can’t see very clearly, but there’s a pattern on the front of Enjolras’s waistcoat and I thought it was leopard print for a second.

IS THAT FANTINE’S ACTOR AGAIN??????? Or does Cosette just look something like her?

Marius should’ve hopped over the gate. It’s really low anyway.

This Marius is so damn pale. Ghost fella

Eponine pushed three people consecutively. Go girl!

THENARDIERS IN THE FLOOR

This Gavroche is absolutely adorable. I just know I’m gonna go catatonic when he’s killed.

Still no “shoot me now or shoot me later.” I like that line :(

EPONINE NOOO

Bestie Valjean has returned to the plot :)

Damn look at all that smoke.

Javert is back to being oddly timid. I feel kinda bad for him this time. He has such a sad look.

Nice little Drink With Me moment :)

Bring him hooooooooooooooome

AAAAAAAAAA GAVROCHE NOOOOOO

Seriously that kid was fantastic

That’s a nice tablueo

Go in the floor

Really dragging Marius around. Ouch.

two four six oh ooooooooone

Little line fuck up BUT WE FORGIVE AND MOVE ON

That jump was pretty smooth. I approve.

That was a damn good rendition.

Good harmonies in Turning.

Damn. They really put people in those empty chairs at the empty tables and then took them away again.

Cane time for Valjean.

Bishop actor spotted at the wedding.

Saddest onstage punch ever. Sorry Marius.

Is Madame T holding a real little dog? I can’t see very well.

Old man Valjean.

I think that wicker wheelchair he’s in is being loud.

Oh my god they are different actresses. Do they just have the same hairstyle? I might be a little face blind.

Yes! Actors in the aisles!

I think that’s a Javert in the finale!

Final thoughts:

Standout performance was a Gavroche. That child was brilliant so very cute. I hope he keeps doing theater.

All the singing was wonderful.

Things ran very smoothly which is impressive for any high school production.

As always, the show suffers from the amount of lines that are cut. But that’s definitely not the fault of this production.

In some ways, it was too good. Maybe it was just too traditional. I often watch school productions for the weirdness and interesting choices, but they just didn’t really take anything all that far in this production.

I loved that they had an extra bit of stage in front of the orchestra pit. That really gave a set some extra pizzazz.

I called this Javert “cute” too many times. Not sure why. I just thought this actor looked oddly sweet. Not especially intimidating I guess.

Valjean really put his all into this and he gave a fantastic performance. I just need him to get weirder with it.

I’m so sorry to Fantine and Cosette’s actors for thinking they were the same person.

[archiveikemen]

Koihana Bakumeiroku Prologue: Chapter 1

I do not own any of the Koihana Bakumeiroku content being uploaded on this blog, everything belongs to CYBIRD and Animate. Please support them by playing the game and buying stories. Not 100% accurate, expect mistakes.

read this before interacting with my posts

— *thud*

Someone’s hand sent me flying into the dense vegetation.

The dull pain that spread through my body caused me to groan in agony.

(Ouch…)

(My vision… is getting darker…)

As I was slowly losing consciousness, I felt my memories fading away.

Memories that were dear to me and I wanted to cherish forever.

Memories that were too painful to remember.

Even when I reached my hand out towards them, it didn't make them stay.

(All of them are disappearing.)

Giving up, I lowered my outstretched hand and slowly shut my eyes.

What kind of memory was the last one that came to my mind?

(Was it about my family? Or my companions?)

(Huh…)

(... Who am I?)

…

Rin: Wow…!

My eyes fixed onto the unfamiliar people and foreign-looking architecture.

Rin: This is Tokyo…!

Looking around, I felt both nervous and excited about the scenery I had never seen before in my life. It was completely different from the countryside I had previously lived in.

(Their clothes look very different from kimonos… these must be western-style clothing.)

???: …

(Uwah! Could that person be a foreigner?)

I was fascinated by the deep-set features of the red-haired person who looked different from the other people in the country.

(There’s so many kinds of people here…)

As I looked around the place curiously, a child who happened to pass by pointed at me.

???: Ahaha! That onee-san over there is so strange, goggling around!

Rin: …!

(H-He’s laughing at me… . Right. I shouldn't be doing this right now.)

I gave myself a light slap in the face, reminding myself of the reason why I was there to begin with.

(I’m in Tokyo to search for what I lost.)

I lost something a long time ago.

And that was — the “memories” from my childhood until a few years ago.

I came to Tokyo in search of clues that could help me regain my memories, so that I could keep on living by myself.

I took a letter out of my bag and read the name and address written on it.

(This person is my one and only clue. It’d be great if I could meet them right away, but…)

(This is harder than I expected.)

On top of being in an unfamiliar land, Tokyo was going through a crucial period of change.

(My initial plan was to get around on my own, but this is harder to do than I had anticipated… should I ask that man over there for help?)

???: …

Rin: Excuse m—

The moment I took a step forward,

Rin: !

A man who looked like a samurai bumped into me.

Samurai Descendant: Oi! What the hell are you doing!?

Rin: I- I’m sorry. But it was you who bumped into me…

Samurai Descendant: Shut up! Hang on, you’ve got a rather lovely face… . I’ll forgive you if you put me in a good mood!

Rin: Stop!

The man violently grabbed my arm, and I reflexively tried to shake him off, but that only worsened my situation.

Samurai Descendant: Damn it, getting too cocky, aren't you!?

Rin: …!

In a fury, the man drew the sword on his waist and I pulled out the sword I had hidden in my bag.

Samurai Descendant: … Ah? A woman with a sword?

(Keep calm…)

(I don't have any real fighting experience, if he charges at me, I can just deflect his attack…)

I pulled myself together and faced him head-on.

In the midst of the tension, the man stepped forward and—

???: — Hold it.

I heard a dignified voice coming from somewhere.

Rin: Huh…

Before I knew it, a man stood close by me.

(Ah, isn’t this the man I tried to talk to just now…?)

When he saw my fighting stance, his eyes blinked in surprise.

???: That stance…

???: Are you from Aizu? No wonder you have such a domineering look in your eyes.

(Aizu…?)

When I tilted my head in puzzlement upon hearing the name of an unfamiliar place, the man who looked like a samurai raised his voice.

Samurai Descendant: Who the heck are you!?

???: The Police.

Samurai Descendant: Wha…!?

The moment he heard that response, he immediately fled the scene.

???: There should be another police officer stationed over there…

???: Anyway, back to you.

The man turned to face me. Despite the unfriendliness in his tone, his face looked more gentle than I expected.

(Erm… he helped me, didn’t he?)

Rin: Um, thank you so much for helping me.

???: Don't mention it…

He looked down at my sword.

???: Why do you have a sword?

Rin: Uh… it’s a family heirloom.

???: A heirloom?

Rin: Yes. Something very precious my family left behind…

The man gave a slight nod in response.

???: … Nevermind. Anyway, are you from Aizu?

Rin: Huh?

(Come to think of it, he did mention “Aizu” just now…)

Rin: No, I’m not from Aizu.

???: … But your fighting stance tells me otherwise.

(What is he talking about…?)

No one taught me how to wield a sword.

I just naturally knew those moves, so I kept on practising them on my own.

(I thought they were unique to me, but could it be that I have connections to Aizu…?)

That was what I thought, but the man denied it.

???: … Nevermind. There are people who pick up some moves from masterless samurai. Sorry, don’t mind what I said.

???: But still… it felt nostalgic.

Rin: …?

I couldn't catch the words that followed as they were too faint.

???: … Sorry for holding you back. I know you’re from the countryside, so be careful while in Tokyo.

???: Moreover, there are many lawless people here.

???: Even though this country has been opened up to the world, it’s a rare sight for a woman to be carrying a sword, so it catches a lot of attention.

When I saw him turn to leave, it suddenly hit me.

(He’s said he’s from the police, that means he’s familiar with the area…!)

Rin: Um! I don’t know the way to…

???: The way?

Rin: Could you help me, if it’s alright with you? I just arrived in Tokyo today from the countryside.

???: … Yeah, sure.

When he saw the address written on the letter I showed him, he rubbed his chin and had a troubled expression.

???: It’s easy to get lost on your way to this place. I’d be glad to show you the way, but I don’t exactly have the time…

???: … No, scratch that. It’s better than leaving you here and having you potentially get into trouble again.

The man turned to look at me, seemingly having made up his mind.

And—

Saito: My name is Saito Hajime. I’m the captain of the Drawn-Sword Regiment in the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department.

Saito: Come with me. — We’re headed for the Meiji Government.

[marybeatriceofmodena]

Two of the biggest problems with HOTD's costuming is that it's simultaneously *too* similar to GOT, despite being centuries ago, and all over the place. Clothing would have been similar within a time period but class and cultural differences would also influence style. Both Alicients had costumes that doesn't indicate a cohesive Hightower look beyond green. With ROP, the costumes had rhyme and reason because the designer designed for each culture and actually worked on the Hobbit movies too.

Yeah, like, one thing Michelle Clapton did very well in GoT was making the different regions in Westeros and Essos look distinctive, and stay coherent about it. I'd argue the quality went down in the later seasons, but the basic ideas and concepts were there throughout, and for the most part, they had decent wigs! And keep in mind season 1 of GoT didn't have that big of a budget and it still looked better than HotD!

Like, I can see a few Tudor references here and there (Alicent has a veil that looks like a French hood from time to time, Rhaenyra has a gown that looks like an Elizabethan era dress with the white collar and all), but I don't really get why it's "Tudor-inspired", given the ASOIAF universe is basically an AU of medieval England (Aegon I is William the Conqueror, Rhaenyra is Empress Matilda, ASOIAF itself is the Wars of the Roses). The styling is just not different enough for me to really notice how it changed from one period to another - and you don't need to make it more simplistic, just give me something. Hell, they could have gotten away with a Roman-inspired look where Rhaenyra, Rhaenys and Laena wear hairstyles like this:

And if you want Alicent to be a Livia Drusilla type where she presents herself as a "traditional woman" who doesn't have time to look frivolous, you could go with something like this:

Seriously, have fun with it! You could also have the Hightowers with the traditional Roman inspired fashion, and have the Targaryens decked out like Byzantine emperors. Like, you'd THINK the fall of the Targaryen dynasty would lead to huge changes in dress, because the Targs would probably opt for Valyrian fashions that the court would have tried to emulate, and then Robert Baratheon basically throws all of that out of the window and the "fashionable" style is now pretty much dictated by Cersei, since she's the queen.

Kate Hawley meanwhile is the costume designer for RoP, and she did design for opera, AND IT SHOWS. She also did the costumes for Crimson Peak - which is probably one of the best I've ever seen in a period drama, and I'm not even kidding. Take for instance Edith and Lucille - Edith is a rich heiress, so she wears silhouettes that were in vogue at the time and has a Gibson Girl look to her:

And even then, even if the silhouette is pretty much prefectly accurate, she's still able to have fun with it! The fabrics used here weren't necesarily used in the Edwardian era, but the idea was to use some that looked similar to butterfly wings, and it works!

Lucille, meanwhile, wears gowns with a silhouette that was in vogue in the 1870s-1880s, with the bustles and all, but not anymore. It looks out of place during the evening party where she plays the piano for everyone, and her clothing is one of the things that awakens Edith's father's suspicion. It would be one thing if she was an old lady (since they tended to wear dresses that had gone of fashion 20-30 years ago, hence why in P&P 2005, you'll see Mrs. Bennet wearing a rococo dress at the Netherfield ball), but Lucille isn't that old.

And the thing is, the Sharpes are low on money, but fashion was meant to be sustainable at that time and Lucille could easily adjust her dresses to have a more fashionable silhouette, and use the removed fabric for other stuff, instead of having to buy something new. She chooses not to, and it's deliberate, probably because the dresses she wears belonged to her mother.

See? That's thought and care right there.

Meanwhile, see this dress? Alicent Hightower wishes she looked that good:

And the thing is, with all the pleating, the belt thingy she has, it would be so easy to mess up and have her dress look frumpy. The belt is perfectly adjusted and provides the watery effect it's supposed to have, the pleating is nice, and the dress actually looks like it was made specifically for her. Which makes sense, because Galadriel is a Noldo princess and she'd absolutely have her clothing tailor-made, and have it be from the best Elven seamstresses you can find. It looks so simple at first, but the more you look at it, the more you see all the little details it has. And they didn't mess up her hair, either (and anyone who's read the Silmarillon knows Galadriel's hair is important!). They used Morfydd Clark's natural hair, added extensions, made sure there were golden and silver undertones, and voilà.

And the costume department did their homework when it comes to the design - they took inspiration from pre-Raphaelite artists when it comes to the Elves, and also a little bit for Númenor as well - which makes sense given the connection they have to Elves, but they still look distinctive, with plenty of little details referring to Elros' origins here and there. Bronwyn has a dress that looks different from the other villagers, yes, but given she's a healer, she'd probably know how to dye her clothes and would dress more lightly due to spending a lot of time outside looking for herbs. The Dwarves look VERY different from the rest, and Disa has some great outfits, but you can tell their clothes became the way they were given they spend more of their time underground. The Harfoots seem to be wearing stuff they found while travelling, since they don't seem to have equipment to weave cloth and they often seem like they're wearing stuff that's too big for them. And I'm only scratching the surface here.

[reverseisekai-richie]

This pic I'm working on is taking forever so have a Wiggly-core glass orb I found at the Ren Faire, a Webby-esque spider from the same booth, along with some NPMD Ren Faire outfit headcanons:

Ruth: Had a parent into costuming so she has grown up with full period-accurate garb that can be tracked down to year and region, wishes she had the boobs and confidence to dress as a generic fantasy wench.

Richie: Goes in Link from Legend of Zelda cosplay, has pics posing next to pottery stalls.

Pete: One of those people who dresses as a Star Trek away team member or the Doctor, will play banter along with cast if they treat it in character.

Grace: Her family still believes the 1980s Satanic Panic around D&D and that carries over to related stuff like the Ren Faire. Will not go.

Steph: Dresses in comfortable "civilian" clothes, tried on Faire garb for fun at a shop and Pete and Ruth almost spontaneously combust from how hot she looks. Gets her hair braided super fancy at a booth and keeps it in all weekend.

Max: If he were to ever go to one and get to enjoy himself (impossible), he would be that frat bro looking dude walking around casually with like a paper crown and impromptu cape over his t-shirt and shorts.